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Mary Stuart

<h2> ACT V. </h2> <h2> SCENE I. </h2> The Scene the same as in the First Act. HANNAH KENNEDY in deep mourning, her eyes still red from weeping, in great but quiet anguish, is employed in sealing letters and parcels. Her sorrow often interrupts her occupation, and she is seen at such intervals to pray in silence. PAULET and DRURY, also in mourning, enter, followed by many servants, who bear golden and silver vessels, mirrors, paintings, and other valuables, and fill the back part of the stage with them. PAULET delivers to the NURSE a box of jewels and a paper, and seems to inform her by signs that it contains the inventory of the effects the QUEEN had brought with her. At the sight of these riches, the anguish of the NURSE is renewed; she sinks into a deep, glowing melancholy, during which DRURY, PAULET, and the servants silently retire. MELVIL enters. KENNEDY (screams aloud as soon as she observes him). Melvil! Is it you? Behold I you again? MELVIL. Yes, faithful Kennedy, we meet once more. KENNEDY. After this long, long, painful separation! MELVIL. A most unhappy, bitter meeting this! KENNEDY. You come—— MELVIL. To take an everlasting leave Of my dear queen—to bid a last farewell! KENNEDY. And now at length, now on the fatal morn Which brings her death, they grant our royal lady The presence of her friends. Oh, worthy sir, I will not question you, how you have fared, Nor tell you all the sufferings we've endured, Since you were torn away from us: alas! There will be time enough for that hereafter. O, Melvil, Melvil, why was it our fate To see the dawn of this unhappy day? MELVIL. Let us not melt each other with our grief. Throughout my whole remaining life, as long As ever it may be, I'll sit and weep; A smile shall never more light up these cheeks, Ne'er will I lay this sable garb aside, But lead henceforth a life of endless mourning. Yet on this last sad day I will be firm; Pledge me your word to moderate your grief; And when the rest of comfort all bereft, Abandoned to despair, wail round her, we Will lead her with heroic resolution, And be her staff upon the road to death! KENNEDY. Melvil! You are deceived if you suppose The queen has need of our support to meet Her death with firmness. She it is, my friend, Who will exhibit the undaunted heart. Oh! trust me, Mary Stuart will expire As best becomes a heroine and queen! MELVIL. Received she firmly, then, the sad decree Of death?—'tis said that she was not prepared. KENNEDY. She was not; yet they were far other terrors Which made our lady shudder: 'twas not death, But her deliverer, which made her tremble. Freedom was promised us; this very night Had Mortimer engaged to bear us hence: And thus the queen, perplexed 'twixt hope and fear, And doubting still if she should trust her honor And royal person to the adventurous youth, Sat waiting for the morning. On a sudden We hear a boisterous tumult in the castle; Our ears are startled by repeated blows Of many hammers, and we think we hear The approach of our deliverers: hope salutes us, And suddenly and unresisted wakes The sweet desire of life. And now at once The portals are thrown open—it is Paulet, Who comes to tell us—that—the carpenters Erect beneath our feet the murderous scaffold! [She turns aside, overpowered by excessive anguish. MELVIL. O God in Heaven! Oh, tell me then how bore The queen this terrible vicissitude? KENNEDY (after a pause, in which she has somewhat collected herself). Not by degrees can we relinquish life; Quick, sudden, in the twinkling of an eye, The separation must be made, the change From temporal to eternal life; and God Imparted to our mistress at this moment His grace, to cast away each earthly hope, And firm and full of faith to mount the skies. No sign of pallid fear dishonored her; No word of mourning, 'till she heard the tidings Of Leicester's shameful treachery, the sad fate Of the deserving youth, who sacrificed Himself for her; the deep, the bitter anguish Of that old knight, who lost, through her, his last, His only hope; till then she shed no tear— 'Twas then her tears began to flow, 'twas not Her own, but others' woe which wrung them from her. MELVIL. Where is she now? Can you not lead me to her? KENNEDY. She spent the last remainder of the night In prayer, and from her dearest friends she took Her last farewell in writing: then she wrote Her will 2 with her own hand. She now enjoys A moment of repose, the latest slumber Refreshes her weak spirits. MELVIL. Who attends her? KENNEDY. None but her women and physician Burgoyn: