The Dynasts

Act Third

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SCENE I

SPAIN. A ROAD NEAR ASTORGA

[The eye of the spectator rakes the road from the interior of a

cellar which opens upon it, and forms the basement of a deserted

house, the roof doors, and shutters of which have been pulled down

and burnt for bivouac fires. The season is the beginning of

January, and the country is covered with a sticky snow. The road

itself is intermittently encumbered with heavy traffic, the surface

being churned to a yellow mud that lies half knee-deep, and at the

numerous holes in the track forming still deeper quagmires.

In the gloom of the cellar are heaps of damp straw, in which

ragged figures are lying half-buried, many of the men in the

uniform of English regiments, and the women and children in clouts

of all descriptions, some being nearly naked. At the back of the

cellar is revealed, through a burst door, an inner vault, where

are discernible some wooden-hooped wine-casks; in one sticks a

gimlet, and the broaching-cork of another has been driven in.

The wine runs into pitchers, washing-basins, shards, chamber-

vessels, and other extemporized receptacles. Most of the inmates

are drunk; some to insensibility.

So far as the characters are doing anything they are contemplating

almost incessant traffic outside, passing in one direction. It

includes a medley of stragglers from the Marquis of ROMANA'S

Spanish forces and the retreating English army under SIR JOHN

MOORE--to which the concealed deserters belong.]

FIRST DESERTER

Now he's one of the Eighty-first, and I'd gladly let that poor blade

know that we've all that man can wish for here--good wine and buxom

women. But if I do, we shan't have room for ourselves--hey?

[He signifies a man limping past with neither fire-lock nor

knapsack. Where the discarded knapsack has rubbed for weeks

against his shoulder-blades the jacket and shirt are fretted

away, leaving his skin exposed.]

SECOND DESERTER

He may be the Eighty-firsht, or th' Eighty-second; but what I say is,

without fear of contradiction, I wish to the Lord I was back in old

Bristol again. I'd sooner have a nipperkin of our own real "Bristol

milk" than a mash-tub full of this barbarian wine!

THIRD DESERTER

'Tis like thee to be ungrateful, after putting away such a skinful

on't. I am as much Bristol as thee, but would as soon be here as

there. There ain't near such willing women, that are strict

respectable too, there as hereabout, and no open cellars.-- As

there's many a slip in this country I'll have the rest of my

allowance now.

[He crawls on his elbows to one of the barrels, and turning on his

back lets the wine run down his throat.]

FORTH DESERTER (to a fifth, who is snoring)

Don't treat us to such a snoaching there, mate. Here's some more

coming, and they'll sight us if we don't mind!

[Enter without a straggling flock of military objects, some with

fragments of shoes on, others bare-footed, many of the latter's

feet bleeding. The arms and waists of some are clutched by women

as tattered and bare-footed as themselves. They pass on.

The Retreat continues. More of ROMANA'S Spanish limp along in

disorder; then enters a miscellaneous group of English cavalry

soldiers, some on foot, some mounted, the rearmost of the latter

bestriding a shoeless foundered creature whose neck is vertebrae

and mane only. While passing it falls from exhaustion; the trooper

extricates himself and pistols the animal through the head. He

and the rest pass on.]

FIRST DESERTER (a new plashing of feet being heard)

Here's something more in order, or I am much mistaken. He cranes

out.) Yes, a sergeant of the Forty-third, and what's left of their

second battalion. And, by God, not far behind I see shining helmets.

'Tis a whole squadron of French dragoons!

[Enter the sergeant. He has a racking cough, but endeavours, by

stiffening himself up, to hide how it is wasting away his life.

He halts, and looks back, till the remains of the Forty-third are

abreast, to the number of some three hundred, about half of whom

are crippled invalids, the other half being presentable and armed

soldiery.'

SERGEANT

Now show yer nerve, and be men. If you die to-day you won't have to

die to-morrow. Fall in! (The miscellany falls in.) All invalids and

men without arms march ahead as well as they can. Quick--maw-w-w-ch!

(Exeunt invalids, etc.) Now! Tention! Shoulder-r-r--fawlocks! (Order

obeyed.)

[The sergeant hastily forms these into platoons, who prime and load,

and seem preternaturally changed from what they were into alert

soldiers.

Enter French dragoons at the left-back of the scene. The rear

platoon of the Forty-third turns, fires, and proceeds. The next

platoon covering them does the same. This is repeated several

times, staggering the pursuers. Exeunt French dragoons, giving

up the pursuit. The coughing sergeant and the remnant of the

Forty-third march on.]

FOURTH DESERTER (to a woman lying beside him)

What d'ye think o' that, my honey? It fairly makes me a man again.

Come, wake up! We must be getting along somehow. (He regards the

woman more closely.) Why--my little chick? Look here, friends.

