SCENE VII.
MARY, MELVIL.
MARY (after the others are all gone).
I have arranged all temporal concerns,
And hope to leave the world in debt to none;
Melvil, one thought alone there is which binds
My troubled soul, nor suffers it to fly
Delighted and at liberty to heaven.
MELVIL.
Disclose it to me; ease your bosom, trust
Your doubts, your sorrows, to your faithful friend.
MARY.
I see eternity's abyss before me;
Soon must I stand before the highest Judge,
And have not yet appeased the Holy One.
A priest of my religion is denied me,
And I disdain to take the sacrament,
The holy, heavenly nourishment, from priests
Of a false faith; I die in the belief
Of my own church, for that alone can save.
MELVIL.
Compose your heart; the fervent, pious wish
Is prized in heaven as high as the performance.
The might of tyrants can but bind the hands,
The heart's devotion rises free to God,
The word is dead—'tis faith which brings to life.
MARY.
The heart is not sufficient of itself;
Our faith must have some earthly pledge to ground
Its claim to the high bliss of heaven. For this
Our God became incarnate, and enclosed
Mysteriously his unseen heavenly grace
Within an outward figure of a body.
The church it is, the holy one, the high one,
Which rears for us the ladder up to heaven:—
'Tis called the Catholic Apostolic church,—
For 'tis but general faith can strengthen faith;
Where thousands worship and adore the heat
Breaks out in flame, and, borne on eagle wings,
The soul mounts upwards to the heaven of heavens.
Ah! happy they, who for the glad communion
Of pious prayer meet in the house of God!
The altar is adorned, the tapers blaze,
The bell invites, the incense soars on high;
The bishop stands enrobed, he takes the cup,
And blessing it declares the solemn mystery,
The transformation of the elements;
And the believing people fall delighted
To worship and adore the present Godhead.
Alas! I only am debarred from this;
The heavenly benediction pierces not
My prison walls: its comfort is denied me.
MELVIL.
Yes! it can pierce them—put thy trust in Him
Who is almighty—in the hand of faith,
The withered staff can send forth verdant branches
And he who from the rock called living water,
He can prepare an altar in this prison,
Can change——
[Seizing the cup, which stands upon the table.
The earthly contents of this cup
Into a substance of celestial grace.
MARY.
Melvil! Oh, yes, I understand you, Melvil!
Here is no priest, no church, no sacrament;
But the Redeemer says, "When two or three
Are in my name assembled, I am with them,"
What consecrates the priest? Say, what ordains him
To be the Lord's interpreter? a heart
Devoid of guile, and a reproachless conduct.
Well, then, though unordained, be you my priest;
To you will I confide my last confession,
And take my absolution from your lips.
MELVIL.
If then thy heart be with such zeal inflamed,
I tell thee that for thine especial comfort,
The Lord may work a miracle. Thou say'st
Here is no priest, no church, no sacrament—
Thou err'st—here is a priest—here is a God;
A God descends to thee in real presence.
[At these words he uncovers his head,
and shows a host in a golden vessel.
I am a priest—to hear thy last confession,
And to announce to thee the peace of God
Upon thy way to death. I have received
Upon my head the seven consecrations.
I bring thee, from his Holiness, this host,
Which, for thy use, himself has deigned to bless.
MARY.
Is then a heavenly happiness prepared
To cheer me on the very verge of death?
As an immortal one on golden clouds
Descends, as once the angel from on high,
Delivered the apostle from his fetters:—
He scorns all bars, he scorns the soldier's sword,
He steps undaunted through the bolted portals,
And fills the dungeon with his native glory;
Thus here the messenger of heaven appears
When every earthly champion had deceived me.
And you, my servant once, are now the servant
Of the Most High, and his immortal Word!
As before me your knees were wont to bend,
Before you humbled, now I kiss the dust.
[She sinks before him on her knees.
MELVIL (making over her the sign of the cross).
Hear, Mary, Queen of Scotland:—in the name
Of God the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
Hast thou examined carefully thy heart,
Swearest thou, art thou prepared in thy confession
To speak the truth before the God of truth?
MARY.
Before my God and thee, my heart lies open.
MELVIL.
What calls thee to the presence of the Highest?
MARY.
I humbly do acknowledge to have erred
Most grievously, I tremble to approach,
Sullied with sin, the God of purity.
MELVIL.
Declare the sin which weighs so heavily
Upon thy conscience since thy last confession.
MARY.
My heart was filled with thoughts of envious hate,
And vengeance took possession of my bosom.
I hope forgiveness of my sins from God,
Yet could I not forgive my enemy.
MELVIL.
Repentest thou of the sin? Art thou, in sooth,
Resolved to leave this world at peace with all?
MARY.
As surely as I wish the joys of heaven.
MELVIL.
What other sin hath armed thy heart against thee?
MARY.
Ah! not alone through hate; through lawless love
Have I still more abused the sovereign good.
My heart was vainly turned towards the man
Who left me in misfortune, who deceived me.
MELVIL.
Repentest thou of the sin? And hast thou turned
Thy heart, from this idolatry, to God?
MARY.
It was the hardest trial I have passed;
This last of earthly bonds is torn asunder.
MELVIL.
What other sin disturbs thy guilty conscience?
MARY.
A bloody crime, indeed of ancient date,
And long ago confessed; yet with new terrors.
It now attacks me, black and grisly steps
Across my path, and shuts the gates of heaven:
By my connivance fell the king, my husband—
I gave my hand and heart to a seducer—
By rigid penance I have made atonement;
Yet in my soul the worm is gnawing still.
MELVIL.
Has then thy heart no other accusation,
Which hath not been confessed and washed away?
MARY.
All you have heard with which my heart is charged.
MELVIL.
Think on the presence of Omniscience;
Think on the punishments with which the church
Threatens imperfect and reserved confessions
This is the sin to everlasting death,
For this is sinning 'gainst his Holy Spirit.
