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Act IIScene II
Scene II
Egmont`s residence
His Secretary (at a desk with papers. He rises impatiently)
Secretary. Still he comes not! And I have been waiting already full two
hours, pen in hand, the paper before me; and just to-day I was anxious to be
out so early. The floor burns under my feet. I can with difficulty restrain my
impatience. "Be punctual to the hour." Such was his parting injunction; now he
comes not. There is so much business to get through, I shall not have finished
before midnight. He overlooks one`s faults, it is true; methinks it would be
better though, were he more strict, so he dismissed one at the appointed time.
One could then arrange one`s plans. It is now full two hours since he left the
Regent; who knows whom he may have chanced to meet by the way?
Enter Egmont
Egmont. Well, how do matters look?
Secretary. I am ready, and three couriers are waiting.
Egmont. I have detained you too long; you look somewhat out of humour.
Secretary. In obedience to your command I have already been in attendance
for some time. Here are the papers!
Egmont. Donna Elvira will be angry with me, when she learns that I have
detained you.
Secretary. You are pleased to jest.
Egmont. No, no. Be not ashamed. I admire your taste. She is pretty, and I
have no objection that you should have a friend at the castle. What say the
letters?
Secretary. Much, my lord, but withal little that is satisfactory.
Egmont. `Tis well that we have pleasures at home, we have the less
occasion to seek them from abroad. Is there much that requires attention?
Secretary. Enough, my lord; three couriers are in attendance.
Egmont. Proceed! The most important.
Secretary. All is important.
Egmont. One after the other; only be prompt.
Secretary. Captain Breda sends an account of the occurrences that have
further taken place in Ghent and the surrounding districts. The tumult is for
the most part allayed.
Egmont. He doubtless reports individual acts of folly and temerity?
Secretary. He does, my lord.
Egmont. Spare me the recital.
Secretary. Six of the mob who tore down the image of the Virgin at
Verviers have been arrested. He inquires whether they are to be hanged like
the others.
Egmont. I am weary of hanging; let them be flogged and discharged.
Secretary. There are two women among them; are they to be flogged also?
Egmont. He may admonish them and let them go.
Secretary. Brink, of Breda`s company, wants to marry; the captain hopes
you will not allow it. There are so many women among the troops, he writes,
that when on the march, they resemble a gang of gypsies rather than regular
soldiers.
Egmont. We must overlook it in his case. He is a fine young fellow, and
moreover entreated me so earnestly before I came away. This must be the last
time, however; though it grieves me to refuse the poor fellows their best
pastime; they have enough without that to torment them.
Secretary. Two of your people, Seter and Hart, have ill-treated a
damsel, the daughter of an inn-keeper. They got her alone and she could not
escape from them.
Egmont. If she be an honest maiden and they used violence, let them be
flogged three days in succession; and if they have any property, let him
retain as much of it as will portion the girl.
Secretary. One of the foreign preachers has been discovered passing
secretly through Comines. He swore that he was on the point of leaving for
France. According to orders, he ought to be beheaded.
Egmont. Let him be conducted quietly to the frontier, and there
admonished that, the next time, he will not escape so easily.
Secretary. A letter from your steward. He writes that money comes in
slowly, he can with difficulty send you the required sum within the week; the
late disturbances have thrown everything into the greatest confusion.
Egmont. Money must be had! It is for him to look to the means.
Secretary. He says he will do his utmost, and at length proposes to sue
and imprison Raymond, who has been so long in your debt.
Egmont. But he has promised to pay!
Secretary. The last time he fixed a fortnight himself.
Egmont. Well, grant him another fortnight; after that he may proceed
against him.
Secretary. You do well. His non-payment of the money proceeds not from
inability, but from want of inclination. He will trifle no longer when he sees
that you are in earnest. The steward further proposes to withhold, for half a
month, the pensions which you allow to the old soldiers, widows, and others.
In the meantime some expedient may be devised; they must make their
arrangements accordingly.
Egmont. But what arrangements can be made here? These poor people want
the money more than I do. He must not think of it.
Secretary. How then, my lord, is he to raise the required sum?
Egmont. It is his business to think of that. He was told so in a former
letter.
Secretary. And therefore he makes these proposals.
Egmont. They will never do; - he must think of something else. Let him
suggest expedients that are admissible, and, before all, let him procure the
money.
Secretary. I have again before me the letter from Count Oliva. Pardon my
recalling it to your remembrance. Before all others, the aged count deserves a
detailed reply. You proposed writing to him with your own hand. Doubtless, he
loves you as a father.
Egmont. I cannot command the time; - and of all detestable things,
writing is to me the most detestable. You imitate my hand so admirably, do you
write in my name. I am expecting Orange. I cannot do it; - I wish, however,
that something soothing should be written, to allay his fears.
