Mary Stuart Read online

  They say she is not royally attended;

  Would not the sight of her distress reproach me?

  LEICESTER.

  You need not cross her threshold; hear my counsel.

  A fortunate conjuncture favors it.

  The hunt you mean to honor with your presence

  Is in the neighborhood of Fotheringay;

  Permission may be given to Lady Stuart

  To take the air; you meet her in the park,

  As if by accident; it must not seem

  To have been planned, and should you not incline,

  You need not speak to her.

  ELIZABETH.

  If I am foolish,

  Be yours the fault, not mine. I would not care

  To-day to cross your wishes; for to-day

  I've grieved you more than all my other subjects.

  [Tenderly.

  Let it then be your fancy. Leicester, hence

  You see the free obsequiousness of love.

  Which suffers that which it cannot approve.

  [LEICESTER prostrates himself before her, and the curtain falls.

  ACT III.

  SCENE I.

  In a park. In the foreground trees; in the background

  a distant prospect.

  MARY advances, running from behind the trees.

  HANNAH KENNEDY follows slowly.

  KENNEDY.

  You hasten on as if endowed with wings;

  I cannot follow you so swiftly; wait.

  MARY.

  Freedom returns! Oh let me enjoy it.

  Let me be childish; be thou childish with me.

  Freedom invites me! Oh, let me employ it

  Skimming with winged step light o'er the lea;

  Have I escaped from this mansion of mourning?

  Holds me no more the sad dungeon of care?

  Let me, with joy and with eagerness burning,

  Drink in the free, the celestial air.

  KENNEDY.

  Oh, my dear lady! but a very little

  Is your sad gaol extended; you behold not

  The wall that shuts us in; these plaited tufts

  Of trees hide from your sight the hated object.

  MARY.

  Thanks to these friendly trees, that hide from me

  My prison walls, and flatter my illusion!

  Happy I now may deem myself, and free;

  Why wake me from my dream's so sweet confusion?

  The extended vault of heaven around me lies,

  Free and unfettered range my wandering eyes

  O'er space's vast, immeasurable sea!

  From where yon misty mountains rise on high

  I can my empire's boundaries explore;

  And those light clouds which, steering southwards, fly,

  Seek the mild clime of France's genial shore.

  Fast fleeting clouds! ye meteors that fly;

  Could I but with you sail through the sky!

  Tenderly greet the dear land of my youth!

  Here I am captive! oppressed by my foes,

  No other than you may carry my woes.

  Free through the ether your pathway is seen,

  Ye own not the power of this tyrant queen.

  KENNEDY.

  Alas! dear lady! You're beside yourself,

  This long-lost, long-sought freedom makes you rave.

  MARY.

  Yonder's a fisher returning to his home;

  Poor though it be, would he lend me his wherry,

  Quick to congenial shores would I ferry.

  Spare is his trade, and labor's his doom;

  Rich would I freight his vessel with treasure;

  Such a draught should be his as he never had seen;

  Wealth should he find in his nets without measure,

  Would he but rescue a poor captive queen.

  KENNEDY.

  Fond, fruitless wishes! See you not from far

  How we are followed by observing spies?

  A dismal, barbarous prohibition scares

  Each sympathetic being from our path.

  MARY.

  No, gentle Hannah! Trust me, not in vain

  My prison gates are opened. This small grace

  Is harbinger of greater happiness.

  No! I mistake not; 'tis the active hand

  Of love to which I owe this kind indulgence.

  I recognize in this the mighty arm

  Of Leicester. They will by degrees expand

  My prison; will accustom me, through small,

  To greater liberty, until at last

  I shall behold the face of him whose hand

  Will dash my fetters off, and that forever.

  KENNEDY.

  Oh, my dear queen! I cannot reconcile

  These contradictions. 'Twas but yesterday

  That they announced your death, and all at once,

  To-day, you have such liberty. Their chains

  Are also loosed, as I have oft been told,

  Whom everlasting liberty awaits.

  [Hunting horns at a distance.

  MARY.

  Hear'st then the bugle, so blithely resounding?

  Hear'st thou its echoes through wood and through plain?

  Oh, might I now, on my nimble steed bounding,

  Join with the jocund, the frolicsome train.

  [Hunting horns again heard.

  Again! Oh, this sad and this pleasing remembrance!

  These are the sounds which, so sprightly and clear,

  Oft, when with music the hounds and the horn

  So cheerfully welcomed the break of the morn,

  On the heaths of the Highlands delighted my ear.

