\documentclass[DIV=12,%
               BCOR=0mm,%
               headinclude=false,%
               footinclude=false,open=any,%
               fontsize=11pt,%
               oneside,%
               paper=210mm:11in]%
               {scrbook}






\usepackage[noautomatic]{imakeidx}



\usepackage{microtype}
\usepackage{graphicx}
\usepackage{alltt}
\usepackage{verbatim}
\usepackage[shortlabels]{enumitem}
\usepackage{tabularx}
\usepackage[normalem]{ulem}
\def\hsout{\bgroup \ULdepth=-.55ex \ULset}
% https://tex.stackexchange.com/questions/22410/strikethrough-in-section-title
% Unclear if \protect \hsout is needed. Doesn't looks so
\DeclareRobustCommand{\sout}[1]{\texorpdfstring{\hsout{#1}}{#1}}
\usepackage{wrapfig}

% avoid breakage on multiple <br><br> and avoid the next [] to be eaten
\newcommand*{\forcelinebreak}{\strut\\*{}}

\newcommand*{\hairline}{%
  \bigskip%
  \noindent \hrulefill%
  \bigskip%
}

% reverse indentation for biblio and play

\newenvironment*{amusebiblio}{
  \leftskip=\parindent
  \parindent=-\parindent
  \smallskip
  \indent
}{\smallskip}

\newenvironment*{amuseplay}{
  \leftskip=\parindent
  \parindent=-\parindent
  \smallskip
  \indent
}{\smallskip}

\newcommand*{\Slash}{\slash\hspace{0pt}}


% http://tex.stackexchange.com/questions/3033/forcing-linebreaks-in-url
\PassOptionsToPackage{hyphens}{url}\usepackage[hyperfootnotes=false,hidelinks,breaklinks=true]{hyperref}
\usepackage{bookmark}

\usepackage[english,shorthands=off]{babel}
\babelfont{rm}[Path=/usr/share/fonts/truetype/cmu/,%
 BoldFont=cmunbx.ttf,%
 BoldItalicFont=cmunbi.ttf,%
 ItalicFont=cmunti.ttf]{cmunrm.ttf}
\babelfont{tt}[Scale=MatchLowercase,%
 Path=/usr/share/fonts/truetype/cmu/,%
 BoldFont=cmuntb.ttf,%
 BoldItalicFont=cmuntx.ttf,%
 ItalicFont=cmunit.ttf]{cmuntt.ttf}
\babelfont{sf}[Scale=MatchLowercase,%
 Path=/usr/share/fonts/truetype/cmu/,%
 BoldFont=cmunsx.ttf,%
 BoldItalicFont=cmunso.ttf,%
 ItalicFont=cmunsi.ttf]{cmunss.ttf}



\renewcommand*{\partpagestyle}{empty}


% global style

\pagestyle{plain}




\usepackage{indentfirst}

% remove the numbering
\setcounter{secnumdepth}{-2}

% remove labels from the captions
\renewcommand*{\captionformat}{}
\renewcommand*{\figureformat}{}
\renewcommand*{\tableformat}{}
\KOMAoption{captions}{belowfigure,nooneline}
\addtokomafont{caption}{\centering}







\deffootnote[3em]{0em}{4em}{\textsuperscript{\thefootnotemark}~}


\addtokomafont{disposition}{\rmfamily}
\addtokomafont{descriptionlabel}{\rmfamily}


\frenchspacing
% avoid vertical glue
\raggedbottom

% this will generate overfull boxes, so we need to set a tolerance
% \pretolerance=1000
% pretolerance is what is accepted for a paragraph without
% hyphenation, so it makes sense to be strict here and let the user
% accept tweak the tolerance instead.
\tolerance=200
% Additional tolerance for bad paragraphs only
\setlength{\emergencystretch}{30pt}

% (try to) forbid widows/orphans
\clubpenalty=10000
\widowpenalty=10000





% given that we said footinclude=false, this should be safe
\setlength{\footskip}{2\baselineskip}
\setlength{\parindent}{15pt}

\title{The Dynasts - Part Three}
\date{}
\author{Thomas Hardy}
\subtitle{}






% https://groups.google.com/d/topic/comp.text.tex/6fYmcVMbSbQ/discussion
\hypersetup{%
pdfencoding=auto,
pdftitle={The Dynasts - Part Three},%
pdfauthor={Thomas Hardy},%
pdfsubject={},%
pdfkeywords={}%
}


\begin{document}









  \begin{titlepage}


  \strut\vskip 2em
  \begin{center}

  {\usekomafont{title}{\huge The Dynasts - Part Three\par}}%
  \vskip 1em
  
  \vskip 2em
  
  {\usekomafont{author}{Thomas Hardy\par}}%
  
  \vskip 1.5em



   
   \vfill



  
    \strut\par
  


  \end{center}


     \end{titlepage}
     
     \cleardoublepage





\tableofcontents
% start a new right-handed page

\cleardoublepage



\chapter{ACT SECOND}


[image not archived]

\section{SCENE I}


THE PLAIN OF VITORIA


[It is the eve of the longest day of the year; also the eve of the


battle of Vitoria. The English army in the Peninsula, and their


Spanish and Portuguese allies, are bivouacking on the western side


of the Plain, about six miles from the town.


On some high ground in the left mid-distance may be discerned the


MARQUIS OF WELLINGTON'S tent, with GENERALS HILL, PICTON, PONSONBY,


GRAHAM, and others of his staff, going in and out in consultation


on the momentous event impending. Near the foreground are some


hussars sitting round a fire, the evening being damp; their horses


are picketed behind. In the immediate front of the scene are some


troop-officers talking.]


FIRST OFFICER


This grateful rest of four-and-twenty hours


Is priceless for our jaded soldiery;


And we have reconnoitred largely, too;


So the slow day will not have slipped in vain.


SECOND OFFICER [looking towards the headquarter tent]


By this time they must nearly have dotted down


The methods of our master-stroke to-morrow:


I have no clear conception of its plan,


Even in its leading lines. What is decided?


FIRST OFFICER


There are outshaping three supreme attacks,


As I decipher. Graham's on the left,


To compass which he crosses the Zadorra,


And turns the enemy's right. On our right, Hill


Will start at once to storm the Puebla crests.


The Chief himself, with us here in the centre,


Will lead on by the bridges Tres-Puentes


Over the ridge there, and the Mendoza bridge


A little further up.—That's roughly it;


But much and wide discretionary power


Is left the generals all.


[The officers walk away, and the stillness increases, so the


conversation at the hussars' bivouac, a few yards further back,


becomes noticeable.]


SERGEANT YOUNG


I wonder, I wonder how Stourcastle is looking this summer night, and


all the old folks there!


SECOND HUSSAR


You was born there, I think I've heard ye say, Sergeant?


SERGEANT YOUNG


I was. And though I ought not to say it, as father and mother are


living there still, 'tis a dull place at times. Now Budmouth-Regis


was exactly to my taste when we were there with the Court that


summer, and the King and Queen a-wambling about among us like the


most everyday old man and woman you ever see. Yes, there was plenty


going on, and only a pretty step from home. Altogether we had a


fine time!


THIRD HUSSAR


You walked with a girl there for some weeks, Sergeant, if my memory


serves?


SERGEANT YOUNG


I did. And a pretty girl 'a was. But nothing came on't. A month


afore we struck camp she married a tallow-chandler's dipper of Little


Nicholas Lane. I was a good deal upset about it at the time. But


one gets over things!


SECOND HUSSAR


Twas a low taste in the hussy, come to that.—Howsomever, I agree


about Budmouth. I never had pleasanter times than when we lay there.


You had a song on it, Sergeant, in them days, if I don't mistake?


SERGEANT YOUNG


I had; and have still. 'Twas made up when we left by our bandmaster


that used to conduct in front of Gloucester Lodge at the King's Mess


every afternoon.


[The Sergeant is silent for a minute, then suddenly bursts into


melody.]


SONG "BUDMOUTH DEARS"

\subsection{I}


When we lay where Budmouth Beach is,


O, the girls were fresh as peaches,


With their tall and tossing figures and their eyes of blue


and brown!


And our hearts would ache with longing


As we paced from our sing-songing,


With a smart CLINK! CLINK! up the Esplanade and down

\subsection{II}


They distracted and delayed us


By the pleasant pranks they played us,


And what marvel, then, if troopers, even of regiments of renown,


On whom flashed those eyes divine, O,


Should forget the countersign, O,


As we tore CLINK! CLINK! back to camp above the town.

\subsection{III}


Do they miss us much, I wonder,


Now that war has swept us sunder,


And we roam from where the faces smile to where the faces frown?


And no more behold the features


Of the fair fantastic creatures,


And no more CLINK! CLINK! past the parlours of the town?

\subsection{IV}


Shall we once again there meet them?


Falter fond attempts to greet them?


Will the gay sling-jacket glow again beside the muslin gown?—


Will they archly quiz and con us


With a sideways glance upon us,


While our spurs CLINK! CLINK! up the Esplanade and down?


[Applause from the other hussars. More songs are sung, the night


gets darker, the fires go out, and the camp sleeps.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE II}


THE SAME, FROM THE PUEBLA HEIGHTS


[It is now day; but a summer fog pervades the prospect. Behind


the fog is heard the roll of bass and tenor drums and the clash


of cymbals, with notes of the popular march "The Downfall of Paris."


By degrees the fog lifts, and the Plain is disclosed. From this


elevation, gazing north, the expanse looks like the palm of a


monstrous right hand, a little hollowed, some half-dozen miles


across, wherein the ball of the thumb is roughly represented by


heights to the east, on which the French centre has gathered; the


Mount of Mars and the "Moon" [the opposite side of the palm] by


the position of the English on the left or west of the plain;


and the "Line of Life" by the Zadorra, an unfordable river running


from the town down the plain, and dropping out of it through a


pass in the Puebla Heights to the south, just beneath our point


of observation—that is to say, toward the wrist of the supposed


hand. The left of the English army under GRAHAM would occupy the


mounts at the base of the fingers; while the bent finger-tips


might represent the Cantabrian Hills beyond the plain to the north


or back of the scene.


From the aforesaid stony crests of Puebla the white town and


church towers of Vitoria can be descried on a slope to the right-


rear of the field of battle. A warm rain succeeds the fog for a


short while, bringing up the fragrant scents from fields, vineyards,


and gardens, now in the full leafage of June.]


DUMB SHOW


All the English forces converge forward—that is, eastwardly—the


centre over the ridges, the right through the Pass to the south, the


left down the Bilbao road on the north-west, the bands of the divers


regiments striking up the same quick march, "The Downfall of Paris."


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


You see the scene. And yet you see it not.


What do you notice now?


There immediately is shown visually the electric state of mind that


animates WELLINGTON, GRAHAM, HILL, KEMPT, PICTON, COLVILLE, and other


responsible ones on the British side; and on the French KING JOSEPH


stationary on the hill overlooking his own centre, and surrounded by


a numerous staff that includes his adviser MARSHAL JOURDAN, with,


far away in the field, GAZAN, D'ERLON, REILLE, and other marshals.


This vision, resembling as a whole the interior of a beating brain


lit by phosphorescence, in an instant fades back to normal.


Anon we see the English hussars with their flying pelisses galloping


across the Zadorra on one of the Tres-Puentes in the midst of the


field, as had been planned, the English lines in the foreground under


HILL pushing the enemy up the slopes; and far in the distance, to the


left of Vitoria, whiffs of grey smoke followed by low rumbles show


that the left of the English army under GRAHAM is pushing on there.


Bridge after bridge of the half-dozen over the Zadorra is crossed by


the British; and WELLINGTON, in the centre with PICTON, seeing the


hill and village of Arinez in front of him [eastward] to be weakly


held, carries the regiments of the seventh and third divisions in a


quick run towards it. Supported by the hussars, they ultimately


fight their way to the top, in a chaos of smoke, flame, and booming


echoes, loud-voiced PICTON, in an old blue coat and round hat,


swearing as he goes.


Meanwhile the French who are opposed to the English right, in the


foreground, have been turned by HILL; the heights are all abandoned,


and the columns fall back in a confused throng by the road to


Vitoria, hard pressed by the British, who capture abandoned guns


amid indescribable tumult, till the French make a stand in front


of the town.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


What's toward in the distance?—say!


SEMICHORUS I OF RUMOURS [aerial music]


Fitfully flash strange sights there; yea,


Unwonted spectacles of sweat and scare


Behind the French, that make a stand


With eighty cannon, match in hand.—


Upon the highway from the town to rear


An eddy of distraction reigns,


Where lumbering treasure, baggage-trains,


Padding pedestrians, haze the atmosphere.


SEMICHORUS II


Men, women, and their children fly,


And when the English over-high


Direct their death-bolts, on this billowy throng


Alight the too far-ranging balls,


Wringing out piteous shrieks and calls


From the pale mob, in monotones loud and long.


SEMICHORUS I


To leftward of the distant din


Reille meantime has been driven in


By Graham's measure overmastering might.—


Henceforward, masses of the foe


Withdraw, and, firing as they go,


Pass rightwise from the cockpit out of sight.


CHORUS


The sunset slants an ochreous shine


Upon the English knapsacked line,


Whose glistering bayonets incline


As bends the hot pursuit across the plain;


And tardily behind them goes


Too many a mournful load of those


Found wound-weak; while with stealthy crawl,


As silence wraps the rear of all,


Cloaked creatures of the starlight strip the slain.


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE III}


THE SAME. THE ROAD FROM THE TOWN


[With the going down of the sun the English army finds itself in


complete possession of the mass of waggons and carriages distantly


beheld from the rear—laden with pictures, treasure, flour,


vegetables, furniture, finery, parrots, monkeys, and women—most


of the male sojourners in the town having taken to their heels


and disappeared across the fields.


The road is choked with these vehicles, the women they carry


including wives, mistresses, actresses, dancers, nuns, and


prostitutes, which struggle through droves of oxen, sheep, goats,


horses, asses, and mules— a Noah's-ark of living creatures in


one vast procession.


There enters rapidly in front of this throng a carriage containing


KING JOSEPH BONAPARTE and an attendant, followed by another vehicle


with luggage.]


JOSEPH [inside carriage]


The bare unblinking truth hereon is this:


The Englishry are a pursuing army,


And we a flying brothel! See our men—


They leave their guns to save their mistresses!


[The carriage is fired upon from outside the scene. The KING leaps


from the vehicle and mounts a horse.


Enter at full gallop from the left CAPTAIN WYNDHAM and a detachment


of the Tenth Hussars in chase of the King's carriage; and from the


right a troop of French dragoons, who engage with the hussars and


hinder pursuit. Exit KING JOSEPH on horseback; afterwards the


hussars and dragoons go out fighting.


The British infantry enter irregularly, led by a sergeant of the


Eighty-seventh, mockingly carrying MARSHAL JOURDAN'S baton. The


crowd recedes. The soldiers ransack the King's carriages, cut


from their frames canvases by Murillo, Velasquez, and Zurbaran,


and use them as package-wrappers, throwing the papers and archives


into the road.


They next go to a waggon in the background, which contains a large


chest. Some of the soldiers burst it with a crash. It is full of


money, which rolls into the road. The soldiers begin scrambling,


but are restored to order; and they march on.


Enter more companies of infantry, out of control of their officers,


who are running behind. They see the dollars, and take up the


scramble for them; next ransacking other waggons and abstracting


therefrom uniforms, ladies raiment, jewels, plate, wines, and


spirits.


Some array them in the finery, and one soldier puts on a diamond


necklace; others load themselves with the money still lying about


the road. It begins to rain, and a private who has lost his kit


cuts a hole in the middle of a deframed old master, and, putting


it over his head, wears it as a poncho.


Enter WELLINGTON and others, grimy and perspiring.]


FIRST OFFICER


The men are plundering in all directions!


WELLINGTON


Let 'em. They've striven long and gallantly.


—What documents do I see lying there?


SECOND OFFICER [examining]


The archives of King Joseph's court, my lord;


His correspondence, too, with Bonaparte.


WELLINGTON


We must examine it. It may have use.


[Another company of soldiers enters, dragging some equipages that


have lost their horses by the traces being cut. The carriages


contain ladies, who shriek and weep at finding themselves captives.]


What women bring they there?


THIRD OFFICER


Mixed sorts, my lord.


The wives of many young French officers,


The mistresses of more—in male attire.


Yon elegant hussar is one, to wit;


She so disguised is of a Spanish house,—


One of the general's loves.


WELLINGTON


Well, pack them off


To-morrow to Pamplona, as you can;


We've neither list nor leisure for their charms.


By God, I never saw so many wh—-s


In all my life before!


[Exeunt WELLINGTON, officers, and infantry. A soldier enters with


his arm round a lady in rich costume.]


SOLDIER


We must be married, my dear.


LADY [not knowing his language]


Anything, sir, if you'll spare my life!


SOLDIER


There's neither parson nor clerk here. But that don't matter—hey?


LADY


Anything, sir, if you'll spare my life!


SOLDIER


And if we've got to unmarry at cockcrow, why, so be it—hey?


LADY


Anything, sir, if you'll spare my life!


SOLDIER


A sensible 'ooman, whatever it is she says; that I can see by her


pretty face. Come along then, my dear. There'll be no bones broke,


and we'll take our lot with Christian resignation.


[Exeunt soldier and lady. The crowd thins away as darkness closes


in, and the growling of artillery ceases, though the wheels of the


flying enemy are still heard in the distance. The fires kindled


by the soldiers as they make their bivouacs blaze up in the gloom,


and throw their glares a long way, revealing on the slopes of the


hills many suffering ones who have not yet been carried in.


The last victorious regiment comes up from the rear, fifing and


drumming ere it reaches its resting-place the last bars of "The


Downfall of Paris":—


Transcriber's Note: There follows in musical notation four bars


from that song in 2\Slash{}4 time, key of C—


\textbackslash{}\textbackslash{}E EF G F\textbackslash{}E EF G F\textbackslash{}E EC D DB\textbackslash{}C \textbackslash{}\textbackslash{}


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE IV}


A FETE AT VAUXHALL


[It is the Vitoria festival at Vauxhall. The orchestra of the


renowned gardens exhibits a blaze of lamps and candles arranged


in the shape of a temple, a great artificial sun glowing at the


top, and under it in illuminated characters the words "Vitoria"


and "Wellington." The band is playing the new air "The Plains


of Vitoria."


All round the colonnade of the rotunda are to be read in the


illumination the names of Peninsular victories, underneath them


figuring the names of British and Spanish generals who led at


those battles, surmounted by wreaths of laurel The avenues


stretching away from the rotunda into the gardens charm the eyes


with their mild multitudinous lights, while festoons of lamps


hang from the trees elsewhere, and transparencies representing


scenes from the war.


The gardens and saloons are crowded, among those present being the


KING'S sons—the DUKES OF YORK, CLARENCE, KENT, and CAMBRIDGE—


Ambassadors, peers, and peeresses, and other persons of quality,


English and foreign.


In the immediate foreground on the left hand is an alcove, the


interior of which is in comparative obscurity. Two foreign


attaches enter it and sit down.]


FIRST ATTACHE


Ah—now for the fireworks. They are under the direction of Colonel


Congreve.


[At the end of an alley, purposely kept dark, fireworks are


discharged.]


SECOND ATTACHE


Very good: very good.—This looks like the Duke of Sussex coming in,


I think. Who the lady is with him I don't know.


[Enter the DUKE OF SUSSEX in a Highland dress, attended by several


officers in like attire. He walks about the gardens with LADY


CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL.]


FIRST ATTACHE


People have been paying a mighty price for tickets—as much as


fifteen guineas has been offered, I hear. I had to walk up to the


gates; the number of coaches struggling outside prevented my driving


near. It was as bad as the battle of Vitoria itself.


SECOND ATTACHE


So Wellington is made Field-Marshal for his achievement.


FIRST ATTACHE


Yes. By the by, you have heard of the effect of the battle upon


the Conference at Reichenbach?—that Austria is to join Russia and


Prussia against France? So much for Napoleon's marriage! I wonder


what he thinks of his respected father-in-law now.


SECOND ATTACHE


Of course, an enormous subsidy is paid to Francis by Great Britain


for this face-about?


FIRST ATTACHE


Yes. As Bonaparte says, English guineas are at the bottom of


everything!—Ah, here comes Caroline.


[The PRINCESS OF WALES arrives, attended by LADY ANNE HAMILTON


and LADY GLENBERVIE. She is conducted forward by the DUKE OF


GLOUCESTER and COLONEL ST. LEDGER, and wears a white satin train


with a dark embroidered bodice, and a green wreath with diamonds.


Repeated hurrahs greet her from the crowd. She bows courteously.]


SECOND ATTACHE


The people are staunch for her still!\dots{} You heard, sir, what


Austrian Francis said when he learnt of Vitoria?—"A warm climate


seems to agree with my son-in-law no better than a cold one."


FIRST ATTACHE


Ha-ha-ha!


Marvellous it is how this loud victory


Has couched the late blind Europe's Cabinets.


Would I could spell precisely what was phrased


Twixt Bonaparte and Metternich at Dresden—


Their final word, I ween, till God knows when!—


SECOND ATTACHE


I own to feeling it a sorry thing


That Francis should take English money down


To throw off Bonaparte. 'Tis sordid, mean!


He is his daughter's husband after all.


FIRST ATTACHE


Ay; yes!\dots{} They say she knows not of it yet.


SECOND ATTACHE


Poor thing, I daresay it will harry her


When all's revealed. But the inside o't is,


Since Castlereagh's return to power last year


Vienna, like Berlin and Petersburg,


Has harboured England's secret emissaries,


Primed, purse in hand, with the most lavish sums


To knit the league to drag Napoleon down\dots{}


[More fireworks.] That's grand.—Here comes one Royal item more.


[The DUCHESS OF YORK enters, attended by her ladies and by the


HON. B. CRAVEN and COLONEL BARCLAY. She is received with signals


of respect.]


FIRST ATTACHE


She calls not favour forth as Caroline can!


SECOND ATTACHE


To end my words:—Though happy for this realm,


Austria's desertion frankly is, by God,


Rank treachery!


FIRST ATTACHE


Whatever it is, it means


Two hundred thousand swords for the Allies,


And enemies in batches for Napoleon


Leaping from unknown lairs.—Yes, something tells me


That this is the beginning of the end


For Emperor Bonaparte!


[The PRINCESS OF WALES prepares to leave. An English diplomatist


joins the attaches in the alcove. The PRINCESS and her ladies go


out.]


DIPLOMATIST


I saw you over here, and I came round. Cursed hot and crowded, isn't


it?


SECOND ATTACHE


What is the Princess leaving so soon for?


DIPLOMATIST


Oh, she has not been received in the Royal box by the other members


of the Royal Family, and it has offended her, though she was told


beforehand that she could not be. Poor devil! Nobody invited her


here. She came unasked, and she has gone unserved.


FIRST ATTACHE


We shall have to go unserved likewise, I fancy. The scramble at the


buffets is terrible.


DIPLOMATIST


And the road from here to Marsh Gate is impassable. Some ladies have


been sitting in their coaches for hours outside the hedge there. We


shall not get home till noon to-morrow.


A VOICE [from the back]


Take care of your watches! Pickpockets!


FIRST ATTACHE


Good. That relieves the monotony a little.


[Excitement in the throng. When it has subsided the band strikes


up a country dance, and stewards with white ribbons and laurel


leaves are seen bustling about.]


SECOND ATTACHE


Let us go and look at the dancing. It is "Voulez-vous danser"—no,


it is not,—it is "Enrico"—two ladies between two gentlemen.


[They go from the alcove.]


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


From this phantasmagoria let us roam


To the chief wheel and capstan of the show,


Distant afar. I pray you closely read


What I reveal—wherein each feature bulks


In measure with its value humanly.


[The beholder finds himself, as it were, caught up on high, and


while the Vauxhall scene still dimly twinkles below, he gazes


southward towards Central Europe—the contorted and attenuated


ecorche of the Continent appearing as in an earlier scene, but


now obscure under the summer stars.]


Three cities loom out large: Vienna there,


Dresden, which holds Napoleon, over here,


And Leipzig, whither we shall shortly wing,


Out yonderwards. 'Twixt Dresden and Vienna


What thing do you discern?


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


Something broad-faced,


Flat-folded, parchment-pale, and in its shape


Rectangular; but moving like a cloud


The Dresden way.


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Yet gaze more closely on it.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


The object takes a letter's lineaments


Though swollen to mainsail measure,—magically,


I gather from your words; and on its face


Are three vast seals, red—signifying blood


Must I suppose? It moves on Dresden town,


And dwarfs the city as it passes by.—


You say Napoleon's there?


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


The document,


Sized to its big importance, as I told,


Bears in it formal declaration, signed,


Of war by Francis with his late-linked son,


The Emperor of France. Now let us go


To Leipzig city, and await the blow.


[A chaotic gloom ensues, accompanied by a rushing like that of a


mighty wind.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{ACT THIRD}


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE I}


LEIPZIG. NAPOLEON'S QUARTERS IN THE REUDNITZ SUBURB


[The sitting-room of a private mansion. Evening. A large stove-


fire and candles burning. The October wind is heard without, and


the leaded panes of the old windows shake mournfully.]


SEMICHORUS I OF IRONIC SPIRITS [aerial music]


We come; and learn as Time's disordered dear sands run


That Castlereagh's diplomacy has wiled, waxed, won.


The beacons flash the fevered news to eyes keen bent


That Austria's formal words of war are shaped, sealed, sent.


SEMICHORUS II


So; Poland's three despoilers primed by Bull's gross pay


To stem Napoleon's might, he waits the weird dark day;


His proffered peace declined with scorn, in fell force then


They front him, with yet ten-score thousand more massed men.


[At the back of the room CAULAINCOURT, DUKE OF VICENZA, and


JOUANNE, one of Napoleon's confidential secretaries, are unpacking


and laying out the Emperor's maps and papers. In the foreground


BERTHIER, MURAT, LAURISTON, and several officers of Napoleon's


suite, are holding a desultory conversation while they await his


entry. Their countenances are overcast.]


MURAT


At least, the scheme of marching on Berlin


Is now abandoned.


LAURISTON


Not without high words:


He yielded and gave order prompt for Leipzig


But coldness and reserve have marked his mood


Towards us ever since.


BERTHIER


The march hereto


He has looked on as a retrogressive one,


And that, he ever holds, is courting woe.


To counsel it was doubtless full of risk,


And heaped us with responsibilities;


—Yet 'twas your missive, sire, that settled it [to MURAT].


How stirred he was! "To Leipzig, or Berlin?"


He kept repeating, as he drew and drew


Fantastic figures on the foolscap sheet,—


"The one spells ruin—t'other spells success,


And which is which?"


MURAT [stiffly]


What better could I do?


So far were the Allies from sheering off


As he supposed, that they had moved in march


Full fanfare hither! I was duty-bound


To let him know.


LAURISTON


Assuming victory here,


If he should let the advantage slip him by


As on the Dresden day, he wrecks us all!


Twas damnable—to ride back from the fight


Inside a coach, as though we had not won!


CAULAINCOURT [from the back]


The Emperor was ill: I have ground for knowing.


[NAPOLEON enters.]


NAPOLEON [buoyantly]


Comrades, the outlook promises us well!


MURAT [dryly]


Right glad are we you tongue such tidings, sire.


To us the stars have visaged differently;


To wit: we muster outside Leipzig here


Levies one hundred and ninety thousand strong.


The enemy has mustered, OUTSIDE US,


Three hundred and fifty thousand—if not more.


NAPOLEON


All that is needful is to conquer them!


We are concentred here: they lie a-spread,


Which shrinks them to two-hundred-thousand power:—


Though that the urgency of victory


Is absolute, I admit.


MURAT


Yea; otherwise


The issue will be worse than Moscow, sire!


[MARMONT, DUKE OF RAGUSA [Wellington's adversary in Spain], is


announced, and enters.]


NAPOLEON


Ah, Marmont; bring you in particulars?


MARMONT


Some sappers I have taken captive, sire,


Say the Allies will be at stroke with us


The morning next to to-morrow's.—I am come,


Now, from the steeple-top of Liebenthal,


Where I beheld the enemy's fires bespot


The horizon round with raging eyes of flame:—


My vanward posts, too, have been driven in,


And I need succours—thrice ten thousand, say.


NAPOLEON [coldly]


The enemy vexes not your vanward posts;


You are mistaken.—Now, however, go;


Cross Leipzig, and remain as the reserve.—


Well, gentlemen, my hope herein is this:


The first day to annihilate Schwarzenberg,


The second Blucher. So shall we slip the toils


They are all madding to enmesh us in.


BERTHIER


Few are our infantry to fence with theirs!


NAPOLEON [cheerfully]


We'll range them in two lines instead of three,


And so we shall look stronger by one-third.


BERTHIER [incredulously]


Can they be thus deceived, sire?


NAPOLEON


Can they? Yes!


With all my practice I can err in numbers


At least one-quarter; why not they one-third?


Anyhow, 'tis worth trying at a pinch\dots{}


[AUGEREAU is suddenly announced.]


Good! I've not seen him yet since he arrived.


[Enter AUGEREAU.


Here you are then at last, old Augereau!


You have been looked for long.—But you are no more


The Augereau of Castiglione days!


AUGEREAU


Nay, sire! I still should be the Augereau


Of glorious Castiglione, could you give


The boys of Italy back again to me!


NAPOLEON


Well, let it drop\dots{} Only I notice round me


An atmosphere of scopeless apathy


Wherein I do not share.


AUGEREAU


There are reasons, sire,


Good reasons for despondence! As I came


I learnt, past question, that Bavaria


Swerves on the very pivot of desertion.


This adds some threescore thousand to our foes.


NAPOLEON [irritated]


That consummation long has threatened us!\dots{}


Would that you showed the steeled fidelity


You used to show! Except me, all are slack!


[To Murat] Why, even you yourself, my brother-in-law,


Have been inclining to abandon me!


MURAT [vehemently]


I, sire? It is not so. I stand and swear


The grievous imputation is untrue.


You should know better than believe these things,


And well remember I have enemies


Who ever wait to slander me to you!


NAPOLEON [more calmly]


Ah yes, yes. That is so.—And yet—and yet


You have deigned to weigh the feasibility


Of treating me as Austria has done!\dots{}


But I forgive you. You are a worthy man;


You feel real friendship for me. You are brave.


Yet I was wrong to make a king of you.


If I had been content to draw the line


At vice-king, as with young Eugene, no more,


As he has laboured you'd have laboured, too!


But as full monarch, you have foraged rather


For your own pot than mine!


[MURAT and the marshal are silent, and look at each other with


troubled countenances. NAPOLEON goes to the table at the back, and


bends over the charts with CAULAINCOURT, dictating desultory notes


to the secretaries.]


SPIRIT IRONIC


A seer might say


This savours of a sad Last-Supper talk


Twixt his disciples and this Christ of war!


[Enter an attendant.]


ATTENDANT


The Saxon King and Queen and the Princess


Enter the city gates, your Majesty.


They seek the shelter of the civic walls


Against the risk of capture by Allies.


NAPOLEON


Ah, so? My friend Augustus, is he near?


I will be prompt to meet him when he comes,


And safely quarter him. [He returns to the map.]


[An interval. The clock strikes midnight. The EMPEROR rises


abruptly, sighs, and comes forward.]


I now retire,


Comrades. Good-night, good-night. Remember well


All must prepare to grip with gory death


In the now voidless battle. It will be


A great one and a critical; one, in brief,


That will seal France's fate, and yours, and mine!


ALL [fervidly]


We'll do our utmost, by the Holy Heaven!


NAPOLEON


Ah—what was that? [He pulls back the window-curtain.]


SEVERAL


It is our enemies,


Whose southern hosts are signalling to their north.


[A white rocket is beheld high in the air. It is followed by a


second, and a third. There is a pause, during which NAPOLEON and


the rest wait motionless. In a minute or two, from the opposite


side of the city, three coloured rockets are sent up, in evident


answer to the three white ones. NAPOLEON muses, and lets the


curtain drop.]


NAPOLEON


Yes, Schwarzenberg to Blucher\dots{} It must be


To show that they are ready. So are we!


[He goes out without saying more. The marshals and other officers


withdraw. The room darkens and ends the scene.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE II}


THE SAME. THE CITY AND THE BATTLEFIELD


[Leipzig is viewed in aerial perspective from a position above the


south suburbs, and reveals itself as standing in a plain, with


rivers and marshes on the west, north, and south of it, and higher


ground to the east and south-east.


At this date it is somewhat in she shape of the letter D, the


straight part of which is the river Pleisse. Except as to this


side it is surrounded by armies—the inner horseshoe of them


being the French defending the city; the outer horseshoe being


the Allies about to attack it.


Far over the city—as it were at the top of the D—at Lindenthal,


we see MARMONT stationed to meet BLUCHER when he arrives on that


side. To the right of him is NEY, and further off to the right,


on heights eastward, MACDONALD. Then round the curve towards the


south in order, AUGEREAU, LAURISTON [behind whom is NAPOLEON


himself and the reserve of Guards], VICTOR [at Wachau], and


PONIATOWSKI, near the Pleisse River at the bottom of the D. Near


him are the cavalry of KELLERMANN and MILHAUD, and in the same


direction MURAT with his, covering the great avenues of approach


on the south.


Outside all these stands SCHWARZENBERG'S army, of which, opposed


to MACDONALD and LAURISTON, are KLEINAU'S Austrians and ZIETEN'S


Prussians, covered on the flank by Cossacks under PLATOFF.


Opposed to VICTOR and PONIATOWSKI are MEERFELDT and Hesse-Homburg's


Austrians, WITTGENSTEIN'S Russians, KLEIST'S Prussians, GUILAY'S


Austrians, with LICHTENSTEIN'S and THIELMANN'S light troops: thus


reaching round across the Elster into the morass on our near left—


the lower point of the D.]


SEMICHORUS I OF RUMOURS [aerial music]


This is the combat of Napoleon's hope,


But not of his assurance! Shrunk in power


He broods beneath October's clammy cope,


While hemming hordes wax denser every hour.


SEMICHORUS II


He knows, he knows that though in equal fight


He stand s heretofore the matched of none,


A feeble skill is propped by numbers' might,


And now three hosts close round to crush out one!


DUMB SHOW


The Leipzig clocks imperturbably strike nine, and the battle which


is to decide the fate of Europe, and perhaps the world, begins with


three booms from the line of the allies. They are the signal for


a general cannonade of devastating intensity.


So massive is the contest that we soon fail to individualize the


combatants as beings, and can only observe them as amorphous drifts,


clouds, and waves of conscious atoms, surging and rolling together;


can only particularize them by race, tribe, and language.


Nationalities from the uttermost parts of Asia here meet those from


the Atlantic edge of Europe for the first and last time. By noon


the sound becomes a loud droning, uninterrupted and breve-like, as


from the pedal of an organ kept continuously down.


CHORUS OF RUMOURS


Now triple battle beats about the town,


And now contracts the huge elastic ring


Of fighting flesh, as those within go down,


Or spreads, as those without show faltering!


It becomes apparent that the French have a particular intention,


the Allies only a general one. That of the French is to break


through the enemy's centre and surround his right. To this end


NAPOLEON launches fresh columns, and simultaneously OUDINOT supports


VICTOR against EUGENE OF WURTEMBERG'S right, while on the other


side of him the cavalry of MILHAUD and KELLERMAN prepares to charge.


NAPOLEON'S combination is successful, and drives back EUGENE.


Meanwhile SCHWARZENBERG is stuck fast, useless in the marshes


between the Pleisse and the Elster.


By three o'clock the Allied centre, which has held out against the


assaults of the French right and left, is broken through by cavalry


under MURAT, LATOUR-MAUBOURG, and KELLERMANN.


The bells of Leipzig ring.


CHORUS OF THE PITIES


Those chimings, ill-advised and premature!


Who knows if such vast valour will endure?


The Austro-Russians are withdrawn from the marshes by SCHWARZENBERG.


But the French cavalry also get entangled in the swamps, and


simultaneously MARMONT is beaten at Mockern.


Meanwhile NEY, to the north of Leipzig, having heard the battle


raging southward, leaves his position to assist it. He has nearly


arrived when he hears BLUCHER attacking at the point he came from,


and sends back some of his divisions.


BERTRAND has kept open the west road to Lindenau and the Rhine, the


only French line of retreat.


Evening finds the battle a drawn one. With the nightfall three blank


shots reverberate hollowly.


SEMICHORUS I OF RUMOURS


They sound to say that, for this moaning night,


As Nature sleeps, so too shall sleep the fight;


Neither the victor.


