University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene I.

The Hall of Framlingham.
Enter Queen Mary Tudor attended.
MARY.
Why is Elizabeth not here to greet me?
Command her to the Presence. Bedingfield
These midnight ridings, imminent escapes,
Make the heart quiver, and flushed temples throb.
To the chapel, Fakenham: I would fain disburthen
This sinful heart, and tortured brain, of all
The imp-like fancies of this perilous night—
Night, that with penitence must be atoned.

JERNINGHAM
[entering].
Sir Thomas Wyatt craves immediate audience.

MARY.
Religion claims us first. Let Wyatt wait.

JERNINGHAM.
He will not move his power, until assured
The Church as stablished by the late King's law,
Shall be upheld.

MARY.
May God assoilzie him!
And mend Sir Thomas Wyatt! Bid him wait.

JERNINGHAM.
My liege—

MARY.
Sir Henry Jerningham, I have said.

Enter Elizabeth.
ELIZABETH
[kneeling].
Queen, Sister!

MARY.
To my arms! Pardie! sweet Bess,
You daily grow more stately. Your great brows,
Like our Cathedral porches, double-arched,
Seem made for passage of high thought.

ELIZABETH.
Regard me
Only as a sister: yet, if you need, or seek
My counsel, it is thine,

MARY.
Nay, nay, fair girl,
My counsel is with bearded warriours,
And grey-cowled wisdom.

ELIZABETH.
Be it as you will.

MARY.
Yet never was kind counsel needed more
By aching heart. Little you know my trials.
The fleetness of my horse scarce saved my life;
And I am Queen in nothing but the name!
Go friends—I would be lonely in my sorrow—
O Sister! canst thou love me? thou her child—
Beautiful Boleyn's daughter! who destroyed
My mother—hapless Queen—dishonoured wife!
Thou too—my brother—spurned from thy throne, thy deathbed.
O no! I shall go down into my earth
Desolate—unbeloved—I wound thee, sister!
Pardon! I rave—I rave—

ELIZABETH.
Abate this passion!
In very truth I love you—fondly pity—

MARY.
Pity! not pity—give me love or nothing!
I hope not happiness: I kneel for peace.
But no: this crown traitors would rive from me—
Which our great father Harry hath bequeathed
Undimned to us—a righteous heritage—
This crown which we, my sister, must maintain
Or die; this crown true safeguard of our People—
Their charter's seal—crushes our peace for ever.
All crowns, since Christ wore his, are lined with thorns.
Elizabeth! that book-demented Jane
Dares mount our father's throne: these base new lords
(Sprung from our house's fatal policy)
Turn from our nurturing hand to kiss her feet!
Elizabeth! though thousands back the upstart,
With hundreds, only, round us, we will smite her!

ELIZABETH.
I love, and will maintain in front of battle,
This spirit, as befits our house.

MARY.
Ha! ha!
The cross shall lead our battle! In the van
Shall flame the holy sign! Elizabeth!
Thou shalt be with me—thou! albeit thy mother
Bequeathed her misbelief to thee. Beneath
The Cross Pontifical we'll tread to dust
Those sordid Puritans: thou lov'st them not.
Enter Fakenham.
Lo, in good time thou comest to register
My vow.

ELIZABETH.
This rage o'ermasters you: yet pause;
Pause 'till with calmer reason—

MARY.
Am I mad?
Think you I'm mad? I have been used to scorn—
Neglect—oppression—self-abasement—aye,
My mother's scorching heritage of woe!
Ha! as I speak, behold—she visits me—
With that fair choir of Angels trooping round her,
And cherub faces, with expanded wings
Upbearing her! O blessed saint! depart not!
Breathe on my cold lips those still cherished kisses
Which thine in death impressed! Sigh in my ear
Those half articulate blessings, unforgotten,
Which made my childhood less than martyrdom!
I'll clasp thee—Mother!

