The Dynasts

Act Sixth

SCENE I

THE BELGIAN FRONTIER

[The village of Beaumont stands in the centre foreground of a

birds'-eye prospect across the Belgian frontier from the French

side, being close to the Sambre further back in the scene, which

pursues a crinkled course between high banks from Maubeuge on the

left to Charleroi on the right.

In the shadows that muffle all objects, innumerable bodies of

infantry and cavalry are discerned bivouacking in and around the

village. This mass of men forms the central column of NAPOLEONS'S

army.

The right column is seen at a distance on that hand, also near

the frontier, on the road leading towards Charleroi; and the

left column by Solre-sur-Sambre, where the frontier and the river

nearly coincide

The obscurity thins and the June dawn appears.]

DUMB SHOW

The bivouacs of the central column become broken up, and a movement

ensues rightwards on Charleroi. The twelve regiments of cavalry

which are in advance move off first; in half an hour more bodies

move, and more in the next half-hour, till by eight o'clock the

whole central army is gliding on. It defiles in strands by narrow

tracks through the forest. Riding impatiently on the outskirts of

the columns is MARSHAL NEY, who has as yet received no command.

As the day develops, sight and sounds to the left and right reveal

that the two outside columns have also started, and are creeping

towards the frontier abreast with the centre. That the whole forms

one great movement, co-ordinated by one mind, now becomes apparent.

Preceded by scouts the three columns converge.

The advance through dense woods by narrow paths takes time. The

head of the middles and main column forces back some outposts, and

reaches Charleroi, driving out the Prussian general ZIETEN. It

seizes the bridge over the Sambre and blows up the gates of the

town.

The point of observation now descends close to the scene.

In the midst comes the EMPEROR with the Sappers of the Guard,

the Marines, and the Young Guard. The clatter brings the scared

inhabitants to their doors and windows. Cheers arise from some

of them as NAPOLEON passes up the steep street. Just beyond the

town, in front of the Bellevue Inn, he dismounts. A chair is

brought out, in which he sits and surveys the whole valley of the

Sambre. The troops march past cheering him, and drums roll and

bugles blow. Soon the EMPEROR is found to be asleep.

When the rattle of their passing ceases the silence wakes him. His

listless eye falls upon a half-defaced poster on a wall opposite--

the Declaration of the Allies.

NAPOLEON (reading)

". . . Bonaparte destroys the only legal title on which his existence

depended. . . . He has deprived himself of the protection of the law,

and has manifested to the Universe that there can be neither peace

nor truce with him. The Powers consequently declare that Napoleon

Bonaparte has placed himself without the pale of civil and social

relations, and that as an enemy and disturber of the tranquillity

of the world he has rendered himself liable to public vengeance."

His flesh quivers, and he turns with a start, as if fancying that

some one may be about to stab him in the back. Then he rises,

mounts, and rides on.

Meanwhile the right column crosses the Sambre without difficulty

at Chatelet, a little lower down; the left column at Marchienne a

little higher up; and the three limbs combine into one vast army.

As the curtain of the mist is falling, the point of vision soars

again, and there is afforded a brief glimpse of what is doing far

away on the other side. From all parts of Europe long and sinister

black files are crawling hitherward in serpentine lines, like

slowworms through grass. They are the advancing armies of the

Allies. The Dumb Show ends.

SCENE II

A BALLROOM IN BRUSSELS(22)

[It is a June midnight at the DUKE AND DUCHESS OF RICHMOND'S. A

band of stringed instruments shows in the background. The room

is crowded with a brilliant assemblage of more than two hundred

of the distinguished people sojourning in the city on account of

the war and other reasons, and of local personages of State and

fashion. The ball has opened with "The White Cockade."

Among those discovered present either dancing or looking on are

the DUKE and DUCHESS as host and hostess, their son and eldest

daughter, the Duchess's brother, the DUKE OF WELLINGTON, the

PRINCE OF ORANGE, the DUKE OF BRUNSWICK, BARON VAN CAPELLEN the

Belgian Secretary of State, the DUKE OF ARENBERG, the MAYOR OF

BRUSSELS, the DUKE AND DUCHESS OF BEAUFORT, GENERAL ALAVA, GENERAL

OUDENARDE, LORD HILL, LORD AND LADY CONYNGHAM, SIR HENRY AND LADY

SUSAN CLINTON, SIR H. AND LADY HAMILTON DALRYMPLE, SIR WILLIAM AND

LADY DE LANCEY, LORD UXBRIDGE, SIR JOHN BYNG, LORD PORTARLINGTON,

LORD EDWARD SOMERSET, LORD HAY, COLONEL ABERCROMBY, SIR HUSSEY

VIVIAN, SIR A. GORDON, SIR W. PONSONBY, SIR DENIS PACK, SIR JAMES

KEMPT, SIR THOMAS PICTON, GENERAL MAITLAND, COLONEL CAMERON, many

other officers, English, Hanoverian, Dutch and Belgian ladies

English and foreign, and Scotch reel-dancers from Highland

regiments.

The "Hungarian Waltz" having also been danced, the hostess calls

up the Highland soldiers to show the foreign guests what a Scotch

reel is like. The men put their hands on their hips and tread it

out briskly. While they stand aside and rest "The Hanoverian

Dance" is called.

Enter LIEUTENANT WEBSTER, A.D.C. to the PRINCE OF ORANGE. The

Prince goes apart with him and receives a dispatch. After reading

it he speaks to WELLINGTON, and the two, accompanied by the DUKE

OF RICHMOND, retire into an alcove with serious faces. WEBSTER,

in passing back across the ballroom, exchanges a hasty word with

two of three of the guests known to him, a young officer among

them, and goes out.

YOUNG OFFICER (to partner)

The French have passed the Sambre at Charleroi!

PARTNER

What--does it mean the Bonaparte indeed

Is bearing down upon us?

YOUNG OFFICER

That is so.

The one who spoke to me in passing out

Is Aide to the Prince of Orange, bringing him

Dispatches from Rebecque, his chief of Staff,

Now at the front, not far from Braine le Comte;

He says that Ney, leading the French van-guard,

Has burst on Quatre-Bras.

PARTNER

O horrid time!

Will you, then, have to go and face him there?

YOUNG OFFICER

I shall, of course, sweet. Promptly too, no doubt.

(He gazes about the room.)

See--the news spreads; the dance is paralyzed.

