Don Carlos

Friedrich Schiller

Don Carlos: A Play

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

PHILIP THE SECOND, King of Spain.

DON CARLOS, Prince, Son of Philip.

ALEXANDER FARNESE, Prince of Parma.

MARQUIS DE POSA.

DUKE OF ALVA.

Grandees of Spain:

COUNT LERMA, Colonel of the Body Guard,

DUKE OF FERIA, Knight of the Golden Fleece,

DUKE OF MEDINA SIDONIA, Admiral,

DON RAIMOND DE TAXIS, Postmaster-General,

DOMINGO, Confessor to the King.

GRAND INQUISITOR of Spain.

PRIOR of a Carthusian Convent.

PAGE of the Queen.

DON LOUIS MERCADO, Physician to the Queen.

ELIZABETH DE VALOIS, Queen of Spain.

INFANTA CLARA FARNESE, a Child three years of age.

DUCHESS D'OLIVAREZ, Principal Attendant on the Queen.

Ladies Attendant on the Queen:

MARCHIONESS DE MONDECAR,

PRINCESS EBOLI,

COUNTESS FUENTES,

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

ACT I

SCENE I

The Royal Gardens in Aranjuez.

CARLOS and DOMINGO.

DOMINGO

   Our pleasant sojourn in Aranjuez

   Is over now, and yet your highness quits

   These joyous scenes no happier than before.

   Our visit hath been fruitless. Oh, my prince,

   Break this mysterious and gloomy silence!

   Open your heart to your own father's heart!

   A monarch never can too dearly buy

   The peace of his own son – his only son.

[CARLOS looks on the ground in silence.

   Is there one dearest wish that bounteous Heaven

   Hath e'er withheld from her most favored child?

   I stood beside, when in Toledo's walls

   The lofty Charles received his vassals' homage,

   When conquered princes thronged to kiss his hand,

   And there at once six mighty kingdoms fell

   In fealty at his feet: I stood and marked

   The young, proud blood mount to his glowing cheek,

   I saw his bosom swell with high resolves,

   His eye, all radiant with triumphant pride,

   Flash through the assembled throng; and that same eye

   Confessed, "Now am I wholly satisfied!"

[CARLOS turns away.

   This silent sorrow, which for eight long moons

   Hath hung its shadows, prince, upon your brow —

   The mystery of the court, the nation's grief —

   Hath cost your father many a sleepless night,

   And many a tear of anguish to your mother.

CARLOS (turning hastily round)

   My mother! Grant, O heaven, I may forget

   How she became my mother!

DOMINGO

                 Gracious prince!

CARLOS (passing his hands thoughtfully over his brow)

   Alas! alas! a fruitful source of woe

   Have mothers been to me. My youngest act,

   When first these eyes beheld the light of day,

   Destroyed a mother.

DOMINGO

              Is it possible

   That this reproach disturbs your conscience, prince?

CARLOS

   And my new mother! Hath she not already

   Cost me my father's heart? Scarce loved at best.

   My claim to some small favor lay in this —

   I was his only child! 'Tis over! She

   Hath blest him with a daughter – and who knows

   What slumbering ills the future hath in store?

DOMINGO

   You jest, my prince. All Spain adores its queen.

   Shall it be thought that you, of all the world,

   Alone should view her with the eyes of hate —

   Gaze on her charms, and yet be coldly wise?

   How, prince? The loveliest lady of her time,

   A queen withal, and once your own betrothed?

   No, no, impossible – it cannot be!

   Where all men love, you surely cannot hate.

   Carlos could never so belie himself.

   I prithee, prince, take heed she do not learn

   That she hath lost her son's regard. The news

   Would pain her deeply.

   CARLOS.            Ay, sir! think you so?

DOMINGO

   Your highness doubtless will remember how,

   At the late tournament in Saragossa,

   A lance's splinter struck our gracious sire.

   The queen, attended by her ladies, sat

   High in the centre gallery of the palace,

   And looked upon the fight. A cry arose,

   "The king! he bleeds!" Soon through the general din,

   A rising murmur strikes upon her ear.

   "The prince – the prince!" she cries, and forward rushed,

   As though to leap down from the balcony,

   When a voice answered, "No, the king himself!"

   "Then send for his physicians!" she replied,

   And straight regained her former self-composure.

[After a short pause.

   But you seem wrapped in thought?

