BRUNSWICK
But I have sworn!
Adieu. The rendezvous is Quatre-Bras?
WELLINGTON
Just so. The order is unchanged. Adieu;
But only till a later hour to-day;
I see it is one o’clock.
[WELLINGTON and RICHMOND go out of the alcove and join the
hostess, BRUNSWICK’S black figure being left there alone. He
bends over the map for a few seconds.]
SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
O Brunswick, Duke of Deathwounds! Even as he
For whom thou wear’st that filial weedery
Was waylaid by my tipstaff nine years since,
So thou this day shalt feel his fendless tap,
And join thy sire!
BRUNSWICK [starting up]
I am stirred by inner words,
As ’twere my father’s angel calling me,—
That prelude to our death my lineage know!
[He stands in a reverie for a moment; then, bidding adieu to the
DUCHESS OF RICHMOND and her daughter, goes slowly out of the
ballroom by a side-door.]
DUCHESS
The Duke of Brunswick bore him gravely here.
His sable shape has stuck me all the eve
As one of those romantic presences
We hear of—seldom see.
WELLINGTON [phlegmatically]
Romantic,—well,
It may be so. Times often, ever since
The Late Duke’s death, his mood has tinged him thus.
He is of those brave men who danger see,
And seeing front it,—not of those, less brave
But counted more, who face it sightlessly.
YOUNG OFFICER [to partner]
The Generals slip away! I, Love, must take
The cobbled highway soon. Some hours ago
The French seized Charleroi; so they loom nigh.
PARTNER [uneasily]
Which tells me that the hour you draw your sword
Looms nigh us likewise!
YOUNG OFFICER
Some are saying here
We fight this very day. Rumours all-shaped
Fly round like cockchafers!
[Suddenly there echoes in the ballroom a long-drawn metallic purl
of sound, making all the company start.]
Transcriber’s Note: There follows in musical notation five measures
for side-drum.
Ah—there it is,
Just as I thought! They are beating the Generale.
[The loud roll of side-drums is taken up by other drums further
and further away, till the hollow noise spreads all over the city.
Dismay is written on the faces of the women. The Highland non-
commissioned officers and privates march smartly down the ballroom
and disappear.]
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
Discerned you stepping out in front of them
That figure—of a pale drum-major kind,
Or fugleman—who wore a cold grimace?