KING.

The rabbit!  I do not know—­I suppose the other gentlemen do not care for it?

ALL (bow).

KING.

Well, then, with your permission, I will keep it for myself. (He eats.)

PRINCESS.

It seems to me the king is making faces as though he were getting an attack again.

KING (rising in rage).

The rabbit is burned!  Oh, earth!  Oh, pain!  What keeps me from sending the cook right down to Orcus as fast as possible?

PRINCESS.

My father!

KING.

How did this stranger lose his way among the people?  His eyes are dry—­

ALL (arise very sadly, JACKPUDDING runs back and forth busily,
HINZE remains seated and eats steadily).

KING.

A long, long, good night; no morning will ever brighten it.

PRINCESS.

Do have some one fetch the peacemaker.

KING.

May the Cook Philip be Hell’s cry of jubilee when an ungrateful wretch is burned to ashes!

PRINCESS.

Where can the musician be!

KING.

To be or not to be—­

[The peacemaker enters with a set of musical bells and begins to play them at once.]

KING.

What is the matter with me? (Weeping.) Alas!  I have already had my attack again.  Have the rabbit taken out of my sight. (He lays his head on the table, full of grief, and sobs.)

COURTIER.

His majesty suffers much.

[Violent stamping and whistling in the pit; they cough, they hiss; those in the gallery laugh; the king gets up, arranges his cloak and sits down majestically with his sceptre.  It is all in vain; the noise continues to increase, all the actors forget their parts, a terrible pause on the stage.  HINZE has climbed up a pillar.  The author appears on the stage, overcome.]

AUTHOR.

Gentlemen—­most honorable public—­just a few words!

IN THE PIT.

Quiet!  Quiet!  The fool wishes to speak!

AUTHOR.

For the sake of heaven, do not disgrace me thus; why, the act will be over directly.  Just look, the king, too, is again calmed; take an example from this great soul which certainly has more reason to be vexed than you.

FISCHER.

More than we?

WIESENER (to his neighbor).

But I wonder why you are stamping?  We
two like the play, do we not?

NEIGHBOR.

That’s true too—­absent-mindedly, because they’re all doing it. (Claps with might and main.)

AUTHOR.

A few voices are still favorable to me, however.  For pity, do put up with my poor play; a rogue gives more than he has, and it will be over soon, too.  I am so confused and frightened that I can think of nothing else to say to you.

ALL.