 | Mary Tudor |  |
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ACT V.
Scene I.
A Prison Chamber, Tower.Northumberland at a table: Jane and Lord Guilford Dudley seated near.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
My soul is cheerful! fill the goblet high!
And I will pledge thy fortunes, daughter Jane!
In faith I'm joyous. Speak, my dainty Jane!
Your husband is beside you, and I live.
Ay, and shall live—arch planner—to rebuild
Our tottering fortunes. Fair philosopher!
Let me hear once again thy low, grave voice
Disposedly conversing. Laugh, my Son!
Waken these walls with jubilant acclaims!
Still silent? does my mirth confound you? Jane,
I tell thee thou shalt queen it yet. Thy babe
Shall wear a crown.
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No crown but martyrdom's
Will fit our brows. Indeed you are to blame, Sir.
This morning—nay, but one short hour agone—
You waited certain death. Believe me, Sir.
We all stand on the very brink of doom.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
So saith the preacher to the healthiest man:
And yet the man lives on. Tush! you are blind.
Do I not know my tool? this Exeter?
And what enamoured Queens will yield to lovers?
My head, be sure, was safe an hour ago:
And now this scrawl secures me beyond fate.
JANE.
Direct him, God! to profitable thoughts
For this great mercy!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Rather let me learn
To improve good fortune. When the crown is thine—
JANE.
The crown for me—for mine?—never, Sir, never!
Too heavy lies one sin upon my soul!
I seek not—never sought—will wear no crown!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Not seek it? Well—'Twill come unsought, I ween.
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This morning, Father, you had messengers
From Wyatt. Said they well?
NORTHUMBERLAND.
All doubts removed:
All scruples satisfied—he's ours, our's only!
GUILFORD.
But how escape these walls—how join his power?
JANE.
O talk not of escape. We are spared: be thankful!
Abjure—what I ne'er felt—this false ambition:
Unprofitable—that I will not urge—
But most unholy: do not heed your father.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
But he shall heed me; and thou too, despite
Thy yea and nay.
JANE.
Have you no gratitude?
The Queen, no matter why, remits your doom.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
And am I not beholden to her Grace?
Good Mary Tudor—beauteous Mary Tudor—
Wise Mary Tudor! I shall not forget.
The time is coming—Ha! my confessor!
Enter Fakenham.
And trusty counsellor! why look you grave?
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Her Grace vouchsafed?
FAKENHAM.
I bring a warrant, Sir.
JANE.
See, see—his face is sad—his eyes are downcast.
His words equivocal—not thus, not thus,
Good tidings travel.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
What, man, know you not
The Queen's late change? you have been kinder to me
Than I had looked for, or deserved. Your step
Is heavy, and your countenance distraught.
I pray you, speak.
FAKENHAM.
Alas! unwillingly
I witnessed the Queen's change: her last—her saddest.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Her last—what dost thou mean? Is the Queen dead?
Saddest—why then should Exeter be joyous?
Look not so grave, fair Jane! fear nothing, Jane!
Why speak you not? your mystery disturbs
These fearful captives. What saith Exeter?
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FAKENHAM.
Let thoughts more serious
Subdue your spirit, Sir. When last we spake
Of sin and sorrow, and repentant hope,
It seemed your heart was touched, hard reason shamed.
Such my hope then—such now your only hope.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Dark Sayer! does this answer meet my question?
What of the Queen? of Exeter?
FAKENHAM.
The Queen—
Body and soul are stricken to the earth.
The Princess and that minion Exeter
Shut up in prison—wherefore you will guess.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
I'm lost, I'm lost! trapped in my own wild snare.
FAKENHAM.
Madam, may it please you to retire: the time
Is short.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
What time—my time? Give me that paper.
What's this? Death! Death! sudden, unnatural death!
I'm blind! by heaven and hell I cannot die.
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O hypocrite! this work is thine—thou hat'st me—
As I have hated thee—I'll not deny it—
Thou hast done this!
FAKENHAM.
You wrong me. I would fain
Have saved thy life. Have I not saved thy soul?
NORTHUMBERLAND.
O pardon my distracted bearing, Sir!
