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
Judged thee aright? Here, let me see that paper.
[CARLOS gives him the letter, and the MARQUIS tears it.
CARLOS.
What! art thou mad?
[Moderating his warmth.
In truth-I must confess it,
That letter was of deepest moment to me.
MARQUIS.
So it appeared: on that account I tore it.
[The MARQUIS casts a penetrating look on the PRINCE,
who surveys him with doubt and surprise. A long silence.
Now speak to me with candor, Carlos. What
Have desecrations of the royal bed
To do with thee-thy love? Dost thou fear Philip?
How are a husband's violated duties
Allied with thee and thy audacious hopes?
Has he sinned there, where thou hast placed thy love?
Now then, in truth, I learn to comprehend thee-
How ill till now I've understood thy love!
CARLOS.
What dost thou think, Roderigo?
MARQUIS.
Oh, I feel
From what it is that I must wean myself.
Once it was otherwise! Yes, once thy soul
Was bounteous, rich, and warm, and there was room
For a whole world in thy expanded heart.
Those feelings are extinct-all swallowed up
In one poor, petty, selfish passion. Now
Thy heart is withered, dead! No tears last thou
For the unhappy fate of wretched Flanders-
No, not another tear. Oh, Carlos! see
How poor, how beggarly, thou hast become,
Since all thy love has centered in thyself!
CARLOS (flings himself into a chair. After a pause, with
scarcely suppressed tears).
Too well I know thou lovest me no more!
MARQUIS.
Not so, my Carlos. Well I understand
This fiery passion: 'tis the misdirection
Of feelings pure and noble in themselves.
The queen belonged to thee: the king, thy father,
Despoiled thee of her-yet till now thou hast
Been modestly distrustful of thy claims.
Philip, perhaps, was worthy of her! Thou
Scarce dared to breathe his sentence in a whisper-
This letter has resolved thy doubts, and proved
Thou art the worthier man. With haughty joy
Thou saw'st before thee rise the doom that waits
On tyranny convicted of a theft,
But thou wert proud to be the injured one:
Wrongs undeserved great souls can calmly suffer,
Yet here thy fancy played thee false: thy pride
Was touched with satisfaction, and thy heart
Allowed itself to hope: I plainly saw
This time, at least, thou didst not know thyself.
CARLOS (with emotion).
Thou'rt wrong, Roderigo; for my thoughts were far
Less noble than thy goodness would persuade me.
MARQUIS.
And am I then e'en here so little known?
See, Carlos, when thou errest, 'tis my way,
Amid a hundred virtues, still to find
That one to which I may impute thy fall.
Now, then, we understand each other better,
And thou shalt have an audience of the queen.
CARLOS (falling on his neck).
Oh, how I blush beside thee!
MARQUIS.
Take my word,
And leave the rest to me. A wild, bold
thought,
A happy thought is dawning in my mind;
And thou shalt hear it from a fairer mouth,
I hasten to the queen. Perhaps to-morrow
Thy wish may be achieved. Till then, my Carlos,
Forget not this-"That a design conceived
Of lofty reason, which involves the fate,
The sufferings of mankind, though it be baffled
Ten thousand times, should never be abandoned."
Dost hear? Remember Flanders.
CARLOS.
Yes! all, all
That thou and virtue bid me not forget.
MARQUIS (going to a window).
The time is up-I hear thy suite approaching.
[They embrace.
Crown prince again, and the vassal.
CARLOS.
Dost thou go
Straight to Madrid?
MARQUIS.
Yes, straight.
CARLOS.
Hold! one word more.
How nearly it escaped me! Yet 'twas news
Of deep importance. "Every letter now
Sent to Brabant is opened by the king!"
So be upon thy guard. The royal post
Has secret orders.
MARQUIS.
How have you learned this?
CARLOS.
Don Raymond Taxis is my trusty friend.
MARQUIS (after a pause).
Well! then they may be sent through Germany.
[Exeunt on different sides.
ACT III.
SCENE I.
The king's bedchamber. On the toilet two burning lights. In the
background several pages asleep resting on their knees. The KING,
in half undress, stands before the table, with one arm bent over
the chair, in a reflecting posture. Before him is a medallion and
papers.
KING.
Of a warm fancy she has ever been!
Who can deny it? I could never love her,
Yet has she never seemed to miss my love.
And so 'tis plain-she's false!
[Makes a movement which brings him to himself.
He looks round with surprise.
Where have I been?
Is no one watching here, then, save the king?
The light's burnt out, and yet it is not day.
I must forego my slumbers for to-night.
