Chapter III: Part 3

What do you mean?

THE DUKE.

Yes! in his testament! And there, the pistols, Four pistols of Versailles. Take them away.

THE EMPEROR.

[_Bringing his fist down on the table._]

What's this?

THE DUKE.

You must not hit the table, Sire!
Now you've knocked down the sword he wore as Consul!

THE EMPEROR.

These things you speak of--

THE DUKE.

Are before my eyes! "They are to be surrendered to my son When he has reached sixteen." Despite the crime Which holds them back, they're mine: I have their soul! The soul of every cross, of every jewel, And all is here: the three mahogany caskets, And all the snuff-boxes, and all the spurs, The golden garter-buckles and the gorgets, I've all! The iron sword, the enamelled sword, The sword in which a never-setting sun Has left its fires imprisoned, so that none May dare to draw it lest the sun leap forth; I have the sword-belts also, all the six!

THE EMPEROR.

Silence!

THE DUKE.

"To be surrendered to my son When he has reached sixteen." Oh, Father, sleep. For I have all; even your uniforms. Oh, yes! To you my uniform looks white-- Well, it's not true--it's false--I am pretending! Father, behold, it's blue and red, behold! Colonel? Not so! Lieutenant in your Guard! By the device your soldiers bore I know it, Father, who gave me victories for sisters! 'Twas not in vain you wished me to possess The alarm-clock of King Frederick of Prussia, Which you magnificently stole from Potsdam, For here it is! 'Tis ticking in my brain! It is the clock which wakes me every morning, Drives me exhausted by my midnight toil Back to my narrow table, to my toil, To be more fit by night-fall for the throne!

THE EMPEROR.

The throne! the throne! Oh, never hope again That you may reign in France, you--Upstart's son, Because our nobler blood has made you look Rather more kingly than your father was.

THE DUKE.

Forgive me, but at Dresden, you remember, You all appeared like lackeys of my father.

THE EMPEROR.

A common soldier!

THE DUKE.

He had but to ask
And Emperors gave their daughters to this soldier.

THE EMPEROR.

Perhaps. I cannot say. Mine is a widow.

THE DUKE.

Pity I'm here as living evidence!

THE EMPEROR.

Have you forgotten how we loved each other?

THE DUKE.

No! No! My birth is proof that you were beaten! No! you can only hate me; for I am Wagram personified before your eyes!

THE EMPEROR.

Out of my sight! Begone!

[_Exit the_ DUKE.]

The child I loved!

METTERNICH.

Well, Sire, is he to have an empire?

THE EMPEROR.

Never!

METTERNICH.

Do you perceive what I have saved you from?

THE EMPEROR.

Ah! did you hear the monstrous things he said?

METTERNICH.

We must subdue him.

THE EMPEROR.

For his own sake; yes,
METTERNICH.

For the world's peace and yours.

THE EMPEROR.

We must subdue him.

METTERNICH.

I'll come and speak to him to-night.

THE EMPEROR.

What grief
He gives me!

METTERNICH.

[_Trying to lead him away._]

Come.

THE EMPEROR.

You'll speak to-night?

METTERNICH.

This scene
Must never be repeated.

THE EMPEROR.

It has hurt me.
Unhappy child!

METTERNICH.

[_Leading him off._]

Come, Sire.

THE EMPEROR.

[_Without._]

The child--

[_His voice dies away._]

[_The_ DUKE _opens his door very gently, sees they
are gone, listens a moment, then enters quickly
and places one of Napoleon's little hats on the
table._]

THE DUKE.

The signal!

[_He returns to his room._]

[FLAMBEAU _enters._]

FLAMBEAU.

'Tis time. Well, signal? Are you here?--Perhaps.

[_He hunts for it._]

"Flambeau," he said, "you cannot fail to find it." Now, is it high or low, or black or white? Or great or small?

[_He sees the hat._]

The Emperor's--! Small _and_ great!

[_He goes toward the window._]

Oh, but the Countess watches in the park, And if the signal's here I am to signal:

[_He takes out his handkerchief._]

No! This won't do. A white flag makes her ill.

[_A servant enters with a reading-lamp, which he
carries toward the_ DUKE'S _room._]

THE SERVANT.

The Duke of Reichstadt's reading-lamp.

FLAMBEAU.

[_Leaping upon him and seizing the lamp._]

You dolt!
It's leaking! It must have fresh air!

[_He takes it out on the balcony._]

You wave it three times so: arrange the wick;

[_He does as he says and gives the lamp back to
the_ SERVANT.]

That's it. See that?

THE SERVANT.

Oh, aren't you clever?

[_He carries the lamp into the_ DUKE'S _room._]

FLAMBEAU.

Rather!
To-morrow--flight!

[SEDLINZKY _enters._]

SEDLINZKY.

The Duke?

FLAMBEAU.

[_Pointing to the room._]

In there.

SEDLINZKY.

Watch here.

FLAMBEAU.

I'm watching.

SEDLINZKY.

Lock!

[_He goes out._]

FLAMBEAU.

[_Locking the door after him._]

Locked!

SEDLINZKY.

[_Without._]

Take the key out.

FLAMBEAU.

Out.

SEDLINZKY.

None but the Emperor has the key. Be careful-- Watch.

FLAMBEAU.

As I always do.

[_He bends over the key-holes and arranges them
carefully._]

And for the night
I'll close the eyelids of the key-holes softly.

SEDLINZKY'S VOICE.

Good-night, you Piedmontese.

FLAMBEAU.

Good-night, my Lord.

SEDLINZKY'S VOICE.

Remember! you're on duty.

FLAMBEAU.

I'm on duty.

SEDLINZKY'S VOICE.

Well, that's all right. Good-night.

FLAMBEAU.

Good-night!

[_He throws off his livery coat. Puts on the busby,
which is standing on the console, and shoulders
the musket. He is now in the full accoutrement
of a Grenadier of the Guards._]

And thus, Suddenly upright, thin, unliveried, Locked in till dawn, and safe against surprise, Glowering with grizzled brows beneath his busby, Straight in his ancient uniform, his gun Firm in his arm, his hand on his right nipple, The fixed and regulation attitude, Standing thus every night before your threshold, Giving himself a password full of pride, Pleased with a deed that's grave, and yet a jest, A Grenadier at Schönbrunn stands on guard About the son as once about the Father. 'Tis the last time! You'll never hear of it. 'Tis for myself. A private luxury. I must be mad to do a thing like this For no one's eye, but just to say "By Jove, That's rather good!" At Schönbrunn! In their teeth! But I'm delighted!--I'm content!

[_He hears the noise of a key in the door._]

I'm damned!

[_The door opens gently._]

Who can have got the key?

[_He retires into the shadow by the_ DUKE'S _door._]

[METTERNICH _enters, carrying a large candelabrum._]

METTERNICH.

No, no! This scene
Must never be repeated.

FLAMBEAU.

Nepomuk!

METTERNICH.

Yes, I will speak to-night. We are alone.

[_As he puts down the candelabrum he sees the hat._]

What's this? I never knew he had one like-- Ah! the Archduchess must have sent him this; So there thou art, thou legendary hat! 'Tis many years--Good day!--What sayst thou? What? No, from thy little sable pyramid Twelve years of splendor gaze on me in vain, I do not fear thee now. The leathern tag With which he constantly could take thee off, And so win cheers yet leave thy shape unharmed. With thee he fanned himself after each victory; Thou couldst not fall from his unheeding fingers, But straight a king would stoop to pick thee up. To-day, my friend, thou art a reach-me-down, And if I tossed thee through the casement yonder Where wouldst thou end thy days?

FLAMBEAU.

[_To himself._] In a museum!

METTERNICH.

