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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 chance,
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.
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 chance,
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.
SCENE X.
The KING, and MARQUIS POSA.
The MARQUIS, as soon as he observes the KING, comes forward
and sinks on one knee; then rises and remains standing before
him without any sign of confusion.
KING (looks at him with surprise).
We've met before then?
MARQUIS.
No.
KING.
You did my crown
Some service? Why then do you shun my thanks?
My memory is thronged with suitor's claims.
One only is omniscient. 'Twas your duty
To seek your monarch's eye! Why did you not?
MARQUIS.
Two days have scarce elapsed since my return
From foreign travel, sire.
KING.
I would not stand
Indebted to a subject; ask some favor——
MARQUIS.
I enjoy the laws.
KING.
So does the murderer!
MARQUIS.
Then how much more the honest citizen!
My lot contents me, sire.
KING (aside).
By heavens! a proud
And dauntless mind! That was to be expected.
Proud I would have my Spaniards. Better far
The cup should overflow than not be full.
They say you've left my service?
MARQUIS.
To make way
For some one worthier, I withdrew.
KING.
'Tis pity. When spirits such as yours make holiday,
The state must suffer. But perchance you feared
To miss the post best suited to your merits.
MARQUIS.
Oh, no! I doubt not the experienced judge,
In human nature skilled—his proper study,—
Will have discovered at a glance wherein
I may be useful to him, wherein not.
With deepest gratitude, I feel the favor
Wherewith, by so exalted an opinion,
Your majesty is loading me; and yet——
[He pauses.
KING.
You hesitate?
MARQUIS.
I am, I must confess,
Sire, at this moment, unprepared to clothe
My thoughts, as the world's citizen, in phrase
Beseeming to your subject. When I left
The court forever, sire, I deemed myself
Released from the necessity to give
My reasons for this step.
KING.
Are they so weak?
What do you fear to risk by their disclosure?
MARQUIS.
My life at farthest, sire,—were time allowed
For me to weary you—but this denied—
Then truth itself must suffer. I must choose
'Twixt your displeasure and contempt.
And if I must decide, I rather would appear
Worthy of punishment than pity.
KING (with a look of expectation).
Well?
MARQUIS.
I cannot be the servant of a prince.
[The KING looks at him with astonishment.
I will not cheat the buyer. Should you deem
Me worthy of your service, you prescribe
A course of duty for me; you command
My arm in battle and my head in council.
Then, not my actions, but the applause they meet
At court becomes their object. But for me
Virtue possesses an intrinsic worth.
I would, myself, create that happiness
A monarch, with my hand, would seek to plant,
And duty's task would prove an inward joy,
And be my willing choice. Say, like you this?
And in your own creation could you hear
A new creator? For I ne'er could stoop
To be the chisel where I fain would be—
The sculptor's self. I dearly love mankind,
My gracious liege, but in a monarchy
I dare not love another than myself.
KING.
This ardor is most laudable. You wish
To do good deeds to others; how you do them
Is but of small account to patriots,
Or to the wise. Choose then within these realms
The office where you best may satisfy
This noble impulse.
MARQUIS.
'Tis not to be found.
KING.
How!
MARQUIS.
What your majesty would spread abroad,
Through these my hands—is it the good of men?
Is it the happiness that my pure love
Would to mankind impart? Before such bliss
Monarchs would tremble. No! Court policy
Has raised up new enjoyments for mankind.
Which she is always rich enough to grant;
And wakened, in the hearts of men, new wishes
Which such enjoyments only can content.
In her own mint she coins the truth—such truth!
As she herself can tolerate: all forms
Unlike her own are broken. But is that
Which can content the court enough for me?
Must my affection for my brother pledge
Itself to work my brother injury?
To call him happy when he dare not think?
Sire, choose not me to spread the happiness
Which you have stamped for us. I must decline
To circulate such coin. I cannot be
The servant of a prince.
KING (suddenly).
You are, perhaps,
A Protestant?
MARQUIS (after some reflection).
Our creeds, my liege, are one.
[A pause.
I am misunderstood. I feared as much.
You see the veil torn by my hand aside
From all the mysteries of majesty.
Who can assure you I shall still regard
As sacred that which ceases to alarm me?
I may seem dangerous, because I think
Above myself. I am not so, my liege;
My wishes lie corroding here. The rage
[Laying his hand on his breast.
For innovation, which but serves to increase
The heavy weight of chains it cannot break,
Shall never fire my blood! The world is yet
Unripe for my ideal; and I live
A citizen of ages yet to come.
But does a fancied picture break your rest?
A breach of yours destroys it.
KING.
Say, am I
The first to whom your views are known?
MARQUIS.
You are.
KING (rises, walks a few paces and then stops opposite
the MARQUIS—aside).
This tone, at least, is new; but flattery
Exhausts itself. And men of talent still
Disdain to imitate. So let us test
Its opposite for once. Why should I not?
There is a charm in novelty. Should we
Be so agreed, I will bethink me now
Of some new state employment, in whose duties
Your powerful mind——
MARQUIS.
Sire, I perceive how small,
How mean, your notions are of manly worth.
Suspecting, in an honest man's discourse,
Naught but a flatterer's artifice—methinks
I can explain the cause of this your error.
Mankind compel you to it. With free choice
They have disclaimed their true nobility,
Lowered themselves to their degraded state.
Before man's inward worth, as from a phantom,
They fly in terror—and contented with
Their poverty, they ornament their chains
With slavish prudence; and they call it virtue
To bear them with a show of resignation.
Thus did you find the world, and thus it was
By your great father handed o'er to you.
In this debased connection—how could you
Respect mankind?
KING.
Your words contain some truth.
MARQUIS.
Alas! that when from the Creator's hand
You took mankind, and moulded him to suit
Your own ideas, making yourself the god
Of this new creature, you should overlook
That you yourself remained a human being—
A very man, as from God's hands you came.
Still did you feel a mortal's wants and pains.
