    The Project Gutenberg EBook of Don Carlos, by Friedrich Schiller

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    Title: Don Carlos
           A Play

    Author: Friedrich Schiller

    Release Date: October 26, 2006 [EBook #6789]
    Last Updated: November 6, 2012

    Language: English

    Character set encoding: ASCII

    *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DON CARLOS ***

    Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger

# DON CARLOS.

## By Friedrich Schiller

### Translated by R. D. Boylan

## DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

       PHILIP THE SECOND, King of Spain.
       DON CARLOS, Prince, Son of Philip.
       ALEXANDER FARNESE, Prince of Parma.
       MARQUIS DE POSA.
       DUKE OF ALVA.

       Grandees of Spain:
       COUNT LERMA, Colonel of the Body Guard,
       DUKE OF FERIA, Knight of the Golden Fleece,
       DUKE OF MEDINA SIDONIA, Admiral,
       DON RAIMOND DE TAXIS, Postmaster-General,

       DOMINGO, Confessor to the King.
       GRAND INQUISITOR of Spain.
       PRIOR of a Carthusian Convent.
       PAGE of the Queen.
       DON LOUIS MERCADO, Physician to the Queen.
       ELIZABETH DE VALOIS, Queen of Spain.
       INFANTA CLARA FARNESE, a Child three years of age.
       DUCHESS D'OLIVAREZ, Principal Attendant on the Queen.

       Ladies Attendant on the Queen:
       MARCHIONESS DE MONDECAR,
       PRINCESS EBOLI,
       COUNTESS FUENTES,

       Several Ladies, Nobles, Pages, Officers of the Body-Guard,
       and mute Characters.

## ACT I.

## SCENE I.

          The Royal Gardens in Aranjuez.

          CARLOS and DOMINGO.

       DOMINGO.
       Our pleasant sojourn in Aranjuez
       Is over now, and yet your highness quits
       These joyous scenes no happier than before.
       Our visit hath been fruitless. Oh, my prince,
       Break this mysterious and gloomy silence!
       Open your heart to your own father's heart!
       A monarch never can too dearly buy
       The peace of his own son—his only son.
          [CARLOS looks on the ground in silence.
       Is there one dearest wish that bounteous Heaven
       Hath e'er withheld from her most favored child?
       I stood beside, when in Toledo's walls
       The lofty Charles received his vassals' homage,
       When conquered princes thronged to kiss his hand,
       And there at once six mighty kingdoms fell
       In fealty at his feet: I stood and marked
       The young, proud blood mount to his glowing cheek,
       I saw his bosom swell with high resolves,
       His eye, all radiant with triumphant pride,
       Flash through the assembled throng; and that same eye
       Confessed, "Now am I wholly satisfied!"
                    [CARLOS turns away.
       This silent sorrow, which for eight long moons
       Hath hung its shadows, prince, upon your brow—
       The mystery of the court, the nation's grief—
       Hath cost your father many a sleepless night,
       And many a tear of anguish to your mother.

       CARLOS (turning hastily round).
       My mother! Grant, O heaven, I may forget
       How she became my mother!

       DOMINGO.
                     Gracious prince!

       CARLOS (passing his hands thoughtfully over his brow).
       Alas! alas! a fruitful source of woe
       Have mothers been to me. My youngest act,
       When first these eyes beheld the light of day,
       Destroyed a mother.

       DOMINGO.
                  Is it possible
       That this reproach disturbs your conscience, prince?

       CARLOS.
       And my new mother! Hath she not already
       Cost me my father's heart? Scarce loved at best.
       My claim to some small favor lay in this—
       I was his only child! 'Tis over! She
       Hath blest him with a daughter—and who knows
       What slumbering ills the future hath in store?

       DOMINGO.
       You jest, my prince. All Spain adores its queen.
       Shall it be thought that you, of all the world,
       Alone should view her with the eyes of hate—
       Gaze on her charms, and yet be coldly wise?
       How, prince? The loveliest lady of her time,
       A queen withal, and once your own betrothed?
       No, no, impossible—it cannot be!
       Where all men love, you surely cannot hate.
       Carlos could never so belie himself.
       I prithee, prince, take heed she do not learn
       That she hath lost her son's regard. The news
       Would pain her deeply.

       CARLOS.            Ay, sir! think you so?

       DOMINGO.
       Your highness doubtless will remember how,
       At the late tournament in Saragossa,
       A lance's splinter struck our gracious sire.
       The queen, attended by her ladies, sat
       High in the centre gallery of the palace,
       And looked upon the fight. A cry arose,
       "The king! he bleeds!" Soon through the general din,
       A rising murmur strikes upon her ear.
       "The prince—the prince!" she cries, and forward rushed,
       As though to leap down from the balcony,
       When a voice answered, "No, the king himself!"
       "Then send for his physicians!" she replied,
       And straight regained her former self-composure.
                 [After a short pause.
       But you seem wrapped in thought?

       CARLOS.              In wonder, sir,
       That the king's merry confessor should own
       So rare a skill in the romancer's art.
                 [Austerely.
       Yet have I heard it said that those
       Who watch men's looks and carry tales about,
       Have done more mischief in this world of ours
       Than the assassin's knife, or poisoned bowl.
       Your labor, Sir, hath been but ill-bestowed;
       Would you win thanks, go seek them of the king.

       DOMINGO.
       This caution, prince, is wise. Be circumspect
       With men—but not with every man alike.
       Repel not friends and hypocrites together;
       I mean you well, believe me!

       CARLOS.               Say you so?
       Let not my father mark it, then, or else
       Farewell your hopes forever of the purple.

       DOMINGO (starts).

       CARLOS.
       How!

       CARLOS.   Even so! Hath he not promised you
       The earliest purple in the gift of Spain?

       DOMINGO.
       You mock me, prince!

       CARLOS.        Nay! Heaven forefend, that I
       Should mock that awful man whose fateful lips
       Can doom my father or to heaven or hell!

       DOMINGO.
       I dare not, prince, presume to penetrate
       The sacred mystery of your secret grief,
       Yet I implore your highness to remember
       That, for a conscience ill at ease, the church
       Hath opened an asylum, of which kings
       Hold not the key—where even crimes are purged
       Beneath the holy sacramental seal.
       You know my meaning, prince—I've said enough.

       CARLOS.
       No! be it, never said, I tempted so
       The keeper of that seal.

       DOMINGO.
                    Prince, this mistrust—
       You wrong the most devoted of your servants.

       CARLOS.
       Then give me up at once without a thought
       Thou art a holy man—the world knows that—
       But, to speak plain, too zealous far for me.
       The road to Peter's chair is long and rough,
       And too much knowledge might encumber you.
       Go, tell this to the king, who sent thee hither!

       DOMINGO.
       Who sent me hither?

       CARLOS.           Ay! Those were my words.
       Too well-too well, I know, that I'm betrayed,
       Slandered on every hand—that at this court
       A hundred eyes are hired to watch my steps.
       I know, that royal Philip to his slaves
       Hath sold his only son, and every wretch,
       Who takes account of each half-uttered word,
       Receives such princely guerdon as was ne'er
       Bestowed on deeds of honor, Oh, I know
       But hush!—no more of that! My heart will else
       O'erflow and I've already said too much.

       DOMINGO.
       The king is minded, ere the set of sun,
       To reach Madrid: I see the court is mustering.
       Have I permission, prince?

       CARLOS.              I'll follow straight.

                        [Exit DOMINGO.

       CARLOS (after a short silence).
       O wretched Philip! wretched as thy son!
       Soon shall thy bosom bleed at every pore,
       Torn by suspicion's poisonous serpent fang.
       Thy fell sagacity full soon shall pierce
       The fatal secret it is bent to know,
       And thou wilt madden, when it breaks upon thee!

## SCENE II.

          CARLOS, MARQUIS OF POSA.

       CARLOS.
       Lo! Who comes here? 'Tis he! O ye kind heavens,
       My Roderigo!

       MARQUIS.       Carlos!

       CARLOS.            Can it be?
       And is it truly thou? O yes, it is!
       I press thee to my bosom, and I feel
       Thy throbbing heart beat wildly 'gainst mine own.
       And now all's well again. In this embrace
       My sick, sad heart is comforted. I hang
       Upon my Roderigo's neck!

       MARQUIS.             Thy heart!
       Thy sick sad heart! And what is well again
       What needeth to be well? Thy words amaze me.

       CARLOS.
       What brings thee back so suddenly from Brussels?
       Whom must I thank for this most glad surprise?
       And dare I ask? Whom should I thank but thee,
       Thou gracious and all bounteous Providence?
       Forgive me, heaven! if joy hath crazed my brain.
       Thou knewest no angel watched at Carlos' side,
       And sent me this! And yet I ask who sent him.

       MARQUIS.
       Pardon, dear prince, if I can only meet
       With wonder these tumultuous ecstacies.
       Not thus I looked to find Don Philip's son.
       A hectic red burns on your pallid cheek,
       And your lips quiver with a feverish heat.
       What must I think, dear prince? No more I see
       The youth of lion heart, to whom I come
       The envoy of a brave and suffering people.
       For now I stand not here as Roderigo—
       Not as the playmate of the stripling Carlos—
       But, as the deputy of all mankind,
       I clasp thee thus:—'tis Flanders that clings here
       Around thy neck, appealing with my tears
       To thee for succor in her bitter need.
       This land is lost, this land so dear to thee,
       If Alva, bigotry's relentless tool,
       Advance on Brussels with his Spanish laws.
       This noble country's last faint hope depends
       On thee, loved scion of imperial Charles!
       And, should thy noble heart forget to beat
       In human nature's cause, Flanders is lost!

       CARLOS.
       Then it is lost.

       MARQUIS.
                What do I hear? Alas!

       CARLOS.
       Thou speakest of times that long have passed away.
       I, too, have had my visions of a Carlos,
       Whose cheek would fire at freedom's glorious name,
       But he, alas! has long been in his grave.
       He, thou seest here, no longer is that Carlos,
       Who took his leave of thee in Alcala,
       Who in the fervor of a youthful heart,
       Resolved, at some no distant time, to wake
       The golden age in Spain! Oh, the conceit,
       Though but a child's, was yet divinely fair!
       Those dreams are past!

       MARQUIS.
                   Said you, those dreams, my prince!
       And were they only dreams?

       CARLOS.
                     Oh, let me weep,
       Upon thy bosom weep these burning tears,
       My only friend! Not one have I—not one—
       In the wide circuit of this earth,—not one
       Far as the sceptre of my sire extends,
       Far as the navies bear the flag of Spain,
       There is no spot—none—none, where I dare yield
       An outlet to my tears, save only this.
       I charge thee, Roderigo! Oh, by all
       The hopes we both do entertain of heaven,
       Cast me not off from thee, my friend, my friend!
          [POSA bends over him in silent emotion.
       Look on me, Posa, as an orphan child,
       Found near the throne, and nurtured by thy love.
       Indeed, I know not what a father is.
       I am a monarch's son. Oh, were it so,
       As my heart tells me that it surely is,
       That thou from millions hast been chosen out
       To comprehend my being; if it be true,
       That all-creating nature has designed
       In me to reproduce a Roderigo,
       And on the morning of our life attuned
       Our souls' soft concords to the selfsame key;
       If one poor tear, which gives my heart relief,
       To thee were dearer than my father's favor——

       MARQUIS.
       Oh, it is dearer far than all the world!

       CARLOS.
       I'm fallen so low, have grown so poor withal,
       I must recall to thee our childhood's years,—
       Must ask thee payment of a debt incurred
       When thou and I were scarce to boyhood grown.
       Dost thou remember, how we grew together,
       Two daring youths, like brothers, side by side?
       I had no sorrow but to see myself
       Eclipsed by thy bright genius. So I vowed,
       Since I might never cope with thee in power,
       That I would love thee with excess of love.
       Then with a thousand shows of tenderness,
       And warm affection, I besieged thy heart,
       Which cold and proudly still repulsed them all.
       Oft have I stood, and—yet thou sawest it never
       Hot bitter tear-drops brimming in mine eyes,
       When I have marked thee, passing me unheeded,
       Fold to thy bosom youths of humbler birth.
       "Why only these?" in anguish, once I asked—
       "Am I not kind and good to thee as they?"
       But dropping on thy knees, thine answer came,
       With an unloving look of cold reserve,
       "This is my duty to the monarch's son!"

       MARQUIS.
       Oh, spare me, dearest prince, nor now recall
       Those boyish acts that make me blush for shame.

       CARLOS.
       I did not merit such disdain from thee—
       You might despise me, crush my heart, but never
       Alter my love. Three times didst thou repulse
       The prince, and thrice he came to thee again,
       To beg thy love, and force on thee his own.
       At length chance wrought what Carlos never could.
       Once we were playing, when thy shuttlecock
       Glanced off and struck my aunt, Bohemia's queen,
       Full in the face! She thought 'twas with intent,
       And all in tears complained unto the king.
       The palace youth were summoned on the spot,
       And charged to name the culprit. High in wrath
       The king vowed vengeance for the deed: "Although
       It were his son, yet still should he be made
       A dread example!" I looked around and marked
       Thee stand aloof, all trembling with dismay.
       Straight I stepped forth; before the royal feet
       I flung myself, and cried, "'Twas I who did it;
       Now let thine anger fall upon thy son!"

       MARQUIS.
       Ah, wherefore, prince, remind me?

       CARLOS.
                         Hear me further!
       Before the face of the assembled court,
       That stood, all pale with pity, round about,
       Thy Carlos was tied up, whipped like a slave;
       I looked on thee, and wept not. Blow rained on blow;
       I gnashed my teeth with pain, yet wept I not!
       My royal blood streamed 'neath the pitiless lash;
       I looked on thee, and wept not. Then you came,
       And fell half-choked with sobs before my feet:
       "Carlos," you cried, "my pride is overcome;
       I will repay thee when thou art a king."

       MARQUIS (stretching forth his hand to CARLOS).
       Carlos, I'll keep my word; my boyhood's vow
       I now as man renew. I will repay thee.
       Some day, perchance, the hour may come——

       CARLOS.
                             Now! now!
       The hour has come; thou canst repay me all.
       I have sore need of love. A fearful secret
       Burns in my breast; it must—it must be told.
       In thy pale looks my death-doom will I read.
       Listen; be petrified; but answer not.
       I love—I love—my mother!

       MARQUIS.
                     O my God!

       CARLOS.
       Nay, no forbearance! spare me not! Speak! speak!
       Proclaim aloud, that on this earth's great round
       There is no misery to compare with mine.
       Speak! speak!—I know all—all that thou canst say
       The son doth love his mother. All the world's
       Established usages, the course of nature,
       Rome's fearful laws denounce my fatal passion.
       My suit conflicts with my own father's rights,
       I feel it all, and yet I love. This path
       Leads on to madness, or the scaffold. I
       Love without hope, love guiltily, love madly,
       With anguish, and with peril of my life;
       I see, I see it all, and yet I love.

       MARQUIS.
       The queen—does she know of your passion?

       CARLOS.
                             Could I
       Reveal it to her? She is Philip's wife—
       She is the queen, and this is Spanish ground,
       Watched by a jealous father, hemmed around
       By ceremonial forms, how, how could I
       Approach her unobserved? 'Tis now eight months,
       Eight maddening months, since the king summoned me
       Home from my studies, since I have been doomed
       To look on her, adore her day by day,
       And all the while be silent as the grave!
       Eight maddening months, Roderigo; think of this!
       This fire has seethed and raged within my breast!
       A thousand, thousand times, the dread confession
       Has mounted to my lips, yet evermore
       Shrunk, like a craven, back upon my heart.
       O Roderigo! for a few brief moments
       Alone with her!

       MARQUIS.
                Ah! and your father, prince!

       CARLOS.
       Unhappy me! Remind me not of him.
       Tell me of all the torturing pangs of conscience,
       But speak not, I implore you, of my father!

       MARQUIS.
       Then do you hate your father?

       CARLOS.
                       No, oh, no!
       I do not hate my father; but the fear
       That guilty creatures feel,—a shuddering dread,—
       Comes o'er me ever at that terrible name.
       Am I to blame, if slavish nurture crushed
       Love's tender germ within my youthful heart?
       Six years I'd numbered, ere the fearful man,
       They told me was my father, met mine eyes.
       One morning 'twas, when with a stroke I saw him
       Sign four death-warrants. After that I ne'er
       Beheld him, save when, for some childish fault,
       I was brought out for chastisement. O God!
       I feel my heart grow bitter at the thought.
       Let us away! away!

       MARQUIS.
                 Nay, Carlos, nay,
       You must, you shall give all your sorrow vent,
       Let it have words! 'twill ease your o'erfraught heart.

       CARLOS.
       Oft have I struggled with myself, and oft
       At midnight, when my guards were sunk in sleep,
       With floods of burning tears I've sunk before
       The image of the ever-blessed Virgin,
       And craved a filial heart, but all in vain.
       I rose with prayer unheard. O Roderigo!
       Unfold this wondrous mystery of heaven,
       Why of a thousand fathers only this
       Should fall to me—and why to him this son,
       Of many thousand better? Nature could not
       In her wide orb have found two opposites
       More diverse in their elements. How could
       She bind the two extremes of human kind—
       Myself and him—in one so holy bond?
       O dreadful fate! Why was it so decreed?
       Why should two men, in all things else apart,
       Concur so fearfully in one desire?
       Roderigo, here thou seest two hostile stars,
       That in the lapse of ages, only once,
       As they sweep onwards in their orbed course,
       Touch with a crash that shakes them to the centre,
       Then rush apart forever and forever.

       MARQUIS.
       I feel a dire foreboding.

       CARLOS.
                     So do I.
       Like hell's grim furies, dreams of dreadful shape
       Pursue me still. My better genius strives
       With the fell projects of a dark despair.
       My wildered subtle spirit crawls through maze
       On maze of sophistries, until at length
       It gains a yawning precipice's brink.
       O Roderigo! should I e'er in him
       Forget the father—ah! thy deathlike look
       Tells me I'm understood—should I forget
       The father—what were then the king to me?

       MARQUIS (after a pause).
       One thing, my Carlos, let me beg of you!
       Whate'er may be your plans, do nothing,—nothing,—
       Without your friend's advice. You promise this?

       CARLOS.
       All, all I promise that thy love can ask!
       I throw myself entirely upon thee!

       MARQUIS.
       The king, I hear, is going to Madrid.
       The time is short. If with the queen you would
       Converse in private, it is only here,
       Here in Aranjuez, it can be done.
       The quiet of the place, the freer manners,
       All favor you.

       CARLOS.
               And such, too, was my hope;
       But it, alas! was vain.

       MARQUIS.
                    Not wholly so.
       I go to wait upon her. If she be
       The same in Spain she was in Henry's court,
       She will be frank at least. And if I can
       Read any hope for Carlos in her looks—
       Find her inclined to grant an interview—
       Get her attendant ladies sent away——

       CARLOS.
       Most of them are my friends—especially
       The Countess Mondecar, whom I have gained
       By service to her son, my page.

       MARQUIS.
                        'Tis well;
       Be you at hand, and ready to appear,
       Whene'er I give the signal, prince.

       CARLOS.
                          I will,—
       Be sure I will:—and all good speed attend thee!

       MARQUIS.
       I will not lose a moment; so, farewell.

                      [Exeunt severally.

## SCENE III.

          The Queen's Residence in Aranjuez. The Pleasure Grounds,
          intersected by an avenue, terminated by the Queen's Palace.

          The QUEEN, DUCHESS OF OLIVAREZ, PRINCESS OF EBOLI, and MARCHIONESS
          OF MONDECAR, all advancing from the avenue.

       QUEEN (to the MARCHIONESS).
       I will have you beside me, Mondecar.
       The princess, with these merry eyes of hers,
       Has plagued me all the morning. See, she scarce
       Can hide the joy she feels to leave the country.

       EBOLI.
       'Twere idle to conceal, my queen, that I
       Shall be most glad to see Madrid once more.

       MONDECAR.
       And will your majesty not be so, too?
       Are you so grieved to quit Aranjuez?

       QUEEN.
       To quit—this lovely spot at least I am.
       This is my world. Its sweetness oft and oft
       Has twined itself around my inmost heart.
       Here, nature, simple, rustic nature greets me,
       The sweet companion of my early years—
       Here I indulge once more my childhood's sports,
       And my dear France's gales come blowing here.
       Blame not this partial fondness—all hearts yearn
       For their own native land.

       EBOLI.
                     But then how lone,
       How dull and lifeless it is here! We might
       As well be in La Trappe.

       QUEEN.
                    I cannot see it.
       To me Madrid alone is lifeless. But
       What saith our duchess to it?

       OLIVAREZ.
                       Why, methinks,
       Your majesty, since kings have ruled in Spain,
       It hath been still the custom for the court
       To pass the summer months alternately
       Here and at Pardo,—in Madrid, the winter.

       QUEEN.
       Well, I suppose it has! Duchess, you know
       I've long resigned all argument with you.

       MONDECAR.
       Next month Madrid will be all life and bustle.
       They're fitting up the Plaza Mayor now,
       And we shall have rare bull-fights; and, besides,
       A grand auto da fe is promised us.

       QUEEN.
       Promised? This from my gentle Mondecar!

       MONDECAR.
       Why not? 'Tis only heretics they burn!

       QUEEN.
       I hope my Eboli thinks otherwise!

       EBOLI.
       What, I? I beg your majesty may think me
       As good a Christian as the marchioness.

       QUEEN.
       Alas! I had forgotten where I am,—
       No more of this! We were speaking, I think,
       About the country? And methinks this month
       Has flown away with strange rapidity.
       I counted on much pleasure, very much,
       From our retirement here, and yet I have not
       Found that which I expected. Is it thus
       With all our hopes? And yet I cannot say
       One wish of mine is left ungratified.

       OLIVAREZ.
       You have not told us, Princess Eboli,
       If there be hope for Gomez,—and if we may
       Expect ere long to greet you as his bride?

       QUEEN.
       True—thank you, duchess, for reminding me!
               [Addressing the PRINCESS.
       I have been asked to urge his suit with you.
       But can I do it? The man whom I reward
       With my sweet Eboli must be a man
       Of noble stamp indeed.

       OLIVAREZ.
                   And such he is,
       A man of mark and fairest fame,—a man
       Whom our dear monarch signally has graced
       With his most royal favor.

       QUEEN.
                     He's happy in
       Such high good fortune; but we fain would know,
       If he can love, and win return of love.
       This Eboli must answer.

       EBOLI (stands speechless and confused, her eyes bent on the ground;
           at last she falls at the QUEEN's feet).
                   Gracious queen!
       Have pity on me! Let me—let me not,—
       For heaven's sake, let me not be sacrificed.

       QUEEN.
       Be sacrificed! I need no more. Arise!
       'Tis a hard fortune to be sacrificed.
       I do believe you. Rise. And is it long
       Since you rejected Gomez' suit?

       EBOLI.
                        Some months—
       Before Prince Carlos came from Alcala.

       QUEEN (starts and looks at her with an inquisitive glance).
       Have you tried well the grounds of your refusal?

       EBOLI (with energy).
       It cannot be, my queen, no, never, never,—
       For a thousand reasons, never!

       QUEEN.
                       One's enough,
       You do not love him. That suffices me.
       Now let it pass.
               [To her other ladies.
                I have not seen the Infanta
       Yet this morning. Pray bring her, marchioness.

       OLIVAREZ (looking at the clock).
       It is not yet the hour, your majesty.

       QUEEN.
       Not yet the hour for me to be a mother!
       That's somewhat hard. Forget not, then, to tell me
       When the right hour does come.

          [A page enters and whispers to the first lady, who
          thereupon turns to the QUEEN.

       OLIVAREZ.
                       The Marquis Posa!
       May it please your majesty.

       QUEEN.
                      The Marquis Posa!

       OLIVAREZ.
       He comes from France, and from the Netherlands,
       And craves the honor to present some letters
       Intrusted to him by your royal mother.

       QUEEN.
       Is this allowed?

       OLIVAREZ (hesitating).
                A case so unforeseen
       Is not provided for in my instructions.
       When a Castilian grandee, with despatches
       From foreign courts, shall in her garden find
       The Queen of Spain, and tender them——

       QUEEN.
       Enough! I'll venture, then, on mine own proper peril.

       OLIVAREZ.
       May I, your majesty, withdraw the while?

       QUEEN.
       E'en as you please, good duchess!

          [Exit the DUCHESS, the QUEEN gives the PAGE a sign, who
          thereupon retires.

## SCENE IV.

          The QUEEN, PRINCESS EBOLI, MARCHIONESS OF MONDECAR, and
          MARQUIS OF POSA.

       QUEEN.
       I bid you welcome, sir, to Spanish ground!

