Mellefont, Norton, Sara, Betty.
Ah, Sara! If this love of yours were not----
Then I should certainly be the unhappier of the two. If nothing more vexatious has happened to you in your absence than to me, I am happy.
I have not deserved to be so kindly received.
Let my weakness be my excuse, that I do not receive you more tenderly. If only for your sake, I would that I was well again.
Ha! Marwood! this treachery too! The scoundrel who led me with a mysterious air from one street to another can assuredly have been a messenger of her only! See, dearest Sara, she employed this artifice to get me away from you. A clumsy artifice certainly, but just from its very clumsiness, I was far from taking it for one. She shall have her reward for this treachery! Quick, Norton, go to her lodgings; do not lose sight of her, and detain her until I come!
What for, Mellefont? I intercede for Marwood.
Go!(ExitNorton.)
Sara, Mellefont, Betty.
Pray let the wearied enemy who has ventured the last fruitless assault retire in peace! Without Marwood I should be ignorant of much----
Much? What is the "much?"
What you would not have told me, Mellefont! You start! Well, I will forget it again, since you do not wish me to know it.
I hope that you will not believe any ill of me which has no better foundation than the jealousy of an angry slanderer.
More of this another time! But why do you not tell me first of all about the danger in which your precious life was placed? I, Mellefont, I should have been the one who had sharpened the sword, with which Marwood had stabbed you.
The danger was not so great. Marwood was driven by blind passion, and I was cool, so her attack could not but fail. I only wish that she may not have been more successful with another attack--upon Sara's good opinion of her Mellefont! I must almost fear it. No, dearest Sara, do not conceal from me any longer what you have learned from her.
Well! If I had still had the least doubt of your love, Mellefont, Marwood in her anger would have removed it. She surely must feel that through me she has lost that which is of the greatest value to her; for an uncertain loss would have let her act more cautiously.
I shall soon learn to set some store by her bloodthirsty jealousy, her impetuous insolence, her treacherous cunning! But Sara! You wish again to evade my question and not to reveal to me----
I will; and what I said was indeed a step towards it. That Mellefont loves me, then, is undeniably certain. If only I had not discovered that his love lacked a certain confidence, which would be as flattering to me as his love itself. In short, dearest Mellefont--Why does a sudden anxiety make it so difficult for me to speak?--Well, I suppose I shall have to tell it without seeking for the most prudent form in which to say it. Marwood mentioned a pledge of love; and the talkative Norton--forgive him, pray--told me a name--a name, Mellefont, which must rouse in you another tenderness than that which you feel for me.
Is it possible? Has the shameless woman confessed her own disgrace? Alas, Sara, have pity on my confusion! Since you already know all, why do you wish to hear it again from my lips? She shall never come into your sight,--the unhappy child, who has no other fault than that of having such a mother.
You love her, then, in spite of all?
Too much, Sara, too much for me to deny it.
Ah, Mellefont! How I too love you, for this very love's sake! You would have offended me deeply, if you had denied the sympathy of your blood for any scruples on my account. You have hurt me already in that you have threatened me never to let her come into my sight. No, Mellefont! That you will never forsake Arabella must be one of the promises which you vow to me in presence of the Almighty! In the hands of her mother she is in danger of becoming unworthy of her father. Use your authority over both, and let me take the place of Marwood. Do not refuse me the happiness of bringing up for myself a friend who owes her life to you--a Mellefont of my own sex. Happy days, when my father, when you, when Arabella will vie in your calls on my filial respect, my confiding love, my watchful friendship. Happy days! But, alas! They are still far distant in the future. And perhaps even the future knows nothing of them, perhaps they exist only in my own desire for happiness! Sensations, Mellefont, sensations which I never before experienced, turn my eyes to another prospect. A dark prospect, with awful shadows! What sensations are these? (puts her hand before her face.)
What sudden change from exultation to terror! Hasten, Betty! Bring help! What ails you, generous Sara! Divine soul! Why does this jealous hand (moving it away) hide these sweet looks from me? Ah, they are looks which unwillingly betray cruel pain. And yet this hand is jealous to hide these looks from me. Shall I not share your pain with you? Unhappy man, that I can only share it--that I may not feel it alone! Hasten, Betty!
