Читать книгу Don Carlos - Фридрих Шиллер, Friedrich von Schiller - Страница 6

   At length 'tis come – the happy moment's come,

   And Charles may touch this all-beloved hand.

   What headlong folly's this? And dare you break

   Into my presence thus? Arise, rash man!

   We are observed; my suite are close at hand.

   I will not rise. Here will I kneel forever,

   Here will I lie enchanted at your feet,

   And grow to the dear ground you tread on?

   Madman! To what rude boldness my indulgence leads!

   Know you, it is the queen, your mother, sir,

   Whom you address in such presumptuous strain?

   Know, that myself will to the king report

   This bold intrusion —

               And that I must die!

   Let them come here, and drag me to the scaffold!

   A moment spent in paradise like this

   Is not too dearly purchased by a life.

   But then your queen?

              O God, I'll go, I'll go!

   Can I refuse to bend to that appeal?

   I am your very plaything. Mother, mother,

   A sign, a transient glance, one broken word

   From those dear lips can bid me live or die.

   What would you more? Is there beneath the sun

   One thing I would not haste to sacrifice

   To meet your lightest wish?

                  Then fly!

                       God!

   With tears I do conjure you, Carlos, fly!

   I ask no more. O fly! before my court,

   My guards, detecting us alone together,

   Bear the dread tidings to your father's ear.

   I bide my doom, or be it life or death.

   Have I staked every hope on this one moment,

   Which gives thee to me thus at length alone,

   That idle fears should balk me of my purpose?

   No, queen! The world may round its axis roll

   A hundred thousand times, ere chance again

   Yield to my prayers a moment such as this.

   It never shall to all eternity.

   Unhappy man! What would you ask of me?

   Heaven is my witness, queen, how I have struggled,

   Struggled as mortal never did before,

   But all in vain! My manhood fails – I yield.

   No more of this – for my sake – for my peace.

   You were mine own, – in face of all the world, —

   Affianced to me by two mighty crowns,

   By heaven and nature plighted as my bride,

   But Philip, cruel Philip, stole you from me!

   He is your father?

             And he is your husband!

   And gives to you for an inheritance,

   The mightiest monarchy in all the world.

   And you, as mother!

              Mighty heavens! You rave!

   And is he even conscious of his treasure?

   Hath he a heart to feel and value yours?

   I'll not complain – no, no, I will forget,

   How happy, past all utterance, I might

   Have been with you, – if he were only so.

   But he is not – there, there, the anguish lies!

   He is not, and he never – never can be.

   Oh, you have robbed me of my paradise,

   Only to blast it in King Philip's arms!

   Horrible thought!

             Oh, yes, right well I know

   Who 'twas that knit this ill-starred marriage up.

   I know how Philip loves, and how he wooed.

   What are you in this kingdom – tell me, what?

   Regent, belike! Oh, no! If such you were,

   How could fell Alvas act their murderous deeds,

   Or Flanders bleed a martyr for her faith?

   Are you even Philip's wife? Impossible, —

   Beyond belief. A wife doth still possess

   Her husband's heart. To whom doth his belong?

   If ever, perchance, in some hot feverish mood,

   He yields to gentler impulse, begs he not

   Forgiveness of his sceptre and gray hairs?

   Who told you that my lot, at Philip's side

   Was one for men to pity?

                My own heart!

   Which feels, with burning pangs, how at my side

   It had been to be envied.

                 Thou vain man!

   What if my heart should tell me the reverse?

   How, sir, if Philip's watchful tenderness,

   The looks that silently proclaim his love,

   Touched me more deeply than his haughty son's

   Presumptuous eloquence? What, if an old man's

   Matured esteem —

            That makes a difference! Then,

   Why then, forgiveness! – I'd no thought of this;

   I had no thought that you could love the king.

   To honor him's my pleasure and my wish.

   Then you have never loved?

                 Singular question!

   Then you have never loved?

                 I love no longer!

   Because your heart forbids it, or your oath?

   Leave me; nor never touch this theme again.

