Chapter 2
Let's try Some other volume. Take--
THERESA.
The "Meditations"?
MARIA LOUISA.
I know the author! 'Twill not be so dull. He dined with us. [_To_ SCARAMPI.] The Diplomat, you know.
THERESA.
[_Reads._]
"Never had hymns more strenuous and high From seraph lips rung through the listening sky: Courage! Oh, fallen child of godlike race--"
THE DUKE.
[_Who has entered unnoticed._]
Forgive the interruption, Lamartine!
MARIA LOUISA.
Well, Franz? A pleasant ride?
THE DUKE.
Delightful, mother. But, Mademoiselle, where did my entrance stop you?
THERESA.
[_Looking at him with emotion._]
"Courage! Oh, fallen child of godlike race, The glory of your birth is in your face! All men who look on you--"
MARIA LOUISA.
That's quite sufficient.
THE ARCHDUCHESS.
[_To the children._]
Go, bid good morrow to your cousin.
[_The children run up to the_ DUKE, _who is seated, and surround him._]
SCARAMPI.
[_To_ THERESA.]
Fie!
THERESA.
Why, what?
A LADY.
[_Looking at the_ DUKE.]
How pale he is!
ANOTHER LADY.
He looks half dead!
SCARAMPI.
[_To_ THERESA.]
You chose such awkward passages.
THERESA.
The book Fell open by itself. I did not choose.
GENTZ.
[_Who has overheard._]
Books always open where most often read.
THERESA.
[_Looking at the_ DUKE.]
Archdukes upon his knees!
THE ARCHDUCHESS.
[_Leaning over the back of the_ DUKE'S _chair._]
I am delighted To see you, Franz. I am your friend.
[_She holds out her hand to him._]
THE DUKE.
[_Kissing her hand._]
I know it.
GENTZ.
[_To_ THERESA.]
What do you think of him? I say he's like A cherub who had secretly read "Werther."
THE LITTLE GIRL.
[_To the_ DUKE.]
How nice your collar is!
THE DUKE.
Your Highness flatters.
THERESA.
His collars!
THE LITTLE BOY.
No one has such sticks!
THE DUKE.
No. No one.
THERESA.
His sticks!
THE OTHER LITTLE BOY.
Oh! and your gloves!
THE DUKE.
Superb, my dear.
THE LITTLE GIRL.
What is your waistcoat made of?
THE DUKE.
That's cashmere.
THERESA.
Oh!
THE ARCHDUCHESS.
And you wear your nosegay--?
THE DUKE.
Latest fashion: In the third buttonhole. So glad you noticed.
[_At this moment_ THERESA _bursts into sobs._]
THE LADIES.
Eh? What's the matter?
THERESA.
Nothing. I don't know. Forgive me. I'm alone here--far from friends. Oh, it was silly!--suddenly--
MARIA LOUISA.
Poor dear!
THERESA.
I held my heart in--
MARIA LOUISA.
Tears will do you good.
THE DUKE.
What's this I trod on? Why, a white cockade!
METTERNICH.
H'm!
THE DUKE.
[_To the_ ATTACHÉ.]
Yours, no doubt, sir. Favor me: your hat.
[_The_ ATTACHÉ _gives him his hat unwillingly._ _The_ DUKE _sees the tricolor cockade._]
Ah!
[_To_ METTERNICH.]
I was not aware--but then--the flag?
METTERNICH.
Highness--
THE DUKE.
Is that changed, too?
METTERNICH.
A trivial detail.
THE DUKE.
Nothing.
METTERNICH.
Question of color--
THE DUKE.
Of a shade. See for yourself. Looked at in certain lights, I really think this is the more effective. [_He moves a few steps._]
[_His mother takes him by the arm and leads him to the butterfly-cases, which the_ DOCTOR, _who has come back, has spread out._]
THE DUKE.
Butterflies?
MARIA LOUISA.
You admire the black one?
THE DUKE.
Charming.
THE DOCTOR.
The plants it loves are umbelliferous.
