The Dynasts

Act Second

SCENE I

THE DOCKYARD, GIBRALTAR

[The Rock is seen rising behind the town and the Alameda Gardens,

and the English fleet rides at anchor in the Bay, across which the

Spanish shore from Algeciras to Carnero Point shuts in the West.

Southward over the Strait is the African coast.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Our migratory Proskenion now presents

An outlook on the storied Kalpe Rock,

As preface to the vision of the Fleets

Spanish and French, linked for fell purposings.

RECORDING ANGEL (reciting)

Their motions and manoeuvres, since the fame

Of Bonaparte's enthronment at Milan

Swept swift through Europe's dumbed communities,

Have stretched the English mind to wide surmise.

Many well-based alarms (which strange report

Much aggravates) as to the pondered blow,

Flutter the public pulse; all points in turn--

Malta, Brazil, Wales, Ireland, British Ind--

Being held as feasible for force like theirs,

Of lavish numbers and unrecking aim.

"Where, where is Nelson?" questions every tongue;--

"How views he so unparalleled a scheme?"

Their slow uncertain apprehensions ask.

"When Villeneuve puts to sea with all his force,

What may he not achieve, if swift his course!"

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

I'll call in Nelson, who has stepped ashore

For the first time these thrice twelvemonths and more,

And with him one whose insight has alone

Pierced the real project of Napoleon.

[Enter NELSON and COLLINGWOOD, who pace up and down.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Note Nelson's worn-out features. Much has he

Suffered from ghoulish ghast anxiety!

NELSON

In short, dear Coll, the letter which you wrote me

Had so much pith that I was fain to see you;

For I am sure that you indeed divine

The true intent and compass of a plot

Which I have spelled in vain.

COLLINGWOOD

I weighed it thus:

Their flight to the Indies being to draw us off,

That and no more, and clear these coasts of us--

The standing obstacle to his device--

He cared not what was done at Martinique,

Or where, provided that the general end

Should not be jeopardized--that is to say,

The full-united squadron's quick return.--

Gravina and Villeneuve, once back to Europe,

Can straight make Ferrol, raise there the blockade,

Then haste to Brest, there to relieve Ganteaume,

And next with four-or five-and fifty sail

Bear down upon our coast as they see fit.--

I read they aim to strike at Ireland still,

As formerly, and as I wrote to you.

NELSON

So far your thoughtful and sagacious words

Have hit the facts. But 'tis no Irish bay

The villains aim to drop their anchors in;

My word for it: they make the Wessex shore,

And this vast squadron handled by Villeneuve

Is meant to cloak the passage of their strength,

Massed on those transports--we being kept elsewhere

By feigning forces.--Good God, Collingwood,

I must be gone! Yet two more days remain

Ere I can get away.--I must be gone!

COLLINGWOOD

Wherever you may go to, my dear lord,

You carry victory with you. Let them launch,

Your name will blow them back, as sou'west gales

The gulls that beat against them from the shore.

NELSON

Good Collingwood, I know you trust in me;

But ships are ships, and do not kindly come

Out of the slow docks of the Admiralty

Like wharfside pigeons when they are whistled for:--

And there's a damned disparity of force,

Which means tough work awhile for you and me!

[The Spirit of the Years whispers to NELSON.]

And I have warnings, warnings, Collingwood,

That my effective hours are shortening here;

Strange warnings now and then, as 'twere within me,

Which, though I fear them not, I recognize! . . .

However, by God's help, I'll live to meet

These foreign boasters; yea, I'll finish them;

And then--well, Gunner Death may finish me!

COLLINGWOOD

View not your life so gloomily, my lord:

One charmed, a needed purpose to fulfil!

NELSON

Ah, Coll. Lead bullets are not all that wound. . . .

I have a feeling here of dying fires,

A sense of strong and deep unworded censure,

Which, compassing about my private life,

Makes all my public service lustreless

In my own eyes.--I fear I am much condemned

For those dear Naples and Palermo days,

And her who was the sunshine of them all! . . .

He who is with himself dissatisfied,

Though all the world find satisfaction in him,

Is like a rainbow-coloured bird gone blind,

That gives delight it shares not. Happiness?

It's the philosopher's stone no alchemy

Shall light on this world I am weary of.--

Smiling I'd pass to my long home to-morrow

Could I with honour, and my country's gain.

