text:
Strafford (Browning)/Act I

Scene I
A HOUSE NEAR WHITEHALL.

HAMPDEN, HOLLIS, the younger VANE, RUDYARD, FIENNES, and many of the Presbyterian Party: LOUDON and other Scots Commissioners: some seated, some standing beside a table strewn over with papers, &c.

VANE.

I say, if he be here. ..

RUDYARD.

And he is here!

HOLLIS.

For England's sake let every man be still Nor speak of him, so much as say his name, Till Pym rejoin us! Rudyard—Vane—remember One rash conclusion may decide our course And with it England's fate—think—England's fate! Hampden, for England's sake they should be still!

VANE.

You say so, Hollis? well, I must be still! It is indeed too bitter that one man— Any one man. ..

RUDYARD.

You are his brother, Hollis!

HAMPDEN.

Shame on you, Rudyard! time to tell him that, When he forgets the Mother of us all.

RUDYARD.

Do I forget her? ..

HAMPDEN.

—You talk idle hate Against her foe: is that so strange a thing? Is hating Wentworth all the help she needs?

A PURITAN.

The Philistine strode, cursing as he went: But David—five smooth pebbles from the brook Within his scrip. ..

RUDYARD.

—Be you as still as David!

FIENNES.

Here's Rudyard not ashamed to wag a tongue Stiff with ten years' disuse of Parliaments; Why, when the last sate, Wentworth sate with us!

RUDYARD.

Let's hope for news of them now he returns: —But I'll abide Pym's coming.

VANE.

Now by Heaven They may be cool that can, silent that can, Some have a gift that way: Wentworth is here— Here—and the King's safe closeted with him Ere this! and when I think on all that's past Since that man left us—how his single arm Roll'd back the good of England, roll'd it back And set the woeful Past up in its place. ..

A PURITAN.

Exalting Dagon where the Ark should be!

VANE.

. . . How that man has made firm the fickle King —Hampden, I will speak out!—in aught he feared To venture on before; taught Tyranny Her dismal trade, the use of all her tools, To ply the scourge yet screw the gag so close That strangled agony bleeds mute to death: —How he turns Ireland to a private stage For training infant villanies, new ways Of wringing treasure out of tears and gore, Unheard oppressions nourished in the dark To try how much Man's nature can endure —If he dies under it, what harm? if not. ..

FIENNES.

Why, one more trick is added to the rest Worth a King's knowing—

RUDYARD.

—And what Ireland bears England may learn to bear.

VANE.

. . . How all this while That man has set himself to one dear task, The bringing Charles to relish more and more Power. ..

RUDYARD.

Power without law. ..

FIENNES.

Power and blood too. .

VANE.

. . . Can I be still?

HAMPDEN.

For that you should be still.

VANE.

Oh, Hampden, then and now! The year he left us The People by its Parliament could wrest The Bill of Rights from the reluctant King: And now,—he'll find in an obscure small room A stealthy gathering of great-hearted men That take up England's cause: England is—here!

HAMPDEN.

And who despairs of England?

RUDYARD.

That do I If Wentworth is to rule her. I am sick To think her wretched masters, Hamilton, The muckworm Cottington, the maniac Laud, May yet be longed for back again. I say I do despair.

VANE.

And, Rudyard, I'll say this— And, (turning to the rest) all true men say after me! not loud— But solemnly and as you'd say a prayer: This Charles, who treads our England under foot, Has just so much—it may be fear or craft— As bids him pause at each fresh outrage; friends, He needs some sterner hand to grasp his own, Some voice to ask, "Why shrink?—am I not by?" —A man that England loved for serving her, Found in his heart to say, "I know where best The iron heel shall bruise her, for she leans Upon me when you trample." Witness, you! But inasmuch as life is hard to take From England. ..

MANY VOICES.

Go on, Vane! 'Tis well said, Vane!

VANE.

. . . Who has not so forgotten Runnymead. ..

VOICES.

'Tis well and bravely spoken, Vane! Go on!

VANE.

. . There are some little signs of late she knows The ground no place for her! no place for her! When the King beckons—and beside him stands The same bad man once more, with the same smile, And the same savage gesture! Now let England Make proof of us.

VOICES.

Strike him—the Renegade— Haman—Ahithophel—

HAMPDEN.

(To the Scots.) Gentlemen of the North, It was not thus the night your claims were urged, And we pronounced the League and Covenant Of Scotland to be England's cause as well! Vane, there, sate motionless the whole night through.

VANE.

Hampden. ..

FIENNES.

Stay Vane!

LOUDON.

Be patient, gallant Vane!

VANE.

Mind how you counsel patience, Loudon! you Have still a Parliament, and a brave League To back it; you are free in Scotland still— While we are brothers (as these hands are knit So let our hearts be!)—hope's for England yet! But know you why this Wentworth comes? to quench This faintest hope? that he brings war with him? Know you this Wentworth? What he dares?

LOUDON.

Dear Vane, We know—'tis nothing new. ..

VANE.

And what's new, then, In calling for his life? Why Pym himself. . . You must have heard—ere Wentworth left our cause He would see Pym first; there were many more Strong on the People's side and friends of his,— Eliot that's dead, Rudyard and Hampden here, But Wentworth cared not for them; only, Pym He would see—Pym and he were sworn, they say, To live and die together—so they met At Greenwich: Wentworth, you are sure, was long, Specious enough, the devil's argument Lost nothing in his lips; he'd have Pym own A Patriot could not do a purer thing Than follow in his track; they two combined Could put down England. Well, Pym heard him out— One glance—you know Pym's eye—one word was all: "You leave us, Wentworth: while your head is on I'll not leave you."

HAMPDEN.

Has Pym left Wentworth, then? Has England lost him? Will you let him speak, Or put your crude surmises in his mouth? Away with this! (To the rest.) Will you have Pym or Vane?

VOICES.

Wait Pym's arrival! Pym shall speak!

HAMPDEN.

Meanwhile Let Loudon read the Parliament's report From Edinburgh: our last hope, as Vane says, Is in the stand it makes. Loudon!

VANE.

(As LOUDON is about to read)—No—no— Silent I can be: not indifferent!

HAMPDEN.

Then each keep silence, praying God a space That he will not cast England quite away In this her visitation! (All assume a posture of reverence.)

A PURITAN.

Seven years long The Midianite drove Israel into dens And caves. Till God sent forth a mighty man,

(PYM enters.)

Even Gideon! (All start up.)

PYM.

Wentworth's come: he has not reached Whitehall: they've hurried up a Council there To lose no time and find him work enough. Where's Loudon? your Scots' Parliament. ..

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: 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 not 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 Eschew plain-speaking: 'tis a trick I have.

WENTWORTH.

How, when, where,—Savile, Vane, and Holland speak,— Plainly or otherwise,—would have my scorn, My perfect scorn, Sir. ..

PYM.

. . Did not my poor thoughts Claim somewhat?

WENTWORTH.

Keep your thoughts! believe the King Mistrusts me for their speaking, all these Vanes And Saviles! make your mind up, all of you, That I am discontented with the King!

PYM.

Why, you may be—I should be, that I know, Were I like you.

WENTWORTH.

Like me?

PYM.

I care not much For titles: our friend Eliot died no Lord, Hampden's no Lord, and Savile is a Lord: But you care, since you sold your soul for one. I can't think, therefore, Charles did well to laugh When you twice prayed so humbly for an Earldom.

WENTWORTH.

Pym. . ..

PYM.

And your letters were the movingest! Console yourself: I've borne him prayers just now From Scotland not to be opprest by Laud— And moving in their way: he'll pay, be sure, As much attention as to those you sent.

WENTWORTH.

False! a lie, Sir! . . Who told you, Pym? —But then The King did very well. . nay, I was glad When it was shewn me why;—I first refused it! . . . Pym, you were once my friend—don't speak to me!

PYM.

Oh, Wentworth, ancient brother of my soul, That all should come to this!

WENTWORTH.

Leave me!

PYM.

My friend, Why should I leave you?

WENTWORTH.

To tell Rudyard this, And Hampden this! . ..

PYM.

Whose faces once were bright At my approach. . now sad with doubt and fear, Because I hope in you—Wentworth—in you Who never mean to ruin England—you Who shake, with God's great help, this frightful dream Away, now, in this Palace, where it crept Upon you first, and are yourself—your good And noble self—our Leader—our dear Chief— Hampden's own friend— This is the proudest day! Come Wentworth! Do not even see the King! The rough old room will seem itself again! We'll both go in together—you've not seen Hampden so long—come—and there's Vane—I know You'll love young Vane! This is the proudest day!

(The KING enters. WENTWORTH lets fall PYM'S hand.)

CHARLES.

Arrived, my Lord?—This Gentleman, we know, Was your old friend: (To PYM) The Scots shall be informed What we determine for their happiness. (Exit PYM.) You have made haste, my Lord.

WENTWORTH.

Sire. . . I am come. ..

CHARLES.

To aid us with your counsel: this Scots' League And Covenant spreads too far, and we have proofs That they intrigue with France: the Faction, too. ..

WENTWORTH.

(Kneels.) Sire, trust me! but for this once, trust me, Sire!

CHARLES.

What can you mean?

WENTWORTH.

That you should trust me! now! Oh—not for my sake! but 'tis sad, so sad That for distrusting me, you suffer—you Whom I would die to serve: Sire, do you think That I would die to serve you?

CHARLES.

