by Thomas Hardy
held by the men who marched out of Brussels in the morning, under
officers who danced the previous night at the Duchess's, is along
the Namur road to the left of the perspective, and round the cross-
road itself. That of the French, under Ney, is on the crests further
back, from which they are descending in imposing numbers. Some
advanced columns are assailing the English left, while through the
smoke-hazes of the middle of the field two lines of skirmishers
are seen firing at each other—the southernmost dark blue, the
northernmost dull red. Time lapses till it is past four o'clock.
SPIRIT OF RUMOUR
The cannonade of the French ordnance-lines
Has now redoubled. Columns new and dense
Of foot, supported by fleet cavalry,
Straightly impinge upon the Brunswick bands
That border the plantation of Bossu.
Above some regiments of the assaulting French
A flag like midnight swims upon the air,
To say no quarter may be looked for there!
The Brunswick soldiery, much notched and torn by the French grape-
shot, now lie in heaps. The DUKE OF BRUNSWICK himself, desperate
to keep them steady, lights his pipe, and rides slowly up and down
in front of his lines previous to the charge which follows.
SPIRIT OF RUMOUR
The French have heaved them on the Brunswickers,
And borne them back. Now comes the Duke's told time.
He gallops at the head of his hussars—
Those men of solemn and appalling guise,
Full-clothed in black, with nodding hearsy plumes,
A shining silver skull and cross of bones
Set upon each, to byspeak his slain sire....
Concordantly, the expected bullet starts
And finds the living son.
BRUNSWICK reels to the ground. His troops, disheartened, lose their
courage and give way.
The French front columns, and the cavalry supporting them, shout
as they advance. The Allies are forced back upon the English main
position. WELLINGTON is in personal peril for a time, but he escapes
it by a leap of his horse.
A curtain of smoke drops. An interval. The curtain reascends.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
Behold again the Dynasts' gory gear!
Since we regarded, what has progressed here?
RECORDING ANGEL [in recitative]
Musters of English foot and their allies
Came palely panting by the Brussels way,
And, swiftly stationed, checked their counter-braves.
Ney, vexed by lack of like auxiliaries,
Bade then the columned cuirassiers to charge
In all their edged array of weaponcraft.
Yea; thrust replied to thrust, and fire to fire;
The English broke, till Picton prompt to prop them
Sprang with fresh foot-folk from the covering rye.
Next, Pire's cavalry took up the charge....
And so the action sways. The English left
Is turned at Piraumont; whilst on their right
Perils infest the greenwood of Bossu;
Wellington gazes round with dubious view;
England's long fame in fight seems sepulchered,
And ominous roars swell loudlier Ligny-ward.
SPIRIT OF RUMOUR
New rage has wrenched the battle since thou'st writ;
Hot-hasting succours of light cannonry
Lately come up, relieve the English stress;
Kellermann's cuirassiers, both man and horse
All plated over with the brass of war,
Are rolling on the highway. More brigades
Of British, soiled and sweltering, now are nigh,
Who plunge within the boscage of Bossu;
Where in the hidden shades and sinuous creeps
Life-struggles can be heard, seen but in peeps.
Therewith the foe's accessions harass Ney,
Racked that no needful d'Erlon darks the way!
Inch by inch NEY has to draw off: WELLINGTON promptly advances. At
dusk NEY'S army finds itself back at Frasnes, where he meets D'ERLON
coming up to his assistance, too late.
The weary English and their allies, who have been on foot ever since
one o'clock the previous morning, prepare to bivouac in front of the
cross-roads. Their fires flash up for a while; and by and by the
dead silence of heavy sleep hangs over them. WELLINGTON goes into
his tent, and the night darkens.
A Prussian courier from Ligny enters, who is conducted into the tent
to WELLINGTON.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
What tidings can a courier bring that count
Here, where such mighty things are native born?
RECORDING ANGEL [in recitative]
The fury of the tumult there begun
Scourged quivering Ligny through the afternoon:
Napoleon's great intent grew substantive,
And on the Prussian pith and pulse he bent
His foretimed blow. Blucher, to butt the shock,
Called up his last reserves, and heading on,
With blade high brandished by his aged arm,
Spurred forward his white steed. But they, outspent,
Failed far to follow. Darkness coped the sky,
And storm, and rain with thunder. Yet once more
He cheered them on to charge. His horse, the while,
Pierced by a bullet, fell on him it bore.
He, trampled, bruised, faint, and in disarray
Dragged to another mount, was led away.
His ragged lines withdraw from sight and sound,
And their assailants camp upon the ground.
The scene shuts with midnight.
SCENE VII
BRUSSELS. THE PLACE ROYALE
[The same night, dark and sultry. A crowd of citizens throng the
broad Place. They gaze continually down the Rue de Namur, along
which arrive minute by minute carts and waggons laden with wounded
men. Other wounded limp into the city on foot. At much greater
speed enter fugitive soldiers from the miscellaneous contingents
of WELLINGTON'S army at Quatre-Bras, who gesticulate and explain
to the crowd that all is lost and that the French will soon be in
Brussels.
