Part 11
Stop! Stop! You have won me quite already. Yes! I will do everything. I will, I will tell your father, that he shall not exchange you until to-morrow. But why only to-morrow? I do not know! That I need not know. That he need not know either. Enough that I know you wish it. And I wish everything that you wish. Do you wish nothing else? Is there nothing else that I shall do? Shall I run through the fire for you? Shall I cast myself from a rock for you? Command only, my dear young friend, command! I will do everything now for you. Even say a word and I will commit a crime, an act of villainy for you! My blood, it is true, curdles; but still, prince, if you wish, I will--I will----
PHILOTAS.
O my best, my fiery friend! O how shall I call you? You creator of my future fame! I swear to you by everything that is sacred to me, by my father's honour, by the fortune of his arms, by the welfare of his land--I swear to you never in my life to forget this your readiness, your zeal! Would that I also could reward it sufficiently! Hear, ye gods, my oath! And now, Parmenio, swear too! Swear to keep your promise faithfully!
PARMENIO.
I swear? I am too old for swearing.
PHILOTAS.
And I too young to trust you without an oath. Swear to me! I have sworn to you by my father, swear you by your son. You love your son? You love him from your heart?
PARMENIO.
From my heart, as I love you! You wish it, and I swear. I swear to you by my only son, by my blood which flows in his veins, by the blood which I would willingly have shed for your father's sake, and which he will also willingly shed some future day for yours--by this blood I swear to you to keep my word. And if I do not keep it, may my son fall in his first battle, and never live to see the glorious days of your reign! Hear, ye gods, my oath!
PHILOTAS.
Hear him not yet, ye gods! You will make fun of me, old man! To fall in the first battle--not to live to see my reign; is that a misfortune? Is it a misfortune to die early?
PARMENIO.
I do not say that. Yet only to see you on the throne, to serve you, I should like--what otherwise I should not wish at all--to become young again. Your father is good; but you will be better than he.
PHILOTAS.
No praise that slights my father! Alter your oath! Come, alter it like this. If you do not keep your word, let your son become a coward, a scoundrel; in the choice between death and disgrace, let him choose the latter; let him live ninety years the laughing-stock of women, and even die unwillingly in his ninetieth year.
PARMENIO.
I shudder, but I swear. Let him do so. Hear the most terrible of oaths, ye gods!
PHILOTAS.
Hear it! Well, you can go, Parmenio! We have detained each other long enough, and almost made too much ado about a trifle. For is it not a very trifle to tell my father--to persuade him not to exchange us until tomorrow? And if he should wish to know the reason--well, then invent a reason on your way!
PARMENIO.
That, too, I'll do. Yet I have never, though I am so old, devised a lie. But for your sake, prince--Leave it to me. Wickedness may still be learned even in old age. Farewell!
PHILOTAS.
Embrace me! Go!
Scene VI.
PHILOTAS.
There are said to be so many rogues in the world, and yet deceiving is so hard, even when done with the best intentions. Had I not to turn and twist myself! Only see, good Parmenio, that my father does not exchange us before to-morrow, and he shall not need to exchange us at all. Now I have gained time enough! Time enough to strengthen myself in my purpose--time enough to choose the surest means. To strengthen myself in my purpose! Woe to me if I need that! Firmness of age, if thou art not mine, then obstinacy of youth, stand thou by me!
Yes, it is resolved! It is firmly resolved! I feel that I grow calm--I am calm! Thou who standest there, Philotas (_surveying himself_)--Ha! It must be a glorious, a grand sight; a youth stretched on the ground, the sword in his breast! The sword? Gods! O unhappy wretch that I am. And now only do I become aware of it! I have no sword; I have not anything! It became the booty of the warrior who made me prisoner. Perhaps he would have left it me, but the hilt was of gold. Accursed gold! art thou then always the ruin of virtue?
No sword? I no sword? Gods, merciful gods, grant me this one thing! Mighty gods, ye who have created heaven and earth, ye could not create a sword for me, if ye wished to do so? What is now my grand and glorious design? I become a bitter cause of laughter to myself.
