The Dynasts

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SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

More turning may be here than he design.
In this small, sudden, swift turn backward, he
Suggests one turning from his apogee!

[The characters disperse, the fire sinks, and snowflakes and
darkness blot out all.]

SCENE III

BEFORE CORUNA

[The town, harbour, and hills at the back are viewed from an
aerial point to the north, over the lighthouse known as the
Tower of Hercules, rising at the extremity of the tongue of
land on which La Coruna stands, the open ocean being in the
spectator's rear.

In the foreground the most prominent feature is the walled old
town, with its white towers and houses, shaping itself aloft
over the harbour. The new town, and its painted fronts, show
bright below, even on this cloudy winter afternoon. Further
off, behind the harbour--now crowded with British transports
of all sizes--is a series of low broken hills, intersected by
hedges and stone walls.

A mile behind these low inner hills is beheld a rocky chain of
outer and loftier heights that completely command the former.
Nothing behind them is seen but grey sky.

DUMB SHOW

On the inner hills aforesaid the little English army--a pathetic
fourteen thousand of foot only--is just deploying into line: HOPE'S
division is on the left, BAIRD'S to the right. PAGET with the
reserve is in the hollow to the left behind them; and FRASER'S
division still further back shapes out on a slight rise to the right.

This harassed force now appears as if composed of quite other than
the men observed in the Retreat insubordinately straggling along
like vagabonds. Yet they are the same men, suddenly stiffened and
grown amenable to discipline by the satisfaction of standing to the
enemy at last. They resemble a double palisade of red stakes, the
only gaps being those that the melancholy necessity of scant numbers
entails here and there.

Over the heads of these red men is beheld on the outer hills the
twenty thousand French that have been pushed along the road at the
heels of the English by SOULT. They have an ominous superiority,
both in position and in their abundance of cavalry and artillery,
over the slender lines of English foot. The left of this background,
facing HOPE, is made up of DELABORDE'S and MERLE'S divisions, while
in a deadly arc round BAIRD, from whom they are divided only by the
village of Elvina, are placed MERMET'S division, LAHOUSSAYE'S and
LORGE'S dragoons, FRANCESCHI'S cavalry, and, highest up of all, a
formidable battery of eleven great guns that rake the whole British
line.

It is now getting on for two o'clock, and a stir of activity has
lately been noticed along the French front. Three columns are
discerned descending from their position, the first towards the
division of SIR DAVID BAIRD, the weakest point in the English line,
the next towards the centre, the third towards the left. A heavy
cannonade from the battery supports this advance.

The clash ensues, the English being swept down in swathes by the
enemy's artillery. The opponents meet face to face at the village
in the valley between them, and the fight there grows furious.

SIR JOHN MOORE is seen galloping to the front under the gloomy sky.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

I seem to vision in San Carlos' garden,
That rises salient in the upper town,
His name, and date, and doing, set within
A filmy outline like a monument,
Which yet is but the insubstantial air.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Read visions as conjectures; not as more.

When MOORE arrives at the front, FRASER and PAGET move to the right,
where the English are most sorely pressed. A grape-shot strikes
off BAIRD'S arm. There is a little confusion, and he is borne to
the rear; while MAJOR NAPIER disappears, a prisoner.

Intelligence of these misfortunes is brought to SIR JOHN MOORE.
He goes further forward, and precedes in person the Forty-second
regiment and a battalion of the Guards who, with fixed bayonets,
bear the enemy back, MOORE'S gestures in cheering them being
notably energetic. Pursuers, pursued, and SIR JOHN himself pass
out of sight behind the hill. Dumb Show ends.

[The point of vision descends to the immediate rear of the
English position. The early January evening has begun to spread
its shades, and shouts of dismay are heard from behind the hill
over which MOORE and the advancing lines have vanished.

Straggling soldiers cross in the gloom.]

FIRST STRAGGLER

He's struck by a cannon-ball, that I know; but he's not killed,
that I pray God A'mighty.

