Scene I: Reception hall, castle of Miramar, near Trieste. Enter Count Charles, book in hand.
Char. Ah, books must be put by for swords, I wot,
When this wild journey to the West begins.
’T is change enough! O shifting, shuffling life!
Come, Shakespeare, magic mason, build me worlds
That never shake however winds may blow,
Founded on dream imperishable! (Sits and reads. Enter Lady Maria)
Mar. Charles!
Not reading! Dost know what day it is?
Char. Ay, sister!
A day to make a scholar tremble, and hug
His books in fever of farewell.
Mar. Didst see
The splendid carriages glittering up the drive?
And O, so many!
Char. They have arrived?
Mar. Arrived!
Why, all the Mexican deputies, arrayed
Like their own sunsets,—the ambassadors
From Austria, Belgium, France,—the princesses,
And countesses, now in the guest-room wait
The stroke of twelve to enter! ’T is nearly time,
And you sit here! Put by your Englishman!
Come, put him by, I say! He ’s dead; we live.
He ’s had his due and passed.
Char. Nay, his account
Is writ forever current. His book of praise
Time closes not, but waits some language new
To enter it, and at his monument
Fame yet stands carving.
Mar. (Taking book and closing it) So! She ’s time enough!
We ’ve other work. (Gently) Is not the princess sad?
Char. I pray her heavy tears, weighing like stones,
Will hold her back from sea!