The Dynasts: An Epic-Drama of the War with Napoleon Part 14

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 Wess.e.x sh.o.r.e, And this vast squadron handled by Villeneuve Is meant to cloak the pa.s.sage of their strength, Ma.s.sed on those transports--we being kept elsewhere By feigning forces.--Good G.o.d, 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 sh.o.r.e.

NELSON

Good Collingwood, I know you trust in me; But s.h.i.+ps are s.h.i.+ps, 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 d.a.m.ned 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, Which, though I fear them not, I recognize!...

However, by G.o.d's help, I'll live to meet These foreign boasters; yea, I'll finish them; And then--well, Gunner Death may finish me!

COLLINGWOOD

View not your life so gloomily, my lord: One charmed, a needed purpose to fulfil!

NELSON

Ah, Coll. Lead bullets are not all that wound....

I have a feeling here of dying fires, A sense of strong and deep unworded censure, Which, compa.s.sing about my private life, Makes all my public service l.u.s.treless In my own eyes.--I fear I am much condemned For those dear Naples and Palermo days, And her who was the suns.h.i.+ne of them all!...

He who is with himself dissatisfied, Though all the world find satisfaction in him, Is like a rainbow-coloured bird gone blind, That gives delight it shares not. Happiness?

It's the philosopher's stone no alchemy Shall light on this world I am weary of.-- Smiling I'd pa.s.s to my long home to-morrow Could I with honour, and my country's gain.

--But let's adjourn. I waste your hours ash.o.r.e By such ill-timed confessions!

[They pa.s.s out of sight, and the scene closes.]

SCENE II.

OFF FERROL

[The French and Spanish combined squadrons. On board the French admiral's flag-s.h.i.+p. VILLENEUVE is discovered in his cabin, writing a letter.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

He pens in fits, with pallid restlessness, Like one who sees Misfortune walk the wave, And can nor face nor flee it.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

He indites To his long friend the minister Decres Words that go heavily!...

VILLENEUVE [writing]

"I am made the arbiter in vast designs Whereof I see black outcomes. Do I this Or do I that, success, that loves to jilt Her anxious wooer for some careless blade, Will not reward me. For, if I must pen it, Demoralized past prayer in the marine-- Bad masts, bad sails, bad officers, bad men; We cling to naval technics long outworn, And time and opportunity do not avail me To take up new. I have long suspected such, But till I saw my helps, the Spanish s.h.i.+ps, I hoped somewhat.--Brest is my nominal port; Yet if so, Calder will again attack-- Now reinforced by Nelson or Cornwallis-- And shatter my whole fleet.... Shall I admit That my true inclination and desire Is to make Cadiz straightway, and not Brest?

Alas! thereby I fail the Emperor; But shame the navy less.--

"Your friend, VILLENEUVE"

[GENERAL LAURISTON enters.]

LAURISTON

Admiral, my missive to the Emperor, Which I shall speed by special courier From Ferrol this near eve, runs thus and thus:-- "Gravina's s.h.i.+ps, in Ferrol here at hand, Embayed but by a temporary wind, Are all we now await. Combined with these We sail herefrom to Brest; there promptly give Cornwallis battle, and release Ganteaume; Thence, all united, bearing Channelwards: A step that sets in motion the first wheel In the proud project of your Majesty Now to be engined to the very close, To wit: that a French fleet shall enter in And hold the Channel four-and-twenty hours."-- Such clear a.s.surance to the Emperor That our intent is modelled on his will I hasten to dispatch to him forthwith.[4]

VILLENEUVE

Yes, Lauriston. I sign to every word.

[Lauriston goes out. VILLENEUVE remains at his table in reverie.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

We may impress him under visible shapes That seem to shed a silent circling doom; He's such an one as can be so impressed, And this much is among our privileges, Well bounded as they be.--Let us draw near him.

[The Spirits of Years and of the Pities take the form of sea-birds, which alight on the stern-balcony of VILLENEUVE's s.h.i.+p, immediately outside his cabin window. VILLENEUVE after a while looks up and sees the birds watching him with large piercing eyes.]

VILLENEUVE

My apprehensions even outstep their cause, As though some influence smote through yonder pane.

[He gazes listlessly, and resumes his broodings.]

---Why dared I not disclose to him my thought, As nightly worded by the whistling shrouds, That Brest will never see our battled hulls Helming to north in pomp of cannonry To take the front in this red pilgrimage!

---If so it were, now, that I'd screen my skin From risks of b.l.o.o.d.y business in the brunt, My acts could scarcely wear a difference.

Yet I would die to-morrow--not ungladly-- So far removed is carcase-care from me.

For no self do these apprehensions spring, But for the cause.--Yes, rotten is our marine, Which, while I know, the Emperor knows not, And the pale secret chills! Though some there be Would beard contingencies and buffet all, I'll not command a course so conscienceless.

Rather I'll stand, and face Napoleon's rage When he shall learn what mean the ambiguous lines That facts have forced from me.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES [to the Spirit of Years]