SECOND STRAGGLER

Better he were. His shoulder is knocked to a bag of splinters.
As Sir David was wownded, Sir John was anxious that the right
should not give way, and went forward to keep it firm.

FIRST STRAGGLER

He didn't keep YOU firm, howsomever.

SECOND STRAGGLER

Nor you, for that matter.

FIRST STRAGGLER

Well, 'twas a serious place for a man with no priming-horn, and
a character to lose, so I judged it best to fall to the rear by
lying down. A man can't fight by the regulations without his
priming-horn, and I am none of your slovenly anyhow fighters.

SECOND STRAGGLER

'Nation, having dropped my flit-pouch, I was the same. If you'd
had your priming-horn, and I my flints, mind ye, we should have
been there now? Then, forty-whory, that we are not is the fault
o' Government for not supplying new ones from the reserve!

FIRST STRAGGLER

What did he say as he led us on?

SECOND STRAGGLER

"Forty-second, remember Egypt!" I heard it with my own ears. Yes,
that was his strict testament.

FIRST STRAGGLER

"Remember Egypt." Ay, and I do, for I was there! . . . Upon my
salvation, here's for back again, whether or no!

SECOND STRAGGLER

But here. "Forty-second, remember Egypt," he said in the very
eye of that French battery playing through us. And the next omen
was that he was struck off his horse, and fell on his back to the
ground. I remembered Egypt, and what had just happened too, so
thorough well that I remembered the way over this wall!--Captain
Hardinge, who was close to him, jumped off his horse, and he and
one in the ranks lifted him, and are now bringing him along.

FIRST STRAGGLER

Nevertheless, here's for back again, come what will. Remember
Egypt! Hurrah!

[Exit First straggler. Second straggler ponders, then suddenly
follows First. Enter COLONEL ANDERSON and others hastily.]

AN OFFICER

Now fetch a blanker. He must be carried in.

[Shouts heard.]

COLONEL ANDERSON

That means we are gaining ground! Had fate but left
This last blow undecreed, the hour had shone
A star amid these girdling days of gloom!

[Exit. Enter in the obscurity six soldiers of the Forty-second
bearing MOORE on their joined hands. CAPTAIN HARDINGE walks
beside and steadies him. He is temporarily laid down in the
shelter of a wall, his left shoulder being pounded away, the arm
dangling by a shred of flesh.

Enter COLONEL GRAHAM and CAPTAIN WOODFORD.]

GRAHAM

The wound is more than serious, Woodford, far.
Ride for a surgeon--one of those, perhaps,
Who tend Sir David Baird? (Exit Captain Woodford.)
His blood throbs forth so fast, that I have dark fears
He'll drain to death ere anything can be done!

HARDINGE

I'll try to staunch it--since no skill's in call.

[He takes off his sash and endeavours to bind the wound with it.
MOORE smiles and shakes his head.]

There's not much checking it! Then rent's too gross.
A dozen lives could pass that thoroughfare!

[Enter a soldier with a blanket. They lift MOORE into it. During
the operation the pommel of his sword, which he still wears, is
accidentally thrust into the wound.]

I'll loose the sword--it bruises you, Sir John.

[He begins to unbuckle it.]

MOORE

No. Let it be! One hurt more matters not.
I wish it to go off the field with me.

HARDINGE

I like the sound of that. It augurs well
For your much-hoped recovery.

MOORE (looking sadly at his wound)

Hardinge, no:
Nature is nonplussed there! My shoulder's gone,
And this left side laid open to my lungs.
There's but a brief breath now for me, at most. . . .
Could you--move me along--that I may glimpse
Still how the battle's going?

HARDINGE

Ay, Sir John--
A few yard higher up, where we can see.

[He is borne in the blanket a little way onward, and lifted so
that he can view the valley and the action.]

MOORE (brightly)

They seem to be advancing. Yes, it is so!

[Enter SIR JOHN HOPE.]

