ACT FOURTHSCENE IA ROAD OUT OF VIENNA[It is morning in early May. Rain descends in torrents, accompaniedby peals of thunder. The tepid downpour has caused the trees toassume as by magic a clothing of limp green leafage, and has turnedthe ruts of the uneven highway into little canals.A drenched travelling-chariot is passing, with a meagre escort.In the interior are seated four women: the ARCHDUCHESS MARIALOUISA, in age about eighteen; her stepmother the EMPRESS OFAUSTRIA, third wife of FRANCIS, only four years older than theARCHDUCHESS; and two ladies of the Austrian Court. Behind comeattendant carriages bearing servants and luggage.The inmates remain for the most part silent, and appear to be in agloomy frame of mind. From time to time they glance at the moistspring scenes which pass without in a perspective distorted by therain-drops that slide down the panes, and by the blurring effectof the travellers’ breathings. Of the four the one who keeps inthe best spirits is the ARCHDUCHESS, a fair, blue-eyed, full-figured, round-lipped maiden.]MARIA LOUISAWhether the rain comes in or not I must open the window. Pleaseallow me. [She straightway opens it.]EMPRESS [groaning]Yes—open or shut it—I don’t care. I am too ill to care foranything! [The carriage jolts into a hole.] O woe! To think thatI am driven away from my husband’s home in such a miserableconveyance, along such a road, and in such weather as this. [Pealof thunder.] There are his guns!MARIA LOUISANo, my dear one. It cannot be his guns. They told us when westarted that he was only half-way from Ratisbon hither, so that hemust be nearly a hundred miles off as yet; and a large army cannotmove fast.EMPRESSHe should never have been let come nearer than Ratisbon! The victoryat Echmuhl was fatal for us. O Echmuhl, Echmuhl! I believe he willovertake us before we get to Buda.FIRST LADY-IN-WAITINGIf so, your Majesty, shall we be claimed as prisoners and marchedto Paris?EMPRESSUndoubtedly. But I shouldn’t much care. It would not be worse thanthis.... I feel sodden all through me, and frowzy, and broken![She closes her eyes as if to doze.]MARIA LOUISAIt is dreadful to see her suffer so! [Shutting the window.] Ifthe roads were not so bad I should not mind. I almost wish we hadstayed; though when he arrives the cannonade will be terrible.FIRST LADY-IN-WAITINGI wonder if he will get into Vienna. Will his men knock down allthe houses, madam?MARIA LOUISAIf he do get in, I am sure his triumph will not be for long. Myuncle the Archduke Charles is at his heels! I have been told manyimportant prophecies about Bonaparte’s end, which is fast nearing,it is asserted. It is he, they say, who is referred to in theApocalypse. He is doomed to die this year at Cologne, in an inncalled “The Red Crab.” I don’t attach too much importance to allthese predictions, but O, how glad I should be to see them come true!SECOND LADY-IN-WAITINGSo should we all, madam. What would become of his divorce-schemethen?MARIA LOUISAPerhaps there is nothing in that report. One can hardly believesuch gossip.SECOND LADY-IN-WAITINGBut they say, your Imperial Highness, that he certainly has decidedto sacrifice the Empress Joséphine, and that at the meeting lastOctober with the Emperor Alexander at Erfurt, it was even settledthat he should marry as his second wife the Grand-Duchess Anne.MARIA LOUISAI am sure that the Empress her mother will never allow one of thehouse of Romanoff to marry with a bourgeois Corsican. I wouldn’tif I were she!FIRST LADY-IN-WAITINGPerhaps, your Highness, they are not so particular in Russia, wherethey are rather new themselves, as we in Austria, with your ancientdynasty, are in such matters.MARIA LOUISAPerhaps not. Though the Empress-mother is a pompous old thing, asI have been told by Prince Schwarzenberg, who was negotiating therelast winter. My father says it would be a dreadful misfortune forour country if they were to marry. Though if we are to be exiledI don’t see how anything of that sort can matter much.... I hopemy father is safe![An officer of the escort rides up to the carriage window, whichis opened.]EMPRESS [unclosing her eyes]Any more misfortunes?OFFICERA rumour is a-wind, your Majesty,That the French host, the Emperor in its midst,Lannes, Masséna, and Bessieres in its van,Advancing hither along the Ratisbon road,Has seized the castle and town of Ebersberg,And burnt all down, with frightful massacre,Vast heaps of dead and wounded being consumed,So that the streets stink strong with frizzled flesh.—The enemy, ere this, has crossed the Traun,Hurling brave Hiller’s army back on us,And marches on Amstetten—thirty milesLess distant from Vienna from before!EMPRESSThe Lord show mercy to us! But O whyDid not the Archdukes intercept the foe?OFFICERHis Highness Archduke Charles, your Majesty,After his sore repulse Bohemia-wards,Could not proceed with strength and speed enoughTo close in junction with the Archduke JohnAnd Archduke Louis, as was their intent.So Marshall Lannes swings swiftly on Vienna,With Oudinot’s and Demont’s might of foot;Then Masséna and all his mounted men,And then Napoléon, Guards, Cuirassiers,And the main body of the Imperial Force.EMPRESSAlas for poor Vienna!OFFICEREven so!Your Majesty has fled it none too soon.[The window is shut, and the procession disappears behind thesheets of rain.]SCENE IITHE ISLAND OF LOBAU, WITH WAGRAM BEYOND[The northern horizon at the back of the bird’s-eye prospect isthe high ground stretching from the Bisamberg on the left to theplateau of Wagram on the right. In front of these elevationsspreads the wide plain of the Marchfeld, open, treeless, and withscarcely a house upon it.16In the foreground the Danube crosses the scene with a gracefulslowness, looping itself round the numerous wooded islands therein.The largest of these, immediately under the eye, is the Lobau,which stands like a knot in the gnarled grain represented by therunning river.On this island can be discerned, closely packed, an enormous darkmultitude of foot, horse, and artillery in French uniforms, thenumbers reaching to a hundred and seventy thousand.Lifting our eyes to discover what may be opposed to them weperceive on the Wagram plateau aforesaid, and right and left infront of it, extended lines of Austrians, whitish and glittering,to the number of a hundred and forty thousand.The July afternoon turns to evening, the evening to twilight.A species of simmer which pervades the living spectacle raisesexpectation till the very air itself seems strained with suspense.A huge event of some kind is awaiting birth.]DUMB SHOWThe first change under the cloak of night is that the tightly packedregiments on the island are got under arms. The soldiery are likea thicket of reeds in which every reed should be a man.A large bridge connects the island with the further shore, as wellas some smaller bridges. Opposite are high redoubts and ravelinsthat the Austrians have constructed for opposing the passage across,which the French ostentatiously set themselves to attempt by thelarge bridge, amid heavy cannonading.But the movement is a feint, though this is not perceived by theAustrians as yet. The real movement is on the right hand of theforeground, behind a spur of the isle, and out of sight of theenemy; where several large rafts and flat boats, each capable ofcarrying three hundred men, are floated out from a screened creek.Chosen battalions enter upon these, which immediately begin to crosswith their burden. Simultaneously from other screened nookssecretly prepared floating bridges, in sections, are moved forth,joined together, and defended by those who crossed on the rafts.At two o’clock in the morning the thousands of cooped soldiers beginto cross the bridges, producing a scene which, on such a scale, wasnever before witnessed in the history of war. A great dischargefrom the batteries accompanies this manoeuvre, arousing the Austriansto a like cannonade.The night has been obscure for summer-time, and there is no moon.The storm now breaks in a tempestuous downpour, with lightning andthunder. The tumult of nature mingles so fantastically with thetumult of projectiles that flaming bombs and forked flashes cut theair in company, and the noise from the mortars alternates with thenoise from the clouds.From bridge to bridge and back again a gloomy-eyed figure stalks, asit has stalked the whole night long, with the restlessness of a wildanimal. Plastered with mud, and dribbling with rain-water, it bearsno resemblance to anything dignified or official. The figure is thatof NAPOLÉON, urging his multitudes over.By daylight the great mass of the men is across the water. Atsix the rain ceases, the mist uncovers the face of the sun, whichbristles on the helmets and bayonets of the French. A hum ofamazement rises from the Austrian hosts, who turn staring facessouthward and perceive what has happened, and the columns oftheir enemies standing to arms on the same side of the streamwith themselves, and preparing to turn their left wing.NAPOLÉON rides along the front of his forces, which now spread outupon the plain, and are ranged in order of battle.Dumb Show ends, and the point of view changes.SCENE IIITHE FIELD OF WAGRAM[The battlefield is now viewed reversely, from the windows of amansion at Wolkersdorf, to the rear of the Austrian position.The aspect of the windows is nearly south, and the prospect includesthe plain of the Marchfeld, with the isled Danube and Lobau in theextreme distance. Ten miles to the south-west, rightwards, thefaint