Act 1 — Scene IV.—A ROOM IN THE PALACE.

Enter the Queen and the Earl of Leicester.

Leicester (laughing). Ha-Ha-Ha! I cannot see it. Excommunicated! How is it possible? Even the Pope cannot put one out of his house who never was in it. Ha! Ha! Ha! It’s a joke. Excommunicated indeed! Because a fellow like a thief in the night nails a paper on the Bishop of London’s door, your Majesty is to be deprived of your throne and life. All the world knows the Statue of Premunire.—(with emphasis and deliberation) No Bull can be published here without the licence of the Crown. This is poor thunder from the Vatican. Not thus did Leo roar, and yet a German Monk laughed him to scorn, burned his Bull in the open Market-place, and challenged him to prove his title before the Christian world. Ha! Ha! Ha! (He walks about laughing—then comes up to the Queen sarcastically) Pius the Fifth is no Hildebrand, his wretched missive thus stolen into the kingdom is no more than waste paper. The thunder of the Seven Hills has lost the bolt. Ha! Ha! Ha!

Queen. By the Rood, Robin, I agree with you; It is an insolent joke (She laughs to herself grimly). The world begins to see it too. France contemptuously suppressed his Bull, Philip forbade him to issue it and refuses to permit its publication in his dominions, (with proud defiance) I have answered his insolence in my own way, by hanging up his messenger at the very door where he committed the offence. Ha! Ha! Ha!—He’ll carry no more messages.

Leicester. Well! Is there one Catholic Nobleman in England who did not acquiesce in the execution of Felton? Parliament too gave a quick and substantial reply, by passing an immediate act, without a dissentient voice. “That to affirm by word or writing that the Queen is not Queen, or not entitled to the Crown, or that any other person ought to be Queen, even without an overt act, shall be High Treason.”

Queen. And the Nation indignant, shouted its assent. I plant my throne, Leicester in the hearts of my people! They are the true foundation of all Political right.—They are my Guards! My bulwark! my support!—I did not wait for an Act of Parliament to hang Felton.

Leicester (rubbing his hands and laughing). No! No! Your father’s daughter for that! It was a masterly counter-thrust for him. I should like to see the Pope’s face when he considers your position. (He walks musing, then confronts the Queen) Here you stand an excommunicated Princess; entirely unscathed by his thunder. Your throne is as firm as the primeval rock. You hold prisoner Mary, that was Queen of Scotland, the Dowager Queen of France, the Representative of Papal claims upon the throne. Yet not one member of the Catholic Nobility is ready to do the behests of the Pope in regard to your life or title.

Queen. And the people! the Great English people! the fearless! the free! Are they not more enthusiastic than ever? When do I show myself among them that they do not crowd around me with the idolatry of devotion, proud to kiss the hem of my robe, or touch the horse that bears me. Woe to the assassin who should lift a finger! He would be torn limb from limb. Yes! Yes! Leicester, I am safe among my People (she walks about confidently then stands and passionately continues) They know I love them, and will never betray their liberties or their honour (walking aside with emotion).

Leicester. You are the only Sovereign in the world that can freely move abroad without other guards than the people.

Queen. The Catholics of England never did, and never will, acknowledge the power of the Pope to annul their liberties, or to interfere in the government of their country. They will hear the Mass, but they will have none of his Bulls. They have had too much of Ecclesiastical Courts, and Appeals to Rome. That question was decided long ago, when the Clergy tried to substitute the Canon for the Common Law, and Parliament and People proclaimed with one voice “We will not have the Laws of England changed” (she walks with a triumphant air).

Leicester. The Court of Rome takes credit for great cunning and deep policy. Their present folly does surprise me; to threat without the power to strike. On whom does it rely? On France or Spain? Neither could permit the other to attack us, and concert is impossible ’twixt elements ajar.

Queen. They both are suing me for favours and alliance. Nay! every Power in Europe.—I am the Arbitress of Nations.

Leicester (fiercely). Besides! Our Naval heroes boldly say, their fleets combined could never land an army on our shores, and if they could, England like one man would rise and dash invasion from her! (He walks exultingly aside).

