ACT SIXTHSCENE ITHE BELGIAN FRONTIER[The village of Beaumont stands in the centre foreground of abirds’-eye prospect across the Belgian frontier from the Frenchside, being close to the Sambre further back in the scene, whichpursues a crinkled course between high banks from Maubeuge on theleft to Charleroi on the right.In the shadows that muffle all objects, innumerable bodies ofinfantry and cavalry are discerned bivouacking in and around thevillage. This mass of men forms the central column of NAPOLÉONS’Sarmy.The right column is seen at a distance on that hand, also nearthe frontier, on the road leading towards Charleroi; and theleft column by Solre-sur-Sambre, where the frontier and the rivernearly coincideThe obscurity thins and the June dawn appears.]DUMB SHOWThe bivouacs of the central column become broken up, and a movementensues rightwards on Charleroi. The twelve regiments of cavalrywhich are in advance move off first; in half an hour more bodiesmove, and more in the next half-hour, till by eight o’clock thewhole central army is gliding on. It defiles in strands by narrowtracks through the forest. Riding impatiently on the outskirts ofthe columns is MARSHAL NEY, who has as yet received no command.As the day develops, sight and sounds to the left and right revealthat the two outside columns have also started, and are creepingtowards the frontier abreast with the centre. That the whole formsone great movement, co-ordinated by one mind, now becomes apparent.Preceded by scouts the three columns converge.The advance through dense woods by narrow paths takes time. Thehead of the middles and main column forces back some outposts, andreaches Charleroi, driving out the Prussian general ZIETEN. Itseizes the bridge over the Sambre and blows up the gates of thetown.The point of observation now descends close to the scene.In the midst comes the EMPEROR with the Sappers of the Guard,the Marines, and the Young Guard. The clatter brings the scaredinhabitants to their doors and windows. Cheers arise from someof them as NAPOLÉON passes up the steep street. Just beyond thetown, in front of the Bellevue Inn, he dismounts. A chair isbrought out, in which he sits and surveys the whole valley of theSambre. The troops march past cheering him, and drums roll andbugles blow. Soon the EMPEROR is found to be asleep.When the rattle of their passing ceases the silence wakes him. Hislistless eye falls upon a half-defaced poster on a wall opposite—the Declaration of the Allies.NAPOLÉON [reading]“... Bonaparte destroys the only legal title on which his existencedepended.... He has deprived himself of the protection of the law,and has manifested to the Universe that there can be neither peacenor truce with him. The Powers consequently declare that NapoléonBonaparte has placed himself without the pale of civil and socialrelations, and that as an enemy and disturber of the tranquillityof the world he has rendered himself liable to public vengeance.”His flesh quivers, and he turns with a start, as if fancying thatsome one may be about to stab him in the back. Then he rises,mounts, and rides on.Meanwhile the right column crosses the Sambre without difficultyat Chatelet, a little lower down; the left column at Marchienne alittle higher up; and the three limbs combine into one vast army.As the curtain of the mist is falling, the point of vision soarsagain, and there is afforded a brief glimpse of what is doing faraway on the other side. From all parts of Europe long and sinisterblack files are crawling hitherward in serpentine lines, likeslowworms through grass. They are the advancing armies of theAllies. The Dumb Show ends.SCENE IIA BALLROOM IN BRUSSELS22[It is a June midnight at the DUKE AND DUCHESS OF RICHMOND’S. Aband of stringed instruments shows in the background. The roomis crowded with a brilliant assemblage of more than two hundredof the distinguished people sojourning in the city on account ofthe war and other reasons, and of local personages of State andfashion. The ball has opened with “The White Cockade.”Among those discovered present either dancing or looking on arethe DUKE and DUCHESS as host and hostess, their son and eldestdaughter, the Duchess’s brother, the DUKE OF WELLINGTON, thePRINCE OF ORANGE, the DUKE OF BRUNSWICK, BARON VAN CAPELLEN theBelgian Secretary of State, the DUKE OF ARENBERG, the MAYOR OFBRUSSELS, the DUKE AND DUCHESS OF BEAUFORT, GENERAL ALAVA, GENERALOUDENARDE, LORD HILL, LORD AND LADY CONYNGHAM, SIR HENRY AND LADYSUSAN CLINTON, SIR H. AND LADY HAMILTON DALRYMPLE, SIR WILLIAM ANDLADY DE LANCEY, LORD UXBRIDGE, SIR JOHN BYNG, LORD PORTARLINGTON,LORD EDWARD SOMERSET, LORD HAY, COLONEL ABERCROMBY, SIR HUSSEYVIVIAN, SIR A. GORDON, SIR W. PONSONBY, SIR DENIS PACK, SIR JAMESKEMPT, SIR THOMAS PICTON, GENERAL MAITLAND, COLONEL CAMERON, manyother officers, English, Hanoverian, Dutch and Belgian ladiesEnglish and foreign, and Scotch reel-dancers from Highlandregiments.The “Hungarian Waltz” having also been danced, the hostess callsup the Highland soldiers to show the foreign guests what a Scotchreel is like. The men put their hands on their hips and tread itout briskly. While they stand aside and rest “The HanoverianDance” is called.Enter LIEUTENANT WEBSTER, A.D.C. to the PRINCE OF ORANGE. ThePrince goes apart with him and receives a dispatch. After readingit he speaks to WELLINGTON, and the two, accompanied by the DUKEOF RICHMOND, retire into an alcove with serious faces. WEBSTER,in passing back across the ballroom, exchanges a hasty word withtwo of three of the guests known to him, a young officer amongthem, and goes out.YOUNG OFFICER [to partner]The French have passed the Sambre at Charleroi!PARTNERWhat—does it mean the Bonaparte indeedIs bearing down upon us?YOUNG OFFICERThat is so.The one who spoke to me in passing outIs Aide to the Prince of Orange, bringing himDispatches from Rebecque, his chief of Staff,Now at the front, not far from Braine le Comte;He says that Ney, leading the French van-guard,Has burst on Quatre-Bras.PARTNERO horrid time!Will you, then, have to go and face him there?YOUNG OFFICERI shall, of course, sweet. Promptly too, no doubt.[He gazes about the room.]See—the news spreads; the dance is paralyzed.They are all whispering round. [The band stops.] Here comesone more,He’s the attache from the Prussian forceAt our headquarters.[Enter GENERAL MÜFFLING. He looks prepossessed, and goes straightto WELLINGTON and RICHMOND in the alcove, who by this time havebeen joined by the DUKE OF BRUNSWICK.]SEVERAL GUESTS [at back of room]Yes, you see, it’s true!The army will prepare to march at once.PICTON [to another general]I am damn glad we are to be off. Pottering about her pinned topetticoat tails—it does one no good, but blasted harm!ANOTHER GUESTThe ball cannot go on, can it? Didn’t the Duke know the Frenchwere so near? If he did, how could he let us run risks so coolly?LADY HAMILTON DALRYMPLE [to partner]A deep concern weights those responsibleWho gather in the alcove. WellingtonAffects a cheerfulness in outward port,But cannot rout his real anxiety![The DUCHESS OF RICHMOND goes to her husband.]DUCHESSOught I to stop the ball? It hardly seems right to let it continueif all be true.RICHMONDI have put that very question to Wellington, my dear. He says thatwe need not hurry off the guests. The men have to assemble sometime before the officers, who can stay on here a little longerwithout inconvenience; and he would prefer that they should, not tocreate a panic in the city, where the friends and spies of Napoléonare all agog for some such thing, which they would instantlycommunicate to him to take advantage of.DUCHESSIs it safe to stay on? Should we not be thinking about getting thechildren away?RICHMONDThere’s no hurry at all, even if Bonaparte were really sure toenter. But he’s never going to set foot in Brussels—don’t youimagine it for a moment.DUCHESS [anxiously]I hope not. But I wish we had never brought them here!RICHMONDIt is too late, my dear, to wish that now. Don’t be flurried; makethe people go on dancing.[The DUCHESS returns to her guests. The DUKE rejoins WELLINGTON,BRUNSWICK, MÜFFLING, and the PRINCE OF ORANGE in the alcove.]WELLINGTONWe need not be astride till five o’clockIf all the men are marshalled well ahead.The Brussels citizens must not supposeThey stand in serious peril... He, I think,Directs his main attack mistakenly;It should gave been through Mons, not Charleroi.MÜFFLINGThe Austrian armies, and the Russian too,Will show nowhere in this. The thing that’s done,Be it a historied feat or nine days’ fizz,Will be done long before they join us here.WELLINGTONYes, faith; and ’tis pity. But, by God,Blücher, I think, and I can make a shiftTo do the business without troubling ’em!Though I’ve an infamous army, that’s the truth,—Weak, and but ill-equipped,—and what’s as bad,A damned unpractised staff!MÜFFLINGWe’ll hope for luck.Blücher concentrates certainly by nowNear Ligny, as he says in his dispatch.Your Grace, I glean, will mass at Quatre-Bras?WELLINGTONAy, now we are sure this move on CharleroiIs no mere feint. Though I had meant Nivelles.Have ye a good map, Richmond, near at hand?RICHMONDIn the next room there’s one. [Exit RICHMOND.][WELLINGTON calls up various general officers and aides fromother parts of the room. PICTON, UXBRIDGE, HILL, CLINTON, VIVIAN,MAITLAND, PONSONBY, SOMERSET, and others join him in succession,receive orders, and go out severally.]PRINCE OF ORANGEAs my divisions seem to lie aroundThe probable point of impact, it behoves meTo start at once, Duke, for Genappe, I deem?Being in Brussels, all for this damned ball,The dispositions out there have, so far,Been made by young Saxe Weimar and Perponcher,On their own judgment quite. I go, your Grace?WELLINGTONYes, certainly. ’Tis now desirable.Farewell! Good luck, until we meet again,The battle won![Exit PRINCE OF ORANGE, and shortly after, MÜFFLING. RICHMONDreturns with a map, which he spreads out on the table. WELLINGTONscans it closely.]Napoléon has befooled me,By God he has,—gained four-and-twenty hours’Good march upon me!RICHMONDWhat do you mean to do?WELLINGTONI have bidden the army concentrate in strengthAt Quatre-Bras. But we shan’t stop him there;So I must fight him HERE. [He marks Waterloo with his thumbnail.]Well, now I have sped,All necessary orders I may sup,And then must say good-bye. [To Brunswick.] This very dayThere will be fighting, Duke. You are fit to start?BRUNSWICK [coming forward]I leave almost this moment.—Yes, your Grace—And I sheath not my sword till I have avengedMy father’s death. I have sworn it!WELLINGTONMy good friend,Something too solemn knells beneath your words.Take cheerful views of the affair in hand,And fall to’t withsang froid!BRUNSWICKBut I have sworn!Adieu. The rendezvous is Quatre-Bras?WELLINGTONJust so. The order is unchanged. Adieu;But only till a later hour to-day;I see it is one o’clock.[WELLINGTON and RICHMOND go out of the alcove and join thehostess, BRUNSWICK’S black figure being left there alone. Hebends over the map for a few seconds.]SPIRIT OF THE YEARSO Brunswick, Duke of Deathwounds! Even as heFor whom thou wear’st that filial weederyWas waylaid by my tipstaff nine years since,So thou this day shalt feel his fendless tap,And join thy sire!BRUNSWICK [starting up]I am stirred by inner words,As ’twere my father’s angel calling me,—That prelude to our death my lineage know![He stands in a reverie for a moment; then, bidding adieu to theDUCHESS OF RICHMOND and her daughter, goes slowly out of theballroom by a side-door.]DUCHESSThe Duke of Brunswick bore him gravely here.His sable shape has stuck me all the eveAs one of those romantic presencesWe hear of—seldom see.WELLINGTON [phlegmatically]Romantic,—well,It may be so. Times often, ever sinceThe Late Duke’s death, his mood has tinged him thus.He is of those brave men who danger see,And seeing front it,—not of those, less braveBut counted more, who face it sightlessly.YOUNG OFFICER [to partner]The Generals slip away! I, Love, must takeThe cobbled highway soon. Some hours agoThe French seized Charleroi; so they loom nigh.PARTNER [uneasily]Which tells me that the hour you draw your swordLooms nigh us likewise!YOUNG OFFICERSome are saying hereWe fight this very day. Rumours all-shapedFly round like cockchafers![Suddenly there echoes in the ballroom a long-drawn metallic purlof sound, making all the company start.]Transcriber’s Note: There follows in musical notation five measuresfor side-drum.Ah—there it is,Just as I thought! They are beating the Generale.