University of Virginia Library

Act Fourth.

SCENE FIRST.

DONNA LEONORA, DON MANRIQUE, DON LOPEZ.
D. MANRIQUE.

D. LOPEZ.
We mourn as Lovers, but rejoice as patriots;
Our faithful hearts are to the State devoted;
Therefore we ardent wish Castile with Arragon,
To be united firm by this Alliance:
That their leagu'd forces may the Moors subdue.
Unblushing we resign this glorious fortune;
Which, whilst it honour'd us, our Queen degraded.
Let Isabella and Don Sancho reign.

D. LEONORA.
My Lords! this gen'rous resignation flatters
Too soon my new rais'd hopes—Alas! what hopes?
My princely Son in infancy expir'd:
And this report, excites my grief, and wonder,
Opens the sources of my woes afresh,
Renews my sorrow for my first-born hope,
With all the yearning anguish mothers know,
Who mourn an only Son's untimely death.
Oh! did he live! now might his arm protect
His own, his Sister's and his Mother's cause.

D. LOPEZ.
Doubtless for this Heaven has preserv'd your Son.

D. LEONORA.

D. MANRIQUE.
Oft from our Fathers have we heard your woes;
How Ferdinand was from his Kingdom driven;
And you, ere eighteen summers' suns had grac'd
Your brow, were forc'd to seek for shelter here,
Before the fair Elvira saw the light.
Thus much we know; in what remains instruct us.

D. LEONORA.
Just as Don Ferdinand beheld the Rebel Garcia
Ready to mount his Throne, my Son was born:
Don Sancho was my hapless infant nam'd.
From barbarous Garcia's fury to protect him,
My royal Husband urg'd me to consent
To his conveyance to a safe retreat.
The place where Ferdinand conceal'd my Child,
I never knew.

D. MANRIQUE.
Had you no clew to trace him,
That so one Day you might reclaim your Son?

D. LEONORA.
My husband with our Infant tokens sent:
Mine and his Portrait, with a braid of hair,
Pledge of my love, ere yet my bridal day;
And a deed, written by Ferdinand himself,
That own'd and that identify'd our Son.
These in an iron Casket were inclos'd;
Its secret spring known but to him, and me.—
Ah! these precautions prov'd but useless care.
Twelve Moons had scarcely wan'd when my Child dy'd;
Ere I again had clasp'd him to my breast.

D. LOPEZ.
Perhaps some false report might then deceive you;
We came expecting you could solve our doubts,
And realize the hope and wish of all,
To find your Son in a most valiant hero.
Fain would I hope this rumour may prove true;
And that your Son still lives to glad your eyes.

D. LEONORA.
Oh! 't is impossible! His Father, he himself,
Told the dire tale. He saw my babe expire,—
Catch'd his last breath,—and clos'd his beamless eyes.

D. MANRIQUE.
Would we could doubt the truth of his report!

D. LEONORA.

SCENE SECOND.

DONNA LEONORA, DON MANRIQUE, DON LOPEZ, DON ALVAREZ.
D. LEONORA.
Hast thou learn'd, Count! whence this report arises?

D. ALVAREZ.
Don Raymond lives; by me he greets you, Madam!

D. LEONORA.
For my true Servant's life, kind Heaven! I thank thee!

D. ALVAREZ.
More joy awaits you, Queen!—

D. LEONORA
(with wild ecstasy).
Have I, a Son?

D. ALVAREZ.
Don Sancho lives.—

D. LEONORA.
Oh, lead me!—let me see him!—
Weep on his neck, and clasp him in my arms!—
My Son!!—my Son!!—Yet can it be, Great God!
Oh! bring me to him! make me know he lives!

(Going.)
D. ALVAREZ
(staying the Queen).
Don Raymond seeks him.—

D. LEONORA.
Seeks him? Oh! all is false—
(Leans half-fainting upon D. Manrique.)
I hop'd him come with Raymond, this the secret,
Which, dying Ferdinand declar'd, he knew.

D. ALVAREZ.
Madam, it is. And Raymond seeks Don Sancho
Here, in this Court.

D. LEONORA.
Ah! vain research, Alvarez!
Will you conduct Don Raymond hither to me.

D. ALVAREZ.
He to the assembled troops is gone, in hopes
To find Don Sancho midst their Captains.
Don Raymond join'd the Deputies from Arragon,
After their messengers were sent to announce
To you their near approach. Then he declar'd
That their Prince liv'd; that here, he hop'd to find him,
As in the armies of Castile he long has serv'd.—
I will seek Raymond, Madam! but so eagerly,
Do your brave Arragonians press around him,
Their Prince demanding, that I doubt, to bring
Him hither, I must bring the whole wild multitude.

