The Duke.
Oh! You are wounded!
The Countess.
Scratched across the fingers.
My voice betrayed me. Back he sprang! "A woman!"
"Defend yourself!" said I, "I should be laughed at,
For you are not the Chevalier d'Eon!"
"Defend yourself, I'm a Napoleon!"
Feeling my blade slip snake-like over his,
He lunges, and I make—
Flambeau.
Our secret stroke!
The Countess.
One! Two!
Flambeau.
That must have been a rough surprise!
The Countess.
'Twas a surprise from which he'll not recover.
The Duke.
Heavens! And the girl—!
The Countess.
What does she matter now?
The Duke.
But, did she come?
The Countess.
Well—No, then! When the door
Was broken open by a furious fist,
I was alone. She had not come.
The Duke.
That's well.
The Countess.
But servants came; and if I were arrested
All would be known too soon. I lost my head.
I stumbled out. I heard I know not whom
Sending to fetch the Prefect of Police;
And so I fled upon your saddle-horse.
I've killed it—I'm exhausted—
The Duke.
Look! She swoons!
The Countess.
After what I had done I hoped at least
To hear from witnesses that you were gone!
A Conspirator.
You were pursued—And in a moment—
The Duke.
Take care of her. Conceal her in the hut.
A Conspirator.
Yes.
The Countess.
Go!
The Duke.
But are you better?
The Countess.
Not yet gone?
For God's sake, go! Ah! could your Father see you
Waiting, enfeebled, tender, hesitating,
With what contempt he'd shrug his epaulettes!
The Duke.
Good-bye!
Flambeau.
We're caught! Too late!
Sedlinzky.
[Entering with police officers; he advances to the
Countess, whom he mistakes for the Duke.]
Too late, my Lord.
The Countess.
[Furiously, to the Duke.]
Ah, Temporizer! Dreamer! Cold Idealist!
Sedlinzky.
[Who has turned to the person addressed by the Countess
and recognized the Duke, starts, and, addressing
him.]
Your Highness—
[He turns to the Countess.]
Your High—
[To the Duke.]
Your High—
Flambeau.
He's puzzled!
Sedlinzky.
So that's it!
Flambeau.
You've been drinking. You see double.
Sedlinzky.
Count Prokesch, I must ask you to retire.
[Prokesch exit.]
Flambeau.
We shan't be crowned just yet by Uncle Fesch!
Sedlinzky.
[Indicating the Attaché.]
Lead off this gentleman. You, sir, in this?
Your Government shall hear of it.
The Duke.
I swear
He was not of the plot!
The Attaché.
Forgive me, Sire,
Since they're arresting us I take my share.
The Duke.
[To the Attaché, as he is led off.]
Good-bye, then.
[To Sedlinzky.]
Now, policeman, show your zeal.
Sedlinzky.
[To his men, pointing to the Countess.]
Take the false Prince wherever—she—belongs.
The Duke.
[Haughtily.]
With all the honors due to me!
The Countess.
That voice!
Ah, hapless child! You would have made a leader!
[She is led off.]
Sedlinzky.
As for the rest, we'll shut our eyes: Verb. sap.
A Conspirator.
I think—
Marmont.
To serve the cause—
Another Conspirator.
We'd better go.
Another.
Reserve our strength—
Another.
For later—
Another.
Bide our time.
[All disappear.]
Flambeau.
[To Sedlinzky.]
Open your eyes again. Here's one more left.
The Duke.
Oh, fly for my sake!
Flambeau.
Yours?
Sedlinzky.
[To a policeman.]
'Tis he!
Policeman.
Perhaps.
Wanted in Paris.
Sedlinzky.
How can we make sure!
[The Policeman hands him a paper, which he
reads.]
"Nose ordinary, eyes ordinary,
Mouth ordinary—" Extraordinary!
[Watching Flambeau.]
Two bullets in his—back.
Flambeau.
A lie!
Sedlinzky.
Of course.
Flambeau.
I'm lost. All right; I'll have my little joke,
And deck myself in flowers ere dropping out.
Sedlinzky.
You answer to the name of Seraph Flambeau.
Flambeau.
No, sir! That name's not good enough to die with.
I'll be drum-major in the Dance of Death;
Not merely Seraph, nor Flambeau, the torch.
I broaden! I'm Archangel Chandelier!
The Duke.
Will you deliver him to France?
Sedlinzky.
Yes.
The Duke.
Like a thief?
You have no right, sir—!
Sedlinzky.
But we'll take it.
The Duke.
Heavens!
Flambeau.
'Twas getting past a joke that I should never
Be present when they wanted to behead me.
Sedlinzky.
Also his decoration is illegal.
Take off that ribbon!
Flambeau.
Take it. But it grows
As often as I choose on my old hide.
[Unseen by the others he stabs himself.]
Sedlinzky.
Take off his cloak!
[When the cloak is removed, the spot of blood
shows like the ribbon of the Legion of Honor
on Flambeau's shirt.]
What's that?
Flambeau.
Looks rather well!
Sedlinzky.
Come! Make an end!
Flambeau.
[To the Duke.]
