The Dynasts

Act Sixth

SCENE I

THE LINES OF TORRES VEDRAS

[A bird's-eye perspective is revealed of the peninsular tract of

Portuguese territory lying between the shining pool of the Tagus on

the east, and the white-frilled Atlantic lifting rhythmically on

the west. As thus beheld the tract features itself somewhat like a

late-Gothic shield, the upper edge from the dexter to the sinister

chief being the lines of Torres Vedras, stretching across from the

mouth of the Zezambre on the left to Alhandra on the right, and

the south or base point being Fort S. Julian. The roofs of Lisbon

appear at the sinister base, and in a corresponding spot on the

opposite side Cape Roca.

It is perceived in a moment that the northern verge of this nearly

coast-hemmed region is the only one through which access can be

gained to it by land, and a close scrutiny of the boundary there

reveals that means are being adopted to effectually prevent such

access.

From east to west along it runs a chain of defences, dotted at

intervals by dozens of circular and square redoubts, either made

or in the making, two of the latter being of enormous size.

Between these stretch unclimbable escarpments, stone walls, and

other breastworks, and in front of all a double row of abatis,

formed of the limbs of trees.

Within the outer line of defence is a second, constructed on the

same shield-shaped tract of country; and is not more than a twelfth

of the length of the others. It is a continuous entrenchment of

ditches and ramparts, and its object--that of covering a forced

embarkation--is rendered apparent by some rocking English

transports off the shore hard by.]

DUMB SHOW

Innumerable human figures are busying themselves like cheese-mites

all along the northernmost frontage, undercutting easy slopes into

steep ones, digging ditches, piling stones, felling trees, dragging

them, and interlacing them along the front as required.

On the second breastwork, which is completed, only a few figures move.

On the third breastwork, which is fully matured and equipped, minute

red sentinels creep backwards and forwards noiselessly.

As time passes three reddish-grey streams of marching men loom out

to the north, advancing southward along three roads towards three

diverse points in the first defence. These form the English army,

entering the lines for shelter. Looked down upon, their motion

seems peristaltic and vermicular, like that of three caterpillars.

The division on the left is under Picton, in the centre under Leith

and Cole, and on the extreme right, by Alhandra, under Hill. Beside

one of the roads two or three of the soldiers are dangling from a

tree by the neck, probably for plundering.

The Dumb Show ends, and the point of view sinks to the earth.

SCENE II

THE SAME. OUTSIDE THE LINES

[The winter day has gloomed to a stormful evening, and the road

outside the first line of defence forms the foreground of the stage.

Enter in the dusk from the hills to the north of the entrenchment,

near Calandrix, a group of horsemen, which includes MASSENA in

command of the French forces, FOY, LOISON, and other officers of

his staff.

They ride forward in the twilight and tempest, and reconnoitre,

till they see against the sky the ramparts blocking the road they

pursue. They halt silently. MASSENA, puzzled, endeavours with his

glass to make out the obstacle.]

MASSENA

Something stands here to peril our advance,

Or even prevent it!

FOY

These are the English lines--

Their outer horns and tusks--whereof I spoke,

Constructed by Lord Wellington of late

To keep his foothold firm in Portugal.

MASSENA

Thrusts he his burly, bossed disfigurements

So far to north as this? I had pictured me

The lay much nearer Lisbon. Little strange

Lord Wellington rode placid at Busaco

With this behind his back! Well, it is hard

But that we turn them somewhere, I assume?

They scarce can close up every southward gap

Between the Tagus and the Atlantic Sea.

FOY

I hold they can, and do; although, no doubt,

By searching we shall spy some raggedness

Which customed skill may force.

MASSENA

Plain 'tis, no less,

We may heap corpses vainly hereabout,

And crack good bones in waste. By human power

This passes mounting! What say you's behind?

LOISON

Another line exactly like the first,

But more matured. Behind its back a third.

MASSENA

How long have these prim ponderosities

Been rearing up their foreheads to the moon?

LOISON

Some months in all. I know not quite how long.

They are Lord Wellington's select device,

And, like him, heavy, slow, laborious, sure.

MASSENA

May he enjoy their sureness. He deserves to.

I had no inkling of such barriers here.

A good road runs along their front, it seems,

Which offers us advantage. . . . What a night!

[The tempest cries dismally about the earthworks above them, as

the reconnoitrers linger in the slight shelter the lower ground

affords. They are about to turn back.

Enter from the cross-road to the right JUNOT and some more

officers. They come up at a signal that the others are those

they lately parted from.]

JUNOT

We have ridden along as far as Calandrix,

Favoured therein by this disordered night,

Which tongues its language to the disguise of ours;

And find amid the vale an open route

That, well manoeuvred, may be practicable.

MASSENA

I'll look now at it, while the weather aids.

If it may serve our end when all's prepared

So good. If not, some other to the west.

[Exeunt MASSENA, JUNOT, LOISON, FOY, and the rest by the paved

crossway to the right.

The wind continues to prevail as the spot is left desolate, the

darkness increases, rain descends more heavily, and the scene is

blotted out.]

SCENE III

PARIS. THE TUILERIES

[The anteroom to the EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE'S bed-chamber, in which

are discovered NAPOLEON in his dressing-gown, the DUCHESS OF

MONTEBELLO, and other ladies-in-waiting. CORVISART the first

physician, and the second physician BOURDIER.

The time is before dawn. The EMPEROR walks up and down, throws

himself on a sofa, or stands at the window. A cry of anguish comes

occasionally from within.

NAPOLEON opens the door and speaks into the bed-chamber.]

NAPOLEON

How now, Dubois?

VOICE OF DUBOIS THE ACCOUCHEUR (nervously)

Less well, sire, than I hoped;

I fear no skill can save them both.

NAPOLEON (agitated)

Good god!

[Exit CORVISART into the bed-room. Enter DUBOIS.]

DUBOIS (with hesitation)

Which life is to be saved? The Empress, sire,

Lies in great jeopardy. I have not known

In my long years of many-featured practice

An instance in a thousand fall out so.

NAPOLEON

Then save the mother, pray! Think but of her;

It is her privilege, and my command.--

Don't lose you head, Dubois, at this tight time:

Your furthest skill can work but what it may.

