 | Charles The First |  |
62
ACT V.
SCENE I.
The King's Bedchamber.The King, starting from his Couch; Herbert asleep.
King.
Herbert! Is't time to rise? He sleeps. What sounds
Were those that roused me? Hark again! The clang
Of hammers! Yet the watch-light burns; the day
Is still unborn. This is a work of night,
Of deep funereal darkness. Each loud stroke
Rings like a knell, distinct, discordant, shrill,
Gathering, redoubling, echoing round my head,
Smiting me only with its sound amid
The slumbering city, tolling in mine ear—
A passing bell! It is the scaffold. Heaven
Grant me to tread it with as calm a heart
As I bear now. His sleep is troubled. Herbert!
'Twere best to wake him. Herbert! rouse thee, man!
Herb.
Did your Grace call?
King.
Aye; we should be today
Early astir. I've a great business toward,
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For an eternal diadem; to die—
And I would go trim as a bridegroom. Give me
Yon ermined cloak. If the crisp nipping frost
Should cause me shiver, there be tongues would call
The wintery chillness Fear. Herbert, my sleep
Hath been as soft and balmy, as young babes
Inherit from their blessed innocence,
Or hardy peasants win with honest toil.
When I awoke thy slumbers were perturbed,
Unquiet.
Herb.
Vexed, my liege, with dreams.
King.
Of what?
Herb.
So please you, Sire, demand not.
King.
Dost thou think
A dream can vex me now? Speak.
Herb.
Thrice I slept,
And thrice I woke, and thrice the self-same vision
Haunted my fancy. Seemed this very room,
This dim and waning taper, this dark couch,
Beneath whose crimson canopy reclined
A form august and stately. The pale ray
Of the watch-light dwelt upon his face, and showed
His paler lineaments, where majesty
And manly beauty, and deep trenching thought,
And Care the wrinkler, all were blended now
Into one calm and holy pensiveness,
Softened by slumber. I stood gazing on him
With weeping love, as one awake; when sudden
A thick and palpable darkness fell around,
A blindness, and dull groans and piercing shrieks
A moment echoed; then they ceased, and light
Burst forth and musick—light such as the flood
Of day-spring at the dawning, rosy, sparkling,
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Over the couch, a milk-white dove, which soared
Right upward, cleaving with its train of light
The Heavens like a star. The couch remained
Vacant
King.
Oh that the spirit so may pass!
So rise! Thrice did'st thou say?
Her.
Three times the vision
Passed o'er my fancy.
King.
A thrice-blessed omen!
Herbert, my soul is full of serious joy,
Content and peaceful as the Autumn sun,
When, smiling for awhile on the ripe sheaves
And kissing the brown woods, he bids the world
A calm goodnight. Bear witness that I die
In charity with all men; and take thou,
My kind and faithful servant, follower
Of my evil fortunes, true and tender, take
All that thy master hath to give—his thanks,
His poor but honest thanks. Another King
Shall better pay thee. Weep not. Seek the Bishop;
And if thou meet with that fair constancy,
My mournful Henrietta, strive to turn
Her steps away till—I'm a coward yet,
And fear her, lest she come to plunge my thoughts
In the deep fountain of her sad fond tears,
To win me—Ha! can that impatient foot,
That hurrying hand, which shakes the door—
Enter the Queen.
Queen.
My Charles!
King.
Haste to the Bishop.
(Exit Herbert.)
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Charles!
King.
Already here!
Thou did'st fall trembling in my arms, last night,
Dizzy and faint and spent, as the tired martlet,
Midway her voyage, drops panting on the deck,
And slumbers through the tempest. I kissed off
The tears that hung on those fair eyelids, blessing
Thy speechless weariness, thy weeping love
That sobbed itself to rest. Never did mother
Watching her fevered infant pray for sleep
So calm, so deep, so long, as I besought
Of Heaven for thee when half unconscious, yet
Moaning and plaining like a dove, they bore thee
With gentle force away. And thou art here
Already! wakened into sense and life
And the day's agony.
Queen.
Here! I have been
To Harrison, to Marten, to Lord Fairfax,
To Downes, to Ireton,—even at Bradshaw's feet
I've knelt to day. Sleep now? shall I e'er sleep
Again!
King.
At Bradshaw's feet! Oh perfect love
How can I chide thee? Yet I would thou had'st spared
Thyself and me that scorn.
Queen.
