[_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.
[Illustration: decoration of five torches with a hand for the flame.]
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.