Chapter X: Part 10

What! Are they come? What will they do to me? How dare they! I
am Elector of Hanover! [Finding Dr. Willis is among them he shrieks.]
O, they are going to bleed me--yes, to bleed me! [Piteously.] My
friends, don't bleed me--pray don't! It makes me so weak to take my
blood. And the leeches do, too, when you put so many. You will not
be so unkind, I am sure!

WILLIS [to Baillie]

It is extraordinary what a vast aversion he has to bleeding--that
most salutary remedy, fearlessly practised. He submits to leeches
as yet but I won't say that he will for long without being strait-
jacketed.

KING [catching some of the words]

You will strait-jacket me? O no, no!

WILLIS

Leeches are not effective, really. Dr. Home, when I mentioned it to
him yesterday, said he would bleed him till he fainted if he had
charge of him!

KING

O will you do it, sir, against my will,
And put me, once your king, in needless pain?
I do assure you truly, my good friends,
That I have done no harm! In sunnier years
Ere I was throneless, withered to a shade,
Deprived of my divine authority--
When I was hale, and ruled the English land--
I ever did my utmost to promote
The welfare of my people, body and soul!
Right many a morn and night I have prayed and mused
How I could bring them to a better way.
So much of me you surely know, my friends,
And will not hurt me in my weakness here! [He trembles.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

The tears that lie about this plightful scene
Of heavy travail in a suffering soul,
Mocked with the forms and feints of royalty
While scarified by briery Circumstance,
Might drive Compassion past her patiency
To hold that some mean, monstrous ironist
Had built this mistimed fabric of the Spheres
To watch the throbbings of its captive lives,
[The which may Truth forfend], and not thy said
Unmaliced, unimpassioned, nescient Will!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Mild one, be not touched with human fate.
Such is the Drama: such the Mortal state:
No sigh of thine can null the Plan Predestinate!

HALFORD

We have come to do your Majesty no harm.
Here's Dr. Heberden, whom I am sure you like,
And this is Dr. Baillie. We arrive
But to inquire and gather how you are,
Thereon to let the Privy Council know,
And give assurances for you people's good.

[A brass band is heard playing in the distant part of Windsor.]

KING

Ah--what does that band play for here to-day?
She has been dead and I so short a time!...
Her little hands are hardly cold as yet;
But they can show such cruel indecency
As to let trumpets play!

HALFORD

They guess not, sir,
That you can hear them, or their chords would cease.
Their boisterous music fetches back to me
That, of our errands to your Majesty,
One was congratulation most sincere
Upon this glorious victory you have won.
The news is just in port; the band booms out
To celebrate it, and to honour you.

KING

A victory? I? Pray where?

HALFORD

Indeed so, sir:
Hard by Albuera--far in harried Spain--
Yes, sir; you have achieved a victory
Of dash unmatched and feats unparalleled!

KING

He says I have won a battle? But I thought
I was a poor afflicted captive here,
In darkness lingering out my lonely days,
Beset with terror of these myrmidons
That suck my blood like vampires! Ay, ay, ay!--
No aims left to me but to quicken death
To quicklier please my son!--And yet he says
That I have won a battle! O God, curse, damn!
When will the speech of the world accord with truth,
And men's tongues roll sincerely!

GENTLEMAN [aside]

Faith, 'twould seem
As if the madman were the sanest here!

[The KING'S face has flushed, and he becomes violent. The
attendants rush forward to him.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Something within me aches to pray
To some Great Heart, to take away
This evil day, this evil day!

CHORUS IRONIC

Ha-ha! That's good. Thou'lt pray to It:--
But where do Its compassions sit?
Yea, where abides the heart of it?

Is it where sky-fires flame and flit,
Or solar craters spew and spit,
Or ultra-stellar night-webs knit?

What is Its shape? Man's counterfeit?
That turns in some far sphere unlit
The Wheel which drives the Infinite?

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Mock on, mock on! Yet I'll go pray
To some Great Heart, who haply may
Charm mortal miseries away!

[The KING'S paroxysm continues. The attendants hold him.]

HALFORD

This is distressing. One can never tell
How he will take things now. I thought Albuera
A subject that would surely solace him.
These paroxysms--have they been bad this week? [To Attendants.]

FIRST ATTENDANT

Sir Henry, no. He has quite often named
The late Princess, as gently as a child
A little bird found starved.

WILLIS [aside to apothecary]

I must increase the opium to-night, and lower him by a double set of
leeches since he won't stand the lancet quietly.

APOTHECARY

You should take twenty ounces, doctor, if a drop--indeed, go on
blooding till he's unconscious. He is too robust by half. And the
watering-pot would do good again--not less than six feet above his
head. See how heated he is.

WILLIS

Curse that town band. It will have to be stopped.

HEBERDEN

The same thing is going on all over England, no doubt, on account of
this victory.

HALFORD

When he is in a more domineering mood he likes such allusions to his
rank as king.... If he could resume his walks on the terrace he
might improve slightly. But it is too soon yet. We must consider
what we shall report to the Council. There is little hope of his
being much better. What do you think, Willis?

WILLIS

None. He is done for this time!

HALFORD

Well, we must soften it down a little, so as not to upset the Queen
too much, poor woman, and distract the Council unnecessarily. Eldon
will go pumping up bucketfuls, and the Archbishops are so easily
shocked that a certain conventional reserve is almost forced upon us.

WILLIS [returning from the King]

He is already better. The paroxysm has nearly passed. Your opinion
will be far more favourable before you leave.

[The KING soon grows calm, and the expression of his face changes
to one of dejection. The attendants leave his side: he bends his
head, and covers his face with his hand, while his lips move as if
in prayer. He then turns to them.]

KING [meekly]

I am most truly sorry, gentlemen,
If I have used language that would seem to show
Discourtesy to you for your good help
In this unhappy malady of mine!
My nerves unstring, my friend; my flesh grows weak:
“The good that I do I leave undone,
The evil which I would not, that I do!”
Shame, shame on me!

WILLIS [aside to the others]

Now he will be as low as before he was in the other extreme.

KING

A king should bear him kingly; I of all,
One of so long a line. O shame on me!...
--This battle that you speak of?--Spain, of course?
Ah--Albuera! And many fall--eh? Yes?

HALFORD

Many hot hearts, sir, cold, I grieve to say.
There's Major-General Houghton, Captain Bourke,
And Herbert of the Third, Lieutenant Fox,
And Captains Erck and Montague, and more.
With Majors-General Cole and Stewart wounded,
And Quartermaster-General Wallace too:
A total of three generals, colonels five,
Five majors, fifty captains; and to these
Add ensigns and lieutenants sixscore odd,
Who went out, but returned not. Heavily tithed
Were the attenuate battalions there
Who stood and bearded Death by the hour that day!

