her heart bleeds for Carlos; and we see that did not the most sacred
feelings of humanity forbid her, there is no sacrifice she would not
make to restore his peace of mind. By her soothing influence she
strives to calm the agony of his spirit; by her mild winning eloquence
she would persuade him that for Don Carlos other objects must remain,
when his hopes of personal felicity have been cut off; she would
change his love for her into love for the millions of human beings
whose destiny depends on his. A meek vestal, yet with the prudence of
a queen, and the courage of a matron, with every graceful and generous
quality of womanhood harmoniously blended in her nature, she lives in
a scene that is foreign to her; the happiness she should have had is
beside her, the misery she must endure is around her; yet she utters
no regret, gives way to no complaint, but seeks to draw from duty
itself a compensation for the cureless evil which duty has inflicted.
Many tragic queens are more imposing and majestic than this Elizabeth
of Schiller; but there is none who rules over us with a sway so soft
and feminine, none whom we feel so much disposed to love as well as
reverence.

The virtues of Elizabeth are heightened by comparison with the
principles and actions of her attendant, the Princess Eboli. The
character of Eboli is full of pomp and profession; magnanimity and
devotedness are on her tongue, some shadow of them even floats in her
imagination; but they are not rooted in her heart; pride, selfishness,
unlawful passion are the only inmates there. Her lofty boastings of
generosity are soon forgotten when the success of her attachment to
Carlos becomes hopeless; the fervour of a selfish love once
extinguished in her bosom, she regards the object of it with none but
vulgar feelings. Virtue no longer according with interest, she ceases
to be virtuous; from a rejected mistress the transition to a jealous
spy is with her natural and easy. Yet we do not hate the Princess:
there is a seductive warmth and grace about her character, which makes
us lament her vices rather than condemn them. The poet has drawn her
at once false and fair.

In delineating Eboli and Philip, Schiller seems as if struggling
against the current of his nature; our feelings towards them are
hardly so severe as he intended; their words and deeds, at least those
of the latter, are wicked and repulsive enough; but we still have a
kind of latent persuasion that they mea