You reasoned eloquently—whispered mercy—
FAKENHAM.
God is a God of mercy.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Torturer!
Dost thou equivocate with pangs like mine?
Thou palterest still: yet canst thou save me, Priest.
Think of my soul! I cannot, unabsolved,
Pass to the presence of my Judge. Hark! hark!
[A sound of hammering is heard.
What noise is that? you hear it?
FAKENHAM.
This, indeed,
Would try the stoutest heart.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
The scaffold-workers!—
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Go, Jane! I shame that you should see me thus.
FAKENHAM.
Christian! be calm! yet all would stagger thus,
If anchored not by certain hope in heaven.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Fakenham! your tongue is gifted to persuade—
Save me!—I will be—whatsoe'er you wish.
FAKENHAM.
Can you speak thus upon the scaffold?
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Ay—
Much more!—You muse—Is there yet hope? even then?
O say! I'll speak—I'll do—I know not what!
Anything—all you wish—spare but my life!
This is too sudden. I'm not fit to die!—
O for a death blow in the front of battle!
The shout of victory, or kinsmen's wail,
Above my dying head! It is not pangs,
Nor death itself, but this reverse that shakes me.
Despise me not, sweet Jane! can you not speak
One word of comfort to a dying father?
FAKENHAM.
Horror hath almost choked her. Take her hence:
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[Guilford leads Jane away.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Is there hope,
Even on the scaffold, if I make profession
Of the true Faith?
FAKENHAM.
I know not. But make clean
Your heart by penitence. Prepare for death:
So shall your future life, if life be spared,
Prove worthier than the past. I seek the Queen.
Put trust in God alone; and He will spare.
[Exeunt severally.
Scene II.
The Tower Hill. A Scaffold at the end of the stage. A side porch through which enter Northumberland, guarded, preceded by Bedingfield, as Lieutenant of the Tower; Pembroke; and others.NORTHUMBERLAND.
Something, ere yet I die, touching my faith
I would make known. It is a privilege
Precious to all, but specially to me—
Am I permitted?
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Without doubt.
PEMBROKE.
Your Lordship
Will bear in mind, Sir Henry is enjoined
To have this matter perfected ere sunset.
The horizon's clouded: not to miss true time,
He should be prompt.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Why then abridge my time
By this unseemly let? this gentleman
Stands in commission: you but a spectator;
Cruel, unmanly, and unnatural!
PEMBROKE.
False to the last!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Protect me from this dastard,
Who strikes me chained! I was a pardoned man
An hour agone. This sudden change might scare
The stoutest heart, the most obdurate soften.
Let me not mount, with angry passions chafed,
Yon fatal stage: but with an humble spirit
Forgiving, seek forgiveness from my God.
PEMBROKE.
Think you all honest men are silenced here,
While knaves speak free?
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Aspick avaunt!
BEDINGFIELD.
Be silent,
My Lord of Pembroke: this is harsh. Sir John,
Speak as you purposed.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
I must crave short pause
Till the dean of Paul's return. I would pour forth
My last prayers at his knees, my spiritual sponsor.
Rightly you hear. This holy man hath shown
My soul's dark errors: which I purpose here,
By free confession somewhat to atone.
PEMBROKE
[Aside].
By Heaven he will recant, and win his pardon
With neck upon the block!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
Hear me, good people!
I do acknowledge my most grievous sin.
Out of all bounds ambitious, I deserve
This doom. Be warned by me. Hold fast that Faith
Which your forefathers loved; consenting not
To heresy, foul source of shame and sin!
There grew my bane. I temporized with evil—
Basely partook with those false fanaticks
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And, spite of the keen pricking of my conscience,
Presumptuously strove—'tis gone—'tis gone—
PEMBROKE.
Ha, ha!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
That laugh was imped in hell! Strike, Fiend!
Here at the breast that loathes, the mouth that bans thee!
Cowardly stabber, strike! give me some pang
Shall counterwork this torture of the mind!
Look at him! see that man I made a man
Shrink from Scorn's phantom finger like a hound—
What! not a look? then, thus, thou smitten hound!
[Touching Pembroke with his finger who starts back and retires.
Merciful Heaven! is this a mood to die in?
