NAPOLEON
God–here how difficult it is to die: How easy on the passionate battle-plain!
[They open a window and carry him to it. He mends.]
Fate has resolved what man could not resolve. I must live on, and wait what Heaven may send!
[MACDONALD and other marshals re-enter. A letter is brought from MARIE LOUISE. NAPOLEON reads it, and becomes more animated.
They are well; and they will join me in my exile. Yes: I will live! The future who shall spell? My wife, my son, will be enough for me.– And I will give my hours to chronicling
In stately words that stir futurity The might of our unmatched accomplishments; And in the tale immortalize your names
By linking them with mine.
[He soon falls into a convalescent sleep. The marshals, etc. go out. The room is left in darkness.]
SCENE V
BAYONNE. THE BRITISH CAMP
[The foreground is an elevated stretch of land, dotted over in rows with the tents of the peninsular army. On a parade immediately beyond the tents the infantry are drawn up, awaiting something. Still farther back, behind a brook, are the French soldiery, also ranked in the same manner of reposeful expectation. In the middle- distance we see the town of Bayonne, standing within its zigzag fortifications at the junction of the river Adour with the Nive.
On the other side of the Adour rises the citadel, a fortified angular structure standing detached. A large and brilliant tricolor flag is waving indolently from a staff on the summit. The Bay of Biscay, into which the Adour flows, is seen on the left horizon as a level line.
The stillness observed by the soldiery of both armies, and by everything else in the scene except the flag, is at last broken by the firing of a signal-gun from a battery in the town-wall. The eyes of the thousands present rivet themselves on the citadel. Its waving tricolor moves down the flagstaff and disappears.]
THE REGIMENTS (unconsciously)
Ha-a-a-a!
[In a few seconds there shoots up the same staff another flag–one intended to be white; but having apparently been folded away a long time, it is mildewed and dingy.
From all the guns on the city fortifications a salute peals out. This is responded to by the English infantry and artillery with a feu-de-joie.]
THE REGIMENTS
Hurrah-h-h-h!
[The various battalions are then marched away in their respective directions and dismissed to their tents. The Bourbon standard is hoisted everywhere beside those of England, Spain, and Portugal. The scene shuts.]
SCENE VI
A HIGHWAY IN THE OUTSKIRTS OF AVIGNON
[The Rhone, the old city walls, the Rocher des Doms and its edifices, appear at the back plane of the scene under the grey light of dawn. In the foreground several postillions and ostlers with relays of horses are waiting by the roadside, gazing northward and listening for sounds. A few loungers have assembled.]
FIRST POSTILLION
He ought to be nigh by this time. I should say he’d be very glad to get this here Isle of Elba, wherever it may be, if words be true that he’s treated to such ghastly compliments on’s way!
SECOND POSTILLION
Blast-me-blue, I don’t care what happens to him! Look at Joachim Murat, him that’s made King of Naples; a man who was only in the same line of life as ourselves, born and bred in Cahors, out in Perigord, a poor little whindling place not half as good as our own. Why should he have been lifted up to king’s anointment, and we not even have had a rise in wages? That’s what I say.
FIRST POSTILLION
But now, I don’t find fault with that dispensation in particular. It was one of our calling that the Emperor so honoured, after all, when he might have anointed a tinker, or a ragman, or a street woman’s pensioner even. Who knows but that we should have been king’s too, but for my crooked legs and your running pole-wound?
SECOND POSTILLION
We kings? Kings of the underground country, then, by this time, if we hadn’t been too rotten-fleshed to follow the drum. However, I’ll think over your defence, and I don’t mind riding a stage with him, for that matter, to save him from them that mean mischief here. I’ve lost no sons by his battles, like some others we know.
[Enter a TRAVELLER on horseback.]
Any tidings along the road, sir of the Emperor Napoleon that was?
TRAVELLER
Tidings verily! He and his escort are threatened by the mob at every place they come to. A returning courier I have met tells me that at an inn a little way beyond here they have strung up his effigy to the sign-post, smeared it with blood, and placarded it “The Doom that awaits Thee!” He is much delayed by such humorous insults. I have hastened ahead to escape the uproar.
SECOND POSTILLION
I don’t know that you have escaped it. The mob has been waiting up all night for him here.
MARKET-WOMAN (coming up)
I hope by the Virgin, as ‘a called herself, that there’ll be no riots here! Though I have not much pity for a man who could treat his wife as he did, and that’s my real feeling. He might at least have kept them both on, for half a husband is better than none for poor women. But I’d show mercy to him, that’s true, rather than have my stall upset, and messes in the streets wi’ folks’ brains, and stabbings, and I don’t know what all!
FIRST POSTILLION
If we can do the horsing quietly out here, there will be none of that. He’ll dash past the town without stopping at the inn where they expect to waylay him.–Hark, what’s this coming?
[An approaching cortege is heard. Two couriers enter; then a carriage with NAPOLEON and BERTRAND; then others with the Commissioners of the Powers,–all on the way to Elba.
The carriages halt, and the change of horses is set about instantly. But before it is half completed BONAPARTE’S arrival gets known, and throngs of men and women armed with sticks and hammers rush out of Avignon and surround the carriages.]
POPULACE
Ogre of Corsica! Odious tyrant! Down with Nicholas!
BERTRAND (looking out of carriage)
Silence, and doff your hats, you ill-mannered devils!
POPULACE (scornfully)
Listen to him! Is that the Corsican? No; where is he? Give him up; give him up! We’ll pitch him into the Rhone!
[Some cling to the wheels of NAPOLEON’S carriage, while others, more distant, throw stones at it. A stone breaks the carriage window.]
OLD WOMAN (shaking her fist)
Give me back my two sons, murderer! Give me back my children, whose flesh is rotting on the Russian plains!
POPULACE
Ay; give us back our kin–our fathers, our brothers, our sons– victims to your curst ambition!
[One of the mob seizes the carriage door-handle and tries to unfasten it. A valet of BONAPARTE’S seated on the box draws his sword and threatens to cut the man’s arm off. The doors of the Commissioners’ coaches open, and SIR NEIL CAMPBELL, GENERAL KOLLER, and COUNT SCHUVALOFF–The English, Austrian, and Russian Commissioners–jump out and come forward.]
CAMPBELL
Keep order, citizens! Do you not know That the ex-Emperor is wayfaring
To a lone isle, in the Allies’ sworn care, Who have given a pledge to Europe for his safety? His fangs being drawn, he is left powerless now To do you further harm.
SCHUVALOFF
People of France
Can you insult so miserable a being? He who gave laws to a cowed world stands now At that world’s beck, and asks its charity. Cannot you see that merely to ignore him Is the worst ignominy to tar him with,
By showing him he’s no longer dangerous?
