Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series
Page 256
On Strafford: he has but to see in him
The Enemy of England . . .
PYM.
A right scruple!
I have heard some called England’s Enemy
With less consideration.
VANE.
Pity me!
Me — brought so low — who hoped to do so much
For England — her true servant — Pym, your friend . . .
Indeed you made me think I was your friend!
But I have murdered Strafford . . I have been
The instrument of this! who shall remove
That memory from me?
PYM.
I absolve you, Vane!
Take you no care for aught that you have done!
VANE.
Dear Hampden, not this Bill! Reject this Bill!
He staggers thro’ the ordeal . . . let him go!
Strew no fresh fire before him! Plead for us
With Pym . . what God is he, to have no heart
Like ours, yet make us love him?
RUDYARD.
Hampden, plead
For us! When Strafford spoke your eyes were thick
With tears . . save him, dear Hampden!
HAMPDEN.
England speaks
Louder than Strafford! Who are we, to play
The generous pardoner at her expense —
Magnanimously waive advantages —
And if he conquer us. . . . applaud his skill?
VANE.
(To PYM.) He was your friend!
PYM.
I have heard that before.
FIENNES.
But England trusts you . . .
HAMPDEN.
Shame be his, who turns
The opportunity of serving her
She trusts him with, to his own mean account —
Who would look nobly frank at her expense!
FIENNES.
I never thought it could have come to this!
PYM (turning from St. JOHN).
But I have made myself familiar, Fiennes,
With that one thought — have walked, and sat, and slept,
That thought before me! I have done such things,
Being the chosen man that should destroy
This Strafford! You have taken up that thought
To play with — for a gentle stimulant —
To give a dignity to idler life
By the dim prospect of this deed to come . . .
But ever with the softening, sure belief,
That all would come some strange way right at last!
FIENNES.
Had we made out some weightier charge . . . .
PYM.
You say
That these are petty charges! Can we come
To the real charge at all? There he is safe!
In tyranny’s strong hold! Apostasy
Is not a crime — Treachery not a crime!
The cheek burns, the blood tingles, when you name
Their names, but where’s the power to take revenge
Upon them? We must make occasion serve:
The Oversight, pay for the Giant Sin
That mocks us!
RUDYARD.
But this unexampled course — —
This Bill. . . .
PYM.
By this, we roll the clouds away
Of Precedent and Custom, and at once
Bid the great light which God has set in all,
The conscience of each bosom, shine upon
The guilt of Strafford: each shall lay his hand
Upon his breast, and say if this one man
Deserve to die, or no, by those he sought
First to undo.
FIENNES.
You, Vane — — you answer him!
VANE.
Pym, you see farthest . . . I can only see
Strafford . . . I’d not pass over that pale corse
For all beyond!
RUDYARD and others.
Pym, you would look so great!
Forgive him! He would join us! now he finds
How false the King has been! The pardon, too,
Should be your own! Yourself should bear to Strafford
The pardon of the Commons!
PYM (starting).
Meet him? Strafford?
Have we to meet once more, then? Be it so!
And yet — the prophecy seemed half fulfilled
When, at the trial, as he gazed — my youth —
Our friendship — all old thoughts came back at once
And left me, for a time . . . .
VANE (aside to RUDYARD).
Moved, is he not?
PYM.
To-morrow we discuss the points of law
With Lane . . to-morrow!
VANE.
Time enough, dear Pym!
See, he relents! I knew he would relent!
PYM.
The next day, Haselrig, you introduce,
The Bill of his Attainder. (After a pause.) Pray for me!
Scene III. WHITEHALL.
The KING.
CHARLES.
Strafford, you are a Prince! Not to reward you
— Nothing does that — but only for a whim!
My noble servant! — To defend himself
Thus irresistibly . . withholding aught
That seemed to implicate us!
We have done
Less gallantly by Strafford! Well, the future
Must recompense the past.
She tarries long!
I understand you, Strafford, now!
The scheme —
Carlisle’s mad scheme — he’ll sanction it, I fear,
For love of me! ‘Twas too precipitate:
Before the Army’s fairly on its march,
He’ll be at large: no matter . .
Well, Carlisle?
(Enter PYM.)
PYM.
Fear me not, Sire . . . my mission is to save,
This time!
CHARLES.
To break thus on me! — Unannounced . . .
PYM.
It is of Strafford I would speak.
CHARLES.
No more
Of Strafford! I have heard too much from you!
PYM.
I spoke, Sire, for the People: will you hear
A word upon my own account?
CHARLES.
Of Strafford?