O child! O babbling maniac! fool, fool, fool!—
BEDINGFIELD.
Keep out my Lord of Pembroke.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
I am thankful.
Good people, pray for me!
Enter Fakenham.
Fakenham, am I saved?
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God grant salvation to thy sinful soul!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
The terrible “To be” is come! Time's past!
Yet all's to do—an age crammed to a span!
Time, never garnered till thy last sands ebb,—
How shall my sharp need eke thy wasted glass,
Or wit reverse it? my brain spins—my tongue
Is palsied. I must have time—I must have time!
Hurl me not like a dog into the pit!
FAKENHAM.
Turn thee to God! forget this world!
NORTHUMBERLAND.
O Thou
Great Being! who hast made me what I am,
Crush not for ever this sin-leavened clay!
Forget not mercy. Thou, not Judge alone,
But just Redeemer! save me in my sin!—
My voice is choked—Time racks me—World, farewell!
[Northumberland drops on his knees before Fakenham, bowing his head upon his hands; then starts up, and hurriedly ascends the scaffold.
NORTHUMBERLAND.
The block! the vault! thus are thy words fulfilled!
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Follow, my Lords; bear witness to the end.
And you, Sir, recollect, as the head falls,
Give fire to your great ordnance: that the Queen
May know, thereby, the traitor is no more.
[The scene closes: and, after a pause, a Cannon shot is heard.
Scene III.
The Council Chamber, Tower.Enter Fakenham in much agitation, followed immediately by Gardiner.
FAKENHAM.
'Tis past! Thank God! the habitude to face
All ordinary pangs steeled me not here.
Terrible Conscience with unswerving eye
Glared on him: and the bright edge of the axe
Was as a fascination. Never before
Had I beheld a soldier famed for prowess—
A statesman ever feared for daring counsel—
So abject in reverse. He could not speak:
Scarce seemed to hear; and when upon the block
He laid his neck, his arms fell stiff and frozen:
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Insensible as when, a moment after,
The severed head was held aloft blood-streaming.
Pray God to spare me such another sight!
GARDINER.
I marvel not, friend Fakenham, thou wert shaken.
But awful times are coming; when our eyes
Shall be familiarized with woe. Time comes
When the Church shall awake, and strike; inflicting
Pangs that shall purify the sinful flesh,
And save from everlasting flames the soul.
Look you—the very sorrows of the Queen
Make her the fitting instrument. Mourn not
Because the cleansing tempest in its path
Meets and strikes down some tree of goodly fruitage.
FAKENHAM.
Alas! for poor Jane Grey!
GARDINER.
I grieve for her.
But in her sure fate see preventive mercy:
The infected air hath need of hurricanes.
Jane living, last hope of these hereticks—
Sure pillar of their cause—graced as she is
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And mental ripeness plentiful as harvest,
Throws into shade our sad, though saint-like Queen.
Both cannot live. One sun lights many spheres:
But two suns for one sphere, nature prohibits.
FAKENHAM.
My Lord, I see too well it must be so.
Jane Grey must die!
GARDINER.
And quickly. Linked events
Envelope, drag her down. Sibylline lips
Have opened; and a warning hath gone forth!
Her creed—or ours—must perish! Have we wisdom,
And speed we not the march of prophecy?
But hush! she comes—sad Mary Tudor comes—
Cold, but composed, marmoreally rigid!
I have thought in vain, unprofitably read,
If such a mien as that portend not fate.
Enter Queen Mary attended.
MARY.
My Lord, we waited.
GARDINER.
Zeal for your Grace's service
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MARY
[to Fakenham].
You saw the traitor's end.
Died he a Catholick?
FAKENHAM.
His last professions
Bespoke true Faith. God, only, knows the heart.
I hope he died in Faith.
MARY.
Such is my prayer.
The strong hand then of treason is cut off.
You hear, my Lords, that Wyatt, yesternight,
Hath countermarched, and crossed the Thames at Hampton?
He, and that lozel Brett, confederate, fill
Our streets with outrage. Scouts from these have held
Close conferences with Lord Guilford Dudley;
Whom, lying under sentence, we had spared.
