University of Virginia Library

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,
The dark light in his eye, the upward look,
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—

Har.
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.

Fair.
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?

Crom.
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!

Fair.
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.

Ire.
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.

Ire.
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
Of sentient various life: woman and man,
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,
Beware the step.—

(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.)