ACT FOURTHSCENE IKING GEORGE’S WATERING-PLACE, SOUTH WESSEX[A sunny day in autumn. A room in the red-brick royal residenceknow as Gloucester Lodge.8At a front triple-lighted window stands a telescope on a tripod.Through the open middle sash is visible the crescent-curvedexpanse of the Bay as a sheet of brilliant translucent green,on which ride vessels of war at anchor. On the left hand whitecliffs stretch away till they terminate in St. Aldhelm’s Head,and form a background to the level water-line on that side. Inthe centre are the open sea and blue sky. A near headland riseson the right, surmounted by a battery, over which appears theremoter bald grey brow of the Isle of Slingers.In the foreground yellow sands spread smoothly, whereon thereare sundry temporary erections for athletic sports; and closerat hand runs an esplanade on which a fashionable crowd ispromenading. Immediately outside the Lodge are companies ofsoldiers, groups of officers, and sentries.Within the room the KING and PITT are discovered. The KING’Seyes show traces of recent inflammation, and the Minister hasa wasted look.]KINGYes, yes; I grasp your reasons, Mr. Pitt,And grant you audience gladly. More than that,Your visit to this shore is apt and timely,And if it do but yield you needful restFrom fierce debate, and other strains of officeWhich you and I in common have to bear,’Twill be well earned. The bathing is unmatchedElsewhere in Europe,—see its mark on me!—The air like liquid life.—But of this matter:What argue these late movements seen abroad?What of the country now the session’s past;What of the country, eh? and of the war?PITTThe thoughts I have laid before your MajestyWould make for this, in sum:—That Mr. Fox, Lord Grenville, and their friends,Be straightway asked to join. With Melville gone,With Sidmouth, and with Buckinghamshire too,The steerage of affairs has stood of lateSomewhat provisional, as you, sir, know,With stop-gap functions thrust on officesWhich common weal can tolerate but awhile.So, for the weighty reasons I have urged,I do repeat my most respectful hopeTo win your Majesty’s ungrudged assentTo what I have proposed.KINGBut nothing, sure,Has been more plain to all, dear Mr. Pitt,Than that your own proved energy and scopeIs ample, without aid, to carry onOur just crusade against the Corsican.Why, then, go calling Fox and Grenville in?Such helps we need not. Pray you think upon’t,And speak to me again.—We’ve had alarmsMaking us skip like crackers at our heels,That Bonaparte had landed close hereby.PITTSuch rumours come as regularly as harvest.KINGAnd now he has left Boulogne with all his host?Was it his object to invade at all,Or was his vast assemblage there a blind?PITTUndoubtedly he meant invasion, sir,Had fortune favoured. He may try it yet.And, as I said, could we but close with Fox—-KINGBut, but;—I ask, what is his object now?Lord Nelson’s Captain—Hardy—whose old homeStands in a peaceful vale hard by us here—Who came two weeks ago to see his friends,I talked to in this room a lengthy while.He says our navy still is in thick nightAs to the aims by sea of BonaparteNow the Boulogne attempt has fizzled out,And what he schemes afloat with Spain combined.The “Victory” lay that fortnight at Spithead,And Nelson since has gone aboard and sailed;Yes, sailed again. The “Royal Sovereign” follows,And others her. Nelson was hailed and cheeredTo huskiness while leaving Southsea shore,Gentle and simple wildly thronging round.PITTAy, sir. Young women hung upon his arm,And old ones blessed, and stroked him with their hands.KINGAh—you have heard, of course. God speed him, Pitt.PITTAmen, amen!KINGI read it as a thingOf signal augury, and one which bodesHeaven’s confidence in me and in my line,That I should rule as King in such an age!...Well, well.—So this new march of Bonaparte’sWas unexpected, forced perchance on him?PITTIt may be so, your Majesty; it may.Last noon the Austrian ambassador,Whom I consulted ere I posted down,Assured me that his latest papers wordHow General Mack and eighty thousand menHave made good speed across BavariaTo wait the French and give them check at Ulm,That fortress-frontier-town, entrenched and walled,A place long chosen as a vantage-pointWhereon to encounter them as they outwindFrom the blind shades and baffling green defilesOf the Black Forest, worn with wayfaring.Here Mack will intercept his agile foeHasting to meet the Russians in Bohemia,And cripple him, if not annihilate.Thus now, sir, opens out this Great AllianceOf Russia, Austria, England, whereto IHave lent my earnest efforts through long months,And the realm gives her money, ships, and men.—It claps a muffler round the Cock’s steel spurs,And leaves me sanguine on his overthrow.But, then,—this coalition of resourcesDemands a strong and active CabinetTo aid your Majesty’s directive hand;And thus I urge again the said additions—These brilliant intellects of the other sideWho stand by Fox. With us conjoined, they—-KINGWhat, what, again—in face of my sound reasons!Believe me, Pitt, you underrate yourself;You do not need such aid. The splendid featOf banding Europe in a righteous causeThat you have achieved, so soon to put to shameThis wicked bombardier of dynastiesThat rule by right Divine, goes straight to proveWe had best continue as we have begun,And call no partners to our management.To fear dilemmas horning up aheadIs not your wont. Nay, nay, now, Mr. Pitt,I must be firm. And if you love your KingYou’ll goad him not so rashly to embraceThis Fox-Grenville faction and its friends.Rather than Fox, why, give me civil war!Hey, what? But what besides?PITTI say besides, sir,... nothing![A silence.]KING [cheerfully]The Chancellor’s here, and many friends of mine: Lady Winchelsea,Lord and Lady Chesterfield, Lady Bulkeley, General Garth, and Mr.Phipps the oculist—not the least important to me. He is a worthyand a skilful man. My eyes, he says, are as marvellously improvedin durability as I know them to be in power. I have arranged to goto-morrow with the Princesses, and the Dukes of Cumberland, Sussex,and Cambridge [who are also here] for a ride on the Ridgeway, andthrough the Camp on the downs. You’ll accompany us there?PITTI am honoured by your Majesty’s commands.