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The Dynasts: An Epic Drama Of The War With Napoleon, a play by Thomas Hardy |
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Part 3 - Act 1 - Scene 3. The Field Of Salamanca |
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_ PART THIRD. ACT FIRST. SCENE III. [The battlefield--an undulating and sandy expanse--is lying under the sultry sun of a July afternoon. In the immediate left foreground rises boldly a detached dome-like hill known as the Lesser Arapeile, now held by English troops. Further back, and more to the right, rises another and larger hill of the kind--the Greater Arapeile; this is crowned with French artillery in loud action, and the French marshal, MARMONT, Duke of RAGUSA, stands there. Further to the right, in the same plane, stretch the divisions of the French army. Still further to the right, in the distance, on the Ciudad Rodrigo highway, a cloud of dust denotes the English baggage-train seeking security in that direction. The city of Salamanca itself, and the river Tormes on which it stands, are behind the back of the spectator. On the summit of the lesser hill, close at hand, WELLINGTON, glass at eye, watches the French division under THOMIERE, which has become separated from the centre of the French army. Round and near him are aides and other officers, in animated conjecture on MARMONT'S intent, which appears to be a move on the Ciudad Rodrigo road aforesaid, under the impression that the English are about to retreat that way. The English commander descends from where he was standing to a nook under a wall, where a meal is roughly laid out. Some of his staff are already eating there. WELLINGTON takes a few mouthfuls without sitting down, walks back again, and looks through his glass at the battle as before. Balls from the French artillery fall around. Enter his aide-de-camp, FITZROY SOMERSET.]
The French make movements of grave consequence--
I have just perceived as much; but not the cause. [Shutting up his glass with a snap, WELLINGTON calls several aides and despatches them down the hill. He goes back behind the wall and takes some more mouthfuls.] By God, Fitzroy, if we shan't do it now!
Thinking we mean to attack on him,
Ay; and to cloak it by this cannonade. [As a result of the orders sent off by the aides, several British divisions advance across the French front on the Greater Arapeile and elsewhere. The French shower bullets into them; but an English brigade under PACK assails the nearer French on the Arapeile, now beginning to cannonade the English in the hollows beneath. Light breezes blow toward the French, and they get in their faces the dust-clouds and smoke from the masses of English in motion, and a powerful sun in their eyes. MARMONT and his staff are sitting on the top of the Greater Arapeile only half a cannon-shot from WELLINGTON on the Lesser; and, like WELLINGTON, he is gazing through his glass.
Appearing to behold the full-mapped mind When the manoeuvre's meaning hits his sense, Cotton falls wounded. Pakenham's bayoneteers
In fogs of dust the cavalries hoof the ground; SEMICHORUS II A bullet crying along the cloven air [In the meantime the battle has become concentrated in the middle hollow, and WELLINGTON descends thither from the English Arapeile. The fight grows fiercer. COLE and LEITH now fall wounded; then BERESFORD, who directs the Portuguese, is struck down and borne away. On the French side fall BONNET who succeeded MARMONT in command, MANNE, CLAUSEL, and FEREY, the last hit mortally. Their disordered main body retreats into the forest and disappears; and just as darkness sets in, the English stand alone on the crest, the distant plain being lighted only by musket-flashes from the vanquishing enemy. In the close foreground vague figures on horseback are audible in the gloom.
I thought they looked as they'd be scurrying soon!
Foy bears into the wood in middling trim;
Speed the pursuit, then, towards the Huerta ford;
Too late, my lord.
Impossible. The guns of Carlos rake it
Tidings have sped
Blast him, he's disobeyed his orders, then!
Some ladies some few hours have rumoured it,
Well, what's done can't be undone. . . .
We've not struck ill,
Did she though: did she!
Ah no, my lord.
Well, I'm damned sorry for her. Though I wish [The talking shapes disappear, and as the features of the field grow undistinguishable the comparative quiet is broken by gay notes from guitars and castanets in the direction of the city, and other sounds of popular rejoicing at Wellington's victory. People come dancing out from the town, and the merry-making
What are Space and Time? A fancy!--
Though such features lie afar
Marmont's aide, then, like a swallow [There is semblance of a sound in the darkness as of a rushing through the air.]
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