Take it, kind nature, for enjoyed! No time
Have monarchs to retrieve the nights they lose.
I'm now awake, and day it shall be.
[He puts out the candles, and draws aside the window-curtain.
He observes the sleeping pages-remains for some time standing
before them-then rings a bell.
All
Asleep within the antechamber, too?
SCENE II.
The KING, COUNT LERMA.
LERMA (surprised at seeing the KING).
Does not your majesty feel well?
KING.
The left Pavilion of the palace was in flames:
Did you not hear the alarum?
LERMA.
No, my liege.
KING.
No! What? And did I only dream it then?
'Twas surely real! Does not the queen sleep there?
LERMA.
She does, your majesty.
KING.
This dream affrights me!
In future let the guards be doubled there
As soon as it grows dark. Dost hear? And yet
Let it be done in secret. I would not--
Why do you gaze on me?
LERMA.
Your bloodshot eyes,
I mark, that beg repose. Dare I remind
My liege of an inestimable life,
And of your subjects, who with pale dismay
Would in such features read of restless nights?
But two brief hours of morning sleep would--
KING (with troubled look).
Shall I find sleep within the Escurial?
Let the king sleep, and he may lose his crown,
The husband, his wife's heart. But no! not so;
This is but slander. Was it not a woman
Whispered the crime to me? Woman, thy name
Is calumny? The deed I'll hold unproved,
Until a man confirms the fatal truth!
[To the pages, who in the meanwhile have awaked.
Summon Duke Alva!
[Pages go.
Count, come nearer to me.
[Fixes a searching look on the COUNT.
Is all this true? Oh for omniscience now,
Though but so long as a man's pulse might beat.
Is it true? Upon your oath! Am I deceived?
LERMA.
My great, my best of kings!
KING (drawing back).
King! naught but king!
And king again! No better answer than
Mere hollow echo! When I strike this rock
For water, to assuage my burning thirst,
It gives me molten gold.
LERMA.
What true, my liege?
KING.
Oh, nothing, nothing! Leave me! Get thee gone!
[The COUNT going, the KING calls him back again.
Say, are you married? and are you a father?
LERMA.
I am, your majesty.
KING.
What! married-yet
You dare to watch a night here with your king!
Your hair is gray, and yet you do not blush
To think your wife is honest. Get thee home;
You'll find her locked, this moment, in your son's
Incestuous embrace. Believe your king.
Now go; you stand amazed; you stare at me
With searching eye, because of my gray hairs.
Unhappy man, reflect. Queens never taint
Their virtue thus: doubt it, and you shall die!
LERMA (with warmth).
Who dare do so? In all my monarch's realms
Who has the daring hardihood to breathe
Suspicion on her angel purity?
To slander thus the best of queens--
KING.
The best!
The best, from you, too! She has ardent friends,
I find, around. It must have cost her much-
More than methinks she could afford to give.
You are dismissed; now send the duke to me.
LERMA.
I hear him in the antechamber.
[Going.
KING (with a milder tone).
Count,
What you observed is very true. My head
Burns with the fever of this sleepless night!
What I have uttered in this waking dream,
Mark you, forget! I am your gracious king!
[Presents his hand to kiss. Exit LERMA, opening
the door at the same time to DUKE ALVA.
SCENE III.
The KING and DUKE ALVA.
ALVA (approaching the KING with an air of doubt).
This unexpected order, at so strange
An hour!
[Starts on looking closer at the KING.
And then those looks!
KING (has seated himself, and taken hold of the medallion on the table.
Looks at the DUKE for some time in silence).
Is it true
I have no faithful servant!
ALVA.
How?
KING.
A blow
Aimed at my life in its most vital part!
Full well 'twas known, yet no one warned me of it.
ALVA (with a look of astonishment).
A blow aimed at your majesty! and yet
Escape your Alva's eye?
KING (showing him letters).
Know you this writing?
ALVA.
It is the prince's hand.
KING (a pause-watches the DUKE closely).
Do you suspect
Then nothing? Often have you cautioned me
Gainst his ambition. Was there nothing more
Than his ambition should have made me tremble?
ALVA.
Ambition is a word of largest import,
And much it may comprise.
KING.
And had you naught
Of special purport to disclose?
ALVA (after a pause, mysteriously).
Your majesty
Hath given the kingdom's welfare to my charge:
On this my inmost, secret thoughts are bent,
And my best vigilance. Beyond this charge
What I may think, suspect, or know belongs
To me alone. These are the sacred treasures
Which not the vassal only, but the slave,