 | Anthony Babington |  |
Scene I.
—A guard-room at Tutbury Castle. Lord Shrewsbury, holding in his hand Walsingham's letter. Messenger standing near a window looking into the grounds.Shrewsbury
(muttering to himself).
Strange! there must be some deeper meaning in
these words than meets my dull understanding.
[Reads.]
“Be not over stern with the Queen of
Scots, now her health faileth. No need to restrain
her to the leads, if she can take the air in the
gardens;” and then these words afterwards—“But
keep close watch on her morning, noon, and night.”
If 'tis to trap her I will be no party to it, for she
must lull herself with no hope of a false security.
Heigho! what with these two queens and mine own
she-devil, life is but a sorry pastime!
(advancing).
Is there no way, my lord, by which I might have
sight of the queen ere I return to London? Doth
she ever use these gardens? So I might but see
her pass I should be content. A right royal lady
still, I hear.
Shrewsbury.
No doubt but what meets the eye is that
which pleaseth most in her, and this I say after
some acquaintance; and yet much of the beauty
of this queen is bought, aye, and as yet unpaid
for.
Messsenger.
But will she pass into the garden?
Shrewsbury.
She hath been abed for the last five days, pleading
an abscess in her neck, and this, with the swelling
of her legs, hath made my work easier; yet not
one of these things can be sworn to, for, you must
know, she hath her own physician. Now, this is the
way with this queen, she will lie in bed eight
days at a stretch, sometimes denying herself to all
the French, and looking (as I am told by my lady)
double her age when bereft of those dyes and
pigments that so help her beauty.
Messenger.
My lord, you are somewhat hard on her majesty.
Shrewsbury
(continuing).
At other times she will sit arrayed in all that
she hath of her best—and she hath gewgaws enow
in all conscience, seeing that now we are moving
from Tutbury she demandeth eighty waggons to carry
them. At these times she will see those that are
allowed audience of her, eating with them, or playing
games with dice or draughts on the coverlid of her
bed, and entertaining them with lively talk. I hear
that she hath entertained embassies in this fashion in
Scotland, and this, coupled with her extravagance
and her adulteries, so outraged the rough Scots
that it lost her her kingdom!
Messenger
(smiling).
You are, indeed, merciless, my lord, to what many
deem only the pretty failings of woman!
Nay, nay; I am but just. There is much in her
that is neither pretty nor womanly, but she hath some
great qualities. Lesser at times than a woman,
there are moments when she rises above the mental
height of a man; and could Langside have been won
by courage and despising of fatigue, she had not
now been here—nor I either, God help me!
Messenger.
Is any of this old courage remaining to her?
Shrewsbury.
At times, when suddenly rising, she will order
saddle-horses, and hunt and hawk one day after
another, making the limbs of the ladies of her
following to ache for a week. How they endure
it I marvel. But her chiefest virtue is to endear
to her those about her immediate person. Though
'tis, peradventure, but the calculation of a selfish
nature, to insure that they leave no whim ungratified.
Messenger
(smiling).
I may, at any rate, report, my lord, that you are
a most loyal subject of our queen's, and that you
will say not one good word of her rival, your
take her majesty to the garden. With your permission
I will stroll there for awhile, whilst your
lordship prepares your answer to my papers.
Shrewsbury.
My lens is set to focus her at a wise distance.
Neither am I so near her as to be under her
glamour, nor so far as but to judge her by the noise
of an inflamed and scurrilous report. I see her as
she is—a princess of high courage, but a woman
and a liar.
Messenger.
All great princes should know the diplomatic art
of lying. Our queen can lie!
Shrewsbury
(aside).
Aye, but badly. This queen will lie against her
and beat her.
Messenger.
Nevertheless I would fain see her. I await your
summons in the garden.
[Exit Messenger, leaving Shrewsbury plunged in thought, and again reading paper.
| Anthony Babington | |