SCENE I
THE UPPER RHINE
[The view is from a vague altitude over the beautiful country
traversed by the Upper Rhine, which stretches through it in
birds-eye perspective. At this date in Europe’s history the
stream forms the frontier between France and Germany.
It is the morning of New Year’s Day, and the shine of the tardy
sun reaches the fronts of the beetling castles, but scarcely
descends far enough to touch the wavelets of the river winding
leftwards across the many-leagued picture from Schaffhausen to
Coblenz.]
DUMB SHOW
At first nothing—not even the river itself—seems to move in the
panorama. But anon certain strange dark patches in the landscape,
flexuous and riband-shaped, are discerned to be moving slowly.
Only one movable object on earth is large enough to be conspicuous
herefrom, and that is an army. The moving shapes are armies.
The nearest, almost beneath us, is defiling across the river by a
bridge of boats, near the junction of the Rhine and the Neckar,
where the oval town of Mannheim, standing in the fork between the
two rivers, has from here the look of a human head in a cleft
stick. Martial music from many bands strikes up as the crossing
is effected, and the undulating columns twinkle as if they were
scaly serpents.
SPIRIT OF RUMOUR
It is the Russian host, invading France!
Many miles to the left, down-stream, near the little town of Caube,
another army is seen to be simultaneously crossing the pale current,
its arms and accoutrements twinkling in like manner.
SPIRIT OF RUMOUR
Thither the Prussian levies, too, advance!
Turning now to the right, far away by Basel [beyond which the
Swiss mountains close the scene], a still larger train of war-
geared humanity, two hundred thousand strong, is discernible.
It has already crossed the water, which is much narrower here,
and has advanced several miles westward, where its ductile mass
of greyness and glitter is beheld parting into six columns, that
march on in flexuous courses of varying direction.
SPIRIT OF RUMOUR
There glides carked Austria’s invading force!—
Panting, too, Paris-wards with foot and horse,
Of one intention with the other twain,
And Wellington, from the south, in upper Spain.
All these dark and grey columns, converging westward by sure
degrees, advance without opposition. They glide on as if by
gravitation, in fluid figures, dictated by the conformation of
the country, like water from a burst reservoir; mostly snake-
shaped, but occasionally with batrachian and saurian outlines.
In spite of the immensity of this human mechanism on its surface,
the winter landscape wears an impassive look, as if nothing were
happening.
Evening closes in, and the Dumb Show is obscured.
SCENE II
PARIS. THE TUILERIES
[It is Sunday just after mass, and the principal officers of the
National Guard are assembled in the Salle des Marechaux. They
stand in an attitude of suspense, some with the print of sadness
on their faces, some with that of perplexity.
The door leading from the Hall to the adjoining chapel is thrown
open. There enter from the chapel with the last notes of the
service the EMPEROR NAPOLÉON and the EMPRESS; and simultaneously
from a door opposite MADAME DE MONTESQUIOU, the governess, who
carries in her arms the KING OF ROME, now a fair child between
two and three. He is clothed in a miniature uniform of the
Guards themselves.
MADAM DE MONTESQUIOU brings forward the child and sets him on his
feet near his mother. NAPOLÉON, with a mournful smile, giving one
hand to the boy and the other to MARIE LOUISE, en famille, leads
them forward. The Guard bursts into cheers.]
NAPOLÉON
Gentlemen of the National Guard and friends,
I have to leave you; and before I fare
To Heaven know what of personal destiny,
I give into your loyal guardianship
Those dearest in the world to me; my wife,
The Empress, and my son the King of Rome.—
I go to shield your roofs and kin from foes
Who have dared to pierce the fences of our land;
And knowing that you house those dears of mine,
I start afar in all tranquillity,
Stayed by my trust in your proved faithfulness.
[Enthusiastic cheers for the Guard.]
OFFICERS [with emotion]
We proudly swear to justify the trust!
And never will we see another sit
Than you, or yours, on the great throne of France.
NAPOLÉON
I ratify the Empress’ regency,
And re-confirm it on last year’s lines,
My bother Joseph stoutening her rule
As the Lieutenant-General of the State.—
Vex her with no divisions; let regard
For property, for order, and for France
Be chief with all. Know, gentlemen, the Allies
Are drunken with success. Their late advantage
They have handled wholly for their own gross gain,
And made a pastime of my agony.
That I go clogged with cares I sadly own;
Yet I go primed with hope; ay, in despite
Of a last sorrow that has sunk upon me,—
The grief of hearing, good and constant friends,
That my own sister’s consort, Naples’ king,
Blazons himself a backer of the Allies,
And marches with a Neapolitan force
Against our puissance under Prince Eugène.
The varied operations to ensue
May bring the enemy largely Paris-wards;
But suffer no alarm; before long days
I will annihilate by flank and rear
Those who have risen to trample on our soil;
And as I have done so many and proud a time,
Come back to you with ringing victory!—
Now, see: I personally present to you
My son and my successor ere I go.
[He takes the child in his arms and carries him round to the
officers severally. They are much affected and raise loud
cheers.]
You stand by him and her? You swear as much?
OFFICERS
We do!
NAPOLÉON
This you repeat—you promise it?
OFFICERS
We promise. May the dynasty live for ever!
[Their shouts, which spread to the Carrousel without, are echoed
by the soldiers of the Guard assembled there. The EMPRESS is now
in tears, and the EMPEROR supports her.]
MARIE LOUISE
Such whole enthusiasm I have never known!—
Not even from the Landwehr of Vienna.
[Amid repeated protestations and farewells NAPOLÉON, the EMPRESS,
the KING OF ROME, MADAME DE MONTESQUIOU, etc. go out in one
direction, and the officers of the National Guard in another.
The curtain falls for an interval.
When it rises again the apartment is in darkness, and its atmosphere
chilly. The January night-wind howls without. Two servants enter
hastily, and light candles and a fire. The hands of the clock are
pointing to three.
