KING.
This ardor is most laudable. You wish
To do good deeds to others; how you do them
Is but of small account to patriots,
Or to the wise. Choose then within these realms
The office where you best may satisfy
This noble impulse.
MARQUIS.
'Tis not to be found.
KING.
How!
MARQUIS.
What your majesty would spread abroad,
Through these my hands--is it the good of men?
Is it the happiness that my pure love
Would to mankind impart? Before such bliss
Monarchs would tremble. No! Court policy
Has raised up new enjoyments for mankind.
Which she is always rich enough to grant;
And wakened, in the hearts of men, new wishes
Which such enjoyments only can content.
In her own mint she coins the truth--such truth!
As she herself can tolerate: all forms
Unlike her own are broken. But is that
Which can content the court enough for me?
Must my affection for my brother pledge
Itself to work my brother injury?
To call him happy when he dare not think?
Sire, choose not me to spread the happiness
Which you have stamped for us. I must decline
To circulate such coin. I cannot be
The servant of a prince.
KING (suddenly).
You are, perhaps,
A Protestant?
MARQUIS (after some reflection).
Our creeds, my liege, are one.
[A pause.
I am misunderstood. I feared as much.
You see the veil torn by my hand aside
From all the mysteries of majesty.
Who can assure you I shall still regard
As sacred that which ceases to alarm me?
I may seem dangerous, because I think
Above myself. I am not so, my liege;
My wishes lie corroding here. The rage
[Laying his hand on his breast.
For innovation, which but serves to increase
The heavy weight of chains it cannot break,
Shall never fire my blood! The world is yet
Unripe for my ideal; and I live
A citizen of ages yet to come.
But does a fancied picture break your rest?
A breach of yours destroys it.
KING.
Say, am I
The first to whom your views are known?
MARQUIS.
You are.
KING (rises, walks a few paces and then stops opposite
the MARQUIS--aside).
This tone, at least, is new; but flattery
Exhausts itself. And men of talent still
Disdain to imitate. So let us test
Its opposite for once. Why should I not?
There is a charm in novelty. Should we
Be so agreed, I will bethink me now
Of some new state employment, in whose duties
Your powerful mind----
MARQUIS.
Sire, I perceive how small,
How mean, your notions are of manly worth.
Suspecting, in an honest man's discourse,
Naught but a flatterer's artifice--methinks
I can explain the cause of this your error.
Mankind compel you to it. With free choice
They have disclaimed their true nobility,
Lowered themselves to their degraded state.
Before man's inward worth, as from a phantom,
They fly in terror--and contented with
Their poverty, they ornament their chains
With slavish prudence; and they call it virtue
To bear them with a show of resignation.
Thus did you find the world, and thus it was
By your great father handed o'er to you.
In this debased connection--how could you
Respect mankind?
KING.
Your words contain some truth.
MARQUIS.
Alas! that when from the Creator's hand
You took mankind, and moulded him to suit
Your own ideas, making yourself the god
Of this new creature, you should overlook
That you yourself remained a human being--
A very man, as from God's hands you came.
Still did you feel a mortal's wants and pains.
You needed sympathy; but to a God
One can but sacrifice, and pray, and tremble--
Wretched exchange! Perversion most unblest
Of sacred nature! Once degrade mankind,
And make him but a thing to play upon,
Who then can share the harmony with you?
KING (aside).
By heaven, he moves me!
MARQUIS.
But this sacrifice
To you is valueless. You thus become
A thing apart, a species of your own.
This is the price you pay for being a god;
'Twere dreadful were it not so, and if you
Gained nothing by the misery of millions!
And if the very freedom you destroyed
Were the sole blessing that could make you happy.
Dismiss me, sire, I pray you; for my theme
Bears me too far; my heart is full; too strong
The charm, to stand before the only man
To whom I may reveal it.
[The COUNT LERMA enters, and whispers a few words
to the KING, who signs him to withdraw, and continues
sitting in his former posture.
KING (to the MARQUIS, after LERMA is gone).
Nay, continue.
MARQUIS (after a pause).
I feel, sire--all the worth----
KING.
Proceed; you had
Yet more to say to me.
MARQUIS.
Your majesty,
I lately passed through Flanders and Brabant,
So many rich and blooming provinces,
Filled with a valiant, great, and honest people.
To be the father of a race like this
I thought must be divine indeed; and then
I stumbled on a heap of burnt men's bones.
[He stops, he fixes a penetrating look on the KING,
who endeavors to return his glance; but he looks on
the ground, embarrassed and confused.
True, you are forced to act so; but that you
Could dare fulfil your task--this fills my soul
With shuddering horror! Oh, 'tis pity that
The victim, weltering in his blood, must cease
To chant the praises of his sacrificer!
And that mere men--not beings loftier far--
Should write the history of the world. But soon
A milder age will follow that of Philip,
An age of truer wisdom; hand in hand,
The subjects' welfare and the sovereign's greatness
Will walk in union. Then the careful state
Will spare her children, and necessity
No longer glory to be thus inhuman.
KING.
When, think you, would that blessed age arrive,
If I had shrunk before the curse of this?
Behold my Spain, see here the burgher's good
Blooms in eternal and unclouded peace.
A peace like this will I bestow on Flanders.
MARQUIS (hastily).
The churchyard's peace! And do you hope to end
What you have now begun? Say, do you hope
To check the ripening change of Christendom,
The universal spring, that shall renew
The earth's fair form? Would you alone, in Europe,
Fling yourself down before the rapid wheel
Of destiny, which rolls its ceaseless course,
And seize its spokes with human arm. Vain thought!
Already thousands have your kingdom fled
In joyful poverty: the honest burgher
For his faith exiled, was your noblest subject!
See! with a mother's arms, Elizabeth
Welcomes the fugitives, and Britain blooms
In rich luxuriance, from our country's arts.
Bereft of the new Christian's industry,
Granada lies forsaken, and all Europe
Exulting, sees his foe oppressed with wounds,
By its own hands inflicted!
[The KING is moved; the MARQUIS observes it,
and advances a step nearer.
You would plant
For all eternity, and yet the seeds
You sow around you are the seeds of death!
This hopeless task, with nature's laws at strife,
Will ne'er survive the spirit of its founder.
You labor for ingratitude; in vain,
With nature you engage in desperate struggle--
In vain you waste your high and royal life
In projects of destruction. Man is greater
Than you esteem him. He will burst the chains
Of a long slumber, and reclaim once more
His just and hallowed rights. With Nero's name,
And fell Busiris', will he couple yours;
And--ah! you once deserved a better fate.
KING.
How know you that?
MARQUIS.
In very truth you did--
Yes, I repeat it--by the Almighty power!
Restore us all you have deprived us of,
And, generous as strong, let happiness
Flow from your horn of plenty--let man's mind
Ripen in your vast empire--give us back
All you have taken from us--and become,
Amidst a thousand kings, a king indeed!
[He advances boldly, and fixes on him a look of
earnestness and enthusiasm.
Oh, that the eloquence of all those myriads,
Whose fate depends on this momentous hour,
Could hover on my lips, and fan the spark
That lights thine eye into a glorious flame!
Renounce the mimicry of godlike powers
Which level us to nothing. Be, in truth,
An image of the Deity himself!
Never did mortal man possess so much
For purpose so divine. The kings of Europe
Pay homage to the name of Spain. Be you
The leader of these kings. One pen-stroke now,
One motion of your hand, can new create
The earth! but grant us liberty of thought.
[Casts himself at his feet.
KING (surprised, turns away his face, then again looks
towards the MARQUIS).
Enthusiast most strange! arise; but I----
MARQUIS.
Look round on all the glorious face of nature,
On freedom it is founded--see how rich,
Through freedom it has grown. The great Creator
Bestows upon the worm its drop of dew,
And gives free-will a triumph in abodes
Where lone corruption reigns. See your creation,
How small, how poor! The rustling of a leaf
Alarms the mighty lord of Christendom.
Each virtue makes you quake with fear. While he,
Not to disturb fair freedom's blest appearance,
Permits the frightful ravages of evil
To waste his fair domains. The great Creator
We see not--he conceals himself within
His own eternal laws. The sceptic sees
Their operation, but beholds not Him.
"Wherefore a God!" he cries, "the world itself
Suffices for itself!" And Christian prayer
Ne'er praised him more than doth this blasphemy.
KING.
And will you undertake to raise up this
Exalted standard of weak human nature
In my dominions?
MARQUIS.
You can do it, sire.
Who else? Devote to your own people's bliss
The kingly power, which has too long enriched
The greatness of the throne alone. Restore
The prostrate dignity of human nature,
And let the subject be, what once he was,
The end and object of the monarch's care,
Bound by no duty, save a brother's love.
And when mankind is to itself restored,
Roused to a sense of its own innate worth,
When freedom's lofty virtues proudly flourish--
Then, sire, when you have made your own wide realms
The happiest in the world, it then may be
Your duty to subdue the universe.
KING (after a long pause).
I've heard you to the end. Far differently
I find, than in the minds of other men,
The world exists in yours. And you shall not
By foreign laws be judged. I am the first
To whom you have your secret self disclosed;
I know it--so believe it--for the sake
Of this forbearance--that you have till now
Concealed these sentiments, although embraced
With so much ardor,--for this cautious prudence.
I will forget, young man, that I have learned them,
And how I learned them. Rise! I will confute
Your youthful dreams by my matured experience,
Not by my power as king. Such is my will,
And therefore act I thus. Poison itself
May, in a worthy nature, be transformed
To some benignant use. But, sir, beware
My Inquisition! 'Twould afflict me much----
MARQUIS.
Indeed!
KING (lost in surprise).
Ne'er met I such a man as that!
No, marquis, no! you wrong me! Not to you
Will I become a Nero--not to you!--
All happiness shall not be blasted round me,
And you at least, beneath my very eyes,
May dare continue to remain a man.
MARQUIS (quickly).
And, sire, my fellow-subjects? Not for me,
Nor my own cause, I pleaded. Sire! your subjects----
KING.
Nay, if you know so well how future times
Will judge me, let them learn at least from you,
That when I found a man, I could respect him.
MARQUIS.
Oh, let not the most just of kings at once
Be the most unjust! In your realm of Flanders
There are a thousand better men than I.
But you--sire! may I dare to say so much--
For the first time, perhaps, see liberty
In milder form portrayed.
KING (with gentle severity).
No more of this,
Young man! You would, I know, think otherwise
Had you but learned to understand mankind
As I. But truly--I would not this meeting
Should prove our last. How can I hope to win you?
MARQUIS.
Pray leave me as I am. What value, sire,
Should I be to you were you to corrupt me?
KING.
This pride I will not bear. From this day forth
I hold you in my service. No remonstrance--
For I will have it so.
[After a pause.
But how is this?
What would I now? Was it not truth I wished?
But here is something more. Marquis, so far
You've learned to know me as a king; but yet
You know me not as man--
[The MARQUIS seems to meditate.
I understand you--
Were I the most unfortunate of fathers,
Yet as a husband may I not be blest?
MARQUIS.
If the possession of a hopeful son,
And a most lovely spouse, confer a claim
On mortal to assume that title, sire,
In both respects, you are supremely blest.
KING (with a serious look).
That am I not--and never, till this hour,
Have I so deeply felt that I am not so.
[Contemplating the MARQUIS with a look of melancholy.
MARQUIS.
The prince possesses a right noble mind.
I ne'er have known him otherwise.
KING.
I have
The treasure he has robbed me of, no crown
Can e'er requite. So virtuous a queen!
MARQUIS.
Who dare assert it, sire?
KING.
The world! and scandal!
And I myself! Here lie the damning proofs
Of doubtless guilt--and others, too, exist,
From which I fear the worst. But still 'tis hard
To trust one proof alone. Who brings the charge?
And oh! if this were possible--that she,
The queen, so foully could pollute her honor,
Then how much easier were it to believe
An Eboli may be a slanderer!
Does not that priest detest my son and her?
And can I doubt that Alva broods revenge?
My wife has higher worth than all together.
MARQUIS.
And there exists besides in woman's soul
A treasure, sire, beyond all outward show,
Above the reach of slander--female virtue!
KING.
Marquis! those thoughts are mine. It costs too much
To sink so low as they accuse the queen.
The sacred ties of honor are not broken
With so much ease, as some would fain persuade me.
Marquis, you know mankind. Just such a man
As you I long have wished for--you are kind--
Cheerful--and deeply versed in human nature--
Therefore I've chosen you----
MARQUIS (surprised and alarmed).
Me, sire!
KING.
You stand
Before your king and ask no special favor--
For yourself nothing!--that is new to me--
You will be just--ne'er weakly swayed by passion.
Watch my son close--search the queen's inmost heart.
You shall have power to speak with her in private.
Retire.
[He rings a bell.
MARQUIS.
And if with but one hope fulfilled
I now depart, then is this day indeed
The happiest of my life.
KING (holds out his hand to him to kiss).
I hold it not
Amongst my days a lost one.
[The MARQUIS rises and goes. COUNT LERMA enters.
Count, in future,
The marquis is to enter, unannounced.
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
The Queen's Apartment.
QUEEN, DUCHESS OLIVAREZ, PRINCESS EBOLI, COUNTESS FUENTES.
QUEEN (to the first lady as she rises).
And so the key has not been found! My casket
Must be forced open then--and that at once.
[She observes PRINCESS EBOLI, who approaches and kisses her hand.
Welcome, dear princess! I rejoice to see you
So near recovered. But you still look pale.
FUENTES (with malice).
The fault of that vile fever which affects
The nerves so painfully. Is't not, princess?
QUEEN.
I wished to visit you, dear Eboli,
But dared not.
OLIVAREZ.
Oh! the Princess Eboli
Was not in want of company.
QUEEN.
Why, that
I readily believe, but what's the matter?
You tremble----
PRINCESS.
Nothing--nothing, gracious queen.
Permit me to retire.
QUEEN.
You hide it from us--
And are far worse than you would have us think.
Standing must weary you. Assist her, countess,
And let her rest awhile upon that seat.
PRINCESS (going).
I shall be better in the open air.
QUEEN.
Attend her, countess. What a sudden illness!
[A PAGE enters and speaks to the DUCHESS, who then
addresses the QUEEN.
OLIVAREZ.
The Marquis Posa waits, your majesty,
With orders from the king.
QUEEN.
Admit him then.
[PAGE admits the MARQUIS and exit.
SCENE II.
MARQUIS POSA. The former.
The MARQUIS falls on one knee before the QUEEN, who
signs to him to rise.
QUEEN.
What are my lord's commands? And may I dare
Thus publicly to hear----
MARQUIS.
My business is
In private with your royal majesty.
[The ladies retire on a signal from the QUEEN.
SCENE III.
The QUEEN, MARQUIS POSA.
QUEEN (full of astonishment).
How! Marquis, dare I trust my eyes? Are you
Commissioned to me from the king?
MARQUIS.
Does this
Seem such a wonder to your majesty?
To me 'tis otherwise.
QUEEN.
The world must sure
Have wandered from its course! That you and he--
I must confess----
MARQUIS.
It does sound somewhat strange--
But be it so. The present times abound
In prodigies.
QUEEN.
But none can equal this.
MARQUIS.
Suppose I had at last allowed myself
To be converted, and had weary grown
Of playing the eccentric at the court
Of Philip. The eccentric! What is that?
He who would be of service to mankind
Must first endeavor to resemble them.
What end is gained by the vain-glorious garb
Of the sectarian? Then suppose--for who
From vanity is so completely free
As for his creed to seek no proselytes?
Suppose, I say, I had it in my mind
To place my own opinions on the throne!
QUEEN.
No, marquis! no! Not even in jest could I
Suspect you of so wild a scheme as this;
No visionary you! to undertake
What you can ne'er accomplish.
MARQUIS.
But that seems
To be the very point at issue.
QUEEN.
What
I chiefly blame you, marquis, for, and what
Could well estrange me from you--is----
MARQUIS.
Perhaps
Duplicity!
QUEEN.
At least--a want of candor.
Perhaps the king himself has no desire
You should impart what now you mean to tell me.
MARQUIS.
No.
QUEEN.
And can evil means be justified
By honest ends? And--pardon me the doubt--
Can your high bearing stoop to such an office?
I scarce can think it.
MARQUIS.
Nor, indeed, could I,
Were my sole purpose to deceive the king.
'Tis not my wish--I mean to serve him now
More honestly than he himself commands.
QUEEN.
'Tis spoken like yourself. Enough of this--
What would the king?
MARQUIS.
The king? I can, it seems,
Retaliate quickly on my rigid judge
And what I have deferred so long to tell,
Your majesty, perhaps, would willingly
Longer defer to hear. But still it must
Be heard. The king requests your majesty
Will grant no audience to the ambassador
Of France to-day. Such were my high commands--
They're executed.
QUEEN.
Marquis, is that all
You have to tell me from him?
MARQUIS.
Nearly all
That justifies me thus to seek your presence.
QUEEN.
Well, marquis, I'm contented not to hear
What should, perhaps, remain a secret from me.
MARQUIS.
True, queen! though were you other than yourself,
I should inform you straight of certain things--
Warn you of certain men--but this to you
Were a vain office. Danger may arise
And disappear around you, unperceived.
You will not know it--of too little weight
To chase the slumber from your angel brow.
But 'twas not this, in sooth, that brought me hither,
Prince Carlos----
QUEEN.
What of him? How have you left him?
MARQUIS.
E'en as the only wise man of his time,
In whom it is a crime to worship truth--
And ready, for his love to risk his life,
As the wise sage for his. I bring few words--
But here he is himself.
[Giving the QUEEN a letter.
QUEEN (after she has read it).
He says he must
Speak with me----
MARQUIS.
So do I.
QUEEN.
And will he thus
Be happy--when he sees with his own eyes,
That I am wretched?
MARQUIS.
No; but more resolved,
More active.
QUEEN.
How?
MARQUIS.
Duke Alva is appointed
To Flanders.
QUEEN.
Yes, appointed--so I hear.
MARQUIS.
The king cannot retract:--we know the king.
This much is clear, the prince must not remain
Here in Madrid, nor Flanders be abandoned.
QUEEN.
And can you hinder it?
MARQUIS.
Perhaps I can,
But then the means are dangerous as the evil--
Rash as despair--and yet I know no other.
QUEEN.
Name them.
MARQUIS.
To you, and you alone, my queen,
Will I reveal them; for from you alone,
Carlos will hear them named without a shudder.
The name they bear is somewhat harsh.
QUEEN.
Rebellion!
MARQUIS.
He must prove faithless to the king, and fly
With secrecy to Brussels, where the Flemings
Wait him with open arms. The Netherlands
Will rise at his command. Our glorious cause
From the king's son will gather matchless strength,
The Spanish throne shall tremble at his arms,
And what his sire denied him in Madrid,
That will he willingly concede in Brussels.
QUEEN.
You've spoken with the king to-day--and yet
Maintain all this.
MARQUIS.
Yes, I maintain it all,
Because I spoke with him.
QUEEN (after a pause).
The daring plan
Alarms and pleases me. You may be right--
The thought is bold, and that perhaps enchants me.
Let it but ripen. Does Prince Carlos know it?
MARQUIS.
It was my wish that he should hear it first
From your own lips.
QUEEN.
The plan is doubtless good,
But then the prince's youth----
MARQUIS.
No disadvantage!
He there will find the bravest generals
Of the Emperor Charles--an Egmont and an Orange--
In battle daring, and in council wise.
QUEEN (with vivacity).
True--the design is grand and beautiful!
The prince must act; I feel it sensibly.
The part he's doomed to play here in Madrid
Has bowed me to the dust on his account.
I promise him the aid of France and Savoy;
I think with you, lord marquis--he must act--
But this design needs money----
MARQUIS.
It is ready.
QUEEN.
I, too, know means.
MARQUIS.
May I then give him hopes
Of seeing you?
QUEEN.
I will consider it.
MARQUIS.
The prince, my queen, is urgent for an answer.
I promised to procure it.
[Presenting his writing tablet to the QUEEN.
Two short lines
Will be enough.
QUEEN (after she has written).
When do we meet again?
MARQUIS.
Whene'er you wish.
QUEEN.
Whene'er I wish it, marquis!
How can I understand this privilege?
MARQUIS.
As innocently, queen, as e'er you may.
But we enjoy it--that is sure enough.
QUEEN (interrupting).
How will my heart rejoice should this become
A refuge for the liberties of Europe,
And this through him! Count on my silent aid!
MARQUIS (with animation).
Right well I knew your heart would understand me.
[The DUCHESS OLIVAREZ enters.
QUEEN (coldly to the MARQUIS).
My lord! the king's commands I shall respect
As law. Assure him of the queen's submission.
[She makes a sign to him. Exit MARQUIS.
SCENE IV.
A Gallery.
DON CARLOS, COUNT LERMA.
CARLOS.
Here we are undisturbed. What would you now
Impart to me?
LERMA.
Your highness has a friend
Here at the court.
CARLOS (starting).
A friend! I knew it not!
But what's your meaning?
LERMA.
I must sue for pardon
That I am learned in more than I should know.
But for your highness' comfort I've received it
From one I may depend upon--in short,
I have it from myself.
CARLOS.
Whom speak you of?
LERMA.
The Marquis Posa.
CARLOS.
What!
LERMA.
And if your highness
Has trusted to him more of what concerns you
Than every one should know, as I am led
To fear----
CARLOS.
You fear!
LERMA.
He has been with the king.
CARLOS.
Indeed!
LERMA.
Two hours in secret converse too.
CARLOS.
Indeed!
LERMA.
The subject was no trifling matter.
CARLOS.
That I can well believe.
LERMA.
And several times
I heard your name.
CARLOS.
That's no bad sign, I hope.
LERMA.
And then, this morning, in the king's apartment,
The queen was spoken of mysteriously.
CARLOS (starts back astonished).
Count Lerma!
LERMA.
When the marquis had retired
I was commanded to admit his lordship
In future unannounced.
CARLOS.
Astonishing!
LERMA.
And without precedent do I believe,
Long as I served the king----
CARLOS.
'Tis strange, indeed!
How did you say the queen was spoken of?
LERMA (steps back).
No, no, my prince! that were against my duty.
CARLOS.
'Tis somewhat strange! One secret you impart.
The other you withhold.
LERMA.
The first was due
To you, the other to the king.
CARLOS.
You're right.
LERMA.
And still I've thought you, prince, a man of honor.
CARLOS.
Then you have judged me truly.
LERMA.
But all virtue
Is spotless till it's tried.
CARLOS.
Some stand the trial.
LERMA.
A powerful monarch's favor is a prize
Worth seeking for; and this alluring bait
Has ruined many a virtue.
CARLOS.
Truly said!
LERMA.
And oftentimes 'tis prudent to discover--
What scarce can longer be concealed.
CARLOS.
Yes, prudent
It may be, but you say you've ever known
The marquis prove himself a man of honor.
LERMA.
And if he be so still my fears are harmless,
And you become a double gainer, prince.
[Going.
CARLOS (follows him with emotion, and presses his hand).
Trebly I gain, upright and worthy man,
I gain another friend, nor lose the one
Whom I before possessed.
[Exit LERMA.
SCENE V.
MARQUIS POSA comes through the gallery. CARLOS.
MARQUIS.
Carlos! My Carlos!
CARLOS.
Who calls me? Ah! 'tis thou--I was in haste
To gain the convent! You will not delay.
[Going.
MARQUIS.
Hold! for a moment.
CARLOS.
We may be observed.
MARQUIS.
No chance of that. 'Tis over now. The queen----
CARLOS.
You've seen my father.
MARQUIS.
Yes! he sent for me.
CARLOS (full of expectation).
Well!
MARQUIS.
'Tis all settled--you may see the queen.
CARLOS.
Yes! but the king! What said the king to you?
MARQUIS.
Not much. Mere curiosity to learn
My history. The zeal of unknown friends--
I know not what. He offered me employment.
CARLOS.
Which you, of course, rejected?
MARQUIS.
Yes, of course
CARLOS.
How did you separate?
MARQUIS.
Oh, well enough!
CARLOS.
And was I mentioned?
MARQUIS.
Yes; in general terms.
[Taking out a pocketbook and giving it to the PRINCE.
See here are two lines written by the queen,
To-morrow I will settle where and how.
CARLOS (reads it carelessly, puts the tablet in his pocket,
and is going).
You'll meet me at the prior's?
MARQUIS.
Yes! But stay
Why in such haste? No one is coming hither.
CARLOS (with a forced smile).
Have we in truth changed characters? To-day
You seem so bold and confident.
MARQUIS.
To-day--
Wherefore to-day?
CARLOS.
What writes the queen to me?
MARQUIS.
Have you not read this instant?
CARLOS.
I? Oh yes.
MARQUIS.
What is't disturbs you now?
CARLOS (reads the tablet again, delighted and fervently).
Angel of Heaven!
I will be so,--I will be worthy of thee.
Love elevates great minds. So come what may,
Whatever thou commandest, I'll perform.
She writes that I must hold myself prepared
For a great enterprise! What can she mean?
Dost thou not know?
MARQUIS.
And, Carlos, if I knew,
Say, art thou now prepared to hear it from me?
CARLOS.
Have I offended thee? I was distracted.
Roderigo, pardon me.
MARQUIS.
Distracted! How?
CARLOS.
I scarcely know! But may I keep this tablet?
MARQUIS.
Not so! I came to ask thee for thine own.
CARLOS.
My tablet! Why?
MARQUIS.
And whatsoever writings
You have, unfit to meet a stranger's eye--
Letters or memorandums, and in short,
Your whole portfolio.
CARLOS.
Why?
MARQUIS.
That we may be
Prepared for accidents. Who can prevent
Surprise? They'll never seek them in my keeping.
Here, give them to me----
CARLOS (uneasy).
Strange! What can it mean?
MARQUIS.
Be not alarmed! 'Tis nothing of importance
A mere precaution to prevent surprise.
You need not be alarmed!
CARLOS (gives him the portfolio).
Be careful of it.
MARQUIS.
Be sure I will.
CARLOS (looks at him significantly).
I give thee much, Roderigo!
MARQUIS.
Not more than I have often had from thee.
The rest we'll talk of yonder. Now farewell.
[Going.
CARLOS (struggling with himself, then calls him back).
Give me my letters back; there's one amongst them
The queen addressed to me at Alcala,
When I was sick to death. Still next my heart
I carry it; to take this letter from me
Goes to my very soul. But leave me that,
And take the rest.
[He takes it out, and returns the portfolio.
MARQUIS.
I yield unwillingly--
For 'twas that letter which I most required.
CARLOS.
Farewell!
[He goes away slowly, stops a moment at the door, turns
back again, and brings him the letter.
You have it there.
[His hand trembles, tears start from his eyes, he falls on
the neck of the MARQUIS, and presses his face to his bosom.
Oh, not my father,
Could do so much, Roderigo! Not my father!
[Exit hastily.
SCENE VI.
MARQUIS (looks after him with astonishment).
And is this possible! And to this hour
Have I not known him fully? In his heart
This blemish has escaped my eye. Distrust
Of me--his friend! But no, 'tis calumny!
What hath he done that I accuse him thus
Of weakest weakness. I myself commit
The fault I charge on him. What have I done
Might well surprise him! When hath he displayed
To his best friend such absolute reserve?
Carlos, I must afflict thee--there's no help--
And longer still distress thy noble soul.
In me the king hath placed his confidence,
His holiest trust reposed--as in a casket,
And this reliance calls for gratitude.
How can disclosure serve thee when my silence
Brings thee no harm--serves thee, perhaps? Ah! why
Point to the traveller the impending storm?
Enough, if I direct its anger past thee!
And when thou wakest the sky's again serene.
[Exit.
SCENE VII.
The KING's Cabinet.
The KING seated, near him the INFANTA CLARA EUGENIA.
KING (after a deep silence).
No--she is sure my daughter--or can nature
Thus lie like truth! Yes, that blue eye is mine!
And I am pictured in thy every feature.
Child of my love! for such thou art--I fold thee
Thus to my heart; thou art my blood.
[Starts and pauses:
My blood--
What's worse to fear? Are not my features his?
[Takes the miniature in his hand and looks first at
the portrait, then at the mirror opposite; at last he
throws it on the ground, rises hastily, and pushes the
INFANTA from him.
Away, away! I'm lost in this abyss.
SCENE VIII.
COUNT LERMA and the KING.
LERMA.
Her majesty is in the antechamber.
KING.
What! Now?
LERMA.
And begs the favor of an audience.
KING.
Now! At this unaccustomed hour! Not now--
I cannot see her yet.
LERMA.
Here comes the queen.
[Exit LERMA.
SCENE IX.
The KING, the QUEEN enters, and the INFANTA.
The INFANTA runs to meet the QUEEN and clings to her;
the QUEEN falls at the KING's feet, who is silent,
and appears confused and embarrassed.
QUEEN.
My lord! My husband! I'm constrained to seek
Justice before the throne!
KING.
What? Justice!
QUEEN.
Yes!
I'm treated with dishonor at the court!
My casket has been rifled.
KING.
What! Your casket?
QUEEN.
And things I highly value have been plundered.
KING.
Things that you highly value.
QUEEN.
From the meaning
Which ignorant men's officiousness, perhaps,
Might give to them----
KING.
What's this? Officiousness,
And meaning! How? But rise.
QUEEN.
Oh no, my husband!
Not till you bind yourself by sacred promise,
By virtue of your own authority,
To find the offender out, and grant redress,
Or else dismiss my suite, which hides a thief.
KING.
But rise! In such a posture! Pray you, rise.
QUEEN (rises).
'Tis some one of distinction--I know well;
My casket held both diamonds and pearls
Of matchless value, but he only took
My letters.
KING.
May I ask----
QUEEN.
Undoubtedly,
My husband. They were letters from the prince:
His miniature as well.
KING.
From whom?
QUEEN.
The prince,
Your son.
KING.
To you?
QUEEN.
Sent by the prince to me.
KING.
What! From Prince Carlos! Do you tell me that?
QUEEN.
Why not tell you, my husband?
KING.
And not blush.
QUEEN.
What mean you? You must surely recollect
The letters Carlos sent me to St. Germains,
With both courts' full consent. Whether that leave
Extended to the portrait, or alone
His hasty hope dictated such a step,
I cannot now pretend to answer; but
If even rash, it may at least be pardoned
For thus much I may be his pledge--that then
He never thought the gift was for his mother.
[Observes the agitation of the KING.
What moves you? What's the matter?
INFANTA (who has found the miniature on the ground, and has been
playing with it, brings it to the QUEEN).
Look, dear mother!
See what a pretty picture!
QUEEN.
What then my----
[She recognizes the miniature, and remains in speechless
astonishment. They both gaze at each other. After a long pause.
In truth, this mode of trying a wife's heart
Is great and royal, sire! But I should wish
To ask one question?
KING.
'Tis for me to question.
QUEEN.
Let my suspicions spare the innocent.
And if by your command this theft was done----
KING.
It was so done!
QUEEN.
Then I have none to blame,
And none to pity--other than yourself--
Since you possess a wife on whom such schemes
Are thrown away.
KING.
This language is not new--
Nor shall you, madam, now again deceive me
As in the gardens of Aranjuez--
My queen of angel purity, who then
So haughtily my accusation spurned--
I know her better now.
QUEEN.
What mean you, sire?
KING.
Madam! thus briefly and without reserve--
Say is it true? still true, that you conversed
With no one there? Is really that the truth?
QUEEN.
I spoke there with the prince.
KING.
Then is clear
As day! So daring! heedless of mine honor!