You needed sympathy; but to a God
One can but sacrifice, and pray, and tremble—
Wretched exchange! Perversion most unblest
Of sacred nature! Once degrade mankind,
And make him but a thing to play upon,
Who then can share the harmony with you?
KING (aside).
By heaven, he moves me!
MARQUIS.
But this sacrifice
To you is valueless. You thus become
A thing apart, a species of your own.
This is the price you pay for being a god;
'Twere dreadful were it not so, and if you
Gained nothing by the misery of millions!
And if the very freedom you destroyed
Were the sole blessing that could make you happy.
Dismiss me, sire, I pray you; for my theme
Bears me too far; my heart is full; too strong
The charm, to stand before the only man
To whom I may reveal it.
[The COUNT LERMA enters, and whispers a few words
to the KING, who signs him to withdraw, and continues
sitting in his former posture.
KING (to the MARQUIS, after LERMA is gone).
Nay, continue.
MARQUIS (after a pause).
I feel, sire—all the worth——
KING.
Proceed; you had
Yet more to say to me.
MARQUIS.
Your majesty,
I lately passed through Flanders and Brabant,
So many rich and blooming provinces,
Filled with a valiant, great, and honest people.
To be the father of a race like this
I thought must be divine indeed; and then
I stumbled on a heap of burnt men's bones.
[He stops, he fixes a penetrating look on the KING,
who endeavors to return his glance; but he looks on
the ground, embarrassed and confused.
True, you are forced to act so; but that you
Could dare fulfil your task—this fills my soul
With shuddering horror! Oh, 'tis pity that
The victim, weltering in his blood, must cease
To chant the praises of his sacrificer!
And that mere men—not beings loftier far—
Should write the history of the world. But soon
A milder age will follow that of Philip,
An age of truer wisdom; hand in hand,
The subjects' welfare and the sovereign's greatness
Will walk in union. Then the careful state
Will spare her children, and necessity
No longer glory to be thus inhuman.
KING.
When, think you, would that blessed age arrive,
If I had shrunk before the curse of this?
Behold my Spain, see here the burgher's good
Blooms in eternal and unclouded peace.
A peace like this will I bestow on Flanders.
MARQUIS (hastily).
The churchyard's peace! And do you hope to end
What you have now begun? Say, do you hope
To check the ripening change of Christendom,
The universal spring, that shall renew
The earth's fair form? Would you alone, in Europe,
Fling yourself down before the rapid wheel
Of destiny, which rolls its ceaseless course,
And seize its spokes with human arm. Vain thought!
Already thousands have your kingdom fled
In joyful poverty: the honest burgher
For his faith exiled, was your noblest subject!
See! with a mother's arms, Elizabeth
Welcomes the fugitives, and Britain blooms
In rich luxuriance, from our country's arts.
Bereft of the new Christian's industry,
Granada lies forsaken, and all Europe
Exulting, sees his foe oppressed with wounds,
By its own hands inflicted!
[The KING is moved; the MARQUIS observes it,
and advances a step nearer.
You would plant
For all eternity, and yet the seeds
You sow around you are the seeds of death!
This hopeless task, with nature's laws at strife,
Will ne'er survive the spirit of its founder.
You labor for ingratitude; in vain,
With nature you engage in desperate struggle—
In vain you waste your high and royal life
In projects of destruction. Man is greater
Than you esteem him. He will burst the chains
Of a long slumber, and reclaim once more
His just and hallowed rights. With Nero's name,
And fell Busiris', will he couple yours;
And—ah! you once deserved a better fate.
KING.
How know you that?
MARQUIS.
In very truth you did—
Yes, I repeat it—by the Almighty power!
Restore us all you have deprived us of,
And, generous as strong, let happiness
Flow from your horn of plenty—let man's mind
Ripen in your vast empire—give us back
All you have taken from us—and become,
Amidst a thousand kings, a king indeed!
[He advances boldly, and fixes on him a look of
earnestness and enthusiasm.
Oh, that the eloquence of all those myriads,
Whose fate depends on this momentous hour,
Could hover on my lips, and fan the spark
That lights thine eye into a glorious flame!
Renounce the mimicry of godlike powers
Which level us to nothing. Be, in truth,
An image of the Deity himself!
Never did mortal man possess so much
For purpose so divine. The kings of Europe
Pay homage to the name of Spain. Be you
The leader of these kings. One pen-stroke now,
One motion of your hand, can new create
The earth! but grant us liberty of thought.
[Casts himself at his feet.
KING (surprised, turns away his face, then again looks
towards the MARQUIS).
Enthusiast most strange! arise; but I——
MARQUIS.
Look round on all the glorious face of nature,
On freedom it is founded—see how rich,
Through freedom it has grown. The great Creator
Bestows upon the worm its drop of dew,
And gives free-will a triumph in abodes
Where lone corruption reigns. See your creation,
How small, how poor! The rustling of a leaf
Alarms the mighty lord of Christendom.
Each virtue makes you quake with fear. While he,
Not to disturb fair freedom's blest appearance,
Permits the frightful ravages of evil
To waste his fair domains. The great Creator
We see not—he conceals himself within
His own eternal laws. The sceptic sees
Their operation, but beholds not Him.
"Wherefore a God!" he cries, "the world itself
Suffices for itself!" And Christian prayer
Ne'er praised him more than doth this blasphemy.
KING.
And will you undertake to raise up this
Exalted standard of weak human nature
In my dominions?
MARQUIS.
You can do it, sire.
Who else? Devote to your own people's bliss
The kingly power, which has too long enriched
The greatness of the throne alone. Restore
The prostrate dignity of human nature,
And let the subject be, what once he was,
The end and object of the monarch's care,
Bound by no duty, save a brother's love.
And when mankind is to itself restored,
Roused to a sense of its own innate worth,
When freedom's lofty virtues proudly flourish—
Then, sire, when you have made your own wide realms
The happiest in the world, it then may be
Your duty to subdue the universe.
KING (after a long pause).