The room is hardly in order when the EMPEROR enters, equipped for
the intended journey; and with him, his left arm being round her
waist, walks MARIE LOUISE in a dressing-gown. On his right arm
he carries the KING OF ROME, and in his hand a bundle of papers.
COUNT BERTRAND and a few members of the household follow.
Reaching the middle of the room, he kisses the child and embraces
the EMPRESS, who is tearful, the child weeping likewise. NAPOLÉON
takes the papers to the fire, thrusts them in, and watches them
consume; then burns other bundles brought by his attendants.]
NAPOLÉON [gloomily]
Better to treat them thus; since no one knows
What comes, or into whose hands he may fall!
MARIE LOUISE
I have an apprehension-unexplained—
That I shall never see you any more!
NAPOLÉON
Dismiss such fears. You may as well as not.
As things are doomed to be they will be, dear.
If shadows must come, let them come as though
The sun were due and you were trusting to it:
’Twill teach the world it wrongs in bringing them.
[They embrace finally. Exeunt NAPOLÉON, etc. Afterwards MARIE
LOUISE and the child.]
SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
Her instinct forwardly is keen in cast,
And yet how limited. True it may be
They never more will meet; although—to use
The bounded prophecy I am dowered with—
The screen that will maintain their severance
Would pass her own believing; proving it
No gaol-grille, no scath of scorching war,
But this persuasion, pressing on her pulse
To breed aloofness and a mind averse;
Until his image in her soul will shape
Dwarfed as a far Colossus on a plain,
Or figure-head that smalls upon the main.
[The lights are extinguished and the hall is left in darkness.]
SCENE III
THE SAME. THE APARTMENTS OF THE EMPRESS
[A March morning, verging on seven o’clock, throws its cheerless
stare into the private drawing-room of MARIE LOUISE, animating
the gilt furniture to only a feeble shine. Two chamberlains of
the palace are there in waiting. They look from the windows and
yawn.]
FIRST CHAMBERLAIN
Here’s a watering for spring hopes! Who would have supposed when
the Emperor left, and appointed her Regent, that she and the Regency
too would have to scurry after in so short a time!
SECOND CHAMBERLAIN
Was a course decided on last night?
FIRST CHAMBERLAIN
Yes. The Privy Council sat till long past midnight, debating the
burning question whether she and the child should remain or not.
Some were one way, some the other. She settled the matter by saying
she would go.
SECOND CHAMBERLAIN
I thought it might come to that. I heard the alarm beating all night
to assemble the National Guard; and I am told that some volunteers
have marched out to support Marmot. But they are a mere handful:
what can they do?
[A clatter of wheels and a champing and prancing of horses is
heard outside the palace. MÉNEVAL enters, and divers officers
of the household; then from her bedroom at the other end MARIE
LOUISE, in a travelling dress and hat, leading the KING OF ROME,
attired for travel likewise. She looks distracted and pale.
Next come the DUCHESS OF MONTEBELLO, lady of honour, the COUNTESS
DE MONTESQUIOU, ladies of the palace, and others, all in travelling
trim.]
KING OF ROME [plaintively]
Why are we doing these strange things, mamma,
And what did we get up so early for?
MARIE LOUISE
I cannot, dear, explain. So many events
Enlarge and make so many hours of one,
That it would be too hard to tell them now.
KING OF ROME
But you know why we a setting out like this?
Is it because we fear our enemies?
MARIE LOUISE
We are not sure that we are going yet.
I may be needful; but don’t ask me here.
Some time I will tell you.
[She sits down irresolutely, and bestows recognitions on the
assembled officials with a preoccupied air.]
KING OF ROME [in a murmur]
I like being here best;
And I don’t want to go I know not where!
MARIE LOUISE
Run, dear to Mamma ’Quiou and talk to her
[He goes across to MADAME DE MONTESQUIOU.]
I hear that women of the Royalist hope
[To the DUCHESS OF MONTEBELLO]
Have bent them busy in their private rooms
With working white cockades these several days.—
Yes—I must go!
DUCHESS OF MONTEBELLO
But why yet, Empress dear?
We may soon gain good news; some messenger
Hie from the Emperor or King Joseph hither?
MARIE LOUISE
King Joseph I await. He’s gone to eye
The outposts, with the Ministers of War,
To learn the scope and nearness of the Allies;
He should almost be back.
[A silence, till approaching feet are suddenly heard outside the
door.]
Ah, here he comes;
Now we shall know!
[Enter precipitately not Joseph but officers of the National Guard
and others.]
OFFICERS
Long live the Empress-regent!
Do not quit Paris, pray, your Majesty.
Remain, remain. We plight us to defend you!
MARIE LOUISE [agitated]
Gallant messieurs, I thank you heartily.
But by the Emperor’s biddance I am bound.
He has vowed he’d liefer see me and my son
Blanched at the bottom of the smothering Seine
Than in the talons of the foes of France.—
To keep us sure from such, then, he ordained
Our swift withdrawal with the Ministers
Towards the Loire, if enemies advanced
In overmastering might. They do advance;
Marshal Marmont and Mortier are repulsed,
And that has come whose hazard he foresaw.
All is arranged; the treasure is awheel,
And papers, seals, and cyphers packed therewith.
OFFICERS [dubiously]
Yet to leave Paris is to court disaster!
MARIE LOUISE [with petulance]
I shall do what I say!... I don’t know what—
What SHALL I do!
[She bursts into tears and rushes into her bedroom, followed by
the young KING and some of her ladies. There is a painful silence,
broken by sobbings and expostulations within. Re-enter one of the
ladies.]
LADY
She’s sorely overthrown;
She flings herself upon the bed distraught.
She says, “My God, let them make up their minds
To one or other of these harrowing ills,
And force to’t, and end my agony!”
[An official enters at the main door.]
OFFICIAL
I am sent here by the Minister of War
To her Imperial Majesty the Empress.
[Re-enter MARIE LOUISE and the KING OF ROME.]
