_S._ My son Siddhattha truly loves his wife, And since their wedlock has been blessed by this Sweet, promising, this hale and healthy child, His melancholy will give way to joy, And we reclaim his noble energies To do good service for our race and state. New int'rests and new duties give new courage And thus this babe will prove his father's saviour For he will tie his soul to life again. _P._ I fear his grief lies deeper than you think. _S._ What sayest thou, my trusty counselor? _V._ This is the last hope which I have for him, I followed your advice and tried all means To cure Siddhattha of his pensive mood. I taught him all that will appeal to man: The sports of youth, the joy of poetry And art, the grandeur of our ancient lore, The pleasures e'en of wanton sense; but naught Would satisfy the yearnings of his heart. _S._ Yet for religion he shows interest: He ponders on the problems of the world. _V._ Indeed he ponders on life's meaning much, Investigates the origin of things But irreligious are his ways of thought. He shows no reverence for Issara, And Indra is to him a fairy tale. He grudgeth to the gods a sacrifice And sheddeth tears at immolated lambs. Oh no! he's not religious. If he were, His ills could easily be cured by faith, By confidence in Issara, the Lord. _S._ What then is your opinion of the case? _V._ Siddhattha is a youth of rarest worth, And he surpasseth men in every virtue Except in one.--He is too independent: He recognizeth no authority, Neither of men nor gods. He suffereth [_More and more impressively_] From the incurable disease of thought. _S._ Cure thought with thought, teach him philosophy, Show him the purpose of our holy writ. Instruct him in the meaning of the Vedas, Reveal to him their esoteric sense. _V._ My lord, I did, but he is critical, He makes objections and will not believe. He raises questions which I cannot answer, And his conclusions are most dangerous. _P._ It seems to me that you exaggerate; Siddhattha is not dangerous. He is As gentle as my sister was, his mother, And almost overkind to every one. _V._ I know, my gracious lady, but e'en kindness May harmful be, if it is out of place. _S._ I see no danger in his gentle nature. _V._ But he lacks strength, decision, warlike spirit. _S._ That cometh with maturer years. _V._ I doubt it: Your son, my Lord, not only hath no faith In holy writ, neither does he believe In caste-distinction, and he would upset The sanctioned order of our institutions. He would abolish sacrifice and holdeth The Brahman ritual in deep contempt. _S._ Your words alarm me.