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Art. XXV.

The Wild Youth: A Comedy for
Digestion, in three Acts. Translat-
ed from the German of Kotzebue,
Charles Smith. 8vo. pp. 74.
New-York. 1800.

The Wild-Goose Chase: A
Play, in four ACts; with Songs.
From the German of Augustus von
Kotzebue. With Notes, marking
the Variations from the Original.
William Dunlap. 8vo. pp.
104. Printed by G. F. Hopkins,
for W. Dunlap. New-York. 1800.

AS both of these translations are
from the same German play,
our remarks on them, and the play
itself, will be comprised under this
article. Great liberty is allowable
in the adoption of dramatic titles.
The original words, wild fang,
taken in their literal sense, mean
wild chase; but it is a phrase
tantamount to mad-cap, or a wild,
hair-brained young fellow. Wild
is well enough, but a Comedy
for Digestion
sounds oddly in our
ears, and is somewhat equivocal in
its meaning. In the preface to the
former translation* of Mr. S. it
was said, that this piece was in-
tended only for a Christmas-day, and
he might easily be led to adopt the
other part of the title.

It is difficult, and, perhaps, not
very important, accurately to de-
fine the limits which separate farce
from comedy. The chief purpose of
the former is to excite laughter. The
latter, while it depicts characters,
manners, and the mixed scenes of
life, seeks to instruct as well amuse,
by examples of folly and vice, wis-
dom and virtue.—Farce is never
serious, and is therefore contempti-
ble. Comedy may abound with
wit and humour, or may be serious
and sentimental. It may even ex-
hibit scenes of the deepest distress,
and, in pathos and feeling, possess
an interest as powerful as tragedy.

The play now presented to the
English reader, may be classed a-
mong the best humorous comedies.

Frederick, Baron Wellinghorst,
the hero of the piece, is a young
man, just of age, wild, ardent, and
impetuous, who, having lost his fa-
ther, succeeds to his title and estate.
After travelling over Europe with
his friend and guardian, Felix, he
arrives at an inn, where the whole
scene of the play is laid. Having
seen Nannette at church, he becomes
passionately in love with her, and
resolves to marry her. He discovers
that the mistress of his heart, with
her mother, Madame Von Brum-
bach, lodge in the same inn.

The mother is one of those silly
and vain women who cannot endure
the thought of growing old, and
seeks to disguise the progress of age,
by affecting the manners, and aping
the follies of youth, and by keeping
her daughter in the leading-strings
and ignorance of childhood. De-
sirous of a second husband, she com-
mences her attack on Piffleberg, an
old batchelor, who has an estate in
the neighbourhood of the inn, and
who thinks of nothing but of the
pleasures of shooting and the chase.
He is a true sportsman, whose rough,
boisterous, and free manners, form
an amusing contrast to those of the
lady. Her servant, Molkus, is an
old disabled soldier, faithful, ho-
nest and credulous, whose love of
campaigns and battles renders him
the dupe of Frederick. Lisette, the
maid, is a character less original—
shrewd, witty, full of gaiety and
good humour.

The various stratagems of Fre-
derick, to obtain an interview with,
and gain possession of Nannette,
constitute the action of the play,
which abounds with humorous
scenes, amusing incidents, and lu-
dicrous mistakes. The contrivance
of the plot is very artful; the dia-
logue is lively and spirited; and

  * Count of Burgundy. See Review for February.

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more comic scenes were never
brought together in one piece. In
the last scene, Felix discovers, in
Madame Von Brumbach, his wife,
from whom, on account of her into-
lerable temper and folly, he had
been separated for many years; and,
in Nannette, he finds his daugh-
ter, an only child, grown up a love-
ly woman, whose hand he cheer-
fully bestows on his friend and pu-
pil, who is thus made happy by
the attainment of the object of his
pursuit. Most dramatists would
have concluded, by exhibiting a
sudden change in the character of
the mother, and a reconciliation
between her and Felix. This au-
thor does not violate probability or
nature by adopting so common-
place a contrivance.

