L'Aiglon
Page 18
The Duke.
He always rode
Over a battle-field.
The Old Man.
The Emperor stopped
And had me cared for by his leach—
The Duke.
Ivan.
The Old Man.
So, if his son is weary of Vienna,
I'll help him go.—My arm—before his eyes!
Flambeau.
It isn't everybody has the honor
Of having limbs off in Napoleon's presence.
The Old Man.
'Twas war-time; so we fought.
Flambeau.
We died.
The Old Man.
We died.
Flambeau.
We marched.
The Old Man.
We marched.
Flambeau.
We fired into the haze.
The Old Man.
We fired.
Flambeau.
Some grimy officer rode up.
And roared, "We've conquered!"
The Old Man.
So he roared to us.
Flambeau.
What?—So he did.
[Pointing to the Duke.]
Suppose he heard!
The Duke.
I hear.
The Old Man.
Bah! My geraniums flourish.
Flambeau.
Shouldn't wonder.
For on this spot eleven drummer-boys—
The Duke.
Eleven drummer-boys—?
Flambeau.
I see them now!
Eleven bullet-heads, as like as peas,
Between the flapping of their foolish ears,
Who marched, they knew not whence, nor why, nor whither,
But gayly marched and rolled their rataplan!
We used to chaff them, for their funny ways
Made them the darlings of the sutler's wife.
But when they beat the charge like little rabbits—
Eleven drums with two-and-twenty sticks—
They set our bayonets thrilling with their thunder;
The quivering zigzags seemed to cry aloud,
"Our lightning's not in vain!"—Well, on this spot,
A brazen devil hiccoughed fire and steel
And took them in the flank; yes! all the eleven!
But, by the Lord! you should have seen the woman!
She gathered up her apron like a gleaner,
And madly gleaned the little ebony drumsticks.
[He clears his throat.]
Only to speak of it gives me a cold—!
[He picks a red geranium.]
Here's how to make a mere geranium
A ribbon of the Legion: keep one petal.
What? You look well upon my velvet lining?
[To the Duke.]
Is this what you bestowed upon me, Sire?
The Duke.
I gave a phantom—
Flambeau.
And I wear a flower!
The Duke.
[Seeing the conspirators enter.]
Those shadows—?
Marmont.
Friends.
The Duke.
[Turning.]
Marmont?
Marmont.
Good luck, my Lord!
The Duke.
Why do the others stand so far away?
Marmont.
Because they fear they may disturb your Highness,
And, Sire, you are already Emperor!
The Duke.
The word strikes strangely on my wondering ear—
The Emperor! What Emperor is here?
This youth of twenty on the throne?
As through a casement now myself I see
Pass down the shouting street; 'tis good to be
Young, and the first Napoleon's son!
All Notre Dame invades my dreaming soul,
I see the incense, hear the organ roll,
A nation offers up a prayer!
God! what great causes may be served by kings!
How they can love! Achieve what righteous things!
Prokesch, the Future shows too fair!
O France, who with thy blood didst write our name,
With happy days I will repay the fame;
I come, triumphant in my pride.
Sun on my flags; the air with shouts is rent.
The Champs Elysées, with their chestnut scent,
Waft me fair welcome as I ride.
Flambeau.
The women stand on chairs to see your face,
Each the fair symbol of Parisian grace,
The guns in wreaths of flowers are dressed;
Fierce Paris madly hails your sovereignship.
The Duke.
It were like kissing France upon the lip
If Paris took me to her breast.
Flambeau.
And you will hear the sufferer's complaint;
Do you not feel your hand already faint
Signing so many an amnesty?
The Duke.
The lies they've told me make the truth more dear,
Oh, Freedom, Freedom, thou hast nought to fear
From one so late from bonds set free!
What can I do to foster noble aims?
Treviso, Montebello, these are names
Their sons inherit without fear,
But other names are glorious, and since
My Father would have made Corneille a Prince
I'll make our Victor Hugo Peer!
I'll do—I'll do—I'll be the poor man's shield!
The heroic savour, rising from this field,
Gives me a foretaste of my home;
Wagram! 'Twas well I hither came to drain
The stirrup-cup upon thy glorious plain!
Oh, my beloved France!—I come—!
Ah—!
Flambeau.
What is it?
The Duke.
Nothing.
Prokesch.
You are suffering!
The Duke.
Yes, to the marrow, but a gallop cures me.
Stars twinkle in the skies like golden rowels.
Here are the steeds, and we're to ride to France!
Embrace me, friend!
Prokesch.
Emotion strangles me.
The Duke.
Brother!
Prokesch.
My Lord!
The Duke.
Ah, hush!—The saddle-girth!—
Oh, it's delicious to escape on horseback
Through such a night, in dancing-pumps!
Prokesch.
[To Marmont, pointing to the Conspirators.]
Those youths—
Why have they come?
Marmont.
Why, that the world may know
They also were conspirators!
The Duke.
A whip!
A Conspirator.
[Introducing himself to the Duke.]
The Viscount of Otranto—
The Duke.
Fouché's son!
Flambeau.
[To the Duke.]
No matter now.
