Shall blend her name with mine. For thee, Rienzi, Rest on my bosom; let thy beating heart [Exeunt Alberti, Angelo, &c. A god. He hath his will; and I-my heart Cla. (without.) Father! Father! To his poor victim, ere he strikes. Do fathers Guard the door! [Looking out. To her vile cubs; the little wren hath care That, ere they had learnt speech, would smile, and That dwells in the viewless wind, and walks the seek waves That bell. The dismal note beats on me, father, Stephen Colonna. Lady C. It is her husband, Claudia; Enter Camillo. Rie. Ay, I know thou wast too late. Bring aid., See, see! Her lips are colouring fast-she is not dead. Cam. My lord, Savelli, with a power Gathering in every street, comes on; the guards Lady C. Now, revenge, revenge! Murderer, 't is my son, My husband died in honoured fight; for him Rie. Angelo is pardoned, Claudia. Lady C. He is dead. I saw the axe, fearfully bright, Wave o'er his neck with an edgy shine that cut Rie. Claudia, my sweet one, [Erit. Rie. She lives! Aid, aid! Her pulses beat again. Go, call her maids; Speed thee, Camillo! [Erit Camillo. Rie. Camillo, when I'm gone, be faithful to her— Look up-speak to me! Writhe not thus, my Claudia, Long, good Camillo; the sure poison, grief, Lady C. Claudia Colonna! They say that grief is proud; but I will own thee. Thou kill'st my child-avaunt! Woman, fiend, When I have said Mine errand. Think'st thou I came here to crush Yon feeble worm? Thou hast done that! She loved him, Fair, faithful wretch, and thou-Why I could laugh At such a vengeance! Thy keen axe, that hewed My column to the earth, struck down the weed That crept around its base. Dead! Why, the dead are blessed, And she is blasted. Dead! the dead lie down and she shall pine a living ghost In peace, Rie. Rankles in those young veins. Yet cherish her- My dear master—thou, thyself— [Erit Camillo She will not curse me dead-she 'll pray for me, In that poor broken heart. Oh, blessings on thee, My child-mine own sweet child! That speediest answers to the daring call Help, there! help, Camillo! Of his mad worshippers. So be it. All earthly passion, pride, and pomp, and power, Then-but the dream that filled my soul was vast Alb. Singly? For liberty. Rie. For liberty! Go seek Earth's loftiest heights, and ocean's deepest caves, Go where the sea-snake and the eagle dwell, Singly, sir. [Exeunt Alberti and Rienzi. The symbol and the power. What seek ye more? PREFACE. Or the Tragedy, considered as a literary production, I shall say little: that is before the reader, and must speak for itself. No one can be more conscious than I am of its numerous defects, and still more numerous deficiencies; but great as those faults may be, they are not the result of negligence or carelessness. It would be the worst of all pedantries, female pedantry, were I to enumerate the very many contemporary writers, the Histories, Memoirs, Narratives, and State Papers, the Roundhead Sermons and Cavalier Ballads from which I have endeavoured to gather not merely an accurate outline of this great event, but those minute and apparently trifling touches which might serve to realize the scene, and supply, by a vivid impression of the people and the time, the usual sources of dramatic attraction, the interest of story and suspense, from which I was cut off by the nature of my subject. Many of these allusions, those for instance to the papers concealed in the stuffing of the saddle,- to the sowing of the melon-seeds,-to Charles's constant perusal of Shakspeare whilst in prison, so prettily recorded by Milton, and to the falling of the head of the king's staff in the trial scene,-are mentioned by the best writers, and will be immediately recognized by all who are any ways conversant with the histories of the time. The anecdote of Lord Broghill (afterwards Earl of Orrery), which really happened at a subsequent period, is less generally known. He was in London on a mission from Charles the Second during the early part of the Protectorate, when Cromwell discovered, confronted, converted, and employed him much in the manner that I have related. The materials of the scene of signing the warrant, (in which I believe that I have given, from the marking of Marten's cheek to the guiding of Ingoldsby's hand, a very faithful version of what actually occur. red,) are chiefly taken from the Defences in the Trials of the Regicides. It is certain that the Judges, after the condemnation, were panic-struck at their own act; and that but for an extraordinary exertion of his singular power over the minds of all with whom he came in contact, Cromwell would never have succeeded in obtaining the signatures of the Commissioners of the High Court of Justice to an instrument essential to the completion of this great national crime, and to the purposes of his own ambition. I am not aware of having in any material point departed from the truth of History, except in shortening the trial, in bringing the Queen to England, and in assigning to Henrietta the interruption of the sentence, which was actually occasioned by Lady Fairfax; deviations, which were vitally necessary to the effect of the drama. I have some doubts also whether Cromwell did really get rid of Fairfax by dismissing him and Harrison to "seek the Lord together." Hume tells the story confidently; but Hume, although the most delightful, is by no means the most accurate of historians; and the manner in which we are, by the casual mention of contemporary writers, as well as by the evidence on the different trials, enabled to account for almost every instant of Crom well's time during that eventful morning, goes far in Scene.-LONDON, except during the latter part of the my mind to disprove the circumstance. But the incident is highly dramatic, and so strictly in keeping with the characters of all parties, that I have no scruple in assuming it as a fact. The thing might have happened, if it did not; and that is excuse enough for the dramatist, although not for the historian. One word more, and I have done. In attempting to delineate the characters of Charles and Cromwell, especially Cromwell, on the success or failure of which the Play must stand or fall, I have to entreat First Act, when it is laid in the ISLE OF WIGHT. CHARLES THE FIRST. ACT I. SCENE I. An Apartment in Whitehall. the reader to bear in mind-or I shall seem unjust Enter Ireton, Harrison, and Pride, to Downes and ¦ to the memory of a great man-that the point of time which this Tragedy embraces was precisely that in which the King appeared to the most advantage, "for nothing in his life became him like the leaving of it," and the future Protector to the least. Never throughout his splendid history were the chequered motives and impulses of Cromwell so decidedly evil; never was he so fierce, so cruel, so crafty, so deceitful, so borne along by a low personal ambition, a mere lust of rule, as at that moment. I have endeavoured in the concluding soliloquy to depict Marten. Dow. Would'st have us doubters? In good sooth, not I! Heaven forefend! I liked Charles Stuart well. I am of the fools Mar. In good time comes the General. Valiant Seemed to my plain and downright simpleness They shall be quelled. Power, howsoever called, In the great cause! The Commons shall be quelled. Dow. Crom. I joy to hear thee say so. What! the Lord Hath turned his heart, and he hath yielded up Free as the breeze to traverse sea and land, Har. Crom. (aside.) Ha! And they slew him! Till he shall burst on us in triumph, heading Ire. |