Out of the Wings

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La cisma de Inglaterra (c.1627), Pedro Calderón de la Barca

Schism in England, translated by Jo Clifford

Clifford's Schism in England Sample 1

Edition

Calderón de la Barca, Pedro. 1987. Schism in England. Unpublished performance text translated by Jo Clifford

pp. 27-9
Context:
Cardinal Wolsey has been thwarted in his attempt to play both the French and Spanish kings for support in his campaign for the papacy, and has run into problems with Queen Catherine, who despises him. He decides to get his revenge on both the papacy and the Queen, by inventing a heresy and destroying the royal marriage. Wolsey uses Ann Boleyn as his pawn, and sounds her out in this scene to test whether he can use her to drive a wedge between Henry and Catherine. (Note: Clifford spells her name without an ‘e’, as ‘Ann’, throughout the play.)
Sample text

[ ... ]

WOLSEY:

I’ll invent a stratagem to try her. I’ll see if she has real courage. Real strength. If so, I’ll build some plans upon her.
Now we’ll see what kind of star there is to shine on my revenge.

Enter ANN.

WOLSEY:

Your Majesty, my lady .......... Forgive me.
When I last saw the Queen, I saw her here,
and so have spoken inadvertently. I was preoccupied.
In my confusion may my error be atoned.

ANN:

Why should you beg pardon for calling me ‘your Majesty’?
My ears are not insulted, they are flattered.
I should not forgive you, Cardinal: I should be grateful.
I would to God you were always so preoccupied
and I were always here to witness the result.
I wish to God I could be so flattered by law,
not simply by mistake, and hear that title, Majesty,
though it cost me my life! Who could be saddened
to hear that word, and hear it addressed to them?
(Aside.) (I could. It hurts me to the quick.)

WOLSEY:

What you say is not inappropriate ...
(Aside.) (I can proceed.)
... There was another reason I apologised,
one I know. Perhaps I spoke in error,
or perhaps I hit the mark. Time will tell.
There is danger in speaking of such things.
For now I must be silent. Fare you well.

He pretends to leave.
ANN:

Cardinal, we are alone.
Tell me what you mean.

WOLSEY:

You will keep it secret, Boleyn?

ANN:

I will be as silent as a statue. That I promise.

WOLSEY:

To be silent calls for courage.
Are you brave enough?

ANN:

I will be secret and I will be strong.
I will not grieve for any heaven I may lose
nor be afraid of any hell I enter.

WOLSEY:

Then you will be my queen.
But first you must swear obedience to me
and faithfulness. I need an oath:
for I fear a woman will be the death of me.
It was written in the stars; but over them
a wise man can have dominion.

ANN:

Here is my hand.

WOLSEY:

I need an oath.

ANN:

Then you shall have one.
The most solemn I could possibly devise.

WOLSEY:

How will it bind you?

ANN:

Listen, and I’ll tell you.

WOLSEY:

Go on.

ANN:

Should I betray you then I pray to God
he takes the crown from off my head
turns adulation and applause
into mourning and grief.
That he has me die on the executioner’s block
in darkness and disgrace
estranged from my true husband.
This I promise: this I swear.

WOLSEY:

And I am satisfied. Now listen to my plan:
it arises from the deadliest malice
ever conceived by mortal mind.
You know the king loves you
you know he is dying of desire
for your more than human beauty.
You know he is a simple man,
easily blinded, easily swayed;
a man of strong feelings
who can be made to follow his desires
irrespective of convention,
decorum, or even his own best interests.
If you make a good pretence of loving him
but say your honour and your family pride
forbid you from giving him your favours
but that if he were your husband, then
you could give him all that he desires ...
convince him of that and leave the rest to me.
I’ll dangle such deception before his eyes I’ll lead him anywhere I want him
and we can profit from other parties’ loss.

ANN:

Is that all?
I thought you’d ask for something difficult!
To ask me simply to pretend
is to ask for the elementary.
I’m a human being, after all: deceit comes naturally.

WOLSEY:

He’s coming.

Exit WOLSEY.

ANN:

Charles you must
forgive me if I betray your love.
Its light shines pure, but the gold of
a crown shines brighter, and is more
attractive. It’s only human
to let ambition conquer love.
Let me be human, then, betraying you,
let me be human in forgetting.
So when in times to come they see
that self-interest has conquered me
that I’ve been unfaithful, that I’ve lied:
there’s room for all of that in human kind.

Copyright

The above sample taken from the translation Schism in England by Jo Clifford is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

Clifford's Schism in England Sample 2

Edition

Calderón de la Barca, Pedro. 1987. Schism in England. Unpublished performance text translated by Jo Clifford

pp. 35-8
Context:
King Henry VIII has called together his Parliament to make an announcement. He is overcome with lust for Ann Boleyn and, with the help of Wolsey, has devised a strategy for divorcing Catherine. The Queen sits next to the King, and is the subject of his revelation.
Sample text
BOLEYN:

What does the King want?

CAPTAIN:

If he’s calling Parliament, it must be something grave.

BOLEYN:

There’s a rumour that some new scruple affects his conscience.

PASQUIN:

Be patient, Tom Boleyn, with these things that are the work of God.
Personally, I blame the horse.

BOLEYN:

Why?

PASQUIN:

It used to be red, and now it’s turned grey.
He doesn’t get it. He’s turned away. Must be the women, distracting him. They’re all wearing wigs.

Enter the ladies. A curtain is drawn back, and behind it the KING and QUEEN are seated, with their sceptres and crowns, and the PRINCESS MARY seated beside them. WOLSEY stands behind the KING.