My Lord, this leaves me not
Till death!
Sedlinzky.
What! He has pinned another on!
Flambeau.
You cannot make an end! I've pinned another;
And when that's gone, another, and another!
The Duke.
What will they do?
Flambeau.
What did they do to Ney?
The Duke.
Impossible—!
Flambeau.
A little firing-party—
Rrrrrr!
The Duke.
Ah!
Flambeau.
I always laughed at bullets;
But French ones? Never! None of that, Lisette!
The Duke.
You will not
give him up?
Sedlinzky.
Without delay!
Flambeau.
Seraph, your wings are clipped; good-night, my friend!
Sedlinzky.
March!
The Duke.
Look! He staggers! Flambeau!—Look!
Policeman.
He's falling!
Flambeau.
[On his knees; knocking off the policeman's hat.]
The Duke is speaking! Take that stovepipe off!
The Duke.
Flambeau, you've killed yourself!
Flambeau.
No! I've pinned on
An everlasting ribbon of the Legion!
The Duke.
I'll not allow one of your men to touch him:
What! the clean soldier touched by soiled policemen!
Leave us alone together. Go!—Begone!
Flambeau.
My Lord—!
Sedlinzky.
[To a policeman, pointing to the old man of the hut.]
Lead off that peasant.
[The old man is led off.]
The Duke.
I'll await
My regiment. 'Tis summoned here at dawn.
The standards shall salute him, and the drums,
And my own soldiers shall uplift his body.
Sedlinzky.
[To a policeman.]
Where are the horses?
The Policeman.
[Aside to him.]
Gone.
Sedlinzky.
Then let him be.
[To the Duke.]
Highness, we cede.
The Duke.
Begone!
Sedlinzky.
I understand—
The Duke.
I turn you out.
Sedlinzky.
My Lord!
The Duke.
I turn you out!
For on the field of Wagram I'm at home!
[Sedlinzky and the policeman go.]
Flambeau.
It's funny, all the same, that on this field
Where I was wounded for the Father, now
I perish for the son.
The Duke.
No! not for me!
It is for him: I am not worth your death.
Flambeau.
For him?
The Duke.
For him! This is the field of Wagram.
Flambeau.
Ah, yes!—I die—
The Duke.
Do you not recognize
Wagram, the field, the hill, the pointed steeple?
Flambeau.
Yes!
The Duke.
Do you see the Austrian cannon yonder
All painted yellow, belching fire and smoke?
Flambeau.
The battle—!
The Duke.
Do you hear the noise of it?
Flambeau.
I die at Wagram! Ah! I die at Wagram!
The Duke.
Do you not see the wounded horse rush by,
Dragging his slaughtered rider by the stirrups?
We are at Wagram! 'Tis a solemn moment.
Davoust has come to turn Neusiedel's flank;
The Emperor has raised his little spy-glass;
You have been wounded by a bayonet,
And I have brought you to this little hill.
Flambeau.
But the light cavalry? Haven't they charged?
The Duke.
Yonder the blue, striped with white shoulder-belts:
Those are the Infantry.
Flambeau.
With General Reille!
The Duke.
The Emperor should send Oudinot to help!
He lets his left be crushed!
Flambeau.
Ah! that's his cunning!
The Duke.
They fight! They fight! Macdonald hastens up,
And wounded Massena drives slowly by.
Flambeau.
If the Archduke deploys his right he's lost.
The Duke.
All's well!
Flambeau.
They fight?
The Duke.
The Prince of Auersburg
Is taken by the Polish Lancers of the Guard.
Flambeau.
The Emperor? What's the Emperor doing?
The Duke.
Watching.
Flambeau.
Is the Archduke caught in the little 'un's trap?
The Duke.
The distant dust-cloud yonder is Nansouty.
Flambeau.
Has the Archduke not yet deployed his right?
The Duke.
The smoke is Lauriston—
Flambeau.
But the Archduke?
The Duke.
Now he deploys his right.
Flambeau.
His goose is cooked.
The Duke.
Here come the guns!
Flambeau.
I thirst!—I stifle—Drink!
What—is—the—Emperor doing?
The Duke.
With a smile
He shuts his little spy-glass.
Flambeau.
[Closing his eyes.]
Victory!
The Duke.
Flambeau!
[He looks at him, and moves away a little.]
This dying soldier frightens me.
Yet 'tis not strange a dying grenadier
Should fall asleep upon this field of glory.
The field is well acquainted with his likes.
[He bends over him and cries.]
Yes! Victory! The soldiers toss their shakos!
Flambeau.
[In his death-rattle.]
I thirst—!
Distant Voices.
I thirst!—I thirst!
The Duke.
[Shuddering.]
What are those echoes?
A Voice.
I thirst—!
The Duke.
O God!
The Same Voices.
[Very distant.]
I die—I die!
The Duke.
[With horror.]
His voice
Reverberates beneath the lurid sky.
The Voices.
I die—!
The Duke.
I understand! His cries of death
Are, for this vale which knows them all by heart,
As the first measures of a well-known song.
The plain takes up the moaning death has hushed.