I've heard you to the end. Far differently
I find, than in the minds of other men,
The world exists in yours. And you shall not
By foreign laws be judged. I am the first
To whom you have your secret self disclosed;
I know it—so believe it—for the sake
Of this forbearance—that you have till now
Concealed these sentiments, although embraced
With so much ardor,—for this cautious prudence.
I will forget, young man, that I have learned them,
And how I learned them. Rise! I will confute
Your youthful dreams by my matured experience,
Not by my power as king. Such is my will,
And therefore act I thus. Poison itself
May, in a worthy nature, be transformed
To some benignant use. But, sir, beware
My Inquisition! 'Twould afflict me much——
MARQUIS.
Indeed!
KING (lost in surprise).
Ne'er met I such a man as that!
No, marquis, no! you wrong me! Not to you
Will I become a Nero—not to you!—
All happiness shall not be blasted round me,
And you at least, beneath my very eyes,
May dare continue to remain a man.
MARQUIS (quickly).
And, sire, my fellow-subjects? Not for me,
Nor my own cause, I pleaded. Sire! your subjects——
KING.
Nay, if you know so well how future times
Will judge me, let them learn at least from you,
That when I found a man, I could respect him.
MARQUIS.
Oh, let not the most just of kings at once
Be the most unjust! In your realm of Flanders
There are a thousand better men than I.
But you—sire! may I dare to say so much—
For the first time, perhaps, see liberty
In milder form portrayed.
KING (with gentle severity).
No more of this,
Young man! You would, I know, think otherwise
Had you but learned to understand mankind
As I. But truly—I would not this meeting
Should prove our last. How can I hope to win you?
MARQUIS.
Pray leave me as I am. What value, sire,
Should I be to you were you to corrupt me?
KING.
This pride I will not bear. From this day forth
I hold you in my service. No remonstrance—
For I will have it so.
[After a pause.
But how is this?
What would I now? Was it not truth I wished?
But here is something more. Marquis, so far
You've learned to know me as a king; but yet
You know me not as man—
[The MARQUIS seems to meditate.
I understand you—
Were I the most unfortunate of fathers,
Yet as a husband may I not be blest?
MARQUIS.
If the possession of a hopeful son,
And a most lovely spouse, confer a claim
On mortal to assume that title, sire,
In both respects, you are supremely blest.
KING (with a serious look).
That am I not—and never, till this hour,
Have I so deeply felt that I am not so.
[Contemplating the MARQUIS with a look of melancholy.
MARQUIS.
The prince possesses a right noble mind.
I ne'er have known him otherwise.
KING.
I have
The treasure he has robbed me of, no crown
Can e'er requite. So virtuous a queen!
MARQUIS.
Who dare assert it, sire?
KING.
The world! and scandal!
And I myself! Here lie the damning proofs
Of doubtless guilt—and others, too, exist,
From which I fear the worst. But still 'tis hard
To trust one proof alone. Who brings the charge?
And oh! if this were possible—that she,
The queen, so foully could pollute her honor,
Then how much easier were it to believe
An Eboli may be a slanderer!
Does not that priest detest my son and her?
And can I doubt that Alva broods revenge?
My wife has higher worth than all together.
MARQUIS.
And there exists besides in woman's soul
A treasure, sire, beyond all outward show,
Above the reach of slander—female virtue!
KING.
Marquis! those thoughts are mine. It costs too much
To sink so low as they accuse the queen.
The sacred ties of honor are not broken
With so much ease, as some would fain persuade me.
Marquis, you know mankind. Just such a man
As you I long have wished for—you are kind—
Cheerful—and deeply versed in human nature—
Therefore I've chosen you——
MARQUIS (surprised and alarmed).
Me, sire!
KING.
You stand
Before your king and ask no special favor—
For yourself nothing!—that is new to me—
You will be just—ne'er weakly swayed by passion.
Watch my son close—search the queen's inmost heart.
You shall have power to speak with her in private.
Retire.
[He rings a bell.
MARQUIS.
And if with but one hope fulfilled
I now depart, then is this day indeed
The happiest of my life.
KING (holds out his hand to him to kiss).
I hold it not
Amongst my days a lost one.
[The MARQUIS rises and goes. COUNT LERMA enters.
Count, in future,
The marquis is to enter, unannounced.
The MARQUIS, as soon as he observes the KING, comes forward
and sinks on one knee; then rises and remains standing before
him without any sign of confusion.
KING (looks at him with surprise).
We've met before then?
MARQUIS.
No.
KING.
You did my crown
Some service? Why then do you shun my thanks?
My memory is thronged with suitor's claims.
One only is omniscient. 'Twas your duty
To seek your monarch's eye! Why did you not?
MARQUIS.
Two days have scarce elapsed since my return
From foreign travel, sire.
KING.
I would not stand
Indebted to a subject; ask some favor——
MARQUIS.
I enjoy the laws.
KING.
So does the murderer!
MARQUIS.
Then how much more the honest citizen!
My lot contents me, sire.
KING (aside).
By heavens! a proud
And dauntless mind! That was to be expected.
Proud I would have my Spaniards. Better far
The cup should overflow than not be full.
They say you've left my service?
MARQUIS.
To make way
For some one worthier, I withdrew.
KING.
'Tis pity. When spirits such as yours make holiday,
The state must suffer. But perchance you feared
To miss the post best suited to your merits.
MARQUIS.
Oh, no! I doubt not the experienced judge,
In human nature skilled—his proper study,—
Will have discovered at a glance wherein
I may be useful to him, wherein not.
With deepest gratitude, I feel the favor
Wherewith, by so exalted an opinion,
Your majesty is loading me; and yet——
[He pauses.
KING.
You hesitate?
MARQUIS.
I am, I must confess,
Sire, at this moment, unprepared to clothe
My thoughts, as the world's citizen, in phrase
Beseeming to your subject. When I left
The court forever, sire, I deemed myself
Released from the necessity to give
My reasons for this step.
KING.
Are they so weak?
What do you fear to risk by their disclosure?
MARQUIS.
