WELLINGTON
Yes, faith; and ’tis pity. But, by God,
Blücher, I think, and I can make a shift
To do the business without troubling ’em!
Though I’ve an infamous army, that’s the truth,—
Weak, and but ill-equipped,—and what’s as bad,
A damned unpractised staff!
MÜFFLING
We’ll hope for luck.
Blücher concentrates certainly by now
Near Ligny, as he says in his dispatch.
Your Grace, I glean, will mass at Quatre-Bras?
WELLINGTON
Ay, now we are sure this move on Charleroi
Is no mere feint. Though I had meant Nivelles.
Have ye a good map, Richmond, near at hand?
RICHMOND
In the next room there’s one. [Exit RICHMOND.]
[WELLINGTON calls up various general officers and aides from
other parts of the room. PICTON, UXBRIDGE, HILL, CLINTON, VIVIAN,
MAITLAND, PONSONBY, SOMERSET, and others join him in succession,
receive orders, and go out severally.]
PRINCE OF ORANGE
As my divisions seem to lie around
The probable point of impact, it behoves me
To start at once, Duke, for Genappe, I deem?
Being in Brussels, all for this damned ball,
The dispositions out there have, so far,
Been made by young Saxe Weimar and Perponcher,
On their own judgment quite. I go, your Grace?
WELLINGTON
Yes, certainly. ’Tis now desirable.
Farewell! Good luck, until we meet again,
The battle won!
[Exit PRINCE OF ORANGE, and shortly after, MÜFFLING. RICHMOND
returns with a map, which he spreads out on the table. WELLINGTON
scans it closely.]
Napoléon has befooled me,
By God he has,—gained four-and-twenty hours’
Good march upon me!
RICHMOND
What do you mean to do?
WELLINGTON
I have bidden the army concentrate in strength
At Quatre-Bras. But we shan’t stop him there;
So I must fight him HERE. [He marks Waterloo with his thumbnail.]
Well, now I have sped,
All necessary orders I may sup,
And then must say good-bye. [To Brunswick.] This very day
There will be fighting, Duke. You are fit to start?
BRUNSWICK [coming forward]
I leave almost this moment.—Yes, your Grace—
And I sheath not my sword till I have avenged
My father’s death. I have sworn it!
WELLINGTON
My good friend,
Something too solemn knells beneath your words.
Take cheerful views of the affair in hand,
And fall to’t with sang froid!