THE DUKE.
It seems to see me with its wings.
THE DOCTOR.
Those eyes? We call them lunulæ.
THE DUKE.
Indeed? I'm glad.
THE DOCTOR.
Are you examining the spotted grey?
THE DUKE.
No, sir.
THE DOCTOR.
What then, my lord?
THE DUKE.
The pin that killed it.
THE DOCTOR.
[_To_ MARIA LOUISA.]
No use.
MARIA LOUISA.
[_To_ SCARAMPI.]
We'll wait. I count on the effect--
SCARAMPI.
Ah, yes!--Of our surprise.
GENTZ.
[_Who has approached the_ DUKE.]
A sweetmeat?
THE DUKE.
[_Taking one and tasting it._]
Perfect. A flavor of verbena and of pear, And something else--wait--yes--
GENTZ.
It's not worth while--
THE DUKE.
What's not worth while?
GENTZ.
To feign an interest. I'm not so blind as Metternich.
[_He offers him another sweetmeat._]
A chocolate?
THE DUKE.
What do you see?
GENTZ.
I see a youth who suffers, Rather than live a favored prince's life. Your soul is still alive, but here at court They'll lull it fast asleep with love and music. I had a soul once, like the rest of the world; But--! And I wither, decently obscene-- Till some day, in the cause of liberty, One of those rash young fools of the University Amid my sweetmeats, perfumes, and dishonor Slays me as Kotzebue was slain by Sand. Yes, I'm afraid--do try a sugared raisin-- That I shall perish at his hand.
THE DUKE.
You will.
GENTZ.
What?--How?
THE DUKE.
A youth will slay you.
GENTZ.
But--
THE DUKE.
A youth of your acquaintance.
GENTZ.
Sir--?
THE DUKE.
His name Is Frederick. 'Tis the youth you were yourself. For now he's risen again in you; and since He whispers in your ear like dull remorse, All's over with you: he will show no mercy.
GENTZ.
'Tis true, my youth cuts like a knife within me. Ah, well I knew that gaze had not deceived me! 'Tis that of one who ponders upon Empire.
THE DUKE.
I do not understand, sir, what you mean.
[_He moves away._]
METTERNICH.
[_To_ GENTZ.]
You've had a chat with--?
GENTZ.
Yes.
METTERNICH.
Delightful?
GENTZ.
Very.
METTERNICH.
He's in the hollow of my hand.
GENTZ.
Entirely.
THE DUKE.
[_Stopping before_ THERESA.]
Why did you weep?
THERESA.
Because, my Lord--
THE DUKE.
Ah, no! I know. But do not weep.
METTERNICH.
[_Bowing to the_ DUKE.]
I take my leave.
[_He goes out with the_ ATTACHÉ.]
THE DUKE.
[_To_ MARIA LOUISA _and_ DIETRICHSTEIN, _who are turning over some papers on his table._]
Examining my work?
DIETRICHSTEIN.
It's excellent. But why on purpose make mistakes in German? Pure mischief!
MARIA LOUISA.
Oh! and at your age, mischief!
THE DUKE.
How can I help it? I am not an eagle.
DIETRICHSTEIN.
You still make France a noun of feminine gender.
THE DUKE.
I never know what's _der_ or _die_ or _das_.
DIETRICHSTEIN.
In this case neuter is correct.
THE DUKE.
But mean. I don't much care about a neuter France.
MARIA LOUISA.
[_To_ THALBERG, _who is playing softly on the piano._]
My son detests all music.
THE DUKE.
I detest it.
LORD COWLEY.
[_Coming toward the_ DUKE.]
Highness--
DIETRICHSTEIN.
[_Aside to the_ DUKE.]
A pleasant word.
THE DUKE.
Eh?
DIETRICHSTEIN.
The English Ambassador.
LORD COWLEY.
Where had you been just now When you came galloping and out of breath?
THE DUKE.
I? To Saint Helena.
LORD COWLEY.
I beg your pardon?
THE DUKE.
