DONIZETTI

ROBERTO DEVEREUX

(Elizabeth and Essex)

The scene is the palace at Westminster, Court of Queen Elizabeth, where Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, returns after a military triumph in Ireland, but not to the hero’s welcome that one might expect. He faces charges of treason, un-proven charges that may have been concocted by his many envious political rivals.

Despite a pretense of argument and debate, it is obvious that the Council of Peers is out to get him. Yet his fate ultimately rests in the hands of one person alone -- the Queen, who must choose whether he is to live or die. She is suffer-ing agonies of indecision. Though unconvinced by the evidence brought against him, she fears him guilty of a crime even greater treason, a betrayal that the world knows nothing of, a change of heart that she cannot forgive. An affront to Elizabeth the Queen is one thing; an affront to Elizabeth the woman quite another. However painful, it is becoming increasingly undeniable that her own passion is no longer reciprocated.

Is there another woman? She is obsessed with a corrosive curiosity to find out.

ELIZABETH:

To steal, rob me of my beloved --

Sooner tear off my crown, plunder my kingdom.

In his arms I tasted rapture,

And the door of heaven opened

To reveal a blessing greater

Than the glory of a crown and scepter.

Should the dream become delusion,

Proving bliss beyond recall,

Every vine the sun has ripened

Comes to harvest turned to gall.

SCENE TWO

Highly prone to jealousy, like the Queen herself, it is doubtful that the Duke of Nottingham would plead so eloquently for his friend’s acquital if he were aware of the passion that continues to burn with undying intensity between Robert and his wife--- a fire that misfortune has by no means extinguished.

The scene changes to Sara’s darkened apartment. It is long after midnight, when the world is presumably asleep. At great risk to herself, she has sent for Robert -- not for romantic indulgence, but to plead with him to save his life while he still can by fleeing the country. To explain, if possible, the sudden loathesome, loveless marriage that has been forced upon her, in an age where a woman has no rights whatever, unless she happens to be Queen of England. And before parting forever, to give him one last token of remembrance -- a scarf of blue, threaded with gold, to be worn close to the heart.

SARA:

Though all is silent,

Loudly within me cries out the voice of conscience,

Harsh, unrelenting and severe.

Yet for no reason --

Only too human,

I am prompted by pity, not by love.

Too mindful of the horrors,

The dangers facing Robert,

I overlook my own . . .

ACT TWO

In the palace, night has slowly turned into morning as Robert’s trial con-tinues. The courtiers are weary, worn out, numbed with waiting for the verdict. Elizabeth, tormented by private suspicions, remains deaf to the Duke’s passion-ate plea for mercy on his friend’s behalf:

Quiet! Your words are a waste of breath.

Turn not to me for tolerance.

He has betrayed me time and again;

Scoundrels deserve no charity.

Too late to fall upon your knees;

Lies and deceit I’ll not forgive.

Unaware that her husband has discovered the tell-tale scarf that links her and Robert, Sara, in the seclusion of her own apartment, also waits to hear the outcome of the trial. Prepared for the worst, her fears are nonetheless mitigated in knowing that she has the ring which Robert has left with her -- the ring which will guarantee his release if delivered to the Queen.

Robert, now sentenced to death, is locked in a prison cell in the Tower of London. But the gruesome, bloody end that seems to be imminent is not inevitable. Hope remains. The note sent to Sara is bound to produce the ring that promises a reprieve, and most important, the chance to clear Sara’s name:

With death I’m long familiar.

Studied daily in battle, I fear it not.

My life I’m prolonging to clear Sara’s name,

And after that, no matter . . .

I swear it, by all that’s sacred,

And with my blood confirm it.

Spoken by one so near the end,

My words must carry weight.

Closing the final curtain,

Gone is the need to lie . . .

Yet why has the door leading out to freedom still failed to open?

Elizabeth, no longer in control of the wheels that she has set in motion, more than ever imprisoned in her own isolation and loneliness, more than ready to forgive, paces back and forth -- still hoping against hope that Robert will come to his senses and send her the ring which will provide a necessary pretext for his reprieve.

Go forgiven to your beloved;

Cast aside the proud but loving heart I offer.

Leave me weeping in lonely splendor,

Torn by memory and longing,

To sigh in vain,

Lamenting for a joy beyond recall . . .

But still no messenger has arrived.