ACT SECONDSCENE ITHE PLAIN OF VITORIA[It is the eve of the longest day of the year; also the eve of thebattle of Vitoria. The English army in the Peninsula, and theirSpanish and Portuguese allies, are bivouacking on the western sideof the Plain, about six miles from the town.On some high ground in the left mid-distance may be discerned theMARQUIS OF WELLINGTON’S tent, with GENERALS HILL, PICTON, PONSONBY,GRAHAM, and others of his staff, going in and out in consultationon the momentous event impending. Near the foreground are somehussars sitting round a fire, the evening being damp; their horsesare picketed behind. In the immediate front of the scene are sometroop-officers talking.]FIRST OFFICERThis grateful rest of four-and-twenty hoursIs 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 downThe methods of our master-stroke to-morrow:I have no clear conception of its plan,Even in its leading lines. What is decided?FIRST OFFICERThere 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, HillWill start at once to storm the Puebla crests.The Chief himself, with us here in the centre,Will lead on by the bridges Tres-PuentesOver the ridge there, and the Mendoza bridgeA little further up.—That’s roughly it;But much and wide discretionary powerIs left the generals all.[The officers walk away, and the stillness increases, so theconversation at the hussars’ bivouac, a few yards further back,becomes noticeable.]SERGEANT YOUNG19I wonder, I wonder how Stourcastle is looking this summer night, andall the old folks there!SECOND HUSSARYou was born there, I think I’ve heard ye say, Sergeant?SERGEANT YOUNGI was. And though I ought not to say it, as father and mother areliving there still, ’tis a dull place at times. Now Budmouth-Regiswas exactly to my taste when we were there with the Court thatsummer, and the King and Queen a-wambling about among us like themost everyday old man and woman you ever see. Yes, there was plentygoing on, and only a pretty step from home. Altogether we had afine time!THIRD HUSSARYou walked with a girl there for some weeks, Sergeant, if my memoryserves?SERGEANT YOUNGI did. And a pretty girl ’a was. But nothing came on’t. A monthafore we struck camp she married a tallow-chandler’s dipper of LittleNicholas Lane. I was a good deal upset about it at the time. Butone gets over things!SECOND HUSSAR’Twas a low taste in the hussy, come to that.—Howsomever, I agreeabout 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 YOUNGI had; and have still. ’Twas made up when we left by our bandmasterthat used to conduct in front of Gloucester Lodge at the King’s Messevery afternoon.[The Sergeant is silent for a minute, then suddenly bursts intomelody.]SONG “BUDMOUTH DEARS”IWhen we lay where Budmouth Beach is,O, the girls were fresh as peaches,With their tall and tossing figures and their eyes of blueand brown!And our hearts would ache with longingAs we paced from our sing-songing,With a smart CLINK! CLINK! up the Esplanade and downIIThey distracted and delayed usBy 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.IIIDo 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 featuresOf the fair fantastic creatures,And no more CLINK! CLINK! past the parlours of the town?IVShall we once again there meet them?Falter fond attempts to greet them?Will the gay sling-jacket20glow again beside the muslin gown?—Will they archly quiz and con usWith 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 nightgets darker, the fires go out, and the camp sleeps.]SCENE IITHE SAME, FROM THE PUEBLA HEIGHTS[It is now day; but a summer fog pervades the prospect. Behindthe fog is heard the roll of bass and tenor drums and the clashof cymbals, with notes of the popular march “The Downfall of Paris.”By degrees the fog lifts, and the Plain is disclosed. From thiselevation, gazing north, the expanse looks like the palm of amonstrous right hand, a little hollowed, some half-dozen milesacross, wherein the ball of the thumb is roughly represented byheights to the east, on which the French centre has gathered; the“Mount of Mars” and the “Moon” [the opposite side of the palm] bythe position of the English on the left or west of the plain;and the “Line of Life” by the Zadorra, an unfordable river runningfrom the town down the plain, and dropping out of it through apass in the Puebla Heights to the south, just beneath our pointof observation—that is to say, toward the wrist of the supposedhand. The left of the English army under GRAHAM would occupy the“mounts” at the base of the fingers; while the bent finger-tipsmight represent the