ACT FIFTHSCENE IPARIS. A BALLROOM IN THE HOUSE OF CAMBACÉRÈS[The many-candled saloon at the ARCH-CHANCELLOR’S is visiblethrough a draped opening, and a crowd of masked dancers infantastic costumes revolve, sway, and intermingle to the musicthat proceeds from an alcove at the further end of the sameapartment. The front of the scene is a withdrawing-room ofsmaller size, now vacant, save for the presence of one sombrefigure, that of NAPOLÉON, seated and apparently watching themoving masquerade.]SPIRIT OF THE PITIESNapoléon even now embraces notFrom stress of state affairs, which hold him graveThrough revels that might win the King of SpleenTo toe a measure! I would speak with him.SPIRIT OF THE YEARSSpeak if thou wilt whose speech nor mars nor mends!SPIRIT OF THE PITIES [into Napoléon’s ear]Why thus and thus Napoléon? Can it beThat Wagram with its glories, shocks, and shames,Still leaves athirst the palate of thy pride?NAPOLÉON [answering as in soliloquy]The trustless, timorous lease of human lifeWarns me to hedge in my diplomacy.The sooner, then, the safer! Ay, this eve,This very night, will I take steps to ridMy morrows of the weird contingenciesThat vision round and make one hollow-eyed....The unexpected, lurid death of Lannes—Rigid as iron, reaped down like a straw—Tiptoed Assassination haunting roundIn unthought thoroughfares, the near successOf Staps the madman, argue to forbidThe riskful blood of my previsioned lineAnd potence for dynastic emperyTo linger vialled in my veins alone.Perhaps within this very house and hour,Under an innocent mask of Love or Hope,Some enemy queues my ways to coffin me....When at the first clash of the late campaign,A bold belief in Austria’s star prevailed,There pulsed quick pants of expectation roundAmong the cowering kings, that too well toldWhat would have fared had I been overthrown!So; I must send down shoots to future timeWho’ll plant my standard and my story there;And a way opens.—Better I had notBespoke a wife from Alexander’s house.Not there now lies my look. But done is done![The dance ends and masks enter, BERTHIER among them. NAPOLÉONbeckons to him, and he comes forward.]God send you find amid this motley crewFrivolities enough, friend Berthier—eh?My thoughts have worn oppressive shades despite such!What scandals of me do they bandy here?These close disguises render women bold—Their shames being of the light, not of the thing—And your sagacity has garnered much,I make no doubt, of ill and good report,That marked our absence from the capital?BERTHIERMethinks, your Majesty, the enormous taleOf your campaign, like Aaron’s serpent-rod,Has swallowed up the smaller of its kind.Some speak, ’tis true, in counterpoise thereto,Of English deeds by Talavera town,Though blurred by their exploit at Walcheren,And all its crazy, crass futilities.NAPOLÉONYet was the exploit well featured in design,Large in idea, and imaginative;I had not deemed the blinkered English folkSo capable of view. Their fate contrivedTo place an idiot at the helm of it,Who marred its working, else it had been hardIf things had not gone seriously for us.—But see, a lady saunters hitherwardWhose gait proclaims her Madame Metternich,One that I fain would speak with.[NAPOLÉON rises and crosses the room toward a lady-masker who hasjust appeared in the opening. BERTHIER draws off, and the EMPEROR,unceremoniously taking the lady’s arm, brings her forward to achair, and sits down beside her as dancing is resumed.]MADAME METTERNICHIn a flashI recognized you, sire; as who would notThe bearer of such deep-delved charactery?NAPOLÉONThe devil, madame, take your piercing eyes!It’s hard I cannot prosper in a gameThat every coxcomb plays successfully.—So here you are still, though your loving lordDisports him at Vienna?MADAME METTERNICHParis, true,Still holds me; though in quiet, save to-night,When I have been expressly prayed come hither,Or I had not left home.NAPOLÉONI sped that Prayer!—I have a wish to put a case to you,Wherein a woman’s judgment, such as yours,May be of signal service. [He lapses into reverie.]MADAME METTERNICHWell? The case—NAPOLÉONIs marriage—mine.MADAME METTERNICHIt is beyond me, sire!NAPOLÉONYou glean that I have decided to dissolve[Pursuant to monitions murmured long]My union with the present Empress—formedWithout the Church’s due authority?MADAME METTERNICHVaguely. And that light tentatives have wingedBetwixt your Majesty and Russia’s court,To moot that one of their Grand DuchessesShould be your Empress-wife. Nought else I know.NAPOLÉONThere have been such approachings; more, worse luck.Last week Champagny wrote to AlexanderAsking him for his sister—yes or no.MADAME METTERNICHWhat “worse luck” lies in that, your Majesty,If severance from the Empress JoséphineBe fixed unalterably?NAPOLÉONThis worse luck lies there:If your Archduchess, Marie Louise the fair,Would straight accept my hand, I’d offer it,And throw the other over. Faith, the TsarHas shown such backwardness in answering me,Time meanwhile trotting, that I have ample groundFor such withdrawal.—Madame, now, again,Will your Archduchess marry me of no?MADAME METTERNICHYour sudden questions quite confound my sense!It is impossible to answer them.NAPOLÉONWell, madame, now I’ll put it to you thus:Were you in the Archduchess Marie’s placeWould you accept my hand—and heart therewith?MADAME METTERNICHI should refuse you—most assuredly!17NAPOLÉON [laughing roughly]Ha-ha! That’s frank. And devilish cruel too!—Well, write to your husband. Ask him what he thinks,And let me know.MADAME METTERNICHIndeed, sire, why should I?There goes the Ambassador, Prince Schwarzenberg,Successor to my spouse. He’s now the grooveAnd proper conduit of diplomacyThrough whom to broach this matter to his Court.NAPOLÉONDo you, then, broach it through him, madame, pray;Now, here, to-night.MADAME METTERNICHI will, informally,To humour you, on this recognizance,That you leave not the business in my hands,But clothe your project in official guiseThrough him to-morrow; so safeguarding meFrom foolish seeming, as the babbler forthOf a fantastic and unheard of dream.NAPOLÉONI’ll send Eugène to him, as you suggest.Meanwhile prepare him. Make your stand-point this:Children are needful to my dynasty,And if one woman cannot mould them for me,Why, then, another must.[Exit NAPOLÉON abruptly. Dancing continues. MADAME METTERNICHsits on, musing. Enter SCHWARZENBERG.]MADAME METTERNICHThe Emperor has just left me. We have tappedThis theme and that; his empress and—his next.Ay, so! Now, guess you anything?SCHWARZENBERGOf her?No more than that the stock of RomanoffWill not supply the spruce commodity.MADAME METTERNICHAnd that the would-be customer turns toeTo our shop in Vienna.SCHWARZENBERGMarvellous;And comprehensible but as the dreamOf Delaborde, of which I have lately heard.It will not work!—What think you, madame, on’t?MADAME METTERNICHThat it will work, and is as good as wrought!—I break it to you thus, at his request.In brief time Prince Eugène will wait on you,And make the formal offer in his name.SCHWARZENBERGWhich I can but receivead referendum,And shall initially make clear as much,Disclosing not a glimpse of my own mind!Meanwhile you make good Metternich aware?MADAME METTERNICHI write this midnight, that amaze may pitchTo coolness ere your messenger arrives.SCHWARZENBERGThis radiant revelation flicks a gleamOn many circling things!—the courtesiesWhich graced his bearing toward our officerAmid the tumults of the late campaign,His wish for peace with England, his affrontAt Alexander’s tedious-timed reply...Well, it will thrust a thorn in Russia’s side,If I err not, whatever else betide![Exeunt. The maskers surge into the foreground of the scene, andtheir motions become more and more fantastic. A strange gloombegins and intensifies, until only the high lights of theirgrinning figures are visible. These also, with the whole ball-room, gradually darken, and the music softens to silence.]SCENE IIPARIS. THE TUILERIES[The evening of the next day. A saloon of the Palace, withfolding-doors communicating with a dining-room. The doors areflung open, revealing on the dining-table an untouched dinner,NAPOLÉON and JOSÉPHINE rising from it, and DE BAUSSET, chamberlain-in-waiting, pacing up and down. The EMPEROR and EMPRESS comeforward into the saloon, the latter pale and distressed, andpatting her eyes with her handkerchief.The doors are closed behind them; a page brings in coffee; NAPOLÉONsignals to him to leave. JOSÉPHINE goes to pour out the coffee,but NAPOLÉON pushes her aside and pours it out himself, looking ather in a way which causes her to sink cowering into a chair like afrightened animal.]JOSÉPHINEI see my doom, my friend, upon your face!NAPOLÉONYou see me bored by Cambacérès’ ball.JOSÉPHINEIt means divorce!—a thing more terribleThan carrying elsewhere the dalliancesThat formerly were mine. I kicked at that;But now agree, as I for long have done,To any infidelities of actMay I be yours in name!NAPOLÉONMy mind must bendTo other things than our domestic petting:The Empire orbs above our happiness,And ’tis the Empire dictates this divorce.I reckon on your courage and calm senseTo breast with me the law’s formalities,And get it through before the year has flown.JOSÉPHINEBut are you REALLY going to part from me?O no, no, my dear husband; no, in truth,It cannot be my Love will serve me so!NAPOLÉONI mean but mere divorcement, as I said,On simple grounds of sapient sovereignty.JOSÉPHINEBut nothing have I done save good to you:—Since the fond day we wedded into oneI never even have THOUGHT you jot of harm!Many the happy junctures when you have saidI stood as guardian-angel over you,As your Dame Fortune, too, and endless thingsOf such-like pretty tenour—yes, you have!Then how can you so gird against me now?You had not pricked upon it much of late,And so I hoped and hoped the ugly spectreHad been laid dead and still.NAPOLÉON [impatiently]I tell you, dear,The thing’s decreed, and even the princess chosen.JOSÉPHINEAh—so—the princess chosen!... I surmiseIt is none else than the Grand-Duchess Anne:Gossip was right—though I would not believe.She’s young; but no great beauty!—Yes, I seeHer silly, soulless eyes and horrid hair;In which new gauderies you’ll forget sad me!NAPOLÉONUpon my soul you are childish, Joséphine:A woman of your years to pout it so!—I say it’s not the Tsar’s Grand-Duchess Anne.JOSÉPHINESome other Fair, then. You whose name can nodThe flower of all the world’s virginityInto your bed, will well take care of that![Spitefully.] She may not have a child, friend, after all.NAPOLÉON [drily]You hope she won’t, I know!—But don’t forgetMadame Walewska did, and had she shownSuch cleverness as yours, poor little fool,Her withered husband might have been displaced,And her boy made my heir.—Well, let that be.The severing parchments will be signed by usUpon the fifteenth, prompt.JOSÉPHINEWhat—I have to signMy putting away upon the fifteenth next?NAPOLÉONAy—both of us.JOSÉPHINE [falling on her knees]So far advanced—so far!Fixed?—for the fifteenth? O I do implore you,My very dear one, by our old, old love,By my devotion, don’t cast me offNow, after these long years!NAPOLÉONHeavens, how you jade me!Must I repeat that I don’t cast you off;We merely formally arrange divorce—We live and love, but call ourselves divided.[A silence.]JOSÉPHINE [with sudden calm]Very well. Let it be. I must submit! [Rises.]NAPOLÉONAnd this much likewise you must promise me,To act in the formalities thereofAs if you shaped them of your own free will.JOSÉPHINEHow can I—when no freewill’s left in me?NAPOLÉONYou are a willing party—do you hear?JOSÉPHINE [quivering]I hardly—can—bear this!—It is—too muchFor a poor weak and broken woman’s strength!But—but I yield!—I am so helpless now:I give up all—ay, kill me if you will,I won’t cry out!NAPOLÉONAnd one thing further still,You’ll help me in my marriage overturesTo win the Duchess—Austrian Marie she,—Concentrating all your force to forward them.JOSÉPHINEIt is the—last humiliating blow!—I cannot—O, I will not!NAPOLÉON [fiercely]But you SHALL!And from your past experience you may knowThat what I say I mean!JOSÉPHINE [breaking into sobs]O my dear husband—do not make me—don’t!If you but cared for me—the hundredth partOf how—I care for you, you could not beSo cruel as to lay this torture on me.It hurts me so!—it cuts me like a sword.Don’t make me, dear! Don’t, will you! O,O,O![She sinks down in a hysterical fit.]NAPOLÉON [calling]Bausset![Enter DE BAUSSET, Chamberlain-in-waiting.]Bausset, come in and shut the door.Assist me here. The Empress has fallen ill.Don’t call for help. We two can carry herBy the small private staircase to her rooms.Here—I will take her feet.