The Dynasts

Act Fifth

SCENE I

PARIS. A BALLROOM IN THE HOUSE OF CAMBACERES

[The many-candled saloon at the ARCH-CHANCELLOR'S is visible

through a draped opening, and a crowd of masked dancers in

fantastic costumes revolve, sway, and intermingle to the music

that proceeds from an alcove at the further end of the same

apartment. The front of the scene is a withdrawing-room of

smaller size, now vacant, save for the presence of one sombre

figure, that of NAPOLEON, seated and apparently watching the

moving masquerade.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Napoleon even now embraces not

From stress of state affairs, which hold him grave

Through revels that might win the King of Spleen

To toe a measure! I would speak with him.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Speak if thou wilt whose speech nor mars nor mends!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES (into Napoleon's ear)

Why thus and thus Napoleon? Can it be

That Wagram with its glories, shocks, and shames,

Still leaves athirst the palate of thy pride?

NAPOLEON (answering as in soliloquy)

The trustless, timorous lease of human life

Warns me to hedge in my diplomacy.

The sooner, then, the safer! Ay, this eve,

This very night, will I take steps to rid

My morrows of the weird contingencies

That vision round and make one hollow-eyed. . . .

The unexpected, lurid death of Lannes--

Rigid as iron, reaped down like a straw--

Tiptoed Assassination haunting round

In unthought thoroughfares, the near success

Of Staps the madman, argue to forbid

The riskful blood of my previsioned line

And potence for dynastic empery

To linger vialled in my veins alone.

Perhaps within this very house and hour,

Under an innocent mask of Love or Hope,

Some enemy queues my ways to coffin me. . . .

When at the first clash of the late campaign,

A bold belief in Austria's star prevailed,

There pulsed quick pants of expectation round

Among the cowering kings, that too well told

What would have fared had I been overthrown!

So; I must send down shoots to future time

Who'll plant my standard and my story there;

And a way opens.--Better I had not

Bespoke a wife from Alexander's house.

Not there now lies my look. But done is done!

[The dance ends and masks enter, BERTHIER among them. NAPOLEON

beckons to him, and he comes forward.]

God send you find amid this motley crew

Frivolities enough, friend Berthier--eh?

My thoughts have worn oppressive shades despite such!

What scandals of me do they bandy here?

These close disguises render women bold--

Their shames being of the light, not of the thing--

And your sagacity has garnered much,

I make no doubt, of ill and good report,

That marked our absence from the capital?

BERTHIER

Methinks, your Majesty, the enormous tale

Of your campaign, like Aaron's serpent-rod,

Has swallowed up the smaller of its kind.

Some speak, 'tis true, in counterpoise thereto,

Of English deeds by Talavera town,

Though blurred by their exploit at Walcheren,

And all its crazy, crass futilities.

NAPOLEON

Yet was the exploit well featured in design,

Large in idea, and imaginative;

I had not deemed the blinkered English folk

So capable of view. Their fate contrived

To place an i***t at the helm of it,

Who marred its working, else it had been hard

If things had not gone seriously for us.

--But see, a lady saunters hitherward

Whose gait proclaims her Madame Metternich,

One that I fain would speak with.

[NAPOLEON rises and crosses the room toward a lady-masker who has

just appeared in the opening. BERTHIER draws off, and the EMPEROR,

unceremoniously taking the lady's arm, brings her forward to a

chair, and sits down beside her as dancing is resumed.]

MADAME METTERNICH

In a flash

I recognized you, sire; as who would not

The bearer of such deep-delved charactery?

NAPOLEON

The devil, madame, take your piercing eyes!

It's hard I cannot prosper in a game

That every coxcomb plays successfully.

--So here you are still, though your loving lord

Disports him at Vienna?

MADAME METTERNICH

Paris, true,

Still holds me; though in quiet, save to-night,

When I have been expressly prayed come hither,

Or I had not left home.

NAPOLEON

I sped that Prayer!--

I have a wish to put a case to you,

Wherein a woman's judgment, such as yours,

May be of signal service. (He lapses into reverie.)

MADAME METTERNICH

Well? The case--

NAPOLEON

Is marriage--mine.

MADAME METTERNICH

It is beyond me, sire!

NAPOLEON

You glean that I have decided to dissolve

(Pursuant to monitions murmured long)

My union with the present Empress--formed

Without the Church's due authority?

MADAME METTERNICH

Vaguely. And that light tentatives have winged

Betwixt your Majesty and Russia's court,

To moot that one of their Grand Duchesses

Should be your Empress-wife. Nought else I know.

NAPOLEON

There have been such approachings; more, worse luck.

Last week Champagny wrote to Alexander

Asking him for his sister--yes or no.

MADAME METTERNICH

What "worse luck" lies in that, your Majesty,

If severance from the Empress Josephine

Be fixed unalterably?

NAPOLEON

This worse luck lies there:

If your Archduchess, Marie Louise the fair,

Would straight accept my hand, I'd offer it,

And throw the other over. Faith, the Tsar

Has shown such backwardness in answering me,

Time meanwhile trotting, that I have ample ground

For such withdrawal.--Madame, now, again,

Will your Archduchess marry me of no?

MADAME METTERNICH

Your sudden questions quite confound my sense!

It is impossible to answer them.

NAPOLEON

Well, madame, now I'll put it to you thus:

Were you in the Archduchess Marie's place

Would you accept my hand--and heart therewith?

MADAME METTERNICH

I should refuse you--most assuredly!(17)

NAPOLEON (laughing roughly)

Ha-ha! That's frank. And devilish cruel too!

--Well, write to your husband. Ask him what he thinks,

And let me know.

MADAME METTERNICH

Indeed, sire, why should I?

There goes the Ambassador, Prince Schwarzenberg,

Successor to my spouse. He's now the groove

And proper conduit of diplomacy

Through whom to broach this matter to his Court.

NAPOLEON

Do you, then, broach it through him, madame, pray;

Now, here, to-night.

MADAME METTERNICH

I will, informally,

To humour you, on this recognizance,

That you leave not the business in my hands,

But clothe your project in official guise

Through him to-morrow; so safeguarding me

From foolish seeming, as the babbler forth

Of a fantastic and unheard of dream.

NAPOLEON

I'll send Eugene to him, as you suggest.

Meanwhile prepare him. Make your stand-point this:

Children are needful to my dynasty,

And if one woman cannot mould them for me,

Why, then, another must.