(They look, and the woman is found to be dead.) If I didn't think

that her poor knees felt cold! . . . And only an hour ago I swore

to marry her!

[They remain silent. The Retreat continues in the snow without,

now in the form of a file of ox-carts, followed by a mixed rabble

of English and Spanish, and mules and muleteers hired by English

officers to carry their baggage. The muleteers, looking about

and seeing that the French dragoons gave been there, cut the bands

which hold on the heavy packs, and scamper off with their mules.]

A VOICE (behind)

The Commander-in-Chief is determined to maintain discipline, and

they must suffer. No more pillaging here. It is the worst case

of brutality and plunder that we have had in this wretched time!

[Enter an English captain of hussars, a lieutenant, a guard of

about a dozen, and three men as prisoner.]

CAPTAIN

If they choose to draw lots, only one need be made an example of.

But they must be quick about it. The advance-guard of the enemy

is not far behind.

[The three prisoners appear to draw lots, and the one on whom the

lot falls is blindfolded. Exeunt the hussars behind a wall, with

carbines. A volley is heard and something falls. The wretched

in the cellar shudder.]

FOURTH DESERTER

'Tis the same for us but for this heap of straw. Ah--my doxy is the

only one of us who is safe and sound! (He kisses the dead woman.)

[Retreat continues. A train of six-horse baggage-waggons lumbers

past, a mounted sergeant alongside. Among the baggage lie wounded

soldiers and sick women.]

SERGEANT OF THE WAGGON-TRAIN

If so be they are dead, ye may as well drop 'em over the tail-board.

'Tis no use straining the horses unnecessary.

[Waggons halt. Two of the wounded who have just died are taken

out, laid down by the roadside, and some muddy snow scraped over

them. Exeunt waggons and sergeant.

An interval. More English troops pass on horses, mostly shoeless

and foundered.

Enter SIR JOHN MOORE and officers. MOORE appears on the pale

evening light as a handsome man, far on in the forties, the

orbits of his dark eyes showing marks of deep anxiety. He is

talking to some of his staff with vehement emphasis and gesture.

They cross the scene and go on out of sight, and the squashing

of their horses' hoofs in the snowy mud dies away.]

FIFTH DESERTER (incoherently in his sleep)

Poise fawlocks--open pans--right hands to pouch--handle ca'tridge--

bring it--quick motion-bite top well off--prime--shut pans--cast

about--load---

FIRST DESERTER (throwing a shoe at the sleeper)

Shut up that! D'ye think you are a 'cruity in the awkward squad

still?

SECOND DESERTER

I don't know what he thinks, but I know what I feel! Would that I

were at home in England again, where there's old-fashioned tipple,

and a proper God A'mighty instead of this eternal 'Ooman and baby;

--ay, at home a-leaning against old Bristol Bridge, and no questions

asked, and the winter sun slanting friendly over Baldwin Street as

'a used to do! 'Tis my very belief, though I have lost all sure

reckoning, that if I were there, and in good health, 'twould be New

Year's day about now. What it is over here I don't know. Ay, to-

night we should be a-setting in the tap of the "Adam and Eve"--

lifting up the tune of "The Light o' the Moon." 'Twer a romantical

thing enough. 'A used to go som'at like this (he sings in a nasal

tone):--

"O I thought it had been day,

And I stole from here away;

But it proved to be the light o' the moon!"

[Retreat continues, with infantry in good order. Hearing the

singing, one of the officers looks around, and detaching a patrol

enters the ruined house with the file of men, the body of soldiers

marching on. The inmates of the cellar bury themselves in the

straw. The officer peers about, and seeing no one prods the straw

with his sword.

VOICES (under the straw)

Oh! Hell! Stop it! We'll come out! Mercy! Quarter!

[The lurkers are uncovered.]

OFFICER

If you are well enough to sing bawdy songs, you are well enough to

march. So out of it--or you'll be shot, here and now!

SEVERAL

You may shoot us, captain, or the French may shoot us, or the devil

may take us; we don't care which! Only we can't stir. Pity the

women, captain, but do what you will with us!

[The searchers pass over the wounded, and stir out those capable

of marching, both men and women, so far as they discover them.

They are pricked on by the patrol. Exeunt patrol and deserters

in its charge.

Those who remain look stolidly at the highway. The English Rear-

guard of cavalry crosses the scene and passes out. An interval.

It grows dusk.]

SPIRIT IRONIC

Quaint poesy, and real romance of war!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Mock on, Shade, if thou wilt! But others find

Poesy ever lurk where pit-pats poor mankind!

[The scene is cloaked in darkness.]

SCENE II

THE SAME

[It is nearly midnight. The fugitives who remain in the cellar

having slept off the effects of the wine, are awakened by a new

tramping of cavalry, which becomes more and more persistent. It

is the French, who now fill the road. The advance-guard having

passed by, DELABORDE'S division, LORGE'S division, MERLE'S

division, and others, successively cross the gloom.

