It is an evening in summer following, and at present the chamber is
empty and in gloom. At one end is an elaborate device, representing
Britannia offering her assistance to Spain, and at the other a
figure of Time crowning the Spanish Patriots' flag with laurel.]
SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
O clarionists of human welterings,
Relate how Europe's madding movement brings
This easeful haunt into the path of palpitating things!
RUMOURS (chanting)
The Spanish King has bowed unto the Fate
Which bade him abdicate:
The sensual Queen, whose passionate caprice
Has held her chambering with "the Prince of Peace,"
And wrought the Bourbon's fall,
Holds to her Love in all;
And Bonaparte has ruled that his and he
Henceforth displace the Bourbon dynasty.
II
The Spanish people, handled in such sort,
As chattels of a Court,
Dream dreams of England. Messengers are sent
In secret to the assembled Parliament,
In faith that England's hand
Will stouten them to stand,
And crown a cause which, hold they, bond and free
Must advocate enthusiastically.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
So the Will heaves through Space, and moulds the times,
With mortals for Its fingers! We shall see
Again men's passions, virtues, visions, crimes,
Obey resistlessly
The purposive, unmotived, dominant Thing
Which sways in brooding dark their wayfaring!
[The reception room is lighted up, and the hostess comes in. There
arrive Ambassadors and their wives, the Dukes and Duchesses of
RUTLAND and SOMERSET, the Marquis and Marchioness of STAFFORD,
the Earls of STAIR, WESTMORELAND, GOWER, ESSEX, Viscounts and
Viscountesses CRANLEY and MORPETH, Viscount MELBOURNE, Lord and
Lady KINNAIRD, Baron de ROLLE, Lady CHARLES GRENVILLE, the Ladies
CAVENDISH, Mr. and Mrs. THOMAS HOPE, MR. GUNNING, MRS. FITZHERBERT,
and many other notable personages. Lastly, she goes to the door
to welcome severally the PRINCE OF WALES, the PRINCES OF FRANCE,
and the PRINCESS CASTELCICALA.]
LADY SALISBURY (to the Prince of Wales)
I am sorry to say, sir, that the Spanish Patriots are not yet
arrived. I doubt not but that they have been delayed by their
ignorance of the town, and will soon be here.
PRINCE OF WALES
No hurry whatever, my dear hostess. Gad, we've enough to talk about!
I understand that the arrangement between our ministers and these
noblemen will include the liberation of Spanish prisoners in this
country, and the providing 'em with arms, to go back and fight for
their independence.
LADY SALISBURY
It will be a blessed event if they do check the career of this
infamous Corsican. I have just heard that that poor foreigner
Guillet de la Gevrilliere, who proposed to Mr. Fox to assassinate
him, died a miserable death a few days ago the Bicetre - probably
by torture, though nobody knows. Really one almost wishes Mr. Fox
had - -. O here they are!
[Enter the Spanish Viscount de MATEROSA, and DON DIEGO de la VEGA.
They are introduced by CAPTAIN HILL and MR. BAGOT, who escort them.
LADY SALISBURY presents them to the PRINCE and others.]
PRINCE OF WALES
By gad, Viscount, we were just talking of 'ee. You had some
adventures in getting to this country?
MATEROSA (assisted by Bagot as interpreter)
Sir, it has indeed been a trying experience for us. But here we
are, impressed by a deep sense of gratitude for the signal marks of
attachment your country has shown us.
PRINCE OF WALES
You represent, practically, the Spanish people?
MATEROSA
We are immediately deputed, sir,
By the Assembly of Asturias,
More sailing soon from other provinces.
We bring official writings, charging us
To clinch and solder Treaties with this realm
That may promote our cause against the foe.
Nextly a letter to your gracious King;
Also a Proclamation, soon to sound
And swell the pulse of the Peninsula,
Declaring that the act by which King Carlos
And his son Prince Fernando cede the throne
To whomsoever Napoleon may appoint,
Being an act of cheatery, not of choice,
Unfetters us from our allegiant oath.