   CARLOS.              In wonder, sir,

   That the king's merry confessor should own

   So rare a skill in the romancer's art.

[Austerely.

   Yet have I heard it said that those

   Who watch men's looks and carry tales about,

   Have done more mischief in this world of ours

   Than the assassin's knife, or poisoned bowl.

   Your labor, Sir, hath been but ill-bestowed;

   Would you win thanks, go seek them of the king.

DOMINGO

   This caution, prince, is wise. Be circumspect

   With men – but not with every man alike.

   Repel not friends and hypocrites together;

   I mean you well, believe me!

   CARLOS.               Say you so?

   Let not my father mark it, then, or else

   Farewell your hopes forever of the purple.

DOMINGO (starts).

CARLOS

   How!

   CARLOS.   Even so! Hath he not promised you

   The earliest purple in the gift of Spain?

DOMINGO

   You mock me, prince!

   CARLOS.        Nay! Heaven forefend, that I

   Should mock that awful man whose fateful lips

   Can doom my father or to heaven or hell!

DOMINGO

   I dare not, prince, presume to penetrate

   The sacred mystery of your secret grief,

   Yet I implore your highness to remember

   That, for a conscience ill at ease, the church

   Hath opened an asylum, of which kings

   Hold not the key – where even crimes are purged

   Beneath the holy sacramental seal.

   You know my meaning, prince – I've said enough.

CARLOS

   No! be it, never said, I tempted so

   The keeper of that seal.

DOMINGO

                Prince, this mistrust —

   You wrong the most devoted of your servants.

CARLOS

   Then give me up at once without a thought

   Thou art a holy man – the world knows that —

   But, to speak plain, too zealous far for me.

   The road to Peter's chair is long and rough,

   And too much knowledge might encumber you.

   Go, tell this to the king, who sent thee hither!

DOMINGO

   Who sent me hither?

   CARLOS.           Ay! Those were my words.

   Too well-too well, I know, that I'm betrayed,

   Slandered on every hand – that at this court

   A hundred eyes are hired to watch my steps.

   I know, that royal Philip to his slaves

   Hath sold his only son, and every wretch,

   Who takes account of each half-uttered word,

   Receives such princely guerdon as was ne'er

   Bestowed on deeds of honor, Oh, I know

   But hush! – no more of that! My heart will else

   O'erflow and I've already said too much.

DOMINGO

   The king is minded, ere the set of sun,

   To reach Madrid: I see the court is mustering.

   Have I permission, prince?

   CARLOS.              I'll follow straight.

[Exit DOMINGO.

CARLOS (after a short silence)

   O wretched Philip! wretched as thy son!

   Soon shall thy bosom bleed at every pore,

   Torn by suspicion's poisonous serpent fang.

   Thy fell sagacity full soon shall pierce

   The fatal secret it is bent to know,

   And thou wilt madden, when it breaks upon thee!

SCENE II

CARLOS, MARQUIS OF POSA.

CARLOS

   Lo! Who comes here? 'Tis he! O ye kind heavens,

   My Roderigo!

   MARQUIS.       Carlos!

   CARLOS.            Can it be?

   And is it truly thou? O yes, it is!

   I press thee to my bosom, and I feel

   Thy throbbing heart beat wildly 'gainst mine own.

   And now all's well again. In this embrace

   My sick, sad heart is comforted. I hang

   Upon my Roderigo's neck!

   MARQUIS.             Thy heart!

   Thy sick sad heart! And what is well again

   What needeth to be well? Thy words amaze me.

CARLOS

   What brings thee back so suddenly from Brussels?

   Whom must I thank for this most glad surprise?

   And dare I ask? Whom should I thank but thee,

   Thou gracious and all bounteous Providence?

   Forgive me, heaven! if joy hath crazed my brain.

   Thou knewest no angel watched at Carlos' side,

   And sent me this! And yet I ask who sent him.

MARQUIS

   Pardon, dear prince, if I can only meet

   With wonder these tumultuous ecstacies.

   Not thus I looked to find Don Philip's son.

   A hectic red burns on your pallid cheek,

   And your lips quiver with a feverish heat.

   What must I think, dear prince? No more I see

   The youth of lion heart, to whom I come

   The envoy of a brave and suffering people.

   For now I stand not here as Roderigo —

   Not as the playmate of the stripling Carlos —

   But, as the deputy of all mankind,

   I clasp thee thus: – 'tis Flanders that clings here

   Around thy neck, appealing with my tears

   To thee for succor in her bitter need.

