SCENE II. _Whitehall.

CHARLES _and_ STRAFFORD.

_Cha._ 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, sir, With the same face, too--tell me just one thing That ruins them! How 's this? What may this mean? Sir, who has done this?

_Cha._ Strafford, who but I? You bade me put the rest away: indeed You are alone.

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

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

_Straf._ My liege, Was this the way? I said, since Laud would lap A little blood, 't were best to hurry over 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 an English ... but you look As though you had not told me fifty times 'T was a brave plan! My army is all raised, I am prepared to join it ...

_Cha._ Hear me, Strafford!

_Straf._ ... 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 The 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?

_Cha._ So disrespectful, sir?

_Straf._ My liege, do not believe it! I am yours, Yours ever: 't is 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!

_Cha._ My Strafford!

_Straf._ [_Examines papers awhile._] "Seize the passes of the Tyne!" But, sir, 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.

_Cha._ Need the Parliament?

_Straf._ Now, for God's sake, sir, not one error more! We can afford no error; we draw, now, Upon our last resource: the Parliament Must help us!

_Cha._ I 've undone you, Strafford!

_Straf._ Nay-- Nay--why despond, sir, 't is not come to that! I have not hurt you? Sir, what have I said To hurt you? I unsay it! Don't despond! Sir, do you turn from me?

_Cha._ My friend of friends!

_Straf._ We 'll make a shift. Leave me the Parliament! Help they us ne'er so little and I 'll make Sufficient 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!

_Cha._ Good Strafford!

_Straf._ 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 stanch ally Turned ours: that told, there 's half the blow to strike! What will the grant be? What does Glanville think?

_Cha._ Alas!

_Straf._ My liege?

_Cha._ Strafford!

_Straf._ But answer me! Have they ... Oh surely not refused us half? Half the twelve subsidies? We never looked For all of them. How many do they give?

_Cha._ You have not heard ...

_Straf._ (What has he done?)--Heard what? But speak at once, sir, this grows terrible! [_The King continuing silent._ You have dissolved them!--I 'll not leave this man.

_Cha._ 'T was old Vane's ill-judged vehemence.

_Straf._ Old Vane?

_Cha._ He told them, just about to vote the half, That nothing short of all twelve subsidies Would serve our turn, or be accepted.

_Straf._ Vane! Vane! Who, sir, 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 ... 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, sir, 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! --Sir, you 'll not ever listen to these men, And I away, fighting your battle? Sir, If they--if She--charge me, no matter how-- Say you, "At any time when he returns His head is mine!" Don't stop me there! You know My head is yours, but never stop me there!

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

_Straf._ 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, sir, I think within my heart, That you would say I did advise the war; And if, through your own weakness, or, what 's worse, These Scots, with God to help them, drive me back, You will not step between the raging People And me, to say ... I knew it! from the first I knew it! 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 the whisperings With Vane, with Savile? What, the face was masked? I had the heart to see, sir! Face of flesh, But 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? (PYM, HAMPDEN, VANE, _etc., enter._) [_Dropping on his knee._] Thus favored with your gracious countenance What shall a rebel League avail against Your servant, utterly and ever yours? 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 gray eyes are fixed Upon you, sir! Your pleasure, gentlemen.

_Hamp._ The King dissolved us-- 't is the King we seek And not Lord Strafford.

_Straf._ Strafford, guilty too Of counselling the measure. [_To_ CHARLES.] (Hush ... you know-- You have forgotten--sir, I counselled it) A heinous matter, truly! But the King Will yet see cause to thank me for a course Which now, perchance ... (Sir, 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: as the King disappears, they turn as by one impulse to_ PYM, _who has not changed his original posture of surprise._

_Hamp._ Leave we this arrogant strong wicked man!

_Vane and others._ Hence, Pym! Come out of this unworthy place To our old room again! He 's gone. [STRAFFORD, _just about to follow the King, looks back._

_Pym._ Not gone!

[_To_ STRAFFORD.] Keep tryst! the old appointment 's made anew: Forget not we shall meet again!

_Straf._ So be it! And if an army follows me?

_Vane._ His friends Will entertain your army!