You seem to look around you with surprise; Your eyes appear to ask me what should mean This show of splendor in the house of death. Oh, sir, while yet we lived we suffered want; But at our death plenty returns to us. <h2> SCENE II. </h2> Enter MARGARET CURL. KENNEDY. How, madam, fares the queen? Is she awake? CURL (drying her tears). She is already dressed—she asks for you. KENNEDY. I go:— [To MELVIL, who seems to wish to accompany her. But follow not until the queen Has been prepared to see you. [Exit. CURL. Melvil, sure, The ancient steward? MELVIL. Yes, the same. CURL. Oh, sir, This is a house which needs no steward now! Melvil, you come from London; can you give No tidings of my husband? MELVIL. It is said He will be set at liberty as soon—— CURL. As soon as our dear queen shall be no more. Oh, the unworthy, the disgraceful traitor! He is our lady's murderer—'tis said It was his testimony which condemned him. MELVIL. 'Tis true. CURL. Oh, curse upon him! Be his soul Condemned forever! he has borne false witness. MELVIL. Think, madam, what you say. CURL. I will maintain it With every sacred oath before the court, I will repeat it in his very face; The world shall hear of nothing else. I say That she dies innocent! MELVIL.. God grant it true! 2 The document is now in the British Museum. <h2> SCENE III. </h2> Enter HANNAH KENNEDY. KENNEDY (to CURL). Go, madam, and require a cup of wine— 'Tis for our lady. MELVIL. Is the queen then sick? KENNEDY. She thinks that she is strong; she is deceived By her heroic courage; she believes She has no need of nourishment; yet still A hard and painful task's allotted her. Her enemies shall not enjoy the triumph; They shall not say that fear hath blanched her cheeks When her fatigues have conquered human weakness. MELVIL. May I approach her? KENNEDY. She will come herself. <h2> SCENE IV. </h2> Enter BURGOYN; two women of the chamber follow him, weeping, and in deep mourning. BURGOYN. Oh, Melvil! MELVIL. Oh, Burgoyn! [They embrace silently. FIRST WOMAN (to the NURSE). She chose to be Alone: she wishes, at this awful moment, For the last time, to commune with her God. <h2> SCENE V. </h2> Enter MARGARET CURL, bearing a golden cup of wine; she places it hastily upon the table, and leans, pale and trembling, against a chair. MELVIL. How, madam! What has frightened you? KENNEDY. Oh God! BURGOYN. Speak, madam! CURL. What, alas! have I beheld! MELVIL. Come to yourself, and say what you have seen! CURL. As I went down the staircase which conducts To the great hall below, a door stood open; I looked into the chamber, and I saw— Oh heaven! MELVIL. What saw you? CURL. All the walls were hung With black; a spacious scaffold, too, o'erspread With sable cloth, was raised above the floor, And in the middle of the scaffold stood A dreadful sable block! upon it lay A naked, polished axe:—the hall was full Of cruel people, crowding round the scaffold Who, with a horrid thirst for human blood, Seemed waiting for the victim! THE WOMEN. Gracious heaven, Protect our queen! MELVIL. Be calm; the queen approaches. <h2> SCENE VI. </h2> Enter MARY in white and sumptuously arrayed, as for a festival: she wears hanging from her neck, on a row of small beads, an Agnus Dei; a rosary hangs from her girdle; she bears a crucifix in her hand, and a diadem of precious stones binds her hair; her large black veil is thrown back. On her entrance all present fall back on both sides with the most violent expressions of anguish. MELVIL falls involuntarily upon his knees. MARY (with quiet majesty, looking round the whole circle). Why these complaints? Why weep ye? Ye should rather Rejoice with me, that now at length the end Of my long woe approaches; that my shackles Fall off, my prison opens, and my soul Delighted mounts on seraph's wings, and seeks The land of everlasting liberty. When I was offered up to the oppression Of my proud enemy, was forced to suffer Ignoble taunts, and insults most unfitting A free and sovereign queen, then was the time To weep for me; but as an earnest friend, Beneficent and healing death approaches. All the indignities which I have suffered On earth are covered by his sable wings. The most degraded criminal's ennobled By his last sufferings, by his final exit; I feel again the crown upon my brows. And dignity possess my swelling soul! [Advancing a few steps. How! Melvil here! My worthy sir, not so; Arise; you rather come in time to see The triumph of your mistress than her death. One comfort, which I never had expected, Is granted me, that after death my name Will not be quite abandoned to my foes; One