EBOLI.Some months—Before Prince Carlos came from Alcala.
QUEEN (starts and looks at her with an inquisitive glance).Have you tried well the grounds of your refusal?
EBOLI (with energy).It cannot be, my queen, no, never, never,—For a thousand reasons, never!
QUEEN.One's enough,You do not love him. That suffices me.Now let it pass.[To her other ladies.I have not seen the InfantaYet this morning. Pray bring her, marchioness.
OLIVAREZ (looking at the clock).It is not yet the hour, your majesty.
QUEEN.Not yet the hour for me to be a mother!That's somewhat hard. Forget not, then, to tell meWhen the right hour does come.
[A page enters and whispers to the first lady, whothereupon turns to the QUEEN.
OLIVAREZ.The Marquis Posa!May it please your majesty.
QUEEN.The Marquis Posa!
OLIVAREZ.He comes from France, and from the Netherlands,And craves the honor to present some lettersIntrusted to him by your royal mother.
QUEEN.Is this allowed?
OLIVAREZ (hesitating).A case so unforeseenIs not provided for in my instructions.When a Castilian grandee, with despatchesFrom foreign courts, shall in her garden findThe Queen of Spain, and tender them——
QUEEN.Enough! I'll venture, then, on mine own proper peril.
OLIVAREZ.May I, your majesty, withdraw the while?
QUEEN.E'en as you please, good duchess!
[Exit the DUCHESS, the QUEEN gives the PAGE a sign, whothereupon retires.
The QUEEN, PRINCESS EBOLI, MARCHIONESS OF MONDECAR, andMARQUIS OF POSA.
QUEEN.I bid you welcome, sir, to Spanish ground!
MARQUIS.Ground which I never with so just a prideHailed for the country of my sires as now.
QUEEN (to the two ladies).The Marquis Posa, ladies, who at RheimsCoped with my father in the lists, and madeMy colors thrice victorious; the firstThat made me feel how proud a thing it wasTo be the Queen of Spain and Spanish men.[Turning to the MARQUIS.When we last parted in the Louvre, Sir,You scarcely dreamed that I should ever beYour hostess in Castile.
MARQUIS.Most true, my liege!For at that time I never could have dreamedThat France should lose to us the only thingWe envied her possessing.
QUEEN.How, proud Spaniard!The only thing! And you can venture this—This to a daughter of the house of Valois!
MARQUIS.I venture now to say it, gracious queen,Since now you are our own.
QUEEN.Your journey hitherHas led you, as I hear, through France. What newsHave you brought with you from my honored motherAnd from my dearest brothers?
MARQUIS (handing letters).I left your royal mother sick at heart,Bereft of every joy save only this,To know her daughter happy on the throneOf our imperial Spain.
QUEEN.Could she be aughtBut happy in the dear remembrancesOf relatives so kind—in the sweet thoughtsOf the old time when—Sir, you've visitedFull many a court in these your various travels,And seen strange lands and customs manifold;And now, they say, you mean to keep at homeA greater prince in your retired domainThan is King Philip on his throne—a freer.You're a philosopher; but much I doubtIf our Madrid will please you. We are so—So quiet in Madrid.
MARQUIS.And that is moreThan all the rest of Europe has to boast.
QUEEN.I've heard as much. But all this world's concernsAre well-nigh blotted from my memory.[To PRINCESS EBOLI.Princess, methinks I see a hyacinthYonder in bloom. Wilt bring it to me, sweet?
[The PRINCESS goes towards the palace, the QUEENsoftly to the MARQUIS.
I'm much mistaken, sir, or your arrivalHas made one heart more happy here at court.
MARQUIS.I have found a sad one—one that in this worldA ray of sunshine——
EBOLI.As this gentlemanHas seen so many countries, he, no doubt,Has much of note to tell us.
MARQUIS.Doubtless, andTo seek adventures is a knight's first duty—But his most sacred is to shield the fair.
MONDECAR.From giants! But there are no giants now!
MARQUIS.Power is a giant ever to the weak.
QUEEN.The chevalier says well. There still are giants;But there are knights no more.
MARQUIS.Not long ago,On my return from Naples, I becameThe witness of a very touching story,Which ties of friendship almost make my ownWere I not fearful its recital mightFatigue your majesty——
QUEEN.Have I a choice?The princess is not to be lightly balked.Proceed. I too, sir, love a story dearly.
MARQUIS.Two noble houses in Mirandola,Weary of jealousies and deadly feuds,Transmitted down from Guelphs and Ghibellines,Through centuries of hate, from sire to son,Resolved to ratify a lasting peaceBy the sweet ministry of nuptial ties.Fernando, nephew of the great Pietro,And fair Matilda, old Colonna's child,Were chosen to cement this holy bond.Nature had never for each other formedTwo fairer hearts. And never had the worldApproved a wiser or a happier choice.Still had the youth adored his lovely brideIn the dull limner's portraiture alone.How thrilled his heart, then, in the hope to findThe truth of all that e'en his fondest dreamsHad scarcely dared to credit in her picture!In Padua, where his studies held him bound;Fernando panted for the joyful hour,When he might murmur at Matilda's feetThe first pure homage of his fervent love.
[The QUEEN grows more attentive; the MARQUIS continues, aftera short pause, addressing himself chiefly to PRINCESS EBOLI.
Meanwhile the sudden death of Pietro's wifeHad left him free to wed. With the hot glowOf youthful blood the hoary lover drinksThe fame that reached him of Matilda's charms.He comes—he sees—he loves! The new desireStifles the voice of nature in his heart.The uncle woos his nephew's destined bride,And at the altar consecrates his theft.
QUEEN.And what did then Fernando?
