The Emperor Takes His Ease

L'Empéreur s'amuse (after Victor Hugo) For the banished ones, of stubborn resistance, France is far off. The tomb is near. But don’t worry, Prince. Enjoy your existence. In the Bois de Boulogne, chase deer, chase women in the theatre. Rome’s burning incense for you. The Tsar calls you “mon frère”. Play on, sweet Prince. You have swans in Compiegne and you have the wines of Bordeaux. You seek novelty, amusement? Why then, they’ll bring you fourchettes from Les Baux. Swooning under your crown of grapes, tiens! You’re something out of Caravaggio. The convicts are building the lighthouse. Fine. So ordered, by the King. They’re casting bells on foundry lines. In hellish heat, they’re suffering. One day their light is going to shine. Those bells are going to ring. So dawdle, dally. Have your fun. Put on your languid airs. The thread of Fate’s already spun. Who’s going to hear your prayers? Who will save you? Where will you run, when the people take what’s theirs?