L'Aiglon
Page 7
[To the Doctor, who is feeling his pulse.]
Doctor, you're a nuisance!
[To Sedlinzky, who is sidling toward the door.]
'Twas very kind of you to sort my papers.
You're spoiling me. Indeed you are. You've chosen
Even my lackeys from among your friends.
Sedlinzky.
Your Highness does not think—!
The Duke.
I shouldn't mind
If only they performed their duties better.
But I am villainously groomed. My stock
Rides up. In short, since this is your department,
I wish you'd black my boots a little better.
[A Lackey brings a tray with refreshments, which
the Doctor takes.]
The Archduchess.
[Anxious to help the Duke from the tray.]
Franz—
The Duke.
[To Sedlinzky, who is again making for the door.]
You take nothing—?
Sedlinzky.
I have taken—
The Archduchess.
A Tartar!
The Duke.
Orders, Foresti!
Foresti.
Colonel!
The Duke.
We'll manœuvre
At early dawn the day after to-morrow;
Assemble at Grosshofen.
Foresti.
Good, my Colonel!
The Duke.
[To the Officers.]
I'll not detain you, gentlemen. Good-day.
[Foresti and the Officers go out.]
The Duke.
[To Sedlinzky, taking a letter out of his pocket, and
tossing it toward him.]
Dear Count, here is another you've not read.
[Sedlinzky and the Doctor go out.]
Dietrichstein.
[Who came in a moment ago.]
I think you treat him rather harshly, Highness.
The Archduchess.
Is not the Duke at perfect liberty?
Dietrichstein.
Of course the Duke is not a prisoner, but—
The Duke.
I like that "but," I hope you feel its value!
Good Lord, I'm not a prisoner, "but"—that's all!
"But"—not a prisoner, "but"—that is the word,
The formula! A prisoner? Oh, not a moment!
"But" there are always people at my heels.
A prisoner? Not I! You know I'm not;
"But" if I risk a stroll across the park
A hidden eye blossoms behind each leaf.
Of course not prisoner, "but" let anyone
Seek private speech with me, beneath each hedge
Up springs the mushroom ear. I'm truly not
A prisoner, "but" when I ride, I feel
The delicate attention of an escort.
I'm not the least bit in the world a prisoner,
"But" I'm the second to unseal my letters.
Not at all prisoner, "but" at night they post
A lackey at my door—look! there he goes.
I, Duke of Reichstadt, prisoner? Never! never!
I, prisoner? No! I'm not a prisoner—"but"—!
Dietrichstein.
I love to see this mirth—so rare—
The Duke.
Yes, devilish!
Dietrichstein.
[Taking his leave.]
Your Highness—
The Duke.
Serenissimus!
Dietrichstein.
Eh!
The Duke.
—issimus!
That is my title. My particular title
Kindly remember it another time!
Dietrichstein.
[Bowing.]
I leave you—
[He goes.]
The Duke.
[To the Archduchess.]
Serenissimus! how glorious!
[Pointing to the album.]
What's that?
The Archduchess.
The Emperor's herbarium.
The Duke.
Lord!
Grandpapa's botany!
The Archduchess.
He lent it me
This morning, Franz.
The Duke.
[Examining it.]
It's pretty.
The Archduchess.
You know Latin,
What is this withered black thing?
The Duke.
That's a rose.
The Archduchess.
Franz, there's been something wrong with you of late.
The Duke.
[Reading.]
Bengalensis.
The Archduchess.
Of Bengal?
The Duke.
That's right.
The Archduchess.
I find you nervous. What's the matter?
The Duke.
Nothing.
The Archduchess.
Yes, but I know, your bosom-friend Prokesch,
The confidant of hopes they think too vast,
They've sent him far away.
The Duke.
But in exchange
They give me Marshal Marmont as a friend.
Despised in France, he crawls to Austria
To gather praise for treason to my Father.
The Archduchess.
Hush!
The Duke.
And a man like that is here to set
The son against the Father!—Oh!—
[Reading.]
Volubilis.
The Archduchess.
Franz, when you promise do you keep your word?
The Duke.
You've been so good to me, I could not break it.
The Archduchess.
Besides, you liked my birthday present, Franz.
The Duke.
Ah, yes! These relics from the archducal trophy!
[He takes the things he mentions, which are on a
console between the doors on the right.]
A tinder box—a busby of the Guard—
An ancient musket—No! it isn't loaded!
And above all—
The Archduchess.
Oh, hush!
The Duke.
That other thing—
I've hidden it.
The Archduchess.
Where, you bandit?
The Duke.
In my den.
The Archduchess.
Well, promise then—your grandfather—you know
His kindness—
The Duke.
[Picking up a paper which has fallen from the herbarium.]
What is this? A sheet of paper?
[He reads.]
"And if the students still persist in shouting.
Let them be crimped and sent on active service—".
[To the Archduchess.]
You said—his kindness—
The Archduchess.
Yes; the Emperor loves you.
His goodness—
The Duke.
[Picking up another paper fallen from the herbarium.]
Here's another.
[He reads.]
"As the mob
Resist you, cut them down."
[To the Archduchess.]
His goodness—
The Archduchess.
He hates the ferment of the modern mind,
But he's an excellent old man.
The Duke.
Two-sided.
Flowers from whose leaves death-sentences are shed,
Good Emperor Franz is like these specimens.
[He closes the herbarium.]