MARQUIS.On the wingsOf Jove, unconscious of the fearful change,Delirious with the promised joy, he speedsBack to Mirandola. His flying steedBy starlight gains the gate. Tumultuous soundsOf music, dance, and jocund revelryRing from the walls of the illumined palace.With faltering steps he mounts the stair; and nowBehold him in the crowded nuptial hall,Unrecognized! Amid the reeling guestsPietro sat. An angel at his side—An angel, whom he knows, and who to himEven in his dreams, seemed ne'er so beautiful.A single glance revealed what once was his—Revealed what now was lost to him forever.
EBOLI.O poor Fernando!
QUEEN.Surely, sir, your taleIs ended? Nay, it must be.
MARQUIS.No, not quite.
QUEEN.Did you not say Fernando was your friend?
MARQUIS.I have no dearer in the world.
EBOLI.But prayProceed, sir, with your story.
MARQUIS.Nay, the restIs very sad—and to recall it setsMy sorrow fresh abroach. Spare me the sequel.
[A general silence.
QUEEN (turning to the PRINCESS EBOLI).Surely the time is come to see my daughter,I prithee, princess, bring her to me now!
[The PRINCESS withdraws. The MARQUIS beckons a Page. The QUEENopens the letters, and appears surprised. The MARQUIS talks withMARCHIONESS MONDECAR. The QUEEN having read the letters, turns tothe MARQUIS with a penetrating look.
QUEEN.You have not spoken of Matilda! SheHaply was ignorant of Fernando's grief?
MARQUIS.Matilda's heart has no one fathomed yet—Great souls endure in silence.
QUEEN.You look around you. Who is it you seek?
MARQUIS.Just then the thought came over me, how one,Whose name I dare not mention, would rejoice,Stood he where I do now.
QUEEN.And who's to blame,That he does not?
MARQUIS (interrupting her eagerly).My liege! And dare I ventureTo interpret thee, as fain I would? He'd findForgiveness, then, if now he should appear.
QUEEN (alarmed).Now, marquis, now? What do you mean by this?
MARQUIS.Might he, then, hope?
QUEEN.You terrify me, marquis.Surely he will not——
MARQUIS.He is here already.
The QUEEN, CARLOS, MARQUIS POSA, MARCHIONESS MONDECAR.The two latter go towards the avenue.
CARLOS (on his knees before the QUEEN).At length 'tis come—the happy moment's come,And Charles may touch this all-beloved hand.
QUEEN.What headlong folly's this? And dare you breakInto my presence thus? Arise, rash man!We are observed; my suite are close at hand.
CARLOS.I will not rise. Here will I kneel forever,Here will I lie enchanted at your feet,And grow to the dear ground you tread on?
QUEEN.Madman! To what rude boldness my indulgence leads!Know you, it is the queen, your mother, sir,Whom you address in such presumptuous strain?Know, that myself will to the king reportThis bold intrusion——
CARLOS.And that I must die!Let them come here, and drag me to the scaffold!A moment spent in paradise like thisIs not too dearly purchased by a life.
QUEEN.But then your queen?
CARLOS (rising).O God, I'll go, I'll go!Can I refuse to bend to that appeal?I am your very plaything. Mother, mother,A sign, a transient glance, one broken wordFrom those dear lips can bid me live or die.What would you more? Is there beneath the sunOne thing I would not haste to sacrificeTo meet your lightest wish?
QUEEN.Then fly!
CARLOS.God!
QUEEN.With tears I do conjure you, Carlos, fly!I ask no more. O fly! before my court,My guards, detecting us alone together,Bear the dread tidings to your father's ear.
CARLOS.I bide my doom, or be it life or death.Have I staked every hope on this one moment,Which gives thee to me thus at length alone,That idle fears should balk me of my purpose?No, queen! The world may round its axis rollA hundred thousand times, ere chance againYield to my prayers a moment such as this.
QUEEN.It never shall to all eternity.Unhappy man! What would you ask of me?
CARLOS.Heaven is my witness, queen, how I have struggled,Struggled as mortal never did before,But all in vain! My manhood fails—I yield.
QUEEN.No more of this—for my sake—for my peace.
CARLOS.You were mine own,—in face of all the world,—Affianced to me by two mighty crowns,By heaven and nature plighted as my bride,But Philip, cruel Philip, stole you from me!
QUEEN.He is your father?
CARLOS.And he is your husband!
QUEEN.And gives to you for an inheritance,The mightiest monarchy in all the world.
CARLOS.And you, as mother!
QUEEN.Mighty heavens! You rave!
CARLOS.And is he even conscious of his treasure?Hath he a heart to feel and value yours?I'll not complain—no, no, I will forget,How happy, past all utterance, I mightHave been with you,—if he were only so.But he is not—there, there, the anguish lies!He is not, and he never—never can be.Oh, you have robbed me of my paradise,Only to blast it in King Philip's arms!
QUEEN.Horrible thought!
CARLOS.Oh, yes, right well I knowWho 'twas that knit this ill-starred marriage up.I know how Philip loves, and how he wooed.What are you in this kingdom—tell me, what?Regent, belike! Oh, no! If such you were,How could fell Alvas act their murderous deeds,Or Flanders bleed a martyr for her faith?Are you even Philip's wife? Impossible,—Beyond belief. A wife doth still possessHer husband's heart. To whom doth his belong?If ever, perchance, in some hot feverish mood,He yields to gentler impulse, begs he notForgiveness of his sceptre and gray hairs?
QUEEN.Who told you that my lot, at Philip's sideWas one for men to pity?
CARLOS.My own heart!Which feels, with burning pangs, how at my sideIt had been to be envied.
