Act I, Scene 2.
With pathetic earnestness the desolate prince reminds the marquis of the days of their boyhood and their affection; relates an instance of his own devotion to him, when he bore the punishment of some juvenile offence committed by Posa, and resented by the king. The marquis sympathizes but coldly with these emotions; his mind is occupied with thoughts too high and momentous to find pleasure in the recollections of childhood. He would pay the debt of kindness, however, in manlier coin. The prince, in explanation of his previous agitation, and his long cherished grief, confesses his love for the queen his step-mother, and his eager wish for an interview with her without the presence of malicious spectators. His friend, after exacting from him a promise to undertake nothing without his knowledge and sanction, engages to help him to a private audience. It is no part of the design of Posa to discourage this unfortunate attachment, so long as he fancies it can be made subservient to the accomplishment of his schemes.
The next scene introduces us into the retirement of the queen. Elizabeth of Valois, the wife of Philip, is surrounded by her ladies, who converse upon their anticipated return to Madrid, and the sports and festivals that wait to welcome the royal pair. These are savage as the temper of the age; and the delight in anticipation displayed by some of the noble dames calls for the mild reprehension of the gentle queen. A better subject for discussion is offered in the approaching marriage of the princess of Eboli, one of the ladies, to a nobleman of Spain. The queen, with playful grace, inquires his merits of the destined bride, but is surprised when the latter, in a passion of tears, throws herself at her feet, and beseeches that she may be saved from such a sacrifice. Elizabeth promises her liberty, then dismisses the subject with an abruptness that shows unpleasing remembrances are awakened in her mind, and asks for her daughter the Infanta Clara, a child of three years old. The Duchess of Olivarez, who holdssupremacy over the other ladies, suggests that it is not yet the hour to admit the child to her mother's presence; and immediately after, a page announces the Marquis of Posa, as having arrived from the Netherlands, and waiting to present a letter to her majesty. The lady of Olivarez objects to his admission at such a time and place, as a violation of court etiquette, but is overruled by the queen, who commands the entrance of the marquis, and permits her scrupulous governess to retire. The noble knight is most graciously received; and in the course of conversation takes occasion to relate a story bearing much resemblance to the queen's own history—of a lady betrothed to a prince who was afterwards supplanted by his uncle. Both Elizabeth and the princess of Eboli are much interested in the narration; the former then sends Eboli to fetch her daughter; the marquis seizes the occasion to request leave to introduce his friend into the presence. Carlos enters, and kneeling, kisses the hand of his mother-in-law: the marquis and ladies retire out of sight. The scene that ensues is admirable; the passionate sorrow and devotion of the prince, and the dignity and inexorable virtue of the youthful queen, are beautifully pictured. We cannot perceive that she cherishes a single emotion towards Carlos, at variance with her duty to her royal husband. She appeals to his manhood and heroic spirit to conquer his ill-fated passion; “Elizabeth,” she says, “was your first love; let your second be Spain.” He promises silence if not forgetfulness, and the Marquis of Posa suddenly rushes in, announces the king, and leads his friend hastily away. Philip enters with several of his nobles, and asks why he finds his wife alone. The marchioness of Mondekar, who comes up at this juncture, and attempts to divert the displeasure of the sovereign, is dismissed by him from the court, and banished from Madrid for ten years. The queen, indignant at the suspicions cast upon herself, and the treatment of her domestic, evades a reply to the king's questions, and bids the marchioness a weeping adieu, giving her her girdle as a token of favor and remembrance. Philip utters a half apology for his harshness, by expressing his anxiety to be without the shadow of a rival in his wife's affections.
I am calledThe richest man in Christendom; the sunGoes never down on my domain; yet allAnother once possessed, and after meFull many a monarch shall possess. One thingIs all mine own. What the king has, belongsTo fortune—but Elizabeth to Philip.
He afterwards incidentally inquires of the courtiers after his son, and enjoins it upon them to watch his movements. The Duke of Alba willingly undertakes the task, boasting himself to be to the throne of Spain what the cherub was to the gate of Paradise. After this high-flown simile, Count Lerma ventures to speak in favor of the prince, but is silenced by Philip, who then departs, accompanied by the queen and his train. Carlos and Posa return; the former declares his resolution to ask of his father the government of Flanders, which he hopes to obtain by his solicitations, and thereby escape from the temptations continually presented during his residence in the court. He means to make a last appeal to parental feeling in the bosom of the king, and hopes to regain the confidence and affection so long lost. Posa expresses the most enthusiastic approbation of his purpose, and they pledge inviolable friendship. The prince has a just appreciation of the noble and disinterested character of his friend, and values his esteem beyond aught in the world.
