 | Philip |  |
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE THE FIRST.
Philip, Gomez.Phi.
What, above all things that this world can give,
Dost thou hold dear?
Gom.
Thy favour.
Phi.
By what means
Dost hope to keep it?
Gom.
By the means that gain'd it:
Obedience and silence.
Phi.
Thou art called
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Gom.
'Tis no new function:
Thou knowest that I ...
Phi.
I know that thou hast been,
Among the faithful, still most faithful found.
But on this day, on which my mind revolves
Affairs of import high, perchance my lips
Will utterance give to plans so new and vast,
That, as a prologue to my after-speech,
It seemed to me expedient to recall,
In a few words, thy duties to thy mind.
Gom.
Then may the mighty Philip, on this day,
More thoroughly than he has ever done,
Bring to the test my truth.
Phi.
The task is light
That I enjoin—and light alone to thee:
Never, no never, to another man.
The queen forthwith is coming. Thou wilt hear me
Converse with her at length. Meanwhile do thou
Watch the minutest workings of her countenance.
Fasten on her the inquisitorial look,
That look with which thou art skilful to unravel
The unspoken inmost inclinations
Of thy king's inmost heart, ere silently
Thou bodiest them in action.
SCENE THE SECOND.
Philip, Isabella, Gomez.Isa.
My lord, I come, obedient to thy will.
Phi.
Queen, thou art summon'd in a mighty cause.
Isa.
Ah! wherefore ...
Phi.
Quickly shalt thou hear it, queen.
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Who can with more sincerity impart
Than thou, impartial counsel to my breast?
Isa.
Counsel, my lord, from me?
Phi.
Than that of others,
More I esteem thy judgment. Hitherto
If thou hast never shared with me the toils
Of government, thou shouldest not ascribe it
To the defective fondness of thy husband,
Nor to thy king's defective confidence,
But to my fond anxiety to screen thee
From toils of state too weighty for thy sex.
But, to my sorrow, I behold the day
On which a question of debate arises,
Where ties of blood with schemes of policy
Are so confounded, that, by nature, thou
Art designated my prime counsellor.
But first I feel inclined to hear from thee,
Whether thou judgest of most sanctity,
Most to be dreaded, most to be revered,
The name of Father, or the name of King?—
Isa.
They are held by all of equal sanctity.
Who knows not this?
Phi.
He who most ought to know it.
But tell me also, ere the fact I state,
And tell without reserve, dost love, or hate,
Carlos my son?
Isa.
My lord? ...
Phi.
I understand thee.
If thou didst yield to thy first impulses,
And not obey the stern behests of duty,
Thou wouldst behold him ... as a step-dame.
Isa.
No.
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Phi.
Is dear then to thee.
Yet hast thou so much of true honour left,
That being Philip's wife, that Philip's son
Thou lov'st with ... love maternal.
Isa.
Thou alone
Art law to all my thoughts. Thou lovest him ...
At least I deem so ... and e'en so I love him.
Phi.
Since thy well-regulated, noble heart,
Beholds not Carlos with a step-dame's thought,
Nor with blind instinct of maternal fondness,
I chuse thee for that Carlos as a judge.
Isa.
Me? ...
Phi.
Thou hast heard it. Carlos the first object
Was many many years of all my hope,
Till, having turned his footsteps from the path
Of virtue, he that lofty hope betray'd.
How many pleas did I, from time to time,
Invent to excuse my disobedient son?
But now his insane, impious hardihood,
Hath reached its greatest height; and I am compell'd,
Compell'd against my will, to means of violence.
To his past crimes such turpitude he adds,
Such, that, compared with this, all others vanish;
Such, that words fail me to express his baseness.
With outrage so immense he hath assail'd me
As all comparison to baffle; such,
That, from a son, no father could expect it;
Such, that no longer I account him son.
Ah! thou e'en shudderest ere thou knowest its vastness!
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More than five years thou knowest a wretched crew
On swampy soil, and shores whelm'd by the ocean,
Have dared my sovereign mandate to resist;
Rebels no less to God than to their king.
They find in iterated crimes defence.
Thou knowest with what expense of blood and treasure
This realm hath borne this sacrilegious war.
I would not suffer that rebellious crew
To go unpunished, with mock majesty
To triumph in their crimes, though perseverance
In such a cause cost both my throne and life.
To immolate the impious generation
As victims of my wrath, I swear to Heaven.
And death perchance may be a benefit
To those who spurn at all authority.
Now, who from me would credit the assurance
That with such dire, and such ferocious foes,
I am compell'd to enumerate my son,
Alas! my own, my only son?
Isa.
The prince? ...
Phi.
The prince! yes, many intercepted letters,
Clandestine messages, seditious words
Pronounced incautiously, of this dire fact
Too certainly convince me! I conjure thee
To picture to thy mind my agonies,
A sire betray'd, a circumvented king!
And to pronounce what lot by justice falls
From me, his sire, on such an impious son?
Isa.
Oh, God! Thou will'st that I pronounce his fate?
Phi.
Yes, thou of that art arbitress supreme.
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Pronounce.
Isa.
I fear alone offended justice.
