Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=FZ8W-SIMSR4C&dq
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
3. Greek words are transliterated in bracket [Greek: ].
Whole Vol. XII. YEARLY, $2.50 EACH NUMBER, 65 CENTS. No. 2
NEW SERIES IV.
POET-LORE
A QUARTERLY MAGAZINE OF LETTERS
SECOND NUMBER.
VOL. IV. NEW SERIES.
April, May, June, 1900.
POETRY AND FICTION.
THE THREE HERON'S FEATHERS. Hermann Sudermann
MARAH OF SHADOWTOWN. Verses. Anne Throop
DIES IRAE. Verses. William Mountain
APPRECIATIONS AND ESSAYS.
GEORGE MEREDITH ON THE SOURCE OF DESTINY. Emily G. Hooker
THE TRAGEDY OF OPHELIA. David A. McKnight
CLEWS TO EMERSON'S MYSTIC VERSE. III. William Sloane Kennedy
A DEFENCE OF BROWNING'S LATER WORK. Helen A. Clarke
SCHOOL OF LITERATURE.
GLIMPSES OF PRESENT-DAY POETS. A Selective Reading Course. II. An
American Group: Edmund Clarence Stedman, Louise Chandler Moulton,
Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Louise Imogen Guiney, Richard Hovey, Bliss
Carman, Hannah Parker Kimball.
REVIEWS.
'Songs from the Ghetto' and 'A Vision of Hellas.' Harriott S.
Olive.--Col. Higginson's 'Contemporaries' and Mrs. Howe's
'Reminiscences.' Helen Tracy Porter.
LIFE AND LETTERS.
The Modern Unrest in Nations, Markets and Minds.--Its
Portent.--Goethe's Iphigenia at Harvard. H. S. O.--Is Browning a
Legitimate Member of the Victorian School? Mary M. Cohen.--Etc.
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POET-LORE
Vol. XII. No. 2
--_wilt thou not haply saie,
Truth needs no collour with his collour fixt,
Beautie no pensell, beauties truth to lay:
But best is best if never intermixt.
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
Excuse no silence so, for 't lies in thee,
To make him much outlive a gilded tombe:
And to be praised of ages yet to be.
Then do thy office_----
THE THREE HERON'S FEATHERS.
BY HERMANN SUDERMANN.
* * *
Characters.
The Queen of Samland. Skoell, \
The young Prince, her son. Ottar, > The Duke's men.
Anna Goldhair, her attendant. Gylf, /
Coelestin, her Major-domo. The Burial-wife.
The Chancellor. Miklas, a peasant.
Widwolf, Duke of Gotland. An old fisherman, a page,
Prince Witte. councillors, men and women of the
Hans Lorbass, his servant. Queen, the Duke's men, the
people.
_The scene of the first and fifth acts is laid on the coast of Samland;
that of the second, third, and fourth acts in the capital city._
_Between the fourth and fifth acts a period of fifteen years elapses._
ACT I.
_The coast of Samland. The background slopes upward at right and left
to wooded hills. Between them is a gorge, behind which the sea
glitters. In the right foreground are graves with wooden head-boards
and crosses, overgrown with shrubbery. At the left is a stout
watch-tower with a door in it. Common household furniture stands about
the threshold._
Scene I.
Hans Lorbass _seated on a grave with spade and shovel, a freshly dug
mound behind him._
_Hans Lorbass_ [_sings_].
Behind a juniper bush,
On a night in July warm and red,
Was my poor mother of me brought to bed
[_Speaking_]. And knew not how.
Behind a juniper bush,
Between cock's crow and morning red,
I struck in drink my father dead,
[_Speaking_]. And knew not who.
Behind a juniper bush,
When all the vermin have had their bite,
I'll stretch myself out and give up the fight
[_Speaking_]. Still I know not when.
Yet one thing I know: anywhere hereabouts, a mile-stone or a
cross-roads will do very well some day; I do not need a juniper bush.
Let us say a garden hedge, that is a pleasant spot. If some day it
should come into my head to lie down beneath one, in the tall grass,
nearby a grave, and quietly turn my back on this dry, burnt-out old
world, who--a plague upon him--would have aught to say against it? Here
I sit and munch my crusts, and hold carouse--on water; [_getting up_]
here I stand and dig graves, a free-will servant to weakness. I dig the
graves of the unnamed, unknown, when icy waves toss them rotting on the
shore, tangled in slimy sea-weed. Once all my thoughts were wont to
follow on the foeman's path, to cleave him through with my blithely
swinging sword, to carve my path straight through the solid rock; yet
now I stand here and smile submission at a woman. But I bide my time
until my master comes again knocking to set me free from my graveyard
prison and breathe new life into my frame. Him at whose side I once
stood guardian-like with fiercest zeal, him will I serve again with all
my love and life, and follow like a dog.... Like a dog, yes, but like a
master, too. For it is strength alone that wins the day at last, in all
the brave deeds done upon this earth. And only he who laughs can win.