MRS. FITZHERBERT
The usurpation began, I suppose, with the divisions in the Royal
Family?
MATEROSA
Yes, madam, and the protection they foolishly requested from the
Emperor; and their timid intent of flying secretly helped it on.
It was an opportunity he had been awaiting for years.
MRS. FITZHERBERT
All brought about by this man Godoy, Prince of Peace!
PRINCE OF WALES
Dash my wig, mighty much you know about it, Maria! Why, sure,
Boney thought to himself, "This Spain is a pretty place; 'twill
just suit me as an extra acre or two; so here goes."
DON DIEGO (aside to Bagot)
This lady is the Princess of Wales?
BAGOT
Hsh! no, Senor. The Princess lives at large at Kensington and
other places, and has parties of her own, and doesn't keep house
with her husband. This lady is - well, really his wife, you know,
in the opinion of many; but - -
DON DIEGO
Ah! Ladies a little mixed, as they were at our Court! She's the
Pepa Tudo to THIS Prince of Peace?
BAGOT
O no - not exactly that, Senor.
DON DIEGO
Ya, ya. Good. I'll be careful, my friend. You are not saints in
England more than we are in Spain!
BAGOT
We are not. Only you sin with naked faces, and we with masks on.
DON DIEGO
Virtuous country!
DUCHESS OF RUTLAND
It was understood that Ferdinand, Prince of Asturias, was to marry
a French princess, and so unite the countries peacefully?
MATEROSA
It was. And our credulous prince was tempted to meet Napoleon at
Bayonne. Also the poor simple King, and the infatuated Queen, and
Manuel Godoy.
DUCHESS OF RUTLAND
Then Godoy escaped from Aranjuez?
MATEROSA
Yes, by hiding in the garret. Then they all threw themselves
upon Napoleon's protection. In his presence the Queen swore
that the King was not Fernando's father! Altogether they form
a queer little menagerie. What will happen to them nobody knows.
PRINCE OF WALES
And do you wish us to send an army at once?
MATEROSA
What we most want, sir, are arms and ammunition. But we leave the
English Ministry to co-operate in its own wise way, anyhow, so as
to sustain us in resenting these insults from the Tyrant of the
Earth.
DUCHESS OF RUTLAND (to the Prince of Wales)
What sort of aid shall we send, sir?
PRINCE OF WALES
We are going to vote fifty millions, I hear. We'll whack him,
and preserve your noble country for 'ee, Senor Viscount. The
debate thereon is to come off to-morrow. It will be the finest
thing the Commons have had since Pitt's time. Sheridan, who is
open to it, says he and Canning are to be absolutely unanimous;
and, by God, like the parties in his "Critic," when Government
and Opposition do agree, their unanimity is wonderful! Viscount
Materosa, you and your friends must be in the Gallery. O, dammy,
you must!
MATEROSA
Sir, we are already pledged to be there.
PRINCE OF WALES
And hark ye, Senor Viscount. You will then learn what a mighty
fine thing a debate in the English Parliament is! No Continental
humbug there. Not but that the Court has a trouble to keep 'em
in their places sometimes; and I would it had been one in the
Lords instead. However, Sheridan says he has been learning his
speech these two days, and has hunted his father's dictionary
through for some stunning long words. - Now, Maria (to Mrs.
Fitzherbert), I am going home.
LADY SALISBURY
At last, then, England will take her place in the forefront of
this mortal struggle, and in pure disinterestedness fight with
all her strength for the European deliverance. God defend the
right!
[The Prince of Wales leaves, and the other guests begin to
depart.]
SEMICHORUS I OF THE YEARS (aerial music)
Leave this glib throng to its conjecturing,
And let four burdened weeks uncover what they bring!
SEMICHORUS II
The said Debate, to wit; its close in deed;
Till England stands enlisted for the Patriots' needs.
SEMICHORUS I
And transports in the docks gulp down their freight
Of buckled fighting-flesh, and gale-bound, watch and wait.
