ACT THIRDSCENE IBOULOGNE. THE CHATEAU AT PONT-DE-BRIQUES[A room in the Chateau, which is used as the Imperial quarters.The EMPEROR NAPOLÉON, and M. GASPARD MONGE, the mathematicianand philosopher, are seated at breakfast.]OFFICERMonsieur the Admiral Decrès awaitsA moment’s audience with your Majesty,Or now, or later.NAPOLÉONBid him in at once—At last Villeneuve has raised the Brest blockade![Enter DECRÈS.]What of the squadron’s movements, good Decrès?Brest opened, and all sailing Channelwards,Like swans into a creek at feeding-time?DECRÈSSuch news was what I’d hoped, your Majesty,To send across this daybreak. But eventsHave proved intractable, it seems, of late;And hence I haste in person to reportThe featless facts that just have dashed my—-NAPOLÉON [darkening]Well?DECRÈSSire, at the very juncture when the fleetsSailed out from Ferrol, fever raged aboard“LL’Achille” and “l’Algeciras”: later on,Mischief assailed our Spanish comrades’ ships;Several ran foul of neighbours; whose new hurts,Being added to their innate clumsiness,Gave hap the upper hand; and in quick courseDemoralized the whole; until Villeneuve,Judging that Calder now with Nelson rode,And prescient of unparalleled disasterIf he pushed on in so disjoint a trim,Bowed to the inevitable; and thus, perforce,Leaving to other opportunityBrest and the Channel scheme, with vast regretSteered southward into Cadiz.NAPOLÉON [having risen from the table]What!—Is, then,My scheme of years to be disdained and dashedBy this man’s like, a wretched moral coward,Whom you must needs foist on me as one fitFor full command in pregnant enterprise!MONGE [aside]I’m one too many here! Let me step outTill this black squall blows over. Poor Decrès.Would that this precious project, disinterredFrom naval archives of King Louis’ reign,Had ever lingered fusting where ’twas found.7[Exit Monge.]NAPOLÉONTo help a friend you foul a country’s fame!—Decrès, not only chose you this Villeneuve,But you have nourished secret sour opinionsAkin to his, and thereby helped to scatheAs stably based a project as this ageHas sunned to ripeness. Ever the French MarineHave you decried, ever contrived to bringDespair into the fleet! Why, this Villeneuve,Your man, this rank incompetent, this traitor—Of whom I asked no more than fight and lose,Provided he detain the enemy—A frigate is too great for his command!what shall be said of one who, at a breath,When a few casual sailors find them sick,When falls a broken boom or slitten sail,When rumour hints that Calder’s tubs and Nelson’sMay join, and bob about in company,Is straightway paralyzed, and doubles backOn all his ripened plans!—Bring him, ay, bodily; hale him out from Cadiz,Compel him up the Channel by main force,And, having doffed him his supreme command,Give the united squadrons to Ganteaume!DECRÈSYour Majesty, while umbraged, righteously,By an event my tongue dragged dry to tell,Makes my hard situation over-hardBy your ascription to the actors in’tOf motives such and such. ’Tis not for meTo answer these reproaches, Sire, and askWhy years-long mindfulness of France’s fameIn things marine should win no confidence.I speak; but am unable to convince!True is it that this man has been my friendSince boyhood made us schoolmates; and I sayThat he would yield the heel-drops of his heartWith joyful readiness this day, this hour,To do his country service. Yet no lessIs it his drawback that he sees too far.And there are times, Sire, when a shorter sightCharms Fortune more. A certain sort of braverySome people have—to wit, this same Lord Nelson—Which is but fatuous faith in one’s own starSwoln to the very verge of childishness,[Smugly disguised as putting trust in God,A habit with these English folk]; wherebyA headstrong blindness to contingenciesCarries the actor on, and serves him wellIn some nice issues clearer sight would mar.Such eyeless bravery Villeneuve has not;But, Sire, he is no coward.NAPOLÉONWell, have it so!—What are we going to do?My brain has only one wish—to succeed!DECRÈSMy voice wanes weaker with you, Sire; is nought!Yet these few words, as Minister of Marine,I’ll venture now.