In the second act Carlos seeks the king, and implores a private audience. The Duke of Alba is in presence, and is excessively reluctant to depart; nor is it without displeasure that Philip, at the repeated solicitations of his son, sends him away. The prince, alone with his father, lays open his heart; implores forgiveness for his offences, and expresses in the most ardent language, his dutiful affection and desire for a perfect reconciliation. Upon the machinations of designing courtiers, he charges the fault of the breach that has so long existed between them; pleads that he will do for good will the service his corrupted ministers do for their own interests; that a purer fount of love than gold can purchase, swells in the heart of Philip's son. The king is not unmoved by this generous abandonment, but coldly answers that those he traduces are his proved servants. With increasing earnestness Carlos appeals to the parental feelings of his father; and the following picture of happiness succeeds the startled admission of Philip that he is alone upon a throne.
You have been so, my lord. Hate me no more,And I will love you with a duteous loveAnd ardent; but oh, hate me not; How lovely,How sweet it is, in a fair soul, to feelOurselves as holy things enshrined; to knowOur happiness another cheek doth kindle,Our trouble doth another bosom swell,Our sorrow fill with tears another's eyes.How sweet and glorious is it, hand in hand,With a beloved and duteous son, once moreTo tread the rose-strewed path of early youth!To dream again life's dream of pleasure o'er!How sweet and blessed in your children's virtue,Immortal, ever present to endure,The benefactor of a century!How fair to plant, what a beloved offspringOne day shall reap; to sow what shall make gladTheir future fields; to anticipate the joy,The gratitude which they shall feel! My father,Your priest is wisely silent of this EdenOn Earth!
Carlos then offers his petition that he may have the command of the army appointed to quell the insurrection in Brabant. He hopes much from the attachment of the Netherlands to him, and reasonably anticipates that his appearance in person, his dignity as crown prince, and the course of mildness and forbearance he proposes to pursue, may bring them back to their allegiance. The king intimates gloomily his suspicion that treacherous designs against his life are concealed under the philanthropic zeal of his son; Carlos is horror-struck and deeply wounded at the insinuation, but withdraws not his prayer, pressing it more earnestly again and again, in spite of the rising displeasure of the monarch. Philip haughtily and decisively rejects his suit, having bestowed the command upon Alba, and commands the mortified prince to remain in Spain; Carlos leaves the audience chamber, and the Duke of Alba entering receives the royal orders to prepare for his immediate departure to Brussels, to take his leave of the queenand the prince. The cautious courtier observes the emotion yet visible on the countenance of his master, and asks if it is caused by the subject of his conference with his son. Philip merely tells him the subject of their conversation was Duke Alba; and thus alarming his fears bids him seek a reconciliation with the prince, hinting darkly his doubts of the honesty and candor of the noble duke, who, troubled at this intimation, departs disconcerted.
The next scene takes place in an ante-chamber to the queen's apartment. Carlos is in conference with a page belonging to the queen, who has privately brought him a letter and a key. In a tumult of contending feelings, the prince breaks the seal, and at the same moment duke Alba crosses to the inner chamber. The letter is in a female hand, and appoints a meeting in a cabinet attached to her majesty's apartments, safe from intrusion, where the writer promises that “the reward of love” shall be bestowed. Carlos is ignorant of the queen's hand writing, but does not for a moment imagine the letter to be from any other than herself. In this supposition he is confirmed by the page, whom he knows to belong to Elizabeth, and who replies to his eager questions that the letter was given him by “her own hand.” The possessor of the hand is not named by either—and hence arises the mistake. The surprise and agitation of the prince are extreme; yet in the bitterness of a spirit wounded by unkindness, he does not hesitate to accept the bliss he fancies offered to him. Before he can escape from the ante-chamber, Alba enters and requests a conference. A long interview follows, which at length, in spite of the studied calmness of the duke, terminates in a dispute; both draw their swords, but are interrupted by the queen, who rushes from her chamber. The effect of her appearance is instantaneous; Carlos at a word of remonstrance from her, drops his sword, and embracing Alba asks his forgiveness. The queen, accompanied by the duke, returns into her closet.