The victory is never to the weakling whiner, nor to the man whose
rage can master him; as little does it crown the man whose mind is
woman-ruled; but less than these and least of all will it bless him
who dreams away his life. For that I stole and sweated to secure,--his
future good,--for that I sit now fixed firm within his soul,--I his
servant and avenger! Here comes the old one. Never yet have I owned
myself conquered by any soul on earth.... And yet--when she comes
peering into my affairs, I feel as though I might become--I don't know
what! I begin to know what strength is in sweet words; I feel a
readiness for any sort of bout; my spirits swell to bursting
roisteringness,--and yet I have not the shadow of a cause for any such
ideas.
_Burial-wife_ [_entering_]. Tell me, my little Hans, hast been
industrious? Hast made a fine soft bed?
_Hans_. I am no Hans of thine. My name is Hans Lorbass. A knave who
stalks stiff-necked and solemn up and down the world does not much
relish being treated like a child.
_Burial-wife_. Thou art my dear child none the less. Only grow old and
gray; and then shall thy body bear its scars and thy soul its sins back
to the old wife.
_Hans_. Not yet.
_Burial-wife_. Thou hast dug many a deep still grave for me; many a
wanderer will come and find rest, therein. Over the gray path of the
boundless sea will each one come bringing his life's sorrow to lay it
here upon my bosom. I open wide my arms to them as my father bade me,
and blessing them I thus absolve myself from suffering and penance.
Beneath my breath sin and crime straightway disappear;--and smilingly I
bear all my dear children to their rest.
_Hans_. Not me. What concern hast thou with me? It is true thou holdest
me here within thy grave-yard prison and compellest me to play the
grave-digger with blows and taunts; but let my prince once come this
way again, and not another hour of service shalt thou have.... My
prince, my gold-prince! My sweet lad! How I could burst with a single
leap straight to thy side through all the world, and with my
too-long-idle sword hurl down to hell the coward pack that presses
round thee!... And thou art all to blame,--yes, all. He had already
quite enough agonizing longings, unfulfilled desires; but thou must
needs fan the warmly glowing flames to a devouring blaze. It was thou
that lured him into that adventure, that willed his braving danger
singlehanded; and if he cracks the accursed nut, if I see the foam curl
again about his prow,--even if I clasp him to me and feel him safe
indeed,--who shall tell me that after all his prize is worth his pains?
Where is that woman thou hast showed to him, that pattern of beauty and
purity, that paragon of softness and strength, she who was born to
steal away his other longings,--where is she?--show her to me!
_Burial-wife_. My little Hans, my son, why stormest thou so?
_Hans_. Let me curse.
_Burial-wife_. Hush thee, and lie down here beside me on the straw, and
listen what I tell thee.
_Hans_. On the grave-straw? [_Lies down with a grimace._]
_Burial-wife_. There landed two men yonder on a golden spring day, and
wandered lost like wild things through the thicket. Who were they?
_Hans_. I and my master were the two. The villainy of his step-brother
had rent from him his throne and kingdom. He was too young, he was too
weak,--there lay the blame.
_Burial-wife_. Yet he was blustering and drew his sword and demanded
with storm and threat that I should grant a wish for him. Still thou
knowest him, my dear son?
_Hans_. Do I know him!
_Burial-wife_. "Thou desirest the fairest of women for thy bride?" I
said. "She is not here; but if thou dost not shrink before the danger,
I can show thee the way, my son."
_Hans_. The way to death!
_Burial-wife_. "There lies an isle in the northern seas, where day and
night are merged in dawn; never more shall he rejoice at sight of home
who loses his path there in a storm. There lies thy path. And there,
where the holy word is never taught, within a crystal house there lives
a wild heron, worshiped as a god. From that heron thou must pluck three
feathers out and bring them hither."
_Hans_. And if he brings them?
_Burial-wife_. Then I will make him conscious of miraculous power,
through which he shall find and bind her to himself who awaits him in
night and need; for by this deed he grows a man, and worth the prize.
