The Piccolomini

Автор

Фридрих Шиллер

Год написания книги

2017

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Art thou offended with me? Heaven knows
That odious business was no fault of mine.
'Tis true, indeed, I saw thy signature,
What thou hast 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 (goes up to him and embraces him)

Follow it,
Oh, 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 villany;
Yes, with a single flourish of thy pen,
Made thee renounce thy duty and thy honor!

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 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,