have no enemy, no persecutor;
There's no one wishes ill to you. Ascribe
The insult you received to the Duke only.
His aim is clear and palpable. He wish'd
To tear you from your Emperor: he hoped
To gain from your revenge what he well knew
(What your long-tried fidelity convinced him)
He ne'er could dare expect from your calm reason.
A blind tool would he make you, in contempt
Use you, as means of most abandoned ends.
He has gained his point. Too well has he succeeded
In luring you away from that good path
On which you had been journeying forty years!
BUTLER (his voice trembling).
Can e'er the Emperor's Majesty forgive me?
OCTAVIO.
More than forgive you. He would fain compensate
For that affront, and most unmerited grievance
Sustain'd by a deserving gallant veteran.
From his free impulse he confirms the present,
Which the Duke made you for a wicked purpose.
The regiment, which you now command, is yours.
[BUTLER attempts to rise, sinks down again. He labors
inwardly with violent emotions; tries to speak, and cannot.
At length he takes his sword from the belt, and offers it to
PICCOLOMINI.]
OCTAVIO.
What wish you? Recollect yourself, friend.
BUTLER.
Take it.
OCTAVIO.
But to what purpose? Calm yourself.
BUTLER.
O take it!
I am no longer worthy of this sword.
OCTAVIO.
Receive it then anew, from my hands—and
Wear it with honor for the right cause ever.
BUTLER.
Perjure myself to such a gracious Sovereign!
OCTAVIO.
You'll make amends. Quick! break off from the Duke!
BUTLER.
Break off from him!
OCTAVIO.
What now? Bethink thyself.
BUTLER (no longer governing his emotion).
Only break off from him? He dies! he dies!
OCTAVIO.
Come after me to Frauenburg, where now
All who are loyal are assembling under
Counts Altringer and Gallas. Many others
I've brought to a remembrance of their duty:
This night be sure that you escape from Pilsen.
BUTLER (strides up and down in excessive agitation, then steps up to OCTAVIO with resolved countenance).
Count Piccolomini! dare that man speak
Of honor to you, who once broke his troth.
OCTAVIO.
He, who repents so deeply of it, dares.
BUTLER.
Then leave me here upon my word of honor!
OCTAVIO.
What's your design?
BUTLER.
Leave me and my regiment.
OCTAVIO.
I have full confidence in you. But tell me
What are you brooding?
BUTLER.
That the deed will tell you.
Ask me no more at present. Trust to me.
Ye may trust safely. By the living God
Ye give him over, not to his good angel!
Farewell.
[Exit BUTLER.]
SERVANT (enters with a billet).
A stranger left it, and is gone.
The Prince Duke's horses wait for you below.
[Exit SERVANT.]
OCTAVIO (reads).
"Be sure make haste! Your faithful Isolan."
–O that I had but left this town behind me.
To split upon a rock so near the haven!—Away!
This is no longer a safe place
For me! Where can my son be tarrying!
SCENE VII
OCTAVIO and MAX PICCOLOWINI
[MAX enters almost in a state of derangement, from extreme agitation; his eyes roll wildly, his walk is unsteady, and he appears not to observe his father, who stands at a distance, and gazes at him with a countenance expressive of compassion. He paces with long strides through the chamber, then stands still again, and at last throws himself into a chair, staring vacantly at the object directly before him.]
OCTAVIO (advances to him).
I am going off, my son.
[Receiving no answer, he takes his hand.]
My son, farewell.
MAX.
Farewell.
OCTAVIO.
Thou wilt soon follow me?
MAX.
I follow thee?
Thy way is crooked—it is not my way.
[OCTAVIO drops his hand, and starts back.]
O, hadst thou been but simple and sincere,
Ne'er had it come to this—all had stood otherwise.
He had not done that foul and horrible deed,
The virtuous had retain'd their influence o'er him:
He had not fallen into the snares of villains.
Wherefore so like a thief, and thief's accomplice
Didst creep behind him, lurking for thy prey!
O, unblest falsehood! Mother of all evil!
Thou misery-making demon, it is thou
That sink'st us in perdition. Simple truth,
Sustainer of the world, have saved us all!
Father, I will not, I cannot excuse thee!
Wallenstein has deceived me—O, most foully!
But thou hast acted not much better.
OCTAVIO.
Son!
My