The Countess.
I only wish 'twere selling swords!
That silly baby-talk will be my death.
The Duke.
Warlike, I know.
A Voice.
[Within.]
The scarf!
The Countess.
I'm looking for it!
The Duke.
It seems this little hand can tame—
The Countess.
I love
A fiery horse.
The Duke.
You're mistress of the foils?
The Countess.
And of the sword!
The Duke.
Ready for anything?
The Countess.
[Speaking toward the room.]
Indeed, I'm looking for it everywhere.
[To the Duke.]
Ready for anything for your Imperial Highness.
The Duke.
You're lion-hearted, Cousin!
The Countess.
And my name
Is glorious.
The Duke.
Which name?
The Countess.
Napoleone!
Scarampi's Voice.
[Within.]
Well? Can't you find it?
The Countess.
No.
A Voice.
Look on the piano.
The Countess.
I must be off. Discuss our great design.
[With a cry, as if she had found what she was
looking for.]
Ah! here it is!
The Voice.
You've found it?
The Countess.
On the harp.
You understand, it's gathered up in folds—
[She goes into Maria Louisa's room.]
The Young Man.
Well? You accept?
The Duke.
I don't quite understand
Zealous Imperialism from a liberal—
The Young Man.
True: a republican—
The Duke.
You come to me
Rather a long way round—
The Young Man.
All roads to-day
Lead to the King of Rome. My scarlet badge
I thought unfading—
The Duke.
Faded in the sun?
The Young Man.
Of Austerlitz! Yes! History makes us drunk.
The battles which no more are fought, are told.
The blood is vanished, but the glory gleams.
So that to-day there is no he but HE!
He never won such victories as now:
His soldiers perished, but his poets live.
The Duke.
In short—
The Young Man.
In short the huckstering times; the god
They exiled; you, your touching fate, our weariness,
And everything—I said—
The Duke.
You said as artist
'Twould be effective to be Bonapartist!
The Young Man.
So you accept?
The Duke.
No.
The Young Man.
What?
The Duke.
I listened well.
And you were charming as you spoke, but nothing.
No quiver of your voice, told me of France;
You voiced a craze, a form of literature.
The Young Man.
I've carried out my mission clumsily;
Could but the Countess yonder speak!
The Duke.
No use.
I love the bravery glowing in her eyes,
But that's not France: that is my Family!
When next you seek me, later, by and by,
Let the call come through some untutored voice,
Wherein rough accents of the people throb;
Your Byronism is much too like myself.
You could not have persuaded me to-night—
I feel myself unready for the crown.
The Countess.
[Coming out of Maria Louisa's apartment.]
Unready? You?
[She turns toward the room.]
Don't trouble; I'm just going.
And for the ball the white one, not the mauve.
[Coming hastily toward the Duke.]
Unready? What do you want?
The Duke.
A year of dreams,
Of study.
The Countess.
Come and reign.
The Duke.
My brain's not ripe.
The Countess.
The crown's enough to ripen any brain.
The Duke.
The crown of light, shed by the midnight lamp.
The Young Man.
It's such a chance!
The Duke.
I beg your pardon? "Chance"?
Is this the tailor reappearing?
The Countess.
Yet—
The Duke.
I will be honest in default of genius.
I only ask three hundred wakeful nights.
The Young Man.
But this refusal will confirm the rumors.
The Countess.
They say you've never really been of us.
The Young Man.
You are Young France: you're called Old Austria.
The Countess.
They say your mind is being weakened.
The Young Man.
Yes!
They say you're cheated, even in your studies.
The Countess.
They say you do not know your father's history.
The Duke.
Do they say that?
The Young Man.
What shall we answer them?
The Duke.
Answer them thus—
[Enter Dietrichstein.]
Dear Count!
Dietrichstein.
'Tis Obenaus.
The Duke.
Ah! for my history lesson! Let him come.
[Dietrichstein goes out. The Duke points to
the clothes scattered about.]
Spend as much time as possible in packing,
And try to get forgotten in your corner.
[Seeing Dietrichstein come in with Baron von
Obenaus.]
Good-day, dear Baron.
[Carelessly to the Young Man and the Countess,
pointing to the screen.]
Finish over there.
[To Obenaus.]
My tailor.
Obenaus.
Ah?
The Duke.
My mother's fitter.
Obenaus.
Yes?
The Duke.
Will they disturb you?
Obenaus.
[Who has seated himself behind the table with Dietrichstein.]
Not at all, my Lord.
The Duke.
[Who sits facing them, sharpening a pencil.]
I'm all attention. Let me sharpen this
To note a date, or jot down an idea.
Obenaus.
We'll take our work up where we last left off.
Eighteen hundred and five, I think?
The Duke.
[Busy with his pencil.] Exactly.
Obenaus.
In eighteen hundred and six—
The Duke.
Did no event
Make that year memorable?
Obenaus.
Which, my Lord?
The Duke.
[Blowing the dust off the pencil.]
