The Dynasts

Act Seventh

SCENE I

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

[An aerial view of the battlefield at the time of sunrise is

disclosed.

The sky is still overcast, and rain still falls. A green

expanse, almost unbroken, of rye, wheat, and clover, in oblong

and irregular patches undivided by fences, covers the undulating

ground, which sinks into a shallow valley between the French and

English positions. The road from Brussels to Charleroi runs like

a spit through both positions, passing at the back of the English

into the leafy forest of Soignes.

The latter are turning out from their bivouacs. They move stiffly

from their wet rest, and hurry to and fro like ants in an ant-hill.

The tens of thousands of moving specks are largely of a brick-red

colour, but the foreign contingent is darker.

Breakfasts are cooked over smoky fires of green wood. Innumerable

groups, many in their shirt-sleeves, clean their rusty firelocks,

drawing or exploding the charges, scrape the mud from themselves,

and pipeclay from their cross-belts the red dye washed off their

jackets by the rain.

At six o'clock, they parade, spread out, and take up their positions

in the line of battle, the front of which extends in a wavy riband

three miles long, with three projecting bunches at Hougomont, La

Haye Sainte, and La Haye.

Looking across to the French positions we observe that after

advancing in dark streams from where they have passed the night

they, too, deploy and wheel into their fighting places--figures

with red epaulettes and hairy knapsacks, their arms glittering

like a display of cutlery at a hill-side fair.

They assume three concentric lines of crescent shape, that converge

on the English midst, with great blocks of the Imperial Guard at

the back of them. The rattle of their drums, their fanfarades,

and their bands playing "Veillons au salut de l'Empire" contrast

with the quiet reigning on the English side.

A knot of figures, comprising WELLINGTON with a suite of general

and other staff-officers, ride backwards and forwards in front

of the English lines, where each regimental colour floats in the

hands of the junior ensign. The DUKE himself, now a man of forty-

six, is on his bay charger Copenhagen, in light pantaloons, a

small plumeless hat, and a blue cloak, which shows its white

lining when blown back.

On the French side, too, a detached group creeps along the front

in preliminary survey. BONAPARTE--also forty-six--in a grey

overcoat, is mounted on his white arab Marengo, and accompanied

by SOULT, NEY, JEROME, DROUOT, and other marshals. The figures

of aides move to and fro like shuttle-c***s between the group

and distant points in the field. The sun has begun to gleam.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Discriminate these, and what they are,

Who stand so stalwartly to war.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Report, ye Rumourers of things near and far.

SEMICHORUS I OF RUMOURS (chanting)

Sweep first the Frenchmen's leftward lines along,

And eye the peaceful panes of Hougomont--

That seemed to hold prescriptive right of peace

In fee from Time till Time itself should cease!--

Jarred now by Reille's fierce foot-divisions three,

Flanked on their left by Pire's cavalry.--

The fourfold corps of d'Erlon, spread at length,

Compose the right, east of the famed chaussee--

The shelterless Charleroi-and-Brussels way,--

And Jacquinot's alert light-steeded strength

Still further right, their sharpened swords display.

Thus stands the first line.

SEMICHORUS II

Next behind its back

Comes Count Lobau, left of the Brussels track;

Then Domon's horse, the horse of Subervie;

Kellermann's cuirassed troopers twinkle-tipt,

And, backing d'Erlon, Milhaud's horse, equipt

Likewise in burnished steelwork sunshine-dipt:

So ranks the second line refulgently.

SEMICHORUS I

The third and last embattlement reveals

D'Erlon's, Lobau's, and Reille's foot-cannoniers,

And horse-drawn ordnance too, on massy wheels,

To strike with cavalry where space appears.

SEMICHORUS II

The English front, to left, as flanking force,

Has Vandeleur's hussars, and Vivian's horse;

Next them pace Picton's rows along the crest;

The Hanoverian foot-folk; Wincke; Best;

Bylandt's brigade, set forward fencelessly,

Pack's northern clansmen, Kempt's tough infantry,

With gaiter, epaulet, spat, and {philibeg};

While Halkett, Ompteda, and Kielmansegge

Prolong the musters, near whose forward edge

Baring invests the Farm of Holy Hedge.

SEMICHORUS I

Maitland and Byng in Cooke's division range,

And round dun Hougomont's old lichened sides

A dense array of watching Guardsmen hides

Amid the peaceful produce of the grange,

Whose new-kerned apples, hairy gooseberries green,

And mint, and thyme, the ranks intrude between.--

Last, westward of the road that finds Nivelles,

Duplat draws up, and Adam parallel.

SEMICHORUS II

The second British line--embattled horse--

Holds the reverse slopes, screened, in ordered course;

Dornberg's, and Arentsschildt's, and Colquhoun-Grant's,

And left of them, behind where Alten plants

His regiments, come the "Household" Cavalry;

And nigh, in Picton's rear, the trumpets call

The "Union" brigade of Ponsonby.

Behind these the reserves. In front of all,

Or interspaced, with slow-matched gunners manned,

Upthroated rows of threatful ordnance stand.

[The clock of Nivelles convent church strikes eleven in the

distance. Shortly after, coils of starch-blue smoke burst into

being along the French lines, and the English batteries respond

promptly, in an ominous roar that can be heard at Antwerp.

A column from the French left, six thousand strong, advances on

the plantation in front of the chateau of Hougomont. They are

played upon by the English ordnance; but they enter the wood,

and dislodge some battalions there. The French approach the

buildings, but are stopped by a loop-holed wall with a mass of

English guards behind it. A deadly fire bursts from these through

the loops and over the summit.

NAPOLEON orders a battery of howitzers to play upon the building.

Flames soon burst from it; but the foot-guards still hold the

courtyard.]

SCENE II

THE SAME. THE FRENCH POSITION

[On a hillock near the farm of Rossomme a small table from the

farmhouse has been placed; maps are spread thereon, and a chair

is beside it. NAPOLEON, SOULT, and other marshals are standing

round, their horses waiting at the base of the slope.

NAPOLEON looks through his glass at Hougomont. His elevated face

makes itself distinct in the morning light as a gloomy resentful

countenance, blue-black where shaven, and stained with snuff, with

powderings of the same on the breast of his uniform. His stumpy

figure, being just now thrown back, accentuates his stoutness.]

NAPOLEON

Let Reille be warned that these his surly sets

On Hougomont chateau, can scarce defray

Their mounting bill of blood. They do not touch

The core of my intent--to pierce and roll

The centre upon the right of those opposed.

Thereon will turn the outcome of the day,

In which our odds are ninety to their ten!

SOULT

Yes--prove there time and promptitude enough

To call back Grouchy here. Of his approach

I see no sign.

NAPOLEON (roughly)

Hours past he was bid come.

--But naught imports it! We are enough without him.

You have been beaten by this Wellington,

And so you think him great. But let me teach you

Wellington is no foe to reckon with.

His army, too, is poor. This clash to-day

Is more serious for our seasoned files

Than breakfasting.

SOULT

Such is my earnest hope.

NAPOLEON

Observe that Wellington still labours on,

Stoutening his right behind Gomont chateau,

But leaves his left and centre as before--

Weaker, if anything. He plays our game!

[WELLINGTON can, in fact, be seen detaching from his main line

several companies of Guards to check the aims of the French on

Hougomont.]

