The Dynasts

Act Sixth

SCENE I

THE FIELD OF AUSTERLITZ. THE FRENCH POSITION

[The night is the 1st of December following, and the eve of the

battle. The view is from the elevated position of the Emperor's

bivouac. The air cuts keen and the sky glistens with stars, but

the lower levels are covered with a white fog stretching like a

sea, from which the heights protrude as dusky rocks.

To the left are discernible high and wooded hills. In the front

mid-distance the plateau of Pratzen outstands, declining suddenly

on the right to a low flat country covered with marshes and pools

now mostly obscured. On the plateau itself are seen innumerable

and varying lights, marking the bivouac of the centre divisions

of the Austro-Russian army. Close to the foreground the fires of

the French are burning, surrounded by soldiery. The invisible

presence of the countless thousand of massed humanity that compose

the two armies makes itself felt indefinably.

The tent of NAPOLEON rises nearest at hand, with sentinel and

other military figures looming around, and saddled horses held

by attendants. The accents of the Emperor are audible, through

the canvas from inside, dictating a proclamation.]

VOICE OF NAPOLEON

"Soldiers, the hordes of Muscovy now face you,

To mend the Austrian overthrow at Ulm!

But how so? Are not these the self-same bands

You met and swept aside at Hollabrunn,

And whose retreating forms, dismayed to flight,

Your feet pursued along the trackways here?

"Our own position, massed and menacing,

Is rich in chance for opportune attack;

For, say they march to cross and turn our right--

A course almost at their need--their stretching flank

Will offer us, from points now prearranged---"

VOICE OF A MARSHAL

Shows it, your Majesty, the wariness

That marks your usual far-eye policy,

To openly announce your tactics thus

Some twelve hours ere their form can actualize?

THE VOICE OF NAPOLEON

The zest such knowledge will impart to all

Is worth the risk of leakages. (To Secretary)

Write on.

(Dictation resumed)

"Soldiers, your sections I myself shall lead;

But ease your minds who would expostulate

Against my undue rashness. If your zeal

Sow hot confusion in the hostile files

As your old manner is, and in our rush

We mingle with our foes, I'll use fit care.

Nevertheless, should issues stand at pause

But for a wink-while, that time you will eye

Your Emperor the foremost in the shock,

Taking his risk with every ranksman here.

For victory, men, must be no thing surmised,

As that which may or may not beam on us,

Like noontide sunshine on a dubious morn;

It must be sure!--The honour and the fame

Of France's gay and gallant infantry--

So dear, so cherished all the Empire through--

Binds us to compass it!

Maintain the ranks;

Let none be thinned by impulse or excuse

Of bearing back the wounded: and, in fine,

Be every one in this conviction firm:--

That 'tis our sacred bond to overthrow

These hirelings of a country not their own:

Yea, England's hirelings, they!--a realm stiff-steeled

In deathless hatred of our land and lives.

"The campaign closes with this victory;

And we return to find our standards joined

By vast young armies forming now in France.

Forthwith resistless, Peace establish we,

Worthy of you, the nation, and of me!"

"NAPOLEON."

(To his Marshals)

So shall we prostrate these paid slaves of hers--

England's, I mean--the root of all the war.

VOICE OF MURAT

The further details sent of Trafalgar

Are not assuring.

VOICE OF LANNES

What may the details be?

VOICE OF NAPOLEON (moodily)

We learn that six-and-twenty ships of war,

During the fight and after, struck their flags,

And that the tigerish gale throughout the night

Gave fearful finish to the English rage.

By luck their Nelson's gone, but gone withal

Are twenty thousand prisoners, taken off

To gnaw their finger-nails in British hulks.

Of our vast squadrons of the summer-time

But rags and splintered remnants now remain.--

Thuswise Villeneuve, poor craven, quitted him!

And England puffed to yet more bombastry.

--Well, well; I can't be everywhere. No matter;

A victory's brewing here as counterpoise!

These water-rats may paddle in their salt slush,

And welcome. 'Tis not long they'll have the lead.

Ships can be wrecked by land!

ANOTHER VOICE

And how by land,

Your Majesty, if one may query such?

VOICE OF NAPOLEON (sardonically)

I'll bid all states of Europe shut their ports

To England's arrogant bottoms, slowly starve

Her bloated revenues and monstrous trade,

Till all her hulls lie sodden in their docks,

And her grey island eyes in vain shall seek

One jack of hers upon the ocean plains!

VOICE OF SOULT

A few more master-strokes, your Majesty,

Must be dealt hereabout to compass such!

VOICE OF NAPOLEON

God, yes!--Even here Pitt's guineas are the foes:

'Tis all a duel 'twixt this Pitt and me;

And, more than Russia's host, and Austria's flower,

I everywhere to-night around me feel

As from an unseen monster haunting nigh

His country's hostile breath!--But come: to choke it

By our to-morrow's feats, which now, in brief,

I recapitulate.--First Soult will move

To forward the grand project of the day:

Namely: ascend in echelon, right to front,

With Vandamme's men, and those of Saint Hilaire:

Legrand's division somewhere further back--

Nearly whereat I place my finger here--

To be there reinforced by tirailleurs:

Lannes to the left here, on the Olmutz road,

Supported by Murat's whole cavalry.

