Act 5 — Scene V.—ROOM IN HAMPTON COURT.

The Queen alone waiting for Lord William Howard, Earl of Effingham. She walks back and forward in deep abstraction past a large steel mirror. She is startled and arrested by catching sight of the reflection of herself.

Queen. Hah! What aged companion thou, abruptly thrust upon me? Unflattering mirror! Thou art no courtier! Care!—subtle poison—sure if slow.—I see thy working.—Remembrancer I thank thee. Still! Providence, I wait thy pleasure—though what a life! An atmosphere of terror—my vital air—to school me, doubtless, for thy purpose—to teach me cautious circumspection. Mysterious awe hung o’er my childhood—the latent influence of my mother’s fate, though then to me unknown. Nordic! I seem alone in this. The taint was upon all around—a wrinkle on every brow—a sorrow unexpressed in midst of joy and show, and brave festivity.—Danger and insecurity seemed to sit on all! England was merry—loud the roar of wassail.—But thoughtful people stopped short in laughter as if chid; and swaggering, warlike Britons, though in peace, held themselves erect for fight. The social heavens were black with clouds—surcharged with thunder in the midst of sunshine. Such! my earliest—undefined impression. Ever present—ever coming danger! Yet I feared not—rather longed to meet it face to face (she walks musing). When Edward died, and during Mary’s reign, what portents scared mankind! Unnatural frost bound the Earth, stifled vegetation dried up rivers. The Thames was solid till the month of May! Showers of red hail, like drops of gore congealed, sign of coming strife—a nation’s blood! and, as it lay around the roses in their gardens, men thought of York and Lancaster, and grew pale. Births of hideous monsters; frighted women; bodies with double heads and limbs.—Storms rent the welkin with unheard of fury, tore trees of ancient growth up by the roots, and hurled them in wild passion through the air! The summer’s sun in hot July, as putting mourning on, grew black as winter night. Rain, a second deluge! flooded the houses of terror-stricken London, and changed its streets to torrents. (Her soliloquy is broken off by the entrance of the Earl of Effingham. Enter Lord William Howard, Earl of Effingham. The Queen rushes to him, throws her arms round his neck and kisses him, with a transport of affection, and tears of filial fondness.) My loved! My honoured kinsman! My more than father!—that with heroic greatness stood to the lone girl, through danger, death, and tyranny! (she is overcome with emotion).

Lord William Howard (tenderly looking at her whilst he still affectionately holds her). Thy sweet face is sad! What clouds thy queenly brow?

Queen. At sight of thee, noble kinsman, the Tower and Woodstock, and the hostile court, rise like hideous goblins—and the base courtiers tendering their cold salutes, almost contempt. Wretches! I see them in vision, cowering at the thunder of thy step and voice. “Down on your knees to her, and kiss her hand” you shouted. Oh! the dismay of Philip and his Spaniards!—the scowl of Mary!—Alva alone was firm.—Some one muttered “Treason!—Tower!”

Howard (with a proud and bitter laugh). Ha! Ha! Ha! The Lord High Admiral of England, to the Tower!—with the mariners of the Royal Navy—the fifty privateers that kept our coasts—the best blood of England at my back—a righteous cause—and the whole people agitated like a seething pot—ready at a word to rise and tear your foes to pieces! Philip and Alva knew better. Their heads were surety for yours! I had let them know that your father’s “deep ditch,” as he called the channel, lay between them and Spain, and that I was the man who held the key of it to send them to the bottom. Gardiner too, and that dark villain, Renard, were plainly told that one move more should cost their lives! (The Queen in great emotion.) That was a revolution for them! (He walks aside.) Philip, himself, then thought it prudent to take your part. (With sarcasm) Treason!—the Tower!—Humph! There were other murmurs—Outside!—So that when Arundel, the very head of the Catholic party, left the palace with me, he whispered in my ear, “I see Elizabeth’s foot upon the steps of the throne.” (He walks aside proudly.) My Royal Mistress, you were safe (the Queen in great emotion flings herself upon him).

