But I for all my love shall have no might
To help you more, mine arms and hands no power
To fasten on you more. This cleaves my heart,
That they shall never touch your body more.
But for your grief — you will not have to grieve;
For being in such poor eyes so beautiful
It must needs be as God is more than I
So much more love he hath of you than mine;
Yea, God shall not be bitter with my love,
Seeing she is so sweet.
QUEEN.
Ah my sweet fool,
Think you when God will ruin me for sin
My face of color shall prevail so much
With him, so soften the toothed iron’s edge
To save my throat a scar? nay, I am sure
I shall die somehow sadly.
CHASTELARD.
This is pure grief;
The shadow of your pity for my death,
Mere foolishness of pity: all sweet moods
Throw out such little shadows of themselves,
Leave such light fears behind. You, die like me?
Stretch your throat out that I may kiss all round
Where mine shall be cut through: suppose my mouth
The axe-edge to bite so sweet a throat in twain
With bitter iron, should not it turn soft
As lip is soft to lip?
QUEEN.
I am quite sure
I shall die sadly some day, Chastelard;
I am quite certain.
CHASTELARD.
Do not think such things;
Lest all my next world’s memories of you be
As heavy as this thought.
QUEEN.
I will not grieve you;
Forgive me that my thoughts were sick with grief.
What can I do to give you ease at heart?
Shall I kiss now? I pray you have no fear
But that I love you.
CHASTELARD.
Turn your face to me;
I do not grudge your face this death of mine;
It is too fair — by God, you are too fair.
What noise is that?
QUEEN.
Can the hour be through so soon?
I bade them give me but a little hour.
Ah! I do love you! such brief space for love!
I am yours all through, do all your will with me;
What if we lay and let them take us fast,
Lips grasping lips? I dare do anything.
CHASTELARD.
Show better cheer: let no man see you mazed;
Make haste and kiss me; cover up your throat
Lest one see tumbled lace and prate of it.
[Enter the Guard: MURRAY, DARNLEY, MARY
HAMILTON, MARY BEATON, and others with them.]
DARNLEY.
Sirs, do your charge; let him not have much time.
MARY HAMILTON.
Peace, lest you chafe the queen: look, her brows bend.
CHASTELARD.
Lords, and all you come hither for my sake,
If while my life was with me like a friend
That I must now forget the friendship of,
I have done a wrong to any man of you,
As it may be by fault of mine I have;
Of such an one I crave for courtesy
He will now cast it from his mind and heed
Like a dead thing; considering my dead fault
Worth no remembrance further than my death.
This for his gentle honor and goodwill
I do beseech him, doubting not to find
Such kindliness if he be nobly made
And of his birth a courteous race of man.
You, my Lord James, if you have aught toward me —
Or you, Lord Darnley — I dare fear no jot,
Whate’er this be wherein you were aggrieved,
But you will pardon all for gentleness.
DARNLEY.
For my part — yea, well, if the thing stand thus,
As you must die — one would not bear folk hard —
And if the rest shall hold it honorable,
Why, I do pardon you.
MURRAY.
Sir, in all things
We find no cause to speak of you but well:
For all I see, save this your deadly fault,
I hold you for a noble perfect man.
CHASTELARD.
I thank you, fair lord, for your nobleness.
You likewise, for the courtesy you have
I give you thanks, sir; and to all these lords
That have not heart to load me at my death.
Last, I beseech of the best queen of men
And royallest fair lady in the world
To pardon me my grievous mortal sin
Done in such great offence of her: for, sirs,
If ever since I came between her eyes
She hath beheld me other than I am
Or shown her honor other than it is,
Or, save in royal faultless courtesies,
Used me with favor; if by speech or face,
By salutation or by tender eyes,
She hath made a way for my desire to live,
Given ear to me or boldness to my breath;
I pray God cast me forth before day cease
Even to the heaviest place there is in hell.
Yea, if she be not stainless toward all men,
I pray this axe that I shall die upon
May cut me off body and soul from heaven.
Now for my soul’s sake I dare pray to you;
Forgive me, madam.
QUEEN.
Yea, I do, fair sir:
With all my heart in all I pardon you.
CHASTELARD.
God thank you for great mercies. Lords, set hence;
I am right loth to hold your patience here;
I must not hold much longer any man’s.
Bring me my way and bid me fare well forth.
[As they pass out the QUEEN stays MARY BEATON.]
QUEEN.