       MARQUIS.
       Ground which I never with so just a pride
       Hailed for the country of my sires as now.

       QUEEN (to the two ladies).
       The Marquis Posa, ladies, who at Rheims
       Coped with my father in the lists, and made
       My colors thrice victorious; the first
       That made me feel how proud a thing it was
       To be the Queen of Spain and Spanish men.
              [Turning to the MARQUIS.
       When we last parted in the Louvre, Sir,
       You scarcely dreamed that I should ever be
       Your hostess in Castile.

       MARQUIS.
                    Most true, my liege!
       For at that time I never could have dreamed
       That France should lose to us the only thing
       We envied her possessing.

       QUEEN.
                     How, proud Spaniard!
       The only thing! And you can venture this—
       This to a daughter of the house of Valois!

       MARQUIS.
       I venture now to say it, gracious queen,
       Since now you are our own.

       QUEEN.
                     Your journey hither
       Has led you, as I hear, through France. What news
       Have you brought with you from my honored mother
       And from my dearest brothers?

       MARQUIS (handing letters).
       I left your royal mother sick at heart,
       Bereft of every joy save only this,
       To know her daughter happy on the throne
       Of our imperial Spain.

       QUEEN.
                   Could she be aught
       But happy in the dear remembrances
       Of relatives so kind—in the sweet thoughts
       Of the old time when—Sir, you've visited
       Full many a court in these your various travels,
       And seen strange lands and customs manifold;
       And now, they say, you mean to keep at home
       A greater prince in your retired domain
       Than is King Philip on his throne—a freer.
       You're a philosopher; but much I doubt
       If our Madrid will please you. We are so—
       So quiet in Madrid.

       MARQUIS.
                  And that is more
       Than all the rest of Europe has to boast.

       QUEEN.
       I've heard as much. But all this world's concerns
       Are well-nigh blotted from my memory.
                   [To PRINCESS EBOLI.
       Princess, methinks I see a hyacinth
       Yonder in bloom. Wilt bring it to me, sweet?

          [The PRINCESS goes towards the palace, the QUEEN
          softly to the MARQUIS.

       I'm much mistaken, sir, or your arrival
       Has made one heart more happy here at court.

       MARQUIS.
       I have found a sad one—one that in this world
       A ray of sunshine——

       EBOLI.
                  As this gentleman
       Has seen so many countries, he, no doubt,
       Has much of note to tell us.

       MARQUIS.
                      Doubtless, and
       To seek adventures is a knight's first duty—
       But his most sacred is to shield the fair.

       MONDECAR.
       From giants! But there are no giants now!

       MARQUIS.
       Power is a giant ever to the weak.

       QUEEN.
       The chevalier says well. There still are giants;
       But there are knights no more.

       MARQUIS.
                       Not long ago,
       On my return from Naples, I became
       The witness of a very touching story,
       Which ties of friendship almost make my own
       Were I not fearful its recital might
       Fatigue your majesty——

       QUEEN.
                   Have I a choice?
       The princess is not to be lightly balked.
       Proceed. I too, sir, love a story dearly.

       MARQUIS.
       Two noble houses in Mirandola,
       Weary of jealousies and deadly feuds,
       Transmitted down from Guelphs and Ghibellines,
       Through centuries of hate, from sire to son,
       Resolved to ratify a lasting peace
       By the sweet ministry of nuptial ties.
       Fernando, nephew of the great Pietro,
       And fair Matilda, old Colonna's child,
       Were chosen to cement this holy bond.
       Nature had never for each other formed
       Two fairer hearts. And never had the world
       Approved a wiser or a happier choice.
       Still had the youth adored his lovely bride
       In the dull limner's portraiture alone.
       How thrilled his heart, then, in the hope to find
       The truth of all that e'en his fondest dreams
       Had scarcely dared to credit in her picture!
       In Padua, where his studies held him bound;
       Fernando panted for the joyful hour,
       When he might murmur at Matilda's feet
       The first pure homage of his fervent love.

          [The QUEEN grows more attentive; the MARQUIS continues, after
          a short pause, addressing himself chiefly to PRINCESS EBOLI.

       Meanwhile the sudden death of Pietro's wife
       Had left him free to wed. With the hot glow
       Of youthful blood the hoary lover drinks
       The fame that reached him of Matilda's charms.
       He comes—he sees—he loves! The new desire
       Stifles the voice of nature in his heart.
       The uncle woos his nephew's destined bride,
       And at the altar consecrates his theft.

       QUEEN.
       And what did then Fernando?

       MARQUIS.
                      On the wings
       Of Jove, unconscious of the fearful change,
       Delirious with the promised joy, he speeds
       Back to Mirandola. His flying steed
       By starlight gains the gate. Tumultuous sounds
       Of music, dance, and jocund revelry
       Ring from the walls of the illumined palace.
       With faltering steps he mounts the stair; and now
       Behold him in the crowded nuptial hall,
       Unrecognized! Amid the reeling guests
       Pietro sat. An angel at his side—
       An angel, whom he knows, and who to him
       Even in his dreams, seemed ne'er so beautiful.
       A single glance revealed what once was his—
       Revealed what now was lost to him forever.

       EBOLI.
       O poor Fernando!

       QUEEN.
                Surely, sir, your tale
       Is ended? Nay, it must be.

       MARQUIS.
                      No, not quite.

       QUEEN.
       Did you not say Fernando was your friend?

       MARQUIS.
       I have no dearer in the world.

       EBOLI.
                       But pray
       Proceed, sir, with your story.

       MARQUIS.
                       Nay, the rest
       Is very sad—and to recall it sets
       My sorrow fresh abroach. Spare me the sequel.

                  [A general silence.

       QUEEN (turning to the PRINCESS EBOLI).
       Surely the time is come to see my daughter,
       I prithee, princess, bring her to me now!

          [The PRINCESS withdraws. The MARQUIS beckons a Page. The QUEEN
          opens the letters, and appears surprised. The MARQUIS talks with
          MARCHIONESS MONDECAR. The QUEEN having read the letters, turns to
          the MARQUIS with a penetrating look.

       QUEEN.
       You have not spoken of Matilda! She
       Haply was ignorant of Fernando's grief?

       MARQUIS.
       Matilda's heart has no one fathomed yet—
       Great souls endure in silence.

       QUEEN.
       You look around you. Who is it you seek?

       MARQUIS.
       Just then the thought came over me, how one,
       Whose name I dare not mention, would rejoice,
       Stood he where I do now.

       QUEEN.
                    And who's to blame,
       That he does not?

       MARQUIS (interrupting her eagerly).
                 My liege! And dare I venture
       To interpret thee, as fain I would? He'd find
       Forgiveness, then, if now he should appear.

       QUEEN (alarmed).
       Now, marquis, now? What do you mean by this?

       MARQUIS.
       Might he, then, hope?

       QUEEN.
                   You terrify me, marquis.
       Surely he will not——

       MARQUIS.
                  He is here already.

## SCENE V.

          The QUEEN, CARLOS, MARQUIS POSA, MARCHIONESS MONDECAR.
          The two latter go towards the avenue.

       CARLOS (on his knees before the QUEEN).
       At length 'tis come—the happy moment's come,
       And Charles may touch this all-beloved hand.

       QUEEN.
       What headlong folly's this? And dare you break
       Into my presence thus? Arise, rash man!
       We are observed; my suite are close at hand.

       CARLOS.
       I will not rise. Here will I kneel forever,
       Here will I lie enchanted at your feet,
       And grow to the dear ground you tread on?

       QUEEN.
       Madman! To what rude boldness my indulgence leads!
       Know you, it is the queen, your mother, sir,
       Whom you address in such presumptuous strain?
       Know, that myself will to the king report
       This bold intrusion——

       CARLOS.
                   And that I must die!
       Let them come here, and drag me to the scaffold!
       A moment spent in paradise like this
       Is not too dearly purchased by a life.

       QUEEN.
       But then your queen?

       CARLOS (rising).
                  O God, I'll go, I'll go!
       Can I refuse to bend to that appeal?
       I am your very plaything. Mother, mother,
       A sign, a transient glance, one broken word
       From those dear lips can bid me live or die.
       What would you more? Is there beneath the sun
       One thing I would not haste to sacrifice
       To meet your lightest wish?

       QUEEN.
                      Then fly!

       CARLOS.
                           God!

       QUEEN.
       With tears I do conjure you, Carlos, fly!
       I ask no more. O fly! before my court,
       My guards, detecting us alone together,
       Bear the dread tidings to your father's ear.

       CARLOS.
       I bide my doom, or be it life or death.
       Have I staked every hope on this one moment,
       Which gives thee to me thus at length alone,
       That idle fears should balk me of my purpose?
       No, queen! The world may round its axis roll
       A hundred thousand times, ere chance again
       Yield to my prayers a moment such as this.

       QUEEN.
       It never shall to all eternity.
       Unhappy man! What would you ask of me?

       CARLOS.
       Heaven is my witness, queen, how I have struggled,
       Struggled as mortal never did before,
       But all in vain! My manhood fails—I yield.

       QUEEN.
       No more of this—for my sake—for my peace.

       CARLOS.
       You were mine own,—in face of all the world,—
       Affianced to me by two mighty crowns,
       By heaven and nature plighted as my bride,
       But Philip, cruel Philip, stole you from me!

       QUEEN.
       He is your father?

       CARLOS.
                 And he is your husband!

       QUEEN.
       And gives to you for an inheritance,
       The mightiest monarchy in all the world.

       CARLOS.
       And you, as mother!

       QUEEN.
                  Mighty heavens! You rave!

       CARLOS.
       And is he even conscious of his treasure?
       Hath he a heart to feel and value yours?
       I'll not complain—no, no, I will forget,
       How happy, past all utterance, I might
       Have been with you,—if he were only so.
       But he is not—there, there, the anguish lies!
       He is not, and he never—never can be.
       Oh, you have robbed me of my paradise,
       Only to blast it in King Philip's arms!

       QUEEN.
       Horrible thought!

       CARLOS.
                 Oh, yes, right well I know
       Who 'twas that knit this ill-starred marriage up.
       I know how Philip loves, and how he wooed.
       What are you in this kingdom—tell me, what?
       Regent, belike! Oh, no! If such you were,
       How could fell Alvas act their murderous deeds,
       Or Flanders bleed a martyr for her faith?
       Are you even Philip's wife? Impossible,—
       Beyond belief. A wife doth still possess
       Her husband's heart. To whom doth his belong?
       If ever, perchance, in some hot feverish mood,
       He yields to gentler impulse, begs he not
       Forgiveness of his sceptre and gray hairs?

       QUEEN.
       Who told you that my lot, at Philip's side
       Was one for men to pity?

       CARLOS.
                    My own heart!
       Which feels, with burning pangs, how at my side
       It had been to be envied.

       QUEEN.
                     Thou vain man!
       What if my heart should tell me the reverse?
       How, sir, if Philip's watchful tenderness,
       The looks that silently proclaim his love,
       Touched me more deeply than his haughty son's
       Presumptuous eloquence? What, if an old man's
       Matured esteem——

       CARLOS.
                That makes a difference! Then,
       Why then, forgiveness!—I'd no thought of this;
       I had no thought that you could love the king.

       QUEEN.
       To honor him's my pleasure and my wish.

       CARLOS.
       Then you have never loved?

       QUEEN.
                     Singular question!

       CARLOS.
       Then you have never loved?

       QUEEN.
                     I love no longer!

       CARLOS.
       Because your heart forbids it, or your oath?

       QUEEN.
       Leave me; nor never touch this theme again.

       CARLOS.
       Because your oath forbids it, or your heart?

       QUEEN.
       Because my duty—but, alas, alas!
       To what avails this scrutiny of fate,
       Which we must both obey?

       CARLOS.
                    Must—must obey?

       QUEEN.
       What means this solemn tone?

       CARLOS.
                      Thus much it means
       That Carlos is not one to yield to must
       Where he hath power to will! It means, besides,
       'That Carlos is not minded to live on,
       The most unhappy man in all his realm,
       When it would only cost the overthrow
       Of Spanish laws to be the happiest.

       QUEEN.
       Do I interpret rightly? Still you hope?
       Dare you hope on, when all is lost forever?

       CARLOS.
       I look on naught as lost—except the dead.

       QUEEN.
       For me—your mother, do you dare to hope?

          [She fixes a penetrating look on him, then continues
          with dignity and earnestness.

       And yet why not? A new elected monarch
       Can do far more—make bonfires of the laws
       His father left—o'erthrow his monuments—
       Nay, more than this—for what shall hinder him?—
       Drag from his tomb, in the Escurial,
       The sacred corpse of his departed sire,
       Make it a public spectacle, and scatter
       Forth to the winds his desecrated dust.
       And then, at last, to fill the measure up——

       CARLOS.
       Merciful heavens, finish not the picture!

       QUEEN.
       End all by wedding with his mother.

       CARLOS.
                          Oh!
       Accursed son!
          [He remains for some time paralyzed and speechless.
               Yes, now 'tis out, 'tis out!
       I see it clear as day. Oh, would it had
       Been veiled from me in everlasting darkness!
       Yes, thou art gone from me—gone—gone forever.
       The die is cast; and thou art lost to me.
       Oh, in that thought lies hell; and a hell, too,
       Lies in the other thought, to call thee mine.
       Oh, misery! I can bear my fate no longer,
       My very heart-strings strain as they would burst.

       QUEEN.
       Alas, alas! dear Charles, I feel it all,
       The nameless pang that rages in your breast;
       Your pangs are infinite, as is your love,
       And infinite as both will be the glory
       Of overmastering both. Up, be a man,
       Wrestle with them boldly. The prize is worthy
       Of a young warrior's high, heroic heart;
       Worthy of him in whom the virtues flow
       Of a long ancestry of mighty kings.
       Courage! my noble prince! Great Charles's grandson
       Begins the contest with undaunted heart,
       Where sons of meaner men would yield at once.

       CARLOS.
       Too late, too late! O God, it is too late!

       QUEEN.
       Too late to be a man! O Carlos, Carlos!
       How nobly shows our virtue when the heart
       Breaks in its exercise! The hand of Heaven
       Has set you up on high,—far higher, prince,
       Than millions of your brethren. All she took
       From others she bestowed with partial hand
       On thee, her favorite; and millions ask,
       What was your merit, thus before your birth
       To be endowed so far above mankind?
       Up, then, and justify the ways of Heaven;
       Deserve to take the lead of all the world,
       And make a sacrifice ne'er made before.

       CARLOS.
       I will, I will; I have a giant's strength
       To win your favor; but to lose you, none.

       QUEEN.
       Confess, my Carlos, I have harshly read thee;
       It is but spoken, and waywardness, and pride,
       Attract you thus so madly to your mother!
       The heart you lavish on myself belongs
       To the great empire you one day shall rule.
       Look that you sport not with your sacred trust!
       Love is your high vocation; until now
       It hath been wrongly bent upon your mother:
       Oh, lead it back upon your future realms,
       And so, instead of the fell stings of conscience,
       Enjoy the bliss of being more than man.
       Elizabeth has been your earliest love,
       Your second must be Spain. How gladly, Carlos,
       Will I give place to this more worthy choice!

       CARLOS (overpowered by emotion, throws himself at her feet).
       How great thou art, my angel! Yes, I'll do
       All, all thou canst desire. So let it be.
                      [He rises.
       Here in the sight of heaven I stand and swear—
       I swear to thee, eternal—no, great Heaven!—
       Eternal silence only,—not oblivion!

       QUEEN.
       How can I ask from you what I myself
       Am not disposed to grant?

       MARQUIS (hastening from the alley).
                     The king!

       QUEEN.
                          Oh God!

       MARQUIS.
       Away, away! fly from these precincts, prince!

       QUEEN.
       His jealousy is dreadful—should he see you——

       CARLOS.
       I'll stay.

       QUEEN.
             And who will be the victim then?

       CARLOS (seizing the MARQUIS by the arm).
       Away, away! Come, Roderigo, come!
                  [Goes and returns.
       What may I hope to carry hence with me?

       QUEEN.
       Your mother's friendship.

       CARLOS.
                     Friendship! Mother!

       QUEEN.
                                And
       These tears with it—they're from the Netherlands.

          [She gives him some letters. Exit CARLOS with the MARQUIS.
          The QUEEN looks restlessly round in search of her ladies,
          who are nowhere to be seen. As she is about to retire up,
          the KING enters.

## SCENE VI.

          The KING, the QUEEN, DUKE ALVA, COUNT LERMA, DOMINGO,
          LADIES, GRANDEES, who remain at a little distance.

       KING.
       How, madam, alone; not even one of all
       Your ladies in attendance? Strange! Where are they?

       QUEEN.
       My gracious lord!

       KING.
                 Why thus alone, I say?
          [To his attendants.
       I'll take a strict account of this neglect.
       'Tis not to be forgiven. Who has the charge
       Of waiting on your majesty to-day?

       QUEEN.
       Oh, be not angry! Good, my lord, 'tis I
       Myself that am to blame—at my request
       The Princess Eboli went hence but now.

       KING.
       At your request!

       QUEEN.
                To call the nurse to me,
       With the Infanta, whom I longed to see.

       KING.
       And was your retinue dismissed for that?
       This only clears the lady first in waiting.
       Where was the second?

       MONDECAR (who has returned and mixed with the other ladies,
            steps forward).
                   Your majesty, I feel
       I am to blame for this.

       KING.
                    You are, and so
       I give you ten years to reflect upon it,
       At a most tranquil distance from Madrid.

          [The MARCHIONESS steps back weeping. General silence.
          The bystanders all look in confusion towards the QUEEN.

       QUEEN.
       What weep you for, dear marchioness?
                       [To the KING.
                          If I
       Have erred, my gracious liege, the crown I wear,
       And which I never sought, should save my blushes
       Is there a law in this your kingdom, sire,
       To summon monarch's daughters to the bar?
       Does force alone restrain your Spanish ladies?
       Or need they stronger safeguard than their virtue?
       Now pardon me, my liege; 'tis not my wont
       To send my ladies, who have served me still
       With smiling cheerfulness, away in tears.
       Here, Mondecar.

          [She takes off her girdle and presents it to the MARCHIONESS.

                You have displeased the king,
       Not me. Take this remembrance of my favor,
       And of this hour. I'd have you quit the kingdom.
       You have only erred in Spain. In my dear France,
       All men are glad to wipe such tears away.
       And must I ever be reminded thus?
       In my dear France it had been otherwise.

          [Leaning on the MARCHIONESS and covering her face.

       KING.
       Can a reproach, that in my love had birth,
       Afflict you so? A word so trouble you,
       Which the most anxious tenderness did prompt?
              [He turns towards the GEANDEES.
       Here stand the assembled vassals of my throne.
       Did ever sleep descend upon these eyes,
       Till at the close of the returning day
       I've pondered, how the hearts of all my subjects
       Were beating 'neath the furthest cope of heaven?
       And should I feel more anxious for my throne
       Than for the partner of my bosom? No!
       My sword and Alva can protect my people,
       My eye alone assures thy love.

       QUEEN.
                       My liege,
       If that I have offended——

       KING.
                     I am called
       The richest monarch in the Christian world;
       The sun in my dominions never sets.
       All this another hath possessed before,
       And many another will possess hereafter.
       That is mine own. All that the monarch hath
       Belongs to chance—Elizabeth to Philip.
       This is the point in which I feel I'm mortal.

       QUEEN.
       What fear you, sire?

       KING.
                  Should these gray hairs not fear?
       But the same instant that my fear begins
       It dies away forever.
                     [To the grandees.
                   I run over
       The nobles of my court and miss the foremost.
       Where is my son, Don Carlos?
                   [No one answers.
                      He begins
       To give me cause of fear. He shuns my presence
       Since he came back from school at Alcala.
       His blood is hot. Why is his look so cold?
       His bearing all so stately and reserved?
       Be watchful, duke, I charge you.

       ALVA.
                        So I am:
       Long as a heart against this corslet beats,
       So long may Philip slumber undisturbed;
       And as God's cherub guards the gates of heaven
       So doth Duke Alva guard your royal throne.

       LERMA.
       Dare I, in all humility, presume
       To oppose the judgment of earth's wisest king?
       Too deeply I revere his gracious sire
       To judge the son so harshly. I fear much
       From his hot blood, but nothing from his heart.

       KING.
       Lerma, your speech is fair to soothe the father,
       But Alva here will be the monarch's shield—
       No more of this.
                  [Turning to his suite.
                Now speed we to Madrid,
       Our royal duties summon us. The plague
       Of heresy is rife among my people;
       Rebellion stalks within my Netherlands—
       The times are imminent. We must arrest
       These erring spirits by some dread example.
       The solemn oath which every Christian king
       Hath sworn to keep I will redeem to-morrow.
       'Twill be a day of doom unparalleled.
       Our court is bidden to the festival.

          [He leads off the QUEEN, the rest follow.

## SCENE VII.

          DON CARLOS (with letters in his hand), and MARQUIS POSA
          enter from opposite sides.

       CARLOS.
       I am resolved—Flanders shall yet be saved:
       So runs her suit, and that's enough for me!

       MARQUIS.
       There's not another moment to be lost:
       'Tis said Duke Alva in the cabinet
       Is named already as the governor.

       CARLOS.
       Betimes to-morrow will I see the king
       And ask this office for myself. It is
       The first request I ever made to him,
       And he can scarce refuse. My presence here
       Has long been irksome to him. He will grasp
       This fair pretence my absence to secure.
       And shall I confess to thee, Roderigo?
       My hopes go further. Face to face with him,
       'Tis possible the pleading of a son
       May reinstate him in his father's favor.
       He ne'er hath heard the voice of nature speak;
       Then let me try for once, my Roderigo,
       What power she hath when breathing from my lips.

       MARQUIS.
       Now do I hear my Carlos' voice once more;
       Now are you all yourself again!

## SCENE VIII.

          The preceding. COUNT LERMA.

       COUNT.
                   Your grace,
       His majesty has left Aranjuez;
       And I am bidden——

       CARLOS.
                 Very well, my lord—
       I shall overtake the king——

       MARQUIS (affecting to take leave with ceremony).
                      Your highness, then,
       Has nothing further to intrust to me?

       CARLOS.
       Nothing. A pleasant journey to Madrid!
       You may, hereafter, tell me more of Flanders.

          [To LERMA, who is waiting for him.

       Proceed, my lord! I'll follow thee anon.

## SCENE IX.

          DON CARLOS, MARQUIS POSA.

       CARLOS.
       I understood thy hint, and thank thee for it.
       A stranger's presence can alone excuse
       This forced and measured tone. Are we not brothers?
       In future, let this puppet-play of rank
       Be banished from our friendship. Think that we
       Had met at some gay masking festival,
       Thou in the habit of a slave, and I
       Robed, for a jest, in the imperial purple.
       Throughout the revel we respect the cheat,
       And play our parts with sportive earnestness,
       Tripping it gayly with the merry throng;
       But should thy Carlos beckon through his mask,
       Thou'dst press his hand in silence as he passed,
       And we should be as one.

       MARQUIS.
                    The dream's divine!
       But are you sure that it will last forever?
       Is Carlos, then, so certain of himself
       As to despise the charms of boundless sway?
       A day will come—an all-important day—
       When this heroic mind—I warn you now—
       Will sink o'erwhelmed by too severe a test.
       Don Philip dies; and Carlos mounts the throne,
       The mightiest throne in Christendom. How vast
       The gulf that yawns betwixt mankind and him—
       A god to-day, who yesterday was man!
       Steeled to all human weakness—to the voice
       Of heavenly duty deaf. Humanity—
       To-day a word of import in his ear—
       Barters itself, and grovels 'mid the throng
       Of gaping parasites; his sympathy
       For human woe is turned to cold neglect,
       His virtue sunk in loose voluptuous joys.
       Peru supplies him riches for his folly,
       His court engenders devils for his vices.
       Lulled in this heaven the work of crafty slaves,
       He sleeps a charmed sleep; and while his dream
       Endures his godhead lasts. And woe to him
       Who'd break in pity this lethargic trance!
       What could Roderigo do? Friendship is true,
       And bold as true. But her bright flashing beams
       Were much too fierce for sickly majesty:
       You would not brook a subject's stern appeal,
       Nor I a monarch's pride!

       CARLOS.
                    Tearful and true,
       Thy portraiture of monarchs. Yes—thou'rt right,
       But 'tis their lusts that thus corrupt their hearts,
       And hurry them to vice. I still am pure.
       A youth scarce numbering three-and-twenty years.
       What thousands waste in riotous delights,
       Without remorse—the mind's more precious part—
       The bloom and strength of manhood—I have kept,
       Hoarding their treasures for the future king.
       What could unseat my Posa from my heart,
       If woman fail to do it?