The famous little hat--how very ugly! They called it little--is it really little? No; it is big; enormous; it's the hat A little man puts on to increase his inches. For 'twas a hatter set the legend going: The real Napoleon, after all, was Poupart. Ah, never think my hatred of thee slumbers! 'Twas for thy shape's sake first I hated thee, Thou vampire-bat of bloody battle-fields, Hat that seemed fashioned out of raven's wings. I hated thee for pitilessly soaring Above the fields which witnessed our defeats, Half-circle, seeming on the ruddy sky The orb half-risen of some sable sun! And for thy crown wherein the devil lurks, Thou juggler's hat, laid with a sudden hand Upon a throne, an army, or a nation-- When thou wert lifted all had disappeared. I hated thee for the salutes I gave thee, For thy simplicity--mere affectation-- Thy insolent joy, thou piece of common beaver Amid the glittering diadems of gold; For staying firmly on his haughty head When I sought flattering epithets to please thee. Conqueror, new, acclaimed, I hated thee! I hate thee now, old, conquered and betrayed! I hate thee for thy haughty shadow, cast Forever on the wall of history; I hate thee for thy Jacobin cockade, Staring upon me like a bloodshot eye; For all the murmurs sounding in thy shell, That huge black shell the waves have left behind Wherein the shuddering listener may hear The rumor of a nation on the march. I hate thee for the pride of France, whose bounds Thou hast enlarged until she scorns the world; For Béranger I hate thee, and Raffet, For all the songs and all the pasquinades, And for the halo of Saint Helena. I hate thee, hate thee. I shall not be happy Until thy clumsy triangle of cloth, Despoiled of its traditions, is again What it should ne'er have ceased to be in France-- The headgear of a village constable. I hate--but suddenly--how strange!--the present Sometimes with impish glee will ape the past!-- Seeing thy well-known shape before me thus Carries my mind back to a distant day, For it was here he always put thee down When twenty years ago he sojourned here. This room was then the ante-chamber; here, Waiting till graciously he showed himself, Dukes, Princes, Magyars, huddling in a corner, Fixed from afar their humbled eyes upon thee, Like lions, dreading with a helpless fury The tamer's hat forgotten in the cage. 'Twas thus he placed thee, and here lay, as now, Weapons and papers. One might say 'twas he Had tossed thee carelessly upon the map, That this were still his home, this Bonaparte! And that by turning, on the threshold--there-- I should behold the Grenadier on--

[_He starts on seeing_ FLAMBEAU _standing rigid
before the_ DUKE'S _door; he rubs his eyes._]

Ha! No! no! I'm feverish; my _tête-à-tête_ With the old hat plays havoc with my nerves!

[_He looks and draws near._ FLAMBEAU _does not
move._]

Or have the moonbeams conjured up a spectre? What is it, then? Let's see--let's see--let's see!

[_He strides furiously toward_ FLAMBEAU.]

Who are you, fellow?

FLAMBEAU.

[_Presenting his bayonet._]

Who goes there?

METTERNICH.

[_Recoiling._]

The devil!

FLAMBEAU.

[_Coldly._]

Pass, devil.

METTERNICH.

[_With a forced laugh, coming toward him again._]

Yes,--a very clever jest,
But--

FLAMBEAU.

[_Presenting his bayonet again._]

Who goes there?

METTERNICH.

[_Recoiling._]

But--

FLAMBEAU.

Move and you are dead.

METTERNICH.

But--I--

FLAMBEAU.

Quiet!

METTERNICH.

Let me pass!

FLAMBEAU.

The Emperor sleeps!

METTERNICH.

What!

FLAMBEAU.

Silence!

METTERNICH.

I'm the Austrian Chancellor!
I am all-powerful! I'm--

FLAMBEAU.

Shut your mouth!

METTERNICH.

I want to see the Duke of Reichstadt!

FLAMBEAU.

Out!

METTERNICH.

How--out?

FLAMBEAU.

What's Reichstadt? Never heard of Reichstadt! Auerstadt, Elchingen, they're dukes I know. Reichstadt's no duke. There's been no victory there.

METTERNICH.

But, we're at Schönbrunn!

FLAMBEAU.

I should rather think so! Thanks to our new success we're quartered here; And here we're getting ready at our leisure To give the world another drubbing! See?

METTERNICH.

What's that you say? A new success?

FLAMBEAU.

Colossal!

METTERNICH.

This is July the ninth in Eighteen--

FLAMBEAU.

Nine!

METTERNICH.

Can I be mad?

FLAMBEAU.

Who are you? Where d'you spring from?
Why aren't you snug in bed? It's very fishy--

METTERNICH.

I--

FLAMBEAU.

Who let this braggart pass? The Mameluke?

METTERNICH.

The Mameluke?

FLAMBEAU.

All's going to the dogs!

METTERNICH.

But--

FLAMBEAU.

You here in the ante-room at night!

METTERNICH.

But I--

FLAMBEAU.

You calmly cross the Rosa chamber
Unchallenged by the sentinel on guard!

METTERNICH.

What?

FLAMBEAU.

When you ventured through the small rotunda, Was there no yatagan to shave your cheek? Were there no sergeants in the white saloon Brewing their punch upon the golden stove? No bristling veterans in the china-room? And in the galleries? The Grenadiers Saw you come strolling as a matter-of-course? A man may cross the oval cabinet And not be turned to mince-meat by Duroc?

METTERNICH.

The Marshal--?

FLAMBEAU.

Is the bulldog turned to lapdog?

METTERNICH.

I come here--

FLAMBEAU.

So the palace is an inn? And when you'd managed all the sentinels, Where were the rest? The porter? Gone to bed? The valet? Absent? And the secretary? Where was he hidden? In his own portfolio?

METTERNICH.

But I--

FLAMBEAU.

Instead of being after you,
No doubt the Aide-de-Camp was after women!

METTERNICH.

But--

FLAMBEAU.

And the Moor was saying prayers to Allah? At any rate it's lucky I was here. What discipline! If he looks into this I'll bet my head he'll let the beggars know!

METTERNICH.

I'm going--

FLAMBEAU.

Ah! don't stir! You'll wake him!
He's sleeping on his little bed of laurels.

METTERNICH.

[_Falling into an arm-chair._]

Was never such a dream! 'Twill make an epic!

[_His hand touches the flame of one of the candles._]

Well, but this candle--

FLAMBEAU.

Burns.

METTERNICH.

[_Feeling the point of_ FLAMBEAU'S _bayonet._]

This weapon--

FLAMBEAU.

Stings!

METTERNICH.

Then I'm awake! I'm--

FLAMBEAU.

Hold your tongue!

METTERNICH.

And what of Waterloo?

FLAMBEAU.

Of water--what?
[_Listening_.]

The Emperor stirred.

METTERNICH.

The Emperor?

FLAMBEAU.

Oh, my stars!
Now you turn whiter than a bugler's horse!

METTERNICH.

It is the Duke of Reichstadt! I'm not scared! It is the Duke! I'm sure of it!

FLAMBEAU.

The Emperor!

[_The_ DUKE _enters, with the reading lamp in his
hand_.]

METTERNICH.

Aha! Tis you! 'Tis you! It is your Highness! Ah, but how glad I am!

THE DUKE.

[_Puzzled_.]
Why are you glad?

METTERNICH.

The joke was played so well, I really thought Another might come out!

FLAMBEAU.

[_As if waking from a dream._]

Faith, so did I!

THE DUKE.

[_To_ FLAMBEAU.]

What's this?

FLAMBEAU.

My little joke.

METTERNICH.

[_Ringing_.]

Help!

THE DUKE.

Fly!

FLAMBEAU.

The window!

THE DUKE.

The sentinel will shoot you!

FLAMBEAU.

If he can.