[PITT looks resignedly out of the window.]What curious structure do I see outside, sir?KINGIt’s but a stage, a type of all the world. The burgesses havearranged it in my honour. At six o’clock this evening there areto be combats at single-stick to amuse the folk; four guineasthe prize for the man who breaks most heads. Afterward thereis to be a grinning match through horse-collars—a very humoroussport which I must stay here and witness; for I am interested inwhatever entertains my subjects.PITTNot one in all the land but knows it, sir.KINGNow, Mr. Pitt, you must require repose;Consult your own convenience then, I beg,On when you leave.PITTI thank your Majesty.[He departs as one whose purpose has failed, and the scene shuts.]SCENE IIBEFORE THE CITY OF ULM[A prospect of the city from the east, showing in the foregrounda low-lying marshy country bounded in mid-distance by the banksof the Danube, which, bordered by poplars and willows, flowsacross the picture from the left to the Elchingen Bridge nearthe right of the scene, and is backed by irregular heights andterraces of espaliered vines. Between these and the river standsthe city, crowded with old gabled houses and surrounded by walls,bastions, and a ditch, all the edifices being dominated by thenave and tower of the huge Gothic Munster.On the most prominent of the heights at the back—the Michaelsberg—to the upper-right of the view, is encamped the mass of theAustrian army, amid half-finished entrenchments. Advanced postsof the same are seen south-east of the city, not far from theadvanced corps of the French Grand-Army under SOULT, MARMONT,LANNES, NEY, and DUPONT, which occupy in a semicircle the wholebreadth of the flat landscape in front, and extend across theriver to higher ground on the right hand of the panorama.Heavy mixed drifts of rain and snow are descending impartiallyon the French and on the Austrians, the downfall nearly blottingout the latter on the hills. A chill October wind wails acrossthe country, and the poplars yield slantingly to the gusts.]DUMB SHOWDrenched peasants are busily at work, fortifying the heights ofthe Austrian position in the face of the enemy. Vague companiesof Austrians above, and of the French below, hazy and indistinctin the thick atmosphere, come and go without apparent purposenear their respective lines.Closer at hand NAPOLÉON, in his familiar blue-grey overcoat, rideshither and thither with his marshals, haranguing familiarly thebodies of soldiery as he passes them, and observing and pointingout the disposition of the Austrians to his companions.Thicker sheets of rain fly across as the murk of evening increases,which at length entirely obscures the prospect, and cloaks itsbleared lights and fires.SCENE IIIULM. WITHIN THE CITY[The interior of the Austrian headquarters on the followingmorning. A tempest raging without.GENERAL MACK, haggard and anxious, the ARCHDUKE FERDINAND, PRINCESCHWARZENBERG, GENERAL JELLACHICH, GENERALS RIESC, BIBERBACH, andother field officers discovered, seated at a table with a mapspread out before them. A wood fire blazes between tall andironsin a yawning fireplace. At every more than usually boisterousgust of wind the smoke flaps into the room.]MACKThe accursed cunning of our adversaryConfounds all codes of honourable war,Which ever have held as granted that the trackOf armies bearing hither from the Rhine—Whether in peace or strenuous invasion—Should pierce the Schwarzwald, and through Memmingen,And meet us in our front. But he must windAnd corkscrew meanly round, where foot of manCan scarce find pathway, stealing up to usThiefwise, by out back door! Nevertheless,If English war-fleets be abreast Boulogne,As these deserters tell, and ripe to land there,It destines Bonaparte to pack him backAcross the Rhine again. We’ve but to wait,And see him go.ARCHDUKEBut who shall say if these bright tales be true?MACKEven then, small matter, your Imperial Highness;The Russians near us daily, and must soon—Ay, far within the eight days I have named—Be operating to untie this knot,If we hold on.ARCHDUKEConjectures these—no more;I stomach not such waiting. Neither hopeHas kernel in it. I and my cavalryWith caution, when the shadow fall to-night,Can bore some hole in this engirdlement;Outpass the gate north-east; join General Werneck,And somehow cut our way Bohemia-wards:Well worth the hazard, in our straitened case!MACK [firmly]The body of our force stays here with me.And I am much surprised, your Highness, much,You mark not how destructive ’tis to part!If we wait on, for certain we should waitIn our full strength, compacted, undispersedBy such partition as your Highness plans.SCHWARZENBERGThere’s truth in urging we should not divide,But weld more closely.—Yet why stay at all?Methinks there’s but one sure salvation left,To wit, that we conjunctly march herefrom,And with much circumspection, towards the Tyrol.The subtle often rack their wits in vain—Assay whole magazines of strategy—To shun ill loomings deemed insuperable,When simple souls by stumbling up to themFind the grim shapes but air. But let use grantThat the investing French so ring us inAs to leave not a span for such exploit;Then go we—throw ourselves upon their steel,And batter through, or die!—What say you, Generals? Speak your minds, I pray.JELLACHICHI favour marching out—the Tyrol way.RIESCBohemia best! The route thereto is open.ARCHDUKEMy course is chosen. O this black campaign,Which Pitt’s alarmed dispatches pricked us to,All unforseeing! Any risk for meRather than court humiliation here![MACK has risen during the latter remarks, walked to thewindow, and looked out at the rain. He returns with an airof embarrassment.]MACK [to Archduke]It is my privilege firmly to submitThat your Imperial Highness undertakeNo venturous vaulting into risks unknown.—Assume that you, Sire, as you have proposed,With your light regiments and the cavalry,Detach yourself from us, to scoop a wayBy circuits northwards through the Rauhe AlpsAnd Herdenheim, into Bohemia:Reports all point that you will be attacked,Enveloped, borne on to capitulate.What worse can happen here?—Remember, Sire, the Emperor deputes me,Should such a clash arise as has arisen,To exercise supreme authority.The honour of our arms, our race, demandsThat none of your Imperial Highness’ lineBe pounded prisoner by this vulgar foe,Who is not France, but an adventurer,Imposing on that country for his gain.ARCHDUKEBut it seems clear to me that loitering hereIs full as like to compass our surrenderAs moving hence. And ill it therefore suitsThe mood of one of my high temperatureTo pause inactive while await me meansOf desperate cure for these so desperate ills![The ARCHDUKE FERDINAND goes out. A troubled, silence follows,during which the gusts call into the chimney, and raindrops spiton the fire.]SCHWARZENBERGThe Archduke bears him shrewdly in this course.We may as well look matters in the face,And that we are cooped and cornered is most clear;Clear it is, too, that but a miracleCan work to loose us! I have stoutly heldThat this man’s three years’ ostentatious schemeTo fling his army on the tempting shoresOf our Allies the English was a—well—Scarce other than a trick of thimble-rigTo still us into false security.JELLACHICHWell, I know nothing. None needs list to me,But, on the whole, to southward seems the courseFor lunging, all in force, immediately.