University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The Painted Chamber. A table at which are seated Commissioners, Lawyers, &c.; a gothic window behind the table, through which objects that pass may be seen.
Bradshaw, Fairfax, Ireton, Downes, Cook, Marten, Tichburn, &c. Fairfax comes forward, followed by Bradshaw, Ireton, and Downes.
Fairfax.
Soon as the day be fixed, apprize me, Sirs;
The halberdiers shall wait ye.

Bradshaw.
Good my lord
Thou wilt not leave us? When did Fairfax fly
A post of danger? and his honoured name
Stands foremost in our roll.

Fair.
Sir, I am sworn
The soldier of the Commons, and as soldier
Obey them loyally. All that ye need
For state or for defence in this sad pageant
Our camp shall furnish. Save their General,
You may command the army. For this trial
I like it not. I am no gownsman. Sirs,
The halberdiers shall wait ye.

(Exit Fairfax.
Mar.
What a nice
And peevish conscience Fairfax bears! Will send
Arms, horses, men, to escort the prisoner, line
The Court, defend the judges, guard the scaffold—
If so our wisdom wills—yet hold himself
Content and harmless, so his single voice
Swell not the general doom.

Dow.
Yet 'tis a wise
And noble gentleman.

Brad.
Tush! a good sword-blade,
Keen in the field, but at the council dull
And heavy as the scabbard.
Enter Cromwell.
Lo! where comes
One whose bright spirit knows no dimness. Cromwell!

Crom.
Hear ye the news my masters? Harrison,
That bold and zealous soldier of our Israel,
Is here.

Brad.
Where is the King?

Crom.
The King of Kings
Delivers him unto us. Harrison
Awaits his landing. We must be prepared
For instant trial. Glad am I and proud
To greet with looks so firm and resolute
This full and frequent council.

Brad.
Yet you met
A great one who forsakes us.

Crom.
The Lord General?
Why on the battle-day such loss might cause
An hour's perplexity. Now—Hark ye Sirs!
Passing awhile Lord Fairfax' door I saw
The Queen.

Ire.
In England! Didst thou see her face?

Crom.
No. But I knew her by the wanton curls,
The mincing delicate step of pride, the gait
Erect and lofty. 'Twas herself, I say,
Vain Jezabel!

Dow.
At Fairfax' gate! Alas!
Poor lady!

Crom.
(Aside)
Ha! And must we watch thee too?
No word of this good Sirs.
(Going to the table)
Why master Cook
What needs this long indictment? Seems to me
Thou dost mistake our cause. The crime is not
A trivial larceny, where some poor thief
Is fenced and hemmed in by a form of words
In tedious repetition, endless links
Of the strong chain of law, lest at some loophole
The paltry wretch escape. We try a King,
In the stern name of Justice. Fling aside
These cumbering subtleties, this maze of words,
And in brief homely phrase, such as the soldier
May con over his watchfire, or the milk-maid
Wonderingly murmur as she tends her kine,
Or the young boy trace in his first huge scroll,
Or younger girl sew in her sampler, say
That we arraign Charles Stuart King of England
For warring on his people. Let this deed
Be clear and open as beseems the men
On whom the Lord hath set his seal. Besides
That will let loose thy stream of eloquence
Ice-bound by this cold freezing plea. What says
Our learned President?

Brad.
Thou art right. Thou art right.
Our fair intent needs not a veil. Be sure
He shall have noble trial and speedy, such
As may beseem a King.

Dow.
What is his bearing?

Crom.
Resolved and confident. Lately at Windsor
Eating a Spanish melon of choice flavour,
He bade his servant Herbert send the seeds
To be sowed straight at Hampton.

Mar.
Many men
Plant acorns for their successors; this King sets
A gourd.

Crom.
The Prophet's gourd. We are all mortal.
Sow but a grain of mustard, the green thing
Which soonest springs from death to life, and thou
Shalt wither ere the leaflets shoot.

Ire.
The King
Deems that ye dare not try him.

Brad.
Dare not! Cromwell
How soon dost think—

Crom.
Was't not the plash of oars?

Brad.
Cromwell!

Ire.
He hears thee not. His sense rejects
All sound save that for which with such intense
And passionate zeal he listens. See his cheek
Quivers with expectation. Its old hue
Of ruddy brown is gone.

Crom.
Hark! Hark! my masters!
He is come! He is come! We are about to do
A deed which shall draw on us questioning eyes
From the astonied nations. Men shall gaze
Afeared and wondering on this spot of earth,
As on a comet in the Heavens, fatal
To kings of old. Start ye? Why at the first
I started, as a man who in a dream
Sees indistinct and terrible grim forms
Of death and danger float before his glazed
And wondering eyes; but then as one who wakes
The inspiring light fell on me, and I saw
The guiding hand of Providence visibly
Beckoning to the great combat. We are His soldiers
Following the Cloud by day, the Fire by night:—
And shall we not be constant? We are arrayed
Against the stiff combined embodied spirits
Of prelacy and tyranny:—Shall we not
Be bold?
(The King, Herbert, Harrison, &c. pass the window.)
See! See! he passes! So shall pass
The oppressor from the earth. His very shadow
The very traces of his foot are gone,
And the English ground is free, the English air
Free, free!—All praise be to His mighty name!
This is the crowning work.

