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متن انگلیسی فصل
The death of David Riccio
It was a Saturday evening in March 1566. I was in Edinburgh with some friends. David Riccio was there, with six or seven other people. We were in a small room, but there was a good dinner on the table, and we were happy. It was dark outside, but inside it was warm and friendly.
Suddenly, a door opened behind me. In the door was Henry Darnley, my husband. I stood up and smiled.
‘Good evening, my lord,’ I said. ‘Please come in. Would you like something to eat?’
‘No, thank you,’ he said. ‘I’m not hungry. But I want to sit next to you, wife. Please tell that man to move.’
A man got out of the chair next to me and Darnley sat beside me. Then he put his arms round me. I did not like it. His face was hot, and his eyes looked unhappy. But I smiled and said, ‘I’m happy to see you, my lord.’
‘Are you, Mary?’ He laughed. ‘Are you really?’
‘Yes, of course, my lord. But -‘
Then the second door opened and his friend, Lord Ruthven, stood there. He had a knife in his hand. His face was red, and he looked very angry.
At first no one moved. Then Ruthven said, ‘Your Majesty, send David Riccio out of this room, now! I want him!’
I looked at Riccio. He was afraid. ‘Why?’ I said. ‘Why do you want him?’
‘He is a bad, wicked man!’ Ruthven said. ‘Send him out!’
‘No!’ I said. ‘You want to kill him. David Riccio is my friend! He stays here, with me!’
‘He goes out, woman!’ Lord Ruthven said.’ King Henry, hold your wife, please!’
I stood up, but Darnley held my arms and I could not move. David Riccio ran behind me and held my dress. My friends in the room stood up too, and moved towards Ruthven angrily. But he had a knife in his hand.
‘Get back!’ he said angrily. ‘Don’t touch me!’
Then five men with knives ran into the little room, and there was a fight. One man held a knife in my face, and another man hit David Riccio, behind me. Then they pulled him out of the room.
‘Help me!’ he screamed. ‘Help me, my Queen - please! They’re going to kill me! Don’t - aaaaaargh!’
I couldn’t help him, because Darnley had me in his arms. But I could hear David Riccio’s screams. I think he fell down the stairs, and he screamed for two or three minutes. Then it was quiet.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked Darnley angrily. ‘Riccio is a good man - why are you doing this?’
Darnley laughed. ‘You are my wife, Mary - not David Riccio’s!’ he said. ‘So why are you with him every evening? You never talk to me!’
‘I don’t talk to you because you are never here! ‘I said. ‘You are always drinking with your friends! You aren’t a king, you’re a stupid boy!’
He laughed again. It was not a nice laugh. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I am a boy, but that is better than David Riccio, now. Do you want to go and see him?’
I did see him, five minutes after that. He was very dead, and there was blood all over the floor. Poor David Riccio. He sings to God now, not me.
I looked at Henry Darnley, my husband. He had a stupid smile on his face. But I think he was afraid of me. I looked at him a long time, and the smile went away.
‘Remember this night, husband,’ I said to him. ‘Remember it well. Think about it when you look into my eyes, and before you go to sleep. David Riccio was my friend, and you killed him in front of me. I’m never going to forget that, Henry Darnley. Never!’
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