+Both Princes.+
And in our veins flows blood of Frederick
The Great. And we do dedicate our lives
To our lov’d Fatherland to set it free!
[_Each then takes a hand of the_ +Queen+ _and kisses it. They
join their father._ +Prince William+ _suddenly runs back to his
mother._ +Napoleon+, _attended by_ +Talleyrand+, _enters on the
left. They pause, unseen by the Germans, listening._]
+Prince William.+
Is’t true the devil Bonaparte has horns,
Cleft hoof, and tail?
+The Queen.+
[_Between laughter and tears._]
Indeed I would ’twere true,
For that would make me laugh instead of--
[_Turns, runs upstairs with a slightly hysterical laugh. The
boys go off with their father._ +Napoleon+ _and_ +Talleyrand+
_advance, laughing._]
+Talleyrand.+
A flattered portrait, Sire, they paint of you!
+Napoleon.+
[_Shrugs shoulders._]
Our guest, dear Frederick William the Third
Of Prussia has been writing letters home!
[_Takes snuff._]
+Talleyrand.+
The lady’s tardy!
+Napoleon.+
Early rather I.
My whim to catch her off her guard! Poor soul,
We’ll grant her grace to don her bauble crown!
+Talleyrand.+
Interpreted, which favor means the terms
Of Tilsit’s Truce the Tilsit Peace will stand,
Unmodified by fair Louisa’s plea?
+Napoleon.+
Now, Talleyrand, much as I love the sex,
Whene’er did woman’s wiles deflect my star?
+Talleyrand.+
[_Shrugs shoulders._]
Or soon or late the greatest conqueror--
’Tis writ on high! his Armageddon meets.
To witness, Cæsar!
+Napoleon.+
[_In sudden panic._]
Talleyrand! You mean
Some ambuscade, some Brutus’ dagger waits
My breast?
+Talleyrand.+
[_With malign joy._]
Oh, Sire! The name upon my lips
Was Cleopatra’s!
+Napoleon.+
[_Recovers poise._]
Pish! Scoffer, begone!
For, hark! Yon nervous clearing of the throat,
A dainty frou-frou, and light-tripping step
Announce my suppliant!
[_Urges_ +Talleyrand+ _off at the left._]
+Talleyrand.+
Surely you need
Protection, Sire?
+Napoleon.+
From Cleopatra? Nay;
I’m Cæsar, not Mark Antony!
[+Talleyrand+ _bows and goes. The_ +Queen+, _attired as in
Richter’s picture, but crowned, as in Gosse’s, descends._
+Napoleon+ _meets her halfway, takes her hand, conducts her
down a stair._]
+The Queen.+
[_Curtseying._]
Your Imperial Highness!
+Napoleon.+
[_Bowing over her hand._]
Your Majesty!
[_Releases her._]
Welcome to Tilsit!
+The Queen.+
I thank you, Sire. But Tilsit’s Prussian soil!
So Tilsit cries its own welcome to me!
+Napoleon.+
[_Aside._]
Impertinent!
+The Queen.+
But you, Sire, find yourself
In Tilsit welcome?
+Napoleon.+
[_Bows with mock courtesy._]
Thanks. On Prussian soil
Myself, my legions, count ourselves at home!
+The Queen.+
[_Sighs._]
Not mine with you to bandy words. I come
To--
[_Looking up for the first time breaks off with a start._]
+Napoleon.+
[_Maliciously._]
Aha! Confess you miss horns, hoof and tail!
+The Queen.+
[_With sincerity._]