Whither shall I hasten?
You see, and yet ask? For help!
Stay. It passes over. I will not frighten you again, Mellefont.
What has happened to her, Betty? These are not merely the results of a swoon.
Norton, Mellefont, Sara, Betty.
You are back again already, Norton? That is well! You will be of more use here.
Marwood is gone----
And my curses follow her! She is gone? Whither? May misfortune and death, and, were it possible, a whole hell lie in her path! May Heaven thunder a consuming fire upon her, may the earth burst open under her, and swallow the greatest of female monsters!
As soon as she returned to her lodgings, she threw herself into her carriage, together with Arabella and her maid, and hurried away, at full gallop. This sealed note was left behind for you.
It is addressed to me. Shall I read it, Sara?
When you are calmer, Mellefont.
Calmer? Can I be calmer, before I have revenged myself on her, and before I know that you are out of danger, dearest Sara?
Let me not hear of revenge! Revenge is not ours.--But you open the letter? Alas, Mellefont! Why are we less prone to certain virtues with a healthy body, which feels its strength, than with a sick and wearied one? How hard are gentleness and moderation to you, and how unnatural to me appears the impatient heat of passion! Keep the contents for yourself alone.
What spirit is it that seems to compel me to disobey you? I opened it against my will, and against my will I must read it!
How cunningly man can disunite his nature, and make of his passions another being than himself, on whom he can lay the blame for that which in cold blood he disapproves.--The water, Betty! I fear another shock, and shall need it. Do you see what effect the unlucky note has on him? Mellefont! You lose your senses, Mellefont! God! he is stunned! Here, Betty. Hand him the water! He needs it more than I.
Back, unhappy girl! Your medicines are poison!
What do you say? Recover yourself! You do not recognise her.
I am Betty,--take it!
Wish rather, unhappy girl, that you were not she! Quick! Fly, before in default of the guiltier one you become the guilty victim of my rage.
What words! Mellefont, dearest Mellefont----
The last "dearest Mellefont" from these divine lips, and then no more for ever! At your feet, Sara----(throwing himself down). But why at your feet? (springing up again). Disclose it? I disclose it to you? Yes! I will tell you, that you will hate me, that you must hate me! You shall not hear the contents, no, not from me. But you will hear them. You will----Why do you all stand here, stock still, doing nothing? Run, Norton, bring all the doctors? Seek help, Betty! Let your help be as effective as your error! No, stop here! I will go myself----
Whither, Mellefont? Help for what? Of what error do you speak?
Divine help, Sara! or inhuman revenge! You are lost, dearest Sara! I too am lost! Would the world were lost with us!
Sara, Norton, Betty.
He is gone! I am lost? What does he mean? Do you understand him, Norton? I am ill, very ill; but suppose the worst, that I must die, am I therefore lost? And why does he blame you, poor Betty? You wring your hands? Do not grieve; you cannot have offended him; he will bethink himself; Had he only done as I wished, and not read the note! He could have known that it must contain the last poisoned words from Marwood.
What terrible suspicion! No, it cannot be. I do not believe it! NORTON (who has gone towards the back of the stage). Your father's old servant, Miss.
Let him come in, Norton.
Waitwell, Sara, Betty, Norton.
I suppose you are anxious for my answer, dear Waitwell. It is ready except a few lines. But why so alarmed? They must have told you that I am ill.
And more still.
Dangerously ill? I conclude so from Mellefont's passionate anxiety more than from my own feelings. Suppose, Waitwell, you should have to go with an unfinished letter from your unhappy Sara to her still more unhappy father! Let us hope for the best! Will you wait until to-morrow? Perhaps I shall find a few good moments to finish off the letter to your satisfaction. At present, I cannot do so. This hand hangs as if dead by my benumbed side. If the whole body dies away as easily as these limbs----you are an old man, Waitwell, and cannot be far from the last scene. Believe me, if that which I feel is the approach of death, then the approach of death is not so bitter. Ah! Do not mind this sigh! Wholly without unpleasant sensation it cannot be. Man could not be void of feeling; he must not be impatient. But, Betty, why are you so inconsolable?