Mr. Smith proposes to translate
and publish all the plays of Kotze-
bue. We have already given our
opinion of his talents as a transla-
tor, in our review of his Count of
The Wild Youth, though
it contains fewer errors than the
other, is far too literal a version,
and its language too flat and vulgar
to afford us any pleasure in the pe-
rusal. Several passages of the ori-
ginal are omitted; but we do not
observe that Mr. S. has exerted the
undoubted power of a translator
in rejecting such passages and ex-
pressions as might be unsuited to
the taste and manners of his coun-

Mr. Dunlap is more bold and
free; but this freedom is under the
guidance of sound discretion. His
experience, as director of the The-
atre, has enabled him to discern
what would be most acceptable, and
to adapt his translation to the opi-
nion and taste of the public.

He has divided the first act into
two, and, by the addition of songs,
made a comic opera of four acts.
These songs are in the usual style
of the English opera. The merit
of their composition is unequal, but

they contain pleasing sentiments,
and the versification is tolerably easy
and smooth. The alterations and
additions are all duly acknowledged
by him in the notes subjoined to the
translation; and, as readers, or wit-
nesses to the performance on the
stage, we have no reason to be dissa-
tisfied with the liberty he has taken.

Notwithstanding our partiality
for the German dramatists, we must
admit that their productions contain
many sentiments and expressions,
which, if literally converted into
English, would be offensive and dis-
gusting. Our attachment to the au-
thors, or their language, is not so
blind as to prevent our discerning
faulty opinions, or coarse and vul-
gar language, which need the judi-
cious application of the pruning-
knife. Dramatic works, above all
others, both on account of their
double impression in the closet and
on the stage, and their exhibition
of manners and sentiments, demand
a more liberal exercise of this free-
dom: and, among this class of per-
formances, those of the German,
perhaps, require it most.

We have taken up translations
from some of their celebrated dra-
mas, and have been wholly disap-
pointed of that exquisite gratifica-
tion which their high reputation
led us to expect. It is sometimes
true, that the humble translator is
obliged to bear the faults of his au-
thor; but in those instances we
thought our dissatisfaction might be
justly attributed to the want of
judgment, and the carelessness and
haste which appeared in the trans-

The power of alteration and a-
mendment ought, indeed, to be
exerted with discretion and skill,
and not wantonly, or with rash
precipitation. The legitimate pur-
pose of a translator should be to
amuse or instruct his countrymen,
by the transfusion of a foreign pro-
duction into their native tongue.

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If he cannot so instruct and delight
them as to contribute to their moral
improvement or innocent amuse-
ment, he ought rather to suffer the
works to remain in the obscurity
of their original language. He who
has talents to attain that end, or
to improve upon the author, or
even to reflect his image in pure
and appropriate colours, though he
may not claim it, is certainly en-
titled to some share of the praise
which is bestowed on the original

When we admit that we derived

higher pleasure from the perusal of
Wild-Goose Chase than from Der
Wild Fang,
it will not be saying
too much to ascribe that degree of
credit to its translator.

We shall select, as a specimen,
a scene in which most license has
been used in deviating from the
original: and, by comparing the
same part with the literal version of
Mr. S. the reader will be able to
judge of the nature and extent of
the alterations made by Mr. Dunlap
and to form some opinion of the
merits of both.


‘Enter Frederick as a hair-dresser.

‘Frederick. Beg pardon, ladies;
am I right? (Putting his head in at
the door.

‘Lisette. (Smiling) Yes, indeed,
in every possible form.

‘M. B. Whom do you want,

‘Fred. The celebrated and ami-
able Madame Von Brumbach. (En-

‘M. B. I am Madame Von

‘Lis. (Aside to Nannette.) It is
the Baron.

‘Nan. (Shrieks.) Ah!

‘M. B. What ails the child?

‘Lis. You have made her so afraid
of lovers, that even this power-
puff frightens her.

‘Nan. Must I run away, mam-
ma, if I see one?

‘M. B. Not if I am present.

‘Fred. (Archly) I think, madam,
they say that children cut their eye-
teeth very soon in this country.

‘M. B. Children are very for-
ward. But pray, my friend, what
do you want here?

‘Fred. I wish to have the felici-
ty of putting your silken hair in

‘M. B. Your trouble is in vain.
I have a hair-dresser.