We are next introduced into a cabinet, where the Princess of Eboli, fancifully dressed, is playing on the lute. She is enamored of the prince, and is anxiously awaiting the return of the messenger, by whom she despatched her letter. The page of the preceding scene appears—she starts up and hastily questions him; he relates the words and the emotion of the prince on the reception of the billet, and informs her that he may be momentarily expected. The boy is dismissed, and Carlos enters the cabinet by means of the key conveyed to him by the page. His surprise at finding himself alone with the princess of Eboli, his embarrassment, and efforts to explain his apparently unexpected appearance, are almost amusing. The graceful and animated conversation of the lady does much to remove the first awkwardness of his mistake, and he becomes insensibly interested, though quite unable to account for the apparent pleasure with which his fancied intrusion is received. The princess informs him of the king's design to bestow her hand upon Don Ruy Gomez, Count of Silva, and of her aversion to the match; and wishes to be guided by his counsel, which she asks as from a dear friend. Her sentiments on love excite the admiration of the prince, who nevertheless seems marvellously ignorant of the drift of all her intimations.
Princess of Eboli. Love is alone the price of love. It isThe invaluable diamond, which I giveFreely away—or else, forever hid,Must bury—like the noble-hearted merchantWho all unmoved by the Rialto's gold,Or king's displeasure, to the mighty seaGave back his pearl, too proud to part with itBelow its price!
Again she fancifully styles the passion, or rather the charms which awaken it, “the sister hues of one divine beam—the leaves upon one lovely flower.” The prince is enchanted with her wit and beauty, and the crisis approaches.
Princess of Eboli. Long since had I departed from this court,And from the world departed; buried meWithin the cloister's walls, but that one tieStill held me back—one tie, that to the worldBinds me with force resistless. Ah! perchanceA phantom! yet so dear to me! I love;And I am——not beloved.
Carlos. You are—you are!Truly as God doth dwell in Heaven. I swear it—You are—unspeakably.
Princess of Eboli. And dost thou swear it!That was indeed mine angel's voice! Yes—yes!If thou dost swear it—Carlos—then indeedDo I believe——I am!
This avowal on the lady's part is understood; but the prince—though he opens his arms to receive her when in the transport of affection she throws herself into them—has no idea of returning in coin the love so unexpectedly offered to him. A sudden thought has struck him; it is no less than to make the enamored princess a confidant of his attachment to his mother-in-law. He does not dream of the existence of such a thing as feminine jealousy; but is proceeding, in accordance with his mad design, to acquaint her with his love for another, when she suddenly interrupts his communication by her exclamations of horror and surprise. The truth flashes upon her mind; and in an agony of shame she demands her key and letters. She had a few moments before shown him a letter to her from the king, which he retains in his possession. Carlos refuses to give up the letters, and leaves her to mortification and regret. Reasoning upon what she has seen and heard, she conjectures that the queen is her fortunate rival; nor can she imagine the love of the prince unreturned by its object, however elevated and passionless her royal mistress has hitherto appeared.
In the mean time, Duke Alba and Domingo are in conference. Alba relates his meeting and dispute with Carlos, the sudden change in his conduct at a glance from the queen, and his altered demeanor towards him. The cautious priest replies that he has long suspected the attachment hinted at, but uttered no suspicions so long as proof was wanting. Another incident is mentioned by the Duke; he had observed the countenance of the prince when he left his father,—it was sad and overcast, but in the queen's ante-room, mantled with an expression of triumphant joy. He had even expressed satisfaction at the appointment of Alba to the command of the army to the Netherlands. The Duke himself is disposed to consider this appointment more of a banishment than a mark of favor. The two artful courtiers arrange a plot for the ruin of the prince, whois hateful to both on account of his independent spirit, and dreaded by reason of his right to the crown. Both agree that the suspicions of the king must be awakened; but to the fulfilment of their plans there wants one ally, the Princess of Eboli, who is beloved by the king. At this moment she appears; Alba retires, and she directs the priest, who had been the bearer of the king's letter to her, to signify to Philip her readiness to receive him. Her insinuations against the honor of the queen, and vows that she will expose her to the wrath of her husband, are answered with joy by Domingo, who calls the Duke to confirm their league. It is agreed that the princess shall first accuse the queen; as her majesty's companion and confidant her testimony will be accepted. Domingo suggests ingenious means of proof, and Alba mentions the page he had seen in close conversation with Carlos; but Eboli, alarmed, diverts their suspicion by hastily assuring them that no weight is to be attached to such evidence.
Scene fourteenth exhibits Carlos in a remote monastery with a Prior, with whom he awaits the arrival of the Marquis of Posa. The Prior retires, and the prince relates to his friend the ill success of his petition, and his further alienation from the king. He tells him also of the mysterious summons, and his interview with the lady of Eboli; shows the king's love-letter to her, and exulting, asserts that such a document is sufficient to free the queen from her matrimonial obligations. Posa warns him against the arts of the princess, and unfolds her character; reasons against the blind passion which still rages in the bosom of the prince, arouses his sense of shame, rebukes him for his madness, and overwhelms him with the consciousness of guilt. He obtains possession of the letter, and having listened to the expressions of remorse and warm trust in him, which fall from the lips of his repentant friend, rewards him by permitting him to seek an audience with Elizabeth. The zealous politician perceives that the only way to lead the prince to the fulfilment of his far-reaching designs, is to take advantage of the queen's influence over him.
