Act IV, Scene III…

Act IV, Scene III

The pass near Kuessnacht, sloping down from behind, with rocks on either side. The travellers are visible upon the heights, before they appear on the stage. Rocks all round the stage. Upon one of the foremost a projecting cliff overgrown with brushwood.

TELL (enters with his crossbow). Here through this deep defile he needs must pass; There leads no other road to Kuessnacht; here I'll do it; the opportunity is good. Yon alder tree stands well for my concealment, Thence my avenging shaft will surely reach him. The straitness of the path forbids pursuit. Now, Gessler, balance thine account with Heaven! Thou must away from earth, thy sand is run. I led a peaceful, inoffensive life; My bow was bent on forest game alone, And my pure soul was free from thoughts of murder. But thou hast scared me from my dream of peace; The milk of human kindness thou hast turned To rankling poison in my breast, and made Appalling deeds familiar to my soul. He who could make his own child's head his mark Can speed his arrow to his foeman's heart.

My children dear, my loved and faithful wife, Must be protected, tyrant, from thy fury! When last I drew my bow, with trembling hand, And thou, with murderous joy, a father forced To level at his child; when, all in vain, Writhing before thee, I implored thy mercy, Then in the agony of my soul I vowed A fearful oath, which met God's ear alone, That when my bow next winged an arrow's flight Its aim should be thy heart. The vow I made Amid the hellish torments of that moment I hold a sacred debt, and I will pay it.

Thou art my lord, my emperor's delegate, Yet would the emperor not have stretched his power So far as thou. He sent thee to these Cantons To deal forth law, stern law, for he is angered; But not to wanton with unbridled will In every cruelty, with fiendlike joy: There is a God to punish and avenge.

Come forth, thou bringer once of bitter pangs, My precious jewel now, my chiefest treasure; A mark I'll set thee, which the cry of grief Could never penetrate, but thou shalt pierce it. And thou, my trusty bowstring, that so oft Has served me faithfully in sportive scenes, Desert me not in this most serious hour-- Only be true this once, my own good cord, That has so often winged the biting shaft:-- For shouldst thou fly successless from my hand, I have no second to send after thee.

[Travellers pass over the stage.

I'll sit me down upon this bench of stone, Hewn for the wayworn traveller's brief repose-- For here there is no home. Each hurries by The other, with quick step and careless look, Nor stays to question of his grief. Here goes The merchant, full of care--the pilgrim next, With slender scrip--and then the pious monk, The scowling robber, and the jovial player, The carrier with his heavy-laden horse, That comes to us from the far haunts of men; For every road conducts to the world's end. They all push onwards--every man intent On his own several business--mine is murder.

[Sits down.

Time was, my dearest children, when with joy You hailed your father's safe return to home From his long mountain toils; for when he came He ever brought some little present with him. A lovely Alpine flower--a curious bird-- Or elf-boat found by wanderers on the hills. But now he goes in quest of other game: In the wild pass he sits, and broods on murder; And watches for the life-blood of his foe, But still his thoughts are fixed on you alone, Dear children. 'Tis to guard your innocence, To shield you from the tyrant's fell revenge, He bends his bow to do a deed of blood!

[Rises.

Well--I am watching for a noble prey-- Does not the huntsman, with severest toil, Roam for whole days amid the winter's cold, Leap with a daring bound from rock to rock,-- And climb the jagged, slippery steeps, to which His limbs are glued by his own streaming blood; And all this but to gain a wretched chamois. A far more precious prize is now my aim-- The heart of that dire foe who would destroy me.

[Sprightly music heard in the distance, which comes gradually nearer.

From my first years of boyhood I have used The bow--been practised in the archer's feats; The bull's-eye many a time my shafts have hit, And many a goodly prize have I brought home, Won in the games of skill. This day I'll make My master-shot, and win the highest prize Within the whole circumference of the mountains.

[A marriage train passes over the stage, and goes up the pass. TELL gazes at it, leaning on his bow. He is joined by STUSSI, the Ranger.

STUSSI. There goes the bridal party of the steward Of Moerlischachen's cloister. He is rich! And has some ten good pastures on the Alps. He goes to fetch his bride from Imisee, There will be revelry to-night at Kuessnacht. Come with us--every honest man's invited.

TELL. A gloomy guest fits not a wedding feast.

STUSSI. If grief oppress you, dash it from your heart! Bear with your lot. The times are heavy now, And we must snatch at pleasure while we can. Here 'tis a bridal, there a burial.

TELL. And oft the one treads close upon the other.

STUSSI. So runs the world at present. Everywhere We meet with woe and misery enough. There's been a slide of earth in Glarus, and A whole side of the Glaernisch has fallen in.

TELL. Strange! And do even the hills begin to totter? There is stability for naught on earth.

STUSSI. Strange tidings, too, we hear from other parts. I spoke with one but now, that came from Baden, Who said a knight was on his way to court, And as he rode along a swarm of wasps Surrounded him, and settling on his horse, So fiercely stung the beast that it fell dead, And he proceeded to the court on foot.

TELL. Even the weak are furnished with a sting.

[ARMGART (enters with several children, and places herself at the entrance of the pass).

STUSSI. 'Tis thought to bode disaster to the country, Some horrid deed against the course of nature.

TELL. Why, every day brings forth such fearful deeds; There needs no miracle to tell their coming.

STUSSI. Too true! He's blessed who tills his field in peace, And sits untroubled by his own fireside.

