trated my most cherished
schemes.

Machiavel. I wish I could contradict you.

Regent. His harshness and cruelty will again arouse the turbulent
spirit, which, with unspeakable patience, I have succeeded in quelling;
I shall see my work destroyed before my eyes, and have besides to bear
the blame of his wrongdoing.

Machiavel. Await it, your Highness.

Regent. I have sufficient self-command to remain quiet. Let him come; I
will make way for him with the best grace ere he pushes me aside.

Machiavel. So important a step thus suddenly? Regent. 'Tis harder than
you imagine. He who is accustomed to rule, to hold daily in his hand the
destiny of thousands, descends from the throne as into the grave. Better
thus, however, than linger a spectre among the living, and with hollow
aspect endeavour to maintain a place which another has inherited, and
already possesses and enjoys.

SCENE II.--Clara's dwelling

Clara and her Mother

Mother. Such a love as Brackenburg's I have never seen; I thought it was
to be found only in romance books.

Clara (walking up and down the room, humming a song). With love's
thrilling rapture What joy can compare!

Mother. He suspects thy attachment to Egmont; and yet, if thou wouldst
but treat him a little kindly, I do believe he would marry thee still,
if thou wouldst have him.

Clara (sings).

Blissful
And tearful,
With thought-teeming brain;
Hoping
And fearing
In passionate pain;
Now shouting in triumph,
Now sunk in despair;--
With love's thrilling rapture
What joy can compare!

Mother. Have done with such baby-nonsense!

Clara. Nay, do not abuse it; 'tis a song of marvellous virtue. Many a
time have I lulled a grown child to sleep with it.

Mother. Ay! Thou canst think of nothing but thy love. If it only did not
put everything else out of thy head. Thou shouldst have more regard for
Brackenburg, I tell thee. He may make thee happy yet some day.

Clara. He?

Mother. Oh, yes! A time will come! You children live only in the
present, and give no ear to our experience. Youth and happy love, all
has an end; and there comes a time when one thanks God if one has any
corner to creep into.

Clara (shudders, and after a pause stands up). Mother, let that time
come--like death. To think of it beforehand is horrible! And if it come!
If we must--then--we will bear ourselves as we may. Live without thee,
Egmont! (Weeping.) No! It