summit of the tower of St. Stephen’s, Vienna, appears. Onthe middle-left stands the compact plateau of Wagram, so regularlyshaped as to seem as if constructed by art. On the extreme leftthe July sun has lately risen.Inside the room are discovered the EMPEROR FRANCIS and some house-hold officers in attendance; with the War-Minister and Secretariesat a table at the back. Through open doors can be seen in an outerapartment adjutants, equerries, aides, and other military men. Anofficer in waiting enters.]OFFICERDuring the night the French have shifted, sire,And much revised their stations of the eveBy thwart and wheeling moves upon our left,And on our centre—projects unforeseenTill near accomplished.FRANCISBut I am advisedBy oral message that the Archduke Charles,Since the sharp strife last night, has mended, too,His earlier dispositions, and has spedStrong orders to the Archduke John, to bringIn swiftest marches all the force he holds,And fall with heavy impact on the FrenchFrom nigh their rear?OFFICER’Tis good, sire; such a swoopWill raise an obstacle to their retreatAnd refuge in the fastness of the isle;And show this victory-gorged adventurerThat striking with a river in his rearIs not the safest tactic to be playedAgainst an Austrian front equipt like ours![The EMPEROR FRANCIS and others scrutinize through their glassesthe positions and movements of the Austrian divisions, which appearon the plain as pale masses, emitting flashes from arms and helmetsunder the July rays, and reaching from the Tower of Neusiedel onthe left, past Wagram, into the village of Stammersdorf on theright. Beyond their lines are spread out the darker-hued French,almost parallel to the Austrians.]FRANCISThose moving masses toward the right I deemThe forces of Klenau and Kollowrath,Sent to support Prince John of LichtensteinI his attack that way?[An interval.]Now that they’ve gainedThe right there, why is not the attack begun?OFFICERThey are beginning on the left wing, sire.[The EMPEROR resumes his glass and beholds bodies of men descendingfrom the hills by Neusiedel, and crossing the Russbach river towardsthe French—a movement which has been going on for some time.]FRANCIS [turning thither]Where we are weakest! It surpasses meTo understand why was our centre thinnedTo pillar up our right already strong,Where nought is doing, while our left assaultStands ill-supported?[Time passes in silence.]Yes, it is so. See,The enemy strikes Rossenberg in flank,Compelling him to fall behind the Russbach![The EMPEROR gets excited, and his face perspires. At length hecannot watch through his glass, and walks up and down.]Penned useless here my nerves annoy my sight!Inform me what you note.—I should opineThe Wagram height behind impregnable?[Another silence, broken by the distant roar of the guns.]OFFICERKlenau and Kollowrath are pounding on!To turn the enemy’s left with our strong rightIs, after all, a plan that works out well.Hiller and Lichtenstein conjoin therein.FRANCISI hear from thence appalling cannonades.OFFICER’Tis their, your Majesty. Now we shall seeIf the French read that there the danger lies.FRANCISI only pray that Bonaparte refrainFrom spying danger there till all too late!OFFICER [involuntarily, after a pause]Ah, Heaven!FRANCIS [turning sharply]Well, well? What changes figure now?OFFICERThey pierce our centre, sire! We are, despite,Not centrally so weak as I supposed.Well done, Bellegarde!FRANCIS [glancing to the centre]And what has he well done?OFFICERThe French in fierce fume broke through Aderklaa;But Bellegarde, pricking along the plain behind,Has charged and driven them back disorderly.The Archduke Charles bounds thither, as I shape,In person to support him![The EMPEROR returns to his spyglass; and they and others watch insilence, sometimes the right of their front, sometimes the centre.]FRANCISIt is so!That the right attack of ours spells victory,And Austria’s grand salvation!... [Times passes.] Turn your glass,And closely scan Napoléon and his aidesHand-galloping towards his centre-leftTo strengthen it against the brave Bellegarde.Does your eye reach him?—That white horse, aloneIn front of those that move so rapidly.OFFICERIt does, sire; though my glass can conjure notSo cunningly as yours.... that horse must beThe famed Euphrates—him the Persian kingSent Bonaparte as gift.[A silence. NAPOLÉON reaches a carriage that is moving across.It bears MASSÉNA, who, having received a recent wound, in unableto ride.]FRANCISSee, the white horse and horseman pause besideA coach for some strange reason rolling there....That white-horsed rider—yes!—is Bonaparte,By the aides hovering round....New war-wiles have been worded; we shall spellTheir purport soon enough! [An interval.]The French take heartTo stand to our battalions steadfastly,And hold their ground, having the Emperor near![Time passes. An aide-de-camp enters.]AIDEThe Archduke Charles is pierced in the shoulder, sire;He strove too far in beating back the FrenchAt Aderklaa, and was nearly ta’en.The wound’s not serious.—On our right we win,And deem the battle ours.[Enter another aide-de-camp.]SECOND AIDEYour Majesty,We have borne them back through Aspern village-streetAnd Essling is recovered. What counts more,Their bridges to the rear we have nearly grasped,And panic-struck they crowd the few left free,Choking the track, with cries of “All is lost!”FRANCISThen is the land delivered. God be praised![Exeunt aides. An interval, during which the EMPEROR and hiscompanions again remain anxiously at their glasses.]There is a curious feature I discernTo have come upon the battle. On our rightWe gain ground rapidly; towards the leftWe lose it; and the unjudged consequenceIs that the armies; whole commingling massMoves like a monstrous wheel. I like it not![Enter another aide-de-camp.]THIRD AIDEOur left wing, sire, recedes before Davout,Whom nothing can withstand! Two corps he threwAcross the Russbach up to Neusiedel,While he himself assailed the place in front.Of the divisions one pressed on and on,Till lodged atop. They would have been hurled back—-FRANCISBut how goes it with us in sum? pray say!THIRD AIDEWe have been battered off the eastern sideOf Wagram plateau.FRANCISWhere’s the Archduke John?Why comes he not? One man of his here nowWere worth a host anon. And yet he tarries![Exit third aide. Time passes, while they reconnoitre the fieldwith strained eyes.]Our centre-right, it seems, round Neusiedel,Is being repulsed! May the kind Heaven forbidThat Hesse Homberg should be yielding there![The Minister in attendance comes forward, and the EMPEROR consultshim; then walking up and down in silence. Another aide-de-campenters.]FOURTH AIDESire, Neusiedel has just been wrenched from us,And the French right is on the Wagram crest;Nordmann has fallen, and Veczay: Hesse Homberg,Warteachben, Muger—almost all our best—Bleed more or less profusely![A gloomy silence. Exit fourth side. Ten minutes pass. Enter anofficer in waiting.]FRANCISWhat guns are those that groan from Wagram height?OFFICERAlas, Davout’s! I have climbed the roof-top, sire,And there discerned the truth.[Cannonade continues. A long interval of suspense. The EMPERORreturns to his glass.]FRANCISA part of it!There seems to be a grim, concerted lungeBy the whole strength of France upon our right,Centre, and left wing simultaneously!OFFICERMost viciously upon the centre, sire,If I mistook not, hard by Sussenbrunn;The assault is led by Bonaparte in person,Who shows himself with marvellous recklessness,Yet like a phantom-fiend receives no hurt.FRANCIS [still gazing]Ha! Now the Archduke Charles has seen the intent,And taken steps against it. SussenbrunnMust be the threatened thing. [Silence.] What an advance!—Straight hitherward. Our centre girdles them.—Surely they’ll not persist? Who heads that charge?OFFICERThey say Macdonald, sire.FRANCISMeagrest remainsWill there be soon of those in that advance!We are burning them to bones by our hot fire.They are almost circumscribed: if fully soThe battle’s ours! What’s that behind them, eh?OFFICERTheir last reserves, that they may feed the front,And sterilize our hope!FRANCISYes, their reserve—Dragoons and cuirassiers—charge in support.You see their metal gleaming as they come.Well, it is neck or nothing for them now!OFFICERIt’s nothing, sire. Their charge of cavalryHas desperately failed.FRANCISTheir foot press on,However, with a battery in frontWhich deals the foulest damage done us yet. [Time passes.]They ARE effecting lodgment, after all.Who would have reckoned on’t—our men so firm![Re-enter first aide-de-camp.]FIRST AIDEThe Archduke Charles retreats, your majesty;And the issue wears a dirty look just now.FRANCIS [gloomily]Yes: I have seen the signs for some good while.But he retreats with blows, and orderly.[Time passes, till the sun has rounded far towards the west. Thefeatures of the battle now materially change. The French haveregained Aspern and Essling; the Austrian army is doubled backfrom the Danube and from the heights of Wagram, which, asviewed from Wolkersdorf, face the afternoon shine, the Frenchestablished thereon glittering in the rays.FRANCIS [choking a sigh]The turn has passed. We are worsted, but not overwhelmed!...The French advance is laboured, and but slow.—This might have been another-coloured dayIf but the Archduke John had joined up promptly;Yet still he lags!ANOTHER OFFICER [lately entered]He’s just now coming, sire.His columns glimmer in the Frenchmen’s rear.Past Siebenbrunn’s and Loebensdorf’s smoked hills.FRANCIS [impatiently]Ay—coming NOW! Why could he not be COME![They watch intently.]We can see nothing of that side from here.