Cantabrian Hills beyond the plain to the northor back of the scene.From the aforesaid stony crests of Puebla the white town andchurch 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 ashort while, bringing up the fragrant scents from fields, vineyards,and gardens, now in the full leafage of June.]DUMB SHOWAll the English forces converge forward—that is, eastwardly—thecentre over the ridges, the right through the Pass to the south, theleft down the Bilbao road on the north-west, the bands of the diversregiments striking up the same quick march, “The Downfall of Paris.”SPIRIT OF THE YEARSYou see the scene. And yet you see it not.What do you notice now?There immediately is shown visually the electric state of mind thatanimates WELLINGTON, GRAHAM, HILL, KEMPT, PICTON, COLVILLE, and otherresponsible ones on the British side; and on the French KING JOSEPHstationary on the hill overlooking his own centre, and surrounded bya 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 brainlit by phosphorescence, in an instant fades back to normal.Anon we see the English hussars with their flying pelisses gallopingacross the Zadorra on one of the Tres-Puentes in the midst of thefield, as had been planned, the English lines in the foreground underHILL pushing the enemy up the slopes; and far in the distance, to theleft of Vitoria, whiffs of grey smoke followed by low rumbles showthat the left of the English army under GRAHAM is pushing on there.Bridge after bridge of the half-dozen over the Zadorra is crossed bythe British; and WELLINGTON, in the centre with PICTON, seeing thehill and village of Arinez in front of him [eastward] to be weaklyheld, carries the regiments of the seventh and third divisions in aquick run towards it. Supported by the hussars, they ultimatelyfight their way to the top, in a chaos of smoke, flame, and boomingechoes, 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 theforeground, have been turned by HILL; the heights are all abandoned,and the columns fall back in a confused throng by the road toVitoria, hard pressed by the British, who capture abandoned gunsamid indescribable tumult, till the French make a stand in frontof the town.SPIRIT OF THE PITIESWhat’s toward in the distance?—say!SEMICHORUS I OF RUMOURS [aerial music]Fitfully flash strange sights there; yea,Unwonted spectacles of sweat and scareBehind the French, that make a standWith eighty cannon, match in hand.—Upon the highway from the town to rearAn eddy of distraction reigns,Where lumbering treasure, baggage-trains,Padding pedestrians, haze the atmosphere.SEMICHORUS IIMen, women, and their children fly,And when the English over-highDirect their death-bolts, on this billowy throngAlight the too far-ranging balls,Wringing out piteous shrieks and callsFrom the pale mob, in monotones loud and long.SEMICHORUS ITo leftward of the distant dinReille meantime has been driven inBy Graham’s measure overmastering might.—Henceforward, masses of the foeWithdraw, and, firing as they go,Pass rightwise from the cockpit out of sight.CHORUSThe sunset slants an ochreous shineUpon the English knapsacked line,Whose glistering bayonets inclineAs bends the hot pursuit across the plain;And tardily behind them goesToo many a mournful load of thoseFound wound-weak; while with stealthy crawl,As silence wraps the rear of all,Cloaked creatures of the starlight strip the slain.SCENE IIITHE SAME. THE ROAD FROM THE TOWN[With the going down of the sun the English army finds itself incomplete possession of the mass of waggons and carriages distantlybeheld from the rear—laden with pictures, treasure, flour,vegetables, furniture, finery, parrots, monkeys, and women—mostof the male sojourners in the town having taken to their heelsand disappeared across the fields.The road is choked with these vehicles, the women they carryincluding wives, mistresses, actresses, dancers, nuns, andprostitutes, which struggle through droves of oxen, sheep, goats,horses, asses, and mules— a Noah’s-ark of living creatures inone vast procession.There enters rapidly in front of this throng a carriage containingKING JOSEPH BONAPARTE and an attendant, followed by another vehiclewith 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 leapsfrom the vehicle and mounts a horse.Enter at full gallop from the left CAPTAIN WYNDHAM and a detachmentof the Tenth Hussars in chase of the King’s carriage; and from theright a troop of French dragoons, who engage with the hussars andhinder pursuit. Exit KING JOSEPH on horseback; afterwards thehussars and dragoons go out fighting.The British infantry