[They lift JOSÉPHINE between them and carry her out. Her moansdie away as they recede towards the stairs. Enter two servants,who remove coffee-service, readjust chairs, etc.]FIRST SERVANTSo, poor old girl, she’s wailed herMissere Mei, as Mother Churchsays. I knew she was to get the sack ever since he came back.SECOND SERVANTWell, there will be a little civil huzzaing, a little crowing andcackling among the Bonapartes at the downfall of the Beauharnaisfamily at last, mark me there will! They’ve had their little hour,as the poets say, and now ’twill be somebody else’s turn. O it isdroll! Well, Father Time is a great philosopher, if you take himright. Who is to be the new woman?FIRST SERVANTShe that contains in her own corporation the necessary particular.SECOND SERVANTAnd what may they be?FIRST SERVANTShe must be young.SECOND SERVANTGood. She must. The country must see to that.FIRST SERVANTAnd she must be strong.SECOND SERVANTGood again. She must be strong. The doctors will see to that.FIRST SERVANTAnd she must be fruitful as the vine.SECOND SERVANTAy, by God. She must be fruitful as the vine. That, Heaven helphim, he must see to himself, like the meanest multiplying man inParis.[Exeunt servant. Re-enter NAPOLÉON with his stepdaughter, QueenHortense.]NAPOLÉONYour mother is too rash and reasonless—Wailing and fainting over statesmanshipWhich is no personal caprice of mine,But policy most painful—forced on meBy the necessities of this country’s charge.Go to her; see if she be saner now;Explain it to her once and once again,And bring me word what impress you may make.[HORTENSE goes out. CHAMPAGNY is shown in.]Champagny, I have something clear to sayNow, on our process after the divorce.The question of the Russian Duchess AnneWas quite inept for further toying with.The years rush on, and I grow nothing younger.So I have made up my mind—committed meTo Austria and the Hapsburgs—good or ill!It was the best, most practicable plunge,And I have plunged it.CHAMPAGNYAustria say you, sire?I reckoned that but a scurrying dream!NAPOLÉONWell, so it was. But such a pretty dreamThat its own charm transfixed it to a notion,That showed itself in time a sanity,Which hardened in its turn to a resolveAs firm as any built by mortal mind.—The Emperor’s consent must needs be won;But I foresee no difficulty there.The young Archduchess is a bright blond thingBy general story; and considering, too,That her good mother childed seventeen times,It will be hard if she can not produceThe modest one or two that I require.[Enter DE BAUSSET with dispatches.]DE BAUSSETThe courier, sire, from Petersburg is here,And brings these letters for your Majesty.[Exit DE BAUSSET.]NAPOLÉON [after silently reading]Ha-ha! It never rains unless it pours:Now I can have the other readily.The proverb hits me aptly: “Well they doWho doff the old love ere they don the new!”[He glances again over the letter.]Yes, Caulaincourt now writes he has every hopeOf quick success in settling the alliance!The Tsar is willing—even anxious for it,His sister’s youth the single obstacle.The Empress-mother, hitherto against me,Ambition-fired, verges on suave consent,Likewise the whole Imperial family.What irony is all this to me now!Time lately was when I had leapt thereat.CHAMPAGNYYou might, of course, sire, give th’ Archduchess up,Seeing she looms uncertainly as yet,While this does so no longer.NAPOLÉONNo—not I.My sense of my own dignity forbidsMy watching the slow clocks of Muscovy!Why have they dallied with my tentativesIn pompous silence since the Erfurt day?—And Austria, too, affords a safer hope.The young Archduchess is much less a childThan is the other, who, Caulaincourt says,Will be incapable of motherhoodFor six months yet or more—a grave delay.CHAMPAGNYYour Majesty appears to have trimmed your sailFor Austria; and no more is to be said!NAPOLÉONExcept that there’s the house of SaxonyIf Austria fail.—then, very well, Champagny,Write you to Caulaincourt accordingly.CHAMPAGNYI will, your Majesty.[Exit CHAMPAGNY. Re-enter QUEEN HORTENSE.]NAPOLÉONAh, dear Hortense,How is your mother now?HORTENSECalm; quite calm, sire.I pledge me you need have no further fretFrom her entreating tears. She bids me sayThat now, as always, she submits herselfWith chastened dignity to circumstance,And will descend, at notice, from your throne—As in days earlier she ascended it—In questionless obedience to your will.It was your hand that crowned her; let it beLikewise your hand that takes her crown away.As for her children, we shall be but gladTo follow and withdraw ourselves with her,The tenderest mother children ever knew,From grandeurs that have brought no happiness!NAPOLÉON [taking her hand]But, Hortense, dear, it is not to be so!You must stay with me, as I said before.Your mother, too, must keep her royal state,Since no repudiation stains this need.Equal magnificence will orb her roundIn aftertime as now. A palace here,A palace in the country, wealth to match,A rank in order next my future wife’s,And conference with me as my truest friend.Now we will seek her—Eugène, you, and I—And make the project clear.[Exeunt NAPOLÉON and HORTENSE. The scene darkens and shuts.]SCENE IIIVIENNA. A PRIVATE APARTMENT IN THE IMPERIAL PALACE[The EMPEROR FRANCIS discovered, paler than usual, and somewhatflurried. Enter METTERNICH the Prime Minister—a thin-lipped,long-nosed man with inquisitive eyes.]FRANCISI have been expecting you some minutes here,The thing that fronts us brooking brief delay.—Well, what say you by now on this strange offer?METTERNICHMy views remain the same, your Majesty:The policy of peace that I have upheld,Both while in Paris and of late time here,Points to this step as heralding sweet balmAnd bandaged veins for our late crimsoned realm.FRANCISAgreed. As monarch I perceive thereinA happy doorway for my purposings.It seems to guarantee the Hapsburg crownA quittance of distractions such as thoseThat leave their shade on many a backward year!—There is, forsooth, a suddenness about it,And it would aid us had we clearly keyedThe cryptologues of which the world has heardBetween Napoléon and the Russian Court—Begun there with the selfsame motiving.METTERNICHI would not, sire, one second ponder it.It was an obvious first crude cast-aboutIn the important reckoning of meansFor his great end, a strong monarchic line.The more advanced the more it profits us;For sharper, then, the quashing of such views,And wreck of that conjunction in the aimsOf France and Russia, marked so much of lateAs jeopardizing quiet neighbours’ thrones.FRANCISIf that be so, on the domestic sideThere seems no bar. Speaking as father solely,I see secured to her the proudest fateThat woman can daydream. And I could hopeThat private bliss would not be wanting her!METTERNICHA hope well seated, sire. The Emperor,Imperious and determined in his rule,Is easy-natured in domestic life,As my long time in Paris amply proved.Moreover, the accessories of his gloryHave been, and will be, admirably designedTo fire the fancy of a young princess.FRANCISThus far you satisfy me.... So, to close,Or not to close with him, is now the thing.METTERNICHYour Majesty commands the issue quite:The father of his people can aloneIn such a case give answer—yes or no.Vagueness and doubt have ruined Russia’s chance;Let not, then, such be ours.FRANCISYou mean, if I,You’d answer straight. What would that answer be?METTERNICHIn state affairs, sire, as in private life,Times will arise when even the faithfullest squireFinds him unfit to jog his chieftain’s choice,On whom responsibility must lastly rest.And such times are pre-eminently, sire,Those wherein thought alone is not enoughTo serve the head as guide. As Emperor,As father, both, to you, to you in soleMust appertain the privilege to pronounceWhich track stern duty bids you tread herein.FRANCISAffection is my duty, heart my guide.—Without constraint or prompting I shall leaveThe big decision in my daughter’s hands.Before my obligations to my peopleMust stand her wish. Go, find her, Metternich,Take her the tidings. She is free with you,And will speak out. [Looking forth from the terrace.]She’s here at hand, I see:I’ll call her in. Then tell me what’s her mind.[He beckons from the window, and goes out in another direction.]METTERNICHSo much for form’s sake! Can the river-flowerThe current drags, direct its face up-stream?What she must do she will; nought else at all.[Enter through one of the windows MARIA LOUISA in garden-costume,fresh-coloured, girlish, and smiling. METTERNICH bends.]MARIA LOUISAO how, dear Chancellor, you startled me!Please pardon my so brusquely bursting in.I saw you not.—Those five poor little birdsThat haunt out there beneath the pediment,Snugly defended from the north-east wind,Have lately disappeared. I sought a traceOf scattered feathers, which I dread to find!METTERNICHThey are gone, I ween, the way of tender fleshAt the assaults of winter, want, and foes.MARIA LOUISAIt is too melancholy thinking, that!Don’t say it.—But I saw the Emperor here?Surely he beckoned me?METTERNICHSure, he did,Your gracious Highness; and he has left me hereTo break vast news that will make good his call.MARIA LOUISAThen do. I’ll listen. News from near or far?[She seats herself.]METTERNICHFrom far—though of such distance-dwarfing mightThat far may read as near eventually.But, dear Archduchess, with your kindly leaveI’ll speak straight out. The Emperor of the FrenchHas sent to-day to make, through Schwarzenberg,A formal offer of his heart and hand,His honours, dignities, imperial throne,To you, whom he admires above all thoseThe world can show elsewhere.MARIA LOUISA [frightened]My husband—he?What, an old man like him!METTERNICH [cautiously]He’s scarcely old,Dear lady. True, deeds densely crowd in him;Turn months to years calendaring his span;Yet by Time’s common clockwork he’s but young.MARIA LOUISASo wicked, too!METTERNICH [nettled]Well-that’s a point of view.MARIA LOUISABut, Chancellor, think what things I have said to him!Can women marry where they have taunted so?METTERNICHThings? Nothing inexpungeable, I deem,By time and true good humour.MARIA LOUISAO I have!Horrible things. Why—ay, a hundred times—I have said I wished him dead! At that strained hourWhen the first voicings of the late war came,Thrilling out how the French were smitten soreAnd Bonaparte retreating, I clapped handsAnd answered that I hoped he’d lose his headAs well as lose the battle!METTERNICHWords. But words!Born like the bubbles of a spring that comeOf zest for springing—aimless in their shape.MARIA LOUISAIt seems indecent, mean, to wed a manWhom one has held such fierce opinions of!METTERNICHMy much beloved Archduchess, and revered,Such things have been! In Spain and PortugalLike enmities have led to intermarriage.In England, after warring thirty yearsThe Red and White Rose wedded.MARIA LOUISA [after a silence]Tell me, now,What does my father wish?METTERNICHHis wish is yours.Whatever your Imperial Highness feelsOn this grave verdict of your destiny,Home, title, future sphere, he bids you thinkNot of himself, but of your own desire.MARIA LOUISA [reflecting]My wish is what my duty bids me wish.Where a wide Empire’s welfare is in poise,That welfare must be pondered, not my will.I ask of you, then, Chancellor Metternich,Straightway to beg the Emperor my fatherThat he fulfil his duty to the realm,And quite subordinate thereto all thoughtOf how it personally impinge on me.[A slight noise as of something falling is heard in the room. Theyglance momentarily, and see that a small enamel portrait of MARIEANTOINETTE, which was standing on a console-table, has slipped downon its face.]SPIRIT OF THE YEARSWhat mischief’s this? The Will must have its way.SPIRIT SINISTERPerhaps Earth shivered at the lady’s say?SHADE OF THE EARTHI own hereto. When France and Austria wedMy echoes are men’s groans, my dews are red;So I have reason for a passing dread!METTERNICHRight nobly phrased, Archduchess; wisely too.I will acquaint your sire the EmperorWith these your views. He waits them anxiously. [Going.]MARIA LOUISALet me go first. It much confuses meTo think—But I would fain let thinking be![She goes out trembling. Enter FRANCIS by another door.]METTERNICHI was about to seek your Majesty.The good Archduchess luminously holdsThat in this weighty question you regardThe Empire. Best for it is best for her.FRANCIS [moved]My daughter’s views thereon do not surprise me.She is too staunch to pit a private whimAgainst the fortunes of a commonwealth.During your speech with her I have taken thoughtTo shape decision sagely. An assentWould yield the Empire many years of peace,And leave me scope to heal those still green soresWhich linger from our late unhappy moils.Therefore, my daughter not being disinclined,I know no basis for a negative.Send, then, a courier prompt to Paris: sayThe offer made for the Archduchess’ handI do accept—with this defined reserve,That no condition, treaty, bond, attachTo such alliance save the tie itself.There are some sacrifices whose grave ritesNo bargain must contaminate. This is one—This personal gift of a beloved child!METTERNICH [leaving]I’ll see to it this hour, your Majesty,And cant the words in keeping with your wish.To himself as he goes.]Decently done!... He slipped out “sacrifice,”And scarce could hide his heartache for his girl.Well ached it!