[Enter a general officer, who speaks to the Minister at the backof the room.]MINISTER [coming forward]Your Majesty, I now have to suggest,Pursuant to conclusions reached this morn,That since the front and flower of all our forceIs seen receding to the Bisamberg,These walls no longer yield safe shade for you,Or facile outlook. Scouts returning sayEither Davout, or Bonaparte himself,With the mid-columns of his forward corps,Will bear up hitherward in fierce pursuit,And may intrude beneath this very roof.Not yet, I think; it may not be to-night;But we should stand prepared.FRANCISIf we must goWe’ll go with a good grace, unfeignedly!Who knows to-morrow may not see regainedWhat we have lost to-day?[Re-enter fourth aide-de-camp.]FOURTH AIDE [breathlessly]The Archduke John,Discerning our main musters in retreat,Abandons an advance that throws on himThe enemy’s whole brunt if he bear on.FRANCISAlas for his devotion! Let us go.Such weight of sadness as we shoulder nowWill wring us down to sleep in stall or stye,If even that be found!... Think! Bonaparte,By reckless riskings of his life and limb,Has turned the steelyard of our strength to-dayWhilst I have idled here!... May brighter timesAttend the cause of Europe far in Spain,And British blood flow not, as ours, in vain![Exeunt the EMPEROR FRANCIS, minister, officers, and attendants.The night comes, and the scene is obscured.]SCENE IVTHE FIELD OF TALAVERA[It is the same month and weather as in the preceding scene.Talavera town, on the river Tagus, is at the extreme right of theforeground; a mountain range on the extreme left.The allied army under SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY stretches between—theEnglish on the left, the Spanish on the right—part holding a hillto the left-centre of the scene, divided from the mountains by avalley, and part holding a redoubt to the right-centre. This armyof more than fifty thousand all told, of which twenty-two thousandonly are English, has its back to the spectator.Beyond, in a wood of olive, oak, and cork, are the fifty to sixtythousand French, facing the spectator and the allies. Their rightincludes a strong battery upon a hill which fronts the one on theEnglish left.Behind all, the heights of Salinas close the prospect, the smallriver Alberche flowing at their foot from left to right into theTagus, which advances in foreshortened perspective to the town atthe right front corner of the scene as aforesaid.]DUMB SHOWThe hot and dusty July afternoon having turned to twilight, shadymasses of men start into motion from the French position, come towardsthe foreground, silently ascend the hill on the left of the English,and assail the latter in a violent outburst of fire and lead. Theynearly gain possession of the hill ascended.CHORUS OF RUMOURS [aerial music]Talavera tongues it as ten o’ the night-time:Now come Ruffin’s slaughterers surging upward,Backed by bold Vilatte’s! From the vale Lapisse, too,Darkly outswells there!Down the vague veiled incline the English fling them,Bended bayonets prodding opponents backward:So the first fierce charge of the ardent FrenchmenEngland repels there!Having fallen back into the darkness the French presently reascendin yet larger masses. The high square knapsack which every Englishfoot-soldier carries, and his shako, and its tuft, outline themselvesagainst the dim light as the ranks stand awaiting the shock.CHORUS OF RUMOURSPushing spread they!—shout as they reach the summit!—Strength and stir new-primed in their plump battalions:Puffs of barbed flame blown on the lines opposingHigher and higher.There those hold them mute, though at speaking distance—Mute, while clicking flints, and the crash of volleysWhelm the weighted gloom with immense distractionPending their fire.Fronting heads, helms, brows can each ranksman read there,Epaulettes, hot cheeks, and the shining eyeball,[Called a trice from gloom by the fleeting pan-flash]Pressing them nigher!The French again fall back in disorder into the hollow, and LAPISSEdraws off on the right. As the sinking sound of the muskets tellswhat has happened the English raise a shout.CHORUS OF PITIESThus the dim nocturnal embroil of conflictCloses with the roar of receding gun-fire.Harness loosened then, and their day-long strenuousTemper unbending,Worn-out lines lie down where they late stood staunchly—Cloaks around them rolled—by the bivouac embers:There at dawn to stake in the dynasts’ death-gameAll, till the ending!SCENE VTHE SAMEDUMB SHOW [continued]The morning breaks. There is another murderous attempt to dislodge theEnglish from the hill, the assault being pressed with a determinationthat excites the admiration of the English themselves.The French are seen descending into the valley, crossing it, andclimbing it on the English side under the fire of HILL’S wholedivision, all to no purpose. In their retreat they leave behindthem on the slopes nearly two thousand lying.The day advances to noon, and the air trembles in the intense heat.The combat flags, and is suspended.SPIRIT OF THE PITIESWhat do I see but thirsty, throbbing bandsFrom these inimic hosts defiling downIn homely need towards the little streamThat parts their enmities, and drinking there!They get to grasping hands across the rill,Sealing their sameness as earth’s sojourners.—What more could plead the wryness of the timeThan such unstudied piteous pantomimes!SPIRIT IRONICIt is only that Life’s queer mechanics chance to work out in thisgrotesque shape just now. The groping tentativeness of an ImmanentWill [as grey old Years describes it] cannot be asked to learn logicat this time of day! The spectacle of Its instruments, set to riddleone another through, and then to drink together in peace and concord,is where the humour comes in, and makes the play worth seeing!SPIRIT SINISTERCome, Sprite, don’t carry your ironies too far, or you may wake upthe Unconscious Itself, and tempt It to let all the gory clock-workof the show run down to spite me!DUMB SHOW [continuing]The drums roll, and the men of the two nations part from theircomradeship at the Alberche brook, the dark masses of the Frencharmy assembling anew. SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY has seated himself ona mound that commands a full view of the contested hill, andremains there motionless a long time. When the French form forbattle he is seen to have come to a conclusion. He mounts, giveshis orders, and the aides ride off.The French advance steadily through the sultry atmosphere, theskirmishers in front, and the columns after, moving, yet seeminglymotionless. Their eighty cannon peal out and their shots mow everyspace in the line of them. Up the great valley and the terraces ofthe hill whose fame is at that moment being woven, comes VILLATE,boring his way with foot and horse, and RUFFIN’S men followingbehind.According to the order given, the Twenty-third Light Dragoons andthe German Hussars advance at a chosen moment against the head ofthese columns. On the way they disappear.SPIRIT OF THE PITIESWhy this bedevilment? What can have chanced?SPIRIT OF RUMOURIt so befalls that as their chargers nearThe inimical wall of flesh with its iron frise,A treacherous chasm uptrips them: zealous menAnd docile horses roll to dismal deathAnd horrid mutilation.SPIRIT OF THE PITIESThose who liveEven now advance! I’ll see no more. Relate.SPIRIT OF RUMOURYes, those pant on. Then further Frenchmen cross,And Polish Lancers, and Westphalian Horse,Who ring around these luckless Islanders,And sweep them down like reeds by the river-bankIn scouring floods; till scarce a man remains.Meanwhile on the British right SEBASTIANI’S corps has precipitateditself in column against GENERAL CAMPBELL’S division, the divisionof LAPISSE against the centre, and at the same time the hill on theEnglish left is again assaulted. The English and their allies arepressed sorely here, the bellowing battery tearing lanes throughtheir masses.SPIRIT OF RUMOUR [continuing]The French reserves of foot and horse now on,Smiting the Islanders in breast and brainTill their mid-lines are shattered.... Now there ticksThe moment of the crisis; now the next,Which brings the turning stroke.SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY sends down the Forty-eighth regiment underCOLONEL DONELLAN to support the wasting troops. It advances amidthose retreating, opening to let them pass.SPIRIT OF THE RUMOUR [continuing]The pales, enerved,The hitherto unflinching enemy!Lapisse is pierced to death; the flagging FrenchDecline into the hollows whence they came.The too exhausted English and reducedLack strength to follow.