While in reserve, here, are the grenadiers

Of Oudinot, the corps of Bernadotte,

Rivaud, Drouet, and the Imperial Guard.

MARSHAL'S VOICES

Even as we understood, Sire, and have ordered.

Nought lags but day, to light our victory!

VOICE OF NAPOLEON

Now let us up and ride the bivouacs round,

And note positions ere the soldiers sleep.

--Omit not from to-morrow's home dispatch

Direction that this blow of Trafalgar

Be hushed in all the news-sheets sold in France,

Or, if reported, let it be portrayed

As a rash fight whereout we came not worst,

But were so broken by the boisterous eve

That England claims to be the conqueror.

[There emerge from the tent NAPOLEON and the marshals, who all

mount the horses that are led up, and proceed through the frost

and time towards the bivouacs. At the Emperor's approach to the

nearest soldiery they spring up.]

SOLDIERS

The Emperor! He's here! The Emperor's here!

AN OLD GRENADIER (approaching Napoleon familiarly)

We'll bring thee Russian guns and flags galore.

To celebrate thy coronation-day!

[They gather into wisps the straw, hay, and other litter on which

they have been lying, and kindling these at the dying fires, wave

them as torches. This is repeated as each fire is reached, till

the whole French position is one wide illumination. The most

enthusiastic of the soldiers follow the Emperor in a throng as

he progresses, and his whereabouts in the vast field is denoted

by their cries.]

CHORUS OF PITIES (aerial music)

Strange suasive pull of personality!

CHORUS OF IRONIC SPIRITS

His projects they unknow, his grin unsee!

CHORUS OF THE PITIES

Their luckless hearts say blindly--He!

[The night-shades close over.]

SCENE II

THE SAME. THE RUSSIAN POSITION

[Midnight at the quarters of FIELD-MARSHAL PRINCE KUTUZOF at

Kresnowitz. An inner apartment is discovered, roughly adapted

as a council-room. On a table with candles is unfolded a large

map of Austerlitz and its environs.

The Generals are assembled in consultation round the table,

WEIROTHER pointing to the map, LANGERON, BUXHOVDEN, and

MILORADOVICH standing by, DOKHTOROF bending over the map,

PRSCHEBISZEWSKY(13) indifferently walking up and down. KUTUZOF,

old and weary, with a scarred face and only one eye, is seated

in a chair at the head of the table, nodding, waking, and

nodding again. Some officers of lower grade are in the

background, and horses in waiting are heard hoofing and champing

outside.

WEIROTHER speaks, referring to memoranda, snuffing the nearest

candle, and moving it from place to place on the map as he

proceeds importantly.]

WEIROTHER

Now here, our right, along the Olmutz Road

Will march and oust our counterfacers there,

Dislodge them from the Sainton Hill, and thence

Advance direct to Brunn.--You heed me, sirs?--

The cavalry will occupy the plain:

Our centre and main strength,--you follow me?--

Count Langeron, Dokhtorof, with Prschebiszewsky

And Kollowrath--now on the Pratzen heights--

Will down and cross the Goldbach rivulet,

Seize Tilnitz, Kobelnitz, and hamlets nigh,

Turn the French right, move onward in their rear,

Cross Schwarsa, hold the great Vienna road:--

So, with the nightfall, centre, right, and left,

Will rendezvous beneath the walls of Brunn.

LANGERON (taking a pinch of snuff)

Good, General; very good!--if Bonaparte

Will kindly stand and let you have your way.

But what if he do not!--if he forestall

These sound slow movements, mount the Pratzen hills

When we descend, fall on OUR rear forthwith,

While we go crying for HIS rear in vain?

KUTUZOF (waking up)

Ay, ay, Weirother; that's the question--eh?

WEIROTHER (impatiently)

If Bonaparte had meant to climb up there,

Being one so spry and so determinate,

He would have set about it ere this eve!

He has not troops to do so, sirs, I say:

His utmost strength is forty thousand men.

LANGERON

Then if so weak, how can so wise a brain

Court ruin by abiding calmly here

The impact of a force so large as ours?

He may be mounting up this very hour!

What think you, General Miloradovich?

MILORADOVICH

I? What's the use of thinking, when to-morrow

Will tell us, with no need to think at all!

WEIROTHER

Pah! At this moment he retires apace.

His fires are dark; all sounds have ceased that way

Save voice of owl or mongrel wintering there.

But, were he nigh, these movements I detail

Would knock the bottom from his enterprize.

KUTUZOF (rising)

Well, well. Now this being ordered, set it going.

One here shall make fair copies of the notes,

And send them round. Colonel van Toll I ask

To translate part.--Generals, it grows full late,

And half-a-dozen hours of needed sleep

Will aid us more than maps. We now disperse,

And luck attend us all. Good-night. Good-night.

[The Generals and other officers go out severally.]

Such plans are--paper! Only to-morrow's light

Reveals the true manoeuvre to my sight!

[He flaps out with his hand all the candles but one or two,

slowly walks outside the house, and listens. On the high

ground in the direction of the French lines are heard shouts,

and a wide illumination grows and strengthens; but the hollows

are still mantled in fog.]

Are these the signs of regiments out of heart,

And beating backward from an enemy!

