QUEEN, MARQUIS POSA.

QUEEN.
Ah, marquis, I am glad you're come at last!

MARQUIS (pale, with a disturbed countenance and trembling voice,
in solemn, deep agitation, during the whole scene).
And is your majesty alone? Can none
Within the adjoining chamber overhear us?

QUEEN.
No one! But why? What news would you impart?

[Looking at him closely, and drawing back alarmed.

And what has wrought this change in you? Speak, marquis,
You make me tremble—all your features seem
So marked with death!

MARQUIS.
You know, perhaps, already.

QUEEN.
That Carlos is arrested—and they add,
By you! Is it then true? From no one else
Would I believe it but yourself.

MARQUIS.
'Tis true.

QUEEN.
By you?

MARQUIS.
By me?

QUEEN (looks at him for some time doubtingly).
I still respect your actions
E'en when I comprehend them not. In this
Pardon a timid woman! I much fear
You play a dangerous game.

MARQUIS.
And I have lost it.

QUEEN.
Merciful heaven!

MARQUIS.
Queen, fear not! He is safe,
But I am lost myself.

QUEEN.
What do I hear?

MARQUIS.
Who bade me hazard all on one chance throw?
All? And with rash, foolhardy confidence,
Sport with the power of heaven? Of bounded mind,
Man, who is not omniscient, must not dare
To guide the helm of destiny. 'Tis just!
But why these thoughts of self. This hour is precious
As life can be to man: and who can tell
Whether the parsimonious hand of fate
May not have measured my last drops of life.

QUEEN.
The hand of fate! What means this solemn tone?
I understand these words not—but I shudder.

MARQUIS.
He's saved! no matter at what price—he's saved!
But only for to-day—a few short hours
Are his. Oh, let him husband them! This night
The prince must leave Madrid.

QUEEN.
This very night?

MARQUIS.
All measures are prepared. The post will meet him
At the Carthusian convent, which has served
So long as an asylum to our friendship.
Here will he find, in letters of exchange,
All in the world that fortune gifts me with.
Should more be wanting, you must e'en supply it.
In truth, I have within my heart full much
To unburden to my Carlos—it may chance
I shall want leisure now to tell him all
In person—but this evening you will see him,
And therefore I address myself to you.

QUEEN.
Oh, for my peace of mind, dear marquis, speak!
Explain yourself more clearly! Do not use
This dark, and fearful, and mysterious language!
Say, what has happened?

MARQUIS.
I have yet one thing,
A matter of importance on my mind:
In your hands I deposit it. My lot
Was such as few indeed have e'er enjoyed—
I loved a prince's son. My heart to one—
To that one object given—embraced the world!
I have created in my Carlos' soul,
A paradise for millions! Oh, my dream
Was lovely! But the will of Providence
Has summoned me away, before my hour,
From this my beauteous work. His Roderigo
Soon shall be his no more, and friendship's claim
Will be transferred to love. Here, therefore, here,
Upon this sacred altar—on the heart
Of his loved queen—I lay my last bequest
A precious legacy—he'll find it here,
When I shall be no more.

[He turns away, his voice choked with grief.

QUEEN.
This is the language
Of a dying man—it surely emanates
But from your blood's excitement—or does sense
Lie hidden in your language?

MARQUIS (has endeavored to collect himself, and continues
in a solemn voice).
Tell the prince,
That he must ever bear in mind the oath
We swore, in past enthusiastic days,
Upon the sacred host. I have kept mine—
I'm true to him till death—'tis now his turn——

QUEEN.
Till death?

MARQUIS.
Oh, bid him realize the dream,
The glowing vision which our friendship painted,
Of a new-perfect realm! And let him lay
The first hand on the rude, unshapened stone.
Whether he fail or prosper—all alike—
Let him commence the work. When centuries
Have rolled away shall Providence again
Raise to the throne a princely youth like him,
And animate again a favorite son
Whose breast shall burn with like enthusiasm.
Tell him, in manhood, he must still revere
The dreams of early youth, nor ope the heart
Of heaven's all-tender flower to canker-worms
Of boasted reason,—nor be led astray
When, by the wisdom of the dust, he hears
Enthusiasm, heavenly-born, blasphemed.
I have already told him.

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