       MARQUIS.
                    I, myself!
       Say, could I love you, Carlos, warm as now,
       If I must fear you?

       CARLOS.
                  That will never be.
       What need hast thou of me? What cause hast thou
       To stoop thy knee, a suppliant at the throne?
       Does gold allure thee? Thou'rt a richer subject
       Than I shall be a king! Dost covet honors?
       E'en in thy youth, fame's brimming chalice stood
       Full in thy grasp—thou flung'st the toy away.
       Which of us, then, must be the other's debtor,
       And which the creditor? Thou standest mute.
       Dost tremble for the trial? Art thou, then,
       Uncertain of thyself?

       MARQUIS.
                   Carlos, I yield!
       Here is my band.

       CARLOS.
                Is it mine own?

       MARQUIS.
                         Forever—
       In the most pregnant meaning of the word!

       CARLOS.
       And wilt thou prove hereafter to the king
       As true and warm as to the prince to-day?

       MARQUIS.
       I swear!

       CARLOS.
            And when round my unguarded heart
       The serpent flattery winds its subtle coil,
       Should e'er these eyes of mine forget the tears
       They once were wont to shed; or should these ears
       Be closed to mercy's plea,—say, wilt thou, then,
       The fearless guardian of my virtue, throw
       Thine iron grasp upon me, and call up
       My genius by its mighty name?

       MARQUIS.
                       I will.

       CARLOS.
       And now one other favor let me beg.
       Do call me thou! Long have I envied this
       Dear privilege of friendship to thine equals.
       The brother's thou beguiles my ear, my heart,
       With sweet suggestions of equality.
       Nay, no reply:—I guess what thou wouldst say—
       To thee this seems a trifle—but to me,
       A monarch's son, 'tis much. Say, wilt thou be
       A brother to me?

       MARQUIS.
                Yes; thy brother, yes!

       CARLOS.
       Now to the king—my fears are at an end.
       Thus, arm-in-arm with thee, I dare defy
       The universal world into the lists.

                       [Exeunt.

## ACT II.

## SCENE I.

          The royal palace at Madrid.

          KING PHILIP under a canopy; DUKE ALVA at some distance,
          with his head covered; CARLOS.

       CARLOS.
       The kingdom takes precedence—willingly
       Doth Carlos to the minister give place—
       He speaks for Spain; I am but of the household.

              [Bows and steps backward.

       KING.
       The duke remains—the Infanta may proceed.

       CARLOS (turning to ALVA).
       Then must I put it to your honor, sir,
       To yield my father for a while to me.
       A son, you know, may to a father's ear
       Unbosom much, in fulness of his heart,
       That not befits a stranger's ear. The king
       Shall not be taken from you, sir—I seek
       The father only for one little hour.

       KING.
       Here stands his friend.

       CARLOS.
                    And have I e'er deserved
       To think the duke should be a friend of mine?

       KING.
       Or tried to make him one? I scarce can love
       Those sons who choose more wisely than their fathers.

       CARLOS.
       And can Duke Alva's knightly spirit brook
       To look on such a scene? Now, as I live,
       I would not play the busy meddler's part,
       Who thrusts himself, unasked, 'twixt sire and son,
       And there intrudes without a blush, condemned
       By his own conscious insignificance,
       No, not, by heaven, to win a diadem!

       KING (rising, with an angry look at the Prince).
       Retire, my lord!

          [ALVA goes to the principal door, through which CARLOS
          had entered, the KING points to the other.

                No, to the cabinet,
       Until I call you.

## SCENE II.

          KING PHILIP. DON CARLOS.

       CARLOS (as soon as the DUKE has left the apartment, advances to the KING,
           throws himself at his feet, and then, with great emotion).
                 My father once again!
       Thanks, endless thanks, for this unwonted favor!
       Your hand, my father! O delightful day!
       The rapture of this kiss has long been strange
       To your poor Carlos. Wherefore have I been
       Shut from my father's heart? What have I done?

       KING.
       Carlos, thou art a novice in these arts—
       Forbear, I like them not——

       CARLOS (rising).
                     And is it so?
       I hear your courtiers in those words, my father!
       All is not well, by heaven, all is not true,
       That a priest says, and a priest's creatures plot.
       I am not wicked, father; ardent blood
       Is all my failing;—all my crime is youth;—
       Wicked I am not—no, in truth, not wicked;—
       Though many an impulse wild assails my heart,
       Yet is it still untainted.

       KING.
                     Ay, 'tis pure—
       I know it—like thy prayers——

       CARLOS.
                       Now, then, or never!
       We are, for once, alone—the barrier
       Of courtly form, that severed sire and son
       Has fallen! Now a golden ray of hope
       Illumes my soul—a sweet presentment
       Pervades my heart—and heaven itself inclines,
       With choirs of joyous angels, to the earth,
       And full of soft emotion, the thrice blest
       Looks down upon this great, this glorious scene!
       Pardon, my father!

          [He falls on his knees before him.

       KING.
                 Rise, and leave me.

       CARLOS.
                            Father!

       KING (tearing himself from him).
       This trifling grows too bold.

       CARLOS.
                       A son's devotion
       Too bold! Alas!

       KING.
                And, to crown all, in tears!
       Degraded boy! Away, and quit my sight!

       CARLOS.
       Now, then, or never!—pardon, O my father!

       KING.
       Away, and leave my sight! Return to me
       Disgraced, defeated, from the battle-field,
       Thy sire shall meet thee with extended arms:
       But thus in tears, I spurn thee from my feet.
       A coward's guilt alone should wash its stains
       In such ignoble streams. The man who weeps
       Without a blush will ne'er want cause for tears!

       CARLOS.
       Who is this man? By what mistake of nature
       Has he thus strayed amongst mankind? A tear
       Is man's unerring, lasting attribute.
       Whose eye is dry was ne'er of woman born!
       Oh, teach the eye that ne'er hath overflowed,
       The timely science of a tear—thou'lt need
       The moist relief in some dark hour of woo.

       KING.
       Think'st thou to shake thy father's strong mistrust
       With specious words?

       CARLOS.
                  Mistrust! Then I'll remove it.
       Here will I hang upon my father's breast,
       Strain at his heart with vigor, till each shred
       Of that mistrust, which, with a rock's endurance,
       Clings firmly round it, piecemeal fall away.
       And who are they who drive me from the king—
       My father's favor? What requital hath
       A monk to give a father for a son?
       What compensation can the duke supply
       For a deserted and a childless age?
       Would'st thou be loved? Here in this bosom springs
       A fresher, purer fountain, than e'er flowed
       From those dark, stagnant, muddy reservoirs,
       Which Philip's gold must first unlock.

       KING.
                           No more,
       Presuming boy! For know the hearts thou slanderest
       Are the approved, true servants of my choice.
       'Tis meet that thou do honor to them.

       CARLOS.
                           Never!
       I know my worth—all that your Alva dares—
       That, and much more, can Carlos. What cares he,
       A hireling! for the welfare of the realm
       That never can be his? What careth he
       If Philip's hair grow gray with hoary age?
       Your Carlos would have loved you:—Oh, I dread
       To think that you the royal throne must fill
       Deserted and alone.

       KING (seemingly struck by this idea, stands in deep thought; after
          a pause).
                  I am alone!

       CARLOS (approaching him with eagerness).
       You have been so till now. Hate me no more,
       And I will love you dearly as a son:
       But hate me now no longer! Oh, how sweet,
       Divinely sweet it is to feel our being
       Reflected in another's beauteous soul;
       To see our joys gladden another's cheek,
       Our pains bring anguish to another's bosom,
       Our sorrows fill another's eye with tears!
       How sweet, how glorious is it, hand in hand,
       With a dear child, in inmost soul beloved,
       To tread once more the rosy paths of youth,
       And dream life's fond illusions o'er again!
       How proud to live through endless centuries
       Immortal in the virtues of a son;
       How sweet to plant what his dear hand shall reap;
       To gather what will yield him rich return,
       And guess how high his thanks will one day rise!
       My father of this early paradise
       Your monks most wisely speak not.

       KING (not without emotion).
                         Oh, my son,
       Thou hast condemned thyself in painting thus
       A bliss this heart hath ne'er enjoyed from thee.

       CARLOS.
       The Omniscient be my judge! You till this hour
       Have still debarred me from your heart, and all
       Participation in your royal cares.
       The heir of Spain has been a very stranger
       In Spanish land—a prisoner in the realm
       Where he must one day rule. Say, was this just,
       Or kind? And often have I blushed for shame,
       And stood with eyes abashed, to learn perchance
       From foreign envoys, or the general rumor,
       Thy courtly doings at Aranjuez.

       KING.
       Thy blood flows far too hotly in thy veins.
       Thou would'st but ruin all.

       CARLOS.
                      But try me, father.
       'Tis true my blood flows hotly in my veins.
       Full three-and-twenty years I now have lived,
       And naught achieved for immortality.
       I am aroused—I feel my inward powers—
       My title to the throne arouses me
       From slumber, like an angry creditor;
       And all the misspent hours of early youth,
       Like debts of honor, clamor in mine ears.
       It comes at length, the glorious moment comes
       That claims full interest on the intrusted talent.
       The annals of the world, ancestral fame,
       And glory's echoing trumpet urge me on.
       Now is the blessed hour at length arrived
       That opens wide to me the list of honor.
       My king, my father! dare I utter now
       The suit which led me hither?

       KING.
                       Still a suit?
       Unfold it.

       CARLOS.
             The rebellion in Brabant
       Increases to a height—the traitor's madness
       By stern, but prudent, vigor must be met.
       The duke, to quell the wild enthusiasm,
       Invested with the sovereign's power, will lead
       An army into Flanders. Oh, how full
       Of glory is such office! and how suited
       To open wide the temple of renown
       To me, your son! To my hand, then, O king,
       Intrust the army; in thy Flemish lands
       I am well loved, and I will freely gage
       My life for their fidelity and truth.

       KING.
       Thou speakest like a dreamer. This high office
       Demands a man—and not a stripling's arm.

       CARLOS.
       It but demands a human being, father:
       And that is what Duke Alva ne'er hath been.

       KING.
       Terror alone can tie rebellion's hands:
       Humanity were madness. Thy soft soul
       Is tender, son: they'll tremble at the duke.
       Desist from thy request.

       CARLOS.
                    Despatch me, sire,
       To Flanders with the army—dare rely
       E'en on my tender soul. The name of prince,
       The royal name emblazoned on my standard,
       Conquers where Alva's butchers but dismay.
       Here on my knees I crave it—this the first
       Petition of my life. Trust Flanders to me.

       KING (contemplating CARLOS with a piercing look).
       Trust my best army to thy thirst for rule,
       And put a dagger in my murderer's hand!

       CARLOS.
       Great God! and is this all—is this the fruit
       Of a momentous hour so long desired!
             [After some thought, in a milder tone.
       Oh, speak to me more kindly—send me not
       Thus comfortless away—dismiss me not
       With this afflicting answer, oh, my father!
       Use me more tenderly, indeed, I need it.
       This is the last resource of wild despair—
       It conquers every power of firm resolve
       To beat it as a man—this deep contempt—
       My every suit denied: Let me away—
       Unheard and foiled in all my fondest hopes,
       I take my leave. Now Alva and Domingo
       May proudly sit in triumph where your son
       Lies weeping in the dust. Your crowd of courtiers,
       And your long train of cringing, trembling nobles,
       Your tribe of sallow monks, so deadly pale,
       All witnessed how you granted me this audience.
       Let me not be disgraced. Oh, strike me not
       With this most deadly wound—nor lay me bare
       To sneering insolence of menial taunts!
       "That strangers riot on your bounty, whilst
       Carlos, your son, may supplicate in vain."
       And as a pledge that you would have me honored,
       Despatch me straight to Flanders with the army.

       KING.
       Urge thy request no farther—as thou wouldst
       Avoid the king's displeasure.

       CARLOS.
                       I must brave
       My king's displeasure, and prefer my suit
       Once more, it is the last. Trust Flanders to me!
       I must away from Spain. To linger here
       Is to draw breath beneath the headsman's axe:
       The air lies heavy on me in Madrid
       Like murder on a guilty soul—a change,
       An instant change of clime alone can cure me.
       If you would save my life, despatch me straight
       Without delay to Flanders.

       KING (with affected coldness).
                     Invalids,
       Like thee, my son—need not be tended close,
       And ever watched by the physician's eye—
       Thou stayest in Spain—the duke will go to Flanders.

       CARLOS (wildly).
       Assist me, ye good angels!

       KING (starting).
                     Hold, what mean
       Those looks so wild?

       CARLOS.
                  Father, do you abide
       Immovably by this determination?

       KING.
       It was the king's.

       CARLOS.
                 Then my commission's done.

                  [Exit in violent emotion.

## SCENE III.

          King, sunk in gloomy contemplation, walks a few steps
          up and down; Alva approaches with embarrassment.

       KING.
       Hold yourself ready to depart for Brussels
       Upon a moment's notice.

       ALVA.
       All is prepared, my liege.

       KING.
                     And your credentials
       Lie ready sealed within my cabinet,—
       Meanwhile obtain an audience of the queen,
       And bid the prince farewell.

       ALVA.
                      As I came in
       I met him with a look of frenzy wild
       Quitting the chamber; and your majesty
       Is strangely moved, methinks, and bears the marks
       Of deep excitement—can it be the theme
       Of your discourse——

       KING.
                  Concerned the Duke of Alva.
          [The KING keeps his eye steadfastly fixed on him.
       I'm pleased that Carlos hates my councillors,
       But I'm disturbed that he despises them.
          [ALVA, coloring deeply, is about to speak.
       No answer now: propitiate the prince.

       ALVA.
       Sire!

       KING.
           Tell me who it was that warned me first
       Of my son's dark designs? I listened then
       To you, and not to him. I will have proof.
       And for the future, mark me, Carlos stands
       Nearer the throne—now duke—you may retire.

          [The KING retires into his cabinet. Exit DUKE by another door.

## SCENE IV.

          The antechamber to the QUEEN'S apartments. DON CARLOS enters in
          conversation with a PAGE. The attendants retire at his approach.

       CARLOS.
       For me this letter? And a key! How's this?
       And both delivered with such mystery!
       Come nearer, boy:—from whom didst thou receive them?

       PAGE (mysteriously).
       It seemed to me the lady would be guessed
       Rather than be described.

       CARLOS (starting).
                     The lady, what!
       Who art thou, boy?

               [Looking earnestly at the PAGE.

       PAGE.
       A page that serves the queen.

       CARLOS (affrighted, putting his hand to the PAGE's mouth).
       Hold, on your life! I know enough: no more.

          [He tears open the letter hastily, and retires to read it; meanwhile
          DUKE ALVA comes, and passing the Prince, goes unperceived by him
          into the QUEEN'S apartment, CARLOS trembles violently and changes
          color; when he has read the letter he remains a long time
          speechless, his eyes steadfastly fixed on it; at last he turns to
          the PAGE.

       She gave you this herself?

       PAGE.
                     With her own hands.

       CARLOS.
       She gave this letter to you then herself?
       Deceive me not: I ne'er have seen her writing,
       And I must credit thee, if thou canst swear it;
       But if thy tale be false, confess it straight,
       Nor put this fraud on me.

       PAGE.
                     This fraud, on whom?

       CARLOS (looking once more at the letter, then at the PAGE with doubt
           and earnestness).
       Your parents—are they living? and your father—
       Serves he the king? Is he a Spaniard born?

       PAGE.
       He fell a colonel on St. Quentin's field,
       Served in the cavalry of Savoy's duke—
       His name Alonzo, Count of Henarez.

       CARLOS (taking his hand, and looking fixedly in his eyes).
       The king gave you this letter?

       PAGE (with emotion).
                       Gracious prince,
       Have I deserved these doubts?

       CARLOS (reading the letter).
                       "This key unlocks
       The back apartments in the queen's pavilion,
       The furthest room lies next a cabinet
       Wherein no listener's foot dare penetrate;
       Here may the voice of love without restraint
       Confess those tender feelings, which till now
       The heart with silent looks alone hath spoken.
       The timid lover gains an audience here,
       And sweet reward repays his secret sorrow."

              [As if awakening from a reverie.

       I am not in a dream, do not rave,
       This is my right hand, this my sword—and these
       Are written words. 'Tis true—it is no dream.
       I am beloved, I feel I am beloved.

          [Unable to contain himself, he rushes hastily through the room,
          and raises his arms to heaven.

       PAGE.
       Follow me, prince, and I will lead the way.

       CARLOS.
       Then let me first collect my scattered thoughts.
       The alarm of joy still trembles in my bosom.
       Did I e'er lift my fondest hopes so high,
       Or trust my fancy to so bold a flight?
       Show me the man can learn thus suddenly
       To be a god. I am not what I was.
       I feel another heaven—another sun
       That was not here before. She loves—she loves me!

       PAGE (leading him forward).
       But this is not the place: prince! you forget.

       CARLOS.
       The king! My father!

          [His arms sink, he casts a timid look around, then
          collecting himself.

                   This is dreadful! Yes,
       You're right, my friend. I thank you: I was not
       Just then myself. To be compelled to silence,
       And bury in my heart this mighty bliss,
       Is terrible!

          [Taking the PAGE by the hand, and leading him aside.

              Now here! What thou hast seen,
       And what not seen, must be within thy breast
       Entombed as in the grave. So now depart;
       I shall not need thy guidance; they must not
       Surprise us here! Now go.

          [The PAGE is about to depart.

                     Yet hold, a word!

          [The PAGE returns. CARLOS lays his hand on his shoulder, and looks
          him steadily in the face.

       A direful secret hast thou in thy keeping,
       Which, like a poison of terrific power,
       Shivers the cup that holds it into atoms.
       Guard every look of thine, nor let thy head
       Guess at thy bosom's secret. Be thou like
       The senseless speaking-trumpet that receives
       And echoes back the voice, but hears it not.
       Thou art a boy! Be ever so; continue
       The pranks of youth. My correspondent chose
       Her messenger of love with prudent skill!
       The king will ne'er suspect a serpent here.

       PAGE.
       And I, my prince, shall feel right proud to know
       I am one secret richer than the king.

       CARLOS.
       Vain, foolish boy! 'tis this should make thee tremble.
       Approach me ever with a cold respect:
       Ne'er be induced by idle pride to boast
       How gracious is the prince! No deadlier sin
       Canst thou commit, my son, than pleasing me.
       Whate'er thou hast in future for my ear,
       Give not to words; intrust not to thy lips,
       Ne'er on that common high road of the thoughts
       Permit thy news to travel. Speak with an eye,
       A finger; I will answer with a look.
       The very air, the light, are Philip's creatures,
       And the deaf walls around are in his pay.
       Some one approaches; fly, we'll meet again.

          [The QUEEN'S chamber opens, and DUKE ALVA comes out.

       PAGE.
       Be careful, prince, to find the right apartment.

                          [Exit.

       CARLOS.
       It is the duke! Fear not, I'll find the way.

## SCENE V.

          DON CARLOS. DUDE OF ALVA.

       ALVA (meeting him).
       Two words, most gracious prince.

       CARLOS.
                        Some other time.

                            [Going.

       ALVA.
       The place is not the fittest, I confess;
       Perhaps your royal highness may be pleased
       To grant me audience in your private chamber.

       CARLOS.
       For what? And why not here? Only be brief.

       ALVA.
       The special object which has brought me hither,
       Is to return your highness lowly thanks
       For your good services.

       CARLOS.
                    Thanks to me—
       For what? Duke Alva's thanks!

       ALVA.
                       You scarce had left
       His majesty, ere I received in form
       Instructions to depart for Brussels.

       CARLOS.
                          What!
       For Brussels!

       ALVA.
       And to what, most gracious prince,
       Must I ascribe this favor, but to you—
       Your intercession with the king?

       CARLOS.
                        Ob, no!
       Not in the least to me; but, duke, you travel,
       So Heaven be with your grace!

       ALVA.
                       And is this all?
       It seems, indeed, most strange! And has your highness
       No further orders, then, to send to Flanders?

       CARLOS.
       What should I have?

       ALVA.
                  Not long ago, it seemed,
       The country's fate required your presence.

       CARLOS.
                              How?
       But yes, you're right,—it was so formerly;
       But now this change is better as it is.

       ALVA.
       I am amazed——

       CARLOS.
               You are an able general,
       No one doubts that—envy herself must own it.
       For me, I'm but a youth—so thought the king.

       CARLOS.
       The king was right, quite right. I see it now
       Myself, and am content—and so no more.
       God speed your journey, as you see, just now
       My hands are full, and weighty business presses.
       The rest to-morrow, or whene'er you will,
       Or when you come from Brussels.

       ALVA.
                        What is this?

       CARLOS.
       The season favors, and your route will lie
       Through Milan, Lorraine, Burgundy, and on
       To Germany! What, Germany? Ay, true,
       In Germany it was—they know you there.
       'Tis April now, May, June,—in July, then,
       Just so! or, at the latest, soon in August,—
       You will arrive in Brussels, and no doubt
       We soon shall hear of your victorious deeds.
       You know the way to win our high esteem,
       And earn the crown of fame.

       ALVA (significantly).
                      Indeed! condemned
       By my own conscious insignificance!

       CARLOS.
       You're sensitive, my lord, and with some cause,
       I own it was not fair to use a weapon
       Against your grace you were unskilled to wield.

       ALVA.
       Unskilled!

       CARLOS.
             'Tis pity I've no leisure now
       To fight this worthy battle fairly out
       But at some other time, we——

       ALVA.
                      Prince, we both
       Miscalculate—but still in opposite ways.
       You, for example, overrate your age
       By twenty years, whilst on the other band,
       I, by as many, underrate it——

       CARLOS.
                       Well

       ALVA.
       And this suggests the thought, how many nights
       Beside this lovely Lusitanian bride—
       Your mother—would the king right gladly give
       To buy an arm like this, to aid his crown.
       Full well he knows, far easier is the task
       To make a monarch than a monarchy;
       Far easier too, to stock the world with kings
       Than frame an empire for a king to rule.

       CARLOS.
       Most true, Duke Alva, yet——

       ALVA.
                      And how much blood,
       Your subjects' dearest blood, must flow in streams
       Before two drops could make a king of you.

       CARLOS.
       Most true, by heaven! and in two words comprised,
       All that the pride of merit has to urge
       Against the pride of fortune. But the moral—
       Now, Duke Alva!

       ALVA.
               Woe to the nursling babe
       Of royalty that mocks the careful hand
       Which fosters it! How calmly it may sleep
       On the soft cushion of our victories!
       The monarch's crown is bright with sparkling gems,
       But no eye sees the wounds that purchased them.
       This sword has given our laws to distant realms,
       Has blazed before the banner of the cross,
       And in these quarters of the globe has traced
       Ensanguined furrows for the seed of faith.
       God was the judge in heaven, and I on earth.

       CARLOS.
       God, or the devil—it little matters which;
       Yours was his chosen arm—that stands confessed.
       And now no more of this. Some thoughts there are
       Whereof the memory pains me. I respect
       My father's choice,—my father needs an Alva!
       But that he needs him is not just the point
       I envy in him: a great man you are,
       This may be true, and I well nigh believe it,
       Only I fear your mission is begun
       Some thousand years too soon. Alva, methinks,
       Were just the man to suit the end of time.
       Then when the giant insolence of vice
       Shall have exhausted Heaven's enduring patience,
       And the rich waving harvest of misdeeds
       Stand in full ear, and asks a matchless reaper,
       Then should you fill the post. O God! my paradise!
       My Flanders! But of this I must not think.
       'Tis said you carry with you a full store
       Of sentences of death already signed.
       This shows a prudent foresight! No more need
       To fear your foes' designs, or secret plots:
       Oh, father! ill indeed I've understood thee.
       Calling thee harsh, to save me from a post,
       Where Alva's self alone can fitly shine!
       'Twas an unerring token of your love.

       ALVA.
       These words deserve——

       CARLOS.
                   What!

       ALVA.
                      But your birth protects you.

       CARLOS (seizing his sword).
       That calls for blood! Duke, draw your sword!

       ALVA (slightingly).
                               On whom?

       CARLOS. (pressing upon him).
       Draw, or I run you through.

       ALVA.
                      Then be it so.

                        [They fight.

## SCENE VI.

          The QUEEN, DON CARLOS, DUKE ALVA.

       QUEEN (coming from her room alarmed).
       How! naked swords?

          [To the PRINCE in an indignant and commanding tone.

                 Prince Carlos!

       CARLOS (agitated at the QUEEN's look, drops his arm, stands motionless,
           then rushes to the DUKE, and embraces him).
                         Pardon, duke!
       Your pardon, sir! Forget, forgive it all!

          [Throws himself in silence at the QUEEN'S feet, then rising
          suddenly, departs in confusion.

