Complete Works of Thomas Hardy (Illustrated), page 801
[The bands play and the Review continues till past eleven o'clock.
Then follows a sham fight. At noon precisely the royal carriages
draw off the ground into the highway that leads down to the town
and Gloucester Lodge, followed by other equipages in such numbers
that the road is blocked. A multitude comes after on foot.
Presently the vehicles manage to proceed to the watering-place, and
the troops march away to the various camps as a sea-mist cloaks the
perspective.]
SCENE V
THE SAME. RAINBARROW'S BEACON, EGDON HEATH
[Night in mid-August of the same summer. A lofty ridge of
heathland reveals itself dimly, terminating in an abrupt slope,
at the summit of which are three tumuli. On the sheltered side
of the most prominent of these stands a hut of turves with a
brick chimney. In front are two ricks of fuel, one of heather
and furze for quick ignition, the other of wood, for slow burning.
Something in the feel of the darkness and in the personality of
the spot imparts a sense of uninterrupted space around, the view
by day extending from the cliffs of the Isle of Wight eastward
to Blackdon Hill by Deadman's Bay westward, and south across the
Valley of the Froom to the ridge that screens the Channel.
Two men with pikes loom up, on duty as beacon-keepers beside the
ricks.]
OLD MAN
Now, Jems Purchess, once more mark my words. Black'on is the point
we've to watch, and not Kingsbere; and I'll tell 'ee for why. If he
do land anywhere hereabout 'twill be inside Deadman's Bay, and the
signal will straightaway come from Black'on. But there thou'st
stand, glowering and staring with all thy eyes at Kingsbere! I tell
'ee what 'tis, Jem Purchess, your brain is softening; and you be
getting too old for business of state like ours!
YOUNG MAN
You've let your tongue wrack your few rames of good breeding, John.
OLD MAN
The words of my Lord-Lieutenant was, whenever you see Kingsbere-Hill
Beacon fired to the eastward, or Black'on to the westward, light up;
and keep your second fire burning for two hours. Was that our
documents or was it not?
YOUNG MAN
I don't gainsay it. And so I keep my eye on Kingsbere because that's
most likely o' the two, says I.
OLD MAN
That shows the curious depths of your ignorance. However, I'll have
patience, and say on. Didst ever larn geography?
YOUNG MAN
No. Nor no other corrupt practices.
OLD MAN
Tcht-tcht!—Well, I'll have patience, and put it to him in another
form. Dost know the world is round—eh? I warrant dostn't!
YOUNG MAN
I warrant I do!
OLD MAN
How d'ye make that out, when th'st never been to school?
YOUNG MAN
I larned it at church, thank God.
OLD MAN
Church? What have God A'mighty got to do with profane knowledge?
Beware that you baint blaspheming, Jems Purchess!
YOUNG MAN
I say I did, whether or no! 'Twas the zingers up in gallery that
I had it from. They busted out that strong with "the round world
and they that dwell therein," that we common fokes down under could
do no less than believe 'em.
OLD MAN
Canst be sharp enough in the wrong place as usual—I warrant canst!
However, I'll have patience with 'en and say on!—Suppose, now, my
hat is the world; and there, as might be, stands the Camp of Belong,
where Boney is. The world goes round, so, and Belong goes round too.
Twelve hours pass; round goes the world still—so. Where's Belong
now?
[A pause. Two other figures, a man's and a woman's, rise against
the sky out of the gloom.]
OLD MAN [shouldering his pike]
Who goes there? Friend or foe, in the King's name!
WOMAN
Piece o' trumpery! "Who goes" yourself! What d'ye talk o', John
Whiting! Can't your eyes earn their living any longer, then, that
you don't know your own neighbours? 'Tis Private Cantle of the
Locals and his wife Keziar, down at Bloom's-End—who else should
it be!
OLD MAN [lowering his pike]
A form o' words, Mis'ess Cantle, no more; ordained by his Majesty's
Gover'ment to be spoke by all we on sworn duty for the defence o' the
country. Strict rank-and-file rules is our only horn of salvation in
these times.—But, my dear woman, why ever have ye come lumpering up
to Rainbarrows at this time o' night?
WOMAN
We've been troubled with bad dreams, owing to the firing out at sea
yesterday; and at last I could sleep no more, feeling sure that
sommat boded of His coming. And I said to Cantle, I'll ray myself,
and go up to Beacon, and ask if anything have been heard or seen to-
night. And here we be.
OLD MAN
Not a sign or sound—all's as still as a churchyard. And how is
your good man?
PRIVATE [advancing]
Clk. I be all right! I was in the ranks, helping to keep the ground
at the review by the King this week. We was a wonderful sight—
wonderful! The King said so again and again.—Yes, there was he, and
there was I, though not daring to move a' eyebrow in the presence of
Majesty. I have come home on a night's leave—off there again to-
morrow. Boney's expected every day, the Lord be praised! Yes, our
hopes are to be fulfilled soon, as we say in the army.
