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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE EAGLET, by EDMOND ROSTAND Poet's Biography Last Line: Has stolen thy heart, kept in its silver urn. | |||
LIST OF CHARACTERS FRANZ, DUKE OF REICHSTADT. SERAPHIN FLAMBEAU. PRINCE METTERNICH. EMPEROR FRANZ. MARSHAL MARMONT. THE TAILOR. FREDERICK OF GENTZ. THE FRENCH ATTACHÉ. CHEVALIER OF PROKESCH-OSTEN. TIBURCE OF LORGET. COUNT OF DIETRICHSTEIN (Tutor to the DUKE). BARON OF OBENHAUS. COUNT OF BOMBELLES. GENERAL HARTMANN. THE DOCTOR. COUNT SEDLINSKY (Director of the Police) A GUARD. LORD COWLEY (English Ambassador). THALBERG. FURSTENBERG. MONTENEGRO. A SERGEANT OF THE DUKE'S REGIMENT. CAPTAIN FORESTI. AN OLD PEASANT. PIONNET. GOBEAUX. AN USHER. A MOUNTAINEER. MARIE-LOUISE, DUCHESS OF PARMA. COUNTESS CAMERATA. THERESE OF LORGET (sister to TIBURCE). THE ARCHDUCHESS. FANNY ELSSLER. THE GRAND-MISTRESS. PRINCESS GRAZALCOWITCH. CERTAIN LADIES OF THE COURT. LADY COWLEY. LADIES-IN-WAITING TO MARIE-LOUISE. AN OLD PEASANT WOMAN. THE ROYAL FAMILY; THE DUKE'S MILITARY HOUSEHOLD; THE EMPEROR'S GUARD; ARCHERS; USHERS; SOLDIERS, ETC.; MASKS AND DOMINOES; MERRY-ANDREWS; CLOWNS; SHEPHERDESSES, ETC. PEASANTS; THE DUKE'S REGIMENT. 1830-1832 NOTE—The Reader must not be surprised at finding here certain lines that the Spectator did not hear. In the production, it was necessary to finish within a given time. Therefore, some cut ting was done, and the Author pretended not to notice. ACT I FLEDGLING WINGS Baden near Vienna. Time 1830. Salon of a villa occupied by MARIE-LOUISE; a great room in the middle of which is an Empire chandelier with crystal lustres; light wainscoting, mural decoration in Pompeian green; a frieze of sphinxes. Left, two doors; the first leads to the apartments of MARIE-LOUISE; the other to those of her LADIES-IN-WAITING. Right, another door; farther back in an alcove an enormous, highly decorated porcelain stove. Back, between two windows, a large French window, through which can be seen the balustrade of a balcony which leads into the garden. A glimpse of the park; lindens and fir trees; densely shaded walks, the arches hung with lanterns. A glorious day in early September. In this common rented villa, precious furnishing has been set. Left, the window, a fine cheval glass of lemon wood, decorated; front, a great mahogany table strewn with papers; against the wall a lacquered table with books. Right, back, a small Erard piano of the period; a harp, a Récamier sofa near a low table; easy chairs, footstools; many flowers in vases; on the walls framed engravings representing members of the Austrian royal family; portraits of EMPEROR FRANZ; the DUKE OF REICHSTADT as a child, etc. The Curtain rises upon a group of very fashionable ladies, in the background. Two are at the piano, their backs to the audience, trying a duet. A third is at the harp; somebody is trying to explain Laughter; interruptions. A lackey ushers in, by the perron, a modest-looking young girl, accompanied by an officer of the Austrian Horse; very resplendent in blue and silver. The newcomers, seeing that nobody notices them, remain standing for a moment in a corner of the big room. At this moment, enter , right, the COUNT DE BOMBELLES, attracted by the music. He starts toward the piano, beating time as he goes, but, seeing the young girl, stops, smiles, and goes quickly toward her. SCENE I THERESE, TIBURCE, BOMBELLES, MARIE-LOUISE; LADIES-IN-WAITING THE LADIES (at the harpsichord, talking all the time and both together and giggling incessantly): She misses all the flats! ... She skips them all! —I'll take the bass. ... One, two. The harp! Fa ... lal! La ... la. Now, pedal! ... BOMBELLES (to THERESE): You? THERESE: My Lord Bombelles ... ANOTHER LADY (at the harpsichord): Mi ... sol ... THERESE: I have become a reader. ANOTHER LADY (at the harpsichord): Flat? ... O well! ... THERESE: Thanks to your goodness. BOMBELLES: Simply done, my dear. My relative, and French, ... so you are here. THERESE (presenting the officer): Tiburce. BOMBELLES (offers his hand to TIBURCE; to THERESE, indicating a sofa): Sit down. Pray don't feel shy. THERESE: I am so moved! BOMBELLES (smiling): Now, in the Lord's name, why? THERESE: To be so close to all on earth that's near The Emperor! BOMBELLES (sitting down by her): Well, well! That's it, my dear? TIBURCE (hastily): Our people hated him, and I for one ... THERESE: Yes ... but ... to see ... TIBURCE (a little scornfully): His wife? ... THERESE (to BOMBELLES): Perhaps ... his son? BOMBELLES: Surely. THERESE: Oh, sir, a girl, it seems to me, Must be without soul ... unread ... not French, ... and be ... O, in a word, not young ... to see unmoved The widow and the son the Emperor loved. She is very lovely? BOMBELLES: Who? THERESE: The Duchess, sir. BOMBELLES (surprised): But ... THERESE (eagerly): Sorrow lends its loveliness to her? BOMBELLES: You puzzle me. You haven't seen her? THERESE: No. TIBURCE: We were this moment ushered in, you know. BOMBELLES (smiling): Yes, but ... TIBURCE (glancing toward the musicians): We feared to interrupt ... I lack a word ... That ... gamut giggled to the harpsichord. THERESE: I await the Empress in this sheltered place. BOMBELLES (rising): Eh? What? My child, 'tis she who plays the bass. THERESE (rising, overcome): The Emp ... BOMBELLES: I'll tell her. (He goes to the piano and speaks in a low voice to one of the ladies.) MARIE-LOUISE (turning): Ah, that little one? A touching story ... yes ... how does it run? A brother, who ... BOMBELLES: Son of an exile, he's an exile still. TIBURCE (advancing; in a deprecatory tone): The Austrian uniforms my yearnings fill. They mean fox-hunting, that which I adore. MARIE-LOUISE (to THERESE): He is a good-for-naught and nothing more Taking the little you have left. ... THERESE (eager to excuse TIBURCE): My brother ... MARIE-LOUISE: I repeat A scapegrace—you excuse him; that is sweet. Therese of Lorget, you are just a love. (She takes her hand and makes her sit down near her on the sofa. TIBURCE and BOMBELLES, taking, withdraw a little.) Now, you're among my ladies. I must prove I can be pleasant ... Ah, a trifle less Light-hearted since ... THERESE (moved): Oh, if I could express ... I am so moved ... so troubled ... MARIE-LOUISE (drying her eyes): Such a loss! Few knew his soul! THERESE (trembling): Surely ... MARIE-LOUISE (to BOMBELLES): They'll keep his horse,— I have just written,—in a special stall. (To THERESE) Since the General's death, you know ... THERESE (astonished): The ... General? MARIE-LOUISE: He kept that title ... THERESE: I understand! MARIE-LOUISE: I weep. THERESE (with sentiment): What other name so glorious to keep? MARIE-LOUISE: One doesn't feel it fully at the start, But General Neipperg's death quite broke my heart. THERESE (stupefied): Neipperg? MARIE-LOUISE: I came to Baden for diversion. Vienna is not far. And some excursion My nerves demanded. I am thin, Oh very! —They say it makes me look just like De Berry. Vitrolles says so. So now I do my hair Like hers, you see.—God knows my deep despair! (She looks around her.) It's tiny, but not bad, this villa, dear. Metternich is our passing guest. He's here, But leaves this evening. Baden isn't bad. We've Thalberg and the Sandors and we've had Montenegro,—sings Spanish songs, you know. Fontana shrieks an air from Figaro; The archduchess comes, with the ambassadress From England ... But my grief is never less; I'm just heart-broken. My poor General! ... —Of course, my dear, you're going to the ball? THERESE (looking at her with increasing amazement): But ... MARIE-LOUISE (impetuously): At the Meyendorff ... Strauss from Vienna ... Tell The child she must come—mustn't she, Bombelles? THERESE: What is, if I may ask your Majesty ... News of the Duke of Reichstadt? MARIE-LOUISE: Franz? Ah, he ... ... He coughs a little. But this air is sweet At Baden. A young man! about to meet The world ... a solemn time ... Heavens! that child Lieutenant-colonel! Ah! It makes me wild ... —Would you believe my nerves would take that form,— I cannot see him in his uniform? (Enter two gentlemen, carrying certain green boxes.) (With a cry of joy): These are for him. Oh, see! SCENE II The Same. The DOCTOR and his son, carrying long glass-topped boxes; later, METTERNICH THE DOCTOR (bowing): Yes, our surprise. MARIE-LOUISE: Put them down, Doctor. BOMBELLES: What? MARIE-LOUISE: His butterflies. THERESE: Butterflies? MARIE-LOUISE: Yes. You see, this kind old man Is doctor at the baths. Once, he began To show me all these boxes, newly done, His son's collection. "If," I sighed, "my son Would care for these,—who cares for nothing now!" THE DOCTOR: Then I said to her Majesty, "I vow One never knows. No harm to him who tries." I've brought my butterflies ... THERESE (aside): His butterflies! MARIE-LOUISE (to the DOCTOR, sighing): He must be coaxed out of his sadness. I Wonder if he will like your ... DOCTOR: Lepidoterae. MARIE-LOUISE: Just leave them and return. He's out. (The DOCTOR and his son go out, after having arranged them on the table.) MARIE-LOUISE (turning to THERESE): Come now You're going to meet Scarampi. Your best bow, She's the Grand-Mistress! (Seeing METTERNICH, who enters, right) Metternich! Dear Prince! The hall is yours. METTERNICH: I must permit it, since The envoy must be met ... MARIE-LOUISE: Yes, such a bore. METTERNICH: General Belliard, the French ambassador, Councillor Gentz and certain gentlemen. (To a lackey who appears, at the back, on the steps in answer to a summon) The Count of Gentz, first. (To MARIE-LOUISE) You permit? MARIE-LOUISE: Well, then ... (She goes out with THERESE, TIBURCE and BOMBELLES following. GENTZ appears C, ushered in by a lackey. Very exquisite; a bor ed old face; pockets full of candy boxes and flasks of perfumery; he constantly nibbles a sugarplum or sniffs a vial.) SCENE III METTERNICH, GENTZ; later a French officer, attaché of the Embassy METTERNICH: How-d'ye do, Gentz? (Seats himself by the table R. and begins, as he chats, to sign the papers GENTZ takes from a large portfolio.) I leave, you know, to-day; The Emperor wants me at Vienna. GENTZ: Ah? METTERNICH: I say The thing's a bore. Vienna. now! GENTZ: As empty as my pocket. METTERNICH: Oh, come ... Without offense, 'tis said you stock it. With Russian ... (With his fingers he makes a gesture of slipping coins across the table.) GENTZ (with mock indignation): Me? METTERNICH: Let us be frank. You boast ... You've come to sell ... GENTZ (coolly, crunching a sugarplum): To him who bids the most. METTERNICH: Do you need money? GENTZ (sniffing his perfumes): For a debauch I've planned. METTERNICH: You pass for my right hand! GENTZ: Then your left hand Must not know what your right hand doeth, sir. METTERNICH: Fi! Sugarplums and perfumes. GENTZ: You refer To just our business; scents and sweets cost gold. I'm just an old spoilt child. METTERNICH (shrugging his shoulders): And as of old This pretense of self-scorn. (Brusquely) And Fanny, eh? GENTZ: Elssler? She doesn't love me. Plain as day, She finds me old, ... grotesque ... (Indicating the portrait of the DUKE OF REICHSTADT) She loves the lad. I'm just a screen. I find that not so bad. For after all 'tis service to the State To interest the Duke. I bit the bait. I dance attendance where the dancer goes. She'd have me come this evening,—'neath the rose,— Help her surprise the Duke. METTERNICH (who all this time is signing papers): You scandalize me! GENTZ: Mother'll be gone ... this ball. (He takes a letter from his portfolio and hands it to METTERNICH.) Read this. Advise me. A letter from Fouché's son. METTERNICH (reading): August twentieth ... GENTZ: He would transform ... METTERNICH: Otranto wastes his breath ... GENTZ: Our Duke of Reichstadt to Napoleon Second. METTERNICH (glancing through the letter): Names of his partisans ... GENTZ: Yes. METTERNICH: Let them be reckoned. (He hands the letter to GENTZ) Note them all well. GENTZ: But we refuse ... METTERNICH: This chance, Not killing hope outright. I reign in France Through our small Colonel. From his box—crac-cric,— I bring him, if, forgetting Metternich, They lean to left. When they come back to right, Back goes the Colonel, and the lid's clamped tight. GENTZ (entertained): When may one see the spring touched? METTERNICH: Where you are, And now. (He rings for a lackey.) Admit the envoy of General Belliard. (The lackey ushers in a French officer in dress uniform.) Good day, sir. (He holds out certain sealed documents.) With the papers in this heap, Our recognition of King Louis Philippe; But not too much of '89, I beg, For pressure has been known to break an egg. THE ENVOY (alarmed at once): That's an allusion to Prince François Charles? METTERNICH: Duke of Reichstadt? ... I don't admit, recall, His father ever reigned. THE ENVOY (with ironic generosity): I admit it, sir. METTERNICH: I will do nothing for the Duke, ... but ... heed me, sir ... THE ENVOY: But ... ? METTERNICH: But if to foolish liberalists you pander,— If you permit the smallest propaganda,— If Monsieur Royer Collard would be chief, Waving before your king his handkerchief,— If your new king should turn Republican,— My Monarch's not an angel but a man,— We might remember Grandson Franz. All's said. THE ENVOY (eagerly): We have no mind to dye our lilies red. METTERNICH (graciously): In that case, sir, be perfectly at ease. White lilies are not troubled by the bees. THE ENVOY (drawing nearer and lowering his voice): One fears in spite of you the Duke has hopes. METTERNICH: No. THE ENVOY: Late events ... METTERNICH: Dear sir, I hold the ropes. THE ENVOY: You mean to hint he doesn't know this thing? He doesn't know France has another king? METTERNICH: Yes, that! He lacks one detail, this odd chance,— That the tricolor floats again in France. There's always time. THE ENVOY: I see—I did not think ... 'Twould make him drunk with hope. METTERNICH: He doesn't drink. THE ENVOY (still uneasy): At Baden, sir, his guard is less severe. METTERNICH (very serene): He needs no guard. He's with his mother here. ENVOY: I don't quite understand. METTERNICH: Her interest In watching him? Plots would disturb her rest ... Her lovely calm. THE ENVOY: 'Tis not a calm complete; She broods her eaglet! (The door of MARIE-LOUISE'S apartment is flung open; she enters with a rush, and a shriek of despair.) MARIE-LOUISE: Oh, my parrokeet! SCENE IV The Same. MARIE-LOUISE for a moment; her ladies who follow her, wildly; later BOMBELLES and TIBURCE THE ENVOY: Huh? MARIE-LOUISE: Margharitina, Prince, has flown away! METTERNICH (desolated): Oh! MARIE-LOUISE: My darling parrokeet! METTERNICH (to the ENVOY, who looks at her in bewilderment): Her eaglet, eh? THE ENVOY (going forward and bowing): Your highness, may I offer ... MARIE-LOUISE (interrupting snappishly): No. (She glances at him angrily and returns to her rooms. The door slams.) THE ENVOY (more and more bewildered, to METTERNICH): What's this I see? METTERNICH: You said your Highness; we, her Majesty! THE ENVOY: The Emperor never having reigned, dear Sir, 'Tis odd his Majesty remains with her. METTERNICH: My diplomat, the lady does the trick. THE ENVOY (still puzzled): A bit choleric? METTERNICH: Proto-col-eric. THE ENVOY (salutes, about to take his leave. He pauses and asks): The Embas sy, dear Prince, here and to-day May wear the tricolor? METTERNICH (sighing): Of course you may. The thing's agreed. ... (Instantly the ENVOY throws away the white cockade and replaces it with the tricolor taken from his pocket.) METTERNICH (rising, says): Your action's prompt and hearty. (Noises and clattering without): What's that? GENTZ (who is on the balcony): The Archduchess and her charming party. The Meyendorffs, Cowleys, Thalberg! BOMBELLES (who at the sound of arrivals has entered eagerly, left, with TIBURCE): Come. What sport! (As he hastens to the door, the ARCHDUCHESS appears on the perron, surrounded by a sea of ladies and gentlemen, charmingly costumed for the Baths;—Gravedon and Deveria,—light dresses, big hats, parasols; a little grand-duke of five or six in hussar's uniform, a tiny military cape thrown over his shoulders; two little grand-duchesses in the marvelous frocks of little girls of that period. A tumult of frivolity.) SCENE V The Same. The ARCHDUCHESS; fashionable ladies; elegant gentlemen; LORD and LADY COWLEY; THALBERG; SANDOR; MONTENEGRO, etc. Later, THERESE, SCARAMPI, a LADY-IN-WAITING. THE ARCHDUCHESS (to BOMBELLES, METTERNICH, GENTZ, TIBURCE, who advance ceremoniously): No, no! This is a villa, not a court. (The salon is filled; to a young man) Thalberg, my tarentelle! Quick! Play for me! (THALBERG goes to the piano and begins to play; to METTERNICH, gaily): Her Majesty, my sister, where is she? A LADY: We came to capture her. ANOTHER: I know she'd love The trip we've planned; A coaching trip, we move Across the valleys; Sandor's guide. A MAN's VOICE (continuing a conversation): So push The lava back into the crater. THE ARCHDUCHESS (turning to that group): Hush! They've talked volcanoes since our drive began. BOMBELLES: Volcanoes? A LADY (to another, talking of fashions): Oh, you don't mean astrachan? SANDOR (answering BOMBELLES): This liberalism ... BOMBELLES: Ah! LORD COWLEY: Or rather France ... METTERNICH (with a severe air, to the ENVOY): You hear? A LADY (to a young man whom she positively pushes toward the piano): Ah, Montenegro, give us your romance! Low ... just for me. MONTENEGRO (accompanied by THALBERG, sings softly): Ah, Corazon! (He continues, very softly.) A LADY (to GENTZ): See, Gentz, to prove I thought of you, a new kind ... (She gives him a little box.) GENTZ: Oh, you love! ANOTHER (same): A Paris perfume. (Handing him a tiny flask.) METTERNICH (who sees the flask, to GENTZ, hurriedly): Ha, a fashion set? "Cologne of Duke of Reichstadt!" GENTZ (smelling it): Violet! METTERNICH (taking it from him, erases the mark with scissors taken from the table): He'd see that Paris thinks of him again. A VOICE IN THE GROUP OF MEN (at the back): The hydra lifts its head. LADY COWLEY: Oh, dear, those men! Talking of hydras, now! LORD COWLEY: It must be strangled. ARCHDUCHESS (laughing): Volcanoes and now hydras! How they've wrangled! A LADY-IN-WAITING to MARIE-LOUISE (who enters, followed by a servant who carries a tray full of tall glasses of iced coffee): Eis-Kaffee? (Another servant has put on the table a tray with beer, champagne, etc.) THE ARCHDUCHESS (seated, to a young girl): Say it, Olga. GENTZ: It appears We must have Heine. ALL THE LADIES (clapping): Yes! OLGA (rising): Two Grenadiers? METTERNICH (excitedly): Oh, no! SCARAMPI (entering from MARIE-LOUISE'S apartments): Her Majesty will join us presently. SEVERAL VOICES: Scarampi! (Greetings, laughter, rustlings, whispering.) SANDOR'S VOICE (from the group at the back): Krainerhutte, first, you see To let the ladies gambol on the green. METTERNICH (to GENTZ, who has taken up a newspaper from the table): What are you reading? GENTZ: First Debats I've seen ... For days ... LORD COWLEY (carelessly): Politics? GENTZ: Theatres. ARCHDUCHESS: Ah! Trifler still! GENTZ: Know what they're playing at the new Vaudeville? METTERNICH: No. GENTZ: "Bonaparte." METTERNICH (indifferently): Ah? GENTZ: At the Novelty? METTERNICH: No. "Bonaparte" ... "Napoleon" at the Variety. The Luxembourg, "His Fourteen Years" ... Ha, hum ... "Return from Russia," the Gymnasium. Let's see, the Gaiety is putting on "Napoleon's Coachman" and La Malmaison. Here's "Saint Helena,"—playwright's someone new. The Port Saint Martin is rehearsing, too, "Napoleon." LORD COWLEY (annoyed): A fashion. TIBURCE (shrugging): A furor. GENTZ: The Ambigu, "Murat;" Circus, "The Emperor." SANDOR (uncomfortably): A fad. BOMBELLES (scornfully): The merest fad. GENTZ: A fad? Perchance ... It's one they have from time to time in France. A LADY (reading through her lorgnet, over GENTZ'S shoulder): They want to bring his ashes home. METTERNICH (drily): Phoenix may rise, But not the eagle. TIBURCE: No one can surmise Poor France's future. METTERNICH (grandly): Ah, indeed, young man? I Know it. A LADY: Prophet! Tell it, if you can. THE ARCHDUCHESS (swinging an imaginary censer): His words are writ in bronze. GENTZ (under his breath): You mean, in brass. LORD COWLEY: Who will save France? METTERNICH: Henry the Fifth (with a gesture of condescending pity). The rest will pass, A fashion! THERESE (in her corner, softly): There seems a sudden passion For hiding Glory in the mask of Fashion. METTERNICH (turning to his glass of champagne): So long as only at the Odeon? One hears the cry ... A LOUD CRY (without): Long live Napoleon! (Everybody starts up. Panic reigns. LORD COWLEY chokes over his iced coffee. The ladies try wildly to find hiding places.) EVERYBODY (running about): At Baden? Here? What? Why? METTERNICH: Ridiculous! Don't be afraid. LORD COWLEY: A deuced silly fuss! —Run from a name! GENTZ (cries solemnly): He's dead. (Things begin to calm down.) TIBURCE (who has been on the balcony, returing): 'Twas just one man. METTERNICH: But who? TIBURCE: An Austrian soldier. METTERNICH (stupefied): Austrian? TIBURCE: Or, really, two. I saw ... METTERNICH: Unfortunate! (At this moment her door opens and MARIE-LOUISE enters, white and scared.) SCENE VI The Same. MARIE-LOUISE; later, an Austrian Soldier MARIE-LOUISE (in a choked voice): You heard it? I am in a shocking state! I heard it once ... a surging crowd drew nigh Around my coach in Parma. (She sinks on a sofa.) And that cry! They want to kill me! METTERNICH (nervously, to TIBURCE): Tell us what it meant? TIBURCE: Two soldiers of his Highness' regiment. They saw the Duke returning from his ride. You know the ditch, close by? It's rather wide. He tried to take it, but his horse rebelled, Backed, shied, and reared; the little Duke compelled The restive brute,—'twas rather neatly done,— Hop-la and over; and the noise, begun. METTERNICH: Send one of them to me! (TIBURCE gives the order from the perron.) MARIE-LOUISE (to whom her ladies are giving smelling salts): O, I shall die! (Enter a sergeant of the DUKE'S regiment. He salutes awkwardly, embarrassed by the brilliant company.) METTERNICH (angrily): Sergeant, what was the meaning of that cry? Tell me. SERGEANT: Why, I don't know. METTERNICH: You do not know? SERGEANT: No, nor the corporal, neither, there below, He don't know, sir. It caught us, sir. You see The prince, so young and slim, so masterly, ... The regiment is proud to have, of course, Its colonel son of ... METTERNICH (hurriedly): Well ... SERGEANT: He sat his horse So quiet, like a little blonde St. George And made him take it. Eh, I felt my gorge Just choke ... We don't know which of us begun. We up and cried "Long live ... METTERNICH (precipitately): What's done is done; But "Live the Duke," that form we much prefer; That isn't hard? SERGEANT (simply): It's not so easy, sir. METTERNICH: Hein? SERGEANT (trying it): "Long live the Duke!" ... it hasn't got the swing! METTERNICH (beside himself, dismissing him angrily): Go on! Get out! And don't shout anything! TIBURCE (to the soldier as he passes near him in going out): You fool! SCENE VII The same, lacking the SERGEANT; DIETRICHSTEIN enters almost immediately MARIE-LOUISE (to the ladies who surround her): I'm better, thank you. THERESE (looking at her forlornly): The Empress! MARIE-LOUISE (to DIETRICHSTEIN, indicating THERESE): Monsieur de Dietrichstein, ... our reader, ... yes ... Just come. (To THERESE, presenting her to DIETRICHSTEIN) His Highness' tutor. By the way Do you read well? TIBURCE (answering for her): Very. THERESE (modestly): I don't know ... MARIE-LOUISE: Take, pray, Some book of Franz's ... on that table ... see, Read at a venture. THERESE (taking a book): From Andromache? (Complete silence. Everybody listens. She reads): "What is this fear that strikes at every heart, My lord? Some Trojan has escaped the dart? ... Their fear of Hector brings his shadow near; They fear his son." (Everybody stares uncomfortably. Icily), "Fit object of their fear! Who knows not yet,—Ah, most unhappy one!— Though Pyrrhus rules him, he is Hector's son." (General embarrassment.) EVERYBODY: Hum ... ha ... GENTZ: A charming voice. MARIE-LOUISE (nervously to THERESE): Another page. THERESE (opens the book at another place): "Oh, I remember when his noble rage Bade him seek out Achilles, and his death, He embraced his son ... (General embarrassment once more.) ... and with his parting breath, 'Dear wife,' he said, and dried my eyes the while, 'No soldier knows if Fate will frown or smile; I leave to thee my son ... '" (Renewed murmurs; more embarrassment.) EVERYBODY: Hum ... yes ... MARIE-LOUISE (more and more constrained): Let's turn To something else. ... Take ... THERESE (taking another book from the table): Mediations. MARIE-LOUISE: I yearn For that. ... I know the author. That will be Less ... dull ... (To SCARAMPI, vivaciously) He dined once ... with the Embassy. THERESE (reading): "Never did seraphims' melodious song Ring through the skies more heavenly pure and strong; Courage! Descendant of a race divine! ..." (At this moment the DUKE appears in the doorway, centre. THERESE (feels that some one has entered, looks up from the book and sees the DUKE, pale and motionless, on the threshold. Overcome, she rises. As she moves, everybody turns, and rises.) SCENE VIII The Same; the DUKE THE DUKE: Mother, I beg Lamartine's grace, and thine— MARIE-LOUISE: Ah, Franz, a pleasant ride? THE DUKE (comes down; he is in riding costume; crop in hand; very elegant; a flower in his buttonhole; and he never smiles): The air was sweet. (Turning to THERESE) I interrupted. Will you please repeat? THERESE (hesitates for a moment; then, looking at the DUKE, with profound emotion): Courage, descendant of a race divine. Thy father's glories on thy forehead shine. All men in seeing thee ... MARIE-LOUISE (drily, rising): There, that will do. ARCHDUCHESS (to the children, indicating the DUKE): Go, greet your cousin, children. (The children run to the DUKE, who has seated himself. A little boy and a little girl climb on his lap.) SCARAMPI (in a low voice, angrily, to THERESE): Shame on you! THERESE: Why, please? A LADY (looking at the DUKE): He's very pale. ANOTHER: How frail he looks! ANOTHER: He hardly seems alive! SCARAMPI: Those lines! THERESE: Indeed, the books Fell open of themselves. I only said ... (SCARAMPI shrugs her shoulders and walks off.) GENTZ (who has heard, nodding his head): Where books fall open, they are oftenest read. THERESE (aside, looking sadly at the DUKE): The archduke on his knees. THE ARCHDUCHESS (to the DUKE, leaning over the back of his armchair): Be sure it's true I always am your friend. THE DUKE (kissing her hand): Yes, I have you. GENTZ (to THERESE, who has never taken her eyes from the DUKE): How do you find him? What do you descry?— A cherub who reads Werther on the sly? (The children who flock around the DUKE admire the elegance of their grown cousin; they play with h is watch-guard, his pin, admire his stock.) THE LITTLE GIRL (on his knee, dazzled): Your collars are so pretty. THE DUKE (bowing): Highness, you are kind. THERESE (aside, ruefully): His collars! A LITTLE BOY (who has taken the DUKE'S riding crop, flourishing it): Nobody has such sticks. THE DUKE (gravely): Not one you'll find. THERESE: His sticks! ANOTHER LITTLE BOY (touching the gloves the DUKE has pulled off and tossed on the table): O, and your gloves! THE DUKE: Fine,—very. A LITTLE GIRL (putting her finger on his waistcoat): What stuff is this? THE DUKE: My dear, it's Pondicherry. THERESE (ready to cry): Oh! THE ARCHDUCHESS (caressing with the tips of her fingers the rosebud the DUKE wears in his buttonhole): Even your flower is modish, on my soul. THE DUKE (rising, and speaking with bitter forced levity): You noticed that? The proper buttonhole. (THERESE suddenly bursts into tears.) THE LADIES: What is it? THERESE: Pardon me ... nothing ... not a single thing ... Alone ... so far from home ... MARIE-LOUISE (coming up, with effusive kindness): Poor little thing! THERESE: My heart had been so full ... MARIE-LOUISE (caressing her): Now, room is made! THE DUKE (who has moved nearer, apparently without observing THERESE, stops, touching with his foot something on the carpet): What am I stepping on? A white cockade? (He picks it up.) METTERNICH (embarrassed, coming forward): Huh! THE DUKE (glancing about him for a moment, sees the FRENCH ENVOY): This is yours? You lost it in some manner? (The ENVOY shows him his hat; he sees the tricolor.) Ah! (To METTERNICH) You did not tell me, sir ... But then ... the banner? METTERNICH: Highness ... THE DUKE: The same? METTERNICH: A trifle ... Nothing in't. THE DUKE (phlegmatically): Nothing. METTERNICH: Question of colour. THE DUCKE: Just a tint. He has taken the ENVOY'S hat and by the dark felt tries the two cock ades; he compares them like an artist, holding the hat at arm's length, holding his head on one side.) I think ... see for yourself, ... by every test ... Decidedly that ... this one is the best. (He mounts the tricolor.) (He throws down the white cockade and strolls away. His mother his arm and leads him to the cases of butterflies which the DOCTOR, who has re-entered, has arranged on the large table.) THE DUCKE: Butterflies? MARIE-LOUISE: (trying to interest him): Do you like the black one, Franz? THE DUCKE: 'Tis pretty. THE DOCTOR: Bred on umbelliferous plants. THE DUCKE: He stares with both his wings. THE DOCTOR: (smiling): And all his eyes? We call them lunes. THE DUCKE: And yet they look so wise. THE DOCTOR: You're looking at the gray, with blue dots filled? THE DUCKE: No. THE DOCTOR: At what, then? THE DUCKE: The pin by which 'twas killed. THE DOCTOR: (in despair to MARIE-LOUISE): Everything bores him. MARIE-LOUISE: (to SCARAMPI): I hope for good effect, ... SCARAMPI: (mysteriously): From our surprise? GENTZ: (who has come close to the DUKE): A sweet? THE DUCKE: (taking one): Oh, most select, A taste of pears ... and ... let me see ... vervains ... And ... wait ... of ... GENTZ: No, it isn't worth the pains. THE DUKE: The pains ... of what? GENTZ: Playing such things have weight. I am not Metternich. ... A chocolate? THE DUKE (haughtily): What do you see? GENTZ: A prince, young, wistful, tender, Who yet finds little sweetness in this splendour. Your soul stirs now, my Prince. But here at court The growing pains of souls are very short. I had a soul, even I, like all the rest. But—pfft! ... I wait, a trifler with the best Until one day, avenging Liberty, Some young fool from the University In my perfumes, my candies and my slough Will murder me,–as Sand killed Kotzebue! Yes, I'm afraid ... do try this sugared grape ... I shall be killed like that. THE DUKE: You'll not escape. GENTZ (recoiling): Hein? What? THE DUKE: You will be slain and by a youth. GENTZ: But ... THE DUKE: One whom you know. GENTZ (aghast): Highness ... THE DUKE: His name, in truth, Is Frederick. It is he whom you have slain. Since in your memory he wakes again, Since, like remorse, he whispers, ceaseless, low, 'Tis finished ... he will never let you go. GENTZ: 'Tis true. My lost youth rises up to smite. That look! that look! I knew I read it right. The look of one with Empire in his hand. THE DUKE: Your pardon, sir. I do not understand. (He moves away. METTERNICH rejoins GENTZ.) METTERNICH (smiling): You chatted with ... GENTZ: Yes. METTERNICH: Good mannered. GENTZ: All concede ... METTERNICH: I hold him in my hand. GENTZ: Oh, yes, indeed. THE DUKE (has drawn near THERESE who, seated in a corner, is turning the pages of a book. He considers the bowed head a moment; then): Why did you weep? THERESE (rising in great confusion): Because ... THE DUKE: No ... THERESE (more confused): Highness, Oh ... THE DUKE: I know why. Do not weep. (He moves quickly away and finds himself face to face with METTERNICH, who has just taken his hat and gloves.) METTERNICH (saluting the DUKE): Duke, I must go. (The DUKE responds with an inclination of the head. METTERNICH goes out, talking with the ENVOY.) THE DUKE (to MARIE-LOUISE and DIETRICHSTEIN, who are looking over some papers on the table): My exercise? DIETRICHSTEIN: Charming. ... But this brief sermon,— Why do you make these willful faults in German? It's foolery. ... MARIE-LOUISE: Skylarking! Is it regal, At your age, son? THE DUKE: Why not? I'm not an eagle. DIETRICHSTEIN (underscoring an error with his thumbnail): You still write France as feminine. THE DUKE: Alas! I never know if it's der, die, or das. DIETRICHSTEIN: The neuter only is correct. THE DUKE: Perchance. —Neuter seems not a thing to say of France. MARIE-LOUISE (interrupting THALBERG, who is at the piano): Music is my son's horror. THE DUKE: My horror! LORD COWLEY (appraching the DUKE): Highness ... DIETRICHSTEIN (aside to the DUKE): A civil word. THE DUKE: Hein? DIETRICHSTEIN (whispers): The Ambassador From England. LORD COWLEY: You rode as if subpoena A while ago. Where from? THE DUKE: From Saint Helena. LORD COWLEYS You rode as if subpoena THE DUKE: A pleasant place at evening,—calm, green, fair, Serene. I hope some day to see you there. (He bows and moves away.) GENTZ (hurriedly to the Ambassador, as the DUKE moves off): In Hellenthal ... I trust you understood. ... It's the show village of the neighborhood. LORD COWLEY: Ah! I believe. And with no wish to mock— My garden has a stone so called. GENTZ (under his breath): A rock! VOICES: They're leaving. THE ARCHDUCHESS (to MARIE-LOUISE): Coming, Louise? MARIE-LOUISE: No. CRIES: Come, get in. ARCHDUCHESS: You, Franz? MARIE-LOUISE: My son hates nature. 'Tis a sin. (Pityingly) He gallops till he crosses Hellenthal. THE DUKE (darkly): I gallop, yes. MARIE-LOUISE: No sentiment at all! (There are noisy farewells. The party leaves in a tumult of laughter and chattering.) MONTENEGRO (already on the steps): Cider's the thing for all these country feasts. (His voice is lost.) CRIES (without): Good-bye—good-bye! GENTZ (on the balcony): No hydra-headed beasts! (Laughter. Sound of wheels; the carriages drive away.) THERESA (to TIBURCE, who is leaving): Good-bye, my brother. TIBURCE (kissing her on the forehead): Good-bye, dear. (He bows to MARIE-LOUISE and goes out with BOMBELLES.) MARIE-LOUISE (to her LADIES-IN-WAITING, giving THERESE into their care): And now Show her her rooms. (THERESE goes out with the others. The DUKE, seated, abstractedly fingers a book on the table. MARIE-LOUISE, all smile s, makes a sign to SCARAMPI, who has remained; then she goes to the DUKE.) SCENE IX The DUKE, MARIE-LOUISE, SCARAMPI; later, a TAILOR and a FITTER MARIE-LOUISE: Franz! (He turns) I'm going to make you cheerful. THE DUKE: Mother, how? (SCARAMPI carefully closes all the doors.) MARIE-LOUISE: Hush! I have been plotting! THE DUKE (his eyes kindling): Plotting? MARIE-LOUISE: I might be convicted. 'Sh ... everything from France is interdicted, But I, Ah, secretly! from Paris brought Two notables. (She taps him gaily on the cheek): Smile, or it's all for naught. 