LONDON. SPRING GARDENS [Before LORD MALMESBURY’S house, on a Sunday morning in the same autumn. Idlers pause and gather in the background. PITT enters, and meets LORD MULGRAVE.]

MULGRAVE Good day, Pitt. Ay, these leaves that skim the ground With withered voices, hint that sunshine-time Is well-nigh past.—And so the game’s begun Between him and the Austro-Russian force, As second movement in the faceabout From Boulogne shore, with which he has hocussed us?— What has been heard on’t? Have they clashed as yet?

PITT The Emperor Francis, partly at my instance, Has thrown the chief command on General Mack, A man most capable and far of sight. He centres by the Danube-bank at Ulm, A town well-walled, and firm for leaning on To intercept the French in their advance From the Black Forest toward the Russian troops Approaching from the east. If Bonaparte Sustain his marches at the break-neck speed That all report, they must have met ere now. —There is a rumour... quite impossible!...

MULGRAVE You still have faith in Mack as strategist? There have been doubts of his far-sightedness.

PITT [hastily] I know, I know.—I am calling here at Malmesbury’s At somewhat an unceremonious time To ask his help to translate this Dutch print The post has brought. Malmesbury is great at Dutch, Learning it long at Leyden, years ago. [He draws a newspaper from his pocket, unfolds it, and glances it down.] There’s news here unintelligible to me Upon the very matter! You’ll come in? [They call at LORD MAMESBURY’S. He meets them in the hall, and welcomes them with an apprehensive look of foreknowledge.]

PITT Pardon this early call. The packet’s in, And wings me this unreadable Dutch paper, So, as the offices are closed to-day, I have brought it round to you. [Handling the paper.] What does it say? For God’s sake, read it out. You know the tongue.

MALMESBURY [with hesitation] I have glanced it through already—more than once— A copy having reached me, too, by now... We are in the presence of a great disaster! See here. It says that Mack, enjailed in Ulm By Bonaparte—from four side shutting round— Capitulated, and with all his force Laid down his arms before his conqueror! [PITT’s face changes. A silence.]

MULGRAVE Outrageous! Ignominy unparalleled!

PITT By God, my lord, these statement must be false! These foreign prints are trustless as Cheap Jack Dumfounding yokels at a country fair. I heed no word of it.—Impossible. What! Eighty thousand Austrians, nigh in touch With Russia’s levies that Kutúzof leads, To lay down arms before the war’s begun? ’Tis too much!

MALMESBURY But I fear it is too true! Note the assevered source of the report— One beyond thought of minters of mock tales. The writer adds that military wits Cry that the little Corporal now makes war In a new way, using his soldiers’ legs And not their arms, to bring him victory. Ha-ha! The quip must sting the Corporal’s foes. PITT [after a pause] O vacillating Prussia! Had she moved, Had she but planted one foot firmly down, All this had been averted.—I must go. ’Tis sure, ’tis sure, I labour but in vain! [MALMESBURY accompanies him to the door, and PITT walks away disquietedly towards Whitehall, the other two regarding him as he goes.]

MULGRAVE Too swiftly he declines to feebleness, And these things well might shake a stouter frame!

MALMESBURY Of late the burden of all Europe’s cares, Of hiring and maintaining half her troops, His single pair of shoulders has upborne, Thanks to the obstinacy of the King.— His thin, strained face, his ready irritation, Are ominous signs. He may not be for long.

MULGRAVE He alters fast, indeed,—as do events.

MALMESBURY His labour’s lost; and all our money gone! It looks as if this doughty coalition On which we have lavished so much pay and pains Would end in wreck.

MULGRAVE All is not over yet; The gathering Russian forces are unbroke.

MALMESBURY Well; we shall see. Should Boney vanquish these, And silence all resistance on that side, His move will then be backward to Boulogne, And so upon us.

MULGRAVE Nelson to our defence!

MALMESBURY Ay; where is Nelson? Faith, by this time He may be sodden; churned in Biscay swirls; Or blown to polar bears by boreal gales; Or sleeping amorously in some calm cave On the Canaries’ or Atlantis’ shore Upon the bosom of his Dido dear, For all that we know! Never a sound of him Since passing Portland one September day— To make for Cadiz; so ’twas then believed.

MULGRAVE He’s staunch. He’s watching, or I am much deceived. [MULGRAVE departs. MALMESBURY goes within. The scene shuts.]