heights above the French centre, and divide into three gigantic
columns, of which the right occupied the Brussels road. These were the
reserves, consisting of the Old and Young Guards, and amounting to
twelve thousand--the _elite_ of the French army--reserved by the Emperor
for a great _coup-de-main_. These veterans of a hundred battles had been
stationed, from the beginning of the day, inactive spectators of the
fight; their hour was now come, and, with a shout of "_Vive
l'Empereur!_" which rose triumphantly over the din and crash of battle,
they began their march. Meanwhile, aids-de-camp galloped along the
lines, announcing the arrival of Grouchy, to reanimate the drooping
spirits of the men; for, at last, a doubt of victory was breaking upon
the minds of those who never before, in the most adverse hour of
fortune, deemed _his_ star could set that led them on to glory.
"They are coming: the attack will be made on the centre, my lord," said
Lord Fitzroy Somerset, as he directed his glass upon the column.
Scarcely had he spoke when the telescope fell from his hand, as his arm,
shattered by a French bullet, fell motionless to his side.
"I see it," was the cool reply of the Duke, as he ordered the Guards to
deploy into line, and lie down behind the ridge, which now the French
artillery had found the range of, and were laboring at with their guns.
In front of them the fifty-second, seventy-first, and ninety-fifth were
formed; the artillery, stationed above and partly upon the road, loaded
with grape, and waited but the word to open.
It was an awful, a dreadful moment: the Prussian cannon thundered on our
left; but so desperate was the French resistance, they made but little
progress: the dark columns of the Guard had now commenced the ascent,
and the artillery ceased their fire as the bayonets of the grenadiers
showed themselves upon the slope. Then began that tremendous cheer from
right to left of our line which those who heard never can forget. It was
the impatient, long-restrained burst of unslaked vengeance. With the
instinct which valor teaches, they knew the hour of trial was come; and
that wild cry flew from rank to rank, echoing from the blood-stained
walls of Hougoumont to the far-off valley of La Papelotte. "They come!
they come!" was the cry; and the shout of "_Vive l'Empereur!_" mingled
with the outburst of the British line.
Under an overwhelming shower of grape, to which succeeded a charge of
cavalry of the Imperial Guard, the head of Ney's column fired its volley
and advanced with the bayonet. The British artillery now opened at half
range, and although the plunging fire scathed and devastated the dark
ranks of the Guards, on they came,--Ney himself, on foot, at their head.
Twice the leading division of that gallant column turned completely
round, as the withering fire wasted and consumed them; but they were
resolved to win.
Already they had gained the crest of the hill, and the first line of the
British were falling back before them. The artillery closes up; the
flanking fire from the guns upon the road opens upon them; the head of
their column breaks like a shell; the Duke seizes the moment, and
advances on foot towards the ridge.
"Up, Guards, and at them!" he cried.
The hour of triumph and vengeance had arrived. In a moment the Guards
were on their feet; one volley was poured in; the bayonets were brought
to the charge; they closed upon the enemy: then was seen the most
dreadful struggle that the history of all war can present. Furious with
long restrained passion, the guards rushed upon the leading divisions;
the seventy-first, and ninety-fifth, and twenty-sixth overlapped them on
the flanks. Their generals fell thickly on every side; Michel, Jamier,
and Mallet are killed: Friant lies wounded upon the ground; Ney, his
dress pierced and ragged with balls, shouts still to advance; but the
leading files waver; they fall back; the supporting divisions thicken;
confusion, panic succeeds; the British press down; the cavalry come
galloping up to their assistance; and, at last, pell-mell, overwhelmed
and beaten, the French fall back upon the Old Guard. This was the
decisive moment of the day;--the Duke closed his glass, as he said:
"The field is won. Order the whole line to advance."
On they came, four deep, and poured like a torrent from the height.
"Let the Life Guards charge them," said the Duke; but every aid-de-camp
on his staff was wounded, and I myself brought the order to Lord
Uxbridge.