But rise, Wentworth!

WENTWORTH.

What shall convince you? What does Savile do To. . . Ah, one can't tear out one's heart—one's heart— And show it, how sincere a thing it is!

CHARLES.

Have I not trusted you?

WENTWORTH.

Say aught but that! It is my comfort, mark you: all will be So different when you trust me. . as you shall! It has not been your fault,—I was away, Maligned—away—and how were you to know? I am here, now—you mean to trust me, now— All will go on so well!

CHARLES.

Be sure I will— I've heard that I should trust you: as you came Even Carlisle was telling me. . ..

WENTWORTH.

No,—hear nothing— Be told nothing about me! you're not told Your right-hand serves you, or your children love you!

CHARLES.

You love me. . only rise!

WENTWORTH.

I can speak now. I have no right to hide the truth. 'Tis I Can save you; only I. Sire, what is done!

CHARLES.

Since Laud's assured. . . the minutes are within. . Loath as I am to spill my subjects' blood. . ..

WENTWORTH.

That is, he'll have a war: what's done is done!

CHARLES.

They have intrigued with France; that's clear to Laud.

WENTWORTH.

Has Laud suggested any way to meet The war's expence?

CHARLES.

He'd not decide on that Until you joined us.

WENTWORTH.

Most considerate! You're certain they intrigue with France, these Scots? (Aside.) The People would be with us!

CHARLES.

Very sure.

WENTWORTH.

(The People for us . . were the People for us!) Sire, a great thought comes to reward your trust! Summon a parliament! in Ireland first, And then in England.

CHARLES.

Madness!

WENTWORTH.

(Aside.) That puts off The war—gives time to learn their grievances— To talk with Pym—(To CHARLES). I know the faction, as They style it,. .

CHARLES.

. . Tutors Scotland!

WENTWORTH.

All their plans Suppose no parliament: in calling one You take them by surprise. Produce the proofs Of Scotland's treason; bid them help you, then! Even Pym will not refuse!

CHARLES.

You would begin With Ireland?

WENTWORTH.

Take no care for that: that's sure To prosper.

CHARLES.

You shall rule me: you were best Return at once: but take this ere you go! (Giving a paper.) Now, do I trust you? You're an Earl: my Friend Of Friends: yes, Strafford, while. . . You hear me not!

WENTWORTH.

Say it all o'er again—but once again— The first was for the music—once again!

CHARLES.

Strafford, my brave friend, there were wild reports— Vain rumours. . Henceforth touching Strafford is To touch the apple of my sight: why gaze So earnestly?

WENTWORTH.

I am grown young again, And foolish! . . what was it we spoke of?

CHARLES.

Ireland, The Parliament,—

WENTWORTH.

I may go when I will? —Now?

CHARLES.

Are you tired so soon of me?

WENTWORTH.

My King. . . . But you will not so very much dislike A Parliament? I'd serve you any way!

CHARLES.

You said just now this was the only way.

WENTWORTH.

Sire, I will serve you!

CHARLES.

Strafford, spare yourself— You are so sick, they tell me,. ..

WENTWORTH.

'Tis my soul That's well and happy, now! This Parliament— We'll summon it, the English one—I'll care For every thing: You shall not need them much!

CHARLES.

If they prove restive. ..

WENTWORTH.

I shall be with you!

CHARLES.

Ere they assemble?

WENTWORTH.

I will come, or else Deposit this infirm humanity I'the dust! My whole heart stays with you, my King!

(As STRAFFORD goes out, the QUEEN enters.)

CHARLES.

That man must love me!

QUEEN.

Is it over then? Why he looks yellower than ever! well, At least we shall not hear eternally Of his vast services: he's paid at last.

CHARLES.

Not done with: he engages to surpass All yet performed in Ireland.

QUEEN.

I had thought Nothing beyond was ever to be done. The War, Charles—will he raise supplies enough?

CHARLES.

We've hit on an expedient; he. . . that is, I have advised. . . we have decided on The calling—in Ireland—of a Parliament.

QUEEN.

O truly! You agree to that? Is this The first fruit of his counsel? But I guessed As much.

CHARLES.

This is too idle, Henrietta! I should know best: He will strain every nerve, And once a precedent established. ..

QUEEN.

Notice How sure he is of a long term of favours! He'll see the next, and the next after that; No end to Parliaments!

CHARLES.

Well, it is done: He talks it smoothly, doubtless: if, indeed, The Commons here. ..

QUEEN.

Here! you will summon them Here? Would I were in France again to see A King!

CHARLES.

But Henrietta. ..

QUEEN.

O the Scots Do well to spurn your rule!

CHARLES.

But, listen, Sweet. ..

QUEEN.

Let Strafford listen—you confide in him!

CHARLES.

I do not, Love—I do not so confide. . The Parliament shall never trouble us .. Nay, hear me! I have schemes—such schemes—we'll buy The leaders off: without that, Strafford's counsel Had ne'er prevailed on me. Perhaps I call it To have excuse for breaking it—for ever— And whose will then the blame be? See you not? Come, Dearest!—look! the little fairy, now, That cannot reach my shoulder! Dearest, come! (Exeunt.)

title: Strafford (Browning)/Act I


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Townshend, George (1724-1807)

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Townshend, George (1755-1811)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Townshend, Hayward


text: Confederate Military History/Volume 1

title: Confederate Military History/Volume 1


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Townshend, Horatio (1630?-1687)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Townshend, Horatio (1750-1837)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Townshend, John


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Townshend, Roger (d.1493)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Townshend, Roger (1543?-1590)


text:
Strafford (Browning)/Act II

Scene I
A HOUSE NEAR WHITEHALL.

(As in Act I. Scene I.)

The same Party enters confusedly; among the first, the younger VANE and RUDYARD.

RUDYARD.

Twelve subsidies!

VANE.

O Rudyard, do not laugh At least!

RUDYARD.

True: Strafford called the Parliament— 'Tis he should laugh!

A PURITAN (entering).

—Out of the serpent's root Comes forth a cockatrice.

FIENNES (entering).

—A stinging one, If that's the Parliament: twelve subsidies! A stinging one! but, brother, where's your word For Strafford's other nest-egg—the Scot's War?

THE PURITAN.

His fruit shall be a fiery flying serpent.

FIENNES.

Shall be? It chips the shell, man; peeps abroad: Twelve subsidies!— Why, how now Vane?

RUDYARD.

Hush, Fiennes!

FIENNES.

Ah? . . . but he was not more a dupe than I, Or you, or any here the day that Pym Returned with the good news. Look up, dear Vane! We all believed that Strafford meant us well In summoning the Parliament. ..

(HAMPDEN enters.)

VANE (starting up).

Now, Hampden, Clear me! I would have leave to sleep again! I'd look the People in the face again! Clear me from having, from the first, hoped, dreamed Better of Strafford! Fool!

HAMPDEN.

You'll grow one day A steadfast light to England, Vane!

RUDYARD.

Ay, Fiennes, Strafford revived our Parliaments: before, War was but talked of; there's an army, now: Still, we've a Parliament. Poor Ireland bears Another wrench (she dies the hardest death!) Why. . . speak of it in Parliament! and, lo, 'Tis spoken!—and console yourselves.

FIENNES.

The jest! We clamoured, I suppose, thus long, to win The privilege of laying on ourselves A sorer burthen than the King dares lay!

RUDYARD.

Mark now: we meet at length: complaints pour in From every county: all the land cries out On loans and levies, curses ship-money, Calls vengeance on the Star-chamber: we lend An ear: "ay, lend them all the ears you have," Puts in the King; "my subjects, as you find, Are fretful, and conceive great things of you: Just listen to them, friends: you'll sanction me The measures they most wince at, make them yours Instead of mine, I know: and, to begin, They say my levies pinch them,—raise me straight Twelve subsidies!"

FIENNES and others.

All England cannot furnish Twelve subsidies!

HOLLIS.

But Strafford, just returned From Ireland. . what has he to do with that? How could he speak his mind? He left before The Parliament assembled: Rudyard, friends, He could not speak his mind! and Pym, who knows Strafford. ..

RUDYARD.

Would I were sure we know ourselves! What is for good, what, bad—who friend, who foe!

HOLLIS.

Do you count Parliaments no gain?

RUDYARD.

A gain? While the King's creatures overbalance us? —There's going on, beside, among ourselves A quiet, slow, but most effectual course Of buying over, sapping,. .

A PURITAN.

. . Leavening The lump till all is leaven.

A VOICE.

Glanville's gone.

RUDYARD.

I'll put a case; had not the Court declared That no sum short of just twelve subsidies Will be accepted by the King—our House Would have consented to that wretched offer To let us buy off Ship-money?

HOLLIS.

Most like, If. . . say six subsidies, will buy it off, The House. . ..

RUDYARD.

. . Will grant them! Hampden, do you hear? Oh, I congratulate you that the King Has gained his point at last. . our own assent To that detested tax! all's over then! There's no more taking refuge in this room And saying, "Let the King do what he will, We, England, are no party to our shame,— Our day will come!" Congratulate with me!

(PYM enters.)

VANE.

Pym, Strafford called this Parliament, 'tis like— But we'll not have our Parliaments like those In Ireland, Pym!

RUDYARD.

Let him stand forth, that Strafford! One doubtful act hides far too many sins; It can be stretched no more—and, to my mind, Begins to drop from those it covers.

OTHER VOICES.