The third act opens in the king's sleeping chamber. Philip is alone; a table, with a burning lamp, is near him, on which he leans in deep thought, gazing upon a letter and a medallion lying before him. These have been taken recently from a casket belonging to the queen, and sent as proof of her guilt to the jealous sovereign, whose first words show that the poison is working. He calls Count Lerma from the adjoining chamber, and addresses him; but the unsuspicious old man cannot comprehend the mysterious hints of the agitated monarch.
Count Lerma. My greatest—my best king——
Philip. King—only king!And ever king! No better answer thisThan the dull solemn cavern's empty echo!Upon this rock I strike, and will have water—Water, to quench my burning fever's thirst—He gives me glowing gold!
Lerma is dismissed and Duke Alba summoned; the letter is shown to him, and he says he recognizes the prince's hand writing; encouraged to speak freely, he mentions the fact of the presence of Carlos with the queen in the garden at Aranjuez. After this information the king suddenly changes his manner; haughtily dismisses the duke, and calls his confessor. Domingo's evidence is in substance the same with that of his fellow conspirator, but his doubts are more cautiously and artfully expressed. Having heard him through, Philip recalls Alba, and charges both with a plot for the destruction of his son: alluding to Alba's hostility, he remarks—
How gladly would the innocent man now armHis petty spite with my wrath's giant arm!I am the bow, ye think in your wild fancies,That may be bent for service at your will!Yet have I mine own pleasure, &c.
After reflection, the king declares his intention to command a public trial of the queen, and reminding them that her doom will be death if found guilty—asks if they, as her accusers, will embrace the alternative, and submit to the same sentence, if she is proved innocent. Duke Alba consents to support his charge on these terms, and is ordered to wait further commands in the audience chamber.
In the hall of audience are assembled the prince and grandees of Spain, waiting the arrival of the sovereign. Medina Sidonia, the admiral, has just returned from an unsuccessful expedition.
Medina Sidonia. I lost him a brave fleetSuch as ne'er yet did crown the seas. What isA head like this, against full seventy,Seventy sunken gallies! But, my prince,Five sons I lost—hopeful as you—that breaksMy heart——
The unfortunate commander has sealed his own doom in the opinion of those around him; for none are ignorant that there is a cloud on the royal brow. The admiral would rather face English cannon than the displeasure of his master, but is comforted by Carlos, who exhorts him to hope the best from the king's grace and his own innocence. When he kneels to relate his misfortunes to Philip, he is graciously pardoned for the faults of storms and rocks, and welcomed to Madrid. The king then inquires the reason of the absence of the Marquis of Posa, who has failed to pay his duty at the feet of his sovereign since his return from his journey. The Count Lerma, Duke Alba and the Duke of Feria in turn praise the Marquis, and relate the noble deeds he has accomplished.
Philip. I am amazed. And what must be the manHath done all this, yet among three, thus questioned,Hath not a single foe? Be sure, this manMust have a character most singular,Or none at all; if but to wonder at,I must speak with him.(to Duke Alba) After mass is heard,Conduct him to my cabinet.
The boldness and dignity displayed by the Marquis in the subsequent interview with the king, develop his character, and unfold the project to which he had devoted his life. Bent on the accomplishment of his object, the deliverance of the Netherlands from oppression, he hesitates not to condemn Philip's policy in the government of his distant provinces. The king seems not displeased at his boldness, and from grave remonstrance the enthusiast soon passes to the most impassioned pleading. With earnest eloquence he paints the spirit of independence that is abroad, and warns the monarch not to oppose his will to this growing power.
Marquis. You hope to end, as you have now begun!Hope to retard the change o'er ChristendomAlready ripe—the universal spring,The world to bring again to pristine childhood.You will, alone throughout all Europe, throwYourself against the wheel of a world's fate,Which unimpeded in full course doth roll.
Again,
You, who would fain plant for eternity,Sow death! A work thus forced can ne'er endureBeyond its maker's breath!
Although the king listens without anger to such declamation, he soon after coldly dismisses the subject, and expressing a wish to engage the disinterested Posa in his service, sounds him upon the subject of Carlos and the queen. The Marquis is silent at Philip's first allusion to his domestic troubles.
King. I understand you.Yet if among all fathers I must beThe most unhappy—as a husband, may I notCall myself blest?
