The Stranger
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August von Kotzebue >> The Stranger
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THE STRANGER;
A Drama, in Five Acts;
As Performed at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.
Translated from the German of Kotzebue. by Benjamin Thompson, Esq.
Printed Under the Authority of the Managers from the Prompt Book.
With Remarks by Mrs. Inchbald.
[Illustration: STRANGER
CHILDREN.--DEAR FATHER! DEAR MOTHER! (Act V, Scene II.)
PAINTED BY HOWARD A. PUBLISH'D BY LONGMAN AND CO. ENGRAVED BY NEAGLE
1806]
London:
Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, Paternoster Row.
Savage and Easingwood, Printers, London.
REMARKS.
There seems to be required by a number of well meaning persons of the
present day a degree of moral perfection in a play, which few literary
works attain; and in which sermons, and other holy productions, are at
times deficient, though written with the purest intention.
To criticise any book, besides the present drama, was certainly not a
premeditated design in writing this little essay; but in support of the
position--that every literary work, however guided by truth, may
occasionally swerve into error, it may here be stated that the meek
spirit of christianity can seldom be traced in any of those pious
writings where our ancient religion, the church of Rome, and its clergy,
are the subjects: and that political writers, in the time of war,
laudably impelled, will slander public enemies into brutes, that the
nation may hate them without offence to brotherly love.
Articles of sacred faith are often so piously, yet so ignorantly
expounded in what are termed systems of education and instruction--that
doubts are created, where all was before secure, and infidelity sown,
where it was meant to be extirpated.
In this general failure of human perfection, the German author of this
play has compassionated--and with a high, a sublime, example before
him--an adultress. But Kotzebue's pity, vitiated by his imperfect
nature, has, it is said, deviated into vice; by restoring this woman to
her former rank in life, under the roof of her injured husband.
To reconcile to the virtuous spectator this indecorum, most calamitous
woes are first depicted as the consequence of illicit love. The deserted
husband and the guilty wife are both presented to the audience as
voluntary exiles from society: the one through poignant sense of sorrow
for the connubial happiness he has lost--the other, from deep contrition
for the guilt she has incurred.
The language, as well as the plot and incidents, of this play, describe,
with effect, those multiplied miseries which the dishonour of a wife
spreads around; but draws more especially upon herself, her husband, and
her children.
Kemble's emaciated frame, sunken eye, drooping head, and death-like
paleness; his heart-piercing lamentation, that--"he trusted a friend who
repaid his hospitality, by alluring from him all that his soul held
dear,"--are potent warnings to the modern husband.
Mrs. Siddons, in Mrs. Haller (the just martyr to her own crimes) speaks
in her turn to every married woman; and, in pathetic bursts of grief--in
looks of overwhelming shame--in words of deep reproach against herself
and her seducer--"conjures each wife to revere the marriage bond."
Notwithstanding all these distressful and repentant testimonies,
preparatory to the reunion of this husband and wife, a delicate
spectator feels a certain shudder when the catastrophe takes place,--but
there is another spectator more delicate still, who never conceives,
that from an agonizing, though an affectionate embrace, (the only proof
of reconciliation given, for the play ends here), any farther
endearments will ensue, than those of participated sadness, mutual care
of their joint offspring, and to smooth each other's passage to the
grave.
But should the worst suspicion of the scrupulous critic be true, and
this man should actually have taken his wife "for better or for worse,"
as on the bridal day--can this be holding out temptation, as alleged,
for women to be false to their husbands? Sure it would rather act as a
preservative. What woman of common understanding and common cowardice,
would dare to dishonour and forsake her husband, if she foresaw she was
ever likely to live with him again?