Pym, Let him avow himself! No fitter time! We wait thus long for you!

RUDYARD.

Perhaps, too long! Since nothing but the madness of the Court In thus unmasking its designs at once Had saved us from betraying England. Stay— This Parliament is Strafford's: let us vote Our list of grievances too black by far To suffer talk of subsidies: or best— That Ship-money's disposed of long ago By England; any vote that's broad enough: And then let Strafford, for the love of it, Support his Parliament!

VANE.

And vote as well No war's to be with Scotland! Hear you, Pym? We'll vote, no War! No part nor lot in it For England!

MANY VOICES.

Vote, no War! Stop the new levies! No Bishop's War! At once! When next we meet!

PYM.

Much more when next we meet! —Friends, which of you Since first the course of Strafford was in doubt Has fallen the most away in soul from me?

VANE.

I sate apart, even now, under God's eye, Pondering the words that should denounce you, Pym, In presence of us all, as one at league With England's enemy!

PYM.

You are a good And gallant spirit, Henry! Take my hand And say you pardon me for all the pain Till now! Strafford is wholly ours.

MANY VOICES.

'Tis sure?

PYM.

Most sure—for Charles dissolves the Parliament While I speak here! . . . (Great emotion in the assembly.) . . And I must speak, friends, now! Strafford is ours! The King detects the change, Casts Strafford off for ever, and resumes His ancient path: no Parliament for us— No Strafford for the King! Come all of you To bid the King farewell, predict success To his Scots expedition, and receive Strafford, our comrade now! The next will be Indeed a Parliament!

VANE.

Forgive me, Pym!

VOICES.

This looks like truth—Strafford can have, indeed, No choice!

PYM.

Friends, follow me! he's with the King: Come Hampden, and come Rudyard, and come Vane— This is no sullen day for England, Vane! Strafford shall tell you!

VOICES.

To Whitehall then! Come! (Exeunt omnes.)

Scene II
WHITEHALL.

CHARLES seated, STRAFFORD standing beside a table covered with maps, &c.

CHARLES.

Strafford. ..

STRAFFORD.

Is it a dream? my papers, here— Thus—as I left them—all the plans you found So happy—(look! The track you pressed my hand For pointing out!)—and in this very room Over these very plans, you tell me, Sire, With the same face, too,—tell me just one thing That ruins them! How's this? what may this mean? Sire, who has done this?

CHARLES.

Strafford, none but I! You bade me put the rest away—indeed You are alone!

STRAFFORD.

Alone—and like to be! No fear, when some unworthy scheme's grown ripe, Of those who hatched it leaving you to loose The mischief on the world! Laud hatches war, Falls to his prayers, and leaves the rest to me— And I'm alone!

CHARLES.

At least, you knew as much When first you undertook the war.

STRAFFORD.

My liege, Is this the way? I said, since Laud would lap A little blood, 'twere best to hurry o'er The loathsome business—not to be whole months At slaughter—one blow—only one—then, peace— Save for the dreams! I said, to please you both I'd lead an Irish Army to the West, While in the South the English. . . . . but you look As though you had not told me fifty times 'Twas a brave plan! My Army is all raised— I am prepared to join it. ..

CHARLES.

Hear me, Strafford!

STRAFFORD.

. . . When, for some little thing, my whole design Is set aside—(where is the wretched paper?) I am to lead—(ay, here it is)—to lead This English Army: why? Northumberland That I appointed, chooses to be sick— Is frightened: and, meanwhile, who answers for The Irish Parliament? or Army, either? Is this my plan? I say, is this my plan?

CHARLES.

You are disrespectful, Sir!

STRAFFORD.

Do not believe— My liege, do not believe it! I am yours— Yours ever—'tis too late to think about— To the death, yours! Elsewhere, this untoward step Shall pass for mine—the world shall think it mine— But, here! But, here! I am so seldom here! Seldom with you, my King! I—soon to rush Alone—upon a Giant—in the dark!

CHARLES.

My Strafford!

STRAFFORD.

(Seats himself at the table; examines papers awhile; then, breaking off)

. . "Seize the passes of the Tyne". . . But don't you see—see all I say is true? My plan was sure to prosper,—so, no cause To ask the Parliament for help; whereas We need them—frightfully. ..

CHARLES.

Need this Parliament?

STRAFFORD.

—Now, for God's sake, mind—not one error more! We can afford no error—we draw, now, Upon our last resource—this Parliament Must help us!

CHARLES.

I've undone you, Strafford!

STRAFFORD.

Nay— Nay—don't despond—Sire—'tis not come to that! I have not hurt you? Sire—what have I said To hurt you? I'll unsay it! Don't despond! Sire, do you turn from me?

CHARLES.

My friend of friends!

STRAFFORD (after a pause).

We'll make a shift! Leave me the Parliament! They help us ne'er so little but I'll make A vast deal out of it. We'll speak them fair: They're sitting: that's one great thing: that half gives Their sanction to us: that's much: don't despond! Why, let them keep their money, at the worst! The reputation of the People's help Is all we want: we'll make shift yet!

CHARLES.

Dear Strafford!

STRAFFORD.

But meantime, let the sum be ne'er so small They offer, we'll accept it: any sum— For the look of it: the least grant tells the Scots The Parliament is ours. . their staunch ally Is ours: that told, there's scarce a blow to strike! What will the grant be? What does Glanville think?

CHARLES.

Alas. ..

STRAFFORD.

My liege?

CHARLES.

Strafford. ..

STRAFFORD.

But answer me! Have they. . . O surely not refused us all? All the twelve subsidies? We never looked For all of them! How many do they give?

CHARLES.

You have not heard. ..

STRAFFORD.

(What has he done?)—Heard what? But speak at once, Sire—this grows terrible!

(The King continuing silent.)

You have dissolved them!—I'll not leave this man.

CHARLES.

'Twas Vane—his ill-judged vehemence that. ..

STRAFFORD.

Vane?

CHARLES.

He told them, as they were about to vote The half, that nothing short of all the twelve Would serve our turn, or be accepted.

STRAFFORD.

Vane! Vane! and you promised me that very Vane. . . O God, to have it gone, quite gone from me The one last hope—I that despair, my hope— That I should reach his heart one day, and cure All bitterness one day, be proud again And young again, care for the sunshine too, And never think of Eliot any more,— God, and to toil for this, go far for this, Get nearer, and still nearer, reach this heart— And find Vane there! (Suddenly taking up a paper, and continuing with a forced         calmness.) Northumberland is sick: Well then, I take the Army: Wilmot leads The Horse, and he with Conway must secure The passes of the Tyne: Ormond supplies My place in Ireland. Here, we'll try the City: If they refuse a loan. . . debase the coin And seize the bullion! we've no other choice. Herbert. . . (Flinging down the paper.) And this while I am here! with you! And there are hosts such, hosts like Vane! I go,— And, I once gone, they'll close around you, Sire, When the least pique, pettiest mistrust, is sure To ruin me—and you along with me! Do you see that? And you along with me! —Sire, you'll not ever listen to these men, And I away, fighting your battle? Sire, If they—if She—charge me—no matter what— You say, "At any time when he returns His head is mine." Don't stop me there! You know My head is yours. . only, don't stop me there!

CHARLES.

Too shameful, Strafford! You advised the war, And. ..

STRAFFORD.

I! I! that was never spoken with Till it was entered on! That loathe the war! That say it is the maddest, wickedest. . . Do you know, Charles, I think, within my heart, That you would say I did advise the war; And if, thro' your own weakness, falsehood, Charles, These Scots, with God to help them, drive me back. . . You will not step between the raging People And me, to say. . .                 I knew you! from the first I knew you! Never was so cold a heart! Remember that I said it—that I never Believed you for a moment! —And, you loved me? You thought your perfidy profoundly hid Because I could not share your whisperings With Vane? With Savile? But your hideous heart— I had your heart to see, Charles! Oh, to have A heart of stone—of smooth, cold, frightful stone! Ay, call them! Shall I call for you? The Scots Goaded to madness? Or the English—Pym— Shall I call Pym, your subject? Oh, you think I'll leave them in the dark about it all? They shall not know you? Hampden, Pym shall not. . ..

(Enter PYM, HAMPDEN, VANE, &c.)

(Dropping on his knee.) Thus favoured with your gracious countenance What shall a rebel League avail against Your servant, utterly and ever yours? (To the rest) So, Gentlemen, the King's not even left The privilege of bidding me farewell Who haste to save the People—that you style Your People—from the mercies of the Scots And France their friend? (To CHARLES) Pym's grave grey eyes are fixed Upon you, Sire! (To the rest) Your pleasure, Gentlemen?

HAMPDEN.

The King dissolved us—'tis the King we seek And not Lord Strafford.

STRAFFORD.

. . . . Strafford, guilty too Of counselling the measure: (To CHARLES) (Hush . . you know . . You have forgotten . . Sire, I counselled it!) —(Aloud) A heinous matter, truly! But the King Will yet see cause to thank me for a course Which now, perchance. . (Sire, tell them so!). . he blames. Well, choose some fitter time to make your charge— I shall be with the Scots—you understand?— Then yelp at me! Meanwhile, your Majesty Binds me, by this fresh token of your trust. ..

(Under the pretence of an earnest farewell, STRAFFORD conducts CHARLES to the door, in such a manner as to hide his agitation from the rest: VANE and others gazing at them: as the King disappears, they turn as by one impulse to PYM, who has not changed his original posture of surprise.)

