Leah. And you believed I had taken it?

Rud. How could I believe otherwise? I

Leah. [With rage.] And you believed I had taken it? Miserable Christian, and you cast me off! Not a question was the Jewess worth. [Subdued, but vindictive.] This, then, was thy work: this the eternity of love which you promised me. [Falling on her knees.] Forgive me, Heaven, that I forgot my nation to love this Christian. Let that love be lost in hate. Love is false, unjust; hate endless, eternal.

Rud. Cease these gloomy words of vengeance, —I have wronged you. I feel it without your reproaches. I have sinned, but to sin is human, and it would be but human to forgive.

Leah. You would tempt me again? I do not know that voice.

Rud. I will make good the evil I have done; ay, an hundredfold.

Leah. [Bitterly.] Ay, crush the flower, grind it under foot, then make good the evil you have done. [Fiercely.] No, no! An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a heart for a heart.

Do

Rud. Hold, fierce woman, I will beseech no more! not tempt Heaven; let it be the judge between us! If I have sinned through love, see that you do not sin through hate.

Leah. Blasphemer! and you dare call on Heaven! What commandment hast thou not broken? Thou shalt not swear falsely, you broke faith with me! Thou shalt not steal, you stole my heart. Thou shalt not kill, — what of life have you left me?

Rud. [Advances towards her.] Hold, hold! No more. Leah. [Repelling him.] The old man who died because I loved you; the woman who hungered because I followed you; the infant who died of thirst because of you; may they follow you in dreams, and be a drag upon your feet forever! May you wander as I wander, suffer shame as I now suffer it! Cursed be the land you till; may it keep faith with you, as you kept faith with me! Cursed be the unborn fruit of thy

marriage! may it wither as my young heart has withered! and, should it ever see the light, may its brows be blackened by the mark of Cain, and may it vainly pant for nourishment on its dying mother's breast! [Snatching the wreath from his uplifted hand.] Cursed, thrice cursed may you be evermore! and as my people on Mount Ebal spoke, so speak I thrice, Amen! Amen! Amen!

[RUDOLF, who has been standing as if petrified, drops on his knees, as the curtain descends on the tableau.

CHARACTERS: ELIZABETH of England, MARY of Scotland, the Earls of LEICESTER and SHREWSBURY, and HANNAH KENNEDY, MARY'S nurse. MARY, having abdicated her throne, and after an unsuccessful attempt to retrieve her fortunes, crossed over into England, threw herself on the protection of ELIZABETH, but was there made a prisoner for life, was removed from prison to prison, was at last tried on a charge of conspiracy against the life of ELIZABETH, and sentenced to death. In the hope of arresting the execution of that sentence, MARY solicited, and at length obtained, the privilege of an interview with ELIZABETH. This took place at the Castle of Fotheringay, in 1586. The scene opens just on the arrival of ELIZABETH and her retinue at the castle.

Eliza. What seat is that, my Lord?
Leices.

"Tis Fotheringay.

Eliza. [To SHREWS.] My Lord, send back our retinue

to London :

The people crowd too eager in the roads;

We'll seek a refuge in this quiet park.

[SHREWS. sends the train away.

My honest people love me overmuch :

Thus should a God be honour'd, not a mortal.

Mary. [Who the whole time had leaned on Kennedy, rises now, and her eyes meet those of ELIZA.] O God! from out these features speaks no heart.

Eliza. What lady's that?

Leices.

My Liege !

[A general silence. You are at Fotheringay,

Eliza. [As if surprised.] Who hath done this, my Lord of Leicester?

Leices. 'Tis past, my Queen: and, now that Heaven hath led

Your footsteps hither, be magnanimous,

And let sweet pity be triumphant now.

Shrews. O royal mistress! yield to our entreaties :

O, cast your eyes on this unhappy one,

Who stands dissolved in anguish.

[MARY collects herself, and begins to advance towards ELIZA.; stops shuddering at half way.

