Koll. That was very bad of you.
The King. I know it was; but forgive me! I couldn't help it! Ha, ha, ha,
ha, ha!
Koll. For all his queer ways, he is too good a fellow to be made a fool
of.
The King. Yes, scold me; I deserve it. But, all the same--ha, ha, ha,
ha!
Gran. Hush!--he is coming back. (The KING gets up as FLINK comes in
again.)
Flink. Your Majesty may be assured that I would never have expressed
myself as I did in your Majesty's presence if I had been fairly treated
and told whom I was addressing.
The King. I know. The fault is mine alone.
Flink. The fault is that of others--my so-called friends.
The King (earnestly). By no means! It is mine--mine alone. I have had a
scolding for it!--And in your presence I ask my friends' pardon; I have
put them in a false position. And, in the next place, I ask for your
forgiveness. My sense of humour got the better of me. (Laughs again.)
Flink. Yes, it was extremely amusing.
The King. It really was! And, after all, what have you to complain of?
You had an opportunity of speaking your mind, any way!
Flink. I certainly did!
The King. Very well, then!--And when you wanted to show any respect, _I_
prevented you. So I think we are quits.
Flink. No, we are not.
The King (impatiently). Indeed?--What do you want from me, then?
Flink (proudly). Nothing!
The King. I beg your pardon! I did not mean to offend you.
Flink. You have done so to a degree that you are naturally incapable of
appreciating. (Goes out.)
The King. This is a nice business! (Laughs. Then notices GRAN, who is
standing at his desk with his back to the KING, and goes up to him.) You
are angry with me.
Gran (looking up slowly). Yes.
The King. Why didn't you stop me?
Gran. It all happened too quickly. But to think that you could have the
heart to do it--in my own house--to a man who was my father's oldest
friend, and is mine--!
The King. Harald! (Puts his arm round his shoulders.) Have I ever asked
you for anything that you have not given me?
Gran. No.
The King. Then I ask you now to admit that you know that, if I had
thought this would hurt you, I would never have done it--not for worlds!
Do you still believe as well of me as that?
Gran. Yes.
The King. Thank you. Then I will admit to you, in return, that for
months past I have lived in a state of horrible tension of mind; and
that is why I jump too easily from one extreme to the other. So, my
friends, you must forgive me! Or finish my scolding some other time!
Because now I must talk to you of the matter which induced me to come
here. You are the only ones I can turn to; so be good to me!--Shall we
sit down again?
Koll. As you please.
The King (moving towards the table). I know you both want to ask me the
same question: why I have never come before now. My answer is: because
I have only now arrived at a clear conception of my own position. Some
months ago some hard words that were used to me lit a fire in my heart
and burnt out a heap of rubbish that had collected there. (ANNA fills
their glasses.) Won't you send that girl away?
Gran. She is deaf and dumb.
The King. Poor girl! (Sits down.) When I came back from my cruise round
the world, the old king was dead. My father had come to the throne, and
I was crown prince, and I went with my father to the cathedral to attend
a thanksgiving service for my safe return.
Gran. I was there.
The King. The whole thing was a novelty to me, and a solemn one. I was
overcome with emotion. Seeing that, my father whispered to me: "Come
farther forward, my boy! The people must see their future king praying."
That finished it! I was not born to be a king; my soul was still too
unsullied, and I spurned such falsehood with the deepest loathing. Just
think of it!--to come back from three years at sea, and begin my life in
that way--as if perpetually in front of a mirror! I won't dwell on it.
But when my father died and I became king, I had become so accustomed to
the atmosphere of falsehood I lived in that I no longer recognised
truth when I saw it. The constitution prescribed my religion for me--and
naturally I had none. And it was the same with everything--one thing
after another! What else could you expect? The only tutor I valued--you,
Koll--had been dismissed; they considered you to be too freethinking.
Koll (smilingly). Oh, yes!
The King. The only real friend that dated from my happier days--you,
Harald, had been sent to the right about; you were a republican. It was
while I was in despair over that loss that I fell really in love for the
first time--with your sister, Harald. Banishment, again. What then?
Why, then the craving that every healthy youth feels--the desire for
love--was turned into dissolute channels. (Drinks.)
Gran. I understand, well enough.
The King. Well, put all those things together. That was what my life
was--until just lately. Because lately something happened, my dear
friends. And now you must help me! Because, to make a long story short,
either I mean to be the chief official in my country in a peaceful,
citizenlike, genuine way, or--as God is above me--I will no longer be
king! (Gets up, and the others do so.)
Koll. Ah, we have got it at last!
The King. Do you think I don't know that our republican friend there
spoke what is every thoughtful man's verdict upon me? (They are silent.)
But how could I possibly undertake my task, as long as I believed
everything to be make-believe and falsehood, without exception? Now I
know the root of the falsehood! It is in our institutions; he was quite
right. And one kind of falsehood begets another. You cannot imagine how
ludicrous it appeared to me--who up till then had led such a sinful,
miserable existence--when I saw honourable men pretending that I was a
being of some superior mould! I! (Walks up and down, then stops.) It is
the state--our institutions--that demand this falsehood both on their
part and on mine. And that for the security and happiness of the
country! (Moves about restlessly.) From the time I became crown prince
they kept from me everything that might have instilled truth into
me--friendship, love, religion, a vocation--for my vocation is quite
another one; and it was all done in the name of my country! And now
that I am king, they take away all responsibility from me as well--all
responsibility for my own acts--the system demands it! Instead of an
individual, what sort of a contemptible creature do they make of me! The
kingly power, too?--that is in the hands of the people's representatives
and the government. I don't complain of that; but what I do complain of
is that they should pretend that _I_ have it, and that everything should
be done in _my_ name; that I should be the recipient of petitions,
cheers, acclamations, obeisances--as if the whole power and
responsibility were centred in _my_ person! In me--from whom, in the
interests of all, they have taken away everything! Is that not a pitiful
and ludicrous falsehood? And, to make it credible, they endow me into
the bargain with a halo of sanctity! "The King is sacred;" "Our Most
Gracious Sovereign," "Your Majesty!" It becomes almost blasphemous!
Gran. Quite true.
The King. No, if that cannot be done away with, I can do away with
myself. But it must be possible to do away with it! It cannot be
necessary for a people, who are marching on the eternal path towards
truth, to have a lie marching at the head of them!
Koll. No, it is not necessary.
The King (eagerly). And that is what you will help me to show them.
Koll. I have no objection! There is life in the country yet!
The King (to Gran). And you, my friend? Are you afraid of being shot by
a mad republican if you help me?
Gran. I am not particularly afraid of death, any way. But the maid is
telling us that supper is served.
The King. Yes, let us have supper!
Koll. And then, to our task!
Curtain
ACT II
(SCENE.--A park with old lofty trees. In the foreground, to the right,
an arbour with a seat. The KING is sitting, talking to BANG, who is a
man of gross corpulence.)
Bang. And I felt so well in every way that, I assure your Majesty, I
used to feel it a pleasure to be alive.
The King (drawing patterns in the dust with his walking stick). I can
quite believe it.
Bang. And then I was attacked by this pain in my heart and this
difficulty in breathing. I run round and round this park, on an empty
stomach, till I am absolutely exhausted.
The King (absently). Couldn't you drive round, then?
Bang. Drive?--But it is the exercise, your Majesty, that--
The King. Of course. I was thinking of something else.
Bang. I would not mind betting that I know what your Majesty was
thinking of--if I may say so without impertinence.
The King. What was it, then?
Bang. Your Majesty was thinking of the socialists!
The King. Of the--?
Bang. The socialists!
The King (looking amused). Why particularly of them?
Bang. I was right, you see! Ha, ha, ha! (His laughter brings on a
violent fit of coughing.) Your Majesty must excuse me; laughing always
brings on my cough.--But, you know, the papers this morning are full of
their goings on!
The King. I have not read the paper.
Bang. Then I can assure your Majesty that the way they are going on is
dreadful. And just when we were all getting on so comfortably! What in
the world do they want?
The King. Probably they want to get on comfortably too.
Bang. Aren't they well off as it is, the beasts? Excuse me, your
Majesty, for losing my temper in your Majesty's presence.
The King. Don't mention it.
Bang. You are very good. These strikes, too--what is the object of them?
To make every one poor? Every one can't be rich. However, I pin my faith
to a strong monarchy. Your Majesty is the padlock on my cash-box!
The King. I am what?
Bang. The padlock on my cash-box! A figure of speech I ventured to apply
to your Majesty.
The King. I am much obliged!
Bang. Heaven help us if the liberals come into power; their aim is to
weaken the monarchy.
(A BEGGAR BOY comes up to them.)
Beggar Boy. Please, kind gentlemen, spare a penny! I've had nothing to
eat to-day!
Bang (taking no notice of him). Aren't there whispers of the sort about?
But of course it can't be true.
Beggar Boy (pertinaciously). Please, kind gentlemen, spare a penny! I've
had nothing to eat to-day.
Bang. You have no right to beg.
The King. You have only the right to starve, my boy! Here! (Gives him
a gold coin. The BEGGAR Boy backs away from him, staring at him, and
gripping the coin in his fist.)
Bang. He never even thanked you! Probably the son of a socialist!--I
would never have opened this park to every one in the way your Majesty
has done.
The King. It saves the work-people a quarter of am hour if they can go
through it to get to their work.
(The GENERAL appears, driving the BEGGAR BOY before him with his stick.)
The General (to the BEGGAR). A gentleman sitting on a seat gave it you?
Point him out to me, then!
Bang (getting up). Good morning, your Majesty!
The King. Good morning! (Looks at his watch.)
The General. That gentleman, do you say?
The King (looking up). What is it?
The General. Your Majesty? Allow me to welcome you back!
The King. Thank you.
The General. Excuse me, sir; but I saw this fellow with a gold coin in
his hand, and stopped him. He says your Majesty gave it to him--?
The King. It is quite true.
The General. Oh--of course that alters the case! (To the BEGGAR.) It is
the King. Have you thanked him? (The boy stands still, staring at the
KING.)
The King. Are you taking a morning walk on an empty stomach because of a
weak heart, too?
The General. Because of my stomach, sir--because of my stomach! It has
struck work!
The Beggar Boy. Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho! (Runs away.)
The General. I am astonished at your Majesty's having thrown this park
open to every one.
The King. It saves the work-people a quarter of an hour if they can
go through it to get to their work.--Well, General, it seems you have
become religious all of a sudden?
The General. Ha, ha, ha! Your Majesty has read my Order of the Day,
then?
The King. Yes.
The General (confidentially). Well, sir, you see things couldn't go on
any longer as they were. (Whispers.) Debauchery in the ranks! I won't
say anything about the officers; but when the men take to such courses
openly--!
The King. Oho!
The General. My brother the bishop and I, between us, composed an Order
of the Day on the subject of the necessity of religion--religion as the
basis of discipline.
The King. As a matter of fact the bishop was the first person I met here
to-day.--Is he suffering from a disordered stomach, too?
The General. More so than any of us, Sir! Ha, ha, ha! (The KING motions
to him to sit down.) Thank you, Sir.--But, apart from that, I have had
it in my mind for some time that in these troublous days there ought to
be a closer co-operation between the Army and the Church--
The King. In the matter of digestion, do you mean?
The General. Ha, ha, ha!--But seriously, Sir, the time is approaching
when such a co-operation will be the only safeguard of the throne.
The King. Indeed?
The General (hurriedly). That is to say, of course, the throne stands
firm by itself--God forbid I should hint otherwise! But what I mean is
that it is the Army ants the Church that must supply the monarchy with
the necessary splendour and authority--
The King. I suppose, then, that the monarchy has no longer any of its
own?
The General (jumping up). Heaven forbid that I should say such a thing!
I would give my life in support of the monarchy!
The King. You will have to die some day, unfortunately (Laughs as he
gets up.) Who is that coming this way?
The General (putting up his eyeglass). That? It is the Princess and
Countess L'Estoque, Sir.
The King. Is the Princess suffering from indigestion too?
The General (confidentially). I fancy your Majesty knows best what the
Princess is suffering from. (The KING moves away from him.) I made a
mess of that! It comes of my trying to be too clever.--He is walking
towards her. Perhaps there is something in it, after all? I must tell
Falbe about it. (Turns to go.) Confound it, he saw that I was watching
them! (Goes out. The KING returns to the arbour with the PRINCESS on his
arm. The COUNTESS and one of the royal servants are seen crossing the
park in the background.)
The Princess. This is a most surprising meeting! When did your Majesty
return?
The King. Last night.--You look very charming, Princess! Such blushing
cheeks!--and so early in the morning!