THE DUKE.

Your livery!

METTERNICH.

[_Putting his foot on it._]

No!

FLAMBEAU.

Bah!

[_Aside to the_ DUKE, _while_ METTERNICH _rings
again_.]

I will seek my cavern.

THE DUKE.

But I--

FLAMBEAU.

The ball to-morrow!

THE DUKE.

Are you mad?

FLAMBEAU.

You'll find me.

THE DUKE.

Quiet!

[FLAMBEAU _goes out by the window._]

METTERNICH.

If he'd only break
His neck--He's singing!

THE DUKE.

[_On the balcony._]

Hush!

FLAMBEAU'S VOICE.

My little joke!

[_A shot is heard._]

THE DUKE.

Missed!

METTERNICH.

With what ease he finds his way about.

THE DUKE.

He knows it; he has been here once before.

METTERNICH.

[_To the_ LACKEYS _who show themselves at the door._]

Too late. Begone. I do not need your help.

[_The_ LACKEYS _disappear._]

THE DUKE.

And not a word of this to the police!

METTERNICH.

I never raise a laugh against myself. What's the importance of a veteran's joke? You're not Napoleon?

THE DUKE.

Who has settled that?

METTERNICH.

You have his hat, perhaps, but not his head!

THE DUKE.

Ah, yes, an epigram to damp my ardor. 'Tis not the pin-prick this time, 'tis the lash That drives me headlong toward the wildest dreams. I've not the head, you say? How do you know?

METTERNICH.

[_Takes the candelabrum in his hand and leads the_ DUKE _to the cheval glass._]

How do I know? Just glance into this mirror. Look at the sullen sadness of your face, The grim betrayal of your fair complexion, This crushing golden hair--I bid you look!

THE DUKE.

[_Struggling to get out of his grasp._]

No!

METTERNICH.

You're environed with a fatal mist!

THE DUKE.

No!

METTERNICH.

Though you know it not, 'tis Germany, 'Tis Spain, for ages dormant in your blood, Make you so haughty, sorrowful, and charming.

THE DUKE.

No! no!

METTERNICH.

Bethink you of your self-distrust! You--reign? Come, come! You would be pale and wan; One of those timid, introspective kings Who are imprisoned lest they abdicate.

THE DUKE.

No, no!

METTERNICH.

Not yours the energetic brow! Yours is the brow of languor and of yearning.

THE DUKE.

[_Shaking, passes his left hand across his brow._]

My--brow?

METTERNICH.

And drearily your Highness passes
Over an Austrian brow a Spanish hand!

THE DUKE.

My--hand?

METTERNICH.

Observe the frail and tapering fingers
Seen fair and jewelled in long lines of portraits!

THE DUKE.

No!

METTERNICH.

And those eyes through which your ancestors
Look forth!

THE DUKE.

The eyes--?

METTERNICH.

Ay! note them well! The eyes Wherein how many eyes we've seen before Dream of the fagot, weep for perished squadrons! Dare you, whose conscience is so sensitive, Ascend the throne of France with eyes like those?

THE DUKE.

Ah! but my Father!--

METTERNICH.

Naught of him is in you! Search! Search again! Come closer to the light! He stole our ancient blood to mix with his, That his might grow more ancient. But he stole Only the racial melancholy, and The feebleness, and--

THE DUKE.

I beseech you!

METTERNICH.

Look!
Look in the mirror! You turn pale?

THE DUKE.

Enough!

METTERNICH.

And on your lips you recognize the pout As of a doll, of Marie Antoinette, Her whom your France beheaded; for your Father, While stealing glory, stole mishap as well! Nay! raise the chandelier!

[_He forces the chandelier into the_ DUKE'S _right
hand, and holds him by that wrist_.]

THE DUKE.

I am afraid.

METTERNICH.

You cannot gaze into this glass at night, But all your race will gibber at your back! Look--in the gloom--that shade is Mad Johanna, And yonder Thing, that moves so deathly slow, Is the pale sovereign in his crystal coffin.

THE DUKE.

No! 'Tis the radiant pallor of my Father!

METTERNICH.

Yonder, recoiling, Rudolph and his lions!

THE DUKE.

The clash of steeds and weapons! 'Tis the Consul!

METTERNICH.

Lo! in a noisome crypt one fashions gold.

THE DUKE.

He fashions glory on the sands of Egypt.

METTERNICH.

Aha! Here's Charles the Fifth, with hair cropped close, Dying for having sought self-burial!

THE DUKE.

Help!
Father!

METTERNICH.

The Escurial! Grisly phantoms
And frowning walls!

THE DUKE.

Ah, hither! smiling visions:
Compiègne and Malmaison!

METTERNICH.

You see them! see them!

THE DUKE.

Roll, drums of Arcola, and drown his voice!

METTERNICH.

The mirror's teeming!

THE DUKE.

[_Twisting his wrist loose, but still holding the chandelier._]

I will shatter it!

METTERNICH.

Others, and others yet, arrive!

THE DUKE.

[_Hurling the chandelier into the mirror._]

'Tis shattered!
Not one remains! Not one!

METTERNICH.

[_Pointing at the_ DUKE _with a terrible gesture._]

Yes!--One!

THE DUKE.

No, no!
It is not I! Not I!--My Father!--Help!

CURTAIN.

THE FOURTH ACT

_The Park at Schönbrunn. Ruins of a Roman Arch in the centre, in front of which is a fountain. Entrances on the right and on the left. Towards the right, in front, is a pile of stones, parts of columns, a head of Neptune, a broken urn, the whole covered with ivy and shrubs. Orange-trees in boxes, bearing fruit and blossom, are dotted about, with lamps hanging in their foliage. At the rise of the curtain a gay throng of_ LORDS _and_ LADIES _in dominos and other disguises are moving about the stage._

FIRST MASK.

Who is the clown?

SECOND MASK.

Don't know.

THIRD MASK.

The Cardinal?

FIRST MASK.

Don't know.

SECOND MASK.

The Punchinello?

THIRD MASK.

I don't know.

FOURTH MASK.

It's too delicious.

FIFTH MASK.

All incognito.

THE PUNCHINELLO.

[_To a lady in a domino._]

Your ear--

THE DOMINO.

What for?

THE PUNCHINELLO.

Ah, hush! My secret!

FIRST MASK.

Watteau--

THE PUNCHINELLO.

[_To another_ DOMINO.]

Your ear--

FIRST MASK.

Would have delighted in these figures--

THE DOMINO.

[_To the_ PUNCHINELLO.]

What for?

THE PUNCHINELLO.

Ah, hush! My secret!

FIRST MASK.

And these ruins.

ANOTHER MASK.

All is uncertain, tremulous, and vague-- Our hearts, the music, moonbeams, and the water.

METTERNICH.

And so, dear Attaché of the French Embassy, Here I've contrived half-darkness and half-silence, And yonder in the music and the light The ball--

THE ATTACHÉ.

It's really--

METTERNICH.

Rather good, I think.
This way--

THE ATTACHÉ.

You condescend to be my guide?

METTERNICH.

Dear friend, I'm prouder of this little ball, Of having mingled all these courtly perfumes With the wild odors of the midnight woods, Than ever of the Congress of Verona. That is the vestiary and the way out So that in leaving you may find at once Your Polish mantle or your overcoat. Lastly, the theatre which I've contrived On yonder bowling-green, near Cupid's fountain, Where, in a set-piece made of natural foliage, Some princely amateurs will play "Michel And"--I don't know--some dainty little piece By a French author: Eugène--what's-his-name?

THE ATTACHÉ.

And--supper?

METTERNICH.

Here.

THE ATTACHÉ.

What?

METTERNICH.

Every box will blossom
With snowy tablecloths and golden dishes.