TELL. The very meekest cannot rest in quiet, Unless it suits with his ill neighbor's humor.

[TELL looks frequently with restless expectation towards the top of the pass.

STUSSI. So fare you well! You're waiting some one here?

TELL. I am.

STUSSI. A pleasant meeting with your friends! You are from Uri, are you not? His grace The governor's expected thence to-day.

TRAVELLER (entering). Look not to see the governor to-day. The streams are flooded by the heavy rains, And all the bridges have been swept away.

[TELL rises.

ARMGART (coming forward). The viceroy not arrived?

STUSSI. And do you seek him?

ARMGART. Alas, I do!

STUSSI. But why thus place yourself Where you obstruct his passage down the pass?

ARMGART. Here he cannot escape me. He must hear me.

FRIESSHARDT (coming hastily down the pass, and calls upon the stage). Make way, make way! My lord, the governor, Is coming down on horseback close behind me.

[Exit TELL.

ARMGART (with animation). The viceroy comes!

[She goes towards the pass with her children. GESSLER and RUDOLPH DER HARRAS appear upon the heights on horseback.

STUSSI (to FRIESSHARDT). How got ye through the stream When all the bridges have been carried down?

FRIESSHARDT. We've battled with the billows; and, my friend, An Alpine torrent's nothing after that.

STUSSI. How! Were you out, then, in that dreadful storm?

FRIESSHARDT. Ay, that we were! I shall not soon forget it.

STUSSI. Stay, speak----

FRIESSHARDT. I cannot. I must to the castle, And tell them that the governor's at hand.

[Exit.

STUSSI. If honest men, now, had been in the ship, It had gone down with every soul on board:-- Some folks are proof 'gainst fire and water both.

[Looking round.

Where has the huntsman gone with whom I spoke?

[Exit.

Enter GESSLER and RUDOLPH DER HARRAS on horseback.

GESSLER. Say what you please; I am the emperor's servant, And my first care must be to do his pleasure. He did not send me here to fawn and cringe And coax these boors into good humor. No! Obedience he must have. We soon shall see If king or peasant is to lord it here?

ARMGART. Now is the moment! Now for my petition!

GESSLER. 'Twas not in sport that I set up the cap In Altdorf--or to try the people's hearts-- All this I knew before. I set it up That they might learn to bend those stubborn necks They carry far too proudly--and I placed What well I knew their eyes could never brook Full in the road, which they perforce must pass, That, when their eyes fell on it, they might call That lord to mind whom they too much forget.

HARRAS. But surely, sir, the people have some rights----

GESSLER. This is no time to settle what they are. Great projects are at work, and hatching now; The imperial house seeks to extend its power. Those vast designs of conquests, which the sire Has gloriously begun, the son will end. This petty nation is a stumbling-block-- One way or other it must be subjected.

[They are about to pass on. ARMMGART throws herself down before GESSLER.

ARMGART. Mercy, lord governor! Oh, pardon, pardon!

GESSLER. Why do you cross me on the public road? Stand back, I say.

ARMGART. My husband lies in prison; My wretched orphans cry for bread. Have pity, Pity, my lord, upon our sore distress!

HARRAS. Who are you, woman; and who is your husband?

ARMGART. A poor wild hay-man of the Rigiberg, Kind sir, who on the brow of the abyss, Mows down the grass from steep and craggy shelves, To which the very cattle dare not climb.

HARRAS (to GESSLER). By Heaven! a sad and miserable life! I prithee, give the wretched man his freedom. How great soever his offence may be, His horrid trade is punishment enough.

[To ARMGART.

You shall have justice. To the castle bring Your suit. This is no place to deal with it.

ARMGART. No, no, I will not stir from where I stand, Until your grace restore my husband to me. Six months already has he been in prison, And waits the sentence of a judge in vain.

GESSLER. How! Would you force me, woman? Hence! Begone!

ARMGART. Justice, my lord! Ay, justice! Thou art judge! The deputy of the emperor--of Heaven! Then do thy duty, as thou hopest for justice From Him who rules above, show it to us!

GESSLER. Hence! drive this daring rabble from my sight!

ARMGART (seizing his horse's reins). No, no, by Heaven, I've nothing more to lose. Thou stirrest not, viceroy, from this spot until Thou dost me fullest justice. Knit thy brows, And roll thy eyes; I fear not. Our distress Is so extreme, so boundless, that we care No longer for thine anger.

GESSLER. Woman, hence! Give way, I say, or I will ride thee down.

ARMGART. Well, do so; there!

[Throws her children and herself upon the ground before him.

Here on the ground I lie, I and my children. Let the wretched orphans Be trodden by thy horse into the dust! It will not be the worst that thou hast done.

HARRAS. Are you mad, woman?

ARMGART (continuing with vehemence). Many a day thou hast Trampled the emperor's lands beneath thy feet. Oh, I am but a woman! Were I man, I'd find some better thing to do, than here Lie grovelling in the dust.

[The music of the wedding party is again heard from the top of the pass, but more softly.

GESSLER. Where are my knaves? Drag her away, lest I forget myself, And do some deed I may repent hereafter.

HARRAS. My lord, the servants cannot force a passage; The pass is blocked up by a marriage party.

GESSLER. Too mild a ruler am I to this people, Their tongues are all too bold; nor have they yet Been tamed to due submission, as they shall be. I must take order for the remedy; I will subdue this stubborn mood of theirs, And crush the soul of liberty within them. I'll publish a new law throughout the land; I will----

[An arrow pierces him,--he puts his hand on his heart, and is about to sink--with a feeble voice.

