L'Aiglon
Page 3
Fetch one of them at once!
Maria Louisa.
They seek my death!
[An Austrian sergeant is brought in.]
Metternich.
A sergeant! Now, my man, speak up. What meant
That shouting?
The Sergeant.
I don't know.
Metternich.
What! You don't know?
The Sergeant.
No; nor downstairs the corporal don't know neither.
He shouted with me. It was good to see
The Prince so young and slender on his horse.
And then we're proud of having for our Colonel
The son of—
Metternich.
That'll do.
The Sergeant.
He took the ditch
So cool and calm! As pretty as a picture!
So then a sort of lump came in our throats,
Pride and affection—I don't know—we shouted
"Long live—!
Metternich.
Enough, enough! It's just as easy
To shout "Long live the Duke of Reichstadt," idiot!
The Sergeant.
Well—
Metternich.
What?
The Sergeant.
"Long live the Duke of Reichstadt"
Isn't so easy as "Long live—"
Metternich.
Be off.
Don't shout at all!
Tiburtius.
[To the Sergeant as he passes him to go out.]
You fool!
Maria Louisa.
[To the ladies who surround her.]
I'm better, thank you.
Theresa.
The Empress!
Maria Louisa.
[To Dietrichstein, pointing to Theresa.]
Baron Dietrichstein, this is
My new companion-reader.
[To Theresa, presenting Dietrichstein.]
My son's tutor.
And, by the way, I've never thought of asking—
Do you read well?
Tiburtius.
Oh, very!
Theresa.
I don't know.
Maria Louisa.
Take one of Franz's books from yonder table,
Open it anywhere.
Theresa.
[Taking a book and reading the title.]
"Andromache"—
[She reads.]
"What is this fear, my lord, which strikes the heart?
Has any Trojan hero slipped his chains?
Their hate of Hector is not yet appeased:
They dread his son! fit object of their dread!
A hapless child, who is not yet aware
His master's Pyrrhus and his father Hector."
[General embarrassment.]
I—
Gentz.
Charming voice.
Maria Louisa.
Select another passage.
Theresa.
"Alas the day, when, prompted by his valor,
To seek Achilles and to meet his doom,
He called his son and wrapped him to his heart:
'Dear wife,' quoth he, and brushed away a tear,
'I know not what the fates may have in store.
I leave my son to thee—'"
[General embarrassment.]
H'm—yes—
Maria Louisa.
Let's try
Some other volume. Take—
Theresa.
The "Meditations"?
Maria Louisa.
I know the author! 'Twill not be so dull.
He dined with us. [To Scarampi.] The Diplomat,
you know.
Theresa.
[Reads.]
"Never had hymns more strenuous and high
From seraph lips rung through the listening sky:
Courage! Oh, fallen child of godlike race—"
The Duke.
[Who has entered unnoticed.]
Forgive the interruption, Lamartine!
Maria Louisa.
Well, Franz? A pleasant ride?
The Duke.
Delightful, mother.
But, Mademoiselle, where did my entrance stop you?
Theresa.
[Looking at him with emotion.]
"Courage! Oh, fallen child of godlike race,
The glory of your birth is in your face!
All men who look on you—"
Maria Louisa.
That's quite sufficient.
The Archduchess.
[To the children.]
Go, bid good morrow to your cousin.
[The children run up to the Duke, who is seated,
and surround him.]
Scarampi.
[To Theresa.]
Fie!
Theresa.
Why, what?
A Lady.
[Looking at the Duke.]
How pale he is!
Another Lady.
He looks half dead!
Scarampi.
[To Theresa.]
You chose such awkward passages.
Theresa.
The book
Fell open by itself. I did not choose.
Gentz.
[Who has overheard.]
Books always open where most often read.
Theresa.
[Looking at the Duke.]
Archdukes upon his knees!
The Archduchess.
[Leaning over the back of the Duke's chair.]
I am delighted
To see you, Franz. I am your friend.
[She holds out her hand to him.]
The Duke.
[Kissing her hand.]
I know it.
Gentz.
[To Theresa.]
What do you think of him? I say he's like
A cherub who had secretly read "Werther."
The Little Girl.
[To the Duke.]
How nice your collar is!
The Duke.
Your Highness flatters.
Theresa.
His collars!
The Little Boy.
No one has such sticks!
The Duke.
No. No one.
Theresa.
His sticks!
The Other Little Boy.
Oh! and your gloves!
The Duke.
Superb, my dear.
The Little Girl.
What is your waistcoat made of?
The Duke.
That's cashmere.
Theresa.
Oh!
The Archduchess.
And you wear your nosegay—?
The Duke.
Latest fashion:
In the third buttonhole. So glad you noticed.
[At this moment Theresa bursts into sobs.]
The Ladies.
Eh? What's the matter?
Theresa.
Nothing. I don't know.
Forgive me. I'm alone here—far from friends.
Oh, it was silly!—suddenly—
Maria Louisa.
Poor dear!
Theresa.
I held my heart in—
Maria Louisa.
