Part 3

BURLEIGH. You said yourself, you held your countryman To be an upright, conscientious man.

MARY. I thought him such; but 'tis the hour of danger Alone, which tries the virtue of a man. [He ever was an honest man, but weak In understanding; and his subtle comrade, Whose faith, observe, I never answered for, Might easily seduce him to write down More than he should;] the rack may have compelled him To say and to confess more than he knew. He hoped to save himself by this false witness, And thought it could not injure me--a queen.

BURLEIGH. The oath he swore was free and unconstrained.

MARY. But not before my face! How now, my lord? The witnesses you name are still alive; Let them appear against me face to face, And there repeat what they have testified. Why am I then denied that privilege, That right which e'en the murderer enjoys? I know from Talbot's mouth, my former keeper, That in this reign a statute has been passed Which orders that the plaintiff be confronted With the defendant; is it so, good Paulet? I e'er have known you as an honest man; Now prove it to me; tell me, on your conscience, If such a law exist or not in England?

PAULET. Madam, there does: that is the law in England. I must declare the truth.

MARY. Well, then, my lord, If I am treated by the law of England So hardly, when that law oppresses me, Say, why avoid this selfsame country's law, When 'tis for my advantage? Answer me; Why was not Babington confronted with me? Why not my servants, who are both alive?

BURLEIGH. Be not so hasty, lady; 'tis not only Your plot with Babington----

MARY. 'Tis that alone Which arms the law against me; that alone From which I'm called upon to clear myself. Stick to the point, my lord; evade it not.

BURLEIGH. It has been proved that you have corresponded With the ambassador of Spain, Mendoza----

MARY. Stick to the point, my lord.

BURLEIGH. That you have formed Conspiracies to overturn the fixed Religion of the realm; that you have called Into this kingdom foreign powers, and roused All kings in Europe to a war with England.

MARY. And were it so, my lord--though I deny it-- But e'en suppose it were so: I am kept Imprisoned here against all laws of nations. I came not into England sword in hand; I came a suppliant; and at the hands Of my imperial kinswoman I claimed The sacred rights of hospitality, When power seized upon me, and prepared To rivet fetters where I hoped protection. Say, is my conscience bound, then, to this realm? What are the duties that I owe to England? I should but exercise a sacred right, Derived from sad necessity, if I Warred with these bonds, encountered might with might, Roused and incited every state in Europe For my protection to unite in arms. Whatever in a rightful war is just And loyal, 'tis my right to exercise: Murder alone, the secret, bloody deed, My conscience and my pride alike forbid. Murder would stain me, would dishonor me: Dishonor me, my lord, but not condemn me, Nor subject me to England's courts of law: For 'tis not justice, but mere violence, Which is the question 'tween myself and England.

BURLEIGH (significantly). Talk not, my lady, of the dreadful right Of power: 'tis seldom on the prisoner's side.

MARY. I am the weak, she is the mighty one: 'Tis well, my lord; let her, then, use her power; Let her destroy me; let me bleed, that she May live secure; but let her, then, confess That she hath exercised her power alone, And not contaminate the name of justice. Let her not borrow from the laws the sword To rid her of her hated enemy; Let her not clothe in this religious garb The bloody daring of licentious might; Let not these juggling tricks deceive the world.

[Returning the sentence.

Though she may murder me, she cannot judge me: Let her no longer strive to join the fruits Of vice with virtue's fair and angel show; But let her dare to seem the thing she is.

[Exit.

SCENE VIII.

BURLEIGH, PAULET.

BURLEIGH. She scorns us, she defies us! will defy us, Even at the scaffold's foot. This haughty heart Is not to be subdued. Say, did the sentence Surprise her? Did you see her shed one tear, Or even change her color? She disdains To make appeal to our compassion. Well She knows the wavering mind of England's queen. Our apprehensions make her bold.

PAULET. My lord, Take the pretext away which buoys it up, And you shall see this proud defiance fail That very moment. I must say, my lord, Irregularities have been allowed In these proceedings; Babington and Ballard Should have been brought, with her two secretaries, Before her, face to face.

