Why, if you think of it, dear friend, Napoleon's son, Don Juan, is strict logic. The soul's the same: ever dissatisfied; The same unceasing lust of victory. Oh splendid blood another has corrupted, Who, striving to be Cæsar, was not able; Thy energy is not all dead within me. A misbegotten Cæsar is Don Juan! Yes, 'tis another way of conquering; Thus I shall know that fever of the heart Which Byron tells us kills whom it devours; And 'tis a way of being still my father. Napoleon or Don Juan!--They're decision, The magic will, and the seductive grace. When to retake a great unfaithful land, Calm and alone, sure of himself and her, The adventurer landed in the Gulf of Juan, He felt Don Juan's thrill; and when Don Juan Pricked a new conquest in his list of loves, Did he not feel the pride of Bonaparte? And, after all, who knows whether 'tis greater To conquer worlds, or be a moment loved? So be it? 'Tis well the legend closes thus, And that _this_ conqueror is the other's son. I'm the fair shadow of the dusky hero, And, as he conquered nations, one by one, So will I conquer women, one by one. Moonbeams shall be my sun of Austerlitz! PROKESCH. Ah, silence! for your irony's too bitter. THE DUKE. Oh, yes; I know. I hear the spectres crying-- Blue-coated spectres torn along the whirlwind-- "Well? What about the Imperial tale of triumph? Our toil? our wounds? our glory?--What about The snow, the blood, the history, the dead We left on all the fields of victory? What will you do with these?"--I'll charm the ladies! It's fine, among the people in the Prater, To ride a horse that cost three thousand florins, Which one can christen Jena. Austerlitz Is a sure bait to catch a fair coquette. PROKESCH. You'll never have the heart to use it thus. THE DUKE. Why, yes; why, yes, my friend. And in my scarf-- For 'tis a thing looks well upon a lover-- I'll wear a dainty eaglet for a pin. There's music!--Now, O Cæsar's son, you're but Mozart's Don Juan! Nay, not even Mozart's! Strauss's! I'll waltz; for now I must become Charming and useless: Austrian fancy-goods! My aunt?--Why--! PROKESCH. Oh, not that! THE DUKE. I want to see-- [PROKESCH _goes out_.] THE DUKE. How deep the linden's perfume is to-night. THE ARCHDUCHESS. Notice my salver. I'm so proud of it. THE DUKE. You represent? THE ARCHDUCHESS. The "Chocolate-girl," the famous Picture in Dresden. THE DUKE. [_Affectedly._] Cha'ming. But your chocolate Must be a nuisance. THE ARCHDUCHESS. No. THE DUKE. Do put it down. THE ARCHDUCHESS. Well, Franz? A little bit in love with life? THE DUKE. Glad to be nephew of a pretty aunt. THE ARCHDUCHESS. And I am glad to have so big a nephew. THE DUKE. Too pretty. THE ARCHDUCHESS. And too big. THE DUKE. For such a game. THE ARCHDUCHESS. What game? THE DUKE.