   This land is lost, this land so dear to thee,

   If Alva, bigotry's relentless tool,

   Advance on Brussels with his Spanish laws.

   This noble country's last faint hope depends

   On thee, loved scion of imperial Charles!

   And, should thy noble heart forget to beat

   In human nature's cause, Flanders is lost!

CARLOS

   Then it is lost.

MARQUIS

            What do I hear? Alas!

CARLOS

   Thou speakest of times that long have passed away.

   I, too, have had my visions of a Carlos,

   Whose cheek would fire at freedom's glorious name,

   But he, alas! has long been in his grave.

   He, thou seest here, no longer is that Carlos,

   Who took his leave of thee in Alcala,

   Who in the fervor of a youthful heart,

   Resolved, at some no distant time, to wake

   The golden age in Spain! Oh, the conceit,

   Though but a child's, was yet divinely fair!

   Those dreams are past!

MARQUIS

               Said you, those dreams, my prince!

   And were they only dreams?

CARLOS

                 Oh, let me weep,

   Upon thy bosom weep these burning tears,

   My only friend! Not one have I – not one —

   In the wide circuit of this earth, – not one

   Far as the sceptre of my sire extends,

   Far as the navies bear the flag of Spain,

   There is no spot – none – none, where I dare yield

   An outlet to my tears, save only this.

   I charge thee, Roderigo! Oh, by all

   The hopes we both do entertain of heaven,

   Cast me not off from thee, my friend, my friend!

[POSA bends over him in silent emotion.

   Look on me, Posa, as an orphan child,

   Found near the throne, and nurtured by thy love.

   Indeed, I know not what a father is.

   I am a monarch's son. Oh, were it so,

   As my heart tells me that it surely is,

   That thou from millions hast been chosen out

   To comprehend my being; if it be true,

   That all-creating nature has designed

   In me to reproduce a Roderigo,

   And on the morning of our life attuned

   Our souls' soft concords to the selfsame key;

   If one poor tear, which gives my heart relief,

   To thee were dearer than my father's favor —

MARQUIS

   Oh, it is dearer far than all the world!

CARLOS

   I'm fallen so low, have grown so poor withal,

   I must recall to thee our childhood's years, —

   Must ask thee payment of a debt incurred

   When thou and I were scarce to boyhood grown.

   Dost thou remember, how we grew together,

   Two daring youths, like brothers, side by side?

   I had no sorrow but to see myself

   Eclipsed by thy bright genius. So I vowed,

   Since I might never cope with thee in power,

   That I would love thee with excess of love.

   Then with a thousand shows of tenderness,

   And warm affection, I besieged thy heart,

   Which cold and proudly still repulsed them all.

   Oft have I stood, and – yet thou sawest it never

   Hot bitter tear-drops brimming in mine eyes,

   When I have marked thee, passing me unheeded,

   Fold to thy bosom youths of humbler birth.

   "Why only these?" in anguish, once I asked —

   "Am I not kind and good to thee as they?"

   But dropping on thy knees, thine answer came,

   With an unloving look of cold reserve,

   "This is my duty to the monarch's son!"

MARQUIS

   Oh, spare me, dearest prince, nor now recall

   Those boyish acts that make me blush for shame.

CARLOS

   I did not merit such disdain from thee —

   You might despise me, crush my heart, but never

   Alter my love. Three times didst thou repulse

   The prince, and thrice he came to thee again,

   To beg thy love, and force on thee his own.

   At length chance wrought what Carlos never could.

   Once we were playing, when thy shuttlecock

   Glanced off and struck my aunt, Bohemia's queen,

   Full in the face! She thought 'twas with intent,

   And all in tears complained unto the king.

   The palace youth were summoned on the spot,

   And charged to name the culprit. High in wrath

   The king vowed vengeance for the deed: "Although

   It were his son, yet still should he be made

   A dread example!" I looked around and marked

   Thee stand aloof, all trembling with dismay.

   Straight I stepped forth; before the royal feet

   I flung myself, and cried, "'Twas I who did it;

   Now let thine anger fall upon thy son!"

MARQUIS

   Ah, wherefore, prince, remind me?

CARLOS

                     Hear me further!

