Читать книгу Don Carlos - Фридрих Шиллер, Friedrich von Schiller - Страница 5

   I bid you welcome, sir, to Spanish ground!

   Ground which I never with so just a pride

   Hailed for the country of my sires as now.

   The Marquis Posa, ladies, who at Rheims

   Coped with my father in the lists, and made

   My colors thrice victorious; the first

   That made me feel how proud a thing it was

   To be the Queen of Spain and Spanish men.

   When we last parted in the Louvre, Sir,

   You scarcely dreamed that I should ever be

   Your hostess in Castile.

                Most true, my liege!

   For at that time I never could have dreamed

   That France should lose to us the only thing

   We envied her possessing.

                 How, proud Spaniard!

   The only thing! And you can venture this —

   This to a daughter of the house of Valois!

   I venture now to say it, gracious queen,

   Since now you are our own.

                 Your journey hither

   Has led you, as I hear, through France. What news

   Have you brought with you from my honored mother

   And from my dearest brothers?

   I left your royal mother sick at heart,

   Bereft of every joy save only this,

   To know her daughter happy on the throne

   Of our imperial Spain.

               Could she be aught

   But happy in the dear remembrances

   Of relatives so kind – in the sweet thoughts

   Of the old time when – Sir, you've visited

   Full many a court in these your various travels,

   And seen strange lands and customs manifold;

   And now, they say, you mean to keep at home

   A greater prince in your retired domain

   Than is King Philip on his throne – a freer.

   You're a philosopher; but much I doubt

   If our Madrid will please you. We are so —

   So quiet in Madrid.

              And that is more

   Than all the rest of Europe has to boast.

   I've heard as much. But all this world's concerns

   Are well-nigh blotted from my memory.

   Princess, methinks I see a hyacinth

   Yonder in bloom. Wilt bring it to me, sweet?

      softly to the MARQUIS.

   I'm much mistaken, sir, or your arrival

   Has made one heart more happy here at court.

   I have found a sad one – one that in this world

   A ray of sunshine —

              As this gentleman

   Has seen so many countries, he, no doubt,

   Has much of note to tell us.

                  Doubtless, and

   To seek adventures is a knight's first duty —

   But his most sacred is to shield the fair.

   From giants! But there are no giants now!

   Power is a giant ever to the weak.

   The chevalier says well. There still are giants;

   But there are knights no more.

                   Not long ago,

   On my return from Naples, I became

   The witness of a very touching story,

   Which ties of friendship almost make my own

   Were I not fearful its recital might

   Fatigue your majesty —

               Have I a choice?

   The princess is not to be lightly balked.

   Proceed. I too, sir, love a story dearly.

   Two noble houses in Mirandola,

   Weary of jealousies and deadly feuds,

   Transmitted down from Guelphs and Ghibellines,

   Through centuries of hate, from sire to son,

   Resolved to ratify a lasting peace

   By the sweet ministry of nuptial ties.

   Fernando, nephew of the great Pietro,

   And fair Matilda, old Colonna's child,

   Were chosen to cement this holy bond.

   Nature had never for each other formed

   Two fairer hearts. And never had the world

   Approved a wiser or a happier choice.

   Still had the youth adored his lovely bride

   In the dull limner's portraiture alone.

   How thrilled his heart, then, in the hope to find

   The truth of all that e'en his fondest dreams

   Had scarcely dared to credit in her picture!

   In Padua, where his studies held him bound;

   Fernando panted for the joyful hour,

   When he might murmur at Matilda's feet

   The first pure homage of his fervent love.

   Meanwhile the sudden death of Pietro's wife

   Had left him free to wed. With the hot glow

   Of youthful blood the hoary lover drinks

   The fame that reached him of Matilda's charms.

   He comes – he sees – he loves! The new desire

   Stifles the voice of nature in his heart.

   The uncle woos his nephew's destined bride,

   And at the altar consecrates his theft.

   And what did then Fernando?

                  On the wings

   Of Jove, unconscious of the fearful change,

   Delirious with the promised joy, he speeds

   Back to Mirandola. His flying steed

   By starlight gains the gate. Tumultuous sounds

   Of music, dance, and jocund revelry

   Ring from the walls of the illumined palace.

   With faltering steps he mounts the stair; and now

   Behold him in the crowded nuptial hall,

   Unrecognized! Amid the reeling guests

   Pietro sat. An angel at his side —

   An angel, whom he knows, and who to him

   Even in his dreams, seemed ne'er so beautiful.

   A single glance revealed what once was his —

   Revealed what now was lost to him forever.

   O poor Fernando!

            Surely, sir, your tale

   Is ended? Nay, it must be.

                  No, not quite.

   Did you not say Fernando was your friend?

   I have no dearer in the world.

                   But pray

   Proceed, sir, with your story.

                   Nay, the rest

   Is very sad – and to recall it sets

   My sorrow fresh abroach. Spare me the sequel.

   Surely the time is come to see my daughter,

   I prithee, princess, bring her to me now!

   You have not spoken of Matilda! She

   Haply was ignorant of Fernando's grief?

   Matilda's heart has no one fathomed yet —

   Great souls endure in silence.

   You look around you. Who is it you seek?

   Just then the thought came over me, how one,

   Whose name I dare not mention, would rejoice,

   Stood he where I do now.

                And who's to blame,

   That he does not?

             My liege! And dare I venture

   To interpret thee, as fain I would? He'd find

   Forgiveness, then, if now he should appear.

   Now, marquis, now? What do you mean by this?

   Might he, then, hope?

               You terrify me, marquis.

   Surely he will not —

              He is here already.