decoration of seven bees
decoration of three bees
decoration of four Ns topped alternately by eagles or crowns
TheDuke'scabinet at Schönbrunn. It is the famous Lacquered Chamber. At the back is a window opening on a balcony. In the distance, at the end of a beautiful avenue, the "Gloriette," a Corinthian Portico. There are two doors on the left, and two on the right. Between these doors stand two large Louis XV. consoles. There is a large writing-table and other furniture in the styles of Louis XIV. and Louis XV. In the right-hand corner in front stands a large swinging mirror, with its back to the audience.
At the rise of the curtainSedlinzky(the Prefect of the Police),theUsher,and a number ofLackeysare discovered.
Sedlinzky.That's all?First Lackey.That's all.Sedlinzky.Nothing abnormal?Second Lackey.Nothing.Third Lackey.Eats little.Fourth Lackey.Reads a lot.Fifth Lackey.Sleeps very badly.Sedlinzky.[To theUsher.]And can you trust his personal attendants?The Usher.Why, they are all professional policemen,As you, the Prefect of Police, must know.Sedlinzky.Thank you. I fear the Duke may find me here.First Lackey.No, sir; he's out.Second Lackey.As usual at this hour.Third Lackey.In uniform.Fourth Lackey.And with his Aides-de-Camp.The Usher.There are manœuvres.Sedlinzky.Well, be keen and tactful.Let him not know he's watched.The Usher.I'm very cunning.Sedlinzky.Not too much zeal! I dread a zealous man.Don't listen at his keyhole in a crowd.The Usher.I've given that duty to a special man.Sedlinzky.To whom?The Usher.The Piedmontese.Sedlinzky.Ah yes; he's clever.The Usher.I place him every evening in this chamberImmediately his Highness seeks his roomSedlinzky.Is he here now?The Usher.No. As he wakes all nightHe sleeps by daytime, while the Duke is out.He'll be here when the Duke is.Sedlinzky.Let him watch.The Usher.Trust me.Sedlinzky.[Glancing at the table.]The papers—?The Usher.[With a smile.]Searched.Sedlinzky.[Stooping under the table.]The basket, too?[Seeing scraps of paper under the table, he hastilykneels to examine them.]These scraps?[He tries to read.]Perhaps a letter?[Urged by professional curiosity he creeps underthe table.]But from whom?[TheDukeenters in the uniform of an Austrianofficer, followed by his Staff. TheLackeyshurriedly range themselves.]The Duke.[SeeingSedlinzky'slegs protruding from under thetable; very simply.]Why, how areyou, Sedlinzky?Sedlinzky.[Emerging amazed on all fours.]Highness!The Duke.An accident. Excuse me. Just come in.Sedlinzky.[Standing.]You knew me? Yet I was—The Duke.Flat on your stomach?Oh yes, I knew you.[He sees theArchduchess,who enters hurriedlycarrying a large album.]Ah, I feared as much!They've frightened you.The Archduchess.They told me—The Duke.It was nothing.The Archduchess.But yet—The Duke.[SeeingDoctor Malfattienter.]The doctor! But I am not ill![To theArchduchess.]Nothing. A choking. So I left parade.I had been shouting.[To theDoctor,who is feeling his pulse.]Doctor, you're a nuisance![ToSedlinzky,who is sidling toward the door.]'Twas very kind of you to sort my papers.You're spoiling me. Indeed you are. You've chosenEven my lackeys from among your friends.Sedlinzky.Your Highness does not think—!The Duke.I shouldn't mindIf only they performed their duties better.But I am villainously groomed. My stockRides up. In short, since this is your department,I wish you'd black my boots a little better.[ALackeybrings a tray with refreshments, whichtheDoctortakes.]The Archduchess.[Anxious to help theDukefrom the tray.]Franz—The Duke.[ToSedlinzky,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 manœuvreAt early dawn the day after to-morrow;Assemble at Grosshofen.Foresti.Good, my Colonel!The Duke.[To theOfficers.]I'll not detain you, gentlemen. Good-day.[Forestiand theOfficersgo out.]The Duke.[ToSedlinzky,taking a letter out of his pocket, andtossing it toward him.]Dear Count, here is another you've not read.