And there the king comes back already! Stop! Suppose I played the child? This idea is promising. Yes, perhaps I may succeed.
Scene VII.
Aridaeus. Philotas.
ARIDAeUS.
The messengers have now gone, my prince! They have started on their swiftest horses, and your father's camp is so near at hand, that we can receive a reply in a few hours.
PHILOTAS.
You are then very impatient, king, to embrace your son once more?
ARIDAeUS.
Will your father be less so to press you to his heart again? But let me enjoy your company, dearest prince! The time will speed more quickly in it, and perhaps in other respects it may also have good results, if we become more intimately acquainted with each other. Often already have loving children been the mediators of their angry fathers. Follow me therefore to my tent, where the greatest of my generals await you! They burn with the desire to see you, and offer you their admiration.
PHILOTAS.
Men must not admire a child, king! Leave me here, therefore, I pray! Shame and vexation would make me play a very foolish part. And as to your conversation with me, I do not see at all what good could come of it. I know nothing else, but that you and my father are involved in war; and the right--the right, I think, is on my father's side. This I believe, king! and will believe, even though you could prove the reverse indisputably. I am a son and a soldier, and have no other opinion than that of my father and my general.
ARIDAeUS.
Prince! it shows a great intelligence thus to deny one's intelligence. Yet I am sorry that I shall not ever be able to justify myself before you. Accursed war!
PHILOTAS.
Yes, truly, an accursed war! And woe to him who caused it.
ARIDAeUS.
Prince! prince! remember that it was your father who first drew the sword. I do not wish to join in your curses. He was rash, he was too suspicious.
PHILOTAS.
Well, my father drew the first sword. But does the conflagration only take its rise when the bright flame already breaks through the roof? Where is the patient, quiet creature, devoid of all feeling, which cannot be embittered through incessant irritations? Consider--for you compel me to speak of things of which I have no right to speak--consider what a proud and scornful answer you sent him when he--but you shall not compel me; I will not speak of it! Our guilt and our innocence are liable to endless misinterpretations, endless excuses. Only to the undeceived eye of the gods do we appear as we are; they alone can judge us. But the gods, you know it, king, speak their verdict through the sword of the bravest. Let us therefore wait to hear their bloody sentence. Why shall we turn in cowardice from this highest of judgments to a lower? Are our arms already so weary that the pliant tongue must take their place?
ARIDAeUS.
I hear with astonishment----
PHILOTAS.
Ah! a woman, too, may be listened to with astonishment.
ARIDAeUS.
With astonishment, prince, and not without grief. Fate has destined you for the throne! To you it will confide the welfare of a mighty and noble nation; to you! What dreadful future reveals itself to me! You will overwhelm your people with laurels,--and with misery. You will count more victories than happy subjects. Well for me, that my days will not reach into yours! But woe to my son, to my honest son! You will scarcely allow him to lay aside his armour----
PHILOTAS.
Comfort the father, O king! I shall allow your son far more!--far more!
ARIDAeUS.
Far more? Explain yourself.
PHILOTAS.
Have I spoken a riddle? O do not ask, king, that a youth, such as I am, shall always speak with caution and design. I only wished to say the fruit is often very different from what the blossom promises. An effeminate prince, history has taught me, has often proved a warlike king. Could not the reverse occur with me? Or perhaps the meaning of what I said was that I had still a long and dangerous way to the throne. Who knows if the gods will allow me to accomplish it? And do not let me accomplish it, father of gods and men, if in the future thou seest in me a waster of the most precious gift which thou hast entrusted to me,--the blood of my subjects!
ARIDAeUS.
Yes, prince; what is a king, if he be not a father? What is a hero void of human love? Now I recognise this also in you, and am your friend again! But come, come; we must not remain alone here! We are too serious for one another. Follow me!
PHILOTAS.
Pardon, king----
ARIDAeUS.
Do not refuse!
PHILOTAS.
Thus, as I am, shall I show myself to many eyes?
ARIDAeUS.
Why not?
PHILOTAS.
I cannot, king, I cannot!
ARIDAeUS.
And the reason?
PHILOTAS.
O, the reason! It would make you laugh.
