FREDERICK. You are mistaken—My father does not discard me for my vices—He does not know me—has never seen me—He abandoned me, even before I was born. BARON. What do you say? FREDERICK. The tears of my mother are all that I inherit from my father. Never has he protected or supported me—never protected her. BARON. Why don’t you apply to his relations? FREDERICK. They disown me, too—I am, they say, related to no one—All the world disclaim me, except my mother—and there again, I have to thank my father. BARON. How so? FREDERICK. Because I am an illegitimate son.—My seduced mother has brought me up in patient misery. Industry enabled her to give me an education; but the days of my youth commenced with hardship, sorrow, and danger.—My companions lived happy around me, and had a pleasing prospect in their view, while bread and water only were my food, and no hopes joined to sweeten it. But my father felt not that! BARON. [_to himself_]. He touches my heart. FREDERICK. After five years’ absence from my mother, I returned this very day, and found her dying in the streets for want—Not even a hut to shelter her, or a pallet of straw—But my father, he feels not that! He lives in a palace, sleeps on the softest down, enjoys all the luxuries of the great; and when he dies, a funeral sermon will praise his great benevolence, his Christian charities. BARON. [_greatly agitated_]. What is your father’s name? FREDERICK. —He took advantage of an innocent young woman, gained her affection by flattery and false promises; gave life to an unfortunate being, who was on the point of murdering his father. BARON. [_shuddering_]. Who is he? FREDERICK. Baron Wildenhaim. [_The_ Baron’s _emotion expresses the sense of amazement, guilt, shame, and horror_.] FREDERICK. In this house did you rob my mother of her honour; and in this house I am a sacrifice for the crime. I am your prisoner—I will not be free—I am a robber—I give myself up.—You _shall_ deliver me into the hands of justice—You shall accompany me to the spot of public execution. You shall hear in vain the chaplain’s consolation and injunctions. You shall find how I, in despair, will, to the last moment, call for retribution on my father. BARON. Stop! Be pacified— FREDERICK. —And when you turn your head from my extended corse, you will behold my weeping mother—Need I paint how her eyes will greet you? BARON. Desist—barbarian, savage, stop! _Enter_ Anhalt _alarmed._ MR. ANHALT. What do I hear? What is this? Young man, I hope you have not made a second attempt. FREDERICK. Yes; I have done what it was your place to do. I have made a sinner tremble [_points to the_ Baron _and exit_.] MR. ANHALT. What can this mean?—I do not comprehend— BARON. He is my son!—He is my son!—Go, Anhalt,—advise me—help me—Go to the poor woman, his mother—He can show you the way—make haste—speed to protect her— MR. ANHALT. But what am I to——