Your Majesty, my mission is to say
Imperious need dictates your instant flight.
A vanward regiment of the Prussian packs
Has gained the shadow of the city walls.
MÉNEVAL
They are armed Europe’s scouts!
[Enter CAMBACÉRÈS the Arch-Chancellor, COUNT BEAUHARNAIS, CORVISART
the physician, DE BAUSSET, DE CANISY the equerry, and others.]
CAMBACÉRÈS
Your Majesty,
There’s not a trice to lose. The force well-nigh
Of all compacted Europe crowds on us,
And clamours at the walls!
BEAUHARNAIS
If you stay longer,
You stay to fall into the Cossacks hands.
The people, too, are waxing masterful:
They think the lingering of your Majesty
Makes Paris more a peril for themselves
Than a defence for you. To fight is fruitless,
And wanton waste of life. You have nought to do
But go; and I, and all the Councillors,
Will follow you.
MARIE LOUISE
Then I was right to say
That I would go! Now go I surely will,
And let none try to hinder me again!
[She prepares to leave.]
KING OF ROME [crying]
I will not go! I like to live here best!
Don’t go to Rambouillet, mamma; please don’t.
It is a nasty place! Let us stay here.
O Mamma ’Quiou, stay with me here; pray stay!
MARIE LOUISE [to the Equerry]
Bring him down.
[Exit MARIE LOUISE in tears, followed by ladies-in-waiting and
others.]
DE CANISY
Come now, Monseigneur, come.
[He catches up the boy in his arms and prepares to follow the
Empress.]
KING OF ROME [kicking]
No, no, no! I don’t want to go away from my house—I don’t want to!
Now papa is away I am the master! [He clings to the door as the
equerry is bearing him through it.]
DE CANISY
But you must go.
[The child’s fingers are pulled away. Exit DE CANISY with the King
OF ROME, who is heard screaming as he is carried down the staircase.]
MADAME DE MONTESQUIOU
I feel the child is right!
A premonition has enlightened him.
She ought to stay. But, ah, the die is cast!
[MADAME DE MONTESQUIOU and the remainder of the party follow, and
the room is left empty. Enter servants hastily.]
FIRST SERVANT
Sacred God, where are we to go to for grub and good lying to-night?
What are ill-used men to do?
SECOND SERVANT
I trudge like the rest. All the true philosophers are gone, and the
middling true are going. I made up my mind like the truest that ever
was as soon as I heard the general alarm beat.
THIRD SERVANT
I stay here. No Allies are going to tickle our skins. The storm
which roots—Dost know what a metaphor is, comrade? I brim with
them at this historic time!
SECOND SERVANT
A weapon of war used by the Cossacks?
THIRD SERVANT
Your imagination will be your ruin some day, my man! It happens to
be a weapon of wisdom used by me. My metaphor is one may’st have
met with on the rare times when th’hast been in good society. Here
it is: The storm which roots the pine spares the p—s—b—d. Now
do you see?
FIRST AND SECOND SERVANTS
Good! Your teaching, friend, is as sound as true religion! We’ll
not go. Hearken to what’s doing outside. [Carriages are heard
moving. Servants go to the window and look down.] Lord, there’s
the Duchess getting in. Now the Mistress of the Wardrobe; now the
Ladies of the Palace; now the Prefects; now the Doctors. What a
time it takes! There are near a dozen berlines, as I am a patriot!
Those other carriages bear treasure. How quiet the people are! It
is like a funeral procession. Not a tongue cheers her!
THIRD SERVANT
Now there will be a nice convenient time for a little good victuals
and drink, and likewise pickings, before the Allies arrive, thank
Mother Molly!
[From a distant part of the city bands are heard playing military
marches. Guns next resound. Another servant rushes in.]
FOURTH SERVANT
Montmartre is being stormed, and bombs are falling in the Chaussee
d’Antin!
[Exit fourth servant.]
THIRD SERVANT [pulling something from his hat]
Then it is time for me to gird my armour on.
SECOND SERVANT
What hast there?
[Third servant holds up a crumpled white cockade and sticks it in
his hair. The firing gets louder.]
FIRST AND SECOND SERVANTS
Hast got another?
THIRD SERVANT [pulling out more]
Ay—here they are; at a price.
[The others purchase cockades of third servant. A military march
is again heard. Re-enter fourth servant.]
FOURTH SERVANT
The city has capitulated! The Allied sovereigns, so it is said,
will enter in grand procession to-morrow: the Prussian cavalry
first, then the Austrian foot, then the Russian and Prussian foot,
then the Russian horse and artillery. And to cap all, the people
of Paris are glad of the change. They have put a rope round the
neck of the statue of Napoléon on the column of the Grand Army, and
are amusing themselves with twitching it and crying “Strangle the
Tyrant!”
SECOND SERVANT
Well, well! There’s rich colours in this kaleidoscopic world!
THIRD SERVANT
And there’s comedy in all things—when they don’t concern you.
Another glorious time among the many we’ve had since eighty-nine.
We have put our armour on none too soon. The Bourbons for ever!
[He leaves, followed by first and second servants.]
FOURTH SERVANT
My faith, I think I’ll turn Englishman in my older years, where
there’s not these trying changes in the Constitution!
[Follows the others. The Allies military march waxes louder as
the scene shuts.]
SCENE IV
FONTAINEBLEAU. A ROOM IN THE PALACE
[NAPOLÉON is discovered walking impatiently up and down, and
glancing at the clock every few minutes. Enter NEY.]
NAPOLÉON [without a greeting]
Well—the result? Ah, but your looks display
A leaden dawning to the light you bring!
What—not a regency? What—not the Empress
To hold it in trusteeship for my son?
NEY
Sire, things like revolutions turn back,
But go straight on. Imperial governance
Is coffined for your family and yourself!
It is declared that military repose,
And France’s well-doing, demand of you
Your abdication—unconditioned, sheer.
This verdict of the sovereigns cannot change,
And I have pushed on hot to let you know.
