Mary Stuart Read online

  Which hath prevailed-my cause's innocence

  And my friends' zeal-or my foes' cursed counsel.

  Oh, break this silence! let me know the worst;

  What have I still to fear, and what to hope.

  PAULET.

  Close your accounts with heaven.

  MARY.

  From heaven I hope

  For mercy, sir; and from my earthly judges

  I hope, and still expect, the strictest justice.

  PAULET.

  Justice, depend upon it, will be done you.

  MARY.

  Is the suit ended, sir?

  PAULET.

  I cannot tell.

  MARY.

  Am I condemned?

  PAULET.

  I cannot answer, lady.

  MARY.

  [Sir, a good work fears not the light of day.

  PAULET.

  The day will shine upon it, doubt it not.]

  MARY.

  Despatch is here the fashion. Is it meant

  The murderer shall surprise me, like the judges?

  PAULET.

  Still entertain that thought and he will find you

  Better prepared to meet your fate than they did.

  MARY (after a pause).

  Sir, nothing can surprise me which a court

  Inspired by Burleigh's hate and Hatton's zeal,

  Howe'er unjust, may venture to pronounce:

  But I have yet to learn how far the queen

  Will dare in execution of the sentence.

  PAULET.

  The sovereigns of England have no fear

  But for their conscience and their parliament.

  What justice hath decreed her fearless hand

  Will execute before the assembled world.

  SCENE III.

  The same. MORTIMER enters, and without paying attention

  to the QUEEN, addresses PAULET.

  MORTIMER.

  Uncle, you're sought for.

  [He retires in the same manner. The QUEEN remarks it, and

  turns towards PAULET, who is about to follow him.

  MARY.

  Sir, one favor more

  If you have aught to say to me-from you

  I can bear much-I reverence your gray hairs;

  But cannot bear that young man's insolence;

  Spare me in future his unmannered rudeness.

  PAULET.

  I prize him most for that which makes you hate him

  He is not, truly, one of those poor fools

  Who melt before a woman's treacherous tears.

  He has seen much-has been to Rheims and Paris,

  And brings us back his true old English heart.

  Lady, your cunning arts are lost on him.

  [Exit.

  SCENE IV.

  MARY, KENNEDY.

  KENNEDY.

  And dare the ruffian venture to your face

  Such language! Oh, 'tis hard-'tis past endurance.

  MARY (lost in reflection).

  In the fair moments of our former splendor

  We lent to flatterers a too willing ear;-

  It is but just, good Hannah, we should now

  Be forced to hear the bitter voice of censure.

  KENNEDY.

  So downcast, so depressed, my dearest lady!

  You, who before so gay, so full of hope,

  Were used to comfort me in my distress;

  More gracious were the task to check your mirth

  Than chide your heavy sadness.

  MARY.

  Well I know him-

  It is the bleeding Darnley's royal shade,

  Rising in anger from his darksome grave

  And never will he make his peace with me

  Until the measures of my woes be full.

  KENNEDY.

  What thoughts are these-

  MARY.

  Thou may'st forget it, Hannah;

  But I've a faithful memory-'tis this day

  Another wretched anniversary

  Of that regretted, that unhappy deed-

  Which I must celebrate with fast and penance.

  KENNEDY.

  Dismiss at length in peace this evil spirit.

  The penitence of many a heavy year,

  Of many a suffering, has atoned the deed;

  The church, which holds the key of absolution,

  Pardons the crime, and heaven itself's appeased.

  MARY.

  This long-atoned crime arises fresh

  And bleeding from its lightly-covered grave;

  My husband's restless spirit seeks revenge;

  No sacred bell can exorcise, no host

  In priestly hands dismiss it to his tomb.

  KENNEDY.

  You did not murder him; 'twas done by others.

  MARY.

  But it was known to me; I suffered it,

  And lured him with my smiles to death's embrace.

  KENNEDY.

  Your youth extenuates your guilt. You were

  Of tender years.

  MARY.

  So tender, yet I drew

  This heavy guilt upon my youthful head.

  KENNEDY.

  You were provoked by direst injuries,

  And by the rude presumption of the man,

  Whom out of darkness, like the hand of heaven,

  Your love drew forth, and raised above all others.

  Whom through your bridal chamber you conducted

  Up to your throne, and with your lovely self,

  And your hereditary crown, distinguished

  [Your work was his existence, and your grace

  Bedewed him like the gentle rains of heaven.]

