Читать книгу The King of Rome - Charles Desnoyer - Страница 6

PROLOGUE, 1811 - 1814

SCENE 1. THE CANNON OF THE INVALIDES

The Tuilleries, March 20, 1811. A room. In the back a balcony giving on a garden. Entry doors left and right. Marshall Berthier is conversing with a Lady of Honor. Diverse groups of general officers and ladies. Michel Lambert, grenadier of the imperial guard is on duty by the entry door at the right.

LADY OF HONOR:

Well, Marshall, what news from outside? What are the feelings of the Parisian population?

BERTHIER:

The same as ours, Madame! The nation associates itself heartily with the great idea of its sovereign! It sees itself reigning and triumphing in him. And the heir that he demands, it knows is for itself a guarantee of its future glory and security.

LADY OF HONOR:

Oh! May his hopes and ours be realized.

MICHEL LAMBERT:

(aside) We will have a son, that’s certain. A Little Emperor, nothing less!

BERTHIER:

Oh how many wishes, how many wishes at this moment for and against!

LADY OF HONOR:

What are you saying? All France wants a son.

BERTHIER:

France, yes! But Europe? What is its thought? Who can tell?

MICHEL LAMBERT:

(aside, laughing) Europe! We must get its permission right away, excuse us! (the door opens at the right and two ushers appear)

USHER:

(announcing) The Emperor!

(Napoleon enters, everyone moves aside and bows as he passes. The Emperor is pale; he seems exhausted with fatigue and emotion. He bows without speaking and sits at the right. From the Emperor’s entrance, Michel Lambert remains motionless before the door. Deep silence.)

NAPOLEON:

(after a long silence, turns) Hello, gentlemen. (noticing Berthier) Hello, Berthier!

BERTHIER:

(bowing) Sire!

NAPOLEON:

(moved) Your hand! Your hand, my old friend!

BERTHIER:

(coming forward and pressing Napoleon’s hand) You are upset, Sire?

NAPOLEON:

Upset! Yes! I spent the night with the Empress! Poor woman. I wept. I wept for the first time!

MICHEL LAMBERT:

(drying his eyes) Come on, good! Here I am crying, too! (The Emperor goes to the window and looks out for some time in silence)

NAPOLEON:

They are all there! Awaiting with impatience for the cannon to sound and announce to the world whether the dynasty of Napoleon must perpetuate itself or die out. (he walks up and down with agitation) Oh, a son! a son! I will have one! The prayers of the people are a sure guarantee of it. Today, especially, their love for me is revealed in its entirety. For them I am no longer the conqueror, the triumpher, I am not coming, brow covered with laurels, from Wagram and Austerlitz; no—no dazzling success, no intoxicating battle, my only title to their good wishes and prayers is my love for that child who does not yet exist, and who absorbs in me all the joys of victory, all the pleasures of triumph. (turning to Berthier)

BERTHIER:

(advancing) Sire!

NAPOLEON:

What are they saying in Paris?

BERTHIER:

All the churches are filled with an enthusiastic crowd which mingles your name with its prayers.

NAPOLEON:

Yes! I know the people love me. They share my joys, my hopes, as they share my sorrows. Ah, if you knew, friend, what my anxiety has been since yesterday. Each hour that passes is a century for me! Don’t think, friend, don’t think that a vain personal ambition makes me demand a son! No, no. My ambition is noble and great! When carried by the French people on the imperial shield I accepted the mission which was confided to me; I took an oath to accomplish it! Well, a bullet can carry me off; a knife blow will suffice to stop me in my path; at my death my victories are lost, my works nullified, my plans of reform and civilization impossible. I want to leave this heritage to my son. I intend that after me, the suffering people shall find in him a tireless defender. I intend that the old order, sapped by me in its foundations, will collapse entirely beneath his efforts, swallowing all those privileges of ignorance, all those stale doctrines, all those abuses of absolutism, and that in the midst of these ruins, surging to the voice of the son of Bonaparte, a new world, regenerated and palpitating with enthusiasm, patriotism and truth—

DOCTOR YVAN:

(entering from the right) Sire! Sire!

NAPOLEON:

Doctor! Why this concern? This agitation?

