PARIS. THE TUILERIES [The anteroom to the EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE’S bed-chamber, in which are discovered NAPOLÉON in his dressing-gown, the DUCHESS OF MONTEBELLO, and other ladies-in-waiting. CORVISART the first physician, and the second physician BOURDIER. The time is before dawn. The EMPEROR walks up and down, throws himself on a sofa, or stands at the window. A cry of anguish comes occasionally from within. NAPOLÉON opens the door and speaks into the bed-chamber.]

NAPOLÉON How now, Dubois?

VOICE OF DUBOIS THE ACCOUCHEUR [nervously] Less well, sire, than I hoped; I fear no skill can save them both.

NAPOLÉON [agitated] Good god! [Exit CORVISART into the bed-room. Enter DUBOIS.]

DUBOIS [with hesitation] Which life is to be saved? The Empress, sire, Lies in great jeopardy. I have not known In my long years of many-featured practice An instance in a thousand fall out so.

NAPOLÉON Then save the mother, pray! Think but of her; It is her privilege, and my command.— Don’t lose you head, Dubois, at this tight time: Your furthest skill can work but what it may. Fancy that you are merely standing by A shop-wife’s couch, say, in the Rue Saint Denis; Show the aplomb and phlegm that you would show Did such a bed receive your ministry. [Exit DUBOIS.]

VOICE OF MARIE LOUISE [within] O pray, pray don’t! Those ugly things terrify me! Why should I be tortured even if I am but a means to an end! Let me die! It was cruel of him to bring this upon me! [Exit NAPOLÉON impatiently to the bed-room.]

VOICE OF MADAME DE MONTESQUIOU [within] Keep up your spirits, madame! I have been through it myself and I assure you there is no danger to you. It is going on all right, and I am holding you.

VOICE OF NAPOLÉON [within] Heaven above! Why did you not deep those cursed sugar-tongs out of her sight? How is she going to get through it if you frighten her like this?

VOICE OF DUBOIS [within] If you will pardon me, your Majesty, I must implore you not to interfere! I’ll not be scapegoat for the consequence If, sire, you do! Better for her sake far Would you withdraw. The sight of your concern But agitates and weakens her endurance. I will inform you all, and call you back If things should worsen here. [Re-enter NAPOLÉON from the bed-chamber. He half shuts the door, and remains close to it listening, pale and nervous.]

BOURDIER I ask you, sire, To harass yourself less with this event, Which may amend anon: I much regret The honoured mother of your Majesty, And sister too, should both have left ere now, Whose solace would have bridged these anxious hours.

NAPOLÉON [absently] As we were not expecting it so soon I begged they would sit up no longer here.... She ought to get along; she has help enough With that half-dozen of them at hand within— Skilled Madame Blaise the nurse, and two besides, Madame de Montesquiou and Madame Ballant—-

DUBOIS [speaking through the doorway] Past is the question, sire, of which to save! The child is dead; the while her Majesty Is getting through it well.

NAPOLÉON Praise Heaven for that! I’ll not grieve overmuch about the child.... Never shall She go through this strain again To lay down a dynastic line for me.

DUCHESS OF MONTEBELLO [aside to the second lady] He only says that now. In cold blood it would be far otherwise. That’s how men are.

VOICE OF MADAME BLAISE [within] Doctor, the child’s alive! [The cry of an infant is heard.]

VOICE OF DUBOIS [calling from within] Sire, both are saved. [NAPOLÉON rushes into the chamber, and is heard kissing MARIE LOUISE.]

VOICE OF MADAME BLAISE [within] A vigorous boy, your Imperial Majesty. The brandy and hot napkins brought him to.

DUCHESS OF MONTEBELLO It is as I expected. A healthy young woman of her build had every chance of doing well, despite the doctors. [An interval.]

NAPOLÉON [re-entering radiantly] We have achieved a healthy heir, good dames, And in the feat the Empress was most brave, Although she suffered much—so much, indeed, That I would sooner father no more sons Than have so fair a fruit-tree undergo Another wrenching of such magnitude. [He walks to the window, pulls aside the curtains, and looks out. It is a joyful spring morning. The Tuileries’ gardens are thronged with an immense crowd, kept at a little distance off the Palace by a cord. The windows of the neighbouring houses are full of gazers, and the streets are thronged with halting carriages, their inmates awaiting the event.]

