SCENE I
ELBA. THE QUAY, PORTO FERRAJO
[Night descends upon a beautiful blue cove, enclosed on three sides
by mountains. The port lies towards the western [right-hand] horn
of the concave, behind it being the buildings of the town; their
long white walls and rows of windows rise tier above tier on the
steep incline at the back, and are intersected by narrow alleys
and flights of steps that lead up to forts on the summit.
Upon a rock between two of these forts stands the Palace of the
Mulini, NAPOLÉONS’S residence in Ferrajo. Its windows command
the whole town and the port.]
CHORUS OF IRONIC SPIRITS [aerial music]
The Congress of Vienna sits,
And war becomes a war of wits,
Where every Power perpends withal
Its dues as large, its friends’ as small;
Till Priests of Peace prepare once more
To fight as they have fought before!
In Paris there is discontent;
Medals are wrought that represent
One now unnamed. Men whisper, “He
Who once has been, again will be!”
DUMB SHOW
Under cover of the dusk there assembles in the bay a small flotilla
comprising a brig called l’Inconstant and several lesser vessels.
SPIRIT OF RUMOUR
The guardian on behalf of the Allies
Absents himself from Elba. Slow surmise
Too vague to pen, too actual to ignore,
Have strained him hour by hour, and more and more.
He takes the sea to Florence, to declare
His doubts to Austria’s ministrator there.
SPIRIT IRONIC
When he returns, Napoléon will be—where?
Boats put off from these ships to the quay, where are now discovered
to have silently gathered a body of grenadiers of the Old Guard. The
faces of DROUOT and CAMBRONNE are revealed by the occasional fleck of
a lantern to be in command of them. They are quietly taken aboard
the brig, and a number of men of different arms to the other vessels.
CHORUS OF RUMOURS [aerial music]
Napoléon is going,
And nought will prevent him;
He snatches the moment
Occasion has lent him!
And what is he going for,
Worn with war’s labours?
—To reconquer Europe
With seven hundred sabres.
About eight o’clock we observe that the windows of the Palace of
the Mulini are lighted and open, and that two women sit at them:
the EMPEROR’S mother and the PRINCESS PAULINE. They wave adieux
to some one below, and in a short time a little open low-wheeled
carriage, drawn by the PRINCESS PAULINE’S two ponies, descends
from the house to the port. The crowd exclaims “The Emperor!”
NAPOLÉON appears in his grey great-coat, and is much fatter than
when he left France. BERTRAND sits beside him.
He quickly alights and enters the waiting boat. It is a tense
moment. As the boat rows off the sailors sing the Marseillaise,
and the gathered inhabitants join in. When the boat reaches the
brig its sailors join in also, and shout “Paris or death!” Yet
the singing has a melancholy cadence. A gun fires as a signal
of departure. The night is warm and balmy for the season. Not
a breeze is there to stir a sail, and the ships are motionless.
CHORUS OF RUMOURS
Haste is salvation;
And still he stays waiting:
The calm plays the tyrant,
His venture belating!
Should the corvette return
With the anxious Scotch colonel,
Escape would be frustrate,
Retention eternal.
Four aching hours are spent thus. NAPOLÉON remains silent on the
deck, looking at the town lights, whose reflections bore like augers
into the water of the bay. The sails hang flaccidly. Then a feeble
breeze, then a strong south wind, begins to belly the sails; and the
vessels move.
CHORUS OF RUMOURS
The south wind, the south wind,
The south wind will save him,
Embaying the frigate
Whose speed would enslave him;
Restoring the Empire
That fortune once gave him!
The moon rises and the ships silently disappear over the horizon
as it mounts higher into the sky.