THE KING. Go. We have business to attend to. (_The Eldest of the Wise
Men goes out_.) And now, you sharp-nosed scoundrel, I want some of
_your_ advice! When the roof of the world has fallen in, there are
no precedents, wisdom is worthless, and the opinion of one man is as
good as that of another,--if not better. So what have you to suggest?
THE GYPSY. Your majesty, before I make my suggestion, let me confess to
you that I had underrated the force of your majesty's personality. Not
until this moment have I understood that you possess the qualities of
kingship as well as the title of king.
THE KING. Well, what of that?
THE GYPSY. This, your majesty. There is only one man in your kingdom
who can cope with this girl whom you call mad. Your servants cannot
do it. As I passed by the room where she is imprisoned, I heard the
soldier whose eye she blacked talking to her. He was saying that it was
a great honour to have had a black eye from her hands, and he was
begging her autograph. If she had desired to escape, she could have
done so--he is her devoted slave. And the doctor who went to examine
her as to her sanity has stayed to talk to her about horse-breaking.
That, as you know, is his avocation; and he has found in her a woman
who knows more about it than he does. He sits there like a man
entranced. They are all putty in her hands.
THE KING. (_impatiently_) Get to the point.
THE GYPSY. I have said that there is only one man in the kingdom who
can cope with her. And that man is your majesty's self.