--But let's adjourn. I waste your hours ashore

By such ill-timed confessions!

[They pass out of sight, and the scene closes.]

SCENE II.

OFF FERROL

[The French and Spanish combined squadrons. On board the French

admiral's flag-ship. VILLENEUVE is discovered in his cabin, writing

a letter.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

He pens in fits, with pallid restlessness,

Like one who sees Misfortune walk the wave,

And can nor face nor flee it.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

He indites

To his long friend the minister Decres

Words that go heavily! . . .

VILLENEUVE (writing

"I am made the arbiter in vast designs

Whereof I see black outcomes. Do I this

Or do I that, success, that loves to jilt

Her anxious wooer for some careless blade,

Will not reward me. For, if I must pen it,

Demoralized past prayer in the marine--

Bad masts, bad sails, bad officers, bad men;

We cling to naval technics long outworn,

And time and opportunity do not avail me

To take up new. I have long suspected such,

But till I saw my helps, the Spanish ships,

I hoped somewhat.--Brest is my nominal port;

Yet if so, Calder will again attack--

Now reinforced by Nelson or Cornwallis--

And shatter my whole fleet. . . . Shall I admit

That my true inclination and desire

Is to make Cadiz straightway, and not Brest?

Alas! thereby I fail the Emperor;

But shame the navy less.--

Your friend, VILLENEUVE

[GENERAL LAURISTON enters.]

LAURISTON

Admiral, my missive to the Emperor,

Which I shall speed by special courier

From Ferrol this near eve, runs thus and thus:--

"Gravina's ships, in Ferrol here at hand,

Embayed but by a temporary wind,

Are all we now await. Combined with these

We sail herefrom to Brest; there promptly give

Cornwallis battle, and release Ganteaume;

Thence, all united, bearing Channelwards:

A step that sets in motion the first wheel

In the proud project of your Majesty

Now to be engined to the very close,

To wit: that a French fleet shall enter in

And hold the Channel four-and-twenty hours."--

Such clear assurance to the Emperor

That our intent is modelled on his will

I hasten to dispatch to him forthwith.(4)

VILLENEUVE

Yes, Lauriston. I sign to every word.

[Lauriston goes out. VILLENEUVE remains at his table in reverie.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

We may impress him under visible shapes

That seem to shed a silent circling doom;

He's such an one as can be so impressed,

And this much is among our privileges,

Well bounded as they be.--Let us draw near him.

[The Spirits of Years and of the Pities take the form of sea-birds,

which alight on the stern-balcony of VILLENEUVE's ship, immediately

outside his cabin window. VILLENEUVE after a while looks up and

sees the birds watching him with large piercing eyes.]

VILLENEUVE

My apprehensions even outstep their cause,

As though some influence smote through yonder pane.

[He gazes listlessly, and resumes his broodings.]

---Why dared I not disclose to him my thought,

As nightly worded by the whistling shrouds,

That Brest will never see our battled hulls

Helming to north in pomp of cannonry

To take the front in this red pilgrimage!

---If so it were, now, that I'd screen my skin

From risks of bloody business in the brunt,

My acts could scarcely wear a difference.

Yet I would die to-morrow--not ungladly--

So far removed is carcase-care from me.

For no self do these apprehensions spring,

But for the cause.--Yes, rotten is our marine,

Which, while I know, the Emperor knows not,

And the pale secret chills! Though some there be

Would beard contingencies and buffet all,

I'll not command a course so conscienceless.

Rather I'll stand, and face Napoleon's rage

When he shall learn what mean the ambiguous lines

That facts have forced from me.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES (to the Spirit of Years)

O Eldest-born of the Unconscious Cause--

If such thou beest, as I can fancy thee--

Why dost thou rack him thus? Consistency

Might be preserved, and yet his doom remain.

His olden courage is without reproach;

Albeit his temper trends toward gaingiving!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

I say, as I have said long heretofore,

I know but narrow freedom. Feel'st thou not

We are in Its hand, as he?--Here, as elsewhere,

We do but as we may; no further dare.

[The birds disappear, and the scene is lost behind sea-mist.]

