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_ PART FIRST. ACT FOURTH. SCENE V.
[A chilly but rainless noon three days later. At the back of the scene, northward, rise the Michaelsberg heights; below stretches the panorama of the city and the Danube. On a secondary eminence forming a spur of the upper hill, a fire of logs is burning, the foremost group beside it being NAPOLEON and his staff, the former in his shabby greatcoat and plain turned-up hat, walking to and fro with his hands behind him, and occasionally stopping to warm himself. The French infantry are drawn up in a dense array at the back of these.
The whole Austrian garrison of Ulm marches out of the city gate opposite NAPOLEON. GENERAL MACK is at the head, followed by GIULAY, GOTTESHEIM, KLINAU, LICHTENSTEIN, and many other officers, who advance to BONAPARTE and deliver their swords.]
MACK
Behold me, Sire. Mack the unfortunate!
NAPOLEON
War, General, ever has its ups and downs,
And you must take the better and the worse
As impish chance or destiny ordains.
Come near and warm you here. A glowing fire
Is life on the depressing, mired, moist days
Of smitten leaves down-dropping clammily,
And toadstools like the putrid lungs of men.
(To his Lieutenants.) Cause them so stand to right and left of me.
[The Austrian officers arrange themselves as directed, and the body of the Austrians now file past their Conqueror, laying down their arms as they approach; some with angry gestures and words, others in moody silence.]
Listen, I pray you, Generals gathered her.
I tell you frankly that I know not why
Your master wages this wild war with me.
I know not what he seeks by such injustice,
Unless to give me practice in my trade--
That of a soldier--whereto I was bred:
Deemed he my craft might slip from me, unplied?
Let him now own me still a dab therein!
MACK
Permit me, your Imperial Majesty,
To speak one word in answer; which is this,
No war was wished for by my Emperor:
Russia constrained him to it!
NAPOLEON
If that be,
You are no more a European power.--
I would point out to him that my resources
Are not confined to these my musters here;
My prisoners of war, in route for France,
Will see some marks of my resources there!
Two hundred thousand volunteers, right fit,
Will join my standards at a single nod,
And in six weeks prove soldiers to the bone,
Whilst you recruits, compulsion's scavengings,
Scarce weld to warriors after toilsome years.
But I want nothing on this Continent:
The English only are my enemies.
Ships, colonies, and commerce I desire,
Yea, therewith to advantage you as me.
Let me then charge your Emperor, my brother,
To turn his feet the shortest way to peace.--
All states must have an end, the weak, the strong;
Ay; even may fall the dynasty of Lorraine!
[The filing past and laying down of arms by the Austrian army continues with monotonous regularity, as if it would never end.]
NAPOLEON (in a murmur, after a while)
Well, what cares England! She has won her game;
I have unlearnt to threaten her from Boulogne. . . .
Her gold it is that forms the weft of this
Fair tapestry of armies marshalled here!
Likewise of Russia's drawing steadily nigh.
But they may see what these see, by and by.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
So let him speak, the while we clearly sight him
Moved like a figure on a lantern-slide.
Which, much amazing uninitiate eyes,
The all-compelling crystal pane but drags
Wither the showman wills.
SPIRIT IRONIC
And yet, my friend,
The Will itself might smile at this collapse
Of Austria's men-at-arms, so drolly done;
Even as, in your phantasmagoric show,
The deft manipulator of the slide
Might smile at his own art.
CHORUS OF THE YEARS (aerial music)
Ah, no: ah, no!
It is impassible as glacial snow.--
Within the Great Unshaken
These painted shapes awaken
A lesser thrill than doth the gentle lave
Of yonder bank by Danube's wandering wave
Within the Schwarzwald heights that give it flow!
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
But O, the intolerable antilogy
Of making figments feel!
SPIRIT IRONIC
Logic's in that.
It does not, I must own, quite play the game.
CHORUS OF IRONIC SPIRITS (aerial music)
And this day wins for Ulm a dingy fame,
Which centuries shall not bleach from her name!
[The procession of Austrians continues till the scene is hidden by haze.] _
Read next: Part 1: Act 4: Scene 6. London. Spring Gardens
Read previous: Part 1: Act 4: Scene 4. Before Ulm. The Same Day
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