Part 5

LEICESTER. To lose, and at the very goal, the prize Another comes to rob me of the fruits Of my so anxious wooing. I must lose To her young blooming husband all those rights Of which I was so long in full possession; And I must from the stage descend, where I So long have played the most distinguished part. 'Tis not her hand alone this envious stranger Threatens, he'd rob me of her favor too; She is a woman, and he formed to please.

MORTIMER. He is the son of Catherine. He has learnt In a good school the arts of flattery.

LEICESTER. Thus fall my hopes; I strove to seize a plank To bear me in this shipwreck of my fortunes, And my eye turned itself towards the hope Of former days once more; then Mary's image Within me was renewed, and youth and beauty Once more asserted all their former rights. No more 'twas cold ambition; 'twas my heart Which now compared, and with regret I felt The value of the jewel I had lost. With horror I beheld her in the depths. Of misery, cast down by my transgression; Then waked the hope in me that I might still Deliver and possess her; I contrived To send her, through a faithful hand, the news Of my conversion to her interests; And in this letter which you brought me, she Assures me that she pardons me, and offers Herself as guerdon if I rescue her.

MORTIMER. But you attempted nothing for her rescue. You let her be condemned without a word: You gave, yourself, your verdict for her death; A miracle must happen, and the light Of truth must move me, me, her keeper's nephew, And heaven must in the Vatican at Rome Prepare for her an unexpected succour, Else had she never found the way to you.

LEICESTER. Oh, sir, it has tormented me enough! About this time it was that they removed her From Talbot's castle, and delivered her Up to your uncle's stricter custody. Each way to her was shut. I was obliged Before the world to persecute her still; But do not think that I would patiently Have seen her led to death. No, Sir; I hoped, And still I hope, to ward off all extremes, Till I can find some certain means to save her.

MORTIMER. These are already found: my Lord of Leicester; Your generous confidence in me deserves A like return. I will deliver her. That is my object here; my dispositions Are made already, and your powerful aid Assures us of success in our attempt.

LEICESTER. What say you? You alarm me! How? You would----

MORTIMER. I'll open forcibly her prison-gates; I have confederates, and all is ready.

LEICESTER. You have confederates, accomplices? Alas! In what rash enterprise would you Engage me? And these friends, know they my secret?

MORTIMER. Fear not; our plan was laid without your help, Without your help it would have been accomplished, Had she not signified her resolution To owe her liberty to you alone.

LEICESTER. And can you, then, with certainty assure me That in your plot my name has not been mentioned?

MORTIMER. You may depend upon it. How, my lord, So scrupulous when help is offered you? You wish to rescue Mary, and possess her; You find confederates; sudden, unexpected, The readiest means fall, as it were from Heaven, Yet you show more perplexity than joy.

LEICESTER. We must avoid all violence; it is Too dangerous an enterprise.

MORTIMER. Delay Is also dangerous.

LEICESTER. I tell you, Sir, 'Tis not to be attempted----

MORTIMER. My lord, Too hazardous for you, who would possess her; But we, who only wish to rescue her, We are more bold.

LEICESTER. Young man, you are too hasty In such a thorny, dangerous attempt.

MORTIMER. And you too scrupulous in honor's cause.

LEICESTER. I see the trammels that are spread around us.

MORTIMER. And I feel courage to break through them all.

LEICESTER. Foolhardiness and madness, is this courage?

MORTIMER. This prudence is not bravery, my lord.

LEICESTER. You surely wish to end like Babington.

MORTIMER. You not to imitate great Norfolk's virtue.

LEICESTER. Norfolk ne'er won the bride he wooed so fondly.

MORTIMER. But yet he proved how truly he deserved her.

LEICESTER. If we are ruined, she must fall with us.

MORTIMER. If we risk nothing, she will ne'er be rescued.

LEICESTER. You will not weigh the matter, will not hear; With blind and hasty rashness you destroy The plans which I so happily had framed.

MORTIMER. And what were then the plans which you had framed? What have you done then to deliver her? And how, if I were miscreant enough To murder her, as was proposed to me This moment by Elizabeth, and which She looks upon as certain; only name The measures you have taken to protect her?