Marquis of Posa. If the possession ofA hopeful son, a wife most virtuous,Can give a mortal right to be thus deemed,You are most blest in both.
King. No—I am not!And that I am not—have I never feltSo deeply as even now!
Marquis of Posa. The prince is nobleAnd good. I never found him otherwise.
King. But I have. What he hath despoiled me of,No sceptre can restore—a noble queen——
Marquis of Posa. Who dares to say so, Sire?
King. Who? Calumny!The world! Myself! Here lie the proofs that bothCondemn, incontrovertibly—and othersAre close at hand, which make me fear the worst.Yet, Marquis, it is sad if I believeOnly one side! Who is't accuses her?Ifshecould e'er be thought to stoop so low,So deeply to imbrue her soul in crime,How readily may I believe, in sooth,An Eboli can slander!—And the priest,Doth he not hate my son—and her? Duke Alba—Know I not that he meditates revenge?My wife is worth them all.
* * * * *
To fall into such crime, as they do chargeUpon the queen, costs much. So easily,As they would fain persuade me, is not brokenThe holy tie of honor. Men I know,Marquis—and such a man I long have lacked.You are noble and free-hearted—know mankind—And therefore have I chosen you.
Marquis of Posa. Me—Sire?
King. You stand before your lord—and yet have nought—Nought for yourself to beg. That's new to me.You shall be just; emotion from your glanceCan ne'er conceal itself. Watch well my son:Search the queen's heart. I will permission give youTo speak with her in private. Leave me now.
Act III, Scene 10.
Posa takes advantage of this permission speedily to demand an audience of the queen. Act fourth opens in her apartment, where she welcomes to her presence the princess of Eboli, who has been for some days indisposed. Agitated from the consciousness of guilt, the unhappy girl implores leave to retire, and passes out as the Marquis enters, bearing as he alleges a message from the king. At his special request, the ladies withdraw; and not noticing the extreme surprise of Elizabeth at seeing him employed as a royal messenger, he proceeds to the real object of his visit—warns her of danger, and gives her a letter from Carlos, imploring an interview. Posa warmly seconds this request, and overcomes the queen's scruples by assuring her that the measure is necessary, not only to the private happiness of the prince, but to the weal of the state. The liberty of Flanders is sacrificed; and Alba's appointment as leader of the royal army has struck a death blow to the hopes of the people. But one way remains to prevent the destruction impending over those provinces, and their loss by the Spanish crown; it must be undertaken by the prince—who must be persuaded to the enterprise by her.
Marquis of Posa. He mustBe disobedient to the royal will,Must privately betake himself to Brussels;With open arms the Flemings there await him.The Netherlands will to his standard throng,A good thing is made strong by the allianceOf a king's son. He makes the Spanish throneTremble before his arms. That which the kingRefused in Madrid, he constrained will grantIn Brussels.
After some hesitation, the queen consents to what she imagines a measure of necessity, and writes a few lines to Carlos, recommending him to follow the advice of the Marquis. Their interview is ended by the appearance of the Duchess of Olivarez.
Meanwhile Count Lerma, with good intent, but injudicious zeal, warns Carlos against the Marquis of Posa; acquaints him with his long audience and close confidence with the king; and mentions that he heard from the door his own name and Elizabeth's uttered. The prince thanks him for his caution, which excites in his bosom no distrust of his friend, as is proved by their subsequent interview. Posa gives him the queen's note, then asks for it, as it is more safe in his custody. With evident reluctance, Carlos confides the precious paper to his hands, than as if ashamed of his suspicion, throws himself trembling with agitation upon his neck.