(Aside.) So, turns the tide already? Have we tamed
The insolent brawler? — Strafford’s brave defence
Is swift in its effect! (To PYM.) Lord Strafford, Sir,
Has spoken for himself!
PYM.
Sufficiently.
I would apprize you of the novel course
The people take: the Trial fails, . . .
CHARLES.
Yes — yes —
We are aware, Sir: for your part in it
Means shall be found to thank you.
PYM.
Pray you, read
This schedule! (as the KING reads it) I would learn from your own
mouth
— (It is a matter much concerning me) —
Whether, if two Estates of England shall concede
The death of Strafford, on the grounds set forth
Within that parchment, you, Sire, can resolve
To grant your full consent to it. That Bill
Is framed by me: if you determine, Sire,
That England’s manifested will shall guide
Your judgment, ere another week that will
Shall manifest itself. If not, — I cast
Aside the measure.
CHARLES.
. . You can hinder, then,
The introduction of that Bill?
PYM.
I can.
CHARLES.
He is my friend, Sir: I have wronged him: mark you,
Had I not wronged him — this might be! — You thi
nk
Because you hate the Earl . . . (turn not away —
We know you hate him) — no one else could love
Strafford . . . but he has saved me — many times —
Think what he has endured . . proud too . . you feel
What he endured! — And, do you know one strange,
One frightful thing? We all have used that man
As though he had been ours . . with not a source
Of happy thoughts except in us . . and yet
Strafford has children, and a home as well,
Just as if we had never been! . . Ah Sir,
You are moved — you — a solitary man
Wed to your cause — to England if you will!
PYM.
Yes . . think, my soul . . to England! Draw not back!
CHARLES.
Prevent that Bill, Sir . . Oh, your course was fair
Till now! Why, in the end, ‘tis I should sign
The warrant for his death! You have said much
That I shall ponder on; I never meant
Strafford should serve me any more: I take
The Commons’ counsel: but this Bill is yours —
Not worthy of its leader . . care not, Sir,
For that, however! I will quite forget
You named it to me! You are satisfied?
PYM.
Listen to me, Sire! Eliot laid his hand,
Wasted and white, upon my forehead once;
Wentworth . . . he’s gone now! . . has talked on, whole nights,
And I beside him; Hampden loves me; Sire,
How can I breathe and not wish England well —
And her King well?
CHARLES.
I thank you, Sir! You leave
That King his servant! Thanks, Sir!
PYM.
Let me speak
— Who may not speak again! whose spirit yearns
For a cool night after this weary day!
— Who would not have my heart turn sicker yet
In a new task, more fatal, more august
More full of England’s utter weal or woe . . .
I thought, Sire, could I find myself with you —
After this Trial — alone — as man to man —
I might say something — warn you — pray you — save you —
Mark me, King Charles, save — — you!
But God must do it. Yet I warn you, Sire —
(With Strafford’s faded eyes yet full on me)
As you would have no deeper question moved
— ”How long the Many shall endure the One” . . .
Assure me, Sire, if England shall assent
To Strafford’s death, you will not interfere!
Or — —
CHARLES.
God forsakes me — I am in a net . .
I cannot move! Let all be as you say!
(Enter CARLISLE.)
CARLISLE.
He loves you — looking beautiful with joy
Because you sent me! he would spare you all
The pain! he never dreamed you would forsake
Your servant in the evil day — nay, see
Your scheme returned! That generous heart of his!
He needs it not — or, needing it, disdains
A course that might endanger you — you, Sire,
Whom Strafford from his inmost soul . . .
(Seeing PYM.) No fear —
No fear for Strafford! all that’s true and brave
On your own side shall help us! we are now
Stronger than ever!
Ha — what, Sire, is this?
All is not well! What parchment have you there?
(CHARLES drops it, and exit.)
PYM.
Sire, much is saved us both: farewell!
CARLISLE.
Stay — stay —
This cursed measure — you’ll not dare — you mean
To frighten Charles! This Bill — look —
(As PYM reads it.)
Why, your lip
Whitens — you could not read one line to me
Your voice would falter so! It shakes you now —
And will you dare . . .
PYM.
No recreant yet to her!
The great word went from England to my soul,
And I arose! The end is very near! (Exit.)
CARLISLE.
I save him! All have shrunk from him beside —
‘Tis only I am left! Heaven will make strong
The hand as the true heart! Then let me die! (Exit.)
ACT V
Scene I. WHITEHALL.
HOLLIS, CARLISLE.
HOLLIS.
Tell the King, then! Come in with me!
CARLISLE.
Not so!
He must not hear ‘till it succeeds!