Hark hither, sweet. Get back to Holyrood
And take Carmichael with you: go both up
In some chief window whence the squares lie clear —
Seem not to know what I shall do — mark that —
And watch how things fare under. Have good cheer;
You do not think now I can let him die?
Nay, this were shameful madness if you did,
And I should hate you.
MARY BEATON.
Pray you love me, madam,
And swear you love me and will let me live,
That I may die the quicker.
QUEEN.
Nay, sweet, see,
Nay, you shall see, this must not seem devised;
I will take any man with me, and go;
Yea, for pure hate of them that hate him: yea,
Lay hold upon the headsman and bid strike
Here on my neck; if they will have him die,
Why, I will die too: queens have died this way
For less things than his love is. Nay, I know
They want no blood; I will bring swords to boot
For dear love’s rescue though half earth were slain;
What should men do with blood? Stand fast at watch;
For I will be his ransom if I die.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. — The Upper Chamber in Holyrood.
MARY BEATON seated; MARY CARMICHAEL at a window.
MARY BEATON.
Do you see nothing?
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Nay, but swarms of men
And talking women gathered in small space,
Flapping their gowns and gaping with fools’ eyes:
And a thin ring round one that seems to speak,
Holding his hands out eagerly; no more.
MARY BEATON.
Why, I hear more, I hear men shou
t The Queen.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Nay, no cries yet.
MARY BEATON.
Ah, they will cry out soon
When she comes forth; they should cry out on her;
I hear their crying in my heart. Nay, sweet,
Do not you hate her? all men, if God please,
Shall hate her one day; yea, one day no doubt
I shall worse hate her.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Pray you, be at peace;
You hurt yourself: she will be merciful;
What, could you see a true man slain for you?
I think I could not; it is not like our hearts
To have such hard sides to them.
MARY BEATON.
O, not you,
And I could nowise; there’s some blood in her
That does not run to mercy as ours doth:
That fair face and the cursed heart in her
Made keener than a knife for manslaying
Can bear strange things.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Peace, for the people come.
Ah — Murray, hooded over half his face
With plucked-down hat, few folk about him, eyes
Like a man angered; Darnley after him,
Holding our Hamilton above her wrist,
His mouth put near her hair to whisper with —
And she laughs softly, looking at her feet.
MARY BEATON.
She will not live long; God hath given her
Few days and evil, full of hate and love,
I see well now.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Hark, there’s their cry — The Queen!
Fair life and long, and good days to the Queen!
MARY BEATON.
Yea, but God knows. I feel such patience here
As I were sure in a brief while to die.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
She bends and laughs a little, graciously,
And turns half, talking to I know not whom —
A big man with great shoulders; ah, the face,
You get his face now — wide and duskish, yea
The youth burnt out of it. A goodly man,
Thewed mightily and sunburnt to the bone;
Doubtless he was away in banishment,
Or kept some march far off.
MARY BEATON.
Still you see nothing?
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Yea, now they bring him forth with a great noise,
The folk all shouting and men thrust about
Each way from him.
MARY BEATON.
Ah, Lord God, bear with me,
Help me to bear a little with my love
For thine own love, or give me some quick death.
Do not come down; I shall get strength again,
Only my breath fails. Looks he sad or blithe?
Not sad I doubt yet.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Nay, not sad a whit,
But like a man who losing gold or lands
Should lose a heavy sorrow; his face set,
The eyes not curious to the right or left,
And reading in a book, his hands unbound,
With short fleet smiles. The whole place catches breath,
Looking at him; she seems at point to speak:
Now she lies back, and laughs, with her brows drawn
And her lips drawn too. Now they read his crime —
I see the laughter tightening her chin:
Why do you bend your body and draw breath?
They will not slay him in her sight; I am sure
She will not have him slain.
MARY BEATON.
Forth, and fear not:
I was just praying to myself — one word,
A prayer I have to say for her to God
If he will mind it.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Now he looks her side;
Something he says, if one could hear thus far:
She leans out, lengthening her throat to hear
And her eyes shining.
MARY BEATON.
Ah, I had no hope:
Yea thou God knowest that I had no hope.
Let it end quickly.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Now his eyes are wide
And his smile great; and like another smile
The blood fills all his face. Her cheek and neck
Work fast and hard; she must have pardoned him,
He looks so merrily. Now he comes forth
Out of that ring of people and kneels down;
Ah, how the helve and edge of the great axe
Turn in the sunlight as the man shifts hands —
It must be for a show: because she sits
And hardly moves her head this way — I see
Her chin and lifted lips. Now she stands up,
Puts out her hand, and they fall muttering;
Ah!
