LOUDON.
Is firm:
We were about to read reports . . .
PYM.
The King
Has just dissolved your Parliament.
LOUDON AND OTHER OF THE SCOTS.
Great God!
An oath-breaker! Stand by us England then!
PYM.
The King’s too sanguine; doubtless Wentworth’s here;
But still some little form might be kept up.
HOLLIS.
Now speak, Vane! Rudyard, you had much to say!
HAMPDEN.
The rumour’s false, then . . .
PYM.
Ay, the Court gives out
His own concerns have brought him back: I know
‘Tis Charles recalls him: he’s to supersede
The tribe of Cottingtons and Hamiltons
Whose part is played: there’s talk enough, by this, —
Merciful talk, the King thinks: time is now
To turn the record’s last and bloody leaf
That, chronicling a Nation’s great despair,
Tells they were long rebellious, and their Lord
Indulgent, till, all kind expedients tried,
He drew the sword on them, and reigned in peace.
Laud’s laying his religion on the Scots
Was the last gentle entry: — the new page
Shall run, the King thinks, “Wentworth thrust it down
At the sword’s point.”
A PURITAN.
I’ll do your bidding, Pym, —
England’s and your’s . . one blow!
PYM.
A glorious thing —
We all say, friends, it is a glorious thing
To right that England! Heaven grows dark above, —
Let’s snatch one moment ere the thunder fall
To say how well the English spirit comes out
Beneath it! all have done their best, indeed,
From lion Eliot, that grand Englishman,
To the least here: and who, the least one here,
When She is saved (and her redemption dawns
Dimly, most dimly, but it dawns — it dawns) —
Who’d give at any price his hope away
Of being named along with the Great Men?
One would not . . no, one would not give that up!
HAMPDEN.
And one name shall be dearer than all names:
When children, yet unborn, are taught that name
After their fathers’, — taught one matchless man . . .
PYM.
. . . Saved England?
What if Wentworth’s should be still
That name?
RUDYARD and others.
We have just said it, Pym! His death
Saves her!
FIENNES.
We said that! There’s no way beside!
A PURITAN.
I’ll do your bidding, Pym! They struck down Joab
And purged the land.
VANE.
No villanous striking-down!
RUDYARD.
No — a calm vengeance: let the whole land rise
And shout for it. No Feltons!
PYM.
Rudyard, no.
England rejects all Feltons; most of all
Since Wentworth . . .
Hampden, say the praise again
That England will award me . . . But I’ll think
You know me, all of you. Then, I believe,
— Spite of the past, — Wentworth rejoins you, friends!
RUDYARD and others.
Wentworth! apostate . . .
VANE.
Wentworth, double-dyed
A traitor! Is it Pym, indeed . .
PYM.
. . . Who says
Vane never knew that Wentworth — loved that Wentworth —
Felt glad to stroll with him, arm lock’d in arm,
Along the streets to see the People pass
And read in every island-countenance
Fresh argument for God against the King, —
Never sate down . . . say, in the very house
Where Eliot’s brow grew broad with noble thoughts
(You’ve joined us, Hampden, Hollis, you as well.)
And then left talking over Gracchus’ death . . .
VANE.
. . To frame, we know it Pym, the choicest clause
In the Petition of Rights: which Wentworth framed
A month before he took at the King’s hand
His Northern Presidency, which that Bill
Denounced. . . . .
RUDYARD.
And infamy along with it!
A PURITAN.
For whoso putteth his right-hand to the plough
And turneth back . . .
PYM.
Never more, never more
Walked we together! Most alone I went;
I have had friends — all here are fast my friends —
But I shall never quite forget that friend!
(After a pause) And yet it could not but be real in him!
You Vane, you Rudyard, have no right to trust
That Wentworth . . . O will no one hope with me?
— Vane — think you Wentworth will shed English blood
Like water?
A PURITAN.
Ireland is Aceldama!
PYM.
Will he turn Scotland to a hunting-ground
To please the King, now that he knows the King?
The People or the King? The People, Hampden,
Or the King . . . and that King — Charles! Will no one hope?
HAMPDEN.
Pym, we do know you: you’ll not set your heart
On any baseless thing: but say one deed
Of Wentworth’s, since he left us . . . (Shouting without.)
VANE.
Pym, he comes
And they shout for him! — Wentworth! — he’s with Charles —
The king embracing him — now — as we speak . .
And he, to be his match in courtesies,
Taking the whole war’s risk upon himself! —
Now — while you tell us here how changed he is —
Do you hear, Pym? The People shout for him!
FIENNES.
We’ll not go back, now! Hollis has no brother —
Vane has no father . . .