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‘Fred. Certainly, madam, he is
my master. He is sick, madam,
and has sent me in his place.

‘M. B. Ah! so, so! What ails

‘Fred. He is—sick, madam, sick
—very sick.

‘M. B. But his disorder?

‘Fred. Yes, madam—true—he
has the—the—broken-leg, madam
—the broken-leg.

‘M. B. Poor man! How did it

‘Fred. He happened to be—
Heaven knows why—upon the top
of St. Agathy's steeple, and, in de-
scending, his foot slipped and he
fell down seventy-seven steps. Se-
venty-seven—I counted them my-

‘M. B. Top of a steeple! Well,
he that ascends high may fall low.
But what business had a hair-dresser
at the top of a steeple?

‘Lis. They wish to be always
busy about the head.

‘Fred. Ha! ha! ha! The lady
is right—even about the head of
the church. I should be happy to
take the Pope by the nose. (Imi-
tating the action of shaving.
) But
my master was in the line of his
profession, madam, even at the top
of a steeple. Did your ladyship
ever see St. Agathy's church?

‘M. B. Lisette bring my dres-
sing-gown. (To him.) Never
(Lisette goes for the gown.)

‘Fred. Nearly at the top of the
steeple is a statue of the Saint,
with a beautiful fox-coloured wig,
which, being out of curl, my mas-
ter was sent by order of the vestry
to put the holy hair in buckle.

‘Lis. (Having put the gown over
her mistress and seated her in front of
the stage
) Good fellow, have you
long exercised your profession?

‘Fred. (Beginning to dress) I
hope soon to be a master.

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‘Lis. Then I suppose you will

‘Fred. (Looking at Nannette) If
I can obtain the object of my love.

‘M. B. What countryman are

‘Fred. From Alsace, my lady
—an emigrant—if I should be
known, I am undone.

‘M. B. You must be on your

‘Fred. I shall take care to de-
ceive those who will suffer them-
selves to be blinded.

‘M. B. There you are right.
Have you many customers.

‘Fred. I forget them all when
with your ladyship.

‘M. B. You are an odd fellow.
Do you dress the Lady Hensberg?

‘Fred. The Lady Hensberg?
O, yes.

‘M. B. How old do you think
she is?

‘Fred. How old? Why—a—
your ladyship might be her daughter.

‘M. B. (Smiling.) Oh, no! not
so much as that. She is some
years younger than I am.

‘Fred. Is it possible? (He shews
Nannette a letter. She appears anx-
ious, pleased, and timid. Lisette
takes the letter, and reaches behind
Frederick to Nannette, who approaches
and takes the letter from her.

‘M. B. But it is very natural
that she should look so old; the
dissipated life she leads—

‘Fred. Her husband ought to
restrain her.

‘M. B. She has no longer a

‘Fred. True—true—that is true
enough—she is a widow—

‘M. B. No—she is divorced.

‘Fred. Ah! true; divorced. A
widow or divorced, or divorced or
a widow, it's all one.

‘M. B. (To Nannette, who is go-
ing off with the letter
) Where are
you going child?

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‘Nan. To my room, mamma.

‘M. B. Stay here. There is
nothing for you to do there. Stay
here. (To Frederick.) So, the re-
volution drove you from home?

‘Fred. Yes, madam. They want-
ed to force liberty down my throat;
but I (looking significantly at Nan-
) prefer slavery.

‘M. B. Why, certainly, hair-
dressers are the servants of luxu-

‘Fred. I would willingly fly to
England, but since Pitt has laid a
tax on hair-powder, the English
have all become crops; and, unless
wigs can be brought in, the pro-
fession must starve.

‘M. B. Lisette, pray give me——
(As she turns she sees Nannette
reading the letter.
) Pray, Miss,
what have you got there?

‘Nan. (Frightened) Nothing,

‘M. B. Nothing. Let me see,
immediately, what nothing looks
like. Bring it hither instantly.

‘Nan. It is not nothing, mamma.
it is—it is—(Distressed.)

‘Lis. It is—a paper—(Confused.)

‘M. B. Will you not obey me?