[Another pause.]SPIRIT SINISTERThe Will throws Mack again into agitation:Ho-ho—what he’ll do now!SPIRIT OF THE PITIESNay, hard one, nay;The clouds weep for him!SPIRIT SINISTERIf he must;And it’s good antic at a vacant time![MACK goes restlessly to the door, and is heard pacing aboutthe vestibule, and questioning the aides and other officersgathered there.]A GENERALHe wavers like this smoke-wreath that inclinesOr north, or south, as the storm-currents rule!MACK [returning]Bring that deserter hither once again.[A French soldier is brought in, blindfolded and guarded. Thebandage is removed.]Well, tell us what he says.AN OFFICER [after speaking to the prisoner in French]He still repeatsThat the whole body of the British strengthIs even now descending on Boulogne,And that self-preservation must, if need,Clear us from Bonaparte ere many days,Who momently is moving.MACKStill retain him.[He walks to the fire, and stands looking into it. The soldieris taken out.]JELLACHICH [bending over the map in argument with RIESC]I much prefer our self-won information;And if we have Marshal Soult at Landsberg here,[Which seems to be truth, despite this man,]And Dupont hard upon us at Albeck,With Ney not far from Gunzburg; somewhere here,Or further down the river, lurking Lannes,Our game’s to draw off southward—if we can!MACK [turning]I have it. This we’ll do. You Jellachich,Unite with Spangen’s troops at Memmingen,To fend off mischief there. And you, Riesc,Will make your utmost haste to occupyThe bridge and upper ground at Elchingen,And all along the left bank of the stream,Till you observe whereon to concentrateAnd sever their connections. I couch here,And hold the city till the Russians come.A GENERAL [in a low voice]Disjunction seems of all expedients worst:If any stay, then stay should every man,Gather, inlace, and close up hip to hip,And perk and bristle hedgehog-like with spines!MACKThe conference is ended, friends, I say,And orders will be issued here forthwith.[Guns heard.]AN OFFICERSurely that’s from the Michaelsberg above us?MACKNever care. Here we stay. In five more daysThe Russians hail, and we regain our bays.[Exeunt severally.]SCENE IVBEFORE ULM. THE SAME DAY[A high wind prevails, and rain falls in torrents. An elevatedterrace near Elchingen forms the foreground.]DUMB SHOWFrom the terrace BONAPARTE surveys and dictates operations againstthe entrenched heights of the Michaelsberg that rise in the middledistance on the right above the city. Through the gauze ofdescending waters the French soldiery can be discerned climbingto the attack under NEY.They slowly advance, recede, re-advance, halt. A time of suspensefollows. Then they are seen in a state of irregular movement, evenconfusion; but in the end they carry the heights with the bayonet.Below the spot whereon NAPOLÉON and his staff are gathered,glistening wet and plastered with mud, obtrudes on the left thevillage of Elchingen, now in the hands of the French. Its white-walled monastery, its bridge over the Danube, recently broken bythe irresistible NEY, wear a desolated look, and the stream, whichis swollen by the rainfall and rasped by the storm, seems wanly tosympathize.Anon shells are dropped by the French from the summits they havegained into the city below. A bomb from an Austrian battery fallsnear NAPOLÉON, and in bursting raises a fountain of mud. TheEmperor retreats with his officers to a less conspicuous station.Meanwhile LANNES advances from a position near NAPOLÉON till hiscolumns reach the top of the Frauenberg hard by. The united corpsof LANNES and NEY descend on the inner slope of the heights towardsthe city walls, in the rear of the retreating Austrians. Oneof the French columns scales a bastion, but NAPOLÉON orders theassault to be discontinued, and with the wane of day the spectacledisappears.SCENE VTHE SAME. THE MICHAELSBERG[A chilly but rainless noon three days later. At the back of thescene, northward, rise the Michaelsberg heights; below stretchesthe panorama of the city and the Danube. On a secondary eminenceforming a spur of the upper hill, a fire of logs is burning, theforemost group beside it being NAPOLÉON and his staff, the formerin his shabby greatcoat and plain turned-up hat, walking to andfro with his hands behind him, and occasionally stopping to warmhimself. The French infantry are drawn up in a dense array atthe back of these.The whole Austrian garrison of Ulm marches out of the city gateopposite NAPOLÉON. GENERAL MACK is at the head, followed byGIULAY, GOTTESHEIM, KLINAU, LICHTENSTEIN, and many other officers,who advance to BONAPARTE and deliver their swords.]MACKBehold me, Sire. Mack the unfortunate!NAPOLÉONWar, General, ever has its ups and downs,And you must take the better and the worseAs impish chance or destiny ordains.Come near and warm you here. A glowing fireIs life on the depressing, mired, moist daysOf smitten leaves down-dropping clammily,And toadstools like the putrid lungs of men.[To his Lieutenants.] Cause them so stand to right and left of me.[The Austrian officers arrange themselves as directed, and thebody of the Austrians now file past their Conqueror, laying downtheir arms as they approach; some with angry gestures and words,others in moody silence.]Listen, I pray you, Generals gathered her.I tell you frankly that I know not whyYour master wages this wild war with me.I know not what he seeks by such injustice,Unless to give me practice in my trade—That of a soldier—whereto I was bred:Deemed he my craft might slip from me, unplied?Let him now own me still a dab therein!MACKPermit me, your Imperial Majesty,To speak one word in answer; which is this,No war was wished for by my Emperor:Russia constrained him to it!NAPOLÉONIf that be,You are no more a European power.