But the Archduke? THE DUKE. Now he deploys his right. FLAMBEAU. His goose is cooked. THE DUKE. Here come the guns! FLAMBEAU. I thirst!--I stifle--Drink! What--is--the--Emperor doing? THE DUKE. With a smile He shuts his little spy-glass. FLAMBEAU. [_Closing his eyes._] Victory! THE DUKE. Flambeau! [_He looks at him, and moves away a little._] This dying soldier frightens me. Yet 'tis not strange a dying grenadier Should fall asleep upon this field of glory. The field is well acquainted with his likes. [_He bends over him and cries._] Yes! Victory! The soldiers toss their shakos! FLAMBEAU. [_In his death-rattle._] I thirst--! DISTANT VOICES. I thirst!--I thirst! THE DUKE. [_Shuddering._] What are those echoes? A VOICE. I thirst--! THE DUKE. O God! THE SAME VOICES. [_Very distant._] I die--I die! THE DUKE. [_With horror._] His voice Reverberates beneath the lurid sky. THE VOICES. I die--! THE DUKE. I understand! His cries of death Are, for this vale which knows them all by heart, As the first measures of a well-known song. The plain takes up the moaning death has hushed. THE PLAIN. Ah--! Ah--! THE DUKE. I understand! complaints and sobs!-- 'Tis Wagram's field, remembering aloud! THE PLAIN. Ah--! Ah--! THE DUKE. [_Looking at_ FLAMBEAU.] How still he lies!--I must begone! For 'tis as if he'd fallen in the battle! [_And bending over him he murmurs._] Thus and no otherwise they must have looked! The uniform--the blood--! [_He is about to go, but suddenly, with horror._] Another! There! There--! Everywhere--! The same accusing shapes! They're dying thus as far as eye can reach! THE PLAIN. Alas--! THE DUKE. I hear them speaking in the gloom! VOICES. My brow bleeds--! My leg is dead--! My arm hangs loose!-- I'm crushed beneath this gun! THE DUKE. The battle-field! I've willed it: it has risen. VOICES. Water!--Water Upon my gash! Ah! tell me what I've broken! Ah! do not let me perish in this ditch! THE DUKE. Forests of arms are quivering in the plain; I tread upon a field of epaulettes. A VOICE. Help! THE DUKE. And I slip on leather shoulder-belts! A VOICE. Dragoon, reach me your hands! ANOTHER. They're shot away! THE DUKE. Ah! whither turn? VOICES. The ravens! THE DUKE. Horrible! The wooden soldiers ranged upon my table! THE VOICES. Horses have trampled on me! Drink!--The ravens! I'm dying!--How I suffer!--God forgive me! The ravens!--Help! THE DUKE.