HAMPDEN.

Leave we this arrogant strong wicked man!

VANE and others.

Dear Pym! Come out of this unworthy place To our old room again! Come, dearest Pym! (STRAFFORD just about to follow the King, looks back.)

PYM.

(To STRAFFORD) Keep tryst! the old appointment's made anew: Forget not we shall meet again!

STRAFFORD.

Be it so! And if an Army follows me?

VANE.

His friends Will entertain your Army!

PYM.

I'll not say You have misreckoned, Strafford: time will. . . .                                               Perish Body and spirit! Fool to feign a doubt— Pretend the scrupulous and nice reserve Of one whose prowess is to do the feat! What share have I in it? Shall I affect To see no dismal sign above your head When God suspends his ruinous thunder there? Strafford is doomed!—Touch him no one of you! (Exeunt PYM, HAMPDEN, &c.)

STRAFFORD.

Pym we shall meet again!

(Enter CARLISLE.)

You here, girl?

CARLISLE.

Hush— I know it all—hush, dearest Strafford!

STRAFFORD.

Ah? Well. I shall make a sorry soldier, Lucy! All Knights begin their enterprise, you know, Under the best of auspices; 'tis morn— The Lady girds his sword upon the Youth— (He's always very young)—the trumpets sound— Cups pledge him, and. . . and. . . the King blesses him— You need not turn a page of the Romance To learn the Dreadful Giant's fate! Indeed We've the fair Lady here; but she apart,— A poor man, never having handled lance, And rather old, weary, and far from sure His Squires are not the Giant's friends: well—well— Let us go forth!

CARLISLE.

Go forth?

STRAFFORD.

What matters it? We shall die gloriously—as the book says.

CARLISLE.

To Scotland? not to Scotland? Am I sick Like your good brother, brave Northumberland? Beside the walls seem falling on me!

CARLISLE.

Strafford, The wind that saps these walls can undermine Your camp in Scotland, too! Whence creeps the wind? Have you no eyes except for Pym? Look here! A breed of silken creatures lurk and thrive In your contempt; you'll vanquish Pym? Friend, Vane Can vanquish you! And Vane you think to fly?— Rush on the Scots! Do nobly! Vane's slight sneer Shall test success—adjust the praise—suggest The faint result: Vane's sneer shall reach you there! —You do not listen!

STRAFFORD.

Oh. . I give that up— There's fate in it—I give all here quite up. Care not what Vane does or what Holland does Against me! 'Tis so idle to withstand them— In no case tell me what they do!

CARLISLE.

But Strafford. . ..

STRAFFORD.

I want a little strife, beside—real strife: This petty, palace-warfare does me harm: I shall feel better, fairly out of it.

CARLISLE.

Why do you smile?

STRAFFORD.

I got to fear them, girl! I could have torn his throat at first, that Vane, As he leered at me on his stealthy way To the Queen's closet, Lucy—but of late I often found it in my heart to say "Vane—don't traduce me to her!"

CARLISLE.

But the King. ..

STRAFFORD.

The King stood there, 'tis not so long ago, —There, and the whisper, Lucy, "Be my friend Of friends!"—My King! I would have. ..

CARLISLE.

. . . Died for him?

STRAFFORD.

. . Sworn him true, Lucy: I will die for him.

CARLISLE.

(Aside.) What can he mean? You'd say he loved him still! (To STRAFFORD.) But go not, Strafford! . . . But you must renounce This project on the Scots! Die! wherefore die? Charles never loved you!

STRAFFORD.

And he will not, now: He's not of those who care the more for you That you're unfortunate.

CARLISLE.

Then wherefore die For such a master?

STRAFFORD.

You that told me first How good he was—when I must leave true friends To find a truer friend!—that drew me here From Ireland,—"I had but to show myself And Charles would spurn Vane, Savile, and the rest"— You, girl, to ask me that?

CARLISLE.

(Aside.)                If he have set His heart abidingly on Charles! (To STRAFFORD.)             Dear friend I shall not see you any more!

STRAFFORD.

Yes, girl— There's one man here that I shall meet!

CARLISLE.

(Aside.) The King!— What way to save him from the King? My soul. . That lent from its own store the charmed disguise That clothes the King. . he shall behold my soul! (To STRAFFORD.) Strafford. . . (I shall speak best if you'll not gaze Upon me.). . . You would perish, too! So sure! . . . Could you but know what 'tis to bear, my Strafford, One Image stamped within you, turning blank The else imperial brilliance of your mind,— A weakness, but most precious,—like a flaw I' the diamond which should shape forth some sweet face Yet to create, and meanwhile treasured there Lest Nature lose her gracious thought for ever! . ..

STRAFFORD.

When could it be? . . . no! .. yet. . was it the day We waited in the anteroom, till Holland Should leave the presence-chamber?

CARLISLE.

What?

STRAFFORD.

—That I Described to you my love for Charles?

CARLISLE.

(Aside.) Ah, no— One must not lure him from a love like that! Oh, let him love the King and die! 'Tis past. . . . I shall not serve him worse for that one brief And passionate hope. . silent for ever now! (To STRAFFORD.) And you are really bound for Scotland, then? I wish you well: you must be very sure Of the King's faith, for Pym and all his crew Will not be idle—setting Vane aside!

STRAFFORD.

If Pym is busy,—you may write of Pym.

CARLISLE.

What need when there's your king to take your part? He may endure Vane's counsel; but for Pym— Think you he'll suffer Pym to. ..

STRAFFORD.

Girl, your hair Is glossier than the Queen's!

CARLISLE.

Is that to ask A curl of me?

STRAFFORD.

Scotland——the weary way!

CARLISLE.

Stay, let me fasten it. —A rival's, Strafford?

STRAFFORD.

(Showing the George.) He hung it there: twine yours around it, girl!

CARLISLE.

No—no—another time—I trifle so! And there's a masque on foot: farewell: the Court Is dull: do something to enliven us In Scotland; we expect it at your hands.

STRAFFORD.

I shall not fall in Scotland.

CARLISLE.

Prosper—if You'll think of me sometimes!

STRAFFORD.

How think of him And not of you? of you—the lingering streak (A golden one) in my good fortune's eve?

CARLISLE.

Strafford. . . .         Well, when the eve has its last streak The night has its first star! (Exit.)

STRAFFORD.

That voice of hers. . . You'd think she had a heart sometimes! His voice Is soft too. Only God can save him now. Be Thou about his bed, about his path! . . . His path! Where's England's path? Diverging wide, And not to join again the track my foot Must follow—whither? All that forlorn way— Among the tombs! Far—far—till. . . What, they do Then join again, these paths? For, huge in the dusk, There's—Pym to face! Why then I have a Foe To close with, and a fight to fight at last That's worth my soul! What—do they beard the King— And shall the King want Strafford at his need— My King—at his great need? Am I not here?

. . . . Not in the common blessed market-place Pressed on by the rough artisans, so proud To catch a glance from Wentworth! They'll lie down Hungry and say "Why, it must end some day— Is he not watching for our sake?" —Not there! But in Whitehall—the whited sepulchre— The. ..

(At the Window, and looking on London.) Curse nothing to-night! Only one name They'll curse in all those streets to-night! Whose fault? Did I make kings—set up, the first, a man To represent the multitude, receive All love in right of them—supplanting them Until you love the man and not the king—— The man with the mild voice and mournful eyes That send me forth. . .                     To breast the bloody sea That sweeps before me—with one star to guide— Night has its first supreme forsaken star! (Exit.)

title: Strafford (Browning)/Act II


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Townson, Robert (fl.1792-1799)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Towry, George Henry


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Towson, John Thomas


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Toy, Humphrey


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Toy, John


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Toynbee, Arnold


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Toynbee, Joseph


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Tozer, Aaron


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Tracy, Robert


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Tracy, William de


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Tradescant, John (d.1637?)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Tradescant, John (1608-1662)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Trahaearn ap Caradog


text: Confederate Military History/Volume 1/Part 1


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Traherne, John Montgomery


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Traheron, Bartholomew


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Trail, Robert


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Trail, Walter


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Traill, Thomas Stewart


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Train, Joseph


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Trant, Nicholas


text: A Book of the Riviera/Chapter 18

title: A Book of the Riviera/Chapter 18


text: A Book of the Riviera/Chapter 19

title: A Book of the Riviera/Chapter 19


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Grundy, John (1782-1843)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Grundy, John Clowes


text:
Strafford (Browning)/Act III

Scene I
OPPOSITE WESTMINSTER HALL.

SIR HENRY VANE, LORD SAVILE, LORD HOLLAND, and others of the Court.

VANE.

The Commons thrust you out?

SAVILE.

And what kept you From sharing their civility?

VANE.

Kept me? Fresh news from Scotland, sir! worse than the last If that may be! all's up with Strafford there! Nothing's to bar the mad Scots marching hither The next fine morning! That detained me, sir! Well now, before they thrust you out, go on, Their speaker. . . did the fellow Lenthall say All we set down for him?

HOLLAND.

Not a word missed! Ere he began, we entered, Savile, I And Bristol and some more, in hopes to breed A wholesome awe in the new Parliament—— But such a gang of graceless ruffians, Vane! They glared at us. . ..

VANE.

So many?

SAVILE.

Not a bench Without its complement of burley knaves— Your son, there, Vane, among them—Hampden leant Upon his shoulder—think of that!

