(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).

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.—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—?