QUEEN.Thou vain man!What if my heart should tell me the reverse?How, sir, if Philip's watchful tenderness,The looks that silently proclaim his love,Touched me more deeply than his haughty son'sPresumptuous eloquence? What, if an old man'sMatured esteem——
CARLOS.That makes a difference! Then,Why then, forgiveness!—I'd no thought of this;I had no thought that you could love the king.
QUEEN.To honor him's my pleasure and my wish.
CARLOS.Then you have never loved?
QUEEN.Singular question!
CARLOS.Then you have never loved?
QUEEN.I love no longer!
CARLOS.Because your heart forbids it, or your oath?
QUEEN.Leave me; nor never touch this theme again.
CARLOS.Because your oath forbids it, or your heart?
QUEEN.Because my duty—but, alas, alas!To what avails this scrutiny of fate,Which we must both obey?
CARLOS.Must—must obey?
QUEEN.What means this solemn tone?
CARLOS.Thus much it meansThat Carlos is not one to yield to mustWhere he hath power to will! It means, besides,'That Carlos is not minded to live on,The most unhappy man in all his realm,When it would only cost the overthrowOf Spanish laws to be the happiest.
QUEEN.Do I interpret rightly? Still you hope?Dare you hope on, when all is lost forever?
CARLOS.I look on naught as lost—except the dead.
QUEEN.For me—your mother, do you dare to hope?
[She fixes a penetrating look on him, then continueswith dignity and earnestness.
And yet why not? A new elected monarchCan do far more—make bonfires of the lawsHis father left—o'erthrow his monuments—Nay, more than this—for what shall hinder him?—Drag from his tomb, in the Escurial,The sacred corpse of his departed sire,Make it a public spectacle, and scatterForth to the winds his desecrated dust.And then, at last, to fill the measure up——
CARLOS.Merciful heavens, finish not the picture!
QUEEN.End all by wedding with his mother.
CARLOS.Oh!Accursed son![He remains for some time paralyzed and speechless.Yes, now 'tis out, 'tis out!I see it clear as day. Oh, would it hadBeen veiled from me in everlasting darkness!Yes, thou art gone from me—gone—gone forever.The die is cast; and thou art lost to me.Oh, in that thought lies hell; and a hell, too,Lies in the other thought, to call thee mine.Oh, misery! I can bear my fate no longer,My very heart-strings strain as they would burst.
QUEEN.Alas, alas! dear Charles, I feel it all,The nameless pang that rages in your breast;Your pangs are infinite, as is your love,And infinite as both will be the gloryOf overmastering both. Up, be a man,Wrestle with them boldly. The prize is worthyOf a young warrior's high, heroic heart;Worthy of him in whom the virtues flowOf a long ancestry of mighty kings.Courage! my noble prince! Great Charles's grandsonBegins the contest with undaunted heart,Where sons of meaner men would yield at once.
CARLOS.Too late, too late! O God, it is too late!
QUEEN.Too late to be a man! O Carlos, Carlos!How nobly shows our virtue when the heartBreaks in its exercise! The hand of HeavenHas set you up on high,—far higher, prince,Than millions of your brethren. All she tookFrom others she bestowed with partial handOn thee, her favorite; and millions ask,What was your merit, thus before your birthTo be endowed so far above mankind?Up, then, and justify the ways of Heaven;Deserve to take the lead of all the world,And make a sacrifice ne'er made before.
CARLOS.I will, I will; I have a giant's strengthTo win your favor; but to lose you, none.
QUEEN.Confess, my Carlos, I have harshly read thee;It is but spoken, and waywardness, and pride,Attract you thus so madly to your mother!The heart you lavish on myself belongsTo the great empire you one day shall rule.Look that you sport not with your sacred trust!Love is your high vocation; until nowIt hath been wrongly bent upon your mother:Oh, lead it back upon your future realms,And so, instead of the fell stings of conscience,Enjoy the bliss of being more than man.Elizabeth has been your earliest love,Your second must be Spain. How gladly, Carlos,Will I give place to this more worthy choice!
CARLOS (overpowered by emotion, throws himself at her feet).How great thou art, my angel! Yes, I'll doAll, all thou canst desire. So let it be.[He rises.Here in the sight of heaven I stand and swear—I swear to thee, eternal—no, great Heaven!—Eternal silence only,—not oblivion!
QUEEN.How can I ask from you what I myselfAm not disposed to grant?
MARQUIS (hastening from the alley).The king!
QUEEN.Oh God!
MARQUIS.Away, away! fly from these precincts, prince!
QUEEN.His jealousy is dreadful—should he see you——
CARLOS.I'll stay.
QUEEN.And who will be the victim then?
CARLOS (seizing the MARQUIS by the arm).Away, away! Come, Roderigo, come![Goes and returns.What may I hope to carry hence with me?
QUEEN.Your mother's friendship.
CARLOS.Friendship! Mother!
QUEEN.AndThese tears with it—they're from the Netherlands.
[She gives him some letters. Exit CARLOS with the MARQUIS. The QUEEN looks restlessly round in search of her ladies, who are nowhere to be seen. As she is about to retire up, the KING enters.
The KING, the QUEEN, DUKE ALVA, COUNT LERMA, DOMINGO,LADIES, GRANDEES, who remain at a little distance.
KING.How, madam, alone; not even one of allYour ladies in attendance? Strange! Where are they?
QUEEN.My gracious lord!
KING.Why thus alone, I say?[To his attendants.I'll take a strict account of this neglect.'Tis not to be forgiven. Who has the chargeOf waiting on your majesty to-day?
QUEEN.Oh, be not angry! Good, my lord, 'tis IMyself that am to blame—at my requestThe Princess Eboli went hence but now.
KING.At your request!
QUEEN.To call the nurse to me,With the Infanta, whom I longed to see.
KING.And was your retinue dismissed for that?This only clears the lady first in waiting.Where was the second?