Fred. O ho! What, Miss, have
you got the letter out of my pow-
der-bag? that's a good joke—Ha!
ha! ha! (Takes the letter.)

‘M. B. What letter?

‘Fred. I don't think the young
lady would have done it, but that
little thief of a chamber-maid
of yours has taken it out—

‘Lis. (Taking the hint) Little
thief, indeed—a pretty appellation:
though I did take the thing out of
your nasty bag, I won't be called
thief, so I won't. (Pretending to
) You powder-puff: you
wash-ball: razor-strap—(Pre-
tending rage, and following him as if
to box his ears.
) Bravo, Baron, it
will do!

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‘M. B. Am I to know the mean-
ing of all this?

Fred. Sit down serene lady, and
compose yourself: you shall know
all, though I betray my indiscre-

‘M. B. (Sits again) Well, well!

‘Fred. I rely upon your genero-
sity—you shall know all.

‘Nan. (To Lisette, who now
stands with her)
Sure he won't tell,

‘Lis. I think we may trust him:
he has taken his degrees, and is
master of arts tho' only a bachelor.

‘Fred. Between ourselves, my
lady—but for heaven's sake do not
betray me—this letter is addressed
to the Lady Hensberg. I saw it
this morning, as I went to dress
her: it lay open on her toilette—
my eye caught a phraze—curiosity
was awakened—and, in short, I
whipt it into my powder-bag. If
you will permit, I will read it to
your ladyship.

‘M. B. You may read it my
friend—you may read it. Nannette,
go to your chamber.

‘Fred. O dear! my lady—a lit-
tle girl like that would not under-
stand it.

‘M. B. I am unwilling to let
children hear such things. But,
however, you may stay and take a
lesson against the wickedness of
the world, and the impudence of

‘Fred. (Reads, and addresses the
whole to Nannette.
) “Beautiful and
amiable creature”—

‘M. B. “Beautiful!” See, Nan-
nette, what gross flattery.

‘Fred. “I have only seen you
once, but my heart is yours for-
ever. As you came out of church

‘M. B. That's all she goes to
church for.

‘Fred. “Leaning on the arm
of your ugly old mother”—

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‘M. B. That's true enough, the
mother is an ugly old woman, and
as mischievous as a cat!

‘Lis. And as vain as a peacock.

‘Fred. And as stupid as a goose.

‘M. B. Mischievous, stupid, and
vain. An excellent picture. Ha!
ha! ha! Go on.

‘Fred. “You looked like Hebe,
led by the old Cybele. I am young,
rich, and love you unspeakably.
Accept the hand of a youth who
means honourably, and will deliver
you from the tyranny of a mother.”

‘M. B. That I never heard of
the mother—she does but too much
as the daughter wishes.

‘Fred. “Let us endeavour to
deceive her”—

‘M. B. That will not be difficult.

‘Lis. I think not, my lady.

‘Fred. “And if she continues
her odious tyranny and preposter-
ous jealousy, fly into the arms of
him who adores you.”

‘M. B. An elopement too! How
I shall laugh at the old woman!

‘Lis. I think the young gentle-
man has explained himself clearly

‘Nan. Very clearly.

‘M. B. (To Nannette) It must
be clear, indeed, if you could un-
derstand it.

‘Lis. What would you say, Miss,
if any one should write you such a

‘Nan. I would not suffer any
one to laugh at my mother.

‘Lis. Then you would dismiss
the flaming youth?

‘Nan. Why—no—not so—

‘M. B. How can you embarrass
the poor child by such questions?

‘Nan. Indeed, mamma, I am
very much embarrassed.

‘M. B. So, lady Hensberg is in
a secret correspondence with a
young unknown. Ha! ha! ha!

‘Fred. I have found him out

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‘M. B. Indeed! Who? who?

‘Fred. A certain Baron Welling-

‘M. B. Well, I must mention
this to three or four of my most in-
timate friends.

‘Enter Hair-Dresser.

‘Hair. A ha! me lady, pardon-
nez moi, I hope you have not vait.

‘M. B. Bless me! monsieur, are
you out of your bed?