Do Hunters scorn
The shrill cries of the lioness, whose cubs
They've snared, although the Forest-Queen approach
Crouching? Do seamen scorn the forked lightning
Albeit the storm-cloud weep? They strove to soothe;
They spake of pity; one of hope.
King.
Alas!
All thy life long the torturer hope hath been
Thy master!—Yet if she can steal an hour
From grief—whom dost thou trust?
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Thyself and Heaven
And a relenting woman. Wrap thyself
Close in my cloak—Here! here!—to Lady Fairfax!
She's faithful; she'll conceal thee. Take the cloak;
Waste not a point of time, not whilst the sand
Runs in the glass. Dost fear its shortness? See
How long it is!
On with the cloak. Begone!
King.
And thou?
Queen.
My post is here.
King.
To perish
Queen.
No,
To live to a blest old age with thee in freedom.
Away my Charles, my King! I shall be safe—
And if I were not could I live if thou—
Charles, thou wilt madden me. 'Tis the first boon
I ever craved; and now, by our young loves,
By our commingled griefs, a mighty spell,
Our smiling children and this bleeding land,
Go! I conjure thee, go!
King.
I cannot.
Queen.
King
Begone! or I will speak such truth—and truth
Is a foul treason in this land—will rain
Such curses on them, as shall force them send me
To the scaffold at thy side. Fly!
King.
Dost thou see
Fierce soldiers crowded round, as if to watch
A garrisoned fort, rather than one unarmed
Defenceless man, and think'st thou I could win
A step unchallenged? Nor though to escape
Were easy as to breathe, the vigilant guard
Smitten with sudden blindness, the unnumbered
And stirring swarms of this vast city locked
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Blacker than starless night, spectral and dim
As an eclipse at noontide, though the gates
Opened before me, and my feet were swift
As the Antelope's, not then if it but perilled
A single hair of friend or foe would I
Pass o'er the threshold. In my cause too much
Of blood hath fallen. Let mine seal all. I go
To death as to a bridal; thou thyself
In thy young beauty was not welcomer
Than he. Farewell, beloved wife! My chosen!
My dear-one! We have loved as peasants love,
Been fond and true as they. Now fare thee well!
I thank thee, and I bless thee. Pray for me,
My Henrietta.
Queen.
Charles, thou shalt be saved.
Talk not of parting. I'll to Fairfax; he
Gave hope, and hope is life.
King.
Farewell!
Queen.
That word—
I prythee speak it not—withers me, lives
Like a serpent's hiss within mine ear, shouts through
My veins like poison, twines and coils about me
Clinging and killing. 'Tis a sound accurst,
A word of death and doom. Why shouldst thou speak it?
Thou shalt be saved; Fairfax shall save thee. Charles,
Give me a ringlet of thy hair—No, no,—
Not now! not now! Thou shalt not die.
King.
Sweet wife,
Say to my children that my last fond thought—
Queen.
Last! Thou shalt live to tell them of thy thoughts
Longer than they or I to hear thee. Harken
Promise thou wilt await me here! Let none—
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The hour. To Fairfax, the good Fairfax! Charles
Thou shalt not die
(Exit Queen.)
King.
Oh truest fondest woman!
My matchless wife! The pang is mastered now,
I am Death's conqueror. My Faithfullest!
My Fairest! My most dear! I ne'er shall see
Those radiant looks again, or hear the sound
Of thy blithe voice, which was a hope, or feel
The thrilling pressure of thy hand, almost
A language, so the ardent spirit burned
And vibrated within thee! I'll to prayer,
And chase away that image! I'll to prayer,
And pray for thee, sweet wife! I'll to my prayers.
(Exit.)
Scene II.
—The Banquetting-House at Whitehall, glass folding-doors opening to the Scaffold, which is covered with black. The block, axe, &c. visible; Officers and other persons are busy in the back-ground, and Cromwell is also there giving directions.Ireton, Harrison, and Hacker meeting, Cromwell behind.
Har.
Cromwell!—Good-morrow Ireton! Whither goes
The General?
Ire.
To see that all be ready
For this great deed.
Hack.
He hath the eager step,
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The flush upon his cheek, that I've marked in him
When marching to the battle.
Har.
Doth he not lead
To day in a great combat, a most holy
And glorious victory?
Crom.
(at the back of the Stage)
Hast thou ta'en order
That soon as the head's off the Abbey bell
Begin to toll?
Officer.
I have.
Crom.
Look that the axe
Be keen, and the hand steady. Let us have
No butchery.