A wholesome, leafy nook. So gay!--At evening Delightful. I should like to see you there.
GENTZ.
[_Hastily to the_ AMBASSADOR, _while the_ DUKE _moves away._]
They call the village in the Helenenthal Saint Helena. A fashionable stroll.
LORD COWLEY.
Ah, really? I was almost wondering Whether he meant it as a hit--? [_He turns away._]
GENTZ.
[_Lifting his hands in amazement at_ LORD COWLEY'S _dulness._]
These English!
VOICES.
We're off!
THE ARCHDUCHESS.
[_To_ MARIA LOUISA.]
Louisa?
MARIA LOUISA.
No, I stay at home.
VOICES.
The carriages.
THE ARCHDUCHESS.
[_To the_ DUKE.]
And you, Franz?
MARIA LOUISA.
He hates nature. He even gallops through Saint Helena.
THE DUKE.
Yes! I gallop!
[_General leave-taking and gradual departure._
MARIA LOUISA.
_So_ devoid of fancy!
MONTENEGRO.
[_Going._]
I know a place for supper where the cider--
CRIES.
[_Without._]
Good-bye! Good-bye!
GENTZ.
[_On the terrace._]
Don't talk about the hydra!
THERESA.
[_To_ TIBURTIUS.]
Brother, good-bye!
TIBURTIUS.
Good-by.
[_He goes out with_ BOMBELLES.]
MARIA LOUISA.
[_To the Maids of Honor, indicating_ THERESA.]
Show her her rooms.
[THERESA _goes out accompanied by the Maids of Honor._ MARIA LOUISA _calls the Duke, who was going toward the garden._]
MARIA LOUISA.
Franz!
[_He turns._]
Now I'm going to amuse you.
THE DUKE.
Really?
[SCARAMPI _carefully closes all the doors._]
MARIA LOUISA.
Hush!--I've conspired!
THE DUKE.
Mother! You!--Conspired!
MARIA LOUISA.
Hush! They've forbidden whatever comes from France-- But I have ordered secretly from Paris, From the best houses--Oh! my fop shall smile!-- For you, a tailor,
[_Pointing to_ SCARAMPI.]
and for us, a fitter. I really think the notion--
THE DUKE.
Exquisite!
SCARAMPI.
[_Opening the door of_ MARIA LOUISA'S _apartment._]
Come in!
[_Enter a young lady, dressed with the elegance of a milliner's dummy, and carrying two great card-board dress-boxes, and a young man dressed like a fashion plate, who also carries two big boxes._]
THE TAILOR.
[_Coming down to the_ DUKE, _while the young lady unpacks the dresses on a sofa at the back._]
If you will favor me, my Lord-- I've here some charming novelties. My clients Are good enough to trust my taste: I guide them. The neck-cloths first. A languid violet; A serious brown. Bandannas are much worn. I note with pleasure that your Highness knows The delicate art of building up a stock. Here's a check pattern makes an elegant knot. How does this waistcoat strike your Lordship's fancy, Down which meander wreaths of blossoms?
THE DUKE.
Hideous!
THE TAILOR.
Will these, I wonder, leave your Highness cold? Here's doeskin. Here a genuine Scottish tweed. Bottle-green riding-coat with narrow cuffs; Extremely gentlemanly. Here's a waistcoat: Six-buttoned. Three left open. Very tasty. Now, what about this blue frock-coat? We've rubbed The newness off artistically. Worn With salt and pepper trousers, what a picture! We'll throw aside this heavy yellow stuff-- Can Hamlet wear the clumsy clouts of Falstaff?-- We'll pass to mantles, Prince. A splendid plaid, Demi-collar with simili-sleeves behind. Eccentric? Granted.--This, called the _Roulière_: Sober, a large, Hidalgo-like effect; The very thing to woo a Doña Sol in. Excellent workmanship; a silver chain; the collar Of finest sable; made in our own workshops; Simple, but what a cut! The cut is everything.
MARIA LOUISA.