KING

O fearful price for victory! Add thereto
All those I lost at Walchere.--A crime
Lay there!... I stood on Chatham's being sent:
It wears on me, till I am unfit to live!

WILLIS [aside to the others]

Don't let him get on that Walcheren business. There will be another
outbreak. Heberden, please ye talk to him. He fancies you most.

HEBERDEN

I'll tell him some of the brilliant feats of the battle. [He goes
and talks to the KING.]

WILLIS [to the rest]

Well, my inside begins to cry cupboard. I had breakfast early. We
have enough particulars now to face the Queen's Council with, I
should say, Sir Henry?

HALFORD

Yes.--I want to get back to town as soon as possible to-day. Mrs
Siddons has a party at her house at Westbourne to-night, and all the
world is going to be there.

BAILLIE

Well, I am not. But I have promised to take some friends to Vauxhall,
as it is a grand gala and fireworks night. Miss Farren is going to
sing “The Canary Bird.”--The Regent's fete, by the way, is postponed
till the nineteenth, on account of this relapse. Pretty grumpy he
was at having to do it. All the world will be THERE, sure!

WILLIS

And some from the Shades, too, of the fair, sex.--Well, here comes
Heberden. He has pacified his Majesty nicely. Now we can get away.

[The physicians withdraw softly, and the scene is covered.]

SCENE VI

LONDON. CARLTON HOUSE AND THE STREETS ADJOINING

[It is a cloudless midsummer evening, and as the west fades the
stars beam down upon the city, the evening-star hanging like a
jonquil blossom. They are dimmed by the unwonted radiance which
spreads around and above Carlton House. As viewed from aloft the
glare rises through the skylights, floods the forecourt towards
Pall Mall, and kindles with a diaphanous glow the huge tents in
the gardens that overlook the Mall. The hour has arrived of the
Prince Regent's festivity.

A stream of carriages and sedan-chairs, moving slowly, stretches
from the building along Pall Mall into Piccadilly and Bond Street,
and crowds fill the pavements watching the bejewelled and feathered
occupants. In addition to the grand entrance inside the Pall Mall
colonnade there is a covert little “chair-door” in Warwick Street
for sedans only, by which arrivals are perceived to be slipping in
almost unobserved.]

SPIRIT IRONIC

What domiciles are those, of singular expression,
Whence no guest comes to join the gemmed procession;
That, west of Hyde, this, in the Park-side Lane,
Each front beclouded like a mask of pain?

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

Therein the princely host's two spouses dwell;
A wife in each. Let me inspect and tell.

[The walls of the two houses--one in Park Lane, the other at
Kensington--become transparent.]

I see within the first his latter wife--
That Caroline of Brunswick whose brave sire
Yielded his breath on Jena's reeking plain,
And of whose kindred other yet may fall
Ere long, if character indeed be fate.--
She idles feasting, and is full of jest
As each gay chariot rumbles to the rout.
“I rank like your Archbishops' wives,” laughs she;
“Denied my husband's honours. Funny me!”

[Suddenly a Beau on his way to the Carlton House festival halts at
her house, calls, and is shown in.]

He brings her news that a fresh favourite rules
Her husband's ready heart; likewise of those
Obscure and unmissed courtiers late deceased,
Who have in name been bidden to the feast
By blundering scribes.

[The Princess is seen to jump up from table at some words from her
visitor, and clap her hands.]

These tidings, juxtaposed,
Have fired her hot with curiosity,
And lit her quick invention with a plan.

PRINCESS OF WALES

Mine God, I'll go disguised--in some dead name
And enter by the leetle, sly, chair-door
Designed for those not welcomed openly.
There unobserved I'll note mine new supplanter!
'Tis indiscreet? Let indiscretion rule,
Since caution pensions me so scurvily!

SPIRIT IRONIC

Good. Now for the other sweet and slighted spouse.

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

The second roof shades the Fitzherbert Fair;
Reserved, perverse. As coach and coach roll by
She mopes within her lattice; lampless, lone,
As if she grieved at her ungracious fate,
And yet were loth to kill the sting of it
By frankly forfeiting the Prince and town.
“Bidden,” says she, “but as one low of rank,
And go I will not so unworthily,
To sit with common dames!”--A flippant friend
Writes then that a new planet sways to-night
The sense of her erratic lord; whereon
The fair Fitzherbert muses hankeringly.

MRS. FITZHERBERT [soliloquizing]

The guest-card which I publicly refused
Might, as a fancy, privately be used!...
Yes--one last look--a wordless, wan farewell
To this false life which glooms me like a knell,
And him, the cause; from some hid nook survey
His new magnificence;--then go for aye!

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

She cloaks and veils, and in her private chair
Passes the Princess also stealing there--
Two honest wives, and yet a differing pair!

SPIRIT IRONIC

With dames of strange repute, who bear a ticket
For screened admission by the private wicket.

CHORUS OF IRONIC SPIRITS [aerial music]

A wife of the body, a wife of the mind,
A wife somewhat frowsy, a wife too refined:
Could the twain but grow one, and no other dames be,
No husband in Europe more steadfast than he!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Cease fooling on weak waifs who love and wed
But as the unweeting Urger may bestead!--
See them withinside, douce and diamonded.

[The walls of Carlton House open, and the spectator finds himself
confronting the revel.]

SCENE VII

THE SAME. THE INTERIOR OF CARLTON HOUSE

[A central hall is disclosed, radiant with constellations of
candles, lamps, and lanterns, and decorated with flowering shrubs.
An opening on the left reveals the Grand Council-chamber prepared
for dancing, the floor being chalked with arabesques having in the
centre “G. III. R.,” with a crown, arms, and supporters. Orange-
trees and rose-bushes in bloom stand against the walls. On the
right hand extends a glittering vista of the supper-rooms and
tables, now crowded with guests. This display reaches as far as
the conservatory westward, and branches into long tents on the
lawn.

On a dais at the chief table, laid with gold and silver plate, the
Prince Regent sits like a lay figure, in a state chair of crimson
and gold, with six servants at his back. He swelters in a gorgeous
uniform of scarlet and gold lace which represents him as Field
Marshal, and he is surrounded by a hundred-and-forty of his
particular friends.

Down the middle of this state-table runs a purling brook crossed
by quaint bridges, in which gold and silver fish frisk about
between banks of moss and flowers. The whole scene is lit with
wax candles in chandeliers, and in countless candelabra on the
tables.