[Totters forward and falls.
ELIZABETH.
Soft: she revives again.
Give no alarm. Observed you this before?

FAKENHAM.
Not thus demented.

ELIZABETH.
You mistake. Her spirit
Though masculine as well becomes a Tudor,
Yet will her fragile body bend in storms.
Already she revives: be prudent, Sir.

MARY
[recovering].
Good father, why this look of grief? My sister,
A grave rebuke looks coldly from your eye.
Ah well, you smile! you love me in my weakness.
Give me your arm—I need refreshment—sleep.

[Exeunt.

Scene II.

The Open Country in Suffolk.
Enter Wyatt, Brett, and followers.
BRETT.
I tell thee, Wyatt, these my saucy knaves
Of London City brook no tedious parleys.
It addles clearer heads than ours to scan
Your knotty quodlibets, with such a coil
Of clerkly terms, and law-court jargonry,
Citings of title, precedents and cases—
Here Jane—there Mary—well we've ta'en our part,
And here we stand right manfully for Mary.
You bid us wait. 'Sdeath, sir, have we not waited
These twenty hours sans sleep, sans food, sans wine—
Scant welcome for substantial citizens!
I pray you judge this matter reasonably—

WYATT.
The Queen, last night, care-worn and sad, perforce
Declined our audience: in an hour she grants it.

BRETT.
The hours here lost were precious—

WYATT.
Well, they were so—
But here comes Jerningham. What news?

Enter Jerningham before Mary, Elizabeth, &c.
JERNINGHAM.
The Queen!

MARY.
We greet you well, our faithful Londoners!
You, Master Brett—and you, Sir Thomas Wyatt.
Why ask ye audience? time it were for action.

WYATT.
We come prepared for deeds; but first, frank speech.
I am too bold I fear me.

MARY.
So fear I.

WYATT.
These men had godly training from their cradles;
And, Madam, before all things they love God.
That they stand here attests their loyalty.
Your Grace's claim is rightful: Lady Jane's
We, on deliberation, disallow.

MARY.
We are beholden to you: but our right
Divine, needs not arbitrement of men.
Say on.

WYATT.
I speak, my liege, as I am charged:
The mouth-piece of these noble hearts, impledged
To back you, but with conscience satisfied.
We grieve to see the royal banner bear
The holy cross with Peter's keys impaled—
An emblem which we dare not march beneath.
I am bound to tell you, madam, we raise not
Our weapons in a cause not wholly righteous:
Wherefore we crave your royal gauge that all things
Which touch the Church, rest as King Edward left them.

MARY.
Gentlemen!—yea, to English Gentlemen
Your Queen, in her extremity of wrong,
Is forced to make appeal. Ye press me hardly.
Pleading your conscience, Sirs, think too of mine.
You grasp at license: take it: but deny not
The liberty ye crave. Little know ye
By what vexations royalty is compassed;
Or what my special trials. You, as yet
Little enforced, are firm. I too am firm:
And firm have stood in dire extremity;
Perilling all for conscience' sake. For this
Will Englishmen desert me? Something moves you—
Why murmur ye aside?

BRETT.
My Lady Queen?
These men of mine, excuse their city habits—
Make much of bargain and securities.
They pray your highness for explicit pledges.

MARY.
Out on ye, men of pelf! shall loyalty
Be measured out at price? with legal phrase
Indentured, and set forth like some vile bond!
You speak as though your Queen stood not on right,
In panoply of arms and regal state;
But, cap in hand, pleaded through her attorney.—
I'll not be interrupted—silence sir!
I scorn to buy my rights. I'll hear no more!
My Lord of Arundel, advance our banner!
Follow for your hereditary faith—
To London—forward!

ARUNDEL.
Wyatt, be our guide:
And Captain Brett shall guard the rear.

BRETT.
Lord Marshal,
The city bands listen no voice but mine.