—But when these things have to beIt is as well to breast them stoically.[Exit METTERNICH. The clouds draw over.]SCENE IVLONDON. A CLUB IN ST. JAMES’S STREET[A winter midnight. Two members are conversing by the fire, andothers are seen lolling in the background, some of them snoring.]FIRST MEMBERI learn from a private letter that it was carried out in theEmperor’s Cabinet at the Tuileries—just off the throne-room, wherethey all assembled in the evening,—Boney and the wife of his bosom[In pure white muslin from head to foot, they say], the Kings andQueens of Holland, Whestphalia, and Naples, the Princess Pauline,and one or two more; the officials present being Cambacérès theChancellor, and Count Regnaud. Quite a small party. It was overin minutes—short and sweet, like a donkey’s gallop.SECOND MEMBERAnything but sweet for her. How did she stand it?FIRST MEMBERSerenely, I believe, while the Emperor was making his speechrenouncing her; but when it came to her turn to say she renouncedhim she began sobbing mightily, and was so completely choked up thatshe couldn’t get out a word.SECOND MEMBERPoor old dame! I pity her, by God; though she had a rattling goodspell while it lasted.FIRST MEMBERThey say he was a bit upset, too, at sight of her tears But Idare vow that was put on. Fancy Boney caring a curse what a womanfeels. She had learnt her speech by heart, but that did not helpher: Regnaud had to finish it for her, the ditch that overturnedher being where she was made to say that she no longer preservedany hope of having children, and that she was pleased to show herattachment by enabling him to obtain them by another woman. Shewas led off fainting. A turning of the tables, considering howmadly jealous she used to make him by her flirtations![Enter a third member.]SECOND MEMBERHow is the debate going? Still braying the Government in a mortar?THIRD MEMBERThey are. Though one thing every body admits: young Peel hasmade a wonderful first speech in seconding the address. Therehas been nothing like it since Pitt. He spoke rousingly ofAustria’s misfortunes—went on about Spain, of course, showingthat we must still go on supporting her, winding up with abrilliant peroration about—what were the words—“the fiery eyesof the British soldier!”—Oh, well: it was all learnt before-hand,of course.SECOND MEMBERI wish I had gone down. But the wind soon blew the other way.THIRD MEMBERThen Gower rapped out his amendment. That was good, too, by God.SECOND MEMBERWell, the war must go on. And that being the general convictionthis censure and that censure are only so many blank cartridges.THIRD MEMBERBlank? Damn me, were they! Gower’s was a palpable hit when he saidthat Parliament had placed unheard-of resources in the hands of theMinisters last year, to make this year’s results to the countryworse than if they had been afforded no resources at all. Everysingle enterprise of theirs had been a beggarly failure.SECOND MEMBERAnybody could have said it, come to that.THIRD MEMBERYes, because it is so true. However, when he began to lay on withsuch rhetoric as “the treasures of the nation lavished in wastefulthoughtlessness,”—“thousands of our troops sacrificed wantonly inpestilential swamps of Walcheren,” and gave the details we know sowell, Ministers wriggled a good one, though ’twas no news to ’em.Castlereagh kept on starting forward as if he were going to jump upand interrupt, taking the strictures entirely as a personal affront.[Enter a fourth member.]SEVERAL MEMBERSWho’s speaking now?FOURTH MEMBERI don’t know. I have heard nobody later than Ward.SECOND MEMBERThe fact is that, as Whitbread said to me to-day, the materials forcondemnation are so prodigious that we can scarce marshal them intoargument. We are just able to pour ’em out one upon t’other.THIRD MEMBERWard said, with the blandest air in the world: “Censure? Do hisMajesty’s Ministers expect censure? Not a bit. They are goingabout asking in tremulous tones if anybody has heard when theirimpeachment is going to begin.”SEVERAL MEMBERSHaw—haw—haw!THIRD MEMBERThen he made another point. After enumerating our frightfulfailures—Spain, Walcheren, and the rest—he said: “But Ministershave not failed in everything. No; in one thing they have beenstrikingly successful. They have been successful in their attackupon Copenhagen—because it was directed against an ally!” Mightyfine, wasn’t it?SECOND MEMBERHow did Castlereagh stomach that?THIRD MEMBERHe replied then. Donning his air of injured innocence he proved thehonesty of his intentions—no doubt truly enough. But when he cameto Walcheren nothing could be done. The case was hopeless, and heknew it, and foundered. However, at the division, when he saw whata majority was going out on his side he was as frisky as a child.Canning’s speech was grave, with bits of shiny ornament stuck on—like the brass nails on a coffin, Sheridan says.[Fifth and sixth members stagger in, arm-and-arm.]FIFTH MEMBERThe ’vision is—-’jority of ninety-six againsht—Gov’ment—I mean—againsht us. Which is it—hey? [To his companion.]SIXTH MEMBERDamn majority of—damn ninety-six—against damn amendment! [Theysink down on a sofa.]SECOND MEMBERGad, I didn’t expect the figure would have been quite so high!THIRD MEMBERThe one conviction is that the war in the Peninsula is to go on, andas we are all agreed upon that, what the hell does it matter whattheir majority was?[Enter SHERIDAN. They all look inquiringly.]SHERIDANHave ye heard the latest?SECOND MEMBERNinety-six against us.SHERIDANO no-that’s ancient history. I’d forgot it.THIRD MEMBERA revolution, because Ministers are not impeached and hanged?SHERIDANThat’s in contemplation, when we’ve got their confessions. But whatI meant was from over the water—it is a deuced sight more seriousto us than a debate and division that are only like the Liturgy ona Sunday—known beforehand to all the congregation. Why, Bonaparteis going to marry Austria forthwith—the Emperor’s daughter MariaLouisa.THIRD MEMBERThe Lord look down! Our late respected crony of Austria! Why, inthis very night’s debate they have been talking about the laudableprinciples we have been acting upon in affording assistance to theEmperor Francis in his struggle against the violence and ambitionof France!SECOND MEMBERBoney safe on that side, what may not befall!THIRD MEMBERWe had better make it up with him, and shake hands all round.SECOND MEMBERShake heads seems most natural in the case. O House of Hapsburg,how hast thou fallen![Enter WHITBREAD, LORD HUTCHINSON, LORD GEORGE CAVENDISH, GEORGEPONSONBY, WINDHAM, LORD GREY, BARING, ELLIOT, and other members,some drunk. The conversation becomes animated and noisy; severalmove off to the card-room, and the scene closes.]SCENE VTHE OLD WEST HIGHWAY OUT OF VIENNA[The spot is where the road passes under the slopes of the WienerWald, with its beautiful forest scenery.]DUMB SHOWA procession of enormous length, composed of eighty carriages—many of them drawn by six horses and one by eight—and escortedby detachments of cuirassiers, yeomanry, and other cavalry, isquickening its speed along the highway from the city.The six-horse carriages contain a multitude of Court officials,ladies of the Court, and other Austrian nobility. The eight-horsecoach contains a rosy, blue-eyed girl of eighteen, with full redlips, round figure, and pale auburn hair. She is MARIA LOUISA, andher eyes are red from recent weeping. The COUNTESS DE LAZANSKY,Grand Mistress of the Household, in the carriage with her, and theother ladies of the Palace behind, have a pale, proud, yet resignedlook, as if conscious that upon their sex had been laid the burdenof paying for the peace with France. They have been played out ofVienna with French marches, and the trifling incident has helped ontheir sadness.The observer’s vision being still bent on the train of vehicles andcavalry, the point of sight is withdrawn high into the air, till thehuge procession on the brown road looks no more than a file of antscrawling along a strip of garden-matting. The spacious terrestrialoutlook now gained shows this to be the great road across Europe fromVienna to Munich, and from Munich westerly to France.The puny concatenation of specks being exclusively watched, thesurface of the earth seems to move along in an opposite direction,and in infinite variety of hill, dale, woodland, and champaign.Bridges are crossed, ascents are climbed, plains are galloped over,and towns are reached, among them Saint Polten, where night falls.Morning shines, and the royal crawl is resumed, and continued throughLinz, where the Danube is reapproached, and the girl looks pleasedto see her own dear Donau still. Presently the tower of Brannauappears, where the animated dots pause for formalities, this beingthe frontier; and MARIA LOUISA becomes MARIE LOUISE and a Frenchwoman,in the charge of French officials.After many breaks and halts, during which heavy rains spread theirgauzes over the scene, the roofs and houses of Munich disclosethemselves, suggesting the tesserae of an irregular mosaic. A longstop is made here.The tedious advance continues. Vine-circled Stuttgart, flatCarlsruhe, the winding Rhine, storky Strassburg, pass in panoramabeneath us as the procession is followed. With Nancy and Bar-le-Duc sliding along, the scenes begin to assume a French character,and soon we perceive Chalons and ancient Rheims. The last day ofthe journey has dawned. Our vision flits ahead of the cortege toCourcelles, a little place which must be passed through beforeSoissons is reached. Here the point of sight descends to earth,and the Dumb Show ends.SCENE VICOURCELLES[It is now seen to be a quiet roadside village, with a humblechurch in its midst, opposite to which stands an inn, the highwaypassing between them. Rain is still falling heavily. Not a soulis visible anywhere.Enter from the west a plain, lonely carriage, traveling in adirection to meet the file of coaches that we have watched. Itstops near the inn, and two men muffled in cloaks alight by thedoor away from the hostel and towards the church, as if theywished to avoid observation. Their faces are those of NAPOLÉONand MURAT, his brother-in-law. Crossing the road through the mudand rain they stand in the church porch, and watch the descendingdrifts.]NAPOLÉON [stamping an impatient tattoo]One gets more chilly in a wet March than in a dry, however cold, thedevil if he don’t! What time do you make it now? That clock doesn’tgo.MURAT [drily, looking at his watch]Yes, it does; and it is right. If clocks were to go as fast as yourwishes just now it would be awkward for the rest of the world.NAPOLÉON [chuckling good-humouredly]How we have dished the Soissons folk, with their pavilions, andpurple and gold hangings for bride and bridegroom to meet in, andstately ceremonial to match, and their thousands looking on! Herewe are where there’s nobody. Ha, ha!MURATBut why should they be dished, sire? The pavilions and ceremonieswere by your own orders.NAPOLÉONWell, as the time got nearer I couldn’t stand the idea of dawdlingabout there.MURATThe Soissons people will be in a deuce of a taking at being madesuch fools of!NAPOLÉONSo let ’em. I’ll make it up with them somehow.