The people at the upper tables include the Duchess of York, looking
tired from having just received as hostess most of the ladies
present, except those who have come informally, Louis XVIII. of
France, the Duchess of Angouleme, all the English Royal Dukes,
nearly all the ordinary Dukes and Duchesses; also the Lord
Chancellor of the Exchequer and other Ministers, the Lord Mayor
and Lady Mayoress, all the more fashionable of the other Peers,
Peeresses, and Members of Parliament, Generals, Admirals, and
Mayors, with their wives. The ladies of position wear, almost to
the extent of a uniform, a nodding head-dress of ostrich feathers
with diamonds, and gowns of white satin embroidered in gold or
silver, on which, owing to the heat, dribbles of wax from the
chandeliers occasionally fall.

The Guards' bands play, and attendants rush about in blue and gold
lace.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

The Queen, the Regent's mother, sits not here;
Wanting, too, are his sisters, I perceive;
And it is well. With the distempered King
Immured at Windsor, sore distraught or dying,
It borders nigh on indecency
In their regard, that this loud feast is kept,
A thought not strange to many, as I read,
Even of those gathered here.

SPIRIT IRONIC

My dear phantom and crony, the gloom upon their faces is due rather
to their having borrowed those diamonds at eleven per cent than to
their loyalty to a suffering monarch! But let us test the feeling.
I'll spread a report.

[He calls up the SPIRIT OF RUMOUR, who scatters whispers through
the assemblage.]

A GUEST [to his neighbour]

Have you heard this report--that the King is dead?

ANOTHER GUEST

It has just reached me from the other side. Can it be true?

THIRD GUEST

I think it probable. He has been very ill all week.

PRINCE REGENT

Dead? Then my fete is spoilt, by God!

SHERIDAN

Long live the King! [He holds up his glass and bows to the Regent.]

MARCHIONESS OF HERTFORD [the new favourite, to the Regent]

The news is more natural than the moment of it! It is too cruel to
you that it should happen now!

PRINCE REGENT

Damn me, though; can it be true? [He provisionally throws a regal
air into his countenance.]

DUCHESS OF YORK [on the Regent's left]

I hardly can believe it. This forenoon
He was reported mending.

DUCHESS OF ANGOULEME [on the Regent's right]

On this side
They are asserting that the news is false--
That Buonaparte's child, the “King of Rome,”
Is dead, and not your royal father, sire.

PRINCE REGENT

That's mighty fortunate! Had it been true,
I should have been abused by all the world--
The Queen the keenest of the chorus, too--
Though I have been postponing this pledged feast
Through days and weeks, in hopes the King would mend,
Till expectation fusted with delay.
But give a dog a bad name--or a Prince!
So, then, it is new-come King of Rome
Who has passed or ever the world has welcomed him!...
Call him a king--that pompous upstart's son--
Beside us scions of the ancient lines!

DUKE OF BEDFORD

I think that rumour untrue also, sir. I heard it as I drove up from
Woburn this evening, and it was contradicted then.

PRINCE REGENT

Drove up this evening, did ye, Duke. Why did you cut it so close?

DUKE OF BEDFORD

Well, it so happened that my sheep-sheering dinner was fixed for
this very day, and I couldn't put it off. So I dined with them
there at one o'clock, discussed the sheep, rushed off, drove the
two-and-forty miles, jumped into my clothes at my house here, and
reached your Royal Highness's door in no very bad time.

PRINCE REGENT

Capital, capital. But, 'pon my soul, 'twas a close shave!

[Soon the babbling and glittering company rise from supper, and
begin promenading through the rooms and tents, the REGENT setting
the example, and mixing up and talking unceremoniously with his
guests of every degree. He and the group round him disappear into
the remoter chambers; but may concentrate in the Grecian Hall,
which forms the foreground of the scene, whence a glance can be
obtained into the ball-room, now filled with dancers.

The band is playing the tune of the season, “The Regency Hornpipe,”
which is danced as a country-dance by some thirty couples; so that
by the time the top couple have danced down the figure they are
quite breathless. Two young lords talk desultorily as they survey
the scene.]

FIRST LORD

Are the rumours of the King of Rome's death confirmed?

SECOND LORD

No. But they are probably true. He was a feeble brat from the
first. I believe they had to baptize him on the day he was born.
What can one expect after such presumption--calling him the New
Messiah, and God knows what all. Ours is the only country which
did not write fulsome poems about him. “Wise English!” the Tsar
Alexander said drily when he heard it.

FIRST LORD

Ay! The affection between that Pompey and Caesar has begun to cool.
Alexander's soreness at having his sister thrown over so cavalierly
is not salved yet.

SECOND LORD

There is much beside. I'd lay a guinea there will be war between
Russia and France before another year has flown.

FIRST LORD

Prinny looks a little worried to-night.

SECOND LORD

Yes. The Queen don't like the fete being held, considering the
King's condition. She and her friends say it should have been put
off altogether. But the Princess of Wales is not troubled that way.
Though she was not asked herself she went wildly off and bought her
people new gowns to come in. Poor maladroit woman!....

[Another new dance of the year is started, and another long line
of couples begin to foot it.]

That's a pretty thing they are doing now. What d'ye call it?

FIRST LORD

“Speed the Plough.” It is just out. They are having it everywhere.
The next is to be one of those foreign things in three-eight time
they call Waltzes. I question if anybody is up to dancing 'em here
yet.

[“Speed the Plough” is danced to its conclusion, and the band
strikes up “The Copenhagen Waltz.”]

SPIRIT IRONIC

Now for the wives. They both were tearing hither,
Unless reflection sped them back again;
But dignity that nothing else may bend
Succumbs to woman's curiosity,
So deem them here. Messengers, call them nigh!

[The PRINCE REGENT, having gone the round of the other rooms, now
appears at the ball-room door, and stands looking at the dancers.
Suddenly he turns, and gazes about with a ruffled face. He sees
a tall, red-faced man near him--LORD MOIRA, one of his friends.]

PRINCE REGENT

Damned hot here, Moira. Hottest of all for me!

MOIRA

Yes, it is warm, sir. Hence I do not dance.

PRINCE REGENT

H'm. What I meant was of another order;
I spoke figuratively.

MOIRA

O indeed, sir?

PRINCE REGENT

She's here. I heard her voice. I'll swear I did!

MOIRA

Who, sir?

PRINCE REGENT

Why, the Princess of Wales. Do you think I could mistake those
beastly German Ps and Bs of hers?--She asked to come, and was
denied; but she's got here, I'll wager ye, through the chair-door
in Warwick Street, which I arranged for a few ladies whom I wished
to come privately. [He looks about again, and moves till he is by
a door which affords a peep up the grand staircase.] By God, Moira,
I see TWO figures up there who shouldn't be here--leaning over the
balustrade of the gallery!