Let me re-word my tactics. Ney leads off

By seizing Mont Saint-Jean. Then d'Erlon stirs,

And heaves up his division from the left.

The second corps will move abreast of him

The sappers nearing to entrench themselves

Within the aforesaid farm.

[Enter an aide-de-camp.]

AIDE

From Marshal Ney,

Sire, I bring hasty word that all is poised

To strike the vital stroke, and only waits

Your Majesty's command,

NAPOLEON

Which he shall have

When I have scanned the hills for Grouchy's helms.

[NAPOLEON turns his glass to an upland four or five miles off on

the right, known as St. Lambert's Chapel Hill. Gazing more and

more intently, he takes rapid pinches of snuff in excitement.

NEY'S columns meanwhile standing for the word to advance, eighty

guns being ranged in front of La Belle Alliance in support of them.]

I see a darkly crawling, slug-like shape

Embodying far out there,--troops seemingly--

Grouchy's van-guard. What think you?

SOULT (also examining closely)

Verily troops;

And, maybe, Grouchy's. But the air is hazed.

NAPOLEON

If troops at all, they are Grouchy's. Why misgive,

And force on ills you fear!

ANOTHER MARSHAL

It seems a wood.

Trees don bold outlines in their new-leafed pride.

ANOTHER MARSHAL

It is the creeping shadow from a cloud.

ANOTHER MARSHAL

It is a mass of stationary foot;

I can descry piled arms.

[NAPOLEON sends off the order for NEY'S attack--the grand assault

on the English midst, including the farm of La Haye Sainte. It

opens with a half-hour's thunderous discharge of artillery, which

ceases at length to let d'Erlon's infantry pass.

Four huge columns of these, shouting defiantly, push forwards in

face of the reciprocal fire from the cannon of the English. Their

effrontery carries them so near the Anglo-Allied lines that the

latter waver. But PICTON brings up PACK'S brigade, before which

the French in turn recede, though they make an attempt in La Haye

Sainte, whence BARING'S Germans pour a resolute fire.

WELLINGTON, who is seen afar as one of a group standing by a

great elm, orders OMPTEDA to send assistance to BARING, as may

be gathered from the darting of aides to and fro between the

points, like house-flies dancing their quadrilles.

East of the great highway the right columns of D'ERLON'S corps

have climbed the slopes. BYLANDT'S sorely exposed Dutch are

broken, and in their flight disorder the ranks of the English

Twenty-eighth, the Carabineers of the Ninety-fifth being also

dislodged from the sand-pit they occupied.]

NAPOLEON

All prospers marvellously! Gomont is hemmed;

La Haye Sainte too; their centre jeopardized;

Travers and d'Erlon dominate the crest,

And further strength of foot is following close.

Their troops are raw; the flower of England's force

That fought in Spain, America now holds.--

[SIR TOMAS PICTON, seeing what is happening orders KEMPT'S

brigade forward. It volleys murderously DONZELOT'S columns

of D'ERLON'S corps, and repulses them. As they recede PICTON

is beheld shouting an order to charge.]

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

I catch a voice that cautions Picton now

Against his rashness. "What the hell care I,--

Is my curst carcase worth a moment's mind?--

Come on!" he answers. Onwardly he goes!

[His tall, stern, saturnine figure with its bronzed complexion is

on nearer approach discerned heading the charge. As he advances

to the slope between the cross-roads and the sand-pit, riding very

conspicuously, he falls dead, a bullet in his forehead. His aide,

assisted by a soldier, drags the body beneath a tree and hastens

on. KEMPT takes his command.

Next MARCOGNET is repulsed by PACK'S brigade. D'ERLON'S infantry

and TRAVERS'S cuirassiers are charged by the Union Brigade of

Scotch(23) Greys, Royal Dragoons, and Inniskillens, and cut down

everywhere, the brigade following them so furiously the LORD

UXBRIDGE tries in vain to recall it. On its coming near the

French it is overwhelmed by MILHAUD'S cuirassiers, scarcely a

fifth of the brigade returning.

An aide enters to NAPOLEON from GENERAL DOMON.]

AIDE

The General, on a far reconnaissance,

Says, sire, there is no room for longer doubt

That those debouching on St. Lambert's Hill

Are Prussian files.

NAPOLEON

Then where is General Grouchy?

[Enter COLONEL MARBOT with a prisoner.]

Aha--a Prussian, too! How comes he here?

MARBOT

Sire, my hussars have captured him near Lasnes--

A subaltern of the Silesian Horse.

A note from Bulow to Lord Wellington,

Announcing that a Prussian corps is close,

Was found on him. He speaks our language, sire.

NAPOLEON (to prisoner)

What force looms yonder on St. Lambert's Hill?

PRISONER

General Count Bulow's van, your Majesty.

[A thoughtful scowl crosses NAPOLEONS'S sallow face.]

NAPOLEON

Where, then, did your main army lie last night?

PRISONER

At Wavre.

NAPOLEON

But clashed it with no Frenchmen there?

PRISONER

With none. We deemed they had marched on Plancenoit.

NAPOLEON (shortly)

Take him away. (The prisoner is removed.) Has Grouchy's whereabouts

Been sought, to apprize him of this Prussian trend?

SOULT

Certainly, sire. I sent a messenger.

NAPOLEON (bitterly)

A messenger! Had my poor Berthier been here

Six would have insufficed! Now then: seek Ney;

Bid him to sling the valour of his braves

Fiercely on England ere Count Bulow come;

And advertize the succours on the hill

As Grouchy's. (Aside) This is my one battle-chance;

The Allies have many such! (To SOULT) If Bulow nears,

He cannot join in time to share the fight.

And if he could, 'tis but a corps the more. . . .

This morning we had ninety chances ours,

We have threescore still. If Grouchy but retrieve

His fault of absence, conquest comes with eve!

[The scene shifts.]

SCENE III

SAINT LAMBERT'S CHAPEL HILL

[A hill half-way between Wavre and the fields of Waterloo, five

miles to the north-east of the scene preceding. The hill is

wooded, with some open land around. To the left of the scene,

towards Waterloo, is a valley.]

DUMB SHOW

Marching columns in Prussian uniforms, coming from the direction of

Wavre, debouch upon the hill from the road through the wood.

They are the advance-guard and two brigades of Bulow's corps, that

have been joined there by BLUCHER. The latter has just risen from

the bed to which he has been confined since the battle of Ligny,

two days back. He still looks pale and shaken by the severe fall

and trampling he endured near the end of the action.

On the summit the troops halt, and a discussion between BLUCHER and

his staff ensues.

The cannonade in the direction of Waterloo is growing more and more

violent. BLUCHER, after looking this way and that, decides to fall

upon the French right at Plancenoit as soon as he can get there,

which will not be yet.

Between this point and that the ground descends steeply to the

valley on the spectator's left, where there is a mud-bottomed

stream, the Lasne; the slope ascends no less abruptly on the other

side towards Plancenoit. It is across this defile alone that the

Prussian army can proceed thither- a route of unusual difficulty

for artillery; where, moreover, the enemy is suspected of having

placed a strong outpost during the night to intercept such an

approach.

A figure goes forward--that of MAJOR FALKENHAUSEN, who is sent to

reconnoitre, and they wait a tedious time, the firing at Waterloo

growing more tremendous. FALKENHAUSEN comes back with the welcome

news that no outpost is there.