_Pym._ I' ll not say You have misreckoned, Strafford: time shows. Perish Body and spirit! Fool to feign a doubt, Pretend the scrupulous and nice reserve Of one whose prowess shall achieve the feat! What share have I in it? Do 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! [PYM, HAMPDEN, _etc., go out._

_Straf._ Pym, we shall meet again! (Lady CARLISLE _enters._) You here, child?

_Lady Car._ Hush-- I know it all: hush, Strafford!

_Straf._ Ah! you know? Well. I shall make a sorry soldier, Lucy! All knights begin their enterprise, we read, Under the best of auspices; 't is morn, The Lady girds his sword upon the Youth (He' s always very young)--the trumpets sound, Cups pledge him, and, why, 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, rarely having handled lance, And rather old, weary, and far from sure His Squires are not the Giant's friends. All' s one: Let us go forth!

_Lady Car._ Go forth?

_Straf._ What matters it? We shall die gloriously--as the book says.

_Lady Car._ To Scotland? not to Scotland?

_Straf._ Am I sick Like your good brother, brave Northumberland? Beside, these walls seem falling on me.

_Lady Car._ 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? Old 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!

_Straf._ Oh,--I give that up! There' s fate in it: I give all here quite up. Care not what old Vane does or Holland does Against me! 'T is so idle to withstand! In no case tell me what they do!

_Lady Car._ But, Strafford ...

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

_Lady Car._ Why do you smile?

_Straf._ I got to fear them, child! I could have torn his throat at first, old Vane's, As he leered at me on his stealthy way To the Queen's closet. Lord, one loses heart! I often found it on my lips to say, "Do not traduce me to her!"

_Lady Car._ But the King ...

_Straf._ The King stood there, 't is not so long ago, --There; and the whisper, Lucy, "Be my friend Of friends!"--My King! I would have ...

_Lady Car._ ... Died for him?

_Straf._ Sworn him true, Lucy: I can die for him.

_Lady Car._ But go not, Strafford! But you must renounce This project on the Scots! Die, wherefore die? Charles never loved you.

_Straf._ And he never will. He' s not of those who care the more for men That they 're unfortunate.

_Lady Car._ Then wherefore die For such a master?

_Straf._ 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, child, to ask me this?

_Lady Car._ (If he have set His heart abidingly on Charles!) Then, friend, I shall not see you any more.

_Straf._ Yes, Lucy. There 's one man here I have to meet.

_Lady Car._ (The King! What way to save him from the King? My soul-- That lent from its own store the charmed disguise Which clothes the King--he shall behold my soul!) Strafford,--I shall speak best if you 'll not gaze Upon me: I had never thought, indeed, To speak, but you would perish too, so sure! Could you but know what 't is to bear, my friend, 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 Let nature lose her gracious thought forever!

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

_Lady Car._ What?

_Straf._ --That I Described to you my love for Charles?

_Lady Car._ (Ah, no-- One must not lure him from a love like that! Oh, let him love the King and die! 'T is past. I shall not serve him worse for that one brief And passionate hope, silent forever now!) 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!

_Straf._ If Pym is busy,--you may write of Pym.

_Lady Car._ What need, since there 's your King to take your part? He may endure Vane's counsel; but for Pym-- Think you he 'll suffer Pym to ...

_Straf._ Child, your hair Is glossier than the Queen's!

_Lady Car._ Is that to ask A curl of me?

_Straf._ Scotland--the weary way!

_Lady Car._ Stay, let me fasten it. --A rival's, Strafford?

_Straf._ [_showing the George._] He hung it there: twine yours around it, child!

_Lady Car._ 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.

_Straf._ I shall not fail in Scotland.

_Lady Car._ Prosper--if You 'll think of me sometimes!

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

_Lady Car._ Strafford ... Well, when the eve has its last streak The night has its first star. [_She goes out._

_Straf._ 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 Worthy my soul! What, do they beard the King, And shall the King want Strafford at his need? Am I not here? Not in the market-place, Pressed on by the rough artisans, so proud To catch a glance from Wentworth! They lie down Hungry yet smile, "Why, it must end some day: Is he not watching for our sake?" Not there! But in Whitehall, the whited sepulchre, The ... 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--supplant them so, Until you love the man and not the king-- The man with the mild voice and mournful eyes Which send me forth. --To breast the bloody sea That sweeps before me: with one star for guide. Night has its first, supreme, forsaken star.

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