'Sh! ... for you, a tailor, ... a modiste for us. Truly, I think our plot is ... THE DUKE (frozen again): Marvellous. SCARAMPI (opening the door into MARIE-LOUISE'S apartments): Come in! (Enter a young girl, elegant as a dress-maker's dummy; she carries great pasteboard dress boxes and hat boxes; she is followed by a young man who looks exactly like a tailor's plate of 1830; his arms are piled high with g arments and fabrics and boxes. The TAILOR comes , toward the DUKE, while, back, the FITTER takes out some dresses, throwing them over the ba ck of a sofa. After a profound bow, the TAILOR drops quickly on one knee and begins to open boxes, to unwrap parcels, to tie and puff cravats; to display his wares.) THE TAILOR: If Monseigneur but deign to see I have here all the latest modes. In me All Paris trusts. 'Tis I indeed who set The fashions. First, cravats; this violet,— Languid. A grave maroon. Foulard is worn. (He looks at the DUKE'S tie.) I see his Highness with this gift was born, To tie his scarf. ... (Showing another model.) —A pure quincunx design. (Looking again at the tie.) Yes, it is perfect,—noble, careless, fine. How does your Highness find this little vest Lightly embroidered? THE DUKE (indifferently): Ugly, like the rest. THE TAILOR (still spreading his wares): Can all this beauty leave your Highness cold? This doe-skin vest? This fibre-tissue's fold? This night-green coat? Observe the narrow cuff, Very exclusive. Mark, this charming stuff; Six buttons, three left open, latest touch; This narrow cord should please you very much. This dinner coat will ravish Paris soon, Blue, worn with deepest jasper pantaloon,— Restrained, yet dashing, very French in style. No, not the yellow,—that is not worth while; (Is Falstaff's doublet fit for Hamlet's wear?) Here are our mantles, Prince. The plaid one there, With half-low collar, sleeves thrown lightly back,— A bit pronounced, I grant. This one in black, A Rouliere, has a certain majesty, Fit for a lover or Madrid grandee. (He throws it over his shoulders and marches about superbly.) Well made; a silver chain; a band of sable; Montmartre's very best, both rich and stable And yet so simple,—the Parisian touch. MARIE-LOUISE (who has remained near the PRINCE, seeing that he is paler and stares as if he were not listening to the TAILOR): You tire his Hig hness. You have talked too much. THE DUKE (rousing himself): No, I was dreaming. Here, they do not use —Vienna tailors,—adjectives profuse, Terms picturesque and vivid, fitting, light, All this ... amusing, suitable and right. ... For you, it's just a tailor's cheap display, For me, it's ... (His eyes full of tears, he speaks brusquely.) Please, Mother, go away. MARIE-LOUISE (going back to SCARAMPI and the FITTER): The dresses, now. What, leg o' mutton? Oh ... THE FITTER: Surely! THE TAILOR (showing the DUKE a book of samples): Wool ... cashmere ... Marengo? THE DUKE: Marengo? THE TAILOR (rubbing the sample between his fingers): All wool and durable and nothing newer. THE DUKE: Sir, you are right. Marengo will endure. THE TAILOR: What is your order? THE DUKE: I need nothing now. THE TAILOR: One always needs becoming clothes, I vow. THE DUKE: I'd like one combination ... THE TAILOR: Only name ... The client's fancy is our chiefest aim ... The tint, the fabric, ours the art. Speak, pray, —We costume great Theophile Gautier. THE DUKE (with the air of one seeking an idea): Let's see. THE FITTER (in the background, showing huge hats which MARIE-LOUISE tries on before the cheval glass): Fine rice straw, with a scarf, ... all fair. It's not a hat that everyone could wear. THE DUKE (dreamily): Ah, can you make it? THE TAILOR (eagerly): Anything. THE DUKE: A ... THE TAILOR: What you will, Your Highness. THE DUKE: Coat. THE TAILOR: Yes. THE DUKE: Of cloth ... or better still Of broadcloth, very plain. THE TAILOR: I see ... you mean ... THE DUKE: Colour ... let's see. What do you think of ... green? THE TAILOR: Good, excellent. THE DUKE: A little coat of green, Showing the waistcoat just ... THE TAILOR (taking notes): Waistcoat seen. ... THE DUKE: To liven it a little, have I said Red lining and red pipings? THE TAILOR (a little startled): Highness, red?— THE DUKE: Ah, well ... the vest ... How shall we have the waistcoat? ... THE TAILOR (trying to think of the right shade): What is best? ... THE DUKE: It is white. THE TAILOR: Your Highness has an eye. THE DUKE: Another hint, Knee breeches. THE TAILOR: Highness? THE DUKE: Yes. THE TAILOR (resignedly): Well, of what tint? THE DUKE: I think ... I see ... them ... white, silk cassimere. THE TAILOR: White always is the choicest fashion, sir. THE DUKE: Buttons engraved. THE TAILOR: Engraved? It's hardly legal ... THE DUKE: Yes ... something ... let me see ... a tiny eagle. THE TAILOR (suddenly understanding what is this little green coat that the PRINCE orders, trembles and says huskily): A little ... THE DUKE (changing his tone, shortly: Well, sir, what? That shaky hand ... Tailor, you find this suit that I have planned A thing too strange, a thing to make afraid? You boast no more that you can have it made? THE FITTER (back): A sweet calash; these poppies ... lovely tone. THE DUKE (rising): Then, tailor, take away these things you've shown, Put up your samples, whether gay or grave. That little suit, and that alone, I'll have. THE TAILOR (coming nearer): But I ... THE DUKE: Enough. Be gone. And do not tell ... THE TAILOR: But ... THE DUKE (with a gesture of despair): It would not suit me. THE TAILOR (suddenly abandoning his tradesman's manner): It would suit you well! THE DUKE (haughtily, turning): You said ... THE TAILOR: I said it would suit. THE DUKE: Does your manner border On insolence? THE TAILOR: I am empowered to take your order. THE DUKE: Ah! (Silence. They look each other in the eyes.) THE TAILOR: Yes. THE FITTER (back, trying a mantle on MARIE-LOUISE,who examines its effect in the mirror): A Chinese grosgrain, Madam. One perceives Embroidered lining; elephant-ear sleeves. THE DUKE (a little ironically): Ah? Ah? THE TAILOR: Yes, Monseigneur. THE DUKE: I see, I see. Your quoting Shakespeare now is clear to me. THE TAILOR: That olive coat has names beneath its shawl, Marshals, a peer, schools, deputies, and all. THE FITTER (back): A satin skirt, spencer of jaconette. THE TAILOR: To aid your flight. THE DUKE (coldly): It is not settled yet, For I must go, before we turn the trick For counsel to my master Metternich. THE TAILOR (smiling): You will be less distrustful when you know It is your cousin ... THE DUKE: Hein? THE TAILOR: 'Tis even so, The Countess Camerata. ... THE DUKE: Eliza's child? THE TAILOR: She who delights to seem untamed and wild, Unarmoured Amazon whose proud young face Is living seal of her exalted race; Fences; breaks thoroughbreds; dares anything. THE FITTER (back): This organdie is quite too ravishing. THE TAILOR: This Penthesilea when one receives ... FITTER: The collar's only basted, and the sleeves ... THE TAILOR: She leads this plot of which I tell you. THE DUKE: God! The proof of that? THE TAILOR: A glance, the merest nod ... ... Don't let them mark you ... at that girl you see Kneeling, unpacking dresses. THE DUKE: It is she! Once, at Vienna, where she saw me stand Swiftly she dropped her cloak and kissed my hand, And ran off, crying, 'None shall say me nay. I greet my Emperor's son whom I obey.' A Bonaparte ... some likeness too is there ... Yes, but she has not, she, this yellow hair! ... MARIE-LOUISE (turning toward her rooms, to the FITTER): We must try on these pretty costumes, yes. (To her son, enthusiastically) Ah, Franz, in Paris only people dress! THE DUKE: Yes, mother. MARIE-LOUISE (stopping, trembling): Do you like Parisian style? THE DUKE (very gravely): Dressing in Paris seems to me worth while. (MARIE-LOUISE, SCARAMPI, and the young girl enter her apartments, with dresses to be fitted.) SCENE X The DUKE, the YOUTH; later, for a moment, the COUNTESS CAMERATA THE DUKE (as the door closes, turning eagerly to the young man): Who then are you? THE YOUNG MAN: Nothing, a nameless youth, (His manner is very romantic) Weary of living, lacking glorious truth; Of smoking pipes and praising the Ideal. What am I? I know not. There's nothing real. Am I? I would be, were the charges light! I read from Hugo, loving to recite Ode to the Column, ... all this, I declare, Because ... Lord, Lord! It's youth! It's in the air! I bore myself, Oh with extravagance; I am an artist, Highness, and Young France. And carbonaro, at your service, sir. Being always bored, at times I quite prefer A startling waistcoat, crimson more or less; A pretty taste in neckcloths I profess; Having this taste, an idler and a railer, They chose me for this plot to play the tailor. I add,—you see how true the metal rings,— I am a liberal and the foe of kings. My life, my sword, your Highness, are your own. THE DUKE: I like you, sir, but not your crazy tone. THE YOUNG MAN (smiles; then says less theatrically): No, do not judge me by these oddities. Sometimes I'm driven to follies such as these, But to real malady I'm not a stranger. I seek the only anodyne, in danger. THE DUKE (dreaming): Sickness? THE YOUNG MAN: A sick disgust. THE DUKE: A leaden soul. ... THE YOUNG MAN: And flights that fall. ... THE DUKE: Desires that lack a goal, ... And morbid pride in so much suffering, ... The touching pallor so much thought can bring! ... THE YOUNG MAN: Highness! THE DUKE: And scorn for any fool that looks content. THE YOUNG MAN: Your Highness! THE DUKE: Doubt ... THE YOUNG MAN: Ah, sir, what books Have taught your youth so well to understand? 'Tis what I feel! THE DUKE: Why give me, then, your hand! As a young tree, transplanted and alone, Feels in its rising sap the forest's moan And feels the gust that sways its far-off trees, Not knowing you, I yet have known all these,— Felt in my very blood the same mischance That makes the restless sorrow of Young France. THE YOUNG MAN: You feel it first, and then we plainer folk. —Whence falls on you this all-too-heavy cloak? O child its glory you both own and lack, Pale Prince, so pale, with your cravat of black, Whence is your pallor? THE DUKE: That I am his son! THE YOUNG MAN: Ah, well, weak, feverish, restless, every one, Murmuring like you, what is there left to do? —We are, in part, your father's children too. THE DUKE (putting his hand on his shoulder): You are his soldiers' children. That's as fine! You bear a burden scarce less great than mine. It makes me bolder. I can say, you see, "They're only soldiers' sons. And so, maybe, Will be contented with the Emperor's son." (At this moment, the door of MARIE-LOUISE'S apartment opens, and the COUNTESS CAMERATA enters, seeming to search for something.) THE COUNTESS (calling): The scarf? (in a low voice) The selling's nearly done. THE DUKE (in a whisper, hurriedly): Thank you. THE COUNTESS: I wish my stock in trade were swords! I hate to play the doll, with puppet's words! THE DUKE: Brave one, I know! MARIE-LOUISE (within): The scarf? THE COUNTESS (raising her voice): I had it here; I'm looking ... THE DUKE (taking her hand): A slender hand, that grips I hear, A riding crop. THE COUNTESS (smiling): I love a restive horse. THE DUKE: You use the foils? THE COUNTESS: The sabre, too! Of course! THE DUKE: Ready for anything? THE COUNTESS (in a voice to be heard through the half-open door): Where did it fall? (Low, to the DUKE) Ready, your Royal Highness, yes, for all. THE DUKE: Cousin, a lion's heart is like your own! THE COUNTESS: I bear a great name. THE DUKE: What? THE COUNTESS: Napoleone! SCARAMPI (within): You haven't found it? THE COUNTESS: No. VOICE OF MARIE-LOUISE (impatiently): On the harpsichord. THE COUNTESS (whispering and withdrawing): I go. Complete the plan. You have my word! (She gives a little cry as if she had found the scarf, which she takes from the front of her dress where she had hidden it.) At last! VOICE OF SCARAMPI: You have it? THE COUNTESS: It was on the harp. (She goes into the chamber, saying) You full it, so; that line was rat her sharp. (The door is closed.) THE YOUNG MAN (coming forward eagerly): So you accept? THE DUKE (calm): I do not grasp it all, ... Bonapartism of a liberal. THE YOUNG MAN (smiling): Republican, you see ... THE DUKE: The long way home! THE YOUNG MAN: All roads lead, Highness, to the King of Rome! My red, fast crimson once, I could have sworn, Has faded ... THE DUKE (ironically): In what sunshine was it worn? THE YOUNG MAN: The sun of Austerlitz. Young blood must thrill. We fight no battles, but we tell them still. The blood is staunched; the glory glows the more! All words imperial spell the Emperor! He has the victory arms could never give! His soldiers perish, but his poets live. THE DUKE: In short ... THE YOUNG MAN: In short ... the times ... the exiled god ... Your touching fate ... a mind that hates to plod ... All these combined ... THE DUKE: In short, sir, you, as artist, Thought it was ... pretty ... to be Bonapartist. THE YOUNG MAN (taken aback): Hein? You accept? THE DUKE: THE YOUNG MAN: What? THE DUKE: listened well, And they are charming, all these things you tell, It was not France. Her voice is true and pure. It's just a passing form of literature! THE YOUNG MAN (desolated): My maladroitness proves your overthrow! The Countess could convince you, surely. THE DUKE: Her bold, bright spirit is a joy to see, But she's not France,—she's just my family! Another day will offer me this choice, When your appeal will find another voice, The people's ruder voice, to make me tremble. But you, young Byron, whom I so resemble,— It's not your failure. Go without regret. I am not ready to be Emperor yet! SCENE XI The Same. The COUNTESS; later, DIETRICHSTEIN THE COUNTESS (who coming out of the apartments of MARIE-LOUISE hears the last words, stricken): Not ready? (She half turns and says vivaciously through the half-closed door to MARIE-LOUISE and SCARAMPI): It's decided. ... I'll reserve The white dress for this evening, not the mauve. (To the DUKE) Not ready? What do you need? THE DUKE: A year of dreams, Of work ... THE COUNTESS (fiercely): Come, reign! THE DUKE: Unripe my forehead seems! THE COUNTESS: Crowns ripen brows that wear their royal stamp. THE DUKE (indicating his work table): The golden crown cast by a student's lamp! THE YOUNG MAN: Now is your chance! THE DUKE (turning, haughtily): My opportunity? The tailor comes again? THE COUNTESS: But ... THE DUKE (firmly): It is not to be! I, lacking genius, grip my sense of rights. I still demand three hundred sleepless nights! THE YOUNG MAN (in despair): This will confirm the gossip of the street! THE COUNTESS: They said that your defection is complete! THE YOUNG MAN: You are Young France. They think you Austrian. THE COUNTESS: They say your soul is weakened ... THE YOUNG MAN: By the plan Of all your teachers. THE COUNTESS: That you do not know Your Father's story. THE DUKE (turning): What? They dare say so? THE YOUNG MAN: What can we say? THE DUKE (violently): Answer ... (A door opens; enter DIETRICHSTEIN. The DUKE, turning to him, very naturally) Dear Count, come in. DIETRICHSTEIN (announcing his instructor in history): Obenhaus, sir. THE DUKE: I'm ready to begin. (DIETRICHSTEIN goes out.) THE DUKE (pointing to the scattered samples from the boxes): Move very slowly; pack the garments neatly, And, for the rest, efface yourselves completely. (As DIETRICHSTEIN returns with OBENHAUS; to OBENHAUS) Good day, dear Baron. (To the COUNTESS and the YOUNG MAN, waving them aside) Pack them promptly, please. (To OBENHAUS) My tailor. OBENHAUS: Ah! THE DUKE: The fitter brought all these To show the Duchess. OBENHAUS: Ah! THE DUKE: They're in the way? OBENHAUS (who has seated himself at the table with DIETRICHSTEIN): No, no! SCENE XII The DUKE, DIETRICHSTEIN, OBENHAUS, and behind them, the COUNTESS and the YOUNG MAN, who, quietly and unobtrusively folding and packing, listen intently THE DUKE (seating himself opposite his instructors): Sirs, at your service! Pencil sharpened, so I'll miss no date nor any thought you drop. OBENHAUS: Take up the lesson where we had to stop, —In eighteen five. THE DUKE: Yes, eighteen five. OBENHAUS: We've seen In eighteen six ... THE DUKE: Your pardon; do you mean That nothing marked that year? OBENHAUS: Hein? What? What date? THE DUKE (blowing away a speck of lead from his pencil sharpening): Why, eighteen five. OBENHAUS: Oh, yes ... uh ... that year, fate Was cruel to the right, by some mischance,— A year that merits but a passing glance. (He takes refuge in high-sounding words.) From history's heights, the thinker's view is clear. THE DUKE: Then nothing special happened in that year? OBENHAUS: Yes, an important thing, upon my word! The ancient calendar was then restored ... A little later, England, you will gather Provoked by Spain ... THE DUKE (sweetly): The Emperor, sir? OBENHAUS: W—whom? THE DUKE: My father. OBENHAUS (evasively): He ... THE DUKE: Had he left Boulogne? OBENHAUS: Oh, without doubt. THE DUKE: Where was he, then? OBENHAUS: Why ... why ... just hereabout. THE DUKE (with an air of astonishment): Indeed! DIETRICHSTEIN (hurriedly): Bavaria was his chief concern. OBENHAUS (trying to pass on): The Presburg treaty, you will shortly learn, Conformed to that of Hapsburg ... of Hapsburg. THE DUKE: Now, what is that, this treaty of Presburg? OBENHAUS (vaguely): It closed a period ... a sort of joint Agreement.. THE DUKE (looking at his pencil): Ah! I seem to have lost the point. OBENHAUS: In eighteen seven ... THE DUKE: Already? (Tranquilly sharpening his pencil) Very well. A curious epoch ... not a thing to tell! OBENHAUS: Oh, yes, Monseigneur; you must know, Bragance ... The king ... THE DUKE (more and more gently): The Emperor, sir? OBENHAUS: Which one? THE DUKE: Of France? OBENHAUS: Nothing important until eighteen eight. The Tilsit treaty, I forgot to state ... THE DUKE (innocently): Nothing but treaties? OBENHAUS (trying to get on): Yes, the State entire ... Europe. ... THE DUKE: A brief review? THE EAGLET OBENHAUS: Yes, I desire To bring out ... THE DUKE: Nothing else? OBENHAUS: Why ... THE DUKE: Tell me, pray. OBENHAUS: I ... THE DUKE: What happened else? What happened else, I say? OBENHAUS (stammering): Why ... I don't know. ... You're jesting, Highness. ...When ... THE DUKE (rising): You do not know? Why, I must tell you, then. October sixth in eighteen five ... DIETRICHSTEIN and OBENHAUS (get up in confusion): What? How? THE DUKE: Having ceased to say, "We must expect him now," The eagle's wings are spread before he swoops,— Vienna said, "Let London fear his troops!" Having quit Kehl, the crossing safely done, The Emperor ... OBENHAUS: Emperor? THE DUKE: And you know which one! Took Wurtemberg,—Baden's grand-duchy paid! ... DIETRICHSTEIN (aghast): My God! THE DUKE: Gave Austria a morning serenade With Murat's clarions and Soult's great drums; At Wertingen, at Augsberg, certain crumbs,— Mere tid-bits,—were his marshals' extra gain. OBENHAUS: But, Highness! ... THE DUKE: He pursued the great campaign, Sat before Ulm before he changed his shoes; Bade Ney hold Elchingen; dispatched this news In his own words, grave, awful, joyous, sober; Prepared th' assault. That seventeenth October Saw twenty Austrian regiments complete And eighteen generals at this hero's feet. The Emperor set forth ... DIETRICHSTEIN: Highness! ... THE DUKE (in a voice that grows stronger and stronger): In November, He slept at Schoenbrunn,—in my very chamber! OBENHAUS: But ... THE DUKE: Pursued the foe and knew them in his hand; Said in his camp: "To-morrow!" As he planned! Next day he faced the line and told them all, "Soldiers, to-day our thunderbolt shall fall." The staff's vermilion, background for his gray, The army all a-sea, he watched for day. He saw that dawn from yon high promontory, And smiling, set that sun in France's story. OBENHAUS (looking at DIETRICHSTEIN): Dietrichstein! THE DUKE: That happened! DIETRICHSTEIN (looking wildly at OBENHAUS): Obenhaus! THE DUKE (walking up and down with waxing fervor): Death! Terror! Europe saw Two emperors beaten by the Emperor! Twenty thousand prisoners! OBENHAUS (following him): I entreat! DIETRICHSTEIN (following): Imagine if one heard! THE DUKE: It was complete Upon the lake swollen bodies floated black. Grandfather sought my father's bivouac ... DIETRICHSTEIN: Monseigneur! THE DUKE (implacably): His bivouac! OBENHAUS: Be still! THE DUKE: My father made the terms just at his will. DIETRICHSTEIN: If any one ... THE DUKE: The colours captured there Distributed made eight for Paris' share ... (The COUNTESS and the YOUNG MAN have come from behind their screen, pale and trembling. They try to tiptoe out, without losing a word; in t heir emotion, they let some of their parcels fall with a clatter. OBENHAUS (turning and seeing them): Oh! THE DUKE: Fifty to the Senate! OBENHAUS: These strangers! Think of them! DIETRICHSTEIN (rushing at them): Save yourselves if ... THE DUKE (in a ringing voice): Fifty for Notre Dame! OBENHAUS: Good Lord! THE DUKE (in an ecstasy, with the gesture of one who distributes standards by thousands) : Oh, banners! DIETRICHSTEIN (hustling and pushing the COUNTESS and the YOUNG MAN, who are trying to pick up their parcels): Have you no sense, no manners? Dresses and hats! Get out! THE DUKE (falling exhausted on a sofa): And banners, banners, banners! (The COUNTESS and the YOUNG MAN have gone out.) DIETRICHSTEIN: There the whole time! THE DUKE (in a paroxysm of caughing): Banners! DIETRICHSTEIN: A Pretty mess! Highness ... THE DUKE: I'll stop. DIETRICHSTEIN: It's time, you must confess! Metternich's fury! ... And those strangers!. ...Oh! THE DUKE (wiping the sweat from his forehead): And anyway, I've told you all I know. (He coughs again) Teacher ... DIETRICHSTEIN (handing him a glass of water): You're coughing. Drink this, sir, I pray. THE DUKE (after swallowing a little water): I knew my lesson rather well to-day? DIETRICHSTEIN: No book has reached him and I know it well! OBENHAUS: When Metternich knows this ... THE DUKE (coldly): You will not tell. You would be blamed. DIETRICHSTEIN:(aside, hurriedly to OBENHAUS): He's right. We'll tell no other. To influence the Prince one has his mother. (He knocks at the door of MARIE-LOUISE'S apartments.) The Duchess? SCARAMPI (appearing at the door): Is ready. Enter. (DIETRICHSTEIN goes in. The twilight deepens. A servant brings a lamp and puts it on the DUKE'S table.) THE DUKE (to OBENHAUS): Count, I hope you see I knew your course ad usum Delphini. OBENHAUS (lifting his hands to heaven): How did you Learn? I cannot understand! SCENE XIII The DUKE, MARIE-LOUISE (MARIE-LOUISE, much agitated, enters, wearing a superb ball gown, her mantle thrown about her shoulders. OBENHAUS and DIETRICHSTEIN disappear.) MARIE-LOUISE: Goodness! What is it now? Franz, I demand A full account of this. THE DUKE (showing her the twilight scene from his window): Dear Mother, see The lovely light; birds twitter drowsily; Gently the evening casts its golden hue; The trees ... MARIE-LOUISE (arrested, surprised): Are you a nature-lover, too? THE DUKE: Maybe. MARIE-LOUISE (trying to be severe once more): You're going to explain ... THE DUKE: Breathe in This fragrance, Mother. Why, the woods begin To blossom in my room ... MARIE-LOUISE (growing cross): I said explain. THE DUKE (very softly): Each breeze brings in a branch; with every breath —Oh miracle to madden a Macbeth!— Not only does the forest march to me, It swiftly dances in its ecstasy! Borne on this sweet wind, lo, the forest flies! MARIE-LOUISE (looking at him half stupefied): Poetic, Franz? THE DUKE: Perhaps the word applies. (Dance music is heard in the distance Listen ... a waltz ... banal, one may suppose, Ennobled in its passing. Ah, who knows, Crossing the wood where oft he walked alone, By cyclamen, or brake or mossy stone, It may have met Beethoven's spirit there And set this sweetness vibrant in the air. MARIE-LOUISE (not able to believe her ears): And music, too? THE DUKE: Yes, Mother, when I will;— But I will not! Why should I ache and thrill At perfume, beauty, music, mystery? I've something blonde within that frightens me. MARIE-LOUISE: That something, son, is me. I feel so, too. THE DUKE: I would not think ... MARIE-LOUISE: You hate it? THE DUKE: I Love you! MARIE-LOUISE (fretfully): Then think how badly you behave to me. Metternich and my father couldn't be More generous if they tried. That silly writ Made you a count. I wouldn't hear of it. I said, "A duke, at least." So those sweet men Have made you Duke of Reichstadt. THE DUKE (reciting): Of Gross-Bohen Buchtierah, Tirnovan, Kron-Pornitz ... chen. (He affects to have trouble with the pronunciation.) If I pronounce ill, pardon. MARIE-LOUISE (crosser than ever): You'll confess 'Twas awkward to adjust your nobleness. The writ was courteous, prudent and exact; Those dear men did it all with perfect tact. For you to be ungrateful is a shame. No one so much as spoke your father's name. THE DUKE: They might have written: "Father's name unknown." MARIE-LOUISE: You may be, with your income, when you're grown, The best liked prince in Austria, by far, The richest. THE DUKE: Richest. ... MARIE-LOUISE: Most popular. ... THE DUKE: In Austria! MARIE-LOUISE: Taste your good luck! THE DUKE: I've sucked its sweetness out! MARIE-LOUISE: Only the archdukes rank you. Beyond doubt. You can espouse a princess, certainly ... Or an archduchess at the least. THE DUKE (in a voice suddenly deep with earnestness): I see, As once, a child, I saw,—in a vast room A little throne, back rounded like a drum; —Helena brightened what was golden then,— Carved on that back a little, simple N. —The letter that says No! to time. MARIE-LOUISE: But ... THE DUKE: And again I see kings' shoulders branded with that N. MARIE-LOUISE (recoiling): The kings whose blood flows through my veins in you! THE DUKE: I do not need their blood. What can it do? MARIE-LOUISE: That famous heritage! THE DUKE: Not worth a thought! MARIE-LOUISE: The blood of Charles the Fifth, you count that naught? THE DUKE: So many others have that royal sign; But when I say in my veins,—just in mine,— Blood of a Corsican lieutenant flows, I weep upon my hands wherein it goes. MARIE-LOUISE: Franz! THE DUKE: That young blood is but hurt by ancient blood. I wish my veins could lose their weakening flood. MARIE-LOUISE: Be silent! THE DUKE: What more is there to say? Yet I am sure Some day the young blood will be wholly pure. The two streams fight in me. And have no doubt That yours,—as always,—will be put to rout. MARIE-LOUISE: Peace, Duke of Reichstadt! THE DUKE: Metternich—fool!—did that. "Duke," on my life's page written,—"of Reichstadt." Held up and made transparent in the sun The mark is still, is still—"Napoleon!" MARIE-LOUISE (recoiling): My child! THE DUKE (going close to her): Duke of Reichstadt, you say. Oh, no. Nay, listen to the name I'll not forego. The crowd at Prater graved upon my heart, My own true name,—"The little Bonaparte." I am his son! his son! (He grips her by the shoulders.) MARIE-LOUISE: You hurt me, Franz! THE DUKE (loosing his hold and clasping her in his arms): O, Mother, darling! (Then with the tenderest, most pitiful gentleness) Hurry to the dance. (The orchestra is faintly heard in the distance.) Forget my frenzy,—my delirium; Forget it, darling. Or at least be dumb Even to Metternich ... MARIE-LOUISE(already a little reassured): I needn't say ... ? THE DUKE: I hear a lovely waltz not far away. No, tell him nothing. It will be a boon ... You will forget ... you, who forget so soon! MARIE-LOUISE: But I ... THE DUKE (talking gently as if she were a child, and softly pushing her toward the door): Think about Parma; Salla's palace fine;— Your happy times. That forehead, Mother mine, Was never meant for shadows thrown above you. —O Mother, if you knew how much I love you! Don't worry, dear, not even ... God! ... to be Faithful! I can be that for you and me. (Playfully) I'm going to keep on pushing till you go. Don't get your feet wet in the moss. And so (Kissing her on the brow) I'll kiss away your worries, every one. A charming head-dress. MARIE-LOUISE (eagerly): Do you think so, son? THE DUKE: The carriage waits. The night is fine. One other; (He kisses her again) That's for good night. Be gay! (MARIE-LOUISE goes out. He comes forward, trembling, and almost falls into the big chair by his writing table, his head in his hands.) O poor, poor Mother! (Changing his tone he draws his books and papers toward him; adjusts the lamp.) Come; let's to work! (The carriage is heard to drive off. The door, back, opens mysteriously and one discoversGENTZleading in a woman, closely veiled.) SCENE XIV The DUKE, FANNY ELSSLER; GENTZ, for an instant GENTZ (listens and then, whispering): They're gone! (he calls) Prince! THE DUKE (turning and seeing the shrouded figure): Fanny! FANNY ELSSLER (throwing off the mantle which she has thrown over her dancer's costume, appears, pink and glowing, in theatrical costume, and standing on tiptoe, holds out her arms): Franz! GENTZ (retiring): The dreams of Empire haven't half a chance! FANNY (in the DUKE'S arms): Franz! GENTZ (going out): Perfect ... FANNY (arduously): My Franz! (The door is closed upon GENTZ. FANNY instantly withdraws from the DUKE'S embrace, and respectfully curtsies.) FANNY: Your Highness! THE DUKE (listening): He is gone. Quickly! FANNY (with a dancer's grace pirouettes and with a light bound lands in a sit ting posture on the table): I learned so much to-day! THE DUKE (seating himself at the table): Go on! Go on! (FANNY puts her hand very lightly on the DUKE'S bowed head, then, slowly, wrinkling her pretty forehead to remember difficult points, she begins in the tone of one who takes up a recitation that has been interrupted.) FANNY: That night, a forced march under General Ney Was covered by Gazan. ... THE DUKE (passionately repeating, to carve the name on his memory) Gazan! FANNY: And by Suchet. ... THE DUKE: Suchet! FANNY: The cannonading was prolonged and hard. At early daybreak, the Imperial Guard. ... (The curtain falls) ACT II FLUTTERING WINGS A year later at the palace of Schoenbrunn. The Lacquered Hall. All the walls are covered with ancient lacquer work, whose gleaming black panels decorated with little landscapes, kiosques, birds o r tiny gold figures are framed in carved, gilded wood of heavy and sumptuous German rococo. The cornice is made of tiny pieces of lacquer, the doors are lacquer, and the supports are made of small and very precious bits of lacquer. Back, between two lacquered panels, a high window has a deep lacquered embrasure. Open, it gives a view of the balcony and the light from the park thr ows into relief the black eagle with two heads of wrought iron. One has a wide view of the park of Schoenbrunn. Between the high clipped hedges, where statues are placed, are spread the formal beds of a French garden, and at the end of the parterres and beyond the fountain on a grassy mound, its white arch outlined against the blue, the Gloriette is raised toward the sky. Two doors, right; two, left. Between the doors, two heavy pier-tables stand opposite each other. Beyond these consoles in gilded frames surmounted by the imperial crown, two haughty portraits of Austrian ancestors. This serves as salon to the apartment occupied by the DUKE OF REICHSTADT in a wing of the palace. The two doors on the left open on his chamber which is the very one used by Napoleon the First when—twice—he occupied Schoenbrunn. The two doors on the right open on the entrance to the salon from without. The PRINCE has made it his work room—a great table covered with books and plans, a huge map of Europe half unrolled. About the table several armchairs borrowed from the neighboring Gobelin Zimmer, mediocre gilded wood covered with admirabl e tapestries. In the foreground, left, a cheval glass a little catacornered, the black lacquered frame only showing. On the pier-table at the left reverently ranged: a French grenadier's cap, red epaulettes, a sabre, a cartrid ge box, etc., on the wall opposite an old musket and white shoulder-belt, a fixed bayonet. On the other pier-table, nothing. In a corner on a stand an enormous box. Everywhere books, elegant side arm s, riding crops, hunting whips, etc. As the curtain rises, a dozen servants are ranged in line before COUNT SEDLINSKY. He questions them. An Usher stands near him. SCENE I SEDLINSKY, the LACKEYS, the USHER SEDLINSKY (in an armchair): Nothing abnormal? FIRST LACKEY: No, sir. SEDLINSKY: Then that's all? SECOND LACKEY: Yes, sir. THIRD LACKEY: Eats little. FOURTH LACKEY: Reads much. FIFTH LACKEY: Hardly sleeps at all. SEDLINSKY (to the USHER): Servants all tested to your best belief? THE USHER: They are policemen all, and you as Chief, Know their good record. SEDLINSKY: Thank you. But I fear The Duke returning may surprise me here. FIRST LACKEY: He has gone out, sir. SECOND LACKEY: Always, sun or storm. THIRD LACKEY: Surrounded by his staff. FOURTH LACKEY: In uniform. THE USHER: Always manoeuvres! SEDLINSKY: Well ... be adroit ... a spy Must watch but not seem watchful. THE USHER (smiling): I am sly. SEDLINSKY: No zeal. A zealous servant makes me tremble. Don't all rush to one keyhole. Wait. Dissemble. THE USHER: That is a care I trust to only one. SEDLINSKY: Which one? THE USHER: The Piedmontese. SEDLINSKY: That's wisely done. THE USHER: Yes, every hour his Highness keeps his room, This fellow stands here,—watching. (He points toward the door leading to the DUKE'S chamber.) SEDLINSKY: Has he come? THE USHER: No, sir. All night he has to stand and stare; By day he dozes in an easy chair. He will be here when once the Duke comes. SEDLINSKY: Good! See that he watches well. THE USHER: That's understood. We are faithful. Can you ask it? SEDLINSKY (glancing at the table): Papers? USHER: Examined. SEDLINSKY (leaning down and looking under the table): This waste paper basket? (He kneels excitedly, seeing tiny scraps of paper around the basket.) Pieces of paper? (He tries to put them together.) Letters perhaps. Now who ... ? (More and more carried away by professional curiosity, he crawls completely under the table. At this moment R, a door opens, and the DUKE enters, followed by his military household—GENERAL HARTMANN, CAPTAIN FORESTI, etc. The DUKE is in uniform; white coat, buttoned to the green collar; silver bear-claws on the sleeves; a great white military cloak over his shoulders. A black bicorne with a green oak-leaf. On the breast two medallions, a miniature of MARIE-THERESE, and one of SAINTE ETIENNE. Besides the sabre belt, a silk girdle of black and yellow silk with heavy tassels. Boots.) SCENE II The DUKE, SEDLINSKY, The ARCHDUCHESS, The DOCTOR, FORESTI, DIETRICHSTEIN THE DUKE (very naturally, glancing at the two legs which alone appear beyond the table): Why, Master Sedlinsky, how d'y do? SEDLINSKY (appearing, aghast, on all fours): Highness! THE DUKE: Forgive the intrusion. All is yours. SEDLINSKY (standing): How did you know me? I was ... THE DUKE: On all fours? I recognized you easily. (He sees the ARCHDUCHESS, who enters hastily. She wears a garden costume, with a wide-brimmed straw hat; under her arm is an albu m sumptuously bound, which she puts on the table with her parasol. She seems alarmed. The DUKE seeing her, nervously): O, dear, They have frightened you. THE ARCHDUCHESS: They said ... THE DUKE: No cause for fear. THE ARCHDUCHESS (taking his hand): Nevertheless. THE DUKE (seeing DIETRICHSTEIN, who enters also hurriedly with an anxious air and brings with him DR. MALFATTI): The Doctor! I'm not ill. (To the ARCHDUCHESS) A fit of coughing—I had shouted orders till I brought it on. (To the DOCTOR, who while he speaks has been taking his pulse) Doctor, you are a bore. (To SEDLINSKY, who in the excitement has moved toward the door) So good of you to straighten up my papers. More Of your indulgence. You spoil me. I demur; Your friends to serve me ... SEDLINSKY (shocked): Do you fancy, sir ... ? THE DUKE: Indeed, for all this spoiling makes one wilful, I'd like it if your lackeys were more skillful. They dress me badly, all my neckcloths mount, And—since it's your department, my dear Count,— You stickle so for order to the letter, Please have them brush my boots a little better. (He has seated himself and is taking off his gloves, having handed his sabre and his hat to an orderly who carries them out. A lackey has placed a plate of refreshments on the table.) THE ARCHDUCHESS (wishing to serve him): Franz ... THE DUKE (to SEDLINSKY, who again is trying to make his escape): You take nothing? SEDLINSKY: I have taken ... THE DOCTOR: Liberties. THE DUKE (to one of the officers of his household): Orders, Foresti. CAPTAIN FORESTI (advancing and saluting): Colonel? THE DUKE: If you please Manoeuvres at Gros-hafen, as I planned, At daybreak, two days hence. CAPTAIN FORESTI: As you command, My Colonel. THE DUKE (to the other officers): You may leave me, gentlemen. (He salutes them. His staff retires. SEDLINSKY tries to disappear with the officer.) Dear Count ... (SEDLINSKY turns back. The DUKE holds out to him by his finger tips a letter which he has taken from his inside pocket.) Here's one you haven't read. (SEDLINSKY, looking harried, places the letter on the table and makes his escape.) DIETRICHSTEIN (to the DUKE): You find it then, Advisable to show severity? THE ARCHDUCHESS (to DIETRICHSTEIN): The Duke is not, then, quite at liberty? DIETRICHSTEIN: Oh, the Duke is not a prisoner, but ... THE DUKE: Indeed, I like that "but"; so well it serves the need. My God, I'm not a prisoner, but ... Just that. But ... Not a prisoner, but. 