MARY.
So may eternal grace with victory
Crown my last contest, as I wittingly
Have nothing hid——
MELVIL.
How? Wilt thou then conceal
The crime from God for which thou art condemned?
Thou tell'st me nothing of the share thou hadst
In Babington and Parry's bloody treason:
Thou diest for this a temporal death; for this
Wilt thou, too, die the everlasting death?
MARY.
I am prepared to meet eternity;
Within the narrow limits of an hour
I shall appear before my Judge's throne.
But, I repeat it, my confession's ended.
MELVIL.
Consider well—the heart is a deceiver.
Thou hast, perhaps, with sly equivocation,
The word avoided, which would make thee guilty
Although thy will was party to the crime.
Remember, that no juggler's tricks can blind
The eye of fire which darts through every breast.
MARY.
'Tis true that I have called upon all princes
To free me from unworthy chains; yet 'tis
As true that, neither by intent or deed,
Have I attempted my oppressor's life.
MELVIL.
Your secretaries then have witnessed falsely.
MARY.
It is as I have said;—what they have witnessed
The Lord will judge.
MELVIL.
Thou mountest, then, satisfied
Of thy own innocence, the fatal scaffold?
MARY.
God suffers me in mercy to atone,
By undeserved death, my youth's transgressions.
MELVIL (making over her the sign of the cross).
Go, then, and expiate them all by death;
Sink a devoted victim on the altar,
Thus shall thy blood atone the blood thou'st spilt.
From female frailty were derived thy faults,
Free from the weakness of mortality,
The spotless spirit seeks the blest abodes.
Now, then, by the authority which God
Hath unto me committed, I absolve thee
From all thy sins; be as thy faith thy welfare!
[He gives her the host.
Receive the body which for thee was offered—
[He takes the cup which stands upon the table,
consecrates it with silent prayer, then presents
it to her; she hesitates to take it, and makes
signs to him to withdraw it.
Receive the blood which for thy sins was shed,
Receive it; 'tis allowed thee by the pope
To exercise in death the highest office
Of kings, the holy office of the priesthood.
[She takes the cup.
And as thou now, in this his earthly body
Hast held with God mysterious communion,
So may'st thou henceforth, in his realm of joy,
Where sin no more exists, nor tears of woe,
A fair, transfigured spirit, join thyself
Forever with the Godhead, and forever.
[He sets down the cup; hearing a noise,
he covers his head, and goes to the door;
MARY remains in silent devotion on her knees.
MELVIL (returning).
A painful conflict is in store for thee.
Feel'st thou within thee strength enough to smother
Each impulse of malignity and hate?
MARY.
I fear not a relapse. I have to God
Devoted both my hatred and my love.
MELVIL.
Well, then, prepare thee to receive my Lords
Of Leicester and of Burleigh. They are here.
MARY (after the others are all gone).
I have arranged all temporal concerns,
And hope to leave the world in debt to none;
Melvil, one thought alone there is which binds
My troubled soul, nor suffers it to fly
Delighted and at liberty to heaven.
MELVIL.
Disclose it to me; ease your bosom, trust
Your doubts, your sorrows, to your faithful friend.
MARY.
I see eternity's abyss before me;
Soon must I stand before the highest Judge,
And have not yet appeased the Holy One.
A priest of my religion is denied me,
And I disdain to take the sacrament,
The holy, heavenly nourishment, from priests
Of a false faith; I die in the belief
Of my own church, for that alone can save.
MELVIL.
Compose your heart; the fervent, pious wish
Is prized in heaven as high as the performance.
The might of tyrants can but bind the hands,
The heart's devotion rises free to God,
The word is dead—'tis faith which brings to life.
MARY.
The heart is not sufficient of itself;
Our faith must have some earthly pledge to ground
Its claim to the high bliss of heaven. For this
Our God became incarnate, and enclosed
Mysteriously his unseen heavenly grace
Within an outward figure of a body.
The church it is, the holy one, the high one,
Which rears for us the ladder up to heaven:—
'Tis called the Catholic Apostolic church,—
For 'tis but general faith can strengthen faith;
Where thousands worship and adore the heat
Breaks out in flame, and, borne on eagle wings,
The soul mounts upwards to the heaven of heavens.
Ah! happy they, who for the glad communion
Of pious prayer meet in the house of God!
The altar is adorned, the tapers blaze,
The bell invites, the incense soars on high;
The bishop stands enrobed, he takes the cup,
And blessing it declares the solemn mystery,
The transformation of the elements;
And the believing people fall delighted
To worship and adore the present Godhead.
Alas! I only am debarred from this;
The heavenly benediction pierces not
My prison walls: its comfort is denied me.
MELVIL.
Yes! it can pierce them—put thy trust in Him
Who is almighty—in the hand of faith,
The withered staff can send forth verdant branches
And he who from the rock called living water,
He can prepare an altar in this prison,
Can change——
[Seizing the cup, which stands upon the table.
The earthly contents of this cup
Into a substance of celestial grace.
MARY.
Melvil! Oh, yes, I understand you, Melvil!
Here is no priest, no church, no sacrament;
But the Redeemer says, "When two or three
Are in my name assembled, I am with them,"
What consecrates the priest? Say, what ordains him
To be the Lord's interpreter? a heart
Devoid of guile, and a reproachless conduct.
Well, then, though unordained, be you my priest;
To you will I confide my last confession,
And take my absolution from your lips.
MELVIL.
If then thy heart be with such zeal inflamed,
I tell thee that for thine especial comfort,
The Lord may work a miracle. Thou say'st
Here is no priest, no church, no sacrament—
Thou err'st—here is a priest—here is a God;
A God descends to thee in real presence.
[At these words he uncovers his head,
and shows a host in a golden vessel.
I am a priest—to hear thy last confession,
And to announce to thee the peace of God
Upon thy way to death. I have received
Upon my head the seven consecrations.
