ELECTOR (_bending over the_ PRINCE).

What leaf is it he binds? Leaf of the willow?

HOHENZOLL. What! Willow-leaf, my lord? It is the bay, Such as his eyes have noted on the portraits Of heroes hung in Berlin's armor-hall.

ELECTOR. Where hath he found that in my sandy soil?

HOHENZOLL. The equitable G.o.ds may guess at that!

GENTLEMAN-IN-WAITING.

It may be in the garden, where the gardener Has nurtured other strange, outlandish plants.

ELECTOR. Most curious, by heaven! But what's the odds?

I know what stirs the heart of this young fool.

HOHENZOLL. Indeed! Tomorrow's clash of arms, my liege!

Astrologers, I'll wager, in his mind Are weaving stars into a triumph wreath.

[_The_ PRINCE _regards the wreath._]

GENTLEMAN-IN-WAITING. Now it is done!

HOHENZOLLERN. A shame, a mortal shame, That there's no mirror in the neighborhood!

He would draw close to it, vain as any girl, And try his wreath on, thus, and then again This other way--as if it were a bonnet!

ELECTOR. By faith! But I must see how far he'll go!

[_The_ ELECTOR _takes the wreath from the_ PRINCE'S _hand while the latter regards him, flushing. The_ ELECTOR _thereupon twines his neck-chain about the wreath and gives it to the_ PRINCESS. _The_ PRINCE _rises in excitement, but the_ ELECTOR _draws back with the_ PRINCESS, _still holding the wreath aloft. The_ PRINCE _follows her with outstretched arms._]

THE PRINCE (_whispering_).

Natalie! Oh, my girl! Oh, my beloved!

ELECTOR. Make haste! Away!

HOHENZOLLERN. What did the fool say?

GENTLEMAN-IN-WAITING. What?

[_They all ascend the stair to the terrace._]

THE PRINCE. Frederick, my prince! my father!

HOHENZOLLERN. h.e.l.l and devils!

ELECTOR (_backing away from him_).

Open the gate for me!

THE PRINCE. Oh, mother mine!

HOHENZOLL. The raving idiot!

ELECTRESS. Whom did he call thus?

THE PRINCE (_clutching at the wreath_).

Beloved, why do you recoil? My Natalie!

[_He s.n.a.t.c.hes a glove from the_ PRINCESS' _hand._]

HOHENZOLL. Heaven and earth! What laid he hands on there?

COURTIER. The wreath?

NATALIE. No, no!

HOHENZOLLERN (_opening the door_). Hither! This way, my liege!

So the whole scene may vanish from his eye!

ELECTOR. Back to oblivion, with you, oblivion, Sir Prince of Homburg! On the battle-field, If you be so disposed, we meet again!

Such matters men attain not in a dream!

[_They all go out; the door crashes shut in the_ PRINCE'S _face.

Pause._]

SCENE II

_The_ PRINCE OF HOMBURG _remains standing before the door a moment in perplexity; then dreamily descends from the terrace, the hand holding the glove pressed against his forehead. At the foot of the stair he turns again, gazing up at the door._

SCENE III

_Enter_ COUNT HOHENZOLLERN _by the wicket below. A page follows him.

The_ PRINCE OF HOMBURG.

PAGE (Softly).

Count! Listen, do! Most worshipful Sir Count!

HOHENZOLLERN (_vexed_).

Gra.s.shopper! Well? What's wanted?

PAGE. I am sent--

HOHENZOLL. Speak softly now, don't wake him with your chirping!

Come now! What's up?

PAGE. The Elector sent me hither.

He charges you that, when the Prince awakes, You breathe no word to him about the jest It was his pleasure to allow himself.