_Coelestin_. Well then: our King, stricken with years, died and left us unprotected and afraid, for we had no guide nor saviour. The Queen, herself a child, carried trembling at her breast the babe she had borne him.... It is six years ago, and all this time have birds of prey scented the rich morsel from afar and come swooping down upon this fair land, where unmeasured riches lie. The danger grows--the people clamor for a master. And so our Queen, who had sat long sunk in modest grief, now divined in anguish her soul's call, the echo of the kingly duty, and guessed the sacrifice her land demanded. She tore in twain her widow's garlands, and made a vow that he who could bear all other suitors to her feet in battle, should be her lord and her country's king. The day has come. The lists are hung, the people crowd into the tournament. Woe to them! Their tears are doomed to fall, for all the princes who came hither have fled faint-heartedly before a single one, a man of terror, who is thus victorious without a struggle. _Prince_. And this one--who is he? [_A clamor in the court below. A_ Noble _enters._] _Noble_. Sir Major-domo, I beg thee, hasten. The guard is in confusion. The people are already mounting the newly built lists in a countless throng. _Coelestin_ [_pointing below_]. Look, there is the flock; but where is the shepherd? Wait here, while I press into the thickest of the crowd and give the people a taste of my severity ... though I doubt much if it will aught avail. [_He hastens down by the middle way with the_ Noble _and the_ Page.] _Prince Witte_. That which I long for lies not here. My sober judgment whispers warningly within my breast of delay and thoughtless dalliance. [_He seats himself on a bench to the right of the stage and looks up at the sky._] _Skoell_ [_in his sleep_]. Quite right. _Hans_. What's that? Eh, there, sleepy-head, wake up! _Skoell_. Leave me alone! When I sleep I am happy. _Hans_ [_startled_]. What--Skoell? _Skoell_. Hans Lor-- _Hans_. Hsh--sh! _Skoell_. Well, old fellow, what wilt thou in this berth? _Hans_. Thy master is here? _Skoell_. Well, yes! _Hans_. The devil take him! [_Looking round at the_ Prince.] What now? _Skoell_. What now? Why now, we will have a drink. _Hans_. What draws you here! _Skoell_. Thou knowest, thou rogue! We are the jolliest of jolly good fellows ever found at a wedding. _Hans_ [_to himself_]. Has he the strength for this redeeming act, and would it break the bonds of the madness that holds him? [_Enter a_ Herald _from the left, behind. Then the_ Queen, _holding the young_ Prince _by the hand, and followed by her women. After them_, Anna Goldhair.] _Herald_. Way there, the Queen approaches! _Skoell_ [_standing attention_]. We cannot speak when the Queen comes by. _Hans_ [_looking towards_ Prince Witte]. His soul dreams. The distance holds him spellbound.