MONDECAR (who has returned and mixed with the other ladies,steps forward).Your majesty, I feelI am to blame for this.
KING.You are, and soI give you ten years to reflect upon it,At a most tranquil distance from Madrid.
[The MARCHIONESS steps back weeping. General silence.The bystanders all look in confusion towards the QUEEN.
QUEEN.What weep you for, dear marchioness?[To the KING.If IHave erred, my gracious liege, the crown I wear,And which I never sought, should save my blushesIs there a law in this your kingdom, sire,To summon monarch's daughters to the bar?Does force alone restrain your Spanish ladies?Or need they stronger safeguard than their virtue?Now pardon me, my liege; 'tis not my wontTo send my ladies, who have served me stillWith smiling cheerfulness, away in tears.Here, Mondecar.
[She takes off her girdle and presents it to the MARCHIONESS.
You have displeased the king,Not me. Take this remembrance of my favor,And of this hour. I'd have you quit the kingdom.You have only erred in Spain. In my dear France,All men are glad to wipe such tears away.And must I ever be reminded thus?In my dear France it had been otherwise.
[Leaning on the MARCHIONESS and covering her face.
KING.Can a reproach, that in my love had birth,Afflict you so? A word so trouble you,Which the most anxious tenderness did prompt?[He turns towards the GEANDEES.Here stand the assembled vassals of my throne.Did ever sleep descend upon these eyes,Till at the close of the returning dayI've pondered, how the hearts of all my subjectsWere beating 'neath the furthest cope of heaven?And should I feel more anxious for my throneThan for the partner of my bosom? No!My sword and Alva can protect my people,My eye alone assures thy love.
QUEEN.My liege,If that I have offended——
KING.I am calledThe richest monarch in the Christian world;The sun in my dominions never sets.All this another hath possessed before,And many another will possess hereafter.That is mine own. All that the monarch hathBelongs to chance—Elizabeth to Philip.This is the point in which I feel I'm mortal.
QUEEN.What fear you, sire?
KING.Should these gray hairs not fear?But the same instant that my fear beginsIt dies away forever.[To the grandees.I run overThe nobles of my court and miss the foremost.Where is my son, Don Carlos?[No one answers.He beginsTo give me cause of fear. He shuns my presenceSince he came back from school at Alcala.His blood is hot. Why is his look so cold?His bearing all so stately and reserved?Be watchful, duke, I charge you.
ALVA.So I am:Long as a heart against this corslet beats,So long may Philip slumber undisturbed;And as God's cherub guards the gates of heavenSo doth Duke Alva guard your royal throne.
LERMA.Dare I, in all humility, presumeTo oppose the judgment of earth's wisest king?Too deeply I revere his gracious sireTo judge the son so harshly. I fear muchFrom his hot blood, but nothing from his heart.
KING.Lerma, your speech is fair to soothe the father,But Alva here will be the monarch's shield—No more of this.[Turning to his suite.Now speed we to Madrid,Our royal duties summon us. The plagueOf heresy is rife among my people;Rebellion stalks within my Netherlands—The times are imminent. We must arrestThese erring spirits by some dread example.The solemn oath which every Christian kingHath sworn to keep I will redeem to-morrow.'Twill be a day of doom unparalleled.Our court is bidden to the festival.
[He leads off the QUEEN, the rest follow.
DON CARLOS (with letters in his hand), and MARQUIS POSAenter from opposite sides.
CARLOS.I am resolved—Flanders shall yet be saved:So runs her suit, and that's enough for me!
MARQUIS.There's not another moment to be lost:'Tis said Duke Alva in the cabinetIs named already as the governor.
CARLOS.Betimes to-morrow will I see the kingAnd ask this office for myself. It isThe first request I ever made to him,And he can scarce refuse. My presence hereHas long been irksome to him. He will graspThis fair pretence my absence to secure.And shall I confess to thee, Roderigo?My hopes go further. Face to face with him,'Tis possible the pleading of a sonMay reinstate him in his father's favor.He ne'er hath heard the voice of nature speak;Then let me try for once, my Roderigo,What power she hath when breathing from my lips.
MARQUIS.Now do I hear my Carlos' voice once more;Now are you all yourself again!
The preceding. COUNT LERMA.
COUNT.Your grace,His majesty has left Aranjuez;And I am bidden——
CARLOS.Very well, my lord—I shall overtake the king——
MARQUIS (affecting to take leave with ceremony).Your highness, then,Has nothing further to intrust to me?
CARLOS.Nothing. A pleasant journey to Madrid!You may, hereafter, tell me more of Flanders.
[To LERMA, who is waiting for him.
Proceed, my lord! I'll follow thee anon.
CARLOS.I understood thy hint, and thank thee for it.A stranger's presence can alone excuseThis forced and measured tone. Are we not brothers?In future, let this puppet-play of rankBe banished from our friendship. Think that weHad met at some gay masking festival,Thou in the habit of a slave, and IRobed, for a jest, in the imperial purple.Throughout the revel we respect the cheat,And play our parts with sportive earnestness,Tripping it gayly with the merry throng;But should thy Carlos beckon through his mask,Thou'dst press his hand in silence as he passed,And we should be as one.