Shall we still spare?
GARDINER.
So were your Grace imperilled:
With you the Church; with both the Common-weal.
MARY.
Then let his sentence be fulfilled to-morrow.
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His wife?
MARY.
I will consider.
GARDINER.
She is proclaimed
From street to street: the very walls are ciphered
With traitorous scrolls, that hail her “Jane the Queen.”
Shall such wrong go unchecked?
MARY.
That is their folly;
Not hers. The culpable shall smart for this.
Enter Bedingfield hastily.
Pardon my liege! it is no fault of mine—
As shall be proved—the duke of Suffolk's fled;
And joined with Wyatt.
MARY.
Suffolk fled? Jane's father?
Henceforth let justice rule. Farewell, weak Pity!
We cannot, Jane, both live: why then, die thou!
[She takes a parchment from a cabinet and signs.
'Tis done! the royal rebel must abide
Her doom to-morrow. First, let the husband die.
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Hear me!
MARY.
Beware, Sir!
FAKENHAM.
I but supplicate
Permission to approach this hapless lady.
A holier spirit may perchance awake;
Worthy the sweet prerogative of mercy.
MARY.
If Jane abjures her heresy, I spare her.
So will she be no longer to the Church
A foul reproach, a canker in the State.
No more. Break up the council. Gardiner!
Be it again so ordered, at the moment
Lord Guilford dies a cannon be discharged.
Then lead to execution Lady Jane.
[Exeunt severally.
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Scene IV.
A Prison in the Tower.Lady Jane, alone, sewing a shroud. She turns an hour glass.
JANE.
I never more shall turn that glass. For me
Time is fulfilled: and ere those sands run down,
My trembling fingers must complete their task—
Their final task—or not in work of mine
Shall his dear limbs, composed in death, be wrapped.
With what a speed they haste! by mine own heart
I count the flying seconds of his life.
Oh what a task for wedded hands!—'Tis done!
And now I fold and lay thee to my bosom,
Which his espoused head so loved to press.
Enter the Duchess of Suffolk.
What noise is that? not time—it is not time?
Oh my dear Mother.
[Falls on her neck.
DUCHESS.
Wretched—wretched Mother!
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It is not much to die. Whoever faints
Has tasted death, waking in pain to sorrow.
Have comfort—Desolate I leave you not:
My father near and other duteous daughters.
DUCHESS.
Thy father hath gone forth and raised his banner
To dare the Queen. This act hath sealed thy doom.
The father slays his child!
JANE.
God's will be done!
How dark soe'er his ways or blind our eyes!
My precious mother! weep not—leave me some strength!
DUCHESS.
Would I were dead!
JANE.
Live for my sister's sake.
She needs thy counsel, and my sad example:
For there is that in Herbert's father's heart,
May move him to attempt the crown for her.
DUCHESS.
O let her rather labour in the fields,
And spin for bread beside a cottage hearth,
Than step unto a throne! Thou fatal Blood!
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Thy veins must pour them forth on battle fields,
Or the foul scaffold! Doomed Plantagenet!
The Tudor follows in your steps.
JANE.
Our sands
Have almost run. I must be quick. Will he
See me once more? one last, last kiss bestow?
DUCHESS.
The malice of the Queen forbids.
JANE.
Say mercy—
Else were our hearts left beggared of all firmness.
'Tis best thus. We shall meet—yes, ere yon sun,
Now high in heaven, shall from the zenith stoop,
Together they will lay us in one coffin,
Together our poor heads. Weep not, my mother!
But hear me. Promise you will see this done.
DUCHESS.
I promise.
JANE.
So our bones shall intermingle;
And rise together, when the angelick trump
Shall lift us to the footstool of our Judge!
What shall I give thee?—they have left me little—
What slight memorial through soft tears to gaze on?
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I cannot part with it: upon this finger
It must go down into the grave. Perchance
After long years some curious hand may find it,
Bright like our better hopes, amid the dust,
And, piously, with a low sigh, replace it.
Here—take this veil, and wear it for my sake.
And take this winding sheet to him; and this
Small handkerchief so wetted with my tears,
To wipe the death-damp from his brow. This kiss—
And this—my last—print on his lips, and bid him
Think of me to the last and wait my spirit.
