Part 17
[The EMPEROR gets excited, and his face perspires. At length he cannot watch through his glass, and walks up and down.]
Penned useless here my nerves annoy my sight! Inform me what you note.--I should opine The Wagram height behind impregnable?
[Another silence, broken by the distant roar of the guns.]
OFFICER
Klenau and Kollowrath are pounding on! To turn the enemy's left with our strong right Is, after all, a plan that works out well. Hiller and Lichtenstein conjoin therein.
FRANCIS
I hear from thence appalling cannonades.
OFFICER
'Tis their, your Majesty. Now we shall see If the French read that there the danger lies.
FRANCIS
I only pray that Bonaparte refrain From spying danger there till all too late!
OFFICER [involuntarily, after a pause]
Ah, Heaven!
FRANCIS [turning sharply]
Well, well? What changes figure now?
OFFICER
They pierce our centre, sire! We are, despite, Not centrally so weak as I supposed. Well done, Bellegarde!
FRANCIS [glancing to the centre]
And what has he well done?
OFFICER
The French in fierce fume broke through Aderklaa; But Bellegarde, pricking along the plain behind, Has charged and driven them back disorderly. The Archduke Charles bounds thither, as I shape, In person to support him!
[The EMPEROR returns to his spyglass; and they and others watch in silence, sometimes the right of their front, sometimes the centre.]
FRANCIS
It is so! That the right attack of ours spells victory, And Austria's grand salvation!... [Times passes.] Turn your glass, And closely scan Napoleon and his aides Hand-galloping towards his centre-left To strengthen it against the brave Bellegarde. Does your eye reach him?--That white horse, alone In front of those that move so rapidly.
OFFICER
It does, sire; though my glass can conjure not So cunningly as yours.... that horse must be The famed Euphrates--him the Persian king Sent Bonaparte as gift.
[A silence. NAPOLEON reaches a carriage that is moving across. It bears MASSENA, who, having received a recent wound, in unable to ride.]
FRANCIS
See, the white horse and horseman pause beside A coach for some strange reason rolling there.... That white-horsed rider--yes!--is Bonaparte, By the aides hovering round.... New war-wiles have been worded; we shall spell Their purport soon enough! [An interval.] The French take heart To stand to our battalions steadfastly, And hold their ground, having the Emperor near!
[Time passes. An aide-de-camp enters.]
AIDE
The Archduke Charles is pierced in the shoulder, sire; He strove too far in beating back the French At Aderklaa, and was nearly ta'en. The wound's not serious.--On our right we win, And deem the battle ours.
[Enter another aide-de-camp.]
SECOND AIDE
Your Majesty, We have borne them back through Aspern village-street And Essling is recovered. What counts more, Their bridges to the rear we have nearly grasped, And panic-struck they crowd the few left free, Choking the track, with cries of “All is lost!”
FRANCIS
Then is the land delivered. God be praised!
[Exeunt aides. An interval, during which the EMPEROR and his companions again remain anxiously at their glasses.]
There is a curious feature I discern To have come upon the battle. On our right We gain ground rapidly; towards the left We lose it; and the unjudged consequence Is that the armies; whole commingling mass Moves like a monstrous wheel. I like it not!
[Enter another aide-de-camp.]
THIRD AIDE
Our left wing, sire, recedes before Davout, Whom nothing can withstand! Two corps he threw Across the Russbach up to Neusiedel, While he himself assailed the place in front. Of the divisions one pressed on and on, Till lodged atop. They would have been hurled back---
FRANCIS
But how goes it with us in sum? pray say!
THIRD AIDE
We have been battered off the eastern side Of Wagram plateau.
FRANCIS
Where's the Archduke John? Why comes he not? One man of his here now Were worth a host anon. And yet he tarries!
[Exit third aide. Time passes, while they reconnoitre the field with strained eyes.]
Our centre-right, it seems, round Neusiedel, Is being repulsed! May the kind Heaven forbid That Hesse Homberg should be yielding there!
[The Minister in attendance comes forward, and the EMPEROR consults him; then walking up and down in silence. Another aide-de-camp enters.]
FOURTH AIDE
Sire, Neusiedel has just been wrenched from us, And the French right is on the Wagram crest; Nordmann has fallen, and Veczay: Hesse Homberg, Warteachben, Muger--almost all our best-- Bleed more or less profusely!
[A gloomy silence. Exit fourth side. Ten minutes pass. Enter an officer in waiting.]
FRANCIS
What guns are those that groan from Wagram height?
