Kitabı oku: «Mary Stuart», sayfa 8

SCENE XI

ELIZABETH, DAVISON.

ELIZABETH

 
   Where are their lordships?
 

DAVISON

 
                 They are gone to quell
   The tumult of the people. The alarm
   Was instantly appeased when they beheld
   The Earl of Shrewsbury. That's he! exclaimed
   A hundred voices – that's the man – he saved
   The queen; hear him – the bravest man in England!
   And now began the gallant Talbot, blamed
   In gentle words the people's violence,
   And used such strong, persuasive eloquence,
   That all were pacified, and silently
   They slunk away.
 

ELIZABETH

 
            The fickle multitude!
   Which turns with every wind. Unhappy he
   Who leans upon this reed! 'Tis well, Sir William;
   You may retire again —
 

[As he is going towards the door.

 
               And, sir, this paper,
   Receive it back; I place it in your hands.
 

DAVISON (casts a look upon the paper, and starts back)

 
   My gracious queen – thy name! 'tis then decided.
 

ELIZABETH

 
   I had but to subscribe it – I have done so —
   A paper sure cannot decide – a name
   Kills not.
 

DAVISON

 
         Thy name, my queen, beneath this paper
   Is most decisive – kills – 'tis like the lightning,
   Which blasteth as it flies! This fatal scroll
   Commands the sheriff and commissioners
   To take departure straight for Fotheringay,
   And to the Queen of Scots announce her death,
   Which must at dawn be put in execution.
   There is no respite, no discretion here.
   As soon as I have parted with this writ
   Her race is run.
 

ELIZABETH

 
            Yes, sir, the Lord has placed
   This weighty business in your feeble hands;
   Seek him in prayer to light you with his wisdom;
   I go – and leave you, sir, to do your duty.
 

[Going.

DAVISON

 
   No; leave me not, my queen, till I have heard
   Your will. The only wisdom that I need
   Is, word for word, to follow your commands.
   Say, have you placed this warrant in my hands
   To see that it be speedily enforced?
 

ELIZABETH

 
   That you must do as your own prudence dictates.
 

DAVISON (interrupting her quickly, and alarmed)

 
   Not mine – oh, God forbid! Obedience is
   My only prudence here. No point must now
   Be left to be decided by your servant.
   A small mistake would here be regicide,
   A monstrous crime, from which my soul recoils.
   Permit me, in this weighty act, to be
   Your passive instrument, without a will: —
   Tell me in plain, undoubted terms your pleasure,
   What with the bloody mandate I should do.
 

ELIZABETH

 
   Its name declares its meaning.
 

DAVISON

 
                   Do you, then,
   My liege, command its instant execution?
 

ELIZABETH

 
   I said not that; I tremble but to think it.
 

DAVISON

 
   Shall I retain it, then, 'till further orders?
 

ELIZABETH

 
   At your own risk; you answer the event.
 

DAVISON

 
   I! gracious heavens! Oh, speak, my queen, your pleasure!
 

ELIZABETH

 
   My pleasure is that this unhappy business
   Be no more mentioned to me; that at last
   I may be freed from it, and that forever.
 

DAVISON

 
   It costs you but a word – determine then
   What shall I do with this mysterious scroll?
 

ELIZABETH

 
   I have declared it, plague me, sir, no longer.
 

DAVISON

 
   You have declared it, say you? Oh, my queen,
   You have said nothing. Please, my gracious mistress,
   But to remember —
 

ELIZABETH (stamps on the ground)

 
             Insupportable!
 

DAVISON

 
   Oh, be indulgent to me! I have entered
   Unwittingly, not many months ago,
   Upon this office; I know not the language
   Of courts and kings. I ever have been reared
   In simple, open wise, a plain blunt man.
   Be patient with me; nor deny your servant
   A light to lead him clearly to his duty.
 

[He approaches her in a supplicating posture, she turns her back on him; he stands in despair;

then speaks with a tone of resolution.

 
   Take, take again this paper – take it back!
   Within my hands it is a glowing fire.
   Select not me, my queen; select not me
   To serve you in this terrible conjecture.
 

ELIZABETH

 
   Go, sir; – fulfil the duty of your office.
 

[Exit

SCENE XII

DAVISON, then BURLEIGH.

DAVISON

 
   She goes! She leaves me doubting and perplexed
   With this dread paper! How to act I know not;
   Should I retain it, should I forward it?
 

[To BURLEIGH, who enters.

 
   Oh! I am glad that you are come, my lord,
   'Tis you who have preferred me to this charge;
   Now free me from it, for I undertook it,
   Unknowing how responsible it made me.
   Let me then seek again the obscurity
   In which you found me; this is not my place.
 

BURLEIGH

 
   How now? Take courage, sir! Where is the warrant?
   The queen was with you.
 

DAVISON

 
                She has quitted me
   In bitter anger. Oh, advise me, help me,
   Save me from this fell agony of doubt!
   My lord, here is the warrant: it is signed!
 

BURLEIGH

 
   Indeed! Oh, give it, give it me!
 

DAVISON

 
                     I may not.
 

BURLEIGH

 
   How!
 

DAVISON

 
      She has not yet explained her final will.
 

BURLEIGH

 
   Explained! She has subscribed it; – give it to me.
 

DAVISON

 
   I am to execute it, and I am not.
   Great heavens! I know not what I am to do!
 

BURLEIGH (urging more violently)

 
   It must be now, this moment, executed.
   The warrant, sir. You're lost if you delay.
 

DAVISON

 
   So am I also if I act too rashly.
 

BURLEIGH

 
   What strange infatuation. Give it me.
 

[Snatches the paper from him, and exit with it.

DAVISON

 
   What would you? Hold? You will be my destruction.
 

ACT V

SCENE I

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 will² 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.
 

SCENE II

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!
 

SCENE III

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.
 

SCENE IV

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.
 

SCENE V

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.
 

SCENE VI

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.
 

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.