Complete Works of Thomas Hardy (Illustrated), page 847
Are butterflies, sick of the day's long rheum,
To die of a worse than the weather-foe.
Trodden and bruised to a miry tomb
Are ears that have greened but will never be gold,
And flowers in the bud that will never bloom.
CHORUS OF THE PITIES
So the season's intent, ere its fruit unfold,
Is frustrate, and mangled, and made succumb,
Like a youth of promise struck stark and cold!...
And what of these who to-night have come?
CHORUS OF THE YEARS
The young sleep sound; but the weather awakes
In the veterans, pains from the past that numb;
Old stabs of Ind, old Peninsular aches,
Old Friedland chills, haunt their moist mud bed,
Cramps from Austerlitz; till their slumber breaks.
CHORUS OF SINISTER SPIRITS
And each soul shivers as sinks his head
On the loam he's to lease with the other dead
From to-morrow's mist-fall till Time be sped!
[The fires of the English go out, and silence prevails, save
for the soft hiss of the rain that falls impartially on both
the sleeping armies.]
ACT SEVENTH
SCENE I
THE FIELD OF WATERLOO
[An aerial view of the battlefield at the time of sunrise is
disclosed.
The sky is still overcast, and rain still falls. A green
expanse, almost unbroken, of rye, wheat, and clover, in oblong
and irregular patches undivided by fences, covers the undulating
ground, which sinks into a shallow valley between the French and
English positions. The road from Brussels to Charleroi runs like
a spit through both positions, passing at the back of the English
into the leafy forest of Soignes.
The latter are turning out from their bivouacs. They move stiffly
from their wet rest, and hurry to and fro like ants in an ant-hill.
The tens of thousands of moving specks are largely of a brick-red
colour, but the foreign contingent is darker.
Breakfasts are cooked over smoky fires of green wood. Innumerable
groups, many in their shirt-sleeves, clean their rusty firelocks,
drawing or exploding the charges, scrape the mud from themselves,
and pipeclay from their cross-belts the red dye washed off their
jackets by the rain.
At six o'clock, they parade, spread out, and take up their positions
in the line of battle, the front of which extends in a wavy riband
three miles long, with three projecting bunches at Hougomont, La
Haye Sainte, and La Haye.
Looking across to the French positions we observe that after
advancing in dark streams from where they have passed the night
they, too, deploy and wheel into their fighting places—figures
with red epaulettes and hairy knapsacks, their arms glittering
like a display of cutlery at a hill-side fair.
They assume three concentric lines of crescent shape, that converge
on the English midst, with great blocks of the Imperial Guard at
the back of them. The rattle of their drums, their fanfarades,
and their bands playing "Veillons au salut de l'Empire" contrast
with the quiet reigning on the English side.
A knot of figures, comprising WELLINGTON with a suite of general
and other staff-officers, ride backwards and forwards in front
of the English lines, where each regimental colour floats in the
hands of the junior ensign. The DUKE himself, now a man of forty-
six, is on his bay charger Copenhagen, in light pantaloons, a
small plumeless hat, and a blue cloak, which shows its white
lining when blown back.
On the French side, too, a detached group creeps along the front
in preliminary survey. BONAPARTE—also forty-six—in a grey
overcoat, is mounted on his white arab Marengo, and accompanied
by SOULT, NEY, JEROME, DROUOT, and other marshals. The figures
of aides move to and fro like shuttle-cocks between the group
and distant points in the field. The sun has begun to gleam.]
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
Discriminate these, and what they are,
Who stand so stalwartly to war.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
Report, ye Rumourers of things near and far.
SEMICHORUS I OF RUMOURS [chanting]
Sweep first the Frenchmen's leftward lines along,
And eye the peaceful panes of Hougomont—
That seemed to hold prescriptive right of peace
In fee from Time till Time itself should cease!—
Jarred now by Reille's fierce foot-divisions three,
Flanked on their left by Pire's cavalry.—
The fourfold corps of d'Erlon, spread at length,
Compose the right, east of the famed chaussee—
The shelterless Charleroi-and-Brussels way,—
And Jacquinot's alert light-steeded strength
Still further right, their sharpened swords display.
Thus stands the first line.
SEMICHORUS II
Next behind its back
Comes Count Lobau, left of the Brussels track;
Then Domon's horse, the horse of Subervie;
Kellermann's cuirassed troopers twinkle-tipt,
And, backing d'Erlon, Milhaud's horse, equipt
Likewise in burnished steelwork sunshine-dipt:
So ranks the second line refulgently.
SEMICHORUS I
The third and last embattlement reveals
D'Erlon's, Lobau's, and Reille's foot-cannoniers,
And horse-drawn ordnance too, on massy wheels,
To strike with cavalry where space appears.
