PEHR. Etiquette! What kind of torment is that?
BUTLER. Your Grace, listen to an old man's word! He who in Your Grace's position violates the rules of etiquette is lost.
PEHR. [Frightened.] What a harsh gentleman! I shall have to submit, although I'm beastly hungry—But, wait! Is there nothing that will move that gentleman? I have heard that gold—[Goes over to chest and takes out a handful of gold coins.] Would not—
BUTLER. Your Grace! I stand above the servants; above me stands Your Grace, but above us all stands—Conventionality. Its laws are perpetual, for they have their foundation both in common sense and in what we call historical hypotheses.
PEHR. And the historical hypotheses—cannot they be reached with gold?
BUTLER. They are non-corruptible—in this instance!
PEHR. What's the good of all my wealth if I cannot eat my fill when I'm hungry? I am worse off than the poorest bellringer.
[Butler stations himself at the table, and stands like a statue.]
[Enter Tax Assessor and assistants, who walk about and take an inventory.]
PEHR. Look—here's a new torture! With what shall you gentlemen pester an innocent victim?