Queen. Uncle mine! Uncle mine! Call me your dear child as you did! at Woodstock! Father! Friend! Under God, my Saviour! ’Twas you that chained the Lions.

Howard (solemnly). I was, perhaps, an instrument!—one of the raised up—like yourself—blind led and passive—Nor words, nor actions, were my own!—The dictates of mysterious power—unseen—and irresistible—ever forced me on—that guardian angel which upheld you, and will uphold you—long as you fulfil your purpose, and obey—

Queen. Yes! yes! Noble kinsman. I have reason to thank God who all my life has led me—often by devious paths—I knew not.—The end is his!

Howard. Never was Monarch in greater danger than when in your progress you stopped short at Richmond, to sift out of his cowardice and vacillation the secret of Norfolk’s treason. What foiled the foul conspiracy at once? No human light. The impulse was divine! No secret spy; no base accomplice; no false domestic; no unfaithful friend betrayed him. Your own discerning eye unveiled his thoughts behind the flimsy shield of shuffling falsehood and evasion.

Queen (abruptly). And when he left the court without taking leave, I saw he dared not face me—I had probed his heart—’twas confession of his guilt.

Howard. On such occasions, you are all yourself. Your character breaks forth in all its majesty of force—your resolution was electric. As eagle to her eyrie, you flew to Windsor, that seat of regal pomp and power. You called no councils; lost no time discussing plans—You took the helm yourself, and instinct pointed to the port of safety. To seize the prize, the very object of rebellion, was to cut it short at a stroke! (He walks aside). It was a masterly resolve to send Hunsdon without notice or delay to carry the Queen of Scots to Tutbury, and there to surround himself and his quarry with five hundred men. The she-devil stormed, and wept, and threatened; but Hunsdon was just the man to go through with his work. She understood it all—the game was up with her. How I should have laughed to see Shrewsbury’s stupid stare, when your order was presented to him. Well, it was a marvellous conception, and marvellously executed, but the instinct was not human; it was the dictate of that guardian angel, which I maintain attends you through every difficulty.

Queen. Noble kinsman, it is strange, now that I reflect, I did it all without a moment’s thought, without reason, fear or motive. In fact, I knew not why, but that I was constrained, and it was done.

Howard (hurriedly). Then without an hour’s delay, to order the greatest men in England, Pembroke, Arundel, Lumley, and Throgmorton—to appear at court, and there to put them under arrest.

Queen. They were men and patriots—friends at heart—and instantly obeyed. They knew their heads were safe enough at Windsor.

Howard. Insurrection, without leader or object was snuffed out. But these are not the men to put their country under a foreign yoke, whether of Pope or Spain.

Queen. Norfolk, too, I summoned to return. His courage failed him, his shaking fit came on and laid him up at Howard House to write his lying sneaking letter, (she shows him a latter.) See! This from a Howard, and great Surrey’s sun.

Howard. I am ashamed of him. That ague should have taken his life, and saved his head.

Queen. Yet I loved him, uncle. How hard to sign his execution! I would have mourned his death. How much his fall from loyalty and honour. Howards should fall on fields of fame—Champions of England’s freedom and independence—a wailing country follow to their tomb, and public monuments attest their virtue. Norfolk! minion to her foe! traitor to enslave her! sinks to his doom, disgracing his proud name. His friends must loathe him—rebel, felon, slave and coward.

Howard. He dies the worst of traitors—his treason against his country, his religion—against mankind. Perish rebellion with him! England now is safe, and marches on apace, to greatness of her own—the empire of the ocean.—Wherefore doubt your fortune?

Queen (sadly). Kinsman, my lot is cast in loneliness, a solitary rock amid the breakers; danger, doubt and treason ever round me, knowing not whom to trust. My very council, blind to their country’s welfare, squabble about foreign policy, and even if honest are divided. Some are for marrying me, in the interest of Spain, some in that of France. Or that I’m lost—Even Cecil.