The Duke is weary of your chatter.
THE DUKE.
No. He sets me dreaming. I'm not used to it. For when my tailor from Vienna comes I never hear these bright, descriptive words; And so this wealth of curious adjectives And all that seems to you mere vulgar chatter, Has moved me--stirred me. Let him be, dear mother.
MARIA LOUISA.
[_Going to the fitter._]
We'll look at ours. Shoulder of mutton sleeves?
THE FITTER.
Always.
THE TAILOR.
[_Displaying a pattern._]
This cloth is called Marengo.
THE DUKE.
What? Marengo?
THE TAILOR.
Yes; it wears uncommon well.
THE DUKE.
So I should think. Marengo lasts forever.
THE TAILOR.
Your Highness orders--?
THE DUKE.
I have need of nothing.
THE TAILOR.
One always needs a perfect-fitting coat.
THE DUKE.
I might invent--
THE TAILOR..
To suit your personal taste? O client, soar to fancy's wildest heights! Speak! We will follow! That's our special line; Why, we are Monsieur Théophile Gautier's tailors.
THE DUKE.
Let's see--
THE FITTER.
A Panama with muslin trimmings-- That's not the sort of hat for everybody.
THE DUKE.
Could you make--
THE TAILOR.
Anything.
THE DUKE.
A--
THE TAILOR.
What you choose!
THE DUKE.
A coat?
THE TAILOR.
Assuredly.
THE DUKE.
Of broadcloth. Yes But now the texture? Simple?
THE TAILOR.
Certainly.
THE DUKE.
And then the color. What do you say to green?
THE TAILOR.
Green's capital.
THE DUKE.
A little coat of green. With glimpses of the waistcoat?
THE TAILOR.
Coat wide open!
THE DUKE.
Then, to give color when the wearer moves, The skirts are lined with scarlet.
THE TAILOR.
Scarlet! Oh, ravishing.
THE DUKE.
Well, but about the waistcoat. How do you see the waistcoat?
THE TAILOR.
Shall we say--?
THE DUKE.
The waistcoat's white.
THE TAILOR.
What taste!
THE DUKE.
And then I think Knee breeches.
THE TAILOR.
Ah!
THE DUKE.
Yes.
THE TAILOR.
Any color?
THE DUKE.
No. I rather think I see them white cashmere.
THE TAILOR.
Well, after all, white is the more becoming.
THE DUKE.
The buttons are engraved.
THE TAILOR.
That's not good style.
THE DUKE.
Yes; something--nothing--merely little eagles.
THE TAILOR.
Eagles!
THE DUKE.
Well? What are you afraid of, sir? And wherefore does your hand shake, master tailor? What is there strange about the suit of clothes? Do you no longer boast your skill to make it?
THE FITTER.
Coalscuttle bonnet neatly trimmed with poppies.
THE DUKE.
Take home your latest fashions and your patterns; That little suit's the only one I want.
THE TAILOR.
But I--
THE DUKE.
'Tis well. Begone, and be discreet.
THE TAILOR.
Yet--
THE DUKE.
'Twould not fit me.
THE TAILOR.
It would fit you.
THE DUKE.
What!
THE TAILOR.
It would fit you well.
THE DUKE.
You're very bold, sir!
THE TAILOR.
And I'm empowered to take your order for it.
THE DUKE.
Ah!
THE TAILOR.
Yes!
THE FITTER.
A flowing cloak of China crape; Embroidered lining with enormous sleeves.
THE DUKE.
Indeed?
THE TAILOR.
Yes, Highness.
THE DUKE.
A conspirator? Now I no longer wonder you cite Shakespeare!
THE TAILOR.
The little coat of green holds in its thrall Deputies, schools, a Peer, and a Field Marshal.
THE FITTER.
Spencer of figured muslin. Satin skirt.
THE TAILOR.
We can arrange your flight.
THE DUKE.
Should I agree I must beforehand--ay, and there's the rub-- Consult my friend Prince Metternich.
THE TAILOR.
