L'Aiglon Part 32

THE DUKE.

Oh, paltry!

MARIA LOUISA.

What!

Not proud to bear the blood of Charles the Fifth?

THE DUKE.

No! for it courses in the veins of others!

But when I tell myself I bear in mine A Corsican Lieutenant's blood, I weep To see the thin blue trickle at my wrist.

MARIA LOUISA.

Franz!

THE DUKE.

And the old blood can but harm the new.

If I bear blood of Kings, let me be bled.

MARIA LOUISA.

Silence!

THE DUKE.

What am I saying, after all?

If ever I had yours long since I've lost it.

His blood and yours have fought in me, and yours Was put to flight, as usual, by the other.

MARIA LOUISA.

Peace, Duke of Reichstadt!

THE DUKE.

Metternich, the fool, Thought to scrawl "Duke of Reichstadt" o'er my name.

But hold the paper up before the sun: You'll see "Napoleon" in the watermark!

MARIA LOUISA.

My son!

THE DUKE.

You called me Duke of Reichstadt? No!

But would you have my veritable name?

'Tis what the people call me in the Prater As they make way: The Little Bonaparte!

I am his son! and no one's son but his!

MARIA LOUISA.

You hurt me.

THE DUKE.

Ah, forgive me, mother, mother.

Go to the ball, forget my frenzied words.

You need not even trouble to repeat them To Metternich, my mother.

MARIA LOUISA.

Do you think so?

THE DUKE.

Softly the waltz floats through the evening air; No, tell him nothing; that will save you trouble.

Forget it all: you, who forget so quickly!

MARIA LOUISA.

Yet--

THE DUKE.

Think of Parma, of the Sala palace, And of your happy life. Is this a brow To bear the shadow of an eagle's wing?

Ah! but I love you more than you can think!

And take no heed of aught--not even--O G.o.ds!-- Of being faithful: I'll be that for both.

Come, let me thrust you gently toward the ball; Good-night, The mosses must not wet your feet.

Your headdress is perfection.

MARIA LOUISA.

Do you think so?

THE DUKE.

The carriage waits. It's fine. The night is clear.

Good-night, Mamma; enjoy yourself.

[MARIA LOUISA _goes out_. THE DUKE _sinks in a chair before his table._]

Alas, Poor mother!

[_His manner changes, and he draws books and papers toward him._]