Complete Works of Thomas Hardy (Illustrated)

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Complete Works of Thomas Hardy (Illustrated) Page 825

by Thomas Hardy

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

  What lewdness lip those wry-formed phantoms there!

  IRONIC SPIRITS

  Nay, Showman Years! With holy reverent air

  We hymn the nuptials of the Imperial pair.

  [The scene thickens to mist and obscures the scene.]

  SCENE VII

  PETERSBURG. THE PALACE OF THE EMPRESS-MOTHER

  [One of the private apartments is disclosed, in which the Empress-

  mother and Alexander are seated.]

  EMPRESS-MOTHER

  So one of Austrian blood his pomp selects

  To be his bride and bulwark—not our own.

  Thus are you coolly shelved!

  ALEXANDER

  Me, mother dear?

  You, faith, if I may say it dutifully!

  Had all been left to me, some time ere now

  He would have wedded Kate.

  EMPRESS-MOTHER

  How so, my son?

  Catharine was plighted, and it could not be.

  ALEXANDER

  Rather you swiftly pledged and married her,

  To let Napoleon have no chance that way.

  But Anne remained.

  EMPRESS-MOTHER

  How Anne?—so young a girl!

  Sane Nature would have cried indecency

  At such a troth.

  ALEXANDER

  Time would have tinkered that,

  And he was well-disposed to wait awhile;

  But the one test he had no temper for

  Was the apparent slight of unresponse

  Accorded his impatient overtures

  By our suspensive poise of policy.

  EMPRESS-MOTHER

  A 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 peers

  Are cured of stiffness by its potency.

  ALEXANDER

  The principle in this case, anyhow,

  Is shattered by the facts: since none can doubt

  Your policy was counted an affront,

  And drove my long ally to Austria's arms,

  With what result to us must yet be seen!

  EMPRESS-MOTHER

  May Austria win much joy of the alliance!

  Marrying Napoleon is a midnight leap

  For any Court in Europe, credit me,

  If ever such there were! What he may carve

  Upon the coming years, what murderous bolt

  Hurl at the rocking Constitutions round,

  On what dark planet he may land himself

  In his career through space, no sage can say.

  ALEXANDER

  Well—possibly!... And maybe all is best

  That he engrafts his lineage not on us.—

  But, honestly, Napoleon none the less

  Has been my friend, and I regret the dream

  And fleeting fancy of a closer tie!

  EMPRESS-MOTHER

  Ay; your regrets are sentimental ever.

  That he'll be writ no son-in-law of mine

  Is no regret to me! But an affront

  There is, no less, in his evasion on't,

  Wherein the bourgeois quality of him

  Veraciously peeps out. I would be sworn

  He set his minions parleying with the twain—

  Yourself and Francis—simultaneously,

  Else no betrothal could have speeded so!

  ALEXANDER

  Despite the hazard of offence to one?

  EMPRESS-MOTHER

  More than the hazard; the necessity.

  ALEXANDER

  There's no offence to me.

  EMPRESS-MOTHER

  There should be, then.

  I am a Romanoff by marriage merely,

  But I do feel a rare belittlement

  And loud laconic brow-beating herein!

  ALEXANDER

  No, 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-MOTHER

  Here comes dear Anne Speak not of it before her.

  [Enter the GRAND-DUCHESS, a girl of sixteen.]

  ANNE

  Alas! 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.

  ANNE

  What do you mean by that, my brother dear?

  EMPRESS-MOTHER

  He means, my child, that he as usual spends

  Much sentiment upon the foreign fair,

  And hence leaves little for his folk at home.

  ALEXANDER

  I mean, Anne, that her country's overthrow

  Let death into her heart. The Tilsit days

  Taught me to know her well, and honour her.

  She was a lovely woman even then!...

  Strangely, the present English Prince of Wales

  Was wished to husband her. Had wishes won,

  They might have varied Europe's history.

  ANNE

  Napoleon, I have heard, admired her once;

  How he must grieve that soon she'll be no more!

  EMPRESS-MOTHER

  Napoleon and your brother loved her both.

  [Alexander shows embarrassment.]

  But whatsoever grief be Alexander's,

  His will be none who feels but for himself.

  ANNE

  O mother, how can you mistake him so!

  He worships her who is to be his wife,

  The fair Archduchess Marie.