_Hans_. And then? When he has got her, and sighs and coos and lies in
her bosom half a hundred years, when he turns himself a very woman, I
shall be the last to wonder at it. Look! [_he picks up a piece of
amber_] I shovelled this shining glittering bauble out of the
dune-sand. I have heaped up whole bushels of it in my greedy zeal. Now,
as I toss from me this sticky mass of resin, that borrows the name and
place of a stone, so with the act I hurl away in mocking laughter these
many-colored lies of womankind. [_He tosses the lump to the ground._]
Now go and brew my evening draught. I will to the sea to seek my
master. [_He goes out to the right. The_ Burial-wife _looks after him
grinning and goes into the tower._]
_Ottar_ [_sticking his head through the bushes_]. Holloa, Gylf!
_Gylf_ [_coming out_]. What is it? [_The others also appear._]
_Ottar_. Here is the tower, here lie the graves in a sandy spot; run
below to the Duke and tell him; not a man to be seen, not even a worm,
naught but a burying-ground, rooted up and worried as though we had
been haunting it ourselves. [Gylf _goes out._]
_Skoell_. Nay, for we would have saved some of our loved dead for the
raven, we would not have been so stingy as to bury them straightway.
[_They all laugh._]
_The First_ [_pointing out to sea_].--Ho--there!
_Ottar_. What's the matter?
_The First_. Does not the boat pass there that yesterday crossed our
path on the high seas, whose steersman threatened fight with our
dragon? How comes the bold rascal here?
_The Second_ [_who has raised up the lump of amber_]. I tell you,
comrades, let the fellow go, and look what I have found.
_Ottar_. Death and the devil! Then we are in Amberland.
_The Third_ [_staring_]. That is amber?
_Ottar_. Give it to me!
_The Second_. I found it--it is mine!
_Ottar_. Thou gorging maw!
_The Second_. Thieves! Flayers!
_Ottar_. Dog! I'll strike thee dead!
_Skoell_. Be quiet, fools, there is plenty more! Go look in the tower,
and you may curse me for a knave if you find the mouse-hole empty.
_The First_. Come.
_The Two Others_. Yes, come! [_The three go into the tower._]
_Skoell_. Thou dost not go along?
_Ottar_. Thou hadst gladly got us out of the way to dig all by thyself?
O, we all know thee, thou filthy fool!
_Skoell_ [_slapping him on the back_]. More pretty words, my friend? Go
on! When we are our own men on shore again, I will see what I can
do;--but till that time I spare my skin.
[_The three come reeling backwards out of the tower, followed by the_
Burial-wife _with raised fist._]
_Skoell_. What is this?
_Ottar_. What do you call this? Seize her!
_The First_. Seize her! Easy to say! Dost thou court the palsy?
_The Second_. Or fits, at least!
_Ottar_. Cowards! [_He advances upon her. The others, except_ Skoell,
_follow him yelling._]
_Hans_ [_snatches his sword, that hangs on a tree, and throws the
assailants into confusion with a blow or two_]. Ho, there! Let her
alone, or--
_Skoell_. Look! Hans Lorbass!
_The Others_. Who? Our Hans?
_Ottar_ [_rubbing his shoulder_]. How comest thou here? Thou still hast
thy old strength, I find!
_Skoell_. Tell us, old Hans, what brings thee here? Is she thy latest
love?
_All_ [_burst out laughing_]. Hans, Hans! Poor old Hans!
_Hans_. Bandits! Just come on once! [_To the_ Burial-wife.] How is it?
I hope they have not hurt thee.
_Burial-wife_. None can harm me, none molest me, who has not first
wronged himself and all his hopes.
_Ottar_ [_sings_]. Ho, Hans is playing with his love!
_Hans_. Have a care!
[_The_ Burial-wife _goes slowly into the tower._]
_Hans_. It is now scarce three years since we bore within the hall our
master in his ash-hewn coffin. He raised his hand already cold, and
pointed with his pallid, bony finger--not toward the bastard Danish
conqueror, but towards his own true son, Prince Witte; and him he left
his country's lord. The land was poor, the people rude, yet it had
preserved its pride and loyalty un stained through a thousand murderous
brawls. Three years ago as everybody knows, you would have murdered
our young lord at summons of the Bastard and his fair promises; and
now--what are you? Thieves, sand-fleas, loafers, riff-raff, haunting
the moors and hiding in the thickets. Stop! I will build a gallows for
you presently; my brave sword is too good for you. [_He throws down his
sword. They laugh._]
_Skoell_. Hanschen, has thou clean forgot who was the fiercest
bloodhound of us all? Who was it always shouted "I will do it, I!" till
everyone spread sail before him and left him to his work? Then wouldest
thou come, wiping thy bloody hand, and laugh, and say: "My work is
done!" And then one saw no more of thee. Now when we find thee and
rejoice at sight of thee, thou scornest us like a pack of thieves or
birds of such a feather, and playest the judge sitting above us;--fie,
Hanschen, 'tis not kind of thee.