'Tis very pat. A prisoner? Not for a moment. No. But watchers dog my footsteps as I go. Prisoner? No. The thing is foolish talk, But if, far down the park I chance to walk There's not a leaf but hides a careful eye. Surely no prisoner, but just let me try To speak behind closed doors with no one near, That mushroom there would sprout a listening ear. I'm not a prisoner, but whene'er I ride An unseen escort is my courteous guide. A prisoner? The very thought's infernal But I'm the second to peruse my Journal. I'm not a prisoner, but ... each night one places A lackey at my door ... (Pointing to a tall, grizzled fellow who comes to remove the plate, and is crossing the hall at the moment.) That one, who passes. The Duke of Reichstadt, prisoner? Tut, oh, tut! A prisoner? I'm not-a-prisoner-but. DIETRICHSTEIN (rather caught): I approve this gaiety. It's rare. THE DUKE: Rarissime. DIETRICHSTEIN (saluting, as he leaves): Your Highness ... THE DUKE (gravely): Serenissime. DIETRICHSTEIN: Hein? THE DUKE: ... Re ... nis ... sime! The title was conferred. My heart is set On having it. You'll kindly not forget. DIETRICHSTEIN (bowing): I leave you. (He goes out.) SCENE III The DUKE, The ARCHDUCHESS THE DUKE (bitterly): Serenissime? Hein? I revel In that. (He throws himself into an armchair. Seeing the album) What have you? THE ARCHDUCHESS: The Emperor's specimens. THE DUKE: The devil! Grandpa's herbarium! (He takes it, and opens it on his lap.) THE ARCHDUCHESS: He lent it me This morning. THE DUKE (looking at the binding): It is fine. THE ARCHDUCHESS (showing him a page): You scholar, see What is this monster, dried and black? THE DUKE: A rose. THE ARCHDUCHESS: You have some trouble, dear, that no one knows. THE DUKE: Bengalensis. THE ARCHDUCHESS: Of Bengal! THE DUKE (congratulating her): Bravo! THE ARCHDUCHESS: I find you nervous. Are you ill, Franz? THE DUKE: No. THE ARCHDUCHESS: Ah, I know! They sent away your friend, Enthusiast, unable to pretend, Prokesch. They thought he fed your dreams. THE DUKE: But in his stead they send me, as it seems, Marshal Marmont, despised throughout the world. Here, rather, He wins a welcome who betrayed my father. THE ARCHDUCHESS: Tut! THE DUKE: And the creature hopes to end with this Poisoning the son's mind ... (With a violent gesture.) Oh! (Instantly regaining his self-command he looks at the herbarium again and, smiling, reads aloud): Volubilis. THE ARCHDUCHESS: Highness,—if I extort a promise now, You'd surely keep it as a sacred vow? THE DUKE (kissing her hand): An easy promise,—seeing what I owe ... THE ARCHDUCHESS: Then my mid-August present pleased you so? THE DUKE (rising and indicating the objects carefully placed on the console at the left): These treasures, from the Archduke's trophy store. (He touches each one.) Tinder box, guard's cap, gun ... (Smiling as the ARCHDUCHESS shrinks a little) ... unloaded. ...And Oh! More. Than all the rest ... THE ARCHDUCHESS (hurriedly): 'Sh! THE DUKE: The thing I have hidden. THE ARCHDUCHESS (smiling): Where, Where, bandit? THE DUKE (pointing to his chamber): Very safely, in my lair. THE ARCHDUCHESS (it is her turn, sitting at the table, to turn the pages of the herbarium): Promise ... you know the Emperor's gentleness ... THE DUKE (picking up a paper that falls from the herbarium): What's this that's fallen? Orders, nothing less ... (He reads) "If student demonstrations should recur Wholesale arrests; hard duty" ... (to the ARCHDUCHESS) You refer To ... gentleness? THE ARCHDUCHESS (fluttering the pages): The Emperor loves you, dear. His kindness ... THE DUKE (picking up another scrap that has fallen from the herbarium; reading): "If student insubordination press, Charge with fixed bayonets." ... His kindness, yes? THE ARCHDUCHESS (nervously): An old man fears new movements mean new trouble. He is a kind old man. THE DUKE: That's true, ... but double! (Closing the herbarium) O withered flowers from which harsh judgments come The Emperor Franz and his herbarium! Yet he's beloved ... He knows his people's heart, I love him well. ARCHDUCHESS: And he can take your part. THE DUKE: Ah, if he would! THE ARCHDUCHESS: Promise you will not fly Till you have asked of him. THE DUKE (offering his hand): I promise. Aye. THE ARCHDUCHESS (having made her cast of the dice, breathes as if reassured): Why that's well done. (Then gaily) You've earned my recompense. THE DUKE (smiling): Yours, aunt? THE ARCHDUCHESS: One has a little influence. And this Prokesch of whom you've been deprived,— I talked ... I worked ... In short, he has arrived! (She taps the floor three times with her parasol. The door opens. PROKESCH appears.) THE DUKE (running to him): You! At last! (The ARCHDUCHESS withdraws while the two friends are absorbed in each other.) SCENE IV The DUKE, PROKESCH PROKESCH (in a whisper, glancing suspiciously around): 'Sh, someone might hear. THE DUKE (tranquilly, aloud): They hear. They hear, but don't repeat. PROKESCH: What? THE DUKE: Never fear. To test the thing, I've spoken open treason. Never a word reported. PROKESCH: What's the reason? THE DUKE: I think the listener paid by the police Is deaf and thinks his chief was made to fleece. PROKESCH (eagerly): The Countess? Nothing new? THE DUKE: Nothing. PROKESCH: Oh! THE DUKE (despairingly): Not a sign! She has forgotten me ... been taken ... or ... in fine I was a fool when I refused last year. —No ... for I was not ready!—Now I'm here, Forgotten! PROKESCH: Tut! (he looks around) You work here? Charming. THE DUKE: It's Chinese. These gilded birds! These sly grotesqueries! With mocking grins my very walls abound. In the great Lacquered Chamber I am found, That by its sombre blackground I may see How white an Austrian uniform can be. PROKESCH: Prince! THE DUKE (walking back and forth): Spies make my household, officer or page! PROKESCH: How do you pass your time, my Prince? THE DUKE: I rage. PROKESCH: (going toward the balcony): I did not know Schoenbrunn. THE DUKE: It is a grave. PROKESCH (looking): Against the sky, that Gloriette shines brave. THE DUKE: I dream of glories, while the rest forget;— —And for reality, this Gloriette! PROKESCH (coming back to him): At least you have this park, a place to ride. THE DUKE: It's not enough. PROKESCH: The valley, then, is wide. THE DUKE: I'd gallop farther than the valley's end. PROKESCH: Where would you ride? THE DUKE: Across all Europe, friend. PROKESCH (trying to calm him): Now, now, now! THE DUKE: And when I lift a forehead all bedewed With glories that my histories have reviewed,— When I rise, dazzled, from old Plutarch's pages, When I salute great Cæsar down the ages, My father, Alexander, Hannibal ... A LACKEY (presenting himself at the door, left): What suit, your Highness, for this evening's ball? THE DUKE (to PROKESCH): You see! (To the servant): I am not going out. (The lackey disappears.) PROKESCH (turning over the pages of some books on the table): You read the books you choose? THE DUKE: Yes. I no longer need To learn from Fanny what she learned by heart. Books came, from one who always takes my part. PROKESCH (smiling): The good Archduchess? THE DUKE: Yes, a book each day. Ah, I was drunk with joy. I stole away Early to bed to read them, and, you see, To hide, I tossed them on the canopy! So well its gloomy folds my books enclosed A dome of History guarded while I dozed. By day they rested quiet, but they crept, Living and watchful, always while I slept; And battles raged that ages since were ended! And laurel leaves on my closed eyes descended. Austerlitz slid along the curtain fold; And Jena grasped the tassel meant to hold And keep them back,—and captured all my dreams! Then, one day, Metternich desired it seems To teach my father's history, as he would! I heard,—he thought, believed and understood. —And in the very middle of his story, That top fell, crushed beneath its weight of glory! A hundred books, leaves fluttering from their fall, Shouted one name. PROKESCH: He stormed? THE DUKE: Oh, not at all. He gave me one of his suave bishop's looks, "Why have so high a shelf to keep your books?" And he went out. Now I read anything. PROKESCH (indicating a title): Even "The Man's Son?" THE DUKE: Yes. PROKESCH: An odious thing. THE DUKE: Yes. This French book,—the hatred is unjust,— Declares they poisoned me. Fate less august Than that which slowly kills me day by day. France, if thy Prince is dying, let them say 'Twas not a dagger nor a poisoned bowl That kills the Duke of Reichstadt. 'Tis his soul! PROKESCH: Monseigneur! THE DUKE: 'Tis my soul ... my name ... that swells With cannons' roar and with alarum bells. Always they sound, and always sound my shame, Cannons and bells that shout my awful name. Peals, salvos! O, be still! Poison, they say? To leave my prison 'twere too smooth a way. (He goes toward the window.) I would make history! And I live, alas! A wistful child, face pressed against the glass! (He comes back to PROKESCH.) Sometimes I seek forgetfulness. Again, I madly leap upon my horse and then I've only one wild wish for speed, more speed, To outride my dream, to kill my horse if need! I turn my head away; the stately row Of poplars, swiftly passing, tell me so Of grenadiers' plumed bonnets in the wind. I ride as if my name might drop behind, And let me lose it; and I breathe the sweat, The dust, the leather,—to forget! forget!— The grass smells sweet; and happy, dusty, gray, I've conquered dreams; the clangor dies away. I breathe my horse, beside a field of rye, Look up ... see an eagle sweeping by! (He falls into a chair; a moment rests his arms on the table, his head in his hands; then, in a deeper voice): If I could trust myself, have faith, be sure! (He raises an agonized face to PROKESCH) You, friend, who know me well,—I can endure The truth, Prokesch,—what do you think of me? Ah! if I am what others say we be So often, great men's sons! It is his plan, —His duty also as an Austrian Metternich sows these doubts,—and makes them grow. I tremble as he flings them lightly. So, ... —You know me well,—Speak not to soothe my pain! Can I be emperor? Am I fit to reign? (With despair) From my pale brow let every crown depart If that its pallor be not Bonaparte! PROKESCH (moved): Prince! THE DUKE: Answer me! Should I heed this self disdain; What am I? Tell me. All unfit to reign,— The brow too heavy and the hand too light?— What do you think of me? PROKESCH: Prince, in God's sight, I think if all kings felt the woes you feel They would rule only for the people's weal. THE DUKE (with a cry of joy embracing him): Thank you, Prokesch! That word is comforting. To work, my friend. SCENE V The DUKE, PROKESCH; later, THERESE (A lackey enters, puts on the table a tray with letters and goes out. It is t he one whom the DUKE has a little while ago declared listened at his door all night; the one the usher calls the Piedmontese.) PROKESCH: The post. I see they bring Plenty of letters! THE DUKE: Yes ... from women. Those I have unhampered. PROKESCH: Heart-breaker! THE DUKE: I suppose There's a romantic halo 'round my fate. (He takes a letter which PROKESCH hands him, the seal broken) "I saw you, in your box. So pale of late." It's thrown away. (He tears it up, and takes another) "Oh, that pale brow" ... It's thrown away. (PROKESCH hands him a third) "I saw you riding in the Park to-day." Torn up. PROKESCH: Always? THE DUKE (taking still another): "Your gentleness, Your inexperience," ... That's the canoness. It's thrown away. (The door opens softly and THERESE appears.). THERESE (shyly): Pardon. THE DUKE (turning): You, little Spring? THERESE: Why do you always say that curious thing? THE DUKE: It's sweet. It's pure. It suits you. THERESE: Sir, we leave To-day for Parma. THE DUKE (with a forced smile): Ah, I know,—and grieve. THERESE (sadly): Parma! THE DUKE: The land of violets. THERESE: Yes ... Sir ... THE DUKE: If Mother does not know it, tell it her. THERESE: Yes, Monseigneur. Good-bye. (She goes slowly toward the door.) THE DUKE: Ah, little Spring, Flow on your course! THERESE (stopping): But ... why ... ? why little Spring? THE DUKE: Its waters often cause me to rejoice Seen in your eyes, or rippling in your voice. Good-bye. THERESE (goes toward the door, but at the threshold pauses as still hoping for something): Good-bye. You have no more to say? THE DUKE: No more. Good-bye. THERESE: Good-bye, sir. (She goes out.) THE DUKE: Thrown away. SCENE VI The DUKE; PROKESCH PROKESCH: Oh, I see! THE DUKE (dreaming): She loves me ... and I would ... perchance. (Changing his tone) But we make history and not romance. To work! Our course in tactics! For time flies. PROKESCH (unfolding a paper which he has brought and laying it on the table): Let me submit a plan. You criticize. THE DUKE (clearing the big table of books and arms to arrange a field of batt le): Wait! Bring me, first,—there in the corner, see?— The great box full of wooden soldiery. My demonstration can be better made If all my soldier-chessmen are displayed. PROKESCH (bringing the box of soldiers): Prove, in this plan, if all the risk is reckoned. THE DUKE (putting his hand on the box, with a return of his melancholy mood): Behold the soldiers of Napoleon Second. PROKESCH (reproachfully): Prince! THE DUKE: The net about me has so close a mesh, Even my soldiers,—Lift the lid, Prokesch,— My wooden soldiers must be Austrian. Give me one ... here, our left wing ... (He takes the soldier PROKESCH hands him without looking at it; glancing over the table for his place; locates it, then suddenly, seeing it): Why! PROKESCH: Our plan ... THE DUKE (amazed, taking up the little soldier and looking at it): A grenadier of the Guard! (PROKESCH hands him another): A skirmisher! (As PROKESCH hands them out): A scout!—A cuirassier!—Staff officer! —They have turned French! See the new colors shine Good Frenchmen all these fighting men of pine! (He hurls himself on the box and takes them out himself with increasing astonishment.) Oh, French! French! French! PROKESCH: What is this prodigy? THE DUKE: They've been repainted and recarved for me! PROKESCH: By whom? THE DUKE: Oh ... by a soldier! PROKESCH: Why? Let's see. THE DUKE: There are seven buttons on this blue coatee. The collars are correct; the braid, the flaps; The epaulettes; trefoil and forage caps; Exact. The artist had no doubt in placing The smallest piping, the obscurest facing. White list! Three-cornered pocket, clearly molded! O unknown friend! with hands devoutly folded! I thank you! Unknown soldier, from my heart I thank you, who have come to take my part; Who found a way, here in this dreary pen, To give me all these loyal fighting men! O wooden ranks, who is this hero mild? —Only a hero could be such a child!— Who has equipped you till you proudly felt You were correct in every strap and belt? Who could evade my watchful warders' eyes? What brush, so loving, so minutely wise, Gave every fighting man his brave moustache? Stamped cannon cross-wise on each sabretache? Or, dipped in gold, did not forget to trace Grenade and bugle in its proper place! (Exulting more and more) Take them all out! ... The table can't be seen! The voltigeurs with epaulettes of green! The scouts! the fuglemen! Come out! Come out! Soldiers like these can put the world to rout! Shut in this box,—opened at last!—Oh see The whole Grand Army marches out to me! Here are the Mamelukes! And here advances The crimson plastron of the Polish lances! The purple breeches of the sappers here! Here different leggins! Oh, at last, at last! The soldiers of the Line! advancing fast, White calves, and waving plumes, to the attack! Here, conscript infantry, whose legs are black, Rush on them not less gallantly to death, Green pompons waving! Surely they have breath! (Sighing) Like to a dreaming prisoner who sees In a toy village tiny wooden trees And makes thereof a forest, solemn, free,— So this toy army make my Eupopee! (He withdraws a little from the table.) But it is true! Since I can't see the prop Without which every little man would drop, Ah, look, Prokesch! They are not toys at all. 'Tis only distance makes them look so small! (He comes back with a bound and begins feverishly placing them.) Align them! Let's have Wagram, and Eylau! (He snatches a sabre from the arms placed on the pier-table and places it across his battlefield.) This yatagan's the river here, you know, The Danube! (He indicates imaginary points.) Essling! Aspern, by the chest! (To PROKESCH) A bridge across the river must be pressed. Hand me some cavalry. ... Oh, just a few! We need a rise! That "Memorial" will do. Saint-Cyr! ... Molitor, victor at Bellegarde! Crossing the bridge ... (METTERNICH has entered and, standing behind the DUKE, who in the heat of action is kneeling in front of the table, the better to place his soldiers, he watches his manoeuvres.) SCENE VII The Same. METTERNICH; later, a LACKEY METTERNICH (tranquilly): Crossing the bridge? THE DUKE (shudders and turns): The Guard! METTERNICH (looking through his eyeglass): I see the army has turned French to-day. Where are the Austrians? THE DUKE: They ran away. METTERNICH: Tut! Tut! (He takes a little soldier and hands it back.) Who daubed them up? THE DUKE: No one. METTERNICH: Then you? You spoil the toys we give you? Is that true? THE DUKE (turning pale): Sir! (METTERNICH rings. A lackey appears. The Piedmontese.) METTERNICH: Take these soldiers! Throw them all away. We'll get some new ones. THE DUKE: You shall not, I say! If I have toys, they shall be epic toys! METTERNICH: What fly ... or bee ... sting causes all this noise? THE DUKE (marching to him, fists clenched): Know, sir, I have no taste for irony. THE LACKEY (who is carrying away the soldiers, as he passes behind the DUKE): 'Sh, sir! I'll fix them. Leave it all to me! METTERNICH: What is it? THE DUKE (suddenly calm, with forced meekness): Nothing. A moment of ill-will. I beg your pardon. (Aside) A friend! I can be still! METTERNICH: I've brought your friend. THE DUKE: My friend? Can I suppose ... METTERNICH: Marshal Marmont. PROKESCH (with hardly controlled indignation): Marmont! METTERNICH (looking at PROKESCH): He is one of those I am pleased to see here. PROKESCH (between his teeth): I can trust that story! METTERNICH: He is here. THE DUKE (politely): Let him come in. (METTERNICH goes out. Hardly has the door closed when the DUKE falls into a chair, and rests his head on the table in an attitude of despair .) O Father! ... Dreams of glory! Eagles! His mantle! And his throne! ... away! (The door opens. He rises, immediately calm and smiling, and says very naturally to MARMONT, who enters with METTERNICH): Marshall Marmont, how do you do to-day? METTERNICH (wanting to get PROKESCH out of the way): Prokesch, perhaps you'd like to see the room. The Duke has here ... (He takes his arm and leads him away. The DUKE and MARMONT are a lone.) SCENE VIII The DUKE, MARMONT; for one moment METTERNICH and PROKESCH MARMONT: Highness, I need not come Again,—indeed, I've taught you all I know. THE DUKE: How very sad. You interest me so. MARMONT: The portrait I have showed your Grace was truth. Faithful ... THE DUKE: Faithful? That's all, then? MARMONT: All. THE DUKE: But in his youth ... Not one more memory? MARMONT: Not one. THE DUKE: Then, let's review: He was very great. MARMONT: Very. THE DUKE But, lacking you, He might have gone ... MARMONT: He might ... THE DUKE: Have gone too far? MARMONT (encouraged): He had this weakness. He would trust ... THE DUKE His star. MARMONT (satisfied): I see we quite agree in our conclusions. THE DUKE: And so he was ... let's have no weak delusions ... MARMONT (committing himself irrevocably): A great commander, surely. There are found Others, perhaps, whom one might call ... THE DUKE: You hound! MARMONT (springing up): Hein? THE DUKE: Since from a memory, strangely weak and dim, You've brought to-day the last you know of him,— All that, in spite of you, was great and splendid,— I toss you quite away,—you're empty! ended! MARMONT (aghast): But I ... THE DUKE: Duke of Raguse, you to betray him! You! Yes, you said, "Why not I?" The others, too, Seeing their comrade mounting to a throne. But you! He loved you! Always he had known And loved you! From the ranks! Despite his fears, Made you field marshal,—yes, at thirty years! MARMONT (correcting, drily): Thirty-five. THE DUKE: Ah, traitor of Essonnes! To say, dissemble, Lie, cheat, betray, the people—Aye, you tremble! The people have this verb; they say "Raguse!" (He rises and marches up to him.) What! Will you leave your silence to accuse! 'Tis not Prince François-Charle, imprisoned, weak, —Napoleon Second bids you stand and speak! MARMONT (who has recoiled, terror-stricken): Somebody's coming. ...Metternich, I say. THE DUKE (proudly, showing him the door that opens as he speaks): Well, for the second time, you can betray. (With folded arms, he defies him. Silence. METTERNICH reappears with PROKESCH.) METTERNICH (crossing the threshold, with PROKESCH): Don't let us interrupt your pleasant talk. Prokesch and I are going for a walk,— I want to show the Roman ruin where I plan the ball. Perhaps it's only fair I ... last exponent of my school, they say, Should plan a dance on ruins. So, good day. (He goes out. A pause.) MARMONT: I have kept silence, Highness. THE DUKE: Why refuse A chance so perfect once more to Raguse? MARMONT (sitting down): I will sit still. Oh conjugate the verb. THE DUKE: What do you mean? MARMONT: Highness, you were superb. THE DUKE: Sir! MARMONT: I have belied the Emperor! Fifteen years —Clamoring still to deafen my own ears. O can you understand?—I would excuse My treachery to me, Duke of Raguse. I never saw him,—this one truth you lack,— If I had seen him, he'd have won me back! Others betrayed him, thinking to serve France; But they all saw him. I, denied the chance, Am captured now, as they were captured then! THE DUKE: What do you mean? MARMONT (with rough fervor): I've seen my Chief again! THE DUKE (from whose lips almost a cry of joy escapes): How? Where? MARMONT: That brow! That gesture that would flay! That flashing eye! Insult me! I will stay. THE DUKE: You would have made amends in part, by me, If by those words you help to make me free; —Free from the doubts they ceaselessly suggest. What! With this heavy brow, this narrow chest? ... MARMONT: I have seen him! THE DUKE: Oh, you drive despair away! I wish to pardon. Why did you betray ... ? MARMONT: Ah, Monseigneur! THE DUKE: Why? MARMONT (with a discouraged gesture): Utter weariness! (A moment before, the door at the back, right, has noiselessly opened a little, and nobody sees that the LACKEY who carried away the littl e soldiers is listening. At the word "weariness" he enters and softly closes the door behind him, while MARMONT continues, speaking freely now.) Europe was leagued against us. One success Meant just ... more fighting. We don't live forever. Always Berlin ... Vienna, ... Paris never! Always beginning, always! Always winning, Once, twice, three times! It meant a new beginning! The saddle always,—leather pressed to knee. Oh, we were tired,—worn out! ... THE LACKEY (in a voice of thunder): Then what were we? SCENE IX The DUKE, MARMONT, FLAMBEAU THE DUKE and MARMONT (turning, and seeing him, standing in the background, his arms crossed on his breast): Hein? THE LACKEY (coming by degrees nearer MARMONT): Then what were we, we privates, marching, bloody, Footsore and dirty, hungry, sick and muddy, Having no hope of duchies or donation, Marching forever, never changing stations; The unranked beggar at whose door none knocks With batons from the Corporal's cartridge box; We that keep marching, marching, day and night; Staggering, not trembling; sweating,—not from fright; Trusting our trumpeter to keep us strong,— Him, and our fever, and a marching song! We who for seventeen years had, every one, Sabre and knapsack, tinder, pack and gun, —Leather and horseback! What about the ground?— A marching total close to sixty pounds. Sweating in bearskins under tropic suns,— Well, in the snow, they gave us thinner ones; From Spain to Austria at the double quick, —Pull up your legs like carrots if they stick; In mud to drown a fellow where he stands,— Well, pull your legs up,—have you got two hands? We haven't any cough drops. If you shiver An all day footbath's wholesome,—in the river. When some fine officer would gallop up,— "The enemy. Repulse them." Time to sup;— Try this raw crow and if you find it good Finish with sherbet,—snow and horse's blood. What about us? THE DUKE (his hands clenching the arms of his chair, leaning forward, his eyes glowing): At last! THE LACKEY: Not dreading balls, Afraid we'd wake up crazy,—cannibals! What about us? THE DUKE (more and more bent forward, across the table, devouring this man with his gaze): At last! THE LACKEY: Fighting and fasting; always fight and fast! Marching ... THE DUKE (transfigured with joy): At last! I'm seeing one, at last! THE LACKEY: Marching to fight, and fighting one to four; Fighting, for room to march, and fight some more; Marching and fighting; dirty, naked, mired, Wounded, and gay,—I reckon we weren't ... tired? MARMONT (aghast): But ... THE LACKEY: We didn't owe him, we, a tallow dip,— But we stood by,—and you gave him the slip! Yes, you, whose horse pranced at the Emperor's gate ... (To the DUKE) Highness, it is the honest soldier's fate To feed his soul; on glory he can dine. (Indicating MARMONT) His epaulettes ain't worth these stripes of mine! MARMONT: Who is this lackey "grumbler"? We must know. THE LACKEY (taking the military position): Flambard,—Jean-Pierre Seraphin Flambeau,— Light infantry, ex-sergeant of the Guard; A Breton father; mother, a Picarde; Enlisted at fourteen; year, Six, month, Germinal; Baptism at Marengo. Corporal, The Fifteenth Fructidor, year Twelve. Was given My sergeant staff,—and thought myself in heaven,— In eighteen nine, July, right here. You see The Guard held Schoenbrunn then and Sans-Souci.— Serving His Most French Majesty; I've been How many years? Sixteen. Campaigns? Sixteen. Battles? Austerlitz, Somo-Sierra, and Eylau; Eckmühl, Essling, Wagram, Smolensk,—O, I don't know, Thirty-two skirmishes. Wounds? More than one. For glory, rations,—mainly for the fun. MARMONT (to the DUKE): You will not listen so, Prince, to the end? THE DUKE: You are right. Not so, but standing! (He rises.) Go on, friend. MARMONT: Monseigneur ... THE DUKE (to MARMONT): In the chapters of that book, You make the chapter headings. All men look, See the great letters, and forget indeed The thousand little letters that they read;— Yet you were nothing, vanished all your glory Without the little ones that make the story. (To FLAMBEAU) My brave Flambeau, painter of wooden men, I wish, I wish I could have guessed it when You seem'd a spy that watched beside my door! FLAMBEAU (smiling): We met each other very long before. THE DUKE: We? FLAMBEAU (bringing his good broad face nearer): You don't remember? THE DUKE: No. I wish I knew ... FLAMBEAU (insisting): What, not that Thursday morning, at Saint Cloud? Duroc, a maid, wet nurse. As I'm a sinner Your Highness had an appetite for dinner. Such a white breast, it gave me quite a shock. 'Twas in the park, of course. Then said Duroc "Come here." I came; you may believe. I saw the Royal Child; the maid's pink sleeve,— The maid-in-waiting, marshal, and that nurse; It set my plume to nodding like a hearse. It caught your Highness' eyes. You seemed to say: "What thing is that that's shaking thataway?" You gave a little chuckling milky laugh. 'Twas half the colour pleased you, sir, and half The way the thing kept shaking on my head; —A rattle's nice; and so is something red. I made a bow; your highness made a dab; Your little hands were full with every grab. Marshal Duroc said sternly, "You keep still. His Majesty desires ... " You had your will. I heard, where I was kneeling meekly, I, Nurse, maid and marshal laughing fit to die. And when you let me go the ground was red And for my plume, a wire stuck on my head. "Sergeant, here's two for one," declared Duroc. I went to quarters strutting like a cock. "He! Pstt! You there! What bird snatched off your comb?" I answered, "Adjutant, the King of Rome." So that is when I met your Majesty. You've grown, your Highness. THE DUKE: Sergeant, no. You see I have not grown, but lessened, Woe is me! Your Highness, now; and then your Majesty. MARMONT (crossly, to FLAMBEAU): And since the Empire, tell us plainly which ... FLAMBEAU (measuring him scornfully): I try to be as decent as a ... b ... (He bites his lips, just in time, remembering the presence of the DUKE.) I knew Solignac and Fournier-Sarlovèze; Conspired with Didier, in those evil days; The plot missed fire. Saw little Miard die, He was fifteen,—and poor old David. I ... I shed some tears. I was condemned to death For plotting. 'Twas a silly waste of breath! Took a new name and came to town once more. And fell to plotting as I did before. I caught a royal guard one on the head, —For stepping on my toes, I think I said,— I mixed a punch or two; I took some rope, But lived on sixty sous and on the hope The Other might come riding into Var. I promenaded, in a bolivar. I quarreled if a man just looked at me, Fought thirty duels. Next conspired ... let's see ... At Bezier. Missed fire; condemned to die: Missing. Why good. I let no chance go by. Plotted at Lyons. Everybody caught. I was condemned to death. Some good-for-naught Let me escape. Paris! There, like as not, I was arrested for another plot. Desnouettes (Lefevre) was in America. I joined him. "Help me home." Why, right you are. Embarked; were shipwrecked; and my General, —Shipped as plain passenger,—was drowned. That's all. But I can swim. I swam and cried and swam;— Sunshine, blue waves, and gulls. Caught like a clam,— Rescued and put ashore, just on the dot To have some fun in the great Saumur plot. Missed fire. Court martial. Sentenced. Got away. The Commandant Caron, I heard them say, Was plotting at Toulon. Got there. In vain. Babbling in wine shops. Plot missed fire again. Wholesale arrests. Condemned to death for plotting. I went to war in Greece; there's no use rotting Or rusting out while Turks are left to tackle. Came back to France one morning; helped them hackle A bit of pavement—that was mid-July,— A good day's fighting; for that night saw fly The old tricolor, something like a flag, And not the Emigrant's pale sickly rag. —I think the staff lacks something till there swings Atop ... something ... in gold ... that flaps its wings! Left, for a Romagne plot. ...It missed fire. Since Your cousin ... THE DUKE (eagerly): Her name? FLAMBEAU: It's Camerata, Prince ... Hired me to learn her fencing. THE DUKE (understanding everything): Ah! ... FLAMBEAU: In Tuscany. We plotted while we fenced, sir, her and me. We heard about a dangerous bit to do,— I got forged papers,—and I'm watching you! (He winks and rubs his hands together.) I spy,—but see the Countess every day. I've found the hole, sir, where you used to play With Master Colin, little Robinson. That passage has two openings, sir, and one, —The one on which a body always settles,— That is an ant-heap; t'other, bed of nettles. I hide; your Cousin with an album brings Her folding stool, to sketch them Roman things; —She plays the English tourist to a t.,— And every day we plot there, her and me,— Me whispering like a prompter from the wings,— To make you Emperor in spite of kings. THE DUKE (deeply moved, after a moment): For such devotion, in such danger here,— What guerdon can I give you? FLAMBEAU: Pull my ear. THE DUKE: Pull? ... FLAMBEAU (gaily): What an ex-Grumbler always wants. THE DUKE (a little shocked by this soldierly familiarity): An ex ... ? FLAMBEAU: I'm waiting. ...Come, then. Yes, now thumb ... index. (The DUKE pinches his ear gingerly, and in spite of himself a little haughtily.) FLAMBEAU (sticking out his lip): That's not the way, sir; never made me wince. You haven't got the hang, ... you're too much prince! THE DUKE (trembling): Ah! You believe so! MARMONT: Fool, to tell the lad! FLAMBEAU: When it's a French prince, that is not so bad. THE DUKE (anxiously): You find me French, although in Austria placed? FLAMBEAU: Oh yes. (He looks around him.) You don't fit here ... Rich! Sick'ning taste! MARMONT: You see? FLAMBEAU: I've an upholsterer brother ... and it's plain. He works in Paris, ... Percier and Fontaine. That's imitation ... but you've got, by thunder! One Louis-Fifteenth that is just a wonder! I'm not a judge, but I can see what's good. (He picks up an armchair as if it were a feather, and examining the heavy gilded wood in German taste.) Pretty insipid, all this worthless wood. (He puts it down, showing the tapistry that covers it.) But the upholstery ... hein? there's taste ... there's mystery; It sings ... it smiles, ... it brings a bit of history! Why? You know why? That came from Gobelin's looms. You can't miss them in any sort of rooms. They bear their mark,—that taste ... that elegance ... —You also, Highness, you were made in France. MARMONT (to the DUKE): You must go back. FLAMBEAU: And on the Cross of Honour We'll stamp the Emperor we've missed upon her. THE DUKE: Who took his place there? FLAMBEAU: Henry Fourth. All right,— They had at least to choose one that could fight. I think the Emperor smiles, upon the whole. King Henry for a falseface, bless my soul! —You've seen the Cross? THE DUKE (sadly): In a Museum chest. FLAMBEAU: Monseigneur, you must see her on a breast. Under a bomb-torn flag, a drop of blood, Turns, as it falls,—part of an ardent flood,— To gold, enamel, emerald, and is found A jewel, flowing from a soldier's wound. THE DUKE: My friend, I well believe that it must shine Fair on your breast. FLAMBEAU: Who? Me? 