SCENE III
CHARLEROI. NAPOLÉON’S QUARTERS
[The same midnight. NAPOLÉON is lying on a bed in his clothes.
In consultation with SOULT, his Chief of Staff, who is sitting
near, he dictates to his Secretary orders for the morrow. They
are addressed to KELLERMANN, DROUOT, LOBAU, GERARD, and other
of his marshals. SOULT goes out to dispatch them.
The Secretary resumes the reading of reports. Presently MARSHAL
NEY is announced He is heard stumbling up the stairs, and enters.]
NAPOLÉON
Ah, Ney; why come you back? Have you secured
The all-important Crossways?—safely sconced
Yourself at Quatre-Bras?
NEY
Not, sire, as yet.
For, marching forwards, I heard gunnery boom,
And, fearing that the Prussians had engaged you,
I stood at pause. Just then—-
NAPOLÉON
My charge was this:
Make it impossible at any cost
That Wellington and Blücher should unite.
As it’s from Brussels that the English come,
And from Namur the Prussians, Quatre-Bras
Lends it alone for their forgathering:
So, why exists it not in your hands/
NEY
My reason, sire, was rolling from my tongue.—
Hard on the boom of guns, dim files of foot
Which read to me like massing Englishry—
The vanguard of all Wellington’s array—
I half-discerned. So, in pure wariness,
I left the Bachelu columns there at Frasnes,
And hastened back to tell you.
NAPOLÉON
Ney; O Ney!
I fear you are not the man that once you were;
Of your so daring, such a faint-heart now!
I have ground to know the foot that flustered you
Were but a few stray groups of Netherlanders;
For my good spies in Brussels send me cue
That up to now the English have not stirred,
But cloy themselves with nightly revel there.
NEY [bitterly]
Give me another opportunity
Before you speak like that!
NAPOLÉON
You soon will have one!...
But now—no more of this. I have other glooms
Upon my soul—the much-disquieting news
That Bourmont has deserted to our foes
With his whole staff.
NEY
We can afford to let him.
NAPOLÉON
It is what such betokens, not their worth,
That whets it!... Love, respect for me, have waned;
But I will right that. We’ve good chances still.
You must return foot-hot to Quatre-Bras;
There Kellermann’s cuirassiers will promptly join you
To bear the English backward Brussels way.
I go on towards Fleurus and Ligny now.—
If Blücher’s force retreat, and Wellington’s
Lie somnolent in Brussels one day more,
I gain that city sans a single shot!...
Now, friend, downstairs you’ll find some supper ready,
Which you must tuck in sharply, and then off.
The past day has not ill-advantaged us;
We have stolen upon the two chiefs unawares,
And in such sites that they must fight apart.
Now for a two hours’ rest.—Comrade, adieu
Until to-morrow!
NEY
Till to-morrow, sire!
[Exit NEY. NAPOLÉON falls asleep, and the Secretary waits till
dictation shall be resumed. BUSSY, the orderly officer, comes
to the door.
BUSSY
Letters—arrived from Paris. [Hands letters.]
SECRETARY
He shall have them
The moment he awakes. These eighteen hours
He’s been astride; and is not what he was.—
Much news from Paris?
BUSSY
I can only say
What’s not the news. The courier has just told me
He’d nothing from the Empress at Vienna
To bring his Majesty. She writes no more.
SECRETARY
And never will again! In my regard
That bird’s forsook the nest for good and all.
BUSSY
All that they hear in Paris from her court
Is through our spies there. One of them reports
This rumour of her: that the Archduke John,
In taking leave to join our enemies here,
Said, “Oh, my poor Louise; I am grieved for you
And what I hope is, that he’ll be run through,
Or shot, or break his neck, for your own good
No less than ours.
NAPOLÉON [waking]
By “he” denoting me?
BUSSY [starting]
Just so, your Majesty.
NAPOLÉON [peremptorily]
What said the Empress?
BUSSY
She gave no answer, sire, that rumour bears.
NAPOLÉON
Count Neipperg, whom they have made her chamberlain,
Interred his wife last spring—is it not so?
BUSSY
He did, your Majesty.
NAPOLÉON
H’m....You may go.
[Exit BUSSY. The Secretary reads letters aloud in succession.
He comes to the last; begins it; reaches a phrase, and stops
abruptly.]
Mind not! Read on. No doubt the usual threat,
Or prophecy, from some mad scribe? Who signs it?
SECRETARY
The subscript is “The Duke of Enghien!”
NAPOLÉON [starting up]
Bah, man! A treacherous trick! A hoax—no more!
Is that the last?
SECRETARY
The last, your Majesty.
NAPOLÉON
Then now I’ll sleep. In two hours have me called.
SECRETARY
I’ll give the order, sire.
[The Secretary goes. The candles are removed, except one, and
NAPOLÉON endeavours to compose himself.]
SPIRIT IRONIC
A little moral panorama would do him no harm, after that reminder of
the Duke of Enghien. Shall it be, young Compassion?
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
What good—if that old Years tells us be true?
But I say naught. To ordain is not for me!
[Thereupon a vision passes before NAPOLÉON as he lies, comprising
hundreds of thousands of skeletons and corpses in various stages
of decay. They rise from his various battlefields, the flesh
dropping from them, and gaze reproachfully at him. His intimate
officers who have been slain he recognizes among the crowd. In
front is the DUKE OF ENGHIEN as showman.]
NAPOLÉON [in his sleep]
Why, why should this reproach be dealt me now?
Why hold me my own master, if I be
Ruled by the pitiless Planet of Destiny?
[He jumps up in a sweat and puts out the last candle; and the
scene is curtained by darkness.]