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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 5 - Scene 6. Wessex. Durnover Green, Casterbridge |
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_ PART THIRD. ACT FIFTH. SCENE VI. [On a patch of green grass on Durnover Hill, in the purlieus of Casterbridge, a rough gallows has been erected, and an effigy of Napoleon hung upon it. Under the effigy are faggots of brushwood. It is the dusk of a spring evening, and a great crowd has gathered, comprising male and female inhabitants of the Durnover suburb and villagers from distances of many miles. Also are present some of the county yeomanry in white leather breeches and scarlet, volunteers in scarlet with green facings, and the REVEREND MR. PALMER, vicar of the parish, leaning against the post of his garden door, and smoking a clay pipe of preternatural length. Also PRIVATE CANTLE from Egdon Heath, and SOLOMON LONGWAYS of Casterbridge. The Durnover band, which includes a clarionet, {serpent,} oboe, tambourine, cymbals, and drum, is playing "Lord Wellington's Hornpipe."] RUSTIC (wiping his face) Says I, please God I'll lose a quarter to zee he burned! And I left Stourcastle at dree o'clock to a minute. And if I'd known that I should be too late to zee the beginning on't, I'd have lost a half to be a bit sooner.
Oh, you be soon enough good-now. He's just going to be lighted.
But shall I zee en die? I wanted to zee if he'd die hard,
Why, you don't suppose that Boney himself is to be burned here?
What--not Boney that's to be burned?
Why, bless the poor man, no! This is only a mommet they've made of him, that's got neither chine nor chitlings. His innerds be only a lock of straw from Bridle's barton.
He's made, neighbour, of a' old cast jacket and breeches from our barracks here. Likeways Grammer Pawle gave us Cap'n Meggs's old Zunday shirt that she'd saved for tinder-box linnit; and Keeper Tricksey of Mellstock emptied his powder-horn into a barm-bladder, to make his heart wi'.
Then there's no honesty left in Wessex folk nowadays at all! "Boney's going to be burned on Durnover Green to-night,"-- that was what I thought, to be sure I did, that he'd been catched sailing from his islant and landed at Budmouth and brought to Casterbridge Jail, the natural retreat of malefactors!--False deceivers--making me lose a quarter who can ill afford it; and all for nothing!
'Tisn't a mo'sel o' good for thee to cry out against Wessex folk, when 'twas all thy own stunpoll ignorance. [The VICAR OF DURNOVER removes his pipe and spits perpendicularly.]
My dear misguided man, you don't imagine that we should be so inhuman in this Christian country as to burn a fellow creature alive?
Faith, I won't say I didn't! Durnover folk have never had the highest of Christian character, come to that. And I didn't know but that even a pa'son might backslide to such things in these gory times--I won't say on a Zunday, but on a week-night like this--when we think what a blasphemious rascal he is, and that there's not a [The effigy has by this time been kindled, and they watch it burn, the flames making the faces of the crowd brass-bright, and lighting the grey tower of Durnover Church hard by.]
Bayonets and firelocks!
Talk of backsliding to burn Boney, I can backslide to anything when my blood is up, or rise to anything, thank God for't! Why, I shouldn't mind fighting Boney single-handed, if so be I had the choice o' weapons, and fresh Rainbarrow flints in my flint-box, and could get at him downhill. Yes, I'm a dangerous hand with a pistol now and then! . . . Hark, what's that? (A horn is heard eastward on the London Road.) Ah, here comes the mail. Now we may learn something. Nothing boldens my nerves like news of slaughter! [Enter mail-coach and steaming horses. It halts for a minute while the wheel is skidded and the horses stale.]
What was the latest news from abroad, guard, when you left Piccadilly White-Horse-Cellar!
You have heard, I suppose, that he's given up to public vengeance, by Gover'ment orders? Anybody may take his life in any way, fair or foul, and no questions asked. But Marshal Ney, who was sent to fight him, flung his arms round his neck and joined him with all his men. Next, the telegraph from Plymouth sends news landed there by _The Sparrow_, that he has reached Paris, and King Louis has fled. But the air got hazy before the telegraph had finished, and the name of the place he had fled to couldn't be made out. [The VICAR OF DURNOVER blows a cloud of smoke, and again spits perpendicularly.]
Well, I'm d--- Dear me--dear me! The Lord's will be done.
And there are to be four armies sent against him--English, Proosian, Austrian, and Roosian: the first two under Wellington and Blucher. And just as we left London a show was opened of Boney on horseback as large as life, hung up with his head downwards. Admission one shilling; children half-price. A truly patriot spectacle!--Not that yours here is bad for a simple country-place. [The coach drives on down the hill, and the crowd reflectively watches the burning.]
I My Love's gone a-fighting II Of whom does he think there III Her, whose voice he hears humming [The flames reach the powder in the effigy, which is blown to rags. The band marches off playing "When War's Alarms," the crowd disperses, the vicar stands musing and smoking at his garden door till the fire goes out and darkness curtains the scene.] _ |
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