THE ATTACHÉ.

The orange-trees?

METTERNICH.

My own idea. They'll bring All they can find. Under each leafy ball Two couples will be seated, starved and laughing.

THE ATTACHÉ.

Supper in short at separate orange-trees? Splendid.

METTERNICH.

Why, yes.--And as for grave affairs--

[_To a_ LACKEY.]

Tell them to play no more Slavonic dances--

[_To the_ ATTACHÉ.]

I do not put them off. Not I. I leave

Ere supper-time to meet the Hospodars-- They are awaiting me--

[_To a_ LACKEY.]

Those wreaths are skimpy. My hobby's organizing balls like this; And when the revelry is at its highest Back to the everlasting Eastern Question! I love to rule a people and a ball: The Arbiter of Europe--

THE ATTACHÉ.

And its elegance!

GENTZ.

_Arbiter Elegantiarum!_

METTERNICH.

Ah,
You're talking Latin; you've been drinking?

GENTZ.

Rum.

METTERNICH.

Fanny has kept you very late at table; Oh, this _liaison!_ you're as good as lost.

GENTZ.

What? I and Fanny? Off.

METTERNICH.

What?

GENTZ.

Off.

METTERNICH.

[_Seeing the Prefect of Police._]

Sedlinzky.

SEDLINZKY.

One word.

GENTZ.

[_To_ METTERNICH.]

It's off.

[_To a_ DOMINO.]

'Twas wrong to bring you, Fanny. If they discovered you! What an imprudence! A public dancer!

FANNY.

Oh, I'll dance discreetly.

GENTZ.

They'll find you out. For heaven's sake be clumsy.

METTERNICH.

A plot?

SEDLINZKY.

Yes; for the Duke!--and at this ball!

METTERNICH.

[_Lightly_.]

Here! you alarm me!

GENTZ.

Be an angel, Fanny,
And tell me why you wished to come.

FANNY.

Caprice.

METTERNICH.

I fear the Duke no more. I've killed his pride. And he's in mourning for it. He'll not come.

SEDLINZKY.

But there's a plot!

METTERNICH.

Bah!

SEDLINZKY.

Women--

METTERNICH.

Featherbrains.

SEDLINZKY.

No! Noble ladies.

METTERNICH.

Really?

SEDLINZKY.

Poles and Greeks:
Princess Grazalcowitch.

METTERNICH.

Grazalcowitch!
That's terrible!

[_To a_ LACKEY.]

Pray let me have a sandwich.

SEDLINZKY.

You laugh?--Hush!--Here they come. They've fled the light And seek a nook to whisper in.

[_Enter several_ DOMINOS.]

ONE OF THE DOMINOS.

My dear,
How sweet it is to run a risk for his sake.

SECOND DOMINO.

Let us conspire!

THIRD DOMINO.

His hair's such lovely auburn.

FOURTH DOMINO.

It's like a pretty little halo, dear, Through which a regal crown is dimly seen.

FIFTH DOMINO.

He has a doubly-fascinating charm:-- A fair Napoleon! Hamlet dressed in white!

FIRST DOMINO.

Let us conspire!

SECOND DOMINO.

First, I suggest we order
A golden bee from Stieger in Vienna.

ANOTHER DOMINO.

Vienna! Why? That _would_ be idiotic! We'll have it made by Odiot in Paris.

FOURTH DOMINO.

I move we always wear with every dress A very striking bunch of violets.

FIRST DOMINO.

That's it, Princess!

ANOTHER DOMINO.

And let us risk returning
To Empire fashions.

SECOND DOMINO.

For evening: not for day.

THIRD DOMINO.

Dear, don't forget the horrible short waists.

ALL.

And all the puffs!--and ruches!--Dearest!

METTERNICH.

Ladies--

ALL.

Good heavens!

METTERNICH.

Go on with your delicious plotting.
Conspire! conspire! Ha-ha!

[_He goes out, laughing heartily._]

FIRST DOMINO.

And now That thanks to idle chatter we've removed Whatever doubts Sedlinzky had aroused, We'll prove that after female Machiavellis The Metternichest Metternich's a baby.

ALL.

Yes!

FIRST DOMINO.

Each remembers what she has to do?

ALL.

Yes!

FIRST DOMINO.

Mingle with the dances.

SEVERAL MASKS.

[_Pursuing another._]

He's so funny!

A MASK.

It must be Sandor!

ANOTHER.

No! it's Fürstenberg!

ANOTHER.

And who's the bear, dancing to Schubert's waltz?

A MASK.

What's sad Elvira's dress? A star?

GENTZ.

A night-light.

A MASK.

Thecla, the hypocrite--?

GENTZ.

Disguised as Truth.

TIBURTIUS.

[_Entering with_ THERESA.]

Not gone to Parma, sister?

THERESA.

No. To-morrow.
The Duchess put it off to see this ball.

[_Pointing to a Domino who passes at the back
accompanied by a Mask._]

She's yonder with Bombelles: the greenish cape.

TIBURTIUS.

I'm glad you're going, for _Noblesse oblige_; I couldn't stand much more of those asides Between the little Bonaparte and you.

THERESA.

What?

TIBURTIUS.

'Tis our glory that our ancestors Have not been over-prudish with our kings; It is no fall to pick up handkerchiefs When on the handkerchief a lily's broidered. But honor never will accept a rag Which bears the Bonapartist weed and hornet, Woe to the Ogre's brat--!

THERESA.

What!

TIBURTIUS.

If he touched you!

THERESA.

You use expressions, brother--

TIBURTIUS.

They are warnings.

A BEAR.

[_Passing with a Chinese woman._]

How do you know I am a diplomat?

THE CHINESE WOMAN.

Why, by the skilful way you hide your claws.

THE ATTACHÉ.

[_Pursuing_ FANNY.]

Is there no way of knowing who you are? Now, are you English?

FANNY.

_Ja._

THE ATTACHÉ.

Or German?

FANNY.

_Oui._

PROKESCH.

[_Entering with the_ DUKE.]

My Lord, is not the ball beyond compare?

THE PUNCHINELLO.

[_To a_ DOMINO.]

Your ear--!

THE DOMINO.

What for?

THE PUNCHINELLO.

My secret! Hush!

[_To another_ DOMINO.]

Your ear!

PROKESCH.

This corner's charming, given up to shadows--

THE CHINESE WOMAN.

[_To the_ BEAR.]

What are you carrying on your arm?

THE BEAR.

My nose-ring.

PROKESCH.

Charming, those scattered blocks, the broken god, The ivied urn, and, in its frame of stone, Yonder the water. It is like--

THE DUKE.

A mirror!

PROKESCH.

What had Prince Metternich to say last night?

[_Seeing the_ DUKE _unmask._]

You take your mask off?

THE DUKE.

And, alas, that's all
A stone.

PROKESCH.

What for?

THE DUKE.

To cast into the pond--
All's vanished. Only circles on the water.

PROKESCH.

You are depressed, and yet to-night the plot Must come to a head if I may trust the symptoms. These lines were slipped into my hand this morning:

[_He takes a note out of his pocket._]

"Ask him to be there early, and to wear His uniform beneath a violet cloak."

THE DUKE.

Oh, 'twere too criminal--

PROKESCH.

The note--

THE DUKE.

The note Is from a woman anxious not to miss me. I've taken her advice, for I am here Only for love's adventure.

PROKESCH.

No!

THE DUKE.

That's all.

PROKESCH.

But then--the plot?

THE DUKE.

Oh, 'twere too criminal, Dear country, made of sunshine and of laughter, To raise upon the high seat of thy glory A child of night, misfortune, and the Escurial! What if, when I were seated there, the past, Plunging its yellow hands into my soul, With hideous claws unearthed some ancestor: Some Rudolph or some Philip? Ah! I dread Lest at the humming of Imperial bees The monster sleeping in me should awake.