   Because your oath forbids it, or your heart?

   Because my duty – but, alas, alas!

   To what avails this scrutiny of fate,

   Which we must both obey?

                Must – must obey?

   What means this solemn tone?

                  Thus much it means

   That Carlos is not one to yield to must

   Where he hath power to will! It means, besides,

   'That Carlos is not minded to live on,

   The most unhappy man in all his realm,

   When it would only cost the overthrow

   Of Spanish laws to be the happiest.

   Do I interpret rightly? Still you hope?

   Dare you hope on, when all is lost forever?

   I look on naught as lost – except the dead.

   For me – your mother, do you dare to hope?

   And yet why not? A new elected monarch

   Can do far more – make bonfires of the laws

   His father left – o'erthrow his monuments —

   Nay, more than this – for what shall hinder him? —

   Drag from his tomb, in the Escurial,

   The sacred corpse of his departed sire,

   Make it a public spectacle, and scatter

   Forth to the winds his desecrated dust.

   And then, at last, to fill the measure up —

   Merciful heavens, finish not the picture!

   End all by wedding with his mother.

                      Oh!

   Accursed son!

           Yes, now 'tis out, 'tis out!

   I see it clear as day. Oh, would it had

   Been veiled from me in everlasting darkness!

   Yes, thou art gone from me – gone – gone forever.

   The die is cast; and thou art lost to me.

   Oh, in that thought lies hell; and a hell, too,

   Lies in the other thought, to call thee mine.

   Oh, misery! I can bear my fate no longer,

   My very heart-strings strain as they would burst.

   Alas, alas! dear Charles, I feel it all,

   The nameless pang that rages in your breast;

   Your pangs are infinite, as is your love,

   And infinite as both will be the glory

   Of overmastering both. Up, be a man,

   Wrestle with them boldly. The prize is worthy

   Of a young warrior's high, heroic heart;

   Worthy of him in whom the virtues flow

   Of a long ancestry of mighty kings.

   Courage! my noble prince! Great Charles's grandson

   Begins the contest with undaunted heart,

   Where sons of meaner men would yield at once.

   Too late, too late! O God, it is too late!

   Too late to be a man! O Carlos, Carlos!

   How nobly shows our virtue when the heart

   Breaks in its exercise! The hand of Heaven

   Has set you up on high, – far higher, prince,

   Than millions of your brethren. All she took

   From others she bestowed with partial hand

   On thee, her favorite; and millions ask,

   What was your merit, thus before your birth

   To be endowed so far above mankind?

   Up, then, and justify the ways of Heaven;

   Deserve to take the lead of all the world,

   And make a sacrifice ne'er made before.

   I will, I will; I have a giant's strength

   To win your favor; but to lose you, none.

   Confess, my Carlos, I have harshly read thee;

   It is but spoken, and waywardness, and pride,

   Attract you thus so madly to your mother!

   The heart you lavish on myself belongs

   To the great empire you one day shall rule.

   Look that you sport not with your sacred trust!

   Love is your high vocation; until now

   It hath been wrongly bent upon your mother:

   Oh, lead it back upon your future realms,

   And so, instead of the fell stings of conscience,

   Enjoy the bliss of being more than man.

   Elizabeth has been your earliest love,

   Your second must be Spain. How gladly, Carlos,

   Will I give place to this more worthy choice!

   How great thou art, my angel! Yes, I'll do

   All, all thou canst desire. So let it be.

   Here in the sight of heaven I stand and swear —

   I swear to thee, eternal – no, great Heaven! —

   Eternal silence only, – not oblivion!

   How can I ask from you what I myself

   Am not disposed to grant?

                 The king!

                      Oh God!

   Away, away! fly from these precincts, prince!

   His jealousy is dreadful – should he see you —

   I'll stay.

         And who will be the victim then?

   Away, away! Come, Roderigo, come!

              [Goes and returns.

   What may I hope to carry hence with me?

   Your mother's friendship.

                 Friendship! Mother!

                            And

   These tears with it – they're from the Netherlands.