No, no!

Prince:

—a villa, in which you will dwell.

It is tucked deep in a garden.

Your view will come to rest on trees,

on flowers, the dense greenery,

on ivy garlanding the wall,

on a sky that sends you sunlight

more gorgeous than any other

as it pierces chinks in the leaves.

Moonlight there is more sensitive,

the tips of the pine trees tickle

it raw and tender. The birdsong

is to your ears a recital

inexpressibly beautiful.

As its mistress you will wander

through the art of the garden,

upon paths that, as though they had

empathy, part ways and rejoin

suddenly. Fountains brighten you,

the dreamer, whenever you dwell

in your thoughts too much. All of this

will come running to wait on you

and simply when it pleases you,

all feeling according to you,

all cheerfully subservient.

Cinderella:

You are teasing me. Isn’t it,

isn’t it true that I would feel

myself borne by hands? By your hand,

there is no doubt I’d be clinging

utterly and blissfully so.

But these dresses, which you see here,

I’m terribly in love with them.

I would have to put them aside,

no more to be Cinderella—

Prince:

Then you will have handmaidens and

wardrobes full of gorgeous dresses.

Cinderella:

Don’t I have that?

Prince:

All day long in silence you would

be left to yourself. Only when

desire drove you from the garden

to people and to greater noise,

as it met your stillness, would you

find in the palace murmuring

enough delight, glitter, splendor,

music, dance, frolic, what you will.

Cinderella:

This again would make for something

like a very pleasant and lovely

contrast to my solitude then.

Do you think so?

Prince:

Of course.

Cinderella:

How I love you. I cannot find,

in that wide, open, infinite

land of gratitude, one small word

to thank you. So let me, in place

of every way to express thanks,

kiss you, like so. O that was sweet.

Good, now that it is at an end.

Prince:

An end? To what?

Cinderella:

This leaping comes to an end now,

this dance with me. I’m not for you.

I am still engaged to myself.

Memory reminds me I’ve not

yet dreamed this love through to the end,

that something floats around me here,

something here, something that gives me

still much more to do. Don’t you see

the quiet sisters over there,

hard as stone, watching us amazed?

I feel sorry for them, although

they’re not worth feeling sorry for.

But that is not being true, it is

only said for my sake really.

I love them, who worked me so hard

and stern. I love the punishment

that was undeserved, those foul words,

so as to keep smiling brightly.

I get endless satisfaction.

It occupies me all day long,

gives me cause to leap and to see,

to think and to dream. And that is