THE STREETS OF BERLIN [It is afternoon, and the thoroughfares are crowded with citizens in an excited and anxious mood. A central path is left open for some expected arrival. There enters on horseback a fair woman, whose rich brown curls stream flutteringly in the breeze, and whose long blue habit flaps against the flank of her curvetting white mare. She is the renowned LOUISA, QUEEN OF PRUSSIA, riding at the head of a regiment of hussars and wearing their uniform. As she prances along the thronging citizens acclaim her enthusiastically.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES Who is this fragile fair, in fighting trim?

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS She is the pride of Prussia, whose resolve Gives ballast to the purpose of her spouse, And holds him to what men call governing.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES Queens have engaged in war; but war’s loud trade Rings with a roar unnatural, fitful, forced, Practised by woman’s hands!

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS Of her view The enterprise is that of scores of men, The strength but half-a-ones.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES Would fate had ruled The valour had been his, hers but the charm!

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR But he has nothing on’t, and she has all. The shameless satires of the bulletins dispatched to Paris, thence the wide world through, Disturb the dreams of her by those who love her, And thus her brave adventurers for the realm Have blurred her picture, soiled her gentleness, And wrought her credit harm.

FIRST CITIZEN [vociferously] Yes, by God: send and ultimatum to Paris, by God; that’s what we’ll do, by God. The Confederation of the Rhine was the evil thought of an evil man bent on ruining us!

SECOND CITIZEN This country double-faced and double-tongued, This France, or rather say, indeed, this Man— [Peoples are honest dealers in the mass]— This man, to sign a stealthy scroll with Russia That shuts us off from all indemnities, While swearing faithful friendship with our King, And, still professing our safe wardenry, To fatten other kingdoms at our cost, Insults us grossly, and makes Europe clang With echoes of our wrongs. The little states Of this antique and homely German land Are severed from their blood-allies and kin— Hereto of one tradition, interest, hope— In calling lord this rank adventurer, Who’ll thrust them as a sword against ourselves.— Surely Great Frederick sweats within his tomb!

THIRD CITIZEN Well, we awake, though we have slumbered long, And She is sent by Heaven to kindle us. [The QUEEN approaches to pass back again with her suite. The vociferous applause is repeated. They regard her as she nears.] To cry her Amazon, a blusterer, A brazen comrade of the bold dragoons Whose uniform she dons! Her, whose each act Shows but a mettled modest woman’s zeal, Without a hazard of her dignity Or moment’s sacrifice of seemliness, To fend off ill from home!

FOURTH CITIZEN [entering] The tidings fly that Russian Alexander Declines with emphasis to ratify The pact of his ambassador with France, And that the offer made the English King To compensate the latter at our cost Has not been taken. THIRD CITIZEN And it never will be! Thus evil does not always flourish, faith. Throw down the gage while god is fair to us; He may be foul anon! [A pause.]

FIFTH CITIZEN [entering] Our ambassador Lucchesini is already leaving Paris. He could stand the Emperor no longer, so the Emperor takes his place, has decided to order his snuff by the ounce and his candles by the pound, lest he should not be there long enough to use more. [The QUEEN goes by, and they gaze at here and at the escort of soldiers.] Haven’t we soldiers? Haven’t we the Duke of Brunswick to command ’em? Haven’t we provisions, hey? Haven’t we fortresses and an Elbe, to bar the bounce of an invader? [The cavalcade passes out of sight and the crowd draws off.] FIRST CITIZEN By God, I must to beer and ’bacco, to soften my rage! [Exeunt citizens.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS So doth the Will objectify Itself In likeness of a sturdy people’s wrath, Which takes no count of the new trends of time, Trusting ebbed glory in a present need.— What if their strength should equal not their fire, And their devotion dull their vigilance?— Uncertainly, by fits, the Will doth work In Brunswick’s blood, their chief, as in themselves; It ramifies in streams that intermit And make their movement vague, old-fashioned, slow To foil the modern methods counterposed! [Evening descends on the city, and it grows dusk. The soldiers being dismissed from duty, some young officers in a frolic of defiance halt, draw their swords and whet them on the steps of the FRENCH AMBASSADOR’S residence as they pass. The noise of whetting is audible through the street.]

CHORUS OF THE PITIES [aerial music] The soul of a nation distrest Is aflame, And heaving with eager unrest In its aim To assert its old prowess, and stouten its chronicled fame!

SEMICHORUS I It boils in a boisterous thrill Through the mart, Unconscious well-nigh as the Will Of its part: Would it wholly might be so, and feel not the forthcoming smart!

SEMICHORUS II In conclaves no voice of reflection Is heard, King, Councillors, grudge circumspection A word, And victory is visioned, and seemings as facts are averred.

CHORUS Yea, the soul of a nation distrest Is aflame, And heaving with eager unrest In its aim At supreme desperations to blazon the national name! [Midnight strikes, lights are extinguished one by one, and the scene disappears.]