The Princess. I suppose you think it is rouge?--No, Sir, it is nothing
but pleasure at meeting you.
The King. Flatterer! And I went pale at the sight of you.
The Princess. Perhaps your conscience--?
The King. I am sorry to say my conscience had nothing to do with it. But
this morning I have been meeting so many people that are suffering from
indigestion that, when I saw your Highness walking quickly along--
The Princess. Make your mind easy! My reason for my morning walk is to
keep my fat down. Later in the day I ride--for the same reason. I live
for nothing else now.
The King. It is a sacred vocation!
The Princess. Because it is a royal one?
The King. Do you attribute your sanctity to me? Wicked Princess!
The Princess. Both my sanctity and any good fortune I enjoy. It
is nothing but my relationship to your Majesty that induces the
tradespeople to give me unlimited credit.
The King. You don't feel any awkwardness about it, then?
The Princess. Not a bit! The good folk have to maintain many worse
parasites than me!--By the way, talking of parasites, is it true that
you have pensioned off all your lords-in-waiting and their hangers-on?
The King. Yes.
The Princess. Ha, ha, ha! But why did you make the special stipulation
that they should live in Switzerland?
The King. Because there is no court in Switzerland, and--
The Princess. And so they could not fall into temptation again! I have
had many a good laugh at the thought of it. But it has its serious side
too, you know; because your Majesty cannot dispense with a court.
The King. Why not?
The Princess. Well, suppose some day you are "joined in the bonds of
holy matrimony," as the parsons so beautifully put it?
The King. If I were, it would be for the sake of knowing what family
life is.
The Princess. Like any other citizen?
The King. Precisely.
The Princess. Are you going to keep no servants?
The King. As many as are necessary--but no more.
The Princess. Then I must secure a place as chambermaid in your
Majesty's household as soon as possible. Because if my financial
circumstances are inquired into there will be nothing else left for me
but that!
The King. You have too sacred a vocation for that, Princess!
The Princess. How pretty! Your Majesty is a poet, and poets are allowed
to be enthusiastic about ideals. But the people are poets too, in their
way; they like their figure-head to be well gilded, and don't mind
paying for it. That is their poetry.
The King. Are you certain of that?
The Princess. Absolutely certain! It is a point of honour with them.
The King. Then I have to weigh my honour against theirs! And my honour
forbids me--for the honour of my people and their poetry--to keep up my
palaces, my guards, and my court any longer! _Voila tout_!
The Princess. My dear King, certain positions carry with them certain
duties!
The King. Then I know higher duties than those!--But, Princess, here are
we two seriously discussing--
The Princess. Yes, but there is something at the bottom of it that is
not to be laughed away. All tradition and all experience proclaim it to
be the truth that a king--the kingly majesty--should be a dignity apart;
and should be the ultimate source of law, surrounded with pomp and
circumstance, and secure behind the fortified walls of wealth, rank,
and hereditary nobility. If he steps out of that magic circle, the law's
authority is weakened.
The King. Has your Royal Highness breakfasted yet?
The Princess. No. (Bursts out laughing.)
The King. Because, if you had, I should have had great pleasure is
giving you a lesson in history; but on an empty stomach that would be
cruel.
The Princess. Do you know--you used to be such an entertaining king, but
this last year you have become so tedious!
The King. Most beautiful of princesses! Do you really mean to say that
I rise and fall in your estimation according as I have my pretty royal
gew-gaws on or not?
The Princess. In my estimation?
The King. Or in any one's? You know the story of "The Emperor's New
Clothes"?
The Princess. Yes.
The King. We don't keep up that pretence any longer.
The Princess. But will every one understand?
The King. You understand, don't you?
The Princess. The people or I--that is all the same, I suppose! You are
very flattering.
The King. Heaven forbid that I should lump your Royal Highness together
with the common herd; but--
The Princess. We have already had proof of the fact that your Majesty
does not hold the same place in _every one's_ estimation that you do in
mine, at all events!
The King. If I occupy a place of honour in your Royal Highness's heart,
your Royal Highness may be certain that--
The Princess. I will interrupt you to save you from speaking an untruth!
Because the way to attain to a place of honour in your Majesty's heart
is not to admire you as I do, but, on the contrary, to shout out: "I
despise you!"--Au revoir!
The King. You wicked, terrifying, dangerous--
The Princess.--omniscient and ubiquitous Princess! (Makes a deep
curtsey, and goes away.)
The King (calling after her). In spite of everything, my heart goes with
you--
The Princess.--to show me the door! I know all about that! (To the
COUNTESS.) Come, Countess! (Goes out. FALBE, an old gentleman in
civilian dress, has come in from the side to which the KING'S back is
turned.)
The King. How the devil did she--?
Falbe (coming up behind him). Your Majesty!
The King (turning quickly). Ah, there you are!
Falbe. Yes, sir--we have been walking about in the park for some time;
your Majesty was engaged.
The King. Not engaged--I was only deadening thoughts by gossiping. My
anxiety was too much for me. So they have come?--both of them?
Falbe. Both of them.
The King. Can I believe it! (Appears overcome.) But--you must wait a
moment! I can't, just at this moment--. I don't know what has come over
me!
Falbe. Are you unwell, sir? You look so pale.
The King My nerves are not what they should be. Is there any water near
here?
Falbe (pointing, in astonishment). Why, there is the fountain, Sir!
The King. Of course! Of course!--I don't seem able to collect my
thoughts. And my mouth is as dry as--. Look here, I am going that way
(points); and then you can--you can bring the ladies here.--She is here!
She is here! (Goes out to the left, and turns round as he goes.) Don't
forget to lock the gates of the inner park!
Falbe. Of course not, Sir. (Goes out to the right, and returns bringing
in the BARONESS MARC and CLARA.) His Majesty will be here in a moment.
(Goes out to the right.)
Clara. You must stay near enough for me to be able to call you.
Baroness. Of course, my dear. Compose yourself; nothing can happen.
Clara. I am so frightened.
Baroness. Here is the King! (The KING comes in and bows to them.)
The King. Excuse me, ladies, for having kept you waiting. I am very
grateful to you both for coming.
Baroness. We only came upon your Majesty's solemn promise--
The King.--which shall be inviolable.
Baroness. I understand that you wish to speak to Miss Ernst alone?
The King. Your ladyship need only go up to the top of that little slope.
(Points.) I can recommend the view from there.
Baroness. The interview will not be a long one, I suppose?
The King. If it is, I give your ladyship permission to come and
interrupt us. (The BARONESS goes out. The KING turns to CLARA.) May I be
permitted to thank you again--you especially--for having been so good as
to grant me this interview?
Clara. It will be the only one.
The King. I know that. You have not condescended to answer one of my
letters--
Clara. I have not read them.
The King.--so there was nothing left for me but to address myself to the
Baroness. She was _obliged_ to listen to me, Miss Ernst.
Clara (trembling). What has your Majesty to say to me?
The King. Indeed, I can't tell it you in a single sentence. Won't you
sit down? (CLARA remains standing.) You must not be afraid of me. I mean
you no harm; I never could mean you any harm.
Clara (in tears). Then what do you call the persecution that I have
endured for more than a year?
The King. If you had condescended to read a single one of my long and
many letters you would have known I call it a passion that is stronger
than--. (CLARA turns to go. The KING continues anxiously.) No, Miss
Ernst, by everything you hold dear, I beg you not to leave me!
Clara. Then you must not insult me!
The King. If that is an insult your terms are very hard.
Clara. Hard? No, but what you have done to me is hard! (Bursts into
tears.)
The King. Don't cry, Miss Ernst! You don't know how you hurt me!
Clara (angrily). Do you know what it means to try and ruin a young
girl's reputation?
The King. I repeat that you are doing me an injustice
Clara. An injustice?--Good God! Do you know who I am?
The King (taking of his hat respectfully). You are the woman I love.
Clara (quietly and with dignity). Your Majesty has solemnly promised not
to insult me.
The King. As sure as there is a heaven above us I will not, and could
not, insult you! But I will obey your wishes.
Clara. When a king says such a thing as--as you did just now, to a poor
little governess, it is more than an insult! It is so cowardly, so base!
And to think that you could have the heart to do it after what you have
done to my father!
The King. Your father?--I?
Clara. Do you really not know who I am?
The King I don't understand--
Clara. Whose daughter I am, I mean?
The King. I only know that your father's name is Ernst. (Suddenly.)
Surely your father is not--?
Clara. Professor Ernst.
The King. The republican?
Clara (slowly). Yes. (A pause.) I may remind your Majesty that he was
sentenced for high treason. And why? Because he warned the young men at
the university against the bad example set by the King! (A pause.)
He was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. In escaping from
his prison he broke both his legs; and now he lives in exile--a
cripple--supported by what money I am able to earn. (A pause.) You have
ruined his life--and now you are trying to ruin mine too!
The King. I beg of you--!
Clara. I am ashamed of my tears. It is not compassion for myself or for
my father that makes them flow; it is the heartless injustice of it all
that overcomes me.
The King. God knows, if only I could atone for the injustice--! But what
can I do?
Clara. You can let me alone, so that I may do my work in peace; that is
what you can do! Neither he nor I ask for more than that--of you!
The King. I must do more than that!
Clara. No! Can you not understand that a girl who is persecuted by the
king's attentions cannot be a governess? All you will achieve will be to
rob me and my father of our bread!--Oh, God!
The King. But my intention is not to--
Clara (interrupting him). And you are not even man enough to be ashamed
of yourself!
The King. Yes, you may say what you please to me!
Clara. I have nothing more to say to you. I have said what I have to
say. (Turns to go.)
The King. No, don't go! You have not even heard me yet. You don't even
know what I want to beg of you!
Clara. My dishonour.
The King (vehemently). You misunderstand me utterly! If you had only
read a single one of my letters you would have known that there is
standing before you a man whom you have humbled. Ah, don't look so
incredulous! It is true, if there is any truth in anything. You don't
believe me? (Despairingly.) How am I to--! A man who has risked your
contempt for more than a year, and has been faithful to you without even
being allowed to see you or exchange a word with you--who has had no
thought for anything or any one else--is not likely to be doing that out
of mere idleness of heart! Do you not believe that, either?
Clara. No.
The King. Well, then, there must surely be some general truths that you,
as Ernst's daughter, cannot refuse to believe! Let me ask you if you can
understand how a man becomes what I was at the time when I repeatedly
insulted you. You must know, from your father's books, in what an
unnatural atmosphere a king is brought up, the soul-destroying sense of
self-importance which all his surroundings foster, until, even in
his dreams, he thinks himself something more than human; the doubtful
channels into which his thoughts are forced, while any virtues that he
has are trumpeted abroad, and his vices glossed over with tactful and
humorous tolerance. Don't you think that a young king, full of eager
life, as I was, may plead something in excuse of himself that no other
man can?
Clara. Yes, I admit that.
The King. Then you must admit that the very position he has to assume as
a constitutional monarch is an acted lie. Think what a king's vocation
is; _can_ a vocation of that sort be hereditary? Can the finest and
noblest vocation in the world be that?
Clara. No!
The King. Then suppose that he realises that himself; suppose that the
young king is conscious, however dimly and partially, of the lie he is
living--and suppose that, to escape from it, he rushes into a life of
pleasure. Is it not conceivable that he may have some good in him, for
all that? And then suppose that one morning, after a night of revelling,
the sun shines into his room; and he seems to see upon the wall, in
letters of fire, some words that were said to him the night before--true
words (CLARA looks up at him in surprise)--the words: "I despise you!"
(CLARA gives a start.) Words like that can burn out falsehood. And he,
to whom they are said, may long to hear again the tones of the voice
that spoke them. No man has ever hated what has given him new life. If
you had read a single one of the letters which I felt impelled to write
even if they were refused acceptance--you would not have called it
persecution. (CLARA does not answer.) And, as for my persecution of your
father--I am not going to make any excuses for myself; I will only
ask you to remember that a king has no control over the law and its
judgments. I feel the sincerest respect for your father.
Clara. Thank you.
The King. And it is just part of the falsehood I was speaking of, that
he should be condemned for saying of me what I have said a thousand
times of myself!
Clara (softly). Dare I believe that?
The King. Ah, if only you had read one of my letters! Or even the little
book of poems I sent you last! I thought that, if you would not receive
my letters, perhaps a book--
Clara. I do not accept anonymous gifts.
The King. I see you are on your guard--although I don't admit that the
poems were mine! May I read it to you?
Clara. I don't understand--.
The King. One that I marked--for you. It will prove to you what you
refuse to believe.
Clara. But if the poem is not yours?
