Cromwell:
It is suggested that we becomecourtiers, and susceptible as courtiers are. But that is nothing. Continually we are told that Your Majesty will outwit us.
Charles:
But that is too fantastic. Between men so open one with another. Our scruples—persuasion—yes, these may take time. We may not always easily understand each other there. But that there should be any question of duplicity between us—it is monstrous. We may disagree, stubbornly, Mr. Cromwell, but we know each the other's thought.
Cromwell:
I believe it. You know nothing of these Scotch agents in London?
Charles:
Scotch?
Ireton:
They arrived yesterday.
Charles:
Who are they?
Cromwell:
You do not know, sir?
Charles:
I? Indeed, no.
Cromwell:
I did not suppose it. But already I am beset by warnings. I dismiss them, giving my word in this for your integrity, as it were.
Charles:
Minds are strained in these days, It is shameless of them to say this.
Ireton:
It means so much, you see, sir. Intrigues with Scotland—there are none, we are assured, but if there were it would almost inevitably bring civil war again. The mere shadow of that in men's minds is enough, indeed, to overthrow them. No man can consider the possibility of that without desolation.
Charles:
No. That is unquestionable.
Cromwell:
And so I was minded to come, and be sure by word of mouth, so to speak. Your Majesty knows how suspicions creep in absence, even of those whom we trust. And I have shown, sir, that I trust you.
Charles:
We are not insensitive.
Ireton:
It is of that trust, truly worn, sir, that we may all yet look for a happy settlement.
Charles:
It is my hope, devoutly.
Cromwell:
Parliament bends a little to my persuasion. If I could but induce Your Majesty to treat no longer directly with them, but to leave all to me.
Charles:
It is our Parliament still. We cannot slight them.
Cromwell:
But, sir, you confuse things daily. If the army were no longer intact, it would be another matter. But now it is the army that must be satisfied—in the end there is the real authority. Remember, sir, that these men are not merely soldiers. They are the heart and the conscience of the nation in arms. By their arms thay have prevailed, how bloodily Your Majesty knows. They stand now to see that the settlement is not against that conscience that armed them.
Charles:
But we must consider ourselves. It would be folly to anger the House.
Cromwell:
The House can do nothing without us. And I have considered you, sir. I have persuaded the army that the monarchy is the aptest form of government for this country. It was difficult, but my belief has prevailed. I have even won respect for Your Majesty's person. Do but give us our guarantees, and you will mount a securer throne, I think, than any king has yet held in England.
Charles:
But Parliament—
Ireton:
No, sir. Parliament's demands arenot our demands. To give them what they ask will be to lose all opinion in the army. That would be fatal.
Cromwell:
Parliament and the army are at one in asking for constitutional safeguards. All are agreed on that. But after that we are in dispute, irreconcileably. They want a Presbyterian despotism. This land, sir, has had enough of despotism, and we will not exchange one despotism for another. We, the army, demand liberty of opinion. We respect law, we stand, above all, for order and right behaviour, for an observance of the rights of others. But we demand that a man's thought shall be his own, that his faith shall be directed by none. We stand for Bible freedom. And we, sir, are strong enough to make Parliament accept that, but Parliament can never make us accept the tyranny of the Presbyters. We are the new Independents, sir, the Independents of the spirit. We are determined that henceforth in England no man shall suffer for his faith.
Charles:
I respect these ambitions.
Ireton:
Do but let us go to the army withthat respect, and not a trooper but will renew your power for you.
Charles:
A power a little cropped, eh, Mr. Ireton?
Cromwell:
No, sir, enlarged. You have ruled by interest and fear. You can go back to rule by the affection of a free people. You have the qualities, sir—why waste them?
Charles:
You persuade well. Honestly, I am sure.
Cromwell:
I could take all. I do not want it. I want to restore your fortune, to give you back a regenerate kingship. Will you take it, sir? It is of love I offer it, love of England, of your great office. And you should adorn that inheritance. Men should be proud to call you King, sir.
Ireton:
We have that pride—and we have suffered.
Cromwell:
I can disabuse rumour about Scotland, I can persuade Parliament about the Presbytery, I can convince the army of your good faith as to tolerance, if you will but give me the word. Let us together make Charles Rex the noblest name of Christendom.
Charles:
How shall I stand with the Episcopacy?
Cromwell:
All tyrannies must go together. We mislike no bishops save that they stand by a tyrannous church. That we will destroy. It is there as I have said. We attack not faiths or opinions, but despotism. Let a man think as he will, but he shall command no other man to think it.
Ireton:
We will not persecute even our persecutors. But they shall stay their hands, now and for ever.