MARQUIS.The dream's divine!But are you sure that it will last forever?Is Carlos, then, so certain of himselfAs to despise the charms of boundless sway?A day will come—an all-important day—When this heroic mind—I warn you now—Will sink o'erwhelmed by too severe a test.Don Philip dies; and Carlos mounts the throne,The mightiest throne in Christendom. How vastThe gulf that yawns betwixt mankind and him—A god to-day, who yesterday was man!Steeled to all human weakness—to the voiceOf heavenly duty deaf. Humanity—To-day a word of import in his ear—Barters itself, and grovels 'mid the throngOf gaping parasites; his sympathyFor human woe is turned to cold neglect,His virtue sunk in loose voluptuous joys.Peru supplies him riches for his folly,His court engenders devils for his vices.Lulled in this heaven the work of crafty slaves,He sleeps a charmed sleep; and while his dreamEndures his godhead lasts. And woe to himWho'd break in pity this lethargic trance!What could Roderigo do? Friendship is true,And bold as true. But her bright flashing beamsWere much too fierce for sickly majesty:You would not brook a subject's stern appeal,Nor I a monarch's pride!
CARLOS.Tearful and true,Thy portraiture of monarchs. Yes—thou'rt right,But 'tis their lusts that thus corrupt their hearts,And hurry them to vice. I still am pure.A youth scarce numbering three-and-twenty years.What thousands waste in riotous delights,Without remorse—the mind's more precious part—The bloom and strength of manhood—I have kept,Hoarding their treasures for the future king.What could unseat my Posa from my heart,If woman fail to do it?
MARQUIS.I, myself!Say, could I love you, Carlos, warm as now,If I must fear you?
CARLOS.That will never be.What need hast thou of me? What cause hast thouTo stoop thy knee, a suppliant at the throne?Does gold allure thee? Thou'rt a richer subjectThan I shall be a king! Dost covet honors?E'en in thy youth, fame's brimming chalice stoodFull in thy grasp—thou flung'st the toy away.Which of us, then, must be the other's debtor,And which the creditor? Thou standest mute.Dost tremble for the trial? Art thou, then,Uncertain of thyself?
MARQUIS.Carlos, I yield!Here is my band.
CARLOS.Is it mine own?
MARQUIS.Forever—In the most pregnant meaning of the word!
CARLOS.And wilt thou prove hereafter to the kingAs true and warm as to the prince to-day?
MARQUIS.I swear!
CARLOS.And when round my unguarded heartThe serpent flattery winds its subtle coil,Should e'er these eyes of mine forget the tearsThey once were wont to shed; or should these earsBe closed to mercy's plea,—say, wilt thou, then,The fearless guardian of my virtue, throwThine iron grasp upon me, and call upMy genius by its mighty name?
MARQUIS.I will.
CARLOS.And now one other favor let me beg.Do call me thou! Long have I envied thisDear privilege of friendship to thine equals.The brother's thou beguiles my ear, my heart,With sweet suggestions of equality.Nay, no reply:—I guess what thou wouldst say—To thee this seems a trifle—but to me,A monarch's son, 'tis much. Say, wilt thou beA brother to me?
MARQUIS.Yes; thy brother, yes!
CARLOS.Now to the king—my fears are at an end.Thus, arm-in-arm with thee, I dare defyThe universal world into the lists.
[Exeunt.
The royal palace at Madrid.
KING PHILIP under a canopy; DUKE ALVA at some distance,with his head covered; CARLOS.
CARLOS.The kingdom takes precedence—willinglyDoth Carlos to the minister give place—He speaks for Spain; I am but of the household.
[Bows and steps backward.
KING.The duke remains—the Infanta may proceed.
CARLOS (turning to ALVA).Then must I put it to your honor, sir,To yield my father for a while to me.A son, you know, may to a father's earUnbosom much, in fulness of his heart,That not befits a stranger's ear. The kingShall not be taken from you, sir—I seekThe father only for one little hour.
KING.Here stands his friend.
CARLOS.And have I e'er deservedTo think the duke should be a friend of mine?
KING.Or tried to make him one? I scarce can loveThose sons who choose more wisely than their fathers.
CARLOS.And can Duke Alva's knightly spirit brookTo look on such a scene? Now, as I live,I would not play the busy meddler's part,Who thrusts himself, unasked, 'twixt sire and son,And there intrudes without a blush, condemnedBy his own conscious insignificance,No, not, by heaven, to win a diadem!
KING (rising, with an angry look at the Prince).Retire, my lord!
[ALVA goes to the principal door, through which CARLOShad entered, the KING points to the other.
No, to the cabinet,Until I call you.
CARLOS (as soon as the DUKE has left the apartment, advances to the KING,throws himself at his feet, and then, with great emotion).My father once again!Thanks, endless thanks, for this unwonted favor!Your hand, my father! O delightful day!The rapture of this kiss has long been strangeTo your poor Carlos. Wherefore have I beenShut from my father's heart? What have I done?
KING.Carlos, thou art a novice in these arts—Forbear, I like them not——
CARLOS (rising).And is it so?I hear your courtiers in those words, my father!All is not well, by heaven, all is not true,That a priest says, and a priest's creatures plot.I am not wicked, father; ardent bloodIs all my failing;—all my crime is youth;—Wicked I am not—no, in truth, not wicked;—Though many an impulse wild assails my heart,Yet is it still untainted.
KING.Ay, 'tis pure—I know it—like thy prayers——
CARLOS.Now, then, or never!We are, for once, alone—the barrierOf courtly form, that severed sire and sonHas fallen! Now a golden ray of hopeIllumes my soul—a sweet presentmentPervades my heart—and heaven itself inclines,With choirs of joyous angels, to the earth,And full of soft emotion, the thrice blestLooks down upon this great, this glorious scene!Pardon, my father!
[He falls on his knees before him.
KING.Rise, and leave me.
CARLOS.Father!
KING (tearing himself from him).This trifling grows too bold.
CARLOS.A son's devotionToo bold! Alas!
KING.And, to crown all, in tears!Degraded boy! Away, and quit my sight!
CARLOS.Now, then, or never!—pardon, O my father!