—Now the western sun,Conning with unmoved visage quick and dead,Gilds horsemen slackening, and footmen stilled,Till all around breathes drowsed hostility.Last, the swealed herbage lifts a leering light,And flames traverse the field; and hurt and slainOpposed, opposers, in a common plightAre scorched together on the dusk champaign.The fire dies down, and darkness enwraps the scene.SCENE VIBRIGHTON. THE ROYAL PAVILION[It is the birthday dinner-party of the PRINCE OF WALES. In thefloridly decorated banqueting-room stretch tables spread with goldand silver plate, and having artificial fountains in their midst.Seated at the tables are the PRINCE himself as host—rosy, wellcurled, and affable—the DUKES OF YORK, CLARENCE, KENT, SUSSEX,CUMBERLAND, and CAMBRIDGE, with many noblemen, including LORDSHEADFORT, BERKELEY, EGREMONT, CHICHESTER, DUDLEY, SAY AND SELE,SOUTHAMPTON, HEATHFIELD, ERSKINE, KEITH, C. SOMERSET, G. CAVENDISH,R. SEYMOUR, and others; SIR C. POLE, SIR E.G. DE CRESPIGNY, MR.SHERIDAN; Generals, Colonels, and Admirals, and the REV. MR. SCOTT.The PRINCE’S band plays in the adjoining room. The banquet isdrawing to its close, and a boisterous conversation is in progress.Enter COLONEL BLOOMFIELD with a dispatch for the PRINCE, who looksit over amid great excitement in the company. In a few momentssilence is called.]PRINCE OF WALESI have the joy, my lords and gentlemen,To rouse you with the just imported tidingsFrom General Wellesley through Lord CastlereaghOf a vast victory [noisy cheers] over the French in Spain.The place—called Talavera de la Reyna[If I pronounce it rightly]—long unknown,Wears not the crest and blazonry of fame! [Cheers.]The heads and chief contents of the dispatchI read you as succinctly as I can. [Cheers.]SHERIDAN [singing sotto voce]“Now foreign foemen die and fly,Dammy, we’ll drink little England dry!”[The PRINCE reads the parts of the dispatch that describe thebattle, amid intermittent cheers.]PRINCE OF WALES [continuing]Such is the substance of the news received,Which, after Wagram, strikes us geniallyAs sudden sunrise through befogged night shades!SHERIDAN [privately]By God, that’s good, sir! You are a poet born, while the rest of usare but made, and bad at that.[The health of the army in Spain is drunk with acclamations.]PRINCE OF WALES [continuing]In this achievement we, alas! have lostToo many! Yet suck blanks must ever be.—Mackenzie, Langworth, Beckett of the Guards,Have fallen of ours; while of the enemyGenerals Lapisse and Morlot are laid low.—Drink to their memories![They drink in silence.]Other news, my friends,Received to-day is of like hopeful kind.The Great War-Expedition to the Scheldt [Cheers.]Which lately sailed, has found a favouring wind,And by this hour has touched its destined shores.The enterprise will soon be hot aglow,The invaders making first the Cadsand coast,And then descending on Walcheren Isle.But items of the next step are withheldTill later days, from obvious policy. [Cheers.][Faint throbbing sounds, like the notes of violincellos andcontrabassos, reach the ear from some building without as thespeaker pauses.In worthy emulation of us hereThe county holds to-night a birthday ball,Which flames with all the fashion of the town.I have been asked to patronize their revel,And sup with them, and likewise you, my guests.We have good reason, with such news to bear!Thither we haste and join our loyal friends,And stir them with this live intelligenceOf our staunch regiments on the Spanish plains. [Applause.]With them we’ll now knit hands and beat the ground,And bring in dawn as we whirl round and round!There are some fair ones in their set to-night,And such we need here in our bachelor-plight. [Applause.][The PRINCE, his brothers, and a large proportion of the otherPavilion guests, swagger out in the direction of the Castleassembly-rooms adjoining, and the deserted banqueting-hall growsdark. In a few moments the back of the scene opens, revealingthe assembly-rooms behind.]SCENE VIITHE SAME. THE ASSEMBLY ROOMS[The rooms are lighted with candles in brass chandeliers, and adance is in full movement to the strains of a string-band. Asignal is given, shortly after the clock has struck eleven, byMR. FORTH, Master of Ceremonies.]FORTHHis Royal Highness comes, though somewhat late,But never too late for welcome! [Applause.] Dancers, stand,That we may do fit homage to the PrinceWho soon may shine our country’s gracious king.[After a brief stillness a commotion is heard at the door, the bandstrikes up the National air, and the PRINCE enters, accompanied bythe rest of the visitors from the Pavilion. The guests who havebeen temporarily absent now crowd in, till there is hardly spaceto stand.]PRINCE OF WALES [wiping his face and whispering to Sheridan]What shall I say to fit their feeling here?Damn me, that other speech has stumped me quite!SHERIDAN [whispering]If heat be evidence of loy—-PRINCE OF WALESIf what?SHERIDANIf heat be evidence of loyalty,Et caetera—something quaint like that might please ’em.PRINCE OF WALES [to the company]If heat be evidence of loyalty,This room affords it truly without question;If heat be not, then its accompanimentMost surely ’tis to-night. The news I bring,Good ladies, friends, and gentlemen, perchanceYou have divined already? That our arms—Engaged to thwart Napoléon’s tyrannyOver the jaunty, jocund land of SpainEven to the highest apex of our strength—Are rayed with victory! [Cheers.] Lengthy was the strifeAnd fierce, and hot; and sore the suffering;But proudly we endured it; and shall hear,No doubt, of its far consequenceEre many days. I’ll read the details sent. [Cheers.][He reads again from the dispatch amid more cheering, the ball-room guests crowding round. When he has done he answers questions;then continuing:Meanwhile our interest is, if possible,As keenly waked elsewhere. Into the ScheldtSome forty thousand bayonets and swords,And twoscore ships o’ the line, with frigates, sloops,And gunboats sixty more, make headway now,Bleaching the waters with their bellying sails;Or maybe they already anchor there,And that level ooze of Walcheren shoreRing with the voices of that landing hostIn every twang of British dialect,Clamorous to loosen fettered Europe’s chain! [Cheers.]A NOBLE LORD [aside to Sheridan]Prinny’s outpouring tastes suspiciously like your brew, Sheridan.I’ll be damned if it is his own concoction. How d’ye sell it agallon?SHERIDANI don’t deal that way nowadays. I give the recipe, and charge aduty on the gauging. It is more artistic, and saves trouble.[The company proceed to the supper-rooms, and the ball-room sinksinto solitude.]SPIRIT OF THE PITIESSo they pass on. Let be!—But what is this—A moan?—all frailly floating from the eastTo usward, even from the forenamed isle?...Would I had not broke nescience, to inspectA world so ill-contrived!SPIRIT OF THE YEARSBut since thou hastWe’ll hasten to the isle; and thou’lt behold—Such as it is—the scene its coasts enfold.SCENE VIIIWALCHEREN[A marshy island at the mouth of the Scheldt, lit by the lowsunshine of an evening in late summer. The horizontal rays fromthe west lie in yellow sheaves across the vapours that the day’sheat has drawn from the sweating soil. Sour grasses grow inplaces, and strange fishy smells, now warm, now cold, pass along.Brass-hued and opalescent bubbles, compounded of many gases, risewhere passing feet have trodden the damper spots. At night theplace is the haunt of the Jack-lantern.]DUMB SHOWA vast army is encamped here, and in the open spaces are infantry onparade—skeletoned men, some flushed, some shivering, who are keptmoving because it is dangerous to stay still. Every now and thenone falls down, and is carried away to a hospital with no roof, wherehe is laid, bedless, on the ground.In the distance soldiers are digging graves for the funerals whichare to take place after dark, delayed till then that the sight ofso many may not drive the living melancholy-mad. Faint noises areheard in the air.SHADE OF THE EARTHWhat storm is this of souls dissolved in sighs,And what the dingy doom it signifies?SPIRIT OF THE PITIESWe catch a lamentation shaped thuswise:CHORUS OF THE PITIES [aerial music]“We who withstood the blasting blaze of warWhen marshalled by the gallant Moore awhile,Beheld the grazing death-bolt with a smile,Closed combat edge to edge and bore to bore,Now rot upon this Isle!“The ever wan morass, the dune, the blearSandweed, and tepid pool, and putrid smell,Emaciate purpose to a fractious fear,Beckon the body to its last low cell—A chink no chart will tell.“O ancient Delta, where the fen-lights flit!Ignoble sediment of loftier lands,Thy humour clings about our hearts and handsAnd solves us to its softness, till we sitAs we were part of it.“Such force as fever leaves maddened now,With tidings trickling in from day to dayOf others’ differing fortunes, wording howThey yield their lives to baulk a tyrant’s sway—Yield them not vainly, they!“In champaigns green and purple, far and near,In town and thorpe where quiet spire-cocks turn,Through vales, by rocks, beside the brooding burnEchoes the aggressor’s arrogant career;And we pent pithless here!“Here, where each creeping day the creeping fileDraws past with shouldered comrades score on score,Bearing them to their lightless last asile,Where weary wave-wails from the clammy shoreWill reach their ears no more.“We might have fought, and had we died, died well,Even if in dynasts’ discords not our own;Our death-spot some sad haunter might have shown,Some tongue have asked our sires or sons to tellThe tale of how we fell;“But such be chanced not. Like the mist we fade,No lustrous lines engrave in story we,Our country’s chiefs, for their own fames afraid,Will leave our names and fates by this pale sea,To perish silently!”SPIRIT OF THE YEARSWhy must ye echo as mechanic mimesThese mortal minion’s bootless cadences,Played on the stops of their anatomyAs is the mewling music on the stringsOf yonder ship-masts by the unweeting wind,Or the frail tune upon this withering sedgeThat holds its papery blades against the gale?—Men pass to dark corruption, at the best,Ere I can count five score: these why not now?—The Immanent Shaper builds Its beings soWhether ye sigh their sighs with them or no!The night fog enwraps the isle and the dying English army.
