Don Carlos by Friedrich Schiller (ebook reader 8 inch TXT) 📕

still lying in the above posture. She
approaches in silence. On hearing a noise, the latter looks
up and becomes like a mad person when she misses the QUEEN.


SCENE XX.

PRINCESS EBOLI, COUNTESS OLIVAREZ.

EBOLI. Heavens! she has left me. I am now undone!

OLIVAREZ (approaching her). My princess - Eboli!

EBOLI.
I know your business, Duchess, and you come hither from the queen, To speak my sentence to me; do it quickly.

OLIVAREZ. I am commanded by your majesty To take your cross and key.

EBOLI (takes from her breast a golden cross, and gives it to the UCHESS).
And but once more May I not kiss my gracious sovereign's hand?

OLIVAREZ. In holy Mary's convent shall you learn Your fate, princess.

EBOLI (with a flood of tears).
Alas! then I no more Shall ever see the queen.

OLIVAREZ (embraces her with her face turned away).
Princess, farewell.

[She goes hastily away. The PRINCESS follows her as far as
the door of the cabinet, which is immediately locked after
the DUCHESS. She remains a few minutes silent and motionless
on her knees before it. She then rises and hastens away,
covering her face.


SCENE XXI.

QUEEN, MARQUIS POSA.

QUEEN. Ah, marquis, I am glad you're come at last!

MARQUIS (pale, with a disturbed countenance and trembling voice,
in solemn, deep agitation, during the whole scene). And is your majesty alone? Can none Within the adjoining chamber overhear us?

QUEEN. No one! But why? What news would you impart?

[Looking at him closely, and drawing back alarmed.

And what has wrought this change in you? Speak, marquis, You make me tremble - all your features seem So marked with death!

MARQUIS.
You know, perhaps, already.

QUEEN. That Carlos is arrested - and they add, By you! Is it then true? From no one else Would I believe it but yourself.

MARQUIS.
'Tis true.

QUEEN. By you?

MARQUIS.
By me?

QUEEN (looks at him for some time doubtingly).
I still respect your actions E'en when I comprehend them not. In this Pardon a timid woman! I much fear You play a dangerous game.

MARQUIS.
And I have lost it.

QUEEN. Merciful heaven!

MARQUIS.
Queen, fear not! He is safe, But I am lost myself.

QUEEN.
What do I hear?

MARQUIS. Who bade me hazard all on one chance throw? All? And with rash, foolhardy confidence, Sport with the power of heaven? Of bounded mind, Man, who is not omniscient, must not dare To guide the helm of destiny. 'Tis just! But why these thoughts of self. This hour is precious As life can be to man: and who can tell Whether the parsimonious hand of fate May not have measured my last drops of life.

QUEEN. The hand of fate! What means this solemn tone? I understand these words not - but I shudder.

MARQUIS. He's saved! no matter at what price - he's saved! But only for to-day - a few short hours Are his. Oh, let him husband them! This night The prince must leave Madrid.

QUEEN.
This very night?

MARQUIS. All measures are prepared. The post will meet him At the Carthusian convent, which has served So long as an asylum to our friendship. Here will he find, in letters of exchange, All in the world that fortune gifts me with. Should more be wanting, you must e'en supply it. In truth, I have within my heart full much To unburden to my Carlos - it may chance I shall want leisure now to tell him all In person - but this evening you will see him, And therefore I address myself to you.

QUEEN. Oh, for my peace of mind, dear marquis, speak! Explain yourself more clearly! Do not use This dark, and fearful, and mysterious language! Say, what has happened?

MARQUIS.
I have yet one thing, A matter of importance on my mind: In your hands I deposit it. My lot Was such as few indeed have e'er enjoyed - I loved a prince's son. My heart to one - To that one object given. - embraced the world! I have created in my Carlos' soul, A paradise for millions! Oh, my dream Was lovely! But the will of Providence Has summoned me away, before my hour, From this my beauteous work. His Roderigo Soon shall be his no more, and friendship's claim Will be transferred to love. Here, therefore, here, Upon this sacred altar - on the heart Of his loved queen - I lay my last bequest A precious legacy - he'll find it here, When I shall be no more.

[He turns away, his voice choked with grief.

