Complete Works of Thomas Hardy (Illustrated)

by Thomas Hardy

  [The bands play and the Review continues till past eleven o'clock.

  Then follows a sham fight. At noon precisely the royal carriages

  draw off the ground into the highway that leads down to the town

  and Gloucester Lodge, followed by other equipages in such numbers

  that the road is blocked. A multitude comes after on foot.

  Presently the vehicles manage to proceed to the watering-place, and

  the troops march away to the various camps as a sea-mist cloaks the

  perspective.]

  SCENE V

  THE SAME. RAINBARROW'S BEACON, EGDON HEATH

  [Night in mid-August of the same summer. A lofty ridge of

  heathland reveals itself dimly, terminating in an abrupt slope,

  at the summit of which are three tumuli. On the sheltered side

  of the most prominent of these stands a hut of turves with a

  brick chimney. In front are two ricks of fuel, one of heather

  and furze for quick ignition, the other of wood, for slow burning.

  Something in the feel of the darkness and in the personality of

  the spot imparts a sense of uninterrupted space around, the view

  by day extending from the cliffs of the Isle of Wight eastward

  to Blackdon Hill by Deadman's Bay westward, and south across the

  Valley of the Froom to the ridge that screens the Channel.

  Two men with pikes loom up, on duty as beacon-keepers beside the

  ricks.]

  OLD MAN

  Now, Jems Purchess, once more mark my words. Black'on is the point

  we've to watch, and not Kingsbere; and I'll tell 'ee for why. If he

  do land anywhere hereabout 'twill be inside Deadman's Bay, and the

  signal will straightaway come from Black'on. But there thou'st

  stand, glowering and staring with all thy eyes at Kingsbere! I tell

  'ee what 'tis, Jem Purchess, your brain is softening; and you be

  getting too old for business of state like ours!

  YOUNG MAN

  You've let your tongue wrack your few rames of good breeding, John.

  OLD MAN

  The words of my Lord-Lieutenant was, whenever you see Kingsbere-Hill

  Beacon fired to the eastward, or Black'on to the westward, light up;

  and keep your second fire burning for two hours. Was that our

  documents or was it not?

  YOUNG MAN

  I don't gainsay it. And so I keep my eye on Kingsbere because that's

  most likely o' the two, says I.

  OLD MAN

  That shows the curious depths of your ignorance. However, I'll have

  patience, and say on. Didst ever larn geography?

  YOUNG MAN

  No. Nor no other corrupt practices.

  OLD MAN

  Tcht-tcht!—Well, I'll have patience, and put it to him in another

  form. Dost know the world is round—eh? I warrant dostn't!

  YOUNG MAN

  I warrant I do!

  OLD MAN

  How d'ye make that out, when th'st never been to school?

  YOUNG MAN

  I larned it at church, thank God.

  OLD MAN

  Church? What have God A'mighty got to do with profane knowledge?

  Beware that you baint blaspheming, Jems Purchess!

  YOUNG MAN

  I say I did, whether or no! 'Twas the zingers up in gallery that

  I had it from. They busted out that strong with "the round world

  and they that dwell therein," that we common fokes down under could

  do no less than believe 'em.

  OLD MAN

  Canst be sharp enough in the wrong place as usual—I warrant canst!

  However, I'll have patience with 'en and say on!—Suppose, now, my

  hat is the world; and there, as might be, stands the Camp of Belong,

  where Boney is. The world goes round, so, and Belong goes round too.

  Twelve hours pass; round goes the world still—so. Where's Belong

  now?

  [A pause. Two other figures, a man's and a woman's, rise against

  the sky out of the gloom.]

  OLD MAN [shouldering his pike]

  Who goes there? Friend or foe, in the King's name!

  WOMAN

  Piece o' trumpery! "Who goes" yourself! What d'ye talk o', John

  Whiting! Can't your eyes earn their living any longer, then, that

  you don't know your own neighbours? 'Tis Private Cantle of the

  Locals and his wife Keziar, down at Bloom's-End—who else should

  it be!