‘Hair. “Me bed!” Ma foi, vy
I av a been up—up—up—

‘M. B. Yes, I know it—up to
the top of the steeple.

‘Hair. Steeple!

‘M. B. To dress St. Agathy's

‘Hair. Parblieu! me lady, vat

‘Lis. Did you not put her holy
hair in buckle?

‘Hair. Vat buckle?

‘Nan. And fall down seventy-
seven steps?

‘Hair. Seventy-seven?

‘Lis. And broke your leg?

‘Hair. Diable, vat you mean?

‘Fred. You might have broke
your leg, ha! you might have broke

‘Hair. Me broke a me leg?
A ha! (Capers.)

‘Fred. But you happily escaped
with a sprain. A sprain; ha?

‘Hair. Sprain! Vat you call

‘M. B. Why then did you send
your journeyman?

‘Hair. Me shoorneyman?

‘Fred. (Making signs to him)
Yes, sir, you know you sent me to
dress this lady.

‘Hair. For vat I sent you, ven
I have a good pair of legs myself;

‘Fred. But you do not dress
hair with your legs, sir.

‘Hair. Me lady, dis is some
treek—dis a fellow is imposteur.

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‘Fred. (Getting before him, and
offering him money with his hand be-
) Understand me.

‘Hair. For vat I understand?
Get out of de vay. I understand
you for von dam impudent fellow.
Ma foi! Vere is your certificate?

‘Fred. Here, here. (Endeavour-
ing to put money in his hand.

‘Hair. No here, here; nor dere,
dere—I vont sell a de trade to
vagabon—I vont sell a de bread
out a me mout.

‘Nan. Oh, Lisette! I am in an

‘M. B. This man then is not
your journeyman?

‘Hair. No more dan is your lap-
dog ma shoorneyman. He is im-

‘M. B. What has induced you to
intrude yourself into my presence?

‘Fred. (Somewhat in caricature)
It is vain any longer to attempt to
deceive a lady whose penetration
would baffle the art of the most ex-
perienced in the wiles of Cupid,
much more of me a simple youth.
I will confess, my lady—

‘Nan. It is all over with us,

‘Fred. I am a poor unfortunate
lad. I saw you, my lady, in your
yellow sattin gown—I had a glimpse
of you—need I say more?

‘M. B. What do you mean?

‘Fred. I remembered the old
saying, “a cat may look at a king.”
I gazed and was undone. If it is
a crime to love, let nature bear the
blame, who gave me such a heart,
you such a face.

‘M. B. Lisette give me my fan.

‘Lis. To hide her blushes or
her wrinkles? (Brings the fan, while
Frederick proceeds

‘Fred. My passion went hand
in hand with discretion. I only
wished to see you; to be near you:
and, as the means, fell upon this
innocent stratagem.

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‘Hair. Innocent! Ma foi! take
a de bread out a me mout!

‘Fred. But never should my
lips have uttered these words, but
for this untoward discovery. For
now I must be banished forever
from your presence. (Kneels.)
Punish me now! Complete the
work your charms have begun!

‘M. B. You are a foolish young
man. But rise. I pardon you.

‘Fred. Alas!—I must then go!
(Looking at Nannette.) But I leave
my heart behind.

‘M. B. Who told you you must
go? You are a foolish youth, but
you may be improved. You see,
monsieur, there is nothing to be
done with this young fellow.

‘Hair. Nothing to be done?
Ma foi! I go to de magistrate, and
put him in de ouse of correction.

‘M. B. If I pardon him, surely
you may.

‘Hair. He take a noting from
you me lady, but he spoil a me
trade. Pity me me lady—Listen
and pity.

‘SONG. Hair-dresser

‘Tink, me lady, only tink,
‘Take avay me meat and drink;
‘How shall make de kittle boil?
‘Vat shall do for vife and shile?
‘Do I havn't break me leg,
‘I shall have me bread to beg.

‘Den he tell de lie so big;—
‘Say I dress de steeple vig.
‘Now, me lady, as I live;
‘As I hope me sin forgive;
‘De only vig I dress in town,
‘Gracious lady, is—your own.