Secretary. Just give me a notion of what you wish to communicate; I will
at once draw up the answer, and lay it before you. It shall be so written that
it might pass for your hand in a court of justice.
Egmont. Give me the letter. (After glancing over it.) Dear, excellent,
old man! Wert thou then so cautious in thy youth? Didst thou never mount a
breach? Didst thou remain in the rear of battle at the suggestion of prudence?
- What affectionate solicitude! He has indeed my safety and happiness at
heart, but considers not, that he who lives but to save his life, is already
dead. -
Charge him not to be anxious on my account; I act as circumstances require,
and shall be upon my guard. Let him use his influence at court in my favour,
and be assured of my warmest thanks.
Secretary. Is that all? He expects still more.
Egmont. What can I say? If you choose to write more fully, do so. The
matter turns upon a single point; he would have me live as I cannot live. That
I am joyous, live fast, take matters easily, is my good fortune; nor would I
exchange it for the safety of a sepulchre. My blood rebels against the Spanish
mode of life, nor have I the least inclination to regulate my movements by the
new and cautious measures of the court. Do I live only to think of life? Am I
to forego the enjoyment of the present moment in order to secure the next? And
must that in its turn be consumed in anxieties and idle fears?
Secretary. I entreat you, my lord, be not so harsh towards the venerable
man. You are wont to be friendly towards every one. Say a kindly word to allay
the anxiety of your noble friend. See how considerate he is, with what
delicacy he warns you.
Egmont. Yet he harps continually on the same string. He knows of old how
I detest these admonitions. They serve only to perplex and are of no avail.
What if I were a somnambulist, and trod the giddy summit of a lofty house, -
were it the part of friendship to call me by my name, to warn me of my danger,
to waken, to kill me? Let each choose his own path, and provide for his own
safety.
Secretary. It may become you to be without a fear, but those who know and
love you -
Egmont (looking over the letter). Then he recalls the old story of our
sayings and doings, one evening, in the wantonness of conviviality and wine;
and what conclusions and inferences were thence drawn and circulated
throughout the whole kingdom! Well, we had a cap and bells embroidered on the
sleeves of our servants` liveries, and afterwards exchanged this senseless
device for a bundle of arrows; - a still more dangerous symbol for those who
are bent upon discovering a meaning where nothing is meant. These and similar
follies were conceived and brought forth in a moment of merriment. It was at
our suggestion that a noble troop, with beggars` wallets, and a self-chosen
nickname, with mock humility recalled the King`s duty to his remembrance. It
was at our suggestion too - well, what does it signify? Is a carnival jest to
be construed into high treason? Are we to be grudged the scanty, variegated
rags, wherewith a youthful spirit and heated imagination would adorn the poor
nakedness of life? Take life too seriously, and what is it worth? If the
morning wake us to no new joys, if in the evening we have no pleasures to hope
for, is it worth the trouble of dressing and undressing? Does the sun shine on
me to-day, that I may reflect on what happened yesterday? That I may
endeavour to foresee and control, what can neither be foreseen nor controlled,
- the density of the morrow? Spare me these reflections, we will leave them to
scholars and courtiers. Let them ponder and contrive, creep hither and
thither, and surreptitiously achieve their ends. - If you can make use of
these suggestions, without swelling your letter into a volume, it is well.
Everything appears of exaggerated importance to the good old man. `Tis thus
the friend, who has long held our hand, grasps it more warmly ere he quits his
hold.
Secretary. Pardon me, the pedestrian grows dizzy when he beholds the
charioteer drive past with whirling speed.
Egmont. Child! Child! Forbear! As if goaded by invisible spirits, the sun
- steeds of time bear onward the light car of our destiny; and nothing remains
for us but, with calm self-possession, firmly to grasp the reins, and now
right, now left, to steer the wheels here from the precipice and there from
the rock. Whither he is hasting, who knows? Does any one consider whence he
came?
Secretary. My lord! my lord!
Egmont. I stand high, but I can and must rise yet higher. Courage,
strength, and hope possess my soul. Not yet have I attained the height of my
ambition; that once achieved, I will stand firmly and without fear. Should I
fall, should a thunder-clap, a storm-blast, ay, a false step of my own,
precipitate me into the abyss, so be it! I shall lie there with thousands of
others. I have never disdained, even for a trifling stake, to throw the bloody
die with my gallant comrades; and shall I hesitate now, when all that is most
precious in life is set upon the cast?
Secretary. Oh, my lord! you know not what you say! May Heaven protect
you!