SCENE III

THE CAMP AND HARBOUR OF BOULOGNE

[The English coast in the distance. Near the Tour d'Ordre stands

a hut, with sentinels and aides outside; it is NAPOLEON's temporary

lodging when not at his headquarters at the Chateau of Pont-de-

Briques, two miles inland.]

DUMB SHOW

A courier arrives with dispatches, and enters the Emperor's quarters,

whence he emerges and goes on with other dispatches to the hut of

DECRES, lower down. Immediately after, NAPOLEON comes out from his

hut with a paper in his hand, and musingly proceeds towards an

eminence commanding the Channel.

Along the shore below are forming in a far-reaching line more

than a hundred thousand infantry. On the downs in the rear of

the camps fifteen thousand cavalry are manoeuvring, their

accoutrements flashing in the sun like a school of mackerel.

The flotilla lies in and around the port, alive with moving

figures.

With his head forward and his hands behind him the Emperor surveys

these animated proceedings in detail, but more frequently turns his

face toward the telegraph on the cliff to the southwest, erected to

signal when VILLENEUVE and the combined squadrons shall be visible

on the west horizon.

He summons one of the aides, who descends to the hut of DECRES.

DECRES comes out from his hut, and hastens to join the Emperor.

Dumb show ends.

[NAPOLEON and DECRES advance to the foreground of the scene.]

NAPOLEON

Decres, this action with Sir Robert Calder

Three weeks ago, whereof we dimly heard,

And clear details of which I have just unsealed,

Is on the whole auspicious for our plan.

It seems that twenty of our ships and Spain's--

None over eighty-gunned, and some far less--

Engaged the English off Cape Finisterre

With fifteen vessels of a hundred each.

We coolly fought and orderly as they,

And, but for mist, we had closed with victory.

Two English were much mauled, some Spanish damaged,

And Calder then drew off with his two wrecks

And Spain's in tow, we giving chase forthwith.

Not overtaking him our admiral,

Having the coast clear for his purposes,

Entered Coruna, and found order there

To open the port of Brest and come on hither.

Thus hastes the moment when the double fleet

Of Villeneuve and of Ganteaume should appear.

[He looks again towards the telegraph.]

DECRES (with hesitation)

And should they not appear, your Majesty?

NAPOLEON

Not? But they will; and do it early, too!

There's nothing hinders them. My God, they must,

For I have much before me when this stroke

At England's dealt. I learn from Talleyrand

That Austrian preparations threaten hot,

While Russia's hostile schemes are ripening,

And shortly must be met.--My plan is fixed:

I am prepared for each alternative.

If Villeneuve come, I brave the British coast,

Convulse the land with fear ('tis even now

So far distraught, that generals cast about

To find new modes of warfare; yea, design

Carriages to transport their infantry!).--

Once on the English soil I hold it firm,

Descend on London, and the while my men

Salute the dome of Paul's I cut the knot

Of all Pitt's coalitions; setting free

From bondage to a cold manorial caste

A people who await it.

[They stand and regard the chalky cliffs of England, till NAPOLEON

resumes]:

Should it be

Even that my admirals fail to keep the tryst--

A thing scarce thinkable, when all's reviewed--

I strike this seaside camp, cross Germany,

With these two hundred thousand seasoned men,

And pause not till within Vienna's walls

I cry checkmate. Next, Venice, too, being taken,

And Austria's other holdings down that way,

The Bourbons also driven from Italy,

I strike at Russia--each in turn, you note,

Ere they can act conjoined.

Report to me

What has been scanned to-day upon the main,

And on your passage down request them there

To send Daru this way.

DECRES (as he withdraws)

The Emperor can be sanguine. Scarce can I.

His letters are more promising than mine.

Alas, alas, Villeneuve, my dear old friend,

Why do you pen me this at such a time!

[He retires reading VILLENEUVE'S letter. The Emperor walks up and

down till DARU, his private secretary, joins him.]

NAPOLEON

Come quick, Daru; sit down upon the grass,

And write whilst I am in mind.

First to Villeneuve:--

"I trust, Vice-Admiral, that before this date

Your fleet has opened Brest, and gone. If not,

These lines will greet you there. But pause not, pray:

Waste not a moment dallying. Sail away:

Once bring my coupled squadrons Channelwards

And England's soil is ours. All's ready here,

The troops alert, and every store embarked.

Hold the nigh sea but four-and-twenty hours

And our vast end is gained."