[Exit NAPOLEON abruptly. Dancing continues. MADAME METTERNICH

sits on, musing. Enter SCHWARZENBERG.]

MADAME METTERNICH

The Emperor has just left me. We have tapped

This theme and that; his empress and--his next.

Ay, so! Now, guess you anything?

SCHWARZENBERG

Of her?

No more than that the stock of Romanoff

Will not supply the spruce commodity.

MADAME METTERNICH

And that the would-be customer turns toe

To our shop in Vienna.

SCHWARZENBERG

Marvellous;

And comprehensible but as the dream

Of Delaborde, of which I have lately heard.

It will not work!--What think you, madame, on't?

MADAME METTERNICH

That it will work, and is as good as wrought!--

I break it to you thus, at his request.

In brief time Prince Eugene will wait on you,

And make the formal offer in his name.

SCHWARZENBERG

Which I can but receive _ad referendum_,

And shall initially make clear as much,

Disclosing not a glimpse of my own mind!

Meanwhile you make good Metternich aware?

MADAME METTERNICH

I write this midnight, that amaze may pitch

To coolness ere your messenger arrives.

SCHWARZENBERG

This radiant revelation flicks a gleam

On many circling things!--the courtesies

Which graced his bearing toward our officer

Amid the tumults of the late campaign,

His wish for peace with England, his affront

At Alexander's tedious-timed reply . . .

Well, it will thrust a thorn in Russia's side,

If I err not, whatever else betide!

[Exeunt. The maskers surge into the foreground of the scene, and

their motions become more and more fantastic. A strange gloom

begins and intensifies, until only the high lights of their

grinning figures are visible. These also, with the whole ball-

room, gradually darken, and the music softens to silence.]

SCENE II

PARIS. THE TUILERIES

[The evening of the next day. A saloon of the Palace, with

folding-doors communicating with a dining-room. The doors are

flung open, revealing on the dining-table an untouched dinner,

NAPOLEON and JOSEPHINE rising from it, and DE BAUSSET, chamberlain-

in-waiting, pacing up and down. The EMPEROR and EMPRESS come

forward into the saloon, the latter pale and distressed, and

patting her eyes with her handkerchief.

The doors are closed behind them; a page brings in coffee; NAPOLEON

signals to him to leave. JOSEPHINE goes to pour out the coffee,

but NAPOLEON pushes her aside and pours it out himself, looking at

her in a way which causes her to sink cowering into a chair like a

frightened animal.]

JOSEPHINE

I see my doom, my friend, upon your face!

NAPOLEON

You see me bored by Cambaceres' ball.

JOSEPHINE

It means divorce!--a thing more terrible

Than carrying elsewhere the dalliances

That formerly were mine. I kicked at that;

But now agree, as I for long have done,

To any infidelities of act

May I be yours in name!

NAPOLEON

My mind must bend

To other things than our domestic petting:

The Empire orbs above our happiness,

And 'tis the Empire dictates this divorce.

I reckon on your courage and calm sense

To breast with me the law's formalities,

And get it through before the year has flown.

JOSEPHINE

But are you REALLY going to part from me?

O no, no, my dear husband; no, in truth,

It cannot be my Love will serve me so!

NAPOLEON

I mean but mere divorcement, as I said,

On simple grounds of sapient sovereignty.

JOSEPHINE

But nothing have I done save good to you:--

Since the fond day we wedded into one

I never even have THOUGHT you jot of harm!

Many the happy junctures when you have said

I stood as guardian-angel over you,

As your Dame Fortune, too, and endless things

Of such-like pretty tenour--yes, you have!

Then how can you so gird against me now?

You had not pricked upon it much of late,

And so I hoped and hoped the ugly spectre

Had been laid dead and still.

NAPOLEON (impatiently)

I tell you, dear,

The thing's decreed, and even the princess chosen.

JOSEPHINE

Ah--so--the princess chosen! . . . I surmise

It is none else than the Grand-Duchess Anne:

Gossip was right--though I would not believe.

She's young; but no great beauty!--Yes, I see

Her silly, soulless eyes and horrid hair;

In which new gauderies you'll forget sad me!

NAPOLEON

Upon my soul you are childish, Josephine:

A woman of your years to pout it so!--

I say it's not the Tsar's Grand-Duchess Anne.

JOSEPHINE

Some other Fair, then. You whose name can nod

The flower of all the world's virginity

Into your bed, will well take care of that!

(Spitefully.) She may not have a child, friend, after all.

NAPOLEON (drily)

You hope she won't, I know!--But don't forget

Madame Walewska did, and had she shown

Such cleverness as yours, poor little fool,

Her withered husband might have been displaced,

And her boy made my heir.--Well, let that be.

The severing parchments will be signed by us

Upon the fifteenth, prompt.

JOSEPHINE

What--I have to sign

My putting away upon the fifteenth next?

NAPOLEON

Ay--both of us.

JOSEPHINE (falling on her knees)

So far advanced--so far!

Fixed?--for the fifteenth? O I do implore you,

My very dear one, by our old, old love,

By my devotion, don't cast me off

Now, after these long years!

NAPOLEON

Heavens, how you jade me!

Must I repeat that I don't cast you off;

We merely formally arrange divorce--

We live and love, but call ourselves divided.

[A silence.]

JOSEPHINE (with sudden calm)

Very well. Let it be. I must submit! (Rises.)

NAPOLEON

And this much likewise you must promise me,

To act in the formalities thereof

As if you shaped them of your own free will.

JOSEPHINE

How can I--when no freewill's left in me?

NAPOLEON

You are a willing party--do you hear?

JOSEPHINE (quivering)

I hardly--can--bear this!--It is--too much

For a poor weak and broken woman's strength!

But--but I yield!--I am so helpless now:

I give up all--ay, kill me if you will,

I won't cry out!

NAPOLEON

And one thing further still,

You'll help me in my marriage overtures

To win the Duchess--Austrian Marie she,--

Concentrating all your force to forward them.

JOSEPHINE

It is the--last humiliating blow!--

I cannot--O, I will not!

NAPOLEON (fiercely)

But you SHALL!

And from your past experience you may know

That what I say I mean!

JOSEPHINE (breaking into sobs)

O my dear husband--do not make me--don't!

If you but cared for me--the hundredth part

Of how--I care for you, you could not be

So cruel as to lay this torture on me.

It hurts me so!--it cuts me like a sword.