[He remains pondering. On the Pratzen heights immediately in front

there begins a movement among the Russians, signifying that the plan

which involves desertion of that vantage-ground is about to be put

in force. Noises of drunken singing arise from the Russian lines at

various points elsewhere.

The night shades involve the whole.]

SCENE III

THE SAME. THE FRENCH POSITION

[Shortly before dawn on the morning of the 2nd of December. A

white frost and fog still prevail in the low-lying areas; but

overhead the sky is clear. A dead silence reigns.

NAPOLEON, on a grey horse, closely attended by BERTHIER, and

surrounded by MARSHALS SOULT, LANNES, MURAT, and their aides-de

camp, all cloaked, is discernible in the gloom riding down

from the high ground before Bellowitz, on which they have

bivouacked, to the village of Puntowitz on the Goldbach stream,

quite near the front of the Russian position of the day before

on the Pratzen crest. The Emperor and his companions come to

a pause, look around and upward to the hills, and listen.]

NAPOLEON

Their bivouac fires, that lit the top last night,

Are all extinct.

LANNES

And hark you, Sire; I catch

A sound which, if I err not, means the thing

We have hoped, and hoping, feared fate would not yield!

NAPOLEON

My God, it surely is the tramp of horse

And jolt of cannon downward from the hill

Toward our right here, by the swampy lakes

That face Davout? Thus, as I sketched, they work!

MURAT

Yes! They already move upon Tilnitz.

NAPOLEON

Leave them alone! Nor stick nor stone we'll stir

To interrupt them. Nought that we can scheme

Will help us like their own stark sightlessness!--

Let them get down to those white lowlands there,

And so far plunge in the level that no skill,

When sudden vision flashes on their fault,

Can help them, though despair-stung, to regain

The key to mastery held at yestereve!

Meantime move onward these divisions here

Under the fog's kind shroud; descend the slope,

And cross the stream below the Russian lines:

There halt concealed, till I send down the word.

[NAPOLEON and his staff retire to the hill south-east of Bellowitz

and the day dawns pallidly.]

'Tis good to get above that rimy cloak

And into cleaner air. It chilled me through.

[When they reach the summit they are over the fog: and suddenly

the sun breaks forth to the left of Pratzen, illuminating the

ash-hued face of NAPOLEON and the faces of those around him.

All eyes are turned first to the sun, and thence to look for

the dense masses of men that had occupied the upland the night

before.]

MURAT

I see them not. The plateau seems deserted!

NAPOLEON

Gone; verily!--Ah, how much will you bid,

An hour hence, for the coign abandoned now!

The battle's ours.--It was, then, their rash march

Downwards to Tilnitz and the Goldbach swamps

Before dawn, that we heard.--No hurry, Lannes!

Enjoy this sun, that rests its chubby jowl

Upon the plain, and thrusts its bristling beard

Across the lowlands' fleecy counterpane,

Peering beneath our broadest hat-brims' shade. . . .

Soult, how long hence to win the Pratzen top?

SOULT

Some twenty minutes or less, your Majesty:

Our troops down there, still mantled by the mist,

Are half upon the way.

NAPOLEON

Good! Set forthwith

Vandamme and Saint Hilaire to mount the slopes---

[Firing begins in the marsh to the right by Tilnitz and the pools,

though the thick air yet hides the operations.]

O, there you are, blind boozy Buxhovden!

Achieve your worst. Davout will hold you firm.

[The head of and aide-de-camp rises through the fog on that

side, and he hastens up to NAPOLEON and his companions, to whom

the officer announces what has happened. DAVOUT rides off,

disappearing legs first into the white stratum that covers the

attack.]

Lannes and Murat, you have concern enough

Here on the left, with Prince Bagration

And all the Austro-Russian cavalry.

Haste off. The victory promising to-day

Will, like a thunder-clap, conclude the war!

[The Marshals with their aides gallop away towards their respective

divisions. Soon the two divisions under SOULT are seen ascending

in close column the inclines of the Pratzen height. Thereupon the

heads of the Russian centre columns disclose themselves, breaking

the sky-line of the summit from the other side, in a desperate

attempt to regain the position vacated by the Russian left. A

fierce struggle develops there between SOULT'S divisions and these,

who, despite their tardy attempt to recover the lost post of

dominance, are pressed by the French off the slopes into the

lowland.]

SEMICHORUS I OF THE PITIES (aerial music)

O Great Necessitator, heed us now!

If it indeed must be

That this day Austria smoke with slaughtery,

Quicken the issue as Thou knowest how;

And dull their lodgment in a flesh that galls!

SEMICHORUS II

If it be in the future human story

To lift this man to yet intenser glory,

Let the exploit be done

With the least sting, or none,

To those, his kind, at whose expense such pitch is won!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Again ye deprecate the World-Soul's way

That I so long have told? Then note anew

(Since ye forget) the ordered potencies,

Nerves, sinews, trajects, eddies, ducts of It

The Eternal Urger, pressing change on change.

[At once, as earlier, a preternatural clearness possesses the

atmosphere of the battle-field, in which the scene becomes

anatomized and the living masses of humanity transparent. The

controlling Immanent Will appears therein, as a brain-like

network of currents and ejections, twitching, interpenetrating,

entangling, and thrusting hither and thither the human forms.]

