University of Virginia Library

Scene VII.

St. James's Palace, Queen's Chamber.
Queen, Margaret Douglas, Fakenham.
QUEEN.
When shall my foot have rest? You led me first
To Hampton Court from Richmond: then you said
The banks of Thame were marshy; and with pain
I have crept hither to St James's towers.
Holy the name! 'Twere well should I die here.
Why comes not the lord Cardinal?

FAKENHAM.
Too weak
He is to move. Slow fever racks his limbs.

QUEEN.
Our fates are strangely linked. We'll die together.
I have so dreamed before. Have you no news?

MARGARET.
Yes, madam, heavy news. The Emperor—

QUEEN.
Is dead? I know it ere you answer. Blest
Is he to be released from worldly cares,
And public calumny; his dying ears
Soothed by the prayers of saintly men; his limbs
By holy hands composed!—Who is it that comes?
Enter Count de Feria.
I see not plainly.

MARGARET.
Count de Feria.

COUNT
[kneeling].
I seek your Grace with missives from the King.

QUEEN.
Will he not come to soothe a dying woman?

COUNT.
Pressing emergencies of state constrain him.
He prays your Grace to wear this jewelled ring,
In pledge of amity: and bids you live
In cheerful hope of bodily amendment.

QUEEN.
I shall not trouble him long. There is no hope.

COUNT.
And if there be no hope—which God forefend!—
He owns the Princess as your proper heir.

QUEEN.
This gives me joy unlooked for. Tell him, good Feria,
I pledge him as he hopes for God's reward,
That he, when I am gone, unto my People
Shall prove himself a father in his care;
A brother in his love: and, furthermore,
In his great power a frank and ready friend
Unto my heir. Take this, a precious diamond,
His father's gift—and this, his own dear pledge—
These bid him keep—in memory of the Dead.
It pleased not God that I should leave behind me
A pledge of my affection—I am choked
With strange emotions—I must speak no more
Of this—nor Philip—Pardon my wanderings!—
O Virgin Mother! intercede for one
Whose thoughts—thus on the threshold of thy glory—
Still earthward turn—

FAKENHAM.
You are exhausted, daughter.
Haply you might have sleep, if we retired.

QUEEN.
The last sleep comes! Call in my gentlewomen—
Let no strange hand profane my poor remains.
O heavy eyes! O fluttering heart! the hour
Is come that wafts you to eternity!
Where are you, Fakenham? Go not—

FAKENHAM.
I am here.

QUEEN.
I thought you gone, not seeing well. Some cordial—
For somewhat I have still to say. Where are you?

MARGARET.
We are, and shall be, near you.

QUEEN.
Give me your hand—
Why not my sister's hand? Ah, poor Jane Grey!
She was to Edward, while he died, a sister.
I am a sinful creature—bless you, sister!
—I would have speech with Pembroke.

MARGARET.
He is gone
To Hatfield.

QUEEN.
Winchester?

FAKENHAM.
He, too, is gone.

QUEEN.
Deserted on my deathbed!—Yet not so—
Dear friends, how many of ye still cling round me!
I am content. In truth, the agony
Is not what I had feared—Why this is nothing.
Be satisfied—I do not fear to die:
And, to say truth, have long time wished to die.
The mist that brooded o'er the face of things
Is lifted. Death is sent to make us sane.
—Bear to my cousin Pole—friend of my youth—
My last, last blessing. If he live, I charge him
To watch my sister with exceeding love.
If he be bound for heaven, his orisons
Shall plead for her he loved—too well—too sadly—
Before the all-seeing Judge. Take these, my jewels—
And that best gift of earth, a deathbed blessing,
Unto my sister. Not to strongly rule
This kingdom, (for I know, and fully trust
Her noble intellect) but fondly rule it,
Leaving the issue of her cares with God,
I supplicate, and warn her. For religion,
I know she is no Puritan; yet fear
She stumbles in her faith. At least, I pray her,
To be to others, as I was to her,
Indulgent. Let my debts be justly paid—
And from my goods endow an hospital
For worn out soldiers. Re-endow three convents
For the Observants, and, at Schene and Sion,
For charitable watching of the Poor.
No more—my breath comes painfully—dull sounds
Murmur around—Bury me with my Mother—
Raise tombs of honour—to our memory—
And grave on mine—the motto I have loved—
Prophetick—may it prove—Time unveils Truth!