The next scene is in the royal cabinet, when Philip is alone with the Infanta, his daughter. The medallion and letter are before him; he has thrown the former in a transport of jealousy upon the floor. The queen enters and throws herself at his feet, strongly agitated, demanding justice against the felon who has robbed her casket. The offender, she suggests, must be of rank, for a pearl and diamond of immense value were left untouched, and only a letter and medallion taken away. To the king's stern questions she answers without hesitation, that both were gifts from the prince, sent before her marriage with the king. Her openness and unevasive answers convey to the mind of the reader the most perfect conviction of her entire innocence; the slightest wavering or shadow of fear would have marred all. The child finds the medallion on the floor and brings it to her mother; who then in a strain of beautiful remonstrance rebukes the king for his unjust suspicionsand unfair trial of her. Philip acknowledges that the casket was opened at his command, and haughtily asks if she has never deceived him, reminding her of the scene in the garden at Aranjuez. The queen candidly confesses her disingenuous evasion of his inquiries at that time; but excuses herself by charging her lord with unwarrantable harshness of manner, before her domestics. She would not be judged then as a culprit before the assembled courtiers, and therefore suffered him to suppose she had been alone. She censures also his cruel injustice towards his son, and avows the warmest esteem for the prince, who had once been her affianced husband. As a near relative, and one who has borne a name yet nearer, tenderness is due to him. As might be expected the king reproves this unusual boldness; becoming more violent he pushes the child away; the queen, offended at his invectives, takes her daughter by the hand, and with dignified composure walks to the door of the cabinet. She can proceed no further, but overcome by her feelings falls in a swoon on the threshold; the alarm is given; she is carried to her apartment by her women, but not till the news of so ominous an incident is spread through the court. Philip dismisses his courtiers, but welcomes eagerly the Marquis of Posa, who demands a private audience, and gives the king a pocket-book, which he says he took from the prince's chamber. Among the papers it contains, is the letter from the princess of Eboli to Carlos; at sight of this paper a light flashes upon the mind of the king, who perceives her motive for traducing her mistress. The Marquis receives permission to control the movements of the prince, and a full warrant for his arrest and imprisonment, should he at any time deem such a measure necessary.
In the gallery Carlos meets again the boding Count Lerma. The old man describes his pocket-book, of blue velvet wrought with gold, and tells him he saw it in the king's hand, while Posa stood beside him, and received the royal thanks for “the discovery.” The prince cannot disbelieve a story so well attested, but fears not for himself; his whole soul is bent to secure the safety of the queen, which he conceives endangered by the unfortunate note sent to him by Posa, that was in the pocket-book when he gave it to the Marquis. It is a beautiful trait in the character of this youth, that under no circumstances does it enter his head to doubt the nobleness of his friend. Even in the face of this damning evidence, his only exclamation is, “I have lost him!” He knows the Marquis to be actuated by motives higher than those affecting the private safety or happiness of any man in the realm; and if he imagines that he is to be offered up for the good of a nation, he thinks not of charging with treachery or cruelty the man who, he is convinced, is impelled by necessity to the course he pursues.
Duke Alba and Domingo, burning with envy and jealousy towards Posa, repair to the queen, and warn her against him. She receives their protestations of loyal devotion with haughty coldness.
Queen. Most worthy sir, and you, my noble Duke,You do surprise me, truly. Such devotionFrom the Duke Alba—from Domingo—sooth,I ne'er expected. And I know full wellHow I must value it. You speak of plotsWhich threaten me—may I inquire——
Alba. We pray youLook well unto the lord of Posa, he,Private commission from his MajestyWho holds.
Queen. I hear with pleasure, sirs, unmixed,The king hath chosen so well. I long have heardThe Marquis, as a noble knight, reported—As a great man. Never was royal favor—The highest grace—more righteously bestowed.
Domingo. More righteously bestowed? Nay—we know better.
We are next introduced to the apartment of the princess of Eboli. The repentant lady is surprised by Carlos, who in despair of assistance from any other source, comes to beseech her, by her past tenderness for him, to help him to an audience with his mother. In her extreme surprise and confusion, she scarcely comprehends his request; they are interrupted by the Marquis of Posa, followed by two officers of the guard. Displaying the royal warrant, he arrests Carlos, and hurries him away before he has time to utter another word; then endeavors to learn from the lady how much he has already communicated. He holds a dagger to her breast, threatening to murder her if she will not disclose the secret; then struck by a sudden thought, releases her. Eboli rushes to the queen's presence and falls at the feet of her mistress, to announce the prince's arrest by the Marquis.
Queen. Now, God be praised, it was by Posa's handHe was made prisoner.
Princess of Eboli. And say you thatSo calmly, queen? So coldly? Righteous Heaven!You think not—Oh! you know not——
Queen. Wherefore he'sA prisoner? For some error, I suppose,Which to the headlong character of youthWas natural.
Princess of Eboli. Oh no—no! I know better!O queen! An infamous, a devilish deed!For him there is no safety more! He dies!
Queen. He dies?
Princess of Eboli. And I—I am his murderess!
Queen. He dies? Insane—consider you.
Princess of Eboli. And wherefore,Wherefore dies he? Oh, could I but have knownThat it would come to this!
Queen. (taking her hand.) Princess, your sensesHave quite forsaken you. Collect your spirits,Compose yourself—that without looks of horrorThat so affright me, you may tell me all.What know you? What has happened?
Princess of Eboli. Oh, not thus,Not with such heavenly condescension—notSo graciously—my mistress! Flames of hellRage in this conscious breast. I am not worthyTo raise my look profane up to that summitOf purity and glory. Crush, oh, crushThe wretch who at your feet lies bowed by shame,Repentance—self-abhorrence!