VANE.

I'd think On Lenthall's speech, if I could get at it. . . He said, I hope, how grateful they should be For this unlooked-for summons from the King?

HOLLAND.

Just as we drilled him. ..

VANE.

That the Scots will march On London?

HOLLAND.

All, and made so much of it A dozen subsidies at least seemed sure To follow, when. ..

VANE.

Well?

HOLLAND.

'Tis a strange thing now! I've a vague memory of a sort of sound— A voice—a kind of vast, unnatural voice— Pym, Sir, was speaking! Savile, help me out,— What was it all?

SAVILE.

Something about "a matter". . . No. . "a work for England."

BRISTOL.

"England's great revenge" He talked of.

SAVILE.

How should I be used to Pym More than yourselves?

HOLLAND.

However that may be, 'Twas something with which we had nought to do, For we were "strangers" and 'twas "England's work"— (All this while looking us straight in the face) In other words, our presence might be spared: So, in the twinkling of an eye, before I settled to my mind what ugly brute Was likest Pym just then, they yelled us out, Locked the doors after us, and here are we!

VANE.

Old Eliot's method. ..

SAVILE.

Ah, now, Vane, a truce To Eliot and his times, and the great Duke, And how to manage Parliaments! 'Twas you Advised the Queen to summon this—why Strafford To do him justice would not hear of it!

VANE.

Say, rather, you have done the best of turns To Strafford—he's at York—we all know why! I would you had not set the Scots on Strafford Till he had put down Pym for us, my lord!

SAVILE.

I? did I alter Strafford's plans? did I. ..

(Enter a MESSENGER.)

MESSENGER.

The Queen, my lords. . she sends me. . follow me At once. . 'tis very urgent. . she would have Your counsel. . something perilous and strange Occasions her command.

SAVILE.

We follow, friend! Now Vane. . your Parliament will plague us all!

VANE.

No Strafford here beside!

SAVILE.

If you dare hint I had a hand in his betrayal, Sir. ..

HOLLAND.

Nay find a fitter time for quarrels—Pym Will overmatch the best of you; and, think, The Queen!

VANE.

Come on then (as they go out.). . . understand, I loathe Strafford as much as any—but he serves So well to keep off Pym—to screen us all! I would we had reserved him yet awhile! (Exeunt.)

Scene II
WHITEHALL.

The QUEEN and CARLISLE.

QUEEN.

It cannot be!

CARLISLE.

It is so.

QUEEN.

Why the House Have hardly met!

CARLISLE.

They met for that.

QUEEN.

No—no— Meet to impeach Lord Strafford! 'Tis a jest!

CARLISLE.

A bitter one.

QUEEN.

Consider! 'Tis the House We summoned so reluctantly—which nothing But the disastrous issue of the war Persuaded us to summon; they'll wreak all Their spite on us, no doubt; but the old way Is to begin by talk of grievances! They have their grievances to busy them!

CARLISLE.

Pym has begun his speech.

QUEEN.

Where's Vane? . . That is Pym will impeach Lord Strafford if he leaves His Presidency—he's at York, you know, Since the Scots beat him—why should he leave York?

CARLISLE.

Because the King sends for him.

QUEEN.

Ah. . . but if The King did send for him, he let him know We had been forced to call a Parliament— A step which Strafford, now I come to think, Was vehement against. ..

CARLISLE.

The policy Escaped him of first striking Parliaments To earth, then setting them upon their feet And giving them a sword: but this is idle! —Did the King send for Strafford? He will come.

QUEEN.

And what am I to do?

CARLISLE.

What do? Fail, Madam! Be ruined for his sake! what matters how So it but stand on record that you made An effort—only one?

QUEEN.

The King's away At Theobald's.

CARLISLE.

Send for him at once—he must Dissolve the House.

QUEEN.

Wait till Vane finds the truth Of the report—then. .

CARLISLE.

. . it will matter little What the king does. Strafford that serves you all— That's fighting for you now!

(Enter SIR H. VANE.)

VANE.

The Commons, Madam, Are sitting with closed doors—a huge debate— No lack of noise—but nothing, I should guess, Concerning Strafford: Pym has certainly Not spoken yet.

QUEEN.

(To CARLISLE.) You hear?

CARLISLE.

I do not hear That the King's sent for!

VANE.

Savile will be able To tell you more.

(Enter HOLLAND.)

QUEEN.

The last news, Holland?

HOLLAND.

Pym Is raving like a fiend! The whole House means To follow him together to Whitehall And force the King to give up Strafford.

QUEEN.

Strafford?

HOLLAND.

If they content themselves with Strafford! Laud Is talked of, Cottington and Windebank too, Pym has not left out one of them. . I would You heard Pym raving!

QUEEN.

Vane, find out the King! Tell the king, Vane, the People follow Pym To brave us at Whitehall!

(Enter SAVILE.)

SAVILE.

Not to Whitehall— 'Tis to the Lords they go—they'll seek redress On Strafford from his peers—the legal way, They call it. ..

QUEEN.

(Wait, Vane!)

SAVILE.

. . But the adage gives Long life to threatened men! Strafford can save Himself so readily: at York, remember, In his own county, what has he to fear? The Commons only mean to frighten him From leaving York.

QUEEN.

Surely he will not come! Carlisle, he will not come!

CARLISLE.

Once more, the King Has sent for Strafford—He will come.

VANE.

O doubtless; And bring destruction with him; that's his way. What but his coming spoilt all Conway's plan? The King must take his counsel, choose his friends, Be wholly ruled by him! What's the result? The North that was to rise—Ireland to help— What came of it? In my poor mind a fright Is no prodigious punishment.

CARLISLE.

A fright? Pym will fail worse than Strafford if he thinks To frighten him. (To the QUEEN.) You will not save him, then?

SAVILE.

When something like a charge is made, the King Will best know how to save him: and 'tis clear That, while he suffers nothing by the matter, The King will reap advantage: this in question, No dinning you with ship-money complaints!

QUEEN (To CARLISLE).

If we dissolve them, who will pay the army? Protect us from the insolent Scots?

CARLISLE.

In truth I know not, Madam: Strafford's fate concerns Me little: you desired to learn what course Would save him: I obey you.

VANE.

Notice, too, There can't be fairer ground for taking full Revenge—(Strafford's revengeful)—than he'll have Against this very Pym.

QUEEN.

Why, he shall claim Vengeance on Pym!

VANE.

And Strafford, who is he To 'scape unscathed amid the accidents That harass all beside? I, for my part, Should look for something of discomfiture Had the King trusted me so thoroughly And been so paid for it.

HOLLAND.

He'll keep at York: All will blow over: he'll return no worse— Humbled a little—thankful for a place Under as good a man—Oh, we'll dispense With seeing Strafford for a month or two!

(Enter STRAFFORD.)

QUEEN.

You here!

STRAFFORD.

The King sends for me, Madam.

QUEEN.

Sir. . . The King. ..

STRAFFORD.

An urgent matter that imports the King. . . (To CARLISLE.) Why, Lucy, what's in agitation now That all this muttering and shrugging, see, Begins at me? They do not speak!

CARLISLE.

Oh welcome! . . And we are proud of you. . . all very proud To have you with us, Strafford. . you were brave At Durham. . You did well there. . Had you not Been stayed you might have. . . . we said, even now, Our last, last hope's in you!

VANE.

(To CARLISLE.) The Queen would speak A word with you!

STRAFFORD.

(To VANE.)      Will one of you vouchsafe To signify my presence to the King?

SAVILE.

An urgent matter?

STRAFFORD.

None that touches you Lord Savile! Say it were some treacherous, Sly, pitiful intriguing with the Scots— You would go free, at least! (Aside.) They half divine My purpose! (To the QUEEN.) Madam, shall I see the King? The service I would render much concerns His welfare.

QUEEN.

But his Majesty, my lord, May not be here, may. ..

STRAFFORD.

Its importance, then, Must plead excuse for this withdrawal, Madam— And for the grief it gives Lord Savile here.

QUEEN.

(Who has been conversing with VANE and HOLLAND.)

The King will see you, Sir. (To CARLISLE.)           Mark me: Pym's worst Is done by now—he has impeached the Earl, Or found the Earl too strong for him, by now; Let us not seem instructed! We should work No good to Strafford, but deform ourselves With shame in the world's eye! (To STRAFFORD.) His Majesty Has much to say with you.

STRAFFORD.

(Aside.) Time fleeting, too! (To CARLISLE.) No means of getting them away, Carlisle? What does she whisper? Does she know my purpose? What does she think of it? Get them away!

QUEEN.

(To CARLISLE.) He comes to baffle Pym—he thinks the danger Far off—tell him no word of it—a time For help will come—we'll not be wanting, then! Keep him in play, Carlisle—you, self-possessed And calm! (To STRAFFORD.) To spare your Lordship some delay I will myself acquaint the King. (To CARLISLE.) Beware! (Exeunt QUEEN, VANE, HOLLAND and SAVILE.)

STRAFFORD.

She knows it?

CARLISLE.

Tell me, Strafford. . ..

STRAFFORD.

Afterward! The moment's the great moment of all time! She knows my purpose?

CARLISLE.

Thoroughly—just now She bade me hide it from you.

STRAFFORD.

Quick, dear girl. . The whole grand scheme?

CARLISLE.

(Aside.) Ah, he would learn if they Connive at Pym's procedure! Could they but Have once apprized the King! But there's no time For falsehood, now. (To STRAFFORD.) Strafford, the whole is known.