OFFICER
Alas, Davout's! I have climbed the roof-top, sire, And there discerned the truth.
[Cannonade continues. A long interval of suspense. The EMPEROR returns to his glass.]
FRANCIS
A part of it! There seems to be a grim, concerted lunge By the whole strength of France upon our right, Centre, and left wing simultaneously!
OFFICER
Most viciously upon the centre, sire, If I mistook not, hard by Sussenbrunn; The assault is led by Bonaparte in person, Who shows himself with marvellous recklessness, Yet like a phantom-fiend receives no hurt.
FRANCIS [still gazing]
Ha! Now the Archduke Charles has seen the intent, And taken steps against it. Sussenbrunn Must be the threatened thing. [Silence.] What an advance!-- Straight hitherward. Our centre girdles them.-- Surely they'll not persist? Who heads that charge?
OFFICER
They say Macdonald, sire.
FRANCIS
Meagrest remains Will there be soon of those in that advance! We are burning them to bones by our hot fire. They are almost circumscribed: if fully so The battle's ours! What's that behind them, eh?
OFFICER
Their last reserves, that they may feed the front, And sterilize our hope!
FRANCIS
Yes, their reserve-- Dragoons and cuirassiers--charge in support. You see their metal gleaming as they come. Well, it is neck or nothing for them now!
OFFICER
It's nothing, sire. Their charge of cavalry Has desperately failed.
FRANCIS
Their foot press on, However, with a battery in front Which deals the foulest damage done us yet. [Time passes.] They ARE effecting lodgment, after all. Who would have reckoned on't--our men so firm!
[Re-enter first aide-de-camp.]
FIRST AIDE
The Archduke Charles retreats, your majesty; And the issue wears a dirty look just now.
FRANCIS [gloomily]
Yes: I have seen the signs for some good while. But he retreats with blows, and orderly.
[Time passes, till the sun has rounded far towards the west. The features of the battle now materially change. The French have regained Aspern and Essling; the Austrian army is doubled back from the Danube and from the heights of Wagram, which, as viewed from Wolkersdorf, face the afternoon shine, the French established thereon glittering in the rays.
FRANCIS [choking a sigh]
The turn has passed. We are worsted, but not overwhelmed!... The French advance is laboured, and but slow. --This might have been another-coloured day If but the Archduke John had joined up promptly; Yet still he lags!
ANOTHER OFFICER [lately entered]
He's just now coming, sire. His columns glimmer in the Frenchmen's rear. Past Siebenbrunn's and Loebensdorf's smoked hills.
FRANCIS [impatiently]
Ay--coming NOW! Why could he not be COME!
[They watch intently.]
We can see nothing of that side from here.
[Enter a general officer, who speaks to the Minister at the back of the room.]
MINISTER [coming forward]
Your Majesty, I now have to suggest, Pursuant to conclusions reached this morn, That since the front and flower of all our force Is seen receding to the Bisamberg, These walls no longer yield safe shade for you, Or facile outlook. Scouts returning say Either Davout, or Bonaparte himself, With the mid-columns of his forward corps, Will bear up hitherward in fierce pursuit, And may intrude beneath this very roof. Not yet, I think; it may not be to-night; But we should stand prepared.
FRANCIS
If we must go We'll go with a good grace, unfeignedly! Who knows to-morrow may not see regained What we have lost to-day?
[Re-enter fourth aide-de-camp.]
FOURTH AIDE [breathlessly]
The Archduke John, Discerning our main musters in retreat, Abandons an advance that throws on him The enemy's whole brunt if he bear on.
FRANCIS
Alas for his devotion! Let us go. Such weight of sadness as we shoulder now Will wring us down to sleep in stall or stye, If even that be found!... Think! Bonaparte, By reckless riskings of his life and limb, Has turned the steelyard of our strength to-day Whilst I have idled here!... May brighter times Attend the cause of Europe far in Spain, And British blood flow not, as ours, in vain!
[Exeunt the EMPEROR FRANCIS, minister, officers, and attendants. The night comes, and the scene is obscured.]
## SCENE IV
THE FIELD OF TALAVERA
[It is the same month and weather as in the preceding scene.
Talavera town, on the river Tagus, is at the extreme right of the foreground; a mountain range on the extreme left.
The allied army under SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY stretches between--the English on the left, the Spanish on the right--part holding a hill to the left-centre of the scene, divided from the mountains by a valley, and part holding a redoubt to the right-centre. This army of more than fifty thousand all told, of which twenty-two thousand only are English, has its back to the spectator.
