Scene II.—THE QUEEN’S PRIVATE CHAMBER.
The Queen walking about in deep thought, with anxious uneasy gestures, and hesitating step, Mrs. Ashley, her waiting woman watching her intently. The Queen stops in front of a marble table, backed by a large steel mirror in which is reflected Leicester’s symbolic present, scarcely less vividly represented in the polished surface on which it reposes.
Queen. Marvellous production! What art thou? How camest thou forth, thus full of fearful meaning, and whence this atmosphere of thought, surrounding thee, arresting attention for thyself, bearing the rapt soul beyond the present, with prophecy sublime and breathing power to tell without a tongue, of coming greatness! Beneath the frenzied eye thou dost assume proportions grand, looming its giant abstract, through dim futurity. No creature of Leicester’s paltry brain art thou. No workman’s unreflecting labour, no design of common art assembled those ideas, above the mortal mind. Conception vast! Some angels prompting through an artist’s skill, fathomless to me. I’ll try the common mind! (She turns to her waiting woman). Ashley, you know how high I hold your tact and judgment, in the subtle, tortuous ways of life, your clear opinion of men and things. How many changes you have seen! a rare experience yours, through the late bloody reigns. Mine has been sad, but you have lived longer.
Mrs. Ashley. Yes, my dear mistress and still of most concern to me, was what concerned your Royal Majesty. They knew well how truly I loved you, when, on your return to Ashridge after your release from Woodstock, you sent for me; and they committed me to the Fleet.
Queen. Ashley, that was a terrible time—rather say, the end of terror. One can bear to recall its memory. It was a trumpery malice, to send my faithful servants to prison. They dared not any longer molest me, personally, for the shadow of Lord Howard fell, like a blight, upon the Court. Even in his absence, his form stalked ever before the eyes of Philip and his Spaniards.
Mrs. Ashley. God bless the noble Howard, the noblest of his name. He is the hero of England.
Queen. God bless him, I say again, Ashley. (Aside). He has not seen this yet. (She lays her hand upon the emblematic device. Then stepping backward a few paces, deeply ponders on it.) I wonder what he will say. But his mind and bent runs in that groove, like Drake, Hawkins, and Killigrew, the Tremaines, all that fighting band. They have the one dominant idea. “England must rule the sea,” and that they can do it. Look well at that Ashley and tell me what your common sense can make of it. (The waiting-woman looks at the figures, then at the Queen scrutinizingly, as if to find out her secret.)
Mrs. Ashley (with hesitation). It is a beautiful thing and means something. More than it seems. It is a riddle for Dr. Dee to read. (Again she looks, with half malice at the Queen, who is too intent to observe her). Belike it is a love present—belike your Majesty is coming to the point at last. (The Queen starting out of her reverie, and looking at her companion sharply).
Queen (impatiently). What point, Ashley? Dost thou understand it? Can’st thou read the future of thy country?
Mrs. Ashley (peering inquisitively at the Queen). Belike your Majesty will now marry the beautiful Earl?