CHARLES:

Now the King is seated with the Princess and the Queen.

BOLEYN:

How sad he looks. How anxious and disturbed.

WOLSEY:

Your court, your Majesty, now stands before you.

KING:

My vassals, my debtors and my friends:
your shoulders are the pillars on which this empire rests.
You know that I your King have gained the name
of Defender of the Faith. And I have earned it
for my religious zeal, my piety,
and my obedience to the Pope.
You know that I am ever vigilant
ever fiercely and implacably opposed
to every error that perturbs our faith,
to every monstrous fault proposed by Luther.
You know my studious learning and my books
have earned me the title of Henry the Learned.
Knowing that, knowing that I in every word and deed
have laboured without ceasing for the Christian faith
you also know that I would be the last
to cause new uproar in the Christian world.
Indeed it is to forestall such uproar
to nip in the bud all would-be heresiarch
that I have called you to this Parliament.
A point of conscience troubles me.
Hear me: Catherine your Queen ………
But here I am assailed by doubt and grief
before my mouth, let my eyes speak through their tears.
Catherine: exemplary and most virtuous Queen
marriage to whom gives me more happiness
than the possession of all my empires,
Catherine was my brother’s wife.
This most notorious fact is known to all.
It follows then our marriage was not valid:
and so I am obliged to set my conscience free
(Heaven knows how greatly I deplore it)
by setting her apart from me. And thus
I take from her the sceptre and the crown
for in her now no longer regal hands
there is no place for symbols of authority.
This is the act of a Christian Caesar:
for I take from her I love more than my own self
the signs and the trappings of empire.
Heaven knows I would rather take them from myself.
But the law is rigid and must be obeyed.
Princess Mary, the fresh green bud from the royal tree
assures me of succession. The marriage is dissolved
but her legitimacy is firmly assured.
A princess she remains. I swear that to be true.
And, Catherine, fate has been harsh to you,
go where you can weep it
and confound the livid face of envy.
You have a nephew in King Charles the Fifth.
Go to Spain. Or live in a convent
somewhere more fitting for your way of life.
For I cannot bear to see you;
I am so filled with pity and with grief.
Your condition fills my eyes with tears.
And if any vassal disagrees with this
let him reflect upon my power and obey.

QUEEN:

Listen, my lord, if I can speak
it seems the very air is frightened by your words
it shrinks away from me and chokes my sobs.
And I, also, to obey you
should curb my tongue and stop up my eyes.
But then I would choke on unspoken words,
and drown in unshed tears. My sighs would stifle me.
Henry, my King, my husband and my lord,
—titles that are as dear to me as any sacrament—
it does not grieve me to see fallen at my feet
the sceptre and the crown of gold
all the dignities and titles of my high estate
all futile now, abject and broken in the dust.
It does not grieve me you should take away
such trophies of vanity and foolish pride
because I know that at the time of death
such things are vain and valueless.
And so I feel no grief for them. I grieve for you.
I grieve that I have lost your grace and favour
I grieve to see you hurt, I grieve to see you angry,
I grieve to feel that I have been the innocent cause.
You do not believe me. Husband, you could imprison me
in some dungeon, some light-denying place
cut off from all the beauty of the world;
or take me to a wild and desert place
the haunt of beasts, with my only company
the trees and frozen stones. Or take me to the sea,
in the heart of its bitter tempests and its storms,
and make me live on bare and barren rock.
It still would hurt me less than this:
less than the hatred in your eyes
less than to lose the right to call you husband.
Even though my love and duty both dictate
that I should obey you in your every wish
and so take pleasure even in my banishment
(You see what impossibilities my love demands)
even if I could meet them, my lord, I still would grieve
to see the dangers to which you are now exposed.
You have been a pillar of the Church
You have confounded Luther’s errors
You have acted with wisdom, with prudence and with strength.
How can you now undo it all?
It is as if the very sun would wish
to plunge the world into blackest darkness.
I am not as wise as you, my lord,
in matters of religion and of faith. But this I know:
the ship of faith sails through a stormy sea
where it is clear it makes no sense
for simple passengers, like you or I,
to wrest the tiller from the man who steers.
You talk of piety and of your conscience
but I know well, and so do you,
that schism, heresy, dissent all introduce themselves
in the name of piety and purity and conscience.
Only later do they unmask themselves.
Take care my lord: you are taking the first steps
down a steep and slippery slope
and you will not find it easy to retrace them.
The Pontiff is the representative of God;
his judgement is the final one; and so to him
I now will trace my steps with downcast eyes
dragging my feet along the weary road to Rome.
I will beg him for justice. I could go to Spain;
my nephew is a noble and victorious king
and he would shelter me. But I choose otherwise.
For I know full well he would seek vengeance
and that I could not bear. I would rather go myself
and stand between the armies as your shield
receiving in my own poor body all the blows
that in his fury he would aim at you.
All convent doors are closed to me,
my lord, for I am married. I cannot take another state.
Here at your palace I must for ever remain,
I shall wait at your door,
I shall die on your threshold
and let the very stones bear witness to the fact
that I remained your true and faithful wife unto the end.

THE KING turns his back on her and exits slowly with WOLSEY.

QUEEN:

You turn your back on me?
I do not deserve to see your face?
Very well. I would rather be blind
than see you so displeased with me.
Why not kill me? Will that put an end to your anger?
Let me die! Darkness falls on me.
I am left to grope my way through shadows.

Copyright

The above sample taken from the translation Schism in England by Jo Clifford is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

Entry written by Kathleen Jeffs. Last updated on 14 March 2011.

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