SEMICHORUS I OF IRONIC SPIRITS (aerial music)

O Innocents, can ye forget

That things to be were shaped and set

Ere mortals and this planet met?

SEMICHORUS II

Stand ye apostrophizing That

Which, working all, works but thereat

Like some sublime fermenting-vat.

SEMICHORUS I

Heaving throughout its vast content

With strenuously transmutive bent

Though of its aim insentient?--

SEMICHORUS II

Could ye have seen Its early deeds

Ye would not cry, as one who pleads

For quarter, when a Europe bleeds!

SEMICHORUS I

Ere ye, young Pities, had upgrown

From out the deeps where mortals moan

Against a ruling not their own,

SEMICHORUS II

He of the Years beheld, and we,

Creation's prentice artistry

Express in forms that now unbe

SEMICHORUS I

Tentative dreams from day to day;

Mangle its types, re-knead the clay

In some more palpitating way;

SEMICHORUS II

Beheld the rarest wrecked amain,

Whole nigh-perfected species slain

By those that scarce could boast a brain;

SEMICHORUS I

Saw ravage, growth, diminish, add,

Here peoples sane, there peoples mad,

In choiceless throws of good and bad;

SEMICHORUS II

Heard laughters at the ruthless dooms

Which tortured to the eternal glooms

Quick, quivering hearts in hecatombs.

CHORUS

Us Ancients, then, it ill befits

To quake when Slaughter's spectre flits

Athwart this field of Austerlitz!

SHADE OF THE EARTH

Pain not their young compassions by such lore,

But hold you mute, and read the battle yonder:

The moment marks the day's catastrophe.

SCENE IV

THE SAME. THE RUSSIAN POSITION

[It is about noon, and the vital spectacle is now near the village

of Tilnitz. The fog has dispersed, and the sun shines clearly,

though without warmth, the ice on the pools gleaming under its

radiance.

GENERAL BUXHOVDEN and his aides-de-camp have reined up, and remain

at pause on a hillock. The General watches through a glass his

battalions, which are still disputing the village. Suddenly

approach down the track from the upland of Pratzen large companies

of Russian infantry helter-skelter. COUNT LANGERON is beheld to

be retreating with them; and soon, pale and agitated, he hastens

up to GENERAL BUXHOVDEN, whose face is flushed.]

LANGERON

While they are upon us you stay idle here!

Prschebiszewsky's column is distraught and rent,

And more than half my own made captive! Yea,

Kreznowitz carried, and Sokolnitz hemmed:

The enemy's whole strength will stound you soon!

BUXHOVDEN

You seem to see the enemy everywhere.

LANGERON

You cannot see them, be they here or no!

BUXHOVDEN

I only wait Prschebiszewsky's nearing corps

To join Dokhtorof's to them. Here they come.

[SOULT, supported by BERNADOTTE and OUDINOT, having cleared and

secured the Pratzen height, his battalions are perceived descending

from it on this side, behind DOKHTOROF'S division, so placing the

latter between themselves and the pools.]

LANGERON

You cannot tell the Frenchmen from ourselves!

These are the victors.--Ah--Dokhtorof--lost!

[DOKHTOROF'S troops are seen to be retreating towards the water.

The watchers stand in painful tenseness.]

BUXHOVDEN

Dokhtorof tell to save him as he may!

We, Count, must gather up our shaken flesh

And hurry them by the road through Austerlitz.

[BUXHOVDEN'S regiments and the remains of LANGERON'S are rallied

and collected, and they retreat by way of the hamlet of Aujezd.

As they go over the summit of a hill BUXHOVDEN looks back.

LANGERON'S columns, which were behind his own, have been cut

off by VANDAMME'S division coming down from the Pratzen plateau.

This and some detachments from DOKHTOROF'S column rush towards

the Satschan lake and endeavour to cross it on the ice. It

cracks beneath their weight. At the same moment NAPOLEON and

his brilliant staff appear on the top of the Pratzen.

The Emperor watches the scene with a vulpine smile; and directs

a battery near at hand to fire down upon the ice on which the

Russians are crossing. A ghastly crash and splashing follows

the discharge, the shining surface breaking into pieces like a

mirror, which fly in all directions. Two thousand fugitives are

engulfed, and their groans of despair reach the ears of the

watchers like ironical huzzas.

A general flight of the Russian army from wing to wing is now

disclosed, involving in its current the EMPEROR ALEXANDER and

the EMPEROR FRANCIS, with the reserve, who are seen towards

Austerlitz endeavouring to rally their troops in vain. They

are swept along by the disordered soldiery.]

SCENE V

THE SAME. NEAR THE WINDMILL OF PALENY

[The mill is about seven miles to the southward, between French

advanced posts and the Austrians.

A bivouac fire is burning. NAPOLEON, in grey overcoat and

beaver hat turned up front to back, rides to the spot with

BERTHIER, SAVARY, and his aides, and alights. He walks to

and fro complacently, meditating or talking to BERTHIER. Two

groups of officers, one from each army, stand in the background

on their respective sides.]

NAPOLEON

What's this of Alexander? Weep, did he,

Like his old namesake, but for meaner cause?

Ha, ha!