I bring thee, from his Holiness, this host,
Which, for thy use, himself has deigned to bless.
MARY.
Is then a heavenly happiness prepared
To cheer me on the very verge of death?
As an immortal one on golden clouds
Descends, as once the angel from on high,
Delivered the apostle from his fetters:—
He scorns all bars, he scorns the soldier's sword,
He steps undaunted through the bolted portals,
And fills the dungeon with his native glory;
Thus here the messenger of heaven appears
When every earthly champion had deceived me.
And you, my servant once, are now the servant
Of the Most High, and his immortal Word!
As before me your knees were wont to bend,
Before you humbled, now I kiss the dust.
[She sinks before him on her knees.
MELVIL (making over her the sign of the cross).
Hear, Mary, Queen of Scotland:—in the name
Of God the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
Hast thou examined carefully thy heart,
Swearest thou, art thou prepared in thy confession
To speak the truth before the God of truth?
MARY.
Before my God and thee, my heart lies open.
MELVIL.
What calls thee to the presence of the Highest?
MARY.
I humbly do acknowledge to have erred
Most grievously, I tremble to approach,
Sullied with sin, the God of purity.
MELVIL.
Declare the sin which weighs so heavily
Upon thy conscience since thy last confession.
MARY.
My heart was filled with thoughts of envious hate,
And vengeance took possession of my bosom.
I hope forgiveness of my sins from God,
Yet could I not forgive my enemy.
MELVIL.
Repentest thou of the sin? Art thou, in sooth,
Resolved to leave this world at peace with all?
MARY.
As surely as I wish the joys of heaven.
MELVIL.
What other sin hath armed thy heart against thee?
MARY.
Ah! not alone through hate; through lawless love
Have I still more abused the sovereign good.
My heart was vainly turned towards the man
Who left me in misfortune, who deceived me.
MELVIL.
Repentest thou of the sin? And hast thou turned
Thy heart, from this idolatry, to God?
MARY.
It was the hardest trial I have passed;
This last of earthly bonds is torn asunder.
MELVIL.
What other sin disturbs thy guilty conscience?
MARY.
A bloody crime, indeed of ancient date,
And long ago confessed; yet with new terrors.
It now attacks me, black and grisly steps
Across my path, and shuts the gates of heaven:
By my connivance fell the king, my husband—
I gave my hand and heart to a seducer—
By rigid penance I have made atonement;
Yet in my soul the worm is gnawing still.
MELVIL.
Has then thy heart no other accusation,
Which hath not been confessed and washed away?
MARY.
All you have heard with which my heart is charged.
MELVIL.
Think on the presence of Omniscience;
Think on the punishments with which the church
Threatens imperfect and reserved confessions
This is the sin to everlasting death,
For this is sinning 'gainst his Holy Spirit.
MARY.
So may eternal grace with victory
Crown my last contest, as I wittingly
Have nothing hid——
MELVIL.
How? Wilt thou then conceal
The crime from God for which thou art condemned?
Thou tell'st me nothing of the share thou hadst
In Babington and Parry's bloody treason:
Thou diest for this a temporal death; for this
Wilt thou, too, die the everlasting death?
MARY.
I am prepared to meet eternity;
Within the narrow limits of an hour
I shall appear before my Judge's throne.
But, I repeat it, my confession's ended.
MELVIL.
Consider well—the heart is a deceiver.
Thou hast, perhaps, with sly equivocation,
The word avoided, which would make thee guilty
Although thy will was party to the crime.
Remember, that no juggler's tricks can blind
The eye of fire which darts through every breast.
MARY.
'Tis true that I have called upon all princes
To free me from unworthy chains; yet 'tis
As true that, neither by intent or deed,
Have I attempted my oppressor's life.
MELVIL.
Your secretaries then have witnessed falsely.
MARY.
It is as I have said;—what they have witnessed
The Lord will judge.
MELVIL.
Thou mountest, then, satisfied
Of thy own innocence, the fatal scaffold?
MARY.
God suffers me in mercy to atone,
By undeserved death, my youth's transgressions.
MELVIL (making over her the sign of the cross).
Go, then, and expiate them all by death;
Sink a devoted victim on the altar,
Thus shall thy blood atone the blood thou'st spilt.
From female frailty were derived thy faults,
Free from the weakness of mortality,
The spotless spirit seeks the blest abodes.
Now, then, by the authority which God
Hath unto me committed, I absolve thee
From all thy sins; be as thy faith thy welfare!
[He gives her the host.
Receive the body which for thee was offered—
[He takes the cup which stands upon the table,
consecrates it with silent prayer, then presents
it to her; she hesitates to take it, and makes
signs to him to withdraw it.
Receive the blood which for thy sins was shed,
Receive it; 'tis allowed thee by the pope
To exercise in death the highest office
Of kings, the holy office of the priesthood.
[She takes the cup.
And as thou now, in this his earthly body
Hast held with God mysterious communion,
So may'st thou henceforth, in his realm of joy,
Where sin no more exists, nor tears of woe,
A fair, transfigured spirit, join thyself
Forever with the Godhead, and forever.
[He sets down the cup; hearing a noise,
he covers his head, and goes to the door;
MARY remains in silent devotion on her knees.
MELVIL (returning).
A painful conflict is in store for thee.
Feel'st thou within thee strength enough to smother
Each impulse of malignity and hate?
MARY.
I fear not a relapse. I have to God
Devoted both my hatred and my love.
MELVIL.
Well, then, prepare thee to receive my Lords
Of Leicester and of Burleigh. They are here.
SCENE VIII.
Enter BURLEIGH, LEICESTER, and PAULET.
[LEICESTER remains in the background, without raising
his eyes; BURLEIGH, who remarks his confusion, steps
between him and the QUEEN.
BURLEIGH.
I come, my Lady Stuart, to receive
Your last commands and wishes.
MARY.
Thanks, my lord.
BURLEIGH.