ARIDAeUS.
So much the better,--let me hear it! I am a human being, and like to laugh and cry.
PHILOTAS.
Well, laugh then! See, king, I have no sword, and should not like to appear amongst soldiers without this mark of the soldier.
ARIDAeUS.
My laughing turns to joy! I have thought of that beforehand, and your wish will be gratified at once. Strato has the order to get your sword again for you.
PHILOTAS.
Let us then await him here!
ARIDAeUS.
And then you will accompany me?
PHILOTAS.
Then I will follow you immediately.
ARIDAeUS.
As we willed it! There he comes! Well, Strato!
Scene VIII.
Strato (_with a sword in his hand_), Aridaeus, Philotas.
STRATO.
King! I came to the soldier who had taken the prince and demanded the prince's sword from him in your name. But hear how nobly the soldier refused! "The king," he said, "must not take the sword from me! It is a good sword, and I shall use it in his service. I must also keep a remembrance of this deed. By the gods, it was none of my least! The prince is a young demon. But perhaps you wish only the precious hilt!" And on this, before I could prevent it, his strong hand had broken off the hilt, and throwing it contemptuously before my feet--"There it is," he continued, "what care I for your gold?"
ARIDAeUS.
O Strato, make good for me what this man has done!
STRATO.
I have done so. And here is one of your swords!
ARIDAeUS.
Give it me! Will you accept it, prince, instead of yours?
PHILOTAS.
Let me see! Ha! (_aside_.) Be thanked, ye gods! (_eyeing it long and earnestly_). A sword!
STRATO.
Have I not chosen well, prince?
ARIDAeUS.
What do you find in it so worthy of your deep attention?
PHILOTAS.
That it is a sword!--(_recovering himself_.) And a beautiful sword! I shall not lose anything by this exchange. A sword!
ARIDAeUS.
You tremble, prince!
PHILOTAS.
With joy! It seems, however, a trifle short for me. But why short? A step nearer to the enemy replaces what is wanting in the steel. Beloved sword! What a beautiful thing is a sword,--to play with and to use! I have never played with anything else.
ARIDAeUS (_to_ Strato).
O the wondrous combination of child and hero!
PHILOTAS (_aside_).
Beloved sword! Could I but be alone with thee! But, courage!
ARIDAeUS.
Now gird on the sword, prince, and follow me!
PHILOTAS.
Directly! Yet one must not know one's friend and one's sword only outwardly (_he draws it, and_ Strato _steps between him and the king_).
STRATO.
I understand the steel better than the workmanship. Believe me, prince, the steel is good. The king has cleft more than one helmet with it since his youth.
PHILOTAS.
I shall never grow so strong as that! But--Do not step so near, Strato!
STRATO.
Why not?
PHILOTAS.
So! (_springing back and swinging the sword through the air_). It has the right swing.
ARIDAeUS.
Prince, spare your wounded arm! You will excite yourself!
PHILOTAS.
Of what do you remind me, king? Of my misfortune--no, of my shame! I was wounded and made prisoner. Yes, but I shall never be so again! By this my sword, I shall never be so again! No, my father, no! To-day a wonder spares you the shameful ransom of your son; his death may spare it you in the future!--His certain death, when he shall see himself surrounded again! Surrounded again? Horrible! I am so! I am surrounded! What now? Companions! Friends! Brothers! Where are you? All dead? Enemies everywhere! Through here, Philotas! Ha! That is for you, rash fellow!--And that for you!--And that for you! (_striking around him_.)
STRATO.
Prince! what ails you? Calm yourself (_approaches him_.)
PHILOTAS (_stepping away from him_).
You too, Strato? You too? O, foe, be generous! Kill me! Do not make me captive! No, I do not deliver myself up! Were you all, who surround me, Stratos, yet I will defend myself against you all--against a world will I defend myself! Do your best, my foes! But you will not? You will not kill me, cruel men? You only wish to have me alive? I laugh at you! To take me prisoner alive? Me? Sooner shall this sword--this sword--shall pierce this breast--sooner--before--(_he stabs himself_.)
ARIDAeUS.
God! Strato!