MARY.
God's death! you dare to parley, Master Brett?
Obey our Marshal—or—

BRETT
[sheathing his sword].
I march no farther!

WYATT.
Nor I—yet on my knees, I pray you, Madam;
Relent—you will not? Even yet my prayers
Shall be for your success, though in this quarrel
I may not strike.

MARY.
False to thy God art thou,
Deserting thus in presence of the foe!
Yon bartering churls obey their natural instinct.
But thou—of noble blood—Sir! yon's the road
To our revolted Cousin. She, perchance
May hedge her bauble crown with pageant peers.
Go Sir! a coronet, or axe, awaits you.
Begone! you bar our way.

WYATT.
Alas! my liege,
How much you misconceive us time will show.
Come, Master Brett—yet hear me, Arundel:
We march, 'tis true, apart from your main battle,
But yet so near your flank none shall assail it.
[Turning to Elizabeth.
I speak in honour; trust me. Gracious Lady
Plead thou.

ELIZABETH.
Arise, I pray: what power have I?

WYATT.
Tell her how many thousand English babes,
Now dancing on their father's knees, shall weep
In orphanage for this—how many wives
Shall tear their widowed locks o'er bloody graves,
If this our Queen let loose upon her land
The dogs of persecution, late chained down,
Insatiate brood of Rome!

MARY.
Now, by the Rood!
This is too much. Arrest him!

ELIZABETH.
Pardon, Sister:
He knows not what he says.

MARY.
Traitor, begone!
For once I spare. Advance, I say, our banner!
Up Tudor Dragon in rebellion's face!
Up, crowned Portcullis, guardian of the right!
Strike for King Harry's memory, loyal soldiers!
Strike for King Harry's daughter, grateful servants!
Strike for the violated law, bold yeomen!
And ye, the church's faithful champions, strike
For the true Cross and the authentic Faith!

[Exeunt Mary and Elizabeth.
BRETT.
Now, by all saints and martyrs calendared!
I could half worship such a tameless woman;
All shrewish though she be. With what a spirit
Like thunder-riven cloud her wrath poured forth,
And keen words flared! Ugly and old?—to that
I shall say nay hereafter. Autumn moons
Portend good harvests. Yet, that glance at parting
Flashed, fierce as sunset through a blasted tree!
But hey! look yonder, Wyatt: half your men
Are scampering after her.

WYATT.
I marked, and blame not.
I mar no fortune, and coerce no conscience.
There is a fascination—all have felt it—
When Royalty and Woman join in one;
Austere allegiance softening into love;
And new-born fealty clinging to the heart
Like a young babe that from its mother's bosom
Looks up and smiles.

BRETT.
Trust me, I am much minded
To join her even yet.

WYATT.
It cannot be.
I feel as you do: but I look beyond
The tempting present. She goes forth to conquer:
So strong a heart must conquer—then, what then?
Ah! know you not the indomitable spirit
Which scorns all danger, spurns all compromise,
Is born for stern resolve, deeds pitiless?
All must be feared from spiritual despotism—
The axe, the stake, tortures, apostasy!

BRETT.
Wyatt, I hate you when you play the augur.

WYATT.
The weight is on my heart of coming doom!

[Exeunt.

Scene III.

The Tower Chapel.
King Edward's coffin lying in state. Priests, Heralds, Choristers, &c.
CRANMER.
Weep, though in vain, poor hearts! cry forth your sorrow,
Like mendicants that at the temple gates
Compassion crave from every passenger!
And ye who shroud your grief in your close hearts,
The rather let it stream forth from your eyes;
Eased by the general sympathy.

Enter Northumberland.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
How's this?
Why these desponding tones? Lives not the Queen?

A VOICE.
Long live the rightful Queen!