Presently come the outlines of the Imperial Guard, and then, with

a start, those in hiding realize their situation, and are wide

awake. NAPOLEON enters with his staff. He has just been overtaken

by a courier, and orders those round him to halt.]

NAPOLEON

Let there a fire be lit: Ay, here and now.

The lines within these letters brook no pause

In mastering their purport.

[Some of the French approach the ruined house and, appropriating

what wood is still left there, heap it by the roadside and set it

alight. A mixed rain and snow falls, and the sputtering flames

throw a glare all round.]

SECOND DESERTER (under his voice)

We be shot corpses! Ay, faith, we be! Why didn't I stick to

England, and true doxology, and leave foreign doxies and their

wine alone! . . . Mate, can ye squeeze another shardful from the

cask there, for I feel my time is come! . . . O that I had but the

barrel of that firelock I throwed away, and that wasted powder to

prime and load! This bullet I chaw to squench my hunger would do

the rest! . . . Yes, I could pick him off now!

FIRST DESERTER

You lie low with your picking off, or he may pick off you! Thank

God the babies are gone. Maybe we shan't be noticed, if we've but

the courage to do nothing, and keep hid.

[NAPOLEON dismounts, approaches the fire, and looks around.]

NAPOLEON

Another of their dead horses here, I see.

OFFICER

Yes, sire. We have counted eighteen hundred odd

From Benavente hither, pistoled thus.

Some we'd to finish for them: headlong haste

Spared them no time for mercy to their brutes.

One-half their cavalry now tramps afoot.

NAPOLEON

And what's the tale of waggons we've picked up?

OFFICER

Spanish and all abandoned, some four hundred;

Of magazines and firelocks, full ten load;

And stragglers and their girls a numerous crew.

NAPOLEON

Ay, devil--plenty those! Licentious ones

These English, as all canting peoples are.--

And prisoners?

OFFICER

Seven hundred English, sire;

Spaniards five thousand more.

NAPOLEON

'Tis not amiss.

To keep the new year up they run away!

(He soliloquizes as he begins tearing open the dispatches.)

Nor Pitt nor Fox displayed such blundering

As glares in this campaign! It is, indeed,

Enlarging Folly to Foolhardiness

To combat France by land! But how expect

Aught that can claim the name of government

From Canning, Castlereagh, and Perceval,

Caballers all--poor sorry politicians--

To whom has fallen the luck of reaping in

The harvestings of Pitt's bold husbandry.

[He unfolds a dispatch, and looks for something to sit on. A cloak

is thrown over a log, and he settles to reading by the firelight.

The others stand round. The light, crossed by the snow-flakes,

flickers on his unhealthy face and stoutening figure. He sinks

into the rigidity of profound thought, till his features lour.]

So this is their reply! They have done with me!

Britain declines negotiating further--

Flouts France and Russia indiscriminately.

"Since one dethrones and keeps as prisoners

The most legitimate kings"--that means myself--

"The other suffers their unworthy treatment

For sordid interests"--that's for Alexander! . . .

And what is Georgy made to say besides?--

"Pacific overtures to us are wiles

Woven to unnerve the generous nations round

Lately escaped the galling yoke of France,

Or waiting so to do. Such, then, being seen,

These tentatives must be regarded now

As finally forgone; and crimson war

Be faced to its fell worst, unflinchingly."

--The devil take their lecture! What am I,

That England should return such insolence?

[He jumps up, furious, and walks to and fro beside the fire.

By and by cooling he sits down again.]

Now as to hostile signs in Austria. . . .

(He breaks another seal and reads.)

Ah,--swords to cross with her some day in spring!

Thinking me cornered over here in Spain

She speaks without disguise, the covert pact

'Twixt her and England owning now quite frankly,

Careless how works its knowledge upon me.

She, England, Germany: well--I can front them!

That there is no sufficient force of French

Between the Elbe and Rhine to prostrate her,

Let new and terrible experience

Soon disillude her of! Yea; she may arm:

The opportunity she late let slip

Will not subserve her now!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Has he no heart-hints that this Austrian court,

Whereon his mood takes mould so masterful,

Is rearing naively in its nursery-room

A future wife for him?

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Thou dost but guess it,

And how should his heart know?

NAPOLEON (opening and reading another dispatch)

Now eastward. Ohe!--

The Orient likewise looms full somberly. . . .

The Turk declines pacifically to yield

What I have promised Alexander. Ah! . . .

As for Constantinople being his prize

I'll see him frozen first. His flight's too high!

And showing that I think so makes him cool. (Rises.)

Is Soult the Duke Dalmatia yet at hand?

OFFICER

He has arrived along the Leon road

Just now, your Majesty; and only waits

The close of your perusals.

