Part 279 (1/2)

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 G.o.d!

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 pa.s.sion.

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 pa.s.sion?

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 un.o.bserved? '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 chastis.e.m.e.nt. O G.o.d!

I feel my heart grow bitter at the thought.

Let us away! away!

MARQUIS.