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SCENE.—Whitehall Palace. CROMWELL discovered seated.
Cromwell. On me and on my children! | |
| So said the voice last night! A lying dream! | |
| This blood—this blood on me and on my children. | |
| It is my wont to feel more heartiness | |
| When face to face with action. But this deed | 5 |
| Doth wrap itself in doubt and fearfulness. | |
| Do I best to confront him at this hour, | |
| Even when you scaffold waiteth for its victim, | |
| And his pale face doth look like martyrdom? | |
| I will not. Out upon my sinking heart! | 10 |
| The standard-bearer fainteth, and my followers | |
| Grow slack. I ’ll hie me to them— | |
| And yet, if by the granting him his life | |
| He abdicate—no shifts—he abdicate! | |
| Then—then this offer of the Prince of Wales— | 15 |
| This young Charles Stuart—he in our absolute power, | |
| As he doth promise if we spare his father. | |
| Why, if he come—I had not thought of that— | |
| Both son and father given to our hands: | |
| Then have we scotch’d the snake! | 20 |
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Enter an Attendant, who hands CROMWELL a letter. Attend. My Lord-General—from the King! [Exit Attendant. | |
| Crom. [Reads the letter.] “Declines to see me!” | |
| Well—well— | |
| “His last hour disturb’d!” | |
| It shall be thy last hour. | 25 |
| “As touching the Prince of Wales’ noble offering of himself for me. Look back on my past life, and thou art answer’d!” | |
| Past life! Full of deceit and subtle carriage. | |
| “I pardon thee and all mine enemies, and may Heaven pardon them!” | |
| What now doth stay to rend away this patch | |
| On our new garment? | 30 |
| England! one hour—gray tyranny is dead! | |
| And in this hand thy future destiny. | |
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Enter QUEEN.
Madam, my daughter hardly did prevail | |
| That I should grant you this last interview. | |
| It must be brief and private, or I warn you | 35 |
| I cannot answer for your safe return. | |
| Queen. [Aside.] Sainte Vierge, aidez-moi! This is the man who holds | |
| My husband’s life within his hands. Ah! could I—Sainte Marie, inspirez-moi, mettez votre force dans mes prières! | |
| I see him as the drowning swimmer sees | |
| The distant headland he can never reach. | 40 |
| Sir, do not go. I wish to speak to you. | |
| Crom. Madam, I wait. | |
| Queen. Oh, sir! the angels wait and watch your purpose: | |
| Unwritten history pauses for your deed, | |
| To set your name within a shining annal, | 45 |
| Or else to brand it on her foulest page! | |
| Crom. Madam, ’t is not for me to answer you. | |
| And for unwritten history—thou nor I | |
| Can brief it in our cause; ’t will speak the truth. | |
| England condemns the King, and he shall die! | 50 |
| Queen. Oh, pity! pity! Hast a human heart? | |
| How canst thou look at me so cruelly? | |
| I look for pity on thy stubborn cheek | |
| As I might place a mirror to dead lips | |
| To find one stain of breath. | 55 |
| The brightest jewel ever set in crown | |
| Were worthless to the glisten of one tear | |
| Upon thy lid—one faint hope-star of mercy. | |
| Be merciful! a queen doth kneel to thee. | |
| Crom. Not to me! Nor am I now | 60 |
| A whit more mov’d because thou art a queen! | |
| Queen. I am no queen; but a poor stricken woman, | |
| On whom who this dreadful hour is closing in. [Chimes. The half-hour. | |
| Dost hear the clock? Each second quivering on | |
| Is full of horror for both thee and me: | 65 |
| Endless remorse thy doom, and sorrow mine. | |
| Crom. Madam, no more. I shall have no remorse | |
| For an unhappy duty well perform’d. | |
| Queen. Thou call’st it duty; but all heaven and earth | |
| Shall raise one outraged cry and call it murder; | 70 |
| It shall be written right across the clouds | |
| In characters of blood till Heaven hath judged it. | |
| Crom. Nay, you forget! the righteous cause doth prosper. | |