   Before the face of the assembled court,

   That stood, all pale with pity, round about,

   Thy Carlos was tied up, whipped like a slave;

   I looked on thee, and wept not. Blow rained on blow;

   I gnashed my teeth with pain, yet wept I not!

   My royal blood streamed 'neath the pitiless lash;

   I looked on thee, and wept not. Then you came,

   And fell half-choked with sobs before my feet:

   "Carlos," you cried, "my pride is overcome;

   I will repay thee when thou art a king."

MARQUIS (stretching forth his hand to CARLOS)

   Carlos, I'll keep my word; my boyhood's vow

   I now as man renew. I will repay thee.

   Some day, perchance, the hour may come —

CARLOS

                         Now! now!

   The hour has come; thou canst repay me all.

   I have sore need of love. A fearful secret

   Burns in my breast; it must – it must be told.

   In thy pale looks my death-doom will I read.

   Listen; be petrified; but answer not.

   I love – I love – my mother!

MARQUIS

                 O my God!

CARLOS

   Nay, no forbearance! spare me not! Speak! speak!

   Proclaim aloud, that on this earth's great round

   There is no misery to compare with mine.

   Speak! speak! – I know all – all that thou canst say

   The son doth love his mother. All the world's

   Established usages, the course of nature,

   Rome's fearful laws denounce my fatal passion.

   My suit conflicts with my own father's rights,

   I feel it all, and yet I love. This path

   Leads on to madness, or the scaffold. I

   Love without hope, love guiltily, love madly,

   With anguish, and with peril of my life;

   I see, I see it all, and yet I love.

MARQUIS

   The queen – does she know of your passion?

CARLOS

                         Could I

   Reveal it to her? She is Philip's wife —

   She is the queen, and this is Spanish ground,

   Watched by a jealous father, hemmed around

   By ceremonial forms, how, how could I

   Approach her unobserved? 'Tis now eight months,

   Eight maddening months, since the king summoned me

   Home from my studies, since I have been doomed

   To look on her, adore her day by day,

   And all the while be silent as the grave!

   Eight maddening months, Roderigo; think of this!

   This fire has seethed and raged within my breast!

   A thousand, thousand times, the dread confession

   Has mounted to my lips, yet evermore

   Shrunk, like a craven, back upon my heart.

   O Roderigo! for a few brief moments

   Alone with her!

MARQUIS

            Ah! and your father, prince!

CARLOS

   Unhappy me! Remind me not of him.

   Tell me of all the torturing pangs of conscience,

   But speak not, I implore you, of my father!

MARQUIS

   Then do you hate your father?

CARLOS

                   No, oh, no!

   I do not hate my father; but the fear

   That guilty creatures feel, – a shuddering dread, —

   Comes o'er me ever at that terrible name.

   Am I to blame, if slavish nurture crushed

   Love's tender germ within my youthful heart?

   Six years I'd numbered, ere the fearful man,

   They told me was my father, met mine eyes.

   One morning 'twas, when with a stroke I saw him

   Sign four death-warrants. After that I ne'er

   Beheld him, save when, for some childish fault,

   I was brought out for chastisement. O God!

   I feel my heart grow bitter at the thought.

   Let us away! away!

MARQUIS

             Nay, Carlos, nay,

   You must, you shall give all your sorrow vent,

   Let it have words! 'twill ease your o'erfraught heart.

CARLOS

   Oft have I struggled with myself, and oft

   At midnight, when my guards were sunk in sleep,

   With floods of burning tears I've sunk before

   The image of the ever-blessed Virgin,

   And craved a filial heart, but all in vain.

   I rose with prayer unheard. O Roderigo!

   Unfold this wondrous mystery of heaven,

   Why of a thousand fathers only this

   Should fall to me – and why to him this son,

   Of many thousand better? Nature could not

   In her wide orb have found two opposites

   More diverse in their elements. How could

   She bind the two extremes of human kind —

   Myself and him – in one so holy bond?

   O dreadful fate! Why was it so decreed?

   Why should two men, in all things else apart,

   Concur so fearfully in one desire?

   Roderigo, here thou seest two hostile stars,

   That in the lapse of ages, only once,

   As they sweep onwards in their orbed course,

   Touch with a crash that shakes them to the centre,

   Then rush apart forever and forever.

MARQUIS

   I feel a dire foreboding.

CARLOS

                 So do I.

   Like hell's grim furies, dreams of dreadful shape

   Pursue me still. My better genius strives

   With the fell projects of a dark despair.

