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SCENE.—A Room in the Palace. MARIE alone.
Marie. Another night, and yet no tidings come. | |
| Day follows day to mock me in its round. | |
| O Time! that to all senseless things dost bear | |
| Succor and comfort,—the reviving heat | |
| And freshening dew to tree and flower and weed,— | 5 |
| Why dost thou pass the famish’d heart and smile? | |
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Enter ANNE.
Anne. Dear lady! | |
| Marie. [Eagerly.] Anne! Well? No; your face is void! | |
| You have no tidings for me. | |
| Anne. Alas! none. | 10 |
| Marie. We must be patient, Anne. I cannot think | |
| The Council will bereave me of my lord. | |
| Anne. Heaven touch their hearts with gentleness! | |
| Marie. Amen! | |
| Anne. And keep the king—[Faltering. | 15 |
| Marie. Why falter? Prayers should breathe | |
| Trust, and not fear. | |
| Anne. Heaven keep King Philip faithful | |
| And worthy of your love. | |
| Marie. I will not say | 20 |
| Amen to that. To pray he may be faithful | |
| Were to misdoubt he is so. | |
| Anne. All men, being tempted, | |
| Are prone to fall; most prone, ambitious kings. | |
| Marie. What dost thou mean? | 25 |
| Anne. By thoughts on ill that may be | |
| To shield your heart from worse. | |
| Marie. Worse? What were worse | |
| Than treachery in my lord? Rash girl, that word | |
| Stretches to woe so infinite, it fathoms | 30 |
| An ocean of despair! Uncrown me, slay me, | |
| Honors and life must end. Not love! The grave | |
| Is as a port where it unlades its wealth | |
| For immortality. But rob or taint | |
| The merchandise of love—then let the bark | 35 |
| Drift helmless o’er the seas, or strike the shoals! | |
| They can but wreck a ruin. | |
| Anne. Pardon, madam. | |
| I would not thus have mov’d you; but— | |
| Marie. Be silent! | 40 |
| Thy look doth herald thoughts my soul repels. | |
| He did desert me once. You see I read you. | |
| No, Anne! His love was changeless, but he quell’d it | |
| For duty and his country. O shame, shame! | |
| Listening thy treason, I adopt it. Go!— | 45 |
| Nay, not unkindly. This suspense disturbs me. | |
| Leave me awhile. There, there! [Taking her hand, ANNE goes out. | |
| Another night! | |
| It cannot last forever. Even now | |
| The unregarding messenger despatch’d | 50 |
| To bear my doom his onward course may speed. | |
| They could not part us, Philip, had they seen | |
| Our happy solitude, our inner world | |
| Of secret, holy, all-sufficing bliss. | |
| They guess it not, nor feel it. At their knees, | 55 |
| Lock’d in my arms, I should have told them this, | |
| And forced my heart an avenue to theirs | |
| Through all their wiles, for hearts must answer hearts; | |
| But mine was dumb, and how could theirs reply? | |
| Woe ’s me! Who comes? | 60 |
Enter PHILIP.
Philip—my lord!—Say, say, | |
| May I embrace thee?—may I call thee mine?— | |
| Am I thy wife? | |
| Phil. Yes; in the sight of Heaven. | |
| Marie. And not of earth? A doom told in a breath; | 65 |
| Brief, but so cold that it hath froze the fount | |
| Whence sorrow gushes! | |
| Phil. I am dear to thee? | |
| Marie. What! is there hope? If not, encourage none. | |
| Phil. Why should we be the slaves of Rome? | 70 |
| Marie. Thou wilt | |
| Resist his mandate? Yet thy kingdom, love? | |
| Phil. Dearest, most faithful! We may still remain | |
| Bound to each other, and the Papal curse | |
| Pass from the realm. | 75 |
| Marie. How? Haste thee to disclose. | |
| Phil. The Council has pronounced no sentence. | |
| Marie. Yet | |
| Thou art return’d! | |
| Phil. Like to a criminal | 80 |
| I stood before the conclave. Every day | |
| Brought some new contumely. The weight I bore | |
| Of strain’d suspense and nice indignity | |
| Was pleasant pastime for them; and they linger’d, | |
| Protracting their enjoyment, and inviting. | 85 |
| The universe to look on haughty Philip | |
| Crouch’d at their stools, and learn from thence how Rome | |
| Would deal with rebel kings! | |
| Marie. And yet you bore it? | |
| Phil. It was the Church’s aim to judge my cause, | 90 |
| To plant its insolent foot upon my neck, | |
| Humbling all crowns in mine. I look’d for this; | |
| I bore it long. At last scorn heap’d on scorn | |
| Turn’d patience to revolt. | |
| Marie. [After a short pause.] And then? | 95 |
| How then? | |
| Phil. [Avoiding her look.] Marie! I said within my soul, my pomp, | |
| My title, all my gilded shows of power, | |
| Were not the links that bound thy love to mine. | |
| Was I right there? | 100 |
| Marie. Can Philip ask that question? | |
| Phil. Her trust doth sting me more than could reproach. | |
| Too late, too late! all must be told! [Aside. | |
| Marie. What follow’d? | |
| Phil. I will not hear your judgment, lords, I cried: | 105 |
