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The Dynasts

T >> Thomas Hardy >> The Dynasts





SEMICHORUS I OF THE YEARS (aerial music)

What are Space and Time? A fancy!--
Lo, by Vision's necromancy
Muscovy will now unroll;
Where for cork and olive-tree
Starveling firs and birches be.


SEMICHORUS II

Though such features lie afar
From events Peninsular,
These, amid their dust and thunder,
Form with those, as scarce asunder,
Parts of one compacted whole.


CHORUS

Marmont's aide, then, like a swallow
Let us follow, follow, follow,
Over hill and over hollow,
Past the plains of Teute and Pole!

[There is semblance of a sound in the darkness as of a rushing
through the air.]



SCENE IV

THE FIELD OF BORODINO

[Borodino, seventy miles west of Moscow, is revealed in a bird's-
eye view from a point above the position of the French Grand Army,
advancing on the Russian capital.

We are looking east, towards Moscow and the army of Russia, which
bars the way thither. The sun of latter summer, sinking behind
our backs, floods the whole prospect, which is mostly wild,
uncultivated land with patches of birch-trees. NAPOLEON'S army
has just arrived on the scene, and is making its bivouac for the
night, some of the later regiments not having yet come up. A
dropping fire of musketry from skirmishers ahead keeps snapping
through the air. The Emperor's tent stands in a ravine in the
foreground amid the squares of the Old Guard. Aides and other
officers are chatting outside.

Enter NAPOLEON, who dismounts, speaks to some of his suite, and
disappears inside his tent. An interval follows, during which the
sun dips.

Enter COLONEL FABVRIER, aide-de-camp of MARMONT, just arrived from
Spain. An officer-in-waiting goes into NAPOLEON'S tent to announce
FABVRIER, the Colonel meanwhile talking to those outside.]


AN AIDE

Important tidings thence, I make no doubt?


FABVRIER

Marmont repulsed on Salamanca field,
And well-nigh slain, is the best tale I bring!

[A silence. A coughing heard in NAPOLEON'S tent.]

Whose rheumy throat distracts the quiet so?


AIDE

The Emperor's. He is thus the livelong day.

[COLONEL FABVRIER is shown into the tent. An interval. Then the
husky accents of NAPOLEON within, growing louder and louder.]


VOICE OF NAPOLEON

If Marmont--so I gather from these lines--
Had let the English and the Spanish be,
They would have bent from Salamanca back,
Offering no battle, to our profiting!
We should have been delivered this disaster,
Whose bruit will harm us more than aught besides
That has befallen in Spain!


VOICE OF FABVRIER

I fear so, sire.


VOICE OF NAPOLEON

He forced a conflict, to cull laurel crowns
Before King Joseph should arrive to share them!


VOICE OF FABVRIER

The army's ardour for your Majesty,
Its courage, its devotion to your cause,
Cover a myriad of the Marshal's sins.


VOICE OF NAPOLEON

Why gave he battle without biddance, pray,
From the supreme commander? Here's the crime
Of insubordination, root of woes! . . .
The time well chosen, and the battle won,
The English succours there had sidled off,
And their annoy in the Peninsula
Embarrassed us no more. Behoves it me,
Some day, to face this Wellington myself!
Marmont too plainly is no match for him. . . .
Thus he goes on: "To have preserved command
I would with joy have changed this early wound
For foulest mortal stroke at fall of day.
One baleful moment damnified the fruit
Of six weeks' wise strategics, whose result
Had loomed so certain!"--(Satirically) Well, we've but his word
As to their wisdom! To define them thus
Would not have struck me but for his good prompting! . . .
No matter: On Moskowa's banks to-morrow
I'll mend his faults upon the Arapeile.
I'll see how I can treat this Russian horde
Which English gold has brought together here
From the four corners of the universe. . . .
Adieu. You'd best go now and take some rest.

[FABVRIER reappears from the tent and goes. Enter DE BAUSSET.]


DE BAUSSET

The box that came--has it been taken in?


AN OFFICER

Yes, General 'Tis laid behind a screen
In the outer tent. As yet his Majesty
Has not been told of it.

[DE BAUSSET goes into the tent. After an interval of murmured
talk an exclamation bursts from the EMPEROR. In a few minutes he
appears at the tent door, a valet following him bearing a picture.
The EMPEROR'S face shows traces of emotion.]


NAPOLEON

Bring out a chair for me to poise it on.

[Re-enter DE BAUSSET from the tent with a chair.]

They all shall see it. Yes, my soldier-sons
Must gaze upon this son of mine own house
In art's presentment! It will cheer their hearts.
That's a good light--just so.