(The Scene closes.)

Scene II.

—A Gallery leading to the King's Prison.
The Queen, Lady Fairfax, a Centinel.
Lady Fairfax.
Another guard! The pass-word that hath served us
Through court, and gate, and hall, will fail us here;
This is the immediate prison of the King.
Say, Royal Madam, had we best accost
Yon centinel?

Queen.
The prison of the King!
And I have lived to hear those words that pierce
My heart like daggers spoken familiarly
As she would say good day or fare ye well!
The prison of the King! England hath been
His prison—but this one leads—My Lady Fairfax
Command him to admit us.

Lady F.
He draws nigh.

Centinel.
Fair mistresses how won ye here? This gallery
Leads to the prisoner's chambers.

Lady F.
We would see him.
Admit us.

Cent.
Be ye frenetic? know ye not
That, save the Lords Commissioners none dare
Approach the prisoner?

Queen.
Say the King.

Cent.
Who art thou
That speak'st with such command?

Lady F.
Know'st thou not me?
Thy General's wife.

Cent.
I am of Cromwell's soldiers,
And own no woman's rule.

Queen.
Admit us, slave!
I am the Queen, thy Queen, the Queen of England!
Make way.

Cent.
Stand back I say.

Queen.
I am a wife
Seeking her husband in his prison. Soldier,
If thou have a man's heart!

Lady F.
Here's money for thee—
Admit her.

Cent.
I have fought in twenty fields
A veteran of the cause. Put up your gold.
And, madam, please you home!

Queen.
Here is my home,—
My husband's prison gate. I'll live here, die here,
Here will I watch without as he within,
Till death, the great deliverer comes to free
The captives. This shall be my grave. Charles! Charles!

Lady F.
Peace! Peace!

Queen.
I thought I heard him. Charles! my Charles!
My King! My Husband!

Cent.
There are many chambers
Between thee and the King. I prythee hence!

Lady F.
Madam, take patience.

Queen.
Charles! He must be dead
Already that he answers not.

Enter Cromwell.
Crom.
What means
This clamorous din of female tongues so near
The prison of the King? The Lady Fairfax!

Queen.
Cromwell!

Crom.
The Queen!

Queen.
Cromwell I hated thee,
Yet open yonder door, and I'll pray for thee
All my life long. Yon churlish centinel—

Crom.
Did but his duty. Lead her to her husband.

Queen.
Be quick! Be quick!

Crom.
The word is Naseby.

Queen.
On!
Be quick. Be quick!

(Exeunt Queen and Centinel)
Crom.
Now my good Lady Fairfax,
Right well beseemeth christian charity
To succour them that suffer; howsoe'er
Midst strict professors it may breed some marvel
That one so famed for rigid sanctity,
The gravest matron of the land should herd
With yonder woman.

Lady F.
With the Queen?

Crom.
A papist;
A rank Idolater; a mumming masquer;
A troller of lewd songs; a wanton dancer;
A vain upholder of that strength of Satan
The playhouse. They that be so eminent
As thou will find maligners; 'tis the curse
Of our poor fallen nature. Be not seen
Hovering about these walls. I speak in love
Of the Lord General.

Lady F.
The Lord General,
And many a godly minister, and I,
Weak woman though I be, mourn that these walls
Should come between the King and people. Peace
Had been a holier bond.

Crom.
Peace! that our General
The good Lord Fairfax, Captain of the guard,
Should tend the popish ladies to their mass;—
A high promotion! Peace! that every dungeon
May swarm with pious ministers;—forget they
Their old oppressions? Peace! that the grave matron
The Lady Fairfax may with troubled thoughts
Sit witness of lewd revels; mock and scorn
Of the light dames of the chamber, and the lordlings
Their gallants;—popinjays who scoff and jeer
At the staid solemn port, the decent coif,
The modest kerchief. I have heard such jeers
When yon gay Queen hath laughed.

Lady F.
Laughed! Hath she dared!
Vain minion!

Crom.
And to see thee with her! Thou
That shouldst have been a Jael in this land,
A Deborah, a Judith!

Lady F.
Nay, we live
Under a milder law. Whate'er their crimes
Urge not this bloody trial.

Crom.
Whoso saith
That the trial shall be bloody? He who reads
All hearts, He only knows how my soul yearns
Toward yonder pair. I seek them now, a friend,
With friendly proffers. As we reach thy coach
I'll tell thee more. Come, madam!

(Exeunt.)

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.