SEMICHORUS II
Till gracious zephyrs shoulder on their sails
To where the brine of Biscay moans its tragic tales.
CHORUS
Bear we, too, south, as we were swallow-vanned,
And mark the game now played there by the Master-hand!
[The reception-chamber is shut over by the night without, and
the point of view rapidly recedes south, London and its streets
and lights diminishing till they are lost in the distance, and
its noises being succeeded by the babble of the Channel and
Biscay waves.]
SCENE IV
MADRID AND ITS ENVIRONS
[The view is from the housetops of the city on a dusty evening
in this July, following a day of suffocating heat. The sunburnt
roofs, warm ochreous walls, and blue shadows of the capital,
wear their usual aspect except for a few feeble attempts at
decoration.]
DUMB SHOW
Gazers gather in the central streets, and particularly in the
Puerta del Sol. They show curiosity, but no enthusiasm. Patrols
of French soldiery move up and down in front of the people, and
seem to awe them into quietude.
There is a discharge of artillery in the outskirts, and the church
bells begin ringing; but the peals dwindle away to a melancholy
jangle, and then to silence. Simultaneously, on the northern
horizon of the arid, unenclosed, and treeless plain swept by the
eye around the city, a cloud of dust arises, and a Royal procession
is seen nearing. It means the new king, JOSEPH BONAPARTE.
He comes on, escorted by a clanking guard of four thousand Italian
troops, and the brilliant royal carriage is followed by a hundred
coaches bearing his suite. As the procession enters the city many
houses reveal themselves to be closed, many citizens leave the
route and walk elsewhere, while may of those who remain turn their
backs upon the spectacle.
KING JOSEPH proceeds thus through the Plaza Oriente to the granite-
walled Royal Palace, where he alights and is received by some of
the nobility, the French generals who are in occupation there, and
some clergy. Heralds emerge from the Palace, and hasten to divers
points in the city, where trumpets are blown and the Proclamation
of JOSEPH as KING OF SPAIN is read in a loud voice. It is received
in silence.
The sunsets, and the curtain falls.
SCENE V
THE OPEN SEA BETWEEN THE ENGLISH COASTS AND THE SPANISH PENINSULA
[From high aloft, in the same July weather, and facing east, the
vision swoops over the ocean and its coast-lines, from Cork
Harbour on the extreme left, to Mondego Bay, Portugal, on the
extreme right. Land's End and the Scilly Isles, Ushant and Cape
Finisterre, are projecting features along the middle distance
of the picture, and the English Channel recedes endwise as a
tapering avenue near the centre.]
DUMB SHOW
Four groups of moth-like transport ships are discovered silently
skimming this wide liquid plain. The first group, to the right,
is just vanishing behind Cape Mondego to enter Mondego Bay; the
second, in the midst, has come out from Plymouth Sound, and is
preparing to stand down Channel; the third is clearing St. Helen's
point for the same course; and the fourth, much further up Channel,
is obviously to follow on considerably in the rear of the two
preceding. A south-east wind is blowing strong, and, according to
the part of their course reached, they either sail direct with the
wind on their larboard quarter, or labour forward by tacking in
zigzags.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
What are these fleets that cross the sea
From British ports and bays
To coasts that glister southwardly
Behind the dog-day haze?
RUMOURS (chanting)
SEMICHORUS I
They are the shipped battalions sent
To bar the bold Belligerent
Who stalks the Dancers' Land.
Within these hulls, like sheep a-pen,
Are packed in thousands fighting-men
And colonels in command.
SEMICHORUS II
The fleet that leans each aery fin
Far south, where Mondego mouths in,
Bears Wellesley and his aides therein,
And Hill, and Crauford too;
With Torrens, Ferguson, and Fane,
And majors, captains, clerks, in train,
And those grim needs that appertain -
The surgeons - not a few!
To them add twelve thousand souls
In linesmen that the list enrolls,
Borne onward by those sheeted poles
As war's red retinue!