Lord Uxbridge had already anticipated his orders, and bore down with
four regiments of heavy cavalry upon the French centre. The Prussian
artillery thundered upon their flank, and at their rear. The British
bayonet was in their front; while a panic fear spread through their
ranks, and the cry "_Sauve qui peut!_" resounded on all sides. In vain
Ney, the bravest of the brave; in vain Soult, Bertrand, Gourgaud, and
Labedoyere, burst from the broken disorganized mass, and called on them
to stand fast. A battalion of the Old Guard, with Cambronne at their
head, alone obeyed the summons: forming into square, they stood between
the pursuers and their prey, offering themselves a sacrifice to the
tarnished honor of their arms: to the order to surrender, they answered
with a cry of defiance; and, as our cavalry, flushed and elated with
victory, rode round their bristling ranks, no quailing look, no craven
spirit was there. The Emperor himself endeavored to repair the disaster;
he rode with lightening speed hither and thither, commanding, ordering,
nay imploring too; but already the night was falling, the confusion
became each moment more inextricable, and the effort was a fruitless
one. A regiment of the Guards, and two batteries were in reserve behind
Planchenoit; he threw them rapidly into position; but the overwhelming
impulse of flight drove the mass upon them, and they were carried away
upon the torrent of the beaten army. No sooner did the Emperor see this
his last hope desert him, than he dismounted from his horse, and,
drawing his sword, threw himself into a square, which the first regiment
of chasseurs of the Old Guard had formed with a remnant of the
battalion; Jerome followed him, as he called out:
"You are right, brother: here should perish all who bear the name of
Buonaparte."
The same moment the Prussian light artillery rend the ranks asunder, and
the cavalry charge down upon the scattered fragments. A few of his
staff, who never left him, place the Emperor upon a horse,--and fly.
* * * * *
_Wellington,
Thy great work is but begun!
With quick seed his end is rife
Whose long tale of conquering strife
Shows no triumph like his life
Lost and won._
DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI.--1828-1882.
_On Wellington's Funeral, Nov. 18th, 1852._
LX. THE DIVER.
EDWARD BULWER, LORD LYTTON.--1805-1873.
_Translated from the German of Schiller_.
"O where is the knight or the squire so bold
As to dive to the howling Charybdis below?--
I cast in the whirlpool a goblet of gold,
And o'er it already the dark waters flow;
Whoever to me may the goblet bring,
Shall have for his guerdon that gift of his king."
He spoke, and the cup from the terrible steep,
That, rugged and hoary, hung over the verge
Of the endless and measureless world of the deep,
Swirl'd into the maelstrom that madden'd the surge.
"And where is the diver so stout to go--
I ask ye again--to the deep below?"
And the knights and the squires that gather'd around,
Stood silent--and fix'd on the ocean their eyes;
They look'd on the dismal and savage profound,
And the peril chill'd back every thought of the prize.
And thrice spoke the monarch: "The cup to win,
Is there never a wight who will venture in?"
And all as before heard in silence the king,
Till a youth with an aspect unfearing but gentle,
'Mid the tremulous squires stepp'd out from the ring,
Unbuckling his girdle, and doffing his mantle;
And the murmuring crowd, as they parted asunder,
On the stately boy cast their looks of wonder.
As he strode to the marge of the summit, and gave
One glance on the gulf of that merciless main,
Lo! the wave that for ever devours the wave,
Casts roaringly up the Charybdis again:
And, as with the swell of the far thunder-boom,
Rushes foamingly forth from the heart of the gloom.
And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars,
As when fire is with water commix'd and contending,
And the spray of its wrath to the welkin up-soars,
And flood upon flood hurries on, never ending;
And it never _will_ rest, nor from travail be free,
Like a sea that is laboring the birth of a sea.
Yet, at length, comes a lull o'er the mighty commotion,
And dark through the whiteness, and still through the swell,
The whirlpool cleaves downward and downward in ocean
A yawning abyss, like the pathway to hell;
The stiller and darker the farther it goes,
Suck'd into that smoothness the breakers repose.
The youth gave his trust to his Maker! Before
That path through the riven abyss closed again,
Hark! a shriek from the gazers that circle the shore,--
And, behold! he is whirl'd in the grasp of the main!
And o'er him the breakers mysteriously roll'd,
And the giant-mouth closed on the swimmer so bold.
All was still on the height, save the murmur that went
From the grave of the deep, sounding hollow and fell,
Or save when the tremulous, sighing lament
Thrill'd from lip unto lip, "Gallant youth, fare thee well!"
More hollow and more wails the deep on the ear,--
More dread and more dread grows suspense in its fear.
--If thou shouldst in those waters thy diadem fling,
And cry, "Who may find it shall win it and wear";
God wot, though the prize were the crown of a king,
A crown at such hazard were valued too dear.
For never shall lips of the living reveal
What the deeps that howl yonder in terror conceal.