SCENE THIRD.

DONNA LEONORA, DON MANRIQUE, DON LOPEZ.
D. MANRIQUE.
As here Don Raymond seeks him, I believe,
Either that Heaven has torn Don Sancho from you,
Or that he lives in the Illustrious Carlos.

D. LEONORA.
Carlos, my Lord?—And thinks Don Manrique thus?

D. LOPEZ.
This is the thought, and wish of a whole People:—
When it was known that here your son was sought,
All with one voice exclaim'd, “He must be Carlos!”
We judg'd that you could have explain'd the mystery.
And therefore sought your presence to explore it.

D. MANRIQUE.
Madam! though envious of Carlos deem'd,
I own that his whole life, since we have known him,
Throughout its wondrous course, appears one miracle:
Himself and fortune almost supernatural.
His high strung virtue that enchants all minds;
His lofty valour, which transcends my praise,
His port majestic and his winning mien,
Give him access, beyond a Subject's reach,
To thrones: Two Queens, all emulous, strive,
Who shall esteem and honour him the most;
Nay, e'en from love, can scarce defend their hearts.
The prompt respect of an adoring People,
Who, like some god, gaze at him as he passes,
All, with resistless evidence, evinces
That valiant Carlos is your long-lost Son.

D. LEONORA.
In such a Son, how might a Mother triumph?
But yet beware, my Lords! how you inspire
The thought, that Carlos is my long-mourn'd Child;
Lest I mistake a woman's conscious pride,
That would exult to own a Son like him,
For Nature's sacred voice within my breast.
He has a Prince's spirit, not his birth;
Himself, by his own conduct, this attests,
Leaving the Queen to chuse, amongst her Subjects,
The Partner of her royal bed and Throne.

D. MANRIQUE.
See you not, Madam! that his princely spirit
Prepares to gain this conquest o'er all three.
Have you forgotten what he said before you?
“I will owe nought to those who gave me life”—
Nobly his heart resigns that high advantage,
To owe his greatness only to his courage.

D. LOPEZ.
Behold him! we shall know from him the truth.

SCENE FOURTH.

DONNA LEONORA, DON CARLOS, DON MANRIQUE, DON LOPEZ.
(Carlos enters with precipitation. Donna Leonora flies to him with open arms; Carlos retreats.)
D. LEONORA.
Am I so bless'd to have a Son like Thee?
A mother's happiness,—a widow's joy,
Hangs on thy answer;—Carlos! art thou my Son?—
Speak, ere a Mother's exstasy of hope
O'ercomes my soul, and my arms clasp thy neck.
If thou be alien to my blood, O speak!
But let my long-lost Son come to my arms.

D. CARLOS.
O Queen! I grieve to find this errour spread;
Reserve these transports for your happy Son;
I am not he.—I sought you to complain;
And beg release from an offensive honour.—
The People obstinately bent to take
Away my name, declare I am Don Sancho,
And Prince of Arragon. His presence soon
Will prove how much mistaking they have been,
In thinking me that Prince. I am rais'd up
The phantom of an hour. Such cruel mockery
Abases you, O Queen! as well as Carlos.

D. LEONORA.
Oft is the People's voice the voice of Heaven:
Impulsively at once it bursts inspir'd.

D. LOPEZ.
My Lord! we know, from well-confirm'd report,
That, in the armies of Castile, Don Sancho serves,
Unknown 't is true, save to himself alone.
Therefore all eyes are fix'd on you, as one,
Whose dazzling merit, speaks exalted Rank.
No longer, Prince! deny what Heaven proclaims.
You have obliged us to transgress against you,
When you should not have forc'd our disrespect.
Our high esteem for Carlos was well known;
Our pride warr'd not with him, but with his birth.
Though Carlos we disdain'd, yet we respect
Don Sancho, will accept him for our Monarch,
When to our Queen he deigns to own himself.
Quit your disguise, my Lord! and as Don Sancho,
And our chosen King, receive our loyal homage.

