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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 6 - Scene 7. The Same. The Interior Of Carlton House |
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_ PART SECOND. ACT SIXTH. SCENE VII. [A central hall is disclosed, radiant with constellations of candles, lamps, and lanterns, and decorated with flowering shrubs. An opening on the left reveals the Grand Council-chamber prepared for dancing, the floor being chalked with arabesques having in the centre "G. III. R.," with a crown, arms, and supporters. Orange- trees and rose-bushes in bloom stand against the walls. On the right hand extends a glittering vista of the supper-rooms and tables, now crowded with guests. This display reaches as far as the conservatory westward, and branches into long tents on the lawn. On a dais at the chief table, laid with gold and silver plate, the Prince Regent sits like a lay figure, in a state chair of crimson and gold, with six servants at his back. He swelters in a gorgeous uniform of scarlet and gold lace which represents him as Field Marshal, and he is surrounded by a hundred-and-forty of his particular friends. Down the middle of this state-table runs a purling brook crossed by quaint bridges, in which gold and silver fish frisk about between banks of moss and flowers. The whole scene is lit with wax candles in chandeliers, and in countless candelabra on the tables. The people at the upper tables include the Duchess of York, looking tired from having just received as hostess most of the ladies present, except those who have come informally, Louis XVIII. of France, the Duchess of Angouleme, all the English Royal Dukes, nearly all the ordinary Dukes and Duchesses; also the Lord Chancellor of the Exchequer and other Ministers, the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress, all the more fashionable of the other Peers, Peeresses, and Members of Parliament, Generals, Admirals, and Mayors, with their wives. The ladies of position wear, almost to the extent of a uniform, a nodding head-dress of ostrich feathers with diamonds, and gowns of white satin embroidered in gold or silver, on which, owing to the heat, dribbles of wax from the chandeliers occasionally fall.
The Queen, the Regent's mother, sits not here;
My dear phantom and crony, the gloom upon their faces is due rather to their having borrowed those diamonds at eleven per cent than to their loyalty to a suffering monarch! But let us test the feeling. I'll spread a report. [He calls up the SPIRIT OF RUMOUR, who scatters whispers through the assemblage.]
Have you heard this report--that the King is dead?
It has just reached me from the other side. Can it be true?
I think it probable. He has been very ill all week.
Dead? Then my fete is spoilt, by God!
Long live the King! (He holds up his glass and bows to the Regent.)
The news is more natural than the moment of it! It is too cruel to you that it should happen now!
Damn me, though; can it be true? (He provisionally throws a regal air into his countenance.)
I hardly can believe it. This forenoon
On this side
That's mighty fortunate! Had it been true,
I think that rumour untrue also, sir. I heard it as I drove up from Woburn this evening, and it was contradicted then.
Drove up this evening, did ye, Duke. Why did you cut it so close?
Well, it so happened that my sheep-sheering dinner was fixed for this very day, and I couldn't put it off. So I dined with them there at one o'clock, discussed the sheep, rushed off, drove the two-and-forty miles, jumped into my clothes at my house here, and reached your Royal Highness's door in no very bad time. PRINCE REGENT Capital, capital. But, 'pon my soul, 'twas a close shave! [Soon the babbling and glittering company rise from supper, and begin promenading through the rooms and tents, the REGENT setting the example, and mixing up and talking unceremoniously with his guests of every degree. He and the group round him disappear into the remoter chambers; but may concentrate in the Grecian Hall, which forms the foreground of the scene, whence a glance can be obtained into the ball-room, now filled with dancers. The band is playing the tune of the season, "The Regency Hornpipe," which is danced as a country-dance by some thirty couples; so that by the time the top couple have danced down the figure they are quite breathless. Two young lords talk desultorily as they survey the scene.]
Are the rumours of the King of Rome's death confirmed?
No. But they are probably true. He was a feeble brat from the first. I believe they had to baptize him on the day he was born. What can one expect after such presumption--calling him the New Messiah, and God knows what all. Ours is the only country which did not write fulsome poems about him. "Wise English!" the Tsar Alexander said drily when he heard it.
Ay! The affection between that Pompey and Caesar has begun to cool. Alexander's soreness at having his sister thrown over so cavalierly is not salved yet.
There is much beside. I'd lay a guinea there will be war between Russia and France before another year has flown.
Prinny looks a little worried to-night.
Yes. The Queen don't like the fete being held, considering the King's condition. She and her friends say it should have been put off altogether. But the Princess of Wales is not troubled that way. Though she was not asked herself she went wildly off and bought her people new gowns to come in. Poor maladroit woman! . . . . [Another new dance of the year is started, and another long line of couples begin to foot it.] That's a pretty thing they are doing now. What d'ye call it?
"Speed the Plough." It is just out. They are having it everywhere. The next is to be one of those foreign things in three-eight time they call Waltzes. I question if anybody is up to dancing 'em here yet. ["Speed the Plough" is danced to its conclusion, and the band strikes up "The Copenhagen Waltz."]