OLD MAN
There, there, Cantle; don't ye speak quite so large, and stand
so over-upright. Your back is as holler as a fire-dog's. Do ye
suppose that we on active service here don't know war news? Mind
you don't go taking to your heels when the next alarm comes, as you
did at last year's.
PRIVATE
That had nothing to do with fighting, for I'm as bold as a lion when
I'm up, and "Shoulder Fawlocks!" sounds as common as my own name to
me. 'Twas—- [lowering his voice.] Have ye heard?
OLD MAN
To be sure we have.
PRIVATE
Ghastly, isn't it!
OLD MAN
Ghastly! Frightful!
YOUNG MAN [to Private]
He don't know what it is! That's his pride and puffery. What is it
that' so ghastly—hey?
PRIVATE
Well, there, I can't tell it. 'Twas that that made the whole eighty
of our company run away—though we be the bravest of the brave in
natural jeopardies, or the little boys wouldn't run after us and
call us and call us the "Bang-up-Locals."
WOMAN [in undertones]
I can tell you a word or two on't. It is about His victuals. They
say that He lives upon human flesh, and has rashers o' baby every
morning for breakfast—for all the world like the Cernal Giant in
old ancient times!
YOUNG MAN
Ye can't believe all ye hear.
PRIVATE
I only believe half. And I only own—such is my challengeful
character—that perhaps He do eat pagan infants when He's in the
desert. But not Christian ones at home. Oh no—'tis too much.
WOMAN
Whether or no, I sometimes—God forgive me!—laugh wi' horror at
the queerness o't, till I am that weak I can hardly go round the
house. He should have the washing of 'em a few times; I warrant
'a wouldn't want to eat babies any more!
[A silence, during which they gaze around at the dark dome of the
starless sky.]
YOUNG MAN
There'll be a change in the weather soon, by the look o't. I can
hear the cows moo in Froom Valley as if I were close to 'em, and
the lantern at Max Turnpike is shining quite plain.
OLD MAN
Well, come in and taste a drop o' sommat we've got here, that will
warm the cockles of your heart as ye wamble homealong. We housed
eighty tuns last night for them that shan't be named—landed at
Lullwind Cove the night afore, though they had a narrow shave with
the riding-officers this run.
[They make toward the hut, when a light on the west horizon becomes
visible, and quickly enlarges.]
YOUNG MAN
He's come!
OLD MAN
Come he is, though you do say it! This, then, is the beginning of
what England's waited for!
[They stand and watch the light awhile.]
YOUNG MAN
Just what you was praising the Lord for by-now, Private Cantle.
PRIVATE
My meaning was—-
WOMAN [simpering]
Oh that I hadn't married a fiery sojer, to make me bring fatherless
children into the world, all through his dreadful calling! Why
didn't a man of no sprawl content me!
OLD MAN [shouldering his pike]
We can't heed your innocent pratings any longer, good neighbours,
being in the King's service, and a hot invasion on. Fall in, fall
in, mate. Straight to the tinder-box. Quick march!
[The two men hasten to the hut, and are heard striking a flint
and steel. Returning with a lit lantern they ignite a blaze.
The private of the Locals and his wife hastily retreat by the
light of the flaming beacon, under which the purple rotundities
of the heath show like bronze, and the pits like the eye-sockets
of a skull.]
SPIRIT SINISTER
This is good, and spells blood. [To the Chorus of the Years.] I
assume that It means to let us carry out this invasion with pleasing
slaughter, so as not to disappoint my hope?
SEMICHORUS I OF THE YEARS [aerial music]
We carry out? Nay, but should we
Ordain what bloodshed is to be it!
SEMICHORUS II
The Immanent, that urgeth all,
Rules what may or may not befall!
SEMICHORUS I
Ere systemed suns were globed and lit
The slaughters of the race were writ,
SEMICHORUS II
And wasting wars, by land and sea,
Fixed, like all else, immutably!
SPIRIT SINISTER
Well; be it so. My argument is that War makes rattling good
history; but Peace is poor reading. So I back Bonaparte for
the reason that he will give pleasure to posterity.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
Gross hypocrite!
CHORUS OF THE YEARS
We comprehend him not.
[The day breaks over the heathery upland, on which the beacon
is still burning. The morning reveals the white surface of a
highway which, coming from the royal watering-place beyond the
hills, stretched towards the outskirts of the heath and passes
away eastward.]
DUMB SHOW
Moving figures and vehicles dot the surface of the road, all
progressing in one direction, away from the coast. In the
foreground the shapes appear as those of civilians, mostly on
foot, but many in gigs and tradesmen's carts and on horseback.
When they reach an intermediate hill some pause and look back;
others enter on the next decline landwards without turning
their heads.
From the opposite horizon numerous companies of volunteers, in the
local uniform of red with green facings, are moving coastwards in
companies; as are also irregular bodies of pikemen without uniform;
while on the upper slopes of the downs towards the shore regiments
of the line are visible, with cavalry and artillery; all passing
over to the coast.