‘M. B. Vulgar fellow! In short,
sir, here is your money. I have a
right to be dressed by whom I please,
and I take this young man for my
valet de chambre.

‘Fred. (Kisses her hand) You
give me life again!

‘Hair. He dress hair? Only see
vat a fright he as made of your vig.

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‘M. B. That's nothing to you,
fellow. Begone!

‘Hair. I vill complain to de

‘Lis. Do you not hear, fellow?

‘Hair. I vill ave you vipt out a

‘M. B. My valet de chambre
whipt? You are an impudent fel-

‘Lis. A fool!

‘Nan. A brute!

‘Fred. An envious fellow! (Push-
ing him.

‘Hair. You take a de bread out
a me mout—

‘Fred. Away!

‘Hair. As to de lady, you ver
velcome to dress a her old stinking

‘Fred. Out of the house!'


‘FREDERICK (dressed like a hair-
dresser, with a power-bag under
his arm, puts his head into the door.

‘Fred. I beg pardon; do I come
right here?

‘Lis. (Laughing) Indeed in all
manner of shape.

‘Brumb. Whom are you looking
for, my friend?

‘Fred. I am looking for the ami-
able Baroness Brumbach.

‘Brumb. I am the same; but
speak with reverence.

‘Fred. In my country love and
reverence are inseparable.

‘Lis. (Aside to Nannette) Miss,
this is the young Baron.

‘Nan. (Cries) Ah!

‘Brumb. What ails you?

‘Nan. Nothing, dear mamma.

‘Lis. You frighten her so much
about the lovers.

‘Nan. Must I then run away
when I see one?

‘Brumb. Yes, if I am not present.

‘Fred. In this country children
become knowing very early.

‘Brumb. 'Tis so my friend; but
what's your desire?

‘Fred. I wish to have the honour
to put your silken locks into curls.

‘Brumb. You have taken this
trouble in vain: I have a hair-dres-

‘Fred. Quite right, he is my em-
ployer: he has been taken sick,
and sends me instead of him.

‘Brumb. So, so, what ails him

‘Fred. He—has broke his leg.

‘Brumb. Poor man: how did
that happen?

‘Fred. He went up the steeple
of St. Ann's church: on his return
he glided, and fell down seventy-
seven feet.

‘Brumb. Yes, yes, he that climbs
high falls low—Lisette, give me
my dressing-gown.

‘Lis. (Bringing the dressing-gown)
My friend, have you been a long
while at this trade?

‘Fred. I hope soon to be master
—(Begins dressing)

‘Lis. Then you'll marry, I sup-

‘Fred. (Looking stealingly at Nan-
) O yes, if my love is not re-

‘Brumb. What countryman are

‘Fred. I am an emigrant from
Alsace, if I am found out I am lost.

‘Brumb. You must take care.

‘Fred. I take all possible pains
to deceive all those who want to
be deceived.

‘Brumb. You are right. Have
you many customers in this city?

‘Fred. I forget them all when I
am with you, Baroness.

‘Brumb. You are a droll. Do
you dress the Baroness Hengst-

‘Fred. Baroness Hengstburg? O

‘Brumb. How old do you think
that lady may be?

‘Fred. Baroness Hengstburg?
—how old?—You, my lady,
might be her daughter.

‘Brumb. (Smiling) Not so old.
She is a few years younger than I.

‘Fred. Is it possible! (He shows
Nannette his letter—Lisette takes it
and gives it to her.

‘Brumb. But it is natural that she
looks so old. Irregular living.

‘Fred. If I was her husband, I
would keep her short.

‘Brumb. She is a widow.

‘Fred. True, she is a widow.

‘Brumb. No, they are separated.

‘Fred. Or separated, the same

‘Nan. (Is going away with the

‘Brumb. Where are you going?

‘Nan. To my room.

‘Brumb. Stay, you have nothing
to do there. (Nannette opens the
letter slily.

‘Brumb. Has the revolution
driven you from your country?

‘Fred. To my sorrow! They
wanted to force liberty upon me,
and (casting a glance on Nannette) I
love servitude so much—

‘Brumb. Hair-dressers are the
slaves of luxury.

