QUEEN.
Whither, marquis? Whither does all this tend?
MARQUIS.
And tell him further, I lay upon his soul the happiness
Of man—that with my dying breath I claim,
Demand it of him—and with justest title.
I had designed a new, a glorious morn,
To waken in these kingdoms: for to me
Philip had opened all his inmost heart—
Called me his son—bestowed his seals upon me—
And Alva was no more his counsellor.
[He pauses, and looks at the QUEEN for a few moments in silence.
You weep! I know those tears, beloved soul!
Oh, they are tears of joy!—but it is past—
Forever past! Carlos or I? The choice
Was prompt and fearful. One of us must perish!
And I will be that one. Oh, ask no more!
QUEEN.
Now, now, at last, I comprehend your meaning,
Unhappy man! What have you done?
MARQUIS.
Cut off
Two transient hours of evening to secure
A long, bright summer-day! I now give up
The king forever. What were I to the king?
In such cold soil no rose of mine could bloom;
In my great friend must Europe's fortune ripen.
Spain I bequeath to him, still bathed in blood
From Philip's iron hand. But woe to him,
Woe to us both, if I have chosen wrong!
But no—oh, no! I know my Carlos better—
'Twill never come to pass!—for this, my queen,
You stand my surety.
[After a silence.
Yes! I saw his love
In its first blossom—saw his fatal passion
Take root in his young heart. I had full power
To check it; but I did not. The attachment
Which seemed to me not guilty, I still nourished.
The world may censure me, but I repent not,
Nor does my heart accuse me. I saw life
Where death appeared to others. In a flame
So hopeless I discerned hope's golden beam.
I wished to lead him to the excellent—
To exalt him to the highest point of beauty.
Mortality denied a model to me,
And language, words. Then did I bend his views
To this point only—and my whole endeavor
Was to explain to him his love.
QUEEN.
Your friend,
Marquis! so wholly occupied your mind,
That for his cause you quite forgot my own—
Could you suppose that I had thrown aside
All woman's weaknesses, that you could dare
Make me his angel, and confide alone
In virtue for his armor? You forget
What risks this heart must run, when we ennoble
Passion with such a beauteous name as this.
MARQUIS.
Yes, in all other women—but in one,
One only, 'tis not so. For you, I swear it.
And should you blush to indulge the pure desire
To call heroic virtue into life?
Can it affect King Philip, that his works
Of noblest art, in the Escurial, raise
Immortal longings in the painter's soul,
Who stands entranced before them? Do the sounds
That slumber in the lute, belong alone
To him who buys the chords? With ear unmoved
He may preserve his treasure:—he has bought
The wretched right to shiver it to atoms,
But not the power to wake its silver tones,
Or, in the magic of its sounds, dissolve.
Truth is created for the sage, as beauty
Is for the feeling heart. They own each other.
And this belief, no coward prejudice
Shall make me e'er disclaim. Then promise, queen,
That you will ever love him. That false shame,
Or fancied dignity, shall never make you
Yield to the voice of base dissimulation:—
That you will love him still, unchanged, forever.
Promise me this, oh, queen! Here solemnly
Say, do you promise?
QUEEN.
That my heart alone
Shall ever vindicate my love, I promise——
MARQUIS (drawing his hand back).
Now I die satisfied—my work is done.