The Emperor.
For his own sake; yes,
Metternich.
For the world's peace and yours.
The Emperor.
We must subdue him.
Metternich.
I'll come and speak to him to-night.
The Emperor.
What grief
He gives me!
Metternich.
[Trying to lead him away.]
Come.
The Emperor.
You'll speak to-night?
Metternich.
This scene
Must never be repeated.
The Emperor.
It has hurt me.
Unhappy child!
Metternich.
[Leading him off.]
Come, Sire.
The Emperor.
[Without.]
The child—
[His voice dies away.]
[The Duke opens his door very gently, sees they
are gone, listens a moment, then enters quickly
and places one of Napoleon's little hats on the
table.]
The Duke.
The signal!
[He returns to his room.]
[Flambeau enters.]
Flambeau.
'Tis time. Well, signal? Are you here?—Perhaps.
[He hunts for it.]
"Flambeau," he said, "you cannot fail to find it."
Now, is it high or low, or black or white?
Or great or small?
[He sees the hat.]
The Emperor's—! Small and great!
[He goes toward the window.]
Oh, but the Countess watches in the park,
And if the signal's here I am to signal:
[He takes out his handkerchief.]
No! This won't do. A white flag makes her ill.
[A servant enters with a reading-lamp, which he
carries toward the Duke's room.]
The Servant.
The Duke of Reichstadt's reading-lamp.
Flambeau.
[Leaping upon him and seizing the lamp.]
You dolt!
It's leaking! It must have fresh air!
[He takes it out on the balcony.]
You wave it three times so: arrange the wick;
[He does as he says and gives the lamp back to
the Servant.]
That's it. See that?
The Servant.
Oh, aren't you clever?
[He carries the lamp into the Duke's room.]
Flambeau.
Rather!
To-morrow—flight!
[Sedlinzky enters.]
Sedlinzky.
The Duke?
Flambeau.
[Pointing to the room.]
In there.
Sedlinzky.
Watch here.
Flambeau.
I'm watching.
Sedlinzky.
Lock!
[He goes out.]
Flambeau.
[Locking the door after him.]
Locked!
Sedlinzky.
[Without.]
Take the key out.
Flambeau.
Out.
Sedlinzky.
None but the Emperor has the key. Be careful—
Watch.
Flambeau.
As I always do.
[He bends over the key-holes and arranges them
carefully.]
And for the night
I'll close the eyelids of the key-holes softly.
Sedlinzky's Voice.
Good-night, you Piedmontese.
Flambeau.
Good-night, my Lord.
Sedlinzky's Voice.
Remember! you're on duty.
Flambeau.
I'm on duty.
Sedlinzky's Voice.
Well, that's all right. Good-night.
Flambeau.
Good-night!
[He throws off his livery coat. Puts on the busby,
which is standing on the console, and shoulders
the musket. He is now in the full accoutrement
of a Grenadier of the Guards.]
And thus,
Suddenly upright, thin, unliveried,
Locked in till dawn, and safe against surprise,
Glowering with grizzled brows beneath his busby,
Straight in his ancient uniform, his gun
Firm in his arm, his hand on his right nipple,
The fixed and regulation attitude,
Standing thus every night before your threshold,
Giving himself a password full of pride,
Pleased with a deed that's grave, and yet a jest,
A Grenadier at Schönbrunn stands on guard
About the son as once about the Father.
'Tis the last time! You'll never hear of it.
'Tis for myself. A private luxury.
I must be mad to do a thing like this
For no one's eye, but just to say "By Jove,
That's rather good!" At Schönbrunn! In their teeth!
But I'm delighted!—I'm content!
[He hears the noise of a key in the door.]
I'm damned!
[The door opens gently.]
Who can have got the key?
[He retires into the shadow by the Duke's door.]
[Metternich enters, carrying a large candelabrum.]
Metternich.
No, no! This scene
Must never be repeated.
Flambeau.
Nepomuk!
Metternich.
Yes, I will speak to-night. We are alone.
[As he puts down the candelabrum he sees the hat.]
What's this? I never knew he had one like—
Ah! the Archduchess must have sent him this;
So there thou art, thou legendary hat!
'Tis many years—Good day!—What sayst thou? What?
No, from thy little sable pyramid
Twelve years of splendor gaze on me in vain,
I do not fear thee now.
The leathern tag
With which he constantly could take thee off,
And so win cheers yet leave thy shape unharmed.
With thee he fanned himself after each victory;
Thou couldst not fall from his unheeding fingers,
But straight a king would stoop to pick thee up.
To-day, my friend, thou art a reach-me-down,
And if I tossed thee through the casement yonder
Where wouldst thou end thy days?
Flambeau.
[To himself.] In a museum!
Metternich.
The famous little hat—how very ugly!
They called it little—is it really little?
No; it is big; enormous; it's the hat
A little man puts on to increase his inches.
For 'twas a hatter set the legend going:
The real Napoleon, after all, was Poupart.
Ah, never think my hatred of thee slumbers!
'Twas for thy shape's sake first I hated thee,
Thou vampire-bat of bloody battle-fields,
Hat that seemed fashioned out of raven's wings.
I hated thee for pitilessly soaring
Above the fields which witnessed our defeats,
Half-circle, seeming on the ruddy sky
The orb half-risen of some sable sun!
And for thy crown wherein the devil lurks,
Thou juggler's hat, laid with a sudden hand
Upon a throne, an army, or a nation—
When thou wert lifted all had disappeared.
I hated thee for the salutes I gave thee,
For thy simplicity—mere affectation—
Thy insolent joy, thou piece of common beaver
Amid the glittering diadems of gold;
For staying firmly on his haughty head
When I sought flattering epithets to please thee.