NAPOLÉON [with repression]
I am obliged to you. You have told me promptly!—
This was to be expected. I had learnt
Of Marmont’s late defection, and the Sixth’s;
The consequence I easily inferred.
NEY
The Paris folk are flaked with white cockades;
Tricolors choke the kennels. Rapturously
They clamour for the Bourbons and for peace.
NAPOLÉON [tartly]
I can draw inferences without assistance!
NEY [persisting]
They see the brooks of blood that have flowed forth;
They feel their own bereavements; so their mood
Asked no deep reasoning for its geniture.
NAPOLÉON
I have no remarks to make on that just now.
I’ll think the matter over. You shall know
By noon to-morrow my definitive.
NEY [turning to go]
I trust my saying what had to be said
Has not affronted you?
NAPOLÉON [bitterly]
No; but your haste
In doing it has galled me, and has shown me
A heart that heaves no longer in my cause!
The skilled coquetting of the Government
Has nearly won you from old fellowship!...
Well; till to-morrow, marshal, then Adieu.
[Ney goes. Enter CAULAINCOURT and MACDONALD.]
Ney has got here before you; and, I deem,
Has truly told me all?
CAULAINCOURT
We thought at first
We should have had success. But fate said No;
And abdication, making no reserves,
Is, sire, we are convinced, with all respect,
The only road, if you care not to risk
The Empress; loss of every dignity,
And magnified misfortunes thrown on France.
NAPOLÉON
I have heard it all; and don’t agree with you.
My assets are not quite so beggarly
That I must close in such a shameful bond!
What—do you rate as naught that I am yet
Full fifty thousand strong, with Augereau,
And Soult, and Suchet true, and many more?
I still may know to play the Imperial game
As well as Alexander and his friends!
So—you will see. Where are my maps?—eh, where?
I’ll trace campaigns to come! Where’s my paper, ink,
To schedule all my generals and my means!
CAULAINCOURT
Sire, you have not the generals you suppose.
MACDONALD
And if you had, the mere anatomy
Of a real army, sire, that’s left to you,
Must yield the war. A bad example tells.
NAPOLÉON
Ah—from your manner it is worse, I see,
Than I cognize!... O Marmont, Marmont,—yours,
Yours was the bad sad lead!—I treated him
As if he were a son!—defended him,
Made him a marshal out of sheer affection,
Built, as ’twere rock, on his fidelity!
“Forsake who may,” I said, “I still have him.”
Child that I was, I looked for faith in friends!...
Then be it as you will. Ney’s manner shows
That even he inclines to Bourbonry.—
I faint to leave France thus—curtailed, pared down
From her late spacious borders. Of the whole
This is the keenest sword that pierces me....
But all’s too late: my course is closed, I see.
I’ll do it—now. Call in Bertrand and Ney;
Let them be witness to my finishing!
[In much agitation he goes to the writing-table and begins drawing
up a paper. BERTRAND and NEY enter; and behind them are seen
through the doorway the faces of CONSTANT the valet, ROUSTAN the
Mameluke, and other servants. All wait in silence till the EMPEROR
has done writing. He turns in his seat without looking up.]
NAPOLÉON [reading]
“It having been declared by the Allies
That the prime obstacle to Europe’s peace
Is France’s empery by Napoléon,
This ruler, faithful to his oath of old,
Renounces for himself and for his heirs
The throne of France and that of Italy;
Because no sacrifice, even of his life,
Is he averse to make for France’s gain.”
—And hereto do I sign. [He turns to the table and signs.]
[The marshals, moved, rush forward and seize his hand.]
Mark, marshals, here;
It is a conquering foe I covenant with,
And not the traitors at the Tuileries
Who call themselves the Government of France!
Caulaincourt, go to Paris as before,
Ney and Macdonald too, and hand in this
To Alexander, and to him alone.
[He gives the document, and bids them adieu almost without speech.
The marshals and others go out. NAPOLÉON continues sitting with
his chin on his chest.
An interval of silence. There is then heard in the corridor a
sound of whetting. Enter ROUSTAN the Mameluke, with a whetstone
in his belt and a sword in his hand.]
ROUSTAN
After this fall, your Majesty, ’tis plain
You will not choose to live; and knowing this
I bring to you my sword.
NAPOLÉON [with a nod]
I see you do, Roustan.
ROUSTAN
Will you, sire, use it on yourself,
Or shall I pass it through you?
NAPOLÉON [coldly]
Neither plan
Is quite expedient for the moment, man.
ROUSTAN
Neither?
NAPOLÉON
There may be, in some suited time,
Some cleaner means of carrying out such work.
ROUSTAN
Sire, you refuse? Can you support vile life
A moment on such terms? Why then, I pray,
Dispatch me with the weapon, or dismiss me.
[He holds the sword to NAPOLÉON, who shakes his head.]
I live no longer under such disgrace!
[Exit ROUSTAN haughtily. NAPOLÉON vents a sardonic laugh, and
throws himself on a sofa, where he by and by falls asleep. The
door is softly opened. ROUSTAN and CONSTANT peep in.]
CONSTANT
To-night would be as good a time to go as any. He will sleep there
for hours. I have my few francs safe, and I deserve them; for I have
stuck to him honourably through fourteen trying years.
ROUSTAN
How many francs have you secured?
CONSTANT
Well—more than you can count in one breath, or even two.
ROUSTAN
Where?
CONSTANT
In a hollow tree in the Forest. And as for YOUR reward, you can
easily get the keys of that cabinet, where there are more than
enough francs to equal mine. He will not have them, and you may
as well take them as strangers.
ROUSTAN
It is not money that I want, but honour. I leave, because I can
no longer stay with self-respect.
CONSTANT
And I because there is no other such valet in the temperate zone,
and it is for the good of society that I should not be wasted here.
ROUSTAN
Well, as you propose going this evening I will go with you, to lend
a symmetry to the drama of our departure. Would that I had served
a more sensitive master! He sleeps there quite indifferent to the
dishonour of remaining alive!