SEMICHORUS II


But, for France and him,


Half-won is losing!


CHORUS


Yea, his hopes drop dim,


Since nothing less than victory to-day


Had saved a cause whose ruin is delay!


The night gets thicker and no more is seen.


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE III}


THE SAME, FROM THE TOWER OF THE PLEISSENBURG


[The tower commands a view of a great part of the battlefield.


Day has just dawned, and citizens, saucer-eyed from anxiety and


sleeplessness, are discover watching.]


FIRST CITIZEN


The wind increased at midnight while I watched,


With flapping showers, and clouds that combed the moon,


Till dawn began outheaving this huge day,


Pallidly—as if scared by its own issue;


This day that the Allies with bonded might


Have vowed to deal their felling finite blow.


SECOND CITIZEN


So must it be! They have welded close the coop


Wherein our luckless Frenchmen are enjailed


With such compression that their front has shrunk


From five miles' farness to but half as far.—


Men say Napoleon made resolve last night


To marshal a retreat. If so, his way


Is by the Bridge of Lindenau.


[They look across in the cold east light at the long straight


causeway from the Ranstadt Gate at the north-west corner of the


town, and the Lindenau bridge over the Elster beyond.]


FIRST CITIZEN


Last night I saw, like wolf-packs, hosts appear


Upon the Dresden road; and then, anon,


The already stout arrays of Schwarzenberg


Grew stoutened more. I witnessed clearly, too,


Just before dark, the bands of Bernadotte


Come, hemming in the north more thoroughly.


The horizon glowered with a thousand fires


As the unyielding circle shut around.


[As it grows light they scan and define the armies.]


THIRD CITIZEN


Those lying there, 'twixt Connewitz and Dolitz,


Are the right wing of horse Murat commands.


Next, Poniatowski, Victor, and the rest.


Out here, Napoleon's centre at Probstheida,


Where he has bivouacked. Those round this way


Are his left wing with Ney, that face the north


Between Paunsdorf and Gohlis.—Thus, you see


They are skilfully sconced within the villages,


With cannon ranged in front. And every copse,


Dingle, and grove is packed with riflemen.


[The heavy sky begins to clear with the full arrival of the


morning. The sun bursts out, and the previously dark and gloomy


masses glitter in the rays. It is now seven o'clock, and with the


shining of the sun, the battle is resumed.


The army of Bohemia to the south and east, in three great columns,


marches concentrically upon NAPOLEON'S new and much-contracted line


—the first column of thirty-five thousand under BENNIGSEN; the


second, the central, forty-five thousand under BARCLAY DE TOLLY;


the third, twenty-five thousand under the PRINCE OF HESSE-HOMBURG.


An interval of suspense.]


FIRST CITIZEN


Ah, see! The French bend, falter, and fall back.


[Another interval. Then a huge rumble of artillery resounds from


the north.]


SEMICHORUS OF RUMOURS [aerial music]


Now Blucher has arrived; and now falls to!


Marmont withdraws before him. Bernadotte


Touching Bennigsen, joins attack with him,


And Ney must needs recede. This serves as sign


To Schwarzenberg to bear upon Probstheida—


Napoleon's keystone and dependence here.


But for long whiles he fails to win his will,


The chief being nigh—outmatching might with skill.


SEMICHORUS II


Ney meanwhile, stung still sharplier, still withdraws


Nearer the town, and met by new mischance,


Finds him forsaken by his Saxon wing—


Fair files of thrice twelve thousand footmanry.


But rallying those still true with signs and calls,


He warely closes up his remnant to the walls.


SEMICHORUS I


Around Probstheida still the conflict rolls


Under Napoleon's eye surpassingly.


Like sedge before the scythe the sections fall


And bayonets slant and reek. Each cannon-blaze


Makes the air thick with human limbs; while keen


Contests rage hand to hand. Throats shout "advance,"


And forms walm, wallow, and slack suddenly.


Hot ordnance split and shiver and rebound,


And firelocks fouled and flintless overstrew the ground.


SEMICHORUS II


At length the Allies, daring tumultuously,


Find them inside Probstheida. There is fixed


Napoleon's cardinal and centre hold.


But need to loose it grows his gloomy fear


As night begins to brown and treacherous mists appear.


CHORUS


Then, on the three fronts of this reaching field,


A furious, far, and final cannonade


Burns from two thousand mouths and shakes the plain,


And hastens the sure end! Towards the west


Bertrand keeps open the retreating-way,


Along which wambling waggons since the noon


Have crept in closening file. Dusk draws around;


The marching remnants drowse amid their talk,


And worn and harrowed horses slumber as the walk.


[In the darkness of the distance spread cries from the maimed


animals and the wounded men. Multitudes of the latter contrive to


crawl into the city, until the streets are full of them. Their


voices are heard calling.]


SECOND CITIZEN


They cry for water! Let us go down,


And do what mercy may.


[Exeunt citizens from the tower.]


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


A fire is lit


Near to the Thonberg wind-wheel. Can it be


Napoleon tarries yet? Let us go see.


[The distant firelight becomes clearer and closer.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE IV}


THE SAME. AT THE THONBERG WINDMILL


[By the newly lighted fire NAPOLEON is seen walking up and down,


much agitated and worn. With him are MURAT, BERTHIER, AUGEREAU,


VICTOR, and other marshals of corps that have been engaged in this


part of the field—all perspiring, muddy, and fatigued.]


NAPOLEON


Baseness so gross I had not guessed of them!—


The thirty thousand false Bavarians


I looked on losing not unplacidly;


But these troth-swearing sober Saxonry


I reckoned staunch by virtue of their king!


Thirty-five thousand and gone! It magnifies


A failure into a catastrophe\dots{}


Murat, we must retreat precipitately,


And not as hope had dreamed! Begin it then


This very hour.—Berthier, write out the orders.—


Let me sit down.


[A chair is brought out from the mill. NAPOLEON sinks into it, and


BERTHIER, stooping over the fire, begins writing to the Emperor's


dictation, the marshals looking with gloomy faces at the flaming


logs.


NAPOLEON has hardly dictated a line when he stops short. BERTHIER


turns round and finds that he has dropt asleep.]


MURAT [sullenly]


Far better not disturb him;


He'll soon enough awake!


[They wait, muttering to one another in tones expressing weary


indifference to issues. NAPOLEON sleeps heavily for a quarter of


and hour, during which the moon rises over the field. At the end


he starts up stares around him with astonishment.]


NAPOLEON


Am I awake?


Or is this all a dream?—Ah, no. Too real!\dots{}


And yet I have seen ere now a time like this.


[The dictation is resumed. While it is in progress there can be


heard between the words of NAPOLEON the persistent cries from the


plain, rising and falling like those of a vast rookery far away,


intermingled with the trampling of hoofs and the rumble of wheels.


The bivouac fires of the engirdling enemy glow all around except


for a small segment to the west—the track of retreat, still kept


open by BERTRAND, and already taken by the baggage-waggons.


The orders for its adoption by the entire army being completed,


NAPOLEON bids adieu to his marshals, and rides with BERTHIER and


CAULAINCOURT into Leipzig. Exeunt also the others.]


SEMICHORUS I OF THE PITIES


Now, as in the dream of one sick to death,


There comes a narrowing room


That pens him, body and limbs and breath,


To wait a hideous doom,


SEMICHORUS II


So to Napoleon in the hush


That holds the town and towers


Through this dire night, a creeping crush


Seems inborne with the hours.


[The scene closes under a rimy mist, which makes a lurid cloud of


the firelights.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE V}


THE SAME. A STREET NEAR THE RANSTADT GATE


[High old-fashioned houses form the street, along which, from the


east of the city, is streaming a confusion of waggons, in hurried


exit through the gate westward upon the highroad to Lindenau,


Lutzen, and the Rhine.


In front of an inn called the "Prussian Arms" are some attendants


of NAPOLEON waiting with horses.]


FIRST OFFICER


He has just come from bidding the king and queen


A long good-bye\dots{} Is it that they will pay


For his indulgence of their past ambition


By sharing now his ruin? Much the king


Did beg him to leave them to their lot,


And shun the shame of capture needlessly.


[He looks anxiously towards the door.]


I would he'd haste! Each minute is of price.


SECOND OFFICER


The king will come to terms with the Allies.


They will not hurt him. Though he has lost his all,


His case is not like ours!


[The cheers of the approaching enemy grow louder. NAPOLEON comes


out from the "Prussian Arms," haggard and in disordered attire.


He is about to mount, but, perceiving the blocked state of the


street, he hesitates.]


NAPOLEON


God, what a crowd!


I shall more quickly gain the gate afoot.


There is a byway somewhere, I suppose?


[A citizen approaches out of the inn.]


CITIZEN


This alley, sire, will speed you to the gate;


I shall be honoured much to point the way.


NAPOLEON


Then do, good friend. [To attendants] Bring on the horses there;


I if arrive soonest I will wait for you.


[The citizen shows NAPOLEON the way into the alley.]


CITIZEN


A garden's at the end, your Majesty,


Through which you pass. Beyond there is a door


That opens to the Elster bank unbalked.


[NAPOLEON disappears into the alley. His attendants plunge amid


the traffic with the horses, and thread their way down the street.


Another citizen comes from the door of the inn and greets the


first.]


FIRST CITIZEN


He's gone!


SECOND CITIZEN


I'll see if he succeed.


[He re-enters the inn and soon appears at an upper window.]


FIRST CITIZEN [from below]


You see him?


SECOND CITIZEN [gazing]


He is already at the garden-end;


Now he has passed out to the river-brim,


And plods along it toward the Ranstadt Gate\dots{}


He finds no horses for him!\dots{} And the crowd


Thrusts him about, none recognizing him.


Ah—now the horses do arrive. He mounts,


And hurries through the arch\dots{} Again I see him—


Now he's upon the causeway in the marsh;


Now rides across the bridge of Lindenau\dots{}


And now, among the troops that choke the road


I lose all sight of him.


[A third citizen enters from the direction NAPOLEON has taken.]


THIRD CITIZEN [breathlessly]


I have seen him go!


And while he passed the gate I stood i' the crowd


So close I could have touched him! Few discerned


In one so soiled the erst Arch-Emperor!—


In the lax mood of him who has lost all


He stood inert there, idly singing thin:


Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre!—until his suite


Came up with horses.


SECOND CITIZEN [still gazing afar]


Poniatowski's Poles


Wearily walk the level causeway now;


Also, meseems, Macdonald's corps and Reynier's.


The frail-framed, new-built bridge has broken down:


They've but the old to cross by.


FIRST CITIZEN


Feeble foresight!


They should have had a dozen.


SECOND CITIZEN


All the corps—


Macdonald's, Poniatowski's, Reynier's—all—


Confusedly block the entrance to the bridge.


And—verily Blucher's troops are through the town,


And are debouching from the Ranstadt Gate


Upon the Frenchmen's rear!


[A thunderous report stops his words, echoing through the city from


the direction in which he is gazing, and rattling all the windows.


A hoarse chorus of cries becomes audible immediately after.]


FIRST, THIRD, ETC., CITIZENS


Ach, Heaven!—what's that?


SECOND CITIZEN


The bridge of Lindenau has been upblown!


SEMICHORUS I OF THE PITIES [aerial music]


There leaps to the sky and earthen wave,


And stones, and men, as though


Some rebel churchyard crew updrave


Their sepulchres from below.


SEMICHORUS II


To Heaven is blown Bridge Lindenau;


Wrecked regiments reel therefrom;


And rank and file in masses plough


The sullen Elster-Strom.


SEMICHORUS I


A gulf is Lindenau; and dead


Are fifties, hundreds, tens;


And every current ripples red


With marshals' blood and men's.


SEMICHORUS II


The smart Macdonald swims therein,


And barely wins the verge;


Bold Poniatowski plunges in


Never to re-emerge!


FIRST CITIZEN


Are not the French across as yet, God save them?


SECOND CITIZEN [still gazing above]


Nor Reynier's corps, Macdonald's, Lauriston's,


Nor yet the Poles\dots{} And Blucher's troops approach,


And all the French this side are prisoners.


—Now for our handling by the Prussian host;


Scant courtesy for our king!


[Other citizens appear beside him at the window, and further


conversation continues entirely above.]


CHORUS OF IRONIC SPIRITS


The Battle of the Nations now is closing,


And all is lost to One, to many gained;


The old dynastic routine reimposing,


The new dynastic structure unsustained.


Now every neighbouring realm is France's warder,


And smirking satisfaction will be feigned:


The which is seemlier?—so-called ancient order,


Or that the hot-breath'd war-horse ramp unreined?


[The October night thickens and curtains the scene.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE VI}


THE PYRENEES. NEAR THE RIVER NIVELLE


[Evening. The dining-room of WELLINGTON'S quarters. The table is


laid for dinner. The battle of the Nivelle has just been fought.


Enter WELLINGTON, HILL, BERESFORD, STEWART, HOPE, CLINTON, COLBORNE,


COLE, KEMPT [with a bound-up wound], and other officers.


WELLINGTON


It is strange that they did not hold their grand position more


tenaciously against us to-day. By God, I don't quite see why we


should have beaten them!


COLBORNE


My impression is that they had the stiffness taken out of them by


something they had just heard of. Anyhow, startling news of some


kind was received by those of the Eighty-eighth we took in the


signal-redoubt after I summoned the Commandant.


WELLINGTON


Oh, what news?


COLBORNE


I cannot say, my lord, I only know that the latest number of the


Imperial Gazette was seen in the hands of some of them before the


capture. They had been reading the contents, and were cast down.


WELLINGTON


That's interesting. I wonder what the news could have been?


HILL


Something about Boney's army in Saxony would be most probable.


Though I question if there's time yet for much to have been


decided there.


BERESFORD


Well, I wouldn't say that. A hell of a lot of things may have


happened there by this time.


COLBORNE


It was tantalizing, but they were just able to destroy the paper


before we could prevent them.


WELLINGTON


Did you question them?


COLBORNE


Oh yes. But they stayed sulking at being taken, and would tell us


nothing, pretending that they knew nothing. Whether much were going


on, they said, or little, between the army of the Emperor and the


army of the Allies, it was none of their business to relate it; so


they kept a gloomy silence for the most part.


WELLINGTON


They will cheer up a bit and be more communicative when they have had


some dinner.


COLE


They are dining here, my lord?


WELLINGTON


I sent them an invitation an hour ago, which they have accepted.


I could do no less, poor devils. They'll be here in a few minutes.


See that they have plenty of Madeira to whet their whistles with.


It well screw them up into a better key, and they'll not be so


reserved.


[The conversation on the day's battle becomes general. Enter as


guests French officers of the Eighty-eighth regiment now prisoners


on parole. They are welcomed by WELLINGTON and the staff, and all


sit down to dinner.


For some time the meal proceeds almost in silence; but wine is


passed freely, and both French and English officers become


talkative and merry.


WELLINGTON [to the French Commandant]


More cozy this, sir, than—I'll warrant me—


You found it in that damned redoubt to-day?


COMMANDANT


The devil if 'tis not, monseigneur, sure!


WELLINGTON


So 'tis for us who were outside, by God!


COMMANDANT [gloomily]


No; we were not at ease! Alas, my lord,


Twas more than flesh and blood could do, to fight


After such paralyzing tidings came.


More life may trickle out of men through thought


Than through a gaping wound.


WELLINGTON


Your reference


Bears on the news from Saxony, I infer?


SECOND FRENCH OFFICER


Yes: on the Emperor's ruinous defeat


At Leipzig city—brought to our startled heed


By one of the Gazettes just now arrived.


[All the English officers stop speaking, and listen eagerly.]


WELLINGTON


Where are the Emperor's headquarters now?


COMMANDANT


My lord, there are no headquarters.


WELLINGTON


No headquarters?


COMMANDANT


There are no French headquarters now, my lord,


For there is no French army! France's fame


Is fouled. And how, then, could we fight to-day


With our hearts in our shoes!


WELLINGTON


Why, that bears out


What I but lately said; it was not like


The brave men who have faced and foiled me here


So many a long year past, to give away


A stubborn station quite so readily.


BERESFORD


And what, messieurs, ensued at Leipzig then?


SEVERAL FRENCH OFFICERS


Why, sirs, should we conceal it? Thereupon


Part of our army took the Lutzen road;


Behind a blown-up bridge. Those in advance


Arrived at Lutzen with the Emperor—


The scene of our once famous victory!


In such sad sort retreat was hurried on,


Erfurt was gained with Blucher hot at heel.


To cross the Rhine seemed then our only hope;


Alas, the Austrians and the Bavarians


Faced us in Hanau Forest, led by Wrede,


And dead-blocked our escape.


WELLINGTON


Ha. Did they though?


SECOND FRENCH OFFICER


But if brave hearts were ever desperate,


Sir, we were desperate then! We pierced them through,


Our loss unrecking. So by Frankfurt's walls


We fared to Mainz, and there recrossed the Rhine.


A funeral procession, so we seemed,


Upon the long bridge that had rung so oft


To our victorious feet!\dots{} What since has coursed


We know not, gentlemen. But this we know,


That Germany echoes no French footfall!


AN ENGLISH OFFICER


One sees not why it should.


SECOND FRENCH OFFICER


We'll leave it so.


[Conversation on the Leipzig disaster continues till the dinner


ends The French prisoners courteously take their leave and go


out.]


WELLINGTON


Very good set of fellows. I could wish


They all were mine!\dots{}Well, well; there was no crime


In trying to ascertain these fat events:


They would have sounded soon from other tongues.


HILL


It looks like the first scene of act the last


For our and all men's foe!


WELLINGTON


I count to meet


The Allies upon the cobble-stones of Paris


Before another half-year's suns have shone.


—But there's some work for us to do here yet:


The dawn must find us fording the Nivelle!


[Exeunt WELLINGTON and officers. The room darkens.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{ACT FOURTH}


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE I}


THE UPPER RHINE


[The view is from a vague altitude over the beautiful country


traversed by the Upper Rhine, which stretches through it in


birds-eye perspective. At this date in Europe's history the


stream forms the frontier between France and Germany.


It is the morning of New Year's Day, and the shine of the tardy


sun reaches the fronts of the beetling castles, but scarcely


descends far enough to touch the wavelets of the river winding


leftwards across the many-leagued picture from Schaffhausen to


Coblenz.]


DUMB SHOW


At first nothing—not even the river itself—seems to move in the


panorama. But anon certain strange dark patches in the landscape,


flexuous and riband-shaped, are discerned to be moving slowly.


Only one movable object on earth is large enough to be conspicuous


herefrom, and that is an army. The moving shapes are armies.


The nearest, almost beneath us, is defiling across the river by a


bridge of boats, near the junction of the Rhine and the Neckar,


where the oval town of Mannheim, standing in the fork between the


two rivers, has from here the look of a human head in a cleft


stick. Martial music from many bands strikes up as the crossing


is effected, and the undulating columns twinkle as if they were


scaly serpents.


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR


It is the Russian host, invading France!


Many miles to the left, down-stream, near the little town of Caube,


another army is seen to be simultaneously crossing the pale current,


its arms and accoutrements twinkling in like manner.


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR


Thither the Prussian levies, too, advance!


Turning now to the right, far away by Basel [beyond which the


Swiss mountains close the scene], a still larger train of war-


geared humanity, two hundred thousand strong, is discernible.


It has already crossed the water, which is much narrower here,


and has advanced several miles westward, where its ductile mass


of greyness and glitter is beheld parting into six columns, that


march on in flexuous courses of varying direction.


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR


There glides carked Austria's invading force!—


Panting, too, Paris-wards with foot and horse,


Of one intention with the other twain,


And Wellington, from the south, in upper Spain.


All these dark and grey columns, converging westward by sure


degrees, advance without opposition. They glide on as if by


gravitation, in fluid figures, dictated by the conformation of


the country, like water from a burst reservoir; mostly snake-


shaped, but occasionally with batrachian and saurian outlines.


In spite of the immensity of this human mechanism on its surface,


the winter landscape wears an impassive look, as if nothing were


happening.


Evening closes in, and the Dumb Show is obscured.


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE II}


PARIS. THE TUILERIES


[It is Sunday just after mass, and the principal officers of the


National Guard are assembled in the Salle des Marechaux. They


stand in an attitude of suspense, some with the print of sadness


on their faces, some with that of perplexity.


The door leading from the Hall to the adjoining chapel is thrown


open. There enter from the chapel with the last notes of the


service the EMPEROR NAPOLEON and the EMPRESS; and simultaneously


from a door opposite MADAME DE MONTESQUIOU, the governess, who


carries in her arms the KING OF ROME, now a fair child between


two and three. He is clothed in a miniature uniform of the


Guards themselves.


MADAM DE MONTESQUIOU brings forward the child and sets him on his


feet near his mother. NAPOLEON, with a mournful smile, giving one


hand to the boy and the other to MARIE LOUISE, en famille, leads


them forward. The Guard bursts into cheers.]


NAPOLEON


Gentlemen of the National Guard and friends,


I have to leave you; and before I fare


To Heaven know what of personal destiny,


I give into your loyal guardianship


Those dearest in the world to me; my wife,


The Empress, and my son the King of Rome.—


I go to shield your roofs and kin from foes


Who have dared to pierce the fences of our land;


And knowing that you house those dears of mine,


I start afar in all tranquillity,


Stayed by my trust in your proved faithfulness.


[Enthusiastic cheers for the Guard.]


OFFICERS [with emotion]


We proudly swear to justify the trust!


And never will we see another sit


Than you, or yours, on the great throne of France.


NAPOLEON


I ratify the Empress' regency,


And re-confirm it on last year's lines,


My bother Joseph stoutening her rule


As the Lieutenant-General of the State.—


Vex her with no divisions; let regard


For property, for order, and for France


Be chief with all. Know, gentlemen, the Allies


Are drunken with success. Their late advantage


They have handled wholly for their own gross gain,


And made a pastime of my agony.


That I go clogged with cares I sadly own;


Yet I go primed with hope; ay, in despite


Of a last sorrow that has sunk upon me,—


The grief of hearing, good and constant friends,


That my own sister's consort, Naples' king,


Blazons himself a backer of the Allies,


And marches with a Neapolitan force


Against our puissance under Prince Eugene.


The varied operations to ensue


May bring the enemy largely Paris-wards;


But suffer no alarm; before long days


I will annihilate by flank and rear


Those who have risen to trample on our soil;


And as I have done so many and proud a time,


Come back to you with ringing victory!—


Now, see: I personally present to you


My son and my successor ere I go.


[He takes the child in his arms and carries him round to the


officers severally. They are much affected and raise loud


cheers.]


You stand by him and her? You swear as much?


OFFICERS


We do!


NAPOLEON


This you repeat—you promise it?


OFFICERS


We promise. May the dynasty live for ever!


[Their shouts, which spread to the Carrousel without, are echoed


by the soldiers of the Guard assembled there. The EMPRESS is now


in tears, and the EMPEROR supports her.]


MARIE LOUISE


Such whole enthusiasm I have never known!—


Not even from the Landwehr of Vienna.


[Amid repeated protestations and farewells NAPOLEON, the EMPRESS,


the KING OF ROME, MADAME DE MONTESQUIOU, etc. go out in one


direction, and the officers of the National Guard in another.


The curtain falls for an interval.


When it rises again the apartment is in darkness, and its atmosphere


chilly. The January night-wind howls without. Two servants enter


hastily, and light candles and a fire. The hands of the clock are


pointing to three.


The room is hardly in order when the EMPEROR enters, equipped for


the intended journey; and with him, his left arm being round her


waist, walks MARIE LOUISE in a dressing-gown. On his right arm


he carries the KING OF ROME, and in his hand a bundle of papers.


COUNT BERTRAND and a few members of the household follow.


Reaching the middle of the room, he kisses the child and embraces


the EMPRESS, who is tearful, the child weeping likewise. NAPOLEON


takes the papers to the fire, thrusts them in, and watches them


consume; then burns other bundles brought by his attendants.]


NAPOLEON [gloomily]


Better to treat them thus; since no one knows


What comes, or into whose hands he may fall!


MARIE LOUISE


I have an apprehension-unexplained—


That I shall never see you any more!


NAPOLEON


Dismiss such fears. You may as well as not.


As things are doomed to be they will be, dear.


If shadows must come, let them come as though


The sun were due and you were trusting to it:


Twill teach the world it wrongs in bringing them.


[They embrace finally. Exeunt NAPOLEON, etc. Afterwards MARIE


LOUISE and the child.]


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Her instinct forwardly is keen in cast,


And yet how limited. True it may be


They never more will meet; although—to use


The bounded prophecy I am dowered with—


The screen that will maintain their severance


Would pass her own believing; proving it


No gaol-grille, no scath of scorching war,


But this persuasion, pressing on her pulse


To breed aloofness and a mind averse;


Until his image in her soul will shape


Dwarfed as a far Colossus on a plain,


Or figure-head that smalls upon the main.


[The lights are extinguished and the hall is left in darkness.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE III}


THE SAME. THE APARTMENTS OF THE EMPRESS


[A March morning, verging on seven o'clock, throws its cheerless


stare into the private drawing-room of MARIE LOUISE, animating


the gilt furniture to only a feeble shine. Two chamberlains of


the palace are there in waiting. They look from the windows and


yawn.]


FIRST CHAMBERLAIN


Here's a watering for spring hopes! Who would have supposed when


the Emperor left, and appointed her Regent, that she and the Regency


too would have to scurry after in so short a time!


SECOND CHAMBERLAIN


Was a course decided on last night?


FIRST CHAMBERLAIN


Yes. The Privy Council sat till long past midnight, debating the


burning question whether she and the child should remain or not.


Some were one way, some the other. She settled the matter by saying


she would go.


SECOND CHAMBERLAIN


I thought it might come to that. I heard the alarm beating all night


to assemble the National Guard; and I am told that some volunteers


have marched out to support Marmot. But they are a mere handful:


what can they do?


[A clatter of wheels and a champing and prancing of horses is


heard outside the palace. MENEVAL enters, and divers officers


of the household; then from her bedroom at the other end MARIE


LOUISE, in a travelling dress and hat, leading the KING OF ROME,


attired for travel likewise. She looks distracted and pale.


Next come the DUCHESS OF MONTEBELLO, lady of honour, the COUNTESS


DE MONTESQUIOU, ladies of the palace, and others, all in travelling


trim.]


KING OF ROME [plaintively]


Why are we doing these strange things, mamma,


And what did we get up so early for?


MARIE LOUISE


I cannot, dear, explain. So many events


Enlarge and make so many hours of one,


That it would be too hard to tell them now.


KING OF ROME


But you know why we a setting out like this?


Is it because we fear our enemies?


MARIE LOUISE


We are not sure that we are going yet.


I may be needful; but don't ask me here.


Some time I will tell you.


[She sits down irresolutely, and bestows recognitions on the


assembled officials with a preoccupied air.]


KING OF ROME [in a murmur]


I like being here best;


And I don't want to go I know not where!


MARIE LOUISE


Run, dear to Mamma 'Quiou and talk to her


[He goes across to MADAME DE MONTESQUIOU.]


I hear that women of the Royalist hope


[To the DUCHESS OF MONTEBELLO]


Have bent them busy in their private rooms


With working white cockades these several days.—


Yes—I must go!


DUCHESS OF MONTEBELLO


But why yet, Empress dear?


We may soon gain good news; some messenger


Hie from the Emperor or King Joseph hither?


MARIE LOUISE


King Joseph I await. He's gone to eye


The outposts, with the Ministers of War,


To learn the scope and nearness of the Allies;


He should almost be back.


[A silence, till approaching feet are suddenly heard outside the


door.]


Ah, here he comes;


Now we shall know!


[Enter precipitately not Joseph but officers of the National Guard


and others.]


OFFICERS


Long live the Empress-regent!


Do not quit Paris, pray, your Majesty.


Remain, remain. We plight us to defend you!


MARIE LOUISE [agitated]


Gallant messieurs, I thank you heartily.


But by the Emperor's biddance I am bound.


He has vowed he'd liefer see me and my son


Blanched at the bottom of the smothering Seine


Than in the talons of the foes of France.—


To keep us sure from such, then, he ordained


Our swift withdrawal with the Ministers


Towards the Loire, if enemies advanced


In overmastering might. They do advance;


Marshal Marmont and Mortier are repulsed,


And that has come whose hazard he foresaw.


All is arranged; the treasure is awheel,


And papers, seals, and cyphers packed therewith.


OFFICERS [dubiously]


Yet to leave Paris is to court disaster!


MARIE LOUISE [with petulance]


I shall do what I say!\dots{} I don't know what—


What SHALL I do!


[She bursts into tears and rushes into her bedroom, followed by


the young KING and some of her ladies. There is a painful silence,


broken by sobbings and expostulations within. Re-enter one of the


ladies.]


LADY


She's sorely overthrown;


She flings herself upon the bed distraught.


She says, "My God, let them make up their minds


To one or other of these harrowing ills,


And force to't, and end my agony!"


[An official enters at the main door.]


OFFICIAL


I am sent here by the Minister of War


To her Imperial Majesty the Empress.


[Re-enter MARIE LOUISE and the KING OF ROME.]


Your Majesty, my mission is to say


Imperious need dictates your instant flight.


A vanward regiment of the Prussian packs


Has gained the shadow of the city walls.


MENEVAL


They are armed Europe's scouts!


[Enter CAMBACERES the Arch-Chancellor, COUNT BEAUHARNAIS, CORVISART


the physician, DE BAUSSET, DE CANISY the equerry, and others.]


CAMBACERES


Your Majesty,


There's not a trice to lose. The force well-nigh


Of all compacted Europe crowds on us,


And clamours at the walls!


BEAUHARNAIS


If you stay longer,


You stay to fall into the Cossacks hands.


The people, too, are waxing masterful:


They think the lingering of your Majesty


Makes Paris more a peril for themselves


Than a defence for you. To fight is fruitless,


And wanton waste of life. You have nought to do


But go; and I, and all the Councillors,


Will follow you.


MARIE LOUISE


Then I was right to say


That I would go! Now go I surely will,


And let none try to hinder me again!


[She prepares to leave.]


KING OF ROME [crying]


I will not go! I like to live here best!


Don't go to Rambouillet, mamma; please don't.


It is a nasty place! Let us stay here.


O Mamma 'Quiou, stay with me here; pray stay!


MARIE LOUISE [to the Equerry]


Bring him down.


[Exit MARIE LOUISE in tears, followed by ladies-in-waiting and


others.]


DE CANISY


Come now, Monseigneur, come.


[He catches up the boy in his arms and prepares to follow the


Empress.]


KING OF ROME [kicking]


No, no, no! I don't want to go away from my house—I don't want to!


Now papa is away I am the master! [He clings to the door as the


equerry is bearing him through it.]


DE CANISY


But you must go.


[The child's fingers are pulled away. Exit DE CANISY with the King


OF ROME, who is heard screaming as he is carried down the staircase.]


MADAME DE MONTESQUIOU


I feel the child is right!


A premonition has enlightened him.


She ought to stay. But, ah, the die is cast!


[MADAME DE MONTESQUIOU and the remainder of the party follow, and


the room is left empty. Enter servants hastily.]


FIRST SERVANT


Sacred God, where are we to go to for grub and good lying to-night?


What are ill-used men to do?


SECOND SERVANT


I trudge like the rest. All the true philosophers are gone, and the


middling true are going. I made up my mind like the truest that ever


was as soon as I heard the general alarm beat.


THIRD SERVANT


I stay here. No Allies are going to tickle our skins. The storm


which roots—Dost know what a metaphor is, comrade? I brim with


them at this historic time!


SECOND SERVANT


A weapon of war used by the Cossacks?


THIRD SERVANT


Your imagination will be your ruin some day, my man! It happens to


be a weapon of wisdom used by me. My metaphor is one may'st have


met with on the rare times when th'hast been in good society. Here


it is: The storm which roots the pine spares the p—s—b—d. Now


do you see?


FIRST AND SECOND SERVANTS


Good! Your teaching, friend, is as sound as true religion! We'll


not go. Hearken to what's doing outside. [Carriages are heard


moving. Servants go to the window and look down.] Lord, there's


the Duchess getting in. Now the Mistress of the Wardrobe; now the


Ladies of the Palace; now the Prefects; now the Doctors. What a


time it takes! There are near a dozen berlines, as I am a patriot!


Those other carriages bear treasure. How quiet the people are! It


is like a funeral procession. Not a tongue cheers her!


THIRD SERVANT


Now there will be a nice convenient time for a little good victuals


and drink, and likewise pickings, before the Allies arrive, thank


Mother Molly!


[From a distant part of the city bands are heard playing military


marches. Guns next resound. Another servant rushes in.]


FOURTH SERVANT


Montmartre is being stormed, and bombs are falling in the Chaussee


d'Antin!


[Exit fourth servant.]


THIRD SERVANT [pulling something from his hat]


Then it is time for me to gird my armour on.


SECOND SERVANT


What hast there?


[Third servant holds up a crumpled white cockade and sticks it in


his hair. The firing gets louder.]


FIRST AND SECOND SERVANTS


Hast got another?


THIRD SERVANT [pulling out more]


Ay—here they are; at a price.


[The others purchase cockades of third servant. A military march


is again heard. Re-enter fourth servant.]


FOURTH SERVANT


The city has capitulated! The Allied sovereigns, so it is said,


will enter in grand procession to-morrow: the Prussian cavalry


first, then the Austrian foot, then the Russian and Prussian foot,


then the Russian horse and artillery. And to cap all, the people


of Paris are glad of the change. They have put a rope round the


neck of the statue of Napoleon on the column of the Grand Army, and


are amusing themselves with twitching it and crying "Strangle the


Tyrant!"


SECOND SERVANT


Well, well! There's rich colours in this kaleidoscopic world!


THIRD SERVANT


And there's comedy in all things—when they don't concern you.


Another glorious time among the many we've had since eighty-nine.


We have put our armour on none too soon. The Bourbons for ever!


[He leaves, followed by first and second servants.]


FOURTH SERVANT


My faith, I think I'll turn Englishman in my older years, where


there's not these trying changes in the Constitution!


[Follows the others. The Allies military march waxes louder as


the scene shuts.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE IV}


FONTAINEBLEAU. A ROOM IN THE PALACE


[NAPOLEON is discovered walking impatiently up and down, and


glancing at the clock every few minutes. Enter NEY.]


NAPOLEON [without a greeting]


Well—the result? Ah, but your looks display


A leaden dawning to the light you bring!


What—not a regency? What—not the Empress


To hold it in trusteeship for my son?


NEY


Sire, things like revolutions turn back,


But go straight on. Imperial governance


Is coffined for your family and yourself!


It is declared that military repose,


And France's well-doing, demand of you


Your abdication—unconditioned, sheer.


This verdict of the sovereigns cannot change,


And I have pushed on hot to let you know.


NAPOLEON [with repression]


I am obliged to you. You have told me promptly!—


This was to be expected. I had learnt


Of Marmont's late defection, and the Sixth's;


The consequence I easily inferred.


NEY


The Paris folk are flaked with white cockades;


Tricolors choke the kennels. Rapturously


They clamour for the Bourbons and for peace.


NAPOLEON [tartly]


I can draw inferences without assistance!


NEY [persisting]


They see the brooks of blood that have flowed forth;


They feel their own bereavements; so their mood


Asked no deep reasoning for its geniture.


NAPOLEON


I have no remarks to make on that just now.


I'll think the matter over. You shall know


By noon to-morrow my definitive.


NEY [turning to go]


I trust my saying what had to be said


Has not affronted you?


NAPOLEON [bitterly]


No; but your haste


In doing it has galled me, and has shown me


A heart that heaves no longer in my cause!


The skilled coquetting of the Government


Has nearly won you from old fellowship!\dots{}


Well; till to-morrow, marshal, then Adieu.


[Ney goes. Enter CAULAINCOURT and MACDONALD.]


Ney has got here before you; and, I deem,


Has truly told me all?


CAULAINCOURT


We thought at first


We should have had success. But fate said No;


And abdication, making no reserves,


Is, sire, we are convinced, with all respect,


The only road, if you care not to risk


The Empress; loss of every dignity,


And magnified misfortunes thrown on France.


NAPOLEON


I have heard it all; and don't agree with you.


My assets are not quite so beggarly


That I must close in such a shameful bond!


What—do you rate as naught that I am yet


Full fifty thousand strong, with Augereau,


And Soult, and Suchet true, and many more?


I still may know to play the Imperial game


As well as Alexander and his friends!


So—you will see. Where are my maps?—eh, where?


