University of Virginia Library

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.)