The King. I am afraid you will have to try, my gallant friend!—Don't look so dejected, Mr. Mayor!—Suppose some day serious-minded men should feel just as humiliated at such falsehoods existing as you do now because you have not been allowed to participate in them. I might perhaps be able to endure being king then! But as things are now, I am not strong enough for the job. I feel as if I had been shouldered out of actual life on to this strip of carpet that I am standing on! That is what my attempts at reform have ended in!
The Mayor. May I be allowed to say that the impression made on my mind by the somewhat painful scene we have just gone through is that your Majesty is overwrought.
The King. Mad, you mean?
The Mayor. God forbid I should use such a word of my King!
The King. Always punctilious!—Well, judging by the fact that every one else considers themselves sane, I must undoubtedly be the mad one. It is as simple as a sum in arithmetic.—And, in all conscience, isn't it madness, when all is said and done, to take such trifles so much to heart?—to bother about a few miserable superannuated forms that are not of the slightest importance?—a few venerable, harmless prejudices?—a few foolish social customs and other trumpery affairs of that sort?
The General. Quite so!
The Mayor. Your Majesty is absolutely right!
Bang. I quite agree!
The Priest. It is exactly what I have been thinking all the time.
The King. And probably we had better add to the list certain extravagant ideas—perhaps even certain dangerous ideas, like mine about Christianity?