Scene II…

Scene II

ARANJUEZ, NEAR MADRID. A ROOM IN THE PALACE OF GODOY, THE “PRINCE OF PEACE”

[A private chamber is disclosed, richly furnished with paintings, vases, mirrors, silk hangings, gilded lounges, and several lutes of rare workmanship. The hour is midnight, the room being lit by screened candelabra. In the centre at the back of the scene is a large window heavily curtained.

GODOY and the QUEEN MARIA LUISA are dallying on a sofa. THE PRINCE OF PEACE is a fine handsome man in middle life, with curled hair and a mien of easy good-nature. The QUEEN is older, but looks younger in the dim light, from the lavish use of beautifying arts. She has pronounced features, dark eyes, low brows, black hair bound by a jewelled bandeau, and brought forward in curls over her forehead and temples, long heavy ear-rings, an open bodice, and sleeves puffed at the shoulders. A cloak and other mufflers lie on a chair beside her.]

GODOY

The life-guards still insist, Love, that the King Shall not leave Aranjuez.

QUEEN

Let them insist. Whether we stay, or whether we depart, Napoleon soon draws hither with his host!

GODOY

He says he comes pacifically.... But no!

QUEEN

Dearest, we must away to Andalusia, Thence to America when time shall serve.

GODOY

I hold seven thousand men to cover us, And ships in Cadiz port. But then--the Prince Flatly declines to go. He lauds the French As true deliverers.

QUEEN

Go Fernando MUST!... O my sweet friend, that we--our sole two selves-- Could but escape and leave the rest to fate, And in a western bower dream out our days!-- For the King's glass can run but briefly now, Shattered and shaken as his vigour is.-- But ah--your love burns not in singleness! Why, dear, caress Josefa Tudo still? She does not solve her soul in yours as I. And why those others even more than her?... How little own I in thee!

GODOY

Such must be. I cannot quite forsake them. Don't forget The same scope has been yours in former years.

QUEEN

Yes, Love; I know. I yield! You cannot leave them; But if you ever would bethink yourself How long I have been yours, how truly all Those other pleasures were my desperate shifts To soften sorrow at your absences, You would be faithful to me!

GODOY

True, my dear.-- Yet I do passably keep troth with you, And fond you with fair regularity;-- A week beside you, and a week away. Such is not schemed without some risk and strain.-- And you agreed Josefa should be mine, And, too, Thereza without jealousy! [A noise is heard without.] Ah, what means that?

[He jumps up from her side and crosses the room to a window, where he lifts the curtain cautiously. The Queen follows him with a scared look.

QUEEN

A riot can it be?

GODOY

Let me put these out ere they notice them; They think me at the Royal Palace yonder.

[He hastily extinguishes the candles except one taper, which he places in a recess, so that the room is in shade. He then draws back the curtains, and she joins him at the window, where, enclosing her with his arm, he and she look out together.

In front of the house a guard of hussars is stationed, beyond them spreading the Plaza or Square. On the other side rises in the lamplight the white front of the Royal Palace. On the flank of the Palace is a wall enclosing gardens, bowered alleys, and orange groves, and in the wall a small door.

A mixed multitude of soldiery and populace fills the space in front of the King's Palace, and they shout and address each other vehemently. During a lull in their vociferations is heard the peaceful purl of the Tagus over a cascade in the Palace grounds.]

QUEEN

Lingering, we've risked too long our chance of flight! The Paris Terror will repeat it here. Not for myself I fear. No, no; for thee! [She clings to him.] If they should hurt you, it would murder me By heart-bleedings and stabs intolerable!

GODOY [kissing her]

The first thought now is how to get you back Within the Palace walls. Why would you risk To come here on a night so critical?

QUEEN [passionately]

I could not help it--nay, I WOULD not help! Rather than starve my soul I venture all.-- Our last love-night--last, maybe, of long years, Why do you chide me now?

GODOY

Dear Queen, I do not: I shape these sharp regrets but for your sake. Hence you must go, somehow, and quickly too. They think not yet of you in threatening thus, But of me solely.... Where does your lady wait?

QUEEN

Below. One servant with her. They are true, And can be let know all. But you--but you! [Uproar continues.]

GODOY

I can escape. Now call them. All three cloak And veil as when you came.

[They retreat into the room. QUEEN MARIA LUISA'S lady-in-waiting and servant are summoned. Enter both. All three then muffle themselves up, and GODOY prepares to conduct the QUEEN downstairs.]

QUEEN

Nay, now! I will not have it. We are safe; Think of yourself. Can you get out behind?

GODOY

I judge so--when I have done what's needful here.-- The mob knows not the bye-door--slip across; Thence around sideways.--All's clear there as yet.

[The QUEEN, her lady-in-waiting, and the servant go out hurriedly.

GODOY looks again from the window. The mob is some way off, the immediate front being for the moment nearly free of loiterers; and the three muffled figures are visible, crossing without hindrance towards the door in the wall of the Palace Gardens. The instant they reach it a sentinel springs up, challenging them.]

GODOY

Ah--now they are doomed! My God, why did she come!

[A parley takes place. Something, apparently a bribe, is handed to the sentinel, and the three are allowed to slip in, the QUEEN having obviously been unrecognized. He breathes his relief.]

Now for the others. Then--ah, then Heaven knows!

[He sounds a bell and a servant enters.

Where is the Countess of Castillofiel?

SERVANT

She's looking for you, Prince.

GODOY

Find her at once. Ah--here she is.--That's well.--Go watch the Plaza [to servant].

[GODOY'S mistress, the DONA JOSEFA TUDO, enters. She is a young and beautiful woman, the vivacity of whose large dark eyes is now clouded. She is wrapped up for flight. The servant goes out.]

JOSEFA [breathlessly]

I should have joined you sooner, but I knew The Queen was fondling with you. She must needs Come hampering you this night of all the rest, As if not gorged with you at other times!

GODOY

Don't, pretty one! needless it is in you, Being so well aware who holds my love.-- I could not check her coming, since she would. You well know how the old thing is, and how I am compelled to let her have her mind!

[He kisses her repeatedly.]

JOSEFA

But look, the mob is swelling! Pouring in By thousands from Madrid--and all afoot. Will they not come on hither from the King's?

GODOY

Not just yet, maybe. You should have sooner fled! The coach is waiting and the baggage packed. [He again peers out.] Yes, there the coach is; and the clamourers near, Led by Montijo, if I see aright. Yes, they cry “Uncle Peter!”--that means him. There will be time yet. Now I'll take you down So far as I may venture.

[They leave the room. In a few minutes GODOY, having taken her down, re-enters and again looks out. JOSEFA'S coach is moving off with a small escort of GODOY'S guards of honour. A sudden yelling begins, and the crowd rushes up and stops the vehicle. An altercation ensues.]

CROWD

Uncle Peter, it is the Favourite carrying off Prince Fernando. Stop him!

JOSEFA [putting her head out of the coach]

Silence their uproar, please, Senor Count of Montijo! It is a lady only, the Countess of Castillofiel.

MONTIJO

Let her pass, let her pass, friends! It is only that pretty wench of his, Pepa Tudo, who calls herself a Countess. Our titles are put to comical uses these days. We shall catch the cock-bird presently!

[The DONA JOSEFA'S carriage is allowed to pass on, as a shout from some who have remained before the Royal Palace attracts the attention of the multitude, which surges back thither.]

CROWD [nearing the Palace]

Call out the King and the Prince. Long live the King! He shall not go. Hola! He is gone! Let us see him! He shall abandon Godoy!

[The clamour before the Royal Palace still increasing, a figure emerges upon a balcony, whom GODOY recognizes by the lamplight to be FERNANDO, Prince of Asturias. He can be seen waving his hand. The mob grows suddenly silent.]

FERNANDO [in a shaken voice]

Citizens! the King my father is in the palace with the Queen. He has been much tried to-day.

CROWD

Promise, Prince, that he shall not leave us. Promise!

FERNANDO

I do. I promise in his name. He has mistaken you, thinking you wanted his head. He knows better now.

CROWD

The villain Godoy misrepresented us to him! Throw out the Prince of Peace!

FERNANDO

He is not here, my friends.

CROWD

Then the King shall announce to us that he has dismissed him! Let us see him. The King; the King!

[FERNANDO goes in. KING CARLOS comes out reluctantly, and bows to their cheering. He produces a paper with a trembling hand.

KING [reading]

“As it is the wish of the people---”

CROWD

Speak up, your Majesty!

KING [more loudly]

“As it is the wish of the people, I release Don Manuel Godoy, Prince of Peace, from the posts of Generalissimo of the Army and Grand Admiral of the Fleet, and give him leave to withdraw whither he pleases.”

CROWD

Huzza!

KING

Citizens, to-morrow the decree is to be posted in Madrid.

CROWD

Huzza! Long life to the King, and death to Godoy!

[KING CARLOS disappears from the balcony, and the populace, still increasing in numbers, look towards GODOY'S mansion, as if deliberating how to attack it. GODOY retreats from the window into the room, and gazing round him starts. A pale, worn, but placid lady, in a sombre though elegant robe, stands here in the gloom. She is THEREZA OF BOURBON, the Princess of Peace.]

PRINCESS

It is only your unhappy wife, Manuel. She will not hurt you!

GODOY [shrugging his shoulders]

Nor with THEY hurt YOU! Why did you not stay in the Royal Palace? You would have been more comfortable there.

PRINCESS

I don't recognize why you should specially value my comfort. You have saved you real wives. How can it matter what happens to your titular one?

GODOY

Much, dear. I always play fair. But it being your blest privilege not to need my saving I was left free to practise it on those who did. [Mob heard approaching.] Would that I were in no more danger than you!

PRINCESS

Puf!

[He again peers out. His guard of hussars stands firmly in front of the mansion; but the life-guards from the adjoining barracks, who have joined the people, endeavour to break the hussars of GODOY. A shot is fired, GODOY'S guard yields, and the gate and door are battered in.

CROWD [without]

Murder him! murder him! Death to Manuel Godoy!

[They are heard rushing onto the court and house.]

PRINCESS

Go, I beseech you! You can do nothing for me, and I pray you to save yourself! The heap of mats in the lumber-room will hide you!

[GODOY hastes to a jib-door concealed by sham bookshelves, presses the spring of it, returns, kisses her, and then slips out.

His wife sits down with her back against the jib-door, and fans herself. She hears the crowd trampling up the stairs, but she does not move, and in a moment people burst in. The leaders are armed with stakes, daggers, and various improvised weapons, and some guards in undress appear with halberds.]

FIRST CITIZEN [peering into the dim light]

Where is he? Murder him! [Noticing the Princess.] Come, where is he?

PRINCESS

The Prince of Peace is gone. I know not wither.

SECOND CITIZEN

Who is this lady?

LIFE-GUARDSMAN

Manuel Godoy's Princess.

CITIZENS [uncovering]

Princess, a thousand pardons grant us!--you An injured wife--an injured people we! Common misfortune makes us more than kin. No single hair of yours shall suffer harm.

[The PRINCESS bows.]

FIRST CITIZEN

But this, Senora, is no place for you, For we mean mischief here! Yet first will grant Safe conduct for you to the Palace gates, Or elsewhere, as you wish

PRINCESS

My wish is nought. Do what you will with me. But he's not here.

[Several of them form an escort, and accompany her from the room and out of the house. Those remaining, now a great throng, begin searching the room, and in bands invade other parts of the mansion.]

SOME CITIZENS [returning]

It is no use searching. She said he was not here, and she's a woman of honour.

FIRST CITIZEN [drily]

She's his wife.

[They begin knocking the furniture to pieces, tearing down the hangings, trampling on the musical instruments, and kicking holes through the paintings they have unhung from the walls. These, with clocks, vases, carvings, and other movables, they throw out of the window, till the chamber is a scene of utter wreck and desolation. In the rout a musical box is swept off a table, and starts playing a serenade as it falls on the floor. Enter the COUNT OF MONTIJO.]

MONTIJO

Stop, friends; stop this! There is no sense in it-- It shows but useless spite! I have much to say: The French Ambassador, de Beauharnais, Has come, and sought the King. And next Murat, With thirty thousand men, half cavalry, Is closing in upon our doomed Madrid! I know not what he means, this Bonaparte; He makes pretence to gain us Portugal, But what want we with her? 'Tis like as not His aim's to noose us vassals all to him! The King will abdicate, and shortly too, As those will live to see who live not long.-- We have saved our nation from the Favourite, But who is going to save us from our Friend?

[The mob desists dubiously and goes out; the musical box upon the floor plays on, the taper burns to its socket, and the room becomes wrapt in the shades of night.]

Scene III

LONDON: THE MARCHIONESS OF SALISBURY'S

[A large reception-room is disclosed, arranged for a conversazione. It is an evening in summer following, and at present the chamber is empty and in gloom. At one end is an elaborate device, representing Britannia offering her assistance to Spain, and at the other a figure of Time crowning the Spanish Patriots' flag with laurel.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

O clarionists of human welterings, Relate how Europe's madding movement brings This easeful haunt into the path of palpitating things!

RUMOURS [chanting]

The Spanish King has bowed unto the Fate Which bade him abdicate: The sensual Queen, whose passionate caprice Has held her chambering with “the Prince of Peace,” And wrought the Bourbon's fall, Holds to her Love in all; And Bonaparte has ruled that his and he Henceforth displace the Bourbon dynasty.

II

The Spanish people, handled in such sort, As chattels of a Court, Dream dreams of England. Messengers are sent In secret to the assembled Parliament, In faith that England's hand Will stouten them to stand, And crown a cause which, hold they, bond and free Must advocate enthusiastically.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

So the Will heaves through Space, and moulds the times, With mortals for Its fingers! We shall see Again men's passions, virtues, visions, crimes, Obey resistlessly The purposive, unmotived, dominant Thing Which sways in brooding dark their wayfaring!

[The reception room is lighted up, and the hostess comes in. There arrive Ambassadors and their wives, the Dukes and Duchesses of RUTLAND and SOMERSET, the Marquis and Marchioness of STAFFORD, the Earls of STAIR, WESTMORELAND, GOWER, ESSEX, Viscounts and Viscountesses CRANLEY and MORPETH, Viscount MELBOURNE, Lord and Lady KINNAIRD, Baron de ROLLE, Lady CHARLES GRENVILLE, the Ladies CAVENDISH, Mr. and Mrs. THOMAS HOPE, MR. GUNNING, MRS. FITZHERBERT, and many other notable personages. Lastly, she goes to the door to welcome severally the PRINCE OF WALES, the PRINCES OF FRANCE, and the PRINCESS CASTELCICALA.]

LADY SALISBURY [to the Prince of Wales]

I am sorry to say, sir, that the Spanish Patriots are not yet arrived. I doubt not but that they have been delayed by their ignorance of the town, and will soon be here.

PRINCE OF WALES

No hurry whatever, my dear hostess. Gad, we've enough to talk about! I understand that the arrangement between our ministers and these noblemen will include the liberation of Spanish prisoners in this country, and the providing 'em with arms, to go back and fight for their independence.

LADY SALISBURY

It will be a blessed event if they do check the career of this infamous Corsican. I have just heard that that poor foreigner Guillet de la Gevrilliere, who proposed to Mr. Fox to assassinate him, died a miserable death a few days ago the Bicetre--probably by torture, though nobody knows. Really one almost wishes Mr. Fox had---. O here they are!

[Enter the Spanish Viscount de MATEROSA, and DON DIEGO de la VEGA. They are introduced by CAPTAIN HILL and MR. BAGOT, who escort them. LADY SALISBURY presents them to the PRINCE and others.]

PRINCE OF WALES

By gad, Viscount, we were just talking of 'ee. You had some adventures in getting to this country?

MATEROSA [assisted by Bagot as interpreter]

Sir, it has indeed been a trying experience for us. But here we are, impressed by a deep sense of gratitude for the signal marks of attachment your country has shown us.

PRINCE OF WALES

You represent, practically, the Spanish people?

MATEROSA

We are immediately deputed, sir, By the Assembly of Asturias, More sailing soon from other provinces. We bring official writings, charging us To clinch and solder Treaties with this realm That may promote our cause against the foe. Nextly a letter to your gracious King; Also a Proclamation, soon to sound And swell the pulse of the Peninsula, Declaring that the act by which King Carlos And his son Prince Fernando cede the throne To whomsoever Napoleon may appoint, Being an act of cheatery, not of choice, Unfetters us from our allegiant oath.

MRS. FITZHERBERT

The usurpation began, I suppose, with the divisions in the Royal Family?

MATEROSA

Yes, madam, and the protection they foolishly requested from the Emperor; and their timid intent of flying secretly helped it on. It was an opportunity he had been awaiting for years.

MRS. FITZHERBERT

All brought about by this man Godoy, Prince of Peace!

PRINCE OF WALES

Dash my wig, mighty much you know about it, Maria! Why, sure, Boney thought to himself, “This Spain is a pretty place; 'twill just suit me as an extra acre or two; so here goes.”

DON DIEGO [aside to Bagot]

This lady is the Princess of Wales?