A ROAD OUT OF VIENNA[It is morning in early May. Rain descends in torrents, accompaniedby peals of thunder. The tepid downpour has caused the trees toassume as by magic a clothing of limp green leafage, and has turnedthe ruts of the uneven highway into little canals.A drenched travelling-chariot is passing, with a meagre escort.In the interior are seated four women: the ARCHDUCHESS MARIALOUISA, in age about eighteen; her stepmother the EMPRESS OFAUSTRIA, third wife of FRANCIS, only four years older than theARCHDUCHESS; and two ladies of the Austrian Court. Behind comeattendant carriages bearing servants and luggage.The inmates remain for the most part silent, and appear to be in agloomy frame of mind. From time to time they glance at the moistspring scenes which pass without in a perspective distorted by therain-drops that slide down the panes, and by the blurring effectof the travellers’ breathings. Of the four the one who keeps inthe best spirits is the ARCHDUCHESS, a fair, blue-eyed, full-figured, round-lipped maiden.]
MARIA LOUISAWhether the rain comes in or not I must open the window. Pleaseallow me. [She straightway opens it.]
EMPRESS [groaning]Yes—open or shut it—I don’t care. I am too ill to care foranything! [The carriage jolts into a hole.] O woe! To think thatI am driven away from my husband’s home in such a miserableconveyance, along such a road, and in such weather as this. [Pealof thunder.] There are his guns!
MARIA LOUISANo, my dear one. It cannot be his guns. They told us when westarted that he was only half-way from Ratisbon hither, so that hemust be nearly a hundred miles off as yet; and a large army cannotmove fast.
EMPRESSHe should never have been let come nearer than Ratisbon! The victoryat Echmuhl was fatal for us. O Echmuhl, Echmuhl! I believe he willovertake us before we get to Buda.
FIRST LADY-IN-WAITINGIf so, your Majesty, shall we be claimed as prisoners and marchedto Paris?
EMPRESSUndoubtedly. But I shouldn’t much care. It would not be worse thanthis.... I feel sodden all through me, and frowzy, and broken![She closes her eyes as if to doze.]
MARIA LOUISAIt is dreadful to see her suffer so! [Shutting the window.] Ifthe roads were not so bad I should not mind. I almost wish we hadstayed; though when he arrives the cannonade will be terrible.
FIRST LADY-IN-WAITINGI wonder if he will get into Vienna. Will his men knock down allthe houses, madam?
MARIA LOUISAIf he do get in, I am sure his triumph will not be for long. Myuncle the Archduke Charles is at his heels! I have been told manyimportant prophecies about Bonaparte’s end, which is fast nearing,it is asserted. It is he, they say, who is referred to in theApocalypse. He is doomed to die this year at Cologne, in an inncalled “The Red Crab.” I don’t attach too much importance to allthese predictions, but O, how glad I should be to see them come true!
SECOND LADY-IN-WAITINGSo should we all, madam. What would become of his divorce-schemethen?
MARIA LOUISAPerhaps there is nothing in that report. One can hardly believesuch gossip.
SECOND LADY-IN-WAITINGBut they say, your Imperial Highness, that he certainly has decidedto sacrifice the Empress Joséphine, and that at the meeting lastOctober with the Emperor Alexander at Erfurt, it was even settledthat he should marry as his second wife the Grand-Duchess Anne.
MARIA LOUISAI am sure that the Empress her mother will never allow one of thehouse of Romanoff to marry with a bourgeois Corsican. I wouldn’tif I were she!
FIRST LADY-IN-WAITINGPerhaps, your Highness, they are not so particular in Russia, wherethey are rather new themselves, as we in Austria, with your ancientdynasty, are in such matters.
MARIA LOUISAPerhaps not. Though the Empress-mother is a pompous old thing, asI have been told by Prince Schwarzenberg, who was negotiating therelast winter. My father says it would be a dreadful misfortune forour country if they were to marry. Though if we are to be exiledI don’t see how anything of that sort can matter much.... I hopemy father is safe![An officer of the escort rides up to the carriage window, whichis opened.]
EMPRESS [unclosing her eyes]Any more misfortunes?
OFFICERA rumour is a-wind, your Majesty,That the French host, the Emperor in its midst,Lannes, Masséna, and Bessieres in its van,Advancing hither along the Ratisbon road,Has seized the castle and town of Ebersberg,And burnt all down, with frightful massacre,Vast heaps of dead and wounded being consumed,So that the streets stink strong with frizzled flesh.—The enemy, ere this, has crossed the Traun,Hurling brave Hiller’s army back on us,And marches on Amstetten—thirty milesLess distant from Vienna from before!
EMPRESSThe Lord show mercy to us! But O whyDid not the Archdukes intercept the foe?
OFFICERHis Highness Archduke Charles, your Majesty,After his sore repulse Bohemia-wards,Could not proceed with strength and speed enoughTo close in junction with the Archduke JohnAnd Archduke Louis, as was their intent.So Marshall Lannes swings swiftly on Vienna,With Oudinot’s and Demont’s might of foot;Then Masséna and all his mounted men,And then Napoléon, Guards, Cuirassiers,And the main body of the Imperial Force.
EMPRESSAlas for poor Vienna!
OFFICEREven so!Your Majesty has fled it none too soon.[The window is shut, and the procession disappears behind thesheets of rain.]
THE ISLAND OF LOBAU, WITH WAGRAM BEYOND[The northern horizon at the back of the bird’s-eye prospect isthe high ground stretching from the Bisamberg on the left to theplateau of Wagram on the right. In front of these elevationsspreads the wide plain of the Marchfeld, open, treeless, and withscarcely a house upon it.16In the foreground the Danube crosses the scene with a gracefulslowness, looping itself round the numerous wooded islands therein.The largest of these, immediately under the eye, is the Lobau,which stands like a knot in the gnarled grain represented by therunning river.On this island can be discerned, closely packed, an enormous darkmultitude of foot, horse, and artillery in French uniforms, thenumbers reaching to a hundred and seventy thousand.Lifting our eyes to discover what may be opposed to them weperceive on the Wagram plateau aforesaid, and right and left infront of it, extended lines of Austrians, whitish and glittering,to the number of a hundred and forty thousand.The July afternoon turns to evening, the evening to twilight.A species of simmer which pervades the living spectacle raisesexpectation till the very air itself seems strained with suspense.A huge event of some kind is awaiting birth.]
DUMB SHOWThe first change under the cloak of night is that the tightly packedregiments on the island are got under arms. The soldiery are likea thicket of reeds in which every reed should be a man.A large bridge connects the island with the further shore, as wellas some smaller bridges. Opposite are high redoubts and ravelinsthat the Austrians have constructed for opposing the passage across,which the French ostentatiously set themselves to attempt by thelarge bridge, amid heavy cannonading.But the movement is a feint, though this is not perceived by theAustrians as yet. The real movement is on the right hand of theforeground, behind a spur of the isle, and out of sight of theenemy; where several large rafts and flat boats, each capable ofcarrying three hundred men, are floated out from a screened creek.Chosen battalions enter upon these, which immediately begin to crosswith their burden. Simultaneously from other screened nookssecretly prepared floating bridges, in sections, are moved forth,joined together, and defended by those who crossed on the rafts.At two o’clock in the morning the thousands of cooped soldiers beginto cross the bridges, producing a scene which, on such a scale, wasnever before witnessed in the history of war. A great dischargefrom the batteries accompanies this manoeuvre, arousing the Austriansto a like cannonade.The night has been obscure for summer-time, and there is no moon.The storm now breaks in a tempestuous downpour, with lightning andthunder. The tumult of nature mingles so fantastically with thetumult of projectiles that flaming bombs and forked flashes cut theair in company, and the noise from the mortars alternates with thenoise from the clouds.From bridge to bridge and back again a gloomy-eyed figure stalks, asit has stalked the whole night long, with the restlessness of a wildanimal. Plastered with mud, and dribbling with rain-water, it bearsno resemblance to anything dignified or official. The figure is thatof NAPOLÉON, urging his multitudes over.By daylight the great mass of the men is across the water. Atsix the rain ceases, the mist uncovers the face of the sun, whichbristles on the helmets and bayonets of the French. A hum ofamazement rises from the Austrian hosts, who turn staring facessouthward and perceive what has happened, and the columns oftheir enemies standing to arms on the same side of the streamwith themselves, and preparing to turn their left wing.NAPOLÉON rides along the front of his forces, which now spread outupon the plain, and are ranged in order of battle.Dumb Show ends, and the point of view changes.
THE FIELD OF WAGRAM[The battlefield is now viewed reversely, from the windows of amansion at Wolkersdorf, to the rear of the Austrian position.The aspect of the windows is nearly south, and the prospect includesthe plain of the Marchfeld, with the isled Danube and Lobau in theextreme distance. Ten miles to the south-west, rightwards, thefaint summit of the tower of St. Stephen’s, Vienna, appears. Onthe middle-left stands the compact plateau of Wagram, so regularlyshaped as to seem as if constructed by art. On the extreme leftthe July sun has lately risen.Inside the room are discovered the EMPEROR FRANCIS and some house-hold officers in attendance; with the War-Minister and Secretariesat a table at the back. Through open doors can be seen in an outerapartment adjutants, equerries, aides, and other military men. Anofficer in waiting enters.]
