University of Virginia Library

Scene VII

—Dunbar; a chilling, gusty April afternoon: the Queen is seated in a window-seat, overlooking the sea
Queen
(Glancing toward the door)
But this is surely how they turn the key
Upon a captive! What strange dealings now
Would fortune have with me? Ah, the blithe morn
We journeyed here escaped from Holyrood!
This is the very room, where I, a' hungered,
Ate the fresh eggs, and sang for simple joy
Of liberty, while our good host looked on,
A great God love her! in his glowing eyes.
To-day he had another look; he pulled
My bridle-rein, and I forbore to strive;
As in a fortress, when they hear the step
Of foemen climbing up the secret stair,
They make no more contention on the walls.
I listen at the heart . . . Oh, foolishness!
In all that ragged country of wild sea
There is no comfort for the eye until
It rests upon the solemn light-house rock,
Whence light will issue, as the darkness spreads,
And found a safety for the mariner:
My good Lord Admiral has been to me,
In my perplexed and tempest-beaten life,
So sure a lode-star. (The door is unlocked)
Enter Bothwell

Had you entered softly,
My earl, you would have heard me praising you;
But what new danger is a-foot that thus—
Pardon, my lord!—as a rough borderer
You intercepted us as we rode back
To Holyrood, and, darkly hinting peril,
Made us your sudden guest?

Bothwell
(In a low mutter)
And prisoner.—Why,
There are some dangers that you must not know;
We keep the details from a princess' ear
Of meditated treason. You are safe
Within these walls . . . most safe from all pursuit,
And rid of evil counsellors.

Queen
How safe?

Safe!
That was Ruthven's cry; I was secure
When my robe bore a streak of Riccio's blood,
When my child leapt in terror! Safe . . . from whom?

Bothwell
From meddling intervention, from the need
Of playing widow, and, in policy's
Dull phrase, refusing me your hand. My love,
Now are you safe from the confederate eyes
Of blinking, envious gossips. The blank sea
Before us—look at it!—a pure, white sheet;
No cipher possible: yet in its sight,
Its unrecording sight, there shall be action
Would bring great kings to key-hole of that door
Were there but bruit of it: an enterprise
More hazardous and unappalled than aught
On earth attempted. Can you not conjecture,
My beauty? ’Tis more telling in effect
Than in rehearsal. How your colour rises,
Blood-red as your carnations! Ah, more wonders!
I knew you would be wonderful the moment
I had you thus discrowned and unattended:
Like some great sight of nature you must be
Explored in solitude. How magical
The alteration in your lips and brow—
A fearful, fluttering woman! Oh, you needed
This sequestration, this harsh discipline
To bring you to your senses—mark the phrase!—
Your womanly, warm senses. Seated there,
By the chink casement high above the sea,
It is a throne that has but one descent,
One deep humiliation. You refused
So simply, absolutely all my proffered
And honourable homage . . . A fair princess!
The falcon to the prey; and what a quarry!
A queen? Aye, queen all over to the small,
Protesting foot that beats against my words.
Will you not deign a parley?

Queen
James of Hepburn,
Out of your mouth there shall not rise such words
As burn my cheek; for I have found no treason
In any of your actions.

Bothwell
None in this?
It has a fair complexion . . . What a sudden,
Sharp storm is rushing in! It covers you
With flecks of foam. I love the lashing wind.
(Putting up a shutter; then bending over her)
You thought I was the Lord High Admiral,
Sleek and submissive, fitting you a pinnace
To sail to Alloa, proud to steer your craft
Though the Lord Darnley were a passenger:
I am a pirate, and I take my pleasure
Thus, thus! (Passionately seizing her hand and kissing her)
Oh, you are pround, you do not wince!
I pray you cry me mercy, for I have
No grace for those dark, alienated eyes:
I know they glittered thus on Châtelar,
Ordering the headsman. He insulted you,
You say; I urge he found you heavenly fair,
High, unattainable except by force:
He crept to you the lad's vile, sneaking way;
I take possession of you as a man.
Make free surrender, would you have my triumph
Unmixed with your despair. To gain my prize
I have made desperate havoc with events;
’Twixt me and my ambition you have set
Such obstacles! But I have hewn them down;
Now you alone stand between me and all
I covet.

Queen
The crown matrimonial?