[The loud roll of side-drums is taken up by other drums furtherand further away, till the hollow noise spreads all over the city.Dismay is written on the faces of the women. The Highland non-commissioned officers and privates march smartly down the ballroomand disappear.]SPIRIT OF THE PITIESDiscerned you stepping out in front of themThat figure—of a pale drum-major kind,Or fugleman—who wore a cold grimace?SPIRIT OF THE YEARSHe was my old fiend Death, in rarest trim,The occasion favouring his husbandry!SPIRIT OF THE PITIESAre those who marched behind him, then, to fall?SPIRIT OF THE YEARSAy, all well-nigh, ere Time have houred three-score.PARTNERSurely this cruel call to instant warSpares space for one dance more, that memoryMay store when you are gone, while I—sad me!—Wait, wait and weep.... Yes—one there is to be!SPIRIT IRONICMethinks flirtation grows too tender here![Country Dance, “The Prime of Life,” a favourite figure at thisperiod. The sense of looming tragedy carries emotion to itsclimax. All the younger officers stand up with their partners,forming several figures of fifteen or twenty couples each. Theair is ecstasizing, and both sexes abandon themselves to themovement.Nearly half an hour passes before the figure is danced down.Smothered kisses follow the conclusion. The silence is brokenfrom without by more long hollow rolling notes, so near thatthey thrill the window-panes.]SEVERAL’Tis the Assemble. Now, then, we must go![The officers bid farewell to their partners and begin leavingin twos and threes. When they are gone the women mope and murmurto each other by the wall, and listen to the tramp of men andslamming of doors in the streets without.]LADY HAMILTON DALRYMPLEThe Duke has borne him gaily here to-night.The youngest spirits scarcely capped his own.DALRYMPLEMaybe that, finding himself blade to bladeWith Bonaparte at last, his blood gets quick.French lancers of the Guard were seen at FrasnesLast midnight; so the clash is not far off.[They leave.]DE LANCEY [to his wife]I take you to our door, and say good-bye,And go thence to the Duke’s and wait for him.In a few hours we shall be all in motionTowards the scene of—what we cannot tell!You, dear, will haste to Antwerp till it’s past,As we have arranged.[They leave.]WELLINGTON [to Richmond]Now I must also go,And snatch a little snooze ere harnessing.The Prince and Brunswick have been gone some while.[RICHMOND walks to the door with him. Exit WELLINGTON, RICHMONDreturns.]DUCHESS [to Richmond]Some of these left renew the dance, you see.I cannot stop them; but with memory hotOf those late gone, of where they are gone, and why,It smacks of heartlessness!RICHMONDLet be; let be;Youth comes not twice to fleet mortality![The dancing, however, is fitful and spiritless, few but civilianpartners being left for the ladies. Many of the latter prefer tosit in reverie while waiting for their carriages.]SPIRIT OF THE PITIESWhen those stout men-at-arms drew forward there,I saw a like grimacing shadow marchAnd pirouette before no few of them.Some of themselves beheld it; some did not.SPIRIT OF THE YEARSWhich were so ushered?SPIRIT OF THE PITIESBrunswick, who saw and knew;One also moved before Sir Thomas Picton,Who coolly conned and drily spoke to it;Another danced in front of Ponsonby,Who failed of heeding his.—De Lancey, Hay,Gordon, and Cameron, and many moreWere footmanned by like phantoms from the ball.SPIRIT OF THE YEARSMultiplied shimmerings of my Protean friend,Who means to couch them shortly. Thou wilt eyeMany fantastic moulds of him ere long,Such as, bethink thee, oft hast eyed before.SPIRIT OF THE PITIESI have—too often![The attenuated dance dies out, the remaining guests depart, themusicians leave the gallery and depart also. RICHMOND goes toa window and pulls back one of the curtains. Dawn is barelyvisible in the sky, and the lamps indistinctly reveal that longlines of British infantry have assembled in the street. In theirksomeness of waiting for their officers with marching-orders,they have lain down on the pavements, where many are soundlysleeping, their heads on their knapsacks and their arms by theirside.]DUCHESSPoor men. Sleep waylays them. How tired they seem!RICHMONDThey’ll be more tired before the day is done.A march of eighteen miles beneath the heat,And then to fight a battle ere they rest,Is what foreshades.—Well, it is more than bed-time;But little sleep for us or any oneTo-night in Brussels![He draws the window-curtain and goes out with the DUCHESS.Servants enter and extinguish candles. The scene closes indarkness.]SCENE IIICHARLEROI. NAPOLÉON’S QUARTERS[The same midnight. NAPOLÉON is lying on a bed in his clothes.In consultation with SOULT, his Chief of Staff, who is sittingnear, he dictates to his Secretary orders for the morrow. Theyare addressed to KELLERMANN, DROUOT, LOBAU, GERARD, and otherof his marshals. SOULT goes out to dispatch them.The Secretary resumes the reading of reports. Presently MARSHALNEY is announced He is heard stumbling up the stairs, and enters.]NAPOLÉONAh, Ney; why come you back? Have you securedThe all-important Crossways?—safely sconcedYourself at Quatre-Bras?NEYNot, sire, as yet.For, marching forwards, I heard gunnery boom,And, fearing that the Prussians had engaged you,I stood at pause. Just then—-NAPOLÉONMy charge was this:Make it impossible at any costThat Wellington and Blücher should unite.As it’s from Brussels that the English come,And from Namur the Prussians, Quatre-BrasLends it alone for their forgathering:So, why exists it not in your hands/NEYMy reason, sire, was rolling from my tongue.—Hard on the boom of guns, dim files of footWhich read to me like massing Englishry—The vanguard of all Wellington’s array—I half-discerned. So, in pure wariness,I left the Bachelu columns there at Frasnes,And hastened back to tell you.NAPOLÉONNey; O Ney!I fear you are not the man that once you were;Of your so daring, such a faint-heart now!I have ground to know the foot that flustered youWere but a few stray groups of Netherlanders;For my good spies in Brussels send me cueThat up to now the English have not stirred,But cloy themselves with nightly revel there.NEY [bitterly]Give me another opportunityBefore you speak like that!NAPOLÉONYou soon will have one!...But now—no more of this. I have other gloomsUpon my soul—the much-disquieting newsThat Bourmont has deserted to our foesWith his whole staff.NEYWe can afford to let him.NAPOLÉONIt is what such betokens, not their worth,That whets it!... Love, respect for me, have waned;But I will right that. We’ve good chances still.You must return foot-hot to Quatre-Bras;There Kellermann’s cuirassiers will promptly join youTo bear the English backward Brussels way.I go on towards Fleurus and Ligny now.—If Blücher’s force retreat, and Wellington’sLie somnolent in Brussels one day more,I gain that city sans a single shot!...Now, friend, downstairs you’ll find some supper ready,Which you must tuck in sharply, and then off.The past day has not ill-advantaged us;We have stolen upon the two chiefs unawares,And in such sites that they must fight apart.Now for a two hours’ rest.—Comrade, adieuUntil to-morrow!NEYTill to-morrow, sire![Exit NEY. NAPOLÉON falls asleep, and the Secretary waits tilldictation shall be resumed. BUSSY, the orderly officer, comesto the door.BUSSYLetters—arrived from Paris. [Hands letters.]SECRETARYHe shall have themThe moment he awakes. These eighteen hoursHe’s been astride; and is not what he was.—Much news from Paris?BUSSYI can only sayWhat’s not the news. The courier has just told meHe’d nothing from the Empress at ViennaTo bring his Majesty. She writes no more.SECRETARYAnd never will again! In my regardThat bird’s forsook the nest for good and all.BUSSYAll that they hear in Paris from her courtIs through our spies there. One of them reportsThis rumour of her: that the Archduke John,In taking leave to join our enemies here,Said, “Oh, my poor Louise; I am grieved for youAnd what I hope is, that he’ll be run through,Or shot, or break his neck, for your own goodNo less than ours.NAPOLÉON [waking]By “he” denoting me?BUSSY [starting]Just so, your Majesty.NAPOLÉON [peremptorily]What said the Empress?BUSSYShe gave no answer, sire, that rumour bears.NAPOLÉONCount Neipperg, whom they have made her chamberlain,Interred his wife last spring—is it not so?BUSSYHe did, your Majesty.NAPOLÉONH’m....You may go.[Exit BUSSY. The Secretary reads letters aloud in succession.He comes to the last; begins it; reaches a phrase, and stopsabruptly.]Mind not! Read on. No doubt the usual threat,Or prophecy, from some mad scribe? Who signs it?SECRETARYThe subscript is “The Duke of Enghien!”NAPOLÉON [starting up]Bah, man! A treacherous trick! A hoax—no more!Is that the last?SECRETARYThe last, your Majesty.NAPOLÉONThen now I’ll sleep. In two hours have me called.SECRETARYI’ll give the order, sire.[The Secretary goes. The candles are removed, except one, andNAPOLÉON endeavours to compose himself.]SPIRIT IRONICA little moral panorama would do him no harm, after that reminder ofthe Duke of Enghien. Shall it be, young Compassion?SPIRIT OF THE PITIESWhat good—if that old Years tells us be true?But I say naught. To ordain is not for me![Thereupon a vision passes before NAPOLÉON as he lies, comprisinghundreds of thousands of skeletons and corpses in various stagesof decay. They rise from his various battlefields, the fleshdropping from them, and gaze reproachfully at him. His intimateofficers who have been slain he recognizes among the crowd. Infront is the DUKE OF ENGHIEN as showman.]NAPOLÉON [in his sleep]Why, why should this reproach be dealt me now?Why hold me my own master, if I beRuled by the pitiless Planet of Destiny?[He jumps up in a sweat and puts out the last candle; and thescene is curtained by darkness.]SCENE IVA CHAMBER OVERLOOKING A MAIN STREET IN BRUSSELS[A June sunrise; the beams struggling through the window-curtains.A canopied bed in a recess on the left. The quick notes of“Brighton Camp, or the “Girl I’ve left behind me,” strike sharplyinto the room from fifes and drums without. A young lady in adressing-gown, who has evidently been awaiting the sound, springsfrom the bed like a hare from its form, undraws window-curtainsand opens the window.Columns of British soldiery are marching past from the Parcsouthward out of the city by the Namur Gate. The windows ofother houses in the street rattle open, and become full ofgazers.A tap at the door. An older lady enters, and comes up to thefirst.]YOUNGER LADY [turning]O mamma—I didn’t hear you!ELDER LADYI was sound asleep till the thumping of the drums set me fantasticallydreaming, and when I awoke I found they were real. Did they wake youtoo, my dear?Younger Lady [reluctantly]I didn’t require waking. I hadn’t slept since we came home.ELDER LADYThat was from the excitement of the ball. There are dark rings roundyour eye. [The fifes and drums are now opposite, and thrill the airin the room.] Ah—that “Girl I’ve left behind me!”—which so manythousands of women have throbbed an accompaniment to, and will againto-day if ever they did!YOUNGER LADY [her voice faltering]It is rather cruel to say that just now, mamma. There, I can’t lookat them after it! [She turns and wipes her eyes.]ELDER LADYI wasn’t thinking of ourselves—certainly not of you.—How theypress on—with those great knapsacks and firelocks and, I am told,fifty-six rounds of ball-cartridge, and four days’ provisions inthose haversacks. How can they carry it all near twenty miles andfight with it on their shoulders!... Don’t cry, dear. I thoughtyou would get sentimental last night over somebody. I ought tohave brought you home sooner. How many dances did you have? Itwas impossible for me to look after you in the excitement of thewar-tidings.YOUNGER LADYOnly three—four.ELDER LADYWhich were they?YOUNGER LADY“Enrico,” the “Copenhagen Waltz” and the “Hanoverian,” and the“Prime of Life.”ELDER LADYIt was very foolish to fall in love on the strength of four dances.YOUNGER LADY [evasively]Fall in love? Who said I had fallen in love? What a funny idea!ELDER LADYIs it?... Now here come the Highland Brigade with their pipesand their “Hieland Laddie.” How the sweethearts cling to the men’sarms. [Reaching forward.] There are more regiments following.But look, that gentleman opposite knows us. I cannot remember hisname. [She bows and calls across.] Sir, which are these?GENTLEMAN OPPOSITEThe Ninety-second. Next come the Forty-ninth, and next the Forty-second—Sir Denis Pack’s brigade.ELDER LADYThank you.—I think it is that gentleman we talked to at theDuchess’s, but I am not sure. [A pause: another band.]GENTLEMAN OPPOSITEThat’s the Twenty-eighth. [They pass, with their band and colours.]Now the Thirty-second are coming up—part of Kempt’s brigade. Endless,are they not?ELDER LADYYes, Sir. Has the Duke passed out yet?GENTLEMAN OPPOSITENot yet. Some cavalry will go by first, I think. The foot comingup now are the Seventy-ninth. [They pass.]... These next arethe Ninety-fifth. [They pass.]