SEMICHORUS II
The English front, to left, as flanking force,
Has Vandeleur's hussars, and Vivian's horse;
Next them pace Picton's rows along the crest;
The Hanoverian foot-folk; Wincke; Best;
Bylandt's brigade, set forward fencelessly,
Pack's northern clansmen, Kempt's tough infantry,
With gaiter, epaulet, spat, and {philibeg};
While Halkett, Ompteda, and Kielmansegge
Prolong the musters, near whose forward edge
Baring invests the Farm of Holy Hedge.
SEMICHORUS I
Maitland and Byng in Cooke's division range,
And round dun Hougomont's old lichened sides
A dense array of watching Guardsmen hides
Amid the peaceful produce of the grange,
Whose new-kerned apples, hairy gooseberries green,
And mint, and thyme, the ranks intrude between.—
Last, westward of the road that finds Nivelles,
Duplat draws up, and Adam parallel.
SEMICHORUS II
The second British line—embattled horse—
Holds the reverse slopes, screened, in ordered course;
Dornberg's, and Arentsschildt's, and Colquhoun-Grant's,
And left of them, behind where Alten plants
His regiments, come the "Household" Cavalry;
And nigh, in Picton's rear, the trumpets call
The "Union" brigade of Ponsonby.
Behind these the reserves. In front of all,
Or interspaced, with slow-matched gunners manned,
Upthroated rows of threatful ordnance stand.
[The clock of Nivelles convent church strikes eleven in the
distance. Shortly after, coils of starch-blue smoke burst into
being along the French lines, and the English batteries respond
promptly, in an ominous roar that can be heard at Antwerp.
A column from the French left, six thousand strong, advances on
the plantation in front of the chateau of Hougomont. They are
played upon by the English ordnance; but they enter the wood,
and dislodge some battalions there. The French approach the
buildings, but are stopped by a loop-holed wall with a mass of
English guards behind it. A deadly fire bursts from these through
the loops and over the summit.
NAPOLEON orders a battery of howitzers to play upon the building.
Flames soon burst from it; but the foot-guards still hold the
courtyard.]
SCENE II
THE SAME. THE FRENCH POSITION
[On a hillock near the farm of Rossomme a small table from the
farmhouse has been placed; maps are spread thereon, and a chair
is beside it. NAPOLEON, SOULT, and other marshals are standing
round, their horses waiting at the base of the slope.
NAPOLEON looks through his glass at Hougomont. His elevated face
makes itself distinct in the morning light as a gloomy resentful
countenance, blue-black where shaven, and stained with snuff, with
powderings of the same on the breast of his uniform. His stumpy
figure, being just now thrown back, accentuates his stoutness.]
NAPOLEON
Let Reille be warned that these his surly sets
On Hougomont chateau, can scarce defray
Their mounting bill of blood. They do not touch
The core of my intent—to pierce and roll
The centre upon the right of those opposed.
Thereon will turn the outcome of the day,
In which our odds are ninety to their ten!
SOULT
Yes—prove there time and promptitude enough
To call back Grouchy here. Of his approach
I see no sign.
NAPOLEON [roughly]
Hours past he was bid come.
—But naught imports it! We are enough without him.
You have been beaten by this Wellington,
And so you think him great. But let me teach you
Wellington is no foe to reckon with.
His army, too, is poor. This clash to-day
Is more serious for our seasoned files
Than breakfasting.
SOULT
Such is my earnest hope.
NAPOLEON
Observe that Wellington still labours on,
Stoutening his right behind Gomont chateau,
But leaves his left and centre as before—
Weaker, if anything. He plays our game!
[WELLINGTON can, in fact, be seen detaching from his main line
several companies of Guards to check the aims of the French on
Hougomont.]
Let me re-word my tactics. Ney leads off
By seizing Mont Saint-Jean. Then d'Erlon stirs,
And heaves up his division from the left.
The second corps will move abreast of him
The sappers nearing to entrench themselves
Within the aforesaid farm.
[Enter an aide-de-camp.]
AIDE
From Marshal Ney,
Sire, I bring hasty word that all is poised
To strike the vital stroke, and only waits
Your Majesty's command,
NAPOLEON
Which he shall have
When I have scanned the hills for Grouchy's helms.
[NAPOLEON turns his glass to an upland four or five miles off on
the right, known as St. Lambert's Chapel Hill. Gazing more and
more intently, he takes rapid pinches of snuff in excitement.
NEY'S columns meanwhile standing for the word to advance, eighty
guns being ranged in front of La Belle Alliance in support of them.]
I see a darkly crawling, slug-like shape
Embodying far out there,—troops seemingly—
Grouchy's van-guard. What think you?
SOULT [also examining closely]
Verily troops;
And, maybe, Grouchy's. But the air is hazed.
NAPOLEON
If troops at all, they are Grouchy's. Why misgive,
And force on ills you fear!
ANOTHER MARSHAL
It seems a wood.
Trees don bold outlines in their new-leafed pride.
ANOTHER MARSHAL
It is the creeping shadow from a cloud.
ANOTHER MARSHAL
It is a mass of stationary foot;
I can descry piled arms.
