COLLINGWOOD
Wherever you may go to, my dear lord,
You carry victory with you. Let them launch,
Your name will blow them back, as sou’west gales
The gulls that beat against them from the shore.
NELSON
Good Collingwood, I know you trust in me;
But ships are ships, and do not kindly come
Out of the slow docks of the Admiralty
Like wharfside pigeons when they are whistled for:—
And there’s a damned disparity of force,
Which means tough work awhile for you and me!
[The Spirit of the Years whispers to NELSON.]
And I have warnings, warnings, Collingwood,
That my effective hours are shortening here;
Strange warnings now and then, as ’twere within me,
Which, though I fear them not, I recognize!...
However, by God’s help, I’ll live to meet
These foreign boasters; yea, I’ll finish them;
And then—well, Gunner Death may finish me!
COLLINGWOOD
View not your life so gloomily, my lord:
One charmed, a needed purpose to fulfil!
NELSON
Ah, Coll. Lead bullets are not all that wound....
I have a feeling here of dying fires,
A sense of strong and deep unworded censure,
Which, compassing about my private life,
Makes all my public service lustreless
In my own eyes.—I fear I am much condemned
For those dear Naples and Palermo days,
And her who was the sunshine of them all!...
He who is with himself dissatisfied,
Though all the world find satisfaction in him,
Is like a rainbow-coloured bird gone blind,
That gives delight it shares not. Happiness?
It’s the philosopher’s stone no alchemy
Shall light on this world I am weary of.—
Smiling I’d pass to my long home to-morrow
Could I with honour, and my country’s gain.
—But let’s adjourn. I waste your hours ashore
By such ill-timed confessions!
[They pass out of sight, and the scene closes.]
SCENE II
OFF FERROL
[The French and Spanish combined squadrons. On board the French
admiral’s flag-ship. VILLENEUVE is discovered in his cabin, writing
a letter.]
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
He pens in fits, with pallid restlessness,
Like one who sees Misfortune walk the wave,
And can nor face nor flee it.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
He indites
To his long friend the minister Decrès
Words that go heavily!...
VILLENEUVE [writing]
“I am made the arbiter in vast designs
Whereof I see black outcomes. Do I this
Or do I that, success, that loves to jilt
Her anxious wooer for some careless blade,
Will not reward me. For, if I must pen it,
Demoralized past prayer in the marine—
Bad masts, bad sails, bad officers, bad men;
We cling to naval technics long outworn,
And time and opportunity do not avail me
To take up new. I have long suspected such,
But till I saw my helps, the Spanish ships,
I hoped somewhat.—Brest is my nominal port;
Yet if so, Calder will again attack—
Now reinforced by Nelson or Cornwallis—
And shatter my whole fleet.... Shall I admit
That my true inclination and desire
Is to make Cadiz straightway, and not Brest?
Alas! thereby I fail the Emperor;
But shame the navy less.—
“Your friend, VILLENEUVE”
[GENERAL LAURISTON enters.]
LAURISTON
Admiral, my missive to the Emperor,
Which I shall speed by special courier
From Ferrol this near eve, runs thus and thus:—
“Gravina’s ships, in Ferrol here at hand,
Embayed but by a temporary wind,
Are all we now await. Combined with these
We sail herefrom to Brest; there promptly give
Cornwallis battle, and release Ganteaume;
Thence, all united, bearing Channelwards:
A step that sets in motion the first wheel
In the proud project of your Majesty
Now to be engined to the very close,
To wit: that a French fleet shall enter in
And hold the Channel four-and-twenty hours.”—
Such clear assurance to the Emperor
That our intent is modelled on his will
I hasten to dispatch to him forthwith.[4]
VILLENEUVE
Yes, Lauriston. I sign to every word.
[Lauriston goes out. VILLENEUVE remains at his table in reverie.]