... These are the First Foot-guards now. [They pass, playing “British Grenadiers.”]... TheFusileer-guards now. [They pass.] Now the Coldstreamers. [Theypass. He looks up towards the Parc.] Several Hanoverian regimentsunder Colonel Best are coming next. [They pass, with their bandsand colours. An interval.]ELDER LADY [to daughter]Here are the hussars. How much more they carry to battle than atreviews. The hay in those great nets must encumber them. [Sheturns and sees that her daughter has become pale.] Ah, now I know!HE has just gone by. You exchanged signals with him, you wickedgirl! How do you know what his character is, or if he’ll ever comeback?[The younger lady goes and flings herself on her face upon thebed, sobbing silently. Her mother glances at her, but leavesher alone. An interval. The prancing of a group of horsemenis heard on the cobble-stones without.]GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE [calling]Here comes the Duke!ELDER LADY [to younger]You have left the window at the most important time! The Duke ofWellington and his staff-officers are passing out.YOUNGER LADYI don’t want to see him. I don’t want to see anything any more![Riding down the street comes WELLINGTON in a grey frock-coat andsmall cocked hat, frigid and undemonstrative; accompanied by fouror five Generals of his suite, the Deputy Quartermaster-generalDe LANCEY, LORD FITZROY SOMERSET, Aide-de-camp, and GENERALMÜFFLING.]GENTLEMAN OPPOSITEHe is the Prussian officer attached to our headquarters, through whomWellington communicates with Blücher, who, they say, is threatened bythe French at Ligny at this moment.[The elder lady turns to her daughter, and going to the bed bendsover her, while the horses’ tramp of WELLINGTON and his staffclatters more faintly in the street, and the music of the lastretreating band dies away towards the Forest of Soignes.Finding her daughter is hysterical with grief she quickly drawsthe window-curtains to screen the room from the houses opposite.Scene ends.]SCENE VTHE FIELD OF LIGNY[The same day later. A prospect of the battlefield of Lignysouthward from the roof of the windmill of Bussy, which stands atthe centre and highest point of the Prussian position, about sixmiles south-east of Quatre-Bras.The ground slopes downward along the whole front of the scene toa valley through which wanders the Ligne, a muddy stream borderedby sallows. On both sides of the stream, in the middle plane ofthe picture, stands the village of Ligny, composed of thatchedcottages, gardens, and farm-houses with stone walls; the mainfeatures, such as the church, church-yard, and village-greenbeing on the further side of the Ligne.On that side the land reascends in green wheatfields to anelevation somewhat greater than that of the foreground, reachingaway to Fleurus in the right-hand distance.In front, on the slopes between the spectator and the village,is the First Corps of the Prussian army commanded by Zieten, itsFirst Brigade under STEINMETZ occupying the most salient point.The Corps under THIELMANN is ranged to the left, and that ofPIRCH to the rear, in reserve to ZIETEN. In the centre-front,just under the mill, BLÜCHER on a fine grey charger is intentlywatching, with his staff.Something dark is seen to be advancing over the horizon byFleurus, about three miles off. It is the van of NAPOLÉON’Sarmy, approaching to give battle.At this moment hoofs are heard clattering along a road thatpasses behind the mill; and there come round to the front theDUKE OF WELLINGTON, his staff-officers, and a small escort ofcavalry.WELLINGTON and BLÜCHER greet each other at the foot of thewindmill. They disappear inside, and can be heard ascendingthe ladders.Enter on the roof WELLINGTON and BLÜCHER, followed by FITZROYSOMERSET, GNEISENAU, MÜFFLING, and others. Before renewingtheir conversation they peer through their glasses at the darkmovements on the horizon. WELLINGTON’S manner is deliberate,judicial, almost indifferent; BLÜCHER’S eager and impetuous.WELLINGTONThey muster not as yet in near such strengthAt Quatre-Bras as here.BLÜCHER’Tis from FleurusThey come debouching. I, perforce, withdrewMy forward posts of cavalry at dawnIn face of their light cannon.... They’ll be hereI reckon, soon!WELLINGTON [still with glass]I clearly see his staff,And if my eyes don’t lie, the Arch-one too....It is the whole Imperial army, Prince,That we’ve before us. [A silence.] Well, we’ll cope with them!What would you have me do?[BLÜCHER is so absorbed in what he sees that he does not heed.]GNEISENAUDuke, this I’d say:Events suggest to us that you come upWith all your force, behind the village here,And act as our reserve.MÜFFLINGBut Bonaparte,Pray note, has redistributed his strengthIn fashion that you fail to recognize.I am against your scheme.BLÜCHER [lowering his glass]Signs notifyNapoléon’s plans as changed! He purports nowTo strike our left—between Sombreffe and Brye....If so, I have to readjust my ward.WELLINGTONOne of his two divisions that we scanOutspreading from Fleurus, seems bent on Ligny,The other on Saint-Amand.BLÜCHERWell, I shall seeIn half an hour, your Grace. If what I deemBe what he means, Von Zieten’s corps forthwithMust stand to their positions: Pirch out here,Henckel at Ligny, Steinmetz at La Haye.WELLINGTONSo that, your Excellency, as I opine,I go and sling my strength on their left wing—Manoeuvring to outflank ’em on that side.BLÜCHERTrue, true. Our plan uncovers of itself;You bear down everything from Quatre-BrasAlong the road to Frasnes.WELLINGTONI will, by God.I’ll bear straight on to Gosselies, if needs!GNEISENAUYour Excellencies, if I may be a judge,Such movement will not tend to unity;It leans too largely on a peradventureMost speculative in its contingencies![A silence; till the officers of the staff remark to each otherthat concentration is best in any circumstances. A generaldiscussion ensues.]BLÜCHER [concludingly]We will expect you, Duke, to our support.WELLINGTONI must agree that, in the sum, it’s best.So be it then. If not attacked myselfI’ll come to you.—Now I return with speedTo Quatre-Bras.BLÜCHERAnd I descend from hereTo give close eye and thought to things below;No more can well be studied where we stand.[Exeunt from roof WELLINGTON, BLÜCHER and the rest. They reappearbelow, and WELLINGTON and his suite gallop furiously away in thedirection of Quatre-Bras. An interval.]DUMB SHOW [below]Three reports of a cannon give the signal for the French attack.NAPOLÉON’S army advances down the slopes of green corn opposite,bands and voices joining in songs of victory. The French comein three grand columns; VANDAMME’S on the left [the spectator’sright] against Saint-Amand, the most forward angle of the Prussianposition. GERARD’S in the centre bear down upon Ligny. GROUCHY’Son the French right is further back. Far to the rear can bediscerned NAPOLÉON, the Imperial Guard, and MILHAUD’S cuirassiershalted in reserve.This formidable advance is preceded by swarms of tirailleurs, whotread down the high wheat, exposing their own men in the rear.Amid cannonading from both sides they draw nearer to the Prussians,though lanes are cut through them by the latter’s guns. They drivethe Prussians out of Ligny; who, however, rally in the houses,churchyard, and village green.SPIRIT OF THE PITIESI see unnatural an Monster, loosely jointed,With an Apocalyptic Being’s shape,And limbs and eyes a hundred thousand strong,And fifty thousand heads; which coils itselfAbout the buildings there.SPIRIT OF THE YEARSThou dost indeed.It is the Monster Devastation. Watch.Round the church they fight without quarter, shooting face to face,stabbing with unfixed bayonets, and braining with the butts ofmuskets. The village catches fire, and soon becomes a furnace.The crash of splitting timbers as doors are broken through, thecurses of the fighters, rise into the air, with shouts of “Enavant!” from the further side of the stream, and “Vorwarts!” fromthe nearer.The battle extends to the west by Le Hameau and Saint-Amand la Haye;and Ligny becomes invisible under a shroud of smoke.VOICES [at the base of the mill]This sun will go down bloodily for us!The English, sharply sighed for by Prince Blücher,Cannot appear. Wellington words acrossThat hosts have set on him at Quatre-Bras,And leave him not one bayonet to spare!The truth of this intelligence is apparent. A low dull sound heardlately from the direction of Quatre-Bras has increased to a roaringcannonade. The scene abruptly closes.SCENE VITHE FIELD AT QUATRE-BRAS[The same day. The view is southward, and the straight gaunthighway from Brussels [behind the spectator] to Charleroi overthe hills in front, bisects the picture from foreground todistance. Near at hand, where it is elevated and open, therecrosses it obliquely, at a point called Les Quatre-Bras, anotherroad which comes from Nivelle, five miles to the gazer’s rightrear, and goes to Namur, twenty miles ahead to the left. At adistance of five or six miles in this latter direction it passesnear the previous scene, Ligny, whence the booming of guns canbe continuously heard.Between the cross-roads in the centre of the scene and the farhorizon the ground dips into a hollow, on the other side of whichthe same straight road to Charleroi is seen climbing the crest,and over it till out of sight. From a hill on the right hand ofthe mid-distance a large wood, the wood of Bossu, reaches upnearly to the crossways, which give their name to the buildingsthereat, consisting of a few farm-houses and an inn.About three-quarters of a mile off, nearly hidden by the horizontowards Charleroi, there is also a farmstead, Gemioncourt; another,Piraumont, stands on an eminence a mile to the left of it, andsomewhat in front of the Namur road.]DUMB SHOWAs this scene uncovers the battle is beheld to be raging at itsheight, and to have reached a keenly tragic phase. WELLINGTON hasreturned from Ligny, and the main British and Hanoverian position,held by the men who marched out of Brussels in the morning, underofficers who danced the previous night at the Duchess’s, is alongthe Namur road to the left of the perspective, and round the cross-road itself. That of the French, under Ney, is on the crests furtherback, from which they are descending in imposing numbers. Someadvanced columns are assailing the English left, while through thesmoke-hazes of the middle of the field two lines of skirmishersare seen firing at each other—the southernmost dark blue, thenorthernmost dull red. Time lapses till it is past four o’clock.SPIRIT OF RUMOURThe cannonade of the French ordnance-linesHas now redoubled. Columns new and denseOf foot, supported by fleet cavalry,Straightly impinge upon the Brunswick bandsThat border the plantation of Bossu.Above some regiments of the assaulting FrenchA flag like midnight swims upon the air,To say no quarter may be looked for there!The Brunswick soldiery, much notched and torn by the French grape-shot, now lie in heaps. The DUKE OF BRUNSWICK himself, desperateto keep them steady, lights his pipe, and rides slowly up and downin front of his lines previous to the charge which follows.SPIRIT OF RUMOURThe French have heaved them on the Brunswickers,And borne them back. Now comes the Duke’s told time.He gallops at the head of his hussars—Those men of solemn and appalling guise,Full-clothed in black, with nodding hearsy plumes,A shining silver skull and cross of bonesSet upon each, to byspeak his slain sire....Concordantly, the expected bullet startsAnd finds the living son.BRUNSWICK reels to the ground. His troops, disheartened, lose theircourage and give way.The French front columns, and the cavalry supporting them, shoutas they advance. The Allies are forced back upon the English mainposition. WELLINGTON is in personal peril for a time, but he escapesit by a leap of his horse.A curtain of smoke drops. An interval. The curtain reascends.SPIRIT OF THE PITIESBehold again the Dynasts’ gory gear!Since we regarded, what has progressed here?RECORDING ANGEL [in recitative]Musters of English foot and their alliesCame palely panting by the Brussels way,And, swiftly stationed, checked their counter-braves.Ney, vexed by lack of like auxiliaries,Bade then the columned cuirassiers to chargeIn all their edged array of weaponcraft.Yea; thrust replied to thrust, and fire to fire;The English broke, till Picton prompt to prop themSprang with fresh foot-folk from the covering rye.Next, Pire’s cavalry took up the charge....And so the action sways. The English leftIs turned at Piraumont; whilst on their rightPerils infest the greenwood of Bossu;Wellington gazes round with dubious view;England’s long fame in fight seems sepulchered,And ominous roars swell loudlier Ligny-ward.SPIRIT OF RUMOURNew rage has wrenched the battle since thou’st