BERTHIER

Word goes, you Majesty, that Colonel Toll,

One of Field-Marshal Price Kutuzof's staff,

In the retreating swirl of overthrow,

Found Alexander seated on a stone,

Beneath a leafless roadside apple-tree,

Out here by Goding on the Holitsch way;

His coal-black uniform and snowy plume

Unmarked, his face disconsolate, his grey eyes

Mourning in tears the fate of his brave array--

All flying southward, save the steadfast slain.

NAPOLEON

Poor devil!--But he'll soon get over it--

Sooner than his employers oversea!--

Ha!--this well make friend Pitt and England writhe,

And cloud somewhat their lustrous Trafalgar.

[An open carriage approaches from the direction of Holitsch,

accompanied by a small escort of Hungarian guards. NAPOLEON

walks forward to meet it as it draws up, and welcomes the

Austrian Emperor, who alights. He is wearing a grey cloak

over a white uniform, carries a light walking-cane, and is

attended by PRINCE JOHN OF LICHTENSTEIN, SWARZENBERG, and

others. His fresh-coloured face contrasts strangely with the

bluish pallor of NAPOLEON'S; but it is now thin and anxious.

They formally embrace. BERTHIER, PRINCE JOHN, and the rest

retire, and the two Emperors are left by themselves before the

fire.]

NAPOLEON

Here on the roofless ground do I receive you--

My only mansion for these two months past!

FRANCIS

Your tenancy thereof has brought such fame

That it must needs be one which charms you, Sire.

NAPOLEON

Good! Now this war. It has been forced on me

Just at a crisis most inopportune,

When all my energies and arms were bent

On teaching England that her watery walls

Are no defence against the wrath of France

Aroused by breach of solemn covenants.

FRANCIS

I had no zeal for violating peace

Till ominous events in Italy

Revealed the gloomy truth that France aspires

To conquest there, and undue sovereignty.

Since when mine eyes have seen no sign outheld

To signify a change of purposings.

NAPOLEON

Yet there were terms distinctly specified

To General Giulay in November past,

Whereon I'd gladly fling the sword aside.

To wit: that hot armigerent jealousy

Stir us no further on transalpine rule,

I'd take the Isonzo River as our bounds.

FRANCIS

Roundly, that I cede all!--And how may stand

Your views as to the Russian forces here?

NAPOLEON

You have all to lose by that alliance, Sire.

Leave Russia. Let the Emperor Alexander

Make his own terms; whereof the first must be

That he retire from Austrian territory.

I'll grant an armistice therefor. Anon

I'll treat with him to weld a lasting peace,

Based on some simple undertakings; chief,

That Russian armies keep to the ports of his domain.

Meanwhile to you I'll tender this good word:

Keep Austria to herself. To Russia bound,

You pay your own costs with your provinces,

Alexander's likewise therewithal.

FRANCIS

I see as much, and long have seen it, Sire;

And standing here the vanquished, let me own

What happier issues might have left unsaid:

Long, long I have lost the wish to bind myself

To Russia's purposings and Russia's risks;

Little do I count these alliances

With Powers that have no substance seizable!

[As they converse they walk away.]

AN AUSTRIAN OFFICER

O strangest scene of an eventful life,

This junction that I witness here to-day!

An Emperor--in whose majestic veins

Aeneas and the proud Caesarian line

Claim yet to live; and, those scarce less renowned,

The dauntless Hawks'-Hold Counts, of gallantry

So great in fame one thousand years ago--

To bend with deference and manners mild

In talk with this adventuring campaigner,

Raised but by pikes above the common herd!

ANOTHER AUSTRIAN OFFICER

Ay! There be Satschan swamps and Pratzen heights

In royal lines, as here at Austerlitz.

[The Emperors again draw near.]

FRANCIS

Then, to this armistice, which shall be called

Immediately at all points, I agree;

And pledge my word that my august ally

Accept it likewise, and withdraw his force

By daily measured march to his own realm.

NAPOLEON

For him I take your word. And pray believe

That rank ambitions are your own, not mine;

That though I have postured as your enemy,

And likewise Alexander's, we are one

In interests, have in all things common cause.

One country sows these mischiefs Europe through

By her insidious c***k of luring ore--

False-featured England, who, to aggrandize

Her name, her influence, and her revenues,

Schemes to impropriate the whole world's trade,

And starves and bleeds the folk of other lands.

Her rock-rimmed situation walls her off

Like a slim selfish mollusk in its shell

From the wide views and fair fraternities

Which on the mainland we reciprocate,

And quicks her quest for profit in our woes!

FRANCIS

I am not competent, your Majesty,

To estimate that country's conscience now,

Nor engage on my ally's behalf

That English ships be shut from Russian trade.

But joyful am I that in all things else

My promise can be made; and that this day

Our conference ends in friendship and esteem.

NAPOLEON

I will send Savary at to-morrow's blink

And make all lucid to the Emperor.

For us, I wholly can avow as mine

The cordial spirit of your Majesty.

[They retire towards the carriage of FRANCIS. BERTHIER, SAVARY,

LICHTENSTEIN, and the suite of officers advance from the background,

and with mutual gestures of courtesy and amicable leave-takings

the two Emperors part company.]