There now remains only the difficulty of the defile itself; and the

attempt is made. BLUCHER is descried riding hither and thither as

the guns drag heavily down the slope into the muddy bottom of the

valley. Here the wheels get stuck, and the men already tired by

marching since five in the morning, seem inclined to leave the guns

where they are. But the thunder from Waterloo still goes on, BLUCHER

exhorts his men by words and eager gestures, and they do at length

get the guns across, though with much loss of time.

The advance-guard now reaches some thick trees called the Wood of

Paris. It is followed by the LOSTHIN and HILLER divisions of foot,

and in due course by the remainder of the two brigades. Here they

halt, and await the arrival of the main body of BULOW'S corps, and

the third corps under THIELEMANN.

The scene shifts.

SCENE IV

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. THE ENGLISH POSITION

[WELLINGTON, on Copenhagen, is again under the elm-tree behind La

Haye Sainte. Both horse and rider are covered with mud-splashes,

but the weather having grown finer the DUKE has taken off his cloak.

UXBRIDGE, FITZROY SOMERSET, CLINTON, ALTEN, COLVILLE, DE LANCEY,

HERVEY, GORDON, and other of his staff officers and aides are

near him; there being also present GENERALS MUFFLING, HUGEL, and

ALAVA; also TYLER, PICTON'S aide. The roar of battle continues.]

WELLINGTON

I am grieved at losing Picton; more than grieved.

He was as grim a devil as ever lived,

And roughish-mouthed withal. But never a man

More stout in fight, more stoical in blame!

TYLER

Before he left for this campaign he said,

"When you shall hear of MY death, mark my words,

You'll hear of a bloody day!" and, on my soul,

'Tis true.

[Enter another aide-de-camp.]

AIDE

Sir William Ponsonby, my lords, has fallen.

His horse got mud-stuck in a new-plowed plot,

Lancers surrounded him and bore him down,

And six then ran him through. The occasion sprung

Mainly from the Brigade's too reckless rush,

Sheer to the French front line.

WELLINGTON (gravely)

Ah--so it comes!

The Greys were bound to pay--'tis always so--

Full dearly for their dash so far afield.

Valour unballasted but lands its freight

On the enemy's shore.--What has become of Hill?

AIDE

We have not seen him latterly, your Grace.

WELLINGTON

By God, I hope I haven't lost him, too?

BRIDGMAN (just come up)

Lord Hill's bay charger, being shot dead, your Grace,

Rolled over him in falling. He is bruised,

But hopes to be in place again betimes.

WELLINGTON

Praise Fate for thinking better of that frown!

[It is now nearing four o'clock. La Haye Sainte is devastated by

the second attack of NEY. The farm has been enveloped by DONZELOT'S

division, its garrison, the King's German Legion, having fought

till all ammunition was exhausted. The gates are forced open, and

in the retreat of the late defenders to the main Allied line they

are nearly all cut or shot down.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

O Farm of sad vicissitudes and strange!

Farm of the Holy Hedge, yet fool of change!

Whence lit so sanct a name on thy now violate grange?

WELLINGTON (to Muffling, resolutely)

Despite their fierce advantage here, I swear

By every God that war can call upon

To hold our present place at any cost,

Until your force cooperate with our lines!

To that I stand; although 'tis bruited now

That Bulow's corps has only reached Ohain.

I've sent Freemantle hence to seek them there,

And give them inkling we shall need them soon.

MUFFLING (looking at his watch)

I had hoped that Blucher would be here ere this.

[The staff turn their glasses on the French position.]

UXBRIDGE

What movement can it be they contemplate?

WELLINGTON

A shock of cavalry on the hottest scale,

It seems to me. . . . (To aide) Bid him to reinforce

The front line with some second-line brigades;

Some, too, from the reserve.

[The Brunswickers advance to support MAITLAND'S Guards, and the

MITCHELL and ADAM Brigades establish themselves above Hougomont,

which is still in flames.

NEY, in continuation of the plan of throwing his whole force

on the British centre before the advent of the Prussians, now

intensifies his onslaught with the cavalry. Terrific discharges

of artillery initiate it to clear the ground. A heavy round-

shot dashes through the tree over the heads of WELLINGTON and

his generals, and boughs and leaves come flying down on them.]

WELLINGTON

Good practice that! I vow they did not fire

So dexterously in Spain. (He calls up an aide.) Bid Ompteda

Direct the infantry to lie tight down

On the reverse ridge-slope, to screen themselves

While these close shots and shells are teasing us;

When the charge comes they'll cease.

[The order is carried out. NEY'S cavalry attack now matures.

MILHAUD'S cuirassiers in twenty-four squadrons advance down the

opposite decline, followed and supported by seven squadrons of

chasseurs under DESNOETTES. They disappear for a minute in the

hollow between the armies.]

UXBRIDGE

Ah--now we have got their long-brewed plot explained!

WELLINGTON (nodding)

That this was rigged for some picked time to-day

I had inferred. But that it would be risked

Sheer on our lines, while still they stand unswayed,

In conscious battle-trim, I reckoned not.

It looks a madman's cruel enterprise!

FITZROY SOMERSET

We have just heard that Ney embarked on it

Without an order, ere its aptness riped.

WELLINGTON

It may be so: he's rash. And yet I doubt.

I know Napoleon. If the onset fail

It will be Ney's; if it succeed he'll claim it!

[A dull reverberation of the tread of innumerable hoofs comes

from behind the hill, and the foremost troops rise into view.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Behold the gorgeous coming of those horse,

Accoutered in kaleidoscopic hues

That would persuade us war has beauty in it!--

Discern the troopers' mien; each with the air

Of one who is himself a tragedy:

The cuirassiers, steeled, mirroring the day;

Red lancers, green chasseurs: behind the blue

The red; the red before the green:

A lingering-on till late in Christendom,

Of the barbaric trick to terrorize

The foe by aspect!

[WELLINGTON directs his glass to an officer in a rich uniform

with many decorations on his breast, who rides near the front

of the approaching squadrons. The DUKE'S face expresses

admiration.]

WELLINGTON

It's Marshal Ney himself who heads the charge.

The finest cavalry commander, he,

That wears a foreign plume; ay, probably

The whole world through!

SPIRIT IRONIC

And when that matchless chief

Sentenced shall lie to ignominious death

But technically deserved, no finger he

Who speaks will lift to save him.!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

To his shame.

We must discount war's generous impulses

I sadly see.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Be mute, and let spin on

This whirlwind of the Will!

[As NEY'S cavalry ascends the English position the swish of the

horses' breasts through the standing corn can be heard, and the

reverberation of hoofs increases in strength. The English gunners

stand with their portfires ready, which are seen glowing luridly

in the daylight. There is comparative silence.]

A VOICE

Now, captains, are you loaded?

CAPTAINS

Yes, my lord.

VOICE

Point carefully, and wait till their whole height

Shows above the ridge.

[When the squadrons rise in full view, within sixty yards of the

cannon-mouths, the batteries fire, with a concussion that shakes

the hill itself. Their shot punch holes through the front ranks

of the cuirassiers, and horse and riders fall in heaps. But they

are not stopped, hardly checked, galloping up to the mouths of the

guns, passing between the pieces, and plunging among the Allied

infantry behind the ridge, who, with the advance of the horsemen,

have sprung up from their prone position and formed into squares.]