QUEEN.
Your honor, sire! If that be now the question,
A greater honor is, methinks, at stake
Than Castile ever brought me as a dowry.
KING.
Why did you then deny the prince's presence?
QUEEN.
Because I'm not accustomed to be questioned
Like a delinquent before all your courtiers;
I never shall deny the truth when asked
With kindness and respect. Was that the tone
Your majesty used towards me in Aranjuez?
Are your assembled grandees the tribunal
Queens must account to for their private conduct?
I gave the prince the interview he sought
With earnest prayer, because, my liege and lord,
I--the queen--wished and willed it, and because
I never can admit that formal custom
Should sit as judge on actions that are guiltless;
And I concealed it from your majesty
Because I chose not to contend with you
About this right in presence of your courtiers.
KING.
You speak with boldness, madam!
QUEEN.
I may add,
Because the prince, in his own father's heart,
Scarce finds that kindness he so well deserves.
KING.
So well deserves!
QUEEN.
Why, sire! should I conceal it!
Highly do I esteem him--yes! and love him
As a most dear relation, who was once
Deemed worthy of a dearer--tenderer--title.
I've yet to learn that he, on this account,
Should be estranged from me beyond all others,--
Because he once was better loved than they.
Though your state policy may knit together
What bands it pleases--'tis a harder task
To burst such ties! I will not hate another
For any one's command--and since I must
So speak--such dictates I will not endure.
KING.
Elizabeth! you've seen me in weak moments--
And their remembrance now emboldens you.
On that strong influence you now depend,
Which you have often, with so much success,
Against my firmness tried. But fear the more
The power which has seduced me to be weak
May yet inflame me to some act of madness.
QUEEN.
What have I done?
KING (takes her hand).
If it should prove but so--
And is it not already? If the full
Accumulated measure of your guilt
Become but one breath heavier--should I be
Deceived----
[Lets her hand go.
I can subdue these last remains
Of weakness--can and will--then woe betide
Myself and you, Elizabeth!
QUEEN.
What crime
Have I committed?
KING.
On my own account then
Shall blood be shed.
QUEEN.
And has it come to this?
Oh, Heaven!
KING.
I shall forget myself--I shall
Regard no usage and no voice of nature--
Not e'en the law of nations.
QUEEN.
Oh, how much
I pity you!
KING.
The pity of a harlot!
INFANTA (clinging to her mother in terror).
The king is angry, and my mother weeps.
[KING pushes the child violently from the QUEEN.
QUEEN (with mildness and dignity, but with faltering voice).
This child I must protect from cruelty--
Come with me, daughter.
[Takes her in her arms.
If the king no more
Acknowledge thee--beyond the Pyrenees
I'll call protectors to defend our cause.
[Going.
KING (embarrassed).
Queen!
QUEEN.
I can bear no more--it is too much!
[Hastening to the door, she falls with her child on the threshold.
KING (running to her assistance).
Heavens! What is that?
INFANTA (cries out with terror).
She bleeds! My mother bleeds!
[Runs out.
KING (anxiously assisting her).
Oh, what a fearful accident! You bleed;
Do I deserve this cruel punishment?
Rise and collect yourself--rise, they are coming!
They will surprise us! Shall the assembled court
Divert themselves with such a spectacle?
Must I entreat you? Rise.
[She rises, supported by the KING.
SCENE X.
The former, ALVA, DOMINGO entering, alarmed, ladies follow.
KING.
Now let the queen
Be led to her apartment; she's unwell.
[Exit the QUEEN, attended by her ladies.
ALVA and DOMINGO come forward.
ALVA.
The queen in tears, and blood upon her face!
KING.
Does that surprise the devils who've misled me?
ALVA and DOMINGO.
We?
KING.
You have said enough to drive me mad.
But nothing to convince me.
ALVA.
We gave you
What we ourselves possessed.
KING.
May hell reward you!
I've done what I repent of! Ah! was hers,
The language of a conscience dark with guilt?
MARQUIS POSA (from without).
Say, can I see the king?
SCENE XI.
The former, MARQUIS POSA.
KING (starts up at the sound of his voice, and advances
some paces to meet him).
Ah! here he comes.
Right welcome, marquis! Duke! I need you now
No longer. Leave us.
[ALVA and DOMINGO look at each other with silent
astonishment and retire.
SCENE XII.
The KING, and MARQUIS POSA.
MARQUIS.
That old soldier, sire,
Who has faced death, in twenty battles, for you,
Must hold it thankless to be so dismissed.
KING.
'Tis thus for you to think--for me to act;
In a few hours you have been more to me
Than that man in a lifetime. Nor shall I
Keep my content a secret. On your brow
The lustre of my high and royal favor
Shall shine resplendent--I will make that man
A mark for envy whom I choose my friend.
MARQUIS.
What if the veil of dark obscurity
Were his sole claim to merit such a title?
KING.
What come you now to tell me?
MARQUIS.
As I passed
Along the antechamber a dread rumor
Fell on my ear,--it seemed incredible,--
Of a most angry quarrel--blood--the queen----
KING.
Come you from her?
MARQUIS.
I should be horrified
Were not the rumor false: or should perhaps
Your majesty meantime have done some act--
Discoveries of importance I have made,
Which wholly change the aspect of affairs.
KING.
How now?
MARQUIS.
I found an opportunity
To seize your son's portfolio, with his letters,
Which, as I hope, may throw some light----
[He gives the PRINCE's portfolio to the KING.
KING (looks through it eagerly).
A letter
From the emperor, my father. How I a letter
Of which I ne'er remember to have heard.
[He reads it through, puts it aside, and goes
to the other papers.
A drawing of some fortress--detached thoughts
From Tacitus--and what is here? The hand
I surely recognize--it is a lady's.
[He reads it attentively, partly to himself,
and partly aloud.
"This key--the farthest chamber of the queen's
Pavilion!" Ha! what's this? "The voice of love,--
The timid lover--may--a rich reward."
Satanic treachery! I see it now.
'Tis she--'tis her own writing!
MARQUIS.
The queen's writing!
Impossible!
KING.
The Princess Eboli's.
MARQUIS.
Then, it was true, what the queen's page confessed,
Not long since--that he brought this key and letter.
KING (grasping the MARQUIS' hand in great emotion).
Marquis! I see that I'm in dreadful hands.
This woman--I confess it--'twas this woman
Forced the queen's casket: and my first suspicions
Were breathed by her. Who knows how deep the priest
May be engaged in this? I am deceived
By cursed villany.
MARQUIS.
Then it was lucky----
KING.
Marquis! O marquis! I begin to fear
I've wronged my wife.
MARQUIS.
If there exist between
The prince and queen some secret understandings,
They are of other import, rest assured,
Than those they charge her with. I know, for certain,
The prince's prayer to be despatched to Flanders
Was by the queen suggested.
KING.
I have thought so.
MARQUIS.
The queen's ambitious. Dare I speak more fully?
She sees, with some resentment, her high hopes
All disappointed, and herself shut out
From share of empire. Your son's youthful ardor
Offers itself to her far-reaching views,
Her heart! I doubt if she can love.
KING.
Her schemes
Of policy can never make me tremble.
MARQUIS.
Whether the Infant loves her--whether we
Have something worse to fear from him,--are things
Worthy our deep attention. To these points
Our strictest vigilance must be directed.
KING.
You must be pledge for him.
MARQUIS.
And if the king
Esteem me capable of such a task,
I must entreat it be intrusted to me
Wholly without conditions.
KING.
So it shall.
MARQUIS.
That in the steps which I may think required,
I may be thwarted by no coadjutors,
Whatever name they bear.
KING.
I pledge my word
You shall not. You have proved my guardian angel.
How many thanks I owe you for this service!
[LERMA enters--the KING to him.
How did you leave the queen?
LERMA.
But scarce recovered
From her deep swoon.
[He looks at the MARQUIS doubtfully, and exit.
MARQUIS (to the KING, after a pause).
One caution yet seems needful.
The prince may be advised of our design,
For he has many faithful friends in Ghent,
And may have partisans among the rebels.
Fear may incite to desperate resolves;
Therefore I counsel that some speedy means
Be taken to prevent this fatal chance.
KING.
You are quite right--but how?
MARQUIS.
Your majesty
May sign a secret warrant of arrest
And place it in my hands, to be employed,
As may seem needful, in the hour of danger.
[The KING appears thoughtful.
This step must be a most profound state secret
Until----
KING (going to his desk and writing the warrant of arrest).
The kingdom is at stake, and now
The pressing danger sanctions urgent measures.
Here marquis! I need scarcely say--use prudence.
MARQUIS (taking the warrant).
'Tis only for the last extremity.
KING (laying his hand on the shoulder of the MARQUIS).
Go! Go, dear marquis! Give this bosom peace,
And bring back slumber to my sleepless pillow.
[Exeunt at different sides.
SCENE XIII.
A Gallery.
CARLOS entering in extreme agitation, COUNT LERMA
meeting him.
CARLOS.
I have been seeking you.
LERMA.
And I your highness.
CARLOS.
For heaven's sake is it true?
LERMA.
What do you mean?
CARLOS.
That the king drew his dagger, and that she
Was borne, all bathed in blood, from the apartment?
Now answer me, by all that's sacred; say,
What am I to believe? What truth is in it?
LERMA.
She fainted, and so grazed her skin in falling
That is the whole.
CARLOS.
Is there no further danger?
Count, answer on your honor.
LERMA.
For the queen
No further danger; for yourself, there's much!
CARLOS.
None for my mother. Then, kind Heaven, I thank thee.
A dreadful rumor reached me that the king
Raved against child and mother, and that some
Dire secret was discovered.
LERMA.
And the last
May possibly be true.
CARLOS.
Be true! What mean you?
LERMA.
One warning have I given you, prince, already,
And that to-day, but you despised it; now
Perhaps you'll profit better by a second.
CARLOS.
Explain yourself.
LERMA.
If I mistake not, prince,
A few days since I noticed in your hands
An azure-blue portfolio, worked in velvet
And chased with gold.
CARLOS (with anxiety).
Yes, I had such a one.
LERMA.
And on the cover, if I recollect, a portrait
Set in pearls?
CARLOS.
'Tis right; go on.
LERMA.
I entered the king's chamber on a sudden,
And in his hands I marked that same portfolio,
The Marquis Posa standing by his side.
CARLOS (after a short silence of astonishment, hastily).
'Tis false!
LERMA (warmly).
Then I'm a traitor!
CARLOS (looking steadfastly at him).
That you are!
LERMA.
Well, I forgive you.
CARLOS (paces the apartment in extreme agitation, at length
stands still before him).
Has he injured thee?
What have our guiltless ties of friendship done,
That with a demon's zeal thou triest to rend them?
LERMA.
Prince, I respect the grief which renders you
So far unjust.
CARLOS.
Heaven shield me from suspicion!
LERMA.
And I remember, too, the king's own words.
Just as I entered he addressed the marquis:
"How many thanks I owe you for this news."
CARLOS.
Oh, say no more!
LERMA.
Duke Alva is disgraced!
The great seal taken from the Prince Ruy Gomez,
And given to the marquis.
CARLOS (lost in deep thought).
And from me
Has he concealed all this? And why from me?
LERMA.
As minister all-powerful, the court
Looks on him now--as favorite unrivalled!
CARLOS.
He loved me--loved me greatly: I was dear
As his own soul is to him. That I know--
Of that I've had a thousand proofs. But should
The happiness of millions yield to one?
Must not his country dearer to him prove
Than Carlos? One friend only is too few
For his capacious heart. And not enough
Is Carlos' happiness to engross his love.
He offers me a sacrifice to virtue;
And shall I murmur at him? Now 'tis certain
I have forever lost him.
[He steps aside and covers his face.
LERMA.
Dearest prince!
How can I serve you?
CARLOS (without looking at him).
Get you to the king;
Go and betray me. I have naught to give.
LERMA.
Will you then stay and brave the ill that follows?
CARLOS (leans on a balustrade and looks forward with a vacant gaze).
I've lost him now, and I am destitute!
LERMA (approaching him with sympathizing emotion).
And will you not consult your safety, prince?
CARLOS.
My safety! Generous man!
LERMA:
And is there, then,
No other person you should tremble for?
CARLOS (starts up).
Heavens! you remind me now. Alas! My mother!
The letter that I gave him--first refused--
Then after, gave him!
[He paces backwards and forwards with agitation,
wringing his hands.
Has she then deserved
This blow from him? He should have spared her, Lerma.
[In a hasty, determined tone.
But I must see her--warn her of her danger--
I must prepare her, Lerma, dearest Lerma!
Whom shall I send? Have I no friend remaining?
Yes! Heaven be praised! I still have one; and now
The worst is over.
[Exit quickly.
LEEMA (follows, and calls after him).
Whither, whither, prince?
SCENE XIV.
The QUEEN, ALVA, DOMINGO.
ALVA.
If we may be permitted, gracious queen----
QUEEN.
What are your wishes?
DOMINGO.
A most true regard
For your high majesty forbids us now
To watch in careless silence an event
Pregnant with danger to your royal safety.
ALVA.
We hasten, by a kind and timely warning,
To counteract a plot that's laid against you.
DOMINGO.
And our warm zeal, and our best services,
To lay before your feet, most gracious queen!
QUEEN (looking at them with astonishment).
Most reverend sir, and you, my noble duke,
You much surprise me. Such sincere attachment,
In truth, I had not hoped for from Domingo,
Nor from Duke Alva. Much I value it.
A plot you mention, menacing my safety--
Dare I inquire by whom----
ALVA.
You will beware a certain Marquis Posa
He has of late been secretly employed
In the king's service.
QUEEN.
With delight I hear
The king has made so excellent a choice.
Report, long since, has spoken of the marquis
As a deserving, great, and virtuous man--
The royal grace was ne'er so well bestowed!
DOMINGO.
So well bestowed! We think far otherwise.
ALVA.
It is no secret now, for what designs
This man has been employed.
QUEEN.
How! What designs?
You put my expectation on the rack.
DOMINGO.
How long is it since last your majesty
Opened your casket?
QUEEN.
Why do you inquire?
DOMINGO.
Did you not miss some articles of value?
QUEEN.
Why these suspicions? What I missed was then
Known to the court! But what of Marquis Posa?
Say, what connection has all this with him?
ALVA.
The closest, please your majesty--the prince
Has lost some papers of importance;
And they were seen this morning with the king
After the marquis had an audience of him.
QUEEN (after some consideration).
This news is strange indeed--inexplicable
To find a foe where I could ne'er have dreamed it,
And two warm friends I knew not I possessed!
[Fixing her eyes steadfastly upon them.
And, to speak truth, I had well nigh imputed
To you the wicked turn my husband served me.
ALVA.
To us!
QUEEN.
To you yourselves!
DOMINGO.
To me! Duke Alva!
QUEEN (her eyes still fastened on them).
I am glad to be so timely made aware
Of my rash judgment--else had I resolved
This very day to beg his majesty
Would bring me face to face with my accusers.
But I'm contented now. I can appeal
To the Duke Alva for his testimony.
ALVA.
For mine? You would not sure do that!
QUEEN.
Why not?
ALVA.
'Twould counteract the services we might
Render in secret to you.
QUEEN.
How! in secret?
[With stern dignity.
I fain would know what secret projects, duke,
Your sovereign's spouse can have to form with you,
Or, priest! with you--her husband should not know?
Think you that I am innocent or guilty?
DOMINGO.
Strange question!
ALVA.
Should the monarch prove unjust--
And at this time----
QUEEN.
Then I must wait for justice
Until it come--and they are happiest far
Whose consciences may calmly wait their right.
[Bows to them and exit. DOMINGO and ALVA exeunt
on the opposite side.
SCENE XV.
Chamber Of PRINCESS EBOLI.
PRINCESS EBOLI. CARLOS immediately after.
EBOLI.
Is it then true--the strange intelligence,
That fills the court with wonder?
CARLOS (enters).
Do not fear
Princess! I shall be gentle as a child.
EBOLI.
Prince, this intrusion!
CARLOS.
Are you angry still?
Offended still with me----
EBOLI.
Prince!
CARLOS (earnestly).
Are you angry?
I pray you answer me.
EBOLI.
What can this mean?
You seem, prince, to forget--what would you with me?
CARLOS (seizing her hand with warmth).
Dear maiden! Can you hate eternally?
Can injured love ne'er pardon?
EBOLI (disengaging herself).
Prince! of what
Would you remind me?
CARLOS.
Of your kindness, dearest!
And of my deep ingratitude. Alas,
Too well I know it! deeply have I wronged thee--
Wounded thy tender heart, and from thine eyes,
Thine angel eyes, wrung precious tears, sweet maid!
But ah! 'tis not repentance leads me hither.
EBOLI.
Prince! leave me--I----
CARLOS.
I come to thee, because
Thou art a maid of gentle soul--because
I trust thy heart--thy kind and tender heart.
Think, dearest maiden! think, I have no friend,
No friend but thee, in all this wretched world--
Thou who wert once so kind wilt not forever
Hate me, nor will thy anger prove eternal.
EBOLI (turning away her face).
O cease! No more! for heaven's sake! leave me, prince.
CARLOS.
Let me remind thee of those golden hours--
Let me remind thee of thy love, sweet maid--
That love which I so basely have offended!
Oh, let me now appear to thee again
As once I was--and as thy heart portrayed me.
Yet once again, once only, place my image,
As in days past, before thy tender soul,
And to that idol make a sacrifice
Thou canst not make to me.
EBOLI.
Oh, Carlos, cease!
Too cruelly thou sportest with my feelings!
CARLOS.
Be nobler than thy sex! Forgive an insult!
Do what no woman e'er has done before thee,
And what no woman, after thee, can equal.
I ask of thee an unexampled favor.
Grant me--upon my knees I ask of thee
Grant me two moments with the queen, my mother!
[He casts himself at her feet.
SCENE XVI.
The former. MARQUIS POSA rushes in; behind him two
Officers of the Queen's Guard.
MARQUIS (breathless and agitated, rushing between CARLOS and
the PRINCESS).
Say, what has he confessed? Believe him not!
CARLOS (still on his knees, with loud voice).
By all that's holy----
MARQUIS (interrupting him with vehemence).
He is mad! He raves!
Oh, listen to him not!
CARLOS (louder and more urgent).
It is a question
Of life and death; conduct me to her straight.
MARQUIS (dragging the PRINCESS from him by force).
You die, if you but listen.
[To one of the officers, showing an order.
Count of Cordova!
In the king's name, Prince Carlos is your prisoner.
[CARLOS stands bewildered. The PRINCESS utters a cry of
horror, and tries to escape. The officers are astounded.
A long and deep pause ensues. The MARQUIS trembles violently,
and with difficulty preserves his composure.
[To the PRINCE.
I beg your sword--The Princess Eboli
Remains----
[To the officers.
And you, on peril of your lives,
Let no one with his highness speak--no person--
Not e'en yourselves.
[He whispers a few words to one officer, then turns to the other.
I hasten, instantly,
To cast myself before our monarch's feet,
And justify this step----
[To the PRINCE.
And prince! for you--
Expect me in an hour.
[CARLOS permits himself to be led away without any signs
of consciousness, except that in passing he casts a languid,
dying look on the MARQUIS. The PRINCESS endeavors again to
escape; the MARQUIS pulls her back by the arm.
SCENE XVII.
PRINCESS EBOLI, MARQUIS POSA.
EBOLI.
For Heaven's sake let me leave this place----
MARQUIS (leads her forward with dreadful earnestness).
Thou wretch!
What has he said to thee?
EBOLI.
Oh, leave me! Nothing.
MARQUIS (with earnestness; holding her back by force).
How much has he imparted to thee? Here
No way is left thee to escape. To none
In this world shalt thou ever tell it.
EBOLI (looking at him with terror).
Heavens! What would you do? Would you then murder me?
MARQUIS (drawing a dagger).
Yes, that is my resolve. Be speedy!
EBOLI.
Mercy!
What have I then committed?
MARQUIS (looking towards heaven, points the dagger to her breast).
Still there's time--
The poison has not issued from these lips.
Dash but the bowl to atoms, all remains
Still as before! The destinies of Spain
Against a woman's life!
[Remains doubtingly in this position.
EBOLI (having sunk down beside him, looks in his face).
Do not delay--
Why do you hesitate? I beg no mercy--
I have deserved to die, and I am ready.
MARQUIS (letting his hand drop slowly--after some reflection).
It were as cowardly as barbarous.
No! God be praised! another way is left.
[He lets the dagger fall and hurries out. The PRINCESS
hastens out through another door.
SCENE XVIII.
A Chamber of the QUEEN.
The QUEEN to the COUNTESS FUENTES.
What means this noisy tumult in the palace?
Each breath to-day alarms me! Countess! see
What it portends, and hasten back with speed.
[Exit COUNTESS FUENTES--the PRINCESS EBOLI rushes in.
SCENE XIX.
The QUEEN, PRINCESS EBOLI.
EBOLI (breathless, pale, and wild, falls before the QUEEN).
Help! Help! O Queen! he's seized!
QUEEN.
Who?
EBOLI.
He's arrested
By the king's orders given to Marquis Posa.
QUEEN.
Who is arrested? Who?
EBOLI.
The prince!
QUEEN.
Thou ravest
EBOLI.
This moment they are leading him away.
QUEEN.
And who arrested him?
EBOLI.
The Marquis Posa.
QUEEN.
Then heaven be praised! it was the marquis seized him!
EBOLI.
Can you speak thus, and with such tranquil mien?
Oh, heavens! you do not know--you cannot think----
QUEEN.
The cause of his arrest! some trifling error,
Doubtless arising from his headlong youth!
EBOLI.
No! no! I know far better. No, my queen!
Remorseless treachery! There's no help for him.
He dies!
QUEEN.
He dies!
EBOLI.
And I'm his murderer!
QUEEN.
What! Dies? Thou ravest! Think what thou art saying?
EBOLI.
And wherefore--wherefore dies he? Had I known
That it would come to this!
QUEEN (takes her affectionately by the hand).
Oh, dearest princess,
Your senses are distracted, but collect
Your wandering spirits, and relate to me
More calmly, not in images of horror
That fright my inmost soul, whate'er you know!
Say, what has happened?
EBOLI.
Oh, display not, queen,
Such heavenly condescension! Like hot flames
This kindness sears my conscience. I'm not worthy
To view thy purity with eyes profane.
Oh, crush the wretch, who, agonized by shame,
Remorse, and self-reproach writhes at thy feet!
QUEEN.
Unhappy woman! Say, what is thy guilt?
EBOLI.
Angel of light! Sweet saint! thou little knowest
The demon who has won thy loving smiles.
Know her to-day; I was the wretched thief
Who plundered thee.
QUEEN.
What! Thou?
EBOLI.
And gave thy letters
Up to the king?
QUEEN.
What! Thou?
EBOLI.
And dared accuse thee!
QUEEN.
Thou! Couldst thou this?
EBOLI.
Revenge and madness--love--
I hated thee, and loved the prince!
QUEEN.
And did
His love so prompt thee?
QUEEN.
And who arrested him?
EBOLI.
I had owned my love,
But met with no return.
QUEEN (after a pause).
Now all's explained!
Rise up!--you loved him--I have pardoned you
I have forgotten all. Now, princess, rise.
[Holding out her hand to the PRINCESS.
EBOLI.
No, no; a foul confession still remains.
I will not rise, great queen, till I----
QUEEN.
Then speak!
What have I yet to hear?
EBOLI.
The king! Seduction!
Oh, now you turn away. And in your eyes
I read abhorrence. Yes; of that foul crime
I charged you with, I have myself been guilty.
[She presses her burning face to the ground. Exit QUEEN.
A long pause. The COUNTESS OLIVAREZ, after some minutes,
comes out of the cabinet, into which the QUEEN entered, and
finds the PRINCESS still lying in the above posture. She
approaches in silence. On hearing a noise, the latter looks
up and becomes like a mad person when she misses the QUEEN.
SCENE XX.
PRINCESS EBOLI, COUNTESS OLIVAREZ.
EBOLI.
Heavens! she has left me. I am now undone!
OLIVAREZ (approaching her).
My princess--Eboli!
EBOLI.
I know your business,
Duchess, and you come hither from the queen,
To speak my sentence to me; do it quickly.
OLIVAREZ.
I am commanded by your majesty
To take your cross and key.
EBOLI (takes from her breast a golden cross, and gives it to the UCHESS).
And but once more
May I not kiss my gracious sovereign's hand?
OLIVAREZ.
In holy Mary's convent shall you learn
Your fate, princess.
EBOLI (with a flood of tears).
Alas! then I no more
Shall ever see the queen.
OLIVAREZ (embraces her with her face turned away).
Princess, farewell.
[She goes hastily away. The PRINCESS follows her as far as
the door of the cabinet, which is immediately locked after
the DUCHESS. She remains a few minutes silent and motionless
on her knees before it. She then rises and hastens away,
covering her face.
SCENE XXI.
QUEEN, MARQUIS POSA.
QUEEN.
Ah, marquis, I am glad you're come at last!
MARQUIS (pale, with a disturbed countenance and trembling voice,
in solemn, deep agitation, during the whole scene).
And is your majesty alone? Can none
Within the adjoining chamber overhear us?
QUEEN.
No one! But why? What news would you impart?
[Looking at him closely, and drawing back alarmed.
And what has wrought this change in you? Speak, marquis,
You make me tremble--all your features seem
So marked with death!
MARQUIS.
You know, perhaps, already.
QUEEN.
That Carlos is arrested--and they add,
By you! Is it then true? From no one else
Would I believe it but yourself.
MARQUIS.
'Tis true.
QUEEN.
By you?
MARQUIS.
By me?
QUEEN (looks at him for some time doubtingly).
I still respect your actions
E'en when I comprehend them not. In this
Pardon a timid woman! I much fear
You play a dangerous game.
MARQUIS.
And I have lost it.
QUEEN.
Merciful heaven!
MARQUIS.
Queen, fear not! He is safe,
But I am lost myself.
QUEEN.
What do I hear?
MARQUIS.
Who bade me hazard all on one chance throw?
All? And with rash, foolhardy confidence,
Sport with the power of heaven? Of bounded mind,
Man, who is not omniscient, must not dare
To guide the helm of destiny. 'Tis just!
But why these thoughts of self. This hour is precious
As life can be to man: and who can tell
Whether the parsimonious hand of fate
May not have measured my last drops of life.
QUEEN.
The hand of fate! What means this solemn tone?
I understand these words not--but I shudder.
MARQUIS.
He's saved! no matter at what price--he's saved!
But only for to-day--a few short hours
Are his. Oh, let him husband them! This night
The prince must leave Madrid.
QUEEN.
This very night?
MARQUIS.
All measures are prepared. The post will meet him
At the Carthusian convent, which has served
So long as an asylum to our friendship.
Here will he find, in letters of exchange,
All in the world that fortune gifts me with.
Should more be wanting, you must e'en supply it.
In truth, I have within my heart full much
To unburden to my Carlos--it may chance
I shall want leisure now to tell him all
In person--but this evening you will see him,
And therefore I address myself to you.
QUEEN.
Oh, for my peace of mind, dear marquis, speak!
Explain yourself more clearly! Do not use
This dark, and fearful, and mysterious language!
Say, what has happened?
MARQUIS.
I have yet one thing,
A matter of importance on my mind:
In your hands I deposit it. My lot
Was such as few indeed have e'er enjoyed--
I loved a prince's son. My heart to one--
To that one object given.--embraced the world!
I have created in my Carlos' soul,
A paradise for millions! Oh, my dream
Was lovely! But the will of Providence
Has summoned me away, before my hour,
From this my beauteous work. His Roderigo
Soon shall be his no more, and friendship's claim
Will be transferred to love. Here, therefore, here,
Upon this sacred altar--on the heart
Of his loved queen--I lay my last bequest
A precious legacy--he'll find it here,
When I shall be no more.
[He turns away, his voice choked with grief.
QUEEN.
This is the language
Of a dying man--it surely emanates
But from your blood's excitement--or does sense
Lie hidden in your language?
MARQUIS (has endeavored to collect himself, and continues
in a solemn voice).
Tell the prince,
That he must ever bear in mind the oath
We swore, in past enthusiastic days,
Upon the sacred host. I have kept mine--
I'm true to him till death--'tis now his turn----
QUEEN.
Till death?
MARQUIS.
Oh, bid him realize the dream,
The glowing vision which our friendship painted,
Of a new-perfect realm! And let him lay
The first hand on the rude, unshapened stone.
Whether he fail or prosper--all alike--
Let him commence the work. When centuries
Have rolled away shall Providence again
Raise to the throne a princely youth like him,
And animate again a favorite son
Whose breast shall burn with like enthusiasm.
Tell him, in manhood, he must still revere
The dreams of early youth, nor ope the heart
Of heaven's all-tender flower to canker-worms
Of boasted reason,--nor be led astray
When, by the wisdom of the dust, he hears
Enthusiasm, heavenly-born, blasphemed.
I have already told him.
QUEEN.
Whither, marquis? Whither does all this tend?
MARQUIS.
And tell him further, I lay upon his soul the happiness
Of man--that with my dying breath I claim,
Demand it of him--and with justest title.
I had designed a new, a glorious morn,
To waken in these kingdoms: for to me
Philip had opened all his inmost heart--
Called me his son--bestowed his seals upon me--
And Alva was no more his counsellor.
[He pauses, and looks at the QUEEN for a few moments in silence.
You weep! I know those tears, beloved soul!
Oh, they are tears of joy!--but it is past--
Forever past! Carlos or I? The choice
Was prompt and fearful. One of us must perish!
And I will be that one. Oh, ask no more!
QUEEN.
Now, now, at last, I comprehend your meaning,
Unhappy man! What have you done?
MARQUIS.
Cut off
Two transient hours of evening to secure
A long, bright summer-day! I now give up
The king forever. What were I to the king?
In such cold soil no rose of mine could bloom;
In my great friend must Europe's fortune ripen.
Spain I bequeath to him, still bathed in blood
From Philip's iron hand. But woe to him,
Woe to us both, if I have chosen wrong!
But no--oh, no! I know my Carlos better--
'Twill never come to pass!--for this, my queen,
You stand my surety.
[After a silence.
Yes! I saw his love
In its first blossom--saw his fatal passion
Take root in his young heart. I had full power
To check it; but I did not. The attachment
Which seemed to me not guilty, I still nourished.
The world may censure me, but I repent not,
Nor does my heart accuse me. I saw life
Where death appeared to others. In a flame
So hopeless I discerned hope's golden beam.
I wished to lead him to the excellent--
To exalt him to the highest point of beauty.
Mortality denied a model to me,
And language, words. Then did I bend his views
To this point only--and my whole endeavor
Was to explain to him his love.
QUEEN.
Your friend,
Marquis! so wholly occupied your mind,
That for his cause you quite forgot my own--
Could you suppose that I had thrown aside
All woman's weaknesses, that you could dare
Make me his angel, and confide alone
In virtue for his armor? You forget
What risks this heart must run, when we ennoble
Passion with such a beauteous name as this.
MARQUIS.
Yes, in all other women--but in one,
One only, 'tis not so. For you, I swear it.
And should you blush to indulge the pure desire
To call heroic virtue into life?
Can it affect King Philip, that his works
Of noblest art, in the Escurial, raise
Immortal longings in the painter's soul,
Who stands entranced before them? Do the sounds
That slumber in the lute, belong alone
To him who buys the chords? With ear unmoved
He may preserve his treasure:--he has bought
The wretched right to shiver it to atoms,
But not the power to wake its silver tones,
Or, in the magic of its sounds, dissolve.