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
THE STRANGER _Mr. Kemble._
COUNT WINTERSEN _Mr. Barrymore._
BARON STEINFORT _Mr. Palmer._
MR. SOLOMON _Mr. Wewitzer._
PETER _Mr. Suett._
TOBIAS _Mr. Aickin._
FRANCIS _Mr. R. Palmer._
GEORGE _Mr. Webb._
COUNT'S SON (five years old) _Master Wells._
STRANGER'S SON (five years old) _Master Stokeley._
MRS. HALLER _Mrs. Siddons._
COUNTESS WINTERSEN _Mrs. Goodall._
CHARLOTTE _Miss Stuart._
ANNETTE _Mrs. Bland._
CLAUDINE _Miss Leake._
SUSAN _Mrs. Jones._
STRANGER'S DAUGHTER (four years old) _Miss Beton._
TENANTS, SERVANTS, DANCERS, &c.
_SCENE_,--_Germany_.
THE STRANGER.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.
_The Skirts of COUNT WINTERSEN'S Park.--The Park Gates in the
centre.--On one side a low Lodge, among the Trees.--On the other,
in the back ground, a Peasant's Hut._
_Enter PETER._
_Pet._ Pooh! pooh!--never tell me.--I'm a clever lad, for all father's
crying out every minute, "Peter," and "stupid Peter!" But I say, Peter
is not stupid, though father will always be so wise. First, I talk too
much; then I talk too little; and if I talk a bit to myself, he calls me
a driveller. Now, I like best to talk to myself; for I never contradict
myself, and I don't laugh at myself, as other folks do. That laughing is
often a plaguy teazing custom. To be sure, when Mrs. Haller laughs, one
can bear it well enough; there is a sweetness even in her reproof, that
somehow--But, lud! I had near forgot what I was sent about.--Yes, then
they would have laughed at me indeed.--[_Draws a green purse from his
pocket._]--I am to carry this money to old Tobias; and Mrs. Haller said
I must be sure not to blab, or say that she had sent it. Well, well, she
may be easy for that matter; not a word shall drop from my lips. Mrs.
Haller is charming, but silly, if father is right; for father says, "He,
that spends his money is not wise," but "he that gives it away, is stark
mad."
_Enter the STRANGER, from the Lodge, followed by FRANCIS.--At
sight of PETER, the STRANGER stops, and looks suspiciously at
him. PETER stands opposite to him, with his mouth wide open. At
length he takes off his hat, scrapes a bow, and goes into the Hut._
_Stra._ Who is that?
_Fra._ The steward's son.
_Stra._ Of the Castle?
_Fra._ Yes.
_Stra._ [_After a pause._] You were--you were speaking last night--
_Fra._ Of the old countryman?
_Stra._ Ay.
_Fra._ You would not hear me out.
_Stra._ Proceed.
_Fra._ He is poor.
_Stra._ Who told you so?
_Fra._ Himself.
_Stra._ [_With acrimony._] Ay, ay; he knows how to tell his story, no
doubt.
_Fra._ And to impose, you think?
_Stra._ Right!
_Fra._ This man does not.
_Stra._ Fool!
_Fra._ A feeling fool is better than a cold sceptic.
_Stra._ False!
_Fra._ Charity begets gratitude.
_Stra._ False!
_Fra._ And blesses the giver more than the receiver.
_Stra._ True.
_Fra._ Well, sir. This countryman--
_Stra._ Has he complained to you?
_Fra._ Yes.
_Stra._ He, who is really unhappy, never complains. [_Pauses._] Francis,
you have had means of education beyond your lot in life, and hence you
are encouraged to attempt imposing on me:--but go on.
_Fra._ His only son has been taken from him.
_Stra._ Taken from him?
_Fra._ By the exigency of the times, for a soldier.
_Stra._ Ay!
_Fra._ The old man is poor.--
_Stra._ 'Tis likely.
_Fra._ Sick and forsaken.
_Stra._ I cannot help him.
_Fra._ Yes.
_Stra._ How?
_Fra._ By money. He may buy his son's release.
_Stra._ I'll see him myself.
_Fra._ Do so.
_Stra._ But if he is an impostor!
_Fra._ He is not.
_Stra._ In that hut?
_Fra._ In that hut. [_STRANGER goes into the Hut._] A good master,
though one almost loses the use of speech by living with him. A man kind
and clear--though I cannot understand him. He rails against the whole
world, and yet no beggar leaves his door unsatisfied. I have now lived
three years with him, and yet I know not who he is. A hater of society,
no doubt; but not by Providence intended to be so. Misanthropy in his
head, not in his heart.