   My wildered subtle spirit crawls through maze

   On maze of sophistries, until at length

   It gains a yawning precipice's brink.

   O Roderigo! should I e'er in him

   Forget the father – ah! thy deathlike look

   Tells me I'm understood – should I forget

   The father – what were then the king to me?

MARQUIS (after a pause)

   One thing, my Carlos, let me beg of you!

   Whate'er may be your plans, do nothing, – nothing, —

   Without your friend's advice. You promise this?

CARLOS

   All, all I promise that thy love can ask!

   I throw myself entirely upon thee!

MARQUIS

   The king, I hear, is going to Madrid.

   The time is short. If with the queen you would

   Converse in private, it is only here,

   Here in Aranjuez, it can be done.

   The quiet of the place, the freer manners,

   All favor you.

CARLOS

           And such, too, was my hope;

   But it, alas! was vain.

MARQUIS

                Not wholly so.

   I go to wait upon her. If she be

   The same in Spain she was in Henry's court,

   She will be frank at least. And if I can

   Read any hope for Carlos in her looks —

   Find her inclined to grant an interview —

   Get her attendant ladies sent away —

CARLOS

   Most of them are my friends – especially

   The Countess Mondecar, whom I have gained

   By service to her son, my page.

MARQUIS

                    'Tis well;

   Be you at hand, and ready to appear,

   Whene'er I give the signal, prince.

CARLOS

                      I will, —

   Be sure I will: – and all good speed attend thee!

MARQUIS

   I will not lose a moment; so, farewell.

[Exeunt severally

SCENE III

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

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

QUEEN (to the MARCHIONESS)

   I will have you beside me, Mondecar.

   The princess, with these merry eyes of hers,

   Has plagued me all the morning. See, she scarce

   Can hide the joy she feels to leave the country.

EBOLI

   'Twere idle to conceal, my queen, that I

   Shall be most glad to see Madrid once more.

MONDECAR

   And will your majesty not be so, too?

   Are you so grieved to quit Aranjuez?

QUEEN

   To quit – this lovely spot at least I am.

   This is my world. Its sweetness oft and oft

   Has twined itself around my inmost heart.

   Here, nature, simple, rustic nature greets me,

   The sweet companion of my early years —

   Here I indulge once more my childhood's sports,

   And my dear France's gales come blowing here.

   Blame not this partial fondness – all hearts yearn

   For their own native land.

EBOLI

                 But then how lone,

   How dull and lifeless it is here! We might

   As well be in La Trappe.

QUEEN

                I cannot see it.

   To me Madrid alone is lifeless. But

   What saith our duchess to it?

OLIVAREZ

                   Why, methinks,

   Your majesty, since kings have ruled in Spain,

   It hath been still the custom for the court

   To pass the summer months alternately

   Here and at Pardo, – in Madrid, the winter.

QUEEN

   Well, I suppose it has! Duchess, you know

   I've long resigned all argument with you.

MONDECAR

   Next month Madrid will be all life and bustle.

   They're fitting up the Plaza Mayor now,

   And we shall have rare bull-fights; and, besides,

   A grand auto da fe is promised us.

QUEEN

   Promised? This from my gentle Mondecar!

MONDECAR

   Why not? 'Tis only heretics they burn!

QUEEN

   I hope my Eboli thinks otherwise!

EBOLI

   What, I? I beg your majesty may think me

   As good a Christian as the marchioness.

QUEEN

   Alas! I had forgotten where I am, —

   No more of this! We were speaking, I think,

   About the country? And methinks this month

   Has flown away with strange rapidity.

   I counted on much pleasure, very much,

   From our retirement here, and yet I have not

   Found that which I expected. Is it thus

   With all our hopes? And yet I cannot say

   One wish of mine is left ungratified.

OLIVAREZ

   You have not told us, Princess Eboli,

   If there be hope for Gomez, – and if we may

   Expect ere long to greet you as his bride?

QUEEN

   True – thank you, duchess, for reminding me!

[Addressing the PRINCESS.

   I have been asked to urge his suit with you.

   But can I do it? The man whom I reward

   With my sweet Eboli must be a man

   Of noble stamp indeed.

OLIVAREZ

               And such he is,

   A man of mark and fairest fame, – a man

   Whom our dear monarch signally has graced

   With his most royal favor.

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