(advancing to the front of the Stage.)
If he die not, we must perish—
That were as nothing! but with us will die
The liberty for which the blood of saints
And martyrs hath been spilt, freedom of act,
Of speech, of will, of faith! Better one grey
Discrowned head should fall, albeit a thought
Before the time, than God's own people groan
In slavery for ever.
Har.
Whoso doubteth
But he shall die?
Crom.
'Tis rumoured, Sirs, amongst
The soldiery, that one of a high place,
Fairfax—But I believe it not. Hast thou
The Warrant Hacker?
Hack.
No.
Ire.
Since when doth Fairfax
Dare to impugn the sentence of a free
And publick court, of England—
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Of the Great
All-Righteous Judge who hath delivered him
Manifestly to us?
Hack.
Will he dare oppose
Army and people? He alone!
Crom.
Be sure
The good Lord-General, howsoe'er some scruple
May trouble him, will play a godly part
In this sad drama.—Aye, I have the Warrant!
It is addressed to thee. Thou must receive
The prisoner, and conduct him hither.
Hack.
Hath
The hour been yet resolved?
Crom.
Not that I hear.
Enter Fairfax.
Ha! our great General! Well met my Lord!
We that are laden with this heavy burthen
Lacked your sustaining aid!
Fair.
Cromwell, I too
Am heavy-laden.
Crom.
You look ill at ease;
'Tis this chill air, the nourisher of rheums,
The very frog of frost, that turns men's blood
To water.
Fair.
No, the grief is here. Regret,
Almost remorse, and doubt and fear of wrong
Press heavily upon me. Is this death
Lawful?
Ire.
His country's sentence, good my Lord,
May be thy warrant.
Fair.
An anointed King!
Har.
A bloody tyrant.
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Yet a man, whose doom
Lies on our conscience. We might save the King
Even now at the eleventh hour; we two
Hold the nice scales of life and death, and shall not
Fair mercy sway the balance? Dost thou hear me?
Wilt thou not answer? Canst thou doubt our power?
Crom.
No. Man hath always power for ill. I know
We might desert our friends, betray our country,
Abandon our great cause, and sell our souls
To Hell. We might do this, and more; might shroud
These devilish sins in holy names, and call them
Loyalty, Honour, Faith, Repentance—cheats
Which the great Tempter loves!
Fair.
Yet harken, Cromwell!
Bethink thee of thy fame
Crom.
Talk'st thou of fame
To me? I am too mean a man, too lowly,
Too poor in state and name to need abjure
That princely sin, and for my humbleness
I duly render thanks. Were I as thou—
Beware the lust of fame, Lord General,
Of perishable fame, vain breath of man,
Slight bubble, frailer than the ocean foam
Which from her prow the good ship in her course
Scattereth and passeth on regardlessly.
Lord General beware!
Fair.
I am Lord General;
And I alone by mine own voice have power
To stay this deed.
Crom.
Alone?
Fair.
I'll answer it
Before the Council.
Crom.
Ha! alone!—come nearer.
Fair.
What would'st thou of me?
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Yonder men are firm
And honest in the cause, and brave as steel;
Yet are they zealots, blind and furious zealots!
I would not they should hear us—bloody zealots!
Fair.
Speak, Sir; we waste the hour.
Crom.
I would confess
Relentings like thine own.—They hear us not?
Fair.
I joy to hear thee.
Crom.
Thou art one elect,
A leader in the land, a chosen vessel
And yet of such a mild and gracious mood,
That I, stern as I seem, may doff to thee
This smooth and governed mask of polity,
And shew the struggling heart perplexed and grieved
In all its nakedness. Yes, I have known
The kindly natural love of man to man
His fellow!—the rough soldier's shuddering hate
Of violent death, save in the battle; lastly
A passionate yearning for that sweetest power
Born of fair Mercy.
Fair.
Yet but now thou chidd'st me
And with a lofty scorn for such a weakness.
The change is sudden.
Crom.
Good my Lord, I strove
And wrestled with each pitying thought as born
Of earthly pride and mortal sin. Full oft
We, that are watchers of our wretched selves,
Aiming at higher virtues, trample down
Fair shoots of charity and gentle love
Yet still my breast was troubled. And since thou
Art moved by such relentings—
Fair.
And a promise
Made to my wife
Crom.
A wise and pious lady!
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Thou wilt then save the King?
Crom.