[He is assisted by DE BAUSSET to set up the picture in the chair.
It is a portrait of the young King of Rome playing at cup-and-ball
being represented as the globe. The officers standing near are
attracted round, and then the officers and soldiers further back
begin running up, till there is a great crowd.]

Let them walk past,
So that they see him all. The Old Guard first.

[The Old Guard is summoned, and marches past surveying the picture;
then other regiments.]


SOLDIERS

The Emperor and the King of Rome for ever!

[When they have marched past and withdrawn, and DE BAUSSET has
taken away the picture, NAPOLEON prepares to re-enter his tent.
But his attention is attracted to the Russians. He regards them
through his glass. Enter BESSIERES and RAPP.]


NAPOLEON

What slow, weird ambulation do I mark,
Rippling the Russian host?


BESSIERES

A progress, sire,
Of all their clergy, vestmented, who bear
An image, said to work strange miracles.

[NAPOLEON watches. The Russian ecclesiastics pass through the
regiments, which are under arms, bearing the icon and other
religious insignia. The Russian soldiers kneel before it.]


NAPOLEON

Ay! Not content to stand on their own strength,
They try to hire the enginry of Heaven.
I am no theologian, but I laugh
That men can be so grossly logicless,
When war, defensive or aggressive either,
Is in its essence pagan, and opposed
To the whole gist of Christianity!


BESSIERES

'Tis to fanaticize their courage, sire.


NAPOLEON

Better they'd wake up old Kutuzof.--Rapp,
What think you of to-morrow?


RAPP

Victory;
But, sire, a bloody one!


NAPOLEON

So I foresee.

[The scene darkens, and the fires of the bivouacs shine up ruddily,
those of the French near at hand, those of the Russians in a long
line across the mid-distance, and throwing a flapping glare into
the heavens. As the night grows stiller the ballad-singing and
laughter from the French mixes with a slow singing of psalms from
their adversaries.

The two multitudes lie down to sleep, and all is quiet but for
the sputtering of the green wood fires, which, now that the human
tongues are still, seem to hold a conversation of their own.]



SCENE V

THE SAME

[The prospect lightens with dawn, and the sun rises red. The
spacious field of battle is now distinct, its ruggedness being
bisected by the great road from Smolensk to Moscow, which runs
centrally from beneath the spectator to the furthest horizon.
The field is also crossed by the stream Kalotcha, flowing from
the right-centre foreground to the left-centre background, thus
forming an "X" with the road aforesaid, intersecting it in mid-
distance at the village of Borodino.

Behind this village the Russians have taken their stand in close
masses. So stand also the French, who have in their centre the
Shevardino redoubt beyond the Kalotcha. Here NAPOLEON, in his
usual glue-grey uniform, white waistcoat, and white leather
breeches, chooses his position with BERTHIER and other officers
of his suite.]


DUMB SHOW

It is six o'clock, and the firing of a single cannon on the French
side proclaims that the battle is beginning. There is a roll of
drums, and the right-centre masses, glittering in the level shine,
advance under NEY and DAVOUT and throw themselves on the Russians,
here defended by redoubts.

The French enter the redoubts, whereupon a slim, small man, GENERAL
BAGRATION, brings across a division from the Russian right and expels
them resolutely.

Semenovskoye is a commanding height opposite the right of the French,
and held by the Russians. Cannon and columns, infantry and cavalry,
assault it by tens of thousands, but cannot take it.

Aides gallop through the screeching shot and haze of smoke and dust
between NAPOLEON and his various marshals. The Emperor walks about,
looks through his glass, goes to a camp-stool, on which he sits down,
and drinks glasses of spirits and hot water to relieve his still
violent cold, as may be discovered from his red eyes, raw nose,
rheumatic manner when he moves, and thick voice in giving orders.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

So he fulfils the inhuman antickings
He thinks imposed upon him. . . . What says he?


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

He says it is the sun of Austerlitz!


The Russians, so far from being driven out of their redoubts,
issue from them towards the French. But they have to retreat,
BAGRATION and his Chief of Staff being wounded. NAPOLEON sips
his grog hopefully, and orders a still stronger attack on the
great redoubt in the centre.

It is carried out. The redoubt becomes the scene of a huge
massacre. In other parts of the field also the action almost
ceases to be a battle, and takes the form of wholesale butchery
by the thousand, now advantaging one side, now the other.


