MAX.
My father!
Yet, ere thou speakest, a moment's pause of thought!
If your disclosures should appear to be
Conjectures only—and almost I fear
They will be nothing further—spare them! I
Am not in that collected mood at present,
That I could listen to them quietly.
OCTAVIO.
The deeper cause thou hast to hate this light,
The more impatient cause have I, my son,
To force it on thee. To the innocence
And wisdom of thy heart I could have trusted thee
With calm assurance—but I see the net
Preparing—and it is thy heart itself
Alarms me, for thine innocence—that secret,
[Fixing his eyes steadfastly on his son's face.
Which thou concealest, forces mine from me.
[MAX. attempts to answer, but hesitates, and casts his eyes
to the ground embarrassed.
OCTAVIO (after a pause).
Know, then, they are duping thee!—a most foul game
With thee and with us all—nay, hear me calmly—
The duke even now is playing. He assumes
The mask, as if he would forsake the army;
And in this moment makes he preparations
That army from the emperor to steal,
And carry it over to the enemy!
MAX.
That low priest's legend I know well, but did not
Expect to hear it from thy mouth.
OCTAVIO.
That mouth,
From which thou hearest it at this present moment,
Doth warrant thee that it is no priest's legend.
MAX.
How mere a maniac they supposed the duke;
What, he can meditate?—the duke?—can dream
That he can lure away full thirty thousand
Tried troops and true, all honorable soldiers,
More than a thousand noblemen among them,
From oaths, from duty, from their honor lure them,
And make them all unanimous to do
A deed that brands them scoundrels?
OCTAVIO.
Such a deed,
With such a front of infamy, the duke
No way desires—what he requires of us
Bears a far gentler appellation. Nothing
He wishes but to give the empire peace.
And so, because the emperor hates this peace,
Therefore the duke—the duke will force him to it.
All parts of the empire will he pacify,
And for his trouble will retain in payment
(What he has already in his gripe)—Bohemia!
MAX.
Has he, Octavio, merited of us,
That we—that we should think so vilely of him?
OCTAVIO.
What we would think is not the question here,
The affair speaks for itself—and clearest proofs!
Hear me, my son—'tis not unknown to thee,
In what ill credit with the court we stand.
But little dost thou know, or guess what tricks,
What base intrigues, what lying artifices,
Have been employed—for this sole end—to sow
Mutiny in the camp! All bands are loosed—
Loosed all the bands that link the officer
To his liege emperor, all that bind the soldier
Affectionately to the citizen.
Lawless he stands, and threateningly beleaguers
The state he's bound to guard. To such a height
'Tis swollen, that at this hour the emperor
Before his armies—his own armies—trembles;
Yea, in his capital, his palace, fears
The traitor's poniard, and is meditating
To hurry off and hide his tender offspring—
Not from the Swedes, not from the Lutherans—no,
From his own troops to hide and hurry them!