Don Carlos (play)

This page copyright © 2002 Blackmask Online.

http://www.blackmask.com

• SCENE I.
• SCENE II.
• SCENE III.
• SCENE IV.
• SCENE V.
• SCENE VI.
• SCENE VII.
• SCENE VIII.
• SCENE IX.

• SCENE I.
• SCENE II.
• SCENE III.
• SCENE IV.
• SCENE V.
• SCENE VI.
• SCENE VII.
• SCENE VIII.
• SCENE IX.
• SCENE X.
• SCENE XI.
• SCENE XII.
• SCENE XIII.
• SCENE XIV.
• SCENE XV.

• SCENE I.
• SCENE II.
• SCENE III.
• SCENE IV.
• SCENE V.
• SCENE VI.
• SCENE VII.
• SCENE VIII.
• SCENE IX.
• SCENE X.

• SCENE I.
• SCENE II.
• SCENE III.
• SCENE IV.
• SCENE V.
• SCENE VI.
• SCENE VII.
• SCENE VIII.
• SCENE IX.
• SCENE X.
• SCENE XI.
• SCENE XII.
• SCENE XIII.
• SCENE XIV.
• SCENE XV.
• SCENE XVI.
• SCENE XVII.
• SCENE XVIII.
• SCENE XIX.
• SCENE XX.
• SCENE XXI.
• SCENE XXII.
• SCENE XXIII.
• SCENE XXIV.

• SCENE I.
• SCENE II.
• SCENE III.
• SCENE IV.
• SCENE V.
• SCENE VI.
• SCENE VII.
• SCENE VIII.
• SCENE IX.
• SCENE X.
• SCENE XI.

This eBook was produced by Tapio Riikonen
and David Widger, widger@cecomet.net

                     DON CARLOS.

                     By Frederich Schiller

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

PHILIP THE SECOND, King of Spain.
DON CARLOS, Prince, Son of Philip.
ALEXANDER FARNESE, Prince of Parma.
MARQUIS DE POSA.
DUKE OF ALVA.

Grandees of Spain:
COUNT LERMA, Colonel of the Body Guard,
DUKE OF FERIA, Knight of the Golden Fleece,
DUKE OF MEDINA SIDONIA, Admiral,
DON RAIMOND DE TAXIS, Postmaster-General,

DOMINGO, Confessor to the King.
GRAND INQUISITOR of Spain.
PRIOR of a Carthusian Convent.
PAGE of the Queen.
DON LOUIS MERCADO, Physician to the Queen.
ELIZABETH DE VALOIS, Queen of Spain.
INFANTA CLARA FARNESE, a Child three years of age.
DUCHESS D'OLIVAREZ, Principal Attendant on the Queen.

Ladies Attendant on the Queen:
MARCHIONESS DE MONDECAR,
PRINCESS EBOLI,
COUNTESS FUENTES,

Several Ladies, Nobles, Pages, Officers of the Body-Guard,
and mute Characters.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

     The Royal Gardens in Aranjuez.

     CARLOS and DOMINGO.

DOMINGO.
Our pleasant sojourn in Aranjuez
Is over now, and yet your highness quits
These joyous scenes no happier than before.
Our visit hath been fruitless. Oh, my prince,
Break this mysterious and gloomy silence!
Open your heart to your own father's heart!
A monarch never can too dearly buy
The peace of his own son—his only son.
     [CARLOS looks on the ground in silence.
Is there one dearest wish that bounteous Heaven
Hath e'er withheld from her most favored child?
I stood beside, when in Toledo's walls
The lofty Charles received his vassals' homage,
When conquered princes thronged to kiss his hand,
And there at once six mighty kingdoms fell
In fealty at his feet: I stood and marked
The young, proud blood mount to his glowing cheek,
I saw his bosom swell with high resolves,
His eye, all radiant with triumphant pride,
Flash through the assembled throng; and that same eye
Confessed, “Now am I wholly satisfied!”
                     [CARLOS turns away.
This silent sorrow, which for eight long moons
Hath hung its shadows, prince, upon your brow—
The mystery of the court, the nation's grief—
Hath cost your father many a sleepless night,
And many a tear of anguish to your mother.

CARLOS (turning hastily round).
My mother! Grant, O heaven, I may forget
How she became my mother!

DOMINGO.
                     Gracious prince!

CARLOS (passing his hands thoughtfully over his brow).
Alas! alas! a fruitful source of woe
Have mothers been to me. My youngest act,
When first these eyes beheld the light of day,
Destroyed a mother.

DOMINGO.
                     Is it possible
That this reproach disturbs your conscience, prince?

CARLOS.
And my new mother! Hath she not already
Cost me my father's heart? Scarce loved at best.
My claim to some small favor lay in this—
I was his only child! 'Tis over! She
Hath blest him with a daughter—and who knows
What slumbering ills the future hath in store?

DOMINGO.
You jest, my prince. All Spain adores its queen.
Shall it be thought that you, of all the world,
Alone should view her with the eyes of hate—
Gaze on her charms, and yet be coldly wise?
How, prince? The loveliest lady of her time,
A queen withal, and once your own betrothed?
No, no, impossible—it cannot be!
Where all men love, you surely cannot hate.
Carlos could never so belie himself.
I prithee, prince, take heed she do not learn
That she hath lost her son's regard. The news
Would pain her deeply.

CARLOS. Ay, sir! think you so?

DOMINGO.
Your highness doubtless will remember how,
At the late tournament in Saragossa,
A lance's splinter struck our gracious sire.
The queen, attended by her ladies, sat
High in the centre gallery of the palace,
And looked upon the fight. A cry arose,
“The king! he bleeds!” Soon through the general din,
A rising murmur strikes upon her ear.
“The prince—the prince!” she cries, and forward rushed,
As though to leap down from the balcony,
When a voice answered, “No, the king himself!”
“Then send for his physicians!” she replied,
And straight regained her former self-composure.
                   [After a short pause.
But you seem wrapped in thought?

CARLOS. In wonder, sir,
That the king's merry confessor should own
So rare a skill in the romancer's art.
                    [Austerely.
Yet have I heard it said that those
Who watch men's looks and carry tales about,
Have done more mischief in this world of ours
Than the assassin's knife, or poisoned bowl.
Your labor, Sir, hath been but ill-bestowed;
Would you win thanks, go seek them of the king.

DOMINGO.
This caution, prince, is wise. Be circumspect
With men—but not with every man alike.
Repel not friends and hypocrites together;
I mean you well, believe me!

CARLOS. Say you so?
Let not my father mark it, then, or else
Farewell your hopes forever of the purple.

DOMINGO (starts).

CARLOS.
How!

CARLOS. Even so! Hath he not promised you
The earliest purple in the gift of Spain?

DOMINGO.
You mock me, prince!

CARLOS. Nay! Heaven forefend, that I
Should mock that awful man whose fateful lips
Can doom my father or to heaven or hell!

DOMINGO.
I dare not, prince, presume to penetrate
The sacred mystery of your secret grief,
Yet I implore your highness to remember
That, for a conscience ill at ease, the church
Hath opened an asylum, of which kings
Hold not the key—where even crimes are purged
Beneath the holy sacramental seal.
You know my meaning, prince—I've said enough.

CARLOS.
No! be it, never said, I tempted so
The keeper of that seal.

DOMINGO.
                     Prince, this mistrust—
You wrong the most devoted of your servants.

CARLOS.
Then give me up at once without a thought
Thou art a holy man—the world knows that—
But, to speak plain, too zealous far for me.
The road to Peter's chair is long and rough,
And too much knowledge might encumber you.
Go, tell this to the king, who sent thee hither!

DOMINGO.
Who sent me hither?

CARLOS. Ay! Those were my words.
Too well-too well, I know, that I'm betrayed,
Slandered on every hand—that at this court
A hundred eyes are hired to watch my steps.
I know, that royal Philip to his slaves
Hath sold his only son, and every wretch,
Who takes account of each half-uttered word,
Receives such princely guerdon as was ne'er
Bestowed on deeds of honor, Oh, I know
But hush!—no more of that! My heart will else
O'erflow and I've already said too much.

DOMINGO.
The king is minded, ere the set of sun,
To reach Madrid: I see the court is mustering.
Have I permission, prince?

CARLOS. I'll follow straight.

                     [Exit DOMINGO.

CARLOS (after a short silence).
O wretched Philip! wretched as thy son!
Soon shall thy bosom bleed at every pore,
Torn by suspicion's poisonous serpent fang.
Thy fell sagacity full soon shall pierce
The fatal secret it is bent to know,
And thou wilt madden, when it breaks upon thee!

SCENE II.

     CARLOS, MARQUIS OF POSA.

CARLOS.
Lo! Who comes here? 'Tis he! O ye kind heavens,
My Roderigo!

MARQUIS. Carlos!

CARLOS. Can it be?
And is it truly thou? O yes, it is!
I press thee to my bosom, and I feel
Thy throbbing heart beat wildly 'gainst mine own.
And now all's well again. In this embrace
My sick, sad heart is comforted. I hang
Upon my Roderigo's neck!

MARQUIS. Thy heart!
Thy sick sad heart! And what is well again
What needeth to be well? Thy words amaze me.

CARLOS.
What brings thee back so suddenly from Brussels?
Whom must I thank for this most glad surprise?
And dare I ask? Whom should I thank but thee,
Thou gracious and all bounteous Providence?
Forgive me, heaven! if joy hath crazed my brain.
Thou knewest no angel watched at Carlos' side,
And sent me this! And yet I ask who sent him.

MARQUIS.
Pardon, dear prince, if I can only meet
With wonder these tumultuous ecstacies.
Not thus I looked to find Don Philip's son.
A hectic red burns on your pallid cheek,
And your lips quiver with a feverish heat.
What must I think, dear prince? No more I see
The youth of lion heart, to whom I come
The envoy of a brave and suffering people.
For now I stand not here as Roderigo—
Not as the playmate of the stripling Carlos—
But, as the deputy of all mankind,
I clasp thee thus:—'tis Flanders that clings here
Around thy neck, appealing with my tears
To thee for succor in her bitter need.
This land is lost, this land so dear to thee,
If Alva, bigotry's relentless tool,
Advance on Brussels with his Spanish laws.
This noble country's last faint hope depends
On thee, loved scion of imperial Charles!
And, should thy noble heart forget to beat
In human nature's cause, Flanders is lost!

CARLOS.
Then it is lost.

MARQUIS.
                  What do I hear? Alas!

CARLOS.
Thou speakest of times that long have passed away.
I, too, have had my visions of a Carlos,
Whose cheek would fire at freedom's glorious name,
But he, alas! has long been in his grave.
He, thou seest here, no longer is that Carlos,
Who took his leave of thee in Alcala,
Who in the fervor of a youthful heart,
Resolved, at some no distant time, to wake
The golden age in Spain! Oh, the conceit,
Though but a child's, was yet divinely fair!
Those dreams are past!

MARQUIS.
                     Said you, those dreams, my prince!
And were they only dreams?

CARLOS.
                     Oh, let me weep,
Upon thy bosom weep these burning tears,
My only friend! Not one have I—not one—
In the wide circuit of this earth,—not one
Far as the sceptre of my sire extends,
Far as the navies bear the flag of Spain,
There is no spot—none—none, where I dare yield
An outlet to my tears, save only this.
I charge thee, Roderigo! Oh, by all
The hopes we both do entertain of heaven,
Cast me not off from thee, my friend, my friend!
     [POSA bends over him in silent emotion.
Look on me, Posa, as an orphan child,
Found near the throne, and nurtured by thy love.
Indeed, I know not what a father is.
I am a monarch's son. Oh, were it so,
As my heart tells me that it surely is,
That thou from millions hast been chosen out
To comprehend my being; if it be true,
That all-creating nature has designed
In me to reproduce a Roderigo,
And on the morning of our life attuned
Our souls' soft concords to the selfsame key;
If one poor tear, which gives my heart relief,
To thee were dearer than my father's favor——

MARQUIS.
Oh, it is dearer far than all the world!

CARLOS.
I'm fallen so low, have grown so poor withal,
I must recall to thee our childhood's years,—
Must ask thee payment of a debt incurred
When thou and I were scarce to boyhood grown.
Dost thou remember, how we grew together,
Two daring youths, like brothers, side by side?
I had no sorrow but to see myself
Eclipsed by thy bright genius. So I vowed,
Since I might never cope with thee in power,
That I would love thee with excess of love.
Then with a thousand shows of tenderness,
And warm affection, I besieged thy heart,
Which cold and proudly still repulsed them all.
Oft have I stood, and—yet thou sawest it never
Hot bitter tear-drops brimming in mine eyes,
When I have marked thee, passing me unheeded,
Fold to thy bosom youths of humbler birth.
“Why only these?” in anguish, once I asked—
“Am I not kind and good to thee as they?”
But dropping on thy knees, thine answer came,
With an unloving look of cold reserve,
“This is my duty to the monarch's son!”

MARQUIS.
Oh, spare me, dearest prince, nor now recall
Those boyish acts that make me blush for shame.

CARLOS.
I did not merit such disdain from thee—
You might despise me, crush my heart, but never
Alter my love. Three times didst thou repulse
The prince, and thrice he came to thee again,
To beg thy love, and force on thee his own.
At length chance wrought what Carlos never could.
Once we were playing, when thy shuttlecock
Glanced off and struck my aunt, Bohemia's queen,
Full in the face! She thought 'twas with intent,
And all in tears complained unto the king.
The palace youth were summoned on the spot,
And charged to name the culprit. High in wrath
The king vowed vengeance for the deed: “Although
It were his son, yet still should he be made
A dread example!” I looked around and marked
Thee stand aloof, all trembling with dismay.
Straight I stepped forth; before the royal feet
I flung myself, and cried, “'Twas I who did it;
Now let thine anger fall upon thy son!”

MARQUIS.
Ah, wherefore, prince, remind me?