Oh God, have mercy on my soul!

HARRAS. My lord! my lord! Oh God! What's this? Whence came it?

ARMGART (starts up). Dead, dead! He reels, he falls! 'Tis in his heart!

HARRAS (springs from his horse). This is most horrible! Oh Heavens! sir knight, Address yourself to God and pray for mercy; You are a dying man.

GESSLER. That shot was Tell's.

[He slides from his horse into the arms of RUDOLPH DER HARRAS, who lays him down upon the bench. TELL appears above, upon the rocks.

TELL. Thou knowest the archer, seek no other hand. Our cottages are free, and innocence Secure from thee: thou'lt be our curse no more.

[TELL disappears. People rush in.

STUSSI. What is the matter? Tell me what has happened?

ARMGART. The governor is shot,--killed by an arrow!

PEOPLE (running in). Who has been shot?

[While the foremost of the marriage party are coming on the stage, the hindmost are still upon the heights. The music continues.

HARRAS. He's bleeding fast to death. Away, for help--pursue the murderer! Unhappy man, is't thus that thou must die? Thou wouldst not heed the warnings that I gave thee!

STUSSI. By heaven, his cheek is pale! His life ebbs fast.

MANY VOICES. Who did the deed?

HARRAS. What! Are the people mad That they make music to a murder? Silence!

[Music breaks off suddenly. People continue to flock in.

Speak, if thou canst, my lord. Hast thou no charge To intrust me with?

[GESSLER makes signs with his hand, which he repeats with vehemence, when he finds they are not understood.

What would you have me do? Shall I to Kuessnacht? I can't guess your meaning. Do not give way to this impatience. Leave All thoughts of earth and make your peace with Heaven.

[The whole marriage party gather round the dying man.

STUSSI. See there! how pale he grows! Death's gathering now About his heart; his eyes grow dim and glazed.

ARMGART (holds up a child). Look, children, how a tyrant dies!

HARRAS. Mad hag! Have you no touch of feeling that you look On horrors such as these without a shudder? Help me--take hold. What, will not one assist To pull the torturing arrow from his breast?

WOMEN. We touch the man whom God's own hand has struck!

HARRAS. All curses light on you!

[Draws his sword.

STUSSI (seizes his arm). Gently, sir knight! Your power is at an end. 'Twere best forbear. Our country's foe is fallen. We will brook No further violence. We are free men.

ALL. The country's free!

HARRAS. And is it come to this? Fear and obedience at an end so soon?

[To the soldiers of the guard who are thronging in.

You see, my friends, the bloody piece of work They've acted here. 'Tis now too late for help, And to pursue the murderer were vain. New duties claim our care. Set on to Kuessnacht, And let us save that fortress for the king! For in an hour like this all ties of order, Fealty, and faith are scattered to the winds. No man's fidelity is to be trusted.

[As he is going out with the soldiers six FRATRES MISERICCRDIAE appear.

ARMGART. Here come the brotherhood of mercy. Room!

STUSSI. The victim's slain, and now the ravens stoop.

BROTHERS OF MERCY (form a semicircle round the body, and sing in solemn tones).

With hasty step death presses on, Nor grants to man a moment's stay, He falls ere half his race be run In manhood's pride is swept away! Prepared or unprepared to die, He stands before his Judge on high.

[While they are repeating the last two lines, the curtain falls.

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Act V, Scene I

A common near Altdorf. In the background to the right the keep of Uri, with the scaffold still standing, as in the third scene of the first act. To the left the view opens upon numerous mountains, on all of which signal fires are burning. Day is breaking, and bells are heard ringing from various distances.

RUODI, KUONI, WERNI, MASTER MASON, and many other country people, also women and children.

RUODI. Look at the fiery signals on the mountains!

MASTER MASON. Hark to the bells above the forest there!

RUODI. The enemy's expelled.

MASTER MASON. The forts are taken.

RUODI. And we of Uri, do we still endure Upon our native soil the tyrant's keep? Are we the last to strike for liberty?

MASTER MASON. Shall the yoke stand that was to bow our necks? Up! Tear it to the ground!

ALL. Down, down with it!

RUODI. Where is the Stier of Uri?

URI. Here. What would ye?

RUODI. Up to your tower, and wind us such a blast, As shall resound afar, from hill to hill; Rousing the echoes of each peak and glen, And call the mountain men in haste together!

[Exit STIER OF URI--enter WALTER FURST.

FURST. Stay, stay, my friends! As yet we have not learned What has been done in Unterwald and Schwytz. Let's wait till we receive intelligence!

RUODI. Wait, wait for what? The accursed tyrant's dead, And the bright day of liberty has dawned!

MASTER MASON. How! Do these flaming signals not suffice, That blaze on every mountain top around?

RUODI. Come all, fall to--come, men and women, all! Destroy the scaffold! Tear the arches down! Down with the walls; let not a stone remain.

MASTER MASON. Come, comrades, come! We built it, and we know How best to hurl it down.

ALL. Come! Down with it!

[They fall upon the building at every side.

FURST. The floodgate's burst. They're not to be restrained.

[Enter MELCHTHAL and BAUMGARTEN.

MELCHTHAL. What! Stands the fortress still, when Sarnen lies In ashes, and when Rossberg is a ruin?

FURST. You, Melchthal, here? D'ye bring us liberty? Say, have you freed the country of the foe?