—I would point out to him that my resourcesAre not confined to these my musters here;My prisoners of war, in route for France,Will see some marks of my resources there!Two hundred thousand volunteers, right fit,Will join my standards at a single nod,And in six weeks prove soldiers to the bone,Whilst you recruits, compulsion’s scavengings,Scarce weld to warriors after toilsome years.But I want nothing on this Continent:The English only are my enemies.Ships, colonies, and commerce I desire,Yea, therewith to advantage you as me.Let me then charge your Emperor, my brother,To turn his feet the shortest way to peace.—All states must have an end, the weak, the strong;Ay; even may fall the dynasty of Lorraine![The filing past and laying down of arms by the Austrian armycontinues with monotonous regularity, as if it would never end.]NAPOLÉON [in a murmur, after a while]Well, what cares England! She has won her game;I have unlearnt to threaten her from Boulogne....Her gold it is that forms the weft of thisFair tapestry of armies marshalled here!Likewise of Russia’s drawing steadily nigh.But they may see what these see, by and by.SPIRIT OF THE YEARSSo let him speak, the while we clearly sight himMoved like a figure on a lantern-slide.Which, much amazing uninitiate eyes,The all-compelling crystal pane but dragsWither the showman wills.SPIRIT IRONICAnd yet, my friend,The Will itself might smile at this collapseOf Austria’s men-at-arms, so drolly done;Even as, in your phantasmagoric show,The deft manipulator of the slideMight smile at his own art.CHORUS OF THE YEARS [aerial music]Ah, no: ah, no!It is impassible as glacial snow.—Within the Great UnshakenThese painted shapes awakenA lesser thrill than doth the gentle laveOf yonder bank by Danube’s wandering waveWithin the Schwarzwald heights that give it flow!SPIRIT OF THE PITIESBut O, the intolerable antilogyOf making figments feel!SPIRIT IRONICLogic’s in that.It does not, I must own, quite play the game.CHORUS OF IRONIC SPIRITS [aerial music]And this day wins for Ulm a dingy fame,Which centuries shall not bleach from her name![The procession of Austrians continues till the scene is hiddenby haze.]SCENE VILONDON. SPRING GARDENS[Before LORD MALMESBURY’S house, on a Sunday morning in thesame autumn. Idlers pause and gather in the background.PITT enters, and meets LORD MULGRAVE.]MULGRAVEGood day, Pitt. Ay, these leaves that skim the groundWith withered voices, hint that sunshine-timeIs well-nigh past.—And so the game’s begunBetween him and the Austro-Russian force,As second movement in the faceaboutFrom Boulogne shore, with which he has hocussed us?—What has been heard on’t? Have they clashed as yet?PITTThe Emperor Francis, partly at my instance,Has thrown the chief command on General Mack,A man most capable and far of sight.He centres by the Danube-bank at Ulm,A town well-walled, and firm for leaning onTo intercept the French in their advanceFrom the Black Forest toward the Russian troopsApproaching from the east. If BonaparteSustain his marches at the break-neck speedThat all report, they must have met ere now.—There is a rumour... quite impossible!...MULGRAVEYou still have faith in Mack as strategist?There have been doubts of his far-sightedness.PITT [hastily]I know, I know.—I am calling here at Malmesbury’sAt somewhat an unceremonious timeTo ask his help to translate this Dutch printThe post has brought. Malmesbury is great at Dutch,Learning it long at Leyden, years ago.[He draws a newspaper from his pocket, unfolds it, and glancesit down.]There’s news here unintelligible to meUpon the very matter! You’ll come in?[They call at LORD MAMESBURY’S. He meets them in the hall, andwelcomes them with an apprehensive look of foreknowledge.]PITTPardon this early call. The packet’s in,And wings me this unreadable Dutch paper,So, as the offices are closed to-day,I have brought it round to you.[Handling the paper.]What does it say?For God’s sake, read it out. You know the tongue.MALMESBURY [with hesitation]I have glanced it through already—more than once—A copy having reached me, too, by now...We are in the presence of a great disaster!See here. It says that Mack, enjailed in UlmBy Bonaparte—from four side shutting round—Capitulated, and with all his forceLaid down his arms before his conqueror![PITT’s face changes. A silence.]MULGRAVEOutrageous! Ignominy unparalleled!PITTBy God, my lord, these statement must be false!These foreign prints are trustless as Cheap JackDumfounding yokels at a country fair.I heed no word of it.—Impossible.What! Eighty thousand Austrians, nigh in touchWith Russia’s levies that Kutúzof leads,To lay down arms before the war’s begun?’Tis too much!MALMESBURYBut I fear it is too true!Note the assevered source of the report—One beyond thought of minters of mock tales.The writer adds that military witsCry that the little Corporal now makes warIn a new way, using his soldiers’ legsAnd not their arms, to bring him victory.Ha-ha! The quip must sting the Corporal’s foes.PITT [after a pause]O vacillating Prussia! Had she moved,Had she but planted one foot firmly down,All this had been averted.—I must go.’Tis sure, ’tis sure, I labour but in vain![MALMESBURY accompanies him to the door, and PITT walks awaydisquietedly towards Whitehall, the other two regarding himas he goes.]MULGRAVEToo swiftly he declines to feebleness,And these things well might shake a stouter frame!MALMESBURYOf late the burden of all Europe’s cares,Of hiring and maintaining half her troops,His single pair of shoulders has upborne,Thanks to the obstinacy of the King.—His thin, strained face, his ready irritation,Are ominous signs. He may not be for long.MULGRAVEHe alters fast, indeed,—as do events.MALMESBURYHis labour’s lost; and all our money gone!It looks as if this doughty coalitionOn which we have lavished so much pay and painsWould end in wreck.MULGRAVEAll is not over yet;The gathering Russian forces are unbroke.MALMESBURYWell; we shall see. Should Boney vanquish these,And silence all resistance on that side,His move will then be backward to Boulogne,And so upon us.MULGRAVENelson to our defence!MALMESBURYAy; where is Nelson? Faith, by this timeHe may be sodden; churned in Biscay swirls;Or blown to polar bears by boreal gales;Or sleeping amorously in some calm caveOn the Canaries’ or Atlantis’ shoreUpon the bosom of his Dido dear,For all that we know! Never a sound of himSince passing Portland one September day—To make for Cadiz; so ’twas then believed.MULGRAVEHe’s staunch. He’s watching, or I am much deceived.[MULGRAVE departs. MALMESBURY goes within. The scene shuts.]