CARLOS.
                     Hear me further!
Before the face of the assembled court,
That stood, all pale with pity, round about,
Thy Carlos was tied up, whipped like a slave;
I looked on thee, and wept not. Blow rained on blow;
I gnashed my teeth with pain, yet wept I not!
My royal blood streamed 'neath the pitiless lash;
I looked on thee, and wept not. Then you came,
And fell half-choked with sobs before my feet:
“Carlos,” you cried, “my pride is overcome;
I will repay thee when thou art a king.”

MARQUIS (stretching forth his hand to CARLOS).
Carlos, I'll keep my word; my boyhood's vow
I now as man renew. I will repay thee.
Some day, perchance, the hour may come——

CARLOS.
                     Now! now!
The hour has come; thou canst repay me all.
I have sore need of love. A fearful secret
Burns in my breast; it must—it must be told.
In thy pale looks my death-doom will I read.
Listen; be petrified; but answer not.
I love—I love—my mother!

MARQUIS.
                     O my God!

CARLOS.
Nay, no forbearance! spare me not! Speak! speak!
Proclaim aloud, that on this earth's great round
There is no misery to compare with mine.
Speak! speak!—I know all—all that thou canst say
The son doth love his mother. All the world's
Established usages, the course of nature,
Rome's fearful laws denounce my fatal passion.
My suit conflicts with my own father's rights,
I feel it all, and yet I love. This path
Leads on to madness, or the scaffold. I
Love without hope, love guiltily, love madly,
With anguish, and with peril of my life;
I see, I see it all, and yet I love.

MARQUIS.
The queen—does she know of your passion?

CARLOS.
                     Could I
Reveal it to her? She is Philip's wife—
She is the queen, and this is Spanish ground,
Watched by a jealous father, hemmed around
By ceremonial forms, how, how could I
Approach her unobserved? 'Tis now eight months,
Eight maddening months, since the king summoned me
Home from my studies, since I have been doomed
To look on her, adore her day by day,
And all the while be silent as the grave!
Eight maddening months, Roderigo; think of this!
This fire has seethed and raged within my breast!
A thousand, thousand times, the dread confession
Has mounted to my lips, yet evermore
Shrunk, like a craven, back upon my heart.
O Roderigo! for a few brief moments
Alone with her!

MARQUIS.
                 Ah! and your father, prince!

CARLOS.
Unhappy me! Remind me not of him.
Tell me of all the torturing pangs of conscience,
But speak not, I implore you, of my father!

MARQUIS.
Then do you hate your father?

CARLOS.
                     No, oh, no!
I do not hate my father; but the fear
That guilty creatures feel,—a shuddering dread,—
Comes o'er me ever at that terrible name.
Am I to blame, if slavish nurture crushed
Love's tender germ within my youthful heart?
Six years I'd numbered, ere the fearful man,
They told me was my father, met mine eyes.
One morning 'twas, when with a stroke I saw him
Sign four death-warrants. After that I ne'er
Beheld him, save when, for some childish fault,
I was brought out for chastisement. O God!
I feel my heart grow bitter at the thought.
Let us away! away!

MARQUIS.
                    Nay, Carlos, nay,
You must, you shall give all your sorrow vent,
Let it have words! 'twill ease your o'erfraught heart.

CARLOS.
Oft have I struggled with myself, and oft
At midnight, when my guards were sunk in sleep,
With floods of burning tears I've sunk before
The image of the ever-blessed Virgin,
And craved a filial heart, but all in vain.
I rose with prayer unheard. O Roderigo!
Unfold this wondrous mystery of heaven,
Why of a thousand fathers only this
Should fall to me—and why to him this son,
Of many thousand better? Nature could not
In her wide orb have found two opposites
More diverse in their elements. How could
She bind the two extremes of human kind—
Myself and him—in one so holy bond?
O dreadful fate! Why was it so decreed?
Why should two men, in all things else apart,
Concur so fearfully in one desire?
Roderigo, here thou seest two hostile stars,
That in the lapse of ages, only once,
As they sweep onwards in their orbed course,
Touch with a crash that shakes them to the centre,
Then rush apart forever and forever.

MARQUIS.
I feel a dire foreboding.

CARLOS.
                     So do I.
Like hell's grim furies, dreams of dreadful shape
Pursue me still. My better genius strives
With the fell projects of a dark despair.
My wildered subtle spirit crawls through maze
On maze of sophistries, until at length
It gains a yawning precipice's brink.
O Roderigo! should I e'er in him
Forget the father—ah! thy deathlike look
Tells me I'm understood—should I forget
The father—what were then the king to me?

MARQUIS (after a pause).
One thing, my Carlos, let me beg of you!
Whate'er may be your plans, do nothing,—nothing,—
Without your friend's advice. You promise this?

CARLOS.
All, all I promise that thy love can ask!
I throw myself entirely upon thee!

MARQUIS.
The king, I hear, is going to Madrid.
The time is short. If with the queen you would
Converse in private, it is only here,
Here in Aranjuez, it can be done.
The quiet of the place, the freer manners,
All favor you.

CARLOS.
                And such, too, was my hope;
But it, alas! was vain.

MARQUIS.
                     Not wholly so.
I go to wait upon her. If she be
The same in Spain she was in Henry's court,
She will be frank at least. And if I can
Read any hope for Carlos in her looks—
Find her inclined to grant an interview—
Get her attendant ladies sent away——

CARLOS.
Most of them are my friends—especially
The Countess Mondecar, whom I have gained
By service to her son, my page.

MARQUIS.
                     'Tis well;
Be you at hand, and ready to appear,
Whene'er I give the signal, prince.

CARLOS.
                     I will,—
Be sure I will:—and all good speed attend thee!

MARQUIS.
I will not lose a moment; so, farewell.

                     [Exeunt severally.

SCENE III.

     The Queen's Residence in Aranjuez. The Pleasure Grounds,
     intersected by an avenue, terminated by the Queen's Palace.

     The QUEEN, DUCHESS OF OLIVAREZ, PRINCESS OF EBOLI, and MARCHIONESS
     OF MONDECAR, all advancing from the avenue.

QUEEN (to the MARCHIONESS).
I will have you beside me, Mondecar.
The princess, with these merry eyes of hers,
Has plagued me all the morning. See, she scarce
Can hide the joy she feels to leave the country.

EBOLI.
'Twere idle to conceal, my queen, that I
Shall be most glad to see Madrid once more.

MONDECAR.
And will your majesty not be so, too?
Are you so grieved to quit Aranjuez?

QUEEN.
To quit—this lovely spot at least I am.
This is my world. Its sweetness oft and oft
Has twined itself around my inmost heart.
Here, nature, simple, rustic nature greets me,
The sweet companion of my early years—
Here I indulge once more my childhood's sports,
And my dear France's gales come blowing here.
Blame not this partial fondness—all hearts yearn
For their own native land.

EBOLI.
                     But then how lone,
How dull and lifeless it is here! We might
As well be in La Trappe.

QUEEN.
                     I cannot see it.
To me Madrid alone is lifeless. But
What saith our duchess to it?

OLIVAREZ.
                     Why, methinks,
Your majesty, since kings have ruled in Spain,
It hath been still the custom for the court
To pass the summer months alternately
Here and at Pardo,—in Madrid, the winter.

QUEEN.
Well, I suppose it has! Duchess, you know
I've long resigned all argument with you.

MONDECAR.
Next month Madrid will be all life and bustle.
They're fitting up the Plaza Mayor now,
And we shall have rare bull-fights; and, besides,
A grand auto da fe is promised us.

QUEEN.
Promised? This from my gentle Mondecar!

MONDECAR.
Why not? 'Tis only heretics they burn!

QUEEN.
I hope my Eboli thinks otherwise!

EBOLI.
What, I? I beg your majesty may think me
As good a Christian as the marchioness.

QUEEN.
Alas! I had forgotten where I am,—
No more of this! We were speaking, I think,
About the country? And methinks this month
Has flown away with strange rapidity.
I counted on much pleasure, very much,
From our retirement here, and yet I have not
Found that which I expected. Is it thus
With all our hopes? And yet I cannot say
One wish of mine is left ungratified.

OLIVAREZ.
Yon have not told us, Princess Eboli,
If there be hope for Gomez,—and if we may
Expect ere long to greet you as his bride?

QUEEN.
True—thank you, duchess, for reminding me!
               [Addressing the PRINCESS.
I have been asked to urge his suit with you.
But can I do it? The man whom I reward
With my sweet Eboli must be a man
Of noble stamp indeed.

OLIVAREZ.
                     And such he is,
A man of mark and fairest fame,—a man
Whom our dear monarch signally has graced
With his most royal favor.

QUEEN.
                     He's happy in
Such high good fortune; but we fain would know,
If be can love, and win return of love.
This Eboli must answer.

EBOLI (stands speechless and confused, her eyes bent on the ground;
       at last she falls at the QUEEN's feet).
                     Gracious queen!
Have pity on me! Let me—let me not,—
For heaven's sake, let me not be sacrificed.

QUEEN.
Be sacrificed! I need no more. Arise!
'Tis a hard fortune to be sacrificed.
I do believe you. Rise. And is it long
Since you rejected Gomez' suit?

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 Infanta
Yet 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 me
When the right hour does come.

     [A page enters and whispers to the first lady, who
     thereupon 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 letters
Intrusted to him by your royal mother.

QUEEN.
Is this allowed?

OLIVAREZ (hesitating).
                  A case so unforeseen
Is not provided for in my instructions.
When a Castilian grandee, with despatches
From foreign courts, shall in her garden find
The 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, who
     thereupon retires.

SCENE IV.

     The QUEEN, PRINCESS EBOLI, MARCHIONESS OF MONDECAR, and
     MARQUIS OF POSA.

QUEEN.
I bid you welcome, sir, to Spanish ground!

MARQUIS.
Ground which I never with so just a pride
Hailed for the country of my sires as now.

QUEEN (to the two ladies).
The Marquis Posa, ladies, who at Rheims
Coped with my father in the lists, and made
My colors thrice victorious; the first
That made me feel how proud a thing it was
To 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 be
Your hostess in Castile.

MARQUIS.
                     Most true, my liege!
For at that time I never could have dreamed
That France should lose to us the only thing
We 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 hither
Has led you, as I hear, through France. What news
Have you brought with you from my honored mother
And 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 throne
Of our imperial Spain.

QUEEN.
                     Could she be aught
But happy in the dear remembrances
Of relatives so kind—in the sweet thoughts
Of the old time when—Sir, you've visited
Full many a court in these your various travels,
And seen strange lands and customs manifold;
And now, they say, you mean to keep at home
A greater prince in your retired domain
Than is King Philip on his throne—a freer.
You're a philosopher; but much I doubt
If our Madrid will please you. We are so—
So quiet in Madrid.

MARQUIS.
                     And that is more
Than all the rest of Europe has to boast.

QUEEN.
I've heard as much. But all this world's concerns
Are well-nigh blotted from my memory.
                     [To PRINCESS EBOLI.
Princess, methinks I see a hyacinth
Yonder in bloom. Wilt bring it to me, sweet?

     [The PRINCESS goes towards the palace, the QUEEN
     softly to the MARQUIS.

I'm much mistaken, sir, or your arrival
Has made one heart more happy here at court.

MARQUIS.
I have found a sad one—one that in this world
A ray of sunshine——

EBOLI.
                     As this gentleman
Has seen so many countries, he, no doubt,
Has much of note to tell us.

MARQUIS.
                     Doubtless, and
To 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 became
The witness of a very touching story,
Which ties of friendship almost make my own
Were I not fearful its recital might
Fatigue 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 peace
By 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 formed
Two fairer hearts. And never had the world
Approved a wiser or a happier choice.
Still had the youth adored his lovely bride
In the dull limner's portraiture alone.
How thrilled his heart, then, in the hope to find
The truth of all that e'en his fondest dreams
Had 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 feet
The first pure homage of his fervent love.

     [The QUEEN grows more attentive; the MARQUIS continues, after
     a short pause, addressing himself chiefly to PRINCESS EBOLI.

Meanwhile the sudden death of Pietro's wife
Had left him free to wed. With the hot glow
Of youthful blood the hoary lover drinks
The fame that reached him of Matilda's charms.
He comes—he sees—he loves! The new desire
Stifles 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 wings
Of Jove, unconscious of the fearful change,
Delirious with the promised joy, he speeds
Back to Mirandola. His flying steed
By starlight gains the gate. Tumultuous sounds
Of music, dance, and jocund revelry
Ring from the walls of the illumined palace.
With faltering steps he mounts the stair; and now
Behold him in the crowded nuptial hall,
Unrecognized! Amid the reeling guests
Pietro sat. An angel at his side—
An angel, whom he knows, and who to him
Even 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 tale
Is 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 pray
Proceed, sir, with your story.

MARQUIS.
                     Nay, the rest
Is very sad—and to recall it sets
My 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 QUEEN
     opens the letters, and appears surprised. The MARQUIS talks with
     MARCHIONESS MONDECAR. The QUEEN having read the letters, turns to
     the MARQUIS with a penetrating look.

QUEEN.
You have not spoken of Matilda! She
Haply 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 venture
To interpret thee, as fain I would? He'd find
Forgiveness, 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.

SCENE V.

     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 break
Into 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 report
This bold intrusion——

CARLOS.
                     And that I must die!
Let them come here, and drag me to the scaffold!
A moment spent in paradise like this
Is 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 word
From those dear lips can bid me live or die.
What would you more? Is there beneath the sun
One thing I would not haste to sacrifice
To 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 roll
A hundred thousand times, ere chance again
Yield 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 might
Have 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 know
Who '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 possess
Her husband's heart. To whom doth his belong?
If ever, perchance, in some hot feverish mood,
He yields to gentler impulse, begs he not
Forgiveness of his sceptre and gray hairs?

QUEEN.
Who told you that my lot, at Philip's side
Was one for men to pity?

CARLOS.
                     My own heart!
Which feels, with burning pangs, how at my side
It 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's
Presumptuous eloquence? What, if an old man's
Matured 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 means
That Carlos is not one to yield to must
Where 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 overthrow
Of 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 continues
     with dignity and earnestness.

