No More Learning

The peasant women are the first to be won over to Demetrius, and turn the
scale.


Camp of DEMETRIUS. He is worsted in the first action, but the army of
the Czar Boris conquers in a manner against its will, and does not follow
up its advantages. Demetrius, in despair, is about to destroy himself,
and is with difficulty prevented from doing so by Korela and Odowalsky.
Overbearing demeanor of the Cossacks even to DEMETRIUS.


Camp of the army of the CZAR BORIS. He is absent himself, and this
injures his cause, as he is feared but not loved. His army is strong,
but not to be relied on. The leaders are not unanimous, and partly
incline to the side of Demetrius from a variety of motives. One of their
number, Soltikow, declares for him from conviction. His adherence is
attended with the most important results; a large portion of the army
deserts to DEMETRIUS.


BORIS in Moscow. He still maintains his position as absolute ruler, and
has faithful servants around him; but already he is discomposed by evil
tidings. He is withheld from joining the army by apprehension of a
rebellion in Moscow. He is also ashamed as Czar to enter the field in
person against a traitor. Scene between him and the archbishop.


Bad news pours in from all sides, and Boris' danger grows momently more
imminent. He hears of the revolt of the peasantry and the provincial
towns,--of the inactivity and mutiny of the army,--of the commotions in
Moscow,--of the advance of Demetrius. Romanow, whom he has deeply
wronged, arrives in Moscow. This gives rise to new apprehensions. Now
come the tidings that the Boiars are flying to the camp of Demetrius, and
that the whole army has gone over to him.


BORIS and AXINIA. The Czar appears in a touching aspect as father, and
in the dialogue with his daughter unfolds his inmost nature.


BORIS has made his way to the throne by crime, but undertaken and
fulfilled all the duties of a monarch; to the country he is a valuable
prince and a true father of his people. It is only in his personal
dealings with individuals that he is cunning, revengeful, and cruel. His
spirit as well as his rank elevates him above all that surround him. The
long possession of supreme power, the habit of ruling over men, and the
despotic form of government, have so nursed his pride that it is
impossible for him to outlive his greatness. He sees clearly what awaits
him; but still he is Czar, and not degraded, though he resolves to die.


He believes in forewarnings, and in his present mood things appear to him
of significance which, on other occasions, he had despised. A particular
circumstance, in which he seems to hear the voice of destiny, decides
him.


Shortly before his death his nature changes; he grows milder, even
towards the messengers of evil, and is ashamed of the bursts of rage with
which he had received them before. He permits the worst to be told to
him, and even rewards the narrator.


So soon as he learns the misfortune that seals his fate, he leaves the
stage without further explanation, with composure and resignation.
Shortly afterwards he returns in the habit of a monk, and removes his
daughter from the sight of his last moments. She is to seek protection
from insult in a cloister; his son, Feodor, as a child, will perhaps have
less to fear. He takes poison, and enters a retired chamber to die in
peace.

General confusion at the tidings of the Czar's death. The Boiars form an
imperial council and rule in the Kremlin. Romanow (afterwards Czar, and
founder of the now ruling house) enters at the head of an armed force,
swears, on the bosom of the Czar, an oath of allegiance to his son
Feodor, and compels the Boiars to follow his example. Revenge and
ambition are far from his soul; he pursues only justice. He loves Axinia
without hope, and is, without knowing it, beloved by her in return.


ROMANOW hastens to the army to secure it for the young Czar.
Insurrection in Moscow, brought about by the adherents of Demetrius.
The people drag the Boiars from their houses, make themselves masters
of Feodor and Axinia--put them in prison, and send delegates to
Demetrius.


DEMETRIUS in Tula, at the pinnacle of success. The army is his own; the
keys of numerous towns are brought to him. Moscow alone appears to offer
resistance. He is mild and amiable, testifies a noble emotion at the
intelligence of the death of Boris, pardons a detected conspiracy against
his life, despises the servile adulations of the Russians, and is for
sending them away. The Poles, on the other hand, by whom he is
surrounded, are rude and violent, and treat the Russians with contempt.
Demetrius longs for a meeting with his mother, and sends a messenger to
Marina.