Truth is created for the sage, as beauty
Is for the feeling heart. They own each other.
And this belief, no coward prejudice
Shall make me e'er disclaim. Then promise, queen,
That you will ever love him. That false shame,
Or fancied dignity, shall never make you
Yield to the voice of base dissimulation:--
That you will love him still, unchanged, forever.
Promise me this, oh, queen! Here solemnly
Say, do you promise?
QUEEN.
That my heart alone
Shall ever vindicate my love, I promise----
MARQUIS (drawing his hand back).
Now I die satisfied--my work is done.
[He bows to the QUEEN, and is about to go.
QUEEN (follows him with her eyes in silence).
You are then going, marquis, and have not
Told me how soon--and when--we meet again?
MARQUIS (comes back once more, his face turned away).
Yes, we shall surely meet again!
QUEEN.
Now, Posa,
I understand you. Why have you done this?
MARQUIS.
Carlos or I myself!
QUEEN.
No! no! you rush
Headlong into a deed you deem, sublime.
Do not deceive yourself: I know you well:
Long have you thirsted for it. If your pride
But have its fill, what matters it to you
Though thousand hearts should break. Oh! now, at length,
I comprehend your feelings--'tis the love
Of admiration which has won your heart----
MARQUIS (surprised, aside).
No! I was not prepared for this----
QUEEN (after a pause).
Oh, marquis!
Is there no hope of preservation?
MARQUIS.
None.
QUEEN.
None? Oh, consider well! None possible!
Not e'en by me?
MARQUIS.
Not even, queen, by thee.
QUEEN.
You but half know me--I have courage, marquis----
MARQUIS.
I know it----
QUEEN.
And no means of safety?
MARQUIS.
None
QUEEN (turning away and covering her face).
Go! Never more shall I respect a man----
MARQUIS (casts himself on his knees before her in evident emotion).
O queen! O heaven! how lovely still is life!
[He starts up and rushes out. The QUEEN retires into her cabinet.
SCENE XXII.
DUKE ALVA and DOMINGO walking up and down in silence and separately.
COUNT LERMA comes out of the KING's cabinet, and afterwards DON
RAYMOND OF TAXIS, the Postmaster-General.
LERMA.
Has not the marquis yet appeared?
ALVA.
Not yet.
[LERMA about to re-enter the cabinet.
TAXIS (enters).
Count Lerma! Pray announce me to the king?
LERMA.
His majesty cannot be seen.
TAXIS.
But say
That I must see him; that my business is
Of urgent import to his majesty.
Make haste--it will admit of no delay.
[LERMA enters the cabinet.
ALVA.
Dear Taxis, you must learn a little patience--
You cannot see the king.
TAXIS.
Not see him! Why?
ALVA.
You should have been considerate, and procured
Permission from the Marquis Posa first--
Who keeps both son and father in confinement.
TAXIS.
The Marquis Posa! Right--that is the man
From whom I bring this letter.
ALVA.
Ah! What letter?
TAXIS.
A letter to be forwarded to Brussels.
ALVA (attentively).
To Brussels?
TAXIS.
And I bring it to the king.
ALVA.
Indeed! to Brussels! Heard you that, Domingo?
DOMINGO (joining them).
Full of suspicion!
TAXIS.
And with anxious mien,
And deep embarrassment he gave it to me.
DOMINGO.
Embarrassment! To whom is it directed?
TAXIS.
The Prince of Orange and Nassau.
ALVA.
To William!
There's treason here, Domingo!
DOMINGO.
Nothing less!
In truth this letter must, without delay,
Be laid before the king. A noble service
You render, worthy man--to be so firm
In the discharge of duty.
TAXIS.
Reverend sir!
'Tis but my duty.
ALVA.
But you do it well.
LERMA (coming out of the cabinet, addressing TAXIS).
The king will see you.
[TAXIS goes in.
Is the marquis come?
DOMINGO.
He has been sought for everywhere.
ALVA.
'Tis strange!
The prince is a state prisoner! And the king
Knows not the reason why!
DOMINGO.
He never came
To explain the business here.
ALVA.
What says the king?
LERMA.
The king spoke not a word.
[A noise in the cabinet.
ALVA.
What noise is that?
TAXIS (coming out of the cabinet).
Count Lerma!
[Both enter.
ALVA (to DOMINGO).
What so deeply can engage them.
DOMINGO.
That look of fear! This intercepted letter!
It augurs nothing good.
ALVA.
He sends for Lerma!
Yet he must know full well that you and I
Are both in waiting.
DOMINGO.
Ah! our day is over!
ALVA.
And am I not the same to whom these doors
Flew open once? But, ah! how changed is all
Around me and how strange!
[DOMINGO approaches the cabinet door softly, and remains
listening before it.
ALVA (after a pause).
Hark! All is still
And silent as the grave!' I hear them breathe.
DOMINGO.
The double tapestry absorbs the sounds!
ALVA.
Away! there's some one coming. All appears
So solemn and so still--as if this instant
Some deep momentous question were decided.
SCENE XXIII.
The PRINCE OF PARMA, the DUKES OF FERIA and MEDINA
SIDONIA, with other GRANDEES enter--the preceding.
PARMA.
Say, can we see the king?
ALVA.
No!
PARMA.
Who is with him?
FERIA.
The Marquis Posa, doubtless?
ALVA.
Every instant
He is expected here.
PARMA.
This moment we
Arrive from Saragossa. Through Madrid
Terror prevails! Is the announcement true?
Domingo.
Alas, too true!
FERIA.
That he has been arrested
By the marquis!
ALVA.
Yes.
PARMA.
And wherefore? What's the cause?
ALVA.
Wherefore? That no one knows, except the king
And Marquis Posa.
PARMA.
And without the warrant
Of the assembled Cortes of the Realm?
FERIA.
That man shall suffer, who has lent a hand
To infringe the nation's rights.
ALVA.
And so say I!
MEDINA SIDONIA.
And I!
THE OTHER GRANDEES.
And all of us!
ALVA.
Who'll follow me
Into the cabinet? I'll throw myself
Before the monarch's feet.
LERMA (rushing out of the cabinet).
The Duke of Alva!
DOMINGO.
Then God be praised at last!
LERMA.
When Marquis Posa
Comes, say the king's engaged and he'll be sent for.
DOMINGO (to LERMA; all the others having gathered round him,
full of anxious expectation).
Count! What has happened? You are pale as death!
LERMA (hastening away).
Fell villany!
PARMA and FERIA.
What! what!
MEDINA SIDONIA.
How is the king?
DOMINGO (at the same time).
Fell villany! Explain----
LERMA.
The king shed tears!
DOMINGO.
Shed tears!
ALL (together with astonishment).
The king shed tears!
[The bell rings in the cabinet, COUNT LERMA hastens in.
DOMINGO.
Count, yet one word.
Pardon! He's gone! We're fettered in amazement.
SCENE XXIV.
PRINCESS EBOLI, FERIA, MEDINA SIDONIA, PARMA,
DOMINGO, and other grandees.
EBOLI (hurriedly and distractedly).
Where is the king? Where? I must speak with him.
[To FERIA.
Conduct me to him, duke!
FERIA.
The monarch is
Engaged in urgent business. No one now
Can be admitted.
EBOLI.
Has he signed, as yet,
The fatal sentence? He has been deceived.
DOMINGO (giving her a significant look at a distance).
The Princess Eboli!
EBOLI (going to him).
What! you here, priest?
The very man I want! You can confirm
My testimony!
[She seizes his hand and would drag him into the cabinet.
DOMINGO.
I? You rave, princess!
FERIA.
Hold back. The king cannot attend you now.
EBOLI.
But he must hear me; he must hear the truth
The truth, were he ten times a deity.
EBOLI.
Man, tremble at the anger of thy idol.
I have naught left to hazard.
[Attempts to enter the cabinet; ALVA rushes out, his eyes
sparkling, triumph in his gait. He hastens to DOMINGO,
and embraces him.
ALVA.
Let each church
Resound with high To Dennis. Victory
At length is ours.
DOMINGO.
What! Ours?
ALVA (to DOMINGO and the other GRANDEES).
Now to the king.
You shall hereafter hear the sequel from me.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
A chamber in the royal palace, separated from a large fore-court
by an iron-barred gate. Sentinels walking up and down. CARLOS
sitting at a table, with his head leaning forward on his arms, as
if he were asleep. In the background of the chamber are some
officers, confined with him. The MARQUIS POSA enters, unobserved
by him, and whispers to the officers, who immediately withdraw.
He himself steps close up to CARLOS, and looks at him for a few
minutes in silent sorrow. At last he makes a motion which awakens
him out of his stupor. CARLOS rises, and seeing the MARQUIS, starts
back. He regards him for some time with fixed eyes, and draws his
hand over his forehead as if he wished to recollect something.
MARQUIS.
Carlos! 'tie I.
CARLOS (gives him his hand).
Comest thou to me again?
'Tis friendly of thee, truly.
MARQUIS.
Here I thought
Thou mightest need a friend.
CARLOS.
Indeed! was that
Thy real thought? Oh, joy unspeakable!
Right well I knew thou still wert true to me.
MARQUIS.
I have deserved this from thee.
CARLOS.
Hast thou not?
And now we understand each other fully,
It joys my heart. This kindness, this forbearance
Becomes our noble souls. For should there be
One rash, unjust demand amongst my wishes,
Wouldst thou, for that, refuse me what was just?
Virtue I know may often be severe,
But never is she cruel and inhuman.
Oh! it hath cost thee much; full well I know
How thy kind heart with bitter anguish bled
As thy hands decked the victim for the altar.
MARQUIS.
What meanest thou, Carlos?
CARLOS.
Thou, thyself, wilt now
Fulfil the joyous course I should have run.
Thou wilt bestow on Spain those golden days
She might have hoped in vain to win from me.
I'm lost, forever lost; thou saw'st it clearly.
This fatal love has scattered, and forever,
All the bright, early blossoms of my mind.
To all the great, exalted hopes I'm dead.
Chance led thee to the king--or Providence,--
It cost thee but my secret--and at once
He was thine own--thou may'st become his angel:
But I am lost, though Spain perhaps may flourish.
Well, there is nothing to condemn, if not
My own mad blindness. Oh, I should have known
That thou art no less great than tender-hearted.
MARQUIS.
No! I foresaw not, I considered not
That friendship's generous heart would lead thee on
Beyond my worldly prudence. I have erred,
My fabric's shattered--I forgot thy heart.
CARLOS.
Yet, if it had been possible to spare
Her fate--oh, how intensely I had thanked thee!
Could I not bear the burden by myself?
And why must she be made a second victim?
But now no more, I'll spare thee this reproach.
What is the queen to thee? Say, dost thou love her?
Could thy exalted virtue e'er consult
The petty interests of my wretched passion?
Oh, pardon me! I was unjust----
MARQUIS.
Thou art so!
But not for this reproach. Deserved I one,
I merit all--and then I should not stand
Before you as I do.
[He takes out his portfolio.
I have some letters
To give you back of those you trusted to me.
CARLOS (looks first at the letters, then at the MARQUIS, in
astonishment).
How!
MARQUIS.
I return them now because they may
Prove safer in thy custody than mine.
CARLOS.
What meanest thou? Has his majesty not read them?
Have they not been before him?
MARQUIS.
What, these letters!
CARLOS.
Thou didst not show them all, then?
MARQUIS.
Who has said
That ever I showed one?
CARLOS (astonished).
Can it be so?
Count Lerma----
MARQUIS.
He! he told thee so! Now all
Is clear as day. But who could have foreseen it?
Lerma! Oh, no, he hath not learned to lie.
'Tis true, the king has all the other letters.
CARLOS (looks at him long with speechless astonishment).
But wherefore am I here?
MARQUIS.
For caution's sake,
Lest thou should chance, a second time, to make
An Eboli thy confidant.
CARLOS (as if waking from a dream).
Ha! Now
I see it all--all is explained.
MARQUIS (goes to the door).
Who's there?
SCENE II.
DUKE ALVA. The former.
ALVA (approaching the PRINCE with respect, but turning his
back on the MARQUIS during the whole scene).
Prince, you are free. Deputed by the king
I come to tell you so.
[CARLOS looks at the MARQUIS with astonishment.
General silence.
And I, in truth,
Am fortunate to have this honor first----
CARLOS (looking at both with extreme amazement, after a pause,
to the DUKE).
I am imprisoned, duke, and set at freedom,
Unconscious of the cause of one or other.
ALVA.
As far as I know, prince, 'twas through an error,
To which the king was driven by a traitor.
CARLOS.
Then am I here by order of the king?
ALVA.
Yes, through an error of his majesty.
CARLOS.
That gives me pain, indeed. But when the king
Commits an error, 'twould beseem the king,
Methinks, to remedy the fault in person.
I am Don Philip's son--and curious eyes
And slanderous looks are on me. What the king
Hath done from sense of duty ne'er will I
Appear to owe to your considerate favor.
I am prepared to appear before the Cortes,
And will not take my sword from such a hand.
ALVA.
The king will never hesitate to grant
Your highness a request so just. Permit
That I conduct you to him.
CARLOS.
Here I stay
Until the king or all Madrid shall come
To lead me from my prison. Take my answer.
[ALVA withdraws. He is still seen for some time
lingering in the court and giving orders to the guards.
SCENE III.
CARLOS and MARQUIS POSA.
CARLOS (after the departure of the DUKE, full of expectation and
astonishment, to the MARQUIS).
What means all this? Inform me, Roderigo--
Art thou not, then, the minister?
MARQUIS.
I was,
As thou canst well perceive----
[Going to him with great emotion.
O Carlos! Now
I have succeeded--yes--it is accomplished--
'Tis over now--Omnipotence be praised,
To whom I owe success.
CARLOS.
Success! What mean you?
Thy words perplex me.
MARQUIS (takes his hand).
Carlos! thou art saved--
Art free--but I----
[He stops short.
CARLOS.
But thou----
MARQUIS.
Thus to my breast
I press thee now, with friendship's fullest right,
A right I've bought with all I hold most dear.
How great, how lovely, Carlos, is this moment
Of self-approving joy?
CARLOS.
What sudden change
I mark upon thy features! Proudly now
Thy bosom heaves, thine eyes dart vivid fire!
MARQUIS.
We must say farewell, Carlos! Tremble 'not,
But be a man! And what thou more shalt hear,
Promise me, not by unavailing sorrow,
Unworthy of great souls, to aggravate
The pangs of parting. I am lost to thee,
Carlos, for many years--fools say forever.
[CARLOS withdraws his hand, but makes no reply.
Be thou a man: I've reckoned much on thee--
I have not even shunned to pass with thee
This awful hour--which men, in words of fear,
Have termed the final one. I own it, Carlos,
I joy to pass it thus. Come let us sit--
I feel myself grown weary and exhausted.
[He approaches CARLOS, who is in a lifeless stupor, and
allows himself to be involuntarily drawn down by him.
Where art thou? No reply! I must be brief.
Upon the day that followed our last meeting
At the Carthusian monastery the king
Called me before him. What ensued thou knowest,
And all Madrid. Thou hast not heard, however,
Thy secret even then had reached his ears--
That letters in the queen's possession found
Had testified against thee. This I learned
From his own lips--I was his confidant.
[He pauses for CARLOS' answer, but he still
remains silent.
Yes, Carlos, with my lips I broke my faith--
Guided the plot myself that worked thy ruin.
Thy deed spoke trumpet-tongued; to clear thee fully
'Twas now too late: to frustrate his revenge
Was all that now remained for me; and so
I made myself thy enemy to-serve thee
With fuller power--dost thou not hear me, Carlos,
CARLOS.
Go on! go on! I hear thee.
MARQUIS.
To this point
I'm guiltless. But the unaccustomed beams
Of royal favor dazzled me. The rumor,
As I had well foreseen, soon reached thine ears
But by mistaken delicacy led,
And blinded by my vain desire to end
My enterprise alone, I kept concealed
From friendship's ear my hazardous design.
This was my fatal error! Here I failed!
I know it. My self-confidence was madness.
Pardon that confidence--'twas founded, Carlos,
Upon our friendship's everlasting base.
[He pauses. CARLOS passes from torpid silence to
violent agitation.
That which I feared befell. Unreal dangers
Alarmed your mind. The bleeding queen--the tumult
Within the palace--Lerma's interference--
And, last of all, my own mysterious silence,
Conspired to overwhelm thy heart with wonder.
Thou wavered'st, thought'st me lost; but far too noble
To doubt thy friend's integrity, thy soul
Clothed his defection with a robe of honor,
Nor judged him faithless till it found a motive
To screen and justify his breach of faith.
Forsaken by thy only friend--'twas then
Thou sought'st the arms of Princess Eboli--
A demon's arms! 'Twas she betrayed thee, Carlos!
I saw thee fly to her--a dire foreboding
Struck on my heart--I followed thee too late!
Already wert thou prostrate at her feet,
The dread avowal had escaped thy lips--
No way was left to save thee.
CARLOS.
No! her heart
Was moved, thou dost mistake, her heart was moved.
MARQUIS.
Night overspread my mind. No remedy,
No refuge, no retreat was left to me
In nature's boundless compass. Blind despair
Transformed me to a fury--to a tiger--
I raised my dagger to a woman's breast.
But in that moment--in that dreadful moment--
A radiant sunbeam fell upon my soul.
"Could I mislead the king! Could I succeed
In making him think me the criminal!
However improbable, the very guilt
Will be enough to win the king's belief.
I'll dare the task--a sudden thunderbolt
May make the tyrant start--what want I further?
He stops to think, and Carlos thus gains time
To fly to Brussels."
CARLOS.
And hast thou done this?
MARQUIS.
I have despatched a letter to Prince William,
Saying I loved the queen, and had escaped
The king's mistrust in the unjust suspicion
Which falsely fell on thee--that I had found
Means, through the monarch's favor, to obtain
Free access to the queen. I added, further,
That I was fearful of discovery--
That thou hadst learned my secret, and hadst sped
To Princess Eboli, with hopes through her
To warn the queen--that I had made thee prisoner--
And now that all seemed lost, I had resolved
To fly to Brussels. This same letter I----
CARLOS (interrupts him, terrified).
Hast surely not intrusted to the post!
Thou knowest that letters to Brabant and Flanders----
MARQUIS.
Are given to the king; and as things go
Taxis would seem to have discharged his duty.
CARLOS.
Heavens! then I'm lost.
MARQUIS.
How lost? What meanest thou?
CARLOS.
And thou, alas! art lost together with me--
This dreadful fraud my father ne'er will pardon.
MARQUIS.
This fraud! Thou'rt mad! Who will disclose it to him?
CARLOS (regards him with a fixed look).
Who! Dost thou ask? I will myself.
MARQUIS.
Thou ravest!
Stand back----
CARLOS.
Away! For heaven's sake hold me not.
While I stay here, he's hiring the assassins.
MARQUIS.
Then is our time more precious--and we still
Have much to say.
CARLOS.
What! Before all is finished?
[He makes another effort to go. The MARQUIS holds him
by the arm, and looks at him impressively.
MARQUIS.
Carlos! was I so scrupulous--so eager--
When thou, a boy, didst shed thy blood for me?
CARLOS (with emotion, and full of admiration).
Kind Providence!
MARQUIS.
Reserve thyself for Flanders!
The kingdom is thy destiny--'tis mine
To give my life for thee.
CARLOS (takes his hand with deep sensibility).
No, no! he will not,
Cannot resist a virtue so sublime.
I will conduct thee to him, and together,
Arm linked in arm, will we appear before him.
Then thus will I address him: "Father, see,
This is the way a friend acts towards his friend."
Trust me, 'twill move him--it will touch his heart.
He's not without humanity,--my father.
Yes, it will move him. With hot tears, his eyes
Will overflow--and he will pardon us.
[A shot is fired through the iron grating. CARLOS leaps up.
Whom was that meant for?
MARQUIS (sinking down).
I believe--for me.
CARLOS (falling to the earth with a loud cry of grief).
O God of mercy!
MARQUIS.
He is quick--the king.
I had hoped--a little longer--Carlos--think
Of means of flight--dost hear me?--of thy flight.
Thy mother--knows it all--I can no more.
[Dies.
[CARLOS remains by the corpse, like one bereft of life.
After some time the KING enters, accompanied by many GRANDEES;
and starts, panic-struck, at the sight. A general and deep
silence. The GRANDEES range themselves in a semi-circle round
them both, and regard the KING and his SON alternately. The
latter continues without any sign of life. The KING regards
him in thoughtful silence.
SCENE IV.
The KING, CARLOS, the DUKESS ALVA, FERIA, and MEDINA SIDONIA,
PRINCE OF PARMA, COUNT LERMA, DOMINGO, and numerous GRANDEES.
KING (in a gentle tone).
Thy prayer hath met a gracious hearing, prince,
And here I come, with all the noble peers
Of this my court, to bring thee liberty.
[CARLOS raises his eyes and looks around him like one awakened
from a dream. His eyes are fixed now on the KING, now on the
corpse; he gives no answer.
Receive thy sword again. We've been too rash!
[He approaches him, holds out his hand, and assists him to rise.
My son's not in his place; Carlos, arise!
Come to thy father's arms! His love awaits thee.
CARLOS (receives the embrace of the KING without any consciousness.
Suddenly recollects himself, pauses and looks fixedly at him).
Thou smell'st of blood--no, I cannot embrace thee!
[Pushes his father back. All the GRANDEES are in commotion.
CARLOS to them:--
Nay, stand not there confounded and amazed!--
What monstrous action have I done? Defiled
The anointed of the Lord! Oh, fear me not,
I would not lay a hand on him. Behold,
Stamped on his forehead is the damning brand!
The hand of God hath marked him!
KING (about to go quickly).
Nobles! follow.
CARLOS.
Whither? You stir not from this spot.
[Detaining the KING forcibly with both hands, while with one
he manages to seize the sword which the KING has brought with
him, and it comes from the scabbard.
KING.
What! Draw
A sword upon thy father?
ALL THE GRANDEES (drawing their swords).
Regicide!
CARLOS (holding the KING firmly with one hand, the naked sword
in the other).
Put up your swords! What! Think you I am mad?
I am not so: or you were much to blame
Thus to remind me, that upon the point
Of this my sword, his trembling life doth hover.
I pray you, stand aloof; for souls like mine
Need soothing. There--hold back! And with the king
What I have yet to settle touches not
Your loyalty. See there--his hand is bloody!
Do you not see it? And now look you here!
[Pointing to the corpse.
This hath he done with a well-practised hand.
KING (to the GRANDEES, who press anxiously around him).
Retire! Why do you tremble? Are we not
Father and son? I will yet wait and see
To what atrocious crime his nature----
CARLOS.
Nature
I know her not. Murder is now the word!
The bonds of all humanity are severed,
Thine own hands have dissolved them through the realm.
Shall I respect a tie which thou hast scorned?
Oh, see! see here! the foulest deed of blood
That e'er the world beheld. Is there no God
That kings, in his creation, work such havoc?
Is there no God, I ask? Since mother's wombs
Bore children, one alone--and only one--
So guiltlessly hath died. And art thou sensible
What thou hast done? Oh, no! he knows it not:
Knows not that he has robbed--despoiled the world
Of a more noble, precious, dearer life
Than he and all his century can boast.
KING (with a tone of softness).
If I have been too hasty, Carlos--thou
For whom I have thus acted, should at least
Not call me to account.
CARLOS.
Is't possible!
Did you then never guess how dear to me
Was he who here lies dead? Thou lifeless corpse!
Instruct him--aid his wisdom, to resolve
This dark enigma now. He was my friend.
And would you know why he has perished thus?
He gave his life for me.
KING.
Ha? my suspicions!
CARLOS.
Pardon, thou bleeding corpse, that I profane
Thy virtue to such ears. But let him blush
With deep-felt shame, the crafty politician,
That his gray-headed wisdom was o'erreached,
E'en by the judgment of a youth. Yes, sire,
We two were brothers! Bound by nobler bands
Than nature ties. His whole life's bright career
Was love. His noble death was love for me.
E'en in the moment when his brief esteem
Exalted you, he was my own. And when
With fascinating tongue he sported with
Your haughty, giant mind, 'twas your conceit
To bridle him; but you became yourself
The pliant tool of his exalted plans.
That I became a prisoner, my arrest,
Was his deep friendship's meditated work.
That letter to Prince William was designed
To save my life. It was the first deceit
He ever practised. To insure my safety
He rushed on death himself, and nobly perished.
You lavished on him all your favor; yet
For me he died. Your heart, your confidence,
You forced upon him. As a toy he held
Your sceptre and your power; he cast them from him,
And gave his life for me.
[The KING stands motionless, with eyes fixed on the ground;
all the GRANDEES regard him with surprise and alarm.
How could it be
That you gave credit to this strange deceit?
Meanly indeed he valued you, to try
By such coarse artifice to win his ends.
You dared to court his friendship, but gave way
Before a test so simple. Oh, no! never
For souls like yours was such a being formed.
That well he knew himself, when he rejected
Your crowns, your gifts, your greatness, and yourself.
This fine-toned lyre broke in your iron hand,
And you could do no more than murder him.
ALVA (never having taken his eyes from the KING, and observing his
emotion with uneasiness, approaches him with apprehension).
Keep not this deathlike silence, sire. Look round,
And speak at least to us.
CARLOS.
Once you were not
Indifferent to him. And deeply once
You occupied his thoughts. It might have been
His lot to make you happy. His full heart
Might have enriched you; with its mere abundance
An atom of his soul had been enough
To make a god of you. You've robbed yourself--
Plundered yourself and me. What could you give,
To raise again a spirit like to this?
[Deep silence. Many of the GRANDEES turn away, or conceal
their faces in their mantles.
Oh, ye who stand around with terror dumb,
And mute surprise, do not condemn the youth
Who holds this language to the king, his father.
Look on this corpse. Behold! for me he died.
If ye have tears--if in your veins flow blood,
Not molten brass, look here, and blame me not.
[He turns to the KING with more self-possession and calmness.
Doubtless you wait the end of this rude scene?
Here is my sword, for you are still my king.
Think not I fear your vengeance. Murder me,
As you have murdered this most noble man.
My life is forfeit; that I know full well.
But what is life to me? I here renounce
All that this world can offer to my hopes.
Seek among strangers for a son. Here lies
My kingdom.
[He sinks down on the corpse, and takes no part in what follows.
A confused tumult and the noise of a crowd is heard in the distance.
All is deep silence round the KING. His eyes scan the circle over,
but no one returns his looks.
KING.
What! Will no one make reply?
Each eye upon the ground, each look abashed!
My sentence is pronounced. I read it here
Proclaimed in all this lifeless, mute demeanor.
My vassals have condemned me.
[Silence as before. The tumult grows louder. A murmur is heard
among the GRANDEES. They exchange embarrassed looks. COUNT LERMA
at length gently touches ALVA.
LERMA.
Here's rebellion!
ALVA (in a low voice).
I fear it.
LERMA.
It approaches! They are coming!
SCENE V.
An officer of the Body Guard. The former.
OFFICER (urgently).
Rebellion! Where's the king?
[He makes his way through the crowd up to the KING.
Madrid's in arms!
To thousands swelled, the soldiery and people
Surround the palace; and reports are spread
That Carlos is a prisoner--that his life
Is threatened. And the mob demand to see
Him living, or Madrid will be in flames.
THE GRANDEES (with excitement).
Defend the king!
ALVA (to the KING, who remains quiet and unmoved).
Fly, sire! your life's in danger.
As yet we know not who has armed the people.
KING (rousing from his stupor, and advancing with dignity among then).
Stands my throne firm, and am I sovereign yet
Over this empire? No! I'm king no more.
These cowards weep--moved by a puny boy.
They only wait the signal to desert me.
I am betrayed by rebels!
ALVA.
Dreadful thought!
KING.
There! fling yourselves before him--down before
The young, the expectant king; I'm nothing now
But a forsaken, old, defenceless man!
ALVA.
Spaniards! is't come to this?
[All crowd round the KING, and fall on their knees before
him with drawn swords. CARLOS remains alone with the corpse,
deserted by all.
KING (tearing off his mantle and throwing it from him).
There! clothe him now
With this my royal mantle; and on high
Bear him in triumph o'er my trampled corpse!
[He falls senseless in ALVA's and LERMA's arms.
LERMA.
For heaven's sake, help!
FERIA.
Oh, sad, disastrous chance!
LERMA.
He faints!
ALVA (leaves the KING in LERMA's and FERIA's hands).
Attend his majesty! whilst I
Make it my aim to tranquillize Madrid.
[Exit ALVA. The KING is borne off, attended by all the grandees.
SCENE VI.
CARLOS remains behind with the corpse. After a few moments Louis
MERCADO appears, looks cautiously round him, and stands a long time
silent behind the PRINCE, who does not observe him.
MERCADO.
I come, prince, from her majesty the queen.
[CARLOS turns away and makes no reply.
My name, Mercado, I'm the queen's physician
See my credentials.
[Shows the PRINCE a signet ring. CARLOS remains still silent.
And the queen desires
To speak with you to-day--on weighty business.
CARLOS.
Nothing is weighty in this world to me.
MERCADO.
A charge the Marquis Posa left with her.
CARLOS (looking up quickly).
Indeed! I come this instant.
MERCADO.
No, not yet,
Most gracious prince! you must delay till night.
Each avenue is watched, the guards are doubled
You ne'er could reach the palace unperceived;
You would endanger everything.
CARLOS.
And yet----
MERCADO.
I know one means alone that can avail us.
'Tis the queen's thought, and she suggests it to you;
But it is bold, adventurous, and strange!
CARLOS.
What is it?
MERCADO.
A report has long prevailed
That in the secret vaults, beneath the palace,
At midnight, shrouded in a monk's attire,
The emperor's departed spirit walks.
The people still give credit to the tale,
And the guards watch the post with inward terror.
Now, if you but determine to assume
This dress, you may pass freely through the guards,
Until you reach the chamber of the queen,
Which this small key will open. Your attire
Will save you from attack. But on the spot,
Prince! your decision must be made at once.
The requisite apparel and the mask
Are ready in your chamber. I must haste
And take the queen your answer.
CARLOS.
And the hour?
MERCADO.
It is midnight.
CARLOS.
Then inform her I will come.
[Exit MERCADO.
SCENE VII.
CARLOS and COUNT LERMA.
LERMA.
Save yourself, prince! The king's enraged against you.
Your liberty, if not your life's in danger!
Ask me no further--I have stolen away
To give you warning--fly this very instant!
CARLOS.
Heaven will protect me!
LERMA.
As the queen observed
To me, this moment, you must leave Madrid
This very day, and fly to Brussels, prince.
Postpone it not, I pray you. The commotion
Favors your flight. The queen, with this design,
Has raised it. No one will presume so far
As to lay hand on you. Swift steeds await you
At the Carthusian convent, and behold,
Here are your weapons, should you be attacked.
[LERMA gives him a dagger and pistols.
CARLOS.
Thanks, thanks, Count Lerma!
LERMA.
This day's sad event
Has moved my inmost soul! No faithful friend
Will ever love like him. No patriot breathes
But weeps for you. More now I dare not say.
CARLOS.
Count Lerma! he who's gone considered you
A man of honor.
LERMA.
Farewell, prince, again!
Success attend you! Happier times will come--
But I shall be no more. Receive my homage!
[Falls on one knee.
CARLOS (endeavors to prevent him, with much emotion).