STRAFFORD.

Known and approved?

CARLISLE.

Hardly discountenanced.

STRAFFORD.

And the king—say the king consents as well!

CARLISLE.

The king's not yet informed, but will not dare To interpose.

STRAFFORD.

What need to wait him, then? He'll sanction it! I stayed, girl tell him, long! It vexed me to the soul—this waiting here— You know him—there's no counting on the king! Tell him I waited long!

CARLISLE.

(Aside.) What can he mean? Rejoice at the king's hollowness?

STRAFFORD.

I knew They would be glad of it,—all over once, I knew they would be glad. . . but he'd contrive, The Queen and he, to mar, by helping it, An angel's making!

CARLISLE.

(Aside.) Is he mad? (To STRAFFORD.) Dear Strafford, You were not wont to look so happy.

STRAFFORD.

Girl, I tried obedience thoroughly: I took The king's wild plan. . . of course, ere I could reach My army—Conway ruined it: I drew The wrecks together, raised all heaven and earth, And would have fought the Scots—the King at once Made truce with them: then, Lucy, then, dear girl, God put it my mind to love, serve, die For Charles—but never to obey him more! While he endured their insolence at Rippon I fell on them at Durham! . . . But you'll tell The king I waited? All the anteroom Is filled with my adherents.

CARLISLE.

Strafford—Strafford What daring act is this you hint?

STRAFFORD.

No—No! 'Tis here—not daring if you knew!—all here! (Drawing papers from his breast.) Full proof—see—ample proof—does the Queen know I have such damning proof? Bedford and Essex, Broke, Warwick, Savile (did you notice Savile? The simper that I spoilt?) Say, Mandeville— Sold to the Scots, body and soul, by Pym!

CARLISLE.

Great heaven!

STRAFFORD.

From Savile and his lords, to Pym— I crush them, girl—Pym shall not ward the blow Nor Savile crawl aside from it! The Court And the Cabal—I crush them!

CARLISLE.

And you go. . . Strafford,—and now you go? . ..

STRAFFORD.

About no work In the back-ground, I promise you! I go Straight to the House of Lords to claim these men. Mainwaring!

CARLISLE.

Stay—stay, Strafford!

STRAFFORD.

She'll return— The Queen—some little project of her own— No time to lose—the King takes fright perhaps—

CARLISLE.

Pym's strong, remember!

STRAFFORD.

Very strong—as fits The Faction's Head. . with no offence to Hampden, Vane, Rudyard and my loving Hollis—one And all they lodge within the Tower to-night In just equality. Bryan! Mainwaring! (Many of his Adherents enter.) The Peers debate just now (a lucky chance) On the Scots war—my visit's opportune: When all is over, Bryan, you'll proceed To Ireland: these despatches, mark me, Bryan, Are for the Deputy, and these for Ormond— We'll want the Army here—my Army, raised At such a cost, that should have done such good, And was inactive all the time! no matter— We'll find a use for it. Willis. . . no—You! You, friend, make haste to York—bear this, at once. . . Or,—better stay for form's sake—see yourself The news you carry. You remain with me To execute the Parliament's command, Mainwaring—help to seize the lesser knaves: Take care there's no escaping at backdoors! To not have one escape—mind me—not one! I seem revengeful, Lucy? Did you know What these men dare!

CARLISLE.

It is so much they dare!

STRAFFORD.

I proved that long ago; my turn is now! Keep sharp watch, Goring, on the citizens; Observe who harbours any of the brood That scramble off: be sure they smart for it! Our coffers are but lean. And you, girl, too, Shall have your task—deliver this to Laud— Laud will not be the slowest in my praise! "Thorough" he'll say! —Foolish, to be so glad! This sort of life is vivid, after all! 'Tis worth while, Lucy, having foes like mine For the dear bliss of crushing them! To-day Is worth the living for!

CARLISLE.

That reddening brow! You seem. ..

STRAFFORD.

Well—do I not? I would be well— I could not but be well on such a day! And, this day ended, 'tis of slight import How long the ravaged frame subjects the soul In Strafford!

CARLISLE.

Noble Strafford!

STRAFFORD.

No farewell! I'll see you, girl, to-morrow—the first thing! —If she should come to stay me!

CARLISLE.

Go—'tis nothing— Only my heart that swells—it has been thus Ere now—go, Strafford!

STRAFFORD.

To-night, then, let it be! I must see Him. . . I'll see you after Him. . I'll tell you how Pym looked. Follow me, friends! You, gentlemen, shall see a sight this hour To talk of all your lives. Close after me! "My friend of friends!" (Exeunt STRAFFORD, &c.)

CARLISLE.

The King—ever the King! No thought of one beside, whose little word Unveils the King to him—one word from me— Which yet I do not breathe! Ah, have I spared Strafford a pang, and shall I seek reward Beyond that memory? Surely too, some way He is the better for my love. . . No, no He would not look so joyous—I'll believe His very eye would never sparkle thus, Had I not prayed for him this long, long while! (Exit.)

Scene III
THE ANTECHAMBER OF THE HOUSE OF LORDS.

''Many of the Presbyterian Party. The Adherents of'' STRAFFORD, &c.

A Group of PRESBYTERIANS.

1. I tell you he struck Maxwell—Maxwell sought To stay the Earl: he struck him and passed on.

2. Fear as you may, keep a good countenance Before these ruffians!

3.                        Strafford here the first— With the great army at his back!

4.                                    No doubt! I would Pym had made haste. . . that's Bryan, hush— The fellow pointing.

STRAFFORD'S Followers.

1.                    Mark these worthies, now!

2. A goodly gathering! "Where the carcass is    There shall the eagles". . what's the rest?

3.                                           For eagles Say crows.

A PRESBYTERIAN.

Stand back, Sirs!

One of STRAFFORD'S Followers.

Are we in Geneva?

A PRESBYTERIAN.

No—nor in Ireland, we have leave to breathe.

One of STRAFFORD'S Followers.

Really? Behold how grand a thing it is To serve "King Pym"! There's some one at Whitehall That lives obscure, but Pym lives. ..

The PRESBYTERIAN.

Nearer!

A Follower of STRAFFORD.

Higher We look to see him! (To his Companions.) I'm to have St. John In charge; was he among the knaves just now That followed Pym within there?

Another.

The gaunt man Talking with Rudyard. Did the Earl expect Pym at his heels so fast? I like it not. (Enter MAXWELL.)

Another.

Why, man, they rush into the net! Here's Maxwell— Ha, Maxwell?—How the brethren flock around The fellow! Do you feel the Earl's hand yet Upon your shoulder, Maxwell?

MAXWELL.

Gentlemen, Stand back! A great thing passes here.

A Follower of STRAFFORD.

(To another.)                        The Earl Is at his work! (To M.) Say, Maxwell, what great thing! Speak out! (To a PRESBYTERIAN.) Friends, I've a kindness for you! Friends, I've seen you with St. John. . . O stockishness! Wear such a ruff, and never call to mind St. John's head in a charger? What—the plague— Not laugh?

Another.

Say Maxwell, what it is!

Another.

Hush—wait— The jest will be to wait—

First.

And who's to bear These quiet hypocrites? You'd swear they came. . . Came. . . just as we come!

(A Puritan enters hastily and without observing STRAFFORD'S Followers.)

The PURITAN.

How goes on the work? Has Pym. ..

A Follower of STRAFFORD.

The secret's out at last—Aha, The carrion's scented! Welcome, crow the first! Gorge merrily you with the blinking eye! "King Pym has fallen!"

The PURITAN.

Pym?

A Follower of STRAFFORD.

Pym!

A PRESBYTERIAN.

Only Pym?

Many of STRAFFORD'S Followers.

No, brother—not Pym only—Vane as well— Rudyard as well—Hampden—Saint John as well—

A PRESBYTERIAN.

My mind misgives. . can it be true?

Another.

Lost! Lost!

A Follower of STRAFFORD.

Say we true, Maxwell?

The PURITAN.

Pride before destruction, A haughty spirit goeth before a fall!

Many of STRAFFORD'S Followers.

Ah now! The very thing! A word in season! A golden apple in a silver picture To greet Pym as he passes!

(The folding-doors at the back begin to open, noise and light issuing.)

MAXWELL.

Stand back, all!

Many of the PRESBYTERIANS.

I'll die with Pym! And I!

STRAFFORD'S Followers.

Now for the text— He comes! Quick!

The PURITAN.

(With uplifted arms.) How hath the Oppressor ceased! The Lord hath broken the staff of the wicked: The sceptre of the Rulers—he who smote The People in wrath with a continual stroke— That ruled the nations in his anger. . . He Is persecuted and none hindereth!

(At the beginning of this speech, the doors open, and STRAFFORD in the greatest disorder, and amid cries from within of "Void the House," staggers out. When he reaches the front of the Stage, silence.)

STRAFFORD.

Impeach me! Pym! I never struck, I think, The felon on that calm insulting mouth When it proclaimed—Pym's mouth proclaimed me. .                                   God! Was it a word, only a word that held The outrageous blood back on my heart. . which beats! Which beats! Some one word. . . "Traitor," did he say Bending that eye, brimful of bitter fire, Upon me?

MAXWELL.

(Advancing.) In the Commons' name, their servant Demands Lord Strafford's sword.

STRAFFORD.

What did you say?