Before the throne's imposing solitude,
By artifice iniquitous, the cause
Of guilt and innocence is oft confounded.
Phi.
Canst thou then doubt of what thy king affirms?
Who more than I can wish him innocent?
Ah, would to Heaven the impeachment were unfounded.
Isa.
By clearest evidence he stands convicted?
Phi.
Who can convict him? Turbulent and head-strong,
He scorns to bring against the clearest proofs
Some palliative pretexts, much less reasons.
I would not, of this latest misdemeanour,
With him hold conference, till I had calm'd
The first emotions of my just resentment.
But though my rage be mute, stern policy
Moves me to speak. Alas! the voice of father,
That agonizing voice, resounds within me.
Isa.
Ah, hear that voice! no voice can equal it!
Perhaps he is less a culprit than thou thinkest;
Indeed his guilt on this emergency
Seems too impossible to challenge credence.
Hear him thyself, whatever be his crimes:
Who than a son, between a son and father,
Can be a mediator more persuasive?
Granted that he be haughty with a train
Not friendly to the truth, assuredly
Thy presence will subdue his pride. To him
Open thine ears, and harden not thy heart
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Him to thy presence never dost thou summon,
Never speak to him. He approaches thee
Impress'd with fear; and love and confidence
Are scared by thy inflexible reserve.
Revive within him, if it be suppressed,
His native virtue; 'tis impossible
That, in thy son, it can be quite extinguished.
To no one else trust thy paternal cares;
Present to him the aspect of a father,
Reserve a monarch's majesty for others.
What, from a generous heart, may not be gain'd
By generous treatment? If he be convicted
Of some delinquency (and who is perfect?)
To him alone do thou alone display
Thy just resentment.
There is affection in a father's wrath;
What son can witness it, and tremble not?
One accent that paternal fondness dictates,
Would, in that noble breast, remorse more deep
Excite, and less of rancour, than ten thousand
Malignantly, and artfully pronounced,
To drive him on to desperation,
By treacherous, seeming friends. Let thy court hear
That thou dost highly prize, and love, thy son;
That thou accountest his impetuous youth
Worthy of pardon, though not free from blame;
And thou wilt hear, with one consenting voice,
Thy universal court resound his praise.
Suspicions not thine own tear from thy heart;
And leave base apprehensions of foul treason
To monarchs who deserve to be betray'd.
Phi.
This action, worthy of thyself, is thine
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A father's heart: ah, others act not thus!
Oh wretched lot of kings, they cannot utter,
Tremble to utter, much less dare obey,
Nature's benign affections. How I rave!
Even dare they make mention of them? no:
They are compell'd, by interest of state,
To stifle and dissemble utterly
All natural impulses. The time is come
When in my breast they shall find free admission.
Thy intercession, more than perhaps thou dreamest,
Hath torn the veil from every mystery.
Almost I am compell'd to deem him guiltless,
Since thou dost think him so. Without delay
Bring the prince hither, Gomez.
SCENE THE THIRD.
Philip, Isabella.Phi.
Thou now shalt see that to the guilty prince
I can appear, more than is fit, a father;
If I must ever be compell'd to meet him
In all the terrors of a king offended.—
Isa.
I do not doubt thy promise. But he comes:
Suffer me to depart.
Phi.
Stay—I command thee.
Isa.
I have ventured to express my thoughts to thee
Since thou wouldst have it so. Why tarry longer?
The presence of a step-dame, when a son
Meets an offended father, were intrusive.
Phi.
Intrusive? No. Thou much deceivest thyself,
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Thou hast alone a step-dame's name. For once
From thy remembrance banish e'en the name.
Thy presence will be grateful to my son.
Ah, see, he comes: and he shall not be ignorant
That, of thy own accord, thou hast pledged thyself
As surety, for his virtue, faith, and love.
SCENE THE FOURTH.
Philip, Isabella, Carlos, Gomez.Phi.
Approach me, prince. Now tell me when will dawn
That day in which, with the fond name of son,
Thy father may accost thee. Thou should'st see,
(Ah, would'st thou have it so) blended at once
The name of father and of king; ah, why,
Since thou lov'st not the one, fear'st not the other?
Car.
My lord, though these unmerited reproaches,
Ere now, have often jarred upon my ears,
They always sound most harsh and unprovoked.
Silence from thee seems not so wonderful;
Guilty I am, if in thy sight I seem so.
'Tis true my heart assents not to the charge,
Free from conviction and remorse it glows,
But not the less profound regret it feels
That thou esteem'st me guilty.—
Oh, could I trace the source of my misfortunes,
Or, if the phrase seem more appropriate,
Know the true origin of my offences!
Phi.
Thy love so lukewarm towards thy native country;
And towards thy father thy ... no love at all;
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Enquire no further why thou dost offend me.
Car.
I am pleased, at least, that thou hast not ascribed
This to a nature innately perverse.
I may make some amends for what is past;
Learn with what fondness I should love my father,
And how to love my country; learn the means
To banish grovelling flatterers from my presence,
Who, in proportion as the father's power
That of the son's transcends, the father's ears
With lies more pertinaciously assault.