LEICESTER. Did the queen give you, then, this bloody order?

MORTIMER. She was deceived in me, as Mary is in you.

LEICESTER. And have you promised it? Say, have you?

MORTIMER. That she might not engage another's hand, I offered mine.

LEICESTER. Well done, sir; that was right; This gives us leisure, for she rests secure Upon your bloody service, and the sentence Is unfulfilled the while, and we gain time.

MORTIMER (angrily). No, we are losing time.

LEICESTER. The queen depends On you, and will the readier make a show Of mercy; and I may prevail on her To give an audience to her adversary; And by this stratagem we tie her hands Yes! I will make the attempt, strain every nerve.

MORTIMER. And what is gained by this? When she discovers That I am cheating her, that Mary lives; Are we not where we were? She never will Be free; the mildest doom which can await her At best is but perpetual confinement. A daring deed must one day end the matter; Why will you not with such a deed begin? The power is in your hands, would you but rouse The might of your dependents round about Your many castles, 'twere an host; and still Has Mary many secret friends. The Howards And Percies' noble houses, though their chiefs Be fallen, are rich in heroes; they but wait For the example of some potent lord. Away with feigning--act an open part, And, like a loyal knight, protect your fair; Fight a good fight for her! You know you are Lord of the person of the Queen of England, Whene'er you will: invite her to your castle, Oft hath she thither followed you--then show That you're a man; then speak as master; keep her Confined till she release the Queen of Scots.

LEICESTER. I am astonished--I am terrified! Where would your giddy madness hurry you? Are you acquainted with this country? Know you The deeps and shallows of this court? With what A potent spell this female sceptre binds And rules men's spirits round her? 'Tis in vain You seek the heroic energy which once Was active in this land! it is subdued, A woman holds it under lock and key, And every spring of courage is relaxed. Follow my counsel--venture nothing rashly. Some one approaches-go----

MORTIMER. And Mary hopes-- Shall I return to her with empty comfort?

LEICESTER. Bear her my vows of everlasting love.

MORTIMER. Bear them yourself! I offered my assistance As her deliverer, not your messenger.

[Exit.

SCENE IX.

ELIZABETH, LEICESTER.

ELIZABETH. Say, who was here? I heard the sound of voices.

LEICESTER (turning quickly and perplexed round on hearing the QUEEN). It was young Mortimer----

ELIZABETH. How now, my lord: Why so confused?

LEICESTER (collecting himself). Your presence is the cause. Ne'er did I see thy beauty so resplendent, My sight is dazzled by thy heavenly charms. Oh!

ELIZABETH. Whence this sigh?

LEICESTER. Have I no reason, then, To sigh? When I behold you in your glory, I feel anew, with pain unspeakable, The loss which threatens me.

ELIZABETH. What loss, my lord?

LEICESTER. Your heart; your own inestimable self Soon will you feel yourself within the arms Of your young ardent husband, highly blessed; He will possess your heart without a rival. He is of royal blood, that am not I. Yet, spite of all the world can say, there lives not One on this globe who with such fervent zeal Adores you as the man who loses you. Anjou hath never seen you, can but love Your glory and the splendor of your reign; But I love you, and were you born of all The peasant maids the poorest, I the first Of kings, I would descend to your condition, And lay my crown and sceptre at your feet!

ELIZABETH. Oh, pity me, my Dudley; do not blame me; I cannot ask my heart. Oh, that had chosen Far otherwise! Ah, how I envy others Who can exalt the object of their love! But I am not so blest: 'tis not my fortune To place upon the brows of him, the dearest Of men to me, the royal crown of England. The Queen of Scotland was allowed to make Her hand the token of her inclination; She hath had every freedom, and hath drunk, Even to the very dregs, the cup of joy.

LEICESTER. And now she drinks the bitter cup of sorrow.

