The Dynasts

Act Second

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SCENE I

THE PYRENEES AND VALLEYS ADJOINING

[The view is from upper air, immediately over the region that

lies between Bayonne on the north, Pampeluna on the south, and

San Sebastian on the west, including a portion of the Cantabrian

mountains. The month is February, and snow covers not only the

peaks but the lower slopes. The roads over the passes are well

beaten.]

DUMB SHOW

At various elevations multitudes of NAPOLEON'S soldiery, to the

number of about thirty thousand, are discerned in a creeping

progress across the frontier from the French to the Spanish side.

The thin long columns serpentine along the roads, but are sometimes

broken, while at others they disappear altogether behind vertical

rocks and overhanging woods. The heavy guns and the whitey-brown

tilts of the baggage-waggons seem the largest objects in the

procession, which are dragged laboriously up the incline to the

watershed, their lumbering being audible as high as the clouds.

Simultaneously the river Bidassoa, in a valley to the west, is

being crossed by a train of artillery and another thirty thousand

men, all forming part of the same systematic advance.

Along the great highway through Biscay the wondering native

carters draw their sheep-skinned ox-teams aside, to let the

regiments pass, and stray groups of peaceable field-workers

in Navarre look inquiringly at the marching and prancing

progress.

Time passes, and the various northern strongholds are approached

by these legions. Their governors emerge at a summons, and when

seeming explanations have been given the unwelcome comers are

doubtfully admitted.

The chief places to which entrance is thus obtained are Pampeluna

and San Sebastian at the front of the scene, and far away towards

the shining horizon of the Mediterranean, Figueras, and Barcelona.

Dumb Show concludes as the mountain mists close over.

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 c**k-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 s*x 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 c*****e 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.

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.