[Sedlinzkyand theDoctorgo 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 parkA hidden eye blossoms behind each leaf.Of course not prisoner, "but" let anyoneSeek private speech with me, beneath each hedgeUp springs the mushroom ear. I'm truly notA prisoner, "but" when I ride, I feelThe 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 postA 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 titleKindly remember it another time!Dietrichstein.[Bowing.]I leave you—[He goes.]The Duke.[To theArchduchess.]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 meThis 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 exchangeThey give me Marshal Marmont as a friend.Despised in France, he crawls to AustriaTo gather praise for treason to my Father.The Archduchess.Hush!The Duke.And a man like that is here to setThe 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 aconsole 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 knowHis 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 theArchduchess.]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 mobResist you, cut them down."[To theArchduchess.]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 flyUntil you've tried your utmost with him.The Duke.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. Thedoor opens andProkeschenters. TheDukerushes to him. TheArchduchessgoes outquickly.]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 facesSneering with scorpion-smiles from every corner!They lodge me in the famous lacquered chamberSo that my uniform may seem more whiteAgainst 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 gloryI've that diminutive: the Gloriette!Prokesch.You've all the park to ride in.The Duke.Oh, the parkIs 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 historyI 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.]WhatWill your Highness please to wear to-night?The Duke.[ToProkesch.]There![To theLackey.]I'm not going out.[TheLackeydisappears.]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, JenaGlowed in the gilded tassels holding themAnd on a sudden lapsed into my dream.Till once, when Metternich was gravely tellingHis version of my father's history,Down comes my canopy crushed by the glory;A hundred volumes with their fluttering pagesShouting 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 LocustaWho poisoned Claudius. If thy Prince is dying,Wherefore, O France, belittle his disease?It is no poisoned cup of melodramaThat 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 reproachesAgainst 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 amA 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 areAnd 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 bonbonnièreThey 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 crownUnless 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 PrincesStruggled with half these torments, doubts, and fearsThere would be none but admirable kings.The Duke.I thank you, Prokesch. Ah! that word consoles me.To work, my friend![ALackeybrings in a tray full of letters, placesthem on the table, and goes out.]Prokesch.Your mail has just arrived.A load of letters.The Duke.Yes; from women. TheseReach me unopened.Prokesch.What successes!The Duke.Yes;That's what it is to wear the fatal halo.[He opens one letter after another; reads the beginningand tears them up.]"I saw you in your box last night, how pale—!"Destroyed! "Oh, that while brow!" Destroyed! "My Prince,I saw you riding in the Prater yesterday—"Destroyed!Prokesch.What, all?The Duke."Your youth—" The Canoness.Destroyed![The door opens gently andTheresacomes in.]Theresa.Forgive me.The Duke.Little Brooklet. You?Theresa.Why do you always call me that?The Duke.'Tis sweet,'Tis pure. It fits you.Theresa.Prince, I go to ParmaTo-morrow with your mother.The Duke.I am sorry.Theresa.Parma—The Duke.The land of violets.Theresa.Ah, yes!The Duke.And if my mother knows not what they stand forTell her.Theresa.Farewell, my Lord.The Duke.Go, little Brooklet,Go on your innocent course.Theresa.Why "Little Brooklet"?The Duke.Because the slumbering depths within your eyes,The murmur of your voice, so oft refreshed me.Theresa.You've nothing more to say?The Duke.No, nothing more.Theresa.Good-bye, my Lord.