The King. The fact that I have marked it shows that its sentiments apply
to me. Will you let me read it to you? (CLARA looks up.) Do not be too
much surprised, Miss Ernst! (Takes a slim volume from his pocket.) I
found this somewhere. (Turns over the leaves.) It won't take long to
read. May I?
Clara. If only I understood--
The King.--why I want to read it? Simply for the reason that you have
forbidden me to speak to you--or to write to you; but not, as yet, to
read to you! (CLARA smiles. A pause.) Do you know--a little event has
just happened in my life?--and yet not such a little one, after all!
Clara. What is that?
The King. I have seen you smile for the first time.
Clara. Your Majesty!
The King. But, Miss Ernst, is it an insult, too, to see you smile?
Clara (smiling). If I consent to hear the poem, shall not the Baroness--
The King.--hear it also? With pleasure; but not at the same time!
Please! Because I am a very bad reader. You can show it to the Baroness
afterwards, if you like. (CLARA smiles.) May I?
Clara. You are sure there is nothing in it that--
The King. You can interrupt me, if you think fit. It is called "The
Young Prince;" and it is about--no, I won't tell you what it is about
unless you will be so good as to sit down, so that I can sit down
too. If I stand up I shall be sure to begin declaiming, and I do that
shockingly badly!--You can get up again when you like, you know! (CLARA
smiles and sits down. The KING sits down beside her.) Now, then! "The
Young Prince." (To himself.) I can scarcely breathe. (He begins to
read.)
Full fed with early flattery and pride--
(Breaks off.) Excuse me, Miss Ernst! I don't feel--
Clara. Is your Majesty not well?
The King. Quite well! It is only--. Now, then!
Full fed with early flattery and pride,
His sated soul was wearied all too young;
Honour and kingly pomp seemed naught to him
But whimsies from the people's folly sprung.
From such pretence he fled to what was real--
Fair women's arms, laughter and love and pleasure,
All the mad joy of life; whate'er he craved,
He found was given him in double measure.
Whate'er he craved--until one day a maiden
To whom he whispered, like a drunken sot,
"I'd give my life to make thee mine, my sweeting!"
Turned from him silently and answered not.
He sought by every means to win her to him;
But when his love with cold _contempt_ was met,
It was as if a judgment had been spoken
Upon his life, and doom thereon were set.
His boon companions left him; in his castles
None seemed to be awake but he alone,
Racked with remorse, enshrouded in the darkness
Of dull despair, yet longing to atone.
Then through the darkness she appeared! and humbly,
Emboldend by her gentleness of mien,
He sued once more: "If only thou wouldst listen!
If still 'twere not too late--"
(His emotion overcomes him, and he stops suddenly, gets up, and walks
away from CLARA. She gets up, as he comes back to her.) Excuse me! I had
no intention of making a scene. But it made me think of--. (Breaks of
again overcome by emotion, and moves a little way from her. There is a
pause as he collects himself before returning to her.) As you can hear,
Miss Ernst, it is nothing much of a poem--not written by a real poet,
that is to say; a real poet would have exalted his theme, but this is a
commonplace--
Clara. Has your Majesty anything more to say to me? (A pause.)
The King. If I have anything more to say to any one, it is to you.
Clara. I beg your pardon.
The King. No, it is I should beg yours. But I am sure you do not wish me
to lie to you.
Clara (turning her head away). No.
The King. You have no confidence in me. (Control, his emotion.) Will you
ever, I wonder, come to under stand that the only thing I crave for now
is--one person's confidence!
Clara. Any one who speaks as your Majesty has done to-day surely craves
for more than that.
The King. More than that, yes; but, first of all, one person's
confidence.
Clara (turning away). I don't understand--
The King (interrupting her, with emotion). Your life has not been as
empty and artificial as mine.
Clara. But surely you have your task here to fill it with?
The King. I remember reading once about the way a rock was undermined,
and the mine filled with gunpowder with an electric wire leading to
it. Just a slight pressure on a little button and the great rock was
shattered into a thousand pieces. And in the same way everything is
ready here; but the little pressure--to cause the explosion--is what I
am waiting for!
Clara. The metaphor is a little forced.
The King. And yet it came into my mind as unconsciously as you broke
off that twig just now. If I do not get what I lack, nothing can be
accomplished--there can be no explosion! I shall abandon the whole thing
and let myself go under.
Clara. Go under?
The King. Well, not like the hero of a sensational novel--not straight
to the bottom like a stone--but like a dreamer carried off by pixies
in a wood, with one name ever upon my lips! And the world would have to
look after itself.
Clara. But that is sheer recklessness.
The King. I know it is; but I am reckless. I stake everything upon one
throw! (A pause.)
Clara. Heaven send you may win.
The King. At least I am daring enough to hope that I may--and there are
moments when I almost feel certain of victory!
Clara (embarrassed). It is a lovely morning--
The King.--for the time of year; yes. And it is lovelier here than it is
anywhere else!
Clara. I cannot really understand a course of action which implies a
want of all sense of responsibility--
The King. Every one has their own point of view. A scheme of life, to
satisfy me, must have its greatest happiness hidden away at its core; in
my case that would be to have a house of my own--all to myself, like any
other citizen--from which I should go away to my work, and come back
to as to a safe refuge. That is the button on the electric wire, do you
understand? It is the little pressure on it that I am waiting for. (A
pause.)
Clara. Have you read my father's book, _Democratic Monarchy_?
The King. Yes.
Clara. He wrote it when I was a child; and so I may say that I grew up
amongst ideas like--like those I have heard from you to-day. All the
friends that came to our house used to talk to me about it.
The King. Then no doubt you heard the crown prince talked about, too!
Clara. I think I heard his name oftener mentioned at home than any
one's. I believe the book was written expressly for you.
The King. I can feel that when I read it. If only I had been allowed to
read it in those days! Do you remember how in it your father maintains,
too, that all reform depends on the beating down of the hedge that
surrounds royalty?--on a king's becoming, as he says, "wedded to
his people" in the fullest sense of the word, not irregularly or
surreptitiously? No king can share his people's thoughts if he lives
apart from them in a great palace, married to a foreign princess. There
is no national spirit behind a complicated court life of outlandish
ceremonial.
Clara (turning away her head). You should have heard how vehemently my
father used to assert those ideas.
The King. And yet he abandoned them.
Clara. Became a republican, you mean?
The King. Yes.
Clara. He was so disappointed. (A pause.)
The King. I sometimes wonder every one isn't a republican! It must come
to that in the end; I can see that. If only royalties nowadays thought
seriously enough about it to realise it!
Clara. It is made so difficult for them by those who surround them.
The King. Yes, you see, that is another reason why any such reform must
begin at home. Do you think that a king, who went every day to his work
from a home that was in every respect like that of one of his people,
could fail in the long run?
Clara. There are so many different kinds of homes.
The King. I mean a home that holds love instead of subservience--comfort
instead of ceremony-truth instead of flattery; a home where--ah, well, I
need not teach a woman what a home means.
Clara. We make them what they are.
The King. Surely; but they are especially what women make them. (A
pause.)
Clara. The sun is quite strong now.
The King. But it can scarcely pierce through the screen of leaves here.
Clara. When the sun shines down like this and the leaves tremble--
The King. The sunshine seems to tremble too.
Clara. Yes, but it makes one feel as if everything were trembling--even
deep down into our hearts!
The King. That is true.--Yes, its homes are the most precious things a
nation makes. Their national characteristics mean reverence for their
past and possibilities for their future.
Clara. I understand better now what you meant.
The King. When I said I wanted to begin at the beginning?
Clara. Yes. (A pause.)
The King. I cannot do otherwise. My heart must be in my work.
Clara (smiling). My father had his heart in his work, too.
The King. Forgive me--but don't you think it was just the want of
an object in his life that led your father to push his theories too
far?--an object outside himself, I mean?
Clara. Perhaps. If my mother had lived--. (Stops.)
The King.--he might have taken it differently; don't you think so?
Clara. I have sometimes thought so. (A pause.)
The King. How still it is! Not a sound!
Clara. Yes, there is the fountain.
The King. That is true; but one ends by hardly hearing a continuous
sound like that.
Clara. There is a tremulousness in _that_ too. (Looks round her.)
The King. What are you looking for?
Clara. It is time to look for the Baroness.
The King. She is up on that slope. Shall I call her? Or--perhaps you
would like to see a fine view?
Clara. Yes.
The King. Then let us go up to her together! (They go.)
ACT III
SCENE I
(SCENE. An open place in the town. It is evening, and the square is
badly lit. On the right is the club, a large building, standing alone;
lights are shining from all its windows. Steps lead from the door, above
which is a balcony. The square is full of people. In the background,
standing on the lowest step of the pedestal of an equestrian statue,
is a BALLAD SINGER, singing to the accompaniment of his guitar. Cigars,
oranges, and other wares are being sold by hawkers. The singer's voice
is heard before the curtain rises. The crowd gradually joins him in the
refrain which he repeats after each verse of his ballad.)
The Ballad Singer (sings).
The Princeling begged and begged and begged
Her love, on bended knee.
The Maid said craftily, "Nay, nay,
I doubt your high degree!"
Refrain.
She knew the might, the might, the might
Of love's distracting hour;
How royalty, with all its pomp,
Will curtsey to its power.
The Princeling said: "Consent, my dear,
And you shall marry me."
The Maiden answered mockingly,
"Over the left, maybe!"
"Nay, as my Queen, enchanting maid,
And that this very day!"
The Maiden answered him, "Gadzooks!"
And fainted right away.
Recovering, she sighed, "My Lord,
Princesses will be wroth;
On every side they sit and wait
To plight to you their troth."
He answered, "Bosh!"--"But what of those
Who counselled you before?"
"Whom do you mean?"--"Your ministers!"
"I'll show them to the door!"
"But think, my dear--your generals,
Your nobles, court, and priest;
They'll try to drag you from my side
Or shun us as the pest."
"Nay, be not feared! I'll make you more
By dozens at a word,
Who'll bow and grovel if they be
To rank and place preferred."
"But think of the republicans!
My father!--what if he--?"
"The cock that crows the loudest, then,
Prime minister shall be!"
"Suppose the people stoutly swear
They'll none of me?"--"Nay, nay,
An order here, a title there,
And all will homage pay."
"Then I am yours!"--"Hurrah!" He holds
Her tight his arms between;
"Nay, not so fast, my kingly love!
Not till I am your Queen!"
She knew the might, the might, the might
Of love's distracting hour;
How royalty, with all its pomp,
Will curtsey to its power.
An Old Gentleman (to another). What is going on here?
Second Old Gentleman. I don't know. I have only just come.
A Workman. Why, the King is coming past here with her!
First Old Gentleman. Coming past here with her? To hold a court at the
palace?
The Workman. Yes.
Second Old Gentleman (taking a pinch of snuff). And I suppose those
fellows in the club mean to make a demonstration?--hiss them, or
something of that sort?
The Workman. So they say.
First Old Gentleman. Have they decided not to attend the court then?
A Dandy. Unanimously decided.
A Woman. It's filthy!
The Dandy. I beg your pardon?
The Woman. I say that those fellows in there will condescend to seduce
our daughters, right enough; but they won't condescend to marry them.
But, you see, the King does.
The Workman. I am not sure it wouldn't be better if he didn't.
The Woman. Well, I know people who say that she is quite a respectable
person.
The Dandy. I imagine that you have not read the newspapers?
First Old Gentleman. Hm!--one has to be a little careful as to how far
one believes the newspapers.
Second Old Gentleman (offering him his snuff-box). I am delighted to
hear you say that! There is such a lot of slander flying about. That
bawdy ballad just now; for instance.
The Woman. Yes, that's poking fun at _him_--I know that.
The Dandy. You had better take care what you are saying, my good woman!
The Woman. Ah, I only say what I know.
(FLINK appears on the steps of the statue beside the BALLAD SINGER.)
Flink. Stop your stupid songs! I want to speak!
Voice in the Crowd. Who is that?
Flink. You don't know me. I have never made public speeches--and least
of all to street mobs.
Voice in the Crowd. Why are you doing it now, then?
Flink. Because I have been charged with a message to you! (The members
of the club rush to the windows and on to the balcony and steps.
Uproar.)
Voice in the Crowd. Be quiet! Let us hear him!
Flink. Listen to me, good people! You don't know me. But you used to
know a tall chap, with long white hair and a big hat, who often made
speeches to you. I mean Professor Ernst.
Voice in the Crowd. Three cheers for Professor Ernst. (Cheers.)
Flink. He was sent to prison, as you know, for high treason; escaped
from prison, but broke his legs. Now he is living in exile, hopelessly
crippled.
Voice in the Crowd. He got a pardon.
Another. No one knows where he is.