Don't make me, dear! Don't, will you! O,O,O!

(She sinks down in a hysterical fit.)

NAPOLEON (calling)

Bausset!

[Enter DE BAUSSET, Chamberlain-in-waiting.]

Bausset, come in and shut the door.

Assist me here. The Empress has fallen ill.

Don't call for help. We two can carry her

By the small private staircase to her rooms.

Here--I will take her feet.

[They lift JOSEPHINE between them and carry her out. Her moans

die away as they recede towards the stairs. Enter two servants,

who remove coffee-service, readjust chairs, etc.]

FIRST SERVANT

So, poor old girl, she's wailed her _Missere Mei_, as Mother Church

says. I knew she was to get the sack ever since he came back.

SECOND SERVANT

Well, there will be a little civil huzzaing, a little crowing and

cackling among the Bonapartes at the downfall of the Beauharnais

family at last, mark me there will! They've had their little hour,

as the poets say, and now 'twill be somebody else's turn. O it is

droll! Well, Father Time is a great philosopher, if you take him

right. Who is to be the new woman?

FIRST SERVANT

She that contains in her own corporation the necessary particular.

SECOND SERVANT

And what may they be?

FIRST SERVANT

She must be young.

SECOND SERVANT

Good. She must. The country must see to that.

FIRST SERVANT

And she must be strong.

SECOND SERVANT

Good again. She must be strong. The doctors will see to that.

FIRST SERVANT

And she must be fruitful as the vine.

SECOND SERVANT

Ay, by God. She must be fruitful as the vine. That, Heaven help

him, he must see to himself, like the meanest multiplying man in

Paris.

[Exeunt servant. Re-enter NAPOLEON with his stepdaughter, Queen

Hortense.]

NAPOLEON

Your mother is too rash and reasonless--

Wailing and fainting over statesmanship

Which is no personal caprice of mine,

But policy most painful--forced on me

By the necessities of this country's charge.

Go to her; see if she be saner now;

Explain it to her once and once again,

And bring me word what impress you may make.

[HORTENSE goes out. CHAMPAGNY is shown in.]

Champagny, I have something clear to say

Now, on our process after the divorce.

The question of the Russian Duchess Anne

Was quite inept for further toying with.

The years rush on, and I grow nothing younger.

So I have made up my mind--committed me

To Austria and the Hapsburgs--good or ill!

It was the best, most practicable plunge,

And I have plunged it.

CHAMPAGNY

Austria say you, sire?

I reckoned that but a scurrying dream!

NAPOLEON

Well, so it was. But such a pretty dream

That its own charm transfixed it to a notion,

That showed itself in time a sanity,

Which hardened in its turn to a resolve

As firm as any built by mortal mind.--

The Emperor's consent must needs be won;

But I foresee no difficulty there.

The young Archduchess is a bright blond thing

By general story; and considering, too,

That her good mother childed seventeen times,

It will be hard if she can not produce

The modest one or two that I require.

[Enter DE BAUSSET with dispatches.]

DE BAUSSET

The courier, sire, from Petersburg is here,

And brings these letters for your Majesty.

[Exit DE BAUSSET.]

NAPOLEON (after silently reading)

Ha-ha! It never rains unless it pours:

Now I can have the other readily.

The proverb hits me aptly: "Well they do

Who doff the old love ere they don the new!"

(He glances again over the letter.)

Yes, Caulaincourt now writes he has every hope

Of quick success in settling the alliance!

The Tsar is willing--even anxious for it,

His sister's youth the single obstacle.

The Empress-mother, hitherto against me,

Ambition-fired, verges on suave consent,

Likewise the whole Imperial family.

What irony is all this to me now!

Time lately was when I had leapt thereat.

CHAMPAGNY

You might, of course, sire, give th' Archduchess up,

Seeing she looms uncertainly as yet,

While this does so no longer.

NAPOLEON

No--not I.

My sense of my own dignity forbids

My watching the slow clocks of Muscovy!

Why have they dallied with my tentatives

In pompous silence since the Erfurt day?

--And Austria, too, affords a safer hope.

The young Archduchess is much less a child

Than is the other, who, Caulaincourt says,

Will be incapable of motherhood

For six months yet or more--a grave delay.

CHAMPAGNY

Your Majesty appears to have trimmed your sail

For Austria; and no more is to be said!

NAPOLEON

Except that there's the house of Saxony

If Austria fail.--then, very well, Champagny,

Write you to Caulaincourt accordingly.

CHAMPAGNY

I will, your Majesty.

[Exit CHAMPAGNY. Re-enter QUEEN HORTENSE.]

NAPOLEON

Ah, dear Hortense,

How is your mother now?

HORTENSE

Calm; quite calm, sire.

I pledge me you need have no further fret

From her entreating tears. She bids me say

That now, as always, she submits herself

With chastened dignity to circumstance,

And will descend, at notice, from your throne--

As in days earlier she ascended it--

In questionless obedience to your will.

It was your hand that crowned her; let it be

Likewise your hand that takes her crown away.

As for her children, we shall be but glad

To follow and withdraw ourselves with her,

The tenderest mother children ever knew,

From grandeurs that have brought no happiness!

NAPOLEON (taking her hand)

But, Hortense, dear, it is not to be so!

You must stay with me, as I said before.

Your mother, too, must keep her royal state,

Since no repudiation stains this need.

Equal magnificence will orb her round

In aftertime as now. A palace here,

A palace in the country, wealth to match,

A rank in order next my future wife's,

And conference with me as my truest friend.

Now we will seek her--Eugene, you, and I--

And make the project clear.

[Exeunt NAPOLEON and HORTENSE. The scene darkens and shuts.]

SCENE III

VIENNA. A PRIVATE APARTMENT IN THE IMPERIAL PALACE

[The EMPEROR FRANCIS discovered, paler than usual, and somewhat

flurried. Enter METTERNICH the Prime Minister--a thin-lipped,

long-nosed man with inquisitive eyes.]

FRANCIS

I have been expecting you some minutes here,

The thing that fronts us brooking brief delay.--

Well, what say you by now on this strange offer?

METTERNICH

My views remain the same, your Majesty:

The policy of peace that I have upheld,

Both while in Paris and of late time here,

Points to this step as heralding sweet balm

And bandaged veins for our late crimsoned realm.

FRANCIS

Agreed. As monarch I perceive therein

A happy doorway for my purposings.

