SCENE IV
A CHAMBER OVERLOOKING A MAIN STREET IN BRUSSELS
[A June sunrise; the beams struggling through the window-curtains.
A canopied bed in a recess on the left. The quick notes of
“Brighton Camp, or the “Girl I’ve left behind me,” strike sharply
into the room from fifes and drums without. A young lady in a
dressing-gown, who has evidently been awaiting the sound, springs
from the bed like a hare from its form, undraws window-curtains
and opens the window.
Columns of British soldiery are marching past from the Parc
southward out of the city by the Namur Gate. The windows of
other houses in the street rattle open, and become full of
gazers.
A tap at the door. An older lady enters, and comes up to the
first.]
YOUNGER LADY [turning]
O mamma—I didn’t hear you!
ELDER LADY
I was sound asleep till the thumping of the drums set me fantastically
dreaming, and when I awoke I found they were real. Did they wake you
too, my dear?
Younger Lady [reluctantly]
I didn’t require waking. I hadn’t slept since we came home.
ELDER LADY
That was from the excitement of the ball. There are dark rings round
your eye. [The fifes and drums are now opposite, and thrill the air
in the room.] Ah—that “Girl I’ve left behind me!”—which so many
thousands of women have throbbed an accompaniment to, and will again
to-day if ever they did!
YOUNGER LADY [her voice faltering]
It is rather cruel to say that just now, mamma. There, I can’t look
at them after it! [She turns and wipes her eyes.]
ELDER LADY
I wasn’t thinking of ourselves—certainly not of you.—How they
press on—with those great knapsacks and firelocks and, I am told,
fifty-six rounds of ball-cartridge, and four days’ provisions in
those haversacks. How can they carry it all near twenty miles and
fight with it on their shoulders!... Don’t cry, dear. I thought
you would get sentimental last night over somebody. I ought to
have brought you home sooner. How many dances did you have? It
was impossible for me to look after you in the excitement of the
war-tidings.
YOUNGER LADY
Only three—four.
ELDER LADY
Which were they?
YOUNGER LADY
“Enrico,” the “Copenhagen Waltz” and the “Hanoverian,” and the
“Prime of Life.”
ELDER LADY
It was very foolish to fall in love on the strength of four dances.
YOUNGER LADY [evasively]
Fall in love? Who said I had fallen in love? What a funny idea!
ELDER LADY
Is it?... Now here come the Highland Brigade with their pipes
and their “Hieland Laddie.” How the sweethearts cling to the men’s
arms. [Reaching forward.] There are more regiments following.
But look, that gentleman opposite knows us. I cannot remember his
name. [She bows and calls across.] Sir, which are these?
GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE
The Ninety-second. Next come the Forty-ninth, and next the Forty-
second—Sir Denis Pack’s brigade.
ELDER LADY
Thank you.—I think it is that gentleman we talked to at the
Duchess’s, but I am not sure. [A pause: another band.]
GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE
That’s the Twenty-eighth. [They pass, with their band and colours.]
Now the Thirty-second are coming up—part of Kempt’s brigade. Endless,
are they not?
ELDER LADY
Yes, Sir. Has the Duke passed out yet?
GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE
Not yet. Some cavalry will go by first, I think. The foot coming
up now are the Seventy-ninth. [They pass.]... These next are
the Ninety-fifth. [They pass.]... These are the First Foot-
guards now. [They pass, playing “British Grenadiers.”]... The
Fusileer-guards now. [They pass.] Now the Coldstreamers. [They
pass. He looks up towards the Parc.] Several Hanoverian regiments
under Colonel Best are coming next. [They pass, with their bands
and colours. An interval.]
ELDER LADY [to daughter]
Here are the hussars. How much more they carry to battle than at
reviews. The hay in those great nets must encumber them. [She
turns and sees that her daughter has become pale.] Ah, now I know!
HE has just gone by. You exchanged signals with him, you wicked
girl! How do you know what his character is, or if he’ll ever come
back?
[The younger lady goes and flings herself on her face upon the
bed, sobbing silently. Her mother glances at her, but leaves
her alone. An interval. The prancing of a group of horsemen
is heard on the cobble-stones without.]
GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE [calling]
Here comes the Duke!
ELDER LADY [to younger]
You have left the window at the most important time! The Duke of
Wellington and his staff-officers are passing out.
YOUNGER LADY
I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to see anything any more!
[Riding down the street comes WELLINGTON in a grey frock-coat and
small cocked hat, frigid and undemonstrative; accompanied by four
or five Generals of his suite, the Deputy Quartermaster-general
De LANCEY, LORD FITZROY SOMERSET, Aide-de-camp, and GENERAL
MÜFFLING.]
GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE
He is the Prussian officer attached to our headquarters, through whom
Wellington communicates with Blücher, who, they say, is threatened by
the French at Ligny at this moment.
[The elder lady turns to her daughter, and going to the bed bends
over her, while the horses’ tramp of WELLINGTON and his staff
clatters more faintly in the street, and the music of the last
retreating band dies away towards the Forest of Soignes.
Finding her daughter is hysterical with grief she quickly draws
the window-curtains to screen the room from the houses opposite.
Scene ends.]