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to-night!

       [PITT having disappeared, the Guildhall doors are closed, and

       the crowd slowly disperses, till in the course of an hour the

       street shows itself empty and dark, only a few oil lamps burning.

       The SCENE OPENS, revealing the interior of the Guildhall, and

       the brilliant assembly of City magnates, Lords, and Ministers

       seated there, Mr. PITT occupying a chair of honour by the Lord

       Mayor. His health has been proposed as that of the Saviour of

       England, and drunk with acclamations.]

      PITT [standing up after repeated calls]

       My lords and gentlemen:—You have toasted me

       As one who has saved England and her cause.

       I thank you, gentlemen, unfeignedly.

       But—no man has saved England, let me say:

       England has saved herself, by her exertions:

       She will, I trust, save Europe by her example!

       [Loud applause, during which he sits down, rises, and sits down

       again. The scene then shuts, and the night without has place.]

      SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

       Those words of this man Pitt—his last large words,

       As I may prophesy—that ring to-night

       In their first mintage to the feasters here,

       Will spread with ageing, lodge, and crystallize,

       And stand embedded in the English tongue

       Till it grow thin, outworn, and cease to be.—

       So is't ordained by That Which all ordains;

       For words were never winged with apter grace.

       Or blent with happier choice of time and place,

       To hold the imagination of this strenuous race.

      SCENE VI10 AN INN AT RENNES [Night. A sleeping-chamber. Two candles are burning near a bed in an alcove, and writing-materials are on the table. The French admiral, VILLENEUVE, partly undressed, is pacing up and down the room.]

      VILLENEUVE

       These hauntings have at last nigh proved to me

       That this thing must be done. Illustrious foe

       And teacher, Nelson: blest and over blest

       In thy outgoing at the noon of strife

       When glory clasped thee round; while wayward Death

       Refused my coaxings for the like-timed call!

       Yet I did press where thickest missiles fell,

       And both by precept and example showed

       Where lay the line of duty, patriotism,

       And honour, in that combat of despair.

       [He see himself in the glass as he passes.]

       Unfortunate Villeneuve!—whom fate has marked

       To suffer for too firm a faithfulness.—

       An Emperor's chide is a command to die.—

       By him accursed, forsaken by my friend,

       Awhile stern England's prisoner, then unloosed

       Like some poor dolt unworth captivity,

       Time serves me now for ceasing. Why not cease?...

       When, as Shades whisper in the chasmal night,

       “Better, far better, no percipience here.”—

       O happy lack, that I should have no child

       To come into my hideous heritage,

       And groan beneath the burden of my name!11

      SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

       I'll speak. His mood is ripe for such a parle.

       [Sending a voice into VILLENEUVE'S ear.]

       Thou dost divine the hour!

      VILLENEUVE

       But those stern Nays,

       That heretofore were audible to me

       At each unhappy time I strove to pass?

      SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

       Have been annulled. The Will grants exit freely;

       Yea, It says “Now.” Therefore make now thy time.

      SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

       May his sad sunken soul merge into nought

       Meekly and gently as a breeze at eve!

      VILLENEUVE

       From skies above me and the air around

       Those callings which so long have circled me

       At last do whisper “Now.” Now it shall be!

       [He seals a letter, and addresses it to his wife; then takes a

       dagger from his accoutrements that are hanging alongside, and,

       lying down upon his back on the bed, stabs himself determinedly

       in many places, leaving the weapon in the last wound.]

       Ungrateful master; generous foes; Farewell!

       [VILLENEUVE dies; and the scene darkens.]

      SCENE VII

       KING GEORGE'S WATERING-PLACE, SOUTH WESSEX

       [The interior of the “Old Rooms” Inn. Boatmen and burghers are

       sitting on settles round the fire, smoking and drinking.

      FIRST BURGHER

       So they've brought him home at last, hey? And he's to be solemnized

       with a roaring funeral?

      FIRST BOATMAN

       Yes, thank God.... 'Tis better to lie dry than wet, if canst do it

       without stinking on the road gravewards. And they took care that he

       shouldn't.

      SECOND BOATMAN

       'Tis to be at Paul's; so they say that know. And the crew of the

       “Victory” have to walk in front, and Captain Hardy is to carry his

       stars and garters on a great velvet pincushion.

      FIRST BURGHER

       Where's the Captain now?

      SECOND BOATMAN [nodding in the direction of Captain Hardy's house]

       Down at home here biding with his own folk a bit. I zid en walking

       with them on the Esplanade yesterday. He looks ten years older than

       he did when he went. Ay—he brought the galliant hero home!

      SECOND BURGHER

       Now how did they bring him home so that he could lie in state

       afterwards to the naked eye!

      FIRST BOATMAN

       Well, as they always do,—in a cask of sperrits.

      SECOND BURGHER

       Really, now!

      FIRST BOATMAN [lowering his voice]

       But what happened was this. They were a long time coming, owing to

       contrary winds, and the “Victory” being little more than a wreck.

       And grog ran short, because they'd used near all they had to peckle

      

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