DON CARLOS; the MARQUIS POSA enters.

CARLOS.
At length once more,—at length——

MARQUIS.
Oh, what a trial
For the impatience of a friend! The sun
Has risen twice—twice set—since Carlos' fate
Has been resolved, and am I only now
To learn it: speak,—you're reconciled!

CARLOS.
With whom?

MARQUIS.
The king! And Flanders, too,—its fate is settled!

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

MARQUIS.
That cannot be—it is not surely so.
Can all Madrid be so deceived? 'Tis said
You had a private audience, and the king——
CARLOS.
Remained inflexible, and we are now
Divided more than ever.

MARQUIS.
Do you go
To Flanders?

CARLOS.
No!

MARQUIS.
Alas! my blighted hopes!

CARLOS.
Of this hereafter. Oh, Roderigo! since
We parted last, what have I not endured?
But first thy counsel? I must speak with her!

MARQUIS.
Your mother? No! But wherefore?

CARLOS.
I have hopes—
But you turn pale! Be calm—I should be happy.
And I shall be so: but of this anon—
Advise me now, how I may speak with her.
MARQUIS.
What mean you? What new feverish dream is this?

CARLOS.
By the great God of wonders 'tis no dream!
'Tis truth, reality——
      &nbsp       &nbsp[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!
      &nbsp       &nbsp[After he has read it.
To whom addressed?

CARLOS.
To Princess Eboli.
Two days ago, a page who serves the queen,
Brought me, from unknown hands, a key and letter,
Which said that in the left wing of the palace,
Where the queen lodges, lay a cabinet,—
That there a lady whom I long had loved
Awaited me. I straight obeyed the summons.
MARQUIS.
Fool! madman! you obeyed it——

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

MARQUIS.
I guess it all——

CARLOS.
I had been lost forever,
But that I fell into an angel's hands!
She, hapless chance, by my imprudent looks,
Deceived, had yielded to the sweet delusion
And deemed herself the idol of my soul.
Moved by the silent anguish of my breast,
With thoughtless generosity, her heart
Nobly determined to return my love;
Deeming respectful fear had caused my silence,
She dared to speak, and all her lovely soul
Laid bare before me.

MARQUIS.
And with calm composure,
You tell this tale! The Princess Eboli
Saw through your heart; and doubtless she has pierced
The inmost secret of your hidden love.
You've wronged her deeply, and she rules the king.

CARLOS
(confidently).
But she is virtuous!

MARQUIS.
She may be so
From love's mere selfishness. But much I fear
Such virtue—well I know it: know how little
It hath the power to soar to that ideal,
Which, first conceived in sweet and stately grace,
From the pure soul's maternal soil, puts forth
Spontaneous shoots, nor asks the gardener's aid
To nurse its lavish blossoms into life.
'Tis but a foreign plant, with labor reared,
And warmth that poorly imitates the south,
In a cold soil and an unfriendly clime.
Call it what name you will—or education,
Or principle, or artificial virtue
Won from the heat of youth by art and cunning,
In conflicts manifold—all noted down
With scrupulous reckoning to that heaven's account,
Which is its aim, and will requite its pains.
Ask your own heart! Can she forgive the queen
That you should scorn her dearly-purchased virtue,
To pine in hopeless love for Philip's wife.

CARLOS.
Knowest thou the princess, then, so well?

MARQUIS.
Not I—
I've scarcely seen her twice. And yet thus much
I may remark. To me she still appears
To shun alone the nakedness of vice,
Too weakly proud of her imagined virtue.
And then I mark the queen. How different, Carlos,
Is everything that I behold in her!
In native dignity, serene and calm,
Wearing a careless cheerfulness—unschooled
In all the trained restraints of conduct, far
Removed from boldness and timidity,
With firm, heroic step, she walks along
The narrow middle path of rectitude,
Unconscious of the worship she compels,
Where she of self-approval never dreamed.
Say, does my Carlos in this mirror trace
The features of his Eboli? The princess
Was constant while she loved; love was the price,
The understood condition of her virtue.
You failed to pay that price—'twill therefore fall.

CARLOS
(with warmth).
No, no!
      &nbsp       &nbsp[Hastily pacing the apartment.
I tell thee, no! And, Roderigo,
Ill it becomes thee thus to rob thy Carlos
Of his high trust in human excellence,
His chief, his dearest joy!

MARQUIS.
Deserve I this?
Friend of my soul, this would I never do—
By heaven I would not. Oh, this Eboli!
She were an angel to me, and before
Her glory would I bend me prostrate down,
In reverence deep as thine, if she were not
The mistress of thy secret.

CARLOS.
See how vain,
How idle are thy fears! What proofs has she
That will not stamp her maiden brow with shame?
Say, will she purchase with her own dishonor
The wretched satisfaction of revenge?