MOIRA

Two figures, sir. Whose are they?

PRINCE REGENT

She is one. The Fitzherbert in t'other! O I am almost sure it is!
I would have welcomed her, but she bridled and said she wouldn't sit
down at my table as a plain “Mrs.” to please anybody. As I had sworn
that on this occasion people should sit strictly according to their
rank, I wouldn't give way. Why the devil did she come like this?
'Pon my soul, these women will be the death o' me!

MOIRA [looking cautiously up the stairs]

I can see nothing of her, sir, nor of the Princess either. There is
a crowd of idlers up there leaning over the bannisters, and you may
have mistaken some others for them.

PRINCE REGENT

O no. They have drawn back their heads. There have been such damned
mistakes made in sending out the cards that the biggest w--- in London
might be here. She's watching Lady Hertford, that's what she's doing.
For all their indifference, both of them are as jealous as two cats
over the tom.

[Somebody whispers that a lady has fainted up-stairs.]

That's Maria, I'll swear! She's always doing it. Whenever I hear
of some lady fainting about upon the furniture at my presence, and
sending for a glass of water, I say to myself, There's Maria at it
again, by God!

SPIRIT IRONIC

Now let him hear their voices once again.

[The REGENT starts as he seems to hear from the stairs the tongues
of the two ladies growing louder and nearer, the PRINCESS pouring
reproaches into one ear, and MRS. FITZHERBERT into the other.]

PRINCE REGENT

'Od seize 'em, Moira; this will drive me mad!
If men of blood must mate with only one
Of those dear damned deluders called the Sex,
Why has Heaven teased us with the taste for change?--
God, I begin to loathe the whole curst show!
How hot it is! Get me a glass of brandy,
Or I shall swoon off too. Now let's go out,
And find some fresher air upon the lawn.

[Exit the PRINCE REGENT, with LORDS MOIRA and YARMOUTH. The band
strikes up “La Belle Catarina” and a new figure is formed.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Phantoms, ye strain your powers unduly here,
Making faint fancies as they were indeed
The Mighty Will's firm work.

SPIRIT IRONIC

Nay, Father, nay;
The wives prepared to hasten hitherward
Under the names of some gone down to death,
Who yet were bidden. Must they not by here?

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

There lie long leagues between a woman's word--
“She will, indeed she will!”--and acting on't.
Whether those came or no, thy antics cease,
And let the revel wear it out in peace.

[Enter SPENCER PERCEVAL the Prime Minister, a small, pale, grave-
looking man, and an Under-Secretary of State, meeting.]

UNDER-SECRETARY

Is the King of Rome really dead, and the gorgeous gold cradle wasted?

PERCEVAL

O no, he is alive and waxing strong:
That tale has been set travelling more than once.
But touching it, booms echo to our ear
Of graver import, unimpeachable.

UNDER-SECRETARY

Your speech is dark.

PERCEVAL

Well, a new war in Europe.
Before the year is out there may arise
A red campaign outscaling any seen.
Russia and France the parties to the strife--
Ay, to the death!

UNDER-SECRETARY

By Heaven, sir, do you say so?

[Enter CASTLEREAGH, a tall, handsome man with a Roman nose, who,
seeing them, approaches.]

PERCEVAL

Ha, Castlereagh. Till now I have missed you here.
This news is startling for us all, I say!

CASTLEREAGH

My mind is blank on it! Since I left office
I know no more what villainy's afoot,
Or virtue either, than an anchoret
Who mortifies the flesh in some lone cave.

PERCEVAL

Well, happily that may not last for long.
But this grave pother that's just now agog
May reach such radius in its consequence
As to outspan our lives! Yes, Bonaparte
And Alexander--late such bosom-friends--
Are closing to a mutual murder-bout
At which the lips of Europe will wax wan.
Bonaparte says the fault is not with him,
And so says Alexander. But we know
The Austrian knot began their severance,
And that the Polish question largens it.
Nothing but time is needed for the clash.
And if so be that Wellington but keep
His foot in the Peninsula awhile,
Between the pestle and the mortar-stone
Of Russia and of Spain, Napoleon's brayed.

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR [to the Spirit of the Years]

Permit me now to join them and confirm,
By what I bring from far, their forecasting?

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

I'll go. Thou knowest not greatly more than they.

[The SPIRIT OF THE YEARS enters the apartment in the shape of a
pale, hollow-eye gentleman wearing an embroidered suit. At the
same time re-enter the REGENT, LORDS MOIRA, YARMOUTH, KEITH, LADY
HERTFORD, SHERIDAN, the DUKE OF BEDFORD, with many more notables.
The band changes into the popular dance, “Down with the French,”
and the characters aforesaid look on at the dancers.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS [to Perceval]

Yes, sir; your text is true. In closest touch
With European courts and cabinets,
The imminence of dire and deadly war
Betwixt these east and western emperies
Is lipped by special pathways to mine ear.
You may not see the impact: ere it come
The tomb-worm may caress thee [Perceval shrinks]; but believe
Before five more have joined the shotten years
Whose useless films infest the foggy Past,
Traced thick with teachings glimpsed unheedingly,
The rawest Dynast of the group concerned
Will, for the good or ill of mute mankind,
Down-topple to the dust like soldier Saul,
And Europe's mouldy-minded oligarchs
Be propped anew; while garments roll in blood
To confused noise, with burning, and fuel of fire.
Nations shall lose their noblest in the strife,
And tremble at the tidings of an hour!

[He passes into the crowd and vanishes.]

PRINCE REGENT [who has heard with parted lips]

Who the devil is he?

PERCEVAL

One in the suite of the French princes, perhaps, sir?--though his
tone was not monarchical. He seems to be a foreigner.

CASTLEREAGH

His manner was that of an old prophet, and his features had a Jewish
cast, which accounted for his Hebraic style.

PRINCE REGENT

He could not have known me, to speak so freely in my presence!

SHERIDAN

I expected to see him write on the wall, like the gentleman with the
Hand at Belshazzar's Feast.

PRINCE REGENT [recovering]

He seemed to know a damn sight more about what's going on in Europe,
sir [to Perceval], than your Government does, with all its secret
information.

PERCEVAL

He is recently over, I conjecture, your royal Highness, and brings
the latest impressions.

PRINCE REGENT

By Gad, sir, I shall have a comfortable time of it in my regency, or
reign, if what he foresees be true! But I was born for war; it is
my destiny!

[He draws himself up inside his uniform and stalks away. The group
dissolves, the band continuing stridently, “Down with the French,”
as dawn glimmers in. Soon the REGENT'S guests begin severally and
in groups to take leave.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Behold To-morrow riddles the curtains through,
And labouring life without shoulders its cross anew!

