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.
Don Carlos (play) Page 13