OFFICERDuring the night the French have shifted, sire,And much revised their stations of the eveBy thwart and wheeling moves upon our left,And on our centre—projects unforeseenTill near accomplished.
FRANCISBut I am advisedBy oral message that the Archduke Charles,Since the sharp strife last night, has mended, too,His earlier dispositions, and has spedStrong orders to the Archduke John, to bringIn swiftest marches all the force he holds,And fall with heavy impact on the FrenchFrom nigh their rear?
OFFICER’Tis good, sire; such a swoopWill raise an obstacle to their retreatAnd refuge in the fastness of the isle;And show this victory-gorged adventurerThat striking with a river in his rearIs not the safest tactic to be playedAgainst an Austrian front equipt like ours![The EMPEROR FRANCIS and others scrutinize through their glassesthe positions and movements of the Austrian divisions, which appearon the plain as pale masses, emitting flashes from arms and helmetsunder the July rays, and reaching from the Tower of Neusiedel onthe left, past Wagram, into the village of Stammersdorf on theright. Beyond their lines are spread out the darker-hued French,almost parallel to the Austrians.]
FRANCISThose moving masses toward the right I deemThe forces of Klenau and Kollowrath,Sent to support Prince John of LichtensteinI his attack that way?[An interval.]Now that they’ve gainedThe right there, why is not the attack begun?
OFFICERThey are beginning on the left wing, sire.[The EMPEROR resumes his glass and beholds bodies of men descendingfrom the hills by Neusiedel, and crossing the Russbach river towardsthe French—a movement which has been going on for some time.]
FRANCIS [turning thither]Where we are weakest! It surpasses meTo understand why was our centre thinnedTo pillar up our right already strong,Where nought is doing, while our left assaultStands ill-supported?[Time passes in silence.]Yes, it is so. See,The enemy strikes Rossenberg in flank,Compelling him to fall behind the Russbach![The EMPEROR gets excited, and his face perspires. At length hecannot watch through his glass, and walks up and down.]Penned useless here my nerves annoy my sight!Inform me what you note.—I should opineThe Wagram height behind impregnable?[Another silence, broken by the distant roar of the guns.]
OFFICERKlenau and Kollowrath are pounding on!To turn the enemy’s left with our strong rightIs, after all, a plan that works out well.Hiller and Lichtenstein conjoin therein.
FRANCISI hear from thence appalling cannonades.
OFFICER’Tis their, your Majesty. Now we shall seeIf the French read that there the danger lies.
FRANCISI only pray that Bonaparte refrainFrom spying danger there till all too late!
OFFICER [involuntarily, after a pause]Ah, Heaven!
FRANCIS [turning sharply]Well, well? What changes figure now?
OFFICERThey pierce our centre, sire! We are, despite,Not centrally so weak as I supposed.Well done, Bellegarde!
FRANCIS [glancing to the centre]And what has he well done?
OFFICERThe French in fierce fume broke through Aderklaa;But Bellegarde, pricking along the plain behind,Has charged and driven them back disorderly.The Archduke Charles bounds thither, as I shape,In person to support him![The EMPEROR returns to his spyglass; and they and others watch insilence, sometimes the right of their front, sometimes the centre.]
FRANCISIt is so!That the right attack of ours spells victory,And Austria’s grand salvation!... [Times passes.] Turn your glass,And closely scan Napoléon and his aidesHand-galloping towards his centre-leftTo strengthen it against the brave Bellegarde.Does your eye reach him?—That white horse, aloneIn front of those that move so rapidly.
OFFICERIt does, sire; though my glass can conjure notSo cunningly as yours.... that horse must beThe famed Euphrates—him the Persian kingSent Bonaparte as gift.[A silence. NAPOLÉON reaches a carriage that is moving across.It bears MASSÉNA, who, having received a recent wound, in unableto ride.]
FRANCISSee, the white horse and horseman pause besideA coach for some strange reason rolling there....That white-horsed rider—yes!—is Bonaparte,By the aides hovering round....New war-wiles have been worded; we shall spellTheir purport soon enough! [An interval.]The French take heartTo stand to our battalions steadfastly,And hold their ground, having the Emperor near![Time passes. An aide-de-camp enters.]
AIDEThe Archduke Charles is pierced in the shoulder, sire;He strove too far in beating back the FrenchAt Aderklaa, and was nearly ta’en.The wound’s not serious.—On our right we win,And deem the battle ours.[Enter another aide-de-camp.]
SECOND AIDEYour Majesty,We have borne them back through Aspern village-streetAnd Essling is recovered. What counts more,Their bridges to the rear we have nearly grasped,And panic-struck they crowd the few left free,Choking the track, with cries of “All is lost!”
FRANCISThen is the land delivered. God be praised![Exeunt aides. An interval, during which the EMPEROR and hiscompanions again remain anxiously at their glasses.]There is a curious feature I discernTo have come upon the battle. On our rightWe gain ground rapidly; towards the leftWe lose it; and the unjudged consequenceIs that the armies; whole commingling massMoves like a monstrous wheel. I like it not![Enter another aide-de-camp.]
THIRD AIDEOur left wing, sire, recedes before Davout,Whom nothing can withstand! Two corps he threwAcross the Russbach up to Neusiedel,While he himself assailed the place in front.Of the divisions one pressed on and on,Till lodged atop. They would have been hurled back—-
FRANCISBut how goes it with us in sum? pray say!
THIRD AIDEWe have been battered off the eastern sideOf Wagram plateau.
FRANCISWhere’s the Archduke John?Why comes he not? One man of his here nowWere worth a host anon. And yet he tarries![Exit third aide. Time passes, while they reconnoitre the fieldwith strained eyes.]Our centre-right, it seems, round Neusiedel,Is being repulsed! May the kind Heaven forbidThat Hesse Homberg should be yielding there![The Minister in attendance comes forward, and the EMPEROR consultshim; then walking up and down in silence. Another aide-de-campenters.]
FOURTH AIDESire, Neusiedel has just been wrenched from us,And the French right is on the Wagram crest;Nordmann has fallen, and Veczay: Hesse Homberg,Warteachben, Muger—almost all our best—Bleed more or less profusely![A gloomy silence. Exit fourth side. Ten minutes pass. Enter anofficer in waiting.]
FRANCISWhat guns are those that groan from Wagram height?
OFFICERAlas, Davout’s! I have climbed the roof-top, sire,And there discerned the truth.[Cannonade continues. A long interval of suspense. The EMPERORreturns to his glass.]
FRANCISA part of it!There seems to be a grim, concerted lungeBy the whole strength of France upon our right,Centre, and left wing simultaneously!
OFFICERMost viciously upon the centre, sire,If I mistook not, hard by Sussenbrunn;The assault is led by Bonaparte in person,Who shows himself with marvellous recklessness,Yet like a phantom-fiend receives no hurt.
FRANCIS [still gazing]Ha! Now the Archduke Charles has seen the intent,And taken steps against it. SussenbrunnMust be the threatened thing. [Silence.] What an advance!—Straight hitherward. Our centre girdles them.—Surely they’ll not persist? Who heads that charge?
OFFICERThey say Macdonald, sire.
FRANCISMeagrest remainsWill there be soon of those in that advance!We are burning them to bones by our hot fire.They are almost circumscribed: if fully soThe battle’s ours! What’s that behind them, eh?
OFFICERTheir last reserves, that they may feed the front,And sterilize our hope!
FRANCISYes, their reserve—Dragoons and cuirassiers—charge in support.You see their metal gleaming as they come.Well, it is neck or nothing for them now!
OFFICERIt’s nothing, sire. Their charge of cavalryHas desperately failed.
FRANCISTheir foot press on,However, with a battery in frontWhich deals the foulest damage done us yet. [Time passes.]They ARE effecting lodgment, after all.Who would have reckoned on’t—our men so firm![Re-enter first aide-de-camp.]
FIRST AIDEThe Archduke Charles retreats, your majesty;And the issue wears a dirty look just now.
FRANCIS [gloomily]Yes: I have seen the signs for some good while.But he retreats with blows, and orderly.[Time passes, till the sun has rounded far towards the west. Thefeatures of the battle now materially change. The French haveregained Aspern and Essling; the Austrian army is doubled backfrom the Danube and from the heights of Wagram, which, asviewed from Wolkersdorf, face the afternoon shine, the Frenchestablished thereon glittering in the rays.
FRANCIS [choking a sigh]The turn has passed. We are worsted, but not overwhelmed!...The French advance is laboured, and but slow.—This might have been another-coloured dayIf but the Archduke John had joined up promptly;Yet still he lags!