Now to Ganteaume:--

"My telegraphs will have made known to you

My object and desire to be but this,

That you forbid Villeneuve to lose an hour

In getting fit and putting forth to sea,

To profit by the fifty first-rate craft

Wherewith I now am bettered. Quickly weigh,

And steer you for the Channel with all your strength.

I count upon your well-known character,

Your enterprize, your vigour, to do this.

Sail hither, then; and we will be avenged

For centuries of despite and contumely."

DARU

Shall a fair transcript, Sire, be made forthwith?

NAPOLEON

This moment. And the courier will depart

And travel without pause.

[DARU goes to his office a little lower down, and the Emperor

lingers on the cliffs looking through his glass.

The point of view shifts across the Channel, the Boulogne cliffs

sinking behind the water-line.]

SCENE IV

SOUTH WESSEX. A RIDGE-LIKE DOWN NEAR THE COAST

[The down commands a wide view over the English Channel in front

of it, including the popular Royal watering-place, with the Isle

of Slingers and its roadstead, where men-of-war and frigates are

anchored. The hour is ten in the morning, and the July sun glows

upon a large military encampment round about the foreground, and

warms the stone field-walls that take the place of hedges here.

Artillery, cavalry, and infantry, English and Hanoverian, are

drawn up for review under the DUKE OF CUMBERLAND and officers

of the staff, forming a vast military array, which extends

three miles, and as far as the downs are visible.

In the centre by the Royal Standard appears KING GEORGE on

horseback, and his suite. In a coach drawn by six cream-

coloured Hanoverian horses, QUEEN CHARLOTTE sits with three

Princesses; in another carriage with four horses are two more

Princesses. There are also present with the Royal Party the

LORD CHANCELLOR, LORD MULGRAVE, COUNT MUNSTER, and many other

luminaries of fashion and influence.

The Review proceeds in dumb show; and the din of many bands

mingles with the cheers. The turf behind the saluting-point

is crowded with carriages and spectators on foot.]

A SPECTATOR

And you've come to the sight, like the King and myself? Well, one

fool makes many. What a mampus o' folk it is here to-day! And what

a time we do live in, between wars and wassailings, the goblin o'

Boney, and King George in flesh and blood!

SECOND SPECTATOR

Yes. I wonder King George is let venture down on this coast, where

he might be snapped up in a moment like a minney by a her'n, so near

as we be to the field of Boney's vagaries! Begad, he's as like to

land here as anywhere. Gloucester Lodge could be surrounded, and

George and Charlotte carried off before he could put on his hat, or

she her red cloak and pattens!

THIRD SPECTATOR

'Twould be so such joke to kidnap 'em as you think. Look at the

frigates down there. Every night they are drawn up in a line

across the mouth of the Bay, almost touching each other; and

ashore a double line of sentinels, well primed with beer and

ammunition, one at the water's edge and the other on the

Esplanade, stretch along the whole front. Then close to the

Lodge a guard is mounted after eight o'clock; there be pickets

on all the hills; at the Harbour mouth is a battery of twenty

four-pounders; and over-right 'em a dozen six-pounders, and

several howitzers. And next look at the size of the camp of

horse and foot up here.

FIRST SPECTATOR

Everybody however was fairly gallied this week when the King went

out yachting, meaning to be back for the theatre; and the eight or

nine o'clock came, and never a sign of him. I don't know when 'a

did land; but 'twas said by all that it was a foolhardy pleasure

to take.

FOURTH SPECTATOR

He's a very obstinate and comical old gentleman; and by all account

'a wouldn't make port when asked to.

SECOND SPECTATOR

Lard, Lard, if 'a were nabbed, it wouldn't make a deal of difference!

We should have nobody to zing, and play singlestick to, and grin at

through horse-collars, that's true. And nobody to sign our few

documents. But we should rub along some way, goodnow.

FIRST SPECTATOR

Step up on this barrow; you can see better. The troopers now passing

are the York Hussars--foreigners to a man, except the officers--the

same regiment the two young Germans belonged to who were shot four

years ago. Now come the Light Dragoons; what a time they take to

get all past! Well, well! this day will be recorded in history.