MAXWELL.

The Commons bid me ask your Lordship's sword.

STRAFFORD (suddenly recovering, and looking round, draws it, and turns to his followers).

Let us go forth—follow me, gentlemen— Draw your swords too—cut any down that bar us! On the King's service! Maxwell, clear the way!

(The PRESBYTERIANS prepare to dispute his passage.)

STRAFFORD.

Ha—true! . . . That is, you mistake me, utterly— I will stay—the King himself shall see me—here— Here—I will stay, Mainwaring!—First of all, (To MAXWELL.) Your tablets, fellow! (He writes on them.) (To MAINWARING.)               Give that to the King! Yes, Maxwell, for the next half-hour, I will. . . I will remain your prisoner, I will! Nay, you shall take my sword! (MAXWELL advances to take it.) No—no—not that! Their blood, perhaps, may wipe out all thus far— All up to that—not that! Why, friend, you see When the King lays his head beneath my foot It will not pay for that! Go, all of you!

MAXWELL.

I grieve, my lord, to disobey: none stir.

STRAFFORD.

This gentle Maxwell!—Do not touch him, Bryan! (To the PRESBYTERIAN.) Whichever cur of you will carry this I'll save him from the fate of all the rest— I'll have him made a Peer—I'll. . . none will go? None?

(Cries from within of "STRAFFORD.") (To his FOLLOWERS.) Slingsby, I've loved you at least—my friend, Stab me! I have not time to tell you why. . . You then, dear Bryan! You Mainwaring, then! . . . Ah, that's because I spoke so hastily At Allerton—the King had vexed me. . .           (To the PRESBYTERIANS.)    You Miscreants—you then—that I'll exterminate! —Not even you? If I live over it The King is sure to have your heads—you know I'm not afraid of that—you understand That if I chose to wait—made up my mind To live this minute—he would do me right! But what if I can't live this minute through? If nothing can repay that minute? Pym With his pursuing smile—Pym to be there! (Louder cries of "STRAFFORD.") The King! I troubled him—stood in the way Of his negotiations—was the one Great obstacle to peace—the Enemy Of Scotland—and he sent for me—from York— My safety guaranteed—having prepared A Parliament! I see! And at Whitehall The Queen was whispering with Vane. . . I see The trap! I curse the King! I wish Pym well! Wish all his brave friends well! Say, all along Strafford was with them—all along, at heart, I hated Charles and wished them well! And say (tearing off the George and dashing it down) That as I tread this gew-gaw under foot, I cast his memory from me! One stroke, now!

(His own adherents disarm him. Renewed cries of "STRAFFORD.")

I'll not go. . . they shall drag me by the hair! (Changing suddenly to calm.) England! I see her arm in this! I yield. Why—'tis the fairest triumph! Why desire To cheat them? I would never stoop to that—— Be mean enough for that! Let all have end! Don't repine, Slingsby. . have they not a right? They claim me—hearken—lead me to them, Bryan! No—I myself should offer up myself. Pray you now. . . Pym awaits me. . . pray you now!

(Putting aside those who attempt to support him, STRAFFORD reaches the doors—they open wide. HAMPDEN, &c. and a crowd discovered; and at the bar, PYM standing apart. As STRAFFORD kneels the scene shuts.)

title: Strafford (Browning)/Act III


text:
Strafford (Browning)/Act IV

Scene I
WHITEHALL.

The KING, the QUEEN, HOLLIS, CARLISLE. (VANE, HOLLAND, SAVILE, in the back-ground.)

CARLISLE.

Answer them, Hollis, for his sake!—One word!

CHARLES.

(To HOLLIS.) You stand, silent and cold, as though I were Deceiving you—my friend, my playfellow Of other times! What wonder after all? Just so I dreamed my People loved me!

HOLLIS.

Sire, It is yourself that you deceive, not me! You'll quit me comforted—your mind made up That since you've talked thus much and grieved thus much, All you can do for Strafford has been done.

QUEEN.

If you kill Strafford. . . come, we grant you leave, Suppose. ..

HOLLIS.

I may withdraw, Sire?

CARLISLE.

Hear them out! 'Tis the last chance for Strafford! Hear them out!

HOLLIS.

"If we kill Strafford"—on the eighteenth day Of Strafford's trial—We!

CHARLES.

Pym, my good Hollis— Pym, I should say!

HOLLIS.

Ah, true—Sire, pardon me! You witness our proceedings every day, But the screened gallery, I might have guessed, Admits of such a partial glimpse at us— Pym takes up all the room, shuts out the view! Still, on my honour, Sire, the rest of the place Is not unoccupied: the Commons sit —That's England; Ireland sends, and Scotland too, Their representatives: the Peers that judge Are easily distinguished; one remarks The People here and there. . . but the close curtain Must hide so much!

QUEEN.

Acquaint your insolent crew, This day the curtain shall be dashed aside! It served a purpose!

HOLLIS.

Think! This very day? Ere Strafford rises to defend himself?

CHARLES.

I will defend him, Sir! sanction the past— This day—it ever was my purpose! Rage At me, not Strafford! Oh I shall be paid By Strafford's look!

CARLISLE.

(To HOLLIS.)        Nobly! Oh will he not Do nobly?

HOLLIS.

Sire, you will do honestly; And, for that look, I too would be a king!

CHARLES (after a pause).

Only, to do this now—just when they seek To make me out a tyrant—one that's deaf To subjects' prayers,—shall I oppose them now? It seems their will the Trial should proceed. . . 'Tis palpably their will!

HOLLIS.

You'll lose your throne: But it were no bright moment save for that! Strafford, your prime support, the sole roof-tree That props this quaking House of Privilege, (Floods come, winds beat, and see—the treacherous sand!) Doubtless if the mere putting forth an arm Could save him, you'd save Strafford!

CHARLES.

And they mean Calmly to consummate this wrong! No hope? This ineffaceable wrong! No pity then?

HOLLIS.

No plague in store for perfidy?—Farewell! You summoned me. . . (To CARLISLE.) You, Lady, bade me come To save the Earl! I came, thank God for it, To learn how far such perfidy can go! . . . You dare to talk with me of saving him Who have just ruined Strafford!

CHARLES.

I?

HOLLIS.

See, now! Eighteen days long he throws, one after one, Our charges back: a blind moth-eaten law! —He'll break from us at last! And whom to thank? The Mouse that gnawed the Lion's net for him Got a good friend,—but he, the other Mouse, That looked on while the Lion freed himself—— Fared he so well, does any fable say?

CHARLES.

What can you mean?

HOLLIS.

Pym never could have proved Strafford's design of bringing up the troops To force this kingdom to obedience: Vane— Your servant, Vane. ..

QUEEN.

Well, Sir?

HOLLIS.

. . Has proved it.

CHARLES.

Vane?

HOLLIS.

This day! Did Vane deliver up or no Those notes which, furnished by his son to Pym, Have sealed. ..

CHARLES.

Speak Vane! As I shall live, I know Nothing that Vane has done! What treason next? I wash my hands of it! Vane, speak the truth! —Ask Vane himself!

HOLLIS.

I will not speak to Vane Who speak to Pym and Hampden every day!

QUEEN.

Speak to Vane's master then! Why should he wish For Strafford's death?

HOLLIS.

Why? Strafford cannot turn As you sit there—bid you come forth and say If every hateful act were not set down In his commission?—Whether you contrived Or no that all the violence should seem His work, the gentle ways—your own, as if He counteracted your kind impulses While. . . but you know what he could say! And then Would he produce, mark you, a certain charge To set your own express commands aside, If need were, and be blameless! He'd say, then. . ..

CHARLES.

Hold!

HOLLIS.

. . . . Say who bade him break the Parliament,— Find out some pretext to set up sword-law. ..

QUEEN.

Retire, Sir!

CHARLES.

Vane—once more—what Vane dares do I know not. . . he is rash. . . a fool. . . I know Nothing of Vane!

HOLLIS.

Well—I believe you; Sire Believe me, in return, that. . . (Turning to CARLISLE.) Gentle Lady, The few words I would say the stones might hear Sooner than these. . . I'll say them all to you, You, with the heart! The question, trust me, takes Another shape, to-day: 'tis not if Charles Or England shall succumb,—but which shall pay The forfeit, Strafford or his Master: Sire, You loved me once. . . think on my warning now! (Exit.)

CHARLES.

On you and on your warning both!—Carlisle! That paper!

QUEEN.

But consider!

CHARLES.

Give it me! There—signed—will that content you?—Do not speak! You have betrayed me, Vane!—See—any day (According to the tenour of that paper) He bids your brother bring the Army up, Strafford shall head it and take full revenge! Seek Strafford! Let him have it, look, before He rises to defend himself!

QUEEN.

In truth? Clever of Hollis, now, to work a change Like this! You were reluctant. ..

CHARLES.

Say, Carlisle Your brother Percy brings the Army up— Falls on the Parliament——(I'll think of you My Hollis!)—say we plotted long. . . 'tis mine, The scheme is mine, remember! Say I cursed Vane's folly in your hearing! If that man Does rise to do us shame, the fault shall lie With you, Carlisle!

CARLISLE.

Nay, fear not me! but still That's a bright moment, Sire, you throw away. . . Oh, draw the veil and save him!

QUEEN.

Go, Carlisle!

CARLISLE (aside, and going).