[She goes.]The Duke.Destroyed!Prokesch.Ah! I perceive!The Duke.She loves me—and perhaps—but I must dealIn history and not romances! Come!To work, my friend! We will resume our tactics.Prokesch.I'll plan an action: you shall criticise it.The Duke.First give me yonder box upon the couch,The wooden box with all my wooden soldiers.I'll work the problem much more easilyUpon our little military chess-board.Prokesch.[After giving the box to theDuke.]You have to prove my plan is hazardous.The Duke.[Putting his hand on the box.]These are the soldiers of Napoleon's son!Prokesch.Prince!The Duke.I'm surrounded with such loving care,They even paint my soldiers—take them out—They even paint my wooden soldiers Austrian!Well! hand me one. We will deploy our left.[He takes the soldierProkeschhands him, andstarts on seeing it.]Prokesch.What is't?The Duke.One of my father's Grenadiers![Prokeschhands him another.]A Cuirassier![He takes others out of the box.]Light Infantry! A scout!They're all become good Frenchmen! Someone's paintedEach of these little wooden combatants![He takes them all out.]They're French! French! French!Prokesch.What miracle is this?The Duke.I tell you, someone's carved and painted them!Prokesch.Who?The Duke.And the artist was a soldier!Prokesch.Why?The Duke.Each coat of regal blue has seven buttons,The collars are correct, the linings faithful,The tunics, brandenburghs, and forage-caps,All's there! The painter never had to pauseTo get the edgings and the facings right!The lace is white, the flaps are triple-pointed!—Oh, friend, whoe'er you are, with folded handsI thank you, nameless soldier of my father!I know not how you worked, nor whence you came.How you found means, here, in our dismal gaol,To paint these little mannikins for me.Who is the hero, little wooden army—Only a hero would have been so childish—Who is the hero who equipped you thusThat now you smile at me from all your trappings?Whose was the loving, microscopic brushWhich gave each tiny face its grim mustache,Stamped cannon cross-wise on each pouch, and gaveEach officer his bugle or grenade?Take them all out! The table's covered with them.Here are the skirmishers, the fugle-men,The Infantry with shoulder-straps of green.Take them all out! They're little conquerors!Oh, Prokesch, look! locked in that little boxLay sleeping all the gloriousGrande Armée!Here are the Mamelukes—I recognizeThe crimson breast-piece of the Polish Lancers.Here are the Sappers with their purple breeches,And here at last, with different colored leggings.The Grenadiers of the line with waving plumes
portrait
Who marched into the battle with white gaiters;The Conscripts here, with green and pear-shaped tufts.Who marched to battle with their gaiters black.Like a poor prisoner, who falls a-dreamingOf vast and murmuring forests, with a treeFashioned of shavings, taken from a doll's house,I build my Father's Epic with these soldiers.[He moves away from the table.]Why, yes, from here I cannot see at allThe little rounds of wood that keep them upright!This army, Prokesch, when you move away'Tis but the distance makes it look so small![He comes back quickly.]Place them in line for Wagram and for Eylau!This naked yatagan shall be the water—[He takes a sword from the panoply.]It is the Danube.[He arranges the soldiers.]Essling! Yonder's Aspern.Throw out a paper bridge across the steel.Pass me a mounted Grenadier or two.Prokesch.We want a little hillock.The Duke.[Handing him a book.]The "Memorials."Here stands Saint Cyr, here Molitor of BellegardeAnd on the bridge—Metternich.