Clara (enters from her chamber with a lamp and a glass of water; she
places the glass upon the table and steps to the window).
Brackenburg, is it you? What noise was that? No one yet? No one! I will
set the lamp in the window, that he may see that I am still awake,
that I still watch for him. He promised me tidings. Tidings? horrible
certainty!--Egmont condemned!--what tribunal has the right to summon
him?--And they dare to condemn him!--Does the king condemn him, or the
duke? And the Regent withdraws herself! Orange hesitates, and all his
friends!--Is this the world, of whose fickleness and treachery I have
heard so much, and as yet experienced nothing? Is this the world?--Who
could be so base as to hear malice against one so dear? Could villainy
itself be audacious enough to overwhelm with sudden destruction the
object of a nation's homage? Yet so it is--it is-O Egmont, I held thee
safe before God and man, safe as in my arms! What was I to thee. Thou
hast called me thine, my whole being was devoted to thee. What am I
now? In vain I stretch out my hand to the toils that environ thee. Thou
helpless and I free!--Here is the key that unlocks my chamber door. My
going out and my coming in, depend upon my own caprice; yet, alas; to
aid thee I am powerless!--Oh, bind me that I may not despair; hurl
me into the deepest dungeon, that I may dash my head against the damp
walls, groan for freedom, and dream how I would rescue him if fetters
did not hold me bound.--Now I am free, and in freedom lies the anguish
of impotence.--Conscious of my own existence, yet unable to stir a limb
in his behalf, alas! even this insignificant portion of thy being, thy
Clara, is, like thee, a captive, and, separated from thee, consumes her
expiring energies in the agonies of death.--I hear a stealthy step,--a
cough--Brackenburg,--'tis he!--Kind, unhappy man, thy destiny remains
ever the same; thy love opens to thee the door at night, alas! to what a
doleful meeting.
(Enter Brackenburg.) Thou com'st so pale, so terrified! Brackenburg!
What is it?
Brackenburg. I have sought thee through perils and circuitous paths. The
principal streets are occupied with troops;--through lanes and by-ways
have I stolen to thee!
Clara. Tell me, how is it?
Brackenburg (seating himself). O Clara, let me weep. I loved him not. He
was the rich man who lured to better a pasture the poor man's solitary
lamb. I have never cursed him, God has created me with a true and tender
heart. My life was consumed in anguish, and each day I hoped would end
my misery.
Clara. Let that be forgotten, Brackenburg! Forget thyself. Speak to me
of him! Is it true? Is he condemned?
Brackenburg. He is! I know it.
Clara. And still lives?
Brackenburg. Yes, he still lives.
Clara. How canst thou be sure of that? Tyranny murders the hero in the
night! His blood flows concealed from every eye. The people stunned
and bewildered, lie buried in sleep, dream of deliverance, dream of the
fulfilment of their impotent wishes, while, indignant at our supineness,
his spirit abandons the world. He is no more! Deceive me not; deceive
not thyself!
Brackenburg. No,--he lives! and the Spaniards, alas, are preparing for
the people, on whom they are about to trample, a terrible spectacle, in
order to crush for ever, by a violent blow, each heart that yet pants
for freedom.
Clara. Proceed! Calmly pronounce my death-warrant also! Near and more
near I approach that blessed land, and already from those realms of
peace, I feel the breath of consolation say on.
Brackenburg. From casual words, dropped here and there by the guards,
I learned that secretly in the market-place they were preparing some
terrible spectacle. Through by-ways and familiar lanes I stole to
my cousin's house, and from a back window, looked out upon the
market-place. Torches waved to and fro, in the hands of a wide circle
of Spanish soldiers. I sharpened my unaccustomed sight, and out of the
darkness there arose before me a scaffold, black, spacious, and lofty!
The sight filled me with horror. Several persons were employed in
covering with black cloth such portions of the wood-work as yet remained
white and visible. The steps were covered last, also with black;--I
saw it all. They seemed preparing for the celebration of some horrible
sacrifice. A white crucifix, that shone like silver through the night,
was raised on one side. As I gazed the terrible conviction strengthened
in my mind. Scattered torches still gleamed here and there; gradually
they flickered and went out. Suddenly the hideous birth of night
returned into its Mother's womb.
Clara. Hush, Brackenburg! Be still! Let this veil rest upon my soul. The
spectres are vanished; and thou, gentle night, lend thy mantle to the
inwardly fermenting earth, she will no longer endure the loathsome
burden, shuddering, she rends open her yawning chasms, and with a crash
swallows the murderous scaffold. And that God, whom in their rage they
have insulted, sends down His angel from on high; at the hallowed touch
of the messenger bolts and bars fly back; he pours around our friend
a mild radiance, and leads him gently through the night to liberty. My
path leads also through the darkness to meet him.