Not so--not so, count! I am too much moved--
I would not be unmanned!
LERMA (kissing his hand with feeling).
My children's king!
To die for you will be their privilege!
It is not mine, alas! But in those children
Remember me! Return in peace to Spain.
May you on Philip's throne feel as a man,
For you have learned to suffer! Undertake
No bloody deed against your father, prince!
Philip compelled his father to yield up
The throne to him; and this same Philip now
Trembles at his own son. Think, prince, of that
And may Heaven prosper and direct your path!
[Exit quickly. CARLOS about to hasten away by another side,
but turns rapidly round, and throws himself down before the copse,
which he again folds in his arms. He then hurries from the room.
SCENE VIII.
The KING's Antechamber.
DUKE ALVA and DUKE FERIA enter in conversation.
ALVA.
The town is quieted. How is the king?
FERIA.
In the most fearful state. Within his chamber
He is shut up, and whatso'er may happen
He will admit no person to his presence.
The treason of the marquis has at once
Changed his whole nature. We no longer know him.
ALVA.
I must go to him, nor respect his feelings.
A great discovery which I have made----
FERIA.
A new discovery!
ALVA.
A Carthusian monk
My guards observed, with stealthy footsteps, creep
Into the prince's chamber, and inquire
With anxious curiosity, about
The Marquis Posa's death. They seized him straight,
And questioned him. Urged by the fear of death,
He made confession that he bore about him
Papers of high importance, which the marquis
Enjoined him to deliver to the prince,
If, before sunset, he should not return.
FERIA.
Well, and what further?
ALVA.
These same letters state
That Carlos from Madrid must fly before
The morning dawn.
FERIA.
Indeed!
ALVA.
And that a ship at Cadiz lies
Ready for sea, to carry him to Flushing.
And that the Netherlands but wait his presence,
To shake the Spanish fetters from their arms.
FERIA.
Can this be true?
ALVA.
And other letters say
A fleet of Soliman's will sail for Rhodes,
According to the treaty, to attack
The Spanish squadron in the Midland seas.
FERIA.
Impossible.
ALVA.
And hence I understand
The object of the journeys, which of late
The marquis made through Europe. 'Twas no less
Than to rouse all the northern powers to arms
In aid of Flanders' freedom.
FERIA.
Was it so?
ALVA.
There is besides appended to these letters
The full concerted plan of all the war
Which is to disunite from Spain's control
The Netherlands forever. Naught omitted;
The power and opposition close compared;
All the resources accurately noted,
Together with the maxims to be followed,
And all the treaties which they should conclude.
The plan is fiendish, but 'tis no less splendid.
FERIA.
The deep, designing traitor!
ALVA.
And, moreover,
There is allusion made, in these same letters,
To some mysterious conference the prince
Must with his mother hold upon the eve
Preceding his departure.
FERIA.
That must be
This very day.
ALVA.
At midnight. But for this
I have already taken proper steps.
You see the case is pressing. Not a moment
Is to be lost. Open the monarch's chamber.
FERIA.
Impossible! All entrance is forbidden.
ALVA.
I'll open then myself; the increasing danger
Must justify my boldness.
[As he is on the point of approaching the door it opens,
and the KING comes out.
FERIA.
'Tis himself.
SCENE IX.
The KING. The preceding.
All are alarmed at his appearance, fall back, and let him
pass through them. He appears to be in a waking dream, like a
sleep-walker. His dress and figure indicate the disorder caused
by his late fainting. With slow steps he walks past the GRANDEES
and looks at each with a fixed eye, but without recognizing any of
them. At last he stands still, wrapped in thought, his eyes fixed
on the ground, till the emotions of his mind gradually express
themselves in words.
KING.
Restore me back the dead! Yes, I must have him.
DOMINGO (whispering to ALVA).
Speak to him, duke.
KING.
He died despising me!
Have him again I must, and make him think
More nobly of me.
ALVA (approaching with fear).
Sire!
KING (looking round the circle).
Who speaks to me!
Have you forgotten who I am? Why not
Upon your knees, before your king, ye creatures!
Am I not still your king? I must command
Submission from you. Do you all then slight me
Because one man despised me?
ALVA.
Gracious king!
No more of him: a new and mightier foe
Arises in the bosom of your realm.
FERIA.
Prince Carlos----
KING.
Had a friend who died for him;
For him! With me he might have shared an empire.
How he looked down upon me! From the throne
Kings look not down so proudly. It was plain
How vain his conquest made him. His keen sorrow
Confessed how great his loss. Man weeps not so
For aught that's perishable. Oh, that he might
But live again! I'd give my Indies for it!
Omnipotence! thou bring'st no comfort to me:
Thou canst not stretch thine arm into the grave
To rectify one little act, committed
With hasty rashness, 'gainst the life of man.
The dead return no more. Who dare affirm
That I am happy? In the tomb he dwells,
Who scorned to flatter me. What care I now
For all who live? One spirit, one free being,
And one alone, arose in all this age!
He died despising me!
ALVA.
Our lives are useless!
Spaniards, let's die at once! E'en in the grave
This man still robs us of our monarch's heart.
KING (sits down, and leans his head on his arm).
Oh! had he died for me! I loved him, too,
And much. Dear to me was he as a son.
In his young mind there brightly rose for me
A new and beauteous morning. Who can say
What I had destined for him? He to me
Was a first love. All Europe may condemn me,
Europe may overwhelm me with its curse,
But I deserved his thanks.
DOMINGO.
What spell is this?
KING.
And, say, for whom did he desert me thus?
A boy,--my son? Oh, no, believe it not!
A Posa would not perish for a boy;
The scanty flame of friendship could not fill
A Posa's heart. It beat for human kind.
His passion was the world, and the whole course
Of future generations yet unborn.
To do them service he secured a throne--
And lost it. Such high treason 'gainst mankind
Could Posa e'er forgive himself? Oh, no;
I know his feelings better. Not that he
Carlos preferred to Philip, but the youth--
The tender pupil,--to the aged monarch.
The father's evening sunbeam could not ripen
His novel projects. He reserved for this
The young son's orient rays. Oh, 'tis undoubted,
They wait for my decease.
ALVA.
And of your thoughts,
Read in these letters strongest confirmation.
KING.
'Tis possible he may miscalculate.
I'm still myself. Thanks, Nature, for thy gifts;
I feel within my frame the strength of youth;
I'll turn their schemes to mockery. His virtue
Shall be an empty dream--his death, a fool's.
His fall shall crush his friend and age together.
We'll test it now--how they can do without me.
The world is still for one short evening mine,
And this same evening will I so employ,
That no reformer yet to cone shall reap
Another harvest, in the waste I'll leave,
For ten long generations after me.
He would have offered me a sacrifice
To his new deity--humanity!
So on humanity I'll take revenge.
And with his puppet I'll at once commence.
[To the DUKE ALVA.
What you have now to tell me of the prince,
Repeat. What tidings do these letters bring?
ALVA.
These letters, sire, contain the last bequest
Of Posa to Prince Carlos.
KING (reads the papers, watched by all present. He then lays them aside
and walks in silence up and down the room).
Summon straight
The cardinal inquisitor; and beg
He will bestow an hour upon the king,
This very night!
TAXIS.
Just on the stroke of two
The horses must be ready and prepared,
At the Carthusian monastery.
ALVA.
Spies
Despatched by me, moreover, have observed
Equipments at the convent for a journey,
On which the prince's arms were recognized.
FERIA.
And it is rumored that large sums are raised
In the queen's name, among the Moorish agents,
Destined for Brussels.
KING.
Where is Carlos?
ALVA.
With Posa's body.
KING.
And there are lights as yet
Within the queen's apartments?
ALVA.
Everything
Is silent there. She has dismissed her maids
Far earlier than as yet has been her custom.
The Duchess of Arcos, who was last with her,
Left her in soundest sleep.
[An officer of the Body Guard enters, takes the DUKE OF FERIA
aside, and whispers to him. The latter, struck with surprise,
turns to DUKE ALVA. The others crowd round him, and a murmuring
noise arises.
FERIA, TAXIS, and DOMINGO (at the same time)
'Tis wonderful!
KING.
What is the matter!
FERIA.
News scarce credible!
DOMINGO.
Two soldiers, who have just returned from duty,
Report--but--oh, the tale's ridiculous!
KING.
What do they say?
ALVA.
They say, in the left wing
Of the queen's palace, that the emperor's ghost
Appeared before them, and with solemn gait
Passed on. This rumor is confirmed by all
The sentinels, who through the whole pavilion
Their watches keep. And they, moreover, add,
The phantom in the queen's apartment vanished.
KING.
And in what shape appeared it?
OFFICER.
In the robes,
The same attire he in Saint Justi wore
For the last time, apparelled as a monk.
KING.
A monk! And did the sentries know his person
Whilst he was yet alive? They could not else
Determine that it was the emperor.
OFFICER.
The sceptre which he bore was evidence
It was the emperor.
DOMINGO.
And the story goes
He often has been seen in this same dress.
KING.
Did no one speak to him?
OFFICER.
No person dared.
The sentries prayed, and let him pass in silence.
KING.
The phantom vanished in the queen's apartments!
OFFICER.
In the queen's antechamber.
[General silence.
KING (turns quickly round).
What say you?
ALVA.
Sire! we are silent.
KING (after some thought, to the OFFICER).
Let my guards be ready
And under arms, and order all approach
To that wing of the palace to be stopped.
I fain would have a word with this same ghost.
[Exit OFFICER. Enter a PAGE.
PAGE.
The cardinal inquisitor.
KING (to all present).
Retire!
[The CARDINAL INQUISITOR, an old man of ninety, and blind, enters,
supported on a staff, and led by two Dominicans. The GRANDEES fall
on their knees as he passes, and touch the hem of his garment. He
gives them his blessing, and they depart.
SCENE X.
The KING and the GRAND INQUISITOR. A long silence.
GRAND INQUISITOR.
Say, do I stand before the king?
KING.
You do.
GRAND INQUISITOR.
I never thought it would be so again!
KING.
I now renew the scenes of early youth,
When Philip sought his sage instructor's counsel.
GRAND INQUISITOR.
Your glorious sire, my pupil, Charles the Fifth,
Nor sought or needed counsel at my hands.
KING.
So much happier he! I, cardinal,
Am guilty of a murder, and no rest----
GRAND INQUISITOR.
What was the reason for this murder?
KING.
'Twas
A fraud unparalleled----
GRAND INQUISITOR.
I know it all.
KING.
What do you know? Through whom, and since what time?
GRAND INQUISITOR.
For years--what you have only learned since sunset.
KING (with astonishment).
You know this man then!
GRAND INQUISITOR.
All his life is noted
From its commencement to its sudden close,
In Santa Casa's holy registers.
KING.
Yet he enjoyed his liberty!
GRAND INQUISITOR.
The chain
With which he struggled, but which held him bound,
Though long, was firm, nor easy to be severed.
KING.
He has already been beyond the kingdom.
GRAND INQUISITOR.
Where'er he travelled I was at his side.
KING (walks backwards and forwards in displeasure).
You knew the hands, then, I had fallen into;
And yet delayed to warn me!
GRAND INQUISITOR.
This rebuke
I pay you back. Why did you not consult us
Before you sought the arms of such a man?
You knew him: one sole glance unmasked him to you.
Why did you rob the office of its victim?
Are we thus trifled with! When majesty
Can stoop to such concealment, and in secret,
Behind our backs, league with our enemies,
What must our fate be then? If one be spared
What plea can justify the fate of thousands?
KING.
But he, no less, has fallen a sacrifice.
GRAND INQUISITOR.
No; he is murdered--basely, foully murdered.
The blood that should so gloriously have flowed
To honor us has stained the assassin's hand.
What claim had you to touch our sacred rights?
He but existed, by our hands to perish.
God gave him to this age's exigence,
To perish, as a terrible example,
And turn high-vaunting reason into shame.
Such was my long-laid plan--behold, destroyed
In one brief hour, the toil of many years.
We are defrauded, and your only gain
Is bloody hands.
KING.
Passion impelled me to it.
Forgive me.
GRAND INQUISITOR.
Passion! And does royal Philip
Thus answer me? Have I alone grown old?
[Shaking his head angrily.
Passion! Make conscience free within your realms,
If you're a slave yourself.
KING.
In things like this
I'm but a novice. Bear in patience with me.
GRAND INQUISITOR.
No, I'm ill pleased with you--to see you thus
Tarnish the bygone glories of your reign.
Where is that Philip, whose unchanging soul,
Fixed as the polar star in heaven above,
Round its own axis still pursued its course?
Is all the memory of preceding years
Forever gone? And did the world become
New moulded when you stretched your hand to him?
Was poison no more poison? Did distinction
'Twixt good and evil, truth and falsehood, vanish?
What then is resolution? What is firmness?
What is the faith of man, if in one weak,
Unguarded hour, the rules of threescore years
Dissolve in air, like woman's fickle favor?
KING.
I looked into his eyes. Oh, pardon me
This weak relapse into mortality.
The world has one less access to your heart;
Your eyes are sunk in night.
GRAND INQUISITOR.
What did this man
Want with you? What new thing could he adduce,
You did not know before? And are you versed
So ill with fanatics and innovators?
Does the reformer's vaunting language sound
So novel to your ears? If the firm edifice
Of your conviction totters to mere words,
Should you not shudder to subscribe the fate
Of many thousand poor, deluded souls
Who mount the flaming pile for nothing worse?
KING.
I sought a human being. These Domingos----
GRAND INQUISITOR.
How! human beings! What are they to you?
Cyphers to count withal--no more! Alas!
And must I now repeat the elements
Of kingly knowledge to my gray-haired pupil?
An earthly god must learn to bear the want
Of what may be denied him. When you whine
For sympathy is not the world your equal?
What rights should you possess above your equals?
KING (throwing himself into a chair).
I'm a mere suffering mortal, that I feel;
And you demand from me, a wretched creature,
What the Creator only can perform.
GRAND INQUISITOR.
No, sire; I am not thus to be deceived.
I see you through. You would escape from us.
The church's heavy chains pressed hard upon you;
You would be free, and claim your independence.
[He pauses. The KING is silent.
We are avenged. Be thankful to the church,
That checks you with the kindness of a mother.
The erring choice you were allowed to make
Has proved your punishment. You stand reproved!
Now you may turn to us again. And know
If I, this day, had not been summoned here,
By Heaven above! before to-morrow's sun,
You would yourself have stood at my tribunal!
KING.
Forbear this language, priest. Restrain thyself.
I'll not endure it from thee. In such tones
No tongue shall speak to me.
GRAND INQUISITOR.
Then why, O king
Call up the ghost of Samuel? I've anointed
Two monarchs to the throne of Spain. I hoped
To leave behind a firm-established work.
I see the fruit of all my life is lost.
Don Philip's hands have shattered what I built.
But tell me, sire, wherefore have I been summoned?
What do I hear? I am not minded, king,
To seek such interviews again.
KING.
But one
One service more--the last--and then in peace
Depart. Let all the past be now forgotten--
Let peace be made between us. We are friends.
GRAND INQUISITOR.
When Philip bends with due humility.
KING (after a pause).
My son is meditating treason.
GRAND INQUISITOR,
Well!
And what do you resolve?
KING.
On all, or nothing.
GRAND INQUISITOR.
What mean you by this all?
KING.
He must escape,
Or die.
GRAND INQUISITOR.
Well, sire! decide.
KING.
And can you not
Establish some new creed to justify
The bloody murder of one's only son?
GRAND INQUISITOR.
To appease eternal justice God's own Son
Expired upon the cross.
KING.
And can you spread
This creed throughout all Europe?
GRAND INQUISITOR.
Ay, as far
As the true cross is worshipped.
KING.
But I sin--
Sin against nature. Canst thou, by thy power,
Silence her mighty voice.
GRAND INQUISITOR.
The voice of nature
Avails not over faith.
KING.
My right to judge
I place within your hands. Can I retrace
The step once taken?
GRAND INQUISITOR.
Give him to me!
KING.
My only son! For whom then have I labored?
GRAND INQUISITOR.
For the grave rather than for liberty!
KING (rising up).
We are agreed. Come with me.
GRAND INQUISITOR.
Monarch! Whither
KING.
From his own father's hands to take the victim.
[Leads him away.
SCENE XI.
Queen's Apartment.
CARLOS. The QUEEN. Afterwards the KING and attendants. CARLOS
in monk's attire, a mask over his face, which he is just taking
off; under his arm a naked sword. It is quite dark. He approaches
a door, which is in the act of opening. The QUEEN comes out in
her night-dress with a lighted candle. CARLOS falls on one knee
before her.
CARLOS.
Elizabeth!
QUEEN (regarding him with silent sorrow).
Do we thus meet again?
CARLOS.
'Tis thus we meet again!
[A silence.
QUEEN (endeavoring to collect herself).
Carlos, arise!
We must not now unnerve each other thus.
The mighty dead will not be honored now
By fruitless tears. Tears are for petty sorrows!
He gave himself for thee! With his dear life
He purchased thine. And shall this precious blood
Flow for a mere delusion of the brain?
Oh, Carlos, I have pledged myself for thee.
On that assurance did he flee from hence
More satisfied. Oh, do not falsify
My word.
CARLOS (with animation)
To him I'll raise a monument
Nobler than ever honored proudest monarch,
And o'er his dust a paradise shall bloom!
QUEEN.
Thus did I hope to find thee! This was still
The mighty purpose of his death. On me
Devolves the last fulfilment of his plans,
And I will now fulfil my solemn oath.
Yet one more legacy your dying friend
Bequeathed to me. I pledged my word to him,
And wherefore should I now conceal it from you?
To me did he resign his Carlos--I
Defy suspicion, and no longer tremble
Before mankind, but will for once assume
The courage of a friend; My heart shall speak.
He called our passion--virtue! I believe him,
And will my heart no longer----
CARLOS.
Hold, O queen!
Long was I sunk in a delusive dream.
I loved, but now I am at last awake
Forgotten be the past. Here are your letters,--
Destroy my own. Fear nothing from my passion,
It is extinct. A brighter flame now burns,
And purifies my being. All my love
Lies buried in the grave. No mortal wish
Finds place within this bosom.
[After a pause, taking her hand.
I have come
To bid farewell to you, and I have learned
There is a higher, greater good, my mother,
Than to call thee mine own. One rapid night
Has winged the tardy progress of my years,
And prematurely ripened me to manhood.
I have no further business in the world,
But to remember him. My harvest now
Is ended.
[He approaches the QUEEN, who conceals her face.
Mother! will you not reply!
QUEEN.
Carlos! regard not these my tears. I cannot
Restrain then. But believe me I admire you.
CARLOS.
Thou wert the only partner of our league
And by this name thou shalt remain to me
The most beloved object in this world.
No other woman can my friendship share,
More than she yesterday could win my love.
But sacred shall the royal widow be,
Should Providence conduct me to the throne.
[The KING, accompanied by the GRAND INQUISITOR,
appears in the background without being observed.
I hasten to leave Spain, and never more
Shall I behold my father in this world.
No more I love him. Nature is extinct
Within this breast. Be you again his wife--
His son's forever lost to him! Return
Back to your course of duty--I must speed
To liberate a people long oppressed
From a fell tyrant's hand. Madrid shall bail
Carlos as king, or ne'er behold him more.
And now a long and last farewell----
[He kisses her.
QUEEN.
Oh, Carlos!
How you exalt me! but I dare not soar
To such a height of greatness:--yet I may
Contemplate now your noble mind with wonder.
CARLOS.
Am I not firm, Elizabeth? I hold thee
Thus in my arms and tremble not. The fear
Of instant death had, yesterday, not torn me
From this dear spot.
[He leaves her.
All that is over now,
And I defy my mortal destinies.
I've held thee in these arms and wavered not.
Hark! Heard you nothing!
[A clock strikes.
QUEEN.
Nothing but the bell
That tolls the moment of our separation.
CARLOS.
Good night, then, mother! And you shall, from Ghent,
Receive a letter, which will first proclaim
Our secret enterprise aloud. I go
To dare King Philip to an open contest.
Henceforth there shall be naught concealed between us!
You need not shun the aspect of the world.
Be this my last deceit.
[About to take up the mask--the KING stands between them.
KING.
It is thy last.
[The QUEEN falls senseless.
CARLOS (hastens to her and supports her in his arms).
Is the queen dead? Great heavens!
KING (coolly and quietly to the GRAND INQUISITOR).
Lord Cardinal!
I've done my part. Go now, and do your own.
[Exit.
DEMETRIUS
By Frederich Schiller
ACT I.
SCENE I.
THE DIET AT CRACOW.
On the rising of the curtain the Polish Diet is discovered, seated
in the great senate hall. On a raised platform, elevated by three
steps, and surmounted by a canopy, is the imperial throne, the
escutcheons of Poland and Lithuania suspended on each side. The KING
seated upon the throne; on his right and left hand his ten royal
officers standing on the platform. Below the platform the BISHOPS,
PALATINES, and CASTELLANS seated on each side of the stage.
Opposite to these stand the Provincial DEPUTIES, in a double line,
uncovered. All armed. The ARCHBISHOP OF GNESEN, as the primate of
the kingdom, is seated next the proscenium; his chaplain behind him,
bearing a golden cross.
ARCHBISHOP OF GNESEN.
Thus then hath this tempestuous Diet been
Conducted safely to a prosperous close;
And king and commons part as cordial friends.
The nobles have consented to disarm,
And straight disband the dangerous Rocoss [1];
Whilst our good king his sacred word has pledged,
That every just complaint shall have redress.
And now that all is peace at home, we may
Look to the things that claim our care abroad.
Is it the will of the most high Estates
That Prince Demetrius, who hath advanced
A claim to Russia's crown, as Ivan's son,
Should at their bar appear, and in the face
Of this august assembly prove his right?
[1] An insurrectionary muster of the nobles.
CASTELLAN OF CRACOW.
Honor and justice both demand he should;
It were unseemly to refuse his prayer.
BISHOP OF WERMELAND.
The documents on which he rests have been
Examined, and are found authentic. We
May give him audience.
SEVERAL DEPUTIES.
Nay! We must, we must!
LEO SAPIEHA.
To hear is to admit his right.
ODOWALSKY.
And not
To hear is to reject his claims unheard.
ARCHBISHOP OF GNESEN.
Is it your will that he have audience?
I ask it for the second time--and third.
IMPERIAL CHANCELLOR.
Let him stand forth before our throne!
SENATORS.
And speak!
DEPUTIES.
Yes, yes! Let him be heard!
[The Imperial GRAND MARSHAL beckons with his baton
to the doorkeeper, who goes out.
LEO SAPIEHA (to the CHANCELLOR).
Write down, my lord,
That here I do protest against this step,
And all that may ensue therefrom, to mar
The peace of Poland's state and Moscow's crown.
[Enters DEMETRIUS. Advances some steps towards the throne,
and makes three bows with his head uncovered, first to the KING,
next to the SENATORS, and then to the DEPUTIES, who all severally
answer with an inclination of the head. He then takes up his
position so as to keep within his eye a great portion of the
assemblage, and yet not to turn his back upon the throne.
ARCHBISHOP OF GNESEN.
Prince Dmitri, son of Ivan! if the pomp
Of this great Diet scare thee, or a sight
So noble and majestic chain thy tongue,
Thou may'st--for this the senate have allowed--
Choose thee a proxy, wheresoe'er thou list,
And do thy mission by another's lips.
DEMETRIUS.
My lord archbishop, I stand here to claim
A kingdom, and the state of royalty.
'Twould ill beseem me should I quake before
A noble people, and its king and senate.
I ne'er have viewed a circle so august,
But the sight swells my heart within my breast
And not appals me. The more worthy ye,
To me ye are more welcome; I can ne'er
Address my claim to nobler auditory.
ARCHBISHOP OF GNESEN.
. . . . The august republic
Is favorably bent. . . . .
DEMETRIUS.
Most puissant king! Most worthy and most potent
Bishops and palatines, and my good lords,
The deputies of the august republic!
It gives me pause and wonder to behold
Myself, Czar Ivan's son, now stand before
The Polish people in their Diet here.
Both realms were sundered by a bloody hate,
And, whilst my father lived, no peace might be.
Yet now hath Heaven so ordered these events,
That I, his blood, who with my nurse's milk
Imbibed the ancestral hate, appear before you
A fugitive, compelled to seek my rights
Even here in Poland's heart. Then, ere I speak,
Forget magnanimously all rancors past,
And that the Czar, whose son I own myself,
Rolled war's red billows to your very homes.
I stand before you, sirs, a prince despoiled.
I ask protection. The oppressed may urge
A sacred claim on every noble breast.
And who in all earth's circuit shall be just,
If not a people great and valiant,--one
In plenitude of power so free, it needs
To render 'count but to itself alone,
And may, unchallenged, lend an open ear
And aiding hand to fair humanity.
ARCHBISHOP OF GNESEN.
You do allege you are Czar Ivan's son;
And truly, nor your bearing nor your speech
Gainsays the lofty title that you urge,
But shows us that you are indeed his son.
And you shall find that the republic bears
A generous spirit. She has never quailed
To Russia in the field! She loves, alike,
To be a noble foe--a cordial friend.
DEMETRIUS.
Ivan Wasilowitch, the mighty Czar
Of Moscow, took five spouses to his bed,
In the long years that spared him to the throne.
The first, a lady of the heroic line
Of Romanoff, bare him Feodor, who reigned
After his father's death. One only son,
Dmitri, the last blossom of his strength,
And a mere infant when his father died,
Was born of Marfa, of Nagori's line.
Czar Feodor, a youth, alike effeminate
In mind and body, left the reins of power
To his chief equerry, Boris Godunow,
Who ruled his master with most crafty skill.
Feodor was childless, and his barren bride
Denied all prospect of an heir. Thus, when
The wily Boiar, by his fawning arts,
Had coiled himself into the people's favor,
His wishes soared as high as to the throne.
Between him and his haughty hopes there stood
A youthful prince, the young Demetrius
Iwanowitsch, who with his mother lived
At Uglitsch, where her widowhood was passed.
Now, when his fatal purpose was matured,
He sent to Uglitsch ruffians, charged to put
The Czarowitsch to death.
One night, when all was hushed, the castle's wing,
Where the young prince, apart from all the rest,
With his attendants lay, was found on fire.
The raging flames ingulfed the pile; the prince
Unseen, unheard, was spirited away,
And all the world lamented him as dead.
All Moscow knows these things to be the truth.
ARCHBISHOP OF GNESEN.
Yes, these are facts familiar to us all.
The rumor ran abroad, both far and near,
That Prince Demetrius perished in the flames
When Uglitsch was destroyed. And, as his death
Raised to the throne the Czar who fills it now,
Fame did not hesitate to charge on him
This murder foul and pitiless. But yet,
His death is not the business now in hand!
This prince is living still! He lives in you!
So runs your plea. Now bring us to the proofs!
Whereby do you attest that you are he?
What are the signs by which you shall be known?
How 'scaped you those were sent to hunt you down
And now, when sixteen years are passed, and you
Well nigh forgot, emerge to light once more?
DEMETRIUS.
'Tis scarce a year since I have known myself;
I lived a secret to myself till then,
Surmising naught of my imperial birth.
I was a monk with monks, close pent within
The cloister's precincts, when I first began
To waken to a consciousness of self.
My impetuous spirit chafed against the bars,
And the high blood of princes began to course
In strange unbidden moods along my veins.
At length I flung the monkish cowl aside,
And fled to Poland, where the noble Prince
Of Sendomir, the generous, the good,
Took me as guest into his princely house,
And trained me up to noble deeds of arms.
ARCHBISHOP OF GNESEN.
How? You still ignorant of what you were?
Yet ran the rumor then on every side,
That Prince Demetrius was still alive.
Czar Boris trembled on his throne, and sent
His sassafs to the frontiers, to keep
Sharp watch on every traveller that stirred.
Had not the tale its origin with you?
Did you not give the rumor birth yourself?
Had you not named to any that you were
Demetrius?
DEMETRIUS.
I relate that which I know.
If a report went forth I was alive,
Then had some god been busy with the fame.
Myself I knew not. In the prince's house,
And in the throng of his retainers lost,
I spent the pleasant springtime of my youth.
In silent homage
My heart was vowed to his most lovely daughter.
Yet in those days it never dreamed to raise
Its wildest thoughts to happiness so high.
My passion gave offence to her betrothed,
The Castellan of Lemberg. He with taunts
Chafed me, and in the blindness of his rage
Forgot himself so wholly as to strike me.
Thus savagely provoked, I drew my sword;
He, blind with fury, rushed upon the blade,
And perished there by my unwitting hand.
MEISCHEK.
Yes, it was even so.
DEMETRIUS.
Mine was the worst mischance! A nameless youth,
A Russian and a stranger, I had slain
A grandee of the empire--in the house
Of my kind patron done a deed of blood,
And sent to death his son-in-law and friend.
My innocence availed not; not the pity
Of all his household, nor his kindness--his,
The noble Palatine's,--could save my life;
For it was forfeit to the law, that is,
Though lenient to the Poles, to strangers stern.
Judgment was passed on me--that judgment death.
I knelt upon the scaffold, by the block;
To the fell headsman's sword I bared my throat,
And in the act disclosed a cross of gold,
Studded with precious gems, which had been hung
About my neck at the baptismal font.
This sacred pledge of Christian redemption
I had, as is the custom of my people,
Worn on my neck concealed, where'er I went,
From my first hours of infancy; and now,
When from sweet life I was compelled to part,
I grasped it as my only stay, and pressed it
With passionate devotion to my lips.
[The Poles intimate their sympathy by dumb show.
The jewel was observed; its sheen and worth
Awakened curiosity and wonder.
They set me free, and questioned me; yet still
I could not call to memory a time
I had not worn the jewel on my person.
Now it so happened that three Boiars who
Had fled from the resentment of their Czar
Were on a visit to my lord at Sambor.
They saw the trinket,--recognized it by
Nine emeralds alternately inlaid
With amethysts, to be the very cross
Which Ivan Westislowsky at the font
Hung on the neck of the Czar's youngest son.
They scrutinized me closer, and were struck
To find me marked with one of nature's freaks,
For my right arm is shorter than my left.
Now, being closely plied with questions, I
Bethought me of a little psalter which
I carried from the cloister when I fled.
Within this book were certain words in Greek
Inscribed there by the Igumen himself.
What they imported was unknown to me,
Being ignorant of the language. Well, the psalter
Was sent for, brought, and the inscription read.
It bore that Brother Wasili Philaret
(Such was my cloister-name), who owned the book,
Was Prince Demetrius, Ivan's youngest son,
By Andrei, an honest Diak, saved
By stealth in that red night of massacre.
Proofs of the fact lay carefully preserved
Within two convents, which were pointed out.
On this the Boiars at my feet fell down,
Won by the force of these resistless proofs,
And hailed me as the offspring of their Czar.
So from the yawning gulfs of black despair
Fate raised me up to fortune's topmost heights.
And now the mists cleared off, and all at once
Memories on memories started into life
In the remotest background of the past.
And like some city's spires that gleam afar
In golden sunshine when naught else is seen,
So in my soul two images grew bright,
The loftiest sun-peaks in the shadowy past.
I saw myself escaping one dark night,
And a red lurid flame light up the gloom
Of midnight darkness as I looked behind me
A memory 'twas of very earliest youth,
For what preceded or came after it
In the long distance utterly was lost.
In solitary brightness there it stood
A ghastly beacon-light on memory's waste.