Phi.
Thou art still a youth. Thy heart, thy look, thy actions,
Too plainly tell that much beyond discretion
Thou trustest to thyself. This I should deem
Only a venial error of thy age,
If I did not with disappointment witness,
That, as thy years advance, thy judgment seems,
Instead of perfecting, more immature.
I shall account thy error of to-day
A youthful indiscretion, though, alas!
It bears the marks of veteran turpitude.
Car.
Error? ... but what?
Phi.
And thou dost ask it of me?
And art thou not aware that all thy thoughts,
Much more thy daring deeds, thy thoughts most secret,
To me are all reveal'd? Queen, thou beholdest;
'Tis not to be, but not to feel himself
Worthy of blame, that constitutes his guilt.
Car.
Father, at last from doubt deliver me:
What have I done?
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So manifold thy crimes,
That doubt of which shall prompt my just reproach,
Serves thee instead of innocence. Now hear me.
Say, hast thou not had commerce with that soil
Where most the furnace of sedition blazes?
E'en in my palace, did'st thou not perchance,
Before the dawn of day, clandestinely,
A trait'rous and protracted audience give
To the orator of the Batavian rebels?
To that base miscreant who comes begging pity,
If you believe his words, but who, in heart,
Perfidious machinations cherishes,
And projects of rebellion unavenged.
Car.
Father, must my most unimportant actions
Be all ascribed to guilt? 'Tis true, I spoke
At length to the ambassador; 'tis true
That I, with him, compassionate the fate
Of those thy hapless subjects, and I dare
Avow the same compassion in thy presence.
Nor thou thyself would'st long withhold thy pity,
Provided that, like me, thou hadst heard at length
Of the iron government, in which, oppressed
Beneath proud, avaricious, inexpert,
Weak, cruel, yet unpunished ministers,
So many years they have groan'd. For their misfortunes
My heart with pity bleeds; I boldly own it:
And say, would'st thou, that I, the son of Philip,
Possessed a vulgar or a cruel heart?
The hope perhaps was too presumptuous
That I, with stating the unvarnished truth,
Could wake, this day, thy bosom to compassion.
But how can I be thought to offend a father
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If thou on earth dost wish to represent
The Ruler of the skies, what attribute
Like that of mercy, fixes the resemblance?
But, notwithstanding, of my punishment
Thou art arbiter supreme, if I appear,
Or am, on this occasion criminal.
The only boon I dare to challenge of thee,
Is to be spared th'unworthy name of traitor.
Phi.
A noble pride breathes in thy every word.
Ill canst thou, nor should'st thou affect to do it,
The lofty motives penetrate, or judge,
That influence thy king. Hence thou should'st tame
That turbulence undisciplined; that bold
Impatient wish to give advice unasked;
Thy judgments, as if fraught with mighty sense,
Officiously to impart. Learn to be cautious,
If on the mightiest of the thrones of Europe
Thou art destined to be honour'd by the world.
That indiscretion now in thee may please,
Which then may cast upon thy character
A stain of deep reproach. 'Tis time, I warn thee,
T'assume a new deportment. Thou hast sought
Pity from me, and pity shalt thou find;
But for thyself: all are not worthy of it.
Leave me to be sole judge of my own measures.
Erewhile in thy behalf, and not in vain,
The queen at length addressed me. Of my love,
No less than of her own, she deems thee worthy ...
To her, more than to me, thou owest thy pardon ...
To her. From this day forward I expect
That thou wilt better know both how to prize,
And how deserve my favour.—Now behold,
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Oh queen; and, urged by thee, consent to learn
Not only to forgive, but love my son.
Isa.
My lord?
Phi.
To thee I owe it, and to thee
Alone. For thee have I repressed my wrath,
And in th'indulgent character of father
Have I reproved my son. Of this day's mercy
Mayest thou ne'er give me reason to repent.
Oh, son! that thou mayest not defeat her hope,
Strive to attach her more by thy deportment.
That he may be progressive in amendment,
Do thou, oh queen, more frequently permit him
Thy presence to enjoy ... speak to him ... guide him ...
And listen to her thou, and shun her not.
I will that it be so.
Car.
Oh, how the sound
Of pardon, when addressed to me, is irksome!
But if I must accept it from my father,
And, lady, thou obtain that pardon for me,
May my fate grant (my fate my only crime)
That I may never more endure the shame.
Phi.
Rather should'st thou take shame to have needed pardon,
Than, needing, to have gain'd it from thy father.
Let this for once suffice: weigh well my words.
Do thou, oh queen, withdraw to thy apartments;
Thou shalt, ere long, behold me there. Meanwhile
I must bestow on other weighty cares
A few brief moments.
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SCENE THE FIFTH.
Philip, Gomez.Phi.
Heard'st thou?
Gom.
I heard.
Phi.
Sawest thou?
Gom.
I saw.
Phi.
Oh, rage!
Then the suspicion ...
Gom.
Now is certainty.
Phi.
And Philip yet is unrevenged?
Gom.
Reflect ...
Phi.
I have reflected. Follow thou my footsteps.
| Philip | |