And yet why not? A new elected monarch
Can do far more—make bonfires of the laws
His 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 scatter
Forth 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 had
Been 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 glory
Of overmastering both. Up, be a man,
Wrestle with them boldly. The prize is worthy
Of a young warrior's high, heroic heart;
Worthy of him in whom the virtues flow
Of a long ancestry of mighty kings.
Courage! my noble prince! Great Charles's grandson
Begins 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 heart
Breaks in its exercise! The hand of Heaven
Has set you up on high,—far higher, prince,
Than millions of your brethren. All she took
From others she bestowed with partial hand
On thee, her favorite; and millions ask,
What was your merit, thus before your birth
To 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 strength
To 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 belongs
To the great empire you one day shall rule.
Look that you sport not with your sacred trust!
Love is your high vocation; until now
It 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 do
All, 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 myself
Am 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.
                     And
These 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.

SCENE VI.

     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 all
Your 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 charge
Of waiting on your majesty to-day?

QUEEN.
Oh, be not angry! Good, my lord, 'tis I
Myself that am to blame—at my request
The 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 feel
I am to blame for this.

KING.
                     You are, and so
I 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 I
Have erred, my gracious liege, the crown I wear,
And which I never sought, should save my blushes
Is 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 wont
To send my ladies, who have served me still
With 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 day
I've pondered, how the hearts of all my subjects
Were beating 'neath the furthest cope of heaven?
And should I feel more anxious for my throne
Than 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 called
The 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 hath
Belongs 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 begins
It dies away forever.
                     [To the grandees.
                     I run over
The nobles of my court and miss the foremost.
Where is my son, Don Carlos?
                     [No one answers.
                     He begins
To give me cause of fear. He shuns my presence
Since 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 heaven
So doth Duke Alva guard your royal throne.

LERMA.
Dare I, in all humility, presume
To oppose the judgment of earth's wisest king?
Too deeply I revere his gracious sire
To judge the son so harshly. I fear much
From 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 plague
Of heresy is rife among my people;
Rebellion stalks within my Netherlands—
The times are imminent. We must arrest
These erring spirits by some dread example.
The solemn oath which every Christian king
Hath 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.

SCENE VII.

     DON CARLOS (with letters in his hand), and MARQUIS POSA
     enter 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 cabinet
Is named already as the governor.

CARLOS.
Betimes to-morrow will I see the king
And ask this office for myself. It is
The first request I ever made to him,
And he can scarce refuse. My presence here
Has long been irksome to him. He will grasp
This 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 son
May 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!

SCENE VIII.

     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.

SCENE IX.

     DON CARLOS, MARQUIS POSA.

CARLOS.
I understood thy hint, and thank thee for it.
A stranger's presence can alone excuse
This forced and measured tone. Are we not brothers?
In future, let this puppet-play of rank
Be banished from our friendship. Think that we
Had met at some gay masking festival,
Thou in the habit of a slave, and I
Robed, 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 himself
As 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 vast
The gulf that yawns betwixt mankind and him—
A god to-day, who yesterday was man!
Steeled to all human weakness—to the voice
Of heavenly duty deaf. Humanity—
To-day a word of import in his ear—
Barters itself, and grovels 'mid the throng
Of gaping parasites; his sympathy
For 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 dream
Endures his godhead lasts. And woe to him
Who'd break in pity this lethargic trance!
What could Roderigo do? Friendship is true,
And bold as true. But her bright flashing beams
Were 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 thou
To stoop thy knee, a suppliant at the throne?
Does gold allure thee? Thou'rt a richer subject
Than I shall be a king! Dost covet honors?
E'en in thy youth, fame's brimming chalice stood
Full 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 king
As true and warm as to the prince to-day?

MARQUIS.
I swear!

CARLOS.
          And when round my unguarded heart
The serpent flattery winds its subtle coil,
Should e'er these eyes of mine forget the tears
They once were wont to shed; or should these ears
Be closed to mercy's plea,—say, wilt thou, then,
The fearless guardian of my virtue, throw
Thine iron grasp upon me, and call up
My 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 this
Dear 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 be
A 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 defy
The universal world into the lists.

                     [Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

     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—willingly
Doth 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 ear
Unbosom much, in fulness of his heart,
That not befits a stranger's ear. The king
Shall not be taken from you, sir—I seek
The father only for one little hour.

KING.
Here stands his friend.

CARLOS.
                     And have I e'er deserved
To think the duke should be a friend of mine?

KING.
Or tried to make him one? I scarce can love
Those sons who choose more wisely than their fathers.

CARLOS.
And can Duke Alva's knightly spirit brook
To 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, condemned
By 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 CARLOS
     had entered, the KING points to the other.

                  No, to the cabinet,
Until I call you.

SCENE II.

     KING PHILIP. DON CARLOS.

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 strange
To your poor Carlos. Wherefore have I been
Shut 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 blood
Is 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 barrier
Of courtly form, that severed sire and son
Has fallen! Now a golden ray of hope
Illumes my soul—a sweet presentment
Pervades my heart—and heaven itself inclines,
With choirs of joyous angels, to the earth,
And full of soft emotion, the thrice blest
Looks 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 devotion
Too 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 me
Disgraced, 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 stains
In such ignoble streams. The man who weeps
Without a blush will ne'er want cause for tears!

CARLOS.
Who is this man? By what mistake of nature
Has he thus strayed amongst mankind? A tear
Is 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 need
The moist relief in some dark hour of woo.

KING.
Think'st thou to shake thy father's strong mistrust
With 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 shred
Of 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 hath
A monk to give a father for a son?
What compensation can the duke supply
For a deserted and a childless age?
Would'st thou be loved? Here in this bosom springs
A fresher, purer fountain, than e'er flowed
From those dark, stagnant, muddy reservoirs,
Which Philip's gold must first unlock.

KING.
                     No more,
Presuming boy! For know the hearts thou slanderest
Are 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 realm
That never can be his? What careth he
If Philip's hair grow gray with hoary age?
Your Carlos would have loved you:—Oh, I dread
To think that you the royal throne must fill
Deserted and alone.

KING (seemingly struck by this idea, stands in deep thought; after
      a 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 being
Reflected 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 centuries
Immortal 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 paradise
Your monks most wisely speak not.

KING (not without emotion).
                     Oh, my son,
Thou hast condemned thyself in painting thus
A bliss this heart hath ne'er enjoyed from thee.

CARLOS.
The Omniscient be my judge! You till this hour
Have still debarred me from your heart, and all
Participation in your royal cares.
The heir of Spain has been a very stranger
In Spanish land—a prisoner in the realm
Where 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 perchance
From 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 me
From 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 comes
That 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 arrived
That opens wide to me the list of honor.
My king, my father! dare I utter now
The suit which led me hither?

KING.
                     Still a suit?
Unfold it.

CARLOS.
            The rebellion in Brabant
Increases to a height—the traitor's madness
By stern, but prudent, vigor must be met.
The duke, to quell the wild enthusiasm,
Invested with the sovereign's power, will lead
An army into Flanders. Oh, how full
Of glory is such office! and how suited
To open wide the temple of renown
To me, your son! To my hand, then, O king,
Intrust the army; in thy Flemish lands
I am well loved, and I will freely gage
My life for their fidelity and truth.

KING.
Thou speakest like a dreamer. This high office
Demands 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 soul
Is tender, son: they'll tremble at the duke.
Desist from thy request.

CARLOS.
                     Despatch me, sire,
To Flanders with the army—dare rely
E'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 first
Petition 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 fruit
Of a momentous hour so long desired!
          [After some thought, in a milder tone.
Oh, speak to me more kindly—send me not
Thus comfortless away—dismiss me not
With 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 resolve
To 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 Domingo
May proudly sit in triumph where your son
Lies 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 not
With this most deadly wound—nor lay me bare
To sneering insolence of menial taunts!
“That strangers riot on your bounty, whilst
Carlos, 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 wouldst
Avoid the king's displeasure.

CARLOS.
                     I must brave
My king's displeasure, and prefer my suit
Once more, it is the last. Trust Flanders to me!
I must away from Spain. To linger here
Is to draw breath beneath the headsman's axe:
The air lies heavy on me in Madrid
Like murder on a guilty soul—a change,
An instant change of clime alone can cure me.
If you would save my life, despatch me straight
Without 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 mean
Those looks so wild?

CARLOS.
                     Father, do you abide
Immovably by this determination?

KING.
It was the king's.

CARLOS.
                    Then my commission's done.

                     [Exit in violent emotion.

SCENE III.

     King, sunk in gloomy contemplation, walks a few steps
     up and down; Alva approaches with embarrassment.

KING.
Hold yourself ready to depart for Brussels
Upon a moment's notice.

ALVA.
All is prepared, my liege.

KING.
                     And your credentials
Lie ready sealed within my cabinet,—
Meanwhile obtain an audience of the queen,
And bid the prince farewell.

ALVA.
                     As I came in
I met him with a look of frenzy wild
Quitting the chamber; and your majesty
Is strangely moved, methinks, and bears the marks
Of deep excitement—can it be the theme
Of 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 first
Of my son's dark designs? I listened then
To you, and not to him. I will have proof.
And for the future, mark me, Carlos stands
Nearer the throne—now duke—you may retire.

     [The KING retires into his cabinet. Exit DUKE by another door.

SCENE IV.

     The antechamber to the QUEEN'S apartments. DON CARLOS enters in
     conversation 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 guessed
Rather 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 doubt
        and 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 unlocks
The back apartments in the queen's pavilion,
The furthest room lies next a cabinet
Wherein no listener's foot dare penetrate;
Here may the voice of love without restraint
Confess those tender feelings, which till now
The 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 these
Are 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 suddenly
To be a god. I am not what I was.
I feel another heaven—another sun
That 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, then
     collecting himself.

                     This is dreadful! Yes,
You're right, my friend. I thank you: I was not
Just 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 breast
Entombed as in the grave. So now depart;
I shall not need thy guidance; they must not
Surprise 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 looks
     him 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 head
Guess at thy bosom's secret. Be thou like
The senseless speaking-trumpet that receives
And echoes back the voice, but hears it not.
Thou art a boy! Be ever so; continue
The pranks of youth. My correspondent chose
Her 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 know
I 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 boast
How gracious is the prince! No deadlier sin
Canst 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 thoughts
Permit 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.

SCENE V.

     DON CARLOS. DUDE OF ALVA.

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 pleased
To 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 thanks
For your good services.

CARLOS.
                     Thanks to me—
For what? Duke Alva's thanks!

ALVA.
                     You scarce had left
His majesty, ere I received in form
Instructions 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 highness
No 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 now
Myself, and am content—and so no more.
God speed your journey, as you see, just now
My 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 lie
Through Milan, Lorraine, Burgundy, and on
To 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 doubt
We 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! condemned
By my own conscious insignificance!

CARLOS.
You're sensitive, my lord, and with some cause,
I own it was not fair to use a weapon
Against your grace you were unskilled to wield.

ALVA.
Unskilled!

CARLOS.
            'Tis pity I've no leisure now
To fight this worthy battle fairly out
But at some other time, we——

ALVA.
                     Prince, we both
Miscalculate—but still in opposite ways.
You, for example, overrate your age
By twenty years, whilst on the other band,
I, by as many, underrate it——

CARLOS.
                     Well

ALVA.
And this suggests the thought, how many nights
Beside this lovely Lusitanian bride—
Your mother—would the king right gladly give
To buy an arm like this, to aid his crown.
Full well he knows, far easier is the task
To make a monarch than a monarchy;
Far easier too, to stock the world with kings
Than 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 streams
Before 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 urge
Against the pride of fortune. But the moral—
Now, Duke Alva!

ALVA.
                Woe to the nursling babe
Of royalty that mocks the careful hand
Which fosters it! How calmly it may sleep
On 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 traced
Ensanguined 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 are
Whereof the memory pains me. I respect
My father's choice,—my father needs an Alva!
But that he needs him is not just the point
I envy in him: a great man you are,
This may be true, and I well nigh believe it,
Only I fear your mission is begun
Some thousand years too soon. Alva, methinks,
Were just the man to suit the end of time.
Then when the giant insolence of vice
Shall have exhausted Heaven's enduring patience,
And the rich waving harvest of misdeeds
Stand 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 store
Of sentences of death already signed.
This shows a prudent foresight! No more need
To 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.

SCENE VI.

     The QUEEN, DON CARLOS, DUKE ALVA.

QUEEN (coming from her room alarmed).
How! naked swords?

     [To the PRINCE in an indignant and commanding tone.

                    Prince Carlos!

CARLOS (agitated at the QUEEN's look, drops his arm, stands motionless,
        then rushes to the DUKE, and embraces him).
                     Pardon, duke!
Your pardon, sir! Forget, forgive it all!

     [Throws himself in silence at the QUEEN'S feet, then rising
     suddenly, departs in confusion.

ALVA.
By heaven, 'tis strange!

QUEEN (remains a few moments as if in doubt, then retiring to her
       apartment).
A word with you, Duke ALVA.

                     [Exit, followed by the DUKE.

SCENE VII.

     The PRINCESS EBOLI's apartment.

     The PRINCESS in a simple, but elegant dress, playing on the lute.
     The QUEEN's PAGE enters.

PRINCESS (starting up suddenly)
He comes!

PAGE (abruptly).
          Are you alone? I wonder much
He is not here already; but he must
Be here upon the instant.

PRINCESS.
                     Do you say must!
Then he will come, this much is certain then.

PAGE.
He's close upon my steps. You are beloved,
Adored, and with more passionate regard
Than mortal ever was, or can be loved.
Oh! what a scene I witnessed!

PRINCESS (impatiently draws him to her).
                     Quick, you spoke
With him! What said he? Tell me straight—
How did he look? what were his words? And say—
Did he appear embarrassed or confused
And did he guess who sent the key to him?
Be quick! or did he not? He did not guess
At all, perhaps! or guessed amiss! Come, speak,
How! not a word to answer me? Oh, fie!
You never were so dull—so slow before,
'Tis past all patience.

PAGE.
                     Dearest lady, hear me!
Both key and note I placed within his hands,
In the queen's antechamber, and he started
And gazed with wonder when I told him that
A lady sent me!

PRINCESS.
                 Did he start? go on!
That's excellent. Proceed, what next ensued?