Yet I remembered how, in later years,
One of my comrades called me, in his wrath
Son of the Czar. I took it as a jest,
And with a blow avenged it at the time.
All this now flashed like lightning on my soul,
And told with dazzling certainty that I
Was the Czar's son, so long reputed dead.
With this one word the clouds that had perplexed
My strange and troubled life were cleared away.
Nor merely by these signs, for such deceive;
But in my soul, in my proud, throbbing heart
I felt within me coursed the blood of kings;
And sooner will I drain it drop by drop
Than bate one jot my title to the crown.
ARCHBISHOP OF GNESEN.
And shall we trust a scroll which might have found
Its way by merest chance into your hands
Backed by the tale of some poor renegades?
Forgive me, noble youth! Your tone, I grant,
And bearing, are not those of one who lies;
Still you in this may be yourself deceived.
Well may the heart be pardoned that beguiles
Itself in playing for so high a stake.
What hostage do you tender for your word?
DEMETRIUS.
I tender fifty, who will give their oaths,--
All Piasts to a man, and free-born Poles
Of spotless reputation,--each of whom
Is ready to enforce what I have urged.
There sits the noble Prince of Sendomir,
And at his side the Castellan of Lublin;
Let them declare if I have spoke the truth.
ARCHBISHOP OF GNESEN.
How seem these things to the august Estates?
To the enforcement of such numerous proofs
Doubt and mistrust, methinks, must needs give way.
Long has a creeping rumor filled the world
That Dmitri, Ivan's son, is still alive.
The Czar himself confirms it by his fears.
--Before us stands a youth, in age and mien
Even to the very freak that nature played,
The lost heir's counterpart, and of a soul
Whose noble stamp keeps rank with his high claims.
He left a cloister's precincts, urged by strange,
Mysterious promptings; and this monk-trained boy
Was straight distinguished for his knightly feats.
He shows a trinket which the Czarowitsch
Once wore, and one that never left his side;
A written witness, too, by pious hands,
Gives us assurance of his princely birth;
And, stronger still, from his unvarnished speech
And open brow truth makes his best appeal.
Such traits as these deceit doth never don;
It masks its subtle soul in vaunting words,
And in the high-glossed ornaments of speech.
No longer, then, can I withhold the title
Which he with circumstance and justice claims
And, in the exercise of my old right,
I now, as primate, give him the first voice.
ARCHBISHOP OF LEMBERG.
My voice goes with the primate's.
SEVERAL VOICES.
So does mine.
SEVERAL PALATINES.
And mine!
ODOWALSKY.
And mine.
DEPUTIES.
And all!
SAPIEHA.
My gracious sirs!
Weigh well ere you decide! Be not so hasty!
It is not meet the council of the realm
Be hurried on to----
ODOWALSKY.
There is nothing here
For us to weigh; all has been fully weighed.
The proofs demonstrate incontestably.
This is not Moscow, sirs! No despot here
Keeps our free souls in manacles. Here truth
May walk by day or night with brow erect.
I will not think, my lords, in Cracow here,
Here in the very Diet of the Poles,
That Moscow's Czar should have obsequious slaves.
DEMETRIUS.
Oh, take my thanks, ye reverend senators!
That ye have lent your credence to these proofs;
And if I be indeed the man whom I
Protest myself, oh, then, endure not this
Audacious robber should usurp my seat,
Or longer desecrate that sceptre which
To me, as the true Czarowitsch, belongs.
Yes, justice lies with me,--you have the power.
'Tis the most dear concern of every state
And throne, that right should everywhere prevail,
And all men in the world possess their own.
For there, where justice holds uncumbered sway,
There each enjoys his heritage secure,
And over every house and every throne
Law, truth, and order keep their angel watch.
It is the key-stone of the world's wide arch,
The one sustaining and sustained by all,
Which, if it fail, brings all in ruin down.
(Answers of SENATORS giving assent to DEMETRIUS.)
DEMETRIUS.
Oh, look on me, renowned Sigismund!
Great king, on thine own bosom turn thine eyes.
And in my destiny behold thine own.
Thou, too, hast known the rude assaults of fate;
Within a prison camest thou to the world;
Thy earliest glances fell on dungeon walls.
Thou, too, hadst need of friends to set thee free,
And raise thee from a prison to a throne.
These didst thou find. That noble kindness thou
Didst reap from them, oh, testify to me.
And you, ye grave and honored councillors,
Most reverend bishops, pillars of the church,
Ye palatines and castellans of fame,
The moment has arrived, by one high deed,
To reconcile two nations long estranged.
Yours be the glorious boast, that Poland's power
Hath given the Muscovites their Czar, and in
The neighbor who oppressed you as a foe
Secure an ever-grateful friend. And you,
The deputies of the august republic,
Saddle your steeds of fire! Leap to your seats!
To you expand high fortune's golden gates;
I will divide the foeman's spoil with you.
Moscow is rich in plunder; measureless
In gold and gems, the treasures of the Czar;
I can give royal guerdons to my friends,
And I will give them, too. When I, as Czar,
Set foot within the Kremlin, then, I swear,
The poorest of you all, that follows me,
Shall robe himself in velvet and in sables;
With costly pearls his housings shall he deck,
And silver be the metal of least worth,
That he shall shoe his horses' hoofs withal.
[Great commotion among the DEPUTIES. KORELA, Hetman
of the Cossacks, declares himself ready to put himself
at the head of an army.
ODOWALSKY.
How! shall we leave the Cossack to despoil us
At once of glory and of booty both?
We've made a truce with Tartar and with Turk,
And from the Swedish power have naught to fear.
Our martial spirit has been wasting long
In slothful peace; our swords are red with rust.
Up! and invade the kingdom of the Czar,
And win a grateful and true-hearted friend,
Whilst we augment our country's might and glory.
MANY DEPUTIES.
War! War with Moscow!
OTHERS.
Be it so resolved!
On to the votes at once!
SAPIEHA (rises).
Grand marshal, please
To order silence! I desire to speak.
A CROWD OF VOICES.
War! War with Moscow!
SAPIEHA.
Nay, I will be heard.
Ho, marshal, do your duty!
[Great tumult within and outside the hall.
GRAND MARSHAL.
'Tis, you see,
Quite fruitless.
SAPIEHA.
What? The marshal's self suborned?
Is this our Diet, then, no longer free?
Throw down your staff, and bid this brawling cease;
I charge you, on your office, to obey!
[The GRAND MARSHAL casts his baton into the centre
of the hall; the tumult abates.
What whirling thoughts, what mad resolves are these?
Stand we not now at peace with Moscow's Czar?
Myself, as your imperial envoy, made
A treaty to endure for twenty years;
I raised this right hand, that you see, aloft
In solemn pledge, within the Kremlin's walls;
And fairly hath the Czar maintained his word.
What is sworn faith? what compacts, treaties, when
A solemn Diet tramples on them all?
DEMETRIUS.
Prince Leo Sapieha! You concluded
A bond of peace, you say, with Moscow's Czar?
That did you not; for I, I am that Czar.
In me is Moscow's majesty; I am
The son of Ivan, and his rightful heir.
Would the Poles treat with Russia for a peace,
Then must they treat with me! Your compact's null,
As being made with one whose's title's null.
ODOWALSKY.
What reck we of your treaty? So we willed
When it was made--our wills are changed to-day.
SAPIEHA.
Is it, then, come to this? If none beside
Will stand for justice, then, at least, will I.
I'll rend the woof of cunning into shreds,
And lay its falsehoods open to the day.
Most reverend primate! art thou, canst thou be
So simple-souled, or canst thou so dissemble?
Are ye so credulous, my lords? My liege,
Art thou so weak? Ye know not--will not know,
Ye are the puppets of the wily Waywode
Of Sendomir, who reared this spurious Czar,
Whose measureless ambition, while we speak,
Clutches in thought the spoils of Moscow's wealth.
Is't left for me to tell you that even now
The league is made and sworn betwixt the twain,--
The pledge the Waywode's youngest daughter's hand?
And shall our great republic blindly rush
Into the perils of an unjust war,
To aggrandize the Waywode, and to crown
His daughter as the empress of the Czar?
There's not a man he has not bribed and bought.
He means to rule the Diet, well I know;
I see his faction rampant in this hall,
And, as 'twere not enough that he controlled
The Seym Walmy by a majority,
He's girt the Diet with three thousand horse,
And all Cracow is swarming like a hive
With his sworn feudal vassals. Even now
They throng the halls and chambers where we sit,
To hold our liberty of speech in awe.
Yet stirs no fear in my undaunted heart;
And while the blood keeps current in my veins,
I will maintain the freedom of my voice!
Let those who think like men come stand by me
Whilst I have life shall no resolve be passed
That is at war with justice and with reason.
'Twas I that ratified the peace with Moscow,
And I will hazard life to see it kept.
ODOWALSKY.
Give him no further hearing! Take the votes!
[The BISHOP OF CRACOW and WILNA rise, and descend
each to his own side, to collect the votes.
MANY.
War, war with Moscow!
ARCHBISHOP OF GNESEN (to SAPIEHA).
Noble sir, give way!
You see the mass are hostile to your views;
Then do not force a profitless division!
IMPERIAL HIGH CHANCELLOR (descends from the throne to SAPIEHA).
The king entreats you will not press the point,
Sir Waywode, to division in the Diet.
DOORKEEPER (aside to ODOWALSKY).
Keep a bold front, and fearless--summon those
That wait without. All Cracow stands by you.
IMPERIAL GRAND MARSHAL (to SAPIEHA).
Such excellent decrees have passed before;
Oh, cease, and for their sake, so fraught with good,
Unite your voice with the majority!
BISHOP OF CRACOW (has collected the votes on his side).
On this right bench are all unanimous.
SAPIEHA.
And let them to a man! Yet I say no!
I urge my veto--I break up the Diet.
Stay further progress! Null and void fire all
The resolutions passed----
[General commotion; the KING descends from the throne,
the barriers are broken down, and there arises a tumultuous
uproar. DEPUTIES draw their swords, and threaten SAPIEHA
with them. The BISHOPS interpose, and protect him with
their stoles.
Majority?
What is it? The majority is madness;
Reason has still ranked only with the few.
What cares he for the general weal that's poor?
Has the lean beggar choice, or liberty?
To the great lords of earth, that hold the purse,
He must for bread and raiment sell his voice.
'Twere meet that voices should be weighed, not counted.
Sooner or later must the state be wrecked,
Where numbers sway and ignorance decides.
ODOWALSKY.
Hark to the traitor!----
DEPUTIES.
Hew him into shreds!
Down with him!
ARCHBISHOP OF GNESEN (snatches the crucifix out of his chaplain's hand
and interposes).
Peace, peace
Shall native blood be in the Diet shed?
Prince Sapieha! be advised!
[To the BISHOPS.
Bring him away,
And interpose your bosoms as his shield!
Through this side door remove him quietly,
Or the wild mob will tear him limb from limb!
[SAPIEHA, still casting looks of defiance, is forced
away by the BISHOPS, whilst the ARCHBISHOPS OF GNESEN
and LEMBERG keep the DEPUTIES at bay. Amidst violent
tumult and clashing of arms, the hall is emptied of all
but DEMETRIUS, MEISCHEK, ODOWALSKY, and the Hetman of
the Cossacks.
ODOWALSKY.
That point miscarried,--
Yet shall you not lack aid because of this:
If the republic holds the peace with Moscow,
At our own charges we shall push your claims.
KORELA.
Who ever could have dreamed, that he alone
Would hold his ground against the assembled Diet?
MEISCHEK.
The king! the king!
[Enter KING SIGISMUND, attended by the LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR,
the GRAND MARSHAL, and several BISHOPS.
KING.
Let me embrace you, prince!
At length the high republic does you justice;
My heart has done so long, and many a day.
Your fate doth move me deeply, as, indeed,
What monarch's heart but must be moved by it?
DEMETRIUS.
The past, with all its sorrows, is forgot;
Here on your breast I feel new life begin.
KING.
I love not many words; yet what a king
May offer, who has vassals richer far
Than his poor self, that do I offer you.
You have been witness of an untoward scene,
But deem not ill of Poland's realm because
A tempest jars the vessel of the state.
MEISCHEK.
When winds are wild the steersman backs his helm,
And makes for port with all the speed he may.
KING.
The Diet is dissolved. Although I wished,
I could not break the treaty with the Czar.
But you have powerful friends; and if the Pole,
At his own risk, take arms on your behalf,
Or if the Cossack choose to venture war,
They are free men, I cannot say them nay.
MEISCHEK.
The whole Rocoss is under arms already.
Please it but you, my liege, the angry stream
That raved against your sovereignty may turn
Its wrath on Moscow, leaving you unscathed.
KING.
The best of weapons Russia's self will give thee;
Thy surest buckler is the people's heart.
By Russia only Russia will be vanquished.
Even as the Diet heard thee speak to-day,
Speak thou at Moscow to thy subjects, prince.
So chain their hearts, and thou wilt be their king.
In Sweden I by right of birth ascended
The throne of my inheritance in peace;
Yet did I lose the kingdom of my sires
Because my people's hearts were not with me.
Enter MARINA.
MEISCHEK.
My gracious liege, here, kneeling at your feet,
Behold Marina, youngest of my daughters;
The prince of Moscow offers her his heart.
Thou art the stay and pillar of our house,
And only from thy royal hand 'tis meet
That she receive her spouse and sovereign.
[MARINA kneels to the KING.
KING.
Well, if you wish it, cousin, gladly I
Will do the father's office to the Czar.
[To DEMETRIUS, giving him MARINA'S hand.
Thus do I bring you, in this lovely pledge,
High fortune's blooming goddess; and may these
Old eyes be spared to see this gracious pair
Sit in imperial state on Moscow's throne.
MARINA.
My liege, I humbly thank your grace, and shall
Esteem me still your slave where'er I be.
KING.
Rise up, Czaritza! This is not a place
For you, the plighted bridesmaid of the Czar;
For you, the daughter of my foremost Waywode.
You are the youngest of your sisters; yet
Your spirit wings a high and glorious course,
And nobly grasps the top of sovereignty.
DEMETRIUS.
Be thou, great monarch, witness of my oath,
As, prince to prince, I pledge it here to you!
This noble lady's hand I do accept
As fortune's dearest pledge, and swear that, soon
As on my father's throne I take my seat,
I'll lead her home in triumph as my bride,
With all the state that fits a mighty queen.
And, for a dowry, to my bride I give
The principalities Pleskow and Great Neugart,
With all towns, hamlets, and in-dwellers there,
With all the rights and powers of sovereignty,
In absolute possession evermore;
And this, my gift, will I as Czar confirm
In my free city, Moscow. Furthermore,
As compensation to her noble sire
For present charges, I engage to pay
A million ducats, Polish currency.
So help me God, and all his saints, as I
Have truly sworn this oath, and shall fulfil it.
KING.
You will do so; you never will forget
For what you are the noble Waywode's debtor;
Who, for your wishes, perils his sure wealth,
And, for your hopes, a child his heart adores,
A friend so rare is to be rarely prized!
Then when your hopes are crowned forget not ever
The steps by which you mounted to the throne,
Nor with your garments let your heart be changed!
Think, that in Poland first you knew yourself,
That this land gave you birth a second time.
DEMETRIUS.
I have been nurtured in adversity;
And learned to reverence the beauteous bond
Which links mankind with sympathies of love.
KING.
But now you enter on a realm where all--
Use, custom, morals--are untried and strange,
In Poland here reigns freedom absolute;
The king himself, although in pomp supreme,
Must ofttime be the serf of his noblesse;
But there the father's sacred power prevails,
And in the subject finds a passive slave.
DEMETRIUS.
That glorious freedom which surrounds me here
I will transplant into my native land,
And turn these bond-serfs into glad-souled men;
Not o'er the souls of slaves will I bear rule.
KING.
Do naught in haste; but by the time be led!
Prince, ere we part, three lessons take from me,
And truly follow them when thou art king.
It is a king that gives them, old and tried,
And they may prove of profit to thy youth.
DEMETRIUS.
Oh, share thy wisdom with me! Thou hast won
The reverence of a free and mighty people;
What must I do to earn so fair a prize?
KING.
You come from a strange land,
Borne on the weapons of a foreign foe;
This first felt wrong thou hast to wash away.
Then bear thee like a genuine son of Moscow,
With reverence due to all her usages.
Keep promise with the Poles, and value them,
For thou hast need of friends on thy new throne:
The arm that placed thee there can hurl thee down.
Esteem them honorably, yet ape them not;
Strange customs thrive not in a foreign soil.
And, whatsoe'er thou dost, revere thy mother--
You'll find a mother----
DEMETRIUS.
Oh, my liege!
KING.
High claim
Hath she upon thy filial reverence.
Do her all honor. 'Twixt thy subjects and
Thyself she stands, a sacred, precious link.
No human law o'errides the imperial power;
Nothing but nature may command its awe;
Nor can thy people own a surer pledge,
That thou art gentle, than thy filial love.
I say no more. Much yet is to be done,
Ere thou mak'st booty of the golden fleece.
Expect no easy victory!
Czar Boris rules with strong and skilful hand;
You take the field against no common man.
He that by merit hath achieved the throne,
Is not puffed from his seat by popular breath;
His deeds do serve to him for ancestors.
To your good fortune I commend you now;
Already twice, as by a miracle,
Hath it redeemed you from the grasp of death;
'Twill put the finish on its work, and crown you.
[Exeunt omnes but MARINA and ODOWALSKY.
ODOWALSKY.
Say, lady, how have I fulfilled my charge?
Truly and well, and wilt thou laud my zeal?
MARINA.
'Tis, Odowalsky, well we are alone;
Matters of weight have we to canvass which
'Tis meet the prince know nothing of. May he
Pursue the voice divine that goads him on!
If in himself he have belief, the world
Will catch the flame, and give him credence too.
He must be kept in that vague, shadowing mist,
Which is a fruitful mother of great deeds,
While we see clear, and act in certainty.
He lends the name--the inspiration; we
Must bear the brain, the shaping thought, for him;
And when, by art and craft, we have insured
The needful levies, let him still dream on,
And think they dropped, to aid him, from the clouds.
ODOWALSKY.
Give thy commands: I live but for thy service.
Think'st thou this Moscovite or his affairs
Concern my thoughts? 'Tis thou, thou and thy glory
For which I will adventure life and all.
For me no fortune blossoms; friendless, landless,
I dare not let my hopes aspire to thee.
Thy grace I may not win, but I'll deserve it.
To make thee great be my one only aim;
Then, though another should possess thee, still
Thou wilt be mine--being what I have made thee.
MARINA.
Therefore my whole heart do I pledge to thee;
To thee I trust the acting of my thoughts.
The king doth mean us false. I read him through.
'Twas a concerted farce with Sapieha,
A juggle, all! 'Twould please him well, belike,
To see my father's power, which he dreads deeply,
Enfeebled in this enterprise--the league
Of the noblesse, which shook his heart with fear,
Drawn off in this campaign on foreign bounds,
While he himself sits neutral in the fray.
He thinks to share our fortune, if we win;
And if we lose, he hopes with greater ease
To fix on us the bondage of his yoke.
We stand alone. This die is cast. If he
Cares for himself, we shall be selfish too.
You lead the troops to Kioff. There let them swear
Allegiance to the prince, and unto me;--
Mark you, to me! 'Tis needful for our ends.
I want your eye, and not your arm alone.
ODOWALSKY.
Command me--speak--
MARINA.
You lead the Czarowitsch.
Keep your eye on him; stir not from his side,
Render me 'count of every step he makes.
ODOWALSKY.
Rely on me, he'll never cast us off.
MARINA.
No man is grateful. Once his throne is sure,
He'll not be slow to cast our bonds aside.
The Russian hates the Pole--must hate him ever;
No bond of amity can link their hearts.
Enter OPALINSKY, BIELSKY, and several Polish noblemen.
OPALINSKY.
Fair patron, get us gold, and we march with you,
This lengthened Diet has consumed our all.
Let us have gold, we'll make thee Russia's queen.
MARINA.
The Bishop of Kaminieck and Culm
Lends money on the pawn of land and serfs.
Sell, barter, pledge the hamlets of your boors,
Turn all to silver, horses, means of war!
War is the best of chapmen. He transmutes
Iron into gold. Whate'er you now may lose
You'll find in Moscow twenty-fold again.
BIELSKY.
Two hundred more wait in the tavern yonder;
If you will show yourself, and drain a cup
With them, they're yours, all yours--I know them well.
MARINA.
Expect me! You shall introduce me to them.
OPALINSKY.
'Tis plain that you were born to be a queen.
MARINA.
I was, and therefore I must be a queen.
BIELSKY.
Ay, mount the snow-white steed, thine armor on,
And so, a second Vanda, lead thy troops,
Inspired by thee, to certain victory.
MARINA.
My spirit leads you. War is not for women.
The rendezvous is in Kioff. Thither my father
Will lead a levy of three thousand horse.
My sister's husband gives two thousand more,
And the Don sends a Cossack host in aid.
Do you all swear you will be true to me?
ALL.
All, all--we swear! (draw their swords.)
Vivat Marina, Russiae Regina!
[MARINA tears her veil in pieces, and divides it among them.
Exeunt omnes but MARINA.
Enter MEISCHEK.
MARINA.
Wherefore so sad, when fortune smiles on us,
When every step thrives to our utmost wish,
And all around are arming in our cause?
MEISCHEK.
'Tis even because of this, my child! All, all
Is staked upon the cast. Thy father's means
Are in these warlike preparations swamped.
I have much cause to ponder seriously;
Fortune is false, uncertain the result.
Mad, venturous girl, what hast thou brought me to?
What a weak father have I been, that I
Did not withstand thy importunities!
I am the richest Waywode of the empire,
The next in honor to the king. Had we
But been content to be so, and enjoyed
Our stately fortunes with a tranquil soul!
Thy hopes soared higher--not for thee sufficed
The moderate station which thy sisters won.
Thou wouldst attain the loftiest mark that can
By mortals be achieved, and wear a crown.
I, thy fond, foolish father, longed to heap
On thee, my darling one, all glorious gains,
So by thy prayers I let myself be fooled,
And peril my sure fortunes on a chance.
MARINA.
How? My dear father, dost thou rue thy goodness?
Who with the meaner prize can live content,
When o'er his head the noblest courts his grasp?
MEISCHEK.
Thy sisters wear no crowns, yet they are happy.
MARINA.
What happiness is that to leave the home
Of the Waywode, my father, for the house
Of some count palatine, a grateful bride?
What do I gain of new from such a change?
And can I joy in looking to the morrow
When it brings naught but what was stale to-day?
Oh, tasteless round of petty, worn pursuits!
Oh, wearisome monotony of life!
Are they a guerdon for high hopes, high aims?
Or love or greatness I must have: all else
Are unto me alike indifferent.
Smooth off the trouble from thy brow, dear father!
Let's trust the stream that bears us on its breast,
Think not upon the sacrifice thou makest,
Think on the prize, the goal that's to be won--
When thou shalt see thy daughter robed in state,
In regal state, aloft on Moscow's throne,
And thy son's sons the rulers of the world!
MEISCHEK.
I think of naught, see naught, but thee, my child,
Girt with the splendors of the imperial crown.
Thou'rt bent to have it; I cannot gainsay thee.
MARINA.
Yet one request, my dearest, best of fathers,
I pray you grant me!
MEISCHEK.
Name thy wish, my child.
MARINA.
Shall I remain shut up at Sambor with
The fires of boundless longing in my breast?
Beyond the Dnieper will my die be cast,
While boundless space divides me from the spot;
Can I endure it? Oh, the impatient spirit
Will lie upon the rack of expectation
And measure out this monstrous length of space
With groans and anxious throbbings of the heart.
MEISCHEK.
What dost thou wish? What is it thou wouldst have?
MARINA.
Let me abide the issue in Kioff!
There I can gather tidings at their source.
There on the frontier of both kingdoms----
MEISCHEK.
Thy spirit's over-bold. Restrain it, child!
MARINA.
Yes, thou dost yield,--thou'lt take me with thee, then?
MEISCHEK.
Thou rulest me. Must I not do thy will?
MARINA.
My own dear father, when I am Moscow's queen
Kioff, you know, must be our boundary.
Kioff must then be mine, and thou shalt rule it.
MEISCHEK.
Thou dreamest, girl! Already the great Moscow
Is for thy soul too narrow; thou, to grasp
Domains, wilt strip them from thy native land.
MARINA.
Kioff belonged not to our native land;
There the Varegers ruled in days of yore.
I have the ancient chronicles by heart;
'Twas from the Russian empire wrenched by force.
I will restore it to its former crown.
MEISCHEK.
Hush, hush! The Waywode must not hear such talk.
[Trumpet without. They're breaking up.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
A Greek convent in a bleak district near the sea Belozero.
A train of nuns, in black robes and veils, passes over the
back of the stage. MARFA, in a white veil, stands apart
from the others, leaning on a tombstone. OLGA steps out
from the train, remains gazing at her for a time, and then
advances to her.
OLGA.
And does thy heart not urge thee forth with us
To taste reviving nature's opening sweets?
The glad sun comes, the long, long night retires,
The ice melts in the streams, and soon the sledge
Will to the boat give place and summer swallow.
The world awakes once more, and the new joy
Woos all to leave their narrow cloister cells
For the bright air and freshening breath of spring.
And wilt thou only, sunk in lasting grief,
Refuse to share the general exultation?
MARFA.
On with the rest, and leave me to myself!
Let those rejoice who still have power to hope.
The time that puts fresh youth in all the world
Brings naught to me; to me the past is all,
My hopes, my joys are with the things that were.
OLGA.
Dost thou still mourn thy son--still, still lament
The sovereignty which thou has lost? Does time,
Which pours a balm on every wounded heart,
Lose all its potency with thee alone?
Thou wert the empress of this mighty realm,
The mother of a blooming son. He was
Snatched from thee by a dreadful destiny;
Into this dreary convent wert thou thrust,
Here on the verge of habitable earth.
Full sixteen times since that disastrous day
The face of nature hath renewed its youth;
Still have I seen no change come over thine,
That looked a grave amid a blooming world.
Thou'rt like some moonless image, carved in stone
By sculptor's chisel, that doth ever keep
The selfsame fixed unalterable mien.
MARFA.
Yes, time, fell time, hath signed and set me up
As a memorial of my dreadful fate.
I will not be at peace, will not forget.
That soul must be of poor and shallow stamp
Which takes a cure from time--a recompense
For what can never be compensated!
Nothing shall buy my sorrow from me. No,
As heaven's vault still goes with the wanderer,
Girds and environs him with boundless grasp,
Turn where he will, by sea or land, so goes
My anguish with me, wheresoe'er I turn;
It hems me round, like an unbounded sea;
My ceaseless tears have failed to drain its depths.
OLGA.
Oh, see! what news can yonder boy have brought,
The sisters round him throng so eagerly?
He comes from distant shores, where homes abound,
And brings us tidings from the land of men.
The sea is clear, the highways free once more.
Art thou not curious to learn his news?
Though to the world we are as good as dead,
Yet of its changes willingly we hear,
And, safe upon the shore, with wonder mark
The roar and ferment of the trampling waves.
[NUNS come down the stage with a FISHER BOY.
XENIA--HELENA.
Speak, speak, and tell us all the news you bring.
ALEXIA.
Relate what's passing in the world beyond.
FISHER BOY.
Good, pious ladies, give me time to speak!
XENIA.
Is't war--or peace?
ALEXIA.
Who's now upon the throne?
FISHER BOY.
A ship is to Archangel just come in
From the north pole, where everything is ice.
OLGA.
How came a vessel into that wild sea?
FISHER BOY.
It is an English merchantman, and it
Has found a new way out to get to us.
ALEXIA.
What will not man adventure for his gain?
XENIA.
And so the world is nowhere to be barred!
FISHER BOY.
But that's the very smallest of the news.
'Tis something very different moves the world.
ALEXIA.
Oh, speak and tell us!
OLGA.
Say, what has occurred?
FISHER BOY.
We live to hear strange marvels nowadays:
The dead rise up, and come to life again.
OLGA.
Explain yourself.
FISHER BOY.
Prince Dmitri, Ivan's son,
Whom we have mourned for dead these sixteen years,
Is now alive, and has appeared in Poland.
OLGA.
The prince alive?
MARFA (starting).
My son!
OLGA.
Compose thyself!
Calm down thy heart till we have learned the whole.
ALEXIA.
How can this possibly be so, when he
Was killed, and perished in the flames at Uglitsch?
FISHER BOY.
He managed somehow to escape the fire,
And found protection in a monastery.
There he grew up in secrecy, until
His time was come to publish who he was.
OLGA (to MARFA).
You tremble, princess! You grow pale!
MARFA.
I know
That it must be delusion, yet so little
Is my heart steeled 'gainst fear and hope e'en now,
That in my breast it flutters like a bird.
OLGA.
Why should it be delusion? Mark his words!
How could this rumor spread without good cause?
FISHER BOY.
Without good cause? The Lithuanians
And Poles are all in arms upon his side.
The Czar himself quakes in his capital.
[MARFA is compelled by her emotion to lean upon OLGA and ALEXIA.
XENIA.
Speak on, speak, tell us everything you know.
ALEXIA.
And tell us, too, of whom you stole the news.
FISHER BOY.
I stole the news? A letter has gone forth
To every town and province from the Czar.
This letter the Posadmik of our town
Read to us all, in open market-place.
It bore, that busy schemers were abroad,
And that we should not lend their tales belief.
But this made us believe them; for, had they
Been false, the Czar would have despised the lie.
MARFA.
Is this the calm I thought I had achieved?
And clings my heart so close to temporal things,
That a mere word can shake my inward soul?
For sixteen years have I bewailed my son,
And yet at once believe that still he lives.
OLGA.
Sixteen long years thou'st mourned for him as dead,
And yet his ashes thou hast never seen!
Naught countervails the truth of the report.
Nay, does not Providence watch o'er the fate
Of kings and monarchies? Then welcome hope!
More things befall than thou canst comprehend.
Who can set limits to the Almighty's power?
MARFA.
Shall I turn back to look again on life,
To which long since I spoke a sad farewell?
It was not with the dead my hopes abode.
Oh, say no more of this. Let not my heart
Hang on this phantom hope! Let me not lose
My darling son a second time. Alas!
My peace of mind is gone,--my dream of peace
I cannot trust these tidings,--yet, alas,
I can no longer dash them from my soul!
Woe's me, I never lost my son till now.
Oh, now I can no longer tell if I
Shall seek him 'mongst the living or the dead,
Tossed on the rock of never-ending doubt.
OLGA [A bell sounds,--the sister PORTERESS enters.
Why has the bell been sounded, sister, say?
PORTERESS.
The lord archbishop waits without; he brings
A message from the Czar, and craves an audience.
OLGA.
Does the archbishop stand within our gates?
What strange occurrence can have brought him here?
XENIA.
Come all, and give him greeting as befits.
[They advance towards the gate as the ARCHBISHOP enters;
they all kneel before him, and he makes the sign of the
Greek cross over them.
ARCHBISHOP.
The kiss of peace I bring you in the name
Of Father, Son, and of the Holy Ghost,
Proceeding from the Father!
OLGA.
Sir, we kiss
In humblest reverence thy paternal hand!
Command thy daughters!
ARCHBISHOP.
My mission is addressed to Sister Marfa.
OLGA.
See, here she stands, and waits to know thy will.
[All the NUNS withdraw.
ARCHBISHOP.