I shall see Strafford—speak to him: my heart Must never beat so, then! And if I tell The truth? What's gained by falsehood? There they stand Whose trade it is—whose life it is! How vain To gild such rottenness! Strafford shall know, Thoroughly know them!

THE QUEEN (as she leaves the KING, &c.)

Trust to me! (To CARLISLE.) Carlisle, You seem inclined, alone of all the Court, To serve poor Strafford: this bold plan of yours Merits much praise, and yet. ..

CARLISLE.

Time presses, Madam.

QUEEN.

Yet. . . may it not be something premature? Strafford defends himself to-day—reserves Some wondrous effort. . one may well suppose— He'll say some overwhelming fact, Carlisle!

CARLISLE.

Aye, Hollis hints as much.

CHARLES.

Why linger then? Haste with the scheme—my scheme—I shall be there To watch his look! Tell him I watch his look!

QUEEN.

Stay, we'll precede you!

CARLISLE.

At your pleasure.

CHARLES.

Say. . . Say. . Vane is hardly ever at Whitehall! I shall be there, remember!

CARLISLE.

Doubt me not!

CHARLES.

On our return, Carlisle, we wait you here!

CARLISLE.

I'll bring his answer; Sire, I follow you. (Exeunt K. &c.) Ah. . . but he would be very sad to find The King so faithless, and I take away All that he cares to live for: let it go—— 'Tis the King's scheme! My Strafford, I can save. . . Nay, I have saved you—yet am scarce content, Because my poor name will not cross your mind. . . Strafford, how much I am unworthy you! (Exit.)

Scene II
A PASSAGE ADJOINING WESTMINSTER HALL.

Many groups of SPECTATORS of the Trial (which is visible from the back of the Stage)—OFFICERS of the Court, &c.

FIRST SPECTATOR.

More crowd than ever! . . . Not know Hampden, man? That's he—by Pym—Pym that is speaking now! No, truly—if you look so high you'll see Little enough of either!

SECOND SPECTATOR.

Hush. . Pym's arm Points like a prophet's rod!

THIRD SPECTATOR.

Ay—ay—we've heard Some pretty speaking. . yet the Earl escapes!

FOURTH SPECTATOR.

I fear it: just a foolish word or two About his children. . . and they see, forsooth, Not England's Foe in Strafford—but the Man Who, sick, half-blind. ..

SECOND SPECTATOR.

What's that Pym's saying now That makes the curtains flutter. . look! A hand Clutches them. . Ah! The King's hand!

FIFTH SPECTATOR.

I had thought Pym was not near so tall! What said he, friend?

SECOND SPECTATOR.

"Nor is this way a novel way of blood". . . And the Earl turns as if to. . . look! look!

MANY SPECTATORS.

Heaven— What ails him. . no—he rallies. . see—goes on And Strafford smiles. Strange!

(Enter a PURITAN.)

THE PURITAN.

Haselrig.

MANY SPECTATORS.

Friend? Friend?

THE PURITAN.

Lost—utterly lost. . just when we looked for Pym To make a stand against the ill effects Of the Earl's speech! Is Haselrig without? Pym's message is to him! (Exit.)

THIRD SPECTATOR.

Now, said I true? Will the Earl leave them yet at fault or no?

FIRST SPECTATOR.

Never believe it, man! These notes of Vane's Ruin the Earl!

FIFTH SPECTATOR.

A brave end. . not a whit Less firm, less. . . Pym all over! Then the Trial Is closed. . . no. . Strafford means to speak again!

AN OFFICER.

Stand back, there!

FIFTH SPECTATOR.

Why the Earl is coming hither! Before the court breaks up! His brother, look,— You'd say he deprecated some fierce act In Strafford's mind just now!

AN OFFICER.

Stand back, I say!

SECOND SPECTATOR.

Who's the veiled woman that he talks with?

MANY SPECTATORS.

Hush— The Earl! the Earl!

(Enter STRAFFORD, SLINGSBY and other Secretaries, HOLLIS, CARLISLE, MAXWELL, BALFOUR, &c. STRAFFORD converses with CARLISLE.)

HOLLIS.

So near the end! Be patient— Return!

STRAFFORD.

(To his Secretaries.) Here—anywhere—or—'tis freshest here. . (To spend one's April here—the blossom-month!) Set it down here! (They arrange a table, papers &c.) What, Pym to quail, to sink Because I glance at him, yet. . .                               Well, to end— What's to be answered, Slingsby? Let us end! (To CARLISLE.) Girl, I refuse his offer; whatsoe'er It be! Too late! Tell me no word of him! (To HOLLIS.) 'Tis something, Hollis, I assure you that— To stand, sick as you are, some eighteen days Fighting for life and fame against a pack Of very curs, that lie thro' thick and thin, Eat flesh and bread by wholesale, and can't say "Strafford" if it would take my life!

CARLISLE.

Be kind This once! Glance at the paper. . if you will But glance at it. ..

STRAFFORD.

Already at my heels! Pym's faulting bloodhounds scent the track again! Peace, girl! Now, Slingsby!

(Messengers from Lane and other of STRAFFORD'S Counsel within the Hall are coming and going during the Scene.)

STRAFFORD (setting himself to write and dictate).

I shall beat you, Hollis! Do you know that? In spite of all your tricks— In spite of Pym! Your Pym that shrank from me! Eliot would have contrived it otherwise! (To a Messenger.) In truth? This slip, tell Lane, contains as much As I can call to mind about the matter. (To HOLLIS.) Eliot would have disdained. . . (Calling after the Messenger.)               And Radcliffe, say— The only person who could answer Pym— Is safe in prison, just for that! (Continuing to HOLLIS). Well—well— It had not been recorded in that case, I baffled you! (To CARLISLE.) Nay, girl, why look so grieved? All's gained without the King! You saw Pym quail? . . . What shall I do when they acquit me, think you, But tranquilly resume my task as though Nothing had intervened since I proposed To call that traitor to account! Such tricks, Trust me, shall not be played a second time— Even against old Laud, with his grey hair. . . Your good work, Hollis!—And to make amends You, Lucy, shall be there when I impeach Pym and his fellows!

HOLLIS.

Wherefore not protest Against our whole proceeding long ago? Why feel indignant now? Why stand this while Enduring patiently. ..

STRAFFORD.

(To CARLISLE.)             Girl, I'll tell you— You—and not Pym. . you, the slight graceful girl Tall for a flowering lily—and not Charles. . . Why I stood patient! I was fool enough To see the will of England in Pym's will— To dream that I had wronged her—and to wait Her judgment,—when, behold, in place of it. . . (To a Messenger who whispers.) Tell Lane to answer no such question! Law. . . I grapple with their Law! I'm here to try My actions by their standard, not my own! Their Law allowed that levy. . . what's the rest To Pym, or Lane, or any but myself?

CARLISLE.

Then cast not thus your only chance away— The King's so weak. . secure this chance! 'Twas Vane —Vane, recollect, who furnished Pym the notes. ..

STRAFFORD.

Fit. . very fit. . those precious notes of Vane, To close the Trial worthily! I feared Some spice of nobleness might linger yet To spoil the character of all the past! It pleased me. . and (rising passionately) I will go back and say As much—to them—to England! Follow me! I have a word to say! There! my defence Is done! (To CARLISLE.) Stay. . why be proud? Why care to own My gladness—my surprise? . . no—not surprise! Oh, why insist upon the little pride Of doing all myself and sparing him The pain? Girl, say the triumph is my King's! When Pym grew pale, and trembled, and sank down— His image was before me. . . could I fail? Girl, care not for the past—so indistinct— Obscure—there's nothing to forgive in it 'Tis so forgotten! From this day begins A new life, founded on a new belief In Charles. ..

HOLLIS.

Pym comes. . tell Pym it is unfair! Appeal to Pym! Hampden—and Vane! see, Strafford! Say how unfair. ..

STRAFFORD.

To Pym? I would say nothing! I would not look upon Pym's face again!

CARLISLE.

Stay. . let me have to think I pressed your hand! (Exeunt STRAFFORD &c.)

(Enter HAMPDEN and VANE.)

VANE.

O Hampden, save that great misguided man! Plead Strafford's cause with Pym—I have remarked He moved no muscle when we all spoke loud Against him. . . you had but to breathe—he turned Those kind, large eyes upon you—kind to all But Strafford. . whom I murder!

(Enter PYM (conversing with the Solicitor-General, St. JOHN), the Managers of the Trial, FIENNES, RUDYARD, &c.)

RUDYARD.

Horrible! Till now all hearts were with you. . . I withdraw For one! Too horrible! Oh we mistake Your purpose, Pym. . you cannot snatch away The last spar from the drowning man!

FIENNES.

He talks With St. John of it—see how quietly! (To other PRESBYTERIANS.) You'll join us? Mind, we own he merits death— But this new course is monstrous! Vane, take heart! This Bill of his Attainder shall not have One true man's hand to it!

VANE.

But hear me, Pym! Confront your Bill—your own Bill. . what is it? You cannot catch the Earl on any charge. . No man will say the Law has hold of him On any charge. . and therefore you resolve To take the general sense on his desert,— As though no Law existed, and we met To found one!—You refer to every man To speak his thought upon this hideous mass Of half-borne out assertions—dubious hints Hereafter to be cleared—distortions—aye, And wild inventions. Every man is saved The task of fixing any single charge 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 think 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.)

title: Strafford (Browning)/Act IV


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Gruneisen, Charles Lewis


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Gryg, Gruffydd