Читать книгу Mary Stuart - Фридрих Шиллер, Friedrich von Schiller - Страница 3

   O gracious queen! they tread us under foot;

   No end of tyranny and base oppression;

   Each coming day heaps fresh indignities,

   New sufferings on thy royal head.

                     Be calm —

   Say, what has happened?

                See! thy cabinet

   Is forced – thy papers – and thy only treasure,

   Which with such pains we had secured, the last

   Poor remnant of thy bridal ornaments

   From France, is in his hands – naught now remains

   Of royal state – thou art indeed bereft!

   Compose yourself, my Hannah! and believe me,

   'Tis not these baubles that can make a queen —

   Basely indeed they may behave to us,

   But they cannot debase us. I have learned

   To use myself to many a change in England;

   I can support this too. Sir, you have taken

   By force what I this very day designed

   To have delivered to you. There's a letter

   Amongst these papers for my royal sister

   Of England. Pledge me, sir, your word of honor,

   To give it to her majesty's own hands,

   And not to the deceitful care of Burleigh.

   I shall consider what is best to do.

   Sir, you shall know its import. In this letter

   I beg a favor, a great favor of her, —

   That she herself will give me audience, – she

   Whom I have never seen. I have been summoned

   Before a court of men, whom I can ne'er

   Acknowledge as my peers – of men to whom

   My heart denies its confidence. The queen

   Is of my family, my rank, my sex;

   To her alone – a sister, queen, and woman —

   Can I unfold my heart.

               Too oft, my lady,

   Have you intrusted both your fate and honor

   To men less worthy your esteem than these.

   I, in the letter, beg another favor,

   And surely naught but inhumanity

   Can here reject my prayer. These many years

   Have I, in prison, missed the church's comfort,

   The blessings of the sacraments – and she

   Who robs me of my freedom and my crown,

   Who seeks my very life, can never wish

   To shut the gates of heaven upon my soul.

   Whene'er you wish, the dean shall wait upon you.

   Talk to me not of deans. I ask the aid

   Of one of my own church – a Catholic priest.

   [That is against the published laws of England.

   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.

   These serious contemplations well become you.

   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.

               This liberty

   May be allowed to you, for England's queen

   Will not enrich herself by plundering you.

   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!

   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.]

   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.

   Close your accounts with heaven.

                    From heaven I hope

   For mercy, sir; and from my earthly judges

   I hope, and still expect, the strictest justice.

   Justice, depend upon it, will be done you.

   Is the suit ended, sir?

                I cannot tell.

   Am I condemned?

            I cannot answer, lady.

   The day will shine upon it, doubt it not.]

   Despatch is here the fashion. Is it meant

   The murderer shall surprise me, like the judges?

   Still entertain that thought and he will find you

   Better prepared to meet your fate than they did.

   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.

   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.