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

Ney guides the fore-front of the carabineers

Through charge and charge, with rapid recklessness.

Horses, cuirasses, sabres, helmets, men,

Impinge confusedly on the pointed prongs

Of the English kneeling there, whose dim red shapes

Behind their slanted steel seem trampled flat

And sworded to the sward. The charge recedes,

And lo, the tough lines rank there as before,

Save that they are shrunken.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Hero of heroes, too,

Ney, (not forgetting those who gird against him).--

Simple and single-souled lieutenant he;

Why should men's many-valued motions take

So barbarous a groove!

[The cuirassiers and lancers surge round the English and Allied

squares like waves, striking furiously on them and well-nigh

breaking them. They stand in dogged silence amid the French

cheers.]

WELLINGTON (to the nearest square)

Hard pounding this, my men! I truly trust

You'll pound the longest!

SQUARE

Hip-hip-hip-hurrah!

MUFFLING (again referring to his watch)

However firmly they may stand, in faith,

Their firmness must have bounds to it, because

There are bounds to human strength! . . . Your, Grace,

To leftward now, to spirit Zieten on.

WELLINGTON

Good. It is time! I think he well be late,

However, in the field.

[MUFFLING goes. Enter an aide, breathless.]

AIDE

Your Grace, the Ninety-fifth are patience-spent

With standing under fire so passing long.

They writhe to charge--or anything but stand!

WELLINGTON

Not yet. They shall have at 'em later on.

At present keep them firm.

[Exit aide. The Allied squares stand like little red-brick castles,

independent of each other, and motionless except at the dry hurried

command "Close up!" repeated every now and then as they are slowly

thinned. On the other hand, under their firing and bayonets a

disorder becomes apparent among the charging horse, on whose

cuirasses the bullets snap like stones on window-panes. At this

the Allied cavalry waiting in the rear advance; and by degrees they

deliver the squares from their enemies, who are withdrawn to their

own position to prepare for a still more strenuous assault. The

point of view shifts.]

SCENE V

THE SAME. THE WOMEN'S CAMP NEAR MONT SAINT-JEAN

[On the sheltered side of a clump of trees at the back of the

English position camp-fires are smouldering. Soldiers' wives,

mistresses, and children from a few months to five or six years

of age, sit on the ground round the fires or on armfuls of straw

from the adjoining farm. Wounded soldiers lie near the women.

The wind occasionally brings the smoke and smell of battle into

the encampment, the noise being continuous. Two waggons stand

near; also a surgeon's horse in charge of a batman, laden with

bone-saws, knives, probes, tweezers, and other surgical instruments.

Behind lies a woman who has just given birth to a child, which a

second woman is holding.

Many of the other women are shredding lint, the elder children

assisting. Some are dressing the slighter wounds of the soldiers

who have come in here instead of going further. Along the road

near is a continual procession of bearers of wounded men to the

rear. The occupants of the camp take hardly any notice of the

thundering of the cannon. A camp-follower is playing a fiddle

near. Another woman enters.]

WOMAN

There's no sign of my husband any longer. His battalion is half-a-

mile from where it was. He looked back as they wheeled off towards

the fighting-line, as much as to say, "Nancy, if I don't see 'ee

again, this is good-bye, my dear." Yes, poor man! . . . Not but

what 'a had a temper at times!

SECOND WOMAN

I'm out of all that. My husband--as I used to call him for form's

sake--is quiet enough. He was wownded at Quarter-Brass the day

before yesterday, and died the same night. But I didn't know it

till I got here, and then says I, "Widder or no widder, I mean to

see this out."

[A sergeant staggers in with blood dropping from his face.]

SERGEANT

Damned if I think you will see it out, mis'ess, for if I don't

mistake there'll be a retreat of the whole army on Brussels soon.

We can't stand much longer!--For the love of God, have ye got a

cup of water, if nothing stronger? (They hand a cup.)

THIRD WOMAN (entering and sinking down)

The Lord send that I may never see again what I've been seeing while

looking for my poor galliant Joe! The surgeon asked me to lend a

hand; and 'twas worse than opening innerds at a pig-killing! (She

faints.)

FOURTH WOMAN (to a little girl)

Never mind her, my dear; come and help me with this one. (She goes

with the girl to a soldier in red with buff facings who lies some

distance off.) Ah--'tis no good. He's gone.

GIRL

No, mother. His eyes are wide open, a-staring to get a sight of

the battle!

FOURTH WOMAN

That's nothing. Lots of dead ones stare in that silly way. It

depends upon where they were hit. I was all through the Peninsula;

that's how I know. (She covers the horny gaze of the man. Shouts

and louder discharges are heard.)--Heaven's high tower, what's that?

[Enter an officer's servant.(24)]

SERVANT

Waiting with the major's spare hoss--up to my knees in mud from

the rain that had come down like baccy-pipe stems all the night

and morning--I have just seen a charge never beholded since the

days of the Amalekites! The squares still stand, but Ney's cavalry

have made another attack. Their swords are streaming with blood,

and their horses' hoofs squash out our poor fellow's bowels as they

lie. A ball has sunk in Sir Thomas Picton's forehead and killed him

like Goliath the Philistine. I don't see what's to stop the French.

Well, it's the Lord's doing and marvellous in our eyes. Hullo,

who's he? (They look towards the road.) A fine hale old gentleman,

isn't he? What business has a man of that sort here?

[Enter, on the highway near, the DUKE OF RICHMOND in plain clothes,

on horseback, accompanied by two youths, his sons. They draw

rein on an eminence, and gaze towards the battlefields.]

RICHMOND (to son)

Everything looks as bad as possible just now. I wonder where your

brother is? However, we can't go any nearer. . . . Yes, the bat-

horses are already being moved off, and there are more and more

fugitives. A ghastly finish to your mother's ball, by Gad if it

isn't!

[They turn their horses towards Brussels. Enter, meeting them,

MR. LEGH, a Wessex gentleman, also come out to view the battle.]

LEGH

Can you tell me, sir, how the battle is going?

RICHMOND

Badly, badly, I fear, sir. There will be a retreat soon, seemingly.

LEGH

Indeed! Yes, a crowd of fugitives are coming over the hill even now.

What will these poor women do?

RICHMOND

God knows! They will be ridden over, I suppose. Though it is

extraordinary how they do contrive to escape destruction while

hanging so close to the rear of an action! They are moving,

however. Well, we will move too.

[Exeunt DUKE OF RICHMOND, sons, and MR. LEGH. The point of view

shifts.]

SCENE VI

THE SAME. THE FRENCH POSITION

[NEY'S charge of cavalry against the opposite upland has been

three times renewed without success. He collects the scattered

squadrons to renew it a fourth time. The glittering host again

ascends the confronting slopes over the bodies of those previously

left there, and amid horses wandering about without riders, or

crying as they lie with entrails trailing or limbs broken.]

NAPOLEON (starting up)

A horrible dream has gripped me--horrible!

I saw before me Lannes--just as he looked

That day at Aspern: mutilated, bleeding!

"What--blood again?" he said to me. "Still blood?"

[He further arouses himself, takes snuff vehemently, and looks

through his glass.]

What time is it?--Ah, these assaults of Ney's!

They are a blunder; they've been enterprised

An hour too early! . . . There Lheritier goes

Onward with his division next Milhaud;

Now Kellermann must follow up with his.