Sir, we must have
Some higher warrantry than our wild will,
Our treacherous human will, afore we change
The fiat of a nation. Thou art a man
Elect and godly—Harrison!—go seek
The presence of the Lord. Perhaps to thee
A guiding answer, a divine impulsion,
May be vouchsafed. Go with him Harrison!
Seek ye the Lord together.
Fair.
'Tis a wise
And pious counsel.
Crom.
Step apart awhile;
We will await ye here.
(Exeunt Fairfax and Harrison.)
Cromwell gives the Warrant to Hacker.
Now! now! be quick!
(Exit Hacker.)
Is the scaffold all prepared? The headsman waiting
With shrouded visage and bare arm? The axe
Whetted? Be ready on the instant. Where
Be guards to line the room, mute wondering faces,
A living tapestry, and men of place
To witness this great deed? A King should fall
Decked with the pageantries of Death, the clouds
That roll around the setting sun.
Ire.
If Fairfax
Return before he come—
Crom.
Dost thou mistrust
Harrison's gift in prayer? The General's safe.
Besides I sent erewhile the Halberdiers
To guard Charles Stuart hither. Hacker 'll meet
His prisoner.
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But should Fairfax—
Crom.
Wherefore waste
A word on such a waverer!
Ire.
What hath swayed him?
Crom.
His wife! his wife! The Queen hath seen again
That haughty dame, and her fond tears—
Ire.
I marvel
That thou endur'st that popish witch of France
So near.
Crom.
I watch her. He must die! 'Tis borne
Upon my soul as what shall be. The race,
The name shall perish.
Ire.
Aye, the very name
Of King.
Crom.
Of Stuart.
Ire.
And of King.
Crom.
So be it.
Will Bradshaw never come?
Enter Bradshaw, Cook, Marten, and others.
Ah welcome! welcome!
Ye are late.
Brad.
Yon living mass is hard to pierce
By men of civil calling. The armed soldiers
Can scantly force a passage for their prisoner.
Crom.
He comes?
Brad.
He's at the gate.
Ire.
What say the people?
Brad.
The most are pale and silent, as a Fear
Hung its dull shadow over them; whilst some
Struck with a sudden pity weep and wonder
What ails them; and a few bold tongues are loud
In execration.
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And the soldiers?
Mar.
They
Are true to the good cause.
Crom.
The righteous cause!
My friends and comrades ye are come to witness
The mighty consummation. See, the sun
Breaks forth! The Heavens look down upon our work
Smiling! The Lord hath risen!
Ire.
The King!
Enter the King, Hacker, Herbert, a Bishop, Guards, &c.
King.
Why pause ye?
Come on.
Herbert gives the King a letter.
Herb.
Sire, from thy Son.
King.
My boy! My boy!
No; no; this letter is of life, and I
And life have shaken hands. My kingly boy!
And the fair girl! I thought to have done with this.
But it so clings! Take back the letter, Herbert.
Take it, I say. Forgive me, faithful Herbert,
That last impatient word. Forgive me. Now, Sirs,
What see ye on that platform? I am as one
Bent on a far and perilous voyage, who seeks
To hear what rocks beset his path. What see ye?
Brad.
Only the black-masked headsman.
King.
Aye, he wears
His mask upon his face, an honest mask.
What see ye more?
Brad.
Nought save the living sea
Of human faces, blent into one mass
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Childhood and infancy, and youth and age,
Commingled with its multitudinous eyes
Upturned in expectation. Aweful gaze!
Who may abide thy power?
King.
I shall look upward.
Why pause we here?
Crom.
Aye, why?
Brad.
May it please thee, Sir,
To rest awhile? Bring wine.
King.
I need it not.
Yes! fill the cup! fill high the sparkling cup!
This is a holiday to loyal breasts,
The King's accession day. Fill high! fill high!
The block, the scaffold, the swift sudden axe,
Have yet a privilege beyond the slow
And painful dying bed, and I may quaff
In my full pride of strength a health to him,
Whom, pass one short half-hour, the funeral knell
Proclaims my successor. Health to my son!
Health to the King of England! Start ye, Sirs,
To hear the word? Health to King Charles, and peace,
To this fair realm! And when that blessed time
Of rightful rule shall come, say that I left
For the bold traitors that condemned, the cowards
Who not opposing murdered me (I have won
So near the Throne of Truth that true words spring
Unbidden from my lips,) say that I left
A pardon, liberal as the air, to all,
A free and royal pardon!—Prythee speed me
On my rough journey.
Crom.
Wherefore crowd ye there?