It is the mighty prince who sends me here;
Upon his distant throne he thinks of thee;
For as the sun, with his great eye of flame,
Sheds light and plenty all abroad the world,
So sweeps the sovereign's eye on every side;
Even to the farthest limits of his realm
His care is wakeful and his glance is keen.
MARFA.
How far his arm can strike I know too well.
ARCHBISHOP.
He knows the lofty spirit fills thy soul,
And therefore feels indignantly the wrong
A bold-faced villain dares to offer thee.
Learn, then, in Poland, an audacious churl,
A renegade, who broke his monkish vows,
Laid down his habit, and renounced his God,
Doth use the name and title of thy son,
Whom death snatched from thee in his infancy.
The shameless varlet boasts him of thy blood,
And doth affect to be Czar Ivan's son;
A Waywode breaks the peace; from Poland leads
This spurious monarch, whom himself created,
Across our frontiers, with an armed power:
So he beguiles the Russians' faithful hearts,
And lures them on to treason and revolt.
The Czar,
With pure, paternal feeling, sends me to thee.
Thou hold'st the manes of thy son in honor;
Nor wilt permit a bold adventurer
To steal his name and title from the tomb,
And with audacious hand usurp his rights.
Thou wilt proclaim aloud to all the world
That thou dost own him for no son of thine.
Thou wilt not nurse a bastard's alien blood
Upon thy heart, that beats so nobly; never!
Thou wilt--and this the Czar expects from thee--
Give the vile counterfeit the lie, with all
The righteous indignation it deserves.
MARFA (who has during the last speech subdued the most violent emotion).
What do I hear, archbishop? Can it be?
Oh, tell me, by what signs and marks of proof
This bold-faced trickster doth uphold himself
As Ivan's son, whom we bewailed as dead?
ARCHBISHOP.
By some faint, shadowy likeness to the Czar,
By documents which chance threw in his way,
And by a precious trinket, which he shows,
He cheats the credulous and wondering mob.
MARFA.
What is the trinket? Oh, pray, tell me what?
ARCHBISHOP.
A golden cross, gemmed with nine emeralds,
Which Ivan Westislowsky, so he says,
Hung round his neck at the baptismal font.
MARFA.
What do you say? He shows this trinket, this?
[With forced composure.
And how does he allege he came by it?
ARCHBISHOP.
A faithful servant and Diak, he says,
Preserved him from the assassins and the flames,
And bore him to Smolenskow privily.
MARFA.
But where was he brought up? Where, gives he forth,
Was he concealed and fostered until now?
ARCHBISHOP.
In Tschudow's monastery he was reared,
Unknowing who he was; from thence he fled
To Lithuania and Poland, where
He served the Prince of Sendomir, until
An accident revealed his origin.
MARFA.
With such a tale as this can he find friends
To peril life and fortune in his cause?
ARCHBISHOP.
Oh, madam, false, false-hearted is the Pole,
And enviously he eyes our country's wealth.
He welcomes every pretext that may serve
To light the flames of war within our bounds!
MARFA.
And were there credulous spirits, even in Moscow,
Could by this juggle be so lightly stirred?
ARCHBISHOP.
Oh, fickle, princess, is the people's heart!
They dote on alteration, and expect
To reap advantage from a change of rulers.
The bold assurance of the falsehood charms;
The marvellous finds favor and belief.
Therefore the Czar is anxious thou shouldst quell
This mad delusion, as thou only canst.
A word from thee annihilates the traitor
That falsely claims the title of thy son.
It joys me thus to see thee moved. I see
The audacious juggle rouses all thy pride,
And, with a noble anger paints thy cheek.
MARFA.
And where, where, tell me, does he tarry now,
Who dares usurp the title of my son?
ARCHBISHOP.
E'en now he's moving on to Tscherinsko;
His camp at Kioff has broke up, 'tis rumored;
And with a force of mounted Polish troops
And Don Cossacks, he comes to push his claims.
MARFA.
Oh, God Almighty, thanks, thanks, thanks, that thou
Hast sent me rescue and revenge at last!
ARCHBISHOP.
How, Marfa, how am I to construe this?
MARFA.
Ob, heavenly powers, conduct him safely here!
Hover, oh all ye angels, round his banners!
ARCHBISHOP.
Can it be so? The traitor, canst thou trust----
MARFA.
He is my son. Yes! by these signs alone
I recognize him. By thy Czar's alarm
I recognize him. Yes! He lives! He comes!
Down, tyrant, from thy throne, and shake with fear!
There still doth live a shoot from Rurik's stem;
The genuine Czar--the rightful heir draws nigh,
He comes to claim a reckoning for his own.
ARCHBISHOP.
Dost thou bethink thee what thou say'st? 'Tis madness!
MARFA.
At length--at length has dawned the day of vengeance,
Of restoration. Innocence is dragged
To light by heaven from the grave's midnight gloom.
The haughty Godunow, my deadly foe,
Must crouch and sue for mercy at my feet;
Oh, now my burning wishes are fulfilled!
ARCHBISHOP.
Can hate and rancorous malice blind you so?
MARFA.
Can terror blind your monarch so, that he
Should hope deliverance from me--from me--
Whom he hath done immeasurable wrong?
I shall, forsooth, deny the son whom heaven
Restores me by a miracle from the grave,
And to please him, the butcher of my house,
Who piled upon me woes unspeakable?
Yes, thrust from me the succor God has sent
In the sad evening of my heavy anguish?
No, thou escap'st me not. No, thou shalt hear me,
I have thee fast, I will not let thee free.
Oh, I can ease my bosom's load at last!
At last launch forth against mine enemy
The long-pent anger of my inmost soul!
Who was it, who,
That shut me up within this living tomb,
In all the strength and freshness of my youth,
With all its feelings glowing in my breast?
Who from my bosom rent my darling son,
And chartered ruffian hands to take his life?
Oh, words can never tell what I have suffered,
When, with a yearning that would not be still,
I watched throughout the long, long starry nights,
And noted with my tears the hours elapse!
The day of succor comes, and of revenge;
I see the mighty glorying in his might.
ARCHBISHOP.
You think the Czar will dread you--you mistake.
MARFA.
He's in my power--one little word from me,
One only, sets the seal upon his fate!
It was for this thy master sent thee here!
The eyes of Russia and of Poland now
Are closely bent upon me. If I own
The Czarowitsch as Ivan's son and mine,
Then all will do him homage; his the throne.
If I disown him, then he is undone;
For who will credit that his rightful mother,
A mother wronged, so foully wronged as I,
Could from her heart repulse its darling child,
To league with the despoilers of her house?
I need but speak one word and all the world
Deserts him as a traitor. Is't not so?
This word you wish from me. That mighty service,
Confess, I can perform for Godunow!
ARCHBISHOP.
Thou wouldst perform it for thy country, and
Avert the dread calamities of war,
Shouldst thou do homage to the truth. Thyself,
Ay, thou hast ne'er a doubt thy son is dead;
And couldst thou testify against thy conscience?
MARFA.
These sixteen years I've mourned his death; but yet
I ne'er have seen his ashes. I believed
His death, there trusting to the general voice
And my sad heart--I now believe he lives,
Trusting the general voice and my strong hope.
'Twere impious, with audacious doubts, to seek
To set a bound to the Almighty's will;
And even were he not my heart's dear son,
Yet should he be the son of my revenge.
In my child's room I take him to my breast,
Whom heaven has sent me to avenge my wrongs.
ARCHBISHOP.
Unhappy one, dost thou defy the strong?
From his far-reaching arm thou art not safe
Even in the convent's distant solitude.
MARFA.
Kill me he may, and stifle in the grave,
Or dungeon's gloom, my woman's voice, that it
Shall not reverberate throughout the world.
This he may do; but force me to speak aught
Against my will, that can he not; though backed
By all thy craft--no, he has missed his aim!
ARCHBISHOP.
Is this thy final purpose. Ponder well!
Hast thou no gentler message for the Czar?
MARFA.
Tell him to hope for heaven, if so he dare,
And for his people's love, if so he can.
ARCHBISHOP.
Enough! thou art bent on thy destruction.
Thou lean'st upon a reed, will break beneath thee;
One common ruin will o'erwhelm ye both.
[Exit.
MARFA.
It is my son, I cannot doubt 'tis he.
Even the wild hordes of the uncultured wastes
Take arms upon his side; the haughty Pole,
The palatine, doth stake his noble daughter
On the pure gold of his most righteous cause,
And I alone reject him--I, his mother?
I, only I, shook not beneath the storm
Of joy that lifts all hearts with dizzying whirl,
And scatters turmoil widely o'er the earth.
He is my son--I must, will trust in him,
And grasp with living confidence the hand
Which heaven hath sent for my deliverance.
'Tis he, he comes with his embattled hosts,
To set me free, and to avenge my shame!
Hark to his drums, his martial trumpets' clang!
Ye nations come--come from the east and south.
Forth from your steppes, your immemorial woods
Of every tongue, of every raiment come!
Bridle the steed, the reindeer, and the camel!
Sweep hither, countless as the ocean waves,
And throng around the banners of your king!
Oh, wherefore am I mewed and fettered here,
A prisoned soul with longings infinite!
Thou deathless sun, that circlest earth's huge ball,
Be thou the messenger of my desires!
Thou all-pervading, chainless breeze that sweep'st
With lightning speed to earth's remotest bound,
Oh, bear to him the yearnings of my heart.
My prayers are all I have to give; but these
I pour all glowing from my inmost soul,
And send them up to heaven on wings of flame,
Like armed hosts, I send them forth to hail him.
SCENE II.
A height crowned with trees. A wide and smiling landscape
occupies the background, which is traversed by a beautiful
river, and enlivened by the budding green of spring. At
various points the towers of several towns are visible.
Drums and martial music without. Enter ODOWALSKY, and other
officers, and immediately afterwards DEMETRIUS.
ODOWALSKY.
Go, lead the army downward by the wood,
Whilst we look round us here upon the height.
[Exeunt some of the officers.
Enter DEMETRIUS.
DEMETRIUS (starting back).
Ha! what a prospect!
ODOWALSKY.
Sire, thou see'st thy kingdom
Spread out before thee. That is Russian land.
RAZIN.
Why, e'en this pillar here bears Moscow's arms;
Here terminates the empire of the Poles.
DEMETRIUS.
Is that the Dnieper, rolls its quiet stream
Along these meadows?
ODOWALSKY.
That, sire, is the Desna;
See, yonder rise the towers of Tschernizow!
RAZIN.
Yon gleam you see upon the far horizon
Is from the roofs of Sewerisch Novogrod.
DEMETRIUS.
What a rich prospect! What fair meadow lands!
ODOWALSKY.
The spring has decked them with her trim array;
A teeming harvest clothes the fruitful soil.
DEMETRIUS.
The view is lost in limitless expanse.
RAZIN.
Yet is this but a small beginning, sire,
Of Russia's mighty empire. For it spreads
Towards the east to confines unexplored,
And on the north has ne'er a boundary,
Save the productive energy of earth.
Behold, our Czar is quite absorbed in thought.
DEMETRIUS.
On these fair meads dwell peace, unbroken peace,
And with war's terrible array I come
To scatter havoc, like a listed foe!
ODOWALSKY.
Hereafter 'twill be time to think of that.
DEMETRIUS.
Thou feelest as a Pole, I am Moscow's son.
It is the land to which I owe my life;
Forgive me, thou dear soil, land of my home,
Thou sacred boundary-pillar, which I clasp,
Whereon my sire his broad-spread eagle graved,
That I, thy son, with foreign foemen's arms,
Invade the tranquil temple of thy peace.
'Tis to reclaim my heritage I come,
And the proud name that has been stolen from me.
Here the Varegers, my forefathers, ruled,
In lengthened line, for thirty generations;
I am the last of all their lineage, snatched
From murder by God's special providence.
SCENE III.
A Russian village. An open square before a church.
The tocsin is heard. GLEB, ILIA, and TIMOSKA rush in,
armed with hatchets.
GLEB (entering from a house).
Why are they running?
ILIA (entering from another house).
Who has tolled the bell.
TIMOSKA.
Neighbors, come forth! Come all, to council come!
[Enter OLEG and IGOR, with many other peasants,
women and children, who carry bundles.
GLEB.
Whence come ye hither with your wives and children?
IGOR.
Fly, fly! The Pole has fallen upon the land
At Maromesk, and slaughters all he finds.
OLEG.
Fly into the interior--to strong towns!
We've fired our cottages, there's not a soul
Left in the village, and we're making now
Up country for the army of the Czar.
TIMOSKA.
Here comes another troop of fugitives.
[IWANSKA and PETRUSCHKA, with armed peasantry,
enter on different sides.
IWANSKA.
Long live the Czar! The mighty prince Dmitri!
GLEB.
How! What is this!
ILIA.
What do you mean?
TIMOSKA.
Who are you?
PETRUSCHKA.
Join all who're loyal to our princely line!
TIMOSKA.
What means all this? There a whole village flies
Up country to escape the Poles, while you
Make for the very point whence these have fled,
To join the standard of the country's foe!
PETRUSCHKA.
What foe? It is no foe that comes; it is
The people's friend, the emperor's rightful heir.
* * * * *
The POSADMIK (the village judge) enters to read a manifesto by Demetrius.
Vacillation of the inhabitants of the village between the two parties.
The peasant women are the first to be won over to Demetrius, and turn the
scale.
Camp of DEMETRIUS. He is worsted in the first action, but the army of
the Czar Boris conquers in a manner against its will, and does not follow
up its advantages. Demetrius, in despair, is about to destroy himself,
and is with difficulty prevented from doing so by Korela and Odowalsky.
Overbearing demeanor of the Cossacks even to DEMETRIUS.
Camp of the army of the CZAR BORIS. He is absent himself, and this
injures his cause, as he is feared but not loved. His army is strong,
but not to be relied on. The leaders are not unanimous, and partly
incline to the side of Demetrius from a variety of motives. One of their
number, Soltikow, declares for him from conviction. His adherence is
attended with the most important results; a large portion of the army
deserts to DEMETRIUS.
BORIS in Moscow. He still maintains his position as absolute ruler, and
has faithful servants around him; but already he is discomposed by evil
tidings. He is withheld from joining the army by apprehension of a
rebellion in Moscow. He is also ashamed as Czar to enter the field in
person against a traitor. Scene between him and the archbishop.
Bad news pours in from all sides, and Boris' danger grows momently more
imminent. He hears of the revolt of the peasantry and the provincial
towns,--of the inactivity and mutiny of the army,--of the commotions in
Moscow,--of the advance of Demetrius. Romanow, whom he has deeply
wronged, arrives in Moscow. This gives rise to new apprehensions. Now
come the tidings that the Boiars are flying to the camp of Demetrius, and
that the whole army has gone over to him.
BORIS and AXINIA. The Czar appears in a touching aspect as father, and
in the dialogue with his daughter unfolds his inmost nature.
BORIS has made his way to the throne by crime, but undertaken and
fulfilled all the duties of a monarch; to the country he is a valuable
prince and a true father of his people. It is only in his personal
dealings with individuals that he is cunning, revengeful, and cruel. His
spirit as well as his rank elevates him above all that surround him. The
long possession of supreme power, the habit of ruling over men, and the
despotic form of government, have so nursed his pride that it is
impossible for him to outlive his greatness. He sees clearly what awaits
him; but still he is Czar, and not degraded, though he resolves to die.
He believes in forewarnings, and in his present mood things appear to him
of significance which, on other occasions, he had despised. A particular
circumstance, in which he seems to hear the voice of destiny, decides
him.
Shortly before his death his nature changes; he grows milder, even
towards the messengers of evil, and is ashamed of the bursts of rage with
which he had received them before. He permits the worst to be told to
him, and even rewards the narrator.
So soon as he learns the misfortune that seals his fate, he leaves the
stage without further explanation, with composure and resignation.
Shortly afterwards he returns in the habit of a monk, and removes his
daughter from the sight of his last moments. She is to seek protection
from insult in a cloister; his son, Feodor, as a child, will perhaps have
less to fear. He takes poison, and enters a retired chamber to die in
peace.
General confusion at the tidings of the Czar's death. The Boiars form an
imperial council and rule in the Kremlin. Romanow (afterwards Czar, and
founder of the now ruling house) enters at the head of an armed force,
swears, on the bosom of the Czar, an oath of allegiance to his son
Feodor, and compels the Boiars to follow his example. Revenge and
ambition are far from his soul; he pursues only justice. He loves Axinia
without hope, and is, without knowing it, beloved by her in return.
ROMANOW hastens to the army to secure it for the young Czar.
Insurrection in Moscow, brought about by the adherents of Demetrius.
The people drag the Boiars from their houses, make themselves masters
of Feodor and Axinia--put them in prison, and send delegates to
Demetrius.
DEMETRIUS in Tula, at the pinnacle of success. The army is his own; the
keys of numerous towns are brought to him. Moscow alone appears to offer
resistance. He is mild and amiable, testifies a noble emotion at the
intelligence of the death of Boris, pardons a detected conspiracy against
his life, despises the servile adulations of the Russians, and is for
sending them away. The Poles, on the other hand, by whom he is
surrounded, are rude and violent, and treat the Russians with contempt.
Demetrius longs for a meeting with his mother, and sends a messenger to
Marina.
Among the multitude of Russians who throng around Demetrius in Tula
appears a man whom he at once recognizes; he is greatly delighted to see
him. He bids all the rest withdraw, and so soon as he is alone with this
man he thanks him, with full heart, as his preserver and benefactor.
This person hints that Demetrius is under especial obligations to him,
and to a greater extent than he is himself aware. Demetrius urges him to
explain, and the assassin of the genuine Demetrius thereupon discloses
the real facts of the case. For this murder he had received no
recompense, but on the contrary had nothing but death to anticipate from
Boris. Thirsting for revenge, he stumbled upon a boy, whose resemblance
to the Czar Ivan struck him. This circumstance must be turned to
account. He seized the boy, fled with him from Uglitsch, brought him to
a monk, whom he succeeded in gaining over for his ends, and delivered to
him the trinkets which he had himself taken from the murdered Demetrius.
By means of this boy, whom he had never lost sight of, and whose steps he
had attended upon all occasions without being observed, he is now
revenged. His tool, the false Demetrius, rules over Russia in Boris'
room.
During this narration a mighty change comes over Demetrius. His silence
is awful. In the moment of the highest rage and despair, the assassin
drives him to the extreme of endurance, when with a defying and insolent
air he demands his reward. Demetrius strikes him to the earth.
Soliloquy of Demetrius. Internal conflict; but the feeling of the
necessity for maintaining his position as Czar is triumphant.
The delegates from Moscow arrive, and submit themselves to Demetrius.
They are received gloomily, and with a menacing demeanor. Among them is
the Patriarch. Demetrius deposes him from his dignity, and soon
afterwards sentences to death a Russian of rank, who had questioned the
authenticity of his birth.
MARFA and OLGA await Demetrius under a magnificent tent. Marfa speaks of
the approaching interview with more doubt and fear than hope, and
trembles as the moment draws near which should assure her highest
happiness. Olga speaks to her, herself without faith. During the long
journey they have both had time to recall the whole circumstances; the
first exultation had given place to reflection. The gloomy silence and
the repulsive glances of the guards who surround the tent serve still
further to augment their despondency.
The trumpets sound. Marfa is irresolute whether she shall advance to
meet Demetrius. Now he stands before her alone. The little that was
left of hope in her heart altogether vanishes on seeing him. An unknown
something steps between them--Nature does not speak--they are separated
forever. The first impulse is an endeavor to approach; Marfa is the
first to make a movement to recede. Demetrius observes it, and remains
for a moment paralyzed. Significant silence.
DEMETRIUS. Does thy heart say nothing? Dost thou not recognize thy
blood in me?
MARFA is silent.
DEMETRIUS. The voice of nature is holy and free; I will neither
constrain nor belie it. Had thy heart spoken at the first glance then
had mine answered it; thou shouldst have found a pious, loving son in me.
The claim of duty would have concurred with inclination and heartfelt
affection. But if thou dost not feel as a mother for me, then, think as
a princess, command thyself as a queen! Fate unexpectedly gave me to
thee as a son; accept me as a gift of heaven. Though even I were not thy
son, which I now appear to be, still I rob thy son of nothing. I
stripped it from thy foe. Thee and thy blood have I avenged; I have
delivered thee from the grave in which thou went entombed alive, and led
thee back into the royal seat. That thy destiny is linked with mine thou
knowest. With me thou standest, and with me must fall. All the people's
eyes are upon us. I hate deception, and what I do not feel I may not
show; but I do really feel a reverence for thee, and this feeling, which
bends my knee before thee, comes from my heart.
[Dumb show of MARFA, to indicate her internal emotion.
DEMETRIUS. Make thy resolve! Let that which nature will not prompt be
the free act of thy will! I ask no hypocrisy--no falsehood, from thee; I
ask genuine feelings. Do not seem to be my mother, but be so. Throw the
past from thee--grasp the present with thy whole heart! If I am not thy
son yet I am the Czar--I have power and success upon my side. He who
lies in his grave is dust; he has no heart to love thee, no eye to smile
upon thee. Turn to the living.
[MARFA bursts into tears.
DEMETRIUS. Oh, these golden drops are welcome to me. Let them flow!
Show thyself thus to the people!
[At a signal from DEMETRIUS the tent is thrown open, and
the assembled Russians become spectators of this scene.
Entrance of Demetrius into Moscow. Great splendor, but of a military
kind. Poles and Cossacks compose the procession. Gloom and terror
mingle with the demonstrations of joy. Distrust and misfortune surround
the whole.
Romanow, who came to the army too late, has returned to Moscow to protect
Feodor and Axinia. It is all in vain; he is himself thrown into prison.
Axinia flies to Marfa, and at her feet implores protection against the
Poles. Here Demetrius sees her, and a violent and irresistible passion
is kindled in his breast. Axinia detests him.
DEMETRIUS as Czar. A fearful element sustains him, but he does not
control it: he is urged on by the force of strange passions. His inward
consciousness betokens a general distrust; he has no friend on whom he
can rely. Poles and Cossacks, by their insolent licentiousness, injure
him in the popular opinion. Even that which is creditable to him--his
popular manners, simplicity, and contempt of stiff ceremonial, occasions
dissatisfaction. Occasionally he offends, through inadvertency, the
usages of the country. He persecutes the monks because he suffered
severely under them. Moreover, he is not exempt from despotic caprices
in the moments of offended pride. Odowalsky knows how to make himself at
all times indispensable to him, removes the Russians to a distance, and
maintains his overruling influence.
DEMETRIUS meditates inconstancy to Marina. He confers upon the point
with the Archbishop Iob, who, in order to get rid of the Poles, falls in
with his desire, and puts before him an exalted picture of the imperial
power.
MARINA appears with a vast retinue in Moscow. Meeting with Demetrius.
Hollow and cold meeting on both sides; she, however, wears her disguise
with greater skill. She urges an immediate marriage. Preparations are
made for a magnificent festival.
By the orders of Marina a cup of poison is brought to Axinia. Death is
welcome to her; she was afraid of being forced to the altar with the
Czar.
Violent grief of Demetrius. With a broken heart he goes to the betrothal
with Marina.
After the marriage Marina discloses to him that she does not consider him
to be the true Demetrius, and never did. She then coldly leaves him in a
state of extreme anguish and dismay.
Meanwhile SCHINSKOI, one of the former generals of the Czar Boris, avails
himself of the growing discontent of the people, and becomes the head of
a conspiracy against Demetrius.
ROMANOW, in prison, is comforted by a supernatural apparition. Axinia's
spirit stands before him, opens to him a prospect of happier times in
store, and enjoins him calmly to allow destiny to ripen, and not to stain
himself with blood. ROMANOW receives a hint that he may himself be
called to the throne. Soon afterwards he is solicited to take part in
the conspiracy, but declines.
SOLTIKOW reproaches himself bitterly for having betrayed his country to
Demetrius. But he will not be a second time a traitor, and adheres, from
principle and against his feelings, to the party which he has once
adopted. As the misfortune has happened, he seeks at least to alleviate
it, and to enfeeble the power of the Poles. He pays for this effort with
his life; but he accepts death as a merited punishment, and confesses
this when dying to Demetrius himself.
CASIMIR, a brother of LODOISKA, a young Polish lady, who has been
secretly and hopelessly attached to Demetrius, in the house of the
Waywode of Sendomir, has, at his sister's request, accompanied Demetrius
in the campaign, and in every encounter defended him bravely. In the
moment of danger, when all the other retainers of Demetrius think only of
their personal safety, Casimir alone remains faithful to him, and
sacrifices life in his defence.
The conspiracy breaks out. Demetrius is with Marfa when the leading
conspirators force their way into the room. The dignity and courage of
Demetrius have a momentary effect upon the rebels. He nearly succeeds in
disarming them by a promise to place the Poles at their disposal. But at
this point SCHINSKOI rushes in with an infuriated band. An explicit
declaration is demanded from the ex-empress; she is required to swear,
upon the cross, that Demetrius is her son. To testify against her
conscience in a manner so solemn is impossible. She turns from Demetrius
in silence, and is about to withdraw. "Is she silent?" exclaims the
tumultuous throng. "Does she disown him?" "Then, traitor, die!" and
Demetrius falls, pierced by their swords, at Marfa's feet.
MARY STUART.
A TRAGEDY.
By Frederich Schiller
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
ELIZABETH, Queen of England.
MARY STUART, Queen of Scots, a Prisoner in England.
ROBERT DUDLEY, Earl of Leicester.
GEORGE TALBOT, Earl of Shrewsbury.
WILLIAM CECIL, Lord Burleigh, Lord High Treasurer.
EARL OF KENT.
SIR WILLIAM DAVISON, Secretary of State.
SIR AMIAS PAULET, Keeper of MARY.
SIR EDWARD MORTIMER, his Nephew.
COUNT L'AUBESPINE, the French Ambassador.
O'KELLY, Mortimer's Friend.
COUNT BELLIEVRE, Envoy Extraordinary from France.
SIR DRUE DRURY, another Keeper of MARY.
SIR ANDREW MELVIL, her House Steward.
BURGOYNE, her Physician.
HANNAH KENNEDY, her Nurse.
MARGARET CURL, her Attendant.
Sheriff of the County.
Officer of the Guard.
French and English Lords.
Soldiers.
Servants of State belonging to ELIZABETH.
Servants and Female Attendants of the Queen of Scots.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
A common apartment in the Castle of Fotheringay.
HANNAH KENNEDY, contending violently with PAULET, who is about
to break open a closet; DRURY with an iron crown.
KENNEDY.
How now, sir? what fresh outrage have we here?
Back from that cabinet!
PAULET.
Whence came the jewel?
I know 'twas from an upper chamber thrown;
And you would bribe the gardener with your trinkets.
A curse on woman's wiles! In spite of all
My strict precaution and my active search,
Still treasures here, still costly gems concealed!
And doubtless there are more where this lay hid.
[Advancing towards the cabinet.
KENNEDY.
Intruder, back! here lie my lady's secrets.
PAULET.
Exactly what I seek.
[Drawing forth papers.
KENNEDY.
Mere trifling papers;
The amusements only of an idle pen,
To cheat the dreary tedium of a dungeon.
PAULET.
In idle hours the evil mind is busy.
KENNEDY.
Those writings are in French.
PAULET.
So much the worse!
That tongue betokens England's enemy.
KENNEDY.
Sketches of letters to the Queen of England.
PAULET.
I'll be their bearer. Ha! what glitters here?
[He touches a secret spring, and draws out jewels from
a private drawer.
A royal diadem enriched with stones,
And studded with the fleur-de-lis of France.
[He hands it to his assistant.
Here, take it, Drury; lay it with the rest.
[Exit DRURY.
[And ye have found the means to hide from us
Such costly things, and screen them, until now,
From our inquiring eyes?]
KENNEDY.
Oh, insolent
And tyrant power, to which we must submit.
PAULET.
She can work ill as long as she hath treasures;
For all things turn to weapons in her hands.
KENNEDY (supplicating).
Oh, sir! be merciful; deprive us not
Of the last jewel that adorns our life!
'Tis my poor lady's only joy to view
This symbol of her former majesty;
Your hands long since have robbed us of the rest.
PAULET.
'Tis in safe custody; in proper time
'Twill be restored to you with scrupulous care.
KENNEDY.
Who that beholds these naked walls could say
That majesty dwelt here? Where is the throne?
Where the imperial canopy of state?
Must she not set her tender foot, still used
To softest treading, on the rugged ground?
With common pewter, which the lowliest dame
Would scorn, they furnish forth her homely table.
PAULET.
Thus did she treat her spouse at Stirling once;
And pledged, the while, her paramour in gold.
KENNEDY.
Even the mirror's trifling aid withheld.
PAULET.
The contemplation of her own vain image
Incites to hope, and prompts to daring deeds.
KENNEDY.
Books are denied her to divert her mind.
PAULET.
The Bible still is left to mend her heart.
KENNEDY.
Even of her very lute she is deprived!
PAULET.
Because she tuned it to her wanton airs.
KENNEDY.
Is this a fate for her, the gentle born,
Who in her very cradle was a queen?
Who, reared in Catherine's luxurious court,
Enjoyed the fulness of each earthly pleasure?
Was't not enough to rob her of her power,
Must ye then envy her its paltry tinsel?
A noble heart in time resigns itself
To great calamities with fortitude;
But yet it cuts one to the soul to part
At once with all life's little outward trappings!
PAULET.
These are the things that turn the human heart
To vanity, which should collect itself
In penitence; for a lewd, vicious life,
Want and abasement are the only penance.
KENNEDY.
If youthful blood has led her into error,
With her own heart and God she must account:
There is no judge in England over her.
PAULET.
She shall have judgment where she hath transgressed.
KENNEDY.
Her narrow bonds restrain her from transgression.
PAULET.
And yet she found the means to stretch her arm
Into the world, from out these narrow bonds,
And, with the torch of civil war, inflame
This realm against our queen (whom God preserve).
And arm assassin bands. Did she not rouse
From out these walls the malefactor Parry,
And Babington, to the detested crime
Of regicide? And did this iron grate
Prevent her from decoying to her toils
The virtuous heart of Norfolk? Saw we not
The first, best head in all this island fall
A sacrifice for her upon the block?
[The noble house of Howard fell with him.]
And did this sad example terrify
These mad adventurers, whose rival zeal
Plunges for her into this deep abyss?
The bloody scaffold bends beneath the weight
Of her new daily victims; and we ne'er
Shall see an end till she herself, of all
The guiltiest, be offered up upon it.
Oh! curses on the day when England took
This Helen to its hospitable arms.
KENNEDY.
Did England then receive her hospitably?
Oh, hapless queen! who, since that fatal day
When first she set her foot within this realm,
And, as a suppliant--a fugitive--
Came to implore protection from her sister,
Has been condemned, despite the law of nations,
And royal privilege, to weep away
The fairest years of youth in prison walls.
And now, when she hath suffered everything
Which in imprisonment is hard and bitter,
Is like a felon summoned to the bar,
Foully accused, and though herself a queen,
Constrained to plead for honor and for life.
PAULET.
She came amongst us as a murderess,
Chased by her very subjects from a throne
Which she had oft by vilest deeds disgraced.
Sworn against England's welfare came she hither,
To call the times of bloody Mary back,
Betray our church to Romish tyranny,
And sell our dear-bought liberties to France.
Say, why disdained she to subscribe the treaty
Of Edinborough--to resign her claim
To England's crown--and with one single word,
Traced by her pen, throw wide her prison gates?