So one mistake makes many. Yes; ay; yes!

SOULT

I fear that Ney has compromised us here

Just as at Jena; even worse!

NAPOLEON

No less

Must we support him now he is launched on it. . . .

The miracle is that he is still alive!

[NEY and his mass of cavalry again pass the English batteries

and disappear amid the squares beyond.]

Their cannon are abandoned; and their squares

Again environed--see! I would to God

Murat could be here! Yet I disdained

His proffered service. . . . All my star asks now

Is to break some half-dozen of those blocks

Of English yonder. He was the man to do it.

[NEY and D'ERLON'S squadrons are seen emerging from the English

squares in a disorganized state, the attack having failed like

the previous ones. An aide-de-camp enters to NAPOLEON.]

AIDE

The Prussians have debouched on our right rear

From Paris-wood; and Losthin's infantry

Appear by Plancenoit; Hiller's to leftwards.

Two regiments of their horse protect their front,

And three light batteries.

[A haggard shade crosses NAPOLEON'S face.]

NAPOLEON

What then! That's not a startling force as yet.

A counter-stroke by Domon's cavalry

Must shatter them. Lobau must bring his foot

Up forward, heading for the Prussian front,

Unrecking losses by their cannonade.

[Exit aide. The din of battle continues. DOMON'S horse are soon

seen advancing towards and attacking the Prussian hussars in front

of the infantry; and he next attempts to silence the Prussian

batteries playing on him by leading up his troops and cutting

down the gunners. But he has to fall back upon the infantry

of LOBAU. Enter another aide-de-camp.]

AIDE

These tiding I report, your Majesty:--

Von Ryssel's and von Hacke's Prussian foot

Have lately sallied from the Wood of Paris,

Bearing on us; no vast array as yet;

But twenty thousand loom not far behind

These vanward marchers!

NAPOLEON

Ah! They swarm thus thickly?

But be they hell's own legions we'll defy them!--

Lobau's men will stand firm.

[He looks in the direction of the English lines, where NEY'S

cavalry-assaults still linger furiously on.]

But who rides hither,

Spotting the sky with clods in his high haste?

SOULT

It looks like Colonel Heymes--come from Ney.

NAPOLEON (sullenly)

And his face shows what clef his music's in!

[Enter COLONEL HEYMES, blood-stained, muddy, and breathless.]

HEYMES

The Prince of Moscow, sire, the Marshal Ney,

Bids me implore that infantry be sent

Immediately, to further his attack.

They cannot be dispensed with, save we fail!

NAPOLEON (furiously)

Infantry! Where the sacred God thinks he

I can find infantry for him! Forsooth,

Does he expect me to create them--eh?

Why sends he such a message, seeing well

How we are straitened here!

HEYMES

Such was the prayer

Of my commission, sire. And I say

That I myself have seen his strokes must waste

Without such backing.

NAPOLEON

Why?

HEYMES

Our cavalry

Lie stretched in swathes, fronting the furnace-throats

Of the English cannon as a breastwork built

Of reeking copses. Marshal Ney's third horse

Is shot. Besides the slain, Donop, Guyot,

Lheritier, Piquet, Travers, Delort, more,

Are vilely wounded. On the other hand

Wellington has sought refuge in a square,

Few of his generals are not killed or hit,

And all is tickle with him. But I see,

Likewise, that I can claim no reinforcement,

And will return and say so.

[Exit HEYMES]

NAPOLEON (to Soult, sadly)

Ney does win me!

I fain would strengthen him.--Within an ace

Of breaking down the English as he is,

'Twould write upon the sunset "Victory!"--

But whom may spare we from the right here now?

So single man!

[An interval.]

Life's curse begins, I see,

With helplessness! . . . All I can compass is

To send Durutte to fall on Papelotte,

And yet more strongly occupy La Haye,

To cut off Bulow's right from bearing up

And checking Ney's attack. Further than this

None but the Gods can scheme!

[SOULT hastily begins writing orders to that effect. The point

of view shifts.]

SCENE VII

THE SAME. THE ENGLISH POSITION

[The din of battle continues. WELLINGTON, UXBRIDGE, HILL, DE

LANCEY, GORDON, and others discovered near the middle of the line.]

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

It is a moment when the steadiest pulse

Thuds pit-a-pat. The crisis shapes and nears

For Wellington as for his counter-chief.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

The hour is shaking him, unshakeable

As he may seem!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Know'st not at this stale time

That shaken and unshaken are alike

But demonstrations from the Back of Things?

Must I again reveal It as It hauls

The halyards of the world?

[A transparency as in earlier scenes again pervades the spectacle,

and the ubiquitous urging of the Immanent Will becomes visualized.

The web connecting all the apparently separate shapes includes

WELLINGTON in its tissue with the rest, and shows him, like them,

as acting while discovering his intention to act. By the lurid

light the faces of every row, square, group, and column of men,

French and English, wear the expression of that of people in a

dream.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES (tremulously)

Yea, sire; I see.

Disquiet me, pray, no more!

[The strange light passes, and the embattled hosts on the field

seem to move independently as usual.]

WELLINGTON (to Uxbridge)

Manoeuvring does not seem to animate

Napoleon's methods now. Forward he comes,

And pounds away on us in the ancient style,

Till he is beaten back in the ancient style;

And so the see-saw sways!

[The din increases. WELLINGTON'S aide-de-camp, Sir A. GORDON,

a little in his rear, falls mortally wounded. The DUKE turns

quickly.]

But where is Gordon?

Ah--hit is he! That's bad, that's bad, by God.

[GORDON is removed. An aide enters.]

AIDE

Your Grace, the Colonel Ompteda has fallen,

And La Haye Sainte is now a bath of blood.

Nothing more can be done there, save with help.

The Rifles suffer sharply!

[An aide is seen coming from KEMPT.]

WELLINGTON

What says he?

DE LANCEY

He says that Kempt, being riddled through and thinned,

Sends him for reinforcements.

WELLINGTON (with heat)

Reinforcements?

And where am I to get him reinforcements

In Heaven's name! I've no reinforcements here,

As he should know.

AIDE (hesitating)

What's to be done, your Grace?

WELLINGTON

Done? Those he has left him, be they many or few,

Fight till they fall, like others in the field!

[Exit aide. The Quartermaster-General DE LANCEY, riding by

WELLINGTON, is struck by a lobbing shot that hurls him over

the head of his horse. WELLINGTON and others go to him.]

DE LANCEY (faintly)

I may as well be left to die in peace!

WELLINGTON

He may recover. Take him to the rear,

And call the best attention up to him.

[DE LANCEY is carried off. The next moment a shell bursts close

to WELLINGTON.]

HILL (approaching)

I strongly feel you stand too much exposed!

WELLINGTON

I know, I know. It matters not one damn!

I may as well be shot as not perceive

What ills are raging here.

HILL

Conceding such,

And as you may be ended momently,

A truth there is no blinking, what commands

Have you to leave me, should fate shape it so?

WELLINGTON

These simply: to hold out unto the last,

As long as one man stands on one lame leg

With one ball in his pouch!--then end as I.

