PHILOTAS.

Scene I.

The scene is laid in a tent in the camp of AridÄus.

PHILOTAS.

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!

Scene II.

Strato. Philotas.

STRATO.

Prince--

PHILOTAS.

Another visitor already? Old man, I like to be alone!

STRATO.

Prince! I come by order of the king.

PHILOTAS.

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.

STRATO.

He will be with you directly; I come to announce his approach.

PHILOTAS.

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.

STRATO.

Prince! Your countenance, so full of youthful graces, bespeaks a softer heart!

PHILOTAS.

Mock not my countenance! Your visage, full of scars, is assuredly a more handsome face.

STRATO.

By the gods! A grand answer! I must admire and love you.

PHILOTAS.

I would not object if only you had feared me first.

STRATO.

More and more heroic! We have the most terrible of enemies before us, if there are many like Philotas amongst his youths.

PHILOTAS.

Do not flatter me! To become terrible to you, they must combine greater deeds with my thoughts. May I know your name?

STRATO.

Strato.

PHILOTAS.

Strato? The brave Strato, who defeated my father on the Lycus?

STRATO.

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.

PHILOTAS.

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?

STRATO.

I am vexed: you should not move me thus. I become a child with you.

PHILOTAS.

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!

STRATO.

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.

Scene III.

King AridÄus, Philotas, Strato.

ARIDÄUS.

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.

PHILOTAS.

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.

STRATO.

O king, do not let him be tormented longer by the uncertainty of his fate!

PHILOTAS.

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!

ARIDÄUS.

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.

PHILOTAS.

What mean you by that?

ARIDÄUS.

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.

PHILOTAS.

I am astounded! You give me to understand that----

ARIDÄUS.

That my son is your father's prisoner, as you are mine.

PHILOTAS.

Your son my father's prisoner? Your Polytimet? Since when? How? Where?

ARIDÄUS.

Fate willed it thus! From equal scales it took equal weights at the same time, and the scales are balanced still.

STRATO.

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.

ARIDÄUS.

Strato, you vex the prince with your warning, though it be friendly. How gloomily he stands there!

PHILOTAS.

Not so. But do not mind me. In deep adoration of Providence--

ARIDÄUS.

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.

PHILOTAS.

You wish, then, that I shall detest myself a hundredfold? In each of the prisoners I shall behold myself! Spare me this embarrassment!

ARIDÄUS.

But----

PHILOTAS.

Parmenio must be among the prisoners. Send him to me! I will despatch him.

ARIDÄUS.

Well, be it so! Come, Strato! Prince, we shall see each other soon again!

Scene IV.

PHILOTAS.

O God! the lightning could not have struck nearer without destroying me entirely. Wondrous gods! The flash returns! The vapour passes off, and I was only stunned. My whole misery then was seeing how miserable I might have become--how miserable my father through me!--Now I may appear again before you, my father! But still with eyes cast down; though shame alone will cast them down, and not the burning consciousness of having drawn you down with me to destruction. Now I need fear nothing from you but a smiling reprimand; no silent grief; no curses stifled by the stronger power of paternal love----

But--yes, by Heavens! I am too indulgent towards myself. May I forgive myself all the errors which Providence seems to pardon me? Shall I not judge myself more severely than Providence and my father judge me? All too indulgent judges! All other sad results of my imprisonment the gods could annihilate; one only they could not--the disgrace! It is true they could wipe out that fleeting shame, which falls from the lips of the vulgar crowd: but not the true and lasting disgrace, which the inner judge, my impartial self, pronounces over me!

And how easily I delude myself! Does my father then lose nothing through me?

The weight which the capture of Polytimet must throw into the scale if I were not a prisoner--is that nothing? Only through me does it become nothing! Fortune would have declared for him for whom it should declare;--the right of my father would triumph, if Polytimet was prisoner and not Philotas and Polytimet!

And now--but what was that which I thought just now? Nay, which a god thought within me--I must follow it up! Let me chain thee, fleeting thought! Now I have it again! How it spreads, farther and farther; and now it beams throughout my soul!