Eliza.

How, my Lords!

Which of you then announced to me a prisoner
Bow'd down by woe? I see a haughty one,
By no means humbled by calamity.

Mary. Well, be it so: to this will I submit.
Farewell high thought, and pride of noble mind!
I will forget my dignity, and all

My sufferings; I will fall before her feet,

Who hath reduced me to this wretchedness.

The voice of Heaven decides for you, my sister.
Your happy brows are now with triumph crown'd;
I bless the Power Divine which thus hath raised you:
[Kneeling.] But in your turn be merciful, my sister;
Let me not lie before you thus disgraced :

Stretch forth your hand, your royal hand, to raise
Your sister from the depths of her distress.

Eliza. You are where it becomes you, Lady Stuart;

And thankfully I prize my God's protection,

Who hath not suffered me to kneel a suppliant
Thus at your feet, as you now kneel at mine.

Mary. Think on all earthly things, vicissitudes.
O! there are gods who punish haughty pride:
Respect them, honour them, the dreadful ones
Who thus before thy feet have humbled me!
Before these strangers' eyes, dishonour not
Yourself in me: profane not, nor disgrace
The royal blood of Tudor. In my veins
It flows as pure a stream as in your own.
O! for God's pity, stand not so estranged
And inaccessible, like some tall cliff,
Which the poor shipwreck'd mariner in vain
Struggles to seize, and labours to embrace.

Eliza. What would you say to me, my Lady Stuart?
You wish'd to speak with me; and I, forgetting
The Queen, and all the wrongs I have sustain’d,

Fulfil the pious duty of the sister,

And grant the boon you wish'd for of my presence.
Yet I, in yielding to the generous feelings

Of magnanimity, expose myself

To rightful censure, that I stoop so low :

For well you know, you would have had me murder'd. Mary. O how shall I begin? O, how shall I

So artfully arrange my cautious words,

That they may touch, yet not offend your heart?
I am a Queen, like you, yet you have held me
Confined in prison. As a suppliant

I came to you, yet you in me insulted
The pious use of hospitality;

Slighting in me the holy law of nations,
Immured me in a dungeon, tore from me
My friends and servants; to unseemly want
I was exposed, and hurried to the bar
Of a disgraceful, insolent tribunal.
No more of this: in everlasting silence
Be buried all the cruelties I suffer'd!

See, I will throw the blame of all on fate;

'Twas not your fault, no more than it was mine :
An evil spirit rose from the abyss,

To kindle in our hearts the flames of hate,
By which our tender youth had been divided:
It grew with us, and bad, designing men
Fann'd with their ready breath the fatal fire.
Now stand we face to face: now, sister, speak;
Name but my crime, I'll fully satisfy you:
Alas! had you vouchsafed to hear me then,
When I so earnest sought to meet your eye,
It never would have come to this, nor would,
Here in this mournful place, have happen'd now
This so distressful, this so mournful meeting.

Eliza. My better stars preserved me. I was warn'd,
And laid not to my breast the poisonous adder!
Accuse not fate! your own deceitful heart
It was, the wild ambition of your House.
But God is with me, and the haughty foe

Has not maintain'd the field. The blow was aim'd
Full at my head, but yours it is which falls!

Mary. I'm in the hand of Heaven. You never will Exert so cruelly the power it gives you.

Eliza. Who shall prevent me? Say, did not your

How to conclude a peace with those they hate?

Set all the Kings of Europe the example,

Force is my only surety; no alliance

Can be concluded with a race of vipers.

uncle

Mary. O, this is but your wretched, dark suspicion !

For you have constantly regarded me

But as a stranger, and an enemy.

Had you declared me heir to your dominions.

As is my right, then gratitude and love

In me had fix'd, for you, a faithful friend

And kinswoman.

Eliza.

Your friendship is abroad.

Name you my successor! The treacherous snare!