[He rides on slowly with the others. NEY'S charges, though

fruitless so far, are still fierce. His troops are now reduced

to one-half. Regiments of the BACHELU division, and the JAMIN

brigade, are at last moved up to his assistance. They are partly

swept down by the Allied batteries, and partly notched away by

the infantry, the smoke being now so thick that the position of

the battalions is revealed only by the flashing of the priming-

pans and muzzles, and by the furious oaths heard behind the cloud.

WELLINGTON comes back. Enter another aide-de-camp.]

AIDE

We bow to the necessity of saying

That our brigade is lessened to one-third,

Your Grace. And those who are left alive of it

Are so unmuscled by fatigue and thirst

That some relief, however temporary,

Becomes sore need.

WELLINGTON

Inform your general

That his proposal asks the impossible!

That he, I, every Englishman afield,

Must fall upon the spot we occupy,

Our wounds in front.

AIDE

It is enough, your Grace.

I answer for't that he, those under him,

And I withal, will bear us as you say.

[Exit aide. The din of battle goes on. WELLINGTON is grave but

calm. Like those around him, he is splashed to the top of his hat

with partly dried mire, mingled with red spots; his face is grimed

in the same way, little courses showing themselves where the sweat

has trickled down from his brow and temples.]

CLINTON (to Hill)

A rest would do our chieftain no less good,

In faith, than that unfortunate brigade!

He is tried damnably; and much more strained

Than I have ever seen him.

HILL

Endless risks

He's running likewise. What the hell would happen

If he were shot, is more than I can say!

WELLINGTON (calling to some near)

At Talavera, Salamanca, boys,

And at Vitoria, we saw smoke together;

And though the day seems wearing doubtfully,

Beaten we must not be! What would they say

Of us at home, if so?

A CRY (from the French)

Their centre breaks!

Vive l'Empereur!

[It comes from the FOY and BACHELU divisions, which are rushing

forward. HALKETT'S and DUPLAT'S brigades intercept. DUPLAT

falls, shot dead; but the venturesome French regiments, pierced

with converging fires, and cleft with shells, have to retreat.]

HILL (joining Wellington)

The French artillery-fire

To the right still renders regiments restive there

That have to stand. The long exposure galls them.

WELLINGTON

They must be stayed as our poor means afford.

I have to bend attention steadfastly

Upon the centre here. The game just now

Goes all against us; and if staunchness fail

But for one moment with these thinning foot,

Defeat succeeds!

[The battle continues to sway hither and thither with concussions,

wounds, smoke, the fumes of gunpowder, and the steam from the hot

viscera of grape-torn horses and men. One side of a Hanoverian

square is blown away; the three remaining sides form themselves

into a triangle. So many of his aides are cut down that it is

difficult for WELLINGTON to get reports of what is happening

afar. It begins to be discovered at the front that a regiment of

hussars, and others without ammunition, have deserted, and that

some officers in the rear, honestly concluding the battle to be

lost, are riding quietly off to Brussels. Those who are left

unwounded of WELLINGTON'S staff show gloomy misgivings at such

signs, despite their own firmness.]

SPIRIT SINISTER

One needs must be a ghost

To move here in the midst 'twixt host and host!

Their balls scream brisk and breezy tunes through me

As I were an organ-stop. It's merry so;

What damage mortal flesh must undergo!

[A Prussian officer enters to MUFFLING, who has again rejoined

the DUKE'S suite. MUFFLING hastens forward to WELLINGTON.]

MUFFLING

Blucher has just begun to operate;

But owing to Gneisenau's stolid stagnancy

The body of our army looms not yet!

As Zieten's corps still plod behind Smohain

Their coming must be late. Blucher's attack

Strikes the remote right rear of the enemy,

Somewhere by Plancenoit.

WELLINGTON

A timely blow;

But would that Zieten sped! Well, better late

Than never. We'll still stand.

[The point of observation shifts.]

SCENE VIII

THE SAME. LATER

[NEY'S long attacks on the centre with cavalry having failed,

those left of the squadrons and their infantry-supports fall

back pell-mell in broken groups across the depression between

the armies.

Meanwhile BULOW, having engaged LOBAU'S Sixth Corps, carries

Plancenoit.

The artillery-fire between the French and the English continues.

An officer of the Third Foot-guards comes up to WELLINGTON and

those of his suite that survive.]

OFFICER

Our Colonel Canning--coming I know not whence--

WELLINGTON

I lately sent him with important words

To the remoter lines.

OFFICER

As he returned

A grape-shot struck him in the breast; he fell,

At once a dead man. General Halkett, too,

Has had his cheek shot through, but still keeps going.

WELLINGTON

And how proceeds De Lancey?

OFFICER

I am told

That he forbids the surgeons waste their time

On him, who well can wait till worse are eased.

WELLINGTON

A noble fellow.

[NAPOLEON can now be seen, across the valley, pushing forward a

new scheme of some sort, urged to it obviously by the visible

nearing of further Prussian corps. The EMPEROR is as critically

situated as WELLINGTON, and his army is now formed in a right

angle ("en potence"), the main front to the English, the lesser

to as many of the Prussians as have yet arrived. His gestures

show him to be giving instructions of desperate import to a

general whom he has called up.]

SPIRIT IRONIC

He bids La Bedoyere to speed away

Along the whole sweep of the surging line,

And there announce to the breath-shotten bands

Who toil for a chimaera trustfully,

With seventy pounds of luggage on their loins,

That the dim Prussian masses seen afar

Are Grouchy's three-and-thirty thousand, come

To clinch a victory.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

But Ney demurs!

SPIRIT IRONIC

Ney holds indignantly that such a feint

Is not war-worthy. Says Napoleon then,

Snuffing anew, with sour sardonic scowl,

That he is choiceless.

SPIRIT SINISTER

Excellent Emperor!

He tops all human greatness; in that he

To lesser grounds of greatness adds the prime,

Of being without a conscience.

[LA BEDOYERE and orderlies start on their mission. The false

intelligence is seen to spread, by the excited motion of the

columns, and the soldiers can be heard shouting as their spirits

revive.

WELLINGTON is beginning to discern the features of the coming

onset, when COLONEL FRASER rides up.]

FRASER

We have just learnt from a deserting captain,

One of the carabineers who charged of late,

That an assault which dwarfs all instances--

The whole Imperial Guard in welded weight--

Is shortly to be made.

WELLINGTON

For your smart speed

My thanks. My observation is confirmed.

We'll hasten now along the battle-line (to Staff),

As swiftest means for giving orders out

Whereby to combat this.

[The speaker, accompanied by HILL, UXBRIDGE, and others--all now

looking as worn and besmirched as the men in the ranks--proceed

along the lines, and dispose the brigades to meet the threatened

shock. The infantry are brought out of the shelter they have

recently sought, the cavalry stationed in the rear, and the

batteries of artillery hitherto kept in reserve are moved to the

front.

The last Act of the battle begins.

There is a preliminary attack by DONZELOT'S columns, combined

with swarms of sharpshooters, to the disadvantage of the English

and their Allies. WELLINGTON has scanned it closely. FITZROY

SOMERSET, his military secretary, comes up.]

WELLINGTON

What casualty has thrown its shade among

The regiments of Nassau, to shake them so?

SOMERSET

The Prince of Orange has been badly struck--

A bullet through his shoulder--so they tell;

And Kielmansegge has shown some signs of stress.

Kincaird's tried line wanes leaner and more lean--

Whittled to a weak skein of skirmishers;

The Twenty-seventh lie dead.