BURLEIGH. No, Paulet, no. That was not to be risked; her influence Upon the human heart is too supreme; Too strong the female empire of her tears. Her secretary, Curl, if brought before her, And called upon to speak the weighty word On which her life depends, would straight shrink back And fearfully revoke his own confession.

PAULET. Then England's enemies will fill the world With evil rumors; and the formal pomp Of these proceedings to the minds of all Will only signalize an act of outrage.

BURLEIGH. That is the greatest torment of our queen, [That she can never 'scape the blame. Oh God!] Had but this lovely mischief died before She set her faithless foot on English ground.

PAULET. Amen, say I!

BURLEIGH. Had sickness but consumed her!

PAULET. England had been secured from such misfortune.

BURLEIGH. And yet, if she had died in nature's course, The world would still have called us murderers.

PAULET. 'Tis true, the world will think, despite of us, Whate'er it list.

BURLEIGH. Yet could it not be proved? And it would make less noise.

PAULET. Why, let it make What noise it may. It is not clamorous blame, 'Tis righteous censure only which can wound.

BURLEIGH. We know that holy justice cannot 'scape The voice of censure; and the public cry Is ever on the side of the unhappy: Envy pursues the laurelled conqueror; The sword of justice, which adorns the man, Is hateful in a woman's hand; the world Will give no credit to a woman's justice If woman be the victim. Vain that we, The judges, spoke what conscience dictated; She has the royal privilege of mercy; She must exert it: 'twere not to be borne, Should she let justice take its full career.

PAULET. And therefore----

BURLEIGH. Therefore should she live? Oh, no, She must not live; it must not be. 'Tis this, Even this, my friend, which so disturbs the queen, And scares all slumber from her couch; I read Her soul's distracting contest in her eyes: She fears to speak her wishes, yet her looks, Her silent looks, significantly ask, "Is there not one amongst my many servants To save me from this sad alternative? Either to tremble in eternal fear Upon my throne, or else to sacrifice A queen of my own kindred on the block?"

PAULET. 'Tis even so; nor can it be avoided----

BURLEIGH. Well might it be avoided, thinks the queen, If she had only more attentive servants.

PAULET. How more attentive?

BURLEIGH. Such as could interpret A silent mandate.

PAULET. What? A silent mandate!

BURLEIGH. Who, when a poisonous adder is delivered Into their hands, would keep the treacherous charge As if it were a sacred, precious jewel?

PAULET. A precious jewel is the queen's good name And spotless reputation: good my lord, One cannot guard it with sufficient care.

BURLEIGH. When out of Shrewsbury's hands the Queen of Scots Was trusted to Sir Amias Paulet's care, The meaning was----

PAULET. I hope to God, my lord, The meaning was to give the weightiest charge Into the purest hands; my lord, my lord! By heaven I had disdained this bailiff's office Had I not thought the service claimed the care Of the best man that England's realm can boast. Let me not think I am indebted for it To anything but my unblemished name.

BURLEIGH. Spread the report she wastes; grows sicker still And sicker; and expires at last in peace; Thus will she perish in the world's remembrance, And your good name is pure.

PAULET. But not my conscience.

BURLEIGH. Though you refuse us, sir, your own assistance, You will not sure prevent another's hand.

PAULET. No murderer's foot shall e'er approach her threshold Whilst she's protected by my household gods. Her life's a sacred trust; to me the head Of Queen Elizabeth is not more sacred. Ye are the judges; judge, and break the staff; And when 'tis time then let the carpenter With axe and saw appear to build the scaffold. My castle's portals shall be open to him, The sheriff and the executioners: Till then she is intrusted to my care; And be assured I will fulfil my trust, She shall nor do nor suffer what's unjust.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

London, a Hall in the Palace of Westminster. The EARL OF KENT and SIR WILLIAM DAVISON meeting.

DAVISON. Is that my Lord of Kent? So soon returned? Is then the tourney, the carousal over?

KENT. How now? Were you not present at the tilt?

DAVISON. My office kept me here.