CHORUS OF THE PITIES (aerial music)

Each for himself, his family, his heirs;

For the wan weltering nations who concerns, who cares?

CHORUS OF IRONIC SPIRITS

A pertinent query, in truth!--

But spoil not the sport by your ruth:

'Tis enough to make half

Yonder zodiac laugh

When rulers begin to allude

To their lack of ambition,

And strong opposition

To all but the general good!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Hush levities. Events press: turn ye westward.

[A nebulous curtain draws slowly across.]

SCENE VI

SHOCKERWICK HOUSE, NEAR BATH

[The interior of the Picture Gallery. Enter WILTSHIRE, the owner,

and Pitt, who looks emaciated and walks feebly.]

WILTSHIRE (pointing to a portrait)

Now here you have the lady we discussed:

A fine example of his manner, sir?

PITT

It is a fine example, sir, indeed,--

With that transparency amid the shades,

And those thin blue-green-grayish leafages

Behind the pillar in the background there,

Which seem the leaves themselves.--Ah, this is Quin.

[Moving to another picture.]

WILTSHIRE

Yes, Quin. A man of varied parts, though rough

And choleric at times. Yet, at his best,

As Falstaff, never matched, they say. But I

Had not the fate to see him in the flesh.

PITT

Churchill well carves him in his "Character":--

"His eyes, in gloomy socket taught to roll,

Proclaimed the sullen habit of his soul.

In fancied scenes, as in Life's real plan,

He could not for a moment sink the man:

Nature, in spite of all his skill, crept in;

Horatio, Dorax, Falstaff--stile 'twas Quin."

--He was at Bath when Gainsborough settled there

In that house in the Circus which we know.--

I like the portrait much.--The brilliancy

Of Gainsborough lies in this his double sway:

Sovereign of landscape he; of portraiture

Joint monarch with Sir Joshua. . . . Ah?--that's--hark!

Is that the patter of horses's hoofs

Along the road?

WILTSHIRE

I notice nothing, sir.

PITT

It is a gallop, growing quite distinct.

And--can it be a messenger for me!

WILTSHIRE

I hope no ugly European news

To stop the honour of this visit, sir!

[They listen. The gallop of the horse grows louder, and is

checked at the door of the house. There is a hasty knocking,

and a courier, splashed with mud from hard riding, is shown

into the gallery. He presents a dispatch to PITT, who sits

down and hurriedly opens it.]

PITT (to himself)

O heavy news indeed! . . . Disastrous; dire!

[He appears overcome as he sits, and covers his forehead with

his hand.]

WILTSHIRE

I trust you are not ill, sir?

PITT (after some moments)

Could I have

A little brandy, sir, quick brought to me?

WILTSHIRE

In one brief minute.

[Brandy is brought in, and PITT takes it.]

PITT

Now leave me, please, alone. I'll call anon.

Is there a map of Europe handy here?

[WILTSHIRE fetches a map from the library, and spreads it before

the minister. WILTSHIRE, courier, and servant go out.]

O God that I should live to see this day!

[He remains awhile in a profound reverie; then resumes the reading

of the dispatch.]

"Defeated--the Allies--quite overthrown

At Austerlitz--last week."--Where's Austerlitz?

--But what avails it where the place is now;

What corpse is curious on the longitude

And situation of his cemetery! . . .

The Austrians and the Russians overcome,

That vast adventuring army is set free

To bend unhindered strength against our strand. . . .

So do my plans through all these plodding years

Announce them built in vain!

His heel on Europe, monarchies in chains

To France, I am as though I had never been!

[He gloomily ponders the dispatch and the map some minutes longer.

At last he rises with difficulty, and rings the bell. A servant

enters.]

Call up my carriage, please you, now at once;

And tell your master I return to Bath

This moment--I may want a little help

In getting to the door here.

SERVANT

Sir, I will,

And summon you my master instantly.

[He goes out and re-enters with WILTSHIRE. PITT is assisted from

the room.]

PITT

Roll up that map. 'Twill not be needed now

These ten years! Realms, laws, peoples, dynasties,

Are churning to a pulp within the maw

Of empire-making Lust and personal Gain!

[Exeunt PITT, WILTSHIRE, and the servant; and in a few minutes the

carriage is heard driving off, and the scene closes.]

SCENE VII

PARIS. A STREET LEADING TO THE TUILERIES

[It is night, and the dim oil lamps reveal a vast concourse of

citizens of both sexes around the Palace gates and in the

neighbouring thoroughfares.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS (to the Spirit of Rumour)

Thou may'st descend and join this crowd awhile,

And speak what things shall come into they mouth.

SPIRIT SINISTER

I'll harken! I wouldn't miss it for the groans on another

Austerlitz!

[The Spirit of Rumour enters on the scene in the disguise of a

young foreigner.]

SPIRIT (to a street-woman)

Lady, a late hour this to be afoot!

WOMAN

Poor profit, then, to me from my true trade,

Wherein hot competition is so rife

Already, since these victories brought to town

So many foreign jobbers in my line,

That I'd best hold my tongue from praise of fame!

However, one is caught by popular zeal,

And though five midnights have not brought a sou,

I, too, chant _Jubilate_ like the rest.--

In courtesies have haughty monarchs vied

Towards the Conqueror! who, with men-at-arms

One quarter theirs, has vanquished by his nerve

Vast mustering four-hundred-thousand strong,

And given new tactics to the art of war

Unparalleled in Europe's history!