PAGE.
I would have told him more, but he grew pale,
And snatched the letter from my hand, and said
With look of deadly menace, he knew all.
He read the letter with confusion through,
And straight began to tremble.

PRINCESS.
                     He knew all!
He knew it all? Were those his very words?

PAGE.
He asked me, and again he asked, if you
With your own hands had given me the letter?

PRINCESS.
If I? Then did he mention me by name?

PAGE.
By name! no name he mentioned: there might be
Listeners, he said, about the palace, who
Might to the king disclose it.

PRINCESS (surprised).
                     Said he that?

PAGE.
He further said, it much concerned the king;
Deeply concerned—to know of that same letter.

PRINCESS.
The king! Nay, are you sure you heard him right?
The king! Was that the very word he used?

PAGE.
It was. He called it a most perilous secret,
And warned me to be strictly on my guard,
Never with word or look to give the king
Occasion for suspicion.

PRINCESS (after a pause, with astonishment).
                     All agrees!
It can be nothing else—he must have heard
The tale—'tis very strange! Who could have told him,
I wonder who? The eagle eye of love
Alone could pierce so far. But tell me further—
He read the letter.

PAGE.
                     Which, he said, conveyed
Such bliss as made him tremble, and till then
He had not dared to dream of. As he spoke
The duke, by evil chance, approached the room,
And this compelled us——

PRINCESS (angrily).
                     What in all the world
Could bring the duke to him at such a time?
What can detain him? Why appears he not?
See how you've been deceived; how truly blest
Might he have been already—in the time
You've taken to describe his wishes to me!

PAGE.
The duke, I fear——

PRINCESS.
                    Again, the duke! What can
The duke want here? What should a warrior want
With my soft dreams of happiness? He should
Have left him there, or sent him from his presence.
Where is the man may not be treated thus?
But Carlos seems as little versed in love
As in a woman's heart—he little knows
What minutes are. But hark! I hear a step;
Away, away!
                     [PAGE hastens out.
             Where have I laid my lute?
I must not seem to wait for him. My song
Shall be a signal to him.

SCENE VIII.

     The PRINCESS, DON CARLOS.

     The PRINCESS has thrown herself upon an ottoman,
     and plays.

CARLOS (rushes in; he recognizes the PRINCESS, and stands thunderstruck).
                    Gracious Heaven!
Where am I?

PRINCESS (lets her lute fall, and meeting him)
What? Prince Carlos! yes, in truth.

CARLOS.
Where am I? Senseless error; I have missed
The right apartment.

PRINCESS.
                     With what dexterous skill
Carlos contrives to hit the very room
Where ladies sit alone!

CARLOS.
                     Your pardon, princess!
I found—I found the antechamber open.

PRINCESS.
Can it be possible? I fastened it
Myself; at least I thought so——

CARLOS.
                     Ay! you thought,
You only thought so; rest assured you did not.
You meant to lock it, that I well believe:
But most assuredly it was not locked.
A lute's sweet sounds attracted me, some hand
Touched it with skill; say, was it not a lute?
               [Looking round inquiringly.
Yes, there it lies, and Heaven can bear me witness
I love the lute to madness. I became
All ear, forgot myself in the sweet strain,
And rushed into the chamber to behold
The lovely eyes of the divine musician
Who charmed me with the magic of her tones.

PRINCESS.
Innocent curiosity, no doubt!
But it was soon appeased, as I can prove.
     [After a short silence, significantly.
I must respect the modesty that has,
To spare a woman's blushes, thus involved
Itself in so much fiction.

CARLOS (with sincerity).
                     Nay, I feel
I but augment my deep embarrassment,
In vain attempt to extricate myself.
Excuse me for a part I cannot play.
In this remote apartment, you perhaps
Have sought a refuge from the world, to pour
The inmost wishes of your secret heart
Remote from man's distracting eye. By me,
Unhappy that I am, your heavenly dreams
Are all disturbed, and the atonement now
Must be my speedy absence.
                     [Going.

PRINCESS (surprised and confused, but immediately recovering herself).
                     Oh! that step
Were cruel, prince, indeed!

CARLOS.
                     Princess, I feel
What such a look in such a place imports:
This virtuous embarrassment has claims
To which my manhood never can be deaf.
Woe to the wretch whose boldness takes new fire
From the pure blush of maiden modesty!
I am a coward when a woman trembles.

PRINCESS.
Is't possible?—such noble self-control
In one so young, and he a monarch's son!
Now, prince, indeed you shall remain with me,
It is my own request, and you must stay.
Near such high virtue, every maiden fear
Takes wing at once; but your appearance here
Disturbed me in a favorite air, and now
Your penalty shall be to hear me sing it.

CARLOS (sits down near the PRINCESS, not without reluctance).
A penalty delightful as the sin!
And sooth to say, the subject of the song
Was so divine, again and yet again
I'd gladly hear it.

PRINCESS
                     What! you heard it all?
Nay, that was too bad, prince. It was, I think,
A song of love.

CARLOS.
                 And of successful love,
If I mistake not—dear delicious theme
From those most beauteous lips—but scarce so true,
Methinks, as beautiful.

PRINCESS.
                     What! not so true?
Then do you doubt the tale?

CARLOS.
                     I almost doubt
That Carlos and the Princess Eboli,
When they discourse on such a theme as love,
May not quite understand each other's hearts.

     [The PRINCESS starts; he observes it, and continues
     with playful gallantry.

Who would believe those rosy-tinted cheeks
Concealed a heart torn by the pangs of love.
Is it within the range of wayward chance
That the fair Princess Eboli should sigh
Unheard—unanswered? Love is only known
By him who hopelessly persists in love.

PRINCESS (with all her former vivacity).
Hush! what a dreadful thought! this fate indeed
Appears to follow you of all mankind,
Especially to-day.
     [Taking his hand with insinuating interest.
                    You are not happy,
Dear prince—you're sad! I know too well you suffer,
And wherefore, prince? When with such loud appeal
The world invites you to enjoy its bliss—
And nature on you pours her bounteous gifts,
And spreads around you all life's sweetest joys.
You, a great monarch's son, and more—far more—
E'en in your cradle with such gifts endowed
As far eclipsed the splendor of your rank.
You, who in those strict courts where women rule,
And pass, without appeal, unerring sentence
On manly worth and honor, even there
Find partial judges. You, who with a look
Can prove victorious, and whose very coldness
Kindles aflame; and who, when warmed with passion,
Can make a paradise, and scatter round
The bliss of heaven, the rapture of the gods.
The man whom nature has adorned with gifts
To render thousands happy, gifts which she
Bestows on few—that such a man as this
Should know what misery is! Thou, gracious Heaven,
That gavest him all those blessings, why deny
Him eyes to see the conquests he has made?

CARLOS (who has been lost in absence of mind, suddenly recovers himself
        by the silence of the PRINCESS, and starts up).
Charming! inimitable! Princess, sing
That passage, pray, again.

PRINCESS (looking at him with astonishment).
                     Where, Carlos, were
Your thoughts the while?

CARLOS (jumps up).
By heaven, you do remind me
In proper time—I must away—and quickly.

PRINCESS (holding him back).
Whither away?

CARLOS.
               Into the open air.
Nay, do not hold me, princess, for I feel
As though the world behind me were in flames.

PRINCESS (holding him forcibly back).
What troubles you? Whence comes these strange, these wild,
Unnatural looks? Nay, answer me!
     [CARLOS stops to reflect, she draws him to the sofa to her.
                     Dear Carlos,
You need repose, your blood is feverish.
Come, sit by me: dispel these gloomy fancies.
Ask yourself frankly can your head explain
The tumult of your heart—and if it can—
Say, can no knight be found in all the court,
No lady, generous as fair, to cure you—
Rather, I should have said, to understand you?
What, no one?

CARLOS (hastily, without thinking).
               If the Princess Eboli——

PRINCESS (delighted, quickly).
Indeed!

CARLOS.
         Would write a letter for me, a few words
Of kindly intercession to my father;—
They say your influence is great.

PRINCESS.
                     Who says so?
                     [Aside.
Ha! was it jealousy that held thee mute!

CARLOS.
Perchance my story is already public.
I had a sudden wish to visit Brabant
Merely to win my spurs—no more. The king,
Kind soul, is fearful the fatigues of war
Might spoil my singing!

PRINCESS.
                     Prince, you play me false!
Confess that by this serpent subterfuge
You would mislead me. Look me in the face,
Deceitful one! and say would he whose thoughts
Were only bent on warlike deeds—would he
E'er stoop so low as, with deceitful hand,
To steal fair ladies' ribbons when they drop,
And then—your pardon! hoard them—with such care?

     [With light action she opens his shirt frill, and seizes
     a ribbon which is there concealed.

CARLOS (drawing back with amazement).
Nay, princess—that's too much—I am betrayed.
You're not to be deceived. You are in league
With spirits and with demons!

PRINCESS.
                     Are you then
Surprised at this? What will you wager, Carlos
But I recall some stories to your heart?
Nay, try it with me; ask whate'er you please,
And if the triflings of my sportive fancy—
The sound half-uttered by the air absorbed—
The smile of joy checked by returning gloom—
If motions—looks from your own soul concealed
Have not escaped my notice—judge if I
Can err when thou wouldst have me understand thee?

CARLOS.
Why, this is boldly ventured; I accept
The wager, princess. Then you undertake
To make discoveries in my secret heart
Unknown even to myself.

PRINCESS (displeased, but earnestly).
                     Unknown to thee!
Reflect a moment, prince! Nay, look around;
This boudoir's not the chamber of the queen,
Where small deceits are practised with full license.
You start, a sudden blush o'erspreads your face.
Who is so bold, so idle, you would ask,
As to watch Carlos when he deems himself
From scrutiny secure? Who was it, then,
At the last palace-ball observed you leave
The queen, your partner, standing in the dance,
And join, with eager haste, the neighboring couple,
To offer to the Princess Eboli
The hand your royal partner should have claimed?
An error, prince, his majesty himself,
Who just then entered the apartment, noticed.

CARLOS (with ironical smile).
His majesty? And did he really so?
Of all men he should not have seen it.

PRINCESS.
Nor yet that other scene within the chapel,
Which doubtless Carlos hath long since forgotten.
Prostrate before the holy Virgin's image,
You lay in prayer, when suddenly you heard—
'Twas not your fault—a rustling from behind
Of ladies' dresses. Then did Philip's son,
A youth of hero courage, tremble like
A heretic before the holy office.
On his pale lips died the half-uttered prayer.
In ecstasy of passion, prince—the scene
Was truly touching—for you seized the hand,
The blessed Virgin's cold and holy hand,
And showered your burning kisses on the marble.

CARLOS.
Princess, you wrong me: that was pure devotion!

PRINCESS.
Indeed! that's quite another thing. Perhaps
It was the fear of losing, then, at cards,
When you were seated with the queen and me,
And you with dexterous skill purloined my glove.
                 [CARLOS starts surprised.
That prompted you to play it for a card?

CARLOS.
What words are these? O Heaven, what have I done?

PRINCESS.
Nothing I hope of which you need repent!
How pleasantly was I surprised to find
Concealed within the glove a little note,
Full of the warmest tenderest romance,

CARLOS (interrupting her suddenly).
Mere poetry! no more. My fancy teems
With idle bubbles oft, which break as soon
As they arise—and this was one of them;
So, prithee, let us talk of it no more.

PRINCESS (leaving him with astonishment, and regarding him for
          some time at a distance).
I am exhausted—all attempts are vain
To hold this youth. He still eludes my grasp.
     [Remains silent a few moments.
But stay! Perchance 'tis man's unbounded pride,
That thus to add a zest to my delight.
Assumes a mask of timid diffidence.
'Tis so.
     [She approaches the PRINCE again, and looks at him doubtingly.
          Explain yourself, prince, I entreat you.
For here I stand before a magic casket,
Which all my keys are powerless to unlock.

CARLOS.
As I before you stand.

PRINCESS (leaves him suddenly, walks a few steps up and down in silence,
  apparently lost in deep thought. After a pause, gravely and solemnly).
                     Then thus at last—
I must resolve to speak, and Carlos, you
Shall be my judge. Yours is a noble nature,
You are a prince—a knight—a man of honor.
I throw myself upon your heart—protect me
Or if I'm lost beyond redemption's power,
Give me your tears in pity for my fate.

          [The PRINCE draws nearer.

A daring favorite of the king demands
My hand—his name Ruy Gomez, Count of Silva,
The king consents—the bargain has been struck,
And I am sold already to his creature.

CARLOS (with evident emotion).
Sold! you sold! Another bargain, then,
Concluded by this royal southern trader!

PRINCESS.
No; but hear all—'tis not enough that I
Am sacrificed to cold state policy,
A snare is laid to entrap my innocence.
Here is a letter will unmask the saint!

     [CARLOS takes the paper, and without reading it listens
     with impatience to her recital.

Where Shall I find protection, prince? Till now
My virtue was defended by my pride,
At length——

CARLOS.
             At length you yielded! Yielded? No.
For God's sake say not so!

PRINCESS.
                     Yielded! to whom?
Poor piteous reasoning. Weak beyond contempt
Your haughty minds, who hold a woman's favor,
And love's pure joys, as wares to traffic for!
Love is the only treasure on the face
Of this wide earth that knows no purchaser
Besides itself—love has no price but love.
It is the costly gem, beyond all price,
Which I must freely give away, or—bury
For ever unenjoyed—like that proud merchant
Whom not the wealth of all the rich Rialto
Could tempt—a great rebuke to kings! to save
From the deep ocean waves his matchless pearl,
Too proud to barter it beneath its worth!

CARLOS (aside).
Now, by great heaven, this woman's beautiful.

PRINCESS.
Call it caprice or pride, I ne'er will make
Division of my joys. To him, alone,
I choose as mine, I give up all forever.
One only sacrifice I make; but that
Shall be eternal. One true heart alone
My love shall render happy: but that one
I'll elevate to God. The keen delight
Of mingling souls—the kiss—the swimming joys
Of that delicious hour when lovers meet,
The magic power of heavenly beauty—all
Are sister colors of a single ray—
Leaves of one single blossom. Shall I tear
One petal from this sweet, this lovely flower,
With reckless hand, and mar its beauteous chalice?
Shall I degrade the dignity of woman,
The masterpiece of the Almighty's hand,
To charm the evening of a reveller?

