little chatter-box! You joy of my old age—my evening star! Now open wide your rosy ear, and close your little mouth's crimson shell. Give heed, obey, and all will then be well with you.

SWANWHITE. [Putting her fingers in her ears] With my eyes I hear, and with my ears I see—and now I cannot see at all, but only hear.

DUKE. My child, when still a cradled babe, your troth was plighted to the youthful King of Rigalid. You have not seen him yet, such being courtly usage. But the time to tie the sacred knot is drawing near. To teach you the deportment of a queen and courtly manners, the king has sent a prince with whom you are to study reading out of books, gaming at chess, treading the dance, and playing on the harp.

SWANWHITE. What is the prince's name?

DUKE. That, child, is something you must never ask of him or anybody else. For it is prophesied that whosoever calls him by his name shall have to love him.

SWANWHITE. Is he handsome?

DUKE. He is, because your eye sees beauty everywhere.

SWANWHITE. But is he beautiful?

DUKE. Indeed he is. And now be careful of your little heart, and don't forget that in the cradle you were made a queen.—With this, dear child, I leave you, for I have war to wage abroad.—Submit obediently to your stepmother. She's hard, but once your father loved her—and a sweet temper will find a way to hearts of stone. If, despite of promises and oaths, her malice should exceed what is permissible, then you may blow this horn [he takes a horn of carved ivory from under his cloak], and help will come. But do not use it till you are in danger—not until the danger is extreme.—Have you understood?

SWANWHITE. How is it to be understood?

DUKE. This way: the prince is here, is in the court already. Is it your wish to see the prince?

SWANWHITE. Is it my wish?

DUKE. Or shall I first bid you farewell?

SWANWHITE. The prince is here already?

DUKE. Already here, and I—already there—far, far away where sleeps the heron of forgetfulness, with head beneath his wing.

SWANWHITE. [Leaping into the lap of the DUKE and burying her head in his beard] Mustn't speak like that! Baby is ashamed!

DUKE. Baby should be spanked—who forgets her aged father for a little prince. Fie on her!

A trumpet is heard in the distance.

DUKE. [Rises quickly, takes SWANWHITE in his arms, throws her up into the air and catches her again] Fly, little bird, fly high above the dust, with lots of air beneath your wings!—And then, once more on solid ground!—I am called by war and glory—you, by love and youth! [Girding on his sword] And now hide your wonder-horn, that it may not be seen by evil eyes.

SWANWHITE. Where shall I hide it? Where?

DUKE. The bed!

SWANWHITE. [Hiding the horn in the bed-clothing] There! Sleep well, my little tooteroot! When it is time, I'll wake you up. And don't forget your prayers!

DUKE. And child! Do not forget what I said last: your stepmother must be obeyed.

SWANWHITE. In all?

DUKE. In all.

SWANWHITE. But not in what is contrary to cleanliness!—Two linen shifts my mother let me have each sennight; this woman gives but one! And mother gave me soap and water, which stepmother denies. Look at my little footies!

DUKE. Keep clean within, my daughter, and clean will be the outside. You know that holy men, who, for the sake of penance, deny themselves the purging waters, grow white as swans, while evil ones turn raven-black.

SWANWHITE. Then I will be as white——!

DUKE. Into my arms! And then, farewell!

SWANWHITE. [Throwing herself into his arms] Farewell, my great and valiant hero, my glorious father! May fortune follow you, and make you rich in years and friends and victories!

DUKE. Amen—and let your gentle prayers be my protection!

[He closes the visor of his golden helmet.

SWANWHITE. [Jumps up and plants a kiss on the visor] The golden gates are shut, but through the bars I still can see your kindly, watchful eyes. [Knocking at the visor] Let up, let up, for little Red Riding-hood. No one at home? "Well-away," said the wolf that lay in the bed!

DUKE. [Putting her down on the floor] Sweet flower of mine, grow fair and fragrant! If I return—well—I return! If not, then from the starry arch above my eye shall follow you, and never to my sight will you be lost, for there above all-seeing we become, even as the all-creating Lord himself.

Goes out firmly, with a gesture that bids her not to follow. SWANWHITE falls on her knees in prayer for the DUKE; all the rose-trees sway before a wind that passes with the sound of a sigh; the peacock shakes its wings and tail.

SWANWHITE. [Rises, goes to the peacock and begins to stroke its back and tail] Pavo, dear Pavo, what do you see and what do you hear? Is any one coming? Who is it? A little prince? Is he pretty and nice? You, with your many blue eyes, should be able to tell. [She lifts up one of the bird's tail feathers and gazes intently at its "eye".] Are you to keep your eyes on us, you nasty Argus? Are you to see that the little hearts of two young people don't beat too loudly?—You stupid thing—all I have to do is to close the curtain! [She closes the curtain, which hides the bird, but not the landscape outside; then she goes to the doves] My white doves—oh, so white, white, white—now you'll see what is whitest of all—Be silent, wind, and roses, and doves—my prince is coming!

She looks out for a moment; then she withdraws to the pewter-closet, leaving the door slightly ajar so that through the opening she can watch the PRINCE; there she remains standing, visible to the spectators but not to the PRINCE.

PRINCE. [Enters through the middle arch of the doorway. He wears armour of steel; what shows of his clothing is black. Having carefully observed everything in the room, he sits down at the table, takes off his helmet and begins to study it. His back is turned toward the door behind which SWANWHITE is hiding] If anybody be here, let him answer! [Silence] There is somebody here, for I can feel the warmth of a young body come billowing toward me like a southern wind. I can hear a breath—it carries the fragrance of roses—and, gentle though it be, it makes the plume on my helmet move. [He puts the helmet to his ear] 'Tis murmuring as if it were a huge shell. It's the thoughts within my own head that are crowding each other like a swarm of bees in a hive. "Zum, zum," say the thoughts—just like bees that are buzzing around their queen—the little queen of my thoughts and of my dreams! [He places the helmet on the table and gazes at it] Dark and arched as the sky at night, but starless, for the black plume is spreading darkness everywhere since my mother's