Egmont: Act II

Act II

SCENE I.--Square in Brussels

Jetter and a Master Carpenter (meeting)

Carpenter. Did I not tell you beforehand? Eight days ago, at the guild, I
said there would be serious disturbances?

Jetter. Is it, then, true that they have plundered the churches in Flanders?

Carpenter. They have utterly destroyed both churches and chapels. They
have left nothing standing but the four bare walls. The lowest rabble! And
this it is that damages our good cause. We ought rather to have laid our
claims before the Regent, formally and decidedly, and then have stood by
them. If we speak now, if we assemble now, it will be said that we are
joining the insurgents.

Jetter. Ay, so every one thinks at first. Why should you thrust your nose
into the mess? The neck is closely connected with it.

Carpenter. I am always uneasy when tumults arise among the mob--among
people who have nothing to lose. They use as a pretext that to which we
also must appeal, and plunge the country in misery.

[Enter Soest.

Soest. Good day, sirs! What news? Is it true that the image-breakers are
coming straight in this direction?

Carpenter. Here they shall touch nothing, at any rate.

Soest. A soldier came into my shop just now to buy tobacco; I questioned
him about the matter. The Regent, though so brave and prudent a lady, has
for once lost her presence of mind. Things must be bad indeed when she
thus takes refuge behind her guards. The castle is strongly garrisoned. It is
even rumoured that she means to fly from the town.

Carpenter. Forth she shall not go! Her presence protects us, and we will
ensure her safety better than her mustachioed gentry. If she only maintains
our rights and privileges, we will stand faithfully by her.

[Enter a Soapboiler.

Soapboiler. An ugly business this! a bad business! Troubles are beginning;
all things are going wrong! Mind you keep quiet, or they'll take you also
for rioters.

Soest. Here come the seven wise men of Greece.

Soapboiler. I know there are many who in secret hold with the Calvinists,
abuse the bishops, and care not for the king. But a loyal subject, a sincere
Catholic!--

(By degrees others join the speakers, and listen.)

[Enter Vansen.

Vansen. God save you, sirs! What news?

Carpenter. Have nothing to do with him, he's a dangerous fellow.

Jetter. Is he not secretary to Dr. Wiets?

Carpenter. He has already had several masters. First he was a clerk, and as
one patron after another turned him off, on account of his roguish tricks,
he now dabbles in the
business of notary and advocate, and is a brandy-drinker to boot. (More
people gather round and stand in groups.)

Vansen. So here you are, putting your heads together.
Well, it is worth talking about.

Soest. I think so too.

Vansen. Now if only one of you had heart and another head enough for the
work, we might break the Spanish fetters at once.

Soest. Sirs! you must not talk thus. We have taken our oath to the king.

Vansen. And the king to us. Mark that!

Jetter. There's sense in that? Tell us your opinion.

Others. Hearken to him; he's a clever fellow. He's sharp enough. I had an
old master once, who possessed a collection of parchments, among which
were charters of ancient constitutions, contracts, and privileges. He set
great store, too, by the rarest books. One of these contained our whole
constitution; how, at first, we Netherlanders had princes of our own, who
governed according to hereditary laws, rights, and usages; how our
ancestors paid due honour to their sovereign so long as he governed them
equitably; and how they were immediately on their guard the moment he
was for overstepping his bounds. The states were down upon him at once;
for every province, however small, had its own chamber and
representatives.

Carpenter. Hold your tongue! We knew that long ago! Every honest
citizen learns as much about the constitution as he needs.

Jetter. Let him speak; one may always learn something.

Soest. He is quite right.

Several Citizens. Go on! Go on! One does not hear this every day.

Vansen. You citizens, forsooth! You live only in the present; and as you
tamely follow the trade inherited from your fathers, so you let the
government do with you just as it pleases. You make no inquiry into the
origin, the history, or the rights of a Regent; and in consequence of this
negligence, the Spaniard has drawn the net over your
ears.

Soest. Who cares for that, if one has only daily bread?

Jetter. The devil! Why did not some one come forward and tell us this in
time?

Vansen. I tell it you now. The King of Spain, whose good fortune it is to
bear sway over these provinces, has no right to govern them otherwise
than the petty princes who formerly possessed them separately. Do you
understand that?

Jetter. Explain it to us.

Vansen. Why, it is as dear as the sun. Must you not be governed according
to your provincial laws? How comes that?

A Citizen. Certainly!

Vansen. Has not the burgher of Brussels a different law from the burgher
of Antwerp? The burgher of Antwerp from the burgher of Ghent? How
comes that?

Another Citizen. By heavens!

Vansen. But if you let matters run on thus, they will soon tell you a
different story. Fie on you! Philip, through a woman, now ventures to do
what neither Charles the Bold, Frederick the Warrior, nor Charles the Fifth
could accomplish.

Soest. Yes, yes! The old princes tried it also.

Vansen. Ay! But our ancestors kept a sharp look-out. If they thought
themselves aggrieved by their sovereign, they would perhaps get his son
and heir into their hands, detain him as a hostage, and surrender him only
on the most favourable conditions. Our fathers were men! They knew their
own interests! They knew how to lay hold on what they wanted, and to get
it established! They were men of the right sort! and hence it is that our
privileges are so dearly defined, our liberties so well secured.

Soest. What are you saying about our liberties?

All. Our liberties! our privileges! Tell us about our privileges.

Vansen. All the provinces have their peculiar advantages, but we of
Brabant are the most splendidly provided for. I have read it all.

Soest. Say on.

Jetter. Let us hear.

A Citizen. Pray do.

