University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

An Apartment in the Palace.
Enter Countess of Argyle and Celine.
ARGYLE.
I dare not look again upon the crowd:
Their savage yells, their frightful faces, and
Their rage, appal my soul—Where is the Queen?

CELINE.
I know not, Lady; for the multitude
Within the palace cramm'd the avenues,
And, in their eagerness to aid the Queen,
Soon severed her from her attendants.

ARGYLE.
'Twas so I lost her too. But is there no one
Can tell us of her fate?

CELINE.
Here comes the Signor:—
He knows, if any know, where we shall find
Our Royal Mistress.

Enter Rizzio.
RIZZIO.
'Twas but now I left
The Queen, to learn some tidings of the fray,
Which happily is ended, but I know not,
Where, in my absence, she withdrew,

ARGYLE.
Then, is the danger past?

RIZZIO.
You hear the shouts no more.

ARGYLE.
No; all is silent;—Was't the Queen controul'd
The riot? or her friends?

RIZZIO.
Neither. Before
She reach'd the balcony, Ruthven was up,
And with a bold harangue outbade the storm.

CELINE.
Thank Heav'n for this good news!

ARGYLE.
Amen. It may be
She's in the chamber now:—let's seek her there,
And be the Messengers of Peace to cheer her.

[Exeunt Argyle and Celine.
RIZZIO.
All's over now with me: yes—I must fly
From hence to save the Queen; this tumult proves it.
“But how will foul-mouthed Rumour scan the act;
“And what will future story say of it?”
'Twas but the other day I met a Beldam,
Who fix'd her time-defying eyes upon me,
And seemed to read my features by the light
Of some strange faculty. I asked her what
She saw, and she said—Blood; then, pointing to
The Palace-gate, she charg'd me in the names
Of Love and Loyalty to go no more.
I started at one word—the word was Love,
And turning back a few bright leaves of time
I read it there, even as the Beldam told me,
And saw my guilt reveal'd. “But was it guilt?
“Is madness guilt? Is love that asks for nought
“But pity, guilt? If so, 'tis well revenged,
“And need not suffer more.”—How, now, who's there?

Enter Garcia.
GARCIA.
A Friend.

RIZZIO.
Ha, Garcia!

GARCIA.
E'en the same, though changed
In fortune, and confounded by th' events
Around me;—Have you thought, what's to be done?

RIZZIO.
We must away from Scotland.

GARCIA.
So, 'tis best.
The Bayonne League has raised all hands against us;
And now another whisper goes abroad:
They say that Ruthven's daughter pines to death.

RIZZIO.
Indeed!

GARCIA.
'Tis so reported.

RIZZIO.
Go; bid our friends prepare.

GARCIA.
They wait, concealed, below.

RIZZIO.
I'll come to you,
When I have bade the Queen a last farewell.

GARCIA.
Nay, come at once.—The sight of her will lead
Your captive senses from the path: beware.

RIZZIO.
'Tis now too late;—she's here:—I prithee leave me.
[Exit Garcia.
How like what we believe of angels, is
What we behold of her!

Enter Queen.
QUEEN.
Rizzio, well met:
You've come to wish me joy the tumult's o'er.
Is it not so?

RIZZIO.
From my full heart I wish it.

QUEEN.
But tell me how did Ruthven speak?—You heard him.

RIZZIO.
Like one inspired. The spirit of rebuke
Swept thunder from his lips; nay, triumph'd o'er
The rheums, that bent his frame;—as if to shew
What mind can do with matter, and the fire
Of genius with the shell in which it burns:—
But I have other news to mix with it,
That will not sound so well: the Lady Catherine—

QUEEN.
Ah! what of her?

RIZZIO.
'Tis feared her death draws nigh.

QUEEN.
There is an envious malice in the stars,
That will not let me smile, but I must weep for 't.

RIZZIO.
O! may those tears be dried by happier hands
Than hers or mine, for we must both away;
I've come to take my leave.

QUEEN.
That's sudden too:
Must all I love, then, leave me?

RIZZIO.
On my knees
I bless thee for that word:—'tis balm to grief,—
'Tis life to death,—'tis transport to despair!

QUEEN.
What have I said? Oh, Rizzio! if I spoke
Too strongly what I felt, should you—farewell—
Be generous, be just; forget it, and
Let me forget it.

RIZZIO.
Ah! recall it not,
For fear of me, or what my hopes may claim.
If I could cherish even a wish that wrong'd you,
These hands should tear this body from this soul,
As worthless of its human covering!

QUEEN.
Enough: I do believe, and pity thee;
But yonder comes Argyle:—Leave me at once.

RIZZIO.
So soon?

QUEEN.
'Tis short in act, but in remembrance
'Twill last for ever:—yet, there's something else
I would have said.

RIZZIO.
I'll stay till you recall it.

QUEEN.
No, no! 'tis fitting you should leave me now;
But come again to-night; and yet a voice
Of terror seems to echo back my words,
As if they were forbidden.

RIZZIO.
Gracious Queen, let not your fears impede the only glimpse
That I shall ever catch of happiness,—
You said, to-night!

QUEEN.
Once more, and that the last,—
To-night I'll see thee.

[Exit.
RIZZIO.
Yes, though death himself
Stood at the door, I'd brave his worst to enter.

[Exit.