I'll trace campaigns to come! Where's my paper, ink,


To schedule all my generals and my means!


CAULAINCOURT


Sire, you have not the generals you suppose.


MACDONALD


And if you had, the mere anatomy


Of a real army, sire, that's left to you,


Must yield the war. A bad example tells.


NAPOLEON


Ah—from your manner it is worse, I see,


Than I cognize!\dots{} O Marmont, Marmont,—yours,


Yours was the bad sad lead!—I treated him


As if he were a son!—defended him,


Made him a marshal out of sheer affection,


Built, as 'twere rock, on his fidelity!


Forsake who may, I said, "I still have him."


Child that I was, I looked for faith in friends!\dots{}


Then be it as you will. Ney's manner shows


That even he inclines to Bourbonry.—


I faint to leave France thus—curtailed, pared down


From her late spacious borders. Of the whole


This is the keenest sword that pierces me\dots{}


But all's too late: my course is closed, I see.


I'll do it—now. Call in Bertrand and Ney;


Let them be witness to my finishing!


[In much agitation he goes to the writing-table and begins drawing


up a paper. BERTRAND and NEY enter; and behind them are seen


through the doorway the faces of CONSTANT the valet, ROUSTAN the


Mameluke, and other servants. All wait in silence till the EMPEROR


has done writing. He turns in his seat without looking up.]


NAPOLEON [reading]


"It having been declared by the Allies


That the prime obstacle to Europe's peace


Is France's empery by Napoleon,


This ruler, faithful to his oath of old,


Renounces for himself and for his heirs


The throne of France and that of Italy;


Because no sacrifice, even of his life,


Is he averse to make for France's gain."


—And hereto do I sign. [He turns to the table and signs.]


[The marshals, moved, rush forward and seize his hand.]


Mark, marshals, here;


It is a conquering foe I covenant with,


And not the traitors at the Tuileries


Who call themselves the Government of France!


Caulaincourt, go to Paris as before,


Ney and Macdonald too, and hand in this


To Alexander, and to him alone.


[He gives the document, and bids them adieu almost without speech.


The marshals and others go out. NAPOLEON continues sitting with


his chin on his chest.


An interval of silence. There is then heard in the corridor a


sound of whetting. Enter ROUSTAN the Mameluke, with a whetstone


in his belt and a sword in his hand.]


ROUSTAN


After this fall, your Majesty, 'tis plain


You will not choose to live; and knowing this


I bring to you my sword.


NAPOLEON [with a nod]


I see you do, Roustan.


ROUSTAN


Will you, sire, use it on yourself,


Or shall I pass it through you?


NAPOLEON [coldly]


Neither plan


Is quite expedient for the moment, man.


ROUSTAN


Neither?


NAPOLEON


There may be, in some suited time,


Some cleaner means of carrying out such work.


ROUSTAN


Sire, you refuse? Can you support vile life


A moment on such terms? Why then, I pray,


Dispatch me with the weapon, or dismiss me.


[He holds the sword to NAPOLEON, who shakes his head.]


I live no longer under such disgrace!


[Exit ROUSTAN haughtily. NAPOLEON vents a sardonic laugh, and


throws himself on a sofa, where he by and by falls asleep. The


door is softly opened. ROUSTAN and CONSTANT peep in.]


CONSTANT


To-night would be as good a time to go as any. He will sleep there


for hours. I have my few francs safe, and I deserve them; for I have


stuck to him honourably through fourteen trying years.


ROUSTAN


How many francs have you secured?


CONSTANT


Well—more than you can count in one breath, or even two.


ROUSTAN


Where?


CONSTANT


In a hollow tree in the Forest. And as for YOUR reward, you can


easily get the keys of that cabinet, where there are more than


enough francs to equal mine. He will not have them, and you may


as well take them as strangers.


ROUSTAN


It is not money that I want, but honour. I leave, because I can


no longer stay with self-respect.


CONSTANT


And I because there is no other such valet in the temperate zone,


and it is for the good of society that I should not be wasted here.


ROUSTAN


Well, as you propose going this evening I will go with you, to lend


a symmetry to the drama of our departure. Would that I had served


a more sensitive master! He sleeps there quite indifferent to the


dishonour of remaining alive!


[NAPOLEON shows signs of waking. CONSTANT and ROUSTAN disappear.


NAPOLEON slowly sits up.]


NAPOLEON


Here the scene lingers still! Here linger I!\dots{}


Things could not have gone on as they were going;


I am amazed they kept their course so long.


But long or short they have ended now—at last!


[Footsteps are heard passing through the court without.]


Hark at them leaving me! So politic rats


Desert the ship that's doomed. By morrow-dawn


I shall not have a man to shake my bed


Or say good-morning to!


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Herein behold


How heavily grinds the Will upon his brain,


His halting hand, and his unlighted eye.


SPIRIT IRONIC


A picture this for kings and subjects too!


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


Yet is it but Napoleon who has failed.


The pale pathetic peoples still plod on


Through hoodwinkings to light!


NAPOLEON [rousing himself]


This now must close.


Roustan misunderstood me, though his hint


Serves as a fillip to a flaccid brain\dots{}


—How gild the sunset sky of majesty


Better than by the act esteemed of yore?


Plutarchian heroes outstayed not their fame,


And what nor Brutus nor Themistocles


Nor Cato nor Mark Antony survived,


Why, why should I? Sage Canabis, you primed me!


[He unlocks a case, takes out a little bag containing a phial, pours


from it a liquid into a glass, and drinks. He then lies down and


falls asleep again.


Re-enter CONSTANT softly with a bunch of keys in his hand. On


his way to the cabinet he turns and looks at NAPOLEON. Seeing


the glass and a strangeness in the EMPEROR, he abandons his


object, rushes out, and is heard calling.


Enter MARET and BERTRAND.]


BERTRAND [shaking the Emperor]


What is the matter, sire? What's this you've done?


NAPOLEON [with difficulty]


Why did you interfere!—But it is well;


Call Caulaincourt. I'd speak with him a trice


Before I pass.


[MARET hurries out. Enter IVAN the physician, and presently


CAULAINCOURT.]


Ivan, renew this dose;


Tis a slow workman, and requires a fellow;


Age has impaired its early promptitude.


[Ivan shakes his head and rushes away distracted. CAULAINCOURT


seizes NAPOLEON'S hand.]


CAULAINCOURT


Why should you bring this cloud upon us now!


NAPOLEON


Restrain your feelings. Let me die in peace.—


My wife and son I recommend to you;


Give her this letter, and the packet there.


Defend my memory, and protect their lives.


[They shake him. He vomits.]


CAULAINCOURT


He's saved—for good or ill-as may betide!


NAPOLEON


God—here how difficult it is to die:


How easy on the passionate battle-plain!


[They open a window and carry him to it. He mends.]


Fate has resolved what man could not resolve.


I must live on, and wait what Heaven may send!


[MACDONALD and other marshals re-enter. A letter is brought from


MARIE LOUISE. NAPOLEON reads it, and becomes more animated.


They are well; and they will join me in my exile.


Yes: I will live! The future who shall spell?


My wife, my son, will be enough for me.—


And I will give my hours to chronicling


In stately words that stir futurity


The might of our unmatched accomplishments;


And in the tale immortalize your names


By linking them with mine.


[He soon falls into a convalescent sleep. The marshals, etc. go


out. The room is left in darkness.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE V}


BAYONNE. THE BRITISH CAMP


[The foreground is an elevated stretch of land, dotted over in rows


with the tents of the peninsular army. On a parade immediately


beyond the tents the infantry are drawn up, awaiting something.


Still farther back, behind a brook, are the French soldiery, also


ranked in the same manner of reposeful expectation. In the middle-


distance we see the town of Bayonne, standing within its zigzag


fortifications at the junction of the river Adour with the Nive.


On the other side of the Adour rises the citadel, a fortified


angular structure standing detached. A large and brilliant


tricolor flag is waving indolently from a staff on the summit.


The Bay of Biscay, into which the Adour flows, is seen on the


left horizon as a level line.


The stillness observed by the soldiery of both armies, and by


everything else in the scene except the flag, is at last broken


by the firing of a signal-gun from a battery in the town-wall.


The eyes of the thousands present rivet themselves on the citadel.


Its waving tricolor moves down the flagstaff and disappears.]


THE REGIMENTS [unconsciously]


Ha-a-a-a!


[In a few seconds there shoots up the same staff another flag—one


intended to be white; but having apparently been folded away a long


time, it is mildewed and dingy.


From all the guns on the city fortifications a salute peals out.


This is responded to by the English infantry and artillery with a


feu-de-joie.]


THE REGIMENTS


Hurrah-h-h-h!


[The various battalions are then marched away in their respective


directions and dismissed to their tents. The Bourbon standard is


hoisted everywhere beside those of England, Spain, and Portugal.


The scene shuts.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE VI}


A HIGHWAY IN THE OUTSKIRTS OF AVIGNON


[The Rhone, the old city walls, the Rocher des Doms and its


edifices, appear at the back plane of the scene under the


grey light of dawn. In the foreground several postillions


and ostlers with relays of horses are waiting by the roadside,


gazing northward and listening for sounds. A few loungers


have assembled.]


FIRST POSTILLION


He ought to be nigh by this time. I should say he'd be very glad


to get this here Isle of Elba, wherever it may be, if words be true


that he's treated to such ghastly compliments on's way!


SECOND POSTILLION


Blast-me-blue, I don't care what happens to him! Look at Joachim


Murat, him that's made King of Naples; a man who was only in the


same line of life as ourselves, born and bred in Cahors, out in


Perigord, a poor little whindling place not half as good as our


own. Why should he have been lifted up to king's anointment, and


we not even have had a rise in wages? That's what I say.


FIRST POSTILLION


But now, I don't find fault with that dispensation in particular.


It was one of our calling that the Emperor so honoured, after all,


when he might have anointed a tinker, or a ragman, or a street


woman's pensioner even. Who knows but that we should have been


king's too, but for my crooked legs and your running pole-wound?


SECOND POSTILLION


We kings? Kings of the underground country, then, by this time, if


we hadn't been too rotten-fleshed to follow the drum. However, I'll


think over your defence, and I don't mind riding a stage with him,


for that matter, to save him from them that mean mischief here.


I've lost no sons by his battles, like some others we know.


[Enter a TRAVELLER on horseback.]


Any tidings along the road, sir of the Emperor Napoleon that was?


TRAVELLER


Tidings verily! He and his escort are threatened by the mob at


every place they come to. A returning courier I have met tells me


that at an inn a little way beyond here they have strung up his


effigy to the sign-post, smeared it with blood, and placarded it


The Doom that awaits Thee! He is much delayed by such humorous


insults. I have hastened ahead to escape the uproar.


SECOND POSTILLION


I don't know that you have escaped it. The mob has been waiting


up all night for him here.


MARKET-WOMAN [coming up]


I hope by the Virgin, as 'a called herself, that there'll be no


riots here! Though I have not much pity for a man who could treat


his wife as he did, and that's my real feeling. He might at least


have kept them both on, for half a husband is better than none for


poor women. But I'd show mercy to him, that's true, rather than


have my stall upset, and messes in the streets wi' folks' brains,


and stabbings, and I don't know what all!


FIRST POSTILLION


If we can do the horsing quietly out here, there will be none of


that. He'll dash past the town without stopping at the inn where


they expect to waylay him.—Hark, what's this coming?


[An approaching cortege is heard. Two couriers enter; then a


carriage with NAPOLEON and BERTRAND; then others with the


Commissioners of the Powers,—all on the way to Elba.


The carriages halt, and the change of horses is set about instantly.


But before it is half completed BONAPARTE'S arrival gets known, and


throngs of men and women armed with sticks and hammers rush out of


Avignon and surround the carriages.]


POPULACE


Ogre of Corsica! Odious tyrant! Down with Nicholas!


BERTRAND [looking out of carriage]


Silence, and doff your hats, you ill-mannered devils!


POPULACE [scornfully]


Listen to him! Is that the Corsican? No; where is he? Give him up;


give him up! We'll pitch him into the Rhone!


[Some cling to the wheels of NAPOLEON'S carriage, while others,


more distant, throw stones at it. A stone breaks the carriage


window.]


OLD WOMAN [shaking her fist]


Give me back my two sons, murderer! Give me back my children, whose


flesh is rotting on the Russian plains!


POPULACE


Ay; give us back our kin—our fathers, our brothers, our sons—


victims to your curst ambition!


[One of the mob seizes the carriage door-handle and tries to


unfasten it. A valet of BONAPARTE'S seated on the box draws his


sword and threatens to cut the man's arm off. The doors of the


Commissioners' coaches open, and SIR NEIL CAMPBELL, GENERAL


KOLLER, and COUNT SCHUVALOFF—The English, Austrian, and Russian


Commissioners—jump out and come forward.]


CAMPBELL


Keep order, citizens! Do you not know


That the ex-Emperor is wayfaring


To a lone isle, in the Allies' sworn care,


Who have given a pledge to Europe for his safety?


His fangs being drawn, he is left powerless now


To do you further harm.


SCHUVALOFF


People of France


Can you insult so miserable a being?


He who gave laws to a cowed world stands now


At that world's beck, and asks its charity.


Cannot you see that merely to ignore him


Is the worst ignominy to tar him with,


By showing him he's no longer dangerous?


OLD WOMAN


How do we know the villain mayn't come back?


While there is life, my faith, there's mischief in him!


[Enter an officer with the Town-guard.]


OFFICER


Citizens, I am a zealot for the Bourbons,


As you well know. But wanton breach of faith


I will not brook. Retire!


[The soldiers drive back the mob and open a passage forward. The


Commissioners re-enter their carriages. NAPOLEON puts his head


out of his window for a moment. He is haggard, shabbily dressed,


yellow-faced, and wild-eyed.]


NAPOLEON


I thank you, captain;


Also your soldiery: a thousand thanks!


[To Bertrand within] My God, these people of Avignon here


Are headstrong fools, like all the Provencal fold,


—I won't go through the town!


BERTRAND


We'll round it, sire;


And then, as soon as we get past the place,


You must disguise for the remainder miles.


NAPOLEON


I'll mount the white cockade if they invite me!


What does it matter if I do or don't?


In Europe all is past and over with me\dots{}


Yes—all is lost in Europe for me now!


BERTRAND


I fear so, sire.


NAPOLEON [after some moments]


But Asia waits a man,


And—who can tell?


OFFICER OF GUARD [to postillions]


Ahead now at full speed,


And slacken not till you have slipped the town.


[The postillions urge the horses to a gallop, and the carriages


are out of sight in a few seconds. The scene shuts.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE VII}


MALMAISON. THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE'S BEDCHAMBER


[The walls are in white panels, with gilt mouldings, and the


furniture is upholstered in white silk with needle-worked flowers.


The long windows and the bed are similarly draped, and the toilet


service is of gold. Through the panes appears a broad flat lawn


adorned with vases and figures on pedestals, and entirely


surrounded by trees—just now in their first fresh green under


the morning rays of Whitsunday. The notes of an organ are audible


from a chapel below, where the Pentecostal Mass is proceeding.


JOSEPHINE lies in the bed in an advanced stage of illness, the


ABBE BERTRAND standing beside her. Two ladies-in-waiting are


seated near. By the door into the ante-room, which is ajar,


HOREAU the physician-in-ordinary and BOURDOIS the consulting


physician are engaged in a low conversation.]


HOREAU


Lamoureux says that leeches would have saved her


Had they been used in time, before I came.


In that case, then, why did he wait for me?


BOURDOIS


Such whys are now too late! She is past all hope.


I doubt if aught had helped her. Not disease,


But heart-break and repinings are the blasts


That wither her long bloom. Soon we must tell


The Queen Hortense the worst, and the Viceroy.


HOREAU


Her death was made the easier task for grief


[As I regarded more than probable]


By her rash rising from a sore-sick bed


And donning thin and dainty May attire


To hail King Frederick-William and the Tsar


As banquet-guests, in the old regnant style.


A woman's innocent vanity!—but how dire.


She argued that amenities of State


Compelled the effort, since they had honoured her


By offering to come. I stood against it,


Pleaded and reasoned, but to no account.


Poor woman, what she did or did not do


Was of small moment to the State by then!


The Emperor Alexander has been kind


Throughout his stay in Paris. He came down


But yester-eve, of purpose to inquire.


BOURDOIS


Wellington is in Paris, too, I learn,


After his wasted battle at Toulouse.


HOREAU


Has his Peninsular army come with him?


BOURDOIS


I hear they have shipped it to America,


Where England has another war on hand.


We have armies quite sufficient here already—


Plenty of cooks for Paris broth just now!


—Come, call we Queen Hortense and Prince Eugene.


[Exeunt physicians. The ABBE BERTRAND also goes out. JOSEPHINE


murmurs faintly.]


FIRST LADY [going to the bedside]


I think I heard you speak, your Majesty?


JOSEPHINE


I asked what hour it was—-if dawn or eve?


FIRST LADY


Ten in the morning, Madame. You forget


You asked the same but a brief while ago.


JOSEPHINE


Did I? I thought it was so long ago!\dots{}


I wish to go to Elba with him so much,


But the Allies prevented me. And why?


I would not have disgraced him, or themselves!


I would have gone to him at Fontainebleau,


With my eight horses and my household train


In dignity, and quitted him no more\dots{}


Although I am his wife no longer now,


I think I should have gone in spite of them,


Had I not feared perversions might be sown


Between him and the woman of his choice


For whom he sacrificed me.


SECOND LADY


It is more


Than she thought fit to do, your Majesty.


JOSEPHINE


Perhaps she was influenced by her father's ire,


Or diplomatic reasons told against her.


And yet I was surprised she should allow


Aught secondary on earth to hold her from


A husband she has outwardly, at least,


Declared attachment to.


FIRST LADY


Especially,


With ever one at hand—his son and hers—


Reminding her of him.


JOSEPHINE


Yes\dots{} Glad am I


I saw that child of theirs, though only once.


But—there was not full truth—not quite, I fear—


In what I told the Emperor that day


He led him to me at Bagatelle,


That 'twas the happiest moment of my life.


I ought not to have said it. No! Forsooth


My feeling had too, too much gall in it


To let truth shape like that!—I also said


That when my arms were round him I forgot


That I was not his mother. So spoke I,


But oh me,—I remembered it too well!—


He was a lovely child; in his fond prate


His father's voice was eloquent. One might say


I am well punished for my sins against him!


SECOND LADY


You have harmed no creature, madame; much less him!


JOSEPHINE


O but you don't quite know!\dots{} My coquetries


In our first married years nigh racked him through.


I cannot think how I could wax so wicked!\dots{}


He begged me come to him in Italy,


But I liked flirting in fair Paris best,


And would not go. The independent spouse


At that time was myself; but afterwards


I grew to be the captive, he the free.


Always 'tis so: the man wins finally!


My faults I've ransomed to the bottom sou


If ever a woman did!\dots{} I'll write to him—


I must—again, so that he understands.


Yes, I'll write now. Get me a pen and paper.


FIRST LADY [to Second Lady]


Tis futile! She is too far gone to write;


But we must humour her.


[They fetch writing materials. On returning to the bed they find


her motionless. Enter EUGENE and QUEEN HORTENSE. Seeing the state


their mother is in, they fall down on their knees by her bed.


JOSEPHINE recognizes them and smiles. Anon she is able to speak


again.]


JOSEPHINE [faintly]


I am dying, dears;


And do not mind it—notwithstanding that


I feel I die regretted. You both love me!—


And as for France, I ever have desired


Her welfare, as you know—have wrought all things


A woman's scope could reach to forward it\dots{}


And to you now who watch my ebbing here,


Declare I that Napoleon's first-chose wife


Has never caused her land a needless tear.


Tell him—these things I have said—bear him my love—


Tell him—I could not write!


[An interval. She spasmodically flings her arms over her son and


daughter, lets them fall, and becomes unconscious. They fetch a


looking-glass, and find that her breathing has ceased. The clock


of the Chateau strikes noon. The scene is veiled.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE VIII}


LONDON. THE OPERA HOUSE


[The house is lighted up with a blaze of wax candles, and a State


performance is about to begin in honour of the Allied sovereigns


now on a visit to England to celebrate the Peace. Peace-devices


adorn the theatre. A band can be heard in the street playing


The White Cockade.


An extended Royal box has been formed by removing the partitions


of adjoining boxes. It is empty as yet, but the other parts of


the house are crowded to excess, and somewhat disorderly, the


interior doors having been broken down by besiegers, and many


people having obtained admission without payment. The prevalent


costume of the ladies is white satin and diamonds, with a few in


lilac.


The curtain rises on the first act of the opera of "Aristodemo,"


MADAME GRASSINI and SIGNOR TRAMEZZINI being the leading voices.


Scarcely a note of the performance can be heard amid the exclamations


of persons half suffocated by the pressure.


At the end of the first act there follows a divertissement. The


curtain having fallen, a silence of expectation succeeds. It is


a little past ten o'clock.


Enter the Royal box the PRINCE REGENT, accompanied by the EMPEROR


OF RUSSIA, demonstrative in manner now as always, the KING OF


PRUSSIA, with his mien of reserve, and many minor ROYAL PERSONAGES


of Europe. There are moderate acclamations. At their back and in


neighbouring boxes LORD LIVERPOOL, LORD CASTLEREAGH, officers in


the suite of the sovereigns, interpreters, and others take their


places.


The curtain rises again, and the performers are discovered drawn


up in line on the stage. They sing "God save the King." The


sovereigns stand up, bow, and resume their seats amid more


applause.]


A VOICE [from the gallery]


Prinny, where's your wife? [Confusion.]


EMPEROR OF RUSSIA [to Regent]


To which of us is the inquiry addressed, Prince?


PRINCE REGENT


To you, sire, depend upon't—by way of compliment.


[The second act of the Opera proceeds.]


EMPEROR OF RUSSIA


Any later news from Elba, sir?


PRINCE REGENT


Nothing more than rumours, which, 'pon my honour, I can hardly


credit. One is that Bonaparte's valet has written to say the


ex-Emperor is becoming imbecile, and is an object of ridicule to


the inhabitants of the island.


KING OF PRUSSIA


A blessed result, sir, if true. If he is not imbecile he is worse


—planning how to involve Europe in another way. It was a short-


sighted policy to offer him a home so near as to ensure its becoming


a hot-bed of intrigue and conspiracy in no long time!


PRINCE REGENT


The ex-Empress, Marie-Louise, hasn't joined him after all, I learn.


Has she remained at Schonbrunn since leaving France, sires?


EMPEROR OF RUSSIA


Yes, sir; with her son. She must never go back to France. Metternich


and her father will know better than let her do that. Poor young


thing, I am sorry for her all the same. She would have joined


Napoleon if she had been left to herself.—And I was sorry for the


other wife, too. I called at Malmaison a few days before she died.


A charming woman! SHE would have gone to Elba or to the devil with


him. Twenty thousand people crowded down from Paris to see her lying


in state last week.


PRINCE REGENT


Pity she didn't have a child by him, by God.


KING OF PRUSSIA


I don't think the other one's child is going to trouble us much.


But I wish Bonaparte himself had been sent farther away.


PRINCE REGENT


Some of our Government wanted to pack him off to St. Helena—an


island somewhere in the Atlantic, or Pacific, or Great South Sea.


But they were over-ruled. 'Twould have been a surer game.


EMPEROR OF RUSSIA


One hears strange stories of his saying and doings. Some of my


people were telling me to-day that he says it is to Austria that


he really owes his fall, and that he ought to have destroyed her


when he had her in his power.


PRINCE REGENT


Dammy, sire, don't ye think he owes his fall to his ambition to


humble England by rupture of the Peace of Amiens, and trying to


invade us, and wasting his strength against us in the Peninsula?


EMPEROR OF RUSSIA


I incline to think, with the greatest deference, that it was Moscow


that broke him.


KING OF PRUSSIA


The rejection of my conditions in the terms of peace at Prague, sires,


was the turning-point towards his downfall.


[Enter a box on the opposite side of the house the PRINCESS OF


WALES, attended by LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL, SIR W. GELL, and


others. Louder applause now rings through the theatre, drowning


the sweet voice of the GRASSINI in "Aristodemo."]


LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL


It is meant for your Royal Highness!


PRINCESS OF WALES


I don't think so, my dear. Punch's wife is nobody when Punch himself


is present.


LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL


I feel convinced that it is by their looking this way.


SIR W. GELL


Surely ma'am you will acknowledge their affection? Otherwise we may


be hissed.


PRINCESS OF WALES


I know my business better than to take that morsel out of my husband's


mouth. There—you see he enjoys it! I cannot assume that it is


meant for me unless they call my name.


[The PRINCE REGENT rises and bows, the TSAR and the KING OF PRUSSIA


doing the same.]


LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL


He and the others are bowing for you, ma'am!


PRINCESS OF WALES


Mine God, then; I will bow too! [She rises and bends to them.]


PRINCE REGENT


She thinks we rose on her account.—A damn fool. [Aside.]


EMPEROR OF RUSSIA


What—didn't we? I certainly rose in homage to her.


PRINCE REGENT


No, sire. We were supposed to rise to the repeated applause of the


people.


EMPEROR OF RUSSIA


H'm. Your customs sir, are a little puzzling\dots{} [To the King of


Prussia.] A fine-looking woman! I must call upon the Princess of


Wales to-morrow.


KING OF PRUSSIA


I shall, at any rate, send her my respects by my chamberlain.


PRINCE REGENT [stepping back to Lord Liverpool]


By God, Liverpool, we must do something to stop 'em! They don't


know what a laughing-stock they'll make of me if they go to her.


Tell 'em they had better not.


LIVERPOOL


I can hardly tell them now, sir, while we are celebrating the Peace


and Wellington's victories.


PRINCE REGENT


Oh, damn the peace, and damn the war, and damn Boney, and damn


Wellington's victories!—the question is, how am I to get over this


infernal woman!—Well, well,—I must write, or send Tyrwhitt to-


morrow morning, begging them to abandon the idea of visiting her


for politic reasons.


[The Opera proceeds to the end, and is followed by a hymn and


chorus laudatory to peace. Next a new ballet by MONSIEUR VESTRIS,


in which M. ROZIER and MADAME ANGIOLINI dance a pas-de-deux. Then


the Sovereigns leave the theatre amid more applause.


The pit and gallery now call for the PRINCESS OF WALES unmistakably.


She stand up and is warmly acclaimed, returning three stately


curtseys.]


A VOICE


Shall we burn down Carlton House, my dear, and him in it?


PRINCESS OF WALES


No, my good folks! Be quiet. Go home to your beds, and let me do


the same.


[After some difficulty she gets out of the house. The people thin


away. As the candle-snuffers extinguish the lights a shouting is


heard without.]


VOICES OF CROWD


Long life to the Princess of Wales! Three cheers for a woman wronged!


[The Opera-house becomes lost in darkness.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{ACT FIFTH}


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE I}


ELBA. THE QUAY, PORTO FERRAJO


[Night descends upon a beautiful blue cove, enclosed on three sides


by mountains. The port lies towards the western [right-hand] horn


of the concave, behind it being the buildings of the town; their


long white walls and rows of windows rise tier above tier on the


steep incline at the back, and are intersected by narrow alleys


and flights of steps that lead up to forts on the summit.


Upon a rock between two of these forts stands the Palace of the


Mulini, NAPOLEONS'S residence in Ferrajo. Its windows command


the whole town and the port.]


CHORUS OF IRONIC SPIRITS [aerial music]


The Congress of Vienna sits,


And war becomes a war of wits,


Where every Power perpends withal


Its dues as large, its friends' as small;


Till Priests of Peace prepare once more


To fight as they have fought before!


In Paris there is discontent;


Medals are wrought that represent


One now unnamed. Men whisper, "He


Who once has been, again will be!"


DUMB SHOW


Under cover of the dusk there assembles in the bay a small flotilla


comprising a brig called l'Inconstant and several lesser vessels.


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR


The guardian on behalf of the Allies


Absents himself from Elba. Slow surmise


Too vague to pen, too actual to ignore,


Have strained him hour by hour, and more and more.


He takes the sea to Florence, to declare


His doubts to Austria's ministrator there.


SPIRIT IRONIC


When he returns, Napoleon will be—where?


Boats put off from these ships to the quay, where are now discovered


to have silently gathered a body of grenadiers of the Old Guard. The


faces of DROUOT and CAMBRONNE are revealed by the occasional fleck of


a lantern to be in command of them. They are quietly taken aboard


the brig, and a number of men of different arms to the other vessels.


CHORUS OF RUMOURS [aerial music]


Napoleon is going,


And nought will prevent him;


He snatches the moment


Occasion has lent him!


And what is he going for,


Worn with war's labours?


—To reconquer Europe


With seven hundred sabres.


About eight o'clock we observe that the windows of the Palace of


the Mulini are lighted and open, and that two women sit at them:


the EMPEROR'S mother and the PRINCESS PAULINE. They wave adieux


to some one below, and in a short time a little open low-wheeled


carriage, drawn by the PRINCESS PAULINE'S two ponies, descends


from the house to the port. The crowd exclaims "The Emperor!"


NAPOLEON appears in his grey great-coat, and is much fatter than


when he left France. BERTRAND sits beside him.


He quickly alights and enters the waiting boat. It is a tense


moment. As the boat rows off the sailors sing the Marseillaise,


and the gathered inhabitants join in. When the boat reaches the


brig its sailors join in also, and shout "Paris or death!" Yet


the singing has a melancholy cadence. A gun fires as a signal


of departure. The night is warm and balmy for the season. Not


a breeze is there to stir a sail, and the ships are motionless.


CHORUS OF RUMOURS


Haste is salvation;


And still he stays waiting:


The calm plays the tyrant,


His venture belating!


Should the corvette return


With the anxious Scotch colonel,


Escape would be frustrate,


Retention eternal.


Four aching hours are spent thus. NAPOLEON remains silent on the


deck, looking at the town lights, whose reflections bore like augers


into the water of the bay. The sails hang flaccidly. Then a feeble


breeze, then a strong south wind, begins to belly the sails; and the


vessels move.


CHORUS OF RUMOURS


The south wind, the south wind,


The south wind will save him,


Embaying the frigate


Whose speed would enslave him;


Restoring the Empire


That fortune once gave him!


The moon rises and the ships silently disappear over the horizon


as it mounts higher into the sky.


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE II}


VIENNA. THE IMPERIAL PALACE


[The fore-part of the scene is the interior of a dimly lit gallery


with an openwork screen or grille on one side of it that commands


a bird's-eye view of the grand saloon below. At present the screen


is curtained. Sounds of music and applause in the saloon ascend


into the gallery, and an irradiation from the same quarter shines


up through chinks in the curtains of the grille.


Enter the gallery MARIE LOUISE and the COUNTESS OF BRIGNOLE,


followed by the COUNT NEIPPERG, a handsome man of forty two with


a bandage over one eye.]


COUNTESS OF BRIGNOLE


Listen, your Majesty. You gather all


As well as if you moved amid them there,


And are advantaged with free scope to flit


The moment the scene palls.


MARIE LOUISE


Ah, my dear friend,


To put it so is flower-sweet of you;


But a fallen Empress, doomed to furtive peeps


At scenes her open presence would unhinge,


Reads not much interest in them! Yet, in truth,


Twas gracious of my father to arrange


This glimpse-hole for my curiosity.


—But I must write a letter ere I look;


You can amuse yourself with watching them.—


Count, bring me pen and paper. I am told


Madame de Montesquiou has been distressed


By some alarm; I write to ask its shape.


[NEIPPERG spreads writing materials on a table, and MARIE LOUISE


sits. While she writes he stays near her. MADAME DE BRIGNOLE


goes to the screen and parts the curtains.


The light of a thousand candles blazes up into her eyes from


below. The great hall is decorated in white and silver, enriched


by evergreens and flowers. At the end a stage is arranged, and


Tableaux Vivants are in progress thereon, representing the history


of the House of Austria, in which figure the most charming women


of the Court.


There are present as spectators nearly all the notables who have


assembled for the Congress, including the EMPEROR OF AUSTRIA


himself, has gay wife, who quite eclipses him, the EMPEROR


ALEXANDER, the KING OF PRUSSIA—still in the mourning he has


never abandoned since the death of QUEEN LUISA,—the KING


OF BAVARIA and his son, METTERNICH, TALLEYRAND, WELLINGTON,


NESSELRODE, HARDENBERG; and minor princes, ministers, and


officials of all nations.]


COUNTESS OF BRIGNOLE [suddenly from he grille]


Something has happened—so it seems, madame!


The Tableau gains no heed from them, and all


Turn murmuring together.


MARIE LOUISE


What may be?


[She rises with languid curiosity, and COUNT NEIPPERG adroitly


takes her hand and leads her forward. All three look down through


the grille.]


NEIPPERG


some strange news, certainly, your Majesty,


Is being discussed.—I'll run down and inquire.


MARIE LOUISE [playfully]


Nay—stay here. We shall learn soon enough.


NEIPPERG


Look at their faces now. Count Metternich


Stares at Prince Talleyrand—no muscle moving.


The King of Prussia blinks bewilderedly


Upon Lord Wellington.


MARIE LOUISE [concerned]


Yes; so it seems\dots{}


They are thunderstruck. See, though the music beats,


The ladies of the Tableau leave their place,


And mingle with the rest, and quite forget


That they are in masquerade. The sovereigns show


By far the gravest mien\dots{} I wonder, now,


If it has aught to do with me or mine?


Disasters mostly have to do with me!


COUNTESS OF BRIGNOLE


Those rude diplomists from England there,


At your Imperial father's consternation,


And Russia's, and the King of Prussia's gloom,


Shake shoulders with hid laughter! That they call


The English sense of humour, I infer,—


To see a jest in other people's troubles!


MARIE LOUISE [hiding her presages]


They ever take things thus phlegmatically:


The safe sea minimizes Continental scare


In their regard. I wish it did in mine!


But Wellington laughs not, as I discern.


NEIPPERG


Perhaps, though fun for the other English here,


It means new work for him. Ah—notice now


The music makes no more pretence to play!


Sovereigns and ministers have moved apart,


And talk, and leave the ladies quite aloof—


Even the Grand Duchesses and Empress, all—


Such mighty cogitations trance their minds!


MARIE LOUISE [with more anxiety]


Poor ladies; yea, they draw into the rear,


And whisper ominous words among themselves!


Count Neipperg—I must ask you now—go glean


What evil lowers. I am riddled through


With strange surmises and more strange alarms!


[The COUNTESS OF MONTESQUIOU enters.]


Ah—we shall learn it now. Well—what, madame?


COUNTESS OF MONTESQUIOU [breathlessly]


Your Majesty, the Emperor Napoleon


Has vanished from Elba! Wither flown,


And how, and why, nobody says or knows.


MARIE LOUISE [sinking into a chair]


My divination pencilled on my brain


Something not unlike that! The rigid mien


That mastered Wellington suggested it\dots{}


Complicity will be ascribed to me,


Unwitting though I stand!\dots{} [A pause.]


He'll not succeed!


And my fair plans for Parma will be marred,


And my son's future fouled!—I must go hence,


And instantly declare to Metternich


That I know nought of this; and in his hands


Place me unquestioningly, with dumb assent


To serve the Allies\dots{} Methinks that I was born


Under an evil-coloured star, whose ray


Darts death at joys!—Take me away, Count.—You [to the ladies]


Can stay and see the end.


[Exeunt MARIE LOUISE and NEIPPERG. MESDAMES DE MONTESQUIOU and


DE BRIGNOLE go to the grille and watch and listen.]


VOICE OF ALEXANDER [below]


I told you, Prince, that it would never last!


VOICE OF TALLEYRAND


Well, sire, you should have sent him to the Azores,


Or the Antilles, or best, Saint-Helena.


VOICE OF THE KING OF PRUSSIA


Instead, we send him but two days from France,


Give him an island as his own domain,


A military guard of large resource,


And millions for his purse!


ANOTHER VOICE


The immediate cause


Must be a negligence in watching him.


The British Colonel Campbell should have seen


That apertures for flight were wired and barred


To such a cunning bird!


ANOTHER VOICE


By all report


He took the course direct to Naples Bay.


VOICES [of new arrivals]


He has made his way to France—so all tongues tell—


And landed there, at Cannes! [Excitement.]


COUNTESS OF BRIGNOLE


Do now but note


How cordial intercourse resolves itself


To sparks of sharp debate! The lesser guests


Are fain to steal unnoticed from a scene


Wherein they feel themselves as surplusage


Beside the official minds.—I catch a sign


The King of Prussia makes the English Duke;


They leave the room together.