They are all whispering round. (The band stops.) Here comes

one more,

He's the attache from the Prussian force

At our headquarters.

[Enter GENERAL MUFFLING. He looks prepossessed, and goes straight

to WELLINGTON and RICHMOND in the alcove, who by this time have

been joined by the DUKE OF BRUNSWICK.]

SEVERAL GUESTS (at back of room)

Yes, you see, it's true!

The army will prepare to march at once.

PICTON (to another general)

I am damn glad we are to be off. Pottering about her pinned to

petticoat tails--it does one no good, but blasted harm!

ANOTHER GUEST

The ball cannot go on, can it? Didn't the Duke know the French

were so near? If he did, how could he let us run risks so coolly?

LADY HAMILTON DALRYMPLE (to partner)

A deep concern weights those responsible

Who gather in the alcove. Wellington

Affects a cheerfulness in outward port,

But cannot rout his real anxiety!

[The DUCHESS OF RICHMOND goes to her husband.]

DUCHESS

Ought I to stop the ball? It hardly seems right to let it continue

if all be true.

RICHMOND

I have put that very question to Wellington, my dear. He says that

we need not hurry off the guests. The men have to assemble some

time before the officers, who can stay on here a little longer

without inconvenience; and he would prefer that they should, not to

create a panic in the city, where the friends and spies of Napoleon

are all agog for some such thing, which they would instantly

communicate to him to take advantage of.

DUCHESS

Is it safe to stay on? Should we not be thinking about getting the

children away?

RICHMOND

There's no hurry at all, even if Bonaparte were really sure to

enter. But he's never going to set foot in Brussels--don't you

imagine it for a moment.

DUCHESS (anxiously)

I hope not. But I wish we had never brought them here!

RICHMOND

It is too late, my dear, to wish that now. Don't be flurried; make

the people go on dancing.

[The DUCHESS returns to her guests. The DUKE rejoins WELLINGTON,

BRUNSWICK, MUFFLING, and the PRINCE OF ORANGE in the alcove.]

WELLINGTON

We need not be astride till five o'clock

If all the men are marshalled well ahead.

The Brussels citizens must not suppose

They stand in serious peril. . . He, I think,

Directs his main attack mistakenly;

It should gave been through Mons, not Charleroi.

MUFFLING

The Austrian armies, and the Russian too,

Will show nowhere in this. The thing that's done,

Be it a historied feat or nine days' fizz,

Will be done long before they join us here.

WELLINGTON

Yes, faith; and 'tis pity. But, by God,

Blucher, I think, and I can make a shift

To do the business without troubling 'em!

Though I've an infamous army, that's the truth,--

Weak, and but ill-equipped,--and what's as bad,

A damned unpractised staff!

MUFFLING

We'll hope for luck.

Blucher concentrates certainly by now

Near Ligny, as he says in his dispatch.

Your Grace, I glean, will mass at Quatre-Bras?

WELLINGTON

Ay, now we are sure this move on Charleroi

Is no mere feint. Though I had meant Nivelles.

Have ye a good map, Richmond, near at hand?

RICHMOND

In the next room there's one. (Exit RICHMOND.)

[WELLINGTON calls up various general officers and aides from

other parts of the room. PICTON, UXBRIDGE, HILL, CLINTON, VIVIAN,

MAITLAND, PONSONBY, SOMERSET, and others join him in succession,

receive orders, and go out severally.]

PRINCE OF ORANGE

As my divisions seem to lie around

The probable point of impact, it behoves me

To start at once, Duke, for Genappe, I deem?

Being in Brussels, all for this damned ball,

The dispositions out there have, so far,

Been made by young Saxe Weimar and Perponcher,

On their own judgment quite. I go, your Grace?

WELLINGTON

Yes, certainly. 'Tis now desirable.

Farewell! Good luck, until we meet again,

The battle won!

[Exit PRINCE OF ORANGE, and shortly after, MUFFLING. RICHMOND

returns with a map, which he spreads out on the table. WELLINGTON

scans it closely.]

Napoleon has befooled me,

By God he has,--gained four-and-twenty hours'

Good march upon me!

RICHMOND

What do you mean to do?

WELLINGTON

I have bidden the army concentrate in strength

At Quatre-Bras. But we shan't stop him there;

So I must fight him HERE. (He marks Waterloo with his thumbnail.)

Well, now I have sped,

All necessary orders I may sup,

And then must say good-bye. (To Brunswick.) This very day

There will be fighting, Duke. You are fit to start?

BRUNSWICK (coming forward)

I leave almost this moment.--Yes, your Grace--

And I sheath not my sword till I have avenged

My father's death. I have sworn it!

WELLINGTON

My good friend,

Something too solemn knells beneath your words.

Take cheerful views of the affair in hand,

And fall to't with _sang froid_!

BRUNSWICK

But I have sworn!

Adieu. The rendezvous is Quatre-Bras?

WELLINGTON

Just so. The order is unchanged. Adieu;

But only till a later hour to-day;

I see it is one o'clock.

[WELLINGTON and RICHMOND go out of the alcove and join the

hostess, BRUNSWICK'S black figure being left there alone. He

bends over the map for a few seconds.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

O Brunswick, Duke of Deathwounds! Even as he

For whom thou wear'st that filial weedery

Was waylaid by my tipstaff nine years since,

So thou this day shalt feel his fendless tap,

And join thy sire!

BRUNSWICK (starting up)

I am stirred by inner words,

As 'twere my father's angel calling me,--

That prelude to our death my lineage know!

[He stands in a reverie for a moment; then, bidding adieu to the

DUCHESS OF RICHMOND and her daughter, goes slowly out of the

ballroom by a side-door.]

DUCHESS

The Duke of Brunswick bore him gravely here.

His sable shape has stuck me all the eve

As one of those romantic presences

We hear of--seldom see.

WELLINGTON (phlegmatically)

Romantic,--well,

It may be so. Times often, ever since

The Late Duke's death, his mood has tinged him thus.

He is of those brave men who danger see,

And seeing front it,--not of those, less brave

But counted more, who face it sightlessly.

YOUNG OFFICER (to partner)

The Generals slip away! I, Love, must take

The cobbled highway soon. Some hours ago

The French seized Charleroi; so they loom nigh.

PARTNER (uneasily)

Which tells me that the hour you draw your sword

Looms nigh us likewise!

YOUNG OFFICER

Some are saying here

We fight this very day. Rumours all-shaped

Fly round like cockchafers!