PROKESCH.

[_Laughing._]

Prince, this is madness!

THE DUKE.

[_With a shudder and a look which makes_ PROKESCH _start back with horror._]

Madness! Do you think so?

PROKESCH.

Good heavens!

THE DUKE.

Buried in their fastnesses, Cowering in Bohemia or Castile, Each had his madness. What is mine to be? Come! We'll decide! You see I am resigned. 'Tis time to choose--and I have choice enough: My thoughtful forebears left a catalogue! Shall I be melomaniac or astrologer? Catch birds, bend o'er alembics, mumble prayers?

PROKESCH.

Too well I see what Metternich has done!

THE DUKE.

Grandfather, shall I carry on your great Herbarium, where the hellebore is missing? Or shall I, living, play at being dead? Which ancestor will godfather my madness? The living-dead, the alchemist, or bigot? You see, they took their madness rather sadly, But mingled perfumes make a novel scent; My brain, mixed of these gloomy brains, may start Some pretty little madness of its own. Come! What shall my peculiar madness be? By heavens! My instincts, conquered till to-day, Make it quite simple: I'll be mad with love! I'll love and love, and crush, with bitter hate, This Austrian lip under a passionate kiss!

PROKESCH.

Prince!

THE DUKE.

As Don Juan I am all my race! Snarer of hearts, astrologer of eyes; I'll have herbaria full of blighted names, And the philosopher's stone I seek is love!

PROKESCH.

My Lord!

THE DUKE.

Why, if you think of it, dear friend, Napoleon's son, Don Juan, is strict logic. The soul's the same: ever dissatisfied; The same unceasing lust of victory. Oh splendid blood another has corrupted, Who, striving to be Cæsar, was not able; Thy energy is not all dead within me. A misbegotten Cæsar is Don Juan! Yes, 'tis another way of conquering; Thus I shall know that fever of the heart Which Byron tells us kills whom it devours; And 'tis a way of being still my father. Napoleon or Don Juan!--They're decision, The magic will, and the seductive grace. When to retake a great unfaithful land, Calm and alone, sure of himself and her, The adventurer landed in the Gulf of Juan, He felt Don Juan's thrill; and when Don Juan Pricked a new conquest in his list of loves, Did he not feel the pride of Bonaparte? And, after all, who knows whether 'tis greater To conquer worlds, or be a moment loved? So be it? 'Tis well the legend closes thus, And that _this_ conqueror is the other's son. I'm the fair shadow of the dusky hero, And, as he conquered nations, one by one, So will I conquer women, one by one. Moonbeams shall be my sun of Austerlitz!

PROKESCH.

Ah, silence! for your irony's too bitter.

THE DUKE.

Oh, yes; I know. I hear the spectres crying-- Blue-coated spectres torn along the whirlwind-- "Well? What about the Imperial tale of triumph? Our toil? our wounds? our glory?--What about The snow, the blood, the history, the dead We left on all the fields of victory? What will you do with these?"--I'll charm the ladies! It's fine, among the people in the Prater, To ride a horse that cost three thousand florins, Which one can christen Jena. Austerlitz Is a sure bait to catch a fair coquette.

PROKESCH.

You'll never have the heart to use it thus.

THE DUKE.

Why, yes; why, yes, my friend. And in my scarf-- For 'tis a thing looks well upon a lover-- I'll wear a dainty eaglet for a pin. There's music!--Now, O Cæsar's son, you're but Mozart's Don Juan! Nay, not even Mozart's! Strauss's! I'll waltz; for now I must become Charming and useless: Austrian fancy-goods! My aunt?--Why--!

PROKESCH.

Oh, not that!

THE DUKE.

I want to see--

[PROKESCH _goes out_.]

THE DUKE.

How deep the linden's perfume is to-night.

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

Notice my salver. I'm so proud of it.

THE DUKE.

You represent?

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

The "Chocolate-girl," the famous
Picture in Dresden.

THE DUKE.

[_Affectedly._] Cha'ming. But your chocolate Must be a nuisance.

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

No.

THE DUKE.

Do put it down.

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

Well, Franz? A little bit in love with life?

THE DUKE.

Glad to be nephew of a pretty aunt.

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

And I am glad to have so big a nephew.

THE DUKE.

Too pretty.

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

And too big.

THE DUKE.

For such a game.

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

What game?

THE DUKE.

The game of tender intimacy.

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

I fear your eyes to-night--!

THE DUKE.

But I love yours!

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

Ah, now I see! As all the court is masked, Even friendship wears the domino of love.

THE DUKE.

Oh friendship--auntie with a cousin's eyes-- Friendship and love are always much too near 'Twixt aunts and nephews, god-sons and god-mothers-- Oh! do but smell the fragrance of the lindens!-- 'Twixt pretty chocolate-girls and officers, And frontier incidents are bound to happen.

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

Our friendship's lost its bloom.

THE DUKE.

I dearly love This sentiment one cannot understand, Where all's confused and mingled--

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

No, let be.

[_She moves away._]

THE DUKE.

Oh, if you put on airs of an Archduchess--!

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

Farewell; you've pained me deeply, Franz.

[_She goes._]

THE DUKE.

Ah, bah! Into our friendship I let fall a drop, And friendship turns to troubled love. I'll wait.

[_He sees_ THERESA.]

Why! What is this? How comes it you are here? So you're not hastening toward the skies of Parma? And all this grass? What are you?

THERESA.

"Little Brooklet."

THE DUKE.

Ah, yes, I know. An exile on his rock, My father had a brooklet for his friend To drown the gaoler's voice, and that is why At Schönbrunn, which is my Saint Helena, My soul must not be left deprived of comfort. Having the gaoler I've the brooklet too.

THERESA.

But you will never stoop to look at me.

THE DUKE.

Because I dreamed of flying from my rock; But that's all over.

THERESA.

How?

THE DUKE.

All hope is gone.
I wake from dreams.

THERESA.

You suffer?

THE DUKE.

Little Brooklet
Must give her murmuring freshness.

THERESA.

Here it is.

THE DUKE.

What if I trouble its waters?

THERESA.

Trouble them.

THE DUKE.

Come to the little house among the trees-- My hunting lodge--to-night!

THERESA.

I am to come--!

THE DUKE.

Say neither yes nor no.--I'll wait--

THERESA.

Alas!

THE DUKE.

Think how unhappy I shall henceforth be! I've lost all hope of playing a great part; I can but weep; I need a heart to weep on. Away!

A MASK.

[_Seeing a stout lady dressed as a shepherdess._]

That shepherdess has eaten her flock!

THE BEAR.

If you'll but love me--

THE CHINESE WOMAN.

You will sell your skin?

A DOMINO.

[_Passing on_ GENTZ'S _arm_.]

The Viscount's here as Doge in grand dalmatic.

GENTZ.

Then is the Baroness the Adriatic.

THE DUKE.

[_Who has scribbled a note; to a_ LACKEY.]

This for my lackeys. I shall not come in. I'm sleeping at the hunting-lodge. Make haste! Let me have word they've read and understood.

THE LACKEY.

Nought else, my Lord?

THE DUKE.

To-morrow the bay mare.

FANNY ELSSLER.

His uniform beneath a--

THE DUKE.

[_Turning._]

Violet cloak.
Prokesch! I said your note was from a woman!

FANNY.

[_Pointing to the_ ATTACHÉ, _who has followed her._]

Let me get rid of this importunate mask. And I'll come back.

THE DUKE.

I'll wait. 'Tis fate. I yield. I'll love, with stormy April in my heart. I'll love--like these--like all!

BOMBELLES.