No:--she had rather live in vile confinement,
And see herself ill-treated, than renounce
The empty honors of her barren title.
Why acts she thus? Because she trusts to wiles,
And treacherous arts of base conspiracy;
And, hourly plotting schemes of mischief, hopes
To conquer, from her prison, all this isle.
KENNEDY.
You mock us, sir, and edge your cruelty
With words of bitter scorn:--that she should form
Such projects; she, who's here immured alive,
To whom no sound of comfort, not a voice
Of friendship comes from her beloved home;
Who hath so long no human face beheld,
Save her stern gaoler's unrelenting brows;
Till now, of late, in your uncourteous cousin
She sees a second keeper, and beholds
Fresh bolts and bars against her multiplied.
PAULET.
No iron-grate is proof against her wiles.
How do I know these bars are not filed through?
How that this floor, these walls, that seem so strong
Without, may not be hollow from within,
And let in felon treachery when I sleep?
Accursed office, that's intrusted to me,
To guard this cunning mother of all ill!
Fear scares me from my sleep; and in the night
I, like a troubled spirit, roam and try
The strength of every bolt, and put to proof
Each guard's fidelity:--I see, with fear,
The dawning of each morn, which may confirm
My apprehensions:--yet, thank God, there's hope
That all my fears will soon be at an end;
For rather would I at the gates of hell
Stand sentinel, and guard the devilish host
Of damned souls, than this deceitful queen.
KENNEDY.
Here comes the queen.
PAULET.
Christ's image in her hand.
Pride, and all worldly lusts within her heart.
SCENE II.
The same. Enter MARY, veiled, a crucifix in her hand.
KENNEDY (hastening toward her).
O gracious queen! they tread us under foot;
No end of tyranny and base oppression;
Each coming day heaps fresh indignities,
New sufferings on thy royal head.
MARY.
Be calm--
Say, what has happened?
KENNEDY.
See! thy cabinet
Is forced--thy papers--and thy only treasure,
Which with such pains we had secured, the last
Poor remnant of thy bridal ornaments
From France, is in his hands--naught now remains
Of royal state--thou art indeed bereft!
MARY.
Compose yourself, my Hannah! and believe me,
'Tis not these baubles that can make a queen--
Basely indeed they may behave to us,
But they cannot debase us. I have learned
To use myself to many a change in England;
I can support this too. Sir, you have taken
By force what I this very day designed
To have delivered to you. There's a letter
Amongst these papers for my royal sister
Of England. Pledge me, sir, your word of honor,
To give it to her majesty's own hands,
And not to the deceitful care of Burleigh.
PAULET.
I shall consider what is best to do.
MARY.
Sir, you shall know its import. In this letter
I beg a favor, a great favor of her,--
That she herself will give me audience,--she
Whom I have never seen. I have been summoned
Before a court of men, whom I can ne'er
Acknowledge as my peers--of men to whom
My heart denies its confidence. The queen
Is of my family, my rank, my sex;
To her alone--a sister, queen, and woman--
Can I unfold my heart.
PAULET.
Too oft, my lady,
Have you intrusted both your fate and honor
To men less worthy your esteem than these.
MARY.
I, in the letter, beg another favor,
And surely naught but inhumanity
Can here reject my prayer. These many years
Have I, in prison, missed the church's comfort,
The blessings of the sacraments--and she
Who robs me of my freedom and my crown,
Who seeks my very life, can never wish
To shut the gates of heaven upon my soul.
PAULET.
Whene'er you wish, the dean shall wait upon you.
MARY (interrupting him sharply).
Talk to me not of deans. I ask the aid
Of one of my own church--a Catholic priest.
PAULET.
[That is against the published laws of England.
MARY.
The laws of England are no rule for me.
I am not England's subject; I have ne'er
Consented to its laws, and will not bow
Before their cruel and despotic sway.
If 'tis your will, to the unheard-of rigor
Which I have borne, to add this new oppression,
I must submit to what your power ordains;
Yet will I raise my voice in loud complaints.]
I also wish a public notary,
And secretaries, to prepare my will--
My sorrows and my prison's wretchedness
Prey on my life--my days, I fear, are numbered--
I feel that I am near the gates of death.
PAULET.
These serious contemplations well become you.
MARY.
And know I then that some too ready hand
May not abridge this tedious work of sorrow?
I would indite my will and make disposal
Of what belongs tome.
PAULET.
This liberty
May be allowed to you, for England's queen
Will not enrich herself by plundering you.
MARY.
I have been parted from my faithful women,
And from my servants; tell me, where are they?
What is their fate? I can indeed dispense
At present with their service, but my heart
Will feel rejoiced to know these faithful ones
Are not exposed to suffering and to want!
PAULET.
Your servants have been cared for; [and again
You shall behold whate'er is taken from you
And all shall be restored in proper season.]
[Going.
MARY.
And will you leave my presence thus again,
And not relieve my fearful, anxious heart
From the fell torments of uncertainty?
Thanks to the vigilance of your hateful spies,
I am divided from the world; no voice
Can reach me through these prison-walls; my fate
Lies in the hands of those who wish my ruin.
A month of dread suspense is passed already
Since when the forty high commissioners
Surprised me in this castle, and erected,
With most unseemly haste, their dread tribunal;
They forced me, stunned, amazed, and unprepared,
Without an advocate, from memory,
Before their unexampled court, to answer
Their weighty charges, artfully arranged.
They came like ghosts,--like ghosts they disappeared,
And since that day all mouths are closed to me.
In vain I seek to construe from your looks
Which hath prevailed--my cause's innocence
And my friends' zeal--or my foes' cursed counsel.
Oh, break this silence! let me know the worst;
What have I still to fear, and what to hope.
PAULET.
Close your accounts with heaven.
MARY.
From heaven I hope
For mercy, sir; and from my earthly judges
I hope, and still expect, the strictest justice.
PAULET.
Justice, depend upon it, will be done you.
MARY.
Is the suit ended, sir?
PAULET.
I cannot tell.
MARY.
Am I condemned?
PAULET.
I cannot answer, lady.
MARY.
[Sir, a good work fears not the light of day.
PAULET.
The day will shine upon it, doubt it not.]
MARY.
Despatch is here the fashion. Is it meant
The murderer shall surprise me, like the judges?
PAULET.
Still entertain that thought and he will find you
Better prepared to meet your fate than they did.
MARY (after a pause).
Sir, nothing can surprise me which a court
Inspired by Burleigh's hate and Hatton's zeal,
Howe'er unjust, may venture to pronounce:
But I have yet to learn how far the queen
Will dare in execution of the sentence.
PAULET.
The sovereigns of England have no fear
But for their conscience and their parliament.
What justice hath decreed her fearless hand
Will execute before the assembled world.
SCENE III.
The same. MORTIMER enters, and without paying attention
to the QUEEN, addresses PAULET.
MORTIMER.
Uncle, you're sought for.
[He retires in the same manner. The QUEEN remarks it, and
turns towards PAULET, who is about to follow him.
MARY.
Sir, one favor more
If you have aught to say to me--from you
I can bear much--I reverence your gray hairs;
But cannot bear that young man's insolence;
Spare me in future his unmannered rudeness.
PAULET.
I prize him most for that which makes you hate him
He is not, truly, one of those poor fools
Who melt before a woman's treacherous tears.
He has seen much--has been to Rheims and Paris,
And brings us back his true old English heart.
Lady, your cunning arts are lost on him.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.
MARY, KENNEDY.
KENNEDY.
And dare the ruffian venture to your face
Such language! Oh, 'tis hard--'tis past endurance.
MARY (lost in reflection).
In the fair moments of our former splendor
We lent to flatterers a too willing ear;--
It is but just, good Hannah, we should now
Be forced to hear the bitter voice of censure.
KENNEDY.
So downcast, so depressed, my dearest lady!
You, who before so gay, so full of hope,
Were used to comfort me in my distress;
More gracious were the task to check your mirth
Than chide your heavy sadness.
MARY.
Well I know him--
It is the bleeding Darnley's royal shade,
Rising in anger from his darksome grave
And never will he make his peace with me
Until the measures of my woes be full.
KENNEDY.
What thoughts are these--
MARY.
Thou may'st forget it, Hannah;
But I've a faithful memory--'tis this day
Another wretched anniversary
Of that regretted, that unhappy deed--
Which I must celebrate with fast and penance.
KENNEDY.
Dismiss at length in peace this evil spirit.
The penitence of many a heavy year,
Of many a suffering, has atoned the deed;
The church, which holds the key of absolution,
Pardons the crime, and heaven itself's appeased.
MARY.
This long-atoned crime arises fresh
And bleeding from its lightly-covered grave;
My husband's restless spirit seeks revenge;
No sacred bell can exorcise, no host
In priestly hands dismiss it to his tomb.
KENNEDY.
You did not murder him; 'twas done by others.
MARY.
But it was known to me; I suffered it,
And lured him with my smiles to death's embrace.
KENNEDY.
Your youth extenuates your guilt. You were
Of tender years.
MARY.
So tender, yet I drew
This heavy guilt upon my youthful head.
KENNEDY.
You were provoked by direst injuries,
And by the rude presumption of the man,
Whom out of darkness, like the hand of heaven,
Your love drew forth, and raised above all others.
Whom through your bridal chamber you conducted
Up to your throne, and with your lovely self,
And your hereditary crown, distinguished
[Your work was his existence, and your grace
Bedewed him like the gentle rains of heaven.]
Could he forget that his so splendid lot
Was the creation of your generous love?
Yet did he, worthless as he was, forget it.
With base suspicions, and with brutal manners,
He wearied your affections, and became
An object to you of deserved disgust:
The illusion, which till now had overcast
Your judgment, vanished; angrily you fled
His foul embrace, and gave him up to scorn.
And did he seek again to win your love?
Your favor? Did he e'er implore your pardon?
Or fall in deep repentance at your feet?
No; the base wretch defied you; he, who was
Your bounty's creature, wished to play your king,
[And strove, through fear, to force your inclination.]
Before your eyes he had your favorite singer,
Poor Rizzio, murdered; you did but avenge
With blood the bloody deed----
MARY.
And bloodily,
I fear, too soon 'twill be avenged on me:
You seek to comfort me, and you condemn me.
KENNEDY.
You were, when you consented to this deed,
No more yourself; belonged not to yourself;
The madness of a frantic love possessed you,
And bound you to a terrible seducer,
The wretched Bothwell. That despotic man
Ruled you with shameful, overbearing will,
And with his philters and his hellish arts
Inflamed your passions.
MARY.
All the arts he used
Were man's superior strength and woman's weakness.
KENNEDY.
No, no, I say. The most pernicious spirits
Of hell he must have summoned to his aid,
To cast this mist before your waking senses.
Your ear no more was open to the voice
Of friendly warning, and your eyes were shut
To decency; soft female bashfulness
Deserted you; those cheeks, which were before
The seat of virtuous, blushing modesty,
Glowed with the flames of unrestrained desire.
You cast away the veil of secrecy,
And the flagitious daring of the man
O'ercame your natural coyness: you exposed
Your shame, unblushingly, to public gaze:
You let the murderer, whom the people followed
With curses, through the streets of Edinburgh,
Before you bear the royal sword of Scotland
In triumph. You begirt your parliament
With armed bands; and by this shameless farce,
There, in the very temple of great justice,
You forced the judges of the land to clear
The murderer of his guilt. You went still further--
O God!
MARY.
Conclude--nay, pause not--say for this
I gave my hand in marriage at the altar.
KENNEDY.
O let an everlasting silence veil
That dreadful deed: the heart revolts at it.
A crime to stain the darkest criminal!
Yet you are no such lost one, that I know.
I nursed your youth myself--your heart is framed
For tender softness: 'tis alive to shame,
And all your fault is thoughtless levity.
Yes, I repeat it, there are evil spirits,
Who sudden fix in man's unguarded breast
Their fatal residence, and there delight
To act their dev'lish deeds; then hurry back
Unto their native hell, and leave behind
Remorse and horror in the poisoned bosom.
Since this misdeed, which blackens thus your life,
You have done nothing ill; your conduct has
Been pure; myself can witness your amendment.
Take courage, then; with your own heart make peace.
Whatever cause you have for penitence,
You are not guilty here. Nor England's queen,
Nor England's parliament can be your judge.
Here might oppresses you: you may present
Yourself before this self-created court
With all the fortitude of innocence.
MARY.
I hear a step.
KENNEDY.
It is the nephew--In.
SCENE V.
The same. Enter MORTIMER, approaching cautiously.
MORTIMER (to KENNEDY).
Step to the door, and keep a careful watch,
I have important business with the queen.
MARY (with dignity).
I charge thee, Hannah, go not hence--remain.
MORTIMER.
Fear not, my gracious lady--learn to know me.
[He gives her a card.
MARY (She examines it, and starts back astonished).
Heavens! What is this?
MORTIMER (to KENNEDY).
Retire, good Kennedy;
See that my uncle comes not unawares.
MARY (to KENNEDY, who hesitates, and looks at the QUEEN inquiringly).
Go in; do as he bids you.
[KENNEDY retires with signs of wonder.
SCENE VI.
MARY, MORTIMER.
MARY.
From my uncle
In France--the worthy Cardinal of Lorrain?
[She reads.
"Confide in Mortimer, who brings you this;
You have no truer, firmer friend in England."
[Looking at him with astonishment.
Can I believe it? Is there no delusion
To cheat my senses? Do I find a friend
So near, when I conceived myself abandoned
By the whole world? And find that friend in you,
The nephew of my gaoler, whom I thought
My most inveterate enemy?
MORTIMER (kneeling).
Oh, pardon,
My gracious liege, for the detested mask,
Which it has cost me pain enough to wear;
Yet through such means alone have I the power
To see you, and to bring you help and rescue.
MARY.
Arise, sir; you astonish me; I cannot
So suddenly emerge from the abyss
Of wretchedness to hope: let me conceive
This happiness, that I may credit it.
MORTIMER.
Our time is brief: each moment I expect
My uncle, whom a hated man attends;
Hear, then, before his terrible commission
Surprises you, how heaven prepares your rescue.
MARY.
You come in token of its wondrous power.
MORTIMER.
Allow me of myself to speak.
MARY.
Say on.
MORTIMER.
I scarce, my liege, had numbered twenty years,
Trained in the path of strictest discipline
And nursed in deadliest hate to papacy,
When led by irresistible desire
For foreign travel, I resolved to leave
My country and its puritanic faith
Far, far behind me: soon with rapid speed
I flew through France, and bent my eager course
On to the plains of far-famed Italy.
'Twas then the time of the great jubilee:
And crowds of palmers filled the public roads;
Each image was adorned with garlands; 'twas
As if all human-kind were wandering forth
In pilgrimage towards the heavenly kingdom.
The tide of the believing multitude
Bore me too onward, with resistless force,
Into the streets of Rome. What was my wonder,
As the magnificence of stately columns
Rushed on my sight! the vast triumphal arches,
The Colosseum's grandeur, with amazement
Struck my admiring senses; the sublime
Creative spirit held my soul a prisoner
In the fair world of wonders it had framed.
I ne'er had felt the power of art till now.
The church that reared me hates the charms of sense;
It tolerates no image, it adores
But the unseen, the incorporeal word.
What were my feelings, then, as I approached
The threshold of the churches, and within,
Heard heavenly music floating in the air:
While from the walls and high-wrought roofs there streamed
Crowds of celestial forms in endless train--
When the Most High, Most Glorious pervaded
My captivated sense in real presence!
And when I saw the great and godlike visions,
The Salutation, the Nativity,
The Holy Mother, and the Trinity's
Descent, the luminous transfiguration
And last the holy pontiff, clad in all
The glory of his office, bless the people!
Oh! what is all the pomp of gold and jewels
With which the kings of earth adorn themselves!
He is alone surrounded by the Godhead;
His mansion is in truth an heavenly kingdom,
For not of earthly moulding are these forms!
MARY.
O spare me, sir! No further. Spread no more
Life's verdant carpet out before my eyes,
Remember I am wretched, and a prisoner.
MORTIMER.
I was a prisoner, too, my queen; but swift
My prison-gates flew open, when at once
My spirit felt its liberty, and hailed
The smiling dawn of life. I learned to burst
Each narrow prejudice of education,
To crown my brow with never-fading wreaths,
And mix my joy with the rejoicing crowd.
Full many noble Scots, who saw my zeal,
Encouraged me, and with the gallant French
They kindly led me to your princely uncle,
The Cardinal of Guise. Oh, what a man!
How firm, how clear, how manly, and how great!
Born to control the human mind at will!
The very model of a royal priest;
A ruler of the church without an equal!
MARY.
You've seen him then,--the much loved, honored man,
Who was the guardian of my tender years!
Oh, speak of him! Does he remember me?
Does fortune favor him? And prospers still
His life? And does he still majestic stand,
A very rock and pillar of the church?
MORTIMER.
The holy man descended from his height,
And deigned to teach me the important creed
Of the true church, and dissipate my doubts.
He showed me how the glimmering light of reason
Serves but to lead us to eternal error:
That what the heart is called on to believe
The eye must see: that he who rules the church
Must needs be visible; and that the spirit
Of truth inspired the councils of the fathers.
How vanished then the fond imaginings
And weak conceptions of my childish soul
Before his conquering judgment, and the soft
Persuasion of his tongue! So I returned
Back to the bosom of the holy church,
And at his feet abjured my heresies.
MARY.
Then of those happy thousands you are one,
Whom he, with his celestial eloquence,
Like the immortal preacher of the mount,
Has turned and led to everlasting joy!
MORTIMER.
The duties of his office called him soon
To France, and I was sent by him to Rheims,
Where, by the Jesuits' anxious labor, priests
Are trained to preach our holy faith in England.
There, 'mongst the Scots, I found the noble Morgan,
And your true Lesley, Ross's learned bishop,
Who pass in France their joyless days of exile.
I joined with heartfelt zeal these worthy men,
And fortified my faith. As I one day
Roamed through the bishop's dwelling, I was struck
With a fair female portrait; it was full
Of touching wond'rous charms; with magic might
It moved my inmost soul, and there I stood
Speechless, and overmastered by my feelings.
"Well," cried the bishop, "may you linger thus
In deep emotion near this lovely face!
For the most beautiful of womankind,
Is also matchless in calamity.
She is a prisoner for our holy faith,
And in your native land, alas! she suffers."
[MARY is in great agitation. He pauses.
MARY.
Excellent man! All is not lost, indeed,
While such a friend remains in my misfortunes!
MORTIMER.
Then he began, with moving eloquence,
To paint the sufferings of your martyrdom;
He showed me then your lofty pedigree,
And your descent from Tudor's royal house.
He proved to me that you alone have right
To reign in England, not this upstart queen,
The base-born fruit of an adult'rous bed,
Whom Henry's self rejected as a bastard.
[He from my eyes removed delusion's mist,
And taught me to lament you as a victim,
To honor you as my true queen, whom I,
Deceived, like thousands of my noble fellows,
Had ever hated as my country's foe.]
I would not trust his evidence alone;
I questioned learned doctors; I consulted
The most authentic books of heraldry;
And every man of knowledge whom I asked
Confirmed to me your claim's validity.
And now I know that your undoubted right
To England's throne has been your only wrong,
This realm is justly yours by heritage,
In which you innocently pine as prisoner.
MARY.
Oh, this unhappy right!--'tis this alone
Which is the source of all my sufferings.
MORTIMER.
Just at this time the tidings reached my ears
Of your removal from old Talbot's charge,
And your committal to my uncle's care.
It seemed to me that this disposal marked
The wond'rous, outstretched hand of favoring heaven;
It seemed to be a loud decree of fate,
That it had chosen me to rescue you.
My friends concur with me; the cardinal
Bestows on me his counsel and his blessing,
And tutors me in the hard task of feigning.
The plan in haste digested, I commenced
My journey homewards, and ten days ago
On England's shores I landed. Oh, my queen.
[He pauses.
I saw then, not your picture, but yourself--
Oh, what a treasure do these walls enclose!
No prison this, but the abode of gods,
More splendid far than England's royal court.
Happy, thrice happy he, whose envied lot
Permits to breathe the selfsame air with you!
It is a prudent policy in her
To bury you so deep! All England's youth
Would rise at once in general mutiny,
And not a sword lie quiet in its sheath:
Rebellion would uprear its giant head,
Through all this peaceful isle, if Britons once
Beheld their captive queen.
MARY.
'Twere well with her,
If every Briton saw her with your eyes!
MORTIMER.
Were each, like me, a witness of your wrongs,
Your meekness, and the noble fortitude
With which you suffer these indignities--
Would you not then emerge from all these trials
Like a true queen? Your prison's infamy,
Hath it despoiled your beauty of its charms?
You are deprived of all that graces life,
Yet round you life and light eternal beam.
Ne'er on this threshold can I set my foot,
That my poor heart with anguish is not torn,
Nor ravished with delight at gazing on you.
Yet fearfully the fatal time draws near,
And danger hourly growing presses on.
I can delay no longer--can no more
Conceal the dreadful news.
MARY.
My sentence then!
It is pronounced? Speak freely--I can bear it.
MORTIMER.
It is pronounced! The two-and-forty judges
Have given the verdict, "guilty"; and the Houses
Of Lords and Commons, with the citizens
Of London, eagerly and urgently
Demand the execution of the sentence:--
The queen alone still craftily delays,
That she may be constrained to yield, but not
From feelings of humanity or mercy.
MARY (collected).
Sir, I am not surprised, nor terrified.
I have been long prepared for such a message.
Too well I know my judges. After all
Their cruel treatment I can well conceive
They dare not now restore my liberty.
I know their aim: they mean to keep me here
In everlasting bondage, and to bury,
In the sepulchral darkness of my prison,
My vengeance with me, and my rightful claims.
MORTIMER.
Oh, no, my gracious queen;--they stop not there:
Oppression will not be content to do
Its work by halves:--as long as e'en you live,
Distrust and fear will haunt the English queen.
No dungeon can inter you deep enough;
Your death alone can make her throne secure.
MARY.
Will she then dare, regardless of the shame,
Lay my crowned head upon the fatal block?
MORTIMER.
She will most surely dare it, doubt it not.
MARY.
And can she thus roll in the very dust
Her own, and every monarch's majesty?
MORTIMER.
She thinks on nothing now but present danger,
Nor looks to that which is so far removed.
MARY.
And fears she not the dread revenge of France?
MORTIMER.
With France she makes an everlasting peace;
And gives to Anjou's duke her throne and hand.
MARY.
Will not the King of Spain rise up in arms?
MORTIMER.
She fears not a collected world in arms?
If with her people she remains at peace.
MARY.
Were this a spectacle for British eyes?
MORTIMER.
This land, my queen, has, in these latter days,
Seen many a royal woman from the throne
Descend and mount the scaffold:--her own mother
And Catherine Howard trod this fatal path;
And was not Lady Grey a crowned head?
MARY (after a pause).
No, Mortimer, vain fears have blinded you;
'Tis but the honest care of your true heart,
Which conjures up these empty apprehensions.
It is not, sir, the scaffold that I fear:
There are so many still and secret means
By which her majesty of England may
Set all my claims to rest. Oh, trust me, ere
An executioner is found for me,
Assassins will be hired to do their work.
'Tis that which makes me tremble, Mortimer:
I never lift the goblet to my lips
Without an inward shuddering, lest the draught
May have been mingled by my sister's love.
MORTIMER.
No:--neither open or disguised murder
Shall e'er prevail against you:--fear no more;
All is prepared;--twelve nobles of the land
Are my confederates, and have pledged to-day,
Upon the sacrament, their faith to free you,
With dauntless arm, from this captivity.
Count Aubespine, the French ambassador,
Knows of our plot, and offers his assistance:
'Tis in his palace that we hold our meetings.
NARY.
You make me tremble, sir, but not for joy!
An evil boding penetrates my heart.
Know you, then, what you risk? Are you not scared
By Babington and Tichburn's bloody heads,
Set up as warnings upon London's bridge?
Nor by the ruin of those many victims
Who have, in such attempts, found certain death,
And only made my chains the heavier?
Fly hence, deluded, most unhappy youth!
Fly, if there yet be time for you, before
That crafty spy, Lord Burleigh, track your schemes,
And mix his traitors in your secret plots.
Fly hence:--as yet, success hath never smiled
On Mary Stuart's champions.
MORTIMER.
I am not scared
By Babington and Tichburn's bloody heads
Set up as warnings upon London's bridge;
Nor by the ruin of those many victims
Who have, in such attempts, found certain death:
They also found therein immortal honor,
And death, in rescuing you, is dearest bliss.
MARY.
It is in vain: nor force nor guile can save me:--
My enemies are watchful, and the power
Is in their hands. It is not Paulet only
And his dependent host; all England guards
My prison gates: Elizabeth's free will
Alone can open them.
MORTIMER.
Expect not that.
MARY.
One man alone on earth can open them.
MORTIMER.
Oh, let me know his name!
MARY.
Lord Leicester.
MORTIMER.
He!
[Starts back in wonder.
The Earl of Leicester! Your most bloody foe,
The favorite of Elizabeth! through him----
MARY.
If I am to be saved at all, 'twill be
Through him, and him alone. Go to him, sir;
Freely confide in him: and, as a proof
You come from me, present this paper to him.
[She takes a paper from her bosom; MORTIMER draws back,
and hesitates to take it.
It doth contain my portrait:--take it, sir;
I've borne it long about me; but your uncle's
Close watchfulness has cut me off from all
Communication with him;--you were sent
By my good angel.
[He takes it.
MORTIMER.
Oh, my queen! Explain
This mystery.
MARY.
Lord Leicester will resolve it.
Confide in him, and he'll confide in you.
Who comes?
KENNEDY (entering hastily).
'Tis Paulet; and he brings with him
A nobleman from court.
MORTIMER.
It is Lord Burleigh.
Collect yourself, my queen, and strive to hear
The news he brings with equanimity.
[He retires through a side door, and KENNEDY follows him.
SCENE VII.
Enter LORD BURLEIGH, and PAULET.
PAULET (to MARY).
You wished to-day assurance of your fate;
My Lord of Burleigh brings it to you now;
Hear it with resignation, as beseems you.
MARY.
I hope with dignity, as it becomes
My innocence, and my exalted station.
BURLEIGH.
I come deputed from the court of justice.
MARY.
Lord Burleigh lends that court his willing tongue,
Which was already guided by his spirit.
PAULET.
You speak as if no stranger to the sentence.
MARY.
Lord Burleigh brings it; therefore do I know it.
PAULET.
[It would become you better, Lady Stuart,
To listen less to hatred.
MARY.
I but name
My enemy: I said not that I hate him.]
But to the matter, sir.
BURLEIGH.
You have acknowledged
The jurisdiction of the two-and-forty.
MARY.
My lord, excuse me, if I am obliged
So soon to interrupt you. I acknowledged,
Say you, the competence of the commission?
I never have acknowledged it, my lord;
How could I so? I could not give away
My own prerogative, the intrusted rights
Of my own people, the inheritance
Of my own son, and every monarch's honor
[The very laws of England say I could not.]
It is enacted by the English laws
That every one who stands arraigned of crime
Shall plead before a jury of his equals:
Who is my equal in this high commission?
Kings only are my peers.
BURLEIGH.
But yet you heard
The points of accusation, answered them
Before the court----
MARY.
'Tis true, I was deceived
By Hatton's crafty counsel:--he advised me,
For my own honor, and in confidence
In my good cause, and my most strong defence,
To listen to the points of accusation,
And prove their falsehoods. This, my lord, I did
From personal respect for the lords' names,
Not their usurped charge, which I disclaim.
BURLEIGH.
Acknowledge you the court, or not, that is
Only a point of mere formality,
Which cannot here arrest the course of justice.
You breathe the air of England; you enjoy
The law's protection, and its benefits;
You therefore are its subject.
MARY.
Sir, I breathe
The air within an English prison walls:
Is that to live in England; to enjoy
Protection from its laws? I scarcely know
And never have I pledged my faith to keep them.
I am no member of this realm; I am
An independent, and a foreign queen.
BURLEIGH.
And do you think that the mere name of queen
Can serve you as a charter to foment
In other countries, with impunity,
This bloody discord? Where would be the state's
Security, if the stern sword of justice
Could not as freely smite the guilty brow
Of the imperial stranger as the beggar's?
MARY.
I do not wish to be exempt from judgment,
It is the judges only I disclaim.
BURLEIGH.
The judges? How now, madam? Are they then
Base wretches, snatched at hazard from the crowd?
Vile wranglers that make sale of truth and justice;
Oppression's willing hirelings, and its tools?
Are they not all the foremost of this land,
Too independent to be else than honest,
And too exalted not to soar above
The fear of kings, or base servility?
Are they not those who rule a generous people
In liberty and justice; men, whose names
I need but mention to dispel each doubt,
Each mean suspicion which is raised against them?
Stands not the reverend primate at their head,
The pious shepherd of his faithful people,
The learned Talbot, keeper of the seals,
And Howard, who commands our conquering fleets?
Say, then, could England's sovereign do more
Than, out of all the monarchy, elect
The very noblest, and appoint them judges
In this great suit? And were it probable
That party hatred could corrupt one heart;
Can forty chosen men unite to speak
A sentence just as passion gives command?
MARY (after a short pause).
I am struck dumb by that tongue's eloquence,
Which ever was so ominous to me.
And how shall I, a weak, untutored woman,
Cope with so subtle, learned an orator?
Yes truly; were these lords as you describe them,
I must be mute; my cause were lost indeed,
Beyond all hope, if they pronounce me guilty.
But, sir, these names, which you are pleased to praise,
These very men, whose weight you think will crush me,
I see performing in the history
Of these dominions very different parts:
I see this high nobility of England,
This grave majestic senate of the realm,
Like to an eastern monarch's vilest slaves,
Flatter my uncle Henry's sultan fancies:
I see this noble, reverend House of Lords,
Venal alike with the corrupted Commons,
Make statutes and annul them, ratify
A marriage and dissolve it, as the voice
Of power commands: to-day it disinherits,
And brands the royal daughters of the realm
With the vile name of bastards, and to-morrow
Crowns them as queens, and leads them to the throne.
I see them in four reigns, with pliant conscience,
Four times abjure their faith; renounce the pope
With Henry, yet retain the old belief;
Reform themselves with Edward; hear the mass
Again with Mary; with Elizabeth,
Who governs now, reform themselves again.
BURLEIGH.
You say you are not versed in England's laws,
You seem well read, methinks, in her disasters.
MARY.
And these men are my judges?
[As LORD BURLEIGH seems to wish to speak.
My lord treasurer,
Towards you I will be just, be you but just
To me. 'Tis said that you consult with zeal
The good of England, and of England's queen;
Are honest, watchful, indefatigable;
I will believe it. Not your private ends,
Your sovereign and your country's weal alone,
Inspire your counsels and direct your deeds.
Therefore, my noble lord, you should the more
Distrust your heart; should see that you mistake not
The welfare of the government for justice.
I do not doubt, besides yourself, there are
Among my judges many upright men:
But they are Protestants, are eager all
For England's quiet, and they sit in judgment
On me, the Queen of Scotland, and the papist.
It is an ancient saying, that the Scots
And England to each other are unjust;
And hence the rightful custom that a Scot
Against an Englishman, or Englishman
Against a Scot, cannot be heard in judgment.
Necessity prescribed this cautious law;
Deep policy oft lies in ancient customs:
My lord, we must respect them. Nature cast
Into the ocean these two fiery nations
Upon this plank, and she divided it
Unequally, and bade them fight for it.
