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 NAPOLÉON 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 NAPOLÉON
“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 NAPOLÉON
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!”
“NAPOLÉON.”
[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 NAPOLÉON [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 NAPOLÉON [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 NAPOLÉON
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 NAPOLÉON
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 NAPOLÉON 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 Napoléon 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 KUTÚZOF 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, BUXHÖVDEN, and
MILORADOVICH standing by, DOKHTÓROF bending over the map,
PRSCHEBISZEWSKY13 indifferently walking up and down. KUTÚZOF,
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, Dokhtórof, 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?
KUTÚZOF [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.
KUTÚZOF [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.
NAPOLÉON, 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.]
NAPOLÉON
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!
NAPOLÉON
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.
NAPOLÉON
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.
[NAPOLÉON 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 NAPOLÉON 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!
NAPOLÉON
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.
NAPOLÉON
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 Buxhövden!
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 NAPOLÉON 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 BUXHÖVDEN 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 BUXHÖVDEN, 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!
BUXHÖVDEN
You seem to see the enemy everywhere.
LANGERON
You cannot see them, be they here or no!
BUXHÖVDEN
I only wait Prschebiszewsky’s nearing corps
To join Dokhtórof’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 DOKHTÓROF’S division, so placing the
latter between themselves and the pools.]
LANGERON
You cannot tell the Frenchmen from ourselves!
These are the victors.—Ah—Dokhtórof—lost!
[DOKHTÓROF’S troops are seen to be retreating towards the water.
The watchers stand in painful tenseness.]
BUXHÖVDEN
Dokhtórof tell to save him as he may!
We, Count, must gather up our shaken flesh
And hurry them by the road through Austerlitz.
[BUXHÖVDEN’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 BUXHÖVDEN 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 DOKHTÓROF’S column rush towards
the Satschan lake and endeavour to cross it on the ice. It
cracks beneath their weight. At the same moment NAPOLÉON 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. NAPOLÉON, 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.]
NAPOLÉON
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 Kutúzof’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.
NAPOLÉON
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. NAPOLÉON
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 NAPOLÉON’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.]
NAPOLÉON
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.
NAPOLÉON
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.
NAPOLÉON
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?
NAPOLÉON
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.
NAPOLÉON
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 chink 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.
NAPOLÉON
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 Joséphine your Empress here.—
There, too, Eugène—
WOMAN
Napoléon’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 JOSÉPHINE 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-cock.
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.]