However, he's beloved, he's popular,
I love him well.
The Archduchess.
How he could help your cause!
The Duke.
Ah! if he would!
The Archduchess.
Promise you'll never fly
Until you've tried your utmost with him.
The Du
ke.
Yes,
I promise that.
The Archduchess.
And I'll reward you now.
The Duke.
You?
The Archduchess.
Oh, one has one's little influence!
The astounding Prokesch they deprived you of—
I said and did so much—in short, he's here.
[She strikes the ground with her parasol. The
door opens and Prokesch enters. The Duke
rushes to him. The Archduchess goes out
quickly.]
The Duke.
At last!
Prokesch.
They may be listening.
The Duke.
Oh, they are!
They never tell, though.
Prokesch.
What?
The Duke.
I've tested them.
Uttered the most seditious sentiments;
They've never been repeated. Never.
Prokesch.
Strange!
The Duke.
I think the listener, paid by the police,
Pockets the cash and stops his friendly ears.
Prokesch.
The Countess Camerata? Any news?
The Duke.
Nothing.
Prokesch.
Oh!
The Duke.
Nothing. She's forgotten me;
Or else she's been discovered—or, perhaps—
What folly not to have fled last year! And yet
'Twas better; now I'm readier, but—forgotten.
Prokesch.
Oh, hush! Your work-room? Charming.
The Duke.
It's Chinese.
The hideous gilded birds! The nightmare faces
Sneering with scorpion-smiles from every corner!
They lodge me in the famous lacquered chamber
So that my uniform may seem more white
Against the blackness of its glowing walls!
Prokesch.
Prince!
The Duke.
They've surrounded me with fools and knaves.
Prokesch.
What have you done these last six months?
The Duke.
I've raged!
Prokesch.
I'd never seen this Schönbrunn.
The Duke.
It's a tomb.
Prokesch.
The Gloriette looks well against the sky.
The Duke.
Yes, while my heart is hungering for glory
I've that diminutive: the Gloriette!
Prokesch.
You've all the park to ride in.
The Duke.
Oh, the park
Is much too little.
Prokesch.
Well, then, the valley.
The Duke.
The valley is too little for a gallop.
Prokesch.
What do you want for galloping?
The Duke.
All Europe!
Prokesch.
Oh, hush!
The Duke.
When from the glowing page of history
I lift dazed eyes, a forehead splashed with glory,
Closing my Plutarch, leap with thee, O Cæsar,
Upon a conquered land, with Alexander,
With Hannibal, with thee, my Father—
A Lackey.
[Entering.]
What
Will your Highness please to wear to-night?
The Duke.
[To Prokesch.]
There!
[To the Lackey.]
I'm not going out.
[The Lackey disappears.]
Prokesch.
[Who has been turning over some books.]
They let you read?
The Duke.
Oh, anything. The days are past when Fanny,
That I might learn, learnt history by heart.
And, later, books were handed me in secret.
Prokesch.
The good Archduchess—?
The Duke.
Every day a book.
Locked safe all night I read it. I was drunk!
When it was finished, to conceal my crime,
I tossed it on the tester's canopy,
And there the heap grew, hidden in the darkness;
I slept beneath a dome of history.
All day the heap lay quiet, but at night,
When I was sleeping, it began to stir,
And from the pages clamorous with battles.
The battles issued, stretching torpid wings;
And laurels showered upon my slumbering eyes.
Austerlitz gleamed among my curtains, Jena
Glowed in the gilded tassels holding them
And on a sudden lapsed into my dream.
Till once, when Metternich was gravely telling
His version of my father's history,
Down comes my canopy crushed by the glory;
A hundred volumes with their fluttering pages
Shouting one name!
Prokesch.
Metternich started?
The Duke.
No.
He smiled benignantly, and said, "My Lord,
Why keep your library so out of reach?"
And since that day I've read whate'er I choose.
Prokesch.
Even "Le Fils de l'homme?"
The Duke.
Yes.
Prokesch.
Hateful book!
The Duke.
Yes; but it's French and blinded by its hate.
It says they're poisoning me; hints at Locusta
Who poisoned Claudius. If thy Prince is dying,
Wherefore, O France, belittle his disease?
It is no poisoned cup of melodrama
That kills the Duke of Reichstadt! 'Tis his soul!
Prokesch.
My Lord—!
The Duke.
It is my soul! it is my name!
That mighty name, which throbs with guns and bells,
Clashes and thunders, ceaselessly reproaches
Against my languor with its bells and guns!
Silence your tocsins and your salvos! Poison?
What need of poison in the prison-house?
I yearn to broaden history!—I am
A pallid visage watching at a window.
If I could only rid myself of doubt!
You know me well! what do you think of me?
Suppose I were what people say we are
And what we often are, we great men's sons!
Metternich feeds this doubt with frequent hints:
He's right; it is his duty as an Austrian.
I shiver when he opes the bonbonnière
They call his wit, to find some honeyed venom.
You! tell me honestly what is my worth?
You know me; can I be an Emperor?
From this pale brow may God withhold the crown
Unless its pallor's that of Bonaparte!
Prokesch.
Prince—!
The Duke.
Answer me! Must I despise myself?
Speak out! What am I? Are my wits too dull,
And are my wrists too feeble for the sceptre?
What do you think of me?
Prokesch.
Prince, if all Princes
Struggled with half these torments, doubts, and fears
There would be none but admirable kings.