OLD WOMAN
How do we know the villain mayn’t come back? While there is life, my faith, there’s mischief in him!
[Enter an officer with the Town-guard.]
OFFICER
Citizens, I am a zealot for the Bourbons, As you well know. But wanton breach of faith I will not brook. Retire!
[The soldiers drive back the mob and open a passage forward. The Commissioners re-enter their carriages. NAPOLEON puts his head out of his window for a moment. He is haggard, shabbily dressed, yellow-faced, and wild-eyed.]
NAPOLEON
I thank you, captain;
Also your soldiery: a thousand thanks! (To Bertrand within) My God, these people of Avignon here Are headstrong fools, like all the Provencal fold, –I won’t go through the town!
BERTRAND
We’ll round it, sire;
And then, as soon as we get past the place, You must disguise for the remainder miles.
NAPOLEON
I’ll mount the white cockade if they invite me! What does it matter if I do or don’t?
In Europe all is past and over with me. . . . Yes–all is lost in Europe for me now!
BERTRAND
I fear so, sire.
NAPOLEON (after some moments)
But Asia waits a man,
And–who can tell?
OFFICER OF GUARD (to postillions)
Ahead now at full speed,
And slacken not till you have slipped the town.
[The postillions urge the horses to a gallop, and the carriages are out of sight in a few seconds. The scene shuts.]
SCENE VII
MALMAISON. THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE’S BEDCHAMBER
[The walls are in white panels, with gilt mouldings, and the furniture is upholstered in white silk with needle-worked flowers. The long windows and the bed are similarly draped, and the toilet service is of gold. Through the panes appears a broad flat lawn adorned with vases and figures on pedestals, and entirely surrounded by trees–just now in their first fresh green under the morning rays of Whitsunday. The notes of an organ are audible from a chapel below, where the Pentecostal Mass is proceeding.
JOSEPHINE lies in the bed in an advanced stage of illness, the ABBE BERTRAND standing beside her. Two ladies-in-waiting are seated near. By the door into the ante-room, which is ajar, HOREAU the physician-in-ordinary and BOURDOIS the consulting physician are engaged in a low conversation.]
HOREAU
Lamoureux says that leeches would have saved her Had they been used in time, before I came. In that case, then, why did he wait for me?
BOURDOIS
Such whys are now too late! She is past all hope. I doubt if aught had helped her. Not disease, But heart-break and repinings are the blasts That wither her long bloom. Soon we must tell The Queen Hortense the worst, and the Viceroy.
HOREAU
Her death was made the easier task for grief (As I regarded more than probable)
By her rash rising from a sore-sick bed And donning thin and dainty May attire
To hail King Frederick-William and the Tsar As banquet-guests, in the old regnant style. A woman’s innocent vanity!–but how dire. She argued that amenities of State
Compelled the effort, since they had honoured her By offering to come. I stood against it, Pleaded and reasoned, but to no account. Poor woman, what she did or did not do
Was of small moment to the State by then! The Emperor Alexander has been kind
Throughout his stay in Paris. He came down But yester-eve, of purpose to inquire.
BOURDOIS
Wellington is in Paris, too, I learn, After his wasted battle at Toulouse.
HOREAU
Has his Peninsular army come with him?
BOURDOIS
I hear they have shipped it to America, Where England has another war on hand.
We have armies quite sufficient here already– Plenty of cooks for Paris broth just now! –Come, call we Queen Hortense and Prince Eugene.
[Exeunt physicians. The ABBE BERTRAND also goes out. JOSEPHINE murmurs faintly.]
FIRST LADY (going to the bedside)
I think I heard you speak, your Majesty?
JOSEPHINE
I asked what hour it was—if dawn or eve?
FIRST LADY
Ten in the morning, Madame. You forget You asked the same but a brief while ago.
JOSEPHINE
Did I? I thought it was so long ago! . . . I wish to go to Elba with him so much,
But the Allies prevented me. And why? I would not have disgraced him, or themselves! I would have gone to him at Fontainebleau, With my eight horses and my household train In dignity, and quitted him no more. . . . Although I am his wife no longer now,
I think I should have gone in spite of them, Had I not feared perversions might be sown Between him and the woman of his choice
For whom he sacrificed me.
SECOND LADY
It is more
Than she thought fit to do, your Majesty.
JOSEPHINE
Perhaps she was influenced by her father’s ire, Or diplomatic reasons told against her.
And yet I was surprised she should allow Aught secondary on earth to hold her from A husband she has outwardly, at least,
Declared attachment to.
FIRST LADY
Especially,
With ever one at hand–his son and hers– Reminding her of him.
JOSEPHINE
Yes. . . . Glad am I
I saw that child of theirs, though only once. But–there was not full truth–not quite, I fear– In what I told the Emperor that day
He led him to me at Bagatelle,
That ’twas the happiest moment of my life. I ought not to have said it. No! Forsooth My feeling had too, too much gall in it
To let truth shape like that!–I also said That when my arms were round him I forgot That I was not his mother. So spoke I,
But oh me,–I remembered it too well!– He was a lovely child; in his fond prate His father’s voice was eloquent. One might say I am well punished for my sins against him!
SECOND LADY
You have harmed no creature, madame; much less him!
JOSEPHINE
O but you don’t quite know! . . . My coquetries In our first married years nigh racked him through. I cannot think how I could wax so wicked! . . . He begged me come to him in Italy,
But I liked flirting in fair Paris best, And would not go. The independent spouse At that time was myself; but afterwards
I grew to be the captive, he the free. Always ’tis so: the man wins finally!
My faults I’ve ransomed to the bottom sou If ever a woman did! . . . I’ll write to him– I must–again, so that he understands.
Yes, I’ll write now. Get me a pen and paper.
FIRST LADY (to Second Lady)
‘Tis futile! She is too far gone to write; But we must humour her.
[They fetch writing materials. On returning to the bed they find her motionless. Enter EUGENE and QUEEN HORTENSE. Seeing the state their mother is in, they fall down on their knees by her bed. JOSEPHINE recognizes them and smiles. Anon she is able to speak again.]
JOSEPHINE (faintly)
I am dying, dears;
And do not mind it–notwithstanding that I feel I die regretted. You both love me!– And as for France, I ever have desired
Her welfare, as you know–have wrought all things A woman’s scope could reach to forward it. . . . And to you now who watch my ebbing here, Declare I that Napoleon’s first-chose wife Has never caused her land a needless tear. Tell him–these things I have said–bear him my love– Tell him–I could not write!
[An interval. She spasmodically flings her arms over her son and daughter, lets them fall, and becomes unconscious. They fetch a looking-glass, and find that her breathing has ceased. The clock of the Chateau strikes noon. The scene is veiled.]