  OLD MAN [lowering his pike]

  A form o' words, Mis'ess Cantle, no more; ordained by his Majesty's

  Gover'ment to be spoke by all we on sworn duty for the defence o' the

  country. Strict rank-and-file rules is our only horn of salvation in

  these times.—But, my dear woman, why ever have ye come lumpering up

  to Rainbarrows at this time o' night?

  WOMAN

  We've been troubled with bad dreams, owing to the firing out at sea

  yesterday; and at last I could sleep no more, feeling sure that

  sommat boded of His coming. And I said to Cantle, I'll ray myself,

  and go up to Beacon, and ask if anything have been heard or seen to-

  night. And here we be.

  OLD MAN

  Not a sign or sound—all's as still as a churchyard. And how is

  your good man?

  PRIVATE [advancing]

  Clk. I be all right! I was in the ranks, helping to keep the ground

  at the review by the King this week. We was a wonderful sight—

  wonderful! The King said so again and again.—Yes, there was he, and

  there was I, though not daring to move a' eyebrow in the presence of

  Majesty. I have come home on a night's leave—off there again to-

  morrow. Boney's expected every day, the Lord be praised! Yes, our

  hopes are to be fulfilled soon, as we say in the army.

  OLD MAN

  There, there, Cantle; don't ye speak quite so large, and stand

  so over-upright. Your back is as holler as a fire-dog's. Do ye

  suppose that we on active service here don't know war news? Mind

  you don't go taking to your heels when the next alarm comes, as you

  did at last year's.

  PRIVATE

  That had nothing to do with fighting, for I'm as bold as a lion when

  I'm up, and "Shoulder Fawlocks!" sounds as common as my own name to

  me. 'Twas—- [lowering his voice.] Have ye heard?

  OLD MAN

  To be sure we have.

  PRIVATE

  Ghastly, isn't it!

  OLD MAN

  Ghastly! Frightful!

  YOUNG MAN [to Private]

  He don't know what it is! That's his pride and puffery. What is it

  that' so ghastly—hey?

  PRIVATE

  Well, there, I can't tell it. 'Twas that that made the whole eighty

  of our company run away—though we be the bravest of the brave in

  natural jeopardies, or the little boys wouldn't run after us and

  call us and call us the "Bang-up-Locals."

  WOMAN [in undertones]

  I can tell you a word or two on't. It is about His victuals. They

  say that He lives upon human flesh, and has rashers o' baby every

  morning for breakfast—for all the world like the Cernal Giant in

  old ancient times!

  YOUNG MAN

  Ye can't believe all ye hear.

  PRIVATE

  I only believe half. And I only own—such is my challengeful

  character—that perhaps He do eat pagan infants when He's in the

  desert. But not Christian ones at home. Oh no—'tis too
much.

  WOMAN

  Whether or no, I sometimes—God forgive me!—laugh wi' horror at

  the queerness o't, till I am that weak I can hardly go round the

  house. He should have the washing of 'em a few times; I warrant

  'a wouldn't want to eat babies any more!

  [A silence, during which they gaze around at the dark dome of the

  starless sky.]

  YOUNG MAN

  There'll be a change in the weather soon, by the look o't. I can

  hear the cows moo in Froom Valley as if I were close to 'em, and

  the lantern at Max Turnpike is shining quite plain.

  OLD MAN

  Well, come in and taste a drop o' sommat we've got here, that will

  warm the cockles of your heart as ye wamble homealong. We housed

  eighty tuns last night for them that shan't be named—landed at

  Lullwind Cove the night afore, though they had a narrow shave with

  the riding-officers this run.

  [They make toward the hut, when a light on the west horizon becomes

  visible, and quickly enlarges.]

  YOUNG MAN

  He's come!

  OLD MAN

  Come he is, though you do say it! This, then, is the beginning of

  what England's waited for!