_Hans_. Quite right! Give us thy fist!... No use to wrangle! [_Offers
his hand to one after the other. Looking at one suspiciously._] Thou
hast need of a little scouring first, I think. Children, what fine
fellows you would be, if only you were not such frightful rogues.
[_They laugh._] Tell me now, what have you been at so long?
_Ottar_ [_awkwardly_]. Who? We?
_Hans_. Yes, you!
_Ottar_. Thou wouldst draw us out then?
_Hans_. No need. I know that trade a thousand miles away. You are
wreckers!
_All_ [_laughing_]. Of course.
_Hans_ [_half to himself_]. See, see!
_Skoell_. Only the name is not quite right. We are wreckers hereabouts;
but we chiefly rob upon the high seas.
_Hans_. And your Duke?
_Ottar_. There's a man! He stands foremost in the attack. When the
grappling-irons lay hold, when the javelin whistles in the air, when
down upon the rashly canted dragon crashes the boarding-plank, when
above they wait like calves for the slaughter, then rings his
murder-cry: Ho huzzah!
_All_. Ho huzzah!
_Hans_ [_half to himself_]. It must be fine. [_Aloud._] Then in the
battle--how shows he there?
_Ottar_. In what battle? We have no more battles.
_Hans_. So, so! I just bethought myself. One question more: How come
you here?
_Skoell_. Hast thou not taken our measure, then? Take notice of my
sparkling glance--its tender fire: observe his air, like to a love-sick
cock's: Do we not smell of myrrh and balm! In short, we go to gaze upon
the bride.
_Hans_. Who, then?
_Ottar_. Who? Dost thou mock at us? Thou livest here and yet thou hast
not heard of the Amberqueen, the marvel of beauty who has sworn to
yield herself and her throne to the man that is victorious in a
tournament for life and death, and bears all her other suitors to the
earth? The fair one is a widow, the heir an orphan; so it is meat and
drink to him who throws the others by the heels.
_Hans_. Are you so sure of it?
_Ottar_. Well, where is the man who cares to try conclusions with our
Duke?
_Hans_ [_to himself_], I reared one who will strike him down some day.
[_Enter_ Duke Widwolf _and more of his men._]
_Duke_. Why stand you there? Did I send you ahead to chatter? On with
you! What stops your mouths? Clear the way! And if I find you sluggish
I will call out my cat-o'-nine-tails for you.
_Hans_ [_aside to the first man, who stands near him_]. He drubs you
then?
_The First_. Past bearing.
_Duke_. Who is that man that speaks with you? Why have you not already
struck him down?
_Skoell_. He is so droll, master, he would not let himself be killed.
_Duke_. Meseems ... Hans Lorbass--do I see aright? What--what?... Thou
knowest I am in thy debt for business secretly done. I love not debts
between master and man.
_Hans_. No need, my lord, I have my pay.
_Duke_. At first thou seemedst to serve me diligently; yet thou didst
slip as suddenly from my throne as though thou hadst an ailing
conscience.
_Hans_ [_gazing out to sea._] Perhaps. It may be.
_Duke_. Where hast thou stayed so long?
_Hans_ [_without stirring_]. I am a servant. I have served.
_Duke_. What drivest thou now?
_Hans_. I drive naught, my lord, I am driven.
_Duke_ [_threateningly_]. It pleases thee to jest.
_Hans_. And thee to be galled thereat.
_Duke_. That fellow's corpse was never found! Now clear thyself from
the suspicion.
_Hans_. Think what thou wilt. Covered with wounds I sunk it in the
ocean's depths.
_Duke_. I trust thee. If thou wilt swear thy truth to me, then come.
With me all is feasting and revelry.
_Hans_ [_looking out to sea again_]. Thank thee, my lord. I care not to
do murder, and I can play the robber by myself.
_Duke_. Seize him.
_Skoell_ [_beseechingly_]. Master, our dearest companion, who never yet
has played us false.
[Duke _draws his sword and makes as if to attack_ Hans.]
_Hans_ [_gripping his sword and flourishing it high in the air._] Thou
art the master and wonted to victory; but come too near, and thou hast
only been the master!
_Duke_. Well, leave him then upon the path where thou hast found him. I
had wellnigh killed instead of paying him.