SCENE VIII
LONDON. THE OPERA HOUSE
[The house is lighted up with a blaze of wax candles, and a State performance is about to begin in honour of the Allied sovereigns now on a visit to England to celebrate the Peace. Peace-devices adorn the theatre. A band can be heard in the street playing “The White Cockade.”
An extended Royal box has been formed by removing the partitions of adjoining boxes. It is empty as yet, but the other parts of the house are crowded to excess, and somewhat disorderly, the interior doors having been broken down by besiegers, and many people having obtained admission without payment. The prevalent costume of the ladies is white satin and diamonds, with a few in lilac.
The curtain rises on the first act of the opera of “Aristodemo,” MADAME GRASSINI and SIGNOR TRAMEZZINI being the leading voices. Scarcely a note of the performance can be heard amid the exclamations of persons half suffocated by the pressure.
At the end of the first act there follows a divertissement. The curtain having fallen, a silence of expectation succeeds. It is a little past ten o’clock.
Enter the Royal box the PRINCE REGENT, accompanied by the EMPEROR OF RUSSIA, demonstrative in manner now as always, the KING OF PRUSSIA, with his mien of reserve, and many minor ROYAL PERSONAGES of Europe. There are moderate acclamations. At their back and in neighbouring boxes LORD LIVERPOOL, LORD CASTLEREAGH, officers in the suite of the sovereigns, interpreters, and others take their places.
The curtain rises again, and the performers are discovered drawn up in line on the stage. They sing “God save the King.” The sovereigns stand up, bow, and resume their seats amid more applause.]
A VOICE (from the gallery)
Prinny, where’s your wife? (Confusion.)
EMPEROR OF RUSSIA (to Regent)
To which of us is the inquiry addressed, Prince?
PRINCE REGENT
To you, sire, depend upon’t–by way of compliment.
[The second act of the Opera proceeds.]
EMPEROR OF RUSSIA
Any later news from Elba, sir?
PRINCE REGENT
Nothing more than rumours, which, ‘pon my honour, I can hardly credit. One is that Bonaparte’s valet has written to say the ex-Emperor is becoming imbecile, and is an object of ridicule to the inhabitants of the island.
KING OF PRUSSIA
A blessed result, sir, if true. If he is not imbecile he is worse –planning how to involve Europe in another way. It was a short- sighted policy to offer him a home so near as to ensure its becoming a hot-bed of intrigue and conspiracy in no long time!
PRINCE REGENT
The ex-Empress, Marie-Louise, hasn’t joined him after all, I learn. Has she remained at Schonbrunn since leaving France, sires?
EMPEROR OF RUSSIA
Yes, sir; with her son. She must never go back to France. Metternich and her father will know better than let her do that. Poor young thing, I am sorry for her all the same. She would have joined Napoleon if she had been left to herself.–And I was sorry for the other wife, too. I called at Malmaison a few days before she died. A charming woman! SHE would have gone to Elba or to the devil with him. Twenty thousand people crowded down from Paris to see her lying in state last week.
PRINCE REGENT
Pity she didn’t have a child by him, by God.
KING OF PRUSSIA
I don’t think the other one’s child is going to trouble us much. But I wish Bonaparte himself had been sent farther away.
PRINCE REGENT
Some of our Government wanted to pack him off to St. Helena–an island somewhere in the Atlantic, or Pacific, or Great South Sea. But they were over-ruled. ‘Twould have been a surer game.
EMPEROR OF RUSSIA
One hears strange stories of his saying and doings. Some of my people were telling me to-day that he says it is to Austria that he really owes his fall, and that he ought to have destroyed her when he had her in his power.
PRINCE REGENT
Dammy, sire, don’t ye think he owes his fall to his ambition to humble England by rupture of the Peace of Amiens, and trying to invade us, and wasting his strength against us in the Peninsula?
EMPEROR OF RUSSIA
I incline to think, with the greatest deference, that it was Moscow that broke him.
KING OF PRUSSIA
The rejection of my conditions in the terms of peace at Prague, sires, was the turning-point towards his downfall.
[Enter a box on the opposite side of the house the PRINCESS OF WALES, attended by LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL, SIR W. GELL, and others. Louder applause now rings through the theatre, drowning the sweet voice of the GRASSINI in “Aristodemo.”]
LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL
It is meant for your Royal Highness!
PRINCESS OF WALES
I don’t think so, my dear. Punch’s wife is nobody when Punch himself is present.
LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL
I feel convinced that it is by their looking this way.
SIR W. GELL
Surely ma’am you will acknowledge their affection? Otherwise we may be hissed.
PRINCESS OF WALES
I know my business better than to take that morsel out of my husband’s mouth. There–you see he enjoys it! I cannot assume that it is meant for me unless they call my name.
[The PRINCE REGENT rises and bows, the TSAR and the KING OF PRUSSIA doing the same.]
LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL
He and the others are bowing for you, ma’am!
PRINCESS OF WALES
Mine God, then; I will bow too! (She rises and bends to them.)
PRINCE REGENT
She thinks we rose on her account.–A damn fool. (Aside.)
EMPEROR OF RUSSIA
What–didn’t we? I certainly rose in homage to her.
PRINCE REGENT
No, sire. We were supposed to rise to the repeated applause of the people.
EMPEROR OF RUSSIA
H’m. Your customs sir, are a little puzzling. . . . (To the King of Prussia.) A fine-looking woman! I must call upon the Princess of Wales to-morrow.
KING OF PRUSSIA
I shall, at any rate, send her my respects by my chamberlain.
PRINCE REGENT (stepping back to Lord Liverpool)
By God, Liverpool, we must do something to stop ’em! They don’t know what a laughing-stock they’ll make of me if they go to her. Tell ’em they had better not.
LIVERPOOL
I can hardly tell them now, sir, while we are celebrating the Peace and Wellington’s victories.
PRINCE REGENT
Oh, damn the peace, and damn the war, and damn Boney, and damn Wellington’s victories!–the question is, how am I to get over this infernal woman!–Well, well,–I must write, or send Tyrwhitt to- morrow morning, begging them to abandon the idea of visiting her for politic reasons.
[The Opera proceeds to the end, and is followed by a hymn and chorus laudatory to peace. Next a new ballet by MONSIEUR VESTRIS, in which M. ROZIER and MADAME ANGIOLINI dance a pas-de-deux. Then the Sovereigns leave the theatre amid more applause.
The pit and gallery now call for the PRINCESS OF WALES unmistakably. She stand up and is warmly acclaimed, returning three stately curtseys.]
A VOICE
Shall we burn down Carlton House, my dear, and him in it?