  Could he forget that his so splendid lot

  Was the creation of your generous love?

  Yet did he, worthless as he was, forget it.

  With base suspicions, and with brutal manners,

  He wearied your affections, and became

  An object to you of deserved disgust:

  The illusion, which till now had overcast

  Your judgment, vanished; angrily you fled

  His foul embrace, and gave him up to scorn.

  And did he seek again to win your love?

  Your favor? Did he e'er implore your pardon?

  Or fall in deep repentance at your feet?

  No; the base wretch defied you; he, who was

  Your bounty's creature, wished to play your king,

  [And strove, through fear, to force your inclination.]

  Before your eyes he had your favorite singer,

  Poor Rizzio, murdered; you did but avenge

  With blood the bloody deed--

  MARY.

  And bloodily,

  I fear, too soon 'twill be avenged on me:

  You seek to comfort me, and you condemn me.

  KENNEDY.

  You were, when you consented to this deed,

  No more yourself; belonged not to yourself;

  The madness of a frantic love possessed you,

  And bound you to a terrible seducer,

  The wretched Bothwell. That despotic man

  Ruled you with shameful, overbearing will,

  And with his philters and his hellish arts

  Inflamed your passions.

  MARY.

  All the arts he used

  Were man's superior strength and woman's weakness.

  KENNEDY.

  No, no, I say. The most pernicious spirits

  Of hell he must have summoned to his aid,

  To cast this mist before your waking senses.

  Your ear no more was open to the voice

  Of friendly warning, and your eyes were shut

  To decency; soft female bashfulness

  Deserted you; those cheeks, which were before

  The seat of virtuous, blushing modesty,

  Glowed with the flames of unrestrained desire.

  You cast away the veil of secrecy,

  And th
e flagitious daring of the man

  O'ercame your natural coyness: you exposed

  Your shame, unblushingly, to public gaze:

  You let the murderer, whom the people followed

  With curses, through the streets of Edinburgh,

  Before you bear the royal sword of Scotland

  In triumph. You begirt your parliament

  With armed bands; and by this shameless farce,

  There, in the very temple of great justice,

  You forced the judges of the land to clear

  The murderer of his guilt. You went still further-

  O God!

  MARY.

  Conclude-nay, pause not-say for this

  I gave my hand in marriage at the altar.

  KENNEDY.

  O let an everlasting silence veil

  That dreadful deed: the heart revolts at it.

  A crime to stain the darkest criminal!

  Yet you are no such lost one, that I know.

  I nursed your youth myself-your heart is framed

  For tender softness: 'tis alive to shame,

  And all your fault is thoughtless levity.

  Yes, I repeat it, there are evil spirits,

  Who sudden fix in man's unguarded breast

  Their fatal residence, and there delight

  To act their dev'lish deeds; then hurry back

  Unto their native hell, and leave behind

  Remorse and horror in the poisoned bosom.

  Since this misdeed, which blackens thus your life,

  You have done nothing ill; your conduct has

  Been pure; myself can witness your amendment.

  Take courage, then; with your own heart make peace.

  Whatever cause you have for penitence,

  You are not guilty here. Nor England's queen,

  Nor England's parliament can be your judge.

  Here might oppresses you: you may present

  Yourself before this self-created court

  With all the fortitude of innocence.

  MARY.

  I hear a step.

  KENNEDY.

  It is the nephew-In.

  SCENE V.

  The same. Enter MORTIMER, approaching cautiously.

  MORTIMER (to KENNEDY).

  Step to the door, and keep a careful watch,

  I have important business with the queen.

  MARY (with dignity).

  I charge thee, Hannah, go not hence-remain.

  MORTIMER.

  Fear not, my gracious lady-learn to know me.

  [He gives her a card.

  MARY (She examines it, and starts back astonished).

  Heavens! What is this?

  MORTIMER (to KENNEDY).

  Retire, good Kennedy;

  See that my uncle comes not unawares.

  MARY (to KENNEDY, who hesitates, and looks at the QUEEN inquiringly).

  Go in; do as he bids you.

  [KENNEDY retires with signs of wonder.

  SCENE VI.

  MARY, MORTIMER.

  MARY.

  From my uncle

  In France-the worthy Cardinal of Lorrain?

  [She reads.

  "Confide in Mortimer, who brings you this;

  You have no truer, firmer friend in England."