(They take off their hats, and with their right hands upon their hearts, they bow.)
D. CARLOS.
This false respect, with which you have surpris'd me,
Is more injurious, Counts! than your contempt.
I thought this strange report the work of chance;
Not doubting any bold enough to dare,
To make a pageant King of me for sport.
Is this the jest of your exuberant spirits?
Then learn, gay Lords! that the brave honour valour;
And that your equals, in the field, respect,
Nor make of mine a mockery, a may-game.
If this be your intent, first vanquish, then
Deride me; victorious, you may railly me
With grace: Now you anticipate your privilege.
The Queen's Ring still I guard; and this derided
Carlos, his family, and race unknown,
The sceptre of Castile from you withholds.
This arm which from captivity redeem'd you,
May still control, and humble your ambition.

D. MANRIQUE.

SCENE FIFTH.

DONNA LEONORA, CARLOS.
D. CARLOS.
Madam! you see with what contempt they treat me.

D. LEONORA.
Leave this dispute; and speak we of Don Sancho.
These Lords, though proud, yet generously declare,
That in this Court, no Stranger, but yourself,
Has, of a Prince disguis'd, the port and virtues;
That, if Don Sancho live, he lives in you.
Say, are you well acquainted with your birth?

D. CARLOS.
Alas! I am.—Were I some Infant, winds
And waves had spar'd, some little wretch forlorn,
By parents in a desert left,—to milder beasts
Expos'd,—through hatred, fear, or cruel shame;
By hazard found, and from kind pity nurtur'd;
My pride, at this report, would rise to hope,
Beholding you, thus doubtful, thus distress'd.
For I am high of heart and most ambitious.
Sceptres and diadems transport my soul;
And my presumptuous mind impetuous soars
Beyond all bounds, in useless, idle flights.
Whilst a few warlike deeds sustain vain thoughts;—
Sudden my eyes cast inward, they are dash'd
From godlike heights to deep humiliation.—
—I know my Parents.—I am not Don Sancho.—
He with your Deputies perhaps is come;
And a few hours will bring him to your arms.

D. LEONORA.
The Counts have lighted in my mind a hope,
I fain would cherish.—Always I esteem'd you;
A secret movement, in despite of me,
Inclin'd me ever to admire, nay love you.
And something now, intuitively strong,
Within my breast, disowns your words; and says,
You are deceiving me, or else deceiv'd.
What animates me thus I cannot tell;
Whether the ardour of a Mother's love,
Or admiration for transcendent merit;
Whether the sacred voice of Nature speaks,
Or my esteem pays tribute to your worth;
Whether my heart, drawn by mysterious instinct,
Thus owns its blood, or my soul makes a choice.

D. CARLOS.
Such thoughts as these deceive their followers,
As the night-meteor travellers misleads;
They are delusions all. Then, Queen! resist them.
If the least gleam of dawning hope could rise
Within my breast, that I your Son could be,
Think with what towering joy, what exultation,
I, at your feet, should fall, and claim your love.
The lofty pride of my aspiring mind,
Would glory to be Master of a Throne;
But, with a dearer triumph would rejoice
In such a Mother; whose exalted rank,
Is less conspicuous than her long-try'd virtues.
Again,—with solemn truth,—I re-assure you—
I know my Parents:—I am not Don Sancho.

D. LEONORA.
With pain my heart relinquishes the thought.—
O God of Heaven! hadst thou for me preserv'd
A Son like this, how would my widow'd heart
Exult with joy, and praise thy wondrous mercy!
How should I glory if thou wert my Son!

D. CARLOS.
Would that I were! but I am not so bless'd.—

D. LEONORA.
Since you deny it, you are not my Son:
No longer hide your Birth; reveal this mystery.
However high your thoughts may have aspir'd,
Carlos! my condemnation fear not.
So great is my esteem, that in your favour,
My prosperous fortune, and my regal power,
I will exert to honour and distinguish you,
E'en to the height of most ambitious thoughts.
I think your virtues worthy of a Throne:
If noble blood flow in your veins, Don Carlos!
A fate awaits you will reward your merits.

D. CARLOS.
The secret of myself—must rest with me:
Never, to mortal ear, to be reveal'd.

D. LEONORA.
If, with this secret, you will not intrust me,
At least, refuse me not another boon;
Which, as a Mother, earnestly I crave.

D. CARLOS.
Name it. For you, Elvira, and the Queen,
I live, and, in the cause of each, had I
Ten thousand lives, I would expend them all.

