The PRINCE OF HOMBURG sits with head bare and shirt unbuttoned, half-sleeping, half waking, under an oak, binding a wreath. The ELECTOR, ELECTRESS, PRINCESS NATALIE, COUNT HOHENZOLLERN, CAPTAIN GOLZ and others come stealthily out of the palace and look down upon him from the balustrade of the terrace. Pages with torches.

HOHENZOLLERN. The Prince of Homburg, our most valiant cousin, Who these three days has pressed the flying Swedes Exultant at the cavalry's forefront, And scant of breath only today returned To camp at Fehrbellin—your order said That he should tarry here provisioning Three hours at most, and move once more apace Clear to the Hackel Hills to cope with Wrangel, Seeking to build redoubts beside the Rhyn?

ELECTOR. 'Tis so.

HOHENZOLLERN. Now having charged the commandants Of all his squadrons to depart the town Obedient to the plan, sharp ten at night, He flings himself exhausted on the straw Like a hound panting, his exhausted limbs To rest a little while against the fight Which waits us at the glimmering of dawn.

ELECTOR. I heard so! Well?

HOHENZOLLERN. Now when the hour strikes And in the stirrup now the cavalry Expectant paws the ground before the gates— Who still absents himself The Prince of Homburg, Their chief. With lights they seek the valiant man, With torches, lanterns, and they find him—where?

[He takes a torch from the hand of a page.]

As a somnambulist, look, on that bench, Whither in sleep, as you would ne'er believe, The moonshine lured him, vaguely occupied Imagining himself posterity And weaving for his brow the crown of fame.

ELECTOR. What!

HOHENZOLL. Oh, indeed! Look down here: there he sits!

[From the terrace he throws the light on the PRINCE.]

ELECTOR. In slumber sunk? Impossible!

HOHENZOLLERN. In slumber Sunk as he is, speak but his name—he drops.

[Pause.]

ELECTRESS. Sure as I live, the youth is taken ill.

NATALIE. He needs a doctor's care—

ELECTRESS. We should give help, Not waste time, gentlemen, meseems, in scorn.

HOHENZOLLERN (handing back the torch). He's sound, you tender-hearted women folk, By Jove, as sound as I! He'll make the Swede Aware of that upon tomorrow's field. It's nothing more, and take my word for it, Than a perverse and silly trick of the mind.

ELECTOR. By faith, I thought it was a fairy-tale! Follow me, friends, we'll take a closer look.

[They descend from the terrace.]

GENTLEMAN-IN-WAITING (to the pages). Back with the torches!

[Illustration: #THE ROYAL CASTLE AT BERLIN#]

HOHENZOLLERN. Leave them, leave them, friends! These precincts might roar up to heaven in fire And his soul be no more aware of it Than the bright stone he wears upon his hand.

[They surround him, the pages illuminating the scene.]

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 gods 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. Hell 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 snatches 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.]