[NAPOLÉON shows signs of waking. CONSTANT and ROUSTAN disappear.
NAPOLÉON slowly sits up.]
NAPOLÉON
Here the scene lingers still! Here linger I!...
Things could not have gone on as they were going;
I am amazed they kept their course so long.
But long or short they have ended now—at last!
[Footsteps are heard passing through the court without.]
Hark at them leaving me! So politic rats
Desert the ship that’s doomed. By morrow-dawn
I shall not have a man to shake my bed
Or say good-morning to!
SPIRIT OF THE YEARS
Herein behold
How heavily grinds the Will upon his brain,
His halting hand, and his unlighted eye.
SPIRIT IRONIC
A picture this for kings and subjects too!
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
Yet is it but Napoléon who has failed.
The pale pathetic peoples still plod on
Through hoodwinkings to light!
NAPOLÉON [rousing himself]
This now must close.
Roustan misunderstood me, though his hint
Serves as a fillip to a flaccid brain....
—How gild the sunset sky of majesty
Better than by the act esteemed of yore?
Plutarchian heroes outstayed not their fame,
And what nor Brutus nor Themistocles
Nor Cato nor Mark Antony survived,
Why, why should I? Sage Canabis, you primed me!
[He unlocks a case, takes out a little bag containing a phial, pours
from it a liquid into a glass, and drinks. He then lies down and
falls asleep again.
Re-enter CONSTANT softly with a bunch of keys in his hand. On
his way to the cabinet he turns and looks at NAPOLÉON. Seeing
the glass and a strangeness in the EMPEROR, he abandons his
object, rushes out, and is heard calling.
Enter MARET and BERTRAND.]
BERTRAND [shaking the Emperor]
What is the matter, sire? What’s this you’ve done?
NAPOLÉON [with difficulty]
Why did you interfere!—But it is well;
Call Caulaincourt. I’d speak with him a trice
Before I pass.
[MARET hurries out. Enter IVAN the physician, and presently
CAULAINCOURT.]
Ivan, renew this dose;
’Tis a slow workman, and requires a fellow;
Age has impaired its early promptitude.
[Ivan shakes his head and rushes away distracted. CAULAINCOURT
seizes NAPOLÉON’S hand.]
CAULAINCOURT
Why should you bring this cloud upon us now!
NAPOLÉON
Restrain your feelings. Let me die in peace.—
My wife and son I recommend to you;
Give her this letter, and the packet there.
Defend my memory, and protect their lives.
[They shake him. He vomits.]
CAULAINCOURT
He’s saved—for good or ill-as may betide!
NAPOLÉON
God—here how difficult it is to die:
How easy on the passionate battle-plain!
[They open a window and carry him to it. He mends.]
Fate has resolved what man could not resolve.
I must live on, and wait what Heaven may send!
[MACDONALD and other marshals re-enter. A letter is brought from
MARIE LOUISE. NAPOLÉON reads it, and becomes more animated.
They are well; and they will join me in my exile.
Yes: I will live! The future who shall spell?
My wife, my son, will be enough for me.—
And I will give my hours to chronicling
In stately words that stir futurity
The might of our unmatched accomplishments;
And in the tale immortalize your names
By linking them with mine.
[He soon falls into a convalescent sleep. The marshals, etc. go
out. The room is left in darkness.]
SCENE V
BAYONNE. THE BRITISH CAMP
[The foreground is an elevated stretch of land, dotted over in rows
with the tents of the peninsular army. On a parade immediately
beyond the tents the infantry are drawn up, awaiting something.
Still farther back, behind a brook, are the French soldiery, also
ranked in the same manner of reposeful expectation. In the middle-
distance we see the town of Bayonne, standing within its zigzag
fortifications at the junction of the river Adour with the Nive.
On the other side of the Adour rises the citadel, a fortified
angular structure standing detached. A large and brilliant
tricolor flag is waving indolently from a staff on the summit.
The Bay of Biscay, into which the Adour flows, is seen on the
left horizon as a level line.
The stillness observed by the soldiery of both armies, and by
everything else in the scene except the flag, is at last broken
by the firing of a signal-gun from a battery in the town-wall.
The eyes of the thousands present rivet themselves on the citadel.
Its waving tricolor moves down the flagstaff and disappears.]
THE REGIMENTS [unconsciously]
Ha-a-a-a!
[In a few seconds there shoots up the same staff another flag—one
intended to be white; but having apparently been folded away a long
time, it is mildewed and dingy.
From all the guns on the city fortifications a salute peals out.
This is responded to by the English infantry and artillery with a
feu-de-joie.]
THE REGIMENTS
Hurrah-h-h-h!
[The various battalions are then marched away in their respective
directions and dismissed to their tents. The Bourbon standard is
hoisted everywhere beside those of England, Spain, and Portugal.
The scene shuts.]
SCENE VI
A HIGHWAY IN THE OUTSKIRTS OF AVIGNON
[The Rhone, the old city walls, the Rocher des Doms and its
edifices, appear at the back plane of the scene under the
grey light of dawn. In the foreground several postillions
and ostlers with relays of horses are waiting by the roadside,
gazing northward and listening for sounds. A few loungers
have assembled.]
FIRST POSTILLION
He ought to be nigh by this time. I should say he’d be very glad
to get this here Isle of Elba, wherever it may be, if words be true
that he’s treated to such ghastly compliments on’s way!
SECOND POSTILLION
Blast-me-blue, I don’t care what happens to him! Look at Joachim
Murat, him that’s made King of Naples; a man who was only in the
same line of life as ourselves, born and bred in Cahors, out in
Perigord, a poor little whindling place not half as good as our
own. Why should he have been lifted up to king’s anointment, and
we not even have had a rise in wages? That’s what I say.
FIRST POSTILLION
But now, I don’t find fault with that dispensation in particular.
