Roses: Four One-Act Plays Part 45

What don't they know?--But that's a mere detail--it doesn't concern me. Even the fact that in six months she will become the bride of a grand-duke--even that can make no difference to me. For the present she is _my_ princess.--But you're not listening to me!

The Princess.

Oh, yes I am!

Strubel.

Do you know what that means--_my_ princess? I'll not give up _my_ princess--not for anything in all the world!

The Princess.

But--if you don't even know her----?

Strubel.

I don't know her? Why, I know her as well as I know myself!

The Princess.

Have you ever met her, then?

Strubel.

I don't know of any one who has ever met her. And there's not a soul that can tell what she looks like. It is said that there were pictures of her in the shop-windows when she first came, but they were removed immediately. In the morning a great many people are always lurking around the Springs trying to catch a glimpse of her. I myself have gotten up at six o'clock a couple of times--on the same errand--and if you knew me better, you'd realise what that meant. But not a sign of her! Either she has the stuff brought to her house, or she has the power of making herself invisible. (The Princess _turns aside to conceal a smile._) After that, I used to hang around her garden--every day, for hours at a time. Until one day the policeman, whom the managers of the Springs have stationed at the gates, came up to me and asked me what on earth I was doing there. Well, that was the end of those methods of approach! Suddenly, however, a happy thought struck me. Now I can see her, and have her near to me as often as I wish.

The Princess.

Why, that's very interesting. How?

Strubel.

Yes, that's just the point. H'm, should I risk it? Should I take you into my confidence?

The Princess.

You promised me some time ago that you would show her to me.

Strubel.

Wait a second. (_Looks through the telescope._) There she is. Please look for yourself.

The Princess.

But I am-- (_She, too, looks through the telescope._) Actually, there is the garden as plain as if one were in it.

Strubel.

And at the corner window on the left--with the embroidery-frame--that's she.

The Princess.

Are you absolutely certain that that is the princess?

Strubel.

Why, who else could it be?

The Princess.

Oh, 'round about a princess like that--there are such a lot of people.

For instance, there is her waiting-woman, there's the seamstress and her a.s.sistants, there's----

Strubel.

But my dear young lady, if you only understood anything about these matters, you would have been certain at the very first glance that it was she--and no one else. Observe the n.o.bility in every motion--the queenly grace with which she bends over the embroidery-frame----

The Princess.

How do you know that it's an embroidery-frame?

Strubel.

Why, what should a princess be bending over if not an embroidery-frame?

Do you expect her to be darning stockings?

The Princess.

It wouldn't hurt her at all!

Strubel.

Now, that's just one of those petty, bourgeois notions which we ought to suppress. It's not enough that we have to stick in this misery, but we'd like to drag her down, too--that being far above all earthly care----

The Princess.

Oh, dear me!

Strubel.

What are you sighing about so terribly?

The Princess

Tell me, wouldn't you like to have a closer acquaintance with your princess, sometime?

Strubel.

Closer? Why should I?--Isn't she close enough to me, my far-away princess?--for that's what I call her when I talk to myself about her.

And to have her _still_ closer?