University of Virginia Library

Scene VII.

The Queen's Closet, Whitehall.
Queen, Margaret Douglas, Fakenham.
QUEEN.
I am lighter, gentle cousin. What hath chanced,
That thus of strength and sense I lie bereft?

MARGARET.
Sleep on—you need refreshment: need all powers
Of your great intellect and noble courage.
Sleep and awake for action.

QUEEN.
I am ready.
Let me consider—dim, dim, dim, the vision—
And dark with heavy clouds—but they disperse—
Gradually, slowly—Ha! the blow comes back!
If stung and stunned—it stings again; but stuns not.
Hold—let me think—what's to be done? poor heart!
Thou wilt not break! insult unmitigated!
Witnessed—by him!—by Pole! O Reginald!
Avenged!

MARGARET.
What means she?

FAKENHAM.
Hear, but mark not.—Daughter!

QUEEN.
Ay, call me thus: thy spiritual child;
Humble and needing love,—albeit a sinner.

FAKENHAM.
A sinner surely! who hath not sinned? but now
Much sinned against.

QUEEN.
Feed not with idle comfort.
Sin earns its shame. Feeble and worthless am I.
Something here—in my burning heart and brain—
Tells me I yet shall be all good men's loathing.
O mercy, heaven! I shudder at myself.
At once to love and hate, caress—revenge!
Hide me, good angels!

FAKENHAM.
Daughter, what is this?
Think not so falsely of thyself.

QUEEN.
Ay, Fakenham!
Wouldst thou too pamper pride? O, Sir, beware!
To sap the sense of shame is to make pillage
Of the soul's chastity.

FAKENHAM.
Restrain, I pray you,
This vehemence of passion, that from the height
Of just resentment hurls you to despair.

QUEEN.
Pray for me, father.

FAKENHAM.
Join with me in prayer.
What should avail my prayers, if yours are dumb?

QUEEN.
I ask but prayer: I seek no miracle.
Though holy prayer availed to part the sea—
Though prayer brought manna from the fruitful cloud—
And water from the rock—and caused the sun
O'er Gibeon to stand still. Such miracles
I ask not; nor, entreated, would expect.
But pray for me, that, even as the thief
On the third cross, I may have peace in heaven.
I am sinking—sinking—sinking! Pray, or I perish!

Enter an Usher.
USHER.
The King, may it please your Grace.

QUEEN
[springing up].
The King! King Philip!
O speed him hither! stay: here's for thy news—
A jewel from my finger. Haste thee, friend!

Enter Philip moodily.
QUEEN.
O Philip, Philip! art thou come to me!
And shall there not be now an end of weeping?
I was thinking of thee—whom else think I of?
I talked of thee—of whom is all my talking?
But thou art here again: and my poor heart,
Like a caged bird, is beating at its bars,
To fly forth to the comfort of thy bosom.
Speak—speak—my soul! and give me peace.

PHILIP.
How's this?
Are we alone?

QUEEN.
No, surely: Margaret,
And my good confessor—

PHILIP.
I am not blind.
There stand they, with wide eyes, and open ears;
Eaves droppers—spies. You hear me, Sir and madam?

FAKENHAM.
We but await her Grace's pleasure.

QUEEN.
Go!
Go, quickly;—go! ah my dear lord, I saw not
Aught but my husband. Am I pardoned?

PHILIP.
Mary!

QUEEN.
Blessings upon thee for that little word!

PHILIP.
I have pondered much of late—I have weighed—I say—
These differences—working to estrangement—
You mark me?

QUEEN.
Breathlessly.

PHILIP.
Ay—where was I?
The estrangement—wrought by interloping priests—
And meddling confessors—and confidants—
Hark ye, your confidants, or man, or woman,
Are pestilent—eschew them—

QUEEN.
I would wish
To shape myself in all things to your wishes.

PHILIP.
Compliant helpmate! then we have not quarrelled?

QUEEN.
Ah, Philip, spare me!

PHILIP.
Saint Jago! hear her!
Spare? have I struck thee? bared my poniard to thee?
Poisoned thy cup?

QUEEN
[faintly smiling].
Thou art not dangerous.

PHILIP.
I know not that—I must be short with you.
I cannot abide your Cardinal.

QUEEN.
My Cardinal?—

PHILIP.
Well: the Pope's legate: Reginald de la Pole.
Despatch him.

QUEEN.
My good lord?

PHILIP.
Ah! you mistake.
Not in that sense—just now. Yet 'twere not ill.

QUEEN.
I trust we still talk riddles to each other.
What is your purpose?

PHILIP.
As to that—but no—
The time must ripen. What I would have—now—
Is simply the removal of this Legate.
(The Pope shall soon recall him—if all live)
You must reject him from your presence: spurn him,
As I this cushion.

QUEEN.
Wherefore do you hate him?

PHILIP.
Call it not hatred, but antipathy:
Such as the callow chicken feels for hawks,
Or wild horse for the wolf. Aversion call it:
That wraps me in a cold and clammy horror
When we approach. I know he cannot harm me;
And have small doubt, he would not if he could.
But still, my flesh creeps if I do but touch him,
As when one strokes a cat's hair 'gainst the grain.
If he looks grave, I straight grow cholerick;
If cheerful, I abhor him; when he laughs,
My vitals sicken. Odious is his garb
Of ostentatious purple; jewelled hands;
That beard down-streaming like the chissel'd locks
Of Moses from the hand of Angelo.—

QUEEN.
Why what is this but hate—brute, undiscerning:
The hate that grows in too self-loving hearts?

PHILIP.
I thank thee, loving mistress, for that taunt.
What more?

QUEEN.
Bear with me: my heart throbs to bursting.

PHILIP.
Well then—if full confession please thee better—
Think I do hate him—What say you now?

QUEEN.
Just heaven!
To hate God's image thus, without a cause,
Is to hate God; and wound him through his work.
This was the sin that hurled the Archangel down
From Heaven to Hell's abysses: this the sin
That drave forth Cain, a branded wanderer!
Let it be cleansed and shriven—or you shall go
To your account hereafter, linked with these.

PHILIP.
And if so, were not these the mighty Ones
Of Earth and Hades? you are much too flippant.
Blame you not God, blaming his instruments?
And such are Kings: such Attila, God's scourge:
Such he who the earlier Becket slew: such Mary,
Whom after times may call the bloody Queen.

QUEEN.
Indeed I have done much—may God forgive me!
Pray for me, Jane! linked with thy Dudley, pray!

PHILIP.
Arouse thee, woman! thou shall yet do deeds
To earn that name indeed.

QUEEN.
What stab comes next?

PHILIP.
Who told thee I could stab? speak, idiot, speak!

QUEEN.
Believe it, I meant nothing—you affright me.

PHILIP.
Then, meaning nought, speak less. Attend to me.
I have directed Gardiner to impart
My final, stern resolve touching these prelates;
Felons heretical. They must die: or thou
And I meet never more.

QUEEN.
I do but dream—
It cannot be—thou canst not be so cruel.
Unsay it!

PHILIP.
Thou canst dream; well know I that—
I never. Would that I could learn of thee!
I will not say it again; but see you do it:
Or—

QUEEN.
Oh be silent! let me think—go not.

PHILIP.
Farewell! till you have thought upon this matter.

QUEEN.
Go not!

PHILIP.
When you are tractable—

QUEEN.
Oh go not!

PHILIP.
I shall take thought on my return. Till then,
Take my farewell!

QUEEN.
I cannot lose thee thus—
I cannot lose thee now—my heart is breaking!

[Philip goes out. Queen sinks in a passion of grief. Scene closes.