CARLOS.
Incredible! that in Madrid should dwell
This matchless creature! and unknown to me
Until this day.

PRINCESS.
                 Long since had I forsaken
This court—the world—and in some blest retreat
Immured myself; but one tie binds me still
Too firmly to existence. Perhaps—alas!
'Tis but a phantom—but 'tis dear to me.
I love—but am not loved in turn.

CARLOS (full of ardor, going towards her).
                     You are!
As true as God is throned in heaven! I swear
You are—you are unspeakably beloved.

PRINCESS.
You swear it, you!—sure 'twas an angel's voice.
Oh, if you swear it, Carlos, I'll believe it.
Then I am truly loved!

CARLOS (embracing her with tenderness).
                     Bewitching maid,
Thou creature worthy of idolatry
I stand before thee now all eye, all ear,
All rapture and delight. What eye hath seen thee—
Under yon heaven what eye could e'er have seen thee,
And boast he never loved? What dost thou here
In Philip's royal court! Thou beauteous angel!
Here amid monks and all their princely train.
This is no clime for such a lovely flower—
They fain would rifle all thy sweets—full well
I know their hearts. But it shall never be—
Not whilst I draw life's breath. I fold thee thus
Within my arms, and in these hands I'll bear thee
E'en through a hell replete with mocking fiends.
Let me thy guardian angel prove.

PRINCESS (with a countenance full of love).
                     O Carlos!
How little have I known thee! and how richly
With measureless reward thy heart repays
The weighty task of—comprehending thee!

     [She takes his hand and is about to kiss it.

CARLOS (drawing it back).
Princess! What mean you?

PRINCESS (with tenderness and grace, looking at his hand attentively).
                     Oh, this beauteous hand!
How lovely 'tis, and rich! This hand has yet
Two costly presents to bestow!—a crown—
And Carlos' heart:—and both these gifts perchance
Upon one mortal!—both on one—Oh, great
And godlike gift-almost too much for one!
How if you share the treasure, prince! A queen
Knows naught of love—and she who truly loves
Cares little for a crown! 'Twere better, prince,
Then to divide the treasure—and at once—
What says my prince? Have you done so already?
Have you in truth? And do I know the blest one?

CARLOS.
Thou shalt. I will unfold myself to thee,
To thy unspotted innocence, dear maid,
Thy pure, unblemished nature. In this court
Thou art the worthiest—first—the only one
To whom this soul has stood revealed.
Then, yes! I will not now conceal it—yes,
I love!

PRINCESS.
         Oh, cruel heart! Does this avowal prove
So painful to thee? Must I first deserve
Thy pity—ere I hope to win thy love?

CARLOS (starting).
What say'st thou?

PRINCESS.
                   So to trifle with me, prince!
Indeed it was not well—and to deny
The key——

CARLOS.
          The key! the key! Oh yes, 'tis so!

     [After a dead silence.

I see it all too plainly! Gracious heaven!

     [His knees totter, he leans against a chair, and covers
     his face with his hands. A long silence on both sides.
     The PRINCESS screams and falls.

PRINCESS.
Oh, horrible! What have I done!

CARLOS.
                     Hurled down
So far from all my heavenly joys! 'Tis dreadful!

PRINCESS (hiding her face in the cushion).
Oh, God! What have I said?

CARLOS (kneeling before her).
                     I am not guilty.
My passion—an unfortunate mistake—
By heaven, I am not guilty——

PRINCESS (pushing him from her).
                     Out of my sight,
For heaven's sake!

CARLOS.
                     No, I will not leave thee thus.
In this dread anguish leave thee——

PRINCESS (pushing him forcibly away).
                     Oh, in pity—
For mercy's sake, away—out of my sight!
Wouldst thou destroy me? How I hate thy presence!

                     [CARLOS going.

Give, give me back the letter and the key.
Where is the other letter?

CARLOS.
                     The other letter?

PRINCESS.
That from the king, to me——

CARLOS (terrified).
                     From whom?

PRINCESS.
The one I just now gave you.

CARLOS.
                     From the king!
To you!

PRINCESS.
Oh, heavens, how dreadfully have I
Involved myself! The letter, sir! I must
Have it again.

CARLOS.
The letter from the king!
To you!

PRINCESS.
         The letter! give it, I implore you
By all that's sacred! give it.

CARLOS.
                     What, the letter
That will unmask the saint! Is this the letter?

PRINCESS.
Now I'm undone! Quick, give it me——

CARLOS.
The letter——

PRINCESS (wringing her hands in despair).
What have I done? O dreadful, dire imprudence!

CARLOS.
This letter comes, then, from the king! Princess,
That changes all indeed, and quickly, too.
This letter is beyond all value—priceless!
All Philip's crowns are worthless, and too poor
To win it from my hands. I'll keep this letter.

PRINCESS (throwing herself prostrate before him as he is going).
Almighty Heaven! then I am lost forever.

                     [Exit CARLOS.

SCENE IX.

     The PRINCESS alone.

     She seems overcome with surprise, and is confounded.
     After CARLOS' departure she hastens to call him back.

PRINCESS.
Prince, but one word! Prince, hear me. He is gone.
And this, too, I am doomed to bear—his scorn!
And I am left in lonely wretchedness,
Rejected and despised!
     [Sinks down upon a chair. After a pause
                     And yet not so;
I'm but displaced—supplanted by some wanton.
He loves! of that no longer doubt is left;
He has himself confessed it—but my rival—
Who can she be? Happy, thrice happy one!
This much stands clear: he loves where he should not.
He dreads discovery, and from the king
He hides his guilty passion! Why from him
Who would so gladly hail it? Or, is it not
The father that he dreads so in the parent?
When the king's wanton purpose was disclosed,
His features glowed with triumph, boundless joy
Flashed in his eyes, his rigid virtue fled;
Why was it mute in such a cause as this?
Why should he triumph? What hath he to gain
If Philip to his queen——

     [She stops suddenly, as if struck by a thought, then
     drawing hastily from her bosom the ribbon which she had
     taken from CARLOS, she seems to recognize it.

                     Fool that I am!
At length 'tis plain. Where have my senses been?
My eyes are opened now. They loved each other
Long before Philip wooed her, and the prince
Ne'er saw me but with her! She, she alone
Was in his thoughts when I believed myself
The object of his true and boundless love.
O matchless error! and have I betrayed
My weakness to her?
              [Pauses.
                     Should his love prove hopeless?
Who can believe it? Would a hopeless love
Persist in such a struggle? Called to revel
In joys for which a monarch sighs in vain!
A hopeless love makes no such sacrifice.
What fire was in his kiss! How tenderly
He pressed my bosom to his beating heart!
Well nigh the trial had proved dangerous
To his romantic, unrequited passion!
With joy he seized the key he fondly thought
The queen had sent:—in this gigantic stride
Of love he puts full credence—and he comes—
In very truth comes here—and so imputes
To Philip's wife a deed so madly rash.
And would he so, had love not made him bold?
'Tis clear as day—his suit is heard—she loves!
By heaven, this saintly creature burns with passion;
How subtle, too, she is! With fear I trembled
Before this lofty paragon of virtue!
She towered beside me, an exalted being,
And in her beams I felt myself eclipsed;
I envied her the lovely, cloudless calm,
That kept her soul from earthly tumults free.
And was this soft serenity but show?
Would she at both feasts revel, holding up
Her virtue's godlike splendor to our gaze,
And riot in the secret joys of vice?
And shall the false dissembler cozen thus,
And win a safe immunity from this
That no avenger comes? By heavens she shall not!
I once adored her,—that demands revenge:—
The king shall know her treachery—the king!
                     [After a pause.
'Tis the sure way to win the monarch's ear!

                     [Exit.

SCENE X.

     A chamber in the royal palace.
     DUKE OF ALVA, FATHER DOMINGO.

DOMINGO.
Something to tell me!

ALVA.
                     Ay! a thing of moment,
Of which I made discovery to-day,
And I would have your judgment on it.

DOMINGO.
                     How!
Discovery! To what do you allude?

ALVA.
Prince Carlos and myself this morning met
In the queen's antechamber. I received
An insult from him—we were both in heat—
The strife grew loud—and we had drawn our swords.
Alarmed, from her apartments rushed the queen.
She stepped between us,—with commanding eye
Of conscious power, she looked upon the prince.
'Twas but a single glance,—but his arm dropped,
He fell upon my bosom—gave me then
A warm embrace, and vanished.

DOMINGO (after a pause).
                     This seems strange.
It brings a something to my mind, my lord!
And thoughts like these I own have often sprung
Within my breast; but I avoid such fancies—
To no one have I e'er confided them.
There are such things as double-edged swords
And untrue friends,—I fear them both.
'Tis hard to judge among mankind, but still more hard
To know them thoroughly. Words slipped at random
Are confidants offended—therefore I
Buried my secret in my breast, till time
Should drag it forth to light. 'Tis dangerous
To render certain services to kings.
They are the bolts, which if they miss the mark,
Recoil upon the archer! I could swear
Upon the sacrament to what I saw.
Yet one eye-witness—one word overheard—
A scrap of paper—would weigh heavier far
Than my most strong conviction! Cursed fate
That we are here in Spain!

ALVA.
                     And why in Spain?

DOMINGO.
There is a chance in every court but this
For passion to forget itself, and fall.
Here it is warned by ever-wakeful laws.
Our Spanish queens would find it hard to sin—
And only there do they meet obstacles,
Where best 'twould serve our purpose to surprise them.

ALVA.
But listen further: Carlos had to-day
An audience of the king; the interview
Lasted an hour, and earnestly he sought
The government of Flanders for himself.
Loudly he begged, and fervently. I heard him
In the adjoining cabinet. His eyes
Were red with tears when I encountered him.
At noon he wore a look of lofty triumph,
And vowed his joy at the king's choice of me.

He thanked the king. “Matters are changed,” he said,
“And things go better now.” He's no dissembler:
How shall I reconcile such contradictions?
The prince exults to see himself rejected,
And I receive a favor from the king
With marks of anger! What must I believe?
In truth this new-born dignity doth sound
Much more like banishment than royal favor!

DOMINGO.
And is it come to this at last? to this?
And has one moment crumbled into dust
What cost us years to build? And you so calm,
So perfectly at ease! Know you this youth?
Do you foresee the fate we may expect
Should he attain to power? The prince! No foe
Am I of his. Far other cares than these
Gnaw at my rest—cares for the throne—for God,
And for his holy church! The royal prince—
(I know him, I can penetrate his soul),
Has formed a horrible design, Toledo!
The wild design—to make himself the regent,
And set aside our pure and sacred faith.
His bosom glows with some new-fangled virtue,
Which, proud and self-sufficient, scorns to rest
For strength on any creed. He dares to think!
His brain is all on fire with wild chimeras;
He reverences the people! And is this
A man to be our king?

ALVA.
                     Fantastic dreams!
No more. A boy's ambition, too, perchance
To play some lofty part! What can he less?
These thoughts will vanish when he's called to rule.

DOMINGO.
I doubt it! Of his freedom he is proud,
And scorns those strict restraints all men must bear
Who hope to govern others. Would he suit
Our throne? His bold gigantic mind
Would burst the barriers of our policy.
In vain I sought to enervate his soul
In the loose joys of this voluptuous age.
He stood the trial. Fearful is the spirit
That rules this youth; and Philip soon will see
His sixtieth year.

ALVA.
                    Your vision stretches far!

DOMINGO.
He and the queen are both alike in this.
Already works, concealed in either breast,
The poisonous wish for change and innovation.
Give it but way, 'twill quickly reach the throne.
I know this Valois! We may tremble for
The secret vengeance of this quiet foe
If Philip's weakness hearken to her voice!
Fortune so far hath smiled upon us. Now
We must anticipate the foe, and both
Shall fall together in one fatal snare.
Let but a hint of such a thing be dropped
Before the king, proved or unproved, it reeks not!
Our point is gained if he but waver. We
Ourselves have not a doubt; and once convinced,
'Tis easy to convince another's mind.
Be sure we shall discover more if we
Start with the faith that more remains concealed.

ALVA.
But soft! A vital question! Who is he
Will undertake the task to tell the king?

DOMINGO.
Nor you, nor I! Now shall you learn, what long
My busy spirit, full of its design,
Has been at work with, to achieve its ends.
Still is there wanting to complete our league
A third important personage. The king
Loves the young Princess Eboli—and I
Foster this passion for my own designs.
I am his go-between. She shall be schooled
Into our plot. If my plan fail me not,
In this young lady shall a close ally—
A very queen, bloom for us. She herself
Asked me, but now, to meet her in this chamber.
I'm full of hope. And in one little night
A Spanish maid may blast this Valois lily.

ALVA.
What do you say! Can I have heard aright?
By Heaven! I'm all amazement. Compass this,
And I'll bow down to thee, Dominican!
The day's our own.

DOMINGO.
                    Soft! Some one comes: 'tis she—
'Tis she herself!

ALVA.
                   I'm in the adjoining room
If you should——

DOMINGO.
                 Be it so: I'll call you in.

                     [Exit ALVA.

SCENE XI.

     PRINCESS, DOMINGO.

DOMINGO.
At your command, princess.

PRINCESS.
                     We are perhaps
Not quite alone?
     [Looking inquisitively after the DUKE.
                  You have, as I observe,
A witness still by you.

DOMINGO.
                     How?

PRINCESS.
                     Who was he,
That left your side but now?

DOMINGO.
                     It was Duke ALVA.
Most gracious princess, he requests you will
Admit him to an audience after me.

PRINCESS.
Duke Alva! How? What can he want with me?
You can, perhaps, inform me?

DOMINGO.
                     I?—and that
Before I learn to what important chance
I owe the favor, long denied, to stand
Before the Princess Eboli once more?
               [Pauses awaiting her answer.
Has any circumstance occurred at last
To favor the king's wishes? Have my hopes
Been not in vain, that more deliberate thought
Would reconcile you to an offer which
Caprice alone and waywardness could spurn?
I seek your presence full of expectation——

PRINCESS.
Was my last answer to the king conveyed?