'Twas never mine. THE DUKE (surprised): —A record brave and great and free from dross ... FLAMBEAU: It's something special, sir, that wins the Cross. THE DUKE: Your didn't claim ... FLAMBEAU (earnestly): What Tondu didn't give You hadn't earned. That's certain as you live. THE DUKE: Ah, well! I, lacking title, kingdom, power, I,—memory of a dream of one great hour,— This Duke of Reichstadt who has made his mark Strolling 'neath lindens in an Austrian park, And carving Ns upon their mossy boles,— —Stifling the cough that brings spies from their holes,— I, who not even the smallest bit can find Of crimson silk, which once my cradle lines, Whose star they vainly sought beneath the sun, (He shows the two medallions on his breast.) Bearing two crosses, lacking still the One,— Imprisoned, exiled, sick, ... I am afraid It won't seem like a gift at dress parade. ... A hero scattering stars. ... Perhaps you'd rather It were not done at all ... and yet ... my father Through whose hands all a firmament has passed Has surely left his son this much at last,— Some star dust from his Star ... and so ... and so I decorate you, Jean-Pierre Seraphin Flambeau. FLAMBEAU: You! THE DUKE: God! This riband's not a real one. FLAMBEAU: Sir, when it's real, It makes men weep. And that's the way I feel. MARMONT: Let Paris legalize it. THE DUKE: For that trip What can I do? FLAMBEAU: Why, Highness, pack your grip. THE DUKE: Alas! FLAMBEAU (rapidly): No more alases! It's the ninth to-day, You'll reach the Pont-Neuf on the thirtieth, say; Help,—and the thirtieth you'll see the Seine,— At this here ball of old Nepomucene. THE DUKE and MARMONT: Of whom? FLAMBEAU: Metternich. (Clemert-Lothaire-Wencelas-Nepomucene.) Go to his ball. ...Good-bye alas! MARMONT: I'm hearing dangerous secrets at this minute. FLAMBEAU (gaily, enrolling him with a gesture): You won't betray a plot if you are in it. THE DUKE (shrugging his shoulders): No! Not Marmont! MARMONT: Yes. I'll go in. (To FLAMBEAU.) Eh, Sergeant, neatly taken. A siren song had left me all unshaken,— But you have captured me in open fight. FLAMBEAU: I had a pretty opening all right. MARMONT: Very imprudent! FLAMBEAU: My besetting sin,— I throw an extra spice of hazard in. An extra frill or two is my delight,— A rose stuck in my ear, I go to fight, Danger gilt-edged! MARMONT: Well, then, if Camerata Will use me ... THE DUKE (vehemently) : No, not Marmont! FLAMBEAU : Tara tata! Let him redeem himself. THE DUKE: No! MARMONT (to FLAMBEAU): I have lists, —Carefully made,—disgruntled royalists. Ambassador Maison, as one surmises ... FLAMBEAU: We can use him. THE DUKE (dolorously): Already compromises! (Desperately) I won't have Marmont swear,—I tell you both! MARMONT (saluant): I will obey you,—when I take the oath. —Marshal Maison is near; the time seems right. (He goes out.) FLAMBEAU (closing the door and coming down): The dirty skunk is quite entirely right. SCENE X The DUKE, FLAMBEAU THE DUKE (much agitated, walking back and forth): So be it! I will go! ... But tell me, then, Does France desire her Emperor again? Does widowed France still mourn Napoleon? Do those kind hearts recall his only son? FLAMBEAU (poetically): Her tenderness to you she always renders. (And from his pocket he draws out something long, tricoloured, and waves it splendidly around his head, then hands it to the DUKE.) THE DUKE: Why, what is this, Flambeau? FLAMBEAU (serenely): Why, them's suspenders. THE DUKE: Have you gone mad? FLAMBEAU: Look what's on them braces. THE DUKE: My portrait! ... FLAMBEAU: Yes, you keep them in their places. THE DUKE: Flambeau ... FLAMBEAU (handing him a snuffbox, which he takes out of his shirt): Pray have a pinch. "Flambeau," you said ... THE DUKE: I ... FLAMBEAU: Look, on the box. Ain't that a curly head? THE DUKE: It's I! FLAMBEAU (taking out a huge handkerchief such as peddlers carry): A clear blue sky, sir, for our going home. Looks like fair weather for the King of Rome? (He hangs the handkerchief over the back of a chair.) THE DUKE: But ... FLAMBEAU (unfolding a colored print): A picture for your walls. It suits their fancies. THE DUKE: It's I ... upon a horse ... FLAMBEAU: A horse that prances. —How do you like this pipe? (He gives him a pipe.) THE DUKE (reognizing himself carved on the bowl): Flambeau! Flambeau! FLAMBEAU: You didn't know you looked like that, I know. THE DUKE (divided between deep feeling and laughter): I ... FLAMBEAU (taking from his pocket all manner of little things): I ... Cockade!—It's worn in hopes of starting trouble. THE DUKE: What else? FLAMBEAU: A locket; there they see you double. THE DUKE: Still me! FLAMBEAU: Still you. And on this glass ... see that ... They've cut the words ... (He has taken a glass from the tails of his lackey's coat.) THE DUKE (reading): François, Duke of Reichstadt. FLAMBEAU (taking a painted plate from under his waistcoat): Can't eat without a plate; that's not the thing. THE DUKE (more and more astonished): A plate? FLAMBEAU (setting the table as he draws his treasures out): A knife, of course,—a napkin ring,— An egg-cup, too. Now, don't you get unnerved! (He draws up a chair.) The cover's laid;—and Monseigneur is served. THE DUKE (sinking into the chair): Flambeau! FLAMBEAU (with growing enthusiasm): And that ain't all. You've seen these neck-scarves, maybe,— With you embroidered, when you was a baby? And playing cards where all the trumps are you? THE DUKE (dizzy, as the objects rain round him on the table): Flambeau! FLAMBEAU: And almanachs. THE DUKE: Flambeau! FLAMBEAU: All you! All you! THE DUKE (suddenly sobbing): Flambeau! FLAMBEAU: You're crying? Lord! It kind o' strikes me dumb! (He snatches the bandanna which he had spread on the back of a chair.) Here, wipe your eyes, sir, on the King of Rome! ... (Kneeling near the DUKE, and drying his tears with the handkerchief.) I tell you, Prince, strike while the iron's hot; People, and marshals, you have got the lot. The king,—the king, I tell you!—can exist, Only as Bonapartist. But he missed ... It's useless for a cock to take the pains Of playing eagle. Rooster he remains. Air lacking glory Frenchmen find too dead; The French crown can't stay on a pudd'n head; And all young France will rally to you, singing, A song of Beranger, their Emperor bringing, The pavements throb to greet Napoleon. Versaille will suit you better than Schoenbrunn! THE DUKE (rising): I accept ... I'll fly ... (Military music without. The DUKE trembles.) FLAMBEAU (who runs to the window): On the imperial stair The music of the guard. The Emperor's there,— Returning to Schoenbrunn. THE DUKE (shuddering): Grandfather! ... And my word! My promise! (To FLAMBEAU.) No, before accepting ... FLAMBEAU (uneasily): Oh, good Lord! THE DUKE: ... First, I must try him. ...But to-night, Flambeau, When you come back to guard me, you will know, If you see something you ... don't always see, That I accept,—will go. FLAMBEAU (like a gamin): Oh, hully gee! What is the signal? THE DUKE: You'll see. FLAMBEAU: When I first come in? (The door opens. FLAMBEAU hastily withdraws from the DUKE and se ems to be setting things in order. On the threshold appears a member of the Hungarian Noble Guard; red and silver uniform; yellow boots; panther skin over the shoulder; fur cap; with a long white plume with silver mounting.) SCENE XI The Same. The OFFICER of the Noble Guard THE OFFICER: Monseigneur ... FLAMBEAU (aside, looking at him): The dog has surely got a handsome skin. THE DUKE: What, sir? THE OFFICER: The Emperor has returned. They told him here, "Sire, on this day you have promised to appear To all your subjects. Many come from far. Are they to be received?" "Of course they are," The Emperor, always simple, said, "for here, I am grandfather, more than emperor. So It pleases me, this doubly happy chance, To meet my children and my grandson, Franz." May they come up? THE DUKE: Throw open every door. (The officer goes out. To the end of the act one hears the military band in the park, without.) SCENE XII The DUKE, FLAMBEAU THE DUKE (hurriedly, when he sees that they are alone, indicating the objects on the table): Tie them all up, just as they were before. I want to see them more ... but quick ... be brief! FLAMBEAU (quickly gathering them up in the blue bandanna): A peddler's pack here in this handkerchief? But what's the signal, Prince, and where'll you show it? THE DUKE: Flambeau, I say you cannot fail to know it! —The Austrian hymn! The royal band that plays! FLAMBEAU (knotting the corners of the handkerchief): I'd trade the lay out for one Marseillaise. THE DUKE: The Marseillaise! Tie it ... quick! ... You are rash! ... My father said "That air has a moustache." FLAMBEAU (tightening the knots): Their air has whiskers, so it's called a hymn. THE DUKE (running a riding crop through the knotted bandanna and putting it over his shoulder): I could return to France in just this trim, My knapsack on my back, joy in my soul. (He goes toward his room with a merry swagger, like a recruit, the blue bandanna on the stick over his shoulders.) FLAMBEAU (following him with his eyes, suddenly moved): Prince, you are mighty sweet and mighty droll! —This is the first time I have seen you so. THE DUKE (about to enter his room, turns): A little young ... and gay ... ? That's true. (With deep feeling.) Thank you, Flambeau. (Curtain) ACT III SPREADING WINGS The same setting. The window still open on the park. But the colours of the park have changed with the declining sun. There are now gorgeous sunset tints. The Gloriette is golden. The table, with its books, has been pushed against the wall, Right, to lea ve a wide space free. Not a throne, but a huge armchair has been brought that the old EMPEROR may be at once majestic and paternal. When the curtain rises, the people to whom the EMPEROR will give audience have taken their places. Each one has in his hand a little slip of paper on which his request has been written. They wait, standing, talking in whispers. Citizens in their Sunday best; soldiers' widows in mourning; peasants from every corner of the Empire; Bohemians, Tyroleans, etc., a medley of national costumes. Archers, rather like beadles (red-laced coats with facings and belts of black velvet; white knee breeches; high boots; cocked hats half covered by a cascade of feathers) stand motionless by the doors, Right. An officer of the Hungarian Guard comes and goes, staging the grouping of the throng. He assembles the throng, toward the back, in front of t he window and, Left, against the closed doors of the DUKE'S chamber. SCENE I AN OFFICER of the Guard; ARCHERS; PEASANTS; CITIZENS; WOMEN; CHILDREN; later, The EMPEROR FRANZ THE OFFICER: Stand back. ...You, old man! ... Baby, hush I say! ... (He indicates the second door, Right.) The Emperor enters there! You block the way! —You mountaineer, quit shuffling with your feet! A MAN (timidly): He'll pass ... ? THE OFFICER: And take the papers. I repeat Keep them in sight; let none of them be hidden. (All the little papers, held out, are fluttering.) Don't try to tell your troubles. (Everyone is in line; the officer takes his place near the table, then, recalling one more order): It's forbidden To kneel, upon his entrance. A WOMAN (aside): If he tries, He can't prevent it! (The door opens; the EMPEROR appears; everybody kneels.) EMPEROR FRANZ (very simply): Rise, my children, rise. (He comes down. The little papers flutter more and more. He has the long, melancholy face familiar in his portraits; but a great air of benevolence. He is wearing, with intentional simplicity, the citizens' dress which he affects; gray frock coat, buff waistcoat, gray trousers, tucked into top boots. He takes the petition handed him by a woman. Reads it, and hands it to the CHAMB ERLAIN, who follows him, saying): The pension doubled. THE WOMAN (kneeling): Sire! THE EMPEROR (having read the petition handed him by a countryman): Ah, ha! That's rather Dear, my man! Two beeves! (He hands it to the CHAMBERLAIN.) Well, ... granted! THE PEASANT (effusively): Father! THE EMPEROR (handing the CHAMBERLAIN a countrywoman's petition): Accorded! THE WOMAN (blessing him): Father Franz! THE EMPEROR (stopping before a poor man whom he recognizes): What! You again? Things going well? THE MAN (turning his cap in his hands): Not badly. THE EMPEROR (hands the petition to the CHAMBERLAIN and stops before an old woman): Come; what then? THE OLD WOMAN (while the EMPEROR reads her petition): You see ... the wind storms made the pullets die. THE EMPEROR (reading her bit of paper): So be it, goody. (He hands her petition to the CHAMBERLAIN; he takes another handed him by a Tyrolean, and, having read it): A singer? THE TYROLEAN: I yodel, I. THE EMPEROR (smiling): Sing before us at Baden soon. THE CHAMBERLAIN (making a note of the petitioner): The name? THE TYROLEAN (eagerly): Schnauser. THE EMPEROR (stopping before a huge fellow with bare knees): A mountaineer? THE MOUNTAINEER: From yonder hills I came. Their blue line lifts and pulls the heavens down. I want to drive a cab, sire, here in town. THE EMPEROR (shrugging his shoulders): Done. (He hands the petition to the CHAMBERLAIN and takes from a substantial farmer the following petition, which he reads half to himself): Here a land-owner begs of Father Franz His daughter's heart, stolen by evil chance, By a glass-blower of Bohemia. THE FARMER: Sire ... THE EMPEROR (hands back the paper): Give the young people what their hearts desire. THE FARMER (disappointed): But ... THE EMPEROR: I'll give the dowry. (The farmer's brow clears.) THE CHAMBERLAIN (making a note): Name? THE FARMER (eagerly): Johannes Schmoll. (He bows before the EMPEROR.) I kiss your hand. THE EMPEROR (reading the paper which he has taken from a young shepherd, deeply bowed and enveloped in a great mantle): A shepherd of Tyrol, Orphaned, despoiled and driven from his home By ancient enemies, desires to come Back to its woods, its skies ... " A touching plea.— "And to his father's land." So let it be. (He hands the petition to the CHAMBERLAIN.) THE CHAMBERLAIN: The shepherd's name, whom we so much advance? THE SHEPHERD (standing errect): The Duke of Reichstadt, and his land is France! (He throws off his coat, disclosing his white uniform. A stir. A frightened hush.) THE EMPEROR (in a stern voice ): Begone! Leave us! (The officers quickly clear the room. The doors are closed. Grandfather and grandson are left alone.) SCENE II The EMPEROR, The DUKE THE EMPEROR (in a voice that trembles with rage): What's this? THE DUKE (immobile, and still holding in his hand his little peasant's hat): If I were nothing, Sire, But a Tyrolean in his mean attire, Herdsman or hunter with a green felt cap And a cock's feather, you would see his hap; Bend from your throne to heed his wretchedness. THE EMPEROR: But, Franz! ... THE DUKE: I know that all your subjects,—yes, All the unhappy always,—may declare Themselves your sons like us. But is it fair That I, bowed down beneath my wretchedness, Am not your child like these, but so much less? THE EMPEROR (fretfully): But why not come in private? You deserve A sharp rebuke. While I essayed to serve All those poor souls! Why was this madness planeed? THE DUKE: I sought you where you let your heart expand. THE EMPEROR (still angrily, throwing himself into the armchair): My heart! Do you know your audacity? THE DUKE: I know that you can do this thing for me; That I am wretched past what I can bear; That you're Grandfather. All my case is there. THE EMPEROR (agitated): There's Europe! There is England—and still nigher There's Metternich! THE DUKE: You're my grandfather, Sire. THE EMPEROR: You do not know ... you are too young to see ... THE DUKE: I am the grandson of your Majesty. THE EMPEROR: But ... THE DUKE (coming close to him): You have a little, Oh a little, Sir, The right to be Grandfather? THE EMPEROR: But ... THE DUKE: Defer Being the Emperor till a better chance. THE EMPEROR: You always were a shameless wheedler, Franz. THE DUKE: I do not like your Emperor face at all, Like the great portrait in the Imperial Hall; Mantle and Golden Fleece,—too grand to touch; But Oh, like this I love you very much,— Your dear white hair, the silver locks that float, The kind blue eyes, buff waistcoat, long frock coat; Not Emperor so, but just Grandfather dear, Spoiling his grandchild. THE EMPEROR (shaking his head): Spoilt too much, I fear! THE DUKE (kneeling at the old EMPEROR'S feet): Is Louis Philippe so handsome you can't bear French coins without his picture? THE EMPEROR (trying not to smile): Tut, tut! There! THE DUKE: Are stupid Bourbons, sir, your only joy? THE EMPEROR (stroking his curly head, thoughtfully): You are not like the other archdukes, boy! THE DUKE: You find ...? THE EMPEROR: Where did you get these pretty fooleries? THE DUKE: A baby playing in the Tuileries! THE EMPEROR (shaking his finger at him): Ah! you go back ... ? THE DUKE: I want to. THE EMPEROR: Can it be (He fixes his eyes anxiously on the kneeling child.) You've kept it all this time in memory? THE DUKE: Vaguely ... THE EMPEROR (after a moment's hesitation): And of ... your father? THE DUKE: Just this far,— A man who pressed me close ... against a star, ... Held me so tight ... I crying for my part,— That diamond star was stamped upon my heart. (He rises, proudly.) Sire, it has stayed there. THE EMPEROR (holding out his hand): Have I heart to blame? THE DUKE (ardently): Ah, let the goodness of your heart proclaim! When I was little, sir, we loved each other. You wanted all our luncheons served together. We dined, we two, alone. THE EMPEROR (dreaming): You were a charmer. THE DUKE: I had long curls and I was Prince of Parma. (He sits down on the arm of the EMPEROR'S chair.) When I was punished, Grandpa took my part. THE EMPEROR (smiling): You always hated ponies ... from the start ... Remember? THE DUKE: Yes! ... That white one ... when a page Led it up, saddled, how I stamped with rage! THE EMPEROR (laughing): Ponies were babies' toys. Of course, of course! THE DUKE: Raging, I screamed "I want a great big horse." THE EMPEROR (shaking his head): And now, "a great big horse" you want no less. THE DUKE: And when I fought my German governess! THE EMPEROR (more and more carried on the tide of memories): And when, with Colin, you from sun to sun Dug great holes in my park. THE DUKE: As Robinson. THE EMPEROR (clearing his throat): You, Robinson! THE DUKE: My cave was rather narrow For me, my guns and hatchet, bow and arrow. THE EMPEROR (more and more animated): And later, at my door you mounted ... THE DUKE: ... Guard. THE EMPEROR: The ladies of my household found it hard To pass that watch. They'd come with this to tell:— "Your pardon, Sire. I kissed the sentinel." THE DUKE: You loved me. THE EMPEROR (putting his arm around him): And I love you! THE DUKE (fairly in his grandfather's arms): Prove this thing! THE EMPEROR (wholly melted): My Franz, my grandson! THE DUKE: Is it true the king, If I appeared, would simply disappear? THE EMPEROR: Hum ... THE DUKE: The truth! THE EMPEROR: I ... THE DUKE (putting his finger on his lips): Tell the truth! THE EMPEROR: Well ... maybe, dear! THE DUKE (embracing him, with a cry of joy): I love you! THE EMPEROR (conquered and forgetting everything else): If to Strasburg you should come, Alone, upon the bridge, with not a drum, You'd be made king! THE DUKE (his arms close about him): I adore you! THE EMPEROR: Child, you choke ... You're strangling me. THE DUKE: I'm not! THE EMPEROR (laughing and coughing): Too bad I spoke! THE DUKE (very seriously): Vienna winds don't suit my throat, you know. My doctor orders Paris. THE EMPEROR: Yes? THE DUKE: Yes, it's sweet air, ... and so, Since Paris it must be, why, let's manoeuvre To have my season open at ... the Louvre. THE EMPEROR: Ah, bah! THE DUKE: Ah, if you would! THE EMPEROR (tempted): It isn't new ... The thing's been broached. THE DUKE (earnestly): Ah, do, Grandfather, do! THE EMPEROR: My God, I wish ... THE DUKE: You can! THE EMPEROR: But ... if I ought. THE DUKE: It's never best to trust a second thought. Bid your heart speak; it led you well before. And what a pretty tale: An Emperor To spoil his grandson, changed the big world's map. And, for an extra feather in your cap, To say,—quite carelessly, as if by chance,— "This is my grandson, Emperor of France!" THE EMPEROR (more and more fascinated): Indeed ... THE DUKE: You'll say it! What we both desire! THE EMPEROR: Ah, well, but ... THE DUKE (pleading): Sire! THE EMPEROR (yielding and opening his arms): Yes, sire! THE DUKE (with a cry of joy): Ah, sire! THE EMPEROR: Sire! THE DUKE: Sire! (They are in each other's arms, laughing and crying together. The door opens. METTERNICH appears. He is in full dress; green coat, with gold lace, knee breeches; white stockings; with his Order of the Golden Fleece. He is motionless for a moment, regarding, with a ministerial air, this family scene.) THE EMPEROR (seeing him, hastily, to the DUKE.): Metternich! (Grandfather and grandson separate like children caught in mischief.) SCENE III The EMPEROR, The DUKE, METTERNICH THE EMPEROR (recovering himself a little, to the DUKE): Do not fear! (He rises, and, placing his hand on the head of the DUKE, who remains kneeling, he says to METTERNICH, in a voice which he tries to render firm): I will ... THE DUKE (aside): All's lost! THE EMPEROR: I will that this child reign. METTERNICH (bowing deeply): Good. At all cost. (Turning to the DUKE) Prince, with your partisans I can the faster Arrange the terms ... THE DUKE (astonished): I feared ... THE EMPEROR (also a little astonished, but recovering himself, proudly): What? I am master. THE DUKE (gaily, taking his grandfather's arm): Whom will you send me as ambassador? METTERNICH (coming down): It's understood ... THE EMPEROR (to the DUKE, tapping him on the cheek): You'll visit me, as emperor? THE DUKE (importantly): Yes,—when the House has risen,—for one sees ... METTERNICH: We only ask for certain guarantees. THE DUKE (beaming): All that you want. THE EMPEROR (who has seated himself): You are content? (The DUKE kisses his hand.) METTERNICH: We mustn't fail To settle certain matters,—mere detail. Dispersing certain groups we must require. We don't like neighbors who will play with fire. THE DUKE (who hardly hears METTERNICH): Grandfather dear! METTERNICH: One hears ... you must know why ... A bit too much of heroes of July. THE DUKE (suddenly attentive): But ... METTERNICH (coldly): Bonapartism ... Liberalism, ... these ... Just clip the bond between them, if you please. Exile Chateaubriand ... THE DUKE (withdrawing a little from his grandfather): What? METTERNICH (imperturbable): And Lamenais. Muzzle the press a little, that professes ... THE DUKE: That doesn't press. THE EMPEROR: Indeed? Indeed it presses! THE DUKE (moving a little farther away): Nay, I crave pardon of your Majesty That touches Liberty. THE EMPEROR (horrified): Franz, liberty? METTERNICH: We will be free to act, I understand, Both in Bologna and on Polish land? THE DUKE (looking fixedly at him): And then? METTERNICH: And then? Why, certain trifling claims, And then ... the matter of the marshals' names ... From battles ... (He bows, with an air of condolence, to the old EMPEROR) ... lost, Sire, in your own dominion. These must be done away. THE DUKE (imperiously): In your opinion? THE EMPEROR (soothingly): It might be ... METTERNICH (harshly): Pardon, Sire. These men are mad To hold the titles we have always had. Surely you see it is a grave mischance,— This carrying Austrian towns, in names, to France. THE DUKE (dolorously): Grandfather! Oh! (He has now quite withdrawn from him.) THE EMPEROR (hanging his head): Ah, now I see what harms ... THE DUKE (woefully): Grandfather, we were in each others' arms! METTERNICH (calmly): Then the tricoloured flag must be suppressed. (Silence. The DUKE slowly moves forward till he is face to face with METTERNICH.) THE DUKE: You wish, sir, that this flag which freemen love, Blood on its base and heaven's blue above, —Since fecund horror at its base was hurled And high it holds the hope of all the world,— Your Excellency says I must efface This heaven-blue top, this life-ensanguined base, That, having linen washed of memory, I make thereof a shroud for Liberty? THE EMPEROR (angrily): What! Liberty again? THE DUKE: Sir, I inherit, From the paternal line, so much of merit. METTERNICH (chuckling scornfully): Eighteenth Brumaire is in his constitution. THE DUKE: Aye, and my Granddam was the Revolution. THE EMPEROR (rising): Unhappy boy! METTERNICH (triumphant): A most Utopian thing ... Emperor! ... Republican! The brasses ring The Marseillaise; and in another key The flutes breathe "Save the Empire." THE DUKE: That may be. An Emperor who did just those two things Could play a tune to rout all lesser kings. THE EMPEROR (beside himself): This before me? You dare? Can this thing be? THE DUKE: I understand now what you offer me. THE EMPEROR: What has come over him? Whence comes this tone? THE DUKE: You want an Archduke upon France's throne. THE EMPEROR (raising trembling hands to heaven): Whence this bravado? Whence these new beliefs? THE DUKE: From certain egg-cups, pipes, and handkerchiefs. THE EMPEROR: He's mad! His words are crazy! He is mad! THE DUKE: Crazy to have the trust I lately had. METTERNICH: The obstacles are yours. Your cause was won. THE DUKE: If I will drive a gig and not a gun! THE EMPEROR: We offer nothing now. THE DUKE (his arms crossed on his breast): The cage? THE EMPEROR: If that's my will. THE DUKE: An Austrian cage, it holds the Eaglet, still. THE EMPEROR: Indeed? The Hapsburg eagles never lack Their eaglets. You're but one. THE DUKE: O, eagle black, Two-headed bird with cruel, weary sight, O Austrian eagle, world-worn bird of night, An Eagle of the day swept through your path, And,—fluttering wildly in your fear and wrath,— Not daring to believe, bird black and old, You see one eaglet sprouting wings of gold! THE EMPEROR: How I repent my weakness, lately proved. (He looks around.) These books,—these arms,—I'll have them all removed! (Calling) Dietrichstein! METTERNICH: Not in the palace, Sire. (The day wanes. The park is violet. Behind the Gloriette, the sky is red.) THE EMPEROR: We've been too mild. I will suppress all that,—poor, nervous child,— Makes you recall your father and your birth. THE DUKE (pointing to the park): Ah, well! Tear up those violets from the earth. Drive out the bees that buzz about the park! THE EMPEROR (to METTERNICH): Change all his servants! METTERNICH: I'll send off Otto, Mark, And Herman, Gotlieb, Albrecht. THE DUKE (pointing, through the window, to the evening star, which has risen@ 1): Close the blind! That star might call my father's to my mind! THE EMPEROR: For Dietrichstein, I will at once prepare A new strict order. (To METTERNICH) Write. METTERNICH (sitting down by the table, looking about for writing materials): The inkstand? Where? ... THE DUKE: Use mine, there on the console. I have said You may. METTERNICH (looking all about): Where, then? I do not see. THE DUKE: Minerva's head In bronze and marble. METTERNICH (looking everywhere): I see nothing. THE DUKE (indicating the console on the right, on which there is nothing): Hold, Try, the, the other with its burnished gold, On the pier-table. METTERNICH (frightened, passing his hand over the bare marble of the console): Where? THE EMPEROR (looking anxiously at the DUKE): What inkstands? THE DUKE (motionless, looking fixedly): Sire, Those that my father left me. THE EMPEROR (trembling): What do you desire? ... What mean, to say? THE DUKE: Yes ... by his will. The pistols there,— (He indicates still another corner of the console, on which there is nothing.) The Versailles pistols,—take them. Do not spare. THE EMPEROR (striking the table): Come, sir! THE DUKE: Don't strike the table, lest you feel You have dislodged it, Sire,—the consul's steel! THE EMPEROR (terrified, looking around): I do not see these things! THE DUKE: They are here, unseen. "—Give to my son, when he has reached sixteen,—" They gave me nothing. But in their despite, My spirit keeps what's stolen from my sight. Jewels and crosses, every one I see,— All here,—three boxes of mahogany; Snuffboxes; spurs;—no single one I lose,— His garter buckles; buckles from his shoes; The sword of iron and the brazen one, And that on which an everlasting sun Has left its brightness, in its scabbard prison, So, when 'tis drawn, men think the sun has risen. I have the sword belts,—six. There fails me none. (And he points here and there, on the empty pier-table, indicating each invisible object.) THE EMPEROR (horrified): Be silent! Peace, boy! THE DUKE: "Given to my son When he has reached sixteen." Sleep well, my sire! I have the uniforms, at your desire. —Yes, I appear to wear the Austrian white. It is pretense. It's false. Ah, see aright,— (He strikes his breast, his shoulders, his arms.) O, you can see this blue, this red! Look hard! Colonel? Oh, no! Lieutenant of the Guard! I drink from the three flagons! look, from these! Father, who gave for sisters Victories,— Not one of your bequests is made a mock. Even great Frederick's own alarm clock, Which you at Potsdam so superbly stole. Its tic-tac is this pulse-beat in my soul; 'Tis that which drives me, at the dawn of day, Worn with the labour sleep did not repay,— Here, to this table, that, through toil and pain, Each evening find me readier to reign. THE EMPEROR (choking with fury): To reign? To reign? Hope not for any chance To make the upstart's son a king in France, Because our old blood wrought so strange a thing And made your father's son seem half a king. THE DUKE: At Dresden, by your pardon, as I gather,— All you old kings seemed lackeys of my father. THE EMPEROR (angrily): That fighting man? THE DUKE: Before his suit began You gave your daughter to that fighting man! THE EMPEROR (with the gesture of one who would dispell a nightmare): My widowed daughter lives beneath my roof. THE DUKE (standing before him; in a dreadful voice): Alas! Alas! That I am here as proof. (They stand looking inimically into each other's eyes.) THE EMPEROR (suddenly recoiling, with a cry of sorrow): We loved each other, Franz! Have you forgot? THE DUKE (fiercely): My life proves your defeat. The rest is not. You can but hate me, walking, day and night, A living Wagram always in your sight! (He marches madly back and forth.) THE EMPEROR: Leave me! Be gone! (The DUKE hurls himself against the door of his room, pushes it open and disappears.) SCENE IV The EMPEROR, METTERNICH THE EMPEROR (falling into his chair): The boy I loved! That child! METTERNICH (icily): Well, shall he reign? THE EMPEROR: Never! The thought was wild. METTERNICH (relentlessly): The harm you might have done, sire, lacking me. THE EMPEROR: You heard the way my grandson answered me? METTERNICH: He must be conquered. THE EMPEROR: For his own sake, so. METTERNICH: Your peace of mind ... the world's peace ... THE EMPEROR: Oh, I know! METTERNICH: I'll speak to him this evening. THE EMPEROR (in the broken voice of an old man): Oh, what pain He cause me! METTERNICH: (offering his arm to help him rise): Come. THE EMPEROR (who now walks feebly, leaning on his cane): Yes ... this evening. METTERNICH: Surely it is plain That this must be the last ... THE EMPEROR: Oh, me! I fear Such scenes ... That child! METTERNICH (leading him): Come. (They go out. The voice of the EMPEROR can still be heard, repeating plaintively and half mechanically): That child! (Silence. It is night. The park is deeply blue. There is moonlight on the balcony.) SCENE V The DUKE, alone (Very softly he opens the door of his chamber. He looks to see if the EMPEROR and METTERNICH are gone. He hides something behind his back. The palace is still; through the open window, from the depths of the park, the faint echo of the Aus trian retreat, growing fainter in the distance. The DUKE brings into the moonlight the object he has been hiding. It is one of his father's little hats. He comes down, carrying it reverently, and without hesitation he places it on the end of the table covered by the half open map of Europe.) THE DUKE: The signal! (The sound of the retreating bugles dies away. The DUKE re-enter his chamber. Behind him, the moonlight begins to steal in, spreading i ts sense of mystery; the moonbeams glide as far as the table; suddenly they gleam upon it. On the whiteness of the map, the little hat shows black exceedingly.) SCENE VI FLAMBEUE; later, a SERVANT and SEDLINSKY FLAMBEAU (enters, Right): Here. The time has come. The signal,—did he show it? (He repeats, solemnly imitating the DUKE'S inflections.) "Flambeau," says he, "you cannot help but know it." (He seeks everywhere.) High? low? black or white? Now, what kind of a rig Would he fix? ... big or little? (He comes to the table; sees the hat; leaps back.) Ah! (and with an ecstatic smile, saluting) Little and big! (He goes back to the window.) The Countess in the park has made me swear I'd tell her if I found the signal there. (He has taken his handkerchief from his pocket, but hurriedly crams it back.) No! A white flag would bust the luck! Old fool! A SERVANT (crossing the salon, carrying a little lamp, goes toward the DUKE 'S chamber): His Highness' student's lamp ... FLAMBEAU (at a bound snatches it from his hand): But, stupid mule, It's going out! ... It needs air. ...That's the trick ... (He steps out on the balcony.) You raise it, so, three times. You lift the wick ... (He carefully turns it up and hands it to the servant.) And that's all. See? THE SERVANT (going on, shrugs his shoulders): You think you're smart. FLAMBEAU: I do. (The SERVANT enters the DUKE'S room. FLAMBEAU comes down, rubbing his hands together, and, stopping before the little hat, says with respectful familiarity): To-morrow! All's prepared. SEDLINSKY (entering by the farther door, Right): The Duke? FLAMBEAU (pointing to the chamber, Left): There. SEDLINSKY: Watch, you! —A post of trust. FLAMBEAU: Yes, yes. SEDLINSKY: Be sure you earn That trust. Are you the Piedmontese? (FLAMBEAU nods.) You know your turn? FLAMBEAU: To be here every night. I'm here. SEDLINSKY: What's done? FLAMBEAU: When there is quiet all about Schoenbrunn I double-lock the doors, take out the keys. ... SEDLINSKY: That's very good. You never part from these? Carry them...? FLAMBEAU: Always. SEDLINSKY: Never sleep? FLAMBEAU: Oh, no. SEDLINSKY: Then you mount guard ... ? FLAMBEAU (pointing to the threshold of the DUKE'S chamber): Right here. (The servant has come out of the DUKE'S room and left by the door on the right.) SEDLINSKY: That's good. Now go. ... It's time ... and lock them. FLAMBEAU (locking the nearer door): Locked. SEDLINSKY: The keys: FLAMBEAU (taking out the keys and putting them in his pocket): The keys! SEDLINSKY (going out by the farther door, to allow FLAMBEAU to lock it after him): None save the Emperor has their mates. Guard these. Watch well! FLAMBEAU (locking the door after him and smiling grimly): As always! SCEENE VII FLAMBEAU, alone (He takes the key from the second door and puts that, too, in his pocket; then, quickly and noiselessly, at the two doors, he presses down with h is thumb the leather flaps that close the key-holes, saying in a whisper): And let's kiss good night The eye-lids of them key-holes. Out of sight! (Sure of not being seen, he listens for a moment, then begins to unbutton his lackey's coat.) SEDLINSKY'S VOICE (through the closed door): Good night, the Piedmontese! FLAMBEAU (starts and instinctively begins to button his coat. But a glance reassures him, and, shrugging his shoulders, he answers coolly, while taking off his livery and throwing it in a corner): Good night, my Count. (He already looks gaunt, in his shirt sleeves, with his lackey's waistcoat of braided plush. He begins to unbutton this waistcoat.) THE VOICE OF SEDLINSKY: And now, mount guard, my man. FLAMBEAU (superbly, while discarding his waistcoat): Yes, sir, I ... mount. (He stands, thin and muscular, in his old blue grenadier's coat; the coat tails that have been tucked up, behind, under his lackey's vest, fall; the outline, for the rest, shows the white breeches and stockings of his lackey's uniform. SEDLINSKY'S VOICE (farther away): That's good. Watch well. Good night. FLAMBEAU (saluting ironically): Good night. (He has grown taller by a cubit; he smooths his wrinkled uniform; stretches his arms with their chevrons; raises the flattened shoulder straps; he combs his dressed and powdered hair with his huge fingers till it bristles straight up; he goes to the pier-table, left, and takes from among its treasures a short sabre, a bearskin and a gun; he stops for a second before the mirror to arrange his moustache in grenadier fashion; with two strides he reaches the DUKE'S thre shold and stands at attention.) And here I be! All straight and thin and rather raggety, Locked in till daylight, safe from all surprise, My shaggy eyebrows over watchful eyes. A man can breathe in this here uniform, And stand in decent military form, —Gun, right; hand on right nipple;—that's well done; I guarded father and I'll guard the son; So, every night, right on his threshold here, Giving himself his orders, clean and clear, Proud of a showy trick, a risk well run, An old French soldier watches at Schoenbrunn. (He begins to march back and forth in the moonlight, like a sentinel.) For the last time (Winking toward the PRINCE'S door.) And you there never know. Just for myself—luxury—not for show! (He stops, his eyes shining.) A trick like that and not a soul to see! Just tell yourself "Well done!" That's lux-u-ree. (He resumes his march.) At Schoenbrunn ... in their teeth ... and never flinched! I'm satisfied! ... I'm splendid! ... I am ... (A key turns in the key-hole, Right.) ... pinched! SCENE VIII FLAMBEAU, METTERNICH FLAMBEAU (with a bound is out of the moonlight and in the darkest corner, Left and Back): Who got hisself a key? (The door opens. METTERNICH enters. He has taken, in crossing the halls, a heavy silver sconce, all lighted, with which he lights his way. He closes the door, saying, in a determined voice): No, no. That scene Shall not occur again! FLAMBEAU (aside, amazed): Nepomucene! METTERNICH (going toward the table, preoccupied): This evening ... here ... I'll speak and it is done. (He sets the sconce on the table, and in doing so sees the little hat.) I wonder when the Duke was given one? (Smiling.) Ah! the archduchess. That's her doing. Very Imprudent ... very like her. (To the hat) Ho, Legendary, It's a long time ... (With a little, patronizing salute.) Good day! (Ironically, as if the hat had permitted an audience.) I may remain? (He makes a sign, as though it were too late.) Twelve years of splendour look on me, in vain, From your small pyramid, remote and dim. I fear no longer. (He touches it and laughs.) Here's the leathern rim Whereby one kept you shapely, free from flaws Though often lifted, to evoke applause! You fanned his cheek after a victory! Drop from his careless hand and there would be Kings, kneeling, to restore you for his crown. To-day you're nothing but a hand-me-down. If I should toss you from that window there, Where would you end, old cocked hat? FLAMBEAU (in the shadow, aside): Why, I swear, In a museum. METTERNICH (turning the hat in his hands): Ugly, and so small! Yet stay! ... Are you so little after all? (Shrugging his shoulders and speaking with increasing rancor.) No. It is big. Enormous. 