  SCENE II.

  Enter PAULET.

  PAULET.

  Well, have I acted right at last, my lady?

  Do I for once, at least, deserve your thanks?

  MARY.

  How! Do I owe this favor, sir, to you?

  PAULET.

  Why not to me? I visited the court,

  And gave the queen your letter.

  MARY.

  Did you give it?

  In very truth did you deliver it?

  And is this freedom which I now enjoy

  The happy consequence?

  PAULET (significantly).

  Nor that alone;

  Prepare yourself to see a greater still.

  MARY.

  A greater still! What do you mean by that?

  PAULET.

  You heard the bugle-horns?

  MARY (starting back with foreboding apprehension).

  You frighten me.

  PAULET.

  The queen is hunting in the neighborhood--

  MARY.

  What!

  PAULET.

  In a few moments she'll appear before you.

  KENNEDY (hastening towards MARY, and about to fall).

  How fare you, dearest lady? You grow pale.

  PAULET.

  How? Is't not well? Was it not then your prayer?

  'Tis granted now, before it was expected;

  You who had ever such a ready speech,

  Now summon all your powers of eloquence,

  The important time to use them now is come.

  MARY.

  Oh, why was I not told of this before?

  Now I am not prepared for it-not now

  What, as the greatest favor, I besought,

  Seems to me now most fearful; Hannah, come,

  Lead me into the house, till I collect

  My spirits.

  PAULET.

  Stay; you must await her here.

  Yes! I believe you may be well alarmed

  To stand before your judge.

  SCENE III.

  Enter the EARL OF SHREWSBURY.

  MARY.

  'Tis not for that, O God!

  Far other thoughts possess me now.

  Oh, worthy Shrewsbury! You come as though

  You were an angel sent to me from heaven.


  I cannot, will not see her. Save me, save me

  From the detested sight!

  SHREWSBURY.

  Your majesty,

  Command yourself, and summon all your courage,

  'Tis the decisive moment of your fate.

  MARY.

  For years I've waited, and prepared myself.

  For this I've studied, weighed, and written down

  Each word within the tablet of my memory

  That was to touch and move her to compassion.

  Forgotten suddenly, effaced is all,

  And nothing lives within me at this moment

  But the fierce, burning feeling of my wrongs.

  My heart is turned to direst hate against her;

  All gentle thoughts, all sweet forgiving words,

  Are gone, and round me stand with grisly mien,

  The fiends of hell, and shake their snaky locks!

  SHREWSBURY.

  Command your wild, rebellious blood;-constrain

  The bitterness which fills your heart. No good

  Ensues when hatred is opposed to hate.

  How much soe'er the inward struggle cost

  You must submit to stern necessity,

  The power is in her hand, be therefore humble.

  MARY.

  To her? I never can.

  SHREWSBURY.

  But pray, submit.

  Speak with respect, with calmness! Strive to move

  Her magnanimity; insist not now

  Upon your rights, not now-'tis not the season.

  MARY.

  Ah! woe is me! I've prayed for my destruction,

  And, as a curse to me, my prayer is heard.

  We never should have seen each other-never!

  Oh, this can never, never come to good.

  Rather in love could fire and water meet,

  The timid lamb embrace the roaring tiger!

  I have been hurt too grievously; she hath

  Too grievously oppressed me;-no atonement

  Can make us friends!

  SHREWSBURY.

  First see her, face to face:

  Did I not see how she was moved at reading

  Your letter? How her eyes were drowned in tears?

  No-she is not unfeeling; only place

  More confidence in her. It was for this

  That I came on before her, to entreat you

  To be collected-to admonish you--

  MARY (seizing his hand).

  Oh, Talbot! you have ever been my friend,

  Had I but stayed beneath your kindly care!

  They have, indeed, misused me, Shrewsbury.

  SHREWSBURY.

  Let all be now forgot, and only think

  How to receive her with submissiveness.

  MARY.

  Is Burleigh with her, too, my evil genius?

  SHREWSBURY.

  No one attends her but the Earl of Leicester.

  MARY.

  Lord Leicester?

  SHREWSBURY.

  Fear not him; it is not he

  Who wishes your destruction;-'twas his work

  That here the queen hath granted you this meeting.

  MARY.

  Ah! well I knew it.

  SHREWSBURY.

  What?

  PAULET.

  The queen approaches.

  [They all draw aside; MARY alone remains, leaning on KENNEDY.

