 | Charles The First |  |
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ACT III.
SCENE I.
Westminster Hall fitted up for the King's Trial. Bradshaw, seated as President; Cromwell, Ireton, Harrison, Downes, Marten, Tichburne, and other Judges on benches; Cook and other Lawyers, Clerks, &c., at a table; a chair of State for the King on one side; the Queen, veiled, and other Ladies in a Gallery behind; the whole stage filled with Guards Spectators, &c., &c.Brad.
Hath every name been called? And every Judge
Appeared at the high summons?
Clerk.
Good my Lord,
Each one hath answered.
Ire.
(to Cromwell)
The Lord General
Is wanting still.
Crom.
The better.
Ire.
How?
Crom.
Fair son
We have enow of work—Doth not you cry
Announce the prisoner?—enow of work
For one brief day without him.—Downes sit here
Beside me man.—We lack not waverers;
Men whose long doubts would hold from rosy dawn
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In the clear Heaven of June. Of such as they
One were too many. How say'st thou good Downes?
Dow.
Even as thou say'st.
Crom.
Yet 'tis a valiant General,
A godly and a valiant. Ha! the prisoner!
Enter the King, attended by Herbert and other Servants, Hacker and guards.
(The Soldiers &c. as the King walks to his chair cry “Justice! Justice!”)
Crier.
Peace! silence in the court!
Brad.
Ye shall have justice.
My Lords Commissioners, whilst I stood pausing
How fitliest to disclose our mighty plea,
Dallying with phrase and form, yon eager cry
Shot like an arrow to the mark, laying bare
The very core of our intent. Sirs, we
Are met to render justice, met to judge
In such a cause as scarce the lucent sun
That smiles upon us from his throne hath seen
Since light was born. We sit to judge a King
Arraigned by his own people; to make inquest
Into the innocent blood which hath been spilled
Like water; into crime and tyranny,
Treason and murder. Look that we be pure
My brethren! that we cast from out our hearts
All blinding passions: Fear that blinks and trembles
At shadows ere they come; Pride that walks dazzled
In the light of her vainglory; feeble Pity
Whose sight is quenched in tears; and grim Revenge
Her fierce eyes sealed with gore. Look that we chase
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Each meaner virtue from our hearts, and cling
To Justice, only Justice. Now for thee
Charles Stuart King of England: Thou art here
To render compt of awful crimes, of treason
Conspiracy and murder. Answer!
Cook.
First
May it please you hear the charge?
King.
Stop! Who are ye
That dare to question me?
Brad.
Thy Judges.
King.
Say
My subjects. I am a King whom none may judge
On earth. Who sent ye here?
Brad.
The Commons.
King.
What!
Be there no traitors, no conspirators
No murderers save Kings, that they dare call
Stern justice down from Heaven? Sir I fling back
The charge upon their heads, the guilt, the shame,
The eternal infamy,—on them who sowed
The tares of hate in fields of love; who armed
Brother 'gainst brother, breaking the sweet peace
Of country innocence, the holy ties
Of nature breaking, making war accurst
As that Egyptian plague the worst and last
When the First-born were slain. I have no answer
For them or ye. I know ye not.
Brad.
Be warned;
Plead to the accusation.
King.
I will die
A thousand deaths, rather than by my breath
Give life to this new court against the laws
And liberties of England.
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Sir we know
Your love of liberty and England. Call
The witnesses. Be they in court?
Cook.
They wait
Without.
Brad.
Send for them quickly. Once again
King wilt thou plead?
King.
Thou hast my answer, never.
(A pause of a few moments during which the head of the King's staff on which he was leaning falls and rolls across the stage.)
Mar.
(to Ireton)
What fell? The breathless silence of this vast
And crowded court gives to each common sound
A startling clearness. What hath fallen?
Ire.
The head
Of the King's staff. See how it spins and bounds
Along the floor, as hurrying to forsake
The royal wretch its master. Now it stops
At Cromwell's feet—direct at Cromwell's feet.