BAGOT

Hsh! no, Senor. The Princess lives at large at Kensington and other places, and has parties of her own, and doesn't keep house with her husband. This lady is--well, really his wife, you know, in the opinion of many; but---

DON DIEGO

Ah! Ladies a little mixed, as they were at our Court! She's the Pepa Tudo to THIS Prince of Peace?

BAGOT

O no--not exactly that, Senor.

DON DIEGO

Ya, ya. Good. I'll be careful, my friend. You are not saints in England more than we are in Spain!

BAGOT

We are not. Only you sin with naked faces, and we with masks on.

DON DIEGO

Virtuous country!

DUCHESS OF RUTLAND

It was understood that Ferdinand, Prince of Asturias, was to marry a French princess, and so unite the countries peacefully?

MATEROSA

It was. And our credulous prince was tempted to meet Napoleon at Bayonne. Also the poor simple King, and the infatuated Queen, and Manuel Godoy.

DUCHESS OF RUTLAND

Then Godoy escaped from Aranjuez?

MATEROSA

Yes, by hiding in the garret. Then they all threw themselves upon Napoleon's protection. In his presence the Queen swore that the King was not Fernando's father! Altogether they form a queer little menagerie. What will happen to them nobody knows.

PRINCE OF WALES

And do you wish us to send an army at once?

MATEROSA

What we most want, sir, are arms and ammunition. But we leave the English Ministry to co-operate in its own wise way, anyhow, so as to sustain us in resenting these insults from the Tyrant of the Earth.

DUCHESS OF RUTLAND [to the Prince of Wales]

What sort of aid shall we send, sir?

PRINCE OF WALES

We are going to vote fifty millions, I hear. We'll whack him, and preserve your noble country for 'ee, Senor Viscount. The debate thereon is to come off to-morrow. It will be the finest thing the Commons have had since Pitt's time. Sheridan, who is open to it, says he and Canning are to be absolutely unanimous; and, by God, like the parties in his “Critic,” when Government and Opposition do agree, their unanimity is wonderful! Viscount Materosa, you and your friends must be in the Gallery. O, dammy, you must!

MATEROSA

Sir, we are already pledged to be there.

PRINCE OF WALES

And hark ye, Senor Viscount. You will then learn what a mighty fine thing a debate in the English Parliament is! No Continental humbug there. Not but that the Court has a trouble to keep 'em in their places sometimes; and I would it had been one in the Lords instead. However, Sheridan says he has been learning his speech these two days, and has hunted his father's dictionary through for some stunning long words.--Now, Maria [to Mrs. Fitzherbert], I am going home.

LADY SALISBURY

At last, then, England will take her place in the forefront of this mortal struggle, and in pure disinterestedness fight with all her strength for the European deliverance. God defend the right!

[The Prince of Wales leaves, and the other guests begin to depart.]

SEMICHORUS I OF THE YEARS [aerial music]

Leave this glib throng to its conjecturing, And let four burdened weeks uncover what they bring!

SEMICHORUS II

The said Debate, to wit; its close in deed; Till England stands enlisted for the Patriots' needs.

SEMICHORUS I

And transports in the docks gulp down their freight Of buckled fighting-flesh, and gale-bound, watch and wait.

SEMICHORUS II

Till gracious zephyrs shoulder on their sails To where the brine of Biscay moans its tragic tales.

CHORUS

Bear we, too, south, as we were swallow-vanned, And mark the game now played there by the Master-hand!

[The reception-chamber is shut over by the night without, and the point of view rapidly recedes south, London and its streets and lights diminishing till they are lost in the distance, and its noises being succeeded by the babble of the Channel and Biscay waves.]

Scene IV

MADRID AND ITS ENVIRONS

[The view is from the housetops of the city on a dusty evening in this July, following a day of suffocating heat. The sunburnt roofs, warm ochreous walls, and blue shadows of the capital, wear their usual aspect except for a few feeble attempts at decoration.]

DUMB SHOW

Gazers gather in the central streets, and particularly in the Puerta del Sol. They show curiosity, but no enthusiasm. Patrols of French soldiery move up and down in front of the people, and seem to awe them into quietude.

There is a discharge of artillery in the outskirts, and the church bells begin ringing; but the peals dwindle away to a melancholy jangle, and then to silence. Simultaneously, on the northern horizon of the arid, unenclosed, and treeless plain swept by the eye around the city, a cloud of dust arises, and a Royal procession is seen nearing. It means the new king, JOSEPH BONAPARTE.

He comes on, escorted by a clanking guard of four thousand Italian troops, and the brilliant royal carriage is followed by a hundred coaches bearing his suite. As the procession enters the city many houses reveal themselves to be closed, many citizens leave the route and walk elsewhere, while may of those who remain turn their backs upon the spectacle.

KING JOSEPH proceeds thus through the Plaza Oriente to the granite- walled Royal Palace, where he alights and is received by some of the nobility, the French generals who are in occupation there, and some clergy. Heralds emerge from the Palace, and hasten to divers points in the city, where trumpets are blown and the Proclamation of JOSEPH as KING OF SPAIN is read in a loud voice. It is received in silence.

The sunsets, and the curtain falls.

Scene V

THE OPEN SEA BETWEEN THE ENGLISH COASTS AND THE SPANISH PENINSULA

[From high aloft, in the same July weather, and facing east, the vision swoops over the ocean and its coast-lines, from Cork Harbour on the extreme left, to Mondego Bay, Portugal, on the extreme right. Land's End and the Scilly Isles, Ushant and Cape Finisterre, are projecting features along the middle distance of the picture, and the English Channel recedes endwise as a tapering avenue near the centre.]

DUMB SHOW

Four groups of moth-like transport ships are discovered silently skimming this wide liquid plain. The first group, to the right, is just vanishing behind Cape Mondego to enter Mondego Bay; the second, in the midst, has come out from Plymouth Sound, and is preparing to stand down Channel; the third is clearing St. Helen's point for the same course; and the fourth, much further up Channel, is obviously to follow on considerably in the rear of the two preceding. A south-east wind is blowing strong, and, according to the part of their course reached, they either sail direct with the wind on their larboard quarter, or labour forward by tacking in zigzags.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

What are these fleets that cross the sea From British ports and bays To coasts that glister southwardly Behind the dog-day haze?

RUMOURS [chanting]

SEMICHORUS I

They are the shipped battalions sent To bar the bold Belligerent Who stalks the Dancers' Land. Within these hulls, like sheep a-pen, Are packed in thousands fighting-men And colonels in command.

SEMICHORUS II

The fleet that leans each aery fin Far south, where Mondego mouths in, Bears Wellesley and his aides therein, And Hill, and Crauford too; With Torrens, Ferguson, and Fane, And majors, captains, clerks, in train, And those grim needs that appertain-- The surgeons--not a few! To them add twelve thousand souls In linesmen that the list enrolls, Borne onward by those sheeted poles As war's red retinue!

SEMICHORUS I

The fleet that clears St. Helen's shore Holds Burrard, Hope, ill-omened Moore, Clinton and Paget; while The transports that pertain to those Count six-score sail, whose planks enclose Ten thousand rank and file.

SEMICHORUS II

The third-sent ships, from Plymouth Sound, With Acland, Anstruther, impound Souls to six thousand strong. While those, the fourth fleet, that we see Far back, are lined with cavalry, And guns of girth, wheeled heavily To roll the routes along.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Enough, and more, of inventories and names! Many will fail; many earn doubtful fames. Await the fruitage of their acts and aims.

DUMB SHOW [continuing]

In the spacious scene visible the far-separated groups of transports, convoyed by battleships, float on before the wind almost imperceptibly, like preened duck-feathers across a pond. The southernmost expedition, under SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY, soon comes to anchor within the Bay of Mondego aforesaid, and the soldiery are indefinitely discernible landing upon the beach from boats. Simultaneously the division commanded by MOORE, as yet in the Chops of the channel, is seen to be beaten back by contrary winds. It gallantly puts to sea again, and being joined by the division under ANSTRUTHER that has set out from Plymouth, labours round Ushant, and stands to the south in the track of WELLESLEY. The rearward transports do the same.

A moving stratum of summer cloud beneath the point of view covers up the spectacle like an awning.

Scene VI

ST. CLOUD. THE BOUDOIR OF JOSEPHINE

[It is the dusk of evening in the latter summer of this year, and from the windows at the back of the stage, which are still uncurtained, can be seen the EMPRESS with NAPOLEON and some ladies and officers of the Court playing Catch-me-if-you-can by torchlight on the lawn. The moving torches throw bizarre lights and shadows into the apartment, where only a remote candle or two are burning.

Enter JOSEPHINE and NAPOLEON together, somewhat out of breath. With careless suppleness she slides down on a couch and fans herself. Now that the candle-rays reach her they show her mellow complexion, her velvety eyes with long lashes, mouth with pointed corners and excessive mobility beneath its duvet, and curls of dark hair pressed down upon the temples by a gold band.

The EMPEROR drops into a seat near her, and they remain in silence till he jumps up, knocks over some nicknacks with his elbow, and begins walking about the boudoir.]

NAPOLEON [with sudden gloom]

These mindless games are very well, my friend; But ours to-night marks, not improbably, The last we play together.

JOSEPHINE [starting]

Can you say it! Why raise that ghastly nightmare on me now, When, for a moment, my poor brain had dreams Denied it all the earlier anxious day?

NAPOLEON

Things that verge nigh, my simple Josephine, Are not shoved off by wilful winking at. Better quiz evils with too strained an eye Than have them leap from disregarded lairs.

JOSEPHINE

Maybe 'tis true, and you shall have it so!-- Yet there's no joy save sorrow waived awhile.

NAPOLEON

Ha, ha! That's like you. Well, each day by day I get sour news. Each hour since we returned From this queer Spanish business at Bayonne, I have had nothing else; and hence by brooding.

JOSEPHINE

But all went well throughout our touring-time?

NAPOLEON

Not so--behind the scenes. Our arms a Baylen Have been smirched badly. Twenty thousand shamed All through Dupont's ill-luck! The selfsame day My brother Joseph's progress to Madrid Was glorious as a sodden rocket's fizz! Since when his letters creak with querulousness. “Napoleon el chico” 'tis they call him-- “Napoleon the Little,” so he says. Then notice Austria. Much looks louring there, And her sly new regard for England grows. The English, next, have shipped an army down To Mondego, under one Wellesley, A man from India, and his march is south To Lisbon, by Vimiero. On he'll go And do the devil's mischief ere he is met By unaware Junot, and chevyed back To English fogs and fumes!

JOSEPHINE

My dearest one, You have mused on worse reports with better grace Full many and many a time. Ah--there is more!... I know; I know!

NAPOLEON [kicking away a stool]

There is, of course; that worm Time ever keeps in hand for gnawing me!-- The question of my dynasty--which bites Closer and closer as the years wheel on.

JOSEPHINE

Of course it's that! For nothing else could hang My lord on tenterhooks through nights and days;-- Or rather, not the question, but the tongues That keep the question stirring. Nought recked you Of throne-succession or dynastic lines When gloriously engaged in Italy! I was your fairy then: they labelled me Your Lady of Victories; and much I joyed, Till dangerous ones drew near and daily sowed These choking tares within your fecund brain,-- Making me tremble if a panel crack, Or mouse but cheep, or silent leaf sail down, And murdering my melodious hours with dreads That my late happiness, and my late hope, Will oversoon be knelled!

NAPOLEON [genially nearing her]

But years have passed since first we talked of it, And now, with loss of dear Hortense's son Who won me as my own, it looms forth more. And selfish 'tis in my good Josephine To blind her vision to the weal of France, And this great Empire's solidarity. The grandeur of your sacrifice would gild Your life's whole shape.

JOSEPHINE

Were I as coarse a wife As I am limned in English caricature-- [Those cruel effigies they draw of me!]-- You could not speak more aridly.

NAPOLEON

Nay, nay! You know, my comrade, how I love you still Were there a long-notorious dislike Betwixt us, reason might be in your dreads But all earth knows our conjugality. There's not a bourgeois couple in the land Who, should dire duty rule their severance, Could part with scanter scandal than could we.

JOSEPHINE [pouting]

Nevertheless there's one.

NAPOLEON

A scandal? What?

JOSEPHINE

Madame Walewska! How could you pretend When, after Jena, I'd have come to you, “The weather was so wild, the roads so rough, That no one of my sex and delicate nerve Could hope to face the dangers and fatigues.” Yes--so you wrote me, dear. They hurt not her!

NAPOLEON [blandly]

She was a week's adventure--not worth words! I say 'tis France.--I have held out for years Against the constant pressure brought on me To null this sterile marriage.

JOSEPHINE [bursting into sobs]

Me you blame! But how know you that you are not the culprit?

NAPOLEON

I have reason so to know--if I must say. The Polish lady you have chosen to name Has proved the fault not mine. [JOSEPHINE sobs more violently.] Don't cry, my cherished; It is not really amiable of you, Or prudent, my good little Josephine, With so much in the balance.

JOSEPHINE

How--know you-- What may not happen! Wait a--little longer!

NAPOLEON [playfully pinching her arm]

O come, now, my adored! Haven't I already! Nature's a dial whose shade no hand puts back, Trick as we may! My friend, you are forty-three This very year in the world-- [JOSEPHINE breaks out sobbing again.] And in vain it is To think of waiting longer; pitiful To dream of coaxing shy fecundity To an unlikely freak by physicking With superstitious drugs and quackeries That work you harm, not good. The fact being so, I have looked it squarely down--against my heart! Solicitations voiced repeatedly At length have shown the soundness of their shape, And left me no denial. You, at times, My dear one, have been used to handle it. My brother Joseph, years back, frankly gave His honest view that something should be done; And he, you well know, shows no ill tinct In his regard of you.

JOSEPHINE

And what princess?

NAPOLEON

For wiving with? No thought was given to that, She shapes as vaguely as the Veiled--

JOSEPHINE

No, no; It's Alexander's sister, I'm full sure!-- But why this craze for home-made manikins And lineage mere of flesh? You have said yourself It mattered not. Great Caesar, you declared, Sank sonless to his rest; was greater deemed Even for the isolation. Frederick Saw, too, no heir. It is the fate of such, Often, to be denied the common hope As fine for fulness in the rarer gifts That Nature yields them. O my husband long, Will you not purge your soul to value best That high heredity from brain to brain Which supersedes mere sequence of blood, That often vary more from sire to son Than between furthest strangers!... Napoleon's offspring in his like must lie; The second of his line be he who shows Napoleon's soul in later bodiment, The household father happening as he may!

NAPOLEON [smilingly wiping her eyes]

Little guessed I my dear would prove her rammed With such a charge of apt philosophy When tutoring me gay arts in earlier times! She who at home coquetted through the years In which I vainly penned her wishful words To come and comfort me in Italy, Might, faith, have urged it then effectually! But never would you stir from Paris joys, [With some bitterness.] And so, when arguments like this could move me, I heard them not; and get them only now When their weight dully falls. But I have said 'Tis not for me, but France--Good-bye an hour. [Kissing her.] I must dictate some letters. This new move Of England on Madrid may mean some trouble. Come, dwell not gloomily on this cold need Of waiving private joy for policy. We are but thistle-globes on Heaven's high gales, And whither blown, or when, or how, or why, Can choose us not at all!... I'll come to you anon, dear: staunch Roustan Will light me in.

[Exit NAPOLEON. The scene shuts in shadow.]

Scene VII

VIMIERO

[A village among the hills of Portugal, about fifty miles north of Lisbon. Around it are disclosed, as ten on Sunday morning strikes, a blue army of fourteen thousand men in isolated columns, and red army of eighteen thousand in line formation, drawn up in order of battle. The blue army is a French one under JUNOT; the other an English one under SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY--portion of that recently landed.

The August sun glares on the shaven faces, white gaiters, and white cross-belts of the English, who are to fight for their lives while sweating under a quarter-hundredweight in knapsack and pouches, and with firelocks heavy as putlogs. They occupy a group of heights, but their position is one of great danger, the land abruptly terminating two miles behind their backs in lofty cliffs overhanging the Atlantic. The French occupy the valleys in the English front, and this distinction between the two forces strikes the eye--the red army is accompanied by scarce any cavalry, while the blue is strong in that area.]

DUMB SHOW

The battle is begun with alternate moves that match each other like those of a chess opening. JUNOT makes an oblique attack by moving a division to his right; WELLESLEY moves several brigades to his left to balance it.

A column of six thousand French then climbs the hill against the English centre, and drives in those who are planted there. The English artillery checks its adversaries, and the infantry recover and charge the baffled French down the slopes. Meanwhile the latter's cavalry and artillery are attacking the village itself, and, rushing on a few squadrons of English dragoons stationed there, cut them to pieces. A dust is raised by this ado, and moans of men and shrieks of horses are heard. Close by the carnage the little Maceira stream continues to trickle unconcernedly to the sea.

On the English left five thousand French infantry, having ascended to the ridge and maintained a stinging musket-fire as sharply returned, are driven down by the bayonets of six English regiments. Thereafter a brigade of the French, the northernmost, finding that the others have pursued to the bottom and are resting after the effort, surprise them and bayonet them back to their original summit. The see-saw is continued by the recovery of the English, who again drive their assailants down.

