Home > Authors Index > Thomas Hardy > Dynasts: An Epic Drama Of The War With Napoleon > This page
The Dynasts: An Epic Drama Of The War With Napoleon, a play by Thomas Hardy |
||
Part 3 - Act 6 - Scene 4. A Chamber Overlooking A Main Street In Brussels |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ PART THIRD. ACT SIXTH. SCENE IV. [A June sunrise; the beams struggling through the window-curtains. A canopied bed in a recess on the left. The quick notes of "Brighton Camp, or the "Girl I've left behind me," strike sharply into the room from fifes and drums without. A young lady in a dressing-gown, who has evidently been awaiting the sound, springs from the bed like a hare from its form, undraws window-curtains and opens the window. Columns of British soldiery are marching past from the Parc southward out of the city by the Namur Gate. The windows of other houses in the street rattle open, and become full of gazers. A tap at the door. An older lady enters, and comes up to the first.]
O mamma--I didn't hear you!
I was sound asleep till the thumping of the drums set me fantastically dreaming, and when I awoke I found they were real. Did they wake you too, my dear?
I didn't require waking. I hadn't slept since we came home.
That was from the excitement of the ball. There are dark rings round your eye. (The fifes and drums are now opposite, and thrill the air in the room.) Ah--that "Girl I've left behind me!"--which so many thousands of women have throbbed an accompaniment to, and will again to-day if ever they did! YOUNGER LADY (her voice faltering) It is rather cruel to say that just now, mamma. There, I can't look at them after it! (She turns and wipes her eyes.) ELDER LADY I wasn't thinking of ourselves--certainly not of you.--How they press on--with those great knapsacks and firelocks and, I am told, fifty-six rounds of ball-cartridge, and four days' provisions in those haversacks. How can they carry it all near twenty miles and fight with it on their shoulders! . . . Don't cry, dear. I thought you would get sentimental last night over somebody. I ought to have brought you home sooner. How many dances did you have? It was impossible for me to look after you in the excitement of the war-tidings.
Only three--four.
Which were they?
"Enrico," the "Copenhagen Waltz" and the "Hanoverian," and the "Prime of Life."
It was very foolish to fall in love on the strength of four dances.
Fall in love? Who said I had fallen in love? What a funny idea!
Is it? . . . Now here come the Highland Brigade with their pipes and their "Hieland Laddie." How the sweethearts cling to the men's arms. (Reaching forward.) There are more regiments following. But look, that gentleman opposite knows us. I cannot remember his name. (She bows and calls across.) Sir, which are these?
The Ninety-second. Next come the Forty-ninth, and next the Forty-second--Sir Denis Pack's brigade.
Thank you.--I think it is that gentleman we talked to at the Duchess's, but I am not sure. (A pause: another band.)
That's the Twenty-eighth. (They pass, with their band and colours.) Now the Thirty-second are coming up--part of Kempt's brigade. Endless, are they not?
Yes, Sir. Has the Duke passed out yet?
Not yet. Some cavalry will go by first, I think. The foot coming up now are the Seventy-ninth. (They pass.) . . . These next are the Ninety-fifth. (They pass.) . . . These are the First Foot- guards now. (They pass, playing "British Grenadiers.") . . . The Fusileer-guards now. (They pass.) Now the Coldstreamers. (They pass. He looks up towards the Parc.) Several Hanoverian regiments under Colonel Best are coming next. (They pass, with their bands and colours. An interval.) ELDER LADY (to daughter) Here are the hussars. How much more they carry to battle than at reviews. The hay in those great nets must encumber them. (She turns and sees that her daughter has become pale.) Ah, now I know! HE has just gone by. You exchanged signals with him, you wicked girl! How do you know what his character is, or if he'll ever come back? [The younger lady goes and flings herself on her face upon the bed, sobbing silently. Her mother glances at her, but leaves her alone. An interval. The prancing of a group of horsemen is heard on the cobble-stones without.]
Here comes the Duke!
You have left the window at the most important time! The Duke of Wellington and his staff-officers are passing out.
I don't want to see him. I don't want to see anything any more! [Riding down the street comes WELLINGTON in a grey frock-coat and small cocked hat, frigid and undemonstrative; accompanied by four or five Generals of his suite, the Deputy Quartermaster-general De LANCEY, LORD FITZROY SOMERSET, Aide-de-camp, and GENERAL MUFFLING.] GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE He is the Prussian officer attached to our headquarters, through whom Wellington communicates with Blucher, who, they say, is threatened by the French at Ligny at this moment. [The elder lady turns to her daughter, and going to the bed bends over her, while the horses' tramp of WELLINGTON and his staff clatters more faintly in the street, and the music of the last retreating band dies away towards the Forest of Soignes. Finding her daughter is hysterical with grief she quickly draws the window-curtains to screen the room from the houses opposite. Scene ends.] _ |
||