The Dynasts: An Epic-Drama of the War with Napoleon Part 105

[Ma.s.s is next celebrated, after which the TE DEUM is chanted in harmonies that whirl round the walls of the Salon-Carre and quiver down the long Gallery. The procession then re-forms and returns, amid the flutterings and applause of the dense a.s.sembly. But Napoleon's face has not lost the sombre expression which settled on it. The pair and their train pa.s.s out by the west door, and the congregation disperses in the other direction, the cloud- curtain closing over the scene as they disappear.

ACT SIXTH

SCENE I

THE LINES OF TORRES VEDRAS

[A bird's-eye perspective is revealed of the peninsular tract of Portuguese territory lying between the shining pool of the Tagus on the east, and the white-frilled Atlantic lifting rhythmically on the west. As thus beheld the tract features itself somewhat like a late-Gothic shield, the upper edge from the dexter to the sinister chief being the lines of Torres Vedras, stretching across from the mouth of the Zezambre on the left to Alhandra on the right, and the south or base point being Fort S. Julian. The roofs of Lisbon appear at the sinister base, and in a corresponding spot on the opposite side Cape Roca.

It is perceived in a moment that the northern verge of this nearly coast-hemmed region is the only one through which access can be gained to it by land, and a close scrutiny of the boundary there reveals that means are being adopted to effectually prevent such access.

From east to west along it runs a chain of defences, dotted at intervals by dozens of circular and square redoubts, either made or in the making, two of the latter being of enormous size.

Between these stretch unclimbable escarpments, stone walls, and other breastworks, and in front of all a double row of abatis, formed of the limbs of trees.

Within the outer line of defence is a second, constructed on the same shield-shaped tract of country; and is not more than a twelfth of the length of the others. It is a continuous entrenchment of ditches and ramparts, and its object--that of covering a forced embarkation--is rendered apparent by some rocking English transports off the sh.o.r.e hard by.]

DUMB SHOW

Innumerable human figures are busying themselves like cheese-mites all along the northernmost frontage, undercutting easy slopes into steep ones, digging ditches, piling stones, felling trees, dragging them, and interlacing them along the front as required.

On the second breastwork, which is completed, only a few figures move.

On the third breastwork, which is fully matured and equipped, minute red sentinels creep backwards and forwards noiselessly.

As time pa.s.ses three reddish-grey streams of marching men loom out to the north, advancing southward along three roads towards three diverse points in the first defence. These form the English army, entering the lines for shelter. Looked down upon, their motion seems peristaltic and vermicular, like that of three caterpillars.

The division on the left is under Picton, in the centre under Leith and Cole, and on the extreme right, by Alhandra, under Hill. Beside one of the roads two or three of the soldiers are dangling from a tree by the neck, probably for plundering.

The Dumb Show ends, and the point of view sinks to the earth.

SCENE II

THE SAME. OUTSIDE THE LINES

[The winter day has gloomed to a stormful evening, and the road outside the first line of defence forms the foreground of the stage.

Enter in the dusk from the hills to the north of the entrenchment, near Calandrix, a group of hors.e.m.e.n, which includes Ma.s.sENA in command of the French forces, FOY, LOISON, and other officers of his staff.

They ride forward in the twilight and tempest, and reconnoitre, till they see against the sky the ramparts blocking the road they pursue. They halt silently. Ma.s.sENA, puzzled, endeavours with his gla.s.s to make out the obstacle.]

Ma.s.sENA

Something stands here to peril our advance, Or even prevent it!

FOY

These are the English lines-- Their outer horns and tusks--whereof I spoke, Constructed by Lord Wellington of late To keep his foothold firm in Portugal.

Ma.s.sENA

Thrusts he his burly, bossed disfigurements So far to north as this? I had pictured me The lay much nearer Lisbon. Little strange Lord Wellington rode placid at Busaco With this behind his back! Well, it is hard But that we turn them somewhere, I a.s.sume?

They scarce can close up every southward gap Between the Tagus and the Atlantic Sea.

FOY

I hold they can, and do; although, no doubt, By searching we shall spy some raggedness Which customed skill may force.

Ma.s.sENA

Plain 'tis, no less, We may heap corpses vainly hereabout, And crack good bones in waste. By human power This pa.s.ses mounting! What say you's behind?

LOISON

Another line exactly like the first, But more matured. Behind its back a third.

Ma.s.sENA

How long have these prim ponderosities Been rearing up their foreheads to the moon?

LOISON

Some months in all. I know not quite how long.

They are Lord Wellington's select device, And, like him, heavy, slow, laborious, sure.

Ma.s.sENA

May he enjoy their sureness. He deserves to.

I had no inkling of such barriers here.

A good road runs along their front, it seems, Which offers us advantage.... What a night!

[The tempest cries dismally about the earthworks above them, as the reconnoitrers linger in the slight shelter the lower ground affords. They are about to turn back.

Enter from the cross-road to the right JUNOT and some more officers. They come up at a signal that the others are those they lately parted from.]