The Works of Frederick Schiller - LightNovelsOnl.com
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It cannot be!--cannot be! cannot be!
Dost thou not see, it cannot!
Thou wouldst of necessity have shown him Such horror, such deep loathing--that or he Had taken thee for his better genius, or Thou stood'st not now a living man before me.
OCTAVIO.
I have laid open my objections to him, Dissuaded him with pressing earnestness; But my abhorrence, the full sentiment Of my whole heart--that I have still kept safe To my own consciousness.
MAX.
And thou hast been So treacherous? That looks not like my father!
I trusted not thy words, when thou didst tell me Evil of him; much less can I now do it, That thou calumniatest thy own self.
OCTAVIO.
I did not thrust myself into his secrecy.
MAX.
Uprightness merited his confidence.
OCTAVIO.
He was no longer worthy of sincerity.
MAX.
Dissimulation, sure, was still less worthy Of thee, Octavio!
OCTAVIO.
Gave I him a cause To entertain a scruple of my honor?
MAX.
That he did not evince his confidence.
OCTAVIO.
Dear son, it is not always possible Still to preserve that infant purity Which the voice teaches in our inmost heart, Still in alarm, forever on the watch Against the wiles of wicked men: e'en virtue Will sometimes bear away her outward robes Soiled in the wrestle with iniquity.
This is the curse of every evil deed That, propagating still, it brings forth evil.
I do not cheat my better soul with sophisms; I but perform my orders; the emperor Prescribes my conduct to me. Dearest boy, Far better were it, doubtless, if we all Obeyed the heart at all times; but so doing, In this our present sojourn with bad men, We must abandon many an honest object.
'Tis now our call to serve the emperor; By what means he can best be served--the heart May whisper what it will--this is our call!
MAX.
It seems a thing appointed, that to-day I should not comprehend, not understand thee.
The duke, thou sayest, did honestly pour out His heart to thee, but for an evil purpose: And thou dishonestly hast cheated him For a good purpose! Silence, I entreat thee-- My friend, thou stealest not from me-- Let me not lose my father!
OCTAVIO (suppressing resentment).
As yet thou knowest not all, my son. I have Yet somewhat to disclose to thee.
[After a pause.
Duke Friedland Hath made his preparations. He relies Upon the stars. He deems us unprovided, And thinks to fall upon us by surprise.
Yea, in his dream of hope, he grasps already The golden circle in his hand. He errs, We, too, have been in action--he but grasps His evil fate, most evil, most mysterious!
MAX.
Oh, nothing rash, my sire! By all that's good, Let me invoke thee--no precipitation!
OCTAVIO.
With light tread stole he on his evil way, And light of tread hath vengeance stole on after him.
Unseen she stands already, dark behind him But one step more--he shudders in her grasp!
Thou hast seen Questenberg with me. As yet Thou knowest but his ostensible commission: He brought with him a private one, my son!
And that was for me only.
MAX.
May I know it?
OCTAVIO (seizes the patent).
Max!
In this disclosure place I in thy hands [A pause.
The empire's welfare and thy father's life.
Dear to thy inmost heart is Wallenstein A powerful tie of love, of veneration, Hath knit thee to him from thy earliest youth.
Thou nourishest the wish,--O let me still Antic.i.p.ate thy loitering confidence!
The hope thou nourishest to knit thyself Yet closer to him----
MAX.
Father----
OCTAVIO.
Oh, my son!
I trust thy heart undoubtingly. But am I Equally sure of thy collectedness?
Wilt thou be able, with calm countenance, To enter this man's presence, when that I Have trusted to thee his whole fate?
MAX.
According As thou dost trust me, father, with his crime.
[OCTAVIO takes a paper out of his escritoire and gives it to him.
MAX.
What! how! a full imperial patent!
OCTAVIO.
Read it.
MAX. (just glances on it).
Duke Friedland sentenced and condemned!
OCTAVIO.
Even so.
MAX. (throws down the paper).
Oh, this is too much! O unhappy error!
OCTAVIO.
Read on. Collect thyself.
MAX. (after he has read further, with a look of affright and astonishment on his father).
How! what! Thou! thou!
OCTAVIO.
