University of Virginia Library

Scene VII

—Carberry Hill. The Queen's army about her; she wears a countrywoman's dress. Her horse is near. She speaks with Kircaldy of Grange
Queen
I cannot be so murderous in my soul
To shed my people's blood; while I was sitting
On yonder stone beneath the hawthorn-tree,
I thought of every kind device to shelter
My faithless subjects from their punishment.
But I am dazed; the sun all afternoon
Has streamed upon my head, I cannot hold
Firm converse with myself, and seem to grow
Confused as in a swoon. This long, slow day
Labours with tangled issues.

Grange
I am come,
Madam, at your request, and on my knees
Attend your will.

Queen
I hear that friends of mine
In parley with your leaders have declared
Their wish for single combat.

Grange
To prevent
The slaughter that you dread.

Queen
'Tis very strange!
They gave me to a husband, whom they now,
Because I love not bloodshed, would destroy
Before my eyes.

Grange
Have you so little trust
In your good cause and his that you should look
For death as God's award if he should fight?

Queen
Sir, he has borne his trial, and the voice
Of law has called him pure.

Grange
I wish all men
Believed the judgment.

Queen
We are much offended
By any words dishonourably spoken
That touch our husband's honour.

Enter Bothwell
Bothwell
Is it I
With whom they pick a quarrel? Let them say
What harm I ever did them. I have injured
Not one among them, but have simply wrought
As they desired. I tell you, laird of Grange,
'Tis envy brings them to the field: they see
My eminence and grieve. They never knew
That fortune, like a woman, sits and waits
Longing to feel her conqueror. I won
By sudden rape, I handled destiny
As if she were a prey.

Queen
You give no heed
To present business. (Apart)
As he rode along
High-mounted, with the lion upon my banner,
Flapping about his cheek, I loved him—now
An evil coldness strikes me.

Bothwell
Give command,
I am your common soldier, and your will
The only motion in me.

Queen
You must fight,
And prove before the armies your acquittal
Was veritable innocence.

Bothwell
My sword
Is ready, sir.—Marie, you gave your order
More strictly than you need.

Queen
The time is short,
The enemy impatient.

Bothwell
(To Grange)
Step aside.

(They converse)
Queen
How dim it is about the woodland's edge;
The twilight seems to rise up from the earth;
I never felt so cheerless. I could wish
To take a needle at my tapestry,
And at an open window sit and sing;
It would be less monotonous by far
Than this uncertainty that stuns my head,—
All the vague action that has circled me,
And made me like a stranger to myself
Hour after hour. Although the evening grows
More intimate and nearer I can watch
Our weary soldiers, parting from their ranks
In search of food and drink; the army sunders
In tired confusion. I shall let him fight,
Though I refused this morning. I am hard,
His fires have burnt me hard as in the oven
The soft, responsive clay. He ever was
To me a faithful subject, and my soul
Was built upon his loyalty, until
I found that as a lover he could do
Stern treason, and could wrong me in such sort
As turns affection marble. It is fearful
To have this vile disease within the heart,
This cold paralysis, to long for cure,
Yet to remain inveterately dead
Just where you once were loving and divine,
And soft compassion pained you.

Bothwell
(To the Queen)
All is settled.
The laird of Grange would bid adieu.

Queen
God speed!
I will receive the lords if they repent,
And turn away my anger.

Grange
Our condition
The duke of Orkney grants—that he should meet
A peer, and prove his cause.

Bothwell
I will.

Queen
Adieu.

Exit Grange
Bothwell
(Unsheathing his sword)
It shines a confident, fine-tempered blade
As ever did good work. You tremble, Marie,
Yet not the wifely way. This pensive lip,
These dreaming eyes! O lass, I wield the sword
To keep you ever mine, to hold from foes
My prize, my love, my crown. Before I smite
And triumph, kiss me with warm mouth, and breathe
Success! between the kisses.

Queen
Ha, I am
Too tired and anxious to encourage you;
And, James, you are so bravely made, so doughty,
You need no pricking words. Turn, I will fasten
Your scarf more firmly; you have ever loved
The gayest colours, fie!

Bothwell
They are more royal,
More wealthy than all others, have the front
To capture sight. Well, these are perfect hands
Knotting my plaid, but in an hour, I tell you,
They will be busy with my corpse, if thus
You send me forth to battle. Do you care
That I should win, or are you so estranged
You will give welcome to the laird of Grange
If with soft manners he report me slain,—
Curse him!—and lead you to a widowed throne?

