SCENE II
THE SAME, FROM THE PUEBLA HEIGHTS
[It is now day; but a summer fog pervades the prospect. Behind
the fog is heard the roll of bass and tenor drums and the clash
of cymbals, with notes of the popular march “The Downfall of Paris.”
By degrees the fog lifts, and the Plain is disclosed. From this
elevation, gazing north, the expanse looks like the palm of a
monstrous right hand, a little hollowed, some half-dozen miles
across, wherein the ball of the thumb is roughly represented by
heights to the east, on which the French centre has gathered; the
“Mount of Mars” and the “Moon” [the opposite side of the palm] by
the position of the English on the left or west of the plain;
and the “Line of Life” by the Zadorra, an unfordable river running
from the town down the plain, and dropping out of it through a
pass in the Puebla Heights to the south, just beneath our point
of observation—that is to say, toward the wrist of the supposed
hand. The left of the English army under GRAHAM would occupy the
“mounts” at the base of the fingers; while the bent finger-tips
might represent the Cantabrian Hills beyond the plain to the north
or back of the scene.
From the aforesaid stony crests of Puebla the white town and
church towers of Vitoria can be descried on a slope to the right-
rear of the field of battle. A warm rain succeeds the fog for a
short while, bringing up the fragrant scents from fields, vineyards,
and gardens, now in the full leafage of June.]
DUMB SHOW
All the English forces converge forward—that is, eastwardly—the
centre over the ridges, the right through the Pass to the south, the
left down the Bilbao road on the north-west, the bands of the divers
regiments striking up the same quick march, “The Downfall of Paris.”
SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
You see the scene. And yet you see it not.
What do you notice now?
There immediately is shown visually the electric state of mind that
animates WELLINGTON, GRAHAM, HILL, KEMPT, PICTON, COLVILLE, and other
responsible ones on the British side; and on the French KING JOSEPH
stationary on the hill overlooking his own centre, and surrounded by
a numerous staff that includes his adviser MARSHAL JOURDAN, with,
far away in the field, GAZAN, D’ERLON, REILLE, and other marshals.
This vision, resembling as a whole the interior of a beating brain
lit by phosphorescence, in an instant fades back to normal.
Anon we see the English hussars with their flying pelisses galloping
across the Zadorra on one of the Tres-Puentes in the midst of the
field, as had been planned, the English lines in the foreground under
HILL pushing the enemy up the slopes; and far in the distance, to the
left of Vitoria, whiffs of grey smoke followed by low rumbles show
that the left of the English army under GRAHAM is pushing on there.
Bridge after bridge of the half-dozen over the Zadorra is crossed by
the British; and WELLINGTON, in the centre with PICTON, seeing the
hill and village of Arinez in front of him [eastward] to be weakly
held, carries the regiments of the seventh and third divisions in a
quick run towards it. Supported by the hussars, they ultimately
fight their way to the top, in a chaos of smoke, flame, and booming
echoes, loud-voiced PICTON, in an old blue coat and round hat,
swearing as he goes.
Meanwhile the French who are opposed to the English right, in the
foreground, have been turned by HILL; the heights are all abandoned,
and the columns fall back in a confused throng by the road to
Vitoria, hard pressed by the British, who capture abandoned guns
amid indescribable tumult, till the French make a stand in front
of the town.
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
What’s toward in the distance?—say!
SEMICHORUS I OF RUMOURS [aerial music]
Fitfully flash strange sights there; yea,
Unwonted spectacles of sweat and scare
Behind the French, that make a stand
With eighty cannon, match in hand.—
Upon the highway from the town to rear
An eddy of distraction reigns,
Where lumbering treasure, baggage-trains,
Padding pedestrians, haze the atmosphere.
SEMICHORUS II
Men, women, and their children fly,
And when the English over-high
Direct their death-bolts, on this billowy throng
Alight the too far-ranging balls,
Wringing out piteous shrieks and calls
From the pale mob, in monotones loud and long.
SEMICHORUS I
To leftward of the distant din
Reille meantime has been driven in
By Graham’s measure overmastering might.—
Henceforward, masses of the foe
Withdraw, and, firing as they go,
Pass rightwise from the cockpit out of sight.
CHORUS
The sunset slants an ochreous shine
Upon the English knapsacked line,
Whose glistering bayonets incline
As bends the hot pursuit across the plain;
And tardily behind them goes
Too many a mournful load of those
Found wound-weak; while with stealthy crawl,
As silence wraps the rear of all,
Cloaked creatures of the starlight strip the slain.