SECOND SPECTATOR

Or another soon to follow it! (He gazes over the Channel.) There's

not a speck of an enemy upon that shiny water yet; but the Brest

fleet is zaid to have put to sea, to act in concert with the army

crossing from Boulogne; and if so the French will soon be here; when

God save us all! I've took to drinking neat, for, say I, one may

as well have innerds burnt out as shot out, and 'tis a good deal

pleasanter for the man that owns 'em. They say that a cannon-ball

knocked poor Jim Popple's maw right up into the futtock-shrouds at

the Nile, where 'a hung like a nightcap out to dry. Much good to

him his obeying his old mother's wish and refusing his allowance

o' rum!

[The bands play and the Review continues till past eleven o'clock.

Then follows a sham fight. At noon precisely the royal carriages

draw off the ground into the highway that leads down to the town

and Gloucester Lodge, followed by other equipages in such numbers

that the road is blocked. A multitude comes after on foot.

Presently the vehicles manage to proceed to the watering-place, and

the troops march away to the various camps as a sea-mist cloaks the

perspective.]

SCENE V

THE SAME. RAINBARROW'S BEACON, EGDON HEATH

[Night in mid-August of the same summer. A lofty ridge of

heathland reveals itself dimly, terminating in an abrupt slope,

at the summit of which are three tumuli. On the sheltered side

of the most prominent of these stands a hut of turves with a

brick chimney. In front are two ricks of fuel, one of heather

and furze for quick ignition, the other of wood, for slow burning.

Something in the feel of the darkness and in the personality of

the spot imparts a sense of uninterrupted space around, the view

by day extending from the cliffs of the Isle of Wight eastward

to Blackdon Hill by Deadman's Bay westward, and south across the

Valley of the Froom to the ridge that screens the Channel.

Two men with pikes loom up, on duty as beacon-keepers beside the

ricks.]

OLD MAN

Now, Jems Purchess, once more mark my words. Black'on is the point

we've to watch, and not Kingsbere; and I'll tell 'ee for why. If he

do land anywhere hereabout 'twill be inside Deadman's Bay, and the

signal will straightaway come from Black'on. But there thou'st

stand, glowering and staring with all thy eyes at Kingsbere! I tell

'ee what 'tis, Jem Purchess, your brain is softening; and you be

getting too old for business of state like ours!

YOUNG MAN

You've let your tongue wrack your few rames of good breeding, John.

OLD MAN

The words of my Lord-Lieutenant was, whenever you see Kingsbere-Hill

Beacon fired to the eastward, or Black'on to the westward, light up;

and keep your second fire burning for two hours. Was that our

documents or was it not?

YOUNG MAN

I don't gainsay it. And so I keep my eye on Kingsbere because that's

most likely o' the two, says I.

OLD MAN

That shows the curious depths of your ignorance. However, I'll have

patience, and say on. Didst ever larn geography?

YOUNG MAN

No. Nor no other corrupt practices.

OLD MAN

Tcht-tcht!--Well, I'll have patience, and put it to him in another

form. Dost know the world is round--eh? I warrant dostn't!

YOUNG MAN

I warrant I do!

OLD MAN

How d'ye make that out, when th'st never been to school?

YOUNG MAN

I larned it at church, thank God.

OLD MAN

Church? What have God A'mighty got to do with profane knowledge?

Beware that you baint blaspheming, Jems Purchess!

YOUNG MAN

I say I did, whether or no! 'Twas the zingers up in gallery that

I had it from. They busted out that strong with "the round world

and they that dwell therein," that we common fokes down under could

do no less than believe 'em.

OLD MAN

Canst be sharp enough in the wrong place as usual--I warrant canst!

However, I'll have patience with 'en and say on!--Suppose, now, my

hat is the world; and there, as might be, stands the Camp of Belong,

where Boney is. The world goes round, so, and Belong goes round too.

Twelve hours pass; round goes the world still--so. Where's Belong

now?

[A pause. Two other figures, a man's and a woman's, rise against

the sky out of the gloom.]

OLD MAN (shouldering his pike)

Who goes there? Friend or foe, in the King's name!

WOMAN

Piece o' trumpery! "Who goes" yourself! What d'ye talk o', John

Whiting! Can't your eyes earn their living any longer, then, that

you don't know your own neighbours? 'Tis Private Cantle of the

Locals and his wife Keziar, down at Bloom's-End--who else should

it be!

