FullReads

THE GYPSY.
( reciting )

–the approaching nuptials of the King and the Princess of Basque. The details of the royal bride’s trousseau are already well known to the public, down to the last garter. The six embroidered chemises from Astrakhan–

The maid shows great interest. The King is embarrassed.

THE KING.
But, my dear fellow–really, you know–! This is–!

THE GYPSY.
Items of this nature, your majesty, are recited in the bazaar to audiences composed exclusively of women. Under the circumstances there is surely no impropriety–

THE KING
. Very well. I accept your explanation. But as your present audience is not composed exclusively of women, I suggest that you omit those details.

THE GYPSY.
Your majesty, I omit them. The account continues….

( Reciting )
The marriage has excellent reasons of state for being made, inasmuch as it cements in friendship two kingdoms which have been at war with each other off and on for a hundred years. But it has its romantic side as well. It is, in fact, a love-match. The fact that the royal lovers have never seen each other only emphasizes its romantic quality. Their joy in beholding in actuality what they have for three long months cherished so dearly in imagination, is a theme for the poet laureate–who will, however, we fear, judging from his past performances, hardly do it justice. It is, as we have said, a love- match. The royal pair fell in love with what they had heard of each other–the Princess of Basque with the image she had formed in her mind from glowing reports of the King’s valour, amounting to rashness, his fluency of poetic speech, his manly bearing, and his irrepressible wit….

( The King nods gravely at each item.)
While the King became madly enamoured of the reputation of the Princess of Basque for sweetness, industry in good works, and the docility which befits a wife, even of a King….

( The King nods gravely at these items also.)
She is, indeed, a pattern of all the domestic virtues–she is quiet, obedient, dignified–

There is a cry in a high feminine voice, outside. All look toward the window. A girl appears, running past, with short loose hair tossing about her face. She pauses, and flings herself over the window-ledge, and is standing–panting, red-cheeked, smiling–in the room. The King rises.

THE KING.
( furious, yet coldly polite )

And who, in the name of the sacred traditions of womanhood, are you?

THE FIGURE.
I–I am the Princess of Basque!

They stare at her.

* * * * *

Mid-day. Yellow curtains have been drawn across the broad window. On the wide seat, the King, dressed in purple robes, sits with head bowed in thought…. There is a noise of shouting outside. The King looks up.

THE KING.
( sadly )

There it is again.

THE GYPSY.
( entering )

Your majesty–

THE KING.
You? What are you doing here?

THE GYPSY.
Your majesty, the palace is in a turmoil. The attendants are helping the soldiers keep order among the crowd in the courtyard–the gentlemen-in-waiting are receiving deputations with wedding presents– the women are distributing medals bearing the image of the bride. All the city is celebrating her unexpected arrival, and rejoicing with you in your presumed happiness. In this disturbed state of affairs, I have been drafted into your majesty’s service, and come to bring you a message.