My life at farthest, sire,—were time allowed
For me to weary you—but this denied—
Then truth itself must suffer. I must choose
'Twixt your displeasure and contempt.
And if I must decide, I rather would appear
Worthy of punishment than pity.
KING (with a look of expectation).
Well?
MARQUIS.
I cannot be the servant of a prince.
[The KING looks at him with astonishment.
I will not cheat the buyer. Should you deem
Me worthy of your service, you prescribe
A course of duty for me; you command
My arm in battle and my head in council.
Then, not my actions, but the applause they meet
At court becomes their object. But for me
Virtue possesses an intrinsic worth.
I would, myself, create that happiness
A monarch, with my hand, would seek to plant,
And duty's task would prove an inward joy,
And be my willing choice. Say, like you this?
And in your own creation could you hear
A new creator? For I ne'er could stoop
To be the chisel where I fain would be—
The sculptor's self. I dearly love mankind,
My gracious liege, but in a monarchy
I dare not love another than myself.
KING.
This ardor is most laudable. You wish
To do good deeds to others; how you do them
Is but of small account to patriots,
Or to the wise. Choose then within these realms
The office where you best may satisfy
This noble impulse.
MARQUIS.
'Tis not to be found.
KING.
How!
MARQUIS.
What your majesty would spread abroad,
Through these my hands—is it the good of men?
Is it the happiness that my pure love
Would to mankind impart? Before such bliss
Monarchs would tremble. No! Court policy
Has raised up new enjoyments for mankind.
Which she is always rich enough to grant;
And wakened, in the hearts of men, new wishes
Which such enjoyments only can content.
In her own mint she coins the truth—such truth!
As she herself can tolerate: all forms
Unlike her own are broken. But is that
Which can content the court enough for me?
Must my affection for my brother pledge
Itself to work my brother injury?
To call him happy when he dare not think?
Sire, choose not me to spread the happiness
Which you have stamped for us. I must decline
To circulate such coin. I cannot be
The servant of a prince.
KING (suddenly).
You are, perhaps,
A Protestant?
MARQUIS (after some reflection).
Our creeds, my liege, are one.
[A pause.
I am misunderstood. I feared as much.
You see the veil torn by my hand aside
From all the mysteries of majesty.
Who can assure you I shall still regard
As sacred that which ceases to alarm me?
I may seem dangerous, because I think
Above myself. I am not so, my liege;
My wishes lie corroding here. The rage
[Laying his hand on his breast.
For innovation, which but serves to increase
The heavy weight of chains it cannot break,
Shall never fire my blood! The world is yet
Unripe for my ideal; and I live
A citizen of ages yet to come.
But does a fancied picture break your rest?
A breach of yours destroys it.
KING.
Say, am I
The first to whom your views are known?
MARQUIS.
You are.
KING (rises, walks a few paces and then stops opposite
the MARQUIS—aside).
This tone, at least, is new; but flattery
Exhausts itself. And men of talent still
Disdain to imitate. So let us test
Its opposite for once. Why should I not?
There is a charm in novelty. Should we
Be so agreed, I will bethink me now
Of some new state employment, in whose duties
Your powerful mind——
MARQUIS.
Sire, I perceive how small,
How mean, your notions are of manly worth.
Suspecting, in an honest man's discourse,
Naught but a flatterer's artifice—methinks
I can explain the cause of this your error.
Mankind compel you to it. With free choice
They have disclaimed their true nobility,
Lowered themselves to their degraded state.
Before man's inward worth, as from a phantom,
They fly in terror—and contented with
Their poverty, they ornament their chains
With slavish prudence; and they call it virtue
To bear them with a show of resignation.
Thus did you find the world, and thus it was
By your great father handed o'er to you.
In this debased connection—how could you
Respect mankind?
KING.
Your words contain some truth.
MARQUIS.
Alas! that when from the Creator's hand
You took mankind, and moulded him to suit
Your own ideas, making yourself the god
Of this new creature, you should overlook
That you yourself remained a human being—
A very man, as from God's hands you came.
Still did you feel a mortal's wants and pains.
You needed sympathy; but to a God
One can but sacrifice, and pray, and tremble—
Wretched exchange! Perversion most unblest
Of sacred nature! Once degrade mankind,
And make him but a thing to play upon,
Who then can share the harmony with you?
KING (aside).
By heaven, he moves me!
MARQUIS.
But this sacrifice
To you is valueless. You thus become
A thing apart, a species of your own.
This is the price you pay for being a god;
'Twere dreadful were it not so, and if you
Gained nothing by the misery of millions!
And if the very freedom you destroyed
Were the sole blessing that could make you happy.
Dismiss me, sire, I pray you; for my theme
Bears me too far; my heart is full; too strong
The charm, to stand before the only man
To whom I may reveal it.
[The COUNT LERMA enters, and whispers a few words
to the KING, who signs him to withdraw, and continues
sitting in his former posture.
KING (to the MARQUIS, after LERMA is gone).
Nay, continue.
MARQUIS (after a pause).
I feel, sire—all the worth——
KING.
Proceed; you had
Yet more to say to me.
MARQUIS.
Your majesty,
I lately passed through Flanders and Brabant,
So many rich and blooming provinces,
Filled with a valiant, great, and honest people.
To be the father of a race like this
I thought must be divine indeed; and then
I stumbled on a heap of burnt men's bones.
[He stops, he fixes a penetrating look on the KING,
who endeavors to return his glance; but he looks on
the ground, embarrassed and confused.
True, you are forced to act so; but that you
Could dare fulfil your task—this fills my soul
With shuddering horror! Oh, 'tis pity that
The victim, weltering in his blood, must cease
To chant the praises of his sacrificer!
And that mere men—not beings loftier far—
Should write the history of the world. But soon
A milder age will follow that of Philip,
An age of truer wisdom; hand in hand,
The subjects' welfare and the sovereign's greatness
Will walk in union. Then the careful state
Will spare her children, and necessity
No longer glory to be thus inhuman.
KING.
