Volume II Part 99 (2/2)

Treason to fight for England?

If it were so, The times had changed and quickly. He had been A schoolboy in the morning of the world Playing with wooden swords and winning crowns Of tinsel; but his comrades had outgrown Their morning-game, and gathered round to mock His battles in the sunset. Yet he knew That all his life had pa.s.sed in that brief day; And he was old, too old to understand The smile upon the face of Buckingham, The smile on Cobham's face, at that great word _England_!

He knew the solid earth was changed To something less than dust among the stars-- And, O, be sure he knew that he was wrong, That gleams would come, Gleams of a happier world for younger men, That Commonwealth, far off. This was a time Of sadder things, destruction of the old Before the new was born. At least he knew It was his own way that had brought the world Thus far, England thus far! How could he change, Who had loved England as a man might love His mistress, change from year to fickle year?

For the new years would change, even as the old.

No--he was wedded to that old first love, Crude flesh and blood, and coa.r.s.e as meat and drink, The woman--England; no fine angel-isle, Ruled by that male Salome--Buckingham!

Better the axe than to live on and wage These new and silent and more deadly wars That play at friends.h.i.+p with our enemies.

Such times are evil. Not of their own desire They lead to good, blind agents of that Hand Which now had hewed him down, down to his knees, But in a prouder battle than men knew.

His pipe was out, the guard was at the door.

Raleigh was not a G.o.d. But, when he climbed The scaffold, I believe he looked a man.

And when the axe fell, I believe that G.o.d Set on his shoulders that immortal head Which he desired on earth.

O, he was wrong!

But when that axe fell, not one shout was raised.

That mighty throng around that crimson block Stood silent--like the hushed black cloud that holds The thunder. You might hear the headsman's breath.

Stillness like that is dangerous, being charged, Sometimes, with thought, Sir Lewis! England sleeps!

What if, one day, the Stewart should be called To know that England wakes? What if a shout Should thunder-strike Whitehall, and the dogs lift Their heads along the fringes of the crowd To catch a certain savour that I know, The smell of blood and sawdust?--

Ah, Sir Lewis, 'Tis hard to find one little seed of right Among so many wrongs. Raleigh was wrong, And yet--it was because he loved his country Next to himself, Sir Lewis, by your leave, His country butchered him. You did not know That I was only third in his affections?

The night I told him--we were parting then-- I had begged the last disposal of his body, Did he not say, with O, so gentle a smile, ”_Thou hadst not always the disposal of it In life, dear Bess. 'Tis well it should be thine In death!_”'

'The jest was bitter at such an hour, And somewhat coa.r.s.e in grain,' Stukeley replied.

'Indeed I thought him kinder.'

'Kinder,' she said, Laughing bitterly.

Stukeley looked at her.

She whispered something, and his lewd old eyes Fastened upon her own. He knelt by her.

'Perhaps,' he said, 'your woman's wit has found A better way to solve this bitter business.'

Her head moved on the pillow with little tossings.

He touched her hand. It leapt quickly away.

She hugged that strange white bundle to her breast, And writhed back, smiling at him, across the bed.

'Ah, Bess,' he whispered huskily, pressing his lips To that warm hollow where her head had lain, 'There is one way to close the long dispute, Keep the estates unbroken in your hands And stop all slanderous tongues, one happy way.

We have some years to live; and why alone?'

'Alone?' she sighed. 'My husband thought of that.

He wrote a letter to me long ago, When he was first condemned. He said--he said-- Now let me think--what was it that he said?-- I had it all by heart. ”_Beseech you, Bess, Hide not yourself for many days_”, he said.'

'True wisdom that,' quoth Stukeley, 'for the love That seeks to chain the living to the dead Is but self-love at best!'

'And yet,' she said, 'How his poor heart was torn between two cares, Love of himself and care for me, as thus:

_Love G.o.d! Begin to repose yourself on Him!

Therein you shall find true and lasting riches; But all the rest is nothing. When you have tired Your thoughts on earthly things, when you have travelled Through all the glittering pomps of this proud world You shall sit down by Sorrow in the end.

Begin betimes, and teach your little son To serve and fear G.o.d also.

Then G.o.d will be a husband unto you, And unto him a father; nor can Death Bereave you any more. When I am gone, No doubt you shall be sought unto by many For the world thinks that I was very rich.

No greater misery can befall you, Bess, Than to become a prey, and, afterwards, To be despised.'_

'Human enough,' said Stukeley, 'And yet--self-love, self-love!'

'Ah no,' quoth she, 'You have not heard the end: _G.o.d knows, I speak it Not to dissuade you_--not to dissuade you, mark-- _From marriage. That will be the best for you, Both in respect of G.o.d and of the world._ Was _that_ self-love, Sir Lewis? Ah, not all.

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