—My process would be thus:—Our projects for a junction of the fleetsBeing well-discerned and read by every eyeThrough long postponement, England is prepared.I would recast them. Later in the yearForm sundry squadrons of this massive one,Harass the English till the winter time,Then rendezvous at Cadiz; where leave halfTo catch the enemy’s eye and call their cruizers,While rounding Scotland with the other half,You make the Channel by the eastern strait,Cover the passage of our army-boats,And plant the blow.NAPOLÉONAnd what if they perceiveOur Scottish route, and meet us eastwardly?DECRÈSI have thought of it, and planned a countermove;I’ll write the scheme more clearly and at length,And send it hither to your Majesty.NAPOLÉONDo so forthwith; and send me in Daru.[Exit DECRÈS. Re-enter MONGE.]Our breakfast, Monge, to-day has been cut short,And these discussions on the ancient tonguesWherein you shine, must yield to modern moils.Nay, hasten not away; though feeble wills,Incompetence, ay, imbecility,In some who feign to serve the cause of France,Do make me other than myself just now!—Ah—here’s Daru.[DARU enters. MONGE takes his leave.]Daru, sit down and write. Yes, here, at once,This room will serve me now. What think you, eh?Villeneuve has just turned tail and run to Cadiz.So quite postponed—perhaps even overthrown—My long-conned project against yonder shoreAs ’twere a juvenile’s snow-built deviceBut made for melting! Think of it, Daru,—My God, my God, how can I talk thereon!A plan well judged, well charted, well upreared,To end in nothing!... Sit you down and write.[NAPOLÉON walks up and down, and resumes after a silence.]Write this.—A volte-face ’tis indeed!—Write, write!DARU [holding pen to paper]I wait, your Majesty.NAPOLÉONFirst Bernadotte—Yes; “Bernadotte moves out from HanoverThrough Hesse upon Wurzburg and the Danube.—Marmont from Holland bears along the Rhine,And joins at Mainz and Wurzburg Bernadotte...While these prepare their routes the army hereWill turn its back on Britain’s tedious shore,And, closing up with Augereau at Brest,Set out full force due eastward....By the Black forest feign a straight attack,The while our purpose is to skirt its left,Meet in Franconia Bernadotte and Marmont;Traverse the Danube somewhat down from Ulm;Entrap the Austrian column by their rear;Surround them, cleave them; roll upon Vienna,Where, Austria settled, I engage the Tsar,While Masséna detains in ItalyThe Archduke Charles.Foreseeing such might shape,Each high-and by-way to the Danube henceI have of late had measured, mapped, and judged;Such spots as suit for depots chosen and marked;Each regiment’s daily pace and bivouacWrit tablewise for ready reference;All which itineraries are sent herewith.”So shall I crush the two gigantic setsUpon the Empire, now grown imminent.—Let me reflect.—First Bernadotte—-but nay,The courier to Marmont must go first.Well, well.—The order of our march from henceI will advise.... My knock at George’s doorWith bland inquiries why his royal handWithheld due answer to my friendly lines,And tossed the irksome business to his clerks,Is thus perforce delayed. But not for long.Instead of crossing, thitherward I tourBy roundabout contrivance not less sure!DARUI’ll bring the writing to your Majesty.[NAPOLÉON and DARU go out severally.]CHORUS OF THE YEARS [aerial music]Recording Angel, traceThis bold campaign his thought has spun apace—One that bids fair for immortalityAmong the earthlings—if immortal deedsMay be ascribed to so extemporaryAnd transient a race!It will be called, in rhetoric and rhyme,As son to sire succeeds,A model for the tactics of all time;“The Great Campaign of that so famed year Five,”By millions of mankind not yet alive.SCENE IITHE FRONTIERS OF UPPER AUSTRIA AND BAVARIA[A view of the country from mid-air, at a point south of theRiver Inn, which is seen as a silver thread, winding northwardbetween its junction with the Salza and the Danube, and formingthe boundaries of the two countries. The