SWANWHITE. And now I'll show you what I have in my chest. [She goes to the chest and kneels down beside it; then she takes out several dolls, a rattle, and a hobby-horse] Here's the doll. It's my child—the child of sorrow that can never keep its face clean. In my own arms I have carried her to the lavendrey, and there I have washed her with white sand—but it only made her worse. I have spanked her—but nothing helped. Now I have figured out what's worst of all!
PRINCE. And what is that?
SWANWHITE. [After a glance around the room] I'll give her a stepmother!
PRINCE. But how's that to be? She should have a mother first.
SWANWHITE. I am her mother. And if I marry twice, I shall become a stepmother.
PRINCE. Oh, how you talk! That's not the way!
SWANWHITE. And you shall be her stepfather.
PRINCE. Oh, no!
SWANWHITE. You must be very kind to her, although she cannot wash her face.—Here, take her—let me see if you have learned to carry children right.
The PRINCE receives the doll unwillingly.