Ah, Hope!--I am doing badly here enough;
But they are doing rarely well out there. (Presses HOPE'S hand.)
Don't leave! my speech may flag with this fierce pain,
But you can talk to me.--Are the French checked?

HOPE

My dear friend, they are borne back steadily.

MOORE (his voice weakening)

I hope England--will be satisfied--
I hope my native land--will do me justice! . . .
I shall be blamed for sending Craufurd off
Along the Orense road. But had I not,
Bonaparte would have headed us that way. . . .

HOPE

O would that Soult had but accepted battle
By Lugo town! We should have crushed him there.

MOORE

Yes . . . yes.--But it has never been my lot
To owe much to good luck; nor was it then.
Good fortune has been mine, but (bitterly) mostly so
By the exhaustion of all shapes of bad! . . .
Well, this does not become a dying man;
And others have been chastened more than I
By Him who holds us in His hollowed hand! . . .

I grieve for Zaragoza, if, as said,
The siege goes sorely with her, which it must.
I heard when at Dahagun that late day
That she was holding out heroically.
But I must leave such now.--You'll see my friends
As early as you can? Tell them the whole;
Say to my mother. . . . (His voice fails.)
Hope, Hope, I have so much to charge you with,
But weakness clams my tongue! . . . If I must die
Without a word with Stanhope, ask him, Hope,
To--name me to his sister. You may know
Of what there was between us? . . .
Is Colonel Graham well, and all my aides?
My will I have made--it is in Colborne's charge
With other papers.

HOPE

He's now coming up.

[Enter MAJOR COLBORNE, principal aide-de-camp.]

MOORE

Are the French beaten, Colborne, or repulsed?
Alas! you see what they have done too me!

COLBORNE

I do, Sir John: I am more than sad thereat!
In brief time now the surgeon will be here.
The French retreat--pushed from Elvina far.

MOORE

That's good! Is Paget anywhere about?

COLBORNE

He's at the front, Sir John.

MOORE

Remembrance to him!

[Enter two surgeons.]

Ah, doctors,--you can scarcely mend up me.--
And yet I feel so tough--I have feverish fears
My dying will waste a long and tedious while;
But not too long, I hope!

SURGEONS (after a hasty examination)

You must be borne
In to your lodgings instantly, Sir John.
Please strive to stand the motion--if you can;
They will keep step, and bear you steadily.

MOORE

Anything. . . . Surely fainter ebbs that fire?

COLBORNE

Yes: we must be advancing everywhere:
Colbert their General, too, they have lost, I learn.

[They lift him by stretching their sashes under the blanket, and
begin moving off. A light waggon enters.]

MOORE

Who's in that waggon?

HARDINGE

Colonel Wynch, Sir John.
He's wounded, but he urges you to take it.

MOORE

No. I will not. This suits. . . . Don't come with me;
There's more for you to do out here as yet. (Cheerful shouts.)
A-ha! 'Tis THIS way I have wished to die!

[Exeunt slowly in the twilight MOORE, bearers, surgeons, etc.,
towards Coruna. The scene darkens.]

SCENE IV

CORUNA. NEAR THE RAMPARTS

[It is just before dawn on the following morning, objects being
still indistinct. The features of the elevated enclosure of San
Carlos can be recognized in dim outline, and also those of the
Old Town of Coruna around, though scarcely a lamp is shining.
The numerous transports in the harbour beneath have still their
riding-lights burning.

In a nook of the town walls a lantern glimmers. Some English
soldiers of the Ninth regiment are hastily digging a grave there
with extemporized tools.]

A VOICE (from the gloom some distance off)

"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that
believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live."

[The soldiers look up, and see entering at the further end of the
patch of ground a slow procession. It advances by the light of
lanterns in the hands of some members of it. At moments the fitful
rays fall upon bearers carrying a coffinless body rolled in a
blanket, with a military cloak roughly thrown over by way of pall.
It is brought towards the incomplete grave, and followed by HOPE,
GRAHAM, ANDERSON, COLBORNE, HARDINGE, and several aides-de-camp,
a chaplain preceding.]