Brackenburg (detaining her). My child, whither wouldst thou go? What
wouldst thou do?
Clara. Softly, my friend, lest some one should awake! Lest we should
awake ourselves! Know'st thou this phial, Brackenburg? I took it from
thee once in jest, when thou, as was thy wont, didst threaten, in thy
impatience, to end thy days.--And now my friend--
Brackenburg. In the name of all the saints!
Clara. Thou canst not hinder me. Death is my portion! Grudge me not
the quiet and easy death which thou hadst prepared for thyself. Give
me thine hand!--At the moment when I unclose that dismal portal through
which there is no return, I may tell thee, with this pressure of the
hand, how sincerely I have loved, how deeply I have pitied thee. My
brother died young; I chose thee to fill his place; thy heart rebelled,
thou didst torment thyself and me, demanding with ever increasing
fervour that which fate had not destined for thee. Forgive me and
farewell! Let me call thee brother! 'Tis a name that embraces many
names. Receive, with a true heart, the last fair token of the departing
spirit--take this kiss. Death unites all, Brackenburg--us too it will
unite!
Brackenburg. Let me then die with thee! Share it! oh, share it! There is
enough to extinguish two lives.
Clara. Hold! Thou must live, thou canst live.--Support my Mother, who,
without thee, would be a prey to want. Be to her what I can no longer
be, live together, and weep for me. Weep for our fatherland, and for him
who could alone have upheld it. The present generation must still endure
this bitter woe; vengeance itself could not obliterate it. Poor souls,
live on, through this gap in time, which is time no longer. To-day the
world suddenly stands still, its course is arrested, and my pulse will
beat but for a few minutes longer. Farewell.
Brackenburg. Oh, live with us, as we live only for thy sake! In taking
thine own life, thou wilt take ours also; still live and suffer. We
will stand by thee, nothing shall sever us from thy side, and love,
with ever-watchful solicitude, shall prepare for thee the sweetest
consolation in its loving arms. Be ours! Ours! I dare not say, mine.
Clara. Hush, Brackenburg! Thou feelest not what chord thou touchest.
Where hope appears to thee, I see only despair.
Brackenburg. Share hope with the living! Pause on the brink of the
precipice, cast one glance into the gulf below, and then look back on
us.
Clara. I have conquered; call me not back to the struggle.
Brackenburg. Thou art stunned; enveloped in night, thou seekest the
abyss. Every light is not yet extinguished, yet many days--!
Clara. Alas! Alas! Cruelly thou dost rend the veil from before mine
eyes. Yes, the day will dawn! Despite its misty shroud it needs must
dawn. Timidly the burgher razes from his window, night leaves behind an
ebon speck; he looks, and the scaffold looms fearfully in the morning
light. With re-awakened anguish the desecrated image of the Saviour
lifts to the Father its imploring eyes. The sun veils his beams, he will
not mark the hero's death-hour. Slowly the fingers go their round--one
hour strikes after another--hold! Now is the time. The thought of the
morning scares me into the grave.
(She goes to the window as if to look out, and drinks secretly.)
Brackenburg. Clara! Clara!
Clara (goes to the table, and drinks water). Here is the remainder. I
invite thee not to follow me. Do as thou wilt; farewell. Extinguish this
lamp silently and without delay; I am going to rest. Steal quietly
away, close the door after thee. Be still! Wake not my Mother! Go, save
thyself, if thou wouldst not be taken for my murderer. [Exit.
Brackenburg. She leaves me for the last time as she has ever done. What
human soul could conceive how cruelly she lacerates the heart that
loves her? She leaves me to myself, leaves me to choose between life and
death, and both are alike hateful to me. To die alone! Weep, ye tender
souls! Fate has no sadder doom than mine. She shares with me the
death-potion, yet sends me from her side! She draws me after her, yet
thrusts me back into life! Oh, Egmont, how enviable a lot falls to thee!
She goes before thee! The crown of victory from her hand is thine, she
brings all heaven to meet thee!--And shall I follow? Again to stand
aloof? To carry this inextinguishable jealousy even to yon distant
realms? Earth is no longer a tarrying place for me, and hell and heaven
offer equal torture. Now welcome to the wretched the dread hand of
annihilation!
[Exit. (The scene remains some time unchanged. Music sounds, indicating
Clara's death; the lamp, which Brackenburg had forgotten to extinguish,
flares up once or twice, and then suddenly expires. The scene changes
to.)