Farewell, my Mother! farewell, dear, dear, Mother!
These terrible moments I must pass in prayer—
For the dying—for the dead! farewell! farewell!
[Exeunt severally.
Scene V.
The Queen's Cabinet in the Tower.Queen Mary alone.
MARY.
I have no thirst for blood; nor yet would shrink
From shortening earthly life: for what is life
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In festal days—but mockery to mourners.
What's life to thee—thy loved one dead—poor Jane?
What's life to me, by him I loved betrayed?
I take from thee what is no loss to thee;
And much infects the realm. Gladly would I
My life on such conditions sacrifice.
The time for thy short widowhood is come:
But ye shall reunite above. For me
The heart's blank widowhood must be for ever.
Jane! on thy block the throned Queen envies thee!
—I am not well: my brain is hot: around me
Are flitting shapes unearthly. Sleep forgets me:
And waking visions mock me, worse than dreams.
—Who knocks?
Enter Gardiner and Fakenham.
What would you, Sirs? we would be private.
Speak, quickly, quickly—I am chafed and stung
With troublous thought!
GARDINER
[aside].
'Tis as I feared. Her eye
Is restless; and the red spot on her cheek
Looks angry. [Aloud]
Captain Brett is ta'en, my liege,
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MARY.
Whom impeach they? are they questioned?
Do they confess?
GARDINER.
Not yet: they had not time.
MARY.
See they confess: else, stretch them on the rack!
This heart is racked—my guiltless heart—why not
The limbs that trample down all covenants
Of God and man? Ay—torture, till confession!
I who see visions—hark you!—know what you
Who wake are blind to. Treason lurks beneath
The blandest smile; the most obsequious bow.
Trust none! the comeliest and fair-spoken least.
Doubt most who most profess! O have a care
Of youths and maids that in their girdles hide
Dagger and poison!—what a man was Dudley!
To tremble at the axe! why, I should laugh—
I—a weak woman! but there's cause for that—
Hush! you shall hear anon. Then Exeter?
But, we'll not talk of him—poor fool!—I want
To see Jane Grey—after her widowhood.
FAKENHAM
[aside].
After?—she then shall live.
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[aside].
Observe, she raves.
MARY.
We'll sit together in some forest nook,
Or sunless cavern by the moaning sea,
And talk of sorrow and vicissitudes
Of hapless love; and luckless constancy;
And hearts that death or treachery divides!
What's the hour? be quick—be quick—I've much to do.
GARDINER.
Just noon.
MARY.
There will be death soon on the air,
With outspread pinions making an eclipse.
Ha! ha! brave work we Queens do! destiny
Is in our hands: yea, in these very veins
The spirit of the fatal Sisterhood
Riots! the snakes of the Eumenides
Brandish their horrent tresses round my head!
FAKENHAM
[aside].
This must be met. It hath been said that music,
Some simple strain breathed forth by human voices,
Can counterwork the venom of sick minds.
If the choked fountain of her tears he cleansed,
All shall end well.
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Throw wide the gallery doors,
That open on the chapel. It is the hour
For service—hark, the prelude hath begun.
And now the Choir.
[Fakenham throws open the folding doors of a Gallery, through which issue solemn strains of Musick. As the Musick proceeds the Queen's stupor relaxes, and her sensibility gradually revives. The Musick ceases.
MARY.
Airs fresh from heaven breathe round me!
Sing on, bright angels! tears relieve my heart—
My brain is calmed. Sing on and let me weep!
[A pause.
Would they were saved! Alas poor widowed one!
Can it not still be done? no, no—too late!
[A death bell begins to toll.
It is the hour: there is no time for thought—
She will be widowed while I speak—
[She speaks hurriedly and with much agitation.
See—see—
The dark procession issues from the gate—
And now they tread the courts—now Guilford mounts
The scaffold—now the headsman kneels for pardon—
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Rise from the block—while holy lips pronounce
Slow absolution—now he stoops his head—
And now—and now—
[After a short pause the signal gun is heard.
He is no more!—Great God!
Have mercy upon both!
GARDINER.