enter irregularly, led by a sergeant of theEighty-seventh, mockingly carrying MARSHAL JOURDAN’S baton. Thecrowd recedes. The soldiers ransack the King’s carriages, cutfrom their frames canvases by Murillo, Velasquez, and Zurbaran,and use them as package-wrappers, throwing the papers and archivesinto the road.They next go to a waggon in the background, which contains a largechest. Some of the soldiers burst it with a crash. It is full ofmoney, 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 thescramble for them; next ransacking other waggons and abstractingtherefrom uniforms, ladies raiment, jewels, plate, wines, andspirits.Some array them in the finery, and one soldier puts on a diamondnecklace; others load themselves with the money still lying aboutthe road. It begins to rain, and a private who has lost his kitcuts a hole in the middle of a deframed old master, and, puttingit over his head, wears it as a poncho.Enter WELLINGTON and others, grimy and perspiring.]FIRST OFFICERThe men are plundering in all directions!WELLINGTONLet ’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.WELLINGTONWe must examine it. It may have use.[Another company of soldiers enters, dragging some equipages thathave lost their horses by the traces being cut. The carriagescontain ladies, who shriek and weep at finding themselves captives.]What women bring they there?THIRD OFFICERMixed 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.WELLINGTONWell, pack them offTo-morrow to Pamplona, as you can;We’ve neither list nor leisure for their charms.By God, I never saw so many wh—-sIn all my life before![Exeunt WELLINGTON, officers, and infantry. A soldier enters withhis arm round a lady in rich costume.]SOLDIERWe must be married, my dear.LADY [not knowing his language]Anything, sir, if you’ll spare my life!SOLDIERThere’s neither parson nor clerk here. But that don’t matter—hey?LADYAnything, sir, if you’ll spare my life!SOLDIERAnd if we’ve got to unmarry at cockcrow, why, so be it—hey?LADYAnything, sir, if you’ll spare my life!SOLDIERA sensible ’ooman, whatever it is she says; that I can see by herpretty 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 closesin, and the growling of artillery ceases, though the wheels of theflying enemy are still heard in the distance. The fires kindledby the soldiers as they make their bivouacs blaze up in the gloom,and throw their glares a long way, revealing on the slopes of thehills many suffering ones who have not yet been carried in.The last victorious regiment comes up from the rear, fifing anddrumming ere it reaches its resting-place the last bars of “TheDownfall of Paris”:—Transcriber’s Note: There follows in musical notation four barsfrom that song in 2/4 time, key of C—\\E EF G F\E EF G F\E EC D DB\C \\SCENE IVA FETE AT VAUXHALL[It is the Vitoria festival at Vauxhall. The orchestra of therenowned gardens exhibits a blaze of lamps and candles arrangedin the shape of a temple, a great artificial sun glowing at thetop, and under it in illuminated characters the words “Vitoria”and “Wellington.” The band is playing the new air “The Plainsof Vitoria.”All round the colonnade of the rotunda are to be read in theillumination the names of Peninsular victories, underneath themfiguring the names of British and Spanish generals who led atthose battles, surmounted by wreaths of laurel The avenuesstretching away from the rotunda into the gardens charm the eyeswith their mild multitudinous lights, while festoons of lampshang from the trees elsewhere, and transparencies representingscenes from the war.The gardens and saloons are crowded, among those present being theKING’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, theinterior of which is in comparative obscurity. Two foreignattachés enter it and sit down.]FIRST ATTACHEAh—now for the fireworks. They are under the direction of ColonelCongreve.[At the end of an alley, purposely kept dark, fireworks aredischarged.]SECOND ATTACHEVery 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 severalofficers in like attire. He walks about the gardens with LADYCHARLOTTE CAMPBELL.]FIRST ATTACHEPeople have been paying a mighty price for tickets—as much asfifteen guineas has been offered, I hear. I had to walk up to thegates; the number of coaches struggling outside prevented my drivingnear. It was as bad as the battle of Vitoria itself.SECOND ATTACHESo Wellington is made Field-Marshal for his achievement.FIRST ATTACHEYes. By the by, you have heard of the effect of the battle uponthe Conference at Reichenbach?