NORTHUMBERLAND.
King Edward dead,
Queen Jane is Queen: I say the rightful Queen.
Your lamentable passion was too loud,
For sadness to lie deep; and ill comports
With heedful loyalty. But be you joyful,
Even in the honoured presence of the dead.
It is the Living, not the Dead who reigns:
Kneel not, then, to the coffin, but the throne.
She comes! ye trumpeters, awake the air
With cheerful clangour, and salute the Queen!

A VOICE.
Is this a place for cheer? O vanity
Of vanities!

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Who twice thus dares my anger?

FAKENHAM.
Hereafter I shall speak more plainly.

[Exit.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Seize him!

Enter Jane as Queen, led by Lord Guilford Dudley, attended by Duchess of Suffolk, &c. &c.
JANE
[suddenly stopping with a strong shudder].
What's this? who has done this? a sorry trick
To fright me so!

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Why looks our Jane so pale?
My Liege—your pardon! I forgot—but why
That blank look on the ground?

JANE
[rubbing her eyes].
'Tis gone—'tis gone!
Yet no—'tis there again! dread omen!

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Give me
Your hand, my liege. [Aside]
Arouse thee child! remember
The eyes of thousands search thee through and through.
Sleep-walker! must I lead thee?

JANE
[drawing back.]
No—not there!
I step not there!

NORTHUMBERLAND
[aside].
Art mad?

JANE.
I think I am—
Mother!

DUCHESS.
My child! what means this terror?

JANE.
Mother!
As I stand here and live, I saw it there.
A bloody axe—there on that floor—It may be—
It was illusion—yes—I know 'twas so—
But I am sorely shaken—Bear with my weakness—
O Mother, O Northumberland! mark now
The issue of your plots. Thou knowest, God!
That I am innocent of this offence!
This crown, this coffin-throne, this phantom-axe,
I sought not,—

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Have a care. Pause ere you spurn them.
Each backward step is to your husband's grave.
You are moved: you yield: come on!

JANE.
God succour me!

NORTHUMBERLAND.
[Leading Jane to the head of the bier.
Barons of England! Prelates of the Church!
Accept Your Queen! God save Queen Jane of England!
[Partial acclamations.
The Queen is thankful for her people's greeting;
As after deeds shall prove. At her command
I lay, my lords, King Edward's Will before you.
This noble deed, so fraught with prescient wisdom,
Discreet discrimination of the Law,
Regard for ancientness and precedent,
Love for his people rather than his kin,
And, above all, true zeal for holy church,
Shall stand a monument, our christian charter,
Pride of all English hearts. My Lords, I use
No trope of phantasy, bombastic phrase,
But speak plain truth in language plain, affirming
The Nation's with the Church's weal bound up,
Both with this Queen's succession. Take this deed,
Lawfully drawn, authentically vouched;
And here delivered to the assembled State
In presence of the Dead, whom we adjure,
And of the living Princess whom we serve.
Peers, Knights, and Burgesses, behold your Queen!

KING AT ARMS.
Hear all ye people! Look upon your Queen!
The high and mighty Princess, Lady Jane,
Grand-daughter of your late King Henry the seventh,
By right of blood, and by King Edward's will,
Queen of this realm of England, France and Ireland,
Defender of the Faith! God save the Queen!

CHAMPION OF ENGLAND.
[Throwing down his glove.
Which I avouch against all adversaries!

NORTHUMBERLAND.
And I make good against a host in arms!

[Partial acclamations.
FAKENHAM.
Hear me, ye men of England! Hear, Jane Grey,
One honest, faithful voice.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Back, miscreant! darest thou
Withhold her title from the Lord's anointed?

FAKENHAM.
Anointed not—nor will be! a vain title,
Blown like a bubble from the popular breath,
Makes not a Queen: but lineal blood, liege love,
And consecration by the Church—that Church
Which on the rock stands firm, and holds the keys!
I fear you not, Duke of Northumberland!
My trust is God—and, under God, this Lady;
A victim, not a traitress!

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Seize, and slay him!
What ho! the Captain of the Guard!