[Suddenly there echoes in the ballroom a long-drawn metallic purl

of sound, making all the company start.]

Transcriber's Note: There follows in musical notation five measures

for side-drum.

Ah--there it is,

Just as I thought! They are beating the Generale.

[The loud roll of side-drums is taken up by other drums further

and further away, till the hollow noise spreads all over the city.

Dismay is written on the faces of the women. The Highland non-

commissioned officers and privates march smartly down the ballroom

and disappear.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Discerned you stepping out in front of them

That figure--of a pale drum-major kind,

Or fugleman--who wore a cold grimace?

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

He was my old fiend Death, in rarest trim,

The occasion favouring his husbandry!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Are those who marched behind him, then, to fall?

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Ay, all well-nigh, ere Time have houred three-score.

PARTNER

Surely this cruel call to instant war

Spares space for one dance more, that memory

May store when you are gone, while I--sad me!--

Wait, wait and weep. . . . Yes--one there is to be!

SPIRIT IRONIC

Methinks flirtation grows too tender here!

[Country Dance, "The Prime of Life," a favourite figure at this

period. The sense of looming tragedy carries emotion to its

climax. All the younger officers stand up with their partners,

forming several figures of fifteen or twenty couples each. The

air is ecstasizing, and both sexes abandon themselves to the

movement.

Nearly half an hour passes before the figure is danced down.

Smothered kisses follow the conclusion. The silence is broken

from without by more long hollow rolling notes, so near that

they thrill the window-panes.]

SEVERAL

'Tis the Assemble. Now, then, we must go!

[The officers bid farewell to their partners and begin leaving

in twos and threes. When they are gone the women mope and murmur

to each other by the wall, and listen to the tramp of men and

slamming of doors in the streets without.]

LADY HAMILTON DALRYMPLE

The Duke has borne him gaily here to-night.

The youngest spirits scarcely capped his own.

DALRYMPLE

Maybe that, finding himself blade to blade

With Bonaparte at last, his blood gets quick.

French lancers of the Guard were seen at Frasnes

Last midnight; so the clash is not far off.

[They leave.]

DE LANCEY (to his wife)

I take you to our door, and say good-bye,

And go thence to the Duke's and wait for him.

In a few hours we shall be all in motion

Towards the scene of--what we cannot tell!

You, dear, will haste to Antwerp till it's past,

As we have arranged.

[They leave.]

WELLINGTON (to Richmond)

Now I must also go,

And snatch a little snooze ere harnessing.

The Prince and Brunswick have been gone some while.

[RICHMOND walks to the door with him. Exit WELLINGTON, RICHMOND

returns.]

DUCHESS (to Richmond)

Some of these left renew the dance, you see.

I cannot stop them; but with memory hot

Of those late gone, of where they are gone, and why,

It smacks of heartlessness!

RICHMOND

Let be; let be;

Youth comes not twice to fleet mortality!

[The dancing, however, is fitful and spiritless, few but civilian

partners being left for the ladies. Many of the latter prefer to

sit in reverie while waiting for their carriages.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

When those stout men-at-arms drew forward there,

I saw a like grimacing shadow march

And pirouette before no few of them.

Some of themselves beheld it; some did not.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Which were so ushered?

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Brunswick, who saw and knew;

One also moved before Sir Thomas Picton,

Who coolly conned and drily spoke to it;

Another danced in front of Ponsonby,

Who failed of heeding his.--De Lancey, Hay,

Gordon, and Cameron, and many more

Were footmanned by like phantoms from the ball.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Multiplied shimmerings of my Protean friend,

Who means to couch them shortly. Thou wilt eye

Many fantastic moulds of him ere long,

Such as, bethink thee, oft hast eyed before.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

I have--too often!

[The attenuated dance dies out, the remaining guests depart, the

musicians leave the gallery and depart also. RICHMOND goes to

a window and pulls back one of the curtains. Dawn is barely

visible in the sky, and the lamps indistinctly reveal that long

lines of British infantry have assembled in the street. In the

irksomeness of waiting for their officers with marching-orders,

they have lain down on the pavements, where many are soundly

sleeping, their heads on their knapsacks and their arms by their

side.]

DUCHESS

Poor men. Sleep waylays them. How tired they seem!

RICHMOND

They'll be more tired before the day is done.

A march of eighteen miles beneath the heat,

And then to fight a battle ere they rest,

Is what foreshades.--Well, it is more than bed-time;

But little sleep for us or any one

To-night in Brussels!

[He draws the window-curtain and goes out with the DUCHESS.

Servants enter and extinguish candles. The scene closes in

darkness.]

SCENE III

CHARLEROI. NAPOLEON'S QUARTERS

[The same midnight. NAPOLEON is lying on a bed in his clothes.

In consultation with SOULT, his Chief of Staff, who is sitting

near, he dictates to his Secretary orders for the morrow. They

are addressed to KELLERMANN, DROUOT, LOBAU, GERARD, and other

of his marshals. SOULT goes out to dispatch them.

The Secretary resumes the reading of reports. Presently MARSHAL

NEY is announced He is heard stumbling up the stairs, and enters.]

NAPOLEON

Ah, Ney; why come you back? Have you secured

The all-important Crossways?--safely sconced

Yourself at Quatre-Bras?

NEY

Not, sire, as yet.

For, marching forwards, I heard gunnery boom,

And, fearing that the Prussians had engaged you,

I stood at pause. Just then---

NAPOLEON

My charge was this:

Make it impossible at any cost

That Wellington and Blucher should unite.

As it's from Brussels that the English come,

And from Namur the Prussians, Quatre-Bras

Lends it alone for their forgathering:

So, why exists it not in your hands/

NEY

My reason, sire, was rolling from my tongue.--

Hard on the boom of guns, dim files of foot

Which read to me like massing Englishry--

The vanguard of all Wellington's array--

I half-discerned. So, in pure wariness,

I left the Bachelu columns there at Frasnes,

And hastened back to tell you.

NAPOLEON

Ney; O Ney!

I fear you are not the man that once you were;

Of your so daring, such a faint-heart now!

I have ground to know the foot that flustered you

Were but a few stray groups of Netherlanders;

For my good spies in Brussels send me cue

That up to now the English have not stirred,

But cloy themselves with nightly revel there.

NEY (bitterly)

Give me another opportunity

Before you speak like that!

NAPOLEON

You soon will have one! . . .