D. LEONORA.
The boon I ask, is, to withdraw your services.
We now can reign without your succour, Carlos!
The death of Garcia has repair'd his crimes;
And renders Arragon back to its Sovereign.
A child of mine, in peace, now mounts its Throne:
Don Sancho if he live; or else my Daughter.
No longer then prepare to follow us;
Constrain us not that honour to accept.
With candour, Carlos! does a Mother own,
That, with such dazzling virtues, much she fears you.
To judgment such as yours this may suffice.

D. CARLOS.
Why must I thus be treated in extremes?
Lov'd as a Son, or hated as a foe?
In what do I offend? Whence your disdain?
Why, of the only joy I had, bereave me?

D. LEONORA.
Brave youth! I see with grief the pain you feel.
Your birth conceal'd, commands this conduct from me:
In me 't is prudent, and to you most friendly.
I but prevent the wretchedness of all;
Forbidding hopes, which never must be answer'd.
I am constrain'd your service to relinquish.

D. CARLOS.
I thought my griefs had reach'd their worst extreme:
But this rejection of my humble aid,
Wounds with a pang, I never thought to feel.
The last, bright ray, that cheer'd my lonely mind,
It is your pleasure to obscure for ever;—
The Sun will never rise for me again.

D. LEONORA.
Farewell! grateful I thank the zeal you shew'd
To serve our cause. I hold you, generous Carlos!
In high esteem:—respect you—beyond words.
Accept a friend's best wishes, who regrets you:
May ev'ry blessing Heaven reserves for virtue,
Your portion be; may peace, content, and honour,
Make your life happy, and long flourish round you.
When next your happy Mother's arms shall clasp you,
Tell her, she has more joy, than Thrones can give,
A joy, I would were mine, a Son like you.—
—Speak not!—This moment rends my heart—may Heaven!—

(The Queen retires with precipitation much agitated.)

SCENE SIXTH.

DON CARLOS, BLANCHE.
BLANCHE.
What can thus agitate the Queen, my Lord!

D. CARLOS.
Her just rejection and disdain of me.

BLANCHE.
Disdain a hero! who is own'd for King.

D. CARLOS.
Fair Lady! aid not envy thus to mock me;
I have no claim to such a glorious title.

BLANCHE.
The Queen herself believes you Prince of Arragon.
To her your silence has been most ungrateful;
Her generosity to valiant Carlos,
Deserv'd the instant thanks e'en of Don Sancho.
I came to summon your attendance on her.
And see, she comes to give you audience here.
(Exit Blanche.)

SCENE SEVENTH.

DONNA ISABELLA, DON CARLOS.
D. ISABELLA.
Why has Don Sancho thus conceal'd himself?
I dare not offer gratulations to him,
Those he despises, since he would not claim them,
Rejecting his advantages as King.

D. CARLOS.
I have no claim to gratulations, Madam!
You are deceiv'd in thinking me Don Sancho.—
Permit me instantly to quit Castile,
And shun the gathering storm, that threats my head.

D. ISABELLA.

D. CARLOS.
Already is my secret half betray'd;
In vain I hid my country and my race,
In vain assum'd another name, disdainful,
Hating the one fate gave me at my birth.
My Name and Country are discovered both;
I am of Arragon,—there Sancho nam'd.—
Thus much this fatal errour has unravell'd,
I fear Fate's malice will disclose the rest;
And soon reveal with shame, and dire disgrace,
What Count, what Marquis, you have deign'd to make.

D. ISABELLA.
Have I nor power, nor courage to protect
The structure I have rear'd? Who shall destroy it?
Then trust me, Carlos! trust me with this secret,
As to a chosen and most zealous friend;
And I who wrought your fortune will maintain it.

D. CARLOS.
Let me depart, ere I a victim fall
To the dire fate, that menaces me here;
And screen myself from what its wrath prepares.

D. ISABELLA.
Count, you deceive me! this weak, idle fear,
Is love's pretence to quit my Court and Kingdom.
Hence your disdain of the fair Bride I offer'd you.
Go into Arragon. Your Princess follow;—
Go openly! nor thus descend to counterfeit.
Since your proud heart is by her charms enslav'd,
Do not abase yourself to ask my leave;
Depart triumphant, in despite of me.
To go, without my knowledge, is less insult,
Than to depart against my prohibition.

