19. Even Emperors Must Sleep
[The imperial gardens, sunset.]
[Dusk in the imperial garden—EMPEROR MAXIMILIAN lies upon a bed of flowers: edelweiss, lilies, and little white marguerites, his lips and cheeks stained blue and pink with frosting. Beside him, tall even among the trees, DOCTOR VYSARIUS looms. And he is like some primeval work of granite, his stony mask half-obscured by dangling flowers and hanging leaves—still, and perfectly still, even as those flowers list and sway in breezes. The VALET stands between them, pale intercessor, smiling blithely beneath the wide brim of a dark hat.
Behind, the trees give way to a clearing and, beyond, a great lawn. In the distance, there are black hedges and silent pools. All the garden is lit up in red twilight, like an Aubrey Beardsley in electric pink. MAXIMILIAN plucks a flower and makes a game of pulling off the petals. A SCRIBE dutifully attends his movements.]
MAXIMILIAN, insouciantly.
Ah! A flower! I shall play upon its petals! Life. Death. Life. Death. Life. Death. Life…
VALET.
My lord?
MAXIMILIAN, snapping.
Can’t you see I am deciding on a matter of great importance to the empire? [glares] Now, [he points to a petal] is this life – or is it death? O, I cannot remember! To hold life and death in one’s hands is a great and heavy burden! Scribe?
SCRIBE.
Sire?
MAXIMILIAN.
Let us lighten my load by putting the boy to death.
[The SCRIBE nods, notes it down, and runs off.]
VALET.
My lord, another trick?
MAXIMILIAN, yawning.
No, no more tricks today.
VALET.
The king grows weary of my master’s skill?
MAXIMILIAN.
Not wearied, never, and neither had my fill.
The spirit wills, but flesh is weak,
And even emperors must sleep!
[The VALET looks to VYSARIUS, who nods gravely, as if to say: “proceed”.]
VALET.
If dripping sleep clouds th’ imperial eye,
Perhaps it craves a lullaby?
MAXIMILIAN.
A lullaby?
VALET.
A song to soothe and mollify,
Make sylphs lay down and faeries sigh,
To make the knitted brains untie.
MAXIMILIAN.
Unknit my brain? How lovely!
VALET.
Has your majesty heard the story
Of the city of Persepolis?
MAXIMILIAN.
Persepolis?
VALET.
Gate of Heaven, holy city,
Throne of Jamshyd, lord of all.
MAXIMILIAN, stupidly.
Aha! I too am such a lord!
[VYSARIUS tilts his head, amused.]
VALET.
How it declined, from gold to gilt.
How it burned and now is ashes.
MAXIMILIAN, frightened.
Ashes! Ah! My blood runs cold,
That this fair garden might yet burn!
Delay no longer! Sing! Sing!