that I would gladly throw away.

Fool:

Go hunting. A spirited steed,

the exultant call of the horns—

such glories this pastime contains,

to slay the thing that you mean here,

inconsolable grief, that is.

Prince:

Very well, I take your counsel

no more, no less than my father

takes his from his wise chancellor

when his own wisdom seems lacking.

Come, follow me. I shall exit

this scene like an old-fashioned prince

in a classic play. Today, Fool,

you are a fool in the best sense.

He exits.

Fool:

By the devil, that I can believe,

and for me it would be easy.

It doesn’t lack in flattery.

At heart, I am very flattered.

A prince well proves himself a fool

taking care not to be a fool.

I, who am not a prince, am lord

in the proper sense of the word,

for I am a master of wit.

My wit prevails over my lord,

who fell from his wit as my wit

raised him up to his princely state.

A prince with no fool is that wit

which will flop over and over.

I am buffoonery enthroned

above his station and scorning

a prince so in need of his fool.

And thus am I his fool indeed,

that I am for his foolishness.

Come, Fool, and let’s follow the fool.

He exits.

Change of scene. An avalanche in the forest.† The Prince on horseback.

Prince:

Down into the plain and raging,

like a storm-swollen stream. Trees fall

before the eyes. The heavens reel.

The world’s a joyous chase, a game

preserve for noble hunters, whose

minds range above earthly pursuits.

What cheer I feel, what sweet pluck,

how happy I am. This courage

makes my heavy soul feel light,

like a bird feels on the wing.

Right now, I feel like a painting—

lifeless, and yet so full of life,

fully in control, yet excited,

bitter and sweet. This carefree chase

is, indeed, the very image

of noble courage, which I serve now

with all my heart while forgetting

what’s so heartfelt. The forest is

my passion. It is my ballroom

where arms and legs feel joyfully

exercised. The trees are the rugs

and pillows at my father’s court.

How wonderfully they wrap me.

No dream could be more beautiful.

No picture sweeter than this art

a benevolent goddess painted herself.

Today was time spent like a warrior,

a moment so exquisitely fulfilled.

It’s a joy that goes by all too soon.

Change of scene. A large room with a gallery connected by a flight of stairs. Cinderella and the First Sister.

Cinderella:

Look down at my devotion.

Look, look. O my every feeling

is ready to be at your service.

It is like a dress-shop box

opened to show a gift within,

like a new fur to keep you warm.

O how warmly my heart serves you.

I beg you, boldly strike my hand