The Dynasts: An Epic-Drama of the War with Napoleon Part 87

[Re-enter first aide-de-camp.]

FIRST AIDE

The Archduke Charles retreats, your majesty; And the issue wears a dirty look just now.

FRANCIS [gloomily]

Yes: I have seen the signs for some good while.

But he retreats with blows, and orderly.

[Time pa.s.ses, till the sun has rounded far towards the west. The features of the battle now materially change. The French have regained Aspern and Essling; the Austrian army is doubled back from the Danube and from the heights of Wagram, which, as viewed from Wolkersdorf, face the afternoon s.h.i.+ne, the French established thereon glittering in the rays.

FRANCIS [choking a sigh]

The turn has pa.s.sed. We are worsted, but not overwhelmed!...

The French advance is laboured, and but slow.

--This might have been another-coloured day If but the Archduke John had joined up promptly; Yet still he lags!

ANOTHER OFFICER [lately entered]

He's just now coming, sire.

His columns glimmer in the Frenchmen's rear.

Past Siebenbrunn's and Loebensdorf's smoked hills.

FRANCIS [impatiently]

Ay--coming NOW! Why could he not be COME!

[They watch intently.]

We can see nothing of that side from here.

[Enter a general officer, who speaks to the Minister at the back of the room.]

MINISTER [coming forward]

Your Majesty, I now have to suggest, Pursuant to conclusions reached this morn, That since the front and flower of all our force Is seen receding to the Bisamberg, These walls no longer yield safe shade for you, Or facile outlook. Scouts returning say Either Davout, or Bonaparte himself, With the mid-columns of his forward corps, Will bear up hitherward in fierce pursuit, And may intrude beneath this very roof.

Not yet, I think; it may not be to-night; But we should stand prepared.

FRANCIS

If we must go We'll go with a good grace, unfeignedly!

Who knows to-morrow may not see regained What we have lost to-day?

[Re-enter fourth aide-de-camp.]

FOURTH AIDE [breathlessly]

The Archduke John, Discerning our main musters in retreat, Abandons an advance that throws on him The enemy's whole brunt if he bear on.

FRANCIS

Alas for his devotion! Let us go.

Such weight of sadness as we shoulder now Will wring us down to sleep in stall or stye, If even that be found!... Think! Bonaparte, By reckless riskings of his life and limb, Has turned the steelyard of our strength to-day Whilst I have idled here!... May brighter times Attend the cause of Europe far in Spain, And British blood flow not, as ours, in vain!

[Exeunt the EMPEROR FRANCIS, minister, officers, and attendants.

The night comes, and the scene is obscured.]

SCENE IV

THE FIELD OF TALAVERA

[It is the same month and weather as in the preceding scene.

Talavera town, on the river Tagus, is at the extreme right of the foreground; a mountain range on the extreme left.

The allied army under SIR ARTHUR WELLESLEY stretches between--the English on the left, the Spanish on the right--part holding a hill to the left-centre of the scene, divided from the mountains by a valley, and part holding a redoubt to the right-centre. This army of more than fifty thousand all told, of which twenty-two thousand only are English, has its back to the spectator.

Beyond, in a wood of olive, oak, and cork, are the fifty to sixty thousand French, facing the spectator and the allies. Their right includes a strong battery upon a hill which fronts the one on the English left.

Behind all, the heights of Salinas close the prospect, the small river Alberche flowing at their foot from left to right into the Tagus, which advances in foreshortened perspective to the town at the right front corner of the scene as aforesaid.]

DUMB SHOW

The hot and dusty July afternoon having turned to twilight, shady ma.s.ses of men start into motion from the French position, come towards the foreground, silently ascend the hill on the left of the English, and a.s.sail the latter in a violent outburst of fire and lead. They nearly gain possession of the hill ascended.

CHORUS OF RUMOURS [aerial music]

Talavera tongues it as ten o' the night-time: Now come Ruffin's slaughterers surging upward, Backed by bold Vilatte's! From the vale Lap.i.s.se, too, Darkly outswells there!

Down the vague veiled incline the English fling them, Bended bayonets prodding opponents backward: So the first fierce charge of the ardent Frenchmen England repels there!

Having fallen back into the darkness the French presently reascend in yet larger ma.s.ses. The high square knapsack which every English foot-soldier carries, and his shako, and its tuft, outline themselves against the dim light as the ranks stand awaiting the shock.