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Thus do the mindless minions of the spell
In mechanized enchantment sway and show
A Will that wills above the will of each,
Yet but the will of all conjunctively;
A fabric of excitement, web of rage,
That permeates as one stuff the weltering whole.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

The ugly horror grossly regnant here
Wakes even the drowsed half-drunken Dictator
To all its vain uncouthness!


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

Murat cries
That on this much-anticipated day
Napoleon's genius flags inoperative.


The firing from the top of the redoubt has ceased. The French have
got inside. The Russians retreat upon their rear, and fortify
themselves on the heights there. PONIATOWSKI furiously attacks them.
But the French are worn out, and fall back to their station before
the battle. So the combat dies resultlessly away. The sun sets, and
the opposed and exhausted hosts sink to lethargic repose. NAPOLEON
enters his tent in the midst of his lieutenants, and night descends.


SHADE OF THE EARTH

The fumes of nitre and the reek of gore
Make my airs foul and fulsome unto me!


SPIRIT IRONIC

The natural nausea of a nurse, dear Dame.


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

Strange: even within that tent no notes of joy
Throb as at Austerlitz! (signifying Napoleon's tent).


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

But mark that roar--
A mash of men's crazed cries entreating mates
To run them through and end their agony;
Boys calling on their mothers, veterans
Blaspheming God and man. Those shady shapes
Are horses, maimed in myriads, tearing round
In maddening pangs, the harnessings they wear
Clanking discordant jingles as they tear!


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

It is enough. Let now the scene be closed.


The night thickens.



SCENE VI

MOSCOW

[The foreground is an open place amid the ancient irregular streets
of the city, which disclose a jumble of architectural styles, the
Asiatic prevailing over the European. A huge triangular white-
walled fortress rises above the churches and coloured domes on a
hill in the background, the central feature of which is a lofty
tower with a gilded cupola, the Ivan Tower. Beneath the battlements
of this fortress the Moskva River flows.

An unwonted rumbling of wheels proceeds from the cobble-stoned
streets, accompanied by an incessant cracking of whips.]


DUMB SHOW

Travelling carriages, teams, and waggons, laden with pictures,
carpets, glass, silver, china, and fashionable attire, are rolling
out of the city, followed by foot-passengers in streams, who carry
their most precious possessions on their shoulders. Others bear
their sick relatives, caring nothing for their goods, and mothers
go laden with their infants. Others drive their cows, sheep, and
goats, causing much obstruction. Some of the populace, however,
appear apathetic and bewildered, and stand in groups asking questions.

A thin man with piercing eyes gallops about and gives stern orders.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Whose is the form seen ramping restlessly,
Geared as a general, keen-eyed as a kite,
Mid this mad current of close-filed confusion;
High-ordering, smartening progress in the slow,
And goading those by their own thoughts o'er-goaded;
Whose emissaries knock at every door
In rhythmal rote, and groan the great events
The hour is pregnant with?


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Rostopchin he,
The city governor, whose name will ring
Far down the forward years uncannily!


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

His arts are strange, and strangely do they move him:--
To store the stews with stuffs inflammable,
To bid that pumps be wrecked, captives enlarged
And primed with brands for burning, are the intents
His warnings to the citizens outshade!


When the bulk of the populace has passed out eastwardly the Russian
army retreating from Borodino also passes through the city into the
country beyond without a halt. They mostly move in solemn silence,
though many soldiers rush from their ranks and load themselves with
spoil.

When they are got together again and have marched out, there goes by
on his horse a strange scarred old man with a foxy look, a swollen
neck and head and a hunched figure. He is KUTUZOF, surrounded by
his lieutenants. Away in the distance by other streets and bridges
with other divisions pass in like manner GENERALS BENNIGSEN, BARCLAY
DE TOLLY, DOKHTOROF, the mortally wounded BAGRATION in a carriage, and
other generals, all in melancholy procession one way, like autumnal
birds of passage. Then the rear-guard passes under MILORADOVITCH.

Next comes a procession of another kind.

A long string of carts with wounded men is seen, which trails out of
the city behind the army. Their clothing is soiled with dried blood,
and the bandages that enwrap them are caked with it.

The greater part of this migrant multitude takes the high road to
Vladimir.



SCENE VII

THE SAME. OUTSIDE THE CITY

[A hill forms the foreground, called the Hill of Salutation, near
the Smolensk road.

Herefrom the city appears as a splendid panorama, with its river,
its gardens, and its curiously grotesque architecture of domes and
spires. It is the peacock of cities to Western eyes, its roofs
twinkling in the rays of the September sun, amid which the ancient
citadel of the Tsars--the Kremlin--forms a centre-piece.