You'll trust us When you are told our leader is your cousin The Countess Camerata.
THE DUKE.
Ah, I know! The daughter of Elisa Baciocchi.
THE TAILOR.
The strange, unarmored amazon, who bears Her father's likeness proudly in her face, Seeks dangers, rides unbroken horses, fences--
THE FITTER.
A little sleeveless gown of lightest muslin.
THE TAILOR.
And when you know it's this Penthesilea--
THE FITTER.
The collar's only pinned, the shoulders basted--
THE TAILOR.
Who heads the plot I spoke of--
THE DUKE.
Give me proof!
THE TAILOR.
Turn round, your Highness; glance at the young person Who on her knees unpacks the clothes.
THE DUKE.
'Tis she! Not long ago I met her in Vienna, Wrapped in a cloak. She swiftly kissed my hand And fled, exclaiming, Haven't I the right To greet the Emperor's son who is my master? She is a Bonaparte! We are alike!-- Ay, but her hair is dark; not fair like mine.
MARIA LOUISA.
We'll try them on in there. Come, follow me. Only Parisians, Franz, know how to fit us.
THE DUKE.
Yes, mother.
MARIA LOUISA.
Don't you love Parisian taste?
THE DUKE.
It's very true they dress you well in Paris.
[MARIA LOUISA, SCARAMPI, _and the_ FITTER _go into_ MARIA LOUISA'S _apartment with the things they are to try on._]
THE DUKE.
Now! Who are you, sir?
THE TAILOR.
I? A nameless atom. Weary of life in mean and paltry times, Of smoking pipes and dreaming of ideals. Who am I? How do I know? That's my trouble. Am I at all?--It's very hard to "be." I study Victor Hugo; spout his odes-- I tell you this, because this sort of thing Is all contemporary youth. I spend Extravagant fortunes in acquiring boredom. I am an artist, Highness, and Young France. Also I'm carbonaro at your service. And as I'm always bored I wear red waistcoats, And that amuses me. At tying neck-cloths I once was very good indeed. That's why They sent me here to-day to play the tailor. I'll add, to make the picture quite complete, That I'm a liberal and a king-devourer. My life and dagger are at your command.
THE DUKE.
I like you, sir, although your talk is crazy.
THE YOUNG MAN.
You must not judge me by my whirling words; The itch of notoriety consumes me, But the disease beneath is very real, And makes me seek forgetfulness in danger.
THE DUKE.
Disease?
THE YOUNG MAN.
A shuddering disgust.
THE DUKE.
Your soul Heavy with foiled ambitions?
THE YOUNG MAN.
Dull disquiet--
THE DUKE.
Morbid enjoyment of our sufferings, And pride in showing off our pallid brows?
THE YOUNG MAN.
My Lord!
THE DUKE.
Contempt for those who live content?
THE YOUNG MAN.
My Lord!
THE DUKE.
And doubt?
THE YOUNG MAN.
In what mysterious volume Has one so young learnt all the human heart? For that is what I feel.
THE DUKE.
Give me your hand! For, as a sapling, friend, which is transplanted, Feels all the forest in its ignorant veins, And suffers when its distant mates are hurt, So I, who knew you not, here, all alone, Felt the distemper stirring in my blood Which at this moment blights the youth of France.
THE YOUNG MAN.
Rather I think our malady is yours, For whence upon you falls this giant robe? Child, whom beforehand they have robbed of glory, Pale Prince, so pale against your sable suit, Why are you pale, my Prince?
THE DUKE.
I am his son.
THE YOUNG MAN.
Well! Feeble, feverish, dreaming of the past, Like you rebellious, what is left to do?-- We're all, to some extent, your father's sons.
THE DUKE.
You are his soldiers' sons: that's just as glorious. And 'tis no less redoubtable a burden; But it emboldens me, for I can say They're but the sons of heroes of the empire: They'll be content to take the Emperor's son!
THE COUNTESS CAMERATA.