SPIRIT

What man is this, whose might thou blazonest so--

Who makes the earth to tremble, shakes old thrones,

And turns the plains to wilderness?

WOMAN

Dost ask

As ignorant, yet asking can define?

What mean you, traveller?

SPIRIT

I am a stranger here,

A wandering wight, whose life has not been spent

This side the globe, though I can speak the tongue.

WOMAN

Your air has truth in't; but your state is strange!

Had I a husband he should tackle thee.

SPIRIT

Dozens thou hast had--batches more than she

Samaria knew, if now thou hast not one!

WOMAN

Wilt take the situation from this hour?

SPIRIT

Thou know'st not what thy frailty asks, good dame!

WOMAN

Well, learn in small the Emperor's chronicle,

As gleaned from what my soldier-husbands say:--

some five-and-forty standards of his foes

Are brought to Paris, borne triumphantly

In proud procession through the surging streets,

Ever as brands of fame to shine aloft

In dim-lit senate-halls and city aisles.

SPIRIT

Fair Munich sparkled with festivity

As there awhile he tarried, and was met

By the gay Josephine your Empress here.--

There, too, Eugene--

WOMAN

Napoleon's stepson he---

SPIRIT

Received for gift the hand of fair Princess

Augusta (daughter of Bavaria's crown,

Forced from her plighted troth to Baden's heir),

And, to complete his honouring, was hailed

Successor to the throne of Italy.

WOMAN

How know you, ere this news has got abroad?

SPIRIT

Channels have I the common people lack.--

There, on the nonce, the forenamed Baden prince

Was joined to Stephanie Beauharnais, her

Who stands as daughter to the man we wait,

Some say as more.

WOMAN

They do? Then such not I.

Can revolution's dregs so soil thy soul

That thou shouldst doubt the eldest son thereof?

'Tis dangerous to insinuate nowadays!

SPIRIT

Right! Lady many-spoused, more charity

Upbrims in thee than in some loftier ones

Who would not name thee with their white-washed tongues.--

Enough. I am one whom, didst thou know my name,

Thou would'st not grudge a claim to speak his mind.

WOMAN

A thousand pardons, sir.

SPIRIT

Resume thy tale

If so thou wishest.

WOMAN

Nay, but you know best---

SPIRIT

How laurelled progress through applauding crowds

Have marked his journey home. How Strasburg town,

Stuttgart, Carlsruhe, acclaimed him like the rest:

How pageantry would here have welcomed him,

Had not his speed outstript intelligence

--Now will a glimpse of him repay thee. Hark!

[Shouts arise and increase in the distance, announcing BONAPARTE'S

approach.]

Well, Buonaparte has revived by land,

But not by sea. On that thwart element

Never will he incorporate his dream,

And float as master!

WOMAN

What shall hinder him?

SPIRIT

That which has hereto. England, so to say.

WOMAN

But she's in straits. She lost her Nelson now,

(A worthy man: he loved a woman well!)

George drools and babbles in a darkened room;

Her heaven-born Minister declines apace;

All smooths the Emperor's sway.

SPIRIT

Tales have two sides,

Sweet lady. Vamped-up versions reach thee here.--

That Austerlitz was lustrous none ignores,

But would it shock thy garrulousness to know

That the true measure of this Trafalgar--

Utter defeat, ay, France's naval death--

Your Emperor bade be hid?

WOMAN

The seer's gift

Has never plenteously endowed me, sir,

As in appearance you. But to plain sense

Thing's seem as stated.

SPIRIT

We'll let seemings be.--

But know, these English take to liquid life

Right patly--nursed therefor in infancy

By rimes and rains which creep into their blood,

Till like seeks like. The sea is their dry land,

And, as on cobbles you, they wayfare there.

WOMAN

Heaven prosper, then, their watery wayfarings

If they'll leave us the land!--(The Imperial carriage appears.)

The Emperor!--

Long live the Emperor!--He's the best by land.

[BONAPARTE'S carriage arrives, without an escort. The street

lamps shine in, and reveal the EMPRESS JOSEPHINE seated beside

him. The plaudits of the people grow boisterous as they hail

him Victor of Austerlitz. The more active run after the carriage,

which turns in from the Rue St. Honore to the Carrousel, and

thence vanishes into the Court of the Tuileries.]

WOMAN

May all success attend his next exploit!

SPIRIT

Namely: to put the knife in England's trade,

And teach her treaty-manners--if he can!

WOMAN

I like not your queer knowledge, creepy man.

There's weirdness in your air. I'd call you ghost

Had not the Goddess Reason laid all such

Past Mother Church's cunning to restore.

--Adieu. I'll not be yours to-night. I'd starve first!

[She withdraws. The crowd wastes away, and the Spirit vanishes.]

SCENE VIII

PUTNEY. BOWLING GREEN HOUSE

[PITT'S bedchamber, from the landing without. It is afternoon.

At the back of the room as seen through the doorway is a curtained

bed, beside which a woman sits, the LADY HESTER STANHOPE. Bending

over a table at the front of the room is SIR WALTER FARQUHAR, the

physician. PARSLOW the footman and another servant are near the

door. TOMLINE, the Bishop of Lincoln, enters.]

