The Peasant's Confession
Thomas Hardy
Good Father! Twas an eve in middle June,
And war was waged anew
By great Napoleon, who for years had strewn
Mens bones all Europe through.
Three nights ere this, with columned corps hed crossed
The Sambre at Charleroi,
To move on Brussels, where the English host
Dallied in Parc and Bois.
The yestertide wed heard the gloomy gun
Growl through the long-sunned day
From Quatre-Bras and Ligny; till the dun
Twilight suppressed the fray;
Albeit thereinas lated tongues bespoke
Brunswicks high heart was drained,
And Prussias Line and Landwehr, though unbroke,
Stood cornered and constrained.
And at next noon-time Grouchy slowly passed
With thirty thousand men:
We hoped thenceforth no army, small or vast,
Would trouble us again.
My hut lay deeply in a vale recessed,
And never a soul seemed nigh
When, reassured at length, we went to rest
My children, wife, and I.
But what was this that broke our humble ease?
What noise, above the rain,
Above the dripping of the poplar trees
That smote along the pane?
A call of mastery, bidding me arise,
Compelled me to the door,
At which a horseman stood in martial guise
Splashedsweating from every pore.
Had I seen Grouchy? Yes? Which track took he?
Could I lead thither on?
Fulfilment would ensure gold pieces three,
Perchance more gifts anon.
I bear the Emperors mandate, then he said,
Charging the Marshal straight
To strike between the double host ahead
Ere they co-operate,
Engaging Blcher till the Emperor put
Lord Wellington to flight,
And next the Prussians. This to set afoot
Is my emprise to-night.
I joined him in the mist; but, pausing, sought
To estimate his say,
Grouchy had made for Wavre; and yet, on thought,
I did not lead that way.
I mused: If Grouchy thus instructed be,
The clash comes sheer hereon;
My farm is stript. While, as for pieces three,
Money the French have none.
Grouchy unwarned, moreoer, the English win,
And mine is left to me
They buy, not borrow.Hence did I begin
To lead him treacherously.
By Joidoigne, near to east, as we ondrew,
Dawn pierced the humid air;
And eastward faced I with him, though I knew
Never marched Grouchy there.
Near Ottignies we passed, across the Dyle
(Limlette left far aside),
And thence direct toward Pervez and Noville
Through green grain, till he cried:
I doubt thy conduct, man! no track is here
I doubt they gagd word!
Thereat he scowled on me, and pranced me near,
And pricked me with his sword.
Nay, Captain, hold! We skirt, not trace the course
Of Grouchy, said I then:
As we go, yonder went he, with his force
Of thirty thousand men.
At length noon nighed, when west, from Saint-Johns-Mound,
A hoarse artillery boomed,
And from Saint-Lamberts upland, chapel-crowned,
The Prussian squadrons loomed.
Then to the wayless wet gray ground he leapt;
My mission fails! he cried;
Too late for Grouchy now to intercept,
For, peasant, you have lied!
He turned to pistol me. I sprang, and drew
The sabre from his flank,
And twixt his nape and shoulder, ere he knew,
I struck, and dead he sank.
I hid him deep in nodding rye and oat
His shroud green stalks and loam;
His requiem the corn-blades husky note
And then I hastened home.
Two armies writhe in coils of red and blue,
And brass and iron clang
From Goumont, past the front of Waterloo,
To Paplotte and Smohain.
The Guard Imperial wavered on the height;
The Emperors face grew glum;
I sent, he said, to Grouchy yesternight,
And yet he does not come!
Twas then, Good Father, that the French espied,
Streaking the summer land,
The men of Blcher. But the Emperor cried,
Grouchy is now at hand!
And meanwhile Vandleur, Vivian, Maitland, Kempt,
Met dErlon, Friant, Ney;
But Grouchymis-sent, blamed, yet blame-exempt
Grouchy was far away.
Be even, slain or struck, Michel the strong,
Bold Travers, Dnop, Delord,
Smart Guyot, Reil-le, lHeriter, Friant.
Scattered that champaign oer.
Fallen likewise wronged Duhesme, and skilled Lobau
Did that red sunset see;
Colbert, Legros, Blancard! And of the foe
Picton and Ponsonby;
With Gordon, Canning, Blackman, Ompteda,
LEstrange, Delancey, Packe,
Grose, DOyly, Stables, Morice, Howard, Hay,
Von Schwerin, Watzdorf, Boek,
Smith, Phelips, Fuller, Lind, and Battersby,
And hosts of ranksmen round
Memorials linger yet to speak to thee
Of those that bit the ground!
The Guards last column yielded; dykes of dead
Lay between vale and ridge,
As, thinned yet closing, faint yet fierce, they sped
In packs to Genappe Bridge.
Safe was my stock; my capple cow unslain;
Intact each cock and hen;
But Grouchy far at Wavre all day had lain,
And thirty thousand men.
O Saints, had I but lost my earing corn
And saved the cause once prized!
O Saints, why such false witness had I borne
When late Id sympathized!
So, now, being old, my children eye askance
My slowly dwindling store,
And crave my mite; till, worn with tarriance,
I care for life no more.
To Almighty God henceforth I stand confessed,
And Virgin-Saint Marie;
O Michael, John, and Holy Ones in rest,
Entreat the Lord for me!