PRINCESS OF WALES
No, my good folks! Be quiet. Go home to your beds, and let me do the same.
[After some difficulty she gets out of the house. The people thin away. As the candle-snuffers extinguish the lights a shouting is heard without.]
VOICES OF CROWD
Long life to the Princess of Wales! Three cheers for a woman wronged!
[The Opera-house becomes lost in darkness.]
ACT FIFTH
SCENE I
ELBA. THE QUAY, PORTO FERRAJO
[Night descends upon a beautiful blue cove, enclosed on three sides by mountains. The port lies towards the western (right-hand) horn of the concave, behind it being the buildings of the town; their long white walls and rows of windows rise tier above tier on the steep incline at the back, and are intersected by narrow alleys and flights of steps that lead up to forts on the summit.
Upon a rock between two of these forts stands the Palace of the Mulini, NAPOLEONS’S residence in Ferrajo. Its windows command the whole town and the port.]
CHORUS OF IRONIC SPIRITS (aerial music)
The Congress of Vienna sits,
And war becomes a war of wits,
Where every Power perpends withal Its dues as large, its friends’ as small; Till Priests of Peace prepare once more To fight as they have fought before!
In Paris there is discontent;
Medals are wrought that represent One now unnamed. Men whisper, “He
Who once has been, again will be!”
DUMB SHOW
Under cover of the dusk there assembles in the bay a small flotilla comprising a brig called _l’Inconstant_ and several lesser vessels.
SPIRIT OF RUMOUR
The guardian on behalf of the Allies Absents himself from Elba. Slow surmise Too vague to pen, too actual to ignore, Have strained him hour by hour, and more and more. He takes the sea to Florence, to declare His doubts to Austria’s ministrator there.
SPIRIT IRONIC
When he returns, Napoleon will be–where?
Boats put off from these ships to the quay, where are now discovered to have silently gathered a body of grenadiers of the Old Guard. The faces of DROUOT and CAMBRONNE are revealed by the occasional fleck of a lantern to be in command of them. They are quietly taken aboard the brig, and a number of men of different arms to the other vessels.
CHORUS OF RUMOURS (aerial music)
Napoleon is going,
And nought will prevent him;
He snatches the moment
Occasion has lent him!
And what is he going for,
Worn with war’s labours?
–To reconquer Europe
With seven hundred sabres.
About eight o’clock we observe that the windows of the Palace of the Mulini are lighted and open, and that two women sit at them: the EMPEROR’S mother and the PRINCESS PAULINE. They wave adieux to some one below, and in a short time a little open low-wheeled carriage, drawn by the PRINCESS PAULINE’S two ponies, descends from the house to the port. The crowd exclaims “The Emperor!” NAPOLEON appears in his grey great-coat, and is much fatter than when he left France. BERTRAND sits beside him.
He quickly alights and enters the waiting boat. It is a tense moment. As the boat rows off the sailors sing the Marseillaise, and the gathered inhabitants join in. When the boat reaches the brig its sailors join in also, and shout “Paris or death!” Yet the singing has a melancholy cadence. A gun fires as a signal of departure. The night is warm and balmy for the season. Not a breeze is there to stir a sail, and the ships are motionless.
CHORUS OF RUMOURS
Haste is salvation;
And still he stays waiting:
The calm plays the tyrant,
His venture belating!
Should the corvette return
With the anxious Scotch colonel, Escape would be frustrate,
Retention eternal.
Four aching hours are spent thus. NAPOLEON remains silent on the deck, looking at the town lights, whose reflections bore like augers into the water of the bay. The sails hang flaccidly. Then a feeble breeze, then a strong south wind, begins to belly the sails; and the vessels move.
CHORUS OF RUMOURS
The south wind, the south wind,
The south wind will save him,
Embaying the frigate
Whose speed would enslave him;
Restoring the Empire
That fortune once gave him!
The moon rises and the ships silently disappear over the horizon as it mounts higher into the sky.
SCENE II
VIENNA. THE IMPERIAL PALACE
[The fore-part of the scene is the interior of a dimly lit gallery with an openwork screen or grille on one side of it that commands a bird’s-eye view of the grand saloon below. At present the screen is curtained. Sounds of music and applause in the saloon ascend into the gallery, and an irradiation from the same quarter shines up through chinks in the curtains of the grille.
Enter the gallery MARIE LOUISE and the COUNTESS OF BRIGNOLE, followed by the COUNT NEIPPERG, a handsome man of forty two with a bandage over one eye.]
COUNTESS OF BRIGNOLE
Listen, your Majesty. You gather all
As well as if you moved amid them there, And are advantaged with free scope to flit The moment the scene palls.
MARIE LOUISE
Ah, my dear friend,
To put it so is flower-sweet of you; But a fallen Empress, doomed to furtive peeps At scenes her open presence would unhinge, Reads not much interest in them! Yet, in truth, ‘Twas gracious of my father to arrange
This glimpse-hole for my curiosity. –But I must write a letter ere I look;
You can amuse yourself with watching them.– Count, bring me pen and paper. I am told Madame de Montesquiou has been distressed By some alarm; I write to ask its shape.
[NEIPPERG spreads writing materials on a table, and MARIE LOUISE sits. While she writes he stays near her. MADAME DE BRIGNOLE goes to the screen and parts the curtains.
The light of a thousand candles blazes up into her eyes from below. The great hall is decorated in white and silver, enriched by evergreens and flowers. At the end a stage is arranged, and Tableaux Vivants are in progress thereon, representing the history of the House of Austria, in which figure the most charming women of the Court.
There are present as spectators nearly all the notables who have assembled for the Congress, including the EMPEROR OF AUSTRIA himself, has gay wife, who quite eclipses him, the EMPEROR ALEXANDER, the KING OF PRUSSIA–still in the mourning he has never abandoned since the death of QUEEN LUISA,–the KING OF BAVARIA and his son, METTERNICH, TALLEYRAND, WELLINGTON, NESSELRODE, HARDENBERG; and minor princes, ministers, and officials of all nations.]
COUNTESS OF BRIGNOLE (suddenly from he grille)
Something has happened–so it seems, madame! The Tableau gains no heed from them, and all Turn murmuring together.
MARIE LOUISE
What may be?
[She rises with languid curiosity, and COUNT NEIPPERG adroitly takes her hand and leads her forward. All three look down through the grille.]
NEIPPERG
some strange news, certainly, your Majesty, Is being discussed.–I’ll run down and inquire.
MARIE LOUISE (playfully)
Nay–stay here. We shall learn soon enough.
NEIPPERG
Look at their faces now. Count Metternich Stares at Prince Talleyrand–no muscle moving. The King of Prussia blinks bewilderedly
Upon Lord Wellington.
