_Queen_. Yet sorrow looks from all thy features. My friend, I fear that thou canst never learn to yield thyself up to this country. _King_. Yield thyself, thou sayest. Belie thyself,--it is the same. To me it is a polished farce, at which I play and play and play myself quite out, entangled sleepily in fog and mist. But sometimes comes a wandering south wind, and plays faintly with its wings upon my wearied soul, striking vague and half-audible dream tones. _Queen_. Thou torturest thyself. _King_. And thee, my wife,--forgive! I look at thee and know that thou hast long hung in imploring anguish on my neck; it shames me, for see, I love thee! _Queen_ [_repeats half dreamily_]. I love thee. _The Voice of the Young Prince_. Papa. _King_. Art thou still awake, my son? _The Voice of the Young Prince_. Papa, may I come in? _King_. Thou mayst. [_Enter the young_ Prince _with_ Anna Goldhair.] _The Young Prince_ [_running to the_ King]. Papa, papa! _King_. My boy, didst thou do well to leave thy bed and run with such haste to thy playfellow? _Queen_. He begged me, and I let him. _King_. So then. [_To himself._] Now calm, quite calm! _The Young Prince_ [_running to the door_]. Hans, did they shoot much? _King_. Thy name is Anna with the golden hair? _Anna Goldhair_ [_shyly_]. They call me Goldhair--but-- _King_. Let it be, it is true. [_To the_ Prince.] Come here! _The Young Prince_. Yes, father. _King_. Listen! If thou hast that in thee that seethes and bubbles and strives to burst out, then smother it! When others take to themselves the cream from off thy cup of life, do not curse and slay them! Smile and be calm,--quite calm, there still remains in my breast, I fear, a little of that former passion and unrest; I will employ it to shield this calmness of thine. _The Young Prince_. Have I been bad, father? When thou lookest at me so, I am afraid. _Queen_. Come! _The Young Prince_. The father is angry. _Queen_. The father jests. _The Young Prince_. Good night! _King_. Good night! _Queen_. I cannot find the key that harmonizes with thy mood; though once I knew how to resolve into harmony all the dissonance in the world. Perhaps the knowledge will come back again. _King_. Perhaps. _Queen_. And good night! [_They clasp hands. The_ Queen, _the_ Prince, _and_ Anna Goldhair _go out._] _King_. No statue stands in the cathedral gates as stony as thou art. Hatred grazes thee, envy seeks to belittle thy worth. But thou smilest not. Thou movest in silent resignation, so tense, so ... Say, how canst thou? _Hans Lorbass_. I serve. _King_. Is that the reason? _Hans Lorbass_. A servant has no choice. Else had I torn from off its nail my spear which the worms are conquering, burnished my shield and mail, and with a shout of righteous anger which has gnawed its chain for years, I would leap forth--where? Thou knowest, master! _King_ [_smiling bitterly_]. What use? He serves a righteous cause.