BUSSY [starting]
Just so, your Majesty.
NAPOLEON [peremptorily]
What said the Empress?
BUSSY
She gave no answer, sire, that rumour bears.
NAPOLEON
Count Neipperg, whom they have made her chamberlain, Interred his wife last spring--is it not so?
BUSSY
He did, your Majesty.
NAPOLEON
H"m....You may go.
[Exit BUSSY. The Secretary reads letters aloud in succession.
He comes to the last; begins it; reaches a phrase, and stops abruptly.]
Mind not! Read on. No doubt the usual threat, Or prophecy, from some mad scribe? Who signs it?
SECRETARY
The subscript is "The Duke of Enghien!"
NAPOLEON [starting up]
Bah, man! A treacherous trick! A hoax--no more!
Is that the last?
SECRETARY
The last, your Majesty.
NAPOLEON
Then now I"ll sleep. In two hours have me called.
SECRETARY
I"ll give the order, sire.
[The Secretary goes. The candles are removed, except one, and NAPOLEON endeavours to compose himself.]
SPIRIT IRONIC
A little moral panorama would do him no harm, after that reminder of the Duke of Enghien. Shall it be, young Compa.s.sion?
SPIRIT OF THE PITIES
What good--if that old Years tells us be true?
But I say naught. To ordain is not for me!
[Thereupon a vision pa.s.ses before NAPOLEON as he lies, comprising hundreds of thousands of skeletons and corpses in various stages of decay. They rise from his various battlefields, the flesh dropping from them, and gaze reproachfully at him. His intimate officers who have been slain he recognizes among the crowd. In front is the DUKE OF ENGHIEN as showman.]
NAPOLEON [in his sleep]
Why, why should this reproach be dealt me now?
Why hold me my own master, if I be Ruled by the pitiless Planet of Destiny?
[He jumps up in a sweat and puts out the last candle; and the scene is curtained by darkness.]
SCENE IV
A CHAMBER OVERLOOKING A MAIN STREET IN BRUSSELS
[A June sunrise; the beams struggling through the window-curtains.
A canopied bed in a recess on the left. The quick notes of "Brighton Camp, or the "Girl I"ve left behind me," strike sharply into the room from fifes and drums without. A young lady in a dressing-gown, who has evidently been awaiting the sound, springs from the bed like a hare from its form, undraws window-curtains and opens the window.
Columns of British soldiery are marching past from the Parc southward out of the city by the Namur Gate. The windows of other houses in the street rattle open, and become full of gazers.
A tap at the door. An older lady enters, and comes up to the first.]
YOUNGER LADY [turning]
O mamma--I didn"t hear you!