DOMINGO.
I have delayed to inflict this mortal wound.
There still is time, it rests with you, princess,
To mitigate its rigor.

PRINCESS.
                     Tell the king
That I expect him.

DOMINGO.
                    May I, lovely princess,
Indeed accept this as your true reply?

PRINCESS.
I do not jest. By heaven, you make me tremble
What have I done to make e'en you grow pale?

DOMINGO.
Nay, lady, this surprise—so sudden—I
Can scarcely comprehend it.

PRINCESS.
                     Reverend sir!
You shall not comprehend it. Not for all
The world would I you comprehended it.
Enough for you it is so—spare yourself
The trouble to investigate in thought,
Whose eloquence hath wrought this wondrous change.
But for your comfort let me add, you have
No hand in this misdeed,—nor has the church.
Although you've proved that cases might arise
Wherein the church, to gain some noble end,
Might use the persons of her youthful daughters!
Such reasonings move not me; such motives, pure,
Right reverend sir, are far too high for me.

DOMINGO.
When they become superfluous, your grace,
I willingly retract them.

PRINCESS.
                     Seek the king,
And ask him as from me, that he will not
Mistake me in this business. What I have been
That am I still. 'Tis but the course of things
Has changed. When I in anger spurned his suit,
I deemed him truly happy in possessing
Earth's fairest queen. I thought his faithful wife
Deserved my sacrifice. I thought so then,
But now I'm undeceived.

DOMINGO.
                     Princess, go on!
I hear it all—we understand each other.

PRINCESS.
Enough. She is found out. I will not spare her.
The hypocrite's unmasked!—She has deceived
The king, all Spain, and me. She loves, I know
She loves! I can bring proofs that will make you tremble.
The king has been deceived—but he shall not,
By heaven, go unrevenged! The saintly mask
Of pure and superhuman self-denial
I'll tear from her deceitful brow, that all
May see the forehead of the shameless sinner.
'Twill cost me dear, but here my triumph lies,
That it will cost her infinitely more.

DOMINGO.
Now all is ripe, let me call in the duke.

                     [Goes out.

PRINCESS (astonished).
What means all this?

SCENE XII.

     The PRINCESS, DUKE ALVA, DOMINGO.

DOMINGO (leading the DUKE in).
                     Our tidings, good my lord,
Come somewhat late. The Princess Eboli
Reveals to us a secret we had meant
Ourselves to impart to her.

ALVA.
                     My visit, then,
Will not so much surprise her, but I never
Trust my own eyes in these discoveries.
They need a woman's more discerning glance.

PRINCESS.
Discoveries! How mean you?

DOMINGO.
                     Would we knew
What place and fitter season you——

PRINCESS.
                     Just So!
To-morrow noon I will expect you both.
Reasons I have why this clandestine guilt
Should from the king no longer be concealed.

ALVA.
'Tis this that brings us here. The king must know it.
And he shall hear the news from you, princess,
From you alone:—for to what tongue would he
Afford such ready credence as to yours,
Friend and companion ever of his spouse?

DOMINGO.
As yours, who more than any one at will
Can o'er him exercise supreme command.

ALVA.
I am the prince's open enemy.

DOMINGO.
And that is what the world believes of me.
The Princess Eboli's above suspicion.
We are compelled to silence, but your duty,
The duty of your office, calls on you
To speak. The king shall not escape our hands.
Let your hints rouse him, we'll complete the work.

ALVA.
It must be done at once, without delay;
Each moment now is precious. In an hour
The order may arrive for my departure.

DOMINGO (after a short pause, turns to the PRINCESS).
Cannot some letters be discovered? Truly,
An intercepted letter from the prince
Would work with rare effect. Ay! let me see—
Is it not so? You sleep, princess, I think,
In the same chamber with her majesty?

PRINCESS.
The next to hers. But of what use is that?

DOMINGO.
Oh, for some skill in locks! Have you observed
Where she is wont to keep her casket key?

PRINCESS (in thought).
Yes, that might lead to something; yes, I think
The key is to be found.

DOMINGO.
                     Letters, you know,
Need messengers. Her retinue is large;
Who do you think could put us on the scent?
Gold can do much.

ALVA.
                   Can no one tell us whether
The prince has any trusty confidant?

DOMINGO.
Not one; in all Madrid not one.

ALVA.
                     That's strange!

DOMINGO.
Rely on me in this. He holds in scorn
The universal court. I have my proofs.

ALVA.
Stay! It occurs to me, as I was leaving
The queen's apartments, I beheld the prince
In private conference with a page of hers.

PRINCESS (suddenly interrupting).
O no! that must have been of something else.

DOMINGO.
Could we not ascertain the fact? It seems
Suspicious.
     [To the DUKE.
             Did you know the page, my lord!

PRINCESS.
Some trifle; what else could it be?
Enough, I'm sure of that. So we shall meet again
Before I see the king; and by that time
We may discover much.

DOMINGO (leading her aside).
                     What of the king?
Say, may he hope? May I assure him so?
And the entrancing hour which shall fulfil
His fond desires, what shall I say of that?

PRINCESS.
In a few days I will feign sickness, and
Shall be excused from waiting on the queen.
Such is, you know, the custom of the court,
And I may then remain in my apartment.

DOMINGO.
'Tis well devised! Now the great game is won,
And we may bid defiance to all queens!

PRINCESS.
Hark! I am called. I must attend the queen,
So fare you well.
                     [Exit.

SCENE XIII.

     ALVA and DOMINGO.

DOMINGO (after a pause, during which he has watched the PRINCESS).
               My lord! these roses, and—
Your battles——

ALVA.
               And your god!—why, even so
Thus we'll await the lightning that will scathe us!

                     [Exeunt.

SCENE XIV.

     A Carthusian Convent.
     DON CARLOS and the PRIOR.

CARLOS (to the PRIOR, as he comes in).
Been here already? I am sorry for it.

PRIOR.
Yes, thrice since morning. 'Tis about an hour
Since he went hence.

CARLOS.
                     But he will sure return.
Has he not left some message?

PRIOR.
                     Yes; he promised
To come again at noon.

CARLOS (going to a window, and looking round the country).
                     Your convent lies
Far from the public road. Yonder are seen
The turrets of Madrid—just so—and there
The Mansanares flows. The scenery is
Exactly to my wish, and all around
Is calm and still as secrecy itself.

PRIOR.
Or as the entrance to another world.

CARLOS.
Most worthy sir, to your fidelity
And honor, have I now intrusted all
I hold most dear and sacred in the world.
No mortal man must know, or even suspect,
With whom I here hold secret assignation.
Most weighty reasons prompt me to deny,
To all the world, the friend whom I expect,
Therefore I choose this convent. Are we safe
From traitors and surprise? You recollect
What you have sworn.

PRIOR.
                     Good sir, rely on us.
A king's suspicion cannot pierce the grave,
And curious ears haunts only those resorts
Where wealth and passion dwell—but from these walls
The world's forever banished.

CARLOS.
                     You may think,
Perhaps, beneath this seeming fear and caution
There lies a guilty conscience?

PRIOR.
                     I think nothing.

CARLOS.
If you imagine this, most holy father,
You err—indeed you err. My secret shuns
The sight of man—but not the eye of God.

PRIOR.
Such things concern us little. This retreat
To guilt, and innocence alike, is open,
And whether thy designs be good or ill,
Thy purpose criminal or virtuous,—that
We leave to thee to settle with thy heart.

CARLOS (with warmth).
Our purpose never can disgrace your God.
'Tis his own noblest work. To you indeed,
I may reveal it.

PRIOR.
                  To what end, I pray?
Forego, dear prince, this needless explanation.
The world and all its troubles have been long
Shut from my thoughts—in preparation for
My last long journey. Why recall them to me
For the brief space that must precede my death?
'Tis little for salvation that we need—
But the bell rings, and summons me to prayer.

                     [Exit PRIOR.

SCENE XV.

     DON CARLOS; the MARQUIS POSA enters.

CARLOS.
At length once more,—at length——

MARQUIS.
                     Oh, what a trial
For the impatience of a friend! The sun
Has risen twice—twice set—since Carlos' fate
Has been resolved, and am I only now
To learn it: speak,—you're reconciled!

CARLOS.
                     With whom?

MARQUIS.
The king! And Flanders, too,—its fate is settled!

CARLOS.
The duke sets out to-morrow. That is fixed.

MARQUIS.
That cannot be—it is not surely so.
Can all Madrid be so deceived? 'Tis said
You had a private audience, and the king——

CARLOS.
Remained inflexible, and we are now
Divided more than ever.

MARQUIS.
                     Do you go
To Flanders?

CARLOS.
              No!

MARQUIS.
                   Alas! my blighted hopes!

CARLOS.
Of this hereafter. Oh, Roderigo! since
We parted last, what have I not endured?
But first thy counsel? I must speak with her!

MARQUIS.
Your mother? No! But wherefore?

CARLOS.
                     I have hopes—
But you turn pale! Be calm—I should be happy.
And I shall be so: but of this anon—
Advise me now, how I may speak with her.

MARQUIS.
What mean you? What new feverish dream is this?

CARLOS.
By the great God of wonders 'tis no dream!
'Tis truth, reality——
     [Taking out the KING's letter to the PRINCESS EBOLI.
                     Contained in this
Important paper—yes, the queen is free,—
Free before men and in the eyes of heaven;
There read, and cease to wonder at my words.

MARQUIS (opening the letter).
What do I here behold? The king's own hand!
                   [After he has read it.
To whom addressed?

CARLOS.
                    To Princess Eboli.
Two days ago, a page who serves the queen,
Brought me, from unknown hands, a key and letter,
Which said that in the left wing of the palace,
Where the queen lodges, lay a cabinet,—
That there a lady whom I long had loved
Awaited me. I straight obeyed the summons.

MARQUIS.
Fool! madman! you obeyed it——

CARLOS.
                     Not that I
The writing knew; but there was only one
Such woman, who could think herself adored
By Carlos. With delight intoxicate
I hastened to the spot. A heavenly song,
Re-echoing from the innermost apartment,
Served me for guide. I reached the cabinet—
I entered and beheld—conceive my wonder!

MARQUIS.
I guess it all——

CARLOS.
                  I had been lost forever,
But that I fell into an angel's hands!
She, hapless chance, by my imprudent looks,
Deceived, had yielded to the sweet delusion
And deemed herself the idol of my soul.
Moved by the silent anguish of my breast,
With thoughtless generosity, her heart
Nobly determined to return my love;
Deeming respectful fear had caused my silence,
She dared to speak, and all her lovely soul
Laid bare before me.

MARQUIS.
                     And with calm composure,
You tell this tale! The Princess Eboli
Saw through your heart; and doubtless she has pierced
The inmost secret of your hidden love.
You've wronged her deeply, and she rules the king.

CARLOS (confidently).
But she is virtuous!

MARQUIS.
                     She may be so
From love's mere selfishness. But much I fear
Such virtue—well I know it: know how little
It hath the power to soar to that ideal,
Which, first conceived in sweet and stately grace,
From the pure soul's maternal soil, puts forth
Spontaneous shoots, nor asks the gardener's aid
To nurse its lavish blossoms into life.
'Tis but a foreign plant, with labor reared,
And warmth that poorly imitates the south,
In a cold soil and an unfriendly clime.
Call it what name you will—or education,
Or principle, or artificial virtue
Won from the heat of youth by art and cunning,
In conflicts manifold—all noted down
With scrupulous reckoning to that heaven's account,
Which is its aim, and will requite its pains.
Ask your own heart! Can she forgive the queen
That you should scorn her dearly-purchased virtue,
To pine in hopeless love for Philip's wife.

CARLOS.
Knowest thou the princess, then, so well?

MARQUIS.
                     Not I—
I've scarcely seen her twice. And yet thus much
I may remark. To me she still appears
To shun alone the nakedness of vice,
Too weakly proud of her imagined virtue.
And then I mark the queen. How different, Carlos,
Is everything that I behold in her!
In native dignity, serene and calm,
Wearing a careless cheerfulness—unschooled
In all the trained restraints of conduct, far
Removed from boldness and timidity,
With firm, heroic step, she walks along
The narrow middle path of rectitude,
Unconscious of the worship she compels,
Where she of self-approval never dreamed.
Say, does my Carlos in this mirror trace
The features of his Eboli? The princess
Was constant while she loved; love was the price,
The understood condition of her virtue.
You failed to pay that price—'twill therefore fall.

CARLOS (with warmth).
No, no!
      [Hastily pacing the apartment.
         I tell thee, no! And, Roderigo,
Ill it becomes thee thus to rob thy Carlos
Of his high trust in human excellence,
His chief, his dearest joy!

MARQUIS.
                     Deserve I this?
Friend of my soul, this would I never do—
By heaven I would not. Oh, this Eboli!
She were an angel to me, and before
Her glory would I bend me prostrate down,
In reverence deep as thine, if she were not
The mistress of thy secret.

CARLOS.
                     See how vain,
How idle are thy fears! What proofs has she
That will not stamp her maiden brow with shame?
Say, will she purchase with her own dishonor
The wretched satisfaction of revenge?

MARQUIS.
Ay! to recall a blush, full many a one
Has doomed herself to infamy.

CARLOS (with increased vehemence).
                     Nay, that
Is far too harsh—and cruel! She is proud
And noble; well I know her, and fear nothing.
Vain are your efforts to alarm my hopes.
I must speak to my mother.

MARQUIS.
                     Now? for what?

CARLOS.
Because I've nothing more to care for now.
And I must know my fate. Only contrive
That I may speak with her.

MARQUIS.
                     And wilt thou show
This letter to her?

CARLOS.
                     Question me no more,
But quickly find the means that I may see her.

MARQUIS (significantly).
Didst thou not tell me that thou lov'st thy mother?
And wouldst thou really show this letter to her?

     [CARLOS fixes his eyes on the ground, and remains silent.