MARIE LOUISE (concerned)
Yes; so it seems. . . .
They are thunderstruck. See, though the music beats, The ladies of the Tableau leave their place, And mingle with the rest, and quite forget That they are in masquerade. The sovereigns show By far the gravest mien. . . . I wonder, now, If it has aught to do with me or mine?
Disasters mostly have to do with me!
COUNTESS OF BRIGNOLE
Those rude diplomists from England there, At your Imperial father’s consternation, And Russia’s, and the King of Prussia’s gloom, Shake shoulders with hid laughter! That they call The English sense of humour, I infer,–
To see a jest in other people’s troubles!
MARIE LOUISE (hiding her presages)
They ever take things thus phlegmatically: The safe sea minimizes Continental scare In their regard. I wish it did in mine!
But Wellington laughs not, as I discern.
NEIPPERG
Perhaps, though fun for the other English here, It means new work for him. Ah–notice now The music makes no more pretence to play! Sovereigns and ministers have moved apart, And talk, and leave the ladies quite aloof– Even the Grand Duchesses and Empress, all– Such mighty cogitations trance their minds!
MARIE LOUISE (with more anxiety)
Poor ladies; yea, they draw into the rear, And whisper ominous words among themselves! Count Neipperg–I must ask you now–go glean What evil lowers. I am riddled through
With strange surmises and more strange alarms!
[The COUNTESS OF MONTESQUIOU enters.]
Ah–we shall learn it now. Well–what, madame?
COUNTESS OF MONTESQUIOU (breathlessly)
Your Majesty, the Emperor Napoleon
Has vanished from Elba! Wither flown, And how, and why, nobody says or knows.
MARIE LOUISE (sinking into a chair)
My divination pencilled on my brain
Something not unlike that! The rigid mien That mastered Wellington suggested it. . . . Complicity will be ascribed to me,
Unwitting though I stand! . . . (A pause.) He’ll not succeed!
And my fair plans for Parma will be marred, And my son’s future fouled!–I must go hence, And instantly declare to Metternich
That I know nought of this; and in his hands Place me unquestioningly, with dumb assent To serve the Allies. . . . Methinks that I was born Under an evil-coloured star, whose ray
Darts death at joys!–Take me away, Count.–You (to the ladies) Can stay and see the end.
[Exeunt MARIE LOUISE and NEIPPERG. MESDAMES DE MONTESQUIOU and DE BRIGNOLE go to the grille and watch and listen.]
VOICE OF ALEXANDER (below)
I told you, Prince, that it would never last!
VOICE OF TALLEYRAND
Well, sire, you should have sent him to the Azores, Or the Antilles, or best, Saint-Helena.
VOICE OF THE KING OF PRUSSIA
Instead, we send him but two days from France, Give him an island as his own domain,
A military guard of large resource, And millions for his purse!
ANOTHER VOICE
The immediate cause
Must be a negligence in watching him. The British Colonel Campbell should have seen That apertures for flight were wired and barred To such a cunning bird!
ANOTHER VOICE
By all report
He took the course direct to Naples Bay.
VOICES (of new arrivals)
He has made his way to France–so all tongues tell– And landed there, at Cannes! (Excitement.)
COUNTESS OF BRIGNOLE
Do now but note
How cordial intercourse resolves itself To sparks of sharp debate! The lesser guests Are fain to steal unnoticed from a scene Wherein they feel themselves as surplusage Beside the official minds.–I catch a sign The King of Prussia makes the English Duke; They leave the room together.
COUNTESS OF MONTESQUIOU
Yes; wit wanes,
And all are going–Prince Talleyrand, The Emperor Alexander, Metternich,
The Emperor Francis. . . . So much for the Congress! Only a few blank nobodies remain,
And they seem terror-stricken. . . . Blackly ends Such fair festivities. The red god War
Stalks Europe’s plains anew!
[The curtain of the grille is dropped. MESDAMES DE MONTESQUIOU and DE BRIGNOLE leave the gallery. The light is extinguished there and the scene disappears.]
SCENE III
LA MURE, NEAR GRENOBLE
[A lonely road between a lake and some hills, two or three miles outside the village of la Mure, is discovered. A battalion of the Fifth French royalist regiment of the line under COMMANDANT LESSARD, is drawn up in the middle of the road with a company of sappers and miners, comprising altogether about eight hundred men.
Enter to them from the south a small detachment of lancers with an aide-de-camp at their head. They ride up to within speaking distance.]
LESSARD
They are from Bonaparte. Present your arms!
AIDE (calling)
We’d parley on Napoleon’s behalf,
And fain would ask you join him.
LESSARD
Al parole
With rebel bands the Government forbids. Come five steps further and we fire!
AIDE
To France,
And to posterity through fineless time, Must you then answer for so foul a blow
Against the common weal!
[NAPOLEON’S aide-de-camp and the lancers turn about and ride back out of sight. The royalist troops wait. Presently there reappears from the same direction a small column of soldiery, representing the whole of NAPOLEON’S little army shipped from Elba. It is divided into an advance-guard under COLONEL MALLET, and two bodies behind, a troop of Polish lancers under COLONEL JERMANWSKI on the right side of the road, and some officers without troops on the left, under MAJOR PACCONI.
NAPOLEON rides in the midst of the advance-guard, in the old familiar “redingote grise,” cocked hat, and tricolor cockade, his well-known profile keen against the hills. He is attended by GENERALS BERTRAND, DROUOT, and CAMBRONNE. When they get within gun-shot of the royalists the men are halted. NAPOLEON dismounts and steps forward.]
NAPOLEON
Direct the men
To lodge their weapons underneath the arm, Points downward. I shall not require them here.
COLONEL MALLET
Sire, is it not a needless jeopardy
To meet them thus? The sentiments of these We do not know, and the first trigger pressed May end you.
NAPOLEON
I have thought it out, my friend, And value not my life as in itself,
But as to France, severed from whose embrace] I am dead already.
[He repeats the order, which is carried out. There is a breathless silence, and people from the village gather round with tragic expectations. NAPOLEON walks on alone towards the Fifth battalion, Throwing open his great-coat and revealing his uniform and the ribbon of the Legion of Honour. Raising his hand to his hat he salutes.]
LESSARD
Present arms!
[The firelocks of the royalist battalion are levelled at NAPOLEON.]
NAPOLEON (still advancing)
Men of the Fifth,
See–here I am! . . . Old friends, do you not know me? If there be one among you who would slay His Chief of proud past years, let him come on And do it now! (A pause.)
LESSARD (to his next officer)
They are death-white at his words! They’ll fire not on this man. And I am helpless.
SOLDIERS (suddenly)
Why yes! We know you, father. Glad to see ye! The Emperor for ever! Ha! Huzza!