_Enter the STRANGER and PETER, from the Hut._
_Pet._ Pray walk on.
_Stra._ [_To FRANCIS._] Fool!
_Fra._ So soon returned!
_Stra._ What should I do there?
_Fra._ Did you not find it as I said?
_Stra._ This lad I found.
_Fra._ What has he to do with your charity?
_Stra._ The old man and he understand each other perfectly well.
_Fra._ How?
_Stra._ What were this boy and the countryman doing?
_Fra._ [_Smiling, and shaking his head._] Well, you shall hear. [_To
PETER._] Young man, what were you doing in that hut?
_Pet._ Doing!--Nothing.
_Fra._ Well, but you couldn't go there for nothing?
_Pet._ And why not, pray?--But I did go there for nothing, though.--Do
you think one must be paid for every thing?--If Mrs. Haller were to give
me but a smiling look, I'd jump up to my neck in the great pond for
nothing.
_Fra._ It seems then Mrs. Haller sent you?
_Pet._ Why, yes--But I'm not to talk about it.
_Fra._ Why so?
_Pet._ How should I know? "Look you," says Mrs. Haller, "Master Peter,
be so good as not to mention it to any body." [_With much consequence._]
"Master Peter, be so good"--Hi! hi! hi!--"Master Peter, be so"--Hi! hi!
hi!--
_Fra._ Oh! that is quite a different thing. Of course you must be silent
then.
_Pet._ I know that; and so I am too. For I told old Tobias--says I,
"Now, you're not to think as how Mrs. Haller sent the money; for I shall
not say a word about that as long as I live," says I.
_Fra._ There you were very right. Did you carry him much money?
_Pet._ I don't know; I didn't count it. It was in a bit of a green
purse. Mayhap it may be some little matter that she has scraped together
in the last fortnight.
_Fra._ And why just in the last fortnight?
_Pet._ Because, about a fortnight since, I carried him some money
before.
_Fra._ From Mrs. Haller?
_Pet._ Ay, sure; who else, think you? Father's not such a fool. He says
it is our bounden duty, as christians, to take care of our money, and
not give any thing away, especially in summer; for then, says he,
there's herbs and roots enough in conscience to satisfy all the
reasonable hungry poor. But I say father's wrong, and Mrs. Haller's
right.
_Fra._ Yes, yes.--But this Mrs. Haller seems a strange woman, Peter.
_Pet._ Ay, at times she is plaguy odd. Why, she'll sit, and cry you a
whole day through, without any one's knowing why.--Ay, and yet, somehow
or other, whenever she cries, I always cry too--without knowing why.
_Fra._ [_To the STRANGER._] Are you satisfied?
_Stra._ Rid me of that babbler.
_Fra._ Good day, Master Peter.
_Pet._ You're not going yet, are you?
_Fra._ Mrs. Haller will be waiting for an answer.
_Pet._ So she will. And I have another place or two to call at. [_Takes
off his hat to STRANGER._] Servant, sir!
_Stra._ Pshaw!--
_Pet._ Pshaw! What--he's angry. [_PETER turns to FRANCIS, in a half
whisper._] He's angry, I suppose, because he can get nothing out of me.
_Fra._ It almost seems so.
_Pet._ Ay, I'd have him to know I'm no blab. [_Exit._
_Fra._ Now, sir?
_Stra._ What do you want?
_Fra._ Were you not wrong, sir?
_Stra._ Hem! wrong!
_Fra._ Can you still doubt?
_Stra._ I'll hear no more! Who is this Mrs. Haller? Why do I always
follow her path? Go where I will, whenever I try to do good, she has
always been before me.
_Fra._ You should rejoice at that.
_Stra._ Rejoice!
_Fra._ Surely! That there are other good and charitable people in the
world beside yourself.
_Stra._ Oh, yes!
_Fra._ Why not seek to be acquainted with her? I saw her yesterday in
the garden up at the Castle. Mr. Solomon, the steward, says she has been
unwell, and confined to her room almost ever since we have been here.