I read a something, Carlos, in thy looks
Unknown to me before. Thou turn'st thine eyes
Away from me. Then it is true, and have I
Judged thee aright? Here, let me see that paper.

     [CARLOS gives him the letter, and the MARQUIS tears it.

CARLOS.
What! art thou mad?
               [Moderating his warmth.
                     In truth—I must confess it,
That letter was of deepest moment to me.

MARQUIS.
So it appeared: on that account I tore it.

     [The MARQUIS casts a penetrating look on the PRINCE,
     who surveys him with doubt and surprise. A long silence.

Now speak to me with candor, Carlos. What
Have desecrations of the royal bed
To do with thee—thy love? Dost thou fear Philip?
How are a husband's violated duties
Allied with thee and thy audacious hopes?
Has he sinned there, where thou hast placed thy love?
Now then, in truth, I learn to comprehend thee—
How ill till now I've understood thy love!

CARLOS.
What dost thou think, Roderigo?

MARQUIS.
                     Oh, I feel
From what it is that I must wean myself.
Once it was otherwise! Yes, once thy soul
Was bounteous, rich, and warm, and there was room
For a whole world in thy expanded heart.
Those feelings are extinct—all swallowed up
In one poor, petty, selfish passion. Now
Thy heart is withered, dead! No tears last thou
For the unhappy fate of wretched Flanders—
No, not another tear. Oh, Carlos! see
How poor, how beggarly, thou hast become,
Since all thy love has centered in thyself!

CARLOS (flings himself into a chair. After a pause, with
        scarcely suppressed tears).
Too well I know thou lovest me no more!

MARQUIS.
Not so, my Carlos. Well I understand
This fiery passion: 'tis the misdirection
Of feelings pure and noble in themselves.
The queen belonged to thee: the king, thy father,
Despoiled thee of her—yet till now thou hast
Been modestly distrustful of thy claims.
Philip, perhaps, was worthy of her! Thou
Scarce dared to breathe his sentence in a whisper—
This letter has resolved thy doubts, and proved
Thou art the worthier man. With haughty joy
Thou saw'st before thee rise the doom that waits
On tyranny convicted of a theft,
But thou wert proud to be the injured one:
Wrongs undeserved great souls can calmly suffer,
Yet here thy fancy played thee false: thy pride
Was touched with satisfaction, and thy heart
Allowed itself to hope: I plainly saw
This time, at least, thou didst not know thyself.

CARLOS (with emotion).
Thou'rt wrong, Roderigo; for my thoughts were far
Less noble than thy goodness would persuade me.

MARQUIS.
And am I then e'en here so little known?
See, Carlos, when thou errest, 'tis my way,
Amid a hundred virtues, still to find
That one to which I may impute thy fall.
Now, then, we understand each other better,
And thou shalt have an audience of the queen.

CARLOS (falling on his neck).
Oh, how I blush beside thee!

MARQUIS.
                     Take my word,
And leave the rest to me. A wild, bold thought,
A happy thought is dawning in my mind;
And thou shalt hear it from a fairer mouth,
I hasten to the queen. Perhaps to-morrow
Thy wish may be achieved. Till then, my Carlos,
Forget not this—“That a design conceived
Of lofty reason, which involves the fate,
The sufferings of mankind, though it be baffled
Ten thousand times, should never be abandoned.”
Dost hear? Remember Flanders.

CARLOS.
                     Yes! all, all
That thou and virtue bid me not forget.

MARQUIS (going to a window).
The time is up—I hear thy suite approaching.
                     [They embrace.
Crown prince again, and the vassal.

CARLOS.
                     Dost thou go
Straight to Madrid?

MARQUIS.
Yes, straight.

CARLOS.
                Hold! one word more.
How nearly it escaped me! Yet 'twas news
Of deep importance. “Every letter now
Sent to Brabant is opened by the king!”
So be upon thy guard. The royal post
Has secret orders.

MARQUIS.
                    How have you learned this?

CARLOS.
Don Raymond Taxis is my trusty friend.

MARQUIS (after a pause).
Well! then they may be sent through Germany.

                  [Exeunt on different sides.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

     The king's bedchamber. On the toilet two burning lights. In the
     background several pages asleep resting on their knees. The KING,
     in half undress, stands before the table, with one arm bent over
     the chair, in a reflecting posture. Before him is a medallion and
     papers.

KING.
Of a warm fancy she has ever been!
Who can deny it? I could never love her,
Yet has she never seemed to miss my love.
And so 'tis plain—she's false!

     [Makes a movement which brings him to himself.
     He looks round with surprise.

                     Where have I been?
Is no one watching here, then, save the king?
The light's burnt out, and yet it is not day.
I must forego my slumbers for to-night.
Take it, kind nature, for enjoyed! No time
Have monarchs to retrieve the nights they lose.
I'm now awake, and day it shall be.

     [He puts out the candles, and draws aside the window-curtain.
     He observes the sleeping pages—remains for some time standing
     before them—then rings a bell.

                     All
Asleep within the antechamber, too?

SCENE II.

     The KING, COUNT LERMA.

LERMA (surprised at seeing the KING).
Does not your majesty feel well?

KING.
The left Pavilion of the palace was in flames:
Did you not hear the alarum?

LERMA.
                     No, my liege.

KING.
No! What? And did I only dream it then?
'Twas surely real! Does not the queen sleep there?

LERMA.
She does, your majesty.

KING.
                     This dream affrights me!
In future let the guards be doubled there
As soon as it grows dark. Dost hear? And yet
Let it be done in secret. I would not——
Why do you gaze on me?

LERMA.
                     Your bloodshot eyes,
I mark, that beg repose. Dare I remind
My liege of an inestimable life,
And of your subjects, who with pale dismay
Would in such features read of restless nights?
But two brief hours of morning sleep would——

KING (with troubled look).
Shall I find sleep within the Escurial?
Let the king sleep, and he may lose his crown,
The husband, his wife's heart. But no! not so;
This is but slander. Was it not a woman
Whispered the crime to me? Woman, thy name
Is calumny? The deed I'll hold unproved,
Until a man confirms the fatal truth!

     [To the pages, who in the meanwhile have awaked.

Summon Duke Alva!
                     [Pages go.

Count, come nearer to me.

     [Fixes a searching look on the COUNT.

Is all this true? Oh for omniscience now,
Though but so long as a man's pulse might beat.
Is it true? Upon your oath! Am I deceived?

LERMA.
My great, my best of kings!

KING (drawing back).
                     King! naught but king!
And king again! No better answer than
Mere hollow echo! When I strike this rock
For water, to assuage my burning thirst,
It gives me molten gold.

LERMA.
                     What true, my liege?

KING.
Oh, nothing, nothing! Leave me! Get thee gone!

     [The COUNT going, the KING calls him back again.

Say, are you married? and are you a father?

LERMA.
I am, your majesty.

KING.
                     What! married—yet
You dare to watch a night here with your king!
Your hair is gray, and yet you do not blush
To think your wife is honest. Get thee home;
You'll find her locked, this moment, in your son's
Incestuous embrace. Believe your king.
Now go; you stand amazed; you stare at me
With searching eye, because of my gray hairs.
Unhappy man, reflect. Queens never taint
Their virtue thus: doubt it, and you shall die!

LERMA (with warmth).
Who dare do so? In all my monarch's realms
Who has the daring hardihood to breathe
Suspicion on her angel purity?
To slander thus the best of queens——

KING.
                     The best!
The best, from you, too! She has ardent friends,
I find, around. It must have cost her much—
More than methinks she could afford to give.
You are dismissed; now send the duke to me.

LERMA.
I hear him in the antechamber.
                     [Going.

KING (with a milder tone).
                     Count,
What you observed is very true. My head
Burns with the fever of this sleepless night!
What I have uttered in this waking dream,
Mark you, forget! I am your gracious king!

     [Presents his hand to kiss. Exit LERMA, opening
     the door at the same time to DUKE ALVA.

SCENE III.

     The KING and DUKE ALVA.

ALVA (approaching the KING with an air of doubt).
This unexpected order, at so strange
An hour!
     [Starts on looking closer at the KING.
         And then those looks!

KING (has seated himself, and taken hold of the medallion on the table.
      Looks at the DUKE for some time in silence).
                     Is it true
I have no faithful servant!

ALVA.
                     How?

KING.
                     A blow
Aimed at my life in its most vital part!
Full well 'twas known, yet no one warned me of it.

ALVA (with a look of astonishment).
A blow aimed at your majesty! and yet
Escape your Alva's eye?

KING (showing him letters).
                     Know you this writing?

ALVA.
It is the prince's hand.

KING (a pause—watches the DUKE closely).
                     Do you suspect
Then nothing? Often have you cautioned me
Gainst his ambition. Was there nothing more
Than his ambition should have made me tremble?

ALVA.
Ambition is a word of largest import,
And much it may comprise.

KING.
                     And had you naught
Of special purport to disclose?

ALVA (after a pause, mysteriously).
                     Your majesty
Hath given the kingdom's welfare to my charge:
On this my inmost, secret thoughts are bent,
And my best vigilance. Beyond this charge
What I may think, suspect, or know belongs
To me alone. These are the sacred treasures
Which not the vassal only, but the slave,
The very slave, may from a king withhold.
Not all that to my mind seems plain is yet
Mature enough to meet the monarch's ear.
Would he be answered—then must I implore
He will not question as a king.

KING (handing the letters).
                     Read these.

ALVA (reads them, and turns to the KING with a look of terror).
Who was the madman placed these fatal papers
In my king's bands?

KING.
                     You know, then, who is meant?
No name you see is mentioned in the paper.

ALVA (stepping back confused).
I was too hasty!

KING.
                  But you know!

ALVA (after some consideration).
                     'Tis spoken!
The king commands,—I dare not now conceal.
I'll not deny it—I do know the person.

KING (starting up in violent emotion).
God of revenge! inspire me to invent
Some new, unheard-of torture! Is their crime
So clear, so plain, so public to the world,
That without e'en the trouble of inquiry
The veriest hint suffices to reveal it?
This is too much! I did not dream of this!
I am the last of all, then, to discern it—
The last in all my realm?

ALVA (throwing himself at the KING'S feet).
                     Yes, I confess
My guilt, most gracious monarch. I'm ashamed
A coward prudence should have tied my tongue
When truth, and justice, and my sovereign's honor
Urged me to speak. But since all else are silent
And since the magic spell of beauty binds
All other tongues, I dare to give it voice;
Though well I know a son's warm protestations,
A wife's seductive charms and winning tears——

KING (suddenly with warmth).
Rise, Alva! thou hast now my royal promise;
Rise, and speak fearlessly!

ALVA (rising).
                     Your majesty,
Perchance, may bear in your remembrance still
What happened in the garden at Aranjuez.
You found the queen deserted by her ladies,
With looks confused—alone, within a bower,—

KING.
Proceed. What further have I yet to hear?

ALVA.
The Marchioness of Mondecar was banished
Because she boldly sacrificed herself
To save the queen! It has been since discovered
She did no more than she had been commanded.
Prince Carlos had been there.

KING (starting).
                     The prince! What more?

ALVA.
Upon the ground the footsteps of a man
Were traced, till finally they disappeared
Close to a grotto, leftward of the bower,
Where lay a handkerchief the prince had dropped.
This wakened our suspicions. But besides,
The gardener met the prince upon the spot,—
Just at the time, as near as we can guess,
Your majesty appeared within the walk.

KING (recovering from gloomy thought).
And yet she wept when I but seemed to doubt!
She made me blush before the assembled court,
Blush to my very self! By heaven! I stood
In presence of her virtue, like a culprit.

     [A long and deep silence. He sits down and hides his face.

Yes, Alva, you are right! All this may lead
To something dreadful—leave me for a moment——

ALVA.
But, gracious sire, all this is not enough——

KING (snatching up the papers).
Nor this, nor this?—nor all the harmony
Of these most damning proofs? 'Tis clear as day—
I knew it long ago—their heinous guilt
Began when first I took her from your hands,
Here in Madrid. I think I see her now,
With look of horror, pale as midnight ghost,
Fixing her eyes upon my hoary hair!
'Twas then the treacherous game began!

ALVA.
                     The prince,
In welcoming a mother—lost his bride!
Long had they nursed a mutual passion, long
Each other's ardent feelings understood,
Which her new state forbade her to indulge.
The fear which still attends love's first avowal
Was long subdued. Seduction, bolder grown,
Spoke in those forms of easy confidence
Which recollections of the past allowed.
Allied by harmony of souls and years,
And now by similar restraints provoked,
They readily obeyed their wild desires.
Reasons of state opposed their early union—
But can it, sire, be thought she ever gave
To the state council such authority?
That she subdued the passion of her soul
To scrutinize with more attentive eye
The election of the cabinet. Her heart
Was bent on love, and won a diadem.

KING (offended, and with bitterness).
You are a nice observer, duke, and I
Admire your eloquence. I thank you truly.
               [Rising coldly and haughtily.
But you are right. The queen has deeply erred
In keeping from me letters of such import,
And in concealing the intrusive visit
The prince paid in the garden:—from a false
Mistaken honor she has deeply erred
And I shall question further.
                   [Ringing the bell.
                     Who waits now
Within the antechamber? You, Duke Alva,
I need no longer. Go.

ALVA.
                     And has my zeal
A second time displeased your majesty?

KING (to a page who enters).
Summon Domingo. Duke, I pardon you
For having made me tremble for a moment,
With secret apprehension, lest yourself
Might fall a victim to a foul misdeed.

                     [Exit ALVA.

SCENE IV.

     The KING, DOMINGO.
     KING walks up and down the room to collect his thoughts.

DOMINGO (after contemplating the KING for some time with a respectful
         silence).
How joyfully surprised I am to find
Your majesty so tranquil and collected.

KING.
Surprised!

DOMINGO.
          And heaven be thanked my fears were groundless!
Now may I hope the best.

KING.
                     Your fears! What feared you?

DOMINGO.
I dare not hide it from your majesty
That I had learned a secret——

KING (gloomily).
                     And have I
Expressed a wish to share your secret with you?
Who ventures to anticipate me thus?
Too forward, by mine honor!

