 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | V. |
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| I. |
| II. |
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| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII, IX, X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
 | The Poetical Works of Robert Browning |  |
Scene II.
—Whitehall.Charles and Strafford.
Charles.
Strafford!
Strafford.
Is it a dream? my papers, here—
Thus, as I left them, all the plans you found
So happy—(look! the track you pressed my hand
For pointing out)—and in this very room,
Over these very plans, you tell me, sir,
With the same face, too—tell me just one thing
That ruins them! How's this? What may this mean?
Sir, who has done this?
Charles.
Strafford, who but I?
You bade me put the rest away: indeed
You are alone.
Strafford.
Alone, and like to be!
No fear, when some unworthy scheme grows ripe,
Of those, who hatched it, leaving me to loose
The mischief on the world! Laud hatches war,
227
And I'm alone.
Charles.
At least, you knew as much
When first you undertook the war.
Strafford.
My liege,
Was this the way? I said, since Laud would lap
A little blood, 't were best to hurry over
The loathsome business, not to be whole months
At slaughter—one blow, only one, then, peace,
Save for the dreams. I said, to please you both
I'd lead an Irish army to the West,
While in the South an English . . . but you look
As though you had not told me fifty times
'T was a brave plan! My army is all raised,
I am prepared to join it . . .
Charles.
Hear me, Strafford!
Strafford.
. . . When, for some little thing, my whole design
Is set aside—(where is the wretched paper?)
I am to lead—(ay, here it is)—to lead
The English army: why? Northumberland
That I appointed, chooses to be sick—
Is frightened: and, meanwhile, who answers for
The Irish Parliament? or army, either?
Is this my plan?
Charles.
So disrespectful, sir?
228
My liege, do not believe it! I am yours,
Yours ever: 't is too late to think about:
To the death, yours. Elsewhere, this untoward step
Shall pass for mine; the world shall think it mine.
But here! But here! I am so seldom here,
Seldom with you, my King! I, soon to rush
Alone upon a giant in the dark!
Charles.
My Strafford!
Strafford
[examines papers awhile].
“Seize the passes of the Tyne!”
But, sir, you see—see all I say is true?
My plan was sure to prosper, so, no cause
To ask the Parliament for help; whereas
We need them frightfully.
Charles.
Need the Parliament?
Strafford.
Now, for God's sake, sir, not one error more!
We can afford no error; we draw, now,
Upon our last resource: the Parliament
Must help us!
Charles.
I've undone you, Strafford!
Strafford.
Nay—
Nay—why despond, sir, 't is not come to that!
I have not hurt you? Sir, what have I said
To hurt you? I unsay it! Don't despond!
Sir, do you turn from me?
229
My friend of friends!
Strafford.
We'll make a shift. Leave me the Parliament!
Help they us ne'er so little and I'll make
Sufficient out of it. We'll speak them fair.
They're sitting, that's one great thing; that half gives
Their sanction to us; that's much: don't despond!
Why, let them keep their money, at the worst!
The reputation of the People's help
Is all we want: we'll make shift yet!
Charles.
Good Strafford!
Strafford.
But meantime, let the sum be ne'er so small
They offer, we'll accept it: any sum—
For the look of it: the least grant tells the Scots
The Parliament is ours—their staunch ally
Turned ours: that told, there's half the blow to strike!
What will the grant be? What does Glanville think?
Charles.
Alas!
Strafford.
My liege?
Charles.
Strafford!
Strafford.
But answer me!
Have they . . . O surely not refused us half?
Half the twelve subsidies? We never looked
For all of them. How many do they give?
Charles.
You have not heard . . .
Strafford.
(What has he done?)—Heard what?
230
[The King continuing silent.
You have dissolved them!—I'll not leave this man.
Charles.
'T was old Vane's ill-judged vehemence.
Strafford.
Old Vane?
Charles.
He told them, just about to vote the half,
That nothing short of all twelve subsidies
Would serve our turn, or be accepted
Strafford.
Vane!
Vane! Who, sir, promised me, that very Vane . . .
O God, to have it gone, quite gone from me,
The one last hope—I that despair, my hope—
That I should reach his heart one day, and cure
All bitterness one day, be proud again
And young again, care for the sunshine too,
And never think of Eliot any more,—
God, and to toil for this, go far for this,
Get nearer, and still nearer, reach this heart
And find Vane there!
[Suddenly taking up a paper, and continuing with a forced calmness.Vane! Who, sir, promised me, that very Vane . . .
O God, to have it gone, quite gone from me,
The one last hope—I that despair, my hope—
That I should reach his heart one day, and cure
All bitterness one day, be proud again
And young again, care for the sunshine too,
And never think of Eliot any more,—
God, and to toil for this, go far for this,
Get nearer, and still nearer, reach this heart
And find Vane there!