Flink. I know where he is. He has charged me to deliver a message to you
to-day.
Voices from the Club. Bravo!
Voices from the Crowd. Has he! Bravo, Ernst!
Voices from the Club. Be quiet, down there!
Flink. He made me promise that, on the day on which his daughter was to
be presented at the palace as the King's betrothed, I would stand up
in some public place where she would pass by, and say that it was being
done against her father's will and in spite of his urgent entreaties and
commands. (Loud cries of "Bravo!" from the club. A voice in the crowd:
"That is just what we thought!") I am charged to announce publicly that
he despises her for it and sends her his curse! (Fresh cries of "Bravo!"
from the club. Voices in the crowd: "That's shocking!"--"No, he was
quite right;" etc., etc. Uproar.) Quiet, good people!
A Young Man in the Crowd. May I be allowed to ask a question? (Shouts of
"Yes!" and "No!" and laughter are heard.)
Flink. By all means.
The Young Man. Did not Professor Ernst himself advocate a king's doing
just what our King has done?
Voices in the Crowd. Hear, hear!
Flink. Yes, and in return was thrown into prison and is now an incurable
cripple. No one has been more cruelly treated by the King's hirelings.
And now here is his daughter willing to become Queen!
Count Platen (from the club balcony). I don't see why you want to
blame her! No; what I say is, that it is our dissolute King's fault
altogether! (Renewed uproar. Cries of: "Turn him out!" from the club.)
Flink. I had something more to say about those who--. But make those
fellows at the club be quiet first.
A Voice. They are fighting over there! (Laughter. Wild uproar is heard
from the club, amidst which COUNT PLATEN'S voice is heard shouting: "Let
me be! Let me alone!"--and other voices: "Don't let him go out!"--"He is
drunk!" Eventually COUNT PLATEN comes out on to the steps, hatless and
dishevelled.)
Count Platen. I'm going to make a speech to you! I am better than that
crew in there! (Cries of "Bravo!") What I say is, that the King is
coming past here directly with a woman. (Applause, and laughter. Every
one crowds towards him. The police try to pull him down. A free
fight ensues.) Hiss them when they come! (Cries of "Throw him
down!"--"Bravo!"--"Hurrah!") I, Count Platen, tell you to do so! Hiss
him, howl at him, make a regular hullabaloo when he comes! I, Count
Platen, tell you to! (Cries of "Three cheers for Count Platen!" are
mingled with cries of "Three cheers for the King!" There is a general
tumult. COUNT PLATEN is hustled up and down the steps, and tries to
go on making his speech every time he comes up.) He is defiling the
throne!--He wants to marry a traitor's daughter! Shame! I, Count Platen,
say so! Here I stand--! (A trumpet-call is heard; then cries of "Here is
the King!"--"No, it's the cavalry!"--"The cavalry are coming!"--"Clear
the square!" A shot is heard, followed by a scream; the people take to
their heels as another trumpet-call is heard. Curtain.)
SCENE II
(SCENE.--A room in the BARONESS' house. The BARONESS is sitting reading.
A MAID enters and brings her a card.)
Baroness (looking at the card). The Minister of the Interior!--Show him
in! (GRAN comes in.) I am glad to see you back, your Excellency!--You
have found him, then?
Gran. Yes, we have discovered him.
Baroness. And spoken to him?
Gran. Yes.
Baroness. May I send for his daughter?
Gran. For heaven's sake
Baroness. What is the matter?
Gran. He is a dying man.
Baroness. What!
Gran. The King desires me to tell you that he has ordered a special
train to be ready at 10 o'clock, so that as soon as the court is over
she can go to her father. The King will accompany her.
Baroness. That is kind of him!
Gran. Then you will get ready everything that she needs for a night's
journey?
Baroness. Yes.
Gran. And without her being aware of it? The King does not wish her to
know anything of her father's condition till after the court.
Baroness. The court is to be held, then?
Gran. The court is to be held. After it is over, His Majesty will tell
her the news himself.
Baroness. I am thankful for that.--But what did Professor Ernst say? Why
has he not answered his daughter's letter? Why has he hidden from her?
Is he really irreconcilable?
Gran. Irreconcilable? He hates her!
Baroness. Good heavens!
Gran. And not only her, but every one that has made common cause with
the King--every one!
Baroness. I suppose it was to be expected.--But won't you sit down?
Gran (bows, but remains standing). I had a talk with his doctor before I
saw him. He had some hesitation about letting me in. It was a fortnight
since his patient had been able to move. But when I told him my errand,
and that I had come from the King, he let me see him.
Baroness. How did he look? He was a fine man once.
Gran. He was sitting in a big chair, a mere paralysed wreck of a man.
But when he saw me and realised who I was--and probably, too, what my
errand was--he found the strength not only to move, but to seize both
his crutches and raise himself on them! I shall never forget his gaunt
ashen-grey face, the feverish gleam in his sunken eyes, his unkempt hair
and beard--
Baroness. He must have looked terrible!
Gran. He was like a creature from beyond the grave--with an eternity of
hatred in his eyes!
Baroness. Oh, my God!
Gran. When at last I could find my voice, I gave him his daughter's
greeting, and asked if she might come and see him. A dark look came into
his eyes, and his face flushed for a moment, as he gasped out: "May she
be--." He could not finish the sentence. His crutches slipped from his
grasp and he fell down, blood pouring from his mouth. The doctor rushed
to him; and for a long time we thought he was dead.
Baroness. But he came round?
Gran. I waited an hour or two before I started back. Then the doctor
told me that he had recovered consciousness, but that the end could
certainly not be far off--perhaps not twenty-four hours.
Baroness. It must have been a shock to you.
Gran. It was.
Baroness. But what did he mean by: "May she be--"
Gran. That is what I have been wondering.
Baroness. He cannot do her any harm, can he?
Grad. He may give her the same reception that he gave me; if she goes.
Baroness, Even if the King is with her?
Gran. All the more then!
Baroness. Oh, that would be horrible! But it won't prevent her going.
Gran. Let us hope so!
Baroness. I am certain of it! She has extraordinary strength of
character--just like her father's.
Gran. Yes, that is the one thing I rely on.
Baroness. What do you mean? Your words sound so despondent!
Gran. I mean what is perfectly true--that everything will depend upon
her strength of character.
Baroness. What about the King, then?
Gran. I could say a great deal on that topic, Baroness; but (bows) you
must excuse me--I haven't time now.
Baroness. How are the elections going?
Gran. They are going well--if nothing happens now?
Baroness. What could happen?
Gran. The situation is very strained; one must expect anything.
Baroness. Are you anxious, your Excellency?
Gran. I must beg leave to retire now. (A MAID comes in.)
Maid (to GRAN). The Inspector of Police, who came with your Excellency,
wishes to know if he may speak to your Excellency.
Gran. I will come at once. (To the BARONESS.) There is rioting going on
in the town, not far from here--in front of the club.
Baroness (in alarm). What?--Isn't the King coming along that way?
Gran. Don't be afraid! We have taken our precautions--Good-bye! (Goes
out.)
Baroness.--He has quite alarmed me--everything seems to come at the same
time! She has had a suspicion that there was something amiss with her
father; I have noticed that, but she hasn't wanted to speak about it.
(CLARA comes in, dressed for the court.) Ah, there you are, my dear!
Quite ready?
Clara. Quite.
Baroness (looking at her). Well, I daresay there have been royal brides
more elaborately dressed, but I am sure there has never been one more
charming. (Kisses her.)
Clara. I think I hear a carriage?
Baroness. I expect it is the King!
Clara. I am afraid it is too early yet--but all the same I hope it is
he!
Baroness. Do you feel afraid?
Clara. No, no--it is not that at all; it is something--something that
you don't--a kind of feeling as if--as if some one were haunting me; and
I know who it is. I only feel secure when the King is with me. I hope it
may be he coming. (Goes to the window.)
(The MAID comes in.)
Maid. A lady wishes to speak to you, Miss Ernst--
Baroness. A lady?
Clara. Didn't she give her name?
Maid. She is veiled--and very handsomely dressed.
Clara (with decision). No! I can see no one.
Baroness. No one that we do not know. (To the MAID.) You ought to know
that.
Maid (hesitatingly). But I think it is--. (The door opens and the
PRINCESS comes in.)
Baroness. What does this mean? Clara! leave us, my dear.
Princess (drawing aside her veil). Do you know me?
Clara and Baroness. The Princess!
Princess. Are you Clara Ernst?
Clara. Yes.
Princess (haughtily, to the BARONESS). Leave us alone! (The BARONESS
goes out.) Before going to the palace I wanted to come here--even at the
risk of meeting the King.
Clara. He has not come yet. (A long pause.)
Princess. Have you thought well over what you are going to do?
Clara. I think so.
Princess. I don't think you have. Have you read what the papers say
about it--every one of them--to-day?
Clara. No. The King has advised me not to.
Princess. But the letters that have been sent to you? I know letters
have been written to you.
Clara. The King has advised me not to read them either. He takes all the
letters.
Princess. Do you know that they are rioting in the streets close to
here?
Clara (in alarm). No!
Princess. You will be received with hisses, hooting--perhaps with stone
throwing. You didn't expect anything like that, did you?
Clara. No.
Princess. What shall you do?
Clara (after a moment, quietly). I shall go with the King.
Princess. A nice road you are dragging him along, truly! And I assure
you that the farther you go along it, the worse it will become. You
cannot possibly have prepared yourself for all that you will have to go
through.
Clara. I think I have.
Princess (in surprise). What do you mean? How?
Clara (bending her head). I have prayed to God.
Princess. Pshaw! I mean that you cannot have considered the misery into
which you are dragging the King--and the disgrace and trouble you are
bringing upon all his people. (CLARA is silent.) You are young still;
your heart cannot be altogether hardened yet, whatever your past may
have been.
Clara (proudly). I have no reason to be ashamed of my past.
Princess. Indeed? What sort of a past has it been, then?
Clara. One full of suffering, princess--and of work. (A pause.)
Princess. Do you know what the King's past has been?
Clara (drooping her head). Ah, yes.
Princess. Yours will be tarred with the same brush--no matter what it
really has been.
Clara. I know that. He has told me so.
Princess. Really!--After all, is it a sacrifice you are making for his
sake? Do you love the King?
Clara (faintly). Yes.
Princess. Then listen to me. If you loved the King, you would have made
a _real_ sacrifice for him. We are women, you and I; we can understand
these things without many words. But such a sacrifice does not consist
in consenting to be his queen.
Clara. It is not I that wished it.
Princess. You have allowed yourself to be persuaded?--Well, you are
either deceiving yourself, my girl, or you are deceiving him. Perhaps
you began with the one and are ending with the other. Anyway, it is time
you had your eyes opened as to which of you it is that is making the
sacrifice. Do you not know that, on your account, he is already the
target for general contempt? (CLARA bursts into tears.) If that makes
you repent, show it--show it by your deeds!
Clara. I repent of nothing.
Princess (in astonishment). What state of mind are you in, then?
Clara. I have suffered terribly. But I pray God for strength to bear it.
Princess. Don't talk nonsense! The whole thing is a horrible confusion
of ideas--half remorse and half cant--the one so mixed up with the other
in your mind that you cannot disentangle them. But, believe me, others
feel very sure that sacred things and--and what I won't call bluntly by
its name, go very ill together! So don't waste those airs on me; they
only irritate me!
Clara. Princess, don't be cruel to me. I _am_ suffering, all the same.
Princess. Why on earth do you want to go any farther with the affair?
If you aren't clear about it, take advice! Your father is opposed to it,
isn't he?
Clara. Yes. (Throws herself into a chair.)
Princess. He has hidden himself away from you. You don't know where
he is, or how he is--though you know he is crippled and ill. And,
meanwhile, here you are in full dress, with a rose in your hair, waiting
to set out to a court at the palace! Are you willing to pass through
contemptuous rioting crowds, and over your sick father's body, to become
queen? What callous levity! What a presumptuous mixture of what you
think is love, duty, sacrifice, trial--with an unscrupulous ambition--!
The King? Are you depending on him? He is a poet. He loves anything
unusual or sensational. Resistance stimulates him; and that is what
drives him into believing that his love will be unending. When you
have been married a week, it will be all over. If he had not met with
resistance, it would have been all over before this. I know the
King better than you; for I know his faithlessness. It is like his
love--unending! It hurts you to hear that, does it? Well, it hurts one's
eyes to look at the sun. But I can tell you about these things. The only
reason I had for coming was to tell you what I know. And now that I have
seen you, I can tell you that I know one thing more--and I will tell you
what it is. If you actually allow the King, with his ardent temperament,
to stray into a path which will lead to the ruin of his career, your
action will, in the fullness of time, recoil so appallingly upon
your own head that it will kill you. I know you are one of those
that faithlessness, remorse and contempt _would_ kill.--Don't look so
beseechingly at me; I cannot retract a word of what I have said. But I
can tell you now what I had decided upon before I came. _I_ will look
after your future. I am not rich; but, as sure as I stand here before
you, you shall live free from care--you shall have everything that you
need--for the rest of your life. I want no thanks! I do it for the sake
of the King, and for the sake of the country to which I belong. It is my
duty. Only get up now and come with me to my carriage. (Offers CLARA her
hand.)