  SCENE IV.

  The same, ELIZABETH, EARL OF LEICESTER, and Retinue.

  ELIZABETH (to LEICESTER).

  What seat is that, my lord?

  LEICESTER.

  'Tis Fotheringay.

  ELIZABETH (to SHREWSBURY).

  My lord, send back our retinue to London;

  The people crowd too eager in the roads,

  We'll seek a refuge in this quiet park.

  [TALBOT sends the train away. She looks steadfastly at MARY,

  as she speaks further with PAULET.

  My honest people love me overmuch.

  These signs of joy are quite idolatrous.

  Thus should a God be honored, not a mortal.

  MARY (who the whole time had leaned, almost fainting, on KENNEDY, rises

  now, and her eyes meet the steady, piercing look of ELIZABETH; she

  shudders and throws herself again upon KENNEDY'S bosom).

  O God! from out these features speaks no heart.

  ELIZABETH.

  What lady's that?

  [A general, embarrassed silence.

  LEICESTER.

  You are at Fotheringay,

  My liege!

  ELIZABETH (as if surprised, casting an angry look at LEICESTER).

  Who hath done this, my Lord of Leicester?

  LEICESTER.

  'Tis past, my queen;-and now that heaven hath led

  Your footsteps hither, be magnanimous;

  And let sweet pity be triumphant now.

  SHREWSBURY.

  Oh, royal mistress! yield to our entreaties;

  Oh, cast your eyes on this unhappy one

  Who stands dissolved in anguish.

  [MARY collects herself, and begins to advance towards

  ELIZABETH, stops shuddering at half way: her action

  expresses the most violent internal struggle.

  ELIZABETH.

  How, my lords!

  Which of you then announced to me a prisoner

  Bowed down by woe? I see a haughty one

  By no means humbled by calamity.

  MARY.

  Well, be it so:-to this will I submit.

  Farewell high thought, and pride of noble mind!

  I will forget my dignity, and all

  My sufferings; I will fall before her feet

  Who hath reduced me to this wretchedness.

  [She turns towards the QUEEN.

  The voice of heaven decides for you, my sister.

  Your happy brows are now with triumph crowned,

  I bless the Power Divine which thus hath raised you.

  But in your turn be merciful, my sister;

  [She kneels.

  Let me not lie before you thus disgraced;

  Stretch forth your hand, your royal hand, to raise

  Your sister from the depths of her distress.

  ELIZABETH (stepping back).

  You are where it becomes you, Lady Stuart;

  And thankfully I prize my God's protection,

  Who hath not suffered me to kneel a suppliant

  Thus at your feet, as you now kneel at mine.

  MARY (with increasing energy of feeling).

  Think on all earthly things, vicissitudes.

  Oh! there are gods who punish haughty pride:

  Respect them, honor them, the dreadful ones

  Who thus before thy feet have humbled me!

  Before these strangers' eyes dishonor not

  Yourself in me: profane not, nor disgrace

  The royal blood of Tudor. In my veins

  It flows as pure a stream as in your own.

  Oh, for God's pity, stand not so estranged

  And inaccessible, like some tall cliff,

  Which the poor shipwrecked mariner in vain

  Struggles to seize, and labors to embrace.

  My all, my life, my fortune now depends

  Upon the influence of my words and tears;

  That I may touch your heart, oh, set mine free.

  If you regard me with those icy looks

  My shuddering heart contracts itself, the stream

  Of tears is dried, and frigid horror chains

  The words of supplication in my bosom!

  ELIZABETH (cold and severe).

  What would you say to me, my Lady Stuart?

  You wished to speak with me; and I, forgetting

  The queen, and all the wrongs I have sustained,

  Fulfil the pious duty of the sister,

  And grant the boon you wished for of my presence.

  Yet I, in yielding to the generou
s feelings

  Of magnanimity, expose myself

  To rightful censure, that I stoop so low.

  For well you know you would have had me murdered.

  MARY.

  Oh! how shall I begin? Oh, how shall I

  So artfully arrange my cautious words

  That they may touch, yet not offend your heart?

  Strengthen my words, O Heaven! and take from them

  Whate'er might wound. Alas! I cannot speak

  In my own cause without impeaching you,

  And that most heavily, I wish not so;

  You have not as you ought behaved to me:

  I am a queen, like you: yet you have held me

  Confined in prison. As a suppliant

  I came to you, yet you in me insulted

  The pious use of hospitality;

  Slighting in me the holy law of nations,