ELIZABETH. She never did respect the world's opinion; Life was to her a sport; she never courted The yoke to which I bowed my willing neck. And yet, methinks, I had as just a claim As she to please myself and taste the joys Of life: but I preferred the rigid duties Which royalty imposed on me; yet she, She was the favorite of all the men Because she only strove to be a woman; And youth and age became alike her suitors. Thus are the men voluptuaries all! The willing slaves of levity and pleasure; Value that least which claims their reverence. And did not even Talbot, though gray-headed, Grow young again when speaking of her charms?

LEICESTER. Forgive him, for he was her keeper once, And she has fooled him with her cunning wiles.

ELIZABETH. And is it really true that she's so fair? So often have I been obliged to hear The praises of this wonder--it were well If I could learn on what I might depend: Pictures are flattering, and description lies; I will trust nothing but my own conviction. Why gaze you at me thus?

LEICESTER. I placed in thought You and Maria Stuart side by side. Yes! I confess I oft have felt a wish, If it could be but secretly contrived, To see you placed beside the Scottish queen, Then would you feel, and not till then, the full Enjoyment of your triumph: she deserves To be thus humbled; she deserves to see, With her own eyes, and envy's glance is keen, Herself surpassed, to feel herself o'ermatched, As much by thee in form and princely grace As in each virtue that adorns the sex.

ELIZABETH. In years she has the advantage----

LEICESTER. Has she so? I never should have thought it. But her griefs, Her sufferings, indeed! 'tis possible Have brought down age upon her ere her time. Yes, and 'twould mortify her more to see thee As bride--she hath already turned her back On each fair hope of life, and she would see thee Advancing towards the open arms of joy. See thee as bride of France's royal son, She who hath always plumed herself so high On her connection with the house of France, And still depends upon its mighty aid.

ELIZABETH (with a careless air). I'm teazed to grant this interview.

LEICESTER. She asks it As a favor; grant it as a punishment. For though you should conduct her to the block, Yet would it less torment her than to see Herself extinguished by your beauty's splendor. Thus can you murder her as she hath wished To murder you. When she beholds your beauty, Guarded by modesty, and beaming bright, In the clear glory of unspotted fame (Which she with thoughtless levity discarded), Exalted by the splendor of the crown, And blooming now with tender bridal graces-- Then is the hour of her destruction come. Yes--when I now behold you--you were never, No, never were you so prepared to seal The triumph of your beauty. As but now You entered the apartment, I was dazzled As by a glorious vision from on high. Could you but now, now as you are, appear Before her, you could find no better moment.

ELIZABETH. Now? no, not now; no, Leicester; this must be Maturely weighed--I must with Burleigh----

LEICESTER. Burleigh! To him you are but sovereign, and as such Alone he seeks your welfare; but your rights, Derived from womanhood, this tender point Must be decided by your own tribunal, Not by the statesman; yet e'en policy Demands that you should see her, and allure By such a generous deed the public voice. You can hereafter act as it may please you, To rid you of the hateful enemy.

ELIZABETH. But would it then become me to behold My kinswoman in infamy and want? They say she is not royally attended; Would not the sight of her distress reproach me?

LEICESTER. You need not cross her threshold; hear my counsel. A fortunate conjuncture favors it. The hunt you mean to honor with your presence Is in the neighborhood of Fotheringay; Permission may be given to Lady Stuart To take the air; you meet her in the park, As if by accident; it must not seem To have been planned, and should you not incline, You need not speak to her.

ELIZABETH. If I am foolish, Be yours the fault, not mine. I would not care To-day to cross your wishes; for to-day I've grieved you more than all my other subjects. [Tenderly. Let it then be your fancy. Leicester, hence You see the free obsequiousness of love. Which suffers that which it cannot approve.

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

ACT III.

SCENE I.

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

MARY advances, running from behind the trees. HANNAH KENNEDY follows slowly.

KENNEDY. You hasten on as if endowed with wings; I cannot follow you so swiftly; wait.

MARY. Freedom returns! Oh let me enjoy it. Let me be childish; be thou childish with me. Freedom invites me! Oh, let me employ it Skimming with winged step light o'er the lea; Have I escaped from this mansion of mourning? Holds me no more the sad dungeon of care? Let me, with joy and with eagerness burning, Drink in the free, the celestial air.