Clara. If it were as easy as that, I should have done it long, long ago.
Princess (turns away. Then comes back). Get up. (Pulls her on to her
feet.) Do you love the King?
Clara. Do I love him? I am a motherless child, and have lived alone
with a father who has been constantly persecuted on account of his
principles; I shared his ideals from a very early age, and I have never
abandoned them since. Then one day I was given the chance of making
these ideals real. "What _I_ long to do, _you_ shall accomplish!"
he said. There is something great about that, Princess--something
all-powerful--a call from God Himself. Of that I am certain.
Princess. It is merely a rhapsody of the King's--nothing else!
Clara. Then I will make it real and live it! I have given my whole soul
to it, and have strengthened his to the same end. It has been my ideal
all my life.
Princess. And you believe that it will last?
Clara. Yes.
Princess. Then let me beg you to believe this, too--it will last until
he has attained his end.
Clara. If you mean our marriage, let me tell you that _that_ is not our
end.
Princess (in surprise). What is, then?
Clara. Our end is to accomplish something together. That task shall be
consecrated and ennobled by our love. Yes, you may look at me! Those
were his own words.
Princess. That answer!--That thought!--But what certainty have you?
Clara. Of what?
Princess. That you did not put the thought into his mind?--and that the
fire in his soul may not flicker out?
Clara. If I needed any assurance, I should find it in the fact that he
changed his whole life for my sake; he waited for me for more than a
year. Has he ever done that for any one before? I am sure he has never
needed to! (The PRINCESS winces.) It is those who have seduced that
"ardent" temperament of his--you called it that yourself--that are to
blame, and not I, Princess! (A pause.) I checked him to the best of
my power when he came to me as he was wont to go to others. (A pause.)
Indeed it is no sacrifice to become his wife. When one loves, there is
no question of sacrifice. But the position in which I now stand exposes
me to more suspicion than the humblest of his subjects, to more scorn
than if I were his mistress. Think how you have spoken to me to-day
yourself, Princess! (A pause.) It is no sacrifice to endure such things
for the man one loves. It was not I that used the word "sacrifice,"
either; and as for the sacrifice you implied that I ought to have made,
I don't wish to understand what you meant by that, even though I am a
woman as well as you! But if you knew, Princess, how hard a fight I have
been through before I found the strength to cast in my lot with his,
against my father's wish and against you all--you would not have spoken
to me about making a sacrifice. At all events you would not have spoken
to me as you have done to-day; because you are not cruel, and I know
that at bottom you mean me well. (A longer pause.)
Princess. This is more serious than I knew.--Poor child, your
disappointment will be all the more serious.
Clara. Not with him!
Princess (half to herself). Is it possible he can be so changed? Was
that what was needed to secure a hold on him--? (To CLARA.) Is he coming
here to fetch you?
Clara. Yes.
Princess. What does he want to hold this court for? What is the good
of throwing down this challenge to all the dignitaries of his
kingdom?--especially if, after all, he means to live the life of an
ordinary citizen?
Clara. He wished it.
Princess. An exciting episode in his rhapsody! Why did you not dissuade
him?
Clara. Because I agree with him.
Princess. Perhaps you don't fully realise what it means?--what
humiliation the King will have to undergo?
Clara. I only know that it seems to me that these things should be done
openly, and that he has plenty of courage.
Princess. That is mere bravado. Are you going in that dress?--to court
in that dress? (CLARA is silent.) I say it is mere bravado.
Clara. I have no better dress.
Princess. What do you mean? Surely the King can--? Are you jesting?
Clara (shyly). I do not allow the King to give me anything; not until--.
Princess. Doesn't he pay your expenses here, then? (Looks round the
room.)
Clara. No.
Princess. It is the Baroness?
Clara. She and I. We are both poor.
Princess. Ah, yes--she has lost her post now, hasn't she?
Clara. On my account--yes. And you, Princess, who have known her--for
she was once your governess--can you really suppose that she would
have been faithful to me if she did not trust me and feel that this was
right? You treated her so contemptuously when you came in.
Princess. I seem to have broken in upon the most incomprehensible
romance!--Then you love the King? (CLARA nods her head.) He knows how to
love, and make a woman happy! He is a dazzling creature!--We shall see
now whether you are to suffer for all the hearts he has broken. You are
not the first woman he has loved.
Clara. Princess!
Princess. Yes, let that sink into your mind! Your happiness is
embroidered with tears!
Clara. It is cruel of you to reproach me with it.
Princess. Forgive me! I really did not mean that.--But there is still
time to put on a more suitable dress. If you dare accept no gifts from
the King--you might from some one else? A King's bride is a King's bride
after all, you know!
Clara. He told me I should not need anything more than this.
Princess. Not in his eyes, I dare say. But we women know a little
better!--If it were only a necklace? Will you accept this one? (Begins
to unfasten hers.)
Clara. I knew you were kind.--But I daren't.
Princess. Why not?
Clara. Because--because people would think that--. (Bursts into tears. A
pause.)
Princess. Listen, my child. The whole thing is sheer lunacy; but--as it
cannot be altered--as soon as the court assembles I shall take my place
at your side and not leave you till it is all over. Tell the King that!
Good-bye!
Clara (going towards her). Princess!
Princess (kisses her, and whispers). Haven't you allowed him to kiss
you, either?
Clara (in a whisper). Yes, I have.
Princess (kissing her once snore). Love him! (The sound of carriage
wheels is heard. The BARONESS comes in.)
Baroness. I hear the King's carriage.
Princess. I don't wish to meet him. (Stretches out her hand to the
BARONESS.) Baroness! (Points to the door through which the BARONESS has
come in.) Can I get out that way?
Baroness. Yes. (She takes the PRINCESS out. A moment later the MAID
ushers in the KING, who is dressed in plain clothes and wearing no
decorations.)
The King. Clara!
Clara. My friend! (They embrace.)
The King. What does it mean?
Clara. What?
The King. The Princess' carriage here?
Clara. She told me to greet you. She has just gone, and--
The King. And--?
Clara. She said as soon as the court assembled she would take her place
beside me and stay there till we left the palace.
The King. Is it possible?
Clara. It is _true_.
The King. You have conquered her! I know she could be conquered--she
has a heart, as well as a head! It is a good omen!--So she offered to do
_that_! What will our precious nobility have to say to that?
Clara. They are about the streets, aren't they?
The King. Ah, then you know?
Clara. I know, too, that there has been rioting outside the club.
The King. You know that too?--and are not afraid?
Clara. Perhaps I might have been--but there is something else that I am
more afraid of. (Draws closer to the KING.)
The King. What is that?
Clara. You know. (A pause.)
The King. Have you been uneasy about him to-day too?
Clara. All day--incessantly. Something must have happened.
The King. Well, now I can tell you where he is.
Clara (eagerly). At last! Have you found him?
The King. Gran has been to see him.
Clara. Thank God! Is it far from here?
The King. This evening, immediately after the court, you and I will both
start for there in a special train. We shall be there early to-morrow.
Clara (throwing her arms round his neck). Thanks, thanks! How good you
are! Thanks! How is he? Is he ill!
The King. Yes.
Clara. I knew it? And implacable?
The King. Yes.
Clara. I feel it! (Nestles closer in his arms.)
The King. Are you afraid?
Clara. Yes!
The King. Dear, when you see him perhaps your fear will go.
Clara. Yes, only let me see him! Whatever he says, let me see him!
The King. Within twelve hours from now you shall! And I shall be with
you.
Clara. The finest thing about you is your kindness. Oh, I am so glad you
have come! I could not endure my fears any longer.
The King. There are dissensions going on about you!
Clara. Oh!--(Nestles in his arms again.)
The King. Bear up!--It will soon be over.
Clara. I believe it will. Yes, I know it will.--Let me walk about a
little! (The KING walks up and down with her.)
The King. And turn our thoughts to something else! Do you know where I
have come from?
Clara. Where?
The King. From our little house in the park.
Clara. Why, we drove past it yesterday!
The King. You will feel only _one_ person's presence there! Wherever you
go, you will be surrounded by the thoughts I have had of you there. If
you look out of the window, or go out on to the balcony--on every rock,
by each turn of the stream--on the lawns, under the trees, among the
bushes--everywhere you will find a thousand thoughts of you hidden.
Breathe the words "my darling girl," and they will all come clustering
round you!--Let us sit down.
Clara. It is all like a fairy tale.
The King. And I am the latest fairy prince! (He sits down and draws
her on to his knee.) And you are the little maid who comes, led by good
fairies, to the enchanted castle to wake him. He has been kept asleep by
wicked spells for many, many years.
Clara. For many, many years!
The King. I am not really _I_, nor you _you_. The monarch was bewitched
long ago. He was turned into a wild beast who gave reign to his passion
by night and slept by day. And now the maiden of humble degree has
become a woman and freed him from the spells.
Clara. Really! Ah, you are so clever at inventing things to cheat my
fears away from me. And you always succeed. But after all, you know, I
have no strength and no courage; I am so weak.
The King. You have more strength than I!--more than any one I have ever
known.
Clara. No, don't say that; but--you may be sure of this!--if I did not
feel that I had _some_ strength I would never try to throw in my lot
with yours.
The King. I will explain to you what you are! Some people are
tremendously more spiritual, more delicately constituted than others;
and they are a hundred times more sensitive. And they fancy that is
weakness. But it is just they who draw their strength from _deeper_
sources, through a thousand imperceptible channels. You will often find
them with heads erect and valiant when others have gone under; they
merely bend before the storm, with supple strength, when others break
under it. You are like that!
Clara. You are very ingenious when you start explaining me!
The King. Well, listen to this! At the time when I was behaving so badly
to you, your terror, every time I approached you, was so piteous that it
was always before my eyes and rang in my ears like a cry of agony from
a wounded heart. It is true! It filled me with terror, too. Do you
call that weakness, to feel things so intensely that another person is
influenced by your feelings against his will?
Clara. No.
The King. And then, when I found you again--the way you listened to me--
Clara (stopping him with a kiss). Don't let us talk about it now!
The King. What shall we talk about, then? It is a little too early to
start yet.--Ah, I have it! We will talk about the impression you will
make this evening when you come forward through the brightly lit rooms,
radiant against the background of ugly calumny! That was prettily put,
wasn't it? "Is _that_ she?" they will think. And then something will
come into their eyes that will cheat them into thinking that pearls and
gold are strewn over your hair, over your dress, over your--
Clara (putting her hand over his mouth). No, no, no! Now I am going to
tell you a little story!
The King. Tell away!
Clara. When I was a child, I saw a balloon being filled one day, and
there was a horrible smell from the gas. Afterwards, when I saw the
gleaming balloon rising in the air, I thought to myself: "Ah, that
horrid smell was something burning; they had to burn it for the balloon
to be able to rise." And after that, every time I heard anything horrid
said about my father, I felt as if something was burning inside me, and
I thought of the balloon and imagined I could smell the smell. And then
all at once I imagined I saw it rising; the horrid part was burnt, and
it was able to mount aloft! I assure you that balloon was a good genius
to me. And now, years afterwards, when I have been a target for calumny
myself--and you for my sake--I have felt just the same thing. Every word
has burned; but I have got over it in a moment, and risen high, high
above it all! I never seem to breathe so pure an atmosphere as a little
while after something cruel has been said of me.
The King. I shall certainly set to work and abuse you at once, if it
has such delightful results! I will begin with a selection from to-day's
papers: "You Aspasia! You Messalina! You Pompadour! You Phylloxera, that
are eating into our whole moral vine-crop! You blue-eyed curse of the
country, that are causing panics in the money-market, overthrowing
ministries, and upsetting all calculations in the elections! You
mischievous hobgoblin, who are pouring gall into the printers' ink and
poison into the people's coffee, filling all the old ladies' heads with
buzzing flies, and the King's Majesty with a million lover's follies!"