—that Austria is to join Russia andPrussia against France? So much for Napoléon’s marriage! I wonderwhat he thinks of his respected father-in-law now.SECOND ATTACHEOf course, an enormous subsidy is paid to Francis by Great Britainfor this face-about?FIRST ATTACHEYes. As Bonaparte says, English guineas are at the bottom ofeverything!—Ah, here comes Caroline.[The PRINCESS OF WALES arrives, attended by LADY ANNE HAMILTONand LADY GLENBERVIE. She is conducted forward by the DUKE OFGLOUCESTER and COLONEL ST. LEDGER, and wears a white satin trainwith a dark embroidered bodice, and a green wreath with diamonds.Repeated hurrahs greet her from the crowd. She bows courteously.]SECOND ATTACHEThe people are staunch for her still!... You heard, sir, whatAustrian Francis said when he learnt of Vitoria?—“A warm climateseems to agree with my son-in-law no better than a cold one.”FIRST ATTACHEHa-ha-ha!Marvellous it is how this loud victoryHas 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 ATTACHEI own to feeling it a sorry thingThat Francis should take English money downTo throw off Bonaparte. ’Tis sordid, mean!He is his daughter’s husband after all.FIRST ATTACHEAy; yes!... They say she knows not of it yet.SECOND ATTACHEPoor thing, I daresay it will harry herWhen all’s revealed. But the inside o’t is,Since Castlereagh’s return to power last yearVienna, like Berlin and Petersburg,Has harboured England’s secret emissaries,Primed, purse in hand, with the most lavish sumsTo knit the league to drag Napoléon down....[More fireworks.] That’s grand.—Here comes one Royal item more.[The DUCHESS OF YORK enters, attended by her ladies and by theHON. B. CRAVEN and COLONEL BARCLAY. She is received with signalsof respect.]FIRST ATTACHEShe calls not favour forth as Caroline can!SECOND ATTACHETo end my words:—Though happy for this realm,Austria’s desertion frankly is, by God,Rank treachery!FIRST ATTACHEWhatever it is, it meansTwo hundred thousand swords for the Allies,And enemies in batches for NapoléonLeaping from unknown lairs.—Yes, something tells meThat this is the beginning of the endFor Emperor Bonaparte![The PRINCESS OF WALES prepares to leave. An English diplomatistjoins the attachés in the alcove. The PRINCESS and her ladies goout.]DIPLOMATISTI saw you over here, and I came round. Cursed hot and crowded, isn’tit?SECOND ATTACHEWhat is the Princess leaving so soon for?DIPLOMATISTOh, she has not been received in the Royal box by the other membersof the Royal Family, and it has offended her, though she was toldbeforehand that she could not be. Poor devil! Nobody invited herhere. She came unasked, and she has gone unserved.FIRST ATTACHEWe shall have to go unserved likewise, I fancy. The scramble at thebuffets is terrible.DIPLOMATISTAnd the road from here to Marsh Gate is impassable. Some ladies havebeen sitting in their coaches for hours outside the hedge there. Weshall not get home till noon to-morrow.A VOICE [from the back]Take care of your watches! Pickpockets!FIRST ATTACHEGood. That relieves the monotony a little.[Excitement in the throng. When it has subsided the band strikesup a country dance, and stewards with white ribbons and laurelleaves are seen bustling about.]SECOND ATTACHELet 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 YEARSFrom this phantasmagoria let us roamTo the chief wheel and capstan of the show,Distant afar. I pray you closely readWhat I reveal—wherein each feature bulksIn measure with its value humanly.[The beholder finds himself, as it were, caught up on high, andwhile the Vauxhall scene still dimly twinkles below, he gazessouthward towards Central Europe—the contorted and attenuatedecorche of the Continent appearing as in an earlier scene, butnow obscure under the summer stars.]Three cities loom out large: Vienna there,Dresden, which holds Napoléon, over here,And Leipzig, whither we shall shortly wing,Out yonderwards. ’Twixt Dresden and ViennaWhat thing do you discern?SPIRIT OF THE PITIESSomething broad-faced,Flat-folded, parchment-pale, and in its shapeRectangular; but moving like a cloudThe Dresden way.SPIRIT OF THE YEARSYet gaze more closely on it.SPIRIT OF THE PITIESThe object takes a letter’s lineamentsThough swollen to mainsail measure,—magically,I gather from your words; and on its faceAre three vast seals, red—signifying bloodMust I suppose? It moves on Dresden town,And dwarfs the city as it passes by.—You say Napoléon’s there?SPIRIT OF THE YEARSThe 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 goTo Leipzig city, and await the blow.[A chaotic gloom ensues, accompanied by a rushing like that of amighty wind.]