The French army pauses stultified, till, the columns uniting, they fall back toward the opposite hills. The English, seeing that their chance has come, are about to pursue and settle the fortunes of the day. But a messenger dispatched from a distant group is marked riding up to the large-nosed man with a telescope and an Indian sword who, his staff around him, has been directing the English movements. He seems astonished at the message, appears to resent it, and pauses with a gloomy look. But he sends countermands to his generals, and the pursuit ends abortively.

The French retreat without further molestation by a circuitous march into the great road to Torres Vedras by which they came, leaving nearly two thousand dead and wounded on the slopes they have quitted.

Dumb Show ends and the curtain draws.

ACT THIRD

Scene I

SPAIN. A ROAD NEAR ASTORGA

[The eye of the spectator rakes the road from the interior of a cellar which opens upon it, and forms the basement of a deserted house, the roof doors, and shutters of which have been pulled down and burnt for bivouac fires. The season is the beginning of January, and the country is covered with a sticky snow. The road itself is intermittently encumbered with heavy traffic, the surface being churned to a yellow mud that lies half knee-deep, and at the numerous holes in the track forming still deeper quagmires.

In the gloom of the cellar are heaps of damp straw, in which ragged figures are lying half-buried, many of the men in the uniform of English regiments, and the women and children in clouts of all descriptions, some being nearly naked. At the back of the cellar is revealed, through a burst door, an inner vault, where are discernible some wooden-hooped wine-casks; in one sticks a gimlet, and the broaching-cork of another has been driven in. The wine runs into pitchers, washing-basins, shards, chamber- vessels, and other extemporized receptacles. Most of the inmates are drunk; some to insensibility.

So far as the characters are doing anything they are contemplating almost incessant traffic outside, passing in one direction. It includes a medley of stragglers from the Marquis of ROMANA'S Spanish forces and the retreating English army under SIR JOHN MOORE--to which the concealed deserters belong.]

FIRST DESERTER

Now he's one of the Eighty-first, and I'd gladly let that poor blade know that we've all that man can wish for here--good wine and buxom women. But if I do, we shan't have room for ourselves--hey?

[He signifies a man limping past with neither fire-lock nor knapsack. Where the discarded knapsack has rubbed for weeks against his shoulder-blades the jacket and shirt are fretted away, leaving his skin exposed.]

SECOND DESERTER

He may be the Eighty-firsht, or th' Eighty-second; but what I say is, without fear of contradiction, I wish to the Lord I was back in old Bristol again. I'd sooner have a nipperkin of our own real “Bristol milk” than a mash-tub full of this barbarian wine!

THIRD DESERTER

'Tis like thee to be ungrateful, after putting away such a skinful on't. I am as much Bristol as thee, but would as soon be here as there. There ain't near such willing women, that are strict respectable too, there as hereabout, and no open cellars.-- As there's many a slip in this country I'll have the rest of my allowance now.

[He crawls on his elbows to one of the barrels, and turning on his back lets the wine run down his throat.]

FORTH DESERTER [to a fifth, who is snoring]

Don't treat us to such a snoaching there, mate. Here's some more coming, and they'll sight us if we don't mind!

[Enter without a straggling flock of military objects, some with fragments of shoes on, others bare-footed, many of the latter's feet bleeding. The arms and waists of some are clutched by women as tattered and bare-footed as themselves. They pass on.

The Retreat continues. More of ROMANA'S Spanish limp along in disorder; then enters a miscellaneous group of English cavalry soldiers, some on foot, some mounted, the rearmost of the latter bestriding a shoeless foundered creature whose neck is vertebrae and mane only. While passing it falls from exhaustion; the trooper extricates himself and pistols the animal through the head. He and the rest pass on.]

FIRST DESERTER [a new plashing of feet being heard]

Here's something more in order, or I am much mistaken. He cranes out.] Yes, a sergeant of the Forty-third, and what's left of their second battalion. And, by God, not far behind I see shining helmets. 'Tis a whole squadron of French dragoons!

[Enter the sergeant. He has a racking cough, but endeavours, by stiffening himself up, to hide how it is wasting away his life. He halts, and looks back, till the remains of the Forty-third are abreast, to the number of some three hundred, about half of whom are crippled invalids, the other half being presentable and armed soldiery.'

SERGEANT

Now show yer nerve, and be men. If you die to-day you won't have to die to-morrow. Fall in! [The miscellany falls in.] All invalids and men without arms march ahead as well as they can. Quick--maw-w-w-ch! [Exeunt invalids, etc.] Now! Tention! Shoulder-r-r--fawlocks! [Order obeyed.]

[The sergeant hastily forms these into platoons, who prime and load, and seem preternaturally changed from what they were into alert soldiers.

Enter French dragoons at the left-back of the scene. The rear platoon of the Forty-third turns, fires, and proceeds. The next platoon covering them does the same. This is repeated several times, staggering the pursuers. Exeunt French dragoons, giving up the pursuit. The coughing sergeant and the remnant of the Forty-third march on.]

FOURTH DESERTER [to a woman lying beside him]

What d'ye think o' that, my honey? It fairly makes me a man again. Come, wake up! We must be getting along somehow. [He regards the woman more closely.] Why--my little chick? Look here, friends. [They look, and the woman is found to be dead.] If I didn't think that her poor knees felt cold!... And only an hour ago I swore to marry her!

[They remain silent. The Retreat continues in the snow without, now in the form of a file of ox-carts, followed by a mixed rabble of English and Spanish, and mules and muleteers hired by English officers to carry their baggage. The muleteers, looking about and seeing that the French dragoons gave been there, cut the bands which hold on the heavy packs, and scamper off with their mules.]

A VOICE [behind]

The Commander-in-Chief is determined to maintain discipline, and they must suffer. No more pillaging here. It is the worst case of brutality and plunder that we have had in this wretched time!

[Enter an English captain of hussars, a lieutenant, a guard of about a dozen, and three men as prisoner.]

CAPTAIN

If they choose to draw lots, only one need be made an example of. But they must be quick about it. The advance-guard of the enemy is not far behind.

[The three prisoners appear to draw lots, and the one on whom the lot falls is blindfolded. Exeunt the hussars behind a wall, with carbines. A volley is heard and something falls. The wretched in the cellar shudder.]

FOURTH DESERTER

'Tis the same for us but for this heap of straw. Ah--my doxy is the only one of us who is safe and sound! [He kisses the dead woman.]

[Retreat continues. A train of six-horse baggage-waggons lumbers past, a mounted sergeant alongside. Among the baggage lie wounded soldiers and sick women.]

SERGEANT OF THE WAGGON-TRAIN

If so be they are dead, ye may as well drop 'em over the tail-board. 'Tis no use straining the horses unnecessary.

[Waggons halt. Two of the wounded who have just died are taken out, laid down by the roadside, and some muddy snow scraped over them. Exeunt waggons and sergeant.

An interval. More English troops pass on horses, mostly shoeless and foundered.

Enter SIR JOHN MOORE and officers. MOORE appears on the pale evening light as a handsome man, far on in the forties, the orbits of his dark eyes showing marks of deep anxiety. He is talking to some of his staff with vehement emphasis and gesture. They cross the scene and go on out of sight, and the squashing of their horses' hoofs in the snowy mud dies away.]

FIFTH DESERTER [incoherently in his sleep]

Poise fawlocks--open pans--right hands to pouch--handle ca'tridge-- bring it--quick motion-bite top well off--prime--shut pans--cast about--load---

FIRST DESERTER [throwing a shoe at the sleeper]

Shut up that! D'ye think you are a 'cruity in the awkward squad still?

SECOND DESERTER

I don't know what he thinks, but I know what I feel! Would that I were at home in England again, where there's old-fashioned tipple, and a proper God A'mighty instead of this eternal 'Ooman and baby; --ay, at home a-leaning against old Bristol Bridge, and no questions asked, and the winter sun slanting friendly over Baldwin Street as 'a used to do! 'Tis my very belief, though I have lost all sure reckoning, that if I were there, and in good health, 'twould be New Year's day about now. What it is over here I don't know. Ay, to- night we should be a-setting in the tap of the “Adam and Eve”-- lifting up the tune of “The Light o' the Moon.” 'Twer a romantical thing enough. 'A used to go som'at like this [he sings in a nasal tone]:--

“O I thought it had been day, And I stole from here away; But it proved to be the light o' the moon!”

[Retreat continues, with infantry in good order. Hearing the singing, one of the officers looks around, and detaching a patrol enters the ruined house with the file of men, the body of soldiers marching on. The inmates of the cellar bury themselves in the straw. The officer peers about, and seeing no one prods the straw with his sword.

VOICES [under the straw]

Oh! Hell! Stop it! We'll come out! Mercy! Quarter!

[The lurkers are uncovered.]

OFFICER

If you are well enough to sing bawdy songs, you are well enough to march. So out of it--or you'll be shot, here and now!

SEVERAL

You may shoot us, captain, or the French may shoot us, or the devil may take us; we don't care which! Only we can't stir. Pity the women, captain, but do what you will with us!

[The searchers pass over the wounded, and stir out those capable of marching, both men and women, so far as they discover them. They are pricked on by the patrol. Exeunt patrol and deserters in its charge.

Those who remain look stolidly at the highway. The English Rear- guard of cavalry crosses the scene and passes out. An interval. It grows dusk.]

SPIRIT IRONIC

Quaint poesy, and real romance of war!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Mock on, Shade, if thou wilt! But others find Poesy ever lurk where pit-pats poor mankind!

[The scene is cloaked in darkness.]

Scene II

THE SAME

[It is nearly midnight. The fugitives who remain in the cellar having slept off the effects of the wine, are awakened by a new tramping of cavalry, which becomes more and more persistent. It is the French, who now fill the road. The advance-guard having passed by, DELABORDE'S division, LORGE'S division, MERLE'S division, and others, successively cross the gloom.

Presently come the outlines of the Imperial Guard, and then, with a start, those in hiding realize their situation, and are wide awake. NAPOLEON enters with his staff. He has just been overtaken by a courier, and orders those round him to halt.]

NAPOLEON

Let there a fire be lit: Ay, here and now. The lines within these letters brook no pause In mastering their purport.

[Some of the French approach the ruined house and, appropriating what wood is still left there, heap it by the roadside and set it alight. A mixed rain and snow falls, and the sputtering flames throw a glare all round.]

SECOND DESERTER [under his voice]

We be shot corpses! Ay, faith, we be! Why didn't I stick to England, and true doxology, and leave foreign doxies and their wine alone!... Mate, can ye squeeze another shardful from the cask there, for I feel my time is come!... O that I had but the barrel of that firelock I throwed away, and that wasted powder to prime and load! This bullet I chaw to squench my hunger would do the rest!... Yes, I could pick him off now!

FIRST DESERTER

You lie low with your picking off, or he may pick off you! Thank God the babies are gone. Maybe we shan't be noticed, if we've but the courage to do nothing, and keep hid.

[NAPOLEON dismounts, approaches the fire, and looks around.]

NAPOLEON

Another of their dead horses here, I see.

OFFICER

Yes, sire. We have counted eighteen hundred odd From Benavente hither, pistoled thus. Some we'd to finish for them: headlong haste Spared them no time for mercy to their brutes. One-half their cavalry now tramps afoot.

NAPOLEON

And what's the tale of waggons we've picked up?

OFFICER

Spanish and all abandoned, some four hundred; Of magazines and firelocks, full ten load; And stragglers and their girls a numerous crew.

NAPOLEON

Ay, devil--plenty those! Licentious ones These English, as all canting peoples are.-- And prisoners?

OFFICER

Seven hundred English, sire; Spaniards five thousand more.

NAPOLEON

'Tis not amiss. To keep the new year up they run away! [He soliloquizes as he begins tearing open the dispatches.] Nor Pitt nor Fox displayed such blundering As glares in this campaign! It is, indeed, Enlarging Folly to Foolhardiness To combat France by land! But how expect Aught that can claim the name of government From Canning, Castlereagh, and Perceval, Caballers all--poor sorry politicians-- To whom has fallen the luck of reaping in The harvestings of Pitt's bold husbandry.

[He unfolds a dispatch, and looks for something to sit on. A cloak is thrown over a log, and he settles to reading by the firelight. The others stand round. The light, crossed by the snow-flakes, flickers on his unhealthy face and stoutening figure. He sinks into the rigidity of profound thought, till his features lour.]

So this is their reply! They have done with me! Britain declines negotiating further-- Flouts France and Russia indiscriminately. “Since one dethrones and keeps as prisoners The most legitimate kings”--that means myself-- “The other suffers their unworthy treatment For sordid interests”--that's for Alexander!... And what is Georgy made to say besides?-- “Pacific overtures to us are wiles Woven to unnerve the generous nations round Lately escaped the galling yoke of France, Or waiting so to do. Such, then, being seen, These tentatives must be regarded now As finally forgone; and crimson war Be faced to its fell worst, unflinchingly.” --The devil take their lecture! What am I, That England should return such insolence?

[He jumps up, furious, and walks to and fro beside the fire. By and by cooling he sits down again.]

Now as to hostile signs in Austria.... [He breaks another seal and reads.] Ah,--swords to cross with her some day in spring! Thinking me cornered over here in Spain She speaks without disguise, the covert pact 'Twixt her and England owning now quite frankly, Careless how works its knowledge upon me. She, England, Germany: well--I can front them! That there is no sufficient force of French Between the Elbe and Rhine to prostrate her, Let new and terrible experience Soon disillude her of! Yea; she may arm: The opportunity she late let slip Will not subserve her now!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Has he no heart-hints that this Austrian court, Whereon his mood takes mould so masterful, Is rearing naively in its nursery-room A future wife for him?

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Thou dost but guess it, And how should his heart know?

NAPOLEON [opening and reading another dispatch]

Now eastward. Ohe!-- The Orient likewise looms full somberly.... The Turk declines pacifically to yield What I have promised Alexander. Ah!... As for Constantinople being his prize I'll see him frozen first. His flight's too high! And showing that I think so makes him cool. [Rises.] Is Soult the Duke Dalmatia yet at hand?

OFFICER

He has arrived along the Leon road Just now, your Majesty; and only waits The close of your perusals.

[Enter SOULT, who is greeted by NAPOLEON.]

FIRST DESERTER

Good Lord deliver us from all great men, and take me back again to humble life! That's Marshal Soult the Duke of Dalmatia!

SECOND DESERTER

The Duke of Damnation for our poor rear, by the look on't!

FIRST DESERTER

Yes--he'll make 'em rub their poor rears before he has done with 'em! But we must overtake 'em to-morrow by a cross-cut, please God!

NAPOLEON [pointing to the dispatches]

Here's matter enough for me, Duke, and to spare. The ominous contents are like the threats The ancient prophets dealt rebellious Judah! Austria we soon shall have upon our hands, And England still is fierce for fighting on,-- Strange humour in a concord-loving land! So now I must to Paris straight away-- At least, to Valladolid; so as to stand More apt for couriers than I do out here In this far western corner, and to mark The veerings of these new developments, And blow a counter-breeze....

Then, too, there's Lannes, still sweating at the siege Of sullen Zaragoza as 'twere hell. Him I must further counsel how to close His twice too tedious battery.--You, then, Soult-- Ney is not yet, I gather, quite come up?

SOULT

He's near, sire, on the Benavente road; But some hours to the rear I reckon, still.

NAPOLEON [pointing to the dispatches]

Him I'll direct to come to your support In this pursuit and harassment of Moore Wherein you take my place. You'll follow up And chase the flying English to the sea. Bear hard on them, the bayonet at their loins. With Merle's and Mermet's corps just gone ahead, And Delaborde's, and Heudelet's here at hand. While Lorge's and Lahoussaye's picked dragoons Will follow, and Franceschi's cavalry. To Ney I am writing, in case of need, He will support with Marchand and Mathieu.-- Your total thus of seventy thousand odd, Ten thousand horse, and cannon to five score, Should near annihilate this British force, And carve a triumph large in history. [He bends over the fire and makes some notes rapidly.] I move into Astorga; then turn back, [Though only in my person do I turn] And leave to you the destinies of Spain.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

More turning may be here than he design. In this small, sudden, swift turn backward, he Suggests one turning from his apogee!

[The characters disperse, the fire sinks, and snowflakes and darkness blot out all.]

Scene III

BEFORE CORUNA

[The town, harbour, and hills at the back are viewed from an aerial point to the north, over the lighthouse known as the Tower of Hercules, rising at the extremity of the tongue of land on which La Coruna stands, the open ocean being in the spectator's rear.

In the foreground the most prominent feature is the walled old town, with its white towers and houses, shaping itself aloft over the harbour. The new town, and its painted fronts, show bright below, even on this cloudy winter afternoon. Further off, behind the harbour--now crowded with British transports of all sizes--is a series of low broken hills, intersected by hedges and stone walls.

A mile behind these low inner hills is beheld a rocky chain of outer and loftier heights that completely command the former. Nothing behind them is seen but grey sky.

DUMB SHOW

On the inner hills aforesaid the little English army--a pathetic fourteen thousand of foot only--is just deploying into line: HOPE'S division is on the left, BAIRD'S to the right. PAGET with the reserve is in the hollow to the left behind them; and FRASER'S division still further back shapes out on a slight rise to the right.