KING GEORGE’S WATERING-PLACE, SOUTH WESSEX[A sunny day in autumn. A room in the red-brick royal residenceknow as Gloucester Lodge.8At a front triple-lighted window stands a telescope on a tripod.Through the open middle sash is visible the crescent-curvedexpanse of the Bay as a sheet of brilliant translucent green,on which ride vessels of war at anchor. On the left hand whitecliffs stretch away till they terminate in St. Aldhelm’s Head,and form a background to the level water-line on that side. Inthe centre are the open sea and blue sky. A near headland riseson the right, surmounted by a battery, over which appears theremoter bald grey brow of the Isle of Slingers.In the foreground yellow sands spread smoothly, whereon thereare sundry temporary erections for athletic sports; and closerat hand runs an esplanade on which a fashionable crowd ispromenading. Immediately outside the Lodge are companies ofsoldiers, groups of officers, and sentries.Within the room the KING and PITT are discovered. The KING’Seyes show traces of recent inflammation, and the Minister hasa wasted look.]
KINGYes, yes; I grasp your reasons, Mr. Pitt,And grant you audience gladly. More than that,Your visit to this shore is apt and timely,And if it do but yield you needful restFrom fierce debate, and other strains of officeWhich you and I in common have to bear,’Twill be well earned. The bathing is unmatchedElsewhere in Europe,—see its mark on me!—The air like liquid life.—But of this matter:What argue these late movements seen abroad?What of the country now the session’s past;What of the country, eh? and of the war?
PITTThe thoughts I have laid before your MajestyWould make for this, in sum:—That Mr. Fox, Lord Grenville, and their friends,Be straightway asked to join. With Melville gone,With Sidmouth, and with Buckinghamshire too,The steerage of affairs has stood of lateSomewhat provisional, as you, sir, know,With stop-gap functions thrust on officesWhich common weal can tolerate but awhile.So, for the weighty reasons I have urged,I do repeat my most respectful hopeTo win your Majesty’s ungrudged assentTo what I have proposed.
KINGBut nothing, sure,Has been more plain to all, dear Mr. Pitt,Than that your own proved energy and scopeIs ample, without aid, to carry onOur just crusade against the Corsican.Why, then, go calling Fox and Grenville in?Such helps we need not. Pray you think upon’t,And speak to me again.—We’ve had alarmsMaking us skip like crackers at our heels,That Bonaparte had landed close hereby.
PITTSuch rumours come as regularly as harvest.
KINGAnd now he has left Boulogne with all his host?Was it his object to invade at all,Or was his vast assemblage there a blind?
PITTUndoubtedly he meant invasion, sir,Had fortune favoured. He may try it yet.And, as I said, could we but close with Fox—-
KINGBut, but;—I ask, what is his object now?Lord Nelson’s Captain—Hardy—whose old homeStands in a peaceful vale hard by us here—Who came two weeks ago to see his friends,I talked to in this room a lengthy while.He says our navy still is in thick nightAs to the aims by sea of BonaparteNow the Boulogne attempt has fizzled out,And what he schemes afloat with Spain combined.The “Victory” lay that fortnight at Spithead,And Nelson since has gone aboard and sailed;Yes, sailed again. The “Royal Sovereign” follows,And others her. Nelson was hailed and cheeredTo huskiness while leaving Southsea shore,Gentle and simple wildly thronging round.
PITTAy, sir. Young women hung upon his arm,And old ones blessed, and stroked him with their hands.
KINGAh—you have heard, of course. God speed him, Pitt.
PITTAmen, amen!
KINGI read it as a thingOf signal augury, and one which bodesHeaven’s confidence in me and in my line,That I should rule as King in such an age!...Well, well.—So this new march of Bonaparte’sWas unexpected, forced perchance on him?
PITTIt may be so, your Majesty; it may.Last noon the Austrian ambassador,Whom I consulted ere I posted down,Assured me that his latest papers wordHow General Mack and eighty thousand menHave made good speed across BavariaTo wait the French and give them check at Ulm,That fortress-frontier-town, entrenched and walled,A place long chosen as a vantage-pointWhereon to encounter them as they outwindFrom the blind shades and baffling green defilesOf the Black Forest, worn with wayfaring.Here Mack will intercept his agile foeHasting to meet the Russians in Bohemia,And cripple him, if not annihilate.Thus now, sir, opens out this Great AllianceOf Russia, Austria, England, whereto IHave lent my earnest efforts through long months,And the realm gives her money, ships, and men.—It claps a muffler round the Cock’s steel spurs,And leaves me sanguine on his overthrow.But, then,—this coalition of resourcesDemands a strong and active CabinetTo aid your Majesty’s directive hand;And thus I urge again the said additions—These brilliant intellects of the other sideWho stand by Fox. With us conjoined, they—-
KINGWhat, what, again—in face of my sound reasons!Believe me, Pitt, you underrate yourself;You do not need such aid. The splendid featOf banding Europe in a righteous causeThat you have achieved, so soon to put to shameThis wicked bombardier of dynastiesThat rule by right Divine, goes straight to proveWe had best continue as we have begun,And call no partners to our management.To fear dilemmas horning up aheadIs not your wont. Nay, nay, now, Mr. Pitt,I must be firm. And if you love your KingYou’ll goad him not so rashly to embraceThis Fox-Grenville faction and its friends.Rather than Fox, why, give me civil war!Hey, what? But what besides?
PITTI say besides, sir,... nothing![A silence.]
KING [cheerfully]The Chancellor’s here, and many friends of mine: Lady Winchelsea,Lord and Lady Chesterfield, Lady Bulkeley, General Garth, and Mr.Phipps the oculist—not the least important to me. He is a worthyand a skilful man. My eyes, he says, are as marvellously improvedin durability as I know them to be in power. I have arranged to goto-morrow with the Princesses, and the Dukes of Cumberland, Sussex,and Cambridge [who are also here] for a ride on the Ridgeway, andthrough the Camp on the downs. You’ll accompany us there?
PITTI am honoured by your Majesty’s commands.[PITT looks resignedly out of the window.]What curious structure do I see outside, sir?