THE PLAIN OF VITORIA[It is the eve of the longest day of the year; also the eve of thebattle of Vitoria. The English army in the Peninsula, and theirSpanish and Portuguese allies, are bivouacking on the western sideof the Plain, about six miles from the town.On some high ground in the left mid-distance may be discerned theMARQUIS OF WELLINGTON’S tent, with GENERALS HILL, PICTON, PONSONBY,GRAHAM, and others of his staff, going in and out in consultationon the momentous event impending. Near the foreground are somehussars sitting round a fire, the evening being damp; their horsesare picketed behind. In the immediate front of the scene are sometroop-officers talking.]
FIRST OFFICERThis grateful rest of four-and-twenty hoursIs 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 downThe methods of our master-stroke to-morrow:I have no clear conception of its plan,Even in its leading lines. What is decided?
FIRST OFFICERThere 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, HillWill start at once to storm the Puebla crests.The Chief himself, with us here in the centre,Will lead on by the bridges Tres-PuentesOver the ridge there, and the Mendoza bridgeA little further up.—That’s roughly it;But much and wide discretionary powerIs left the generals all.[The officers walk away, and the stillness increases, so theconversation at the hussars’ bivouac, a few yards further back,becomes noticeable.]
SERGEANT YOUNG19I wonder, I wonder how Stourcastle is looking this summer night, andall the old folks there!
SECOND HUSSARYou was born there, I think I’ve heard ye say, Sergeant?
SERGEANT YOUNGI was. And though I ought not to say it, as father and mother areliving there still, ’tis a dull place at times. Now Budmouth-Regiswas exactly to my taste when we were there with the Court thatsummer, and the King and Queen a-wambling about among us like themost everyday old man and woman you ever see. Yes, there was plentygoing on, and only a pretty step from home. Altogether we had afine time!
THIRD HUSSARYou walked with a girl there for some weeks, Sergeant, if my memoryserves?
SERGEANT YOUNGI did. And a pretty girl ’a was. But nothing came on’t. A monthafore we struck camp she married a tallow-chandler’s dipper of LittleNicholas Lane. I was a good deal upset about it at the time. Butone gets over things!
SECOND HUSSAR’Twas a low taste in the hussy, come to that.—Howsomever, I agreeabout 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 YOUNGI had; and have still. ’Twas made up when we left by our bandmasterthat used to conduct in front of Gloucester Lodge at the King’s Messevery afternoon.[The Sergeant is silent for a minute, then suddenly bursts intomelody.]
SONG “BUDMOUTH DEARS”IWhen we lay where Budmouth Beach is,O, the girls were fresh as peaches,With their tall and tossing figures and their eyes of blueand brown!And our hearts would ache with longingAs we paced from our sing-songing,With a smart CLINK! CLINK! up the Esplanade and down
IIThey distracted and delayed usBy 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.
IIIDo 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 featuresOf the fair fantastic creatures,And no more CLINK! CLINK! past the parlours of the town?
IVShall we once again there meet them?Falter fond attempts to greet them?Will the gay sling-jacket20glow again beside the muslin gown?—Will they archly quiz and con usWith 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 nightgets darker, the fires go out, and the camp sleeps.]
THE SAME, FROM THE PUEBLA HEIGHTS[It is now day; but a summer fog pervades the prospect. Behindthe fog is heard the roll of bass and tenor drums and the clashof cymbals, with notes of the popular march “The Downfall of Paris.”By degrees the fog lifts, and the Plain is disclosed. From thiselevation, gazing north, the expanse looks like the palm of amonstrous right hand, a little hollowed, some half-dozen milesacross, wherein the ball of the thumb is roughly represented byheights to the east, on which the French centre has gathered; the“Mount of Mars” and the “Moon” [the opposite side of the palm] bythe position of the English on the left or west of the plain;and the “Line of Life” by the Zadorra, an unfordable river runningfrom the town down the plain, and dropping out of it through apass in the Puebla Heights to the south, just beneath our pointof observation—that is to say, toward the wrist of the supposedhand. The left of the English army under GRAHAM would occupy the“mounts” at the base of the fingers; while the bent finger-tipsmight represent the Cantabrian Hills beyond the plain to the northor back of the scene.From the aforesaid stony crests of Puebla the white town andchurch 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 ashort while, bringing up the fragrant scents from fields, vineyards,and gardens, now in the full leafage of June.]