[They throw their arms upon the ground, and, rushing forward, sink down and seize NAPOLEON’S knees and kiss his hands. Those who cannot get near him wave their shakos and acclaim him passionately. BERTRAND, DROUOT, and CAMBRONNE come up.]
NAPOLEON (privately)
All is accomplished, Bertrand! Ten days more, And we are snug within the Tuileries.
[The soldiers tear out their white cockades and trample on them, and disinter from the bottom of their knapsacks tricolors, which they set up.
NAPOLEON’S own men now arrive, and fraternize with and embrace the soldiers of the Fifth. When the emotion has subsided, NAPOLEON forms the whole body into a square and addresses them.]
Soldiers, I came with these few faithful ones To save you from the Bourbons,–treasons, tricks, Ancient abuses, feudal tyranny–
From which I once of old delivered you. The Bourbon throne is illegitimate
Because not founded on the nation’s will, But propped up for the profit of a few.
Comrades, is this not so?
A GRENADIER
Yes, verily, sire.
You are the Angel of the Lord to us; We’ll march with you to death or victory! (Shouts.)
[At this moment a howling dog crosses in front of them with a cockade tied to its tail. The soldiery of both sides laugh loudly.
NAPOLEON forms both bodies of troops into one column. Peasantry run up with buckets of sour wine and a single glass; NAPOLEON takes his turn with the rank and file in drinking from it. He bids the whole column follow him to Grenoble and Paris. Exeunt soldiers headed by NAPOLEON. The scene shuts.]
SCENE IV
SCHONBRUNN
[The gardens of the Palace. Fountains and statuary are seen around, and the Gloriette colonnade rising against the sky on a hill behind.
The ex-EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE is discovered walking up and down. Accompanying her is the KING OF ROME–now a blue-eye, fair-haired child–in the charge of the COUNTESS OF MONTESQUIOU. Close by is COUNT NEIPPERG, and at a little distance MENEVAL, her attendant and Napoleon’s adherent.
The EMPEROR FRANCIS and METTERNICH enter at the other end of the parterre.]
MARIE LOUISE (with a start)
Here are the Emperor and Prince Metternich. Wrote you as I directed?
NEIPPERG
Promptly so.
I said your Majesty had not part
In this mad move of your Imperial spouse, And made yourself a ward of the Allies;
Adding, that you had vowed irrevocably To enter France no more.
MARIE LOUISE
Your worthy zeal
Has been a trifle swift. My meaning stretched Not quite so far as that. . . . And yet–and yet It matters little. Nothing matters much!
[The EMPEROR and METTERNICH come forward. NEIPPERG retires.]
FRANCIS
My daughter, you did not a whit too soon Voice your repudiation. Have you seen
What the allies have papered Europe with?
MARIE LOUISE
I have seen nothing.
FRANCIS
Please you read it, Prince.
METTERNICH (taking out a paper)
“The Powers assembled at the Congress here Owe it to their own troths and dignities, And to the furtherance of social order,
To make a solemn Declaration, thus: By breaking the convention as to Elba,
Napoleon Bonaparte forthwith destroys His only legal title to exist,
And as a consequence has hurled himself Beyond the pale of civil intercourse.
Disturber of the tranquillity of the world, There can be neither peace nor truce with him, And public vengeance is his self-sought doom.– Signed by the Plenipotentiaries.”
MARIE LOUISE (pale)
O God,
How terrible! . . . What shall—(she begins weeping.)
KING OF ROME
Is it papa
They want to hurt like that, dear Mamma ‘Quiou? Then ’twas no good my praying for him so; And I can see that I am not going to be
A King much longer!
COUNTESS OF MONTESQUIOU (retiring with the child)
Pray for him, Monseigneur,
Morning and evening just the same! They plan To take you off from me. But don’t forget– Do as I say!
KING OF ROME
Yes, Mamma ‘Quiou, I will!–
But why have I no pages now? And why Does my mamma the Empress weep so much?
COUNTESS OF MONTESQUIOU
We’ll talk elsewhere.
[MONTESQUIOU and the KING OF ROME withdraw to back.]
FRANCIS
At least, then, you agree
Not to attempt to follow Paris-ward Your conscience-lacking husband, and create More troubles in the State?–Remember this, I sacrifice my every man and horse
Ere he Rule France again.
MARIE LOUISE
I am pledged already
To hold by the Allies; let that suffice!
METTERNICH
For the clear good of all, your Majesty, And for your safety and the King of Rome’s, It most befits that your Imperial father Should have sole charge of the young king henceforth, While these convulsions rage. That this is so You will see, I think, in view of being installed As Parma’s Duchess, and take steps therefor.
MARIE LOUISE (coldly)
I understand the terms to be as follows: Parma is mine–my very own possession,– And as a counterquit, the guardianship
Is ceded to my father of my son,
And I keep out of France.
METTERNICH
And likewise this:
All missives that your Majesty receives Under Napoleon’s hand, you tender straight The Austrian Cabinet, the seals unbroke; With those received already.
FRANCIS
You discern
How vastly to the welfare of your son This course must tend? Duchess of Parma throned You shine a wealthy woman, to endow
Your son with fortune and large landed fee.
MARIE LOUISE (bitterly)
I must have Parma: and those being the terms Perforce accept! I weary of the strain
Of statecraft and political embroil: I long for private quiet! . . . And now wish To say no more at all.
[MENEVAL, who has heard her latter remarks, turns sadly away.]
FRANCIS
There’s nought to say;
All is in train to work straightforwardly.
[FRANCIS and METTERNICH depart. MARIE LOUISE retires towards the child and the COUNTESS OF MONTESQUIOU at the back of the parterre, where they are joined by NEIPPERG.
Enter in front DE MONTROND, a secret emissary of NAPOLEON, disguised as a florist examining the gardens. MENEVAL recognizes him and comes forward.]
MENEVAL
Why are you here, de Montrond? All is hopeless!
DE MONTROND
Wherefore? The offer of the Regency
I come empowered to make, and will conduct her Safely to Strassburg with her little son, If she shrink not to breech her as a man, And tiptoe from a postern unperceived?
MENEVAL
Though such quaint gear would mould her to a youth Fair as Adonis on a hunting morn,
Yet she’ll refuse! A German prudery Sits on her still; more, kneaded by her arts There’s no will left to her. I conjured her To hold aloof, sign nothing. But in vain.
DE MONTROND (looking towards Marie Louise)
I fain would put it to her privately!
MENEVAL
A thing impossible. No word to her
Without a word to him you see with her, Neipperg to wit. She grows indifferent
To dreams as Regent; visioning a future Wherein her son and self are two of three But where the third is not Napoleon.