Northumberland is sick:
Well, then, I take the army: Wilmot leads
The horse, and he, with Conway, must secure
The passes of the Tyne: Ormond supplies
My place in Ireland. Here, we'll try the City:
If they refuse a loan—debase the coin
And seize the bullion! we've no other choice.
Herbert . . .
Well, then, I take the army: Wilmot leads
The horse, and he, with Conway, must secure
The passes of the Tyne: Ormond supplies
My place in Ireland. Here, we'll try the City:
231
And seize the bullion! we've no other choice.
Herbert . . .
And this while I am here! with you!
And there are hosts such, hosts like Vane! I go,
And, I once gone, they'll close around you, sir,
When the least pique, pettiest mistrust, is sure
To ruin me—and you along with me!
Do you see that? And you along with me!
—Sir, you'll not ever listen to these men,
And I away, fighting your battle? Sir,
If they—if She—charge me, no matter how—
Say you, “At any time when he returns
“His head is mine!” Don't stop me there! You know
My head is yours, but never stop me there!
And there are hosts such, hosts like Vane! I go,
And, I once gone, they'll close around you, sir,
When the least pique, pettiest mistrust, is sure
To ruin me—and you along with me!
Do you see that? And you along with me!
—Sir, you'll not ever listen to these men,
And I away, fighting your battle? Sir,
If they—if She—charge me, no matter how—
Say you, “At any time when he returns
“His head is mine!” Don't stop me there! You know
My head is yours, but never stop me there!
Charles.
Too shameful, Strafford! You advised the war,
And . . .
Strafford.
I! I! that was never spoken with
Till it was entered on! That loathe the war!
That say it is the maddest, wickedest . . .
Do you know, sir, I think within my heart,
That you would say I did advise the war;
And if, through your own weakness, or what's worse,
These Scots, with God to help them, drive me back,
You will not step between the raging People
And me, to say . . .
Till it was entered on! That loathe the war!
That say it is the maddest, wickedest . . .
Do you know, sir, I think within my heart,
That you would say I did advise the war;
And if, through your own weakness, or what's worse,
These Scots, with God to help them, drive me back,
You will not step between the raging People
232
I knew it! from the first
I knew it! Never was so cold a heart!
Remember that I said it—that I never
Believed you for a moment!
I knew it! Never was so cold a heart!
Remember that I said it—that I never
Believed you for a moment!
—And, you loved me?
You thought your perfidy profoundly hid
Because I could not share the whisperings
With Vane, with Savile? What, the face was masked?
I had the heart to see, sir! Face of flesh,
But heart of stone—of smooth cold frightful stone!
Ay, call them! Shall I call for you? The Scots
Goaded to madness? Or the English—Pym—
Shall I call Pym, your subject? Oh, you think
I'll leave them in the dark about it all?
They shall not know you? Hampden, Pym shall not?
Pym, Hampden, Vane, etc., enter.You thought your perfidy profoundly hid
Because I could not share the whisperings
With Vane, with Savile? What, the face was masked?
I had the heart to see, sir! Face of flesh,
But heart of stone—of smooth cold frightful stone!
Ay, call them! Shall I call for you? The Scots
Goaded to madness? Or the English—Pym—
Shall I call Pym, your subject? Oh, you think
I'll leave them in the dark about it all?
They shall not know you? Hampden, Pym shall not?
[Dropping on his knee.]
Thus favoured with your gracious countenance
What shall a rebel League avail against
Your servant, utterly and ever yours?
So, gentlemen, the King's not even left
The privilege of bidding me farewell
Who haste to save the People—that you style
Your People—from the mercies of the Scots
And France their friend?
[To
Charles.]What shall a rebel League avail against
Your servant, utterly and ever yours?
So, gentlemen, the King's not even left
The privilege of bidding me farewell
Who haste to save the People—that you style
Your People—from the mercies of the Scots
233
Pym's grave grey eyes are fixed
Upon you, sir!
Upon you, sir!
Your pleasure, gentlemen?
Hampden.
The King dissolved us—'t is the King we seek
And not Lord Strafford.
Strafford.
—Strafford, guilty too
Of counselling the measure. [To Charles.]
(Hush . . . you know—
You have forgotten—sir, I counselled it)
A heinous matter, truly! But the King
Will yet see cause to thank me for a course
Which now, perchance . . . (Sir, tell them so!)—he blames.
Well, choose some fitter time to make your charge:
I shall be with the Scots, you understand?
Then yelp at me!
Of counselling the measure. [To Charles.]
(Hush . . . you know—
You have forgotten—sir, I counselled it)
A heinous matter, truly! But the King
Will yet see cause to thank me for a course
Which now, perchance . . . (Sir, tell them so!)—he blames.
Well, choose some fitter time to make your charge:
I shall be with the Scots, you understand?