Among the multitude of Russians who throng around Demetrius in Tula
appears a man whom he at once recognizes; he is greatly delighted to see
him. He bids all the rest withdraw, and so soon as he is alone with this
man he thanks him, with full heart, as his preserver and benefactor.
This person hints that Demetrius is under especial obligations to him,
and to a greater extent than he is himself aware. Demetrius urges him to
explain, and the assassin of the genuine Demetrius thereupon discloses
the real facts of the case. For this murder he had received no
recompense, but on the contrary had nothing but death to anticipate from
Boris. Thirsting for revenge, he stumbled upon a boy, whose resemblance
to the Czar Ivan struck him. This circumstance must be turned to
account. He seized the boy, fled with him from Uglitsch, brought him to
a monk, whom he succeeded in gaining over for his ends, and delivered to
him the trinkets which he had himself taken from the murdered Demetrius.
By means of this boy, whom he had never lost sight of, and whose steps he
had attended upon all occasions without being observed, he is now
revenged. His tool, the false Demetrius, rules over Russia in Boris'
room.


During this narration a mighty change comes over Demetrius. His silence
is awful. In the moment of the highest rage and despair, the assassin
drives him to the extreme of endurance, when with a defying and insolent
air he demands his reward. Demetrius strikes him to the earth.


Soliloquy of Demetrius. Internal conflict; but the feeling of the
necessity for maintaining his position as Czar is triumphant.


The delegates from Moscow arrive, and submit themselves to Demetrius.
They are received gloomily, and with a menacing demeanor. Among them is
the Patriarch. Demetrius deposes him from his dignity, and soon
afterwards sentences to death a Russian of rank, who had questioned the
authenticity of his birth.


MARFA and OLGA await Demetrius under a magnificent tent. Marfa speaks of
the approaching interview with more doubt and fear than hope, and
trembles as the moment draws near which should assure her highest
happiness. Olga speaks to her, herself without faith. During the long
journey they have both had time to recall the whole circumstances; the
first exultation had given place to reflection. The gloomy silence and
the repulsive glances of the guards who surround the tent serve still
further to augment their despondency.


The trumpets sound. Marfa is irresolute whether she shall advance to
meet Demetrius. Now he stands before her alone. The little that was
left of hope in her heart altogether vanishes on seeing him. An unknown
something steps between them--Nature does not speak--they are separated
forever. The first impulse is an endeavor to approach; Marfa is the
first to make a movement to recede. Demetrius observes it, and remains
for a moment paralyzed. Significant silence.

DEMETRIUS. Does thy heart say nothing? Dost thou not recognize thy
blood in me?

MARFA is silent.

DEMETRIUS. The voice of nature is holy and free; I will neither
constrain nor belie it. Had thy heart spoken at the first glance then
had mine answered it; thou shouldst have found a pious, loving son in me.
The claim of duty would have concurred with inclination and heartfelt
affection. But if thou dost not feel as a mother for me, then, think as
a princess, command thyself as a queen! Fate unexpectedly gave me to
thee as a son; accept me as a gift of heaven. Though even I were not thy
son, which I now appear to be, still I rob thy son of nothing. I
stripped it from thy foe. Thee and thy blood have I avenged; I have
delivered thee from the grave in which thou went entombed alive, and led
thee back into the royal seat. That thy destiny is linked with mine thou
knowest. With me thou standest, and with me must fall. All the people's
eyes are upon us. I hate deception, and what I do not feel I may not
show; but I do really feel a reverence for thee, and this feeling, which
bends my knee before thee, comes from my heart.

[Dumb show of MARFA, to indicate her internal emotion.

DEMETRIUS. Make thy resolve! Let that which nature will not prompt be
the free act of thy will! I ask no hypocrisy--no falsehood, from thee; I
ask genuine feelings. Do not seem to be my mother, but be so. Throw the
past from thee--grasp the present with thy whole heart! If I am not thy
son yet I am the Czar--I have power and success upon my side. He who
lies in his grave is dust; he has no heart to love thee, no eye to smile
upon thee. Turn to the living.

[MARFA bursts into tears.

DEMETRIUS. Oh, these golden drops are welcome to me. Let them flow!
Show thyself thus to the people!

[At a signal from DEMETRIUS the tent is thrown open, and
the assembled Russians become spectators of this scene.