STRATO.
King!
PHILOTAS.
I wished it thus! (_sinking back_.)
ARIDAeUS.
Hold him, Strato! Help! help for the prince! Prince, what raving anguish----
PHILOTAS.
Forgive me, king! I have dealt you a more deadly blow than myself! I die, and soon will peaceful lands enjoy the fruit of my death. Your son, king, is a prisoner, and the son of my father is free!
ARIDAeUS.
What do I hear?
STRATO.
Then it was your purpose, prince? But as our prisoner, you had no right over yourself!
PHILOTAS.
Do not say that, Strato! Should a man be able to fetter another's liberty to die, the liberty which the gods have left in all vicissitudes of life?
STRATO.
O king! Terror has paralyzed him! King!
ARIDAeUS.
Who calls me?
STRATO.
King!
ARIDAeUS.
Be silent!
STRATO.
The war is over, king!
ARIDAeUS.
Over? You lie, Strato! The war is not over, prince! Die! yes, die! But carry with you this tormenting thought! You believed, as a true ignorant boy, that fathers were all of one and the same mould,--all of the soft, effeminate nature of your father. They are not all like him! I am not so! What do I care about my son? And do you think that he cannot die as well for his father as you did for yours? Let him die! Let his death too spare me the disgraceful ransom! Strato, I am bereft now, I poor man! You have a son;--he shall be mine. For a son one must have! Happy Strato!
PHILOTAS.
Your son too lives still, king! And will live! I hear it!
ARIDAeUS.
Does he live still? Then I must have him back. But you--die! I will have him back, let what will come of it. And in exchange for you! Or I will have such disgrace and dishonour shown to your body--I will have it----
PHILOTAS.
The dead body!--If you will revenge yourself, king, awaken it again!
ARIDAeUS.
Ah! What do I say?
PHILOTAS.
I pity you! Farewell, Strato! There, where all virtuous friends and all brave men are members of one blessed state--in Elysium we shall meet again! We also, king, shall meet again.
ARIDAeUS.
And reconciled! Prince!
PHILOTAS.
O then, ye gods, receive my triumphant soul; and thou, goddess of peace, thy offering!
ARIDAeUS.
Hear me, prince!
STRATO.
He dies! Am I traitor, king, if I weep over your enemy? I cannot restrain myself. A wondrous youth!
ARIDAeUS.
Weep over him, weep! And I too! Come! I must have my son again. But do not oppose me, if I pay too high a ransom for him! In vain have we shed our streams of blood, in vain have we conquered lands. There he departs with our booty, the greater victor!--Come! Get me my son! And when I have him, I will no more be king. Do ye believe, ye men, that one does not grow weary of it? (_Exeunt_.)
EMILIA GALOTTI.
A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS.
(_Translated by B. Dillon Boylan_.)
'Emilia Galotti' was commenced in 1757, when Lessing was at Leipzig, but was thrown aside for some years, until in 1767, when at Hamburg, he again took it up, intending to have it represented on the Hamburg stage. But on the failure of the theatrical enterprise with which he was connected, he once more abandoned it until 1771, when he again turned his attention to it, and completed it in February of the following year. It was immediately represented on the Brunswick stage.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
Emilia Galotti. Odoardo _and_ \ > _parents of_ Emilia. Claudia Galotti, / Hettore Gonzaga, _Prince of Guastalla_. Marinelli, _the Prince's Chamberlain_. Camillo Rota, _one of the Prince's Councillors_. Conti, _an artist_. Count Appiani. Angelo, _a bandit_. Pirro _and sundry servants_.
EMILIA GALOTTI.
ACT I.
Scene I.--_The Prince's Cabinet_.
_The_ Prince, _seated at a desk, which is covered with papers_.
PRINCE.
Complaints; nothing but complaints! Petitions; nothing but petitions! Wretched employment! And yet we are envied! To be sure, if we could relieve every one, we might indeed be envied. Emilia? (_opening a petition, and looking at the signature_.) An Emilia? Yes--but an Emilia Bruneschi--not Galotti. Not Emilia Galotti. What does she want, this Emilia Bruneschi? (_Reads_) She asks much--too much. But her name is Emilia. It is granted (_signs the paper, and rings_).