It was one of our calling that the Emperor so honoured, after all,
when he might have anointed a tinker, or a ragman, or a street
woman’s pensioner even. Who knows but that we should have been
king’s too, but for my crooked legs and your running pole-wound?
SECOND POSTILLION
We kings? Kings of the underground country, then, by this time, if
we hadn’t been too rotten-fleshed to follow the drum. However, I’ll
think over your defence, and I don’t mind riding a stage with him,
for that matter, to save him from them that mean mischief here.
I’ve lost no sons by his battles, like some others we know.
[Enter a TRAVELLER on horseback.]
Any tidings along the road, sir of the Emperor Napoléon that was?
TRAVELLER
Tidings verily! He and his escort are threatened by the mob at
every place they come to. A returning courier I have met tells me
that at an inn a little way beyond here they have strung up his
effigy to the sign-post, smeared it with blood, and placarded it
“The Doom that awaits Thee!” He is much delayed by such humorous
insults. I have hastened ahead to escape the uproar.
SECOND POSTILLION
I don’t know that you have escaped it. The mob has been waiting
up all night for him here.
MARKET-WOMAN [coming up]
I hope by the Virgin, as ’a called herself, that there’ll be no
riots here! Though I have not much pity for a man who could treat
his wife as he did, and that’s my real feeling. He might at least
have kept them both on, for half a husband is better than none for
poor women. But I’d show mercy to him, that’s true, rather than
have my stall upset, and messes in the streets wi’ folks’ brains,
and stabbings, and I don’t know what all!
FIRST POSTILLION
If we can do the horsing quietly out here, there will be none of
that. He’ll dash past the town without stopping at the inn where
they expect to waylay him.—Hark, what’s this coming?
[An approaching cortege is heard. Two couriers enter; then a
carriage with NAPOLÉON and BERTRAND; then others with the
Commissioners of the Powers,—all on the way to Elba.
The carriages halt, and the change of horses is set about instantly.
But before it is half completed BONAPARTE’S arrival gets known, and
throngs of men and women armed with sticks and hammers rush out of
Avignon and surround the carriages.]
POPULACE
Ogre of Corsica! Odious tyrant! Down with Nicholas!
BERTRAND [looking out of carriage]
Silence, and doff your hats, you ill-mannered devils!
POPULACE [scornfully]
Listen to him! Is that the Corsican? No; where is he? Give him up;
give him up! We’ll pitch him into the Rhone!
[Some cling to the wheels of NAPOLÉON’S carriage, while others,
more distant, throw stones at it. A stone breaks the carriage
window.]
OLD WOMAN [shaking her fist]
Give me back my two sons, murderer! Give me back my children, whose
flesh is rotting on the Russian plains!
POPULACE
Ay; give us back our kin—our fathers, our brothers, our sons—
victims to your curst ambition!
[One of the mob seizes the carriage door-handle and tries to
unfasten it. A valet of BONAPARTE’S seated on the box draws his
sword and threatens to cut the man’s arm off. The doors of the
Commissioners’ coaches open, and SIR NEIL CAMPBELL, GENERAL
KOLLER, and COUNT SCHUVALOFF—The English, Austrian, and Russian
Commissioners—jump out and come forward.]
CAMPBELL
Keep order, citizens! Do you not know
That the ex-Emperor is wayfaring
To a lone isle, in the Allies’ sworn care,
Who have given a pledge to Europe for his safety?
His fangs being drawn, he is left powerless now
To do you further harm.
SCHUVALOFF
People of France
Can you insult so miserable a being?
He who gave laws to a cowed world stands now
At that world’s beck, and asks its charity.
Cannot you see that merely to ignore him
Is the worst ignominy to tar him with,
By showing him he’s no longer dangerous?
OLD WOMAN
How do we know the villain mayn’t come back?
While there is life, my faith, there’s mischief in him!
[Enter an officer with the Town-guard.]
OFFICER
Citizens, I am a zealot for the Bourbons,
As you well know. But wanton breach of faith
I will not brook. Retire!
[The soldiers drive back the mob and open a passage forward. The
Commissioners re-enter their carriages. NAPOLÉON puts his head
out of his window for a moment. He is haggard, shabbily dressed,
yellow-faced, and wild-eyed.]
NAPOLÉON
I thank you, captain;
Also your soldiery: a thousand thanks!
[To Bertrand within] My God, these people of Avignon here
Are headstrong fools, like all the Provencal fold,
—I won’t go through the town!
BERTRAND
We’ll round it, sire;
And then, as soon as we get past the place,
You must disguise for the remainder miles.
NAPOLÉON
I’ll mount the white cockade if they invite me!
What does it matter if I do or don’t?
In Europe all is past and over with me....
Yes—all is lost in Europe for me now!
BERTRAND
I fear so, sire.
NAPOLÉON [after some moments]
But Asia waits a man,
And—who can tell?
OFFICER OF GUARD [to postillions]
Ahead now at full speed,
And slacken not till you have slipped the town.
[The postillions urge the horses to a gallop, and the carriages
are out of sight in a few seconds. The scene shuts.]
SCENE VII
MALMAISON. THE EMPRESS JOSÉPHINE’S BEDCHAMBER
[The walls are in white panels, with gilt mouldings, and the
furniture is upholstered in white silk with needle-worked flowers.
The long windows and the bed are similarly draped, and the toilet
service is of gold. Through the panes appears a broad flat lawn
adorned with vases and figures on pedestals, and entirely
surrounded by trees—just now in their first fresh green under
the morning rays of Whitsunday. The notes of an organ are audible
from a chapel below, where the Pentecostal Mass is proceeding.
JOSÉPHINE lies in the bed in an advanced stage of illness, the
ABBÉ BERTRAND standing beside her. Two ladies-in-waiting are
seated near. By the door into the ante-room, which is ajar,
HOREAU the physician-in-ordinary and BOURDOIS the consulting
physician are engaged in a low conversation.]
HOREAU
Lamoureux says that leeches would have saved her
Had they been used in time, before I came.