Queen
James, if my love is dead, it is your hand
Hath murdered it, and all that now is left
Is a long night of mourning. Oh, I feel
Stricken and hopeless as a mother bird
Covering her callow brood when there's no warmth,
No twitter in the nest; the use of loving
Was over long ago.

Bothwell
The wanton birds
Get them new mates.

Queen
The linnet, broken-winged,
Dies in a bright-eyed silence 'neath the bush.
Think not, if death should take you, any more
There can be mirth in Mary Stuart's heart,
But fond with her old fondness, she will build
Her life upon some relic of the past,
As many stately priories have been founded
Over a heap of long-since mouldered bones.
All will be recollection.

Bothwell
Must I fight
For a mere shade?—Confound their trickery!
They move their squadrons; I must hasten yonder
Before they snatch advantage.

Exit
Queen
(Looking anxiously over the field)
Is it so?
I will awake and reason, win his safety;
And then—O God! there is another knot
I must untie, release him from myself.
(She hastily writes a message and gives it to a Soldier)
Bear this to the encampment.
Exit Soldier
I must act
For him—then take possession of my sole,
Unflawed estate, my sovereignty, and draw
Down slowly on base, unsuspecting heads
Such retribution as God pays for wrongs
Done to His honour; I will lift myself
Among the kings and punish.
A rare love
Sustains me: wheresoe'er I lie to-night
He will be safe, I shall not have a care.
I think I shall sleep on through many days
And nights just dreaming that I do not dream;
There is no other comfort.
Re-enter Grange
Kircaldy,
Hear my brief terms: if you are willing now
To take me to your ranks I will return
In single royalty, bespeaking mere
Safe-conduct for my husband, no pursuit.

Grange
Most just conditions. Madam, you have won
To-day a signal triumph.

Re-enter Bothwell at a distance.
Queen
Leave me, Grange;
While you make final parley with the lords
I will convey my pleasure to the duke,
And speed him from my presence.
(Seeing Bothwell bidding an arquebusier aim at Grange)
Haste, the guard
About me is provoked at your delay,
Repression, change of front. God's peace! they shoot
Unless you leave the ground.
Exit Grange
(Angrily to Bothwell)
You know he lies
Beneath my great protection: would you slur
My queenly faith, and 'gainst an embassy
Level your lawless weapons?

Bothwell
A dull face
Watched me away; the lights are burning now
Athwart your lips and eyes. O Marie, Marie,
I know that you are false; you have made terms
To hand me to the headsman. Give the news!
And so you never meant that I should fight,
You have been busy fooling me all day,
Wrecking and fooling. May you never know
The agony of loving with such hate.

(He covers his face with his hands, she moves toward him, then controls herself, turns back, and stands apart)
Queen
The steep and rending moment comes at last,
Comes with the sunset. (To Bothwell)
I have fixed my will;
You cannot win the day now day is done.
I am a queen, and must resume the rule,
And heed the counsel of my subjects: therefore
I pass across the valley to the lords,
And you in safety ride back to Dunbar.
'Tis so I have determined.

Bothwell
Earth and sea!
How dare you speak like this? Impossible,
Exclusive voice, that smites like ugliness,
As if a magic woman had been changed
To dragon in a second. At Dunbar
My walls were round you; now, in open air,
You look out on that army of your foes,
And my poor, melted ranks.

Queen
We must be brief.
Imperial guidance in my nature draws me
Over the valley: I must follow it,
And part with you.

Bothwell
The impulse is a fool's!
Those men are traitors, and their crime is greedy
For its occasion. Love, return, return
To yon siege-proof Dunbar, and I will fight
To the last drop of blood to keep you mine;
To-day I should have conquered, if the battle
Had not been struck with paralytic sun.

Queen
Grange brings me pledge of loyalty. My lord,
Where you have used me ill I have forgiven,
And signed away your treason: if my realm
Raise charges of another dye against you,
With claim for scrutiny more liberal
Than what acquitted you, I stand your help
And your protection, until innocence
Is reconfirmed.

Bothwell
I might as well be dead,
A ghost in my despair. I find but ice,
When I have reached the summit o' the world,
And thought its poles were mine.

Queen
O James, I freeze,
Because so much is dying in my heart
Ere we can kiss and sever.

