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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 ships,

       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 ships, 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 assurance 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 ship, 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 bloody 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]

       O Eldest-born of the Unconscious Cause—

       If such thou beest, as I can fancy thee—

       Why dost thou rack him thus? Consistency

       Might be preserved, and yet his doom remain.

       His olden courage is without reproach;

       Albeit his temper trends toward gaingiving!

      SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

       I say, as I have said long heretofore,

       I know but narrow freedom. Feel'st thou not

       We are in Its hand, as he?—Here, as elsewhere,

       We do but as we may; no further dare.

       [The birds disappear, and the scene is lost behind sea-mist.]

      SCENE III

       THE CAMP AND HARBOUR OF BOULOGNE

       [The English coast in the distance. Near the Tour d'Ordre stands

       a hut, with sentinels and aides outside; it is NAPOLEON's temporary

       lodging when not at his headquarters at the Chateau of Pont-de-

       Briques, two miles inland.]

      DUMB SHOW

       A courier arrives with dispatches, and enters the Emperor's quarters,

       whence he emerges and goes on with other dispatches to the hut of

       DECRES, lower down. Immediately after, NAPOLEON comes out from his

       hut with a paper in his hand, and musingly proceeds towards an

       eminence commanding the Channel.

       Along the shore below are forming in a far-reaching line more

       than a hundred thousand infantry. On the downs in the rear of

       the camps fifteen thousand cavalry are manoeuvring, their

       accoutrements flashing in the sun like a school of mackerel.

       The flotilla lies in and around the port,

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