At a signal from the Chief Intelligences two Phantoms of Rumour enter
on the highway in the garb of country-men.
FIRST PHANTOM [to Pedestrians]
Wither so fast, good neighbours, and before breakfast, too? Empty
bellies be bad to vamp on.
FIRST PEDESTRIAN
He's landed west'ard, out by Abbot's Beach. And if you have property
you'll save it and yourselves, as we are doing!
SECOND PEDESTRIAN
All yesterday the firing at Boulogne
Was like the seven thunders heard in Heaven
When the fierce angel spoke. So did he draw
Full-manned, flat-bottomed for the shallowest shore,
Dropped down to west, and crossed our frontage here.
Seen from above they specked the water-shine
As will a flight of swallows toward dim eve,
Descending on a smooth and loitering stream
To seek some eyot's sedge.
SECOND PHANTOM
We are sent to enlighten you and ease your soul.
Even now a courier canters to the port
To check the baseless scare.
FIRST PEDESTRIAN
These be inland men who, I warrant 'ee, don't know a lerret from a
lighter! Let's take no heed of such, comrade; and hurry on!
FIRST PHANTOM
Will you not hear
That what was seen behind the midnight mist,
Their oar-blades tossing twinkles to the moon,
Was but a fleet of fishing-craft belated
By reason of the vastness of their haul?
FIRST PEDESTRIAN
Hey? And d'ye know it?—Now I look back to the top o' Rudgeway
the folk seem as come to a pause there.—Be this true, never again
do I stir my stumps for any alarm short of the Day of Judgment!
Nine times has my rheumatical rest been broke in these last three
years by hues and cries of Boney upon us. 'Od rot the feller;
now he's made a fool of me once more, till my inside is like a
wash-tub, what wi' being so gallied, and running so leery!—But
how if you be one of the enemy, sent to sow these tares, so to
speak it, these false tidings, and coax us into a fancied safety?
Hey, neighbours? I don't, after all, care for this story!
SECOND PEDESTRIAN
Onwards again!
If Boney's come, 'tis best to be away;
And if he's not, why, we've a holiday!
[Exeunt Pedestrians. The Spirits of Rumour vanish, while the scene
seems to become involved in the smoke from the beacon, and slowly
disappears.]
ACT THIRD
SCENE I
BOULOGNE. THE CHATEAU AT PONT-DE-BRIQUES
[A room in the Chateau, which is used as the Imperial quarters.
The EMPEROR NAPOLEON, and M. GASPARD MONGE, the mathematician
and philosopher, are seated at breakfast.]
OFFICER
Monsieur the Admiral Decres awaits
A moment's audience with your Majesty,
Or now, or later.
NAPOLEON
Bid him in at once—
At last Villeneuve has raised the Brest blockade!
[Enter DECRES.]
What of the squadron's movements, good Decres?
Brest opened, and all sailing Channelwards,
Like swans into a creek at feeding-time?
DECRES
Such news was what I'd hoped, your Majesty,
To send across this daybreak. But events
Have proved intractable, it seems, of late;
And hence I haste in person to report
The featless facts that just have dashed my—-
NAPOLEON [darkening]
Well?
DECRES
Sire, at the very juncture when the fleets
Sailed out from Ferrol, fever raged aboard
"L'Achille" and "l'Algeciras": later on,
Mischief assailed our Spanish comrades' ships;
Several ran foul of neighbours; whose new hurts,
Being added to their innate clumsiness,
Gave hap the upper hand; and in quick course
Demoralized the whole; until Villeneuve,
Judging that Calder now with Nelson rode,
And prescient of unparalleled disaster
If he pushed on in so disjoint a trim,
Bowed to the inevitable; and thus, perforce,
Leaving to other opportunity
Brest and the Channel scheme, with vast regret
Steered southward into Cadiz.
NAPOLEON [having risen from the table]
What!—Is, then,
My scheme of years to be disdained and dashed
By this man's like, a wretched moral coward,
Whom you must needs foist on me as one fit
For full command in pregnant enterprise!
MONGE [aside]
I'm one too many here! Let me step out
Till this black squall blows over. Poor Decres.
Would that this precious project, disinterred
From naval archives of King Louis' reign,
Had ever lingered fusting where 'twas found.
[Exit Monge.]
NAPOLEON
To help a friend you foul a country's fame!—
Decres, not only chose you this Villeneuve,
But you have nourished secret sour opinions
Akin to his, and thereby helped to scathe
As stably based a project as this age
Has sunned to ripeness. Ever the French Marine
Have you decried, ever contrived to bring
Despair into the fleet! Why, this Villeneuve,
Your man, this rank incompetent, this traitor—
Of whom I asked no more than fight and lose,
Provided he detain the enemy—
A frigate is too great for his command!
what shall be said of one who, at a breath,