Beyond, in a wood of olive, oak, and cork, are the fifty to sixty thousand French, facing the spectator and the allies. Their right includes a strong battery upon a hill which fronts the one on the English left.
Behind all, the heights of Salinas close the prospect, the small river Alberche flowing at their foot from left to right into the Tagus, which advances in foreshortened perspective to the town at the right front corner of the scene as aforesaid.]
DUMB SHOW
The hot and dusty July afternoon having turned to twilight, shady masses of men start into motion from the French position, come towards the foreground, silently ascend the hill on the left of the English, and assail the latter in a violent outburst of fire and lead. They nearly gain possession of the hill ascended.
CHORUS OF RUMOURS [aerial music]
Talavera tongues it as ten o' the night-time: Now come Ruffin's slaughterers surging upward, Backed by bold Vilatte's! From the vale Lapisse, too, Darkly outswells there!
Down the vague veiled incline the English fling them, Bended bayonets prodding opponents backward: So the first fierce charge of the ardent Frenchmen England repels there!
Having fallen back into the darkness the French presently reascend in yet larger masses. The high square knapsack which every English foot-soldier carries, and his shako, and its tuft, outline themselves against the dim light as the ranks stand awaiting the shock.
CHORUS OF RUMOURS
Pushing spread they!--shout as they reach the summit!-- Strength and stir new-primed in their plump battalions: Puffs of barbed flame blown on the lines opposing Higher and higher.
There those hold them mute, though at speaking distance-- Mute, while clicking flints, and the crash of volleys Whelm the weighted gloom with immense distraction Pending their fire.
Fronting heads, helms, brows can each ranksman read there, Epaulettes, hot cheeks, and the shining eyeball, [Called a trice from gloom by the fleeting pan-flash] Pressing them nigher!
The French again fall back in disorder into the hollow, and LAPISSE draws off on the right. As the sinking sound of the muskets tells what has happened the English raise a shout.
CHORUS OF PITIES
Thus the dim nocturnal embroil of conflict Closes with the roar of receding gun-fire. Harness loosened then, and their day-long strenuous Temper unbending,
Worn-out lines lie down where they late stood staunchly-- Cloaks around them rolled--by the bivouac embers: There at dawn to stake in the dynasts' death-game All, till the ending!
## SCENE V
THE SAME
DUMB SHOW [continued]
The morning breaks. There is another murderous attempt to dislodge the English from the hill, the assault being pressed with a determination that excites the admiration of the English themselves.
The French are seen descending into the valley, crossing it, and climbing it on the English side under the fire of HILL'S whole division, all to no purpose. In their retreat they leave behind them on the slopes nearly two thousand lying.
The day advances to noon, and the air trembles in the intense heat. The combat flags, and is suspended.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
What do I see but thirsty, throbbing bands From these inimic hosts defiling down In homely need towards the little stream That parts their enmities, and drinking there! They get to grasping hands across the rill, Sealing their sameness as earth's sojourners.-- What more could plead the wryness of the time Than such unstudied piteous pantomimes!
SPIRIT IRONIC
It is only that Life's queer mechanics chance to work out in this grotesque shape just now. The groping tentativeness of an Immanent Will [as grey old Years describes it] cannot be asked to learn logic at this time of day! The spectacle of Its instruments, set to riddle one another through, and then to drink together in peace and concord, is where the humour comes in, and makes the play worth seeing!
SPIRIT SINISTER
Come, Sprite, don't carry your ironies too far, or you may wake up the Unconscious Itself, and tempt It to let all the gory clock-work of the show run down to spite me!
DUMB SHOW [continuing]
The drums roll, and the men of the two nations part from their comradeship at the Alberche brook, the dark masses of the French army assembling anew. SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY has seated himself on a mound that commands a full view of the contested hill, and remains there motionless a long time. When the French form for battle he is seen to have come to a conclusion. He mounts, gives his orders, and the aides ride off.
The French advance steadily through the sultry atmosphere, the skirmishers in front, and the columns after, moving, yet seemingly motionless. Their eighty cannon peal out and their shots mow every space in the line of them. Up the great valley and the terraces of the hill whose fame is at that moment being woven, comes VILLATE, boring his way with foot and horse, and RUFFIN'S men following behind.
According to the order given, the Twenty-third Light Dragoons and the German Hussars advance at a chosen moment against the head of these columns. On the way they disappear.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
Why this bedevilment? What can have chanced?