KENT. Believe me, sir, You've lost the fairest show which ever state Devised, or graceful dignity performed: For beauty's virgin fortress was presented As by desire invested; the Earl-Marshal, The Lord-High Admiral, and ten other knights Belonging to the queen defended it, And France's cavaliers led the attack. A herald marched before the gallant troop, And summoned, in a madrigal, the fortress; And from the walls the chancellor replied; And then the artillery was played, and nosegays Breathing delicious fragrance were discharged From neat field-pieces; but in vain, the storm Was valiantly resisted, and desire Was forced, unwillingly, to raise the siege.

DAVISON. A sign of evil-boding, good my lord, For the French Suitors.

KENT. Why, you know that this Was but in sport; when the attack's in earnest The fortress will, no doubt, capitulate.

DAVISON. Ha! think you so? I never can believe it.

KENT. The hardest article of all is now Adjusted and acceded to by France; The Duke of Anjou is content to hold His holy worship in a private chapel; And openly he promises to honor And to protect the realm's established faith. Had ye but heard the people's joyful shouts Where'er the tidings spread, for it has been The country's constant fear the queen might die Without immediate issue of her body; And England bear again the Romish chains If Mary Stuart should ascend the throne.

DAVISON. This fear appears superfluous; she goes Into the bridal chamber; Mary Stuart Enters the gates of death.

KENT. The queen approaches.

SCENE II.

Enter ELIZABETH, led in by LEICESTER, COUNT AUBESPINE, BELLIEVRE, LORDS SHREWSBURY and BURLEIGH, with other French and English gentlemen.

ELIZABETH (to AUBESPINE). Count, I am sorry for these noblemen Whose gallant zeal hath brought them over sea To visit these our shores, that they, with us, Must miss the splendor of St. Germain's court. Such pompous festivals of godlike state I cannot furnish as the royal court Of France. A sober and contented people, Which crowd around me with a thousand blessings Whene'er in public I present myself: This is the spectacle which I can show, And not without some pride, to foreign eyes. The splendor of the noble dames who bloom In Catherine's beauteous garden would, I know, Eclipse myself, and my more modest merits.

AUBESPINE. The court of England has one lady only To show the wondering foreigner; but all That charms our hearts in the accomplished sex Is seen united in her single person.

BELLIEVRE. Great majesty of England, suffer us To take our leave, and to our royal master, The Duke of Anjou, bring the happy news. The hot impatience of his heart would not Permit him to remain at Paris; he At Amiens awaits the joyful tidings; And thence to Calais reach his posts to bring With winged swiftness to his tranced ear The sweet consent which, still we humbly hope, Your royal lips will graciously pronounce.

ELIZABETH. Press me no further now, Count Bellievre. It is not now a time, I must repeat, To kindle here the joyful marriage torch. The heavens lower black and heavy o'er this land; And weeds of mourning would become me better Than the magnificence of bridal robes. A fatal blow is aimed against my heart; A blow which threatens to oppress my house.

BELLIEVRE. We only ask your majesty to promise Your royal hand when brighter days shall come.

ELIZABETH. Monarchs are but the slaves of their condition; They dare not hear the dictates of their hearts; My wish was ever to remain unmarried, And I had placed my greatest pride in this, That men hereafter on my tomb might read, "Here rests the virgin queen." But my good subjects Are not content that this should be: they think, E'en now they often think upon the time When I shall be no more. 'Tis not enough That blessings now are showered upon this land; They ask a sacrifice for future welfare, And I must offer up my liberty, My virgin liberty, my greatest good, To satisfy my people. Thus they'd force A lord and master on me. 'Tis by this I see that I am nothing but a woman In their regard; and yet methought that I Had governed like a man, and like a king. Well wot I that it is not serving God To quit the laws of nature; and that those Who here have ruled before me merit praise, That they have oped the cloister gates, and given Thousands of victims of ill-taught devotion Back to the duties of humanity. But yet a queen who hath not spent her days In fruitless, idle contemplation; who, Without murmur, indefatigably Performs the hardest of all duties; she Should be exempted from that natural law Which doth ordain one half of human kind Shall ever be subservient to the other.

