The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 302

CARLOS.

The duke sets out to-morrow. That is fixed.

MARQUIS.

That cannot be--it is not surely so.

Can all Madrid be so deceived? 'Tis said You had a private audience, and the king----

CARLOS.

Remained inflexible, and we are now Divided more than ever.

MARQUIS.

Do you go To Flanders?

CARLOS.

No!

MARQUIS.

Alas! my blighted hopes!

CARLOS.

Of this hereafter. Oh, Roderigo! since We parted last, what have I not endured?

But first thy counsel? I must speak with her!

MARQUIS.

Your mother? No! But wherefore?

CARLOS.

I have hopes-- But you turn pale! Be calm--I should be happy.

And I shall be so: but of this anon-- Advise me now, how I may speak with her.

MARQUIS.

What mean you? What new feverish dream is this?

CARLOS.

By the great G.o.d of wonders 'tis no dream!

'Tis truth, reality---- [Taking out the KING's letter to the PRINCESS EBOLI.

Contained in this Important paper--yes, the queen is free,-- Free before men and in the eyes of heaven; There read, and cease to wonder at my words.

MARQUIS (opening the letter).

What do I here behold? The king's own hand!

[After he has read it.

To whom addressed?

CARLOS.

To Princess Eboli.

Two days ago, a page who serves the queen, Brought me, from unknown hands, a key and letter, Which said that in the left wing of the palace, Where the queen lodges, lay a cabinet,-- That there a lady whom I long had loved Awaited me. I straight obeyed the summons.

MARQUIS.

Fool! madman! you obeyed it----

CARLOS.

Not that I The writing knew; but there was only one Such woman, who could think herself adored By Carlos. With delight intoxicate I hastened to the spot. A heavenly song, Re-echoing from the innermost apartment, Served me for guide. I reached the cabinet-- I entered and beheld--conceive my wonder!

MARQUIS.

I guess it all----

CARLOS.

I had been lost forever, But that I fell into an angel's hands!

She, hapless chance, by my imprudent looks, Deceived, had yielded to the sweet delusion And deemed herself the idol of my soul.

Moved by the silent anguish of my breast, With thoughtless generosity, her heart n.o.bly determined to return my love; Deeming respectful fear had caused my silence, She dared to speak, and all her lovely soul Laid bare before me.

MARQUIS.

And with calm composure, You tell this tale! The Princess Eboli Saw through your heart; and doubtless she has pierced The inmost secret of your hidden love.

You've wronged her deeply, and she rules the king.

CARLOS (confidently).

But she is virtuous!

MARQUIS.

She may be so From love's mere selfishness. But much I fear Such virtue--well I know it: know how little It hath the power to soar to that ideal, Which, first conceived in sweet and stately grace, From the pure soul's maternal soil, puts forth Spontaneous shoots, nor asks the gardener's aid To nurse its lavish blossoms into life.

'Tis but a foreign plant, with labor reared, And warmth that poorly imitates the south, In a cold soil and an unfriendly clime.

Call it what name you will--or education, Or principle, or artificial virtue Won from the heat of youth by art and cunning, In conflicts manifold--all noted down With scrupulous reckoning to that heaven's account, Which is its aim, and will requite its pains.

Ask your own heart! Can she forgive the queen That you should scorn her dearly-purchased virtue, To pine in hopeless love for Philip's wife.

CARLOS.

Knowest thou the princess, then, so well?

MARQUIS.

Not I-- I've scarcely seen her twice. And yet thus much I may remark. To me she still appears To shun alone the nakedness of vice, Too weakly proud of her imagined virtue.

And then I mark the queen. How different, Carlos, Is everything that I behold in her!

In native dignity, serene and calm, Wearing a careless cheerfulness--unschooled In all the trained restraints of conduct, far Removed from boldness and timidity, With firm, heroic step, she walks along The narrow middle path of rect.i.tude, Unconscious of the worship she compels, Where she of self-approval never dreamed.

Say, does my Carlos in this mirror trace The features of his Eboli? The princess Was constant while she loved; love was the price, The understood condition of her virtue.

You failed to pay that price--'twill therefore fall.

CARLOS (with warmth).

No, no!

[Hastily pacing the apartment.

I tell thee, no! And, Roderigo, Ill it becomes thee thus to rob thy Carlos Of his high trust in human excellence, His chief, his dearest joy!

MARQUIS.

Deserve I this?

Friend of my soul, this would I never do-- By heaven I would not. Oh, this Eboli!

She were an angel to me, and before Her glory would I bend me prostrate down, In reverence deep as thine, if she were not The mistress of thy secret.

CARLOS.

See how vain, How idle are thy fears! What proofs has she That will not stamp her maiden brow with shame?

Say, will she purchase with her own dishonor The wretched satisfaction of revenge?

MARQUIS.

Ay! to recall a blush, full many a one Has doomed herself to infamy.