In that case, then, why did he wait for me?
BOURDOIS
Such whys are now too late! She is past all hope.
I doubt if aught had helped her. Not disease,
But heart-break and repinings are the blasts
That wither her long bloom. Soon we must tell
The Queen Hortense the worst, and the Viceroy.
HOREAU
Her death was made the easier task for grief
[As I regarded more than probable]
By her rash rising from a sore-sick bed
And donning thin and dainty May attire
To hail King Frederick-William and the Tsar
As banquet-guests, in the old regnant style.
A woman’s innocent vanity!—but how dire.
She argued that amenities of State
Compelled the effort, since they had honoured her
By offering to come. I stood against it,
Pleaded and reasoned, but to no account.
Poor woman, what she did or did not do
Was of small moment to the State by then!
The Emperor Alexander has been kind
Throughout his stay in Paris. He came down
But yester-eve, of purpose to inquire.
BOURDOIS
Wellington is in Paris, too, I learn,
After his wasted battle at Toulouse.
HOREAU
Has his Peninsular army come with him?
BOURDOIS
I hear they have shipped it to America,
Where England has another war on hand.
We have armies quite sufficient here already—
Plenty of cooks for Paris broth just now!
—Come, call we Queen Hortense and Prince Eugène.
[Exeunt physicians. The ABBÉ BERTRAND also goes out. JOSÉPHINE
murmurs faintly.]
FIRST LADY [going to the bedside]
I think I heard you speak, your Majesty?
JOSÉPHINE
I asked what hour it was—-if dawn or eve?
FIRST LADY
Ten in the morning, Madame. You forget
You asked the same but a brief while ago.
JOSÉPHINE
Did I? I thought it was so long ago!...
I wish to go to Elba with him so much,
But the Allies prevented me. And why?
I would not have disgraced him, or themselves!
I would have gone to him at Fontainebleau,
With my eight horses and my household train
In dignity, and quitted him no more....
Although I am his wife no longer now,
I think I should have gone in spite of them,
Had I not feared perversions might be sown
Between him and the woman of his choice
For whom he sacrificed me.
SECOND LADY
It is more
Than she thought fit to do, your Majesty.
JOSÉPHINE
Perhaps she was influenced by her father’s ire,
Or diplomatic reasons told against her.
And yet I was surprised she should allow
Aught secondary on earth to hold her from
A husband she has outwardly, at least,
Declared attachment to.
FIRST LADY
Especially,
With ever one at hand—his son and hers—
Reminding her of him.
JOSÉPHINE
Yes.... Glad am I
I saw that child of theirs, though only once.
But—there was not full truth—not quite, I fear—
In what I told the Emperor that day
He led him to me at Bagatelle,
That ’twas the happiest moment of my life.
I ought not to have said it. No! Forsooth
My feeling had too, too much gall in it
To let truth shape like that!—I also said
That when my arms were round him I forgot
That I was not his mother. So spoke I,
But oh me,—I remembered it too well!—
He was a lovely child; in his fond prate
His father’s voice was eloquent. One might say
I am well punished for my sins against him!
SECOND LADY
You have harmed no creature, madame; much less him!
JOSÉPHINE
O but you don’t quite know!... My coquetries
In our first married years nigh racked him through.
I cannot think how I could wax so wicked!...
He begged me come to him in Italy,
But I liked flirting in fair Paris best,
And would not go. The independent spouse
At that time was myself; but afterwards
I grew to be the captive, he the free.
Always ’tis so: the man wins finally!
My faults I’ve ransomed to the bottom sou
If ever a woman did!... I’ll write to him—
I must—again, so that he understands.
Yes, I’ll write now. Get me a pen and paper.
FIRST LADY [to Second Lady]
’Tis futile! She is too far gone to write;
But we must humour her.
[They fetch writing materials. On returning to the bed they find
her motionless. Enter EUGÈNE and QUEEN HORTENSE. Seeing the state
their mother is in, they fall down on their knees by her bed.
JOSÉPHINE recognizes them and smiles. Anon she is able to speak
again.]
JOSÉPHINE [faintly]
I am dying, dears;
And do not mind it—notwithstanding that
I feel I die regretted. You both love me!—
And as for France, I ever have desired
Her welfare, as you know—have wrought all things
A woman’s scope could reach to forward it....
And to you now who watch my ebbing here,
Declare I that Napoléon’s first-chose wife
Has never caused her land a needless tear.
Tell him—these things I have said—bear him my love—
Tell him—I could not write!
[An interval. She spasmodically flings her arms over her son and
daughter, lets them fall, and becomes unconscious. They fetch a
looking-glass, and find that her breathing has ceased. The clock
of the Chateau strikes noon. The scene is veiled.]
SCENE VIII
LONDON. THE OPERA HOUSE
[The house is lighted up with a blaze of wax candles, and a State
performance is about to begin in honour of the Allied sovereigns
now on a visit to England to celebrate the Peace. Peace-devices
adorn the theatre. A band can be heard in the street playing
“The White Cockade.”
An extended Royal box has been formed by removing the partitions
of adjoining boxes. It is empty as yet, but the other parts of
the house are crowded to excess, and somewhat disorderly, the
interior doors having been broken down by besiegers, and many
people having obtained admission without payment. The prevalent
costume of the ladies is white satin and diamonds, with a few in
lilac.
The curtain rises on the first act of the opera of “Aristodemo,”
MADAME GRASSINI and SIGNOR TRAMEZZINI being the leading voices.
Scarcely a note of the performance can be heard amid the exclamations
of persons half suffocated by the pressure.
At the end of the first act there follows a divertissement. The
curtain having fallen, a silence of expectation succeeds. It is
a little past ten o’clock.
Enter the Royal box the PRINCE REGENT, accompanied by the EMPEROR
OF RUSSIA, demonstrative in manner now as always, the KING OF
PRUSSIA, with his mien of reserve, and many minor ROYAL PERSONAGES
of Europe. There are moderate acclamations. At their back and in
neighbouring boxes LORD LIVERPOOL, LORD CASTLEREAGH, officers in
the suite of the sovereigns, interpreters, and others take their
places.
