PEHR. [Frightened.] What a harsh gentleman! I shall have to submit,
although I'm beastly hungry--But, wait! Is there nothing that will
move that gentleman? I have heard that gold--[Goes over to chest
and takes out a handful of gold coins.] Would not--
BUTLER. Your Grace! I stand above the servants; above me stands
Your Grace, but above us all stands--Conventionality. Its laws are
perpetual, for they have their foundation both in common sense and
in what we call historical hypotheses.
PEHR. And the historical hypotheses--cannot they be reached with
gold?
BUTLER. They are non-corruptible--in this instance!
PEHR. What's the good of all my wealth if I cannot eat my fill when
I'm hungry? I am worse off than the poorest bellringer.
[Butler stations himself at the table, and stands like a statue.]
[Enter Tax Assessor and assistants, who walk about and take an
inventory.]
PEHR. Look--here's a new torture! With what shall you gentlemen
pester an innocent victim?
TAX ASSESSOR. Taxation, Your Grace.
PEHR. Indeed! So it is you who regulate people's worth. How high is
a human being estimated these days?
TAX ASSESSOR. Two per hundred, Your Grace;--all depends on what one
is good for.
PEHR. Tell me, can't I withdraw while the gentlemen figure up? for
I am both hungry and thirsty.
TAX ASSESSOR. Impossible! It must be done in the owner's presence.
PEHR. O Lord, what trials! But I may be allowed to sit down at
least?
TAX ASSESSOR. As you please! [To assistants.
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