Permit me, Miss, permit me to leave you.
Go; I well know it is not every one who can bear to be with the dying. Waitwell shall remain with me! And you, Norton, will do me a favour, if you go and look for your master. I long for his presence.
Alas, Norton, I took the medicine from Marwood's hands!
Waitwell, Sara.
Waitwell, if you will do me the kindness to remain with me, you must not let me see such a melancholy face. You are mute! Speak, I pray! And if I may ask it, speak of my father! Repeat all the comforting words which you said to me a few hours ago. Repeat them to me, and tell me too, that the Eternal Heavenly Father cannot be less merciful. I can die with that assurance, can I not? Had this befallen me before your arrival, how would I have fared? I should have despaired, Waitwell. To leave this world burdened with the hatred of him, who belies his nature when he is forced to hate--what a thought! Tell him that I died with the feelings of the deepest remorse, gratitude and love. Tell him--alas, that I shall not tell him myself--how full my heart is of all the benefits I owe to him. My life was the smallest amongst them. Would that I could yield up at his feet the ebbing portion yet remaining!
Do you really wish to see him, Miss?
At length you speak--to doubt my deepest, my last desire!
Where shall I find the words which I have so long been vainly seeking? A sudden joy is as dangerous as a sudden terror. I fear only that the effect of his unexpected appearance might be too violent for so tender a heart!
What do you mean? The unexpected appearance of whom?
Of the wished-for one! Compose yourself!
Sir William Sampson, Sara, Waitwell.
You stay too long, Waitwell! I must see her!
Whose voice----
Oh, my daughter!
Oh, my father! Help me to rise, Waitwell, help me to rise that I may throw myself at his feet, (she endeavours to rise and falls back again into the arm-chair). Is it he, or is it an apparition sent from heaven like the angel who came to strengthen the Strong One? Bless me, whoever thou art, whether a messenger from the Highest in my father's form or my father himself!
God bless thee, my daughter! Keep quiet (she tries again to throw herself at his feet). Another time, when you have regained your strength, I shall not be displeased to see you clasp my faltering knees.
Now, my father, or never! Soon I shall be no more! I shall be only too happy if I still have a few moments to reveal my heart to you. But not moments--whole days--another life, would be necessary to tell all that a guilty, chastened and repentant daughter can say to an injured but generous and loving father. My offence, and your forgiveness----
Do not reproach yourself for your weakness, nor give me credit for that which is only my duty. When you remind me of my pardon, you remind me also of my hesitation in granting it. Why did I not forgive you at once? Why did I reduce you to the necessity of flying from me. And this very day, when I had already forgiven you, what was it that forced me to wait first for an answer from you? I could already have enjoyed a whole day with you if I had hastened at once to your arms. Some latent spleen must still have lain in the innermost recesses of my disappointed heart, that I wished first to be assured of the continuance of your love before I gave you mine again. Ought a father to act so selfishly? Ought we only to love those who love us? Chide me, dearest Sara! Chide me! I thought more of my own joy in you than of you yourself. And if I were now to lose this joy? But who, then, says that I must lose it? You will live; you will still live long. Banish all these black thoughts! Mellefont magnifies the danger. He put the whole house in an uproar, and hurried away himself to fetch the doctors, whom he probably will not find in this miserable place. I saw his passionate anxiety, his hopeless sorrow, without being seen by him. Now I know that he loves you sincerely; now I do not grudge him you any longer. I will wait here for him and lay your hand in his. What I would otherwise have done only by compulsion, I now do willingly, since I see how dear you are to him. Is it true that it was Marwood herself who caused you this terror? I could understand this much from your Betty's lamentations, but nothing more. But why do I inquire into the causes of your illness, when I ought only to be thinking how to remedy it. I see you growing fainter every moment, I see it and stand helplessly here. What shall I do, Waitwell? Whither shall I run? What shall I give her? My fortune? My life? Speak!
