Egmont. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

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СКАЧАТЬ suffer it, Count, you, in whom the king confided so implicitly?"

      Machiavel. And what was his reply?

      Regent. As if it were a mere trifle, an affair of no moment, he answered: "Were the Netherlanders but satisfied as to their constitution! The rest would soon follow."

      Machiavel. There was, perhaps, more truth than discretion or piety in his words. How can we hope to acquire and to maintain the confidence of the Netherlander, when he sees that we are more interested in appropriating his possessions, than in promoting his welfare, temporal or spiritual? Does the number of souls saved by the new bishops exceed that of the fat benefices they have swallowed? And are they not for the most part foreigners? As yet, the office of stadtholder has been held by Netherlanders; but do not the Spaniards betray their great and irresistible desire to possess themselves of these places? Will not people prefer being governed by their own countrymen, and according to their ancient customs, rather than by foreigners, who, from their first entrance into the land, endeavour to enrich themselves at the general expense, who measure everything by a foreign standard, and who exercise their authority without cordiality or sympathy?

      Regent. You take part with our opponents?

      Machiavel. Assuredly not in my heart. Would that with my understanding I could be wholly on our side!

      Regent. If such your disposition, it were better I should resign the regency to them; for both Egmont and Orange entertained great hopes of occupying this position. Then they were adversaries, now they are leagued against me, and have become friends – inseparable friends.

      Machiavel. A dangerous pair.

      Regent. To speak candidly, I fear Orange. – I fear for Egmont. – Orange meditates some dangerous scheme, his thoughts are far-reaching, he is reserved, appears to accede to everything, never contradicts, and while maintaining the show of reverence, with clear foresight accomplishes his own designs.

      Machiavel. Egmont, on the contrary, advances with a bold step, as if the world were all his own.

      Regent. He bears his head as proudly as if the hand of majesty were not suspended over him.

      Machiavel. The eyes of all the people are fixed upon him, and he is the idol of their hearts.

      Regent. He has never assumed the least disguise, and carries himself as if no one had a right to call him to account. He still bears the name of Egmont. Count Egmont is the title by which he loves to hear himself addressed, as though he would fain be reminded that his ancestors were masters of Guelderland. Why does he not assume his proper title, – Prince of Gaure? What object has he in view? Would he again revive extinguished claims?

      Machiavel. I hold him for a faithful servant of the king.

      Regent. Were he so inclined, what important service could he not render to the government? Whereas, now, without benefiting himself, he has caused us unspeakable vexation. His banquets and entertainment have done more to unite the nobles and to knit them together than the most dangerous secret associations. With his toasts, his guests have drunk in a permanent intoxication, a giddy frenzy, that never subsides. How often have his facetious jests stirred up the minds of the populace? and what an excitement was produced among the mob by the new liveries, and the extravagant devices of his followers!

      Machiavel. I am convinced he had no design.

      Regent. Be that as it may, it is bad enough. As I said before, he injures us without benefiting himself. He treats as a jest matters of serious import; and, not to appear negligent and remiss, we are forced to treat seriously what he intended as a jest. Thus one urges on the other; and what we are endeavouring to avert is actually brought to pass. He is more dangerous than the acknowledged head of a conspiracy; and I am much mistaken if it is not all remembered against him at court. I cannot deny that scarcely a day passes in which he does not wound me – deeply wound me.

      Machiavel. He appears to me to act on all occasions, according to the dictates of his conscience.

      Regent. His conscience has a convenient mirror. His demeanour is often offensive. He carries himself as if he felt he were the master here, and were withheld by courtesy alone from making us feel his supremacy; as if he would not exactly drive us out of the country; there'll be no need for that.

      Machiavel. I entreat you, put not too harsh a construction upon his frank and joyous temper, which treats lightly matters of serious moment. You but injure yourself and him.

      Regent. I interpret nothing. I speak only of inevitable consequences, and I know him. His patent of nobility and the Golden Fleece upon his breast strengthen his confidence, his audacity. Both can protect him against any sudden outbreak of royal displeasure. Consider the matter closely, and he is alone responsible for the whole mischief that has broken out in Flanders. From the first, he connived at the proceedings of the foreign teachers, avoided stringent measures, and perhaps rejoiced in secret that they gave us so much to do. Let me alone; on this occasion, I will give utterance to that which weighs upon my heart; I will not shoot my arrow in vain. I know where he is vulnerable. For he is vulnerable.

      Machiavel. Have you summoned the council? Will Orange attend?

      Regent. I have sent for him to Antwerp. I will lay upon their shoulders the burden of responsibility; they shall either strenuously co-operate with me in quelling the evil, or at once declare themselves rebels. Let the letters be completed without delay, and bring them for my signature. Then hasten to despatch the trusty Vasca to Madrid, he is faithful and indefatigable; let him use all diligence, that he may not be anticipated by common report, that my brother, may receive the intelligence first through him. I will myself speak with him ere he departs.

      Machiavel. Your orders shall be promptly and punctually obeyed.

      SCENE III. – Citizen's House

      Clara, her Mother, Brackenburg

      Clara. Will you not hold the yarn for me, Brackenburg?

      Brackenburg. I entreat you, excuse me, Clara.

      Clara. What ails you? Why refuse me this trifling service?

      Brackenburg. When I hold the yarn, I stand as it were spell-bound before you, and cannot escape your eyes.

      Clara. Nonsense! Come and hold!

      Mother (knitting in her arm-chair). Give us a song! You used to be merry once, and I had always something to laugh at.

      Brackenburg. Once!

      Clara. Well, let us sing.

      Brackenburg. As you please.

      Clara. Merrily, then, and sing away! 'Tis a soldier's song, my favourite.

      (She winds yarn, and sings with Brackenburg.)

      The drum is resounding,

      And shrill the fife plays;

      My love, for the battle,

      His brave troop arrays;

      He lifts his lance high,

      And the people he sways.

      My blood it is boiling!

      My heart throbs pit-pat!

      Oh, had I a jacket,

      With hose and with hat!

      How boldly I'd follow,

      And march through the gate;

      Through all the wide province

      I'd follow him СКАЧАТЬ