Fancy that you are merely standing by

A shop-wife's couch, say, in the Rue Saint Denis;

Show the aplomb and phlegm that you would show

Did such a bed receive your ministry.

[Exit DUBOIS.]

VOICE OF MARIE LOUISE (within)

O pray, pray don't! Those ugly things terrify me! Why should I be

tortured even if I am but a means to an end! Let me die! It was

cruel of him to bring this upon me!

[Exit NAPOLEON impatiently to the bed-room.]

VOICE OF MADAME DE MONTESQUIOU (within)

Keep up your spirits, madame! I have been through it myself and I

assure you there is no danger to you. It is going on all right, and

I am holding you.

VOICE OF NAPOLEON (within)

Heaven above! Why did you not deep those cursed sugar-tongs out of

her sight? How is she going to get through it if you frighten her

like this?

VOICE OF DUBOIS (within)

If you will pardon me, your Majesty,

I must implore you not to interfere!

I'll not be scapegoat for the consequence

If, sire, you do! Better for her sake far

Would you withdraw. The sight of your concern

But agitates and weakens her endurance.

I will inform you all, and call you back

If things should worsen here.

[Re-enter NAPOLEON from the bed-chamber. He half shuts the door,

and remains close to it listening, pale and nervous.]

BOURDIER

I ask you, sire,

To harass yourself less with this event,

Which may amend anon: I much regret

The honoured mother of your Majesty,

And sister too, should both have left ere now,

Whose solace would have bridged these anxious hours.

NAPOLEON (absently)

As we were not expecting it so soon

I begged they would sit up no longer here. . . .

She ought to get along; she has help enough

With that half-dozen of them at hand within--

Skilled Madame Blaise the nurse, and two besides,

Madame de Montesquiou and Madame Ballant---

DUBOIS (speaking through the doorway)

Past is the question, sire, of which to save!

The child is dead; the while her Majesty

Is getting through it well.

NAPOLEON

Praise Heaven for that!

I'll not grieve overmuch about the child. . . .

Never shall She go through this strain again

To lay down a dynastic line for me.

DUCHESS OF MONTEBELLO (aside to the second lady)

He only says that now. In cold blood it would be far otherwise.

That's how men are.

VOICE OF MADAME BLAISE (within)

Doctor, the child's alive! (The cry of an infant is heard.)

VOICE OF DUBOIS (calling from within)

Sire, both are saved.

[NAPOLEON rushes into the chamber, and is heard kissing MARIE

LOUISE.]

VOICE OF MADAME BLAISE (within)

A vigorous boy, your Imperial Majesty. The brandy and hot napkins

brought him to.

DUCHESS OF MONTEBELLO

It is as I expected. A healthy young woman of her build had every

chance of doing well, despite the doctors.

[An interval.]

NAPOLEON (re-entering radiantly)

We have achieved a healthy heir, good dames,

And in the feat the Empress was most brave,

Although she suffered much--so much, indeed,

That I would sooner father no more sons

Than have so fair a fruit-tree undergo

Another wrenching of such magnitude.

[He walks to the window, pulls aside the curtains, and looks out.

It is a joyful spring morning. The Tuileries' gardens are thronged

with an immense crowd, kept at a little distance off the Palace by

a cord. The windows of the neighbouring houses are full of gazers,

and the streets are thronged with halting carriages, their inmates

awaiting the event.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS (whispering to Napoleon)

At this high hour there broods a woman nigh,

Ay, here in Paris, with her child and thine,

Who might have played this part with truer eye

To thee and to thy contemplated line!

NAPOLEON (soliloquizing)

Strange that just now there flashes on my soul

That little one I loved in Warsaw days,

Marie Walewska, and my boy by her!--

She was shown faithless by a foul intrigue

Till fate sealed up her opportunity. . . .

But what's one woman's fortune more or less

Beside the schemes of kings!--Ah, there's the new!

[A gun is heard from the Invalides.]

CROWD (excitedly)

One!

[Another report of the gun, and another, succeed.]

Two! Three! Four!

[The firing and counting proceed to twenty-one, when there is great

suspense. The gun fires again, and the excitement is doubled.]

Twenty-two! A boy!

[The remainder of the counting up to a hundred-and-one is drowned

in the huzzas. Bells begin ringing, and from the Champ de Mars a

balloon ascends, from which the tidings are scattered in hand-bills

as it floats away from France.

Enter the PRESIDENT OF THE SENATE, CAMBACERES, BERTHIER, LEBRUN,

and other officers of state. NAPOLEON turns from the window.]

CAMBACERES

Unstinted gratulations and goodwill

We bring to your Imperial Majesty,

While still resounds the superflux of joy

With which your people welcome this live star

Upon the horizon of history!

PRESIDENT OF THE SENATE

All blessings at their goodliest will grace

The advent of this New Messiah, sire,

Of fairer prospects than the former one,

Whose coming at so apt an hour endues

The widening glory of your high exploits

With permanence, and flings the dimness far

That cloaked the future of our chronicle!

NAPOLEON

My thanks; though, gentlemen, upon my soul

You might have drawn the line at the Messiah.

But I excuse you.--Yes, the boy has come;

He took some coaxing, but he's here at last.--

And what news brings the morning from without?

I know of none but this the Empress now

Trumps to the world from the adjoining room.

PRESIDENT OF THE SENATE

Nothing in Europe, sire, that can compare

In magnitude therewith to more effect

Than with an eagle some frail finch or wren.

To wit: the ban on English trade prevailing,

Subjects our merchant-houses to such strain

That many of the best see bankruptcy

Like a grim ghost ahead. Next week, they say

In secret here, six of the largest close.

NAPOLEON

It shall not be! Our burst of natal joy

Must not be sullied by so mean a thing:

Aid shall be rendered. Much as we may suffer,

England must suffer more, and I am content.

What has come in from Spain and Portugal?

BERTHIER

Vaguely-voiced rumours, sire, but nothing more,

Which travel countries quick as earthquake thrills,

No mortal knowing how.

NAPOLEON

Of Massena?

BERTHIER

Yea. He retreats for prudence' sake, it seems,

Before Lord Wellington. Dispatches soon

Must reach your Majesty, explaining all.