CHORUS OF THE YEARS [aerial music]

Why watch we here? Look all around
Where Europe spreads her crinkled ground,
From Osmanlee to Hekla's mound,
Look all around!

Hark at the cloud-combed Ural pines;
See how each, wailful-wise, inclines;
Mark the mist's labyrinthine lines;

Behold the tumbling Biscay Bay;
The Midland main in silent sway;
As urged to move them, so move they.

No less through regal puppet-shows
The rapt Determinator throes,
That neither good nor evil knows!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Yet I may wake and understand
Ere Earth unshape, know all things, and
With knowledge use a painless hand,
A painless hand!

[Solitude reigns in the chambers, and the scene shuts up.]

PART THIRD

CHARACTERS

I. PHANTOM INTELLIGENCES

THE ANCIENT SPIRIT OF THE YEARS/CHORUS OF THE YEARS.

THE SPIRIT OF THE PITIES/CHORUS OF THE PITIES.

SPIRITS SINISTER AND IRONIC/CHORUSES OF SINISTER AND IRONIC SPIRITS.

THE SPIRIT OF RUMOUR/CHORUS OF RUMOURS.

THE SHADE OF THE EARTH.

SPIRIT MESSENGERS.

RECORDING ANGELS.

II. PERSONS

MEN [The names in lower case are mute figures.]

THE PRINCE REGENT.
The Royal Dukes.
THE DUKE OF RICHMOND.
The Duke of Beaufort.
CASTLEREAGH, Prime Minister.
Palmerston, War Secretary.
PONSONBY, of the Opposition.
BURDETT, of the Opposition.
WHITBREAD, of the Opposition.
Tierney, Romilly, of the Opposition
Other Members of Parliament.
TWO ATTACHES.
A DIPLOMATIST.
Ambassadors, Ministers, Peers, and other persons of Quality
and Office.

..........

WELLINGTON.
UXBRIDGE.
PICTON.
HILL.
CLINTON.
Colville.
COLE.
BERESFORD.
Pack and Kempt.
Byng.
Vivian.
W. Ponsonby, Vandeleur, Colquhoun-Grant, Maitland, Adam, and
C. Halkett.
Graham, Le Marchant, Pakenham, and Sir Stapleton Cotton.
SIR W. DE LANCEY.
FITZROY SOMERSET.
COLONELS FRASER, H. HALKETT, COLBORNE, Cameron, Hepburn, LORD
SALTOUN, C. Campbell.
SIR NEIL CAMPBELL.
Sir Alexander Gordon, BRIGDEMAN, TYLER, and other AIDES.
CAPTAIN MERCER.
Other Generals, Colonels, and Military Officers.
Couriers.

A SERGEANT OF DRAGOONS.
Another SERGEANT.
A SERGEANT of the 15th HUSSARS.
A SENTINEL. Batmen.
AN OFFICER'S SERVANT.
Other non-Commissioned Officers and Privates of the British Army.
English Forces.

..........

SIR W. GELL, Chamberlain to the Princess of Wales.
MR. LEGH, a Wessex Gentleman.
Another GENTLEMAN.
THE VICAR OF DURNOVER.
Signor Tramezzini and other members of the Opera Company.
M. Rozier, a dancer.

LONDON CITIZENS.
A RUSTIC and a YEOMAN.
A MAIL-GUARD.
TOWNSPEOPLE, Musicians, Villagers, etc.

..........

THE DUKE OF BRUNSWICK.
THE PRINCE OF ORANGE.
Count Alten.
Von Ompteda, Baring, Duplat, and other Officers of the King's-
German Legion.
Perponcher, Best, Kielmansegge, Wincke, and other Hanoverian
Officers.
Bylandt and other Officers of the Dutch-Belgian troops.
SOME HUSSARS.
King's-German, Hanoverian, Brunswick, and Dutch-Belgian Forces.

..........

BARON VAN CAPELLEN, Belgian Secretary of State.
The Dukes of Arenberg and d'Ursel.
THE MAYOR OF BRUSSELS.
CITIZENS AND IDLERS of Brussels.

..........

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.
JOSEPH BONAPARTE.
Jerome Bonaparte.
THE KING OF ROME.
Eugene de Beauharnais.
Cambaceres, Arch-Chancellor to Napoleon.
TALLEYRAND.
CAULAINCOURT.
DE BAUSSET.

..........

MURAT, King of Naples.
SOULT, Napoleon's Chief of Staff.
NEY.
DAVOUT.
MARMONT.
BERTHIER.
BERTRAND.
BESSIERES.
AUGEREAU, MACDONALD, LAURISTON, CAMBRONNE.
Oudinot, Friant, Reille, d'Erlon, Drouot, Victor, Poniatowski,
Jourdan, and other Marshals, and General and Regimental
Officers of Napoleon's Army.
RAPP, MORTIER, LARIBOISIERE.
Kellermann and Milhaud.
COLONELS FABVRIER, MARBOT, MALLET, HEYMES, and others.
French AIDES and COURIERS.
DE CANISY, Equerry to the King of Rome.
COMMANDANT LESSARD.
Another COMMANDANT.
BUSSY, an Orderly Officer.
SOLDIERS of the Imperial Guard and others.
STRAGGLERS; A MAD SOLDIER.
French Forces.

..........

HOUREAU, BOURDOIS, and Ivan, physicians.
MENEVAL, Private Secretary to Napoleon.
DE MONTROND, an emissary of Napoleon's.
Other Secretaries to Napoleon.
CONSTANT, Napoleon's Valet.
ROUSTAN, Napoleon's Mameluke.
TWO POSTILLIONS.
A TRAVELLER.
CHAMBERLAINS and Attendants.
SERVANTS at the Tuileries.
FRENCH CITIZENS and Townspeople.

..........

THE KING OF PRUSSIA.
BLÜCHER.
MUFFLING, Wellington's Prussian Attache.
GNEISENAU.
Zieten.
Bulow.
Kleist, Steinmetz, Thielemann, Falkenhausen.
Other Prussian General and Regimental Officers.
A PRUSSIAN PRISONER of the French.
Prussian Forces.

..........

FRANCIS, Emperor of Austria.
METTERNICH, Chancellor and Foreign Minister.
Hardenberg.
NEIPPERG
Schwarzenberg, Kleinau, Hesse-Homburg, and other Austrian Generals.
Viennese Personages of rank and fashion.
Austrian Forces.

..........

