Three Dramas Part 73

The King. Yes.

Clara. I knew it? And implacable?

The King. Yes.

Clara. I feel it! (Nestles closer in his arms.)

The King. Are you afraid?

Clara. Yes!

The King. Dear, when you see him perhaps your fear will go.

Clara. Yes, only let me see him! Whatever he says, let me see him!

The King. Within twelve hours from now you shall! And I shall be with you.

Clara. The finest thing about you is your kindness. Oh, I am so glad you have come! I could not endure my fears any longer.

The King. There are dissensions going on about you!

Clara. Oh!--(Nestles in his arms again.)

The King. Bear up!--It will soon be over.

Clara. I believe it will. Yes, I know it will.--Let me walk about a little! (The KING walks up and down with her.)

The King. And turn our thoughts to something else! Do you know where I have come from?

Clara. Where?

The King. From our little house in the park.

Clara. Why, we drove past it yesterday!

The King. You will feel only _one_ person's presence there! Wherever you go, you will be surrounded by the thoughts I have had of you there. If you look out of the window, or go out on to the balcony--on every rock, by each turn of the stream--on the lawns, under the trees, among the bushes--everywhere you will find a thousand thoughts of you hidden.

Breathe the words "my darling girl," and they will all come cl.u.s.tering round you!--Let us sit down.

Clara. It is all like a fairy tale.

The King. And I am the latest fairy prince! (He sits down and draws her on to his knee.) And you are the little maid who comes, led by good fairies, to the enchanted castle to wake him. He has been kept asleep by wicked spells for many, many years.

Clara. For many, many years!

The King. I am not really _I_, nor you _you_. The monarch was bewitched long ago. He was turned into a wild beast who gave reign to his pa.s.sion by night and slept by day. And now the maiden of humble degree has become a woman and freed him from the spells.

Clara. Really! Ah, you are so clever at inventing things to cheat my fears away from me. And you always succeed. But after all, you know, I have no strength and no courage; I am so weak.

The King. You have more strength than I!--more than any one I have ever known.

Clara. No, don't say that; but--you may be sure of this!--if I did not feel that I had _some_ strength I would never try to throw in my lot with yours.

The King. I will explain to you what you are! Some people are tremendously more spiritual, more delicately const.i.tuted than others; and they are a hundred times more sensitive. And they fancy that is weakness. But it is just they who draw their strength from _deeper_ sources, through a thousand imperceptible channels. You will often find them with heads erect and valiant when others have gone under; they merely bend before the storm, with supple strength, when others break under it. You are like that!

Clara. You are very ingenious when you start explaining me!

The King. Well, listen to this! At the time when I was behaving so badly to you, your terror, every time I approached you, was so piteous that it was always before my eyes and rang in my ears like a cry of agony from a wounded heart. It is true! It filled me with terror, too. Do you call that weakness, to feel things so intensely that another person is influenced by your feelings against his will?

Clara. No.

The King. And then, when I found you again--the way you listened to me--

Clara (stopping him with a kiss). Don't let us talk about it now!

The King. What shall we talk about, then? It is a little too early to start yet.--Ah, I have it! We will talk about the impression you will make this evening when you come forward through the brightly lit rooms, radiant against the background of ugly calumny! That was prettily put, wasn't it? "Is _that_ she?" they will think. And then something will come into their eyes that will cheat them into thinking that pearls and gold are strewn over your hair, over your dress, over your--

Clara (putting her hand over his mouth). No, no, no! Now I am going to tell you a little story!

The King. Tell away!

Clara. When I was a child, I saw a balloon being filled one day, and there was a horrible smell from the gas. Afterwards, when I saw the gleaming balloon rising in the air, I thought to myself: "Ah, that horrid smell was something burning; they had to burn it for the balloon to be able to rise." And after that, every time I heard anything horrid said about my father, I felt as if something was burning inside me, and I thought of the balloon and imagined I could smell the smell. And then all at once I imagined I saw it rising; the horrid part was burnt, and it was able to mount aloft! I a.s.sure you that balloon was a good genius to me. And now, years afterwards, when I have been a target for calumny myself--and you for my sake--I have felt just the same thing. Every word has burned; but I have got over it in a moment, and risen high, high above it all! I never seem to breathe so pure an atmosphere as a little while after something cruel has been said of me.

The King. I shall certainly set to work and abuse you at once, if it has such delightful results! I will begin with a selection from to-day's papers: "You Aspasia! You Messalina! You Pompadour! You Phylloxera, that are eating into our whole moral vine-crop! You blue-eyed curse of the country, that are causing panics in the money-market, overthrowing ministries, and upsetting all calculations in the elections! You mischievous hobgoblin, who are pouring gall into the printers' ink and poison into the people's coffee, filling all the old ladies' heads with buzzing flies, and the King's Majesty with a million lover's follies!"

Do you know that, besides all the harm you are doing to-day, you are hastening a revolution by ten years? You are! And no one can be sure whether you haven't been pursuing the same wicked courses for the last hundred years or more! All our royal and n.o.ble ancestors are turning in their graves because of you! And if our deceased queens have any noses left--

Clara (interrupting him). The Baroness! (They get up. The BARONESS comes in wearing a cloak over her court dress and carrying CLARA'S cloak over her arm.)

Baroness. I must take the liberty of disturbing you. Time is up!

The King. We have been killing it by talking nonsense.

Baroness. And that has put you in a good humour?

The King (taking his hat). In the best of humours! Here, my darling (fastens CLARA'S cloak about her shoulders), here is the last scandalous bit of concealment for you! When we take it off again, you shall stand radiant in the light of your own truth. Come! (Gives her his arm, and they go trippingly up to the back of the room. Suddenly the phantom of an emaciated figure leaning on crutches appears in their path, staring at them. His hair and beard are in wild disorder, and blood is pouring from his mouth. CLARA gives a terrified scream.)

The King. In Heaven's name, what is it?

Clara. My father!

The King. Where? (To the BARONESS.) Go and see! (The BARONESS opens the doors at the back and looks out).

Baroness. I can see no one.

The King. Look down the corridor!

Baroness. No--no one there, either! (CLARA has sunk lifelessly into the KING'S arms. After one or two spasmodic twitchings of her hands, her arms slip away from him and her head falls back.)

The King. Help, help!