University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

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.

SCENE II.

An Apartment in Ruthven's House.
Enter Morton, and other Conspirators.
MORTON.
The mob went further than 'twas our intent
They should have gone; but Ruthven soon recall'd them,
And saved appearances.

DOUGLAS.
'Twas well-timed vigour:—But what's the gain,
If Rizzio still must lord it
O'er King and Nobles?—

MORTON.
Nay, have patience, George:
We've met to fix his fate.

DOUGLAS.
Where is the King?
Where's Ruthven?

MORTON.
Still, I say, have patience, man.
Ruthven, you know, besides his malady,
Is troubled for his child; and though he puts
A stern face on his grief, it may be seen through.
To-day he bit his lips, not knowing what
He did, till blood ran from them, and at times
You'll hear a smother'd groan, stopping half-way,
As if it met some thought of pride, that strove
In vain to choke it.

MORTON.
Said you not, he promised,
In case of Rizzio's death, to bind the King
To our support by something stronger than
His own capricious will?

MORTON.
He'll keep his promise too.
But see, they come together. Welcome to
Your Majesty; and Ruthven, welcome home.

Enter Darnley and Ruthven.
DARNLEY.
Now, friends, you see what Scotland's court is come to,
And Scotland's King and people! Foreigners
Sit in high places: nay, insult us with
Impunity, and mock the power they fear not.

DOUGLAS.
And that Italian dog, the worst amongst 'em,
Usurps the very throne.

DARNLEY.
Our business is,
To settle here, what vengeance we shall take.

LINDSAY.
Could we not still contrive to banish him?

RUTHVEN.
Ay—banish him.

[Sneeringly.
LINDSAY.
We've ships enough.

MORTON.
And goodly fortresses:
I've great faith in the virtue of stone walls.

CHALMERS.
My soul's so eager to be rid of him,
And with him all his crew, that either course
Will please me well, if it be promptly taken.

DOUGLAS.
What says Lord Ruthven?

RUTHVEN.
That my head is pained.

MORTON.
His heart more likely; 'tis the thought of his
Poor child, that sinks him.

DOUGLAS.
Is't your old complaint?

RUTHVEN.
Not so—but there are counsels sicken me
As much as that, or more. I hate half measures,—
I hate to see a spider spin his entrails
To catch a fly. There was a time when men
Looked to their own good swords to rid them of
Their enemies:—It worked well, and saved trouble—
But now, simplicity is out of fashion,
And crookedness the rage.

DARNLEY.
Ruthven, my friend,
You give the best advice. Death—Death alone,
And the dark wrapper of eternal night,
Can lay his evil spirit low enough.

LINDSAY.
If 'tis your Majesty's desire, and Ruthven's.

DARNLEY.
'Tis mine as well. I'm for the long remove.

RUTHVEN.
What is't we seek to rid us of? A pair
Of hands, and other limbs, endued with motion?
If so, let them be tied. But no—'tis mind,—
The subtile power, that, with invisible organs
Acting upon the strange events of time,
Makes all things possible:—to conquer that,
We must extinguish it.

LINDSAY.
Then be it so.

MORTON.
Are we agreed?

Conspirators.
All—all.

RUTHVEN.
Naught else remains
But that we set to work like men prepared
For the world's judgment. We shall have the Queen—
The Queen and her revenge to cope withal.

DARNLEY.
But I am with you: I am one of you.
My sanction's your support.

RUTHVEN.
On that we build, Sir.
Here is a paper, drawn up in the sense
[Presents a paper to Darnley.
Of such a declaration. Look: it states,
That you approve the death of David Rizzio:
No more:—sign that, and Rizzio's race is run.
You start, Sir; what's the matter?

DARNLEY.
Would you bind me
By such a fastening as was meant to hold
The slippery knave to his engagements? Would you
Deal with a King, as with a trickster?

RUTHVEN.
Sir,
Our friends are here to answer for themselves.
My mind's made up for the security.

[Flings the paper on the table.
DOUGLAS.
And so is mine.

All.
And ours.

RUTHVEN.
You hear them, Sir!

DARNLEY.
Yet give me leave—I'd speak a word with you
Alone.

[to Ruthven.
RUTHVEN.
At your good pleasure, Sir. Pray, leave us, friends;
Your cause is safe with me. I'll not be fool'd.