Entrance of Demetrius into Moscow. Great splendor, but of a military
kind. Poles and Cossacks compose the procession. Gloom and terror
mingle with the demonstrations of joy. Distrust and misfortune surround
the whole.


Romanow, who came to the army too late, has returned to Moscow to protect
Feodor and Axinia. It is all in vain; he is himself thrown into prison.
Axinia flies to Marfa, and at her feet implores protection against the
Poles. Here Demetrius sees her, and a violent and irresistible passion
is kindled in his breast. Axinia detests him.


DEMETRIUS as Czar. A fearful element sustains him, but he does not
control it: he is urged on by the force of strange passions. His inward
consciousness betokens a general distrust; he has no friend on whom he
can rely. Poles and Cossacks, by their insolent licentiousness, injure
him in the popular opinion. Even that which is creditable to him--his
popular manners, simplicity, and contempt of stiff ceremonial, occasions
dissatisfaction. Occasionally he offends, through inadvertency, the
usages of the country. He persecutes the monks because he suffered
severely under them. Moreover, he is not exempt from despotic caprices
in the moments of offended pride. Odowalsky knows how to make himself at
all times indispensable to him, removes the Russians to a distance, and
maintains his overruling influence.


DEMETRIUS meditates inconstancy to Marina. He confers upon the point
with the Archbishop Iob, who, in order to get rid of the Poles, falls in
with his desire, and puts before him an exalted picture of the imperial
power.


MARINA appears with a vast retinue in Moscow. Meeting with Demetrius.
Hollow and cold meeting on both sides; she, however, wears her disguise
with greater skill. She urges an immediate marriage. Preparations are
made for a magnificent festival.


By the orders of Marina a cup of poison is brought to Axinia. Death is
welcome to her; she was afraid of being forced to the altar with the
Czar.


Violent grief of Demetrius. With a broken heart he goes to the betrothal
with Marina.


After the marriage Marina discloses to him that she does not consider him
to be the true Demetrius, and never did. She then coldly leaves him in a
state of extreme anguish and dismay.

Meanwhile SCHINSKOI, one of the former generals of the Czar Boris, avails
himself of the growing discontent of the people, and becomes the head of
a conspiracy against Demetrius.


ROMANOW, in prison, is comforted by a supernatural apparition. Axinia's
spirit stands before him, opens to him a prospect of happier times in
store, and enjoins him calmly to allow destiny to ripen, and not to stain
himself with blood. ROMANOW receives a hint that he may himself be
called to the throne. Soon afterwards he is solicited to take part in
the conspiracy, but declines.


SOLTIKOW reproaches himself bitterly for having betrayed his country to
Demetrius. But he will not be a second time a traitor, and adheres, from
principle and against his feelings, to the party which he has once
adopted. As the misfortune has happened, he seeks at least to alleviate
it, and to enfeeble the power of the Poles. He pays for this effort with
his life; but he accepts death as a merited punishment, and confesses
this when dying to Demetrius himself.


CASIMIR, a brother of LODOISKA, a young Polish lady, who has been
secretly and hopelessly attached to Demetrius, in the house of the
Waywode of Sendomir, has, at his sister's request, accompanied Demetrius
in the campaign, and in every encounter defended him bravely. In the
moment of danger, when all the other retainers of Demetrius think only of
their personal safety, Casimir alone remains faithful to him, and
sacrifices life in his defence.


The conspiracy breaks out. Demetrius is with Marfa when the leading
conspirators force their way into the room. The dignity and courage of
Demetrius have a momentary effect upon the rebels. He nearly succeeds in
disarming them by a promise to place the Poles at their disposal. But at
this point SCHINSKOI rushes in with an infuriated band. An explicit
declaration is demanded from the ex-empress; she is required to swear,
upon the cross, that Demetrius is her son. To testify against her
conscience in a manner so solemn is impossible. She turns from Demetrius
in silence, and is about to withdraw. "Is she silent? " exclaims the
tumultuous throng. "Does she disown him? " "Then, traitor, die! " and
Demetrius falls, pierced by their swords, at Marfa's feet.






MARY STUART.

A TRAGEDY.

