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Дата написания1970-01-01
Язык книгиen
Возрастное ограничение12+
Жанры
зарубежная драматургиязарубежная классиказарубежная старинная литературалитература 18 векапьесы и драматургия

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Страница 4 из 31

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 of 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

Before his conquering judgment, and the soft

Persuasion of his tongue! So I returned

Back to the bosom of the holy church,

And at his feet abjured my heresies.

MARY.

Then of those happy thousands you are one,

Whom he, with his celestial eloquence,

Like the immortal preacher of the mount,

Has turned and led to everlasting joy!

MORTIMER.

The duties of his office called him soon

To France, and I was sent by him to Rheims,

Where, by the Jesuits' anxious labor, priests

Are trained to preach our holy faith in England.

There, 'mongst the Scots, I found the noble Morgan,

And your true Lesley, Ross's learned bishop,

Who pass in France their joyless days of exile.

I joined with heartfelt zeal these worthy men,

And fortified my faith. As I one day

Roamed through the bishop's dwelling, I was struck

With a fair female portrait; it was full

Of touching wond'rous charms; with magic might

It moved my inmost soul, and there I stood

Speechless, and overmastered by my feelings.

"Well," cried the bishop, "may you linger thus

In deep emotion near this lovely face!

For the most beautiful of womankind,

Is also matchless in calamity.

She is a prisoner for our holy faith,

And in your native land, alas! she suffers."

[MARY is in great agitation. He pauses.

MARY.

Excellent man! All is not lost, indeed,

While such a friend remains in my misfortunes!

MORTIMER.

Then he began, with moving eloquence,

To paint the sufferings of your martyrdom;

He showed me then your lofty pedigree,

And your descent from Tudor's royal house.

He proved to me that you alone have right

To reign in England, not this upstart queen,

The base-born fruit of an adult'rous bed,

Whom Henry's self rejected as a bastard.

[He from my eyes removed delusion's mist,

And taught me to lament you as a victim,

To honor you as my true queen, whom I,

Deceived, like thousands of my noble fellows,

Had ever hated as my country's foe.]

I would not trust his evidence alone;

I questioned learned doctors; I consulted

The most authentic books of heraldry;

And every man of knowledge whom I asked

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