DOCTOR YVAN:

Sire, a great danger threatens the Empress.

NAPOLEON:

What are you saying?

DOCTOR YVAN:

To save the child and the mother at the same time may be impossible.

NAPOLEON:

Impossible! Above all, my God! Above all, save the mother! Come, come, Doctor!

(Napoleon leaves quickly followed by Doctor Yvan. General consternation.)

BERTHIER:

O dreams of the future? What’s become of you now?

LADY IN WAITING:

My God! My God! Save the Empress. (she kneels at the back, as do all the ladies)

MICHEL LAMBERT:

(resuming his station) That’s all the same! None of all this will prevent us from having a little Emperor.

BERTHIER:

What are you saying?

MICHEL LAMBERT:

I say, my Marshall, that the child will live or my name’s not Michel Lambert, that’s all!

BERTHIER:

You are crazy!

MICHEL LAMBERT:

Excuse me, my Marshall, I am known in the regiment to enjoy a wit as lucid as it is penetrating, as penetrating as it is—

BERTHIER:

You’re mad, I tell you. Shut up.

MICHEL LAMBERT:

I’m shutting up, my Marshall. (aside) But not thinking any less. We will have a little Emperor!

(At this point a cannon shot is heard. The women get up and everyone listens with the greatest anxiety, Berthier is with Michel Lambert near the door.)

MICHEL LAMBERT:

(to Berthier) Pardon, excuse me, my Marshall! I don’t know if my ears deceive me, but it seems to me I just heard a cannon shot?

BERTHIER:

Indeed! (second cannon shot)

MICHEL LAMBERT:

Another one! Ah! Ah! It would appear that old Michel spoke the truth, and that the imperial eaglet has just been born.

BERTHIER:

(agitated) Listen! (third cannon shot)

MICHEL LAMBERT:

Number three! Just ninety-eight to go, and the count will be correct.

BERTHIER:

And not to receive any news! (cannon shot)

MICHEL LAMBERT:

There, my Marshall. That makes four.

(Everyone listens. The door opens and the usher appears.)

USHER:

(announcing) The Baron de Rheinfeld, envoy from the court of Austria. (Rheinfeld enters and bows) The Abbé Orsini, envoy from His Holiness.

MICHEL LAMBERT:

(aside) Come on, good! Kings and Jesuits. Indeed, all can lend a hand. (cannon shot) Five! There it goes.

(The Abbé enters and everyone bows; the Abbé seems to bless them.)

ABBÉ ORSINI:

May the peace of the Lord be with you, my brothers.

MICHEL LAMBERT:

And may the Devil from hell confound you, good father!

(Cannon shot. Everyone again lends their attention to the exterior noise; Michel Lambert counts on his fingers. Baron de Rheinfeld and Abbé Orsini are talking.)

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

Well, Abbé? What do you think of all this?

ABBÉ ORSINI:

I think! First of all, I think we must be prudent, and that we are alone in our opinion here.

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

(shaking) Huh?

ABBÉ ORSINI:

That’s the cannon from the Invalides! It won’t thunder long. Twenty-one guns, no more. I prayed for that all night. (cannon shot)

MICHEL LAMBERT:

(continuing to count each shot as it comes) Eight!

ALL:

(repeating) Eight.

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

Why, look here, Abbé, look here! One cannot say whether that cannon is announcing life or death? (cannon shot) Decidedly it’s irritating.

MICHEL LAMBERT:

Here, there is dancing down there! It cannot be said it is the effect of French cannons on Prussians, Russians and other dogs of that species. (cannon shot) Ten! It’s long in coming! but that’s all right! It’s going to come!

ABBÉ ORSINI:

Ah, Baron! What joy I will experience to see that man’s pride take a fall.

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

Today, perhaps, goodbye to his dynasty, if it pleases Heaven to send him a girl instead. (another cannon shot) Ten more and it will be all over.

MICHEL LAMBERT:

Another Ninety and Long Live France.

