University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

—Cardinal's Bed-room in the Castle.—Cardinal in his night-gown, starts suddenly and alarmedly from his couch.
CARDINAL.
Horror, oh horror!
What was't I saw? It was a dagger sure!
I saw it in clear vision o'er my neck;
I saw its point blood-thirstily held down;
I saw its handle grip'd, horribly grip'd,
By some strong hand, whose shoulders were enwrapt
In darkness that conceal'd the murd'rer's face!
Yet 'twas a hand, methought I knew, 'twas one
Which I had often touch'd familiarly,
Which oft had eat from the same platter with me.
I'll think no more on't—'twas an idiot dream
That so awaked me.
A dream! can dreams so frighten? can a fume
Blown through the brain so terrify the spirit?
It can't be so—by heaven, there is a ruin
From some obscurity impending o'er me,
And conscience, conscience, damn'd unpitying conscience,
Spontaneously, as knowing her deserts,
Foretokens thus, and testifies my doom:
I see it yet—this dagger—though awake!
I cannot gripe it, yet it glitters still
In terror irremoveable before me.
I'll try to sleep again—Sleep! who can sleep,
Encompass'd with such hideous glaring sights?
O, I've endured to-night more racking pains,
More burning twinges of mind's agony,
Than he, whom yesterday yon fire consumed:
His body burn'd, his spirit was in bliss;
My spirit burns unquenchably, inflamed
Into a foretaste of the burning lake,
By Conscience, kindling all her hottest brands
To persecute me for that cruel death:
I've seen the man a thousand times to-night;
My curtains round me seem'd to flare with fire,
And shew his tortured count'nance staring out
Fiercely upon me wheresoe'er I look'd;
I could not bear to look upon his face,
It was so ghastly, and so full of threats;
And yet it met me at each change of gaze.
Hark!—
Is this a noise I hear? or has my dream
Shifted its vanity from eye to ear?—
It is a noise indeed; I'll see what 'tis—
[Looks out of his window.
Ha, uproar in my court!
Servants and workmen flying in alarm!
[He throws up the casement and cries down.
Ho, ye! what means this shouting, this alarm?
[A voice is heard from below answering,
My Lord, your castle's ta'en, your castle's ta'en
By Norman Lesslie, and a band with him!
CARDINAL, (continues.)
My castle taken!
By Norman Lesslie too, my castle taken!
That is the name I fear, the very worst
And hatefullest of mortal names, of which
It could be said, My lord, your castle's taken?
His was the weapon that to-night I saw;
He comes t'interpret by his act, my dream—
Unless I cheat him by escape—I'll try
The secret stairs that lead into the postern—
[He opens a concealed door, through which entering, he disappears for a little, and returns in extreme agitation.
All barricaded, all beset, all block'd
With weapons, and with faces frowning death!
Death! ha! a scurvy word—I'll bolt him out
[Bolts the door.
As long's I can. This too, I'll hide, perhaps
'Tmay buy me off—
[He hides a box of gold.
They're here, by heaven, already!

[The tumult of the Conspirators is heard gradually increasing as they approach the door of his apartment, till at last they assault it violently for admission; amid which is heard from behind the voice of
NORMAN LESSLIE.
My Lord, my Lord! admit me to your levee;
I come to pay my morning salutations,
Not by a foolish grasping of the fist,
And gaping out Good-morrow to your Grace!
Good sooth, I have a better recompence
Here in my hand, for those kind benefits
Whereby you have obliged us all, and heap'd
Large coals of fire on good George Wishart's head!
Open, my Lord! I must and will be in,
Despite of all forbiddance by your Grace!

CARDINAL.
What dost thou mean, sir, by this rude assault?
I know thee, Norman Lesslie,—thou wert once
My friend—

NORMAN.
Ay, so I was, when Beaton was my friend,
My father's and my country's—but now, now,
When Beaton is the foe of all the three,
I am his enemy, and must be in.

CARDINAL.
I will not open to the man that asks
Admission to me as an enemy!

NORMAN.
To none but enemies, my Lord, thy door
Shall open, be it with thy hand's good will,
Or by the up-breaking violence of mine.
Of these thy enemies, for thee to have
The choice, is not becoming: What needs choice
When all are one in action and design?

CARDINAL.
If ye but spare my life, I'll let you in.

MELVIL.
Haply we may, my Lord, if ye're but kind,
And entertain us strangers hospitably,
Admitting us at once into your heart.

CARDINAL.
Swear by God's wounds, that you will spare my life,
And I'll unbolt.

NORMAN.
By heav'n, I'll not swear so;
I should be perjured-guilty and blasphemer,
T'unswear by such an impious startling oath
What I have sworn more piously, and more
Conform'dly to the customs of good men.
Open, my Lord, I cannot trifle longer—

[They break open the door, and rush in.
CARDINAL,
(falling into a chair.)
Oh, Norman Lesslie, wilt thou murder me?
Spare—I was once thy friend—I'll give thee gold,
Lands, houses, any thing, but spare my life!