It is the pleasure of my royal mistress
That nothing reasonable be denied you.
MARY.
My will, my lord, declares my last desires;
I've placed it in the hand of Sir Amias,
And humbly beg that it may be fulfilled.
PAULET.
You may rely on this.
MARY.
I beg that all
My servants unmolested may return
To France, or Scotland, as their wishes lead.
BURLEIGH.
It shall be as you wish.
MARY.
And since my body
Is not to rest in consecrated ground,
I pray you suffer this my faithful servant
To bear my heart to France, to my relations—
Alas! 'twas ever there.
BURLEIGH.
It shall be done.
What wishes else?
MARY.
Unto her majesty
Of England bear a sister's salutation;
Tell her that from the bottom of my heart
I pardon her my death; most humbly, too,
I crave her to forgive me for the passion
With which I spoke to her. May God preserve her
And bless her with a long and prosperous reign.
BURLEIGH.
Say, do you still adhere to your resolve,
And still refuse assistance from the dean?
MARY.
My lord, I've made my peace with God.
[To PAULET.
Good sir,
I have unwittingly caused you much sorrow,
Bereft you of your age's only stay.
Oh, let me hope you do not hate my name.
PAULET (giving her his hand).
The Lord be with you! Go your way in peace.
[LEICESTER remains in the background, without raising
his eyes; BURLEIGH, who remarks his confusion, steps
between him and the QUEEN.
BURLEIGH.
I come, my Lady Stuart, to receive
Your last commands and wishes.
MARY.
Thanks, my lord.
BURLEIGH.
It is the pleasure of my royal mistress
That nothing reasonable be denied you.
MARY.
My will, my lord, declares my last desires;
I've placed it in the hand of Sir Amias,
And humbly beg that it may be fulfilled.
PAULET.
You may rely on this.
MARY.
I beg that all
My servants unmolested may return
To France, or Scotland, as their wishes lead.
BURLEIGH.
It shall be as you wish.
MARY.
And since my body
Is not to rest in consecrated ground,
I pray you suffer this my faithful servant
To bear my heart to France, to my relations—
Alas! 'twas ever there.
BURLEIGH.
It shall be done.
What wishes else?
MARY.
Unto her majesty
Of England bear a sister's salutation;
Tell her that from the bottom of my heart
I pardon her my death; most humbly, too,
I crave her to forgive me for the passion
With which I spoke to her. May God preserve her
And bless her with a long and prosperous reign.
BURLEIGH.
Say, do you still adhere to your resolve,
And still refuse assistance from the dean?
MARY.
My lord, I've made my peace with God.
[To PAULET.
Good sir,
I have unwittingly caused you much sorrow,
Bereft you of your age's only stay.
Oh, let me hope you do not hate my name.
PAULET (giving her his hand).
The Lord be with you! Go your way in peace.
SCENE IX.
HANNAH KENNEDY, and the other women of the QUEEN crowd
into the room with marks of horror. The SHERIFF follows
them, a white staff in his hand; behind are seen, through
the open doors, men under arms.
MARY.
What ails thee, Hannah? Yes, my hour is come.
The sheriff comes to lead me to my fate,
And part we must. Farewell!
KENNEDY and CURL.
We will not leave thee,
We will not part from thee.
MARY (to MELVIL).
You, worthy sir,
And my dear, faithful Hannah, shall attend me
In my last moments. I am sure, my lord
Will not refuse my heart this consolation.
BURLEIGH.
For this I have no warrant.
MARY.
How, my lord;
Can you deny me, then, this small petition?
Respect my sex; who shall attend me else,
And yield me the last service? Sure, it never
Can be my sister's pleasure that in me
My sex should be insulted; that these men
With their rude hands should touch my royal person.
BURLEIGH.
'Tis ordered that no woman shall ascend
The scaffold steps with you. Their tears and moans——
MARY.
She shall not weep, my lord; she shall not moan;
I answer for my Hannah's resolution;
Be merciful; divide me not so soon
From my true foster-mother, from my friend.
She bore me on her arms into this life;
Let her then gently lead me to my death.
PAULET (to BURLEIGH).
Yield to her wishes.
BURLEIGH.
Be it so.
MARY.
I now
Have nothing in this world to wish for more.
[She takes the crucifix, and kisses it.
My God! My Comforter! My blest Redeemer!
As once thy arms were stretched upon the cross,
Let them be now extended to receive me!
[She turns round to go; at the same moment her
eyes fall upon LEICESTER, who, on her going, starts
involuntarily, and turns his eyes towards her; at
this sight MARY trembles, her knees fail her, she is
about to fall, when LEICESTER catches at her, and
receives her in his arms; she regards him for some
time earnestly, and in silence; he cannot support her
looks; at length she speaks.
You keep your word, my Lord of Leicester: for
You promised me your arm to lead me forth
From prison, and you lend it to me now.
At length the wished-for day is come, and what
Was oft the object of my fondest dreams
Is now accomplished: and the Earl of Leicester,
The long-expected, the long-wished-for friend,
Appears at length in Fotheringay Castle.
I see him standing in my prison; all
Is ready for the journey; all the gates
Stand open, and at length I cross the threshold,
Conducted by his hand; and now I leave
These dismal walls behind me, and forever.
All is fulfilled, and you have saved your honor.
[He stands as if annihilated; she continues,
with a gentle voice.
Yes, Leicester; not for liberty alone
I wished to be indebted to your hands.
You should have made me bless that liberty.
Led by your hand, and happy in your love,
I hoped once more to taste the joys of life.
Yes; now that I'm prepared from all the world
To part, and to become a happy spirit,
Whom earthly inclinations tempt no more!
Now, Leicester, I may venture to confess
Without a blush the frailty I have conquered;
Farewell, my lord; and, if you can, be happy!
To woo two queens has been your daring aim;
You have disdained a tender, loving heart,
Betrayed it in the hope to win a proud one:
Kneel at the feet of Queen Elizabeth!