But now--no more of this. I have other glooms

Upon my soul--the much-disquieting news

That Bourmont has deserted to our foes

With his whole staff.

NEY

We can afford to let him.

NAPOLEON

It is what such betokens, not their worth,

That whets it! . . . Love, respect for me, have waned;

But I will right that. We've good chances still.

You must return foot-hot to Quatre-Bras;

There Kellermann's cuirassiers will promptly join you

To bear the English backward Brussels way.

I go on towards Fleurus and Ligny now.--

If Blucher's force retreat, and Wellington's

Lie somnolent in Brussels one day more,

I gain that city sans a single shot! . . .

Now, friend, downstairs you'll find some supper ready,

Which you must tuck in sharply, and then off.

The past day has not ill-advantaged us;

We have stolen upon the two chiefs unawares,

And in such sites that they must fight apart.

Now for a two hours' rest.--Comrade, adieu

Until to-morrow!

NEY

Till to-morrow, sire!

[Exit NEY. NAPOLEON falls asleep, and the Secretary waits till

dictation shall be resumed. BUSSY, the orderly officer, comes

to the door.

BUSSY

Letters--arrived from Paris. (Hands letters.)

SECRETARY

He shall have them

The moment he awakes. These eighteen hours

He's been astride; and is not what he was.--

Much news from Paris?

BUSSY

I can only say

What's not the news. The courier has just told me

He'd nothing from the Empress at Vienna

To bring his Majesty. She writes no more.

SECRETARY

And never will again! In my regard

That bird's forsook the nest for good and all.

BUSSY

All that they hear in Paris from her court

Is through our spies there. One of them reports

This rumour of her: that the Archduke John,

In taking leave to join our enemies here,

Said, "Oh, my poor Louise; I am grieved for you

And what I hope is, that he'll be run through,

Or shot, or break his neck, for your own good

No less than ours.

NAPOLEON (waking)

By "he" denoting me?

BUSSY (starting)

Just so, your Majesty.

NAPOLEON (peremptorily)

What said the Empress?

BUSSY

She gave no answer, sire, that rumour bears.

NAPOLEON

Count Neipperg, whom they have made her chamberlain,

Interred his wife last spring--is it not so?

BUSSY

He did, your Majesty.

NAPOLEON

H'm. . . .You may go.

[Exit BUSSY. The Secretary reads letters aloud in succession.

He comes to the last; begins it; reaches a phrase, and stops

abruptly.]

Mind not! Read on. No doubt the usual threat,

Or prophecy, from some mad scribe? Who signs it?

SECRETARY

The subscript is "The Duke of Enghien!"

NAPOLEON (starting up)

Bah, man! A treacherous trick! A hoax--no more!

Is that the last?

SECRETARY

The last, your Majesty.

NAPOLEON

Then now I'll sleep. In two hours have me called.

SECRETARY

I'll give the order, sire.

[The Secretary goes. The candles are removed, except one, and

NAPOLEON endeavours to compose himself.]

SPIRIT IRONIC

A little moral panorama would do him no harm, after that reminder of

the Duke of Enghien. Shall it be, young Compassion?

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

What good--if that old Years tells us be true?

But I say naught. To ordain is not for me!

[Thereupon a vision passes before NAPOLEON as he lies, comprising

hundreds of thousands of skeletons and corpses in various stages

of decay. They rise from his various battlefields, the flesh

dropping from them, and gaze reproachfully at him. His intimate

officers who have been slain he recognizes among the crowd. In

front is the DUKE OF ENGHIEN as showman.]

NAPOLEON (in his sleep)

Why, why should this reproach be dealt me now?

Why hold me my own master, if I be

Ruled by the pitiless Planet of Destiny?

[He jumps up in a sweat and puts out the last candle; and the

scene is curtained by darkness.]

SCENE IV

A CHAMBER OVERLOOKING A MAIN STREET IN BRUSSELS

[A June sunrise; the beams struggling through the window-curtains.

A canopied bed in a recess on the left. The quick notes of

"Brighton Camp, or the "Girl I've left behind me," strike sharply

into the room from fifes and drums without. A young lady in a

dressing-gown, who has evidently been awaiting the sound, springs

from the bed like a hare from its form, undraws window-curtains

and opens the window.

Columns of British soldiery are marching past from the Parc

southward out of the city by the Namur Gate. The windows of

other houses in the street rattle open, and become full of

gazers.

A tap at the door. An older lady enters, and comes up to the

first.]

YOUNGER LADY (turning)

O mamma--I didn't hear you!

ELDER LADY

I was sound asleep till the thumping of the drums set me fantastically

dreaming, and when I awoke I found they were real. Did they wake you

too, my dear?

Younger Lady (reluctantly)

I didn't require waking. I hadn't slept since we came home.

ELDER LADY

That was from the excitement of the ball. There are dark rings round

your eye. (The fifes and drums are now opposite, and thrill the air

in the room.) Ah--that "Girl I've left behind me!"--which so many

thousands of women have throbbed an accompaniment to, and will again

to-day if ever they did!

YOUNGER LADY (her voice faltering)

It is rather cruel to say that just now, mamma. There, I can't look

at them after it! (She turns and wipes her eyes.)

ELDER LADY

I wasn't thinking of ourselves--certainly not of you.--How they

press on--with those great knapsacks and firelocks and, I am told,

fifty-six rounds of ball-cartridge, and four days' provisions in

those haversacks. How can they carry it all near twenty miles and

fight with it on their shoulders! . . . Don't cry, dear. I thought

you would get sentimental last night over somebody. I ought to

have brought you home sooner. How many dances did you have? It

was impossible for me to look after you in the excitement of the

war-tidings.

YOUNGER LADY

Only three--four.

ELDER LADY

Which were they?

YOUNGER LADY

"Enrico," the "Copenhagen Waltz" and the "Hanoverian," and the

"Prime of Life."

ELDER LADY

It was very foolish to fall in love on the strength of four dances.

YOUNGER LADY (evasively)

Fall in love? Who said I had fallen in love? What a funny idea!

ELDER LADY

Is it? . . . Now here come the Highland Brigade with their pipes

and their "Hieland Laddie." How the sweethearts cling to the men's

arms. (Reaching forward.) There are more regiments following.

But look, that gentleman opposite knows us. I cannot remember his

name. (She bows and calls across.) Sir, which are these?

GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE

The Ninety-second. Next come the Forty-ninth, and next the Forty-

second--Sir Denis Pack's brigade.

