Don Carlos. Фридрих Шиллер

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       My mother! Grant, O heaven, I may forget

       How she became my mother!

       DOMINGO.

       Gracious prince!

       CARLOS (passing his hands thoughtfully over his brow).

       Alas! alas! a fruitful source of woe

       Have mothers been to me. My youngest act,

       When first these eyes beheld the light of day,

       Destroyed a mother.

       DOMINGO.

       Is it possible

       That this reproach disturbs your conscience, prince?

       CARLOS.

       And my new mother! Hath she not already

       Cost me my father's heart? Scarce loved at best.

       My claim to some small favor lay in this—

       I was his only child! 'Tis over! She

       Hath blest him with a daughter—and who knows

       What slumbering ills the future hath in store?

       DOMINGO.

       You jest, my prince. All Spain adores its queen.

       Shall it be thought that you, of all the world,

       Alone should view her with the eyes of hate—

       Gaze on her charms, and yet be coldly wise?

       How, prince? The loveliest lady of her time,

       A queen withal, and once your own betrothed?

       No, no, impossible—it cannot be!

       Where all men love, you surely cannot hate.

       Carlos could never so belie himself.

       I prithee, prince, take heed she do not learn

       That she hath lost her son's regard. The news

       Would pain her deeply.

       CARLOS. Ay, sir! think you so?

       DOMINGO.

       Your highness doubtless will remember how,

       At the late tournament in Saragossa,

       A lance's splinter struck our gracious sire.

       The queen, attended by her ladies, sat

       High in the centre gallery of the palace,

       And looked upon the fight. A cry arose,

       "The king! he bleeds!" Soon through the general din,

       A rising murmur strikes upon her ear.

       "The prince—the prince!" she cries, and forward rushed,

       As though to leap down from the balcony,

       When a voice answered, "No, the king himself!"

       "Then send for his physicians!" she replied,

       And straight regained her former self-composure.

       [After a short pause.

       But you seem wrapped in thought?

       CARLOS. In wonder, sir,

       That the king's merry confessor should own

       So rare a skill in the romancer's art.

       [Austerely.

       Yet have I heard it said that those

       Who watch men's looks and carry tales about,

       Have done more mischief in this world of ours

       Than the assassin's knife, or poisoned bowl.

       Your labor, Sir, hath been but ill-bestowed;

       Would you win thanks, go seek them of the king.

       DOMINGO.

       This caution, prince, is wise. Be circumspect

       With men—but not with every man alike.

       Repel not friends and hypocrites together;

       I mean you well, believe me!

       CARLOS. Say you so?

       Let not my father mark it, then, or else

       Farewell your hopes forever of the purple.

       DOMINGO (starts).

       CARLOS.

       How!

       CARLOS. Even so! Hath he not promised you

       The earliest purple in the gift of Spain?

       DOMINGO.

       You mock me, prince!

       CARLOS. Nay! Heaven forefend, that I

       Should mock that awful man whose fateful lips

       Can doom my father or to heaven or hell!

       DOMINGO.

       I dare not, prince, presume to penetrate

       The sacred mystery of your secret grief,

       Yet I implore your highness to remember

       That, for a conscience ill at ease, the church

       Hath opened an asylum, of which kings

       Hold not the key—where even crimes are purged

       Beneath the holy sacramental seal.

       You know my meaning, prince—I've said enough.

       CARLOS.

       No! be it, never said, I tempted so

       The keeper of that seal.

       DOMINGO.

       Prince, this mistrust—

       You wrong the most devoted of your servants.

       CARLOS.

       Then give me up at once without a thought

       Thou art a holy man—the world knows that—

       But, to speak plain, too zealous far for me.

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