Deserve I this?
Friend of my soul, this would I never do-
By heaven I would not. Oh, this Eboli!
She were an angel to me, and before
Her glory would I bend me prostrate down,
In reverence deep as thine, if she were not
The mistress of thy secret.
CARLOS.
See how vain,
How idle are thy fears! What proofs has she
That will not stamp her maiden brow with shame?
Say, will she purchase with her own dishonor
The wretched satisfaction of revenge?
MARQUIS.
Ay! to recall a blush, full many a one
Has doomed herself to infamy.
CARLOS (with increased vehemence).
Nay, that
Is far too harsh-and cruel! She is proud
And noble; well I know her, and fear nothing.
Vain are your efforts to alarm my hopes.
I must speak to my mother.
MARQUIS.
Now? for what?
CARLOS.
Because I've nothing more to care for now.
And I must know my fate. Only contrive
That I may speak with her.
MARQUIS.
And wilt thou show
This letter to her?
CARLOS.
Question me no more,
But quickly find the means that I may see her.
MARQUIS (significantly).
Didst thou not tell me that thou lov'st thy mother?
And wouldst thou really show this letter to her?
[CARLOS fixes his eyes on the ground, and remains silent.
I read a something, Carlos, in thy looks
Unknown to me before. Thou turn'st thine eyes
Away from me. Then it is true, and have I
Judged thee aright? Here, let me see that paper.
[CARLOS gives him the letter, and the MARQUIS tears it.
CARLOS.
What! art thou mad?
[Moderating his warmth.
In truth-I must confess it,
That letter was of deepest moment to me.
MARQUIS.
So it appeared: on that account I tore it.
[The MARQUIS casts a penetrating look on the PRINCE,
who surveys him with doubt and surprise. A long silence.
Now speak to me with candor, Carlos. What
Have desecrations of the royal bed
To do with thee-thy love? Dost thou fear Philip?
How are a husband's violated duties
Allied with thee and thy audacious hopes?
Has he sinned there, where thou hast placed thy love?
Now then, in truth, I learn to comprehend thee-
How ill till now I've understood thy love!
CARLOS.
What dost thou think, Roderigo?
MARQUIS.
Oh, I feel
From what it is that I must wean myself.
Once it was otherwise! Yes, once thy soul
Was bounteous, rich, and warm, and there was room
For a whole world in thy expanded heart.
Those feelings are extinct-all swallowed up
In one poor, petty, selfish passion. Now
Thy heart is withered, dead! No tears last thou
For the unhappy fate of wretched Flanders-
No, not another tear. Oh, Carlos! see
How poor, how beggarly, thou hast become,
Since all thy love has centered in thyself!
CARLOS (flings himself into a chair. After a pause, with
scarcely suppressed tears).
Too well I know thou lovest me no more!
MARQUIS.
Not so, my Carlos. Well I understand
This fiery passion: 'tis the misdirection
Of feelings pure and noble in themselves.
The queen belonged to thee: the king, thy father,