'Tis the plan Of self-enlargement of a little man. ... —A hat-shop ... there the legend had its start. The real Napoleon is ... (He turns the hat upside down and holding it close to the light looks for the maker's name on the inside band.) ... Let's see ... Poupart! (And, suddenly dropping his half bantering tone.) —Oh, do not fancy that my hate can slumber. First, for thy shape! Ah, reasons without number,— But first for this, thy bats' wings hovering so Above the battle, hat winged like a crow! And for thy lines implacable and clear, Cleaving the sky line when defeat was near, And o'er the crimsoned field, the battle's dun, Thy half-disk rising like a darkened sun! —I hate thy lining, devil's ambuscade, Thou juggler's hat, that, black and swift, hast played Thy conjurer's tricks with armies, peoples, kings, Covered them;—presto! changed are all these things! I hate thee for thy pride, and O I hate Thy simpleness, a pose for seeming great; For thy delight, ringed by gold crowns that melt, In being, frankly, just a piece of felt. I hate thee for the hand that sometimes found And plucked thee off and flung thee to the ground; For the ten years you stalked across my sleep; For the salutes I gave thee, I, to heap Title on title! Yet when all was said The listening upstart kept thee on his head! (And as the memories crowd, he gives way to an outburst of pure malevolence.) I hate thee victorious, new, acclaimed! I hate thee still, old, broken and defamed! I hate thee for the shadow, mighty, tall, Thou wilt forever throw on history's wall! Thy impudent cockade still seems to rise Above the jacobin's great bloodshot eyes. I hate the echoes that thou bearst to me, Thou great black conch shell, tossed from that huge sea Whose sullen roar thou makest me hear again, That sea whose waves were made of marching men! I hate thee for the Frenchman's pride that scorns, —Thou two-horned thing!—the blare of lesser horns. (He tosses the hat on the table and leans above it.) I hate thee for Beranger,—for Raffet,— The songs that praise thee,—sketches that display,— For every ray of glory shed on thee. I hate thee! hate thee! Fiercely, ceaselessly Till thy triangle, ugly, mean, uncouth, Robbed of its legend is again in sooth What it should still have been,—what it began,— The common headgear of a fighting man! (He stops, arrested by the hour, the silence, the place; and with a nervous smile): But ... suddenly ... it's odd ... the present dims ... The past grows clearer ... half-amusing whims ... (He passes his hand over his forehead.) You look so much at home, it half appears The clock turns backward,—backward twenty years; For it was here he placed you,—aye, and so,— When he was here, just twenty years ago! (He looks about him, shuddering.) 'Twas to this hall one meekly had to come And wait until he chose to leave his room; Prince, dukes, magyars huddled in a group, Their eyes fixed on you, like a hungry troop Of lions, watching, with respectful rage, The tamer's hat forgotten in the cage! (He withdraws a little, in spite of himself, still gazing at the hat, my sterious, dramatic, in the stillness of the room.) He placed you so,—it all might be to-day,— The arms ... the papers ... Almost one might say That he in passing flung you on that map. This Bonaparte! Indeed I think mayhap. If I should turn ... I'd see ... still watching so, A grenadier who guards his threshold ... (He turns, half against his will, and sees, standing in front of the DUKE'S door, FLAMBEAU, who, with one noiseless step, has come into the moonligh.) Oh! (Silence. FLAMBEAU, motionless, stands guard. His moustache and his shoulder straps are snow white in the moonlight. The buttons with their eagles glimmer on his breast. METTERNICH recoils and rubs his eyes.) Oh, no, no, no! ... What fever has misled? ... Conversing with a hat has turned my head! (He looks, he comes nearer. FLAMBEAU stands motionless, in the classic pose of a grenadier, hands clasped on the butt of his bayonet, which gleams blue.) The moon is playing tricks. What can it be? What have we here? Let's see! let's see! let's see! (He goes up to FLAMBEAU, saying in a stern voice): Now, what's this sorry jest? FLAMBEAU (pointing the bayonet): Halt! Who goes there? METTERNICH (starting back): The devil! FLAMBEAU: Advance and give the sign, then. METTERNICH: I declare (He laughs constrainedly and tries to approach.) The farce is excellent, but ... FLAMBEAU: Who goes there? METTERNICH (recoiling): All very droll ... FLAMBEAU (bayonet fixed): One step and you are dead. METTERNICH: But ... FLAMBEAU: Speak low! METTERNICH: Permit ... FLAMBEAU: The Emperor sleeps. Speak low, I said. METTERNICH: You say ... FLAMBEAU: 'Sh! METTERNICH (furiously): I am Austria's Chancellor, I ... I am all. I dare all! FLAMBEAU: But don't you try. METTERNICH (out of patience): I wish to see the Duke of Reichstadt. FLAMBEAU: Rot! METTERNICH (unable to trust his ears): What's that? FLAMBEAU: Reichstadt? Why, I don't know Reichstadt. Auerstadt, Elchingen are dukes, may be. Reichstadt's no duke. It ain't no victory. METTERNICH: But we are at Schoenbrunn. FLAMBEAU: Well, can't I guess? We're quartered here, thanks to our new success. We're here, with fife and drum and rat-tat-tat, To show a world of meddlers where they're at. METTERNICH: What? How? A new success? FLAMBEAU: A buster! Fine! METTERNICH: But this is July tenth, eighteen and ... FLAMBEAU: Nine. METTERNICH: I'll not go mad! FLAMBEAU (suddenly coming nearer): Where are you from? It's queer That you ain't in your bed instead of here. METTERNICH (startled): I? FLAMBEAU: Who let this Artaban come round, disturbing The Mameluke? You dodged beneath his turban? METTERNICH: The Mameluke? FLAMBEAU (scandalized): No discipline at all! METTERNICH: But ... FLAMBEAU (standing his ground): You come here in the night, here to the hall? METTERNICH: I ... FLAMBEAU: You crossed de Rosa's chamber in the night? Was ne'er a voltigeur on guard in sight? METTERNICH: A volt ... FLAMBEAU: You crossed the small rotunda mighty big, And ne'er a yatagan shaved off that wig? Passed the white hall and non-coms in a bunch Stood 'round the stove a-makin' tea or punch? Likely you didn't meet no whiskered guard In pantry, stables nor about the yard? And in the galleries, the brigadiers, Let you slip by? Where was their eyes and ears? (He is more and more overwhelmed with indignation.) Reckon you crossed the oval cabinet And not a marshal asked you would you set? METTERNICH (shrinking back under this disquieting mass of detail): A marsha l ... FLAMBEAU: Is the guard-dog a lap-dog? ... As you will ... METTERNICH: I entered ... FLAMBEAU: This palace then stands open like a mill? Came through the passageway, to cap the trick? Nobody there? The porter must be sick. His body servant? Absent? Secretary? Shut in his own portefolio? Likely, very. METTERNICH: But ... FLAMBEAU: Instead of list'nin' for suspicious sneezes, The Aide was making eyes at Vienneses? METTERNICH: But ... FLAMBEAU: The Moors were praying Al-Il-Allah-ho? Well, anyway, I'm here, I'll have you know! And if ... Somebody ... takes them by surprise, There's some of them will wipe their weepin' eyes. METTERNICH (frenzied, and trying to pass the guard and reach the gilt bell cord hanging against the wall): I will ... FLAMBEAU (interposing his gaunt frame, saying in a terrible voice): Just wa ke him, if you want a quarrel! (Tenderly.) He's sleeping on his narrow bed of laurel! METTERNICH (falling into an armchair by the table): I'll tell this epic dream ... I hope 'twill stick. (He puts his finger into the flame of one of the candles in the sconce and snatches it back): But this flame ... FLAMBEAU: Burns. METTERNICH (touching the point of the bayonet, which FLAMBEAU has never l owered): This bayonet can ... FLAMBEAU: Prick! METTERNICH (rising with a bound): I wake ... and yet ... and yet ... FLAMBEAU: 'Sh! You've forgot! METTERNICH (has, for one moment, the anguish of a man who wonders if he has dreamed fifteen years of history): Helena? Waterloo? All? FLAMBEAU (sincerely, from a dream): Water ... what? (He listens.) The Emperor stirs! METTERNICH: He? FLAMBEAU: Him, Pop-Eye, of course. You look as white as any trumpet horse. (Listening, as footsteps seem to draw near the closed door.) He's fumbling at the lock ... light must be dim ... He's coming out. There! (Reproachful, despairing.) You have wakened him! METTERNICH: He cannot come ... who has come out before! 'Tis not his hand that fumbles at the door! I'm not afraid! ... It is the Duke, his son ... The Duke, I'm sure ... (The door opens.) FLAMBEAU (in a sonorous voice): Emperor Napoleon! (He presents arms. METTERNICH steps back. But instead of the terrible little heavy-set figure which this Grenadier of the Guard presenting arms almost expects, there is upon the threshold the trembling form of a poor child, far too slender, who, coughing, has left his bo oks to see who is at his door; a boy who stops, white as his uniform, the student's lamp raised above his head,—a figure rendered still more feminine by the loosened collar, whence white linen escapes, and by the curls w hich look more blonde than ever under the rays of the lamp.) SCENE IX The Same. The DUKE; later, some LACKEYS METTERNICH (rushing toward him, with a nervous laugh): It's you, your Highness! It is you, yes, yes! Ah, I am glad! THE DUKE (ironically): Whence comes this tenderness? METTERNICH: Nay, truly, I believed—it all seemed true! Another would come out! FLAMBEAU (like a man waking from a dream): I thought so, too! THE DUKE (turning toward him, sees, with terror, the uniform he wears): God! God! What have you done? FLAMBEAU: Luxury! METTERNICH (who has reached the bell cord, pulling it and calling): Come! Help! THE DUKE: Fly! FLAMBEAU (running back): The window! THE DUKE (trying to restrain him): The sentinel will shoot! FLAMBEAU: Perhaps. Good-bye! THE DUKE: That long stretch through the wood! METTERNICH: It's plain, in short, They'll shoot him running. FLAMBEAU: That does cut it short. THE DUKE (eagerly, seeing FLAMBEAU'S discarded livery): Put on your livery! METTERNICH (running and putting his foot on it): No! FLAMBEAU (disdainfully): You ran too soon. A butterfly don't want his old cocoon. (And, gun over his shoulder, defiantly keeping his full equipment, he throws himself over the balcony): I'll see you later! THE DUKE (running after him): 'Tis folly! FLAMBEAU (quick and low, to the DUKE): 'Sh, I've had That Crusoe hole in mind! The ball, to-morrow! THE DUKE: Oh, 'tis mad! (He throws one leg over the balcony railing.) FLAMBEAU (disappearing): I'll be there! THE DUKE (calling softly): Hush! Not a sound! METTERNICH: If he Would only break his neck! (One hears FLAMBEAU'S voice, coolly humming, in the darkness, the ma rching song, "As Victory went a-singing.") THE DUKE (terrified): Hein? METTERNICH (stupefied): He sings? FLAMBEAU (in the park): For lux-u-ree. (He continues): "The quarry is in sight." (A report. A moment of silence and tense listening. Then the voice in the distance gaily takes up the song, "O Liberty.") THE DUKE (with a cry of joy): Missed! (METTERNICH precipitately rushes, after the DUKE, to the balcony and follows with his eyes FLAMBEAU'S retreating figure.) METTERNICH (spitefully): In the darkness, very neatly done. THE DUKE (proudly): Indeed, he's not a stranger at Schoenbrunn. METTERNICH (to a number of lackeys who come in, Right, dismissing them with a gesture): Nothing! ... Go back! ... It was too late you heard. (The lackeys go out.) SCENE X METTERNICH, The DUKE THE DUKE (to METTERNICH, in an almost threatening tone): To the police, to-morrow, not a word! METTERNICH (smiling): I do not tell the joke that's played on me. (And as the DUKE, turning his back to him, starts to his room, METTERNICH asks coolly): As for this Grumbler guardsman, what is he? You're not Napoleon. THE DUKE (already on the threshold of his chamber, stops, haughtily): No? Who has said ... ? METTERNICH (pointing to the little bicorne on the table): You have the little hat, but not the head. THE DUKE (with a dolorous cry): Ah, you once more have found the word to chill And prick enthusiasm! Yet I will This time so use it, while this new hope surges, —The thorn-prick sickens but the whiplash urges,— I will leap forward, since you flay me so. "But not the head," you say? (He marches to METTERNICH, with his arms crossed on his breast): H ow do you know? (METTERNICH contemplates for an instant this prince, erect before him, in his boyish anger, full of confidence and force; then, in a cutting tone): How do I know? (He takes the lighted sconce from the table, goes toward the great mirror hanging against the wall, and holds the light aloft.) Ah, look in this glass! See the pure pallor of your features pass! Look at this mass, so heavy, yet so fair, This weight of curls! I tell you, look you there! THE DUKE (not willing to go to the glass, but glancing at his reflection from afar and as it were in spite of himself): No! METTERNICH: Behold, a fatal ghostly company! THE DUKE: No! Unknowing, you are all of Germany, And all of Spain. These in your nature swarming Have made you sad, and proud, and weak, and charming. THE DUKE (turning his head away and yet irresistibly drawn to the mirror): No! No! METTERNICH: You always felt that you would fail! You reign? Why, come! ... You would be, pure and pale One of those rulers always questioning fate Whom men imprison, lest they abdicate THE DUKE (grasping, in a wild effort to shift its light from the mirror, the silver sconce which METTERNICH lifts to the glass): No! No! METTERNICH: Your head's not shaped for action,—energy; That brow means languor,—fancies! Look and see! THE DUKE (looking, and passing his hand over his forehead): My brow? METTERNICH: Your Highness, look and understand! You smooth that brow, and with a child's soft hand. THE DUKE (looking with horror at his hand in the glass): My hand? METTERNICH: Look at the fingers, feeble, fluttering things. One sees them painted, with a weight of rings! THE DUKE (hiding his hand): No! METTERNICH: Look at your eyes where ancient phantoms rise, Ancestral ghosts ... THE DUKE (face to face with his reflection, his eyes big with horror): My eyes? METTERNICH: Mark well those eyes, Where other eyes, set in some corpse's head, Dream of the pyre or weep more ancient dead. And you, so scrupulous, have this emprise, To reign in France,—you, with those haunted eyes? THE DUKE (struggling to reassure himself): My father ... METTERNICH (implacable): Is your father in your sight? Look for his features! Look! Hold high the light! —He wanted, jealous of our ancient blood, To age with that his new and turgid flood; Only its weakness he has stolen away, Its half-mad melancholy! ... THE DUKE: Mercy, pray! METTERNICH: Ah, see your pallor in the glass! THE DUKE: Enough! METTERNICH: Your very lips are molded of the stuff That made the doll's mouth, pretty, red and proud, Of her whose head was forfeit to the crowd. He won our evil luck, too,—he who played For such high stakes! Look well! THE DUKE (his strength failing): I am afraid! METTERNICH: Can you to-night look in this silvered glass Not seeing all your race behind you pass? —There gibbers Joan the fool,—behold her plain! That, slowly creeping on the mirrored pane, Is the pale king on whose glass crypt mists gather. THE DUKE (rallying): Nay, 'tis the ardent pallor of my father. METTERNICH: Rudolph, his lions—bloody, struggling corpses! THE DUKE: Nay, the First Consul! Hark! The arms! The horses! METTERNICH (still showing in the mirror other ill-fated fore-bears): He makes gold in his cave ... You know that story? THE DUKE: I see him, but in Egypt making glory! METTERNICH: Ah, ha! And Charles, that tonsured spectre,—he who played At being monk, self buried! THE DUKE (wildly): To my aid, My father! METTERNICH: The Escurial! Grisly shapes, Black walls! THE DUKE: By white woods, see, my soul escapes,— Compiegne! Malmaison! METTERNICH: But you see? You see? THE DUKE: Drums of Arcola, drown this voice for me! METTERNICH: The mirror swarms ... THE DUKE (shielding his head with his arms as if terrible wings beat upon him): O, Victories, come back! Swoop, golden eagles, clutch these eagles black! METTERNICH: Dead are those eagles! THE DUKE: No! METTERNICH: Broken the drum! THE DUKE: No! METTERNICH: Across the glass a thousand Hapsburgs come, And all resemble you! THE DUKE (frenzied, snatching at the sconce which METTERNICH holds): I'll break the glass! METTERNICH: Others, still others! THE DUKE (brandishing the heavy silver sconce which METTERNICH relinquishes at last, with a maddened gesture strikes the mirror): Broken! There will pass Never another! (He strikes furiously; the mirror falls; the candles go out; darkness; the crashing of shivered glass; the DUKE hurls himself back, with a shriek of triumph): Gone! METTERNICH (already on the threshold, turns, and, as he goes out): Be sure the rather, One still remains! THE DUKE (trembling at these words, and mad with fright, cries into the blackness): No, no! Not I! Not I! (But his voice fails. He beats the air with his arms, turns in the black shadows, and falls, a lamentable white heap, before the broken mirror.) Help! Help me, Father! (Curtain) ACT IV BRUISED WINGS The curtain rises, to the murmur of flutes and violins, upon a fairy scene in the Roman Ruins of the Park of Schoenbrunn. These ruins, wholly artificial, of course, were nevertheless designed by a skillful archeologist, and very happily set against a little wooded hill, clothed with soft mosses, they are beautiful in the night, which enlarges and idealizes them. In the midst of picturesque underbrush, a large and very tall Roman gate heightens the effect, and permits in perspective under its irregular arch a glimpse of a turfed path which lifts like a velvet ribbon to a distant crossway, where a white statue seems to arrest one with a gesture. In front of this gate is a little pond, and divinities of stone hide in the reeds about it. And there are half crumbling colonnades along which masqueraders come and go, and stone steps whereon all the characters of Italian Comedy ascend and descend, for it is a fancy ball with ridottoes, dominoes, Venetian capes, strange beplumed hats, black velvet masks edged with lace, mysterious, intriguing. Two orange trees, clipped round; against the trunk of one, a rustic bench. Here and there are fragments of bas-relief; shafts of columns overgrown with ivy; fallen and broken statues. The lanterns hung at wide intervals are discreetly dim; they shine like glow-worms; there is no effort to eclipse the moonlight. The section of the park reserved for the masqueraders has been enclosed with a lattice; one sees on the right footmen who are receiving the wraps of the guests as they enter. On the left, a door made of leafy garlands is the entrance to a tiny theatre. On this side, one hears from the back, sounds of merriment; it is there that the dancing takes place. From this side, too, one has glimpses of brighter lights and catches strains of music. A hidden orchestra plays waltzes by Schubert, Lanner and Strauss, and plays them in Vienna fashion, with very languorous charm. SCENE I MASQUERADERS; later, METTERNICH and the FRENCH ENVOY; GENTZ, SEDLINSKY, FANNY ELSSLER A VENETIAN DOMINO (to another, indicating the passing masks): Who is the fool? THE OTHER: Don't know. FIRST DOMINO: The Cardinal? SECOND DOMINO: Don't know. FIRST DOMINO: The Punch? SECOND DOMINO: I do not know at all. A MATACHIN: It is delicious! A CLOWN: All, incognito. A MERRY-ANDREW (running across the scene, and with a flying leap catching a Marquise around the waist): Your ear! THE MARQUISE: Why? THE MERRY-ANDREW (mysteriously): Hush! My secret! 'Sh! (He steals a kiss and makes his escape.) A CLOWN (seated on the fallen shaft of a pillar): Watteau ... THE MERRY-ANDREW (repassing and seizing an Isabella round the waist): Your ear. THE CLOWN: Would love this masquerade ... ISABELLA (to the MERRY-ANDREW): Why? MERRY ANDREW (mysteriously): 'Sh! 'Sh! My secret! (Steals a kiss and runs off.) THE CLOWN: In the ruins' shade. A HARLEQUIN (dreaming, one foot on the rim of the fountain): All is uncertain; shifting to and fro Water and moonlight, hearts and music, go. (METTERNICH, in court dress under a great domino of black velvet, enters with the French military attaché, who is also in evening dress and domino. METTERNICH condescendingly explains to him the details of the b all.) METTERNICH: Then, sir, we have a bit of contrast here,— Deep shadow, deeper silence, yet so near The lights, the dancers and the merry play Of flutes. ... THE ENVOY (admiringly): Oh, it is truly ... METTERNICH: Rather pretty, eh? (He points to the right.) There, see. THE ENVOY (with respectful surprise): You condescend to be my guide? METTERNICH (taking his arm): My dear boy, I confess to greater pride Than in—the Congress of Verona, say— In such a ball as this; the interplay Of worldliness and pure rusticity. The entrance, there;—the dressing room, you see, Where in a moment, chatting, one may change To king or carter,—anything that's strange. (Indicating the door, at the left.) Next, down this grassy path, you'll find, dear sir, Close to the Fount of Love, the theatre. It really is a gem. To-night they tell, Certain court stars, the story of Michel ... Someone or other,—some rose-water scene By some French playwright. What's his name? Eugene? ... THE ENVOY: One sups? ... METTERNICH: Here. THE ENVOY: Here? METTERNICH: From every orange tree A cloth will snow, and silver, rain. You'll see. THE ENVOY: From orange trees? METTERNICH (charmed with the impression he is making): You'll see the footman roll The boxes to this spot: About each bole Two couples will be seated, hungry, gay, THE ENVOY: A rustic supper. You must let me say I find it charming. METTERNICH (modestly): Yes? As to grave affairs ... (To a lackey.) Go tell them that's enough of Slavic airs. (The lackey runs off. Returning to the ENVOY.) I don't defer them to to-morrow. I Can't even stay to supper. That reply To the Hospodars awaits me and I want To expedite ... (To another lackey, indicating the door of the theatre.) Those wreaths are somewhat scant. (Returning to the ENVOY.) I plan a ball, and then, before the feast, I turn, to solve the Question of the East. I love to rule a nation, or a dance, Be arbiter of fate ... THE ENVOY (bowing): And elegance. GENTZ (who has entered with a woman who wears a domino and is closely masked, coming toward them, a little merry): That's good ... arbiter elegantiarum. METTERNICH: Gentz? Speaking Latin? You've been drinking. GENTZ (a bit unsteadily, trying to repeat): Rum. METTERNICH: At Fanny's one must linger long at dinner. That old affair! Truly, a hardened sinner! GENTZ (indignantly): Me? Fanny? That's done! METTERNICH (incredulously): Ah? (He sees the prefect of police, who is looking for him.) Sedlinsky? GENTZ (his hand on his heart): Done! SEDLINSKY (to METTERNICH): One word. (He speaks to him in a low voice.) GENTZ (still talking to METTERNICH, who walks off): Done! (The domino who has come with him takes his arm. He turns, and in another voice): Oh, I was wrong to bring you, little one,— A dancer, Fanny!—reckless beyond measure For me to bring you! FANNY: Here I dance for pleasure! (She pirouettes. The Frenchman watches her admiringly.) GENTZ (anxiously): They'll guess! Dance badly! You are much too light. METTERNICH (to SEDLINSKY): A plot, you think? SEDLINSKY: Yes, at the ball, to-night. METTERNICH: I have no fear ... GENTZ (following FANNY, who dances away from him): Tell me why you had This crazy wish to come? FANNY: A whim ... a fad. (She dances off, GENTZ following; also the FRENCH ENVOY.) METTERNICH (to SEDLINSKY): I fear no longer. I have slain his pride. He will avoid the ball. He longs to hide. SEDLINSKY: There is a plot. METTERNICH: Ah, bah SEDLINSKY: Women. METTERNICH: Eh? Somewhat shady? SEDLINSKY: Great ladies! METTERNICH (ironically): Ah! SEDLINSKY: Some Greeks, a Polish lady. The Princess Grazalcowitch ... METTERNICH: They employ Alarming names. (To a passing footman) Bring me a sandwich, boy. SEDLINSKY: You laugh? 'Sh ... (He points out a group of Mauve Dominoes who enter furtively.) Fleeing the lighted grove, Seeking the shadows, here they come. (He draws METTERNICH behind an orange tree, where both remain hidden.) SCENE II The Mauve Dominoes; METTERNICH and SEDLINSKY, concealed FIRST DOMINO (to another): My love, How sweet is danger that for him we share THE SECOND DOMINO (delightedly) : Let us conspire! THIRD DOMINO: He has such pale gold hair. (All the conspirators have a slight Greek or Polish accent.) FIRST DOMINO: Yes, darlin', one can see his brow surroun' With a pale halo, like a budding crown. ANOTHER DOMINO: It is his double charm,- so frail, so fon',— To be fair Bonaparte, or Hamlet blon'. A NUMBER (enjoying every thrill): Let us conspire! THE FIRST (solemnly): I am having made for me By Stieger, at Vienna, a gold bee. SECOND DOMINO (impetuously): Why, what a goosie! At Vienna? No! Mine is Parisian-made, from Odiot. ANOTHER (gravely): And I propose with all my toilets To wear a huge bouquet of violets. ALL (with enthusiasm): Oh, lovely, Princess! ONE (who has not spoken before, suddenly inspired): And let us risk returning To Empire styles! FIRST DOMINO (hurriedly): For evening,- not for morning! ANOTHER : Those short waists are more trying than this shade is. ALL TOGETHER : The frills! The puffs! O, love ... ! METTERNICH (coming out): Good evening, ladies! ALL (with a shriek of fright): Ah, God! METTERNICH (laughing heartily): Your plot's astonishing, I vow. Conspire ... Ha-ha! ... Conspire! (He goes out laughing, followed by SEDLINSKY. The sound of their mirth is lost in the distance. Immediately, the conspirators, who have scattered as if in flight, reassemble and form a close circle around the Domino, whom they have addressed as PRINCESS.) THE PRINCESS: And now That, thanks to all this frivolous display, The doubts Sedlinsky woke are stolen away, We'll prove, beneath our Machiavellian rule, The veriest Metternich the merest fool. ALL: Yes. THE PRINCESS: This evening, everyone must know her part. ALL: Yes. THE PRINCESS: Disperse among the dancers. (The Mauve Dominoes separate and mingle with the other masqueraders.) SCENE III All Manner of Maskers; GENTZ; the FRENCH ENVOY; FANNY ELSSLER and others; later, TIBURCE and THERESE OF LORGET A GROUP OF MASKERS (pursuing along the colonnades a masquerader with a huge nose, who evades them): He's too smart! That must be Sandor! ... Furstenberg, I guess! A CROCODILE (halting to call their attention to somebody else): That Bear does waltz divinely, I profess. (The whole band precipitates itself after the Bear.) GENTZ (who has seated himself on a grassy bank, is surrounded by several pretty dominoes, and watches others pass): What's sad Elvira? A COLUMBINE: A star. GENTZ( to please his companion): A light o' love? I see. THE COLUMBINE: Thecla, the two-faced? GENTZ(laughing): As a honey bee. THE ENVOY (crossing, in pursuit of FANNY ELSSLER): No way on earth to guess this domino! An English woman? FANNY (fleeing): Ya. THE ENVOY (startled): A German? FANNY: No! (She disappears, and the ENVOY follows her.) THE COLUMBINE (sitting down close to GENTZ) The Viscount comes as doge? A CLEOPATRA: Yes, ... great Dalmatic. GENTZ: The baronness is, then, the Adriatic? (TIBURCE has come in with THERESE. He comes as CAPTAIN SPEZZAFER. THERESE wears a soft blue tunic, silver-sprinkled, and decked with water lilies and long gleaming grasses. She comes as A SPRING.) TIBURCE: The Parma trip's abandoned? THERESE: Not at all. The Duchess merely stays to see the ball (She indicates a masked woman who passes, accompanied by a man in domino.) There ... with Bombelles ... Her domino is green. TIBURCE (in a quarrelsome tone): The sooner gone, the better. I have seen — And would not longer have endured, apart ... Your ... friendship ... with the little Bonaparte. THERESE(haughtily): I beg your pardon? TIBURCE: We have rather smiled On ladies of our line by kings beguiled. A hidden handkerchief is no dishonour If lilies be embroidered in the corner; But honour will disclaim a handkerchief That bears the weedy Bonapartist leaf. Woe to the Ogre's son. ... THERESE: Hein? TIBURCE: ... Our blood suborning. THERESE: Brother, the words you speak ... TIBURCE(with a little salute): Are words of warning. (He walks away. THERESE follows him with her eyes; then, shrugging her shoulders, joins a passing group.) A BEAR (entering with a Chinese Girl on his arm): You knew me for a diplomat, because ... ? THE CHINESE GIRL (giving his paws a tap with her fan): You know so well the way to hide your claws. THE BEAR (tenderly): If you would love me ... THE CHINESE GIRL: You would sell your hide? (At this moment, an enormous woman passes, costumed as a little shepherdess of the time of Louis XV.) ALL THE LADIES, AROUND GENTZ: Oh! GENTZ: That shepherdess must fold her flock inside! THE MERRY-ANDREW (crossing the scene, runs up and seizing the fat Shepherdess around the waist, whispers): Your ear? THE SHEPHERDESS (trying to free herself): Why? THE MERRY-ANDREW (mysteriously): 'Sh ... my secret! (He steals a kiss and makes his escape. His voice can be heard far off): Your ear? (GENTZ and his party follow the MERRY-ANDREW, much entertained. After a moment, enter the DUKE with PROKESCH. PROKESCH is in evening dress and domino. The DUKE is wrapped in a great violet coloured ma ntle. When it falls apart, one can see the white uniform he wears. He has white stockings and pumps. His mask is in his hand and from time to time he nervously fans himself with it. He leans on PROKESCH, who watches him an xiously. He looks weary, disheartened, a bitter line shows about his lips. One knows that the Eaglet trails bruised wings.) SCENE IV The DUKE, PROKESCH PROKESCH: Such languor, Prince, when all is laughter here? Has Metternich ... ? (The DUKE starts.) You wince at everything. THE CHINESE GIRL (passing again with the BEAR and commenting on a stone that he carries under his arm): What's that you carry? THE BEAR: Why, my block-and-ring. (They walk away.) PROKESCH: The plot goes well, if I can read the signs. Have I not had this morning these two lines (he reads): "Bid him come early. Let him not forget The uniform, the cloak of violet?" 