University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—The King's Apartments.
The King and Herbert.
King.
Herbert!

Her.
An' please your Majesty.

King.
Go seek
The General.

Her.
Fairfax?

King.
Cromwell! Cromwell! say
The King commands his presence.
(Exit Herbert.)
To fore-run him,
To plunge at once into this stormy sea
Of griefs, to summon my great foe, to front
The obdurate Commons, the fanatic army,
Even the mock judges, they who dare to reign
Over a King, to breast them all! Then trial,
Or peace! Death or the crown! Rest comes with either
To me and England, comfortable rest,
After my many wanderings.
Enter the Queen.
Henrietta!
My wife, my Queen, is't thou? Is't not a dream?
For I have dreamed so, and awakened—Heaven
Shield me from such a waking! Is't a truth?

Queen.
Do not my tears give answer? Did that vision
Rain drops of joy like these?

King.
To see thee here
Is to be young and free again, again
A bridegroom and a King.

Queen.
Ever my King!

King.
I have heard nothing like that voice of hope
Since we were parted.

Queen.
Wherefore dost thou pause?
Why gaze on me so mournfully?

King.
Alas!
Thou art pale, my Henrietta, very pale,
And this dear hand that was so round and fair
Is thin and wan—Oh very wan!

Queen.
'Twas pining
For thee that made it so. Think on the cause,
And thou'lt not mourn its beauty.

King.
And this grief,
Will kill her! Joined to any other man
She might have lived on in her loveliness
For half an age. She's mine, and she will die.
Oh this is a sad meeting! I have longed
Have prayed to see thee—now—Would thou wast safe
In France again, my dear one!

Queen.
Say not so.
I bring thee comfort, safety. Holland, France,
Are firmly with thee; save the army, all
This rebel England is thine own; and e'en
Amid the army some the greatest, some
That call themselves thy judges. 'Tis the turn
Of fate; the reflux of the tide.

King.
Forget not
That I am a prisoner, sweet-one; a foredoomed
Discrowned prisoner. As erewhile I passed
Sadly along, a soldier in his mood
Spat on me: none rebuked him; none cried shame;
None cleft the coward to the earth.

Queen.
Oh traitors!
Oh sacrilegious rebels! Let my lips
Wipe off that scorn. My Charles, thou shalt resume
Thy state, shalt sit enthroned, a judge, a King,
Even in the solemn Hall, the lofty seat
Of their predestined treason. For thy life
It is assured—Lord Broghill and a band
Of faithful Cavaliers—But thou shalt reign.

King.
Dost thou remember Cromwell? Ere thou quitted'st
England he was most like the delving worm
Hypocrisy; that slough is cast, and now
His strong and shining wings soar high in air
As proud ambition. First demand of him
What King shall reign.

Queen.
He is my trust.

King.
Hast seen him?

Queen.
He sent me to thee now.

King.
Ha, wherefore! But I've learned to trust in nought
Save Heaven. Since thou art here I am content
To live and reign, but all in honour. I'll
Renounce no creed, resign no friend, abandon
No right or liberty of this abused
Misguided people; no nor bate one jot
Of the old prerogative, my privilege,
The right divine of Kings. Death were to me
As welcome as his pleasant evening rest
To the poor way-worn traveller;—And yet
I fain would live for thee—Cheer up, fair wife!—
Would live for love and thee. Hast seen thy children?

Queen.
Not yet. They say Elizabeth, whose face
Even when a little child resembled thine,
To wonder, hath pined after thee, and fed
Her love by thinking on thee, till she hath stolen
Unconsciously thy mien and tone and words
Of patient pensiveness; a dignity
Of youthful sorrow, beautiful and sad.

King.
Poor child! poor child! a woeful heritage!
When I have gazed on the sweet seriousness
Of her young beauty, I have pictured her
In the bright May of life, a Queenly bride,
Standing afore the altar with that look
Regal and calm, and pure as the azure skies
Of Paradise ere tears were born. Now—
Enter Cromwell.
Cromwell!

Crom.
Did'st thou desire my presence?

King.
I sent for thee
To bear my message to thy comrades.

Crom.
Sir,
I wait thy pleasure. I would welcome thee
Unto this goodly city—

King.
Doth the gaoler
Welcome his prisoner? I am Charles Stuart,
And thou—Now shame on this rebellious blood!
I thought that it was disciplined and schooled
Into proud patience. Let me not appear
Discourteous—Sir, the King is bounden to thee!
Now hear mine errand.

Queen.
Tush, hear me!

Crom.
The Queen!

Queen.
Fie! doff this strangeness, when it was thyself
That sent me hither! Cast aside the smooth
Obedient looks which hide thy thoughts. Be plain
And honest, Cromwell.

Crom.
I have ever been so.

Queen.
Open in speech and heart, even as myself,
When I, thy Queen, hold out the hand of peace
And amity, and bid thee say what title
The King shall give to his great General.

Crom.
None.
Thou bad'st me answer plainly.

Queen.
Yet thou wast
Ambitious once.