Her thoughts are changed:
Her brain relieved.
FAKENHAM.
Now plead for Jane.
GARDINER.
Too late!
Hear yonder bell.
MARY.
What's that? again the death bell!
Hark you! I would have speech with Jane. Fly, Fakenham!
My foot is weak and slow—Gardiner, attend me.
Fly, Fakenham, fly!
FAKENHAM.
Too late! too late! too late!
[Exeunt.
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Scene VI.
The inner Court of the Tower. A Scaffold at the rear of the scene.Enter Jane Grey leaning on the Duchess of Suffolk, followed by Bedingfield, &c.
JANE.
My Mother! we part here.
DUCHESS.
Tear her not from me!
Was it for this, O martyred saint, I bore thee?
Is my long travail's fruit thy bloody death?
JANE.
Here must we part. She faints—so best for both!
Gently remove her. Bless thee! bless thee, Mother!
And give thee length of years, to me denied—
Now lead me forward: I am ready.
BEDINGFIELD.
Madam,
We fain would linger on the way. Our eyes,
Blind though they be with tears, strain round to catch
Some signal of reprieve.
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O seek it not!
It cannot be. My life may not consist
With the realm's safety. Innocent am I
In purpose; but the object of great crimes.
Good blood must still flow on till Jane's be shed.
BEDINGFIELD.
At least we may delay till the Dean comes
To whisper spiritual comfort?
JANE.
Infinite
Is the Almighty's goodness. In that, only,
Place I my trust. My time, Sir, is too short
For controversy: and that good man's duty
Compels him to debate my creed. I thank him—
Pray you, Sir, say I thank him, from my heart—
For all his charities. In privacy
My prayers—not unacceptable, I trust,
To God my Saviour—have been offered up.
So must they to the end.
BEDINGFIELD.
At least permit me
To seek the Queen—
JANE.
Sir Henry, by no means.
Her Grace is cumbered with affairs of state;
And must no more be troubled for my sake.
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This widow-garment! Life, to one like me,
Is a drained vessel. As for death, being wholly
Intent on the life to come, I disregard it.
[A bier covered by a pall, is brought down from the scaffold: and carried across the stage.
Ah! my poorheart!—stop, Sir! one moment stop!
[She approaches the bier, lifts a hand from beneath the pall, wipes it with her handkerchief, kisses it; then rising, places the handkerchief in her bosom.
Lie there, dear blood! over my heart, 'till death!
Sir, pardon me this weakness. I am ready.
Yet, hold! some words are due, before I die
To the Queen's Grace, to Justice, and to England.
My sentence hath been just; not for aspiring
Unto the crown, but that, with guilty weakness,
When proffered I refused it not. From me
Let future times be warned that good intent
Excuseth not misdeeds: all instruments
Of evil must partake its punishment.
Sir Henry, take my hand. Lead on—to heaven!
[As she turns toward the scaffold, she starts, smiles, gradually looks upwards, raising her arms.
I come, dear Love!—Jesus, receive our souls!
[As they ascend the scaffold the scene closes.
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Scene VII.
Jane Grey's Prison in the Tower. An open window at the rear.Enter hurriedly, Mary, followed by Gardiner.
MARY.
She's gone—I come too late—Forgive me, God!
Myself I never—never—shall forgive.
Ha! from yon casement they may mark a signal!
[She leans from the window.
Hold! hold!
[She draws back with a shriek.
Great God! it is—it is—her head
That demon lifts and brandishes before me!
[She rushes from the window rubbing her eyes wildly.
Pah! I am choked—my mouth is choked with blood—
My eyes—my nostrils—swim in blood—my hair
Stiffens with blood—the floor is slippery
With blood—all—blood! Mother and unborn babe—
Both slain!—Mother and child!—The cry of blood
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Upon me! Innocent victims! at God's throne
Already ye bear witness. Mercy—mercy!
Spare one who knew not how to spare!
[She kneels.
Enter Fakenham.
Ay,—kneel
To heaven—and pray! lift up your hands to God!
Lift up your voice—your heart! Pray, Sinner, pray!
[The curtain falls.
END OF PART FIRST.
| Mary Tudor | |