When, think you, would that blessed age arrive,
If I had shrunk before the curse of this?
Behold my Spain, see here the burgher's good
Blooms in eternal and unclouded peace.
A peace like this will I bestow on Flanders.
MARQUIS (hastily).
The churchyard's peace! And do you hope to end
What you have now begun? Say, do you hope
To check the ripening change of Christendom,
The universal spring, that shall renew
The earth's fair form? Would you alone, in Europe,
Fling yourself down before the rapid wheel
Of destiny, which rolls its ceaseless course,
And seize its spokes with human arm. Vain thought!
Already thousands have your kingdom fled
In joyful poverty: the honest burgher
For his faith exiled, was your noblest subject!
See! with a mother's arms, Elizabeth
Welcomes the fugitives, and Britain blooms
In rich luxuriance, from our country's arts.
Bereft of the new Christian's industry,
Granada lies forsaken, and all Europe
Exulting, sees his foe oppressed with wounds,
By its own hands inflicted!
[The KING is moved; the MARQUIS observes it,
and advances a step nearer.
You would plant
For all eternity, and yet the seeds
You sow around you are the seeds of death!
This hopeless task, with nature's laws at strife,
Will ne'er survive the spirit of its founder.
You labor for ingratitude; in vain,
With nature you engage in desperate struggle—
In vain you waste your high and royal life
In projects of destruction. Man is greater
Than you esteem him. He will burst the chains
Of a long slumber, and reclaim once more
His just and hallowed rights. With Nero's name,
And fell Busiris', will he couple yours;
And—ah! you once deserved a better fate.
KING.
How know you that?
MARQUIS.
In very truth you did—
Yes, I repeat it—by the Almighty power!
Restore us all you have deprived us of,
And, generous as strong, let happiness
Flow from your horn of plenty—let man's mind
Ripen in your vast empire—give us back
All you have taken from us—and become,
Amidst a thousand kings, a king indeed!
[He advances boldly, and fixes on him a look of
earnestness and enthusiasm.
Oh, that the eloquence of all those myriads,
Whose fate depends on this momentous hour,
Could hover on my lips, and fan the spark
That lights thine eye into a glorious flame!
Renounce the mimicry of godlike powers
Which level us to nothing. Be, in truth,
An image of the Deity himself!
Never did mortal man possess so much
For purpose so divine. The kings of Europe
Pay homage to the name of Spain. Be you
The leader of these kings. One pen-stroke now,
One motion of your hand, can new create
The earth! but grant us liberty of thought.
[Casts himself at his feet.
KING (surprised, turns away his face, then again looks
towards the MARQUIS).
Enthusiast most strange! arise; but I——
MARQUIS.
Look round on all the glorious face of nature,
On freedom it is founded—see how rich,
Through freedom it has grown. The great Creator
Bestows upon the worm its drop of dew,
And gives free-will a triumph in abodes
Where lone corruption reigns. See your creation,
How small, how poor! The rustling of a leaf
Alarms the mighty lord of Christendom.
Each virtue makes you quake with fear. While he,
Not to disturb fair freedom's blest appearance,
Permits the frightful ravages of evil
To waste his fair domains. The great Creator
We see not—he conceals himself within
His own eternal laws. The sceptic sees
Their operation, but beholds not Him.
"Wherefore a God!" he cries, "the world itself
Suffices for itself!" And Christian prayer
Ne'er praised him more than doth this blasphemy.
KING.
And will you undertake to raise up this
Exalted standard of weak human nature
In my dominions?
MARQUIS.
You can do it, sire.
Who else? Devote to your own people's bliss
The kingly power, which has too long enriched
The greatness of the throne alone. Restore
The prostrate dignity of human nature,
And let the subject be, what once he was,
The end and object of the monarch's care,
Bound by no duty, save a brother's love.
And when mankind is to itself restored,
Roused to a sense of its own innate worth,
When freedom's lofty virtues proudly flourish—
Then, sire, when you have made your own wide realms
The happiest in the world, it then may be
Your duty to subdue the universe.
KING (after a long pause).
I've heard you to the end. Far differently
I find, than in the minds of other men,
The world exists in yours. And you shall not
By foreign laws be judged. I am the first
To whom you have your secret self disclosed;
I know it—so believe it—for the sake
Of this forbearance—that you have till now
Concealed these sentiments, although embraced
With so much ardor,—for this cautious prudence.
I will forget, young man, that I have learned them,
And how I learned them. Rise! I will confute
Your youthful dreams by my matured experience,
Not by my power as king. Such is my will,
And therefore act I thus. Poison itself
May, in a worthy nature, be transformed
To some benignant use. But, sir, beware
My Inquisition! 'Twould afflict me much——
MARQUIS.
Indeed!
KING (lost in surprise).
Ne'er met I such a man as that!
No, marquis, no! you wrong me! Not to you
Will I become a Nero—not to you!—
All happiness shall not be blasted round me,
And you at least, beneath my very eyes,
May dare continue to remain a man.
MARQUIS (quickly).
And, sire, my fellow-subjects? Not for me,
Nor my own cause, I pleaded. Sire! your subjects——
KING.
Nay, if you know so well how future times
Will judge me, let them learn at least from you,
That when I found a man, I could respect him.
MARQUIS.
Oh, let not the most just of kings at once
Be the most unjust! In your realm of Flanders
There are a thousand better men than I.
But you—sire! may I dare to say so much—
For the first time, perhaps, see liberty
In milder form portrayed.
KING (with gentle severity).
No more of this,
Young man! You would, I know, think otherwise
Had you but learned to understand mankind
As I. But truly—I would not this meeting
Should prove our last. How can I hope to win you?
MARQUIS.
Pray leave me as I am. What value, sire,
Should I be to you were you to corrupt me?
KING.
This pride I will not bear. From this day forth
I hold you in my service. No remonstrance—
For I will have it so.
[After a pause.
But how is this?
What would I now? Was it not truth I wished?
But here is something more. Marquis, so far
You've learned to know me as a king; but yet
You know me not as man—
[The MARQUIS seems to meditate.