KENNEDY. Oh, my dear lady! but a very little Is your sad gaol extended; you behold not The wall that shuts us in; these plaited tufts Of trees hide from your sight the hated object.

MARY. Thanks to these friendly trees, that hide from me My prison walls, and flatter my illusion! Happy I now may deem myself, and free; Why wake me from my dream's so sweet confusion? The extended vault of heaven around me lies, Free and unfettered range my wandering eyes O'er space's vast, immeasurable sea! From where yon misty mountains rise on high I can my empire's boundaries explore; And those light clouds which, steering southwards, fly, Seek the mild clime of France's genial shore. Fast fleeting clouds! ye meteors that fly; Could I but with you sail through the sky! Tenderly greet the dear land of my youth! Here I am captive! oppressed by my foes, No other than you may carry my woes. Free through the ether your pathway is seen, Ye own not the power of this tyrant queen.

KENNEDY. Alas! dear lady! You're beside yourself, This long-lost, long-sought freedom makes you rave.

MARY. Yonder's a fisher returning to his home; Poor though it be, would he lend me his wherry, Quick to congenial shores would I ferry. Spare is his trade, and labor's his doom; Rich would I freight his vessel with treasure; Such a draught should be his as he never had seen; Wealth should he find in his nets without measure, Would he but rescue a poor captive queen.

KENNEDY. Fond, fruitless wishes! See you not from far How we are followed by observing spies? A dismal, barbarous prohibition scares Each sympathetic being from our path.

MARY. No, gentle Hannah! Trust me, not in vain My prison gates are opened. This small grace Is harbinger of greater happiness. No! I mistake not; 'tis the active hand Of love to which I owe this kind indulgence. I recognize in this the mighty arm Of Leicester. They will by degrees expand My prison; will accustom me, through small, To greater liberty, until at last I shall behold the face of him whose hand Will dash my fetters off, and that forever.

KENNEDY. Oh, my dear queen! I cannot reconcile These contradictions. 'Twas but yesterday That they announced your death, and all at once, To-day, you have such liberty. Their chains Are also loosed, as I have oft been told, Whom everlasting liberty awaits.

[Hunting horns at a distance.

MARY. Hear'st then the bugle, so blithely resounding? Hear'st thou its echoes through wood and through plain? Oh, might I now, on my nimble steed bounding, Join with the jocund, the frolicsome train.

[Hunting horns again heard.

Again! Oh, this sad and this pleasing remembrance! These are the sounds which, so sprightly and clear, Oft, when with music the hounds and the horn So cheerfully welcomed the break of the morn, On the heaths of the Highlands delighted my ear.

SCENE II.

Enter PAULET.

PAULET. Well, have I acted right at last, my lady? Do I for once, at least, deserve your thanks?

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

PAULET. Why not to me? I visited the court, And gave the queen your letter.

MARY. Did you give it? In very truth did you deliver it? And is this freedom which I now enjoy The happy consequence?

PAULET (significantly). Nor that alone; Prepare yourself to see a greater still.

MARY. A greater still! What do you mean by that?

PAULET. You heard the bugle-horns?

MARY (starting back with foreboding apprehension). You frighten me.

PAULET. The queen is hunting in the neighborhood----

MARY. What!

PAULET. In a few moments she'll appear before you.

KENNEDY (hastening towards MARY, and about to fall). How fare you, dearest lady? You grow pale.

PAULET. How? Is't not well? Was it not then your prayer? 'Tis granted now, before it was expected; You who had ever such a ready speech, Now summon all your powers of eloquence, The important time to use them now is come.

MARY. Oh, why was I not told of this before? Now I am not prepared for it--not now What, as the greatest favor, I besought, Seems to me now most fearful; Hannah, come, Lead me into the house, till I collect My spirits.

PAULET. Stay; you must await her here. Yes! I believe you may be well alarmed To stand before your judge.

SCENE III.

Enter the EARL OF SHREWSBURY.

MARY. 'Tis not for that, O God! Far other thoughts possess me now. Oh, worthy Shrewsbury! You come as though You were an angel sent to me from heaven. I cannot, will not see her. Save me, save me From the detested sight!