FARQUHAR (in a subdued voice)

I grieve to call your lordship up again,

But symptoms lately have disclosed themselves

That mean the knell to the frail life in him.

And whatsoever thing of gravity

It may be needful to communicate,

Let them be spoken now. Time may not serve

If they be much delayed.

TOMLINE

Ah, stands it this? . . .

The name of his disease is--Austerlitz!

His brow's inscription has been Austerlitz

From that dire morning in the month just past

When tongues of rumour twanged the word across

From its hid nook on the Moravian plains.

FARQUHAR

And yet he might have borne it, had the weight

Of governmental shackles been unclasped,

Even partly, from his limbs last Lammastide,

When that despairing journey to the King

At Gloucester Lodge by Wessex shore was made

To beg such. But relief the King refused.

"Why want you Fox? What--Grenville and his friends?"

He harped. "You are sufficient without these--

Rather than Fox, why, give me civil war!"

And fibre that would rather snap than shrink

Held out no longer. Now the upshot nears.

[LADY HESTER STANHOPE turns her head and comes forward.]

LADY HESTER

I am grateful you are here again, good friend!

He's sleeping some light seconds; but once more

Has asked for tidings of Lord Harrowby,

And murmured of his mission to Berlin

As Europe's haggard hope; if, sure, it be

That any hope remain!

TOMLINE

There's no news yet.--

These several days while I have been sitting by him

He has inquired the quarter of the wind,

And where that moment beaked the stable-c**k.

When I said "East," he answered "That is well!

Those are the breezes that will speed him home!"

So cling his heart-strings to his country's cause.

FARQUHAR

I fear that Wellesley's visit here by now

Strung him to tensest strain. He quite broke down,

And has fast faded since.

LADY HESTER

Ah! now he wakes.

Please come and speak to him as you would wish (to TOMLINE).

[LADY HESTER, TOMLINE,and FARQUHAR retire behind the bed, where

in a short time voices are heard in prayer. Afterwards the

Bishop goes to a writing-table, and LADY HESTER comes to the

doorway. Steps are heard on the stairs, and PITT'S friend ROSE,

the President of the Board of Trade, appears on the landing and

makes inquiries.]

LADY HESTER (whispering)

He wills the wardenry of his affairs

To his old friend the Bishop. But his words

Bespeak too much anxiety for me,

And underrate his services so far

That he has doubts if his high deeds deserve

Such size of recognition by the State

As would award slim pensions to his kin.

He had been fain to write down his intents,

But the quill dropped from his unmuscled hand.--

Now his friend Tomline pens what he dictates

And gleans the lippings of his last desires.

[ROSE and LADY HESTER turn. They see the Bishop bending over

the bed with a sheet of paper on which he has previously been

writing. A little later he dips a quill and holds it within

the bed-curtain, spreading the paper beneath. A thin white

hand emerges from behind the curtain and signs the paper. The

Bishop beckons forward the two servants, who also sign.

FARQUHAR on one side of the bed, and TOMLINE on the other, are

spoken to by the dying man. The Bishop afterwards withdraws

from the bed and comes to the landing where the others are.]

TOMLINE

A list of his directions has been drawn,

And feeling somewhat more at mental ease

He asks Sir Walter if he has long to live.

Farquhar just answered, in a soothing tone,

That hope still frailly breathed recovery.

At this my dear friend smiled and shook his head,

As if to say: "I can translate your words,

But I reproach not friendship's lullabies."

ROSE

Rest he required; and rest was not for him.

[FARQUHAR comes forward as they wait.]

FARQUHAR

His spell of concentration on these things,

Determined now, that long have wasted him,

Have left him in a numbing lethargy,

From which I fear he may not rouse to strength

For speech with earth again.

ROSE

But hark. He does.

[The listen.]

PITT

My country! How I leave my country! . . .

TOMLINE

Ah,--

Immense the matter those poor words contain!

ROSE

Still does his soul stay wrestling with that theme,

And still it will, even semi-consciously,

Until the drama's done.

[They continue to converse by the doorway in whispers. PITT

sinks slowly into a stupor, from which he never awakens.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES (to Spirit of the Years)

Do you intend to speak to him ere the close?

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Nay, I have spoke too often! Time and time,

When all Earth's light has lain on the nether side,

And yapping midnight winds have leapt on the roofs,

And raised for him an evil harlequinade

Of national disasters in long train,

That tortured him with harrowing grimace,

Now I would leave him to pass out in peace,

And seek the silence unperturbedly.

SPIRIT SINISTER

Even ITS official Spirit can show ruth

At man's fag end, when his destruction's sure!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

It suits us ill to cavil each with each.

I might retort. I only say to thee

ITS slaves we are: ITS slaves must ever be!

CHORUS (aerial music)

Yea, from the Void we fetch, like these,

And tarry till That please

To null us by Whose stress we emanate.--

Our incorporeal sense,

Our overseeings, our supernal state,

Our readings Why and Whence,

Are but the flower of Man's intelligence;

And that but an unreckoned incident

Of the all-urging Will, raptly magnipotent.

[A gauze of shadow overdraws.]

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.