The Dynasts: An Epic-Drama of the War with Napoleon Part 183

WELLINGTON

It's Marshal Ney himself who heads the charge.

The finest cavalry commander, he, That wears a foreign plume; ay, probably The whole world through!

SPIRIT IRONIC

And when that matchless chief Sentenced shall lie to ignominious death But technically deserved, no finger he Who speaks will lift to save him.!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

To his shame.

We must discount war's generous impulses I sadly see.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Be mute, and let spin on This whirlwind of the Will!

[As NEY'S cavalry ascends the English position the swish of the horses' b.r.e.a.s.t.s through the standing corn can be heard, and the reverberation of hoofs increases in strength. The English gunners stand with their portfires ready, which are seen glowing luridly in the daylight. There is comparative silence.]

A VOICE

Now, captains, are you loaded?

CAPTAINS

Yes, my lord.

VOICE

Point carefully, and wait till their whole height Shows above the ridge.

[When the squadrons rise in full view, within sixty yards of the cannon-mouths, the batteries fire, with a concussion that shakes the hill itself. Their shot punch holes through the front ranks of the cuira.s.siers, and horse and riders fall in heaps. But they are not stopped, hardly checked, galloping up to the mouths of the guns, pa.s.sing between the pieces, and plunging among the Allied infantry behind the ridge, who, with the advance of the hors.e.m.e.n, have sprung up from their p.r.o.ne position and formed into squares.]

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

Ney guides the fore-front of the carabineers Through charge and charge, with rapid recklessness.

Horses, cuira.s.ses, sabres, helmets, men, Impinge confusedly on the pointed p.r.o.ngs Of the English kneeling there, whose dim red shapes Behind their slanted steel seem trampled flat And sworded to the sward. The charge recedes, And lo, the tough lines rank there as before, Save that they are shrunken.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Hero of heroes, too, Ney, [not forgetting those who gird against him].-- Simple and single-souled lieutenant he; Why should men's many-valued motions take So barbarous a groove!

[The cuira.s.siers and lancers surge round the English and Allied squares like waves, striking furiously on them and well-nigh breaking them. They stand in dogged silence amid the French cheers.]

WELLINGTON [to the nearest square]

Hard pounding this, my men! I truly trust You'll pound the longest!

SQUARE

Hip-hip-hip-hurrah!

m.u.f.fLING [again referring to his watch]

However firmly they may stand, in faith, Their firmness must have bounds to it, because There are bounds to human strength!... Your, Grace, To leftward now, to spirit Zieten on.

WELLINGTON

Good. It is time! I think he well be late, However, in the field.

[m.u.f.fLING goes. Enter an aide, breathless.]

AIDE

Your Grace, the Ninety-fifth are patience-spent With standing under fire so pa.s.sing long.

They writhe to charge--or anything but stand!

WELLINGTON

Not yet. They shall have at 'em later on.

At present keep them firm.

[Exit aide. The Allied squares stand like little red-brick castles, independent of each other, and motionless except at the dry hurried command "Close up!" repeated every now and then as they are slowly thinned. On the other hand, under their firing and bayonets a disorder becomes apparent among the charging horse, on whose cuira.s.ses the bullets snap like stones on window-panes. At this the Allied cavalry waiting in the rear advance; and by degrees they deliver the squares from their enemies, who are withdrawn to their own position to prepare for a still more strenuous a.s.sault. The point of view shifts.]

SCENE V

THE SAME. THE WOMEN'S CAMP NEAR MONT SAINT-JEAN

[On the sheltered side of a clump of trees at the back of the English position camp-fires are smouldering. Soldiers' wives, mistresses, and children from a few months to five or six years of age, sit on the ground round the fires or on armfuls of straw from the adjoining farm. Wounded soldiers lie near the women.

The wind occasionally brings the smoke and smell of battle into the encampment, the noise being continuous. Two waggons stand near; also a surgeon's horse in charge of a batman, laden with bone-saws, knives, probes, tweezers, and other surgical instruments.

Behind lies a woman who has just given birth to a child, which a second woman is holding.