ANOTHER OFFICER [lately entered]He’s just now coming, sire.His columns glimmer in the Frenchmen’s rear.Past Siebenbrunn’s and Loebensdorf’s smoked hills.
FRANCIS [impatiently]Ay—coming NOW! Why could he not be COME![They watch intently.]We can see nothing of that side from here.[Enter a general officer, who speaks to the Minister at the backof the room.]
MINISTER [coming forward]Your Majesty, I now have to suggest,Pursuant to conclusions reached this morn,That since the front and flower of all our forceIs seen receding to the Bisamberg,These walls no longer yield safe shade for you,Or facile outlook. Scouts returning sayEither Davout, or Bonaparte himself,With the mid-columns of his forward corps,Will bear up hitherward in fierce pursuit,And may intrude beneath this very roof.Not yet, I think; it may not be to-night;But we should stand prepared.
FRANCISIf we must goWe’ll go with a good grace, unfeignedly!Who knows to-morrow may not see regainedWhat we have lost to-day?[Re-enter fourth aide-de-camp.]
FOURTH AIDE [breathlessly]The Archduke John,Discerning our main musters in retreat,Abandons an advance that throws on himThe enemy’s whole brunt if he bear on.
FRANCISAlas for his devotion! Let us go.Such weight of sadness as we shoulder nowWill wring us down to sleep in stall or stye,If even that be found!... Think! Bonaparte,By reckless riskings of his life and limb,Has turned the steelyard of our strength to-dayWhilst I have idled here!... May brighter timesAttend the cause of Europe far in Spain,And British blood flow not, as ours, in vain![Exeunt the EMPEROR FRANCIS, minister, officers, and attendants.The night comes, and the scene is obscured.]
THE FIELD OF TALAVERA[It is the same month and weather as in the preceding scene.Talavera town, on the river Tagus, is at the extreme right of theforeground; a mountain range on the extreme left.The allied army under SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY stretches between—theEnglish on the left, the Spanish on the right—part holding a hillto the left-centre of the scene, divided from the mountains by avalley, and part holding a redoubt to the right-centre. This armyof more than fifty thousand all told, of which twenty-two thousandonly are English, has its back to the spectator.Beyond, in a wood of olive, oak, and cork, are the fifty to sixtythousand French, facing the spectator and the allies. Their rightincludes a strong battery upon a hill which fronts the one on theEnglish left.Behind all, the heights of Salinas close the prospect, the smallriver Alberche flowing at their foot from left to right into theTagus, which advances in foreshortened perspective to the town atthe right front corner of the scene as aforesaid.]
DUMB SHOWThe hot and dusty July afternoon having turned to twilight, shadymasses of men start into motion from the French position, come towardsthe foreground, silently ascend the hill on the left of the English,and assail the latter in a violent outburst of fire and lead. Theynearly gain possession of the hill ascended.
CHORUS OF RUMOURS [aerial music]Talavera tongues it as ten o’ the night-time:Now come Ruffin’s slaughterers surging upward,Backed by bold Vilatte’s! From the vale Lapisse, too,Darkly outswells there!Down the vague veiled incline the English fling them,Bended bayonets prodding opponents backward:So the first fierce charge of the ardent FrenchmenEngland repels there!
Having fallen back into the darkness the French presently reascendin yet larger masses. The high square knapsack which every Englishfoot-soldier carries, and his shako, and its tuft, outline themselvesagainst the dim light as the ranks stand awaiting the shock.
CHORUS OF RUMOURSPushing spread they!—shout as they reach the summit!—Strength and stir new-primed in their plump battalions:Puffs of barbed flame blown on the lines opposingHigher and higher.There those hold them mute, though at speaking distance—Mute, while clicking flints, and the crash of volleysWhelm the weighted gloom with immense distractionPending their fire.Fronting heads, helms, brows can each ranksman read there,Epaulettes, hot cheeks, and the shining eyeball,[Called a trice from gloom by the fleeting pan-flash]Pressing them nigher!
The French again fall back in disorder into the hollow, and LAPISSEdraws off on the right. As the sinking sound of the muskets tellswhat has happened the English raise a shout.
CHORUS OF PITIESThus the dim nocturnal embroil of conflictCloses with the roar of receding gun-fire.Harness loosened then, and their day-long strenuousTemper unbending,Worn-out lines lie down where they late stood staunchly—Cloaks around them rolled—by the bivouac embers:There at dawn to stake in the dynasts’ death-gameAll, till the ending!
THE SAME
DUMB SHOW [continued]The morning breaks. There is another murderous attempt to dislodge theEnglish from the hill, the assault being pressed with a determinationthat excites the admiration of the English themselves.The French are seen descending into the valley, crossing it, andclimbing it on the English side under the fire of HILL’S wholedivision, all to no purpose. In their retreat they leave behindthem on the slopes nearly two thousand lying.The day advances to noon, and the air trembles in the intense heat.The combat flags, and is suspended.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESWhat do I see but thirsty, throbbing bandsFrom these inimic hosts defiling downIn homely need towards the little streamThat parts their enmities, and drinking there!They get to grasping hands across the rill,Sealing their sameness as earth’s sojourners.—What more could plead the wryness of the timeThan such unstudied piteous pantomimes!
SPIRIT IRONICIt is only that Life’s queer mechanics chance to work out in thisgrotesque shape just now. The groping tentativeness of an ImmanentWill [as grey old Years describes it] cannot be asked to learn logicat this time of day! The spectacle of Its instruments, set to riddleone another through, and then to drink together in peace and concord,is where the humour comes in, and makes the play worth seeing!
SPIRIT SINISTERCome, Sprite, don’t carry your ironies too far, or you may wake upthe Unconscious Itself, and tempt It to let all the gory clock-workof the show run down to spite me!
DUMB SHOW [continuing]The drums roll, and the men of the two nations part from theircomradeship at the Alberche brook, the dark masses of the Frencharmy assembling anew. SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY has seated himself ona mound that commands a full view of the contested hill, andremains there motionless a long time. When the French form forbattle he is seen to have come to a conclusion. He mounts, giveshis orders, and the aides ride off.The French advance steadily through the sultry atmosphere, theskirmishers in front, and the columns after, moving, yet seeminglymotionless. Their eighty cannon peal out and their shots mow everyspace in the line of them. Up the great valley and the terraces ofthe hill whose fame is at that moment being woven, comes VILLATE,boring his way with foot and horse, and RUFFIN’S men followingbehind.According to the order given, the Twenty-third Light Dragoons andthe German Hussars advance at a chosen moment against the head ofthese columns. On the way they disappear.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESWhy this bedevilment? What can have chanced?
SPIRIT OF RUMOURIt so befalls that as their chargers nearThe inimical wall of flesh with its iron frise,A treacherous chasm uptrips them: zealous menAnd docile horses roll to dismal deathAnd horrid mutilation.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESThose who liveEven now advance! I’ll see no more. Relate.
SPIRIT OF RUMOURYes, those pant on. Then further Frenchmen cross,And Polish Lancers, and Westphalian Horse,Who ring around these luckless Islanders,And sweep them down like reeds by the river-bankIn scouring floods; till scarce a man remains.
Meanwhile on the British right SEBASTIANI’S corps has precipitateditself in column against GENERAL CAMPBELL’S division, the divisionof LAPISSE against the centre, and at the same time the hill on theEnglish left is again assaulted. The English and their allies arepressed sorely here, the bellowing battery tearing lanes throughtheir masses.
SPIRIT OF RUMOUR [continuing]The French reserves of foot and horse now on,Smiting the Islanders in breast and brainTill their mid-lines are shattered.... Now there ticksThe moment of the crisis; now the next,Which brings the turning stroke.
SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY sends down the Forty-eighth regiment underCOLONEL DONELLAN to support the wasting troops. It advances amidthose retreating, opening to let them pass.
SPIRIT OF THE RUMOUR [continuing]The pales, enerved,The hitherto unflinching enemy!Lapisse is pierced to death; the flagging FrenchDecline into the hollows whence they came.The too exhausted English and reducedLack strength to follow.—Now the western sun,Conning with unmoved visage quick and dead,Gilds horsemen slackening, and footmen stilled,Till all around breathes drowsed hostility.Last, the swealed herbage lifts a leering light,And flames traverse the field; and hurt and slainOpposed, opposers, in a common plightAre scorched together on the dusk champaign.
The fire dies down, and darkness enwraps the scene.
BRIGHTON. THE ROYAL PAVILION[It is the birthday dinner-party of the PRINCE OF WALES. In thefloridly decorated banqueting-room stretch tables spread with goldand silver plate, and having artificial fountains in their midst.Seated at the tables are the PRINCE himself as host—rosy, wellcurled, and affable—the DUKES OF YORK, CLARENCE, KENT, SUSSEX,CUMBERLAND, and CAMBRIDGE, with many noblemen, including LORDSHEADFORT, BERKELEY, EGREMONT, CHICHESTER, DUDLEY, SAY AND SELE,SOUTHAMPTON, HEATHFIELD, ERSKINE, KEITH, C. SOMERSET, G. CAVENDISH,R. SEYMOUR, and others; SIR C. POLE, SIR E.G. DE CRESPIGNY, MR.SHERIDAN; Generals, Colonels, and Admirals, and the REV. MR. SCOTT.The PRINCE’S band plays in the adjoining room. The banquet isdrawing to its close, and a boisterous conversation is in progress.Enter COLONEL BLOOMFIELD with a dispatch for the PRINCE, who looksit over amid great excitement in the company. In a few momentssilence is called.]