[_He goes out. The others follow. Some of them shake_ Hans Lorbass
_furtively by the hand._]
_Hans_ [_alone_]. Then there is something holds his spirit in bonds;
will make his race a race of weaklings, will plunge the land itself in
guilt,--and yet they know not their own shame.... Right! Just now
I saw something. Did I not behold, not far from land a blood-red sail
a-dazzle against the blue night cloud? The keel bore sharply toward the
shore--how gladly would I believe the old wife there, when--truly, it
frets me so I must--[_He goes to the tower and is about to open the
door_. Prince Witte _appears in the background._]
_Hans_ [_casting himself at the_ Prince's _feet with a shout of
joy_]. Master!--Thou hast come! Art thou safe? Unharmed? Here is thy
nose--both ears--thy arm--and there thy sword! Thy voice alone is lost,
it seems.
_Prince_. Let me be silent, friend. The horror I have seen stands black
about me and takes the color from my joy.
_Hans_. What is that, now thou art here? [_Stammering._] And even if
thy journey were in vain, if thou hast not brought the heron's feathers
back with thee, what is--
_Prince_. I brought not the heron's feathers with me? My nightly
watches, twilight's scanty rest, the morning's ardent fiery prayers,
and more than all, the consecrated labor of the day, wherein what has
been obtained from God with tears, must be besieged anew with fierce
resolve, and conquered by the teeth-set "I will," won by obstinate
unshrinking,--sorrow--doubt--danger--struggle--unsuccess to-day and new
onslaught tomorrow--and so on and on--and always forward--have I all
this behind me, and yet have I returned without the feathers?
_Hans_. Thou hast the feathers? Are they really heron's feathers, from
the very bird?
_Prince_. Set thy fears at rest; the wonder is fulfilled, and all our
pains dispersed in thankful prayer.
_Hans_. Forgive me, dear my lord and master, that I forgot a moment the
bare fact itself, to thee so all-important. I knew thou wouldst never
have returned without them, however my heart thirsted after thee.
_Prince_. Thou wert right. I knew it well.
_Hans_. Where are they, master? Dost thou bear them in thy breast? I
feel thou wouldest. Chide me if thou wilt, but show them to me.
_Prince_. Look at my helmet. I understand thy eagerness. No sword can
cleave them from me, no rush of wind displace them. They are the
standard of my fortunes.
_Hans_. Thy story, master,--come, tell it to me!
_Prince_. Wait, Hans. The hour will come, at drinking-time, while the
dull camp-fire flickers to its end, and the fierce thirst of fighting
will not let us sleep,--then will I tell the tale and make it glow
anew.
_Hans_. Master, how changed thou art. Thy fire seems smothered, and thy
passions burn less fiercely, being self-controlled.
_Prince_. Thou art wrong, my friend; in me there dwells no calm. I stir
and seethe. Death itself, which I have conquered, reanimates in me.
Only henceforth I gain by firmer paths the end which I have chosen. My
country that betrayed me, lies small and half-forgotten in the
distance. I measure myself against the great henceforth. What are they?
Myself shall be the arbiter, and fate shall never again allure me with
her cruel "Take what I offer thee" to a starvation feast.
_Hans_. I look at thee in wonderment. I left thee a boy, I find thee a
man. And for this, though my sword has itched in my hand to answer to
my thoughts, though I have sat for hours on end in gnawing tedium and
spat into the sea, for this result I bless the old wife there. Once
more I may strike good blows for thee, once more be proud to guard thee
as before.
_Prince_ [_giving him his hand_]. It shall be so.... Yes, yes, my lad.
Since I have been gone--how long is it?
_Hans_. A good two years, master.
_Prince_. The old wife now, and quickly, that she may open to me all
the enchantment lurking in the feathers, to which I trusted and
surrendered myself. The time has come for this unmolded life to shape
itself after the law of its own desire. Why dost thou hesitate?
_Hans_. I will go.
_Prince_. But yet thou mutterest?
_Hans_. Do not blame me, master; I know of what I speak. First of all,
mistrust the old one. I fear her not ... but something horrible and
slimy crawled in my throat when I first saw her crouching in a grave,
all stiff, her brows drawn and her staring eyes turned inwards
lifelessly.... When a storm stood coal-black in the heavens and gave
the greedy coffins fresh food--lo, there she stood and bade me dig the
graves; and when the wave cast corpses up on the strand, she bore each
one up the hill pressed mother-like to her breast, shaken meanwhile
with a sly laugh; and thus she laughed until they all lay quietly at
rest beneath. Have a care for thyself!