Queen. I believe it all, Leicester. My faith is in my country! In my people! Nor would their Queen in such an hour be wanting. Elizabeth would lead the van with them to conquer, or with them to fall. (She walks with a fierce and triumphant air) Yet, Leicester! Though with thoughts like these my Lion spirit rises to the occasion, there are times when sadness sits brooding o’er me, and in the lone, darkness of my soul, kindred and goblin forms arise, the brood of melancholy to fright my woman weakness. William, Prince of Orange, butchered in his Palace! the loaded pistol! the assassin’s knife! ever at one’s defenceless breast—Ah! Leicester (she shudders with horror) ’tis too much to bear! too much! too much! (she weeps and turns aside with great emotion, Leicester approaching her with deep sympathy, and kneeling, kisses her robe, to which he timidly ventures to apply his lips).

Leicester. My honoured Mistress! My beloved Queen! God, who raised you up His chosen instrument, has hitherto supported, and will preserve you. (The Queen turns abruptly and surprised).

Queen. What, Robin! This from thee? Art thou turned Puritan, man?

Leicester. Of late, my Queen, I have had dreams! Visions of Prophetic import, which seem to touch the times.

Queen. Dreams! Dreams that touch the times, belong to anxious brains like mine, troublous as my checkered life, with danger and alarm. Thine are of thyself, of love and selfish gain, intrigues with traitor wenches of my Court that pay me hollow homage, and take the pay of France, or Philip, or the Queen of Scots, or even thyself! (Looking at him piercingly).

Leicester, (attempting to speak). Oh! My loved Mistress!

Queen (interrupting him), Nay! Nay! Ne’er deny it, Leicester. I watch the games of all, and play my own! (with a grim smile).

Leicester (earnestly, as to repel the insinuation). My Liege, my thoughts are capable of proof. The vision long hath left my brain, and found material body. Art hath moulded it in jewelled gold, and given it tongue prophetic! Futurity will unfold the truth; but it would be presented to you on the throne. May it please your Majesty to be seated.

Queen. What mean you, man? Robin! No mummery now, my mood is serious! (Leicester bows solemnly), Well! Well! I will indulge you. (She gives him her hand and he leads her to the throne).

Leicester. My Liege! It is behind the arras, permit me to introduce it.

Queen (impatiently). Do as thou listest and be quick. (He goes for the intended present). There’s something in it, else he’s acting well. What can it be?

He returns with a splendidly gilt and ornamented box, lays it down, and opening it, withdraws a group of statuary of jewelled gold. Approaching the throne, he kneels on one knee, and presents it to the Queen, who all the time watches the proceeding with intense interest, then takes the present with great surprise and curiosity.

Leicester. Behold, my Liege! The symboled future! May the God of England verify it soon.

He buries his face in his hands and continues kneeling. The Queen eyeing it for a moment, on all sides, in deep abstraction, rushes from the throne, and placing it on a highly ornamented table under the light, examines it curiously, not without awe, as if something supernatural. Leicester, still kneeling, watches her askance.

Queen (slowly). Magnificent! sublime! Art indeed, which can embody thought in gold, and almost shape the lips to speech. Prophetic Vision! Symboled future, humph! The future still to me is mystic, dark, and awful. (She looks around for Leicester, who is still kneeling before the throne and watching the Queen with great anxiety askance). No more of that play-acting; up man, and expound thy riddle. (Leicester comes forward, and taking up the group in one hand, whilst he points with the other to the figures, thus explains their meaning, the Queen, anxiously awaiting the result).

Leicester. The central figure, seated on a throne, with features so beautiful, the express image of Majesty itself, is the Queen of England! the likeness unmistakeable. At her feet kneeling, is the so-called Queen of Scots. Around the stormy ocean your bulwark, strength, and power. On either side, figures of France and Spain overwhelmed in the waves, whilst Neptune, rising in front, presents to you the globe, and does homage to the true Sovereign of the seas.

Queen. Oh Leicester! Leicester! (The Queen sinks upon a chair, overcome by the weight of thought and the tumult of her ideas). Prophetic Vision! Symboled Future! I am lost in a tumult of thoughts, and hopes, and fears. Call Ashley! Be quick! Quick, my Lord! Exhausted! Overcome! (Exit Leicester. She leans sobbing on the chair, her face buried in her hands).

Re-enter the Earl of Leicester with Mrs. Ashley, who rush to her assistance.

Curtain falls.