[NAPOLEON sends off the order for NEY'S attack—the grand assault
on the English midst, including the farm of La Haye Sainte. It
opens with a half-hour's thunderous discharge of artillery, which
ceases at length to let d'Erlon's infantry pass.
Four huge columns of these, shouting defiantly, push forwards in
face of the reciprocal fire from the cannon of the English. Their
effrontery carries them so near the Anglo-Allied lines that the
latter waver. But PICTON brings up PACK'S brigade, before which
the French in turn recede, though they make an attempt in La Haye
Sainte, whence BARING'S Germans pour a resolute fire.
WELLINGTON, who is seen afar as one of a group standing by a
great elm, orders OMPTEDA to send assistance to BARING, as may
be gathered from the darting of aides to and fro between the
points, like house-flies dancing their quadrilles.
East of the great highway the right columns of D'ERLON'S corps
have climbed the slopes. BYLANDT'S sorely exposed Dutch are
broken, and in their flight disorder the ranks of the English
Twenty-eighth, the Carabineers of the Ninety-fifth being also
dislodged from the sand-pit they occupied.]
NAPOLEON
All prospers marvellously! Gomont is hemmed;
La Haye Sainte too; their centre jeopardized;
Travers and d'Erlon dominate the crest,
And further strength of foot is following close.
Their troops are raw; the flower of England's force
That fought in Spain, America now holds.—
[SIR TOMAS PICTON, seeing what is happening orders KEMPT'S
brigade forward. It volleys murderously DONZELOT'S columns
of D'ERLON'S corps, and repulses them. As they recede PICTON
is beheld shouting an order to charge.]
SPIRIT OF RUMOUR
I catch a voice that cautions Picton now
Against his rashness. "What the hell care I,—
Is my curst carcase worth a moment's mind?—
Come on!" he answers. Onwardly he goes!
[His tall, stern, saturnine figure with its bronzed complexion is
on nearer approach discerned heading the charge. As he advances
to the slope between the cross-roads and the sand-pit, riding very
conspicuously, he falls dead, a bullet in his forehead. His aide,
assisted by a soldier, drags the body beneath a tree and hastens
on. KEMPT takes his command.
Next MARCOGNET is repulsed by PACK'S brigade. D'ERLON'S infantry
and TRAVERS'S cuirassiers are charged by the Union Brigade of
Scotch Greys, Royal Dragoons, and Inniskillens, and cut down
everywhere, the brigade following them so furiously the LORD
UXBRIDGE tries in vain to recall it. On its coming near the
French it is overwhelmed by MILHAUD'S cuirassiers, scarcely a
fifth of the brigade returning.
An aide enters to NAPOLEON from GENERAL DOMON.]
AIDE
The General, on a far reconnaissance,
Says, sire, there is no room for longer doubt
That those debouching on St. Lambert's Hill
Are Prussian files.
NAPOLEON
Then where is General Grouchy?
[Enter COLONEL MARBOT with a prisoner.]
Aha—a Prussian, too! How comes he here?
MARBOT
Sire, my hussars have captured him near Lasnes—
A subaltern of the Silesian Horse.
A note from Bulow to Lord Wellington,
Announcing that a Prussian corps is close,
Was found on him. He speaks our language, sire.
NAPOLEON [to prisoner]
What force looms yonder on St. Lambert's Hill?
PRISONER
General Count Bulow's van, your Majesty.
[A thoughtful scowl crosses NAPOLEONS'S sallow face.]
NAPOLEON
Where, then, did your main army lie last night?
PRISONER
At Wavre.
NAPOLEON
But clashed it with no Frenchmen there?
PRISONER
With none. We deemed they had marched on Plancenoit.
NAPOLEON [shortly]
Take him away. [The prisoner is removed.] Has Grouchy's whereabouts
Been sought, to apprize him of this Prussian trend?
SOULT
Certainly, sire. I sent a messenger.
NAPOLEON [bitterly]
A messenger! Had my poor Berthier been here
Six would have insufficed! Now then: seek Ney;
Bid him to sling the valour of his braves
Fiercely on England ere Count Bulow come;
And advertize the succours on the hill
As Grouchy's. [Aside] This is my one battle-chance;
The Allies have many such! [To SOULT] If Bulow nears,
He cannot join in time to share the fight.
And if he could, 'tis but a corps the more....
This morning we had ninety chances ours,
We have threescore still. If Grouchy but retrieve
His fault of absence, conquest comes with eve!
[The scene shifts.]
SCENE III
SAINT LAMBERT'S CHAPEL HILL
[A hill half-way between Wavre and the fields of Waterloo, five
miles to the north-east of the scene preceding. The hill is
wooded, with some open land around. To the left of the scene,
towards Waterloo, is a valley.]
DUMB SHOW
Marching columns in Prussian uniforms, coming from the direction of
Wavre, debouch upon the hill from the road through the wood.
They are the advance-guard and two brigades of Bulow's corps, that
have been joined there by BLUCHER. The latter has just risen from