SPIRIT OF RUMOUR
It so befalls that as their chargers near The inimical wall of flesh with its iron frise, A treacherous chasm uptrips them: zealous men And docile horses roll to dismal death And horrid mutilation.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
Those who live Even now advance! I'll see no more. Relate.
SPIRIT OF RUMOUR
Yes, those pant on. Then further Frenchmen cross, And Polish Lancers, and Westphalian Horse, Who ring around these luckless Islanders, And sweep them down like reeds by the river-bank In scouring floods; till scarce a man remains.
Meanwhile on the British right SEBASTIANI'S corps has precipitated itself in column against GENERAL CAMPBELL'S division, the division of LAPISSE against the centre, and at the same time the hill on the English left is again assaulted. The English and their allies are pressed sorely here, the bellowing battery tearing lanes through their masses.
SPIRIT OF RUMOUR [continuing]
The French reserves of foot and horse now on, Smiting the Islanders in breast and brain Till their mid-lines are shattered.... Now there ticks The moment of the crisis; now the next, Which brings the turning stroke.
SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY sends down the Forty-eighth regiment under COLONEL DONELLAN to support the wasting troops. It advances amid those retreating, opening to let them pass.
SPIRIT OF THE RUMOUR [continuing]
The pales, enerved, The hitherto unflinching enemy! Lapisse is pierced to death; the flagging French Decline into the hollows whence they came. The too exhausted English and reduced Lack strength to follow.--Now the western sun, Conning with unmoved visage quick and dead, Gilds horsemen slackening, and footmen stilled, Till all around breathes drowsed hostility.
Last, the swealed herbage lifts a leering light, And flames traverse the field; and hurt and slain Opposed, opposers, in a common plight Are scorched together on the dusk champaign.
The fire dies down, and darkness enwraps the scene.
## SCENE VI
BRIGHTON. THE ROYAL PAVILION
[It is the birthday dinner-party of the PRINCE OF WALES. In the floridly decorated banqueting-room stretch tables spread with gold and silver plate, and having artificial fountains in their midst.
Seated at the tables are the PRINCE himself as host--rosy, well curled, and affable--the DUKES OF YORK, CLARENCE, KENT, SUSSEX, CUMBERLAND, and CAMBRIDGE, with many noblemen, including LORDS HEADFORT, BERKELEY, EGREMONT, CHICHESTER, DUDLEY, SAY AND SELE, SOUTHAMPTON, HEATHFIELD, ERSKINE, KEITH, C. SOMERSET, G. CAVENDISH, R. SEYMOUR, and others; SIR C. POLE, SIR E.G. DE CRESPIGNY, MR. SHERIDAN; Generals, Colonels, and Admirals, and the REV. MR. SCOTT.
The PRINCE'S band plays in the adjoining room. The banquet is drawing to its close, and a boisterous conversation is in progress.
Enter COLONEL BLOOMFIELD with a dispatch for the PRINCE, who looks it over amid great excitement in the company. In a few moments silence is called.]
PRINCE OF WALES
I have the joy, my lords and gentlemen, To rouse you with the just imported tidings From General Wellesley through Lord Castlereagh Of a vast victory [noisy cheers] over the French in Spain. The place--called Talavera de la Reyna [If I pronounce it rightly]--long unknown, Wears not the crest and blazonry of fame! [Cheers.] The heads and chief contents of the dispatch I read you as succinctly as I can. [Cheers.]
SHERIDAN [singing sotto voce]
“Now foreign foemen die and fly, Dammy, we'll drink little England dry!”
[The PRINCE reads the parts of the dispatch that describe the battle, amid intermittent cheers.]
PRINCE OF WALES [continuing]
Such is the substance of the news received, Which, after Wagram, strikes us genially As sudden sunrise through befogged night shades!
SHERIDAN [privately]
By God, that's good, sir! You are a poet born, while the rest of us are but made, and bad at that.
[The health of the army in Spain is drunk with acclamations.]
PRINCE OF WALES [continuing]
In this achievement we, alas! have lost Too many! Yet suck blanks must ever be.-- Mackenzie, Langworth, Beckett of the Guards, Have fallen of ours; while of the enemy Generals Lapisse and Morlot are laid low.-- Drink to their memories!
[They drink in silence.]
Other news, my friends, Received to-day is of like hopeful kind. The Great War-Expedition to the Scheldt [Cheers.] Which lately sailed, has found a favouring wind, And by this hour has touched its destined shores. The enterprise will soon be hot aglow, The invaders making first the Cadsand coast, And then descending on Walcheren Isle. But items of the next step are withheld Till later days, from obvious policy. [Cheers.]