Egmont. Collect your papers. Orange is coming. Dispatch what is most
urgent, that the couriers may set forth before the gates are closed. The rest
may wait. Leave the Count`s letter till to-morrow. Fail not to visit Elvira,
and greet her from me. Inform yourself concerning the Regent`s health. She
cannot be well, though she would fain conceal it. [Exit Secretary.
Enter Orange
Egmont. Welcome, Orange; you appear somewhat disturbed.
Orange. What say you to our conference with the Regent?
Egmont. I found nothing extraordinary in her manner of receiving us. I
have often seen her thus before. She appeared to me to be somewhat indisposed.
Orange. Marked you not that she was more reserved than usual? She began
by cautiously approving our conduct during the late insurrection; glanced at
the false light in which, nevertheless, it might be viewed: and finally turned
the discourse to her favourite topic - that her gracious demeanour, her
friendship for us Netherlanders, had never been sufficiently recognized, never
appreciated as it deserved; that nothing came to a prosperous issue; that for
her part she was beginning to grow weary of it; that the king must at last
resolve upon other measures. Did you hear that?
Egmont. Not all; I was thinking at the time of something else. She is a
woman, good Orange, and all women expect that every one shall submit passively
to their gentle yoke; that every Hercules shall lay aside his lion`s skin,
assume the distaff, and swell their train; and, because they are themselves
peaceably inclined, imagine forsooth, that the ferment which seizes a nation,
the storm which powerful rivals excite against one another, may be allayed by
one soothing word, and the most discordant elements be brought to unite in
tranquil harmony at their feet. `Tis thus with her; and since she cannot
accomplish her object, why she has no resource left but to lose her temper, to
menace us with direful prospects for the future, and to threaten to take her
departure.
Orange. Think you not that this time she will fulfill her threat?
Egmont. Never! How often have I seen her actually prepared for the
journey? Whither should she go? Being here a stadtholder, a queen, think you
that she could endure to spend her days in insignificance at her brother`s
court, or to repair to Italy, and there drag on her existence among her old
family connections?
Orange. She is held incapable of this determination, because you have
already seen her hesitate and draw back; nevertheless, it lies in her to take
this step; new circumstances may impel her to the long-delayed resolve. What
if she were to depart, and the king to send another?
Egmont. Why, he would come, and he also would have business enough upon
his hands. He would arrive with vast projects and schemes to reduce all things
to order, to subjugate and combine; and to-day he would be occupied with
this trifle, to-morrow with that, and the day following have to deal with
some unexpected hindrance. He would spend one month in forming plans, another
in mortification at their failure, and half a year would be consumed in cares
for a single province. With him also time would pass, his head grow dizzy, and
things hold on their ordinary course, till instead of sailing into the open
sea, according to the plan which he had previously marked out, he might thank
God, if, amid the tempest, he were able to keep his vessel off the rocks.
Orange. What if the king were advised to try an experiment?
Egmont. Which should be -?
Orange. To try how the body would get on without the head.
Egmont. How?
Orange. Egmont, our interests have for years weighed upon my heart; I
ever stand as over a chess-board, and regard no move of my adversary as
insignificant; and as men of science carefully investigate the secrets of
nature, so I hold it to be the duty, ay, the very vocation of a prince, to
acquaint himself with the dispositions and intentions of all parties. I have
reason to fear an outbreak. The king has long acted according to certain
principles; he finds that they do not lead to a prosperous issue; what more
probable than that he should seek it some other way?
Egmont. I do not believe it. When a man grows old, has attempted much,
and finds that the world cannot be made to move according to his will, he must
needs grow weary of it at last.
Orange. One thing has yet to be attempted.
Egmont. What?
Orange. To spare the people, and to put an end to the princes.
Egmont. How many have long been haunted by this dread? There is no cause
for such anxiety.
Orange. Once I felt anxious; gradually I became suspicious; suspicion has
at length grown into certainty.
Egmont. Has the king more faithful servants than ourselves?
Orange. We serve him after our own fashion; and, between ourselves, it
must be confessed that we understand pretty well how to make the interests of
the king square with our own.
Egmont. And who does not? He has our duty and submission, in so far as
they are his due.
Orange. But what if he should arrogate still more, and regard as
disloyalty what we esteem the maintenance of our just rights?
Egmont. We shall know in that case how to defend ourselves. Let him
assemble the Knights of the Golden Fleece; we will submit ourselves to their
decision.
Orange. What if the sentence were to precede the trial? punishment, the
sentence?
Egmont. It were an injustice of which Philip is incapable; a folly which
I cannot impute either to him or to his counsellors.
Orange. And how if they were both unjust and foolish?