MELCHTHAL. We've swept them from the soil. Rejoice, my friend; Now, at this very moment, while we speak, There's not a tyrant left in Switzerland!

FURST. How did you get the forts into your power?

MELCHTHAL. Rudenz it was who with a gallant arm, And manly daring, took the keep at Sarnen. The Rossberg I had stormed the night before. But hear what chanced. Scarce had we driven the foe Forth from the keep, and given it to the flames, That now rose crackling upwards to the skies, When from the blaze rushed Diethelm, Gessler's page, Exclaiming, "Lady Bertha will be burnt!"

FURST. Good heavens!

[The beams of the scaffold are heard falling.

MELCHTHAL. 'Twas she herself. Here had she been Immured in secret by the viceroy's orders. Rudenz sprang up in frenzy. For we heard The beams and massive pillars crashing down, And through the volumed smoke the piteous shrieks Of the unhappy lady.

FURST. Is she saved?

MELCHTHAL. Here was a time for promptness and decision! Had he been nothing but our baron, then We should have been most chary of our lives; But he was our confederate, and Bertha Honored the people. So without a thought, We risked the worst, and rushed into the flames.

FURST. But is she saved?

MELCHTHAL. She is. Rudenz and I Bore her between us from the blazing pile, With crashing timbers toppling all around. And when she had revived, the danger past, And raised her eyes to meet the light of heaven, The baron fell upon my breast; and then A silent vow of friendship passed between us-- A vow that, tempered in yon furnace heat, Will last through every shock of time and fate.

FURST. Where is the Landenberg?

MELCHTHAL. Across the Bruenig. No fault of mine it was, that he, who quenched My father's eyesight, should go hence unharmed. He fled--I followed--overtook and seized him, And dragged him to my father's feet. The sword Already quivered o'er the caitiff's head, When at the entreaty of the blind old man, I spared the life for which he basely prayed. He swore Urphede [26], never to return: He'll keep his oath, for he has felt our arm.

FURST. Thank God, our victory's unstained by blood!

CHILDREN (running across the stage with fragments of wood). Liberty! Liberty! Hurrah, we're free!

FURST. Oh! what a joyous scene! These children will, E'en to their latest day, remember it.

[Girls bring in the cap upon a pole. The whole stage is filled with people.

RUODI. Here is the cap, to which we were to bow!

BAUMGARTEN. Command us, how we shall dispose of it.

FURST. Heavens! 'Twas beneath this cap my grandson stood!

SEVERAL VOICES. Destroy the emblem of the tyrant's power! Let it burn!

FURST. No. Rather be preserved! 'Twas once the instrument of despots--now 'Twill be a lasting symbol of our freedom.

[Peasants, men, women, and children, some standing, others sitting upon the beams of the shattered scaffold, all picturesquely grouped, in a large semicircle.

MELCHTHAL. Thus now, my friends, with light and merry hearts, We stand upon the wreck of tyranny; And gallantly have we fulfilled the oath, Which we at Rootli swore, confederates!

FURST. The work is but begun. We must be firm. For, be assured, the king will make all speed, To avenge his viceroy's death, and reinstate, By force of arms, the tyrant we've expelled.

MELCHTHAL. Why, let him come, with all his armaments! The foe within has fled before our arms; We'll give him welcome warmly from without!

RUODI. The passes to the country are but few; And these we'll boldly cover with our bodies.

BAUMGARTEN. We are bound by an indissoluble league, And all his armies shall not make us quail.

[Enter ROSSELMANN and STAUFFACHER.

ROSSELMANN (speaking as he enters). These are the awful judgments of the lord!

PEASANT. What is the matter?

ROSSELMANN. In what times we live!

FURST. Say on, what is't? Ha, Werner, is it you? What tidings?

PEASANT. What's the matter?

ROSSELMANN. Hear and wonder.

STAUFFACHER. We are released from one great cause of dread.

ROSSELMANN. The emperor is murdered.

FURST. Gracious heaven!

[PEASANTS rise up and throng round STAUFFACHER.

ALL. Murdered! the emperor? What! The emperor! Hear!

MELCHTHAL. Impossible! How came you by the news?

STAUFFACHER. 'Tis true! Near Bruck, by the assassin's hand, King Albert fell. A most trustworthy man, John Mueller, from Schaffhausen, brought the news.

FURST. Who dared commit so horrible a deed?

STAUFFACHER. The doer makes the deed more dreadful still; It was his nephew, his own brother's child, Duke John of Austria, who struck the blow.

MELCHTHAL. What drove him to so dire a parricide?

STAUFFACHER. The emperor kept his patrimony back, Despite his urgent importunities; 'Twas said, indeed, he never meant to give it, But with a mitre to appease the duke. However this may be, the duke gave ear, To the ill counsel of his friends in arms; And with the noble lords, von Eschenbach, Von Tegerfeld, von Wart, and Palm, resolved, Since his demands for justice were despised, With his own hands to take revenge at least.

FURST. But say, how compassed he the dreadful deed?

STAUFFACHER. The king was riding down from Stein to Baden, Upon his way to join the court at Rheinfeld,-- With him a train of high-born gentlemen, And the young princes, John and Leopold. And when they reached the ferry of the Reuss, The assassins forced their way into the boat, To separate the emperor from his suite. His highness landed, and was riding on Across a fresh-ploughed field--where once, they say, A mighty city stood in Pagan times-- With Hapsburg's ancient turrets full in sight, Where all the grandeur of his line had birth-- When Duke John plunged a dagger in his throat, Palm ran him through the body with his lance, Eschenbach cleft his skull at one fell blow, And down he sank, all weltering in his blood, On his own soil, by his own kinsmen slain. Those on the opposite bank, who saw the deed, Being parted by the stream, could only raise An unavailing cry of loud lament. But a poor woman, sitting by the way, Raised him, and on her breast he bled to death.