Then yelp at me!
Meanwhile, your Majesty
Binds me, by this fresh token of your trust . . .
[Under the pretence of an earnest farewell, Strafford
conducts
Charles
to the door, in such a manner as
to hide his agitation from the rest: as the King disappears,
they turn as by one impulse to
Pym, who has
not changed his original posture of surprise.Binds me, by this fresh token of your trust . . .
Hampden.
Leave we this arrogant strong wicked man!
234
Hence, Pym! Come out of this unworthy place
To our old room again! He's gone.
[Strafford, just about to follow the King, looks back.
Pym.
Not gone!
[To Strafford.]
Keep tryst! the old appointment's made anew:
Forget not we shall meet again!
Strafford.
So be it!
And if an army follows me?
Vane.
His friends
Will entertain your army!
Pym.
I'll not say
You have misreckoned, Strafford: time shows.
You have misreckoned, Strafford: time shows.
Perish
Body and spirit! Fool to feign a doubt,
Pretend the scrupulous and nice reserve
Of one whose prowess shall achieve the feat!
What share have I in it? Do I affect
To see no dismal sign above your head
When God suspends his ruinous thunder there?
Strafford is doomed. Touch him no one of you!
[Pym, Hampden, etc., go out.Body and spirit! Fool to feign a doubt,
Pretend the scrupulous and nice reserve
Of one whose prowess shall achieve the feat!
What share have I in it? Do I affect
To see no dismal sign above your head
When God suspends his ruinous thunder there?
Strafford is doomed. Touch him no one of you!
Strafford.
Pym, we shall meet again!
Lady Carlisle
enters.
You here, child?
235
Hush—
I know it all: hush, Strafford!
Strafford.
Ah? you know?
Well. I shall make a sorry soldier, Lucy!
All knights begin their enterprise, we read,
Under the best of auspices; 't is morn,
The Lady girds his sword upon the Youth
(He's always very young)—the trumpets sound,
Cups pledge him, and, why, the King blesses him—
You need not turn a page of the romance
To learn the Dreadful Giant's fate. Indeed.
We've the fair Lady here; but she apart,—
A poor man, rarely having handled lance,
And rather old, weary, and far from sure
His Squires are not the Giant's friends. All's one:
Let us go forth!
Lady Carlisle.
Go forth?
Strafford.
What matters it?
We shall die gloriously—as the book says.
Lady Carlisle.
To Scotland? Not to Scotland?
Strafford.
Am I sick
Like your good brother, brave Northumberland?
Beside, these walls seem falling on me.
Lady Carlisle.
Strafford,
The wind that saps these walls can undermine
Your camp in Scotland, too. Whence creeps the wind?
236
A breed of silken creatures lurk and thrive
In your contempt. You'll vanquish Pym? Old Vane
Can vanquish you. And Vane you think to fly?
Rush on the Scots! Do nobly! Vane's slight sneer
Shall test success, adjust the praise, suggest
The faint result: Vane's sneer shall reach you there.
—You do not listen!
Strafford.
Oh,—I give that up!
There's fate in it: I give all here quite up.
Care not what old Vane does or Holland does
Against me! 'T is so idle to withstand!
In no case tell me what they do!
Lady Carlisle.
But, Strafford . . .
Strafford.
I want a little strife, beside; real strife;
This petty palace-warfare does me harm:
I shall feel better, fairly out of it.
Lady Carlisle.
Why do you smile?
Strafford.
I got to fear them, child!
I could have torn his throat at first, old Vane's,
As he leered at me on his stealthy way
To the Queen's closet. Lord, one loses heart!
I often found it in my heart to say
“Do not traduce me to her!”
Lady Carlisle.
But the King . . .
Strafford.
The King stood there, 't is not so long ago,
237
“Of friends!”—My King! I would have . . .
Lady Carlisle.
. . . Died for him?
Strafford.
Sworn him true, Lucy: I can die for him.
Lady Carlisle.
But go not, Strafford! But you must renounce
This project on the Scots! Die, wherefore die?
Charles never loved you.
Strafford.
And he never will.
He's not of those who care the more for men
That they're unfortunate.
Lady Carlisle.
Then wherefore die
For such a master?
Strafford.
You that told me first
How good he was—when I must leave true friends
To find a truer friend!—that drew me here
From Ireland,—“I had but to show myself
“And Charles would spurn Vane, Savile and the rest”—
You, child, to ask me this?
Lady Carlisle.
(If he have set
His heart abidingly on Charles!)
His heart abidingly on Charles!)
Then, friend,
I shall not see you any more.
I shall not see you any more.
Strafford.
Yes, Lucy.
There's one man here I have to meet.
Lady Carlisle.
(The King!
What way to save him from the King?
238
My soul—
That lent from its own store the charmed disguise
Which clothes the King—he shall behold my soul!)