This harassed force now appears as if composed of quite other than the men observed in the Retreat insubordinately straggling along like vagabonds. Yet they are the same men, suddenly stiffened and grown amenable to discipline by the satisfaction of standing to the enemy at last. They resemble a double palisade of red stakes, the only gaps being those that the melancholy necessity of scant numbers entails here and there.

Over the heads of these red men is beheld on the outer hills the twenty thousand French that have been pushed along the road at the heels of the English by SOULT. They have an ominous superiority, both in position and in their abundance of cavalry and artillery, over the slender lines of English foot. The left of this background, facing HOPE, is made up of DELABORDE'S and MERLE'S divisions, while in a deadly arc round BAIRD, from whom they are divided only by the village of Elvina, are placed MERMET'S division, LAHOUSSAYE'S and LORGE'S dragoons, FRANCESCHI'S cavalry, and, highest up of all, a formidable battery of eleven great guns that rake the whole British line.

It is now getting on for two o'clock, and a stir of activity has lately been noticed along the French front. Three columns are discerned descending from their position, the first towards the division of SIR DAVID BAIRD, the weakest point in the English line, the next towards the centre, the third towards the left. A heavy cannonade from the battery supports this advance.

The clash ensues, the English being swept down in swathes by the enemy's artillery. The opponents meet face to face at the village in the valley between them, and the fight there grows furious.

SIR JOHN MOORE is seen galloping to the front under the gloomy sky.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

I seem to vision in San Carlos' garden, That rises salient in the upper town, His name, and date, and doing, set within A filmy outline like a monument, Which yet is but the insubstantial air.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Read visions as conjectures; not as more.

When MOORE arrives at the front, FRASER and PAGET move to the right, where the English are most sorely pressed. A grape-shot strikes off BAIRD'S arm. There is a little confusion, and he is borne to the rear; while MAJOR NAPIER disappears, a prisoner.

Intelligence of these misfortunes is brought to SIR JOHN MOORE. He goes further forward, and precedes in person the Forty-second regiment and a battalion of the Guards who, with fixed bayonets, bear the enemy back, MOORE'S gestures in cheering them being notably energetic. Pursuers, pursued, and SIR JOHN himself pass out of sight behind the hill. Dumb Show ends.

[The point of vision descends to the immediate rear of the English position. The early January evening has begun to spread its shades, and shouts of dismay are heard from behind the hill over which MOORE and the advancing lines have vanished.

Straggling soldiers cross in the gloom.]

FIRST STRAGGLER

He's struck by a cannon-ball, that I know; but he's not killed, that I pray God A'mighty.

SECOND STRAGGLER

Better he were. His shoulder is knocked to a bag of splinters. As Sir David was wownded, Sir John was anxious that the right should not give way, and went forward to keep it firm.

FIRST STRAGGLER

He didn't keep YOU firm, howsomever.

SECOND STRAGGLER

Nor you, for that matter.

FIRST STRAGGLER

Well, 'twas a serious place for a man with no priming-horn, and a character to lose, so I judged it best to fall to the rear by lying down. A man can't fight by the regulations without his priming-horn, and I am none of your slovenly anyhow fighters.

SECOND STRAGGLER

'Nation, having dropped my flit-pouch, I was the same. If you'd had your priming-horn, and I my flints, mind ye, we should have been there now? Then, forty-whory, that we are not is the fault o' Government for not supplying new ones from the reserve!

FIRST STRAGGLER

What did he say as he led us on?

SECOND STRAGGLER

“Forty-second, remember Egypt!” I heard it with my own ears. Yes, that was his strict testament.

FIRST STRAGGLER

“Remember Egypt.” Ay, and I do, for I was there!... Upon my salvation, here's for back again, whether or no!

SECOND STRAGGLER

But here. “Forty-second, remember Egypt,” he said in the very eye of that French battery playing through us. And the next omen was that he was struck off his horse, and fell on his back to the ground. I remembered Egypt, and what had just happened too, so thorough well that I remembered the way over this wall!--Captain Hardinge, who was close to him, jumped off his horse, and he and one in the ranks lifted him, and are now bringing him along.

FIRST STRAGGLER

Nevertheless, here's for back again, come what will. Remember Egypt! Hurrah!

[Exit First straggler. Second straggler ponders, then suddenly follows First. Enter COLONEL ANDERSON and others hastily.]

AN OFFICER

Now fetch a blanker. He must be carried in.

[Shouts heard.]

COLONEL ANDERSON

That means we are gaining ground! Had fate but left This last blow undecreed, the hour had shone A star amid these girdling days of gloom!

[Exit. Enter in the obscurity six soldiers of the Forty-second bearing MOORE on their joined hands. CAPTAIN HARDINGE walks beside and steadies him. He is temporarily laid down in the shelter of a wall, his left shoulder being pounded away, the arm dangling by a shred of flesh.

Enter COLONEL GRAHAM and CAPTAIN WOODFORD.]

GRAHAM

The wound is more than serious, Woodford, far. Ride for a surgeon--one of those, perhaps, Who tend Sir David Baird? [Exit Captain Woodford.] His blood throbs forth so fast, that I have dark fears He'll drain to death ere anything can be done!

HARDINGE

I'll try to staunch it--since no skill's in call.

[He takes off his sash and endeavours to bind the wound with it. MOORE smiles and shakes his head.]

There's not much checking it! Then rent's too gross. A dozen lives could pass that thoroughfare!

[Enter a soldier with a blanket. They lift MOORE into it. During the operation the pommel of his sword, which he still wears, is accidentally thrust into the wound.]

I'll loose the sword--it bruises you, Sir John.

[He begins to unbuckle it.]

MOORE

No. Let it be! One hurt more matters not. I wish it to go off the field with me.

HARDINGE

I like the sound of that. It augurs well For your much-hoped recovery.

MOORE [looking sadly at his wound]

Hardinge, no: Nature is nonplussed there! My shoulder's gone, And this left side laid open to my lungs. There's but a brief breath now for me, at most.... Could you--move me along--that I may glimpse Still how the battle's going?

HARDINGE

Ay, Sir John-- A few yard higher up, where we can see.

[He is borne in the blanket a little way onward, and lifted so that he can view the valley and the action.]

MOORE [brightly]

They seem to be advancing. Yes, it is so!

[Enter SIR JOHN HOPE.]

Ah, Hope!--I am doing badly here enough; But they are doing rarely well out there. [Presses HOPE'S hand.] Don't leave! my speech may flag with this fierce pain, But you can talk to me.--Are the French checked?

HOPE

My dear friend, they are borne back steadily.

MOORE [his voice weakening]

I hope England--will be satisfied-- I hope my native land--will do me justice!... I shall be blamed for sending Craufurd off Along the Orense road. But had I not, Bonaparte would have headed us that way....

HOPE

O would that Soult had but accepted battle By Lugo town! We should have crushed him there.

MOORE

Yes... yes.--But it has never been my lot To owe much to good luck; nor was it then. Good fortune has been mine, but [bitterly] mostly so By the exhaustion of all shapes of bad!... Well, this does not become a dying man; And others have been chastened more than I By Him who holds us in His hollowed hand!...

I grieve for Zaragoza, if, as said, The siege goes sorely with her, which it must. I heard when at Dahagun that late day That she was holding out heroically. But I must leave such now.--You'll see my friends As early as you can? Tell them the whole; Say to my mother.... [His voice fails.] Hope, Hope, I have so much to charge you with, But weakness clams my tongue!... If I must die Without a word with Stanhope, ask him, Hope, To--name me to his sister. You may know Of what there was between us?... Is Colonel Graham well, and all my aides? My will I have made--it is in Colborne's charge With other papers.

HOPE

He's now coming up.

[Enter MAJOR COLBORNE, principal aide-de-camp.]

MOORE

Are the French beaten, Colborne, or repulsed? Alas! you see what they have done too me!

COLBORNE

I do, Sir John: I am more than sad thereat! In brief time now the surgeon will be here. The French retreat--pushed from Elvina far.

MOORE

That's good! Is Paget anywhere about?

COLBORNE

He's at the front, Sir John.

MOORE

Remembrance to him!

[Enter two surgeons.]

Ah, doctors,--you can scarcely mend up me.-- And yet I feel so tough--I have feverish fears My dying will waste a long and tedious while; But not too long, I hope!

SURGEONS [after a hasty examination]

You must be borne In to your lodgings instantly, Sir John. Please strive to stand the motion--if you can; They will keep step, and bear you steadily.

MOORE

Anything.... Surely fainter ebbs that fire?

COLBORNE

Yes: we must be advancing everywhere: Colbert their General, too, they have lost, I learn.

[They lift him by stretching their sashes under the blanket, and begin moving off. A light waggon enters.]

MOORE

Who's in that waggon?

HARDINGE

Colonel Wynch, Sir John. He's wounded, but he urges you to take it.

MOORE

No. I will not. This suits.... Don't come with me; There's more for you to do out here as yet. [Cheerful shouts.] A-ha! 'Tis THIS way I have wished to die!

[Exeunt slowly in the twilight MOORE, bearers, surgeons, etc., towards Coruna. The scene darkens.]

Scene IV

CORUNA. NEAR THE RAMPARTS

[It is just before dawn on the following morning, objects being still indistinct. The features of the elevated enclosure of San Carlos can be recognized in dim outline, and also those of the Old Town of Coruna around, though scarcely a lamp is shining. The numerous transports in the harbour beneath have still their riding-lights burning.

In a nook of the town walls a lantern glimmers. Some English soldiers of the Ninth regiment are hastily digging a grave there with extemporized tools.]

A VOICE [from the gloom some distance off]

“I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.”

[The soldiers look up, and see entering at the further end of the patch of ground a slow procession. It advances by the light of lanterns in the hands of some members of it. At moments the fitful rays fall upon bearers carrying a coffinless body rolled in a blanket, with a military cloak roughly thrown over by way of pall. It is brought towards the incomplete grave, and followed by HOPE, GRAHAM, ANDERSON, COLBORNE, HARDINGE, and several aides-de-camp, a chaplain preceding.]

FIRST SOLDIER

They are here, almost as quickly as ourselves. There is no time to dig much deeper now: Level a bottom just as far's we've got. He'll couch as calmly in this scrabbled hole As in a royal vault!

SECOND SOLDIER

Would it had been a foot deeper, here among foreigners, with strange manures manufactured out of no one knows what! Surely we can give him another six inches?

FIRST SOLDIER

There is no time. Just make the bottom true.

[The meagre procession approaches the spot, and waits while the half-dug grave is roughly finished by the men of the Ninth. They step out of it, and another of them holds a lantern to the chaplain's book. The winter day slowly dawns.]

CHAPLAIN

“Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay.”

[A gun is fired from the French battery not far off; then another. The ships in the harbour take in their riding lights.]

COLBORNE [in a low voice]

I knew that dawn would see them open fire.

HOPE

We must perforce make swift use of out time. Would we had closed our too sad office sooner!

[As the body is lowered another discharge echoes. They glance gloomily at the heights where the French are ranged, and then into the grave.]

CHAPLAIN

“We therefore commit his body to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” [Another gun.]

[A spent ball falls not far off. They put out their lanterns. Continued firing, some shot splashing into the harbour below them.]

HOPE

In mercy to the living, who are thrust Upon our care for their deliverance, And run much hazard till they are embarked, We must abridge these duties to the dead, Who will not mind be they abridged or no.

HARDINGE

And could he mind, would be the man to bid it....

HOPE

We shall do well, then, curtly to conclude These mutilated prayers--our hurried best!-- And what's left unsaid, feel.

CHAPLAIN [his words broken by the cannonade]

“.... We give Thee hearty thanks for that it hath pleased Thee to deliver this our brother out of the miseries of this sinful world.... Who also hath taught us not to be sorry, as men without hope, for them that sleep in Him.... Grant this, through Jesus Christ our Mediator and Redeemer.”

OFFICERS AND SOLDIERS

Amen!

[The diggers of the Ninth hastily fill in the grave, and the scene shuts as the mournful figures retire.]

Scene V

VIENNA. A CAFE IN THE STEPHANS-PLATZ

[An evening between light and dark is disclosed, some lamps being lit. The huge body and tower of St. Stephen's rise into the sky some way off, the western gleam still touching the upper stonework. Groups of people are seated at the tables, drinking and reading the newspapers. One very animated group, which includes an Englishman, is talking loudly. A citizen near looks up from his newspaper.]

CITIZEN [to the Englishman]

I read, sir, here, the troubles you discuss Of your so gallant army under Moore. His was a spirit baffled but not quelled, And in his death there shone a stoicism That lent retreat the rays of victory.

ENGLISHMAN

It was so. While men chide they will admire him, And frowning, praise. I could nigh prophesy That the unwonted crosses he has borne In his career of sharp vicissitude Will tinct his story with a tender charm, And grant the memory of his strenuous feats As long a lease within the minds of men As conquerors hold there.--Does the sheet give news Of how the troops reached home?

CITIZEN [looking up again at the paper]

Yes; from your press It quotes that they arrived at Plymouth Sound Mid dreadful weather and much suffering. It states they looked the very ghosts of men, So heavily had hunger told on them, And the fatigues and toils of the retreat. Several were landed dead, and many died As they were borne along. At Portsmouth, too, Sir David Baird, still helpless from his wound, Was carried in a cot, sheet-pale and thin, And Sir John Hope, lank as a skeleton.-- Thereto is added, with authority, That a new expedition soon will fit, And start again for Spain.

ENGLISHMAN

I have heard as much.

CITIZEN

You'll do it next time, sir. And so shall we!

SECOND CITIZEN [regarding the church tower opposite]

You witnessed the High Service over there They held this morning? [To the Englishman.]

ENGLISHMAN

Ay; I did get in; Though not without hard striving, such the throng; But travellers roam to waste who shyly roam And I pushed like the rest.

SECOND CITIZEN

Our young Archduchess Maria Louisa was, they tell me, present?

ENGLISHMAN

O yes: the whole Imperial family, And when the Bishop called all blessings down Upon the Landwehr colours there displayed, Enthusiasm touched the sky--she sharing it.

SECOND CITIZEN

Commendable in her, and spirited, After the graceless insults to the Court The Paris journals flaunt--not voluntarily, But by his ordering. Magician-like He holds them in his fist, and at his squeeze They bubble what he wills!... Yes, she's a girl Of patriotic build, and hates the French. Quite lately she was overheard to say She had met with most convincing auguries That this year Bonaparte was starred to die.

ENGLISHMAN

Your arms must render its fulfilment sure.

SECOND CITIZEN

Right! And we have the opportunity, By upping to the war in suddenness, And catching him unaware. The pink and flower Of all his veteran troops are now in Spain Fully engaged with yours; while those he holds In Germany are scattered far and wide.

FIRST CITIZEN [looking up again from his newspaper]

I see here that he vows and guarantees Inviolate bounds to all our territories If we but pledge to carry out forthwith A prompt disarmament. Since that's his price Hell burn his guarantees! Too long he has fooled us. [To the Englishman] I drink, sir, to your land's consistency. While we and all the kindred Europe States Alternately have wooed and warred him, You have not bent to blowing hot and cold, But held you sturdily inimical!

ENGLISHMAN [laughing]

Less Christian-like forgiveness mellows us Than Continental souls! [They drink.]

[A band is heard in a distant street, with shouting. Enter third and fourth citizens, followed by others.]

FIRST CITIZEN

More news afloat?

THIRD AND FOURTH CITIZENS

Yea; an announcement that the Archduke Charles Is given the chief command.

FIRST, SECOND, ETC., CITIZENS

Huzza! Right so!

[A clinking of glasses, rising from seats, and general enthusiasm.]

SECOND CITIZEN

If war had not so patly been declared, Our howitzers and firelocks of themselves Would have gone off to shame us! This forenoon Some of the Landwehr met me; they are hot For setting out, though but few months enrolled.

ENGLISHMAN

That moves reflection somewhat. They are young For measuring with the veteran file of France!

FIRST CITIZEN

Napoleon's army swarms with tender youth, His last conscription besomed into it Thousands of merest boys. But he contrives To mix them in the field with seasoned frames.

SECOND CITIZEN

The sadly-seen mistake this country made Was that of grounding hostile arms at all. We should have fought irreconcilably-- Have been consistent as the English are. The French are our hereditary foes, And this adventurer of the saucy sword, This sacrilegious slighter of our shrines, Stands author of all our ills... Our harvest fields and fruits he trample on, Accumulating ruin in our land. Think of what mournings in the last sad war 'Twas his to instigate and answer for! Time never can efface the glint of tears In palaces, in shops, in fields, in cots, From women widowed, sonless, fatherless, That then oppressed our eyes. There is no salve For such deep harrowings but to fight again; The enfranchisement of Europe hangs thereon, And long she has lingered for the sign to crush him: That signal we have given; the time is come! [Thumping on the table.]

FIFTH CITIZEN [at another table, looking up from his paper and speaking across]

I see that Russia has declined to aid us, And says she knows that Prussia likewise must; So that the mission of Prince Schwarzenberg To Alexander's Court has closed in failure.