By Frederich Schiller




DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

ELIZABETH, Queen of England.
MARY STUART, Queen of Scots, a Prisoner in England.
ROBERT DUDLEY, Earl of Leicester.
GEORGE TALBOT, Earl of Shrewsbury.
WILLIAM CECIL, Lord Burleigh, Lord High Treasurer.
EARL OF KENT.
SIR WILLIAM DAVISON, Secretary of State.
SIR AMIAS PAULET, Keeper of MARY.
SIR EDWARD MORTIMER, his Nephew.
COUNT L'AUBESPINE, the French Ambassador.
O'KELLY, Mortimer's Friend.
COUNT BELLIEVRE, Envoy Extraordinary from France.
SIR DRUE DRURY, another Keeper of MARY.
SIR ANDREW MELVIL, her House Steward.
BURGOYNE, her Physician.
HANNAH KENNEDY, her Nurse.
MARGARET CURL, her Attendant.
Sheriff of the County.
Officer of the Guard.
French and English Lords.
Soldiers.
Servants of State belonging to ELIZABETH.
Servants and Female Attendants of the Queen of Scots.




ACT I.

SCENE I.
A common apartment in the Castle of Fotheringay.

HANNAH KENNEDY, contending violently with PAULET, who is about
to break open a closet; DRURY with an iron crown.

KENNEDY.
How now, sir? what fresh outrage have we here?
Back from that cabinet!

PAULET.
Whence came the jewel?
I know 'twas from an upper chamber thrown;
And you would bribe the gardener with your trinkets.
A curse on woman's wiles! In spite of all
My strict precaution and my active search,
Still treasures here, still costly gems concealed!
And doubtless there are more where this lay hid.

[Advancing towards the cabinet.

KENNEDY.
Intruder, back! here lie my lady's secrets.

PAULET.
Exactly what I seek.
[Drawing forth papers.

KENNEDY.
Mere trifling papers;
The amusements only of an idle pen,
To cheat the dreary tedium of a dungeon.

PAULET.
In idle hours the evil mind is busy.

KENNEDY.
Those writings are in French.

PAULET.
So much the worse!
That tongue betokens England's enemy.

KENNEDY.
Sketches of letters to the Queen of England.

PAULET.
I'll be their bearer. Ha! what glitters here?

[He touches a secret spring, and draws out jewels from
a private drawer.

A royal diadem enriched with stones,
And studded with the fleur-de-lis of France.

[He hands it to his assistant.

Here, take it, Drury; lay it with the rest.

[Exit DRURY.

[And ye have found the means to hide from us
Such costly things, and screen them, until now,
From our inquiring eyes? ]

KENNEDY.
Oh, insolent
And tyrant power, to which we must submit.

PAULET.
She can work ill as long as she hath treasures;
For all things turn to weapons in her hands.

KENNEDY (supplicating).
Oh, sir! be merciful; deprive us not
Of the last jewel that adorns our life!
'Tis my poor lady's only joy to view
This symbol of her former majesty;
Your hands long since have robbed us of the rest.

PAULET.
'Tis in safe custody; in proper time
'Twill be restored to you with scrupulous care.

KENNEDY.
Who that beholds these naked walls could say
That majesty dwelt here? Where is the throne?
Where the imperial canopy of state?
Must she not set her tender foot, still used
To softest treading, on the rugged ground?
With common pewter, which the lowliest dame
Would scorn, they furnish forth her homely table.

PAULET.
Thus did she treat her spouse at Stirling once;
And pledged, the while, her paramour in gold.

KENNEDY.
Even the mirror's trifling aid withheld.

PAULET.
The contemplation of her own vain image
Incites to hope, and prompts to daring deeds.

KENNEDY.
Books are denied her to divert her mind.

PAULET.
The Bible still is left to mend her heart.

KENNEDY.
Even of her very lute she is deprived!

PAULET.
Because she tuned it to her wanton airs.

KENNEDY.
Is this a fate for her, the gentle born,
Who in her very cradle was a queen?
Who, reared in Catherine's luxurious court,
Enjoyed the fulness of each earthly pleasure?
Was't not enough to rob her of her power,
Must ye then envy her its paltry tinsel?
A noble heart in time resigns itself
To great calamities with fortitude;
But yet it cuts one to the soul to part
At once with all life's little outward trappings!