Make way.
King.
I thank thee, Sir. My good Lord Bishop,
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(Exeunt King, Herbert, Bishop, and Guards.)
(A pause.)
Crom.
Doth he address the people
Mar.
Not so. He kneels.
Crom.
'Twere fittest. Close the door.
This wintery air is chill, and the Lord President
Is of a feeble body.
(Scream without.)
Brad.
Hush!
Crom.
'Tis one
Who must be stayed.
Brad.
The Queen?
Crom.
Go stop her, Ireton.
(Exit Ireton.)
It were not meet that earthly loves should mingle
With yonder dying prayer. Yes! Still he kneels.
Hacker come hither. If thou see a stir
Amongst the crowd, send for my horse; they're ready;—
Or if, midst these grave men, some feeble heart
Wax faint in the great cause, as such there be;—
Or on the scaffold, if he cling to life
Too fondly;—I'd not send a sinful soul
Before his time to his accompt, good Bradshaw!
But no delay! Is he still kneeling?—Mark me
No idle dalliance Hacker! I must hence,
Lest Fairfax—no weak dalliance! no delay!
The cause, the cause, good Bradshaw!
(Exit and the Scene closes.)
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Scene III.
—Another Gallery in Whitehall.Enter Cromwell.
Crom.
Methought I heard her here.—No!—if she win
To Fairfax!—he must die, as Ahab erst
Or Rehoboam, or as that great heathen
Whom Brutus loved and slew. None ever called
Brutus a murderer! And Charles had trial—
'Twas more than Cæsar had!—free open trial,
If he had pleaded. But the Eternal Wrath
Stiffened him in his pride. It was ordained,
And I but an impassive instrument
In the Almighty hand, an arrow chosen
From out the sheaf. If I should reign hereafter
Men shall not call me bloody.—Hark! the bell!
No—all is hush as midnight.—I shall be
Tenderer of English lives. Have they forgot
To sound the bell? He must be dead.
Queen.
(without)
Lord Fairfax!
Crom.
The Queen! the Queen!
Enter the Queen.
Queen.
They told me he was here—
I see him not,—but I have wept me blind;—
And then that axe, that keen bright edgy axe,
Which flashed across my eyeballs, blinding me
More than a sea of tears.—Here's one!—Oh fly
If thou be man, and bid the headsman stay
His blow for one short hour, one little hour,
Till I have found Lord Fairfax! Thou shalt have
Gold, mines of gold! Oh save him! Save the King!
Crom.
Peace! peace! Have comfort!
Queen.
Comfort! and he dies,
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The blood comes plashing;—Comfort!
Enter Lady Fairfax.
Lady F.
Out alas!
I can hear nought of Fairfax, royal Madam!—
Cromwell, the Master-murderer!
Queen.
Oh forgive her!
She knows not what she says. If thou be Cromwell
Thou hast the power to rescue: See I kneel;
I kiss thy feet. Oh save him! Take the crown;
Take all but his dear life! Oh save him, save him!
And I will be thy slave!—I, a born Princess,
I, a crowned Queen, will be thy slave.
Crom.
Arise!
My Lady Fairfax lead this frantic woman
To where her children bide.
Queen.
Thou wilt not make
My children fatherless? Oh mercy! Mercy!
I have a girl, a weeping innocent girl,
That never learnt to smile, and she shall be
Thy handmaid; she shall tend thy daughters. I,
That was so proud, offer my fairest child
To be thy bondwoman.
Crom.
Raise her! Undo
These clasping hands. I marvel, Lady Fairfax,
Thou canst endure to see a creature kneel
To one create.
Lady F.
Out on thee, hypocrite!
Where lags my husband?
Queen.
Save him, save him, Cromwell!
Crom.
Woman arise! Will this long agony
Endure forever?
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Is he dead?
Fair.
What means
This piercing outcry?
Queen.
Fairfax! He is saved!
He is saved!
Ire.
The bell! the Abbey bell! Hark!
Crom.
There
The will of Heaven spake. The King is dead.
Fair.
Look to the Queen. Cromwell, this bloody work
Is thine.
Crom.
This work is mine. For yon sad dame,
She shall away to France. This deed is mine,
And I will answer it. The Commonwealth
Is firmly 'stablished Ireton. Harrison,
The Saints shall rule in Israel. My Lord General,
The army is thine own, and I a soldier,
A lowly follower in the cause. This deed
Is mine.—
END OF THE PLAY.
| Charles The First | |