  [Looking at him with astonishment.

  Can I believe it? Is there no delusion

  To cheat my senses? Do I find a friend

  So near, when I conceived myself abandoned

  By the whole world? And find that friend in you,

  The nephew of my gaoler, whom I thought

  My most inveterate enemy?

  MORTIMER (kneeling).

  Oh, pardon,

  My gracious liege, for the detested mask,

  Which it has cost me pain enough to wear;

  Yet through such means alone have I the power

  To see you, and to bring you help and rescue.

  MARY.

  Arise, sir; you astonish me; I cannot

  So suddenly emerge from the abyss

  Of wretchedness to hope: let me conceive

  This happiness, that I may credit it.

  MORTIMER.

  Our time is brief: each moment I expect

  My uncle, whom a hated man attends;

  Hear, then, before his terrible commission

  Surprises you, how heaven prepares your rescue.

  MARY.

  You come in token of its wondrous power.

  MORTIMER.

  Allow me of myself to speak.

  MARY.

  Say on.

  MORTIMER.

  I scarce, my liege, had numbered twenty years,

  Trained in the path of strictest discipline

  And nursed in deadliest hate to papacy,

  When led by irresistible desire

  For foreign travel, I resolved to leave

  My country and its puritanic faith

  Far, far behind me: soon with rapid speed

  I flew through France, and bent my eager course

  On to the plains of far-famed Italy.

  'Twas then the time of the great jubilee:

  And crowds of palmers filled the public roads;

  Each image was adorned with garlands; 'twas

  As if all human-kind were wandering forth

  In pilgrimage towards the heavenly kingdom.

  The tide of the believing multitude

  Bore me too onward, with resistless force,

  Into the streets of Rome. What was my wonder,

  As the magnificence of stately columns

  Rushed on my sight! the vast triumphal arches,

  The Colosseum's grandeur, with amazement

  Struck my admiring senses; the sublime

  Creative spirit held my soul a prisoner

  In the fair world of wonders it had framed.

  I ne'er had felt the power of art till now.

  The church that reared me hates the charms of sense;

  It tolerates no image, it adores

  But the unseen, the incorporeal word.

  What were my feelings, then, as I approached

  The threshold of the churches, and within,

  Heard heavenly music floating in the air:

  While from the walls and high-wrought roofs there streamed

  Crowds of celestial forms in endless train-

  When the Most High, Most Glorious pervaded

  My captivated sense in real presence!

  And when I saw the great and godlike visions,

  The Salutation, the Nativity,

  The Holy Mother, and the Trinity's

  Descent, the luminous transfiguration

  And last the holy pontiff, clad in all

  The glory of his office, bless the people!

  Oh! what is all the pomp of gold and jewels

  With which the kings of earth adorn themselves!

  He is alone surrounded by the Godhead;

  His mansion is in truth an heavenly kingdom,

  For not of earthly moulding are these forms!

  MARY.

  O spare me, sir! No further. Spread no more

  Life's verdant carpet out before my eyes,

  Remember I am wretched, and a prisoner.

  MORTIMER.

  I was a prisoner, too, my queen; but swift

  My prison-gates flew open, when at once

  My spirit felt its liberty, and hailed

  The smiling dawn of life. I learned to burst

  Each narrow prejudice of education,

  To crown my brow with never-fading wreaths,

  And mix my joy with the rejoicing crowd.

  Full many noble Scots, who saw my zeal,

  Encouraged me, and with the gallant French

  They kindly led me to your princely uncle,

  The Cardinal of Guise. Oh, what a man!

  How firm, how clear, how manly, and how great!

  Born to control the human mind at will!

  The very model o
f a royal priest;

  A ruler of the church without an equal!

  MARY.

  You've seen him then,-the much loved, honored man,

  Who was the guardian of my tender years!

  Oh, speak of him! Does he remember me?

  Does fortune favor him? And prospers still

  His life? And does he still majestic stand,

  A very rock and pillar of the church?

  MORTIMER.

  The holy man descended from his height,

  And deigned to teach me the important creed

  Of the true church, and dissipate my doubts.

  He showed me how the glimmering light of reason

  Serves but to lead us to eternal error:

  That what the heart is called on to believe

  The eye must see: that he who rules the church

  Must needs be visible; and that the spirit

  Of truth inspired the councils of the fathers.

  How vanished then the fond imaginings

  And weak conceptions of my childish soul