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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 11. The Open Country Between Smorgoni And Wilna |
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_ PART THIRD. ACT FIRST. SCENE XI. [The winter is more merciless, and snow continues to fall upon a deserted expanse of unenclosed land in Lithuania. Some scattered birch bushes merge in a forest in the background. It is growing dark, though nothing distinguishes where the sun sets. There is no sound except that of a shuffling of feet in the direction of a bivouac. Here are gathered tattered men like skeletons. Their noses and ears are frost-bitten, and pus is oozing from their eyes. These stricken shades in a limbo of gloom are among the last survivors of the French army. Few of them carry arms. One squad, ploughing through snow above their knees, and with icicles dangling from their hair that clink like glass-lustres as they walk, go into the birch wood, and are heard chopping. They bring back boughs, with which they make a screen on the windward side, and contrive to light a fire. With their swords they cut rashers from a dead horse, and grill them in the flames, using gunpowder for salt to eat them with. Two others return from a search, with a dead rat and some candle-ends. Their meal shared, some try to repair their gaping shoes and to tie up their feet, that are chilblained to the bone. A straggler enters, who whispers to one or two soldiers of the group. A shudder runs through them at his words.]
What--gone, do you say? Gone?
Yes, I say gone!
Gone? How did he go?
He started in a carriage, with Roustan [Other soldiers spring up as they realize the news, and stamp hither and thither, impotent with rage, grief, and despair, many in their physical weakness sobbing like children.]
Good. It is the selfish and unconscionable characters who are so much regretted.
He felt, or feigned, he ought to leave no longer
Deserted us! [Some become insane, and go dancing round. One of them sings.]
I II What can we wish for more? [Exhausted, they again crouch round the fire. Officers and privates press together for warmth. Other stragglers arrive, and sit at the backs of the first. With the progress of the night the stars come out in unusual brilliancy, Sirius and those in Orion flashing like stilettos; and the frost stiffens. The fire sinks and goes out; but the Frenchmen do not move. The day dawns, and still they sit on. In the background enter some light horse of the Russian army, followed by KUTUZOF himself and a few of his staff. He presents a terrible appearance now--bravely serving though slowly dying, his face puffed with the intense cold, his one eye staring out as he sits in a heap in the saddle, his head sunk into his shoulders. The whole detachment pauses at the sight of the French asleep. They shout; but the bivouackers give no sign. KUTUZOF Go, stir them up! We slay not sleeping men. [The Russians advance and prod the French with their lances.]
Prince, here's a curious picture. They are dead.
Oh, naturally. After the snow was down
They all sit
'Tis well. So perish Russia's enemies! [Exeunt KUTUZOF, his staff, and the detachment of horse in the |