[Who has come in unperceived and is standing behindhim.]And on the bridge?The Duke.The Guards.Metternich.So all the army's French to-day, it seems!Where are the Austrians?The Duke.They've run away.Metternich.Tut, tut—who daubed them over for you?The Duke.No one.Metternich.'Twas you. That's how you spoil the toys we give you.The Duke.Sir—![Metternichrings—aLackeyappears.]Metternich.[To theLackey.]Take these soldiers; throw them all away.[To theDuke.]I'll send you new ones.The Duke.I'll not have your new ones!If I'm a child, my toys shall be a giant's!Metternich.What gadfly—what Imperial bee has stung you?The Duke.As irony is little to my liking—The Lackey.[Aside to theDuke.]Silence, my Lord! I'll paint 'em over again.Metternich.Well, Highness?The Duke.Nothing. Just a fit of temper.Forgive me.[Aside.]I've a friend; I can be patient.Metternich.I came to bring your friend—The Duke.My friend?Metternich.Yes; MarshalMarmont.The Duke.Oh! Marmont!Metternich.[With a look atProkesch.]He's among the fewI like to see about you—Prokesch.[Mutters.]I should hope so!Metternich.He's here.The Duke.Why, let him come![Metternichgoes out. TheDukethrows himselfwildly on the couch.]My father! Glory!The Eagles! The Imperial throne! The purple![Suddenly calm, he offers his hand toMarmont,who enters withMetternich.]Ah, Marshal Marmont! How areyouto-day?Marmont.My Lord—!Metternich.[Anxious to getProkeschaway.]Come, Prokesch, come and see how wellThe Duke is lodged.[He takes him by the arm and leads him off.]The Duke.[After a pause.]You've told me all you knowAbout my Father's youth?Marmont.I have.The Duke.We'll sum it upYou'd call him great?Marmont.Oh, very.The Duke.But 'twas youWho helped—Marmont.I helped him to avoid—The Duke.Disaster?Marmont.Well, he believed so stoutly—The Duke.In his star?Marmont.We perfectly agree in our conclusions.The Duke.And I suppose he was, as we were saying—Marmont.He was a General of some importance;Yet it were hardly fair to call him—The Duke.Wretch!Marmont.What?The Duke.Now I've learnt whatever you could teach me,Whatever memories of him you had,All that, in spite of you, was splendid in you.I cast you off: a useless sponge!Marmont.My Lord!The Duke.Duke of Ragusa, you betrayed him! You!Ah, yes, I know, when you beheld your comradeClimbing the throne you all said, "Why not I?"But you, whom even in the ranks he loved,And loved so well his men grew discontented,Created Marshal at the age of thirty—Marmont.No; thirty-five.The Duke.You, traitor of Essonnes,The mob has found new uses for your nameAnd coined a verb "Raguser," to betray!Why do you stand there silent? Answer me.'Tis not alone Prince Francis Charles, it isNapoleon the Second speaking to you.Marmont.[Listening.]They come—Prince Metternich—I know his voice.The Duke.Well! you know what to do. Betray us twice!Metternich.[Entering withProkesch.]Don't interrupt your chat. I'm taking ProkeschAcross the park to see the Roman ruinsWhere I propose to give a ball. I amThe last survivor of a crumbling world.I like the idea of dancing over ruins.Good-night.[He goes out withProkesch.]Marmont.My Lord, you see I held my peace.The Duke.It only needed that you shouldraguse.Marmont.Oh, conjugate the verb! I'll take a seat.The Duke.What!Marmont.I will let you conjugate the verbBecause you were magnificent just now.The Duke.Sir!Marmont.I have spoken evil of your FatherThese fifteen years. I do so still; 'tis true.Can you not guess I seek to excuse myself?I never saw your Father after Elba—If I had seen him I should have returned.Others betrayed him, thinking to save France;But these beheld his face again, and fellUnder the spell, as I have fallen to-night.The Duke.Why, sir?Marmont.I also have beheld his face.The Duke.How?Marmont.In that frown, and in that haughty gesture;The sparkling eye! Insult me. I remain.The Duke.Almost you have atoned if that be true,Saved me from self-distrust which these exploit.What? With my gloomy brow and narrow chest—?Marmont.I have beheld him!The Duke.Dare I hope again?Dare I forgive you? Why did you betray him?Marmont.My Lord—!The Duke.Why? You—and others?Marmont.We were weary.Can you not understand? No peace in Europe.It's well to conquer, but one wants to live!Berlin, Vienna, never, never Paris!Beginning and beginning and beginning,Again, and yet again as in a nightmare;Forever and forever in the saddleTill we were sick of it!The Lackey.