May your reward not prove your punishment.
Farewell; I now have nothing more on earth.
[She goes, preceded by the SHERIFF; at her side
MELVIL and her nurse; BURLEIGH and PAULET follow;
the others, wailing, follow her with their eyes
till she disappears; they then retire through the
other two doors.
into the room with marks of horror. The SHERIFF follows
them, a white staff in his hand; behind are seen, through
the open doors, men under arms.
MARY.
What ails thee, Hannah? Yes, my hour is come.
The sheriff comes to lead me to my fate,
And part we must. Farewell!
KENNEDY and CURL.
We will not leave thee,
We will not part from thee.
MARY (to MELVIL).
You, worthy sir,
And my dear, faithful Hannah, shall attend me
In my last moments. I am sure, my lord
Will not refuse my heart this consolation.
BURLEIGH.
For this I have no warrant.
MARY.
How, my lord;
Can you deny me, then, this small petition?
Respect my sex; who shall attend me else,
And yield me the last service? Sure, it never
Can be my sister's pleasure that in me
My sex should be insulted; that these men
With their rude hands should touch my royal person.
BURLEIGH.
'Tis ordered that no woman shall ascend
The scaffold steps with you. Their tears and moans——
MARY.
She shall not weep, my lord; she shall not moan;
I answer for my Hannah's resolution;
Be merciful; divide me not so soon
From my true foster-mother, from my friend.
She bore me on her arms into this life;
Let her then gently lead me to my death.
PAULET (to BURLEIGH).
Yield to her wishes.
BURLEIGH.
Be it so.
MARY.
I now
Have nothing in this world to wish for more.
[She takes the crucifix, and kisses it.
My God! My Comforter! My blest Redeemer!
As once thy arms were stretched upon the cross,
Let them be now extended to receive me!
[She turns round to go; at the same moment her
eyes fall upon LEICESTER, who, on her going, starts
involuntarily, and turns his eyes towards her; at
this sight MARY trembles, her knees fail her, she is
about to fall, when LEICESTER catches at her, and
receives her in his arms; she regards him for some
time earnestly, and in silence; he cannot support her
looks; at length she speaks.
You keep your word, my Lord of Leicester: for
You promised me your arm to lead me forth
From prison, and you lend it to me now.
At length the wished-for day is come, and what
Was oft the object of my fondest dreams
Is now accomplished: and the Earl of Leicester,
The long-expected, the long-wished-for friend,
Appears at length in Fotheringay Castle.
I see him standing in my prison; all
Is ready for the journey; all the gates
Stand open, and at length I cross the threshold,
Conducted by his hand; and now I leave
These dismal walls behind me, and forever.
All is fulfilled, and you have saved your honor.
[He stands as if annihilated; she continues,
with a gentle voice.
Yes, Leicester; not for liberty alone
I wished to be indebted to your hands.
You should have made me bless that liberty.
Led by your hand, and happy in your love,
I hoped once more to taste the joys of life.
Yes; now that I'm prepared from all the world
To part, and to become a happy spirit,
Whom earthly inclinations tempt no more!
Now, Leicester, I may venture to confess
Without a blush the frailty I have conquered;
Farewell, my lord; and, if you can, be happy!
To woo two queens has been your daring aim;
You have disdained a tender, loving heart,
Betrayed it in the hope to win a proud one:
Kneel at the feet of Queen Elizabeth!
May your reward not prove your punishment.
Farewell; I now have nothing more on earth.
[She goes, preceded by the SHERIFF; at her side
MELVIL and her nurse; BURLEIGH and PAULET follow;
the others, wailing, follow her with their eyes
till she disappears; they then retire through the
other two doors.
SCENE X.
LEICESTER (remaining alone).
Do I live still? Can I still bear to live?
Will not this roof fall down and bury me?
Yawns no abyss to swallow in its gulf
The veriest wretch on earth? What have I lost?
Oh, what a pearl have I not cast away!
What bliss celestial madly dashed aside!
She's gone, a spirit purged from earthly stain,
And the despair of hell remains for me!
Where is the purpose now with which I came
To stifle my heart's voice in callous scorn?
To see her head descend upon the block
With unaverted and indifferent eyes?
How doth her presence wake my slumbering shame?
Must she in death surround me with love's toils?
Lost, wretched man! No more it suits thee now
To melt away in womanly compassion:
Love's golden bliss lies not upon thy path,
Then arm thy breast in panoply of steel,
And henceforth be thy brows of adamant!
Wouldst thou not lose the guerdon of thy guilt,
Thou must uphold, complete it daringly!
Pity be dumb; mine eyes be petrified!
I'll see—I will be witness of her fall.
[He advances with resolute steps towards the door
through which MARY passed; but stops suddenly half way.
No! No! The terrors of all hell possess me.
I cannot look upon the dreadful deed;
I cannot see her die! Hark! What was that?
They are already there. Beneath my feet
The bloody business is preparing. Hark!
I hear their voices. Hence! Away, away
From this abode of misery and death!
[He attempts to escape by another door;
finds it locked, and returns.
How! Does some demon chain me to this spot?
To hear what I would shudder to behold?
That voice—it is the dean's, exhorting her;
She interrupts him. Hark—she prays aloud;
Her voice is firm—now all is still, quite still!
And sobs and women's moans are all I hear.
Now, they undress her; they remove the stool;
She kneels upon the cushion; lays her head——
[Having spoken these last words, and paused awhile,
he is seen with a convulsive motion suddenly to shrink
and faint away; a confused hum of voices is heard at
the same moment from below, and continues for some time.
Do I live still? Can I still bear to live?
Will not this roof fall down and bury me?
Yawns no abyss to swallow in its gulf
The veriest wretch on earth? What have I lost?
Oh, what a pearl have I not cast away!
What bliss celestial madly dashed aside!
