University of Virginia Library

ACT III

Scene I

Scene.—A Chamber in Piccolomini's Mansion.—Night.
Octavio Piccolomini. A Valet de Chambre, with Lights.
Octavio.
—And when my son comes in, conduct him hither.
What is the hour?

Valet.
'Tis on the point of morning.

Octavio.
Set down the light. We mean not to undress.
You may retire to sleep.

[Exit Valet. Octavio paces, musing, across the chamber; Max Piccolomini enters unobserved, and looks at his father for some moments in silence.
Max.
Art thou offended with me? Heaven knows
That odious business was no fault of mine.
'Tis true, indeed, I saw thy signature.
What thou hadst sanctioned, should not, it might seem,
Have come amiss to me. But—'tis my nature—
Thou know'st that in such matters I must follow
My own light, not another's.

Octavio
(embraces him).
Follow it,
O follow it still further, my best son!
To-night, dear boy! it hath more faithfully
Guided thee than the example of thy father.

Max.
Declare thyself less darkly.

Octavio.
I will do so.
For after what has taken place this night,
There must remain no secrets 'twixt us two.
[Both seat themselves.
Max Piccolomini! what thinkest thou of
The oath that was sent round for signatures?

Max.
I hold it for a thing of harmless import,
Although I love not these set declarations.

Octavio.
And on no other ground hast thou refused
The signature they fain had wrested from thee?

Max.
It was a serious business—I was absent—
The affair itself seemed not so urgent to me.

Octavio.
Be open, Max. Thou hadst then no suspicion?

Max.
Suspicion! what suspicion? Not the least.

Octavio.
Thank thy good angel, Piccolomini:
He drew thee back unconscious from the abyss.

Max.
I know not what thou meanest.

Octavio.
I will tell thee.
Fain would they have extorted from thee, son,
The sanction of thy name to villainy;
Yea, with a single flourish of thy pen,
Made thee renounce thy duty and thy honour!

Max
(rises).
Octavio!

Octavio.
Patience! Seat yourself. Much yet
Hast thou to hear from me, friend!—hast for years
Lived in incomprehensible illusion.
Before thine eyes is Treason drawing out
As black a web as e'er was spun for venom:
A power of hell o'erclouds thy understanding.
I dare no longer stand in silence—dare
No longer see thee wandering on in darkness,
Nor pluck the bandage from thine eyes.

Max.
My father!
Yet, ere thou speak'st, 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,
Which thou concealest, forces mine from me.
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 honourable soldiers,
More than a thousand noblemen among them,
From oaths, from duty, from their honour 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 wise 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 swoln, that at this hour the Emperor
Before his armies—his own armies—trembles;
Yea, in his capital, his palace, fears
The traitor's poniards, and is meditating
To hurry off and hide his tender offspring—
Not from the Swedes, not from the Lutherans—
No! from his own troops hide and hurry them!

Max.
Cease, cease! thou tortur'st, shatter'st me. I know
That oft we tremble at an empty terror;
But the false phantasm brings a real misery.

Octavio.
It is no phantasm. An intestine war,
Of all the most unnatural and cruel,
Will burst out into flames, if instantly
We do not fly and stifle it. The Generals
Are many of them long ago won over;
The subalterns are vacillating—whole
Regiments and garrisons are vacillating.
To foreigners our strong holds are entrusted;
To that suspected Schafgotch is the whole
Force of Silesia given up: to Tertsky
Five regiments, foot and horse—to Isolani,
To Illo, Kinsky, Butler, the best troops.

Max.
Likewise to both of us.

Octavio.
Because the Duke
Believes he has secured us—means to lure us
Still further on by splendid promises.
To me he portions forth the princedoms, Glatz
And Sagan; and too plain I see the angle
With which he doubts not to catch thee.

Max.
No! no!
I tell thee—no!

Octavio.
O open yet thine eyes!
And to what purpose think'st thou he has called us
Hither to Pilsen?—to avail himself
Of our advice?—O when did Friedland ever
Need our advice?—Be calm, and listen to me.
To sell ourselves are we called hither, and,
Decline we that—to be his hostages.
Therefore doth noble Galas stand aloof;
Thy father, too, thou would'st not have seen here,
If higher duties had not held him fettered.

Max.
He makes no secret of it—needs make none—
That we're called hither for his sake—he owns it.
He needs our aidance to maintain himself—
He did so much for us; and 'tis but fair
That we too should do somewhat now for him.

Octavio.
And know'st thou what it is which we must do?
That Illo's drunken mood betrayed it to thee.
Bethink thyself—what hast thou heard, what seen?
The counterfeited paper—the omission
Of that particular clause, so full of meaning,
Does it not prove, that they would bind us down
To nothing good?

Max.
That counterfeited paper
Appears to me no other than a trick
Of Illo's own device. These underhand
Traders in great men's interests ever use
To urge and hurry all things to the extreme.
They see the Duke at variance with the court,
And fondly think to serve him, when they widen
The breach irreparably. Trust me, father,
The Duke knows nothing of all this.