  [They stand and watch the light awhile.]

  YOUNG MAN

  Just what you was praising the Lord for by-now, Private Cantle.

  PRIVATE

  My meaning was—-

  WOMAN [simpering]

  Oh that I hadn't married a fiery sojer, to make me bring fatherless

  children into the world, all through his dreadful calling! Why

  didn't a man of no sprawl content me!

  OLD MAN [shouldering his pike]

  We can't heed your innocent pratings any longer, good neighbours,

  being in the King's service, and a hot invasion on. Fall in, fall

  in, mate. Straight to the tinder-box. Quick march!

  [The two men hasten to the hut, and are heard striking a flint

  and steel. Returning with a lit lantern they ignite a blaze.

  The private of the Locals and his wife hastily retreat by the

  light of the flaming beacon, under which the purple rotundities

  of the heath show like bronze, and the pits like the eye-sockets

  of a skull.]

  SPIRIT SINISTER

  This is good, and spells blood. [To the Chorus of the Years.] I

  assume that It means to let us carry out this invasion with pleasing

  slaughter, so as not to disappoint my hope?

  SEMICHORUS I OF THE YEARS [aerial music]

  We carry out? Nay, but should we

  Ordain what bloodshed is to be it!

  SEMICHORUS II

  The Immanent, that urgeth all,

  Rules what may or may not befall!

  SEMICHORUS I

  Ere systemed suns were globed and lit

  The slaughters of the race were writ,

  SEMICHORUS II

  And wasting wars, by land and sea,

  Fixed, like all else, immutably!

  SPIRIT SINISTER

  Well; be it so. My argument is that War makes rattling good

  history; but Peace is poor reading. So I back Bonaparte for

  the reason that he will give pleasure to posterity.

  SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

  Gross hypocrite!

  CHORUS OF THE YEARS

  We comprehend him not.

  [The day breaks over the heathery upland, on which the beacon

  is still burning. The morning reveals the white surface of a

  highway which, coming from the royal watering-place beyond the

  hills, stretched towards the outskirts of the heath and passes

  away eastward.]

  DUMB SHOW

  Moving figures and vehicles dot the surface of the road, all

  progressing in one direction, away from the coast. In the

  foreground the shapes appear as those of civilians, mostly on

  foot, but many in gigs and tradesmen's carts and on horseback.

  When they reach an intermediate hill some pause and look back;

  others enter on the next decline landwards without turning

  their heads.

  From the opposite horizon numerous companies of volunteers, in the

  local uniform of red with green facings, are moving coastwards in

  companies; as are also irregular bodies of pikemen without uniform;

  while on the upper slopes of the downs towards the shore regiments

  of the line are visible, with cavalry and artillery; all passing

  over to the coast.

  At a signal from the Chief Intelligences two Phantoms of Rumour enter

  on the highway in the garb of country-men.

  FIRST PHANTOM [to Pedestrians]

  Wither so fast, good neighbours, and before breakfast, too? Empty

  bellies be bad to vamp on.

  FIRST PEDESTRIAN

  He's landed west'ard, out by Abbot's Beach. And if you have property

  you'll save it and yourselves, as we are doing!

  SECOND PEDESTRIAN

  All yesterday the firing at Boulogne

  Was like the seven thunders heard in Heaven

  When the fierce angel spoke. So did he draw

  Full-manned, flat-bottomed for the shallowest shore,

  Dropped down to west, and crossed our frontage here.

  Seen from above they specked the water-shine

  As will a flight of swallows toward dim eve,

  Descending on a smooth and loitering stream

  To seek some eyot's sedge.

  SECOND PHANTOM

  We are sent to enlighten you and ease your soul.

  Even now a courier canters to the port

  To check the baseless scare.

  FIRST PEDESTRIAN

  These be inland men who, I warrant 'ee, don't know a lerret from a

  lighter! Let's take no heed of such, comrade; and hurry on!