[Enter SOULT, who is greeted by NAPOLEON.]

FIRST DESERTER

Good Lord deliver us from all great men, and take me back again to

humble life! That's Marshal Soult the Duke of Dalmatia!

SECOND DESERTER

The Duke of Damnation for our poor rear, by the look on't!

FIRST DESERTER

Yes--he'll make 'em rub their poor rears before he has done with

'em! But we must overtake 'em to-morrow by a cross-cut, please God!

NAPOLEON (pointing to the dispatches)

Here's matter enough for me, Duke, and to spare.

The ominous contents are like the threats

The ancient prophets dealt rebellious Judah!

Austria we soon shall have upon our hands,

And England still is fierce for fighting on,--

Strange humour in a concord-loving land!

So now I must to Paris straight away--

At least, to Valladolid; so as to stand

More apt for couriers than I do out here

In this far western corner, and to mark

The veerings of these new developments,

And blow a counter-breeze. . . .

Then, too, there's Lannes, still sweating at the siege

Of sullen Zaragoza as 'twere hell.

Him I must further counsel how to close

His twice too tedious battery.--You, then, Soult--

Ney is not yet, I gather, quite come up?

SOULT

He's near, sire, on the Benavente road;

But some hours to the rear I reckon, still.

NAPOLEON (pointing to the dispatches)

Him I'll direct to come to your support

In this pursuit and harassment of Moore

Wherein you take my place. You'll follow up

And chase the flying English to the sea.

Bear hard on them, the bayonet at their loins.

With Merle's and Mermet's corps just gone ahead,

And Delaborde's, and Heudelet's here at hand.

While Lorge's and Lahoussaye's picked dragoons

Will follow, and Franceschi's cavalry.

To Ney I am writing, in case of need,

He will support with Marchand and Mathieu.--

Your total thus of seventy thousand odd,

Ten thousand horse, and cannon to five score,

Should near annihilate this British force,

And carve a triumph large in history.

(He bends over the fire and makes some notes rapidly.)

I move into Astorga; then turn back,

(Though only in my person do I turn)

And leave to you the destinies of Spain.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

More turning may be here than he design.

In this small, sudden, swift turn backward, he

Suggests one turning from his apogee!

[The characters disperse, the fire sinks, and snowflakes and

darkness blot out all.]

SCENE III

BEFORE CORUNA

[The town, harbour, and hills at the back are viewed from an

aerial point to the north, over the lighthouse known as the

Tower of Hercules, rising at the extremity of the tongue of

land on which La Coruna stands, the open ocean being in the

spectator's rear.

In the foreground the most prominent feature is the walled old

town, with its white towers and houses, shaping itself aloft

over the harbour. The new town, and its painted fronts, show

bright below, even on this cloudy winter afternoon. Further

off, behind the harbour--now crowded with British transports

of all sizes--is a series of low broken hills, intersected by

hedges and stone walls.

A mile behind these low inner hills is beheld a rocky chain of

outer and loftier heights that completely command the former.

Nothing behind them is seen but grey sky.

DUMB SHOW

On the inner hills aforesaid the little English army--a pathetic

fourteen thousand of foot only--is just deploying into line: HOPE'S

division is on the left, BAIRD'S to the right. PAGET with the

reserve is in the hollow to the left behind them; and FRASER'S

division still further back shapes out on a slight rise to the right.

This harassed force now appears as if composed of quite other than

the men observed in the Retreat insubordinately straggling along

like vagabonds. Yet they are the same men, suddenly stiffened and

grown amenable to discipline by the satisfaction of standing to the

enemy at last. They resemble a double palisade of red stakes, the

only gaps being those that the melancholy necessity of scant numbers

entails here and there.

Over the heads of these red men is beheld on the outer hills the

twenty thousand French that have been pushed along the road at the

heels of the English by SOULT. They have an ominous superiority,

both in position and in their abundance of cavalry and artillery,

over the slender lines of English foot. The left of this background,

facing HOPE, is made up of DELABORDE'S and MERLE'S divisions, while

in a deadly arc round BAIRD, from whom they are divided only by the

village of Elvina, are placed MERMET'S division, LAHOUSSAYE'S and

LORGE'S dragoons, FRANCESCHI'S cavalry, and, highest up of all, a

formidable battery of eleven great guns that rake the whole British

line.

It is now getting on for two o'clock, and a stir of activity has

lately been noticed along the French front. Three columns are

discerned descending from their position, the first towards the

division of SIR DAVID BAIRD, the weakest point in the English line,

the next towards the centre, the third towards the left. A heavy

cannonade from the battery supports this advance.

The clash ensues, the English being swept down in swathes by the

enemy's artillery. The opponents meet face to face at the village

in the valley between them, and the fight there grows furious.