THIRD CITIZEN

Ay--through his being honest--fatal sin!-- Probing too plainly for the Emperor's ears His ominous friendship with Napoleon.

ENGLISHMAN

Some say he was more than honest with the Tsar; Hinting that his becoming an ally Makes him accomplice of the Corsican In the unprincipled dark overthrow Of his poor trusting childish Spanish friends-- Which gave the Tsar offence.

THIRD CITIZEN

And our best bid-- The last, most delicate dish--a tastelessness.

FIRST CITIZEN

What was Prince Schwarzenberg's best bid, I pray?

THIRD CITIZEN

The offer of the heir of Austria's hand For Alexander's sister the Grand-Duchess.

ENGLISHMAN

He could not have accepted, if or no: She is inscribed as wife for Bonaparte.

FIRST CITIZEN

I doubt that text!

ENGLISHMAN

Time's context soon will show.

SECOND CITIZEN

The Russian Cabinet can not for long Resist the ardour of the Russian ranks To march with us the moment we achieve Our first loud victory!

[A band is heard playing afar, and shouting. People are seen hurrying past in the direction of the sounds. Enter sixth citizen.]

SIXTH CITIZEN

The Archduke Charles Is passing the Ringstrasse just by now, His regiment at his heels!

[The younger sitters jump up with animation, and go out, the elder mostly remaining.]

SECOND CITIZEN

Realm never faced The grin of a more fierce necessity For horrid war, than ours at this tense time!

[The sounds of band-playing and huzzaing wane away. Citizens return.]

FIRST CITIZEN

More news, my friends, of swiftly swelling zeal?

RE-ENTERED CITIZENS

Ere passing down the Ring, the Archduke paused And gave the soldiers speech, enkindling them As sunrise a confronting throng of panes That glaze a many-windowed east facade: Hot volunteers vamp in from vill and plain-- More than we need in the furthest sacrifice!

FIRST, SECOND, ETC., CITIZENS

Huzza! Right so! Good! Forwards! God be praised!

[They stand up, and a clinking of glasses follows, till they subside to quietude and a reperusal of newspapers. Nightfall succeeds. Dancing-rooms are lit up in an opposite street, and dancing begins. The figures are seen gracefully moving round to the throbbing strains of a string-band, which plays a new waltzing movement with a warlike name, soon to spread over Europe. The dancers sing patriotic words as they whirl. The night closes over.]

ACT FOURTH

Scene I

A ROAD OUT OF VIENNA

[It is morning in early May. Rain descends in torrents, accompanied by peals of thunder. The tepid downpour has caused the trees to assume as by magic a clothing of limp green leafage, and has turned the ruts of the uneven highway into little canals.

A drenched travelling-chariot is passing, with a meagre escort. In the interior are seated four women: the ARCHDUCHESS MARIA LOUISA, in age about eighteen; her stepmother the EMPRESS OF AUSTRIA, third wife of FRANCIS, only four years older than the ARCHDUCHESS; and two ladies of the Austrian Court. Behind come attendant carriages bearing servants and luggage.

The inmates remain for the most part silent, and appear to be in a gloomy frame of mind. From time to time they glance at the moist spring scenes which pass without in a perspective distorted by the rain-drops that slide down the panes, and by the blurring effect of the travellers' breathings. Of the four the one who keeps in the best spirits is the ARCHDUCHESS, a fair, blue-eyed, full- figured, round-lipped maiden.]

MARIA LOUISA

Whether the rain comes in or not I must open the window. Please allow me. [She straightway opens it.]

EMPRESS [groaning]

Yes--open or shut it--I don't care. I am too ill to care for anything! [The carriage jolts into a hole.] O woe! To think that I am driven away from my husband's home in such a miserable conveyance, along such a road, and in such weather as this. [Peal of thunder.] There are his guns!

MARIA LOUISA

No, my dear one. It cannot be his guns. They told us when we started that he was only half-way from Ratisbon hither, so that he must be nearly a hundred miles off as yet; and a large army cannot move fast.

EMPRESS

He should never have been let come nearer than Ratisbon! The victory at Echmuhl was fatal for us. O Echmuhl, Echmuhl! I believe he will overtake us before we get to Buda.

FIRST LADY-IN-WAITING

If so, your Majesty, shall we be claimed as prisoners and marched to Paris?

EMPRESS

Undoubtedly. But I shouldn't much care. It would not be worse than this.... I feel sodden all through me, and frowzy, and broken! [She closes her eyes as if to doze.]

MARIA LOUISA

It is dreadful to see her suffer so! [Shutting the window.] If the roads were not so bad I should not mind. I almost wish we had stayed; though when he arrives the cannonade will be terrible.

FIRST LADY-IN-WAITING

I wonder if he will get into Vienna. Will his men knock down all the houses, madam?

MARIA LOUISA

If he do get in, I am sure his triumph will not be for long. My uncle the Archduke Charles is at his heels! I have been told many important prophecies about Bonaparte's end, which is fast nearing, it is asserted. It is he, they say, who is referred to in the Apocalypse. He is doomed to die this year at Cologne, in an inn called “The Red Crab.” I don't attach too much importance to all these predictions, but O, how glad I should be to see them come true!

SECOND LADY-IN-WAITING

So should we all, madam. What would become of his divorce-scheme then?

MARIA LOUISA

Perhaps there is nothing in that report. One can hardly believe such gossip.

SECOND LADY-IN-WAITING

But they say, your Imperial Highness, that he certainly has decided to sacrifice the Empress Josephine, and that at the meeting last October with the Emperor Alexander at Erfurt, it was even settled that he should marry as his second wife the Grand-Duchess Anne.

MARIA LOUISA

I am sure that the Empress her mother will never allow one of the house of Romanoff to marry with a bourgeois Corsican. I wouldn't if I were she!

FIRST LADY-IN-WAITING

Perhaps, your Highness, they are not so particular in Russia, where they are rather new themselves, as we in Austria, with your ancient dynasty, are in such matters.

MARIA LOUISA

Perhaps not. Though the Empress-mother is a pompous old thing, as I have been told by Prince Schwarzenberg, who was negotiating there last winter. My father says it would be a dreadful misfortune for our country if they were to marry. Though if we are to be exiled I don't see how anything of that sort can matter much.... I hope my father is safe!

[An officer of the escort rides up to the carriage window, which is opened.]

EMPRESS [unclosing her eyes]

Any more misfortunes?

OFFICER

A rumour is a-wind, your Majesty, That the French host, the Emperor in its midst, Lannes, Massena, and Bessieres in its van, Advancing hither along the Ratisbon road, Has seized the castle and town of Ebersberg, And burnt all down, with frightful massacre, Vast heaps of dead and wounded being consumed, So that the streets stink strong with frizzled flesh.-- The enemy, ere this, has crossed the Traun, Hurling brave Hiller's army back on us, And marches on Amstetten--thirty miles Less distant from Vienna from before!

EMPRESS

The Lord show mercy to us! But O why Did not the Archdukes intercept the foe?

OFFICER

His Highness Archduke Charles, your Majesty, After his sore repulse Bohemia-wards, Could not proceed with strength and speed enough To close in junction with the Archduke John And Archduke Louis, as was their intent. So Marshall Lannes swings swiftly on Vienna, With Oudinot's and Demont's might of foot; Then Massena and all his mounted men, And then Napoleon, Guards, Cuirassiers, And the main body of the Imperial Force.

EMPRESS

Alas for poor Vienna!

OFFICER

Even so! Your Majesty has fled it none too soon.

[The window is shut, and the procession disappears behind the sheets of rain.]

Scene II

THE ISLAND OF LOBAU, WITH WAGRAM BEYOND

[The northern horizon at the back of the bird's-eye prospect is the high ground stretching from the Bisamberg on the left to the plateau of Wagram on the right. In front of these elevations spreads the wide plain of the Marchfeld, open, treeless, and with scarcely a house upon it.[16]

In the foreground the Danube crosses the scene with a graceful slowness, looping itself round the numerous wooded islands therein. The largest of these, immediately under the eye, is the Lobau, which stands like a knot in the gnarled grain represented by the running river.

On this island can be discerned, closely packed, an enormous dark multitude of foot, horse, and artillery in French uniforms, the numbers reaching to a hundred and seventy thousand.

Lifting our eyes to discover what may be opposed to them we perceive on the Wagram plateau aforesaid, and right and left in front of it, extended lines of Austrians, whitish and glittering, to the number of a hundred and forty thousand.

The July afternoon turns to evening, the evening to twilight. A species of simmer which pervades the living spectacle raises expectation till the very air itself seems strained with suspense. A huge event of some kind is awaiting birth.]

DUMB SHOW

The first change under the cloak of night is that the tightly packed regiments on the island are got under arms. The soldiery are like a thicket of reeds in which every reed should be a man.

A large bridge connects the island with the further shore, as well as some smaller bridges. Opposite are high redoubts and ravelins that the Austrians have constructed for opposing the passage across, which the French ostentatiously set themselves to attempt by the large bridge, amid heavy cannonading.

But the movement is a feint, though this is not perceived by the Austrians as yet. The real movement is on the right hand of the foreground, behind a spur of the isle, and out of sight of the enemy; where several large rafts and flat boats, each capable of carrying three hundred men, are floated out from a screened creek.

Chosen battalions enter upon these, which immediately begin to cross with their burden. Simultaneously from other screened nooks secretly prepared floating bridges, in sections, are moved forth, joined together, and defended by those who crossed on the rafts.

At two o'clock in the morning the thousands of cooped soldiers begin to cross the bridges, producing a scene which, on such a scale, was never before witnessed in the history of war. A great discharge from the batteries accompanies this manoeuvre, arousing the Austrians to a like cannonade.

The night has been obscure for summer-time, and there is no moon. The storm now breaks in a tempestuous downpour, with lightning and thunder. The tumult of nature mingles so fantastically with the tumult of projectiles that flaming bombs and forked flashes cut the air in company, and the noise from the mortars alternates with the noise from the clouds.

From bridge to bridge and back again a gloomy-eyed figure stalks, as it has stalked the whole night long, with the restlessness of a wild animal. Plastered with mud, and dribbling with rain-water, it bears no resemblance to anything dignified or official. The figure is that of NAPOLEON, urging his multitudes over.

By daylight the great mass of the men is across the water. At six the rain ceases, the mist uncovers the face of the sun, which bristles on the helmets and bayonets of the French. A hum of amazement rises from the Austrian hosts, who turn staring faces southward and perceive what has happened, and the columns of their enemies standing to arms on the same side of the stream with themselves, and preparing to turn their left wing.

NAPOLEON rides along the front of his forces, which now spread out upon the plain, and are ranged in order of battle.

Dumb Show ends, and the point of view changes.

Scene III

THE FIELD OF WAGRAM

[The battlefield is now viewed reversely, from the windows of a mansion at Wolkersdorf, to the rear of the Austrian position. The aspect of the windows is nearly south, and the prospect includes the plain of the Marchfeld, with the isled Danube and Lobau in the extreme distance. Ten miles to the south-west, rightwards, the faint summit of the tower of St. Stephen's, Vienna, appears. On the middle-left stands the compact plateau of Wagram, so regularly shaped as to seem as if constructed by art. On the extreme left the July sun has lately risen.

Inside the room are discovered the EMPEROR FRANCIS and some house- hold officers in attendance; with the War-Minister and Secretaries at a table at the back. Through open doors can be seen in an outer apartment adjutants, equerries, aides, and other military men. An officer in waiting enters.]

OFFICER

During the night the French have shifted, sire, And much revised their stations of the eve By thwart and wheeling moves upon our left, And on our centre--projects unforeseen Till near accomplished.

FRANCIS

But I am advised By oral message that the Archduke Charles, Since the sharp strife last night, has mended, too, His earlier dispositions, and has sped Strong orders to the Archduke John, to bring In swiftest marches all the force he holds, And fall with heavy impact on the French From nigh their rear?

OFFICER

'Tis good, sire; such a swoop Will raise an obstacle to their retreat And refuge in the fastness of the isle; And show this victory-gorged adventurer That striking with a river in his rear Is not the safest tactic to be played Against an Austrian front equipt like ours!

[The EMPEROR FRANCIS and others scrutinize through their glasses the positions and movements of the Austrian divisions, which appear on the plain as pale masses, emitting flashes from arms and helmets under the July rays, and reaching from the Tower of Neusiedel on the left, past Wagram, into the village of Stammersdorf on the right. Beyond their lines are spread out the darker-hued French, almost parallel to the Austrians.]

FRANCIS

Those moving masses toward the right I deem The forces of Klenau and Kollowrath, Sent to support Prince John of Lichtenstein I his attack that way?

[An interval.]

Now that they've gained The right there, why is not the attack begun?

OFFICER

They are beginning on the left wing, sire.

[The EMPEROR resumes his glass and beholds bodies of men descending from the hills by Neusiedel, and crossing the Russbach river towards the French--a movement which has been going on for some time.]

FRANCIS [turning thither]

Where we are weakest! It surpasses me To understand why was our centre thinned To pillar up our right already strong, Where nought is doing, while our left assault Stands ill-supported?

[Time passes in silence.]

Yes, it is so. See, The enemy strikes Rossenberg in flank, Compelling him to fall behind the Russbach!

[The EMPEROR gets excited, and his face perspires. At length he cannot watch through his glass, and walks up and down.]

Penned useless here my nerves annoy my sight! Inform me what you note.--I should opine The Wagram height behind impregnable?

[Another silence, broken by the distant roar of the guns.]

OFFICER

Klenau and Kollowrath are pounding on! To turn the enemy's left with our strong right Is, after all, a plan that works out well. Hiller and Lichtenstein conjoin therein.

FRANCIS

I hear from thence appalling cannonades.

OFFICER

'Tis their, your Majesty. Now we shall see If the French read that there the danger lies.

FRANCIS

I only pray that Bonaparte refrain From spying danger there till all too late!

OFFICER [involuntarily, after a pause]

Ah, Heaven!

FRANCIS [turning sharply]

Well, well? What changes figure now?

OFFICER

They pierce our centre, sire! We are, despite, Not centrally so weak as I supposed. Well done, Bellegarde!

FRANCIS [glancing to the centre]

And what has he well done?

OFFICER

The French in fierce fume broke through Aderklaa; But Bellegarde, pricking along the plain behind, Has charged and driven them back disorderly. The Archduke Charles bounds thither, as I shape, In person to support him!

[The EMPEROR returns to his spyglass; and they and others watch in silence, sometimes the right of their front, sometimes the centre.]

FRANCIS

It is so! That the right attack of ours spells victory, And Austria's grand salvation!... [Times passes.] Turn your glass, And closely scan Napoleon and his aides Hand-galloping towards his centre-left To strengthen it against the brave Bellegarde. Does your eye reach him?--That white horse, alone In front of those that move so rapidly.

OFFICER

It does, sire; though my glass can conjure not So cunningly as yours.... that horse must be The famed Euphrates--him the Persian king Sent Bonaparte as gift.

[A silence. NAPOLEON reaches a carriage that is moving across. It bears MASSENA, who, having received a recent wound, in unable to ride.]

FRANCIS

See, the white horse and horseman pause beside A coach for some strange reason rolling there.... That white-horsed rider--yes!--is Bonaparte, By the aides hovering round.... New war-wiles have been worded; we shall spell Their purport soon enough! [An interval.] The French take heart To stand to our battalions steadfastly, And hold their ground, having the Emperor near!

[Time passes. An aide-de-camp enters.]

AIDE

The Archduke Charles is pierced in the shoulder, sire; He strove too far in beating back the French At Aderklaa, and was nearly ta'en. The wound's not serious.--On our right we win, And deem the battle ours.

[Enter another aide-de-camp.]

SECOND AIDE

Your Majesty, We have borne them back through Aspern village-street And Essling is recovered. What counts more, Their bridges to the rear we have nearly grasped, And panic-struck they crowd the few left free, Choking the track, with cries of “All is lost!”

FRANCIS

Then is the land delivered. God be praised!

[Exeunt aides. An interval, during which the EMPEROR and his companions again remain anxiously at their glasses.]

There is a curious feature I discern To have come upon the battle. On our right We gain ground rapidly; towards the left We lose it; and the unjudged consequence Is that the armies; whole commingling mass Moves like a monstrous wheel. I like it not!

[Enter another aide-de-camp.]

THIRD AIDE

Our left wing, sire, recedes before Davout, Whom nothing can withstand! Two corps he threw Across the Russbach up to Neusiedel, While he himself assailed the place in front. Of the divisions one pressed on and on, Till lodged atop. They would have been hurled back---

FRANCIS

But how goes it with us in sum? pray say!

THIRD AIDE

We have been battered off the eastern side Of Wagram plateau.

FRANCIS

Where's the Archduke John? Why comes he not? One man of his here now Were worth a host anon. And yet he tarries!

[Exit third aide. Time passes, while they reconnoitre the field with strained eyes.]

Our centre-right, it seems, round Neusiedel, Is being repulsed! May the kind Heaven forbid That Hesse Homberg should be yielding there!

[The Minister in attendance comes forward, and the EMPEROR consults him; then walking up and down in silence. Another aide-de-camp enters.]

