Upon a rock between two of these forts stands the Palace of the Mulini, NAPOLEONS'S residence in Ferrajo. Its windows command the whole town and the port.] CHORUS OF IRONIC SPIRITS [aerial music] The Congress of Vienna sits, And war becomes a war of wits, Where every Power perpends withal Its dues as large, its friends' as small; Till Priests of Peace prepare once more To fight as they have fought before! In Paris there is discontent; Medals are wrought that represent One now unnamed. Men whisper, “He Who once has been, again will be!” DUMB SHOW Under cover of the dusk there assembles in the bay a small flotilla comprising a brig called _l'Inconstant_ and several lesser vessels. SPIRIT OF RUMOUR The guardian on behalf of the Allies Absents himself from Elba. Slow surmise Too vague to pen, too actual to ignore, Have strained him hour by hour, and more and more. He takes the sea to Florence, to declare His doubts to Austria's ministrator there. SPIRIT IRONIC When he returns, Napoleon will be--where? Boats put off from these ships to the quay, where are now discovered to have silently gathered a body of grenadiers of the Old Guard. The faces of DROUOT and CAMBRONNE are revealed by the occasional fleck of a lantern to be in command of them. They are quietly taken aboard the brig, and a number of men of different arms to the other vessels. CHORUS OF RUMOURS [aerial music] Napoleon is going, And nought will prevent him; He snatches the moment Occasion has lent him! And what is he going for, Worn with war's labours? --To reconquer Europe With seven hundred sabres. About eight o'clock we observe that the windows of the Palace of the Mulini are lighted and open, and that two women sit at them: the EMPEROR'S mother and the PRINCESS PAULINE. They wave adieux to some one below, and in a short time a little open low-wheeled carriage, drawn by the PRINCESS PAULINE'S two ponies, descends from the house to the port. The crowd exclaims “The Emperor!” NAPOLEON appears in his grey great-coat, and is much fatter than when he left France. BERTRAND sits beside him. He quickly alights and enters the waiting boat. It is a tense moment. As the boat rows off the sailors sing the Marseillaise, and the gathered inhabitants join in. When the boat reaches the brig its sailors join in also, and shout “Paris or death!” Yet the singing has a melancholy cadence. A gun fires as a signal of departure. The night is warm and balmy for the season. Not a breeze is there to stir a sail, and the ships are motionless. CHORUS OF RUMOURS Haste is salvation; And still he stays waiting: The calm plays the tyrant, His venture belating!