NAPOLEON

Ever retreating! Why declines he so

From all his olden prowess? Why, again,

Did he give battle at Busaco lately,

When Lisbon could be marched on without strain?

Why has he dallied by the Tagus bank

And shunned the obvious course? I gave him Ney,

Soult, and Junot, and eighty thousand men,

And he does nothing. Really it might seem

As though we meant to let this Wellington

Be even with us there!

BERTHIER

His mighty forts

At Torres Vedras hamper Massena,

And quite preclude advance.

NAPOLEON

O well--no matter:

Why should I linger on these haps of war

Now that I have a son!

[Exeunt NAPOLEON by one door and by another the PRESIDENT OF THE

SENATE, CAMBACERES, LEBRUN, BERTHIER, and officials.]

CHORUS OF IRONIC SPIRITS (aerial music)

The Will Itself is slave to him,

And holds it blissful to obey!--

He said, "Go to; it is my whim

"To bed a bride without delay,

Who shall unite my dull new name

With one that shone in Caesar's day.

"She must conceive--you hear my claim?--

And bear a son--no daughter, mind--

Who shall hand on my form and fame

"To future times as I have designed;

And at the birth throughout the land

Must cannon roar and alp-horns wind!"

The Will grew conscious at command,

And ordered issue as he planned.

[The interior of the Palace is veiled.]

SCENE IV

SPAIN. ALBUERA

[The dawn of a mid-May day in the same spring shows the village

of Albuera with the country around it, as viewed from the summit

of a line of hills on which the English and their allies are ranged

under Beresford. The landscape swept by the eye includes to the

right foreground a hill loftier than any, and somewhat detached

from the range. The green slopes behind and around this hill are

untrodden--though in a few hours to be the sanguinary scene of the

most murderous struggle of the whole war.

The village itself lies to the left foreground, with its stream

flowing behind it in the distance on the right. A creeping brook

at the bottom of the heights held by the English joins the stream

by the village. Behind the stream some of the French forces are

visible. Away behind these stretches a great wood several miles

in area, out of which the Albuera stream emerges, and behind the

furthest verge of the wood the morning sky lightens momently. The

birds in the wood, unaware that this day is to be different from

every other day they have known there, are heard singing their

overtures with their usual serenity.]

DUMB SHOW

As objects grow more distinct it can be perceived that some strategic

dispositions of the night are being completed by the French forces,

which the evening before lay in the woodland to the front of the

English army. They have emerged during the darkness, and large

sections of them--infantry, cuirassiers, and artillery--have crept

round to BERESFORD'S right without his suspecting the movement, where

they lie hidden by the great hill aforesaid, though not more than

half-a-mile from his right wing.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

A hot ado goes forward here to-day,

If I may read the Immanent Intent

From signs and tokens blent

With weird unrest along the firmament

Of causal coils in passionate display.

--Look narrowly, and what you witness say.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

I see red smears upon the sickly dawn,

And seeming drops of gore. On earth below

Are men--unnatural and mechanic-drawn--

Mixt nationalities in row and row,

Wheeling them to and fro

In moves dissociate from their souls' demand,

For dynasts' ends that few even understand!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Speak more materially, and less in dream.

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

I'll do it. . . . The stir of strife grows well defined

Around the hamlet and the church thereby:

Till, from the wood, the ponderous columns wind,

Guided by Godinot, with Werle nigh.

They bear upon the vill. But the gruff guns

Of Dickson's Portuguese

Punch spectral vistas through the maze of these! . . .

More Frenchmen press, and roaring antiphons

Of cannonry contuse the roofs and walls and trees.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Wrecked are the ancient bridge, the green spring plot,

the blooming fruit-tree, the fair flower-knot!

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

Yet the true mischief to the English might

Is meant to fall not there. Look to the right,

And read the shaping scheme by yon hill-side,

Where cannon, foot, and brisk dragoons you see,

With Werle and Latour-Maubourg to guide,

Waiting to breast the hill-brow bloodily.

BERESFORD now becomes aware of this project on his flank, and sends

orders to throw back his right to face the attack. The order is not

obeyed. Almost at the same moment the French rush is made, the

Spanish and Portuguese allies of the English are beaten beck, and

the hill is won. But two English divisions bear from the centre of

their front, and plod desperately up the hill to retake it.

SPIRIT SINISTER

Now he among us who may wish to be

A skilled practitioner in slaughtery,

Should watch this hour's fruition yonder there,

And he will know, if knowing ever were,

How mortals may be freed their fleshly cells,

And quaint red doors set ope in sweating fells,

By methods swift and slow and foul and fair!

The English, who have plunged up the hill, are caught in a heavy

mist, that hides from them an advance in their rear of the lancers

and hussars of the enemy. The lines of the Buffs, the Sixty-sixth,

and those of the Forty-eighth, who were with them, in a chaos of

smoke, steel, sweat, curses, and blood, are beheld melting down

like wax from an erect position to confused heaps. Their forms

lie rigid, or twitch and turn, as they are trampled over by the

hoofs of the enemy's horse. Those that have not fallen are taken.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

It works as you, uncanny Phantom, wist! . . .

Whose is that towering form

That tears across the mist

To where the shocks are sorest?--his with arm

Outstretched, and grimy face, and bloodshot eye,

Like one who, having done his deeds, will die?

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

He is one Beresford, who heads the fight

For England here to-day.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

He calls the sight

Despite itself!--parries yon lancer's thrust,

And with his own sword renders dust to dust!

The ghastly climax of the strife is reached; the combatants are

seen to be firing grape and canister at speaking distance, and

discharging musketry in each other's faces when so close that

their complexions may be recognized. Hot corpses, their mouths

blackened by cartridge-biting, and surrounded by cast-away

knapsacks, firelocks, hats, stocks, flint-boxes, and priming

horns, together with red and blue rags of clothing, gaiters,

epaulettes, limbs and viscera accumulate on the slopes, increasing

from twos and threes to half-dozens, and from half-dozens to heaps,

which steam with their own warmth as the spring rain falls gently

upon them.

The critical instant has come, and the English break. But a

comparatively fresh division, with fusileers, is brought into the

turmoil by HARDINGE and COLE, and these make one last strain to

save the day, and their names and lives. The fusileers mount the

incline, and issuing from the smoke and mist startle the enemy by

their arrival on a spot deemed won.