QUEEN.
This is the language Of a dying man - it surely emanates But from your blood's excitement - or does sense Lie hidden in your language?

MARQUIS (has endeavored to collect himself, and continues
in a solemn voice).
Tell the prince, That he must ever bear in mind the oath We swore, in past enthusiastic days, Upon the sacred host. I have kept mine - I'm true to him till death - 'tis now his turn - -

QUEEN. Till death?

MARQUIS.
Oh, bid him realize the dream, The glowing vision which our friendship painted, Of a new-perfect realm! And let him lay The first hand on the rude, unshapened stone. Whether he fail or prosper - all alike - Let him commence the work. When centuries Have rolled away shall Providence again Raise to the throne a princely youth like him, And animate again a favorite son Whose breast shall burn with like enthusiasm. Tell him, in manhood, he must still revere The dreams of early youth, nor ope the heart Of heaven's all-tender flower to canker-worms Of boasted reason, - nor be led astray When, by the wisdom of the dust, he hears Enthusiasm, heavenly-born, blasphemed. I have already told him.

QUEEN. Whither, marquis? Whither does all this tend?

MARQUIS. And tell him further, I lay upon his soul the happiness Of man - that with my dying breath I claim, Demand it of him - and with justest title. I had designed a new, a glorious morn, To waken in these kingdoms: for to me Philip had opened all his inmost heart - Called me his son - bestowed his seals upon me - And Alva was no more his counsellor.

[He pauses, and looks at the QUEEN for a few moments in silence.

You weep! I know those tears, beloved soul! Oh, they are tears of joy! - but it is past - Forever past! Carlos or I? The choice Was prompt and fearful. One of us must perish! And I will be that one. Oh, ask no more!

QUEEN. Now, now, at last, I comprehend your meaning, Unhappy man! What have you done?

MARQUIS.
Cut off Two transient hours of evening to secure A long, bright summer-day! I now give up The king forever. What were I to the king? In such cold soil no rose of mine could bloom; In my great friend must Europe's fortune ripen. Spain I bequeath to him, still bathed in blood From Philip's iron hand. But woe to him, Woe to us both, if I have chosen wrong! But no - oh, no! I know my Carlos better - 'Twill never come to pass! - for this, my queen, You stand my surety.
[After a silence.
Yes! I saw his love In its first blossom - saw his fatal passion Take root in his young heart. I had full power To check it; but I did not. The attachment Which seemed to me not guilty, I still nourished. The world may censure me, but I repent not, Nor does my heart accuse me. I saw life Where death appeared to others. In a flame So hopeless I discerned hope's golden beam. I wished to lead him to the excellent - To exalt him to the highest point of beauty. Mortality denied a model to me, And language, words. Then did I bend his views To this point only - and my whole endeavor Was to explain to him his love.

QUEEN.
Your friend, Marquis! so wholly occupied your mind, That for his cause you quite forgot my own - Could you suppose that I had thrown aside All woman's weaknesses, that you could dare Make me his angel, and confide alone In virtue for his armor? You forget What risks this heart must run, when we ennoble Passion with such a beauteous name as this.

MARQUIS. Yes, in all other women - but in one, One only, 'tis not so. For you, I swear it. And should you blush to indulge the pure desire To call heroic virtue into life? Can it affect King Philip, that his works Of noblest art, in the Escurial, raise Immortal longings in the painter's soul, Who stands entranced before them? Do the sounds That slumber in the lute, belong alone To him who buys the chords? With ear unmoved He may preserve his treasure: - he has bought The wretched right to shiver it to atoms, But not the power to wake its silver tones, Or, in the magic of its sounds, dissolve. Truth is created for the sage, as beauty Is for the feeling heart. They own each other. And this belief, no coward prejudice Shall make me e'er disclaim. Then promise, queen, That you will ever love him. That false shame, Or fancied dignity, shall never make you Yield to the voice of base dissimulation: - That you will love him still, unchanged, forever. Promise me this, oh, queen! Here solemnly Say, do you promise?

QUEEN.
That my heart alone Shall ever vindicate my love, I promise - -

MARQUIS (drawing his hand back). Now I die satisfied - my work is done.

[He bows