—She can’t be faroff now, if we have timed her rightly. [He peers out into the rainand listens.]MURATI don’t quite see how you are going to manage when she does come.Do we go before her toward Soissons when you have greeted her here,or follow in her rear? Or what do we do?NAPOLÉONHeavens, I know no more than you! Trust to the moment and see whathappens. [A silence.] Hark—here she comes! Good little girl; upto time![The distant squashing in the mud of a multitude of hoofs andwheels is succeeded by the appearance of outriders and carriages,horses and horsemen, splashed with sample clays of the districtstraversed. The vehicles slow down to the inn. NAPOLÉON’S facefires up, and, followed by MURAT, he rushes into the rain towardsthe coach that is drawn by eight horses, containing the blue-eyedgirl. He holds off his hat at the carriage-window.]MARIE LOUISE [shrinking back inside]Ah, Heaven! Two highwaymen are upon us!THE EQUERRY D’AUDENARDE [simultaneously]The Emperor![The steps of the coach are hastily lowered, NAPOLÉON, dripping,jumps in and embraces her. The startled ARCHDUCHESS, with muchblushing and confusion recognizes him.]MARIE LOUISE [tremulously, as she recovers herself]You are so much—better looking than your portraits—that I hardlyknew you! I expected you at Soissons. We are not at Soissons yet?NAPOLÉONNo, my dearest spouse, but we are together! [Calling out to theequerry.] Drive through Soissons—pass the pavilion of receptionwithout stopping, and don’t halt till we reach Compiegne.[He sits down in the coach and is shut in, MURAT laughing silentlyat the scene. Exeunt carriages and riders toward Soissons.]CHORUS OF THE IRONIC SPIRITS [aerial music]First ’twas a finished coquette,And now it’s a raw ingenue.—Blond instead of brunette,An old wife doffed for a new.She’ll bring him a baby,As quickly as maybe,And that’s what he wants her to do,Hoo-hoo!And that’s what he wants her to do!SPIRIT OF THE YEARSWhat lewdness lip those wry-formed phantoms there!IRONIC SPIRITSNay, Showman Years! With holy reverent airWe hymn the nuptials of the Imperial pair.[The scene thickens to mist and obscures the scene.]SCENE VIIPETERSBURG. THE PALACE OF THE EMPRESS-MOTHER[One of the private apartments is disclosed, in which the Empress-mother and Alexander are seated.]EMPRESS-MOTHERSo one of Austrian blood his pomp selectsTo be his bride and bulwark—not our own.Thus are you coolly shelved!ALEXANDERMe, mother dear?You, faith, if I may say it dutifully!Had all been left to me, some time ere nowHe would have wedded Kate.EMPRESS-MOTHERHow so, my son?Catharine was plighted, and it could not be.ALEXANDERRather you swiftly pledged and married her,To let Napoléon have no chance that way.But Anne remained.EMPRESS-MOTHERHow Anne?—so young a girl!Sane Nature would have cried indecencyAt such a troth.ALEXANDERTime would have tinkered that,And he was well-disposed to wait awhile;But the one test he had no temper forWas the apparent slight of unresponseAccorded his impatient overturesBy our suspensive poise of policy.EMPRESS-MOTHERA backward answer is our country’s card—The special style and mode of Muscovy.We have grown great upon it, my dear son,And may such practice rule our centuries through!The necks of those who rate themselves our peersAre cured of stiffness by its potency.ALEXANDERThe principle in this case, anyhow,Is shattered by the facts: since none can doubtYour policy was counted an affront,And drove my long ally to Austria’s arms,With what result to us must yet be seen!EMPRESS-MOTHERMay Austria win much joy of the alliance!Marrying Napoléon is a midnight leapFor any Court in Europe, credit me,If ever such there were! What he may carveUpon the coming years, what murderous boltHurl at the rocking Constitutions round,On what dark planet he may land himselfIn his career through space, no sage can say.ALEXANDERWell—possibly!... And maybe all is bestThat he engrafts his lineage not on us.—But, honestly, Napoléon none the lessHas been my friend, and I regret the dreamAnd fleeting fancy of a closer tie!EMPRESS-MOTHERAy; your regrets are sentimental ever.That he’ll be writ no son-in-law of mineIs no regret to me! But an affrontThere is, no less, in his evasion on’t,Wherein the bourgeois quality of himVeraciously peeps out. I would be swornHe set his minions parleying with the twain—Yourself and Francis—simultaneously,Else no betrothal could have speeded so!ALEXANDERDespite the hazard of offence to one?EMPRESS-MOTHERMore than the hazard; the necessity.ALEXANDERThere’s no offence to me.EMPRESS-MOTHERThere should be, then.I am a Romanoff by marriage merely,But I do feel a rare belittlementAnd loud laconic brow-beating herein!ALEXANDERNo, mother, no! I am the Tsar—not you,And I am only piqued in moderateness.Marriage with France was near my heart—I own it—What then? It has been otherwise ordained.[A silence.]EMPRESS-MOTHERHere comes dear Anne Speak not of it before her.[Enter the GRAND-DUCHESS, a girl of sixteen.]ANNEAlas! the news is that poor Prussia’s queen,Spirited Queen Louisa, once so fair,Is slowly dying, mother! Did you know?ALEXANDER [betraying emotion]Ah!—such I dreaded from the earlier hints.Poor soul—her heart was slain some time ago.ANNEWhat do you mean by that, my brother dear?EMPRESS-MOTHERHe means, my child, that he as usual spendsMuch sentiment upon the foreign fair,And hence leaves little for his folk at home.ALEXANDERI mean, Anne, that her country’s overthrowLet death into her heart. The Tilsit daysTaught me to know her well, and honour her.She was a lovely woman even then!...Strangely, the present English Prince of WalesWas wished to husband her. Had wishes won,They might have varied Europe’s history.ANNENapoléon, I have heard, admired her once;How he must grieve that soon she’ll be no more!EMPRESS-MOTHERNapoléon and your brother loved her both.[Alexander shows embarrassment.]But whatsoever grief be Alexander’s,His will be none who feels but for himself.ANNEO mother, how can you mistake him so!He worships her who is to be his wife,The fair Archduchess Marie.EMPRESS-MOTHERSimple child,As yet he has never seen her, or but barely.That is a tactic suit, with love to match!ALEXANDER [with vainly veiled tenderness]High-souled Louisa;—when shall I forgetThose Tilsit gatherings in the long-sunned June!Napoléon’s gallantries deceived her quite,Who fondly felt her pleas for MagdeburgHad won him to its cause; the while, alas!His cynic sense but posed in cruel play!EMPRESS-MOTHERBitterly mourned she her civilitiesWhen time unlocked the truth, that she had chokedHer indignation at his former slightsAnd slanderous sayings for a baseless hope,And wrought no tittle for her country’s gain.I marvel why you mourn a frustrate tieWith one whose wiles could wring a woman so!ALEXANDER [uneasily]I marvel also, when I think of it!EMPRESS-MOTHERDon’t listen to us longer, dearest Anne.[Exit Anne.]—You will uphold my judging by and by,That as a suitor we are quit of him,And that blind Austria will rue the hourWherein she plucks for him her fairest flower![The scene shuts.]SCENE VIIIPARIS. THE GRAND GALLERY OF THE LOUVRE AND THE SALON-CARRE ADJOINING[The view is up the middle of the Gallery, which is now a spectacleof much magnificence. Backed by the large paintings on the wallsare double rows on each side of brightly dressed ladies, the pickof Imperial society, to the number of four thousand, one thousandin each row; and behind these standing up are two rows on each sideof men of privilege and fashion. Officers of the Imperial Guardare dotted about as marshals.Temporary barriers form a wide passage up the midst, leading to theSalon-Carre, which is seen through the opening to be fitted up asa chapel, with a gorgeous altar, tall candles, and cross. In frontof the altar is a platform with a canopy over it. On the platformare two gilt chairs and a prie-dieu.The expectant assembly does not continuously remain in the seats,but promenades and talks, the voices at times rising to a din amidthe strains of the orchestra, conducted by the EMPEROR’S Directorof Music. Refreshments in profusion are handed round, and theextemporized cathedral resolves itself into a gigantic cafe ofpersons of distinction under the Empire.]SPIRIT SINISTERAll day have they been waiting for their galanty-show, and now thehour of performance is on the strike. It may be seasonable to museon the sixteenth Louis and the bride’s great-aunt, as the nearingprocession is, I see, appositely crossing the track of the tumbrilwhich was the last coach of that respected lady.... It is nowpassing over the site of the scaffold on which she lost her head.... Now it will soon be here.[Suddenly the heralds enter the Gallery at the end towards theTuileries, the spectators ranging themselves in their places.In a moment the wedding procession of the EMPEROR and EMPRESSbecomes visible. The civil marriage having already been performed,Napoléon and Marie Louise advance together along the vacant pathwaytowards the Salon-Carre, followed by the long suite of illustriouspersonages, and acclamations burst from all parts of the GrandGallery.SPIRIT OF THE PITIESWhose are those forms that pair in pompous trainBehind the hand-in-hand half-wedded ones,With faces speaking sense of an adventureWhich may close well, or not so?RECORDING ANGEL [reciting]First there walksThe Emperor’s brother Louis, Holland’s King;Then Jérôme of Westphalia with his spouse;The mother-queen, and Julie Queen of Spain,The Prince Borghese and the Princess Pauline,Beauharnais the Vice-King of Italy,And Murat King of Naples, with their Queens;Baden’s Grand-Duke, Arch-Chancellor Cambacérès,Berthier, Lebrun, and, not least, Talleyrand.Then the Grand Marshal and the Chamberlain,The Lords-in-Waiting, the Grand Equerry,With waiting-ladies, women of the chamber,An others called by office, rank, or fame.SPIRIT OF RUMOURNew, many, to Imperial dignities;Which, won by character and qualityIn those who now enjoy them, will becomeThe birthright of their sons in aftertime.SPIRIT OF THE YEARSIt fits thee not to augur, quick-eared Shade.Ephemeral at the best all honours be,These even more ephemeral than their kind,So random-fashioned, swift, perturbable!SPIRIT OF THE PITIESNapoléon looks content—nay, shines with joy.SPIRIT OF THE YEARSYet see it pass, as by a conjuror’s wand.[Thereupon Napoléon’s face blackens as if the shadow of a winternight had fallen upon it. Resentful and threatening, he stops theprocession and looks up and down the benches.]SPIRIT SINISTERThis is sound artistry of the Immanent Will: it relieves the monotonyof so much good-humour.NAPOLÉON [to the Chapel-master]Where are the Cardinals? And why not here? [He speaks so loud thathe is heard throughout the Gallery.]ABBÉ DE PRADT [trembling]Many are present here, your Majesty;But some are feebled by infirmitiesToo common to their age, and cannot come.NAPOLÉONTell me no nonsense! Half absent themselvesBecause they WILL not come. The factious fools!Well, be it so. But they shall flinch for it![MARIE LOUISE looks frightened. The procession moves on.]SPIRIT OF THE PITIESI seem to see the thin and headless ghostOf the yet earlier Austrian, here, too, queen,Walking beside the bride, with frail attemptsTo pluck her by the arm!SPIRIT OF THE YEARSNay, think not so.No trump unseals earth’s sepulchre’s to-day:We are the only phantoms now abroadOn this mud-moulded ball! Through sixteen yearsShe has decayed in a back-garden yonder,Dust all the showance time retains of her,Senseless of hustlings in her former house,Lost to all count of crowns and bridalry—Even of her Austrian blood. No: what thou seestSprings of the quavering fancy, stirred to dreamsBy yon tart phantom’s phrase.MARIE LOUISE [sadly to Napoléon]I know not why,I love not this day’s doings half so wellAs our quaint meeting-time at Compiegne.A clammy air creeps round me, as from vaultsPeopled with looming spectres, chilling meAnd angering you withal!NAPOLÉONO, it is noughtTo trouble you: merely, my cherished one,Those devils of Italian Cardinals!—Now I’ll be bright as ever—you must, too.MARIE LOUISEI’ll try.[Reaching the entrance to the Salon-Carre amid strains of musicthe EMPEROR and EMPRESS are received and incensed by the CARDINALGRAND ALMONERS. They take their seats under the canopy, and thetrain of notabilities seat themselves further back, the persons-in-waiting stopping behind the Imperial chairs.The ceremony of the religious marriage now begins. The choirintones a hymn, the EMPEROR and EMPRESS go to the altar, removetheir gloves, and make their vows.]SPIRIT IRONICThe English Church should return thanks for this wedding, seeinghow it will purge of coarseness the picture-sheets of that artisticnation, which will hardly be able to caricature the new wife as itdid poor plebeian Joséphine. Such starched and ironed monarchistscannot sneer at a woman of such a divinely dry and crusted line likethe Hapsburgs![Mass is next celebrated, after which the TE DEUM is chanted inharmonies that whirl round the walls of the Salon-Carre and quiverdown the long Gallery. The procession then re-forms and returns,amid the flutterings and applause of the dense assembly. ButNapoléon’s face has not lost the sombre expression which settledon it. The pair and their train pass out by the west door, andthe congregation disperses in the other direction, the cloud-curtain closing over the scene as they disappear.