DUMB SHOWAll the English forces converge forward—that is, eastwardly—thecentre over the ridges, the right through the Pass to the south, theleft down the Bilbao road on the north-west, the bands of the diversregiments striking up the same quick march, “The Downfall of Paris.”
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSYou see the scene. And yet you see it not.What do you notice now?
There immediately is shown visually the electric state of mind thatanimates WELLINGTON, GRAHAM, HILL, KEMPT, PICTON, COLVILLE, and otherresponsible ones on the British side; and on the French KING JOSEPHstationary on the hill overlooking his own centre, and surrounded bya 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 brainlit by phosphorescence, in an instant fades back to normal.
Anon we see the English hussars with their flying pelisses gallopingacross the Zadorra on one of the Tres-Puentes in the midst of thefield, as had been planned, the English lines in the foreground underHILL pushing the enemy up the slopes; and far in the distance, to theleft of Vitoria, whiffs of grey smoke followed by low rumbles showthat the left of the English army under GRAHAM is pushing on there.Bridge after bridge of the half-dozen over the Zadorra is crossed bythe British; and WELLINGTON, in the centre with PICTON, seeing thehill and village of Arinez in front of him [eastward] to be weaklyheld, carries the regiments of the seventh and third divisions in aquick run towards it. Supported by the hussars, they ultimatelyfight their way to the top, in a chaos of smoke, flame, and boomingechoes, 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 theforeground, have been turned by HILL; the heights are all abandoned,and the columns fall back in a confused throng by the road toVitoria, hard pressed by the British, who capture abandoned gunsamid indescribable tumult, till the French make a stand in frontof the town.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESWhat’s toward in the distance?—say!
SEMICHORUS I OF RUMOURS [aerial music]Fitfully flash strange sights there; yea,Unwonted spectacles of sweat and scareBehind the French, that make a standWith eighty cannon, match in hand.—Upon the highway from the town to rearAn eddy of distraction reigns,Where lumbering treasure, baggage-trains,Padding pedestrians, haze the atmosphere.
SEMICHORUS IIMen, women, and their children fly,And when the English over-highDirect their death-bolts, on this billowy throngAlight the too far-ranging balls,Wringing out piteous shrieks and callsFrom the pale mob, in monotones loud and long.
SEMICHORUS ITo leftward of the distant dinReille meantime has been driven inBy Graham’s measure overmastering might.—Henceforward, masses of the foeWithdraw, and, firing as they go,Pass rightwise from the cockpit out of sight.
CHORUSThe sunset slants an ochreous shineUpon the English knapsacked line,Whose glistering bayonets inclineAs bends the hot pursuit across the plain;And tardily behind them goesToo many a mournful load of thoseFound wound-weak; while with stealthy crawl,As silence wraps the rear of all,Cloaked creatures of the starlight strip the slain.
THE SAME. THE ROAD FROM THE TOWN[With the going down of the sun the English army finds itself incomplete possession of the mass of waggons and carriages distantlybeheld from the rear—laden with pictures, treasure, flour,vegetables, furniture, finery, parrots, monkeys, and women—mostof the male sojourners in the town having taken to their heelsand disappeared across the fields.The road is choked with these vehicles, the women they carryincluding wives, mistresses, actresses, dancers, nuns, andprostitutes, which struggle through droves of oxen, sheep, goats,horses, asses, and mules— a Noah’s-ark of living creatures inone vast procession.There enters rapidly in front of this throng a carriage containingKING JOSEPH BONAPARTE and an attendant, followed by another vehiclewith 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 leapsfrom the vehicle and mounts a horse.Enter at full gallop from the left CAPTAIN WYNDHAM and a detachmentof the Tenth Hussars in chase of the King’s carriage; and from theright a troop of French dragoons, who engage with the hussars andhinder pursuit. Exit KING JOSEPH on horseback; afterwards thehussars and dragoons go out fighting.The British infantry enter irregularly, led by a sergeant of theEighty-seventh, mockingly carrying MARSHAL JOURDAN’S baton. Thecrowd recedes. The soldiers ransack the King’s carriages, cutfrom their frames canvases by Murillo, Velasquez, and Zurbaran,and use them as package-wrappers, throwing the papers and archivesinto the road.They next go to a waggon in the background, which contains a largechest. Some of the soldiers burst it with a crash. It is full ofmoney, 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 thescramble for them; next ransacking other waggons and abstractingtherefrom uniforms, ladies raiment, jewels, plate, wines, andspirits.Some array them in the finery, and one soldier puts on a diamondnecklace; others load themselves with the money still lying aboutthe road. It begins to rain, and a private who has lost his kitcuts a hole in the middle of a deframed old master, and, puttingit over his head, wears it as a poncho.Enter WELLINGTON and others, grimy and perspiring.]
