SCENE IV.
Enter Privy Counsellor.
P. Coun. Well, what should it be? Petitions, memorials, poverty, and faint hopes of relief.
Clar. Why, if you cannot relieve, mercy on us!
P. Coun. They are repeated so often, and I have so much business--
Clar. Now that you have been made a Privy Counsellor, I fear it will still be worse! Well, heaven grant you health, and may you act as you ought, and all may be well yet.
P. Coun. Why, father, did you return the money I sent?--
Clar. Because, thank God! I do not want it. What is the use of having more than is necessary, to supply the wants of life?--I think you have more.
P. Coun. There is no great harm in that.
Clar. But I think there is! People will have strange ideas, and do strange things, when they have too much. If I must tell you my mind, son, I am not altogether pleased to see you raised so high of a sudden, Our plain citizens are not altogether satisfied with you and your elevation. They think the other gentlemen shove you near the fire to get the roasted chesnuts out of the coals for themselves, and that you are a good cat's paw. Such, for instance, is that bequest to old Counsellor Reissman.
P. Coun. Pray, tell me, father, what induces you to oppose that will, which is legal, though I must own it bears hard on the children.
Clar. Jack, you know your father long, though for some time since you have made a stranger of yourself.--What would you think of me, if I had not commenced the suit?
P. Coun. The claim rests on a will.
Clar. Which has been obtained, by the old Counsellor, by undue influence; is not that your opinion?
P. Coun. Can that be proved?--
Clar. We must see--
P. Coun. If you cannot prove it, the Counsellor will recover.
Clar. He certainly will, and therefore you must assist me to combat him.
P. Coun. Who, I? How came you to think so? Well, we will leave the cause to take its due course, and so should you.--
Clar. Ay, ay, Jack.
P. Coun. Besides, I must tell you, Reissman proposes to give me his daughter.
Clar. So I hear. The lady has all my best wishes. Heaven prosper your union! But sure you would not begin it by an act of injustice!
P. Coun. No, certainly not! But why would you, suppose even though Reissman were wrong,--why would you, for the sake of strangers, destroy my happiness?
Clar. Can poor, injured, unhappy children, in any situation, be strangers to me? And have wards, intrusted to my care, fewer titles to my assistance than my own children? And have not you, in the name of the magistrates, appointed me one of their guardians?
P. Coun. That, as they are unfortunate, I might see them in good hands.
Clar. Why, they are in good hands. I am come to request you to see the business speedily executed. Of the verdict itself I will make no mention. You will act as an honest man, or else I must despise you, and look for redress elsewhere. Meanwhile, I tell you, the children shall not go to the hospital, because that is impracticable.
P. Coun. Father, I Have given my word.
Clar. You must recall it.
P. Coun. How can I?
Clar. Say you did not understand the matter. It is upon my word better than to expose your name to shame or ridicule, and to fill your mind with inquietude.
P. Coun. Father, I love you dearly, but pray do not interfere with my business.
Clar. Very well; then you act as Privy Counsellor, as you think proper; and I, as trustee of the hospital and guardian of the children, will do the same.
P. Coun. Cannot we talk of more agreeable things, and drop that question. I wish you so well, but you reject all I propose.
Clar. You make me presents in money, and, I am told, you want to make me mayor of the town. Jack, make me no presents! do good to town and country; and, if you can, come after your business is done. I do not care if it be but once or twice every three months; come to me in my timber-yard. Then we will close the doors, seat ourselves in the little bower, where, when a boy, you used to sit so industriously about your tasks; there we will spend an hour in happy converse, and drink a glass of old wine that you shall send me; then I will thank God for my dear boy, who has continued to be a good son, and, when you leave me again to repair to your desk, I will give you my blessing, and look after you, till you are quite out of sight! Do you see, Jack, I ask no more;--I have no occasion for more; but this I earnestly request of you. Give me your hand, that you will do it. That is the way I wish you to honour and to please me.
P. Coun. I shall do more, father. Pray accept it, and--
Clar. All your other honours are of little estimation in my sight; these grey hairs, blanched with care and toil, shall never be covered with a long bushy wig; look at these hands, rough with labour; look on your father, as you know his ways; you also know that he is neither to be drawn nor driven out of them; Master Clarenbach, even in the office of Mayor, would not suit your fine apartments and your fine company. What, to remain at home, as motionless as an old statue, scarce permitted to speak to an old friend, lest it should lessen his dignity, or break in on his gravity! What, to remain in such a situation, and see people work and move before his window! Jack, that will not do. Pray, as I never found fault with you for being too high, do not find fault with me for being too low; it is best suited to my age and inclinations.
P. Coun. Certainly not; but Mr. Reissman insists on it, as a principal condition.
Clar. I hope you know that there is a wide difference betwixt your father and Mr. Reissman. My axe, since I could raise it, has been employed in raising houses for the industrious, and his pen, since he could handle it, in pulling them down again.
P. Coun. This is the only service you can render me now father; is it not unkind to refuse me then?
Clar. The only service I can render you now? What, if the cares and inquietudes of rank and office should lay you on a sick bed, who would attend you with so much tenderness and affection as your old father? What if your house should take fire, I would be the first to ascend through the flames; but I will not climb into office and rank, I tell you that.
P. Coun. You must give way, father.--
Clar. You now stand on high; may you so stand respected by your fellow citizens and approved by your own conscience is the sincerest wish of your old father! Therefore, I prefer my complaints to you against a man; his name is Grobman, an ironmonger. This wretch wanted to persuade me, that you had taken two thousand dollars from another, to let him have the monopoly. He offered me two hundred dollars, if I would gain you over to his interest. Arrest the vile slanderer.
P. Coun. That fellow is an ideot.
Clar. God forbid! he is much worse. I have told him I would inform against him, and so I have to a few of my acquaintances.
P. Coun. Why so?
Clar. That you should make an example of him.
P. Coun. What is all this fuss? Why do you interfere with my concerns?
Clar. Concerns? I am as anxious for your honour as I am for your life! Do not you bear my name, which has always been as good as the best bond, in this place, time out of mind? Are not you my son? Are not you the representative of our sovereign? Is not the least stain visible on your ermine? Is it, or is it not true, Jack?--No, no, I say; it is impossible, it cannot be true!
P. Coun. It is possible; it is so, but done in a manner which cannot--
Clar. Do not speak, I will not know it. I---I--cannot (going from him) look on you. Is that your wisdom! your honour! your integrity! Have I, therefore,--well,--if matters are so with you, then do as you like; enquire no more after me, come no more to see me; you ought to be ashamed of yourself, in the presence of your honest father. Farewell, Jack; repent and amend. I will visit you no more, till you have altered your ways, and divided your cursed mammon among the poor. Live on your honest earnings; then come to me, tender me a clean hand, and I will bless you. (Exit.)