THE EMPEROR ALEXANDER of Russia.
Nesselrode.
KUTUZOF.
Bennigsen.
Barclay de Tolly, Dokhtorof, Bagration, Platoff, Tchichagoff,
Miloradovitch, and other Russian Generals.
Rostopchin, Governor of Moscow.
SCHUVALOFF, a Commissioner.
A RUSSIAN OFFICER under Kutuzof.
Russian Forces.
Moscow Citizens.

..........

Alava, Wellington's Spanish Attache.
Spanish and Portuguese Officers.
Spanish and Portuguese Forces.
Spanish Citizens.

..........

Minor Sovereigns and Princes of Europe.
LEIPZIG CITIZENS.

WOMEN

CAROLINE, PRINCESS OF WALES.
The Duchess of York.
THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND.
The Duchess of Beaufort.
LADY H. DARYMPLE
Lady de Lancey.
LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL.
Lady Anne Hamilton.
A YOUNG LADY AND HER MOTHER.
MRS. DALBIAC, a Colonel's wife.
MRS. PRESCOTT, a Captain's wife.
Other English ladies of note and rank.
Madame Grassini and other Ladies of the Opera.
Madame Angiolini, a dancer.
VILLAGE WOMEN.
SOLDIERS' WIVES AND SWEETHEARTS.
A SOLDIER'S DAUGHTER.

..........

THE EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE.
The Empress of Austria.
MARIA CAROLINA of Naples.
Queen Hortense.
Laetitia, Madame Bonaparte.
The Princess Pauline.
THE DUCHESS OF MONTEBELLO.
THE COUNTESS OF MONTESQUIOU.
THE COUNTESS OF BRIGNOLE.
Other Ladies-in-Waiting on Marie Louise.

THE EX-EMPRESS JOSEPHINE.
LADIES-IN-WAITING on Josephine.
Another French Lady.
FRENCH MARKET-WOMEN.
A SPANISH LADY.
French and Spanish Women of pleasure.
Continental Citizens' Wives.
Camp-followers.

ACT FIRST

SCENE I

THE BANKS OF THE NIEMEN, NEAR KOWNO

[The foreground is a hillock on a broken upland, seen in evening
twilight. On the left, further back, are the dusky forests of
Wilkowsky; on the right is the vague shine of a large river.

Emerging from the wood below the eminence appears a shadowy
amorphous thing in motion, the central or Imperial column of
NAPOLEON'S Grand Army for the invasion of Russia, comprising
the corps of OUDINOT, NEY, and DAVOUT, with the Imperial Guard.
This, with the right and left columns, makes up the host of
nearly half a million, all starting on their march to Moscow.

While the rearmost regiments are arriving, NAPOLEON rides ahead
with GENERAL HAXEL and one or two others to reconnoitre the river.
NAPOLEON'S horse stumbles and throws him. He picks himself up
before he can be helped.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS [to Napoleon]

The portent is an ill one, Emperor;
An ancient Roman would retire thereat!

NAPOLEON

Whose voice was that, jarring upon my thought
So insolently?

HAXEL AND OTHERS

Sire, we spoke no word.

NAPOLEON

Then, whoso spake, such portents I defy!

[He remounts. When the reconnoitrers again came back to the
foreground of the scene the huge array of columns is standing
quite still, in circles of companies, the captain of each in
the middle with a paper in his hand. He reads from it a
proclamation. They quiver emotionally, like leaves stirred by
the wind. NAPOLEON and his staff reascend the hillock, and his
own words as repeated to the ranks reach his ears, while he
himself delivers the same address to those about him.

NAPOLEON

Soldiers, wild war is on the board again;
The lifetime-long alliance Russia swore
At Tilsit, for the English realm's undoing,
Is violate beyond refurbishment,
And she intractable and unashamed.
Russia is forced on by fatality:
She cries her destiny must be outwrought,
Meaning at our expense. Does she then dream
We are no more the men of Austerlitz,
With nothing left of our old featfulness?

She offers us the choice of sword or shame;
We have made that choice unhesitatingly!
Then let us forthwith stride the Niemen flood,
Let us bear war into her great gaunt land,
And spread our glory there as otherwhere,
So that a stable peace shall stultify
The evil seed-bearing that Russian wiles
Have nourished upon Europe's choked affairs
These fifty years!

[The midsummer night darkens. They all make their bivouacs
and sleep.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Something is tongued afar.

DISTANT VOICE IN THE WIND

The hostile hatchings of Napoleon's brain
Against our Empire, long have harassed us,
And mangled all our mild amenities.
So, since the hunger for embranglement
That gnaws this man, has left us optionless,
And haled us recklessly to horrid war,
We have promptly mustered our well-hardened hosts,
And, counting on our call to the most High,
Have forthwith set our puissance face to face
Against Napoleon's.--Ranksmen! officers!
You fend your lives, your land, your liberty.
I am with you. Heaven frowns on the aggressor.

SPIRIT IRONIC

Ha! “Liberty” is quaint, and pleases me,
Sounding from such a soil!

[Midsummer-day breaks, and the sun rises on the right, revealing
the position clearly. The eminence overlooks for miles the river
Niemen, now mirroring the morning rays. Across the river three
temporary bridges have been thrown, and towards them the French
masses streaming out of the forest descend in three columns.

They sing, shout, fling their shakos in the air and repeat words
from the proclamation, their steel and brass flashing in the sun.
They narrow their columns as they gain the three bridges, and begin
to cross--horse, foot, and artillery.

NAPOLEON has come from the tent in which he has passed the night
to the high ground in front, where he stands watching through his
glass the committal of his army to the enterprise. DAVOUT, NEY,
MURAT, OUDINOT, Generals HAXEL and EBLE, NARBONNE, and others
surround him.

It is a day of drowsing heat, and the Emperor draws a deep breath
as he shifts his weight from one puffed calf to the other. The
light cavalry, the foot, the artillery having passed, the heavy
horse now crosses, their glitter outshining the ripples on the
stream.

A messenger enters. NAPOLEON reads papers that are brought, and
frowns.]

NAPOLEON

The English heads decline to recognize
The government of Joseph, King of Spain,
As that of “the now-ruling dynast”;
But only Ferdinand's!--I'll get to Moscow,
And send thence my rejoinder. France shall wage
Another fifty years of wasting war
Before a Bourbon shall remount the throne
Of restless Spain!... [A flash lights his eyes.]

But this long journey now just set a-trip
Is my choice way to India; and 'tis there
That I shall next bombard the British rule.
With Moscow taken, Russia prone and crushed,
To attain the Ganges is simplicity--
Auxiliaries from Tiflis backing me.
Once ripped by a French sword, the scaffolding
Of English merchant-mastership in Ind
Will fall a wreck.... Vast, it is true, must bulk
An Eastern scheme so planned; but I could work it....
Man has, worse fortune, but scant years for war;
I am good for another five!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Why doth he go?--
I see returning in a chattering flock
Bleached skeletons, instead of this array
Invincibly equipped.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

I'll show you why.

