(Blasio, the Emperor's secretary, comes out of the Cruz)
Blasio. Your majesty, I have finished the letters.
Max. Good. There will be no more to write. (Stumbles over something) What's this?
Max. You mean a fallen figure of the risen Christ.
Max. Give it to me. (Holds it meditatively) How well it suits my fortunes!
Max. Ay, better than my golden one. (Gives it to Blasio) Hang it above my bed. My Queretaro crown!
Max. (To Blasio) Take it. (Exit Blasio) Why, prince, 'tis something to have won a crown. My first was given me. (Firing and falling of shells)
Salm. I beg you, sire, to move your quarters to a safer station. This is death at any moment!
Max. Death at any moment--(Regretfully) And I have been here sixty days.
Max. Not yet! What does it mean? You heard him take the oath to bring me help or die. 'Twas here he swore--before us all. Vowed to return with troops in fifteen days! Ah, he is dead.
Lop. He's true, your majesty. His messengers are murdered.
(Enter Miramon and Mendez) You're welcome, gentlemen. Your eyes bring news.
Max. At last! News of Marquez! He comes! I know he comes!
Metz. O pardon me, your majesty! I bring but wintry news.
Max. Oh, no, no, no! He comes! I know he comes!
Metz. He's leagued with Labastida,--for the church Deserts you too.
Max. The church gone with him! No! no! I can't believe it!
Max. Not you! But in my ear The tale turns miracle! And I must doubt, Though on your tongue 'tis truth!
Metz. 'Tis truth indeed! The troops he was to bring you from the city, He led for his own glory against Diaz, Thinking to make himself the conqueror And president of Mexico.
Metz. Porfirio Diaz routed them To the last man. Marquez himself escaped Alone,--fled unattended from the field.
Max. My troops! my troops!... And this is friendship! O God, Give me but enemies!
Max. Who calls me majesty? There's none in me. I am a riven oak whose leaf-light friends Fly with misfortune's Autumn. (Steps away, bowed in grief)
Lop. (Eagerly) So do we all! Your majesty, believe us!
Mir. Canst not spare one who have so many true?
Max. Forgive me, friends. This treachery's the night Wherein your hearts of gold beat out like stars!
Max. Thanks, dear Lopez. (Takes his hand) In friendship lies the joy superlative, And nearest Heaven. We touch God's hand whene'er We clasp a friend's. ... But now we must take counsel.