DOMINGO.
                     Gracious monarch!
The place, the occasion, seal of secrecy
'Neath which I learned it—free me from this charge.
It was intrusted to me at the seat
Of penitence—intrusted as a crime
That deeply weighed upon the tender soul
Of the fair sinner who confessed her guilt,
And sought the pardon of offended heaven.
Too late the princess weeps a foul misdeed
That may involve the queen herself in ruin.

KING.
Indeed! Kind soul! You have correctly guessed
The occasion of your summons. You must guide me
Through this dark labyrinth wherein blind zeal
Has tangled me. From you I hope for truth.
Be candid with me; what must I believe,
And what determine? From your sacred office
I look for strictest truth.

DOMINGO.
                     And if, my liege,
The mildness ever incident to this
My holy calling, did not such restraint
Impose upon me, still I would entreat
Your majesty, for your own peace of mind,
To urge no further this discovery,
And cease forever to pursue a secret
Which never can be happily explained.
All that is yet discovered may be pardoned.
Let the king say the word—and then the queen
Has never sinned. The monarch's will bestows
Virtue and fortune, both with equal ease.
And the king's undisturbed tranquillity
Is, in itself, sufficient to destroy
The rumors set on foot by calumny.

KING.
What! Rumors! and of me! among my subjects!

DOMINGO.
All falsehood, sire! Naught but the vilest falsehood!
I'll swear 'tis false! Yet what's believed by all,
Groundless and unconfirmed although it be,
Works its effect, as sure as truth itself.

KING.
Not in this case, by heaven!

DOMINGO.
                     A virtuous name
Is, after all, my liege, the only prize
Which queens and peasants' wives contest together.

KING.
For which I surely have no need to tremble.

     [He looks doubtingly at DOMINGO. After a pause.

Priest, thou hast something fearful to impart.
Delay it not. I read it plainly stamped
In thy ill-boding looks. Then out with it,
Whate'er it be. Let me no longer tremble
Upon the rack. What do the people say?

DOMINGO.
The people, sire, are liable to err,
Nay err assuredly. What people think
Should not alarm the king. Yet that they should
Presume so far as to indulge such thoughts——

KING.
Why must I beg this poisonous draught so long?

DOMINGO.
The people often muse upon that month
Which brought your majesty so near the grave,
From that time, thirty weeks had scarce elapsed,
Before the queen's delivery was announced.

     [The KING rises and rings the bell. DUKE ALVA
     enters. DOMINGO alarmed.

I am amazed, your majesty!

KING (going towards ALVA).
                     Toledo!
You are a man—defend me from this priest!

DOMINGO (he and DUKE ALVA exchange embarrassed looks. After a pause).
Could we have but foreseen that this occurrence
Would be avenged upon its mere relater.

KING.
Said you a bastard? I had scarce, you say,
Escaped the pangs of death when first she felt
She should, in nature's time, become a mother.
Explain how this occurred! 'Twas then, if I
Remember right, that you, in every church,
Ordered devotions to St. Dominick,
For the especial wonder he vouchsafed.
On one side or the other, then, you lie!
What would you have me credit? Oh, I see
Full plainly through you now! If this dark plot
Had then been ripe your saint had lost his fame.

ALVA.
This plot?

KING.
            How can you with a harmony
So unexampled in your very thoughts
Concur, and not have first conspired together?
Would you persuade me thus? Think you that I
Perceived not with what eagerness you pounced
Upon your prey? With what delight you fed
Upon my pain,—my agony of grief?
Full well I marked the ardent, burning zeal
With which the duke forestalled the mark of grace
I destined for my son. And how this priest
Presumed to fortify his petty spleen
With my wrath's giant arm! I am, forsooth,
A bow which each of you may bend at pleasure
But I have yet a will. And if I needs
Must doubt—perhaps I may begin with you.

ALVA.
Reward like this our truth did ne'er expect.

KING.
Your truth! Truth warns of apprehended danger.
'Tis malice that speaks only of the past.
What can I gain by your officiousness?
Should your suspicion ripen to full truth,
What follows but the pangs of separation,
The melancholy triumphs of revenge?
But no: you only fear—you feed me with
Conjectures vague. To hell's profound abyss
You lead me on, then flee yourself away.

DOMINGO.
What other proofs than these are possible,
When our own eyes can scarcely trust themselves?

KING (after a long pause, turning earnestly and solemnly
      towards DOMINGO).
The grandees of the realm shall be convened,
And I will sit in judgment. Then step forth
In front of all, if you have courage for it,
And charge her as a strumpet. She shall die—
Die without mercy—and the prince, too, with her!
But mark me well: if she but clear herself
That doom shall fall on you. Now, dare you show
Honor to truth by such a sacrifice?
Determine. No, you dare not. You are silent.
Such is the zeal of liars!

ALVA (who has stood at a distance, answers coldly and calmly).
                     I will do it.

KING (turns round with astonishment and looks at the DUKE for
      a long time without moving).
That's boldly said! But thou hast risked thy life
In stubborn conflicts for far less a prize.
Has risked it with a gamester's recklessness—
For honor's empty bubble. What is life
To thee? I'll not expose the royal blood
To such a madman's power, whose highest hope
Must be to yield his wretched being up
With some renown. I spurn your offer. Go;
And wait my orders in the audience chamber.

                     [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

     The KING alone.

Now give me, gracious Providence! a man.
Thou'st given me much already. Now vouchsafe me
A man! for thou alone canst grant the boon.
Thine eye doth penetrate all hidden things
Oh! give me but a friend: for I am not
Omniscient like to thee. The ministers
Whom thou hast chosen for me thou dost know—
And their deserts: and as their merits claim,
I value them. Their subjugated vices,
Coerced by rein severe, serve all my ends,
As thy storms purify this nether world.
I thirst for truth. To reach its tranquil spring,
Through the dark heaps of thick surrounding error,
Is not the lot of kings. Give me the man,
So rarely found, of pure and open heart,
Of judgment clear, and eye unprejudiced,
To aid me in the search. I cast the lots.
And may I find that man, among the thousands
Who flutter in the sunshine of a court.

     [He opens an escritoire and takes out a portfolio.
     After turning over the leaves a long time.

Nothing but names, mere names are here:—no note
E'en of the services to which they owe
Their place upon the roll! Oh, what can be
Of shorter memory than gratitude!
Here, in this other list, I read each fault
Most accurately marked. That is not well!
Can vengeance stand in need of such a help?

     [He reads further.

Count Egmont! What doth he here? Long ago
The victory of St. Quentin is forgotten.
I place him with the dead.

     [He effaces this name and writes it on the other roll
     after he has read further.

                     The Marquis Posa!

The Marquis Posa! I can scarce recall
This person to mind. And doubly marked!
A proof I destined him for some great purpose.
How is it possible? This man, till now,
Has ever shunned my presence—still has fled
His royal debtor's eye? The only man,
By heaven, within the compass of my realm,
Who does not court my favor. Did he burn
With avarice, or ambition, long ago
He had appeared before my throne. I'll try
This wondrous man. He who can thus dispense
With royalty will doubtless speak the truth.

SCENE VI.

     The Audience Chamber.

     DON CARLOS in conversation with the PRINCE of PARMA. DUKES
     ALVA, FERIA, and MEDINA SIDONIA, COUNT LERMA, and other
     GRANDEES, with papers in their hands, awaiting the KING.

MEDINA SIDONIA (seems to be shunned by all the GRANDEES, turns
     towards DUKE ALVA, who, alone and absorbed in himself, walks
     up and down).
Duke, you have had an audience of the king?
How did you find him minded?

ALVA.
                     Somewhat ill
For you, and for the news you bring.

MEDINA SIDONIA.
                     My heart
Was lighter 'mid the roar of English cannon
Than here on Spanish ground.

     [CARLOS, who had regarded him with silent sympathy,
     now approaches him and presses his hand.

                     My warmest thanks,
Prince, for this generous tear. You may perceive
How all avoid me. Now my fate is sealed.

CARLOS.
Still hope the best both from my father's favor,
And your own innocence.

MEDINA SIDONIA.
                     Prince, I have lost
A fleet more mighty than e'er ploughed the waves.
And what is such a head as mine to set
'Gainst seventy sunken galleons? And therewith
Five hopeful sons! Alas! that breaks my heart.

SCENE VII.

     The KING enters from his chamber, attired. The former
     all uncover and make room on both sides, while they form
     a semicircle round him. Silence.

KING (rapidly surveying the whole circle).
Be covered, all.

     [DON CARLOS and the PRINCE of PARMA approach first
     and kiss the KING's hand: he turns with friendly mien
     to the latter, taking no notice of his son.

                  Your mother, nephew, fain
Would be informed what favor you have won
Here in Madrid.

PARMA.
                 That question let her ask
When I have fought my maiden battle, sire.

KING.
Be satisfied; your turn will come at last,
When these old props decay.
                     [To the DUKE OF FERIA.
                     What brings you here?

FERIA (kneeling to the KING).
The master, sire, of Calatrava's order
This morning died. I here return his cross.

KING (takes the order and looks round the whole circle).
And who is worthiest after him to wear it?

     [He beckons to DUKE ALVA, who approaches and bends
     on one knee. The KING hangs the order on his neck.

You are my ablest general! Ne'er aspire
To more, and, duke, my favors shall not fail you.

     [He perceives the DUKE of MEDINA SIDONIA.

My admiral!

MEDINA SIDONIA.
             And here you see, great king,
All that remains of the Armada's might,
And of the flower of Spain.

KING (after a pause).
                     God rules above us!
I sent you to contend with men, and not
With rocks and storms. You're welcome to Madrid.

     [Extending his hand to him to kiss.

I thank you for preserving in yourself
A faithful servant to me. For as such
I value him, my lords; and 'tis my will
That you should honor him.

     [He motions him to rise and cover himself, then turns
     to the others.

                     What more remains?

     [To DON CARLOS and the PRINCE OF PARMA.

Princes, I thank you.

     [They retire; the other GRANDEES approach, and kneeling,
     hand their papers to the KING. He looks over them rapidly,
     and hands them to DUKE ALVA.

                     Duke, let these be laid
Before me in the council. Who waits further?

     [No one answers.

How comes it that amidst my train of nobles
The Marquis Posa ne'er appears? I know
This Marquis Posa served me with distinction.
Does he still live? Why is he not among you?

LERMA.
The chevalier is just returned from travel,
Completed through all Europe. He is now
Here in Madrid, and waits a public day
To cast himself before his sovereign's feet.

ALVA.
The Marquis Posa? Right, he is the same
Bold Knight of Malta, sire, of whom renown
Proclaims this gallant deed. Upon a summons
Of the Grand Master, all the valiant knights
Assembled in their island, at that time
Besieged by Soliman. This noble youth,
Scarce numbering eighteen summers, straightway fled
From Alcala, where he pursued his studies,
And suddenly arrived at La Valette.
“This Cross,” he said, “was bought for me; and now
To prove I'm worthy of it.” He was one
Of forty knights who held St. Elmo's Castle,
At midday, 'gainst Piali, Ulucciali,
And Mustapha, and Hassem; the assault
Being thrice repeated. When the castle fell,
And all the valiant knights were killed around him,
He plunged into the ocean, and alone
Reached La Valette in safety. Two months after
The foe deserts the island, and the knight
Returned to end his interrupted studies.

FERIA.
It was the Marquis Posa, too, who crushed
The dread conspiracy in Catalonia;
And by his marked activity preserved
That powerful province to the Spanish crown.

KING.
I am amazed! What sort of man is this
Who can deserve so highly, yet awake
No pang of envy in the breasts of three
Who speak his praise? The character he owns
Must be of noble stamp indeed, or else
A very blank. I'm curious to behold
This wondrous man.
              [To DUKE ALVA.
                    Conduct him to the council
When mass is over.
              [Exit DUKE. The KING calls FERIA.
                    And do you preside
Here in my place.
                     [Exit.

FERIA.
                   The king is kind to-day.

MEDIA SIDONIA.
Call him a god! So he has proved to me!

FERIA.
You well deserve your fortune, admiral!
You have my warmest wishes.

ONE OF THE GRANDEES.
                     Sir, and mine.

A SECOND.
And also mine.

A THIRD.
                My heart exults with joy—
So excellent a general!

THE FIRST.
                     The king
Showed you no kindness, 'twas your strict desert.

LERMA (to MEDINA SIDONIA, taking leave).
Oh, how two little words have made your fortune!

                     [Exeunt all.

SCENE VIII.

     The KING's Cabinet.
     MARQUIS POSA and DUKE ALVA.

MARQUIS (as he enters).
Does he want me? What me? Impossible!
You must mistake the name. What can he want
With me?

ALVA.
          To know you.

MARQUIS.
                     Curiosity!
No more; I regret the precious minutes
That I must lose: time passes swiftly by.

ALVA.
I now commend you to your lucky stars.
The king is in your hands. Employ this moment
To your own best advantage; for, remember,
If it is lost, you are alone to blame.

SCENE IX.

     The MARQUIS alone.

MARQUIS.
Duke, 'tis well spoken! Turn to good account
The moment which presents itself but once!
Truly this courtier reads a useful lesson
If not in his sense good, at least in mine.

     [Walks a few steps backwards and forwards.

How came I here? Is it caprice or chance
That shows me now my image in this mirror?
Why, out of millions, should it picture me—
The most unlikely—and present my form
To the king's memory? Was this but chance?
Perhaps 'twas something more!—what else is chance
But the rude stone which from the sculptor's hand
Receives its life? Chance comes from Providence,
And man must mould it to his own designs.
What the king wants with me but little matters;
I know the business I shall have with him.
Were but one spark of truth with boldness flung
Into the despot's soul, how fruitful 'twere
In the kind hand of Providence; and so
What first appeared capricious act of chalice,
May be designed for some momentous end.
Whate'er it be, I'll act on this belief.

     [He takes a few turns in the room, and stands at last
     in tranquil contemplation before a painting. The KING
     appears in the neighboring room, where he gives some
     orders. He then enters and stands motionless at the door,
     and contemplates the MARQUIS for some time without being
     observed.