Vansen. First, it stands written:--The Duke of Brabant shall be to us a
good and faithful sovereign.

Soest. Good! Stands it so?

Jetter. Faithful? Is that true?

Vansen. As I tell you. He is bound to us as we are to him. Secondly: In the
exercise of his authority he shall neither exert arbitrary power, nor exhibit
caprice, himself, nor shall he, either directly or indirectly, sanction them in
others.

Jetter. Bravo! Bravo! Not exert arbitrary power.

Soest. Nor exhibit caprice.

Another. And not sanction them in others! That is the main point. Not
sanction them, either directly or indirectly.

Vansen. In express words.

Jetter. Get us the book.

A Citizen. Yes, we must see it.

Others. The book! The book!

Another. We will to the Regent with the book.

Another. Sir doctor, you shall be spokesman.

Soapboiler. Oh, the dolts!

Others. Something more out of the book!

Soapboiler. I'll knock his teeth down his throat if he says another word.

People. We'll see who dares to lay hands upon him. Tell us about our
privileges! Have we any more privileges?

Vansen. Many, very good and very wholesome ones too. Thus it stands:
The sovereign shall neither benefit the clergy, nor increase their number,
without the consent of the nobles and of the states. Mark that! Nor shall he
alter the constitution of the country.

Soest. Stands it so?

Vansen. I'll show it you, as it was written down two or three centuries ago.

A Citizen. And we tolerate the new bishops? The nobles must protect us,
we will make a row else!

Others. And we suffer ourselves to be intimidated by the Inquisition?

Vansen. It is your own fault.

People. We have Egmont! We have Orange! They will protect our
interests.

Vansen. Your brothers in Flanders are beginning the good work.

Soapboiler. Dog! (Strikes him.)

(Others oppose the Soapboiler, and exclaim,) Are you also a Spaniard?

Another. What! This honourable man?

Another. This learned man?

(They attack the Soapboiler.)

Carpenter. For heaven's sake, peace!

(Others mingle in the fray.)

Carpenter. Citizens, what means this?

(Boys whistle, throw stones, set on dogs; citizens stand and gape, people
come running up, others walk quietly to and fro, others play all sorts of
pranks, shout and huzza.)

Others. Freedom and privilege! Privilege and freedom!

[Enter Egmont, with followers.

Egmont. Peace! Peace! good people. What is the matter? Peace, I say!
Separate them.

Carpenter. My good lord, you come like an angel from heaven. Hush! See
you nothing? Count Egmont! Honour to Count Egmont!

Egmont. Here, too! What are you about? Burgher against burgher! Does
not even the neighbourhood of our royal mistress oppose a barrier to this
frenzy? Disperse yourselves, and go about your business. 'Tis a bad sign
when you thus keep holiday on working days. How did the disturbance
begin?

(The tumult gradually subsides, and the people gather around Egmont.)

Carpenter. They are fighting about their privileges.

Egmont. Which they will forfeit through their own folly,--and who are
you? You seem honest people.

Carpenter. 'Tis our wish to be so.

Egmont. Your calling?

Carpenter. A Carpenter, and master of the guild.

Egmont. And you?

Soest. A shopkeeper.

Egmont. And you?

Jetter. A tailor.

Egmont. I remember, you were employed upon the liveries of my people.
Your name is Jetter.

Jetter. To think of your grace remembering it!

Egmont. I do not easily forget any one whom I have seen or conversed
with. Do what you can, good people, to keep the peace; you stand in bad
repute enough already. Provoke not the king still farther. The power, after
all, is in his hands. An honest burgher, who maintains himself
industriously, has everywhere as much freedom as he wants.

Carpenter. That now is just our misfortune! With all due deference, your
grace, 'tis the idle portion of the community, your drunkards and
vagabonds, who quarrel for want of something to do, and clamour about
privilege because they are hungry; they impose upon the curious and the
credulous, and, in order to obtain a pot of beer, excite disturbances that
will bring misery upon thousands. That is just what they want. We keep
our houses and chests too well guarded; they would fain drive us away
from them with fire-brands.

Egmont. You shall have all needful assistance; measures have been taken
to stem the evil by force. Make a firm stand against the new doctrines, and
do not imagine that privileges are secured by sedition, Remain at home;
suffer no crowds to assemble in the streets. Sensible people can
accomplish much.

(In the meantime the crowd has for the most part dispersed.)

Carpenter. Thanks, your excellency--thanks for your good opinion! We
will do what in us lies. (Exit Egmont.) A gracious lord! A true
Netherlander! Nothing of the Spaniard about him.

Jetter. If we had only him for a Regent? 'Tis a pleasure to follow him.

Soest. The king won't hear of that. He takes care to appoint his own people
to the place.

Jetter. Did you notice his dress? It was of the newest fashion--after the
Spanish cut.

Carpenter. A handsome gentleman.

Jetter. His head now were a dainty morsel for a heads-man.

Soest. Are you mad? What are you thinking about?

Jetter. It is stupid enough that such an idea should come into one's head!
But so it is. Whenever I see a fine long neck, I cannot help thinking how
well it would suit the block. These cursed executions! One cannot get
them out of one's head. When the lads are swimming, and I chance to see a
naked back, I think forthwith of the dozens I have seen beaten with rods. If
I meet a portly gentleman, I fancy I already see him roasting at the stake.
At night, in my dreams, I am tortured in every limb; one cannot have a
single hour's enjoyment; all merriment and fun have long been forgotten.
These terrible images seem burnt in upon my brain.

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! 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 destiny 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 fulfil 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 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 his 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's 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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