Crom.
The toy is broken.
Har.
What is the device?
Some vain Idolatrous image?
Crom.
No, a crown;
A gilded crown, a hollow glittering crown,
Shaped by some quaint and cunning goldsmith. Look
On what a reed he leans, who props himself
On such a bauble.
Dow.
It rolled straight to thee;—
If thou wast superstitious—
Crom.
Pass the toy
On to the prisoner! he hath faith in omens—
I—fling him back his gewgaw!
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Master Cook
We wait too long.
Cook.
My Lord the witnesses—
Brad.
Call any man. Within our bleeding land
There lives not one so blest in ignorance
As not to know this treason. None so high
But the storm overtopped him; none so low
But the wind stooped to root him up. Call any man
The Judge upon the bench, the Halberdier
That guards the door.
Cook.
Oliver Cromwell!
Crom.
Aye?
Cook.
No need to swear him. He hath ta'en already
The Judges' oath.
Crom.
The Judges' oath, not this.
Omit no form of guardian law, remember
The life of man hangs on our lips.
King.
Smooth traitor!
(Cromwell is Sworn.)
Cook.
Lieutenant General Cromwell, wast thou present
In the great fight of Naseby?
Crom.
Was I present!
Why I think ye know that. I was.
Cook.
Didst see
The prisoner in the battle?
Crom.
Many times.
He led his army, in a better cause
I should have said right gallantly. I saw him
First in the onset, last in the retreat.
That justice let me pay the King.
Brad.
Raised he
His banner 'gainst his people? Didst thou see
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Crom.
My Lord
It rose full in the centre of their host
Floating upon the heavy air.
Cook.
The arms
Of England?
Crom.
Aye, the very lion shield
That waved at Cressi and at Azincourt
Triumphant. None may better know than I,
For it so pleased the Ruler of the Field,
The Almighty King of Battles, that my arm
Struck down the standard-bearer and restored
The English lion to the lion hearts
Of England.
Cook.
Please you, Sir, retire. Now summon—
King.
Call not another. What I have done boldly,
In the face of day and of the nation, that,
Nothing repenting, nothing derogating
From the King's high perogative, as boldly
As freely I avow—to you—to all men.
I own ye not as Judges. Ye have power
As pirates or land robbers o'er the wretch
Entrapped within their den, a power to mock
Your victim with a form of trial, to dress
Plain murder in a mask of law. As Judges
I know ye not.
Brad.
Enough that you confess
The treason—
King.
Stop! Sir, I appeal to them
Whence you derive your power.
Brad.
The people? King
Thou seest them here in us.
King.
Oh that my voice
Could reach my loyal people! That the winds
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So that each corner of the land might hear,
From the fair Southern vallies to the hills
Of my own native North, from the bleak shores
Of the great ocean to the channeled West,
Their rightful Monarch's cry. Then should ye hear
From the universal nation, town and plain,
Forest and village, the stern awful shout
Of just deliverance, mighty and prolonged,
Deafening the earth and piercing Heaven, and smiting
Each guilty conscience with such fear as waits
On the great Judgment-Day. The wish is vain—
Ah! vainer than a dream! I and my people
Are over-mastered. Yet, Sir, I demand
A conference with these masters. Tell the Commons
The King would speak with them.
Brad.
We have no power
To stay the trial.
Dow.
Nay, good my Lord, perchance
The King would yield such reason as might move
The Commons to renew the treaty. Best
Confer with them.
Crom.
(to Downes)
Art mad?
Dow.
'Tis ye are mad
That urge with a remorseless haste this work
Of savage butchery onward. I was mad
That joined ye.
Crom.
This is sudden.
Dow.
He's our King.
Crom.
