Egmont.  What strange voice, what unexpected consolation comes thus to cheer my passage to the grave?  Thou, the son of my first, of almost my only enemy, thou dost pity me, thou art not associated with my murderers?  Speak!  In what light must I regard thee?

Ferdinand.  Cruel father!  Yes, I recognize thy nature in this command.  Thou didst know my heart, my disposition, which thou hast so often censured as the inheritance of a tender-hearted Mother.  To mould me into thine own likeness thou hast sent me hither.  Thou dost compel me to behold this man on the verge of the yawning grave, in the grasp of an arbitrary doom, that I may experience the profoundest anguish; that thus, rendered callous to every fate, I may henceforth meet every event with a heart unmoved.

Egmont.  I am amazed!  Be calm!  Act, speak like a man.

Ferdinand.  Oh, that I were a woman!  That they might say—­what moves, what agitates thee?  Tell me of a greater, a more monstrous crime, make me the spectator of a more direful deed; I will thank thee, I will say:  this was nothing.

Egmont.  Thou dost forget thyself.  Consider where thou art!

Ferdinand.  Let this passion rage, let me give vent to my anguish!  I will not seem composed when my whole inner being is convulsed.  Thee must I behold here?  Thee?  It is horrible!  Thou understandest me not!  How shouldst thou understand me?  Egmont!  Egmont!

(Falling on his neck.)

Egmont.  Explain this mystery.

Ferdinand.  It is no mystery.

Egmont.  How can the fate of a mere stranger thus deeply move thee?

Ferdinand.  Not a stranger!  Thou art no stranger to me.  Thy name it was that, even from my boyhood, shone before me like a star in heaven!  How often have I made inquiries concerning thee, and listened to the story of thy deeds!  The youth is the hope of the boy, the man of the youth.  Thus didst thou walk before me, ever before me; I saw thee without envy, and followed after, step by step; at length I hoped to see thee—­I saw thee, and my heart flew to thy embrace.  I had destined thee for myself, and when I beheld thee, I made choice of thee anew.  I hoped now to know thee, to live with thee, to be thy friend,—­thy—­’tis over now and I see thee here!

Egmont.  My friend, if it can be any comfort to thee, be assured that the very moment we met my heart was drawn towards thee.  Now listen!  Let us exchange a few quiet words.  Tell me:  is it the stern, the settled purpose of thy father to take my life?

Ferdinand.  It is.

Egmont.  This sentence is not a mere empty scarecrow, designed to terrify me, to punish me through fear and intimidation, to humiliate me, that he may then raise me again by the royal favour?

Ferdinand.  Alas, no!  At first I flattered myself with this delusive hope; and even then my heart was filled with grief and anguish to behold thee thus.  Thy doom is real!  Is certain!  No, I cannot command myself.  Who will counsel, who will aid me, to meet the inevitable?