MELCHTHAL. Thus has he dug his own untimely grave, Who sought insatiably to grasp at all.

STAUFFACHER. The country round is filled with dire alarm. The mountain passes are blockaded all, And sentinels on every frontier set; E'en ancient Zurich barricades her gates, That for these thirty years have open stood, Dreading the murderers, and the avengers more, For cruel Agnes comes, the Hungarian queen, To all her sex's tenderness a stranger, Armed with the thunders of the church to wreak Dire vengeance for her parent's royal blood, On the whole race of those that murdered him,-- Upon their servants, children, children's children,-- Nay on the stones that build their castle walls. Deep has she sworn a vow to immolate Whole generations on her father's tomb, And bathe in blood as in the dew of May.

MELCHTHAL. Know you which way the murderers have fled?

STAUFFACHER. No sooner had they done the deed than they Took flight, each following a different route, And parted, ne'er to see each other more. Duke John must still be wandering in the mountains.

FURST. And thus their crime has yielded them no fruits. Revenge is barren. Of itself it makes The dreadful food it feeds on; its delight Is murder--its satiety despair.

STAUFFACHER. The assassins reap no profit by their crime; But we shall pluck with unpolluted hands The teeming fruits of their most bloody deed, For we are ransomed from our heaviest fear; The direst foe of liberty has fallen, And, 'tis reported, that the crown will pass From Hapsburg's house into another line. The empire is determined to assert Its old prerogative of choice, I hear.

FURST and several others. Has any one been named to you?

STAUFFACHER. The Count Of Luxembourg is widely named already.

FURST. 'Tis well we stood so stanchly by the empire! Now we may hope for justice, and with cause.

STAUFFACHER. The emperor will need some valiant friends, And he will shelter us from Austria's vengeance.

[The peasantry embrace. Enter SACRIST, with imperial messenger.

SACRIST. Here are the worthy chiefs of Switzerland!

ROSSELMANN and several others. Sacrist, what news?

SACRISTAN. A courier brings this letter.

ALL (to WALTER FURST). Open and read it.

FURST (reading). "To the worthy men Of Uri, Schwytz, and Unterwald, the Queen Elizabeth sends grace and all good wishes!"

MANY VOICES. What wants the queen with us? Her reign is done.

FURST (reads). "In the great grief and doleful widowhood, In which the bloody exit of her lord Has plunged her majesty, she still remembers The ancient faith and love of Switzerland."

MELCHTHAL. She ne'er did that in her prosperity.

ROSSELMANN. Hush, let us hear.

FURST (reads). "And she is well assured, Her people will in due abhorrence hold The perpetrators of this damned deed. On the three Cantons, therefore, she relies, That they in nowise lend the murderers aid; But rather, that they loyally assist To give them up to the avenger's hand, Remembering the love and grace which they Of old received from Rudolph's princely house."

[Symptoms of dissatisfaction among the peasantry.

MANY VOICES. The love and grace!

STAUFFACHER. Grace from the father we, indeed, received, But what have we to boast of from the son? Did he confirm the charter of our freedom, As all preceding emperors had done? Did he judge righteous judgment, or afford Shelter or stay to innocence oppressed? Nay, did he e'en give audience to the envoys We sent to lay our grievances before him? Not one of all these things e'er did the king. And had we not ourselves achieved our rights By resolute valor our necessities Had never touched him. Gratitude to him! Within these vales he sowed not gratitude. He stood upon an eminence--he might Have been a very father to his people, But all his aim and pleasure was to raise Himself and his own house: and now may those Whom he has aggrandized lament for him!

FURST. We will not triumph in his fall, nor now Recall to mind the wrongs we have endured. Far be't from us! Yet, that we should avenge The sovereign's death, who never did us good, And hunt down those who ne'er molested us, Becomes us not, nor is our duty. Love Must bring its offerings free and unconstrained; From all enforced duties death absolves-- And unto him we are no longer bound.

MELCHTHAL. And if the queen laments within her bower, Accusing heaven in sorrow's wild despair; Here see a people from its anguish freed. To that same heaven send up its thankful praise, For who would reap regrets must sow affection.

[Exit the imperial courier.

STAUFFACHER (to the people). But where is Tell? Shall he, our freedom's founder, Alone be absent from our festival? He did the most--endured the worst of all. Come--to his dwelling let us all repair, And bid the savior of our country hail!

[Exeunt omnes.

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Act V, Scene II

Interior of TELL'S cottage. A fire burning on the hearth. The open door shows the scene outside.

HEDWIG, WALTER, and WILHELM.

HEDWIG. Boys, dearest boys! your father comes to-day. He lives, is free, and we and all are free! The country owes its liberty to him!

WALTER. And I too, mother, bore my part in it; I shall be named with him. My father's shaft Went closely by my life, but yet I shook not!

HEDWIG (embracing him). Yes, yes, thou art restored to me again. Twice have I given thee birth, twice suffered all A mother's agonies for thee, my child! But this is past; I have you both, boys, both! And your dear father will be back to-day.

[A monk appears at the door.

WILHELM. See, mother, yonder stands a holy friar; He's asking alms, no doubt.

