(To himself.)
Would it were over!——Beyond betterment;
I yet await what store of future ills
Malicious fortune still may deal to me!
(To the public.)
Only an obolus, good sirs, I ask!
(King Pietro beckons Alma to him and lays a gold piece upon her plate.)
THE KING.
(Bowing his thanks to the audience.)
What is more happy than the artist's soul!
Misfortune is a spring of joy to him;
He shapes a pleasure from a wild lament.
Adversity indeed, may clip his wings,
But at the sound of gold he soon recalls
His inborn kinship to humanity.
(Alma returns to the stage and' empties the plates into the King's hand. He estimates the sum quickly, thrusts the money into his purple mantle, then, turning to his daughter, continues.)
THE KING.