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The Dynasts: An Epic Drama Of The War With Napoleon, a play by Thomas Hardy |
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Part 2 - Act 4 - Scene 1. A Road Out Of Vienna |
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_ PART SECOND. ACT FOURTH. SCENE I. [It is morning in early May. Rain descends in torrents, accompanied by peals of thunder. The tepid downpour has caused the trees to assume as by magic a clothing of limp green leafage, and has turned the ruts of the uneven highway into little canals. A drenched travelling-chariot is passing, with a meagre escort. In the interior are seated four women: the ARCHDUCHESS MARIA LOUISA, in age about eighteen; her stepmother the EMPRESS OF AUSTRIA, third wife of FRANCIS, only four years older than the ARCHDUCHESS; and two ladies of the Austrian Court. Behind come attendant carriages bearing servants and luggage. The inmates remain for the most part silent, and appear to be in a gloomy frame of mind. From time to time they glance at the moist spring scenes which pass without in a perspective distorted by the rain-drops that slide down the panes, and by the blurring effect of the travellers' breathings. Of the four the one who keeps in the best spirits is the ARCHDUCHESS, a fair, blue-eyed, full- figured, round-lipped maiden.]
Whether the rain comes in or not I must open the window. Please allow me. (She straightway opens it.)
Yes--open or shut it--I don't care. I am too ill to care for anything! (The carriage jolts into a hole.) O woe! To think that I am driven away from my husband's home in such a miserable conveyance, along such a road, and in such weather as this. (Peal of thunder.) There are his guns! MARIA LOUISA No, my dear one. It cannot be his guns. They told us when we started that he was only half-way from Ratisbon hither, so that he must be nearly a hundred miles off as yet; and a large army cannot move fast. EMPRESS He should never have been let come nearer than Ratisbon! The victory at Echmuhl was fatal for us. O Echmuhl, Echmuhl! I believe he will overtake us before we get to Buda.
If so, your Majesty, shall we be claimed as prisoners and marched to Paris?
Undoubtedly. But I shouldn't much care. It would not be worse than this. . . . I feel sodden all through me, and frowzy, and broken! (She closes her eyes as if to doze.)
It is dreadful to see her suffer so! (Shutting the window.) If the roads were not so bad I should not mind. I almost wish we had stayed; though when he arrives the cannonade will be terrible.
I wonder if he will get into Vienna. Will his men knock down all the houses, madam?
If he do get in, I am sure his triumph will not be for long. My uncle the Archduke Charles is at his heels! I have been told many important prophecies about Bonaparte's end, which is fast nearing, it is asserted. It is he, they say, who is referred to in the Apocalypse. He is doomed to die this year at Cologne, in an inn called "The Red Crab." I don't attach too much importance to all these predictions, but O, how glad I should be to see them come true!
So should we all, madam. What would become of his divorce-scheme then?
Perhaps there is nothing in that report. One can hardly believe such gossip.
But they say, your Imperial Highness, that he certainly has decided to sacrifice the Empress Josephine, and that at the meeting last October with the Emperor Alexander at Erfurt, it was even settled that he should marry as his second wife the Grand-Duchess Anne.
I am sure that the Empress her mother will never allow one of the house of Romanoff to marry with a bourgeois Corsican. I wouldn't if I were she!
Perhaps, your Highness, they are not so particular in Russia, where they are rather new themselves, as we in Austria, with your ancient dynasty, are in such matters.
Perhaps not. Though the Empress-mother is a pompous old thing, as I have been told by Prince Schwarzenberg, who was negotiating there last winter. My father says it would be a dreadful misfortune for our country if they were to marry. Though if we are to be exiled I don't see how anything of that sort can matter much. . . . I hope [An officer of the escort rides up to the carriage window, which is opened.]
Any more misfortunes?
A rumour is a-wind, your Majesty,
The Lord show mercy to us! But O why
His Highness Archduke Charles, your Majesty,
Alas for poor Vienna!
Even so! [The window is shut, and the procession disappears behind the sheets of rain.] _ |
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