COUNTESS OF MONTESQUIOU


Yes; wit wanes,


And all are going—Prince Talleyrand,


The Emperor Alexander, Metternich,


The Emperor Francis\dots{} So much for the Congress!


Only a few blank nobodies remain,


And they seem terror-stricken\dots{} Blackly ends


Such fair festivities. The red god War


Stalks Europe's plains anew!


[The curtain of the grille is dropped. MESDAMES DE MONTESQUIOU


and DE BRIGNOLE leave the gallery. The light is extinguished


there and the scene disappears.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE III}


LA MURE, NEAR GRENOBLE


[A lonely road between a lake and some hills, two or three miles


outside the village of la Mure, is discovered. A battalion of


the Fifth French royalist regiment of the line under COMMANDANT


LESSARD, is drawn up in the middle of the road with a company of


sappers and miners, comprising altogether about eight hundred men.


Enter to them from the south a small detachment of lancers with


an aide-de-camp at their head. They ride up to within speaking


distance.]


LESSARD


They are from Bonaparte. Present your arms!


AIDE [calling]


We'd parley on Napoleon's behalf,


And fain would ask you join him.


LESSARD


Al parole


With rebel bands the Government forbids.


Come five steps further and we fire!


AIDE


To France,


And to posterity through fineless time,


Must you then answer for so foul a blow


Against the common weal!


[NAPOLEON'S aide-de-camp and the lancers turn about and ride


back out of sight. The royalist troops wait. Presently there


reappears from the same direction a small column of soldiery,


representing the whole of NAPOLEON'S little army shipped from


Elba. It is divided into an advance-guard under COLONEL MALLET,


and two bodies behind, a troop of Polish lancers under COLONEL


JERMANWSKI on the right side of the road, and some officers


without troops on the left, under MAJOR PACCONI.


NAPOLEON rides in the midst of the advance-guard, in the old


familiar "redingote grise," cocked hat, and tricolor cockade,


his well-known profile keen against the hills. He is attended


by GENERALS BERTRAND, DROUOT, and CAMBRONNE. When they get within


gun-shot of the royalists the men are halted. NAPOLEON dismounts


and steps forward.]


NAPOLEON


Direct the men


To lodge their weapons underneath the arm,


Points downward. I shall not require them here.


COLONEL MALLET


Sire, is it not a needless jeopardy


To meet them thus? The sentiments of these


We do not know, and the first trigger pressed


May end you.


NAPOLEON


I have thought it out, my friend,


And value not my life as in itself,


But as to France, severed from whose embrace]


I am dead already.


[He repeats the order, which is carried out. There is a breathless


silence, and people from the village gather round with tragic


expectations. NAPOLEON walks on alone towards the Fifth battalion,


Throwing open his great-coat and revealing his uniform and the


ribbon of the Legion of Honour. Raising his hand to his hat he


salutes.]


LESSARD


Present arms!


[The firelocks of the royalist battalion are levelled at NAPOLEON.]


NAPOLEON [still advancing]


Men of the Fifth,


See—here I am!\dots{} Old friends, do you not know me?


If there be one among you who would slay


His Chief of proud past years, let him come on


And do it now! [A pause.]


LESSARD [to his next officer]


They are death-white at his words!


They'll fire not on this man. And I am helpless.


SOLDIERS [suddenly]


Why yes! We know you, father. Glad to see ye!


The Emperor for ever! Ha! Huzza!


[They throw their arms upon the ground, and, rushing forward,


sink down and seize NAPOLEON'S knees and kiss his hands. Those


who cannot get near him wave their shakos and acclaim him


passionately. BERTRAND, DROUOT, and CAMBRONNE come up.]


NAPOLEON [privately]


All is accomplished, Bertrand! Ten days more,


And we are snug within the Tuileries.


[The soldiers tear out their white cockades and trample on them,


and disinter from the bottom of their knapsacks tricolors, which


they set up.


NAPOLEON'S own men now arrive, and fraternize with and embrace


the soldiers of the Fifth. When the emotion has subsided,


NAPOLEON forms the whole body into a square and addresses them.]


Soldiers, I came with these few faithful ones


To save you from the Bourbons,—treasons, tricks,


Ancient abuses, feudal tyranny—


From which I once of old delivered you.


The Bourbon throne is illegitimate


Because not founded on the nation's will,


But propped up for the profit of a few.


Comrades, is this not so?


A GRENADIER


Yes, verily, sire.


You are the Angel of the Lord to us;


We'll march with you to death or victory! [Shouts.]


[At this moment a howling dog crosses in front of them with a


cockade tied to its tail. The soldiery of both sides laugh


loudly.


NAPOLEON forms both bodies of troops into one column. Peasantry


run up with buckets of sour wine and a single glass; NAPOLEON


takes his turn with the rank and file in drinking from it. He


bids the whole column follow him to Grenoble and Paris. Exeunt


soldiers headed by NAPOLEON. The scene shuts.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE IV}


SCHONBRUNN


[The gardens of the Palace. Fountains and statuary are seen


around, and the Gloriette colonnade rising against the sky on


a hill behind.


The ex-EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE is discovered walking up and down.


Accompanying her is the KING OF ROME—now a blue-eye, fair-haired


child—in the charge of the COUNTESS OF MONTESQUIOU. Close by is


COUNT NEIPPERG, and at a little distance MENEVAL, her attendant


and Napoleon's adherent.


The EMPEROR FRANCIS and METTERNICH enter at the other end of the


parterre.]


MARIE LOUISE [with a start]


Here are the Emperor and Prince Metternich.


Wrote you as I directed?


NEIPPERG


Promptly so.


I said your Majesty had not part


In this mad move of your Imperial spouse,


And made yourself a ward of the Allies;


Adding, that you had vowed irrevocably


To enter France no more.


MARIE LOUISE


Your worthy zeal


Has been a trifle swift. My meaning stretched


Not quite so far as that\dots{} And yet—and yet


It matters little. Nothing matters much!


[The EMPEROR and METTERNICH come forward. NEIPPERG retires.]


FRANCIS


My daughter, you did not a whit too soon


Voice your repudiation. Have you seen


What the allies have papered Europe with?


MARIE LOUISE


I have seen nothing.


FRANCIS


Please you read it, Prince.


METTERNICH [taking out a paper]


"The Powers assembled at the Congress here


Owe it to their own troths and dignities,


And to the furtherance of social order,


To make a solemn Declaration, thus:


By breaking the convention as to Elba,


Napoleon Bonaparte forthwith destroys


His only legal title to exist,


And as a consequence has hurled himself


Beyond the pale of civil intercourse.


Disturber of the tranquillity of the world,


There can be neither peace nor truce with him,


And public vengeance is his self-sought doom.—


Signed by the Plenipotentiaries."


MARIE LOUISE [pale]


O God,


How terrible!\dots{} What shall—-[she begins weeping.]


KING OF ROME


Is it papa


They want to hurt like that, dear Mamma 'Quiou?


Then 'twas no good my praying for him so;


And I can see that I am not going to be


A King much longer!


COUNTESS OF MONTESQUIOU [retiring with the child]


Pray for him, Monseigneur,


Morning and evening just the same! They plan


To take you off from me. But don't forget—


Do as I say!


KING OF ROME


Yes, Mamma 'Quiou, I will!—


But why have I no pages now? And why


Does my mamma the Empress weep so much?


COUNTESS OF MONTESQUIOU


We'll talk elsewhere.


[MONTESQUIOU and the KING OF ROME withdraw to back.]


FRANCIS


At least, then, you agree


Not to attempt to follow Paris-ward


Your conscience-lacking husband, and create


More troubles in the State?—Remember this,


I sacrifice my every man and horse


Ere he Rule France again.


MARIE LOUISE


I am pledged already


To hold by the Allies; let that suffice!


METTERNICH


For the clear good of all, your Majesty,


And for your safety and the King of Rome's,


It most befits that your Imperial father


Should have sole charge of the young king henceforth,


While these convulsions rage. That this is so


You will see, I think, in view of being installed


As Parma's Duchess, and take steps therefor.


MARIE LOUISE [coldly]


I understand the terms to be as follows:


Parma is mine—my very own possession,—


And as a counterquit, the guardianship


Is ceded to my father of my son,


And I keep out of France.


METTERNICH


And likewise this:


All missives that your Majesty receives


Under Napoleon's hand, you tender straight


The Austrian Cabinet, the seals unbroke;


With those received already.


FRANCIS


You discern


How vastly to the welfare of your son


This course must tend? Duchess of Parma throned


You shine a wealthy woman, to endow


Your son with fortune and large landed fee.


MARIE LOUISE [bitterly]


I must have Parma: and those being the terms


Perforce accept! I weary of the strain


Of statecraft and political embroil:


I long for private quiet!\dots{} And now wish


To say no more at all.


[MENEVAL, who has heard her latter remarks, turns sadly away.]


FRANCIS


There's nought to say;


All is in train to work straightforwardly.


[FRANCIS and METTERNICH depart. MARIE LOUISE retires towards the


child and the COUNTESS OF MONTESQUIOU at the back of the parterre,


where they are joined by NEIPPERG.


Enter in front DE MONTROND, a secret emissary of NAPOLEON, disguised


as a florist examining the gardens. MENEVAL recognizes him and


comes forward.]


MENEVAL


Why are you here, de Montrond? All is hopeless!


DE MONTROND


Wherefore? The offer of the Regency


I come empowered to make, and will conduct her


Safely to Strassburg with her little son,


If she shrink not to breech her as a man,


And tiptoe from a postern unperceived?


MENEVAL


Though such quaint gear would mould her to a youth


Fair as Adonis on a hunting morn,


Yet she'll refuse! A German prudery


Sits on her still; more, kneaded by her arts


There's no will left to her. I conjured her


To hold aloof, sign nothing. But in vain.


DE MONTROND [looking towards Marie Louise]


I fain would put it to her privately!


MENEVAL


A thing impossible. No word to her


Without a word to him you see with her,


Neipperg to wit. She grows indifferent


To dreams as Regent; visioning a future


Wherein her son and self are two of three


But where the third is not Napoleon.


DE MONTROND [In sad surprise]


I may as well go hence then as I came,


And kneel to Heaven for one thing—that success


Attend Napoleon in the coming throes!


MENEVAL


I'll walk with you for safety to the gate,


Though I am as the Emperor's man suspect,


And any day may be dismissed. If so


I go to Paris.


[Exeunt MENEVAL and DE MONTROND.]


SPIRIT IRONIC


Had he but persevered, and biassed her


To slip the breeches on, and hie away,


Who knows but that the map of France had shaped


And it will never now!


[There enters from the other side of the gardens MARIA CAROLINA,


ex-Queen of Naples, and grandmother of Marie Louise. The latter,


dismissing MONTESQUIOU and the child, comes forward.]


MARIA CAROLINA


I have crossed from Hetzendorf to kill an hour;


Why art so pensive, dear?


MARIE LOUISE


Ah, why! My lines


Rule ruggedly. You doubtless have perused


This vicious cry against the Emperor?


He's outlawed—to be caught alive or dead,


Like any noisome beast!


MARIA CAROLINA


Nought have I heard,


My child. But these vile tricks, to pluck you from


Your nuptial plightage and your rightful glory


Make me belch oaths!—You shall not join your husband


Do they assert? My God, I know one thing,


Outlawed or no, I'd knot my sheets forthwith,


Were I but you, and steal to him in disguise,


Let come what would come! Marriage is for life.


MARIE LOUISE


Mostly; not always: not with Josephine;


And, maybe, not with me. But, that apart,


I could do nothing so outrageous.


Too many things, dear grand-dame, you forget.


A puppet I, by force inflexible,


Was bid to wed Napoleon at a nod,—


The man acclaimed to me from cradle-days


As the incarnate of all evil things,


The Antichrist himself.—I kissed the cup,


Gulped down the inevitable, and married him;


But none the less I saw myself therein


The lamb whose innocent flesh was dressed to grace


The altar of dynastic ritual!—


Hence Elba flung no duty-call to me,


Neither does Paris now.


MARIA CAROLINA


I do perceive


They have worked on you to much effect already!


Go, join your Count; he waits you, dear.—Well, well;


The way the wind blows needs no cock to tell!


[Exeunt severally QUEEN MARIA CAROLINA and MARIE LOUISE with


NEIPPERG. The sun sets over the gardens and the scene fades.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE V}


LONDON. THE OLD HOUSE OF COMMONS


[The interior of the Chamber appears as in Scene III., Act I.,


Part I., except that the windows are not open and the trees


without are not yet green.


Among the Members discovered in their places are, of ministers


and their supporters, LORD CASTLEREAGH the Foreign Secretary,


VANSITTART Chancellor of the Exchequer, BATHURST, PALMERSTON


the War Secretary, ROSE, PONSONBY, ARBUTHNOT, LUSHINGTON, GARROW


the Attorney General, SHEPHERD, LONG, PLUNKETT, BANKES; and among


those of the Opposition SIR FRANCIS BURDETT, WHITBREAD, TIERNEY,


ABERCROMBY, DUNDAS, BRAND, DUNCANNON, LAMBTON, HEATHCOTE, SIR


SAMUEL ROMILLY, G. WALPOLE, RIDLEY, OSBORNE, and HORNER.


Much interest in the debate is apparent, and the galleries are


full. LORD CASTLEREAGH rises.]


CASTLEREAGH


At never a moment in my stressed career,


Amid no memory-moving urgencies,


Have I, sir, felt so gravely set on me


The sudden, vast responsibility


That I feel now. Few things conceivable


Could more momentous to the future be


Than what may spring from counsel here to-night


On means to meet the plot unparalleled


In full fierce play elsewhere. Sir, this being so,


And seeing how the events of these last days


Menace the toil of twenty anxious years,


And peril all that period's patient aim,


No auguring mind can doubt that deeds which root


In steadiest purpose only, will effect


Deliverance from a world-calamity


As dark as any in the vaults of Time.


Now, what we notice front and foremost is


That this convulsion speaks not, pictures not


The heart of France. It comes of artifice—


From the unique and sinister influence


Of a smart army-gamester—upon men


Who have shared his own excitements, spoils, and crimes.—


This man, who calls himself most impiously


The Emperor of France by Grace of God,


Has, in the scale of human character,


Dropt down so low, that he has set at nought


All pledges, stipulations, guarantees,


And stepped upon the only pedestal


On which he cares to stand—his lawless will.


Indeed, it is a fact scarce credible


That so mysteriously in his own breast


Did this adventurer lock the scheme he planned,


That his companion Bertrand, chief in trust,


Was unapprised thereof until the hour


In which the order to embark was given!


I think the House will readily discern


That the wise, wary trackway to be trod


By our own country in the crisis reached,


Must lie 'twixt two alternatives,—of war


In concert with the Continental Powers,


Or of an armed and cautionary course


Sufficing for the present phase of things.


Whatever differences of view prevail


On the so serious and impending question—


Whether in point of prudent reckoning


Twere better let the power set up exist,


Or promptly at the outset deal with it—


Still, to all eyes it is imperative


That some mode of safeguardance be devised;


And if I cannot range before the House,


At this stage, all the reachings of the case,


I will, if needful, on some future day


Poise these nice matters on their merits here.


Meanwhile I have to move:


That an address unto His Royal Highness


Be humbly offered for his gracious message,


And to assure him that his faithful Commons


Are fully roused to the dark hazardries


To which the life and equanimity


Of Europe are exposed by deeds in France,


In contravention of the plighted pacts


At Paris in the course of yester-year.


That, in a cause of such wide-waked concern,


It doth afford us real relief to know


That concert with His Majesty's Allies


Is being effected with no loss of time—


Such concert as will thoroughly provide


For Europe's full and long security. [Cheers.]


That we, with zeal, will speed such help to him


So to augment his force by sea and land


As shall empower him to set afoot


Swift measures meet for its accomplishing. [Cheers.]


BURDETT


It seems to me almost impossible,


Weighing the language of the noble lord,


To catch its counsel,—whether peace of war. [Hear, hear.]


If I translate his words to signify


The high expediency of watch and ward,


That we may not be taken unawares,


I own concurrence; but if he propose


Too plunge this realm into a sea of blood


To reinstate the Bourbon line in France,


I should but poorly do my duty here


Did I not lift my voice protestingly


Against so ruinous an enterprise!


Sir, I am old enough to call to mind


The first fierce frenzies for the selfsame end,


The fruit of which was to endow this man,


The object of your apprehension now,


With such a might as could not be withstood


By all of banded Europe, till he roamed


And wrecked it wantonly on Russian plains.


Shall, then, another score of scourging years


Distract this land to make a Bourbon king?


Wrongly has Bonaparte's late course been called


A rude incursion on the soil of France.—


Who ever knew a sole and single man


Invade a nation thirty million strong,


And gain in some few days full sovereignty


Against the nation's will!—The truth is this:


The nation longed for him, and has obtained him\dots{}


I have beheld the agonies of war


Through many a weary season; seen enough


To make me hold that scarcely any goal


Is worth the reaching by so red a road.


No man can doubt that this Napoleon stands


As Emperor of France by Frenchmen's wills.


Let the French settle, then, their own affairs;


I say we shall have nought to apprehend!—


Much as I might advance in proof of this,


I'll dwell not thereon now. I am satisfied


To give the general reasons which, in brief,


Balk my concurrence in the Address proposed. [Cheers.]


PONSONBY


My words will be but few, for the Address


Constrains me to support it as it stands.


So far from being the primary step to war,


Its sense and substance is, in my regard,


To leave the House to guidance by events


On the grave question of hostilities.


The statements of the noble lord, I hold,


Have not been candidly interpreted


By grafting on to them a headstrong will,


As does the honourable baronet,


To rob the French of Buonaparte's rule,


And force them back to Bourbon monarchism.


That our free land, at this abnormal time,


Should put her in a pose of wariness,


No unwarped mind can doubt. Must war revive,


Let it be quickly waged; and quickly, too,


Reach its effective end: though 'tis my hope,


My ardent hope, that peace may be preserved.


WHITBREAD


Were it that I could think, as does my friend,


That ambiguity of sentiment


Informed the utterance of the noble lord


[As oft does ambiguity of word],


I might with satisfied and sure resolve


Vote straight for the Address. But eyeing well


The flimsy web there woven to entrap


The credence of my honourable friends,


I must with all my energy contest


The wisdom of a new and hot crusade


For fixing who shall fill the throne of France.


Already are the seeds of mischief sown:


The Declaration at Vienna, signed


Against Napoleon, is, in my regard,


Abhorrent, and our country's character


Defaced by our subscription to its terms!


If words have any meaning it incites


To sheer assassination; it proclaims


That any meeting Bonaparte may slay him;


And, whatso language the Allies now hold,


In that outburst, at least, was war declared.


The noble lord to-night would second it,


Would seem to urge that we full arm, then wait


For just as long, no longer, than would serve


The preparations of the other Powers,


And then—pounce down on France!


CASTLEREAGH


No, no! Not so.


WHITBREAD


Good God, then, what are we to understand?—


However, this denial is a gain,


And my misapprehension owes its birth


Entirely to that mystery of phrase


Which taints all rhetoric of the noble lord,


Well, what is urged for new aggression now,


To vamp up and replace the Bourbon line?


The wittiest man who ever sat here said


That half our nation's debt had been incurred


In efforts to suppress the Bourbon power,


The other half in efforts to restore it, [laughter]


And I must deprecate a further plunge


For ends so futile! Why, since Ministers


Craved peace with Bonaparte at Chatillon,


Should they refuse him peace and quiet now?


This brief amendment therefore I submit


To limit Ministers' aggressiveness


And make self-safety all their chartering:


"We at the same time earnestly implore


That the Prince Regent graciously induce


Strenuous endeavours in the cause of peace,


So long as it be done consistently


With the due honour of the English crown. [Cheers.]"


CASTLEREAGH


The arguments of Members opposite


Posit conditions which experience proves


But figments of a dream;—that honesty,


Truth, and good faith in this same Bonaparte


May be assumed and can be acted on:


This of one who is loud to violate


Bonds the most sacred, treaties the most grave!\dots{}


It follows not that since this realm was won


To treat with Bonaparte at Chatillon,


It can treat now. And as for assassination,


The sentiments outspoken here to-night


Are much more like to urge to desperate deeds


Against the persons of our good Allies,


Than are, against Napoleon, statements signed


By the Vienna plenipotentiaries!


We are, in fine, too fully warranted


On moral grounds to strike at Bonaparte,


If we at any crisis reckon it


Expedient so to do. The Government


Will act throughout in concert with the Allies,


And Ministers are well within their rights


To claim that their responsibility


Be not disturbed by hackneyed forms of speech ["Oh, oh"]


Upon war's horrors, and the bliss of peace,—


Which none denies! [Cheers.]


PONSONBY


I ask the noble lord,


If that his meaning and pronouncement be


Immediate war?


CASTLEREAGH


I have not phrased it so.


OPPOSITION CRIES


The question is unanswered!


[There are excited calls, and the House divides. The result is


announced as thirty-seven for WHITBREAD'S amendment, and against


it two hundred and twenty. The clock strikes twelve as the House


adjourns.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE VI}


WESSEX. DURNOVER GREEN, CASTERBRIDGE


[On a patch of green grass on Durnover Hill, in the purlieus of


Casterbridge, a rough gallows has been erected, and an effigy of


Napoleon hung upon it. Under the effigy are faggots of brushwood.


It is the dusk of a spring evening, and a great crowd has gathered,


comprising male and female inhabitants of the Durnover suburb


and villagers from distances of many miles. Also are present


some of the county yeomanry in white leather breeches and scarlet,


volunteers in scarlet with green facings, and the REVEREND MR.


PALMER, vicar of the parish, leaning against the post of his


garden door, and smoking a clay pipe of preternatural length.


Also PRIVATE CANTLE from Egdon Heath, and SOLOMON LONGWAYS of


Casterbridge. The Durnover band, which includes a clarionet,


\{serpent,\} oboe, tambourine, cymbals, and drum, is playing "Lord


Wellington's Hornpipe."]


RUSTIC [wiping his face]


Says I, please God I'll lose a quarter to zee he burned! And I left


Stourcastle at dree o'clock to a minute. And if I'd known that I


should be too late to zee the beginning on't, I'd have lost a half


to be a bit sooner.


YEOMAN


Oh, you be soon enough good-now. He's just going to be lighted.


RUSTIC


But shall I zee en die? I wanted to zee if he'd die hard,


YEOMAN


Why, you don't suppose that Boney himself is to be burned here?


RUSTIC


What—not Boney that's to be burned?


A WOMAN


Why, bless the poor man, no! This is only a mommet they've made of


him, that's got neither chine nor chitlings. His innerds be only a


lock of straw from Bridle's barton.


LONGWAYS


He's made, neighbour, of a' old cast jacket and breeches from our


barracks here. Likeways Grammer Pawle gave us Cap'n Meggs's old


Zunday shirt that she'd saved for tinder-box linnit; and Keeper


Tricksey of Mellstock emptied his powder-horn into a barm-bladder,


to make his heart wi'.


RUSTIC [vehemently]


Then there's no honesty left in Wessex folk nowadays at all! "Boney's


going to be burned on Durnover Green to-night,"— that was what I


thought, to be sure I did, that he'd been catched sailing from his


islant and landed at Budmouth and brought to Casterbridge Jail, the


natural retreat of malefactors!—False deceivers—making me lose a


quarter who can ill afford it; and all for nothing!


LONGWAYS


Tisn't a mo'sel o' good for thee to cry out against Wessex folk, when


twas all thy own stunpoll ignorance.


[The VICAR OF DURNOVER removes his pipe and spits perpendicularly.]


VICAR


My dear misguided man, you don't imagine that we should be so inhuman


in this Christian country as to burn a fellow creature alive?


RUSTIC


Faith, I won't say I didn't! Durnover folk have never had the


highest of Christian character, come to that. And I didn't know


but that even a pa'son might backslide to such things in these gory


times—I won't say on a Zunday, but on a week-night like this—when


we think what a blasphemious rascal he is, and that there's not a


more charnel-minded villain towards womenfolk in the whole world.


[The effigy has by this time been kindled, and they watch it burn,


the flames making the faces of the crowd brass-bright, and lighting


the grey tower of Durnover Church hard by.]


WOMAN [singing]


Bayonets and firelocks!


I wouldn't my mammy should know't


But I've been kissed in a sentry-box,


Wrapped up in a soldier's coat!


PRIVATE CANTLE


Talk of backsliding to burn Boney, I can backslide to anything


when my blood is up, or rise to anything, thank God for't! Why,


I shouldn't mind fighting Boney single-handed, if so be I had


the choice o' weapons, and fresh Rainbarrow flints in my flint-box,


and could get at him downhill. Yes, I'm a dangerous hand with a


pistol now and then!\dots{} Hark, what's that? [A horn is heard


eastward on the London Road.] Ah, here comes the mail. Now we may


learn something. Nothing boldens my nerves like news of slaughter!


[Enter mail-coach and steaming horses. It halts for a minute while


the wheel is skidded and the horses stale.]


SEVERAL


What was the latest news from abroad, guard, when you left


Piccadilly White-Horse-Cellar!


GUARD


You have heard, I suppose, that he's given up to public vengeance,


by Gover'ment orders? Anybody may take his life in any way, fair


or foul, and no questions asked. But Marshal Ney, who was sent to


fight him, flung his arms round his neck and joined him with all


his men. Next, the telegraph from Plymouth sends news landed there


by The Sparrow, that he has reached Paris, and King Louis has


fled. But the air got hazy before the telegraph had finished, and


the name of the place he had fled to couldn't be made out.


[The VICAR OF DURNOVER blows a cloud of smoke, and again spits


perpendicularly.]


VICAR


Well, I'm d—- Dear me—dear me! The Lord's will be done.


GUARD


And there are to be four armies sent against him—English, Proosian,


Austrian, and Roosian: the first two under Wellington and Blucher.


And just as we left London a show was opened of Boney on horseback


as large as life, hung up with his head downwards. Admission one


shilling; children half-price. A truly patriot spectacle!—Not that


yours here is bad for a simple country-place.


[The coach drives on down the hill, and the crowd reflectively


watches the burning.]


WOMAN [singing]

\subsection{I}


My Love's gone a-fighting


Where war-trumpets call,


The wrongs o' men righting


Wi' carbine and ball,


And sabre for smiting,


And charger, and all

\subsection{II}


Of whom does he think there


Where war-trumpets call?


To whom does he drink there,


Wi' carbine and ball


On battle's red brink there,


And charger, and all?

\subsection{III}


Her, whose voice he hears humming


Where war-trumpets call,


"I wait, Love, thy coming


Wi' carbine and ball,


And bandsmen a-drumming


Thee, charger and all!"


[The flames reach the powder in the effigy, which is blown to


rags. The band marches off playing "When War's Alarms," the


crowd disperses, the vicar stands musing and smoking at his


garden door till the fire goes out and darkness curtains the


scene.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{ACT SIXTH}


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE I}


THE BELGIAN FRONTIER


[The village of Beaumont stands in the centre foreground of a


birds'-eye prospect across the Belgian frontier from the French


side, being close to the Sambre further back in the scene, which


pursues a crinkled course between high banks from Maubeuge on the


left to Charleroi on the right.


In the shadows that muffle all objects, innumerable bodies of


infantry and cavalry are discerned bivouacking in and around the


village. This mass of men forms the central column of NAPOLEONS'S


army.


The right column is seen at a distance on that hand, also near


the frontier, on the road leading towards Charleroi; and the


left column by Solre-sur-Sambre, where the frontier and the river


nearly coincide


The obscurity thins and the June dawn appears.]


DUMB SHOW


The bivouacs of the central column become broken up, and a movement


ensues rightwards on Charleroi. The twelve regiments of cavalry


which are in advance move off first; in half an hour more bodies


move, and more in the next half-hour, till by eight o'clock the


whole central army is gliding on. It defiles in strands by narrow


tracks through the forest. Riding impatiently on the outskirts of


the columns is MARSHAL NEY, who has as yet received no command.


As the day develops, sight and sounds to the left and right reveal


that the two outside columns have also started, and are creeping


towards the frontier abreast with the centre. That the whole forms


one great movement, co-ordinated by one mind, now becomes apparent.


Preceded by scouts the three columns converge.


The advance through dense woods by narrow paths takes time. The


head of the middles and main column forces back some outposts, and


reaches Charleroi, driving out the Prussian general ZIETEN. It


seizes the bridge over the Sambre and blows up the gates of the


town.


The point of observation now descends close to the scene.


In the midst comes the EMPEROR with the Sappers of the Guard,


the Marines, and the Young Guard. The clatter brings the scared


inhabitants to their doors and windows. Cheers arise from some


of them as NAPOLEON passes up the steep street. Just beyond the


town, in front of the Bellevue Inn, he dismounts. A chair is


brought out, in which he sits and surveys the whole valley of the


Sambre. The troops march past cheering him, and drums roll and


bugles blow. Soon the EMPEROR is found to be asleep.


When the rattle of their passing ceases the silence wakes him. His


listless eye falls upon a half-defaced poster on a wall opposite—


the Declaration of the Allies.


NAPOLEON [reading]


"\dots{} Bonaparte destroys the only legal title on which his existence


depended\dots{} He has deprived himself of the protection of the law,


and has manifested to the Universe that there can be neither peace


nor truce with him. The Powers consequently declare that Napoleon


Bonaparte has placed himself without the pale of civil and social


relations, and that as an enemy and disturber of the tranquillity


of the world he has rendered himself liable to public vengeance."


His flesh quivers, and he turns with a start, as if fancying that


some one may be about to stab him in the back. Then he rises,


mounts, and rides on.


Meanwhile the right column crosses the Sambre without difficulty


at Chatelet, a little lower down; the left column at Marchienne a


little higher up; and the three limbs combine into one vast army.


As the curtain of the mist is falling, the point of vision soars


again, and there is afforded a brief glimpse of what is doing far


away on the other side. From all parts of Europe long and sinister


black files are crawling hitherward in serpentine lines, like


slowworms through grass. They are the advancing armies of the


Allies. The Dumb Show ends.


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE II}


A BALLROOM IN BRUSSELS


[It is a June midnight at the DUKE AND DUCHESS OF RICHMOND'S. A


band of stringed instruments shows in the background. The room


is crowded with a brilliant assemblage of more than two hundred


of the distinguished people sojourning in the city on account of


the war and other reasons, and of local personages of State and


fashion. The ball has opened with "The White Cockade."


Among those discovered present either dancing or looking on are


the DUKE and DUCHESS as host and hostess, their son and eldest


daughter, the Duchess's brother, the DUKE OF WELLINGTON, the


PRINCE OF ORANGE, the DUKE OF BRUNSWICK, BARON VAN CAPELLEN the


Belgian Secretary of State, the DUKE OF ARENBERG, the MAYOR OF


BRUSSELS, the DUKE AND DUCHESS OF BEAUFORT, GENERAL ALAVA, GENERAL


OUDENARDE, LORD HILL, LORD AND LADY CONYNGHAM, SIR HENRY AND LADY


SUSAN CLINTON, SIR H. AND LADY HAMILTON DALRYMPLE, SIR WILLIAM AND


LADY DE LANCEY, LORD UXBRIDGE, SIR JOHN BYNG, LORD PORTARLINGTON,


LORD EDWARD SOMERSET, LORD HAY, COLONEL ABERCROMBY, SIR HUSSEY


VIVIAN, SIR A. GORDON, SIR W. PONSONBY, SIR DENIS PACK, SIR JAMES


KEMPT, SIR THOMAS PICTON, GENERAL MAITLAND, COLONEL CAMERON, many


other officers, English, Hanoverian, Dutch and Belgian ladies


English and foreign, and Scotch reel-dancers from Highland


regiments.


The "Hungarian Waltz" having also been danced, the hostess calls


up the Highland soldiers to show the foreign guests what a Scotch


reel is like. The men put their hands on their hips and tread it


out briskly. While they stand aside and rest "The Hanoverian


Dance" is called.


Enter LIEUTENANT WEBSTER, A.D.C. to the PRINCE OF ORANGE. The


Prince goes apart with him and receives a dispatch. After reading


it he speaks to WELLINGTON, and the two, accompanied by the DUKE


OF RICHMOND, retire into an alcove with serious faces. WEBSTER,


in passing back across the ballroom, exchanges a hasty word with


two of three of the guests known to him, a young officer among


them, and goes out.


YOUNG OFFICER [to partner]


The French have passed the Sambre at Charleroi!


PARTNER


What—does it mean the Bonaparte indeed


Is bearing down upon us?


YOUNG OFFICER


That is so.


The one who spoke to me in passing out


Is Aide to the Prince of Orange, bringing him


Dispatches from Rebecque, his chief of Staff,


Now at the front, not far from Braine le Comte;


He says that Ney, leading the French van-guard,


Has burst on Quatre-Bras.


PARTNER


O horrid time!


Will you, then, have to go and face him there?


YOUNG OFFICER


I shall, of course, sweet. Promptly too, no doubt.


[He gazes about the room.]


See—the news spreads; the dance is paralyzed.


They are all whispering round. [The band stops.] Here comes


one more,


He's the attache from the Prussian force


At our headquarters.


[Enter GENERAL MUFFLING. He looks prepossessed, and goes straight


to WELLINGTON and RICHMOND in the alcove, who by this time have


been joined by the DUKE OF BRUNSWICK.]


SEVERAL GUESTS [at back of room]


Yes, you see, it's true!


The army will prepare to march at once.


PICTON [to another general]


I am damn glad we are to be off. Pottering about her pinned to


petticoat tails—it does one no good, but blasted harm!


ANOTHER GUEST


The ball cannot go on, can it? Didn't the Duke know the French


were so near? If he did, how could he let us run risks so coolly?


LADY HAMILTON DALRYMPLE [to partner]


A deep concern weights those responsible


Who gather in the alcove. Wellington


Affects a cheerfulness in outward port,


But cannot rout his real anxiety!


[The DUCHESS OF RICHMOND goes to her husband.]


DUCHESS


Ought I to stop the ball? It hardly seems right to let it continue


if all be true.


RICHMOND


I have put that very question to Wellington, my dear. He says that


we need not hurry off the guests. The men have to assemble some


time before the officers, who can stay on here a little longer


without inconvenience; and he would prefer that they should, not to


create a panic in the city, where the friends and spies of Napoleon


are all agog for some such thing, which they would instantly


communicate to him to take advantage of.


DUCHESS


Is it safe to stay on? Should we not be thinking about getting the


children away?


RICHMOND


There's no hurry at all, even if Bonaparte were really sure to


enter. But he's never going to set foot in Brussels—don't you


imagine it for a moment.


DUCHESS [anxiously]


I hope not. But I wish we had never brought them here!


RICHMOND


It is too late, my dear, to wish that now. Don't be flurried; make


the people go on dancing.


[The DUCHESS returns to her guests. The DUKE rejoins WELLINGTON,


BRUNSWICK, MUFFLING, and the PRINCE OF ORANGE in the alcove.]


WELLINGTON


We need not be astride till five o'clock


If all the men are marshalled well ahead.


The Brussels citizens must not suppose


They stand in serious peril\dots{} He, I think,


Directs his main attack mistakenly;


It should gave been through Mons, not Charleroi.


MUFFLING


The Austrian armies, and the Russian too,


Will show nowhere in this. The thing that's done,


Be it a historied feat or nine days' fizz,


Will be done long before they join us here.


WELLINGTON


Yes, faith; and 'tis pity. But, by God,


Blucher, I think, and I can make a shift


To do the business without troubling 'em!


Though I've an infamous army, that's the truth,—


Weak, and but ill-equipped,—and what's as bad,


A damned unpractised staff!


MUFFLING


We'll hope for luck.


Blucher concentrates certainly by now


Near Ligny, as he says in his dispatch.


Your Grace, I glean, will mass at Quatre-Bras?


WELLINGTON


Ay, now we are sure this move on Charleroi


Is no mere feint. Though I had meant Nivelles.


Have ye a good map, Richmond, near at hand?


RICHMOND


In the next room there's one. [Exit RICHMOND.]


[WELLINGTON calls up various general officers and aides from


other parts of the room. PICTON, UXBRIDGE, HILL, CLINTON, VIVIAN,


MAITLAND, PONSONBY, SOMERSET, and others join him in succession,


receive orders, and go out severally.]


PRINCE OF ORANGE


As my divisions seem to lie around


The probable point of impact, it behoves me


To start at once, Duke, for Genappe, I deem?


