Dialogue following No. 7

Enter two Officers, who look cautiously round

1ST OFFICER. Is the coast clear?

2ND OFFICER. Quite — there’s no one in sight.

FIRST OFFICER beckons off. Enter the REGENT dressed picturesquely as a tattered vagabond. Both Officers bow deferentially.

REGENT. Who were those who left as you arrived?

1ST OFFICER. The Governor Griffenfeld, your Royal Highness, and his two daughters.

REGENT. The fellow whose disgraceful practical jokes are the subject of such general complaint?

2ND OFFICER. The same, sir.

REGENT. Well, the expostulations of the townspeople have reached us in shoals, and we are resolved to judge for ourselves as to their truth or falsehood. For the purpose of our present disguise, we are Nils Egilsson — a strolling player — a vagabond — and as such you may describe me if any question as to my identity should arise. You can leave me now, but hold yourselves in readiness in case of emergency.

1ST OFFICER. As your Royal Highness pleases.

Officers bow and exeunt.

REGENT. Whom have we here? (looking at statue). Oho! my princely self, eh? Upon my word, fairly good for a provincial town. In truth, a very public-spirited thing to have done. Governor Griffenfeld must have inspired this — upon my word, my heart softens towards the little scoundrel. But no — on second thoughts, he would have commissioned a caricature. (Enter CHRISTINA with her guitar.) Who is this? A dainty maiden indeed!

CHRISTINA (not seeing him). It is a strange fascination that draws me hither! I have yet three principal streets, two squares, and the Castle Green to sing to — and they are all sure pay. (Puts down her guitar.) Then how comes it that I find myself, every half hour, instinctively drifting towards the Market-place. It is not market day, and there’s nobody here except — (looking at statue) and if I sing to him he does not hear me, and if I talk to him I must needs talk for two. As thus: Good-morrow, my Lord. “Ah, Christina — hast thou done well to-day?” But indifferent well, my lord Prince, for I have taken naught and given all! “That were idly done, Christina. What hast thou given, and to whom?” My heart, my lord Prince, and to your Highness, for look you, I love you passing well — even I, who never loved a living man! “Somewhat unmaidenly, this avowal — is it not, Christina?” It may seem so, my Lord. “Thou shouldst have waited until I gave some sign.” I might have waited long, my lord, for your Highness is strangely reticent; and I might have peaked, pined, dwindled, drooped, and died in the waiting. “That were pitiful indeed, Christina.” I thank your lordship. Will you hear a poor ballad, my lord? “If it be fairly sung, Christina, and not too long.” It is not long, my lord, and I will sing it with all my poor skill, so it shall please you. “Well, tune up, Christina — but I have no small change?” I thank your Highness; I sing to you, not for your money, but for your love. The song runneth thus: — (sees REGENT, who comes forward, offering her the guitar.) Oh, sir!

CHRISTINA. Ah! (Looks at statue, then at REGENT, and shows signs of terror.)

REGENT. Why, what is amiss with thee?

CHRISTINA. Sir, I am frightened! I thought at first — but I am a silly fool! I ask your pardon; but— you are so strangely like the Regent’s statue, that, for the moment, I — oh, who are you?

REGENT. I am Nils Egilsson — a strolling player — a flotsam and jetsam on the world’s tide — tossed hither and thither as the wild waves will; but come good, come ill, always at the service of all pretty maids who need my offices.

CHRISTINA. Then — you are not a prince?

REGENT. Not a prince? Oh, but I am a prince — very often! Every prince in turn from Nebuchadnezzar down to Louis the Sixteenth, when an engagement offers. A trifle out of repair just now, but even your theatrical princes have their vicissitudes, and Elsinore is not stage struck. But times may mend, and who knows but that I shall yet play Hamlet on his native battlements?

CHRISTINA. Still! a real Prince —

REGENT. Is not to be envied, take my word for it. Why, the very fact that he can’t show his nose out of doors without an everlasting accompaniment of National Anthem is enough to make him turn Revolutionist, and cry aloud for his own downfall!