Cromwell:
This is just; merciful even. Will you work with us together, sir, to the salvation of our country?
Charles:
You are very patient.
Cromwell:
To great ends. Why do you deliberate, sir? What invention is needed? All is so plain. And many wish you disaster. If you refuse this, it may be hard to deny them.
Charles:
We do not fear disaster.
Cromwell:
But I offer you an ascendancy undreamt of. It should be plain.
Charles:
You offer much, and it shouldprosper. Or I think so. But I must consider. One has old habits, not easily to be put by. One grows to kingship thus, or thus—the manner does not readily change. But I will consider it.
Cromwell:
Time presses.
Charles:
Yes, but a day or two. Say three days.
Cromwell:
Three days, then, sir. I brought Your Majesty this.
(He takes a miniature from his pouch.)
It is newly drawn by Mr. Cooper. It is of a young man, Andrew Marvell, of whose verses Your Majesty would think well. He should do much. Cooper has drawn it well—it's very decisive in line, sir?
Charles:
Yes. A little heavy there in the nostril, perhaps, but good. Yes, very.
Cromwell:
I am told that Van Dyck admires him.
Charles:
I have heard him say so.
Cromwell:
It's generous of him—the methods are so different.
Charles:
Van Dyck draws marvellously in sanguine.
(He takes a drawing from the drawerin front of him and places it before Cromwell, on the case of papers.)
That approaches any of the masters, I think.
Cromwell:
Good—yes. And yet Hans Holbein was incomparable—not so assertive—no, copious, and yet as complete, simpler. But—yes, there is great dignity here.
(He holds up the drawing in front of him, holding it against the folio case for firmness.Charlesmakes a movement, but instantly restrains himself.Cromwellis about to replace the drawing and case on the table, when his glance falls onNeal'spaper, which is lying in front of him. He sees nothing, but a second glance arrests all his movement. After a moment he turns to look fixedly at the King. There is a silence; then:)
Cromwell:
What in the name of God is this?
(Striking the paper with his hand.)
Charles:
It is private to ourselves.
Cromwell
(rising):
To ourselves? For our private pleasure we will destroy this country, and blast the people in it! Read it, Ireton.
(Iretontakes the paper and rises.)
Charles
(rising):
These are notes for our own contemplation.
Cromwell:
Here are ten lines of the bitterest damnation that ever came from the mind of treason.
(Taking the paper again.)
The Scots to invade England. The King's arms to be raised again. Presbytery to... Freedom to be destroyed—and diligently, at the King's pleasure. Word blaspheming word as we have spoken. Disastrous man!
Ireton:
How far has this gone?
Charles:
We are not before our judges.
Cromwell:
It will come. This iniquity means we know not what new bitterness of destruction. But know this, Charles Stuart, that, when we draw the sword again, it is the sword of judgment. Out there many call you the man of blood. I have laboured for you, have met them all in persuasion. I had prevailed. It is finished. Blood is upon us again, blood spilled for a perfidious king. The sword that we had put by for ever! My God, how I have feared it! Well, so be it. We go to the field again—but then, prepare you for the reckoning. It shall be to the uttermost.
Charles:
This argument is ended.
Cromwell:
All arguments are ended.
(He goes withIreton, taking the paper.)
THE SCENE CLOSES
SCENE VII
Cromwell'shouse in London. The morning of January 30, 1649, the day of the King's execution.
Outside the window can be seen the grey winter gloom, brightened by fallen snow. The room, in which a fire is burning, is empty, and for a time there is silence. Then from a near street comes the soft sound of muffled drums.
Bridgetruns in, and goes to the window, opening it. Then she goes back to the door, and calls.
Bridget:
Mother.
(She goes back to the window.)
Elizabeth
(coming in):
Yes.
Bridget:
It is the King. He is passing down to Whitehall.
Elizabeth:
Don't look, child.
Bridget:
I can see nothing but the pike-heads. The people seem very still. You can hear nothing but the drums.
(A little laterMrs. Cromwellcomes in. She goes to a chair by the fire.)
Mrs. Cromwell:
Oliver has just sent from Whitehall for his great coat. I've sent Beth with it.
Bridget:
The King has just passed, grandmother.
Elizabeth:
He has gone into Whitehall.
Mrs. Cromwell:
Men will pity him. He had no pity.
Bridget:
Do you think father is right, grandmother? Saying that it had to be?
Mrs. Cromwell:
Yes, I do think so.
Elizabeth:
He betrayed his own people. It was that.
Mrs. Cromwell:
There could be no safety or hope while he lived.
Bridget:
Yes. He betrayed his own people. That's it.
Mrs. Cromwell:
Kings must love, too.