I understand you—
Were I the most unfortunate of fathers,
Yet as a husband may I not be blest?
MARQUIS.
If the possession of a hopeful son,
And a most lovely spouse, confer a claim
On mortal to assume that title, sire,
In both respects, you are supremely blest.
KING (with a serious look).
That am I not—and never, till this hour,
Have I so deeply felt that I am not so.
[Contemplating the MARQUIS with a look of melancholy.
MARQUIS.
The prince possesses a right noble mind.
I ne'er have known him otherwise.
KING.
I have
The treasure he has robbed me of, no crown
Can e'er requite. So virtuous a queen!
MARQUIS.
Who dare assert it, sire?
KING.
The world! and scandal!
And I myself! Here lie the damning proofs
Of doubtless guilt—and others, too, exist,
From which I fear the worst. But still 'tis hard
To trust one proof alone. Who brings the charge?
And oh! if this were possible—that she,
The queen, so foully could pollute her honor,
Then how much easier were it to believe
An Eboli may be a slanderer!
Does not that priest detest my son and her?
And can I doubt that Alva broods revenge?
My wife has higher worth than all together.
MARQUIS.
And there exists besides in woman's soul
A treasure, sire, beyond all outward show,
Above the reach of slander—female virtue!
KING.
Marquis! those thoughts are mine. It costs too much
To sink so low as they accuse the queen.
The sacred ties of honor are not broken
With so much ease, as some would fain persuade me.
Marquis, you know mankind. Just such a man
As you I long have wished for—you are kind—
Cheerful—and deeply versed in human nature—
Therefore I've chosen you——
MARQUIS (surprised and alarmed).
Me, sire!
KING.
You stand
Before your king and ask no special favor—
For yourself nothing!—that is new to me—
You will be just—ne'er weakly swayed by passion.
Watch my son close—search the queen's inmost heart.
You shall have power to speak with her in private.
Retire.
[He rings a bell.
MARQUIS.
And if with but one hope fulfilled
I now depart, then is this day indeed
The happiest of my life.
KING (holds out his hand to him to kiss).
I hold it not
Amongst my days a lost one.
[The MARQUIS rises and goes. COUNT LERMA enters.
Count, in future,
The marquis is to enter, unannounced.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
The Queen's Apartment.
QUEEN, DUCHESS OLIVAREZ, PRINCESS EBOLI, COUNTESS FUENTES.
QUEEN (to the first lady as she rises).
And so the key has not been found! My casket
Must be forced open then—and that at once.
[She observes PRINCESS EBOLI, who approaches and kisses her hand.
Welcome, dear princess! I rejoice to see you
So near recovered. But you still look pale.
FUENTES (with malice).
The fault of that vile fever which affects
The nerves so painfully. Is't not, princess?
QUEEN.
I wished to visit you, dear Eboli,
But dared not.
OLIVAREZ.
Oh! the Princess Eboli
Was not in want of company.
QUEEN.
Why, that
I readily believe, but what's the matter?
You tremble——
PRINCESS.
Nothing—nothing, gracious queen.
Permit me to retire.
QUEEN.
You hide it from us—
And are far worse than you would have us think.
Standing must weary you. Assist her, countess,
And let her rest awhile upon that seat.
PRINCESS (going).
I shall be better in the open air.
QUEEN.
Attend her, countess. What a sudden illness!
[A PAGE enters and speaks to the DUCHESS, who then
addresses the QUEEN.
OLIVAREZ.
The Marquis Posa waits, your majesty,
With orders from the king.
QUEEN.
Admit him then.
[PAGE admits the MARQUIS and exit.
QUEEN, DUCHESS OLIVAREZ, PRINCESS EBOLI, COUNTESS FUENTES.
QUEEN (to the first lady as she rises).
And so the key has not been found! My casket
Must be forced open then—and that at once.
[She observes PRINCESS EBOLI, who approaches and kisses her hand.
Welcome, dear princess! I rejoice to see you
So near recovered. But you still look pale.
FUENTES (with malice).
The fault of that vile fever which affects
The nerves so painfully. Is't not, princess?
QUEEN.
I wished to visit you, dear Eboli,
But dared not.
OLIVAREZ.
Oh! the Princess Eboli
Was not in want of company.
QUEEN.
Why, that
I readily believe, but what's the matter?
You tremble——
PRINCESS.
Nothing—nothing, gracious queen.
Permit me to retire.
QUEEN.
You hide it from us—
And are far worse than you would have us think.
Standing must weary you. Assist her, countess,
And let her rest awhile upon that seat.
PRINCESS (going).
I shall be better in the open air.
QUEEN.
Attend her, countess. What a sudden illness!
[A PAGE enters and speaks to the DUCHESS, who then
addresses the QUEEN.
OLIVAREZ.
The Marquis Posa waits, your majesty,
With orders from the king.
QUEEN.
Admit him then.
[PAGE admits the MARQUIS and exit.
SCENE II.
MARQUIS POSA. The former.
The MARQUIS falls on one knee before the QUEEN, who
signs to him to rise.
QUEEN.
What are my lord's commands? And may I dare
Thus publicly to hear——
MARQUIS.
My business is
In private with your royal majesty.
[The ladies retire on a signal from the QUEEN.
The MARQUIS falls on one knee before the QUEEN, who
signs to him to rise.
QUEEN.
What are my lord's commands? And may I dare
Thus publicly to hear——
MARQUIS.
My business is
In private with your royal majesty.
[The ladies retire on a signal from the QUEEN.
SCENE III.
The QUEEN, MARQUIS POSA.
QUEEN (full of astonishment).
How! Marquis, dare I trust my eyes? Are you
Commissioned to me from the king?
MARQUIS.
Does this
Seem such a wonder to your majesty?
To me 'tis otherwise.
QUEEN.
The world must sure
Have wandered from its course! That you and he—
I must confess——
MARQUIS.
It does sound somewhat strange—
But be it so. The present times abound
In prodigies.