Bothwell
I dare you mock me in the lisping tones
Of your young, craven dotard. I shall take
All matrimonial rights, all dignities,
And never harry you with petulance.
Do not fold down those lovely marble hands
As they would never tremble any more.
Breathe on me, touch me!

Queen
You would be a king,
Loaded with honour. ’Twas my husband's first
Entreaty the ambassadors should give him
Full royal title—hand-plight on the bond.

Bothwell
These dead, chill fingers!

Queen
(Rising)
Let us ride to town.

Bothwell
To-night?

Queen
This instant. There will be suspicion
I am detained against my pleasure, which
My subjects scarce will brook.

Bothwell
We will ride forth
Together when the briny air has given
My bride another cheek; two triumphing,
Young lovers. Curse this arid pensiveness;
Will nothing break you in? Why, I have seen you
Let your soft, ruddy hair blow in my face
As a flapped banner, you who banish me
Your smiles, your lips. Deep, dominating clouds
Are on your brow. I tell you, Marie Stuart,
If you bend on me those remorseless eyes
You will arouse the dull pangs of such hate
As kept the devil patient in the glades
Of Eden. I esteem you now a thing
To cow and trample.

Queen
One who doubted you
Less than all other creatures in the world,
My once-belovèd servant.

Bothwell
Ah, your tones
Have broken from their ice; the great, slow tears
Are come at last. Dearest, you have been wed,
Twice-wedded,—never loved.

Queen
Yea, on this wise,
How often by the king!

Bothwell
You shed no tears
On him, no great, unspeakable reproach;
He could not hurt you. O my soft-browed queen,
Have we not shared a secret, you and I,
On through your plighted bondage to the hour
Of your deliverance, and ’tis broken now
With terror, as the shaking up of tombs
Upon the day of judgment. Were you roused
After a dusty, unsuspicious sleep
A thousand years in Holyrood, and bidden
Go fetch your husband—would you dare unlock
The neighbour tomb?

Queen
Nay, but I do not doubt
With half-affrighted wits I should look out,
And bribe an angel to bring thitherward
My trusty earl . . .

Bothwell
O excellent caprice!
And with his arm around you . . .

Queen
I would say
In simple hardihood I loved the man,
I held him worthy, and to him would cling
Silent, the while my clamorous lords rehearsed
Their memories of me. Now indeed you laugh.
Ay, let us laugh together; yet I fear
These good men are conspirators: I could
Unfold my reasons, but to-night I tire,
As once before after too long a ride.
Send Melvil to me, it is growing dusk.

Bothwell
Melvil is gone.

Queen
I am right weary, cold,
And sick at heart. The flame is almost ash
Upon the stone. Go, fetch my women to me.
I would have rest and warmth.

Bothwell
Your maids are back
At Holyrood.

Queen
Then do you light the fire,
And bring me supper. O believe me, earl,
I know a prisoner's shifts; in my own palace
I and Argyle have broken bread together
For very hunger. Give me entertainment;
Retain the borderer's virtues: to a guest
Shelter and safe repose.

Bothwell
I will return.

Exit
Queen
To keep him human! ’Tis my single safety
To show him all my love; I ne'er have wanted
Resource. I will make speed to victory
Under the lowering heavens. Re-enter Bothwell with firewood, food, and wine

Why, we are back
To simple manners, yet I keep my state.
You bring a light, and, see! my dripping cloak
Is a wet shroud about me.—Can you find
The clasp?—Unbuckle it, and set to dry:
Now make a ruddy blaze. Here at Dunbar
I must be merry, for I feel at home
In this great room with access to the air,
Free winds, and hurricane.

Bothwell
(Unclasping and shaking her cloak)
A stormy petrel
With spray upon her wings!

Queen
Now let us eat;
But, as a grace, if I have used you hardly
Think it my rash, quick temper, and forgive.
So now you have your will; at supper-time
I never can be formal: ’tis the hour
For much unburthening of the heart. My lord,
Would you but give safe-conduct to my speech . . . .

Bothwell
I will lie down low at your feet, and gaze
At your great beauty kindling in the flame,
With all the vaporous glooms about your head.
Ah, I grow humble in this happiness,
Your slave! But first, my despot, knot the smile,
The rare smile of your lips, into a kiss.

Queen
At my lips' leisure. I shall dream to-night
O' my babe asleep at Stirling. I would fain
Lay the boy in your keeping: we will plot
To-morrow how to make the claim on Mar.

