And that will make you happy?

Strubel.

Enormously!--For what makes us happy after all? A bit of happiness?

Great heavens, no! Happiness wears out like an old glove.

The Princess.

Well, then, what does?

Strubel.

Ah, how should I know! Any kind of a dream--a fancy--a wish unfulfilled--a sorrow that we coddle--some nothing which suddenly becomes everything to us. I shall always say to my pupils--"Young men, if you want to be happy as long as you live, create G.o.ds for yourselves in your own image; these G.o.ds will take care of your happiness."

The Princess.

And what would the G.o.d be like that you would create?

Strubel.

_Would be? Is, my dear young lady, is!_--A man of the world, a gentleman, well bred, smiling, enjoying life--who looks out upon mankind from under bushy eyebrows, who knows Nietzsche and Stendhal by heart, and--(_pointing to his shoes_) who isn't down at the heels--a G.o.d, in short, worthy of my princess. I know perfectly well that all my life long I shall never do anything but crawl around on the ground like an industrious ant, but I know, too, that the G.o.d of my fancy will always take me by the collar when the proper moment comes and pull me up again into the clouds. Yes, up there I'm safe.--And your G.o.d, or rather your G.o.ddess--what would she look like?

The Princess (_thoughtfully_).

That's not easy to say. My G.o.ddess would be--a quiet, peaceful woman who would treasure a secret, little joy like the apple of her eye, who would know nothing of the world except what she wanted to know, and who would have the strength to make her own choice when it pleased her.

Strubel.

But that doesn't seem to me a particularly lofty aspiration, my dear young lady.

The Princess.

Lofty as the heavens, my friend.

Strubel.

My princess would be of a different opinion.

The Princess.

Do you think so?

Strubel.

For that's merely the ideal of every little country girl.

The Princess.

Not her ideal--her daily life which she counts as naught. It is my ideal because I can never attain it.

Strubel.

Oh. I say, my dear young girl! It can't be as bad as that! A young girl like you--so charming and--I don't want to be forward, but if I could only help you a bit!

The Princess.

Have you got to be helping all the time? Before, it was only a cheap lunch, now it's actually----

Strubel.

Yes, yes, I'm an awful donkey, I know, but----

The Princess (_smiling_).

Don't say any more about it, dear friend! I like you that way.

Strubel (_feeling oppressed by her superiority_).

Really you are an awfully strange person! There's something about you that--that--

The Princess.

Well?

Strubel.

I can't exactly define it.--Tell me, weren't you wanting to go into the woods before? It's so--so oppressive in here.

The Princess.

Oppressive? I don't find it so at all--quite the contrary.

Strubel.

No, no--I'm restless. I don't know what--at all events, may I not escort you--? One can chat more freely, one can express himself more openly--if one-- (_Takes a deep breath._)

The Princess (_smiling_).

And you are leaving your far-away princess with such a light heart?

Strubel (_carelessly_).

Oh, she! She won't run away. She'll be sitting there tomorrow again--and the day after, too!

The Princess.

And so that is your great, undying love?

Strubel.