| If this be crime, the hand of Heaven not in it, | |
| Then had thy husband flourish’d; on our side | 75 |
| God’s heavy judgment fallen, shame and slaughter. | |
| Queen. God speaketh not in thunder when he judges, | |
| But in the dying moans of those we treasure, | |
| And in the silence of our broken hearts! | |
| Thou hast a daughter, and her cheek is pale; | 80 |
| Her days do balance between life and death, | |
| Whether they wither or abide with thee. | |
| Let him be cruel who hath none to love; | |
| But let that father tremble who shall dare | |
| Widow another’s home! She loves the King. | 85 |
| Take now his sacred life, and hie thee home. | |
| Smile on her, call her to thee, she will linger. | |
| Ask for thy welcome, she will give it thee! | |
| A shudder as she meets thee at the door: | |
| A cry as thou wouldst think to touch her lips; | 90 |
| A sickening at thy guilty hands’ caress! | |
| The haunting of a mute reproach shall dwell | |
| Forever in her eyes till they be dead! | |
| Crom. [Moved.] Silence! You speak | |
| you know not what. No more! | 95 |
| Thou voice within, why dost thou seem so far? | |
| Shine out, thou fiery pillar! Bring me up | |
| From the dead wilderness— | |
| Queen. Oh! yield not to that voice, hearken to mercy, | |
| And I will join my prayers to thine hence-forth | 100 |
| That thy Elizabeth may live for thee. | |
| Crom. Madam, I came here with intent of mercy, | |
| And with a hope of life. | |
| Queen. Of life—of life! | |
| Crom. I offer’d him his life—he scorn’d my offer. | 105 |
| Queen. No—no—he shall not. I am somewhat faint; | |
| The hope thou showest striketh me like lightning. | |
| Life! didst thou say his life? Ask anything. | |
| Crom. If he would abdicate and quit the kingdom. | |
| Queen. And he shall do it. I will answer for it. | 110 |
| Give me but breathing-time to move him, sir. | |
| Crom. Stay, madam. If we spare your husband’s life | |
| Your son has offer’d to submit his person | |
| Into our hands, and set his sign and seal | |
| To any proposition we demand. | 115 |
| Queen. “Thou strikest a fountain for me in the rock, | |
| And ere my lips can touch it, it is dry!” | |
| My husband first must abdicate, and then my son— | |
| What was the answer of the King to thee? | |
| Crom. He doth refuse our mercy, and elects | 120 |
| To carry to his death the name of King. | |
| Queen. When all was lost at Newark, and thy King | |
| Was bought and sold by his own country-men, | |
| ’T was thou who with a fawning cozenage | |
| Lur’d thy good master to undo himself, | 125 |
| To doubt where all his hope was to confide, | |
| And blindly trust where every step was fatal! | |
| ’T was thou, when the repenting Parliament | |
| Were fain for reconcilement, brought thy soldiers— | |
| Thou (jealous stickler for the Commons’ rights) | 130 |
| Arrested every true man in the house, | |
| And pack’d the benches with thy regicides! | |
| Crom. What, madam, is the purpose of this railing? | |
| Queen. Thou think’st to make the mother a decoy, | |
| And, holding the lost father in thy grip, | 135 |
| Secure the son who yet may punish thee! [Chimes. Three quarters. | |
| Crom. Madam, the clock! say, what dost thou intend? | |
| Queen. To choke my sighs, to hide each bitter tear, | |
| To keep a calm and steadfast countenance, | |
| To mask my anguish from his Majesty. | 140 |
| Crom. So! it were well; and then— | |
| Queen. Then we will both be faithful to ourselves, | |
| Even unto death! | |
| Crom. Will you not, madam, use your influence? | |
| Queen. Never! My husband, sir, shall die a KING! | 145 |
| Crom. Thou shadow of a King, then art thou doom’d! | |
| I wash mine hands of it. [Aside. | |
| What melancholy doth raven on my heart? | |
| Thou child of many prayers, Elizabeth!— | |
| I ’ll to the Generals. Fairfax relents. | 150 |
| That not will I. My hand is on the plough; | |
| I will not look behind. [Exit CROMWELL. | |
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