HOLLIS.
Vain! Vain!
No dream was half so vain — you’ll rescue Strafford
And outwit Pym! I cannot tell you . . . girl,
The block pursues me — all the hideous show . .
To-day . . . is it to-day? And all the while
He’s sure of the King’s pardon . . think, I have
To tell this man he is to die!
The King
May rend his hair, for me! I’ll not see Strafford!
CARLISLE.
Only, if I succeed, remember — — Charles
Has saved him! He would hardly value life
Unless his gift.
My staunch friends wait! Go in —
You must go in to Charles!
HOLLIS.
And all beside
Left Strafford long ago — the King has signed
The warrant for his death . . the Queen was sick
Of the eternal subject! For the Court, —
The Trial was amusing in its way
Only too much of it . . the Earl withdrew
In time! But you — fragile — alone — so young!
Amid rude mercenaries — you devised
A plan to save him! Even tho’ it fails
What shall reward you?
CARLISLE.
I may go, you think,
To France with him? And you reward me, friend!
Who lived with Strafford even from his youth
Before he set his heart on state-affairs
And they bent down that noble brow of his — —
I have learned somewhat of his latter life
And all the future I shall know — but, Hollis,
I ought to make his youth my own as well!
Tell me — — when he is saved!
HOLLIS.
My gentle girl
He should know all — should love you — but ‘tis vain!
CARLISLE.
No — no — too late now! Let him love the King!
‘Tis the King’s scheme! I have your word — remember! —
We’ll keep the old delusion up! But, hush!
Hush! Each of us has work to do, beside!
Go to the King! I hope — Hollis — I hope!
Say nothing of my scheme! Hush, while we speak
Think where He is! Now for my gallant friends! (Exit.)
HOLLIS.
Where He is! Calling wildly upon Charles — —
Guessing his fate — — pacing the prison-floor . . .
Let the King tell him! I’ll not look on Strafford! (Exit.)
Scene II. THE TOWER.
STRAFFORD sitting with his Children. They sing.
O bell’ andare
Per barca in mare,
Verso la sera
Di Primavera!
WILLIAM.
(The boat’s in the broad moonlight all this while)
Verso la sera
Di Primavera.
And the boat shoots from underneath the moon
Into the shadowy distance — only still
You hear the dipping oar,
Verso la sera . . .
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And faint — and fainter — and then all’s quite gone,
Music and light and all, like a lost star.
ANNE.
But you should sleep, father: you were to sleep!
STRAFFORD.
I do sleep, dearest; or if not — you know
There’s such a thing as . . .
WILLIAM.
You’re too tired to sleep?
STRAFFORD.
It will come by and bye and all day long,
In that old quiet house I told you of:
We’ll sleep safe there.
ANNE.
Why not in Ireland?
STRAFFORD.
Ah!
Too many dreams! — That song’s for Venice, William:
You know how Venice looks upon the map . . .
Isles that the mainland hardly can let go?
WILLIAM.
You’ve been to Venice, father?
STRAFFORD.
I was young then.
WILLIAM.
A city with no King; that’s why I like
Even a song that comes from Venice!
STRAFFORD.
William!
WILLIAM.
Oh, I know why! Anne, do you love the King?
But I’ll see Venice for myself one day.
STRAFFORD.
See many lands, boy — England last of all, —
That way you’ll love her best.
WILLIAM.
Why do men say
You sought to ruin her, then!
STRAFFORD.
Ah . . . they say that.
WILLIAM.
Why?
STRAFFORD.
I suppose they must have words to say.
As you to sing.
ANNE.
But they make songs beside:
Last night I heard one, in the street beneath,
That named you . . . Oh, the names!
WILLIAM.
Don’t mind her, father!
They soon left off when I called out to them!
STRAFFORD.
We shall so soon be out of it, my boy!
‘Tis not worth while: who heeds a foolish song?
WILLIAM.
Why, not the King!
STRAFFORD.
Well: it has been the fate
Of better men, and yet. . . . why not feel sure
That Time, who in the twilight comes to mend
All the fantastic Day’s caprice — consign
Unto the ground once more the ignoble Term,
And raise the Genius on his orb again —
That Time will do me right?
ANNE.
(Shall we sing, William?
He does not look thus when we sing.)
STRAFFORD.
For Ireland, —
Something is done . . too little, but enough
To show what might have been: —
WILLIAM.
(I have no heart
To sing now! Anne, how very sad he looks!
Oh I so hate the King for all he says!)
STRAFFORD.
Forsook them! What, the common songs will run
That I forsook the People? Nothing more?