writ;Hot-hasting succours of light cannonryLately come up, relieve the English stress;Kellermann’s cuirassiers, both man and horseAll plated over with the brass of war,Are rolling on the highway. More brigadesOf British, soiled and sweltering, now are nigh,Who plunge within the boscage of Bossu;Where in the hidden shades and sinuous creepsLife-struggles can be heard, seen but in peeps.Therewith the foe’s accessions harass Ney,Racked that no needful d’Erlon darks the way!Inch by inch NEY has to draw off: WELLINGTON promptly advances. Atdusk NEY’S army finds itself back at Frasnes, where he meets D’ERLONcoming up to his assistance, too late.The weary English and their allies, who have been on foot ever sinceone o’clock the previous morning, prepare to bivouac in front of thecross-roads. Their fires flash up for a while; and by and by thedead silence of heavy sleep hangs over them. WELLINGTON goes intohis tent, and the night darkens.A Prussian courier from Ligny enters, who is conducted into the tentto WELLINGTON.SPIRIT OF THE PITIESWhat tidings can a courier bring that countHere, where such mighty things are native born?RECORDING ANGEL [in recitative]The fury of the tumult there begunScourged quivering Ligny through the afternoon:Napoléon’s great intent grew substantive,And on the Prussian pith and pulse he bentHis foretimed blow. Blücher, to butt the shock,Called up his last reserves, and heading on,With blade high brandished by his aged arm,Spurred forward his white steed. But they, outspent,Failed far to follow. Darkness coped the sky,And storm, and rain with thunder. Yet once moreHe cheered them on to charge. His horse, the while,Pierced by a bullet, fell on him it bore.He, trampled, bruised, faint, and in disarrayDragged to another mount, was led away.His ragged lines withdraw from sight and sound,And their assailants camp upon the ground.The scene shuts with midnight.SCENE VIIBRUSSELS. THE PLACE ROYALE[The same night, dark and sultry. A crowd of citizens throng thebroad Place. They gaze continually down the Rue de Namur, alongwhich arrive minute by minute carts and waggons laden with woundedmen. Other wounded limp into the city on foot. At much greaterspeed enter fugitive soldiers from the miscellaneous contingentsof WELLINGTON’S army at Quatre-Bras, who gesticulate and explainto the crowd that all is lost and that the French will soon be inBrussels.Baggage-carts and carriages, with and without horses, stand beforean hotel, surrounded by a medley of English and other foreignnobility and gentry with their valets and maids. Bulletins fromthe battlefield are affixed on the corner of the Place, and peoplepeer at them by the dim oil lights.A rattle of hoofs reaches the ears, entering the town by the sameNamur gate. The riders disclose themselves to be Belgian hussars,also from the field.]SEVERAL HUSSARSThe French approach! Wellington is beaten. Bonaparte is at our heels.[Consternation reaches a climax. Horses are hastily put-to at thehotel: people crowd into the carriages and try to drive off. Theyget jammed together and hemmed in by the throng. Unable to movethey quarrel and curse despairingly in sundry tongues.]BARON CAPELLENAffix the new bulletin. It is a more assuring one, and may quietthem a little.[A new bulletin is nailed over the old one.]MAYORGood people, calm yourselves. No victory has been won by Bonaparte.The noise of guns heard all the afternoon became fainter towards theend, showing beyond doubt that the retreat was away from the city.A CITIZENThe French are said to be forty thousand strong at Les Quatre-Bras,and no forty thousand British marched out against them this morning!ANOTHER CITIZENAnd it is whispered that the city archives and the treasure-chesthave been sent to Antwerp!MAYOROnly as a precaution. No good can be gained by panic. Sixty orseventy thousand of the Allies, all told, face Napoléon at thishour. Meanwhile who is to attend to the wounded that are beingbrought in faster and faster? Fellow-citizens, do your duty bythese unfortunates, and believe me that when engaged in such anact of mercy no enemy will hurt you.CITIZENSWhat can we do?MAYORI invite all those who have such, to bring mattresses, sheets, andcoverlets to the Hotel de Ville, also old linen and lint from thehouses of the cures.[Many set out on this errand. An interval. Enter a courier, whospeaks to the MAYOR and the BARON CAPELLEN.]BARON CAPELLEN [to Mayor]Better inform them immediately, to prevent a panic.MAYOR [to Citizens]I grieve to tell you that the Duke of Brunswick, whom you saw rideout this morning, was killed this afternoon at Les Quatre-Bras. Amusket-ball passed through his bridle-hand and entered his belly.His body is now arriving. Carry yourselves gravely.[A lane is formed in the crowd in the direction of the Rue deNamur; they wait. Presently an extemporized funeral procession,with the body of the DUKE on a gun-carriage, and a small escortof Brunswickers with carbines reversed, comes slowly up thestreet, their silver death’s-heads shining in the lamplight.The agitation of the citizens settles into a silent gloom asthe mournful train passes.]MAYOR [to Baron Capellen]I noticed the strange look of prepossession on his face at the balllast night, as if he knew what was going to be.BARON CAPELLENThe Duchess mentioned it to me.... He hated the French, if anyman ever did, and so did his father before him! Here comes theEnglish Colonel Hamilton, straight from the field. He will giveus trustworthy particulars.[Enter COLONEL HAMILTON by the Rue de Namur. He converses withthe MAYOR and the BARON on the issue of the struggle.]MAYORNow I will go the Hotel de Ville, and get it ready for those woundedwho can find no room in private houses.[Exeunt MAYOR, CAPELLEN, D’URSEL, HAMILTON, etc. severally. Manycitizens descend in the direction of the Hotel de Ville to assist.Those who remain silently watch the carts bringing in the woundedtill a late hour. The doors of houses in the Place and elsewhereare kept open, and the rooms within lighted, in expectation ofmore arrivals from the field. A courier gallops up, who is accostedby idlers.]COURIER [hastily]The Prussians are defeated at Ligny by Napoléon in person. He willbe here to-morrow.[Exit courier.]FIRST IDLERThe devil! Then I am for welcoming him. No Antwerp for me!OTHER IDLERS [sotto voce]Vive l’Empereur![A warm summer fog from the Lower Town covers the Parc and thePlace Royale.]SCENE VIIITHE ROAD TO WATERLOO[The view is now from Quatre-Bras backward along the road bywhich the English arrived. Diminishing in a straight line fromthe foreground to the centre of the distance it passes over MontSaint-Jean and through Waterloo to Brussels.It is now tinged by a moving mass of English and Allied infantry,in retreat to a new position at Mont Saint-Jean. The sun shinesbrilliantly upon the foreground as yet, but towards Waterloo andthe Forest of Soignes on the north horizon it is overcast withblack clouds which are steadily advancing up the sky.To mask the retreat the English outposts retain their positionon the battlefield in the face of NEY’S troops, and keep up adesultory firing: the cavalry for the same reason remain, beingdrawn up in lines beside the intersecting Namur road.Enter WELLINGTON, UXBRIDGE [who is in charge of the cavalry],MÜFFLING, VIVIAN, and others. They look through their field-glasses towards Frasnes, NEY’S position since his retreatyesternight, and also towards NAPOLÉON’S at Ligny.]WELLINGTONThe noonday sun, striking so strongly there,Makes mirrors of their arms. That they advanceTheir glowing radiance shows. Those gleams by MarbaisSuggest fixed bayonets.UXBRIDGEVivian’s glass revealsThat they are cuirassiers. Ney’s troops, too, nearAt last, methinks, along this other road.WELLINGTONOne thing is sure: that here the whole French forceSchemes to unite and sharply follow us.It formulates our fence. The cavalryMust linger here no longer; but recedeTo Mont Saint-Jean, as rearguard of the foot.From the intelligence that Gordon brings’Tis pretty clear old Blücher had to takeA damned good drubbing yesterday at Ligny,And has been bent hard back! So that, for us,Bound to the plighted plan, there is no choiceBut do like.... No doubt they’ll say at homeThat we’ve been well thrashed too. It can’t be helped,They must!... [He looks round at the sky.] A heavy rainfallthreatens us,To make it all the worse![The speaker and his staff ride off along the Brussels road inthe rear of the infantry, and UXBRIDGE begins the retreat of thecavalry. CAPTAIN MERCER enters with a light battery.]MERCER [excitedly]Look back, my lord;Is it not Bonaparte himself we seeUpon the road I have come by?UXBRIDGE [looking through glass]Yes, by God;His face as clear-cut as the edge of a cloudThe sun behind shows up! His suite and all!Fire—fire! And aim you well.[The battery makes ready and fires.]No! It won’t do.He brings on mounted ordnance of his Guard,So we’re in danger here. Then limber up,And off as soon as may be.[The English artillery and cavalry retreat at full speed, just asthe weather bursts, with flashes of lightning and drops of rain.They all clatter off along the Brussels road, UXBRIDGE and hisaides galloping beside the column; till no British are left atQuatre-Bras except the slain.The focus of the scene follows the retreating English army, thehighway and its and margins panoramically gliding past the visionof the spectator. The phantoms chant monotonously while the retreatgoes on.]CHORUS OF RUMOURS [aerial music]Day’s nether hours advance; storm supervenesIn heaviness unparalleled, that screensWith water-woven gauzes, vapour-bred,The creeping clumps of half-obliterate red—Severely harassed past each round and ridgeBy the inimical lance. They gain the bridgeAnd village of Genappe, in equal fenceWith weather and the enemy’s violence.—Cannon upon the foul and flooded road,Cavalry in the cornfields mire-bestrowed,With frothy horses floundering to their knees,Make wayfaring a moil of miseries!Till Britishry and Bonapartists loseTheir clashing colours for the tawny huesThat twilight sets on all its stealing tinct imbues.[The rising ground of Mont Saint-Jean, in front of Waterloo,is gained by the English vanguard and main masses of foot, andby degrees they are joined by the cavalry and artillery. TheFrench are but little later in taking up their position amidthe cornfields around La Belle Alliance.Fires begin to shine up from the English bivouacs. Camp kettlesare slung, and the men pile arms and stand round the blaze to drythemselves. The French opposite lie down like dead men in thedripping green wheat and rye, without supper and without fire.By and by the English army also lies down, the men huddlingtogether on the ploughed mud in their wet blankets, while somesleep sitting round the dying fires.]CHORUS OF THE YEARS [aerial music]The eyelids of eve fall together at last,And the forms so foreign to field and treeLie down as though native, and slumber fast!CHORUS OF THE PITIESSore are the thrills of misgiving we seeIn the artless champaign at this harlequinade,Distracting a vigil where calm should be!The green seems opprest, and the Plain afraidOf a Something to come, whereof these are the proofs,—Neither earthquake, nor storm, nor eclipses’s shade!CHORUS OF THE YEARSYea, the coneys are scared by the thud of hoofs,And their white scuts flash at their vanishing heels,And swallows abandon the hamlet-roofs.The mole’s tunnelled chambers are crushed by wheels,The lark’s eggs scattered, their owners fled;And the hedgehog’s household the sapper unseals.The snail draws in at the terrible tread,But in vain; he is crushed by the felloe-rimThe worm asks what can be overhead,And wriggles deep from a scene so grim,And guesses him safe; for he does not knowWhat a foul red flood will be soaking him!Beaten about by the heel and toeAre butterflies, sick of the day’s long rheum,To die of a worse than the weather-foe.Trodden and bruised to a miry tombAre ears that have greened but will never be gold,And flowers in the bud that will never bloom.CHORUS OF THE PITIESSo the season’s intent, ere its fruit unfold,Is frustrate, and mangled, and made succumb,Like a youth of promise struck stark and cold!...And what of these who to-night have come?CHORUS OF THE YEARSThe young sleep sound; but the weather awakesIn the veterans, pains from the past that numb;Old stabs of Ind, old Peninsular aches,Old Friedland chills, haunt their moist mud bed,Cramps from Austerlitz; till their slumber breaks.CHORUS OF SINISTER SPIRITSAnd each soul shivers as sinks his headOn the loam he’s to lease with the other deadFrom to-morrow’s mist-fall till Time be sped![The fires of the English go out, and silence prevails, savefor the soft hiss of the rain that falls impartially on boththe sleeping armies.]