SEMICHORUS I OF THE PITIES (aerial music)

They come, beset by riddling hail;

They sway like sedges is a gale;

The fail, and win, and win, and fail. Albuera!

SEMICHORUS II

They gain the ground there, yard by yard,

Their brows and hair and lashes charred,

Their blackened teeth set firm and hard.

SEMICHORUS I

Their mad assailants rave and reel,

And face, as men who scorn to feel,

The close-lined, three-edged prongs of steel.

SEMICHORUS II

Till faintness follows closing-in,

When, faltering headlong down, they spin

Like leaves. But those pay well who win Albuera.

SEMICHORUS I

Out of six thousand souls that sware

To hold the mount, or pass elsewhere,

But eighteen hundred muster there.

SEMICHORUS II

Pale Colonels, Captains, ranksmen lie,

Facing the earth or facing sky;--

They strove to live, they stretch to die.

SEMICHORUS I

Friends, foemen, mingle; heap and heap.--

Hide their hacked bones, Earth!--deep, deep, deep,

Where harmless worms caress and creep.

CHORUS

Hide their hacked bones, Earth!--deep, deep, deep,

Where harmless worms caress and creep.--

What man can grieve? what woman weep?

Better than waking is to sleep! Albuera!

The night comes on, and darkness covers the battle-field.

SCENE V

WINDSOR CASTLE. A ROOM IN THE KING'S APARTMENT

[The walls of the room are padded, and also the articles of

furniture, the stuffing being overlaid with satin and velvet, on

which are worked in gold thread monograms and crowns. The windows

are guarded, and the floor covered with thick cork, carpeted. The

time is shortly after the last scene.

The KING is seated by a window, and two of Dr. WILLIS'S attendants

are in the room. His MAJESTY is now seventy-two; his sight is

very defective, but he does not look ill. He appears to be lost

in melancholy thought, and talks to himself reproachfully, hurried

manner on occasion being the only irregular symptom that he

betrays.]

KING

In my lifetime I did not look after her enough--enough--enough!

And now she is lost to me, and I shall never see her more. Had I

but known, had I but thought of it! Gentlemen, when did I lose the

Princess Amelia?

FIRST ATTENDANT

The second of last November, your Majesty.

KING

And what is it now?

FIRST ATTENDANT

Now, sir, it is the beginning of June.

KING

Ah, June, I remember! . . . The June flowers are not for me. I

shall never see them; nor will she. So fond of them as she was.

. . . Even if I were living I would never go where there are flowers

any more! No: I would go to the bleak, barren places that she never

would walk in, and never knew, so that nothing might remind me of

her, and make my heart ache more than I can bear! . . . Why, the

beginning of June?--that's when they are coming to examine me! (He

grows excited.)

FIRST ATTENDANT (to second attendant, aside)

Dr. Reynolds ought not have reminded him of their visit. It only

disquiets him and makes him less fit to see them.

KING

How long have I been confined here?

FIRST ATTENDANT

Since November, sir; for your health's sake entirely, as your Majesty

knows.

KING

What, what? So long? Ah, yes. I must bear it. This is the fourth

great black gulf in my poor life, is it not? The fourth.

[A signal from the door. The second attendant opens it and whispers.

Enter softly SIR HENRY HALFORD, DR. WILLIAM HEBERDEN, DR. ROBERT

WILLIS, DR. MATTHEW BAILLIE, the KING'S APOTHECARY, and one or two

other gentlemen.]

KING (straining his eye to discern them)

What! Are they come? What will they do to me? How dare they! I

am Elector of Hanover! (Finding Dr. Willis is among them he shrieks.)

O, they are going to bleed me--yes, to bleed me! (Piteously.) My

friends, don't bleed me--pray don't! It makes me so weak to take my

blood. And the leeches do, too, when you put so many. You will not

be so unkind, I am sure!

WILLIS (to Baillie)

It is extraordinary what a vast aversion he has to bleeding--that

most salutary remedy, fearlessly practised. He submits to leeches

as yet but I won't say that he will for long without being strait-

jacketed.

KING (catching some of the words)

You will strait-jacket me? O no, no!

WILLIS

Leeches are not effective, really. Dr. Home, when I mentioned it to

him yesterday, said he would bleed him till he fainted if he had

charge of him!

KING

O will you do it, sir, against my will,

And put me, once your king, in needless pain?

I do assure you truly, my good friends,

That I have done no harm! In sunnier years

Ere I was throneless, withered to a shade,

Deprived of my divine authority--

When I was hale, and ruled the English land--

I ever did my utmost to promote

The welfare of my people, body and soul!

Right many a morn and night I have prayed and mused

How I could bring them to a better way.

So much of me you surely know, my friends,

And will not hurt me in my weakness here! (He trembles.)

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

The tears that lie about this plightful scene

Of heavy travail in a suffering soul,

Mocked with the forms and feints of royalty

While scarified by briery Circumstance,

Might drive Compassion past her patiency

To hold that some mean, monstrous ironist

Had built this mistimed fabric of the Spheres

To watch the throbbings of its captive lives,

(The which may Truth forfend), and not thy said

Unmaliced, unimpassioned, nescient Will!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Mild one, be not touched with human fate.

Such is the Drama: such the Mortal state:

No sigh of thine can null the Plan Predestinate!

HALFORD

We have come to do your Majesty no harm.

Here's Dr. Heberden, whom I am sure you like,

And this is Dr. Baillie. We arrive

But to inquire and gather how you are,

Thereon to let the Privy Council know,

And give assurances for you people's good.

[A brass band is heard playing in the distant part of Windsor.]

KING

Ah--what does that band play for here to-day?

She has been dead and I so short a time! . . .

Her little hands are hardly cold as yet;

But they can show such cruel indecency

As to let trumpets play!

HALFORD

They guess not, sir,

That you can hear them, or their chords would cease.

Their boisterous music fetches back to me

That, of our errands to your Majesty,

One was congratulation most sincere

Upon this glorious victory you have won.

The news is just in port; the band booms out

To celebrate it, and to honour you.