KINGIt’s but a stage, a type of all the world. The burgesses havearranged it in my honour. At six o’clock this evening there areto be combats at single-stick to amuse the folk; four guineasthe prize for the man who breaks most heads. Afterward thereis to be a grinning match through horse-collars—a very humoroussport which I must stay here and witness; for I am interested inwhatever entertains my subjects.
PITTNot one in all the land but knows it, sir.
KINGNow, Mr. Pitt, you must require repose;Consult your own convenience then, I beg,On when you leave.PITTI thank your Majesty.[He departs as one whose purpose has failed, and the scene shuts.]
BEFORE THE CITY OF ULM[A prospect of the city from the east, showing in the foregrounda low-lying marshy country bounded in mid-distance by the banksof the Danube, which, bordered by poplars and willows, flowsacross the picture from the left to the Elchingen Bridge nearthe right of the scene, and is backed by irregular heights andterraces of espaliered vines. Between these and the river standsthe city, crowded with old gabled houses and surrounded by walls,bastions, and a ditch, all the edifices being dominated by thenave and tower of the huge Gothic Munster.On the most prominent of the heights at the back—the Michaelsberg—to the upper-right of the view, is encamped the mass of theAustrian army, amid half-finished entrenchments. Advanced postsof the same are seen south-east of the city, not far from theadvanced corps of the French Grand-Army under SOULT, MARMONT,LANNES, NEY, and DUPONT, which occupy in a semicircle the wholebreadth of the flat landscape in front, and extend across theriver to higher ground on the right hand of the panorama.Heavy mixed drifts of rain and snow are descending impartiallyon the French and on the Austrians, the downfall nearly blottingout the latter on the hills. A chill October wind wails acrossthe country, and the poplars yield slantingly to the gusts.]
DUMB SHOWDrenched peasants are busily at work, fortifying the heights ofthe Austrian position in the face of the enemy. Vague companiesof Austrians above, and of the French below, hazy and indistinctin the thick atmosphere, come and go without apparent purposenear their respective lines.Closer at hand NAPOLÉON, in his familiar blue-grey overcoat, rideshither and thither with his marshals, haranguing familiarly thebodies of soldiery as he passes them, and observing and pointingout the disposition of the Austrians to his companions.Thicker sheets of rain fly across as the murk of evening increases,which at length entirely obscures the prospect, and cloaks itsbleared lights and fires.
ULM. WITHIN THE CITY[The interior of the Austrian headquarters on the followingmorning. A tempest raging without.GENERAL MACK, haggard and anxious, the ARCHDUKE FERDINAND, PRINCESCHWARZENBERG, GENERAL JELLACHICH, GENERALS RIESC, BIBERBACH, andother field officers discovered, seated at a table with a mapspread out before them. A wood fire blazes between tall andironsin a yawning fireplace. At every more than usually boisterousgust of wind the smoke flaps into the room.]
MACKThe accursed cunning of our adversaryConfounds all codes of honourable war,Which ever have held as granted that the trackOf armies bearing hither from the Rhine—Whether in peace or strenuous invasion—Should pierce the Schwarzwald, and through Memmingen,And meet us in our front. But he must windAnd corkscrew meanly round, where foot of manCan scarce find pathway, stealing up to usThiefwise, by out back door! Nevertheless,If English war-fleets be abreast Boulogne,As these deserters tell, and ripe to land there,It destines Bonaparte to pack him backAcross the Rhine again. We’ve but to wait,And see him go.
ARCHDUKEBut who shall say if these bright tales be true?
MACKEven then, small matter, your Imperial Highness;The Russians near us daily, and must soon—Ay, far within the eight days I have named—Be operating to untie this knot,If we hold on.
ARCHDUKEConjectures these—no more;I stomach not such waiting. Neither hopeHas kernel in it. I and my cavalryWith caution, when the shadow fall to-night,Can bore some hole in this engirdlement;Outpass the gate north-east; join General Werneck,And somehow cut our way Bohemia-wards:Well worth the hazard, in our straitened case!
MACK [firmly]The body of our force stays here with me.And I am much surprised, your Highness, much,You mark not how destructive ’tis to part!If we wait on, for certain we should waitIn our full strength, compacted, undispersedBy such partition as your Highness plans.
SCHWARZENBERGThere’s truth in urging we should not divide,But weld more closely.—Yet why stay at all?Methinks there’s but one sure salvation left,To wit, that we conjunctly march herefrom,And with much circumspection, towards the Tyrol.The subtle often rack their wits in vain—Assay whole magazines of strategy—To shun ill loomings deemed insuperable,When simple souls by stumbling up to themFind the grim shapes but air. But let use grantThat the investing French so ring us inAs to leave not a span for such exploit;Then go we—throw ourselves upon their steel,And batter through, or die!—What say you, Generals? Speak your minds, I pray.
JELLACHICHI favour marching out—the Tyrol way.
RIESCBohemia best! The route thereto is open.
ARCHDUKEMy course is chosen. O this black campaign,Which Pitt’s alarmed dispatches pricked us to,All unforseeing! Any risk for meRather than court humiliation here![MACK has risen during the latter remarks, walked to thewindow, and looked out at the rain. He returns with an airof embarrassment.]
MACK [to Archduke]It is my privilege firmly to submitThat your Imperial Highness undertakeNo venturous vaulting into risks unknown.—Assume that you, Sire, as you have proposed,With your light regiments and the cavalry,Detach yourself from us, to scoop a wayBy circuits northwards through the Rauhe AlpsAnd Herdenheim, into Bohemia:Reports all point that you will be attacked,Enveloped, borne on to capitulate.What worse can happen here?—Remember, Sire, the Emperor deputes me,Should such a clash arise as has arisen,To exercise supreme authority.The honour of our arms, our race, demandsThat none of your Imperial Highness’ lineBe pounded prisoner by this vulgar foe,Who is not France, but an adventurer,Imposing on that country for his gain.
ARCHDUKEBut it seems clear to me that loitering hereIs full as like to compass our surrenderAs moving hence. And ill it therefore suitsThe mood of one of my high temperatureTo pause inactive while await me meansOf desperate cure for these so desperate ills![The ARCHDUKE FERDINAND goes out. A troubled, silence follows,during which the gusts call into the chimney, and raindrops spiton the fire.]
