  SCENE I PARIS. A BALLROOM IN THE HOUSE OF CAMBACERES [The many-candled saloon at the ARCH-CHANCELLOR'S is visible through a draped opening, and a crowd of masked dancers in fantastic costumes revolve, sway, and intermingle to the music that proceeds from an alcove at the further end of the same apartment. The front of the scene is a withdrawing-room of smaller size, now vacant, save for the presence of one sombre figure, that of NAPOLEON, seated and apparently watching the moving masquerade.] SPIRIT OF THE PITIES Napoleon even now embraces not From stress of state affairs, which hold him grave Through revels that might win the King of Spleen To toe a measure! I would speak with him. SPIRIT OF THE YEARS Speak if thou wilt whose speech nor mars nor mends! SPIRIT OF THE PITIES [into Napoleon's ear] Why thus and thus Napoleon? Can it be That Wagram with its glories, shocks, and shames, Still leaves athirst the palate of thy pride? NAPOLEON [answering as in soliloquy] The trustless, timorous lease of human life Warns me to hedge in my diplomacy. The sooner, then, the safer! Ay, this eve, This very night, will I take steps to rid My morrows of the weird contingencies That vision round and make one hollow-eyed.... The unexpected, lurid death of Lannes— Rigid as iron, reaped down like a straw— Tiptoed Assassination haunting round In unthought thoroughfares, the near success Of Staps the madman, argue to forbid The riskful blood of my previsioned line And potence for dynastic empery To linger vialled in my veins alone. Perhaps within this very house and hour, Under an innocent mask of Love or Hope, Some enemy queues my ways to coffin me.... When at the first clash of the late campaign, A bold belief in Austria's star prevailed, There pulsed quick pants of expectation round Among the cowering kings, that too well told What would have fared had I been overthrown! So; I must send down shoots to future time Who'll plant my standard and my story there; And a way opens.—Better I had not Bespoke a wife from Alexander's house. Not there now lies my look. But done is done! [The dance ends and masks enter, BERTHIER among them. NAPOLEON beckons to him, and he comes forward.] God send you find amid this motley crew Frivolities enough, friend Berthier—eh? My thoughts have worn oppressive shades despite such! What scandals of me do they bandy here? These close disguises render women bold— Their shames being of the light, not of the thing— And your sagacity has garnered much, I make no doubt, of ill and good report, That marked our absence from the capital? BERTHIER Methinks, your Majesty, the enormous tale Of your campaign, like Aaron's serpent-rod, Has swallowed up the smaller of its kind. Some speak, 'tis true, in counterpoise thereto, Of English deeds by Talavera town, Though blurred by their exploit at Walcheren, And all its crazy, crass futilities. NAPOLEON Yet was the exploit well featured in design, Large in idea, and imaginative; I had not deemed the blinkered English folk So capable of view. Their fate contrived To place an idiot at the helm of it, Who marred its working, else it had been hard If things had not gone seriously for us. —But see, a lady saunters hitherward Whose gait proclaims her Madame Metternich, One that I fain would speak with. [NAPOLEON rises and crosses the room toward a lady-masker who has just appeared in the opening. BERTHIER draws off, and the EMPEROR, unceremoniously taking the lady's arm, brings her forward to a chair, and sits down beside her as dancing is resumed.] MADAME METTERNICH In a flash I recognized you, sire; as who would not The bearer of such deep-delved charactery? NAPOLEON The devil, madame, take your piercing eyes! It's hard I cannot prosper in a game That every coxcomb plays successfully. —So here you are still, though your loving lord Disports him at Vienna? MADAME METTERNICH Paris, true, Still holds me; though in quiet, save to-night, When I have been expressly prayed come hither, Or I had not left home. NAPOLEON I sped that Prayer!— I have a wish to put a case to you, Wherein a woman's judgment, such as yours, May be of signal service. [He lapses into reverie.] MADAME METTERNICH Well? The case— NAPOLEON Is marriage—mine. MADAME METTERNICH It is beyond me, sire! NAPOLEON You glean that I have decided to dissolve [Pursuant to monitions murmured long] My union with the present Empress—formed Without the Church's due authority? MADAME METTERNICH Vaguely. And that light tentatives have winged Betwixt your Majesty and Russia's court, To moot that one of their Grand Duchesses Should be your Empress-wife. Nought else I know. NAPOLEON There have been such approachings; more, worse luck. Last week Champagny wrote to Alexander Asking him for his sister—yes or no. MADAME METTERNICH What “worse luck” lies in that, your Majesty, If severance from the Empress Josephine Be fixed unalterably? NAPOLEON This worse luck lies there: If your Archduchess, Marie Louise the fair, Would straight accept my hand, I'd offer it, And throw the other over. Faith, the Tsar Has shown such backwardness in answering me, Time meanwhile trotting, that I have ample ground For such withdrawal.—Madame, now, again, Will your Archduchess marry me of no? MADAME METTERNICH Your sudden questions quite confound my sense! It is impossible to answer them. NAPOLEON Well, madame, now I'll put it to you thus: Were you in the Archduchess Marie's place Would you accept my hand—and heart therewith? NAPOLEON [laughing roughly] Ha-ha! That's frank. And devilish cruel too! —Well, write to your husband. Ask him what he thinks, And let me know. MADAME METTERNICH Indeed, sire, why should I? There goes the Ambassador, Prince Schwarzenberg, Successor to my spouse. He's now the groove And proper conduit of diplomacy Through whom to broach this matter to his Court. NAPOLEON Do you, then, broach it through him, madame, pray; Now, here, to-night. MADAME METTERNICH I will, informally, To humour you, on this recognizance, That you leave not the business in my hands, But clothe your project in official guise Through him to-morrow; so safeguarding me From foolish seeming, as the babbler forth Of a fantastic and unheard of dream. |
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