What did the king say? Why did he wish that I myself should send a trustworthy messenger to my father? In order that my father should not suspect--yes, thus ran his own words--that I had already died, perchance, from my wounds. He thinks, then, that the affair would take a different aspect, if I had died already from my wound. Would it do so? A thousand thanks for this intelligence. A thousand thanks! Of course it is so. For my father would then have a prince as his prisoner, for whom he could make any claim; and the king, his enemy, would have the body of a captured prince, for which he could demand nothing; which he must have buried or burned, if it should not become an object of disgust to him.

Good! I see that! Consequently, if I, I the wretched prisoner, will still turn the victory into my father's hands--on what does it depend? on death? On nothing more? O truly--the man is mightier than he thinks, the man who knows how to die!

But I? I, the germ, the bud of a man, do I know how to die? Not the man, the grown man alone, knows how to die; the youth also, the boy also; or he knows nothing at all. He who has lived ten years has had ten years time to learn to die; and what one does not learn in ten years, one neither learns in twenty, in thirty, nor in more. All that which I might have been, I must show by what I already am. And what could I, what would I be? A hero! Who is a hero? O my excellent, my absent father, be now wholly present in my soul! Have you not taught me that a hero is a man who knows higher goods than life? A man who has devoted his life to the welfare of the state; himself, the single one, to the welfare of the many? A hero is a man--a man? Then not a youth, my father? Curious question! It is good that my father did not hear it. He would have to think that I should be pleased, if he answered "No" to it. How old must the pine-tree be which has to serve as a mast? How old?--It must be tall enough, and must be strong enough.

Each thing, said the sage who taught me, is perfect if it can fulfil its end. I can fulfil my end, I can die for the welfare of the state; I am therefore perfect, I am a man. A man! although but a few days ago I was still a boy.

What fire rages in my veins? What inspiration falls on me? The breast becomes too narrow for the heart! Patience, my heart! Soon will I give thee space! Soon will I release thee from thy monotonous and tedious task! Soon shalt thou rest, and rest for long! Who comes? It is Parmenio! Quick! I must decide! What must I say to him? What message must I send my father through him?--Right! that I must say, that message I must send.

Scene V.

Parmenio. Philotas.

PHILOTAS.

Approach, Parmenio! Well? Why so shy--so full of shame? Of whom are you ashamed? Of yourself or of me?

PARMENIO.

Of both of us, prince!

PHILOTAS.

Speak always as you think! Truly, Parmenio, neither of us can be good for much, since we are here. Have you already heard my story?

PARMENIO.

Alas!

PHILOTAS.

And when you heard it?

PARMENIO.

I pitied you, I admired you, I cursed you; I do not know myself what I did.

PHILOTAS.

Yes, yes! But now that you have also learned, as I suppose, that the misfortune is not so great since Polytimet immediately afterwards was----

PARMENIO.

Yes, now; now I could almost laugh! I find that Fate often stretches its arm to terrible length to deal a trifling blow. One might think it wished to crush us, and it has after all done nothing but killed a fly upon our forehead.

PHILOTAS.

To the point. I am to send you to my father with the king's herald.

PARMENIO.

Good! Your imprisonment will then plead for mine. Without the good news which I shall bring him from you, and which is well worth a friendly look, I should have had to promise myself rather a frosty one from him.

PHILOTAS.

No, honest Parmenio; in earnest now! My father knows that the enemy carried you from the battle-field bleeding and half dead. Let him boast who will. He whom approaching death has already disarmed is easily taken captive. How many wounds have you now, old warrior?

PARMENIO.

O, I could cite a long list of them once. But now I have shortened it a good deal.

PHILOTAS.

How so?

PARMENIO.

Ha! I do not any more count the limbs on which I am wounded; to save time and breath I count those which still are whole. Trifles after all! For what else has one bones, but that the enemy's iron should notch itself upon them?

PHILOTAS.

That is bold! But now--what will you say to my father?

PARMENIO.