       ALVA.
       By heaven, 'tis strange!

       QUEEN (remains a few moments as if in doubt, then retiring to her
           apartment).
       A word with you, Duke ALVA.

                  [Exit, followed by the DUKE.

## SCENE VII.

          The PRINCESS EBOLI's apartment.

          The PRINCESS in a simple, but elegant dress, playing on the lute.
          The QUEEN's PAGE enters.

       PRINCESS (starting up suddenly)
       He comes!

       PAGE (abruptly).
             Are you alone? I wonder much
       He is not here already; but he must
       Be here upon the instant.

       PRINCESS.
                     Do you say must!
       Then he will come, this much is certain then.

       PAGE.
       He's close upon my steps. You are beloved,
       Adored, and with more passionate regard
       Than mortal ever was, or can be loved.
       Oh! what a scene I witnessed!

       PRINCESS (impatiently draws him to her).
                       Quick, you spoke
       With him! What said he? Tell me straight—
       How did he look? what were his words? And say—
       Did he appear embarrassed or confused
       And did he guess who sent the key to him?
       Be quick! or did he not? He did not guess
       At all, perhaps! or guessed amiss! Come, speak,
       How! not a word to answer me? Oh, fie!
       You never were so dull—so slow before,
       'Tis past all patience.

       PAGE.
                    Dearest lady, hear me!
       Both key and note I placed within his hands,
       In the queen's antechamber, and he started
       And gazed with wonder when I told him that
       A lady sent me!

       PRINCESS.
                Did he start? go on!
       That's excellent. Proceed, what next ensued?

       PAGE.
       I would have told him more, but he grew pale,
       And snatched the letter from my hand, and said
       With look of deadly menace, he knew all.
       He read the letter with confusion through,
       And straight began to tremble.

       PRINCESS.
                       He knew all!
       He knew it all? Were those his very words?

       PAGE.
       He asked me, and again he asked, if you
       With your own hands had given me the letter?

       PRINCESS.
       If I? Then did he mention me by name?

       PAGE.
       By name! no name he mentioned: there might be
       Listeners, he said, about the palace, who
       Might to the king disclose it.

       PRINCESS (surprised).
                       Said he that?

       PAGE.
       He further said, it much concerned the king;
       Deeply concerned—to know of that same letter.

       PRINCESS.
       The king! Nay, are you sure you heard him right?
       The king! Was that the very word he used?

       PAGE.
       It was. He called it a most perilous secret,
       And warned me to be strictly on my guard,
       Never with word or look to give the king
       Occasion for suspicion.

       PRINCESS (after a pause, with astonishment).
                    All agrees!
       It can be nothing else—he must have heard
       The tale—'tis very strange! Who could have told him,
       I wonder who? The eagle eye of love
       Alone could pierce so far. But tell me further—
       He read the letter.

       PAGE.
                  Which, he said, conveyed
       Such bliss as made him tremble, and till then
       He had not dared to dream of. As he spoke
       The duke, by evil chance, approached the room,
       And this compelled us——

       PRINCESS (angrily).
                    What in all the world
       Could bring the duke to him at such a time?
       What can detain him? Why appears he not?
       See how you've been deceived; how truly blest
       Might he have been already—in the time
       You've taken to describe his wishes to me!

       PAGE.
       The duke, I fear——

       PRINCESS.
                 Again, the duke! What can
       The duke want here? What should a warrior want
       With my soft dreams of happiness? He should
       Have left him there, or sent him from his presence.
       Where is the man may not be treated thus?
       But Carlos seems as little versed in love
       As in a woman's heart—he little knows
       What minutes are. But hark! I hear a step;
       Away, away!
                  [PAGE hastens out.
              Where have I laid my lute?
       I must not seem to wait for him. My song
       Shall be a signal to him.

## SCENE VIII.

          The PRINCESS, DON CARLOS.

          The PRINCESS has thrown herself upon an ottoman,
          and plays.

       CARLOS (rushes in; he recognizes the PRINCESS, and stands thunderstruck).
                 Gracious Heaven!
       Where am I?

       PRINCESS (lets her lute fall, and meeting him)
       What? Prince Carlos! yes, in truth.

       CARLOS.
       Where am I? Senseless error; I have missed
       The right apartment.

       PRINCESS.
                  With what dexterous skill
       Carlos contrives to hit the very room
       Where ladies sit alone!

       CARLOS.
                    Your pardon, princess!
       I found—I found the antechamber open.

       PRINCESS.
       Can it be possible? I fastened it
       Myself; at least I thought so——

       CARLOS.
                        Ay! you thought,
       You only thought so; rest assured you did not.
       You meant to lock it, that I well believe:
       But most assuredly it was not locked.
       A lute's sweet sounds attracted me, some hand
       Touched it with skill; say, was it not a lute?
               [Looking round inquiringly.
       Yes, there it lies, and Heaven can bear me witness
       I love the lute to madness. I became
       All ear, forgot myself in the sweet strain,
       And rushed into the chamber to behold
       The lovely eyes of the divine musician
       Who charmed me with the magic of her tones.

       PRINCESS.
       Innocent curiosity, no doubt!
       But it was soon appeased, as I can prove.
          [After a short silence, significantly.
       I must respect the modesty that has,
       To spare a woman's blushes, thus involved
       Itself in so much fiction.

       CARLOS (with sincerity).
                     Nay, I feel
       I but augment my deep embarrassment,
       In vain attempt to extricate myself.
       Excuse me for a part I cannot play.
       In this remote apartment, you perhaps
       Have sought a refuge from the world, to pour
       The inmost wishes of your secret heart
       Remote from man's distracting eye. By me,
       Unhappy that I am, your heavenly dreams
       Are all disturbed, and the atonement now
       Must be my speedy absence.
                      [Going.

       PRINCESS (surprised and confused, but immediately recovering herself).
                     Oh! that step
       Were cruel, prince, indeed!

       CARLOS.
                      Princess, I feel
       What such a look in such a place imports:
       This virtuous embarrassment has claims
       To which my manhood never can be deaf.
       Woe to the wretch whose boldness takes new fire
       From the pure blush of maiden modesty!
       I am a coward when a woman trembles.

       PRINCESS.
       Is't possible?—such noble self-control
       In one so young, and he a monarch's son!
       Now, prince, indeed you shall remain with me,
       It is my own request, and you must stay.
       Near such high virtue, every maiden fear
       Takes wing at once; but your appearance here
       Disturbed me in a favorite air, and now
       Your penalty shall be to hear me sing it.

       CARLOS (sits down near the PRINCESS, not without reluctance).
       A penalty delightful as the sin!
       And sooth to say, the subject of the song
       Was so divine, again and yet again
       I'd gladly hear it.

       PRINCESS
                  What! you heard it all?
       Nay, that was too bad, prince. It was, I think,
       A song of love.

       CARLOS.
                And of successful love,
       If I mistake not—dear delicious theme
       From those most beauteous lips—but scarce so true,
       Methinks, as beautiful.

       PRINCESS.
                    What! not so true?
       Then do you doubt the tale?

       CARLOS.
                      I almost doubt
       That Carlos and the Princess Eboli,
       When they discourse on such a theme as love,
       May not quite understand each other's hearts.

          [The PRINCESS starts; he observes it, and continues
          with playful gallantry.

       Who would believe those rosy-tinted cheeks
       Concealed a heart torn by the pangs of love.
       Is it within the range of wayward chance
       That the fair Princess Eboli should sigh
       Unheard—unanswered? Love is only known
       By him who hopelessly persists in love.

       PRINCESS (with all her former vivacity).
       Hush! what a dreadful thought! this fate indeed
       Appears to follow you of all mankind,
       Especially to-day.
          [Taking his hand with insinuating interest.
                 You are not happy,
       Dear prince—you're sad! I know too well you suffer,
       And wherefore, prince? When with such loud appeal
       The world invites you to enjoy its bliss—
       And nature on you pours her bounteous gifts,
       And spreads around you all life's sweetest joys.
       You, a great monarch's son, and more—far more—
       E'en in your cradle with such gifts endowed
       As far eclipsed the splendor of your rank.
       You, who in those strict courts where women rule,
       And pass, without appeal, unerring sentence
       On manly worth and honor, even there
       Find partial judges. You, who with a look
       Can prove victorious, and whose very coldness
       Kindles aflame; and who, when warmed with passion,
       Can make a paradise, and scatter round
       The bliss of heaven, the rapture of the gods.
       The man whom nature has adorned with gifts
       To render thousands happy, gifts which she
       Bestows on few—that such a man as this
       Should know what misery is! Thou, gracious Heaven,
       That gavest him all those blessings, why deny
       Him eyes to see the conquests he has made?

       CARLOS (who has been lost in absence of mind, suddenly recovers himself
           by the silence of the PRINCESS, and starts up).
       Charming! inimitable! Princess, sing
       That passage, pray, again.

       PRINCESS (looking at him with astonishment).
                     Where, Carlos, were
       Your thoughts the while?

       CARLOS (jumps up).
       By heaven, you do remind me
       In proper time—I must away—and quickly.

       PRINCESS (holding him back).
       Whither away?

       CARLOS.
               Into the open air.
       Nay, do not hold me, princess, for I feel
       As though the world behind me were in flames.

       PRINCESS (holding him forcibly back).
       What troubles you? Whence comes these strange, these wild,
       Unnatural looks? Nay, answer me!
          [CARLOS stops to reflect, she draws him to the sofa to her.
                         Dear Carlos,
       You need repose, your blood is feverish.
       Come, sit by me: dispel these gloomy fancies.
       Ask yourself frankly can your head explain
       The tumult of your heart—and if it can—
       Say, can no knight be found in all the court,
       No lady, generous as fair, to cure you—
       Rather, I should have said, to understand you?
       What, no one?

       CARLOS (hastily, without thinking).
               If the Princess Eboli——

       PRINCESS (delighted, quickly).
       Indeed!

       CARLOS.
            Would write a letter for me, a few words
       Of kindly intercession to my father;—
       They say your influence is great.

       PRINCESS.
                         Who says so?
                           [Aside.
       Ha! was it jealousy that held thee mute!

       CARLOS.
       Perchance my story is already public.
       I had a sudden wish to visit Brabant
       Merely to win my spurs—no more. The king,
       Kind soul, is fearful the fatigues of war
       Might spoil my singing!

       PRINCESS.
                    Prince, you play me false!
       Confess that by this serpent subterfuge
       You would mislead me. Look me in the face,
       Deceitful one! and say would he whose thoughts
       Were only bent on warlike deeds—would he
       E'er stoop so low as, with deceitful hand,
       To steal fair ladies' ribbons when they drop,
       And then—your pardon! hoard them—with such care?

          [With light action she opens his shirt frill, and seizes
          a ribbon which is there concealed.

       CARLOS (drawing back with amazement).
       Nay, princess—that's too much—I am betrayed.
       You're not to be deceived. You are in league
       With spirits and with demons!

       PRINCESS.
                       Are you then
       Surprised at this? What will you wager, Carlos
       But I recall some stories to your heart?
       Nay, try it with me; ask whate'er you please,
       And if the triflings of my sportive fancy—
       The sound half-uttered by the air absorbed—
       The smile of joy checked by returning gloom—
       If motions—looks from your own soul concealed
       Have not escaped my notice—judge if I
       Can err when thou wouldst have me understand thee?

       CARLOS.
       Why, this is boldly ventured; I accept
       The wager, princess. Then you undertake
       To make discoveries in my secret heart
       Unknown even to myself.

       PRINCESS (displeased, but earnestly).
                    Unknown to thee!
       Reflect a moment, prince! Nay, look around;
       This boudoir's not the chamber of the queen,
       Where small deceits are practised with full license.
       You start, a sudden blush o'erspreads your face.
       Who is so bold, so idle, you would ask,
       As to watch Carlos when he deems himself
       From scrutiny secure? Who was it, then,
       At the last palace-ball observed you leave
       The queen, your partner, standing in the dance,
       And join, with eager haste, the neighboring couple,
       To offer to the Princess Eboli
       The hand your royal partner should have claimed?
       An error, prince, his majesty himself,
       Who just then entered the apartment, noticed.

       CARLOS (with ironical smile).
       His majesty? And did he really so?
       Of all men he should not have seen it.

       PRINCESS.
       Nor yet that other scene within the chapel,
       Which doubtless Carlos hath long since forgotten.
       Prostrate before the holy Virgin's image,
       You lay in prayer, when suddenly you heard—
       'Twas not your fault—a rustling from behind
       Of ladies' dresses. Then did Philip's son,
       A youth of hero courage, tremble like
       A heretic before the holy office.
       On his pale lips died the half-uttered prayer.
       In ecstasy of passion, prince—the scene
       Was truly touching—for you seized the hand,
       The blessed Virgin's cold and holy hand,
       And showered your burning kisses on the marble.

       CARLOS.
       Princess, you wrong me: that was pure devotion!

       PRINCESS.
       Indeed! that's quite another thing. Perhaps
       It was the fear of losing, then, at cards,
       When you were seated with the queen and me,
       And you with dexterous skill purloined my glove.
                [CARLOS starts surprised.
       That prompted you to play it for a card?

       CARLOS.
       What words are these? O Heaven, what have I done?

       PRINCESS.
       Nothing I hope of which you need repent!
       How pleasantly was I surprised to find
       Concealed within the glove a little note,
       Full of the warmest tenderest romance,

       CARLOS (interrupting her suddenly).
       Mere poetry! no more. My fancy teems
       With idle bubbles oft, which break as soon
       As they arise—and this was one of them;
       So, prithee, let us talk of it no more.

       PRINCESS (leaving him with astonishment, and regarding him for
            some time at a distance).
       I am exhausted—all attempts are vain
       To hold this youth. He still eludes my grasp.
          [Remains silent a few moments.
       But stay! Perchance 'tis man's unbounded pride,
       That thus to add a zest to my delight.
       Assumes a mask of timid diffidence.
       'Tis so.
          [She approaches the PRINCE again, and looks at him doubtingly.
            Explain yourself, prince, I entreat you.
       For here I stand before a magic casket,
       Which all my keys are powerless to unlock.

       CARLOS.
       As I before you stand.

       PRINCESS (leaves him suddenly, walks a few steps up and down in silence,
        apparently lost in deep thought. After a pause, gravely and solemnly).
                   Then thus at last—
       I must resolve to speak, and Carlos, you
       Shall be my judge. Yours is a noble nature,
       You are a prince—a knight—a man of honor.
       I throw myself upon your heart—protect me
       Or if I'm lost beyond redemption's power,
       Give me your tears in pity for my fate.

            [The PRINCE draws nearer.

       A daring favorite of the king demands
       My hand—his name Ruy Gomez, Count of Silva,
       The king consents—the bargain has been struck,
       And I am sold already to his creature.

       CARLOS (with evident emotion).
       Sold! you sold! Another bargain, then,
       Concluded by this royal southern trader!

       PRINCESS.
       No; but hear all—'tis not enough that I
       Am sacrificed to cold state policy,
       A snare is laid to entrap my innocence.
       Here is a letter will unmask the saint!

          [CARLOS takes the paper, and without reading it listens
          with impatience to her recital.

       Where Shall I find protection, prince? Till now
       My virtue was defended by my pride,
       At length——

       CARLOS.
              At length you yielded! Yielded? No.
       For God's sake say not so!

       PRINCESS.
                     Yielded! to whom?
       Poor piteous reasoning. Weak beyond contempt
       Your haughty minds, who hold a woman's favor,
       And love's pure joys, as wares to traffic for!
       Love is the only treasure on the face
       Of this wide earth that knows no purchaser
       Besides itself—love has no price but love.
       It is the costly gem, beyond all price,
       Which I must freely give away, or—bury
       For ever unenjoyed—like that proud merchant
       Whom not the wealth of all the rich Rialto
       Could tempt—a great rebuke to kings! to save
       From the deep ocean waves his matchless pearl,
       Too proud to barter it beneath its worth!

       CARLOS (aside).
       Now, by great heaven, this woman's beautiful.

       PRINCESS.
       Call it caprice or pride, I ne'er will make
       Division of my joys. To him, alone,
       I choose as mine, I give up all forever.
       One only sacrifice I make; but that
       Shall be eternal. One true heart alone
       My love shall render happy: but that one
       I'll elevate to God. The keen delight
       Of mingling souls—the kiss—the swimming joys
       Of that delicious hour when lovers meet,
       The magic power of heavenly beauty—all
       Are sister colors of a single ray—
       Leaves of one single blossom. Shall I tear
       One petal from this sweet, this lovely flower,
       With reckless hand, and mar its beauteous chalice?
       Shall I degrade the dignity of woman,
       The masterpiece of the Almighty's hand,
       To charm the evening of a reveller?

       CARLOS.
       Incredible! that in Madrid should dwell
       This matchless creature! and unknown to me
       Until this day.

       PRINCESS.
                Long since had I forsaken
       This court—the world—and in some blest retreat
       Immured myself; but one tie binds me still
       Too firmly to existence. Perhaps—alas!
       'Tis but a phantom—but 'tis dear to me.
       I love—but am not loved in turn.

       CARLOS (full of ardor, going towards her).
                         You are!
       As true as God is throned in heaven! I swear
       You are—you are unspeakably beloved.

       PRINCESS.
       You swear it, you!—sure 'twas an angel's voice.
       Oh, if you swear it, Carlos, I'll believe it.
       Then I am truly loved!

       CARLOS (embracing her with tenderness).
                   Bewitching maid,
       Thou creature worthy of idolatry
       I stand before thee now all eye, all ear,
       All rapture and delight. What eye hath seen thee—
       Under yon heaven what eye could e'er have seen thee,
       And boast he never loved? What dost thou here
       In Philip's royal court! Thou beauteous angel!
       Here amid monks and all their princely train.
       This is no clime for such a lovely flower—
       They fain would rifle all thy sweets—full well
       I know their hearts. But it shall never be—
       Not whilst I draw life's breath. I fold thee thus
       Within my arms, and in these hands I'll bear thee
       E'en through a hell replete with mocking fiends.
       Let me thy guardian angel prove.

       PRINCESS (with a countenance full of love).
                         O Carlos!
       How little have I known thee! and how richly
       With measureless reward thy heart repays
       The weighty task of—comprehending thee!

          [She takes his hand and is about to kiss it.

       CARLOS (drawing it back).
       Princess! What mean you?

       PRINCESS (with tenderness and grace, looking at his hand attentively).
                     Oh, this beauteous hand!
       How lovely 'tis, and rich! This hand has yet
       Two costly presents to bestow!—a crown—
       And Carlos' heart:—and both these gifts perchance
       Upon one mortal!—both on one—Oh, great
       And godlike gift-almost too much for one!
       How if you share the treasure, prince! A queen
       Knows naught of love—and she who truly loves
       Cares little for a crown! 'Twere better, prince,
       Then to divide the treasure—and at once—
       What says my prince? Have you done so already?
       Have you in truth? And do I know the blest one?

       CARLOS.
       Thou shalt. I will unfold myself to thee,
       To thy unspotted innocence, dear maid,
       Thy pure, unblemished nature. In this court
       Thou art the worthiest—first—the only one
       To whom this soul has stood revealed.
       Then, yes! I will not now conceal it—yes,
       I love!

       PRINCESS.
            Oh, cruel heart! Does this avowal prove
       So painful to thee? Must I first deserve
       Thy pity—ere I hope to win thy love?

       CARLOS (starting).
       What say'st thou?

       PRINCESS.
                 So to trifle with me, prince!
       Indeed it was not well—and to deny
       The key——

       CARLOS.
             The key! the key! Oh yes, 'tis so!

          [After a dead silence.

       I see it all too plainly! Gracious heaven!

          [His knees totter, he leans against a chair, and covers
          his face with his hands. A long silence on both sides.
          The PRINCESS screams and falls.

       PRINCESS.
       Oh, horrible! What have I done!

       CARLOS.
                         Hurled down
       So far from all my heavenly joys! 'Tis dreadful!

       PRINCESS (hiding her face in the cushion).
       Oh, God! What have I said?

       CARLOS (kneeling before her).
                      I am not guilty.
       My passion—an unfortunate mistake—
       By heaven, I am not guilty——

       PRINCESS (pushing him from her).
                      Out of my sight,
       For heaven's sake!

       CARLOS.
                  No, I will not leave thee thus.
       In this dread anguish leave thee——

       PRINCESS (pushing him forcibly away).
                         Oh, in pity—
       For mercy's sake, away—out of my sight!
       Wouldst thou destroy me? How I hate thy presence!

                        [CARLOS going.

       Give, give me back the letter and the key.
       Where is the other letter?

       CARLOS.
                      The other letter?

       PRINCESS.
       That from the king, to me——

       CARLOS (terrified).
                      From whom?

       PRINCESS.
       The one I just now gave you.

       CARLOS.
                       From the king!
       To you!

       PRINCESS.
       Oh, heavens, how dreadfully have I
       Involved myself! The letter, sir! I must
       Have it again.

       CARLOS.
       The letter from the king!
       To you!

       PRINCESS.
            The letter! give it, I implore you
       By all that's sacred! give it.

       CARLOS.
                        What, the letter
       That will unmask the saint! Is this the letter?

       PRINCESS.
       Now I'm undone! Quick, give it me——

       CARLOS.
       The letter——

       PRINCESS (wringing her hands in despair).
       What have I done? O dreadful, dire imprudence!

       CARLOS.
       This letter comes, then, from the king! Princess,
       That changes all indeed, and quickly, too.
       This letter is beyond all value—priceless!
       All Philip's crowns are worthless, and too poor
       To win it from my hands. I'll keep this letter.

       PRINCESS (throwing herself prostrate before him as he is going).
       Almighty Heaven! then I am lost forever.

                         [Exit CARLOS.

## SCENE IX.

          The PRINCESS alone.

          She seems overcome with surprise, and is confounded.
          After CARLOS' departure she hastens to call him back.

       PRINCESS.
       Prince, but one word! Prince, hear me. He is gone.
       And this, too, I am doomed to bear—his scorn!
       And I am left in lonely wretchedness,
       Rejected and despised!
          [Sinks down upon a chair. After a pause
                   And yet not so;
       I'm but displaced—supplanted by some wanton.
       He loves! of that no longer doubt is left;
       He has himself confessed it—but my rival—
       Who can she be? Happy, thrice happy one!
       This much stands clear: he loves where he should not.
       He dreads discovery, and from the king
       He hides his guilty passion! Why from him
       Who would so gladly hail it? Or, is it not
       The father that he dreads so in the parent?
       When the king's wanton purpose was disclosed,
       His features glowed with triumph, boundless joy
       Flashed in his eyes, his rigid virtue fled;
       Why was it mute in such a cause as this?
       Why should he triumph? What hath he to gain
       If Philip to his queen——

          [She stops suddenly, as if struck by a thought, then
          drawing hastily from her bosom the ribbon which she had
          taken from CARLOS, she seems to recognize it.

                    Fool that I am!
       At length 'tis plain. Where have my senses been?
       My eyes are opened now. They loved each other
       Long before Philip wooed her, and the prince
       Ne'er saw me but with her! She, she alone
       Was in his thoughts when I believed myself
       The object of his true and boundless love.
       O matchless error! and have I betrayed
       My weakness to her?
              [Pauses.
                  Should his love prove hopeless?
       Who can believe it? Would a hopeless love
       Persist in such a struggle? Called to revel
       In joys for which a monarch sighs in vain!
       A hopeless love makes no such sacrifice.
       What fire was in his kiss! How tenderly
       He pressed my bosom to his beating heart!
       Well nigh the trial had proved dangerous
       To his romantic, unrequited passion!
       With joy he seized the key he fondly thought
       The queen had sent:—in this gigantic stride
       Of love he puts full credence—and he comes—
       In very truth comes here—and so imputes
       To Philip's wife a deed so madly rash.
       And would he so, had love not made him bold?
       'Tis clear as day—his suit is heard—she loves!
       By heaven, this saintly creature burns with passion;
       How subtle, too, she is! With fear I trembled
       Before this lofty paragon of virtue!
       She towered beside me, an exalted being,
       And in her beams I felt myself eclipsed;
       I envied her the lovely, cloudless calm,
       That kept her soul from earthly tumults free.
       And was this soft serenity but show?
       Would she at both feasts revel, holding up
       Her virtue's godlike splendor to our gaze,
       And riot in the secret joys of vice?
       And shall the false dissembler cozen thus,
       And win a safe immunity from this
       That no avenger comes? By heavens she shall not!
       I once adored her,—that demands revenge:—
       The king shall know her treachery—the king!
                      [After a pause.
       'Tis the sure way to win the monarch's ear!

                      [Exit.

## SCENE X.

          A chamber in the royal palace.
          DUKE OF ALVA, FATHER DOMINGO.