[_Who has come in with_ MARIA LOUISA. _She sits on the stone bench._]

Was he in love?

MARIA LOUISA.

What! must you still be harping on him?

BOMBELLES.

Yes.

THE DUKE.

My mother and Bombelles--!

BOMBELLES.

Speak!

MARIA LOUISA.

I don't know. He was intimidated in my presence. Even on his throne, beneath his golden laurels, He felt his inequality of birth; And then, to keep a countenance, he'd call me His "Good Louisa." Yes! such shocking taste! For I love sentiment. I am a woman.

BOMBELLES.

And queen of all!

MARIA LOUISA.

A little thing I said When Saint Aulaire came to my room at Blois With news of his disasters, made them furious. I was in bed. My naked foot peeped out, And, lying on the polished wood, as if Thomire had carved it, seemed at once to turn The Medicean bed into an Empire bed. And seeing the Envoy furtively look down, I smiled and said, "You're looking at my foot." And so he was. In spite of all misfortunes, Indeed the man was looking at my foot. Was this coquettish? Well, what of it? Heavens! Where was the crime if I remained a woman? For, after all, amid the crash of France, The beauty of my foot had _some_ importance!

THE DUKE.

Would I could fly! but I am glued to the spot!

BOMBELLES.

What's the grey pebble in your bracelet?

MARIA LOUISA.

That? Ah, I can never see it without tears. That is a fragment--

BOMBELLES.

Of the Pyramids?

MARIA LOUISA.

What nonsense! 'Tis a fragment of the tomb Where Juliet sleeps beside her Romeo-- I had this souvenir--

BOMBELLES.

For pity's sake
Don't mention Neipperg!

MARIA LOUISA.

If he irritates you,
Why speak about the first?

BOMBELLES.

That's different,
But did you love him?

MARIA LOUISA.

Whom?

BOMBELLES.

The--first.

MARIA LOUISA.

Again?

BOMBELLES.

So great a man! You must--

MARIA LOUISA.

Oh, as for that, No man is ever loved because he's great. Let's talk of him no more: let's talk of us. Will you like Parma?

BOMBELLES.

Tell me, was he jealous?

MARIA LOUISA.

So much so that he drove away Leroy, Because the poor man-milliner cried out With admiration when he saw my shoulders, While trying on a peplum.

BOMBELLES.

Then Napoleon--

MARIA LOUISA.

Oh, hush!

BOMBELLES.

Would not have liked to hear me say
How fair they are? Would not have liked--

MARIA LOUISA.

Bombelles!

BOMBELLES.

To hear me whisper to your Majesty--

THE DUKE.

Father, forgive me for the things I hear!

BOMBELLES.

That you are like our own Arlesian maids But, ah! how much more beautiful!--

MARIA LOUISA.

Oh, Charles!

BOMBELLES.

Would not have liked to see me bend and press---

THE DUKE.

[_Breaking in upon them._]

Not that! I will not have it! I forbid you!-- Thank God, I'm saved!

MARIA LOUISA.

Franz!

THE DUKE.

For this cry, this movement Were not my own. Within me still remains A reverence for my mother and her freedom! 'Twas he--'Twas he by whom my soul's possessed, Who sprang upon you with this tragic force! Thank God! I'm saved! The Corsican leapt out!

BOMBELLES.

Sir--!

THE DUKE.

Nothing, sir!

[_To_ MARIA LOUISA.]

My humble duty, Madam! Return to Sala, spend your days in peace. The castle has two wings, as I am told: One is a theatre and one a chapel. Thus dwelling in the middle, you shall feel Evenly balanced 'twixt the world and God. My humble duty!

MARIA LOUISA.

Franz!

THE DUKE.

Why, truly, Madam, It's your prerogative to be mere woman. Go, be a woman in the Sala palace; But tell yourself, Ah! tell yourself--and this Shall be your sad atonement for his glory, Widow who cast aside her widow's weeds!-- Tell yourself this: Men only gaze upon you For the immortal fame he robed you in, And only whisper praises of your beauty Because of old he conquered all the world!

MARIA LOUISA.

I'll hear no more! Bombelles, let us begone!

THE DUKE.

Return to Sala. I am saved. Thank God!

MARIA LOUISA.

Farewell!

THE DUKE.

O hands, cold hands within the tomb, Sad hands because the Imperial ring slipped from you, Hands that have held her brow who years ago Shed bitter tears that I was not her son, Hands laid in blessing on my orphaned soul, Weeping I kiss you, hands of Josephine!

MARIA LOUISA.

The Creole! Do you think at Malmaison--?

THE DUKE.

Silence! If it be true, all the more reason! All the more reason why I should be faithful!

[MARIA LOUISA _and_ BOMBELLES _go out_.]
[_Enter_ METTERNICH _and_ SEDLINZKY.]

METTERNICH.

[_To_ SEDLINZKY.]

Yes, yes; I humbled that rebellious child!

[_He sees the_ DUKE.]

You here? And in this uniform? What means?

THE DUKE.

Were we not asked to come here in--disguise?

SEDLINZKY.

The pride your Excellency broke last night Even in its fragments keeps its insolence.

[_To the_ DUKE.]

What are you dreaming of, far from the ball, My little Colonel?

THE DUKE.

Of my Little Corporal!

METTERNICH.

[_On the point of breaking out._]

Oh, I--

[_Mastering himself._]

But I must go to my despatches.
'Tis all to do again!

[_He and_ SEDLINZKY _go out._]
[_Enter_ FANNY ELSSLER.]

FANNY.

Prince!

THE DUKE.

No! that woman!
I will not--!

FANNY.

[_Unmasking._]

Fly?

THE DUKE.

[_Recognising her._]

Fanny!

FANNY.

The plot!

THE DUKE.

What's that?

FANNY.

I'm in it. Let me tell you--

THE DUKE.

Ah!

FANNY.

Look innocent. Sit down. Pretend you're very much in love. You on the rock. I on the Neptune's head.

[_Speaking to the stone head_.]

May I sit down, good Neptune?

THE STONE HEAD.

If you like.
Only I warn you, it's all over ants.

FANNY.

Lord! Neptune's talking!

THE DUKE.

[_Understanding and remembering._]

Ah! beneath the ivy!

FLAMBEAU.

The entrance to my cavern through an ant-heap.

THE DUKE.

You! Flambeau!

FLAMBEAU.

In the cave of Rob--

MASKS.

Ho hi!

FANNY.

Hush! Masks!

MASKS.

Oh, very funny!

[_They pass out._]

FLAMBEAU.

--inson Crusoe!

THE DUKE.

What! Since last night?

FLAMBEAU.

Oh, yes; I smoke my pipe--

THE DUKE.

There in the hole?

FLAMBEAU.

You copied from the beggar Who first invented bearskins, so they say, And had a funny Mameluke called Friday.

THE DUKE.

I cannot find the spot.

FLAMBEAU.

It's on the right.
Here, where I blow a cloud out of my pipe.

FANNY.

The small Vesuvius!

THE DUKE.

You must be--

FLAMBEAU.

Uncomfortable.
But then--I said you'd find me at the ball.

FANNY.

If they should catch us talking to a smoke!

FLAMBEAU.

Ouch!

THE DUKE.

What's the matter?

FLAMBEAU.

An attack of ants.
Since yesterday we've had the bloodiest battles.

FANNY.

But--

FLAMBEAU.

They outnumber me, but I've tobacco,
I blow a blast--

THE DUKE.

You bring your heavy guns?

FLAMBEAU.

May I lift up my rock a bit?

THE DUKE.

Yes.

FLAMBEAU.

[_Seeing_ MASKS _approaching._]

Nuns!

THE DUKE AND FANNY.

Hush!

FLAMBEAU.