Our King! Have we not faced him in the field
A thousand times? Our King! Downes, hath the Lord
Forsaken thee? Why I have seen thyself
Hewing through mailed battalia, till thy sword
And thy good arm were dyed in gore, to reach
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I am thy friend. 'Tis said,—I lend no ear
To slanderers, but this tale was forced upon me—
'Tis said that one whose grave and honoured name
Sorts ill with midnight treachery, was seen
Stealing from the Queen's lodging!—I'm thy friend,
Thy fast friend! We oft see in this bad world
The shadow Envy crawling stealthily
Behind fair Virtue;—I hold all for false
Unless thou prove it true;—I am thy friend!—
But if the sequestrators heard this tale—
Thou hast broad lands. (Aloud)
Why do ye pause?
Cook.
My high
And honouring task to plead at this great bar
For lawful liberty, for suffering conscience,
For the old guardians of our rights the Commons,
Against the lawless fiend Prerogative,
The persecuting Church, the tyrant King,
Were needless now and vain. The haughty prisoner
Denies your jurisdiction. I call on ye
For instant judgment.
Brad.
Sir, for the last time
I ask thee, wilt thou plead?
King.
Have I not answered?
Cook.
Your judgment, good my Lords!
Brad.
All ye who deem
Charles Stuart guilty, rise!
(The Judges all stand up.)
King.
What all!
Brad.
Not one
Is wanting. Clerk, record him guilty.
Cook.
Now
The sentence!
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(from the Gallery)
Traitors, hold!
Crom.
(To Ireton)
Heard'st thou a scream?
Ire.
'Tis the malignant wife of Fairfax.
Crom.
No!
A greater far than she.
Queen.
Hold, murderers!
Crom.
(aloud)
Lead
Yon railing woman from her seat. My Lord,
Please you proceed.
Queen.
(rushing to the King)
Traitors, here is my seat—
I am the Queen;—here is my place, my state,
My Lord and Sovereign,—here at thy feet.
I claim it with a prouder humbler heart,
A lowlier duty, a more loyal love,
Than when the false and glittering diadem
Encircled first my brow, a queenly bride.
Put me not from thee! scorn me not! I am
Thy wife.
King.
Oh true and faithful wife! Yet leave me,
Lest the strong armour of my soul, her patience,
Be melted by thy tears. Oh go! go! go!
This is no place for thee.
Queen.
Why thou art here!
Who shall divide us?
Ire.
Force her from him, Guards;
Remove her.
King.
Tremble ye who come so near
As but to touch her garments. Cowards! Slaves!
Though the King's power be gone, yet the man's strength
Remains unwithered. She's my wife; my all.
Crom.
None thinks to harm the Lady. Good my Lord,
The hour wears fast with these slight toys.
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I come
To aid ye, not impede. If in this land
To wear the lineal crown, maintain the laws,
Uphold the insulted Church, be crimes, then I
Am guilty, guiltier than your King. 'Twas I
That urged the war—ye know he loved me;—I
That prompted his bold councils; edged and whetted
His great resolves; spurred his high courage on
Against ye, rebels! I that armed my knight
And sent him forth to battle. Mine the crime;—
Be mine the punishment! Deliver him,
And lead me to the block. Pause ye? My blood
Is royal too. Within my veins the rich
Commingled stream of princely Medici
And regal Bourbon flows: 'Twill mount as high,
Twill stain your axe as red, t'will feed as full
Your hate of Kings.
Crom.
Madam, we wage no war
On women.
Queen.
I have warred on ye, and now—
Take heed how ye release me! He is gentle
Patient and kind; he can forgive. But I
Shall roam a frantic widow through the world,
Counting each day for lost that hath not gained
An enemy to England, a revenger
Of this foul murder.
Har.
Woman, peace! The sentence!
Queen.
Your sentence, bloody judges! As ye deal
With your anointed King the red right arm
Of Heaven shall avenge him: here on earth
By clinging fear and black remorse, and death
Unnatural ghastly death, and then the fire,
The eternal fire, where panting murderers gasp
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The Regicide.
Brad.