[The unnatural light before seen usurps that of the sun, bringing
into view, like breezes made visible, the films or brain-tissues of
the Immanent Will, that pervade all things, ramifying through the
whole army, NAPOLEON included, and moving them to Its inexplicable
artistries.]

NAPOLEON [with sudden despondency]

That which has worked will work!--Since Lodi Bridge
The force I then felt move me moves me on
Whether I will or no; and oftentimes
Against my better mind.... Why am I here?
--By laws imposed on me inexorably!
History makes use of me to weave her web
To her long while aforetime-figured mesh
And contemplated charactery: no more.
Well, war's my trade; and whencesoever springs
This one in hand, they'll label it with my name!

[The natural light returns and the anatomy of the Will disappears.
NAPOLEON mounts his horse and descends in the rear of his host to
the banks of the Niemen. His face puts on a saturnine humour, and
he hums an air.]

Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre,
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine;
Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre,
Ne sait quand reviendra!

[Exeunt NAPOLEON and his staff.]

SPIRIT SINISTER

It is kind of his Imperial Majesty to give me a lead. [Sings.]

Monsieur d'Malbrough est mort,
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine;
Monsieur d'Malbrough est mort,
Est mort et enterre!

[Anon the figure of NAPOLEON, diminished to the aspect of a doll,
reappears in front of his suite on the plain below. He rides
across the swaying bridge. Since the morning the sky has grown
overcast, and its blackness seems now to envelope the retreating
array on the other side of the stream. The storm bursts with
thunder and lightning, the river turns leaden, and the scene is
blotted out by the torrents of rain.]

SCENE II

THE FORD OF SANTA MARTA, SALAMANCA

[We are in Spain, on a July night of the same summer, the air being
hot and heavy. In the darkness the ripple of the river Tormes can
be heard over the ford, which is near the foreground of the scene.

Against the gloomy north sky to the left, lightnings flash
revealing rugged heights in that quarter. From the heights comes
to the ear the tramp of soldiery, broke and irregular, as by
obstacles in their descent; as yet they are some distance off.
On heights to the right hand, on the other side of the river,
glimmer the bivouac fires of the French under MARMONT. The
lightning quickens, with rolls of thunder, and a few large drops
of rain fall.

A sentinel stands close to the ford, and beyond him is the ford-
house, a shed open towards the roadway and the spectator. It is
lit by a single lantern, and occupied by some half-dozen English
dragoons with a sergeant and corporal, who form part of a mounted
patrol, their horses being picketed at the entrance. They are
seated on a bench, and appear to be waiting with some deep intent,
speaking in murmurs only.

The thunderstorm increases till it drowns the noise of the ford
and of the descending battalions, making them seem further off
than before. The sentinel is about to retreat to the shed when
he discerns two female figures in the gloom. Enter MRS. DALBIAC
and MRS. PRESCOTT, English officers wives.]

SENTINEL

Where there's war there's women, and where there's women there's
trouble! [Aloud] Who goes there?

MRS. DALBIAC

We must reveal who we are, I fear [to her companion]. Friends!
[to sentinel].

SENTINEL

Advance and give the countersign.

MRS. DALBIAC

Oh, but we can't!

SENTINEL

Consequent which, you must retreat. By Lord Wellington's strict
regulations, women of loose character are to be excluded from the
lines for moral reasons, namely, that they are often employed by
the enemy as spies.

MRS. PRESCOTT

Dear good soldier, we are English ladies benighted, having mistaken
our way back to Salamanca, and we want shelter from the storm.

MRS. DALBIAC

If it is necessary I will say who we are.--I am Mrs. Dalbiac, wife
of the Lieutenant-Colonel of the Fourth Light Dragoons, and this
lady is the wife of Captain Prescott of the Seventh Fusileers. We
went out to Christoval to look for our husbands, but found the army
had moved.

SENTINEL [incredulously]

“Wives!” Oh, not to-day! I have heard such titles of courtesy
afore; but they never shake me. “W” begins other female words than
“wives!”--You'll have trouble, good dames, to get into Salamanca
to-night. You'll be challenged all the way down, and shot without
clergy if you can't give the countersign.

MRS. PRESCOTT

Then surely you'll tell us what it is, good kind man!

SENTINEL

Well--have ye earned enough to pay for knowing? Government wage is
poor pickings for watching here in the rain. How much can ye stand?

MRS. DALBIAC

Half-a-dozen pesetas.

SENTINEL

Very well, my dear. I was always tender-hearted. Come along.
[They advance and hand the money.] The pass to-night is “Melchester
Steeple.” That will take you into the town when the weather clears.
You won't have to cross the ford. You can get temporary shelter in
the shed there.

[As the ladies move towards the shed the tramp of the infantry
draws near the ford, which the downfall has made to purl more
boisterously. The twain enter the shed, and the dragoons look
up inquiringly.]

MRS. DALBIAC [to dragoons]

The French are luckier than you are, men. You'll have a wet advance
across this ford, but they have a dry retreat by the bridge at Alba.

SERGEANT OF PATROL [starting from a doze]

The moustachies a dry retreat? Not they, my dear. A Spanish
garrison is in the castle that commands the bridge at Alba.

MRS. DALBIAC

A peasant told us, if we understood rightly, that he saw the Spanish
withdraw, and the enemy place a garrison there themselves.

[The sergeant hastily calls up two troopers, who mount and ride off
with the intelligence.]

SERGEANT

You've done us a good turn, it is true, darlin'. Not that Lord
Wellington will believe it when he gets the news.... Why, if my
eyes don't deceive me, ma'am, that's Colonel Dalbiac's lady!

MRS. DALBIAC

Yes, sergeant. I am over here with him, as you have heard, no doubt,
and lodging in Salamanca. We lost our way, and got caught in the
storm, and want shelter awhile.

SERGEANT

Certainly, ma'am. I'll give you an escort back as soon as the
division has crossed and the weather clears.

MRS. PRESCOTT [anxiously]

Have you heard, sergeant, if there's to be a battle to-morrow?

SERGEANT

Yes, ma'am. Everything shows it.

MRS. DAlBIAC [to MRS. PRESCOTT]

Our news would have passed us in. We have wasted six pesetas.

MRS. PRESCOTT [mournfully]

I don't mind that so much as that I have brought the children from
Ireland. This coming battle frightens me!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

This is her prescient pang of widowhood.
Ere Salamanca clang to-morrow's close
She'll find her consort stiff among the slain!