       DOMINGO.
       Something to tell me!

       ALVA.
                   Ay! a thing of moment,
       Of which I made discovery to-day,
       And I would have your judgment on it.

       DOMINGO.
                           How!
       Discovery! To what do you allude?

       ALVA.
       Prince Carlos and myself this morning met
       In the queen's antechamber. I received
       An insult from him—we were both in heat—
       The strife grew loud—and we had drawn our swords.
       Alarmed, from her apartments rushed the queen.
       She stepped between us,—with commanding eye
       Of conscious power, she looked upon the prince.
       'Twas but a single glance,—but his arm dropped,
       He fell upon my bosom—gave me then
       A warm embrace, and vanished.

       DOMINGO (after a pause).
                       This seems strange.
       It brings a something to my mind, my lord!
       And thoughts like these I own have often sprung
       Within my breast; but I avoid such fancies—
       To no one have I e'er confided them.
       There are such things as double-edged swords
       And untrue friends,—I fear them both.
       'Tis hard to judge among mankind, but still more hard
       To know them thoroughly. Words slipped at random
       Are confidants offended—therefore I
       Buried my secret in my breast, till time
       Should drag it forth to light. 'Tis dangerous
       To render certain services to kings.
       They are the bolts, which if they miss the mark,
       Recoil upon the archer! I could swear
       Upon the sacrament to what I saw.
       Yet one eye-witness—one word overheard—
       A scrap of paper—would weigh heavier far
       Than my most strong conviction! Cursed fate
       That we are here in Spain!

       ALVA.
                     And why in Spain?

       DOMINGO.
       There is a chance in every court but this
       For passion to forget itself, and fall.
       Here it is warned by ever-wakeful laws.
       Our Spanish queens would find it hard to sin—
       And only there do they meet obstacles,
       Where best 'twould serve our purpose to surprise them.

       ALVA.
       But listen further: Carlos had to-day
       An audience of the king; the interview
       Lasted an hour, and earnestly he sought
       The government of Flanders for himself.
       Loudly he begged, and fervently. I heard him
       In the adjoining cabinet. His eyes
       Were red with tears when I encountered him.
       At noon he wore a look of lofty triumph,
       And vowed his joy at the king's choice of me.

       He thanked the king. "Matters are changed," he said,
       "And things go better now." He's no dissembler:
       How shall I reconcile such contradictions?
       The prince exults to see himself rejected,
       And I receive a favor from the king
       With marks of anger! What must I believe?
       In truth this new-born dignity doth sound
       Much more like banishment than royal favor!

       DOMINGO.
       And is it come to this at last? to this?
       And has one moment crumbled into dust
       What cost us years to build? And you so calm,
       So perfectly at ease! Know you this youth?
       Do you foresee the fate we may expect
       Should he attain to power? The prince! No foe
       Am I of his. Far other cares than these
       Gnaw at my rest—cares for the throne—for God,
       And for his holy church! The royal prince—
       (I know him, I can penetrate his soul),
       Has formed a horrible design, Toledo!
       The wild design—to make himself the regent,
       And set aside our pure and sacred faith.
       His bosom glows with some new-fangled virtue,
       Which, proud and self-sufficient, scorns to rest
       For strength on any creed. He dares to think!
       His brain is all on fire with wild chimeras;
       He reverences the people! And is this
       A man to be our king?

       ALVA.
                   Fantastic dreams!
       No more. A boy's ambition, too, perchance
       To play some lofty part! What can he less?
       These thoughts will vanish when he's called to rule.

       DOMINGO.
       I doubt it! Of his freedom he is proud,
       And scorns those strict restraints all men must bear
       Who hope to govern others. Would he suit
       Our throne? His bold gigantic mind
       Would burst the barriers of our policy.
       In vain I sought to enervate his soul
       In the loose joys of this voluptuous age.
       He stood the trial. Fearful is the spirit
       That rules this youth; and Philip soon will see
       His sixtieth year.

       ALVA.
                 Your vision stretches far!

       DOMINGO.
       He and the queen are both alike in this.
       Already works, concealed in either breast,
       The poisonous wish for change and innovation.
       Give it but way, 'twill quickly reach the throne.
       I know this Valois! We may tremble for
       The secret vengeance of this quiet foe
       If Philip's weakness hearken to her voice!
       Fortune so far hath smiled upon us. Now
       We must anticipate the foe, and both
       Shall fall together in one fatal snare.
       Let but a hint of such a thing be dropped
       Before the king, proved or unproved, it reeks not!
       Our point is gained if he but waver. We
       Ourselves have not a doubt; and once convinced,
       'Tis easy to convince another's mind.
       Be sure we shall discover more if we
       Start with the faith that more remains concealed.

       ALVA.
       But soft! A vital question! Who is he
       Will undertake the task to tell the king?

       DOMINGO.
       Nor you, nor I! Now shall you learn, what long
       My busy spirit, full of its design,
       Has been at work with, to achieve its ends.
       Still is there wanting to complete our league
       A third important personage. The king
       Loves the young Princess Eboli—and I
       Foster this passion for my own designs.
       I am his go-between. She shall be schooled
       Into our plot. If my plan fail me not,
       In this young lady shall a close ally—
       A very queen, bloom for us. She herself
       Asked me, but now, to meet her in this chamber.
       I'm full of hope. And in one little night
       A Spanish maid may blast this Valois lily.

       ALVA.
       What do you say! Can I have heard aright?
       By Heaven! I'm all amazement. Compass this,
       And I'll bow down to thee, Dominican!
       The day's our own.

       DOMINGO.
                 Soft! Some one comes: 'tis she—
       'Tis she herself!

       ALVA.
                 I'm in the adjoining room
       If you should——

       DOMINGO.
                Be it so: I'll call you in.

                       [Exit ALVA.

## SCENE XI.

          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?

## 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 (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.

## 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.

## 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.

## 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,
       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 bands?

       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.

## 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.

## 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.

       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.

## 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.

## 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.

## 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 chalice,
       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.

## 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.

## 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.

## 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.

## SCENE IV.

          A Gallery.
          DON CARLOS, COUNT LERMA.

       CARLOS.
       Here we are undisturbed. What would you now
       Impart to me?

       LERMA.
               Your highness has a friend
       Here at the court.

       CARLOS (starting).
                 A friend! I knew it not!
       But what's your meaning?

       LERMA.
                    I must sue for pardon
       That I am learned in more than I should know.
       But for your highness' comfort I've received it
       From one I may depend upon—in short,
       I have it from myself.

       CARLOS.
                   Whom speak you of?

       LERMA.
       The Marquis Posa.

       CARLOS.
                 What!

       LERMA.
                    And if your highness
       Has trusted to him more of what concerns you
       Than every one should know, as I am led
       To fear——

       CARLOS.
             You fear!

       LERMA.
                  He has been with the king.

       CARLOS.
       Indeed!

       LERMA.
            Two hours in secret converse too.

       CARLOS.
       Indeed!

       LERMA.
            The subject was no trifling matter.

       CARLOS.
       That I can well believe.

       LERMA.
                    And several times
       I heard your name.

       CARLOS.
                 That's no bad sign, I hope.

       LERMA.
       And then, this morning, in the king's apartment,
       The queen was spoken of mysteriously.

       CARLOS (starts back astonished).
       Count Lerma!

       LERMA.
              When the marquis had retired
       I was commanded to admit his lordship
       In future unannounced.

       CARLOS.
                   Astonishing!

       LERMA.
       And without precedent do I believe,
       Long as I served the king——

       CARLOS.
                      'Tis strange, indeed!
       How did you say the queen was spoken of?

       LERMA (steps back).
       No, no, my prince! that were against my duty.

       CARLOS.
       'Tis somewhat strange! One secret you impart.
       The other you withhold.

       LERMA.
                    The first was due
       To you, the other to the king.

       CARLOS.
                       You're right.

       LERMA.
       And still I've thought you, prince, a man of honor.

       CARLOS.
       Then you have judged me truly.

       LERMA.
                       But all virtue
       Is spotless till it's tried.

       CARLOS.
                      Some stand the trial.

       LERMA.
       A powerful monarch's favor is a prize
       Worth seeking for; and this alluring bait
       Has ruined many a virtue.

       CARLOS.
                     Truly said!

       LERMA.
       And oftentimes 'tis prudent to discover—
       What scarce can longer be concealed.

       CARLOS.
                          Yes, prudent
       It may be, but you say you've ever known
       The marquis prove himself a man of honor.

       LERMA.
       And if he be so still my fears are harmless,
       And you become a double gainer, prince.

                        [Going.

       CARLOS (follows him with emotion, and presses his hand).
       Trebly I gain, upright and worthy man,
       I gain another friend, nor lose the one
       Whom I before possessed.

                      [Exit LERMA.

## SCENE V.

          MARQUIS POSA comes through the gallery. CARLOS.

       MARQUIS.
                    Carlos! My Carlos!

       CARLOS.
       Who calls me? Ah! 'tis thou—I was in haste
       To gain the convent! You will not delay.

                      [Going.

       MARQUIS.
       Hold! for a moment.

       CARLOS.
                  We may be observed.

       MARQUIS.
       No chance of that. 'Tis over now. The queen——

       CARLOS.
       You've seen my father.

       MARQUIS.
                   Yes! he sent for me.

       CARLOS (full of expectation).
       Well!

       MARQUIS.
           'Tis all settled—you may see the queen.

       CARLOS.
       Yes! but the king! What said the king to you?

       MARQUIS.
       Not much. Mere curiosity to learn
       My history. The zeal of unknown friends—
       I know not what. He offered me employment.

       CARLOS.
       Which you, of course, rejected?

       MARQUIS.
                        Yes, of course

       CARLOS.
       How did you separate?

       MARQUIS.
                   Oh, well enough!

       CARLOS.
       And was I mentioned?

       MARQUIS.
                  Yes; in general terms.

          [Taking out a pocketbook and giving it to the PRINCE.

       See here are two lines written by the queen,
       To-morrow I will settle where and how.

       CARLOS (reads it carelessly, puts the tablet in his pocket,
           and is going).
       You'll meet me at the prior's?

       MARQUIS.
                       Yes! But stay
       Why in such haste? No one is coming hither.

       CARLOS (with a forced smile).
       Have we in truth changed characters? To-day
       You seem so bold and confident.

       MARQUIS.
                        To-day—
       Wherefore to-day?

       CARLOS.
                 What writes the queen to me?

       MARQUIS.
       Have you not read this instant?

       CARLOS.
                        I? Oh yes.

       MARQUIS.
       What is't disturbs you now?

       CARLOS (reads the tablet again, delighted and fervently).
                      Angel of Heaven!
       I will be so,—I will be worthy of thee.
       Love elevates great minds. So come what may,
       Whatever thou commandest, I'll perform.
       She writes that I must hold myself prepared
       For a great enterprise! What can she mean?
       Dost thou not know?

       MARQUIS.
                  And, Carlos, if I knew,
       Say, art thou now prepared to hear it from me?

       CARLOS.
       Have I offended thee? I was distracted.
       Roderigo, pardon me.

       MARQUIS.
                  Distracted! How?

       CARLOS.
       I scarcely know! But may I keep this tablet?

       MARQUIS.
       Not so! I came to ask thee for thine own.

       CARLOS.
       My tablet! Why?

       MARQUIS.
                And whatsoever writings
       You have, unfit to meet a stranger's eye—
       Letters or memorandums, and in short,
       Your whole portfolio.

       CARLOS.
                   Why?

       MARQUIS.
                      That we may be
       Prepared for accidents. Who can prevent
       Surprise? They'll never seek them in my keeping.
       Here, give them to me——

       CARLOS (uneasy).
                    Strange! What can it mean?

       MARQUIS.
       Be not alarmed! 'Tis nothing of importance
       A mere precaution to prevent surprise.
       You need not be alarmed!

       CARLOS (gives him the portfolio).
                    Be careful of it.

       MARQUIS.
       Be sure I will.

       CARLOS (looks at him significantly).
                I give thee much, Roderigo!

       MARQUIS.
       Not more than I have often had from thee.
       The rest we'll talk of yonder. Now farewell.

                      [Going.

       CARLOS (struggling with himself, then calls him back).
       Give me my letters back; there's one amongst them
       The queen addressed to me at Alcala,
       When I was sick to death. Still next my heart
       I carry it; to take this letter from me
       Goes to my very soul. But leave me that,
       And take the rest.

          [He takes it out, and returns the portfolio.

       MARQUIS.
                 I yield unwillingly—
       For 'twas that letter which I most required.

       CARLOS.
       Farewell!

          [He goes away slowly, stops a moment at the door, turns
          back again, and brings him the letter.

            You have it there.

          [His hand trembles, tears start from his eyes, he falls on
          the neck of the MARQUIS, and presses his face to his bosom.

                      Oh, not my father,
       Could do so much, Roderigo! Not my father!

                       [Exit hastily.

## SCENE VI.

          MARQUIS (looks after him with astonishment).

       And is this possible! And to this hour
       Have I not known him fully? In his heart
       This blemish has escaped my eye. Distrust
       Of me—his friend! But no, 'tis calumny!
       What hath he done that I accuse him thus
       Of weakest weakness. I myself commit
       The fault I charge on him. What have I done
       Might well surprise him! When hath he displayed
       To his best friend such absolute reserve?
       Carlos, I must afflict thee—there's no help—
       And longer still distress thy noble soul.
       In me the king hath placed his confidence,
       His holiest trust reposed—as in a casket,
       And this reliance calls for gratitude.
       How can disclosure serve thee when my silence
       Brings thee no harm—serves thee, perhaps? Ah! why
       Point to the traveller the impending storm?
       Enough, if I direct its anger past thee!
       And when thou wakest the sky's again serene.

                       [Exit.

## SCENE VII.

          The KING's Cabinet.
          The KING seated, near him the INFANTA CLARA EUGENIA.

       KING (after a deep silence).
       No—she is sure my daughter—or can nature
       Thus lie like truth! Yes, that blue eye is mine!
       And I am pictured in thy every feature.
       Child of my love! for such thou art—I fold thee
       Thus to my heart; thou art my blood.
                      [Starts and pauses:
                          My blood—
       What's worse to fear? Are not my features his?

          [Takes the miniature in his hand and looks first at
          the portrait, then at the mirror opposite; at last he
          throws it on the ground, rises hastily, and pushes the
          INFANTA from him.

       Away, away! I'm lost in this abyss.

## SCENE VIII.

          COUNT LERMA and the KING.

       LERMA.
       Her majesty is in the antechamber.

       KING.
       What! Now?

       LERMA.
              And begs the favor of an audience.

       KING.
       Now! At this unaccustomed hour! Not now—
       I cannot see her yet.

       LERMA.
                   Here comes the queen.

                       [Exit LERMA.

## SCENE IX.

          The KING, the QUEEN enters, and the INFANTA.

          The INFANTA runs to meet the QUEEN and clings to her;
          the QUEEN falls at the KING's feet, who is silent,
          and appears confused and embarrassed.

       QUEEN.
       My lord! My husband! I'm constrained to seek
       Justice before the throne!

       KING.
                     What? Justice!

       QUEEN.
                              Yes!
       I'm treated with dishonor at the court!
       My casket has been rifled.

       KING.
                     What! Your casket?

       QUEEN.
       And things I highly value have been plundered.

       KING.
       Things that you highly value.

       QUEEN.
                       From the meaning
       Which ignorant men's officiousness, perhaps,
       Might give to them——

       KING.
                  What's this? Officiousness,
       And meaning! How? But rise.

       QUEEN.
                       Oh no, my husband!
       Not till you bind yourself by sacred promise,
       By virtue of your own authority,
       To find the offender out, and grant redress,
       Or else dismiss my suite, which hides a thief.

       KING.
       But rise! In such a posture! Pray you, rise.

       QUEEN (rises).
       'Tis some one of distinction—I know well;
       My casket held both diamonds and pearls
       Of matchless value, but he only took
       My letters.

       KING.
              May I ask——

       QUEEN.
                    Undoubtedly,
       My husband. They were letters from the prince:
       His miniature as well.

       KING.
                   From whom?

       QUEEN.
                         The prince,
       Your son.

       KING.
             To you?

       QUEEN.
                 Sent by the prince to me.

       KING.
       What! From Prince Carlos! Do you tell me that?

       QUEEN.
       Why not tell you, my husband?

       KING.
                       And not blush.

       QUEEN.
       What mean you? You must surely recollect
       The letters Carlos sent me to St. Germains,
       With both courts' full consent. Whether that leave
       Extended to the portrait, or alone
       His hasty hope dictated such a step,
       I cannot now pretend to answer; but
       If even rash, it may at least be pardoned
       For thus much I may be his pledge—that then
       He never thought the gift was for his mother.
          [Observes the agitation of the KING.
       What moves you? What's the matter?

       INFANTA (who has found the miniature on the ground, and has been
            playing with it, brings it to the QUEEN).
                          Look, dear mother!
       See what a pretty picture!

       QUEEN.
                     What then my——

          [She recognizes the miniature, and remains in speechless
          astonishment. They both gaze at each other. After a long pause.

       In truth, this mode of trying a wife's heart
       Is great and royal, sire! But I should wish
       To ask one question?

       KING.
                  'Tis for me to question.

       QUEEN.
       Let my suspicions spare the innocent.
       And if by your command this theft was done——

       KING.
       It was so done!

       QUEEN.
                Then I have none to blame,
       And none to pity—other than yourself—
       Since you possess a wife on whom such schemes
       Are thrown away.

       KING.
                This language is not new—
       Nor shall you, madam, now again deceive me
       As in the gardens of Aranjuez—
       My queen of angel purity, who then
       So haughtily my accusation spurned—
       I know her better now.

       QUEEN.
                   What mean you, sire?

       KING.
       Madam! thus briefly and without reserve—
       Say is it true? still true, that you conversed
       With no one there? Is really that the truth?

       QUEEN.
       I spoke there with the prince.

       KING.
                       Then is clear
       As day! So daring! heedless of mine honor!

       QUEEN.
       Your honor, sire! If that be now the question,
       A greater honor is, methinks, at stake
       Than Castile ever brought me as a dowry.

       KING.
       Why did you then deny the prince's presence?

       QUEEN.
       Because I'm not accustomed to be questioned
       Like a delinquent before all your courtiers;
       I never shall deny the truth when asked
       With kindness and respect. Was that the tone
       Your majesty used towards me in Aranjuez?
       Are your assembled grandees the tribunal
       Queens must account to for their private conduct?
       I gave the prince the interview he sought
       With earnest prayer, because, my liege and lord,
       I—the queen—wished and willed it, and because
       I never can admit that formal custom
       Should sit as judge on actions that are guiltless;
       And I concealed it from your majesty
       Because I chose not to contend with you
       About this right in presence of your courtiers.

       KING.
       You speak with boldness, madam!

       QUEEN.
                        I may add,
       Because the prince, in his own father's heart,
       Scarce finds that kindness he so well deserves.

       KING.
       So well deserves!

       QUEEN.
                 Why, sire! should I conceal it!
       Highly do I esteem him—yes! and love him
       As a most dear relation, who was once
       Deemed worthy of a dearer—tenderer—title.
       I've yet to learn that he, on this account,
       Should be estranged from me beyond all others,—
       Because he once was better loved than they.
       Though your state policy may knit together
       What bands it pleases—'tis a harder task
       To burst such ties! I will not hate another
       For any one's command—and since I must
       So speak—such dictates I will not endure.

       KING.
       Elizabeth! you've seen me in weak moments—
       And their remembrance now emboldens you.
       On that strong influence you now depend,
       Which you have often, with so much success,
       Against my firmness tried. But fear the more
       The power which has seduced me to be weak
       May yet inflame me to some act of madness.

       QUEEN.
       What have I done?

       KING (takes her hand).
                 If it should prove but so—
       And is it not already? If the full
       Accumulated measure of your guilt
       Become but one breath heavier—should I be
       Deceived——
             [Lets her hand go.
              I can subdue these last remains
       Of weakness—can and will—then woe betide
       Myself and you, Elizabeth!

       QUEEN.
                     What crime
       Have I committed?

       KING.
                 On my own account then
       Shall blood be shed.

       QUEEN.
                  And has it come to this?
       Oh, Heaven!

       KING.
       I shall forget myself—I shall
       Regard no usage and no voice of nature—
       Not e'en the law of nations.

       QUEEN.
                      Oh, how much
       I pity you!

       KING.
              The pity of a harlot!

       INFANTA (clinging to her mother in terror).
       The king is angry, and my mother weeps.

          [KING pushes the child violently from the QUEEN.

       QUEEN (with mildness and dignity, but with faltering voice).
       This child I must protect from cruelty—
       Come with me, daughter.
                 [Takes her in her arms.
                    If the king no more
       Acknowledge thee—beyond the Pyrenees
       I'll call protectors to defend our cause.

                      [Going.

       KING (embarrassed).
       Queen!

       QUEEN.
           I can bear no more—it is too much!

          [Hastening to the door, she falls with her child on the threshold.

       KING (running to her assistance).
       Heavens! What is that?

       INFANTA (cries out with terror).
                    She bleeds! My mother bleeds!

                            [Runs out.

       KING (anxiously assisting her).
       Oh, what a fearful accident! You bleed;
       Do I deserve this cruel punishment?
       Rise and collect yourself—rise, they are coming!
       They will surprise us! Shall the assembled court
       Divert themselves with such a spectacle?
       Must I entreat you? Rise.

          [She rises, supported by the KING.

## SCENE X.

          The former, ALVA, DOMINGO entering, alarmed, ladies follow.

       KING.
                 Now let the queen
       Be led to her apartment; she's unwell.

          [Exit the QUEEN, attended by her ladies.
          ALVA and DOMINGO come forward.

       ALVA.
       The queen in tears, and blood upon her face!

       KING.
       Does that surprise the devils who've misled me?

       ALVA and DOMINGO.
       We?

       KING.
          You have said enough to drive me mad.
       But nothing to convince me.

       ALVA.
                      We gave you
       What we ourselves possessed.

       KING.
                      May hell reward you!
       I've done what I repent of! Ah! was hers,
       The language of a conscience dark with guilt?

       MARQUIS POSA (from without).
       Say, can I see the king?

## SCENE XI.

          The former, MARQUIS POSA.

       KING (starts up at the sound of his voice, and advances
          some paces to meet him).
                     Ah! here he comes.
       Right welcome, marquis! Duke! I need you now
       No longer. Leave us.

          [ALVA and DOMINGO look at each other with silent
          astonishment and retire.

## SCENE XII.

          The KING, and MARQUIS POSA.

       MARQUIS.
                 That old soldier, sire,
       Who has faced death, in twenty battles, for you,
       Must hold it thankless to be so dismissed.

       KING.
       'Tis thus for you to think—for me to act;
       In a few hours you have been more to me
       Than that man in a lifetime. Nor shall I
       Keep my content a secret. On your brow
       The lustre of my high and royal favor
       Shall shine resplendent—I will make that man
       A mark for envy whom I choose my friend.

       MARQUIS.
       What if the veil of dark obscurity
       Were his sole claim to merit such a title?

       KING.
       What come you now to tell me?

       MARQUIS.
                       As I passed
       Along the antechamber a dread rumor
       Fell on my ear,—it seemed incredible,—
       Of a most angry quarrel—blood—the queen——

       KING.
       Come you from her?

       MARQUIS.
                 I should be horrified
       Were not the rumor false: or should perhaps
       Your majesty meantime have done some act—
       Discoveries of importance I have made,
       Which wholly change the aspect of affairs.

       KING.
       How now?

       MARQUIS.
            I found an opportunity
       To seize your son's portfolio, with his letters,
       Which, as I hope, may throw some light——

          [He gives the PRINCE's portfolio to the KING.

       KING (looks through it eagerly).
                            A letter
       From the emperor, my father. How I a letter
       Of which I ne'er remember to have heard.

          [He reads it through, puts it aside, and goes
          to the other papers.

       A drawing of some fortress—detached thoughts
       From Tacitus—and what is here? The hand
       I surely recognize—it is a lady's.

          [He reads it attentively, partly to himself,
          and partly aloud.

       "This key—the farthest chamber of the queen's
       Pavilion!" Ha! what's this? "The voice of love,—
       The timid lover—may—a rich reward."
       Satanic treachery! I see it now.
       'Tis she—'tis her own writing!

       MARQUIS.
                        The queen's writing!
       Impossible!

       KING.
              The Princess Eboli's.

       MARQUIS.
       Then, it was true, what the queen's page confessed,
       Not long since—that he brought this key and letter.

       KING (grasping the MARQUIS' hand in great emotion).
       Marquis! I see that I'm in dreadful hands.
       This woman—I confess it—'twas this woman
       Forced the queen's casket: and my first suspicions
       Were breathed by her. Who knows how deep the priest
       May be engaged in this? I am deceived
       By cursed villany.