What I see: that you are well. For your wound, if I have heard the truth----

PHILOTAS.

Is as good as none.

PARMENIO.

A sweet little keepsake. Such as an ardent maid nips in our cheek. Is it not, prince?

PHILOTAS.

What do I know of that?

PARMENIO.

Well, well, time brings experience! Further I will tell your father what I believe you wish----

PHILOTAS.

And what is that?

PARMENIO.

To be with him again as soon as possible. Your childlike longing, your anxious impatience----

PHILOTAS.

Why not home-sickness at once! Knave! Wait and I will teach you to think differently.

PARMENIO.

By Heavens you must not! My dear youthful hero, let me tell you, you are still a child! Do not let the rough soldier so soon stifle in you the loving child! Or else one might not put the best construction on your heart; one might take your valour for inborn ferocity. I also am a father, father of an only son, who is but a little older than you, who with equal ardour--But you know him!

PHILOTAS.

I know him. He promises everything that his father has accomplished.

PARMENIO.

But if I knew that the young rogue did not long for his father at every moment when service leaves him free, and did not long for him as the lamb longs for its dam, I should wish--you see--that I had not begotten him. At present he must love more than respect me. I shall soon enough have to content myself with the respect, when nature guides the stream of his affection in another channel; when he himself becomes a father. Do not grow angry, prince!

PHILOTAS.

Who can grow angry with you? You are right! Tell my father everything which you think a loving son should say to him at such a time. Excuse my youthful rashness, which has almost brought him and his empire to destruction. Beg him to forgive my fault. Assure him that I shall never again remind him of it by a similar fault; that I will do everything that he too may be able to forget it. Entreat him----

PARMENIO.

Leave it to me! Such things we soldiers can say well. And better than a learned orator, for we say it more sincerely. Leave it to me! I know it all already. Farewell, prince! I hasten----

PHILOTAS.

Stop!

PARMENIO.

Well? What means this serious air which you suddenly assume?

PHILOTAS.

The son has done with you, but not yet the prince. The one had to feel; the other has to think! How willingly would the son be again with his father,--his beloved father--this very moment--sooner than were possible; but the prince, the prince cannot.--Listen!

PARMENIO.

The prince cannot?

PHILOTAS.

And will not!

PARMENIO.

Will not?

PHILOTAS.

Listen!

PARMENIO.

I am surprised!

PHILOTAS.

I say, you shall listen and not be surprised. Listen!

PARMENIO.

I am surprised, because I listen. It has lightened, and I expect the thunderbolt. Speak!--But, young prince, no second rashness!

PHILOTAS.

But, soldier, no subtilising! Listen! I have my reasons for wishing not to be redeemed before to-morrow. Not before to-morrow! Do you hear? Therefore tell our king that he shall not heed the haste of our enemy's herald! Tell him that a certain doubt, a certain plan compelled Philotas to this delay. Have you understood me?

PARMENIO.

No!

PHILOTAS.

Not? Traitor!

PARMENIO.

Softly, prince! A parrot does not understand, but he yet recollects what one says to him. Fear not! I will repeat everything to your father that I hear from you.

PHILOTAS.

Ha! I forbade you to subtilise; and that puts you out of humour. But how is it that you are so spoiled? Do all your generals inform you of their reasons?

PARMENIO.

All, prince!--Except the young ones.

PHILOTAS.

Excellent! Parmenio, if I were so sensitive as you----

PARMENIO.

And yet he only to whom experience has given twofold sight can command my blind obedience.

PHILOTAS.

Then I shall soon have to ask your pardon. Well, I ask your pardon, Parmenio! Do not grumble, old man! Be kind again, old father! You are indeed wiser than I am. But not the wisest only have the best ideas. Good ideas are gifts of fortune, and good fortune, as you well know, often gives to the youth rather than to the old man. For Fortune is blind. Blind, Parmenio! Stone blind to all merit. If it were not so, would you not have been a general long ago?

PARMENIO.