[Aside to Conspirators as they go out.
DARNLEY.
Shut close the door, and let me have your patience.
Oh, Ruthven! you have cut me to the soul.
Bonds, as the word denotes, are shameful ties:
They bind by force and fear; and he who signs one,
Confesses to the base necessity.

RUTHVEN.
I cannot see this nice distinction, Sir,—
An oath's a bond,—a promise is a bond,—
A simple aye, or any dumb denotement—
Jove's was a nod—are bonds: the writing down
Is the preserving process, that defends,
And not degrades it.

DARNLEY.
Ah! dost doubt me, then?

RUTHVEN.
I love plain language, and am nothing loath
To answer to straight-forward questioning
In its own spirit. I do doubt you, Sir.

DARNLEY.
What right have you to doubt a sovereign's word?

RUTHVEN.
I have a right to doubt an angel's word,
When character's at stake. Sir, we're all men,—
The palace and the cottage mark our place,
But alter not our nature. Minds will change;
And circumstance, occasion's common drudge,
Assails the strongest of us. If the deed
Were done—I mean, the deed that takes off Rizzio,
And you, from any cause, disclaimed your share in 't—
What would become of us, your instruments?
The brand of an appalling infamy—
The name of murderer—if not the fate—
(And the name's worse) would mark the world's opinion.

DARNLEY.
But if his punishment be due to justice,
What signifies the world—or what it says?

RUTHVEN.
It signifies the world—that's every thing—
If I must spurn opinion, shew me to
A cell where I can hide, and slap the grating
In the world's face:—But to defy the world
And live in't is impossible!

DARNLEY.
Will not
An oath suffice for your security?—

RUTHVEN.
Look up into the region of the air!
'Tis almost made of broken promises,
Of words and oaths!—Yet where's the trace to tell
Who made and broke them? Why, compar'd with this—
And this is the security you'd give me!—
The wounded bark is an eternal record:—
There's more endurance in the imprinted sand,
While waiting for the wave:—Sign, and be done.

DARNLEY.
I'll swear, but cannot sign.

RUTHVEN.
Good bye to you!

DARNLEY.
Hold, Ruthven!—Would you leave me?

RUTHVEN.
Rather than
Be made a cat's-paw, Sir, I'd leave the world
To kittens and their tricks. The Queen may hold
Her revels now, and sit up all night long,
With dance, and music, and the flattery
Of fools, to keep her wakeful.

DARNLEY.
You distract me!—
Stay—where's the paper?

RUTHVEN.
There, before you, Sir.
[Pointing to the table.
Remember, when you sign, that Rizzio dies—
The Queen submits—the House of Douglas reigns—
These are the issues of that simple act,
Which, tracing on the paper but a name,
Gives in return a kingdom and revenge.
Ha! do you pause?

[Darnley hesitates, but at length snatches up the pen, and signs.
DARNLEY.
Let me—'tis done, and now
I'm in your power.

RUTHVEN.
Nay, nay, you're flurried, Sir, (taking the paper)

Compose yourself.

DARNLEY.
Yet give me back the scroll:—
If after all he's innocent,—or if—

RUTHVEN.
Why look you now, what weakness you betray!
One moment raving! and the next repenting!
By Heaven! there's more soul in a lighted faggot
Than such a man!

DARNLEY.
Ah, now indeed I feel
I'm in your power.

RUTHVEN.
'Tis better so, than at
The mercy of your own discretion.
Yet, be a man; take courage in the thought,
That Rizzio's knell is toll'd.

DARNLEY.
When shall he die?

RUTHVEN.
Before another morrow. See, the shades
Of evening 'gin to draw their misty hoods
Around them, and the mountains frown like fate;
'Twill be an awful night, a busy night,
A bloody night—but Scotland will be free.
How now! who knocks? Whate'er thou art, come forth.
Seek you the King?

Enter Morton, and other Conspirators.
MORTON.
Ruthven, 'tis you we seek.
Your daughter—

RUTHVEN.
What of her? my daughter? quick.

MORTON.
Controul yourself, my friend: be Ruthven still:
Her life is ebbing fast; and nothing would
Content her, till her maidens brought her here,
To beg your parting blessing, ere she die.

RUTHVEN.
There are some hearts that break: 'tis happy for them.