Conqu
eror, new, acclaimed, I hated thee!
I hate thee now, old, conquered and betrayed!
I hate thee for thy haughty shadow, cast
Forever on the wall of history;
I hate thee for thy Jacobin cockade,
Staring upon me like a bloodshot eye;
For all the murmurs sounding in thy shell,
That huge black shell the waves have left behind
Wherein the shuddering listener may hear
The rumor of a nation on the march.
I hate thee for the pride of France, whose bounds
Thou hast enlarged until she scorns the world;
For Béranger I hate thee, and Raffet,
For all the songs and all the pasquinades,
And for the halo of Saint Helena.
I hate thee, hate thee. I shall not be happy
Until thy clumsy triangle of cloth,
Despoiled of its traditions, is again
What it should ne'er have ceased to be in France—
The headgear of a village constable.
I hate—but suddenly—how strange!—the present
Sometimes with impish glee will ape the past!—
Seeing thy well-known shape before me thus
Carries my mind back to a distant day,
For it was here he always put thee down
When twenty years ago he sojourned here.
This room was then the ante-chamber; here,
Waiting till graciously he showed himself,
Dukes, Princes, Magyars, huddling in a corner,
Fixed from afar their humbled eyes upon thee,
Like lions, dreading with a helpless fury
The tamer's hat forgotten in the cage.
'Twas thus he placed thee, and here lay, as now,
Weapons and papers. One might say 'twas he
Had tossed thee carelessly upon the map,
That this were still his home, this Bonaparte!
And that by turning, on the threshold—there—
I should behold the Grenadier on—
[He starts on seeing Flambeau standing rigid
before the Duke's door; he rubs his eyes.]
Ha!
No! no! I'm feverish; my tête-à-tête
With the old hat plays havoc with my nerves!
[He looks and draws near. Flambeau does not
move.]
Or have the moonbeams conjured up a spectre?
What is it, then? Let's see—let's see—let's see!
[He strides furiously toward Flambeau.]
Who are you, fellow?
Flambeau.
[Presenting his bayonet.]
Who goes there?
Metternich.
[Recoiling.]
The devil!
Flambeau.
[Coldly.]
Pass, devil.
Metternich.
[With a forced laugh, coming toward him again.]
Yes,—a very clever jest,
But—
Flambeau.
[Presenting his bayonet again.]
Who goes there?
Metternich.
[Recoiling.]
But—
Flambeau.
Move and you are dead.
Metternich.
But—I—
Flambeau.
Quiet!
Metternich.
Let me pass!
Flambeau.
The Emperor sleeps!
Metternich.
What!
Flambeau.
Silence!
Metternich.
I'm the Austrian Chancellor!
I am all-powerful! I'm—
Flambeau.
Shut your mouth!
Metternich.
I want to see the Duke of Reichstadt!
Flambeau.
Out!
Metternich.
How—out?
Flambeau.
What's Reichstadt? Never heard of Reichstadt!
Auerstadt, Elchingen, they're dukes I know.
Reichstadt's no duke. There's been no victory there.
Metternich.
But, we're at Schönbrunn!
Flambeau.
I should rather think so!
Thanks to our new success we're quartered here;
And here we're getting ready at our leisure
To give the world another drubbing! See?
Metternich.
What's that you say? A new success?
Flambeau.
Colossal!
Metternich.
This is July the ninth in Eighteen—
Flambeau.
Nine!
Metternich.
Can I be mad?
Flambeau.
Who are you? Where d'you spring from?
Why aren't you snug in bed? It's very fishy—
Metternich.
I—
Flambeau.
Who let this braggart pass? The Mameluke?
Metternich.
The Mameluke?
Flambeau.
All's going to the dogs!
Metternich.
But—
Flambeau.
You here in the ante-room at night!
Metternich.
But I—
Flambeau.
You calmly cross the Rosa chamber
Unchallenged by the sentinel on guard!
Metternich.
What?
Flambeau.
When you ventured through the small rotunda,
Was there no yatagan to shave your cheek?
Were there no sergeants in the white saloon
Brewing their punch upon the golden stove?
No bristling veterans in the china-room?
And in the galleries? The Grenadiers
Saw you come strolling as a matter-of-course?
A man may cross the oval cabinet
And not be turned to mince-meat by Duroc?
Metternich.
The Marshal—?
Flambeau.
Is the bulldog turned to lapdog?
Metternich.
I come here—
Flambeau.
So the palace is an inn?
And when you'd managed all the sentinels,
Where were the rest? The porter? Gone to bed?
The valet? Absent? And the secretary?
Where was he hidden? In his own portfolio?
Metternich.
But I—
Flambeau.
Instead of being after you,
No doubt the Aide-de-Camp was after women!
Metternich.
But—
Flambeau.
And the Moor was saying prayers to Allah?
At any rate it's lucky I was here.
What discipline! If he looks into this
I'll bet my head he'll let the beggars know!
Metternich.
I'm going—
Flambeau.
Ah! don't stir! You'll wake him!
He's sleeping on his little bed of laurels.
Metternich.
[Falling into an arm-chair.]
Was never such a dream! 'Twill make an epic!
[His hand touches the flame of one of the candles.]
Well, but this candle—
Flambeau.
Burns.
Metternich.
[Feeling the point of Flambeau's bayonet.]
This weapon—
Flambeau.
Stings!
Metternich.
Then I'm awake! I'm—
Flambeau.
Hold your tongue!
Metternich.
And what of Waterloo?
Flambeau.
L'Aiglon Page 12