FOURTH AIDE

Sire, Neusiedel has just been wrenched from us, And the French right is on the Wagram crest; Nordmann has fallen, and Veczay: Hesse Homberg, Warteachben, Muger--almost all our best-- Bleed more or less profusely!

[A gloomy silence. Exit fourth side. Ten minutes pass. Enter an officer in waiting.]

FRANCIS

What guns are those that groan from Wagram height?

OFFICER

Alas, Davout's! I have climbed the roof-top, sire, And there discerned the truth.

[Cannonade continues. A long interval of suspense. The EMPEROR returns to his glass.]

FRANCIS

A part of it! There seems to be a grim, concerted lunge By the whole strength of France upon our right, Centre, and left wing simultaneously!

OFFICER

Most viciously upon the centre, sire, If I mistook not, hard by Sussenbrunn; The assault is led by Bonaparte in person, Who shows himself with marvellous recklessness, Yet like a phantom-fiend receives no hurt.

FRANCIS [still gazing]

Ha! Now the Archduke Charles has seen the intent, And taken steps against it. Sussenbrunn Must be the threatened thing. [Silence.] What an advance!-- Straight hitherward. Our centre girdles them.-- Surely they'll not persist? Who heads that charge?

OFFICER

They say Macdonald, sire.

FRANCIS

Meagrest remains Will there be soon of those in that advance! We are burning them to bones by our hot fire. They are almost circumscribed: if fully so The battle's ours! What's that behind them, eh?

OFFICER

Their last reserves, that they may feed the front, And sterilize our hope!

FRANCIS

Yes, their reserve-- Dragoons and cuirassiers--charge in support. You see their metal gleaming as they come. Well, it is neck or nothing for them now!

OFFICER

It's nothing, sire. Their charge of cavalry Has desperately failed.

FRANCIS

Their foot press on, However, with a battery in front Which deals the foulest damage done us yet. [Time passes.] They ARE effecting lodgment, after all. Who would have reckoned on't--our men so firm!

[Re-enter first aide-de-camp.]

FIRST AIDE

The Archduke Charles retreats, your majesty; And the issue wears a dirty look just now.

FRANCIS [gloomily]

Yes: I have seen the signs for some good while. But he retreats with blows, and orderly.

[Time passes, till the sun has rounded far towards the west. The features of the battle now materially change. The French have regained Aspern and Essling; the Austrian army is doubled back from the Danube and from the heights of Wagram, which, as viewed from Wolkersdorf, face the afternoon shine, the French established thereon glittering in the rays.

FRANCIS [choking a sigh]

The turn has passed. We are worsted, but not overwhelmed!... The French advance is laboured, and but slow. --This might have been another-coloured day If but the Archduke John had joined up promptly; Yet still he lags!

ANOTHER OFFICER [lately entered]

He's just now coming, sire. His columns glimmer in the Frenchmen's rear. Past Siebenbrunn's and Loebensdorf's smoked hills.

FRANCIS [impatiently]

Ay--coming NOW! Why could he not be COME!

[They watch intently.]

We can see nothing of that side from here.

[Enter a general officer, who speaks to the Minister at the back of the room.]

MINISTER [coming forward]

Your Majesty, I now have to suggest, Pursuant to conclusions reached this morn, That since the front and flower of all our force Is seen receding to the Bisamberg, These walls no longer yield safe shade for you, Or facile outlook. Scouts returning say Either Davout, or Bonaparte himself, With the mid-columns of his forward corps, Will bear up hitherward in fierce pursuit, And may intrude beneath this very roof. Not yet, I think; it may not be to-night; But we should stand prepared.

FRANCIS

If we must go We'll go with a good grace, unfeignedly! Who knows to-morrow may not see regained What we have lost to-day?

[Re-enter fourth aide-de-camp.]

FOURTH AIDE [breathlessly]

The Archduke John, Discerning our main musters in retreat, Abandons an advance that throws on him The enemy's whole brunt if he bear on.

FRANCIS

Alas for his devotion! Let us go. Such weight of sadness as we shoulder now Will wring us down to sleep in stall or stye, If even that be found!... Think! Bonaparte, By reckless riskings of his life and limb, Has turned the steelyard of our strength to-day Whilst I have idled here!... May brighter times Attend the cause of Europe far in Spain, And British blood flow not, as ours, in vain!

[Exeunt the EMPEROR FRANCIS, minister, officers, and attendants. The night comes, and the scene is obscured.]

Scene IV

THE FIELD OF TALAVERA

[It is the same month and weather as in the preceding scene.

Talavera town, on the river Tagus, is at the extreme right of the foreground; a mountain range on the extreme left.

The allied army under SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY stretches between--the English on the left, the Spanish on the right--part holding a hill to the left-centre of the scene, divided from the mountains by a valley, and part holding a redoubt to the right-centre. This army of more than fifty thousand all told, of which twenty-two thousand only are English, has its back to the spectator.

Beyond, in a wood of olive, oak, and cork, are the fifty to sixty thousand French, facing the spectator and the allies. Their right includes a strong battery upon a hill which fronts the one on the English left.

Behind all, the heights of Salinas close the prospect, the small river Alberche flowing at their foot from left to right into the Tagus, which advances in foreshortened perspective to the town at the right front corner of the scene as aforesaid.]

DUMB SHOW

The hot and dusty July afternoon having turned to twilight, shady masses of men start into motion from the French position, come towards the foreground, silently ascend the hill on the left of the English, and assail the latter in a violent outburst of fire and lead. They nearly gain possession of the hill ascended.

CHORUS OF RUMOURS [aerial music]

Talavera tongues it as ten o' the night-time: Now come Ruffin's slaughterers surging upward, Backed by bold Vilatte's! From the vale Lapisse, too, Darkly outswells there!

Down the vague veiled incline the English fling them, Bended bayonets prodding opponents backward: So the first fierce charge of the ardent Frenchmen England repels there!

Having fallen back into the darkness the French presently reascend in yet larger masses. The high square knapsack which every English foot-soldier carries, and his shako, and its tuft, outline themselves against the dim light as the ranks stand awaiting the shock.

CHORUS OF RUMOURS

Pushing spread they!--shout as they reach the summit!-- Strength and stir new-primed in their plump battalions: Puffs of barbed flame blown on the lines opposing Higher and higher.

There those hold them mute, though at speaking distance-- Mute, while clicking flints, and the crash of volleys Whelm the weighted gloom with immense distraction Pending their fire.

Fronting heads, helms, brows can each ranksman read there, Epaulettes, hot cheeks, and the shining eyeball, [Called a trice from gloom by the fleeting pan-flash] Pressing them nigher!

The French again fall back in disorder into the hollow, and LAPISSE draws off on the right. As the sinking sound of the muskets tells what has happened the English raise a shout.

CHORUS OF PITIES

Thus the dim nocturnal embroil of conflict Closes with the roar of receding gun-fire. Harness loosened then, and their day-long strenuous Temper unbending,

Worn-out lines lie down where they late stood staunchly-- Cloaks around them rolled--by the bivouac embers: There at dawn to stake in the dynasts' death-game All, till the ending!

Scene V

THE SAME

DUMB SHOW [continued]

The morning breaks. There is another murderous attempt to dislodge the English from the hill, the assault being pressed with a determination that excites the admiration of the English themselves.

The French are seen descending into the valley, crossing it, and climbing it on the English side under the fire of HILL'S whole division, all to no purpose. In their retreat they leave behind them on the slopes nearly two thousand lying.

The day advances to noon, and the air trembles in the intense heat. The combat flags, and is suspended.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

What do I see but thirsty, throbbing bands From these inimic hosts defiling down In homely need towards the little stream That parts their enmities, and drinking there! They get to grasping hands across the rill, Sealing their sameness as earth's sojourners.-- What more could plead the wryness of the time Than such unstudied piteous pantomimes!

SPIRIT IRONIC

It is only that Life's queer mechanics chance to work out in this grotesque shape just now. The groping tentativeness of an Immanent Will [as grey old Years describes it] cannot be asked to learn logic at this time of day! The spectacle of Its instruments, set to riddle one another through, and then to drink together in peace and concord, is where the humour comes in, and makes the play worth seeing!

SPIRIT SINISTER

Come, Sprite, don't carry your ironies too far, or you may wake up the Unconscious Itself, and tempt It to let all the gory clock-work of the show run down to spite me!

DUMB SHOW [continuing]

The drums roll, and the men of the two nations part from their comradeship at the Alberche brook, the dark masses of the French army assembling anew. SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY has seated himself on a mound that commands a full view of the contested hill, and remains there motionless a long time. When the French form for battle he is seen to have come to a conclusion. He mounts, gives his orders, and the aides ride off.

The French advance steadily through the sultry atmosphere, the skirmishers in front, and the columns after, moving, yet seemingly motionless. Their eighty cannon peal out and their shots mow every space in the line of them. Up the great valley and the terraces of the hill whose fame is at that moment being woven, comes VILLATE, boring his way with foot and horse, and RUFFIN'S men following behind.

According to the order given, the Twenty-third Light Dragoons and the German Hussars advance at a chosen moment against the head of these columns. On the way they disappear.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Why this bedevilment? What can have chanced?

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

It so befalls that as their chargers near The inimical wall of flesh with its iron frise, A treacherous chasm uptrips them: zealous men And docile horses roll to dismal death And horrid mutilation.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Those who live Even now advance! I'll see no more. Relate.

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

Yes, those pant on. Then further Frenchmen cross, And Polish Lancers, and Westphalian Horse, Who ring around these luckless Islanders, And sweep them down like reeds by the river-bank In scouring floods; till scarce a man remains.

Meanwhile on the British right SEBASTIANI'S corps has precipitated itself in column against GENERAL CAMPBELL'S division, the division of LAPISSE against the centre, and at the same time the hill on the English left is again assaulted. The English and their allies are pressed sorely here, the bellowing battery tearing lanes through their masses.

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR [continuing]

The French reserves of foot and horse now on, Smiting the Islanders in breast and brain Till their mid-lines are shattered.... Now there ticks The moment of the crisis; now the next, Which brings the turning stroke.

SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY sends down the Forty-eighth regiment under COLONEL DONELLAN to support the wasting troops. It advances amid those retreating, opening to let them pass.

SPIRIT OF THE RUMOUR [continuing]

The pales, enerved, The hitherto unflinching enemy! Lapisse is pierced to death; the flagging French Decline into the hollows whence they came. The too exhausted English and reduced Lack strength to follow.--Now the western sun, Conning with unmoved visage quick and dead, Gilds horsemen slackening, and footmen stilled, Till all around breathes drowsed hostility.

Last, the swealed herbage lifts a leering light, And flames traverse the field; and hurt and slain Opposed, opposers, in a common plight Are scorched together on the dusk champaign.

The fire dies down, and darkness enwraps the scene.

Scene VI

BRIGHTON. THE ROYAL PAVILION

[It is the birthday dinner-party of the PRINCE OF WALES. In the floridly decorated banqueting-room stretch tables spread with gold and silver plate, and having artificial fountains in their midst.

Seated at the tables are the PRINCE himself as host--rosy, well curled, and affable--the DUKES OF YORK, CLARENCE, KENT, SUSSEX, CUMBERLAND, and CAMBRIDGE, with many noblemen, including LORDS HEADFORT, BERKELEY, EGREMONT, CHICHESTER, DUDLEY, SAY AND SELE, SOUTHAMPTON, HEATHFIELD, ERSKINE, KEITH, C. SOMERSET, G. CAVENDISH, R. SEYMOUR, and others; SIR C. POLE, SIR E.G. DE CRESPIGNY, MR. SHERIDAN; Generals, Colonels, and Admirals, and the REV. MR. SCOTT.

The PRINCE'S band plays in the adjoining room. The banquet is drawing to its close, and a boisterous conversation is in progress.

Enter COLONEL BLOOMFIELD with a dispatch for the PRINCE, who looks it over amid great excitement in the company. In a few moments silence is called.]

PRINCE OF WALES

I have the joy, my lords and gentlemen, To rouse you with the just imported tidings From General Wellesley through Lord Castlereagh Of a vast victory [noisy cheers] over the French in Spain. The place--called Talavera de la Reyna [If I pronounce it rightly]--long unknown, Wears not the crest and blazonry of fame! [Cheers.] The heads and chief contents of the dispatch I read you as succinctly as I can. [Cheers.]

SHERIDAN [singing sotto voce]

“Now foreign foemen die and fly, Dammy, we'll drink little England dry!”

[The PRINCE reads the parts of the dispatch that describe the battle, amid intermittent cheers.]

PRINCE OF WALES [continuing]

Such is the substance of the news received, Which, after Wagram, strikes us genially As sudden sunrise through befogged night shades!

SHERIDAN [privately]

By God, that's good, sir! You are a poet born, while the rest of us are but made, and bad at that.

[The health of the army in Spain is drunk with acclamations.]

PRINCE OF WALES [continuing]

In this achievement we, alas! have lost Too many! Yet suck blanks must ever be.-- Mackenzie, Langworth, Beckett of the Guards, Have fallen of ours; while of the enemy Generals Lapisse and Morlot are laid low.-- Drink to their memories!

[They drink in silence.]

Other news, my friends, Received to-day is of like hopeful kind. The Great War-Expedition to the Scheldt [Cheers.] Which lately sailed, has found a favouring wind, And by this hour has touched its destined shores. The enterprise will soon be hot aglow, The invaders making first the Cadsand coast, And then descending on Walcheren Isle. But items of the next step are withheld Till later days, from obvious policy. [Cheers.]

[Faint throbbing sounds, like the notes of violincellos and contrabassos, reach the ear from some building without as the speaker pauses.

In worthy emulation of us here The county holds to-night a birthday ball, Which flames with all the fashion of the town. I have been asked to patronize their revel, And sup with them, and likewise you, my guests. We have good reason, with such news to bear! Thither we haste and join our loyal friends, And stir them with this live intelligence Of our staunch regiments on the Spanish plains. [Applause.] With them we'll now knit hands and beat the ground, And bring in dawn as we whirl round and round! There are some fair ones in their set to-night, And such we need here in our bachelor-plight. [Applause.]

[The PRINCE, his brothers, and a large proportion of the other Pavilion guests, swagger out in the direction of the Castle assembly-rooms adjoining, and the deserted banqueting-hall grows dark. In a few moments the back of the scene opens, revealing the assembly-rooms behind.]

Scene VII

THE SAME. THE ASSEMBLY ROOMS

[The rooms are lighted with candles in brass chandeliers, and a dance is in full movement to the strains of a string-band. A signal is given, shortly after the clock has struck eleven, by MR. FORTH, Master of Ceremonies.]

FORTH

His Royal Highness comes, though somewhat late, But never too late for welcome! [Applause.] Dancers, stand, That we may do fit homage to the Prince Who soon may shine our country's gracious king.

[After a brief stillness a commotion is heard at the door, the band strikes up the National air, and the PRINCE enters, accompanied by the rest of the visitors from the Pavilion. The guests who have been temporarily absent now crowd in, till there is hardly space to stand.]

PRINCE OF WALES [wiping his face and whispering to Sheridan]

What shall I say to fit their feeling here? Damn me, that other speech has stumped me quite!

SHERIDAN [whispering]

If heat be evidence of loy---

PRINCE OF WALES

If what?

SHERIDAN

If heat be evidence of loyalty, Et caetera--something quaint like that might please 'em.

PRINCE OF WALES [to the company]

If heat be evidence of loyalty, This room affords it truly without question; If heat be not, then its accompaniment Most surely 'tis to-night. The news I bring, Good ladies, friends, and gentlemen, perchance You have divined already? That our arms-- Engaged to thwart Napoleon's tyranny Over the jaunty, jocund land of Spain Even to the highest apex of our strength-- Are rayed with victory! [Cheers.] Lengthy was the strife And fierce, and hot; and sore the suffering; But proudly we endured it; and shall hear, No doubt, of its far consequence Ere many days. I'll read the details sent. [Cheers.]

[He reads again from the dispatch amid more cheering, the ball- room guests crowding round. When he has done he answers questions; then continuing:

Meanwhile our interest is, if possible, As keenly waked elsewhere. Into the Scheldt Some forty thousand bayonets and swords, And twoscore ships o' the line, with frigates, sloops, And gunboats sixty more, make headway now, Bleaching the waters with their bellying sails; Or maybe they already anchor there, And that level ooze of Walcheren shore Ring with the voices of that landing host In every twang of British dialect, Clamorous to loosen fettered Europe's chain! [Cheers.]

A NOBLE LORD [aside to Sheridan]

Prinny's outpouring tastes suspiciously like your brew, Sheridan. I'll be damned if it is his own concoction. How d'ye sell it a gallon?

SHERIDAN

I don't deal that way nowadays. I give the recipe, and charge a duty on the gauging. It is more artistic, and saves trouble.

[The company proceed to the supper-rooms, and the ball-room sinks into solitude.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

So they pass on. Let be!--But what is this-- A moan?--all frailly floating from the east To usward, even from the forenamed isle?... Would I had not broke nescience, to inspect A world so ill-contrived!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

But since thou hast We'll hasten to the isle; and thou'lt behold-- Such as it is--the scene its coasts enfold.