SCHWARZENBERGThe Archduke bears him shrewdly in this course.We may as well look matters in the face,And that we are cooped and cornered is most clear;Clear it is, too, that but a miracleCan work to loose us! I have stoutly heldThat this man’s three years’ ostentatious schemeTo fling his army on the tempting shoresOf our Allies the English was a—well—Scarce other than a trick of thimble-rigTo still us into false security.
JELLACHICHWell, I know nothing. None needs list to me,But, on the whole, to southward seems the courseFor lunging, all in force, immediately.[Another pause.]
SPIRIT SINISTERThe Will throws Mack again into agitation:Ho-ho—what he’ll do now!
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESNay, hard one, nay;The clouds weep for him!
SPIRIT SINISTERIf he must;And it’s good antic at a vacant time![MACK goes restlessly to the door, and is heard pacing aboutthe vestibule, and questioning the aides and other officersgathered there.]
A GENERALHe wavers like this smoke-wreath that inclinesOr north, or south, as the storm-currents rule!
MACK [returning]Bring that deserter hither once again.[A French soldier is brought in, blindfolded and guarded. Thebandage is removed.]Well, tell us what he says.
AN OFFICER [after speaking to the prisoner in French]He still repeatsThat the whole body of the British strengthIs even now descending on Boulogne,And that self-preservation must, if need,Clear us from Bonaparte ere many days,Who momently is moving.
MACKStill retain him.[He walks to the fire, and stands looking into it. The soldieris taken out.]
JELLACHICH [bending over the map in argument with RIESC]I much prefer our self-won information;And if we have Marshal Soult at Landsberg here,[Which seems to be truth, despite this man,]And Dupont hard upon us at Albeck,With Ney not far from Gunzburg; somewhere here,Or further down the river, lurking Lannes,Our game’s to draw off southward—if we can!
MACK [turning]I have it. This we’ll do. You Jellachich,Unite with Spangen’s troops at Memmingen,To fend off mischief there. And you, Riesc,Will make your utmost haste to occupyThe bridge and upper ground at Elchingen,And all along the left bank of the stream,Till you observe whereon to concentrateAnd sever their connections. I couch here,And hold the city till the Russians come.
A GENERAL [in a low voice]Disjunction seems of all expedients worst:If any stay, then stay should every man,Gather, inlace, and close up hip to hip,And perk and bristle hedgehog-like with spines!
MACKThe conference is ended, friends, I say,And orders will be issued here forthwith.[Guns heard.]
AN OFFICERSurely that’s from the Michaelsberg above us?
MACKNever care. Here we stay. In five more daysThe Russians hail, and we regain our bays.[Exeunt severally.]
BEFORE ULM. THE SAME DAY[A high wind prevails, and rain falls in torrents. An elevatedterrace near Elchingen forms the foreground.]
DUMB SHOWFrom the terrace BONAPARTE surveys and dictates operations againstthe entrenched heights of the Michaelsberg that rise in the middledistance on the right above the city. Through the gauze ofdescending waters the French soldiery can be discerned climbingto the attack under NEY.They slowly advance, recede, re-advance, halt. A time of suspensefollows. Then they are seen in a state of irregular movement, evenconfusion; but in the end they carry the heights with the bayonet.Below the spot whereon NAPOLÉON and his staff are gathered,glistening wet and plastered with mud, obtrudes on the left thevillage of Elchingen, now in the hands of the French. Its white-walled monastery, its bridge over the Danube, recently broken bythe irresistible NEY, wear a desolated look, and the stream, whichis swollen by the rainfall and rasped by the storm, seems wanly tosympathize.Anon shells are dropped by the French from the summits they havegained into the city below. A bomb from an Austrian battery fallsnear NAPOLÉON, and in bursting raises a fountain of mud. TheEmperor retreats with his officers to a less conspicuous station.Meanwhile LANNES advances from a position near NAPOLÉON till hiscolumns reach the top of the Frauenberg hard by. The united corpsof LANNES and NEY descend on the inner slope of the heights towardsthe city walls, in the rear of the retreating Austrians. Oneof the French columns scales a bastion, but NAPOLÉON orders theassault to be discontinued, and with the wane of day the spectacledisappears.
THE SAME. THE MICHAELSBERG[A chilly but rainless noon three days later. At the back of thescene, northward, rise the Michaelsberg heights; below stretchesthe panorama of the city and the Danube. On a secondary eminenceforming a spur of the upper hill, a fire of logs is burning, theforemost group beside it being NAPOLÉON and his staff, the formerin his shabby greatcoat and plain turned-up hat, walking to andfro with his hands behind him, and occasionally stopping to warmhimself. The French infantry are drawn up in a dense array atthe back of these.The whole Austrian garrison of Ulm marches out of the city gateopposite NAPOLÉON. GENERAL MACK is at the head, followed byGIULAY, GOTTESHEIM, KLINAU, LICHTENSTEIN, and many other officers,who advance to BONAPARTE and deliver their swords.]
MACKBehold me, Sire. Mack the unfortunate!
NAPOLÉONWar, General, ever has its ups and downs,And you must take the better and the worseAs impish chance or destiny ordains.Come near and warm you here. A glowing fireIs life on the depressing, mired, moist daysOf smitten leaves down-dropping clammily,And toadstools like the putrid lungs of men.[To his Lieutenants.] Cause them so stand to right and left of me.[The Austrian officers arrange themselves as directed, and thebody of the Austrians now file past their Conqueror, laying downtheir arms as they approach; some with angry gestures and words,others in moody silence.]Listen, I pray you, Generals gathered her.I tell you frankly that I know not whyYour master wages this wild war with me.I know not what he seeks by such injustice,Unless to give me practice in my trade—That of a soldier—whereto I was bred:Deemed he my craft might slip from me, unplied?Let him now own me still a dab therein!
MACKPermit me, your Imperial Majesty,To speak one word in answer; which is this,No war was wished for by my Emperor:Russia constrained him to it!