VANE.
Pym should have no friend!
Stand you firm, Pym! Eliot’s gone, Wentworth’s lost,
We have but you, and stand you very firm!
Truth is eternal, come below what will,
But . . I know not . . if you should fail . . O God!
O God!
PYM (apart and in thought).
And yet if ‘tis a dream, no more,
That Wentworth chose their side, and brought the King
To love it as though Laud had loved it first,
And the Queen after — that he led their cause
Calm to success and kept it spotless through,
So that our very eyes could look upon
The travail of our soul, and close content
That violence, which something mars even Right
That sanctions it, had taken off no grace
From its serene regard. Only a dream!
HAMPDEN.
Proceed to England’s work: who reads the list?
A VOICE.
“Ship-money is refused or fiercely paid
In every county, save the northern ones
Where Wentworth’s influence” . . . (Renewed shouting.)
VANE (passionately striking the table).
I, in England’s name
Declare her work, this way, at end! till now —
Up to this moment — peaceful strife was well!
We English had free leave to think: till now,
We had a shadow of a Parliament:
‘Twas well; but all is changed: they threaten us:<
br />
They’ll try brute-force for law — here — in our land!
MANY VOICES.
True hearts with Vane! The old true hearts with Vane!
VANE.
Till we crush Wentworth for her, there’s no act
Serves England!
VOICES.
Vane for England!
PYM.
(As he passes slowly before them) Pym should be
Something to England! I seek Wentworth, friends!
Scene II. WHITEHALL.
Enter CARLISLE and WENTWORTH.
WENTWORTH.
And the King?
CARLISLE.
Dear Wentworth, lean on me; sit then;
I’ll tell you all; this horrible fatigue
Will kill you.
WENTWORTH.
No; or — Lucy, just your arm;
I’ll not sit till I’ve cleared this up with him:
After that, rest. The King?
CARLISLE.
Confides in you.
WENTWORTH.
Why? why now?
— They have kind throats, the people!
Shout for me . . . they! — poor fellows.
CARLISLE.
Did they shout?
— We took all measures to keep off the crowd —
Did they shout for you?
WENTWORTH.
Wherefore should they not?
Does the King take such measures for himself?
Beside, there’s such a dearth of malcontents,
You say?
CARLISLE.
I said but few dared carp at you . . .
WENTWORTH.
At me? at us, Carlisle! The King and I!
He’s surely not disposed to let me bear
Away the fame from him of these late deeds
In Ireland? I am yet his instrument
Be it for well or ill?
He trusts me then?
CARLISLE.
The King, dear Wentworth, purposes, I know
To grant you, in the face of all the Court . . .
WENTWORTH.
All the Court! Evermore the Court about us!
Savile and Holland, Hamilton and Vane
About us, — then the King will grant me. . . . Lady,
Will the King leave these — leave all these — and say
“Tell me your whole mind, Wentworth!”
CARLISLE.
But you said
You would be calm.
WENTWORTH.
Lucy, and I am calm!
How else shall I do all I come to do,
— Broken, as you may see, body and mind —
How shall I serve the King? time wastes meanwhile,
You have not told me half . . . His footstep! No.
— But now, before I meet him, — (I am calm) —
Why does the King distrust me?
CARLISLE.
He does not
Distrust you.
WENTWORTH.
Lucy, you can help me . . you
Have even seemed to care for me: help me!
Is it the Queen?
CARLISLE.
No — not the Queen — the party
That poisons the Queen’s ear, — Savile — and Holland . . .
WENTWORTH.
I know — I know — and Vane, too, he’s one too?
Go on — and he’s made Secretary — Well?
— Or leave them out and go straight to the charge!
The charge!
CARLISLE.
O there’s no charge — no precise charge —
Only they sneer, make light of . . . one may say
Nibble at what you do.
WENTWORTH.
I know: but Lucy,
Go on, dear Lucy — Oh I need you so!
I reckoned on you from the first! — Go on!
. . Was sure could I once see this gentle girl
When I arrived, she’d throw an hour away
To help her weary friend . . .
CARLISLE.
You thought of me,
Dear Wentworth?
WENTWORTH.
. . But go on! The People here . . .
CARLISLE.
They do not think your Irish Government
Of that surpassing value . . .
WENTWORTH.
The one thing
Of value! The one service that the crown
May count on! All that keeps these very things
In power, to vex me . . not that they do vex me,
Only it might vex some to hear that service
Decried — the sole support that’s left the King!
CARLISLE.
So the Archbishop says.
WENTWORTH.
Ah? well, perhaps
The only hand held up in its defence
May be old Laud’s!