WELLINGTON

Ah yes--I know!

[While they watch developments a cannon-shot passes and knocks

SOMERSET'S right arm to a mash. He is assisted to the rear.

NEY and FRIANT now lead forward the last and most desperate

assault of the day, in charges of the Old and Middle Guard,

the attack by DONZELOT and ALLIX further east still continuing as

a support. It is about a quarter-past eight, and the midsummer

evening is fine after the wet night and morning, the sun approaching

its setting in a sky of gorgeous colours.

The picked and toughened Guard, many of whom stood in the ranks

at Austerlitz and Wagram, have been drawn up in three or four

echelons, the foremost of which now advances up the slopes to

the Allies' position. The others follow at intervals, the

drummers beating the "pas de charge."]

CHORUS OF RUMOURS (aerial music)

Twice thirty throats of couchant cannonry--

Ranked in a hollow curve, to close their blaze

Upon the advancing files--wait silently

Like to black bulls at gaze.

The Guard approaches nearer and more near:

To touch-hole moves each match of smoky sheen:

The ordnance roars: the van-ranks disappear

As if wiped off the scene.

The aged Friant falls as it resounds;

Ney's charger drops--his fifth on this sore day--

Its rider from the quivering body bounds

And forward foots his way.

The cloven columns tread the English height,

Seize guns, repulse battalions rank by rank,

While horse and foot artillery heavily bite

Into their front and flank.

It nulls the power of a flesh-built frame

To live within that zone of missiles. Back

The Old Guard, staggering, climbs to whence it came.

The fallen define its track.

[The second echelon of the Imperial Guard has come up to the

assault. Its columns have borne upon HALKETT'S right. HALKETT,

desperate to keep his wavering men firm, himself seizes and

waves the flag of the Thirty-third, in which act he falls wounded.

But the men rally. Meanwhile the Fifty-second, covered by the

Seventy-first, has advanced across the front, and charges the

Imperial Guard on the flank.

The third echelon next arrives at the English lines and squares;

rushes through the very focus of their fire, and seeing nothing

more in front, raises a shout.

IMPERIAL GUARD

The Emperor! It's victory!

WELLINGTON

Stand up, Guards!

Form line upon the front face of the square!

[Two thousand of MAITLAND'S Guards, hidden in the hollow roadway,

thereupon spring up, form as ordered, and reveal themselves as a

fence of leveled firelocks four deep. The flints click in a

multitude, the pans flash, and volley after volley is poured into

the bear-skinned figures of the massed French, who kill COLONEL

D'OYLEY in returning fire.]

WELLINGTON

Now drive the fellows in! Go on; go on!

You'll do it now!

[COLBORNE converges on the French guard with the Fifty-second, and

The former splits into two as the climax comes. ADAM, MAITLAND,

and COLBORNE pursue their advantage. The Imperial columns are

broken, and their confusion is increased by grape-shot from

BOLTON'S battery.]

Campbell, this order next:

Vivian's hussars are to support, and bear

Against the cavalry towards Belle Alliance.

Go--let him know.

[Sir C. CAMPBELL departs with the order. Soon VIVIAN'S and

VANDELEUR'S light horse are seen advancing, and in due time the

French cavalry are rolled back.

WELLINGTON goes in the direction of the hussars with UXBRIDGE. A

cannon-shot hisses past.]

UXBRIDGE (starting)

I have lost my leg, by God!

WELLINGTON

By God, and have you! Ay--the wind o' the shot

Blew past the withers of my Copenhagen

Like the foul sweeping of a witch's broom.--

Aha--they are giving way!

[While UXBRIDGE is being helped to the rear, WELLINGTON makes a

sign to SALTOUN, Colonel of the First Footguards.]

SALTOUN (shouting)

Boys, now's your time;

Forward and win!

FRENCH VOICES

The Guard gives way--we are beaten!

[They recede down the hill, carrying confusion into NAPOLEON'S

centre just as the Prussians press forward at a right angle from

the other side of the field. NAPOLEON is seen standing in the

hollow beyond La Haye Sainte, alone, except for the presence of

COUNT FLAHAULT, his aide-de-camp. His lips move with sudden

exclamation.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

He says "Now all is lost! The clocks of the world

Strike my last empery-hour."

[Towards La Haye Sainte the French of DONZELOT and ALLIX, who

are fighting KEMPT, PACK, KRUSE, and LAMBERT, seeing what has

happened to the Old and Middle Guard, lose heart and recede

likewise; so that the whole French line rolls back like a tide.

Simultaneously the Prussians are pressing forward at Papelotte

and La Haye. The retreat of the French grows into a panic.]

FRENCH VOICES (despairingly)

We are betrayed!

[WELLINGTON rides at a gallop to the most salient point of the

English position, halts, and waves his hat as a signal to all

the army. The sign is answered by a cheer along the length of

the line.]

WELLINGTON

No cheering yet, my lads; but bear ahead,

Before the inflamed face of the west out there

Dons blackness. So you'll round your victory!

[The few aides that are left unhurt dart hither and thither with

this message, and the whole English host and it allies advance

in an ordered mass down the hill except some of the artillery,

who cannot get their wheels over the bank of corpses in front.

Trumpets, drums, and bugles resound with the advance.

The streams of French fugitives as they run are cut down and shot

by their pursuers, whose clothes and contracted features are

blackened by smoke and cartridge-biting, and soiled with loam

and blood. Some French blow out their own brains as they fly.

The sun drops below the horizon while the slaughter goes on.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Is this the last Esdraelon of a moil

For mortal man's effacement?

SPIRIT IRONIC

Warfare, mere,

Plied by the Managed for the Managers;

To wit: by frenzied folks who profit nought

For those who profit all!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Between the jars

Of these who live, I hear uplift and move

The bones of those who placidly have lain

Within the sacred garths of yon grey fanes--

Nivelles, and Plancenoit, and Braine l'Alleud--

Beneath the unmemoried mounds through deedless years

Their dry jaws quake: "What Sabaoath is this,

That shakes us in our unobtrusive shrouds,

As though our tissues did not yet abhor

The fevered feats of life?"

SPIRIT IRONIC

Mere fancy's feints!

How know the coffined what comes after them,

Even though it whirl them to the Pleiades?--

Turn to the real.

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

That hatless, smoke-smirched shape

There in the vale, is still the living Ney,

His sabre broken in his hand, his clothes

Slitten with ploughing ball and bayonet,

One epaulette shorn away. He calls out "Follow!"

And a devoted handful follow him

Once more into the c*****e. Hear his voice.

NEY (calling afar)

My friends, see how a Marshal of France can die!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Alas, not here in battle, something hints,

But elsewhere! . . . Who's the sworded brother-chief

Swept past him in the tumult?

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

D'Erlon he.

Ney cries to him:

NEY

Be sure of this, my friend,

If we don't perish here at English hands,

Nothing is left us but the halter-noose

The Bourbons will provide!

SPIRIT IRONIC

A caustic wit,

And apt, to those who deal in adumbrations!

[The brave remnant of the Imperial Guard repulses for a time the

English cavalry under Vivian, in which MAJOR HOWARD and LIEUTENANT

GUNNING of the Tenth Hussars are shot. But the war-weary French

cannot cope with the pursuing infantry, helped by grape-shot from

the batteries.

NAPOLEON endeavours to rally them. It is his last effort as a

warrior; and the rally ends feebly.]