Do you know that, besides all the harm you are doing to-day, you are
hastening a revolution by ten years? You are! And no one can be sure
whether you haven't been pursuing the same wicked courses for the last
hundred years or more! All our royal and noble ancestors are turning in
their graves because of you! And if our deceased queens have any noses
left--
Clara (interrupting him). The Baroness! (They get up. The BARONESS comes
in wearing a cloak over her court dress and carrying CLARA'S cloak over
her arm.)
Baroness. I must take the liberty of disturbing you. Time is up!
The King. We have been killing it by talking nonsense.
Baroness. And that has put you in a good humour?
The King (taking his hat). In the best of humours! Here, my darling
(fastens CLARA'S cloak about her shoulders), here is the last scandalous
bit of concealment for you! When we take it off again, you shall stand
radiant in the light of your own truth. Come! (Gives her his arm, and
they go trippingly up to the back of the room. Suddenly the phantom of
an emaciated figure leaning on crutches appears in their path, staring
at them. His hair and beard are in wild disorder, and blood is pouring
from his mouth. CLARA gives a terrified scream.)
The King. In Heaven's name, what is it?
Clara. My father!
The King. Where? (To the BARONESS.) Go and see! (The BARONESS opens the
doors at the back and looks out).
Baroness. I can see no one.
The King. Look down the corridor!
Baroness. No--no one there, either! (CLARA has sunk lifelessly into the
KING'S arms. After one or two spasmodic twitchings of her hands, her
arms slip away from him and her head falls back.)
The King. Help, help!
The Baroness (rushing to him with a shriek). Clara!
Curtain.
ACT IV
(SCENE.--A room in GRAN's house; the same as in Act I, Scene II. GRAN
is standing at his desk on the right. FLINK comes in carrying a
pistol-case, which he puts down upon the table.)
Gran. You?
Flink. As you see. (Walks up and down for a little without speaking.)
Gran. I haven't seen you since the day the King was here.
Flink. No.--Have you taken your holidays?
Gran. Yes; but, anyway, I am likely to have perpetual holidays now! The
elections are going against us.
Flink (walking about). So I hear. The clerical party and the
reactionaries are winning.
Gran. That would not have been so, but for her unhappy death--. (Breaks
off, and sighs.)
Flink. A judgment from heaven--that is what the parsons say, and the
women, and the reactionaries--
Gran.--and the landlords. And they really believe it.
Flink (stopping). Well, don't you believe it?
Gran (after a pause). At all events I interpret it differently from--
Flink.--from the parson? Naturally. But can any one doubt the fact that
it was the finger of fate?
Gran. Then fate assumed her father's shape?
Flink. Whether her father appeared to her at the moment of his death or
not (shrugs his shoulders) is a matter in which I am not interested.
I don't believe in such things. But that she was suffering pangs of
conscience, I do believe. I believe it may have brought painful visions
before her eyes.
Gran. I knew her pretty well, and I will answer for it she had no guilty
conscience. She was approaching her task with enthusiasm. Any one
that knew her will tell you the same. With her the King was first and
foremost.
Flink. What did she die of, then? Of enthusiasm?
Gran. Of being overwrought by the force of her emotions. Her task was
too great for her. The time was not ripe for it. (Sadly.) Our experiment
was bound to fail.
Flink. You condemn it when you say that!--But with her last breath she
called out: "My father!" And, just at that moment, he died, fifty miles
away from her. Either she _saw_ him, or she _imagined_ she saw him,
standing before her. But his bloodstained, maltreated, crippled form
standing in the way of her criminal advance towards the throne--is that
not a symbol of maltreated humanity revolting against monarchy at the
very moment when monarchy wishes to atone! Its guilt through thousands
of years is too black. Fate is inflexible.
Gran. But with what result? Are we rid of monarchy yet?
Flink. We are rid of that treacherous attempt to reconcile it with
modern conditions. Thank God it emerges, hand in glove with the parsons
and reactionaries, none the worse for its temporary eclipse.
Gran. So everything is all right, I suppose?
Flink. For the moment--yes. But there used to exist here a strong
republican party, which enjoyed universal respect, and was making
extraordinary progress. Where is it now?
Gran. I knew that was why you came.
Flink. I have come to call you to account.
Gran. If I had been in your place I would not have acted so, towards a
defeated and wounded friend.
Flink. The republican party has often been defeated--but never despised
till now. Who is to blame for that?
Gran. None of us ever think we deserve contempt.
Flink. A traitor always deserves it.
Gran. It is but a step from the present state of things to a republic;
and we shall have to take that step in the end.
Flink. But at least we can do so without treachery.
Gran. I honestly believe that what we did was right. It may have
miscarried the first time, and may miscarry a second and a third; but it
is the only possible solution.
Flink. You pronounced your doom in those words.
Gran (more attentively). What do you mean by that?
Flink. We must make sure that such an attempt will not be made again.
Gran. So that is it.--I begin to understand you now.
Flink. The republican party is broken up. For a generation it will be
annihilated by contempt. But a community without a republican party must
be one without ideals and without any aspirations towards truth in its
political life--and in other respects as well! That is what you are
responsible for.
Gran. You pay me too great a compliment.
Flink. By no means! Your reputation, your personal qualities and
associations are what have seduced them.
Gran. Listen to me for a moment! You used to overrate me in the hopes
you had of me. You are overrating me now in your censure. You are
overrating the effects of our failure--you never seem to be able to do
anything but overshoot your mark. For that reason you are a danger to
your friends. You lure them on. When things go well you lure them on to
excess of activity; when things go ill, you turn their despondency into
despair. Your inordinate enthusiasm obscures your wits. _You_ are not
called upon to sit in judgment upon any one; because you draw the pure
truths that lie hidden in your soul into such a frenzied vortex of
strife that you lose sight of them; and then they have so little of
truth left in them that in your hands they can be answerable for crimes.
Flink. Oh, spare me your dialectics!--because any skill you have in
them, _I_ taught you! You cannot excuse your own sins by running over
the list of mine; that is the only answer I have to make to you! I don't
stand before you as the embodiment of truth; I am no braggart. No; but
simply as one who has loved you deeply and now is as deeply offended by
you, I ask this question of your conscience: What have you done with the
love we had for one another? Where is the sacred cause we both used to
uphold? Where is our honour--our friends--our future?
Gran. I feel respect for your sorrow. Can you not feel any for mine? Or
do you suppose that I am not suffering?
Flink. You cannot act as you have done without bringing unhappiness upon
yourself. But there are others to be considered besides you, and we have
the right to call you to account. Answer me!
Gran. And is it really you--you, my old friend--that propose to do that?
Flink. God knows I would sooner some one else did it! But none can do it
so fitly as I--because no one else has loved you as I have. I expected
too much of you, you say? The only thing I wanted of you was that you
should be faithful! I had so often been disappointed; but in you and
your quiet strength I thought I had splendid security that, as long as
you lived, our cause would bear itself proudly and confidently. It was
your prestige that brought it into being; your wealth that supported it.
It did not cry aloud for the blood of martyrs!--You were the happiness
of my life; my soul renewed its strength from yours.
Gran. Old friend--!
Flink. I was old, and you were young! Your nature was a harmonious
whole--it was what I needed to lean upon.
Gran. Flink, my dear old friend--!
Flink. And now, here you stand--a broken man, and our whole cause broken
with you; all our lives broken--at least mine is--
Gran. Don't say that!
Flink. You have destroyed my faith in mankind--and in myself, for I see
what a mistake I made; but it will be the last I shall make! I took you
to my heart of hearts--and now, the only thing I can do is to call you
to account!
Gran. What do you want me to do? Tell me!
Flink. We must stand face to face--armed! You must die! (A pause.)
Gran (without seeming greatly surprised). Of the two of us, it will go
hardest with you, old friend.
Flink. You think your aim will be the surer of the two? (Goes towards
the table.)
Gran. I was not thinking of that--but of what your life would be
afterwards. I know you.
Flink (opening the pistol-case). You need not be anxious! My life
afterwards will not be a long one. What you have done has robbed me of
anything to live for in this generation, and I don't aspire to live till
the next. So it is all over and done with! (Takes up the pistols.)
Gran. Do you mean _here_--?
Flink. Why not? We are alone here.
Gran. The King is asleep in the next room. (Points to the door near his
desk.)
Flink. The King here?
Gran. He came here to-night.
Flink. Well, it will wake him up; he will have to wake up some time, any
way.
Gran. It would be horrible! No!
Flink. Indeed? It is for his sake you have betrayed me. You did that as
soon as ever you met him again. He has bewitched you. Let him hear and
see what he has done! (Holds out the pistols.) Here!
Gran. Wait. What you have just said brings a doubt into my mind. Is not
revenge, after all, the motive for what you are doing?
Flink. Revenge?
Gran. Yes. Don't misunderstand me; I am not trying to shuffle out of
it. If I were free to choose, I would choose death rather than anything
else. The King knows that, too. But I ask because there ought to be some
serious reason for anything that may happen. I am not going to stand up
and face a sentiment of revenge that is so ill-grounded.
Flink (laying the pistols down). I hate the man who has led you
astray--that is true. When I was giving you the reasons why I took upon
myself the task of calling you to account, perhaps I forgot that. I hate
him. But the instrument that carries out a sentence is one thing; the
sentence itself is quite another. You arc sentenced to death because you
have betrayed our cause--and because you say that you were right to do
so. The world shall learn what that costs. It costs a man's life.
Gran. So be it!
Flink. The pistols are loaded. I loaded them myself. I imagine that you
still have trust in my honour?
Gran (with a smile). Indeed I have.
Flink. One of them has a blank cartridge in it; the other is fully
loaded. Choose!
Gran. But what do you mean? Suppose I were to--?
Flink. Don't be afraid! Heaven will decide! _You_ will not choose the
fully loaded one!--We shall stand face to face.
Gran. You are settling everything--the sentence, the challenge, the
choice of weapons, the regulations for the duel--!
Flink. Are you dissatisfied with that?
Gran. By no means! You are quite welcome! We are to have no seconds? So
be it. But the place?
Flink. The place? Here!
Gran. Horrible!
Flink. Why? (Holds out the two pistols to him. The door to the left is
opened softly. ANNA looks in, sees what is going on, and rushes with
a pitiful attempt at a scream to GRAN, putting her arms round him
protectingly, and caressing him with every sign of the utmost terror.)
Gran (bending down and kissing her). She is right! Why should I die for
the sake of dull theories, when I can hold life in my arms as I do now?
A man who is loved has something left, after all. I won't die!
Flink. If you were not loved, my friend, you might be allowed to live. A
cry of sorrow will be heard throughout the land, from the King's palace
to the meanest hovel, when you have been shot. And that is just why
I must do it! The louder the cry of sorrow, the greater will be the
silence afterwards. And in that silence is to be found the answer to the
question "Why?" The people will not allow themselves to be cheated any
longer.
Gran. Horrible! I won't do it! (Lifts ANNA in his arms as if she were a
child.)
Flink (going up to him). It is no mere theory that you are facing. Look
at me!
Gran. Old friend--_must_ it be?
Flink. It _must_. I have nothing else left to do.
Gran. But not here.
Flink. Since it cannot be here, then come out into the park. (Puts the
pistols into their case.) You owe me that.
Gran (to ANNA). You must go, my dear!
Flink (putting the pistol-case under his arm). No, let her stay here.
But you come! (They all three move towards the door. ANNA will not let
GRAN go, and there is a struggle until he, half commanding and half
entreating, persuades her to stay behind. The two men go out, shutting
the door after them. She throws herself against the door, but it has
been locked on the outside. She sinks down to the floor in despair,
then gets up, as if struck by a sudden idea, rushes into the room on the
right, and almost immediately re-appears, dragging the KING after her.
He is only half-dressed and has no shoes on.)
The King. What is it? (A shot is heard.) What is it? (ANNA pulls him to
the door. He tries to open it, but in vain. She rushes to the window,
with the KING after her. Meanwhile the door is opened from outside, and
FALBE comes in, evidently overcome with emotion.) What is it, Falbe?
(ANNA runs out.)
Falbe. His Excellency the Minister of the Interior--
The King. Well, what of him?
Falbe.--has been assassinated!
The King. The Minister of the Interior?--Gran?
Falbe. Yes.
The King. Gran?--What did you say?
Falbe. He has been assassinated!
The King. Gran? Impossible!--Where? Why? I heard his voice only just
now, here!
Falbe. That fellow shot him--the grey-haired fellow--the republican
The King. Flink? Yes, I heard his voice here too!
Falbe. It was in the park! I saw it myself!
The King. Saw it yourself? Wretch! (Rushes out.)
Falbe. How could I prevent a madman--? (Follows the KING. The door
stands open, and through it a man is seen running past, calling out:
"Where?" Others follow him, and amidst the sound of hurrying feet,
cries are heard of "Good God!"--"In the park, did you say?"--"A doctor!