Dearest father! all help would be in vain! The dearest help, purchased with your life, would be of no avail.
Mellefont, Sara, Sir William, Waitwell.
Do I dare to set my foot again in this room? Is she still alive?
Step nearer, Mellefont!
Am I to see your face again? No, Sara; I return without consolation, without help. Despair alone brings me back. But whom do I see? You, Sir? Unhappy father! You have come to a dreadful scene! Why did you not come sooner? You are too late to save your daughter! But, be comforted! You shall not have come too late to see yourself revenged.
Do not remember in this moment, Mellefont, that we have ever been at enmity! We are so no more, and we shall never be so again. Only keep my daughter for me, and you shall keep a wife for yourself.
Make me a god, and then repeat your prayer! I have brought so many misfortunes to you already, Sara, that I need not hesitate to announce the last one. You must die! And do you know by whose hand you die?
I do not wish to know it--that I can suspect it is already too much----
You must know it, for who could be assured that you did not suspect wrongly? Marwood writes thus: (he reads) "When you read this letter, Mellefont, your infidelity will already be punished in its cause. I had made myself known to her and she had swooned with terror. Betty did her utmost to restore her to consciousness. I saw her taking out a soothing-powder, and the happy idea occurred to me of exchanging it for a poisonous one. I feigned to be moved, and anxious to help her, and prepared the draught myself. I saw it given to her, and went away triumphant. Revenge and rage have made me a murderess; but I will not be like a common murderess who does not venture to boast of her deed. I am on my way to Dover; you can pursue me, and let my own handwriting bear witness against me. If I reach the harbour unpursued I will leave Arabella behind unhurt. Till then I shall look upon her as a hostage, Marwood." Now you know all, Sara! Here, Sir, preserve this paper! You must bring the murderess to punishment, and for this it is indispensable.--How motionless he stands!
Give me this paper, Mellefont! I will convince myself with my own eyes (he hands it to her and she looks at it for a moment). Shall I still have sufficient strength? (tears it.)
What are you doing, Sara!
Marwood will not escape her fate; but neither you nor my father shall be her accusers. I die, and forgive the hand through which God chastens me. Alas, my father, what gloomy grief has taken hold of you? I love you still, Mellefont, and if loving you is a crime, how guilty shall I enter yonder world! Would I might hope, dearest father, that you would receive a son in place of a daughter! And with him you will have a daughter too, if you will acknowledge Arabella as such. You must fetch her back, Mellefont; her mother may escape. Since my father loves me, why should I not be allowed to deal with this love as with a legacy? I bequeath this fatherly love to you and Arabella. Speak now and then to her of a friend from whose example she may learn to be on her guard against love. A last blessing, my father!--Who would venture to judge the ways of the Highest?--Console your master, Waitwell! But you too stand there in grief and despair, you who lose in me neither a lover nor a daughter?
We ought to be giving you courage, and your dying eyes are giving it to us. No more, my earthly daughter--half angel already; of what avail can the blessing of a mourning father be to a spirit upon whom all the blessings of heaven flow? Leave me a ray of the light which raises you so far above everything human. Or pray to God, who hears no prayer so surely as that of a pious and departing soul--pray to Him that this day may be the last of my life also!
God must let the virtue which has been tested remain long in this world as an example; only the weak virtue which would perhaps succumb to too many temptations is quickly raised above the dangerous confines of the earth. For whom do these tears flow, my father? They fall like fiery drops upon my heart; and yet--yet they are less terrible to me than mute despair. Conquer it, Mellefont!--My eyes grow dim.--That sigh was the last! But where is Betty?--Now I understand the wringing of her hands.--Poor girl!--Let no one reproach her with carelessness, it is excused by a heart without falsehood, and without suspicion of it.--The moment is come! Mellefont--my father--(dies).