HEDWIG. Go lead him in, That we may give him cheer, and make him feel That he has come into the house of joy.

[Exit, and returns immediately with a cup.

WILHELM (to the monk). Come in, good man. Mother will give you food.

WALTER. Come in, and rest, then go refreshed away!

MONK (glancing round in terror, with unquiet looks). Where am I? In what country?

WALTER. Have you lost Your way, that you are ignorant of this? You are at Buerglen, in the land of Uri, Just at the entrance of the Sheckenthal.

MONK (to HEDWIG). Are you alone? Your husband, is he here?

HEDWIG. I momently expect him. But what ails you? You look as one whose soul is ill at ease. Whoe'er you be, you are in want; take that.

[Offers him the cup.

MONK. Howe'er my sinking heart may yearn for food, I will take nothing till you've promised me----

HEDWIG. Touch not my dress, nor yet advance one step. Stand off, I say, if you would have me hear you.

MONK. Oh, by this hearth's bright, hospitable blaze, By your dear children's heads, which I embrace----

[Grasps the boys.

HEDWIG. Stand back, I say! What is your purpose, man? Back from my boys! You are no monk,--no, no. Beneath that robe content and peace should dwell, But neither lives within that face of thine.

MONK. I am the veriest wretch that breathes on earth.

HEDWIG. The heart is never deaf to wretchedness; But thy look freezes up my inmost soul.

WALTER (springs up). Mother, my father!

HEDWIG. Oh, my God!

[Is about to follow, trembles and stops.

WILHELM (running after his brother). My father!

WALTER (without). Thou'rt here once more!

WILHELM (without). My father, my dear father!

TELL (without). Yes, here I am once more! Where is your mother?

[They enter.

WALTER. There at the door she stands, and can no further, She trembles so with terror and with joy.

TELL. Oh Hedwig, Hedwig, mother of my children! God has been kind and helpful in our woes. No tyrant's hand shall e'er divide us more.

HEDWIG (falling on his neck). Oh, Tell, what have I suffered for thy sake!

[Monk becomes attentive.

TELL. Forget it now, and live for joy alone! I'm here again with you! This is my cot I stand again on mine own hearth!

WILHELM. But, father, Where is your crossbow left? I see it not.

TELL. Nor shalt thou ever see it more, my boy. It is suspended in a holy place, And in the chase shall ne'er be used again.

HEDWIG. Oh, Tell, Tell!

[Steps back, dropping his hand.

TELL. What alarms thee, dearest wife?

HEDWIG. How--how dost thou return to me? This hand-- Dare I take hold of it? This hand--Oh God!

TELL (with firmness and animation). Has shielded you and set my country free; Freely I raise it in the face of Heaven.

[MONK gives a sudden start--he looks at him.

Who is this friar here?

HEDWIG. Ah, I forgot him. Speak thou with him; I shudder at his presence.

MONK (stepping nearer). Are you that Tell that slew the governor?

TELL. Yes, I am he. I hide the fact from no man.

MONK. You are that Tell! Ah! it is God's own hand That hath conducted me beneath your roof.

TELL (examining him closely). You are no monk. Who are you?

MONK. You have slain The governor, who did you wrong. I too, Have slain a foe, who late denied me justice. He was no less your enemy than mine. I've rid the land of him.

TELL (drawing back). Thou art--oh horror! In--children, children--in without a word. Go, my dear wife! Go! Go! Unhappy man, Thou shouldst be----

HEIWIG. Heavens, who is it?

TELL. Do not ask. Away! away! the children must not hear it. Out of the house--away! Thou must not rest 'Neath the same roof with this unhappy man!

HEDWIG. Alas! What is it? Come!

[Exit with the children.

TELL (to the MONK). Thou art the Duke Of Austria--I know it. Thou hast slain The emperor, thy uncle, and liege lord.

DUKE JOHN. He robbed me of my patrimony.

TELL. How! Slain him--thy king, thy uncle! And the earth Still bears thee! And the sun still shines on thee!

DUKE JOHN. Tell, hear me, ere you----

TELL. Reeking with the blood Of him that was thy emperor and kinsman, Durst thou set foot within my spotless house? Show thy fell visage to a virtuous man, And claim the rites of hospitality?

DUKE JOHN. I hoped to find compassion at your hands. You also took revenge upon your foe!

TELL. Unhappy man! And dar'st thou thus confound Ambition's bloody crime with the dread act To which a father's direful need impelled him? Hadst thou to shield thy children's darling heads? To guard thy fireside's sanctuary--ward off The last, worst doom from all that thou didst love? To heaven I raise my unpolluted hands, To curse thine act and thee! I have avenged That holy nature which thou hast profaned. I have no part with thee. Thou art a murderer; I've shielded all that was most dear to me.

DUKE JOHN. You cast me off to comfortless despair!

TELL. My blood runs cold even while I talk with thee. Away! Pursue thine awful course! Nor longer Pollute the cot where innocence abides!

[DUKE JOHN turns to depart.

DUKE JOHN. I cannot live, and will no longer thus!

TELL. And yet my soul bleeds for thee--gracious heaven! So young, of such a noble line, the grandson Of Rudolph, once my lord and emperor, An outcast--murderer--standing at my door, The poor man's door--a suppliant, in despair!

[Covers his face.

DUKE JOHN. If thou hast power to weep, oh let my fate Move your compassion--it is horrible. I am--say, rather was--a prince. I might Have been most happy had I only curbed The impatience of my passionate desires; But envy gnawed my heart--I saw the youth Of mine own cousin Leopold endowed With honor, and enriched with broad domains, The while myself, that was in years his equal, Was kept in abject and disgraceful nonage.