NAPOLEON

They are crushed! So it has ever been since Crecy!

[He is thrown violently off his horse, and bids his page bring

another, which he mounts, and is lost to sight.]

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

He loses his last chance of dying well!

[The three or four heroic battalions of the Old and Middle Guard

fall back step by step, halting to reform in square when they

get badly broken and shrunk. At last they are surrounded by the

English Guards and other foot, who keep firing on them and smiting

them to smaller and smaller numbers. GENERAL CAMBRONNE is inside

the square.]

COLONEL HUGH HALKETT (shouting)

Surrender! And preserve those heroes' lives!

CAMBRONNE (with exasperation)

Mer-r-rde! . . . You've to deal with desperates, man, today:

Life is a byword here!

[Hollow laughter, as from people in hell, comes approvingly from

the remains of the Old Guard. The English proceed with their

massacre, the devoted band thins and thins, and a ball strikes

CAMBRONNE, who falls, and is trampled over.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Observe that all wide sight and self-command

Desert these throngs now driven to demonry

By the Immanent Unrecking. Nought remains

But vindictiveness here amid the strong,

And there amid the weak an impotent rage.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Why prompts the Will so senseless-shaped a doing?

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

I have told thee that It works unwittingly,

As one possessed, not judging.

SEMICHORUS I OF IRONIC SPIRITS (aerial music)

Of Its doings if It knew,

What It does It would not do!

SEMICHORUS II

Since It knows not, what far sense

Speeds Its spinnings in the Immense?

SEMICHORUS I

None; a fixed foresightless dream

Is Its whole philosopheme.

SEMICHORUS II

Just so; an unconscious planning,

Like a potter raptly panning!

CHORUS

Are then, Love and Light Its aim--

Good Its glory, Bad Its blame?

Nay; to alter evermore

Things from what they were before.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Your knowings of the Unknowable declared,

Let the last pictures of the play be bared.

[Enter, fighting, more English and Prussians against the French.

NEY is caught by the throng and borne ahead. RULLIERE hides an

eagle beneath his coat and follows Ney. NAPOLEON is involved

none knows where in the crowd of fugitives.

WELLINGTON and BLUCHER come severally to the view. They meet in

the dusk and salute warmly. The Prussian bands strike up "God save

the King" as the two shake hands. From his gestures of assent it

can be seen that WELLINGTON accepts BLUCHER'S offer to pursue.

The reds disappear from the sky, and the dusk grows deeper. The

action of the battle degenerates to a hunt, and recedes further

and further into the distance southward. When the tramplings

and shouts of the combatants have dwindled, the lower sounds are

noticeable that come from the wounded: hopeless appeals, cries

for water, elaborate blasphemies, and impotent execrations of

Heaven and hell. In the vast and dusky shambles black slouching

shapes begin to move, the plunderers of the dead and dying.

The night grows clear and beautiful, and the moon shines musingly

down. But instead of the sweet smell of green herbs and dewy rye

as at her last beaming upon these fields, there is now the stench

of gunpowder and a muddy stew of crushed crops and gore.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

So hath the Urging Immanence used to-day

Its inadvertent might to field this fray:

And Europe's wormy dynasties rerobe

Themselves in their old gilt, to dazzle anew the globe!

[The scene us curtained by a night-mist.(25)]

SCENE IX

THE WOOD OF BOSSU

[It is midnight. NAPOLEON enters a glade of the wood, a solitary

figure on a faded horse. The shadows of the boughs travel over

his listless form as he moves along. The horse chooses its own

path, comes to a standstill, and feeds. The tramp of BERTRAND,

SOULT, DROUOT, and LOBAU'S horses, gone forward in hope to find

a way of retreat, is heard receding over the hill.]

NAPOLEON (to himself, languidly)

Here should have been some troops of Gerard's corps,

Left to protect the passage of the convoys,

Yet they, too, fail. . . . I have nothing more to lose,

But life!

[Flocks of fugitive soldiers pass along the adjoining road without

seeing him. NAPOLEON'S head droops lower and lower as he sits

listless in the saddle, and he falls into a fitful sleep. The

moon shines upon his face, which is drawn and waxen.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

"Sic diis immortalibus placet,"--

"Thus is it pleasing to the immortal gods,"

As earthlings used to say. Thus, to this last,

The Will in thee has moved thee, Bonaparte,

As we say now.

NAPOLEON (starting)

Whose frigid tones are those,

Breaking upon my lurid loneliness

So brusquely? . . . Yet, 'tis true, I have ever know

That such a Will I passively obeyed!

[He drowses again.]

SPIRIT IRONIC

Nothing care I for these high-doctrined dreams,

And shape the case in quite a common way,

So I would ask, Ajaccian Bonaparte,

Has all this been worth while?

NAPOLEON

O hideous hour,

Why am I stung by spectral questionings?

Did not my clouded soul incline to match

Those of the corpses yonder, thou should'st rue

Thy saying, Fiend, whoever those may'st be! . . .

Why did the death-drops fail to bite me close

I took at Fontainebleau? Had I then ceased,

This deep had been umplumbed; had they but worked,

I had thrown threefold the glow of Hannibal

Down History's dusky lanes!--Is it too late? . . .

Yes. Self-sought death would smoke but damply here!

If but a Kremlin cannon-shot had met me

My greatness would have stood: I should have scored

A vast repute, scarce paralleled in time.

As it did not, the fates had served me best

If in the thick and thunder of to-day,

Like Nelson, Harold, Hector, Cyrus, Saul,

I had been shifted from this jail of flesh,

To wander as a greatened ghost elsewhere.

--Yes, a good death, to have died on yonder field;

But never a ball came padding down my way!

So, as it is, a miss-mark they will dub me;

And yet--I found the crown of France in the mire,

And with the point of my prevailing sword

I picked it up! But for all this and this

I shall be nothing. . . .

To shoulder Christ from out the topmost niche

In human fame, as once I fondly felt,

Was not for me. I came too late in time

To assume the prophet or the demi-god,

A part past playing now. My only course

To make good showance to posterity

Was to implant my line upon the throne.

And how shape that, if now extinction nears?

Great men are meteors that consume themselves

To light the earth. This is my burnt-out hour.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Thou sayest well. Thy full meridian-shine

Was in the glory of the Dresden days,

When well-nigh every monarch throned in Europe

Bent at thy footstool.

NAPOLEON

Saving always England's--

Rightly dost say "well-nigh."--Not England's,--she

Whose tough, enisled, self-centred, kindless craft

Has tracked me, springed me, thumbed me by the throat,

And made herself the means of mangling me!

SPIRIT IRONIC

Yea, the dull peoples and the Dynasts both,

Those counter-castes not oft adjustable,

Interests antagonistic, proud and poor,

Have for the nonce been bonded by a wish

To overthrow thee.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Peace. His loaded heart

Bears weight enough for one bruised, blistered while!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Worthless these kneadings of thy narrow thought,

Napoleon; gone thy opportunity!

Such men as thou, who wade across the world

To make an epoch, bless, confuse, appal,

Are in the elemental ages' chart

Like meanest insects on obscurest leaves,

But incidents and grooves of Earth's unfolding;

Or as the brazen rod that stirs the fire

Because it must.

[The moon sinks, and darkness blots out NAPOLEON and the scene.]

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.