Bothwell
Still ice these hands.

Queen
I have been much distempered
Of late—Will you not chafe them?—With no loyal,
True-hearted friend to be my counsellor.
O Hepburn, ill-suspicion drives me mad;
I could not toss an apple to my child
But they must snatch it from him. Lethington
Does not support me; I can find no way
Of pleasing my vexed subjects.

Bothwell
(Rising)
I could name you
A score of Scotland's weightiest, bonded men
To force you into marriage.

Queen
They are traitors.
Is it to save me from them you pursued
This morn your rough, unwarrantable course?

Bothwell
’Tis to enact their policy. At supper
One night at Ainslie's tavern I was host
To the good houses that acquitted me,
Moray, Argyle, Huntly and Cassilis—
You know the faction—Eglinton slipped off:
We fell to loyal drinking of your health,
Praise of your beauty, and Lord Huntly swore
I was your darling; ay, my mermaid, so
They painted you, with the eyes' furious flash,
Across the banner where with double thong
You beat the hounds off from your hunted love.
Your face confirms conjecture. To be brief,
My merry mates signed this.

(Presenting the Bond)
Queen
(Overlooking the page)
Not Eglinton . . .
Morton and Moray.—Where is Maitland's name?
We will consider these ill-worded clauses,
Conceived in wantonness, and, as our judgment
Directs, yield them response. Release my hand!
It was the earl's; I give no drunken suitor
Such privilege.

(She rises and goes to a window)
Bothwell
Affix your signature,
And then, the business of the day at end,
I will retire.

Queen
(Looking out)
There are no stars to-night;
I simply catch the roaring of the sea
When I look out. I used to call my mother
On nights like these—I was a timid child—
Till she refused to come, and bid me lie
And trust in God. I have learnt confidence;
No fear is in my soul.

Bothwell
Sign me the bond.

Queen
No, no; ’tis for my bosom,
A casket letter, a most precious scroll;
Let me peruse it fully. One by one
I shall learn all my enemies by name;
Never will I be parted from this bond,
This drunken, crazy prayer, this publican
And rank solicitation. Give me leisure . . .
My husband haunted taverns.

Bothwell
You were best
Call me your husband also—You look calm,
And smooth your ruffled laces while I speak—
Let us forget him! Come, let's clink the cups!
What is it scares you? There shall be a parson
To put us in the noose. I mean to rule:
Jane Gordon knows my tactics—a divorce
Grounded on our affinity; meanwhile . . .

Queen
(Descending from the window, where she has stood, reading the bond)
Will you bring candles; there is this to read;
’Tis a state-paper and of much concern.
No, put the wine away; my head is giddy;
I must be vigilant: set me a taper.
I shall be busy till the morning break;
Then come to me; you will find all prepared.
(Apart)
Oh, trust me, I will tell a score of lies
To save him from this infamy.—I feel
A promptness and despatch. What, faint again!
You should have kept my women, for I fear
This sickness may be fatal.

Bothwell
(Supporting her)
Give me leave.
Marie, these tears upon me!

Queen
Nay, good-night.
I have no malice being nigh to death.
How strange it is! Are all the hangings black?
You used to love gay tapestry.

Bothwell
My queen,
Your mind is wandering; you need food and rest.
I swear I will not pester you; be calm,
Sleep safe till daybreak.

Queen
Then the warders come
And open. Ay, you asked me for a kiss.
Goodnight, good earl.

(She kisses him)
Bothwell
My pardon!

Queen
If I die,
All's fresh with morning. I must presently
Con this untoward paper. Leave me, earl;
You have no head for crises.

Bothwell
(Slowly retiring and glancing back doubtfully)
A great figure!
How all her youth is gone—I scarce desire her,
Sick and enfeebled; and the touch of scorn.
If she should circumvent me! We are both
In hell, which is but unfulfilment, power
Looking across a waste.

Exit
Queen
Throughout the night
No change of posture—I must weary him
With court formalities and Europe's front:
So dies the girl in me. Ah, God, I would
I were in Holyrood to close this breach
I' my honour by the headsman. Violence, threats!
What is there more to suffer? The young sea-mews
Wheel free about their nests, and, if they fall,
Dash bloody in the spray. I fear no ruin
That's sudden and precipitous—The bond!

(She lays it out before her; then falls into a fit of abstraction; her head bows over her hands, and she sleeps)