QUEEN.
But none can equal this.
MARQUIS.
Suppose I had at last allowed myself
To be converted, and had weary grown
Of playing the eccentric at the court
Of Philip. The eccentric! What is that?
He who would be of service to mankind
Must first endeavor to resemble them.
What end is gained by the vain-glorious garb
Of the sectarian? Then suppose—for who
From vanity is so completely free
As for his creed to seek no proselytes?
Suppose, I say, I had it in my mind
To place my own opinions on the throne!
QUEEN.
No, marquis! no! Not even in jest could I
Suspect you of so wild a scheme as this;
No visionary you! to undertake
What you can ne'er accomplish.
MARQUIS.
But that seems
To be the very point at issue.
QUEEN.
What
I chiefly blame you, marquis, for, and what
Could well estrange me from you—is——
MARQUIS.
Perhaps
Duplicity!
QUEEN.
At least—a want of candor.
Perhaps the king himself has no desire
You should impart what now you mean to tell me.
MARQUIS.
No.
QUEEN.
And can evil means be justified
By honest ends? And—pardon me the doubt—
Can your high bearing stoop to such an office?
I scarce can think it.
MARQUIS.
Nor, indeed, could I,
Were my sole purpose to deceive the king.
'Tis not my wish—I mean to serve him now
More honestly than he himself commands.
QUEEN.
'Tis spoken like yourself. Enough of this—
What would the king?
MARQUIS.
The king? I can, it seems,
Retaliate quickly on my rigid judge
And what I have deferred so long to tell,
Your majesty, perhaps, would willingly
Longer defer to hear. But still it must
Be heard. The king requests your majesty
Will grant no audience to the ambassador
Of France to-day. Such were my high commands—
They're executed.
QUEEN.
Marquis, is that all
You have to tell me from him?
MARQUIS.
Nearly all
That justifies me thus to seek your presence.
QUEEN.
Well, marquis, I'm contented not to hear
What should, perhaps, remain a secret from me.
MARQUIS.
True, queen! though were you other than yourself,
I should inform you straight of certain things—
Warn you of certain men—but this to you
Were a vain office. Danger may arise
And disappear around you, unperceived.
You will not know it—of too little weight
To chase the slumber from your angel brow.
But 'twas not this, in sooth, that brought me hither,
Prince Carlos——
QUEEN.
What of him? How have you left him?
MARQUIS.
E'en as the only wise man of his time,
In whom it is a crime to worship truth—
And ready, for his love to risk his life,
As the wise sage for his. I bring few words—
But here he is himself.
[Giving the QUEEN a letter.
QUEEN (after she has read it).
He says he must
Speak with me——
MARQUIS.
So do I.
QUEEN.
And will he thus
Be happy—when he sees with his own eyes,
That I am wretched?
MARQUIS.
No; but more resolved,
More active.
QUEEN.
How?
MARQUIS.
Duke Alva is appointed
To Flanders.
QUEEN.
Yes, appointed—so I hear.
MARQUIS.
The king cannot retract:—we know the king.
This much is clear, the prince must not remain
Here in Madrid, nor Flanders be abandoned.
QUEEN.
And can you hinder it?
MARQUIS.
Perhaps I can,
But then the means are dangerous as the evil—
Rash as despair—and yet I know no other.
QUEEN.
Name them.
MARQUIS.
To you, and you alone, my queen,
Will I reveal them; for from you alone,
Carlos will hear them named without a shudder.
The name they bear is somewhat harsh.
QUEEN.
Rebellion!
MARQUIS.
He must prove faithless to the king, and fly
With secrecy to Brussels, where the Flemings
Wait him with open arms. The Netherlands
Will rise at his command. Our glorious cause
From the king's son will gather matchless strength,
The Spanish throne shall tremble at his arms,
And what his sire denied him in Madrid,
That will he willingly concede in Brussels.
QUEEN.
You've spoken with the king to-day—and yet
Maintain all this.
MARQUIS.
Yes, I maintain it all,
Because I spoke with him.
QUEEN (after a pause).
The daring plan
Alarms and pleases me. You may be right—
The thought is bold, and that perhaps enchants me.
Let it but ripen. Does Prince Carlos know it?
MARQUIS.
It was my wish that he should hear it first
From your own lips.
QUEEN.
The plan is doubtless good,
But then the prince's youth——
MARQUIS.
No disadvantage!
He there will find the bravest generals
Of the Emperor Charles—an Egmont and an Orange—
In battle daring, and in council wise.
QUEEN (with vivacity).
True—the design is grand and beautiful!
The prince must act; I feel it sensibly.
The part he's doomed to play here in Madrid
Has bowed me to the dust on his account.
I promise him the aid of France and Savoy;
I think with you, lord marquis—he must act—
But this design needs money——
MARQUIS.
It is ready.
QUEEN.
I, too, know means.
MARQUIS.
May I then give him hopes
Of seeing you?
QUEEN.
I will consider it.
MARQUIS.
The prince, my queen, is urgent for an answer.
I promised to procure it.
[Presenting his writing tablet to the QUEEN.
Two short lines
Will be enough.
QUEEN (after she has written).
When do we meet again?
MARQUIS.
Whene'er you wish.
QUEEN.
Whene'er I wish it, marquis!
How can I understand this privilege?
MARQUIS.
As innocently, queen, as e'er you may.
But we enjoy it—that is sure enough.
QUEEN (interrupting).
How will my heart rejoice should this become
A refuge for the liberties of Europe,
And this through him! Count on my silent aid!
MARQUIS (with animation).
Right well I knew your heart would understand me.
[The DUCHESS OLIVAREZ enters.
QUEEN (coldly to the MARQUIS).
My lord! the king's commands I shall respect
As law. Assure him of the queen's submission.
[She makes a sign to him. Exit MARQUIS.
QUEEN (full of astonishment).
How! Marquis, dare I trust my eyes? Are you
Commissioned to me from the king?
MARQUIS.
Does this
Seem such a wonder to your majesty?