TELL. Unhappy man, thy uncle knew thee well, When he withheld both land and subjects from thee; Thou, by thy mad and desperate act hast set A fearful seal upon his sage resolve. Where are the bloody partners of thy crime?

DUKE JOHN. Where'er the demon of revenge has borne them; I have not seen them since the luckless deed.

TELL. Know'st thou the empire's ban is out,--that thou Art interdicted to thy friends, and given An outlawed victim to thine enemies!

DUKE JOHN. Therefore I shun all public thoroughfares, And venture not to knock at any door-- I turn my footsteps to the wilds, and through The mountains roam, a terror to myself. From mine own self I shrink with horror back, Should a chance brook reflect my ill-starred form. If thou hast pity for a fellow-mortal----

[Falls down before him.

TELL. Stand up, stand up!

DUKE JOHN. Not till thou shalt extend Thy hand in promise of assistance to me.

TELL. Can I assist thee? Can a sinful man? Yet get thee up,--how black soe'er thy crime, Thou art a man. I, too, am one. From Tell Shall no one part uncomforted. I will Do all that lies within my power.

DUKE JOHN (springs up and grasps him ardently by the hand). Oh, Tell, You save me from the terrors of despair.

TELL. Let go my band! Thou must away. Thou canst not Remain here undiscovered, and discovered Thou canst not count on succor. Which way, then, Wilt bend thy steps? Where dost thou hope to find A place of rest?

DUKE JOHN. Alas! alas! I know not.

TELL. Hear, then, what heaven suggested to my heart, Thou must to Italy,--to Saint Peter's city,-- There cast thyself at the pope's feet,--confess Thy guilt to him, and ease thy laden soul!

DUKE JOHN. But will he not surrender me to vengeance!

TELL. Whate'er he does receive as God's decree.

DUKE JOHN. But how am I to reach that unknown land? I have no knowledge of the way, and dare not Attach myself to other travellers.

TELL. I will describe the road, and mark me well You must ascend, keeping along the Reuss, Which from the mountains dashes wildly down.

DUKE JOHN (in alarm). What! See the Reuss? The witness of my deed!

TELL. The road you take lies through the river's gorge, And many a cross proclaims where travellers Have perished 'neath the avalanche's fall.

DUKE JOHN. I have no fear for nature's terrors, so I can appease the torments of my soul.

TELL. At every cross kneel down and expiate Your crime with burning penitential tears And if you 'scape the perils of the pass, And are not whelmed beneath the drifted snows That from the frozen peaks come sweeping down, You'll reach the bridge that hangs in drizzling spray; Then if it yield not 'neath your heavy guilt, When you have left it safely in your rear, Before you frowns the gloomy Gate of Rocks, Where never sun did shine. Proceed through this, And you will reach a bright and gladsome vale. Yet must you hurry on with hasty steps, For in the haunts of peace you must not linger.

DUKE JOHN. Oh, Rudolph, Rudolph, royal grandsire! thus Thy grandson first sets foot within thy realms!

TELL. Ascending still you gain the Gotthardt's heights, On which the everlasting lakes repose, That from the streams of heaven itself are fed, There to the German soil you bid farewell; And thence, with rapid course, another stream Leads you to Italy, your promised land.

[Ranz des Vaches sounded on Alp-horns is heard without.

But I hear voices! Hence!

HEDWIG (hurrying in). Where art thou, Tell? Our father comes, and in exulting bands All the confederates approach.

DUKE JOHN (covering himself). Woe's me! I dare not tarry 'mid this happiness!

TELL. Go, dearest wife, and give this man to eat. Spare not your bounty. For his road is long, And one where shelter will be hard to find. Quick! they approach.

HEDWIG. Who is he?

TELL. Do not ask And when he quits thee, turn thine eyes away That they may not behold the road he takes.

[DUKE JOHN advances hastily towards TELL, but he beckons him aside and exit. When both have left the stage, the scene changes, and discloses in--

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Act V, Scene III

The whole valley before TELL'S house, the heights which enclose it occupied by peasants, grouped into tableaux. Some are seen crossing a lofty bridge which crosses to the Sechen. WALTER FURST with the two boys. WERNER and STAUFFACHER come forward. Others throng after them. When TELL appears all receive him with loud cheers.

ALL. Long live brave Tell, our shield, our liberator.

[While those in front are crowding round TELL and embracing him, RUDENZ and BERTHA appear. The former salutes the peasantry, the latter embraces HEDWIG. The music, from the mountains continues to play. When it has stopped, BERTHA steps into the centre of the crowd.

BERTHA. Peasants! Confederates! Into your league Receive me here that happily am the first To find protection in the land of freedom. To your brave hands I now intrust my rights. Will you protect me as your citizen?

PEASANTS. Ay, that we will, with life and fortune both!

BERTHA. 'Tis well! And to this youth I give my hand. A free Swiss maiden to a free Swiss man!

RUDENZ. And from this moment all my serfs are free!

[Music and the curtain falls.

FOOTNOTES.

[1] The German is Thalvogt, Ruler of the Valley--the name given figuratively to a dense gray mist which the south wind sweeps into the valleys from the mountain tops. It is well known as the precursor of stormy weather.

[2] A steep rock standing on the north of Ruetli, and nearly opposite to Brumen.