Octavio.
It grieves me
That I must dash to earth, that I must shatter
A faith so specious; but I may not spare thee!
For this is not a time for tenderness.
Thou must take measures, speedy ones—must act.
I therefore will confess to thee, that all
Which I've entrusted to thee now—that all
Which seems to thee so unbelievable,
That—yes, I will tell thee—Max! I had it all
From his own mouth—from the Duke's mouth I had it.

Max.
No!—no!—never!

Octavio.
Himself confided to me
What I, 'tis true, had long before discovered
By other means—himself confided to me,
That 'twas his settled plan to join the Swedes;
And, at the head of the united armies,
Compel the Emperor—

Max.
He is passionate.
The Court has stung him—he is sore all over
With injuries and affronts; and in a moment
Of irritation, what if he, for once,
Forgot himself? He's an impetuous man.

Octavio.
Nay, in cold blood he did confess this to me:
And having construed my astonishment
Into a scruple of his power, he shewed me
His written evidences—shewed me letters,
Both from the Saxon and the Swede, that gave
Promise of aidance, and defin'd the amount.

Max.
It cannot be! — can not be! can not be!
Dost thou not see, it cannot!
Thou wouldest of necessity have shewn 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 sacred
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 honour?

Max.
That he did not, evinced 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, for ever 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 say'st 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.
As yet thou know'st not all, my son. I have
Yet somewhat to disclose to thee.
[After a pause.
Duke Friedland
Hath made his preparations. He relies
Upon his 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.
O 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,
With light 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 know'st 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!
[A pause.
—In this disclosure place I in thy hands
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
Anticipate thy loitering confidence!
The hope thou nourishest to knit thyself
Yet closer to him—

Max.
Father—

Octavio.
O 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 escrutoire, 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).
O 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.
But for the present moment, till the King
Of Hungary may safely join the army,
Is the command assigned to me.

Max.
And think'st thou,
Dost thou believe, that thou wilt tear it from him?
O never hope it!—Father! father! father!
An inauspicious office is enjoined thee.
This paper here—this! and wilt thou enforce it?
The mighty in the middle of his host,
Surrounded by his thousands, him would'st thou
Disarm—degrade! Thou art lost, both thou and all of us.

Octavio.
What hazard I incur thereby, I know.
In the great hand of God I stand. The Almighty
Will cover with his shield the Imperial house,
And shatter, in his wrath, the work of darkness.
The Emperor hath true servants still; and even
Here in the camp, there are enough brave men,
Who for the good cause will fight gallantly.
The faithful have been warned—the dangerous
Are closely watched. I wait but the first step,
And then immediately—

Max.
What! on suspicion?
Immediately?

Octavio.
The Emperor is no tyrant.
The deed alone he'll punish, not the wish.
The Duke hath yet his destiny in his power.
Let him but leave the treason uncompleted,
He will be silently displaced from office,
And make way to his Emperor's royal son.
An honourable exile to his castles
Will be a benefaction to him rather
Than punishment. But the first open step—

Max.
What callest thou such a step? A wicked step
Ne'er will he take; but thou mightest easily,
Yea, thou hast done it, misinterpret him.

Octavio.
Nay, howsoever punishable were
Duke Friedland's purposes, yet still the steps
Which he hath taken openly, permit
A mild construction. It is my intention
To leave this paper wholly uninforced
Till some act is committed which convicts him
Of a high-treason, without doubt or plea,
And that shall sentence him.

Max.
But who the judge?

Octavio.
Thyself.

Max.
For ever, then, this paper will lie idle.

Octavio.
Too soon, I fear, its powers must all be proved.
After the counter-promise of this evening,
It cannot be but he must deem himself
Secure of the majority with us;
And of the army's general sentiment
He hath a pleasing proof in that petition
Which thou delivered'st to him from the regiments.
Add this too—I have letters that the Rhinegrave
Hath changed his route, and travels by forced marches
To the Bohemian Forest. What this purports,
Remains unknown; and, to confirm suspicion,
This night a Swedish nobleman arrived here.

Max.
I have thy word. Thou'lt not proceed to action
Before thou hast convinced me—me myself.

Octavio.
Is it possible? Still, after all thou know'st,
Canst thou believe still in his innocence?

Max.
Thy judgment may mistake; my heart can not.
These reasons might expound thy spirit or mine;
But they expound not Friedland—I have faith:
For as he knits his fortunes to the stars,
Even so doth he resemble them in secret,
Wonderful, still inexplicable courses!
Trust me, they do him wrong. All will be solved.
These smokes, at once, will kindle into flame—
The edges of this black and stormy cloud
Will brighten suddenly, and we shall view
The Unapproachable glide out in splendour.

Octavio.
I will await it.

Scene II

Octavio and Max as before. To them the Valet of the Chamber.
Octavio.
How now, then?

Valet.
A dispatch is at the door.

Octavio.
So early? From whom comes he then? Who is it?

Valet.
That he refused to tell me.

Octavio.
Lead him in:
And, hark you—let it not transpire.

[Exit Valet—the Cornet steps in.
Octavio.
Ha! Cornet—is it you? and from Count Galas?
Give me your letters.

Cornet.
The Lieutenant-General
Trusted it not to letters.

