 | The Star of Seville |  |
68
SCENE II.
—THE KING'S CHAMBER.The King discovered.
KING.
The evil that we do, being conceiv'd,
Is sin, e'en in the womb of thought; before
The midwife will have given birth to it,
And brought it forth, a deed. Then I have sinn'd,
In that I've wished his death:—nor is that sin
Made less or greater by the accomplishment
That frees my labouring thought—and having sinn'd,
Why 'tis as easy to go on, as turn;
Much easier than stand still, being come so far;
Besides, do I not bear th' absolving power
That cancels evil? Can the King do wrong?
And shall he not do right that doth avenge
The sacred cause of majesty insulted?
Were I his fellow—such as he—a blow
Were worth a blow, and so he might be answer'd;
But being as the sun, above his head,
By so much more is treason black in him
As I'm his greater—by that height debarr'd
The level ground men claim in equal combat.
[Enter Gentleman, ushering in Don Carlos.
Oh you are welcome—welcome;—listen to me:
With the profoundest heed of sense and spirit,
And answer me with such a soul of love,
Of truth and honour, as your father, Carlos,
Bore mine.
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Let not the measure of my words
Outpass the showing of my life—believe me, sir
I speak as though the sun shone through my heart—
I have not inherited my father's name
Or land with a more full and true profession,
Than his most dear devotion to your majesty.
KING.
Sit down beside me here, and give me heed.
In all this court which, since my brows have borne
My father's crown, so wooingly smiles round me—
Among these scores of willing nimble slaves
I've not one friend, not one I e'er have lov'd
As some six years agone I lov'd thee, Carlos;
And though my prosperous hours may seem to have slipp'd
From out their record, thy right loyal love
My need remembers it.
CARLOS.
Oh blessed chance!
Whate'er it be that once more shows to me,
Stripp'd of his royal panoply, my friend!
What needs my friend, and what commands my King?
KING.
Rememberest thou how, in our unripe years,
Our hours were interwoven with the sweetness
Of an affection most like kindred love?
CARLOS.
Well, oh my liege, how well—and every patch
Of sunny boyhood that my mind reflects
Still holds your form.
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This is as I would have it.—
Rememberest thou our beardless exploits, when
We first in blood baptized our virgin swords?
Dost thou remember Talavera fight—
The scar yet seams my breast—that was the trench
Betwixt thee and the death that did besiege thee?
CARLOS.
Give me to do my answer. I am poor
In the airy coin of words—oh let my deeds
Speak for me—this strange catechism, sir,
Seems like mistrust. Let me not say, but show
How my heart bears engraven on its core
That wound.
KING.
All that a loving friend doth owe
Unto his friend thou art still perfect in.
Now answer me, in what kind of respect
Dost thou as a true subject hold thy King?
CARLOS.
Second alone to God, whose great ambassador
Here upon earth he stands—his law of pow'r
Less holy only than the laws of Heaven—
His person sacred above aught of earth.
KING.
And what does he deserve who lays his hand
On his anointed King in daring strife?
CARLOS
(starting up.)
Death!—nay three sev'ral deaths. First that he struck
The abstract of all mortal majesty;
Next, that against the father of his country,
Its rever'd head, he rais'd his lawless hand—
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Most impious and unnatural, he struck
The type of Heaven's eternal Sovereign—
The death and hell of sacrilege accurst.
KING.
Within the walls of Seville lives a man
Who hath incurr'd all these against his King—
'Gainst me, the Lord and Sovereign of Castille,
He rais'd his arm.
CARLOS.
Oh! wither'd be its marrow,
And shrunk its muscles—may its veins run bloodless
Under the curse of God and man!
KING.
Waste not
Thy zeal in harmless words—hast thou no sword?
CARLOS.
For this most honour'd choice my heart bows down
In thanks—yea, I do bear a knightly sword,
And here, by this life-giving symbol, swear,
Which on death's handle christian warriors worship,
To drive forth from my breast all other thoughts
Save that alone of this great evil done
And its great punishment yet left undone.
KING.
Within this paper have I writ the name
Of him the traitor.—When thou art gone forth
From out the palace, stay not to pray or sleep,
But now, or ere the night's an hour older,
Do this appointed work: be sure the task
Shall not lack payment—nor shall blame or danger
Grow to thy steps if thou achiev'st his death.
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If I achieve his death! all blessed saints
Fight with me, and against the parricide:
And as the cause is holy, shadowy fear
Comes not anigh my soul. Good night, my liege—
The heavens protect your grace.
KING.
I shall sleep well,
Knowing mine honour's champion doth not slumber,
Good night, my Carlos.—Nay, stoop not, good friend,
But thus, as when we last did say farewell
Receive thy friend's embrace and sovereign's greeting.
Lights, ho within! Farewell!
CARLOS.
God keep your majesty.
[Exeunt severally.
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