Bothwell
Come along,
Break from this stagnant hill-side, where I feel
As if the fates in yonder setting sky
Prepared for us imprisonment. My swift,
Free-tempered wife, come with me to Dunbar;
I will defend you, while beneath your feet
Will sway the chainless waters. I implore,
Not as the consort of your sovereignty,
But as a man who loves you. Do not sweep
The great brim of your hat across your face,
And leave me but that crystal ball, your chin,
For divination of my future lot;
Grant me your eyes.

Queen
We have short space of time,
Short moments; Grange is coming from the camp.

Bothwell
You often longed to leave your kingdom, sail
For liberty away; to greet the foam
By loosened hair on wind-washed cheek; to slip
Within revolving, spheral influence,
To wayfare through the world. We will escape
Aboard—

Queen
Ah, let me think of you at sea;
Have joy in taming what you cannot tame,
The pliant, dauntless swell.

Bothwell
In hearing of
The ocean's sough, we yet can hold Dunbar—
Those stout and ruddy stones that dye with red
The swinging tides. Be dominant, recall
Black Agnes and her feminine defence,
My Amazon!—You will not turn your eyes,
Your indiscoverable, watchful eyes;
I know they weep within the orbs, while mine
Are wet with anguish.

Queen
(Half-apart)
How the worst of wrong
Is the new wrong one does to set it right!
Even God, our God, must make a hell to chasten
The evil He permits: O heart, this voice
Will break me into ruin!

Bothwell
For one night
Turn back to refuge,—that the Hamiltons
May find us with their strength. You ever loved
A cool, dawn-ended gallop.

Queen
For my crown
I fled this way these eighteen months long passed.

Bothwell
For that fly now.

Queen
Grange renders me allegiance,
An oath of loyalty.

Bothwell
The very grain
And compass of my nature questions you—
Will you not come?

Queen
I cannot.

Bothwell
This wild stroke
Dashes my hopes out.

(He casts himself down on a rock. Grange rides up; the Queen meets him)
Grange
Let me kiss your hand;
The lords, your honest subjects, welcome you
Whom they alone obey.

(She bows and motions Grange to go further off; then returns to Bothwell, who springs fiercely up)
Queen
We must not think,
No, not even speak . . . but kiss.

Bothwell
I will not come
To trial, if invited. I have more
Of fiendish pride than that. Shall murderer
Be judged by fellow-murderer? Ha, ha!
That were fine reformation in the state;
I'm for old ways of justice anyhow.
Look here, my lady!

(Holding out a parchment)
Queen
How his swollen, white lip
Is terrible!—Explain!

Bothwell
I let you choose
The company you are so sweet upon.
Here in this bond are stainless signatures,
Morton and Moray, Lethington, Argyle.
See, see! And for the purpose—what is that?
The king's destruction.

Queen
And you hold the bond,
Then . . . .

Bothwell
You shall make no blab. I throw myself
Upon your honour in extreme attempt
To save you. In the mitigating light
Of your sweet face, and kneeling as to one
White in the heavens, I now confess my guilt;
Yet though you walked aloft so clean and proud,
It was your will that wrought at Kirk o' Field,
Your will that made me a black, blasted devil:
You have not a frank, amorous face for naught—
To watch the change of climate on your cheek
Is all-sufficing. Do not turn from me,
As if a statue took possession of
Your breathing frame. O Marie! I am lone
As Adam on the sod before his bliss,
His woman girt him, if you turn away.
All I have done is horror in my nights,
And follows day like pestilence—all, all,
Was done for you: demoniac and lovely
You came to rule me; do not start; I plead
That when you entered me you were no more
The queen, the lady—but a temptress love;
It was no fault of yours; we cannot tell
How we drop down in other natures. I
Was born half-wizard on my southern hills.
A bandit like my sires, a worshipper
Of rich, exalted women . . . and you set
My elements a-flame. Such wrought desire
Will murder, ravish, spell-bind. I shall grasp
Your wrists until you soften.

Queen
Loose! Farewell!
There is no circle of God's ire for pain
Like this horizon; yet I stay alive—
The wonder breath provides for. And this bond . . ?

Bothwell
Keep it with care, it is my testament;
And I am for the whirlwind—for no bonds
Of marriage or of fellowship henceforth.
The falsehood of the universe is gathered
In vow and pact; goodbye to them, goodbye
To you! There stands my horse, there are my towers!
You know your men, you know how merrily
They will receive you. We shall never meet
Again. At least I catch your hand and kiss
Where Grange has kissed the finger that I ringed.
Death, I must go!

