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
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