It seems to guarantee the Hapsburg crown

A quittance of distractions such as those

That leave their shade on many a backward year!--

There is, forsooth, a suddenness about it,

And it would aid us had we clearly keyed

The cryptologues of which the world has heard

Between Napoleon and the Russian Court--

Begun there with the selfsame motiving.

METTERNICH

I would not, sire, one second ponder it.

It was an obvious first crude cast-about

In the important reckoning of means

For his great end, a strong monarchic line.

The more advanced the more it profits us;

For sharper, then, the quashing of such views,

And wreck of that conjunction in the aims

Of France and Russia, marked so much of late

As jeopardizing quiet neighbours' thrones.

FRANCIS

If that be so, on the domestic side

There seems no bar. Speaking as father solely,

I see secured to her the proudest fate

That woman can daydream. And I could hope

That private bliss would not be wanting her!

METTERNICH

A hope well seated, sire. The Emperor,

Imperious and determined in his rule,

Is easy-natured in domestic life,

As my long time in Paris amply proved.

Moreover, the accessories of his glory

Have been, and will be, admirably designed

To fire the fancy of a young princess.

FRANCIS

Thus far you satisfy me. . . . So, to close,

Or not to close with him, is now the thing.

METTERNICH

Your Majesty commands the issue quite:

The father of his people can alone

In such a case give answer--yes or no.

Vagueness and doubt have ruined Russia's chance;

Let not, then, such be ours.

FRANCIS

You mean, if I,

You'd answer straight. What would that answer be?

METTERNICH

In state affairs, sire, as in private life,

Times will arise when even the faithfullest squire

Finds him unfit to jog his chieftain's choice,

On whom responsibility must lastly rest.

And such times are pre-eminently, sire,

Those wherein thought alone is not enough

To serve the head as guide. As Emperor,

As father, both, to you, to you in sole

Must appertain the privilege to pronounce

Which track stern duty bids you tread herein.

FRANCIS

Affection is my duty, heart my guide.--

Without constraint or prompting I shall leave

The big decision in my daughter's hands.

Before my obligations to my people

Must stand her wish. Go, find her, Metternich,

Take her the tidings. She is free with you,

And will speak out. (Looking forth from the terrace.)

She's here at hand, I see:

I'll call her in. Then tell me what's her mind.

[He beckons from the window, and goes out in another direction.]

METTERNICH

So much for form's sake! Can the river-flower

The current drags, direct its face up-stream?

What she must do she will; nought else at all.

[Enter through one of the windows MARIA LOUISA in garden-costume,

fresh-coloured, girlish, and smiling. METTERNICH bends.]

MARIA LOUISA

O how, dear Chancellor, you startled me!

Please pardon my so brusquely bursting in.

I saw you not.--Those five poor little birds

That haunt out there beneath the pediment,

Snugly defended from the north-east wind,

Have lately disappeared. I sought a trace

Of scattered feathers, which I dread to find!

METTERNICH

They are gone, I ween, the way of tender flesh

At the assaults of winter, want, and foes.

MARIA LOUISA

It is too melancholy thinking, that!

Don't say it.--But I saw the Emperor here?

Surely he beckoned me?

METTERNICH

Sure, he did,

Your gracious Highness; and he has left me here

To break vast news that will make good his call.

MARIA LOUISA

Then do. I'll listen. News from near or far?

[She seats herself.]

METTERNICH

From far--though of such distance-dwarfing might

That far may read as near eventually.

But, dear Archduchess, with your kindly leave

I'll speak straight out. The Emperor of the French

Has sent to-day to make, through Schwarzenberg,

A formal offer of his heart and hand,

His honours, dignities, imperial throne,

To you, whom he admires above all those

The world can show elsewhere.

MARIA LOUISA (frightened)

My husband--he?

What, an old man like him!

METTERNICH (cautiously)

He's scarcely old,

Dear lady. True, deeds densely crowd in him;

Turn months to years calendaring his span;

Yet by Time's common clockwork he's but young.

MARIA LOUISA

So wicked, too!

METTERNICH (nettled)

Well-that's a point of view.

MARIA LOUISA

But, Chancellor, think what things I have said to him!

Can women marry where they have taunted so?

METTERNICH

Things? Nothing inexpungeable, I deem,

By time and true good humour.

MARIA LOUISA

O I have!

Horrible things. Why--ay, a hundred times--

I have said I wished him dead! At that strained hour

When the first voicings of the late war came,

Thrilling out how the French were smitten sore

And Bonaparte retreating, I clapped hands

And answered that I hoped he'd lose his head

As well as lose the battle!

METTERNICH

Words. But words!

Born like the bubbles of a spring that come

Of zest for springing--aimless in their shape.

MARIA LOUISA

It seems indecent, mean, to wed a man

Whom one has held such fierce opinions of!

METTERNICH

My much beloved Archduchess, and revered,

Such things have been! In Spain and Portugal

Like enmities have led to intermarriage.

In England, after warring thirty years

The Red and White Rose wedded.

MARIA LOUISA (after a silence)

Tell me, now,

What does my father wish?

METTERNICH

His wish is yours.

Whatever your Imperial Highness feels

On this grave verdict of your destiny,

Home, title, future sphere, he bids you think

Not of himself, but of your own desire.

MARIA LOUISA (reflecting)

My wish is what my duty bids me wish.

Where a wide Empire's welfare is in poise,

That welfare must be pondered, not my will.

I ask of you, then, Chancellor Metternich,

Straightway to beg the Emperor my father

That he fulfil his duty to the realm,

And quite subordinate thereto all thought

Of how it personally impinge on me.

[A slight noise as of something falling is heard in the room. They

glance momentarily, and see that a small enamel portrait of MARIE

ANTOINETTE, which was standing on a console-table, has slipped down

on its face.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

What mischief's this? The Will must have its way.

SPIRIT SINISTER

Perhaps Earth shivered at the lady's say?

SHADE OF THE EARTH

I own hereto. When France and Austria wed

My echoes are men's groans, my dews are red;

So I have reason for a passing dread!

METTERNICH

Right nobly phrased, Archduchess; wisely too.

I will acquaint your sire the Emperor

With these your views. He waits them anxiously. (Going.)

MARIA LOUISA

Let me go first. It much confuses me

To think--But I would fain let thinking be!

[She goes out trembling. Enter FRANCIS by another door.]

METTERNICH

I was about to seek your Majesty.

The good Archduchess luminously holds

That in this weighty question you regard

The Empire. Best for it is best for her.