SHREWSBURY. Your majesty, Command yourself, and summon all your courage, 'Tis the decisive moment of your fate.

MARY. For years I've waited, and prepared myself. For this I've studied, weighed, and written down Each word within the tablet of my memory That was to touch and move her to compassion. Forgotten suddenly, effaced is all, And nothing lives within me at this moment But the fierce, burning feeling of my wrongs. My heart is turned to direst hate against her; All gentle thoughts, all sweet forgiving words, Are gone, and round me stand with grisly mien, The fiends of hell, and shake their snaky locks!

SHREWSBURY. Command your wild, rebellious blood;--constrain The bitterness which fills your heart. No good Ensues when hatred is opposed to hate. How much soe'er the inward struggle cost You must submit to stern necessity, The power is in her hand, be therefore humble.

MARY. To her? I never can.

SHREWSBURY. But pray, submit. Speak with respect, with calmness! Strive to move Her magnanimity; insist not now Upon your rights, not now--'tis not the season.

MARY. Ah! woe is me! I've prayed for my destruction, And, as a curse to me, my prayer is heard. We never should have seen each other--never! Oh, this can never, never come to good. Rather in love could fire and water meet, The timid lamb embrace the roaring tiger! I have been hurt too grievously; she hath Too grievously oppressed me;--no atonement Can make us friends!

SHREWSBURY. First see her, face to face: Did I not see how she was moved at reading Your letter? How her eyes were drowned in tears? No--she is not unfeeling; only place More confidence in her. It was for this That I came on before her, to entreat you To be collected--to admonish you----

MARY (seizing his hand). Oh, Talbot! you have ever been my friend, Had I but stayed beneath your kindly care! They have, indeed, misused me, Shrewsbury.

SHREWSBURY. Let all be now forgot, and only think How to receive her with submissiveness.

MARY. Is Burleigh with her, too, my evil genius?

SHREWSBURY. No one attends her but the Earl of Leicester.

MARY. Lord Leicester?

SHREWSBURY. Fear not him; it is not he Who wishes your destruction;--'twas his work That here the queen hath granted you this meeting.

MARY. Ah! well I knew it.

SHREWSBURY. What?

PAULET. The queen approaches.

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

SCENE IV.

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

ELIZABETH (to LEICESTER). What seat is that, my lord?

LEICESTER. 'Tis Fotheringay.

ELIZABETH (to SHREWSBURY). My lord, send back our retinue to London; The people crowd too eager in the roads, We'll seek a refuge in this quiet park.

[TALBOT sends the train away. She looks steadfastly at MARY, as she speaks further with PAULET.

My honest people love me overmuch. These signs of joy are quite idolatrous. Thus should a God be honored, not a mortal.

MARY (who the whole time had leaned, almost fainting, on KENNEDY, rises now, and her eyes meet the steady, piercing look of ELIZABETH; she shudders and throws herself again upon KENNEDY'S bosom). O God! from out these features speaks no heart.

ELIZABETH. What lady's that?

[A general, embarrassed silence.

LEICESTER. You are at Fotheringay, My liege!

ELIZABETH (as if surprised, casting an angry look at LEICESTER). Who hath done this, my Lord of Leicester?

LEICESTER. 'Tis past, my queen;--and now that heaven hath led Your footsteps hither, be magnanimous; And let sweet pity be triumphant now.

SHREWSBURY. Oh, royal mistress! yield to our entreaties; Oh, cast your eyes on this unhappy one Who stands dissolved in anguish.

[MARY collects herself, and begins to advance towards ELIZABETH, stops shuddering at half way: her action expresses the most violent internal struggle.

ELIZABETH. How, my lords! Which of you then announced to me a prisoner Bowed down by woe? I see a haughty one By no means humbled by calamity.

MARY. Well, be it so:--to this will I submit. Farewell high thought, and pride of noble mind! I will forget my dignity, and all My sufferings; I will fall before her feet Who hath reduced me to this wretchedness.

[She turns towards the QUEEN.