Mary Stuart. Фридрих Шиллер
me of my freedom and my crown,
Who seeks my very life, can never wish
To shut the gates of heaven upon my soul.
PAULET.
Whene'er you wish, the dean shall wait upon you.
MARY (interrupting him sharply).
Talk to me not of deans. I ask the aid
Of one of my own church—a Catholic priest.
PAULET.
[That is against the published laws of England.
MARY.
The laws of England are no rule for me.
I am not England's subject; I have ne'er
Consented to its laws, and will not bow
Before their cruel and despotic sway.
If 'tis your will, to the unheard-of rigor
Which I have borne, to add this new oppression,
I must submit to what your power ordains;
Yet will I raise my voice in loud complaints.]
I also wish a public notary,
And secretaries, to prepare my will—
My sorrows and my prison's wretchedness
Prey on my life—my days, I fear, are numbered—
I feel that I am near the gates of death.
PAULET.
These serious contemplations well become you.
MARY.
And know I then that some too ready hand
May not abridge this tedious work of sorrow?
I would indite my will and make disposal
Of what belongs to me.
PAULET.
This liberty
May be allowed to you, for England's queen
Will not enrich herself by plundering you.
MARY.
I have been parted from my faithful women,
And from my servants; tell me, where are they?
What is their fate? I can indeed dispense
At present with their service, but my heart
Will feel rejoiced to know these faithful ones
Are not exposed to suffering and to want!
PAULET.
Your servants have been cared for; [and again
You shall behold whate'er is taken from you
And all shall be restored in proper season.]
[Going.
MARY.
And will you leave my presence thus again,
And not relieve my fearful, anxious heart
From the fell torments of uncertainty?
Thanks to the vigilance of your hateful spies,
I am divided from the world; no voice
Can reach me through these prison-walls; my fate
Lies in the hands of those who wish my ruin.
A month of dread suspense is passed already
Since when the forty high commissioners
Surprised me in this castle, and erected,
With most unseemly haste, their dread tribunal;
They forced me, stunned, amazed, and unprepared,
Without an advocate, from memory,
Before their unexampled court, to answer
Their weighty charges, artfully arranged.
They came like ghosts—like ghosts they disappeared,
And since that day all mouths are closed to me.
In vain I seek to construe from your looks
Which hath prevailed—my cause's innocence
And my friends' zeal—or my foes' cursed counsel.
Oh, break this silence! let me know the worst;
What have I still to fear, and what to hope.
PAULET.
Close your accounts with heaven.
MARY.
From heaven I hope
For mercy, sir; and from my earthly judges
I hope, and still expect, the strictest justice.
PAULET.
Justice, depend upon it, will be done you.
MARY.
Is the suit ended, sir?
PAULET.
I cannot tell.
MARY.
Am I condemned?
PAULET.
I cannot answer, lady.
MARY.
[Sir, a good work fears not the light of day.
PAULET.
The day will shine upon it, doubt it not.]
MARY.
Despatch is here the fashion. Is it meant
The murderer shall surprise me, like the judges?
PAULET.
Still entertain that thought and he will find you
Better prepared to meet your fate than they did.
MARY (after a pause).
Sir, nothing can surprise me which a court
Inspired by Burleigh's hate and Hatton's zeal,
Howe'er unjust, may venture to pronounce:
But I have yet to learn how far the queen
Will dare in execution of the sentence.
PAULET.
The sovereigns of England have no fear
But for their conscience and their parliament.
What justice hath decreed her fearless hand
Will execute before the assembled world.
SCENE III.
The same. MORTIMER enters, and without paying attention
to the QUEEN, addresses PAULET.
MORTIMER.
Uncle, you're sought for.
[He retires in the same manner. The QUEEN remarks it, and
turns towards PAULET, who is about to follow him.
MARY.
Sir, one favor more
If you have aught to say to me—from you
I can bear much—I reverence your gray hairs;
But cannot bear that young man's insolence;
Spare me in future his unmannered rudeness.
PAULET.
I prize him most for that which makes you hate him
He is not, truly, one of those poor fools
Who