Danube shows itself asa crinkled satin riband, stretching from left to right in thefar background of the picture, the Inn discharging its watersinto the larger river.]DUMB SHOWA vast Austrian army creeps dully along the mid-distance, inthe detached masses and columns of a whitish cast. The columnsinsensibly draw nearer to each other, and are seen to be convergingfrom the east upon the banks of the Inn aforesaid.A RECORDING ANGEL [in recitative]This movement as of molluscs on a leaf,Which from our vantage here we scan afar,Is one manoeuvred by the famous MackTo countercheck Napoléon, still believedTo be intent on England from Boulogne,And heedless of such rallies in his rear.Mack’s enterprise is now to cross Bavaria—Beneath us stretched in ripening summer peaceAs field unwonted for these ugly jars—Outraged Bavaria, simmering in disquietAt Munich down behind us, Isar-fringed,And torn between his fair wife’s hate of FranceAnd his own itch to gird at Austrian bluffFor riding roughshod through his territory,Wavers from this to that. The while Time hastesThe eastward streaming of Napoléon’s host,As soon we see.The silent insect-creep of the Austrian columns towards the banks ofthe Inn continues to be seen till the view fades to nebulousness anddissolves.SCENE IIIBOULOGNE. THE ST. OMER ROAD[It is morning at the end of August, and the road stretches outof the town eastward.The divisions of the “Army-for-England” are making preparationsto march. Some portions are in marching order. Bands strikeup, and the regiments start on their journey towards the Rhineand Danube. Bonaparte and his officers watch the movements froman eminence. The soldiers, as they pace along under their eagleswith beaming eyes, sing “Le Chant du Depart,” and other martialsongs, shout “Vive l’Empereur!” and babble of repeating the daysof Italy, Egypt, Marengo, and Hohenlinden.]NAPOLÉONAnon to England!CHORUS OF INTELLIGENCES [aerial music]If Time’s weird threads so weave![The scene as it lingers exhibits the gradual diminishing ofthe troops along the roads through the undulating Augustlandscape, till each column is seen but as a train of dust;and the disappearance of each marching mass over the easternhorizon.]
BOULOGNE. THE CHATEAU AT PONT-DE-BRIQUES[A room in the Chateau, which is used as the Imperial quarters.The EMPEROR NAPOLÉON, and M. GASPARD MONGE, the mathematicianand philosopher, are seated at breakfast.]
OFFICERMonsieur the Admiral Decrès awaitsA moment’s audience with your Majesty,Or now, or later.
NAPOLÉONBid him in at once—At last Villeneuve has raised the Brest blockade![Enter DECRÈS.]What of the squadron’s movements, good Decrès?Brest opened, and all sailing Channelwards,Like swans into a creek at feeding-time?
DECRÈSSuch news was what I’d hoped, your Majesty,To send across this daybreak. But eventsHave proved intractable, it seems, of late;And hence I haste in person to reportThe featless facts that just have dashed my—-
NAPOLÉON [darkening]Well?
DECRÈSSire, at the very juncture when the fleetsSailed out from Ferrol, fever raged aboard“LL’Achille” and “l’Algeciras”: later on,Mischief assailed our Spanish comrades’ ships;Several ran foul of neighbours; whose new hurts,Being added to their innate clumsiness,Gave hap the upper hand; and in quick courseDemoralized the whole; until Villeneuve,Judging that Calder now with Nelson rode,And prescient of unparalleled disasterIf he pushed on in so disjoint a trim,Bowed to the inevitable; and thus, perforce,Leaving to other opportunityBrest and the Channel scheme, with vast regretSteered southward into Cadiz.
NAPOLÉON [having risen from the table]What!—Is, then,My scheme of years to be disdained and dashedBy this man’s like, a wretched moral coward,Whom you must needs foist on me as one fitFor full command in pregnant enterprise!
MONGE [aside]I’m one too many here! Let me step outTill this black squall blows over. Poor Decrès.Would that this precious project, disinterredFrom naval archives of King Louis’ reign,Had ever lingered fusting where ’twas found.7[Exit Monge.]
