Queen. I know that he is safe, for the most faithful of the faithful guards him. Think of thyself and of thy sword.
King. An hour since was this blade still clean.... I seemed too great--nay, nay, too small--to wield it; doubted and cursed myself and you and all the world. And yet defiance still blazed high in me; I could be a warrior, perhaps a hero, and knew it not ... ah, cursed fool!... Now I gaze in envy at that man, could even kiss his feet, who with accusing conscience and hand yet free from blood-guiltiness, stood a transgressor here within this hall. O were this sword still clean, how might I wield it! What miracles exultingly perform! But for me now no saving miracle can come to pass ...
[The smothered tumult in the court becomes suddenly louder.]
Two Nobles [at the window]. God be merciful! Fly!--Save yourselves!
[Hans Lorbass, the young Prince in his arms, rushes up the steps.]
Hans Lorbass [breathless]. Here--take the child! The foe is close at hand--within the court!
King [in frenzied joy throwing himself upon the Prince]. My miracle!
Hans Lorbass. If you would save yourself, barricade this door, strengthen it ten-fold with beams, break off stones from the roof, roll them down and heap them up--
King. Thou art wrong, my friend. The door--fling open!
[Hans Lorbass tears open the door with a joyous shout. They hear the approaching battle-cry of the enemy.]