The narrow bed of Tweed alone divides
These daring spirits; often hath the blood
Of the contending parties dyed its waves.
Threatening, and sword in hand, these thousand years,
From both its banks they watch their rival's motions,
Most vigilant and true confederates,
With every enemy of the neighbor state.
No foe oppresses England, but the Scot
Becomes his firm ally; no civil war
Inflames the towns of Scotland, but the English
Add fuel to the fire: this raging hate
Will never be extinguished till, at last,
One parliament in concord shall unite them,
One common sceptre rule throughout the isle.
BURLEIGH.
And from a Stuart, then, should England hope
This happiness?
MARY.
Oh! why should I deny it?
Yes, I confess, I cherished the fond hope;
I thought myself the happy instrument
To join in freedom, 'neath the olive's shade,
Two generous realms in lasting happiness!
I little thought I should become the victim
Of their old hate, their long-lived jealousy;
And the sad flames of that unhappy strife,
I hoped at last to smother, and forever:
And, as my ancestor, great Richmond, joined
The rival roses after bloody contest,
To join in peace the Scotch and English crowns.
BURLEIGH.
An evil way you took to this good end,
To set the realm on fire, and through the flames
Of civil war to strive to mount the throne.
MARY.
I wished not that:--I wished it not, by Heaven!
When did I strive at that? Where are your proofs?
BURLEIGH.
I came not hither to dispute; your cause
Is no more subject to a war of words.
The great majority of forty voices
Hath found that you have contravened the law
Last year enacted, and have now incurred
Its penalty.
[Producing the verdict.
MARY.
Upon this statute, then,
My lord, is built the verdict of my judges?
BURLEIGH (reading).
Last year it was enacted, "If a plot
Henceforth should rise in England, in the name
Or for the benefit of any claimant
To England's crown, that justice should be done
On such pretender, and the guilty party
Be prosecuted unto death." Now, since
It has been proved----
MARY.
Lord Burleigh, I can well
Imagine that a law expressly aimed
At me, and framed to compass my destruction
May to my prejudice be used. Oh! Woe
To the unhappy victim, when the tongue
That frames the law shall execute the sentence.
Can you deny it, sir, that this same statute
Was made for my destruction, and naught else?
BURLEIGH.
It should have acted as a warning to you:
By your imprudence it became a snare.
You saw the precipice which yawned before you;
Yet, truly warned, you plunged into the deep.
With Babington, the traitor, and his bands
Of murderous companions, were you leagued.
You knew of all, and from your prison led
Their treasonous plottings with a deep-laid plan.
MARY.
When did I that, my lord? Let them produce
The documents.
BURLEIGH.
You have already seen them
They were before the court, presented to you.
MARY.
Mere copies written by another hand;
Show me the proof that they were dictated
By me, that they proceeded from my lips,
And in those very terms in which you read them.
BURLEIGH.
Before his execution, Babington
Confessed they were the same which he received.
MARY.
Why was he in his lifetime not produced
Before my face? Why was he then despatched
So quickly that he could not be confronted
With her whom he accused?
BURLEIGH.
Besides, my lady,
Your secretaries, Curl and Nau, declare
On oath, they are the very selfsame letters
Which from your lips they faithfully transcribed.
MARY.
And on my menials' testimony, then,
I am condemned; upon the word of those
Who have betrayed me, me, their rightful queen!
Who in that very moment, when they came
As witnesses against me, broke their faith!
BURLEIGH.
You said yourself, you held your countryman
To be an upright, conscientious man.
MARY.
I thought him such; but 'tis the hour of danger
Alone, which tries the virtue of a man.
[He ever was an honest man, but weak
In understanding; and his subtle comrade,
Whose faith, observe, I never answered for,
Might easily seduce him to write down
More than he should;] the rack may have compelled him
To say and to confess more than he knew.
He hoped to save himself by this false witness,
And thought it could not injure me--a queen.
BURLEIGH.
The oath he swore was free and unconstrained.
MARY.
But not before my face! How now, my lord?
The witnesses you name are still alive;
Let them appear against me face to face,
And there repeat what they have testified.
Why am I then denied that privilege,
That right which e'en the murderer enjoys?
I know from Talbot's mouth, my former keeper,
That in this reign a statute has been passed
Which orders that the plaintiff be confronted
With the defendant; is it so, good Paulet?
I e'er have known you as an honest man;
Now prove it to me; tell me, on your conscience,
If such a law exist or not in England?
PAULET.
Madam, there does: that is the law in England.
I must declare the truth.
MARY.
Well, then, my lord,
If I am treated by the law of England
So hardly, when that law oppresses me,
Say, why avoid this selfsame country's law,
When 'tis for my advantage? Answer me;
Why was not Babington confronted with me?
Why not my servants, who are both alive?
BURLEIGH.
Be not so hasty, lady; 'tis not only
Your plot with Babington----
MARY.
'Tis that alone
Which arms the law against me; that alone
From which I'm called upon to clear myself.
Stick to the point, my lord; evade it not.
BURLEIGH.
It has been proved that you have corresponded
With the ambassador of Spain, Mendoza----
MARY.
Stick to the point, my lord.
BURLEIGH.
That you have formed
Conspiracies to overturn the fixed
Religion of the realm; that you have called
Into this kingdom foreign powers, and roused
All kings in Europe to a war with England.
MARY.
And were it so, my lord--though I deny it--
But e'en suppose it were so: I am kept
Imprisoned here against all laws of nations.
I came not into England sword in hand;
I came a suppliant; and at the hands
Of my imperial kinswoman I claimed
The sacred rights of hospitality,
When power seized upon me, and prepared
To rivet fetters where I hoped protection.
Say, is my conscience bound, then, to this realm?
What are the duties that I owe to England?
I should but exercise a sacred right,
Derived from sad necessity, if I
Warred with these bonds, encountered might with might,
Roused and incited every state in Europe
For my protection to unite in arms.
Whatever in a rightful war is just
And loyal, 'tis my right to exercise:
Murder alone, the secret, bloody deed,
My conscience and my pride alike forbid.
Murder would stain me, would dishonor me:
Dishonor me, my lord, but not condemn me,
Nor subject me to England's courts of law:
For 'tis not justice, but mere violence,
Which is the question 'tween myself and England.
BURLEIGH (significantly).
Talk not, my lady, of the dreadful right
Of power: 'tis seldom on the prisoner's side.
MARY.
I am the weak, she is the mighty one:
'Tis well, my lord; let her, then, use her power;
Let her destroy me; let me bleed, that she
May live secure; but let her, then, confess
That she hath exercised her power alone,
And not contaminate the name of justice.
Let her not borrow from the laws the sword
To rid her of her hated enemy;
Let her not clothe in this religious garb
The bloody daring of licentious might;
Let not these juggling tricks deceive the world.
[Returning the sentence.
Though she may murder me, she cannot judge me:
Let her no longer strive to join the fruits
Of vice with virtue's fair and angel show;
But let her dare to seem the thing she is.
[Exit.
SCENE VIII.
BURLEIGH, PAULET.
BURLEIGH.
She scorns us, she defies us! will defy us,
Even at the scaffold's foot. This haughty heart
Is not to be subdued. Say, did the sentence
Surprise her? Did you see her shed one tear,
Or even change her color? She disdains
To make appeal to our compassion. Well
She knows the wavering mind of England's queen.
Our apprehensions make her bold.
PAULET.
My lord,
Take the pretext away which buoys it up,
And you shall see this proud defiance fail
That very moment. I must say, my lord,
Irregularities have been allowed
In these proceedings; Babington and Ballard
Should have been brought, with her two secretaries,
Before her, face to face.
BURLEIGH.
No, Paulet, no.
That was not to be risked; her influence
Upon the human heart is too supreme;
Too strong the female empire of her tears.
Her secretary, Curl, if brought before her,
And called upon to speak the weighty word
On which her life depends, would straight shrink back
And fearfully revoke his own confession.
PAULET.
Then England's enemies will fill the world
With evil rumors; and the formal pomp
Of these proceedings to the minds of all
Will only signalize an act of outrage.
BURLEIGH.
That is the greatest torment of our queen,
[That she can never 'scape the blame. Oh God!]
Had but this lovely mischief died before
She set her faithless foot on English ground.
PAULET.
Amen, say I!
BURLEIGH.
Had sickness but consumed her!
PAULET.
England had been secured from such misfortune.
BURLEIGH.
And yet, if she had died in nature's course,
The world would still have called us murderers.
PAULET.
'Tis true, the world will think, despite of us,
Whate'er it list.
BURLEIGH.
Yet could it not be proved?
And it would make less noise.
PAULET.
Why, let it make
What noise it may. It is not clamorous blame,
'Tis righteous censure only which can wound.
BURLEIGH.
We know that holy justice cannot 'scape
The voice of censure; and the public cry
Is ever on the side of the unhappy:
Envy pursues the laurelled conqueror;
The sword of justice, which adorns the man,
Is hateful in a woman's hand; the world
Will give no credit to a woman's justice
If woman be the victim. Vain that wo,
The judges, spoke what conscience dictated;
She has the royal privilege of mercy;
She must exert it: 'twere not to be borne,
Should she let justice take its full career.
PAULET.
And therefore----
BURLEIGH.
Therefore should she live? Oh, no,
She must not live; it must not be. 'Tis this,
Even this, my friend, which so disturbs the queen,
And scares all slumber from her couch; I read
Her soul's distracting contest in her eyes:
She fears to speak her wishes, yet her looks,
Her silent looks, significantly ask,
"Is there not one amongst my many servants
To save me from this sad alternative?
Either to tremble in eternal fear
Upon my throne, or else to sacrifice
A queen of my own kindred on the block?"
PAULET.
'Tis even so; nor can it be avoided----
BURLEIGH.
Well might it be avoided, thinks the queen,
If she had only more attentive servants.
PAULET.
How more attentive?
BURLEIGH.
Such as could interpret
A silent mandate.
PAULET.
What? A silent mandate!
BURLEIGH.
Who, when a poisonous adder is delivered
Into their hands, would keep the treacherous charge
As if it were a sacred, precious jewel?
PAULET.
A precious jewel is the queen's good name
And spotless reputation: good my lord,
One cannot guard it with sufficient care.
BURLEIGH.
When out of Shrewsbury's hands the Queen of Scots
Was trusted to Sir Amias Paulet's care,
The meaning was----
PAULET.
I hope to God, my lord,
The meaning was to give the weightiest charge
Into the purest hands; my lord, my lord!
By heaven I had disdained this bailiff's office
Had I not thought the service claimed the care
Of the best man that England's realm can boast.
Let me not think I am indebted for it
To anything but my unblemished name.
BURLEIGH.
Spread the report she wastes; grows sicker still
And sicker; and expires at last in peace;
Thus will she perish in the world's remembrance,
And your good name is pure.
PAULET.
But not my conscience.
BURLEIGH.
Though you refuse us, sir, your own assistance,
You will not sure prevent another's hand.
PAULET.
No murderer's foot shall e'er approach her threshold
Whilst she's protected by my household gods.
Her life's a sacred trust; to me the head
Of Queen Elizabeth is not more sacred.
Ye are the judges; judge, and break the staff;
And when 'tis time then let the carpenter
With axe and saw appear to build the scaffold.
My castle's portals shall be open to him,
The sheriff and the executioners:
Till then she is intrusted to my care;
And be assured I will fulfil my trust,
She shall nor do nor suffer what's unjust.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
London, a Hall in the Palace of Westminster. The EARL OF KENT
and SIR WILLIAM DAVISON meeting.
DAVISON.
Is that my Lord of Kent? So soon returned?
Is then the tourney, the carousal over?
KENT.
How now? Were you not present at the tilt?
DAVISON.
My office kept me here.
KENT.
Believe me, sir,
You've lost the fairest show which ever state
Devised, or graceful dignity performed:
For beauty's virgin fortress was presented
As by desire invested; the Earl-Marshal,
The Lord-High Admiral, and ten other knights
Belonging to the queen defended it,
And France's cavaliers led the attack.
A herald marched before the gallant troop,
And summoned, in a madrigal, the fortress;
And from the walls the chancellor replied;
And then the artillery was played, and nosegays
Breathing delicious fragrance were discharged
From neat field-pieces; but in vain, the storm
Was valiantly resisted, and desire
Was forced, unwillingly, to raise the siege.
DAVISON.
A sign of evil-boding, good my lord,
For the French Suitors.
KENT.
Why, you know that this
Was but in sport; when the attack's in earnest
The fortress will, no doubt, capitulate.
DAVISON.
Ha! think you so? I never can believe it.
KENT.
The hardest article of all is now
Adjusted and acceded to by France;
The Duke of Anjou is content to hold
His holy worship in a private chapel;
And openly he promises to honor
And to protect the realm's established faith.
Had ye but heard the people's joyful shouts
Where'er the tidings spread, for it has been
The country's constant fear the queen might die
Without immediate issue of her body;
And England bear again the Romish chains
If Mary Stuart should ascend the throne.
DAVISON.
This fear appears superfluous; she goes
Into the bridal chamber; Mary Stuart
Enters the gates of death.
KENT.
The queen approaches.
SCENE II.
Enter ELIZABETH, led in by LEICESTER, COUNT AUBESPINE,
BELLIEVRE, LORDS SHREWSBURY and BURLEIGH, with other
French and English gentlemen.
ELIZABETH (to AUBESPINE).
Count, I am sorry for these noblemen
Whose gallant zeal hath brought them over sea
To visit these our shores, that they, with us,
Must miss the splendor of St. Germain's court.
Such pompous festivals of godlike state
I cannot furnish as the royal court
Of France. A sober and contented people,
Which crowd around me with a thousand blessings
Whene'er in public I present myself:
This is the spectacle which I can show,
And not without some pride, to foreign eyes.
The splendor of the noble dames who bloom
In Catherine's beauteous garden would, I know,
Eclipse myself, and my more modest merits.
AUBESPINE.
The court of England has one lady only
To show the wondering foreigner; but all
That charms our hearts in the accomplished sex
Is seen united in her single person.
BELLIEVRE.
Great majesty of England, suffer us
To take our leave, and to our royal master,
The Duke of Anjou, bring the happy news.
The hot impatience of his heart would not
Permit him to remain at Paris; he
At Amiens awaits the joyful tidings;
And thence to Calais reach his posts to bring
With winged swiftness to his tranced ear
The sweet consent which, still we humbly hope,
Your royal lips will graciously pronounce.
ELIZABETH.
Press me no further now, Count Bellievre.
It is not now a time, I must repeat,
To kindle here the joyful marriage torch.
The heavens lower black and heavy o'er this land;
And weeds of mourning would become me better
Than the magnificence of bridal robes.
A fatal blow is aimed against my heart;
A blow which threatens to oppress my house.
BELLIEVRE.
We only ask your majesty to promise
Your royal hand when brighter days shall come.
ELIZABETH.
Monarchs are but the slaves of their condition;
They dare not hear the dictates of their hearts;
My wish was ever to remain unmarried,
And I had placed my greatest pride in this,
That men hereafter on my tomb might read,
"Here rests the virgin queen." But my good subjects
Are not content that this should be: they think,
E'en now they often think upon the time
When I shall be no more. 'Tis not enough
That blessings now are showered upon this land;
They ask a sacrifice for future welfare,
And I must offer up my liberty,
My virgin liberty, my greatest good,
To satisfy my people. Thus they'd force
A lord and master on me. 'Tis by this
I see that I am nothing but a woman
In their regard; and yet methought that I
Had governed like a man, and like a king.
Well wot I that it is not serving God
To quit the laws of nature; and that those
Who here have ruled before me merit praise,
That they have oped the cloister gates, and given
Thousands of victims of ill-taught devotion
Back to the duties of humanity.
But yet a queen who hath not spent her days
In fruitless, idle contemplation; who,
Without murmur, indefatigably
Performs the hardest of all duties; she
Should be exempted from that natural law
Which doth ordain one half of human kind
Shall ever be subservient to the other.
AUBESPINE.
Great queen, you have upon your throne done honor
To every virtue; nothing now remains
But to the sex, whose greatest boast you are
To be the leading star, and give the great
Example of its most consistent duties.
'Tis true, the man exists not who deserves
That you to him should sacrifice your freedom;
Yet if a hero's soul, descent, and rank,
And manly beauty can make mortal man
Deserving of this honor----
ELIZABETH.
Without doubt,
My lord ambassador, a marriage union
With France's royal son would do me honor;
Yes, I acknowledge it without disguise,
If it must be, if I cannot prevent it,
If I must yield unto my people's prayers,
And much I fear they will o'erpower me,
I do not know in Europe any prince
To whom with less reluctance I would yield
My greatest treasure, my dear liberty.
Let this confession satisfy your master.
BELLIEVRE.
It gives the fairest hope, and yet it gives
Nothing but hope; my master wishes more.
ELIZABETH.
What wishes he?
[She takes a ring from her finger, and thoughtfully examines it.
In this a queen has not
One privilege above all other women.
This common token marks one common duty,
One common servitude; the ring denotes
Marriage, and 'tis of rings a chain is formed.
Convey this present to his highness; 'tis
As yet no chain, it binds me not as yet,
But out of it may grow a link to bind me.
BELLIEVRE (kneeling).
This present, in his name, upon my knees,
I do receive, great queen, and press the kiss
Of homage on the hand of her who is
Henceforth my princess.
ELIZABETH (to the EARL OF LEICESTER, whom she, during the last speeches,
had continually regarded).
By your leave, my lord.
[She takes the blue ribbon from his neck [1], and invests Bellievre
with it.
Invest his highness with this ornament,
As I invest you with it, and receive you
Into the duties of my gallant order.
And, "Honi soit qui mal y pense." Thus perish
All jealousy between our several realms,
And let the bond of confidence unite
Henceforth, the crowns of Britain and of France.
BELLIEVRE.
Most sovereign queen, this is a day of joy;
Oh that it could be so for all, and no
Afflicted heart within this island mourn.
See! mercy beams upon thy radiant brow;
Let the reflection of its cheering light
Fall on a wretched princess, who concerns
Britain and France alike.
ELIZABETH.
No further, count!
Let us not mix two inconsistent things;
If France be truly anxious for my hand,
It must partake my interests, and renounce
Alliance with my foes.
AUBESPINE.
In thine own eyes
Would she not seem to act unworthily,
If in this joyous treaty she forgot
This hapless queen, the widow of her king;
In whose behalf her honor and her faith
Are bound to plead for grace.
ELIZABETH.
Thus urged, I know
To rate this intercession at its worth;
France has discharged her duties as a friend,
I will fulfil my own as England's queen.
[She bows to the French ambassadors, who, with the other
gentlemen, retire respectfully.
[1] Till the time of Charles the First, the Knights of the Garter
wore the blue ribbon with the George about their necks, as they
still do the collars, on great days.--TRANSLATOR.
SCENE III.
Enter BURLEIGH, LEICESTER, and TALBOT.
The QUEEN takes her seat.
BURLEIGH.
Illustrious sovereign, thou crown'st to-day
The fervent wishes of thy people; now
We can rejoice in the propitious days
Which thou bestowest upon us; and we look
No more with fear and trembling towards the time
Which, charged with storms, futurity presented.
Now, but one only care disturbs this land;
It is a sacrifice which every voice
Demands; Oh! grant but this and England's peace
Will be established now and evermore.
ELIZABETH.
What wish they still, my lord? Speak.
BURLEIGH.
They demand
The Stuart's head. If to thy people thou
Wouldst now secure the precious boon of freedom,
And the fair light of truth so dearly won,
Then she must die; if we are not to live
In endless terror for thy precious life
The enemy must fall; for well thou know'st
That all thy Britons are not true alike;
Romish idolatry has still its friends
In secret, in this island, who foment
The hatred of our enemies. Their hearts
All turn toward this Stuart; they are leagued
With the two plotting brothers of Lorrain,
The foes inveterate of thy house and name.
'Gainst thee this raging faction hath declared
A war of desolation, which they wage
With the deceitful instruments of hell.
At Rheims, the cardinal archbishop's see,
There is the arsenal from which they dart
These lightnings; there the school of regicide;
Thence, in a thousand shapes disguised, are sent
Their secret missionaries to this isle;
Their bold and daring zealots; for from thence
Have we not seen the third assassin come?
And inexhausted is the direful breed
Of secret enemies in this abyss.
While in her castle sits at Fotheringay,
The Ate [1] of this everlasting war,
Who, with the torch of love, spreads flames around;
For her who sheds delusive hopes on all,
Youth dedicates itself to certain death;
To set her free is the pretence--the aim
Is to establish her upon the throne.
For this accursed House of Guise denies
Thy sacred right; and in their mouths thou art
A robber of the throne, whom chance has crowned.
By them this thoughtless woman was deluded,
Proudly to style herself the Queen of England;
No peace can be with her, and with her house;
[Their hatred is too bloody, and their crimes
Too great;] thou must resolve to strike, or suffer--
Her life is death to thee, her death thy life.
ELIZABETH.
My lord, you bear a melancholy office;
I know the purity which guides your zeal,
The solid wisdom which informs your speech;
And yet I hate this wisdom, when it calls
For blood, I hate it in my inmost soul.
Think of a milder counsel--Good my Lord
Of Shrewsbury, we crave your judgment here.
TALBOT.
[Desire you but to know, most gracious queen,
What is for your advantage, I can add
Nothing to what my lord high-treasurer
Has urged; then, for your welfare, let the sentence
Be now confirmed--this much is proved already:
There is no surer method to avert
The danger from your head and from the state.
Should you in this reject our true advice,
You can dismiss your council. We are placed
Here as your counsellors, but to consult
The welfare of this land, and with our knowledge
And our experience we are bound to serve you!
But in what's good and just, most gracious queen,
You have no need of counsellors, your conscience
Knows it full well, and it is written there.
Nay, it were overstepping our commission
If we attempted to instruct you in it.
ELIZABETH.
Yet speak, my worthy Lord of Shrewsbury,
'Tis not our understanding fails alone,
Our heart too feels it wants some sage advice.]
TALBOT.
Well did you praise the upright zeal which fires
Lord Burleigh's loyal breast; my bosom, too,
Although my tongue be not so eloquent,
Beats with no weaker, no less faithful pulse.
Long may you live, my queen, to be the joy
Of your delighted people, to prolong
Peace and its envied blessings in this realm.
Ne'er hath this isle beheld such happy days
Since it was governed by its native kings.
Oh, let it never buy its happiness
With its good name; at least, may Talbot's eyes
Be closed in death e'er this shall come to pass.
ELIZABETH.
Forbid it, heaven, that our good name be stained!
TALBOT.
Then must you find some other way than this
To save thy kingdom, for the sentence passed
Of death against the Stuart is unjust.
You cannot upon her pronounce a sentence
Who is not subject to you.
ELIZABETH.
Then, it seems,
My council and my parliament have erred;
Each bench of justice in the land is wrong,
Which did with one accord admit this right.
TALBOT (after a pause).
The proof of justice lies not in the voice
Of numbers; England's not the world, nor is
Thy parliament the focus, which collects
The vast opinion of the human race.
This present England is no more the future
Than 'tis the past; as inclination changes,
Thus ever ebbs and flows the unstable tide
Of public judgment. Say not, then, that thou
Must act as stern necessity compels,
That thou must yield to the importunate
Petitions of thy people; every hour
Thou canst experience that thy will is free.
Make trial, and declare thou hatest blood,
And that thou wilt protect thy sister's life;
Show those who wish to give thee other counsels,
That here thy royal anger is not feigned,
And thou shalt see how stern necessity
Can vanish, and what once was titled justice
Into injustice be converted: thou
Thyself must pass the sentence, thou alone
Trust not to this unsteady, trembling reed,
But hear the gracious dictates of thy heart.
God hath not planted rigor in the frame
Of woman; and the founders of this realm,
Who to the female hand have not denied
The reins of government, intend by this
To show that mercy, not severity,
Is the best virtue to adorn a crown.
ELIZABETH.
Lord Shrewsbury is a fervent advocate
For mine and England's enemy; I must
Prefer those counsellors who wish my welfare.
TALBOT.
Her advocates have an invidious task!
None will, by speaking in her favor, dare
To meet thy anger: stiffer, then, an old
And faithful counsellor (whom naught on earth
Can tempt on the grave's brink) to exercise
The pious duty of humanity.
It never shall be said that, in thy council,
Passion and interest could find a tongue,
While mercy's pleading voice alone was mute,
All circumstances have conspired against her;
Thou ne'er hast seen her face, and nothing speaks
Within thy breast for one that's stranger to thee.
I do not take the part of her misdeeds;
They say 'twas she who planned her husband's murder:
'Tis true that she espoused his murderer.
A grievous crime, no doubt; but then it happened
In darksome days of trouble and dismay,
In the stern agony of civil war,
When she, a woman, helpless and hemmed in
By a rude crowd of rebel vassals, sought
Protection in a powerful chieftain's arms.
God knows what arts were used to overcome her!
For woman is a weak and fragile thing.
ELIZABETH.
Woman's not weak; there are heroic souls
Among the sex; and, in my presence, sir,
I do forbid to speak of woman's weakness.
TALBOT.
Misfortune was for thee a rigid school;
Thou wast not stationed on the sunny side
Of life; thou sawest no throne, from far, before thee;
The grave was gaping for thee at thy feet.
At Woodstock, and in London's gloomy tower,
'Twas there the gracious father of this land
Taught thee to know thy duty, by misfortune.
No flatterer sought thee there: there learned thy soul,
Far from the noisy world and its distractions,
To commune with itself, to think apart,
And estimate the real goods of life.
No God protected this poor sufferer:
Transplanted in her early youth to France,
The court of levity and thoughtless joys,
There, in the round of constant dissipation,
She never heard the earnest voice of truth;
She was deluded by the glare of vice,
And driven onward by the stream of ruin.
Hers was the vain possession of a face,
And she outshone all others of her sex
As far in beauty, as in noble birth.
ELIZABETH.
Collect yourself, my Lord of Shrewsbury;
Bethink you we are met in solemn council.
Those charms must surely be without compare,
Which can engender, in an elder's blood,
Such fire. My Lord of Leicester, you alone
Are silent; does the subject which has made
Him eloquent, deprive you of your speech?
LEICESTER.
Amazement ties my tongue, my queen, to think
That they should fill thy soul with such alarms,
And that the idle tales, which, in the streets,
Of London, terrify the people's ears,
Should reach the enlightened circle of thy council,
And gravely occupy our statesmen's minds.
Astonishment possesses me, I own,
To think this lackland Queen of Scotland, she
Who could not save her own poor throne, the jest
Of her own vassals, and her country's refuse,
[Who in her fairest days of freedom, was
But thy despised puppet,] should become
At once thy terror when a prisoner.
What, in Heaven's name, can make her formidable?
That she lays claim to England? that the Guises
Will not acknowledge thee as queen?
[Did then Thy people's loyal fealty await
These Guises' approbation?] Can these Guises,
With their objections, ever shake the right
Which birth hath given thee; which, with one consent,
The votes of parliament have ratified?
And is not she, by Henry's will, passed o'er
In silence? Is it probable that England,
As yet so blessed in the new light's enjoyment,
Should throw itself into this papist's arms?
From thee, the sovereign it adores, desert
To Darnley's murderess? What will they then,
These restless men, who even in thy lifetime
Torment thee with a successor; who cannot
Dispose of thee in marriage soon enough
To rescue church and state from fancied peril?
Stand'st thou not blooming there in youthful prime
While each step leads her towards the expecting tomb?
By Heavens, I hope thou wilt full many a year
Walk o'er the Stuart's grave, and ne'er become
Thyself the instrument of her sad end.
BURLEIGH.
Lord Leicester hath not always held this tone.
LEICESTER.
'Tis true, I in the court of justice gave
My verdict for her death; here, in the council,
I may consistently speak otherwise
Here, right is not the question, but advantage.
Is this a time to fear her power, when France,
Her only succor, has abandoned her?
When thou preparest with thy hand to bless
The royal son of France, when the fair hope
Of a new, glorious stem of sovereigns
Begins again to blossom in this land?
Why hasten then her death? She's dead already.
Contempt and scorn are death to her; take heed
Lest ill-timed pity call her into life.
'Tis therefore my advice to leave the sentence,
By which her life is forfeit, in full force.
Let her live on; but let her live beneath
The headsman's axe, and, from the very hour
One arm is lifted for her, let it fall.
ELIZABETH (rises).
My lords, I now have heard your several thoughts,
And give my ardent thanks for this your zeal.
With God's assistance, who the hearts of kings
Illumines, I will weigh your arguments,
And choose what best my judgment shall approve.
[To BURLEIGH.
[Lord Burleigh's honest fears, I know it well,
Are but the offspring of his faithful care;
But yet, Lord Leicester has most truly said,
There is no need of haste; our enemy
Hath lost already her most dangerous sting--
The mighty arm of France: the fear that she
Might quickly be the victim of their zeal
Will curb the blind impatience of her friends.]
[1] The picture of Ate, the goddess of mischief, we are acquainted
with from Homer, II. v. 91, 130. I. 501. She is a daughter of
Jupiter, and eager to prejudice every one, even the immortal gods.
She counteracted Jupiter himself, on which account he seized her by
her beautiful hair, and hurled her from heaven to the earth, where
she now, striding over the heads of men, excites them to evil in
order to involve them in calamity.--HERDER.
Shakspeare has, in Julius Caesar, made a fine use of this image:--
"And Caesar's spirit ranging for revenge
with Ate by his side, come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice,
Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war."
I need not point out to the reader the beautiful propriety of
introducing the evil spirit on this occasion.--TRANSLATOR.
SCENE IV.
Enter SIR AMIAS PAULET and MORTIMER.
ELIZABETH.
There's Sir Amias Paulet; noble sir,
What tidings bring you?
PAULET.
Gracious sovereign,
My nephew, who but lately is returned
From foreign travel, kneels before thy feet,
And offers thee his first and earliest homage,
Grant him thy royal grace, and let him grow
And flourish in the sunshine of thy favor.
MORTIMER (kneeling on one knee).
Long live my royal mistress! Happiness
And glory from a crown to grace her brows!
ELIZABETH.
Arise, sir knight; and welcome here in England;
You've made, I hear, the tour, have been in France
And Rome, and tarried, too, some time at Rheims:
Tell me what plots our enemies are hatching?
MORTIMER.
May God confound them all! And may the darts
Which they shall aim against my sovereign,
Recoiling, strike their own perfidious breasts!
ELIZABETH.
Did you see Morgan, and the wily Bishop
Of Ross?
MORTIMER.
I saw, my queen, all Scottish exiles
Who forge at Rheims their plots against this realm.
I stole into their confidence in hopes
To learn some hint of their conspiracies.
PAULET.
Private despatches they intrusted to him,
In cyphers, for the Queen of Scots, which he,
With loyal hand, hath given up to us.
ELIZABETH.
Say, what are then their latest plans of treason?
MORTIMER.
It struck them all as 'twere a thunderbolt,
That France should leave them, and with England close
This firm alliance; now they turn their hopes
Towards Spain----
ELIZABETH.
This, Walsingham hath written us.
MORTIMER.
Besides, a bull, which from the Vatican
Pope Sixtus lately levelled at thy throne,
Arrived at Rheims, as I was leaving it;
With the next ship we may expect it here.
LEICESTER.
England no more is frightened by such arms.
BURLEIGH.
They're always dangerous in bigots' hands.
ELIZABETH (looking steadfastly at MORTIMER).
Your enemies have said that you frequented
The schools at Rheims, and have abjured your faith.
