LANDOLPH (_to Ordulph_). It has to be as if it were true. HENRY IV. Exactly, as if true! Because, only so, truth is not a jest (_opens the door and admits John dressed as a humble friar with a roll of parchment under his arm_). Come in, come in, father! (_Then assuming a tone of tragic gravity and deep resentment_): All the documents of my life and reign favorable to me were destroyed deliberately by my enemies. One only has escaped destruction, this, my life, written by a humble monk who is devoted to me. And you would laugh at him! (_Turns affectionately to John, and invites him to sit down at the table_). Sit down, father, sit down! Have the lamp near you (_puts the lamp near him_)! Write! Write! JOHN (_opens the parchment and prepares to write from dictation_). I am ready, your Majesty! HENRY IV. (_dictating_). "The decree of peace proclaimed at Mayence helped the poor and humble, while it damaged the weak and the powerful (_curtain begins to fall_): It brought wealth to the former, hunger and misery to the latter...." _Curtain._ ACT III _The throne room so dark that the wall at the bottom is hardly seen. The canvasses of the two portraits have been taken away; and, within their frames, Frida, dressed as the "Marchioness of Tuscany" and Charles Di Nolli, as "Henry IV." have taken the exact positions of the portraits._ _For a moment, after the raising of curtain, the stage is empty. Then the door on the left opens; and Henry IV., holding the lamp by the ring on top of it, enters. He looks back to speak to the four young men who, with John, are presumedly in the adjoining hall, as at the end of the second act._ HENRY IV. No: stay where you are, stay where you are. I shall manage all right by myself. Good night! (_Closes the door and walks, very sad and tired, across the hall towards the second door on the right, which leads into his apartments_). FRIDA (_as soon as she sees that he has just passed the throne, whispers from the niche like one who is on the point of fainting away with fright_). Henry.... HENRY IV. (_stopping at the voice, as if someone had stabbed him traitorously in the back, turns a terror-stricken face towards the wall at the bottom of the room; raising an arm instinctively, as if to defend himself and ward off a blow_). Who is calling me? (_It is not a question, but an exclamation vibrating with terror, which does not expect a reply from the darkness and the terrible silence of the hall, which suddenly fills him with the suspicion that he is really mad_).