Elizabeth:
When your father wanted to give him back his throne, a little simplehonesty in the King would have saved all. But he could not come to that.
Bridget:
The drums have stopped.
Mrs. Cromwell:
Is Henry with your father?
Bridget:
Yes.
Mrs. Cromwell:
What is the time?
Elizabeth:
Nearly one o'clock.
Bridget:
It must be past one.
Mrs. Cromwell:
Oliver will be the foremost man in England.
Bridget:
Henry says he could be king.
Elizabeth:
That he would never be. I know.
Mrs. Cromwell:
He will have to guide all.
Bridget:
Don't you wish it could have been done without this, grandmother?
Mrs. Cromwell:
When the world labours in anger, child, you cannot name the hour.
Bridget:
But Henry thinks it is right, too.
Mrs. Cromwell:
If this be wrong, all was wrong.
Bridget:
Yes. Thank you, grandmother. That is what I wanted. It was necessary.
Elizabeth:
Henry meant to come back before the end, didn't he?
Bridget:
He said so.
Mrs. Cromwell:
It's very cold.
Bridget:
I think it will snow again.
Elizabeth:
What are the drums beating again for?
Bridget:
Perhaps—I don't know. Will you have another shawl, grandmother?
Mrs. Cromwell:
No, thank you.
(Iretoncomes in.)
Bridget:
Has anything happened?
Ireton:
Not yet. In a minute or two. At half-past one. It's three minutes yet.
Bridget:
Is father there?
Ireton:
Yes.
Elizabeth:
Not alone?
Ireton:
No. Fairfax and Harrison—five of them.
Mrs. Cromwell:
The King—very brave, I suppose?
Ireton:
Yes. That was inevitable. We are old campaigners.
Elizabeth:
Oliver says that he has been noble since death was certain.
Ireton:
Yes.
Bridget:
If he had but lived so.
Ireton:
He made life ignoble. He wouldhave made it ignoble again, and always. He was a king and he despoiled his people. When that is, kings must perish.
(There is a movement and sound of voices in the streets.Iretonopens the window.ElizabethandBridgetstand with him.)
Ireton:
Yes. It is done.
(Mrs. Cromwellslowly moves across to the window and stands with the others.)
Mrs. Cromwell:
Poor, silly king. Oliver will be here directly. Shut the window, Henry.
(Iretonshuts the window. He,Elizabeth, andBridgetstand looking out.Mrs. Cromwellreturns to her seat. All are very still, and there is a long pause. Then, unseen and unheard,Cromwellcomes in, moving slowly, his coat and hat still on, his boots carrying snow. He looks at his people, all with their backs to him. He walks across the room, and stands behind his mother, looking into the fire.)
THE SCENE CLOSES
SCENE VIII
A November night in 1654, six years later.Mrs. Cromwell'sbedroom in Whitehall, whereCromwellis now installed as Protector.
Mrs. Cromwell, now aged ninety-four, is on her death-bed. Standing beside her isElizabeth, ministering to her.
Elizabeth:
Is that comfortable?
Mrs. Cromwell:
Yes, my dear, very comfortable.
Elizabeth:
Bridget is coming now. I must go down to Cheapside. I must see that man there myself.
Mrs. Cromwell:
Very well, my dear. Bridget is a good girl. I may be asleep before you come back. Good-night.
Elizabeth
(kissing her):
Good-night.
(Softly, at the door.)
Bridget.
Bridget
(from the next room):
Yes, mother.
Elizabeth:
Can you come? I'm going now.
Bridget:
Yes.
(She comes in andElizabethgoes.)
Bridget:
Shall I read, grandmother?
Mrs. Cromwell:
Yes, just a little. Mr. Milton was reading to me this afternoon. Your father asked him to come. He has begun a very good poem, about Eden and the fall of man. He read me some of it. He writes extremely well. I think I should like to hear something by that young Mr. Marvell. He copies them out for me—you'll find them in that book, there. There's one about a garden. Just two stanzas of it. I have marked them.
Bridget
(reading):
How vainly men themselves amazeTo win the palm, the oak, or bays,And their incessant labours seeCrown'd from some single herb or tree,Whose short and narrow-verged shadeDoes prudently their toils upbraid;While all the flowers and trees do closeTo weave the garlands of repose.
And then this one?
Meanwhile the mind from pleasure lessWithdraws into its happiness;The mind, that ocean where each kindDoes straight its own resemblance find;Yet it creates, transcending these,Far other worlds, and other seas;Annihilating all that's madeTo a green thought in a green shade.
Mrs. Cromwell:
Yes. Far other worlds, and other seas. I wish your father would come. I want to go to sleep, and you never know.