MORTON.
[To the other Conspirators.
Let's leave them to their melancholy meeting.
[Exeunt Conspirators.
[As the Conspirators go out, Catherine is borne in.
My child, what's this I hear? They talk of death—
But 'tis their talk. Ah me! you look it too!—
Yet looks deceive us oft; and yours will mend—
Smile on me, Kate;—but smile.

CATHERINE.
Are we alone?

RUTHVEN.
Away from all the world.

CATHERINE.
Then give me your
Last blessing, father.

RUTHVEN.
Not, O! not the last!
I'll bless you, as I bless you every night,
To do so when the morning wakes again,
But not to seal the parting, that's eternal.

CATHERINE.
The morn will wake again, but not to me:
Yet, ere I die, let me entreat one favour.

RUTHVEN.
Oh Kate, my very soul's at your command,
Ask what you will that's not impossible,
And live, and take it.

CATHERINE.
Then, my father, shun,
Forego the crime, for which you're leagued with monsters,
Made out of men.

RUTHVEN.
What mean'st thou?

CATHERINE.
Look—this paper (shewing a paper),

Knowest thou this paper?

RUTHVEN.
'Tis a letter from
The Earl of Morton.

CATHERINE.
Planning Rizzio's death.

RUTHVEN.
Give it me back. Curse on the luckless chance,
That lost it from my keeping!

CATHERINE.
Rather bless it
As I do, if it guide your child to save you;
For 'tis salvation in a stronger sense
To rescue and prevent a man from murdering,
E'en than from being murdered.

RUTHVEN.
'Tis not murder.

CATHERINE.
Not murder! What! to kill the innocent!

RUTHVEN.
They are not innocent.

CATHERINE.
They are! they are!
But e'en if not, still what have you to do
With Heaven's eternal functions? O! this work
Of retribution in a human hand!
'Tis havock and not justice—help! I faint.

RUTHVEN.
(Snatching her in his arms.)
Look up, my child! my Kate! 'tis granted, all,
Rizzio's safe.—The Queen is pure—the world
May revel, till it rot, ere I complain,
So thou'lt but give me back the life I live in
More than my own.

CATHERINE.
I cannot: my strength fails—
My heart is stopped—Oh Father!

[dies.
RUTHVEN.
Speak again!
She's dead!—is death so short a ceremony?—
'Tis but one pang—one moment's deeper faint—
And nothing more. Kate! do you hear me, Kate?
Not all the air that floats 'twixt this and Heaven,
Can lend her one short breath; no, not so much
As would make up a sigh to answer me.
Ha! Morton!

Enter Morton.
MORTON.
Come, my friend, this is no place
For you to linger in. You must part.

RUTHVEN.
I know it.
There's one was here before you, who has parted us,
And far enough.

MORTON.
Nay, you must go from hence.
Gaze not upon the dead: 'twill but distract you.

RUTHVEN.
I had a dream last night, that told me all.

MORTON.
Dismiss, forget it now—his mind's unsettled.

RUTHVEN.
Methought I saw the lonely power of death,
With his pale crown, sitting upon a Throne
Of ruin;—Though he had more subjects than
The living world contains, they were to him
As nothing—for his attributes were nothing;
And his strange life—the life of death—was nothing.
Methought I saw the lonely Potentate,
Upon his breathless bosom lay his hand,
And then a thrill ran through my frame, which told me
I had passed under his dominion.

MORTON.
It shakes your soul too much to think of it.

RUTHVEN.
Next came the horrid chill of night and darkness,
That, like an ugly monster, swallowed up
The shape of things. Motion was at an end,
And form—The winds were hushed, the sea was mute,
The sky was voiceless, and the Earth itself
As silent as the moon. I strove to shake
The stupor from my senses, and at length
Burst the fell bondage of the grisly King,—
I woke, but O, to what reality?
Let me not think on't. No—she's gone, and fate
Has done its worst!—There's comfort in that worst.
Proud scorn and fierce defiance are the passions
It sends to fight with lamentation,—
There is no terror now for me in things
Most terrible!—I love to see the storm
Shake from its fiery lap the seeds of death
Upon the wind, and rush from Heaven to Hell!—
I love to see the high wave dash the orbs
Of light, and feel the earth shake under me,
When ruin pelts it with the driving blast,
And plays the devil in the hurricane!

MORTON.
O, come, my friend!

RUTHVEN.
Lead where you will—I care not.

[Exeunt.