PARIS. A BALLROOM IN THE HOUSE OF CAMBACÉRÈS[The many-candled saloon at the ARCH-CHANCELLOR’S is visiblethrough a draped opening, and a crowd of masked dancers infantastic costumes revolve, sway, and intermingle to the musicthat proceeds from an alcove at the further end of the sameapartment. The front of the scene is a withdrawing-room ofsmaller size, now vacant, save for the presence of one sombrefigure, that of NAPOLÉON, seated and apparently watching themoving masquerade.]
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESNapoléon even now embraces notFrom stress of state affairs, which hold him graveThrough revels that might win the King of SpleenTo toe a measure! I would speak with him.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSSpeak if thou wilt whose speech nor mars nor mends!
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES [into Napoléon’s ear]Why thus and thus Napoléon? Can it beThat Wagram with its glories, shocks, and shames,Still leaves athirst the palate of thy pride?
NAPOLÉON [answering as in soliloquy]The trustless, timorous lease of human lifeWarns me to hedge in my diplomacy.The sooner, then, the safer! Ay, this eve,This very night, will I take steps to ridMy morrows of the weird contingenciesThat vision round and make one hollow-eyed....The unexpected, lurid death of Lannes—Rigid as iron, reaped down like a straw—Tiptoed Assassination haunting roundIn unthought thoroughfares, the near successOf Staps the madman, argue to forbidThe riskful blood of my previsioned lineAnd potence for dynastic emperyTo linger vialled in my veins alone.Perhaps within this very house and hour,Under an innocent mask of Love or Hope,Some enemy queues my ways to coffin me....When at the first clash of the late campaign,A bold belief in Austria’s star prevailed,There pulsed quick pants of expectation roundAmong the cowering kings, that too well toldWhat would have fared had I been overthrown!So; I must send down shoots to future timeWho’ll plant my standard and my story there;And a way opens.—Better I had notBespoke a wife from Alexander’s house.Not there now lies my look. But done is done![The dance ends and masks enter, BERTHIER among them. NAPOLÉONbeckons to him, and he comes forward.]God send you find amid this motley crewFrivolities enough, friend Berthier—eh?My thoughts have worn oppressive shades despite such!What scandals of me do they bandy here?These close disguises render women bold—Their shames being of the light, not of the thing—And your sagacity has garnered much,I make no doubt, of ill and good report,That marked our absence from the capital?
BERTHIERMethinks, your Majesty, the enormous taleOf your campaign, like Aaron’s serpent-rod,Has swallowed up the smaller of its kind.Some speak, ’tis true, in counterpoise thereto,Of English deeds by Talavera town,Though blurred by their exploit at Walcheren,And all its crazy, crass futilities.
NAPOLÉONYet was the exploit well featured in design,Large in idea, and imaginative;I had not deemed the blinkered English folkSo capable of view. Their fate contrivedTo place an idiot at the helm of it,Who marred its working, else it had been hardIf things had not gone seriously for us.—But see, a lady saunters hitherwardWhose gait proclaims her Madame Metternich,One that I fain would speak with.[NAPOLÉON rises and crosses the room toward a lady-masker who hasjust appeared in the opening. BERTHIER draws off, and the EMPEROR,unceremoniously taking the lady’s arm, brings her forward to achair, and sits down beside her as dancing is resumed.]
MADAME METTERNICHIn a flashI recognized you, sire; as who would notThe bearer of such deep-delved charactery?
NAPOLÉONThe devil, madame, take your piercing eyes!It’s hard I cannot prosper in a gameThat every coxcomb plays successfully.—So here you are still, though your loving lordDisports him at Vienna?
MADAME METTERNICHParis, true,Still holds me; though in quiet, save to-night,When I have been expressly prayed come hither,Or I had not left home.
NAPOLÉONI sped that Prayer!—I have a wish to put a case to you,Wherein a woman’s judgment, such as yours,May be of signal service. [He lapses into reverie.]
MADAME METTERNICHWell? The case—
NAPOLÉONIs marriage—mine.
MADAME METTERNICHIt is beyond me, sire!
NAPOLÉONYou glean that I have decided to dissolve[Pursuant to monitions murmured long]My union with the present Empress—formedWithout the Church’s due authority?
MADAME METTERNICHVaguely. And that light tentatives have wingedBetwixt your Majesty and Russia’s court,To moot that one of their Grand DuchessesShould be your Empress-wife. Nought else I know.
NAPOLÉONThere have been such approachings; more, worse luck.Last week Champagny wrote to AlexanderAsking him for his sister—yes or no.
MADAME METTERNICHWhat “worse luck” lies in that, your Majesty,If severance from the Empress JoséphineBe fixed unalterably?
NAPOLÉONThis worse luck lies there:If your Archduchess, Marie Louise the fair,Would straight accept my hand, I’d offer it,And throw the other over. Faith, the TsarHas shown such backwardness in answering me,Time meanwhile trotting, that I have ample groundFor such withdrawal.—Madame, now, again,Will your Archduchess marry me of no?
MADAME METTERNICHYour sudden questions quite confound my sense!It is impossible to answer them.
NAPOLÉONWell, madame, now I’ll put it to you thus:Were you in the Archduchess Marie’s placeWould you accept my hand—and heart therewith?
MADAME METTERNICHI should refuse you—most assuredly!17
NAPOLÉON [laughing roughly]Ha-ha! That’s frank. And devilish cruel too!—Well, write to your husband. Ask him what he thinks,And let me know.
MADAME METTERNICHIndeed, sire, why should I?There goes the Ambassador, Prince Schwarzenberg,Successor to my spouse. He’s now the grooveAnd proper conduit of diplomacyThrough whom to broach this matter to his Court.
NAPOLÉONDo you, then, broach it through him, madame, pray;Now, here, to-night.
MADAME METTERNICHI will, informally,To humour you, on this recognizance,That you leave not the business in my hands,But clothe your project in official guiseThrough him to-morrow; so safeguarding meFrom foolish seeming, as the babbler forthOf a fantastic and unheard of dream.
NAPOLÉONI’ll send Eugène to him, as you suggest.Meanwhile prepare him. Make your stand-point this:Children are needful to my dynasty,And if one woman cannot mould them for me,Why, then, another must.[Exit NAPOLÉON abruptly. Dancing continues. MADAME METTERNICHsits on, musing. Enter SCHWARZENBERG.]
MADAME METTERNICHThe Emperor has just left me. We have tappedThis theme and that; his empress and—his next.Ay, so! Now, guess you anything?
SCHWARZENBERGOf her?No more than that the stock of RomanoffWill not supply the spruce commodity.
MADAME METTERNICHAnd that the would-be customer turns toeTo our shop in Vienna.
SCHWARZENBERGMarvellous;And comprehensible but as the dreamOf Delaborde, of which I have lately heard.It will not work!—What think you, madame, on’t?
MADAME METTERNICHThat it will work, and is as good as wrought!—I break it to you thus, at his request.In brief time Prince Eugène will wait on you,And make the formal offer in his name.
SCHWARZENBERGWhich I can but receivead referendum,And shall initially make clear as much,Disclosing not a glimpse of my own mind!Meanwhile you make good Metternich aware?
MADAME METTERNICHI write this midnight, that amaze may pitchTo coolness ere your messenger arrives.
SCHWARZENBERGThis radiant revelation flicks a gleamOn many circling things!—the courtesiesWhich graced his bearing toward our officerAmid the tumults of the late campaign,His wish for peace with England, his affrontAt Alexander’s tedious-timed reply...Well, it will thrust a thorn in Russia’s side,If I err not, whatever else betide![Exeunt. The maskers surge into the foreground of the scene, andtheir motions become more and more fantastic. A strange gloombegins and intensifies, until only the high lights of theirgrinning figures are visible. These also, with the whole ball-room, gradually darken, and the music softens to silence.]
PARIS. THE TUILERIES[The evening of the next day. A saloon of the Palace, withfolding-doors communicating with a dining-room. The doors areflung open, revealing on the dining-table an untouched dinner,NAPOLÉON and JOSÉPHINE rising from it, and DE BAUSSET, chamberlain-in-waiting, pacing up and down. The EMPEROR and EMPRESS comeforward into the saloon, the latter pale and distressed, andpatting her eyes with her handkerchief.The doors are closed behind them; a page brings in coffee; NAPOLÉONsignals to him to leave. JOSÉPHINE goes to pour out the coffee,but NAPOLÉON pushes her aside and pours it out himself, looking ather in a way which causes her to sink cowering into a chair like afrightened animal.]
JOSÉPHINEI see my doom, my friend, upon your face!
NAPOLÉONYou see me bored by Cambacérès’ ball.
JOSÉPHINEIt means divorce!—a thing more terribleThan carrying elsewhere the dalliancesThat formerly were mine. I kicked at that;But now agree, as I for long have done,To any infidelities of actMay I be yours in name!
NAPOLÉONMy mind must bendTo other things than our domestic petting:The Empire orbs above our happiness,And ’tis the Empire dictates this divorce.I reckon on your courage and calm senseTo breast with me the law’s formalities,And get it through before the year has flown.
JOSÉPHINEBut are you REALLY going to part from me?O no, no, my dear husband; no, in truth,It cannot be my Love will serve me so!
NAPOLÉONI mean but mere divorcement, as I said,On simple grounds of sapient sovereignty.
JOSÉPHINEBut nothing have I done save good to you:—Since the fond day we wedded into oneI never even have THOUGHT you jot of harm!Many the happy junctures when you have saidI stood as guardian-angel over you,As your Dame Fortune, too, and endless thingsOf such-like pretty tenour—yes, you have!Then how can you so gird against me now?You had not pricked upon it much of late,And so I hoped and hoped the ugly spectreHad been laid dead and still.
NAPOLÉON [impatiently]I tell you, dear,The thing’s decreed, and even the princess chosen.
JOSÉPHINEAh—so—the princess chosen!... I surmiseIt is none else than the Grand-Duchess Anne:Gossip was right—though I would not believe.She’s young; but no great beauty!—Yes, I seeHer silly, soulless eyes and horrid hair;In which new gauderies you’ll forget sad me!
NAPOLÉONUpon my soul you are childish, Joséphine:A woman of your years to pout it so!—I say it’s not the Tsar’s Grand-Duchess Anne.
JOSÉPHINESome other Fair, then. You whose name can nodThe flower of all the world’s virginityInto your bed, will well take care of that![Spitefully.] She may not have a child, friend, after all.
NAPOLÉON [drily]You hope she won’t, I know!—But don’t forgetMadame Walewska did, and had she shownSuch cleverness as yours, poor little fool,Her withered husband might have been displaced,And her boy made my heir.—Well, let that be.The severing parchments will be signed by usUpon the fifteenth, prompt.
JOSÉPHINEWhat—I have to signMy putting away upon the fifteenth next?
NAPOLÉONAy—both of us.
JOSÉPHINE [falling on her knees]So far advanced—so far!Fixed?—for the fifteenth? O I do implore you,My very dear one, by our old, old love,By my devotion, don’t cast me offNow, after these long years!
NAPOLÉONHeavens, how you jade me!Must I repeat that I don’t cast you off;We merely formally arrange divorce—We live and love, but call ourselves divided.[A silence.]
JOSÉPHINE [with sudden calm]Very well. Let it be. I must submit! [Rises.]
NAPOLÉONAnd this much likewise you must promise me,To act in the formalities thereofAs if you shaped them of your own free will.
JOSÉPHINEHow can I—when no freewill’s left in me?
NAPOLÉONYou are a willing party—do you hear?
JOSÉPHINE [quivering]I hardly—can—bear this!—It is—too muchFor a poor weak and broken woman’s strength!But—but I yield!—I am so helpless now:I give up all—ay, kill me if you will,I won’t cry out!
NAPOLÉONAnd one thing further still,You’ll help me in my marriage overturesTo win the Duchess—Austrian Marie she,—Concentrating all your force to forward them.
JOSÉPHINEIt is the—last humiliating blow!—I cannot—O, I will not!
NAPOLÉON [fiercely]But you SHALL!And from your past experience you may knowThat what I say I mean!
JOSÉPHINE [breaking into sobs]O my dear husband—do not make me—don’t!If you but cared for me—the hundredth partOf how—I care for you, you could not beSo cruel as to lay this torture on me.It hurts me so!—it cuts me like a sword.Don’t make me, dear! Don’t, will you! O,O,O![She sinks down in a hysterical fit.]