Fetch a doctor!"--"Who did it?"--"That fellow running towards
the river!"--"After him! After him!"--"Fetch a barrow from the
works!"--After a while the KING returns alone, looking distracted. He
stands motionless and silent for some time.)
The King. What a happy smile there was on his face! Just as she
smiled!--Yes, it must be happiness! (Hides his face in his hands.) And
he died for me too! My two only--. (Breaks down.) So that is the price
they have to pay for loving me!--And at once! At once!--Of course! Of
course! (The sound of the crowd returning is heard, and cries of: "This
way!"--"Into the blue room!" Women and children come streaming in, all
in tears, surrounding ANNA and the men that are carrying GRAN'S body,
and follow them into the room on the left. Cries are heard of: "Why
should he die?"--"He was so good!"--"What had he done to deserve
it!"--"He was the best man in the world!")
The King. "He was the best man in the world!" Yes. And he died for my
sake! That means something good of me!--the best possible! Are they two
together now, I wonder? Oh, let me have a sign!--or is that too much to
ask? (The crowd come out again, sobbing and weeping, and cries are heard
of: "He looks so beautiful and peaceful!"--"I can't bring myself to
believe it!" When they see the KING, they hush their voices, and all go
out as quietly as they can. When they have gone out, the MAYOR's voice
is heard asking: "Is he in here?" and an answer: "No, in the blue room,
over there." Then the GENERAL'S voice: "And the murderer escaped?"--An
answer: "They are looking for him in the river!"--The GENERAL'S voice:
"In the river? Did he jump into the river?"--The PRIEST's voice:
"Shocking!" A few moments later the GENERAL with BANG, the MAYOR, and
the PRIEST come in from the other room. They stop on seeing the KING,
who is standing at the desk with his back to them, and whisper.)
The General. Isn't that the King?
The Others. The King?
The Mayor. Is the King back? He must have come in the night!
Bang. Let me see!--I know him personally.
The General (holding him back). Of course it is the King.
The Mayor. Really?
Bang. I recognise him by his agitation! It is he.
The General. Hush! Let us go quietly out again! (They begin to move
off.)
The Mayor. He is grieved. Naturally.
Bang. First of all her death; and then this--!
The Priest. It is the judgment of heaven!
The King (turning round). Who is that? What? (Comes forward.) Who said
that? (They all stop, take off their hats and bow.) Come back! (They
come back hastily.) Who said: "It is the judgment of heaven"?
The General. Your Majesty must forgive us--we were just taking a little
stroll; I am here to spend Christmas with my friend Mr. Bang, who has a
factory here--a branch of his works--and we happened to meet the Mayor
and the Priest, and we joined company--and were strolling along when we
heard a shot. A shot. We did not think anything more about it till we
came nearer here and saw people running, and heard a great outcry and
disturbance. Great disturbance--yes. We stopped, of course, and came to
see what it was. Came to see what it was, of course. And they told us
that the Minister of the Interior--
The King. What is all that to me! (The GENERAL bows.) Who said: "It is
the judgment of heaven"? (No one speaks.) Come, answer me!
The Mayor. It was the Priest--I fancy.
The King (to the PRIEST). Haven't you the courage to tell me so
yourself?
The General. Probably our reverend friend is unaccustomed to find
himself in the presence of royalty.
The Priest. It is the first time that--that I have had the honour of
speaking to your Majesty--I did not feel self-possessed enough, for the
moment, to--
The King. But you were self-possessed enough when you said it! What did
you mean by saying it was "the judgment of heaven"?--I am asking you
what you meant by it.
The Priest. I really don't quite know--it slipped out--
The King. That is a lie! Some one said: "First of all her death, and
then this." And you said: "It is the judgment of heaven."
The Mayor. That is quite right, your Majesty.
The King. First of all _her_ death? That meant the death of my
betrothed, didn't it?
Bang and The Priest. Yes, your Majesty.
The King. "And then _this_" meant my friend--my dear friend! (With
emotion.) Why did heaven condemn these two to death? (A pause.)
The General. It is most regrettable that we should, quite involuntarily,
have disturbed your Majesty at a moment when your Majesty's feelings
are, naturally, so overcome--
The King (interrupting him). I asked you why heaven condemned these two
to death. (To the VICAR.) You are a clergyman; cudgel your brains!
The Priest. Well, your Majesty, I was thinking that--I meant that--that
heaven had in a miraculous way checked your Majesty--
The General. "Ventured to check" would be more suitable, I think.
The Priest.--from continuing in a course which many people thought so
unfortunate--I mean, so fatal to the nation, and the church; had checked
your Majesty--
The General (in an undertone). Ventured to check.
The Priest.--by taking away from your Majesty the two persons who--the
two persons who--in the first place the one who--
The King. The one who--?
The Priest. Who was--
The King. Who was--? A harlot that wanted to sit on the throne?
The Priest. Those are your Majesty's word, not mine. (Wipes his
forehead.)
The King. Confess that they express what you meant!
The Priest. I confess that I have heard--that people say--that--
The King. Pray to heaven that for a single day your thoughts may be as
pure as hers were every day. (Bursts into tears. Then says impetuously.)
How long have you been a clergyman?
The Priest. Fifteen years, your Majesty.
The King. Then you were already ordained at the time when I was leading
a dissolute life. Why did you never say anything to me then?
The Priest. My most gracious King--
The King. God is the only "most gracious King"! Do not speak blasphemy!
The Priest. It was not my duty to--
The General. Our friend is not a court chaplain. He has merely a parish
in the town here--
The Mayor. And his work lies chiefly among the factory hands.
The King. And so it is not your duty to speak the truth to me--but
to attack my dear dead friends by prating about heaven's judgment and
repeating vile lies? Is that your duty?
The Mayor. I only had the honour to know one of the--the deceased. Your
Majesty honoured him with your friendship; the greatest honour a subject
can enjoy. I should like to say that one would rarely find a nobler
heart, a loftier mind, or more modest fidelity, than his.
The General. I should like, if I may make so bold, to make use of
the opportunity chance has afforded me of associating myself with my
sovereign's sorrow, a sorrow for which his whole people must feel the
deepest respect, but especially those who, in consequence of their high
position, are more particularly called upon to be the pillars of the
monarchy; to use this opportunity, I say--and to do so, I know, as the
representative of many thousands of your Majesty's subjects--to voice
the sympathy, the unfeigned grief, that will be poured forth at the news
of this new loss which has wrung your Majesty's heart--a loss which
will reawaken consternation in the country and make it more than ever
necessary to take the severest possible measures against a party to
which nothing is sacred, neither the King's person nor the highest
dignities of office nor the inviolability of the home--a party whose
very existence depends on sedition and ought no longer to be tolerated,
but ought, as the enemy of the throne and of society, to be visited with
all the terrors of the law, until--
The King. What about compassion, my friend?
The General. Compassion?
The King. Not for the republicans--but for me!
The General. It is just the compassion which the whole nation will feel
for your Majesty that compels me, in spite of everything, to invoke the
intervention of justice at this particular crisis! Terror--
The King.--must be our weapon?
The General. Yes! Can any one imagine a more priceless proof of the care
that a people have for their King, than for the gravely anxious tones
of their voice to be heard, at this solemn moment, crying: Down with the
enemies of the throne!
The King (turning away). No, _I_ haven't thews and sinews for that lie!
The Mayor. I must say I altogether agree with the General. The feeling
of affection, gratitude, esteem--
The General.--the legacy of devotion that your Majesty's ancestors of
blessed memory--
The King (to the Priest). You, sir--what does my ancestors being "of
blessed memory" mean?
The Priest (after a moment's thought). It is a respectful manner of
alluding to them, your Majesty.
The King. A respectful lie, you mean. (A pause. ANNA comes out of the
room on the left and throws herself at the KING'S feet, embracing his
knees in despairing sorrow.) Ah, here comes a breath of truth!--And you
come to me, my child, because you know that we two can mourn together.
But I do not weep, as you do; because I know that for a long time he had
been secretly praying for death. He has got his wish now. So you must
not weep so bitterly. You must wish what he wished, you know. Ah, what
grief there is in her eyes! (Sobs.)
(The GENERAL signs to the others that they should all withdraw quietly,
without turning round. They gradually do so; but the KING looks up and
perceives what they are doing.)
The General. Out of respect for your Majesty's grief, we were going to--
The King. Silence! With my hand on the head of this poor creature, who
used to trust so unassumingly and devotedly to his goodness of heart,
I wish to say something in memory of my friend. (ANNA clings to him,
weeping. The others come respectfully nearer, and wait.) Gran was
the richest man in the country. Why was it that he had no fear of
the people? Why was it that he believed that its salvation lay in the
overthrow of the present state of affairs?
Bang. Mr. Gran, with all his great qualities, was a visionary.
The King. He had not inherited all of his vast fortune; he had amassed a
great part of it himself.
Bang. As a man of business, Mr. Gran was beyond all praise.
The King. And yet a visionary? The two things are absolutely
contradictory.--You once called me "the padlock on your cash-box."
Bang. I allowed myself, with all respect, to make that jest--which,
nevertheless, was nothing but the serious truth!
The King. Why did he, who has met his death, consider that the security
for _his_ cash-box came from those _below_ him, as long as he did what
was right, and not from those above him? Because he understood the
times. No question of selfishness stood in the way of his doing
that.--That is my funeral oration over him!--(To ANNA.) Get up, my dear!
Did you understand what I was saying? Do not weep so! (She clings to
him, sobbing.)
The Priest. He was a very great man! When your Majesty speaks so, I
fully recognise it. But your Majesty may be certain that, though we may
not have been so fortunate as to see so far ahead and so clearly--though
our mental horizon may be narrow--we are none the less loyal to your
Majesty for that, nor less devoted! It is our duty as subjects to say
so, although your Majesty in your heaviness of heart seems to forget
it-seems to forget that we, too, look for everything from your Majesty's
favour, wisdom and justice. (Perspires freely.)
The King. It is very strange! My dear friend never said anything like
that to me. (A pause.) He had the most prosperous business in the
country. When I came to him and asked him to abandon it, he did so at
once. And in the end he died for me. That is the sort of man he was. (To
ANNA.) Go in to him, my dear! You are the very picture of dumb loyalty.
Although I do not deserve to have such as you to watch by my side,
still, for the sake of him who is dead, I shall have you to do so when
I too--. (Breaks off.) Yes, yes, go in there now! I shall come. Do you
understand? I shall come. (ANNA moves towards the other room.) There,
that's it! (He repeats his words to her every time she looks back as she
goes.) Yes, directly!--That's it!--In a very little while! Go now!
Bang. Excuse me, your Majesty, but it is terribly hot in here, and the
affection of my heart which troubles me is attacking me painfully. Will
your Majesty be pleased to allow me to withdraw?
The Mayor. With all respect, I should like to be allowed to make the
same request. Your Majesty is obviously very much upset, and I am sure
we are all unwilling that our presence--which, indeed, was unintentional
and unsought by us--should augment a distress of mind which is so
natural in one of your Majesty's noble disposition, and so inevitable
considering the deep sense of gratitude your Majesty must feel towards a
friend who--
The King (interrupting him). Hush, hush! Let us have a little respect
for the truth in the presence of the dead! Do not misunderstand me--I do
not mean to say that any of you would lie wilfully; but the atmosphere
that surrounds a king is infected. And, as regards that--just a word or
two. I have only a short time. But as a farewell message from me--
The Priest. A farewell message?
The King.--give my greeting to what is called Christianity in this
country. Greet it from me! I have been thinking a great deal about
Christian folk lately.
The Priest. I am glad to hear it!
The King. Your tone jars on me! Greet those who call themselves
Christians--. Oh! come, come--don't crane your necks and bend your backs
like that, as if the most precious words of wisdom were about to drop
from my lips! (To himself.) Is it any use my saying anything serious to
them? (Aloud.) I suppose you are Christians?
The General. Why, of course! Faith is invaluable--
The King.--in preserving discipline? (To the Mayor.) How about you?
The Mayor. I was taught by my parents, of blessed memory--
The King. Oh, so they are "of blessed memory" too, are they? Well, what
did they teach you?
The Mayor. To fear God, honour the King--
The King.--and love the brotherhood! You are a public official, Mr.
Mayor. That is what a Christian is, nowadays. (To BANG.) And you?
Bang. Of late I have been able to go so little to church, because of my
cough. And in that unwholesome atmosphere--
The King.--you go to sleep. But you are a Christian?
Bang. Undoubtedly!
The King (to the Priest). And you are one, of course?
The Priest. By the grace of God I hope so!
