It's very true they dress you well in Paris.
[MARIA LOUISA, SCARAMPI, _and the_ FITTER _go into_ MARIA LOUISA'S _apartment with the things they are to try on._]
I? A nameless atom. Weary of life in mean and paltry times, Of smoking pipes and dreaming of ideals. Who am I? How do I know? That's my trouble. Am I at all?--It's very hard to "be." I study Victor Hugo; spout his odes-- I tell you this, because this sort of thing Is all contemporary youth. I spend Extravagant fortunes in acquiring boredom. I am an artist, Highness, and Young France. Also I'm carbonaro at your service. And as I'm always bored I wear red waistcoats, And that amuses me. At tying neck-cloths I once was very good indeed. That's why They sent me here to-day to play the tailor. I'll add, to make the picture quite complete, That I'm a liberal and a king-devourer. My life and dagger are at your command.
I like you, sir, although your talk is crazy.
You must not judge me by my whirling words; The itch of notoriety consumes me, But the disease beneath is very real, And makes me seek forgetfulness in danger.
Morbid enjoyment of our sufferings, And pride in showing off our pallid brows?
In what mysterious volume Has one so young learnt all the human heart? For that is what I feel.
Give me your hand! For, as a sapling, friend, which is transplanted, Feels all the forest in its ignorant veins, And suffers when its distant mates are hurt, So I, who knew you not, here, all alone, Felt the distemper stirring in my blood Which at this moment blights the youth of France.
Rather I think our malady is yours, For whence upon you falls this giant robe? Child, whom beforehand they have robbed of glory, Pale Prince, so pale against your sable suit, Why are you pale, my Prince?
Well! Feeble, feverish, dreaming of the past, Like you rebellious, what is left to do?-- We're all, to some extent, your father's sons.
You are his soldiers' sons: that's just as glorious. And 'tis no less redoubtable a burden; But it emboldens me, for I can say They're but the sons of heroes of the empire: They'll be content to take the Emperor's son!
[_Coming out of_ MARIA LOUISA'S _apartments._]
The scarf!--Oh, hush! I'm doing such a trade!
I only wish 'twere selling swords! That silly baby-talk will be my death.