FRANCIS (moved)

My daughter's views thereon do not surprise me.

She is too staunch to pit a private whim

Against the fortunes of a commonwealth.

During your speech with her I have taken thought

To shape decision sagely. An assent

Would yield the Empire many years of peace,

And leave me scope to heal those still green sores

Which linger from our late unhappy moils.

Therefore, my daughter not being disinclined,

I know no basis for a negative.

Send, then, a courier prompt to Paris: say

The offer made for the Archduchess' hand

I do accept--with this defined reserve,

That no condition, treaty, bond, attach

To such alliance save the tie itself.

There are some sacrifices whose grave rites

No bargain must contaminate. This is one--

This personal gift of a beloved child!

METTERNICH (leaving)

I'll see to it this hour, your Majesty,

And cant the words in keeping with your wish.

To himself as he goes.)

Decently done! . . . He slipped out "sacrifice,"

And scarce could hide his heartache for his girl.

Well ached it!--But when these things have to be

It is as well to breast them stoically.

[Exit METTERNICH. The clouds draw over.]

SCENE IV

LONDON. A CLUB IN ST. JAMES'S STREET

[A winter midnight. Two members are conversing by the fire, and

others are seen lolling in the background, some of them snoring.]

FIRST MEMBER

I learn from a private letter that it was carried out in the

Emperor's Cabinet at the Tuileries--just off the throne-room, where

they all assembled in the evening,--Boney and the wife of his bosom

(In pure white muslin from head to foot, they say), the Kings and

Queens of Holland, Whestphalia, and Naples, the Princess Pauline,

and one or two more; the officials present being Cambaceres the

Chancellor, and Count Regnaud. Quite a small party. It was over

in minutes--short and sweet, like a donkey's gallop.

SECOND MEMBER

Anything but sweet for her. How did she stand it?

FIRST MEMBER

Serenely, I believe, while the Emperor was making his speech

renouncing her; but when it came to her turn to say she renounced

him she began sobbing mightily, and was so completely choked up that

she couldn't get out a word.

SECOND MEMBER

Poor old dame! I pity her, by God; though she had a rattling good

spell while it lasted.

FIRST MEMBER

They say he was a bit upset, too, at sight of her tears But I

dare vow that was put on. Fancy Boney caring a curse what a woman

feels. She had learnt her speech by heart, but that did not help

her: Regnaud had to finish it for her, the ditch that overturned

her being where she was made to say that she no longer preserved

any hope of having children, and that she was pleased to show her

attachment by enabling him to obtain them by another woman. She

was led off fainting. A turning of the tables, considering how

madly jealous she used to make him by her flirtations!

[Enter a third member.]

SECOND MEMBER

How is the debate going? Still braying the Government in a mortar?

THIRD MEMBER

They are. Though one thing every body admits: young Peel has

made a wonderful first speech in seconding the address. There

has been nothing like it since Pitt. He spoke rousingly of

Austria's misfortunes--went on about Spain, of course, showing

that we must still go on supporting her, winding up with a

brilliant peroration about--what were the words--"the fiery eyes

of the British soldier!"--Oh, well: it was all learnt before-hand,

of course.

SECOND MEMBER

I wish I had gone down. But the wind soon blew the other way.

THIRD MEMBER

Then Gower rapped out his amendment. That was good, too, by God.

SECOND MEMBER

Well, the war must go on. And that being the general conviction

this censure and that censure are only so many blank cartridges.

THIRD MEMBER

Blank? Damn me, were they! Gower's was a palpable hit when he said

that Parliament had placed unheard-of resources in the hands of the

Ministers last year, to make this year's results to the country

worse than if they had been afforded no resources at all. Every

single enterprise of theirs had been a beggarly failure.

SECOND MEMBER

Anybody could have said it, come to that.

THIRD MEMBER

Yes, because it is so true. However, when he began to lay on with

such rhetoric as "the treasures of the nation lavished in wasteful

thoughtlessness,"--"thousands of our troops sacrificed wantonly in

pestilential swamps of Walcheren," and gave the details we know so

well, Ministers wriggled a good one, though 'twas no news to 'em.

Castlereagh kept on starting forward as if he were going to jump up

and interrupt, taking the strictures entirely as a personal affront.

[Enter a fourth member.]

SEVERAL MEMBERS

Who's speaking now?

FOURTH MEMBER

I don't know. I have heard nobody later than Ward.

SECOND MEMBER

The fact is that, as Whitbread said to me to-day, the materials for

condemnation are so prodigious that we can scarce marshal them into

argument. We are just able to pour 'em out one upon t'other.

THIRD MEMBER

Ward said, with the blandest air in the world: "Censure? Do his

Majesty's Ministers expect censure? Not a bit. They are going

about asking in tremulous tones if anybody has heard when their

impeachment is going to begin."

SEVERAL MEMBERS

Haw--haw--haw!

THIRD MEMBER

Then he made another point. After enumerating our frightful

failures--Spain, Walcheren, and the rest--he said: "But Ministers

have not failed in everything. No; in one thing they have been

strikingly successful. They have been successful in their attack

upon Copenhagen--because it was directed against an ally!" Mighty

fine, wasn't it?

SECOND MEMBER

How did Castlereagh stomach that?

THIRD MEMBER

He replied then. Donning his air of injured innocence he proved the

honesty of his intentions--no doubt truly enough. But when he came

to Walcheren nothing could be done. The case was hopeless, and he

knew it, and foundered. However, at the division, when he saw what

a majority was going out on his side he was as frisky as a child.

Canning's speech was grave, with bits of shiny ornament stuck on--

like the brass nails on a coffin, Sheridan says.

[Fifth and sixth members stagger in, arm-and-arm.]

FIFTH MEMBER

The 'vision is---'jority of ninety-six againsht--Gov'ment--I mean--

againsht us. Which is it--hey? (To his companion.)

SIXTH MEMBER

Damn majority of--damn ninety-six--against damn amendment! (They

sink down on a sofa.)

SECOND MEMBER

Gad, I didn't expect the figure would have been quite so high!

THIRD MEMBER

The one conviction is that the war in the Peninsula is to go on, and

as we are all agreed upon that, what the hell does it matter what

their majority was?

[Enter SHERIDAN. They all look inquiringly.]

SHERIDAN

Have ye heard the latest?

SECOND MEMBER

Ninety-six against us.

SHERIDAN

O no-that's ancient history. I'd forgot it.