THE BELGIAN FRONTIER[The village of Beaumont stands in the centre foreground of abirds’-eye prospect across the Belgian frontier from the Frenchside, being close to the Sambre further back in the scene, whichpursues a crinkled course between high banks from Maubeuge on theleft to Charleroi on the right.In the shadows that muffle all objects, innumerable bodies ofinfantry and cavalry are discerned bivouacking in and around thevillage. This mass of men forms the central column of NAPOLÉONS’Sarmy.The right column is seen at a distance on that hand, also nearthe frontier, on the road leading towards Charleroi; and theleft column by Solre-sur-Sambre, where the frontier and the rivernearly coincideThe obscurity thins and the June dawn appears.]
DUMB SHOWThe bivouacs of the central column become broken up, and a movementensues rightwards on Charleroi. The twelve regiments of cavalrywhich are in advance move off first; in half an hour more bodiesmove, and more in the next half-hour, till by eight o’clock thewhole central army is gliding on. It defiles in strands by narrowtracks through the forest. Riding impatiently on the outskirts ofthe columns is MARSHAL NEY, who has as yet received no command.As the day develops, sight and sounds to the left and right revealthat the two outside columns have also started, and are creepingtowards the frontier abreast with the centre. That the whole formsone great movement, co-ordinated by one mind, now becomes apparent.Preceded by scouts the three columns converge.The advance through dense woods by narrow paths takes time. Thehead of the middles and main column forces back some outposts, andreaches Charleroi, driving out the Prussian general ZIETEN. Itseizes the bridge over the Sambre and blows up the gates of thetown.The point of observation now descends close to the scene.In the midst comes the EMPEROR with the Sappers of the Guard,the Marines, and the Young Guard. The clatter brings the scaredinhabitants to their doors and windows. Cheers arise from someof them as NAPOLÉON passes up the steep street. Just beyond thetown, in front of the Bellevue Inn, he dismounts. A chair isbrought out, in which he sits and surveys the whole valley of theSambre. The troops march past cheering him, and drums roll andbugles blow. Soon the EMPEROR is found to be asleep.When the rattle of their passing ceases the silence wakes him. Hislistless eye falls upon a half-defaced poster on a wall opposite—the Declaration of the Allies.
NAPOLÉON [reading]“... Bonaparte destroys the only legal title on which his existencedepended.... He has deprived himself of the protection of the law,and has manifested to the Universe that there can be neither peacenor truce with him. The Powers consequently declare that NapoléonBonaparte has placed himself without the pale of civil and socialrelations, and that as an enemy and disturber of the tranquillityof the world he has rendered himself liable to public vengeance.”
His flesh quivers, and he turns with a start, as if fancying thatsome one may be about to stab him in the back. Then he rises,mounts, and rides on.Meanwhile the right column crosses the Sambre without difficultyat Chatelet, a little lower down; the left column at Marchienne alittle higher up; and the three limbs combine into one vast army.As the curtain of the mist is falling, the point of vision soarsagain, and there is afforded a brief glimpse of what is doing faraway on the other side. From all parts of Europe long and sinisterblack files are crawling hitherward in serpentine lines, likeslowworms through grass. They are the advancing armies of theAllies. The Dumb Show ends.
A BALLROOM IN BRUSSELS22[It is a June midnight at the DUKE AND DUCHESS OF RICHMOND’S. Aband of stringed instruments shows in the background. The roomis crowded with a brilliant assemblage of more than two hundredof the distinguished people sojourning in the city on account ofthe war and other reasons, and of local personages of State andfashion. The ball has opened with “The White Cockade.”Among those discovered present either dancing or looking on arethe DUKE and DUCHESS as host and hostess, their son and eldestdaughter, the Duchess’s brother, the DUKE OF WELLINGTON, thePRINCE OF ORANGE, the DUKE OF BRUNSWICK, BARON VAN CAPELLEN theBelgian Secretary of State, the DUKE OF ARENBERG, the MAYOR OFBRUSSELS, the DUKE AND DUCHESS OF BEAUFORT, GENERAL ALAVA, GENERALOUDENARDE, LORD HILL, LORD AND LADY CONYNGHAM, SIR HENRY AND LADYSUSAN CLINTON, SIR H. AND LADY HAMILTON DALRYMPLE, SIR WILLIAM ANDLADY DE LANCEY, LORD UXBRIDGE, SIR JOHN BYNG, LORD PORTARLINGTON,LORD EDWARD SOMERSET, LORD HAY, COLONEL ABERCROMBY, SIR HUSSEYVIVIAN, SIR A. GORDON, SIR W. PONSONBY, SIR DENIS PACK, SIR JAMESKEMPT, SIR THOMAS PICTON, GENERAL MAITLAND, COLONEL CAMERON, manyother officers, English, Hanoverian, Dutch and Belgian ladiesEnglish and foreign, and Scotch reel-dancers from Highlandregiments.The “Hungarian Waltz” having also been danced, the hostess callsup the Highland soldiers to show the foreign guests what a Scotchreel is like. The men put their hands on their hips and tread itout briskly. While they stand aside and rest “The HanoverianDance” is called.Enter LIEUTENANT WEBSTER, A.D.C. to the PRINCE OF ORANGE. ThePrince goes apart with him and receives a dispatch. After readingit he speaks to WELLINGTON, and the two, accompanied by the DUKEOF RICHMOND, retire into an alcove with serious faces. WEBSTER,in passing back across the ballroom, exchanges a hasty word withtwo of three of the guests known to him, a young officer amongthem, and goes out.
YOUNG OFFICER [to partner]The French have passed the Sambre at Charleroi!
PARTNERWhat—does it mean the Bonaparte indeedIs bearing down upon us?
YOUNG OFFICERThat is so.The one who spoke to me in passing outIs Aide to the Prince of Orange, bringing himDispatches from Rebecque, his chief of Staff,Now at the front, not far from Braine le Comte;He says that Ney, leading the French van-guard,Has burst on Quatre-Bras.
PARTNERO horrid time!Will you, then, have to go and face him there?
YOUNG OFFICERI shall, of course, sweet. Promptly too, no doubt.[He gazes about the room.]See—the news spreads; the dance is paralyzed.They are all whispering round. [The band stops.] Here comesone more,He’s the attache from the Prussian forceAt our headquarters.[Enter GENERAL MÜFFLING. He looks prepossessed, and goes straightto WELLINGTON and RICHMOND in the alcove, who by this time havebeen joined by the DUKE OF BRUNSWICK.]
SEVERAL GUESTS [at back of room]Yes, you see, it’s true!The army will prepare to march at once.
PICTON [to another general]I am damn glad we are to be off. Pottering about her pinned topetticoat tails—it does one no good, but blasted harm!
ANOTHER GUESTThe ball cannot go on, can it? Didn’t the Duke know the Frenchwere so near? If he did, how could he let us run risks so coolly?
LADY HAMILTON DALRYMPLE [to partner]A deep concern weights those responsibleWho gather in the alcove. WellingtonAffects a cheerfulness in outward port,But cannot rout his real anxiety![The DUCHESS OF RICHMOND goes to her husband.]
DUCHESSOught I to stop the ball? It hardly seems right to let it continueif all be true.
RICHMONDI have put that very question to Wellington, my dear. He says thatwe need not hurry off the guests. The men have to assemble sometime before the officers, who can stay on here a little longerwithout inconvenience; and he would prefer that they should, not tocreate a panic in the city, where the friends and spies of Napoléonare all agog for some such thing, which they would instantlycommunicate to him to take advantage of.
DUCHESSIs it safe to stay on? Should we not be thinking about getting thechildren away?
RICHMONDThere’s no hurry at all, even if Bonaparte were really sure toenter. But he’s never going to set foot in Brussels—don’t youimagine it for a moment.
DUCHESS [anxiously]I hope not. But I wish we had never brought them here!
RICHMONDIt is too late, my dear, to wish that now. Don’t be flurried; makethe people go on dancing.[The DUCHESS returns to her guests. The DUKE rejoins WELLINGTON,BRUNSWICK, MÜFFLING, and the PRINCE OF ORANGE in the alcove.]
WELLINGTONWe need not be astride till five o’clockIf all the men are marshalled well ahead.The Brussels citizens must not supposeThey stand in serious peril... He, I think,Directs his main attack mistakenly;It should gave been through Mons, not Charleroi.
MÜFFLINGThe Austrian armies, and the Russian too,Will show nowhere in this. The thing that’s done,Be it a historied feat or nine days’ fizz,Will be done long before they join us here.
WELLINGTONYes, faith; and ’tis pity. But, by God,Blücher, I think, and I can make a shiftTo do the business without troubling ’em!Though I’ve an infamous army, that’s the truth,—Weak, and but ill-equipped,—and what’s as bad,A damned unpractised staff!
MÜFFLINGWe’ll hope for luck.Blücher concentrates certainly by nowNear Ligny, as he says in his dispatch.Your Grace, I glean, will mass at Quatre-Bras?
WELLINGTONAy, now we are sure this move on CharleroiIs no mere feint. Though I had meant Nivelles.Have ye a good map, Richmond, near at hand?
RICHMONDIn the next room there’s one. [Exit RICHMOND.][WELLINGTON calls up various general officers and aides fromother parts of the room. PICTON, UXBRIDGE, HILL, CLINTON, VIVIAN,MAITLAND, PONSONBY, SOMERSET, and others join him in succession,receive orders, and go out severally.]
PRINCE OF ORANGEAs my divisions seem to lie aroundThe probable point of impact, it behoves meTo start at once, Duke, for Genappe, I deem?Being in Brussels, all for this damned ball,The dispositions out there have, so far,Been made by young Saxe Weimar and Perponcher,On their own judgment quite. I go, your Grace?
WELLINGTONYes, certainly. ’Tis now desirable.Farewell! Good luck, until we meet again,The battle won![Exit PRINCE OF ORANGE, and shortly after, MÜFFLING. RICHMONDreturns with a map, which he spreads out on the table. WELLINGTONscans it closely.]Napoléon has befooled me,By God he has,—gained four-and-twenty hours’Good march upon me!
RICHMONDWhat do you mean to do?
WELLINGTONI have bidden the army concentrate in strengthAt Quatre-Bras. But we shan’t stop him there;So I must fight him HERE. [He marks Waterloo with his thumbnail.]Well, now I have sped,All necessary orders I may sup,And then must say good-bye. [To Brunswick.] This very dayThere will be fighting, Duke. You are fit to start?
BRUNSWICK [coming forward]I leave almost this moment.—Yes, your Grace—And I sheath not my sword till I have avengedMy father’s death. I have sworn it!
WELLINGTONMy good friend,Something too solemn knells beneath your words.Take cheerful views of the affair in hand,And fall to’t withsang froid!
BRUNSWICKBut I have sworn!Adieu. The rendezvous is Quatre-Bras?
WELLINGTONJust so. The order is unchanged. Adieu;But only till a later hour to-day;I see it is one o’clock.[WELLINGTON and RICHMOND go out of the alcove and join thehostess, BRUNSWICK’S black figure being left there alone. Hebends over the map for a few seconds.]
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSO Brunswick, Duke of Deathwounds! Even as heFor whom thou wear’st that filial weederyWas waylaid by my tipstaff nine years since,So thou this day shalt feel his fendless tap,And join thy sire!
BRUNSWICK [starting up]I am stirred by inner words,As ’twere my father’s angel calling me,—That prelude to our death my lineage know![He stands in a reverie for a moment; then, bidding adieu to theDUCHESS OF RICHMOND and her daughter, goes slowly out of theballroom by a side-door.]
DUCHESSThe Duke of Brunswick bore him gravely here.His sable shape has stuck me all the eveAs one of those romantic presencesWe hear of—seldom see.
WELLINGTON [phlegmatically]Romantic,—well,It may be so. Times often, ever sinceThe Late Duke’s death, his mood has tinged him thus.He is of those brave men who danger see,And seeing front it,—not of those, less braveBut counted more, who face it sightlessly.
YOUNG OFFICER [to partner]The Generals slip away! I, Love, must takeThe cobbled highway soon. Some hours agoThe French seized Charleroi; so they loom nigh.
PARTNER [uneasily]Which tells me that the hour you draw your swordLooms nigh us likewise!