Oh, many a bark, to that breast grappled fast,
Has gone down to the fearful and fathomless grave;
Again, crash'd together the keel and the mast,
To be seen toss'd aloft in the glee of the wave!--
Like the growth of a storm ever louder and clearer,
Grows the roar of the gulf rising nearer and nearer.
And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars,
As when fire is with water commix'd and contending;
And the spray of its wrath to the welkin up-soars,
And flood upon flood hurries on, never ending,
And as with the swell of the far thunder-boom,
Rushes roaringly forth from the heart of the gloom.
And, lo! from the heart of that far-floating gloom,
Like the wing of the cygnet--what gleams on the sea?
Lo! an arm and a neck glancing up from the tomb!
Steering stalwart and shoreward: O joy, it is he!
The left hand is lifted in triumph; behold,
It waves as a trophy the goblet of gold!
And he breathed deep, and he breathed long,
And he greeted the heavenly light of the day.
They gaze on each other,--they shout as they throng,
"He lives--lo, the ocean has render'd its prey!
And safe from the whirlpool, and free from the grave,
Comes back to the daylight the soul of the brave!"
And he comes, with the crowd in their clamor and glee;
And the goblet his daring has won from the water
He lifts to the king as he sinks on his knee
And the king from her maidens has beckon'd his daughter.
She pours to the boy the bright wine which they bring,
And thus spoke the diver; "Long life to the King!
"Happy they whom the rose-hues of daylight rejoice,
The air and the sky that to mortals are given!
May the horror below nevermore find a voice,--
Nor man stretch too far the wide mercy of Heaven!
Nevermore,--nevermore may he lift from the sight
The veil which is woven with terror and night!
"Quick brightening like lightning the ocean rush'd o'er me,
Wild floating, borne down fathom-deep from the day;
Till a torrent rush'd out on the torrents that bore me,
And doubled the tempest that whirl'd me away.
Vain, vain was my struggle,--the circle had won me,
Round and round in its dance the mad element spun me.
"From the deep then I call'd upon God, and He heard me;
In the dread of my need, He vouchsafed to mine eye
A rock jutting out from the grave that interr'd me;
I sprung there, I clung there,--and death pass'd me by.
And, lo! where the goblet gleam'd through the abyss,
By a coral reef saved from the far Fathomless.
"Below, at the foot of that precipice drear,
Spread the gloomy and purple and pathless Obscure!
A silence of horror that slept on the ear,
That the eye more appall'd might the horror endure;
Salamander, snake, dragon--vast reptiles that dwell
In the deep--coil'd about the grim jaws of their hell.
"Dark crawl'd, glided dark, the unspeakable swarms,
Clump'd together in masses, misshapen and vast;
Here clung and here bristled the fashionless forms;
Here the dark-moving bulk of the hammer-fish pass'd;
And, with teeth grinning white, and a menacing motion,
Went the terrible shark,--the hyena of ocean.
"There I hung, and the awe gather'd icily o'er me,
So far from the earth, where man's help there was none!
The one human thing, with the goblins before me--
Alone--in a loneness so ghastly--ALONE!
Deep under the reach of the sweet living breath,
And begirt with the broods of the desert of Death.
"Methought, as I gazed through the darkness, that now
IT saw--a dread hundred-limb'd creature--its prey!
And darted, devouring; I sprang from the bough
Of the coral, and swept on the horrible way;
And the whirl of the mighty wave seized me once more,
It seized me to save me, and dash to the shore."
On the youth gazed the monarch, and marvell'd: quoth he,
"Bold diver, the goblet I promised is thine;
And this ring I will give, a fresh guerdon to thee--
Never jewels more precious shone up from the mine--
If thou'lt bring me fresh tidings, and venture again,
To say what lies hid in the _innermost_ main."
Then out spake the daughter in tender emotion:
"Ah! father, my father, what more can there rest?
Enough of this sport with the pitiless ocean:
He has serv'd thee as none would, thyself hast confest.
If nothing can slake thy wild thirst of desire,
Let thy knights put to shame the exploit of the squire!"
The king seized the goblet, he swung it on high,
And whirling, it fell in the roar of the tide;
"But bring back that goblet again to my eye,
And I'll hold thee the dearest that rides by my side;
And thine arms shall embrace as thy bride, I decree,
The maiden whose pity now pleadeth for thee."
And Heaven, as he listen'd, spoke out from the space,
And the hope that makes heroes shot flame from his eyes;
He gazed on the blush in that beautiful face--
It pales--at the feet of her father she lies!