[Having taken out the wooden soldiers and come back.What about us?The Duke and Marmont.Eh?The Lackey.Us, the men, the mean, the rank and file?Us, tramping broken, wounded, muddy, dying,Having no hope of duchies or endowments,Marching along and never getting further,Too simple and too ignorant to covetThe famous marshal's baton in our knapsacks?What about us, who marched through every weather,Sweating but fearless, shivering without trembling,Kept on our feel by trumpet-calls, by fever,And by the songs we sang through conquered countries?Us upon whom for seventeen years—just think!—The knapsack, sabre, turn-screw, flint, and gun,Beside the burden of an empty belly,Made the sweet weight of five and fifty pounds?Us, who wore bearskins in the burning tropicsAnd marched bareheaded through the snows of Russia,Who trotted casually from Spain to Austria?Us who, to free our travel-weary legs,Like carrots from the slough of miry roads,Often with both hands had to lug them out?Us, who, not having jujubes for our coughs,Took day-long foot-baths in the freezing Danube?Who just had leisure when some officerCame riding up, and gayly cried "To arms!The enemy is on us! Drive him back!"To eat a slice of rook—and raw at that,Or quickly mix a delicate ice-creamWith melted snow and a dead horse's blood?Us, who—The Duke.At last!The Lackey.At night had little fearOf bullets, but a holy dread of wakingCannibals; us—The Duke.At last—!The Lackey.Who marched and foughtFasting, and only stopped—The Duke.At last I see one!The Lackey.To fight—and then stopped fighting, four to one,Only to march; and stopped again to fight!Marching and fighting, naked, starved, but merry—Don't you suppose we, too, were sick of it?Marmont.But—The Lackey.Though we owed him precious little thanks,Nevertheless 'twas we whose hearts were true,While you were ambling at the King's right hand.In short, your Highness, in the great canteen,Where souls are fed on glory, he may find[Pointing toMarmont.]His laurels are not worth our small potatoes.Marmont.Who is this Lackey with the veteran's growl?The Lackey.John Seraph Peter Flambeau, called Flambart—"The glowing coal"—ex-sergeant grenadier.Mamma from Picardy; Papa a Breton.Joined at fourteen, two Germinal, year Three.Baptised, Marengo; got my corporal's stripesThe fifteenth Fructidor, year Twelve. Silk hoseAnd sergeant's cane, steeped in my tears of joy.July fourteenth, year Eighteen hundred and nine,At Schönbrunn, for the Guards were here to serveThe sacred person of your Majesty.Sixteen years' service, seen sixteen campaigns,Fought Austerlitz, fought Eylau, Somo-Siera,Eckmühl, Essling, Wagram, Smolensk, and so forth.Thirty-two feats of arms, a lot of wounds,And only fought for glory and dry bread.Marmont.Surely you will not listen to him thus?The Duke.No, sir, I will not listen thus, but standing!Marmont.My Lord!The Duke.For in the volume whose sublimeChapters are headed with proud capitalsYou are the titles and you catch the eye;But these—these are the thousand little letters—You're nought, without the black and humble armyThat goes to make a page of history.Oh, my brave Flambeau, painter of my soldiers,To think while you were near me all this month,I only looked upon you as a spy.Flambeau.Oh, our acquaintance dates much further back!The Duke.How so?Flambeau.Can't you recall me?The Duke.Not at all.Flambeau.One Thursday in the garden of Saint CloudMarshal Duroc stood with a maid-in-waiting,Watching your Highness at his nurse's breast—Its whiteness, I remember, startled me.Marshal Duroc exclaimed, "Come here!" I came.But there were lots of things to make me nervous:The Imperial child, the gorgeous rosy sleevesThe Maid of honor wore, Duroc, the breast—In