KING.Away, and leave my sight! Return to meDisgraced, defeated, from the battle-field,Thy sire shall meet thee with extended arms:But thus in tears, I spurn thee from my feet.A coward's guilt alone should wash its stainsIn such ignoble streams. The man who weepsWithout a blush will ne'er want cause for tears!
CARLOS.Who is this man? By what mistake of natureHas he thus strayed amongst mankind? A tearIs man's unerring, lasting attribute.Whose eye is dry was ne'er of woman born!Oh, teach the eye that ne'er hath overflowed,The timely science of a tear—thou'lt needThe moist relief in some dark hour of woo.
KING.Think'st thou to shake thy father's strong mistrustWith specious words?
CARLOS.Mistrust! Then I'll remove it.Here will I hang upon my father's breast,Strain at his heart with vigor, till each shredOf that mistrust, which, with a rock's endurance,Clings firmly round it, piecemeal fall away.And who are they who drive me from the king—My father's favor? What requital hathA monk to give a father for a son?What compensation can the duke supplyFor a deserted and a childless age?Would'st thou be loved? Here in this bosom springsA fresher, purer fountain, than e'er flowedFrom those dark, stagnant, muddy reservoirs,Which Philip's gold must first unlock.
KING.No more,Presuming boy! For know the hearts thou slanderestAre the approved, true servants of my choice.'Tis meet that thou do honor to them.
CARLOS.Never!I know my worth—all that your Alva dares—That, and much more, can Carlos. What cares he,A hireling! for the welfare of the realmThat never can be his? What careth heIf Philip's hair grow gray with hoary age?Your Carlos would have loved you:—Oh, I dreadTo think that you the royal throne must fillDeserted and alone.
KING (seemingly struck by this idea, stands in deep thought; aftera pause).I am alone!
CARLOS (approaching him with eagerness).You have been so till now. Hate me no more,And I will love you dearly as a son:But hate me now no longer! Oh, how sweet,Divinely sweet it is to feel our beingReflected in another's beauteous soul;To see our joys gladden another's cheek,Our pains bring anguish to another's bosom,Our sorrows fill another's eye with tears!How sweet, how glorious is it, hand in hand,With a dear child, in inmost soul beloved,To tread once more the rosy paths of youth,And dream life's fond illusions o'er again!How proud to live through endless centuriesImmortal in the virtues of a son;How sweet to plant what his dear hand shall reap;To gather what will yield him rich return,And guess how high his thanks will one day rise!My father of this early paradiseYour monks most wisely speak not.
KING (not without emotion).Oh, my son,Thou hast condemned thyself in painting thusA bliss this heart hath ne'er enjoyed from thee.
CARLOS.The Omniscient be my judge! You till this hourHave still debarred me from your heart, and allParticipation in your royal cares.The heir of Spain has been a very strangerIn Spanish land—a prisoner in the realmWhere he must one day rule. Say, was this just,Or kind? And often have I blushed for shame,And stood with eyes abashed, to learn perchanceFrom foreign envoys, or the general rumor,Thy courtly doings at Aranjuez.
KING.Thy blood flows far too hotly in thy veins.Thou would'st but ruin all.
CARLOS.But try me, father.'Tis true my blood flows hotly in my veins.Full three-and-twenty years I now have lived,And naught achieved for immortality.I am aroused—I feel my inward powers—My title to the throne arouses meFrom slumber, like an angry creditor;And all the misspent hours of early youth,Like debts of honor, clamor in mine ears.It comes at length, the glorious moment comesThat claims full interest on the intrusted talent.The annals of the world, ancestral fame,And glory's echoing trumpet urge me on.Now is the blessed hour at length arrivedThat opens wide to me the list of honor.My king, my father! dare I utter nowThe suit which led me hither?
KING.Still a suit?Unfold it.
CARLOS.The rebellion in BrabantIncreases to a height—the traitor's madnessBy stern, but prudent, vigor must be met.The duke, to quell the wild enthusiasm,Invested with the sovereign's power, will leadAn army into Flanders. Oh, how fullOf glory is such office! and how suitedTo open wide the temple of renownTo me, your son! To my hand, then, O king,Intrust the army; in thy Flemish landsI am well loved, and I will freely gageMy life for their fidelity and truth.
KING.Thou speakest like a dreamer. This high officeDemands a man—and not a stripling's arm.
CARLOS.It but demands a human being, father:And that is what Duke Alva ne'er hath been.
KING.Terror alone can tie rebellion's hands:Humanity were madness. Thy soft soulIs tender, son: they'll tremble at the duke.Desist from thy request.
CARLOS.Despatch me, sire,To Flanders with the army—dare relyE'en on my tender soul. The name of prince,The royal name emblazoned on my standard,Conquers where Alva's butchers but dismay.Here on my knees I crave it—this the firstPetition of my life. Trust Flanders to me.
KING (contemplating CARLOS with a piercing look).Trust my best army to thy thirst for rule,And put a dagger in my murderer's hand!
CARLOS.Great God! and is this all—is this the fruitOf a momentous hour so long desired![After some thought, in a milder tone.Oh, speak to me more kindly—send me notThus comfortless away—dismiss me notWith this afflicting answer, oh, my father!Use me more tenderly, indeed, I need it.This is the last resource of wild despair—It conquers every power of firm resolveTo beat it as a man—this deep contempt—My every suit denied: Let me away—Unheard and foiled in all my fondest hopes,I take my leave. Now Alva and DomingoMay proudly sit in triumph where your sonLies weeping in the dust. Your crowd of courtiers,And your long train of cringing, trembling nobles,Your tribe of sallow monks, so deadly pale,All witnessed how you granted me this audience.Let me not be disgraced. Oh, strike me notWith this most deadly wound—nor lay me bareTo sneering insolence of menial taunts!"That strangers riot on your bounty, whilstCarlos, your son, may supplicate in vain."And as a pledge that you would have me honored,Despatch me straight to Flanders with the army.