PEMBROKE.
Not so—
My son is not an executioner.
Pause, good my Lord: this passion shakes her Grace.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Bar not my way!

PEMBROKE.
The time, the place, the presence!
A brawl of blood before the coffined King,
And a throned Queen! [To Herbert]
Remove the fanatic
Make room for the regalia!

Officers enter with the regalia; which they present kneeling. The Nobility then come forward, orderly, to perform homage.
NORTHUMBERLAND
[kneeling].
In the name
Of England's Peerage, I salute the Queen;
And, kneeling on this consecrated earth,
Do swear—

PEMBROKE
[sneeringly].
Not consecrated earth, my Lord!
Her Grace's foot is on Anne Boleyn's grave—
And yours on the Protector Somerset's!

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Accursed night of omens!

[Starting up.
PEMBROKE.
Pardon, my Lord,—
Her Grace expects the interrupted oath.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
I'll have no more! break up the ceremony—
What noise is that?

PEMBROKE.
Something hath moved the crowd.
Silent it stood but late in street and court
With upturned faces gleaming to the moon;
So motionless and passive, their inaction
Trust me, was awful. Now their coldness thaws;
And, like a snow-slip down the mountain side,
Thundering they rush, choking the narrow ways.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Event treads down event—Shut gates! up drawbridge!

Enter a Warder accompanied by a Courier.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
What slave thus startles our solemnities?
Bird of ill omen, speak!

COURIER.
Sir Edward Hastings—

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Ha! what of Hastings? I much trusted Hastings—
With manifold commissions—

COURIER.
He hath joined
The Lady Mary, with four thousand men.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Lay hands upon his brother Huntingdon!

Enter a second Courier.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Varlet! what evil croak is thine?

SECOND COURIER.
Your ships,
Which lately buffeted the German sea,
By stress of tempests driven to Yarmouth roads,
Have yielded to Sir Henry Jerningham.

Enter a third Courier.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
What—more disasters?

THIRD COURIER.
The Lord Grey of Wilton
Bade me report, the Earls of Bath, and Surrey,
Joined to Sir William Drury, Sir John Skelton,
And others, men of note, proclaim Queen Mary.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Their heads shall wither on these towers for this!—
Arm, arm, my Lords! Rebellion is in arms!
And like a reptile must be trod to death.
Suffolk! tis thine to lead thy daughter's battle,
To victory—to vengeance!

PEMBROKE.
Hear calm counsel.
Madam, your father ought to guard your person.
No heart so loving, and no faith so trusty,
As is a father's. Furthermore, where arms
In the ranged field must arbitrate, a Leader
Of marked renown should guide: one whose known pennon
Shakes terror from its folds. Northumberland
Is Captain of the age.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
I go not. Madam,
The soul of safety severs from its body
If I depart. Within this city lurk
Malcontent spirits, that will mount to mischief.
Let Suffolk lead.

SUFFOLK.
Pembroke's advice seems wise.
Guilford approves.

GUILFORD.
I ride forth with my father
To smite this false Bellona!

JANE.
Spare me, Dudley!
My judgement is at fault. Northumberland,
The council's will be our's: Go forth to conquer;
If conquest, in this cause, indeed be just.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Are your eyes stricken with judicial blindness?
Or masks this show of zeal some dark intent
That dares not face me forth? So be it. I go!
But ye who stay, remember, Dudley's sword,
Two-edged, can smite false friend or open foe.

PEMBROKE.
Point you at me, Lord Duke?

NORTHUMBERLAND.
I point at no man.
O, my good Lord! let not the unaccused
By self-excuses seem as self accused—
Madam, at your command I go. [Aside]
Hark, Guilford!—
Watch Winchester: and if you find him false,
Chain him up like a hound. For Pembroke—mark—
If you suspect him—if you but suspect—
Crush him—as I this beetle! [Aloud]
Peers of England!
As I comport myself, guard you the Queen.
[Exit Northumberland attended.