She's gone, a spirit purged from earthly stain,
And the despair of hell remains for me!
Where is the purpose now with which I came
To stifle my heart's voice in callous scorn?
To see her head descend upon the block
With unaverted and indifferent eyes?
How doth her presence wake my slumbering shame?
Must she in death surround me with love's toils?
Lost, wretched man! No more it suits thee now
To melt away in womanly compassion:
Love's golden bliss lies not upon thy path,
Then arm thy breast in panoply of steel,
And henceforth be thy brows of adamant!
Wouldst thou not lose the guerdon of thy guilt,
Thou must uphold, complete it daringly!
Pity be dumb; mine eyes be petrified!
I'll see—I will be witness of her fall.
[He advances with resolute steps towards the door
through which MARY passed; but stops suddenly half way.
No! No! The terrors of all hell possess me.
I cannot look upon the dreadful deed;
I cannot see her die! Hark! What was that?
They are already there. Beneath my feet
The bloody business is preparing. Hark!
I hear their voices. Hence! Away, away
From this abode of misery and death!
[He attempts to escape by another door;
finds it locked, and returns.
How! Does some demon chain me to this spot?
To hear what I would shudder to behold?
That voice—it is the dean's, exhorting her;
She interrupts him. Hark—she prays aloud;
Her voice is firm—now all is still, quite still!
And sobs and women's moans are all I hear.
Now, they undress her; they remove the stool;
She kneels upon the cushion; lays her head——
[Having spoken these last words, and paused awhile,
he is seen with a convulsive motion suddenly to shrink
and faint away; a confused hum of voices is heard at
the same moment from below, and continues for some time.
SCENE XI.
The Second Chamber in the Fourth Act.
ELIZABETH (entering from a side door; her gait and action expressive
of the most violent uneasiness).
No message yet arrived! What! no one here!
Will evening never come! Stands the sun still
In its ethereal course? I can no more
Remain upon the rack of expectation!
Is it accomplished? Is it not? I shudder
At both events, and do not dare to ask.
My Lord of Leicester comes not,—Burleigh too,
Whom I appointed to fulfil the sentence.
If they have quitted London then 'tis done,
The bolt has left its rest—it cuts the air—
It strikes; has struck already: were my realm
At stake I could not now arrest its course.
Who's there?
ELIZABETH (entering from a side door; her gait and action expressive
of the most violent uneasiness).
No message yet arrived! What! no one here!
Will evening never come! Stands the sun still
In its ethereal course? I can no more
Remain upon the rack of expectation!
Is it accomplished? Is it not? I shudder
At both events, and do not dare to ask.
My Lord of Leicester comes not,—Burleigh too,
Whom I appointed to fulfil the sentence.
If they have quitted London then 'tis done,
The bolt has left its rest—it cuts the air—
It strikes; has struck already: were my realm
At stake I could not now arrest its course.
Who's there?
SCENE XII.
Enter a PAGE.
ELIZABETH.
Returned alone? Where are the lords?
PAGE.
My Lord High-Treasurer and the Earl of Leicester?
ELIZABETH.
Where are they?
PAGE.
They are not in London.
ELIZABETH.
No!
Where are they then?
PAGE.
That no one could inform me;
Before the dawn, mysteriously, in haste
They quitted London.
ELIZABETH (exultingly).
I am Queen of England!
[Walking up and down in the greatest agitation.
Go—call me—no, remain, boy! She is dead;
Now have I room upon the earth at last.
Why do I shake? Whence comes this aguish dread?
My fears are covered by the grave; who dares
To say I did it? I have tears enough
In store to weep her fall. Are you still here?
[To the PAGE.
Command my secretary, Davison,
To come to me this instant. Let the Earl
Of Shrewsbury be summoned. Here he comes.
[Exit PAGE.
ELIZABETH.
Returned alone? Where are the lords?
PAGE.
My Lord High-Treasurer and the Earl of Leicester?
ELIZABETH.
Where are they?
PAGE.
They are not in London.
ELIZABETH.
No!
Where are they then?
PAGE.
That no one could inform me;
Before the dawn, mysteriously, in haste
They quitted London.
ELIZABETH (exultingly).
I am Queen of England!
[Walking up and down in the greatest agitation.
Go—call me—no, remain, boy! She is dead;
Now have I room upon the earth at last.
Why do I shake? Whence comes this aguish dread?
My fears are covered by the grave; who dares
To say I did it? I have tears enough
In store to weep her fall. Are you still here?
[To the PAGE.
Command my secretary, Davison,
To come to me this instant. Let the Earl
Of Shrewsbury be summoned. Here he comes.
[Exit PAGE.
SCENE XIII.
Enter SHREWSBURY.
ELIZABETH.
Welcome, my noble lord. What tidings; say
It cannot be a trifle which hath led
Your footsteps hither at so late an hour.
SHREWSBURY.
My liege, the doubts that hung upon my heart,
And dutiful concern for your fair fame,
Directed me this morning to the Tower,
Where Mary's secretaries, Nau and Curl,
Are now confined as prisoners, for I wished
Once more to put their evidence to proof.
On my arrival the lieutenant seemed
Embarrassed and perplexed; refused to show me
His prisoners; but my threats obtained admittance.
God! what a sight was there! With frantic looks,
With hair dishevelled, on his pallet lay
The Scot like one tormented by a fury.
The miserable man no sooner saw me
Than at my feet he fell, and there, with screams,
Clasping my knees, and writhing like a worm,
Implored, conjured me to acquaint him with
His sovereign's destiny, for vague reports
Had somehow reached the dungeons of the Tower
That she had been condemned to suffer death.
When I confirmed these tidings, adding, too,
That on his evidence she had been doomed,—
He started wildly up,—caught by the throat
His fellow-prisoner; with the giant strength
Of madness tore him to the ground and tried
To strangle him. No sooner had we saved
The wretch from his fierce grapple than at once
He turned his rage against himself and beat
His breast with savage fists; then cursed himself
And his companions to the depths of hell!
