G.o.d is my witness that I have not lived For my own sake, but for my people"s welfare.
If they expect from this false, fawning Stuart, The younger sovereign, more happy days, I will descend with pleasure from the throne, Again repair to Woodstock"s quiet bowers, Where once I spent my unambitious youth; Where far removed from all the vanities Of earthly power, I found within myself True majesty. I am not made to rule-- A ruler should be made of sterner stuff: My heart is soft and tender. I have governed These many years this kingdom happily, But then I only needed to make happy: Now, comes my first important regal duty, And now I feel how weak a thing I am.
BURLEIGH.
Now by mine honor, when I hear my queen, My royal liege, speak such unroyal words, I should betray my office, should betray My country, were I longer to be silent.
You say you love your people "bove yourself, Now prove it. Choose not peace for your own heart, And leave your kingdom to the storms of discord.
Think on the church. Shall, with this papist queen The ancient superst.i.tion be renewed?
The monk resume his sway, the Roman legate In pomp march hither; lock our churches up, Dethrone our monarchs? I demand of you The souls of all your subjects--as you now Shall act, they all are saved, or all are lost!
Here is no time for mercy;--to promote Your people"s welfare is your highest duty.
If Shrewsbury has saved your life, then I Will save both you and England--that is more!
ELIZABETH.
I would be left alone. No consolation, No counsel can be drawn from human aid In this conjecture:--I will lay my doubts Before the Judge of all:--I am resolved To act as He shall teach. Withdraw, my lords.
[To DAVISON, who lays the paper on the table.
You, sir, remain in waiting--close at hand.
[The lords withdraw, SHREWSBURY alone stands for a few moments before the QUEEN, regards her significantly, then withdraws slowly, and with an expression of the deepest anguish.
SCENE X.
ELIZABETH alone.
Oh! servitude of popularity!
Disgraceful slavery! How weary am I Of flattering this idol, which my soul Despises in its inmost depth! Oh! when Shall I once more be free upon this throne?
I must respect the people"s voice, and strive To win the favor of the mult.i.tude, And please the fancies of a mob, whom naught But jugglers" tricks delight. O call not him A king who needs must please the world: "tis he Alone, who in his actions does not heed The fickle approbation of mankind.
Have I then practised justice, all my life Shunned each despotic deed; have I done this Only to bind my hands against this first, This necessary act of violence?
My own example now condemns myself!
Had I but been a tyrant, like my sister, My predecessor, I could fearless then Have shed this royal blood:--but am I now Just by my own free choice? No--I was forced By stern necessity to use this virtue; Necessity, which binds e"en monarch"s wills.
Surrounded by my foes, my people"s love Alone supports me on my envied throne.
All Europe"s powers confederate to destroy me; The pope"s inveterate decree declares me Accursed and excommunicated. France Betrays me with a kiss, and Spain prepares At sea a fierce exterminating war; Thus stand I, in contention with the world, A poor defenceless woman: I must seek To veil the spot in my imperial birth, By which my father cast disgrace upon me: In vain with princely virtues would I hide it; The envious hatred of my enemies Uncovers it, and places Mary Stuart, A threatening fiend, before me evermore!
[Walking up and down, with quick and agitated steps.
Oh, no! this fear must end. Her head must fall!
I will have peace. She is the very fury Of my existence; a tormenting demon, Which destiny has fastened on my soul.
Wherever I had planted me a comfort, A flattering hope, my way was ever crossed By this infernal viper! She has torn My favorite, and my destined bridegroom from me.
The hated name of every ill I feel Is Mary Stuart--were but she no more On earth I should be free as mountain air.
[Standing still.
With what disdain did she look down on me, As if her eye should blast me like the lightning!
Poor feeble wretch! I bear far other arms, Their touch is mortal, and thou art no more.
[Advancing to the table hastily, and taking the pen.
I am a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, am I? Hapless wretch, I am but so the while thou liv"st and breath"st.
Thy death will make my birth legitimate.
The moment I destroy thee is the doubt Destroyed which hangs o"er my imperial right.
As soon as England has no other choice, My mother"s honor and my birthright triumphs!
[She signs with resolution; lets her pen then fall, and steps back with an expression of terror. After a pause she rings.
SCENE XI.
ELIZABETH, DAVISON.
ELIZABETH.
Where are their lordships?
DAVISON.
They are gone to quell The tumult of the people. The alarm Was instantly appeased when they beheld The Earl of Shrewsbury. That"s he! exclaimed A hundred voices--that"s the man--he saved The queen; hear him--the bravest man in England!
And now began the gallant Talbot, blamed In gentle words the people"s violence, And used such strong, persuasive eloquence, That all were pacified, and silently They slunk away.
ELIZABETH.
The fickle mult.i.tude!
Which turns with every wind. Unhappy he Who leans upon this reed! "Tis well, Sir William; You may retire again---- [As he is going towards the door.
And, sir, this paper, Receive it back; I place it in your hands.
DAVISON (casts a look upon the paper, and starts back).
My gracious queen--thy name! "tis then decided.
ELIZABETH.
I had but to subscribe it--I have done so-- A paper sure cannot decide--a name Kills not.
DAVISON.
Thy name, my queen, beneath this paper Is most decisive--kills--"tis like the lightning, Which blasteth as it flies! This fatal scroll Commands the sheriff and commissioners To take departure straight for Fotheringay, And to the Queen of Scots announce her death, Which must at dawn be put in execution.
There is no respite, no discretion here.
As soon as I have parted with this writ Her race is run.
ELIZABETH.
Yes, sir, the Lord has placed This weighty business in your feeble hands; Seek him in prayer to light you with his wisdom; I go--and leave you, sir, to do your duty.
[Going.
DAVISON.
No; leave me not, my queen, till I have heard Your will. The only wisdom that I need Is, word for word, to follow your commands.
Say, have you placed this warrant in my hands To see that it be speedily enforced?
ELIZABETH.
That you must do as your own prudence dictates.
DAVISON (interrupting her quickly, and alarmed).
Not mine--oh, G.o.d forbid! Obedience is My only prudence here. No point must now Be left to be decided by your servant.
A small mistake would here be regicide, A monstrous crime, from which my soul recoils.