FIRST OFFICERThe men are plundering in all directions!
WELLINGTONLet ’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.
WELLINGTONWe must examine it. It may have use.[Another company of soldiers enters, dragging some equipages thathave lost their horses by the traces being cut. The carriagescontain ladies, who shriek and weep at finding themselves captives.]What women bring they there?
THIRD OFFICERMixed 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.
WELLINGTONWell, pack them offTo-morrow to Pamplona, as you can;We’ve neither list nor leisure for their charms.By God, I never saw so many wh—-sIn all my life before![Exeunt WELLINGTON, officers, and infantry. A soldier enters withhis arm round a lady in rich costume.]
SOLDIERWe must be married, my dear.
LADY [not knowing his language]Anything, sir, if you’ll spare my life!
SOLDIERThere’s neither parson nor clerk here. But that don’t matter—hey?
LADYAnything, sir, if you’ll spare my life!
SOLDIERAnd if we’ve got to unmarry at cockcrow, why, so be it—hey?
LADYAnything, sir, if you’ll spare my life!
SOLDIERA sensible ’ooman, whatever it is she says; that I can see by herpretty 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 closesin, and the growling of artillery ceases, though the wheels of theflying enemy are still heard in the distance. The fires kindledby the soldiers as they make their bivouacs blaze up in the gloom,and throw their glares a long way, revealing on the slopes of thehills many suffering ones who have not yet been carried in.The last victorious regiment comes up from the rear, fifing anddrumming ere it reaches its resting-place the last bars of “TheDownfall of Paris”:—Transcriber’s Note: There follows in musical notation four barsfrom that song in 2/4 time, key of C—\\E EF G F\E EF G F\E EC D DB\C \\
A FETE AT VAUXHALL[It is the Vitoria festival at Vauxhall. The orchestra of therenowned gardens exhibits a blaze of lamps and candles arrangedin the shape of a temple, a great artificial sun glowing at thetop, and under it in illuminated characters the words “Vitoria”and “Wellington.” The band is playing the new air “The Plainsof Vitoria.”All round the colonnade of the rotunda are to be read in theillumination the names of Peninsular victories, underneath themfiguring the names of British and Spanish generals who led atthose battles, surmounted by wreaths of laurel The avenuesstretching away from the rotunda into the gardens charm the eyeswith their mild multitudinous lights, while festoons of lampshang from the trees elsewhere, and transparencies representingscenes from the war.The gardens and saloons are crowded, among those present being theKING’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, theinterior of which is in comparative obscurity. Two foreignattachés enter it and sit down.]
FIRST ATTACHEAh—now for the fireworks. They are under the direction of ColonelCongreve.[At the end of an alley, purposely kept dark, fireworks aredischarged.]
SECOND ATTACHEVery 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 severalofficers in like attire. He walks about the gardens with LADYCHARLOTTE CAMPBELL.]
FIRST ATTACHEPeople have been paying a mighty price for tickets—as much asfifteen guineas has been offered, I hear. I had to walk up to thegates; the number of coaches struggling outside prevented my drivingnear. It was as bad as the battle of Vitoria itself.
SECOND ATTACHESo Wellington is made Field-Marshal for his achievement.
FIRST ATTACHEYes. By the by, you have heard of the effect of the battle uponthe Conference at Reichenbach?—that Austria is to join Russia andPrussia against France? So much for Napoléon’s marriage! I wonderwhat he thinks of his respected father-in-law now.
SECOND ATTACHEOf course, an enormous subsidy is paid to Francis by Great Britainfor this face-about?