short, the tuft was shivering on my bearskin;So much so that your Highness noticed it.You gazed upon it pensively: what was it?And while you hailed it with a milky laughYou seemed uncertain which to admire the moreAbout this moving scarlet miracle:Its motion, or the fact that it was scarlet.Suddenly, while I stooped, your little handsBegan lo pull the precious tuft about.Seeing my plight, the Marshal cried severely,"Don't interfere"—I didn't interfere;But having sunk upon my knees I heardThe nurse, the marshal, and the lady laughing.And when I rose the grass was strewn with red:As for my tuft, that was a beardless wire."I'll sign an order," said Duroc, "for two."Back to my quarters then I strutted radiant;"You there! hulloa!" exclaimed the Adjutant,"Who's plucked you?" And I cried: "The King of Rome!"And that is how one Thursday morn I metYour Majesty. Your Highness has developed.The Duke.No, not developed: that is why I grieve.My "Majesty" has shrivelled to my "Highness."Marmont.[ToFlambeau.]But since the Empire fell, what have you done?Flambeau.I think I've acted like a decent beggar.I know Fournier and Solignac. In MayEighteen-sixteen Didier and SarlovèzeConspire and fail. I see the child MiardPerish, and David the old man, and weep;They'd have beheaded me, but I am missing.Good. I come back to Paris with an alias;I smash a footstool on a royal guardBecause he'd trodden on my favorite corn.I take the chair at noisy drinking bouts,Spend thirty pence a month. I nurse a hopeThat in the Var that Other still may land.I swagger in a Bonapartist hatAnd call whoever stares at me a vampire.I fight some thirty duels. I conspireAt Béziers; fail. They'd have beheaded me,But I am missing. Good. I join at onceThe plot at Lyons. All are seized. I fly.They'd have beheaded me, but I am missing.So I come back to Paris, where, by chance,I find myself mixed up in the Bazaar plot.Lefèvre-Desnouettes is in America.I join him there. "What's up, my General?"Says I. Says he, "Come back." We start; we're wrecked.My General's drowned, but I know how to swim;And so I swim, bewailing Desnouettes.Good. Very good. Sun—azure waves—and sea-mews.A ship. They fish me up. I land in timeTo be among the plotters of Saumur.We fail again. They'd have beheaded me,But I am missing. So I make for Greece,To rub the rust off, thrashing dirty Turks.One morning in July I'm back in France.I see them heaping paving stones. I help.I fight. At night the tricolor is hoisted.Instead of the while banner of the King,But as I think there still is something lackingTo crown the point of that disloyal staff;You know—the golden thing that beats its wings.I leave, to plot in the Romagna. Fail.A relative of yours—The Duke.Named?Flambeau.Camerata—Makes me her fencing master—The Duke.Ah!Flambeau.In Tuscany.So we conspire with singlestick and rapier.Next there's a post of danger vacant here;They give me forged credentials; here I am.I'm here; but every day I see the Countess,For I have found the cave your Highness dugWith your preceptor Colin in the gardenTo play at little Robinson. All right!I hide in it. I find it has two openings:This in an ant-heap; that, a bed of nettles.I wait. Your cousin brings her sketch-book, andThere in the shadow of the Roman thingummies,She on her camp-stool, I amid the mud,She looking like an English tourist sketching,I whispering from my cavern like a prompter,We plan the means to make you Emperor.The Duke.And for such loyalty, so long maintained,What do you ask of me?Flambeau.Just pull my ear.The Duke.What?Flambeau.As your Father used to when we'd pleased him.The Duke.But I—Flambeau.I'm waiting. Come. The thumb and index.[The Dukepulls his ear.]That's not the way to pull an ear, my Lord!You don't know how: you're much too gentlemanly.The Duke.Ah, do you think so?Marmont.Clumsy thing to say!Flambeau.Well, in a French Prince that's but half a fault.The Duke.But can you see I'm French in these surroundings?Flambeau.Yes, you don't match. It's rich; it's heavy.Marmont.What!Can you see that?Flambeau.My brother's an upholsterer.He works in Paris for Fontaine and Percier—They try to imitate us here; but, Lord!They've got a curious kind of Louis-Quinze!I'm not an expert, but I've got an eye.