The Dynasts: An Epic-Drama of the War with Napoleon - LightNovelsOnl.com
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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 a.s.sembly, 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 G.o.d has given it to me. So be it.
Let any who shall touch it now beware! [Reverberations of applause.]
[The Sacrament of the Ma.s.s. 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.
