University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

A Royal Apartment.—Queen Eleanor alone.
Eleanor.
Henry, thou play'st me false! With whom, I know not,
But to find that out, feel myself all eyes:
Each sense, except my sight, is numb, null! null!
I do not taste my meats; I hear no music
Even when the trumpet brays it at my side;
To me the rose is scentless as the briar;
What touches me might be a burning share,
Or wedge of ice, they are indifferent:
But I can see! see—atomies! Thou shalt not,
Minion, escape me! 'Mongst ten thousand faces
Were thine one, I could swear to its bold blush.
O! I could guess her from a gown, a glove,
A cap, or aught her wanton form had ever
Swell'd out!—Suspicion, thou art call'd the dam
Of false conceits, to which the Devil is sire;
To me thou seem'st somewhat almost divine,
That canst discern all things at once—a searcher
Into the murkiest heart! Come, Inspiration
Of the abused; suggest the shape, the air,
The vision of my rival, and my victim!—
Let me consider:—
I should know something of the stratagems
Play'd off by tricksy woman; all the webs
She weaves before men's eyes to hide herself;
The painted bashfulness she can put on,
To seem what she is not; the brazen front
She steps so high with, to be thought impregnable
As Pallas, when as slippery as Venus:
All these, ere my divorce from that nice fool,
Louis of France, punctilious Louis! I
Had perfect-making practice in; and if
I have the pain of such repute, I 'll have
The gain, please Vengeance!—Oh, she must find out
Some holier sanctuary than the sepulchre,
Even for her dead bones, that I shall not gibbet them
As high as Haman's, to the grinning world!—
My Maidens there?—
[Enter the Maids of Honour.
If ye be such?—Now, Bold-face!
Are you the King's—toy?

First Maid.
Madam, my humbleness never
Reach'd the majestic level of his eyes.

Eleanor.
Nor you, stale Prudery?

Second Maid.
Madam, not I!

Eleanor.
You'll all say so! you'll all say so! when even
The infamous brand had burnt plain Harlot there
On the convenient tablet of your brows.—
Get ye all gone!—Come back, and dress me quick—
(To herself.)
I will go talk with that same cunning man
At Clerkenwell, who kens all covert doings
Which Night's dark mantle wraps.— (Aloud)
Is there, or no,
A haunt of wise-folk near the brambled fields
By Old-Bourne hill?

Third Maid.
Great madam, ay.

Eleanor.
Had ye not, one of ye, your fortune told,
Even to the pettiest freak?

Third Maid.
Your Grace, they told me:
“You are to serve a Queen, and gain one day
A pair of royal ear-rings for your pay.”

Eleanor.
Darling of Destiny! they said you sooth,—
[Pinches her ears.
I 'll see if they tell me such punctual truth.—
Hie to your chambers!—Dwerga!
[The Dwarf peeps forth.
Make the bolt
Upon these gadders, and these gossip-goers,
As wandering and as wanton as the vines
That must be nail'd up.—
[Exeunt Maids.
I will now to Becket's,
But in another hood. Ho there, Abortion!

Enter Dwerga.
Dwerga.
Here! here, my grandam!

Eleanor.
Thine, prodigious Imp?

Dwerga.
What, am I not thy grand-child? thou that bought'st me
Of my Norse dam, when scarce the size of a crab,
And fed'st me to my present stature with
Dainties of all kinds—cocks' eggs, and young frogs
So freshly caught they whistled as they singed,
Like moist wood, on the spit, still bubbling out
Dew from their liquid ribs, to baste themselves,
As they turn'd slowly!—then rich snails that slip
My throttle down ere I well savour them;
Most luscious mummy; bat's-milk cheese; at times
The sweetbreads of fall'n mooncalves, or the jellies
Scumm'd after shipwreck floating to the shore:
Have I not eat live mandrakes, screaming torn
From their warm churchyard-bed, out of thy hand?
With other roots and fruits cull'd ere their season,—
The yew's green berries, nightshade's livid bugles,
That poison human chits but nourish me,—
False mushrooms, toadstools, oak-warts, hemlock chopt?

Eleanor.
Ay, thou 'rt an epicure in such luxuries.