friend at least, one partner of my faith, Will be my witness in the hour of death. Say, honest Melvil, how you fared the while In this inhospitable, hostile land? For since the time they tore you from my side My fears for you have oft depressed my soul. MELVIL. No other evil galled me but my grief For thee, and that I wanted power to serve thee. MARY. How fares my chamberlain, old Didier? But sure the faithful servant long has slept The sleep of death, for he was full of years. MELVIL. God hath not granted him as yet this grace; He lives to see the grave o'erwhelm thy youth. MARY. Oh! could I but have felt before my death, The happiness of pressing one descendant Of the dear blood of Stuart to my bosom. But I must suffer in a foreign land, None but my servants to bewail my fate! Sir; to your loyal bosom I commit My latest wishes. Bear then, sir, my blessing To the most Christian king, my royal brother, And the whole royal family of France. I bless the cardinal, my honored uncle, And also Henry Guise, my noble cousin. I bless the holy father, the vicegerent Of Christ on earth, who will, I trust, bless me. I bless the King of Spain, who nobly offered Himself as my deliverer, my avenger. They are remembered in my will: I hope That they will not despise, how poor soe'er They be, the presents of a heart which loves them. [Turning to her servants. I have bequeathed you to my royal brother Of France; he will protect you, he will give you Another country, and a better home; And if my last desire have any weight, Stay not in England; let no haughty Briton Glut his proud heart with your calamities, Nor see those in the dust who once were mine. Swear by this image of our suffering Lord To leave this fatal land when I'm no more. MELVIL (touching the crucifix). I swear obedience in the name of all. MARY. What I, though poor and plundered, still possess, Of which I am allowed to make disposal, Shall be amongst you shared; for I have hope In this at least my will may be fulfilled. And what I wear upon my way to death Is yours—nor envy me on this occasion The pomp of earth upon the road to heaven. [To the ladies of her chamber. To you, my Alice, Gertrude, Rosamund, I leave my pearls, my garments: you are young, And ornament may still delight your hearts. You, Margaret, possess the nearest claims, To you I should be generous: for I leave you The most unhappy woman of them all. That I have not avenged your husband's fault On you I hope my legacy will prove. The worth of gold, my Hannah, charms not thee; Nor the magnificence of precious stones: My memory, I know, will be to thee The dearest jewel; take this handkerchief, I worked it for thee, in the hours of sorrow, With my own hands, and my hot, scalding tears Are woven in the texture:—you will bind My eyes with this, when it is time: this last Sad service I would wish but from my Hannah. KENNEDY. O Melvil! I cannot support it. MARY. Come, Come all and now receive my last farewell. [She stretches forth her hands; the WOMEN violently weeping, fall successively at her feet, and kiss her outstretched hand. Margaret, farewell—my Alice, fare thee well; Thanks, Burgoyn, for thy honest, faithful service— Thy lips are hot, my Gertrude:—I have been Much hated, yet have been as much beloved. May a deserving husband bless my Gertrude, For this warm, glowing heart is formed for love. Bertha, thy choice is better, thou hadst rather Become the chaste and pious bride of heaven; Oh! haste thee to fulfil thy vows; the goods Of earth are all deceitful; thou may'st learn This lesson from thy queen. No more; farewell, Farewell, farewell, my friends, farewell for ever. [She turns suddenly from them; all but MELVIL retire at different sides. <h2> SCENE VII. </h2> 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. <div class="fig"> <ANTIMG alt="3pb120 (152K)" src="images/3pb120.jpg" width-obs="100%" /> </div> <h2> SCENE VIII. </h2> 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. <h2> SCENE IX. </h2> 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. <h2> SCENE X. </h2> 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. <h2> SCENE XI. </h2> 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? <h2> SCENE XII. </h2> 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. <h2> SCENE XIII. </h2> 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. <h2> SCENE XIV. </h2> 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. <h2> SCENE XV. </h2> 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. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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