And a thousand voices praise you as an artist the like of which never spoke to his folk before. How many king's names are forgotten!
THE KING.
I do not value that! Only a day laborer or a place hunter can wear with pride the laurels which spring from earthly misery! But do you know what pride is possible to me in this existence? Called to an inscrutable trial, I struggle here as only one of a million beings. But King Nicola, as king, met death! No one doubts but that he is long beyond the reach of human humiliation. No one asks him now to renounce the dignity conferred on him by God. No shadow disturbs his kingly remembrance! I owe it to this illusion that I am still alive under God's sun. And until the hour of my death no storm shall deprive me of this possession, which, perhaps, I can still dispose of to your advantage! My sceptre! My orb! (He takes both from the property chest.) And now—the—ki-ki-king's farce! (Seized by a sudden pain in the heart, he strives painfully for breath.)
ALMA.
(Rushing to his side.) Jesu, Maria, my father; I can see how marble white you are through your make-up!
THE KING.
A shortness of breath!——It is over.——I have been subject to it since I was in prison——
(King Pietro and Prince Filipo enter the auditorium and take their places in the golden chairs.)
THE THEATRE MANAGER.
(Calling behind the scenes.) On the stage, Punchinello!