Dwerga.
My fangs still water!—Grandam, thou art good!
Dost thou not give me daily for my draught
Pure sloe-juice, bitter-sweet! or wormwood wine,
Syrup of galls, old coffin-snags boil'd down
Thrice in fat charnel-ooze, so strong and hilarous,
I dance to a tub's sound like the charmer's snake
We at Aleppo saw? What made me, pray you,
All that I am, but this fine food? Thou art,
Then, my creatress; and I am thy creature.

Eleanor.
My creature, not my offspring.

Dwerga.
Oh, thou thought'st
I meant thy very babe—by the young Saracen
Of my swart favour, whom thou loved'st in Jewry—

Eleanor.
Small monster! I will crush thee like a hornet
If thou darest buzz a word of that—

Dwerga.
Sweet grandam!
I would not for the world, save here alone
That we may chuckle at thy husband's honours!

Eleanor.
Fetch me my hood,—
The yellow one.

Dwerga.
Yes, grandam!
(Sings)

[Exit.
Eleanor.
Venomous spider! I could pierce it through
With a witch's bodkin, but it does me service.

Dwerga
(re-entering behind her).
Doats on thee too, dear grandam!—less in gratitude
Than that, as Dwerga does and all her race,
Thou work'st ill to those gawkish, smooth, soft things,
Call'd mortals.—Shan't I go with thee, my Dame?

Eleanor.
Thou wouldst be mischievous.

Dwerga.
Lovest thou not mischief?
No!—hatest it, worse than the horse-leech hates blood!

Eleanor.
In, cockatrice!—that wouldst sting even the hand
Which feeds thee, and caresses!—In, deformity!

Dwerga.
Must I sit purring like a tigress-cub
Over my paws alone? or peer from out
These bars, like a new-caught baboon?

Eleanor.
Attend
Thy duty; or I'll pack thee to the chymist,
Who 'll drown thee first in vitriol, and then
Bottle thee up as a false birth of Nature,
To draw the passing gaze with. 'Tend thy duty!
Thou 'lt have enough to keep those skittish fillies
From whinnying out of bounds, if they should hear
Even a jackass bray.

Dwerga.
I 'll fetter them!
They are as fearful of me as a fiend.
If they dare venture forth, I 'll spit green fire,
Pinch them about the ancles, fly upon them
As a wild cat, and score their waxen cheeks,
Distract them with such dissonant yells and screams
That they shall think ten furies flicker round them!
Break out?—Let one o' them,—with my spongy lips
I'll suck a blood-spot on her neck will spoil
Her beauty for a month! Not the Nile weasel
Falls with such malice on the crocodile's eggs,
As I will on these glossy ones!

Eleanor.
Do so!—yet take
Some heed,—for mortals have their malice too.

Dwerga.
Ha! ha! ha! ha!
They cannot hurt me, as my skin is thick
And bags about me all in dewlaps—see!
Then I can roll me up into a hedgehog,
And put out prickles that would pierce their feet,
Did they tramp on me; I can slip away
Like a sleek otter when they grasp at me,
And then turn short and bite till my teeth meet.
Let me alone for them!

Eleanor.
In, then, and watch.—
[Exit Dwerga.
The Chancellor holds a feast: there my false Harry
Will be, no doubt, by preconcert, to meet
His bella donna. None thinks of Eleanor!
Her bloom is flown, as are the amorous bees
That once clung to it!—I am left forsooth
With a few manikins and greensick girls,
To lead an old-maid's after-life with apes
In this hell-gloomy palace!—But I'll follow!
I 'll be a guest they neither wot nor wish!
I 'll be a go-between,—to part, not couple!—
Are they assembled yet?—Some half-hour gone!—
'Tis time!—Ha! ay!—he bows her to the dance.
They smile—they lisp—they make dove's eyes—they murmur.
He leads her now to a dim, curtain 'd room—
They rush to the love-wrestle—kiss—they kiss!—
O serpents in my heart!—methinks my flesh
Turns to a swarm of them! I feel my hair
Tangle and writhe and swell like sinewy creatures!
I 'm Fury's self,—all but her scourge!—Oh, lend it,
Vengeance!—this hand with palsy of eagerness shakes
To use it on these kissers!—Kiss? hiss! kiss!
My blood turns poison at the sound!—Kiss! hiss!

[Exit.