Chapter 15
LORD PETRE _and_ LORD WILLIAM HOWARD.
PETRE. You cannot see the Queen. Renard denied her, Ev'n now to me.
HOWARD. Their Flemish go-between And all-in-all. I came to thank her Majesty For freeing my friend Bagenhall from the Tower; A grace to me! Mercy, that herb-of-grace, Flowers now but seldom.
PETRE. Only now perhaps. Because the Queen hath been three days in tears For Philip's going--like the wild hedge-rose Of a soft winter, possible, not probable, However you have prov'n it.
HOWARD. I must see her.
_Enter_ RENARD.
RENARD. My Lords, you cannot see her Majesty.
HOWARD. Why then the King! for I would have him bring it Home to the leisure wisdom of his Queen, Before he go, that since these statutes past, Gardiner out-Gardiners Gardiner in his heat, Bonner cannot out-Bonner his own self-- Beast!--but they play with fire as children do, And burn the house. I know that these are breeding A fierce resolve and fixt heart-hate in men Against the King, the Queen, the Holy Father, The faith itself. Can I not see him?
RENARD. Not now. And in all this, my Lord, her Majesty Is flint of flint, you may strike fire from her, Not hope to melt her. I will give your message.
[_Exeunt_ PETRE _and_ HOWARD.
_Enter_ PHILIP _(musing)_
PHILIP. She will not have Prince Philibert of Savoy, I talk'd with her in vain--says she will live And die true maid--a goodly creature too. Would _she_ had been the Queen! yet she must have him; She troubles England: that she breathes in England Is life and lungs to every rebel birth That passes out of embryo. Simon Renard! This Howard, whom they fear, what was he saying?
RENARD. What your imperial father said, my liege, To deal with heresy gentlier. Gardiner burns, And Bonner burns; and it would seem this people Care more for our brief life in their wet land, Than yours in happier Spain. I told my Lord He should not vex her Highness; she would say These are the means God works with, that His church May flourish.
PHILIP. Ay, sir, but in statesmanship To strike too soon is oft to miss the blow. Thou knowest I bad my chaplain, Castro, preach Against these burnings.
RENARD. And the Emperor Approved you, and when last he wrote, declared His comfort in your Grace that you were bland And affable to men of all estates, In hope to charm them from their hate of Spain.
PHILIP. In hope to crush all heresy under Spain. But, Renard, I am sicker staying here Than any sea could make me passing hence, Tho' I be ever deadly sick at sea. So sick am I with biding for this child. Is it the fashion in this clime for women To go twelve months in bearing of a child? The nurses yawn'd, the cradle gaped, they led Processions, chanted litanies, clash'd their bells, Shot off their lying cannon, and her priests Have preach'd, the fools, of this fair prince to come; Till, by St. James, I find myself the fool. Why do you lift your eyebrow at me thus?
RENARD. I never saw your Highness moved till now.
PHILIP. So weary am I of this wet land of theirs, And every soul of man that breathes therein.
RENARD. My liege, we must not drop the mask before The masquerade is over--
PHILIP. --Have I dropt it? I have but shown a loathing face to you, Who knew it from the first.
_Enter_ MARY.
MARY (_aside_). With Renard. Still Parleying with Renard, all the day with Renard, And scarce a greeting all the day for me-- And goes to-morrow. [_Exit_ MARY.
PHILIP (_to_ RENARD, _who advances to him_). Well, sir, is there more?
RENARD (_who has perceived the QUEEN_). May Simon Renard speak a single word?
PHILIP. Ay.
RENARD. And be forgiven for it?
PHILIP. Simon Renard Knows me too well to speak a single word That could not be forgiven.
RENARD. Well, my liege, Your Grace hath a most chaste and loving wife.
PHILIP. Why not? The Queen of Philip should be chaste.
RENARD. Ay, but, my Lord, you know what Virgil sings, Woman is various and most mutable.
PHILIP. She play the harlot! never.
RENARD. No, sire, no, Not dream'd of by the rabidest gospeller. There was a paper thrown into the palace, 'The King hath wearied of his barren bride.' She came upon it, read it, and then rent it, With all the rage of one who hates a truth He cannot but allow. Sire, I would have you-- What should I say, I cannot pick my words-- Be somewhat less--majestic to your Queen.
PHILIP. Am I to change my manners, Simon Renard, Because these islanders are brutal beasts? Or would you have me turn a sonneteer, And warble those brief-sighted eyes of hers?
RENARD. Brief-sighted tho' they be, I have seen them, sire, When you perchance were trifling royally With some fair dame of court, suddenly fill With such fierce fire--had it been fire indeed It would have burnt both speakers.
PHILIP. Ay, and then?
RENARD. Sire, might it not be policy in some matter Of small importance now and then to cede A point to her demand?
PHILIP. Well, I am going.
RENARD. For should her love when you are gone, my liege, Witness these papers, there will not be wanting Those that will urge her injury--should her love-- And I have known such women more than one-- Veer to the counterpoint, and jealousy Hath in it an alchemic force to fuse Almost into one metal love and hate,-- And she impress her wrongs upon her Council, And these again upon her Parliament-- We are not loved here, and would be then perhaps Not so well holpen in our wars with France, As else we might be--here she comes.
_Enter_ MARY.
MARY. O Philip! Nay, must you go indeed?
PHILIP. Madam, I must.
MARY. The parting of a husband and a wife Is like the cleaving of a heart; one half Will flutter here, one there.
PHILIP. You say true, Madam.
MARY. The Holy Virgin will not have me yet Lose the sweet hope that I may bear a prince. If such a prince were born and you not here!
PHILIP. I should be here if such a prince were born.
MARY. But must you go?
PHILIP. Madam, you know my father, Retiring into cloistral solitude To yield the remnant of his years to heaven, Will shift the yoke and weight of all the world From off his neck to mine. We meet at Brussels. But since mine absence will not be for long, Your Majesty shall go to Dover with me, And wait my coming back.
MARY. To Dover? no, I am too feeble. I will go to Greenwich, So you will have me with you; and there watch All that is gracious in the breath of heaven Draw with your sails from our poor land, and pass And leave me, Philip, with my prayers for you.
PHILIP. And doubtless I shall profit by your prayers.
MARY. Methinks that would you tarry one day more (The news was sudden) I could mould myself To bear your going better; will you do it?
PHILIP. Madam, a day may sink or save a realm.
MARY. A day may save a heart from breaking too.
PHILIP. Well, Simon Renard, shall we stop a day?
RENARD. Your Grace's business will not suffer, sire, For one day more, so far as I can tell.
PHILIP. Then one day more to please her Majesty.
MARY. The sunshine sweeps across my life again. O if I knew you felt this parting, Philip, As I do!
PHILIP. By St. James I do protest, Upon the faith and honour of a Spaniard, I am vastly grieved to leave your Majesty. Simon, is supper ready?
RENARD. Ay, my liege, I saw the covers laying.
PHILIP. Let us have it.
[_Exeunt_.