Queen. Unhappy girl,What have you to confess?
Princess of Eboli. Angel of light!Pure being! Yet you know not—you suspect notThe demon whom you smile upon so sweetly.Now learn to know him. I—I was the felonWho robbed your casket.
Queen. You?
Princess of Eboli. And who deliveredThat letter to the king.
Queen. You?
Princess of Eboli. And who daredAccuse you.
Queen. You—you could——
Princess of Eboli. Revenge—love—madness—I hated you—I loved the prince.
Queen. You loved him?
Princess of Eboli. I told him of my passion—and I foundNo answering love.
Queen. (after a pause) Oh now—is all unriddled!Stand up: you loved him—I forgive you all—All is forgotten now; arise! (takes her by the arm.)
Princess of Eboli. No—no!A horrible confession yet remains.Not yet, great queen!
After the disclosure which ensues, the queen, in silence, retires to her closet. She can forgive duplicity and malice towards herself, but her nature revolts from such infamy as is revealed to her. The Duchess of Olivarez enters from the closet, and demands from the prostrate princess her cross and key; she delivers them up, listens a few moments in vain for the queen's return, then despairing, rushes out.
In the presence of Elizabeth, the Marquis of Posa speaks in a tone of the greatest despondency, announcing the loss of the game in which he had staked his life. Yet he quiets her apprehensions on the prince's account; the cause demanded one victim, and he has devoted himself. With melancholy presentiment of his own approaching fate, he commits his friend to the queen, whom he beseeches to regard him with unalterable affection, that he may yet fulfil the high destiny reserved for him and be a benefactor to his people.
In the mean time the king's ante-room is crowded by the nobles of Spain, and the royal ministers, waiting to see the monarch, who has forbid all access to his person. Don Raimond von Taxis brings an intercepted letter to the Prince of Orange, that he must deliver to Philip without delay. He enters the royal cabinet; Alba and Domingo remain without in suspense, trembling for their own fate; the other courtiers busy themselves in conjectures respecting the strange conduct of the king—the imprisonment of his son, and the ominous aspect of affairs. Count Lerma comes into the ante-chamber, apparently shocked, and summons Alba to the presence. The princess of Eboli hastily enters from without and is rushing to the king, but is held back by Domingo; at length Alba returns and announces their complete triumph.
The explanation of these events is reserved for the last act, which discovers Carlos in a dungeon, into which the Marquis enters. Though the unfortunate youth can no longer doubt the perfidy of his friend, he does not dream of reproaching him for an act he is convinced sprang from necessity, but only regrets that the queen should have been involved in his destruction. Convinced that both are victims deliberately sacrificed, his surprise is extreme when Posa gives him again the queen's letter that he had committed to his safe keeping, and had imagined in the hands of Philip. An eclaircissement ensues; in the midst of which Duke Alba enters to announce his freedom, and apologize on the part of the king for the mistake that led to his imprisonment. The prince refuses to take back his sword, or leave the dungeon till his father comes in person to restore him to liberty. Alba departs with this message to the king, and the Marquis, exulting in the success of his scheme, explains fully all his past conduct. He has seemed to be the prince's enemy only that he may serve him better. When deceived by Count Lerma's officious representations, Carlos had thrown himself at the feet of the princess of Eboli, and Posa had arrived too late to prevent a confession, which in the hands of that envious woman might ruin all, the Marquis had suddenly resolved upon a bold manœuvre. This was no less than to divert the king's suspicions to himself, and thereby secure time for the prince's escape to Brabant. For this purpose he wrote the letter to the Prince of Orange, stating that he (the Marquis) was in love with the queen; that he sought to fix the sovereign's suspicion upon his son, who was not only innocent of the offence, but had endeavored, through the princess of Eboli, to warn his mother-in-law against the arts of Posa. This letter, as the writer intended, was intercepted by Taxis, and carried to the king; and, in consequence, the prince was restored to favor. The Marquis implores the prince to escape into Flanders, where his duty lies; Carlos refuses to leave him; at the same instant a shot is heard through the prison door, and the gallant Posa falls and expires. The king and nobles enter; Philip offers to embrace his son, who repels him indignantly, and discloses the fact that Posa was his friend.
Here your approach is death—I'll not embrace you.(to nobles) Why stand ye thus embarrassed round? What deedOf horror have I done? Have I assailedThe Lord's anointed? Fear ye nought. I layNo hand on him. Behold ye not the brandUpon his brow? Him God hath marked!
None of the reproaches of Carlos are so bitter to his father, as his taunting allusions to the fraud practised upon the king by the deceased.