Crom.
Grant that I were,—as well
I trust I had more grace,—but say I were so,
Think'st thou not there be homely names which sound
As sweetly in men's ears? which shall outlive
A thousand titles in that book of fame,
History? All praise be to the Lord I am not
Ambitious.

Queen.
Choose thine office. Keep the name
Thy sword hath rendered famous. Be Lord Vicar;
Be Captain of the Guard; forbid this suit—
Thou can'st an if thou wilt—be Charles's friend
And second man in the kingdom.

Crom.
Second! Speak'st thou
These tempting words to me? I nor preside
O'er court or Parliament; I am not, Madam,
Lord General of the army. Seek those great ones.
My place is in the ranks. Would'st thou make me
The second in the kingdom? Seek those great ones.
The second!

Queen.
Thou, and well thou know'st it, Cromwell,
Art the main prop of this rebellion! General,
Lord President, what are they but thy tools,
Thy puppets, moved by thy directing will
As chessmen by the skilful player. 'Tis thou
That art the master-spirit of the time,
Idol of people and of army, leader
Of the fanatic Commons, judge, sole judge
Of this unrighteous cause.

Crom.
And she would make me
The second man of the kingdom! Thou but troublest
Thyself and me.

Queen.
Yet hear me but one word.

Crom.
No more of bribes!—thou bad'st me to speak plainly:
Thou hast been bred in courts and deemest them
Omnipotent o'er all. But I eschew
The Mammon of unrighteousness. I warn ye
Ye shall learn faith in one man's honesty
Before ye die.

Queen.
Never in thine! At Holmby
We trusted—Fool again—'Twas not in fear;
I dread thee not. Thou dar'st not try the King.
The very word stands as a double guard,
A triple armour, a bright shield before him;
A sacred halo plays around the head
Anointed and endiademed, a dim
Mysterious glory. Who may dare to call
For justice on a King? Who dare to touch
The crowned and lofty head?

Crom.
Was it at Hardwick,
Or Fotheringay,—fie on my dull brain—
That the fair Queen of Scots, the popish woman,
The beautiful, his grandame died?

Queen.
A Queen,
A vain and envious woman, yet a Queen,
Condemned Queen Mary. Ye are subjects, rebels,
Ye dare not try your King; all else ye may do;
All else ye have done; fought, imprisoned, chased,
Aye, tracked and hunted, like that pious Henry,
The last of the red-rose, whom visiting
Helpless in prison, his arch enemy
The fiendish Richard slew;—even as perchance—

Crom.
Shame on thy slanderous tongue! There lies my sword.
Did'st take me for a murderer? Harken, Madam;
When thou shalt speak again of Henry's death,
Remember 'twas the restless shrew of Anjou
That drove her gentle husband to his end.

King.
Take up the sword; and, wife, I prythee peace!
I yet am King enough to end these brawls.
Take up thy sword! Albeit my breast be bare,
And I unarmed before him, he'll not strike.
That were an honest murder. There be ways
Stiller and darker; there be men whose craft
Can doom with other tongues, with other hands
Can slay. I know thee, Sir.

Crom.
I would not slay
A sinner unprepared.

King.
Go to! I know thee.
Say to the Parliament that I demand
A conference Lords and Commons.

Crom.
Sir, the Commons
Will grant no conference. Thou must address thee
To the High Court of Justice, to thy judges.

King.
Oh vain and shallow treason! Have ye not
The King's High Court, the judges of the land?
I own no other. Yet if they—

Crom.
Expect.
Nothing of them but justice. I came to thee,
As to a brother, in pure charity,
In meek and Christian love, when these sharp taunts
Arose betwixt us. Still I fain would save thee.
Resign the crown.

King.
Never.

Crom.
Oh vanity
Of man's proud heart! cling to that sinful toy
A sound, an echo, a dim shadow, weakening
As the true substance flies—cling to that word,
And cast away thy life!

King.
Hold Henrietta!
What! Dost thou ask me for so poor a boon
As life to change fair honour? I've a son,
A gallant princely boy—would'st have me yield
The old ancestral crown, his heritage,
For the small privilege to crawl awhile
On this vile earth, mated with fouler worms
Than they that sleep below? Would'st have me sell
My Kingdom for a little breath?

Crom.
Thy Kingdom!
Thou hast not a stronghold left.

King.
I have one here.
Thou know'st my answer.

Queen.
Yet if there be danger—.

King.
Peace, dearest, peace! Is the day fixed?

Crom.
The day,
The very hour, is set. At noon tomorrow,
Heaven permitting—

King.
The decrees of Heaven
Be oft to man's dark mind inscrutable:
The lightning flame hath fired the straw-thatched roof
Of harmless cottagers, hath rent the spire
Of consecrated temples, hath struck down
Even the dumb innocent oak that never lied
Never rebelled, never blasphemed. A veil
Hangs before Heaven's high purpose. Yet when man
Slays man, albeit no King, a reckoning comes
A deep and awful reckoning. I'll abide
The trial.

Crom.
At thy peril.