_A chamber in the castle. The two farther corners slope away from the front. In the left corner is a bay-window with a platform, to which steps lead up. Burning torches are stuck in the branches of the pillars which flank the steps. In the right corner is a fireplace. One can look beyond into an ante-chamber, and farther on, through a wide door-way whose curtains are drawn back, into a thickly planted garden, which at the end of its middle path shows a little of the surrounding wall. In the middle of the room is a table with seats about it. At the left in front is a couch with furs and cushions on it. At the right is the door to the sleeping apartments._

Scene I.

_The_ Queen _sits on the platform with her distaff before her, and gazes dreamily into the red glow, which shines through the window. Two old women sit spinning before the fire-place, in which a dying fire glimmers_. Anna Goldhair _and the young_ Prince _on the steps of the platform. Through the drawn curtains plays the red evening light._

_The Young Prince_. Say, mother, will the father come soon?

_Queen_. Of course.

_The Young Prince_. Will he come before my bed-time?

_Queen_. I do not know.

_The Young Prince_. The wood is full of darkness, is it not?

_Queen_. Where our King goes, there is always light!... What, Anna, art thou eavesdropping? Must I blush before thee, because I voiced a cry out of my soul's longing, which envious time would smother?

_Anna Goldhair_. Beloved Queen.... I know well that I am too young; my little thoughts whisk twittering like swallows through my head,--

_The Young Prince_. And she pretends to me she is so wise!

_Queen_. Run, run, my child!

_The Young Prince_. I will get her by the hair first! [_He tugs at_ Anna's _hair_. Anna Goldhair _pushes him off laughing._] Just wait!

[_He runs from her to the spinning-women, and teases them._]

_Anna Goldhair_. But if thou hast need of any one to whisper to, in whose breast at the still evening-time to plunge thine overflowing soul--of anyone who if need were, could go for thee to her death as to a feast,--thou knowest, dearest Queen, I am that one!

_Queen_ [_caressing her_]. Yes, deep in my heart I know that thou art mine. [_She rises._] But if it be death here for any human being, I am that one!

_Anna Goldhair_ [_frightened_]. What troubles thee, beloved Lady?

[_Three maidens, young and pretty, have entered shyly._]

_Queen_. It is nothing,--nothing!... Why, here! What seek you my children?... What not a word? Have you a favor to be granted, a complaint to make? If you cannot speak, why then you must go away again!

_Anna Goldhair_. Mistress forgive them. They are of thy train, and they have asked me to plead for them, lest their too eager speech should lose for them the favor they desire.

_Queen_. Well?

_Anna Goldhair_. Dear Mistress, there is an old custom that runs thus: when Easter-tide has come into the land, when the thorn bush grows faintly green, when the blue wave shines bluer, when our desire takes wing to sport among the flying things of spring,--that then, upon the coming of the first full moon, the night must be watched out with sport and dance. In a word they would sing.

_Queen_ [_smiling_]. Ah, yes!... But tell me, dear children, if you knew it, then why did this custom vanish from the land so many years?

_Anna Goldhair_. We honored thy sorrow, my Queen.

_Queen_. Well, then, go out and dance and frolic and sing together all night long! Know you the song that you should sing?

[_The maidens nod eagerly._]

_Queen_. Go out and drink the moonlight as it pours down through the branches; I think we little know how blessed we are.

[_The maidens courtesy and kiss her hands and garments._]

_Queen_ [_as she turns away smiling_]. Why are you old ones shivering?

Why look you so strange? Is it cold? Then you must rake the fire!

_One of the Old Women_. Mistress, we spin our winding-sheets. Shall we not be cold?

_Queen_ [_drawing the young_ Prince _to her_]. Do not listen to them!

[Colestin _enters._]

_The Young Prince_. Oh, Uncle Colestin! [_Runs to him._] What hast thou brought me, Uncle Colestin?

_Colestin_ [_lifting him up_]. A great sandman, and a small goodnight!

_Queen_. The King is come? Thou wouldst announce him?

_Colestin_. No, my Lady. We heard his horn in the distance, but it died away again. I come before thee a gloomy messenger. In the great hall beyond there waits the council of the realm....

_Queen_. Stop! You, my women, seek your rest; my son, to bed!

_The Young Prince_. And am I not to see the father again till morning?

Ah, mother, please!

_Queen_. If thou canst not sleep, Anna shall take thee up and bring thee here. Is it well so, dear one?

_The Young Prince_. Yes.

_Queen_. And goodnight!

[_The_ Prince, Anna Goldhair, _and the women go out._]

_Queen_. We are alone ... yet what a pity with too cool reason to chill the buds of the May evening, which plunges all the waking soul into sweet sickness.... But speak!

_Colestin_. Lady, I know not how I shall begin. The words come stumbling from my lips. Thou knowest how we love him, and how, since thou hast given him thyself, there is no single life but stands prepared to serve him without a thought of self. And how does he reward us? He shuns our glance, a smouldering suspicion breaks out whenever we would speak in seriousness to him, and throws its shadows on us darkly.

The people idolize him. They greet him, great and small, with clapping hands and waving kerchiefs,--why must we stand aloof? Is he ashamed of us?--or of himself? I know not. A mysterious sadness clouds his eye so falcon-bright, and even while our hearts still yearn upon him, he grows a stranger to us, who was never our friend.

_Queen_. It is your too easily wounded love complains of him.

_Colestin_. If that danger--

_Queen_ [_without listening to him_]. I see it, but I scarce can blame it. I blame no one. I have built for myself out of dreams and smiles a strong strong wall, outside of which you wait, thieves of my happiness--nay, my friend, look not so grieved!--and out of which you know not how to lure me, either by cunning or by clamor.

_Colestin_. Still, hast thou never come upon that knowledge, deep within thy heart, which tells thee how in everything that is and was and needs must be throughout our lives, a never expiated wrong must weigh us down?

_Queen_. Never, my friend! In my soul there rings but one harp-tone, one voice, which says: be happy!