But one would not think it, to look at her; for a more beautiful
creature I never saw.
_Stra._ So much the worse. Beauty is a mask.
_Fra._ In her it seems a mirror of the soul. Her charities--
_Stra._ Talk not to me of her charities. All women wish to be
conspicuous:--in town by their wit; in the country by their heart.
_Fra._ 'Tis immaterial in what way good is done.
_Stra._ No; 'tis not immaterial.
_Fra._ To this poor old man at least.
_Stra._ He needs no assistance of mine.
_Fra._ His most urgent wants indeed, Mrs. Haller has relieved; but
whether she has or could have given as much as would purchase liberty
for the son, the prop of his age--
_Stra._ Silence! I will not give him a doit! [_In a peevish tone._] You
interest yourself very warmly in his behalf. Perhaps you are to be a
sharer in the gift.
_Fra._ Sir, sir, that did not come from your heart.
_Stra._ [_Recollecting himself._] Forgive me!
_Fra._ Poor master! How must the world have used you, before it could
have instilled this hatred of mankind, this constant doubt of honesty
and virtue!
_Stra._ Leave me to myself!
[_Throws himself on a seat; takes from his
pocket "Zimmerman on Solitude," and
reads._
_Fra._ [_Aside, surveying him._] Again reading! Thus it is from morn to
night. To him nature has no beauty; life, no charm. For three years I
have never seen him smile. What will be his fate at last? Nothing
diverts him. Oh, if he would but attach himself to any living thing!
Were it an animal--for something man must love.
_Enter TOBIAS, from the Hut._
_Tob._ Oh! how refreshing, after seven long weeks, to feel these warm
sun beams once again! Thanks! thanks! bounteous Heaven, for the joy I
taste.
[_Presses his cap between his hands, looks
up and prays.--The STRANGER observes him
attentively._
_Fra._ [_To the STRANGER.] This old man's share of earthly happiness
can be but little; yet mark how grateful he is for his portion of it.
_Stra._ Because, though old, he is but a child in the leading strings of
Hope.
_Fra._ Hope is the nurse of life.
_Stra._ And her cradle is the grave.
[_TOBIAS replaces his cap._
_Fra._ I wish you joy. I am glad to see you are so much recovered.
_Tob._ Thank you. Heaven, and the assistance of a kind lady, have saved
me for another year or two.
_Fra._ How old are you, pray?
_Tob._ Seventy-six. To be sure I can expect but little joy before I die.
Yet, there is another, and a better world.
_Fra._ To the unfortunate, then, death is scarce an evil?
_Tob._ Am I so unfortunate? Do I not enjoy this glorious morning? Am I
not in health again! Believe me, sir, he, who, leaving the bed of
sickness, for the first time breathes the fresh pure air, is, at that
moment, the happiest of his Maker's creatures.
_Fra._ Yet 'tis a happiness that fails upon enjoyment.
_Tob._ True; but less so in old age. Some fifty years ago my father left
me this cottage. I was a strong lad; and took an honest wife. Heaven
blessed my farm with rich crops, and my marriage with five children.
This lasted nine or ten years. Two of my children died. I felt it
sorely. The land was afflicted with a famine. My wife assisted me in
supporting our family: but four years after, she left our dwelling for a
better place. And of my five children only one son remained. This was
blow upon blow. It was long before I regained my fortitude. At length
resignation and religion had their effect. I again attached myself to
life. My son grew, and helped me in my work. Now the state has called
him away to bear a musket. This is to me a loss indeed. I can work no
more. I am old and weak; and true it is, but for Mrs. Haller, I must
have perished.
_Fra._ Still then life has its charms for you?
_Tob._ Why not, while the world holds any thing that's dear to me? Have
not I a son?
_Fra._ Who knows, that you will ever see him more? He may be dead.
_Tob._ Alas! he may. But as long as I am not sure of it, he lives to me:
And if he falls, 'tis in his country's cause. Nay, should I lose him,
still I should not wish to die. Here is the hut in which I was born.