Now I look as if I took the air
On the tomb's balcony.

THE DUKE.

And in the moon Beside the urn, uplifting thus the stone, You're rising to the ghostly night-review.

FLAMBEAU.

I'm very hungry.

FANNY.

Hush!

THE DUKE.

[_To some_ SERVANTS _who enter bearing dishes._]

What's that you carry?

[_The_ SERVANTS _stop. The_ DUKE _takes a little of
everything_.]

Thank you.

FANNY.

[_Stopping them._]

One moment.

[_She takes what is left. The_ SERVANTS _pass out._]

THE DUKE.

[_Giving_ FLAMBEAU _the cakes._]

Take them.

FLAMBEAU.

Enough.
My strength returns.

[_To_ FANNY.]

Explain. We've little time.

FANNY.

[_Nervously._]

Well, then--the Countess--she is here--the Countess-- That's how my nerve goes when I have to dance-- She wears beneath a russet cloak your uniform, With which the Eaglet's turned into a sea-mew. She was already like you in the face, But since she's dyed her sable tresses fair Your glass could not distinguish you from her. So, while they play their "Michel and Christine," You'll change your mantle quickly with your cousin--

THE DUKE.

Put on a mask--!

FANNY.

And disappear like magic!

THE DUKE.

My double takes my place--

FANNY.

And openly
Leaves the assembly--

THE DUKE.

Sets me free of spies--

FANNY.

Goes home to Schönbrunn--

THE DUKE.

Locks the door with care--

FANNY.

Forgets to wake--

THE DUKE.

Till I am miles away.
Only--

FANNY.

What "only" is there?

THE DUKE.

Quite a big one.
Suppose the false Duke's spoken to?

FANNY.

Impossible. It's all stage-managed like a ballet. Ladies Will flutter round him, keep intruders off, And as a ball from racket flies to racket Hell pass from hand to hand until he's safe.

MASKS.

[_Running across at the back._]

Who is the wolf? Wow! Wow! Who is the bear? There! There!

FANNY.

You leave the Gardens--

THE DUKE.

By the Hietzing gate--

FANNY.

No.

THE DUKE.

Where, then?

FANNY.

Listeners. I fan myself.
Glance at your humble servant's pretty fan.

THE DUKE.

What for?

FANNY.

I've drawn a sketch-map of the park. Observe the road; it's red; it makes a bend; Do you see? The little squares of white are statues; The little dots of apple-green are trees; Thus you elude the evil-minded spies; Turn to the left; pass by the pheasantry--

THE DUKE.

What are the scratches?

FANNY.

Where the hill goes up. Then you go down again; pass by the Triton And come out Emperor at this little gate. All clearly understood?--I shut my fan.

THE DUKE.

Emperor!

FLAMBEAU.

That's right. Get out your robes and crown!
Don't go so fast!

THE DUKE.

What's at the gate?

FANNY.

A cab.

THE DUKE.

A cab?

FANNY.

With spanking horses; have no fear.

THE DUKE.

Where does it take me?

FANNY.

To the rendezvous.

THE DUKE.

Where's that?

FANNY.

Out of your way, but so the Countess
Would have it:--Wagram.

THE DUKE.

What a Bonaparte!

FANNY.

Well? Are you pleased?

THE DUKE.

Dear little Tanagra,
I'll recompense your zeal--

FANNY.

Ungrateful monster!

THE DUKE.

And Prokesch?

FANNY.

He'll be waiting for you there.

THE DUKE.

The only man whose eye we had to fear-- Prince Metternich--has left. All will go well.

FLAMBEAU.

Metternich gone! You never said a word!

THE DUKE.

Well--

FLAMBEAU.

And you let me catch my death, beneath
This beastly urn--!

FANNY.

Masks coming!

MASKS.

Sandor! Zichy! It's Thalberg!--Never!--Thalberg is a Turk! It's Cocica!--Not he!--He's fled!--Oh! catch him!

FLAMBEAU.

Gone?

THE DUKE AND FANNY.

Gone.

FLAMBEAU.

[_Emerging, dressed as in the previous act._]

Then--

THE DUKE AND FANNY.

Are you mad?

FLAMBEAU.

We'll shut the trap.

THE DUKE.

But if they see you--!

FANNY.

Vanish! This is frightful!

THE DUKE.

What will they say?

FLAMBEAU.

I'll tell you what they'll say--

MASKS.

[_Seeing_ FLAMBEAU.]

And this one! Oh! a veteran of the Empire!

FLAMBEAU.

[_To the_ DUKE.]

Well, there you are, you see! That's what they'll say.

MASKS.

Capital! Capital!

FLAMBEAU.

I take my ease.

A MASK.

[_To another._]

Come and admire the veteran!

THE OTHER.

First rate!

THIRD MASK.

Look at his earrings!

FOURTH MASK.

And his bushy eyebrows!

FLAMBEAU.

But how shall I get out without a cloak?

FANNY.

Here's Gentz's ticket: such a handsome mantle.

A MASK.

Hail, Veteran!

FLAMBEAU.

The honor's mine.

[_The_ USHER _enters, followed by_ SERVANTS _who
push on orange-trees, the boxes laid as tables._]

THE USHER.

Make room!

THE LACKEY.

[_Who took the_ DUKE'S _note._]

They understand, my Lord. The hunting-lodge.

FANNY.

What's that?

THE DUKE.

I had forgotten. I gave orders-- I was to spend the night there. Warn the Countess. Run! Run and say 'tis thither she must go!

[FANNY _goes out quickly._]

Francesco Duc de Reichstadt]

A MASK.

[_To_ FLAMBEAU.]

Well, Sergeant? So you served--

FLAMBEAU.

The gr-reat--

SEVERAL MASKS.

[_Laughing._]

The gr-reat!

FLAMBEAU.

They didn't laugh when we were quartered on 'em!

EXCLAMATIONS.

A picture by Raffet!--Charlet!--Vernet!

SEVERAL MASKS.

How worn his coat is!--And how singed!--And dusty!-- Who's your costumier?--Tell us!

FLAMBEAU.

They are ladies:--
The ancient firm of War and Victory Sisters.

A MASK.

That's good.

FLAMBEAU.

It's not the firm you patronize.

FIRST MASK.

I'll swear it's Zichy.

_Offering his hand._]

Count, your hand.

FLAMBEAU.

[_Blowing a puff of smoke in his face._]

Get out.

FIRST MASK.

[_Going out, to the others._]

He's masked his language as he's masked his face.

FLAMBEAU.

[_Singing._]

When we marched to Krasnoï,
Cold and hungry, too, were we!

A MASK.

He's really excellent. In Russia, old 'un, 'Twas pretty cold?

FLAMBEAU.

Yes; till we gave 'em hell.

[_Sings._]

By Jingo, but it keeps you warm
Merely to see his uniform!

A MASK.

His uniform wants patching now, though; what?

FLAMBEAU.

So did your breeches when he'd kicked you; what?

SEVERAL.

Ha! Very funny!

FIRST MASK.

Natural.

SECOND MASK.

Exact.

THIRD MASK..

But doubtful taste.

THE USHER.

The comedy's begun!

FANNY.

[_To the_ DUKE.]

I'm back again. The Countess understands.

FLAMBEAU.

[_To_ THERESA.]

Will you accept a veteran's arm?

THERESA.

No.

FLAMBEAU.

Why?

THERESA.

I'm leaving, sir. Apart from that, I'm French, And see no humor in a parody Of heroes whom by chance you conquered.

FLAMBEAU.

You--
Ah! I adore you!

[_She runs away. Just as she is disappearing the_
DUKE _makes a movement toward her._]

THE DUKE.

Ah!--the tryst.

THERESA.

The tryst--?

THE DUKE.

No--nothing.

