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.