SEMICHORUS I
The fleet that clears St. Helen's shore
Holds Burrard, Hope, ill-omened Moore,
Clinton and Paget; while
The transports that pertain to those
Count six-score sail, whose planks enclose
Ten thousand rank and file.
SEMICHORUS II
The third-sent ships, from Plymouth Sound,
With Acland, Anstruther, impound
Souls to six thousand strong.
While those, the fourth fleet, that we see
Far back, are lined with cavalry,
And guns of girth, wheeled heavily
To roll the routes along.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
Enough, and more, of inventories and names!
Many will fail; many earn doubtful fames.
Await the fruitage of their acts and aims.
DUMB SHOW (continuing)
In the spacious scene visible the far-separated groups of
transports, convoyed by battleships, float on before the wind
almost imperceptibly, like preened duck-feathers across a pond.
The southernmost expedition, under SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY, soon
comes to anchor within the Bay of Mondego aforesaid, and the
soldiery are indefinitely discernible landing upon the beach
from boats. Simultaneously the division commanded by MOORE, as
yet in the Chops of the channel, is seen to be beaten back by
contrary winds. It gallantly puts to sea again, and being joined
by the division under ANSTRUTHER that has set out from Plymouth,
labours round Ushant, and stands to the south in the track of
WELLESLEY. The rearward transports do the same.
A moving stratum of summer cloud beneath the point of view covers
up the spectacle like an awning.
SCENE VI
ST. CLOUD. THE BOUDOIR OF JOSEPHINE
[It is the dusk of evening in the latter summer of this year,
and from the windows at the back of the stage, which are still
uncurtained, can be seen the EMPRESS with NAPOLEON and some
ladies and officers of the Court playing Catch-me-if-you-can by
torchlight on the lawn. The moving torches throw bizarre lights
and shadows into the apartment, where only a remote candle or two
are burning.
Enter JOSEPHINE and NAPOLEON together, somewhat out of breath.
With careless suppleness she slides down on a couch and fans
herself. Now that the candle-rays reach her they show her mellow
complexion, her velvety eyes with long lashes, mouth with pointed
corners and excessive mobility beneath its _duvet_, and curls of
dark hair pressed down upon the temples by a gold band.
The EMPEROR drops into a seat near her, and they remain in silence
till he jumps up, knocks over some nicknacks with his elbow, and
begins walking about the boudoir.]
NAPOLEON (with sudden gloom)
These mindless games are very well, my friend;
But ours to-night marks, not improbably,
The last we play together.
JOSEPHINE (starting)
Can you say it!
Why raise that ghastly nightmare on me now,
When, for a moment, my poor brain had dreams
Denied it all the earlier anxious day?
NAPOLEON
Things that verge nigh, my simple Josephine,
Are not shoved off by wilful winking at.
Better quiz evils with too strained an eye
Than have them leap from disregarded lairs.
JOSEPHINE
Maybe 'tis true, and you shall have it so! -
Yet there's no joy save sorrow waived awhile.
NAPOLEON
Ha, ha! That's like you. Well, each day by day
I get sour news. Each hour since we returned
From this queer Spanish business at Bayonne,
I have had nothing else; and hence by brooding.
JOSEPHINE
But all went well throughout our touring-time?
NAPOLEON
Not so - behind the scenes. Our arms a Baylen
Have been smirched badly. Twenty thousand shamed
All through Dupont's ill-luck! The selfsame day
My brother Joseph's progress to Madrid
Was glorious as a sodden rocket's fizz!
Since when his letters creak with querulousness.
"Napoleon el chico" 'tis they call him -
"Napoleon the Little," so he says.
Then notice Austria. Much looks louring there,
And her sly new regard for England grows.
The English, next, have shipped an army down
To Mondego, under one Wellesley,
A man from India, and his march is south
To Lisbon, by Vimiero. On he'll go
And do the devil's mischief ere he is met
By unaware Junot, and chevyed back
To English fogs and fumes!
