JOSEPH: Here we are, sir. (To SERGEI) Some vodka for the colonel … Oh, bless my soul.
ROGACHEV: Joseph, if you’ve got a moment …
JOSEPH: (Gamely) Of course, your honour.
ROGACHEV: … just find my secretary, would you, and tell him to start assembling the select company straight away in the small parlour. And Joseph.
JOSEPH: Yes, my lord.
ROGACHEV: Of course we shall need refreshing there too, you know.
JOSEPH: Of course, your honour, I understand. (To SERGEI) Get those glasses changed at once, they’re filthy.
SERGEI: Yes, Mr Joseph.
Fade down and up to small parlour. Half a dozen men are talking in low tones, ROGACHEV comes in and all fall silent.
ROGACHEV: Most honoured, your royal highness.
PRINCE: My dear Rogachev, I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.
ROGACHEV: That’s kind of you, sir. Well …
All sit.
ROGACHEV: Thank you all for leaving the party to come along here. I’ll keep you away for as short a time as I possibly can. In fact I have only two points to bring before you for the moment. The first is that I’m now in possession of what I think is conclusive evidence of the low state of training and the very poor morale of the British forces fighting – if that is the word – in the Crimean peninsula. That’s more important than—
GENERAL: Count Rogachev, may I put in a word here?
ROGACHEV: Please, let’s hear your views, general.
GENERAL: Thank you. Well, fighting is certainly the word for what the English infantry were doing on the 20th of last month at the battle of the River Alma.
VOICES: Oh, that. Yes, we’ve heard a lot about that. Oh, the Alma.
GENERAL: Yes, the Alma. Those men showed not merely courage but blind courage in the way they went on advancing over the river and up those slopes in the face of withering fire from our guns, roundshot, grape and canister. They fell in masses but they kept advancing. Does that indicate very poor morale? Count Rogachev?
ROGACHEV: No more, general? Thank you. Accounts of that engagement seem to vary. Major?
MAJOR: My information is that the ‘heroism’ of the British has been somewhat exaggerated and misinterpreted. We should not forget—
ROGACHEV: The British so-called heroism is something of a myth called into being by way of excuse for the incompetence and timidity of our own commanders.
GENERAL: Nonsense, they’re both fine soldiers. I’ve served with ’em.
ROGACHEV: It’s touching, isn’t it, the way the army always stands together, no matter what. If I may just finish this point, the state of an army’s infantry is a far less telling indicator than that of its cavalry, who are likely to be a little less brutish by nature. Of course I speak myself as a cavalry soldier …
VOICES: Quite right. Of course. Hear hear. About time too.
ROGACHEV: Thank you. And – the British cavalry is in such a state, despite its fine uniforms, that their generals dare not use it, it seems. Major.
MAJOR: Yes, my lord. At the battle of the Alma, which has made such a profound impression on the general here, the famous British cavalry stood by and did nothing. The previous day at the valley of the Bulganek, their Lord Raglan ordered their cavalry to retire before they had even drawn their sabres. What humiliation!
A handbell rings.
ROGACHEV: I beg your pardon, major. Please continue.
MAJOR: The rest is detail, my lord. The theme that emerges is that their cavalry are frightened of our guns.
Voices express assent. Double doors open and JOSEPH and SERGEI come in with drinks.
ROGACHEV: Ah, Joseph, quick about it, now. Champagne for His Highness, vodka, and for me I think a small glass of still white wine. Well, gentlemen, this comes at a timely moment. Consider the victory our Cossacks will win over the British lancers and hussars and dragoons when they meet on the great plains below the Himalayas! A toast – your royal highness, my lords, gentlemen, I give you – the imperial conquest of India!
VOICES: India! We’ll show ’em! To victory! Long live the Czar!
ROGACHEV: Joseph, my trusty friend, you shall join our toast! Pour yourself a glass of wine and raise it on high!
JOSEPH: Thank you, sir, but I beg your lordship to excuse me. My wretched stomach …
Pause.