How priceless the guerdon!--a moment--a breath--
And headlong he plunges to life and to death!
They hear the loud surges sweep back in their swell,
Their coming the thunder-sound heralds along!
Fond eyes yet are tracking the spot where he fell.
They come, the wild waters, in tumult and throng,
Roaring up to the cliff,--roaring back as before,
But no wave ever brings the lost youth to the shore!
LXI. THE PLAGUE OF LOCUSTS.
CARDINAL NEWMAN.--1801-
_From_ CALLISTA.
Juba's finger was directed to a spot where, amid the thick foliage, the
gleam of a pool or of a marsh was visible. The various waters round
about, issuing from the gravel, or drained from the nightly damps, had
run into a hollow, filled with the decaying vegetation of former years.
Its banks were bordered with a deep, broad layer of mud, a transition
substance between the rich vegetable matter which it once had been, and
the multitudinous world of insect life which it was becoming. A cloud or
mist at this time was hanging over it, high in air. A harsh and shrill
sound, a whizzing or a chirping, proceeded from that cloud to the ear of
the attentive listener. What these indications portended was plain....
The plague of locusts, one of the most awful visitations to which the
countries included in the Roman empire were exposed, extended from the
Atlantic to Ethiopia, from Arabia to India, and from the Nile and Red
Sea to Greece and the north of Asia Minor. Instances are recorded in
history of clouds of the devastating insect crossing the Black Sea to
Poland, and the Mediterranean to Lombardy. It is as numerous in its
species as it is wide in its range of territory. Brood follows brood,
with a sort of family likeness, yet with distinct attributes. It wakens
into existence and activity as early as the month of March; but
instances are not wanting, as in our present history, of its appearance
as late as June. Even one flight comprises myriads upon myriads passing
imagination, to which the drops of rain or the sands of the sea are the
only fit comparison; and hence it is almost a proverbial mode of
expression in the East, by way of describing a vast invading army, to
liken it to the locusts. So dense are they, when upon the wing, that it
is no exaggeration to say that they hide the sun, from which
circumstance indeed their name in Arabic is derived. And so ubiquitous
are they when they have alighted on the earth, that they simply cover or
clothe its surface.
This last characteristic is stated in the sacred account of the plagues
of Egypt, where their faculty of devastation is also mentioned. The
corrupting fly and the bruising and prostrating hail preceded them in
that series of visitations, but _they_ came to do the work of ruin more
thoroughly. For not only the crops and fruits, but the foliage of the
forest itself, nay, the small twigs and the bark of the trees are the
victims of their curious and energetic rapacity. They have been known
even to gnaw the door-posts of the houses. Nor do they execute their
task in so slovenly a way, that, as they have succeeded other plagues,
so they may have successors themselves. They take pains to spoil what
they leave. Like the Harpies, they smear every thing that they touch
with a miserable slime, which has the effect of a virus in corroding, or
as some say, in scorching and burning. And then, perhaps, as if all this
were little, when they can do nothing else, they die; as if out of sheer
malevolence to man, for the poisonous elements of their nature are then
let loose and dispersed abroad, and create a pestilence; and they manage
to destroy many more by their death than in their life.
Such are the locusts. And now they are rushing upon a considerable tract
of that beautiful region of which we have spoken with such admiration.
The swarm to which Juba pointed grew and grew till it became a compact
body, as much as a furlong square; yet it was but the vanguard of a
series of similar hosts, formed one after another out of the hot mould
or sand, rising into the air like clouds, enlarging into a dusky canopy,
and then discharged against the fruitful plain. At length the huge
innumerous mass was put into motion, and began its career, darkening the
face of day. As became an instrument of divine power, it seemed to have
no volition of its own; it was set off, it drifted, with the wind, and
thus made northwards, straight for Sicca. Thus they advanced, host after
host, for a time wafted on the air, and gradually declining to the
earth, while fresh broods were carried over the first, and neared the
earth, after a longer flight, in their turn. For twelve miles did they
extend from front to rear, and their whizzing and hissing could be heard
for six miles on every side of them. The bright sun, though hidden by
them, illumined their bodies, and was reflected from their quivering
wings; and as they heavily fell earthward, they seemed like the
innumerable flakes of a yellow-colored snow. And like snow did they
descend, a living carpet, or rather pall, upon fields, crops, gardens,
copses, groves, orchards, vineyards, olive woods, orangeries, palm
plantations, and the deep forests, sparing nothing within their reach,
and where there was nothing to devour, lying helpless in drifts, or
crawling forward obstinately, as they best might, with the hope of prey.
