Char. Why would you see him? He can not call the dead.
Asef. The dead! Thou hast but daggers for me! Ah!
Char. Aseffa—
Asef. Yes, I ’ll see him! What think you?
Should I go shouting ‘murderer’ through that hall,
Would he arise and answer to his name?
Char. You’re mad, Aseffa!
Asef. Thank Heaven I am! ’T would be
The shame of woman to know all that I know
And not be mad!
Char. You must not go in there.
Asef. (Fiercely) Must not! (Suddenly calm) Nay, sir! Why see, I go to sing
A welcome to the noble Emperor. (Throws back her cloak)
As this dark cloak now hides my gay apparel,
So shall my gay demeanor hide my woe.
Char. You would not harm the Emperor?
Asef. No need!
Yon moon is worshipped for her borrowed gold,
Though charred and cold without a leaf to dower
Her black sterility. So Maximilian.
Napoleon’s favor is the sun that gilds
His worthless crown. But now the French are going—