THIRD MEMBER

A revolution, because Ministers are not impeached and hanged?

SHERIDAN

That's in contemplation, when we've got their confessions. But what

I meant was from over the water--it is a deuced sight more serious

to us than a debate and division that are only like the Liturgy on

a Sunday--known beforehand to all the congregation. Why, Bonaparte

is going to marry Austria forthwith--the Emperor's daughter Maria

Louisa.

THIRD MEMBER

The Lord look down! Our late respected crony of Austria! Why, in

this very night's debate they have been talking about the laudable

principles we have been acting upon in affording assistance to the

Emperor Francis in his struggle against the violence and ambition

of France!

SECOND MEMBER

Boney safe on that side, what may not befall!

THIRD MEMBER

We had better make it up with him, and shake hands all round.

SECOND MEMBER

Shake heads seems most natural in the case. O House of Hapsburg,

how hast thou fallen!

[Enter WHITBREAD, LORD HUTCHINSON, LORD GEORGE CAVENDISH, GEORGE

PONSONBY, WINDHAM, LORD GREY, BARING, ELLIOT, and other members,

some drunk. The conversation becomes animated and noisy; several

move off to the card-room, and the scene closes.]

SCENE V

THE OLD WEST HIGHWAY OUT OF VIENNA

[The spot is where the road passes under the slopes of the Wiener

Wald, with its beautiful forest scenery.]

DUMB SHOW

A procession of enormous length, composed of eighty carriages--

many of them drawn by six horses and one by eight--and escorted

by detachments of cuirassiers, yeomanry, and other cavalry, is

quickening its speed along the highway from the city.

The six-horse carriages contain a multitude of Court officials,

ladies of the Court, and other Austrian nobility. The eight-horse

coach contains a rosy, blue-eyed girl of eighteen, with full red

lips, round figure, and pale auburn hair. She is MARIA LOUISA, and

her eyes are red from recent weeping. The COUNTESS DE LAZANSKY,

Grand Mistress of the Household, in the carriage with her, and the

other ladies of the Palace behind, have a pale, proud, yet resigned

look, as if conscious that upon their s*x had been laid the burden

of paying for the peace with France. They have been played out of

Vienna with French marches, and the trifling incident has helped on

their sadness.

The observer's vision being still bent on the train of vehicles and

cavalry, the point of sight is withdrawn high into the air, till the

huge procession on the brown road looks no more than a file of ants

crawling along a strip of garden-matting. The spacious terrestrial

outlook now gained shows this to be the great road across Europe from

Vienna to Munich, and from Munich westerly to France.

The puny concatenation of specks being exclusively watched, the

surface of the earth seems to move along in an opposite direction,

and in infinite variety of hill, dale, woodland, and champaign.

Bridges are crossed, ascents are climbed, plains are galloped over,

and towns are reached, among them Saint Polten, where night falls.

Morning shines, and the royal crawl is resumed, and continued through

Linz, where the Danube is reapproached, and the girl looks pleased

to see her own dear Donau still. Presently the tower of Brannau

appears, where the animated dots pause for formalities, this being

the frontier; and MARIA LOUISA becomes MARIE LOUISE and a Frenchwoman,

in the charge of French officials.

After many breaks and halts, during which heavy rains spread their

gauzes over the scene, the roofs and houses of Munich disclose

themselves, suggesting the tesserae of an irregular mosaic. A long

stop is made here.

The tedious advance continues. Vine-circled Stuttgart, flat

Carlsruhe, the winding Rhine, storky Strassburg, pass in panorama

beneath us as the procession is followed. With Nancy and Bar-le-

Duc sliding along, the scenes begin to assume a French character,

and soon we perceive Chalons and ancient Rheims. The last day of

the journey has dawned. Our vision flits ahead of the cortege to

Courcelles, a little place which must be passed through before

Soissons is reached. Here the point of sight descends to earth,

and the Dumb Show ends.

SCENE VI

COURCELLES

[It is now seen to be a quiet roadside village, with a humble

church in its midst, opposite to which stands an inn, the highway

passing between them. Rain is still falling heavily. Not a soul

is visible anywhere.

Enter from the west a plain, lonely carriage, traveling in a

direction to meet the file of coaches that we have watched. It

stops near the inn, and two men muffled in cloaks alight by the

door away from the hostel and towards the church, as if they

wished to avoid observation. Their faces are those of NAPOLEON

and MURAT, his brother-in-law. Crossing the road through the mud

and rain they stand in the church porch, and watch the descending

drifts.]

NAPOLEON (stamping an impatient tattoo)

One gets more chilly in a wet March than in a dry, however cold, the

devil if he don't! What time do you make it now? That clock doesn't

go.

MURAT (drily, looking at his watch)

Yes, it does; and it is right. If clocks were to go as fast as your

wishes just now it would be awkward for the rest of the world.

NAPOLEON (chuckling good-humouredly)

How we have dished the Soissons folk, with their pavilions, and

purple and gold hangings for bride and bridegroom to meet in, and

stately ceremonial to match, and their thousands looking on! Here

we are where there's nobody. Ha, ha!

MURAT

But why should they be dished, sire? The pavilions and ceremonies

were by your own orders.

NAPOLEON

Well, as the time got nearer I couldn't stand the idea of dawdling

about there.

MURAT

The Soissons people will be in a deuce of a taking at being made

such fools of!

NAPOLEON

So let 'em. I'll make it up with them somehow.--She can't be far

off now, if we have timed her rightly. (He peers out into the rain

and listens.)

MURAT

I don't quite see how you are going to manage when she does come.

Do we go before her toward Soissons when you have greeted her here,

or follow in her rear? Or what do we do?

NAPOLEON

Heavens, I know no more than you! Trust to the moment and see what

happens. (A silence.) Hark--here she comes! Good little girl; up

to time!

[The distant squashing in the mud of a multitude of hoofs and

wheels is succeeded by the appearance of outriders and carriages,

horses and horsemen, splashed with sample clays of the districts

traversed. The vehicles slow down to the inn. NAPOLEON'S face

fires up, and, followed by MURAT, he rushes into the rain towards

the coach that is drawn by eight horses, containing the blue-eyed

girl. He holds off his hat at the carriage-window.]

MARIE LOUISE (shrinking back inside)

Ah, Heaven! Two highwaymen are upon us!

THE EQUERRY D'AUDENARDE (simultaneously)

The Emperor!