SIR JOHN MOORE is seen galloping to the front under the gloomy sky.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

I seem to vision in San Carlos' garden,

That rises salient in the upper town,

His name, and date, and doing, set within

A filmy outline like a monument,

Which yet is but the insubstantial air.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Read visions as conjectures; not as more.

When MOORE arrives at the front, FRASER and PAGET move to the right,

where the English are most sorely pressed. A grape-shot strikes

off BAIRD'S arm. There is a little confusion, and he is borne to

the rear; while MAJOR NAPIER disappears, a prisoner.

Intelligence of these misfortunes is brought to SIR JOHN MOORE.

He goes further forward, and precedes in person the Forty-second

regiment and a battalion of the Guards who, with fixed bayonets,

bear the enemy back, MOORE'S gestures in cheering them being

notably energetic. Pursuers, pursued, and SIR JOHN himself pass

out of sight behind the hill. Dumb Show ends.

[The point of vision descends to the immediate rear of the

English position. The early January evening has begun to spread

its shades, and shouts of dismay are heard from behind the hill

over which MOORE and the advancing lines have vanished.

Straggling soldiers cross in the gloom.]

FIRST STRAGGLER

He's struck by a cannon-ball, that I know; but he's not killed,

that I pray God A'mighty.

SECOND STRAGGLER

Better he were. His shoulder is knocked to a bag of splinters.

As Sir David was wownded, Sir John was anxious that the right

should not give way, and went forward to keep it firm.

FIRST STRAGGLER

He didn't keep YOU firm, howsomever.

SECOND STRAGGLER

Nor you, for that matter.

FIRST STRAGGLER

Well, 'twas a serious place for a man with no priming-horn, and

a character to lose, so I judged it best to fall to the rear by

lying down. A man can't fight by the regulations without his

priming-horn, and I am none of your slovenly anyhow fighters.

SECOND STRAGGLER

'Nation, having dropped my flit-pouch, I was the same. If you'd

had your priming-horn, and I my flints, mind ye, we should have

been there now? Then, forty-whory, that we are not is the fault

o' Government for not supplying new ones from the reserve!

FIRST STRAGGLER

What did he say as he led us on?

SECOND STRAGGLER

"Forty-second, remember Egypt!" I heard it with my own ears. Yes,

that was his strict testament.

FIRST STRAGGLER

"Remember Egypt." Ay, and I do, for I was there! . . . Upon my

salvation, here's for back again, whether or no!

SECOND STRAGGLER

But here. "Forty-second, remember Egypt," he said in the very

eye of that French battery playing through us. And the next omen

was that he was struck off his horse, and fell on his back to the

ground. I remembered Egypt, and what had just happened too, so

thorough well that I remembered the way over this wall!--Captain

Hardinge, who was close to him, jumped off his horse, and he and

one in the ranks lifted him, and are now bringing him along.

FIRST STRAGGLER

Nevertheless, here's for back again, come what will. Remember

Egypt! Hurrah!

[Exit First straggler. Second straggler ponders, then suddenly

follows First. Enter COLONEL ANDERSON and others hastily.]

AN OFFICER

Now fetch a blanker. He must be carried in.

[Shouts heard.]

COLONEL ANDERSON

That means we are gaining ground! Had fate but left

This last blow undecreed, the hour had shone

A star amid these girdling days of gloom!

[Exit. Enter in the obscurity six soldiers of the Forty-second

bearing MOORE on their joined hands. CAPTAIN HARDINGE walks

beside and steadies him. He is temporarily laid down in the

shelter of a wall, his left shoulder being pounded away, the arm

dangling by a shred of flesh.

Enter COLONEL GRAHAM and CAPTAIN WOODFORD.]

GRAHAM

The wound is more than serious, Woodford, far.

Ride for a surgeon--one of those, perhaps,

Who tend Sir David Baird? (Exit Captain Woodford.)

His blood throbs forth so fast, that I have dark fears

He'll drain to death ere anything can be done!

HARDINGE

I'll try to staunch it--since no skill's in call.

[He takes off his sash and endeavours to bind the wound with it.

MOORE smiles and shakes his head.]

There's not much checking it! Then rent's too gross.

A dozen lives could pass that thoroughfare!

[Enter a soldier with a blanket. They lift MOORE into it. During

the operation the pommel of his sword, which he still wears, is

accidentally thrust into the wound.]

I'll loose the sword--it bruises you, Sir John.

[He begins to unbuckle it.]

MOORE

No. Let it be! One hurt more matters not.

I wish it to go off the field with me.

HARDINGE

I like the sound of that. It augurs well

For your much-hoped recovery.

MOORE (looking sadly at his wound)

Hardinge, no:

Nature is nonplussed there! My shoulder's gone,

And this left side laid open to my lungs.

There's but a brief breath now for me, at most. . . .

Could you--move me along--that I may glimpse

Still how the battle's going?