Being in Brussels, all for this damned ball,


The dispositions out there have, so far,


Been made by young Saxe Weimar and Perponcher,


On their own judgment quite. I go, your Grace?


WELLINGTON


Yes, certainly. 'Tis now desirable.


Farewell! Good luck, until we meet again,


The battle won!


[Exit PRINCE OF ORANGE, and shortly after, MUFFLING. RICHMOND


returns with a map, which he spreads out on the table. WELLINGTON


scans it closely.]


Napoleon has befooled me,


By God he has,—gained four-and-twenty hours'


Good march upon me!


RICHMOND


What do you mean to do?


WELLINGTON


I have bidden the army concentrate in strength


At Quatre-Bras. But we shan't stop him there;


So I must fight him HERE. [He marks Waterloo with his thumbnail.]


Well, now I have sped,


All necessary orders I may sup,


And then must say good-bye. [To Brunswick.] This very day


There will be fighting, Duke. You are fit to start?


BRUNSWICK [coming forward]


I leave almost this moment.—Yes, your Grace—


And I sheath not my sword till I have avenged


My father's death. I have sworn it!


WELLINGTON


My good friend,


Something too solemn knells beneath your words.


Take cheerful views of the affair in hand,


And fall to't with sang froid!


BRUNSWICK


But I have sworn!


Adieu. The rendezvous is Quatre-Bras?


WELLINGTON


Just so. The order is unchanged. Adieu;


But only till a later hour to-day;


I see it is one o'clock.


[WELLINGTON and RICHMOND go out of the alcove and join the


hostess, BRUNSWICK'S black figure being left there alone. He


bends over the map for a few seconds.]


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


O Brunswick, Duke of Deathwounds! Even as he


For whom thou wear'st that filial weedery


Was waylaid by my tipstaff nine years since,


So thou this day shalt feel his fendless tap,


And join thy sire!


BRUNSWICK [starting up]


I am stirred by inner words,


As 'twere my father's angel calling me,—


That prelude to our death my lineage know!


[He stands in a reverie for a moment; then, bidding adieu to the


DUCHESS OF RICHMOND and her daughter, goes slowly out of the


ballroom by a side-door.]


DUCHESS


The Duke of Brunswick bore him gravely here.


His sable shape has stuck me all the eve


As one of those romantic presences


We hear of—seldom see.


WELLINGTON [phlegmatically]


Romantic,—well,


It may be so. Times often, ever since


The Late Duke's death, his mood has tinged him thus.


He is of those brave men who danger see,


And seeing front it,—not of those, less brave


But counted more, who face it sightlessly.


YOUNG OFFICER [to partner]


The Generals slip away! I, Love, must take


The cobbled highway soon. Some hours ago


The French seized Charleroi; so they loom nigh.


PARTNER [uneasily]


Which tells me that the hour you draw your sword


Looms nigh us likewise!


YOUNG OFFICER


Some are saying here


We fight this very day. Rumours all-shaped


Fly round like cockchafers!


[Suddenly there echoes in the ballroom a long-drawn metallic purl


of sound, making all the company start.]


Transcriber's Note: There follows in musical notation five measures


for side-drum.


Ah—there it is,


Just as I thought! They are beating the Generale.


[The loud roll of side-drums is taken up by other drums further


and further away, till the hollow noise spreads all over the city.


Dismay is written on the faces of the women. The Highland non-


commissioned officers and privates march smartly down the ballroom


and disappear.]


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


Discerned you stepping out in front of them


That figure—of a pale drum-major kind,


Or fugleman—who wore a cold grimace?


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


He was my old fiend Death, in rarest trim,


The occasion favouring his husbandry!


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


Are those who marched behind him, then, to fall?


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Ay, all well-nigh, ere Time have houred three-score.


PARTNER


Surely this cruel call to instant war


Spares space for one dance more, that memory


May store when you are gone, while I—sad me!—


Wait, wait and weep\dots{} Yes—one there is to be!


SPIRIT IRONIC


Methinks flirtation grows too tender here!


[Country Dance, "The Prime of Life," a favourite figure at this


period. The sense of looming tragedy carries emotion to its


climax. All the younger officers stand up with their partners,


forming several figures of fifteen or twenty couples each. The


air is ecstasizing, and both sexes abandon themselves to the


movement.


Nearly half an hour passes before the figure is danced down.


Smothered kisses follow the conclusion. The silence is broken


from without by more long hollow rolling notes, so near that


they thrill the window-panes.]


SEVERAL


Tis the Assemble. Now, then, we must go!


[The officers bid farewell to their partners and begin leaving


in twos and threes. When they are gone the women mope and murmur


to each other by the wall, and listen to the tramp of men and


slamming of doors in the streets without.]


LADY HAMILTON DALRYMPLE


The Duke has borne him gaily here to-night.


The youngest spirits scarcely capped his own.


DALRYMPLE


Maybe that, finding himself blade to blade


With Bonaparte at last, his blood gets quick.


French lancers of the Guard were seen at Frasnes


Last midnight; so the clash is not far off.


[They leave.]


DE LANCEY [to his wife]


I take you to our door, and say good-bye,


And go thence to the Duke's and wait for him.


In a few hours we shall be all in motion


Towards the scene of—what we cannot tell!


You, dear, will haste to Antwerp till it's past,


As we have arranged.


[They leave.]


WELLINGTON [to Richmond]


Now I must also go,


And snatch a little snooze ere harnessing.


The Prince and Brunswick have been gone some while.


[RICHMOND walks to the door with him. Exit WELLINGTON, RICHMOND


returns.]


DUCHESS [to Richmond]


Some of these left renew the dance, you see.


I cannot stop them; but with memory hot


Of those late gone, of where they are gone, and why,


It smacks of heartlessness!


RICHMOND


Let be; let be;


Youth comes not twice to fleet mortality!


[The dancing, however, is fitful and spiritless, few but civilian


partners being left for the ladies. Many of the latter prefer to


sit in reverie while waiting for their carriages.]


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


When those stout men-at-arms drew forward there,


I saw a like grimacing shadow march


And pirouette before no few of them.


Some of themselves beheld it; some did not.


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Which were so ushered?


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


Brunswick, who saw and knew;


One also moved before Sir Thomas Picton,


Who coolly conned and drily spoke to it;


Another danced in front of Ponsonby,


Who failed of heeding his.—De Lancey, Hay,


Gordon, and Cameron, and many more


Were footmanned by like phantoms from the ball.


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Multiplied shimmerings of my Protean friend,


Who means to couch them shortly. Thou wilt eye


Many fantastic moulds of him ere long,


Such as, bethink thee, oft hast eyed before.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


I have—too often!


[The attenuated dance dies out, the remaining guests depart, the


musicians leave the gallery and depart also. RICHMOND goes to


a window and pulls back one of the curtains. Dawn is barely


visible in the sky, and the lamps indistinctly reveal that long


lines of British infantry have assembled in the street. In the


irksomeness of waiting for their officers with marching-orders,


they have lain down on the pavements, where many are soundly


sleeping, their heads on their knapsacks and their arms by their


side.]


DUCHESS


Poor men. Sleep waylays them. How tired they seem!


RICHMOND


They'll be more tired before the day is done.


A march of eighteen miles beneath the heat,


And then to fight a battle ere they rest,


Is what foreshades.—Well, it is more than bed-time;


But little sleep for us or any one


To-night in Brussels!


[He draws the window-curtain and goes out with the DUCHESS.


Servants enter and extinguish candles. The scene closes in


darkness.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE III}


CHARLEROI. NAPOLEON'S QUARTERS


[The same midnight. NAPOLEON is lying on a bed in his clothes.


In consultation with SOULT, his Chief of Staff, who is sitting


near, he dictates to his Secretary orders for the morrow. They


are addressed to KELLERMANN, DROUOT, LOBAU, GERARD, and other


of his marshals. SOULT goes out to dispatch them.


The Secretary resumes the reading of reports. Presently MARSHAL


NEY is announced He is heard stumbling up the stairs, and enters.]


NAPOLEON


Ah, Ney; why come you back? Have you secured


The all-important Crossways?—safely sconced


Yourself at Quatre-Bras?


NEY


Not, sire, as yet.


For, marching forwards, I heard gunnery boom,


And, fearing that the Prussians had engaged you,


I stood at pause. Just then—-


NAPOLEON


My charge was this:


Make it impossible at any cost


That Wellington and Blucher should unite.


As it's from Brussels that the English come,


And from Namur the Prussians, Quatre-Bras


Lends it alone for their forgathering:


So, why exists it not in your hands\Slash{}


NEY


My reason, sire, was rolling from my tongue.—


Hard on the boom of guns, dim files of foot


Which read to me like massing Englishry—


The vanguard of all Wellington's array—


I half-discerned. So, in pure wariness,


I left the Bachelu columns there at Frasnes,


And hastened back to tell you.


NAPOLEON


Ney; O Ney!


I fear you are not the man that once you were;


Of your so daring, such a faint-heart now!


I have ground to know the foot that flustered you


Were but a few stray groups of Netherlanders;


For my good spies in Brussels send me cue


That up to now the English have not stirred,


But cloy themselves with nightly revel there.


NEY [bitterly]


Give me another opportunity


Before you speak like that!


NAPOLEON


You soon will have one!\dots{}


But now—no more of this. I have other glooms


Upon my soul—the much-disquieting news


That Bourmont has deserted to our foes


With his whole staff.


NEY


We can afford to let him.


NAPOLEON


It is what such betokens, not their worth,


That whets it!\dots{} Love, respect for me, have waned;


But I will right that. We've good chances still.


You must return foot-hot to Quatre-Bras;


There Kellermann's cuirassiers will promptly join you


To bear the English backward Brussels way.


I go on towards Fleurus and Ligny now.—


If Blucher's force retreat, and Wellington's


Lie somnolent in Brussels one day more,


I gain that city sans a single shot!\dots{}


Now, friend, downstairs you'll find some supper ready,


Which you must tuck in sharply, and then off.


The past day has not ill-advantaged us;


We have stolen upon the two chiefs unawares,


And in such sites that they must fight apart.


Now for a two hours' rest.—Comrade, adieu


Until to-morrow!


NEY


Till to-morrow, sire!


[Exit NEY. NAPOLEON falls asleep, and the Secretary waits till


dictation shall be resumed. BUSSY, the orderly officer, comes


to the door.


BUSSY


Letters—arrived from Paris. [Hands letters.]


SECRETARY


He shall have them


The moment he awakes. These eighteen hours


He's been astride; and is not what he was.—


Much news from Paris?


BUSSY


I can only say


What's not the news. The courier has just told me


He'd nothing from the Empress at Vienna


To bring his Majesty. She writes no more.


SECRETARY


And never will again! In my regard


That bird's forsook the nest for good and all.


BUSSY


All that they hear in Paris from her court


Is through our spies there. One of them reports


This rumour of her: that the Archduke John,


In taking leave to join our enemies here,


Said, "Oh, my poor Louise; I am grieved for you


And what I hope is, that he'll be run through,


Or shot, or break his neck, for your own good


No less than ours.


NAPOLEON [waking]


By "he" denoting me?


BUSSY [starting]


Just so, your Majesty.


NAPOLEON [peremptorily]


What said the Empress?


BUSSY


She gave no answer, sire, that rumour bears.


NAPOLEON


Count Neipperg, whom they have made her chamberlain,


Interred his wife last spring—is it not so?


BUSSY


He did, your Majesty.


NAPOLEON


H'm\dots{}You may go.


[Exit BUSSY. The Secretary reads letters aloud in succession.


He comes to the last; begins it; reaches a phrase, and stops


abruptly.]


Mind not! Read on. No doubt the usual threat,


Or prophecy, from some mad scribe? Who signs it?


SECRETARY


The subscript is "The Duke of Enghien!"


NAPOLEON [starting up]


Bah, man! A treacherous trick! A hoax—no more!


Is that the last?


SECRETARY


The last, your Majesty.


NAPOLEON


Then now I'll sleep. In two hours have me called.


SECRETARY


I'll give the order, sire.


[The Secretary goes. The candles are removed, except one, and


NAPOLEON endeavours to compose himself.]


SPIRIT IRONIC


A little moral panorama would do him no harm, after that reminder of


the Duke of Enghien. Shall it be, young Compassion?


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


What good—if that old Years tells us be true?


But I say naught. To ordain is not for me!


[Thereupon a vision passes before NAPOLEON as he lies, comprising


hundreds of thousands of skeletons and corpses in various stages


of decay. They rise from his various battlefields, the flesh


dropping from them, and gaze reproachfully at him. His intimate


officers who have been slain he recognizes among the crowd. In


front is the DUKE OF ENGHIEN as showman.]


NAPOLEON [in his sleep]


Why, why should this reproach be dealt me now?


Why hold me my own master, if I be


Ruled by the pitiless Planet of Destiny?


[He jumps up in a sweat and puts out the last candle; and the


scene is curtained by darkness.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE IV}


A CHAMBER OVERLOOKING A MAIN STREET IN BRUSSELS


[A June sunrise; the beams struggling through the window-curtains.


A canopied bed in a recess on the left. The quick notes of


Brighton Camp, or the Girl I've left behind me," strike sharply


into the room from fifes and drums without. A young lady in a


dressing-gown, who has evidently been awaiting the sound, springs


from the bed like a hare from its form, undraws window-curtains


and opens the window.


Columns of British soldiery are marching past from the Parc


southward out of the city by the Namur Gate. The windows of


other houses in the street rattle open, and become full of


gazers.


A tap at the door. An older lady enters, and comes up to the


first.]


YOUNGER LADY [turning]


O mamma—I didn't hear you!


ELDER LADY


I was sound asleep till the thumping of the drums set me fantastically


dreaming, and when I awoke I found they were real. Did they wake you


too, my dear?


Younger Lady [reluctantly]


I didn't require waking. I hadn't slept since we came home.


ELDER LADY


That was from the excitement of the ball. There are dark rings round


your eye. [The fifes and drums are now opposite, and thrill the air


in the room.] Ah—that "Girl I've left behind me!"—which so many


thousands of women have throbbed an accompaniment to, and will again


to-day if ever they did!


YOUNGER LADY [her voice faltering]


It is rather cruel to say that just now, mamma. There, I can't look


at them after it! [She turns and wipes her eyes.]


ELDER LADY


I wasn't thinking of ourselves—certainly not of you.—How they


press on—with those great knapsacks and firelocks and, I am told,


fifty-six rounds of ball-cartridge, and four days' provisions in


those haversacks. How can they carry it all near twenty miles and


fight with it on their shoulders!\dots{} Don't cry, dear. I thought


you would get sentimental last night over somebody. I ought to


have brought you home sooner. How many dances did you have? It


was impossible for me to look after you in the excitement of the


war-tidings.


YOUNGER LADY


Only three—four.


ELDER LADY


Which were they?


YOUNGER LADY


Enrico, the "Copenhagen Waltz" and the "Hanoverian," and the


Prime of Life.


ELDER LADY


It was very foolish to fall in love on the strength of four dances.


YOUNGER LADY [evasively]


Fall in love? Who said I had fallen in love? What a funny idea!


ELDER LADY


Is it?\dots{} Now here come the Highland Brigade with their pipes


and their "Hieland Laddie." How the sweethearts cling to the men's


arms. [Reaching forward.] There are more regiments following.


But look, that gentleman opposite knows us. I cannot remember his


name. [She bows and calls across.] Sir, which are these?


GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE


The Ninety-second. Next come the Forty-ninth, and next the Forty-


second—Sir Denis Pack's brigade.


ELDER LADY


Thank you.—I think it is that gentleman we talked to at the


Duchess's, but I am not sure. [A pause: another band.]


GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE


That's the Twenty-eighth. [They pass, with their band and colours.]


Now the Thirty-second are coming up—part of Kempt's brigade. Endless,


are they not?


ELDER LADY


Yes, Sir. Has the Duke passed out yet?


GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE


Not yet. Some cavalry will go by first, I think. The foot coming


up now are the Seventy-ninth. [They pass.]\dots{} These next are


the Ninety-fifth. [They pass.]\dots{} These are the First Foot-


guards now. [They pass, playing "British Grenadiers."]\dots{} The


Fusileer-guards now. [They pass.] Now the Coldstreamers. [They


pass. He looks up towards the Parc.] Several Hanoverian regiments


under Colonel Best are coming next. [They pass, with their bands


and colours. An interval.]


ELDER LADY [to daughter]


Here are the hussars. How much more they carry to battle than at


reviews. The hay in those great nets must encumber them. [She


turns and sees that her daughter has become pale.] Ah, now I know!


HE has just gone by. You exchanged signals with him, you wicked


girl! How do you know what his character is, or if he'll ever come


back?


[The younger lady goes and flings herself on her face upon the


bed, sobbing silently. Her mother glances at her, but leaves


her alone. An interval. The prancing of a group of horsemen


is heard on the cobble-stones without.]


GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE [calling]


Here comes the Duke!


ELDER LADY [to younger]


You have left the window at the most important time! The Duke of


Wellington and his staff-officers are passing out.


YOUNGER LADY


I don't want to see him. I don't want to see anything any more!


[Riding down the street comes WELLINGTON in a grey frock-coat and


small cocked hat, frigid and undemonstrative; accompanied by four


or five Generals of his suite, the Deputy Quartermaster-general


De LANCEY, LORD FITZROY SOMERSET, Aide-de-camp, and GENERAL


MUFFLING.]


GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE


He is the Prussian officer attached to our headquarters, through whom


Wellington communicates with Blucher, who, they say, is threatened by


the French at Ligny at this moment.


[The elder lady turns to her daughter, and going to the bed bends


over her, while the horses' tramp of WELLINGTON and his staff


clatters more faintly in the street, and the music of the last


retreating band dies away towards the Forest of Soignes.


Finding her daughter is hysterical with grief she quickly draws


the window-curtains to screen the room from the houses opposite.


Scene ends.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE V}


THE FIELD OF LIGNY


[The same day later. A prospect of the battlefield of Ligny


southward from the roof of the windmill of Bussy, which stands at


the centre and highest point of the Prussian position, about six


miles south-east of Quatre-Bras.


The ground slopes downward along the whole front of the scene to


a valley through which wanders the Ligne, a muddy stream bordered


by sallows. On both sides of the stream, in the middle plane of


the picture, stands the village of Ligny, composed of thatched


cottages, gardens, and farm-houses with stone walls; the main


features, such as the church, church-yard, and village-green


being on the further side of the Ligne.


On that side the land reascends in green wheatfields to an


elevation somewhat greater than that of the foreground, reaching


away to Fleurus in the right-hand distance.


In front, on the slopes between the spectator and the village,


is the First Corps of the Prussian army commanded by Zieten, its


First Brigade under STEINMETZ occupying the most salient point.


The Corps under THIELMANN is ranged to the left, and that of


PIRCH to the rear, in reserve to ZIETEN. In the centre-front,


just under the mill, BLUCHER on a fine grey charger is intently


watching, with his staff.


Something dark is seen to be advancing over the horizon by


Fleurus, about three miles off. It is the van of NAPOLEON'S


army, approaching to give battle.


At this moment hoofs are heard clattering along a road that


passes behind the mill; and there come round to the front the


DUKE OF WELLINGTON, his staff-officers, and a small escort of


cavalry.


WELLINGTON and BLUCHER greet each other at the foot of the


windmill. They disappear inside, and can be heard ascending


the ladders.


Enter on the roof WELLINGTON and BLUCHER, followed by FITZROY


SOMERSET, GNEISENAU, MUFFLING, and others. Before renewing


their conversation they peer through their glasses at the dark


movements on the horizon. WELLINGTON'S manner is deliberate,


judicial, almost indifferent; BLUCHER'S eager and impetuous.


WELLINGTON


They muster not as yet in near such strength


At Quatre-Bras as here.


BLUCHER


Tis from Fleurus


They come debouching. I, perforce, withdrew


My forward posts of cavalry at dawn


In face of their light cannon\dots{} They'll be here


I reckon, soon!


WELLINGTON [still with glass]


I clearly see his staff,


And if my eyes don't lie, the Arch-one too\dots{}


It is the whole Imperial army, Prince,


That we've before us. [A silence.] Well, we'll cope with them!


What would you have me do?


[BLUCHER is so absorbed in what he sees that he does not heed.]


GNEISENAU


Duke, this I'd say:


Events suggest to us that you come up


With all your force, behind the village here,


And act as our reserve.


MUFFLING


But Bonaparte,


Pray note, has redistributed his strength


In fashion that you fail to recognize.


I am against your scheme.


BLUCHER [lowering his glass]


Signs notify


Napoleon's plans as changed! He purports now


To strike our left—between Sombreffe and Brye\dots{}


If so, I have to readjust my ward.


WELLINGTON


One of his two divisions that we scan


Outspreading from Fleurus, seems bent on Ligny,


The other on Saint-Amand.


BLUCHER


Well, I shall see


In half an hour, your Grace. If what I deem


Be what he means, Von Zieten's corps forthwith


Must stand to their positions: Pirch out here,


Henckel at Ligny, Steinmetz at La Haye.


WELLINGTON


So that, your Excellency, as I opine,


I go and sling my strength on their left wing—


Manoeuvring to outflank 'em on that side.


BLUCHER


True, true. Our plan uncovers of itself;


You bear down everything from Quatre-Bras


Along the road to Frasnes.


WELLINGTON


I will, by God.


I'll bear straight on to Gosselies, if needs!


GNEISENAU


Your Excellencies, if I may be a judge,


Such movement will not tend to unity;


It leans too largely on a peradventure


Most speculative in its contingencies!


[A silence; till the officers of the staff remark to each other


that concentration is best in any circumstances. A general


discussion ensues.]


BLUCHER [concludingly]


We will expect you, Duke, to our support.


WELLINGTON


I must agree that, in the sum, it's best.


So be it then. If not attacked myself


I'll come to you.—Now I return with speed


To Quatre-Bras.


BLUCHER


And I descend from here


To give close eye and thought to things below;


No more can well be studied where we stand.


[Exeunt from roof WELLINGTON, BLUCHER and the rest. They reappear


below, and WELLINGTON and his suite gallop furiously away in the


direction of Quatre-Bras. An interval.]


DUMB SHOW [below]


Three reports of a cannon give the signal for the French attack.


NAPOLEON'S army advances down the slopes of green corn opposite,


bands and voices joining in songs of victory. The French come


in three grand columns; VANDAMME'S on the left [the spectator's


right] against Saint-Amand, the most forward angle of the Prussian


position. GERARD'S in the centre bear down upon Ligny. GROUCHY'S


on the French right is further back. Far to the rear can be


discerned NAPOLEON, the Imperial Guard, and MILHAUD'S cuirassiers


halted in reserve.


This formidable advance is preceded by swarms of tirailleurs, who


tread down the high wheat, exposing their own men in the rear.


Amid cannonading from both sides they draw nearer to the Prussians,


though lanes are cut through them by the latter's guns. They drive


the Prussians out of Ligny; who, however, rally in the houses,


churchyard, and village green.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


I see unnatural an Monster, loosely jointed,


With an Apocalyptic Being's shape,


And limbs and eyes a hundred thousand strong,


And fifty thousand heads; which coils itself


About the buildings there.


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Thou dost indeed.


It is the Monster Devastation. Watch.


Round the church they fight without quarter, shooting face to face,


stabbing with unfixed bayonets, and braining with the butts of


muskets. The village catches fire, and soon becomes a furnace.


The crash of splitting timbers as doors are broken through, the


curses of the fighters, rise into the air, with shouts of "En


avant!" from the further side of the stream, and "Vorwarts!" from


the nearer.


The battle extends to the west by Le Hameau and Saint-Amand la Haye;


and Ligny becomes invisible under a shroud of smoke.


VOICES [at the base of the mill]


This sun will go down bloodily for us!


The English, sharply sighed for by Prince Blucher,


Cannot appear. Wellington words across


That hosts have set on him at Quatre-Bras,


And leave him not one bayonet to spare!


The truth of this intelligence is apparent. A low dull sound heard


lately from the direction of Quatre-Bras has increased to a roaring


cannonade. The scene abruptly closes.


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE VI}


THE FIELD AT QUATRE-BRAS


[The same day. The view is southward, and the straight gaunt


highway from Brussels [behind the spectator] to Charleroi over


the hills in front, bisects the picture from foreground to


distance. Near at hand, where it is elevated and open, there


crosses it obliquely, at a point called Les Quatre-Bras, another


road which comes from Nivelle, five miles to the gazer's right


rear, and goes to Namur, twenty miles ahead to the left. At a


distance of five or six miles in this latter direction it passes


near the previous scene, Ligny, whence the booming of guns can


be continuously heard.


Between the cross-roads in the centre of the scene and the far


horizon the ground dips into a hollow, on the other side of which


the same straight road to Charleroi is seen climbing the crest,


and over it till out of sight. From a hill on the right hand of


the mid-distance a large wood, the wood of Bossu, reaches up


nearly to the crossways, which give their name to the buildings


thereat, consisting of a few farm-houses and an inn.


About three-quarters of a mile off, nearly hidden by the horizon


towards Charleroi, there is also a farmstead, Gemioncourt; another,


Piraumont, stands on an eminence a mile to the left of it, and


somewhat in front of the Namur road.]


DUMB SHOW


As this scene uncovers the battle is beheld to be raging at its


height, and to have reached a keenly tragic phase. WELLINGTON has


returned from Ligny, and the main British and Hanoverian position,


held by the men who marched out of Brussels in the morning, under


officers who danced the previous night at the Duchess's, is along


the Namur road to the left of the perspective, and round the cross-


road itself. That of the French, under Ney, is on the crests further


back, from which they are descending in imposing numbers. Some


advanced columns are assailing the English left, while through the


smoke-hazes of the middle of the field two lines of skirmishers


are seen firing at each other—the southernmost dark blue, the


northernmost dull red. Time lapses till it is past four o'clock.


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR


The cannonade of the French ordnance-lines


Has now redoubled. Columns new and dense


Of foot, supported by fleet cavalry,


Straightly impinge upon the Brunswick bands


That border the plantation of Bossu.


Above some regiments of the assaulting French


A flag like midnight swims upon the air,


To say no quarter may be looked for there!


The Brunswick soldiery, much notched and torn by the French grape-


shot, now lie in heaps. The DUKE OF BRUNSWICK himself, desperate


to keep them steady, lights his pipe, and rides slowly up and down


in front of his lines previous to the charge which follows.


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR


The French have heaved them on the Brunswickers,


And borne them back. Now comes the Duke's told time.


He gallops at the head of his hussars—


Those men of solemn and appalling guise,


Full-clothed in black, with nodding hearsy plumes,


A shining silver skull and cross of bones


Set upon each, to byspeak his slain sire\dots{}


Concordantly, the expected bullet starts


And finds the living son.


BRUNSWICK reels to the ground. His troops, disheartened, lose their


courage and give way.


The French front columns, and the cavalry supporting them, shout


as they advance. The Allies are forced back upon the English main


position. WELLINGTON is in personal peril for a time, but he escapes


it by a leap of his horse.


A curtain of smoke drops. An interval. The curtain reascends.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


Behold again the Dynasts' gory gear!


Since we regarded, what has progressed here?


RECORDING ANGEL [in recitative]


Musters of English foot and their allies


Came palely panting by the Brussels way,


And, swiftly stationed, checked their counter-braves.


Ney, vexed by lack of like auxiliaries,


Bade then the columned cuirassiers to charge


In all their edged array of weaponcraft.


Yea; thrust replied to thrust, and fire to fire;


The English broke, till Picton prompt to prop them


Sprang with fresh foot-folk from the covering rye.


Next, Pire's cavalry took up the charge\dots{}


And so the action sways. The English left


Is turned at Piraumont; whilst on their right


Perils infest the greenwood of Bossu;


Wellington gazes round with dubious view;


England's long fame in fight seems sepulchered,


And ominous roars swell loudlier Ligny-ward.


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR


New rage has wrenched the battle since thou'st writ;


Hot-hasting succours of light cannonry


Lately come up, relieve the English stress;


Kellermann's cuirassiers, both man and horse


All plated over with the brass of war,


Are rolling on the highway. More brigades


Of British, soiled and sweltering, now are nigh,


Who plunge within the boscage of Bossu;


Where in the hidden shades and sinuous creeps


Life-struggles can be heard, seen but in peeps.


Therewith the foe's accessions harass Ney,


Racked that no needful d'Erlon darks the way!


Inch by inch NEY has to draw off: WELLINGTON promptly advances. At


dusk NEY'S army finds itself back at Frasnes, where he meets D'ERLON


coming up to his assistance, too late.


The weary English and their allies, who have been on foot ever since


one o'clock the previous morning, prepare to bivouac in front of the


cross-roads. Their fires flash up for a while; and by and by the


dead silence of heavy sleep hangs over them. WELLINGTON goes into


his tent, and the night darkens.


A Prussian courier from Ligny enters, who is conducted into the tent


to WELLINGTON.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


What tidings can a courier bring that count


Here, where such mighty things are native born?


RECORDING ANGEL [in recitative]


The fury of the tumult there begun


Scourged quivering Ligny through the afternoon:


Napoleon's great intent grew substantive,


And on the Prussian pith and pulse he bent


His foretimed blow. Blucher, to butt the shock,


Called up his last reserves, and heading on,


With blade high brandished by his aged arm,


Spurred forward his white steed. But they, outspent,


Failed far to follow. Darkness coped the sky,


And storm, and rain with thunder. Yet once more


He cheered them on to charge. His horse, the while,


Pierced by a bullet, fell on him it bore.


He, trampled, bruised, faint, and in disarray


Dragged to another mount, was led away.


His ragged lines withdraw from sight and sound,


And their assailants camp upon the ground.


The scene shuts with midnight.


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE VII}


BRUSSELS. THE PLACE ROYALE


[The same night, dark and sultry. A crowd of citizens throng the


broad Place. They gaze continually down the Rue de Namur, along


which arrive minute by minute carts and waggons laden with wounded


men. Other wounded limp into the city on foot. At much greater


speed enter fugitive soldiers from the miscellaneous contingents


of WELLINGTON'S army at Quatre-Bras, who gesticulate and explain


to the crowd that all is lost and that the French will soon be in


Brussels.


Baggage-carts and carriages, with and without horses, stand before


an hotel, surrounded by a medley of English and other foreign


nobility and gentry with their valets and maids. Bulletins from


the battlefield are affixed on the corner of the Place, and people


peer at them by the dim oil lights.


A rattle of hoofs reaches the ears, entering the town by the same


Namur gate. The riders disclose themselves to be Belgian hussars,


also from the field.]


SEVERAL HUSSARS


The French approach! Wellington is beaten. Bonaparte is at our heels.


[Consternation reaches a climax. Horses are hastily put-to at the


hotel: people crowd into the carriages and try to drive off. They


get jammed together and hemmed in by the throng. Unable to move


they quarrel and curse despairingly in sundry tongues.]


BARON CAPELLEN


Affix the new bulletin. It is a more assuring one, and may quiet


them a little.


[A new bulletin is nailed over the old one.]


MAYOR


Good people, calm yourselves. No victory has been won by Bonaparte.


The noise of guns heard all the afternoon became fainter towards the


end, showing beyond doubt that the retreat was away from the city.


A CITIZEN


The French are said to be forty thousand strong at Les Quatre-Bras,


and no forty thousand British marched out against them this morning!


ANOTHER CITIZEN


And it is whispered that the city archives and the treasure-chest


have been sent to Antwerp!


MAYOR


Only as a precaution. No good can be gained by panic. Sixty or


seventy thousand of the Allies, all told, face Napoleon at this


hour. Meanwhile who is to attend to the wounded that are being


brought in faster and faster? Fellow-citizens, do your duty by


these unfortunates, and believe me that when engaged in such an


act of mercy no enemy will hurt you.


CITIZENS


What can we do?


MAYOR


I invite all those who have such, to bring mattresses, sheets, and


coverlets to the Hotel de Ville, also old linen and lint from the


houses of the cures.


[Many set out on this errand. An interval. Enter a courier, who


speaks to the MAYOR and the BARON CAPELLEN.]


BARON CAPELLEN [to Mayor]


Better inform them immediately, to prevent a panic.


MAYOR [to Citizens]


I grieve to tell you that the Duke of Brunswick, whom you saw ride


out this morning, was killed this afternoon at Les Quatre-Bras. A


musket-ball passed through his bridle-hand and entered his belly.


His body is now arriving. Carry yourselves gravely.


[A lane is formed in the crowd in the direction of the Rue de


Namur; they wait. Presently an extemporized funeral procession,


with the body of the DUKE on a gun-carriage, and a small escort


of Brunswickers with carbines reversed, comes slowly up the


street, their silver death's-heads shining in the lamplight.


The agitation of the citizens settles into a silent gloom as


the mournful train passes.]


MAYOR [to Baron Capellen]


I noticed the strange look of prepossession on his face at the ball


last night, as if he knew what was going to be.


BARON CAPELLEN


The Duchess mentioned it to me\dots{} He hated the French, if any


man ever did, and so did his father before him! Here comes the


English Colonel Hamilton, straight from the field. He will give


us trustworthy particulars.


[Enter COLONEL HAMILTON by the Rue de Namur. He converses with


the MAYOR and the BARON on the issue of the struggle.]


MAYOR


Now I will go the Hotel de Ville, and get it ready for those wounded


who can find no room in private houses.


[Exeunt MAYOR, CAPELLEN, D'URSEL, HAMILTON, etc. severally. Many


citizens descend in the direction of the Hotel de Ville to assist.


Those who remain silently watch the carts bringing in the wounded


till a late hour. The doors of houses in the Place and elsewhere


are kept open, and the rooms within lighted, in expectation of


more arrivals from the field. A courier gallops up, who is accosted


by idlers.]


COURIER [hastily]


The Prussians are defeated at Ligny by Napoleon in person. He will


be here to-morrow.


[Exit courier.]


FIRST IDLER


The devil! Then I am for welcoming him. No Antwerp for me!


OTHER IDLERS [sotto voce]


Vive l'Empereur!


[A warm summer fog from the Lower Town covers the Parc and the


Place Royale.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE VIII}


THE ROAD TO WATERLOO


[The view is now from Quatre-Bras backward along the road by


which the English arrived. Diminishing in a straight line from


the foreground to the centre of the distance it passes over Mont


Saint-Jean and through Waterloo to Brussels.


It is now tinged by a moving mass of English and Allied infantry,


in retreat to a new position at Mont Saint-Jean. The sun shines


brilliantly upon the foreground as yet, but towards Waterloo and


the Forest of Soignes on the north horizon it is overcast with


black clouds which are steadily advancing up the sky.


To mask the retreat the English outposts retain their position


on the battlefield in the face of NEY'S troops, and keep up a


desultory firing: the cavalry for the same reason remain, being


drawn up in lines beside the intersecting Namur road.


Enter WELLINGTON, UXBRIDGE [who is in charge of the cavalry],


MUFFLING, VIVIAN, and others. They look through their field-


glasses towards Frasnes, NEY'S position since his retreat


yesternight, and also towards NAPOLEON'S at Ligny.]


WELLINGTON


The noonday sun, striking so strongly there,


Makes mirrors of their arms. That they advance


Their glowing radiance shows. Those gleams by Marbais


Suggest fixed bayonets.


UXBRIDGE


Vivian's glass reveals


That they are cuirassiers. Ney's troops, too, near


At last, methinks, along this other road.


WELLINGTON


One thing is sure: that here the whole French force


Schemes to unite and sharply follow us.


It formulates our fence. The cavalry


Must linger here no longer; but recede


To Mont Saint-Jean, as rearguard of the foot.


From the intelligence that Gordon brings


Tis pretty clear old Blucher had to take


A damned good drubbing yesterday at Ligny,


And has been bent hard back! So that, for us,


Bound to the plighted plan, there is no choice


But do like\dots{} No doubt they'll say at home


That we've been well thrashed too. It can't be helped,


They must!\dots{} [He looks round at the sky.] A heavy rainfall


threatens us,


To make it all the worse!


[The speaker and his staff ride off along the Brussels road in


the rear of the infantry, and UXBRIDGE begins the retreat of the


cavalry. CAPTAIN MERCER enters with a light battery.]


MERCER [excitedly]


Look back, my lord;


Is it not Bonaparte himself we see


Upon the road I have come by?


UXBRIDGE [looking through glass]


Yes, by God;


His face as clear-cut as the edge of a cloud


The sun behind shows up! His suite and all!


Fire—fire! And aim you well.


[The battery makes ready and fires.]


No! It won't do.


He brings on mounted ordnance of his Guard,


So we're in danger here. Then limber up,


And off as soon as may be.