[The steps of the coach are hastily lowered, NAPOLEON, dripping,

jumps in and embraces her. The startled ARCHDUCHESS, with much

blushing and confusion recognizes him.]

MARIE LOUISE (tremulously, as she recovers herself)

You are so much--better looking than your portraits--that I hardly

knew you! I expected you at Soissons. We are not at Soissons yet?

NAPOLEON

No, my dearest spouse, but we are together! (Calling out to the

equerry.) Drive through Soissons--pass the pavilion of reception

without stopping, and don't halt till we reach Compiegne.

[He sits down in the coach and is shut in, MURAT laughing silently

at the scene. Exeunt carriages and riders toward Soissons.]

CHORUS OF THE IRONIC SPIRITS (aerial music)

First 'twas a finished coquette,

And now it's a raw ingenue.--

Blond instead of brunette,

An old wife doffed for a new.

She'll bring him a baby,

As quickly as maybe,

And that's what he wants her to do,

Hoo-hoo!

And that's what he wants her to do!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

What lewdness lip those wry-formed phantoms there!

IRONIC SPIRITS

Nay, Showman Years! With holy reverent air

We hymn the nuptials of the Imperial pair.

[The scene thickens to mist and obscures the scene.]

SCENE VII

PETERSBURG. THE PALACE OF THE EMPRESS-MOTHER

[One of the private apartments is disclosed, in which the Empress-

mother and Alexander are seated.]

EMPRESS-MOTHER

So one of Austrian blood his pomp selects

To be his bride and bulwark--not our own.

Thus are you coolly shelved!

ALEXANDER

Me, mother dear?

You, faith, if I may say it dutifully!

Had all been left to me, some time ere now

He would have wedded Kate.

EMPRESS-MOTHER

How so, my son?

Catharine was plighted, and it could not be.

ALEXANDER

Rather you swiftly pledged and married her,

To let Napoleon have no chance that way.

But Anne remained.

EMPRESS-MOTHER

How Anne?--so young a girl!

Sane Nature would have cried indecency

At such a troth.

ALEXANDER

Time would have tinkered that,

And he was well-disposed to wait awhile;

But the one test he had no temper for

Was the apparent slight of unresponse

Accorded his impatient overtures

By our suspensive poise of policy.

EMPRESS-MOTHER

A backward answer is our country's card--

The special style and mode of Muscovy.

We have grown great upon it, my dear son,

And may such practice rule our centuries through!

The necks of those who rate themselves our peers

Are cured of stiffness by its potency.

ALEXANDER

The principle in this case, anyhow,

Is shattered by the facts: since none can doubt

Your policy was counted an affront,

And drove my long ally to Austria's arms,

With what result to us must yet be seen!

EMPRESS-MOTHER

May Austria win much joy of the alliance!

Marrying Napoleon is a midnight leap

For any Court in Europe, credit me,

If ever such there were! What he may carve

Upon the coming years, what murderous bolt

Hurl at the rocking Constitutions round,

On what dark planet he may land himself

In his career through space, no sage can say.

ALEXANDER

Well--possibly! . . . And maybe all is best

That he engrafts his lineage not on us.--

But, honestly, Napoleon none the less

Has been my friend, and I regret the dream

And fleeting fancy of a closer tie!

EMPRESS-MOTHER

Ay; your regrets are sentimental ever.

That he'll be writ no son-in-law of mine

Is no regret to me! But an affront

There is, no less, in his evasion on't,

Wherein the bourgeois quality of him

Veraciously peeps out. I would be sworn

He set his minions parleying with the twain--

Yourself and Francis--simultaneously,

Else no betrothal could have speeded so!

ALEXANDER

Despite the hazard of offence to one?

EMPRESS-MOTHER

More than the hazard; the necessity.

ALEXANDER

There's no offence to me.

EMPRESS-MOTHER

There should be, then.

I am a Romanoff by marriage merely,

But I do feel a rare belittlement

And loud laconic brow-beating herein!

ALEXANDER

No, mother, no! I am the Tsar--not you,

And I am only piqued in moderateness.

Marriage with France was near my heart--I own it--

What then? It has been otherwise ordained.

[A silence.]

EMPRESS-MOTHER

Here comes dear Anne Speak not of it before her.

[Enter the GRAND-DUCHESS, a girl of sixteen.]

ANNE

Alas! the news is that poor Prussia's queen,

Spirited Queen Louisa, once so fair,

Is slowly dying, mother! Did you know?

ALEXANDER (betraying emotion)

Ah!--such I dreaded from the earlier hints.

Poor soul--her heart was slain some time ago.

ANNE

What do you mean by that, my brother dear?

EMPRESS-MOTHER

He means, my child, that he as usual spends

Much sentiment upon the foreign fair,

And hence leaves little for his folk at home.

ALEXANDER

I mean, Anne, that her country's overthrow

Let death into her heart. The Tilsit days

Taught me to know her well, and honour her.

She was a lovely woman even then! . . .

Strangely, the present English Prince of Wales

Was wished to husband her. Had wishes won,

They might have varied Europe's history.

ANNE

Napoleon, I have heard, admired her once;

How he must grieve that soon she'll be no more!

EMPRESS-MOTHER

Napoleon and your brother loved her both.

[Alexander shows embarrassment.]

But whatsoever grief be Alexander's,

His will be none who feels but for himself.

ANNE

O mother, how can you mistake him so!

He worships her who is to be his wife,

The fair Archduchess Marie.

EMPRESS-MOTHER

Simple child,

As yet he has never seen her, or but barely.

That is a tactic suit, with love to match!

ALEXANDER (with vainly veiled tenderness)

High-souled Louisa;--when shall I forget

Those Tilsit gatherings in the long-sunned June!

Napoleon's gallantries deceived her quite,

Who fondly felt her pleas for Magdeburg

Had won him to its cause; the while, alas!

His cynic sense but posed in cruel play!

EMPRESS-MOTHER

Bitterly mourned she her civilities

When time unlocked the truth, that she had choked

Her indignation at his former slights

And slanderous sayings for a baseless hope,

And wrought no tittle for her country's gain.

I marvel why you mourn a frustrate tie

With one whose wiles could wring a woman so!

ALEXANDER (uneasily)

I marvel also, when I think of it!

EMPRESS-MOTHER

Don't listen to us longer, dearest Anne.

[Exit Anne.]

