Mary Stuart. Фридрих Шиллер

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SCENE VI.

       Table of Contents

      MARY, MORTIMER.

       MARY.

       From my uncle

       In France—the worthy Cardinal of Lorrain?

       [She reads.

       "Confide in Mortimer, who brings you this;

       You have no truer, firmer friend in England."

       [Looking at him with astonishment.

       Can I believe it? Is there no delusion

       To cheat my senses? Do I find a friend

       So near, when I conceived myself abandoned

       By the whole world? And find that friend in you,

       The nephew of my gaoler, whom I thought

       My most inveterate enemy?

       MORTIMER (kneeling).

       Oh, pardon,

       My gracious liege, for the detested mask,

       Which it has cost me pain enough to wear;

       Yet through such means alone have I the power

       To see you, and to bring you help and rescue.

       MARY.

       Arise, sir; you astonish me; I cannot

       So suddenly emerge from the abyss

       Of wretchedness to hope: let me conceive

       This happiness, that I may credit it.

       MORTIMER.

       Our time is brief: each moment I expect

       My uncle, whom a hated man attends;

       Hear, then, before his terrible commission

       Surprises you, how heaven prepares your rescue.

       MARY.

       You come in token of its wondrous power.

       MORTIMER.

       Allow me of myself to speak.

       MARY.

       Say on.

       MORTIMER.

       I scarce, my liege, had numbered twenty years,

       Trained in the path of strictest discipline

       And nursed in deadliest hate to papacy,

       When led by irresistible desire

       For foreign travel, I resolved to leave

       My country and its puritanic faith

       Far, far behind me: soon with rapid speed

       I flew through France, and bent my eager course

       On to the plains of far-famed Italy.

       'Twas then the time of the great jubilee:

       And crowds of palmers filled the public roads;

       Each image was adorned with garlands; 'twas

       As if all human-kind were wandering forth

       In pilgrimage towards the heavenly kingdom.

       The tide of the believing multitude

       Bore me too onward, with resistless force,

       Into the streets of Rome. What was my wonder,

       As the magnificence of stately columns

       Rushed on my sight! the vast triumphal arches,

       The Colosseum's grandeur, with amazement

       Struck my admiring senses; the sublime

       Creative spirit held my soul a prisoner

       In the fair world of wonders it had framed.

       I ne'er had felt the power of art till now.

       The church that reared me hates the charms of sense;

       It tolerates no image, it adores

       But the unseen, the incorporeal word.

       What were my feelings, then, as I approached

       The threshold of the churches, and within,

       Heard heavenly music floating in the air:

       While from the walls and high-wrought roofs there streamed

       Crowds of celestial forms in endless train—

       When the Most High, Most Glorious pervaded

       My captivated sense in real presence!

       And when I saw the great and godlike visions,

       The Salutation, the Nativity,

       The Holy Mother, and the Trinity's

       Descent, the luminous transfiguration

       And last the holy pontiff, clad in all

       The glory of his office, bless the people!

       Oh! what is all the pomp of gold and jewels

       With which the kings of earth adorn themselves!

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