[_Coming out of_ MARIA LOUISA'S _apartments._]
The scarf!--Oh, hush! I'm doing such a trade!
THE DUKE.
Thank you!
THE COUNTESS.
I only wish 'twere selling swords! That silly baby-talk will be my death.
THE DUKE.
Warlike, I know.
A VOICE.
[_Within._]
The scarf!
THE COUNTESS.
I'm looking for it!
THE DUKE.
It seems this little hand can tame--
THE COUNTESS.
I love A fiery horse.
THE DUKE.
You're mistress of the foils?
THE COUNTESS.
And of the sword!
THE DUKE.
Ready for anything?
THE COUNTESS.
[_Speaking toward the room._]
Indeed, I'm looking for it everywhere.
[_To the_ DUKE.]
Ready for anything for your Imperial Highness.
THE DUKE.
You're lion-hearted, Cousin!
THE COUNTESS.
And my name Is glorious.
THE DUKE.
Which name?
THE COUNTESS.
Napoleone!
SCARAMPI'S VOICE.
[_Within._]
Well? Can't you find it?
THE COUNTESS.
No.
A VOICE.
Look on the piano.
THE COUNTESS.
I must be off. Discuss our great design.
[_With a cry, as if she had found what she was looking for._]
Ah! here it is!
THE VOICE.
You've found it?
THE COUNTESS.
On the harp. You understand, it's gathered up in folds--
[_She goes into_ MARIA LOUISA'S _room._]
THE YOUNG MAN.
Well? You accept?
THE DUKE.
I don't quite understand Zealous Imperialism from a liberal--
THE YOUNG MAN.
True: a republican--
THE DUKE.
You come to me Rather a long way round--
THE YOUNG MAN.
All roads to-day Lead to the King of Rome. My scarlet badge I thought unfading--
THE DUKE.
Faded in the sun?
THE YOUNG MAN.
Of Austerlitz! Yes! History makes us drunk. The battles which no more are fought, are told. The blood is vanished, but the glory gleams. So that to-day there is no he but _HE_! He never won such victories as now: His soldiers perished, but his poets live.
THE DUKE.
In short--
THE YOUNG MAN.
In short the huckstering times; the god They exiled; you, your touching fate, our weariness, And everything--I said--
THE DUKE.
You said as artist 'Twould be effective to be Bonapartist!
THE YOUNG MAN.
So you accept?
THE DUKE.
No.
THE YOUNG MAN.
What?
THE DUKE.
I listened well. And you were charming as you spoke, but nothing. No quiver of your voice, told me of France; You voiced a craze, a form of literature.
THE YOUNG MAN.
I've carried out my mission clumsily; Could but the Countess yonder speak!
THE DUKE.
No use. I love the bravery glowing in her eyes, But that's not France: that is my Family! When next you seek me, later, by and by, Let the call come through some untutored voice, Wherein rough accents of the people throb; Your Byronism is much too like myself. You could not have persuaded me to-night-- I feel myself unready for the crown.
THE COUNTESS.
[_Coming out of_ MARIA LOUISA'S _apartment._]
Unready? You?
[_She turns toward the room._]
Don't trouble; I'm just going. And for the ball the white one, not the mauve.
[_Coming hastily toward the_ DUKE.]
Unready? What do you want?
THE DUKE.
A year of dreams, Of study.
THE COUNTESS.
Come and reign.
THE DUKE.
My brain's not ripe.
THE COUNTESS.
The crown's enough to ripen any brain.
THE DUKE.
The crown of light, shed by the midnight lamp.
THE YOUNG MAN.
It's such a chance!
THE DUKE.
I beg your pardon? "Chance"? Is this the tailor reappearing?
THE COUNTESS.
Yet--
THE DUKE.
I will be honest in default of genius. I only ask three hundred wakeful nights.
THE YOUNG MAN.
But this refusal will confirm the rumors.
THE COUNTESS.
They say you've never really been of us.
THE YOUNG MAN.
You are Young France: you're called Old Austria.
THE COUNTESS.