KING.Urge thy request no farther—as thou wouldstAvoid the king's displeasure.
CARLOS.I must braveMy king's displeasure, and prefer my suitOnce more, it is the last. Trust Flanders to me!I must away from Spain. To linger hereIs to draw breath beneath the headsman's axe:The air lies heavy on me in MadridLike murder on a guilty soul—a change,An instant change of clime alone can cure me.If you would save my life, despatch me straightWithout delay to Flanders.
KING (with affected coldness).Invalids,Like thee, my son—need not be tended close,And ever watched by the physician's eye—Thou stayest in Spain—the duke will go to Flanders.
CARLOS (wildly).Assist me, ye good angels!
KING (starting).Hold, what meanThose looks so wild?
CARLOS.Father, do you abideImmovably by this determination?
KING.It was the king's.
CARLOS.Then my commission's done.
[Exit in violent emotion.
King, sunk in gloomy contemplation, walks a few stepsup and down; Alva approaches with embarrassment.
KING.Hold yourself ready to depart for BrusselsUpon a moment's notice.
ALVA.All is prepared, my liege.
KING.And your credentialsLie ready sealed within my cabinet,—Meanwhile obtain an audience of the queen,And bid the prince farewell.
ALVA.As I came inI met him with a look of frenzy wildQuitting the chamber; and your majestyIs strangely moved, methinks, and bears the marksOf deep excitement—can it be the themeOf your discourse——
KING.Concerned the Duke of Alva.[The KING keeps his eye steadfastly fixed on him.I'm pleased that Carlos hates my councillors,But I'm disturbed that he despises them.[ALVA, coloring deeply, is about to speak.No answer now: propitiate the prince.
ALVA.Sire!
KING.Tell me who it was that warned me firstOf my son's dark designs? I listened thenTo you, and not to him. I will have proof.And for the future, mark me, Carlos standsNearer the throne—now duke—you may retire.
[The KING retires into his cabinet. Exit DUKE by another door.
The antechamber to the QUEEN'S apartments. DON CARLOS enters inconversation with a PAGE. The attendants retire at his approach.
CARLOS.For me this letter? And a key! How's this?And both delivered with such mystery!Come nearer, boy:—from whom didst thou receive them?
PAGE (mysteriously).It seemed to me the lady would be guessedRather than be described.
CARLOS (starting).The lady, what!Who art thou, boy?
[Looking earnestly at the PAGE.
PAGE.A page that serves the queen.
CARLOS (affrighted, putting his hand to the PAGE's mouth).Hold, on your life! I know enough: no more.
[He tears open the letter hastily, and retires to read it; meanwhile DUKE ALVA comes, and passing the Prince, goes unperceived by him into the QUEEN'S apartment, CARLOS trembles violently and changes color; when he has read the letter he remains a long time speechless, his eyes steadfastly fixed on it; at last he turns to the PAGE.
She gave you this herself?
PAGE.With her own hands.
CARLOS.She gave this letter to you then herself?Deceive me not: I ne'er have seen her writing,And I must credit thee, if thou canst swear it;But if thy tale be false, confess it straight,Nor put this fraud on me.
PAGE.This fraud, on whom?
CARLOS (looking once more at the letter, then at the PAGE with doubtand earnestness).Your parents—are they living? and your father—Serves he the king? Is he a Spaniard born?
PAGE.He fell a colonel on St. Quentin's field,Served in the cavalry of Savoy's duke—His name Alonzo, Count of Henarez.
CARLOS (taking his hand, and looking fixedly in his eyes).The king gave you this letter?
PAGE (with emotion).Gracious prince,Have I deserved these doubts?
CARLOS (reading the letter)."This key unlocksThe back apartments in the queen's pavilion,The furthest room lies next a cabinetWherein no listener's foot dare penetrate;Here may the voice of love without restraintConfess those tender feelings, which till nowThe heart with silent looks alone hath spoken.The timid lover gains an audience here,And sweet reward repays his secret sorrow."
[As if awakening from a reverie.
I am not in a dream, do not rave,This is my right hand, this my sword—and theseAre written words. 'Tis true—it is no dream.I am beloved, I feel I am beloved.
[Unable to contain himself, he rushes hastily through the room,and raises his arms to heaven.
PAGE.Follow me, prince, and I will lead the way.
CARLOS.Then let me first collect my scattered thoughts.The alarm of joy still trembles in my bosom.Did I e'er lift my fondest hopes so high,Or trust my fancy to so bold a flight?Show me the man can learn thus suddenlyTo be a god. I am not what I was.I feel another heaven—another sunThat was not here before. She loves—she loves me!
PAGE (leading him forward).But this is not the place: prince! you forget.
CARLOS.The king! My father!
[His arms sink, he casts a timid look around, thencollecting himself.
This is dreadful! Yes,You're right, my friend. I thank you: I was notJust then myself. To be compelled to silence,And bury in my heart this mighty bliss,Is terrible!
[Taking the PAGE by the hand, and leading him aside.
Now here! What thou hast seen,And what not seen, must be within thy breastEntombed as in the grave. So now depart;I shall not need thy guidance; they must notSurprise us here! Now go.
[The PAGE is about to depart.
Yet hold, a word!
[The PAGE returns. CARLOS lays his hand on his shoulder, and lookshim steadily in the face.
A direful secret hast thou in thy keeping,Which, like a poison of terrific power,Shivers the cup that holds it into atoms.Guard every look of thine, nor let thy headGuess at thy bosom's secret. Be thou likeThe senseless speaking-trumpet that receivesAnd echoes back the voice, but hears it not.Thou art a boy! Be ever so; continueThe pranks of youth. My correspondent choseHer messenger of love with prudent skill!The king will ne'er suspect a serpent here.