His evidence was false; the fatal letters
To Babington, which he had sworn were true,
He now denounced as forgeries; for he
Had set down words the queen had never spoken;
The traitor Nau had led him to this treason.
Then ran he to the casement, threw it wide
With frantic force, and cried into the street
So loud that all the people gathered round:
I am the man, Queen Mary's secretary,
The traitor who accused his mistress falsely;
I bore false witness and am cursed forever!
ELIZABETH.
You said yourself that he had lost his wits;
A madman's words prove nothing.
SHREWSBURY.
Yet this madness
Serves in itself to swell the proof. My liege,
Let me conjure thee; be not over-hasty;
Prithee, give order for a new inquiry!
ELIZABETH.
I will, my lord, because it is your wish,
Not that I can believe my noble peers
Have in this case pronounced a hasty judgment.
To set your mind at rest the inquiry shall
Be straight renewed. Well that 'tis not too late!
Upon the honor of our royal name,
No, not the shadow of a doubt shall rest.
ELIZABETH.
Welcome, my noble lord. What tidings; say
It cannot be a trifle which hath led
Your footsteps hither at so late an hour.
SHREWSBURY.
My liege, the doubts that hung upon my heart,
And dutiful concern for your fair fame,
Directed me this morning to the Tower,
Where Mary's secretaries, Nau and Curl,
Are now confined as prisoners, for I wished
Once more to put their evidence to proof.
On my arrival the lieutenant seemed
Embarrassed and perplexed; refused to show me
His prisoners; but my threats obtained admittance.
God! what a sight was there! With frantic looks,
With hair dishevelled, on his pallet lay
The Scot like one tormented by a fury.
The miserable man no sooner saw me
Than at my feet he fell, and there, with screams,
Clasping my knees, and writhing like a worm,
Implored, conjured me to acquaint him with
His sovereign's destiny, for vague reports
Had somehow reached the dungeons of the Tower
That she had been condemned to suffer death.
When I confirmed these tidings, adding, too,
That on his evidence she had been doomed,—
He started wildly up,—caught by the throat
His fellow-prisoner; with the giant strength
Of madness tore him to the ground and tried
To strangle him. No sooner had we saved
The wretch from his fierce grapple than at once
He turned his rage against himself and beat
His breast with savage fists; then cursed himself
And his companions to the depths of hell!
His evidence was false; the fatal letters
To Babington, which he had sworn were true,
He now denounced as forgeries; for he
Had set down words the queen had never spoken;
The traitor Nau had led him to this treason.
Then ran he to the casement, threw it wide
With frantic force, and cried into the street
So loud that all the people gathered round:
I am the man, Queen Mary's secretary,
The traitor who accused his mistress falsely;
I bore false witness and am cursed forever!
ELIZABETH.
You said yourself that he had lost his wits;
A madman's words prove nothing.
SHREWSBURY.
Yet this madness
Serves in itself to swell the proof. My liege,
Let me conjure thee; be not over-hasty;
Prithee, give order for a new inquiry!
ELIZABETH.
I will, my lord, because it is your wish,
Not that I can believe my noble peers
Have in this case pronounced a hasty judgment.
To set your mind at rest the inquiry shall
Be straight renewed. Well that 'tis not too late!
Upon the honor of our royal name,
No, not the shadow of a doubt shall rest.
SCENE XIV.
Enter DAVISON.
ELIZABETH.
The sentence, sir, which I but late intrusted
Unto your keeping; where is it?
DAVISON (in the utmost astonishment).
The sentence!
ELIZABETH (more urgent).
Which yesterday I gave into your charge.
DAVISON.
Into my charge, my liege!
ELIZABETH.
The people urged
And baited me to sign it. I perforce
Was driven to yield obedience to their will.
I did so; did so on extreme constraint,
And in your hands deposited the paper.
To gain time was my purpose; you remember
What then I told you. Now, the paper, sir!
SHREWSBURY.
Restore it, sir, affairs have changed since then,
The inquiry must be set on foot anew.
DAVISON.
Anew! Eternal mercy!
ELIZABETH.
Why this pause,
This hesitation? Where, sir, is the paper?
DAVISON.
I am undone! Undone! My fate is sealed!
ELIZABETH (interrupting him violently).
Let me not fancy, sir——
DAVISON.
Oh, I am lost!
I have it not.
ELIZABETH.
How? What?
SHREWSBURY.
Oh, God in heaven!
DAVISON.
It is in Burleigh's hands—since yesterday.
ELIZABETH.
Wretch! Is it thus you have obeyed my orders?
Did I not lay my strict injunction on you
To keep it carefully?
DAVISON.
No such injunction
Was laid on me, my liege.
ELIZABETH.
Give me the lie?
Opprobrious wretch! When did I order you
To give the paper into Burleigh's hands?
DAVISON.
Never expressly in so many words.
ELIZABETH.
And, paltering villain I dare you then presume
To construe, as you list, my words—and lay
Your bloody meaning on them? Wo betide you,
If evil come of this officious deed!
Your life shall answer the event to me.
Earl Shrewsbury, you see how my good name
Has been abused!
SHREWSBURY.
I see! Oh, God in heaven!
ELIZABETH.
What say you?
SHREWSBURY.
If the knight has dared to act
In this, upon his own authority,
Without the knowledge of your majesty,
He must be cited to the Court of Peers
To answer there for subjecting thy name
To the abhorrence of all after time.
ELIZABETH.
The sentence, sir, which I but late intrusted
Unto your keeping; where is it?
DAVISON (in the utmost astonishment).
The sentence!
ELIZABETH (more urgent).
Which yesterday I gave into your charge.
DAVISON.
Into my charge, my liege!
ELIZABETH.
The people urged
And baited me to sign it. I perforce
Was driven to yield obedience to their will.
I did so; did so on extreme constraint,
And in your hands deposited the paper.