Tears will do you good.
The Duke.
What's this I trod on? Why, a white cockade!
Metternich.
H'm!
The Duke.
[To the Attaché.]
Yours, no doubt, sir. Favor me: your hat.
[The Attaché gives him his hat unwillingly.
The Duke sees the tricolor cockade.]
Ah!
[To Metternich.]
I was not aware—but then—the flag?
Metternich.
Highness—
The Duke.
Is that changed, too?
Metternich.
A trivial detail.
The Duke.
Nothing.
Metternich.
Question of color
—
The Duke.
Of a shade.
See for yourself. Looked at in certain lights,
I really think this is the more effective. [He moves
a few steps.]
[His mother takes him by the arm and leads him
to the butterfly-cases, which the Doctor, who
has come back, has spread out.]
The Duke.
Butterflies?
Maria Louisa.
You admire the black one?
The Duke.
Charming.
The Doctor.
The plants it loves are umbelliferous.
The Duke.
It seems to see me with its wings.
The Doctor.
Those eyes?
We call them lunulæ.
The Duke.
Indeed? I'm glad.
The Doctor.
Are you examining the spotted grey?
The Duke.
No, sir.
The Doctor.
What then, my lord?
The Duke.
The pin that killed it.
The Doctor.
[To Maria Louisa.]
No use.
Maria Louisa.
[To Scarampi.]
We'll wait. I count on the effect—
Scarampi.
Ah, yes!—Of our surprise.
Gentz.
[Who has approached the Duke.]
A sweetmeat?
The Duke.
[Taking one and tasting it.]
Perfect.
A flavor of verbena and of pear,
And something else—wait—yes—
Gentz.
It's not worth while—
The Duke.
What's not worth while?
Gentz.
To feign an interest.
I'm not so blind as Metternich.
[He offers him another sweetmeat.]
A chocolate?
The Duke.
What do you see?
Gentz.
I see a youth who suffers,
Rather than live a favored prince's life.
Your soul is still alive, but here at court
They'll lull it fast asleep with love and music.
I had a soul once, like the rest of the world;
But—! And I wither, decently obscene—
Till some day, in the cause of liberty,
One of those rash young fools of the University
Amid my sweetmeats, perfumes, and dishonor
Slays me as Kotzebue was slain by Sand.
Yes, I'm afraid—do try a sugared raisin—
That I shall perish at his hand.
The Duke.
You will.
Gentz.
What?—How?
The Duke.
A youth will slay you.
Gentz.
But—
The Duke.
A youth of your acquaintance.
Gentz.
Sir—?
The Duke.
His name
Is Frederick. 'Tis the youth you were yourself.
For now he's risen again in you; and since
He whispers in your ear like dull remorse,
All's over with you: he will show no mercy.
Gentz.
'Tis true, my youth cuts like a knife within me.
Ah, well I knew that gaze had not deceived me!
'Tis that of one who ponders upon Empire.
The Duke.
I do not understand, sir, what you mean.
[He moves away.]
Metternich.
[To Gentz.]
You've had a chat with—?
Gentz.
Yes.
Metternich.
Delightful?
Gentz.
Very.
Metternich.
He's in the hollow of my hand.
Gentz.
Entirely.
The Duke.
[Stopping before Theresa.]
Why did you weep?
Theresa.
Because, my Lord—
The Duke.
Ah, no!
I know. But do not weep.
Metternich.
[Bowing to the Duke.]
I take my leave.
[He goes out with the Attaché.]
The Duke.
[To Maria Louisa and Dietrichstein, who are turning
over some papers on his table.]
Examining my work?
Dietrichstein.
It's excellent.
But why on purpose make mistakes in German?
Pure mischief!
Maria Louisa.
Oh! and at your age, mischief!
The Duke.
How can I help it? I am not an eagle.
Dietrichstein.
You still make France a noun of feminine gender.
The Duke.
I never know what's der or die or das.
Dietrichstein.
In this case neuter is correct.
The Duke.
But mean.
I don't much care about a neuter France.
Maria Louisa.
[To Thalberg, who is playing softly on the piano.]
My son detests all music.
The Duke.
I detest it.
Lord Cowley.
[Coming toward the Duke.]
Highness—
Dietrichstein.
[Aside to the Duke.]
A pleasant word.
The Duke.
Eh?
Dietrichstein.
The English
Ambassador.
Lord Cowley.
Where had you been just now
When you came galloping and out of breath?
The Duke.
I? To Saint Helena.
Lord Cowley.
I beg your pardon?
The Duke.
A wholesome, leafy nook. So gay!—At evening
Delightful. I should like to see you there.
Gentz.
[Hastily to the Ambassador, while the Duke moves
away.]
They call the village in the Helenenthal
Saint Helena. A fashionable stroll.
Lord Cowley.
Ah, really? I was almost wondering
Whether he meant it as a hit—?
[He turns away.]
Gentz.
[Lifting his hands in amazement at Lord Cowley's
dulness.]
These English!
Voices.
We're off!
The Archduchess.