The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries - LightNovelsOnl.com
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GRUMBKOW.
Frederic, Prince Royal.
[_The_ KING _starts in anger, takes up one of the books and then touches the bell_. EVERSMANN _comes in_.]
KING.
Eversman [_with conscious impressiveness_], my spectacles! [EVERSMANN _goes out and returns again with a big pair of gla.s.ses_.] The Attorney-General must make a thorough examination of this vagrant's papers.... I will not have these French clowns in my country. [_He looks through one of the books_.] The Crown Prince's seal--But no--no ... the vagabond must have stolen it from him.
GRUMBKOW.
Or else the books were intended for the Princess' instruction.
KING.
This sort of book? These French--hold! hold! what have we here--is this not the disgusting novel written by the hunchback Scarron, the husband of the fine Madame Maintenon--his notorious satire upon our Court?
GRUMBKOW AND EVERSMANN (_together_).
Our Court?
KING (_turning the leaves_).
A satire on us all--on me--on Seckendorf, Grumbkow, Eversmann.
EVERSMANN.
On me, too? KING (_serious_).
The Crown Prince has underscored most of it, that it may be better understood. Here is a Marshal with the nickname _le chicaneur_. You know that's meant for you, Grumbkow.
GRUMBKOW.
Outrageous!
KING.
The Amba.s.sador, Vicomte de la Rancune, otherwise _le pet.i.t combinateur_.
That's you, Seckendorf.
SECKENDORF.
It's--it's an international insult.
KING.
And he called Eversmann _la rapiniere_, or, as we would say, Old Rapacity!
EVERSMANN.
The rogue! And such books find their way into the country--marked properly by the Crown Prince at that!
KING.
Can Wilhelmine be a party to this? That would indeed be scandalous. The Attorney-General must make a thorough investigation. [_In extreme anger_.] Isn't it possible for me to have a single quiet moment?
EVERSMANN.
Your Majesty, shall I take these unG.o.dly books to the executioner, to have them burned?
KING.
No. I wouldn't use them even to light my pipe--not even as bonfires for our festivities. Gentlemen, shake this matter off, as I have done. This evening, over our glowing pipes, and in the enjoyment of a gla.s.s of good German beer, we also can be just as witty at the expense of Versailles and the entire French cabinet.
GRUMBKOW AND SECKENDORF (_together, aside_).
Bonfires for the festivities?
EVERSMANN.
But the books are to be burned, Your Majesty?
KING.
Yes, in another manner. Send them out to the powder mills by the Oranienburger gate. They can make cartridges for my grenadiers out of them. [_He goes out_.]
GRUMBKOW, SECKENDORF, EVERSMANN (_aside_). Festivities?
[_They go out_.]
SCENE VII
_The scene changes to the room of Act I_.
BARONET HOTHAM _comes in cautiously through the centre door, followed by_ KAMKE.
HOTHAM.
A hall with four doors? Quite right. The Princess' room there? And the Queen's here? Thanks, good friend. [KAMKE _goes out_.] Baronet Hotham is preserving his _incognito_ to the extent of becoming entirely invisible.
I've smuggled myself into the country from London--by way of Hanover--as if I were a bale of prohibited merchandise. [_Wipes his forehead_.] The deuce take this equestrian official business, where a man needs have the manners of a dandy with the unfeeling bones of a postilion. For four days I've scarcely been out of the saddle. [_He throws himself into a chair_.] Gad! if the nations knew how a man has to win his way through to the Foreign Office by years of courier-riding, they'd not think it strange that their statesmen, grown mature, seem disinclined to trip the light fantastic. Faith, it weighs one's pocket heavily, this carrying a kingdom about with one. [_He slaps his right coat-pocket_.] Here lies the crown of England. [_Now the left coat-pocket_.] Here the crown of Scotland--and here, in my waistcoat pocket, is Ireland. What shall I take from herein exchange? [_He looks about_.] Is the gilding real? It looks deuced n.i.g.g.ardly and close-fisted. There's s.p.a.ce enough in these great halls, but I'll wager there are many mice here. It's as quiet as an English Sunday. [_Rises_.] There's some one coming.
[_Rises_ PRINCE _opens the centre door, then halts on the threshold as if in despair_.]
HOTHAM (_in surprise_).
Well?