ELDER LADY

Thank you.--I think it is that gentleman we talked to at the

Duchess's, but I am not sure. (A pause: another band.)

GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE

That's the Twenty-eighth. (They pass, with their band and colours.)

Now the Thirty-second are coming up--part of Kempt's brigade. Endless,

are they not?

ELDER LADY

Yes, Sir. Has the Duke passed out yet?

GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE

Not yet. Some cavalry will go by first, I think. The foot coming

up now are the Seventy-ninth. (They pass.) . . . These next are

the Ninety-fifth. (They pass.) . . . These are the First Foot-

guards now. (They pass, playing "British Grenadiers.") . . . The

Fusileer-guards now. (They pass.) Now the Coldstreamers. (They

pass. He looks up towards the Parc.) Several Hanoverian regiments

under Colonel Best are coming next. (They pass, with their bands

and colours. An interval.)

ELDER LADY (to daughter)

Here are the hussars. How much more they carry to battle than at

reviews. The hay in those great nets must encumber them. (She

turns and sees that her daughter has become pale.) Ah, now I know!

HE has just gone by. You exchanged signals with him, you wicked

girl! How do you know what his character is, or if he'll ever come

back?

[The younger lady goes and flings herself on her face upon the

bed, sobbing silently. Her mother glances at her, but leaves

her alone. An interval. The prancing of a group of horsemen

is heard on the cobble-stones without.]

GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE (calling)

Here comes the Duke!

ELDER LADY (to younger)

You have left the window at the most important time! The Duke of

Wellington and his staff-officers are passing out.

YOUNGER LADY

I don't want to see him. I don't want to see anything any more!

[Riding down the street comes WELLINGTON in a grey frock-coat and

small c****d hat, frigid and undemonstrative; accompanied by four

or five Generals of his suite, the Deputy Quartermaster-general

De LANCEY, LORD FITZROY SOMERSET, Aide-de-camp, and GENERAL

MUFFLING.]

GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE

He is the Prussian officer attached to our headquarters, through whom

Wellington communicates with Blucher, who, they say, is threatened by

the French at Ligny at this moment.

[The elder lady turns to her daughter, and going to the bed bends

over her, while the horses' tramp of WELLINGTON and his staff

clatters more faintly in the street, and the music of the last

retreating band dies away towards the Forest of Soignes.

Finding her daughter is hysterical with grief she quickly draws

the window-curtains to screen the room from the houses opposite.

Scene ends.]

SCENE V

THE FIELD OF LIGNY

[The same day later. A prospect of the battlefield of Ligny

southward from the roof of the windmill of Bussy, which stands at

the centre and highest point of the Prussian position, about six

miles south-east of Quatre-Bras.

The ground slopes downward along the whole front of the scene to

a valley through which wanders the Ligne, a muddy stream bordered

by sallows. On both sides of the stream, in the middle plane of

the picture, stands the village of Ligny, composed of thatched

cottages, gardens, and farm-houses with stone walls; the main

features, such as the church, church-yard, and village-green

being on the further side of the Ligne.

On that side the land reascends in green wheatfields to an

elevation somewhat greater than that of the foreground, reaching

away to Fleurus in the right-hand distance.

In front, on the slopes between the spectator and the village,

is the First Corps of the Prussian army commanded by Zieten, its

First Brigade under STEINMETZ occupying the most salient point.

The Corps under THIELMANN is ranged to the left, and that of

PIRCH to the rear, in reserve to ZIETEN. In the centre-front,

just under the mill, BLUCHER on a fine grey charger is intently

watching, with his staff.

Something dark is seen to be advancing over the horizon by

Fleurus, about three miles off. It is the van of NAPOLEON'S

army, approaching to give battle.

At this moment hoofs are heard clattering along a road that

passes behind the mill; and there come round to the front the

DUKE OF WELLINGTON, his staff-officers, and a small escort of

cavalry.

WELLINGTON and BLUCHER greet each other at the foot of the

windmill. They disappear inside, and can be heard ascending

the ladders.

Enter on the roof WELLINGTON and BLUCHER, followed by FITZROY

SOMERSET, GNEISENAU, MUFFLING, and others. Before renewing

their conversation they peer through their glasses at the dark

movements on the horizon. WELLINGTON'S manner is deliberate,

judicial, almost indifferent; BLUCHER'S eager and impetuous.

WELLINGTON

They muster not as yet in near such strength

At Quatre-Bras as here.

BLUCHER

'Tis from Fleurus

They come debouching. I, perforce, withdrew

My forward posts of cavalry at dawn

In face of their light cannon. . . . They'll be here

I reckon, soon!

WELLINGTON (still with glass)

I clearly see his staff,

And if my eyes don't lie, the Arch-one too. . . .

It is the whole Imperial army, Prince,

That we've before us. (A silence.) Well, we'll cope with them!

What would you have me do?

[BLUCHER is so absorbed in what he sees that he does not heed.]

GNEISENAU

Duke, this I'd say:

Events suggest to us that you come up

With all your force, behind the village here,

And act as our reserve.

MUFFLING

But Bonaparte,

Pray note, has redistributed his strength

In fashion that you fail to recognize.

I am against your scheme.

BLUCHER (lowering his glass)

Signs notify

Napoleon's plans as changed! He purports now

To strike our left--between Sombreffe and Brye. . . .

If so, I have to readjust my ward.

WELLINGTON

One of his two divisions that we scan

Outspreading from Fleurus, seems bent on Ligny,

The other on Saint-Amand.

BLUCHER

Well, I shall see

In half an hour, your Grace. If what I deem

Be what he means, Von Zieten's corps forthwith

Must stand to their positions: Pirch out here,

Henckel at Ligny, Steinmetz at La Haye.

WELLINGTON

So that, your Excellency, as I opine,

I go and sling my strength on their left wing--

Manoeuvring to outflank 'em on that side.

BLUCHER

True, true. Our plan uncovers of itself;

You bear down everything from Quatre-Bras

Along the road to Frasnes.

WELLINGTON

I will, by God.

I'll bear straight on to Gosselies, if needs!

GNEISENAU

Your Excellencies, if I may be a judge,

Such movement will not tend to unity;

It leans too largely on a peradventure

Most speculative in its contingencies!

[A silence; till the officers of the staff remark to each other

that concentration is best in any circumstances. A general

discussion ensues.]

BLUCHER (concludingly)

We will expect you, Duke, to our support.