YOUNG OFFICERSome are saying hereWe fight this very day. Rumours all-shapedFly round like cockchafers![Suddenly there echoes in the ballroom a long-drawn metallic purlof sound, making all the company start.]Transcriber’s Note: There follows in musical notation five measuresfor side-drum.Ah—there it is,Just as I thought! They are beating the Generale.[The loud roll of side-drums is taken up by other drums furtherand further away, till the hollow noise spreads all over the city.Dismay is written on the faces of the women. The Highland non-commissioned officers and privates march smartly down the ballroomand disappear.]
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESDiscerned you stepping out in front of themThat figure—of a pale drum-major kind,Or fugleman—who wore a cold grimace?
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSHe was my old fiend Death, in rarest trim,The occasion favouring his husbandry!
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESAre those who marched behind him, then, to fall?
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSAy, all well-nigh, ere Time have houred three-score.
PARTNERSurely this cruel call to instant warSpares space for one dance more, that memoryMay store when you are gone, while I—sad me!—Wait, wait and weep.... Yes—one there is to be!
SPIRIT IRONICMethinks flirtation grows too tender here![Country Dance, “The Prime of Life,” a favourite figure at thisperiod. The sense of looming tragedy carries emotion to itsclimax. All the younger officers stand up with their partners,forming several figures of fifteen or twenty couples each. Theair is ecstasizing, and both sexes abandon themselves to themovement.Nearly half an hour passes before the figure is danced down.Smothered kisses follow the conclusion. The silence is brokenfrom without by more long hollow rolling notes, so near thatthey thrill the window-panes.]
SEVERAL’Tis the Assemble. Now, then, we must go![The officers bid farewell to their partners and begin leavingin twos and threes. When they are gone the women mope and murmurto each other by the wall, and listen to the tramp of men andslamming of doors in the streets without.]
LADY HAMILTON DALRYMPLEThe Duke has borne him gaily here to-night.The youngest spirits scarcely capped his own.
DALRYMPLEMaybe that, finding himself blade to bladeWith Bonaparte at last, his blood gets quick.French lancers of the Guard were seen at FrasnesLast midnight; so the clash is not far off.[They leave.]
DE LANCEY [to his wife]I take you to our door, and say good-bye,And go thence to the Duke’s and wait for him.In a few hours we shall be all in motionTowards the scene of—what we cannot tell!You, dear, will haste to Antwerp till it’s past,As we have arranged.[They leave.]
WELLINGTON [to Richmond]Now I must also go,And snatch a little snooze ere harnessing.The Prince and Brunswick have been gone some while.[RICHMOND walks to the door with him. Exit WELLINGTON, RICHMONDreturns.]
DUCHESS [to Richmond]Some of these left renew the dance, you see.I cannot stop them; but with memory hotOf those late gone, of where they are gone, and why,It smacks of heartlessness!
RICHMONDLet be; let be;Youth comes not twice to fleet mortality![The dancing, however, is fitful and spiritless, few but civilianpartners being left for the ladies. Many of the latter prefer tosit in reverie while waiting for their carriages.]
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESWhen those stout men-at-arms drew forward there,I saw a like grimacing shadow marchAnd pirouette before no few of them.Some of themselves beheld it; some did not.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSWhich were so ushered?
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESBrunswick, who saw and knew;One also moved before Sir Thomas Picton,Who coolly conned and drily spoke to it;Another danced in front of Ponsonby,Who failed of heeding his.—De Lancey, Hay,Gordon, and Cameron, and many moreWere footmanned by like phantoms from the ball.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSMultiplied shimmerings of my Protean friend,Who means to couch them shortly. Thou wilt eyeMany fantastic moulds of him ere long,Such as, bethink thee, oft hast eyed before.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESI have—too often![The attenuated dance dies out, the remaining guests depart, themusicians leave the gallery and depart also. RICHMOND goes toa window and pulls back one of the curtains. Dawn is barelyvisible in the sky, and the lamps indistinctly reveal that longlines of British infantry have assembled in the street. In theirksomeness of waiting for their officers with marching-orders,they have lain down on the pavements, where many are soundlysleeping, their heads on their knapsacks and their arms by theirside.]
DUCHESSPoor men. Sleep waylays them. How tired they seem!
RICHMONDThey’ll be more tired before the day is done.A march of eighteen miles beneath the heat,And then to fight a battle ere they rest,Is what foreshades.—Well, it is more than bed-time;But little sleep for us or any oneTo-night in Brussels![He draws the window-curtain and goes out with the DUCHESS.Servants enter and extinguish candles. The scene closes indarkness.]
CHARLEROI. NAPOLÉON’S QUARTERS[The same midnight. NAPOLÉON is lying on a bed in his clothes.In consultation with SOULT, his Chief of Staff, who is sittingnear, he dictates to his Secretary orders for the morrow. Theyare addressed to KELLERMANN, DROUOT, LOBAU, GERARD, and otherof his marshals. SOULT goes out to dispatch them.The Secretary resumes the reading of reports. Presently MARSHALNEY is announced He is heard stumbling up the stairs, and enters.]
NAPOLÉONAh, Ney; why come you back? Have you securedThe all-important Crossways?—safely sconcedYourself at Quatre-Bras?
NEYNot, sire, as yet.For, marching forwards, I heard gunnery boom,And, fearing that the Prussians had engaged you,I stood at pause. Just then—-
NAPOLÉONMy charge was this:Make it impossible at any costThat Wellington and Blücher should unite.As it’s from Brussels that the English come,And from Namur the Prussians, Quatre-BrasLends it alone for their forgathering:So, why exists it not in your hands/
NEYMy reason, sire, was rolling from my tongue.—Hard on the boom of guns, dim files of footWhich read to me like massing Englishry—The vanguard of all Wellington’s array—I half-discerned. So, in pure wariness,I left the Bachelu columns there at Frasnes,And hastened back to tell you.
NAPOLÉONNey; O Ney!I fear you are not the man that once you were;Of your so daring, such a faint-heart now!I have ground to know the foot that flustered youWere but a few stray groups of Netherlanders;For my good spies in Brussels send me cueThat up to now the English have not stirred,But cloy themselves with nightly revel there.
NEY [bitterly]Give me another opportunityBefore you speak like that!
NAPOLÉONYou soon will have one!...But now—no more of this. I have other gloomsUpon my soul—the much-disquieting newsThat Bourmont has deserted to our foesWith his whole staff.
NEYWe can afford to let him.
NAPOLÉONIt is what such betokens, not their worth,That whets it!... Love, respect for me, have waned;But I will right that. We’ve good chances still.You must return foot-hot to Quatre-Bras;There Kellermann’s cuirassiers will promptly join youTo bear the English backward Brussels way.I go on towards Fleurus and Ligny now.—If Blücher’s force retreat, and Wellington’sLie somnolent in Brussels one day more,I gain that city sans a single shot!...Now, friend, downstairs you’ll find some supper ready,Which you must tuck in sharply, and then off.The past day has not ill-advantaged us;We have stolen upon the two chiefs unawares,And in such sites that they must fight apart.Now for a two hours’ rest.—Comrade, adieuUntil to-morrow!NEYTill to-morrow, sire![Exit NEY. NAPOLÉON falls asleep, and the Secretary waits tilldictation shall be resumed. BUSSY, the orderly officer, comesto the door.
BUSSYLetters—arrived from Paris. [Hands letters.]
SECRETARYHe shall have themThe moment he awakes. These eighteen hoursHe’s been astride; and is not what he was.—Much news from Paris?
BUSSYI can only sayWhat’s not the news. The courier has just told meHe’d nothing from the Empress at ViennaTo bring his Majesty. She writes no more.
SECRETARYAnd never will again! In my regardThat bird’s forsook the nest for good and all.
BUSSYAll that they hear in Paris from her courtIs through our spies there. One of them reportsThis rumour of her: that the Archduke John,In taking leave to join our enemies here,Said, “Oh, my poor Louise; I am grieved for youAnd what I hope is, that he’ll be run through,Or shot, or break his neck, for your own goodNo less than ours.
NAPOLÉON [waking]By “he” denoting me?
BUSSY [starting]Just so, your Majesty.
NAPOLÉON [peremptorily]What said the Empress?
BUSSYShe gave no answer, sire, that rumour bears.
NAPOLÉONCount Neipperg, whom they have made her chamberlain,Interred his wife last spring—is it not so?
BUSSYHe did, your Majesty.
NAPOLÉONH’m....You may go.[Exit BUSSY. The Secretary reads letters aloud in succession.He comes to the last; begins it; reaches a phrase, and stopsabruptly.]Mind not! Read on. No doubt the usual threat,Or prophecy, from some mad scribe? Who signs it?
SECRETARYThe subscript is “The Duke of Enghien!”
NAPOLÉON [starting up]Bah, man! A treacherous trick! A hoax—no more!Is that the last?
SECRETARYThe last, your Majesty.
NAPOLÉONThen now I’ll sleep. In two hours have me called.
SECRETARYI’ll give the order, sire.[The Secretary goes. The candles are removed, except one, andNAPOLÉON endeavours to compose himself.]
SPIRIT IRONICA little moral panorama would do him no harm, after that reminder ofthe Duke of Enghien. Shall it be, young Compassion?
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESWhat good—if that old Years tells us be true?But I say naught. To ordain is not for me![Thereupon a vision passes before NAPOLÉON as he lies, comprisinghundreds of thousands of skeletons and corpses in various stagesof decay. They rise from his various battlefields, the fleshdropping from them, and gaze reproachfully at him. His intimateofficers who have been slain he recognizes among the crowd. Infront is the DUKE OF ENGHIEN as showman.]
NAPOLÉON [in his sleep]Why, why should this reproach be dealt me now?Why hold me my own master, if I beRuled by the pitiless Planet of Destiny?[He jumps up in a sweat and puts out the last candle; and thescene is curtained by darkness.]
A CHAMBER OVERLOOKING A MAIN STREET IN BRUSSELS[A June sunrise; the beams struggling through the window-curtains.A canopied bed in a recess on the left. The quick notes of“Brighton Camp, or the “Girl I’ve left behind me,” strike sharplyinto the room from fifes and drums without. A young lady in adressing-gown, who has evidently been awaiting the sound, springsfrom the bed like a hare from its form, undraws window-curtainsand opens the window.Columns of British soldiery are marching past from the Parcsouthward out of the city by the Namur Gate. The windows ofother houses in the street rattle open, and become full ofgazers.A tap at the door. An older lady enters, and comes up to thefirst.]
YOUNGER LADY [turning]O mamma—I didn’t hear you!
ELDER LADYI was sound asleep till the thumping of the drums set me fantasticallydreaming, and when I awoke I found they were real. Did they wake youtoo, my dear?
Younger Lady [reluctantly]I didn’t require waking. I hadn’t slept since we came home.
ELDER LADYThat was from the excitement of the ball. There are dark rings roundyour eye. [The fifes and drums are now opposite, and thrill the airin the room.] Ah—that “Girl I’ve left behind me!”—which so manythousands of women have throbbed an accompaniment to, and will againto-day if ever they did!
YOUNGER LADY [her voice faltering]It is rather cruel to say that just now, mamma. There, I can’t lookat them after it! [She turns and wipes her eyes.]
ELDER LADYI wasn’t thinking of ourselves—certainly not of you.—How theypress on—with those great knapsacks and firelocks and, I am told,fifty-six rounds of ball-cartridge, and four days’ provisions inthose haversacks. How can they carry it all near twenty miles andfight with it on their shoulders!... Don’t cry, dear. I thoughtyou would get sentimental last night over somebody. I ought tohave brought you home sooner. How many dances did you have? Itwas impossible for me to look after you in the excitement of thewar-tidings.
YOUNGER LADYOnly three—four.
ELDER LADYWhich were they?
YOUNGER LADY“Enrico,” the “Copenhagen Waltz” and the “Hanoverian,” and the“Prime of Life.”
ELDER LADYIt was very foolish to fall in love on the strength of four dances.
YOUNGER LADY [evasively]Fall in love? Who said I had fallen in love? What a funny idea!
ELDER LADYIs it?... Now here come the Highland Brigade with their pipesand their “Hieland Laddie.” How the sweethearts cling to the men’sarms. [Reaching forward.] There are more regiments following.But look, that gentleman opposite knows us. I cannot remember hisname. [She bows and calls across.] Sir, which are these?
GENTLEMAN OPPOSITEThe Ninety-second. Next come the Forty-ninth, and next the Forty-second—Sir Denis Pack’s brigade.