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

CARLOS
(with increased vehemence).
Nay, that
Is far too harsh—and cruel! She is proud
And noble; well I know her, and fear nothing.
Vain are your efforts to alarm my hopes.
I must speak to my mother.

MARQUIS.
Now? for what?

CARLOS.
Because I've nothing more to care for now.
And I must know my fate. Only contrive
That I may speak with her.

MARQUIS.
And wilt thou show
This letter to her?

CARLOS.
Question me no more,
But quickly find the means that I may see her.

MARQUIS
(significantly).
Didst thou not tell me that thou lov'st thy mother?
And wouldst thou really show this letter to her?

      &nbsp       &nbsp[CARLOS fixes his eyes on the ground, and remains silent.

I read a something, Carlos, in thy looks
Unknown to me before. Thou turn'st thine eyes
Away from me. Then it is true, and have I
Judged thee aright? Here, let me see that paper.

      &nbsp       &nbsp[CARLOS gives him the letter, and the MARQUIS tears it.

CARLOS.
What! art thou mad?
      &nbsp       &nbsp[Moderating his warmth.
In truth—I must confess it,
That letter was of deepest moment to me.

MARQUIS.
So it appeared: on that account I tore it.

      &nbsp       &nbsp[The MARQUIS casts a penetrating look on the PRINCE,
who surveys him with doubt and surprise. A long silence.

Now speak to me with candor, Carlos. What
Have desecrations of the royal bed
To do with thee—thy love? Dost thou fear Philip?
How are a husband's violated duties
Allied with thee and thy audacious hopes?
Has he sinned there, where thou hast placed thy love?
Now then, in truth, I learn to comprehend thee—
How ill till now I've understood thy love!

CARLOS.
What dost thou think, Roderigo?

MARQUIS.
Oh, I feel
From what it is that I must wean myself.
Once it was otherwise! Yes, once thy soul
Was bounteous, rich, and warm, and there was room
For a whole world in thy expanded heart.
Those feelings are extinct—all swallowed up
In one poor, petty, selfish passion. Now
Thy heart is withered, dead! No tears last thou
For the unhappy fate of wretched Flanders—
No, not another tear. Oh, Carlos! see
How poor, how beggarly, thou hast become,
Since all thy love has centered in thyself!

CARLOS
(flings himself into a chair. After a pause, with
scarcely suppressed tears).
Too well I know thou lovest me no more!

MARQUIS.
Not so, my Carlos. Well I understand
This fiery passion: 'tis the misdirection
Of feelings pure and noble in themselves.
The queen belonged to thee: the king, thy father,
Despoiled thee of her—yet till now thou hast
Been modestly distrustful of thy claims.
Philip, perhaps, was worthy of her! Thou
Scarce dared to breathe his sentence in a whisper—
This letter has resolved thy doubts, and proved
Thou art the worthier man. With haughty joy
Thou saw'st before thee rise the doom that waits
On tyranny convicted of a theft,
But thou wert proud to be the injured one:
Wrongs undeserved great souls can calmly suffer,
Yet here thy fancy played thee false: thy pride
Was touched with satisfaction, and thy heart
Allowed itself to hope: I plainly saw
This time, at least, thou didst not know thyself.

CARLOS
(with emotion).
Thou'rt wrong, Roderigo; for my thoughts were far
Less noble than thy goodness would persuade me.

MARQUIS.
And am I then e'en here so little known?
See, Carlos, when thou errest, 'tis my way,
Amid a hundred virtues, still to find
That one to which I may impute thy fall.
Now, then, we understand each other better,
And thou shalt have an audience of the queen.

CARLOS
(falling on his neck).
Oh, how I blush beside thee!

MARQUIS.
Take my word,
And leave the rest to me. A wild, bold thought,
A happy thought is dawning in my mind;
And thou shalt hear it from a fairer mouth,
I hasten to the queen. Perhaps to-morrow
Thy wish may be achieved. Till then, my Carlos,
Forget not this—"That a design conceived
Of lofty reason, which involves the fate,
The sufferings of mankind, though it be baffled
Ten thousand times, should never be abandoned."
Dost hear? Remember Flanders.

CARLOS.
Yes! all, all
That thou and virtue bid me not forget.

MARQUIS
(going to a window).
The time is up—I hear thy suite approaching.
      &nbsp       &nbsp[They embrace.
Crown prince again, and the vassal.

CARLOS.
Dost thou go
Straight to Madrid?

MARQUIS.
Yes, straight.

CARLOS.
Hold! one word more.
How nearly it escaped me! Yet 'twas news
Of deep importance. "Every letter now
Sent to Brabant is opened by the king!"
So be upon thy guard. The royal post
Has secret orders.

MARQUIS.
How have you learned this?

CARLOS.
Don Raymond Taxis is my trusty friend.

MARQUIS
(after a pause).
Well! then they may be sent through Germany.

      &nbsp       &nbsp[Exeunt on different sides.