[He lifts up a chair.]Just look how finnicking this wood-work is.[He puts it down and looks at it.]But then the tapestry! What taste! what mystery!It sings. It laughs. It crushes all the room.Why? Don't you know? Why, these are Gobelins!How plain it is that cunning craftsmen made them.This taste, this elegance swears with the rest—And you my Lord, were also made in France!Malmont.He must go back.Flambeau.And on the Cross of HonorOnce more engrave a little Emperor.The Duke.Whom have they put there now?Flambeau.Henry the Fourth—Well, damn it all, it had to be a fighter!But,basta! How Napoleon must laughTo wear King Henry's mask upon his face!Haven't you ever seen the cross?The Duke.In shops.Flambeau.My Lord, it must be seen upon a breast.Here on the cloth, a gout of ardent blood,Which fell, and falling turned to burnished goldAnd to enamel with an edge of green;'Twas like a jewel pouring from a wound.The Duke.It must have looked magnificent, my friend.Here on your bosom.Flambeau.I?—I never had it.The Duke.What! After all your modest heroism?Flambeau.One had to do far greater deeds to win it.The Duke.You made no claim?Flambeau.The Little CorporalDidn't bestow it; so I hadn't earned it.The Duke.Then I, who have no power, no throne, no title,I, who am but a memory in a phantom,That Duke of Reichstadt who with helpless griefCan only wander under Austrian trees,Carving an N upon their mossy trunks,Wayfarer, only noticed when I cough;Who have no longer even the little pieceOf watered silk so scarlet in my cradle;I, on whose woes they vainly lavish stars,Who only wear two crosses, not the One!I, exiled, prisoner, sick, who may not rideAlong the front of pompous regimentsScattering stars among my heroes; yetI hope—I think—the son of such a father—Into whose hands a firmament was given—I think, in spite of shadows and dead days,A little of the star clings to my fingers:—John Seraph Peter Flambeau, I adorn you!Flambeau.You!The Duke.Oh, this ribbon is not real.Flambeau.The realIs that we weep in taking. I have wept.Marmont.Besides, it must be legalized in Paris.The Duke.But how to get to Paris?Flambeau.Pack your trunk.The Duke.Alas!Flambeau.No more "Alas." To-day's the Ninth,And if you'd like to be on the Pont-NeufThe Thirtieth—you'll be there if you like—Come to the ball to-morrow given by Nepomuk.The Duke and Marmont.By whom?Flambeau.Prince Metternich (Clement LothairWenceslas Nepomuk). Come. No more "Alas!"Marmont.You utter dangerous secrets in my presence!Flambeau.You'll not betray a plot in which you share.The Duke.Not Marmont!Marmont.Yes, I'm with you.[ToFlambeau.]All the sameYou didn't use much flattery to win me;You gave me quite a warm reception.Flambeau.Yes;And won a warm reception for myself.Marmont.Very imprudent.Flambeau.True, but then my failingIs ever overdoing things a little.I always add a trifle to my ordersAnd wear a rose-bud when I go to battle:My little joke.Marmont.So if the CamerataCares to employ me—The Duke.No! not Marmont!Flambeau.Pooh!Let him redeem himself!The Duke.No!Marmont.I have listsCarefully made, of all the malcontents;Maison, the French Ambassador, is my friend.Flambeau.Oh, he can serve us.The Duke.Compromises! No!I'll not let Marmont consecrate himself!Marmont.When you are crowned, my Lord, I will obey you.Meanwhile I'll go at once to General Maison.