OLD MAN (lowering his pike)

A form o' words, Mis'ess Cantle, no more; ordained by his Majesty's

Gover'ment to be spoke by all we on sworn duty for the defence o' the

country. Strict rank-and-file rules is our only horn of salvation in

these times.--But, my dear woman, why ever have ye come lumpering up

to Rainbarrows at this time o' night?

WOMAN

We've been troubled with bad dreams, owing to the firing out at sea

yesterday; and at last I could sleep no more, feeling sure that

sommat boded of His coming. And I said to Cantle, I'll ray myself,

and go up to Beacon, and ask if anything have been heard or seen to-

night. And here we be.

OLD MAN

Not a sign or sound--all's as still as a churchyard. And how is

your good man?

PRIVATE (advancing)

Clk. I be all right! I was in the ranks, helping to keep the ground

at the review by the King this week. We was a wonderful sight--

wonderful! The King said so again and again.--Yes, there was he, and

there was I, though not daring to move a' eyebrow in the presence of

Majesty. I have come home on a night's leave--off there again to-

morrow. Boney's expected every day, the Lord be praised! Yes, our

hopes are to be fulfilled soon, as we say in the army.

OLD MAN

There, there, Cantle; don't ye speak quite so large, and stand

so over-upright. Your back is as holler as a fire-dog's. Do ye

suppose that we on active service here don't know war news? Mind

you don't go taking to your heels when the next alarm comes, as you

did at last year's.

PRIVATE

That had nothing to do with fighting, for I'm as bold as a lion when

I'm up, and "Shoulder Fawlocks!" sounds as common as my own name to

me. 'Twas--- (lowering his voice.) Have ye heard?

OLD MAN

To be sure we have.

PRIVATE

Ghastly, isn't it!

OLD MAN

Ghastly! Frightful!

YOUNG MAN (to Private)

He don't know what it is! That's his pride and puffery. What is it

that' so ghastly--hey?

PRIVATE

Well, there, I can't tell it. 'Twas that that made the whole eighty

of our company run away--though we be the bravest of the brave in

natural jeopardies, or the little boys wouldn't run after us and

call us and call us the "Bang-up-Locals."

WOMAN (in undertones)

I can tell you a word or two on't. It is about His victuals. They

say that He lives upon human flesh, and has rashers o' baby every

morning for breakfast--for all the world like the Cernal Giant in

old ancient times!

YOUNG MAN

Ye can't believe all ye hear.

PRIVATE

I only believe half. And I only own--such is my challengeful

character--that perhaps He do eat pagan infants when He's in the

desert. But not Christian ones at home. Oh no--'tis too much.

WOMAN

Whether or no, I sometimes--God forgive me!--laugh wi' horror at

the queerness o't, till I am that weak I can hardly go round the

house. He should have the washing of 'em a few times; I warrant

'a wouldn't want to eat babies any more!

[A silence, during which they gaze around at the dark dome of the

starless sky.]

YOUNG MAN

There'll be a change in the weather soon, by the look o't. I can

hear the cows moo in Froom Valley as if I were close to 'em, and

the lantern at Max Turnpike is shining quite plain.

OLD MAN

Well, come in and taste a drop o' sommat we've got here, that will

warm the cockles of your heart as ye wamble homealong. We housed

eighty tuns last night for them that shan't be named--landed at

Lullwind Cove the night afore, though they had a narrow shave with

the riding-officers this run.

[They make toward the hut, when a light on the west horizon becomes

visible, and quickly enlarges.]

YOUNG MAN

He's come!

OLD MAN

Come he is, though you do say it! This, then, is the beginning of

what England's waited for!

[They stand and watch the light awhile.]

YOUNG MAN

Just what you was praising the Lord for by-now, Private Cantle.

PRIVATE

My meaning was---

WOMAN (simpering)

Oh that I hadn't married a fiery sojer, to make me bring fatherless

children into the world, all through his dreadful calling! Why

didn't a man of no sprawl content me!

OLD MAN (shouldering his pike)

We can't heed your innocent pratings any longer, good neighbours,

being in the King's service, and a hot invasion on. Fall in, fall

in, mate. Straight to the tinder-box. Quick march!

[The two men hasten to the hut, and are heard striking a flint

and steel. Returning with a lit lantern they ignite a blaze.