Howard (impassioned and abrupt). Sheer madness, either! to end in civil war, and then in nothingness. Was it for the good of England that Philip sought your hand? and now would marry you to his minion, Austria? Or that France would impose her wretched ape upon you? No! England must, and can stand alone, against the world. (He walks aside proudly agitated).

Queen (with decision). Fear not, noble kinsman; never will I divide my crown with mortal man, nor barter the glory and independence of my country. Rather war! or death! But I am harrassed—worried. My court’s a very comedy. Here are at least a dozen Ambassadors intriguing, lying, bribing among my maids of honour as if the hand of Elizabeth could be thus obtained. And (laughing) I am afraid they will cut one another’s throats in my presence.

Howard (laughing). Ha! Ha! Ha! Comedy! By my halidame, a good one (rubbing his hands). Lord, what fun to see the fools draw, and go at it.

Queen (laughing with affected surprise). By the soul of King Harry, Uncle, you would make a Roman Amphitheatre in Greenwich Park, and fight them there in pairs, like gladiators.

Howard (laughing). Ha! Ha! Ha! Capital! Pitch them into the arena, Leicester and Hatton with them, all armed with French rapiers to skewer one another like Woodcocks. We should look on as umpires. But Cecil, Sussex, and Walsingham—what do they mean with such nonsense? ’Tis well!? ’Tis well! The proudest boast that woman e’er possessed. Philip himself—every prince in Europe, that dares aspire, has sought your hand, ready to throw himself at your feet. A fact to blaze upon the face of history—a testimony to character and greatness, to silence base detraction and endure for ever. Where’s our weakness? Our danger, where? Our only danger, low intrigues, mixing with foreign quarrels, and false allies.—England must dwell apart—her power—her path to glory lies on the deep! Her great sons must carry out her policy alone (he walks thoughtfully and returns). I ever hated doctrine-mongers—men of one idea and crooked ways—dubious! indirect! unsafe! The man who loves his country, cannot mistake her interest, shoots straight at his mark and rarely misses. Danger!—Your Fleet—the daring spirits who man it—are the envy of the nations who have already proclaimed you “Queen of the Sea—Restorer of Naval Glory.” Another thing, my Queen, England’s Commercial Navy is a power unknown before. Her merchants, enriched by growing commerce, rival each other in the ships they build—all fit for war—with English pluck to fight their own way upon the waves. These, with the Royal Navy, present a force of twenty thousand fighting men—a match for ten times their number any day. What foe will face them? Ha! Ha! Ha! (He walks aside in triumph). Philip could never bring his Spaniards to that.

Queen (with an expression of joy). Noble kinsman, still the same, to comfort and encourage me.

Howard (earnestly). One thing perhaps you may want—a little money to build more ships, and keep for difficulties. (With an enquiring look.) What of Drake? Have they no news at Plymouth?

Queen. No! But through Spain, notwithstanding efforts to conceal it, we know his plunder is immense, and though every one else thinks he has gone down, Philip, sleepless, and alarmed, is astounded, not knowing what next may happen. But Drake! poor fellow! I fear is gone for ever! Magellan’s Straits are guarded—return impossible, if alive.

Howard. Alive! What would kill them? If the Spaniards should kill these devils, there would be a noise the whole world would ring with. As to the straits being closed—Frobisher says there are other passages, and that Drake’s the man to find them. Drake’s the man! He’ll find his way, my life upon him.

Queen. But, come, Uncle mine! You’re out of breath with this excitement, and I have had a smart ride from London, and need refreshment. I ordered my maids to horse right early.

Howard. Ah! You require your favorite beverage—a cup of good ale. Ale’s the restorer.

Queen. You know my mind upon that, Uncle. It’s the natural drink of the nation.

Howard. I know I have ever seen the men fight best upon it, but I have heard that some fool proposes a tax upon ale.

Queen (laughing). What? Tax an Englishman’s ale! That would be the next thing to foreign rule. Come, kinsman! (She takes his arm).

Howard (aside as they go out). Marry a French frog! like that pock-marred Alençon. (Grumbling angrily). I must have a talk with Cecil.

(Exeunt). Scene changes.