Here is the tree that grew with me; and, I am almost ashamed to confess
it--I have a dog, I love.
_Fra._ A dog!
_Tob._ Yes!--Smile if you please: but hear me. My benefactress once came
to my hut herself, some time before you fixed here. The poor animal,
unused to see the form of elegance and beauty enter the door of penury,
growled at her.--"I wonder you keep that surly, ugly animal, Mr.
Tobias," said she; "you, who have hardly food enough for
yourself."--"Ah, madam," I replied, "if I part with him, are you sure
that any thing else will love me?"--She was pleased with my answer.
_Fra._ [_To STRANGER._] Excuse me, sir; but I wish you had listened.
_Stra._ I have listened.
_Fra._ Then, sir, I wish you would follow this poor old man's example.
_Stra._ [_Pauses._] Here; take this book, and lay it on my desk.
[_Francis goes into the Lodge with the book._] How much has this Mrs.
Haller given you?
_Tob._ Oh, sir, she has given me so much, that I can look towards winter
without fear.
_Stra._ No more?
_Tob._ What could I do with more?--Ah! true; I might--
_Stra._ I know it.--You might buy your son's release.--There!
[_Presses a purse into his hand, and exit._
_Tob._ What is all this? [_Opens the purse, and finds it full of gold._]
Merciful Heaven!--
_Enter FRANCIS._
--Now look, sir: is confidence in Heaven unrewarded?
_Fra._ I wish you joy! My master gave you this!
_Tob._ Yes, your noble master. Heaven reward him!
_Fra._ Just like him. He sent me with his book, that no one might be
witness to his bounty.
_Tob._ He would not even take my thanks. He was gone before I could
speak.
_Fra._ Just his way.
_Tob._ Now, I'll go as quick as these old legs will bear me. What a
delightful errand! I go to release my Robert! How the lad will rejoice!
There is a girl too, in the village, that will rejoice with him. O
Providence, how good art thou! Years of distress never can efface the
recollection of former happiness; but one joyful moment drives from the
memory an age of misery. [_Exit._
_Fra._ [_Looks after him._] Why am I not wealthy? 'Sdeath! why am I not
a prince! I never thought myself envious; but I feel I am. Yes, I must
envy those who, with the will, have the power to do good. [_Exit._
SCENE II.
_An Antichamber in Wintersen Castle._
_Enter SUSAN, meeting Footmen with table and chairs._
_Susan._ Why, George! Harry! where have you been loitering? Put down
these things. Mrs. Haller has been calling for you this half hour.
_Geo._ Well, here I am then. What does she want with me?
_Susan._ That she will tell you herself. Here she comes.
_Enter MRS. HALLER, (with a letter, a MAID following._
_Mrs. H._ Very well; if those things are done, let the drawing room be
made ready immediately.--[_Exit MAIDS._] And, George, run immediately
into the park, and tell Mr. Solomon I wish to speak with him. [_Exit
FOOTMAN._] I cannot understand this. I do not learn whether their coming
to this place be but the whim of a moment, or a plan for a longer stay:
if the latter, farewell, solitude! farewell, study!--farewell!--Yes, I
must make room for gaiety, and mere frivolity. Yet could I willingly
submit to all; but, should the Countess give me new proofs of her
attachment, perhaps of her respect, Oh! how will my conscience upbraid
me! Or--I shudder at the thought! if this seat be visited by company,
and chance should conduct hither any of my former acquaintance--Alas!
alas! how wretched is the being who fears the sight of any one
fellow-creature! But, oh! superior misery! to dread still more the
presence of a former friend!--Who's there?
_Enter PETER._
_Pet._ Nobody. It's only me.
_Mrs. H._ So soon returned?
_Pet._ Sharp lad, a'n't I? On the road I've had a bit of talk too, and--
_Mrs. H._ But you have observed my directions!
_Pet._ Oh, yes, yes:--I told old Tobias as how he would never know as
long as he lived that the money came from you.
_Mrs. H._ You found him quite recovered, I hope?