ROGACHEV: Oh, very well. But you should see a doctor about those insides of yours, do you hear me?
JOSEPH: Oh yes, your honour.
ROGACHEV: See to it. (Raises voice) Is it your wish that I put our plan before the High Command at their next meeting?
VOICES: Yes! As soon as may be! Don’t let’s delay any longer!
GENERAL: Have you a date for this Indian escapade of yours?
ROGACHEV: I soon will, general.
We are in a smallish office with an open window overlooking the Neva. Hooter noises, etc.
PEMBERTON: (Friendly) But you didn’t manage to get the date.
JOSEPH: Not yet, Mr Pemberton, I’m afraid. It’s not easy.
PEMBERTON: I imagine not.
JOSEPH: Especially not since Count Rogachev became watchful. I was a fool to get out of drinking that toast. I just couldn’t …
PEMBERTON: What does he suspect, Joseph?
JOSEPH: Not the truth, or I wouldn’t be here now. No, he merely thinks I don’t love him, which is true. I must be more careful to prevent him from seeing what I really feel about him.
PEMBERTON: How can you be sure nobody’s watching you?
JOSEPH: Because I don’t trip over a little man in a mask every time I turn a corner. It’s strange how a people as deceitful as the Russians should be so bad at anything to do with spying. Don’t worry, Mr Pemberton, I’ll get you that date.
PEMBERTON: Well, it can’t be for a few months yet, with winter coming on. In fact now I think of it …
He shuts the window.
PEMBERTON: That’s better. What is it?
JOSEPH: I just hope you’re right about those few months. I wouldn’t trust Rogachev not to get troops over the Himalayas in dead of winter by balloon. Well, a little bit of judicious eavesdropping should settle the matter.
PEMBERTON has opened and shut a drawer and now tosses a packet of banknotes on to the table between them.
PEMBERTON: I’ll look forward to it. You’d better count them.
JOSEPH: No need, Mr Pemberton.
PEMBERTON: Very well. You know, I think you’d do this work for nothing.
JOSEPH: Maybe. Maybe.
Sequence 3 – The Crimea
Near Balaclava, 17th October, 1854. In the distance a large force of Russian cavalry is manoeuvring back and forth. In the foreground a large force of British cavalry is advancing at a walk and trot. The troopers are chatting among themselves as they ride.
TROOPERS: Glory be, we’re going to have a smack at ’em at last. We’ll show those Russki swine who’s master. About time too. Who do they think they are? Our turn now, eh?
SERGEANT: (From near by) No talking in the ranks. And watch your dressing there. Smartly now. Sit up straight and take a pride in it.
OFFICERS: (From out in front) Halt! Halt the 17th. Halt the Scots Greys. Halt the 11th.
The entire cavalry division halts.
SERGEANT: Right, settle yourselves, lads. Remember they’re watching you. Prepare to charge. Now’s the time to say your prayers. Listen to your orders, listen to the trumpeter, and do what you’re told. Now, all quiet. Steady. And God bless us all.
Some moments pass in silence.
NOLAN: (Muttering) What the devil are you waiting for, Lord Lucan, you great ninny, you aristocratic booby, is it reinforcements from God’s angels you’re wanting? (To colleag
ue) Will you just look at that ground now, boy, and tell me if you ever saw country better suited for a cavalry charge?
COLLEAGUE: You’re right, Lew, it’s ideal.
NOLAN: No narrow lanes, no woods, not as much as a damn hedge to jump, and as for the going, you couldn’t wish for better at Newmarket. And we’re all here. What’s the matter with Lord Look-On? God, it’s driving me mad.
COLLEAGUE: Keep your voice down.
More moments pass. Then the Russian cavalry in the distance start booing, jeering, laughing. Their trumpets can be heard.
NOLAN: The bastards are about to withdraw. I’ll not stand it, so I won’t.
He gallops off.
We are up with LORD LUCAN ’s headquarters group, half a dozen officers with orderlies.
STAFF CAPTAIN: They’ll be forming column in a minute, sir. In order to retire.