Why, eighteen hundred and five.
Obenaus.
I beg your pardon,
I thought you meant—h'm—Destiny
Was cruel to the righteous cause. We'll cast
Only a fleeting glance at hapless hours.
When the philosopher with pensive gaze—
The Duke.
And so in eighteen five, sir, nothing ha
ppened?
Obenaus.
A great event, my Lord! I had forgotten.
The restoration of the Calendar.
A little later, having challenged England,
Spain—
The Duke.
[Demurely.]
And the Emperor?
Obenaus.
Which Emp—?
The Duke.
My father.
Obenaus.
He—he—
The Duke.
Had he not left Boulogne?
Obenaus.
Oh, yes.
The Duke.
Where was he, then?
Obenaus.
Well, as it happened, here.
The Duke.
[With mock amazement.]
Indeed?
Dietrichstein.
[Hastily.]
He took great interest in Bavaria!
Obenaus.
Your father's wishes in the Pressburg Treaty,
As far as that went, chimed with those of Austria.
The Duke.
What was the Pressburg Treaty?
Obenaus.
The agreement
Which closed an era.
The Duke.
There! I've smashed my point!
Obenaus.
In eighteen hundred and seven—
The Duke.
So soon? How quick!
Strange epoch! Nothing happened in it!
Obenaus.
Yes.
For instance, take the House of the Braganzas:
The King—
The Duke.
The Emperor, sir?
Obenaus.
Which Emp—?
The Duke.
Of France.
Obenaus.
Nothing of any consequence till eighteen-eight.
Yet let us note the Treaty of Tilsit.
The Duke.
Was nothing done but making treaties?
Obenaus.
Europe—
The Duke.
I see. A general survey?
Obenaus.
I'll come to details
When we've—
The Duke.
Did nothing happen?
Obenaus.
Well—
The Duke.
Well, what?
Obenaus.
I—
The Duke.
What? What happened? Won't you tell me?
Obenaus.
Well—
I hardly know—you're in a merry humor—
The Duke.
You hardly know? Then, gentlemen, I'll tell you!
The sixth October, eighteen-five—
Obenaus and Dietrichstein.
[Leaping to their feet.]
Eh? What?
The Duke.
When he was least expected, when Vienna,
Watching the Eagle hover ere he swooped,
Sighed with relief, The blow is aimed at London!
Having left Strassburg, crossed the Rhine at Kehl,
The Emperor—
Obenaus.
Emperor!
The Duke.
Yes! and you know which!
Marches through Würtemberg, marches through Baden—
Dietrichstein.
Great Heavens!
The Duke.
Gives Austria a morning song,
With drums by Soult, and trumpets by Murat!
At Wertingen and Augsburg leaves his Marshals
With here and there a victory to play with—
Obenaus.
My Lord!
The Duke.
Pursues with wonderful manœuvres.
Arrives at Ulm before he's changed his boots.
Bids Ney take Elchingen, sits down and writes
A joyous, terrible, and calm despatch.
Prepares the assault:—the seventeenth October
Sees seven thousand Austrians disarmed,
And eighteen generals at the hero's feet;
And then he starts again!
Dietrichstein.
My Lord!
The Duke.
November
Finds him at Schönbrunn, sleeping in my bedroom.
Obenaus.
But—!
The Duke.
He pursues! his foes are in his hand!
One night he says "To-morrow!" and to-morrow
Says, galloping along the bannered front—
A spot of grey among his brilliant staff—
"Soldiers, we'll finish with a thunderbolt!"
The army is an ocean. He awaits
The rising sun, and places with a smile
This risen sun athwart his history!
Obenaus.
Oh, Dietrichstein!
The Duke.
So there!
Dietrichstein.
Oh, Obenaus!
The Duke.
Terror and death! Two Emperors beaten by one!
And twenty thousand prisoners!
Obenaus.
I beseech you!
People might hear!
The Duke.
When the campaign was over—
The corpses floating on the freezing lake—
My Grandsire seeks my Father in his camp!
Obenaus.
My Lord!
The Duke.
His camp!
Obenaus.
Will nothing keep you quiet?
The Duke.
And so my Father grants my Grandsire peace!
Dietrichstein.
If any heard you!
The Duke.
And the conquered banners
Distributed! Eight to the town of Paris—
[The Countess and the Young Man have gradually
come out, pale and excited, from behind the
screen. They listen to the Duke with increasing
emotion, and suddenly the boxes they are
carrying slip from their hands.]
Obenaus.
[Turning and seeing them.]
Oh!
The Duke.
The Senate fifty!
Obenaus.
Look! The man and woman!
Dietrichstein.
Be off with you!
The Duke.
Fifty to Notre Dame!
Obenaus.
Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!
The Duke.
And banners!
Dietrichstein.
Take your things!
[He pushes them out.]
Be off! Be off!
The Duke.
And banners! And still banners!
[The Countess and The Young Man go.]
Dietrichstein.
They heard it all!
The Duke.
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