Now for the wives. They both were tearing hither, [The PRINCE REGENT, having gone the round of the other rooms, now appears at the ball-room door, and stands looking at the dancers. Suddenly he turns, and gazes about with a ruffled face. He sees a tall, red-faced man near him--LORD MOIRA, one of his friends.]
Damned hot here, Moira. Hottest of all for me!
Yes, it is warm, sir. Hence I do not dance.
H'm. What I meant was of another order;
O indeed, sir?
She's here. I heard her voice. I'll swear I did!
Who, sir?
Why, the Princess of Wales. Do you think I could mistake those beastly German Ps and Bs of hers?--She asked to come, and was denied; but she's got here, I'll wager ye, through the chair-door in Warwick Street, which I arranged for a few ladies whom I wished to come privately. (He looks about again, and moves till he is by a door which affords a peep up the grand staircase.) By God, Moira, I see TWO figures up there who shouldn't be here--leaning over the balustrade of the gallery! MOIRA Two figures, sir. Whose are they? PRINCE REGENT She is one. The Fitzherbert in t'other! O I am almost sure it is! I would have welcomed her, but she bridled and said she wouldn't sit down at my table as a plain "Mrs." to please anybody. As I had sworn that on this occasion people should sit strictly according to their rank, I wouldn't give way. Why the devil did she come like this? 'Pon my soul, these women will be the death o' me!
I can see nothing of her, sir, nor of the Princess either. There is a crowd of idlers up there leaning over the bannisters, and you may have mistaken some others for them.
O no. They have drawn back their heads. There have been such damned mistakes made in sending out the cards that the biggest w--- in London might be here. She's watching Lady Hertford, that's what she's doing. For all their indifference, both of them are as jealous as two cats over the tom. [Somebody whispers that a lady has fainted up-stairs.] That's Maria, I'll swear! She's always doing it. Whenever I hear of some lady fainting about upon the furniture at my presence, and sending for a glass of water, I say to myself, There's Maria at it again, by God!
Now let him hear their voices once again. [The REGENT starts as he seems to hear from the stairs the tongues of the two ladies growing louder and nearer, the PRINCESS pouring reproaches into one ear, and MRS. FITZHERBERT into the other.]
[Exit the PRINCE REGENT, with LORDS MOIRA and YARMOUTH. The band strikes up "La Belle Catarina" and a new figure is formed.]
Phantoms, ye strain your powers unduly here,
Nay, Father, nay;
There lie long leagues between a woman's word-- [Enter SPENCER PERCEVAL the Prime Minister, a small, pale, grave-looking man, and an Under-Secretary of State, meeting.]
Is the King of Rome really dead, and the gorgeous gold cradle wasted?
O no, he is alive and waxing strong:
Your speech is dark.
Well, a new war in Europe.
By Heaven, sir, do you say so? [Enter CASTLEREAGH, a tall, handsome man with a Roman nose, who, seeing them, approaches.]
Ha, Castlereagh. Till now I have missed you here.
My mind is blank on it! Since I left office
Well, happily that may not last for long.
Permit me now to join them and confirm,
I'll go. Thou knowest not greatly more than they. [The SPIRIT OF THE YEARS enters the apartment in the shape of a pale, hollow-eye gentleman wearing an embroidered suit. At the same time re-enter the REGENT, LORDS MOIRA, YARMOUTH, KEITH, LADY HERTFORD, SHERIDAN, the DUKE OF BEDFORD, with many more notables. The band changes into the popular dance, "Down with the French," and the characters aforesaid look on at the dancers.]
Yes, sir; your text is true. In closest touch [He passes into the crowd and vanishes.]
Who the devil is he?
One in the suite of the French princes, perhaps, sir?--though his tone was not monarchical. He seems to be a foreigner.
His manner was that of an old prophet, and his features had a Jewish cast, which accounted for his Hebraic style.
He could not have known me, to speak so freely in my presence!
I expected to see him write on the wall, like the gentleman with the Hand at Belshazzar's Feast.
He seemed to know a damn sight more about what's going on in Europe, sir (to Perceval), than your Government does, with all its secret information.
He is recently over, I conjecture, your royal Highness, and brings the latest impressions.
By Gad, sir, I shall have a comfortable time of it in my regency, or reign, if what he foresees be true! But I was born for war; it is my destiny! [He draws himself up inside his uniform and stalks away. The group dissolves, the band continuing stridently, "Down with the French," as dawn glimmers in. Soon the REGENT'S guests begin severally and in groups to take leave.]
Behold To-morrow riddles the curtains through,
Why watch we here? Look all around Hark at the cloud-combed Ural pines; Behold the tumbling Biscay Bay; No less through regal puppet-shows
Yet I may wake and understand [Solitude reigns in the chambers, and the scene shuts up.] _ |
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