Don Carlos (play) Page 2
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
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,