Well, Buonaparte has revived by land, But not by sea. On that thwart element Never will he incorporate his dream, And float as master!
WOMAN
What shall hinder him?
SPIRIT
That which has hereto. England, so to say.
WOMAN
But she"s in straits. She lost her Nelson now, [A worthy man: he loved a woman well!]
George drools and babbles in a darkened room; Her heaven-born Minister declines apace; All smooths the Emperor"s sway.
SPIRIT
Tales have two sides, Sweet lady. Vamped-up versions reach thee here.-- That Austerlitz was l.u.s.trous none ignores, But would it shock thy garrulousness to know That the true measure of this Trafalgar-- Utter defeat, ay, France"s naval death-- Your Emperor bade be hid?
WOMAN
The seer"s gift Has never plenteously endowed me, sir, As in appearance you. But to plain sense Thing"s seem as stated.
SPIRIT
We"ll let seemings be.-- But know, these English take to liquid life Right patly--nursed therefor in infancy By rimes and rains which creep into their blood, Till like seeks like. The sea is their dry land, And, as on cobbles you, they wayfare there.
WOMAN
Heaven prosper, then, their watery wayfarings If they"ll leave us the land!--[The Imperial carriage appears.]
The Emperor!-- Long live the Emperor!--He"s the best by land.
[BONAPARTE"S carriage arrives, without an escort. The street lamps shine in, and reveal the EMPRESS JOSEPHINE seated beside him. The plaudits of the people grow boisterous as they hail him Victor of Austerlitz. The more active run after the carriage, which turns in from the Rue St. Honore to the Carrousel, and thence vanishes into the Court of the Tuileries.]
WOMAN
May all success attend his next exploit!
SPIRIT
Namely: to put the knife in England"s trade, And teach her treaty-manners--if he can!
WOMAN
I like not your queer knowledge, creepy man.
There"s weirdness in your air. I"d call you ghost Had not the G.o.ddess Reason laid all such Past Mother Church"s cunning to restore.
--Adieu. I"ll not be yours to-night. I"d starve first!
[She withdraws. The crowd wastes away, and the Spirit vanishes.]
SCENE VIII
PUTNEY. BOWLING GREEN HOUSE
[PITT"S bedchamber, from the landing without. It is afternoon.
At the back of the room as seen through the doorway is a curtained bed, beside which a woman sits, the LADY HESTER STANHOPE. Bending over a table at the front of the room is SIR WALTER FARQUHAR, the physician. PARSLOW the footman and another servant are near the door. TOMLINE, the Bishop of Lincoln, enters.]
FARQUHAR [in a subdued voice]
I grieve to call your lordship up again, But symptoms lately have disclosed themselves That mean the knell to the frail life in him.
And whatsoever thing of gravity It may be needful to communicate, Let them be spoken now. Time may not serve If they be much delayed.
TOMLINE
Ah, stands it this?...
The name of his disease is--Austerlitz!
His brow"s inscription has been Austerlitz From that dire morning in the month just past When tongues of rumour tw.a.n.ged the word across From its hid nook on the Moravian plains.
FARQUHAR
And yet he might have borne it, had the weight Of governmental shackles been unclasped, Even partly, from his limbs last Lammastide, When that despairing journey to the King At Gloucester Lodge by Wess.e.x sh.o.r.e was made To beg such. But relief the King refused.
"Why want you Fox? What--Grenville and his friends?"
He harped. "You are sufficient without these-- Rather than Fox, why, give me civil war!"
And fibre that would rather snap than shrink Held out no longer. Now the upshot nears.
[LADY HESTER STANHOPE turns her head and comes forward.]
LADY HESTER
I am grateful you are here again, good friend!
He"s sleeping some light seconds; but once more Has asked for tidings of Lord Harrowby, And murmured of his mission to Berlin As Europe"s haggard hope; if, sure, it be That any hope remain!
TOMLINE