FAKENHAM.
Her last words!—her lips quiver—her eyes close—
Hold up the cross! she sees—she—smiles—she dies!

[The Queen dies.
Enter Oxford and Underhill.
FAKENHAM.
Too late you come, my lord—all that remains
Of Mary Tudor sleeps till the last trumpet!
How fares the Cardinal?

OXFORD.
He too is gone.
Some one brought rumour that the Queen was dying—
Whereat he suddenly grew pale; then smiled;
And cried, in act of death, “Receive my soul!—
Together we will rise to our Redeemer!”

FAKENHAM.
So, at our need, hath perished our last hope!
For first in worth, as place, was he in council;
And knew so well the interests of the State
Were with God's law entwined, that he became
Restorer of Religion; and made perfect
The shattered superstructure of the realm.
—What birth, outside the purple, was so glorious
As his, whose sire and mother both derived
Their lineage from the throne? The Church's champion,
He of her sons was the most moderate.
His learning was profound; his heart all bounty.
From youth he shunned the world. The privacy
Of rural life, pure air, the quiet stars,
Enamel'd meadows, breath of woods and streams—
At these, the breasts of Nature, he imbibed
Devotion—and so nursed his soul for heaven.
He travelled through that land whose names are story;
Beheld Rome's wonders; spiritually tasting
The intellectual flavour of an age
Whose noblest were his mates in after time.
When Harry probed him touching the divorce,
He lashed the royal vice, and woke its fury:
But God was his protection. Long he lived
A voluntary exile; watchful, studious.
Behold him next, a Cardinal, at Trent,
Presiding o'er the Council: then at Rome,
Refusing the great Christian bishoprick:
At Mentz, once more, a mild recluse; his soul
To letters, which he loved, and pious needs,
Devoted: and at last, recalled to England;
Restorer of the Cross!

OXFORD.
Amid the torrent
Of manifold opinions stood the Queen;
A rock, whose firm-fixed base defied all floods.
God set her on the throne of his own tower:
And, in his mercy, sent this Cardinal
To strengthen and to guide her.

FAKENHAM.
His was not
The tactique of the soldier: he advanced
His counsel with persuasion; ever suing
The royal heart for merciful awards;
While sterner men, or weaker, frowned or wavered.

OXFORD.
We have beheld these lights—but not preserved them;
Now quenched for ever!

FAKENHAM.
England! my poor country!
Soiled with impiety, and blood of martyrs;
Shall Henry's sin never be expiated?
Shall his blind passions through our pangs be punished?
His blasphemies entail persistent error?
The limit and far scope of evil deeds
God metes alone, who metes their punishment.
Man has but to revere while he submits!

OXFORD.
If ever victim to a broken heart
Hath died, she lies before us. Awful Queen!
Hardly of thee Posterity shall judge—
For they shall measure thee—

UNDERHILL.
Let me speak, Sir;
For I have known, and been protected by her,
When fierce men thirsted for my blood. I say not
That she was innocent of grave offence;
Nor aught done in her name extenuate.
But I insist upon her maiden mercies,
In proof that cruelty was not her nature.
She abrogated the tyrannic laws
Made by her father. She restored her subjects
To personal liberty; to judge and jury;
Inculcating impartiality.
Good laws, made or revived, attest her fitness
Like Deborah to judge. She loved the Poor:
And fed the destitute: and they loved her.
A worthy Queen she had been, if as little
Of cruelty had been done under her,
As by her. To equivocate she hated:
And was just what she seemed. In fine she was
In all things excellent while she pursued
Her own free inclination without fear!

[The curtain falls.