FIRST SOLDIER

They are here, almost as quickly as ourselves.
There is no time to dig much deeper now:
Level a bottom just as far's we've got.
He'll couch as calmly in this scrabbled hole
As in a royal vault!

SECOND SOLDIER

Would it had been a foot deeper, here among foreigners, with strange
manures manufactured out of no one knows what! Surely we can give
him another six inches?

FIRST SOLDIER

There is no time. Just make the bottom true.

[The meagre procession approaches the spot, and waits while the
half-dug grave is roughly finished by the men of the Ninth.
They step out of it, and another of them holds a lantern to the
chaplain's book. The winter day slowly dawns.]

CHAPLAIN

"Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is
full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower; he
fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay."

[A gun is fired from the French battery not far off; then another.
The ships in the harbour take in their riding lights.]

COLBORNE (in a low voice)

I knew that dawn would see them open fire.

HOPE

We must perforce make swift use of out time.
Would we had closed our too sad office sooner!

[As the body is lowered another discharge echoes. They glance
gloomily at the heights where the French are ranged, and then
into the grave.]

CHAPLAIN

"We therefore commit his body to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes
to ashes, dust to dust." (Another gun.)

[A spent ball falls not far off. They put out their lanterns.
Continued firing, some shot splashing into the harbour below
them.]

HOPE

In mercy to the living, who are thrust
Upon our care for their deliverance,
And run much hazard till they are embarked,
We must abridge these duties to the dead,
Who will not mind be they abridged or no.

HARDINGE

And could he mind, would be the man to bid it. . . .

HOPE

We shall do well, then, curtly to conclude
These mutilated prayers--our hurried best!--
And what's left unsaid, feel.

CHAPLAIN (his words broken by the cannonade)

" . . . . We give Thee hearty thanks for that it hath pleased
Thee to deliver this our brother out of the miseries of this
sinful world. . . . Who also hath taught us not to be sorry, as
men without hope, for them that sleep in Him. . . . Grant this,
through Jesus Christ our Mediator and Redeemer."

OFFICERS AND SOLDIERS

Amen!

[The diggers of the Ninth hastily fill in the grave, and the scene
shuts as the mournful figures retire.]

SCENE V

VIENNA. A CAFE IN THE STEPHANS-PLATZ

[An evening between light and dark is disclosed, some lamps being
lit. The huge body and tower of St. Stephen's rise into the sky
some way off, the western gleam still touching the upper stonework.
Groups of people are seated at the tables, drinking and reading
the newspapers. One very animated group, which includes an
Englishman, is talking loudly. A citizen near looks up from his
newspaper.]

CITIZEN (to the Englishman)

I read, sir, here, the troubles you discuss
Of your so gallant army under Moore.
His was a spirit baffled but not quelled,
And in his death there shone a stoicism
That lent retreat the rays of victory.

ENGLISHMAN

It was so. While men chide they will admire him,
And frowning, praise. I could nigh prophesy
That the unwonted crosses he has borne
In his career of sharp vicissitude
Will tinct his story with a tender charm,
And grant the memory of his strenuous feats
As long a lease within the minds of men
As conquerors hold there.--Does the sheet give news
Of how the troops reached home?

CITIZEN (looking up again at the paper)

Yes; from your press
It quotes that they arrived at Plymouth Sound
Mid dreadful weather and much suffering.
It states they looked the very ghosts of men,
So heavily had hunger told on them,
And the fatigues and toils of the retreat.
Several were landed dead, and many died
As they were borne along. At Portsmouth, too,
Sir David Baird, still helpless from his wound,
Was carried in a cot, sheet-pale and thin,
And Sir John Hope, lank as a skeleton.--
Thereto is added, with authority,
That a new expedition soon will fit,
And start again for Spain.

