Complete Works of Thomas Hardy (Illustrated)

by Thomas Hardy

  Rethrone in Piedmont the Sardinian King,

  Make Naples sword-proof, un-French Italy

  From shore to shore; and thoroughly guarantee

  A settled order to the divers states;

  Thus rearing breachless barriers in each realm

  Against the thrust of his usurping hand.

  SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

  They trow not what is shaping otherwhere

  The while they talk this stoutly!

  SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

  Bid me go

  And join them, and all blandly kindle them

  By bringing, ere material transit can,

  A new surprise!

  SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

  Yea, for a moment, wouldst.

  [The Spirit of Rumour enters the apartment in the form of a

  personage of fashion, newly arrived. He advances and addresses

  the group.]

  SPIRIT

  The Treaty moves all tongues to-night.—Ha, well—

  So much on paper!

  GENTLEMAN

  What on land and sea?

  You look, old friend, full primed with latest thence.

  SPIRIT

  Yea, this. The Italy our mighty pact

  Delivers from the French and Bonaparte

  Makes haste to crown him!—Turning from Boulogne

  He speeds toward Milan, there to glory him

  In second coronation by the Pope,

  And set upon his irrepressible brow

  Lombardy's iron crown.

  [The Spirit of Rumour mingles with the throng, moves away, and

  disappears.]

  LADY

  Fair Italy,

  Alas, alas!

  LORD

  Yet thereby English folk

  Are freed him.—Faith, as ancient people say,

  It's an ill wind that blows good luck to none!

  MINISTER

  Who is your friend that drops so airily

  This precious pinch of salt on our raw skin?

  GENTLEMAN

  Why, Norton. You know Norton well enough?

  MINISTER

  Nay, 'twas not he. Norton of course I know.

  I thought him Stewart for a moment, but—-

  LADY

  But I well scanned him—'twas Lord Abercorn;

  For, said I to myself, "O quaint old beau,

  To sleep in black silk sheets so funnily:—

  That is, if the town rumour on't be true."

  LORD

  My wig, ma'am, no! 'Twas a much younger man.

  GENTLEMAN

  But let me call him! Monstrous silly this,

  That don't know my friends!

  [They look around. The gentleman goes among the surging and

  babbling guests, makes inquiries, and returns with a perplexed

  look.]

  GENTLEMAN

  They tell me, sure,

  That he's not here to-night!

  MINISTER

  I can well swear

  It was not Norton.—'Twas some lively buck,

  Who chose to put himself in masquerade

  And enter for a whim. I'll tell our host.

  —Meantime the absurdity of his report

  Is more than manifested. How knows he

  The plans of Bonaparte by lightning-flight,

  Before another man in England knows?

  LADY

  Something uncanny's in it all, if true.

  Good Lord, the thought gives me a sudden sweat,

  That fairly makes my linen stick to me!

  MINISTER

  Ha-ha! 'Tis excellent. But we'll find out

  Who this impostor was.

  [They disperse, look furtively for the stranger, and speak of

  the incident to others of the crowded company.]

  SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

  Now let us vision onward, till we sight

  Famed Milan's aisles of marble, sun-alight,

  And there behold, unbid, the Coronation-rite.

  [The confused tongues of the assembly waste away into distance,

  till they are heard but as the babblings of the sea from a

  high cliff, the scene becoming small and indistinct therewith.

  This passes into silence, and the whole disappears.]

  SCENE VI

  MILAN. THE CATHEDRAL

  [The interior of the building on a sunny May day.

  The walls, arched, and columns are draped in silk fringed with

  gold. A gilded throne stand in front of the High Altar. A

  closely packed assemblage, attired in every variety of rich

  fabric and fashion, waits in breathless expectation.]

  DUMB SHOW

  From a private corridor leading to a door in the aisle the EMPRESS

  JOSEPHINE enters, in a shining costume, and diamonds that collect

  rainbow-colours from the sunlight piercing the clerestory windows.

  She is preceded by PRINCESS ELIZA, and surrounded by her ladies.

  A pause follows, and then comes the procession of the EMPEROR,

  consisting of hussars, heralds, pages, aides-de-camp, presidents

  of institutions, officers of the state bearing the insignia of the

  Empire and of Italy, and seven ladies with offerings. The Emperor

  himself in royal robes, wearing the Imperial crown, and carrying the

  sceptre. He is followed my ministers and officials of the household.

  His gait is rather defiant than dignified, and a bluish pallor

  overspreads his face.

  He is met by the Cardinal Archbishop of CAPRARA and the clergy, who

  burn incense before him as he proceeds towards the throne. Rolling

  notes of music burn forth, and loud applause from the congregation.

  SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

  What is the creed that these rich rites disclose?

  SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

  A local cult, called Christianity,

  Which the wild dramas of the wheeling spheres

  Include, with divers other such, in dim

  Pathetical and brief parentheses,

  Beyond whose span, uninfluenced, unconcerned,

  The systems of the suns go sweeping on

  With all their many-mortaled planet train

  In mathematic roll unceasingly.

  SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

  I did not recognize it here, forsooth;

  Though in its early, lovingkindly days

  Of gracious purpose it was much to me.

  ARCHBISHOP [addressing Bonaparte]

  Sire, with that clemency and right goodwill

  Which beautify Imperial Majesty,

  You deigned acceptance of the homages

  That we the clergy and the Milanese

  Were proud to offer when your entrance here

  Streamed radiance on our ancient capital.

  Please, then, to consummate the boon to-day

  Beneath this holy roof, so soon to thrill

  With solemn strains and lifting harmonies

  Befitting such a coronation hour;

  And bend a tender fatherly regard

  On this assembly, now at one with me

  To supplicate the Author of All Good

  That He endow your most Imperial person

  With every Heavenly gift.

  [The procession advances, and the EMPEROR seats himself on the

  throne, with the banners and regalia of the Empire on his right,

  and those of Italy on his left hand. Shouts and triumphal music

  accompany the proceedings, after which Divine service commences.]

  SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

  Thus are the self-styled servants of the Highest

  Constrained by earthly duress to embrace

  Mighty imperiousness as it were choice,

  And hand the Italian sceptre unto one

  Who, with a saturnine, sour-humoured grin,

  Professed at first
to flout antiquity,

  Scorn limp conventions, smile at mouldy thrones,

  And level dynasts down to journeymen!—

  Yet he, advancing swiftly on that track

  Whereby his active soul, fair Freedom's child

  Makes strange decline, now labours to achieve

  The thing it overthrew.

  SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

  Thou reasonest ever thuswise—even if

  A self-formed force had urged his loud career.

  SPIRIT SINISTER

  Do not the prelate's accents falter thin,

  His lips with inheld laughter grow deformed,

  While blessing one whose aim is but to win

  The golden seats that other b—-s have warmed?

  SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

  Soft, jester; scorn not puppetry so skilled,

  Even made to feel by one men call the Dame.

  SHADE OF THE EARTH

  Yea; that they feel, and puppetry remain,

  Is an owned flaw in her consistency

  Men love to dub Dame Nature—that lay-shape

  They use to hang phenomena upon—

  Whose deftest mothering in fairest sphere

  Is girt about by terms inexorable!

  SPIRIT SINISTER

  The lady's remark is apposite, and reminds me that I may as well

  hold my tongue as desired. For if my casual scorn, Father Years,

  should set thee trying to prove that there is any right or reason

  in the Universe, thou wilt not accomplish it by Doomsday! Small

  blame to her, however; she must cut her coat according to her

  cloth, as they would say below there.

  SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

  O would that I could move It to enchain thee,

  And shut thee up a thousand years!—[to cite

  A grim terrestrial tale of one thy like]

  Thou Iago of the Incorporeal World,

  "As they would say below there."

  SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

  Would thou couldst!

  But move That scoped above percipience, Sire,

  It cannot be!

  SHADE OF THE EARTH

  The spectacle proceeds.

  SPIRIT SINISTER

  And we may as well give all attention thereto, for the evils at

  work in other continents are not worth eyesight by comparison.

  [The ceremonial in the Cathedral continues. NAPOLEON goes to

  the front of the altar, ascends the steps, and, taking up the

  crown of Lombardy, places it on his head.]

  NAPOLEON

  'Tis God has given it to me. So be it.

  Let any who shall touch it now beware! [Reverberations of applause.]

  [The Sacrament of the Mass. NAPOLEON reads the Coronation Oath in

  a loud voice.]

  HERALDS

  Give ear! Napoleon, Emperor of the French

  And King of Italy, is crowned and throned!

  CONGREGATION

  Long live the Emperor and King. Huzza!

  [Music. The Te Deum.]

  SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

  That vulgar stroke of vauntery he displayed

  In planting on his brow the Lombard crown,

  Means sheer erasure of the Luneville pacts,

  And lets confusion loose on Europe's peace

  For many an undawned year! From this rash hour

  Austria but waits her opportunity

  By secret swellings of her armaments

  To link her to his foes.—I'll speak to him.

  [He throws a whisper into NAPOLEON'S ear.]

  Lieutenant Bonaparte,

  Would it not seemlier be to shut thy heart

  To these unhealthy splendours?—helmet thee

  For her thou swar'st-to first, fair Liberty?

  NAPOLEON

  Who spoke to me?

  ARCHBISHOP

  Not I, Sire. Not a soul.

  NAPOLEON

  Dear Josephine, my queen, didst call my name?

  JOSEPHINE

  I spoke not, Sire.

  NAPOLEON

  Thou didst not, tender spouse;

  I know it. Such harsh utterance was not thine.

  It was aggressive Fancy, working spells

  Upon a mind o'erwrought!

  [The service closes. The clergy advance with the canopy to the

  foot of the throne, and the procession forms to return to the

  Palace.]

  SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

  Officious sprite,

  Thou art young, and dost not heed the Cause of things

  Which some of us have inkled to thee here;

  Else wouldst thou not have hailed the Emperor,

  Whose acts do but outshape Its governing.

  SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

  I feel, Sire, as I must! This tale of Will

  And Life's impulsion by Incognizance

  I cannot take!

  SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

  Let me then once again

  Show to thy sceptic eye the very streams

  And currents of this all-inhering Power,

  And bring conclusion to thy unbelief.

  [The scene assumes the preternatural transparency before mentioned,

  and there is again beheld as it were the interior of a brain which

  seems to manifest the volitions of a Universal Will, of whose

  tissues the personages of the action form portion.]

  SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

  Enough. And yet for very sorriness

  I cannot own the weird phantasma real!

  SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

  Affection ever was illogical.

  SPIRIT IRONIC [aside]

  How should the Sprite own to such logic—a mere juvenile— who only

  came into being in what the earthlings call their Tertiary Age!

  [The scene changes. The exterior of the Cathedral takes the place

  of the interior, and the point of view recedes, the whole fabric

  smalling into distance and becoming like a rare, delicately carved

  alabaster ornament. The city itself sinks to miniature, the Alps

  show afar as a white corrugation, the Adriatic and the Gulf of

  Genoa appear on this and on that hand, with Italy between them,

  till clouds cover the panorama.]

  ACT SECOND

  SCENE I

  THE DOCKYARD, GIBRALTAR

  [The Rock is seen rising behind the town and the Alameda Gardens,

  and the English fleet rides at anchor in the Bay, across which the

  Spanish shore from Algeciras to Carnero Point shuts in the West.

  Southward over the Strait is the African coast.]

  SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

  Our migratory Proskenion now presents

  An outlook on the storied Kalpe Rock,

  As preface to the vision of the Fleets

  Spanish and French, linked for fell purposings.

  RECORDING ANGEL [reciting]

  Their motions and manoeuvres, since the fame

  Of Bonaparte's enthronment at Milan

  Swept swift through Europe's dumbed communities,

  Have stretched the English mind to wide surmise.

  Many well-based alarms [which strange report

  Much aggravates] as to the pondered blow,

  Flutter the public pulse; all points in turn—

  Malta, Brazil, Wales, Ireland, British Ind—

  Being held as feasible for force like theirs,

  Of lavish numbers and unrecking aim.

  "Where, where is Nelson?" questions every tongue;—

  "How views he so unparalleled a scheme?"

  Their slow uncertain apprehensions ask.

  "When Villeneuve puts to sea with all his force,

  What may he not achieve, if swift his course!"

  SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

  I'll call in Nelson, who has stepped ashore

  For the
first time these thrice twelvemonths and more,

  And with him one whose insight has alone

  Pierced the real project of Napoleon.

  [Enter NELSON and COLLINGWOOD, who pace up and down.]

  SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

  Note Nelson's worn-out features. Much has he

  Suffered from ghoulish ghast anxiety!

  NELSON

  In short, dear Coll, the letter which you wrote me

  Had so much pith that I was fain to see you;

  For I am sure that you indeed divine

  The true intent and compass of a plot

  Which I have spelled in vain.

  COLLINGWOOD

  I weighed it thus:

  Their flight to the Indies being to draw us off,

  That and no more, and clear these coasts of us—

  The standing obstacle to his device—

  He cared not what was done at Martinique,

  Or where, provided that the general end

  Should not be jeopardized—that is to say,

  The full-united squadron's quick return.—

  Gravina and Villeneuve, once back to Europe,

  Can straight make Ferrol, raise there the blockade,

  Then haste to Brest, there to relieve Ganteaume,

  And next with four-or five-and fifty sail

  Bear down upon our coast as they see fit.—

  I read they aim to strike at Ireland still,

  As formerly, and as I wrote to you.

  NELSON

  So far your thoughtful and sagacious words

  Have hit the facts. But 'tis no Irish bay

  The villains aim to drop their anchors in;

  My word for it: they make the Wessex shore,

  And this vast squadron handled by Villeneuve

  Is meant to cloak the passage of their strength,

  Massed on those transports—we being kept elsewhere

  By feigning forces.—Good God, Collingwood,

  I must be gone! Yet two more days remain

  Ere I can get away.—I must be gone!

  COLLINGWOOD

  Wherever you may go to, my dear lord,

  You carry victory with you. Let them launch,

  Your name will blow them back, as sou'west gales

  The gulls that beat against them from the shore.

  NELSON

  Good Collingwood, I know you trust in me;

  But ships are ships, and do not kindly come

  Out of the slow docks of the Admiralty

  Like wharfside pigeons when they are whistled for:—

  And there's a damned disparity of force,

  Which means tough work awhile for you and me!

  [The Spirit of the Years whispers to NELSON.]

  And I have warnings, warnings, Collingwood,

  That my effective hours are shortening here;

  Strange warnings now and then, as 'twere within me,