To me 'tis otherwise.
QUEEN.
The world must sure
Have wandered from its course! That you and he—
I must confess——
MARQUIS.
It does sound somewhat strange—
But be it so. The present times abound
In prodigies.
QUEEN.
But none can equal this.
MARQUIS.
Suppose I had at last allowed myself
To be converted, and had weary grown
Of playing the eccentric at the court
Of Philip. The eccentric! What is that?
He who would be of service to mankind
Must first endeavor to resemble them.
What end is gained by the vain-glorious garb
Of the sectarian? Then suppose—for who
From vanity is so completely free
As for his creed to seek no proselytes?
Suppose, I say, I had it in my mind
To place my own opinions on the throne!
QUEEN.
No, marquis! no! Not even in jest could I
Suspect you of so wild a scheme as this;
No visionary you! to undertake
What you can ne'er accomplish.
MARQUIS.
But that seems
To be the very point at issue.
QUEEN.
What
I chiefly blame you, marquis, for, and what
Could well estrange me from you—is——
MARQUIS.
Perhaps
Duplicity!
QUEEN.
At least—a want of candor.
Perhaps the king himself has no desire
You should impart what now you mean to tell me.
MARQUIS.
No.
QUEEN.
And can evil means be justified
By honest ends? And—pardon me the doubt—
Can your high bearing stoop to such an office?
I scarce can think it.
MARQUIS.
Nor, indeed, could I,
Were my sole purpose to deceive the king.
'Tis not my wish—I mean to serve him now
More honestly than he himself commands.
QUEEN.
'Tis spoken like yourself. Enough of this—
What would the king?
MARQUIS.
The king? I can, it seems,
Retaliate quickly on my rigid judge
And what I have deferred so long to tell,
Your majesty, perhaps, would willingly
Longer defer to hear. But still it must
Be heard. The king requests your majesty
Will grant no audience to the ambassador
Of France to-day. Such were my high commands—
They're executed.
QUEEN.
Marquis, is that all
You have to tell me from him?
MARQUIS.
Nearly all
That justifies me thus to seek your presence.
QUEEN.
Well, marquis, I'm contented not to hear
What should, perhaps, remain a secret from me.
MARQUIS.
True, queen! though were you other than yourself,
I should inform you straight of certain things—
Warn you of certain men—but this to you
Were a vain office. Danger may arise
And disappear around you, unperceived.
You will not know it—of too little weight
To chase the slumber from your angel brow.
But 'twas not this, in sooth, that brought me hither,
Prince Carlos——
QUEEN.
What of him? How have you left him?
MARQUIS.
E'en as the only wise man of his time,
In whom it is a crime to worship truth—
And ready, for his love to risk his life,
As the wise sage for his. I bring few words—
But here he is himself.
[Giving the QUEEN a letter.
QUEEN (after she has read it).
He says he must
Speak with me——
MARQUIS.
So do I.
QUEEN.
And will he thus
Be happy—when he sees with his own eyes,
That I am wretched?
MARQUIS.
No; but more resolved,
More active.
QUEEN.
How?
MARQUIS.
Duke Alva is appointed
To Flanders.
QUEEN.
Yes, appointed—so I hear.
MARQUIS.
The king cannot retract:—we know the king.
This much is clear, the prince must not remain
Here in Madrid, nor Flanders be abandoned.
QUEEN.
And can you hinder it?
MARQUIS.
Perhaps I can,
But then the means are dangerous as the evil—
Rash as despair—and yet I know no other.
QUEEN.
Name them.
MARQUIS.
To you, and you alone, my queen,
Will I reveal them; for from you alone,
Carlos will hear them named without a shudder.
The name they bear is somewhat harsh.
QUEEN.
Rebellion!
MARQUIS.
He must prove faithless to the king, and fly
With secrecy to Brussels, where the Flemings
Wait him with open arms. The Netherlands
Will rise at his command. Our glorious cause
From the king's son will gather matchless strength,
The Spanish throne shall tremble at his arms,
And what his sire denied him in Madrid,
That will he willingly concede in Brussels.
QUEEN.
You've spoken with the king to-day—and yet
Maintain all this.
MARQUIS.
Yes, I maintain it all,
Because I spoke with him.
QUEEN (after a pause).
The daring plan
Alarms and pleases me. You may be right—
The thought is bold, and that perhaps enchants me.
Let it but ripen. Does Prince Carlos know it?
MARQUIS.
It was my wish that he should hear it first
From your own lips.
QUEEN.
The plan is doubtless good,
But then the prince's youth——
MARQUIS.
No disadvantage!
He there will find the bravest generals
Of the Emperor Charles—an Egmont and an Orange—
In battle daring, and in council wise.
QUEEN (with vivacity).
True—the design is grand and beautiful!
The prince must act; I feel it sensibly.
The part he's doomed to play here in Madrid
Has bowed me to the dust on his account.
I promise him the aid of France and Savoy;
I think with you, lord marquis—he must act—
But this design needs money——
MARQUIS.
It is ready.
QUEEN.
I, too, know means.
MARQUIS.
May I then give him hopes
Of seeing you?
QUEEN.
I will consider it.
MARQUIS.
The prince, my queen, is urgent for an answer.
I promised to procure it.
[Presenting his writing tablet to the QUEEN.
Two short lines
Will be enough.
QUEEN (after she has written).
When do we meet again?
MARQUIS.
Whene'er you wish.
QUEEN.
Whene'er I wish it, marquis!
How can I understand this privilege?
MARQUIS.
As innocently, queen, as e'er you may.
But we enjoy it—that is sure enough.
QUEEN (interrupting).
How will my heart rejoice should this become
A refuge for the liberties of Europe,
And this through him! Count on my silent aid!
MARQUIS (with animation).
Right well I knew your heart would understand me.
[The DUCHESS OLIVAREZ enters.
QUEEN (coldly to the MARQUIS).
My lord! the king's commands I shall respect
As law. Assure him of the queen's submission.
[She makes a sign to him. Exit MARQUIS.