Your favor you bestowedOn him—he died for me. Your confidence,Your friendship you did urge—nay, force upon him;Your sceptre was the play-thing of his hands;He cast it forth, and died for me! And wasIt possible? Could you give credit—you—To such a dull deceit? How slightly heMust have esteemed you, that he ever dreamedWith this poor mockery to overreach you!
* * * * *
He was no man for you! He knew itHimself right well—as he, with all your crowns,Rejected you. This holy heart was crushedBeneath your iron hand. You could do noughtBut murder him! * *Even you he could have madeMost fortunate! His heart was rich enoughIn its o'erflow to have contented you.A fragment of his spirit would have made youA God! * *O you, who stand assembled hereWith wonder and with terror mute, condemn notThe youth who dared reproachful words to utterAgainst his father and his king. Lo, here!For me he died! Have you yet tears? Flows blood, Not molten brass, within your veins? Look here—Condemn me not!(To the King.) And you, perhaps, awaitThe close of this unnatural history.Here is my sword: you are my king again.Think you I tremble at your sovereign vengeance?Slay me, as you have slain the best and noblest.My life is forfeited. I know it well.What now is life to me? All I renounceThat in this world awaits me. Seek henceforth'Mong strangers for your son. Here lies my kingdom!
A tumult is heard without, and an officer of the guard enters in haste.
Officer. Rebellion!Where is the king?—All Madrid is in arms!In countless crowds the raging populaceSurround the palace. They exclaim—the princeIs in arrest, his life in mortal peril.The people will behold him living, safe,Or Madrid will be soon in flames!
NoblesSave—saveThe king!
Alba. Fly, sire—there's danger—hasten hence;We know not yet who arms the populace.
King. (waking from a stupor.)Stands my throne firm? Am I yet sovereign here?I am no longer king——These cowards weep,Made tender by a boy. They only waitThe signal, from my side to fall away.I am betrayed by rebels.
Alba. Sire—my king!What dreadful fantasy——
King. Lo! yonder—haste,Prostrate yourselves! Before a promisingAnd youthful king kneel down! I now am nothingBut an old powerless man!
Alba. Is't come to this?Spaniards!
King. Go—clothe him in the royal robes!Lead him o'er my crushed corpse!
The attendants bear off his majesty, and Carlos, left alone, is joined by Merkado, physician to the Queen, who brings her request for an interview, that she may communicate to him his deceased friend's last charge. The prince is to be in the vault at midnight, in the habit of a monk, that he may be taken for the ghost of the dead emperor by the superstitious guards.
The Dukes of Feria and Alba meet in the king's ante-chamber waiting for an audience. Alba has a new discovery to make; a monk has been arrested, who had found private access to the prince's apartment. In the fear of death, he produced a paper, consigned to his care by the Marquis of Posa, and addressed to Carlos, appointing his proposed interview with the Queen at midnight, his subsequent departure from Madrid for the Netherlands, and his rebellion, at the head of those provinces, against the Spanish yoke. Philip enters, but evidently in no condition to hear the communication of his ministers. His passionate grief for the death of Posa, and his lamentations, strikingly display the pride which is the ruling passion of his nature.
King. Give the dead back to me; I must possess himAgain.
Domingo. (to Alba.) Speak you to him.
King. He thought so poorlyOf me, and died i' the error. I must have himAgain; he must think otherwise of me!
Alba. Sire——
King. Who speaks here? have you forgotten whomYou stand before? Why kneel you not—bold man?I am your king, and I will have submission.Must all neglect, because there's one has daredDespise me?
Alba. O, no more of him, my lord!Another foe, important as he was,Is in your kingdom's heart!
Feria. Prince Carlos——
King. He had a friend, who has met death for him;For him—with me he had a kingdom shared!How looked he down on me! So haughtilyNone look down from a throne.
* * * * *
The dead is here no more. Who dares to sayThat I am happy? In the grave dwells oneWho did withhold esteem from me! What worthAre all the living to me? One high spirit,One freeborn man, lived in this century;One—he despised me—and died!
Alba. So weHave lived in vain! Let us, too, Spaniards, goDown to the grave! Even in death, this manOf the king's heart doth rob us!
The reflections of Philip show that he also discerned the lofty character of the deceased:
To whom brought heThis offering?—to the boy my son? No—never!I'll ne'er believe it. For a boy dies notA Posa. Friendship's sordid flame fills notA Posa's heart. It stretched itself to embraceHumanity. * * *Not Philip he disdained for Carlos—butThe old man to the youth, his hopeful scholar.The father's setting sun could not enlightenHis new day's work. The task he but deferredFor the son's rising light!”