Part 174 (1/2)
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.