Egmont. No, Orange, it is impossible. Who would venture to lay hands on
us? The attempt to capture us were a vain and fruitless enterprize. No, they
dare not raise the standard of tyranny so high. The breeze that should waft
these tidings over the land would kindle a mighty conflagration. And what
object would they have in view? The king alone has no power either to judge or
to condemn us and would they attempt our lives by assassination? They cannot
intend it. A terrible league would unite the entire people. Direful hate and
eternal separation from the crown of Spain would, on the instant, be forcibly
declared.
Orange. The flames would then rage over our grave, and the blood of our
enemies flow, a vain oblation. Let us consider, Egmont.
Egmont. But how could they effect this purpose?
Orange. Alva is on the way.
Egmont. I do not believe it.
Orange. I know it.
Egmont. The Regent appeared to know nothing of it.
Orange. And, therefore, the stronger is my conviction. The Regent will
give place to him. I know his blood-thirsty disposition, and he brings an
army with him.
Egmont. To harass the provinces anew? The people will be exasperated to
the last degree.
Orange. Their leaders will be secured.
Egmont. No! No!
Orange. Let us retire, each to his province. There we can strengthen
ourselves; the duke will not begin with open violence.
Egmont. Must we not greet him when he comes?
Orange. We will delay.
Egmont. What if, on his arrival, he should summon us in the king`s name?
Orange. We will answer evasively.
Egmont. And if he is urgent?
Orange. We will excuse ourselves.
Egmont. And if he insist?
Orange. We shall be the less disposed to come.
Egmont. Then war is declared; and we are rebels. Do not suffer prudence
to mislead you, Orange. I know it is not fear that makes you yield. Consider
this step.
Orange. I have considered it.
Egmont. Consider for what you are answerable if you are wrong. For the
most fatal war that ever yet desolated a country. Your refusal is the signal
that at once summons the provinces to arms, that justifies every cruelty for
which Spain has hitherto so anxiously sought a pretext. With a single nod you
will excite to the direst confusion what, with patient effort, we have so long
kept in abeyance. Think of the towns, the nobles, the people; think of
commerce, agriculture, trade! Realize the murder, the desolation! Calmly the
soldier beholds him comrade fall beside him in the battlefield. But towards
you, carried downwards by the stream, shall float the corpses of citizens, of
children, of maidens, till, aghast with horror, you shall no longer know whose
cause you are defending, since you shall see those, for whose liberty you drew
the sword, perishing around you. And what will be your emotions when
conscience whispers, "It was for my own safety that I drew it"?
Orange. We are not ordinary men, Egmont. If it becomes us to sacrifice
ourselves for thousands, it becomes us no less to spare ourselves for
thousands.
Egmont. He who spares himself becomes an object of suspicion ever to
himself.
Orange. He who is sure of his own motives can, with confidence, advance
or retreat.
Egmont. Your own act will render certain the evil that you dread.
Orange. Wisdom and courage alike prompt us to meet an inevitable evil.
Egmont. When the danger is imminent the faintest hope should be taken
into account.
Orange. We have not the smallest footing left; we are on the very brink
of the precipice.
Egmont. Is the king`s favour on ground so narrow?
Orange. Not narrow, perhaps, but slippery.
Egmont. By heavens! he is belied. I cannot endure that he should be so
meanly thought of! He is Charles` son, and incapable of meanness.
Orange. Kings of course do nothing mean.
Egmont. He should be better known.
Orange. Our knowledge counsels us not to await the result of a dangerous
experiment.
Egmont. No experiment is dangerous, the result of which we have the
courage to meet.
Orange. You are irritated, Egmont.
Egmont. I must see with my own eyes.
Orange. Oh that for once you saw with mine! My friend, because your eyes
are open, you imagine that you see. I go! Await Alva`s arrival, and God be
with you! My refusal to do so may perhaps save you. The dragon may deem the
prey not worth seizing, if he cannot swallow us both. Perhaps he may delay, in
order more surely to execute his purpose; in the meantime you may see matters
in their true light. But then, be prompt! Lose not a moment! Save, - oh, save
yourself! Farewell! - Let nothing escape your vigilance: - how many troops he
brings with him; how he garrisons the town; what force the Regent retains; how
your friends are prepared. Send me tidings - Egmont -
Egmont. What would you?
Orange (grasping his hand). Be persuaded! Go with me!
Egmont. How! Tears, Orange!
Orange. To weep for a lost friend is not unmanly.
Egmont. You deem me lost?
Orange. You are lost! Consider! Only a brief respite is left you.
Farewell. [Exit.
Egmont (alone). Strange that the thoughts of other men should exert such
an influence over us. These fears would never have entered my mind; and this
man infects me with his solicitude. Away! `Tis a foreign drop in my blood!
Kind nature, cast it forth! And to erase the furrowed lines from my brow there
yet remains indeed a friendly means.
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