  EMPRESS-MOTHER

  Simple 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 forget

  Those Tilsit gatherings in the long-sunned June!

  Napoleon's gallantries deceived her quite,

  Who fondly felt her pleas for Magdeburg

  Had won him to its cause; the while, alas!

  His cynic sense but posed in cruel play!

  EMPRESS-MOTHER

  Bitterly mourned she her civilities

  When time unlocked the truth, that she had choked

  Her indignation at his former slights

  And slanderous sayings for a baseless hope,

  And wrought no tittle for her country's gain.

  I marvel why you mourn a frustrate tie

  With one whose wiles could wring a woman so!

  ALEXANDER [uneasily]

  I marvel also, when I think of it!

  EMPRESS-MOTHER

  Don'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 hour

  Wherein she plucks for him her fairest flower!

  [The scene shuts.]

  SCENE VIII

  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 spectacle

  of much magnificence. Backed by the large paintings on the walls

  are double rows on each side of brightly dressed ladies, the pick

  of Imperial society, to the number of four thousand, one thousand

  in each row; and behind these standing up are two rows on each side

  of men of privilege and fashion. Officers of the Imperial Guard

  are dotted about as marshals.

  Tempor
ary barriers form a wide passage up the midst, leading to the

  Salon-Carre, which is seen through the opening to be fitted up as

  a chapel, with a gorgeous altar, tall candles, and cross. In front

  of the altar is a platform with a canopy over it. On the platform

  are 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 amid

  the strains of the orchestra, conducted by the EMPEROR'S Director

  of Music. Refreshments in profusion are handed round, and the

  extemporized cathedral resolves itself into a gigantic cafe of

  persons of distinction under the Empire.]

  SPIRIT SINISTER

  All day have they been waiting for their galanty-show, and now the

  hour of performance is on the strike. It may be seasonable to muse

  on the sixteenth Louis and the bride's great-aunt, as the nearing

  procession is, I see, appositely crossing the track of the tumbril

  which was the last coach of that respected lady.... It is now

  passing 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 the

  Tuileries, the spectators ranging themselves in their places.

  In a moment the wedding procession of the EMPEROR and EMPRESS

  becomes visible. The civil marriage having already been performed,

  Napoleon and Marie Louise advance together along the vacant pathway

  towards the Salon-Carre, followed by the long suite of illustrious

  personages, and acclamations burst from all parts of the Grand

  Gallery.

  SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

  Whose are those forms that pair in pompous train

  Behind the hand-in-hand half-wedded ones,

  With faces speaking sense of an adventure

  Which may close well, or not so?

  RECORDING ANGEL [reciting]

  First there walks

  The Emperor's brother Louis, Holland's King;

  Then Jerome 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 Cambaceres,

  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 RUMOUR

  New, many, to Imperial dignities;

  Which, won by character and quality

  In those who now enjoy them, will become

  The birthright of their sons in aftertime.

  SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

  It 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 PITIES

  Napoleon looks content—nay, shines with joy.

  SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

  Yet see it pass, as by a conjuror's wand.

  [Thereupon Napoleon's face blackens as if the shadow of a winter

  night had fallen upon it. Resentful and threatening, he stops the

  procession and looks up and down the benches.]

  SPIRIT SINISTER

  This is sound artistry of the Immanent Will: it relieves the monotony

  of so much good-humour.

  NAPOLEON [to the Chapel-master]

  Where are the Cardinals? And why not here? [He speaks so loud that

  he is heard throughout the Gallery.]

  ABBE DE PRADT [trembling]

  Many are present here, your Majesty;

  But some are feebled by infirmities

  Too common to their age, and cannot come.

  NAPOLEON

  Tell me no nonsense! Half absent themselves

  Because 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 PITIES

  I seem to see the thin and headless ghost

  Of the yet earlier Austrian, here, too, queen,

  Walking beside the bride, with frail attempts

  To pluck her by the arm!

  SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

  Nay, think not so.

  No trump unseals earth's sepulchre's to-day:

  We are the only phantoms now abroad

  On this mud-moulded ball! Through sixteen years

  She 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 seest

  Springs of the quavering fancy, stirred to dreams

  By yon tart phantom's phrase.

