Oliver Cromwell Part 17

_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 n.o.ble since death was certain.

_Ireton:_ Yes.

_Bridget:_ If he had but lived so.

_Ireton:_ He made life ign.o.ble. He would have made it ign.o.ble 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. IRETON opens the window. ELIZABETH and BRIDGET stand with him.)

_Ireton:_ Yes. It is done.

(MRS. CROMWELL slowly moves across to the window and stands with the others.)

_Mrs. Cromwell:_ Poor, silly king. Oliver will be here directly. Shut the window, Henry.

(IRETON shuts the window. He, ELIZABETH, and BRIDGET stand looking out.

MRS. CROMWELL returns to her seat. All are very still, and there is a long pause. Then, unseen and unheard, CROMWELL comes 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'S bedroom in Whitehall, where CROMWELL is now installed as Protector._

_MRS. CROMWELL, now aged ninety-four, is on her death-bed. Standing beside her is ELIZABETH, 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 and ELIZABETH goes.)

_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 amaze To win the palm, the oak, or bays, And their incessant labours see Crown'd from some single herb or tree, Whose short and narrow-verged shade Does prudently their toils upbraid; While all the flowers and trees do close To weave the garlands of repose.

And then this one?

Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its happiness; The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds, and other seas; Annihilating all that's made To 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.

(CROMWELL comes 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.