They could spare their hundred thousand soldiers twice or thrice over,
and not miss them; their masses filled the bottoms of the ravines and
hollow ways, impeding the traveller as he rode forward on his journey
and trampled by thousands under his horse-hoofs. In vain was all this
overthrow and waste by the roadside, in vain their loss in river, pool,
and watercourse. The poor peasants hastily dug pits and trenches as
their enemy came on; in vain they filled them from the wells or with
lighted stubble. Heavily and thickly did the locusts fall; they were
lavish of their lives; they choked the flame and the water, which
destroyed them the while, and the vast living hostile armament still
moved on.
They moved right on like soldiers in their ranks, stopping at nothing,
and straggling for nothing; they carried a broad furrow or wheal all
across the country, black and loathsome, while it was as green and
smiling on each side of them and in front, as it had been before they
came. Before them, in the language of prophets, was a paradise, and
behind them a desert. They are daunted by nothing they surmount walls
and hedges, and enter enclosed gardens or inhabited houses. A rare and
experimental vineyard has been planted in a sheltered grove. The high
winds of Africa will not commonly allow the light trellice or the slim
pole; but here the lofty poplar of Campania has been possible, on which
the vine plant mounts so many yards into the air, that the poor
grape-gatherers bargain for a funeral pile and a tomb as one of the
conditions of their engagement. The locusts have done what the winds and
lightning could not do, and the whole promise of the vintage, leaves and
all, is gone, and the slender stems are left bare. There is another
yard, less uncommon, but still tended with more than common care; each
plant is kept within due bounds by a circular trench round it, and by
upright canes on which it is to trail; in an hour the solicitude and
long toil of the vine-dresser are lost, and his pride humbled. There is
a smiling farm; another sort of vine, of remarkable character, is found
against the farmhouse. This vine springs from one root, and has clothed
and matted with its many branches the four walls. The whole of it is
covered thick with long clusters, which another month will ripen. On
every grape and leaf there is a locust. Into the dry caves and pits,
carefully strewed with straw, the harvest-men have (safely, as they
thought just now) been lodging the far-famed African wheat. One grain or
root shoots up into ten, twenty, fifty, eighty, nay, three or four
hundred stalks: sometimes the stalks have two ears apiece, and these
shoot into a number of lesser ones. These stores are intended for the
Roman populace, but the locusts have been beforehand with them. The
small patches of ground belonging to the poor peasants up and down the
country, for raising the turnips, garlic, barley, water-melons, on which
they live, are the prey of these glutton invaders as much as the
choicest vines and olives. Nor have they any reverence for the villa of
the civic decurion or the Roman official. The neatly arranged kitchen
garden, with its cherries, plums, peaches, and apricots, is a waste; as
the slaves sit round, in the kitchen in the first court, at their coarse
evening meal, the room is filled with the invading force, and news comes
to them that the enemy has fallen upon the apples and pears in the
basement, and is at the same time plundering and sacking the preserves
of quince and pomegranate, and revelling in the jars of precious oil of
Cyprus and Mendes in the store-rooms.
They come up to the walls of Sicca, and are flung against them into the
ditch. Not a moment's hesitation or delay; they recover their footing,
they climb up the wood or stucco, they surmount the parapet, or they
have entered in at the windows, filling the apartments, and the most
private and luxurious chambers, not one or two, like stragglers at
forage or rioters after a victory, but in order of battle, and with the
array of an army. Choice plants or flowers about the _impluvia_ and
_xysti_, for ornament or refreshment, myrtles, oranges, pomegranates,
the rose and the carnation, have disappeared. They dim the bright
marbles of the walls and the gilding of the ceilings. They enter the
triclinium in the midst of the banquet; they crawl over the viands and
spoil what they do not devour. Unrelaxed by success and by enjoyment,
onward they go; a secret mysterious instinct keeps them together, as if
they had a king over them. They move along the floor in so strange an
order that they seem to be a tessellated pavement themselves, and to be
the artificial embellishment of the place; so true are their lines, and
so perfect is the pattern they describe. Onward they go, to the market,
to the temple sacrifices, to the bakers' stores, to the cookshops, to
the confectioners, to the druggists; nothing comes amiss to them;
wherever man has aught to eat or drink, there are they, reckless of
death, strong of appetite, certain of conquest....