D. CARLOS.
In mercy, Madam! add not to my woes,
Your cruel scorn, and undeserv'd reproach.

D. ISABELLA.
Why then delude me with evasive art,
Act from one motive, and another own?
For such deceit is most ungrateful, Carlos!
You love Elvira,—therefore quit my Court.

D. CARLOS.
No, Madam, no! I love not bright Elvira:
Though I would fight her cause, and die to serve her.
Death is my only wish, 't is the sole good,
Heaven has in store for me—

D. ISABELLA.
Whence this despair?
Art thou not grac'd by fortune's richest gifts?
And has not Nature, with a lavish hand,
Endow'd thee amply, with her choicest blessings?
Who is more envy'd, Carlos! than thyself?
Then why repine, and whence this strange despondency?
Is it within the compass of my power
To cure thy griefs?—Speak! for I wish thee happy.

D. CARLOS.
Canst thou reverse the stern decrees of Heaven;
And by a miracle change nature's course?—
Annul the past, from memory's fix'd record;
And change the future destiny of things?

D. ISABELLA.
I understand a sorrow in your words,
But not their purport, Carlos! What afflicts you?

D. CARLOS.
A cureless grief which I must never speak.
Which, till it almost bursts, my heart has borne.
For pity's sake, O Queen! no more reproach me;
But grant me leave, to spend in solitude,
My rest of days.—I must not—cannot stay.—

D. ISABELLA.
Though to a friend's entreaties you are silent;
Yet surely to a Queen some reason 's due,
For quitting thus, her service and her Court.
How can you justify this sudden conduct,
So strange, and so unlike the intrepid Carlos?

D. CARLOS
(wildly).
Adoring you, I cease to be myself.
No more I wish for fame, nor value life.—
Oh! must I see you in another's arms?
My mind is fir'd to phrenzy at the thought:
Love, envy, and despair, uproot my soul.—
I thought to hide this secret in the grave;
I sought to die, without offending you.
But love, this day, dethrones my feeble reason.— (Kneels.)

Can you forgive a wretch, who, on the rack,
Has fail'd in firmness, and breath'd forth one sigh,
Which, though repented, cannot be recall'd.
For you my heart felt the first pulse of love.
A heaven inspir'd emotion, undebas'd
By self regard, or thought of due return:
Hopeless I sigh'd, nor one fond wish dar'd form.—
I go for ever—must I go unpardon'd?—
(The Queen turns weeping to him.)
Madam! you weep! Oh! whence proceed those tears?

D. ISABELLA.
Carlos!— (stops, unable to speak.)


D. CARLOS.
O Isabella!—O my royal mistress!
What have I done? Have I fresh cause for anguish?
Those tears!—burst they from aught but indignation?
Scorn were less poignant to my tortur'd mind,
Than to have griev'd your heart, or caus'd one tear.
And can I ask?—Yes:—pity me and frown!
Your anger, that will lacerate my heart,
Will glad my soul, when reason reigns again.

D. ISABELLA.
'Gainst one, who so unwillingly offends,
I feel no anger.—Carlos! you are pardon'd.

(Signs to him to rise.)
D. CARLOS.
That pardon is more dear, than all your gifts.
Madam! receive your Ring; revoke your trust.
I must depart, and hide my guilty head.—

D. ISABELLA
(irresolute, after a pause).
Stay till the Prince of Arragon appears:
Give him my Ring. A Queen, for all the favours
She has bestow'd, entreats that one from you.

D. CARLOS.
O Madam! let me shun impending fate.
If I obey you, I incur its wrath.—
The haughty Counts seek to dishonour me;
I would preserve my honour to my grave;
Let my heart burst with grief, but not with shame.

D. ISABELLA.
Stay till Don Sancho comes, ere you depart.
Let me in this command;—oblige me, Carlos!

D. CARLOS.
Oh! fatal mandate! but your will is law.
You doom me, Queen! to what is worse than death;
To contumelious scorn from those who hate me.
Yet,—if you wish it,—why should I repine.—
I'll stay, and brave the malice of my fate:
When you command, I have no self-regard.

D. ISABELLA.
Why art thou not Don Sancho! hapless Carlos!
O Heaven!—believe me not—what have I said?

(Going.)
D. CARLOS.
What, with strange magic, tortures and delights,
Consoles me, whilst it wounds my aching sense,
What, has charm'd all the horrours of my fate;
What, I most joy to hear, yet grieve to know.

(Exeunt severally.)