_Pet._ Ay, sure did I. He's coming out to-day for the first time.
_Mrs. H._ I rejoice to hear it.
_Pet._ He said that he was obliged to you for all; and before dinner
would crawl up to thank you.
_Mrs. H._ Good Peter, do me another service.
_Pet._ Ay, a hundred, if you'll only let me have a good long stare at
you.
_Mrs. H._ With all my heart! Observe when old Tobias comes, and send him
away. Tell him I am busy, or asleep, or unwell, or what you please.
_Pet._ I will, I will.
_Sol._ [_Without._] There, there, go to the post-office.
_Mrs. H._ Oh! here comes Mr. Solomon.
_Pet._ What! Father?--Ay, so there is. Father's a main clever man: he
knows what's going on all over the world.
_Mrs. H._ No wonder; for you know he receives as many letters as a prime
minister and all his secretaries.
_Enter SOLOMON._
_Sol._ Good morning, good morning to you, Mrs. Haller. It gives me
infinite pleasure to see you look so charmingly well. You have had the
goodness to send for your humble servant. Any news from the Great City?
There are very weighty matters in agitation. I have my letters too.
_Mrs. H._ [_Smiling._] I think, Mr. Solomon, you must correspond with
the four quarters of the globe.
_Sol._ Beg pardon, not with the whole world, Mrs. Haller: but
[_Consequentially._] to be sure I have correspondents, on whom I can
rely, in the chief cities of Europe, Asia, Africa, and America.
_Mrs. H._ And yet I have my doubts whether you know what is to happen
this very day at this very place.
_Sol._ At this very place! Nothing material. We meant to have sown a
little barley to-day, but the ground is too dry; and the sheep-shearing
is not to be till to-morrow.
_Pet._ No, nor the bull-baiting till--
_Sol._ Hold your tongue, blockhead! Get about your business.
_Pet._ Blockhead! There again! I suppose I'm not to open my mouth. [_To
MRS. HALLER._] Good bye! [_Exit._
_Mrs. H._ The Count will be here to-day.
_Sol._ How! What!
_Mrs. H._ With his lady, and his brother-in-law, Baron Steinfort.
_Sol._ My letters say nothing of this. You are laughing at your humble
servant.
_Mrs. H._ You know, sir, I'm not much given to jesting.
_Sol._ Peter!--Good lack-a-day!--His Right Honourable Excellency Count
Wintersen, and her Right Honourable Excellency the Countess Wintersen,
and his Honourable Lordship Baron Steinfort--And, Lord have mercy!
nothing in proper order!--Here, Peter! Peter!
_Enter PETER._
_Pet._ Well, now; what's the matter again?
_Sol._ Call all the house together directly! Send to the game keeper;
tell him to bring some venison. Tell Rebecca to uncase the furniture,
and take the covering from the Venetian looking glasses, that her Right
Honourable Ladyship the Countess may look at her gracious countenance:
and tell the cook to let me see him without loss of time: and tell John
to catch a brace or two of carp. And tell--and tell--and tell--tell
Frederick to friz my Sunday wig.--Mercy on us!--Tell--There--Go!--
[_Exit PETER._] Heavens and earth! so little of the new furnishing of
this old castle is completed!--Where are we to put his Honourable
Lordship the Baron?
_Mrs. H._ Let him have the little chamber at the head of the stairs; it
is a neat room, and commands a beautiful prospect.
_Sol._ Very right, very right. But that room has always been occupied by
the Count's private secretary. Suppose!--Hold, I have it. You know the
little lodge at the end of the park: we can thrust the secretary into
that.
_Mrs. H._ You forget, Mr. Solomon; you told me that the Stranger lived
there.
_Sol._ Pshaw! What have we to do with the Stranger?--Who told him to
live there?--He must turn out.
_Mrs. H._ That would be unjust; for you said, that you let the dwelling
to him, and by your own account he pays well for it.
_Sol._ He does, he does. But nobody knows who he is. The devil himself
can't make him out. To be sure, I lately received a letter from Spain,
which informed me that a spy had taken up his abode in this country, and
from the description--