LORENZ.

I shall have to be going again soon!  I still have a long way home.

HOST.

You are a subject of the king, aren’t you?

LORENZ.

Yes, indeed; what do you call your good ruler?

HOST.

He is just called Bugbear.

LORENZ.

That is a foolish title.  Why, has he no other name?

HOST.

When he has edicts issued, they always read:  For the good of the public, the Law demands—­hence I believe that is his real name.  All petitions, too, are always laid before the Law.  He is a fearful man.

LORENZ.

Still, I should rather be under a king; why, a king is more dignified.  They say the Bugbear is a very ungracious master.

HOST.

He is not especially gracious, that is true of course, but, on the other hand, he is justice itself.  Cases are even sent to him from abroad and he must settle them.

LORENZ.

They say wonderful things about him; the story goes he can transform himself into any animal.

HOST.

It is true, and then he travels around incognito and spies out the sentiments of his subjects; that’s the very reason why we trust no cat, no strange dog or horse, because we always think the ruler might probably be inside of them.

LORENZ.

Then surely we are in a better position, too.  Our king never goes out without wearing his crown, his cloak, and his sceptre; by these, he is known three hundred paces away.  Well, take care of yourselves.

[Exit.]

HOST.

Now he is already in his own country.

KUNZ.

Is the border line so near?

HOST.

Surely, that very tree belongs to the king; you can see from this very spot everything that goes on in his country; this border line here is a lucky thing for me.  I should have been bankrupt long ago if the deserters from over there had not supported me; almost every day several come.

MICHEL.

Is the service there so hard?

HOST.

Not that; but running away is so easy, and just because it is so strictly forbidden the fellows get such an exceptional desire to desert.  Look, I bet that’s another one coming!

[A soldier comes running.]

SOLDIER.

A can of beer, host!  Quick!

HOST.

Who are you?

SOLDIER.

A deserter.

MICHEL.

Perhaps ’twas his love for his parents which made him desert. 
Poor fellow, do take pity on him, host.

HOST.

Why if he has money, there won’t be any lack of beer. (Goes into the house.)

[Two hussars come riding and dismount.]

1ST HUSS.

Well, thank God, we’ve got so far!  Your health, neighbor!

SOLDIER.

This is the border.