COLONEL: Lord Lucan, I beg you, order the charge before it’s too late.
LUCAN: I know your feelings, colonel, but you must know I cannot charge. I must follow what Lord Raglan has laid down. The Commander-in-Chief has stated most categorically that I must in no circumstances attack.
COLONEL: He’s not here now, sir. It’s a golden opportunity to deal a deadly blow.
LUCAN: Colonel, I have my orders.
NOLAN: (Approaching) Lord Lucan … Lord Lucan …
LUCAN: Who’s this fellow? (To NOLAN) Who are you, sir?
NOLAN: Captain Nolan, at your service, my lord. Now if no one else will do so, I have to tell you to your face that by failing to attack the enemy when he’s at our mercy you have neglected your duty, sir. Whatever your orders may have been, the responsibility of taking the war to the enemy is paramount and overriding.
LUCAN: How dare you, sir. Pray withdraw immediately.
NOLAN: You’re supposed to be the general commanding the cavalry division, not a damn nursemaid. Back there are some of the finest soldiers in the world, and you’re letting them just sit and chew their nails. You’re a disgrace!
The last speech is broken into by protests, etc., from LUCAN, COLONEL and STAFF CAPTAIN. NOLAN’s last words are shouted as he is hustled away.
LUCAN: I’ve a mind to have that insolent Irishman court-martialled.
COLONEL: I think it would do no good, my lord.
LUCAN: As I put it in my recent memorandum: It is not the duty of light cavalry needlessly, without authority, to engage the enemy.
COLONEL: Just so, my lord. Shall I have the Retire sounded?
LUCAN: Thank you, colonel, if you would.
COLONEL: (To TRUMPETER) Sound Retire.
TRUMPETER: Sir.
The trumpet-call rings out.
The waiting British cavalry hear the trumpet-call from the front.
The men are furious.
TROOPERS: The Retire! I can’t believe it. Damn that cowardly swine Lucan to hell! Some general. Lord Look-On is right. We’d have cut ’em to pieces. Aren’t we ever going to get a smack at ’em?
SERGEANT: (Shouting) Silence in the ranks! (To CAPTAIN) You can’t blame ’em, sir.
CAPTAIN: (Shouting) Squadron will move to the right in column. Squadron will retire, 3 Troop leading. Walk march. Smartly there! (To himself) Oh God.
Fade out cavalry moving at walk.
Sequence 4 – London
Official building in Whitehall or somewhere. CECIL is walking along a corridor on the way to his office. DANVERS comes up.
DANVERS: Good morning, my lord.
CECIL: Morning, Danvers. Has the mail from the Crimea arrived?
They walk along the corridor together.
DANVERS: On your desk, sir.
CECIL: The only thing in this whole mess and misery that seems to work is the mail service.
DANVERS: They say bad news travels fast, sir.
They enter CECIL’s office.
CECIL: They’re right there. (Opens packet) But for the electric telegraph we might still be living in a fool’s paradise.
DANVERS: I hear, my lord, that in a few months we shall be able to get our news direct from Balaclava.
CECIL: If we still have anybody there to send it. (Reading) Oh dear.
DANVERS: I’ll leave you, sir.
CECIL: Don’t go far.
DANVERS goes.
CECIL: Oh, Lew, you are a positive wonder. More than just a clever fellow with a bribe. How do you do it? It’s supernatural.
NOLAN: (Voice fades up) Greetings to my pious friend. Our bishop here is in very bad odour. Two days ago our loyal clergy were all keyed up to spread enlightenment among the heathen. It was a perfect opportunity. But alas, my lord bishop hummed and ha’d and did nothing. Our clergy were furiously disappointed. I myself remonstrated with my lord, who retorted with dignity that he had specific orders from my lord the archbishop to refrain from any attempt to spread the holy word without specific orders. What can a true believer hope to do?
Our clergy are in a very bad state, the kind of sullen discontent that precedes real trouble. Unless they get the chance soon to do something effectively evangelical their spirit will be lost. This is very urgent. Please advise me. Your reverend friend and brother. PS The bishop from Wales is as usual. He awaits the coming of his yacht from England with his French cook on board.