Strafford,—I shall speak best if you'll not gaze
Upon me: I had never thought, indeed,
To speak, but you would perish too, so sure!
Could you but know what't is to bear, my friend,
One image stamped within you, turning blank
The else imperial brilliance of your mind,—
A weakness, but most precious,—like a flaw
I' the diamond, which should shape forth some sweet face
Yet to create, and meanwhile treasured there
Lest nature lose her gracious thought for ever!
That lent from its own store the charmed disguise
Which clothes the King—he shall behold my soul!)
Strafford,—I shall speak best if you'll not gaze
Upon me: I had never thought, indeed,
To speak, but you would perish too, so sure!
Could you but know what't is to bear, my friend,
One image stamped within you, turning blank
The else imperial brilliance of your mind,—
A weakness, but most precious,—like a flaw
I' the diamond, which should shape forth some sweet face
Yet to create, and meanwhile treasured there
Lest nature lose her gracious thought for ever!
Strafford.
When could it be? no! Yet . . . was it the day
We waited in the anteroom, till Holland
Should leave the presence-chamber?
Lady Carlisle.
What?
Strafford.
—That I
Described to you my love for Charles?
Lady Carlisle.
(Ah, no—
One must not lure him from a love like that!
Oh, let him love the King and die! 'T is past.
I shall not serve him worse for that one brief
And passionate hope, silent for ever now!)
239
I wish you well: you must be very sure
Of the King's faith, for Pym and all his crew
Will not be idle—setting Vane aside!
Strafford.
If Pym is busy,—you may write of Pym.
Lady Carlisle.
What need, since there's your King to take your part?
He may endure Vane's counsel; but for Pym—
Think you he'll suffer Pym to . . .
Strafford.
Child, your hair
Is glossier than the Queen's!
Lady Carlisle.
Is that to ask
A curl of me?
Strafford.
Scotland—the weary way!
Lady Carlisle.
Stay, let me fasten it.
—A rival's, Strafford?
Strafford
[showing the George].
He hung it there: twine yours around it, child!
Lady Carlisle.
No—no—another time—I trifle so!
And there's a masque on foot. Farewell. The Court
Is dull; do something to enliven us
In Scotland: we expect it at your hands.
Strafford.
I shall not fail in Scotland.
Lady Carlisle.
Prosper—if
You'll think of me sometimes!
Strafford.
How think of him
240
(A golden one) in my good fortune's eve.
Lady Carlisle.
Strafford . . . Well, when the eve has its last streak
The night has its first star.
[She goes out.
Strafford.
That voice of hers—
You'd think she had a heart sometimes! His voice
Is soft too.
You'd think she had a heart sometimes! His voice
Is soft too.
Only God can save him now.
Be Thou about his bed, about his path!
His path! Where's England's path? Diverging wide,
And not to join again the track my foot
Must follow—whither? All that forlorn way
Among the tombs! Far—far—till . . . What, they do
Then join again, these paths? For, huge in the dusk,
There's—Pym to face!
Be Thou about his bed, about his path!
His path! Where's England's path? Diverging wide,
And not to join again the track my foot
Must follow—whither? All that forlorn way
Among the tombs! Far—far—till . . . What, they do
Then join again, these paths? For, huge in the dusk,
There's—Pym to face!
Why then, I have a foe
To close with, and a fight to fight at last
Worthy my soul! What, do they beard the King,
And shall the King want Strafford at his need?
Am I not here?
To close with, and a fight to fight at last
Worthy my soul! What, do they beard the King,
And shall the King want Strafford at his need?
Am I not here?
Not in the market-place,
Pressed on by the rough artisans, so proud
To catch a glance from Wentworth! They lie down
Hungry yet smile “Why, it must end some day:
“Is he not watching for our sake?” Not there!
But in Whitehall, the whited sepulchre,
The . . .
Pressed on by the rough artisans, so proud
To catch a glance from Wentworth! They lie down
Hungry yet smile “Why, it must end some day:
“Is he not watching for our sake?” Not there!
241
The . . .
Curse nothing to-night! Only one name
They'll curse in all those streets to-night. Whose fault?
Did I make kings? set up, the first, a man
To represent the multitude, receive
All love in right of them—supplant them so,
Until you love the man and not the king—
The man with the mild voice and mournful eyes
Which send me forth.
They'll curse in all those streets to-night. Whose fault?
Did I make kings? set up, the first, a man
To represent the multitude, receive
All love in right of them—supplant them so,
Until you love the man and not the king—
The man with the mild voice and mournful eyes
Which send me forth.
—To breast the bloody sea
That sweeps before me: with one star for guide.
Night has its first, supreme, forsaken star.
That sweeps before me: with one star for guide.
Night has its first, supreme, forsaken star.
| The Poetical Works of Robert Browning | |