ELDER LADYThank you.—I think it is that gentleman we talked to at theDuchess’s, but I am not sure. [A pause: another band.]
GENTLEMAN OPPOSITEThat’s the Twenty-eighth. [They pass, with their band and colours.]Now the Thirty-second are coming up—part of Kempt’s brigade. Endless,are they not?
ELDER LADYYes, Sir. Has the Duke passed out yet?
GENTLEMAN OPPOSITENot yet. Some cavalry will go by first, I think. The foot comingup now are the Seventy-ninth. [They pass.]... These next arethe Ninety-fifth. [They pass.]... These are the First Foot-guards now. [They pass, playing “British Grenadiers.”]... TheFusileer-guards now. [They pass.] Now the Coldstreamers. [Theypass. He looks up towards the Parc.] Several Hanoverian regimentsunder Colonel Best are coming next. [They pass, with their bandsand colours. An interval.]
ELDER LADY [to daughter]Here are the hussars. How much more they carry to battle than atreviews. The hay in those great nets must encumber them. [Sheturns and sees that her daughter has become pale.] Ah, now I know!HE has just gone by. You exchanged signals with him, you wickedgirl! How do you know what his character is, or if he’ll ever comeback?[The younger lady goes and flings herself on her face upon thebed, sobbing silently. Her mother glances at her, but leavesher alone. An interval. The prancing of a group of horsemenis heard on the cobble-stones without.]
GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE [calling]Here comes the Duke!
ELDER LADY [to younger]You have left the window at the most important time! The Duke ofWellington and his staff-officers are passing out.
YOUNGER LADYI don’t want to see him. I don’t want to see anything any more![Riding down the street comes WELLINGTON in a grey frock-coat andsmall cocked hat, frigid and undemonstrative; accompanied by fouror five Generals of his suite, the Deputy Quartermaster-generalDe LANCEY, LORD FITZROY SOMERSET, Aide-de-camp, and GENERALMÜFFLING.]
GENTLEMAN OPPOSITEHe is the Prussian officer attached to our headquarters, through whomWellington communicates with Blücher, who, they say, is threatened bythe French at Ligny at this moment.[The elder lady turns to her daughter, and going to the bed bendsover her, while the horses’ tramp of WELLINGTON and his staffclatters more faintly in the street, and the music of the lastretreating band dies away towards the Forest of Soignes.Finding her daughter is hysterical with grief she quickly drawsthe window-curtains to screen the room from the houses opposite.Scene ends.]
THE FIELD OF LIGNY[The same day later. A prospect of the battlefield of Lignysouthward from the roof of the windmill of Bussy, which stands atthe centre and highest point of the Prussian position, about sixmiles south-east of Quatre-Bras.The ground slopes downward along the whole front of the scene toa valley through which wanders the Ligne, a muddy stream borderedby sallows. On both sides of the stream, in the middle plane ofthe picture, stands the village of Ligny, composed of thatchedcottages, gardens, and farm-houses with stone walls; the mainfeatures, such as the church, church-yard, and village-greenbeing on the further side of the Ligne.On that side the land reascends in green wheatfields to anelevation somewhat greater than that of the foreground, reachingaway to Fleurus in the right-hand distance.In front, on the slopes between the spectator and the village,is the First Corps of the Prussian army commanded by Zieten, itsFirst Brigade under STEINMETZ occupying the most salient point.The Corps under THIELMANN is ranged to the left, and that ofPIRCH to the rear, in reserve to ZIETEN. In the centre-front,just under the mill, BLÜCHER on a fine grey charger is intentlywatching, with his staff.Something dark is seen to be advancing over the horizon byFleurus, about three miles off. It is the van of NAPOLÉON’Sarmy, approaching to give battle.At this moment hoofs are heard clattering along a road thatpasses behind the mill; and there come round to the front theDUKE OF WELLINGTON, his staff-officers, and a small escort ofcavalry.WELLINGTON and BLÜCHER greet each other at the foot of thewindmill. They disappear inside, and can be heard ascendingthe ladders.Enter on the roof WELLINGTON and BLÜCHER, followed by FITZROYSOMERSET, GNEISENAU, MÜFFLING, and others. Before renewingtheir conversation they peer through their glasses at the darkmovements on the horizon. WELLINGTON’S manner is deliberate,judicial, almost indifferent; BLÜCHER’S eager and impetuous.
WELLINGTONThey muster not as yet in near such strengthAt Quatre-Bras as here.
BLÜCHER’Tis from FleurusThey come debouching. I, perforce, withdrewMy forward posts of cavalry at dawnIn face of their light cannon.... They’ll be hereI reckon, soon!
WELLINGTON [still with glass]I clearly see his staff,And if my eyes don’t lie, the Arch-one too....It is the whole Imperial army, Prince,That we’ve before us. [A silence.] Well, we’ll cope with them!What would you have me do?[BLÜCHER is so absorbed in what he sees that he does not heed.]
GNEISENAUDuke, this I’d say:Events suggest to us that you come upWith all your force, behind the village here,And act as our reserve.
MÜFFLINGBut Bonaparte,Pray note, has redistributed his strengthIn fashion that you fail to recognize.I am against your scheme.
BLÜCHER [lowering his glass]Signs notifyNapoléon’s plans as changed! He purports nowTo strike our left—between Sombreffe and Brye....If so, I have to readjust my ward.
WELLINGTONOne of his two divisions that we scanOutspreading from Fleurus, seems bent on Ligny,The other on Saint-Amand.
BLÜCHERWell, I shall seeIn half an hour, your Grace. If what I deemBe what he means, Von Zieten’s corps forthwithMust stand to their positions: Pirch out here,Henckel at Ligny, Steinmetz at La Haye.
WELLINGTONSo that, your Excellency, as I opine,I go and sling my strength on their left wing—Manoeuvring to outflank ’em on that side.
BLÜCHERTrue, true. Our plan uncovers of itself;You bear down everything from Quatre-BrasAlong the road to Frasnes.
WELLINGTONI will, by God.I’ll bear straight on to Gosselies, if needs!
GNEISENAUYour Excellencies, if I may be a judge,Such movement will not tend to unity;It leans too largely on a peradventureMost speculative in its contingencies![A silence; till the officers of the staff remark to each otherthat concentration is best in any circumstances. A generaldiscussion ensues.]
BLÜCHER [concludingly]We will expect you, Duke, to our support.
WELLINGTONI must agree that, in the sum, it’s best.So be it then. If not attacked myselfI’ll come to you.—Now I return with speedTo Quatre-Bras.
BLÜCHERAnd I descend from hereTo give close eye and thought to things below;No more can well be studied where we stand.[Exeunt from roof WELLINGTON, BLÜCHER and the rest. They reappearbelow, and WELLINGTON and his suite gallop furiously away in thedirection of Quatre-Bras. An interval.]
DUMB SHOW [below]Three reports of a cannon give the signal for the French attack.NAPOLÉON’S army advances down the slopes of green corn opposite,bands and voices joining in songs of victory. The French comein three grand columns; VANDAMME’S on the left [the spectator’sright] against Saint-Amand, the most forward angle of the Prussianposition. GERARD’S in the centre bear down upon Ligny. GROUCHY’Son the French right is further back. Far to the rear can bediscerned NAPOLÉON, the Imperial Guard, and MILHAUD’S cuirassiershalted in reserve.This formidable advance is preceded by swarms of tirailleurs, whotread down the high wheat, exposing their own men in the rear.Amid cannonading from both sides they draw nearer to the Prussians,though lanes are cut through them by the latter’s guns. They drivethe Prussians out of Ligny; who, however, rally in the houses,churchyard, and village green.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESI see unnatural an Monster, loosely jointed,With an Apocalyptic Being’s shape,And limbs and eyes a hundred thousand strong,And fifty thousand heads; which coils itselfAbout the buildings there.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARSThou dost indeed.It is the Monster Devastation. Watch.
Round the church they fight without quarter, shooting face to face,stabbing with unfixed bayonets, and braining with the butts ofmuskets. The village catches fire, and soon becomes a furnace.The crash of splitting timbers as doors are broken through, thecurses of the fighters, rise into the air, with shouts of “Enavant!” from the further side of the stream, and “Vorwarts!” fromthe nearer.The battle extends to the west by Le Hameau and Saint-Amand la Haye;and Ligny becomes invisible under a shroud of smoke.
VOICES [at the base of the mill]This sun will go down bloodily for us!The English, sharply sighed for by Prince Blücher,Cannot appear. Wellington words acrossThat hosts have set on him at Quatre-Bras,And leave him not one bayonet to spare!
The truth of this intelligence is apparent. A low dull sound heardlately from the direction of Quatre-Bras has increased to a roaringcannonade. The scene abruptly closes.
THE FIELD AT QUATRE-BRAS[The same day. The view is southward, and the straight gaunthighway from Brussels [behind the spectator] to Charleroi overthe hills in front, bisects the picture from foreground todistance. Near at hand, where it is elevated and open, therecrosses it obliquely, at a point called Les Quatre-Bras, anotherroad which comes from Nivelle, five miles to the gazer’s rightrear, and goes to Namur, twenty miles ahead to the left. At adistance of five or six miles in this latter direction it passesnear the previous scene, Ligny, whence the booming of guns canbe continuously heard.Between the cross-roads in the centre of the scene and the farhorizon the ground dips into a hollow, on the other side of whichthe same straight road to Charleroi is seen climbing the crest,and over it till out of sight. From a hill on the right hand ofthe mid-distance a large wood, the wood of Bossu, reaches upnearly to the crossways, which give their name to the buildingsthereat, consisting of a few farm-houses and an inn.About three-quarters of a mile off, nearly hidden by the horizontowards Charleroi, there is also a farmstead, Gemioncourt; another,Piraumont, stands on an eminence a mile to the left of it, andsomewhat in front of the Namur road.]
DUMB SHOWAs this scene uncovers the battle is beheld to be raging at itsheight, and to have reached a keenly tragic phase. WELLINGTON hasreturned from Ligny, and the main British and Hanoverian position,held by the men who marched out of Brussels in the morning, underofficers who danced the previous night at the Duchess’s, is alongthe Namur road to the left of the perspective, and round the cross-road itself. That of the French, under Ney, is on the crests furtherback, from which they are descending in imposing numbers. Someadvanced columns are assailing the English left, while through thesmoke-hazes of the middle of the field two lines of skirmishersare seen firing at each other—the southernmost dark blue, thenorthernmost dull red. Time lapses till it is past four o’clock.
SPIRIT OF RUMOURThe cannonade of the French ordnance-linesHas now redoubled. Columns new and denseOf foot, supported by fleet cavalry,Straightly impinge upon the Brunswick bandsThat border the plantation of Bossu.Above some regiments of the assaulting FrenchA flag like midnight swims upon the air,To say no quarter may be looked for there!
The Brunswick soldiery, much notched and torn by the French grape-shot, now lie in heaps. The DUKE OF BRUNSWICK himself, desperateto keep them steady, lights his pipe, and rides slowly up and downin front of his lines previous to the charge which follows.
SPIRIT OF RUMOURThe French have heaved them on the Brunswickers,And borne them back. Now comes the Duke’s told time.He gallops at the head of his hussars—Those men of solemn and appalling guise,Full-clothed in black, with nodding hearsy plumes,A shining silver skull and cross of bonesSet upon each, to byspeak his slain sire....Concordantly, the expected bullet startsAnd finds the living son.
BRUNSWICK reels to the ground. His troops, disheartened, lose theircourage and give way.The French front columns, and the cavalry supporting them, shoutas they advance. The Allies are forced back upon the English mainposition. WELLINGTON is in personal peril for a time, but he escapesit by a leap of his horse.A curtain of smoke drops. An interval. The curtain reascends.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESBehold again the Dynasts’ gory gear!Since we regarded, what has progressed here?
RECORDING ANGEL [in recitative]Musters of English foot and their alliesCame palely panting by the Brussels way,And, swiftly stationed, checked their counter-braves.Ney, vexed by lack of like auxiliaries,Bade then the columned cuirassiers to chargeIn all their edged array of weaponcraft.Yea; thrust replied to thrust, and fire to fire;The English broke, till Picton prompt to prop themSprang with fresh foot-folk from the covering rye.Next, Pire’s cavalry took up the charge....And so the action sways. The English leftIs turned at Piraumont; whilst on their rightPerils infest the greenwood of Bossu;Wellington gazes round with dubious view;England’s long fame in fight seems sepulchered,And ominous roars swell loudlier Ligny-ward.