NAPOLÉONTo help a friend you foul a country’s fame!—Decrès, not only chose you this Villeneuve,But you have nourished secret sour opinionsAkin to his, and thereby helped to scatheAs stably based a project as this ageHas sunned to ripeness. Ever the French MarineHave you decried, ever contrived to bringDespair into the fleet! Why, this Villeneuve,Your man, this rank incompetent, this traitor—Of whom I asked no more than fight and lose,Provided he detain the enemy—A frigate is too great for his command!what shall be said of one who, at a breath,When a few casual sailors find them sick,When falls a broken boom or slitten sail,When rumour hints that Calder’s tubs and Nelson’sMay join, and bob about in company,Is straightway paralyzed, and doubles backOn all his ripened plans!—Bring him, ay, bodily; hale him out from Cadiz,Compel him up the Channel by main force,And, having doffed him his supreme command,Give the united squadrons to Ganteaume!
DECRÈSYour Majesty, while umbraged, righteously,By an event my tongue dragged dry to tell,Makes my hard situation over-hardBy your ascription to the actors in’tOf motives such and such. ’Tis not for meTo answer these reproaches, Sire, and askWhy years-long mindfulness of France’s fameIn things marine should win no confidence.I speak; but am unable to convince!True is it that this man has been my friendSince boyhood made us schoolmates; and I sayThat he would yield the heel-drops of his heartWith joyful readiness this day, this hour,To do his country service. Yet no lessIs it his drawback that he sees too far.And there are times, Sire, when a shorter sightCharms Fortune more. A certain sort of braverySome people have—to wit, this same Lord Nelson—Which is but fatuous faith in one’s own starSwoln to the very verge of childishness,[Smugly disguised as putting trust in God,A habit with these English folk]; wherebyA headstrong blindness to contingenciesCarries the actor on, and serves him wellIn some nice issues clearer sight would mar.Such eyeless bravery Villeneuve has not;But, Sire, he is no coward.
NAPOLÉONWell, have it so!—What are we going to do?My brain has only one wish—to succeed!
DECRÈSMy voice wanes weaker with you, Sire; is nought!Yet these few words, as Minister of Marine,I’ll venture now.—My process would be thus:—Our projects for a junction of the fleetsBeing well-discerned and read by every eyeThrough long postponement, England is prepared.I would recast them. Later in the yearForm sundry squadrons of this massive one,Harass the English till the winter time,Then rendezvous at Cadiz; where leave halfTo catch the enemy’s eye and call their cruizers,While rounding Scotland with the other half,You make the Channel by the eastern strait,Cover the passage of our army-boats,And plant the blow.
NAPOLÉONAnd what if they perceiveOur Scottish route, and meet us eastwardly?
DECRÈSI have thought of it, and planned a countermove;I’ll write the scheme more clearly and at length,And send it hither to your Majesty.
NAPOLÉONDo so forthwith; and send me in Daru.[Exit DECRÈS. Re-enter MONGE.]Our breakfast, Monge, to-day has been cut short,And these discussions on the ancient tonguesWherein you shine, must yield to modern moils.Nay, hasten not away; though feeble wills,Incompetence, ay, imbecility,In some who feign to serve the cause of France,Do make me other than myself just now!—Ah—here’s Daru.[DARU enters. MONGE takes his leave.]Daru, sit down and write. Yes, here, at once,This room will serve me now. What think you, eh?Villeneuve has just turned tail and run to Cadiz.So quite postponed—perhaps even overthrown—My long-conned project against yonder shoreAs ’twere a juvenile’s snow-built deviceBut made for melting! Think of it, Daru,—My God, my God, how can I talk thereon!A plan well judged, well charted, well upreared,To end in nothing!... Sit you down and write.[NAPOLÉON walks up and down, and resumes after a silence.]Write this.—A volte-face ’tis indeed!—Write, write!
DARU [holding pen to paper]I wait, your Majesty.