[The infantry regiments now reach the ford. The storm increases
in strength, the stream flows more furiously; yet the columns of
foot enter it and begin crossing. The lightning is continuous;
the faint lantern in the ford-house is paled by the sheets of
fire without, which flap round the bayonets of the crossing men
and reflect upon the foaming torrent.]

CHORUS OF THE PITIES [aerial music]

The skies fling flame on this ancient land!
And drenched and drowned is the burnt blown sand
That spreads its mantle of yellow-grey
Round old Salmantica to-day;
While marching men come, band on band,
Who read not as a reprimand
To mortal moils that, as 'twere planned
In mockery of their mimic fray,
The skies fling flame.

Since sad Coruna's desperate stand
Horrors unsummed, with heavy hand,
Have smitten such as these! But they
Still headily pursue their way,
Though flood and foe confront them, and
The skies fling flame.

[The whole of the English division gets across by degrees, and
their invisible tramp is heard ascending the opposite heights as
the lightnings dwindle and the spectacle disappears.]

SCENE III

THE FIELD OF SALAMANCA

[The battlefield--an undulating and sandy expanse--is lying
under the sultry sun of a July afternoon. In the immediate
left foreground rises boldly a detached dome-like hill known
as the Lesser Arapeile, now held by English troops. Further
back, and more to the right, rises another and larger hill of
the kind--the Greater Arapeile; this is crowned with French
artillery in loud action, and the French marshal, MARMONT, Duke
of RAGUSA, stands there. Further to the right, in the same
plane, stretch the divisions of the French army. Still further
to the right, in the distance, on the Ciudad Rodrigo highway, a
cloud of dust denotes the English baggage-train seeking security
in that direction. The city of Salamanca itself, and the river
Tormes on which it stands, are behind the back of the spectator.

On the summit of the lesser hill, close at hand, WELLINGTON, glass
at eye, watches the French division under THOMIERE, which has become
separated from the centre of the French army. Round and near him
are aides and other officers, in animated conjecture on MARMONT'S
intent, which appears to be a move on the Ciudad Rodrigo road
aforesaid, under the impression that the English are about to
retreat that way.

The English commander descends from where he was standing to a nook
under a wall, where a meal is roughly laid out. Some of his staff
are already eating there. WELLINGTON takes a few mouthfuls without
sitting down, walks back again, and looks through his glass at the
battle as before. Balls from the French artillery fall around.
Enter his aide-de-camp, FITZROY SOMERSET.]

FITZROY SOMERSET [hurriedly]

The French make movements of grave consequence--
Extending to the left in mass, my lord.

WELLINGTON

I have just perceived as much; but not the cause.
[He regards longer.]
Marmont's good genius is deserting him!

[Shutting up his glass with a snap, WELLINGTON calls several aides
and despatches them down the hill. He goes back behind the wall
and takes some more mouthfuls.]

By God, Fitzroy, if we shan't do it now!
[to SOMERSET].
Mon cher Alava, Marmont est perdu!
[to his SPANISH ATTACHE].

FITZROY SOMERSET

Thinking we mean to attack on him,
He schemes to swoop on our retreating-line.

WELLINGTON

Ay; and to cloak it by this cannonade.
With that in eye he has bundled leftwardly
Thomiere's division; mindless that thereby
His wing and centre's mutual maintenance
Has gone, and left a yawning vacancy.
So be it. Good. His laxness is our luck!

[As a result of the orders sent off by the aides, several British
divisions advance across the French front on the Greater Arapeile
and elsewhere. The French shower bullets into them; but an English
brigade under PACK assails the nearer French on the Arapeile, now
beginning to cannonade the English in the hollows beneath.

Light breezes blow toward the French, and they get in their faces
the dust-clouds and smoke from the masses of English in motion, and
a powerful sun in their eyes.

MARMONT and his staff are sitting on the top of the Greater Arapeile
only half a cannon-shot from WELLINGTON on the Lesser; and, like
WELLINGTON, he is gazing through his glass.

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

Appearing to behold the full-mapped mind
Of his opponent, Marmont arrows forth
Aide after aide towards the forest's rim,
To spirit on his troops emerging thence,
And prop the lone division Thomiere,
For whose recall his voice has rung in vain.
Wellington mounts and seeks out Pakenham,
Who pushes to the arena from the right,
And, spurting to the left of Marmont's line,
Shakes Thomiere with lunges leonine.

When the manoeuvre's meaning hits his sense,
Marmont hies hotly to the imperilled place,
Where see him fall, sore smitten.--Bonnet rides
And dons the burden of the chief command,
Marking dismayed the Thomiere column there
Shut up by Pakenham like bellows-folds
Against the English Fourth and Fifth hard by;
And while thus crushed, Dragoon-Guards and Dragoons,
Under Le Marchant's hands [of Guernsey he],
Are launched upon them by Sir Stapleton,
And their scathed files are double-scathed anon.

Cotton falls wounded. Pakenham's bayoneteers
Shape for the charge from column into rank;
And Thomiere finds death thereat point-blank!

SEMICHORUS I OF THE PITIES [aerial music]

In fogs of dust the cavalries hoof the ground;
Their prancing squadrons shake the hills around:
Le Marchant's heavies bear with ominous bound
Against their opposites!

SEMICHORUS II

A bullet crying along the cloven air
Gouges Le Marchant's groin and rankles there;
In Death's white sleep he soon joins Thomiere,
And all he has fought for, quits!

[In the meantime the battle has become concentrated in the middle
hollow, and WELLINGTON descends thither from the English Arapeile.

The fight grows fiercer. COLE and LEITH now fall wounded; then
BERESFORD, who directs the Portuguese, is struck down and borne
away. On the French side fall BONNET who succeeded MARMONT in
command, MANNE, CLAUSEL, and FEREY, the last hit mortally.

Their disordered main body retreats into the forest and disappears;
and just as darkness sets in, the English stand alone on the crest,
the distant plain being lighted only by musket-flashes from the
vanquishing enemy. In the close foreground vague figures on
horseback are audible in the gloom.

VOICE OF WELLINGTON

I thought they looked as they'd be scurrying soon!

VOICE OF AN AIDE

Foy bears into the wood in middling trim;
Maucune strikes out for Alba-Castle bridge.

VOICE OF WELLINGTON

Speed the pursuit, then, towards the Huerta ford;
Their only scantling of escape lies there;
The river coops them semicircle-wise,
And we shall have them like a swathe of grass
Within a sickle's curve!

VOICE OF AIDE

Too late, my lord.
They are crossing by the aforesaid bridge at Alba.

VOICE OF WELLINGTON

Impossible. The guns of Carlos rake it
Sheer from the castle walls.

VOICE OF AIDE