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 compa.s.sion for myself or for my father that makes them flow; it is the heartless injustice of it all that overcomes me.
The King. G.o.d 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, G.o.d!
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 a.s.sume as a const.i.tutional monarch is an acted lie. Think what a king"s vocation is; _can_ a vocation of that sort be hereditary? Can the finest and n.o.blest 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--