ering hands, and Egmont
advances joyously, to hail the freedom of the rising morn. How many
well-known faces receive me with loud acclaim! O Clara! wert thou a man,
I should see thee here the very first, and thank thee for that which it
is galling to owe even to a king--liberty.

SCENE III.--Clara's House

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 street