--You will uphold my judging by and by,

That as a suitor we are quit of him,

And that blind Austria will rue the hour

Wherein she plucks for him her fairest flower!

[The scene shuts.]

SCENE VIII

PARIS. THE GRAND GALLERY OF THE LOUVRE AND THE SALON-CARRE ADJOINING

[The view is up the middle of the Gallery, which is now a spectacle

of much magnificence. Backed by the large paintings on the walls

are double rows on each side of brightly dressed ladies, the pick

of Imperial society, to the number of four thousand, one thousand

in each row; and behind these standing up are two rows on each side

of men of privilege and fashion. Officers of the Imperial Guard

are dotted about as marshals.

Temporary barriers form a wide passage up the midst, leading to the

Salon-Carre, which is seen through the opening to be fitted up as

a chapel, with a gorgeous altar, tall candles, and cross. In front

of the altar is a platform with a canopy over it. On the platform

are two gilt chairs and a prie-dieu.

The expectant assembly does not continuously remain in the seats,

but promenades and talks, the voices at times rising to a din amid

the strains of the orchestra, conducted by the EMPEROR'S Director

of Music. Refreshments in profusion are handed round, and the

extemporized cathedral resolves itself into a gigantic cafe of

persons of distinction under the Empire.]

SPIRIT SINISTER

All day have they been waiting for their galanty-show, and now the

hour of performance is on the strike. It may be seasonable to muse

on the sixteenth Louis and the bride's great-aunt, as the nearing

procession is, I see, appositely crossing the track of the tumbril

which was the last coach of that respected lady. . . . It is now

passing over the site of the scaffold on which she lost her head.

. . . Now it will soon be here.

[Suddenly the heralds enter the Gallery at the end towards the

Tuileries, the spectators ranging themselves in their places.

In a moment the wedding procession of the EMPEROR and EMPRESS

becomes visible. The civil marriage having already been performed,

Napoleon and Marie Louise advance together along the vacant pathway

towards the Salon-Carre, followed by the long suite of illustrious

personages, and acclamations burst from all parts of the Grand

Gallery.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Whose are those forms that pair in pompous train

Behind the hand-in-hand half-wedded ones,

With faces speaking sense of an adventure

Which may close well, or not so?

RECORDING ANGEL (reciting)

First there walks

The Emperor's brother Louis, Holland's King;

Then Jerome of Westphalia with his spouse;

The mother-queen, and Julie Queen of Spain,

The Prince Borghese and the Princess Pauline,

Beauharnais the Vice-King of Italy,

And Murat King of Naples, with their Queens;

Baden's Grand-Duke, Arch-Chancellor Cambaceres,

Berthier, Lebrun, and, not least, Talleyrand.

Then the Grand Marshal and the Chamberlain,

The Lords-in-Waiting, the Grand Equerry,

With waiting-ladies, women of the chamber,

An others called by office, rank, or fame.

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

New, many, to Imperial dignities;

Which, won by character and quality

In those who now enjoy them, will become

The birthright of their sons in aftertime.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

It fits thee not to augur, quick-eared Shade.

Ephemeral at the best all honours be,

These even more ephemeral than their kind,

So random-fashioned, swift, perturbable!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Napoleon looks content--nay, shines with joy.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Yet see it pass, as by a conjuror's wand.

[Thereupon Napoleon's face blackens as if the shadow of a winter

night had fallen upon it. Resentful and threatening, he stops the

procession and looks up and down the benches.]

SPIRIT SINISTER

This is sound artistry of the Immanent Will: it relieves the monotony

of so much good-humour.

NAPOLEON (to the Chapel-master)

Where are the Cardinals? And why not here? (He speaks so loud that

he is heard throughout the Gallery.)

ABBE DE PRADT (trembling)

Many are present here, your Majesty;

But some are feebled by infirmities

Too common to their age, and cannot come.

NAPOLEON

Tell me no nonsense! Half absent themselves

Because they WILL not come. The factious fools!

Well, be it so. But they shall flinch for it!

[MARIE LOUISE looks frightened. The procession moves on.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

I seem to see the thin and headless ghost

Of the yet earlier Austrian, here, too, queen,

Walking beside the bride, with frail attempts

To pluck her by the arm!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Nay, think not so.

No trump unseals earth's sepulchre's to-day:

We are the only phantoms now abroad

On this mud-moulded ball! Through sixteen years

She has decayed in a back-garden yonder,

Dust all the showance time retains of her,

Senseless of hustlings in her former house,

Lost to all count of crowns and bridalry--

Even of her Austrian blood. No: what thou seest

Springs of the quavering fancy, stirred to dreams

By yon tart phantom's phrase.

MARIE LOUISE (sadly to Napoleon)

I know not why,

I love not this day's doings half so well

As our quaint meeting-time at Compiegne.

A clammy air creeps round me, as from vaults

Peopled with looming spectres, chilling me

And angering you withal!

NAPOLEON

O, it is nought

To trouble you: merely, my cherished one,

Those devils of Italian Cardinals!--

Now I'll be bright as ever--you must, too.

MARIE LOUISE

I'll try.

[Reaching the entrance to the Salon-Carre amid strains of music

the EMPEROR and EMPRESS are received and incensed by the CARDINAL

GRAND ALMONERS. They take their seats under the canopy, and the

train of notabilities seat themselves further back, the persons-

in-waiting stopping behind the Imperial chairs.

The ceremony of the religious marriage now begins. The choir

intones a hymn, the EMPEROR and EMPRESS go to the altar, remove

their gloves, and make their vows.]

SPIRIT IRONIC

The English Church should return thanks for this wedding, seeing

how it will purge of coarseness the picture-sheets of that artistic

nation, which will hardly be able to caricature the new wife as it

did poor plebeian Josephine. Such starched and ironed monarchists

cannot sneer at a woman of such a divinely dry and crusted line like

the Hapsburgs!

[Mass is next celebrated, after which the TE DEUM is chanted in

harmonies that whirl round the walls of the Salon-Carre and quiver

down the long Gallery. The procession then re-forms and returns,

amid the flutterings and applause of the dense assembly. But

Napoleon's face has not lost the sombre expression which settled

on it. The pair and their train pass out by the west door, and

the congregation disperses in the other direction, the cloud-

curtain closing over the scene as they disappear.

In the 1600s, Balthasar Gracian, a jesuit priest wrote 300 aphorisms on living life called "The Art of Worldly Wisdom." Join our newsletter below and read them all, one at a time.