She dies! Ah, let me kiss this cold hand once more (throwing himself at her feet). No! I will not venture to touch her. The old saying that the body of the slain bleeds at the touch of the murderer, frightens me. And who is her murderer? Am I not he, more than Marwood? (rises) She is dead now, Sir; she does not hear us any more. Curse me now. Vent your grief in well-deserved curses. May none of them miss their mark, and may the most terrible be fulfilled twofold! Why do you remain silent? She is dead! She is certainly dead. Now, again, I am nothing but Mellefont! I am no more the lover of a tender daughter, whom you would have reason to spare in him. What is that? I do not want your compassionate looks! This is your daughter! I am her seducer. Bethink yourself, Sir! In what way can I rouse your anger? This budding beauty, who was yours alone, became my prey! For my sake her innocent virtue was abandoned! For my sake she tore herself from the arms of a beloved father! For my sake she had to die! You make me impatient with your forbearance, Sir! Let me see that you are a father!
I am a father, Mellefont, and am too much a father not to respect the last wish of my daughter. Let me embrace you, my son, for whom I could not have paid a higher price!
Not so, Sir! This angel enjoined more than human nature is capable of! You cannot be my father. Behold, Sir (drawing the dagger from his bosom), this is the dagger which Marwood drew upon me to-day. To my misfortune, I disarmed her. Had I fallen a guilty victim of her jealousy, Sara would still be living. You would have your daughter still, and have her without Mellefont. It is not for me to undo what is done--but to punish myself for it is still in my power! (he stabs himself and sinks down atSara'sside.)
Hold him, Waitwell! What new blow upon my stricken head! Oh, would that my own might make the third dying heart here.
I feel it. I have not struck false. If now you will call me your son and press my hand as such, I shall die in peace. (Sir Williamembraces him.) You have heard of an Arabella, for whom Sara pleaded; I should also plead for her; but she is Marwood's child as well as mine. What strange feeling seizes me? Mercy--O Creator, mercy!
If the prayers of others are now of any avail, Waitwell, let us help him to pray for this mercy! He dies! Alas! He was more to pity than to blame.
Norton, The Others.
Doctors, Sir!----
If they can work miracles, they may come in! Let me no longer remain at this deadly spectacle! One grave shall enclose both. Come and make immediate preparations, and then let us think of Arabella. Be she who she may, she is a legacy of my daughter! (Exeunt.)
Philotos was written at Berlin in the year 1759. It was never represented, and was probably not intended for the stage. It is here translated for the first time into English.
Aridäus,the King.Strato,a General ofAridäus.Philotas,a prisoner.Parmenio,a soldier.
Aridäus,the King.
Strato,a General ofAridäus.
Philotas,a prisoner.
Parmenio,a soldier.
The scene is laid in a tent in the camp ofAridäus.
Am I really a prisoner? A prisoner? A worthy commencement this of my apprenticeship in war. O ye gods! O my father! How gladly would I persuade myself that all was but a dream! My earliest years have never dreamt of anything but arms and camps, battles and assaults. Could not the youth too be dreaming now of loss and defeat? Do not delude thyself thus, Philotas!--If I did not see, did not feel the wound through which the sword dropped from my palsied hand.--They have dressed it for me against my will! O cruel mercy of a cunning foe! "It is not mortal," said the surgeon, and thought to console me. Wretch, it should be mortal! And one wound only, only one! Did I know that I should make it mortal by tearing it open and dressing it and tearing it open again.--I rave, unhappy wretch. And with what a scornful face--I now recall it--that aged warrior looked at me--who snatched me from my horse! He called me--child! His king, too, must take me for a child, a pampered child. To what a tent he has had me brought! Adorned and provided with comforts of every sort! It must belong to one of his mistresses! A disgusting place for a soldier! And instead of being guarded, I am served. O mocking civility!
Strato. Philotas.
Prince--
Another visitor already? Old man, I like to be alone!
Prince! I come by order of the king.
I understand you! It is true, I am the king's prisoner, and it rests with him how he will have me treated. But listen: if you are the man whose features you bear,--if you are an old and honest warrior, have pity on me, and beg the king to have me treated as a soldier, not as a woman.