DE MONTROND (In sad surprise)
I may as well go hence then as I came, And kneel to Heaven for one thing–that success Attend Napoleon in the coming throes!
MENEVAL
I’ll walk with you for safety to the gate, Though I am as the Emperor’s man suspect, And any day may be dismissed. If so
I go to Paris.
[Exeunt MENEVAL and DE MONTROND.]
SPIRIT IRONIC
Had he but persevered, and biassed her To slip the breeches on, and hie away, Who knows but that the map of France had shaped And it will never now!
[There enters from the other side of the gardens MARIA CAROLINA, ex-Queen of Naples, and grandmother of Marie Louise. The latter, dismissing MONTESQUIOU and the child, comes forward.]
MARIA CAROLINA
I have crossed from Hetzendorf to kill an hour; Why art so pensive, dear?
MARIE LOUISE
Ah, why! My lines
Rule ruggedly. You doubtless have perused This vicious cry against the Emperor?
He’s outlawed–to be caught alive or dead, Like any noisome beast!
MARIA CAROLINA
Nought have I heard,
My child. But these vile tricks, to pluck you from Your nuptial plightage and your rightful glory Make me belch oaths!–You shall not join your husband Do they assert? My God, I know one thing, Outlawed or no, I’d knot my sheets forthwith, Were I but you, and steal to him in disguise, Let come what would come! Marriage is for life.
MARIE LOUISE
Mostly; not always: not with Josephine; And, maybe, not with me. But, that apart, I could do nothing so outrageous.
Too many things, dear grand-dame, you forget. A puppet I, by force inflexible,
Was bid to wed Napoleon at a nod,– The man acclaimed to me from cradle-days As the incarnate of all evil things,
The Antichrist himself.–I kissed the cup, Gulped down the inevitable, and married him; But none the less I saw myself therein
The lamb whose innocent flesh was dressed to grace The altar of dynastic ritual!–
Hence Elba flung no duty-call to me, Neither does Paris now.
MARIA CAROLINA
I do perceive
They have worked on you to much effect already! Go, join your Count; he waits you, dear.–Well, well; The way the wind blows needs no cock to tell!
[Exeunt severally QUEEN MARIA CAROLINA and MARIE LOUISE with NEIPPERG. The sun sets over the gardens and the scene fades.]
SCENE V
LONDON. THE OLD HOUSE OF COMMONS
[The interior of the Chamber appears as in Scene III., Act I., Part I., except that the windows are not open and the trees without are not yet green.
Among the Members discovered in their places are, of ministers and their supporters, LORD CASTLEREAGH the Foreign Secretary, VANSITTART Chancellor of the Exchequer, BATHURST, PALMERSTON the War Secretary, ROSE, PONSONBY, ARBUTHNOT, LUSHINGTON, GARROW the Attorney General, SHEPHERD, LONG, PLUNKETT, BANKES; and among those of the Opposition SIR FRANCIS BURDETT, WHITBREAD, TIERNEY, ABERCROMBY, DUNDAS, BRAND, DUNCANNON, LAMBTON, HEATHCOTE, SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY, G. WALPOLE, RIDLEY, OSBORNE, and HORNER.
Much interest in the debate is apparent, and the galleries are full. LORD CASTLEREAGH rises.]
CASTLEREAGH
At never a moment in my stressed career, Amid no memory-moving urgencies,
Have I, sir, felt so gravely set on me The sudden, vast responsibility
That I feel now. Few things conceivable Could more momentous to the future be
Than what may spring from counsel here to-night On means to meet the plot unparalleled
In full fierce play elsewhere. Sir, this being so, And seeing how the events of these last days Menace the toil of twenty anxious years, And peril all that period’s patient aim, No auguring mind can doubt that deeds which root In steadiest purpose only, will effect
Deliverance from a world-calamity
As dark as any in the vaults of Time.
Now, what we notice front and foremost is That this convulsion speaks not, pictures not The heart of France. It comes of artifice– From the unique and sinister influence
Of a smart army-gamester–upon men
Who have shared his own excitements, spoils, and crimes.– This man, who calls himself most impiously The Emperor of France by Grace of God,
Has, in the scale of human character, Dropt down so low, that he has set at nought All pledges, stipulations, guarantees,
And stepped upon the only pedestal
On which he cares to stand–his lawless will. Indeed, it is a fact scarce credible
That so mysteriously in his own breast Did this adventurer lock the scheme he planned, That his companion Bertrand, chief in trust, Was unapprised thereof until the hour
In which the order to embark was given!
I think the House will readily discern That the wise, wary trackway to be trod
By our own country in the crisis reached, Must lie ‘twixt two alternatives,–of war In concert with the Continental Powers,
Or of an armed and cautionary course Sufficing for the present phase of things.
Whatever differences of view prevail
On the so serious and impending question– Whether in point of prudent reckoning
‘Twere better let the power set up exist, Or promptly at the outset deal with it– Still, to all eyes it is imperative
That some mode of safeguardance be devised; And if I cannot range before the House,
At this stage, all the reachings of the case, I will, if needful, on some future day
Poise these nice matters on their merits here.
Meanwhile I have to move:
That an address unto His Royal Highness Be humbly offered for his gracious message, And to assure him that his faithful Commons Are fully roused to the dark hazardries
To which the life and equanimity
Of Europe are exposed by deeds in France, In contravention of the plighted pacts
At Paris in the course of yester-year.
That, in a cause of such wide-waked concern, It doth afford us real relief to know
That concert with His Majesty’s Allies Is being effected with no loss of time– Such concert as will thoroughly provide
For Europe’s full and long security. (Cheers.)
That we, with zeal, will speed such help to him So to augment his force by sea and land
As shall empower him to set afoot
Swift measures meet for its accomplishing. (Cheers.)
BURDETT
It seems to me almost impossible,
Weighing the language of the noble lord, To catch its counsel,–whether peace of war. (Hear, hear.) If I translate his words to signify
The high expediency of watch and ward, That we may not be taken unawares,
I own concurrence; but if he propose Too plunge this realm into a sea of blood To reinstate the Bourbon line in France, I should but poorly do my duty here
Did I not lift my voice protestingly Against so ruinous an enterprise!
Sir, I am old enough to call to mind
The first fierce frenzies for the selfsame end, The fruit of which was to endow this man, The object of your apprehension now,
With such a might as could not be withstood By all of banded Europe, till he roamed
And wrecked it wantonly on Russian plains. Shall, then, another score of scourging years Distract this land to make a Bourbon king? Wrongly has Bonaparte’s late course been called A rude incursion on the soil of France.– Who ever knew a sole and single man
Invade a nation thirty million strong, And gain in some few days full sovereignty Against the nation’s will!–The truth is this: The nation longed for him, and has obtained him. . . .
