The Works of Frederick Schiller Part 369

None will, by speaking in her favor, dare To meet thy anger: stiffer, then, an old And faithful counsellor (whom naught on earth Can tempt on the grave's brink) to exercise The pious duty of humanity.

It never shall be said that, in thy council, Pa.s.sion and interest could find a tongue, While mercy's pleading voice alone was mute, All circ.u.mstances have conspired against her; Thou ne'er hast seen her face, and nothing speaks Within thy breast for one that's stranger to thee.

I do not take the part of her misdeeds; They say 'twas she who planned her husband's murder: 'Tis true that she espoused his murderer.

A grievous crime, no doubt; but then it happened In darksome days of trouble and dismay, In the stern agony of civil war, When she, a woman, helpless and hemmed in By a rude crowd of rebel va.s.sals, sought Protection in a powerful chieftain's arms.

G.o.d knows what arts were used to overcome her!

For woman is a weak and fragile thing.

ELIZABETH.

Woman's not weak; there are heroic souls Among the s.e.x; and, in my presence, sir, I do forbid to speak of woman's weakness.

TALBOT.

Misfortune was for thee a rigid school; Thou wast not stationed on the sunny side Of life; thou sawest no throne, from far, before thee; The grave was gaping for thee at thy feet.

At Woodstock, and in London's gloomy tower, 'Twas there the gracious father of this land Taught thee to know thy duty, by misfortune.

No flatterer sought thee there: there learned thy soul, Far from the noisy world and its distractions, To commune with itself, to think apart, And estimate the real goods of life.

No G.o.d protected this poor sufferer: Transplanted in her early youth to France, The court of levity and thoughtless joys, There, in the round of constant dissipation, She never heard the earnest voice of truth; She was deluded by the glare of vice, And driven onward by the stream of ruin.

Hers was the vain possession of a face, And she outshone all others of her s.e.x As far in beauty, as in n.o.ble birth.

ELIZABETH.

Collect yourself, my Lord of Shrewsbury; Bethink you we are met in solemn council.

Those charms must surely be without compare, Which can engender, in an elder's blood, Such fire. My Lord of Leicester, you alone Are silent; does the subject which has made Him eloquent, deprive you of your speech?

LEICESTER.

Amazement ties my tongue, my queen, to think That they should fill thy soul with such alarms, And that the idle tales, which, in the streets, Of London, terrify the people's ears, Should reach the enlightened circle of thy council, And gravely occupy our statesmen's minds.

Astonishment possesses me, I own, To think this lackland Queen of Scotland, she Who could not save her own poor throne, the jest Of her own va.s.sals, and her country's refuse, [Who in her fairest days of freedom, was But thy despised puppet,] should become At once thy terror when a prisoner.

What, in Heaven's name, can make her formidable?

That she lays claim to England? that the Guises Will not acknowledge thee as queen?

[Did then Thy people's loyal fealty await These Guises' approbation?] Can these Guises, With their objections, ever shake the right Which birth hath given thee; which, with one consent, The votes of parliament have ratified?

And is not she, by Henry's will, pa.s.sed o'er In silence? Is it probable that England, As yet so blessed in the new light's enjoyment, Should throw itself into this papist's arms?

From thee, the sovereign it adores, desert To Darnley's murderess? What will they then, These restless men, who even in thy lifetime Torment thee with a successor; who cannot Dispose of thee in marriage soon enough To rescue church and state from fancied peril?

Stand'st thou not blooming there in youthful prime While each step leads her towards the expecting tomb?

By Heavens, I hope thou wilt full many a year Walk o'er the Stuart's grave, and ne'er become Thyself the instrument of her sad end.

BURLEIGH.

Lord Leicester hath not always held this tone.

LEICESTER.

'Tis true, I in the court of justice gave My verdict for her death; here, in the council, I may consistently speak otherwise Here, right is not the question, but advantage.

Is this a time to fear her power, when France, Her only succor, has abandoned her?

When thou preparest with thy hand to bless The royal son of France, when the fair hope Of a new, glorious stem of sovereigns Begins again to blossom in this land?

Why hasten then her death? She's dead already.

Contempt and scorn are death to her; take heed Lest ill-timed pity call her into life.

'Tis therefore my advice to leave the sentence, By which her life is forfeit, in full force.

Let her live on; but let her live beneath The headsman's axe, and, from the very hour One arm is lifted for her, let it fall.

ELIZABETH (rises).

My lords, I now have heard your several thoughts, And give my ardent thanks for this your zeal.

With G.o.d's a.s.sistance, who the hearts of kings Illumines, I will weigh your arguments, And choose what best my judgment shall approve.

[To BURLEIGH.

[Lord Burleigh's honest fears, I know it well, Are but the offspring of his faithful care; But yet, Lord Leicester has most truly said, There is no need of haste; our enemy Hath lost already her most dangerous sting-- The mighty arm of France: the fear that she Might quickly be the victim of their zeal Will curb the blind impatience of her friends.]

[1] The picture of Ate, the G.o.ddess of mischief, we are acquainted with from Homer, II. v. 91, 130. I. 501. She is a daughter of Jupiter, and eager to prejudice every one, even the immortal G.o.ds.

She counteracted Jupiter himself, on which account he seized her by her beautiful hair, and hurled her from heaven to the earth, where she now, striding over the heads of men, excites them to evil in order to involve them in calamity.--HERDER.

Shakspeare has, in Julius Caesar, made a fine use of this image:--

"And Caesar's spirit ranging for revenge with Ate by his side, come hot from h.e.l.l, Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice, Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war."

I need not point out to the reader the beautiful propriety of introducing the evil spirit on this occasion.--TRANSLATOR.

SCENE IV.

Enter SIR AMIAS PAULET and MORTIMER.

ELIZABETH.

There's Sir Amias Paulet; n.o.ble sir, What tidings bring you?

PAULET.

Gracious sovereign, My nephew, who but lately is returned From foreign travel, kneels before thy feet, And offers thee his first and earliest homage, Grant him thy royal grace, and let him grow And flourish in the suns.h.i.+ne of thy favor.

MORTIMER (kneeling on one knee).

Long live my royal mistress! Happiness And glory from a crown to grace her brows!

ELIZABETH.

Arise, sir knight; and welcome here in England; You've made, I hear, the tour, have been in France And Rome, and tarried, too, some time at Rheims: Tell me what plots our enemies are hatching?

MORTIMER.

May G.o.d confound them all! And may the darts Which they shall aim against my sovereign, Recoiling, strike their own perfidious b.r.e.a.s.t.s!

ELIZABETH.

Did you see Morgan, and the wily Bishop Of Ross?

MORTIMER.

I saw, my queen, all Scottish exiles Who forge at Rheims their plots against this realm.

I stole into their confidence in hopes To learn some hint of their conspiracies.

PAULET.

Private despatches they intrusted to him, In cyphers, for the Queen of Scots, which he, With loyal hand, hath given up to us.

ELIZABETH.

Say, what are then their latest plans of treason?

MORTIMER.

It struck them all as 'twere a thunderbolt, That France should leave them, and with England close This firm alliance; now they turn their hopes Towards Spain----