SPIRIT IRONIC
Ha! “Liberty” is quaint, and pleases me,
Sounding from such a soil!
[Midsummer-day breaks, and the sun rises on the right, revealing
the position clearly. The eminence overlooks for miles the river
Niemen, now mirroring the morning rays. Across the river three
temporary bridges have been thrown, and towards them the French
masses streaming out of the forest descend in three columns.
They sing, shout, fling their shakos in the air and repeat words
from the proclamation, their steel and brass flashing in the sun.
They narrow their columns as they gain the three bridges, and begin
to cross—horse, foot, and artillery.
NAPOLÉON has come from the tent in which he has passed the night
to the high ground in front, where he stands watching through his
glass the committal of his army to the enterprise. DAVOUT, NEY,
MURAT, OUDINOT, Generals HAXEL and EBLE, NARBONNE, and others
surround him.
It is a day of drowsing heat, and the Emperor draws a deep breath
as he shifts his weight from one puffed calf to the other. The
light cavalry, the foot, the artillery having passed, the heavy
horse now crosses, their glitter outshining the ripples on the
stream.
A messenger enters. NAPOLÉON reads papers that are brought, and
frowns.]
NAPOLÉON
The English heads decline to recognize
The government of Joseph, King of Spain,
As that of “the now-ruling dynast”;
But only Ferdinand’s!—I’ll get to Moscow,
And send thence my rejoinder. France shall wage
Another fifty years of wasting war
Before a Bourbon shall remount the throne
Of restless Spain!... [A flash lights his eyes.]
But this long journey now just set a-trip
Is my choice way to India; and ’tis there
That I shall next bombard the British rule.
With Moscow taken, Russia prone and crushed,
To attain the Ganges is simplicity—
Auxiliaries from Tiflis backing me.
Once ripped by a French sword, the scaffolding
Of English merchant-mastership in Ind
Will fall a wreck.... Vast, it is true, must bulk
An Eastern scheme so planned; but I could work it....
Man has, worse fortune, but scant years for war;
I am good for another five!
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
Why doth he go?—
I see returning in a chattering flock
Bleached skeletons, instead of this array
Invincibly equipped.
SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
I’ll show you why.
[The unnatural light before seen usurps that of the sun, bringing
into view, like breezes made visible, the films or brain-tissues of
the Immanent Will, that pervade all things, ramifying through the
whole army, NAPOLÉON included, and moving them to Its inexplicable
artistries.]
NAPOLÉON [with sudden despondency]
That which has worked will work!—Since Lodi Bridge
The force I then felt move me moves me on
Whether I will or no; and oftentimes
Against my better mind.... Why am I here?
—By laws imposed on me inexorably!
History makes use of me to weave her web
To her long while aforetime-figured mesh
And contemplated charactery: no more.
Well, war’s my trade; and whencesoever springs
This one in hand, they’ll label it with my name!
[The natural light returns and the anatomy of the Will disappears.
NAPOLÉON mounts his horse and descends in the rear of his host to
the banks of the Niemen. His face puts on a saturnine humour, and
he hums an air.]
Malbrough s’en va-t-en guerre,
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine;
Malbrough s’en va-t-en guerre,
Ne sait quand reviendra!
[Exeunt NAPOLÉON and his staff.]
SPIRIT SINISTER
It is kind of his Imperial Majesty to give me a lead. [Sings.]
Monsieur d’Malbrough est mort,
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine;
Monsieur d’Malbrough est mort,
Est mort et enterre!
[Anon the figure of NAPOLÉON, diminished to the aspect of a doll,
reappears in front of his suite on the plain below. He rides
across the swaying bridge. Since the morning the sky has grown
overcast, and its blackness seems now to envelope the retreating
array on the other side of the stream. The storm bursts with
thunder and lightning, the river turns leaden, and the scene is
blotted out by the torrents of rain.]
SCENE II
THE FORD OF SANTA MARTA, SALAMANCA
[We are in Spain, on a July night of the same summer, the air being
hot and heavy. In the darkness the ripple of the river Tormes can
be heard over the ford, which is near the foreground of the scene.
Against the gloomy north sky to the left, lightnings flash
revealing rugged heights in that quarter. From the heights comes
to the ear the tramp of soldiery, broke and irregular, as by
obstacles in their descent; as yet they are some distance off.
On heights to the right hand, on the other side of the river,
glimmer the bivouac fires of the French under MARMONT. The
lightning quickens, with rolls of thunder, and a few large drops
of rain fall.
A sentinel stands close to the ford, and beyond him is the ford-
house, a shed open towards the roadway and the spectator. It is
lit by a single lantern, and occupied by some half-dozen English
dragoons with a sergeant and corporal, who form part of a mounted
patrol, their horses being picketed at the entrance. They are
seated on a bench, and appear to be waiting with some deep intent,
speaking in murmurs only.
The thunderstorm increases till it drowns the noise of the ford
and of the descending battalions, making them seem further off
than before. The sentinel is about to retreat to the shed when
he discerns two female figures in the gloom. Enter MRS. DALBIAC
and MRS. PRESCOTT, English officers wives.]
SENTINEL
Where there’s war there’s women, and where there’s women there’s
trouble! [Aloud] Who goes there?
MRS. DALBIAC
We must reveal who we are, I fear [to her companion]. Friends!
[to sentinel].