[The English artillery and cavalry retreat at full speed, just as


the weather bursts, with flashes of lightning and drops of rain.


They all clatter off along the Brussels road, UXBRIDGE and his


aides galloping beside the column; till no British are left at


Quatre-Bras except the slain.


The focus of the scene follows the retreating English army, the


highway and its and margins panoramically gliding past the vision


of the spectator. The phantoms chant monotonously while the retreat


goes on.]


CHORUS OF RUMOURS [aerial music]


Day's nether hours advance; storm supervenes


In heaviness unparalleled, that screens


With water-woven gauzes, vapour-bred,


The creeping clumps of half-obliterate red—


Severely harassed past each round and ridge


By the inimical lance. They gain the bridge


And village of Genappe, in equal fence


With weather and the enemy's violence.


—Cannon upon the foul and flooded road,


Cavalry in the cornfields mire-bestrowed,


With frothy horses floundering to their knees,


Make wayfaring a moil of miseries!


Till Britishry and Bonapartists lose


Their clashing colours for the tawny hues


That twilight sets on all its stealing tinct imbues.


[The rising ground of Mont Saint-Jean, in front of Waterloo,


is gained by the English vanguard and main masses of foot, and


by degrees they are joined by the cavalry and artillery. The


French are but little later in taking up their position amid


the cornfields around La Belle Alliance.


Fires begin to shine up from the English bivouacs. Camp kettles


are slung, and the men pile arms and stand round the blaze to dry


themselves. The French opposite lie down like dead men in the


dripping green wheat and rye, without supper and without fire.


By and by the English army also lies down, the men huddling


together on the ploughed mud in their wet blankets, while some


sleep sitting round the dying fires.]


CHORUS OF THE YEARS [aerial music]


The eyelids of eve fall together at last,


And the forms so foreign to field and tree


Lie down as though native, and slumber fast!


CHORUS OF THE PITIES


Sore are the thrills of misgiving we see


In the artless champaign at this harlequinade,


Distracting a vigil where calm should be!


The green seems opprest, and the Plain afraid


Of a Something to come, whereof these are the proofs,—


Neither earthquake, nor storm, nor eclipses's shade!


CHORUS OF THE YEARS


Yea, the coneys are scared by the thud of hoofs,


And their white scuts flash at their vanishing heels,


And swallows abandon the hamlet-roofs.


The mole's tunnelled chambers are crushed by wheels,


The lark's eggs scattered, their owners fled;


And the hedgehog's household the sapper unseals.


The snail draws in at the terrible tread,


But in vain; he is crushed by the felloe-rim


The worm asks what can be overhead,


And wriggles deep from a scene so grim,


And guesses him safe; for he does not know


What a foul red flood will be soaking him!


Beaten about by the heel and toe


Are butterflies, sick of the day's long rheum,


To die of a worse than the weather-foe.


Trodden and bruised to a miry tomb


Are ears that have greened but will never be gold,


And flowers in the bud that will never bloom.


CHORUS OF THE PITIES


So the season's intent, ere its fruit unfold,


Is frustrate, and mangled, and made succumb,


Like a youth of promise struck stark and cold!\dots{}


And what of these who to-night have come?


CHORUS OF THE YEARS


The young sleep sound; but the weather awakes


In the veterans, pains from the past that numb;


Old stabs of Ind, old Peninsular aches,


Old Friedland chills, haunt their moist mud bed,


Cramps from Austerlitz; till their slumber breaks.


CHORUS OF SINISTER SPIRITS


And each soul shivers as sinks his head


On the loam he's to lease with the other dead


From to-morrow's mist-fall till Time be sped!


[The fires of the English go out, and silence prevails, save


for the soft hiss of the rain that falls impartially on both


the sleeping armies.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{ACT SEVENTH}


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE I}


THE FIELD OF WATERLOO


[An aerial view of the battlefield at the time of sunrise is


disclosed.


The sky is still overcast, and rain still falls. A green


expanse, almost unbroken, of rye, wheat, and clover, in oblong


and irregular patches undivided by fences, covers the undulating


ground, which sinks into a shallow valley between the French and


English positions. The road from Brussels to Charleroi runs like


a spit through both positions, passing at the back of the English


into the leafy forest of Soignes.


The latter are turning out from their bivouacs. They move stiffly


from their wet rest, and hurry to and fro like ants in an ant-hill.


The tens of thousands of moving specks are largely of a brick-red


colour, but the foreign contingent is darker.


Breakfasts are cooked over smoky fires of green wood. Innumerable


groups, many in their shirt-sleeves, clean their rusty firelocks,


drawing or exploding the charges, scrape the mud from themselves,


and pipeclay from their cross-belts the red dye washed off their


jackets by the rain.


At six o'clock, they parade, spread out, and take up their positions


in the line of battle, the front of which extends in a wavy riband


three miles long, with three projecting bunches at Hougomont, La


Haye Sainte, and La Haye.


Looking across to the French positions we observe that after


advancing in dark streams from where they have passed the night


they, too, deploy and wheel into their fighting places—figures


with red epaulettes and hairy knapsacks, their arms glittering


like a display of cutlery at a hill-side fair.


They assume three concentric lines of crescent shape, that converge


on the English midst, with great blocks of the Imperial Guard at


the back of them. The rattle of their drums, their fanfarades,


and their bands playing "Veillons au salut de l'Empire" contrast


with the quiet reigning on the English side.


A knot of figures, comprising WELLINGTON with a suite of general


and other staff-officers, ride backwards and forwards in front


of the English lines, where each regimental colour floats in the


hands of the junior ensign. The DUKE himself, now a man of forty-


six, is on his bay charger Copenhagen, in light pantaloons, a


small plumeless hat, and a blue cloak, which shows its white


lining when blown back.


On the French side, too, a detached group creeps along the front


in preliminary survey. BONAPARTE—also forty-six—in a grey


overcoat, is mounted on his white arab Marengo, and accompanied


by SOULT, NEY, JEROME, DROUOT, and other marshals. The figures


of aides move to and fro like shuttle-cocks between the group


and distant points in the field. The sun has begun to gleam.]


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


Discriminate these, and what they are,


Who stand so stalwartly to war.


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Report, ye Rumourers of things near and far.


SEMICHORUS I OF RUMOURS [chanting]


Sweep first the Frenchmen's leftward lines along,


And eye the peaceful panes of Hougomont—


That seemed to hold prescriptive right of peace


In fee from Time till Time itself should cease!—


Jarred now by Reille's fierce foot-divisions three,


Flanked on their left by Pire's cavalry.—


The fourfold corps of d'Erlon, spread at length,


Compose the right, east of the famed chaussee—


The shelterless Charleroi-and-Brussels way,—


And Jacquinot's alert light-steeded strength


Still further right, their sharpened swords display.


Thus stands the first line.


SEMICHORUS II


Next behind its back


Comes Count Lobau, left of the Brussels track;


Then Domon's horse, the horse of Subervie;


Kellermann's cuirassed troopers twinkle-tipt,


And, backing d'Erlon, Milhaud's horse, equipt


Likewise in burnished steelwork sunshine-dipt:


So ranks the second line refulgently.


SEMICHORUS I


The third and last embattlement reveals


D'Erlon's, Lobau's, and Reille's foot-cannoniers,


And horse-drawn ordnance too, on massy wheels,


To strike with cavalry where space appears.


SEMICHORUS II


The English front, to left, as flanking force,


Has Vandeleur's hussars, and Vivian's horse;


Next them pace Picton's rows along the crest;


The Hanoverian foot-folk; Wincke; Best;


Bylandt's brigade, set forward fencelessly,


Pack's northern clansmen, Kempt's tough infantry,


With gaiter, epaulet, spat, and \{philibeg\};


While Halkett, Ompteda, and Kielmansegge


Prolong the musters, near whose forward edge


Baring invests the Farm of Holy Hedge.


SEMICHORUS I


Maitland and Byng in Cooke's division range,


And round dun Hougomont's old lichened sides


A dense array of watching Guardsmen hides


Amid the peaceful produce of the grange,


Whose new-kerned apples, hairy gooseberries green,


And mint, and thyme, the ranks intrude between.—


Last, westward of the road that finds Nivelles,


Duplat draws up, and Adam parallel.


SEMICHORUS II


The second British line—embattled horse—


Holds the reverse slopes, screened, in ordered course;


Dornberg's, and Arentsschildt's, and Colquhoun-Grant's,


And left of them, behind where Alten plants


His regiments, come the "Household" Cavalry;


And nigh, in Picton's rear, the trumpets call


The "Union" brigade of Ponsonby.


Behind these the reserves. In front of all,


Or interspaced, with slow-matched gunners manned,


Upthroated rows of threatful ordnance stand.


[The clock of Nivelles convent church strikes eleven in the


distance. Shortly after, coils of starch-blue smoke burst into


being along the French lines, and the English batteries respond


promptly, in an ominous roar that can be heard at Antwerp.


A column from the French left, six thousand strong, advances on


the plantation in front of the chateau of Hougomont. They are


played upon by the English ordnance; but they enter the wood,


and dislodge some battalions there. The French approach the


buildings, but are stopped by a loop-holed wall with a mass of


English guards behind it. A deadly fire bursts from these through


the loops and over the summit.


NAPOLEON orders a battery of howitzers to play upon the building.


Flames soon burst from it; but the foot-guards still hold the


courtyard.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE II}


THE SAME. THE FRENCH POSITION


[On a hillock near the farm of Rossomme a small table from the


farmhouse has been placed; maps are spread thereon, and a chair


is beside it. NAPOLEON, SOULT, and other marshals are standing


round, their horses waiting at the base of the slope.


NAPOLEON looks through his glass at Hougomont. His elevated face


makes itself distinct in the morning light as a gloomy resentful


countenance, blue-black where shaven, and stained with snuff, with


powderings of the same on the breast of his uniform. His stumpy


figure, being just now thrown back, accentuates his stoutness.]


NAPOLEON


Let Reille be warned that these his surly sets


On Hougomont chateau, can scarce defray


Their mounting bill of blood. They do not touch


The core of my intent—to pierce and roll


The centre upon the right of those opposed.


Thereon will turn the outcome of the day,


In which our odds are ninety to their ten!


SOULT


Yes—prove there time and promptitude enough


To call back Grouchy here. Of his approach


I see no sign.


NAPOLEON [roughly]


Hours past he was bid come.


—But naught imports it! We are enough without him.


You have been beaten by this Wellington,


And so you think him great. But let me teach you


Wellington is no foe to reckon with.


His army, too, is poor. This clash to-day


Is more serious for our seasoned files


Than breakfasting.


SOULT


Such is my earnest hope.


NAPOLEON


Observe that Wellington still labours on,


Stoutening his right behind Gomont chateau,


But leaves his left and centre as before—


Weaker, if anything. He plays our game!


[WELLINGTON can, in fact, be seen detaching from his main line


several companies of Guards to check the aims of the French on


Hougomont.]


Let me re-word my tactics. Ney leads off


By seizing Mont Saint-Jean. Then d'Erlon stirs,


And heaves up his division from the left.


The second corps will move abreast of him


The sappers nearing to entrench themselves


Within the aforesaid farm.


[Enter an aide-de-camp.]


AIDE


From Marshal Ney,


Sire, I bring hasty word that all is poised


To strike the vital stroke, and only waits


Your Majesty's command,


NAPOLEON


Which he shall have


When I have scanned the hills for Grouchy's helms.


[NAPOLEON turns his glass to an upland four or five miles off on


the right, known as St. Lambert's Chapel Hill. Gazing more and


more intently, he takes rapid pinches of snuff in excitement.


NEY'S columns meanwhile standing for the word to advance, eighty


guns being ranged in front of La Belle Alliance in support of them.]


I see a darkly crawling, slug-like shape


Embodying far out there,—troops seemingly—


Grouchy's van-guard. What think you?


SOULT [also examining closely]


Verily troops;


And, maybe, Grouchy's. But the air is hazed.


NAPOLEON


If troops at all, they are Grouchy's. Why misgive,


And force on ills you fear!


ANOTHER MARSHAL


It seems a wood.


Trees don bold outlines in their new-leafed pride.


ANOTHER MARSHAL


It is the creeping shadow from a cloud.


ANOTHER MARSHAL


It is a mass of stationary foot;


I can descry piled arms.


[NAPOLEON sends off the order for NEY'S attack—the grand assault


on the English midst, including the farm of La Haye Sainte. It


opens with a half-hour's thunderous discharge of artillery, which


ceases at length to let d'Erlon's infantry pass.


Four huge columns of these, shouting defiantly, push forwards in


face of the reciprocal fire from the cannon of the English. Their


effrontery carries them so near the Anglo-Allied lines that the


latter waver. But PICTON brings up PACK'S brigade, before which


the French in turn recede, though they make an attempt in La Haye


Sainte, whence BARING'S Germans pour a resolute fire.


WELLINGTON, who is seen afar as one of a group standing by a


great elm, orders OMPTEDA to send assistance to BARING, as may


be gathered from the darting of aides to and fro between the


points, like house-flies dancing their quadrilles.


East of the great highway the right columns of D'ERLON'S corps


have climbed the slopes. BYLANDT'S sorely exposed Dutch are


broken, and in their flight disorder the ranks of the English


Twenty-eighth, the Carabineers of the Ninety-fifth being also


dislodged from the sand-pit they occupied.]


NAPOLEON


All prospers marvellously! Gomont is hemmed;


La Haye Sainte too; their centre jeopardized;


Travers and d'Erlon dominate the crest,


And further strength of foot is following close.


Their troops are raw; the flower of England's force


That fought in Spain, America now holds.—


[SIR TOMAS PICTON, seeing what is happening orders KEMPT'S


brigade forward. It volleys murderously DONZELOT'S columns


of D'ERLON'S corps, and repulses them. As they recede PICTON


is beheld shouting an order to charge.]


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR


I catch a voice that cautions Picton now


Against his rashness. "What the hell care I,—


Is my curst carcase worth a moment's mind?—


Come on!" he answers. Onwardly he goes!


[His tall, stern, saturnine figure with its bronzed complexion is


on nearer approach discerned heading the charge. As he advances


to the slope between the cross-roads and the sand-pit, riding very


conspicuously, he falls dead, a bullet in his forehead. His aide,


assisted by a soldier, drags the body beneath a tree and hastens


on. KEMPT takes his command.


Next MARCOGNET is repulsed by PACK'S brigade. D'ERLON'S infantry


and TRAVERS'S cuirassiers are charged by the Union Brigade of


Scotch Greys, Royal Dragoons, and Inniskillens, and cut down


everywhere, the brigade following them so furiously the LORD


UXBRIDGE tries in vain to recall it. On its coming near the


French it is overwhelmed by MILHAUD'S cuirassiers, scarcely a


fifth of the brigade returning.


An aide enters to NAPOLEON from GENERAL DOMON.]


AIDE


The General, on a far reconnaissance,


Says, sire, there is no room for longer doubt


That those debouching on St. Lambert's Hill


Are Prussian files.


NAPOLEON


Then where is General Grouchy?


[Enter COLONEL MARBOT with a prisoner.]


Aha—a Prussian, too! How comes he here?


MARBOT


Sire, my hussars have captured him near Lasnes—


A subaltern of the Silesian Horse.


A note from Bulow to Lord Wellington,


Announcing that a Prussian corps is close,


Was found on him. He speaks our language, sire.


NAPOLEON [to prisoner]


What force looms yonder on St. Lambert's Hill?


PRISONER


General Count Bulow's van, your Majesty.


[A thoughtful scowl crosses NAPOLEONS'S sallow face.]


NAPOLEON


Where, then, did your main army lie last night?


PRISONER


At Wavre.


NAPOLEON


But clashed it with no Frenchmen there?


PRISONER


With none. We deemed they had marched on Plancenoit.


NAPOLEON [shortly]


Take him away. [The prisoner is removed.] Has Grouchy's whereabouts


Been sought, to apprize him of this Prussian trend?


SOULT


Certainly, sire. I sent a messenger.


NAPOLEON [bitterly]


A messenger! Had my poor Berthier been here


Six would have insufficed! Now then: seek Ney;


Bid him to sling the valour of his braves


Fiercely on England ere Count Bulow come;


And advertize the succours on the hill


As Grouchy's. [Aside] This is my one battle-chance;


The Allies have many such! [To SOULT] If Bulow nears,


He cannot join in time to share the fight.


And if he could, 'tis but a corps the more\dots{}


This morning we had ninety chances ours,


We have threescore still. If Grouchy but retrieve


His fault of absence, conquest comes with eve!


[The scene shifts.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE III}


SAINT LAMBERT'S CHAPEL HILL


[A hill half-way between Wavre and the fields of Waterloo, five


miles to the north-east of the scene preceding. The hill is


wooded, with some open land around. To the left of the scene,


towards Waterloo, is a valley.]


DUMB SHOW


Marching columns in Prussian uniforms, coming from the direction of


Wavre, debouch upon the hill from the road through the wood.


They are the advance-guard and two brigades of Bulow's corps, that


have been joined there by BLUCHER. The latter has just risen from


the bed to which he has been confined since the battle of Ligny,


two days back. He still looks pale and shaken by the severe fall


and trampling he endured near the end of the action.


On the summit the troops halt, and a discussion between BLUCHER and


his staff ensues.


The cannonade in the direction of Waterloo is growing more and more


violent. BLUCHER, after looking this way and that, decides to fall


upon the French right at Plancenoit as soon as he can get there,


which will not be yet.


Between this point and that the ground descends steeply to the


valley on the spectator's left, where there is a mud-bottomed


stream, the Lasne; the slope ascends no less abruptly on the other


side towards Plancenoit. It is across this defile alone that the


Prussian army can proceed thither- a route of unusual difficulty


for artillery; where, moreover, the enemy is suspected of having


placed a strong outpost during the night to intercept such an


approach.


A figure goes forward—that of MAJOR FALKENHAUSEN, who is sent to


reconnoitre, and they wait a tedious time, the firing at Waterloo


growing more tremendous. FALKENHAUSEN comes back with the welcome


news that no outpost is there.


There now remains only the difficulty of the defile itself; and the


attempt is made. BLUCHER is descried riding hither and thither as


the guns drag heavily down the slope into the muddy bottom of the


valley. Here the wheels get stuck, and the men already tired by


marching since five in the morning, seem inclined to leave the guns


where they are. But the thunder from Waterloo still goes on, BLUCHER


exhorts his men by words and eager gestures, and they do at length


get the guns across, though with much loss of time.


The advance-guard now reaches some thick trees called the Wood of


Paris. It is followed by the LOSTHIN and HILLER divisions of foot,


and in due course by the remainder of the two brigades. Here they


halt, and await the arrival of the main body of BULOW'S corps, and


the third corps under THIELEMANN.


The scene shifts.


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE IV}


THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. THE ENGLISH POSITION


[WELLINGTON, on Copenhagen, is again under the elm-tree behind La


Haye Sainte. Both horse and rider are covered with mud-splashes,


but the weather having grown finer the DUKE has taken off his cloak.


UXBRIDGE, FITZROY SOMERSET, CLINTON, ALTEN, COLVILLE, DE LANCEY,


HERVEY, GORDON, and other of his staff officers and aides are


near him; there being also present GENERALS MUFFLING, HUGEL, and


ALAVA; also TYLER, PICTON'S aide. The roar of battle continues.]


WELLINGTON


I am grieved at losing Picton; more than grieved.


He was as grim a devil as ever lived,


And roughish-mouthed withal. But never a man


More stout in fight, more stoical in blame!


TYLER


Before he left for this campaign he said,


"When you shall hear of MY death, mark my words,


You'll hear of a bloody day! and, on my soul,"


Tis true.


[Enter another aide-de-camp.]


AIDE


Sir William Ponsonby, my lords, has fallen.


His horse got mud-stuck in a new-plowed plot,


Lancers surrounded him and bore him down,


And six then ran him through. The occasion sprung


Mainly from the Brigade's too reckless rush,


Sheer to the French front line.


WELLINGTON [gravely]


Ah—so it comes!


The Greys were bound to pay—'tis always so—


Full dearly for their dash so far afield.


Valour unballasted but lands its freight


On the enemy's shore.—What has become of Hill?


AIDE


We have not seen him latterly, your Grace.


WELLINGTON


By God, I hope I haven't lost him, too?


BRIDGMAN [just come up]


Lord Hill's bay charger, being shot dead, your Grace,


Rolled over him in falling. He is bruised,


But hopes to be in place again betimes.


WELLINGTON


Praise Fate for thinking better of that frown!


[It is now nearing four o'clock. La Haye Sainte is devastated by


the second attack of NEY. The farm has been enveloped by DONZELOT'S


division, its garrison, the King's German Legion, having fought


till all ammunition was exhausted. The gates are forced open, and


in the retreat of the late defenders to the main Allied line they


are nearly all cut or shot down.]


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


O Farm of sad vicissitudes and strange!


Farm of the Holy Hedge, yet fool of change!


Whence lit so sanct a name on thy now violate grange?


WELLINGTON [to Muffling, resolutely]


Despite their fierce advantage here, I swear


By every God that war can call upon


To hold our present place at any cost,


Until your force cooperate with our lines!


To that I stand; although 'tis bruited now


That Bulow's corps has only reached Ohain.


I've sent Freemantle hence to seek them there,


And give them inkling we shall need them soon.


MUFFLING [looking at his watch]


I had hoped that Blucher would be here ere this.


[The staff turn their glasses on the French position.]


UXBRIDGE


What movement can it be they contemplate?


WELLINGTON


A shock of cavalry on the hottest scale,


It seems to me\dots{} [To aide] Bid him to reinforce


The front line with some second-line brigades;


Some, too, from the reserve.


[The Brunswickers advance to support MAITLAND'S Guards, and the


MITCHELL and ADAM Brigades establish themselves above Hougomont,


which is still in flames.


NEY, in continuation of the plan of throwing his whole force


on the British centre before the advent of the Prussians, now


intensifies his onslaught with the cavalry. Terrific discharges


of artillery initiate it to clear the ground. A heavy round-


shot dashes through the tree over the heads of WELLINGTON and


his generals, and boughs and leaves come flying down on them.]


WELLINGTON


Good practice that! I vow they did not fire


So dexterously in Spain. [He calls up an aide.] Bid Ompteda


Direct the infantry to lie tight down


On the reverse ridge-slope, to screen themselves


While these close shots and shells are teasing us;


When the charge comes they'll cease.


[The order is carried out. NEY'S cavalry attack now matures.


MILHAUD'S cuirassiers in twenty-four squadrons advance down the


opposite decline, followed and supported by seven squadrons of


chasseurs under DESNOETTES. They disappear for a minute in the


hollow between the armies.]


UXBRIDGE


Ah—now we have got their long-brewed plot explained!


WELLINGTON [nodding]


That this was rigged for some picked time to-day


I had inferred. But that it would be risked


Sheer on our lines, while still they stand unswayed,


In conscious battle-trim, I reckoned not.


It looks a madman's cruel enterprise!


FITZROY SOMERSET


We have just heard that Ney embarked on it


Without an order, ere its aptness riped.


WELLINGTON


It may be so: he's rash. And yet I doubt.


I know Napoleon. If the onset fail


It will be Ney's; if it succeed he'll claim it!


[A dull reverberation of the tread of innumerable hoofs comes


from behind the hill, and the foremost troops rise into view.]


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


Behold the gorgeous coming of those horse,


Accoutered in kaleidoscopic hues


That would persuade us war has beauty in it!—


Discern the troopers' mien; each with the air


Of one who is himself a tragedy:


The cuirassiers, steeled, mirroring the day;


Red lancers, green chasseurs: behind the blue


The red; the red before the green:


A lingering-on till late in Christendom,


Of the barbaric trick to terrorize


The foe by aspect!


[WELLINGTON directs his glass to an officer in a rich uniform


with many decorations on his breast, who rides near the front


of the approaching squadrons. The DUKE'S face expresses


admiration.]


WELLINGTON


It's Marshal Ney himself who heads the charge.


The finest cavalry commander, he,


That wears a foreign plume; ay, probably


The whole world through!


SPIRIT IRONIC


And when that matchless chief


Sentenced shall lie to ignominious death


But technically deserved, no finger he


Who speaks will lift to save him.!


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


To his shame.


We must discount war's generous impulses


I sadly see.


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Be mute, and let spin on


This whirlwind of the Will!


[As NEY'S cavalry ascends the English position the swish of the


horses' breasts through the standing corn can be heard, and the


reverberation of hoofs increases in strength. The English gunners


stand with their portfires ready, which are seen glowing luridly


in the daylight. There is comparative silence.]


A VOICE


Now, captains, are you loaded?


CAPTAINS


Yes, my lord.


VOICE


Point carefully, and wait till their whole height


Shows above the ridge.


[When the squadrons rise in full view, within sixty yards of the


cannon-mouths, the batteries fire, with a concussion that shakes


the hill itself. Their shot punch holes through the front ranks


of the cuirassiers, and horse and riders fall in heaps. But they


are not stopped, hardly checked, galloping up to the mouths of the


guns, passing between the pieces, and plunging among the Allied


infantry behind the ridge, who, with the advance of the horsemen,


have sprung up from their prone position and formed into squares.]


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR


Ney guides the fore-front of the carabineers


Through charge and charge, with rapid recklessness.


Horses, cuirasses, sabres, helmets, men,


Impinge confusedly on the pointed prongs


Of the English kneeling there, whose dim red shapes


Behind their slanted steel seem trampled flat


And sworded to the sward. The charge recedes,


And lo, the tough lines rank there as before,


Save that they are shrunken.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


Hero of heroes, too,


Ney, [not forgetting those who gird against him].—


Simple and single-souled lieutenant he;


Why should men's many-valued motions take


So barbarous a groove!


[The cuirassiers and lancers surge round the English and Allied


squares like waves, striking furiously on them and well-nigh


breaking them. They stand in dogged silence amid the French


cheers.]


WELLINGTON [to the nearest square]


Hard pounding this, my men! I truly trust


You'll pound the longest!


SQUARE


Hip-hip-hip-hurrah!


MUFFLING [again referring to his watch]


However firmly they may stand, in faith,


Their firmness must have bounds to it, because


There are bounds to human strength!\dots{} Your, Grace,


To leftward now, to spirit Zieten on.


WELLINGTON


Good. It is time! I think he well be late,


However, in the field.


[MUFFLING goes. Enter an aide, breathless.]


AIDE


Your Grace, the Ninety-fifth are patience-spent


With standing under fire so passing long.


They writhe to charge—or anything but stand!


WELLINGTON


Not yet. They shall have at 'em later on.


At present keep them firm.


[Exit aide. The Allied squares stand like little red-brick castles,


independent of each other, and motionless except at the dry hurried


command "Close up!" repeated every now and then as they are slowly


thinned. On the other hand, under their firing and bayonets a


disorder becomes apparent among the charging horse, on whose


cuirasses the bullets snap like stones on window-panes. At this


the Allied cavalry waiting in the rear advance; and by degrees they


deliver the squares from their enemies, who are withdrawn to their


own position to prepare for a still more strenuous assault. The


point of view shifts.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE V}


THE SAME. THE WOMEN'S CAMP NEAR MONT SAINT-JEAN


[On the sheltered side of a clump of trees at the back of the


English position camp-fires are smouldering. Soldiers' wives,


mistresses, and children from a few months to five or six years


of age, sit on the ground round the fires or on armfuls of straw


from the adjoining farm. Wounded soldiers lie near the women.


The wind occasionally brings the smoke and smell of battle into


the encampment, the noise being continuous. Two waggons stand


near; also a surgeon's horse in charge of a batman, laden with


bone-saws, knives, probes, tweezers, and other surgical instruments.


Behind lies a woman who has just given birth to a child, which a


second woman is holding.


Many of the other women are shredding lint, the elder children


assisting. Some are dressing the slighter wounds of the soldiers


who have come in here instead of going further. Along the road


near is a continual procession of bearers of wounded men to the


rear. The occupants of the camp take hardly any notice of the


thundering of the cannon. A camp-follower is playing a fiddle


near. Another woman enters.]


WOMAN


There's no sign of my husband any longer. His battalion is half-a-


mile from where it was. He looked back as they wheeled off towards


the fighting-line, as much as to say, "Nancy, if I don't see 'ee


again, this is good-bye, my dear." Yes, poor man!\dots{} Not but


what 'a had a temper at times!


SECOND WOMAN


I'm out of all that. My husband—as I used to call him for form's


sake—is quiet enough. He was wownded at Quarter-Brass the day


before yesterday, and died the same night. But I didn't know it


till I got here, and then says I, "Widder or no widder, I mean to


see this out."


[A sergeant staggers in with blood dropping from his face.]


SERGEANT


Damned if I think you will see it out, mis'ess, for if I don't


mistake there'll be a retreat of the whole army on Brussels soon.


We can't stand much longer!—For the love of God, have ye got a


cup of water, if nothing stronger? [They hand a cup.]


THIRD WOMAN [entering and sinking down]


The Lord send that I may never see again what I've been seeing while


looking for my poor galliant Joe! The surgeon asked me to lend a


hand; and 'twas worse than opening innerds at a pig-killing! [She


faints.]


FOURTH WOMAN [to a little girl]


Never mind her, my dear; come and help me with this one. [She goes


with the girl to a soldier in red with buff facings who lies some


distance off.] Ah—'tis no good. He's gone.


GIRL


No, mother. His eyes are wide open, a-staring to get a sight of


the battle!


FOURTH WOMAN


That's nothing. Lots of dead ones stare in that silly way. It


depends upon where they were hit. I was all through the Peninsula;


that's how I know. [She covers the horny gaze of the man. Shouts


and louder discharges are heard.]—Heaven's high tower, what's that?


[Enter an officer's servant.[24]]


SERVANT


Waiting with the major's spare hoss—up to my knees in mud from


the rain that had come down like baccy-pipe stems all the night


and morning—I have just seen a charge never beholded since the


days of the Amalekites! The squares still stand, but Ney's cavalry


have made another attack. Their swords are streaming with blood,


and their horses' hoofs squash out our poor fellow's bowels as they


lie. A ball has sunk in Sir Thomas Picton's forehead and killed him


like Goliath the Philistine. I don't see what's to stop the French.


Well, it's the Lord's doing and marvellous in our eyes. Hullo,


who's he? [They look towards the road.] A fine hale old gentleman,


isn't he? What business has a man of that sort here?


[Enter, on the highway near, the DUKE OF RICHMOND in plain clothes,


on horseback, accompanied by two youths, his sons. They draw


rein on an eminence, and gaze towards the battlefields.]


RICHMOND [to son]


Everything looks as bad as possible just now. I wonder where your


brother is? However, we can't go any nearer\dots{} Yes, the bat-


horses are already being moved off, and there are more and more


fugitives. A ghastly finish to your mother's ball, by Gad if it


isn't!


[They turn their horses towards Brussels. Enter, meeting them,


MR. LEGH, a Wessex gentleman, also come out to view the battle.]


LEGH


Can you tell me, sir, how the battle is going?


RICHMOND


Badly, badly, I fear, sir. There will be a retreat soon, seemingly.


LEGH


Indeed! Yes, a crowd of fugitives are coming over the hill even now.


What will these poor women do?


RICHMOND


God knows! They will be ridden over, I suppose. Though it is


extraordinary how they do contrive to escape destruction while


hanging so close to the rear of an action! They are moving,


however. Well, we will move too.


[Exeunt DUKE OF RICHMOND, sons, and MR. LEGH. The point of view


shifts.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE VI}


THE SAME. THE FRENCH POSITION


[NEY'S charge of cavalry against the opposite upland has been


three times renewed without success. He collects the scattered


squadrons to renew it a fourth time. The glittering host again


ascends the confronting slopes over the bodies of those previously


left there, and amid horses wandering about without riders, or


crying as they lie with entrails trailing or limbs broken.]


NAPOLEON [starting up]


A horrible dream has gripped me—horrible!


I saw before me Lannes—just as he looked


That day at Aspern: mutilated, bleeding!


What—blood again? he said to me. "Still blood?"


[He further arouses himself, takes snuff vehemently, and looks


through his glass.]


What time is it?—Ah, these assaults of Ney's!


They are a blunder; they've been enterprised


An hour too early!\dots{} There Lheritier goes


Onward with his division next Milhaud;


Now Kellermann must follow up with his.


So one mistake makes many. Yes; ay; yes!


SOULT


I fear that Ney has compromised us here


Just as at Jena; even worse!


NAPOLEON


No less


Must we support him now he is launched on it\dots{}


The miracle is that he is still alive!


[NEY and his mass of cavalry again pass the English batteries


and disappear amid the squares beyond.]


Their cannon are abandoned; and their squares


Again environed—see! I would to God


Murat could be here! Yet I disdained


His proffered service\dots{} All my star asks now


Is to break some half-dozen of those blocks


Of English yonder. He was the man to do it.


[NEY and D'ERLON'S squadrons are seen emerging from the English


squares in a disorganized state, the attack having failed like


the previous ones. An aide-de-camp enters to NAPOLEON.]


AIDE


The Prussians have debouched on our right rear


From Paris-wood; and Losthin's infantry


Appear by Plancenoit; Hiller's to leftwards.


Two regiments of their horse protect their front,


And three light batteries.


[A haggard shade crosses NAPOLEON'S face.]


NAPOLEON


What then! That's not a startling force as yet.


A counter-stroke by Domon's cavalry


Must shatter them. Lobau must bring his foot


Up forward, heading for the Prussian front,


Unrecking losses by their cannonade.


[Exit aide. The din of battle continues. DOMON'S horse are soon


seen advancing towards and attacking the Prussian hussars in front


of the infantry; and he next attempts to silence the Prussian


batteries playing on him by leading up his troops and cutting


down the gunners. But he has to fall back upon the infantry


of LOBAU. Enter another aide-de-camp.]


AIDE


These tiding I report, your Majesty:—


Von Ryssel's and von Hacke's Prussian foot


Have lately sallied from the Wood of Paris,


Bearing on us; no vast array as yet;


But twenty thousand loom not far behind


These vanward marchers!


NAPOLEON


Ah! They swarm thus thickly?


But be they hell's own legions we'll defy them!—


Lobau's men will stand firm.


[He looks in the direction of the English lines, where NEY'S


cavalry-assaults still linger furiously on.]


But who rides hither,


Spotting the sky with clods in his high haste?


SOULT


It looks like Colonel Heymes—come from Ney.


NAPOLEON [sullenly]


And his face shows what clef his music's in!


[Enter COLONEL HEYMES, blood-stained, muddy, and breathless.]


HEYMES


The Prince of Moscow, sire, the Marshal Ney,


Bids me implore that infantry be sent


Immediately, to further his attack.


They cannot be dispensed with, save we fail!


NAPOLEON [furiously]


Infantry! Where the sacred God thinks he


I can find infantry for him! Forsooth,


Does he expect me to create them—eh?


Why sends he such a message, seeing well


How we are straitened here!


HEYMES


Such was the prayer


Of my commission, sire. And I say


That I myself have seen his strokes must waste


Without such backing.


NAPOLEON


Why?


HEYMES


Our cavalry


Lie stretched in swathes, fronting the furnace-throats


Of the English cannon as a breastwork built


Of reeking copses. Marshal Ney's third horse


Is shot. Besides the slain, Donop, Guyot,


Lheritier, Piquet, Travers, Delort, more,


Are vilely wounded. On the other hand


Wellington has sought refuge in a square,


Few of his generals are not killed or hit,


And all is tickle with him. But I see,


Likewise, that I can claim no reinforcement,


And will return and say so.


[Exit HEYMES]


NAPOLEON [to Soult, sadly]


Ney does win me!


I fain would strengthen him.—Within an ace


Of breaking down the English as he is,


Twould write upon the sunset "Victory!"—


But whom may spare we from the right here now?


So single man!


[An interval.]


Life's curse begins, I see,


With helplessness!\dots{} All I can compass is


To send Durutte to fall on Papelotte,


And yet more strongly occupy La Haye,


To cut off Bulow's right from bearing up


And checking Ney's attack. Further than this


None but the Gods can scheme!


[SOULT hastily begins writing orders to that effect. The point


of view shifts.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE VII}


THE SAME. THE ENGLISH POSITION


[The din of battle continues. WELLINGTON, UXBRIDGE, HILL, DE


LANCEY, GORDON, and others discovered near the middle of the line.]


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR


It is a moment when the steadiest pulse


Thuds pit-a-pat. The crisis shapes and nears


For Wellington as for his counter-chief.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


The hour is shaking him, unshakeable


As he may seem!