  MARIE LOUISE [sadly to Napoleon]

  I know not why,

  I love not this day's doings half so well

  As our quaint meeting-time at Compiegne.

  A clammy air creeps round me, as from vaults

  Peopled with looming spectres, chilling me

  And angering you withal!

  NAPOLEON

  O, it is nought

  To trouble you: merely, my cherished one,

  Those devils of Italian Cardinals!—

  Now I'll be bright as ever—you must, too.

  MARIE LOUISE

  I'll try.

  [Reaching the entrance to the Salon-Carre amid strains of music

  the EMPEROR and EMPRESS are received and incensed by the CARDINAL

  GRAND ALMONERS. They take their seats under the canopy, and the

  train of notabilities seat themselves further back, the persons-

  in-waiting stopping behind the Imperial chairs.

  The ceremony of the religious marriage now begins. The choir

  intones a hymn, the EMPEROR and EMPRESS go to the altar, remove

  their gloves, and make their vows.]

  SPIRIT IRONIC

  The English Church should return thanks for this wedding, seeing

  how it will purge of coarseness the picture-sheets of that artistic

  nation, which will hardly be able to caricature the new wife as it

  did poor plebeian Josephine. Such starched and ironed monarchists

  cannot sneer at a woman of such a divinely dry and crusted line like

  the Hapsburgs!

  [Mass is next celebrated, after which the TE DEUM is chanted in

  harmonies that whirl round the walls of the Salon-Carre and quiver

  down the long Gallery. The procession then re-forms and returns,

  amid the flutterings and applause of the dense assembly. But

  Napoleon's face has not lost the sombre expression which settled

  on it. The pair and their train pass out by the west door, and

  the congregation disperses in the other direction, the cloud-

  curtain closing over the scene as they disappear.

  ACT SIXTH

  SCENE I

  THE LINES OF TORRES VEDRAS

  [A bird's-eye perspective is revealed of the peninsular tract of

  Portuguese territory lying between the shining pool of the Tagus on

  the east, and the white-frilled Atlantic lifting rhythmically on

  the west. As thus beheld the tract features itself somewhat like a

  late-Gothic shield, the upper edge from the dexter to the sinister
<
br />   chief being the lines of Torres Vedras, stretching across from the

  mouth of the Zezambre on the left to Alhandra on the right, and

  the south or base point being Fort S. Julian. The roofs of Lisbon

  appear at the sinister base, and in a corresponding spot on the

  opposite side Cape Roca.

  It is perceived in a moment that the northern verge of this nearly

  coast-hemmed region is the only one through which access can be

  gained to it by land, and a close scrutiny of the boundary there

  reveals that means are being adopted to effectually prevent such

  access.

  From east to west along it runs a chain of defences, dotted at

  intervals by dozens of circular and square redoubts, either made

  or in the making, two of the latter being of enormous size.

  Between these stretch unclimbable escarpments, stone walls, and

  other breastworks, and in front of all a double row of abatis,

  formed of the limbs of trees.

  Within the outer line of defence is a second, constructed on the

  same shield-shaped tract of country; and is not more than a twelfth

  of the length of the others. It is a continuous entrenchment of

  ditches and ramparts, and its object—that of covering a forced

  embarkation—is rendered apparent by some rocking English

  transports off the shore hard by.]

  DUMB SHOW

  Innumerable human figures are busying themselves like cheese-mites

  all along the northernmost frontage, undercutting easy slopes into

  steep ones, digging ditches, piling stones, felling trees, dragging

  them, and interlacing them along the front as required.

  On the second breastwork, which is completed, only a few figures move.

  On the third breastwork, which is fully matured and equipped, minute

  red sentinels creep backwards and forwards noiselessly.

  As time passes three reddish-grey streams of marching men loom out

  to the north, advancing southward along three roads towards three

  diverse points in the first defence. These form the English army,

  entering the lines for shelter. Looked down upon, their motion

  seems peristaltic and vermicular, like that of three caterpillars.

  The division on the left is under Picton, in the centre under Leith

  and Cole, and on the extreme right, by Alhandra, under Hill. Beside

  one of the roads two or three of the soldiers are dangling from a

  tree by the neck, probably for plundering.

  The Dumb Show ends, and the point of view sinks to the earth.

  SCENE II

  THE SAME. OUTSIDE THE LINES

 

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