SPIRIT OF RUMOURNew rage has wrenched the battle since thou’st writ;Hot-hasting succours of light cannonryLately come up, relieve the English stress;Kellermann’s cuirassiers, both man and horseAll plated over with the brass of war,Are rolling on the highway. More brigadesOf British, soiled and sweltering, now are nigh,Who plunge within the boscage of Bossu;Where in the hidden shades and sinuous creepsLife-struggles can be heard, seen but in peeps.Therewith the foe’s accessions harass Ney,Racked that no needful d’Erlon darks the way!
Inch by inch NEY has to draw off: WELLINGTON promptly advances. Atdusk NEY’S army finds itself back at Frasnes, where he meets D’ERLONcoming up to his assistance, too late.The weary English and their allies, who have been on foot ever sinceone o’clock the previous morning, prepare to bivouac in front of thecross-roads. Their fires flash up for a while; and by and by thedead silence of heavy sleep hangs over them. WELLINGTON goes intohis tent, and the night darkens.A Prussian courier from Ligny enters, who is conducted into the tentto WELLINGTON.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIESWhat tidings can a courier bring that countHere, where such mighty things are native born?
RECORDING ANGEL [in recitative]The fury of the tumult there begunScourged quivering Ligny through the afternoon:Napoléon’s great intent grew substantive,And on the Prussian pith and pulse he bentHis foretimed blow. Blücher, to butt the shock,Called up his last reserves, and heading on,With blade high brandished by his aged arm,Spurred forward his white steed. But they, outspent,Failed far to follow. Darkness coped the sky,And storm, and rain with thunder. Yet once moreHe cheered them on to charge. His horse, the while,Pierced by a bullet, fell on him it bore.He, trampled, bruised, faint, and in disarrayDragged to another mount, was led away.His ragged lines withdraw from sight and sound,And their assailants camp upon the ground.
The scene shuts with midnight.
BRUSSELS. THE PLACE ROYALE[The same night, dark and sultry. A crowd of citizens throng thebroad Place. They gaze continually down the Rue de Namur, alongwhich arrive minute by minute carts and waggons laden with woundedmen. Other wounded limp into the city on foot. At much greaterspeed enter fugitive soldiers from the miscellaneous contingentsof WELLINGTON’S army at Quatre-Bras, who gesticulate and explainto the crowd that all is lost and that the French will soon be inBrussels.Baggage-carts and carriages, with and without horses, stand beforean hotel, surrounded by a medley of English and other foreignnobility and gentry with their valets and maids. Bulletins fromthe battlefield are affixed on the corner of the Place, and peoplepeer at them by the dim oil lights.A rattle of hoofs reaches the ears, entering the town by the sameNamur gate. The riders disclose themselves to be Belgian hussars,also from the field.]
SEVERAL HUSSARSThe French approach! Wellington is beaten. Bonaparte is at our heels.[Consternation reaches a climax. Horses are hastily put-to at thehotel: people crowd into the carriages and try to drive off. Theyget jammed together and hemmed in by the throng. Unable to movethey quarrel and curse despairingly in sundry tongues.]
BARON CAPELLENAffix the new bulletin. It is a more assuring one, and may quietthem a little.[A new bulletin is nailed over the old one.]
MAYORGood people, calm yourselves. No victory has been won by Bonaparte.The noise of guns heard all the afternoon became fainter towards theend, showing beyond doubt that the retreat was away from the city.
A CITIZENThe French are said to be forty thousand strong at Les Quatre-Bras,and no forty thousand British marched out against them this morning!
ANOTHER CITIZENAnd it is whispered that the city archives and the treasure-chesthave been sent to Antwerp!
MAYOROnly as a precaution. No good can be gained by panic. Sixty orseventy thousand of the Allies, all told, face Napoléon at thishour. Meanwhile who is to attend to the wounded that are beingbrought in faster and faster? Fellow-citizens, do your duty bythese unfortunates, and believe me that when engaged in such anact of mercy no enemy will hurt you.
CITIZENSWhat can we do?
MAYORI invite all those who have such, to bring mattresses, sheets, andcoverlets to the Hotel de Ville, also old linen and lint from thehouses of the cures.[Many set out on this errand. An interval. Enter a courier, whospeaks to the MAYOR and the BARON CAPELLEN.]
BARON CAPELLEN [to Mayor]Better inform them immediately, to prevent a panic.
MAYOR [to Citizens]I grieve to tell you that the Duke of Brunswick, whom you saw rideout this morning, was killed this afternoon at Les Quatre-Bras. Amusket-ball passed through his bridle-hand and entered his belly.His body is now arriving. Carry yourselves gravely.[A lane is formed in the crowd in the direction of the Rue deNamur; they wait. Presently an extemporized funeral procession,with the body of the DUKE on a gun-carriage, and a small escortof Brunswickers with carbines reversed, comes slowly up thestreet, their silver death’s-heads shining in the lamplight.The agitation of the citizens settles into a silent gloom asthe mournful train passes.]
MAYOR [to Baron Capellen]I noticed the strange look of prepossession on his face at the balllast night, as if he knew what was going to be.
BARON CAPELLENThe Duchess mentioned it to me.... He hated the French, if anyman ever did, and so did his father before him! Here comes theEnglish Colonel Hamilton, straight from the field. He will giveus trustworthy particulars.[Enter COLONEL HAMILTON by the Rue de Namur. He converses withthe MAYOR and the BARON on the issue of the struggle.]
MAYORNow I will go the Hotel de Ville, and get it ready for those woundedwho can find no room in private houses.[Exeunt MAYOR, CAPELLEN, D’URSEL, HAMILTON, etc. severally. Manycitizens descend in the direction of the Hotel de Ville to assist.Those who remain silently watch the carts bringing in the woundedtill a late hour. The doors of houses in the Place and elsewhereare kept open, and the rooms within lighted, in expectation ofmore arrivals from the field. A courier gallops up, who is accostedby idlers.]
COURIER [hastily]The Prussians are defeated at Ligny by Napoléon in person. He willbe here to-morrow.[Exit courier.]
FIRST IDLERThe devil! Then I am for welcoming him. No Antwerp for me!
OTHER IDLERS [sotto voce]Vive l’Empereur![A warm summer fog from the Lower Town covers the Parc and thePlace Royale.]
THE ROAD TO WATERLOO[The view is now from Quatre-Bras backward along the road bywhich the English arrived. Diminishing in a straight line fromthe foreground to the centre of the distance it passes over MontSaint-Jean and through Waterloo to Brussels.It is now tinged by a moving mass of English and Allied infantry,in retreat to a new position at Mont Saint-Jean. The sun shinesbrilliantly upon the foreground as yet, but towards Waterloo andthe Forest of Soignes on the north horizon it is overcast withblack clouds which are steadily advancing up the sky.To mask the retreat the English outposts retain their positionon the battlefield in the face of NEY’S troops, and keep up adesultory firing: the cavalry for the same reason remain, beingdrawn up in lines beside the intersecting Namur road.
Enter WELLINGTON, UXBRIDGE [who is in charge of the cavalry],MÜFFLING, VIVIAN, and others. They look through their field-glasses towards Frasnes, NEY’S position since his retreatyesternight, and also towards NAPOLÉON’S at Ligny.]
WELLINGTONThe noonday sun, striking so strongly there,Makes mirrors of their arms. That they advanceTheir glowing radiance shows. Those gleams by MarbaisSuggest fixed bayonets.
UXBRIDGEVivian’s glass revealsThat they are cuirassiers. Ney’s troops, too, nearAt last, methinks, along this other road.
WELLINGTONOne thing is sure: that here the whole French forceSchemes to unite and sharply follow us.It formulates our fence. The cavalryMust linger here no longer; but recedeTo Mont Saint-Jean, as rearguard of the foot.From the intelligence that Gordon brings’Tis pretty clear old Blücher had to takeA damned good drubbing yesterday at Ligny,And has been bent hard back! So that, for us,Bound to the plighted plan, there is no choiceBut do like.... No doubt they’ll say at homeThat we’ve been well thrashed too. It can’t be helped,They must!... [He looks round at the sky.] A heavy rainfallthreatens us,To make it all the worse![The speaker and his staff ride off along the Brussels road inthe rear of the infantry, and UXBRIDGE begins the retreat of thecavalry. CAPTAIN MERCER enters with a light battery.]
MERCER [excitedly]Look back, my lord;Is it not Bonaparte himself we seeUpon the road I have come by?
UXBRIDGE [looking through glass]Yes, by God;His face as clear-cut as the edge of a cloudThe sun behind shows up! His suite and all!Fire—fire! And aim you well.[The battery makes ready and fires.]No! It won’t do.He brings on mounted ordnance of his Guard,So we’re in danger here. Then limber up,And off as soon as may be.[The English artillery and cavalry retreat at full speed, just asthe weather bursts, with flashes of lightning and drops of rain.They all clatter off along the Brussels road, UXBRIDGE and hisaides galloping beside the column; till no British are left atQuatre-Bras except the slain.The focus of the scene follows the retreating English army, thehighway and its and margins panoramically gliding past the visionof the spectator. The phantoms chant monotonously while the retreatgoes on.]
CHORUS OF RUMOURS [aerial music]Day’s nether hours advance; storm supervenesIn heaviness unparalleled, that screensWith water-woven gauzes, vapour-bred,The creeping clumps of half-obliterate red—Severely harassed past each round and ridgeBy the inimical lance. They gain the bridgeAnd village of Genappe, in equal fenceWith weather and the enemy’s violence.—Cannon upon the foul and flooded road,Cavalry in the cornfields mire-bestrowed,With frothy horses floundering to their knees,Make wayfaring a moil of miseries!Till Britishry and Bonapartists loseTheir clashing colours for the tawny huesThat twilight sets on all its stealing tinct imbues.[The rising ground of Mont Saint-Jean, in front of Waterloo,is gained by the English vanguard and main masses of foot, andby degrees they are joined by the cavalry and artillery. TheFrench are but little later in taking up their position amidthe cornfields around La Belle Alliance.Fires begin to shine up from the English bivouacs. Camp kettlesare slung, and the men pile arms and stand round the blaze to drythemselves. The French opposite lie down like dead men in thedripping green wheat and rye, without supper and without fire.By and by the English army also lies down, the men huddlingtogether on the ploughed mud in their wet blankets, while somesleep sitting round the dying fires.]
CHORUS OF THE YEARS [aerial music]The eyelids of eve fall together at last,And the forms so foreign to field and treeLie down as though native, and slumber fast!
CHORUS OF THE PITIESSore are the thrills of misgiving we seeIn the artless champaign at this harlequinade,Distracting a vigil where calm should be!The green seems opprest, and the Plain afraidOf a Something to come, whereof these are the proofs,—Neither earthquake, nor storm, nor eclipses’s shade!
CHORUS OF THE YEARSYea, the coneys are scared by the thud of hoofs,And their white scuts flash at their vanishing heels,And swallows abandon the hamlet-roofs.The mole’s tunnelled chambers are crushed by wheels,The lark’s eggs scattered, their owners fled;And the hedgehog’s household the sapper unseals.The snail draws in at the terrible tread,But in vain; he is crushed by the felloe-rimThe worm asks what can be overhead,And wriggles deep from a scene so grim,And guesses him safe; for he does not knowWhat a foul red flood will be soaking him!Beaten about by the heel and toeAre butterflies, sick of the day’s long rheum,To die of a worse than the weather-foe.Trodden and bruised to a miry tombAre ears that have greened but will never be gold,And flowers in the bud that will never bloom.
CHORUS OF THE PITIESSo the season’s intent, ere its fruit unfold,Is frustrate, and mangled, and made succumb,Like a youth of promise struck stark and cold!...And what of these who to-night have come?
CHORUS OF THE YEARSThe young sleep sound; but the weather awakesIn the veterans, pains from the past that numb;Old stabs of Ind, old Peninsular aches,Old Friedland chills, haunt their moist mud bed,Cramps from Austerlitz; till their slumber breaks.
CHORUS OF SINISTER SPIRITSAnd each soul shivers as sinks his headOn the loam he’s to lease with the other deadFrom to-morrow’s mist-fall till Time be sped![The fires of the English go out, and silence prevails, savefor the soft hiss of the rain that falls impartially on boththe sleeping armies.]