No More Learning

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 will [1] 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!


[1] The document is now in the British Museum.



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.



SCENE VIII.

Enter BURLEIGH, LEICESTER, and PAULET.

[LEICESTER remains in the background, without raising
his eyes; BURLEIGH, who remarks his confusion, steps
between him and the QUEEN.

BURLEIGH.
I come, my Lady Stuart, to receive
Your last commands and wishes.

MARY.
Thanks, my lord.

BURLEIGH.
It is the pleasure of my royal mistress
That nothing reasonable be denied you.

MARY.
My will, my lord, declares my last desires;
I've placed it in the hand of Sir Amias,
And humbly beg that it may be fulfilled.

PAULET.
You may rely on this.

MARY.
I beg that all
My servants unmolested may return
To France, or Scotland, as their wishes lead.

BURLEIGH.
It shall be as you wish.

MARY.
And since my body
Is not to rest in consecrated ground,
I pray you suffer this my faithful servant
To bear my heart to France, to my relations--
Alas! 'twas ever there.

BURLEIGH.
It shall be done.
What wishes else?

MARY.
Unto her majesty
Of England bear a sister's salutation;
Tell her that from the bottom of my heart
I pardon her my death; most humbly, too,
I crave her to forgive me for the passion
With which I spoke to her. May God preserve her
And bless her with a long and prosperous reign.

BURLEIGH.
Say, do you still adhere to your resolve,
And still refuse assistance from the dean?

MARY.
My lord, I've made my peace with God.

[To PAULET.

Good sir,
I have unwittingly caused you much sorrow,
Bereft you of your age's only stay.