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?
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 (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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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 hands?
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.
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 hands?
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.
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.