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

by Thomas Hardy

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. NAPOLÉON, SOULT, and other marshals are standing
round, their horses waiting at the base of the slope.
NAPOLÉON 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.]

NAPOLÉON
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.

NAPOLÉON [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.

NAPOLÉON
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,

NAPOLÉON
Which he shall have
When I have scanned the hills for Grouchy’s helms.
[NAPOLÉON 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.

NAPOLÉON
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.
[NAPOLÉON 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.]

NAPOLÉON
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[23] 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 NAPOLÉON 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.

NAPOLÉON
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 Bülow to Lord Wellington,
Announcing that a Prussian corps is close,
Was found on him. He speaks our language, sire.

NAPOLÉON [to prisoner]
What force looms yonder on St. Lambert’s Hill?

PRISONER
General Count Bülow’s van, your Majesty.
[A thoughtful scowl crosses NAPOLÉONS’S sallow face.]

NAPOLÉON
Where, then, did your main army lie last night?

PRISONER
At Wavre.

NAPOLÉON
But clashed it with no Frenchmen there?

PRISONER
With none. We deemed they had marched on Plancenoit.

NAPOLÉON [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.

NAPOLÉON [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 Bülow 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 Bülow 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.]