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Know'st not at this stale time


That shaken and unshaken are alike


But demonstrations from the Back of Things?


Must I again reveal It as It hauls


The halyards of the world?


[A transparency as in earlier scenes again pervades the spectacle,


and the ubiquitous urging of the Immanent Will becomes visualized.


The web connecting all the apparently separate shapes includes


WELLINGTON in its tissue with the rest, and shows him, like them,


as acting while discovering his intention to act. By the lurid


light the faces of every row, square, group, and column of men,


French and English, wear the expression of that of people in a


dream.]


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES [tremulously]


Yea, sire; I see.


Disquiet me, pray, no more!


[The strange light passes, and the embattled hosts on the field


seem to move independently as usual.]


WELLINGTON [to Uxbridge]


Manoeuvring does not seem to animate


Napoleon's methods now. Forward he comes,


And pounds away on us in the ancient style,


Till he is beaten back in the ancient style;


And so the see-saw sways!


[The din increases. WELLINGTON'S aide-de-camp, Sir A. GORDON,


a little in his rear, falls mortally wounded. The DUKE turns


quickly.]


But where is Gordon?


Ah—hit is he! That's bad, that's bad, by God.


[GORDON is removed. An aide enters.]


AIDE


Your Grace, the Colonel Ompteda has fallen,


And La Haye Sainte is now a bath of blood.


Nothing more can be done there, save with help.


The Rifles suffer sharply!


[An aide is seen coming from KEMPT.]


WELLINGTON


What says he?


DE LANCEY


He says that Kempt, being riddled through and thinned,


Sends him for reinforcements.


WELLINGTON [with heat]


Reinforcements?


And where am I to get him reinforcements


In Heaven's name! I've no reinforcements here,


As he should know.


AIDE [hesitating]


What's to be done, your Grace?


WELLINGTON


Done? Those he has left him, be they many or few,


Fight till they fall, like others in the field!


[Exit aide. The Quartermaster-General DE LANCEY, riding by


WELLINGTON, is struck by a lobbing shot that hurls him over


the head of his horse. WELLINGTON and others go to him.]


DE LANCEY [faintly]


I may as well be left to die in peace!


WELLINGTON


He may recover. Take him to the rear,


And call the best attention up to him.


[DE LANCEY is carried off. The next moment a shell bursts close


to WELLINGTON.]


HILL [approaching]


I strongly feel you stand too much exposed!


WELLINGTON


I know, I know. It matters not one damn!


I may as well be shot as not perceive


What ills are raging here.


HILL


Conceding such,


And as you may be ended momently,


A truth there is no blinking, what commands


Have you to leave me, should fate shape it so?


WELLINGTON


These simply: to hold out unto the last,


As long as one man stands on one lame leg


With one ball in his pouch!—then end as I.


[He rides on slowly with the others. NEY'S charges, though


fruitless so far, are still fierce. His troops are now reduced


to one-half. Regiments of the BACHELU division, and the JAMIN


brigade, are at last moved up to his assistance. They are partly


swept down by the Allied batteries, and partly notched away by


the infantry, the smoke being now so thick that the position of


the battalions is revealed only by the flashing of the priming-


pans and muzzles, and by the furious oaths heard behind the cloud.


WELLINGTON comes back. Enter another aide-de-camp.]


AIDE


We bow to the necessity of saying


That our brigade is lessened to one-third,


Your Grace. And those who are left alive of it


Are so unmuscled by fatigue and thirst


That some relief, however temporary,


Becomes sore need.


WELLINGTON


Inform your general


That his proposal asks the impossible!


That he, I, every Englishman afield,


Must fall upon the spot we occupy,


Our wounds in front.


AIDE


It is enough, your Grace.


I answer for't that he, those under him,


And I withal, will bear us as you say.


[Exit aide. The din of battle goes on. WELLINGTON is grave but


calm. Like those around him, he is splashed to the top of his hat


with partly dried mire, mingled with red spots; his face is grimed


in the same way, little courses showing themselves where the sweat


has trickled down from his brow and temples.]


CLINTON [to Hill]


A rest would do our chieftain no less good,


In faith, than that unfortunate brigade!


He is tried damnably; and much more strained


Than I have ever seen him.


HILL


Endless risks


He's running likewise. What the hell would happen


If he were shot, is more than I can say!


WELLINGTON [calling to some near]


At Talavera, Salamanca, boys,


And at Vitoria, we saw smoke together;


And though the day seems wearing doubtfully,


Beaten we must not be! What would they say


Of us at home, if so?


A CRY [from the French]


Their centre breaks!


Vive l'Empereur!


[It comes from the FOY and BACHELU divisions, which are rushing


forward. HALKETT'S and DUPLAT'S brigades intercept. DUPLAT


falls, shot dead; but the venturesome French regiments, pierced


with converging fires, and cleft with shells, have to retreat.]


HILL [joining Wellington]


The French artillery-fire


To the right still renders regiments restive there


That have to stand. The long exposure galls them.


WELLINGTON


They must be stayed as our poor means afford.


I have to bend attention steadfastly


Upon the centre here. The game just now


Goes all against us; and if staunchness fail


But for one moment with these thinning foot,


Defeat succeeds!


[The battle continues to sway hither and thither with concussions,


wounds, smoke, the fumes of gunpowder, and the steam from the hot


viscera of grape-torn horses and men. One side of a Hanoverian


square is blown away; the three remaining sides form themselves


into a triangle. So many of his aides are cut down that it is


difficult for WELLINGTON to get reports of what is happening


afar. It begins to be discovered at the front that a regiment of


hussars, and others without ammunition, have deserted, and that


some officers in the rear, honestly concluding the battle to be


lost, are riding quietly off to Brussels. Those who are left


unwounded of WELLINGTON'S staff show gloomy misgivings at such


signs, despite their own firmness.]


SPIRIT SINISTER


One needs must be a ghost


To move here in the midst 'twixt host and host!


Their balls scream brisk and breezy tunes through me


As I were an organ-stop. It's merry so;


What damage mortal flesh must undergo!


[A Prussian officer enters to MUFFLING, who has again rejoined


the DUKE'S suite. MUFFLING hastens forward to WELLINGTON.]


MUFFLING


Blucher has just begun to operate;


But owing to Gneisenau's stolid stagnancy


The body of our army looms not yet!


As Zieten's corps still plod behind Smohain


Their coming must be late. Blucher's attack


Strikes the remote right rear of the enemy,


Somewhere by Plancenoit.


WELLINGTON


A timely blow;


But would that Zieten sped! Well, better late


Than never. We'll still stand.


[The point of observation shifts.]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE VIII}


THE SAME. LATER


[NEY'S long attacks on the centre with cavalry having failed,


those left of the squadrons and their infantry-supports fall


back pell-mell in broken groups across the depression between


the armies.


Meanwhile BULOW, having engaged LOBAU'S Sixth Corps, carries


Plancenoit.


The artillery-fire between the French and the English continues.


An officer of the Third Foot-guards comes up to WELLINGTON and


those of his suite that survive.]


OFFICER


Our Colonel Canning—coming I know not whence—


WELLINGTON


I lately sent him with important words


To the remoter lines.


OFFICER


As he returned


A grape-shot struck him in the breast; he fell,


At once a dead man. General Halkett, too,


Has had his cheek shot through, but still keeps going.


WELLINGTON


And how proceeds De Lancey?


OFFICER


I am told


That he forbids the surgeons waste their time


On him, who well can wait till worse are eased.


WELLINGTON


A noble fellow.


[NAPOLEON can now be seen, across the valley, pushing forward a


new scheme of some sort, urged to it obviously by the visible


nearing of further Prussian corps. The EMPEROR is as critically


situated as WELLINGTON, and his army is now formed in a right


angle ["en potence"], the main front to the English, the lesser


to as many of the Prussians as have yet arrived. His gestures


show him to be giving instructions of desperate import to a


general whom he has called up.]


SPIRIT IRONIC


He bids La Bedoyere to speed away


Along the whole sweep of the surging line,


And there announce to the breath-shotten bands


Who toil for a chimaera trustfully,


With seventy pounds of luggage on their loins,


That the dim Prussian masses seen afar


Are Grouchy's three-and-thirty thousand, come


To clinch a victory.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


But Ney demurs!


SPIRIT IRONIC


Ney holds indignantly that such a feint


Is not war-worthy. Says Napoleon then,


Snuffing anew, with sour sardonic scowl,


That he is choiceless.


SPIRIT SINISTER


Excellent Emperor!


He tops all human greatness; in that he


To lesser grounds of greatness adds the prime,


Of being without a conscience.


[LA BEDOYERE and orderlies start on their mission. The false


intelligence is seen to spread, by the excited motion of the


columns, and the soldiers can be heard shouting as their spirits


revive.


WELLINGTON is beginning to discern the features of the coming


onset, when COLONEL FRASER rides up.]


FRASER


We have just learnt from a deserting captain,


One of the carabineers who charged of late,


That an assault which dwarfs all instances—


The whole Imperial Guard in welded weight—


Is shortly to be made.


WELLINGTON


For your smart speed


My thanks. My observation is confirmed.


We'll hasten now along the battle-line [to Staff],


As swiftest means for giving orders out


Whereby to combat this.


[The speaker, accompanied by HILL, UXBRIDGE, and others—all now


looking as worn and besmirched as the men in the ranks—proceed


along the lines, and dispose the brigades to meet the threatened


shock. The infantry are brought out of the shelter they have


recently sought, the cavalry stationed in the rear, and the


batteries of artillery hitherto kept in reserve are moved to the


front.


The last Act of the battle begins.


There is a preliminary attack by DONZELOT'S columns, combined


with swarms of sharpshooters, to the disadvantage of the English


and their Allies. WELLINGTON has scanned it closely. FITZROY


SOMERSET, his military secretary, comes up.]


WELLINGTON


What casualty has thrown its shade among


The regiments of Nassau, to shake them so?


SOMERSET


The Prince of Orange has been badly struck—


A bullet through his shoulder—so they tell;


And Kielmansegge has shown some signs of stress.


Kincaird's tried line wanes leaner and more lean—


Whittled to a weak skein of skirmishers;


The Twenty-seventh lie dead.


WELLINGTON


Ah yes—I know!


[While they watch developments a cannon-shot passes and knocks


SOMERSET'S right arm to a mash. He is assisted to the rear.


NEY and FRIANT now lead forward the last and most desperate


assault of the day, in charges of the Old and Middle Guard,


the attack by DONZELOT and ALLIX further east still continuing as


a support. It is about a quarter-past eight, and the midsummer


evening is fine after the wet night and morning, the sun approaching


its setting in a sky of gorgeous colours.


The picked and toughened Guard, many of whom stood in the ranks


at Austerlitz and Wagram, have been drawn up in three or four


echelons, the foremost of which now advances up the slopes to


the Allies' position. The others follow at intervals, the


drummers beating the "pas de charge."]


CHORUS OF RUMOURS [aerial music]


Twice thirty throats of couchant cannonry—


Ranked in a hollow curve, to close their blaze


Upon the advancing files—wait silently


Like to black bulls at gaze.


The Guard approaches nearer and more near:


To touch-hole moves each match of smoky sheen:


The ordnance roars: the van-ranks disappear


As if wiped off the scene.


The aged Friant falls as it resounds;


Ney's charger drops—his fifth on this sore day—


Its rider from the quivering body bounds


And forward foots his way.


The cloven columns tread the English height,


Seize guns, repulse battalions rank by rank,


While horse and foot artillery heavily bite


Into their front and flank.


It nulls the power of a flesh-built frame


To live within that zone of missiles. Back


The Old Guard, staggering, climbs to whence it came.


The fallen define its track.


[The second echelon of the Imperial Guard has come up to the


assault. Its columns have borne upon HALKETT'S right. HALKETT,


desperate to keep his wavering men firm, himself seizes and


waves the flag of the Thirty-third, in which act he falls wounded.


But the men rally. Meanwhile the Fifty-second, covered by the


Seventy-first, has advanced across the front, and charges the


Imperial Guard on the flank.


The third echelon next arrives at the English lines and squares;


rushes through the very focus of their fire, and seeing nothing


more in front, raises a shout.


IMPERIAL GUARD


The Emperor! It's victory!


WELLINGTON


Stand up, Guards!


Form line upon the front face of the square!


[Two thousand of MAITLAND'S Guards, hidden in the hollow roadway,


thereupon spring up, form as ordered, and reveal themselves as a


fence of leveled firelocks four deep. The flints click in a


multitude, the pans flash, and volley after volley is poured into


the bear-skinned figures of the massed French, who kill COLONEL


D'OYLEY in returning fire.]


WELLINGTON


Now drive the fellows in! Go on; go on!


You'll do it now!


[COLBORNE converges on the French guard with the Fifty-second, and


The former splits into two as the climax comes. ADAM, MAITLAND,


and COLBORNE pursue their advantage. The Imperial columns are


broken, and their confusion is increased by grape-shot from


BOLTON'S battery.]


Campbell, this order next:


Vivian's hussars are to support, and bear


Against the cavalry towards Belle Alliance.


Go—let him know.


[Sir C. CAMPBELL departs with the order. Soon VIVIAN'S and


VANDELEUR'S light horse are seen advancing, and in due time the


French cavalry are rolled back.


WELLINGTON goes in the direction of the hussars with UXBRIDGE. A


cannon-shot hisses past.]


UXBRIDGE [starting]


I have lost my leg, by God!


WELLINGTON


By God, and have you! Ay—the wind o' the shot


Blew past the withers of my Copenhagen


Like the foul sweeping of a witch's broom.—


Aha—they are giving way!


[While UXBRIDGE is being helped to the rear, WELLINGTON makes a


sign to SALTOUN, Colonel of the First Footguards.]


SALTOUN [shouting]


Boys, now's your time;


Forward and win!


FRENCH VOICES


The Guard gives way—we are beaten!


[They recede down the hill, carrying confusion into NAPOLEON'S


centre just as the Prussians press forward at a right angle from


the other side of the field. NAPOLEON is seen standing in the


hollow beyond La Haye Sainte, alone, except for the presence of


COUNT FLAHAULT, his aide-de-camp. His lips move with sudden


exclamation.


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


He says "Now all is lost! The clocks of the world


Strike my last empery-hour."


[Towards La Haye Sainte the French of DONZELOT and ALLIX, who


are fighting KEMPT, PACK, KRUSE, and LAMBERT, seeing what has


happened to the Old and Middle Guard, lose heart and recede


likewise; so that the whole French line rolls back like a tide.


Simultaneously the Prussians are pressing forward at Papelotte


and La Haye. The retreat of the French grows into a panic.]


FRENCH VOICES [despairingly]


We are betrayed!


[WELLINGTON rides at a gallop to the most salient point of the


English position, halts, and waves his hat as a signal to all


the army. The sign is answered by a cheer along the length of


the line.]


WELLINGTON


No cheering yet, my lads; but bear ahead,


Before the inflamed face of the west out there


Dons blackness. So you'll round your victory!


[The few aides that are left unhurt dart hither and thither with


this message, and the whole English host and it allies advance


in an ordered mass down the hill except some of the artillery,


who cannot get their wheels over the bank of corpses in front.


Trumpets, drums, and bugles resound with the advance.


The streams of French fugitives as they run are cut down and shot


by their pursuers, whose clothes and contracted features are


blackened by smoke and cartridge-biting, and soiled with loam


and blood. Some French blow out their own brains as they fly.


The sun drops below the horizon while the slaughter goes on.]


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


Is this the last Esdraelon of a moil


For mortal man's effacement?


SPIRIT IRONIC


Warfare, mere,


Plied by the Managed for the Managers;


To wit: by frenzied folks who profit nought


For those who profit all!


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


Between the jars


Of these who live, I hear uplift and move


The bones of those who placidly have lain


Within the sacred garths of yon grey fanes—


Nivelles, and Plancenoit, and Braine l'Alleud—


Beneath the unmemoried mounds through deedless years


Their dry jaws quake: "What Sabaoath is this,


That shakes us in our unobtrusive shrouds,


As though our tissues did not yet abhor


The fevered feats of life?"


SPIRIT IRONIC


Mere fancy's feints!


How know the coffined what comes after them,


Even though it whirl them to the Pleiades?—


Turn to the real.


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR


That hatless, smoke-smirched shape


There in the vale, is still the living Ney,


His sabre broken in his hand, his clothes


Slitten with ploughing ball and bayonet,


One epaulette shorn away. He calls out "Follow!"


And a devoted handful follow him


Once more into the carnage. Hear his voice.


NEY [calling afar]


My friends, see how a Marshal of France can die!


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


Alas, not here in battle, something hints,


But elsewhere!\dots{} Who's the sworded brother-chief


Swept past him in the tumult?


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR


D'Erlon he.


Ney cries to him:


NEY


Be sure of this, my friend,


If we don't perish here at English hands,


Nothing is left us but the halter-noose


The Bourbons will provide!


SPIRIT IRONIC


A caustic wit,


And apt, to those who deal in adumbrations!


[The brave remnant of the Imperial Guard repulses for a time the


English cavalry under Vivian, in which MAJOR HOWARD and LIEUTENANT


GUNNING of the Tenth Hussars are shot. But the war-weary French


cannot cope with the pursuing infantry, helped by grape-shot from


the batteries.


NAPOLEON endeavours to rally them. It is his last effort as a


warrior; and the rally ends feebly.]


NAPOLEON


They are crushed! So it has ever been since Crecy!


[He is thrown violently off his horse, and bids his page bring


another, which he mounts, and is lost to sight.]


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR


He loses his last chance of dying well!


[The three or four heroic battalions of the Old and Middle Guard


fall back step by step, halting to reform in square when they


get badly broken and shrunk. At last they are surrounded by the


English Guards and other foot, who keep firing on them and smiting


them to smaller and smaller numbers. GENERAL CAMBRONNE is inside


the square.]


COLONEL HUGH HALKETT [shouting]


Surrender! And preserve those heroes' lives!


CAMBRONNE [with exasperation]


Mer-r-rde!\dots{} You've to deal with desperates, man, today:


Life is a byword here!


[Hollow laughter, as from people in hell, comes approvingly from


the remains of the Old Guard. The English proceed with their


massacre, the devoted band thins and thins, and a ball strikes


CAMBRONNE, who falls, and is trampled over.]


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Observe that all wide sight and self-command


Desert these throngs now driven to demonry


By the Immanent Unrecking. Nought remains


But vindictiveness here amid the strong,


And there amid the weak an impotent rage.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


Why prompts the Will so senseless-shaped a doing?


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


I have told thee that It works unwittingly,


As one possessed, not judging.


SEMICHORUS I OF IRONIC SPIRITS [aerial music]


Of Its doings if It knew,


What It does It would not do!


SEMICHORUS II


Since It knows not, what far sense


Speeds Its spinnings in the Immense?


SEMICHORUS I


None; a fixed foresightless dream


Is Its whole philosopheme.


SEMICHORUS II


Just so; an unconscious planning,


Like a potter raptly panning!


CHORUS


Are then, Love and Light Its aim—


Good Its glory, Bad Its blame?


Nay; to alter evermore


Things from what they were before.


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Your knowings of the Unknowable declared,


Let the last pictures of the play be bared.


[Enter, fighting, more English and Prussians against the French.


NEY is caught by the throng and borne ahead. RULLIERE hides an


eagle beneath his coat and follows Ney. NAPOLEON is involved


none knows where in the crowd of fugitives.


WELLINGTON and BLUCHER come severally to the view. They meet in


the dusk and salute warmly. The Prussian bands strike up "God save


the King" as the two shake hands. From his gestures of assent it


can be seen that WELLINGTON accepts BLUCHER'S offer to pursue.


The reds disappear from the sky, and the dusk grows deeper. The


action of the battle degenerates to a hunt, and recedes further


and further into the distance southward. When the tramplings


and shouts of the combatants have dwindled, the lower sounds are


noticeable that come from the wounded: hopeless appeals, cries


for water, elaborate blasphemies, and impotent execrations of


Heaven and hell. In the vast and dusky shambles black slouching


shapes begin to move, the plunderers of the dead and dying.


The night grows clear and beautiful, and the moon shines musingly


down. But instead of the sweet smell of green herbs and dewy rye


as at her last beaming upon these fields, there is now the stench


of gunpowder and a muddy stew of crushed crops and gore.]


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


So hath the Urging Immanence used to-day


Its inadvertent might to field this fray:


And Europe's wormy dynasties rerobe


Themselves in their old gilt, to dazzle anew the globe!


[The scene us curtained by a night-mist.[25]]


[image not archived]

\subsection{SCENE IX}


THE WOOD OF BOSSU


[It is midnight. NAPOLEON enters a glade of the wood, a solitary


figure on a faded horse. The shadows of the boughs travel over


his listless form as he moves along. The horse chooses its own


path, comes to a standstill, and feeds. The tramp of BERTRAND,


SOULT, DROUOT, and LOBAU'S horses, gone forward in hope to find


a way of retreat, is heard receding over the hill.]


NAPOLEON [to himself, languidly]


Here should have been some troops of Gerard's corps,


Left to protect the passage of the convoys,


Yet they, too, fail\dots{} I have nothing more to lose,


But life!


[Flocks of fugitive soldiers pass along the adjoining road without


seeing him. NAPOLEON'S head droops lower and lower as he sits


listless in the saddle, and he falls into a fitful sleep. The


moon shines upon his face, which is drawn and waxen.]


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Sic diis immortalibus placet,—


Thus is it pleasing to the immortal gods,


As earthlings used to say. Thus, to this last,


The Will in thee has moved thee, Bonaparte,


As we say now.


NAPOLEON [starting]


Whose frigid tones are those,


Breaking upon my lurid loneliness


So brusquely?\dots{} Yet, 'tis true, I have ever know


That such a Will I passively obeyed!


[He drowses again.]


SPIRIT IRONIC


Nothing care I for these high-doctrined dreams,


And shape the case in quite a common way,


So I would ask, Ajaccian Bonaparte,


Has all this been worth while?


NAPOLEON


O hideous hour,


Why am I stung by spectral questionings?


Did not my clouded soul incline to match


Those of the corpses yonder, thou should'st rue


Thy saying, Fiend, whoever those may'st be!\dots{}


Why did the death-drops fail to bite me close


I took at Fontainebleau? Had I then ceased,


This deep had been umplumbed; had they but worked,


I had thrown threefold the glow of Hannibal


Down History's dusky lanes!—Is it too late?\dots{}


Yes. Self-sought death would smoke but damply here!


If but a Kremlin cannon-shot had met me


My greatness would have stood: I should have scored


A vast repute, scarce paralleled in time.


As it did not, the fates had served me best


If in the thick and thunder of to-day,


Like Nelson, Harold, Hector, Cyrus, Saul,


I had been shifted from this jail of flesh,


To wander as a greatened ghost elsewhere.


—Yes, a good death, to have died on yonder field;


But never a ball came padding down my way!


So, as it is, a miss-mark they will dub me;


And yet—I found the crown of France in the mire,


And with the point of my prevailing sword


I picked it up! But for all this and this


I shall be nothing\dots{}


To shoulder Christ from out the topmost niche


In human fame, as once I fondly felt,


Was not for me. I came too late in time


To assume the prophet or the demi-god,


A part past playing now. My only course


To make good showance to posterity


Was to implant my line upon the throne.


And how shape that, if now extinction nears?


Great men are meteors that consume themselves


To light the earth. This is my burnt-out hour.


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Thou sayest well. Thy full meridian-shine


Was in the glory of the Dresden days,


When well-nigh every monarch throned in Europe


Bent at thy footstool.


NAPOLEON


Saving always England's—


Rightly dost say "well-nigh."—Not England's,—she


Whose tough, enisled, self-centred, kindless craft


Has tracked me, springed me, thumbed me by the throat,


And made herself the means of mangling me!


SPIRIT IRONIC


Yea, the dull peoples and the Dynasts both,


Those counter-castes not oft adjustable,


Interests antagonistic, proud and poor,


Have for the nonce been bonded by a wish


To overthrow thee.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


Peace. His loaded heart


Bears weight enough for one bruised, blistered while!


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Worthless these kneadings of thy narrow thought,


Napoleon; gone thy opportunity!


Such men as thou, who wade across the world


To make an epoch, bless, confuse, appal,


Are in the elemental ages' chart


Like meanest insects on obscurest leaves,


But incidents and grooves of Earth's unfolding;


Or as the brazen rod that stirs the fire


Because it must.


[The moon sinks, and darkness blots out NAPOLEON and the scene.]

\subsection{AFTER SCENE}


THE OVERWORLD


[Enter the Spirit and Chorus of the Years, the Spirit and Chorus


of the Pities, the Shade of the Earth, the Spirits Sinister and


Ironic with their Choruses, Rumours, Spirit-messengers and


Recording Angels.


Europe has now sunk netherward to its far-off position as in the


Fore Scene, and it is beheld again as a prone and emaciated figure


of which the Alps form the vertebrae, and the branching mountain-


chains the ribs, the Spanish Peninsula shaping the head of the


ecorche. The lowlands look like a grey-green garment half-thrown


off, and the sea around like a disturbed bed on which the figure


lies.]


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Thus doth the Great Foresightless mechanize


In blank entrancement now as evermore


Its ceaseless artistries in Circumstance


Of curious stuff and braid, as just forthshown.


Yet but one flimsy riband of Its web


Have we here watched in weaving—web Enorm,


Whose furthest hem and selvage may extend


To where the roars and plashings of the flames


Of earth-invisible suns swell noisily,


And onwards into ghastly gulfs of sky,


Where hideous presences churn through the dark—


Monsters of magnitude without a shape,


Hanging amid deep wells of nothingness.


Yet seems this vast and singular confection


Wherein our scenery glints of scantest size,


Inutile all—so far as reasonings tell.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


Thou arguest still the Inadvertent Mind.—


But, even so, shall blankness be for aye?


Men gained cognition with the flux of time,


And wherefore not the Force informing them,


When far-ranged aions past all fathoming


Shall have swung by, and stand as backward years?


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


What wouldst have hoped and had the Will to be?—


How wouldst have paeaned It, if what hadst dreamed


Thereof were truth, and all my showings dream?


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


The Will that fed my hope was far from thine,


One I would thus have hymned eternally:—


SEMICHORUS I OF THE PITIES [aerial music]


To Thee whose eye all Nature owns,


Who hurlest Dynasts from their thrones,


And liftest those of low estate


We sing, with Her men consecrate!


SEMICHORUS II


Yea, Great and Good, Thee, Thee we hail,


Who shak'st the strong, Who shield'st the frail,


Who hadst not shaped such souls as we


If tendermercy lacked in Thee!


SEMICHORUS I


Though times be when the mortal moan


Seems unascending to Thy throne,


Though seers do not as yet explain


Why Suffering sobs to Thee in vain;


SEMICHORUS II


We hold that Thy unscanted scope


Affords a food for final Hope,


That mild-eyed Prescience ponders nigh


Life's loom, to lull it by-and-by.


SEMICHORUS I


Therefore we quire to highest height


The Wellwiller, the kindly Might


That balances the Vast for weal,


That purges as by wounds to heal.


SEMICHORUS II


The systemed suns the skies enscroll


Obey Thee in their rhythmic roll,


Ride radiantly at Thy command,


Are darkened by Thy Masterhand!


SEMICHORUS I


And these pale panting multitudes


Seen surging here, their moils, their moods,


All shall "fulfil their joy" in Thee


In Thee abide eternally!


SEMICHORUS II


Exultant adoration give


The Alone, through Whom all living live,


The Alone, in Whom all dying die,


Whose means the End shall justify! Amen.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES


So did we evermore, sublimely sing;


So would we now, despise thy forthshowing!


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS


Something of difference animates your quiring,


O half-convinced Compassionates and fond,


From chords consistent with our spectacle!


You almost charm my long philosophy


Out of my strong-built thought, and bear me back


To when I thanksgave thus\dots{} Ay, start not, Shades;


In the Foregone I knew what dreaming was,


And could let raptures rule! But not so now.


Yea, I psalmed thus and thus\dots{} But not so now.


SEMICHORUS I OF THE YEARS [aerial music]


O Immanence, That reasonest not


In putting forth all things begot,


Thou build'st Thy house in space—for what?


SEMICHORUS II


O loveless, Hateless!—past the sense


Of kindly eyed benevolence,


To what tune danceth this Immense?


SPIRIT IRONIC


For one I cannot answer. But I know


Tis handsome of our Pities so to sing


The praises of the dreaming, dark, dumb Thing


That turns the handle of this idle show!


As once a Greek asked I would fain ask too,


Who knows if all the Spectacle be true,


Or an illusion of the gods [the Will,


To wit] some hocus-pocus to fulfil?


SEMICHORUS I OF THE YEARS [aerial music]


Last as first the question rings


Of the Will's long travailings;


Why the All-mover,


Why the All-prover


Ever urges on and measure out the chordless chime of Things.


SEMICHORUS II


Heaving dumbly


As we deem,


Moulding numbly


As in dream


Apprehending not how fare the sentient subjects of Its scheme.


SEMICHORUS I OF THE PITIES


Nay;—shall not Its blindness break?


Yea, must not Its heart awake,


Promptly tending


To Its mending


In a genial germing purpose, and for loving-kindness sake?


SEMICHORUS II


Should it never


Curb or care


Aught whatever


Those endure


Whom It quickens, let them darkle to extinction swift and sure.


CHORUS


But—a stirring thrills the air


Like to sounds of joyance there


That the rages


Of the ages


Shall be cancelled, and deliverance offered from the darts that were,


Consciousness the Will informing, till It fashion all things fair!


September 25, 1907


THE DYNASTS


DETAILED TABLE OF CONTENTS


- PREFACE


- PART FIRST


- CHARACTERS


- FORE SCENE


- ACT FIRST


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- SCENE VI


- ACT SECOND


- SCENE I


- SCENE II.


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- ACT THIRD


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- ACT FOURTH


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- SCENE VI


- ACT FIFTH


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- SCENE VI


- SCENE VII


- ACT SIXTH


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- SCENE VI


- SCENE VII


- SCENE VIII


- PART SECOND


- ACT FIRST


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- SCENE VI


- SCENE VII


- SCENE VIII


- ACT SECOND


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- SCENE VI


- SCENE VII


- ACT THIRD


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- ACT FOURTH


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- SCENE VI


- SCENE VII


- SCENE VIII


- ACT FIFTH


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- SCENE VI


- SCENE VII


- SCENE VIII


- ACT SIXTH


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- SCENE VI


- SCENE VII


- PART THIRD


- ACT FIRST


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- SCENE VI


- SCENE VII


- SCENE VIII


- SCENE IX


- SCENE X


- SCENE XI


- SCENE XII


- ACT SECOND


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- ACT THIRD


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- SCENE VI


- ACT FOURTH


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- SCENE VI


- SCENE VII


- SCENE VIII


- ACT FIFTH


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- SCENE VI


- ACT SIXTH


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- SCENE VI


- SCENE VII


- SCENE VIII


- ACT SEVENTH


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- SCENE VI


- SCENE VII


- SCENE VIII


- SCENE IX


- AFTER SCENE

\chapter{TRAGEDY OF THE QUEEN OF CORNWALL
\forcelinebreak}


This one-act play was published in 1923 and first performed by the Hardy Players, a local, talented amateur group in Dorchester, for whom Hardy had written the drama. The entire play is set in Tintagel during a single day, with a true time frame.

\subsection{CONTENTS}


- CHARACTERS


- PROLOGUE


- SCENE I


- SCENE II


- SCENE III


- SCENE IV


- SCENE V


- SCENE VI


- SCENE VII


- SCENE VIII


- SCENE IX


- SCENE X


- SCENE XI


- SCENE XII


- SCENE XIII


- SCENE XIV


- SCENE XV


- SCENE XVI


- SCENE XVII


- SCENE XVIII


- SCENE XIX


- SCENE XX


- SCENE XXI


- SCENE XXII


- EPILOGUE

\subsection{CHARACTERS}


MARK, KING OF CORNWALL.


SIR TRISTRAM.


SIR ANDRET.


OTHER KNIGHTS.


SQUIRES.


MESSENGER.


HERALD.


WATCHMAN.


RETAINERS, MUSICIANS, ETC.


ISEULT THE FAIR, QUEEN OF CORNWALL.


ISEULT THE WHITEHANDED.


DAME BRANGWAIN.


DAMSEL.


THE QUEEN’S ATTENDANTS, BOWERWOMEN, ETC.


SHADES OF DEAD OLD CORNISH MEN


SHADES OF DEAD CORNISH WOMEN


MERLIN.


The Time covered by the events is about the Time of representation.

\subsection{THE TRAGEDY OF THE QUEEN OF CORNWALL}


The Stage can be any large room; round or at the end of which the audience sits. It is potrayed as the interior of the Great Hall of Tintagel Castle.The floor is strewn with rushes : that there is an arch in the back-centre (a doorway or other opening may counterfeit this) through which the Atlantic is visible across an outer ward and over the ramparts of the stronghold : that a door is on the left, and one on the right (curtains, screens or chairs may denote these) : that a settle spread with skins is among the moveables : that above at the back is a gallery \{which may be represented by any elevated piece of furniture on which two actors can stand, in a corner of the room screened off).The costumes of the cast are the conventional ones of linen fabrics, made gay with knots and rosettes of ribbon, as in the old mumming shows ; though on an actual stage they may be more realistic.

\subsection{PROLOGUE}


Enter Merlin, a -phantasmal figure with a white wand. The room is darkened: a blue light may be thrown on Merlin.


Merlin


I come, at your persuasive call, To raise up in this modern hall A tragedy of dire duresse That vexed the Land of Lyonnesse: — Scenes, with their passions, hopes, and fears Sunk into shade these thousand years; To set, in ghostly grave array,


Their blitheness, blood, and tears, Feats, ardours, as if rife to-day Before men’s eyes and ears.


The tale has travelled far and wide: — Yea, that King Mark, to fetch his bride, Sent Tristram; then that he and she Quaffed a love-potion witlessly While homeward bound. Hence that the King


Wedded one heart-aflame For Tristram! He, in dark despair, Roved recklessly, and wived elsewhere One of his mistress’ name.


I saw these times I represent, Watched, gauged them as they came and went,


Being ageless, deathless! And those two Fair women — namesakes — well I knew! Judge them not harshly in a love


Whose hold on them was strong; Sorrow therein they tasted of, And deeply, and too long!


Exit.

\subsection{SCENE I}


ENTER Shades of Dead Old Cornish Men AND Shades OF Cornish Women FROM LEFT AND RIGHT


Chanters: Men (in recitative)


Tristram a captive of King Mark, Racked was the Queen with qualm and cark, Till reached her hand a written line, That quickened her to deft design.


Chanters: Women


Then, Tristram out, and Mark shut in, The Queen and Tristram winged to win Card Castle, where, without annoy, Monthswhile they lodged in matchless joy!


Chanters: Men


Anon, when Queen Iseult had homed, Brittany-wards Sir Tristram roamed To greet his waiting wife,


White-handed Iseult, whom the Queen Had recked not of. But soon, in teen


And troublous inner strife, She Tristram of her soul besought By wringing letters rapid-wrought (The King gone hunting, knowing nought)


To come again to her Even at the cost — such was her whim — Of bringing Whitehands back with him In wifely character.


Chanters: Women


There was no answer. Rest she could not; Then we missed her, days. We would not


Think where she might have been. And, having sailed, maybe, twice ten Long leagues, here came she back again, And sad and listless — -just as when She went — abides her mien!


Chanters: M. and W.


Hist! . . . Lo; there by the nether gate New comers hail! O who should wait The postern door to enter by,


The bridge being clearly seen? The King returned? — But that way; why? Would he try trap his Queen?


Watchman (crossing without the archway) The King’s arriving! Ho!


Enter Herald. Sounds a trumpet. Enter Brangwain.

\subsection{SCENE II}


ENTERHerald, Brangwain, and Chanters.


Herald


The King’s at hand!


Brangwain


God’s grace, she’s home, either from far or near!


Herald


Whither plied she? Many would like to hear!


Chanters: M. and W.


We do not know. We will not know.


She took a ship from the shore below, And was gone many days.


By friending winds she’s back before him:


Extol God should she and adore Him For covering up her ways!


Enter King Mark with Sir Andret and other Knights, retinue, and rude music of ram’s - horns, crouds, and humstrums, Brangwain standing aside.

\subsection{SCENE III}


King Mark, Knights, Retinue, etc., Brangwain, and Chanters.


K. Mark Where is the Queen?


Drinks from silver flagon which has been standing on the hearth on a brandise. Retinue drink after him from the same.