JOSEPHINE
My dearest one,
You have mused on worse reports with better grace
Full many and many a time. Ah - there is more! . . .
I know; I know!
NAPOLEON (kicking away a stool)
There is, of course; that worm
Time ever keeps in hand for gnawing me! -
The question of my dynasty - which bites
Closer and closer as the years wheel on.
JOSEPHINE
Of course it's that! For nothing else could hang
My lord on tenterhooks through nights and days; -
Or rather, not the question, but the tongues
That keep the question stirring. Nought recked you
Of throne-succession or dynastic lines
When gloriously engaged in Italy!
I was your fairy then: they labelled me
Your Lady of Victories; and much I joyed,
Till dangerous ones drew near and daily sowed
These choking tares within your fecund brain, -
Making me tremble if a panel crack,
Or mouse but cheep, or silent leaf sail down,
And murdering my melodious hours with dreads
That my late happiness, and my late hope,
Will oversoon be knelled!
NAPOLEON (genially nearing her)
But years have passed since first we talked of it,
And now, with loss of dear Hortense's son
Who won me as my own, it looms forth more.
And selfish 'tis in my good Josephine
To blind her vision to the weal of France,
And this great Empire's solidarity.
The grandeur of your sacrifice would gild
Your life's whole shape.
JOSEPHINE
Were I as coarse a wife
As I am limned in English caricature -
(Those cruel effigies they draw of me!) -
You could not speak more aridly.
NAPOLEON
Nay, nay!
You know, my comrade, how I love you still
Were there a long-notorious dislike
Betwixt us, reason might be in your dreads
But all earth knows our conjugality.
There's not a bourgeois couple in the land
Who, should dire duty rule their severance,
Could part with scanter scandal than could we.
JOSEPHINE (pouting)
Nevertheless there's one.
NAPOLEON
A scandal? What?
JOSEPHINE
Madame Walewska! How could you pretend
When, after Jena, I'd have come to you,
"The weather was so wild, the roads so rough,
That no one of my sex and delicate nerve
Could hope to face the dangers and fatigues."
Yes - so you wrote me, dear. They hurt not her!
NAPOLEON (blandly)
She was a week's adventure - not worth words!
I say 'tis France. - I have held out for years
Against the constant pressure brought on me
To null this sterile marriage.
JOSEPHINE (bursting into sobs)
Me you blame!
But how know you that you are not the culprit?
NAPOLEON
I have reason so to know - if I must say.
The Polish lady you have chosen to name
Has proved the fault not mine. (JOSEPHINE sobs more violently.)
Don't cry, my cherished;
It is not really amiable of you,
Or prudent, my good little Josephine,
With so much in the balance.
JOSEPHINE
How - know you -
What may not happen! Wait a - little longer!
NAPOLEON (playfully pinching her arm)
O come, now, my adored! Haven't I already!
Nature's a dial whose shade no hand puts back,
Trick as we may! My friend, you are forty-three
This very year in the world - (JOSEPHINE breaks out sobbing again.)
And in vain it is
To think of waiting longer; pitiful
To dream of coaxing shy fecundity
To an unlikely freak by physicking
With superstitious drugs and quackeries
That work you harm, not good. The fact being so,
I have looked it squarely down - against my heart!
Solicitations voiced repeatedly
At length have shown the soundness of their shape,
And left me no denial. You, at times,
My dear one, have been used to handle it.
My brother Joseph, years back, frankly gave
His honest view that something should be done;
And he, you well know, shows no ill tinct
In his regard of you.
JOSEPHINE
And what princess?
NAPOLEON
For wiving with? No thought was given to that,
She shapes as vaguely as the Veiled -
JOSEPHINE
No, no;
It's Alexander's sister, I'm full sure! -
But why this craze for home-made manikins
And lineage mere of flesh? You have said yourself
It mattered not. Great Caesar, you declared,
Sank sonless to his rest; was greater deemed
Even for the isolation. Frederick
Saw, too, no heir. It is the fate of such,
Often, to be denied the common hope
As fine for fulness in the rarer gifts
That Nature yields them. O my husband long,
Will you not purge your soul to value best
That high heredity from brain to brain
Which supersedes mere sequence of blood,
That often vary more from sire to son
Than between furthest strangers! . . .