To gain time was my purpose; you remember
What then I told you. Now, the paper, sir!
SHREWSBURY.
Restore it, sir, affairs have changed since then,
The inquiry must be set on foot anew.
DAVISON.
Anew! Eternal mercy!
ELIZABETH.
Why this pause,
This hesitation? Where, sir, is the paper?
DAVISON.
I am undone! Undone! My fate is sealed!
ELIZABETH (interrupting him violently).
Let me not fancy, sir——
DAVISON.
Oh, I am lost!
I have it not.
ELIZABETH.
How? What?
SHREWSBURY.
Oh, God in heaven!
DAVISON.
It is in Burleigh's hands—since yesterday.
ELIZABETH.
Wretch! Is it thus you have obeyed my orders?
Did I not lay my strict injunction on you
To keep it carefully?
DAVISON.
No such injunction
Was laid on me, my liege.
ELIZABETH.
Give me the lie?
Opprobrious wretch! When did I order you
To give the paper into Burleigh's hands?
DAVISON.
Never expressly in so many words.
ELIZABETH.
And, paltering villain I dare you then presume
To construe, as you list, my words—and lay
Your bloody meaning on them? Wo betide you,
If evil come of this officious deed!
Your life shall answer the event to me.
Earl Shrewsbury, you see how my good name
Has been abused!
SHREWSBURY.
I see! Oh, God in heaven!
ELIZABETH.
What say you?
SHREWSBURY.
If the knight has dared to act
In this, upon his own authority,
Without the knowledge of your majesty,
He must be cited to the Court of Peers
To answer there for subjecting thy name
To the abhorrence of all after time.
SCENE XV.
Enter BURLEIGH.
BURLEIGH (bowing his knee before the QUEEN).
Long life and glory to my royal mistress,
And may all enemies of her dominions
End like this Stuart.
[SHREWSBURY hides his face. DAVIDSON wrings his hands in despair.
ELIZABETH.
Speak, my lord; did you
From me receive the warrant?
BURLEIGH.
No, my queen;
From Davison.
ELIZABETH.
And did he in my name
Deliver it?
BURLEIGH.
No, that I cannot say.
ELIZABETH.
And dared you then to execute the writ
Thus hastily, nor wait to know my pleasure?
Just was the sentence—we are free from blame
Before the world; yet it behooved thee not
To intercept our natural clemency.
For this, my lord, I banish you my presence;
And as this forward will was yours alone
Bear you alone the curse of the misdeed!
[To DAVISON.
For you, sir; who have traitorously o'erstepped
The bounds of your commission, and betrayed
A sacred pledge intrusted to your care,
A more severe tribunal is prepared:
Let him be straight conducted to the Tower,
And capital arraignments filed against him.
My honest Talbot, you alone have proved,
'Mongst all my counsellors, an upright man:
You shall henceforward be my guide—my friend.
SHREWSBURY.
Oh! banish not the truest of your friends;
Nor cast those into prison, who for you
Have acted; who for you are silent now.
But suffer me, great queen, to give the seal,
Which, these twelve years, I've borne unworthily,
Back to your royal hands, and take my leave.
ELIZABETH (surprised).
No, Shrewsbury; you surely would not now
Desert me? No; not now.
SHREWSBURY.
Pardon, I am
Too old, and this right hand is growing too stiff
To set the seal upon your later deeds.
ELIZABETH.
Will he forsake me, who has saved my life?
SHREWSBURY.
'Tis little I have done: I could not save
Your nobler part. Live—govern happily!
Your rival's dead! Henceforth you've nothing more
To fear—henceforth to nothing pay regard.
[Exit.
ELIZABETH (to the EARL of KENT, who enters).
Send for the Earl of Leicester.
KENT.
He desires
To be excused—he is embarked for France.
The Curtain drops.
BURLEIGH (bowing his knee before the QUEEN).
Long life and glory to my royal mistress,
And may all enemies of her dominions
End like this Stuart.
[SHREWSBURY hides his face. DAVIDSON wrings his hands in despair.
ELIZABETH.
Speak, my lord; did you
From me receive the warrant?
BURLEIGH.
No, my queen;
From Davison.
ELIZABETH.
And did he in my name
Deliver it?
BURLEIGH.
No, that I cannot say.
ELIZABETH.
And dared you then to execute the writ
Thus hastily, nor wait to know my pleasure?
Just was the sentence—we are free from blame
Before the world; yet it behooved thee not
To intercept our natural clemency.
For this, my lord, I banish you my presence;
And as this forward will was yours alone
Bear you alone the curse of the misdeed!
[To DAVISON.
For you, sir; who have traitorously o'erstepped
The bounds of your commission, and betrayed
A sacred pledge intrusted to your care,
A more severe tribunal is prepared:
Let him be straight conducted to the Tower,
And capital arraignments filed against him.
My honest Talbot, you alone have proved,
'Mongst all my counsellors, an upright man:
You shall henceforward be my guide—my friend.
SHREWSBURY.
Oh! banish not the truest of your friends;
Nor cast those into prison, who for you
Have acted; who for you are silent now.
But suffer me, great queen, to give the seal,
Which, these twelve years, I've borne unworthily,
Back to your royal hands, and take my leave.
ELIZABETH (surprised).
No, Shrewsbury; you surely would not now
Desert me? No; not now.
SHREWSBURY.
Pardon, I am
Too old, and this right hand is growing too stiff
To set the seal upon your later deeds.
ELIZABETH.
Will he forsake me, who has saved my life?
SHREWSBURY.
'Tis little I have done: I could not save
Your nobler part. Live—govern happily!
Your rival's dead! Henceforth you've nothing more
To fear—henceforth to nothing pay regard.
[Exit.
ELIZABETH (to the EARL of KENT, who enters).
Send for the Earl of Leicester.
KENT.
He desires
To be excused—he is embarked for France.
The Curtain drops.