HARDINGE

Ay, Sir John--

A few yard higher up, where we can see.

[He is borne in the blanket a little way onward, and lifted so

that he can view the valley and the action.]

MOORE (brightly)

They seem to be advancing. Yes, it is so!

[Enter SIR JOHN HOPE.]

Ah, Hope!--I am doing badly here enough;

But they are doing rarely well out there. (Presses HOPE'S hand.)

Don't leave! my speech may flag with this fierce pain,

But you can talk to me.--Are the French checked?

HOPE

My dear friend, they are borne back steadily.

MOORE (his voice weakening)

I hope England--will be satisfied--

I hope my native land--will do me justice! . . .

I shall be blamed for sending Craufurd off

Along the Orense road. But had I not,

Bonaparte would have headed us that way. . . .

HOPE

O would that Soult had but accepted battle

By Lugo town! We should have crushed him there.

MOORE

Yes . . . yes.--But it has never been my lot

To owe much to good luck; nor was it then.

Good fortune has been mine, but (bitterly) mostly so

By the exhaustion of all shapes of bad! . . .

Well, this does not become a dying man;

And others have been chastened more than I

By Him who holds us in His hollowed hand! . . .

I grieve for Zaragoza, if, as said,

The siege goes sorely with her, which it must.

I heard when at Dahagun that late day

That she was holding out heroically.

But I must leave such now.--You'll see my friends

As early as you can? Tell them the whole;

Say to my mother. . . . (His voice fails.)

Hope, Hope, I have so much to charge you with,

But weakness clams my tongue! . . . If I must die

Without a word with Stanhope, ask him, Hope,

To--name me to his sister. You may know

Of what there was between us? . . .

Is Colonel Graham well, and all my aides?

My will I have made--it is in Colborne's charge

With other papers.

HOPE

He's now coming up.

[Enter MAJOR COLBORNE, principal aide-de-camp.]

MOORE

Are the French beaten, Colborne, or repulsed?

Alas! you see what they have done too me!

COLBORNE

I do, Sir John: I am more than sad thereat!

In brief time now the surgeon will be here.

The French retreat--pushed from Elvina far.

MOORE

That's good! Is Paget anywhere about?

COLBORNE

He's at the front, Sir John.

MOORE

Remembrance to him!

[Enter two surgeons.]

Ah, doctors,--you can scarcely mend up me.--

And yet I feel so tough--I have feverish fears

My dying will waste a long and tedious while;

But not too long, I hope!

SURGEONS (after a hasty examination)

You must be borne

In to your lodgings instantly, Sir John.

Please strive to stand the motion--if you can;

They will keep step, and bear you steadily.

MOORE

Anything. . . . Surely fainter ebbs that fire?

COLBORNE

Yes: we must be advancing everywhere:

Colbert their General, too, they have lost, I learn.

[They lift him by stretching their sashes under the blanket, and

begin moving off. A light waggon enters.]

MOORE

Who's in that waggon?

HARDINGE

Colonel Wynch, Sir John.

He's wounded, but he urges you to take it.

MOORE

No. I will not. This suits. . . . Don't come with me;

There's more for you to do out here as yet. (Cheerful shouts.)

A-ha! 'Tis THIS way I have wished to die!

[Exeunt slowly in the twilight MOORE, bearers, surgeons, etc.,

towards Coruna. The scene darkens.]

SCENE IV

CORUNA. NEAR THE RAMPARTS

[It is just before dawn on the following morning, objects being

still indistinct. The features of the elevated enclosure of San

Carlos can be recognized in dim outline, and also those of the

Old Town of Coruna around, though scarcely a lamp is shining.

The numerous transports in the harbour beneath have still their

riding-lights burning.

In a nook of the town walls a lantern glimmers. Some English

soldiers of the Ninth regiment are hastily digging a grave there

with extemporized tools.]

A VOICE (from the gloom some distance off)

"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that

believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live."

[The soldiers look up, and see entering at the further end of the

patch of ground a slow procession. It advances by the light of

lanterns in the hands of some members of it. At moments the fitful

rays fall upon bearers carrying a coffinless body rolled in a

blanket, with a military cloak roughly thrown over by way of pall.

It is brought towards the incomplete grave, and followed by HOPE,

GRAHAM, ANDERSON, COLBORNE, HARDINGE, and several aides-de-camp,

a chaplain preceding.]

FIRST SOLDIER

They are here, almost as quickly as ourselves.

There is no time to dig much deeper now:

Level a bottom just as far's we've got.

He'll couch as calmly in this scrabbled hole

As in a royal vault!

SECOND SOLDIER

Would it had been a foot deeper, here among foreigners, with strange

manures manufactured out of no one knows what! Surely we can give

him another six inches?

FIRST SOLDIER

There is no time. Just make the bottom true.