WELLINGTON

I must agree that, in the sum, it's best.

So be it then. If not attacked myself

I'll come to you.--Now I return with speed

To Quatre-Bras.

BLUCHER

And I descend from here

To give close eye and thought to things below;

No more can well be studied where we stand.

[Exeunt from roof WELLINGTON, BLUCHER and the rest. They reappear

below, and WELLINGTON and his suite gallop furiously away in the

direction of Quatre-Bras. An interval.]

DUMB SHOW (below)

Three reports of a cannon give the signal for the French attack.

NAPOLEON'S army advances down the slopes of green corn opposite,

bands and voices joining in songs of victory. The French come

in three grand columns; VANDAMME'S on the left (the spectator's

right) against Saint-Amand, the most forward angle of the Prussian

position. GERARD'S in the centre bear down upon Ligny. GROUCHY'S

on the French right is further back. Far to the rear can be

discerned NAPOLEON, the Imperial Guard, and MILHAUD'S cuirassiers

halted in reserve.

This formidable advance is preceded by swarms of tirailleurs, who

tread down the high wheat, exposing their own men in the rear.

Amid cannonading from both sides they draw nearer to the Prussians,

though lanes are cut through them by the latter's guns. They drive

the Prussians out of Ligny; who, however, rally in the houses,

churchyard, and village green.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

I see unnatural an Monster, loosely jointed,

With an Apocalyptic Being's shape,

And limbs and eyes a hundred thousand strong,

And fifty thousand heads; which coils itself

About the buildings there.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Thou dost indeed.

It is the Monster Devastation. Watch.

Round the church they fight without quarter, shooting face to face,

stabbing with unfixed bayonets, and braining with the butts of

muskets. The village catches fire, and soon becomes a furnace.

The crash of splitting timbers as doors are broken through, the

curses of the fighters, rise into the air, with shouts of "En

avant!" from the further side of the stream, and "Vorwarts!" from

the nearer.

The battle extends to the west by Le Hameau and Saint-Amand la Haye;

and Ligny becomes invisible under a shroud of smoke.

VOICES (at the base of the mill)

This sun will go down bloodily for us!

The English, sharply sighed for by Prince Blucher,

Cannot appear. Wellington words across

That hosts have set on him at Quatre-Bras,

And leave him not one bayonet to spare!

The truth of this intelligence is apparent. A low dull sound heard

lately from the direction of Quatre-Bras has increased to a roaring

cannonade. The scene abruptly closes.

SCENE VI

THE FIELD AT QUATRE-BRAS

[The same day. The view is southward, and the straight gaunt

highway from Brussels (behind the spectator) to Charleroi over

the hills in front, bisects the picture from foreground to

distance. Near at hand, where it is elevated and open, there

crosses it obliquely, at a point called Les Quatre-Bras, another

road which comes from Nivelle, five miles to the gazer's right

rear, and goes to Namur, twenty miles ahead to the left. At a

distance of five or six miles in this latter direction it passes

near the previous scene, Ligny, whence the booming of guns can

be continuously heard.

Between the cross-roads in the centre of the scene and the far

horizon the ground dips into a hollow, on the other side of which

the same straight road to Charleroi is seen climbing the crest,

and over it till out of sight. From a hill on the right hand of

the mid-distance a large wood, the wood of Bossu, reaches up

nearly to the crossways, which give their name to the buildings

thereat, consisting of a few farm-houses and an inn.

About three-quarters of a mile off, nearly hidden by the horizon

towards Charleroi, there is also a farmstead, Gemioncourt; another,

Piraumont, stands on an eminence a mile to the left of it, and

somewhat in front of the Namur road.]

DUMB SHOW

As this scene uncovers the battle is beheld to be raging at its

height, and to have reached a keenly tragic phase. WELLINGTON has

returned from Ligny, and the main British and Hanoverian position,

held by the men who marched out of Brussels in the morning, under

officers who danced the previous night at the Duchess's, is along

the Namur road to the left of the perspective, and round the cross-

road itself. That of the French, under Ney, is on the crests further

back, from which they are descending in imposing numbers. Some

advanced columns are assailing the English left, while through the

smoke-hazes of the middle of the field two lines of skirmishers

are seen firing at each other--the southernmost dark blue, the

northernmost dull red. Time lapses till it is past four o'clock.

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

The cannonade of the French ordnance-lines

Has now redoubled. Columns new and dense

Of foot, supported by fleet cavalry,

Straightly impinge upon the Brunswick bands

That border the plantation of Bossu.

Above some regiments of the assaulting French

A flag like midnight swims upon the air,

To say no quarter may be looked for there!

The Brunswick soldiery, much notched and torn by the French grape-

shot, now lie in heaps. The DUKE OF BRUNSWICK himself, desperate

to keep them steady, lights his pipe, and rides slowly up and down

in front of his lines previous to the charge which follows.

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

The French have heaved them on the Brunswickers,

And borne them back. Now comes the Duke's told time.

He gallops at the head of his hussars--

Those men of solemn and appalling guise,

Full-clothed in black, with nodding hearsy plumes,

A shining silver skull and cross of bones

Set upon each, to byspeak his slain sire. . . .

Concordantly, the expected bullet starts

And finds the living son.

BRUNSWICK reels to the ground. His troops, disheartened, lose their

courage and give way.

The French front columns, and the cavalry supporting them, shout

as they advance. The Allies are forced back upon the English main

position. WELLINGTON is in personal peril for a time, but he escapes

it by a leap of his horse.

A curtain of smoke drops. An interval. The curtain reascends.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Behold again the Dynasts' gory gear!

Since we regarded, what has progressed here?

RECORDING ANGEL (in recitative)

Musters of English foot and their allies

Came palely panting by the Brussels way,

And, swiftly stationed, checked their counter-braves.

Ney, vexed by lack of like auxiliaries,

Bade then the columned cuirassiers to charge

In all their edged array of weaponcraft.

Yea; thrust replied to thrust, and fire to fire;

The English broke, till Picton prompt to prop them

Sprang with fresh foot-folk from the covering rye.

Next, Pire's cavalry took up the charge. . . .

And so the action sways. The English left

Is turned at Piraumont; whilst on their right

Perils infest the greenwood of Bossu;

Wellington gazes round with dubious view;

England's long fame in fight seems sepulchered,

And ominous roars swell loudlier Ligny-ward.