Octavio.
And what is it?

Cornet.
He bade me tell you—Dare I speak openly here?

Octavio.
My son knows all.

Cornet.
We have him.

Octavio.
Whom?

Cornet.
Sesina,
The old negotiator.

Octavio.
And you have him?

Cornet.
In the Bohemian Forest Captain Mohrbrand
Found and secured him yester morning early:
He was proceeding then to Regenspurg,
And on him were dispatches for the Swede.

Octavio.
And the dispatches—

Cornet.
The Lieutenant-General
Sent them that instant to Vienna, and
The prisoner with them.

Octavio.
This is, indeed, a tiding!
That fellow is a precious casket to us,
Enclosing weighty things.—Was much found on him?

Cornet.
I think, six packets, with Count Tertsky's arms.

Octavio.
None in the Duke's own hand?

Cornet.
Not that I know.

Octavio.
And old Sesina?

Cornet.
He was sorely frightened,
When it was told him he must to Vienna.
But the Count Altringer bade him take heart,
Would he but make a full and free confession.

Octavio.
Is Altringer then with your Lord? I heard
That he lay sick at Linz.

Cornet.
These three days past
He's with my master, the Lieutenant-General,
At Frauenberg. Already have they sixty
Small companies together, chosen men;
Respectfully they greet you with assurances,
That they are only waiting your commands.

Octavio.
In a few days may great events take place.
And when must you return?

Cornet.
I wait your orders.

Octavio.
Remain till evening.

[Cornet signifies his assent and obeisance, and is going.
Octavio.
No one saw you—ha?

Cornet.
No living creature. Through the cloister wicket
The Capuchins, as usual, let me in.

Octavio.
Go, rest your limbs, and keep yourself concealed.
I hold it probable, that yet ere evening
I shall dispatch you. The development
Of this affair approaches: ere the day,
That even now is dawning in the heaven,
Ere this eventful day hath set, the lot
That must decide our fortunes will be drawn.

[Exit Cornet.

Scene III

Octavio and Max Piccolomini.
Octavio.
Well—and what now, son? All will soon be clear;
For all, I'm certain, went through that Sesina.

Max.
I will procure me light a shorter way.
Farewell.

Octavio.
Where now?—Remain here.

Max.
To the Duke.

Octavio.
What—

Max.
If thou hast believed that I shall act
A part in this thy play—
Thou hast miscalculated on me grievously.
My way must be straight on. True with the tongue,
False with the heart—I may not, cannot be:
Nor can I suffer that a man should trust me—
As his friend trust me—and then lull my conscience
With such low pleas as these:—‘I ask'd him not—
He did it all at his own hazard—and
My mouth has never lied to him.’—No, no!
What a friend takes me for, that I must be.
—I'll to the Duke; ere yet this day is ended
Will I demand of him that he do save
His good name from the world, and with one stride
Break through and rend this fine-spun web of yours.
He can, he will!—I still am his believer.
Yet I'll not pledge myself, but that those letters
May furnish you, perchance, with proofs against him.
How far may not this Tertsky have proceeded—
What may not he himself too have permitted
Himself to do, to snare the enemy,
The laws of war excusing? Nothing, save
His own mouth shall convict him—nothing less!
And face to face will I go question him.

Octavio.
Thou wilt?

Max.
I will, as sure as this heart beats.

Octavio.
I have, indeed, miscalculated on thee.
I calculated on a prudent son,
Who would have blest the hand beneficent
That plucked him back from the abyss—and lo!
A fascinated being I discover,
Whom his two eyes befool, whom passion wilders,
Whom not the broadest light of noon can heal.
Go, question him!—Be mad enough, I pray thee.
The purpose of thy father, of thy Emperor,
Go, give it up free booty:—Force me, drive me
To an open breach before the time. And now,
Now that a miracle of heaven had guarded
My secret purpose even to this hour,
And laid to sleep Suspicion's piercing eyes,
Let me have lived to see that mine own son,
With frantic enterprise, annihilates
My toilsome labours and state-policy.

Max.
Aye—this state-policy! O how I curse it!
You will some time, with your state-policy,
Compel him to the measure: it may happen,
Because ye are determined that he is guilty,
Guilty ye'll make him. All retreat cut off,
You close up every outlet, hem him in
Narrower and narrower, till at length ye force him—
Yes, ye,—ye force him, in his desperation,
To set fire to his prison. Father! Father!
That never can end well—it cannot—will not!
And let it be decided as it may,
I see with boding heart the near approach
Of an ill-starred unblest catastrophe.
For this great Monarch-spirit, if he fall,
Will drag a world into the ruin with him.
And as a ship (that midway on the ocean
Takes fire) at once, and with a thunder-burst
Explodes, and with itself shoots out its crew
In smoke and ruin betwixt sea and heaven;
So will he, falling, draw down in his fall
All us, who're fixed and mortised to his fortune.
Deem of it what thou wilt; but pardon me,
That I must bear me on in my own way.
All must remain pure betwixt him and me;
And, ere the day-light dawns, it must be known
Which I must lose—my father, or my friend.

[During his exit the curtain drops.