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS [whispering to Napoléon] At this high hour there broods a woman nigh, Ay, here in Paris, with her child and thine, Who might have played this part with truer eye To thee and to thy contemplated line!

NAPOLÉON [soliloquizing] Strange that just now there flashes on my soul That little one I loved in Warsaw days, Marie Walewska, and my boy by her!— She was shown faithless by a foul intrigue Till fate sealed up her opportunity.... But what’s one woman’s fortune more or less Beside the schemes of kings!—Ah, there’s the new! [A gun is heard from the Invalides.]

CROWD [excitedly] One! [Another report of the gun, and another, succeed.] Two! Three! Four! [The firing and counting proceed to twenty-one, when there is great suspense. The gun fires again, and the excitement is doubled.] Twenty-two! A boy! [The remainder of the counting up to a hundred-and-one is drowned in the huzzas. Bells begin ringing, and from the Champ de Mars a balloon ascends, from which the tidings are scattered in hand-bills as it floats away from France. Enter the PRESIDENT OF THE SENATE, CAMBACÉRÈS, BERTHIER, LEBRUN, and other officers of state. NAPOLÉON turns from the window.]

CAMBACÉRÈS Unstinted gratulations and goodwill We bring to your Imperial Majesty, While still resounds the superflux of joy With which your people welcome this live star Upon the horizon of history!

PRESIDENT OF THE SENATE All blessings at their goodliest will grace The advent of this New Messiah, sire, Of fairer prospects than the former one, Whose coming at so apt an hour endues The widening glory of your high exploits With permanence, and flings the dimness far That cloaked the future of our chronicle!

NAPOLÉON My thanks; though, gentlemen, upon my soul You might have drawn the line at the Messiah. But I excuse you.—Yes, the boy has come; He took some coaxing, but he’s here at last.— And what news brings the morning from without? I know of none but this the Empress now Trumps to the world from the adjoining room.

PRESIDENT OF THE SENATE Nothing in Europe, sire, that can compare In magnitude therewith to more effect Than with an eagle some frail finch or wren. To wit: the ban on English trade prevailing, Subjects our merchant-houses to such strain That many of the best see bankruptcy Like a grim ghost ahead. Next week, they say In secret here, six of the largest close.

NAPOLÉON It shall not be! Our burst of natal joy Must not be sullied by so mean a thing: Aid shall be rendered. Much as we may suffer, England must suffer more, and I am content. What has come in from Spain and Portugal?

BERTHIER Vaguely-voiced rumours, sire, but nothing more, Which travel countries quick as earthquake thrills, No mortal knowing how.

NAPOLÉON Of Masséna?

BERTHIER Yea. He retreats for prudence’ sake, it seems, Before Lord Wellington. Dispatches soon Must reach your Majesty, explaining all.

NAPOLÉON Ever retreating! Why declines he so From all his olden prowess? Why, again, Did he give battle at Busaco lately, When Lisbon could be marched on without strain? Why has he dallied by the Tagus bank And shunned the obvious course? I gave him Ney, Soult, and Junot, and eighty thousand men, And he does nothing. Really it might seem As though we meant to let this Wellington Be even with us there!

BERTHIER His mighty forts At Torres Vedras hamper Masséna, And quite preclude advance.

NAPOLÉON O well—no matter: Why should I linger on these haps of war Now that I have a son! [Exeunt NAPOLÉON by one door and by another the PRESIDENT OF THE SENATE, CAMBACÉRÈS, LEBRUN, BERTHIER, and officials.]

CHORUS OF IRONIC SPIRITS [aerial music] The Will Itself is slave to him, And holds it blissful to obey!— He said, “Go to; it is my whim “To bed a bride without delay, Who shall unite my dull new name With one that shone in Caesar’s day. “She must conceive—you hear my claim?— And bear a son—no daughter, mind— Who shall hand on my form and fame “To future times as I have designed; And at the birth throughout the land Must cannon roar and alp-horns wind!” The Will grew conscious at command, And ordered issue as he planned. [The interior of the Palace is veiled.]