KING

A victory? I? Pray where?

HALFORD

Indeed so, sir:

Hard by Albuera--far in harried Spain--

Yes, sir; you have achieved a victory

Of dash unmatched and feats unparalleled!

KING

He says I have won a battle? But I thought

I was a poor afflicted captive here,

In darkness lingering out my lonely days,

Beset with terror of these myrmidons

That suck my blood like vampires! Ay, ay, ay!--

No aims left to me but to quicken death

To quicklier please my son!--And yet he says

That I have won a battle! O God, curse, damn!

When will the speech of the world accord with truth,

And men's tongues roll sincerely!

GENTLEMAN (aside)

Faith, 'twould seem

As if the madman were the sanest here!

[The KING'S face has flushed, and he becomes violent. The

attendants rush forward to him.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Something within me aches to pray

To some Great Heart, to take away

This evil day, this evil day!

CHORUS IRONIC

Ha-ha! That's good. Thou'lt pray to It:--

But where do Its compassions sit?

Yea, where abides the heart of it?

Is it where sky-fires flame and flit,

Or solar craters spew and spit,

Or ultra-stellar night-webs knit?

What is Its shape? Man's counterfeit?

That turns in some far sphere unlit

The Wheel which drives the Infinite?

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Mock on, mock on! Yet I'll go pray

To some Great Heart, who haply may

Charm mortal miseries away!

[The KING'S paroxysm continues. The attendants hold him.]

HALFORD

This is distressing. One can never tell

How he will take things now. I thought Albuera

A subject that would surely solace him.

These paroxysms--have they been bad this week? (To Attendants.)

FIRST ATTENDANT

Sir Henry, no. He has quite often named

The late Princess, as gently as a child

A little bird found starved.

WILLIS (aside to apothecary)

I must increase the opium to-night, and lower him by a double set of

leeches since he won't stand the lancet quietly.

APOTHECARY

You should take twenty ounces, doctor, if a drop--indeed, go on

blooding till he's unconscious. He is too robust by half. And the

watering-pot would do good again--not less than six feet above his

head. See how heated he is.

WILLIS

Curse that town band. It will have to be stopped.

HEBERDEN

The same thing is going on all over England, no doubt, on account of

this victory.

HALFORD

When he is in a more domineering mood he likes such allusions to his

rank as king. . . . If he could resume his walks on the terrace he

might improve slightly. But it is too soon yet. We must consider

what we shall report to the Council. There is little hope of his

being much better. What do you think, Willis?

WILLIS

None. He is done for this time!

HALFORD

Well, we must soften it down a little, so as not to upset the Queen

too much, poor woman, and distract the Council unnecessarily. Eldon

will go pumping up bucketfuls, and the Archbishops are so easily

shocked that a certain conventional reserve is almost forced upon us.

WILLIS (returning from the King)

He is already better. The paroxysm has nearly passed. Your opinion

will be far more favourable before you leave.

[The KING soon grows calm, and the expression of his face changes

to one of dejection. The attendants leave his side: he bends his

head, and covers his face with his hand, while his lips move as if

in prayer. He then turns to them.]

KING (meekly)

I am most truly sorry, gentlemen,

If I have used language that would seem to show

Discourtesy to you for your good help

In this unhappy malady of mine!

My nerves unstring, my friend; my flesh grows weak:

"The good that I do I leave undone,

The evil which I would not, that I do!"

Shame, shame on me!

WILLIS (aside to the others)

Now he will be as low as before he was in the other extreme.

KING

A king should bear him kingly; I of all,

One of so long a line. O shame on me! . . .

--This battle that you speak of?--Spain, of course?

Ah--Albuera! And many fall--eh? Yes?

HALFORD

Many hot hearts, sir, cold, I grieve to say.

There's Major-General Houghton, Captain Bourke,

And Herbert of the Third, Lieutenant Fox,

And Captains Erck and Montague, and more.

With Majors-General Cole and Stewart wounded,

And Quartermaster-General Wallace too:

A total of three generals, colonels five,

Five majors, fifty captains; and to these

Add ensigns and lieutenants sixscore odd,

Who went out, but returned not. Heavily tithed

Were the attenuate battalions there

Who stood and bearded Death by the hour that day!

KING

O fearful price for victory! Add thereto

All those I lost at Walchere.--A crime

Lay there! . . . I stood on Chatham's being sent:

It wears on me, till I am unfit to live!

WILLIS (aside to the others)

Don't let him get on that Walcheren business. There will be another

outbreak. Heberden, please ye talk to him. He fancies you most.

HEBERDEN

I'll tell him some of the brilliant feats of the battle. (He goes

and talks to the KING.)

WILLIS (to the rest)

Well, my inside begins to cry cupboard. I had breakfast early. We

have enough particulars now to face the Queen's Council with, I

should say, Sir Henry?

HALFORD

Yes.--I want to get back to town as soon as possible to-day. Mrs

Siddons has a party at her house at Westbourne to-night, and all the

world is going to be there.

BAILLIE

Well, I am not. But I have promised to take some friends to Vauxhall,

as it is a grand gala and fireworks night. Miss Farren is going to

sing "The Canary Bird."--The Regent's fete, by the way, is postponed

till the nineteenth, on account of this relapse. Pretty grumpy he

was at having to do it. All the world will be THERE, sure!

WILLIS

And some from the Shades, too, of the fair, sex.--Well, here comes

Heberden. He has pacified his Majesty nicely. Now we can get away.

[The physicians withdraw softly, and the scene is covered.]

SCENE VI

LONDON. CARLTON HOUSE AND THE STREETS ADJOINING

[It is a cloudless midsummer evening, and as the west fades the

stars beam down upon the city, the evening-star hanging like a

jonquil blossom. They are dimmed by the unwonted radiance which

spreads around and above Carlton House. As viewed from aloft the

glare rises through the skylights, floods the forecourt towards

Pall Mall, and kindles with a diaphanous glow the huge tents in

the gardens that overlook the Mall. The hour has arrived of the

Prince Regent's festivity.

A stream of carriages and sedan-chairs, moving slowly, stretches

from the building along Pall Mall into Piccadilly and Bond Street,

and crowds fill the pavements watching the bejewelled and feathered

occupants. In addition to the grand entrance inside the Pall Mall

colonnade there is a covert little "chair-door" in Warwick Street

for sedans only, by which arrivals are perceived to be slipping in

almost unobserved.]