He will be with you directly; I come to announce his approach.
The king with me? And you come to announce him? I do not wish that he should spare me one of the humiliations to which a prisoner must submit. Come, lead me to him! After the disgrace of having been disarmed, nothing is disgraceful to me now.
Prince! Your countenance, so full of youthful graces, bespeaks a softer heart!
Mock not my countenance! Your visage, full of scars, is assuredly a more handsome face.
By the gods! A grand answer! I must admire and love you.
I would not object if only you had feared me first.
More and more heroic! We have the most terrible of enemies before us, if there are many like Philotas amongst his youths.
Do not flatter me! To become terrible to you, they must combine greater deeds with my thoughts. May I know your name?
Strato.
Strato? The brave Strato, who defeated my father on the Lycus?
Do not recall that doubtful victory! And how bloodily did your father revenge himself in the plain of Methymna! Such a father must needs have such a son.
To you, the worthiest of my father's enemies, I may bewail my fate! You only can fully understand me; you too, you too have been consumed in your youth by the ambition of the glory--the glory of bleeding for your native land. Would you otherwise be what you are? How have I not begged, implored, conjured him--my father these seven days--for only seven days has the manly toga covered me--conjured him seven times on each of these seven days upon my knees to grant me that I should not in vain have outgrown my childhood,--to let me go with his warriors who had long cost me many a tear of jealousy. Yesterday I prevailed on him, the best of fathers, for Aristodem assisted my entreaties. You know Aristodem; he is my father's Strato.--"Give me this youth, my king, to go with me to-morrow," spoke Aristodem, "I am going to scour the mountains, in order to keep open the way to Cäsena." "Would I could accompany you!" sighed my father. He still lies sick from his wounds. "But be it so!" and with these words he embraced me. Ah, what did his happy son feel in that embrace! And the night which followed! I did not close my eyes; and yet dreams of glory and victory kept me on my couch until the second watch. Then I sprang up, threw on my new armour, pushed the uncurled hair beneath the helmet, chose from amongst my father's swords the one which matched my strength, mounted my horse and had tired out one already before the silver trumpet awakened the chosen band. They came, and I spoke with each of my companions, and many a brave warrior there pressed me to his scarred breast. Only with my father I did not speak; for I feared he might retract his word, if he should see me again. Then we marched. By the side of the immortal gods one cannot feel happier than did I by the side of Aristodem. At every encouraging glance from him I would have attacked a host alone, and thrown myself on the certain death of the enemy's swords. In quiet determination I rejoiced at every hill, from which I hoped to discern the enemy in the plain below, at every bend of the valley behind which I flattered myself that we should come upon them. And when at last I saw them rushing down upon us from the woody height,--showed them to my companions with the point of my sword,--flew up the mountain towards them, recall, O renowned warrior, the happiest of your youthful ecstasies, you could never have been happier. But now, now behold me, Strato; behold me ignominiously fallen from the summit of my lofty expectations! O how I shudder to repeat this fall again in thought! I had rushed too far in advance; I was wounded, and--imprisoned! Poor youth, thou hadst prepared thyself only for wounds, only for death,--and thou art made a prisoner! Thus always do the gods, in their severity, send only unforeseen evils to stultify our self-complacency. I weep--I must weep, although I fear to be despised for it by you. But despise me not! You turn away?
I am vexed: you should not move me thus. I become a child with you.
No; hear why I weep! It is no childish weeping which you deign to accompany with your manly tears. What I thought my greatest happiness, the tender love with which my father loves me, will now become my greatest misery. I fear, I fear he loves me more than he loves his empire! What will he not sacrifice, what will not your king exact from him, to rescue me from prison! Through me, wretched youth, will he lose in one day more than he has gained in three long toilsome years with the blood of his noble warriors, with his own blood. With what face shall I appear again before him? I, his worst enemy! And my father's subjects--mine at some future day, if I had made myself worthy to rule them. How will they be able to endure the ransomed prince amongst them without contemptuous scorn. And when I die for shame, and creep unmourned to the shades below, how gloomy and proud will pass by the souls of those heroes who for their king had to purchase with their lives those gains, which, as a father, he renounces for an unworthy son! Oh, that is more than a feeling heart can endure!
