at Weimar, and portrays the two poets standing side by side. It is easy to imagine what pleasure Schiller must have experienced in reciting his tragedy to such friendly and appreciative listeners as the artist has grouped before us. We may suppose the poet to be reading the moving scene between Philip II. and Don Carlos, in the second act of the play. KING. I am alone! CARLOS. You have been so till now. Hate me no more, And I will love you dearly, as a son: But hate me now no longer! O! how sweet, How proud to live through endless centuries, How sweet to plant what his dear hand shall reap; And guess how high his thanks will one day rise! My father, of this earthly paradise Your monks most wisely speak not. KING. O, my son, Thou hast condemn'd thyself, in painting thus A bliss this heart hath ne'er enjoyed from thee! CARLOS. Th' Omniscient be my judge! You till this hour The heir of Spain has been a very stranger KING. Thy blood flows far too hotly in thy veins. CARLOS. But try me, father! 'Tis true my blood flows hotly in my veins. Full three and twenty years I now have lived, And nought achieved for immortality. I am aroused I feel my inward powers- From slumber like an angry creditor; The suit which led me hither? KING. Still a suit? Unfold it. CARLOS. The rebellion in Brabant Increases to a height — the traitor's madness By stern, but prudent, vigour must be met. The Duke, to quell the wild enthusiasm, Invested with the sovereign's power, will lead An army into Flanders. O, how full Of glory is such office! and how suited To me, your son! To my hand, then, O King, I am well loved, and I will freely gage KING. Thou speakest like a dreamer. This high office Demands a man - and not a stripling's arm. CARLOS. It but demands a human being, father: KING. Terror alone can tie rebellion's hands: CARLOS. Despatch me, Sire, To Flanders with the army-dare rely E'en on my tender soul. The name of Prince, The royal name emblazoned on my standard, KING. Trust my best army to thy thirst for rule, CARLOS. Great God! and is this all-is this the fruit - My ev'ry suit denied: Let me away – All witness'd how you granted me this audience. |