[THERESA _passes on._]

She must keep it. She must show Whether she would have been sublimely weak, And given herself unthinking--without hope-- Only because she saw me sad to-night.

FANNY.

[_To_ FLAMBEAU.]

Watch where they've got to in the comedy.

[FLAMBEAU _goes to the entrance of the theatre._]

[_To the_ DUKE.]

The time has come.

FLAMBEAU.

All eyes are running over
With grief for Stanislas, the mournful Pole.

FANNY.

Here is the Countess, Duke.

THE DUKE.

My very image!
I'm coming toward myself as in a glass.

[_The_ COUNTESS CAMERATA _enters, dressed exactly
like the_ DUKE, _with the exception of her
cloak, which is brown._]

THE COUNTESS.

Well met, Napoleon!

THE DUKE.

And Napoleone!

THE COUNTESS.

I'm very calm--and you?

THE DUKE.

I see the risks
You'll run for my sake.

THE COUNTESS.

Not for your sake.

THE DUKE.

Ah?

THE COUNTESS.

No! For the name, the glory, and our blood!

THE DUKE.

You bravely clash your arms, fair Amazon!

THE COUNTESS.

The deed were nothing, were it done for love.

THE DUKE.

Speaking of love, if, when you've taken my place In yonder hunting-lodge, by any chance A woman came--

THE COUNTESS.

Ah! I felt sure of it!

THE DUKE.

Tell her about my flight--and swear to me--

FLAMBEAU.

[_At the entrance to the theatre, describing the play._]

The soldier holds his tongue!

THE COUNTESS.

Good.

FLAMBEAU.

Doesn't murmur.

THE DUKE.

Swear you will tell me later if she comes.

THE COUNTESS.

Thinking of hearts, when Empire is at hand!

THE DUKE.

It is because I mount a throne to-morrow I lay such value on a heart to-night. O God! to feel respect in every kiss, Snares in avowals, in embraces dread, And in fair eyes, more dazzled than in love, See laurel-wreaths about me as on coins! I was to pluck my last real love to-night!

FLAMBEAU.

[_As before._]

He's telling them about his pocket-book.

THE DUKE.

I would she kept this white and spotless tryst, She who has not yet studied to dissemble; 'Twere well she came, for nevermore, perchance, Whatever later trysts I yet may keep, Shall I be waiting with such eager love, As at the tryst to-night I may not keep.

THE COUNTESS.

I find your Highness very deeply stirred.

THE DUKE.

Less than I shall be if you say "She came."

FLAMBEAU.

[_As before._]

We must make haste, for with his eyes turned up, He's singing something to his colonel.

THE COUNTESS.

Change!

FLAMBEAU.

Wait for the signal. Have no fear; I'm watching. Attention! By the magic of my wand!

THE COUNTESS.

Think well! Perhaps you turn him into Cæsar!

FLAMBEAU.

That's why my wand is fashioned of a ramrod.

[_Noise of people leaving the theatre._]

They're coming! Now!

[_The_ DUKE _and the_ COUNTESS _exchange cloaks._]

MASKS AND DOMINOS.

[_Entering._]

They've dressed the orange-trees!

ALL.

Oh!

FANNY.

[_To the_ DUKE, _pointing to the_ COUNTESS.]

There's our swarm of women buzzing round him.

LADIES.

[_Around the false_ DUKE.]

Prince!--Duke--! My Lord--! Your Highness--!

GENTZ.

No one else
Has any chance to-night!

CRIES.

[_From the tables._]

Sandor! Zichy! Mina!

THE DOMINO CALLED MINA.

How did you know me?

A MASK.

By your opal necklace.

ANOTHER MASK.

We'll gather oranges for our dessert.

A LADY.

[_To the false_ DUKE.]

Duke--

MASKS.

Danube sterlets! Caviar from the Volga!

[_All are seated._]

GENTZ.

[_Rising, glass in hand._]

Ladies and gentlemen--

ALL.

Hear! Hear!

THE DUKE.

Now comes
The trying moment.

GENTZ.

I have filled this bumper
In honor--

THE DUKE.

She is going--

GENTZ.

Of our friend, Who, having organized the feast, has left us Amid the music, flowers, delicious ices, To toil till dawn dictating his despatches.

FANNY.

How well she imitates your careless stride!

GENTZ.

To the Prince-chancellor, Counsellor, Chamberlain, Ladies and gentlemen, drain brimming glasses! Metternich, Austrian Prince, Grandee of Spain, Duke of Portella, Lord of Daruvar--

FANNY.

She's coming forward! Look how calm she is!

GENTZ.

Knight of Saint Ann--

FANNY.

He helps us with his chatter,
And doesn't know it.

GENTZ.

Knight o' the Swedish Seraphs,
The Danish Elephant, the Golden Fleece--

FLAMBEAU.

If Nepomuk has one or two more titles--

GENTZ.

Curator of the Fine Arts, Czechish Magnate--

THE DUKE.

She's overdoing it: I move more quickly.

GENTZ.

Bailiff of Malta--

THE DUKE.

Ha! She stops!

GENTZ.

Grand Cross Of Charles the Third, the Falcon, Bear, and Lion-- Phew--!

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

[_To the_ LADY _seated next to_ GENTZ.]

He's fainting! Fan him quickly, someone!

GENTZ.

Fellow of all the Academies on earth--!

ALL.

Hurrah!

FLAMBEAU.

And while they clash their glasses, Prince,
She's starting--she has started--

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

[_To the false_ DUKE.]

Franz! Not going?

THE DUKE.

All's lost!

FLAMBEAU.

Damnation!

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

[_To the false_ DUKE.]

Wait!

THE DUKE.

The Archduchess
Knew nothing of the plot--

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

You grieved me, Franz;
Just now you--

[_She recognises the_ COUNTESS.]

Ah!

THE DUKE.

All's lost.

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

But--

[_Offering her hand to the_ COUNTESS.]

Well, good-night.

THE COUNTESS.

Ah, Madam--How--?

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

Why don't you kiss my hand?

[_The_ COUNTESS _goes out._]

A MASK.

The Duke already gone?

ANOTHER.

He's whimsical.

THE DUKE.

[_Meaningly, to the_ ARCHDUCHESS.]

Your hand--as to the Duke?

THE ARCHDUCHESS.

Yes, gentle mask.

GENTZ.

And now--

SEVERAL.

Again?

GENTZ.

One word---

VOICES.

Oh, go ahead!

GENTZ.

I wanted to complete my little toast, But while the Duke was here I couldn't name The proudest title Metternich can boast of; But now we're rid of him, I have the honor:-- Ladies and gentlemen, here's the destroyer Of Bonaparte!

ALL.

Hurrah!--To the Destroyer!

THE DUKE.

[_To_ FLAMBEAU.]

What are you doing?

FLAMBEAU.

[_Who is pouring his wine into his gun-barrel_.]

Lest it might go off!

A MASK.

This Bonaparte--

SECOND MASK.

Wasn't marble.

THIRD MASK.

Stucco.

THE DUKE.

What!

FLAMBEAU.

Have a care! An Empire is at stake!

A MASK.

Much overpraised--

FLAMBEAU.

Take care!

TIBURTIUS.

A middling soldier, But then he rode a camel while in Egypt; What more do you want?

A MASK.

Gentz imitates him.

FLAMBEAU.

Lord!

ANOTHER MASK.

Do it!

FLAMBEAU.

[_To the_ DUKE.]

Remember, you're not here at all!

GENTZ.

[_Arranging his hair, and striking the conventional attitude._]

Curl--eye--hand--There!

FLAMBEAU.

Old fool!

THE DUKE.

He mocks him, yet
Even the mockery's great, for it evokes him.

TIBURTIUS.