PRINCE OF WALESI have the joy, my lords and gentlemen,To rouse you with the just imported tidingsFrom General Wellesley through Lord CastlereaghOf a vast victory [noisy cheers] over the French in Spain.The place—called Talavera de la Reyna[If I pronounce it rightly]—long unknown,Wears not the crest and blazonry of fame! [Cheers.]The heads and chief contents of the dispatchI read you as succinctly as I can. [Cheers.]
SHERIDAN [singing sotto voce]“Now foreign foemen die and fly,Dammy, we’ll drink little England dry!”[The PRINCE reads the parts of the dispatch that describe thebattle, amid intermittent cheers.]
PRINCE OF WALES [continuing]Such is the substance of the news received,Which, after Wagram, strikes us geniallyAs sudden sunrise through befogged night shades!
SHERIDAN [privately]By God, that’s good, sir! You are a poet born, while the rest of usare but made, and bad at that.[The health of the army in Spain is drunk with acclamations.]
PRINCE OF WALES [continuing]In this achievement we, alas! have lostToo many! Yet suck blanks must ever be.—Mackenzie, Langworth, Beckett of the Guards,Have fallen of ours; while of the enemyGenerals Lapisse and Morlot are laid low.—Drink to their memories![They drink in silence.]Other news, my friends,Received to-day is of like hopeful kind.The Great War-Expedition to the Scheldt [Cheers.]Which lately sailed, has found a favouring wind,And by this hour has touched its destined shores.The enterprise will soon be hot aglow,The invaders making first the Cadsand coast,And then descending on Walcheren Isle.But items of the next step are withheldTill later days, from obvious policy. [Cheers.][Faint throbbing sounds, like the notes of violincellos andcontrabassos, reach the ear from some building without as thespeaker pauses.In worthy emulation of us hereThe county holds to-night a birthday ball,Which flames with all the fashion of the town.I have been asked to patronize their revel,And sup with them, and likewise you, my guests.We have good reason, with such news to bear!Thither we haste and join our loyal friends,And stir them with this live intelligenceOf our staunch regiments on the Spanish plains. [Applause.]With them we’ll now knit hands and beat the ground,And bring in dawn as we whirl round and round!There are some fair ones in their set to-night,And such we need here in our bachelor-plight. [Applause.][The PRINCE, his brothers, and a large proportion of the otherPavilion guests, swagger out in the direction of the Castleassembly-rooms adjoining, and the deserted banqueting-hall growsdark. In a few moments the back of the scene opens, revealingthe assembly-rooms behind.]
THE SAME. THE ASSEMBLY ROOMS[The rooms are lighted with candles in brass chandeliers, and adance is in full movement to the strains of a string-band. Asignal is given, shortly after the clock has struck eleven, byMR. FORTH, Master of Ceremonies.]
FORTHHis Royal Highness comes, though somewhat late,But never too late for welcome! [Applause.] Dancers, stand,That we may do fit homage to the PrinceWho soon may shine our country’s gracious king.
[After a brief stillness a commotion is heard at the door, the bandstrikes up the National air, and the PRINCE enters, accompanied bythe rest of the visitors from the Pavilion. The guests who havebeen temporarily absent now crowd in, till there is hardly spaceto stand.]
PRINCE OF WALES [wiping his face and whispering to Sheridan]What shall I say to fit their feeling here?Damn me, that other speech has stumped me quite!
SHERIDAN [whispering]If heat be evidence of loy—-
PRINCE OF WALESIf what?
SHERIDANIf heat be evidence of loyalty,Et caetera—something quaint like that might please ’em.
PRINCE OF WALES [to the company]If heat be evidence of loyalty,This room affords it truly without question;If heat be not, then its accompanimentMost surely ’tis to-night. The news I bring,Good ladies, friends, and gentlemen, perchanceYou have divined already? That our arms—Engaged to thwart Napoléon’s tyrannyOver the jaunty, jocund land of SpainEven to the highest apex of our strength—Are rayed with victory! [Cheers.] Lengthy was the strifeAnd fierce, and hot; and sore the suffering;But proudly we endured it; and shall hear,No doubt, of its far consequenceEre many days. I’ll read the details sent. [Cheers.][He reads again from the dispatch amid more cheering, the ball-room guests crowding round. When he has done he answers questions;then continuing:Meanwhile our interest is, if possible,As keenly waked elsewhere. Into the ScheldtSome forty thousand bayonets and swords,And twoscore ships o’ the line, with frigates, sloops,And gunboats sixty more, make headway now,Bleaching the waters with their bellying sails;Or maybe they already anchor there,And that level ooze of Walcheren shoreRing with the voices of that landing hostIn every twang of British dialect,Clamorous to loosen fettered Europe’s chain! [Cheers.]
A NOBLE LORD [aside to Sheridan]Prinny’s outpouring tastes suspiciously like your brew, Sheridan.I’ll be damned if it is his own concoction. How d’ye sell it agallon?
SHERIDANI don’t deal that way nowadays. I give the recipe, and charge aduty on the gauging. It is more artistic, and saves trouble.[The company proceed to the supper-rooms, and the ball-room sinksinto solitude.]
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESSo they pass on. Let be!—But what is this—A moan?—all frailly floating from the eastTo usward, even from the forenamed isle?...Would I had not broke nescience, to inspectA world so ill-contrived!
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSBut since thou hastWe’ll hasten to the isle; and thou’lt behold—Such as it is—the scene its coasts enfold.
WALCHEREN[A marshy island at the mouth of the Scheldt, lit by the lowsunshine of an evening in late summer. The horizontal rays fromthe west lie in yellow sheaves across the vapours that the day’sheat has drawn from the sweating soil. Sour grasses grow inplaces, and strange fishy smells, now warm, now cold, pass along.Brass-hued and opalescent bubbles, compounded of many gases, risewhere passing feet have trodden the damper spots. At night theplace is the haunt of the Jack-lantern.]
DUMB SHOWA vast army is encamped here, and in the open spaces are infantry onparade—skeletoned men, some flushed, some shivering, who are keptmoving because it is dangerous to stay still. Every now and thenone falls down, and is carried away to a hospital with no roof, wherehe is laid, bedless, on the ground.In the distance soldiers are digging graves for the funerals whichare to take place after dark, delayed till then that the sight ofso many may not drive the living melancholy-mad. Faint noises areheard in the air.
SHADE OF THE EARTHWhat storm is this of souls dissolved in sighs,And what the dingy doom it signifies?
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESWe catch a lamentation shaped thuswise:
CHORUS OF THE PITIES [aerial music]“We who withstood the blasting blaze of warWhen marshalled by the gallant Moore awhile,Beheld the grazing death-bolt with a smile,Closed combat edge to edge and bore to bore,Now rot upon this Isle!“The ever wan morass, the dune, the blearSandweed, and tepid pool, and putrid smell,Emaciate purpose to a fractious fear,Beckon the body to its last low cell—A chink no chart will tell.“O ancient Delta, where the fen-lights flit!Ignoble sediment of loftier lands,Thy humour clings about our hearts and handsAnd solves us to its softness, till we sitAs we were part of it.“Such force as fever leaves maddened now,With tidings trickling in from day to dayOf others’ differing fortunes, wording howThey yield their lives to baulk a tyrant’s sway—Yield them not vainly, they!“In champaigns green and purple, far and near,In town and thorpe where quiet spire-cocks turn,Through vales, by rocks, beside the brooding burnEchoes the aggressor’s arrogant career;And we pent pithless here!“Here, where each creeping day the creeping fileDraws past with shouldered comrades score on score,Bearing them to their lightless last asile,Where weary wave-wails from the clammy shoreWill reach their ears no more.“We might have fought, and had we died, died well,Even if in dynasts’ discords not our own;Our death-spot some sad haunter might have shown,Some tongue have asked our sires or sons to tellThe tale of how we fell;“But such be chanced not. Like the mist we fade,No lustrous lines engrave in story we,Our country’s chiefs, for their own fames afraid,Will leave our names and fates by this pale sea,To perish silently!”
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSWhy must ye echo as mechanic mimesThese mortal minion’s bootless cadences,Played on the stops of their anatomyAs is the mewling music on the stringsOf yonder ship-masts by the unweeting wind,Or the frail tune upon this withering sedgeThat holds its papery blades against the gale?—Men pass to dark corruption, at the best,Ere I can count five score: these why not now?—The Immanent Shaper builds Its beings soWhether ye sigh their sighs with them or no!
The night fog enwraps the isle and the dying English army.