I have beheld the agonies of war
Through many a weary season; seen enough To make me hold that scarcely any goal
Is worth the reaching by so red a road. No man can doubt that this Napoleon stands As Emperor of France by Frenchmen’s wills. Let the French settle, then, their own affairs; I say we shall have nought to apprehend!–
Much as I might advance in proof of this, I’ll dwell not thereon now. I am satisfied To give the general reasons which, in brief, Balk my concurrence in the Address proposed. (Cheers.)
PONSONBY
My words will be but few, for the Address Constrains me to support it as it stands. So far from being the primary step to war, Its sense and substance is, in my regard, To leave the House to guidance by events On the grave question of hostilities.
The statements of the noble lord, I hold, Have not been candidly interpreted
By grafting on to them a headstrong will, As does the honourable baronet,
To rob the French of Buonaparte’s rule, And force them back to Bourbon monarchism. That our free land, at this abnormal time, Should put her in a pose of wariness,
No unwarped mind can doubt. Must war revive, Let it be quickly waged; and quickly, too, Reach its effective end: though ’tis my hope, My ardent hope, that peace may be preserved.
WHITBREAD
Were it that I could think, as does my friend, That ambiguity of sentiment
Informed the utterance of the noble lord (As oft does ambiguity of word),
I might with satisfied and sure resolve Vote straight for the Address. But eyeing well The flimsy web there woven to entrap
The credence of my honourable friends, I must with all my energy contest
The wisdom of a new and hot crusade For fixing who shall fill the throne of France.
Already are the seeds of mischief sown: The Declaration at Vienna, signed
Against Napoleon, is, in my regard, Abhorrent, and our country’s character
Defaced by our subscription to its terms! If words have any meaning it incites
To sheer assassination; it proclaims That any meeting Bonaparte may slay him; And, whatso language the Allies now hold, In that outburst, at least, was war declared. The noble lord to-night would second it, Would seem to urge that we full arm, then wait For just as long, no longer, than would serve The preparations of the other Powers,
And then–pounce down on France!
CASTLEREAGH
No, no! Not so.
WHITBREAD
Good God, then, what are we to understand?– However, this denial is a gain,
And my misapprehension owes its birth Entirely to that mystery of phrase
Which taints all rhetoric of the noble lord,
Well, what is urged for new aggression now, To vamp up and replace the Bourbon line? The wittiest man who ever sat here(21) said That half our nation’s debt had been incurred In efforts to suppress the Bourbon power, The other half in efforts to restore it, (laughter) And I must deprecate a further plunge
For ends so futile! Why, since Ministers Craved peace with Bonaparte at Chatillon, Should they refuse him peace and quiet now?
This brief amendment therefore I submit To limit Ministers’ aggressiveness
And make self-safety all their chartering: “We at the same time earnestly implore
That the Prince Regent graciously induce Strenuous endeavours in the cause of peace, So long as it be done consistently
With the due honour of the English crown.” (Cheers.)
CASTLEREAGH
The arguments of Members opposite
Posit conditions which experience proves But figments of a dream;–that honesty,
Truth, and good faith in this same Bonaparte May be assumed and can be acted on:
This of one who is loud to violate
Bonds the most sacred, treaties the most grave! . . .
It follows not that since this realm was won To treat with Bonaparte at Chatillon,
It can treat now. And as for assassination, The sentiments outspoken here to-night
Are much more like to urge to desperate deeds Against the persons of our good Allies,
Than are, against Napoleon, statements signed By the Vienna plenipotentiaries!
We are, in fine, too fully warranted
On moral grounds to strike at Bonaparte, If we at any crisis reckon it
Expedient so to do. The Government
Will act throughout in concert with the Allies, And Ministers are well within their rights To claim that their responsibility
Be not disturbed by hackneyed forms of speech (“Oh, oh”) Upon war’s horrors, and the bliss of peace,– Which none denies! (Cheers.)
PONSONBY
I ask the noble lord,
If that his meaning and pronouncement be Immediate war?
CASTLEREAGH
I have not phrased it so.
OPPOSITION CRIES
The question is unanswered!
[There are excited calls, and the House divides. The result is announced as thirty-seven for WHITBREAD’S amendment, and against it two hundred and twenty. The clock strikes twelve as the House adjourns.]
SCENE VI
WESSEX. DURNOVER GREEN, CASTERBRIDGE
[On a patch of green grass on Durnover Hill, in the purlieus of Casterbridge, a rough gallows has been erected, and an effigy of Napoleon hung upon it. Under the effigy are faggots of brushwood.
It is the dusk of a spring evening, and a great crowd has gathered, comprising male and female inhabitants of the Durnover suburb and villagers from distances of many miles. Also are present some of the county yeomanry in white leather breeches and scarlet, volunteers in scarlet with green facings, and the REVEREND MR. PALMER, vicar of the parish, leaning against the post of his garden door, and smoking a clay pipe of preternatural length. Also PRIVATE CANTLE from Egdon Heath, and SOLOMON LONGWAYS of Casterbridge. The Durnover band, which includes a clarionet, {serpent,} oboe, tambourine, cymbals, and drum, is playing “Lord Wellington’s Hornpipe.”]
RUSTIC (wiping his face)
Says I, please God I’ll lose a quarter to zee he burned! And I left Stourcastle at dree o’clock to a minute. And if I’d known that I should be too late to zee the beginning on’t, I’d have lost a half to be a bit sooner.
YEOMAN
Oh, you be soon enough good-now. He’s just going to be lighted.
RUSTIC
But shall I zee en die? I wanted to zee if he’d die hard,
YEOMAN
Why, you don’t suppose that Boney himself is to be burned here?
RUSTIC
What–not Boney that’s to be burned?
A WOMAN
Why, bless the poor man, no! This is only a mommet they’ve made of him, that’s got neither chine nor chitlings. His innerds be only a lock of straw from Bridle’s barton.
LONGWAYS
He’s made, neighbour, of a’ old cast jacket and breeches from our barracks here. Likeways Grammer Pawle gave us Cap’n Meggs’s old Zunday shirt that she’d saved for tinder-box linnit; and Keeper Tricksey of Mellstock emptied his powder-horn into a barm-bladder, to make his heart wi’.
RUSTIC (vehemently)
Then there’s no honesty left in Wessex folk nowadays at all! “Boney’s going to be burned on Durnover Green to-night,”– that was what I thought, to be sure I did, that he’d been catched sailing from his islant and landed at Budmouth and brought to Casterbridge Jail, the natural retreat of malefactors!–False deceivers–making me lose a quarter who can ill afford it; and all for nothing!
LONGWAYS