They say your mind is being weakened.
THE YOUNG MAN.
Yes! They say you're cheated, even in your studies.
THE COUNTESS.
They say you do not know your father's history.
THE DUKE.
Do they say that?
THE YOUNG MAN.
What shall we answer them?
THE DUKE.
Answer them thus--
[_Enter_ DIETRICHSTEIN.]
Dear Count!
DIETRICHSTEIN.
'Tis Obenaus.
THE DUKE.
Ah! for my history lesson! Let him come.
[DIETRICHSTEIN _goes out. The_ DUKE _points to the clothes scattered about._]
Spend as much time as possible in packing, And try to get forgotten in your corner.
[_Seeing_ DIETRICHSTEIN _come in with_ BARON VON OBENAUS.]
Good-day, dear Baron.
[_Carelessly to the_ YOUNG MAN _and the_ COUNTESS, _pointing to the screen._]
Finish over there.
[_To_ OBENAUS.]
My tailor.
OBENAUS.
Ah?
THE DUKE.
My mother's fitter.
OBENAUS.
Yes?
THE DUKE.
Will they disturb you?
OBENAUS.
[_Who has seated himself behind the table with_ DIETRICHSTEIN.]
Not at all, my Lord.
THE DUKE.
[_Who sits facing them, sharpening a pencil._]
I'm all attention. Let me sharpen this To note a date, or jot down an idea.
OBENAUS.
We'll take our work up where we last left off. Eighteen hundred and five, I think?
THE DUKE.
[_Busy with his pencil._] Exactly.
OBENAUS.
In eighteen hundred and six--
THE DUKE.
Did no event Make that year memorable?
OBENAUS.
Which, my Lord?
THE DUKE.
[_Blowing the dust off the pencil._]
Why, eighteen hundred and five.
OBENAUS.
I beg your pardon, I thought you meant--h'm--Destiny Was cruel to the righteous cause. We'll cast Only a fleeting glance at hapless hours. When the philosopher with pensive gaze--
THE DUKE.
And so in eighteen five, sir, nothing happened?
OBENAUS.
A great event, my Lord! I had forgotten. The restoration of the Calendar. A little later, having challenged England, Spain--
THE DUKE.
[_Demurely._]
And the Emperor?
OBENAUS.
Which Emp--?
THE DUKE.
My father.
OBENAUS.
He--he--
THE DUKE.
Had he not left Boulogne?
OBENAUS.
Oh, yes.
THE DUKE.
Where was he, then?
OBENAUS.
Well, as it happened, here.
THE DUKE.
[_With mock amazement._]
Indeed?
DIETRICHSTEIN.
[_Hastily._]
He took great interest in Bavaria!
OBENAUS.
Your father's wishes in the Pressburg Treaty, As far as that went, chimed with those of Austria.
THE DUKE.
What was the Pressburg Treaty?
OBENAUS.
The agreement Which closed an era.
THE DUKE.
There! I've smashed my point!
OBENAUS.
In eighteen hundred and seven--
THE DUKE.
So soon? How quick! Strange epoch! Nothing happened in it!
OBENAUS.
Yes. For instance, take the House of the Braganzas: The King--
THE DUKE.
The Emperor, sir?
OBENAUS.
Which Emp--?
THE DUKE.
Of France.
OBENAUS.
Nothing of any consequence till eighteen-eight. Yet let us note the Treaty of Tilsit.
THE DUKE.
Was nothing done but making treaties?
OBENAUS.
Europe--
THE DUKE.
I see. A general survey?
OBENAUS.
I'll come to details When we've--
THE DUKE.
Did nothing happen?
OBENAUS.
Well--
THE DUKE.
Well, what?
OBENAUS.
I--
THE DUKE.
What? What happened? Won't you tell me?
OBENAUS.
Well-- I hardly know--you're in a merry humor--
THE DUKE.
You hardly know? Then, gentlemen, I'll tell you! The sixth October, eighteen-five--
OBENAUS _and_ DIETRICHSTEIN.