'Tis for this evening, Prince. This note ... THE DUKE (taking the note and crushing it in his hand): 'Tis clear Some lady kindly hopes to meet me here. Well ... I've obeyed her! Coming, I confess For such adventures only. PROKESCH: No! THE DUKE: But yes. PROKESCH: But then the plot ... THE DUKE: Oh, it would be a crime To place, my country! simple and sublime! Upon thy small, superb imperial chair A thing foredoomed to shadows and despair! Ah, if, when on that hallowed spot I stand, The Past should stretch a clutching, yellow hand, With horrid talons claw my spirit bare And find a Philip or a Rudolph there! I tremble lest the hum of golden bees Should wake in me a monster such as these. PROKESCH (laughing): Monseigneur, this is madness. THE DUKE (trembling and with a look of anguish that makes PROKESCH recoil): Am I mad? PROKESCH (understanding the DUKE'S agony): Merciful heavens! THE DUKE: All my race has had, If in Bohemia or in far Castille, Its vein of madness. Come! for woe or weal, I'll choose my form, my mania! I rejoice My kinsman left to me such range of choice, A very madman's catalogue, indeed. Astrologer, musician, hawker. Read. Mumbler of prayers? Or conjurer? Which one? PROKESCH: I see too well what Metternich has done! (Lowering his voice): The luckless Hapsburgs—he has called the roll? THE DUKE: Too gloomily they choose, upon my soul! But mingled perfumes make a fresh perfume. My brain, inhaling all that cloud of doom, Distills gay fancies from their melancholy. A very fool may make his choice of folly. Aha! ... The taste I struggled to remove! I've found my mania! I'll be mad for love! I will love,—love ... (With clenched fist he strikes his lips): And ask but this of fate That kisses crush this Austrian mouth I hate. PROKESCH: Monseigneur! THE DUKE: On reflection, I have done A fitting thing,—Don Juan, Napoleon's son! The self-same soul, always unsatisfied, The same desire that for fresh conquest tried. O blood magnificent, polluted so, Thou wouldst breed Cæsars, but thy weakened flow, Its energy not being wholly dead, Failing the Cæsars, spawns Don Juan instead! Why that's a form of being conqueror! I know a fever, all unknown before. Fatal, says Byron, its devouring thrill.— It is a way to be my father still. Bah! Which is better,—who has skill to prove?— To win a world or win a moment's love? So be it! Thus the Legend's end be sung— A conquering lover from the Conqueror sprung. So be it; blonde image of the hero brown, Who, one by one, battered walled cities down, Do thou lay siege to hearts, stormed one by one, And walk in moonlight where he faced the sun! PROKESCH: Ah, hush, my Prince. The jest is far too wry! THE DUKE: Oh, well I know that ghostly voices cry, Voices of spectres clad in tattered blue, "What means the imperial epopee to you? ... Our toil, and courage; ... and the glory shed On blood-stained snow, ... and on so many dead! The countless fields, the countless triumphs there, What mean they, boy?" "A tale to please the fair." Charming, while watching coaches block the course, Lightly to spring upon a costly horse And name him Jena! And a youth, mayhap, Finds Austerlitz a feather in his cap! PROKESCH: You would not have the heart to wear it so! THE DUKE: Surely, my friend. Some day, perhaps, I'll show, —For ladies love a sentiment like that,— A tiny eagle pinning my cravat. (The orchestra which has been mute begins again) Music ... And, Cæsar's son, you have no part Save as Don Juan of Mozart. (He laughs bitterly) Of Mozart? Rather of Strauss! (He salutes PROKESCH gravely.) I'll dance, and, bound to please, Be charming, useless, wholly Viennese. (He is about to go away, when his attention is arrested by the appearance of the ARCHDUCHESS.) My aunt ... let's see ... PROKESCH (terrified by the wild light in his eyes): Ah, no! THE DUKE (from the corner of his twisting lips): I mean to see. Repelling PROKESCH, who goes sorrowfully away, he approaches the ARCHDUCHESS. She wears a very simple costume: short skirt, basque, kerchief, apron, cap; finally, in prettily exact imitation of the famous picture by Liotard, she carries a small tray on which are a cup of chocolate and a glass of water.) SCENE V The DUKE, at first with the ARCHDUCHESS, later with THERESE THE DUKE (languorously): How sweet the perfume of the linden tree. THE ARCHDUCHESS: Look at my waiter. Is my part well played? THE DUKE: You come disguised as ... ? THE ARCHDUCHESS: As the chocolate maid Of Dresden. THE DUKE: Ravishing. I'm sure your tray Tires you. THE ARCHDUCHESS (clinging to the tray with its glass and cup): Why, no. THE DUKE (who has seated himself on the bench, making a place beside him, with tender familiarity): Sit down. Ah, come away. THE ARCHDUCHESS (sitting down, cheerfully): Franz, you love life a little? THE DUKE: I, I swear, Love being nephew to an aunt so fair. THE ARCHDUCHESS: And I, being aunt to anyone so tall. THE DUKE: Too pretty ... THE ARCHDUCHESS (moving a little farther from him): And too big. THE DUKE: To play at all. THE ARCHDUCHESS: To play ... what game? THE DUKE: Friendship, that kinship mars. THE ARCHDUCHESS: I do not like your eyes. THE DUKE: But yours are stars. THE ARCHDUCHESS (trying to jest): I understand. The court's in mask and so The friend must wear the lover's domino. THE DUKE (drawing nearer): At first, just friendship, aunt with cousin's eyes. Friendship's akin to love, declare the wise, 'Twixt aunt and nephew, sponsor and godchild, —Ah smell the limes!—and must be reconciled; And so, with colonel and with chocolate maid, A border incident may well be played. THE ARCHDUCHESS (rising): Our friendship's spoiled. THE DUKE: I love the border land Whose moods and mists we hardly understand, Where all is mingled and confused. (He has seized her hand. She snatches it away.) THE ARCHDUCHESS: Take care! (She withdraws.) THE DUKE (sulkily): Oh, well! If you assume your duchess air! THE ARCHDUCHESS: Good-bye, Franz. You have hurt me very much. (She goes away, without a backward glance.) THE DUKE: Why, if still water's troubled at its touch, If the drop fell in any stream less clear ... Wait,—who is coming? (He sees THERESE OF LORGET, who for a moment has been idly trailing in the stone basin of a fountain the tips of the long trailing grasses that hang from her shoulders.) Little one, you here? You have not yet sought Parma's paradise? (He looks at THERESE'S disguise.) But ... all these grasses! ... What is this? THERESE (smiling): One tries To be ... to come as ... THE DUKE (understanding): Ah! (sorrowfully) On his lone rock My father found, though gaolers jibe and mock, A fountain for a friend. Ah, little one, I have my Saint Helena at Schoenbrunn, And my parched soul finds still this precious thing, —I have my gaoler, but I have my Spring. THERESE: Yet, sir, you shun that little cooling rill. THE DUKE: I sought to flee my rock. It holds me still. The dream is over. THERESE: What? THE DUKE: Regrets, begone! Die, dreams! THERESE (very softly, drawing nearer): You suffer. THE DUKE: Give, O pitying one, Its freshness and its healing. THERESE: If it cures One hurt ... THE DUKE (slowly): But if I trouble it? THERESE (raising her eyes to his): Sir, it is yours. THE DUKE (suddenly speaking in a hoarse, brutal voice): Then meet me at my hunting lodge. You know The place, deep in the forest. THERESE (recoiling, frightened): Meet you ... so? THE DUKE (hurriedly): Ah, I can wait. Answer nor no, nor yes. THERESE (utterly dismayed): But ... THE DUKE: Think in mercy of my wretchedness. My dream is dead. No single hope I keep,— Nothing but tears. I seek a place to weep. (His bowed head is very close to the Little Spring, when footsteps make them start. It is TIBURCE, who passes with a lady on his arm. Seeing THERESE, he stops chattering small talk and casts a threatening glance in her direction. She looks at him disdainfully and goes out. The DUKE does not see TIBURCE, but, beckoning to a lackey, he takes a note book from his pocket, tears out a leaf, and scribbles a few words, holding the note book on his knee.) SCENE VI The DUKE, a LACKEY; later, FANNY ELSSLER and the FRENCH ENVOY THE DUKE (handing the LACKEY the note he has just written): —My household at the palace. Bid them know I'm sleeping at the lodge. Let someone go And make all ready. With all haste, be there. THE LACKEY (bowing): That's all, sir? THE DUKE: All. To-morrow, the gray mare. (The servant goes out. FANNY ELSSLER, still masked, runs past, turning her head to see if she is followed. She stops, seeing the DUKE, who se purple mantle permits a glimpse of the white uniform.) FANNY (drawing near, recites mysteriously): ... White uniform ... a cloak of ... THE DUKE (starting, and finishing the line PROKESCH has read to him): ... violet. (Ironically, aside): A woman! So, Prokesch, I've won my bet. FANNY (showing the DUKE the ENVOY, who is following her): Wait till I drive this suitor from the field, I will return. THE DUKE (smiling): I wait. (FANNY runs lightly among the ruins, trying to evade her pursuer. The DUKE walks back and forth.) 'Tis fate. I yield. I will be lover,—fitting part for me,— Lover ... (He looks at a much engrossed couple who are coming toward the rustic bench.) Like those ... like all the world ... (Suddenly he trembles, and hastily flings himself behind an orange tree which hides him, for, in the couple which he has so disdainfully singled out, he recognizes MARIE-LOUISE and his Chamberlain, BOMBELLES.) SCENE VII MARIE-LOUISE, BOMBELLES; The DUKE, behind the orange tree BOMBELLES (continuing a conversation): Was he So much in love? MARIE-LOUISE: Why do you tease me so? BOMBELLES: Was he? THE DUKE (in a choking voice): My mother! BOMBELLES: Was he? MARIE-LOUISE: I don't know. He was afraid of me. On all the earth The thing he couldn't conquer was his birth. He knew himself outranked. To seem at ease He'd call me, from his throne, "My good Louise." ... Eh ... yes ... he had some taste ... perhaps you'd call It sentiment ... I am a woman, after all. BOMBELLES: Aye, before all. MARIE-LOUISE: It is my right. (In a mocking tone she goes on): One day He raged at something I just chanced to say. Saint Aulaire brought to Blois disastrous news. I lay in bed. My feet always refuse To stay beneath the covers, and that day They did look rather pretty, I must say,— Like those Thomire has chiselled, just as white. Well, Saint Aulaire did not despise that sight. I smiled and said "You're looking at my feet?" And, though his country tottered, I repeat He did look at them,—the dear Saint Aulaire. Coquettish, was it? That's no crime, I swear. Though politics in France went well or ill A man might see my feet were pretty, still. THE DUKE (frozen to the spot, like a man in a nightmare): Oh! I must fly! I stay ... BOMBELLES (leaning closer): What have you here? This gray flint in your bracelet?—something queer. MARIE-LOUISE (suddenly overcome with emotion): You mustn't jest at that. Ah, I forbid! It is a fragment of ... BOMBELLES (teasingly): A pyramid? MARIE-LOUISE: A fragment of the tomb ... you'll weep, I know,— Where Juliet sleeps beside her Romeo. (She sighs) It makes me think ... BOMBELLES (resentfully): I think it's quite too bad To drag in Neipperg. MARIE-LOUISE: Neipperg makes you mad; Then why speak of ... BOMBELLES (with the emphasis of a man who prefers being the successful rival of Napoleon the First to that of Neipperg): Why that is different. (With more curiosity than jealousy): You ... did you love? ... MARIE-LOUISE (rather absent-mindedly): Whom? BOMBELLES: The ... Other? MARIE-LOUISE: Oh, you meant ... BOMBELLES: A man so great ... MARIE-LOUISE (pettishly): Now who has ever proved Being a genius made a man beloved? Besides, don't talk of him. Let's talk of ... us. (Coquettishly) You'd like that? BOMBELLES: Was he jealous? MARIE-LOUISE: Well the fuss He made, and nearly killed a tailor once, poor man! Leroy had made a cloak, and he began To praise my shoulders when he tried it on. (She lets the mantle that covers her gown slip off on the bench, and her white shoulders, glittering with gems, appear.) BOMBELLES (flattered both as a lover and in his hatred as a royalist): So, he was jealous? Then, Napoleon ... MARIE-LOUISE (frightened and looking about her): 'Sh! BOMBELLES: Would not like me to praise them, nor to tell Half of your loveliness ... would not ... MARIE-LOUISE: Bombelles! BOMBELLES (tasting the sweets of vengeance against glory, without peril): Have let me see that loveliness so near? THE DUKE (gripping the bole of the orange tree): Forgive me, Father, that I stay and hear! BOMBELLES (looking at the fashionable puffs and coils that surmount MARIE-LOUISE'S head like an Arlian cap): ... Nor find your head-dress like a maid of Arles, But prettier and blonder. MARIE-LOUISE (faintly): Nonsense, Charles. BOMBELLES (suiting the action to the word): Nor would he like to see me, leaning so, ... (But before his lips touch the white shoulder of MARIE-LOUISE, he is seized by the throat, and flung at the feet of the DUKE OF REICHSTADT, who cries): Ah, none of that! I will not have it! (He recoils, astonished by his own act; passes his hand over his brow, and suddenly): Oh, Thank God, thank God! I'm saved! MARIE-LOUISE (half fainting): Franz! THE DUKE: For that cry,— That blow,—were not of me, for always I Respect my Mother and her liberty! It was ... That Other ... and he lives in me! It was not I who laid that braggart low. The Corsican leapt out and dealt the blow! BOMBELLES (who has staggered to his feet, taking a step toward the DUKE): Sir ... THE DUKE: Not a word! (BOMBELLES stops, realizing that truly there is nothing to be said between them, and the DUKE, turning to his Mother, bows low.) Madame, Return at once to Sala, whence you came,— For has that palace not two equal wings, One for mundane, and one, for holy things, Chapel and theatre, where you may find That golden mean to which you are inclined? My best respects. MARIE-LOUISE (with trembling voice): My son! THE DUKE: All's as you will It is your right to be just woman still. Be woman still at Sala! In those halls, Listen, ah, listen, to a voice that calls, Glory's revenge for all forgetful deeds, —Widow, who could not guard her widow's weeds,— Listen: No eyes were lifted to your face But sought the immortal glory they might trace; Your very hair is only blonde and curled Because Napoleon conquered all the world! MARIE-LOUISE: But ... but ... Come, come, Bombelles! We will not stay! THE DUKE: Return to Sala. I am saved, I say! MARIE-LOUISE (going out, accompanied by BOMBELLES, at a little distance): Good-bye, sir. THE DUKE (motionless, no longer regarding them): Hands, cold hands, so white, so still! Sad hands that miss one golden circlet still! Kind hands, caressing once a little one, Hands wet with tears that he was not her son. My orphaned soul leaps all the years between,— Weeping, I kiss you, hands of Josephine! MARIE-LOUISE (hearing that name, and turning with feminine spite): The Creole? At Malmaison, know that she ... THE DUKE (in a terrible voice): Silence! (MARIE-LOUISE shrinks back, frightened.) And if so vile a thing could be, One reason more that I should keep the faith. (MARIE-LOUISE reaches the gateway at the right and leaves the ball, with BOMBELLES. And the DUKE stands transformed, erect, trembling with anger and with energy, saved, as he has said. He is no longer the creature of a few moments earlier, listless, fanciful and pale. He is again ardent and sorrowful. At this moment METTERNICH reappears, finishing his conversation with SEDLINSKY.) SCENE VIII The DUKE, METTERNICH, and SEDLINSKY for one moment; later, FANNY ELSSLER METTERNICH (concluding, in a satisfied tone, to SEDLINSKY): I've put the little rebel's pride to death. (But he gives a cry of astonishment, seeing an erect young figure in his path, the prince whom, the night before, he had left, fallen before a mirror.) Hein? You here? (And as the prince, in leaping out to attack BOMBELLES, has dropped his violet cloak, METTERNICH adds, shocked at seeing the uniform of an Austrian colonel at this fancy ball.) In uniform? Were you not advised? ... THE DUKE: I thought that everybody came disguised. SEDLINSKY (aside to METTERNICH): The pride, so shattered by your Excellence Keeps, though in fragments, all its insolence. METTERNICH (mastering his anger and trying to speak jestingly): The little colonel dreams, far from the ball, Of what, pray? THE DUKE: Of the little corporal. METTERNICH (nearly losing his self-control): Oh, I ... (Calming himself, to SEDLINSKY): A courier my attention claims. (He' goes out, arm in arm with the prefect of police, saying between his teeth): All's to do over! FANNY ELSSLER (who has re-entered, a moment earlier, now advances eagerly, and whispers, very low, standing behind the DUKE): Prince! SCENE IX The DUKE, FANNY ELSSLER; passing MASQUERADERS THE DUKE (turning, recognizes the masked woman for whom, a little while ago, he promised to wait; and with a violent revulsion of feeling): I'm no squire of dames! I will not ... FANNY (teasingly, unmasking for a second): Will not fly? THE DUKE: Fanny! You here! I, fly? ... (He comes nearer and lowers his voice.) When? How? FANNY (indicating with a glance the passing couples): Please play the gallant for these passers-by. I'm serious. Listen well; but smile, bend low. Your cousin's at the ball. THE DUKE (excited, but with a carefully gallant air): The Countess? No! FANNY (taking the DUKE'S hand, and putting it on his heart): I'm letter-perfect, as so long ago. Your uniform's worn with her domino, This one, that turns the Eaglet to a mew. Your shadow, sir, was never more like you. Her hair dyed gold that once was black as pitch; Your mirror couldn't tell you which was which. Now, while Michel and Christine's acted here,— (She indicates the little theatre on the left) You two change cloaks, and you, sir, disappear. THE DUKE (grasping the plan): I mask ... FANNY: As if by magic, you are gone. THE DUKE: Enter the false Duke. FANNY: The false Duke comes on To leave, observed by all. (She indicates the gateway at the left.) THE DUKE: And rids me so Of all the spies that follow where I go. FANNY: Returns to Schoenbrunn ... THE DUKE: Locks my door with care ... FANNY: Sleeps late to-morrow ... THE DUKE (excitedly): And I shall be ... where? Only ... FANNY: You see an "only?" THE DUKE: This, Alas! If any one, seeing the false Duke pass, Should speak to her for me, what then, I pray? FANNY: All's been rehearsed, sir, like a good ballet. That she may safely pass,—you, safely fly, Twelve dominoes in mauve will stand close by, Circle about, behind, beside, before, Coquetting till she passes through the door. So, like a shuttlecock by players tossed, She will be handled till the line is crossed. A GROUP OF MASKERS (passing in pursuit of one who wears a wolf's head): Who is the wolf? THE WOLF (turning on his pursuers, and howling): Hou? Hou? (He disappears in the woods.) THE GROUP (turning its attention to a clown who passes): The fool is who? THE JESTER (waving his bauble): Tzing! FANNY: You go out ... THE DUKE: Hietzing's gate? FANNY: Not you. THE DUKE: How then? FANNY: People are passing. Careful. Here's the plan. Kindly observe your humble servant's fan. THE DUKE: Eh? What? FANNY (as she plies her fan coquettishly): I've drawn a plat there of the park. You see the road, in red? It makes an arc. You follow? ... Statues are those little squares. Green dots are trees. The guard, quite unawares, Will let you take this road,—how well it serves,— The left one, see? Close to the game preserves. THE DUKE (his eyes on the fan): What are the arrows? FANNY: There the road ascends. Here it dips down; here, by the fountain bends. Through this gate steps—the Emperor. That's the plan. You see it plainly? Good! I close my fan! THE DUKE (with joyous fervor): Emperor! FANNY (gaily): The fairy coach shall bring him back,— The long lost prince! THE DUKE: What's at the gate? FANNY: A hack. THE DUKE: Hein? FANNY: A cab, with two good horses, never fear. THE DUKE: And then? FANNY: The meeting place! THE DUKE: Where? Far, or near? FANNY: Two hours' hard riding and a place apart,— The Countess would have Wagram. THE DUKE (smiling): Bonaparte! —Prokesch? FANNY: I've told him. He is on his way. THE DUKE: Flambeau? I'll have Flambeau? FANNY: I cannot say. (While they talk, she leads him toward the left. At the foot of a huge antique urn, from which long sprays of ivy hang, a pile of rubbish is hidden in the grass. At the base of the urn, a cushion of moss offers an inviting seat, while close by a fragment of a bas-relief, lying flat on the grass like a large slab, the huge, bearded head of a broken statue opens its blank eyes and yawning mouth.) Let's wait here in the moonlight, and sit down, You, on the slab and I on Neptune's crown. (Addressing the stone head, with a little playful curtsey): Is it permitted, Neptune? THE HEAD OF NEPTUNE (in a cavernous voice): As you please, (FANCY leaps back and the stone head adds in a hearty voice) But mind the ants, and don't expect no ease. FANCY (taking refuge in the DUKE'S arms): Good Lord! It answered! THE DUKE (remembering and understanding): Where the ivy clings,— The hole, the cave ... THE VOICE (dirty): And where the pismire stings. THE DUKE (trying to pull the rank grasses above the rubbish heap away ): Flambeau! SCENE X THE DUKE, FANNY, FLAMBEAU, invisible at first; MASKERS from time to time FLAMBEAU'S VOICE (jovially): A stowaway, like Robinson ... A BAND OF MASQUERADERS (running across the scene, in pursuit of a Merry-Andrew): Bravo! FANNY (leaning eagerly forward and putting her hand across NEPTUNE'S mouth): Hush! Maskers! THE MASKERS (disappearing): Droll! Good! Look! See there! (Their voice die away in the distance.) VOICE OF FLAMBEAU(serenely, finishing): Crusoe. THE DUKE What! Since last night? FLAMBEAU Why, yes. I smoked my pipe. THE DUKE: In this hole? FLAMBEAU: Yes. You made it by his type, The lad that wore the bearskin first, you know; His orderly was Friday,—old Crusoe. THE DUKE (stooping and examining the stones and the moss): I don't quite find the place. FLAMBEAU: Here, on the right. I'll blow a puff of smoke to show the site. (And through a chink in the great fallen slab one sees a smoke wreath rising on the quiet air.) FANNY (showing it to the DUKE): Vesuvius. THE DUKE (leaning far over, distressfully): You suffered! FLAMBEAU (between puffs): Camp is small, But (puff) I said (puff) I was coming (puff) to the ball. FANNY (looking anxiously around, lest they be seen): Talking to smoke wreaths, prince,—you do alarm me! FLAMBEAU: Ouch! THE DUKE: What is it? FLAMBEAU: It's the whole damned army. The ants. We've fought all day, dragoons, foot, horses. I had tobacco; they, superior forces. Ouch! (One can hear vigorous puffing.) I puffed fiercely. FANNY (laughing): That's the cannonading. FLAMBEAU (whose voice sounds nearer): Might I just lift this stone? THE DUKE (looking carefully around and seeing no one): Yes. (Then one side of the stone rises slowly, dragging with it long trembling sprays of vine and bits of grass, and from the damp shadow of Robinson's cave, emerges the head and shoulders of a mysterious and absurd FLAMBEAU, uniform stained, moustaches full of leaves and wisps, nose muddy, eyes gay.) FLAMBEAU (as he lifts the stone, humming in a sepulchral voice the leading air of the last Opera success): None aiding ... FANNY and THE DUKE (precipitately): 'Sh! FLAMBEAU (resting his elbows on the mossy edge of the little cavern): Ain't I like a figure on a tomb? THE DUKE: Fanny has told me all. Flambeau, the time has come. FLAMBEAU: Good! Metternich's the only boy to fear. THE DUKE: He has left the ball. FLAMBEAU: If Metternich ain't here, Nobody knows me. FANNY: Everything goes well. FLAMBEAU: Metternich gone, and you two didn't tell? THE DUKE: But ... FLAMBEAU: In the shadow of this here old urn, You left me in that hole, too cramped to turn! FANNY (nervously): Maskers! (FLAMBEAU dodges back into his cave. A crowd of masqueraders invade the place, circling round a magician with a huge white beard.) THE MASKERS (trying to pierce the effectual disguise of the great beard): It's Blacas! Sandor! Zichy! Let me guess,— Thalberg! No, Thalberg is a dragon-fly! No! Yes! It's Josika! (The magician suddenly stoops, dodges under the circling arms of the M ASKERS and runs off.) ALL: He's gone. No, look! He stops! (They run after the magician, who leads them on.) FLAMBEAU (raising the slab, like a Jack-in-the-box): Gone? THE DUKE and FANNY: Gone. FLAMBEAU: Then ... (He coolly steps out of the cave, with gun and bearskin.) THE DUKE and FANNY: What! FLAMBEAU (putting the slab back in place): Why, then, the drawbridge drops. THE DUKE: What will they say? FANNY: You'll give yourself away! Go back! You frighten me! FLAMBEAU: What will they say? (The MASKERS reappear): ONE OF THEM (seeing FLAMBEAU, admiringly): A soldier of the Empire! Perfect, eh? FLAMBEAU (to the DUKE and FANNY): Well, now you know, I reckon, what they'll say. OTHER MASQUERADERS (stopping at sight of FLAMBEAU): Bravo! Well done! FLAMBEAU: That there's tranquillizing. (He puts on his bearskin and relights his pipe. In a moment the scene is overrun with hurrying groups. Everybody is hastening back from the ball, for the bell on the tiny theatre begins to ring and a footman hangs, among the leafy boughs that make the door, a placard on which one may read): Michel and Christine,—Play in One Act. By Eugene Scribe and Henri Dupin. (Most of the masqueraders, before going into the theatre, stop to look at FLAMBEAU.) SCENE XI The Same. Later, by twos and threes, most of the MASKERS; FOOTMEN; TIBURCE, THERESE, and the Others A BUFFOON (to a LEANDER): You've seen the soldier? THE LEANDER (stricken with admiration): Well, he is surprising! (The DUKE has withdrawn a little, leaving FANNY with FLAMBEAU, who in a flash of time is the centre of an admiring group.) A HARLEQUIN (examining him closely): Even to the ear-rings. That is artistry. A DEVIL: And bushy eyebrows. Perfect as can be. (The little Devil stands on tiptoe and tries to touch them. FLAMBEAU draws back.) FLAMBEAU (aside to FANNY): To get out with no wrap won't be no joke. FANNY (taking a ticket from her glove and slipping it into his hand): That's Gentz's number. It's a lovely cloak. A MARQUISE (to FLAMBEAU): Good evening, sergeant. FLAMBEAU (civilly): Pleasure's mine. A SCARAMOUCH (observing him attentively): You charm me. Sergeant, where did you serve? FLAMBEAU: In the Grand Army. (Laughter.) FLAMBEAU (to himself): I've seen 'em not so cheerful, in my day. (He marches up and down.) (Exclamations from all sides, as they watch him march): A picture by Raffet ... Charlet ... Vernet. A MASQUERADER (costumed as a German Private): How well it's done,—powder, mud-stains and all. There's not a costume like it at the ball. Who were your tailors, sir? FLAMBEAU: They weren't no misters. This coat was made by War and Victory, Sisters. THE GERMAN PRIVATE: Yes? FLAMBEAU: You have a different seamstress? THE SCARAMOUCH (following him, as he marches back and forth): Come, confess,— You're Zichy. (Offering his hand.) Dear Count, I have guessed you? Yes? What, I am wrong? Not Count ... (He recoils, when a cloud of smoke is puffed in his face.) FLAMBEAU (apologetically): That was a blow! (Laughter.) THE SCARAMOUCH (to the others): His manners made to match his coat, you know. FLAMBEAU (singing): "A-going to Krasnoven, All droughty, starved and frozen." ... A FLORENTINE STUDENT (coming and taking FLAMBEAU by the arm): In Russia, hein? Oh, you are too complete! Got your nose nipped? (Everybody laughs.) FLAMBEAU: But didn't get cold feet. (He takes up his song once more): "But fit for cheers was every throat If we but spied his overcoat." A HARLEQUIN (taking his other arm): That coat to-day is in a sorry plight. FLAMBEAU: It served to turn some hair, and livers, white. (The laughter is a little less spontaneous.) SEVERAL MASKERS (without enthusiasm): Ha, ha! That's good! THE GERMAN PRIVATE (stiffly): ... Natural. ... OTHERS: Quite exact. THE HARLEQUIN (aside, to the others): But don't you think he might display more tact? (They go off toward the theatre; the scene empties, little by little. FANNY, who has rejoined the DUKE, is watching carefully as the last of the masqueraders go toward the leafy door.) FANNY (to the DUKE): Now, when the play begins, the coast is clear. FLAMBEAU (calling like a hawker to hasten the tardy ones): Come in! FANNY: I'll go and find your cousin. (At this moment the lackey whom the DUKE sent to the palace with the note re-enters, and comes hurriedly up.) THE DUKE: Who is here? FLAMBEAU (calling): Come in! THE LACKEY: I have delivered your command, Monseigneur, and your people understand. (He goes off.) FANNY: Hein? THE DUKE (hastily and in a low voice): I forgot. My household understood I'd sleep at my pavillion in the wood. The Countess must go there. How will she know? FNNY: Stay, and I'll fetch her. You must tell her so. FLAMBEAU (on the threshold of the theatre): Come in! (Among the last to come toward the theatre are TIBURCE and THERESE.) TIBURCE (to his sister): No? You are leaving? THERESE: Yes. TIBURCE (bowing formally): Well, as you please. (He enters the theatre. She goes toward the exit on the right.) THE DUKE (seeing her): Perhaps she means to keep the tryst. (He is about to warn her.) Therese! (She stops at the gateway, looking toward him. He checks himself.) No, no, let be. It makes my heart more light To think she might so bend ... (To THERESE, tenderly) Dear, till to-night! (She goes out without a word.) SCENE XII The DUKE, FLAMBEAU, FANNY, The COUNTESS FANNY (re-entering, to FLAMBEAU): Go see how far they've gotten in their parts. It is the hour! (FLAMBEAU goes into the theatre. FANNY gives a signal, and one sees a youth, closely wrapped in a dark cloak, and masked.) FLAMBEAU (coming out): It's where the crying starts Because some Pole has got a broken heart. (He returns to the theatre.) FANNY (to the DUKE): The Countess, sir. (The youth unmasks; it is the COUNTESS CAMERATA. Her hair, dyed yellow, is clipped like the DUKE'S, parted like his and has the same lock that falls low on the forehead. Coming toward her cousin, she flings back her cloak and appears, white and slender, in a uniform like his own .) THE DUKE: I see my counterpart! I and my shadow meet. The two are one. (FANNY keeps watch.) THE COUNTESS: Hail, Napoleon! THE DUKE: Hail, Napoleone! THE COUNTESS: Are you afraid? I'm not. THE DUKE: I dread, 'tis true, The danger that you dare for me. THE COUNTESS (eagerly): Not you. THE DUKE: Ah? THE COUNTESS: The name, the glory,—that my blood be king! THE DUKE (smiling): Sweet Amazon, you make your cuirass ring! THE COUNTESS (proudly): Were it for love, it would not be so fine. THE DUKE (coming nearer): You speak of ... love. If to this lodge of mine Where you will go, ... some one ... should come to-night ... THE COUNTESS (trembling): I knew, I knew that I had guessed aright! THE DUKE: Tell her of my escape. And, should she keep ... FLAMBEAU (reappearing at the threshold of the little theatre): The old man's quiet. FANNY: Good. FLAMBEAU (disappearing into the theatre): He doesn't cheep. THE DUKE (finishing): ... The tryst, tell me, some day. Ah, let me prove ... THE COUNTESS: To-morrow, Empire,—and you dream of love! THE DUKE: To-morrow, Emperor, alone, apart, And so, to-night, I crave one loving heart. THE COUNTESS (harshly): You will have other loves! THE DUKE: But none to trust. This tender spirit raised me from the dust. Willing to stoop to share my agony, She comes to keep this stainless tryst with me. THE COUNTESS (with a shrug): You will love again. THE DUKE: Perhaps. In other days I may await some woman fair of face. —Never with yearning arms, soul-hunger deep, As for this tryst I may not, must not, keep. THE COUNTESS (scornfully): I find your Highness very much aflame. THE DUKE: Less than the day you whisper, "Yes, she came!" FLAMBEAU (reappearing): Hurry! The hero's rolling up his eyes. He's singing to his colonel solemnwise. (The DUKE and the COUNTESS mask rapidly.) THE COUNTESS (throwing off her dark cloak, while the DUKE discards his violet mantle): Quick! Let us change! FLAMBEAU: No fear! I'm in command. 'Tention! (He takes the ramrod from his gun.) I'll use my ramrod for a wand. THE COUNTESS (to FLAMBEAU): Your wand may make a Cæsar, ere 'tis done. FLAMBEAU: Because this wand's the ramrod of a gun! (The DUKE OF REICHSTADT is on the right; the COUNTESS on the left. Simultaneously, they throw off their cloaks. And for a moment in the moonlight there are two DUKES OF REICHSTADT. But the exchange is made; the@ 1 DUKE wraps the dark cloak about him and draws up the hood. The COUNTESS throws the violet mantle carelessly over her shoulders, not quite concealing the white uniform; her bared head shows its yellow locks. And there is only one DUKE OF REICHSTADT, on the left.) SCENE XIII The Same; all the MASQUERADERS FLAMBEAU (listening, his head on one side; there is a sound of applause, the rustle of an audience rising): They're coming out. (The DUKE walks away from the COUNTESS. There is a burst of gay music. The scene is flooded with light. From every side footmen appear, rolling before them little orange trees in boxes, their branches lit with a thousand flashing crystal lights. On every green tub two white planks have been fastened; through an opening in the lace cloths that cov er them, the trunks of the little trees lift; on each of these charming little tables from which springs a brightly lighted tree, a sumptuous little service is laid. Crimson glass; crystal prisms; masses of flowers. The powdered footmen swiftly and silently place four chairs at each orange-tree table. They quickly transform the two orange trees already in place, and they become tables like the rest. Seeing this chief of METTERNICH'S surprises for the ball, the masqueraders exclaim delightedly. A long chain of dancers, led by the ARCHDUCHESS and the FRENCH ENVOY, weaves among the orange trees. There are shrieks of laughter, and ejaculations, among which one catches fragments like this): The orange grove! We're to have supper here! You're stepping on my train! ... My puff, my dear! 