Brangwain (advancing)


Sir King, the Queen attires To meet your Majesty, and now comes down. \{Aside.) Haply he will not know!


Enter Queen Iseult the Fair attended, and followed by the hound Houdain.

\subsection{SCENE IV}


Queen Iseult, King Mark, Knights, Brangwain, etc., and Chanters.


(Q. Iseult has dark hair, and wears a crimson robe, and tiara or circlet.)


Mark smacks the Queen on her shoulders in rough greeting.


K. Mark Why is this brachet in the hall again?


Q. Iseult I know not how she came here.


K. Mark


Nay, my wife,


Thou dost know well — as I know women well! —


And know her owner more than well, I reckon, And that he left the beast to your regard.


He kicks the dog away.


Sir Andret [aside to K. Mark)


Aye, aye, great King, thou speakest wisely on’t


This time as ever. Wives dost thrid all through!


Exeunt severally Knights, Retinue, etc., and Brangwain.

\subsection{SCENE V}


King Mark, Queen Iseult, and Chanters.


Q. Iseult


I’ve not beheld of late the man you mean; Maybe, my lord, you have shut him in the


dungeon, As you did formerly!


K. Mark


You spell me better! And know he has felt full liberty for long, And that you would have seen him, and much more,


Had not debarred you one o’ those crosses which,


Happily, scotch unlawful lovers’ schemes No less than sanct intents. If that good knight


Dallies in Brittany with his good wife — So finger-white — to cheer her as he ought, ‘Tis clear he can’t be here.


Q. Iseult (with slight sarcasm)


‘Tis clear. You plead


Somewhat in waste to prove as much. But, faith, (-petulantly)


‘Twas she, times tiresome, quirked and called to him


Or he would not have gone!


K. Mark


Ah, know’st thou that!


Leave her alone, a woman let’s all out!


Well, I may know things too. I slipped in sly


When I came home by now, and lit on this:


That while I’ve sued the chase you followed him,


Vanishing on a voyage of some days,


Which you’d fain cloak from me, and have confessed


To no one, either, of my people here.


Q. Iseult (evasively)


I went to take the air, being qualmed to death.


Surely a queen is dowered with such degree


Of queenship, or what is’t to be a queen?


No foot, I swear, set I in Brittany, Or upon soil of any neighbour shore, ‘Twixt putting from the cove below these walls


And my return hereto.


K. Mark


Protests — no more!


You sailed off somewhere, — (so a sea-nath * hints me


That heeds the tidings every troubled billow


Wails to the Beeny-Sisters from Pen-Tyre) —


At risk, too, of your life, the ship being small,


And trickful tempests lurking in the skies.


A woman does not raise a mast for nought


On a cockle-shell, even be the sea-signs fair.


But I have scorned to ask the mariners


The course you bore — or north, or south, or what —


It might have been to Brittany, it might not!


Q. Iseult I have not seen him.

\part{nath, a puffin (Cornish).}


K. Mark


Well, you might have done’t


Each sunrise, noon, or eve, for all the joy


You show in my return, or gladness wont


To a queen shore-reached in safety — so they tell me —


Since you crept cat-like home.


Q. Iseult (indignantly)


I saw him not!


You stifle speech in me, or I’d have launched,


Ere this, the tidings rife. See him no more


Shall I, or you. He’s gone. Death darkens him!


K. Mark (starting)


So much the better, if true — for us and him!


\{She weeps.)


But no. He has died too many many times


For that report to hold! In tilts, in frays,


Through slits and loops, louvres and battlements,


Has he been pierced and arrowed to the heart,


Then risen up again to trouble me!


Sir Andret told, ere Tristram shunned Tintagel,


How he espied you dallying — you and he —


Near the shot-window southward. And I went


With glaive in hand to smite him. Would I had!


Yea, and I should have, had I been sustained.


But not one knight was nigh. — Where are they now?


Whence comes this quietude? — I’ll call a council:


What’s best to do with him I’ll learn thereat,


And then we’ll keep a feast. A council! Ho!


Exit King Mark.

\subsection{SCENE VI}


Queen Iseult and Chanters. The Queen sits in dejection.


Chanters: Men


Why did Heaven warrant, in its whim, A twain mismated should bedim The courts of their encompassment With bleeding loves and discontent! Who would not feel God favoured them, Past wish, in throne and diadem? And that for all His plaisance they would praise


Him upon earth throughout their deeds and days!


Chanters: Women


Instead, see King and Queen more curst Than beggars upon hoit or hurst: — A queen! One who each night and morn Sighs for Sir Tristram; him, gloom-born In his mother’s death, and reared mid vows Of poison by a later spouse:


In love Fate-haunted, doomed to drink Charmed philtres, melting every link Of purposed faith! Why wedded he King Howel’s lass of Brittany? Why should the wave have washed him to


her shore — Him, prone to love our Queen here more and more ?


Chanters: M. and W.


In last misfortune did he well-nigh slay Unknowingly in battle Arthur! Ay, Our stainless Over-king of Counties — he Made Dux Bellorum for his valiancy! — If now, indeed, Tristram be chilled in death, Will she, the Queen, care aught for further breath?


Q. Iseult (musing)


How little he knows, does Mark! And yet,


how much? Can there be any groundage for his thought That Tristram’s not a ghost? O, no such hope!


My Tristram, yet not mine! Could it be deemed


Thou shouldst have loved me less in many years


Hadst thou enjoyed them? If in Christland now


Do you look down on her most, or on me?


Why should the King have grudged so fleet a life


Its pleasure, grinned with gall at its renown,


Yapped you away for too great love of me,


Spied on thee through his myrmidons — aye, encloaked


And peeped to frustrate thee, and sent the word


To kill thee who should meet thee? O sweet Lord,


Thou hast made him hated; yet he still has life;


While Tristram. . . . Why said Mark he doubtless lived?


— But he was ever a mocker, was King Mark,


And not far from a coward.


Enter Brangwain.

\subsection{SCENE VII}


Queen Iseult, Brangwain, and Chanters.


Q. Iseult (distractedly)


Brangwain, he hard denies I did not see him!


But he is dead! . . . Perhaps not. . . . Can it be?


Brangwain


Who doth deny, my Queen? Who is not dead?


Your words are blank to me; your manner strange.


Q. Iseult


One bleeds no more on earth for a full- fledged sin


Than for a callow! The King has found out now


My sailing the south water in his absence,


And weens the worst. Forsooth, it’s always so!


He will not credit I’d no cause to land For the black reason — it is no excuse — That Tristram, knight, had died! — Landed had I,


Aye, fifty times, could he have still been there, Even there with her. — My Love, my own lost Love! \{She bends down.)


Brangwain You did not land in Brittany, O Queen?


Q. Iseult


I did not land, Brangwain, although so near.


\{She pauses.)


— He had been long with his White-handed one,


And had fallen sick of fever nigh to death; Till she grew fearful for him; sent for me, Yea, choicelessly, at his light-headed calls And midnight repetitions of my name. Yes, sent for me in a despairing hope To save him at all cost.


Brangwain


She must, methinks,


Have loved him much!


Q. Iseult [impatiently)


Don’t speak, Brangwain, but hear me.


Yes: women are so. . . . For me, I could not bear


To lose him thus. Love, others’ somewhile dainty,


Is my starved, all-day meal! And favouring chance,


That of the King’s apt absence, tempted me;


And hence I sailed, despite the storm-strid air.


What did I care about myself, or aught?


— She’d told the mariner her messenger


To hoist his canvas white if he bore me


On the backward journey, black if he did not,


That, so, heart-ease should reach the knight full quick —


Even ere 1 landed — quick as I hove in sight.


Yes, in his peril so profound, she sent


The message, though against her. Women are so!


Brangwain


Some are, my lady Queen: some may not be.


Q. Iseult


While we were yet a two-hours’ toss from port


I bade them show the sheet, as had been asked,


The which they did. But when we touched the quay


She ran down thither, beating both her hands,


And saying Tristram died an hour before.


Brangwain


But O, dear Queen, didst fully credit her?


Q. Iseult


Aye! Sudden - shaken souls guess not at guile. —


I fell into a faint at the very words. —


Thereon they lifted me into the cabin,


Saying: “ She shall not foot this deadly land! “


When I again knew life I was distraught,


And sick with the rough writhing of the bark. —


They had determined they would steer me home,


Had turned the prow, and toiled a long league back;


Strange that, no sooner had they put about,


The weather worsed, as if they’d angered God


By doing what they had done to sever me


Even from my Love’s dead limbs! No gleam glowed more,


And the seas sloped like houseroofs all the way.


We were blown north along the shore to Wales,


Where they made port and nursed me, till, next day,


The blinding gale abated: we returned,


And reached by shifts at last the cove below.


The King, whose queries I had feared so much,


Had not come back; came only at my heels;


Yet he has learnt, somewise, that I’ve been missed,


And doubtless I shall suffer — he’s begun it!


Much I lament I put about so soon.


I should have landed, and have gained his corpse.


Brangwain


She is his wife, and you could not have claimed it.


Q. Iseult


But could I not have seen him? How know you?


Brangwain


Nay: she might not have let you even see him:


He is her own, dear Queen, and in her land You had no sway to make her cede him up. I doubt his death. You took her word for it, And she was desperate at the sight of you. Sick unto death he may have been. But — dead? (Shakes her head.)


Corpses are many: man lives half-amort; But rumour makes them more when they run short!


Q. Iseult


If he be not! O I would even condone His bringing her, would he not come without; I’ve said it ever since I’ve known of her. Could he but live: yes, could he live for me!


Q. Iseult sings sadly to herself, Brangwain having gone to the back of the hall’. Could he but live for me A day, yea, even an hour, Its petty span would be Steeped in felicity Passing the price of Heaven’s held-dearest dower:


Could he but live, could he But live for me!


Exit Q. Iseult, followed by Brangwain.


Chanters: Women


Maybe, indeed, he did not die! Our sex, shame on’t, is over prone To ill conceits that amplify. Maybe he did not die — that one, The Whitepalmed, may in strategy Have but avowed it! Weak are we, And foil and fence have oft to seek, Aye, even by guile, if fear so speak!


Chanters: Men


Wounded in Ireland, life he fetched, In charge of the King’s daughter there, Who healed him, loved him, primed him fair For the great tournament, when he stretched Sir Palomides low.


Chanters: Women Yet slight


Was King Mark’s love for him, despite! Mark sent him thither as to gain Iseult, but, truly, to be slain!


Chanters: Men


Quite else her father, who on sight Was fain for Tristram as his son,


Not Mark. But woe, his word was won!


Alas, should wrong vow stand as right?


Chanters: Women


And what Dame Brangwain did to mend,


Enlarged the mischief! Best have penned


That love-drink close, since ‘twas to be


Iseult should wed where promised: wretched she!


Chanters: M. and W.


Yet, haply, Tristram lives. Quick heals are his!


He rose revived from that: why not from this?


Watchman (without)


One comes with tidings! — (to the comer) Bear them to the hall.


Enter a Messenger (at back), -pausing and looking round. Queen Iseult, attended, re-enters (at front) and seats herself.

\subsection{SCENE VIII}


Queen Iseult, Attendant-Ladies, Messenger, and Chanters.


Messenger (comingforward) Where is Iseult the Queen?


Q. Iseult


Here, churl. I’m she.


Messenger


I’m sent here to deliver tidings, Queen, To your high ear alone.


Exeunt Attendants.


Q. Iseult (in strung-up tones)


Then voice them forth. A halter for thee if I find them false!


Messenger


Knight Tristram of the sorry birth is yet


Enrolled among the living, having crept


Out of the very vaults of death and doom!


— His heavy ails bedimmed him numb as night,


And men conceived him wrapt in wakeless rest;


But he strove back. Hither, on swifter keel


Lie has followed you; and even now is nigh.


(Queen Iseult leans back and covers her eyes.)


Iseult the Pale-palmed, in her jealousy,


With false deliverance feigned your sail was black,


And made him pray for death in his extreme,


Till sank he to a drowse: grey death they thought it,


And bells were bidden toll the churches through,


And thereupon you came. Scared at her crime


She deemed that it had dealt him death indeed,


And knew her not at fault till you had gone.


— When he aroused, and learnt she had sent you back,


It angered him to hot extremity, And brings him here upon my very stern, If he, forsooth, have haleness for the adventure.


Exit Messenger.


Q. Iseult


O it o’erturns! . . . “Black” told she! Cheat unmatchable!


Enter Brangwain.

\subsection{SCENE IX}


Queen Iseult, Brangwain, and Chanters. Then King Mark and Sir Andret.


Brangwain


There stands a strange old harper down below,


Who does not look Sir Tristram, yet recalls him.


King Mark crosses the ward outside the arch.


King Mark (speaking off, and shading his eyes)


What traveller’s that, slow mounting to the wall,


Scanning its strength, with curious halting crawl,


As knowing not Tintagel’s Towers at all?


Watchman (crossing without)


‘Tis but a minstrel from afar, Sir King, Harping around for alms, or anything.


Q. Iseult (starting up)


It must be he!


Sir Tristram’s steps heard approaching. He enters, disguised as a harper.


King Mark (glancing back casually at Sir Tristram in going off)


Dole him his alms in Christ’s name, if ye must,


And irk me not while setting to bowse with these.


Exit King Mark from the outside to the banqueting-hall, followed across the back of the arch by Knights, etc., including Sir Andret.


Sir Andret (to himself as he goes)


That harper struck me oddly! . . . In his gait-


Well: till the beakers have gone round I’ll wait.


Exit behind the others.

\subsection{SCENE X}


Queen Iseult, Tristram, Brangwain, and Chanters.


Tristram


My Queen and best belov’d! At last again!


(He throws off the cloak that disguises him.)


— Know I was duped by her who dons your name;


She swore the bellied sheeting of your ship


Blotted the wind-wafts like a sable swan;


And being so weak from my long lying there


I sank to senselessness at the wisht words —


So contrary to hope! Whilst I was thus


She sallied out, and sent you home forthwith!


Anon I poured my anger on her head,


Till, in high fear of me, she quivered white.


— I mended swiftly, stung by circumstance,


And rose and left her there, and followed you.


Sir Kay lent aidance, and has come with me.


Brangwain


I’ll out and watch the while Sir Tristram’s here.


Exit Brangwain.

\subsection{SCENE XI}


Queen Iseult, Tristram, and Chanters.


Q. Iseult


You’ve come again, you’ve come again, dear Love!


Tristram


To be once more with my Iseult the Fair,


(He embraces the Queen) Though not yet what I was in strength and stay.


Yet told have I been by Sir Launcelot To ware me of King Mark! King Fox he


calls him — Whom I’d have pitied, though he would not yield thee,


Nor let you loose on learning our dire need Of freedom for our bliss, which came to us Not of fore-aim or falseness, but by spell Of love-drink, ministered by hand unseen!


Q. Iseult


Knowing as much, he swore he would not slay thee,


But Launcelot told him no man could believe him,


Whereat he answered: “Anyhow she’s mine! “


Tristram


It’s true, I fear. He cannot be believed.


Q. Iseult


Yet, Tristram, would my husband were but all!


Had you not wedded her my namesake, Oh,


We could have steered around this other rock —


Trust me we could! Why did you do it, why!


Triumph did he when first I learnt of that,


And lewdly laughed to see me shaken so.


Tristram


You have heard the tale of my so mating her


Twice told, and yet anew! Must I again?


It was her sire King Howel brought it round


In brunt of battle, when I saved his lands.


He said to me: “ Thou hast done generously:


I crave to make thee recompense! My daughter.


The last best bloom of Western Monarchy —


Iseult of the White Hand the people call her —


Is thine. I give thee her. O take her then,


The chief of all things priceless unto me!”


Overcome was I by the fiery fray,


Arrested by her name — so kin to yours —


His ardour, zeal. I thought: “Maybe her spouse,


By now, has haled my Iseult’s heart from me,”


And took the other blindly. That is all.


Q. Iseult


A woman’s heart has room for one alone;


A man’s for two or three!


Tristram Sweet; ‘twas but chance!


Q. Iseult (more softly)


Yet there may lie our doom! \dots{} I had nerved myself


To bid you come, and bring your wife with you.


But that I did not mean. It was too


much; And yet I said it! . . .


Tristram


Lean ye down, my Love: I’ll touch to thee my very own old tune. I came in harper-guise, unweeting what The hazardry of our divided days Might have brought forth for us!


He takes the harp. Queen Iseult reclines.


Tristram (singing)


Let’s meet again to-night, my Fair, Let’s meet unseen of all;


The day-god labours to his lair, And then the evenfall!


O living lute, O lily-rose, O form of fantasie,


When torches waste and warders doze Steal to the stars will we!


While nodding knights carouse at meat And shepherds shamble home,


We’ll cleave in close embracements — sweet As honey in the comb!


Till crawls the dawn from Condol’s crown,


And over Neitan’s Kieve, As grimly ghosts we conjure down And hopes still weave and weave!


Watchman (crossing without)


A ship sheers round, and brings up in the bay!


Re-enter Brangwain.

\subsection{SCENE XII}


Queen Iseult, Tristram, Brangwain, and Chanters.


Brangwain


My Queen, the shingle shaves another keel, And who the comer is we fail to guess. Its build bespeaks it from the Breton coasts, And those upon it shape of the Breton sort,


And the figure near the prow is white-attired. Q. Iseult


What manner of farer does the figure show?


Brangwain


My Lady, when I cast eye waterwards From the arrow-loop, just as the keel ground in


Against the popplestones, it seemed a woman’s;


But she was wimpled close.


Q. Iseult


I’ll out and see.


Queen Iseult opens the door to the ban- queting-hall, and stands in the doorway still visible to the audience. Through the door comes the noise of trenchers, platters, cups, drunken voices, songs, etc., from the adjoining apartment, where King Mark is dining with Knights and retainers.


Voice of K. Mark (in liquor)


Queen, whither goest thou? Pray plague me not


While keeping table. Hath the old knave left,


He with his balladry we heard by now Strum up to thee?


Q. Iseult


I go to the pleasance only, Across your feasting-hall for shortness’ sake, Returning hither swift.


Voice of K. Mark


Yea, have thy way,


As women will!


Voice of Sir Andret


Aye, hence the need to spy them!


Exeunt Queen Iseult and Brangwain through banqueting-hall to the outside of the Castle. Noise of cups, trenchers, drunken voices, songs, etc., resumed, till the door shuts, when it is heard in subdued tones.

\subsection{SCENE XIII}


Tristram and Chanters. Then Iseult


the whitehanded.


Tristram (going and looking seaward through arch)


A woman’s shape in white. . . . Can it be she?


Would she in sooth, then, risk to follow me?


Chanters: Men


O Tristram, thou art not to find Such solace for a shaken mind As seemed to wait thee here!


Chanters: Women


One seised of right to trace thy track Hath crossed the sea to win thee back In love and faith and fear!


Chanters: M. and W.


From this newcomer wis we pain Ere thou canst know sweet spells again, O knight of little cheer!


Enter Iseult the Whitehanded. She has corn-brown hair, and wears a white robe.


Iseult the White H.


I could not help it, O my husband! Yea I have dogged you close; I could not bear your rage;


And Heaven has favoured me! The sea


smiled smooth The whole way over, and the sun shone kind. Your sail was eyesome fair in front of me, And I steered just behind, all stealthfully! — Forgive me that I spoke untruly to you, And then to her, in my bruised brain’s turmoil.


But, in a way of saying, you were dead; You seemed so — in a dead drowse when she came.


And I did send for her at your entreaty; But flesh is frail. Centred is woman’s love, And knows no breadth. I could not let her land,


I could not let her come!


Tristram


Your speech is nought,


evil woman, who didst nearly witch


The death of this Queen, saying such of me!


Iseult the White H.


Forgive me, do forgive, my lord, my husband!


O love, have loved you so imperishably; Not with fleet flame at times, as some do use! Had I once been unfaithful, even perverse,


I would have held some coldness fitly won; But I have ever met your wryest whim With ready-wrought acceptance, matched


your moods, Clasped hands, touched lips, and smiled devotedly;


So how should this have grown up unaware?


Enter Queen Iseult and Brangwain in the Gallery above, unperceived.

\subsection{SCENE XIV}


Queen Iseult, Brangwain, Iseult the Whitehanded, Tristram, and Chanters.


Q. Iseult


What do they say? And who is she,


Brangwain? Not my suspicion hardened into mould Of flesh and blood indeed?


Brangwain


I cannot hear.


Tristram


I have no more to say or do with thee; I’d fade your face to strangeness in my eyes! Your father dealt me lllest turn in this; Your name, too, being the match of hers!


Yea, thus I was coerced. I never more can be Your bed-mate — never again.


Iseult the White H.


How, Tristram mine? What meaning mete you out by that to me?


You only say it, do you? You are not, Cannot be, in true earnest — that I know! I hope you are not in earnest? — Surely I This time as always, do belong to you, And you are going to keep me always yours?


I thought you loved my name for me myself,


Not for another; or at the very least


For sake of some dear sister or mother


dead, And not, not —


(She breaks down.)


Tristram


I spoke too rawly, maybe; mouthed what I Ought only to have mused. But do you dream


I for a leastness longer could abide Such dire disastrous lying? — Back to your ship;


Get into it; return by the aptest wind And mate with another man when thou canst find him,


Never uncovering how you cozened me: His temper might be tried thereby, as mine!


Iseult the White H.


No, no! I won’t be any other’s wife! How can a thing so monstrous ever be?


Tristram


If I had battened in Brittany with thee —


Iseult the White H.


But you don’t mean you’ll live away from me,


Leave me, and henceforth be unknown to me,


O you don’t surely? I could not help


coming;


Don’t send me away — do not, do not, do so!


(Q. Iseult above moves restlessly.) Forgive your Iseult for appearing here, Untoward seem it! For I love you so Your sudden setting out was death to me When I discerned the cause. Your sail smalled down:


0 I should have died had I not followed you. Only, my Tristram, let me be with thee, And see thy face. I do not sue for more!


Q. Iseult \{above)


She has no claim to importune like that, And gloss her hardihood in tracking him!


Tristram


Thou canst not haunt another woman’s house!


Iseult the White H.


O yes I can, if there’s no other way!


I have heard she does not mind. I’d


rather be


Her bondwench, if I am not good enough To be your wife, than not stay here at all-


Aye, I, the child of kings and governors, As luminous in ancestral line as she, Say this, so utter my abasement now! — Something will happen if I go away Of import dark to you (no matter what To me); and we two should not greet again!


— Could you but be the woman, I the man, I would not fly from you or banish you For fault so small as mine. O do not think It was so vile a thing. I wish — how much! —


You could have told me twenty such untruths,


That I might then have shown you \Slash{} would not


Rate them as faults, but be much joyed to have you


In spite of all. If you but through and through


Could spell me, know how staunch I have stood, and am,


You’d love me just the same. Come, say you do,


And let us not be severed so again.


Q. Iseult \{above)


I can’t bear this!


Iseult the White H.


All the long hours and days


And heavy gnawing nights, and you not there,


But gone because you hate me! ‘Tis past what


A woman can endure!


Tristram (more gently)


Not hate you, Iseult.


But, hate or love, lodge here you cannot now:


It’s out of thinking.


(Drunken revellers heard.)


Know you, that in that room Just joining this, King Mark is holding feast, And may burst in with all his wassailers, And that the Queen —


Q. Iseult \{above)


He’s softening to her. Come! Let us go down, and face this agony!


Queen Iseult and Brangwain descend from the Gallery.


Iseult the White H.


O, I suppose I must not! And I am tired, Tired, tired! And now my once-dear Brittany home Is but a desert to me. (Q. Iseult and Brangwain come forward.)


— Oh, the Queen! Can I — so weak — encounter —


Q. Iseult


Ah — as I thought, Quite as I thought. It is my namesake, sure!


(Iseult the White h.faints. Indecision. Brangwain goes to her.) Take her away. The blow that bruises her


Is her own dealing. Better she had known The self-sown pangs of prying ere she sailed!


Brangwain carries her out, Tristram suddenly assisting at the last moment as far as the door.


Chanters : Men (as she is carried)


Fluttering with fear, Out-tasked her strength has she! Loss of her Dear Threatening too clear, Gone to this length has she! Strain too severe!

\subsection{SCENE XV}


Queen Iseult, Tristram, and Chanters.


Q. Iseult (after restlessly watching Tristram render aid and return)


So, after all, am I to share you, then, With another, Tristram? who, as I count,


comes here To take the Castle as it were her own!


Tristram


Sweet Queen, you said you’d let her come one day!


However, back she’s going to Brittany, Which she should not have left. Think


kindly of her, A weaker one than you!


Q. Iseult


What, Tristram; what! O this from you to me, who have sacrificed


Honour and name for you so long, so long! Why, she and I are oil and water here: Other than disunite we cannot be. She weaker? Nay, I stand in jeopardy This very hour —


(‘Noise of Mark and revellers.) Listen to him within! His peer will pierce your cloak ere long — or would


Were he but sober — and then where am I? Better for us that I do yield you to her, And you depart! Hardly can I do else: In the eyes of men she has all claim to thee


And I have none, yes, she possesses you! — (Turning and speaking in a murmur.) — Th’other Iseult possesses him, indeed; And it was I who set it in his soul To seek her out! — my namesake, whom I felt


A kindness for — alas, I know not why!


(Sobs silently.)


Chanters: Women


White-Hands did this, Desperate to win again Back to her kiss One she would miss! — Yea, from the Queen again Win, for her bliss!

\subsection{Chanters: M. and W.}


Dreams of the Queen Always possessing him Racked her yestreen Cruelly and keen — Him, once professing him


Hers through Life’s scene!


Re-enter Brangwain.

\subsection{SCENE XVI}


Tristram, Queen Iseult, Brangwain, and Chanters.


Brangwain stands silent a few moments, till Q. Iseult turns and looks demandingly at her.


Brangwain The lady from the other coast now mends.


Q. Iseult (haughtily)


Give her good rest. (Bitterly) Yes, yes, in


sooth I said That she might come. Put her in mine own bed:


I’ll sleep upon the floor!


Exit Brangwain.


Tristram


‘Tis in your bitterness, My own sweet Queen, that you speak thus and thus!


Enter King Mark with Sir Andret to the Gallery, unperceived.

\subsection{SCENE XVII}


King Mark and Sir Andret (above): Queen Iseult, Tristram, and Chanters.


Sir Andret (to K. Mark)


See, here they are. God’s ‘ounds, sure, then was he


That harper I misdoubted once or twice; Or must have come while we were clinking cups,


No mischief dreaming!


Tristram


But, my best-beloved, Forgo these frets, and think of Joyous Gard!


(Approaches her.)


Q. Iseult (drawing back)


Nay, no more claspings! And if it should be That these new meetings operate on me


(You well know what I am touching on in this)


Mayhap by year’s-end I’ll not be alive, The which I almost pray for —


K. Mark (above)


Then ‘tis so! Their dalliances are in full gush again, Though I had deemed them hindered by his stay,


And vastly talked of ties, in Brittany.


Sir Andret


Such is betokened, certes, by their words, If we but wit them straight.


Tristram


O Queen my Love, Pray sun away this cloud, and shine again; Throw into your ripe voice and burning soul The music that they held in our aforetime: We shall outweather this!


(Enter Damsel with a letter.)


Who jars us now?

\subsection{SCENE XVIII}


Queen Iseult, Tristram, Damsel, King Mark., Sir Andret. and Chanters.


Damsel (‘humbly)


This letter, brought at peril, noble Knight,


King Mark has writ to our great Over- King —


Aye, Arthur — I the bearer. And I said,


“All that I can do for the brave Sir Tristram


That do will I! “ So I unscreen this scroll


(A power that chances through a friendly clerk).


In it he pens that as his baneful foe


He holds Sir Tristram, and will wreak revenge


Thrice through his loins as soon as hap may serve.


King Mark descends from Gallery and stands in the background, Sir Andret remaining above.


Q. Iseult \{aside to Tristram with misgivings)


These threats of Mark against you quail my heart,


And daunt my sore resentment at your wounds


And slights of late! O Tristram, save thyself,


And think no more of me!


Tristram


Forget you — never!


(Softly) Rather the sunflower may forget the sun!


(To Damsel) Wimple your face anew, wench: go unseen;


Re-seal the sheet, which I care not to con,


And send it on as bid.


Exit Damsel.

\subsection{SCENE XIX}


Queen Iseult, Tristram, King Mark, Sir Andret, and Chanters.


Tristram


Sure, Mark was drunk When writing such! Late he fed heavily And has, I judge, roved out with his boon knightage


Till evenfall shall bring him in to roost. Q. Iseult


I wonder! . . . [nestling closer) I’ve forebodings, Tristram dear; But, your death’s mine, Love!


Tristram


And yours mine, Sweet Heart!\dots{} — Now that the hall is lulled, and none seems near,


I’ll keep up my old minstrel character And sing to you, ere I by stealth depart To wait an hour more opportune for love. —


I could, an if I would, sing jeeringly Of the King; I mean the song Sir Dinadan Made up about him. He was mighty


wroth To hear it.


Q. Iseult


Nay, Love; sadness suits you best . . . Sad, sad are we: we will not jeer at him:


Such darkness overdraws us, it may whelm Us even with him my master! Sing of love.


(Tristram harps a prelude.) I hope he may not heel back home and hear!


Tristram (singing and playing)


Yea, Love, true is it sadness suits me best!


Sad, sad we are; sad, sad shall ever be. What shall deliver us from Love’s unrest, And bonds we did not forecast, did not see!


Q. Iseult


Yea, who will dole us, in these chains that chafe,


Bare pity! — O were ye my King — not he!


(She weeps, and he embraces her awhile.)


Tristram (thoughtfully)


Where is King Mark? I must be soon away!


King Mark, having drawn his dagger, creeps up behind Tristram.


K. Mark (in a thick voice)


He’s in his own house, where he ought to be,


Aye, here! where thou’lt be not much longer, man!


He runs Tristram through the back with his dagger. Queen Iseult shrieks. Tristram falls, Queen Iseult sinking down by him with clasped hands. Sir Andret descends quickly from the gallery.


Tristram (weakly)


From you! — against whom never have I sinned


But under sorcery unwittingly,


By draining deep the love-compelling vial


In my sick thirst, as innocently did she! . . .


This, when of late you sent for me, before


I went to Brittany, to come and help you!


“ Fair nephew,” said you, “ here upswarm our foes;


They are stark at hand, and must be strongly met


Sans tarriance, or they’ll uproot my realm.”


“ My power,” said I, “ is all at your command.”


I came. I neared in night-time to the gate,


Where the hot host of Sessoines clung encamped;


Killed them at th’entrance, and got in to you,


Who welcomed me with joy. I forth’d again,


Again slew more, and saved the stronghold’s fame!


Yet you (weaker) requite me thus! You might — have fought me!


(K. Mark droops his head in silence.)


Sir Andret


O fie upon thee, traitor, pleading thus! It profits naught. To-day here sees thee die!


Tristram


O Andret, Andret; this from thee to me — Thee, whom I onetime held my fastest friend;


Wert thou as I, I would not treat thee so!


(Sir Andret turns aside and looks down) [Weaker) Fair Knights, bethink ye what


I’ve done for Cornwall, — Its fate was on my shoulder — and I saved it! —


Yea, thick in jeopardies I’ve thrust myself To fame your knighthood! — daily stretched


my arm For — the weal — of you — all!


Tristram dies.


Q. Iseult


[springing up, the King standing dazed)


O murderer, husband called! — possest of me Against my nature and my pleading tears, When all my heart was Tristram’s — his past wording,


To your own knowledge. Now this mute red mouth


You’ve gored in my Beloved, bids me act: Act do I then. So out you — follow him!


She snatches King Mark’s dagger from his belt and stabs him with it. King Mark falls and dies. Queen Iseult rushes out. Sir Andret, stooping and finding the King dead, follows after the Queen. A few moments’ pause during which the sea and sky darken, and the wind rises, distant thunder murmuring. Enter W atchman; next Brangwain.

\subsection{SCENE XX}


Watchman and Chanters, with the dead King and Tristram; then Brangwain.


Watchman


She’s glode off like a ghost, with deathy mien;


It seems toward the ledge — yes, she — the Queen.


Brangwain (entering hurriedly)


She’s over the cliff, and Tristram’s brachet with her! . . .


What have we here? \dots{} Sir Tristram’s body? O!


Chanters: Men. (Brangwain standing and gradually drooping during their chant)


Alas, for this wroth day! She’s leapt the ledge and fallen


Into the loud black bay, Whose waters, loosed and swollen, Are spirting into spray!


She’s vanished from the world, Over the blind rock hurled; And the little hound her friend Has made with hers its end!


Chanters: Women


Alas, for this wroth day! Our Tristram, noble knight, A match for Arthur’s might, Lies here as quaking clay. This is no falsehood fell, But very truth indeed That we too surely read! Would that we had to tell But pleasant truth alway!


Brangwain (arousing and gazing round)


Here’s more of this same stuff of death.


Look down — What see I lying there? King Mark, too, slain?


The sea’s dark noise last night, the sky’s vast yawn


Of hollow bloodshot cloud, meant murder,


then, As I divined!


Enter Iseult the Whitehanded, Queen’s Ladies, Retainers, Bower- women., and others.

\subsection{SCENE XXI}


Iseult the Whitehanded, Brangwain, Queen’s Ladies, etc., and Chanters.


Iseult the White H.


I heard her cry. I saw her leap! How fair She was! What wonder that my brother Kay


Should pine for love of her. . . . O she should not


Have done it to herself! Nor life nor death Is worth a special quest.


(She sees Tristram’s body.) What’s this — my husband? My Tristram dead likewise? He one with her?


(She sinks and clasps Tristram.)


Chanters: M. and W.


Slain by King Mark unseen, in evil vow, Who never loved him! Pierced in the back


— aye, now, By sleight no codes of chivalry allow!


Iseult the White H.


And she beholding! That the cause where- for


She went and took her life? He was not


hers. . . . Yet did she love him true, if wickedly!


Re-enter Sir Andret, with other Knights, Squires, Herald, etc.

\subsection{SCENE XXII}


Iseult the Whitehanded, Brangwain, Sir Andret, etc., and Chanters.


Sir Andret (saturninely)


Nor sight nor sound of her! A Queen.


‘Od’s blood, Her flaws in life get mended by her death,


And she and Tristram sport re-burnished fames!


Iseult the White H. (seeing Mark’s body)


And the King also dead? My Tristram’s slayer?


Yet strange to me. Then even had I not come


Across the southern water recklessly


This would have shaped the same — the very- same.


(Turning again to Tristram.)


Tristram, dear husband! O! . . .


(She rocks herself over him)


What a rare beauteous knight has perished here


By this most cruel craft! Could not King Mark


If wronged, have chid him — minded him of me,


And not done this, done this! Well, well; she’s lost him,


Even as have I. — This stronghold moans with woes,


And jibbering voices join with winds and waves


To make a dolorous din! . . .


(They lift her) Aye, I will rise —


Betake me to my own dear Brittany —


Dearer in that our days there were so sweet,


Before I knew what pended me elsewhere !


These halls are hateful to me! May my


eyes


Meet them no more!


(She turns to go)


Brangwain


I will attend you, Madam.


Exit Iseult the Whitehanded assisted by Brangwain and Bowerwomen. Knights, retainers, etc., lift the bodies and carry them out. A Dirge by the Chanters.

\subsection{EPILOGUE}


Re-enter Merlin


Thus from the past, the throes and themes Whereof I spake — now dead as dreams —


Have been re-shaped and drawn In feinted deed and word, as though Our shadowy and phantasmal show Were very movements to and fro Of forms so far-off gone.


These warriors and dear women, whom I’ve called, as bidden, from the tomb,


May not have failed to raise An antique spell at moments here? — They were, in their long-faded sphere, As you are now who muse thereat; Their mirth, crimes, fear and love begat Your own, though thwart their ways; And may some pleasant thoughts outshape From this my conjuring to undrape Such ghosts of distant days!









% begin final page

\clearpage



% new page for the colophon

\thispagestyle{empty}

\begin{center}





\bigskip
\includegraphics[width=0.25\textwidth]{tedk.pdf}
\bigskip

\end{center}

\strut

\vfill

\begin{center}


Thomas Hardy

The Dynasts - Part Three






\bigskip



   

       

       

       

       

       

       

   



\bigskip
\textbf{www.thetedkarchive.com}


\end{center}

% end final page with colophon


% end closing pages



\end{document}


% No format ID passed.