NAPOLÉON [calling]Bausset![Enter DE BAUSSET, Chamberlain-in-waiting.]Bausset, come in and shut the door.Assist me here. The Empress has fallen ill.Don’t call for help. We two can carry herBy the small private staircase to her rooms.Here—I will take her feet.[They lift JOSÉPHINE between them and carry her out. Her moansdie away as they recede towards the stairs. Enter two servants,who remove coffee-service, readjust chairs, etc.]
FIRST SERVANTSo, poor old girl, she’s wailed herMissere Mei, as Mother Churchsays. I knew she was to get the sack ever since he came back.
SECOND SERVANTWell, there will be a little civil huzzaing, a little crowing andcackling among the Bonapartes at the downfall of the Beauharnaisfamily at last, mark me there will! They’ve had their little hour,as the poets say, and now ’twill be somebody else’s turn. O it isdroll! Well, Father Time is a great philosopher, if you take himright. Who is to be the new woman?
FIRST SERVANTShe that contains in her own corporation the necessary particular.
SECOND SERVANTAnd what may they be?
FIRST SERVANTShe must be young.
SECOND SERVANTGood. She must. The country must see to that.
FIRST SERVANTAnd she must be strong.
SECOND SERVANTGood again. She must be strong. The doctors will see to that.FIRST SERVANTAnd she must be fruitful as the vine.
SECOND SERVANTAy, by God. She must be fruitful as the vine. That, Heaven helphim, he must see to himself, like the meanest multiplying man inParis.[Exeunt servant. Re-enter NAPOLÉON with his stepdaughter, QueenHortense.]
NAPOLÉONYour mother is too rash and reasonless—Wailing and fainting over statesmanshipWhich is no personal caprice of mine,But policy most painful—forced on meBy the necessities of this country’s charge.Go to her; see if she be saner now;Explain it to her once and once again,And bring me word what impress you may make.[HORTENSE goes out. CHAMPAGNY is shown in.]Champagny, I have something clear to sayNow, on our process after the divorce.The question of the Russian Duchess AnneWas quite inept for further toying with.The years rush on, and I grow nothing younger.So I have made up my mind—committed meTo Austria and the Hapsburgs—good or ill!It was the best, most practicable plunge,And I have plunged it.
CHAMPAGNYAustria say you, sire?I reckoned that but a scurrying dream!
NAPOLÉONWell, so it was. But such a pretty dreamThat its own charm transfixed it to a notion,That showed itself in time a sanity,Which hardened in its turn to a resolveAs firm as any built by mortal mind.—The Emperor’s consent must needs be won;But I foresee no difficulty there.The young Archduchess is a bright blond thingBy general story; and considering, too,That her good mother childed seventeen times,It will be hard if she can not produceThe modest one or two that I require.[Enter DE BAUSSET with dispatches.]
DE BAUSSETThe courier, sire, from Petersburg is here,And brings these letters for your Majesty.[Exit DE BAUSSET.]
NAPOLÉON [after silently reading]Ha-ha! It never rains unless it pours:Now I can have the other readily.The proverb hits me aptly: “Well they doWho doff the old love ere they don the new!”[He glances again over the letter.]Yes, Caulaincourt now writes he has every hopeOf quick success in settling the alliance!The Tsar is willing—even anxious for it,His sister’s youth the single obstacle.The Empress-mother, hitherto against me,Ambition-fired, verges on suave consent,Likewise the whole Imperial family.What irony is all this to me now!Time lately was when I had leapt thereat.
CHAMPAGNYYou might, of course, sire, give th’ Archduchess up,Seeing she looms uncertainly as yet,While this does so no longer.
NAPOLÉONNo—not I.My sense of my own dignity forbidsMy watching the slow clocks of Muscovy!Why have they dallied with my tentativesIn pompous silence since the Erfurt day?—And Austria, too, affords a safer hope.The young Archduchess is much less a childThan is the other, who, Caulaincourt says,Will be incapable of motherhoodFor six months yet or more—a grave delay.
CHAMPAGNYYour Majesty appears to have trimmed your sailFor Austria; and no more is to be said!
NAPOLÉONExcept that there’s the house of SaxonyIf Austria fail.—then, very well, Champagny,Write you to Caulaincourt accordingly.
CHAMPAGNYI will, your Majesty.[Exit CHAMPAGNY. Re-enter QUEEN HORTENSE.]
NAPOLÉONAh, dear Hortense,How is your mother now?
HORTENSECalm; quite calm, sire.I pledge me you need have no further fretFrom her entreating tears. She bids me sayThat now, as always, she submits herselfWith chastened dignity to circumstance,And will descend, at notice, from your throne—As in days earlier she ascended it—In questionless obedience to your will.It was your hand that crowned her; let it beLikewise your hand that takes her crown away.As for her children, we shall be but gladTo follow and withdraw ourselves with her,The tenderest mother children ever knew,From grandeurs that have brought no happiness!
NAPOLÉON [taking her hand]But, Hortense, dear, it is not to be so!You must stay with me, as I said before.Your mother, too, must keep her royal state,Since no repudiation stains this need.Equal magnificence will orb her roundIn aftertime as now. A palace here,A palace in the country, wealth to match,A rank in order next my future wife’s,And conference with me as my truest friend.Now we will seek her—Eugène, you, and I—And make the project clear.[Exeunt NAPOLÉON and HORTENSE. The scene darkens and shuts.]
VIENNA. A PRIVATE APARTMENT IN THE IMPERIAL PALACE[The EMPEROR FRANCIS discovered, paler than usual, and somewhatflurried. Enter METTERNICH the Prime Minister—a thin-lipped,long-nosed man with inquisitive eyes.]
FRANCISI have been expecting you some minutes here,The thing that fronts us brooking brief delay.—Well, what say you by now on this strange offer?
METTERNICHMy views remain the same, your Majesty:The policy of peace that I have upheld,Both while in Paris and of late time here,Points to this step as heralding sweet balmAnd bandaged veins for our late crimsoned realm.
FRANCISAgreed. As monarch I perceive thereinA happy doorway for my purposings.It seems to guarantee the Hapsburg crownA quittance of distractions such as thoseThat leave their shade on many a backward year!—There is, forsooth, a suddenness about it,And it would aid us had we clearly keyedThe cryptologues of which the world has heardBetween Napoléon and the Russian Court—Begun there with the selfsame motiving.
METTERNICHI would not, sire, one second ponder it.It was an obvious first crude cast-aboutIn the important reckoning of meansFor his great end, a strong monarchic line.The more advanced the more it profits us;For sharper, then, the quashing of such views,And wreck of that conjunction in the aimsOf France and Russia, marked so much of lateAs jeopardizing quiet neighbours’ thrones.
FRANCISIf that be so, on the domestic sideThere seems no bar. Speaking as father solely,I see secured to her the proudest fateThat woman can daydream. And I could hopeThat private bliss would not be wanting her!
METTERNICH
A hope well seated, sire. The Emperor,Imperious and determined in his rule,Is easy-natured in domestic life,As my long time in Paris amply proved.Moreover, the accessories of his gloryHave been, and will be, admirably designedTo fire the fancy of a young princess.
FRANCISThus far you satisfy me.... So, to close,Or not to close with him, is now the thing.
METTERNICHYour Majesty commands the issue quite:The father of his people can aloneIn such a case give answer—yes or no.Vagueness and doubt have ruined Russia’s chance;Let not, then, such be ours.
FRANCIS
You mean, if I,You’d answer straight. What would that answer be?
METTERNICHIn state affairs, sire, as in private life,Times will arise when even the faithfullest squireFinds him unfit to jog his chieftain’s choice,On whom responsibility must lastly rest.And such times are pre-eminently, sire,Those wherein thought alone is not enoughTo serve the head as guide. As Emperor,As father, both, to you, to you in soleMust appertain the privilege to pronounceWhich track stern duty bids you tread herein.
FRANCISAffection is my duty, heart my guide.—Without constraint or prompting I shall leaveThe big decision in my daughter’s hands.Before my obligations to my peopleMust stand her wish. Go, find her, Metternich,Take her the tidings. She is free with you,And will speak out. [Looking forth from the terrace.]She’s here at hand, I see:I’ll call her in. Then tell me what’s her mind.[He beckons from the window, and goes out in another direction.]
METTERNICHSo much for form’s sake! Can the river-flowerThe current drags, direct its face up-stream?What she must do she will; nought else at all.[Enter through one of the windows MARIA LOUISA in garden-costume,fresh-coloured, girlish, and smiling. METTERNICH bends.]
MARIA LOUISAO how, dear Chancellor, you startled me!Please pardon my so brusquely bursting in.I saw you not.—Those five poor little birdsThat haunt out there beneath the pediment,Snugly defended from the north-east wind,Have lately disappeared. I sought a traceOf scattered feathers, which I dread to find!
METTERNICHThey are gone, I ween, the way of tender fleshAt the assaults of winter, want, and foes.
MARIA LOUISAIt is too melancholy thinking, that!Don’t say it.—But I saw the Emperor here?Surely he beckoned me?
METTERNICHSure, he did,Your gracious Highness; and he has left me hereTo break vast news that will make good his call.
MARIA LOUISAThen do. I’ll listen. News from near or far?[She seats herself.]
METTERNICHFrom far—though of such distance-dwarfing mightThat far may read as near eventually.But, dear Archduchess, with your kindly leaveI’ll speak straight out. The Emperor of the FrenchHas sent to-day to make, through Schwarzenberg,A formal offer of his heart and hand,His honours, dignities, imperial throne,To you, whom he admires above all thoseThe world can show elsewhere.
MARIA LOUISA [frightened]My husband—he?What, an old man like him!
METTERNICH [cautiously]He’s scarcely old,Dear lady. True, deeds densely crowd in him;Turn months to years calendaring his span;Yet by Time’s common clockwork he’s but young.
MARIA LOUISASo wicked, too!
METTERNICH [nettled]Well-that’s a point of view.
MARIA LOUISABut, Chancellor, think what things I have said to him!Can women marry where they have taunted so?
METTERNICHThings? Nothing inexpungeable, I deem,By time and true good humour.
MARIA LOUISAO I have!Horrible things. Why—ay, a hundred times—I have said I wished him dead! At that strained hourWhen the first voicings of the late war came,Thrilling out how the French were smitten soreAnd Bonaparte retreating, I clapped handsAnd answered that I hoped he’d lose his headAs well as lose the battle!
METTERNICHWords. But words!Born like the bubbles of a spring that comeOf zest for springing—aimless in their shape.
MARIA LOUISAIt seems indecent, mean, to wed a manWhom one has held such fierce opinions of!
METTERNICHMy much beloved Archduchess, and revered,Such things have been! In Spain and PortugalLike enmities have led to intermarriage.In England, after warring thirty yearsThe Red and White Rose wedded.
MARIA LOUISA [after a silence]Tell me, now,What does my father wish?
METTERNICHHis wish is yours.Whatever your Imperial Highness feelsOn this grave verdict of your destiny,Home, title, future sphere, he bids you thinkNot of himself, but of your own desire.
MARIA LOUISA [reflecting]My wish is what my duty bids me wish.Where a wide Empire’s welfare is in poise,That welfare must be pondered, not my will.I ask of you, then, Chancellor Metternich,Straightway to beg the Emperor my fatherThat he fulfil his duty to the realm,And quite subordinate thereto all thoughtOf how it personally impinge on me.[A slight noise as of something falling is heard in the room. Theyglance momentarily, and see that a small enamel portrait of MARIEANTOINETTE, which was standing on a console-table, has slipped downon its face.]
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSWhat mischief’s this? The Will must have its way.
SPIRIT SINISTERPerhaps Earth shivered at the lady’s say?
SHADE OF THE EARTHI own hereto. When France and Austria wedMy echoes are men’s groans, my dews are red;So I have reason for a passing dread!
METTERNICHRight nobly phrased, Archduchess; wisely too.I will acquaint your sire the EmperorWith these your views. He waits them anxiously. [Going.]
MARIA LOUISALet me go first. It much confuses meTo think—But I would fain let thinking be![She goes out trembling. Enter FRANCIS by another door.]
METTERNICHI was about to seek your Majesty.The good Archduchess luminously holdsThat in this weighty question you regardThe Empire. Best for it is best for her.