Peace! I have overlong
Forgotten my great office. Hence! or force
Shall rid us of thy frenzy. Know'st thou not
That curses light upon the curser's head,
As surely as the cloud which the sun drains
From the salt sea returns into the wave
In stormy gusts or plashing showers? Remove her.
Queen.
Oh mercy! mercy! I'll not curse; I'll be
As gentle as a babe. Ye cannot doom him
Whilst I stand by. Even the hard headsman veils
His victim's eyes before he strikes, afeared
Lest his heart fail. And could ye, being men
Not fiends, abide a wife's keen agony
Whilst—I'll not leave thee Charles! I'll never leave thee
King.
This is the love stronger than life, the love
Of woman. Henrietta, listen. Loose
Thy arms from round my neck; here is no axe;
This is no scaffold. We shall meet anon
Untouched, unharmed; I shall return to thee
Safe, safe,—shall bide with thee. Listen my dear one,
Thy husband prays, thy King commands thee, Go!
Go! Lead her gently, very gently.
(Exit the Queen led.)
Now
I am ready. Speak your doom, and quickly.
Brad.
Death.
Thou art adjudged to die. Sirs, do ye all
Accord in this just sentence?
The Judges all stand up.
King.
I am ready.
To a grey head, aching with royal cares,
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Brad.
Silence. The Sentence is pronounced; the time
Is past. Conduct him from the Court.
King.
Not hear me!
Me your anointed King! Look ye what justice
A meaner man may hope for.
Crom.
Why refuse
His death-speech to a prisoner? Whoso knoweth
What weight hangs on his soul. Speak on and fear not.
King.
Fear! Let the guilty fear. Feel if my pulse
Flutter? Look if my cheek be faded? Harken
If my calm breathing be not regular,
Even as an infant's who hath dropt asleep
Upon its mother's breast? As I lift up
This Sword, miscalled of Justice, my clear voice
Hoarsens nor falters not. See, I can smile
As thinking on the axe, I draw the bright
Keen edge across my hand. Fear! Would ye ask
What weight is on my soul, I tell ye none
Save that I yielded once to your decree,
And slew my Faithfullest. Oh Strafford! Strafford!
This is a retribution!
Brad.
Better weep
Thy sins than one just holy act.
King.
For ye
My subject-judges I could weep; for thee
Beloved and lovely country. Thou wilt groan
Under the tyrant Many till some bold
And crafty soldier, one who in the field
Is brave as the roused lion, at the Council
Watchful and gentle as the couchant pard,
The lovely spotted pard, what time she stoops
To spring upon her prey; one who puts on,
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A stern fanatic, a smooth hypocrite,
A fierce rebublican, a coarse buffoon,
Always a great bad man; till he shall come,
And climb the vacant throne, and fix him there,
A more than King. Cromwell, if such thou know'st
Tell him the rack would prove an easier couch
Than he shall find that throne; tell him the crown
On an Usurper's brow will scorch and burn,
As though the diamonded and ermined round
Were framed of glowing steel.
Crom.
Hath His dread wrath
Smitten thee with frenzy?
King.
Tell him, for thou know'st him,
That Doubt and Discord like fell harpies wait
Around the Usurper's board. By night, by day,
Beneath the palace roof, beneath that roof
More fair, the summer sky, fear shall appal
And danger threaten, and all natural loves
Wither and die; till on his dying bed,
Old fore his time, the wretched traitor lies
Heartbroken. Then, for well thou know'st him, Cromwell,
Bid him to think on me, and how I fell
Hewn in my strength and prime, like a proud oak,
The tallest of the forest, that but shivers
His glorious top and dies. Oh! thou shalt envy,
In thy long agony, my fall, that shakes
A kingdom but not me.
Crom.
He is possessed!—
My good Lord President, the day wears on—
Possessed of a fierce Devil!
Brad.
Lead him forth.
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Why so. Ye are warned. On to my prison, Sirs!
On to my prison!
(Soldiers &c. cry “On to Execution!” “Justice and Execution!”)
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
| Charles The First | |