PAULET.
These are the things that turn the human heart
To vanity, which should collect itself
In penitence; for a lewd, vicious life,
Want and abasement are the only penance.

KENNEDY.
If youthful blood has led her into error,
With her own heart and God she must account:
There is no judge in England over her.

PAULET.
She shall have judgment where she hath transgressed.

KENNEDY.
Her narrow bonds restrain her from transgression.

PAULET.
And yet she found the means to stretch her arm
Into the world, from out these narrow bonds,
And, with the torch of civil war, inflame
This realm against our queen (whom God preserve).
And arm assassin bands. Did she not rouse
From out these walls the malefactor Parry,
And Babington, to the detested crime
Of regicide? And did this iron grate
Prevent her from decoying to her toils
The virtuous heart of Norfolk? Saw we not
The first, best head in all this island fall
A sacrifice for her upon the block?
[The noble house of Howard fell with him. ]
And did this sad example terrify
These mad adventurers, whose rival zeal
Plunges for her into this deep abyss?
The bloody scaffold bends beneath the weight
Of her new daily victims; and we ne'er
Shall see an end till she herself, of all
The guiltiest, be offered up upon it.
Oh! curses on the day when England took
This Helen to its hospitable arms.

KENNEDY.
Did England then receive her hospitably?
Oh, hapless queen! who, since that fatal day
When first she set her foot within this realm,
And, as a suppliant--a fugitive--
Came to implore protection from her sister,
Has been condemned, despite the law of nations,
And royal privilege, to weep away
The fairest years of youth in prison walls.
And now, when she hath suffered everything
Which in imprisonment is hard and bitter,
Is like a felon summoned to the bar,
Foully accused, and though herself a queen,
Constrained to plead for honor and for life.

PAULET.
She came amongst us as a murderess,
Chased by her very subjects from a throne
Which she had oft by vilest deeds disgraced.
Sworn against England's welfare came she hither,
To call the times of bloody Mary back,
Betray our church to Romish tyranny,
And sell our dear-bought liberties to France.
Say, why disdained she to subscribe the treaty
Of Edinborough--to resign her claim
To England's crown--and with one single word,
Traced by her pen, throw wide her prison gates?
No:--she had rather live in vile confinement,
And see herself ill-treated, than renounce
The empty honors of her barren title.
Why acts she thus? Because she trusts to wiles,
And treacherous arts of base conspiracy;
And, hourly plotting schemes of mischief, hopes
To conquer, from her prison, all this isle.

KENNEDY.
You mock us, sir, and edge your cruelty
With words of bitter scorn:--that she should form
Such projects; she, who's here immured alive,
To whom no sound of comfort, not a voice
Of friendship comes from her beloved home;
Who hath so long no human face beheld,
Save her stern gaoler's unrelenting brows;
Till now, of late, in your uncourteous cousin
She sees a second keeper, and beholds
Fresh bolts and bars against her multiplied.

PAULET.
No iron-grate is proof against her wiles.
How do I know these bars are not filed through?
How that this floor, these walls, that seem so strong
Without, may not be hollow from within,
And let in felon treachery when I sleep?
Accursed office, that's intrusted to me,
To guard this cunning mother of all ill!
Fear scares me from my sleep; and in the night
I, like a troubled spirit, roam and try
The strength of every bolt, and put to proof
Each guard's fidelity:--I see, with fear,
The dawning of each morn, which may confirm
My apprehensions:--yet, thank God, there's hope
That all my fears will soon be at an end;
For rather would I at the gates of hell
Stand sentinel, and guard the devilish host
Of damned souls, than this deceitful queen.

KENNEDY.
Here comes the queen.

PAULET.
Christ's image in her hand.
Pride, and all worldly lusts within her heart.



SCENE II.

The same. Enter MARY, veiled, a crucifix in her hand.

KENNEDY (hastening toward her).
O gracious queen! they tread us under foot;
No end of tyranny and base oppression;
Each coming day heaps fresh indignities,
New sufferings on thy royal head.

MARY.
Be calm--
Say, what has happened?

KENNEDY.
See! thy cabinet
Is forced--thy papers--and thy only treasure,
Which with such pains we had secured, the last
Poor remnant of thy bridal ornaments
From France, is in his hands--naught now remains
Of royal state--thou art indeed bereft!