CECIL: The bishop from Wales? Oh – Cardigan, of course!
Knock at door.
CECIL: Come.
DANVERS enters.
DANVERS: From Lord Clarendon’s office, my lord, by special messenger.
CECIL: Thank you, Danvers.
DANVERS goes.
CECIL: (Opens envelope. Reads) ‘I thought you might like to see the enclosed. Please understand that it is a matter of the strictest confidence between us. G.V.’ Thank you, George. Now—
PEMBERTON: (Voice fades up) Our man reports that Count Rogachev seems most interested and well informed as to the state of training and morale of our troops in the Crimea, with particular reference to our cavalry. This is no academic interest of his but an essential feature of his scheme to bring about a Russian invasion of India. A plan for this has been laid before the Imperial High Command, but our man is still unable to learn the proposed date of the move. What seems certain is that Rogachev sees as vital to his plan the supposed, or real, disinclination, or inability, of our troops to resist a determined and forceful adversary, especially …
CECIL: Especially where cavalry is concerned. Indeed. What else?
We are in a beau-monde London house during a party. Men and women are talking and moving about, e.g. up and down staircase.
HERBERT: Well, my dear Cecil, this is most pleasant, happening to run into you like this.
CECIL: It’s good of you to say so, Herbert. For me, it’s more than pleasant. You’re the very man I was hoping to see.
HERBERT: You don’t say. How delightful. Well, what can I do for you in the next couple of minutes?
CECIL: Very quickly – you remember this fellow Rogachev I was asking you about?
HERBERT: Rogachev? Oh yes, that Russian count fellow. What about him?
CECIL: That scheme of his for the invasion of you-know-where. What do the Cabinet make of it?
HERBERT: Make of it? They make nothing of it, Cecil. If they’ve heard of it at all, they’ve forgotten it.
CECIL: They think it of no account?
HERBERT: None whatever. Heaven knows what they do think of account. Keeping income tax down to sixpence in the pound, most likely. Well, must be off.
His voice is lost for a moment in the noise of the party. Then we hear it again.
HERBERT: (Calling) Oh Cecil!
CECIL: (Approaching) Yes, Herbert?
HERBERT: Just remembered – I was talking
to a fellow in the Horse Guards the other day, and your friend Rogachev came up in conversation. Apparently he tried to get into our Light Dragoons some years ago, and they turned him down. No leg for a boot or some such jargon. That’s all.
CECIL: My dear Herbert, that is most interesting.
HERBERT: (Fading) Just thought I’d mention it.
CECIL is in his office with DANVERS.
CECIL: (Dictating) The Muscovite priest we spoke of … was once refused entry to one of our seminaries. Full stop. Hence perhaps his contempt for our clergy. Stop. Your remarks on their low spirits are noted. Stop. Recommend you do your utmost to encourage some demonstration of their superiority to the ungodly, comma, whatever your bishop or archbishop may say. Full stop. No, comma: or not say. Full stop. Would you read the last phrase back, Danvers?
DANVERS: Whatever your bishop or archbishop may say, or not say.
CECIL: Or not say. Whatever Lord Lucan or Lord Raglan may order you to do, or fail to order you to do. That is a little strong perhaps.
DANVERS: Shall I strike it out, my lord?
Pause.
CECIL: No. No, keep it. Address to Captain Lewis Nolan – HQ HM Forces – Crimean Expeditionary Force. Priority. And that means priority with you too, Danvers, so down to the telegraph office you go like a bullet.
DANVERS: Immediately, my lord.
He leaves.
CECIL: No leg for a boot!
He collapses in laughter.
Sequence 5 – The Crimea
The British forces outside Sebastopol. Before dawn on the 25th October. A bitterly cold night, wind howling, sentries stamping their feet, etc. NOLAN’s tent. MORRIS approaches it.
NOLAN: That you, Ivor?
MORRIS: It’s me right enough.
Complete Stories Page 52