LOUISA, QUEEN OF PRUSSIA.
The Countess Voss, Lady-in-Waiting.
BERLIN LADIES.
MARIA LUISA, QUEEN OF SPAIN.
THEREZA OF BOURBON, WIFE OF G.o.dOY.
DONA JOSEFA TUDO, MISTRESS OF G.o.dOY.
Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen.
A Servant.
M. LOUISA BEATRIX, EMPRESS OF AUSTRIA.
THE ARCHd.u.c.h.eSS MARIE LOUISA, afterwards the EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE.
MADAME METTERNICH.
LADIES OF THE AUSTRIAN COURT.
THE EMPRESS-MOTHER OF RUSSIA.
GRAND-d.u.c.h.eSS ANNE OF RUSSIA.
ACT FIRST
SCENE I
LONDON. FOX"S LODGINGS, ARLINGTON STREET
[FOX, the Foreign Secretary in the new Ministry of All-the-Talents, sits at a table writing. He is a stout, swarthy man, with s.h.a.ggy eyebrows, and his breathing is somewhat obstructed. His clothes look as though they had been slept in. TROTTER, his private secretary, is writing at another table near. A servant enters.]
SERVANT
Another stranger presses to see you, sir.
FOX [without raising his eyes]
Oh, another. What"s he like?
SERVANT
A foreigner, sir; though not so out-at-elbows as might be thought from the denomination. He says he"s from Gravesend, having lately left Paris, and that you sent him a pa.s.sport. He comes with a police-officer.
FOX
Ah, to be sure. I remember. Bring him in, and tell the officer to wait outside. [Servant goes out.] Trotter, will you leave us for a few minutes? But be within hail.
[The secretary retires, and the servant shows in a man who calls himself GUILLET DE GEVRILLIERE--a tall, thin figure of thirty, with restless eyes. The door being shut behind him, he is left alone with the minister. FOX points to a seat, leans back, and surveys his visitor.]
GEVRILLIERE
Thanks to you, sir, for this high privilege Of hailing England, and of entering here.
Without a fore-extended confidence Like this of yours, my plans would not have sped. [A Pause.]
Europe, alas! sir, has her waiting foot Upon the sill of further slaughter-scenes!
FOX
I fear it is so!--In your lines you wrote, I think, that you are a true Frenchman born?
GEVRILLIERE
I did, sir.
FOX
How contrived you, then, to cross?
GEVRILLIERE
It was from Embden that I shipped for Gravesend, In a small sailer called the "Toby," sir, Masked under Prussian colours. Embden I reached On foot, on horseback, and by sundry shifts, From Paris over Holland, secretly.
FOX
And you are stored with tidings of much pith, Whose tenour would be priceless to the state?
GEVRILLIERE
I am. It is, in brief, no more nor less Than means to mitigate and even end These welfare-wasting wars; ay, usher in A painless spell of peace.
FOX
Prithee speak on.