FRANCIS [moved]My daughter’s views thereon do not surprise me.She is too staunch to pit a private whimAgainst the fortunes of a commonwealth.During your speech with her I have taken thoughtTo shape decision sagely. An assentWould yield the Empire many years of peace,And leave me scope to heal those still green soresWhich linger from our late unhappy moils.Therefore, my daughter not being disinclined,I know no basis for a negative.Send, then, a courier prompt to Paris: sayThe offer made for the Archduchess’ handI do accept—with this defined reserve,That no condition, treaty, bond, attachTo such alliance save the tie itself.There are some sacrifices whose grave ritesNo bargain must contaminate. This is one—This personal gift of a beloved child!
METTERNICH [leaving]I’ll see to it this hour, your Majesty,And cant the words in keeping with your wish.To himself as he goes.]Decently done!... He slipped out “sacrifice,”And scarce could hide his heartache for his girl.Well ached it!—But when these things have to beIt is as well to breast them stoically.[Exit METTERNICH. The clouds draw over.]
LONDON. A CLUB IN ST. JAMES’S STREET[A winter midnight. Two members are conversing by the fire, andothers are seen lolling in the background, some of them snoring.]
FIRST MEMBERI learn from a private letter that it was carried out in theEmperor’s Cabinet at the Tuileries—just off the throne-room, wherethey all assembled in the evening,—Boney and the wife of his bosom[In pure white muslin from head to foot, they say], the Kings andQueens of Holland, Whestphalia, and Naples, the Princess Pauline,and one or two more; the officials present being Cambacérès theChancellor, and Count Regnaud. Quite a small party. It was overin minutes—short and sweet, like a donkey’s gallop.
SECOND MEMBERAnything but sweet for her. How did she stand it?
FIRST MEMBERSerenely, I believe, while the Emperor was making his speechrenouncing her; but when it came to her turn to say she renouncedhim she began sobbing mightily, and was so completely choked up thatshe couldn’t get out a word.
SECOND MEMBERPoor old dame! I pity her, by God; though she had a rattling goodspell while it lasted.
FIRST MEMBERThey say he was a bit upset, too, at sight of her tears But Idare vow that was put on. Fancy Boney caring a curse what a womanfeels. She had learnt her speech by heart, but that did not helpher: Regnaud had to finish it for her, the ditch that overturnedher being where she was made to say that she no longer preservedany hope of having children, and that she was pleased to show herattachment by enabling him to obtain them by another woman. Shewas led off fainting. A turning of the tables, considering howmadly jealous she used to make him by her flirtations![Enter a third member.]
SECOND MEMBERHow is the debate going? Still braying the Government in a mortar?
THIRD MEMBERThey are. Though one thing every body admits: young Peel hasmade a wonderful first speech in seconding the address. Therehas been nothing like it since Pitt. He spoke rousingly ofAustria’s misfortunes—went on about Spain, of course, showingthat we must still go on supporting her, winding up with abrilliant peroration about—what were the words—“the fiery eyesof the British soldier!”—Oh, well: it was all learnt before-hand,of course.
SECOND MEMBERI wish I had gone down. But the wind soon blew the other way.
THIRD MEMBERThen Gower rapped out his amendment. That was good, too, by God.
SECOND MEMBERWell, the war must go on. And that being the general convictionthis censure and that censure are only so many blank cartridges.
THIRD MEMBERBlank? Damn me, were they! Gower’s was a palpable hit when he saidthat Parliament had placed unheard-of resources in the hands of theMinisters last year, to make this year’s results to the countryworse than if they had been afforded no resources at all. Everysingle enterprise of theirs had been a beggarly failure.
SECOND MEMBERAnybody could have said it, come to that.
THIRD MEMBERYes, because it is so true. However, when he began to lay on withsuch rhetoric as “the treasures of the nation lavished in wastefulthoughtlessness,”—“thousands of our troops sacrificed wantonly inpestilential swamps of Walcheren,” and gave the details we know sowell, Ministers wriggled a good one, though ’twas no news to ’em.Castlereagh kept on starting forward as if he were going to jump upand interrupt, taking the strictures entirely as a personal affront.[Enter a fourth member.]
SEVERAL MEMBERSWho’s speaking now?
FOURTH MEMBERI don’t know. I have heard nobody later than Ward.
SECOND MEMBERThe fact is that, as Whitbread said to me to-day, the materials forcondemnation are so prodigious that we can scarce marshal them intoargument. We are just able to pour ’em out one upon t’other.
THIRD MEMBERWard said, with the blandest air in the world: “Censure? Do hisMajesty’s Ministers expect censure? Not a bit. They are goingabout asking in tremulous tones if anybody has heard when theirimpeachment is going to begin.”
SEVERAL MEMBERSHaw—haw—haw!
THIRD MEMBERThen he made another point. After enumerating our frightfulfailures—Spain, Walcheren, and the rest—he said: “But Ministershave not failed in everything. No; in one thing they have beenstrikingly successful. They have been successful in their attackupon Copenhagen—because it was directed against an ally!” Mightyfine, wasn’t it?
SECOND MEMBERHow did Castlereagh stomach that?
THIRD MEMBERHe replied then. Donning his air of injured innocence he proved thehonesty of his intentions—no doubt truly enough. But when he cameto Walcheren nothing could be done. The case was hopeless, and heknew it, and foundered. However, at the division, when he saw whata majority was going out on his side he was as frisky as a child.Canning’s speech was grave, with bits of shiny ornament stuck on—like the brass nails on a coffin, Sheridan says.[Fifth and sixth members stagger in, arm-and-arm.]
FIFTH MEMBERThe ’vision is—-’jority of ninety-six againsht—Gov’ment—I mean—againsht us. Which is it—hey? [To his companion.]
SIXTH MEMBERDamn majority of—damn ninety-six—against damn amendment! [Theysink down on a sofa.]
SECOND MEMBERGad, I didn’t expect the figure would have been quite so high!
THIRD MEMBERThe one conviction is that the war in the Peninsula is to go on, andas we are all agreed upon that, what the hell does it matter whattheir majority was?[Enter SHERIDAN. They all look inquiringly.]
SHERIDANHave ye heard the latest?
SECOND MEMBERNinety-six against us.
SHERIDANO no-that’s ancient history. I’d forgot it.
THIRD MEMBERA revolution, because Ministers are not impeached and hanged?
SHERIDANThat’s in contemplation, when we’ve got their confessions. But whatI meant was from over the water—it is a deuced sight more seriousto us than a debate and division that are only like the Liturgy ona Sunday—known beforehand to all the congregation. Why, Bonaparteis going to marry Austria forthwith—the Emperor’s daughter MariaLouisa.
THIRD MEMBERThe Lord look down! Our late respected crony of Austria! Why, inthis very night’s debate they have been talking about the laudableprinciples we have been acting upon in affording assistance to theEmperor Francis in his struggle against the violence and ambitionof France!
SECOND MEMBERBoney safe on that side, what may not befall!
THIRD MEMBERWe had better make it up with him, and shake hands all round.
SECOND MEMBERShake heads seems most natural in the case. O House of Hapsburg,how hast thou fallen![Enter WHITBREAD, LORD HUTCHINSON, LORD GEORGE CAVENDISH, GEORGEPONSONBY, WINDHAM, LORD GREY, BARING, ELLIOT, and other members,some drunk. The conversation becomes animated and noisy; severalmove off to the card-room, and the scene closes.]
THE OLD WEST HIGHWAY OUT OF VIENNA[The spot is where the road passes under the slopes of the WienerWald, with its beautiful forest scenery.]
DUMB SHOWA procession of enormous length, composed of eighty carriages—many of them drawn by six horses and one by eight—and escortedby detachments of cuirassiers, yeomanry, and other cavalry, isquickening its speed along the highway from the city.The six-horse carriages contain a multitude of Court officials,ladies of the Court, and other Austrian nobility. The eight-horsecoach contains a rosy, blue-eyed girl of eighteen, with full redlips, round figure, and pale auburn hair. She is MARIA LOUISA, andher eyes are red from recent weeping. The COUNTESS DE LAZANSKY,Grand Mistress of the Household, in the carriage with her, and theother ladies of the Palace behind, have a pale, proud, yet resignedlook, as if conscious that upon their sex had been laid the burdenof paying for the peace with France. They have been played out ofVienna with French marches, and the trifling incident has helped ontheir sadness.The observer’s vision being still bent on the train of vehicles andcavalry, the point of sight is withdrawn high into the air, till thehuge procession on the brown road looks no more than a file of antscrawling along a strip of garden-matting. The spacious terrestrialoutlook now gained shows this to be the great road across Europe fromVienna to Munich, and from Munich westerly to France.The puny concatenation of specks being exclusively watched, thesurface of the earth seems to move along in an opposite direction,and in infinite variety of hill, dale, woodland, and champaign.Bridges are crossed, ascents are climbed, plains are galloped over,and towns are reached, among them Saint Polten, where night falls.Morning shines, and the royal crawl is resumed, and continued throughLinz, where the Danube is reapproached, and the girl looks pleasedto see her own dear Donau still. Presently the tower of Brannauappears, where the animated dots pause for formalities, this beingthe frontier; and MARIA LOUISA becomes MARIE LOUISE and a Frenchwoman,in the charge of French officials.After many breaks and halts, during which heavy rains spread theirgauzes over the scene, the roofs and houses of Munich disclosethemselves, suggesting the tesserae of an irregular mosaic. A longstop is made here.The tedious advance continues. Vine-circled Stuttgart, flatCarlsruhe, the winding Rhine, storky Strassburg, pass in panoramabeneath us as the procession is followed. With Nancy and Bar-le-Duc sliding along, the scenes begin to assume a French character,and soon we perceive Chalons and ancient Rheims. The last day ofthe journey has dawned. Our vision flits ahead of the cortege toCourcelles, a little place which must be passed through beforeSoissons is reached. Here the point of sight descends to earth,and the Dumb Show ends.
COURCELLES[It is now seen to be a quiet roadside village, with a humblechurch in its midst, opposite to which stands an inn, the highwaypassing between them. Rain is still falling heavily. Not a soulis visible anywhere.Enter from the west a plain, lonely carriage, traveling in adirection to meet the file of coaches that we have watched. Itstops near the inn, and two men muffled in cloaks alight by thedoor away from the hostel and towards the church, as if theywished to avoid observation. Their faces are those of NAPOLÉONand MURAT, his brother-in-law. Crossing the road through the mudand rain they stand in the church porch, and watch the descendingdrifts.]
NAPOLÉON [stamping an impatient tattoo]One gets more chilly in a wet March than in a dry, however cold, thedevil if he don’t! What time do you make it now? That clock doesn’tgo.
MURAT [drily, looking at his watch]Yes, it does; and it is right. If clocks were to go as fast as yourwishes just now it would be awkward for the rest of the world.
NAPOLÉON [chuckling good-humouredly]How we have dished the Soissons folk, with their pavilions, andpurple and gold hangings for bride and bridegroom to meet in, andstately ceremonial to match, and their thousands looking on! Herewe are where there’s nobody. Ha, ha!
MURATBut why should they be dished, sire? The pavilions and ceremonieswere by your own orders.
NAPOLÉONWell, as the time got nearer I couldn’t stand the idea of dawdlingabout there.
MURATThe Soissons people will be in a deuce of a taking at being madesuch fools of!
NAPOLÉON
So let ’em. I’ll make it up with them somehow.—She can’t be faroff now, if we have timed her rightly. [He peers out into the rainand listens.]
MURATI don’t quite see how you are going to manage when she does come.Do we go before her toward Soissons when you have greeted her here,or follow in her rear? Or what do we do?
NAPOLÉONHeavens, I know no more than you! Trust to the moment and see whathappens. [A silence.] Hark—here she comes! Good little girl; upto time![The distant squashing in the mud of a multitude of hoofs andwheels is succeeded by the appearance of outriders and carriages,horses and horsemen, splashed with sample clays of the districtstraversed. The vehicles slow down to the inn. NAPOLÉON’S facefires up, and, followed by MURAT, he rushes into the rain towardsthe coach that is drawn by eight horses, containing the blue-eyedgirl. He holds off his hat at the carriage-window.]
MARIE LOUISE [shrinking back inside]Ah, Heaven! Two highwaymen are upon us!
