Mary Stuart | Page 7

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 Confirmed to me your claim's
validity. And now I know that your undoubted right To England's
throne has been your only wrong, This realm is justly yours by heritage,
In which you innocently pine as prisoner.
MARY. Oh, this unhappy right!--'tis this alone Which is the source of
all my sufferings.
MORTIMER. Just at this time the tidings reached my ears Of your
removal from old Talbot's charge, And your committal to my uncle's
care. It seemed to me that this disposal marked The wond'rous,
outstretched hand of favoring heaven; It seemed to be a loud decree of
fate, That it had chosen me to rescue you. My friends concur with me;
the cardinal Bestows on me his counsel and his blessing, And tutors me
in the hard task of feigning. The plan in haste digested, I commenced
My journey homewards, and ten days ago On England's shores I landed.
Oh, my queen.
[He pauses.
I saw then, not your picture, but yourself-- Oh, what a treasure do these
walls enclose! No prison this, but the abode of gods, More splendid far
than England's royal court. Happy, thrice happy he, whose envied lot
Permits to breathe the selfsame air with you! It is a prudent policy in
her To bury you so deep! All England's youth Would rise at once in
general mutiny, And not a sword lie quiet in its sheath: Rebellion
would uprear its giant head, Through all this peaceful isle, if Britons
once Beheld their captive queen.

MARY. 'Twere well with her, If every Briton saw her with your eyes!
MORTIMER. Were each, like me, a witness of your wrongs, Your
meekness, and the noble fortitude With which you suffer these
indignities-- Would you not then emerge from all these trials Like a
true queen? Your prison's infamy, Hath it despoiled your beauty of its
charms? You are deprived of all that graces life, Yet round you life and
light eternal beam. Ne'er on this threshold can I set my foot, That my
poor heart with anguish is not torn, Nor ravished with delight at gazing
on you. Yet fearfully the fatal time draws near, And danger hourly
growing presses on. I can delay no longer--can no more Conceal the
dreadful news.
MARY. My sentence then! It is pronounced? Speak freely--I can bear
it.
MORTIMER. It is pronounced! The two-and-forty judges Have given
the verdict, "guilty"; and the Houses Of Lords and Commons, with the
citizens Of London, eagerly and urgently Demand the execution of the
sentence:-- The queen alone still craftily delays, That she may be
constrained to yield, but not From feelings of humanity or mercy.
MARY (collected). Sir, I am not surprised, nor terrified. I have been
long prepared for such a message. Too well I know my judges. After all
Their cruel treatment I can well conceive They dare not now restore my
liberty. I know their aim: they mean to keep me here In everlasting
bondage, and to bury, In the sepulchral darkness of my prison, My
vengeance with me, and my rightful claims.
MORTIMER. Oh, no, my gracious queen;--they stop not there:
Oppression will not be content to do Its work by halves:--as long as
e'en you live, Distrust and fear will haunt the English queen. No
dungeon can inter you deep enough; Your death alone can make her
throne secure.
MARY. Will she then dare, regardless of the shame, Lay my crowned
head upon the fatal block?

MORTIMER. She will most surely dare it, doubt it not.
MARY. And can she thus roll in the very dust Her own, and every
monarch's majesty?
MORTIMER. She thinks on nothing now but present danger, Nor looks
to that which is so far removed.
MARY. And fears she not the dread revenge of France?
MORTIMER. With France she makes an everlasting peace; And gives
to Anjou's duke her throne and hand.
MARY. Will not the King of Spain rise up in arms?
MORTIMER. She fears not a collected world in arms? If with her
people she remains at peace.
MARY. Were this a spectacle for British eyes?
MORTIMER. This land, my queen, has, in these latter days, Seen many
a