[Faint throbbing sounds, like the notes of violincellos and contrabassos, reach the ear from some building without as the speaker pauses.
In worthy emulation of us here The county holds to-night a birthday ball, Which flames with all the fashion of the town. I have been asked to patronize their revel, And sup with them, and likewise you, my guests. We have good reason, with such news to bear! Thither we haste and join our loyal friends, And stir them with this live intelligence Of our staunch regiments on the Spanish plains. [Applause.] With them we'll now knit hands and beat the ground, And bring in dawn as we whirl round and round! There are some fair ones in their set to-night, And such we need here in our bachelor-plight. [Applause.]
[The PRINCE, his brothers, and a large proportion of the other Pavilion guests, swagger out in the direction of the Castle assembly-rooms adjoining, and the deserted banqueting-hall grows dark. In a few moments the back of the scene opens, revealing the assembly-rooms behind.]
## SCENE VII
THE SAME. THE ASSEMBLY ROOMS
[The rooms are lighted with candles in brass chandeliers, and a dance is in full movement to the strains of a string-band. A signal is given, shortly after the clock has struck eleven, by MR. FORTH, Master of Ceremonies.]
FORTH
His Royal Highness comes, though somewhat late, But never too late for welcome! [Applause.] Dancers, stand, That we may do fit homage to the Prince Who soon may shine our country's gracious king.
[After a brief stillness a commotion is heard at the door, the band strikes up the National air, and the PRINCE enters, accompanied by the rest of the visitors from the Pavilion. The guests who have been temporarily absent now crowd in, till there is hardly space to stand.]
PRINCE OF WALES [wiping his face and whispering to Sheridan]
What shall I say to fit their feeling here? Damn me, that other speech has stumped me quite!
SHERIDAN [whispering]
If heat be evidence of loy---
PRINCE OF WALES
If what?
SHERIDAN
If heat be evidence of loyalty, Et caetera--something quaint like that might please 'em.
PRINCE OF WALES [to the company]
If heat be evidence of loyalty, This room affords it truly without question; If heat be not, then its accompaniment Most surely 'tis to-night. The news I bring, Good ladies, friends, and gentlemen, perchance You have divined already? That our arms-- Engaged to thwart Napoleon's tyranny Over the jaunty, jocund land of Spain Even to the highest apex of our strength-- Are rayed with victory! [Cheers.] Lengthy was the strife And fierce, and hot; and sore the suffering; But proudly we endured it; and shall hear, No doubt, of its far consequence Ere many days. I'll read the details sent. [Cheers.]
[He reads again from the dispatch amid more cheering, the ball- room guests crowding round. When he has done he answers questions; then continuing:
Meanwhile our interest is, if possible, As keenly waked elsewhere. Into the Scheldt Some forty thousand bayonets and swords, And twoscore ships o' the line, with frigates, sloops, And gunboats sixty more, make headway now, Bleaching the waters with their bellying sails; Or maybe they already anchor there, And that level ooze of Walcheren shore Ring with the voices of that landing host In every twang of British dialect, Clamorous to loosen fettered Europe's chain! [Cheers.]
A NOBLE LORD [aside to Sheridan]
Prinny's outpouring tastes suspiciously like your brew, Sheridan. I'll be damned if it is his own concoction. How d'ye sell it a gallon?
SHERIDAN
I don't deal that way nowadays. I give the recipe, and charge a duty on the gauging. It is more artistic, and saves trouble.
[The company proceed to the supper-rooms, and the ball-room sinks into solitude.]
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
So they pass on. Let be!--But what is this-- A moan?--all frailly floating from the east To usward, even from the forenamed isle?... Would I had not broke nescience, to inspect A world so ill-contrived!
SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
But since thou hast We'll hasten to the isle; and thou'lt behold-- Such as it is--the scene its coasts enfold.
## SCENE VIII
WALCHEREN
[A marshy island at the mouth of the Scheldt, lit by the low sunshine of an evening in late summer. The horizontal rays from the west lie in yellow sheaves across the vapours that the day's heat has drawn from the sweating soil. Sour grasses grow in places, and strange fishy smells, now warm, now cold, pass along. Brass-hued and opalescent bubbles, compounded of many gases, rise where passing feet have trodden the damper spots. At night the place is the haunt of the Jack-lantern.]
DUMB SHOW