The King (snapping his fingers). Yes, that is the regulation formula,
my good fellow! You all answer by the card! Very well, then--you are
a community of Christians; and it is not my fault if such a
community refuses to take any serious interest in what really affects
Christianity. Tell it from me that it ought to keep an eye on the
monarchy.
The Priest. Christianity has nothing to do with such things. It concerns
only the souls of men!
The King (aside). That voice. (Aloud.) I know--it does not concern
itself with the air a patient breathes, but only with his lungs!
Excellent!--All the same, Christianity ought to keep an eye on the
monarchy. Ought to tear the falsehood away from it! Ought not to go in
crowds to stare at a coronation in a church, like apes grinning at a
peacock! I know what I felt at that moment. I had rehearsed it all once
that morning already--ha, ha! Ask your Christianity if it may not be
about time for it to interest itself a little in the monarchy? It
seems to me that it scarcely ought any longer to allow monarchy, like
a seductive harlot, to keep militarism before the people's eyes as
an ideal--seeing that that is exactly contrary to the teachings of
Christianity, or to encourage class divisions, luxury, hypocrisy and
vanity. Monarchy has become so all-pervading a lie that it infects even
the most upright of men.
The Mayor. But I don't understand, your Majesty!
The King. Don't you? You are an upright man yourself, Mr. Mayor--a most
worthy man.
The Mayor. I do not know whether your Majesty is pleased to jest again?
The King. In sober earnest, I say you are one of the most upright of
men.
The Mayor. I cannot tell your Majesty how flattered I am to hear your
Majesty say so!
The King. Have you any decorations?
The Mayor. Your Majesty's government has not, so far, deigned to cast
their eyes on me.
The King. That fault will be repaired. Be sure of that!
The General (to the Mayor). To have that from his Majesty's own mouth
is equivalent to seeing it gazetted. I am fortunate to be able to be the
first to congratulate you!
Bang. Allow me to congratulate you also!
The Priest. And me too! I have had the honour of working hand in hand
with you, Mr. Mayor, for many years; I know how well deserved such a
distinction is.
The Mayor. I feel quite overcome; but I must beg to be allowed to lay my
thanks at your Majesty's feet. I trust I shall not prove unworthy of the
distinction. One hesitates to make such confessions--but I am a candid
man, and I admit that one of the chief aims of my ambition has been to
be allowed some day to participate in--
The King (interrupting him).--in this falsehood. That just points
my moral. As long as even upright men's thoughts run in that mould,
Christianity cannot pretend to have any real hold on the nation. As for
your decoration, you are quite sure to get one from my successor.--In
a word, Christianity must tackle monarchy! And if it cannot tear the
falsehood from it without destroying it, then let it destroy it!
The General. Your Majesty!
The King (turning to him). The same thing applies to a standing army,
which is a creation of monarchy's. I do not believe that such an
institution--with all its temptations to power, all its inevitable vices
and habits--could be tolerated if Christianity were a living thing. Away
with it!
The Priest. Really, your Majesty--!
The King (turning to him). The same applies to an established
church--another of monarchy's creations! If we had in our country a
Christianity worth the name, that salvation trade would stink in men's
nostrils. Away with it!
The Mayor (reproachfully). Oh, your Majesty!
The King (turning on him). The same applies to the artificial disparity
of circumstances that you prate about with tears in your eyes! I heard
you once. Class distinctions are fostered by monarchy.
Bang. But equality is an impossibility!
The King. If _you_ would only make it possible--which it can be
made--even the socialists would cease to clamour for anything else. I
tell you this: Christianity has destroyed ideals. Christianity lives on
dogmas and formulas, instead of on ideals.
The Priest. Its ideals lead us away from earth to heaven--
The King. Not in a balloon, even if it were stuffed full of all the
pages of the Bible! Christianity's ideals will lead to heaven only when
they are realised on earth--never before.
The Priest. May I venture to say that Christianity's ideal is a pious
life.
The King. Yes. But does not Christianity aim at more than that, or is it
going to be content with making some few believers?
The Priest. It is written: "Few are chosen."
The King. Then it has given up the job in advance?
The Mayor. I think our friend is right, that Christianity has never
occupied itself with such things as your Majesty demands of it.
The King. But what I mean is, could it not bring itself to do so?
The Priest. If it did, it would lose sight of its _inner_ aim. The
earliest communities are the model for a Christian people!
The King (turning away from him). Oh, have any model you like, so long
as it leads to something!
The General. I must say I am astonished at the penetration your Majesty
slows even into the deepest subjects.
Bang. Yes, I have never heard anything like it! I have not had the
advantage of a university education, so I don't really understand it.
The King. And to think that I imagined that I should find my allies,
my followers, in Christian people! One is so reluctant to give up _all_
hope! I thought that a Christian nation would storm the strongholds of
lies in our modern, so-called Christian communities--storm them, capture
them!--and begin with monarchy, because that would need most courage,
and because its falsehood lies deepest and goes farthest. I thought that
Christianity would one day prove to be the salt of the earth. No, do
_not_ greet Christianity from me. I have said nothing, and do not mean
it. I am what men call a betrayed man--betrayed by all the most ideal
powers of life. There! Now I have done!
The General. But what does your Majesty mean? Betrayed? By whom? Who are
the traitors? Really--!
The King. Pooh! Think it over!--As a matter of fact I am the only one
that has been foolish.
Bang. Your Majesty, just now you were so full of vigour--!
The King. Don't let that astonish you, my friend! I am a mixture of
enthusiasm and world-weariness; the scion of a decrepit race is
not likely to be any better than that, you know! And as for being a
reformer--! Ha, ha! Well, I thank you all for having listened to me so
patiently. Whatever I said had no significance--except perhaps that,
like the oysters, I had to open my shell before I died.--Good-bye!
The General. I really cannot find it in my heart to leave your Majesty
when your Majesty is in so despondent a humour.
The King. I am afraid you will have to try, my gallant friend!--Don't
look so dejected, Mr. Mayor!--Suppose some day serious-minded men
should feel just as humiliated at such falsehoods existing as you do
now because you have not been allowed to participate in them. I might
perhaps be able to endure being king then! But as things are now, I am
not strong enough for the job. I feel as if I had been shouldered out
of actual life on to this strip of carpet that I am standing on! That is
what my attempts at reform have ended in!
The Mayor. May I be allowed to say that the impression made on my mind
by the somewhat painful scene we have just gone through is that your
Majesty is overwrought.
The King. Mad, you mean?
The Mayor. God forbid I should use such a word of my King!
The King. Always punctilious!--Well, judging by the fact that every one
else considers themselves sane, I must undoubtedly be the mad one. It
is as simple as a sum in arithmetic.--And, in all conscience, isn't
it madness, when all is said and done, to take such trifles so much to
heart?--to bother about a few miserable superannuated forms that are not
of the slightest importance?--a few venerable, harmless prejudices?--a
few foolish social customs and other trumpery affairs of that sort?
The General. Quite so!
The Mayor. Your Majesty is absolutely right!
Bang. I quite agree!
The Priest. It is exactly what I have been thinking all the time.
The King. And probably we had better add to the list certain
extravagant ideas--perhaps even certain dangerous ideas, like mine about
Christianity?
The Priest (hastily and impressively). Your Majesty is mistaken on the
subject of Christianity.
The Mayor. Christianity is entirely a personal matter, your Majesty.
The General. Your Majesty expects too much of it. Now, as a comfort for
the dying--!
The King. And a powerful instrument of discipline.
The General (smiling). Ah, your Majesty!
Bang (confidentially). Christianity is no longer such a serious matter
nowadays, except for certain persons--. (Glances at the PRIEST.)
The King. All I have to say on the head of such unanimous approval
is this: that in such a shallow society, where there is no particular
distinction between lies and truth, because most things are mere
forms without any deeper meaning--where ideals are considered to be
extravagant, dangerous things--it is not so _very_ amusing to be alive.
The General. Oh, your Majesty! Really, you--! Ha, ha, ha!
The King. Don't you agree with me?--Ah, if only one could grapple with
it!--but we should need to be many to do that, and better equipped than
I am.
The General. Better equipped than your Majesty? Your Majesty is the most
gifted man in the whole country!
All. Yes!
The General. Yes--your Majesty must excuse me--I spoke involuntarily!
The Mayor. There was a tone running through all your Majesty said that
seemed to suggest that your Majesty was contemplating--. (Breaks off.)
The King.--going away? Yes.
All. Going away?
The General. And abdicating? For heaven's sake, your Majesty--!
Bang. That would mean handing us over to the crown prince--the pietist!
The Priest (betraying his pleasure in spite of himself). And his mother!
The King. You are pleased at the idea, parson! It will be a sight to
see her and her son prancing along, with all of you in your best clothes
following them! Hurrah!
The General. Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho!
Bang. Ha-ha-ha! (Coughs.) I get such a cough when I laugh.
The King (seriously). I had no intention of provoking laughter in the
presence of death. I can hear the sounds of mourning through the open
door.
The Mayor. With all due respect to the church--the vast majority of the
nation have no desire for things to come to _that_--to the accession of
a pietist to the throne. If your Majesty threatens to abdicate you will
have us all at your feet.
The General (with decision). The accession of a new king just now would
be universally considered a national calamity. I will wager my life on
that!
Bang. And I too!
The King. My excellent friends--you must take the consequences of your
actions!
The Mayor (despairingly). But _this_! Who ever imagined such a thing?
The General and Bang. No one--no one!
The King. So much the worse. What is it you are asking me to do? To
stay where I am, so as to keep another man down? Is that work for a man?
Shame!
The Mayor (in distress). We ask more than that! Your Majesty is making a
fatal mistake! The whole of your Majesty's dissatisfaction springs from
the fact that you believe yourself to be deserted by your people because
the elections are going contrary to what your Majesty had hoped. Nothing
is further from the truth! The people fight shy of revolutionary ideas;
but they love their King!
Bang. They love their King!
The King. And that white dove, who came confidently to my hand--she had
some experience of what their love was!
The Mayor. The King's associates may displease the people; ideas may
alter; but love for their King endures!
The Others. Endures!
The King. Cease! Cease!
The General (warmly). Your Majesty may command us to do anything except
refrain from giving utterance to a free people's freely offered homage
of devotion, loyalty, and love for its royal house!
The Mayor (emotionally). There is no one who would not give his life for
his King!
Bang, The General, and The Priest. No one!
The General. Try us! (They all press forward.)
The King. Done with you! (Takes a revolver from his pocket.) Since
yesterday I have carried this little thing in my pocket. (They all look
alarmed.)
The Priest. Merciful heavens!
The King (holding out the revolver to him). Will you die for me? If so,
I will continue to be King.
The Priest. I? What does your Majesty mean? It would be a great sin!
The King. You love me, I suppose?
All (desperately). Yes, your Majesty!
The King. Those who love, believe. Therefore, believe me when I say
this: If there is a single one of you who, without thinking twice about
it, will die for his King now--here--at once--then I shall consider that
as a command laid upon me to go on living and working.
The Mayor (in a terrified whisper). He is insane!
The General (whispers). Yes!
The King. I can hear you!--But I suppose you love your King, even if he
is insane?
All (in agitated tones). Yes, your Majesty!
The King. Majesty, majesty! There is only One who has any majesty about
Him--certainly not a madman! But if I have been driven mad by the lies
that surround me, it would be a holy deed to make me sound again. You
said you would die for me. Redeem your words! That will make me well
again!--You, General?
The General. My beloved King, it would be--as our reverend friend so
aptly put it--a most dreadful sin.
The King. You have let slip a splendid opportunity for showing your
heroism.--You ought to have seen that I was only putting you to the
test!--Good-bye! (Goes into the room on the left.)
The General. Absolutely insane!
The Others. Absolutely.
The Mayor. Such great abilities, too! What might not have been made of
him!
Bang. The pity of it!
The Priest. I got so alarmed.
Bang. So did I! (A loud pistol-shot is heard.)
The Priest. Another shot? (A pitiful woman's cry is heard from the other
room.)
The Mayor. What on earth was that?
Bang. I daren't think!
The Priest. Nor I! (An old woman rushes out of the room on the left,
calling out: "Help!--Help!--The King!" and hurries out at the back,
calling: "The King! Help, help!" The GENERAL and the MAYOR rush into
the other room. Voices are heard outside asking: "The King?--Was it the
King?" The confusion and uproar grows. In the midst of it ANNA comes
stumbling out of the other room, her hands stretched out before her, as
if she did not know where she was going. The noise and confusion grows
louder every minute, and crowds of people come rushing into the room
from outside as the Curtain falls.)
End of Project Gutenberg's Three Dramas, by Bjornstjerne M. Bjornson