       MARQUIS.
       Then it was lucky——

       KING.
       Marquis! O marquis! I begin to fear
       I've wronged my wife.

       MARQUIS.
                   If there exist between
       The prince and queen some secret understandings,
       They are of other import, rest assured,
       Than those they charge her with. I know, for certain,
       The prince's prayer to be despatched to Flanders
       Was by the queen suggested.

       KING.
                      I have thought so.

       MARQUIS.
       The queen's ambitious. Dare I speak more fully?
       She sees, with some resentment, her high hopes
       All disappointed, and herself shut out
       From share of empire. Your son's youthful ardor
       Offers itself to her far-reaching views,
       Her heart! I doubt if she can love.

       KING.
                          Her schemes
       Of policy can never make me tremble.

       MARQUIS.
       Whether the Infant loves her—whether we
       Have something worse to fear from him,—are things
       Worthy our deep attention. To these points
       Our strictest vigilance must be directed.

       KING.
       You must be pledge for him.

       MARQUIS.
                      And if the king
       Esteem me capable of such a task,
       I must entreat it be intrusted to me
       Wholly without conditions.

       KING.
                     So it shall.

       MARQUIS.
       That in the steps which I may think required,
       I may be thwarted by no coadjutors,
       Whatever name they bear.

       KING.
                    I pledge my word
       You shall not. You have proved my guardian angel.
       How many thanks I owe you for this service!

          [LERMA enters—the KING to him.

       How did you leave the queen?

       LERMA.
                      But scarce recovered
       From her deep swoon.

          [He looks at the MARQUIS doubtfully, and exit.

       MARQUIS (to the KING, after a pause).
                  One caution yet seems needful.
       The prince may be advised of our design,
       For he has many faithful friends in Ghent,
       And may have partisans among the rebels.
       Fear may incite to desperate resolves;
       Therefore I counsel that some speedy means
       Be taken to prevent this fatal chance.

       KING.
       You are quite right—but how?

       MARQUIS.
                       Your majesty
       May sign a secret warrant of arrest
       And place it in my hands, to be employed,
       As may seem needful, in the hour of danger.

          [The KING appears thoughtful.

       This step must be a most profound state secret
       Until——

       KING (going to his desk and writing the warrant of arrest).
            The kingdom is at stake, and now
       The pressing danger sanctions urgent measures.
       Here marquis! I need scarcely say—use prudence.

       MARQUIS (taking the warrant).
       'Tis only for the last extremity.

       KING (laying his hand on the shoulder of the MARQUIS).
       Go! Go, dear marquis! Give this bosom peace,
       And bring back slumber to my sleepless pillow.

                    [Exeunt at different sides.

## SCENE XIII.

          A Gallery.

          CARLOS entering in extreme agitation, COUNT LERMA
          meeting him.

       CARLOS.
       I have been seeking you.

       LERMA.
                    And I your highness.

       CARLOS.
       For heaven's sake is it true?

       LERMA.
                       What do you mean?

       CARLOS.
       That the king drew his dagger, and that she
       Was borne, all bathed in blood, from the apartment?
       Now answer me, by all that's sacred; say,
       What am I to believe? What truth is in it?

       LERMA.
       She fainted, and so grazed her skin in falling
       That is the whole.

       CARLOS.
                 Is there no further danger?
       Count, answer on your honor.

       LERMA.
                      For the queen
       No further danger; for yourself, there's much!

       CARLOS.
       None for my mother. Then, kind Heaven, I thank thee.
       A dreadful rumor reached me that the king
       Raved against child and mother, and that some
       Dire secret was discovered.

       LERMA.
                      And the last
       May possibly be true.

       CARLOS.
                   Be true! What mean you?

       LERMA.
       One warning have I given you, prince, already,
       And that to-day, but you despised it; now
       Perhaps you'll profit better by a second.

       CARLOS.
       Explain yourself.

       LERMA.
                 If I mistake not, prince,
       A few days since I noticed in your hands
       An azure-blue portfolio, worked in velvet
       And chased with gold.

       CARLOS (with anxiety).
                   Yes, I had such a one.

       LERMA.
       And on the cover, if I recollect, a portrait
       Set in pearls?

       CARLOS.
               'Tis right; go on.

       LERMA.
       I entered the king's chamber on a sudden,
       And in his hands I marked that same portfolio,
       The Marquis Posa standing by his side.

       CARLOS (after a short silence of astonishment, hastily).
       'Tis false!

       LERMA (warmly).
             Then I'm a traitor!

       CARLOS (looking steadfastly at him).
                        That you are!

       LERMA.
       Well, I forgive you.

       CARLOS (paces the apartment in extreme agitation, at length
           stands still before him).
                  Has he injured thee?
       What have our guiltless ties of friendship done,
       That with a demon's zeal thou triest to rend them?

       LERMA.
       Prince, I respect the grief which renders you
       So far unjust.

       CARLOS.
               Heaven shield me from suspicion!

       LERMA.
       And I remember, too, the king's own words.
       Just as I entered he addressed the marquis:
       "How many thanks I owe you for this news."

       CARLOS.
       Oh, say no more!

       LERMA.
                Duke Alva is disgraced!
       The great seal taken from the Prince Ruy Gomez,
       And given to the marquis.

       CARLOS (lost in deep thought).
                     And from me
       Has he concealed all this? And why from me?

       LERMA.
       As minister all-powerful, the court
       Looks on him now—as favorite unrivalled!

       CARLOS.
       He loved me—loved me greatly: I was dear
       As his own soul is to him. That I know—
       Of that I've had a thousand proofs. But should
       The happiness of millions yield to one?
       Must not his country dearer to him prove
       Than Carlos? One friend only is too few
       For his capacious heart. And not enough
       Is Carlos' happiness to engross his love.
       He offers me a sacrifice to virtue;
       And shall I murmur at him? Now 'tis certain
       I have forever lost him.

          [He steps aside and covers his face.

       LERMA.
                     Dearest prince!
       How can I serve you?

       CARLOS (without looking at him).
                  Get you to the king;
       Go and betray me. I have naught to give.

       LERMA.
       Will you then stay and brave the ill that follows?

       CARLOS (leans on a balustrade and looks forward with a vacant gaze).
       I've lost him now, and I am destitute!

       LERMA (approaching him with sympathizing emotion).
       And will you not consult your safety, prince?

       CARLOS.
       My safety! Generous man!

       LERMA:
                     And is there, then,
       No other person you should tremble for?

       CARLOS (starts up).
       Heavens! you remind me now. Alas! My mother!
       The letter that I gave him—first refused—
       Then after, gave him!

          [He paces backwards and forwards with agitation,
          wringing his hands.

                   Has she then deserved
       This blow from him? He should have spared her, Lerma.

          [In a hasty, determined tone.

       But I must see her—warn her of her danger—
       I must prepare her, Lerma, dearest Lerma!
       Whom shall I send? Have I no friend remaining?
       Yes! Heaven be praised! I still have one; and now
       The worst is over.
                     [Exit quickly.

       LEEMA (follows, and calls after him).
       Whither, whither, prince?

## SCENE XIV.

          The QUEEN, ALVA, DOMINGO.

       ALVA.
       If we may be permitted, gracious queen——

       QUEEN.
       What are your wishes?

       DOMINGO.
                   A most true regard
       For your high majesty forbids us now
       To watch in careless silence an event
       Pregnant with danger to your royal safety.

       ALVA.
       We hasten, by a kind and timely warning,
       To counteract a plot that's laid against you.

       DOMINGO.
       And our warm zeal, and our best services,
       To lay before your feet, most gracious queen!

       QUEEN (looking at them with astonishment).
       Most reverend sir, and you, my noble duke,
       You much surprise me. Such sincere attachment,
       In truth, I had not hoped for from Domingo,
       Nor from Duke Alva. Much I value it.
       A plot you mention, menacing my safety—
       Dare I inquire by whom——

       ALVA.
       You will beware a certain Marquis Posa
       He has of late been secretly employed
       In the king's service.

       QUEEN.
                   With delight I hear
       The king has made so excellent a choice.
       Report, long since, has spoken of the marquis
       As a deserving, great, and virtuous man—
       The royal grace was ne'er so well bestowed!

       DOMINGO.
       So well bestowed! We think far otherwise.

       ALVA.
       It is no secret now, for what designs
       This man has been employed.

       QUEEN.
                      How! What designs?
       You put my expectation on the rack.

       DOMINGO.
       How long is it since last your majesty
       Opened your casket?

       QUEEN.
                  Why do you inquire?

       DOMINGO.
       Did you not miss some articles of value?

       QUEEN.
       Why these suspicions? What I missed was then
       Known to the court! But what of Marquis Posa?
       Say, what connection has all this with him?

       ALVA.
       The closest, please your majesty—the prince
       Has lost some papers of importance;
       And they were seen this morning with the king
       After the marquis had an audience of him.

       QUEEN (after some consideration).
       This news is strange indeed—inexplicable
       To find a foe where I could ne'er have dreamed it,
       And two warm friends I knew not I possessed!

          [Fixing her eyes steadfastly upon them.

       And, to speak truth, I had well nigh imputed
       To you the wicked turn my husband served me.

       ALVA.
       To us!

       QUEEN.
           To you yourselves!

       DOMINGO.
                     To me! Duke Alva!

       QUEEN (her eyes still fastened on them).
       I am glad to be so timely made aware
       Of my rash judgment—else had I resolved
       This very day to beg his majesty
       Would bring me face to face with my accusers.
       But I'm contented now. I can appeal
       To the Duke Alva for his testimony.

       ALVA.
       For mine? You would not sure do that!

       QUEEN.
       Why not?

       ALVA.
            'Twould counteract the services we might
       Render in secret to you.

       QUEEN.
                    How! in secret?
          [With stern dignity.
       I fain would know what secret projects, duke,
       Your sovereign's spouse can have to form with you,
       Or, priest! with you—her husband should not know?
       Think you that I am innocent or guilty?

       DOMINGO.
       Strange question!

       ALVA.
                 Should the monarch prove unjust—
       And at this time——

       QUEEN.
       Then I must wait for justice
       Until it come—and they are happiest far
       Whose consciences may calmly wait their right.

          [Bows to them and exit. DOMINGO and ALVA exeunt
          on the opposite side.

## SCENE XV.

          Chamber Of PRINCESS EBOLI.
          PRINCESS EBOLI. CARLOS immediately after.

       EBOLI.
       Is it then true—the strange intelligence,
       That fills the court with wonder?

       CARLOS (enters).
                         Do not fear
       Princess! I shall be gentle as a child.

       EBOLI.
       Prince, this intrusion!

       CARLOS.
                    Are you angry still?
       Offended still with me——

       EBOLI.
                    Prince!

       CARLOS (earnestly).
                         Are you angry?
       I pray you answer me.

       EBOLI.
                   What can this mean?
       You seem, prince, to forget—what would you with me?

       CARLOS (seizing her hand with warmth).
       Dear maiden! Can you hate eternally?
       Can injured love ne'er pardon?

       EBOLI (disengaging herself).
                       Prince! of what
       Would you remind me?

       CARLOS.
                  Of your kindness, dearest!
       And of my deep ingratitude. Alas,
       Too well I know it! deeply have I wronged thee—
       Wounded thy tender heart, and from thine eyes,
       Thine angel eyes, wrung precious tears, sweet maid!
       But ah! 'tis not repentance leads me hither.

       EBOLI.
       Prince! leave me—I——

       CARLOS.
                   I come to thee, because
       Thou art a maid of gentle soul—because
       I trust thy heart—thy kind and tender heart.
       Think, dearest maiden! think, I have no friend,
       No friend but thee, in all this wretched world—
       Thou who wert once so kind wilt not forever
       Hate me, nor will thy anger prove eternal.

       EBOLI (turning away her face).
       O cease! No more! for heaven's sake! leave me, prince.

       CARLOS.
       Let me remind thee of those golden hours—
       Let me remind thee of thy love, sweet maid—
       That love which I so basely have offended!
       Oh, let me now appear to thee again
       As once I was—and as thy heart portrayed me.
       Yet once again, once only, place my image,
       As in days past, before thy tender soul,
       And to that idol make a sacrifice
       Thou canst not make to me.

       EBOLI.
                     Oh, Carlos, cease!
       Too cruelly thou sportest with my feelings!

       CARLOS.
       Be nobler than thy sex! Forgive an insult!
       Do what no woman e'er has done before thee,
       And what no woman, after thee, can equal.
       I ask of thee an unexampled favor.
       Grant me—upon my knees I ask of thee
       Grant me two moments with the queen, my mother!

          [He casts himself at her feet.

## SCENE XVI.

          The former. MARQUIS POSA rushes in; behind him two
          Officers of the Queen's Guard.

       MARQUIS (breathless and agitated, rushing between CARLOS and
            the PRINCESS).
       Say, what has he confessed? Believe him not!

       CARLOS (still on his knees, with loud voice).
       By all that's holy——

       MARQUIS (interrupting him with vehemence).
                  He is mad! He raves!
       Oh, listen to him not!

       CARLOS (louder and more urgent).
                   It is a question
       Of life and death; conduct me to her straight.

       MARQUIS (dragging the PRINCESS from him by force).
       You die, if you but listen.
          [To one of the officers, showing an order.
                      Count of Cordova!
       In the king's name, Prince Carlos is your prisoner.

          [CARLOS stands bewildered. The PRINCESS utters a cry of
          horror, and tries to escape. The officers are astounded.
          A long and deep pause ensues. The MARQUIS trembles violently,
          and with difficulty preserves his composure.
                             [To the PRINCE.

       I beg your sword—The Princess Eboli
       Remains——
                      [To the officers.
             And you, on peril of your lives,
       Let no one with his highness speak—no person—
       Not e'en yourselves.
          [He whispers a few words to one officer, then turns to the other.
                  I hasten, instantly,
       To cast myself before our monarch's feet,
       And justify this step——
                [To the PRINCE.
                    And prince! for you—
       Expect me in an hour.

          [CARLOS permits himself to be led away without any signs
          of consciousness, except that in passing he casts a languid,
          dying look on the MARQUIS. The PRINCESS endeavors again to
          escape; the MARQUIS pulls her back by the arm.

## SCENE XVII.

          PRINCESS EBOLI, MARQUIS POSA.

       EBOLI.
       For Heaven's sake let me leave this place——

       MARQUIS (leads her forward with dreadful earnestness).
                              Thou wretch!
       What has he said to thee?

       EBOLI.
                     Oh, leave me! Nothing.

       MARQUIS (with earnestness; holding her back by force).
       How much has he imparted to thee? Here
       No way is left thee to escape. To none
       In this world shalt thou ever tell it.

       EBOLI (looking at him with terror).
       Heavens! What would you do? Would you then murder me?

       MARQUIS (drawing a dagger).
       Yes, that is my resolve. Be speedy!

       EBOLI.
                          Mercy!
       What have I then committed?

       MARQUIS (looking towards heaven, points the dagger to her breast).
                      Still there's time—
       The poison has not issued from these lips.
       Dash but the bowl to atoms, all remains
       Still as before! The destinies of Spain
       Against a woman's life!

          [Remains doubtingly in this position.

       EBOLI (having sunk down beside him, looks in his face).
                    Do not delay—
       Why do you hesitate? I beg no mercy—
       I have deserved to die, and I am ready.

       MARQUIS (letting his hand drop slowly—after some reflection).
       It were as cowardly as barbarous.
       No! God be praised! another way is left.

          [He lets the dagger fall and hurries out. The PRINCESS
          hastens out through another door.

## SCENE XVIII.

          A Chamber of the QUEEN.
          The QUEEN to the COUNTESS FUENTES.

       What means this noisy tumult in the palace?
       Each breath to-day alarms me! Countess! see
       What it portends, and hasten back with speed.

          [Exit COUNTESS FUENTES—the PRINCESS EBOLI rushes in.

## SCENE XIX.

          The QUEEN, PRINCESS EBOLI.

       EBOLI (breathless, pale, and wild, falls before the QUEEN).
       Help! Help! O Queen! he's seized!

       QUEEN.
                         Who?

       EBOLI.
                            He's arrested
       By the king's orders given to Marquis Posa.

       QUEEN.
       Who is arrested? Who?

       EBOLI.
                   The prince!

       QUEEN.
                          Thou ravest

       EBOLI.
       This moment they are leading him away.

       QUEEN.
       And who arrested him?

       EBOLI.
                   The Marquis Posa.

       QUEEN.
       Then heaven be praised! it was the marquis seized him!

       EBOLI.
       Can you speak thus, and with such tranquil mien?
       Oh, heavens! you do not know—you cannot think——

       QUEEN.
       The cause of his arrest! some trifling error,
       Doubtless arising from his headlong youth!

       EBOLI.
       No! no! I know far better. No, my queen!
       Remorseless treachery! There's no help for him.
       He dies!

       QUEEN.
            He dies!

       EBOLI.
                 And I'm his murderer!

       QUEEN.
       What! Dies? Thou ravest! Think what thou art saying?

       EBOLI.
       And wherefore—wherefore dies he? Had I known
       That it would come to this!

       QUEEN (takes her affectionately by the hand).
                      Oh, dearest princess,
       Your senses are distracted, but collect
       Your wandering spirits, and relate to me
       More calmly, not in images of horror
       That fright my inmost soul, whate'er you know!
       Say, what has happened?

       EBOLI.
                    Oh, display not, queen,
       Such heavenly condescension! Like hot flames
       This kindness sears my conscience. I'm not worthy
       To view thy purity with eyes profane.
       Oh, crush the wretch, who, agonized by shame,
       Remorse, and self-reproach writhes at thy feet!

       QUEEN.
       Unhappy woman! Say, what is thy guilt?

       EBOLI.
       Angel of light! Sweet saint! thou little knowest
       The demon who has won thy loving smiles.
       Know her to-day; I was the wretched thief
       Who plundered thee.

       QUEEN.
                  What! Thou?

       EBOLI.
                         And gave thy letters
       Up to the king?

       QUEEN.
                What! Thou?

       EBOLI.
                       And dared accuse thee!

       QUEEN.
       Thou! Couldst thou this?

       EBOLI.
                     Revenge and madness—love—
       I hated thee, and loved the prince!

       QUEEN.
                          And did
       His love so prompt thee?

       QUEEN.
       And who arrested him?

       EBOLI.
                   I had owned my love,
       But met with no return.

       QUEEN (after a pause).
                    Now all's explained!
       Rise up!—you loved him—I have pardoned you
       I have forgotten all. Now, princess, rise.

          [Holding out her hand to the PRINCESS.

       EBOLI.
       No, no; a foul confession still remains.
       I will not rise, great queen, till I——

       QUEEN.
                           Then speak!
       What have I yet to hear?

       EBOLI.
                    The king! Seduction!
       Oh, now you turn away. And in your eyes
       I read abhorrence. Yes; of that foul crime
       I charged you with, I have myself been guilty.

          [She presses her burning face to the ground. Exit QUEEN.
          A long pause. The COUNTESS OLIVAREZ, after some minutes,
          comes out of the cabinet, into which the QUEEN entered, and
          finds the PRINCESS 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 to the QUEEN, and is about to go.

       QUEEN (follows him with her eyes in silence).
       You are then going, marquis, and have not
       Told me how soon—and when—we meet again?

       MARQUIS (comes back once more, his face turned away).
       Yes, we shall surely meet again!

       QUEEN.
                        Now, Posa,
       I understand you. Why have you done this?

       MARQUIS.
       Carlos or I myself!

       QUEEN.
                  No! no! you rush
       Headlong into a deed you deem, sublime.
       Do not deceive yourself: I know you well:
       Long have you thirsted for it. If your pride
       But have its fill, what matters it to you
       Though thousand hearts should break. Oh! now, at length,
       I comprehend your feelings—'tis the love
       Of admiration which has won your heart——

       MARQUIS (surprised, aside).
       No! I was not prepared for this——

       QUEEN (after a pause).
                          Oh, marquis!
       Is there no hope of preservation?

       MARQUIS.
                         None.

       QUEEN.
       None? Oh, consider well! None possible!
       Not e'en by me?

       MARQUIS.
                Not even, queen, by thee.

       QUEEN.
       You but half know me—I have courage, marquis——

       MARQUIS.
       I know it——

       QUEEN.
              And no means of safety?

       MARQUIS.
                           None

       QUEEN (turning away and covering her face).
       Go! Never more shall I respect a man——

       MARQUIS (casts himself on his knees before her in evident emotion).
       O queen! O heaven! how lovely still is life!

          [He starts up and rushes out. The QUEEN retires into her cabinet.

## SCENE XXII.

          DUKE ALVA and DOMINGO walking up and down in silence and separately.
          COUNT LERMA comes out of the KING's cabinet, and afterwards DON
          RAYMOND OF TAXIS, the Postmaster-General.

       LERMA.
       Has not the marquis yet appeared?

       ALVA.
                         Not yet.

          [LERMA about to re-enter the cabinet.

       TAXIS (enters).
       Count Lerma! Pray announce me to the king?

       LERMA.
       His majesty cannot be seen.

       TAXIS.
                      But say
       That I must see him; that my business is
       Of urgent import to his majesty.
       Make haste—it will admit of no delay.

               [LERMA enters the cabinet.

       ALVA.
       Dear Taxis, you must learn a little patience—
       You cannot see the king.

       TAXIS.
                    Not see him! Why?

       ALVA.
       You should have been considerate, and procured
       Permission from the Marquis Posa first—
       Who keeps both son and father in confinement.

       TAXIS.
       The Marquis Posa! Right—that is the man
       From whom I bring this letter.

       ALVA.
                       Ah! What letter?

       TAXIS.
       A letter to be forwarded to Brussels.

       ALVA (attentively).
       To Brussels?

       TAXIS.
              And I bring it to the king.

       ALVA.
       Indeed! to Brussels! Heard you that, Domingo?

       DOMINGO (joining them).
       Full of suspicion!

       TAXIS.
                 And with anxious mien,
       And deep embarrassment he gave it to me.

       DOMINGO.
       Embarrassment! To whom is it directed?

       TAXIS.
       The Prince of Orange and Nassau.

       ALVA.
                        To William!
       There's treason here, Domingo!

       DOMINGO.
                       Nothing less!
       In truth this letter must, without delay,
       Be laid before the king. A noble service
       You render, worthy man—to be so firm
       In the discharge of duty.

       TAXIS.
                     Reverend sir!
       'Tis but my duty.

       ALVA.
                 But you do it well.

       LERMA (coming out of the cabinet, addressing TAXIS).
       The king will see you.
                [TAXIS goes in.
                    Is the marquis come?

       DOMINGO.
       He has been sought for everywhere.

       ALVA.
                         'Tis strange!
       The prince is a state prisoner! And the king
       Knows not the reason why!

       DOMINGO.
                     He never came
       To explain the business here.

       ALVA.
                       What says the king?

       LERMA.
       The king spoke not a word.

          [A noise in the cabinet.

       ALVA.
                     What noise is that?

       TAXIS (coming out of the cabinet).
       Count Lerma!
                       [Both enter.

       ALVA (to DOMINGO).
              What so deeply can engage them.

       DOMINGO.
       That look of fear! This intercepted letter!
       It augurs nothing good.

       ALVA.
                    He sends for Lerma!
       Yet he must know full well that you and I
       Are both in waiting.

       DOMINGO.
                  Ah! our day is over!

       ALVA.
       And am I not the same to whom these doors
       Flew open once? But, ah! how changed is all
       Around me and how strange!

          [DOMINGO approaches the cabinet door softly, and remains
          listening before it.

       ALVA (after a pause).
                     Hark! All is still
       And silent as the grave!' I hear them breathe.

       DOMINGO.
       The double tapestry absorbs the sounds!

       ALVA.
       Away! there's some one coming. All appears
       So solemn and so still—as if this instant
       Some deep momentous question were decided.

## SCENE XXIII.

          The PRINCE OF PARMA, the DUKES OF FERIA and MEDINA
          SIDONIA, with other GRANDEES enter—the preceding.

       PARMA.
       Say, can we see the king?

       ALVA.
                     No!

       PARMA.
                       Who is with him?

       FERIA.
       The Marquis Posa, doubtless?

       ALVA.
                       Every instant
       He is expected here.

       PARMA.
                  This moment we
       Arrive from Saragossa. Through Madrid
       Terror prevails! Is the announcement true?

       Domingo.
       Alas, too true!

       FERIA.
                That he has been arrested
       By the marquis!

       ALVA.
                Yes.

       PARMA.
                   And wherefore? What's the cause?

       ALVA.
       Wherefore? That no one knows, except the king
       And Marquis Posa.