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

New rage has wrenched the battle since thou'st writ;

Hot-hasting succours of light cannonry

Lately come up, relieve the English stress;

Kellermann's cuirassiers, both man and horse

All plated over with the brass of war,

Are rolling on the highway. More brigades

Of British, soiled and sweltering, now are nigh,

Who plunge within the boscage of Bossu;

Where in the hidden shades and sinuous creeps

Life-struggles can be heard, seen but in peeps.

Therewith the foe's accessions harass Ney,

Racked that no needful d'Erlon darks the way!

Inch by inch NEY has to draw off: WELLINGTON promptly advances. At

dusk NEY'S army finds itself back at Frasnes, where he meets D'ERLON

coming up to his assistance, too late.

The weary English and their allies, who have been on foot ever since

one o'clock the previous morning, prepare to bivouac in front of the

cross-roads. Their fires flash up for a while; and by and by the

dead silence of heavy sleep hangs over them. WELLINGTON goes into

his tent, and the night darkens.

A Prussian courier from Ligny enters, who is conducted into the tent

to WELLINGTON.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

What tidings can a courier bring that count

Here, where such mighty things are native born?

RECORDING ANGEL (in recitative)

The fury of the tumult there begun

Scourged quivering Ligny through the afternoon:

Napoleon's great intent grew substantive,

And on the Prussian pith and pulse he bent

His foretimed blow. Blucher, to butt the shock,

Called up his last reserves, and heading on,

With blade high brandished by his aged arm,

Spurred forward his white steed. But they, outspent,

Failed far to follow. Darkness coped the sky,

And storm, and rain with thunder. Yet once more

He cheered them on to charge. His horse, the while,

Pierced by a bullet, fell on him it bore.

He, trampled, bruised, faint, and in disarray

Dragged to another mount, was led away.

His ragged lines withdraw from sight and sound,

And their assailants camp upon the ground.

The scene shuts with midnight.

SCENE VII

BRUSSELS. THE PLACE ROYALE

[The same night, dark and sultry. A crowd of citizens throng the

broad Place. They gaze continually down the Rue de Namur, along

which arrive minute by minute carts and waggons laden with wounded

men. Other wounded limp into the city on foot. At much greater

speed enter fugitive soldiers from the miscellaneous contingents

of WELLINGTON'S army at Quatre-Bras, who gesticulate and explain

to the crowd that all is lost and that the French will soon be in

Brussels.

Baggage-carts and carriages, with and without horses, stand before

an hotel, surrounded by a medley of English and other foreign

nobility and gentry with their valets and maids. Bulletins from

the battlefield are affixed on the corner of the Place, and people

peer at them by the dim oil lights.

A rattle of hoofs reaches the ears, entering the town by the same

Namur gate. The riders disclose themselves to be Belgian hussars,

also from the field.]

SEVERAL HUSSARS

The French approach! Wellington is beaten. Bonaparte is at our heels.

[Consternation reaches a climax. Horses are hastily put-to at the

hotel: people crowd into the carriages and try to drive off. They

get jammed together and hemmed in by the throng. Unable to move

they quarrel and curse despairingly in sundry tongues.]

BARON CAPELLEN

Affix the new bulletin. It is a more assuring one, and may quiet

them a little.

[A new bulletin is nailed over the old one.]

MAYOR

Good people, calm yourselves. No victory has been won by Bonaparte.

The noise of guns heard all the afternoon became fainter towards the

end, showing beyond doubt that the retreat was away from the city.

A CITIZEN

The French are said to be forty thousand strong at Les Quatre-Bras,

and no forty thousand British marched out against them this morning!

ANOTHER CITIZEN

And it is whispered that the city archives and the treasure-chest

have been sent to Antwerp!

MAYOR

Only as a precaution. No good can be gained by panic. Sixty or

seventy thousand of the Allies, all told, face Napoleon at this

hour. Meanwhile who is to attend to the wounded that are being

brought in faster and faster? Fellow-citizens, do your duty by

these unfortunates, and believe me that when engaged in such an

act of mercy no enemy will hurt you.

CITIZENS

What can we do?

MAYOR

I invite all those who have such, to bring mattresses, sheets, and

coverlets to the Hotel de Ville, also old linen and lint from the

houses of the cures.

[Many set out on this errand. An interval. Enter a courier, who

speaks to the MAYOR and the BARON CAPELLEN.]

BARON CAPELLEN (to Mayor)

Better inform them immediately, to prevent a panic.

MAYOR (to Citizens)

I grieve to tell you that the Duke of Brunswick, whom you saw ride

out this morning, was killed this afternoon at Les Quatre-Bras. A

musket-ball passed through his bridle-hand and entered his belly.

His body is now arriving. Carry yourselves gravely.

[A lane is formed in the crowd in the direction of the Rue de

Namur; they wait. Presently an extemporized funeral procession,

with the body of the DUKE on a gun-carriage, and a small escort

of Brunswickers with carbines reversed, comes slowly up the

street, their silver death's-heads shining in the lamplight.

The agitation of the citizens settles into a silent gloom as

the mournful train passes.]

MAYOR (to Baron Capellen)

I noticed the strange look of prepossession on his face at the ball

last night, as if he knew what was going to be.

BARON CAPELLEN

The Duchess mentioned it to me. . . . He hated the French, if any

man ever did, and so did his father before him! Here comes the

English Colonel Hamilton, straight from the field. He will give

us trustworthy particulars.

[Enter COLONEL HAMILTON by the Rue de Namur. He converses with

the MAYOR and the BARON on the issue of the struggle.]

MAYOR

Now I will go the Hotel de Ville, and get it ready for those wounded

who can find no room in private houses.

[Exeunt MAYOR, CAPELLEN, D'URSEL, HAMILTON, etc. severally. Many

citizens descend in the direction of the Hotel de Ville to assist.

Those who remain silently watch the carts bringing in the wounded

till a late hour. The doors of houses in the Place and elsewhere

are kept open, and the rooms within lighted, in expectation of

more arrivals from the field. A courier gallops up, who is accosted

by idlers.]

COURIER (hastily)

The Prussians are defeated at Ligny by Napoleon in person. He will

be here to-morrow.

[Exit courier.]

FIRST IDLER

The devil! Then I am for welcoming him. No Antwerp for me!

OTHER IDLERS (sotto voce)

Vive l'Empereur!

[A warm summer fog from the Lower Town covers the Parc and the

Place Royale.]