These Hollands, then, these Saviles
Nibble? They nibble? — that’s the very word!
CARLISLE.
Your profit in the Customs, Bristol says, . . .
WENTWORTH.
Enough! ‘tis too unworthy, — I am not
So patient as I thought!
What’s Pym about?
CARLISLE.
Pym?
WENTWORTH.
Pym and the People.
CARLISLE.
Oh, the Faction!
Extinct — of no account — there’ll never be
Another Parliament.
WENTWORTH.
Tell Savile that!
You may know — (ay, you do — the creatures here
Never forget!) that in my earliest life
I was not . . . not what I am now! The King
May take my word on points concerning Pym
Before Lord Savile’s, Lucy, or if not,
Girl, they shall ruin their vile selves, not me,
These Vanes and Hollands — I’ll not be their tool —
Pym would receive me yet!
— But then the King! —
I’ll bear it all. The King — where is he, Girl?
CARLISLE.
He is apprised that you are here: be calm!
WENTWORTH.
And why not meet me now? Ere now? You said
He sent for me . . he longed for me!
CARLISLE.
Because . .
He is now . . . I think a Council’s sitting now
About this Scots affair . . .
WENTWORTH.
A Council sits?
They have not taken a decided course
Without me in this matter?
CARLISLE.
I should say . . .
WENTWORTH.
The War? They cannot have agreed to that?
Not the Scots’ War? — without consulting me —
Me — that am here to show how rash it is,
How easy to dispense with?
— Ah, you too
Against me! well, — the King may find me here.
(As CARLISLE is going.)
— Forget it, Lucy: cares make peevish: mine
Weigh me (but ‘tis a secret) to my grave.
CARLISLE.
For life or death I am your own, dear friend!
(Aside.) I could not tell him . . . sick too! . . And the King
Shall love him! Wentworth here, who can withstand
His look? — — And he did really think of me?
O ‘twas well done to spare him all the pain! (Exit.)
WENTWORTH.
Heartless! . . . but all are heartless here.
Go now,
Forsake the people!
— I did not forsake
The People: they shall know it . . . when the King
Will trust me! — who trusts all beside at once
While I . . . have not spoke Vane and Savile fair,
And am not trusted: have but saved the Throne:
Have not picked up the Queen’s glove prettily,
And am no
t trusted!
But he’ll see me now:
And Weston’s dead — and the Queen’s English now —
More English — oh, one earnest word will brush
These reptiles from . . . (footsteps within.)
The step I know so well!
‘Tis Charles! — But now — to tell him . . no — to ask him
What’s in me to distrust: — or, best begin
By proving that this frightful Scots affair
Is just what I foretold: I’ll say, “my liege” . . . .
And I feel sick, now! and the time is come —
And one false step no way to be repaired. . . .
You were revenged, Pym, could you look on me!
(PYM enters.)
WENTWORTH.
I little thought of you just then.
PYM.
No? I
Think always of you, Wentworth.
WENTWORTH.
(Aside.) The old voice!
I wait the King, sir.
PYM.
True — you look so pale;
A council sits within; when that breaks up
He’ll see you.
WENTWORTH.
Sir, I thank you.
PYM.
Oh, thank Laud!
You know when Laud once gets on Church affairs
The case is desperate: he’ll not be long
To-day: He only means to prove, to-day,
We English all are mad to have a hand
In butchering the Scots for serving God
After their fathers’ fashion: only that.
WENTWORTH.
Sir, keep your jests for those who relish them!
(Aside.) Does he enjoy their confidence? (To P.) ‘Tis kind
To tell me what the Council does.
PYM.
You grudge
That I should know it had resolved on war
Before you came? no need — you shall have all
The credit, trust me.
WENTWORTH.
Have they, Pym . . . not dared —
They have not dared . . . that is — I know you not —
Farewell — the times are changed.
PYM.
— Since we two met
At Greenwich? Yes — poor patriots though we be,
You shall see something here, some slight return
For your exploits in Ireland! Changed indeed,
Could our friend Eliot look from out his grave!
Ah, Wentworth, one thing for acquaintance-sake;
Just to decide a question; have you, now,
Really felt well since you forsook us?
WENTWORTH.
Pym —
You’re insolent!
PYM.
Oh, you misapprehend!
Don’t think I mean the advantage is with me:
I was about to say that, for my part,
I’ve never quite held up my head since then, —
Been quite myself since then: for first, you see,
I lost all credit after that event
With those who recollect how sure I was
Wentworth would outdo Eliot on our side.
WENTWORTH.
By Heaven . . .
PYM.
Forgive me: Savile, Vane, and Holland
Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series Page 250