NORMAN.
Gold, houses, lands! No, no, I'm not the man
To barter vengeance for a candle's snuff;
I do not come a pedlar to your chamber;
I come th'avenger of myself and country.
Card'nal, I'll not detain you long;—thou hast
Upon thy hand a journey tedious long,
(Though not to Falkland—that is superseded;)
The pale hell-follow'd horse stands at thy gate,
With pendent stirrups ready for thy feet
T'ascend and seat thee in the vacant saddle;
I hear him neighing for thee in thy court;
Therefore I shall be brief. Card'nal, thou know'st
This paper, this poor-written, crooked scribble—
[Takes out and shews him the list of names marked in his hand-writing for death.]
Kenn'st it? The crank o'the writing, kenn'st thou it?
Seest thou my father's name, my uncle John's,
Mine own, all damnably consign'd to death,
By some most cowardly and cruel foe,
Whom, could I once find out, and see before me,
I'd rate him to the teeth with his misdeeds,
Till his teeth chatter'd with the chill of death;
I would unsheath mine honest poniard at him,
And stab him—thus.—

[Stabs him.
CARDINAL.
Fy, fy, I am a priest—

MELVIL.
Yea, so indeed
Thou art, but one of Satan, not of God;
The priest of God died yesterday, and rode
To Paradise upon his wheels of fire.
The priest of Satan only dies to-day,
Though he deserved long ago to die,
That so the priest of God might yet have lived;
In part 'twas my neglect, which to atone
I give it thee, though late.

[Stabs him.
CARMICHAEL.
Hold, hold, my friends, though wrathful, hold a space;
Too hotly Passion, for such serious act,
Inflames and irritates the body's nerve,
Casting a shade of blame on that which ought
To be all blameless as fair Justice is.—
O wicked man, repent thee ere thou die,
Of thy most cruel murder-stained life!
Lo, lo, the dry white ashes of God's saint,
Seen from thy window, yet lie heaped high,
Crying to heaven for thy nefarious blood,
To slake and satisfy and keep them down
From being scatter'd by the scoffing winds!
Here then, before my God, I do protest,
That nor thy person's hatred, nor the love
Of thy large-treasured wealth, nor any fear
Of danger from thy lawless boundless power,
Move me to this; it is because thou art
Th'obstinate foe of God, and of his saints,
And of his holy gospel and his law,
That I have urged my long-demurring soul
To this revenge, so cool, so unimpassion'd,
For God, and for his Church.

[Stabs him.
CARDINAL.
Fy, fy, oh, all is gone!

[He dies.
NORMAN.
Ay, all is gone;
All cruelty, all wickedness, all lust,
Through which our poor land hath been weeping long,
Happily gone, evanish'd with thy life!
Men now shall breathe in Scotland; they shall read
Their Bibles on the house-tops all aloud
Unto the passers-by; and lovers now
Shall 'spouse their pretty virgins, quite secure
From violation ere the nuptial night:
All these abominations are gone down
To Tophet with thee, to perfume thy soul
With very quintessence of sin's rank odours,
And make it dear to Satan!

STRANG.
How he died
Like to a coward!

CARMICHAEL.
Like a fool he died;
Heard you him recommend his flying soul
Unto his Maker? Not a word of that;
His thoughts and his regrets were fixt alone
On loss of life and lucre, hugging them,
Poor worldlings to the last.

LUMSDAINE.
E'en let him go;
Now that we're fairly done with him on earth,
Let him e'en pass away into his place,
Without unworthy words of contumely.
All blotch'd with sinful vileness as he is,
In pace requiescat: So I say.

KIRKALDY OF GRANGE,
(entering.)
Surely he's caught; he 'scaped not from my postern.

CARMICHAEL.
See the wolf slain that raged in God's fold!

KIRKALDY.
'Tis but a bloody sight, and yet, my friends,
I give you gratulation for myself
And for my country!

STRANG.
Yea, except the Guise,
And her oppressive Frenchmen, who will not
Be merry at the news?

CARMICHAEL.
But see, the people,
Alarmed and anxious, are collecting fast
Before the gate, to know what's going on;
To satisfy and quiet them, let us
Uplift for exposition on the window
The body of the man, who yesterday
Gazed from that very place upon the death
Of one his malice had condemn'd to fire;
Ah! little boding his own sudden end!
So shall his cruel blood, like Jezebel's,
Be sprinkled on the wall; and linger there,
Its stains unwash'd by future winter's rains
For many a generation, that our sons,
And our sons' sons, may take good note of it,
And passing say, Yet see upon these stones
The blood of him who slew the Saints of God!

[Curtain falls.