[The meagre procession approaches the spot, and waits while the

half-dug grave is roughly finished by the men of the Ninth.

They step out of it, and another of them holds a lantern to the

chaplain's book. The winter day slowly dawns.]

CHAPLAIN

"Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is

full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower; he

fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay."

[A gun is fired from the French battery not far off; then another.

The ships in the harbour take in their riding lights.]

COLBORNE (in a low voice)

I knew that dawn would see them open fire.

HOPE

We must perforce make swift use of out time.

Would we had closed our too sad office sooner!

[As the body is lowered another discharge echoes. They glance

gloomily at the heights where the French are ranged, and then

into the grave.]

CHAPLAIN

"We therefore commit his body to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes

to ashes, dust to dust." (Another gun.)

[A spent ball falls not far off. They put out their lanterns.

Continued firing, some shot splashing into the harbour below

them.]

HOPE

In mercy to the living, who are thrust

Upon our care for their deliverance,

And run much hazard till they are embarked,

We must abridge these duties to the dead,

Who will not mind be they abridged or no.

HARDINGE

And could he mind, would be the man to bid it. . . .

HOPE

We shall do well, then, curtly to conclude

These mutilated prayers--our hurried best!--

And what's left unsaid, feel.

CHAPLAIN (his words broken by the cannonade)

" . . . . We give Thee hearty thanks for that it hath pleased

Thee to deliver this our brother out of the miseries of this

sinful world. . . . Who also hath taught us not to be sorry, as

men without hope, for them that sleep in Him. . . . Grant this,

through Jesus Christ our Mediator and Redeemer."

OFFICERS AND SOLDIERS

Amen!

[The diggers of the Ninth hastily fill in the grave, and the scene

shuts as the mournful figures retire.]

SCENE V

VIENNA. A CAFE IN THE STEPHANS-PLATZ

[An evening between light and dark is disclosed, some lamps being

lit. The huge body and tower of St. Stephen's rise into the sky

some way off, the western gleam still touching the upper stonework.

Groups of people are seated at the tables, drinking and reading

the newspapers. One very animated group, which includes an

Englishman, is talking loudly. A citizen near looks up from his

newspaper.]

CITIZEN (to the Englishman)

I read, sir, here, the troubles you discuss

Of your so gallant army under Moore.

His was a spirit baffled but not quelled,

And in his death there shone a stoicism

That lent retreat the rays of victory.

ENGLISHMAN

It was so. While men chide they will admire him,

And frowning, praise. I could nigh prophesy

That the unwonted crosses he has borne

In his career of sharp vicissitude

Will tinct his story with a tender charm,

And grant the memory of his strenuous feats

As long a lease within the minds of men

As conquerors hold there.--Does the sheet give news

Of how the troops reached home?

CITIZEN (looking up again at the paper)

Yes; from your press

It quotes that they arrived at Plymouth Sound

Mid dreadful weather and much suffering.

It states they looked the very ghosts of men,

So heavily had hunger told on them,

And the fatigues and toils of the retreat.

Several were landed dead, and many died

As they were borne along. At Portsmouth, too,

Sir David Baird, still helpless from his wound,

Was carried in a cot, sheet-pale and thin,

And Sir John Hope, lank as a skeleton.--

Thereto is added, with authority,

That a new expedition soon will fit,

And start again for Spain.

ENGLISHMAN

I have heard as much.

CITIZEN

You'll do it next time, sir. And so shall we!

SECOND CITIZEN (regarding the church tower opposite)

You witnessed the High Service over there

They held this morning? (To the Englishman.)

ENGLISHMAN

Ay; I did get in;

Though not without hard striving, such the throng;

But travellers roam to waste who shyly roam

And I pushed like the rest.

SECOND CITIZEN

Our young Archduchess

Maria Louisa was, they tell me, present?

ENGLISHMAN

O yes: the whole Imperial family,

And when the Bishop called all blessings down

Upon the Landwehr colours there displayed,

Enthusiasm touched the sky--she sharing it.

SECOND CITIZEN

Commendable in her, and spirited,

After the graceless insults to the Court

The Paris journals flaunt--not voluntarily,

But by his ordering. Magician-like

He holds them in his fist, and at his squeeze

They bubble what he wills! . . . Yes, she's a girl

Of patriotic build, and hates the French.

Quite lately she was overheard to say

She had met with most convincing auguries

That this year Bonaparte was starred to die.

ENGLISHMAN

Your arms must render its fulfilment sure.

SECOND CITIZEN

Right! And we have the opportunity,

By upping to the war in suddenness,

And catching him unaware. The pink and flower

Of all his veteran troops are now in Spain

Fully engaged with yours; while those he holds

In Germany are scattered far and wide.

FIRST CITIZEN (looking up again from his newspaper)

I see here that he vows and guarantees

Inviolate bounds to all our territories

If we but pledge to carry out forthwith

A prompt disarmament. Since that's his price

Hell burn his guarantees! Too long he has fooled us.