AUBESPINE. Great queen, you have upon your throne done honor To every virtue; nothing now remains But to the sex, whose greatest boast you are To be the leading star, and give the great Example of its most consistent duties. 'Tis true, the man exists not who deserves That you to him should sacrifice your freedom; Yet if a hero's soul, descent, and rank, And manly beauty can make mortal man Deserving of this honor----

ELIZABETH. Without doubt, My lord ambassador, a marriage union With France's royal son would do me honor; Yes, I acknowledge it without disguise, If it must be, if I cannot prevent it, If I must yield unto my people's prayers, And much I fear they will o'erpower me, I do not know in Europe any prince To whom with less reluctance I would yield My greatest treasure, my dear liberty. Let this confession satisfy your master.

BELLIEVRE. It gives the fairest hope, and yet it gives Nothing but hope; my master wishes more.

ELIZABETH. What wishes he? [She takes a ring from her finger, and thoughtfully examines it. In this a queen has not One privilege above all other women. This common token marks one common duty, One common servitude; the ring denotes Marriage, and 'tis of rings a chain is formed. Convey this present to his highness; 'tis As yet no chain, it binds me not as yet, But out of it may grow a link to bind me.

BELLIEVRE (kneeling). This present, in his name, upon my knees, I do receive, great queen, and press the kiss Of homage on the hand of her who is Henceforth my princess.

ELIZABETH (to the EARL OF LEICESTER, whom she, during the last speeches, had continually regarded). By your leave, my lord.

[She takes the blue ribbon from his neck [1], and invests Bellievre with it.

Invest his highness with this ornament, As I invest you with it, and receive you Into the duties of my gallant order. And, "Honi soit qui mal y pense." Thus perish All jealousy between our several realms, And let the bond of confidence unite Henceforth, the crowns of Britain and of France.

BELLIEVRE. Most sovereign queen, this is a day of joy; Oh that it could be so for all, and no Afflicted heart within this island mourn. See! mercy beams upon thy radiant brow; Let the reflection of its cheering light Fall on a wretched princess, who concerns Britain and France alike.

ELIZABETH. No further, count! Let us not mix two inconsistent things; If France be truly anxious for my hand, It must partake my interests, and renounce Alliance with my foes.

AUBESPINE. In thine own eyes Would she not seem to act unworthily, If in this joyous treaty she forgot This hapless queen, the widow of her king; In whose behalf her honor and her faith Are bound to plead for grace.

ELIZABETH. Thus urged, I know To rate this intercession at its worth; France has discharged her duties as a friend, I will fulfil my own as England's queen.

[She bows to the French ambassadors, who, with the other gentlemen, retire respectfully.

[1] Till the time of Charles the First, the Knights of the Garter wore the blue ribbon with the George about their necks, as they still do the collars, on great days.--TRANSLATOR.

SCENE III.

Enter BURLEIGH, LEICESTER, and TALBOT. The QUEEN takes her seat.

BURLEIGH. Illustrious sovereign, thou crown'st to-day The fervent wishes of thy people; now We can rejoice in the propitious days Which thou bestowest upon us; and we look No more with fear and trembling towards the time Which, charged with storms, futurity presented. Now, but one only care disturbs this land; It is a sacrifice which every voice Demands; Oh! grant but this and England's peace Will be established now and evermore.

ELIZABETH. What wish they still, my lord? Speak.