How you know how to flatter, prince! But in confidence, beloved prince, do you not wish to bribe me--to bribe me with flatteries?

PHILOTAS.

I flatter? And bribe you? You are the man indeed whom one could bribe!

PARMENIO.

If you continue thus, I may become so. Already I no longer thoroughly trust myself.

PHILOTAS.

What was it I was saying? One of those good ideas, which fortune often throws into the silliest brain, I too have seized--merely seized, not the slightest portion of it is my own. For if my reason,--my invention had some part in it, should I not wish to consult with you about it? But this I cannot do; it vanishes, if I impart it; so tender, so delicate is it, that I do not venture to clothe it in words. I conceive it only, as the philosopher has taught me to conceive God, and at the most I could only tell you what it is not. It is possible enough that it is in reality a childish thought; a thought which I consider happy, because I have not yet had a happier. But let that be; if it can do no good, it can at least do no harm. That I know for certain; it is the most harmless idea in the world; as harmless as--as a prayer! Would you cease to pray because you are not quite certain whether the prayer will be of use to you? Do not then spoil my pleasure, Parmenio, honest Parmenio! I beg you, I embrace you. If you love me but a very little--will you? Can I rely on you? Will you manage that I am not exchanged before to-morrow? Will you?

PARMENIO.

Will? Must I not? Must I not? Listen, prince; when you shall one day be king, do not give commands. To command is an unsure means of being obeyed. If you have a heavy duty to impose on anyone, do with him as you have just now done with me; and if he then refuses his obedience--Impossible! He cannot refuse it to you. I too must know what a man can refuse.

PHILOTAS.

What obedience? What has the kindness which you show me to do with obedience? Will you, my friend----

PARMENIO.

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.

AridÄus. Philotas.

ARIDÄUS.

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?

ARIDÄUS.

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.

ARIDÄUS.

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.

ARIDÄUS.

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?

ARIDÄUS.

I hear with astonishment----

PHILOTAS.

Ah! a woman, too, may be listened to with astonishment.

ARIDÄUS.

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!

ARIDÄUS.

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!

ARIDÄUS.

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----

ARIDÄUS.

Do not refuse!

PHILOTAS.

Thus, as I am, shall I show myself to many eyes?

ARIDÄUS.

Why not?

PHILOTAS.

I cannot, king, I cannot!

ARIDÄUS.

And the reason?

PHILOTAS.

O, the reason! It would make you laugh.

ARIDÄUS.

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.

ARIDÄUS.

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!

ARIDÄUS.

And then you will accompany me?

PHILOTAS.

Then I will follow you immediately.

ARIDÄUS.

As we willed it! There he comes! Well, Strato!

Scene VIII.

Strato (with a sword in his hand), AridÄus, 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?"

ARIDÄUS.

O Strato, make good for me what this man has done!

STRATO.

I have done so. And here is one of your swords!

ARIDÄUS.

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?

ARIDÄUS.

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!

ARIDÄUS.

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.

ARIDÄUS (to Strato).

O the wondrous combination of child and hero!

PHILOTAS (aside).

Beloved sword! Could I but be alone with thee! But, courage!

ARIDÄUS.

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?

So! (springing back and swinging the sword through the air). It has the right swing.

ARIDÄUS.

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.)

ARIDÄUS.

God! Strato!

STRATO.

King!

PHILOTAS.

I wished it thus! (sinking back.)

ARIDÄUS.

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!

ARIDÄUS.

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!

ARIDÄUS.

Who calls me?

STRATO.

King!

ARIDÄUS.

Be silent!

STRATO.

The war is over, king!

ARIDÄUS.

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!

ARIDÄUS.

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!

ARIDÄUS.

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.

ARIDÄUS.

And reconciled! Prince!

PHILOTAS.

O then, ye gods, receive my triumphant soul; and thou, goddess of peace, thy offering!

ARIDÄUS.

Hear me, prince!

STRATO.

He dies! Am I traitor, king, if I weep over your enemy? I cannot restrain myself. A wondrous youth!

ARIDÄUS.

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.