_Prince_. Yet why? Her work is pious and she tends it faithfully.
_Hans_. But if she weaves enchantment, master?
_Prince_. I am the last from whom on that account a threat is fit. It
has turned to blessing for me. To him who chooses sacrifice for his
fate, there often comes the best of gifts,--to see deep into the
unsearchable, and smilingly to build as though within a pleasure-park,
upon the very boundary of the ideal. Once more--
_Hans_. And once more I stand broad-legged in thy unhappy path and
shout: Do not destroy thyself! Whoever runs after his desire shall
perish in the race; it only yields to him who hurls it from him. Thou
dost not know as yet the old wife's schemes; thou standest now above
enchantment, a young glowing god confiding in the magic of thine own
strength. What thou dost know is that thy prize is hidden, and that the
broad path of possibilities, on which thou thinkest to glide aloft, may
be choked all at once between black walls and leave thee fevered and
panting with the chase, with desire and loathing, eagerness and
shrinking, to hasten on forever and never gain the end.
_Prince_ [_pointing to his helmet with a smile_]. Look there!
_Hans_. Thou hast done well to bring them; if the fatal seed of death
does not draw thee down to eternal failure thou must do well indeed!
For now the secret purpose of thy path is about to reveal itself; now
thy proud and self-poised soul pants to mount aloft,--and here I stand
and counsel thee: Hurl away thy prize!
_Prince_. Thou ravest.
[_The_ Burial-wife _appears in the door of the tower, thrown into lurid
prominence by the fire that burns within on the hearth. It grows dark
rapidly._]
_Hans_. Too late. It has begun. [_Whispers._] It looks as if the
hearth-fire glowed straight through her parchment skin and wrapped her
bones in flame.
_Prince_. Burial-wife! Look me in the face!
_Burial-wife_. Thou hast come! Welcome, dear son!
_Prince_. Thy dear son--I am not. Thy creditor I am, and I demand my
own.
_Burial-wife_. What dost thou ask?
_Prince_. I forced from thee the words that taught me my way; the deed
thou hast demanded is accomplished, and I claim the prize!
_Burial-wife_. What I have promised thee, I will faithfully fulfil, my
child. A primal force lies within these white husks. They change their
form according to their owner's will. What, then, is thy desire? A
woman?
_Prince_. A woman? There are enough of women. More than one has borne
me down to earth in the snare of her supple limbs, and hampered my
soul's flight. What is a woman? A downfall and a heaviness, a darkness
and a theft of alien lights, a sweet allurement in the eternal void, a
smile without a thought, a cry for naught.
_Hans_. Bravo! Bravo!
_Prince_. What I demand now is that queen of women, after whom I have
thirsted even while drinking, by the side of whom my princely dignity
shall appear but as a herald; for whose voice my soul starves though I
sit in the wisest councils of the world; in whom I see our torturing
human weaknesses healed to a joyous beauty; that woman before whom I,
though mad with victory, must bend my proud knee in trembling and
affright; whose blushes shall bear witness to me how a longing heart
can shield itself in modesty; she who will stand in deepest need and
beg with me at the cross-roads; whose love can make death itself pass
me by; this woman, this deep peace, this calm still world in which when
lost I cannot lose myself, where wrong itself must turn to right,--this
woman,--mine--I now demand of thee.
_Burial-wife_. Snatch down the prize from thy helmet: I will announce
its promise to thee; unless thou art blind or deaf, thou shalt pierce
to the depth of the riddle. The first of the feathers is but a gleam
from the lights and shadows that brew about thee. When thou throwest it
into the fire, thou shalt behold her image in the twilight. The second
of the feathers,--mark it well--shall bring her to thee in love, for
when thou burnest it alone in the dying glow, she must wander by night
and appear before thee. And until the third has perished in the flame,
thy hand stretched forth shall bless her; but the third burning brings
her death: and therefore guard it well and think upon the end.
_Prince_. I will. Unwarned, I let them wave aloft in mad presumption;
but now I will hide them safe within my gorget. [_To_ Hans.] Why
shouldst thou look at me so grimly? I know myself to be quite freed
from sorrow; all I lack is a faithful companion on the way.... "When
thou throwest the first into the fire thou shalt behold her image in
the twilight." [_He pulls out one of the feathers and hastens toward
the tower._]
_Hans_ [_boldly opposing him_]. What wilt thou do?