PAGE.And I, my prince, shall feel right proud to knowI am one secret richer than the king.
CARLOS.Vain, foolish boy! 'tis this should make thee tremble.Approach me ever with a cold respect:Ne'er be induced by idle pride to boastHow gracious is the prince! No deadlier sinCanst thou commit, my son, than pleasing me.Whate'er thou hast in future for my ear,Give not to words; intrust not to thy lips,Ne'er on that common high road of the thoughtsPermit thy news to travel. Speak with an eye,A finger; I will answer with a look.The very air, the light, are Philip's creatures,And the deaf walls around are in his pay.Some one approaches; fly, we'll meet again.
[The QUEEN'S chamber opens, and DUKE ALVA comes out.
PAGE.Be careful, prince, to find the right apartment.
[Exit.
CARLOS.It is the duke! Fear not, I'll find the way.
ALVA (meeting him).Two words, most gracious prince.
CARLOS.Some other time.
[Going.
ALVA.The place is not the fittest, I confess;Perhaps your royal highness may be pleasedTo grant me audience in your private chamber.
CARLOS.For what? And why not here? Only be brief.
ALVA.The special object which has brought me hither,Is to return your highness lowly thanksFor your good services.
CARLOS.Thanks to me—For what? Duke Alva's thanks!
ALVA.You scarce had leftHis majesty, ere I received in formInstructions to depart for Brussels.
CARLOS.What!For Brussels!
ALVA.And to what, most gracious prince,Must I ascribe this favor, but to you—Your intercession with the king?
CARLOS.Ob, no!Not in the least to me; but, duke, you travel,So Heaven be with your grace!
ALVA.And is this all?It seems, indeed, most strange! And has your highnessNo further orders, then, to send to Flanders?
CARLOS.What should I have?
ALVA.Not long ago, it seemed,The country's fate required your presence.
CARLOS.How?But yes, you're right,—it was so formerly;But now this change is better as it is.
ALVA.I am amazed——
CARLOS.You are an able general,No one doubts that—envy herself must own it.For me, I'm but a youth—so thought the king.
CARLOS.The king was right, quite right. I see it nowMyself, and am content—and so no more.God speed your journey, as you see, just nowMy hands are full, and weighty business presses.The rest to-morrow, or whene'er you will,Or when you come from Brussels.
ALVA.What is this?
CARLOS.The season favors, and your route will lieThrough Milan, Lorraine, Burgundy, and onTo Germany! What, Germany? Ay, true,In Germany it was—they know you there.'Tis April now, May, June,—in July, then,Just so! or, at the latest, soon in August,—You will arrive in Brussels, and no doubtWe soon shall hear of your victorious deeds.You know the way to win our high esteem,And earn the crown of fame.
ALVA (significantly).Indeed! condemnedBy my own conscious insignificance!
CARLOS.You're sensitive, my lord, and with some cause,I own it was not fair to use a weaponAgainst your grace you were unskilled to wield.
ALVA.Unskilled!
CARLOS.'Tis pity I've no leisure nowTo fight this worthy battle fairly outBut at some other time, we——
ALVA.Prince, we bothMiscalculate—but still in opposite ways.You, for example, overrate your ageBy twenty years, whilst on the other band,I, by as many, underrate it——
CARLOS.Well
ALVA.And this suggests the thought, how many nightsBeside this lovely Lusitanian bride—Your mother—would the king right gladly giveTo buy an arm like this, to aid his crown.Full well he knows, far easier is the taskTo make a monarch than a monarchy;Far easier too, to stock the world with kingsThan frame an empire for a king to rule.
CARLOS.Most true, Duke Alva, yet——
ALVA.And how much blood,Your subjects' dearest blood, must flow in streamsBefore two drops could make a king of you.
CARLOS.Most true, by heaven! and in two words comprised,All that the pride of merit has to urgeAgainst the pride of fortune. But the moral—Now, Duke Alva!
ALVA.Woe to the nursling babeOf royalty that mocks the careful handWhich fosters it! How calmly it may sleepOn the soft cushion of our victories!The monarch's crown is bright with sparkling gems,But no eye sees the wounds that purchased them.This sword has given our laws to distant realms,Has blazed before the banner of the cross,And in these quarters of the globe has tracedEnsanguined furrows for the seed of faith.God was the judge in heaven, and I on earth.
CARLOS.God, or the devil—it little matters which;Yours was his chosen arm—that stands confessed.And now no more of this. Some thoughts there areWhereof the memory pains me. I respectMy father's choice,—my father needs an Alva!But that he needs him is not just the pointI envy in him: a great man you are,This may be true, and I well nigh believe it,Only I fear your mission is begunSome thousand years too soon. Alva, methinks,Were just the man to suit the end of time.Then when the giant insolence of viceShall have exhausted Heaven's enduring patience,And the rich waving harvest of misdeedsStand in full ear, and asks a matchless reaper,Then should you fill the post. O God! my paradise!My Flanders! But of this I must not think.'Tis said you carry with you a full storeOf sentences of death already signed.This shows a prudent foresight! No more needTo fear your foes' designs, or secret plots:Oh, father! ill indeed I've understood thee.Calling thee harsh, to save me from a post,Where Alva's self alone can fitly shine!'Twas an unerring token of your love.
ALVA.These words deserve——
CARLOS.What!
ALVA.But your birth protects you.
CARLOS (seizing his sword).That calls for blood! Duke, draw your sword!
ALVA (slightingly).On whom?
CARLOS. (pressing upon him).Draw, or I run you through.
ALVA.Then be it so.
[They fight.