Tell me, wouldn't you like to have a closer acquaintance with your
princess, sometime?
Struebel.
Closer? Why should I?--Isn't she close enough to me, my far-away
princess?--for that's what I call her when I talk to myself about her.
And to have her _still_ closer?
The Princess.
Why, so that you could talk to her and know what she really was like.
Struebel (_terrified_).
Talk to her! Heaven forbid! Goodness gracious, no! Just see here--how
am I to face a princess? I'm an ordinary fellow, the son of poor folks.
I haven't polished manners--I haven't even a decent tailor. A lady like
that--why, she'd measure me from top to toe in one glance.--I've had my
lessons in the fine houses where I've applied as tutor. A glance from
boots to cravat--and you're dismissed!
The Princess.
And you think that I--(_correcting herself_)--that this girl is as
superficial as that?
Struebel.
"This girl"! Dear me, how that sounds! But, how should I ever succeed
in showing her my real self? And even if I should, what would she
care?--Oh, yes, if she were like you--so nice and simple--and with such
a kindhearted, roguish little twinkle in her eye----!
The Princess.
Roguish--I? Why so?
Struebel.
Because you are laughing at me in your sleeve. And really I deserve
nothing better.
The Princess.
But your princess deserves something better than your opinion of her.
Struebel.
How do you know that?
The Princess.
You really ought to try to become acquainted with her sometime.
Struebel.
No, no, no--and again no! As long as she remains my far-away princess,
she is everything that I want her to be--modest, gracious, loving. She
smiles upon me dreamily. Yes, she even listens when I recite my poems
to her--and that can't be said of many people! And as soon as I have
finished, she sighs, takes a rose from her breast, and casts it down to
the poet.--I wrote a few verses yesterday about that rose, that flower
which represents the pinnacle of my desires, as it were.
The Princess (_eagerly_).
Oh, yes. Oh, please, please!
Struebel.