ABBÉ ORSINI:

The French people are fascinated by the constant luck of Bonaparte, and will turn against him when they see fortune abandons him; when all hope of a dynasty becomes illusory. (cannon shot) After today, Baron, let’s try to profit by the general discontent, by sowing hate of the sovereign among the people and scorn for his authority. Our fortunes depend on the success of our negotiations. Think of it carefully, Baron.

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

I am thinking of it.

ABBÉ ORSINI:

The reward of your services will be the Chamberlain’s key.

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

And yours, a Cardinal’s hat.

ABBÉ ORSINI:

A Cardinal. That’s what I’ll be. (cannon shot; The Abbé shudders)

MICHEL LAMBERT:

Cursed Italian. He has a shifty, pettifogging air about him. He gives me the impression of a devil. (cannon shot) Fifteen. Ah! Ah! It’s warming up.

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

Abbé!

ABBÉ ORSINI:

What do you want?

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

Suppose our foresight was false?

ABBÉ ORSINI:

What do you mean?

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

If, instead of a girl— (cannon shot)

ABBÉ ORSINI:

Impossible! Heaven doesn’t wish it. Hasn’t Bonaparte dared to proclaim everywhere that he will give to his future offspring the title of King of Rome!

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

The King of Rome! (cannon shot)

ALL:

Seventeen.

ABBÉ ORSINI:

(continuing) That title belongs to our Saint Peter, the Pope! So it’s an assassination of his temporal power and God won’t permit it.

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

You reassure me. (cannon shot) Ah, indeed, that will never end!

MICHEL LAMBERT:

Eighteen.

ALL:

Eighteen!

MICHEL LAMBERT:

Eighteen. Eighteen. (cannon shot)

ALL:

(anxiously) Nineteen.

ABBÉ ORSINI:

Well, Baron, what’s the matter with you? You are pale as a dead man!

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

You think so! Why no, why no, I am calm and certain. (cannon shot)

MICHEL LAMBERT AND THE OTHERS:

Twenty!

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

I confess I am deeply moved.

ABBÉ ORSINI:

Moved! Moved! See here, Baron, you would get a saint damned!

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

What do you want, my pious friend? It’s stronger than I am. It’s much stronger— (a cannon shot interrupts his thought) than I am!

ALL:

(with great emotion) Twenty-one!

(A great silence.)

ALL:

Nothing more.

MICHEL LAMBERT:

Nothing more. We’ve counted wrong, that’s certain.

ABBÉ ORSINI:

(overwhelmed with joy) Well, you see, Baron, it’s a girl!

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

It’s a girl. I’ll have my key.

ABBÉ ORSINI:

I get my hat. Your health, Chamberlain.

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

Your health, Cardinal.

(A cannon shot, much louder than all that preceded it.)

ABBÉ AND BARON:

(stupefied) Huh!

MICHEL LAMBERT:

Come on; I really knew it was coming.

USHER:

(announcing) The Emperor!

NAPOLEON:

(entering) Well! Gentlemen, we have a big lad! He had to be dragged by the ear a bit, but at last he’s come.

(There’s a general shout, both within and without, while Napoleon goes to the balcony to greet the people.)

PEOPLE:

(outside) Long Live The Emperor! Long Live the King of Rome!

NAPOLEON:

(on the balcony) Thanks, thanks, gentlemen. Ah, this day is the most beautiful of my life. (Baron de Rheinfeld and Abbé Orsini come to bow before him)

BARON DE RHEINFELD:

Sire, I lay at your feet the homage and congratulations of the European powers.

ABBÉ ORSINI:

And as for me, I bring to the Prince Imperial the blessings of the father of the Church.

NAPOLEON:

Thanks, gentlemen, thanks! For a long while I’ve known the feelings of Rome towards me. I receive the wishes of Saint Peter and those of all the sovereigns of Europe. I appreciate all their frankness, and I count on soon thanking them again myself in their palaces.

MICHEL LAMBERT:

(aside) Famous! I will be there. Crush the Jesuit and (shouting with all his might in the ears of the Abbé and the Baron who are near him) Long Live the Emperor! Long Live the King of Rome!

(The shouts of the people mix with those of the characters on stage. Napoleon once again shows himself at the window.)

ALL:

Long Live the Emperor! Long Live the King of Rome!

(The Curtain falls.)

CURTAIN