Waterloo Page #2

And I would rather see him dead than

raised as a captive Austrian Prince.

They have declared me

an enemy of humanity.

Europe has declared war against me.

Not against France, but against me.

They dignify you, Sire,

by making you a nation.

Dignify? Dignify?

They deny me the decency of law.

They make it legal that any clown

can kill me. Any news of Wellington?

- Still in Brussels, Sire.

- Still with old Blucher?

They started the war.

Let them bleed.

Yes, let 'em bleed. I will discuss

peace over Wellington's dead body.

Marshal Soult, Sire.

It's urgent.

It's always urgent. Show him in.

The armies of Wellington

and Blucher have separated, Sire.

- Separated?

- Yes, Sire.

I wonder what history

will say of them?

We'll push Blucher aside

and march on to Wellington.

It will be a bloody day.

- Yes, Sire.

- Oh, yes, Soult.

Everything depends on one big battle,

just like at Marengo.

Thank you, Soult.

But at Marengo, I was young.

Uncle Gordon paraded his whole regiment

for my inspection this morning.

So I just rode up and down

and picked my fancy.

Mama, you chose such big ones.

You really are

the best of my generals.

We ladies just have to follow the drum.

This season, soldiers are the fashion.

Where would society be

without my boys?

- They are the salt of England.

- Scum.

Nothing but beggars and scoundrels.

Gin is the spirit of their patriotism.

Yet you expect them

to die for you?

Out of duty?

I doubt if even Bonaparte

could draw men to him by duty.

- Bony is not a gentleman.

- What an Englishman you are.

On a battlefield his hat is worth

When we get to Paris, let me look at

Napoleon. I will not get too near.

- Mama admires him.

- I am a bit of a Bonapartist.

Is it true, that he is a monster?

He eats laurels and drinks blood.

And when will you

venture into his lair?

He hasn't given me any idea.

It all depends on...

Cross the river. Tomorrow we

dry our boots in Brussels.

- God willing, Sire.

- God has nothing to do with it.

- Don't let young Hay get killed.

- An engagement?

I don't want Sarah to wear black

before she's worn white.

Dickie has promised to get me

a cuirassier's helmet.

- Without any blood on it.

- And one for me. With the blood.

Where will you stick

your Frenchman?

- Under the right arm, sir.

- See, he has it planned.

When you meet a cuirassier, you'll

be lucky to bring away your life. -

- Never mind his helmet. The French

will teach you the art of fighting.

Madam, by your leave.

I have never seen

such a set of sprats.

- Picton can't walk in a ball room.

- But he dances well with the French.

But one dances with them

in a field.

- Who's he?

- A Prussian officer.

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