Napoleon's offspring in his like must lie;
The second of his line be he who shows
Napoleon's soul in later bodiment,
The household father happening as he may!
NAPOLEON (smilingly wiping her eyes)
Little guessed I my dear would prove her rammed
With such a charge of apt philosophy
When tutoring me gay arts in earlier times!
She who at home coquetted through the years
In which I vainly penned her wishful words
To come and comfort me in Italy,
Might, faith, have urged it then effectually!
But never would you stir from Paris joys, (With some bitterness.)
And so, when arguments like this could move me,
I heard them not; and get them only now
When their weight dully falls. But I have said
'Tis not for me, but France - Good-bye an hour. (Kissing her.)
I must dictate some letters. This new move
Of England on Madrid may mean some trouble.
Come, dwell not gloomily on this cold need
Of waiving private joy for policy.
We are but thistle-globes on Heaven's high gales,
And whither blown, or when, or how, or why,
Can choose us not at all! . . .
I'll come to you anon, dear: staunch Roustan
Will light me in.
[Exit NAPOLEON. The scene shuts in shadow.]
SCENE VII
VIMIERO
[A village among the hills of Portugal, about fifty miles north
of Lisbon. Around it are disclosed, as ten on Sunday morning
strikes, a blue army of fourteen thousand men in isolated columns,
and red army of eighteen thousand in line formation, drawn up in
order of battle. The blue army is a French one under JUNOT; the
other an English one under SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY - portion of that
recently landed.
The August sun glares on the shaven faces, white gaiters, and
white cross-belts of the English, who are to fight for their
lives while sweating under a quarter-hundredweight in knapsack
and pouches, and with firelocks heavy as putlogs. They occupy
a group of heights, but their position is one of great danger,
the land abruptly terminating two miles behind their backs in
lofty cliffs overhanging the Atlantic. The French occupy the
valleys in the English front, and this distinction between the
two forces strikes the eye - the red army is accompanied by scarce
any cavalry, while the blue is strong in that area.]
DUMB SHOW
The battle is begun with alternate moves that match each other like
those of a chess opening. JUNOT makes an oblique attack by moving
a division to his right; WELLESLEY moves several brigades to his
left to balance it.
A column of six thousand French then climbs the hill against the
English centre, and drives in those who are planted there. The
English artillery checks its adversaries, and the infantry recover
and charge the baffled French down the slopes. Meanwhile the
latter's cavalry and artillery are attacking the village itself,
and, rushing on a few squadrons of English dragoons stationed there,
cut them to pieces. A dust is raised by this ado, and moans of men
and shrieks of horses are heard. Close by the carnage the little
Maceira stream continues to trickle unconcernedly to the sea.
On the English left five thousand French infantry, having ascended
to the ridge and maintained a stinging musket-fire as sharply
returned, are driven down by the bayonets of six English regiments.
Thereafter a brigade of the French, the northernmost, finding that
the others have pursued to the bottom and are resting after the
effort, surprise them and bayonet them back to their original summit.
The see-saw is continued by the recovery of the English, who again
drive their assailants down.
The French army pauses stultified, till, the columns uniting, they
fall back toward the opposite hills. The English, seeing that their
chance has come, are about to pursue and settle the fortunes of the
day. But a messenger dispatched from a distant group is marked
riding up to the large-nosed man with a telescope and an Indian
sword who, his staff around him, has been directing the English
movements. He seems astonished at the message, appears to resent
it, and pauses with a gloomy look. But he sends countermands to his
generals, and the pursuit ends abortively.
The French retreat without further molestation by a circuitous march
into the great road to Torres Vedras by which they came, leaving
nearly two thousand dead and wounded on the slopes they have quitted.
Dumb Show ends and the curtain draws.
ACT THIRD
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