Queen
We write to you our will.
(He leaps on his horse)
Be strong in me, my terror; hold me up
From where a gulf has opened! My whole life
Will see that form a' riding to the glare
Of far-off sunset. (Dropping the parchment)
Laird of Grange, I come.
We have what is the calm of sovereignty,
That faith it has in subjects.

Grange
See, the lords
Advance their arms and ranks to compass you,
As with a land's embrace.

(He stoops and snatches the bond up)
Enter Morton, Argyle, Lords, and Army
Queen
(To Morton)
We had no will
To shed enfiefèd blood; and therefore freely
Join you, our earls and nobles, that together
We may unravel discord and present
To foreign gaze accompt.

Morton
(Kneeling)
You find yourself
Where you pertain, among your lieges, madam,
And we will hold you fast!

Cry
Burn her!

Queen
(Apart)
His lips
Are far away. What is it that is thrown?
I am not wholly queen above myself;
I have unsettling fancies. Lead me on,
Deep to your trusty centre. There are smiles,
Though I am over spent. When I have rested
I shall breathe olden life in all I do.
Ah, my good people! . . . . . . Mercy, what is this!
Why flap this buried man? Would I had never
Seen him before! I know he looked like that—
So long in his long coffin—and the child!
I've clapped those chubby fingers in my palm
That point to point beg vengeance of the Lord;
For once I heard a little, lonesome cry,
And then a voice that said I had a son.

Cries
The murderess, ha, the murderess!

Queen
I would rather
Hear of the evil that I have not done,
Than do the evil of which nought is heard,
So greater far is my respect for God—
Whom no man can deceive, who sees the drop
Of light at the well-bottom—than for man,
The misconceiving witness. I have never
Worn mask to God; before Him I could lie
As a white effigy, and let Him probe
Through to my soul. I have great need of pardon
For sins of which you cannot take account.

Cries
Burn her—the witch, the harlot!

Queen
(Wildly)
Is it hell?
Why this is Morton, Grange is striking out
To stop the spume. Look yonder, noblemen,
Strike down that standard . . . . Will it never cease
To write its libel on yon wall of sky?
Have I not made an edict that no words
Shall be set up for scandal morn or eve?
Are queenship and executive gone too?
Have they been ravished from me? I am sinking
To impotence amid such scrannel whirr
As ship whose helm and birthright government
Are taken by a sea. How strange and deep!
Kneel down, repeat your oaths of fealty—Down,
Down!

(She faints)
Morton
We have worked most manifest detection.
Press on, for darkness loads the west, a rabble
Is waiting to give cheer of Christian voices
To this high-browed adulteress, in the town.
Her hat falls off—St. Bride! her clothes are short;
Her face is blurred with evil and with tire;
She looks a thing to put away; and shortly
There must be talk of prison or of death
For her, and for her lawful son the honours
She trails into the dust. Her shameless eyes
Open, grow hot, dilate: she raves and throbs.

Queen
(In frenzy)
God speed him over seas, my lawless love;
God stop that small, defaming, pious cry,
Blazon the deed of Kirk o' Field as just,
And set the great Lord Warden o'er the world!
Would we not judge together, he and I,
Uproot these trembling, vile hypocrisies,
Recall untempered love from banishment,
And make a progress down the Canongate,
Constraining all men to our gaiety!
How vile was our false wedding, vile the banns,
The ritual—dear the rape, the ride along
The High Street with my king at bridle rein;
So should Queen Mary flaunt upon a banner
Subject, subjecting. I would follow him
In my wild, woman-scanted Highland dress
Across the world. Has he yet reached the shore,
My rough free-booter? Who craves audience now?
I choke with wrath; these scalding, vengeful tears,
Breed in my head; they cast a torchlight glare
Athwart the past, and fall in fiery sparks.
We pay for truth by madness. Give your hand,
Morton, and your's, Argyle, to squeeze in mine:
We have been fellows in deception, boldly
Wearing false hearts; but when I am a queen
Again, the axe shall split them into ruin,
And I shall swing the axe, for I am saved
Through foam and horror. I have still myself
To set within myself and crown, the true
Religion to give faith to, a lost love
To weep for through the long captivity
Of unenjoying years, and the whole earth
To gain, when I have repossessed my soul.