‘Fred. I intended to fly to Eng-
land; but since Pitt has laid a tax
upon hair-powder, not much is to
be gained there.

‘Brumb. Lisette give me—(Turn-
ing her head she perceives Nannette
) He—Miss, what have
you got there?

‘Nan. (Frightened) Nothing,
dear mamma.

‘Brumb. Nothing? I will see
it. Here with it!

‘Nan. It is—it is—.

‘Lis. It is a paper—

‘Brumb. Will you obey?

‘Fred. Ah! most likely the let-
ter I had in my powder-bag.

‘Brumb. What letter?

‘Fred. Your roguish chamber-
maid, I dare say, has stole it out of
the bag.

‘Lis. You might have chosen a
more civil expression.

‘Brumb. Shall I soon be inform-
ed of the thing in question?

‘Fred. Between us, madam; but
you must not betray me: it is a let-
ter to the Baroness Hengstburg.

‘Brumb. To that lady? Let me
see it.

‘Fred. When I dressed her hair,
this morning, I found it upon the

‘Brumb. How imprudent!

‘Fred. And in that instant it was
in my bag. With your permission
I'll read it to you.

‘Brumb. Read my friend. Go
to your room, Nannette.

‘Fred. Why? the young Miss
will not understand any thing of it.

‘Brumb. Children should not
hear such things. Yet you may
stay to draw good advice from it.

‘Fred. (Reads, throwing glances
at Nannette
) “My dear amiable

‘Brumb. Very fine! she has grey
eyes, and freckles in her face.

‘Fred. (Reads) “I saw you
but once, but my heart is yours
for ever”—

‘Brumb. The fool! what is his

‘Fred. The letter has no signa-

‘Brumb. Read on.

‘Fred. (Reads) “When you
came from church yesterday”—

‘Brumb. From church! that wo-
man never goes to church.

‘Fred. (Reads) “At the side
of your ugly old mother”—

‘Brumb. True; her mother is
an ugly old woman, and as mali-
cious as a cat.

‘Lis. And as vain as a peacock.

‘Fred. And as stupid as a goose.

‘Brumb. Malicious, vain and
stupid, an excellent picture, ha!
ha! ha!

‘Fred. and Lis. Ha! ha! ha!
ha! ha!

‘Brumb. Proceed.

‘Fred. (Reads) “I am young,
rich, and in love with you”—

‘Brumb. Three fine things.

‘Fred. (Reads) “I love you

‘Brumb. My God! it becomes
quite flat.

‘Fred. (Reads) “Give your
hand to a young man, who means
it honest”—

‘Brumb. A lover's honesty is

‘Fred. (Reads) “Whose birth
is equal to yours, and who will de-
liver you from your mother's ty-

‘Brumb. I don't know that.
The mother complies with every
thing her daughter wants.

‘Fred. “Let us try to deceive
your mother”—

‘Brumb. That's not very difficult.

‘Fred. “And if all is in vain,
then you fly to the arms of him
who adores you.”

‘Brumb. Even an elopement?
This was yet wanting?—How I
shall laugh at the old woman!—
Is that tender pallaver at an end?

‘Fred. Not a syllable more.

‘Lis. But I think the young
gentleman has been very explicit.

‘Nan. Very explicit.

‘Brumb. He has, indeed, if even
you have understood it.

‘Lis. What would you say, Miss
Nannette, if such a letter was writ-
ten to you?

‘Nan. I would not suffer my
mother to be made a jest of.

‘Lis. Then you would reject
the ardent youth.

‘Nan. Not just that.

‘Brumb. How can you put the
poor child in such a confusion?

‘Nan. I am confused, indeed,
dear mamma.

‘Brumb. And so Baroness Hengst-
burg entertains a secret correspond-
ence with a young unknown one.

‘Fred. I know who he is.

‘Brumb. Well, quick!

‘Fred. A certain Baron Welling-

‘Brumb. Baron Wellinghorst?
aye! aye! at our tea-party this
evening I must communicate it to
four of my most intimate friends.

“Scene X. Enter a Hair-dresser.

‘Hair-dresser. Madam, your most
humble servant.

‘Brumb. My God, sir, have you
not broke your leg?