'Rah for the orange trees! ... Come, join the dance. Baron ... Marquise ... quick, quick ... your only chance ... Attention! One! ... At three, we separate ... Two! Three! (The circle dissolves.) EVERYBODY (hurrying to the pretty tables): Bravo! FANNY (to the DUKE, indicating the COUNTESS who, standing at the left according to the arrangement, has been surrounded by Mauve Dominoes): They will see her through the gate. THE MAUVE DOMINOES (surrounding the false DUKE with cleverly acted coquetry): Prince! Duke! Monseigneur! Highness! GENTZ (passing, watches them with an old gallant's envious eyes): 'Twould appear The Duke's the whole ball. MASQUERADERS (calling to assemble their parties for supper): Sandor! Mina! Here! THE COLUMBINE (whom someone has called MINA): How did you know me? THE MERRY-ANDREW: By your chain of jade. THE SCARAMOUCH (seating himself and looking up at the tree): For dessert, we can have an orangeade. A MAUVE DOMINO (sentimentally, to the false DUKE): Prince! THE BEAR (who has taken off his head to read the menu): Smelts from the Danube; caviar from the Volga. THE ARCHDUCHESS (passing to and fro, arranging the groups): Mimi of Meyendorff, sit here, with Olga. (Everybody is seated, except the COUNTESS, who, still standing at the left, philanders with the Mauve Dominoes. The DUKE, without taking his eyes from her, has seated himself at a table with FANNY and FLAMBEAU. Laughter. Soft, gay voices. The supper begins.) GENTZ (rising, with a champagne glass in his hand): Ladies and Gentlemen: MANY VOICES (trying to secure silence): 'Sh, 'sh! THE DUKE (seeing the COUNTESS take a step, at last): Now, she must pass,— Ah, dreadful moment! Ah! ... GENTZ: I raise my glass In honour of ... THE DUKE: She goes! GENTZ: ... the absent one, Who left us when the ball was but begun, He who planned all, the flowers, the play, the feast, Toils at his desk till day breaks in the east. (Applause. The COUNTESS profits by the focussing of attention on GENTZ to make good progress toward the gateway. As she advances, imitating the DUKE'S air of abstraction, and without the least appearance of haste, a Mauve Domino rises from each table and accompanies her, flirtatiously or languishingly, until another Domino, rising from another place, with coquettish insistency, takes her place.) FANNY (watching her, whispers to the DUKE): How well she imitates your careless air! GENTZ (in an oratorical voice, continuing): We shall not spare To dedicate thy sparkling, O champagne, To Metternich, Austrian Prince, Grandee of Spain, Duke of Portella, Lord of Daruvar ... FANNY (following the COUNTESS with her eyes): How calm she is! And all is safe thus far. GENTZ: Chevalier of St. Anne. THE DUKE (low, to FLAMBEAU, whose hand he presses convulsively): Gentz's speech seems planned To help our cause. GENTZ: ... Seraphs of Switzerland, The Golden Fleece, the Danish Elephant. FLAMBEAU (aside): A few more names, old boy, is all we want. GENTZ: Hereditary Magnate, Curator of Art ... THE DUKE (feverishly, watching the COUNTESS): I am not so slow! She overplays her part! GENTZ (with mounting enthusiasm): Bailiff of Malta ... THE DUKE (more and more taxed, as the COUNTESS stops on the very gateway, with a Mauve Domino): Why does she wait? GENTZ: The great Cross, conferred ... Of Falcon, Lion, Bear, and Charles the Third ... (He stops, mopping his brow.) Ouf! GENTZ'S RIGHT-HAND NEIGHBOR (to the lady on his left): He will surely faint. There, fan him, please! (The two fans wave with comic ardour.) GENTZ: Member of many learned societies. (General enthusiasm): Hurrah! (Everybody is standing. Glasses clink. The COUNTESS has reached the gateway; her foot on the threshold, she pauses, laughing and talking, taking care not to betray herself by any appearance of haste. Bending, she kisses the hand of the last Mauve Domino in farewell.) FLAMBEAU (in an undertone to the DUKE, who can no longer endure to watch): Now, while they wet their throats and clap their hands, She's going, Prince, ... she's gone! ... THE ARCHDUCHESS (who for a moment has been watching the false DUKE, calls in a clear voice from her place): What? Going, Franz? (The COUNTESS trembles, and is forced to lean against the latticed wall to keep from falling.) THE DUKE (very low): All is lost. FLAMBEAU: Thunder! THE ARCHDUCHESS (rising and going toward the false DUKE): Wait. FANNY (terrified): Mercy! Wasn't she Told of the plot? THE ARCHDUCHESS (very close to the COUNTESS): Franz! (She lays her hand on the false DUKE'S arm): Dear Franz, you wounded me But ... (She shudders, seeing through the mask eyes that she does not know. She stops, gazes intently, then barely whispers): Ah! THE DUKE (whose eyes have followed every detail): Lost! THE ARCHDUCHESS (starts back, hesitates): But ... (After a second, in her natural voice, she says clearly): To-morrow, as we planned ... THE COUNTESS (who between fear, and the sudden revulsion, and gratitude, has lost her poise for a moment): Ah ... Madame ... how ... THE ARCHDUCHESS (low and hurriedly): Quick! Bend and kiss my hand. (The COUNTESS,recovering herself, bends low, kisses the hand of the ARCHDUCHESS precisely in the manner of the DUKE OF REICHSTADT, and goes out.) SCENE XIV The Same, without the COUNTESS ONE OF THE GUESTS: The Duke is leaving? TIBURCE (shrugging his shoulders): Notice he still must ask. THE ARCHDUCHESS (returning to her table, passes that of FANNY, FLAMBEAU, and the DUKE.) THE DUKE (checking her, whispers in a voice full of emotion): You gave your hand ... THE ARCHDUCHESS (looking for a moment at this masked and hooded figure, holds out her hand, remarking): A very clever mask. (She regains her place. Everybody eats, laughs and talks.) GENTZ (rising, a glass of champagne in his hand): And now ... (He is interrupted by laughter and protests.) SEVERAL VOICES: Again! GENTZ: One word. THE HARLEQUIN: Sit down and eat a peach. GENTZ: And now, I would complete my little speech. The Duke of Reichstadt being here, you see I left one name out, voluntarily. Metternich's greatest name I could not give. The Duke is gone. I bid you cry, Long live Bonaparte's Conqueror! EVERYBODY (rising, with a sudden outburst of gratified hatred, gives the toast and voices cry) Proudest title yet! (The DUKE All the glasses are lifted high. FLAMBEAU coolly empties his into his gun barrel.) THE DUKE: What ... ? FLAMBEAU: She might go off! I've got to keep her wet! (Everybody sits down. The conversation becomes general. The various groups call from one orange tree to another.) THE SCRAMOUCH (laughing): Bonaparte! THE LITTLE MARQUISE: Man of marble! TIBURCE: I'd say, of stucco! THE DUKE (angrily): Hein? FLAMBEAU (trying to calm him, lest he betray himself): Think of the Empire, Prince, and let 'em cuckoo. THE MERRY-ANDREW (scornfully): Quite superficial! FLAMBEAU (in an undertone, and holding the DUKE'S hand): Steady! TIBURCE: Oh, quite secondary, But, seen in Egypt on a dromedary, Why, then! ... THE BEAR: They say Gentz hits him off. FLAMBEAU (grinding his teeth): Good Lord! Good Lord! THE HARLEQUIN (to GENTZ): Do it. (GENTZ rises. The DUKE tries to rise.) FLAMBEAU (restraining him): Remember, you ain't here! Now, not a word! GENTZ (pulling a lock down over his forehead): The lock! (Frowing) The eye! (Thrusting his hand into his waistcoat): The hand! There! (Applause and laughter.) THE DUKE (whose nervous fingers are tearing the lace of the table cloth): Oh ... FLAMBEAU (turning with a furious gesture toward GENTZ, but even the caricature of the beloved Commander so moves him, that he whispers in a changed voice): The dirty pup ... He mocks him ... but he kind o' calls him up! THE CROCODILE: He fell once from his horse,—yes, fell kerplash! (Laughter.) FLAMBEAU (to the DUKE): The ultras started that,—they'd felt the crash! THE PIERROT: A mediocre babbler! FLAMBEAU (with mock interest): I declare! THE DUKE: They must defame the eagle of the air,— The centipede and the chameleon. TIBURCE: You know his name was not Napoleon. FLAMBEAU (starting up): Hein? (It is the DUKE'S turn to restrain him.) TIBURCE: That name was fashioned by a simple rule. "Let's make a sounding name," said he. FLAMBEAU (aside): You fool! TIBURCE: A name that history would like to say,— Three short, clear sounds, you see: so,—Na..po..le.. Then a deep, heavy "on." THE BEAR: Well now I wonder! TIBURCE: Yes, Na ... po ... le ... , the lightning; on, the thunder. (Laughter.) A BUFFOON: What was his real name? TIBURCE: Fit for his class. ... THE BUFFOON: What was it? TIBURCE: Why, he was called Nicholas. FLAMBEAU (furiously, rising): Hein? Nicholas! EVERYBODY (applauding the excellent acting): Bravo, the soldier! GENTZ (laughing, to FLAMBEAU): Nicholas! (He offers a plate of cheese to FLAMBEAU): Have a bite? FLAMBEAU (taking the plate): Eh, well, ... but Nicholas knew how to fight! A CLOWN (with aristocratic distaste): Was ever such a court together met? TIBURCE: One spoke of titles, Gotha, etiquette, And not a soul could answer you, not one. FLAMBEAU (mildly): What of the general that they called Cambronne? A WOMAN'S VOICE: In war, at least ... TIBURCE: ... His bulletins abound. THE MERRY-ANDREW: In safety, from a bit of rising ground. (Laughter.) FLAMBEAU (ready to spring at his throat): Name of ... THE DUKE (restraining him): 'Sh! TIBURCE: A ball, shot from some kindly gun Wounded him in the foot at Ratisbonne. It made a touching picture large as life. FLAMBEAU (to the DUKE, in a voice hoarse with rage): Keep calm. THE DUKE (to FLAMBEAU): But you ... FLAMBEAU (who has clutched his table knife): Somebody take this knife! (FANNY takes it from him.) TIBURCE (sipping his Johannisburg): In short ... THE DUKE (whose finger-nails are digging into FLAMBEAU'S clenched fist): If he says more ... if this is not the worst ... FLAMBEAU (beseechingly): You'll bear it! THE DUKE: I will lose an Empire first. TIBURCE (between sips of wine): In short this famous hero was ... FLAMBEAU (seeing the DUKE about to hurl himself upon the speaker): Stand by, My boy! TIBURCE: ... A coward. THE DUKE (rising): Oh, I ... A VOICE (from the back): Sir, you lie! (General confusion and tumult.) EVERYBODY (talking at once): Hein? What? Who was it? What's that? GENTZ (seated): Quite a stir. FLAMBEAU: Somebody said it! And he saved us, sir! TIBURCE: Who has so dared? THE FRENCH ENVOY (making his way through groups that try to intercept him): It is I. THE SCARAMOUCH (to TIBURCE): He is an aide Of Marshal Maison. TIBURCE: You were not afraid,— Who represent the king? GENTZ (seated, finishing his bunch of grapes): How droll it is! THE ENVOY: I represent my country, sir, in this. He insults France,—he does her grievous wrong Defaming him whom she has loved so long. TIBURCE: Bonaparty? THE ENVOY: Say Bonaparte. TIBURCE (with a shrug): Ah, well, Bonaparte. THE ENVOY: Say, The Emperor! TIBURCE: Your cartel? (There is an interchange of cards.) THE ENVOY: I leave to-morrow. Let us meet at dawn. (He walks off and talks in a low voice to two friends.) (Violins are once more heard in the distance and groups, whispering, begin to drift in the direction of the ballpavillion.) FLAMBEAU (during the general exodus has disappeared into the cloak room. He returns wearing a superb overcoat and says hurriedly to the DUKE): Forward! (He opens the coat a little and points, proudly): Silk-lined, and me that's got it on! TIBURCE (who has reseated himself, nervously holds out his glass to a lackey): Water? THE LACKEY (who is the one the DUKE has sent to the Palace, filling TIBURCE's glass): You hate the Corsican? TIBURCE (haughtily): Hein? THE LACKEY (lowering his voice, cautiously): Tenderer Your sister for the son. (TIBURCE starts violently.) You'd find them, sir? TIBURCE: Where? When? THE LACKEY: To-night. TIBURCE: Where? THE LACKEY: I know, sir. TIBURCE (with a gesture bids him wait without): Wait, don't stir. (The LACKEY goes out. TIBURCE stands, gripping his Captain's rapier.) I'll relieve Austria! (Meanwhile the DUKE, before going out with FLAMBEAU who waits for him on the threshold of the gateway, has gone up to the FRENCH ENVOY who has finished his conversation with his seconds, and putting his hand on his shoulder, he says): I thank you, sir. THE ENVOY (turning, surprised): For what? (The DUKE raises his mask for a second. The ENVOY makes a movement of astonishment.) THE DUKE: 'Sh! THE ENVOY (in a very low tone): The Duke! THE DUKE: A plot. THE ENVOY: Now, as I live! THE DUKE: I have given my secret, all I have to give. (Low and hurriedly): We meet at Wagram. Come! THE ENVOY: I, do this thing? THE DUKE: You are not with us? THE ENVOY: Prince, I serve my king. THE DUKE: No matter. It is part of me that goes To-morrow where you meet my Father's foes! (He salutes and goes to join FLAMBEAU.)—Later! THE ENVOY (following him): You hope to gain me? THE DUKE: I am sure. My Father won his Philip of Segur. THE ENVOY (firmly): To-morrow I go home. There is no chance ... THE DUKE (smiling): Then you shall be a Marshal of New France. THE ENVOY: Sir, if my regiment must clash with you, I'd give the order, Fire! THE DUKE: Of course, that's true. (He offers his hand): At least we may shake hands before we fight. (The two young men take each the other's hand.) THE ENVOY (with careful courtesy): I shall reach Paris by to-morrow night. Any commission I will gladly do. THE DUKE (smiling): I will reach the ... Empire ... earlier than you. THE ENVOY: If to the ... Kingdom ... I am first to come ... ? THE DUKE: Salute for me the Column of Vendome. (He goes out. The curtain falls) ACT V BROKEN WINGS A plain. A few bushes; a hillock where the grasses tremble always in the wind; a little cabin built of broken gun carriages and caissons, and set about with scraggly geraniums. A boundary post painted in the Austrian colours. And t hat is all. The field, the sky, the grass, the stars. A plain, a vast plain,—the Field of Wagram. SCENE I The DUKE, FLAMBEAU, PROKESCH (All three, wrapped in their cloaks, wait motionless. Silence, save for the sighing of the wind.) THE DUKE (opening his cloak with his breast toward the wind, and folding it again): The wind of Wagram, folded to my heart! (To FLAMBEAU, who is watching the road to the left): Horses? FLAMBEAU: Not yet. We made an early start. THE DUKE: On this first tryst that France and I have kept, My longing, like a lover's, overleapt. (He begins to walk up and down. He stops, looking at the boundary post.) A guide post, black and yellow. My path lies Henceforward all unstained by Austrian dyes. Gleaming on white posts I shall see indeed, "Road to St. Cloud." I shall no longer read. (He stands on a rock to decipher the name in the moonlight.) "Grosshofen." (Suddenly struck by a memory.) Stay. My regiment meets there,— At Grosshofen, at daybreak. FLAMBEAU: Well, I'll swear! THE DUKE: I gave the order when I did not know. ... FLAMBEAU: We won't be there at daybreak. Let 'em go. (A man comes out of the little cabin, an old peasant with a long white beard. He has only one arm.) THE DUKE: Who's here? FLAMBEAU: A friend. His hut's the meeting place. He's an old soldier. It's his job to trace The battlefield for tourists. THE PEASANT (seeing a group of people, automatically points and begins in a sing-song voice): On your left ... FLAMBEAU (advancing, smiles and salutes the old fellow; he lights his short French pipe by the long German pipe the old man carries): I know this place! PROKESCH (to FLAMBEAU, in an undertone): Who bribed him, that he left The Austrian service? THE PEASANT (who has overheard): I was like to die,— Right there, I lay. Napoleon passed by, Napoleon the Great. FLAMBEAU (nodding): It was his way, After a battle, always THE PEASANT: He, I say, Saw me. ... reined in his horse. And that great man Watched while his doctor worked. ... FLAMBEAU: That was Ivan. THE PEASANT: You say his son don't like Vienna? Well, I'll help him leave there. (To FLAMBEAU, tapping his empty sleeve, with pride): 'Saw it when it fell. FLAMBEAU: No wonder you are proud. Not every one Can lose an arm before Napoleon. THE PEASANT (with a gesture of resignation): That's war. (The two old soldiers sit down on the bench by the cabin door and side by side they smoke, exchanging a word now and then.) THE PEASANT: They fight. FLAMBEAU: And die. THE PEASANT: We died, like dogs. FLAMBEAU: We marched. THE AUSTRIAN PEASANT: We, too. FLAMBEAU: We shot, but into fogs. THE AUSTRIAN PEASANT: We, too. FLAMBEAU: A smoke-grimed officer would come in view And tell us we had won. THE AUSTRIAN PEASANT: They told us, too. FLAMBEAU (starting up, indignantly): Hein? (He shrugs his shoulders and s miles.) Why, of course! (Pressing the old man's hand.) If Someone heard ... THE DUKE (motionless): I hear. THE PEASANT (stolidly, looking at his flowers): They flourish, my geraniums. FLAMBEAU (shaking his head): Never fear! (He points to the spot where the geraniums are growing.) Eleven drummer boys fell at that place. THE DUKE (coming nearer): Eleven ... boys ... ? FLAMBEAU: Always I see each face! Eleven bullet heads,—as like as peas, Under their shakos, marching or at ease. Eleven lads, not knowing end or plan, Just loving life and drumming, rat-a-plan. They were the darlings of the sutler's wife. We plagued 'em sometimes,—that's a soldier's life. But when the little fellows beat the charge, Looking like rabbits, only not so large,— Twenty-two drum sticks and eleven drums,— Our bayonets trembled,—as when thunder comes And then the lightning splits the darkened air, Our zigzag steels flashed to that music there. Then came the brazen coughing of a gun, (With a faltering gesture.) And the bomb burst,— and killed them. ... every one. (He is silent for a moment reverently; then, in a lower voice): If you had seen the sutler's wife! My God! She ran like mad across that bloody sod, Her apron held like gleaners you have seen;— It was their drum sticks she had come to glean. (He tries to steady his voice.) It makes you hoarse to talk of that ... (He coughs to clear his voice.) Hum-hum! (He picks a geranium, and, with an effort at cheerfulness) To change a common red geranium Into the Cross. ... You see. ... Three petals fell ... (The two that remain make a tiny red butterfly, and he sticks it in the buttonhole of his greatcoat, saying): The Cross of Honour on my left lapel,— The one you gave me, Highness, in that hour. ... THE DUKE (sadly): I gave in fancy ... FLAMBEAU: What I wear in flower. (For some moments, men in long cloaks have been coming in, gripping hands and forming groups.) SCENE II The Same; MARMONT, the CONSPIRATORS A SHADOW (detaching himself from the group and coming toward The DUKE and FLAMBEAU): St. Helena. FLAMBEAU (responding): Schoenbrunn. THE DUKE (recognizing the newcomer): Marmont! MARMONT (bowing low): Fate fight for France! THE DUKE: Those shadows ... ? MARMONT: Friends. THE DUKE: Why do they not advance? MARMONT: They fear to come unbidden, Highness,—for None comes unbidden to his Emperor. THE DUKE (shivers, and after a pause): To-morrow, Emperor! Traitor, I pardon thee! Twenty! And life begun. God! it is good to be twenty,—good to be The First Napoleon's son! 'Tis false! I am not weak! I never coughed! Life lies before. To-morrow, Emperor! Ah, but the night is soft! VOICE OF A CONFEDERATE (arriving): Schoenbrunn! ANOTHER VOICE (replying): St. Helena! THE DUKE: The Emperor! To-night my soul has grown so vast, so vast To gather all my people I am fain! My soul becomes Notre Dame! At last, at last ... A VOICE: St. Helena! ANOTHER VOICE: Schoenbrunn. THE DUKE: At last! To reign! To reign! It is the glory in thy breath That lifts, that bears me up. Wagram, 'tis fit that I upon thy heath Should drink my stirrup cup. To reign, and so be servant of a Cause; To serve the hour; To reconstruct, bring peace, and noble laws,— Prokesch, I love my power! Those sad old kings heard never in their souls This voice that rings in mine. My eyes are wet,—hands heavy with the scrolls Of pardons I shall sign. O men who wrote the Legend with your blood, Behold your Emperor's son Pledges to you and France that lasting good Your glorious courage won. I was so often wronged, so much deceived, I will keep faith with you. O Freedom, even a prince may be believed Who has been prisoner too! To-morrow's wars are not for victory, But in defense of right! (I see a mother lifting up to me Her child in all men's sight.) And other names their splendour shall evince, Great as Rovigo, or as Wagram here. My Father wished to make Corneille a prince;— Let me make Hugo peer! I will do much ... do all ... I see the gleam! (He walks feverishly back and forth. Those near him withdraw respectfully.) Oh, I am twenty ... I will reign ... will be By youth and ardor borne to all I dream! My city waits for me. Sun on her banners; ribbons, flowers and songs. Sunshine and naught to hide. The chestnut blossoms and the shouting throngs As I, returning, ride. This mighty Paris with her flower-wreathed guns Proclaiming my advance! Whom Paris loves, Ah, those thrice blessed ones Have kissed the lips of France! Paris, I hear thy bells! A VOICE: St. Helena! ANOTHER VOICE: Schoenbrunn! THE DUKE: Resounding hoofs; In the bright waters of the Seine afar The Louvre's bending roofs! And you who followed him so many years, In snow and in simoon, His soldiers! On my hands I feel your tears. Paris! A VOICE: St. Helena! ANOTHER VOICE: Schoenbrunn! FLAMBEAU (to the DUKE, who is seized with a fit of trembling): What ails you? THE DUKE: Nothing. PROKESCH (taking his hand): You burn! THE DUKE: Aye, to the bone. (Aloud) I'll cool off as I ride. That star has grown As bright as spurs. This night has naught to hide. Here are the horses! And we ride,—we ride! (The horses are brought up. FLAMBEAU takes the bridle of the one mean t for the DUKE, and leads him up.) PROKESCH (to MARMONT, indicating the conspirators): Why do these fellows crowd? MARMONT: If they should stop, He might not know they had come. THE DUKE: A riding crop. A CONSPIRATOR (saluting, offers him one): The Viscount of Otrante. THE DUKE (recoiling a little): Son of Fouché? FLAMBEAU: All grudges are forgotten for to-day! Long stirrup? THE DUKE: Short. ANOTHER CONSPIRATOR (saluting): He, sir, who bows so low,— Your cousin's agent, sire, am called Goubeau (He bows again) Goubeau ... THE DUKE: Well ... very well. GOUBEAU (still bowing): Her agent, sire. ANOTHER (crowding in front of him): I represent King Joseph and I hire All the supplies. I, sire, am Pionnet. THE DUKE (to FLAMBEAU): Only the snaffle. ANOTHER (advancing and saluting): Every fresh relay 'Tis I that posted. Ere the daylight's plain You'll find the first. Morchain ... (He salutes and tries to impress his name on the EMPEROR.) FLAMBEAU: All right, Machine. THE CONSPIRATOR (loudly): Morchain. ANOTHER: 'Twas I prepared the passports, thankless task. (He hands FLAMBEAU the passports, adding): Can anybody read such scrawls, I ask. (He salutes.) Guibert. ALL AT ONCE (surrounding the DUKE'S mount): Goubeau ... Pionnet ... Morchain. FLAMBEAU (shoving them aside a bit): We know your claim! ONE OF THEM: Your father never yet forgot a name. (Seizing the stirrup to hold it for the DUKE.) A NEWCOMER (forcing himself into the group and giving his name): Borokowski. ...It is I, let me inform Your Highness, made the Countess' uniform. THE DUKE: I will remember every name I have heard And yonder friend the best, who speaks no word. (He points with his riding crop in the direction of a man, wrapped in a long cloak, who stands disdainfully apart.) Your name? (As he advances, the DUKE recognizes the FRENCH ENVOY.) You here? THE ENVOY (hurriedly): Prince, not as partisan, But as your friend. You know, as man to man, That there must be ... FLAMBEAU: To horse! The whitening skies ... THE DUKE: I touch the mane to mount. The eaglet flies! (His foot is in the stirrup.) THE ENVOY: If I have followed you, I, who serve France, It is to warn you of an evil chance. THE DUKE: Warn me? THE ENVOY: You are in peril. THE DUKE (half turning, his foot still in the stirrup): Peril? How? THE ENVOY: You heard my challenge to Tiburce but now. He left the ball without a sign or word. I tried to overtake him, and I heard A thing that sealed my lips. He met a man Hid in the shadows and the two began To plot your death. They knew the path you trod, The meeting place. THE DUKE (with a cry of horror): The Countess! Oh my God! THE ENVOY: I knew the meeting place,—you let me know,— I came, I have warned you. I am done. I go. THE DUKE: My hunting lodge! That is the meeting place, They'll kill the Countess! Kill her, in my place! We must go back. A GENERAL OUTCRY: No! A CONSPIRATOR: Why? THE DUKE (despairingly): The Countess! PROKESCH (trying to restrain him): Can Make herself known. THE DUKE: You do not know her, man! At their vile hands she would die a score of deaths If so, she knew, I'd gain as many breaths. We must go back! SEVERAL VOICES: No! THE DUKE: We must go back! I swear No man shall murder me and I not there! D'ORANT: Our effort lost! A CONSPIRATOR (furious): If we must re-conspire! MARMONT: Your only chance! ANOTHER: France! ANOTHER: And your Empire, sire! (They crowd around him.) MARMONT: Forward! THE DUKE (sternly): Back, I tell you! PROKESCH: Only hear! You will lose the crown that is to-night so near If you go back! THE DUKE: If I go forward, I will lose my soul! MARMONT: One must make sacrifices. THE DUKE: For what goal May one betray a woman? MARMONT: With success Just in his grasp! FLAMBEAU: The lad's a French prince,—yes! THE VISCOUNT OF OTRANTE (resolutely to the DUKE): Will you go forward? THE DUKE: Back! And let me pass! THE VISCOUNT (to the others): He will not come. We will take him! ALL (rushing forward): Yes! Yes! Yes! THE DUKE (raising his riding crop): Give place, Or here's a fitting weapon I shall wield As once Murat upon a greater field. To me! Prokesch! Flambeau! A CONSPIRATOR: We will take him hence! THE DUKE (to the FRENCH ENVOY): And you, who rode so far in my defense! The assassins who would slay my honour here,— These are my murderers. These alone I fear! THE ENVOY: Highness, go forward! THE DUKE: You! Even you have tried ... ? THE ENVOY: I will protect the Countess. Ride, ah ride! THE DUKE: You are not for us, yet you bid me go,— You make it possible? THE ENVOY: Not for you,—no 'Tis for the lady's sake. THE DUKE: If all you say Be true ... THE ENVOY (to PROKESCH): Ride close beside him, you who know the way. THE DUKE (still hesitating): I cannot ... SEVERAL VOICES: Yes, yes, yes! MARMONT: 'Tis best. Lead on! (Galloping hoofs are heard.) ALL: Forward! We're off! THE COUNTESS (appearing, in the DUKE'S uniform, pale, dishevelled, breathless): Unhappy! Not yet gone? SCENE III The Same; The COUNTESS THE DUKE (bewildered): You! But they told me ... Can I flee? THE COUNTESS (raging): Of course. THE DUKE: A woman ... THE COUNTESS (sneering): Yes, a woman,—a great loss! THE DUKE: But I ... THE COUNTESS: You should have left me to my fate. THE DUKE: Their plot! ... Think ... THE COUNTESS: I think of the lost time. THE DUKE: Your danger. THE COUNTESS (scornfully): What? What danger? THE DUKE: Your alarms! THE COUNTESS: Now, what alarms? It was Flambeau who taught me use of arms! THE DUKE: The man? ... THE COUNTESS: Away! THE DUKE: What did you do? THE COUNTESS: In fine, He drew his sabre; well,—then I drew mine. THE DUKE: You fought ... for me? THE COUNTESS: "Son of the Corsican," He growled, "I took you for a weaker man." "Why, so," said I, "did he." My voice ... a catch ... THE DUKE (seeing blood on the hand of the COUNTESS): You are wounded! THE COUNTESS (disdainfully, shaking off the blood): My fingers. Just a scratch. My voice betrayed me. "A woman!" At the word, "On guard," I cried. "I can't! The thing's absurd. This woman is no Chevalier of Eon." "On guard. This woman's a Napoleon!" Feeling my blade touch his just at this point, He fenced ... I gave him ... FLAMBEAU: Thrust and counterpoint! THE COUNTESS (illustrating): One ... two ... FLAMBEAU: Surprised, I'll bet. Did he seek cover? THE COUNTESS: 'Twas a surprise from which he'll not recover. THE DUKE (coming nearer): And the young girl ... My God! THE COUNTESS (shrugging her shoulders): What does it matter? THE DUKE: 'Sh! Did she come? THE COUNTESS (after a moment's hesitation): Ah ... no! As if to shatter The very oak, a first banged at the door. Alone I go To open. THE DUKE: She did not come! (Then with a touch of bitterness): Ah, better, better so! THE COUNTESS: Alas, the noise was heard. I lost my head; If I were caught, all would be lost. I fled, Groping my way. I heard somebody cry "Fetch Sedlinsky." And then I found, close by, Your saddled mare. I distanced all their calls. I rode for life! ... I am done! ... THE DUKE: Ah, God, she falls! (PROKESCH and MARMONT hold her up.) THE COUNTESS (defiantly): I hoped at least, having so done my part, To find some witness who had seen you start! ONE OF THE CONSPIRATORS (who has been on guard, watching the road, running up, to the COUNTESS): You are pursued. Quick! They are coming near! THE DUKE: Quick! Hide her! Save her! In the cabin here! THE COUNTESS (as they carry her half fainting into the hut): Be off! THE DUKE (anxiously, to those who carry her): Is she much hurt? THE COUNTESS: Be gone! Ah me, Sir, if your Father were but here to see This sickly lad who wavers, doubts and frets, How you would make him shrug his epaulettes! THE DUKE (leaping into the saddle and gathering up the reins): Farewell! SCENE IV The Same; SEDLINSKY, OFFICERS OF POLICE FLAMBEAU (turning, and seeing the police officers, who enter on run): We ar e caught. (In the twinkling of an eye, the little band is surrounded.) THE COUNTESS (despairingly): Too late! SEDLINSKY (advancing): Yes, Monseigneur. THE COUNTESS (furiously, to the DUKE): Ah, visionary! dreamer! waverer! SEDLINSKY (who has turned to the one addressed by the COUNTESS, sees the DUKE. He starts back, crying): Your Highness ... (He turns to the COUNTESS): Your High ... (He turns to the DUKE): Your High ... FLAMBEAU: What's your trouble? SEDLINSKY (smiling and beginning to understand): Aha! FLAMBEAU: You have been dining, Captain; you see double. SEDLINSKY: Aha, Aha! (With a quick glance, he makes a note of all who are present.) You please withdraw first, Prokesch. (PROKESCH goes out, after a farewell look to the DUKE.) FLAMBEAU (sighing): We won't be crowned to-day by Uncle Fesch. SEDLINSKY (to the two police officers, indicating the FRENCH ENVOY): Take this gentleman. (to the ENVOY) You in such a plot! Your government shall know. THE DUKE (advancing): Nay, he was not! I swear it. And I will not have him made ... THE ENVOY: Pardon; I am, sir, since it is betrayed! THE DUKE (pressing his hand before he is led away): Then we shall meet again. (To SEDLINSKY, scornfully): Be zealous,—spy. SEDLINSKY (to two other agents, indicating the COUNTESS): You, take the false prince home. Here, stand close by. (Two men step forward and roughly seize the COUNTESS.) THE DUKE (in a tone that makes them fall back): With the respect due me! THE COUNTESS (trembling, at the sound of the imperious young voice): That tone,—fierce,—brief! (She throws herself into his arms, weeping): Unhappy child, you might have been a chief! (She goes out, followed by the two guards.) SEDLINSKY (pretending not to see the rest of the Conspirators): As for the rest ... we'll close our eyes. Oho! (The Conspirators whisper among themselves.) ONE OF THEM: I think ... ANOTHER (gravely nodding his head): To serve most truly ... A THIRD: We should go. (Without more ado, some of them disappear. Others go with more decent deliberation. OTRANTE takes MARMONT'S arm. They talk, with noble gestures. One catches the words): Prudence ... Later ... What is well begun ... (And nobody remains.) FLAMBEAU (to SEDLINSKY): Open your eyes and count them. Here is one. THE DUKE: Oh, fly! For me! FLAMBEAU: For you? (After a second of hesitation, he is about to follow the others. But SEDLINSKY, to whom one of his agents speaks in a low voice, cries): Halt! (Officers bar the way. Ten pistols cover him. SEDLINSKY, to the agent who whispered to him): You are right. THE AGENT: May be. (He takes from his pocket a paper which he hands to SEDLINSKY, saying): Wanted in Paris ... SEDLINSKY (scanning the paper by the dim light of a lantern held by the police agent): He's described ... let's see ... Nose, medium ... brow, medium, ... eye, medium ... FLAMBEAU (jeeringly): Whose medium? SEDLINSKY (pretending to read from the paper): Twice wounded in the back. FLAMBEAU (starting): You lie! SEDLINSKY (smiling): Caught! Come! FLAMBEAU (seeing that he has betrayed himself): I gave myself away! That's lux-u-ree! Flowers on the guns, and bang! A farewell spree! THE DUKE: Give him to France! SEDLINSKY: I will. THE DUKE: As criminal? You have no right! SEDLINSKY: We will take it. THE DUKE: All's lost, all! FLAMBEAU: Flambeau, your way was getting quite too set,— So many sins and never penance yet! SEDLINSKY (consulting the document in his hand): He had not won the Cross. He has no right ... (To an agent, indicating the red flower on FLAMBEAU'S coat): Take off that crimson. FLAMBEAU: Take it off! That's right! (With a geranium, instantly plucked, he makes his lapel bloom again): Why, I just grow them, same as you do hair! SEDLINSKY: Take off his cloak. (The mantle FLAMBEAU carried away from the ball is torn from him and he appears in his grenadier's uniform. SEDLINSKY leaps back, exclaiming): What? FLAMBEAU: Me! Give you a scare? THE DUKE (in anguish): What will they do? FLAMBEAU (coolly): What did they do to Ney? THE DUKE (with a bitter cry): Oh! No! FLAMBEAU: A firing squad ... Biff ... bang ... And march away! THE DUKE (with a moan of anguish): Ah! FLAMBEAU: I've laughed at guns and never lost a bet, But these French guns! ... Ah, none o' that, Lisette! (And his hand softly slips into his pocket.) THE DUKE (running to SEDLINSKY, pleading wildly): You will not, will not free him? SEDLINSKY: He must go. FLAMBEAU: Seraphin, join the seraphs! Flame, Flambeau! (Unobserved, he has found and opened his knife. He seems to be tranquilly folding his arms on his breast; his right hand, in which the knife blade gleams, disappears under his left side, the arms are folded across his breast again. And he stands, still and very pale, arms crossed upon his breast.) SEDLINSKY: March. (He prods FLAMBEAU in the side.) THE DUKE: What is it? He trembles! A POLICE OFFICER (roughly): Staggers. Here, behave! FLAMBEAU (as with the back of his hand he sends the guard's hat flying twenty paces): The Duke is speaking! Take your hat off, knave! (With the gesture, he discloses a red stain above his heart.) THE DUKE: Flambeau! You have killed yourself! FLAMBEAU: Why, that's no loss. You see, I had to grow another Cross. (He falls.) THE DUKE (flinging himself in front of him and intercepting SEDLINSKY and his agents who come to lift him): I will not let you stain him with your touch, This good, clean soldier! Oh, it is too much! Back, spies, and leave us! Back! Begone, I say! FLAMBEAU (in a choking voice): Monseigneur! SEDLINSKY (indicating with a gesture to his agents the old Austrian veteran who creeps near, much shaken): Take this peasant wretch away! (And they separate the old soldiers, roughly leading the old Austrian off.) THE DUKE: I will await my regiment. At dawn My standard shall salute him, and, led on By mournful music, where it drooping stands, (He looks at FLAMBEAU) He shall be lifted by clean, soldier hands. SEDLINSKY (whispering to one of his agents): The horses? THE POLICE AGENT: Led away. SEDLINSKY: Good. We can go He can't escape. (Aloud, with an affectation of gentleness.) Your Highness, have it so! THE DUKE (violently): Be gone! SEDLINSKY (falling back, but still speaking in a conciliatory tone): I understand. You are moved ... Come, come. THE DUKE (thrusting him away with a gesture): I bid you go! SEDLINSKY (trying to be soothing): Pardon ... THE DUKE (showing him the Field of Wagram): I am at home! (SEDLINSKY and his agents disappear.) SCENE V The DUKE, FLAMBEAU FLAMBEAU (raising himself on his elbow): It's droll, me dying on this very plain Where I've already been among the slain, First for the father,—this time for the son. THE DUKE (kneeling beside him, despairingly): It is for him, this thing that you have done! I am not worthy! Not for me, not me! FLAMBEAU (beginning to wander): For him? THE DUKE (eagerly): Surely for him. (With a sudden inspiration) For this is Wagram, see— (He repeats softly and earnestly) Wagram. FLAMBEAU (opening his bewildered eyes): Wagram. THE DUKE (urgently, trying to bring back the post to this spirit at the gate of death): Do you see Wagram? Do you not recall The plain, the hill, the clock tower far and tall? FLAMBEAU: Yes. THE DUKE: Do you not feel the