The Piccolomini. Friedrich von Schiller

Yea, his own mouth discloses it.

QUESTENBERG

                          'Tis quite

         Incomprehensible, that he detects not

         The foe so near!

OCTAVIO

                  Beware, you do not think,

         That I, by lying arts, and complaisant

         Hypocrisy, have sulked into his graces,

         Or with the substance of smooth professions

         Nourish his all-confiding friendship! No —

         Compelled alike by prudence, and that duty

         Which we all owe our country and our sovereign,

         To hide my genuine feelings from him, yet

         Ne'er have I duped him with base counterfeits!

QUESTENBERG

         It is the visible ordinance of heaven.

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!

      [He embraces his father. As he turns round, he observes

            QUESTENBERG, and draws back with a cold and reserved air.

         You are engaged, I see. I'll not disturb you.

OCTAVIO

         How, Max.? Look closer at this visitor.

         Attention, Max., an old friend merits – reverence

         Belongs of right to the envoy of your sovereign.

MAX. (drily)

         Von Questenberg! – welcome – if you bring with you

         Aught good to our headquarters.

QUESTENBERG (seizing his hand)

                          Nay, draw not

         Your hand away, Count Piccolimini!

         Not on my own account alone I seized it,

         And nothing common will I say therewith.

      [Taking the hands of both.

         Octavio – Max. Piccolomini!

         O savior names, and full of happy omen!

         Ne'er will her prosperous genius turn from Austria,

         While two such stars, with blessed influences

         Beaming protection, shine above her hosts.

MAX

         Heh! Noble minister! You miss your part.

         You come not here to act a panegyric.

         You're sent, I know, to find fault and to scold us —

         I must not be beforehand with my comrades.

OCTAVIO (to MAX.)

         He comes from court, where people are not quite

         So well contented with the duke as here.

MAX

         What now have they contrived to find out in him?

         That he alone determines for himself

         What he himself alone doth understand!

         Well, therein he does right, and will persist in't

         Heaven never meant him for that passive thing

         That can be struck and hammered out to suit

         Another's taste and fancy. He'll not dance

         To every tune of every minister.

         It goes against his nature – he can't do it,

         He is possessed by a commanding spirit,

         And his, too, is the station of command.

         And well for us it is so! There exist

         Few fit to rule themselves, but few that use

         Their intellects intelligently. Then

         Well for the whole, if there be found a man

         Who makes himself what nature destined him,

         The pause, the central point, to thousand thousands

         Stands fixed and stately,