SPIRIT IRONIC

What domiciles are those, of singular expression,

Whence no guest comes to join the gemmed procession;

That, west of Hyde, this, in the Park-side Lane,

Each front beclouded like a mask of pain?

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

Therein the princely host's two spouses dwell;

A wife in each. Let me inspect and tell.

[The walls of the two houses--one in Park Lane, the other at

Kensington--become transparent.]

I see within the first his latter wife--

That Caroline of Brunswick whose brave sire

Yielded his breath on Jena's reeking plain,

And of whose kindred other yet may fall

Ere long, if character indeed be fate.--

She idles feasting, and is full of jest

As each gay chariot rumbles to the rout.

"I rank like your Archbishops' wives," laughs she;

"Denied my husband's honours. Funny me!"

[Suddenly a Beau on his way to the Carlton House festival halts at

her house, calls, and is shown in.]

He brings her news that a fresh favourite rules

Her husband's ready heart; likewise of those

Obscure and unmissed courtiers late deceased,

Who have in name been bidden to the feast

By blundering scribes.

[The Princess is seen to jump up from table at some words from her

visitor, and clap her hands.]

These tidings, juxtaposed,

Have fired her hot with curiosity,

And lit her quick invention with a plan.

PRINCESS OF WALES

Mine God, I'll go disguised--in some dead name

And enter by the leetle, sly, chair-door

Designed for those not welcomed openly.

There unobserved I'll note mine new supplanter!

'Tis indiscreet? Let indiscretion rule,

Since caution pensions me so scurvily!

SPIRIT IRONIC

Good. Now for the other sweet and slighted spouse.

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

The second roof shades the Fitzherbert Fair;

Reserved, perverse. As coach and coach roll by

She mopes within her lattice; lampless, lone,

As if she grieved at her ungracious fate,

And yet were loth to kill the sting of it

By frankly forfeiting the Prince and town.

"Bidden," says she, "but as one low of rank,

And go I will not so unworthily,

To sit with common dames!"--A flippant friend

Writes then that a new planet sways to-night

The sense of her erratic lord; whereon

The fair Fitzherbert muses hankeringly.

MRS. FITZHERBERT (soliloquizing)

The guest-card which I publicly refused

Might, as a fancy, privately be used! . . .

Yes--one last look--a wordless, wan farewell

To this false life which glooms me like a knell,

And him, the cause; from some hid nook survey

His new magnificence;--then go for aye!

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

She cloaks and veils, and in her private chair

Passes the Princess also stealing there--

Two honest wives, and yet a differing pair!

SPIRIT IRONIC

With dames of strange repute, who bear a ticket

For screened admission by the private wicket.

CHORUS OF IRONIC SPIRITS (aerial music)

A wife of the body, a wife of the mind,

A wife somewhat frowsy, a wife too refined:

Could the twain but grow one, and no other dames be,

No husband in Europe more steadfast than he!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Cease fooling on weak waifs who love and wed

But as the unweeting Urger may bestead!--

See them withinside, douce and diamonded.

[The walls of Carlton House open, and the spectator finds himself

confronting the revel.]

SCENE VII

THE SAME. THE INTERIOR OF CARLTON HOUSE

[A central hall is disclosed, radiant with constellations of

candles, lamps, and lanterns, and decorated with flowering shrubs.

An opening on the left reveals the Grand Council-chamber prepared

for dancing, the floor being chalked with arabesques having in the

centre "G. III. R.," with a crown, arms, and supporters. Orange-

trees and rose-bushes in bloom stand against the walls. On the

right hand extends a glittering vista of the supper-rooms and

tables, now crowded with guests. This display reaches as far as

the conservatory westward, and branches into long tents on the

lawn.

On a dais at the chief table, laid with gold and silver plate, the

Prince Regent sits like a lay figure, in a state chair of crimson

and gold, with six servants at his back. He swelters in a gorgeous

uniform of scarlet and gold lace which represents him as Field

Marshal, and he is surrounded by a hundred-and-forty of his

particular friends.

Down the middle of this state-table runs a purling brook crossed

by quaint bridges, in which gold and silver fish frisk about

between banks of moss and flowers. The whole scene is lit with

wax candles in chandeliers, and in countless candelabra on the

tables.

The people at the upper tables include the Duchess of York, looking

tired from having just received as hostess most of the ladies

present, except those who have come informally, Louis XVIII. of

France, the Duchess of Angouleme, all the English Royal Dukes,

nearly all the ordinary Dukes and Duchesses; also the Lord

Chancellor of the Exchequer and other Ministers, the Lord Mayor

and Lady Mayoress, all the more fashionable of the other Peers,

Peeresses, and Members of Parliament, Generals, Admirals, and

Mayors, with their wives. The ladies of position wear, almost to

the extent of a uniform, a nodding head-dress of ostrich feathers

with diamonds, and gowns of white satin embroidered in gold or

silver, on which, owing to the heat, dribbles of wax from the

chandeliers occasionally fall.

The Guards' bands play, and attendants rush about in blue and gold

lace.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

The Queen, the Regent's mother, sits not here;

Wanting, too, are his sisters, I perceive;

And it is well. With the distempered King

Immured at Windsor, sore distraught or dying,

It borders nigh on indecency

In their regard, that this loud feast is kept,

A thought not strange to many, as I read,

Even of those gathered here.

SPIRIT IRONIC

My dear phantom and crony, the gloom upon their faces is due rather

to their having borrowed those diamonds at eleven per cent than to

their loyalty to a suffering monarch! But let us test the feeling.

I'll spread a report.

[He calls up the SPIRIT OF RUMOUR, who scatters whispers through

the assemblage.]

A GUEST (to his neighbour)

Have you heard this report--that the King is dead?

ANOTHER GUEST

It has just reached me from the other side. Can it be true?

THIRD GUEST

I think it probable. He has been very ill all week.

PRINCE REGENT

Dead? Then my fete is spoilt, by God!

SHERIDAN

Long live the King! (He holds up his glass and bows to the Regent.)