earth beneath you rock,— The battle ground,—and hear the battle shock? FLAMBEAU (opening his eyes): The battle. (The dying eyes brighten.) THE DUKE: Hark! The charge. The roar, the crying ... FLAMBEAU (gripping the joyful illusion): Yes ... yes ... It's Wagram, ain't it—where I'm dying? THE DUKE: Do you see passing, dashing riderless, That great bay charger? Surely, Flambeau, yes, We are at Wagram. (He rises to his feet, and standing erect, he tells the progress of the battle to FLAMBEAU, lying on the grass.) Just before you fell Davoust's division crumpled Neusiedel. The Emperor with field glasses watches all. You got a bayonet thrust. I saw you fall And bore you to this slope, where we can share ... FLAMBEAU: Has the light horse gone in? THE DUKE (pointing to the distant blue mists on the horizon): The blue coats there, With white trimmed shoulder straps, that come this way, Those are sharp shooters. FLAMBEAU (with the ghost of a smile): Under General Reille. THE DUKE (seeming to watch the battle): The left is breaking. Where is Oudinot? Where? The Emperor should support the wing! ... FLAMBEAU (winking): A snare! THE DUKE: The battle joins! MacDonald wheels in place. Massena is wounded! See his ghastly face! FLAMBEAU: If the Archduke extends his right, he's gone. THE DUKE (crying): All, all goes well! FLAMBEAU (eagerly): They charge? THE DUKE (with mounting excitement): Ausperg comes on ... He is taken by the lancers at the hill! FLAMBEAU (trying to lift himself): The Emperor? What is he doing? THE DUKE: Watching still. FLAMBEAU (raising himself on his elbow): Does the Archduke take the Little Fellow's snare? THE DUKE: Watch yonder dust cloud! Nansouty is there. FLAMBEAU: The Archduke's wing ... tell me ... has he begun ... THE DUKE: Down there, the smoke-cloud,—that is Lauriston. FLAMBEAU (gasping): The Archduke ... you can see him on the plain ... THE DUKE: The Archduke extends his right! FLAMBEAU: Why, caught again! (He falls back.) THE DUKE (mad with enthusiasm): Guns at the gallop! FLAMBEAU (struggling): I am choking! Water! ... Can ... you ... see The ... Emperor? THE DUKE: He moves his hand. FLAMBEAU (closing his eyes, peacefully): A victory! (Silence.) THE DUKE: Flambeau! (Silence. Then the death rattle. The DUKE looks about him in terror. He sees himself alone on the vast plain with the dying man. He trembles, and takes a step.) That soldier lying there makes me afraid. ... How shall one be astonished or dismayed To find upon this grass that sleeping form? ... —This grass, that knows so well that uniform? (He leans over FLAMBEAU, calling to him): Yes, Victory! On the guns, the tossing shakos! FLAMBEAU (in the death agony): Water! VOICES (on the wind): Water ... Water! THE DUKE (trembling): Hark! The echoes! A VOICE (very far away): Water! THE DUKE (wiping the sweat from his brow): God! FLAMBEAU (in a raucous voice): I am dying ... VOICES (from all the Plain): Dying ... dying. THE DUKE (aghast): Death rattles everywhere! A VOICE: I die. THE DUKE: The endless crying! I understand at last! This man who died Gave the death rattle and the Plain replied. As to a verse of some remembered song! The man is still. The fields the sound prolong! THE PLAIN (far off): Ah ... Ah! THE DUKE: Death rattles, moans, shrieks make the firm earth shake. Wagram remembers! Wagram is awake! THE PLAIN: Ah ... THE DUKE (looking fixedly at FLAMBEAU, who is motionless): He does not stir ... (Terrified.) I must away ... away! He might have fallen in battle here to-day. (His eyes fixed on FLAMBEAU, he moves back, murmuring): It must have been like that ... like that. All true, The uniform ... the blood. (He begins to run, but stops suddenly, as if a dead soldier lay in front of him): Another! (He runs in the other direction, but starts back, crying): Ah, here, too! (A third time, he is arrested in his flight.) Here. ... (He looks all about him.) Still the same blue shapes ... all splotched with red ... The dead ... (Still retreating as if from a mounting and advancing wave; he has fled to the summit of the hill and all the Plain lies before him.) The dying ... Miles and miles of dead! ALL THE PLAIN: I am dying ... dying ... dying. THE DUKE: Lo, he raves Who thinks earth's furrows are unmoving waves! They murmur like a tide ... of red ... of red ... And this strange sea this night gives up its dead! THE EARTH: Ah! (A murmur of indistinguishable voices grows, and it comes nearer through the mysterious stirring of the grass.) THE DUKE: What is this Voice that like a great bell clangs? A VOICE (in the tall grass): My head bleeds ... ANOTHER VOICE: My leg is crushed ... ANOTHER: My right arm hangs. ANOTHER (heavily): My chest ... caved in ... THE DUKE: The battle ground,— I willed it. Here it is! (The Voices grow clearer: One hears a sinister rumble, groans, death rattles, curses.) A VOICE: Oh, wet my wound! ANOTHER: Where am I hurt? The dust, the pain, the stench. ANOTHER: Help me! Don't let me perish in this trench! THE DUKE: Not trees, but mangled limbs, spring from this ground! (He tries to move.) Not grass, but shoulder straps, are sown around! A CRY (on the right): Oh, help! THE DUKE (quivering): That was a cartridge belt I stumbled on! (He turns to the left, stepping as if stepping over fallen objects.) A VOICE (at the left): Dragoon, give me your hand. ANOTHER VOICE (answering): My hands are gone. THE DUKE (madly): Whither shall I fly? A DYING VOICE (very close to him): Water! A CRY FROM FAR AWAY: The crows! THE DUKE: O monstrous fable! O wooden soldiers on a wooden table! THE SHADOWS, THE WIND, THE UNDERBRUSH: Oh! THE DUKE (desperately): O ghosts with gaping wounds, O spectres gory, At least your anguish paid its weight of glory! You bear the names your country must recall. (To one whom he seems to see.) You are called ... ? A VOICE: Peter. THE DUKE (to another spectre): You? A VOICE: Just John. A THIRD VOICE: Paul. THE DUKE (feverishly, to still another): And you? A VOICE: John. THE DUKE: You? ANOTHER VOICE: Just Paul. THE UKE: You, whose feet are blown To bleeding fragments? A VOICE: Peter. THE DUKE (weeping): Ah, unknown, unknown! Poor names that history troubles not to know! A MOAN (behind him): Lift my head on my knapsack. A DYING VOICE: Water! THE BATTLEFIELD (with a million death rattles): Oh! ... A TUMULT OF VOICES: Oh, flying hoofs above me! Iron blows! I am dying. ... Dying. ... Help! CRIES FROM AFAR: The crows! The crows! A VOICE (rattling and dreadful): Out of the deep I cry. Lord, hear my prayer! CRIES FROM AFAR: The crows! The crows! THE DUKE: Where are the eagles? Where? TWO VOICES ON THE WIND: Water. Rivers of blood! I thirst. The clamor. CRIES FROM ALL SIDES: I die! I suffer! A COARSE OLD VOICE: Hell and damnation! A VERY YOUNG VOICE: Mamma! THE DUKE (motionless, frozen, a trickle of blood on his lips): Ah! A GROAN ALONG THE HIGHWAY: Kill me ... for God's sake. ... Ai ... that wound is deep! THE DUKE: I know ... I know now ... why I could not sleep! A DEATH RATTLE IN THE GRASS: The light horse are the dirtiest killers yet. THE DUKE: And why so often I am bathed in sweat! A CRY FROM A CLUMP OF BUSHES: Tear off my leg. It's trampled in the mud. THE DUKE: And whose it is when I must still spit blood! ALL THE PLAIN (moaning): Ah ... Ah! (In the pollor that precedes the dawn, with the rumbling of a distant storm, under low, black, scudding clouds, everything wears a sinister aspect; plumes seem to wave in the grain; tufts of grass make fantastic military caps; a gust of wind makes the bushes sway and writhe as if in agony.) THE DUKE: And all the arms,—the bloody arms, I see, And all the mangled stumps outstretched to me! O monstrous harvest that the dawn winds place To hem me in and curse me! (Flinging out his arms, imploringly.) Pray you, grace! Grace, grenadier! Have I not paid enough? —Awful charred gloves held to a bleeding cuff! O young, young soldier, with your ashen face, Forgive me, O forgive me! Pray you, grace! You stare upon me with your awful eyes, Silently crowding close for some emprise ... God! You would shout together in your death! Why do you draw, together, one huge breath? O tortured lips that strive to speak once more, What would you cry? ALL THE VOICES: Long live the Emperor! THE DUKE (falling upon his knees): Ah, yes! Forgiven for the matchless glory! (He speaks very softly, to the Plain.) I thank you. (And rising.) But I know. I am offertory. All was not paid. But I complete the price. I had to find this field of sacrifice. This last, last service only I could render! I, growing whiter, weaker, still more slender, Seeking and pleading, trusting naught that proffered, I grew tall, to reach up,—white, to be offered! Now here, between the battlefield and sky, With all my soul, and all my body, I Lift up myself, subduing every sense, Wrapped in the incense of this fog immense,— All the Plain seems to lift, on high to hold me, And heaven, appeased, bends gently, to enfold me. I feel that it is very meet and right The Plain should offer me, in Heaven sight; That having made this final offertory, It may more purely wear its robe of glory. (He stands erect on the little hill, a small figure on the huge Plain; he spreads wide his arms, in the form of a cross, to Heaven.) O take me, Wagram, for thy tortured ones! —One son, alas! Alas! for many sons! Above thy mists, raised in thy crimsoned hands, Wagram, all white a willing offering stands. It must be so. I know it and I will. Thy every groan my bosom, too, must thrill. My soul has entered with thee in the cloud,— And lo! my uniform is like a shroud! (He whispers as if Someone, alone, must hear.) Father, at so much anguish who can mock? 'Sh ... I add Schoenbrunn, meekly, to thy rock. (He is silent for a moment, and very still; his eyes are closed.) It i s done. (The dawn begins to brighten in the east. He says in a strong clear voice): But when the Eaglet learns to seek A swan's death, innocent, and pure, and meek, Nailed in the mists to some high-lifted gate, Let him be ensign of this new estate, To scare the crows and call the eagles home! Immortal Field, let no more spectres come! Let no more groaning shake the listening grass. Cleansed are thy streams and cleansed the winds that pass! O Plain, thou shalt not shake with mourning voices, But triumph shouts and Glory that rejoices! (The world is golden. The wind sings.) My agony has put their woe to rout. The groans are stilled. And Oh, I hear a shout! (Vague trumpets sound. A joyful murmur swells. The Voices that but now were groans and shrieks of agony, cheer the columns forward and give ardent orders.) Where on the grassy plain woe loomed so large, Lo, phantom heroes lead a phantom charge! VOICES (far off): Forward! THE DUKE: At last, at last the glorious side!— Dust in my eyes as charging soldiers ride! THE VOICES: Charge! (Inivisible drums sound the charge.) THE DUKE: Splendid laughter of the great huzzars! EPIC LAUGHTER OF THE VOICES: Ho! ho! Hundred-mouthed goddess of a thousand wars, Sing in the distance, for I break the seal,— Sing, splendid Victory! VOICES (from afar, while a dream Marseillaise rings): Form battalion! Wheel! THE DUKE: Glory! (The sun is near the horizon. The clouds are purple and gold. The Heavens are like a Grand Army.) O God! The Army! God,—if I could fight! THE VOICES: Fire! Charge bayonets! Form! Column right! THE DUKE: ... Fight in this tumult, as you led them then, My Father! (In the noise of battle, which seems farther away, one hears, very far off, between drum beats, a Voice, metallic, commanding; as one having authority.) THE VOICE: SOLDIERS,—OFFICERS AND MEN! THE DUKE (madly, drawing his sabre): Ah, I will fight! Sing, fife! Wave, splendid flag! Upon them! Charge! Take the white turncoat rag! (While the fanfare of the vision grows fainter in the distance and is lost, on the left, upon the wind that bears it away, from the right comes a strain of actual military music. Abrupt as the shifting of a dream is the contrast between the furious martial French music and a mild march from Schubert, Austrian and light, which comes with the rosy morning.) THE DUKE (turns, trembling): What's that white column, looming near and large? Austrian infantry! (Wildly, he rallies the phantom grenadiers.) Fix bayonets! Charge! Upon the enemy! Oh, drive them! Drive! Follow me, soldiers! Leave not one alive! (With uplifted sabre, he hurls himself upon the first rank of the Austrian regiment that appears on the highway.) AN OFFICER (throwing himself from his horse and checking him): Your regiment, my prince! What means this sight? THE DUKE (awakened to reality, with a grievous cry): Mine! (He looks about him. The sun has risen. Everything looks normal once more. Of the Grand Army, only FLAMBEAU remains. The DUKE is in the midst of a vast plain, calm and smiling. White uniformed soldiers file before him. He sees, and accepts his fate. The arm that holds his sabre aloft falls to his side, hand on hip, sabre at the regulation angle, and, like an automaton, t he DUKE in a mechanical voice, the voice of an Austrian officer, gives the orders): Halt! Front! Line! Column right! (The order, repeated by the officers along the line, echoes and re-echoes. And the curtain falls.) ACT VI FOLDED WINGS A short time later. Schoenbrunn. The bed chamber of the DUKE OF REICHSTADT, sombre and sumptuous. At the back, the high door, black and gilded, which opens on the little Po rcelain Salon. On the right, the window; at the left, a tapestried hanging which conceals a little door. The furniture is just as it stands to-day, armchairs of wood and gilt; the screen, the prayer desk, tables and consoles. The feverisk disorder of a sick room. Trays, books, phials, cups, oranges, and everywhere, enormous bunches of violets. A little to the left, a narrow camp bedstead. At the head of the bed, on a low table laden also with phials and flowers, a small bronze s tatue of NAPOLEON THE FIRST. When the curtain rises, the DUKE, horribly wasted, his thin, white face rising above the soft folds of a white batiste stock, his hair long and curly, falling about his shoulders, sits, shivering, on the edge of the bed. He huddles in the folds of a huge mantle, that serves as bed gown beneath which his thin body is almost lost in the folds of his white linen, his hands are transparently thin, in the full, frilled sleeves. He gazes fixedly before him. Standing in a corner of the great room, the DOCTOR and GENERAL HARTMANN, an old officer detailed for service to the prince, talk in low voices. The door at the back is partly opened, letting a pale light filter in. The ARCHDUCHESS slips in very quietly, glancing behind her to assure herself that something is ready, and quickly and noiselessly closes the door. She is very pale among her laces. Afte r having spoken a few whispered words to the two men, who nod assent, looking toward the DUKE, she goes quietly up to him and takes his hand, very gently. He trembles, and recognizes her with surprise. SCENE I The DUKE, the ARCHDUCHESS, the DOCTOR, GENERAL HARTMANN THE DUKE (to the ARCHDUCHESS): You! But I thought you ill. THE ARCHDUCHESS (with forced gaiety): I would be ill At the same time that you were. No, sit still! ... I am better. I got up and came to nurse My nephew. How are you, tell me? THE DUKE: I am worse, Else you would not get up to see me. THE ARCHDUCHESS: Tease! Is he good, Doctor? THE DOCTOR: If your Highness please, He takes his milk well. THE ARCHDUCHESS: Good! THE DUKE: Hard, just the same, To be—when one had burned for endless fame, To shine with warriors, heroes of that ilk,— Praised for the way in which one takes one's milk! (He seizes one of the bouquets of violets from the table near, and brushes it softly across his face, saying): Circlet that through my fever speaks of spring, You hold her dew drops in your fairy ring. THE ARCHDUCHESS (looking at the flowers that fill the room): So everyone sends flowers? THE DUKE (with a melancholy smile): Already. Yes. THE ARCHDUCHESS: Tut! (She exchanges glances with the DOCTOR, who seems to encourage her and, after a second's hesitation, she begins in a constrained, em barrassed voice): To thank God, Franz,—because He deigned to bless And make us convalescent, you and me, ... I want to have Communion ... It would be So sweet, I think ... for both of us ... Ah, why Not take the Mass together, you and I? THE DUKE (after a long, searching look into her eyes): So that's what brought you here, devout coquette! (In a low tone): It is the end. THE ARCHDUCHESS (laughing): I knew it! What of etiquette? THE DUKE: Of etiquette? THE ARCHDUCHESS: Why, yes. No Austrian Prince When ill, can be deceived. You know it, since The Imperial Family—you have often heard,— Must help at the ... ? THE DUKE: At the ... ? THE ARCHDUCHESS: Not that sad word! THE DUKE (looking around): It is true. We are alone. THE ARCHDUCHESS (showing the door by which she entered): I had them raise An altar in your own salon,—the place Whose threshold not a single soul can pass,— We two, and just one priest to say the Mass. You know court custom binds us very fast. You see, this Sacrament is not ... THE DUKE: The last? It is true. THE ARCHDUCHESS: You see. (She gently offers him her arm.) You will come? (He rises to his feet, swaying. One hears the bell on the altar.) Hark! The first prayer is made. (The DUKE supported by the ARCHDUCHESS goes toward the door, which is opened by the DOCTOR and GENERAL HARTMANN.) THE DUKE: True ... One must have of course their noble aid. THE ARCHDUCHESS: Only the priest and acolyte will share ... THE DUKE (observing as he passes the DOCTOR and GENERAL HARTMANN who smile resolutely): Then ... not to-day ... not yet. (The door closes. The smiles are effaced. GENERAL HARTMANN goes quickly and opens the little door in the tapestried wall, and all the Imperial Family enters silently.) GENERAL HARTMANN (whispering to the Archdukes and Archduchesses): Be seated there. (A finger on his lips, he motions them to take their places.) SCENE II GENERAL HARTMANN, the DOCTOR, MARIE-LOUISE, the IMPERIAL FAMILY, METTERNICH; later, PROKESCH, the COUNTESS CAME RATA, THERESE OF LORGET (The Princes and Princesses, with a thousand precautions against making the least sound, place themselves in several ranks, turned toward the closed door, behind which one hears from time to time the altar bell. MARIE-LOUISE is in the front row. There are very old archdukes and archdukes who are mere babies; and half grown archdukes and archduchesses as the DUKE. In the shadows, one sees the gleam of uniforms. METTERNICH, in splendid regalia, stands with the last row of the Imperial Family.) GENERAL HARTMANN (seeing that everybody is motionless, says in a low, impressive voice): When, with uplifted heart, closed eyes, bowed head, The Duke shall kneel to take the Holy Bread ... A PRINCESS (to a child who stirs): 'Sh. GENERAL HARTMANN: At that moment when no Christian soul Would turn the eyes, fixed on their heavenly goal, The door shall softly open, as we said. Your Highnesses shall see the blonde, bowed head. Silent and swiftly I shall close the door. And when the Duke shall lift his brow once more, He will not dream the Family has come To help him take of the Viaticum. (At this moment, PROKESCH at the left, bringing in two ladies, the COUNTESS CAMARATA, and THERESE OF LORGET.) METTERNICH (to the new arrivals): Silence. PROKESCH (very low, to the COUNTESS and THERESE): They gave me leave to place you here, Behind the Imperial Family, so near The princes bound to him by destiny, Whose folded hands and reverent heads you see, —Pale children, puzzled by this act sublime,— That you may see the Duke, this last, last time. THERESE: Thank you, O thank you! MARIE-LOUISE: Oh, if all go well When the door opens! Hush! A PRINCESS: The altar bell! ANOTHER: The Elevation! (All the women kneel.) GENERAL HARTMANN: Softly! THE COUNTESS (who has remained standing, seeing METTERNICH with bowed head, standing beside her, touches his arm): Even so, Prince Metternich, you regret nothing? METTERNICH (turning, stares at her, then, proudly): No. I did my duty. I foresaw disaster, ... —Suffered, perhaps,—to serve my land and master, And the old paths that I have firmly trod. THE COUNTESS: You regret nothing? METTERNICH (after a moment of silence): No. (Then, as the altar bell sounds once more): O Lamb of God! MARIE-LOUISE (to the GENERAL who noiselessly opens the door a crack and peers through, watching): Don't let the door creak! Oh, let no one wince! METTERNICH (in a low, deep whisper): Nothing ... but ... Oh, he was a gallant prince! And kneeling here, with all I know and feel,— (He bends his knee) Not only to the Lamb of God I kneel. GENERAL HARTMANN (his eye fixed on the crack in the door): The priest holds up the pyx. Low, low, they bow ... ALL (knowing the moment draws near): Oh! GENERAL HARTMANN (his hand on the door): Absolute silence! I will open ... ALL: Oh ... ! GENERAL HARTMANN: Now! (Noiselessly the door swings on its hinges. And one sees the gay little room where all is porcelain; the blue and white walls, the crystal chandelier; bouquets of violets; the acolytes; the gold-tipped candles, the decked altar, and, kneeling, facing the little altar, two figures, the DUKE and the ARCHDUCHESS, who supports him with her arm passed around his shoulders. They are waiting as the priest approaches, the host already trembling above the pyx. A moment of profound emotion and perfect silence. All prostrate themselves, choking back their emotion and their tears. THERESE OF LORGET slowly raises her bowed head and moves so that she can see the DUKE, above the bowed heads of those in front, and a sob escapes her): THERESE: To see him thus! To see him thus! (A movement of horror. GENERAL HARTMANN hurriedly closes the door. E veryone rises.) THE GENERAL (precipitately): Quick! Go! He will have heard! Be quick! (All hurry to the door on the left, but the door of the Porcelain Salon is thrown open and the DUKE appears on the threshold, sees the room full of people,—and after a long, long look, he says): Ah ... Better so! SCENE III The Same. The DUKE, the ARCHDUCHESS; little by little, the IMPERIAL FAMILY withdraws THE DUKE (calm and with sudden majesty): First, let me thank the gentle heart that broke, And broke the silence,—for the words she spoke My blessing shall be hers with my last breath. They had no right to rob me of my death. (To the ARCHDUKES and ARCHDUCHESSES who withdraw respectfully): Leave me, I pray, my Austrian family. "My son is born a French prince. Let him be A French prince unto death." Be it known That I obey. Farewell. (The Austrian princes go out.) THE DUKE (looking about him): Whose were the tears? THERESE (who has remained, humbly kneeling in a corner): My own. THE DUKE (taking a step toward her, says very tenderly): You are so foolish! You wept bitterly, Wetting the pages of a book, to see Me live an Austrian. Now, you are crying Because that's at an end, and I am dying. (The ARCHDUCHESS and the COUNTESS lead him to an armchair, into which he falls, exhausted.) THERESE (rising and coming nearer, whispers shyly): The tryst ... THE DUKE: Ah, well? THERESE: I came. THE DUKE: You came! My dear! THERESE: Yes. THE DUKE (mournfully): Why? THERESE: Because I love you. THE DUKE (to the COUNTESS): You hear,— And yet you hid it from me. Tell me why. THE COUNTESS: Because I love you. THE DUKE: Who, to see me die, Brought you two here? (The COUNTESS and THERESE raise their eyes to the ARCHDUCHESS.) THE DUKE: You? THE ARCHDUCHESS: Does it move you? THE DUKE: Why this dear kindness? THE ARCHDUCHESS: Oh, because I love you. THE DUKE (with a smile): As women love a child, this love you've told. (All three make a sign of protest.) Yes, yes. (To THERESE) A child to pity,— (To the ARCHDUCHESS) Spoil,— (To the COUNTESS) Protect, and scold. Your mother fingers think my brow is fair, Seeking the curls that Lawrence painted there. THE COUNTESS: No! We have seen your soul, and know its strife! THE DUKE (shaking his head): When History tells the story of my life, No one will see my dreams, fierce, stormy wild; ... They will see a go-cart, and a solemn child, A child not even crying for the moon, Holding the globe—but as a toy balloon! MARIE-LOUISE: Speak to me! I am here! Oh, take away The weight of my remorse! What can I say? I was too little, and your dream too great. I have a bird's heart,—and I know too late! To-day, 'tis stopped by my remorseful pain,— The eternal hawk's-bell tinkling in my brain. —Give me a little of this last, last tryst! ... My son, forgive me! THE DUKE: Send me, pitying Christ, The word profound and light,—choose Thou the one,— Forgiveness to a mother from a son! (At this moment a lackey, who has entered noiselessly, comes to MARIE-LOUISE. She sees him and understands.) MARIE-LOUISE (drying her tears, to the DUKE): Your cradle! Yesterday, you begged me for Your cradle! THE SERVANT: It is here. (The DUKE makes a sign that he wishes to see it. While the servant goes to fetch it, he sees METTERNICH, pale and immobile. He rises.) THE DUKE: Prince Chancellor, My death is untimely. You might shed a tear. METTERNICH: I ... THE DUKE (proudly): I was your strength. My death you, only, fear. Your will was Europe's law, because of me. Yours was the power to set the Eaglet free. To-morrow, they will listen, being sage, And say, "I hear no stirring in the cage." METTERNICH: Monseigneur ... (The door opens and servants enter carrying the great vermilion cradle of the King of Rome.) THE DUKE: My cradle, crimson-lined, That Paris gave me,—that Prudhon designed! Baby, with pearly barriers girt around. Christened with pomp, as though a king were crowned! Set this grand cradle by the little bed Whereon my Father slept, while Victory spread Her wings above him, in this very place. (They set the cradle by the camp bed.) Close! Let its covers rub against the lace! There! Let my cradle touch my dying bed. (He puts his hand between the cradle and the bed.) My life lies in that space. THERESE (sobbing and hiding her face on the shoulder of the COUNTESS): Oh! THE DUKE: And Fate has shed In that dark, narrow space that holds my story, No single ray of all that blaze of glory! Lay me upon the cot. (The DOCTOR and PROKESCH, assisted by the COUNTESS, place him upon the camp bed.) PROKESCH (to the DOCTOR): Pale as the dead. (The COUNTESS has drawn from her bosom the broad ribbon of the Legion of Honour, and as she makes the PRINCE comfortable among his pillows, she pins it on his breast, unobserved by him.) (The DUKE suddenly sees the red ribbon on his white linen, smiles, feels for the Cross, and lifts it to his lips.) THE DUKE (looking at the cradle): My cradle found me greater than this bed. Three nurses rocked me ... three, who, rocking thus, Lulled me with ballads old and marvellous. Madame Marchand and her dear lullabies! ... Who will sing now, until I close my eyes? MARIE-LOUISE (kneeling by his side): Who but your mother, son, by any chance? THE DUKE: And can you sing me, then, the songs of France? MARIE-LOUISE: I ... No ... ! THE DUKE (to THERESE): Can you? THERESE: Perhaps. THE DUKE: Then, softly, sing "It rains, O shepherdess. ... " (She hums the air, very low.) THE DUKE:"No more we'll go in spring." (She hums the air, softly, bravely.) THE DUKE: Sing "On the bridge at Avignon," so I will rest Lulled on the people's heart. (And now she murmurs the words of the old song he asks for.) THE DUKE: ... Or ... Oh, the very best. I must remember that ... I loved it so! ... Put me to sleep with that ... How does it go? (With a great effort, he raises himself on his pillows, and sings): "There was a Little Fellow, All uniformed in gray!" (His hand touches the little statue of the EMPEROR and he falls back.) THERESE: Fall, eighteen thirty with eighteen eleven! THE ARCHDUCHESS: After the martial airs, the harps of heaven! THE COUNTESS: A crystal shattered by a bell of bronze! THERESE: Above the laurels, droop the lily's fronds! THE DOCTOR (leaning over the DUKE): The Duke is very ill. Let all depart. THERESE: Good-bye, François. THE ARCHDUCHESS: Good-bye, Franz. THE COUNTESS: Farewell, Bonaparte. MARIE-LOUISE (kneeling, draws the DUKE'S head to her shoulder): How heavily it lies! My son! My son! THE COUNTESS (kneeling at the back of the room): The King of Rome! THE ARCHDUCHESS (kneeling beside her, with THERESE): Reichstadt. THERESE: Poor little one! THE DUKE (delirious): Horses! The horses! THE PRIEST (who enters with the acolytes, carrying waxen tapers): Pray, for the death dews gather. THE DUKE: Horses! For I must ride to meet my Father! (Great tears roll down his cheeks.) MARIE-LOUISE: Dear, let your Mother wipe the tear that glisters. THE DUKE: No, bring the Victories who are my sisters! Dimly I've seen them for so many years. ... And now they bathe their haloes in my tears. MARIE-LOUISE: What is it, dear? THE DUKE (shuddering): Nothing. ... What could it be? (He looks around, troubled, as if he feared someone had overheard.) A secret, just for Father and for me. (He points to the lace that veils the cradle.) Let that lace veil, laid gently over me, Receive the sigh that will set Europe free. Too many need my death, ... and he departs Who has been murdered in so many hearts. (He closes his eyes for a moment.) It will all be so ugly! ... First, the bowmen, Lackeys with torches, and the weeping women ... The monks in brown, telling their wooden beads ... Then lying in the chapel ... and the weeds. (He grows even paler, and bites his lips.) MARIE-LOUISE: O son, what troubles you? THE DUKE: From ... from this morning, The Austrian Court will have six weeks of mourning! THE COUNTESS: Look, for a winding sheet he gropes to find The cradle veil. THE DUKE (gasping): Ugly ... but never mind. Austrian funerals are dark and dull,— But Paris Christenings are beautiful! (Calling.) General Hartmann. ... GENERAL HARTMANN (coming forward): Prince. THE DUKE (touching the cradle, sets it rocking): I breathe my last While in this golden cradle swings my past. (With the other hand, he fumbles under his pillows and draws out a book, signing to the GENERAL to take it.) General. ... (The GENERAL takes the book, and the DUKE touches the cradle once more.) The past is cradled here. See what has come, The Duke of Reichstadt rocks the King of Rome! You find the marked page, General? GENERAL HARTMANN (who has opened the book, huskily): I find it. I ... THE DUKE: Thank you. Please read it to me while I die. MARIE-LOUISE (with a bitter cry): Oh, no! Not die! O little son of mine! THE DUKE (solemnly, lying back on his pillows): You may begin to read. GENERAL HARTMANN (standing at the foot of the bed, reads from the marked page of the book): At seven, the line Began to form. The soldiers of the Guard Were first in place. MARIE-LOUISE (realizing what this story is, falls on her knees, sobbing): Oh, Franz! GENERAL HARTMANN: The crowd pressed hard. Then came a cry that shook the sky's blue dome. A sobbing shout, "Long live the King of Rome." MARIE-LOUISE: Franz! GENERAL HARTMANN: Cannon boomed, flags fluttered in the breeze. The Cardinal received their Majesties. The mighty train swept by in measured stages, Heralds, commanders, officers and pages. Officers of artillery and the ... (He stops reading, for the DUKE has closed his eyes.) THE DUKE (opening his eyes): And the ... ? GENERAL HARTMANN: Chamberlains of the palace; ministry; The master of the horse. THE DUKE (in a voice that is hardly audible): I pray you, read. GENERAL HARTMANN: Staff of officers, the eagles in the lead. Aldobrandini held the chrism cloth. Countesses of Vilain and Beauvain both Carried the salt box and the chrism cup. THE DUKE (paler and paler, his lips hardly able to form the words): Pray you, read on, sir. Mother, hold me up. GENERAL HARTMANN: As next of kin, the Archduke acted for His Godfather, the Austrian Emperor; Then Queen Hortense, and at the Queen's right hand, The Imperial Godmother. So all was planned. At last, the King of Rome appeared, held high By Madame Montesquieu. His Majesty Whose fine appearance all the crowd admired, In a grand robe of silver was attired. The Duke of Valmy held the splendid thing. The princes. THE DUKE: Skip the princes. GENERAL HARTMANN (turning a page): Then the king THE DUKE: Skip the kings, too ... The last bit ... Do you see? GENERAL HARTMANN (turning several pages): Then ... THE DUKE: I do not hear ... Read loud. THE DOCTOR (to PROKESCH): The agony. GENERAL HARTMANN (with a trembling voice): When in the choir the herald cried once more "Long live the King," before they could restore The infant to his nurse 'mid these alarms, The Emperor took him from ... (He hesitates, looking at MARIE-LOUISE.) THE DUKE: (eagerly, and with infinite nobility, laying his hand upon the bowed head of MARIE-LOUISE, kneeling at his bedside): "The Empress' arms." (At this word, which brings forgiveness and restores her crown, the mother sobs wildly.) GENERAL HARTMANN: And held him high, that France might see his son. Te Deum ... THE DUKE (whose head falls forward): Mama! MARIE-LOUISE: François! (She throws herself on his breast.) THE DUKE (opening his eyes once more): Napoleon. GENERAL HARTMANN: Te Deum laudamus filled that vast place. That evening very France seemed all ablaze With the great splendour and the great delight. THE DOCTOR (touching GENERAL HARTMANN'S arm): Dead. (Silence. The GENERAL closes the book.) METTERNICH: Bring his uniform.—Of course, the white. IN THE CRYPT OF THE CAPUCINS, AT VIENNA And now sleep well. God keep you all the night, O soul to whom death even in youth was sweet. Sleep in this vault, thy prison made complete, Coffin of bronze and uniform of white. In vain the scribbler searches what to write. The poet knows. Historians repeat. My verse may perish, but Time cannot cheat Wagram of that pale form against the light. Sleep. 'Tis not Legend always that deceives. A dream is truer far than yellowed leaves. Sleep. You were Youth. You were Napoleon's son. Lo, the bronze coffins cumber all the tomb. So many kings sleep in this narrow room. Sleep, in the gray light, thou still lonely one. Sleep, in this mean place, where the archdukes fair Are clothed in bronze that Time has breathed upon; A station 'twixt two worlds, the work undone, The piled up luggage left to ghostly care. The English tourists plant their heels and stare. Then to the church that holds thy heart they run. Sleep. You were Youth. You were Napoleon's son. You were a martyr. Soft. It is my prayer. A Capuchin, who thinks we stay too long, Strikes with his keys thy coffin; then, sing-song, Gives name and date, and then the stiff locks turn. Sleep well! But dream that someone loved thy name, And leaving in its bronze thy weary frame, Has stolen thy heart, kept in its silver urn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CYRANO DE BERGERAC by EDMOND ROSTAND CYRANO TO HIS CHIDING FRIENDS by EDMOND ROSTAND TO SARAH BERNHARDT by EDMOND ROSTAND A POEM FOR MAX NORDAU by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON A BOOK OF AIRS SONG 18 by THOMAS CAMPION SONG: THE STRICKEN DEER by THOMAS MOORE THE THREAD OF LIFE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI ON SEEING THE SUN SHINE ... MY WINDOW FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THE YEAR by LUCY AIKEN |
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