_Prince_. Out of the way? [_He opens the door of the tower._]
_Hans_. Cursed witch, thou hast-- [_A sudden bright blaze within the
tower. A flare of yellow light goes up. The Prince comes back._] Art
thou singed?
_Prince_ [_looks about wildly_]. I see naught.
[Burial-wife _points silently to the background, where on the horizon
above the sea the dark outline of a woman's figure appears and glides
slowly from left to right._]
_Prince_. I see in the heavens a shadowy form, rosy with flame, pierced
through with light. If it be thou on whom my longing hangs, I pray thee
turn thy face and lighten me! Lift the veil from thine eyes! Remain,
ah, vanish not behind the stars,--step down that I may learn to love
thee!... She does not hear. When we part, say how I may know thee
again!... How shall I--? Her figure sways, it fades with the clouds--
was that the sign?
_Hans_. Thou hast bewitched him finely.
_Prince_. Still she is mine, as I know who I am! And should she never
long to come to me, yet my soul's longings shall be stronger than she
herself. Hans Lorbass, my brave fellow-soldier, take thy sword and arm
thyself straightway.
_Hans_. I am armed. [_To the_ Burial-wife.] The hangman--
_Prince_. Spare thy curses. She serves my happiness as best she can.
Farewell! We will seek the world over, and when the first promise is
fulfilled--Farewell!
_Hans_ [_grimly_]. Farewell!
[_They go out to the left._]
_The Burial-wife_ [_alone_]. Go, my children, face the combat, fight
boldly, wield the feathers unrestrained; when you weary, bring me back
your outworn bodies, cast them here upon my shore. But till the time
shall come when I will plant them like twigs in my garden, go and fight
and love and dance ... for I can wait.... I can wait!
ACT. II.
_Arcade on the first story of a Romanesque palace, separated in the
background by a row of columns from the court below, to which steps
lead down from the middle to right and left. On the platform between
them, facing the court, is a throne-chair, which later is covered with
a curtain. Walks lead right and left rectangularly toward the
background. On the right are several steps to the back, the principal
path to the castle chapel. On the left side-wall in front is a door
with a stone bench near it, and to the left of that another door. On
the right in front is an iron-bound outside door. Stone benches stand
between the columns. The back of the buildings surrounding the court
form the background of the scene. Early morning._
Scene I.
Skoell _with his spear between his knees, asleep on a bench_. Coelestin
_with a page holding a torch._
_Coelestin_. Put the link out, my son. It hangs on thy tired arm too
heavily.... Yes, yes, this morning many a one thinks of his bed....
What, an alarm so early? Man and steed armed?
_Skoell_ [_in his sleep_]. Brother--thy health!
_Page_. Look! The fellow is still drunk.
_Coelestin_. How else? Would, though, the filthy wretch and his Duke too
with his dissolute bravery, were smoked out of the country!... Still, I
am not anxious. The Pommeranian prince--there is a man of glorious
renown!--may win.
_Page_. I fear, my lord, thou art wrong. The horses of the Pommeranian
snort below. They look as though they were about to start.
_Coelestin_. Hast thou seen aright? The Pommeranian?
_Page_. Yes.
_Coelestin_. I feel as though the earth itself did sway, as though my
poor old head would burst in pieces. Now falls the Fatherland, which,
kingless, thought it might escape from rapine; yet all the while in its
own breast there stood the powerfullest of robbers. Here where a
continual harvest of peace once smiled, where inborn modesty of soul
once paired joyously with ingrown habit and youth grew guiltless to
maturity, the ruthless hand of tyranny will henceforth rest choking on
our necks, and-- [_Blows sound on the door to the right._] Who blusters
at the door? Go look.
_Page_ [_looking through the peep-hole_]. I see a spear-shaft glitter.
[_Calling._] What wilt thou without there?
_Hans Lorbass's Voice_. Open the door!
_Page_ [_calling_]. Why didst thou come up the steps? The entrance is
there below.
_Hans Lorbass's Voice_. I know that already. I did not care to sweat
there in the crowd. Open the door.
_Page_. What shall I do?
_Coelestin_. I am as wrung as though the fate of the whole country hung
on the iron strength of the lock.... Give him his way.
[_The_ Page _opens the door_, Hans Lorbass _enters._]
_Coelestin_. Who art thou, and what wouldst thou here? Speak!
_Hans_. My master, a brave knight and skilled in arms, born far in the
north, where he was betrayed in feud with his stepbrother, to atone has
undertaken a journey to the Holy Sepulchre. We have but just now
entered your kingdom, and crave for God's love, if not a refuge, at
least a resting place.