[Arranging the horse.]
The stirrup long?
The Duke.
No; short.
Second Conspirator.
[Bending low to the Duke.]
Goubeaux, the Countess Camerata's agent.
Your humble servant Goubeaux—
The Duke.
Very well.
Goubeaux.
[Bowing once more.]
The Countess's chief agent.
Third Conspirator.
[Advancing eagerly.]
Pionnet—
I'm Pionnet. I represent King Joseph;
On his behalf I brought the subsidies.
The Duke.
[To Flambeau, busy with the horse.]
Only the snaffle—
Fourth Conspirator.
I a
rranged the guides
And relays, and at yonder village, Sire,
Disguises—Morchain.
Flambeau.
All right, Whatsyourname.
Fourth Conspirator.
Morchain!
Fifth Conspirator.
I got the passports. Thankless task!
See how the seals are forged! Guibert.
All.
[Each mentioning his name.]
Goubeaux—
Morchain—Otranto—Pionnet—
Flambeau.
We know.
One of the Conspirators.
Your Father had a memory for names.
Sixth Conspirator.
[Hurrying up.]
Borowski, Sire! It was my glorious task
To hire the uniform the Countess wears!
The Duke.
Enough! Enough! I shall remember all,
And best of all the one who has not spoken!
Your name?
[The man spoken to turns, and the Duke recognises
the Attaché.]
What! You here!
The Attaché.
Not as partisan.
Only as friend. Indeed no slight occasion
Was needed—
Flambeau.
[To the Duke.]
Mount!
The Duke.
The dawn is in the east,
I seize the reins, and—Alea jacta est!
The Attaché.
My Lord, if I have sought this rendezvous,
'Twas to defend you—
The Duke.
To defend me, sir?
The Attaché.
I feared you were in danger—
The Duke.
Danger?—What?
The Attaché.
The rogue Tiburtius, whom I hope to pink,
Sneaked from the ball and never sent his seconds,
So I ran after him, and saw him meet
Another rogue, and heard the two conspire
To kill you at some rendezvous.
The Duke.
The Countess!
The Attaché.
The rendezvous was here, as you had told me.
I came. All's well. I go.
The Duke.
The rendezvous
Was in the hunting-lodge. They'll kill the Countess!
We must go back!
All.
No! No!
A Conspirator.
Oh, why?
Marmont.
The Countess—?
Prokesch.
She can unmask.
The Duke.
Alas, you little know her.
She'd die ten times to let me win ten minutes.
Come back!
Voices.
No!
The Duke.
But I cannot—Ah, come back!—
I cannot let them kill her in my absence!
Otranto.
Our efforts wasted!
Marmont.
If we re-conspire
They will not let you fly.
Another Conspirator.
And France?
Another.
The Empire?
The Duke.
Back!
Marmont.
Forward!
The Duke.
Back!
Marmont.
You cast away the crown!
The Duke.
To leave her were to cast my soul away!
Marmont.
One sometimes has to sacrifice—
The Duke.
A woman?
Marmont.
Risk—for a woman—all the chance of triumph—!
Flambeau.
He's a French Prince! That's certain, anyhow!
Otranto.
We must abduct him!
Flambeau.
Back!
Otranto.
My coach is here.
Flambeau.
I'll run you through the body if you touch him!
The Duke.
Back! or with whip uplifted I will charge
After the fashion of Murat, my uncle!
Prokesch.
Stand back!
The Duke.
Help, Prokesch!
Voices.
We shall have to force him.
The Duke.
[To the Attaché.]
And you, who say you came in my defence,
It is by robbing me of faith and scruple,
They would assassinate me truly! Now, defend me!
The Attaché.
No, Sire! begone!
The Duke.
What, you! this base advice?
The Attaché.
Go, Sire, I will defend the woman.
The Duke.
You?
You cannot.
The Attaché.
Not as partisan; as friend.
The Duke.
It would ensure my flight.
The Attaché.
Begone, my Lord.
Whate'er I do is for the Countess.
The Duke.
Yes,
But I—
Prokesch.
I'll lead him.
The Attaché.
Prokesch knows the way.
The Duke.
[Still hesitating.]
I cannot—
Voices.
Yes!
Marmont.
The better way!
Voices.
Begone.
The Countess Camerata.
[Entering, still in her disguise.]
Unhappy boy! Not gone!
The Duke.
You!—but they told me—
How could I go?
The Countess.
On horseback.
The Duke.
But your life—!
The Countess.
A woman's life! What loss would that have been?
The Duke.
But—
The Countess.
You should have abandoned me.
The Duke.
But think!
The Countess.
Think of the time you've lost!
The Duke.
Your risks—?
The Countess.
What risks?
The Duke.
And all our fears on your behalf—
The Countess.
What fears?
Was not your Flambeau, there, my fencing-master?
The Duke.
The man—?
The Countess.
Begone!
The Duke.
What did you do?
The Countess.
Oh, nothing.
Of course he drew his sword, and I drew mine.
The Duke.
You fought for me!
The Countess.
"I did not know," he muttered,
"The Corsican's son had so much skill, I think
He knew it not himself"—But then my voice—