(To the Englishman) I drink, sir, to your land's consistency.

While we and all the kindred Europe States

Alternately have wooed and warred him,

You have not bent to blowing hot and cold,

But held you sturdily inimical!

ENGLISHMAN (laughing)

Less Christian-like forgiveness mellows us

Than Continental souls! (They drink.)

[A band is heard in a distant street, with shouting. Enter third

and fourth citizens, followed by others.]

FIRST CITIZEN

More news afloat?

THIRD AND FOURTH CITIZENS

Yea; an announcement that the Archduke Charles

Is given the chief command.

FIRST, SECOND, ETC., CITIZENS

Huzza! Right so!

[A clinking of glasses, rising from seats, and general enthusiasm.]

SECOND CITIZEN

If war had not so patly been declared,

Our howitzers and firelocks of themselves

Would have gone off to shame us! This forenoon

Some of the Landwehr met me; they are hot

For setting out, though but few months enrolled.

ENGLISHMAN

That moves reflection somewhat. They are young

For measuring with the veteran file of France!

FIRST CITIZEN

Napoleon's army swarms with tender youth,

His last conscription besomed into it

Thousands of merest boys. But he contrives

To mix them in the field with seasoned frames.

SECOND CITIZEN

The sadly-seen mistake this country made

Was that of grounding hostile arms at all.

We should have fought irreconcilably--

Have been consistent as the English are.

The French are our hereditary foes,

And this adventurer of the saucy sword,

This sacrilegious slighter of our shrines,

Stands author of all our ills . . .

Our harvest fields and fruits he trample on,

Accumulating ruin in our land.

Think of what mournings in the last sad war

'Twas his to instigate and answer for!

Time never can efface the glint of tears

In palaces, in shops, in fields, in cots,

From women widowed, sonless, fatherless,

That then oppressed our eyes. There is no salve

For such deep harrowings but to fight again;

The enfranchisement of Europe hangs thereon,

And long she has lingered for the sign to crush him:

That signal we have given; the time is come! (Thumping on the table.)

FIFTH CITIZEN (at another table, looking up from his paper and

speaking across)

I see that Russia has declined to aid us,

And says she knows that Prussia likewise must;

So that the mission of Prince Schwarzenberg

To Alexander's Court has closed in failure.

THIRD CITIZEN

Ay--through his being honest--fatal sin!--

Probing too plainly for the Emperor's ears

His ominous friendship with Napoleon.

ENGLISHMAN

Some say he was more than honest with the Tsar;

Hinting that his becoming an ally

Makes him accomplice of the Corsican

In the unprincipled dark overthrow

Of his poor trusting childish Spanish friends--

Which gave the Tsar offence.

THIRD CITIZEN

And our best bid--

The last, most delicate dish--a tastelessness.

FIRST CITIZEN

What was Prince Schwarzenberg's best bid, I pray?

THIRD CITIZEN

The offer of the heir of Austria's hand

For Alexander's sister the Grand-Duchess.

ENGLISHMAN

He could not have accepted, if or no:

She is inscribed as wife for Bonaparte.

FIRST CITIZEN

I doubt that text!

ENGLISHMAN

Time's context soon will show.

SECOND CITIZEN

The Russian Cabinet can not for long

Resist the ardour of the Russian ranks

To march with us the moment we achieve

Our first loud victory!

[A band is heard playing afar, and shouting. People are seen

hurrying past in the direction of the sounds. Enter sixth

citizen.]

SIXTH CITIZEN

The Archduke Charles

Is passing the Ringstrasse just by now,

His regiment at his heels!

[The younger sitters jump up with animation, and go out, the

elder mostly remaining.]

SECOND CITIZEN

Realm never faced

The grin of a more fierce necessity

For horrid war, than ours at this tense time!

[The sounds of band-playing and huzzaing wane away. Citizens

return.]

FIRST CITIZEN

More news, my friends, of swiftly swelling zeal?

RE-ENTERED CITIZENS

Ere passing down the Ring, the Archduke paused

And gave the soldiers speech, enkindling them

As sunrise a confronting throng of panes

That glaze a many-windowed east facade:

Hot volunteers vamp in from vill and plain--

More than we need in the furthest sacrifice!

FIRST, SECOND, ETC., CITIZENS

Huzza! Right so! Good! Forwards! God be praised!

[They stand up, and a clinking of glasses follows, till they

subside to quietude and a reperusal of newspapers. Nightfall

succeeds. Dancing-rooms are lit up in an opposite street, and

dancing begins. The figures are seen gracefully moving round

to the throbbing strains of a string-band, which plays a new

waltzing movement with a warlike name, soon to spread over

Europe. The dancers sing patriotic words as they whirl. The

night closes over.]

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.