  FIRST PHANTOM

  Will you not hear

  That what was seen behind the midnight mist,

  Their oar-blades tossing twinkles to the moon,

  Was but a fleet of fishing-craft belated

  By reason of the vastness of their haul?

  FIRST PEDESTRIAN

  Hey? And d'ye know it?—Now I look back to the top o' Rudgeway

  the folk seem as come to a pause there.—Be this true, never again

  do I stir my stumps for any alarm short of the Day of Judgment!

  Nine times has my rheumatical rest been broke in these last three

  years by hues and cries of Boney upon us. 'Od rot the feller;

  now he's made a fool of me once more, till my inside is like a

  wash-tub, what wi' being so gallied, and running so leery!—But

  how if you be one of the enemy, sent to sow these tares, so to

  speak it, these false tidings, and coax us into a fancied safety?

  Hey, neighbours? I don't, after all, care for this story!

  SECOND PEDESTRIAN

  Onwards again!

  If Boney's come, 'tis best to be away;

  And if he's not, why, we've a holiday!

  [Exeunt Pedestrians. The Spirits of Rumour vanish, while the scene

  seems to become involved in the smoke from the beacon, and slowly

  disappears.]

  ACT THIRD

  SCENE I

  BOULOGNE. THE CHATEAU AT PONT-DE-BRIQUES

  [A room in the Chateau, which is used as the Imperial quarters.

  The EMPEROR NAPOLEON, and M. GASPARD MONGE, the mathematician

  and philosopher, are seated at breakfast.]

  OFFICER

  Monsieur the Admiral Decres awaits

  A moment's audience with your Majesty,

  Or now, or lat
er.

  NAPOLEON

  Bid him in at once—

  At last Villeneuve has raised the Brest blockade!

  [Enter DECRES.]

  What of the squadron's movements, good Decres?

  Brest opened, and all sailing Channelwards,

  Like swans into a creek at feeding-time?

  DECRES

  Such news was what I'd hoped, your Majesty,

  To send across this daybreak. But events

  Have proved intractable, it seems, of late;

  And hence I haste in person to report

  The featless facts that just have dashed my—-

  NAPOLEON [darkening]

  Well?

  DECRES

  Sire, at the very juncture when the fleets

  Sailed out from Ferrol, fever raged aboard

  "L'Achille" and "l'Algeciras": later on,

  Mischief assailed our Spanish comrades' ships;

  Several ran foul of neighbours; whose new hurts,

  Being added to their innate clumsiness,

  Gave hap the upper hand; and in quick course

  Demoralized the whole; until Villeneuve,

  Judging that Calder now with Nelson rode,

  And prescient of unparalleled disaster

  If he pushed on in so disjoint a trim,

  Bowed to the inevitable; and thus, perforce,

  Leaving to other opportunity

  Brest and the Channel scheme, with vast regret

  Steered southward into Cadiz.

  NAPOLEON [having risen from the table]

  What!—Is, then,

  My scheme of years to be disdained and dashed

  By this man's like, a wretched moral coward,

  Whom you must needs foist on me as one fit

  For full command in pregnant enterprise!

  MONGE [aside]

  I'm one too many here! Let me step out

  Till this black squall blows over. Poor Decres.

  Would that this precious project, disinterred

  From naval archives of King Louis' reign,

  Had ever lingered fusting where 'twas found.

  [Exit Monge.]

  NAPOLEON

  To help a friend you foul a country's fame!—

  Decres, not only chose you this Villeneuve,

  But you have nourished secret sour opinions

  Akin to his, and thereby helped to scathe

  As stably based a project as this age

  Has sunned to ripeness. Ever the French Marine

  Have you decried, ever contrived to bring

  Despair into the fleet! Why, this Villeneuve,

  Your man, this rank incompetent, this traitor—

  Of whom I asked no more than fight and lose,

  Provided he detain the enemy—

  A frigate is too great for his command!

  what shall be said of one who, at a breath,