NAPOLÉON
God—here how difficult it is to die:
How easy on the passionate battle-plain!
[They open a window and carry him to it. He mends.]
Fate has resolved what man could not resolve.
I must live on, and wait what Heaven may send!
[MACDONALD and other marshals re-enter. A letter is brought from
MARIE LOUISE. NAPOLÉON reads it, and becomes more animated.
They are well; and they will join me in my exile.
Yes: I will live! The future who shall spell?
My wife, my son, will be enough for me.—
And I will give my hours to chronicling
In stately words that stir futurity
The might of our unmatched accomplishments;
And in the tale immortalize your names
By linking them with mine.
[He soon falls into a convalescent sleep. The marshals, etc. go
out. The room is left in darkness.]
SCENE V
BAYONNE. THE BRITISH CAMP
[The foreground is an elevated stretch of land, dotted over in rows
with the tents of the peninsular army. On a parade immediately
beyond the tents the infantry are drawn up, awaiting something.
Still farther back, behind a brook, are the French soldiery, also
ranked in the same manner of reposeful expectation. In the middle-
distance we see the town of Bayonne, standing within its zigzag
fortifications at the junction of the river Adour with the Nive.
On the other side of the Adour rises the citadel, a fortified
angular structure standing detached. A large and brilliant
tricolor flag is waving indolently from a staff on the summit.
The Bay of Biscay, into which the Adour flows, is seen on the
left horizon as a level line.
The stillness observed by the soldiery of both armies, and by
everything else in the scene except the flag, is at last broken
by the firing of a signal-gun from a battery in the town-wall.
The eyes of the thousands present rivet themselves on the citadel.
Its waving tricolor moves down the flagstaff and disappears.]
THE REGIMENTS [unconsciously]
Ha-a-a-a!
[In a few seconds there shoots up the same staff another flag—one
intended to be white; but having apparently been folded away a long
time, it is mildewed and dingy.
From all the guns on the city fortifications a salute peals out.
This is responded to by the English infantry and artillery with a
feu-de-joie.]
THE REGIMENTS
Hurrah-h-h-h!
[The various battalions are then marched away in their respective
directions and dismissed to their tents. The Bourbon standard is
hoisted everywhere beside those of England, Spain, and Portugal.
The scene shuts.]
SCENE VI
A HIGHWAY IN THE OUTSKIRTS OF AVIGNON
[The Rhone, the old city walls, the Rocher des Doms and its
edifices, appear at the back plane of the scene under the
grey light of dawn. In the foreground several postillions
and ostlers with relays of horses are waiting by the roadside,
gazing northward and listening for sounds. A few loungers
have assembled.]
FIRST POSTILLION
He ought to be nigh by this time. I should say he’d be very glad
to get this here Isle of Elba, wherever it may be, if words be true
that he’s treated to such ghastly compliments on’s way!
SECOND POSTILLION
Blast-me-blue, I don’t care what happens to him! Look at Joachim
Murat, him that’s made King of Naples; a man who was only in the
same line of life as ourselves, born and bred in Cahors, out in
Perigord, a poor little whindling place not half as good as our
own. Why should he have been lifted up to king’s anointment, and
we not even have had a rise in wages? That’s what I say.
FIRST POSTILLION
But now, I don’t find fault with that dispensation in particular.
It was one of our calling that the Emperor so honoured, after all,
when he might have anointed a tinker, or a ragman, or a street
woman’s pensioner even. Who knows but that we should have been
king’s too, but for my crooked legs and your running pole-wound?