OCTAVIO.
I know not what it is that so attracts
And links him both to me and to my son.
Comrades and friends we always were—long habit,
Adventurous deeds performed in company,
And all those many and various incidents
Which stores a soldier's memory with affections,
Had bound us long and early to each other—
Yet I can name the day, when all at once
His heart rose on me, and his confidence
Shot out into sudden growth. It was the morning
Before the memorable fight at Luetzen.
Urged by an ugly dream, I sought him out,
To press him to accept another charger.
At a distance from the tents, beneath a tree,
I found him in a sleep. When I had waked him
And had related all my bodings to him,
Long time he stared upon me, like a man
Astounded: thereon fell upon my neck,
And manifested to me an emotion
That far outstripped the worth of that small service.
Since then his confidence has followed me
With the same pace that mine has fled from him.
QUESTENBERG.
You lead your son into the secret?
OCTAVIO.
No!
QUESTENBERG.
What! and not warn him either, what bad hands
His lot has placed him in?
OCTAVIO.
I must perforce
Leave him in wardship to his innocence.
His young and open soul—dissimulation
Is foreign to its habits! Ignorance
Alone can keep alive the cheerful air,
The unembarrassed sense and light free spirit,
That makes the duke secure.
QUESTENBERG (anxiously).
My honored friend! most highly do I deem
Of Colonel Piccolomini—yet—if—
Reflect a little——
OCTAVIO.
I must venture it.
Hush! There he comes!
SCENE IV.
MAX. PICCOLOMINI, OCTAVIO PICCOLOMINI, QUESTENBERG.
MAX.
Ha! there he is himself. Welcome, my father!