| Not mov’d by you, but of my sovereign will, | |
| I have resolv’d that Marie shall resign | |
| The throne and empty state she never priz’d, | |
| And Ingerburge to her lost dignities | |
| Be straight restor’d. ’T is all that Denmark seeks; | 110 |
| Therefore dissolve the interdict! | |
| Marie. Thou saidst this?— | |
| Heard I aright? | |
| Phil. [Confused.] Marie, thou didst. | |
| Marie. And Philip | 115 |
| Could of his proper will cast Marie out! | |
| I thought—I thought you said we should not part. | |
| Phil. Part?—never, never! Part! | |
| Marie. But have you not own’d Ingerburge your wife? | |
| I am no longer queen. | 120 |
| Phil. But for all this | |
| We must not part. | |
| Marie. Husband—I pray your pardon; | |
| I can’t forget you were so—torture not | |
| My mind with this perplexity! How is’t | 125 |
| I can be thine, and Ingerburge thy wife? | |
| Phil. [After a pause.] She is but so in name; thou wilt retain | |
| The empire of my heart. | |
| Marie. Ha! how the light— | |
| The cruel light I could not see before— | 130 |
| Bursts on my sight! No; ’t is some hideous dream. | |
| Although I see, I shall not touch thy hand. [Takes his hand as if to assure herself. | |
| It is reality! And yet—forgive me! | |
| A subtle tempter through my o’erwrought brain | |
| Would stab my trust in thee. He shall not, love! | 135 |
| Even now I ’m calmer. Pray, repeat the words,— | |
| The words you spake but now. | |
| Phil. I said, my own, | |
| Though Ingerburge might bear the name of queen, | |
| Thou only shouldst rule Philip— | 140 |
| Marie. Pause awhile. | |
| Though Ingerburge might bear the name of queen, | |
| I only should rule Philip— [Signs to him to proceed. | |
| Phil. Thou shouldst share | |
| His hours of love—thou only; thou shouldst be— [Hesitating, and averting his head. | 145 |
| Marie. His paramour! O God! although his voice | |
| Was sham’d from speech, this is the thing he means. [She turns from him. | |
| Phil. Thou wouldst not go? | |
| Marie. I am already gone!We measure distance by the heart. | |
| Phil. Yet hear me! | |
| Marie. The Duke de Méran’s daughter listens, sir. [She sits. | |
| Phil. [About to kneel.] If this humility may aught— | |
| Marie. No knee! | |
| Respect so far my woe’s reality, | 155 |
| As to put by these pageant semblances. | |
| Phil. Oh! has this grief no remedy? | |
| Marie. None, none. | |
| The faith of love no hand can wound but that | |
| Was pledged to guard it. Then what hand can staunch? | 160 |
| We strive no more with doom; the sad mistake | |
| May be endur’d, but not retriev’d. No, no! | |
| Phil. By heaven, you do me wrong! | |
| ’T is not in man | |
| To conquer destiny. I made you queen. | 165 |
| Marie. You made me queen! I made you more than king. | |
| When my eyes rais’d their worship to thy face, | |
| I saw no crown. I ask’d not if thy hand | |
| Clos’d on a sceptre; but mine press’d it close, | |
| Because it rent the shackles of the slave. | 170 |
| ’T was not thy grandeur won me. Had the earthquake | |
| Engulfed thine empire,—had frowning Fate | |
| Lower’d on thine arms and scouraged thee from the field, | |
| A fugitive; if on thy forehead Rome | |
| Had grav’d her curse, and all thy kind recoil’d | 175 |
| In horror from thy side,—I yet had cried, | |
| There is no brand upon thy heart; let that, | |
| In the vast loneliness, still beat to mine! | |
| Phil. [Falling at her feet.] You had; you had! the dust is on my head! | |
| Sweet saint! thou’rt of a higher brood than we, | 180 |
| Hast right to spurn me from thee. | |
| Marie. Rise! The feet, | |
| By thorns on life’s rough path so often pierced, | |
| Are little like to spurn a stumbling brother. | |
| Phil. [Rising.] Forgive, forgive me, Marie! | 185 |
| Marie. You repent? | |
| ’T was but delusion. You will be again | |
| The Philip I ador’d! That hope shall bless me | |
| When we are far apart. And now forever | |
| In this dark world farewell! Another land | 190 |
| I seek, but ne’er shall find another home. | |
| Shield him, all holy powers! Philip— [Extending her hand. | |
| Phil. Go, go;I was not worthy thee! | |
| Marie. Not thus, not thus! | 195 |
| Marie. But one embrace. It is the last, the last! [They embrace. | |
| Go, Marie! | |
[MARIE goes to the door. She reverts her head. They regard each other in silence for a few moments, after which MARIE slowly disappears.
Phil. [After a pause, sinking into a chair.] I ’m alone on earth! She ’s gone, | |
| And what is left me? [The roll of drums is heard without. | |
| [He suddenly rises.] Ha! that clamor speaks | 200 |
| In stern reply; a summons to the field! | |
| Fate, that denies me love, has left me vengeance. | |
| Friends fail me, foemen swarm my coasts. ’T is well! | |
| Now, fiend of war, I am devote to thee! [He rushes out. | |
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