MARY.
Compose yourself, my Hannah! and believe me,
'Tis not these baubles that can make a queen--
Basely indeed they may behave to us,
But they cannot debase us. I have learned
To use myself to many a change in England;
I can support this too. Sir, you have taken
By force what I this very day designed
To have delivered to you. There's a letter
Amongst these papers for my royal sister
Of England. Pledge me, sir, your word of honor,
To give it to her majesty's own hands,
And not to the deceitful care of Burleigh.

PAULET.
I shall consider what is best to do.

MARY.
Sir, you shall know its import. In this letter
I beg a favor, a great favor of her,--
That she herself will give me audience,--she
Whom I have never seen. I have been summoned
Before a court of men, whom I can ne'er
Acknowledge as my peers--of men to whom
My heart denies its confidence. The queen
Is of my family, my rank, my sex;
To her alone--a sister, queen, and woman--
Can I unfold my heart.

PAULET.
Too oft, my lady,
Have you intrusted both your fate and honor
To men less worthy your esteem than these.

MARY.
I, in the letter, beg another favor,
And surely naught but inhumanity
Can here reject my prayer. These many years
Have I, in prison, missed the church's comfort,
The blessings of the sacraments--and she
Who robs me of my freedom and my crown,
Who seeks my very life, can never wish
To shut the gates of heaven upon my soul.

PAULET.
Whene'er you wish, the dean shall wait upon you.

MARY (interrupting him sharply).
Talk to me not of deans. I ask the aid
Of one of my own church--a Catholic priest.

PAULET.
[That is against the published laws of England.

MARY.
The laws of England are no rule for me.
I am not England's subject; I have ne'er
Consented to its laws, and will not bow
Before their cruel and despotic sway.
If 'tis your will, to the unheard-of rigor
Which I have borne, to add this new oppression,
I must submit to what your power ordains;
Yet will I raise my voice in loud complaints. ]
I also wish a public notary,
And secretaries, to prepare my will--
My sorrows and my prison's wretchedness
Prey on my life--my days, I fear, are numbered--
I feel that I am near the gates of death.

PAULET.
These serious contemplations well become you.

MARY.
And know I then that some too ready hand
May not abridge this tedious work of sorrow?
I would indite my will and make disposal
Of what belongs tome.

PAULET.
This liberty
May be allowed to you, for England's queen
Will not enrich herself by plundering you.

MARY.
I have been parted from my faithful women,
And from my servants; tell me, where are they?
What is their fate? I can indeed dispense
At present with their service, but my heart
Will feel rejoiced to know these faithful ones
Are not exposed to suffering and to want!

PAULET.
Your servants have been cared for; [and again
You shall behold whate'er is taken from you
And all shall be restored in proper season. ]

[Going.

MARY.
And will you leave my presence thus again,
And not relieve my fearful, anxious heart
From the fell torments of uncertainty?
Thanks to the vigilance of your hateful spies,
I am divided from the world; no voice
Can reach me through these prison-walls; my fate
Lies in the hands of those who wish my ruin.
A month of dread suspense is passed already
Since when the forty high commissioners
Surprised me in this castle, and erected,
With most unseemly haste, their dread tribunal;
They forced me, stunned, amazed, and unprepared,
Without an advocate, from memory,
Before their unexampled court, to answer
Their weighty charges, artfully arranged.
They came like ghosts,--like ghosts they disappeared,
And since that day all mouths are closed to me.
In vain I seek to construe from your looks
Which hath prevailed--my cause's innocence
And my friends' zeal--or my foes' cursed counsel.
Oh, break this silence! let me know the worst;
What have I still to fear, and what to hope.

PAULET.
Close your accounts with heaven.

MARY.
From heaven I hope
For mercy, sir; and from my earthly judges
I hope, and still expect, the strictest justice.

PAULET.
Justice, depend upon it, will be done you.

MARY.
Is the suit ended, sir?

PAULET.
I cannot tell.

MARY.
Am I condemned?

PAULET.
I cannot answer, lady.

MARY.
[Sir, a good work fears not the light of day.

PAULET.
The day will shine upon it, doubt it not.