[3] In German, Wolfenschiessen--a young man of noble family, and a native of Unterwalden, who attached himself to the house of Austria and was appointed Burgvogt, or seneschal, of the castle of Rossberg. He was killed by Baumgarten in the manner and for the cause mentioned in the text.

[4] Literally, the Foehn is loose! "When," says Mueller, in his History of Switzerland, "the wind called the Foehn is high the navigation of the lake becomes extremely dangerous. Such is its vehemence that the laws of the country require that the fires shall be extinguished in the houses while it lasts, and the night watches are doubled. The inhabitants lay heavy stones upon the roofs of their houses to prevent their being blown away."

[5] Buerglen, the birthplace and residence of Tell. A chapel erected in 1522 remains on the spot formerly occupied by his house.

[6] Berenger von Landenberg, a man of noble family in Thurgau and governor of Unterwald, infamous for his cruelties to the Swiss, and particularly to the venerable Henry of the Halden. He was slain at the battle of Morgarten in 1315.

[7] A cell built in the ninth century by Meinrad, Count Hohenzollern, the founder of the Convent of Einsiedlen, subsequently alluded to in the text.

[8] The League, or Bond, of the Three Cantons was of very ancient origin. They met and renewed it from time to time, especially when their liberties were threatened with danger. A remarkable instance of this occurred in the end of the thirteenth century, when Albert of Austria became emperor, and when, possibly, for the first time, the bond was reduced to writing. As it is important to the understanding of many passages of the play, a translation is subjoined of the oldest known document relating to it. The original, which is in Latin and German, is dated in August, 1291, and is under the seals of the whole of the men of Schwytz, the commonalty of the vale of Uri, and the whole of the men of the upper and lower vales of Stanz.

THE BOND.

Be it known to every one, that the men of the Dale of Uri, the Community of Schwytz, as also the men of the mountains of Unterwald, in consideration of the evil times, have full confidently bound themselves, and sworn to help each other with all their power and might, property and people, against all who shall do violence to them, or any of them. That is our Ancient Bond.

Whoever hath a Seignior, let him obey according to the conditions of his service.

We are agreed to receive into these dales no Judge who is not a countryman and indweller, or who hath bought his place.

Every controversy amongst the sworn confederates shall be determined by some of the sagest of their number, and if any one shall challenge their judgment, then shall he be constrained to obey it by the rest.

Whoever intentionally or deceitfully kills another shall be executed, and whoever shelters him shall be banished.

Whoever burns the property of another shall no longer be regarded as a countryman, and whoever shelters him shall make good the damage done.

Whoever injures another, or robs him, and hath property in our country, shall make satisfaction out of the same.

No one shall distrain a debtor without a judge, nor any one who is not his debtor, or the surety for such debtor.

Every one in these dales shall submit to the judge, or we, the sworn confederates, all will take satisfaction for all the injury occasioned by his contumacy. And if in any internal division the one party will not accept justice, all the rest shall help the other party. These decrees shall, God willing, endure eternally for our general advantage.

[9] The Austrian knights were in the habit of wearing a plume of peacocks' feathers in their helmets. After the overthrow of the Austrian dominion in Switzerland it was made highly penal to wear the peacock's feather at any public assembly there.

[10] The bench reserved for the nobility.

[11] The Landamman was an officer chosen by the Swiss Gemeinde, or Diet, to preside over them. The Banneret was an officer intrusted with the keeping of the state banner, and such others as were taken in battle.

[12] According to the custom by which, when the last male descendant of a noble family died, his sword, helmet, and shield were buried with him.

[13] This frequently occurred. But in the event of an imperial city being mortgaged for the purpose of raising money it lost its freedom, and was considered as put out of the realm.

[14] An allusion to the circumstance of the imperial crown not being hereditary, but conferred by election on one of the counts of the empire.

[15] These are the cots, or shealings, erected by the herdsmen for shelter while pasturing their herds on the mountains during the summer. These are left deserted in winter, during which period Melchthal's journey was taken.

[16] It was the custom at the meetings of the Landes Gemeinde, or Diet, to set swords upright in the ground as emblems of authority.

[17] The Heribann was a muster of warriors similar to the arriere ban in France.

[18] The Duke of Suabia, who soon afterwards assassinated his uncle, for withholding his patrimony from him.

[19] A sort of national militia.

[20, 21, 22, 23] Rocks on the shore of the Lake of Lucerne.

[24] A rock on the shore of the lake of Lucerne.

[25] An allusion to the gallant self-devotion of Arnold Struthan of Winkelried at the battle of Sempach (9th July, 1386), who broke the Austrian phalanx by rushing on their lances, grasping as many of them as he could reach, and concentrating them upon his breast. The confederates rushed forward through the gap thus opened by the sacrifice of their comrade, broke and cut down their enemy's ranks, and soon became the masters of the field. "Dear and faithful confederates, I will open you a passage. Protect my wife and children," were the words of Winkelried as he rushed to death.

[26] The Urphede was an oath of peculiar force. When a man who was at feud with another, invaded his lands and was worsted, he often made terms with his enemy by swearing the Urphede, by which he bound himself to depart and never to return with a hostile intention;

DON CARLOS.

By Frederich Schiller

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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.

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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!

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Act I, 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.

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Act I, 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.

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Act I, 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.

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Act I, 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.

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Act I, 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.

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Act I, 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!

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Act I, 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.

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Act I, 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.

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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.

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Act II, 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.

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Act II, 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.

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Act II, 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.

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