MARCHIONESS OF HERTFORD (the new favourite, to the Regent)

The news is more natural than the moment of it! It is too cruel to

you that it should happen now!

PRINCE REGENT

Damn me, though; can it be true? (He provisionally throws a regal

air into his countenance.)

DUCHESS OF YORK (on the Regent's left)

I hardly can believe it. This forenoon

He was reported mending.

DUCHESS OF ANGOULEME (on the Regent's right)

On this side

They are asserting that the news is false--

That Buonaparte's child, the "King of Rome,"

Is dead, and not your royal father, sire.

PRINCE REGENT

That's mighty fortunate! Had it been true,

I should have been abused by all the world--

The Queen the keenest of the chorus, too--

Though I have been postponing this pledged feast

Through days and weeks, in hopes the King would mend,

Till expectation fusted with delay.

But give a dog a bad name--or a Prince!

So, then, it is new-come King of Rome

Who has passed or ever the world has welcomed him! . . .

Call him a king--that pompous upstart's son--

Beside us scions of the ancient lines!

DUKE OF BEDFORD

I think that rumour untrue also, sir. I heard it as I drove up from

Woburn this evening, and it was contradicted then.

PRINCE REGENT

Drove up this evening, did ye, Duke. Why did you cut it so close?

DUKE OF BEDFORD

Well, it so happened that my sheep-sheering dinner was fixed for

this very day, and I couldn't put it off. So I dined with them

there at one o'clock, discussed the sheep, rushed off, drove the

two-and-forty miles, jumped into my clothes at my house here, and

reached your Royal Highness's door in no very bad time.

PRINCE REGENT

Capital, capital. But, 'pon my soul, 'twas a close shave!

[Soon the babbling and glittering company rise from supper, and

begin promenading through the rooms and tents, the REGENT setting

the example, and mixing up and talking unceremoniously with his

guests of every degree. He and the group round him disappear into

the remoter chambers; but may concentrate in the Grecian Hall,

which forms the foreground of the scene, whence a glance can be

obtained into the ball-room, now filled with dancers.

The band is playing the tune of the season, "The Regency Hornpipe,"

which is danced as a country-dance by some thirty couples; so that

by the time the top couple have danced down the figure they are

quite breathless. Two young lords talk desultorily as they survey

the scene.]

FIRST LORD

Are the rumours of the King of Rome's death confirmed?

SECOND LORD

No. But they are probably true. He was a feeble brat from the

first. I believe they had to baptize him on the day he was born.

What can one expect after such presumption--calling him the New

Messiah, and God knows what all. Ours is the only country which

did not write fulsome poems about him. "Wise English!" the Tsar

Alexander said drily when he heard it.

FIRST LORD

Ay! The affection between that Pompey and Caesar has begun to cool.

Alexander's soreness at having his sister thrown over so cavalierly

is not salved yet.

SECOND LORD

There is much beside. I'd lay a guinea there will be war between

Russia and France before another year has flown.

FIRST LORD

Prinny looks a little worried to-night.

SECOND LORD

Yes. The Queen don't like the fete being held, considering the

King's condition. She and her friends say it should have been put

off altogether. But the Princess of Wales is not troubled that way.

Though she was not asked herself she went wildly off and bought her

people new gowns to come in. Poor maladroit woman! . . . .

[Another new dance of the year is started, and another long line

of couples begin to foot it.]

That's a pretty thing they are doing now. What d'ye call it?

FIRST LORD

"Speed the Plough." It is just out. They are having it everywhere.

The next is to be one of those foreign things in three-eight time

they call Waltzes. I question if anybody is up to dancing 'em here

yet.

["Speed the Plough" is danced to its conclusion, and the band

strikes up "The Copenhagen Waltz."]

SPIRIT IRONIC

Now for the wives. They both were tearing hither,

Unless reflection sped them back again;

But dignity that nothing else may bend

Succumbs to woman's curiosity,

So deem them here. Messengers, call them nigh!

[The PRINCE REGENT, having gone the round of the other rooms, now

appears at the ball-room door, and stands looking at the dancers.

Suddenly he turns, and gazes about with a ruffled face. He sees

a tall, red-faced man near him--LORD MOIRA, one of his friends.]

PRINCE REGENT

Damned hot here, Moira. Hottest of all for me!

MOIRA

Yes, it is warm, sir. Hence I do not dance.

PRINCE REGENT

H'm. What I meant was of another order;

I spoke figuratively.

MOIRA

O indeed, sir?

PRINCE REGENT

She's here. I heard her voice. I'll swear I did!

MOIRA

Who, sir?

PRINCE REGENT

Why, the Princess of Wales. Do you think I could mistake those

beastly German Ps and Bs of hers?--She asked to come, and was

denied; but she's got here, I'll wager ye, through the chair-door

in Warwick Street, which I arranged for a few ladies whom I wished

to come privately. (He looks about again, and moves till he is by

a door which affords a peep up the grand staircase.) By God, Moira,

I see TWO figures up there who shouldn't be here--leaning over the

balustrade of the gallery!

MOIRA

Two figures, sir. Whose are they?

PRINCE REGENT

She is one. The Fitzherbert in t'other! O I am almost sure it is!

I would have welcomed her, but she bridled and said she wouldn't sit

down at my table as a plain "Mrs." to please anybody. As I had sworn

that on this occasion people should sit strictly according to their

rank, I wouldn't give way. Why the devil did she come like this?

'Pon my soul, these women will be the death o' me!

MOIRA (looking cautiously up the stairs)

I can see nothing of her, sir, nor of the Princess either. There is

a crowd of idlers up there leaning over the bannisters, and you may

have mistaken some others for them.

PRINCE REGENT

O no. They have drawn back their heads. There have been such damned

mistakes made in sending out the cards that the biggest w--- in London

might be here. She's watching Lady Hertford, that's what she's doing.

For all their indifference, both of them are as jealous as two cats

over the tom.

[Somebody whispers that a lady has fainted up-stairs.]

That's Maria, I'll swear! She's always doing it. Whenever I hear

of some lady fainting about upon the furniture at my presence, and

sending for a glass of water, I say to myself, There's Maria at it

again, by God!

SPIRIT IRONIC

Now let him hear their voices once again.