Be comforted, dear prince! It is the fault of youth always to think itself more happy or less than it really is. Your fate is not so cruel yet;--the king approaches, you will hear more consolation from his lips.
King Aridäus, Philotas, Strato.
The wars which kings are forced to wage together are no personal quarrels. Let me embrace you, prince! Ah what happy days your blooming youth recalls to me! Thus bloomed your father's youth! This was his open, speaking eye; these his earnest, honest features; this his noble bearing! Let me embrace you again; in you I embrace your younger father. Have you never heard from him, prince, what good friends we were at your age? That was the blessed age, when we could still abandon ourselves to our feelings without restraint. But soon we were both called to the throne, and the anxious king, the jealous neighbour, stifled, alas, the willing friend.
Pardon me, O king, if you find me too cold in my reply to such sweet words. My youth has been taught to think, but not to speak. What can it now aid me, that you and my father once were friends? Were! so you say yourself. The hatred which one grafts on an extinguished friendship bears the most deadly fruit of all; or I still know the human heart too little. Do not, therefore, O king, do not prolong my despair. You have spoken as the polished statesman: speak now as the monarch, who has the rival of his greatness completely in: his power.
O king, do not let him be tormented longer by the uncertainty of his fate!
I thank you, Strato! Yes, let me hear at once, I beg you, how despicable you will render an unfortunate son in his father's eyes. With what disgraceful peace, with how many lands shall he redeem him? How small and contemptible shall he become, in order to regain his child? O my father!
This early, manly language too, prince, was your father's! I like to hear you speak thus. And would that my son, no less worthy of me, spoke thus before your father now.
What mean you by that?
The gods--I am convinced of it--watch over our virtue, as they watch over our lives. To preserve both as long as possible is their secret and eternal work. Where is the mortal who knows how wicked he is at heart,--how viciously he would act, if they allowed free scope to each treacherous inducement to disgrace himself by little deeds! Yes, prince! Perhaps I might be he, whom you think me; perhaps I might not have sufficient nobleness of thought to use with modesty the strange fortune of war, which delivered you into my hands; perhaps I might have tried through you to exact that for which I would no longer venture to contend by arms; perhaps--but fear nothing; a higher power has forestalled this. Perhaps. I cannot let your father redeem his son more dearly than by--mine.
I am astounded! You give me to understand that----
That my son is your father's prisoner, as you are mine.
Your son my father's prisoner? Your Polytimet? Since when? How? Where?
Fate willed it thus! From equal scales it took equal weights at the same time, and the scales are balanced still.
You wish to know more details. Polytimet led the very squadron, towards which you rushed too rashly; and when your soldiers saw that you were lost, rage and despair gave them superhuman strength. They broke through the lines and all assailed the one in whom they saw the compensation for their loss. The end you know! Now accept a word of advice from an old soldier: The assault is not a race; not he who first, but he who most surely meets the enemy, approaches victory. Note this, too ardent prince! otherwise the future hero may be stifled in his earliest bud.
Strato, you vex the prince with your warning, though it be friendly. How gloomily he stands there!
Not so. But do not mind me. In deep adoration of Providence--
The best adoration, prince, is grateful joy! Cheer up! We fathers will not long withhold our sons from one another. My herald is now ready; he shall go and hasten the exchange. But you know that joyful tidings, heard from the enemy alone, have the appearance of snares. They might suspect that you, perchance, had died from your wound. It will be necessary, therefore, for you to send a trustworthy messenger to your father with the herald. Come with me! Choose among the prisoners one whom you hold worthy of your confidence.
You wish, then, that I shall detest myself a hundredfold? In each of the prisoners I shall behold myself! Spare me this embarrassment!
But----
Parmenio must be among the prisoners. Send him to me! I will despatch him.
Well, be it so! Come, Strato! Prince, we shall see each other soon again!