JANE.
I would be private, for brief space; to pray
Beside these loved remains.

[All retire except Lord Guilford, the Duchess and Fakenham, who kneels, unobserved at the bier.
JANE
[kneeling].
Poor pomp of woe! ghastly magnificence!
Beneath that veil what fearful sight lies hidden?
I dare not pry into thy depths, O grave!
For oh! those eyes, so sweet, severe, are glazed;
Those lips that were so eloquently wise,
That brain so stored before its time, that heart
Pure as a fountain of celestial love.
Cold are they now—dead, dead! Pardon, dear Shade!
The feeble form that dares enact thy greatness.
Not mine that choice, O brother of my soul!
No lust of power unsexed, nor idle gauds
Betrayed my woman's heart: the public weal,
Thy will, alone, compelled; dragging me hither,
To pine, a pageant Queen—or—God have mercy!
Sink an abortive traitor to these vaults
Whose every pavement is the monument
Of public crime avenged.

GUILFORD.
You rave, my Jane!
These shadows vex your brain.

FAKENHAM.
I charge you, stay!
Daughter, I heard, rejoicing—in my heart
Thy passionate pleading sank, sacred as thoughts
Breathed in confessional. Hear in return
The voice of God. The Heaven to which I point
Attests my truth, and I adjure the dead;
Laying my hand upon his coffined dust!
Treason—and ye have overstepped its verge—
Treason, the Judas crime, that, in itself,
Includes all other horrors that deform
The angelic guise of Man—this sin strikes home
To Heaven itself: for Majesty divine
His own imperial type vouchsafes to earth!
Ay, Kings are by God's ordination fixed
On pedestals so fenced with faith and worship,
Compassed with sacramental oaths and incense,
That to deface, obstruct, or counterfeit
Is of the Church accursed, by human law
Banned without pity, and avenged by God.
Hear me, fair child! more sinned against than sinful—
Time yet remains for penitence.

JANE
[flying to her Mother].
O shield me!

Re-enter Northumberland attended.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
How's this? Pernicious Priest! we meet again.
You prophesied these vaults—foresaw the scaffold.

FAKENHAM.
The spirit that was then, is now upon me.
The block is near, but which shall be the victim,
Which witness I discern not.

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Juggler, Wizard!
The flames shall purge that spirit—Jane, your hand—
Your's, Guilford—I must speak one hurried word
Ere treacherous tasks part us, perhaps for ever.
This soft hand, Jane, unaided, is too weak
To uphold the sceptre; and this polished brow
To bear an unsupported diadem.
'Twere well the matrimonial throne were shared.
Young though he be, my son's strong temperament,
And subtlety—that's his inheritance—
Boldly shall shield it. You speak not—Kneel, Guilford!
Kneel to your Queen for safety: supplicate
Your wife for thus much love.

JANE.
Strengthen me, God!
Support my fond, weak nature. No, dear husband!
This may not be—no royal blood is thine—
No subject can ascend the throne—the Law
Forbids it as a crime.

GUILFORD.
Love can do much—
Straining, not wresting law. Fathers of kings
Are not unworthy crowns they can transmit.

JANE.
Guilford! I love thee fondly: but this thing
I dare not—will not do.

FAKENHAM.
O noble creature!

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Dog, if thou barkest I will strike thee dead.

FAKENHAM.
Strike, if it be permitted thee: if not,
The angel of the Lord can burst these walls,
And free his servant, as he freed of old
The apostle Peter! I defy thee!

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Marry!
They spoiled in thee a marvellous good player,
Making a monk. Remove him! Queen! farewell!
Lack-wits are castaways betimes.

GUILFORD.
Farewell!

JANE.
Abandoned by my husband? God have pity!

NORTHUMBERLAND.
Guilford, remain; or all is lost. I join
Your hands. Forgive her. All may yet go well.

[Exeunt severally.