Baggage-carts and carriages, with and without horses, stand before
an hotel, surrounded by a medley of English and other foreign
nobility and gentry with their valets and maids. Bulletins from
the battlefield are affixed on the corner of the Place, and people
peer at them by the dim oil lights.
A rattle of hoofs reaches the ears, entering the town by the same
Namur gate. The riders disclose themselves to be Belgian hussars,
also from the field.]
SEVERAL HUSSARS
The French approach! Wellington is beaten. Bonaparte is at our heels.
[Consternation reaches a climax. Horses are hastily put-to at the
hotel: people crowd into the carriages and try to drive off. They
get jammed together and hemmed in by the throng. Unable to move
they quarrel and curse despairingly in sundry tongues.]
BARON CAPELLEN
Affix the new bulletin. It is a more assuring one, and may quiet
them a little.
[A new bulletin is nailed over the old one.]
MAYOR
Good people, calm yourselves. No victory has been won by Bonaparte.
The noise of guns heard all the afternoon became fainter towards the
end, showing
beyond doubt that the retreat was away from the city.
A CITIZEN
The French are said to be forty thousand strong at Les Quatre-Bras,
and no forty thousand British marched out against them this morning!
ANOTHER CITIZEN
And it is whispered that the city archives and the treasure-chest
have been sent to Antwerp!
MAYOR
Only as a precaution. No good can be gained by panic. Sixty or
seventy thousand of the Allies, all told, face Napoleon at this
hour. Meanwhile who is to attend to the wounded that are being
brought in faster and faster? Fellow-citizens, do your duty by
these unfortunates, and believe me that when engaged in such an
act of mercy no enemy will hurt you.
CITIZENS
What can we do?
MAYOR
I invite all those who have such, to bring mattresses, sheets, and
coverlets to the Hotel de Ville, also old linen and lint from the
houses of the cures.
[Many set out on this errand. An interval. Enter a courier, who
speaks to the MAYOR and the BARON CAPELLEN.]
BARON CAPELLEN [to Mayor]
Better inform them immediately, to prevent a panic.
MAYOR [to Citizens]
I grieve to tell you that the Duke of Brunswick, whom you saw ride
out this morning, was killed this afternoon at Les Quatre-Bras. A
musket-ball passed through his bridle-hand and entered his belly.
His body is now arriving. Carry yourselves gravely.
[A lane is formed in the crowd in the direction of the Rue de
Namur; they wait. Presently an extemporized funeral procession,
with the body of the DUKE on a gun-carriage, and a small escort
of Brunswickers with carbines reversed, comes slowly up the
street, their silver death's-heads shining in the lamplight.
The agitation of the citizens settles into a silent gloom as
the mournful train passes.]
MAYOR [to Baron Capellen]
I noticed the strange look of prepossession on his face at the ball
last night, as if he knew what was going to be.
BARON CAPELLEN
The Duchess mentioned it to me.... He hated the French, if any
man ever did, and so did his father before him! Here comes the
English Colonel Hamilton, straight from the field. He will give
us trustworthy particulars.
[Enter COLONEL HAMILTON by the Rue de Namur. He converses with
the MAYOR and the BARON on the issue of the struggle.]
MAYOR
Now I will go the Hotel de Ville, and get it ready for those wounded
who can find no room in private houses.
[Exeunt MAYOR, CAPELLEN, D'URSEL, HAMILTON, etc. severally. Many
citizens descend in the direction of the Hotel de Ville to assist.
Those who remain silently watch the carts bringing in the wounded
till a late hour. The doors of houses in the Place and elsewhere
are kept open, and the rooms within lighted, in expectation of
more arrivals from the field. A courier gallops up, who is accosted
by idlers.]
COURIER [hastily]
The Prussians are defeated at Ligny by Napoleon in person. He will
be here to-morrow.
[Exit courier.]
FIRST IDLER
The devil! Then I am for welcoming him. No Antwerp for me!
OTHER IDLERS [sotto voce]
Vive l'Empereur!
[A warm summer fog from the Lower Town covers the Parc and the
Place Royale.]
SCENE VIII
THE ROAD TO WATERLOO
[The view is now from Quatre-Bras backward along the road by
which the English arrived. Diminishing in a straight line from
the foreground to the centre of the distance it passes over Mont
Saint-Jean and through Waterloo to Brussels.
It is now tinged by a moving mass of English and Allied infantry,
in retreat to a new position at Mont Saint-Jean. The sun shines
brilliantly upon the foreground as yet, but towards Waterloo and
the Forest of Soignes on the north horizon it is overcast with
black clouds which are steadily advancing up the sky.
