pression of the Tricolor.

THE DUKE.

Your Excellency wishes me to wash
The banner based in blood and crowned with heaven--
For it was dipped in horrors that bear fruit,
And it was bathed in universal hopes!--
Your Excellency asks me to efface
That gleam of heaven and that stain of blood,
And, having nothing but a blank sheet left,
To make a shroud for Freedom out of that!

THE EMPEROR.

Freedom again!

THE DUKE.

Upon my father's side
I am related closely, Sire, to Freedom.

METTERNICH.

Yes, the Duke's grandsire was the eighteenth Brumaire!

THE DUKE.

Yes, and the Revolution was my granddam!

THE EMPEROR.

Silence!

METTERNICH.

The Emperor a republican!
Utopia!--Play the Marseillaise in A
On trumpets, while the sentimental flute
Sighs "God preserve the Empire" in E flat.

THE DUKE.

The two go very well together, sir,
And make a tune that frightens Kings away!

THE EMPEROR.

This to my face? How dare you, sir? How dare you?

THE DUKE.

Ah, now I know what is expected of me!

THE EMPEROR.

What does it mean? What is the matter with him?

THE DUKE.

I am to be an Austrian Archduke
On a French throne!

THE EMPEROR.

What has he read or seen?

THE DUKE.

I have seen egg-cups, handkerchiefs, and pipes!

THE EMPEROR.

He's mad! The words he utters are a madman's!

THE DUKE.

Mad to have thought you'd help me to my own.

METTERNICH.

'Tis you alone obstruct your going home.

THE DUKE.

Yes, in a gig instead of on a gun!

THE EMPEROR.

You shall not go at all!

THE DUKE.

A cage?

THE EMPEROR.

We'll see!

THE DUKE.

For all your cages I am still the Eaglet!

THE EMPEROR.

The eagle on my flag has many eaglets:
You're one of them: that's all.

THE DUKE.

Oh, gloomy eagle!
Sad, double-headed fowl, with heavy eye:
Eagle of Austria, cruel bird of night!
A glorious eagle of the dawn has passed
Athwart thine eyrie, and with ruffled feathers,
Raging and terror-stricken, thou beholdest
One of thine eaglets sprouting golden plumage!

THE EMPEROR.

My heart was softening: I regret my tears.
These books and weapons shall be taken from you.
Dietrichstein!

METTERNICH.

He is not in the palace.

THE EMPEROR.

Poor, morbid child, we will suppress whatever
Too much reminds you who your fathe