_EIGHTH SCENE_.
THE SAME. THE VALET DE CHAMBRE. THE QUEEN. THE DEAF MAID OF HONOUR. THE
SLEEPY MAID OF HONOUR.
The Valet (_announces_).
Her Majesty!
The Queen.
I heard a rumour which greatly displeased me and troubled my peace of
mind extremely. Is it true?... There lies the great hero; and truly, in
death he seems even more insignificant than he was--as insignificant as
one of the most insignificant. Yet mourn with me! We have had a great
loss. Even if ambition urge you on with a double spur, many a fine day
will come and go before his like will be born to us.
(The Marshal _clears his throat softly_.)
The Queen.
May his courtliness, too, be pleasantly remembered! After his campaign
he always brought back to his Queen the best of the splendid spoil of
his booty. That touched my royal heart and will be cited as a glorious
example. And yet now to you ... What did they say to me? It sounds
almost untrue and unnatural: are you the David of our Goliath? I use
the term "Goliath" only figuratively. For though we are mourning at his
bier, it cannot be said that he was a giant. Yet we know his
disposition was haughty. (The Marquises _eagerly assent_.) Surely he
broke in upon you in sudden anger? You are silent out of generosity. So
I will graciously forgive this fault and another fault too. (The
Painter _clears his throat softly. She stretches out her hand to him,
which he kisses_.) And be not grieved! (_To_ The Marquises.) Does not
what has happened seem almost like a judgment of God?
The Marquis in Pale Blue.
It is true! Here a higher power has been at work.
The Deaf Maid Of Honour.
Pardon me, your Majesty! The Marshal is laughing.
The Marquises (_muttering in horror_).