[Marmontgoes out.]Flambeau.That venerable rascal's in the right.The Duke.So be it, then! I'll come. But where's the proofThat France still feels herself my Father's widow?Oh, Flambeau, time has passed; the ancient loveThese worthy people bore us must have died.Flambeau.Their love of you, my Lord? Why that's immortal![He takes from about his person the various articlesmentioned in the following scene.]The Duke.Why, Flambeau, what is that?Flambeau.A pair of braces.The Duke.Have you gone mad?Flambeau.Just look and see what's on 'em!The Duke.My portrait!Flambeau.Worn by quite a decent class.The Duke.But Flambeau—Flambeau.Will you take a pinch of snuff?The Duke.I—Flambeau.On the box a little curly head.The Duke.'Tis I!Flambeau.And what about this handkerchief?Eh! Not so bad, the little King of Rome?The Duke.But—Flambeau.Colored print to paste upon your walls.The Duke.Again! on horseback!Flambeau.Yes, and caracolling.How d'you like this pipe?The Duke.But tell me, Flambeau—Flambeau.You cannot say they haven't drawn you handsome!The Duke.I—Flambeau.A cockade, to tease the government.The Duke.What's that?Flambeau.A medal. Trivial fancy goods.The Duke.Still I?Flambeau.Still you. Look here, what words are groundUpon this tumbler?The Duke."Francis, Duke of Reichstadt."Flambeau.Of course you can't get on without a plate—The Duke.A plate?Flambeau.A knife, a napkin-ring, an egg-cup.They've made you look so happy on the egg-cup!The table's laid, my Lord: my Lord is served!The Duke.[With increasing emotion.]Flambeau—Flambeau.On everything. Here's a cravatIn which you're woven riding in the clouds;And playing cards of which you're Ace of Spades—The Duke.Flambeau!Flambeau.And Almanacs—The Duke.Flambeau!Flambeau.And everything!The Duke.Flambeau!Flambeau.What, weeping? Take this handkerchiefAnd dry your eyes upon the King of Rome![He kneels by theDuke'sside and wipes his eyeswith the handkerchief.]I bid you strike the iron while it's hot:You've got the people and you've got the Marshals,The King, the King himself, is only KingOn one condition: that he's Bonapartist.Vainly the Gallic cockerel spreads his wingsThat, from a distance, he may seem an eagle.We Frenchmen cannot breathe inglorious air;The crown must slip from off a pear-shaped head.The youth of France will rally to your sideMerrily shouting songs of Béranger—The street has shuddered and the pavement trembled,And Schönbrunn's not so pretty as Versailles!The Duke.I will accept.[Military music is heard.]Ha!Flambeau.[At the window.]In the Court of honorThe trumpets of the Guard. The EmperorIs coming home.The Duke.My grandfather! My promise![ToFlambeau.]No; before accepting—Flambeau.Damn it!The Duke.Listen!I must make one attempt with him; but ifWhen you are here on guard to-night, you seeSomething—that you're not used to seeing here—It is a signal! I will fly.Flambeau.Latude!What will the signal be?The Duke.You'll see.Flambeau.But if—[An officer of the Noble Guard enters.]The Officer.My Lord—Flambeau.[Taking stock of him.]The beggars! Aren't they gorgeous swells!The Duke.Well?The Officer.As the Emperor passed, they came and said,"O Sire, this is the one day in the weekWhereon your Majesty receives his subjects;Many have come from far—" "I'd thought of it,"Replied the Emperor, smiling; "and I hopeTo see them. I'm at Schönbrunn as a grandfather,I shall be with the Duke from five to six:Let all my children be beside my grandson."May they come up?The Duke.Yes! open all the doors![TheOfficergoes out.]The Duke.[ToFlambeau.]Now quickly make a bundle of these treasures.I'll look at them at leisure in my room.Flambeau.I make the bundle in the handkerchief.But tell me what the signal is to be.The Duke.Oh, never fear! you will not fail to know it.But—do you hear them? That's the Austrian Hymn.Flambeau.My word! It isn't worth the Marseillaise!The Duke.The Marseillaise—well? have you tied the ends?My father used to say it wore mustachios.Flambeau.Their blessed national hymn has scented whiskers.The Duke.It wouldn't be bad fun to enter France,Thus, with my bundle on my back, on foot.Flambeau.How cheerful and how funny you can be!This is the first time I have seen you so.The Duke.What? Rather young and merry? Thank you, Flambeau.Curtain.
decoration of two eagles with an orb between
decoration of an eagle with wings spread wide and a crown above its head