NAPOLÉONIf that be,You are no more a European power.—I would point out to him that my resourcesAre not confined to these my musters here;My prisoners of war, in route for France,Will see some marks of my resources there!Two hundred thousand volunteers, right fit,Will join my standards at a single nod,And in six weeks prove soldiers to the bone,Whilst you recruits, compulsion’s scavengings,Scarce weld to warriors after toilsome years.But I want nothing on this Continent:The English only are my enemies.Ships, colonies, and commerce I desire,Yea, therewith to advantage you as me.Let me then charge your Emperor, my brother,To turn his feet the shortest way to peace.—All states must have an end, the weak, the strong;Ay; even may fall the dynasty of Lorraine![The filing past and laying down of arms by the Austrian armycontinues with monotonous regularity, as if it would never end.]
NAPOLÉON [in a murmur, after a while]Well, what cares England! She has won her game;I have unlearnt to threaten her from Boulogne....Her gold it is that forms the weft of thisFair tapestry of armies marshalled here!Likewise of Russia’s drawing steadily nigh.But they may see what these see, by and by.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSSo let him speak, the while we clearly sight himMoved like a figure on a lantern-slide.Which, much amazing uninitiate eyes,The all-compelling crystal pane but dragsWither the showman wills.
SPIRIT IRONICAnd yet, my friend,The Will itself might smile at this collapseOf Austria’s men-at-arms, so drolly done;Even as, in your phantasmagoric show,The deft manipulator of the slideMight smile at his own art.
CHORUS OF THE YEARS [aerial music]Ah, no: ah, no!It is impassible as glacial snow.—Within the Great UnshakenThese painted shapes awakenA lesser thrill than doth the gentle laveOf yonder bank by Danube’s wandering waveWithin the Schwarzwald heights that give it flow!
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESBut O, the intolerable antilogyOf making figments feel!
SPIRIT IRONICLogic’s in that.It does not, I must own, quite play the game.
CHORUS OF IRONIC SPIRITS [aerial music]And this day wins for Ulm a dingy fame,Which centuries shall not bleach from her name![The procession of Austrians continues till the scene is hiddenby haze.]
LONDON. SPRING GARDENS[Before LORD MALMESBURY’S house, on a Sunday morning in thesame autumn. Idlers pause and gather in the background.PITT enters, and meets LORD MULGRAVE.]
MULGRAVEGood day, Pitt. Ay, these leaves that skim the groundWith withered voices, hint that sunshine-timeIs well-nigh past.—And so the game’s begunBetween him and the Austro-Russian force,As second movement in the faceaboutFrom Boulogne shore, with which he has hocussed us?—What has been heard on’t? Have they clashed as yet?
PITTThe Emperor Francis, partly at my instance,Has thrown the chief command on General Mack,A man most capable and far of sight.He centres by the Danube-bank at Ulm,A town well-walled, and firm for leaning onTo intercept the French in their advanceFrom the Black Forest toward the Russian troopsApproaching from the east. If BonaparteSustain his marches at the break-neck speedThat all report, they must have met ere now.—There is a rumour... quite impossible!...
MULGRAVEYou still have faith in Mack as strategist?There have been doubts of his far-sightedness.
PITT [hastily]I know, I know.—I am calling here at Malmesbury’sAt somewhat an unceremonious timeTo ask his help to translate this Dutch printThe post has brought. Malmesbury is great at Dutch,Learning it long at Leyden, years ago.[He draws a newspaper from his pocket, unfolds it, and glancesit down.]There’s news here unintelligible to meUpon the very matter! You’ll come in?[They call at LORD MAMESBURY’S. He meets them in the hall, andwelcomes them with an apprehensive look of foreknowledge.]
PITTPardon this early call. The packet’s in,And wings me this unreadable Dutch paper,So, as the offices are closed to-day,I have brought it round to you.[Handling the paper.]What does it say?For God’s sake, read it out. You know the tongue.
MALMESBURY [with hesitation]I have glanced it through already—more than once—A copy having reached me, too, by now...We are in the presence of a great disaster!See here. It says that Mack, enjailed in UlmBy Bonaparte—from four side shutting round—Capitulated, and with all his forceLaid down his arms before his conqueror![PITT’s face changes. A silence.]
MULGRAVEOutrageous! Ignominy unparalleled!
PITTBy God, my lord, these statement must be false!These foreign prints are trustless as Cheap JackDumfounding yokels at a country fair.I heed no word of it.—Impossible.What! Eighty thousand Austrians, nigh in touchWith Russia’s levies that Kutúzof leads,To lay down arms before the war’s begun?’Tis too much!
MALMESBURYBut I fear it is too true!Note the assevered source of the report—One beyond thought of minters of mock tales.The writer adds that military witsCry that the little Corporal now makes warIn a new way, using his soldiers’ legsAnd not their arms, to bring him victory.Ha-ha! The quip must sting the Corporal’s foes.PITT [after a pause]O vacillating Prussia! Had she moved,Had she but planted one foot firmly down,All this had been averted.—I must go.’Tis sure, ’tis sure, I labour but in vain![MALMESBURY accompanies him to the door, and PITT walks awaydisquietedly towards Whitehall, the other two regarding himas he goes.]
MULGRAVEToo swiftly he declines to feebleness,And these things well might shake a stouter frame!
MALMESBURYOf late the burden of all Europe’s cares,Of hiring and maintaining half her troops,His single pair of shoulders has upborne,Thanks to the obstinacy of the King.—His thin, strained face, his ready irritation,Are ominous signs. He may not be for long.
MULGRAVEHe alters fast, indeed,—as do events.
MALMESBURYHis labour’s lost; and all our money gone!It looks as if this doughty coalitionOn which we have lavished so much pay and painsWould end in wreck.
MULGRAVEAll is not over yet;The gathering Russian forces are unbroke.
MALMESBURYWell; we shall see. Should Boney vanquish these,And silence all resistance on that side,His move will then be backward to Boulogne,And so upon us.
MULGRAVENelson to our defence!
MALMESBURYAy; where is Nelson? Faith, by this timeHe may be sodden; churned in Biscay swirls;Or blown to polar bears by boreal gales;Or sleeping amorously in some calm caveOn the Canaries’ or Atlantis’ shoreUpon the bosom of his Dido dear,For all that we know! Never a sound of himSince passing Portland one September day—To make for Cadiz; so ’twas then believed.
MULGRAVEHe’s staunch. He’s watching, or I am much deceived.[MULGRAVE departs. MALMESBURY goes within. The scene shuts.]