Mary Stuart. Фридрих ШиллерЧитать онлайн книгу.

SCENE IV.

       Table of Contents

      MARY, KENNEDY.

       KENNEDY.

       And dare the ruffian venture to your face

       Such language! Oh, 'tis hard—'tis past endurance.

       MARY (lost in reflection).

       In the fair moments of our former splendor

       We lent to flatterers a too willing ear;—

       It is but just, good Hannah, we should now

       Be forced to hear the bitter voice of censure.

       KENNEDY.

       So downcast, so depressed, my dearest lady!

       You, who before so gay, so full of hope,

       Were used to comfort me in my distress;

       More gracious were the task to check your mirth

       Than chide your heavy sadness.

       MARY.

       Well I know him—

       It is the bleeding Darnley's royal shade,

       Rising in anger from his darksome grave

       And never will he make his peace with me

       Until the measures of my woes be full.

       KENNEDY.

       What thoughts are these—

       MARY.

       Thou may'st forget it, Hannah;

       But I've a faithful memory—'tis this day

       Another wretched anniversary

       Of that regretted, that unhappy deed—

       Which I must celebrate with fast and penance.

       KENNEDY.

       Dismiss at length in peace this evil spirit.

       The penitence of many a heavy year,

       Of many a suffering, has atoned the deed;

       The church, which holds the key of absolution,

       Pardons the crime, and heaven itself's appeased.

       MARY.

       This long-atoned crime arises fresh

       And bleeding from its lightly-covered grave;

       My husband's restless spirit seeks revenge;

       No sacred bell can exorcise, no host

       In priestly hands dismiss it to his tomb.

       KENNEDY.

       You did not murder him; 'twas done by others.

       MARY.

       But it was known to me; I suffered it,

       And lured him with my smiles to death's embrace.

       KENNEDY.

       Your youth extenuates your guilt. You were

       Of tender years.

       MARY.

       So tender, yet I drew

       This heavy guilt upon my youthful head.

       KENNEDY.

       You were provoked by direst injuries,

       And by the rude presumption of the man,

       Whom out of darkness, like the hand of heaven,

       Your love drew forth, and raised above all others.

       Whom through your bridal chamber you conducted

       Up to your throne, and with your lovely self,

       And your hereditary crown, distinguished

       [Your work was his existence, and your grace

       Bedewed him like the gentle rains of heaven.]

       Could he forget that his so splendid lot

       Was the creation of your generous love?

       Yet did he, worthless as he was, forget it.

       With base suspicions, and with brutal manners,

       He wearied your affections, and became

       An object to you of deserved disgust:

       The illusion, which till now had overcast

       Your judgment, vanished; angrily you fled

       His foul embrace, and gave him up to scorn.

       And did he seek again to win your love?

       Your favor? Did he e'er implore your pardon?

       Or fall in deep repentance at your feet?

       No; the base wretch defied you; he, who was

       Your bounty's creature, wished to play your king,

       [And strove, through fear, to force your inclination.]

       Before your eyes he had your favorite singer,

       Poor Rizzio, murdered; you did but avenge

       With blood the bloody deed——

       MARY.

       And bloodily,

       I fear, too soon 'twill be avenged on me:

       You seek to comfort me, and you condemn me.

       KENNEDY.

       You were, when you consented to this deed,

       No more yourself; belonged not to yourself;

       The madness of a frantic love possessed you,

       And bound you to a terrible seducer,

       The wretched Bothwell. That despotic man

       Ruled you with shameful, overbearing will,

       And with his philters and his hellish arts

       Inflamed your passions.

       MARY.

       All the arts he used

       Were man's superior strength and woman's weakness.

       KENNEDY.

       No, no, I say. The most pernicious spirits

       Of hell he must have summoned to his aid,

       To cast this mist before your waking senses.

       Your ear no more was open to the voice

       Of friendly warning, and your eyes were shut

       To decency; soft female bashfulness

       Deserted you; those cheeks, which were before

       The seat of virtuous, blushing modesty,

       Glowed with the flames of unrestrained desire.

       You cast away the veil of secrecy,

       And the flagitious daring of the man

       O'ercame your natural coyness: you exposed

       Your shame, unblushingly, to public gaze:

       You let the murderer, whom the people followed

       With curses, through the streets of Edinburgh,

       Before you bear the royal sword of Scotland

       In triumph. You begirt your parliament

       With armed bands; and by this shameless farce,

       There,