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, 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, [Fixing his eyes steadfastly on his son's face. Which thou concealest, forces mine from me. [MAX. attempts to answer, but hesitates, and casts his eyes to the ground embarrassed. OCTAVIO (after a pause). 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 honorable soldiers, More than a thousand noblemen among them, From oaths, from duty, from their honor 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 way 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?