LITMIR.BIZ

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nave and tower of the huge Gothic Munster.

       On the most prominent of the heights at the back—the Michaelsberg

       —to the upper-right of the view, is encamped the mass of the

       Austrian army, amid half-finished entrenchments. Advanced posts

       of the same are seen south-east of the city, not far from the

       advanced corps of the French Grand-Army under SOULT, MARMONT,

       LANNES, NEY, and DUPONT, which occupy in a semicircle the whole

       breadth of the flat landscape in front, and extend across the

       river to higher ground on the right hand of the panorama.

       Heavy mixed drifts of rain and snow are descending impartially

       on the French and on the Austrians, the downfall nearly blotting

       out the latter on the hills. A chill October wind wails across

       the country, and the poplars yield slantingly to the gusts.]

      DUMB SHOW

       Drenched peasants are busily at work, fortifying the heights of

       the Austrian position in the face of the enemy. Vague companies

       of Austrians above, and of the French below, hazy and indistinct

       in the thick atmosphere, come and go without apparent purpose

       near their respective lines.

       Closer at hand NAPOLEON, in his familiar blue-grey overcoat, rides

       hither and thither with his marshals, haranguing familiarly the

       bodies of soldiery as he passes them, and observing and pointing

       out the disposition of the Austrians to his companions.

       Thicker sheets of rain fly across as the murk of evening increases,

       which at length entirely obscures the prospect, and cloaks its

       bleared lights and fires.

      SCENE III

       ULM. WITHIN THE CITY

       [The interior of the Austrian headquarters on the following

       morning. A tempest raging without.

       GENERAL MACK, haggard and anxious, the ARCHDUKE FERDINAND, PRINCE

       SCHWARZENBERG, GENERAL JELLACHICH, GENERALS RIESC, BIBERBACH, and

       other field officers discovered, seated at a table with a map

       spread out before them. A wood fire blazes between tall andirons

       in a yawning fireplace. At every more than usually boisterous

       gust of wind the smoke flaps into the room.]

      MACK

       The accursed cunning of our adversary

       Confounds all codes of honourable war,

       Which ever have held as granted that the track

       Of armies bearing hither from the Rhine—

       Whether in peace or strenuous invasion—

       Should pierce the Schwarzwald, and through Memmingen,

       And meet us in our front. But he must wind

       And corkscrew meanly round, where foot of man

       Can scarce find pathway, stealing up to us

       Thiefwise, by out back door! Nevertheless,

       If English war-fleets be abreast Boulogne,

       As these deserters tell, and ripe to land there,

       It destines Bonaparte to pack him back

       Across the Rhine again. We've but to wait,

       And see him go.

      ARCHDUKE

       But who shall say if these bright tales be true?

      MACK

       Even then, small matter, your Imperial Highness;

       The Russians near us daily, and must soon—

       Ay, far within the eight days I have named—

       Be operating to untie this knot,

       If we hold on.

      ARCHDUKE

       Conjectures these—no more;

       I stomach not such waiting. Neither hope

       Has kernel in it. I and my cavalry

       With caution, when the shadow fall to-night,

       Can bore some hole in this engirdlement;

       Outpass the gate north-east; join General Werneck,

       And somehow cut our way Bohemia-wards:

       Well worth the hazard, in our straitened case!

      MACK [firmly]

       The body of our force stays here with me.

       And I am much surprised, your Highness, much,

       You mark not how destructive 'tis to part!

       If we wait on, for certain we should wait

       In our full strength, compacted, undispersed

       By such partition as your Highness plans.

      SCHWARZENBERG

       There's truth in urging we should not divide,

       But weld more closely.—Yet why stay at all?

       Methinks there's but one sure salvation left,

       To wit, that we conjunctly march herefrom,

       And with much circumspection, towards the Tyrol.

       The subtle often rack their wits in vain—

       Assay whole magazines of strategy—

       To shun ill loomings deemed insuperable,

       When simple souls by stumbling up to them

       Find the grim shapes but air. But let use grant

       That the investing French so ring us in

       As to leave not a span for such exploit;

       Then go we—throw ourselves upon their steel,

       And batter through, or die!—

       What say you, Generals? Speak your minds, I pray.

      JELLACHICH

       I favour marching out—the Tyrol way.

      RIESC

       Bohemia best! The route thereto is open.

      ARCHDUKE

       My course is chosen. O this black campaign,

       Which Pitt's alarmed dispatches pricked us to,

       All unforseeing! Any risk for me

       Rather than court humiliation here!

       [MACK has risen during the latter remarks, walked to the

       window, and looked out at the rain. He returns with an air

       of embarrassment.]

      MACK [to Archduke]

       It is my privilege firmly to submit

       That your Imperial Highness undertake

       No venturous vaulting into risks unknown.—

       Assume that you, Sire, as you have proposed,

       With your light regiments and the cavalry,

       Detach yourself from us, to scoop a way

       By circuits northwards through the Rauhe Alps

       And Herdenheim, into Bohemia:

       Reports all point that

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