CHARLEROI. NAPOLÉON’S QUARTERS [The same midnight. NAPOLÉON is lying on a bed in his clothes. In consultation with SOULT, his Chief of Staff, who is sitting near, he dictates to his Secretary orders for the morrow. They are addressed to KELLERMANN, DROUOT, LOBAU, GERARD, and other of his marshals. SOULT goes out to dispatch them. The Secretary resumes the reading of reports. Presently MARSHAL NEY is announced He is heard stumbling up the stairs, and enters.]

NAPOLÉON Ah, Ney; why come you back? Have you secured The all-important Crossways?—safely sconced Yourself at Quatre-Bras?

NEY Not, sire, as yet. For, marching forwards, I heard gunnery boom, And, fearing that the Prussians had engaged you, I stood at pause. Just then—-

NAPOLÉON My charge was this: Make it impossible at any cost That Wellington and Blücher should unite. As it’s from Brussels that the English come, And from Namur the Prussians, Quatre-Bras Lends it alone for their forgathering: So, why exists it not in your hands/

NEY My reason, sire, was rolling from my tongue.— Hard on the boom of guns, dim files of foot Which read to me like massing Englishry— The vanguard of all Wellington’s array— I half-discerned. So, in pure wariness, I left the Bachelu columns there at Frasnes, And hastened back to tell you.

NAPOLÉON Ney; O Ney! I fear you are not the man that once you were; Of your so daring, such a faint-heart now! I have ground to know the foot that flustered you Were but a few stray groups of Netherlanders; For my good spies in Brussels send me cue That up to now the English have not stirred, But cloy themselves with nightly revel there.

NEY [bitterly] Give me another opportunity Before you speak like that!

NAPOLÉON You soon will have one!... But now—no more of this. I have other glooms Upon my soul—the much-disquieting news That Bourmont has deserted to our foes With his whole staff.

NEY We can afford to let him.

NAPOLÉON It is what such betokens, not their worth, That whets it!... Love, respect for me, have waned; But I will right that. We’ve good chances still. You must return foot-hot to Quatre-Bras; There Kellermann’s cuirassiers will promptly join you To bear the English backward Brussels way. I go on towards Fleurus and Ligny now.— If Blücher’s force retreat, and Wellington’s Lie somnolent in Brussels one day more, I gain that city sans a single shot!... Now, friend, downstairs you’ll find some supper ready, Which you must tuck in sharply, and then off. The past day has not ill-advantaged us; We have stolen upon the two chiefs unawares, And in such sites that they must fight apart. Now for a two hours’ rest.—Comrade, adieu Until to-morrow! NEY Till to-morrow, sire! [Exit NEY. NAPOLÉON falls asleep, and the Secretary waits till dictation shall be resumed. BUSSY, the orderly officer, comes to the door.

BUSSY Letters—arrived from Paris. [Hands letters.]

SECRETARY He shall have them The moment he awakes. These eighteen hours He’s been astride; and is not what he was.— Much news from Paris?

BUSSY I can only say What’s not the news. The courier has just told me He’d nothing from the Empress at Vienna To bring his Majesty. She writes no more.

SECRETARY And never will again! In my regard That bird’s forsook the nest for good and all.

BUSSY All that they hear in Paris from her court Is through our spies there. One of them reports This rumour of her: that the Archduke John, In taking leave to join our enemies here, Said, “Oh, my poor Louise; I am grieved for you And what I hope is, that he’ll be run through, Or shot, or break his neck, for your own good No less than ours.

NAPOLÉON [waking] By “he” denoting me?

BUSSY [starting] Just so, your Majesty.

NAPOLÉON [peremptorily] What said the Empress?

BUSSY She gave no answer, sire, that rumour bears.

NAPOLÉON Count Neipperg, whom they have made her chamberlain, Interred his wife last spring—is it not so?

BUSSY He did, your Majesty.

NAPOLÉON H’m....You may go. [Exit BUSSY. The Secretary reads letters aloud in succession. He comes to the last; begins it; reaches a phrase, and stops abruptly.] Mind not! Read on. No doubt the usual threat, Or prophecy, from some mad scribe? Who signs it?

SECRETARY The subscript is “The Duke of Enghien!”

NAPOLÉON [starting up] Bah, man! A treacherous trick! A hoax—no more! Is that the last?

SECRETARY The last, your Majesty.

NAPOLÉON Then now I’ll sleep. In two hours have me called.

SECRETARY I’ll give the order, sire. [The Secretary goes. The candles are removed, except one, and NAPOLÉON endeavours to compose himself.]

SPIRIT IRONIC A little moral panorama would do him no harm, after that reminder of the Duke of Enghien. Shall it be, young Compassion?

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES What good—if that old Years tells us be true? But I say naught. To ordain is not for me! [Thereupon a vision passes before NAPOLÉON as he lies, comprising hundreds of thousands of skeletons and corpses in various stages of decay. They rise from his various battlefields, the flesh dropping from them, and gaze reproachfully at him. His intimate officers who have been slain he recognizes among the crowd. In front is the DUKE OF ENGHIEN as showman.]

NAPOLÉON [in his sleep] Why, why should this reproach be dealt me now? Why hold me my own master, if I be Ruled by the pitiless Planet of Destiny? [He jumps up in a sweat and puts out the last candle; and the scene is curtained by darkness.]