       PARMA.
                 And without the warrant
       Of the assembled Cortes of the Realm?

       FERIA.
       That man shall suffer, who has lent a hand
       To infringe the nation's rights.

       ALVA.
                         And so say I!

       MEDINA SIDONIA.
       And I!

       THE OTHER GRANDEES.
           And all of us!

       ALVA.
                   Who'll follow me
       Into the cabinet? I'll throw myself
       Before the monarch's feet.

       LERMA (rushing out of the cabinet).
                     The Duke of Alva!

       DOMINGO.
       Then God be praised at last!

       LERMA.
                      When Marquis Posa
       Comes, say the king's engaged and he'll be sent for.

       DOMINGO (to LERMA; all the others having gathered round him,
            full of anxious expectation).
       Count! What has happened? You are pale as death!

       LERMA (hastening away).
       Fell villany!

       PARMA and FERIA.
               What! what!

       MEDINA SIDONIA.
                     How is the king?

       DOMINGO (at the same time).
       Fell villany! Explain——

       LERMA.
                    The king shed tears!

       DOMINGO.
       Shed tears!

       ALL (together with astonishment).
              The king shed tears!

          [The bell rings in the cabinet, COUNT LERMA hastens in.

       DOMINGO.
                         Count, yet one word.
       Pardon! He's gone! We're fettered in amazement.

## SCENE XXIV.

          PRINCESS EBOLI, FERIA, MEDINA SIDONIA, PARMA,
          DOMINGO, and other grandees.

       EBOLI (hurriedly and distractedly).
       Where is the king? Where? I must speak with him.
          [To FERIA.
       Conduct me to him, duke!

       FERIA.
                    The monarch is
       Engaged in urgent business. No one now
       Can be admitted.

       EBOLI.
                Has he signed, as yet,
       The fatal sentence? He has been deceived.

       DOMINGO (giving her a significant look at a distance).
       The Princess Eboli!

       EBOLI (going to him).
                  What! you here, priest?
       The very man I want! You can confirm
       My testimony!

          [She seizes his hand and would drag him into the cabinet.

       DOMINGO.
               I? You rave, princess!

       FERIA.
       Hold back. The king cannot attend you now.

       EBOLI.
       But he must hear me; he must hear the truth
       The truth, were he ten times a deity.

       EBOLI.
       Man, tremble at the anger of thy idol.
       I have naught left to hazard.

          [Attempts to enter the cabinet; ALVA rushes out, his eyes
          sparkling, triumph in his gait. He hastens to DOMINGO,
          and embraces him.

       ALVA.
                       Let each church
       Resound with high To Dennis. Victory
       At length is ours.

       DOMINGO.
                 What! Ours?

       ALVA (to DOMINGO and the other GRANDEES).
                        Now to the king.
       You shall hereafter hear the sequel from me.

## ACT V.

## SCENE I.

          A chamber in the royal palace, separated from a large fore-court
          by an iron-barred gate. Sentinels walking up and down. CARLOS
          sitting at a table, with his head leaning forward on his arms, as
          if he were asleep. In the background of the chamber are some
          officers, confined with him. The MARQUIS POSA enters, unobserved
          by him, and whispers to the officers, who immediately withdraw.
          He himself steps close up to CARLOS, and looks at him for a few
          minutes in silent sorrow. At last he makes a motion which awakens
          him out of his stupor. CARLOS rises, and seeing the MARQUIS, starts
          back. He regards him for some time with fixed eyes, and draws his
          hand over his forehead as if he wished to recollect something.

       MARQUIS.
       Carlos! 'tie I.

       CARLOS (gives him his hand).
                Comest thou to me again?
       'Tis friendly of thee, truly.

       MARQUIS.
                       Here I thought
       Thou mightest need a friend.

       CARLOS.
                      Indeed! was that
       Thy real thought? Oh, joy unspeakable!
       Right well I knew thou still wert true to me.

       MARQUIS.
       I have deserved this from thee.

       CARLOS.
                        Hast thou not?
       And now we understand each other fully,
       It joys my heart. This kindness, this forbearance
       Becomes our noble souls. For should there be
       One rash, unjust demand amongst my wishes,
       Wouldst thou, for that, refuse me what was just?
       Virtue I know may often be severe,
       But never is she cruel and inhuman.
       Oh! it hath cost thee much; full well I know
       How thy kind heart with bitter anguish bled
       As thy hands decked the victim for the altar.

       MARQUIS.
       What meanest thou, Carlos?

       CARLOS.
                     Thou, thyself, wilt now
       Fulfil the joyous course I should have run.
       Thou wilt bestow on Spain those golden days
       She might have hoped in vain to win from me.
       I'm lost, forever lost; thou saw'st it clearly.
       This fatal love has scattered, and forever,
       All the bright, early blossoms of my mind.
       To all the great, exalted hopes I'm dead.
       Chance led thee to the king—or Providence,—
       It cost thee but my secret—and at once
       He was thine own—thou may'st become his angel:
       But I am lost, though Spain perhaps may flourish.
       Well, there is nothing to condemn, if not
       My own mad blindness. Oh, I should have known
       That thou art no less great than tender-hearted.

       MARQUIS.
       No! I foresaw not, I considered not
       That friendship's generous heart would lead thee on
       Beyond my worldly prudence. I have erred,
       My fabric's shattered—I forgot thy heart.

       CARLOS.
       Yet, if it had been possible to spare
       Her fate—oh, how intensely I had thanked thee!
       Could I not bear the burden by myself?
       And why must she be made a second victim?
       But now no more, I'll spare thee this reproach.
       What is the queen to thee? Say, dost thou love her?
       Could thy exalted virtue e'er consult
       The petty interests of my wretched passion?
       Oh, pardon me! I was unjust——

       MARQUIS.
                       Thou art so!
       But not for this reproach. Deserved I one,
       I merit all—and then I should not stand
       Before you as I do.
              [He takes out his portfolio.
                  I have some letters
       To give you back of those you trusted to me.

       CARLOS (looks first at the letters, then at the MARQUIS, in
           astonishment).
       How!

       MARQUIS.
          I return them now because they may
       Prove safer in thy custody than mine.

       CARLOS.
       What meanest thou? Has his majesty not read them?
       Have they not been before him?

       MARQUIS.
                       What, these letters!

       CARLOS.
       Thou didst not show them all, then?

       MARQUIS.
                          Who has said
       That ever I showed one?

       CARLOS (astonished).
                    Can it be so?
       Count Lerma——

       MARQUIS.
               He! he told thee so! Now all
       Is clear as day. But who could have foreseen it?
       Lerma! Oh, no, he hath not learned to lie.
       'Tis true, the king has all the other letters.

       CARLOS (looks at him long with speechless astonishment).
       But wherefore am I here?

       MARQUIS.
                    For caution's sake,
       Lest thou should chance, a second time, to make
       An Eboli thy confidant.

       CARLOS (as if waking from a dream).
                    Ha! Now
       I see it all—all is explained.

       MARQUIS (goes to the door).
                        Who's there?

## SCENE II.

          DUKE ALVA. The former.

       ALVA (approaching the PRINCE with respect, but turning his
          back on the MARQUIS during the whole scene).
       Prince, you are free. Deputed by the king
       I come to tell you so.

          [CARLOS looks at the MARQUIS with astonishment.
          General silence.

                   And I, in truth,
       Am fortunate to have this honor first——

       CARLOS (looking at both with extreme amazement, after a pause,
           to the DUKE).
       I am imprisoned, duke, and set at freedom,
       Unconscious of the cause of one or other.

       ALVA.
       As far as I know, prince, 'twas through an error,
       To which the king was driven by a traitor.

       CARLOS.
       Then am I here by order of the king?

       ALVA.
       Yes, through an error of his majesty.

       CARLOS.
       That gives me pain, indeed. But when the king
       Commits an error, 'twould beseem the king,
       Methinks, to remedy the fault in person.
       I am Don Philip's son—and curious eyes
       And slanderous looks are on me. What the king
       Hath done from sense of duty ne'er will I
       Appear to owe to your considerate favor.
       I am prepared to appear before the Cortes,
       And will not take my sword from such a hand.

       ALVA.
       The king will never hesitate to grant
       Your highness a request so just. Permit
       That I conduct you to him.

       CARLOS.
                     Here I stay
       Until the king or all Madrid shall come
       To lead me from my prison. Take my answer.

          [ALVA withdraws. He is still seen for some time
          lingering in the court and giving orders to the guards.

## SCENE III.

          CARLOS and MARQUIS POSA.

       CARLOS (after the departure of the DUKE, full of expectation and
           astonishment, to the MARQUIS).
       What means all this? Inform me, Roderigo—
       Art thou not, then, the minister?

       MARQUIS.
                         I was,
       As thou canst well perceive——
          [Going to him with great emotion.
                       O Carlos! Now

       I have succeeded—yes—it is accomplished—
       'Tis over now—Omnipotence be praised,
       To whom I owe success.

       CARLOS.
                   Success! What mean you?
       Thy words perplex me.

       MARQUIS (takes his hand).
                  Carlos! thou art saved—
       Art free—but I——
                   [He stops short.

       CARLOS.
                 But thou——

       MARQUIS.
                       Thus to my breast
       I press thee now, with friendship's fullest right,
       A right I've bought with all I hold most dear.
       How great, how lovely, Carlos, is this moment
       Of self-approving joy?

       CARLOS.
                   What sudden change
       I mark upon thy features! Proudly now
       Thy bosom heaves, thine eyes dart vivid fire!

       MARQUIS.
       We must say farewell, Carlos! Tremble 'not,
       But be a man! And what thou more shalt hear,
       Promise me, not by unavailing sorrow,
       Unworthy of great souls, to aggravate
       The pangs of parting. I am lost to thee,
       Carlos, for many years—fools say forever.

          [CARLOS withdraws his hand, but makes no reply.

       Be thou a man: I've reckoned much on thee—
       I have not even shunned to pass with thee
       This awful hour—which men, in words of fear,
       Have termed the final one. I own it, Carlos,
       I joy to pass it thus. Come let us sit—
       I feel myself grown weary and exhausted.

          [He approaches CARLOS, who is in a lifeless stupor, and
          allows himself to be involuntarily drawn down by him.

       Where art thou? No reply! I must be brief.
       Upon the day that followed our last meeting
       At the Carthusian monastery the king
       Called me before him. What ensued thou knowest,
       And all Madrid. Thou hast not heard, however,
       Thy secret even then had reached his ears—
       That letters in the queen's possession found
       Had testified against thee. This I learned
       From his own lips—I was his confidant.

          [He pauses for CARLOS' answer, but he still
          remains silent.

       Yes, Carlos, with my lips I broke my faith—
       Guided the plot myself that worked thy ruin.
       Thy deed spoke trumpet-tongued; to clear thee fully
       'Twas now too late: to frustrate his revenge
       Was all that now remained for me; and so
       I made myself thy enemy to-serve thee
       With fuller power—dost thou not hear me, Carlos,

       CARLOS.
       Go on! go on! I hear thee.

       MARQUIS.
                     To this point
       I'm guiltless. But the unaccustomed beams
       Of royal favor dazzled me. The rumor,
       As I had well foreseen, soon reached thine ears
       But by mistaken delicacy led,
       And blinded by my vain desire to end
       My enterprise alone, I kept concealed
       From friendship's ear my hazardous design.
       This was my fatal error! Here I failed!
       I know it. My self-confidence was madness.
       Pardon that confidence—'twas founded, Carlos,
       Upon our friendship's everlasting base.

          [He pauses. CARLOS passes from torpid silence to
          violent agitation.

       That which I feared befell. Unreal dangers
       Alarmed your mind. The bleeding queen—the tumult
       Within the palace—Lerma's interference—
       And, last of all, my own mysterious silence,
       Conspired to overwhelm thy heart with wonder.
       Thou wavered'st, thought'st me lost; but far too noble
       To doubt thy friend's integrity, thy soul
       Clothed his defection with a robe of honor,
       Nor judged him faithless till it found a motive
       To screen and justify his breach of faith.
       Forsaken by thy only friend—'twas then
       Thou sought'st the arms of Princess Eboli—
       A demon's arms! 'Twas she betrayed thee, Carlos!
       I saw thee fly to her—a dire foreboding
       Struck on my heart—I followed thee too late!
       Already wert thou prostrate at her feet,
       The dread avowal had escaped thy lips—
       No way was left to save thee.

       CARLOS.
                       No! her heart
       Was moved, thou dost mistake, her heart was moved.

       MARQUIS.
       Night overspread my mind. No remedy,
       No refuge, no retreat was left to me
       In nature's boundless compass. Blind despair
       Transformed me to a fury—to a tiger—
       I raised my dagger to a woman's breast.
       But in that moment—in that dreadful moment—
       A radiant sunbeam fell upon my soul.
       "Could I mislead the king! Could I succeed
       In making him think me the criminal!
       However improbable, the very guilt
       Will be enough to win the king's belief.
       I'll dare the task—a sudden thunderbolt
       May make the tyrant start—what want I further?
       He stops to think, and Carlos thus gains time
       To fly to Brussels."

       CARLOS.
                  And hast thou done this?

       MARQUIS.
       I have despatched a letter to Prince William,
       Saying I loved the queen, and had escaped
       The king's mistrust in the unjust suspicion
       Which falsely fell on thee—that I had found
       Means, through the monarch's favor, to obtain
       Free access to the queen. I added, further,
       That I was fearful of discovery—
       That thou hadst learned my secret, and hadst sped
       To Princess Eboli, with hopes through her
       To warn the queen—that I had made thee prisoner—
       And now that all seemed lost, I had resolved
       To fly to Brussels. This same letter I——

       CARLOS (interrupts him, terrified).
       Hast surely not intrusted to the post!
       Thou knowest that letters to Brabant and Flanders——

       MARQUIS.
       Are given to the king; and as things go
       Taxis would seem to have discharged his duty.

       CARLOS.
       Heavens! then I'm lost.

       MARQUIS.
                    How lost? What meanest thou?

       CARLOS.
       And thou, alas! art lost together with me—
       This dreadful fraud my father ne'er will pardon.

       MARQUIS.
       This fraud! Thou'rt mad! Who will disclose it to him?

       CARLOS (regards him with a fixed look).
       Who! Dost thou ask? I will myself.

       MARQUIS.
                          Thou ravest!
       Stand back——

       CARLOS.
              Away! For heaven's sake hold me not.
       While I stay here, he's hiring the assassins.

       MARQUIS.
       Then is our time more precious—and we still
       Have much to say.

       CARLOS.
                 What! Before all is finished?

          [He makes another effort to go. The MARQUIS holds him
          by the arm, and looks at him impressively.

       MARQUIS.
       Carlos! was I so scrupulous—so eager—
       When thou, a boy, didst shed thy blood for me?

       CARLOS (with emotion, and full of admiration).
       Kind Providence!

       MARQUIS.
                Reserve thyself for Flanders!
       The kingdom is thy destiny—'tis mine
       To give my life for thee.

       CARLOS (takes his hand with deep sensibility).
                     No, no! he will not,
       Cannot resist a virtue so sublime.
       I will conduct thee to him, and together,
       Arm linked in arm, will we appear before him.
       Then thus will I address him: "Father, see,
       This is the way a friend acts towards his friend."
       Trust me, 'twill move him—it will touch his heart.
       He's not without humanity,—my father.
       Yes, it will move him. With hot tears, his eyes
       Will overflow—and he will pardon us.

          [A shot is fired through the iron grating. CARLOS leaps up.

       Whom was that meant for?

       MARQUIS (sinking down).
                    I believe—for me.

       CARLOS (falling to the earth with a loud cry of grief).
       O God of mercy!

       MARQUIS.
                He is quick—the king.
       I had hoped—a little longer—Carlos—think
       Of means of flight—dost hear me?—of thy flight.
       Thy mother—knows it all—I can no more.
                            [Dies.

          [CARLOS remains by the corpse, like one bereft of life.
          After some time the KING enters, accompanied by many GRANDEES;
          and starts, panic-struck, at the sight. A general and deep
          silence. The GRANDEES range themselves in a semi-circle round
          them both, and regard the KING and his SON alternately. The
          latter continues without any sign of life. The KING regards
          him in thoughtful silence.

## SCENE IV.

          The KING, CARLOS, the DUKESS ALVA, FERIA, and MEDINA SIDONIA,
          PRINCE OF PARMA, COUNT LERMA, DOMINGO, and numerous GRANDEES.

       KING (in a gentle tone).
       Thy prayer hath met a gracious hearing, prince,
       And here I come, with all the noble peers
       Of this my court, to bring thee liberty.

          [CARLOS raises his eyes and looks around him like one awakened
          from a dream. His eyes are fixed now on the KING, now on the
          corpse; he gives no answer.

       Receive thy sword again. We've been too rash!

          [He approaches him, holds out his hand, and assists him to rise.

       My son's not in his place; Carlos, arise!
       Come to thy father's arms! His love awaits thee.

       CARLOS (receives the embrace of the KING without any consciousness.
           Suddenly recollects himself, pauses and looks fixedly at him).
       Thou smell'st of blood—no, I cannot embrace thee!

          [Pushes his father back. All the GRANDEES are in commotion.
          CARLOS to them:—

       Nay, stand not there confounded and amazed!—
       What monstrous action have I done? Defiled
       The anointed of the Lord! Oh, fear me not,
       I would not lay a hand on him. Behold,
       Stamped on his forehead is the damning brand!
       The hand of God hath marked him!

       KING (about to go quickly).
                        Nobles! follow.

       CARLOS.
       Whither? You stir not from this spot.

          [Detaining the KING forcibly with both hands, while with one
          he manages to seize the sword which the KING has brought with
          him, and it comes from the scabbard.

       KING.
                           What! Draw
       A sword upon thy father?

       ALL THE GRANDEES (drawing their swords).
                    Regicide!

       CARLOS (holding the KING firmly with one hand, the naked sword
           in the other).
       Put up your swords! What! Think you I am mad?
       I am not so: or you were much to blame
       Thus to remind me, that upon the point
       Of this my sword, his trembling life doth hover.
       I pray you, stand aloof; for souls like mine
       Need soothing. There—hold back! And with the king
       What I have yet to settle touches not
       Your loyalty. See there—his hand is bloody!
       Do you not see it? And now look you here!

          [Pointing to the corpse.

       This hath he done with a well-practised hand.

       KING (to the GRANDEES, who press anxiously around him).
       Retire! Why do you tremble? Are we not
       Father and son? I will yet wait and see
       To what atrocious crime his nature——

       CARLOS.
                          Nature
       I know her not. Murder is now the word!
       The bonds of all humanity are severed,
       Thine own hands have dissolved them through the realm.
       Shall I respect a tie which thou hast scorned?
       Oh, see! see here! the foulest deed of blood
       That e'er the world beheld. Is there no God
       That kings, in his creation, work such havoc?
       Is there no God, I ask? Since mother's wombs
       Bore children, one alone—and only one—
       So guiltlessly hath died. And art thou sensible
       What thou hast done? Oh, no! he knows it not:
       Knows not that he has robbed—despoiled the world
       Of a more noble, precious, dearer life
       Than he and all his century can boast.

       KING (with a tone of softness).
       If I have been too hasty, Carlos—thou
       For whom I have thus acted, should at least
       Not call me to account.

       CARLOS.
                    Is't possible!
       Did you then never guess how dear to me
       Was he who here lies dead? Thou lifeless corpse!
       Instruct him—aid his wisdom, to resolve
       This dark enigma now. He was my friend.
       And would you know why he has perished thus?
       He gave his life for me.

       KING.
                    Ha? my suspicions!

       CARLOS.
       Pardon, thou bleeding corpse, that I profane
       Thy virtue to such ears. But let him blush
       With deep-felt shame, the crafty politician,
       That his gray-headed wisdom was o'erreached,
       E'en by the judgment of a youth. Yes, sire,
       We two were brothers! Bound by nobler bands
       Than nature ties. His whole life's bright career
       Was love. His noble death was love for me.
       E'en in the moment when his brief esteem
       Exalted you, he was my own. And when
       With fascinating tongue he sported with
       Your haughty, giant mind, 'twas your conceit
       To bridle him; but you became yourself
       The pliant tool of his exalted plans.
       That I became a prisoner, my arrest,
       Was his deep friendship's meditated work.
       That letter to Prince William was designed
       To save my life. It was the first deceit
       He ever practised. To insure my safety
       He rushed on death himself, and nobly perished.
       You lavished on him all your favor; yet
       For me he died. Your heart, your confidence,
       You forced upon him. As a toy he held
       Your sceptre and your power; he cast them from him,
       And gave his life for me.

          [The KING stands motionless, with eyes fixed on the ground;
          all the GRANDEES regard him with surprise and alarm.

                     How could it be
       That you gave credit to this strange deceit?
       Meanly indeed he valued you, to try
       By such coarse artifice to win his ends.
       You dared to court his friendship, but gave way
       Before a test so simple. Oh, no! never
       For souls like yours was such a being formed.
       That well he knew himself, when he rejected
       Your crowns, your gifts, your greatness, and yourself.
       This fine-toned lyre broke in your iron hand,
       And you could do no more than murder him.

       ALVA (never having taken his eyes from the KING, and observing his
        emotion with uneasiness, approaches him with apprehension).
       Keep not this deathlike silence, sire. Look round,
       And speak at least to us.

       CARLOS.
                     Once you were not
       Indifferent to him. And deeply once
       You occupied his thoughts. It might have been
       His lot to make you happy. His full heart
       Might have enriched you; with its mere abundance
       An atom of his soul had been enough
       To make a god of you. You've robbed yourself—
       Plundered yourself and me. What could you give,
       To raise again a spirit like to this?

          [Deep silence. Many of the GRANDEES turn away, or conceal
          their faces in their mantles.

       Oh, ye who stand around with terror dumb,
       And mute surprise, do not condemn the youth
       Who holds this language to the king, his father.
       Look on this corpse. Behold! for me he died.
       If ye have tears—if in your veins flow blood,
       Not molten brass, look here, and blame me not.

          [He turns to the KING with more self-possession and calmness.

       Doubtless you wait the end of this rude scene?
       Here is my sword, for you are still my king.
       Think not I fear your vengeance. Murder me,
       As you have murdered this most noble man.
       My life is forfeit; that I know full well.
       But what is life to me? I here renounce
       All that this world can offer to my hopes.
       Seek among strangers for a son. Here lies
       My kingdom.

          [He sinks down on the corpse, and takes no part in what follows.
          A confused tumult and the noise of a crowd is heard in the distance.
          All is deep silence round the KING. His eyes scan the circle over,
          but no one returns his looks.

       KING.
             What! Will no one make reply?
       Each eye upon the ground, each look abashed!
       My sentence is pronounced. I read it here
       Proclaimed in all this lifeless, mute demeanor.
       My vassals have condemned me.

          [Silence as before. The tumult grows louder. A murmur is heard
          among the GRANDEES. They exchange embarrassed looks. COUNT LERMA
          at length gently touches ALVA.

       LERMA.
                       Here's rebellion!

       ALVA (in a low voice).
       I fear it.

       LERMA.
       It approaches! They are coming!

## SCENE V.

          An officer of the Body Guard. The former.

       OFFICER (urgently).
       Rebellion! Where's the king?
          [He makes his way through the crowd up to the KING.
                       Madrid's in arms!
       To thousands swelled, the soldiery and people
       Surround the palace; and reports are spread
       That Carlos is a prisoner—that his life
       Is threatened. And the mob demand to see
       Him living, or Madrid will be in flames.

       THE GRANDEES (with excitement).
       Defend the king!

       ALVA (to the KING, who remains quiet and unmoved).
                Fly, sire! your life's in danger.
       As yet we know not who has armed the people.

       KING (rousing from his stupor, and advancing with dignity among then).
       Stands my throne firm, and am I sovereign yet
       Over this empire? No! I'm king no more.
       These cowards weep—moved by a puny boy.
       They only wait the signal to desert me.
       I am betrayed by rebels!

       ALVA.
                    Dreadful thought!

       KING.
       There! fling yourselves before him—down before
       The young, the expectant king; I'm nothing now
       But a forsaken, old, defenceless man!

       ALVA.
       Spaniards! is't come to this?

          [All crowd round the KING, and fall on their knees before
          him with drawn swords. CARLOS remains alone with the corpse,
          deserted by all.

       KING (tearing off his mantle and throwing it from him).
                       There! clothe him now
       With this my royal mantle; and on high
       Bear him in triumph o'er my trampled corpse!

          [He falls senseless in ALVA's and LERMA's arms.

       LERMA.
       For heaven's sake, help!

       FERIA.
                    Oh, sad, disastrous chance!

       LERMA.
       He faints!

       ALVA (leaves the KING in LERMA's and FERIA's hands).
             Attend his majesty! whilst I
       Make it my aim to tranquillize Madrid.