The curtain rises again, and the performers are discovered drawn
up in line on the stage. They sing “God save the King.” The
sovereigns stand up, bow, and resume their seats amid more
applause.]
A VOICE [from the gallery]
Prinny, where’s your wife? [Confusion.]
EMPEROR OF RUSSIA [to Regent]
To which of us is the inquiry addressed, Prince?
PRINCE REGENT
To you, sire, depend upon’t—by way of compliment.
[The second act of the Opera proceeds.]
EMPEROR OF RUSSIA
Any later news from Elba, sir?
PRINCE REGENT
Nothing more than rumours, which, ’pon my honour, I can hardly
credit. One is that Bonaparte’s valet has written to say the
ex-Emperor is becoming imbecile, and is an object of ridicule to
the inhabitants of the island.
KING OF PRUSSIA
A blessed result, sir, if true. If he is not imbecile he is worse
—planning how to involve Europe in another way. It was a short-
sighted policy to offer him a home so near as to ensure its becoming
a hot-bed of intrigue and conspiracy in no long time!
PRINCE REGENT
The ex-Empress, Marie-Louise, hasn’t joined him after all, I learn.
Has she remained at Schonbrunn since leaving France, sires?
EMPEROR OF RUSSIA
Yes, sir; with her son. She must never go back to France. Metternich
and her father will know better than let her do that. Poor young
thing, I am sorry for her all the same. She would have joined
Napoléon if she had been left to herself.—And I was sorry for the
other wife, too. I called at Malmaison a few days before she died.
A charming woman! SHE would have gone to Elba or to the devil with
him. Twenty thousand people crowded down from Paris to see her lying
in state last week.
PRINCE REGENT
Pity she didn’t have a child by him, by God.
KING OF PRUSSIA
I don’t think the other one’s child is going to trouble us much.
But I wish Bonaparte himself had been sent farther away.
PRINCE REGENT
Some of our Government wanted to pack him off to St. Helena—an
island somewhere in the Atlantic, or Pacific, or Great South Sea.
But they were over-ruled. ’Twould have been a surer game.
EMPEROR OF RUSSIA
One hears strange stories of his saying and doings. Some of my
people were telling me to-day that he says it is to Austria that
he really owes his fall, and that he ought to have destroyed her
when he had her in his power.
PRINCE REGENT
Dammy, sire, don’t ye think he owes his fall to his ambition to
humble England by rupture of the Peace of Amiens, and trying to
invade us, and wasting his strength against us in the Peninsula?
EMPEROR OF RUSSIA
I incline to think, with the greatest deference, that it was Moscow
that broke him.
KING OF PRUSSIA
The rejection of my conditions in the terms of peace at Prague, sires,
was the turning-point towards his downfall.
[Enter a box on the opposite side of the house the PRINCESS OF
WALES, attended by LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL, SIR W. GELL, and
others. Louder applause now rings through the theatre, drowning
the sweet voice of the GRASSINI in “Aristodemo.”]
LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL
It is meant for your Royal Highness!
PRINCESS OF WALES
I don’t think so, my dear. Punch’s wife is nobody when Punch himself
is present.
LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL
I feel convinced that it is by their looking this way.
SIR W. GELL
Surely ma’am you will acknowledge their affection? Otherwise we may
be hissed.
PRINCESS OF WALES
I know my business better than to take that morsel out of my husband’s
mouth. There—you see he enjoys it! I cannot assume that it is
meant for me unless they call my name.
[The PRINCE REGENT rises and bows, the TSAR and the KING OF PRUSSIA
doing the same.]
LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL
He and the others are bowing for you, ma’am!
PRINCESS OF WALES
Mine God, then; I will bow too! [She rises and bends to them.]
PRINCE REGENT
She thinks we rose on her account.—A damn fool. [Aside.]
EMPEROR OF RUSSIA
What—didn’t we? I certainly rose in homage to her.
PRINCE REGENT
No, sire. We were supposed to rise to the repeated applause of the
people.
EMPEROR OF RUSSIA
H’m. Your customs sir, are a little puzzling.... [To the King of
Prussia.] A fine-looking woman! I must call upon the Princess of
Wales to-morrow.
KING OF PRUSSIA
I shall, at any rate, send her my respects by my chamberlain.
PRINCE REGENT [stepping back to Lord Liverpool]
By God, Liverpool, we must do something to stop ’em! They don’t
know what a laughing-stock they’ll make of me if they go to her.
Tell ’em they had better not.
LIVERPOOL
I can hardly tell them now, sir, while we are celebrating the Peace
and Wellington’s victories.
PRINCE REGENT
Oh, damn the peace, and damn the war, and damn Boney, and damn
Wellington’s victories!—the question is, how am I to get over this
infernal woman!—Well, well,—I must write, or send Tyrwhitt to-
morrow morning, begging them to abandon the idea of visiting her
for politic reasons.
[The Opera proceeds to the end, and is followed by a hymn and
chorus laudatory to peace. Next a new ballet by MONSIEUR VESTRIS,
in which M. ROZIER and MADAME ANGIOLINI dance a pas-de-deux. Then
the Sovereigns leave the theatre amid more applause.
The pit and gallery now call for the PRINCESS OF WALES unmistakably.
She stand up and is warmly acclaimed, returning three stately
curtseys.]
A VOICE
Shall we burn down Carlton House, my dear, and him in it?
PRINCESS OF WALES
No, my good folks! Be quiet. Go home to your beds, and let me do
the same.
[After some difficulty she gets out of the house. The people thin
away. As the candle-snuffers extinguish the lights a shouting is
heard without.]
VOICES OF CROWD
Long life to the Princess of Wales! Three cheers for a woman wronged!
[The Opera-house becomes lost in darkness.]