ENGLISHMAN

I have heard as much.

CITIZEN

You'll do it next time, sir. And so shall we!

SECOND CITIZEN (regarding the church tower opposite)

You witnessed the High Service over there
They held this morning? (To the Englishman.)

ENGLISHMAN

Ay; I did get in;
Though not without hard striving, such the throng;
But travellers roam to waste who shyly roam
And I pushed like the rest.

SECOND CITIZEN

Our young Archduchess
Maria Louisa was, they tell me, present?

ENGLISHMAN

O yes: the whole Imperial family,
And when the Bishop called all blessings down
Upon the Landwehr colours there displayed,
Enthusiasm touched the sky--she sharing it.

SECOND CITIZEN

Commendable in her, and spirited,
After the graceless insults to the Court
The Paris journals flaunt--not voluntarily,
But by his ordering. Magician-like
He holds them in his fist, and at his squeeze
They bubble what he wills! . . . Yes, she's a girl
Of patriotic build, and hates the French.
Quite lately she was overheard to say
She had met with most convincing auguries
That this year Bonaparte was starred to die.

ENGLISHMAN

Your arms must render its fulfilment sure.

SECOND CITIZEN

Right! And we have the opportunity,
By upping to the war in suddenness,
And catching him unaware. The pink and flower
Of all his veteran troops are now in Spain
Fully engaged with yours; while those he holds
In Germany are scattered far and wide.

FIRST CITIZEN (looking up again from his newspaper)

I see here that he vows and guarantees
Inviolate bounds to all our territories
If we but pledge to carry out forthwith
A prompt disarmament. Since that's his price
Hell burn his guarantees! Too long he has fooled us.
(To the Englishman) I drink, sir, to your land's consistency.
While we and all the kindred Europe States
Alternately have wooed and warred him,
You have not bent to blowing hot and cold,
But held you sturdily inimical!

ENGLISHMAN (laughing)

Less Christian-like forgiveness mellows us
Than Continental souls! (They drink.)

[A band is heard in a distant street, with shouting. Enter third
and fourth citizens, followed by others.]

FIRST CITIZEN

More news afloat?

THIRD AND FOURTH CITIZENS

Yea; an announcement that the Archduke Charles
Is given the chief command.

FIRST, SECOND, ETC., CITIZENS

Huzza! Right so!

[A clinking of glasses, rising from seats, and general enthusiasm.]

SECOND CITIZEN

If war had not so patly been declared,
Our howitzers and firelocks of themselves
Would have gone off to shame us! This forenoon
Some of the Landwehr met me; they are hot
For setting out, though but few months enrolled.

ENGLISHMAN

That moves reflection somewhat. They are young
For measuring with the veteran file of France!

FIRST CITIZEN

Napoleon's army swarms with tender youth,
His last conscription besomed into it
Thousands of merest boys. But he contrives
To mix them in the field with seasoned frames.

SECOND CITIZEN

The sadly-seen mistake this country made
Was that of grounding hostile arms at all.
We should have fought irreconcilably--
Have been consistent as the English are.
The French are our hereditary foes,
And this adventurer of the saucy sword,
This sacrilegious slighter of our shrines,
Stands author of all our ills . . .
Our harvest fields and fruits he trample on,
Accumulating ruin in our land.
Think of what mournings in the last sad war
'Twas his to instigate and answer for!
Time never can efface the glint of tears
In palaces, in shops, in fields, in cots,
From women widowed, sonless, fatherless,
That then oppressed our eyes. There is no salve
For such deep harrowings but to fight again;
The enfranchisement of Europe hangs thereon,
And long she has lingered for the sign to crush him:
That signal we have given; the time is come! (Thumping on the table.)

FIFTH CITIZEN (at another table, looking up from his paper and
speaking across)

I see that Russia has declined to aid us,
And says she knows that Prussia likewise must;
So that the mission of Prince Schwarzenberg
To Alexander's Court has closed in failure.