MARY BEATON.
Is it done now?
MARY CARMICHAEL.
For God’s love, stay there;
Do not look out. Nay, he is dead by this;
But gather up yourself from off the floor;
Will she die too? I shut mine eyes and heard —
Sweet, do not beat your face upon the ground.
Nay, he is dead and slain.
MARY BEATON.
What, slain indeed?
I knew he would be slain. Ay, through the neck:
I knew one must be smitten through the neck
To die so quick: if one were stabbed to the heart,
He would die slower.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Will you behold him dead?
MARY BEATON.
Yea: must a dead man not be looked upon
That living one was fain of? give me way.
Lo you, what sort of hair this fellow had;
The doomsman gathers it into his hand
To grasp the head by for all men to see;
I never did that.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
For God’s love, let me go.
MARY BEATON.
I think sometimes she must have held it so,
Holding his head back, see you, by the hair
To kiss his face, still lying in his arms.
Ay, go and weep: it must be pitiful
If one could see it. What is this they say?
So perish the Queen’s traitors! Yea, but so
Perish the Queen! God, do thus much to her
For his sake only: yea, for pity’s sake
Do thus much with her.
MARY CARMICHAEL.
Prithee come in with me:
Nay, come at once.
MARY BEATON.
If I should meet with her
And spit upon her at her coming in —
But if I live then shall I see one day
When God will smite her lying harlot’s mouth —
Surely I shall. Come, I will go with you;
We will sit down together face to face
Now, and keep silence; for this life is hard,
And the end of it is quietness at last.
Come, let us go: here is no word to say.
AN USHER.
Make way there for the lord of Bothwell; room —
Place for my lord of Bothwell next the queen.
BOTHWELL
CONTENTS
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
ACT I
ACT II
ACT III
ACT IV
ACT V
BOTHWELL: A TRAGEDY
À Victor Hugo
Comme un fleuve qui donne à l’océan son âme,
J’apporte au lieu sacré d’où le vers tonne et luit
Mon drame épique et plein de tumulte et de flamme,
Où vibre un siècle éteint, où flotte un jour qui fuit.
Un peuple qui rugit sous les pieds d’une femme
Passe, et son souffle emplit d’aube et d�
��ombre et de bruit
Un ciel âpre et guerrier qui luit comme une lame
Sur l’avenir debout, sur le passé détruit.
Au fond des cieux hagards, par l’orage battue,
Une figure d’ombre et d’étoiles vêtue
Pleure et menace et brille en s’évanouissant;
Éclair d’amour qui blesse et de haine qui tue,
Fleur éclose au sommet du siècle éblouissant,
Rose à tige épineuse et que rougit le sang.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
Mary Stuart.
Mary Beaton.
Mary Seyton.
Mary Carmichael.
Jane Gordon, Countess of Bothwell.
Janet Stuart, Countess of Argyle.
Margaret Lady Douglas of Lochleven.
Lady Reres.
Henry Lord Darnley, King Consort.
James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell.
James Stuart, Earl of Murray.
James Douglas, Earl of Morton.
William Maitland of Lethington, Secretary of State.
John Knox.
David Rizzio.
The Earls of Huntley, Argyle, Caithness, Rothes, Cassilis, Athol, and Mar.
Lords Herries, Lindsay, Ruthven, Fleming, Seyton, Boyd, Ochiltree, Hume,
Arbroath, and Maxwell.
The younger Ruthven.
The Master of Ochiltree, son to Lord Ochiltree.
The Master of Maxwell, son to Lord Herries.
Sir James Melville.
Sir Robert Melville.
Sir George Douglas, uncle to Darnley.
Sir William Douglas of Lochleven.
George Douglas, his brother.
Sir William Kirkaldy of Grange.
Lord Robert Stuart, Abbot of St. Cross.
Du Croc, Ambassador from France.
Sir Nicholas Throgmorton, Ambassador from England.
John Hamilton, Archbishop of St. Andrew’s.
John Leslie, Bishop of Ross.
Arthur Erskine, Captain of the Guard.
Anthony Standen and Stuart of Traquair, Equerries.
John Erskine of Dun.
Andrew Ker of Fauldonside.
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 198