THE EQUERRY D’AUDENARDE [simultaneously]The Emperor![The steps of the coach are hastily lowered, NAPOLÉON, dripping,jumps in and embraces her. The startled ARCHDUCHESS, with muchblushing and confusion recognizes him.]
MARIE LOUISE [tremulously, as she recovers herself]You are so much—better looking than your portraits—that I hardlyknew you! I expected you at Soissons. We are not at Soissons yet?
NAPOLÉONNo, my dearest spouse, but we are together! [Calling out to theequerry.] Drive through Soissons—pass the pavilion of receptionwithout stopping, and don’t halt till we reach Compiegne.[He sits down in the coach and is shut in, MURAT laughing silentlyat the scene. Exeunt carriages and riders toward Soissons.]
CHORUS OF THE IRONIC SPIRITS [aerial music]First ’twas a finished coquette,And now it’s a raw ingenue.—Blond instead of brunette,An old wife doffed for a new.She’ll bring him a baby,As quickly as maybe,And that’s what he wants her to do,Hoo-hoo!And that’s what he wants her to do!
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSWhat lewdness lip those wry-formed phantoms there!
IRONIC SPIRITSNay, Showman Years! With holy reverent airWe hymn the nuptials of the Imperial pair.[The scene thickens to mist and obscures the scene.]
PETERSBURG. THE PALACE OF THE EMPRESS-MOTHER[One of the private apartments is disclosed, in which the Empress-mother and Alexander are seated.]
EMPRESS-MOTHERSo one of Austrian blood his pomp selectsTo be his bride and bulwark—not our own.Thus are you coolly shelved!
ALEXANDERMe, mother dear?You, faith, if I may say it dutifully!Had all been left to me, some time ere nowHe would have wedded Kate.
EMPRESS-MOTHERHow so, my son?Catharine was plighted, and it could not be.
ALEXANDERRather you swiftly pledged and married her,To let Napoléon have no chance that way.But Anne remained.
EMPRESS-MOTHERHow Anne?—so young a girl!Sane Nature would have cried indecencyAt such a troth.
ALEXANDERTime would have tinkered that,And he was well-disposed to wait awhile;But the one test he had no temper forWas the apparent slight of unresponseAccorded his impatient overturesBy our suspensive poise of policy.
EMPRESS-MOTHERA backward answer is our country’s card—The special style and mode of Muscovy.We have grown great upon it, my dear son,And may such practice rule our centuries through!The necks of those who rate themselves our peersAre cured of stiffness by its potency.
ALEXANDERThe principle in this case, anyhow,Is shattered by the facts: since none can doubtYour policy was counted an affront,And drove my long ally to Austria’s arms,With what result to us must yet be seen!
EMPRESS-MOTHERMay Austria win much joy of the alliance!Marrying Napoléon is a midnight leapFor any Court in Europe, credit me,If ever such there were! What he may carveUpon the coming years, what murderous boltHurl at the rocking Constitutions round,On what dark planet he may land himselfIn his career through space, no sage can say.
ALEXANDERWell—possibly!... And maybe all is bestThat he engrafts his lineage not on us.—But, honestly, Napoléon none the lessHas been my friend, and I regret the dreamAnd fleeting fancy of a closer tie!
EMPRESS-MOTHERAy; your regrets are sentimental ever.That he’ll be writ no son-in-law of mineIs no regret to me! But an affrontThere is, no less, in his evasion on’t,Wherein the bourgeois quality of himVeraciously peeps out. I would be swornHe set his minions parleying with the twain—Yourself and Francis—simultaneously,Else no betrothal could have speeded so!
ALEXANDERDespite the hazard of offence to one?
EMPRESS-MOTHERMore than the hazard; the necessity.
ALEXANDERThere’s no offence to me.
EMPRESS-MOTHERThere should be, then.I am a Romanoff by marriage merely,But I do feel a rare belittlementAnd loud laconic brow-beating herein!
ALEXANDERNo, mother, no! I am the Tsar—not you,And I am only piqued in moderateness.Marriage with France was near my heart—I own it—What then? It has been otherwise ordained.[A silence.]
EMPRESS-MOTHERHere comes dear Anne Speak not of it before her.[Enter the GRAND-DUCHESS, a girl of sixteen.]
ANNEAlas! the news is that poor Prussia’s queen,Spirited Queen Louisa, once so fair,Is slowly dying, mother! Did you know?
ALEXANDER [betraying emotion]Ah!—such I dreaded from the earlier hints.Poor soul—her heart was slain some time ago.
ANNEWhat do you mean by that, my brother dear?
EMPRESS-MOTHERHe means, my child, that he as usual spendsMuch sentiment upon the foreign fair,And hence leaves little for his folk at home.
ALEXANDERI mean, Anne, that her country’s overthrowLet death into her heart. The Tilsit daysTaught me to know her well, and honour her.She was a lovely woman even then!...Strangely, the present English Prince of WalesWas wished to husband her. Had wishes won,They might have varied Europe’s history.
ANNENapoléon, I have heard, admired her once;How he must grieve that soon she’ll be no more!
EMPRESS-MOTHERNapoléon and your brother loved her both.[Alexander shows embarrassment.]But whatsoever grief be Alexander’s,His will be none who feels but for himself.
ANNEO mother, how can you mistake him so!He worships her who is to be his wife,The fair Archduchess Marie.
EMPRESS-MOTHERSimple child,As yet he has never seen her, or but barely.That is a tactic suit, with love to match!
ALEXANDER [with vainly veiled tenderness]High-souled Louisa;—when shall I forgetThose Tilsit gatherings in the long-sunned June!Napoléon’s gallantries deceived her quite,Who fondly felt her pleas for MagdeburgHad won him to its cause; the while, alas!His cynic sense but posed in cruel play!
EMPRESS-MOTHERBitterly mourned she her civilitiesWhen time unlocked the truth, that she had chokedHer indignation at his former slightsAnd slanderous sayings for a baseless hope,And wrought no tittle for her country’s gain.I marvel why you mourn a frustrate tieWith one whose wiles could wring a woman so!
ALEXANDER [uneasily]I marvel also, when I think of it!
EMPRESS-MOTHERDon’t listen to us longer, dearest Anne.[Exit Anne.]—You will uphold my judging by and by,That as a suitor we are quit of him,And that blind Austria will rue the hourWherein she plucks for him her fairest flower![The scene shuts.]
PARIS. THE GRAND GALLERY OF THE LOUVRE AND THE SALON-CARRE ADJOINING[The view is up the middle of the Gallery, which is now a spectacleof much magnificence. Backed by the large paintings on the wallsare double rows on each side of brightly dressed ladies, the pickof Imperial society, to the number of four thousand, one thousandin each row; and behind these standing up are two rows on each sideof men of privilege and fashion. Officers of the Imperial Guardare dotted about as marshals.Temporary barriers form a wide passage up the midst, leading to theSalon-Carre, which is seen through the opening to be fitted up asa chapel, with a gorgeous altar, tall candles, and cross. In frontof the altar is a platform with a canopy over it. On the platformare two gilt chairs and a prie-dieu.The expectant assembly does not continuously remain in the seats,but promenades and talks, the voices at times rising to a din amidthe strains of the orchestra, conducted by the EMPEROR’S Directorof Music. Refreshments in profusion are handed round, and theextemporized cathedral resolves itself into a gigantic cafe ofpersons of distinction under the Empire.]
SPIRIT SINISTERAll day have they been waiting for their galanty-show, and now thehour of performance is on the strike. It may be seasonable to museon the sixteenth Louis and the bride’s great-aunt, as the nearingprocession is, I see, appositely crossing the track of the tumbrilwhich was the last coach of that respected lady.... It is nowpassing over the site of the scaffold on which she lost her head.... Now it will soon be here.[Suddenly the heralds enter the Gallery at the end towards theTuileries, the spectators ranging themselves in their places.In a moment the wedding procession of the EMPEROR and EMPRESSbecomes visible. The civil marriage having already been performed,Napoléon and Marie Louise advance together along the vacant pathwaytowards the Salon-Carre, followed by the long suite of illustriouspersonages, and acclamations burst from all parts of the GrandGallery.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESWhose are those forms that pair in pompous trainBehind the hand-in-hand half-wedded ones,With faces speaking sense of an adventureWhich may close well, or not so?
RECORDING ANGEL [reciting]First there walksThe Emperor’s brother Louis, Holland’s King;Then Jérôme of Westphalia with his spouse;The mother-queen, and Julie Queen of Spain,The Prince Borghese and the Princess Pauline,Beauharnais the Vice-King of Italy,And Murat King of Naples, with their Queens;Baden’s Grand-Duke, Arch-Chancellor Cambacérès,Berthier, Lebrun, and, not least, Talleyrand.Then the Grand Marshal and the Chamberlain,The Lords-in-Waiting, the Grand Equerry,With waiting-ladies, women of the chamber,An others called by office, rank, or fame.
SPIRIT OF RUMOURNew, many, to Imperial dignities;Which, won by character and qualityIn those who now enjoy them, will becomeThe birthright of their sons in aftertime.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSIt fits thee not to augur, quick-eared Shade.Ephemeral at the best all honours be,These even more ephemeral than their kind,So random-fashioned, swift, perturbable!
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESNapoléon looks content—nay, shines with joy.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSYet see it pass, as by a conjuror’s wand.[Thereupon Napoléon’s face blackens as if the shadow of a winternight had fallen upon it. Resentful and threatening, he stops theprocession and looks up and down the benches.]
SPIRIT SINISTERThis is sound artistry of the Immanent Will: it relieves the monotonyof so much good-humour.
NAPOLÉON [to the Chapel-master]Where are the Cardinals? And why not here? [He speaks so loud thathe is heard throughout the Gallery.]
ABBÉ DE PRADT [trembling]Many are present here, your Majesty;But some are feebled by infirmitiesToo common to their age, and cannot come.
NAPOLÉONTell me no nonsense! Half absent themselvesBecause they WILL not come. The factious fools!Well, be it so. But they shall flinch for it![MARIE LOUISE looks frightened. The procession moves on.]
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESI seem to see the thin and headless ghostOf the yet earlier Austrian, here, too, queen,Walking beside the bride, with frail attemptsTo pluck her by the arm!
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSNay, think not so.No trump unseals earth’s sepulchre’s to-day:We are the only phantoms now abroadOn this mud-moulded ball! Through sixteen yearsShe has decayed in a back-garden yonder,Dust all the showance time retains of her,Senseless of hustlings in her former house,Lost to all count of crowns and bridalry—Even of her Austrian blood. No: what thou seestSprings of the quavering fancy, stirred to dreamsBy yon tart phantom’s phrase.
MARIE LOUISE [sadly to Napoléon]I know not why,I love not this day’s doings half so wellAs our quaint meeting-time at Compiegne.A clammy air creeps round me, as from vaultsPeopled with looming spectres, chilling meAnd angering you withal!
NAPOLÉONO, it is noughtTo trouble you: merely, my cherished one,Those devils of Italian Cardinals!—Now I’ll be bright as ever—you must, too.
MARIE LOUISEI’ll try.[Reaching the entrance to the Salon-Carre amid strains of musicthe EMPEROR and EMPRESS are received and incensed by the CARDINALGRAND ALMONERS. They take their seats under the canopy, and thetrain of notabilities seat themselves further back, the persons-in-waiting stopping behind the Imperial chairs.The ceremony of the religious marriage now begins. The choirintones a hymn, the EMPEROR and EMPRESS go to the altar, removetheir gloves, and make their vows.]
SPIRIT IRONICThe English Church should return thanks for this wedding, seeinghow it will purge of coarseness the picture-sheets of that artisticnation, which will hardly be able to caricature the new wife as itdid poor plebeian Joséphine. Such starched and ironed monarchistscannot sneer at a woman of such a divinely dry and crusted line likethe Hapsburgs![Mass is next celebrated, after which the TE DEUM is chanted inharmonies that whirl round the walls of the Salon-Carre and quiverdown the long Gallery. The procession then re-forms and returns,amid the flutterings and applause of the dense assembly. ButNapoléon’s face has not lost the sombre expression which settledon it. The pair and their train pass out by the west door, andthe congregation disperses in the other direction, the cloud-curtain closing over the scene as they disappear.