Bridget:
I think father is coming now.
(Cromwellcomes in. He wears plain civilian clothes.)
Cromwell:
Well, mother dear.
(He kisses her.)
Mrs. Cromwell:
I'm glad you have come, my son. Though you are very busy, I'm sure.
Cromwell:
Is there anything I can do?
Mrs. Cromwell:
No, thank you. What date is this?
Cromwell:
The second of November.
Mrs. Cromwell:
It's nearly a year since they made you Protector, then.
Cromwell:
Yes. I wonder.
Mrs. Cromwell:
You need not, son. You were right. There was none other. And you were right not to take a crown.
Cromwell:
The monarchy will return. I know that.
Bridget:
Why not always a commonwealth like this, father?
Cromwell:
Hereafter there shall be a true commonwealth. We have done that for England. But there must be a king. There is no one to follow me. I am an interlude, as it were. But henceforth kings will be for the defence of this realm, not to use it. That has been our work. It is so, mother?
Mrs. Cromwell:
Truly, I think it. It will be a freer land because you have lived in it, my son. Our name may be forgotten, but it does not matter. You serve faithfully. I am proud.
Cromwell:
You have been my blessed friend.
Mrs. Cromwell:
It was kind of Mr. Milton to come this afternoon. I can't remember whether I thanked him as I should like to.
Cromwell:
He likes to come.
Mrs. Cromwell:
Be kind to all poets, Oliver. They have been very kind to me. They have the best doctrine.
Cromwell:
That is an aim of mine—to find all men of worth and learning and genius—to give them due employment. The Lord speaks through them, I know. I would have none fail or want under my government.
Mrs. Cromwell:
I know that. Bridget, girl, be a stay to your father and your mother. They love you. If you should wed again, may you wed well.
Bridget:
I will cherish my father's great estate, and I will be humble always.
Mrs. Cromwell:
And now, I am tired. Bless you, Oliver, my son. The Lord cause His face to shine upon you, and comfort you in all your adversities, and enable you to do great things for the glory of your most high God, and to be a relief unto His people. My dear son. I leave my heart with you. A good night.
(They both kiss her.)
Mrs. Cromwell:
Is Amos Tanner here?
Bridget:
Yes, grandmother.
Mrs. Cromwell:
Ask him to sing to me. Very quietly. The song he sang that night at Ely—you remember—when John and Henry were there.
(Bridgetgoes out.)
Mrs. Cromwell:
You have been a good son.
Cromwell:
Mother, dear.
(Bridgetreturns withAmos. Very quietly he sings:)
When I shall in the churchyard lie,Poor scholar though I be,
The wheat, the barley, and the ryeWill better wear for me.
For truly have I ploughed and sown,And kept my acres clean;
And written on my churchyard stoneThis character be seen;
"His flocks, his barns, his gear he madeHis daily diligence,
Nor counted all his earnings paidIn pockets full of pence."
(While he is singingMrs. Cromwellfalls asleep and he goes.Cromwellstands for a time withBridget, watching his mother asleep.)
Cromwell:
Daughter, we must be loving, one with another. No man is sure of himself, ever. He can but pray for faith.
Bridget:
Father, you have done all that a man might do. You have delivered England.
Cromwell:
I have said a word for freedom, a poor, confused word. It was all I could reach to. We are frail, with our passions. We are beset.
(He prays at his mother's bedside,Bridgetstanding beside him.)
Thou hast made me, though very unworthy, a mean instrument to do the people some good, and Thee service. And many of them have set too high a value upon me, though others wish and would be glad of my death. But, Lord, however Thou dost dispose of me, continue and go on to do good for them. Give them one heart, and mutual love. Teach those who look too much upon Thy instrument to depend more upon Thyself. Pardon such as desire to trample upon the dust of a poor worm, for they are Thy people, too. And pardon the folly of this short prayer, even for Jesus Christ's sake. And give us a good night if it be Thy pleasure.
THE SCENE CLOSES
Transcriber's Note:The following text was originally printed at the beginning of the book. It is reproduced here strictly for historical interest.
All dramatic rights for John Drinkwater'sOliver Cromwellin North America are owned and controlled by William Harris, Jr., Hudson Theatre, New York City. Special notice should be taken that possession of this book without a valid contract for production first having been obtained from Mr. Harris confers no right or license to professionals or amateurs to produce the play publicly or in private for gain or charity. Until further notice performances of this play in North America will be limited to those companies which appear under Mr. Harris's direction, and he absolutely forbids other performances by professionals or amateurs, including "readings," tableaux, and anything of such nature approximating a performance. The play is fully protected by copyright and any violations will be prosecuted.