BURLEIGH. They demand The Stuart's head. If to thy people thou Wouldst now secure the precious boon of freedom, And the fair light of truth so dearly won, Then she must die; if we are not to live In endless terror for thy precious life The enemy must fall; for well thou know'st That all thy Britons are not true alike; Romish idolatry has still its friends In secret, in this island, who foment The hatred of our enemies. Their hearts All turn toward this Stuart; they are leagued With the two plotting brothers of Lorrain, The foes inveterate of thy house and name. 'Gainst thee this raging faction hath declared A war of desolation, which they wage With the deceitful instruments of hell. At Rheims, the cardinal archbishop's see, There is the arsenal from which they dart These lightnings; there the school of regicide; Thence, in a thousand shapes disguised, are sent Their secret missionaries to this isle; Their bold and daring zealots; for from thence Have we not seen the third assassin come? And inexhausted is the direful breed Of secret enemies in this abyss. While in her castle sits at Fotheringay, The Ate [1] of this everlasting war, Who, with the torch of love, spreads flames around; For her who sheds delusive hopes on all, Youth dedicates itself to certain death; To set her free is the pretence--the aim Is to establish her upon the throne. For this accursed House of Guise denies Thy sacred right; and in their mouths thou art A robber of the throne, whom chance has crowned. By them this thoughtless woman was deluded, Proudly to style herself the Queen of England; No peace can be with her, and with her house; [Their hatred is too bloody, and their crimes Too great;] thou must resolve to strike, or suffer-- Her life is death to thee, her death thy life.

ELIZABETH. My lord, you bear a melancholy office; I know the purity which guides your zeal, The solid wisdom which informs your speech; And yet I hate this wisdom, when it calls For blood, I hate it in my inmost soul. Think of a milder counsel--Good my Lord Of Shrewsbury, we crave your judgment here.

TALBOT. [Desire you but to know, most gracious queen, What is for your advantage, I can add Nothing to what my lord high-treasurer Has urged; then, for your welfare, let the sentence Be now confirmed--this much is proved already: There is no surer method to avert The danger from your head and from the state. Should you in this reject our true advice, You can dismiss your council. We are placed Here as your counsellors, but to consult The welfare of this land, and with our knowledge And our experience we are bound to serve you! But in what's good and just, most gracious queen, You have no need of counsellors, your conscience Knows it full well, and it is written there. Nay, it were overstepping our commission If we attempted to instruct you in it.

ELIZABETH. Yet speak, my worthy Lord of Shrewsbury, 'Tis not our understanding fails alone, Our heart too feels it wants some sage advice.]

TALBOT. Well did you praise the upright zeal which fires Lord Burleigh's loyal breast; my bosom, too, Although my tongue be not so eloquent, Beats with no weaker, no less faithful pulse. Long may you live, my queen, to be the joy Of your delighted people, to prolong Peace and its envied blessings in this realm. Ne'er hath this isle beheld such happy days Since it was governed by its native kings. Oh, let it never buy its happiness With its good name; at least, may Talbot's eyes Be closed in death e'er this shall come to pass.

ELIZABETH. Forbid it, heaven, that our good name be stained!

TALBOT. Then must you find some other way than this To save thy kingdom, for the sentence passed Of death against the Stuart is unjust. You cannot upon her pronounce a sentence Who is not subject to you.

ELIZABETH. Then, it seems, My council and my parliament have erred; Each bench of justice in the land is wrong, Which did with one accord admit this right.

TALBOT (after a pause). The proof of justice lies not in the voice Of numbers; England's not the world, nor is Thy parliament the focus, which collects The vast opinion of the human race. This present England is no more the future Than 'tis the past; as inclination changes, Thus ever ebbs and flows the unstable tide Of public judgment. Say not, then, that thou Must act as stern necessity compels, That thou must yield to the importunate Petitions of thy people; every hour Thou canst experience that thy will is free. Make trial, and declare thou hatest blood, And that thou wilt protect thy sister's life; Show those who wish to give thee other counsels, That here thy royal anger is not feigned, And thou shalt see how stern necessity Can vanish, and what once was titled justice Into injustice be converted: thou Thyself must pass the sentence, thou alone Trust not to this unsteady, trembling reed, But hear the gracious dictates of thy heart. God hath not planted rigor in the frame Of woman; and the founders of this realm, Who to the female hand have not denied The reins of government, intend by this To show that mercy, not severity, Is the best virtue to adorn a crown.

ELIZABETH. Lord Shrewsbury is a fervent advocate For mine and England's enemy; I must Prefer those counsellors who wish my welfare.