NAPOLÉONFirst Bernadotte—Yes; “Bernadotte moves out from HanoverThrough Hesse upon Wurzburg and the Danube.—Marmont from Holland bears along the Rhine,And joins at Mainz and Wurzburg Bernadotte...While these prepare their routes the army hereWill turn its back on Britain’s tedious shore,And, closing up with Augereau at Brest,Set out full force due eastward....By the Black forest feign a straight attack,The while our purpose is to skirt its left,Meet in Franconia Bernadotte and Marmont;Traverse the Danube somewhat down from Ulm;Entrap the Austrian column by their rear;Surround them, cleave them; roll upon Vienna,Where, Austria settled, I engage the Tsar,While Masséna detains in ItalyThe Archduke Charles.Foreseeing such might shape,Each high-and by-way to the Danube henceI have of late had measured, mapped, and judged;Such spots as suit for depots chosen and marked;Each regiment’s daily pace and bivouacWrit tablewise for ready reference;All which itineraries are sent herewith.”So shall I crush the two gigantic setsUpon the Empire, now grown imminent.—Let me reflect.—First Bernadotte—-but nay,The courier to Marmont must go first.Well, well.—The order of our march from henceI will advise.... My knock at George’s doorWith bland inquiries why his royal handWithheld due answer to my friendly lines,And tossed the irksome business to his clerks,Is thus perforce delayed. But not for long.Instead of crossing, thitherward I tourBy roundabout contrivance not less sure!
DARUI’ll bring the writing to your Majesty.[NAPOLÉON and DARU go out severally.]
CHORUS OF THE YEARS [aerial music]Recording Angel, traceThis bold campaign his thought has spun apace—One that bids fair for immortalityAmong the earthlings—if immortal deedsMay be ascribed to so extemporaryAnd transient a race!It will be called, in rhetoric and rhyme,As son to sire succeeds,A model for the tactics of all time;“The Great Campaign of that so famed year Five,”By millions of mankind not yet alive.
THE FRONTIERS OF UPPER AUSTRIA AND BAVARIA[A view of the country from mid-air, at a point south of theRiver Inn, which is seen as a silver thread, winding northwardbetween its junction with the Salza and the Danube, and formingthe boundaries of the two countries. The Danube shows itself asa crinkled satin riband, stretching from left to right in thefar background of the picture, the Inn discharging its watersinto the larger river.]
DUMB SHOWA vast Austrian army creeps dully along the mid-distance, inthe detached masses and columns of a whitish cast. The columnsinsensibly draw nearer to each other, and are seen to be convergingfrom the east upon the banks of the Inn aforesaid.
A RECORDING ANGEL [in recitative]This movement as of molluscs on a leaf,Which from our vantage here we scan afar,Is one manoeuvred by the famous MackTo countercheck Napoléon, still believedTo be intent on England from Boulogne,And heedless of such rallies in his rear.Mack’s enterprise is now to cross Bavaria—Beneath us stretched in ripening summer peaceAs field unwonted for these ugly jars—Outraged Bavaria, simmering in disquietAt Munich down behind us, Isar-fringed,And torn between his fair wife’s hate of FranceAnd his own itch to gird at Austrian bluffFor riding roughshod through his territory,Wavers from this to that. The while Time hastesThe eastward streaming of Napoléon’s host,As soon we see.The silent insect-creep of the Austrian columns towards the banks ofthe Inn continues to be seen till the view fades to nebulousness anddissolves.
BOULOGNE. THE ST. OMER ROAD[It is morning at the end of August, and the road stretches outof the town eastward.The divisions of the “Army-for-England” are making preparationsto march. Some portions are in marching order. Bands strikeup, and the regiments start on their journey towards the Rhineand Danube. Bonaparte and his officers watch the movements froman eminence. The soldiers, as they pace along under their eagleswith beaming eyes, sing “Le Chant du Depart,” and other martialsongs, shout “Vive l’Empereur!” and babble of repeating the daysof Italy, Egypt, Marengo, and Hohenlinden.]
NAPOLÉONAnon to England!
CHORUS OF INTELLIGENCES [aerial music]If Time’s weird threads so weave![The scene as it lingers exhibits the gradual diminishing ofthe troops along the roads through the undulating Augustlandscape, till each column is seen but as a train of dust;and the disappearance of each marching mass over the easternhorizon.]