          [Exit ALVA. The KING is borne off, attended by all the grandees.

## SCENE VI.

          CARLOS remains behind with the corpse. After a few moments Louis
          MERCADO appears, looks cautiously round him, and stands a long time
          silent behind the PRINCE, who does not observe him.

       MERCADO.
       I come, prince, from her majesty the queen.
          [CARLOS turns away and makes no reply.
       My name, Mercado, I'm the queen's physician
       See my credentials.
          [Shows the PRINCE a signet ring. CARLOS remains still silent.
                  And the queen desires
       To speak with you to-day—on weighty business.

       CARLOS.
       Nothing is weighty in this world to me.

       MERCADO.
       A charge the Marquis Posa left with her.

       CARLOS (looking up quickly).
       Indeed! I come this instant.

       MERCADO.
                       No, not yet,
       Most gracious prince! you must delay till night.
       Each avenue is watched, the guards are doubled
       You ne'er could reach the palace unperceived;
       You would endanger everything.

       CARLOS.
                       And yet——

       MERCADO.
       I know one means alone that can avail us.
       'Tis the queen's thought, and she suggests it to you;
       But it is bold, adventurous, and strange!

       CARLOS.
       What is it?

       MERCADO.
              A report has long prevailed
       That in the secret vaults, beneath the palace,
       At midnight, shrouded in a monk's attire,
       The emperor's departed spirit walks.
       The people still give credit to the tale,
       And the guards watch the post with inward terror.
       Now, if you but determine to assume
       This dress, you may pass freely through the guards,
       Until you reach the chamber of the queen,
       Which this small key will open. Your attire
       Will save you from attack. But on the spot,
       Prince! your decision must be made at once.
       The requisite apparel and the mask
       Are ready in your chamber. I must haste
       And take the queen your answer.

       CARLOS.
                        And the hour?

       MERCADO.
       It is midnight.

       CARLOS.
                Then inform her I will come.

                      [Exit MERCADO.

## SCENE VII.

          CARLOS and COUNT LERMA.

       LERMA.
       Save yourself, prince! The king's enraged against you.
       Your liberty, if not your life's in danger!
       Ask me no further—I have stolen away
       To give you warning—fly this very instant!

       CARLOS.
       Heaven will protect me!

       LERMA.
                    As the queen observed
       To me, this moment, you must leave Madrid
       This very day, and fly to Brussels, prince.
       Postpone it not, I pray you. The commotion
       Favors your flight. The queen, with this design,
       Has raised it. No one will presume so far
       As to lay hand on you. Swift steeds await you
       At the Carthusian convent, and behold,
       Here are your weapons, should you be attacked.

          [LERMA gives him a dagger and pistols.

       CARLOS.
       Thanks, thanks, Count Lerma!

       LERMA.
                      This day's sad event
       Has moved my inmost soul! No faithful friend
       Will ever love like him. No patriot breathes
       But weeps for you. More now I dare not say.

       CARLOS.
       Count Lerma! he who's gone considered you
       A man of honor.

       LERMA.
               Farewell, prince, again!
       Success attend you! Happier times will come—
       But I shall be no more. Receive my homage!

          [Falls on one knee.

       CARLOS (endeavors to prevent him, with much emotion).
       Not so—not so, count! I am too much moved—
       I would not be unmanned!

       LERMA (kissing his hand with feeling).
                    My children's king!
       To die for you will be their privilege!
       It is not mine, alas! But in those children
       Remember me! Return in peace to Spain.
       May you on Philip's throne feel as a man,
       For you have learned to suffer! Undertake
       No bloody deed against your father, prince!
       Philip compelled his father to yield up
       The throne to him; and this same Philip now
       Trembles at his own son. Think, prince, of that
       And may Heaven prosper and direct your path!

          [Exit quickly. CARLOS about to hasten away by another side,
          but turns rapidly round, and throws himself down before the copse,
          which he again folds in his arms. He then hurries from the room.

## SCENE VIII.

          The KING's Antechamber.
          DUKE ALVA and DUKE FERIA enter in conversation.

       ALVA.
       The town is quieted. How is the king?

       FERIA.
       In the most fearful state. Within his chamber
       He is shut up, and whatso'er may happen
       He will admit no person to his presence.
       The treason of the marquis has at once
       Changed his whole nature. We no longer know him.

       ALVA.
       I must go to him, nor respect his feelings.
       A great discovery which I have made——

       FERIA.
       A new discovery!

       ALVA.
                A Carthusian monk
       My guards observed, with stealthy footsteps, creep
       Into the prince's chamber, and inquire
       With anxious curiosity, about
       The Marquis Posa's death. They seized him straight,
       And questioned him. Urged by the fear of death,
       He made confession that he bore about him
       Papers of high importance, which the marquis
       Enjoined him to deliver to the prince,
       If, before sunset, he should not return.

       FERIA.
       Well, and what further?

       ALVA.
                    These same letters state
       That Carlos from Madrid must fly before
       The morning dawn.

       FERIA.
       Indeed!

       ALVA.
       And that a ship at Cadiz lies
       Ready for sea, to carry him to Flushing.
       And that the Netherlands but wait his presence,
       To shake the Spanish fetters from their arms.

       FERIA.
       Can this be true?

       ALVA.
                 And other letters say
       A fleet of Soliman's will sail for Rhodes,
       According to the treaty, to attack
       The Spanish squadron in the Midland seas.

       FERIA.
       Impossible.

       ALVA.
              And hence I understand
       The object of the journeys, which of late
       The marquis made through Europe. 'Twas no less
       Than to rouse all the northern powers to arms
       In aid of Flanders' freedom.

       FERIA.
                      Was it so?

       ALVA.
       There is besides appended to these letters
       The full concerted plan of all the war
       Which is to disunite from Spain's control
       The Netherlands forever. Naught omitted;
       The power and opposition close compared;
       All the resources accurately noted,
       Together with the maxims to be followed,
       And all the treaties which they should conclude.
       The plan is fiendish, but 'tis no less splendid.

       FERIA.
       The deep, designing traitor!

       ALVA.
                      And, moreover,
       There is allusion made, in these same letters,
       To some mysterious conference the prince
       Must with his mother hold upon the eve
       Preceding his departure.

       FERIA.

                    That must be
       This very day.

       ALVA.
               At midnight. But for this
       I have already taken proper steps.
       You see the case is pressing. Not a moment
       Is to be lost. Open the monarch's chamber.

       FERIA.
       Impossible! All entrance is forbidden.

       ALVA.
       I'll open then myself; the increasing danger
       Must justify my boldness.

          [As he is on the point of approaching the door it opens,
          and the KING comes out.

       FERIA.
                     'Tis himself.

## SCENE IX.

          The KING. The preceding.

          All are alarmed at his appearance, fall back, and let him
          pass through them. He appears to be in a waking dream, like a
          sleep-walker. His dress and figure indicate the disorder caused
          by his late fainting. With slow steps he walks past the GRANDEES
          and looks at each with a fixed eye, but without recognizing any of
          them. At last he stands still, wrapped in thought, his eyes fixed
          on the ground, till the emotions of his mind gradually express
          themselves in words.

       KING.
       Restore me back the dead! Yes, I must have him.

       DOMINGO (whispering to ALVA).
       Speak to him, duke.

       KING.
                  He died despising me!
       Have him again I must, and make him think
       More nobly of me.

       ALVA (approaching with fear).
                Sire!

       KING (looking round the circle).
                    Who speaks to me!
       Have you forgotten who I am? Why not
       Upon your knees, before your king, ye creatures!
       Am I not still your king? I must command
       Submission from you. Do you all then slight me
       Because one man despised me?

       ALVA.
                      Gracious king!
       No more of him: a new and mightier foe
       Arises in the bosom of your realm.

       FERIA.
       Prince Carlos——

       KING.
                Had a friend who died for him;
       For him! With me he might have shared an empire.
       How he looked down upon me! From the throne
       Kings look not down so proudly. It was plain
       How vain his conquest made him. His keen sorrow
       Confessed how great his loss. Man weeps not so
       For aught that's perishable. Oh, that he might
       But live again! I'd give my Indies for it!
       Omnipotence! thou bring'st no comfort to me:
       Thou canst not stretch thine arm into the grave
       To rectify one little act, committed
       With hasty rashness, 'gainst the life of man.
       The dead return no more. Who dare affirm
       That I am happy? In the tomb he dwells,
       Who scorned to flatter me. What care I now
       For all who live? One spirit, one free being,
       And one alone, arose in all this age!
       He died despising me!

       ALVA.
                   Our lives are useless!
       Spaniards, let's die at once! E'en in the grave
       This man still robs us of our monarch's heart.

       KING (sits down, and leans his head on his arm).
       Oh! had he died for me! I loved him, too,
       And much. Dear to me was he as a son.
       In his young mind there brightly rose for me
       A new and beauteous morning. Who can say
       What I had destined for him? He to me
       Was a first love. All Europe may condemn me,
       Europe may overwhelm me with its curse,
       But I deserved his thanks.

       DOMINGO.
                     What spell is this?

       KING.
       And, say, for whom did he desert me thus?
       A boy,—my son? Oh, no, believe it not!
       A Posa would not perish for a boy;
       The scanty flame of friendship could not fill
       A Posa's heart. It beat for human kind.
       His passion was the world, and the whole course
       Of future generations yet unborn.
       To do them service he secured a throne—
       And lost it. Such high treason 'gainst mankind
       Could Posa e'er forgive himself? Oh, no;
       I know his feelings better. Not that he
       Carlos preferred to Philip, but the youth—
       The tender pupil,—to the aged monarch.
       The father's evening sunbeam could not ripen
       His novel projects. He reserved for this
       The young son's orient rays. Oh, 'tis undoubted,
       They wait for my decease.

       ALVA.
                     And of your thoughts,
       Read in these letters strongest confirmation.

       KING.
       'Tis possible he may miscalculate.
       I'm still myself. Thanks, Nature, for thy gifts;
       I feel within my frame the strength of youth;
       I'll turn their schemes to mockery. His virtue
       Shall be an empty dream—his death, a fool's.
       His fall shall crush his friend and age together.
       We'll test it now—how they can do without me.
       The world is still for one short evening mine,
       And this same evening will I so employ,
       That no reformer yet to cone shall reap
       Another harvest, in the waste I'll leave,
       For ten long generations after me.
       He would have offered me a sacrifice
       To his new deity—humanity!
       So on humanity I'll take revenge.
       And with his puppet I'll at once commence.
                      [To the DUKE ALVA.
       What you have now to tell me of the prince,
       Repeat. What tidings do these letters bring?

       ALVA.
       These letters, sire, contain the last bequest
       Of Posa to Prince Carlos.

       KING (reads the papers, watched by all present. He then lays them aside
          and walks in silence up and down the room).
                     Summon straight
       The cardinal inquisitor; and beg
       He will bestow an hour upon the king,
       This very night!

       TAXIS.
                Just on the stroke of two
       The horses must be ready and prepared,
       At the Carthusian monastery.

       ALVA.
                      Spies
       Despatched by me, moreover, have observed
       Equipments at the convent for a journey,
       On which the prince's arms were recognized.

       FERIA.
       And it is rumored that large sums are raised
       In the queen's name, among the Moorish agents,
       Destined for Brussels.

       KING.
                   Where is Carlos?

       ALVA.
       With Posa's body.

       KING.
                 And there are lights as yet
       Within the queen's apartments?

       ALVA.
                       Everything
       Is silent there. She has dismissed her maids
       Far earlier than as yet has been her custom.
       The Duchess of Arcos, who was last with her,
       Left her in soundest sleep.

          [An officer of the Body Guard enters, takes the DUKE OF FERIA
          aside, and whispers to him. The latter, struck with surprise,
          turns to DUKE ALVA. The others crowd round him, and a murmuring
          noise arises.

       FERIA, TAXIS, and DOMINGO (at the same time)
                      'Tis wonderful!

       KING.
       What is the matter!

       FERIA.
                  News scarce credible!

       DOMINGO.
       Two soldiers, who have just returned from duty,
       Report—but—oh, the tale's ridiculous!

       KING.
       What do they say?

       ALVA.
                 They say, in the left wing
       Of the queen's palace, that the emperor's ghost
       Appeared before them, and with solemn gait
       Passed on. This rumor is confirmed by all
       The sentinels, who through the whole pavilion
       Their watches keep. And they, moreover, add,
       The phantom in the queen's apartment vanished.

       KING.
       And in what shape appeared it?

       OFFICER.
                       In the robes,
       The same attire he in Saint Justi wore
       For the last time, apparelled as a monk.

       KING.
       A monk! And did the sentries know his person
       Whilst he was yet alive? They could not else
       Determine that it was the emperor.

       OFFICER.
       The sceptre which he bore was evidence
       It was the emperor.

       DOMINGO.
                  And the story goes
       He often has been seen in this same dress.

       KING.
       Did no one speak to him?

       OFFICER.
                    No person dared.
       The sentries prayed, and let him pass in silence.

       KING.
       The phantom vanished in the queen's apartments!

       OFFICER.
       In the queen's antechamber.

          [General silence.

       KING (turns quickly round).
                      What say you?

       ALVA.
       Sire! we are silent.

       KING (after some thought, to the OFFICER).
                  Let my guards be ready
       And under arms, and order all approach
       To that wing of the palace to be stopped.
       I fain would have a word with this same ghost.

          [Exit OFFICER. Enter a PAGE.

       PAGE.
       The cardinal inquisitor.

       KING (to all present).
                    Retire!

          [The CARDINAL INQUISITOR, an old man of ninety, and blind, enters,
          supported on a staff, and led by two Dominicans. The GRANDEES fall
          on their knees as he passes, and touch the hem of his garment. He
          gives them his blessing, and they depart.

## SCENE X.

          The KING and the GRAND INQUISITOR. A long silence.

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
       Say, do I stand before the king?

       KING.
                        You do.

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
       I never thought it would be so again!

       KING.
       I now renew the scenes of early youth,
       When Philip sought his sage instructor's counsel.

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
       Your glorious sire, my pupil, Charles the Fifth,
       Nor sought or needed counsel at my hands.

       KING.
       So much happier he! I, cardinal,
       Am guilty of a murder, and no rest——

       GRAND INQUISITOR.

       What was the reason for this murder?

       KING.
                          'Twas
       A fraud unparalleled——

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
                   I know it all.

       KING.
       What do you know? Through whom, and since what time?

       GRAND INQUISITOR.

       For years—what you have only learned since sunset.

       KING (with astonishment).
       You know this man then!

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
                    All his life is noted
       From its commencement to its sudden close,
       In Santa Casa's holy registers.

       KING.
       Yet he enjoyed his liberty!

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
                      The chain
       With which he struggled, but which held him bound,
       Though long, was firm, nor easy to be severed.

       KING.
       He has already been beyond the kingdom.

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
       Where'er he travelled I was at his side.

       KING (walks backwards and forwards in displeasure).
       You knew the hands, then, I had fallen into;
       And yet delayed to warn me!

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
                      This rebuke
       I pay you back. Why did you not consult us
       Before you sought the arms of such a man?
       You knew him: one sole glance unmasked him to you.
       Why did you rob the office of its victim?
       Are we thus trifled with! When majesty
       Can stoop to such concealment, and in secret,
       Behind our backs, league with our enemies,
       What must our fate be then? If one be spared
       What plea can justify the fate of thousands?

       KING.
       But he, no less, has fallen a sacrifice.

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
       No; he is murdered—basely, foully murdered.
       The blood that should so gloriously have flowed
       To honor us has stained the assassin's hand.
       What claim had you to touch our sacred rights?
       He but existed, by our hands to perish.
       God gave him to this age's exigence,
       To perish, as a terrible example,
       And turn high-vaunting reason into shame.
       Such was my long-laid plan—behold, destroyed
       In one brief hour, the toil of many years.
       We are defrauded, and your only gain
       Is bloody hands.

       KING.
                Passion impelled me to it.
       Forgive me.

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
              Passion! And does royal Philip
       Thus answer me? Have I alone grown old?
                   [Shaking his head angrily.
       Passion! Make conscience free within your realms,
       If you're a slave yourself.

       KING.
                      In things like this
       I'm but a novice. Bear in patience with me.

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
       No, I'm ill pleased with you—to see you thus
       Tarnish the bygone glories of your reign.
       Where is that Philip, whose unchanging soul,
       Fixed as the polar star in heaven above,
       Round its own axis still pursued its course?
       Is all the memory of preceding years
       Forever gone? And did the world become
       New moulded when you stretched your hand to him?
       Was poison no more poison? Did distinction
       'Twixt good and evil, truth and falsehood, vanish?
       What then is resolution? What is firmness?
       What is the faith of man, if in one weak,
       Unguarded hour, the rules of threescore years
       Dissolve in air, like woman's fickle favor?

       KING.
       I looked into his eyes. Oh, pardon me
       This weak relapse into mortality.
       The world has one less access to your heart;
       Your eyes are sunk in night.

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
                      What did this man
       Want with you? What new thing could he adduce,
       You did not know before? And are you versed
       So ill with fanatics and innovators?
       Does the reformer's vaunting language sound
       So novel to your ears? If the firm edifice
       Of your conviction totters to mere words,
       Should you not shudder to subscribe the fate
       Of many thousand poor, deluded souls
       Who mount the flaming pile for nothing worse?

       KING.
       I sought a human being. These Domingos——

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
       How! human beings! What are they to you?
       Cyphers to count withal—no more! Alas!
       And must I now repeat the elements
       Of kingly knowledge to my gray-haired pupil?
       An earthly god must learn to bear the want
       Of what may be denied him. When you whine
       For sympathy is not the world your equal?
       What rights should you possess above your equals?

       KING (throwing himself into a chair).
       I'm a mere suffering mortal, that I feel;
       And you demand from me, a wretched creature,
       What the Creator only can perform.

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
       No, sire; I am not thus to be deceived.
       I see you through. You would escape from us.
       The church's heavy chains pressed hard upon you;
       You would be free, and claim your independence.
                 [He pauses. The KING is silent.
       We are avenged. Be thankful to the church,
       That checks you with the kindness of a mother.
       The erring choice you were allowed to make
       Has proved your punishment. You stand reproved!
       Now you may turn to us again. And know
       If I, this day, had not been summoned here,
       By Heaven above! before to-morrow's sun,
       You would yourself have stood at my tribunal!

       KING.
       Forbear this language, priest. Restrain thyself.
       I'll not endure it from thee. In such tones
       No tongue shall speak to me.

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
                      Then why, O king
       Call up the ghost of Samuel? I've anointed
       Two monarchs to the throne of Spain. I hoped
       To leave behind a firm-established work.
       I see the fruit of all my life is lost.
       Don Philip's hands have shattered what I built.
       But tell me, sire, wherefore have I been summoned?
       What do I hear? I am not minded, king,
       To seek such interviews again.

       KING.
                       But one
       One service more—the last—and then in peace
       Depart. Let all the past be now forgotten—
       Let peace be made between us. We are friends.

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
       When Philip bends with due humility.

       KING (after a pause).
       My son is meditating treason.

       GRAND INQUISITOR,
                       Well!
       And what do you resolve?

       KING.
                    On all, or nothing.

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
       What mean you by this all?

       KING.
                     He must escape,
       Or die.

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
            Well, sire! decide.

       KING.
                      And can you not
       Establish some new creed to justify
       The bloody murder of one's only son?

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
       To appease eternal justice God's own Son
       Expired upon the cross.

       KING.
                    And can you spread
       This creed throughout all Europe?

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
                         Ay, as far
       As the true cross is worshipped.

       KING.
                      But I sin—
       Sin against nature. Canst thou, by thy power,
       Silence her mighty voice.

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
                  The voice of nature
       Avails not over faith.

       KING.
                   My right to judge
       I place within your hands. Can I retrace
       The step once taken?

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
                  Give him to me!

       KING.
       My only son! For whom then have I labored?

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
       For the grave rather than for liberty!

       KING (rising up).
       We are agreed. Come with me.

       GRAND INQUISITOR.
                       Monarch! Whither

       KING.
       From his own father's hands to take the victim.

                   [Leads him away.

## SCENE XI.

          Queen's Apartment.

          CARLOS. The QUEEN. Afterwards the KING and attendants. CARLOS
          in monk's attire, a mask over his face, which he is just taking
          off; under his arm a naked sword. It is quite dark. He approaches
          a door, which is in the act of opening. The QUEEN comes out in
          her night-dress with a lighted candle. CARLOS falls on one knee
          before her.

       CARLOS.
       Elizabeth!

       QUEEN (regarding him with silent sorrow).
             Do we thus meet again?

       CARLOS.
       'Tis thus we meet again!

          [A silence.

       QUEEN (endeavoring to collect herself).
                Carlos, arise!
       We must not now unnerve each other thus.
       The mighty dead will not be honored now
       By fruitless tears. Tears are for petty sorrows!
       He gave himself for thee! With his dear life
       He purchased thine. And shall this precious blood
       Flow for a mere delusion of the brain?
       Oh, Carlos, I have pledged myself for thee.
       On that assurance did he flee from hence
       More satisfied. Oh, do not falsify
       My word.

       CARLOS (with animation)
            To him I'll raise a monument
       Nobler than ever honored proudest monarch,
       And o'er his dust a paradise shall bloom!

       QUEEN.
       Thus did I hope to find thee! This was still
       The mighty purpose of his death. On me
       Devolves the last fulfilment of his plans,
       And I will now fulfil my solemn oath.
       Yet one more legacy your dying friend
       Bequeathed to me. I pledged my word to him,
       And wherefore should I now conceal it from you?
       To me did he resign his Carlos—I
       Defy suspicion, and no longer tremble
       Before mankind, but will for once assume
       The courage of a friend; My heart shall speak.
       He called our passion—virtue! I believe him,
       And will my heart no longer——

       CARLOS.
                       Hold, O queen!
       Long was I sunk in a delusive dream.
       I loved, but now I am at last awake
       Forgotten be the past. Here are your letters,—
       Destroy my own. Fear nothing from my passion,
       It is extinct. A brighter flame now burns,
       And purifies my being. All my love
       Lies buried in the grave. No mortal wish
       Finds place within this bosom.
          [After a pause, taking her hand.
                       I have come
       To bid farewell to you, and I have learned
       There is a higher, greater good, my mother,
       Than to call thee mine own. One rapid night
       Has winged the tardy progress of my years,
       And prematurely ripened me to manhood.
       I have no further business in the world,
       But to remember him. My harvest now
       Is ended.
          [He approaches the QUEEN, who conceals her face.
             Mother! will you not reply!

       QUEEN.
       Carlos! regard not these my tears. I cannot
       Restrain then. But believe me I admire you.

       CARLOS.
       Thou wert the only partner of our league
       And by this name thou shalt remain to me
       The most beloved object in this world.
       No other woman can my friendship share,
       More than she yesterday could win my love.
       But sacred shall the royal widow be,
       Should Providence conduct me to the throne.

          [The KING, accompanied by the GRAND INQUISITOR,
          appears in the background without being observed.

       I hasten to leave Spain, and never more
       Shall I behold my father in this world.
       No more I love him. Nature is extinct
       Within this breast. Be you again his wife—
       His son's forever lost to him! Return
       Back to your course of duty—I must speed
       To liberate a people long oppressed
       From a fell tyrant's hand. Madrid shall bail
       Carlos as king, or ne'er behold him more.
       And now a long and last farewell——

                   [He kisses her.

       QUEEN.
                         Oh, Carlos!
       How you exalt me! but I dare not soar
       To such a height of greatness:—yet I may
       Contemplate now your noble mind with wonder.

       CARLOS.
       Am I not firm, Elizabeth? I hold thee
       Thus in my arms and tremble not. The fear
       Of instant death had, yesterday, not torn me
       From this dear spot.
          [He leaves her.
                  All that is over now,
       And I defy my mortal destinies.
       I've held thee in these arms and wavered not.
       Hark! Heard you nothing!

          [A clock strikes.

       QUEEN.
                     Nothing but the bell
       That tolls the moment of our separation.

       CARLOS.
       Good night, then, mother! And you shall, from Ghent,
       Receive a letter, which will first proclaim
       Our secret enterprise aloud. I go
       To dare King Philip to an open contest.
       Henceforth there shall be naught concealed between us!
       You need not shun the aspect of the world.
       Be this my last deceit.

          [About to take up the mask—the KING stands between them.

       KING.
                    It is thy last.

          [The QUEEN falls senseless.

       CARLOS (hastens to her and supports her in his arms).
       Is the queen dead? Great heavens!

       KING (coolly and quietly to the GRAND INQUISITOR).
                         Lord Cardinal!
       I've done my part. Go now, and do your own.

                           [Exit.

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