The private of the Locals and his wife hastily retreat by the

light of the flaming beacon, under which the purple rotundities

of the heath show like bronze, and the pits like the eye-sockets

of a skull.]

SPIRIT SINISTER

This is good, and spells blood. (To the Chorus of the Years.) I

assume that It means to let us carry out this invasion with pleasing

slaughter, so as not to disappoint my hope?

SEMICHORUS I OF THE YEARS (aerial music)

We carry out? Nay, but should we

Ordain what bloodshed is to be it!

SEMICHORUS II

The Immanent, that urgeth all,

Rules what may or may not befall!

SEMICHORUS I

Ere systemed suns were globed and lit

The slaughters of the race were writ,

SEMICHORUS II

And wasting wars, by land and sea,

Fixed, like all else, immutably!

SPIRIT SINISTER

Well; be it so. My argument is that War makes rattling good

history; but Peace is poor reading. So I back Bonaparte for

the reason that he will give pleasure to posterity.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Gross hypocrite!

CHORUS OF THE YEARS

We comprehend him not.

[The day breaks over the heathery upland, on which the beacon

is still burning. The morning reveals the white surface of a

highway which, coming from the royal watering-place beyond the

hills, stretched towards the outskirts of the heath and passes

away eastward.]

DUMB SHOW

Moving figures and vehicles dot the surface of the road, all

progressing in one direction, away from the coast. In the

foreground the shapes appear as those of civilians, mostly on

foot, but many in gigs and tradesmen's carts and on horseback.

When they reach an intermediate hill some pause and look back;

others enter on the next decline landwards without turning

their heads.

From the opposite horizon numerous companies of volunteers, in the

local uniform of red with green facings,(5) are moving coastwards in

companies; as are also irregular bodies of pikemen without uniform;

while on the upper slopes of the downs towards the shore regiments

of the line are visible, with cavalry and artillery; all passing

over to the coast.

At a signal from the Chief Intelligences two Phantoms of Rumour enter

on the highway in the garb of country-men.

FIRST PHANTOM (to Pedestrians)

Wither so fast, good neighbours, and before breakfast, too? Empty

bellies be bad to vamp on.

FIRST PEDESTRIAN

He's landed west'ard, out by Abbot's Beach. And if you have property

you'll save it and yourselves, as we are doing!

SECOND PEDESTRIAN

All yesterday the firing at Boulogne

Was like the seven thunders heard in Heaven

When the fierce angel spoke. So did he draw

Full-manned, flat-bottomed for the shallowest shore,

Dropped down to west, and crossed our frontage here.

Seen from above they specked the water-shine

As will a flight of swallows toward dim eve,

Descending on a smooth and loitering stream

To seek some eyot's sedge.

SECOND PHANTOM

We are sent to enlighten you and ease your soul.

Even now a courier canters to the port

To check the baseless scare.

FIRST PEDESTRIAN

These be inland men who, I warrant 'ee, don't know a lerret from a

lighter! Let's take no heed of such, comrade; and hurry on!

FIRST PHANTOM

Will you not hear

That what was seen behind the midnight mist,

Their oar-blades tossing twinkles to the moon,

Was but a fleet of fishing-craft belated

By reason of the vastness of their haul?

FIRST PEDESTRIAN

Hey? And d'ye know it?--Now I look back to the top o' Rudgeway

the folk seem as come to a pause there.--Be this true, never again

do I stir my stumps for any alarm short of the Day of Judgment!

Nine times has my rheumatical rest been broke in these last three

years by hues and cries of Boney upon us. 'Od rot the feller;

now he's made a fool of me once more, till my inside is like a

wash-tub, what wi' being so gallied, and running so leery!--But

how if you be one of the enemy, sent to sow these tares, so to

speak it, these false tidings, and coax us into a fancied safety?

Hey, neighbours? I don't, after all, care for this story!

SECOND PEDESTRIAN

Onwards again!

If Boney's come, 'tis best to be away;

And if he's not, why, we've a holiday!

[Exeunt Pedestrians. The Spirits of Rumour vanish, while the scene

seems to become involved in the smoke from the beacon, and slowly

disappears.(6)]

In the 1600s, Balthasar Gracian, a jesuit priest wrote 300 aphorisms on living life called "The Art of Worldly Wisdom." Join our newsletter below and read them all, one at a time.