_Enter a_ Servant.
PRINCE.
Are any of the Councillors in the antechamber?
SERVANT.
No, your Highness.
PRINCE.
I have begun the day too early. The morning is so beautiful, I will take a drive. The Marquis Marinelli shall accompany me. Let him be called. (_Exit_ Servant.) I can attend to nothing more. I was so happy--delightful thought! so happy--when all at once this wretched Bruneschi must be named Emilia. Now all my peace is fled.
_Re-enter the_ Servant, _bringing a note_.
SERVANT.
The Marquis has been sent for; and here is a letter from the Countess Orsina.
PRINCE.
The Countess Orsina? Put it down.
SERVANT.
Her courier waits.
PRINCE.
I will send an answer if necessary. Where is she, in town, or at her villa?
SERVANT.
She arrived in town yesterday.
PRINCE.
So much the worse--the better, I mean. There is less reason for the messenger to wait. (_Exit_ Servant.) My dear Countess! (_with sarcasm, as he takes up the letter_) as good as read (_throwing it down again_). Well, well, I fancied I loved her--one may fancy anything. It may be that I really did love her. But--I did.
_Re-enter_ Servant.
SERVANT.
The painter Conti requests the honour----
PRINCE.
Conti? Good! admit him. That will change the current of my thoughts (_rising_).
Scene II.
Conti, _The_ Prince.
PRINCE.
Good morning, Conti. How goes it with you? How does art thrive?
CONTI.
Art is starving, Prince.
PRINCE.
That must not--shall not be, within the limits of my small dominions. But the artist must be willing to work.
CONTI.
Work! that is his happiness. But too much work may rain his claim to the title of artist.
PRINCE.
I do not mean that his works should be many, but his labour much: a little, but well done. But you do not come empty-handed, Conti?
CONTI.
I have brought the portrait which your Highness ordered; and another which you did not order; but as it is worthy of inspection----
PRINCE.
That one, is it? And yet I do not well remember----
CONTI.
The Countess Orsina.
PRINCE.
True. The commission, however, was given rather long ago.
CONTI.
Our beauties are not every day at the artist's command. In three months, the Countess could only make up her mind to sit once.
PRINCE.
Where are the pictures?
CONTI.
In the antechamber. I will fetch them (_exit_).
Scene III.
PRINCE.
Her portrait! Let it come; it is not herself. But perhaps I may see in the picture what I can no longer find in her person. But I have no wish to make such a discovery. The importunate painter! I almost believe that she has bribed him. But even were it so, if another picture which is pourtrayed in brighter colours and on a different canvas, could be obliterated to make room for her once more in my heart, I really think that I should be content. When I loved the Countess, I was ever gay, sprightly, and cheerful; now I am the reverse. But no, no, no; happy or unhappy, it is better as it is.
Scene IV.
_The_ Prince, Conti, _with the portraits; he places one with the face reversed against a chair, and prepares to show the other_.
CONTI.
I beg your Highness will bear in mind the limits of our art; much of the highest perfection of beauty lies altogether beyond its limits. Look at it in this position.
PRINCE (_after a brief inspection_).
Excellent! Conti, most excellent! It does credit to your taste,--to your skill. But flattered, Conti--quite, infinitely flattered!
CONTI.
The original did not seem to be of your opinion. But, in truth, she is not more flattered than art is bound to flatter. It is the province of art to paint as plastic nature--if there is such a thing--intended her original design, without the defects which the unmanageable materials render inevitable, and free from the ravages which result from a conflict with time.
PRINCE.
The intelligent artist has therefore double merit. But the original, you say, notwithstanding all this----
CONTI.
Pardon me, Prince! The original is a person who commands my respect. I did not intend to insinuate anything to her disadvantage.
PRINCE.
As much as you please. But what said the original?
CONTI.
"I am satisfied," said the Countess, "if I am not plainer."
PRINCE.
Not plainer! The original herself!
CONTI.
And she uttered this with an expression of which the portrait affords no trace, no idea.
PRINCE.