Scene VIII

WALCHEREN

[A marshy island at the mouth of the Scheldt, lit by the low sunshine of an evening in late summer. The horizontal rays from the west lie in yellow sheaves across the vapours that the day's heat has drawn from the sweating soil. Sour grasses grow in places, and strange fishy smells, now warm, now cold, pass along. Brass-hued and opalescent bubbles, compounded of many gases, rise where passing feet have trodden the damper spots. At night the place is the haunt of the Jack-lantern.]

DUMB SHOW

A vast army is encamped here, and in the open spaces are infantry on parade--skeletoned men, some flushed, some shivering, who are kept moving because it is dangerous to stay still. Every now and then one falls down, and is carried away to a hospital with no roof, where he is laid, bedless, on the ground.

In the distance soldiers are digging graves for the funerals which are to take place after dark, delayed till then that the sight of so many may not drive the living melancholy-mad. Faint noises are heard in the air.

SHADE OF THE EARTH

What storm is this of souls dissolved in sighs, And what the dingy doom it signifies?

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

We catch a lamentation shaped thuswise:

CHORUS OF THE PITIES [aerial music]

“We who withstood the blasting blaze of war When marshalled by the gallant Moore awhile, Beheld the grazing death-bolt with a smile, Closed combat edge to edge and bore to bore, Now rot upon this Isle!

“The ever wan morass, the dune, the blear Sandweed, and tepid pool, and putrid smell, Emaciate purpose to a fractious fear, Beckon the body to its last low cell-- A chink no chart will tell.

“O ancient Delta, where the fen-lights flit! Ignoble sediment of loftier lands, Thy humour clings about our hearts and hands And solves us to its softness, till we sit As we were part of it.

“Such force as fever leaves maddened now, With tidings trickling in from day to day Of others' differing fortunes, wording how They yield their lives to baulk a tyrant's sway-- Yield them not vainly, they!

“In champaigns green and purple, far and near, In town and thorpe where quiet spire-cocks turn, Through vales, by rocks, beside the brooding burn Echoes the aggressor's arrogant career; And we pent pithless here!

“Here, where each creeping day the creeping file Draws past with shouldered comrades score on score, Bearing them to their lightless last asile, Where weary wave-wails from the clammy shore Will reach their ears no more.

“We might have fought, and had we died, died well, Even if in dynasts' discords not our own; Our death-spot some sad haunter might have shown, Some tongue have asked our sires or sons to tell The tale of how we fell;

“But such be chanced not. Like the mist we fade, No lustrous lines engrave in story we, Our country's chiefs, for their own fames afraid, Will leave our names and fates by this pale sea, To perish silently!”

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Why must ye echo as mechanic mimes These mortal minion's bootless cadences, Played on the stops of their anatomy As is the mewling music on the strings Of yonder ship-masts by the unweeting wind, Or the frail tune upon this withering sedge That holds its papery blades against the gale? --Men pass to dark corruption, at the best, Ere I can count five score: these why not now?-- The Immanent Shaper builds Its beings so Whether ye sigh their sighs with them or no!

The night fog enwraps the isle and the dying English army.

ACT FIFTH

Scene I

PARIS. A BALLROOM IN THE HOUSE OF CAMBACERES

[The many-candled saloon at the ARCH-CHANCELLOR'S is visible through a draped opening, and a crowd of masked dancers in fantastic costumes revolve, sway, and intermingle to the music that proceeds from an alcove at the further end of the same apartment. The front of the scene is a withdrawing-room of smaller size, now vacant, save for the presence of one sombre figure, that of NAPOLEON, seated and apparently watching the moving masquerade.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Napoleon even now embraces not From stress of state affairs, which hold him grave Through revels that might win the King of Spleen To toe a measure! I would speak with him.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Speak if thou wilt whose speech nor mars nor mends!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES [into Napoleon's ear]

Why thus and thus Napoleon? Can it be That Wagram with its glories, shocks, and shames, Still leaves athirst the palate of thy pride?

NAPOLEON [answering as in soliloquy]

The trustless, timorous lease of human life Warns me to hedge in my diplomacy. The sooner, then, the safer! Ay, this eve, This very night, will I take steps to rid My morrows of the weird contingencies That vision round and make one hollow-eyed.... The unexpected, lurid death of Lannes-- Rigid as iron, reaped down like a straw-- Tiptoed Assassination haunting round In unthought thoroughfares, the near success Of Staps the madman, argue to forbid The riskful blood of my previsioned line And potence for dynastic empery To linger vialled in my veins alone. Perhaps within this very house and hour, Under an innocent mask of Love or Hope, Some enemy queues my ways to coffin me.... When at the first clash of the late campaign, A bold belief in Austria's star prevailed, There pulsed quick pants of expectation round Among the cowering kings, that too well told What would have fared had I been overthrown! So; I must send down shoots to future time Who'll plant my standard and my story there; And a way opens.--Better I had not Bespoke a wife from Alexander's house. Not there now lies my look. But done is done!

[The dance ends and masks enter, BERTHIER among them. NAPOLEON beckons to him, and he comes forward.]

God send you find amid this motley crew Frivolities enough, friend Berthier--eh? My thoughts have worn oppressive shades despite such! What scandals of me do they bandy here? These close disguises render women bold-- Their shames being of the light, not of the thing-- And your sagacity has garnered much, I make no doubt, of ill and good report, That marked our absence from the capital?

BERTHIER

Methinks, your Majesty, the enormous tale Of your campaign, like Aaron's serpent-rod, Has swallowed up the smaller of its kind. Some speak, 'tis true, in counterpoise thereto, Of English deeds by Talavera town, Though blurred by their exploit at Walcheren, And all its crazy, crass futilities.

NAPOLEON

Yet was the exploit well featured in design, Large in idea, and imaginative; I had not deemed the blinkered English folk So capable of view. Their fate contrived To place an idiot at the helm of it, Who marred its working, else it had been hard If things had not gone seriously for us. --But see, a lady saunters hitherward Whose gait proclaims her Madame Metternich, One that I fain would speak with.

[NAPOLEON rises and crosses the room toward a lady-masker who has just appeared in the opening. BERTHIER draws off, and the EMPEROR, unceremoniously taking the lady's arm, brings her forward to a chair, and sits down beside her as dancing is resumed.]

MADAME METTERNICH

In a flash I recognized you, sire; as who would not The bearer of such deep-delved charactery?

NAPOLEON

The devil, madame, take your piercing eyes! It's hard I cannot prosper in a game That every coxcomb plays successfully. --So here you are still, though your loving lord Disports him at Vienna?

MADAME METTERNICH

Paris, true, Still holds me; though in quiet, save to-night, When I have been expressly prayed come hither, Or I had not left home.

NAPOLEON

I sped that Prayer!-- I have a wish to put a case to you, Wherein a woman's judgment, such as yours, May be of signal service. [He lapses into reverie.]

MADAME METTERNICH

Well? The case--

NAPOLEON

Is marriage--mine.

MADAME METTERNICH

It is beyond me, sire!

NAPOLEON

You glean that I have decided to dissolve [Pursuant to monitions murmured long] My union with the present Empress--formed Without the Church's due authority?

MADAME METTERNICH

Vaguely. And that light tentatives have winged Betwixt your Majesty and Russia's court, To moot that one of their Grand Duchesses Should be your Empress-wife. Nought else I know.

NAPOLEON

There have been such approachings; more, worse luck. Last week Champagny wrote to Alexander Asking him for his sister--yes or no.

MADAME METTERNICH

What “worse luck” lies in that, your Majesty, If severance from the Empress Josephine Be fixed unalterably?

NAPOLEON

This worse luck lies there: If your Archduchess, Marie Louise the fair, Would straight accept my hand, I'd offer it, And throw the other over. Faith, the Tsar Has shown such backwardness in answering me, Time meanwhile trotting, that I have ample ground For such withdrawal.--Madame, now, again, Will your Archduchess marry me of no?

MADAME METTERNICH

Your sudden questions quite confound my sense! It is impossible to answer them.

NAPOLEON

Well, madame, now I'll put it to you thus: Were you in the Archduchess Marie's place Would you accept my hand--and heart therewith?

MADAME METTERNICH

I should refuse you--most assuredly![17]

NAPOLEON [laughing roughly]

Ha-ha! That's frank. And devilish cruel too! --Well, write to your husband. Ask him what he thinks, And let me know.

MADAME METTERNICH

Indeed, sire, why should I? There goes the Ambassador, Prince Schwarzenberg, Successor to my spouse. He's now the groove And proper conduit of diplomacy Through whom to broach this matter to his Court.

NAPOLEON

Do you, then, broach it through him, madame, pray; Now, here, to-night.

MADAME METTERNICH

I will, informally, To humour you, on this recognizance, That you leave not the business in my hands, But clothe your project in official guise Through him to-morrow; so safeguarding me From foolish seeming, as the babbler forth Of a fantastic and unheard of dream.

NAPOLEON

I'll send Eugene to him, as you suggest. Meanwhile prepare him. Make your stand-point this: Children are needful to my dynasty, And if one woman cannot mould them for me, Why, then, another must.

[Exit NAPOLEON abruptly. Dancing continues. MADAME METTERNICH sits on, musing. Enter SCHWARZENBERG.]

MADAME METTERNICH

The Emperor has just left me. We have tapped This theme and that; his empress and--his next. Ay, so! Now, guess you anything?

SCHWARZENBERG

Of her? No more than that the stock of Romanoff Will not supply the spruce commodity.

MADAME METTERNICH

And that the would-be customer turns toe To our shop in Vienna.

SCHWARZENBERG

Marvellous; And comprehensible but as the dream Of Delaborde, of which I have lately heard. It will not work!--What think you, madame, on't?

MADAME METTERNICH

That it will work, and is as good as wrought!-- I break it to you thus, at his request. In brief time Prince Eugene will wait on you, And make the formal offer in his name.

SCHWARZENBERG

Which I can but receive ad referendum, And shall initially make clear as much, Disclosing not a glimpse of my own mind! Meanwhile you make good Metternich aware?

MADAME METTERNICH

I write this midnight, that amaze may pitch To coolness ere your messenger arrives.

SCHWARZENBERG

This radiant revelation flicks a gleam On many circling things!--the courtesies Which graced his bearing toward our officer Amid the tumults of the late campaign, His wish for peace with England, his affront At Alexander's tedious-timed reply... Well, it will thrust a thorn in Russia's side, If I err not, whatever else betide!

[Exeunt. The maskers surge into the foreground of the scene, and their motions become more and more fantastic. A strange gloom begins and intensifies, until only the high lights of their grinning figures are visible. These also, with the whole ball- room, gradually darken, and the music softens to silence.]

Scene II

PARIS. THE TUILERIES

[The evening of the next day. A saloon of the Palace, with folding-doors communicating with a dining-room. The doors are flung open, revealing on the dining-table an untouched dinner, NAPOLEON and JOSEPHINE rising from it, and DE BAUSSET, chamberlain- in-waiting, pacing up and down. The EMPEROR and EMPRESS come forward into the saloon, the latter pale and distressed, and patting her eyes with her handkerchief.

The doors are closed behind them; a page brings in coffee; NAPOLEON signals to him to leave. JOSEPHINE goes to pour out the coffee, but NAPOLEON pushes her aside and pours it out himself, looking at her in a way which causes her to sink cowering into a chair like a frightened animal.]

JOSEPHINE

I see my doom, my friend, upon your face!

NAPOLEON

You see me bored by Cambaceres' ball.

JOSEPHINE

It means divorce!--a thing more terrible Than carrying elsewhere the dalliances That formerly were mine. I kicked at that; But now agree, as I for long have done, To any infidelities of act May I be yours in name!

NAPOLEON

My mind must bend To other things than our domestic petting: The Empire orbs above our happiness, And 'tis the Empire dictates this divorce. I reckon on your courage and calm sense To breast with me the law's formalities, And get it through before the year has flown.

JOSEPHINE

But are you REALLY going to part from me? O no, no, my dear husband; no, in truth, It cannot be my Love will serve me so!

NAPOLEON

I mean but mere divorcement, as I said, On simple grounds of sapient sovereignty.

JOSEPHINE

But nothing have I done save good to you:-- Since the fond day we wedded into one I never even have THOUGHT you jot of harm! Many the happy junctures when you have said I stood as guardian-angel over you, As your Dame Fortune, too, and endless things Of such-like pretty tenour--yes, you have! Then how can you so gird against me now? You had not pricked upon it much of late, And so I hoped and hoped the ugly spectre Had been laid dead and still.

NAPOLEON [impatiently]

I tell you, dear, The thing's decreed, and even the princess chosen.

JOSEPHINE

Ah--so--the princess chosen!... I surmise It is none else than the Grand-Duchess Anne: Gossip was right--though I would not believe. She's young; but no great beauty!--Yes, I see Her silly, soulless eyes and horrid hair; In which new gauderies you'll forget sad me!

NAPOLEON

Upon my soul you are childish, Josephine: A woman of your years to pout it so!-- I say it's not the Tsar's Grand-Duchess Anne.

JOSEPHINE

Some other Fair, then. You whose name can nod The flower of all the world's virginity Into your bed, will well take care of that! [Spitefully.] She may not have a child, friend, after all.

NAPOLEON [drily]

You hope she won't, I know!--But don't forget Madame Walewska did, and had she shown Such cleverness as yours, poor little fool, Her withered husband might have been displaced, And her boy made my heir.--Well, let that be. The severing parchments will be signed by us Upon the fifteenth, prompt.

JOSEPHINE

What--I have to sign My putting away upon the fifteenth next?

NAPOLEON

Ay--both of us.

JOSEPHINE [falling on her knees]

So far advanced--so far! Fixed?--for the fifteenth? O I do implore you, My very dear one, by our old, old love, By my devotion, don't cast me off Now, after these long years!

NAPOLEON

Heavens, how you jade me! Must I repeat that I don't cast you off; We merely formally arrange divorce-- We live and love, but call ourselves divided.

[A silence.]

JOSEPHINE [with sudden calm]

Very well. Let it be. I must submit! [Rises.]

NAPOLEON

And this much likewise you must promise me, To act in the formalities thereof As if you shaped them of your own free will.

JOSEPHINE

How can I--when no freewill's left in me?

NAPOLEON

You are a willing party--do you hear?

JOSEPHINE [quivering]

I hardly--can--bear this!--It is--too much For a poor weak and broken woman's strength! But--but I yield!--I am so helpless now: I give up all--ay, kill me if you will, I won't cry out!

NAPOLEON

And one thing further still, You'll help me in my marriage overtures To win the Duchess--Austrian Marie she,-- Concentrating all your force to forward them.

JOSEPHINE

It is the--last humiliating blow!-- I cannot--O, I will not!

NAPOLEON [fiercely]

But you SHALL! And from your past experience you may know That what I say I mean!

JOSEPHINE [breaking into sobs]

O my dear husband--do not make me--don't! If you but cared for me--the hundredth part Of how--I care for you, you could not be So cruel as to lay this torture on me. It hurts me so!--it cuts me like a sword. Don't make me, dear! Don't, will you! O,O,O! [She sinks down in a hysterical fit.]

NAPOLEON [calling]

Bausset!

[Enter DE BAUSSET, Chamberlain-in-waiting.]

Bausset, come in and shut the door. Assist me here. The Empress has fallen ill. Don't call for help. We two can carry her By the small private staircase to her rooms. Here--I will take her feet.

[They lift JOSEPHINE between them and carry her out. Her moans die away as they recede towards the stairs. Enter two servants, who remove coffee-service, readjust chairs, etc.]

FIRST SERVANT

So, poor old girl, she's wailed her Missere Mei, as Mother Church says. I knew she was to get the sack ever since he came back.

SECOND SERVANT

Well, there will be a little civil huzzaing, a little crowing and cackling among the Bonapartes at the downfall of the Beauharnais family at last, mark me there will! They've had their little hour, as the poets say, and now 'twill be somebody else's turn. O it is droll! Well, Father Time is a great philosopher, if you take him right. Who is to be the new woman?

FIRST SERVANT

She that contains in her own corporation the necessary particular.

SECOND SERVANT

And what may they be?

FIRST SERVANT

She must be young.

SECOND SERVANT

Good. She must. The country must see to that.

FIRST SERVANT

And she must be strong.

SECOND SERVANT

Good again. She must be strong. The doctors will see to that.

FIRST SERVANT And she must be fruitful as the vine.

SECOND SERVANT

Ay, by God. She must be fruitful as the vine. That, Heaven help him, he must see to himself, like the meanest multiplying man in Paris.

[Exeunt servant. Re-enter NAPOLEON with his stepdaughter, Queen Hortense.]

NAPOLEON Your mother is too rash and reasonless-- Wailing and fainting over statesmanship Which is no personal caprice of mine, But policy most painful--forced on me By the necessities of this country's charge. Go to her; see if she be saner now; Explain it to her once and once again, And bring me word what impress you may make.

[HORTENSE goes out. CHAMPAGNY is shown in.]

Champagny, I have something clear to say Now, on our process after the divorce. The question of the Russian Duchess Anne Was quite inept for further toying with. The years rush on, and I grow nothing younger. So I have made up my mind--committed me To Austria and the Hapsburgs--good or ill! It was the best, most practicable plunge, And I have plunged it.