There enter on the hill at a gallop NAPOLEON, MURAT, EUGENE, NEY,
DARU, and the rest of the Imperial staff. The French advance-
guard is drawn up in order of battle at the foot of the hill, and
the long columns of the Grand Army stretch far in the rear. The
Emperor and his marshals halt, and gaze at Moscow.]


NAPOLEON

Ha! There she is at last. And it was time.

[He looks round upon his army, its numbers attenuated to one-fourth
of those who crossed the Niemen so joyfully.]

Yes: it was time. . . . NOW what says Alexander!


DARU

This is a foil to Salamanca, sire!


DAVOUT

What scores of bulbous church-tops gild the sky!
Souls must be rotten in this region, sire,
To need so much repairing!


NAPOLEON

Ay--no doubt. . . .
Prithee march briskly on, to check disorder,
(to Murat).
Hold word with the authorities forthwith,
(to Durasnel).
Tell them that they may swiftly swage their fears,
Safe in the mercy I by rule extend
To vanquished ones. I wait the city keys,
And will receive the Governor's submission
With courtesy due. Eugene will guard the gate
To Petersburg there leftward. You, Davout,
The gate to Smolensk in the centre here
Which we shall enter by.


VOICES OF ADVANCE-GUARD

Moscow! Moscow!
This, this is Moscow city. Rest at last!

[The words are caught up in the rear by veterans who have entered
every capital in Europe except London, and are echoed from rank to
rank. There is a far-extended clapping of hands, like the babble
of waves, and companies of foot run in disorder towards high ground
to behold the spectacle, waving their shakos on their bayonets.

The army now marches on, and NAPOLEON and his suite disappear
citywards from the Hill of Salutation.

The day wanes ere the host has passed and dusk begins to prevail,
when tidings reach the rear-guard that cause dismay. They have
been sent back lip by lip from the front.]


SPIRIT IRONIC

An anticlimax to Napoleon's dream!


SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

They say no governor attends with keys
To offer his submission gracefully.
The streets are solitudes, the houses sealed,
And stagnant silence reigns, save where intrudes
The rumbling of their own artillery wheels,
And their own soldiers' measured tramp along.
"Moscow deserted? What a monstrous thing!"--
He shrugs his shoulders soon, contemptuously;
"This, then is how Muscovy fights!" cries he.

Meanwhile Murat has reached the Kremlin gates,
And finds them closed against him. Battered these,
The fort reverberates vacant as the streets
But for some grinning wretches gaoled there.
Enchantment seems to sway from quay to keep,
And lock commotion in a century's sleep.

[NAPOLEON, reappearing in front of the city, follows MURAT, and is
again lost to view. He has entered the Kremlin. An interval.
Something becomes visible on the summit of the Ivan Tower.]


CHORUS OF RUMOURS (aerial music)

Mark you thereon a small lone figure gazing
Upon his hard-gained goal? It is He!
The startled crows, their broad black pinions raising,
Forsake their haunts, and wheel disquietedly.

[The scene slowly darkens. Midnight hangs over the city. In
blackness to the north of where the Kremlin stands appears what at
first seems a lurid, malignant star. It waxes larger. Almost
simultaneously a north-east wind rises, and the light glows and
sinks with the gusts, proclaiming a fire, which soon grows large
enough to irradiate the fronts of adjacent buildings, and to show
that it is creeping on towards the Kremlin itself, the walls of
that fortress which face the flames emerging from their previous
shade.

The fire can be seen breaking out also in numerous other quarters.
All the conflagrations increase, and become, as those at first
detached group themselves together, one huge furnace, whence
streamers of flame reach up to the sky, brighten the landscape
far around, and show the houses as if it were day. The blaze
gains the Kremlin, and licks its walls, but does not kindle it.
Explosions and hissings are constantly audible, amid which can be
fancied cries and yells of people caught in the combustion. Large
pieces of canvas aflare sail away on the gale like balloons.
Cocks crow, thinking it sunrise, ere they are burnt to death.]



SCENE VIII

THE SAME. THE INTERIOR OF THE KREMLIN

[A chamber containing a bed on which NAPOLEON has been lying. It
is not yet daybreak, and the flapping light of the conflagration
without shines in at the narrow windows.

NAPOLEON is discovered dressed, but in disorder and unshaven. He
is walking up and down the room in agitation. There are present
CAULAINCOURT, BESSIERES, and many of the marshals of his guard,
who stand in silent perplexity.]


NAPOLEON (sitting down on the bed)

No: I'll not go! It is themselves who have done it.
My God, they are Scythians and barbarians still!

[Enter MORTIER (just made Governor).]