THIRD CITIZEN

Ay--through his being honest--fatal sin!--
Probing too plainly for the Emperor's ears
His ominous friendship with Napoleon.

ENGLISHMAN

Some say he was more than honest with the Tsar;
Hinting that his becoming an ally
Makes him accomplice of the Corsican
In the unprincipled dark overthrow
Of his poor trusting childish Spanish friends--
Which gave the Tsar offence.

THIRD CITIZEN

And our best bid--
The last, most delicate dish--a tastelessness.

FIRST CITIZEN

What was Prince Schwarzenberg's best bid, I pray?

THIRD CITIZEN

The offer of the heir of Austria's hand
For Alexander's sister the Grand-Duchess.

ENGLISHMAN

He could not have accepted, if or no:
She is inscribed as wife for Bonaparte.

FIRST CITIZEN

I doubt that text!

ENGLISHMAN

Time's context soon will show.

SECOND CITIZEN

The Russian Cabinet can not for long
Resist the ardour of the Russian ranks
To march with us the moment we achieve
Our first loud victory!

[A band is heard playing afar, and shouting. People are seen
hurrying past in the direction of the sounds. Enter sixth
citizen.]

SIXTH CITIZEN

The Archduke Charles
Is passing the Ringstrasse just by now,
His regiment at his heels!

[The younger sitters jump up with animation, and go out, the
elder mostly remaining.]

SECOND CITIZEN

Realm never faced
The grin of a more fierce necessity
For horrid war, than ours at this tense time!

[The sounds of band-playing and huzzaing wane away. Citizens
return.]

FIRST CITIZEN

More news, my friends, of swiftly swelling zeal?

RE-ENTERED CITIZENS

Ere passing down the Ring, the Archduke paused
And gave the soldiers speech, enkindling them
As sunrise a confronting throng of panes
That glaze a many-windowed east facade:
Hot volunteers vamp in from vill and plain--
More than we need in the furthest sacrifice!

FIRST, SECOND, ETC., CITIZENS

Huzza! Right so! Good! Forwards! God be praised!

[They stand up, and a clinking of glasses follows, till they
subside to quietude and a reperusal of newspapers. Nightfall
succeeds. Dancing-rooms are lit up in an opposite street, and
dancing begins. The figures are seen gracefully moving round
to the throbbing strains of a string-band, which plays a new
waltzing movement with a warlike name, soon to spread over
Europe. The dancers sing patriotic words as they whirl. The
night closes over.]

ACT FOURTH

SCENE I

A ROAD OUT OF VIENNA

[It is morning in early May. Rain descends in torrents, accompanied
by peals of thunder. The tepid downpour has caused the trees to
assume as by magic a clothing of limp green leafage, and has turned
the ruts of the uneven highway into little canals.

A drenched travelling-chariot is passing, with a meagre escort.
In the interior are seated four women: the ARCHDUCHESS MARIA
LOUISA, in age about eighteen; her stepmother the EMPRESS OF
AUSTRIA, third wife of FRANCIS, only four years older than the
ARCHDUCHESS; and two ladies of the Austrian Court. Behind come
attendant carriages bearing servants and luggage.

The inmates remain for the most part silent, and appear to be in a
gloomy frame of mind. From time to time they glance at the moist
spring scenes which pass without in a perspective distorted by the
rain-drops that slide down the panes, and by the blurring effect
of the travellers' breathings. Of the four the one who keeps in
the best spirits is the ARCHDUCHESS, a fair, blue-eyed, full-
figured, round-lipped maiden.]

MARIA LOUISA

Whether the rain comes in or not I must open the window. Please
allow me. (She straightway opens it.)

EMPRESS (groaning)

Yes--open or shut it--I don't care. I am too ill to care for
anything! (The carriage jolts into a hole.) O woe! To think that
I am driven away from my husband's home in such a miserable
conveyance, along such a road, and in such weather as this. (Peal
of thunder.) There are his guns!

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