CHAMPAGNY

Austria say you, sire? I reckoned that but a scurrying dream!

NAPOLEON

Well, so it was. But such a pretty dream That its own charm transfixed it to a notion, That showed itself in time a sanity, Which hardened in its turn to a resolve As firm as any built by mortal mind.-- The Emperor's consent must needs be won; But I foresee no difficulty there. The young Archduchess is a bright blond thing By general story; and considering, too, That her good mother childed seventeen times, It will be hard if she can not produce The modest one or two that I require.

[Enter DE BAUSSET with dispatches.]

DE BAUSSET

The courier, sire, from Petersburg is here, And brings these letters for your Majesty.

[Exit DE BAUSSET.]

NAPOLEON [after silently reading]

Ha-ha! It never rains unless it pours: Now I can have the other readily. The proverb hits me aptly: “Well they do Who doff the old love ere they don the new!” [He glances again over the letter.] Yes, Caulaincourt now writes he has every hope Of quick success in settling the alliance! The Tsar is willing--even anxious for it, His sister's youth the single obstacle. The Empress-mother, hitherto against me, Ambition-fired, verges on suave consent, Likewise the whole Imperial family. What irony is all this to me now! Time lately was when I had leapt thereat.

CHAMPAGNY

You might, of course, sire, give th' Archduchess up, Seeing she looms uncertainly as yet, While this does so no longer.

NAPOLEON

No--not I. My sense of my own dignity forbids My watching the slow clocks of Muscovy! Why have they dallied with my tentatives In pompous silence since the Erfurt day? --And Austria, too, affords a safer hope. The young Archduchess is much less a child Than is the other, who, Caulaincourt says, Will be incapable of motherhood For six months yet or more--a grave delay.

CHAMPAGNY

Your Majesty appears to have trimmed your sail For Austria; and no more is to be said!

NAPOLEON

Except that there's the house of Saxony If Austria fail.--then, very well, Champagny, Write you to Caulaincourt accordingly.

CHAMPAGNY

I will, your Majesty.

[Exit CHAMPAGNY. Re-enter QUEEN HORTENSE.]

NAPOLEON

Ah, dear Hortense, How is your mother now?

HORTENSE

Calm; quite calm, sire. I pledge me you need have no further fret From her entreating tears. She bids me say That now, as always, she submits herself With chastened dignity to circumstance, And will descend, at notice, from your throne-- As in days earlier she ascended it-- In questionless obedience to your will. It was your hand that crowned her; let it be Likewise your hand that takes her crown away. As for her children, we shall be but glad To follow and withdraw ourselves with her, The tenderest mother children ever knew, From grandeurs that have brought no happiness!

NAPOLEON [taking her hand]

But, Hortense, dear, it is not to be so! You must stay with me, as I said before. Your mother, too, must keep her royal state, Since no repudiation stains this need. Equal magnificence will orb her round In aftertime as now. A palace here, A palace in the country, wealth to match, A rank in order next my future wife's, And conference with me as my truest friend. Now we will seek her--Eugene, you, and I-- And make the project clear.

[Exeunt NAPOLEON and HORTENSE. The scene darkens and shuts.]

Scene III

VIENNA. A PRIVATE APARTMENT IN THE IMPERIAL PALACE

[The EMPEROR FRANCIS discovered, paler than usual, and somewhat flurried. Enter METTERNICH the Prime Minister--a thin-lipped, long-nosed man with inquisitive eyes.]

FRANCIS

I have been expecting you some minutes here, The thing that fronts us brooking brief delay.-- Well, what say you by now on this strange offer?

METTERNICH

My views remain the same, your Majesty: The policy of peace that I have upheld, Both while in Paris and of late time here, Points to this step as heralding sweet balm And bandaged veins for our late crimsoned realm.

FRANCIS

Agreed. As monarch I perceive therein A happy doorway for my purposings. It seems to guarantee the Hapsburg crown A quittance of distractions such as those That leave their shade on many a backward year!-- There is, forsooth, a suddenness about it, And it would aid us had we clearly keyed The cryptologues of which the world has heard Between Napoleon and the Russian Court-- Begun there with the selfsame motiving.

METTERNICH

I would not, sire, one second ponder it. It was an obvious first crude cast-about In the important reckoning of means For his great end, a strong monarchic line. The more advanced the more it profits us; For sharper, then, the quashing of such views, And wreck of that conjunction in the aims Of France and Russia, marked so much of late As jeopardizing quiet neighbours' thrones.

FRANCIS

If that be so, on the domestic side There seems no bar. Speaking as father solely, I see secured to her the proudest fate That woman can daydream. And I could hope That private bliss would not be wanting her!

METTERNICH

A hope well seated, sire. The Emperor, Imperious and determined in his rule, Is easy-natured in domestic life, As my long time in Paris amply proved. Moreover, the accessories of his glory Have been, and will be, admirably designed To fire the fancy of a young princess.

FRANCIS

Thus far you satisfy me.... So, to close, Or not to close with him, is now the thing.

METTERNICH

Your Majesty commands the issue quite: The father of his people can alone In such a case give answer--yes or no. Vagueness and doubt have ruined Russia's chance; Let not, then, such be ours.

FRANCIS

You mean, if I, You'd answer straight. What would that answer be?

METTERNICH

In state affairs, sire, as in private life, Times will arise when even the faithfullest squire Finds him unfit to jog his chieftain's choice, On whom responsibility must lastly rest. And such times are pre-eminently, sire, Those wherein thought alone is not enough To serve the head as guide. As Emperor, As father, both, to you, to you in sole Must appertain the privilege to pronounce Which track stern duty bids you tread herein.

FRANCIS

Affection is my duty, heart my guide.-- Without constraint or prompting I shall leave The big decision in my daughter's hands. Before my obligations to my people Must stand her wish. Go, find her, Metternich, Take her the tidings. She is free with you, And will speak out. [Looking forth from the terrace.] She's here at hand, I see: I'll call her in. Then tell me what's her mind.

[He beckons from the window, and goes out in another direction.]

METTERNICH

So much for form's sake! Can the river-flower The current drags, direct its face up-stream? What she must do she will; nought else at all.

[Enter through one of the windows MARIA LOUISA in garden-costume, fresh-coloured, girlish, and smiling. METTERNICH bends.]

MARIA LOUISA

O how, dear Chancellor, you startled me! Please pardon my so brusquely bursting in. I saw you not.--Those five poor little birds That haunt out there beneath the pediment, Snugly defended from the north-east wind, Have lately disappeared. I sought a trace Of scattered feathers, which I dread to find!

METTERNICH

They are gone, I ween, the way of tender flesh At the assaults of winter, want, and foes.

MARIA LOUISA

It is too melancholy thinking, that! Don't say it.--But I saw the Emperor here? Surely he beckoned me?

METTERNICH

Sure, he did, Your gracious Highness; and he has left me here To break vast news that will make good his call.

MARIA LOUISA

Then do. I'll listen. News from near or far?

[She seats herself.]

METTERNICH

From far--though of such distance-dwarfing might That far may read as near eventually. But, dear Archduchess, with your kindly leave I'll speak straight out. The Emperor of the French Has sent to-day to make, through Schwarzenberg, A formal offer of his heart and hand, His honours, dignities, imperial throne, To you, whom he admires above all those The world can show elsewhere.

MARIA LOUISA [frightened]

My husband--he? What, an old man like him!

METTERNICH [cautiously]

He's scarcely old, Dear lady. True, deeds densely crowd in him; Turn months to years calendaring his span; Yet by Time's common clockwork he's but young.

MARIA LOUISA

So wicked, too!

METTERNICH [nettled]

Well-that's a point of view.

MARIA LOUISA

But, Chancellor, think what things I have said to him! Can women marry where they have taunted so?

METTERNICH

Things? Nothing inexpungeable, I deem, By time and true good humour.

MARIA LOUISA

O I have! Horrible things. Why--ay, a hundred times-- I have said I wished him dead! At that strained hour When the first voicings of the late war came, Thrilling out how the French were smitten sore And Bonaparte retreating, I clapped hands And answered that I hoped he'd lose his head As well as lose the battle!

METTERNICH

Words. But words! Born like the bubbles of a spring that come Of zest for springing--aimless in their shape.

MARIA LOUISA

It seems indecent, mean, to wed a man Whom one has held such fierce opinions of!

METTERNICH

My much beloved Archduchess, and revered, Such things have been! In Spain and Portugal Like enmities have led to intermarriage. In England, after warring thirty years The Red and White Rose wedded.

MARIA LOUISA [after a silence]

Tell me, now, What does my father wish?

METTERNICH

His wish is yours. Whatever your Imperial Highness feels On this grave verdict of your destiny, Home, title, future sphere, he bids you think Not of himself, but of your own desire.

MARIA LOUISA [reflecting]

My wish is what my duty bids me wish. Where a wide Empire's welfare is in poise, That welfare must be pondered, not my will. I ask of you, then, Chancellor Metternich, Straightway to beg the Emperor my father That he fulfil his duty to the realm, And quite subordinate thereto all thought Of how it personally impinge on me.

[A slight noise as of something falling is heard in the room. They glance momentarily, and see that a small enamel portrait of MARIE ANTOINETTE, which was standing on a console-table, has slipped down on its face.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

What mischief's this? The Will must have its way.

SPIRIT SINISTER

Perhaps Earth shivered at the lady's say?

SHADE OF THE EARTH

I own hereto. When France and Austria wed My echoes are men's groans, my dews are red; So I have reason for a passing dread!

METTERNICH

Right nobly phrased, Archduchess; wisely too. I will acquaint your sire the Emperor With these your views. He waits them anxiously. [Going.]

MARIA LOUISA

Let me go first. It much confuses me To think--But I would fain let thinking be!

[She goes out trembling. Enter FRANCIS by another door.]

METTERNICH

I was about to seek your Majesty. The good Archduchess luminously holds That in this weighty question you regard The Empire. Best for it is best for her.

FRANCIS [moved]

My daughter's views thereon do not surprise me. She is too staunch to pit a private whim Against the fortunes of a commonwealth. During your speech with her I have taken thought To shape decision sagely. An assent Would yield the Empire many years of peace, And leave me scope to heal those still green sores Which linger from our late unhappy moils. Therefore, my daughter not being disinclined, I know no basis for a negative. Send, then, a courier prompt to Paris: say The offer made for the Archduchess' hand I do accept--with this defined reserve, That no condition, treaty, bond, attach To such alliance save the tie itself. There are some sacrifices whose grave rites No bargain must contaminate. This is one-- This personal gift of a beloved child!

METTERNICH [leaving]

I'll see to it this hour, your Majesty, And cant the words in keeping with your wish. To himself as he goes.] Decently done!... He slipped out “sacrifice,” And scarce could hide his heartache for his girl. Well ached it!--But when these things have to be It is as well to breast them stoically.

[Exit METTERNICH. The clouds draw over.]

Scene IV

LONDON. A CLUB IN ST. JAMES'S STREET

[A winter midnight. Two members are conversing by the fire, and others are seen lolling in the background, some of them snoring.]

FIRST MEMBER

I learn from a private letter that it was carried out in the Emperor's Cabinet at the Tuileries--just off the throne-room, where they all assembled in the evening,--Boney and the wife of his bosom [In pure white muslin from head to foot, they say], the Kings and Queens of Holland, Whestphalia, and Naples, the Princess Pauline, and one or two more; the officials present being Cambaceres the Chancellor, and Count Regnaud. Quite a small party. It was over in minutes--short and sweet, like a donkey's gallop.

SECOND MEMBER

Anything but sweet for her. How did she stand it?

FIRST MEMBER

Serenely, I believe, while the Emperor was making his speech renouncing her; but when it came to her turn to say she renounced him she began sobbing mightily, and was so completely choked up that she couldn't get out a word.

SECOND MEMBER

Poor old dame! I pity her, by God; though she had a rattling good spell while it lasted.

FIRST MEMBER

They say he was a bit upset, too, at sight of her tears But I dare vow that was put on. Fancy Boney caring a curse what a woman feels. She had learnt her speech by heart, but that did not help her: Regnaud had to finish it for her, the ditch that overturned her being where she was made to say that she no longer preserved any hope of having children, and that she was pleased to show her attachment by enabling him to obtain them by another woman. She was led off fainting. A turning of the tables, considering how madly jealous she used to make him by her flirtations!

[Enter a third member.]

SECOND MEMBER

How is the debate going? Still braying the Government in a mortar?

THIRD MEMBER

They are. Though one thing every body admits: young Peel has made a wonderful first speech in seconding the address. There has been nothing like it since Pitt. He spoke rousingly of Austria's misfortunes--went on about Spain, of course, showing that we must still go on supporting her, winding up with a brilliant peroration about--what were the words--“the fiery eyes of the British soldier!”--Oh, well: it was all learnt before-hand, of course.

SECOND MEMBER

I wish I had gone down. But the wind soon blew the other way.

THIRD MEMBER

Then Gower rapped out his amendment. That was good, too, by God.

SECOND MEMBER

Well, the war must go on. And that being the general conviction this censure and that censure are only so many blank cartridges.

THIRD MEMBER

Blank? Damn me, were they! Gower's was a palpable hit when he said that Parliament had placed unheard-of resources in the hands of the Ministers last year, to make this year's results to the country worse than if they had been afforded no resources at all. Every single enterprise of theirs had been a beggarly failure.

SECOND MEMBER

Anybody could have said it, come to that.

THIRD MEMBER

Yes, because it is so true. However, when he began to lay on with such rhetoric as “the treasures of the nation lavished in wasteful thoughtlessness,”--“thousands of our troops sacrificed wantonly in pestilential swamps of Walcheren,” and gave the details we know so well, Ministers wriggled a good one, though 'twas no news to 'em. Castlereagh kept on starting forward as if he were going to jump up and interrupt, taking the strictures entirely as a personal affront.

[Enter a fourth member.]

SEVERAL MEMBERS

Who's speaking now?

FOURTH MEMBER

I don't know. I have heard nobody later than Ward.

SECOND MEMBER

The fact is that, as Whitbread said to me to-day, the materials for condemnation are so prodigious that we can scarce marshal them into argument. We are just able to pour 'em out one upon t'other.

THIRD MEMBER

Ward said, with the blandest air in the world: “Censure? Do his Majesty's Ministers expect censure? Not a bit. They are going about asking in tremulous tones if anybody has heard when their impeachment is going to begin.”

SEVERAL MEMBERS

Haw--haw--haw!

THIRD MEMBER

Then he made another point. After enumerating our frightful failures--Spain, Walcheren, and the rest--he said: “But Ministers have not failed in everything. No; in one thing they have been strikingly successful. They have been successful in their attack upon Copenhagen--because it was directed against an ally!” Mighty fine, wasn't it?

SECOND MEMBER

How did Castlereagh stomach that?

THIRD MEMBER

He replied then. Donning his air of injured innocence he proved the honesty of his intentions--no doubt truly enough. But when he came to Walcheren nothing could be done. The case was hopeless, and he knew it, and foundered. However, at the division, when he saw what a majority was going out on his side he was as frisky as a child. Canning's speech was grave, with bits of shiny ornament stuck on-- like the brass nails on a coffin, Sheridan says.

[Fifth and sixth members stagger in, arm-and-arm.]

FIFTH MEMBER

The 'vision is---'jority of ninety-six againsht--Gov'ment--I mean-- againsht us. Which is it--hey? [To his companion.]

SIXTH MEMBER

Damn majority of--damn ninety-six--against damn amendment! [They sink down on a sofa.]

SECOND MEMBER

Gad, I didn't expect the figure would have been quite so high!

THIRD MEMBER

The one conviction is that the war in the Peninsula is to go on, and as we are all agreed upon that, what the hell does it matter what their majority was?

[Enter SHERIDAN. They all look inquiringly.]

SHERIDAN

Have ye heard the latest?

SECOND MEMBER

Ninety-six against us.

SHERIDAN

O no-that's ancient history. I'd forgot it.

THIRD MEMBER

A revolution, because Ministers are not impeached and hanged?

SHERIDAN

That's in contemplation, when we've got their confessions. But what I meant was from over the water--it is a deuced sight more serious to us than a debate and division that are only like the Liturgy on a Sunday--known beforehand to all the congregation. Why, Bonaparte is going to marry Austria forthwith--the Emperor's daughter Maria Louisa.

THIRD MEMBER

The Lord look down! Our late respected crony of Austria! Why, in this very night's debate they have been talking about the laudable principles we have been acting upon in affording assistance to the Emperor Francis in his struggle against the violence and ambition of France!

SECOND MEMBER

Boney safe on that side, what may not befall!

THIRD MEMBER

We had better make it up with him, and shake hands all round.

SECOND MEMBER

Shake heads seems most natural in the case. O House of Hapsburg, how hast thou fallen!

[Enter WHITBREAD, LORD HUTCHINSON, LORD GEORGE CAVENDISH, GEORGE PONSONBY, WINDHAM, LORD GREY, BARING, ELLIOT, and other members, some drunk. The conversation becomes animated and noisy; several move off to the card-room, and the scene closes.]