MORTIER

Sire, there's no means of fencing with the flames.
My creed is that these scurvy Muscovites
Knowing our men's repute for recklessness,
Have fired the town, as if 'twere we had done it,
As by our own crazed act!

[GENERAL LARIBOISIERE, and aged man, enters and approaches
NAPOLEON.]


LARIBOISIERE

The wind swells higher!
Will you permit one so high-summed in years,
One so devoted, sire, to speak his mind?
It is that your long lingering here entails
Much risk for you, your army, and ourselves,
In the embarrassment it throws on us
While taking steps to seek security,
By hindering venturous means.

[Enter MURAT, PRINCE EUGENE, and the PRINCE OF NEUFCHATEL.]


MURAT

There is no choice
But leaving, sire. Enormous bulks of powder
Lie housed beneath us; and outside these panes
A park of our artillery stands unscreened.


NAPOLEON (saturninely)

What have I won I disincline to cede!


VOICE OF A GUARD (without)

The Kremlin is aflame!

[The look at each other. Two officers of NAPOLEON'S guard and an
interpreter enter, with one of the Russian military police as a
prisoner.]


FIRST OFFICER

We have caught this man
Firing the Kremlin: yea, in the very act!
It is extinguished temporarily,
We know not for how long.


NAPOLEON

Inquire of him
What devil set him on. (They inquire.)


SECOND OFFICER

The governor,
He says; the Count Rostopchin, sire.


NAPOLEON

So! Even the ancient Kremlin is not sanct
From their infernal scheme! Go, take him out;
Make him a quick example to the rest.

[Exeunt guard with their prisoner to the court below, whence a
musket-volley resounds in a few minutes. Meanwhile the flames
pop and spit more loudly, and the window-panes of the room they
stand in crack and fall in fragments.]

Incendiarism afoot, and we unware
Of what foul tricks may follow, I will go.
Outwitted here, we'll march on Petersburg,
The Devil if we won't!

[The marshals murmur and shake their heads.]


BESSIERES

Your pardon, sire,
But we are all convinced that weather, time,
Provisions, roads, equipment, mettle, mood,
Serve not for such a perilous enterprise.

[NAPOLEON remains in gloomy silence. Enter BERTHIER.]


NAPOLEON (apathetically)

Well, Berthier. More misfortunes?


BERTHIER

News is brought,
Sire, of the Russian army's whereabouts.
That fox Kutuzof, after marching east
As if he were conducting his whole force
To Vladimir, when at the Riazan Road
Down-doubled sharply south, and in a curve
Has wheeled round Moscow, making for Kalouga,
To strike into our base, and cut us off.


MURAT

Another reason against Petersburg!
Come what come may, we must defeat that army,
To keep a sure retreat through Smolensk on
To Lithuania.


NAPOLEON (jumping up)

I must act! We'll leave,
Or we shall let this Moscow be our tomb.
May Heaven curse the author of this war--
Ay, him, that Russian minister, self-sold
To England, who fomented it.--'Twas he
Dragged Alexander into it, and me!

[The marshals are silent with looks of incredulity, and Caulaincourt
shrugs his shoulders.]

Now no more words; but hear. Eugene and Ney
With their divisions fall straight back upon
The Petersburg and Zwenigarod Roads;
Those of Davout upon the Smolensk route.
I will retire meanwhile to Petrowskoi.
Come, let us go.

[NAPOLEON and the marshals move to the door. In leaving, the
Emperor pauses and looks back.]

I fear that this event
Marks the beginning of a train of ills. . . .
Moscow was meant to be my rest,
My refuge, and--it vanishes away!

[Exeunt NAPOLEON, marshals, etc. The smoke grows denser and
obscures the scene.]



SCENE IX

THE ROAD FROM SMOLENSKO INTO LITHUANIA

[The season is far advanced towards winter. The point of observation
is high amongst the clouds, which, opening and shutting fitfully to
the wind, reveal the earth as a confused expanse merely.]


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Where are we? And why are we where we are?


SHADE OF THE EARTH

Above a wild waste garden-plot of mine
Nigh bare in this late age, and now grown chill,
Lithuania called by some. I gather not
Why we haunt here, where I can work no charm
Either upon the ground or over it.


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

The wherefore will unfold. The rolling brume
That parts, and joins, and parts again below us
In ragged restlessness, unscreens by fits
The quality of the scene.


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

I notice now
Primeval woods, pine, birch--the skinny growths
That can sustain life well where earth affords
But sustenance elsewhere yclept starvation.


SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

And what see you on the far land-verge there,
Labouring from eastward towards our longitude?


SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

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