‘Hair-dr. Broke my leg?

‘Lis. Did you not get upon the
steeple of St. Ann's church?

‘Hair-dr. Upon St. Ann's stee-

‘Nan. And fell down seventy
and seven feet?

‘Fred. But you might have broke
your leg?

‘Hair-dr. Might have broke my

‘Fred. This time he got off with
a bruise.

‘Hair-dr. With a bruise? I do
not understand a word of all that.

‘Brumb. Why, then have you
sent your journeyman to me?

‘Fred. (Winking to him) My
dear master have you not ordered
me to dress this lady?

‘Hair-dr. Not at all! as long
as I have a sound pair of legs I
can serve my customers myself.

‘Fred. But you do not dress
hair with your legs—

‘Hair-dr. This fellow is an im-

‘Fred. (Tries to put some money
in his hands
) You do not under-
stand me right.

‘Hair-dr. There is nothing to
understand. I see you are a stu-
pid fellow; where are your custo-

‘Fred. (Endeavours again to put
money into his hands
)—Here, here.

‘Hair-dr. Nothing here! I have
a few sixpences yet to drink a pot
of beer with.

‘Nan. (Aside) I am frightened
to death!

‘Brumb. He is then not in your

‘Hair-dr. No more than your
Mops. He is an impostor, a vagrant.

‘Brumb. Young fellow! what
has put it into your head to intrude
yourself into my house?

‘Fred. (Collecting himself) Well,
I will confess it: I am an unfortu-
nate youth—I saw you, madam!
—I saw you!—is not that
saying all?

‘Brumb. And what is that to

‘Fred. If love is a crime, then
may he pardon me who made my
heart so feeling and you so charm-
ing!—I was seized with the most
violent passion, yet I did not lose
sight of modesty. The only wish
I had was to see you; to be
near you. I meditated on the
means, and fell upon this innocent
disguise. But my lips would never
have uttered, what forever may
drive me from your presence. (He
kneels down.
) Punish me now!
punish in me the power of your at-

‘Brumb. My friend, you either
tell a lie, or you are a fool. Get
up, I pardon you.

‘Fred. (Rises) Ah! I must be
gone! (With a glance at Nannette.)
But my heart remains behind!

‘Brumb. Who tells you that you
are to go? You are a young good-
for-nothing fellow, who might be
mended by reasonable correction
—You see, dear Mr. Hair-
dresser, that nothing can be done
with this young man.

‘Hair-dr. Nothing be done?
he must go to Bridewell.

‘Brumb. If I excuse his bold-
ness you may do the same.

‘Hair-dr. Your ladyship does
not lose a single cent by it, but he
quacks into my business.

‘Brumb. In short, master, there
is your money. I have a right to
be dressed by whom I please; I
take this young man into my ser-
vice, as valet de chambre.

‘Fred. (Kisses her hand with ec-
) You restore me to life again.

‘Hair-dr. But he does not un-
derstand hair-dressing. Only see
how he towzed your hair.

‘Brumb. That's nothing to you,
Be off!

‘Hair-dr. Take care, young fel-
low; I shall complain to the police
of you.

‘Lis. Don't you hear? you are
to go.

‘Hair-dr. I shall get you drum-
med out of town.

‘Brumb. Drum my valet de
chambre out of the city? you ruf-

‘Lis. He is a fool!

‘Nan. An unpolished fellow!

‘Fred. An envious rascal!

‘Hair-dr. You are a bread thief!
a good-for-nothing rogue!

‘Fred. and Lis. (Pushing him to-
wards the door
) Go! go! out with

Mr. D.'s plan of translation is
more extensive than that of Mr. S.
It comprehends all the German
plays which are or may be exhibit-
ed on the New-York Theatre. The
Wild-Goose Chase is the first of the
proposed series, which it is intended
to publish under the title of the
German Theatre. The lite-
rary life of the author, written by
himself, is perfixed by Mr. D. and
will be acceptable to the admirers
of Kotzebue. Those who are fond
of handsome books will be gratified
with the style in which this appears,
and with the engraved heads of the
author, and Mr. Hodgkinson, the
principal performer.

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