place and the people do not seem strange; it is I who seem strange.
Pietro. [To Majestá] Yes, give her a glass. Invite her. You ought to do it—among friends!
Unknown. Yes, between queens! Do the honors. You ought.
Majestá. [Staggering to her feet; then, with a drunken leer] Here… Let me have it… [Offering a glass to Imperia] Lady…
Zaida. [Alarmed] Ay!
Imperia. Don't be afraid. What is it, my poor woman?
Majestá. Your Majesty, I… I also am a Queen… a Queen… Majestá… Don't you know me?
Pietro. Don't mind her. She won't hurt you. She's only a bit out of her head.
Majestá. To-night I'm holding a feast in my palace. I offer you a glass of champagne. Drink! It will not hurt you. It is not poison. I have no reason to wish you harm. You cannot hurt me. I am happy, oh, so happy! Who can take this happiness away? But they are not all like this. No! There are bad people—bad! Take care! And they have done me harm, much harm. But I… I have harmed nobody! Nobody! That's the reason I am so happy! That's the happiness that none can take away!
Zaida. Signora! Come, let us go__
Imperia. No, I must hear her. These are the discords, the broken harmonies of the mad. They fascinate me. There is something wild and eerie in them, which may prove prophetic in the end. Come here, my poor woman. [Offering money.
Majestá. Gold! Do you see? It is gold! More champagne! [Throwing down the money] Champagne!
Pietro. Here! Pick it up I You'll need it.