To mask the retreat the English outposts retain their position
on the battlefield in the face of NEY'S troops, and keep up a
desultory firing: the cavalry for the same reason remain, being
drawn up in lines beside the intersecting Namur road.
Enter WELLINGTON, UXBRIDGE [who is in charge of the cavalry],
MUFFLING, VIVIAN, and others. They look through their field-
glasses towards Frasnes, NEY'S position since his retreat
yesternight, and also towards NAPOLEON'S at Ligny.]
WELLINGTON
The noonday sun, striking so strongly there,
Makes mirrors of their arms. That they advance
Their glowing radiance shows. Those gleams by Marbais
Suggest fixed bayonets.
UXBRIDGE
Vivian's glass reveals
That they are cuirassiers. Ney's troops, too, near
At last, methinks, along this other road.
WELLINGTON
One thing is sure: that here the whole French force
Schemes to unite and sharply follow us.
It formulates our fence. The cavalry
Must linger here no longer; but recede
To Mont Saint-Jean, as rearguard of the foot.
From the intelligence that Gordon brings
'Tis pretty clear old Blucher had to take
A damned good drubbing yesterday at Ligny,
And has been bent hard back! So that, for us,
Bound to the plighted plan, there is no choice
But do like.... No doubt they'll say at home
That we've been well thrashed too. It can't be helped,
They must!... [He looks round at the sky.] A heavy rainfall
threatens us,
To make it all the worse!
[The speaker and his staff ride off along the Brussels road in
the rear of the infantry, and UXBRIDGE begins the retreat of the
cavalry. CAPTAIN MERCER enters with a light battery.]
MERCER [excitedly]
Look back, my lord;
Is it not Bonaparte himself we see
Upon the road I have come by?
UXBRIDGE [looking through glass]
Yes, by God;
His face as clear-cut as the edge of a cloud
The sun behind shows up! His suite and all!
Fire—fire! And aim you well.
[The battery makes ready and fires.]
No! It won't do.
He brings on mounted ordnance of his Guard,
So we're in danger here. Then limber up,
And off as soon as may be.
[The English artillery and cavalry retreat at full speed, just as
the weather bursts, with flashes of lightning and drops of rain.
They all clatter off along the Brussels road, UXBRIDGE and his
aides galloping beside the column; till no British are left at
Quatre-Bras except the slain.
The focus of the scene follows the retreating English army, the
highway and its and margins panoramically gliding past the vision
of the spectator. The phantoms chant monotonously while the retreat
goes on.]
CHORUS OF RUMOURS [aerial music]
Day's nether hours advance; storm supervenes
In heaviness unparalleled, that screens
With water-woven gauzes, vapour-bred,
The creeping clumps of half
-obliterate red—
Severely harassed past each round and ridge
By the inimical lance. They gain the bridge
And village of Genappe, in equal fence
With weather and the enemy's violence.
—Cannon upon the foul and flooded road,
Cavalry in the cornfields mire-bestrowed,
With frothy horses floundering to their knees,
Make wayfaring a moil of miseries!
Till Britishry and Bonapartists lose
Their clashing colours for the tawny hues
That twilight sets on all its stealing tinct imbues.
[The rising ground of Mont Saint-Jean, in front of Waterloo,
is gained by the English vanguard and main masses of foot, and
by degrees they are joined by the cavalry and artillery. The
French are but little later in taking up their position amid
the cornfields around La Belle Alliance.
Fires begin to shine up from the English bivouacs. Camp kettles
are slung, and the men pile arms and stand round the blaze to dry
themselves. The French opposite lie down like dead men in the
dripping green wheat and rye, without supper and without fire.
By and by the English army also lies down, the men huddling
together on the ploughed mud in their wet blankets, while some
sleep sitting round the dying fires.]
CHORUS OF THE YEARS [aerial music]
The eyelids of eve fall together at last,
And the forms so foreign to field and tree
Lie down as though native, and slumber fast!
CHORUS OF THE PITIES
Sore are the thrills of misgiving we see
In the artless champaign at this harlequinade,
Distracting a vigil where calm should be!
The green seems opprest, and the Plain afraid
Of a Something to come, whereof these are the proofs,—
Neither earthquake, nor storm, nor eclipses's shade!
CHORUS OF THE YEARS
Yea, the coneys are scared by the thud of hoofs,
And their white scuts flash at their vanishing heels,
And swallows abandon the hamlet-roofs.
The mole's tunnelled chambers are crushed by wheels,
The lark's eggs scattered, their owners fled;
And the hedgehog's household the sapper unseals.
The snail draws in at the terrible tread,
But in vain; he is crushed by the felloe-rim
The worm asks what can be overhead,
And wriggles deep from a scene so grim,
And guesses him safe; for he does not know
What a foul red flood will be soaking him!
Beaten about by the heel and toe