FIRST ATTACHEYes. As Bonaparte says, English guineas are at the bottom ofeverything!—Ah, here comes Caroline.[The PRINCESS OF WALES arrives, attended by LADY ANNE HAMILTONand LADY GLENBERVIE. She is conducted forward by the DUKE OFGLOUCESTER and COLONEL ST. LEDGER, and wears a white satin trainwith a dark embroidered bodice, and a green wreath with diamonds.Repeated hurrahs greet her from the crowd. She bows courteously.]
SECOND ATTACHEThe people are staunch for her still!... You heard, sir, whatAustrian Francis said when he learnt of Vitoria?—“A warm climateseems to agree with my son-in-law no better than a cold one.”
FIRST ATTACHEHa-ha-ha!Marvellous it is how this loud victoryHas 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 ATTACHEI own to feeling it a sorry thingThat Francis should take English money downTo throw off Bonaparte. ’Tis sordid, mean!He is his daughter’s husband after all.
FIRST ATTACHEAy; yes!... They say she knows not of it yet.
SECOND ATTACHEPoor thing, I daresay it will harry herWhen all’s revealed. But the inside o’t is,Since Castlereagh’s return to power last yearVienna, like Berlin and Petersburg,Has harboured England’s secret emissaries,Primed, purse in hand, with the most lavish sumsTo knit the league to drag Napoléon down....[More fireworks.] That’s grand.—Here comes one Royal item more.[The DUCHESS OF YORK enters, attended by her ladies and by theHON. B. CRAVEN and COLONEL BARCLAY. She is received with signalsof respect.]
FIRST ATTACHEShe calls not favour forth as Caroline can!
SECOND ATTACHETo end my words:—Though happy for this realm,Austria’s desertion frankly is, by God,Rank treachery!
FIRST ATTACHEWhatever it is, it meansTwo hundred thousand swords for the Allies,And enemies in batches for NapoléonLeaping from unknown lairs.—Yes, something tells meThat this is the beginning of the endFor Emperor Bonaparte![The PRINCESS OF WALES prepares to leave. An English diplomatistjoins the attachés in the alcove. The PRINCESS and her ladies goout.]
DIPLOMATISTI saw you over here, and I came round. Cursed hot and crowded, isn’tit?
SECOND ATTACHEWhat is the Princess leaving so soon for?
DIPLOMATISTOh, she has not been received in the Royal box by the other membersof the Royal Family, and it has offended her, though she was toldbeforehand that she could not be. Poor devil! Nobody invited herhere. She came unasked, and she has gone unserved.
FIRST ATTACHEWe shall have to go unserved likewise, I fancy. The scramble at thebuffets is terrible.
DIPLOMATISTAnd the road from here to Marsh Gate is impassable. Some ladies havebeen sitting in their coaches for hours outside the hedge there. Weshall not get home till noon to-morrow.
A VOICE [from the back]Take care of your watches! Pickpockets!
FIRST ATTACHEGood. That relieves the monotony a little.[Excitement in the throng. When it has subsided the band strikesup a country dance, and stewards with white ribbons and laurelleaves are seen bustling about.]
SECOND ATTACHELet 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 YEARSFrom this phantasmagoria let us roamTo the chief wheel and capstan of the show,Distant afar. I pray you closely readWhat I reveal—wherein each feature bulksIn measure with its value humanly.[The beholder finds himself, as it were, caught up on high, andwhile the Vauxhall scene still dimly twinkles below, he gazessouthward towards Central Europe—the contorted and attenuatedecorche of the Continent appearing as in an earlier scene, butnow obscure under the summer stars.]Three cities loom out large: Vienna there,Dresden, which holds Napoléon, over here,And Leipzig, whither we shall shortly wing,Out yonderwards. ’Twixt Dresden and ViennaWhat thing do you discern?
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESSomething broad-faced,Flat-folded, parchment-pale, and in its shapeRectangular; but moving like a cloudThe Dresden way.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSYet gaze more closely on it.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESThe object takes a letter’s lineamentsThough swollen to mainsail measure,—magically,I gather from your words; and on its faceAre three vast seals, red—signifying bloodMust I suppose? It moves on Dresden town,And dwarfs the city as it passes by.—You say Napoléon’s there?
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSThe 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 goTo Leipzig city, and await the blow.[A chaotic gloom ensues, accompanied by a rushing like that of amighty wind.]