SCENE VIII

THE ROAD TO WATERLOO

[The view is now from Quatre-Bras backward along the road by

which the English arrived. Diminishing in a straight line from

the foreground to the centre of the distance it passes over Mont

Saint-Jean and through Waterloo to Brussels.

It is now tinged by a moving mass of English and Allied infantry,

in retreat to a new position at Mont Saint-Jean. The sun shines

brilliantly upon the foreground as yet, but towards Waterloo and

the Forest of Soignes on the north horizon it is overcast with

black clouds which are steadily advancing up the sky.

To mask the retreat the English outposts retain their position

on the battlefield in the face of NEY'S troops, and keep up a

desultory firing: the cavalry for the same reason remain, being

drawn up in lines beside the intersecting Namur road.

Enter WELLINGTON, UXBRIDGE (who is in charge of the cavalry),

MUFFLING, VIVIAN, and others. They look through their field-

glasses towards Frasnes, NEY'S position since his retreat

yesternight, and also towards NAPOLEON'S at Ligny.]

WELLINGTON

The noonday sun, striking so strongly there,

Makes mirrors of their arms. That they advance

Their glowing radiance shows. Those gleams by Marbais

Suggest fixed bayonets.

UXBRIDGE

Vivian's glass reveals

That they are cuirassiers. Ney's troops, too, near

At last, methinks, along this other road.

WELLINGTON

One thing is sure: that here the whole French force

Schemes to unite and sharply follow us.

It formulates our fence. The cavalry

Must linger here no longer; but recede

To Mont Saint-Jean, as rearguard of the foot.

From the intelligence that Gordon brings

'Tis pretty clear old Blucher had to take

A damned good drubbing yesterday at Ligny,

And has been bent hard back! So that, for us,

Bound to the plighted plan, there is no choice

But do like. . . . No doubt they'll say at home

That we've been well thrashed too. It can't be helped,

They must! . . . (He looks round at the sky.) A heavy rainfall

threatens us,

To make it all the worse!

[The speaker and his staff ride off along the Brussels road in

the rear of the infantry, and UXBRIDGE begins the retreat of the

cavalry. CAPTAIN MERCER enters with a light battery.]

MERCER (excitedly)

Look back, my lord;

Is it not Bonaparte himself we see

Upon the road I have come by?

UXBRIDGE (looking through glass)

Yes, by God;

His face as clear-cut as the edge of a cloud

The sun behind shows up! His suite and all!

Fire--fire! And aim you well.

[The battery makes ready and fires.]

No! It won't do.

He brings on mounted ordnance of his Guard,

So we're in danger here. Then limber up,

And off as soon as may be.

[The English artillery and cavalry retreat at full speed, just as

the weather bursts, with flashes of lightning and drops of rain.

They all clatter off along the Brussels road, UXBRIDGE and his

aides galloping beside the column; till no British are left at

Quatre-Bras except the slain.

The focus of the scene follows the retreating English army, the

highway and its and margins panoramically gliding past the vision

of the spectator. The phantoms chant monotonously while the retreat

goes on.]

CHORUS OF RUMOURS (aerial music)

Day's nether hours advance; storm supervenes

In heaviness unparalleled, that screens

With water-woven gauzes, vapour-bred,

The creeping clumps of half-obliterate red--

Severely harassed past each round and ridge

By the inimical lance. They gain the bridge

And village of Genappe, in equal fence

With weather and the enemy's violence.

--Cannon upon the foul and flooded road,

Cavalry in the cornfields mire-bestrowed,

With frothy horses floundering to their knees,

Make wayfaring a moil of miseries!

Till Britishry and Bonapartists lose

Their clashing colours for the tawny hues

That twilight sets on all its stealing tinct imbues.

[The rising ground of Mont Saint-Jean, in front of Waterloo,

is gained by the English vanguard and main masses of foot, and

by degrees they are joined by the cavalry and artillery. The

French are but little later in taking up their position amid

the cornfields around La Belle Alliance.

Fires begin to shine up from the English bivouacs. Camp kettles

are slung, and the men pile arms and stand round the blaze to dry

themselves. The French opposite lie down like dead men in the

dripping green wheat and rye, without supper and without fire.

By and by the English army also lies down, the men huddling

together on the ploughed mud in their wet blankets, while some

sleep sitting round the dying fires.]

CHORUS OF THE YEARS (aerial music)

The eyelids of eve fall together at last,

And the forms so foreign to field and tree

Lie down as though native, and slumber fast!

CHORUS OF THE PITIES

Sore are the thrills of misgiving we see

In the artless champaign at this harlequinade,

Distracting a vigil where calm should be!

The green seems opprest, and the Plain afraid

Of a Something to come, whereof these are the proofs,--

Neither earthquake, nor storm, nor eclipses's shade!

CHORUS OF THE YEARS

Yea, the coneys are scared by the thud of hoofs,

And their white scuts flash at their vanishing heels,

And swallows abandon the hamlet-roofs.

The mole's tunnelled chambers are crushed by wheels,

The lark's eggs scattered, their owners fled;

And the hedgehog's household the sapper unseals.

The snail draws in at the terrible tread,

But in vain; he is crushed by the felloe-rim

The worm asks what can be overhead,

And wriggles deep from a scene so grim,

And guesses him safe; for he does not know

What a foul red flood will be soaking him!

Beaten about by the heel and toe

Are butterflies, sick of the day's long rheum,

To die of a worse than the weather-foe.

Trodden and bruised to a miry tomb

Are ears that have greened but will never be gold,

And flowers in the bud that will never bloom.

CHORUS OF THE PITIES

So the season's intent, ere its fruit unfold,

Is frustrate, and mangled, and made succumb,

Like a youth of promise struck stark and cold! . . .

And what of these who to-night have come?

CHORUS OF THE YEARS

The young sleep sound; but the weather awakes

In the veterans, pains from the past that numb;

Old stabs of Ind, old Peninsular aches,

Old Friedland chills, haunt their moist mud bed,

Cramps from Austerlitz; till their slumber breaks.

CHORUS OF SINISTER SPIRITS

And each soul shivers as sinks his head

On the loam he's to lease with the other dead

From to-morrow's mist-fall till Time be sped!

[The fires of the English go out, and silence prevails, save

for the soft hiss of the rain that falls impartially on both

the sleeping armies.]

In the 1600s, Balthasar Gracian, a jesuit priest wrote 300 aphorisms on living life called "The Art of Worldly Wisdom." Join our newsletter below and read them all, one at a time.