[The REGENT starts as he seems to hear from the stairs the tongues

of the two ladies growing louder and nearer, the PRINCESS pouring

reproaches into one ear, and MRS. FITZHERBERT into the other.]

PRINCE REGENT

'Od seize 'em, Moira; this will drive me mad!

If men of blood must mate with only one

Of those dear damned deluders called the s*x,

Why has Heaven teased us with the taste for change?--

God, I begin to loathe the whole curst show!

How hot it is! Get me a glass of brandy,

Or I shall swoon off too. Now let's go out,

And find some fresher air upon the lawn.

[Exit the PRINCE REGENT, with LORDS MOIRA and YARMOUTH. The band

strikes up "La Belle Catarina" and a new figure is formed.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Phantoms, ye strain your powers unduly here,

Making faint fancies as they were indeed

The Mighty Will's firm work.

SPIRIT IRONIC

Nay, Father, nay;

The wives prepared to hasten hitherward

Under the names of some gone down to death,

Who yet were bidden. Must they not by here?

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

There lie long leagues between a woman's word--

"She will, indeed she will!"--and acting on't.

Whether those came or no, thy antics cease,

And let the revel wear it out in peace.

[Enter SPENCER PERCEVAL the Prime Minister, a small, pale, grave-

looking man, and an Under-Secretary of State, meeting.]

UNDER-SECRETARY

Is the King of Rome really dead, and the gorgeous gold cradle wasted?

PERCEVAL

O no, he is alive and waxing strong:

That tale has been set travelling more than once.

But touching it, booms echo to our ear

Of graver import, unimpeachable.

UNDER-SECRETARY

Your speech is dark.

PERCEVAL

Well, a new war in Europe.

Before the year is out there may arise

A red campaign outscaling any seen.

Russia and France the parties to the strife--

Ay, to the death!

UNDER-SECRETARY

By Heaven, sir, do you say so?

[Enter CASTLEREAGH, a tall, handsome man with a Roman nose, who,

seeing them, approaches.]

PERCEVAL

Ha, Castlereagh. Till now I have missed you here.

This news is startling for us all, I say!

CASTLEREAGH

My mind is blank on it! Since I left office

I know no more what villainy's afoot,

Or virtue either, than an anchoret

Who mortifies the flesh in some lone cave.

PERCEVAL

Well, happily that may not last for long.

But this grave pother that's just now agog

May reach such radius in its consequence

As to outspan our lives! Yes, Bonaparte

And Alexander--late such bosom-friends--

Are closing to a mutual murder-bout

At which the lips of Europe will wax wan.

Bonaparte says the fault is not with him,

And so says Alexander. But we know

The Austrian knot began their severance,

And that the Polish question largens it.

Nothing but time is needed for the clash.

And if so be that Wellington but keep

His foot in the Peninsula awhile,

Between the pestle and the mortar-stone

Of Russia and of Spain, Napoleon's brayed.

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR (to the Spirit of the Years)

Permit me now to join them and confirm,

By what I bring from far, their forecasting?

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

I'll go. Thou knowest not greatly more than they.

[The SPIRIT OF THE YEARS enters the apartment in the shape of a

pale, hollow-eye gentleman wearing an embroidered suit. At the

same time re-enter the REGENT, LORDS MOIRA, YARMOUTH, KEITH, LADY

HERTFORD, SHERIDAN, the DUKE OF BEDFORD, with many more notables.

The band changes into the popular dance, "Down with the French,"

and the characters aforesaid look on at the dancers.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS (to Perceval)

Yes, sir; your text is true. In closest touch

With European courts and cabinets,

The imminence of dire and deadly war

Betwixt these east and western emperies

Is lipped by special pathways to mine ear.

You may not see the impact: ere it come

The tomb-worm may caress thee (Perceval shrinks); but believe

Before five more have joined the shotten years

Whose useless films infest the foggy Past,

Traced thick with teachings glimpsed unheedingly,

The rawest Dynast of the group concerned

Will, for the good or ill of mute mankind,

Down-topple to the dust like soldier Saul,

And Europe's mouldy-minded oligarchs

Be propped anew; while garments roll in blood

To confused noise, with burning, and fuel of fire.

Nations shall lose their noblest in the strife,

And tremble at the tidings of an hour!

[He passes into the crowd and vanishes.]

PRINCE REGENT (who has heard with parted lips)

Who the devil is he?

PERCEVAL

One in the suite of the French princes, perhaps, sir?--though his

tone was not monarchical. He seems to be a foreigner.

CASTLEREAGH

His manner was that of an old prophet, and his features had a Jewish

cast, which accounted for his Hebraic style.

PRINCE REGENT

He could not have known me, to speak so freely in my presence!

SHERIDAN

I expected to see him write on the wall, like the gentleman with the

Hand at Belshazzar's Feast.

PRINCE REGENT (recovering)

He seemed to know a damn sight more about what's going on in Europe,

sir (to Perceval), than your Government does, with all its secret

information.

PERCEVAL

He is recently over, I conjecture, your royal Highness, and brings

the latest impressions.

PRINCE REGENT

By Gad, sir, I shall have a comfortable time of it in my regency, or

reign, if what he foresees be true! But I was born for war; it is

my destiny!

[He draws himself up inside his uniform and stalks away. The group

dissolves, the band continuing stridently, "Down with the French,"

as dawn glimmers in. Soon the REGENT'S guests begin severally and

in groups to take leave.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Behold To-morrow riddles the curtains through,

And labouring life without shoulders its cross anew!

CHORUS OF THE YEARS (aerial music)

Why watch we here? Look all around

Where Europe spreads her crinkled ground,

From Osmanlee to Hekla's mound,

Look all around!

Hark at the cloud-combed Ural pines;

See how each, wailful-wise, inclines;

Mark the mist's labyrinthine lines;

Behold the tumbling Biscay Bay;

The Midland main in silent sway;

As urged to move them, so move they.

No less through regal puppet-shows

The rapt Determinator throes,

That neither good nor evil knows!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Yet I may wake and understand

Ere Earth unshape, know all things, and

With knowledge use a painless hand,

A painless hand!

[Solitude reigns in the chambers, and the scene shuts up.]

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.