_Coelestin_. Thou hast done well, my friend. Every wanderer is a welcome
guest in this castle, for our Queen is one from whose soul there flow
deeds of boundless kindness to all the world. From to-day, alas!...
nay, call thy knight, and if he stands on two such good legs as his
servant, I warrant he has shivered many a spear.
_Hans_. And I warrant, my lord, that thou hast warranted rightly. [_He
goes to the door and motions below_. Coelestin _and the_ Page _look out
from behind him._]
_Skoell_ [_dreaming_]. Hans Lorbass--seize him!
[Prince Witte _enters._]
_Coelestin_. Here is my hand, my guest. And though thou comest here in
an unhappy hour, I look within thine eye, I gaze upon thy sword, and
feel as though thou hadst lifted a cruel burden from my oppressed soul.
_Prince_. I thank thee that thou holdest me worthy thy confidence. Yet
I fear that thou art misled; it was no fate drew us together, but only
chance. Thinkest thou that because I took this path I was sent to thee?
_Coelestin_. No, no! God forbid!--Well, unarm, my friend, ... so, so.
_Hans_. Whither then?
_Coelestin_. We have for our guests--they will show it to thee.
_Prince_. They crowd in early at your doors,--have I come to a
festival?
_Coelestin_. To a ...? Stranger, there burns in me a fever of speech ...
they chide the doting chatter of old men, and yet--
_Prince_. Thou hast chosen me for thy confidant ... I listen gladly.
_Coelestin_. Well then: our King, stricken with years, died and left us
unprotected and afraid, for we had no guide nor saviour. The Queen,
herself a child, carried trembling at her breast the babe she had borne
him.... It is six years ago, and all this time have birds of prey
scented the rich morsel from afar and come swooping down upon this fair
land, where unmeasured riches lie. The danger grows--the people clamor
for a master. And so our Queen, who had sat long sunk in modest grief,
now divined in anguish her soul's call, the echo of the kingly duty,
and guessed the sacrifice her land demanded. She tore in twain her
widow's garlands, and made a vow that he who could bear all other
suitors to her feet in battle, should be her lord and her country's
king. The day has come. The lists are hung, the people crowd into the
tournament. Woe to them! Their tears are doomed to fall, for all the
princes who came hither have fled faint-heartedly before a single one,
a man of terror, who is thus victorious without a struggle.
_Prince_. And this one--who is he?
[_A clamor in the court below. A_ Noble _enters._]
_Noble_. Sir Major-domo, I beg thee, hasten. The guard is in confusion.
The people are already mounting the newly built lists in a countless
throng.
_Coelestin_ [_pointing below_]. Look, there is the flock; but where is
the shepherd? Wait here, while I press into the thickest of the crowd
and give the people a taste of my severity ... though I doubt much if
it will aught avail. [_He hastens down by the middle way with the_
Noble _and the_ Page.]
_Prince Witte_. That which I long for lies not here. My sober judgment
whispers warningly within my breast of delay and thoughtless dalliance.
[_He seats himself on a bench to the right of the stage and looks up at
the sky._]
_Skoell_ [_in his sleep_]. Quite right.
_Hans_. What's that? Eh, there, sleepy-head, wake up!
_Skoell_. Leave me alone! When I sleep I am happy.
_Hans_ [_startled_]. What--Skoell?
_Skoell_. Hans Lor--
_Hans_. Hsh--sh!
_Skoell_. Well, old fellow, what wilt thou in this berth?
_Hans_. Thy master is here?
_Skoell_. Well, yes!
_Hans_. The devil take him! [_Looking round at the_ Prince.] What now?
_Skoell_. What now? Why now, we will have a drink.
_Hans_. What draws you here!
_Skoell_. Thou knowest, thou rogue! We are the jolliest of jolly good
fellows ever found at a wedding.
_Hans_ [_to himself_]. Has he the strength for this redeeming act, and
would it break the bonds of the madness that holds him?
[_Enter a_ Herald _from the left, behind. Then the_ Queen, _holding the
young_ Prince _by the hand, and followed by her women. After them_,
Anna Goldhair.]
_Herald_. Way there, the Queen approaches!
_Skoell_ [_standing attention_]. We cannot speak when the Queen comes
by.
_Hans_ [_looking towards_ Prince Witte]. His soul dreams. The distance
holds him spellbound.
[_The_ Queen _and her attendants approach. She stops near_ Prince
Witte, _who is not conscious of her presence, and gazes at him long._]
_The Young Prince_ [_bustling up to him_]. Here, thou strange man, dost
thou not know the Queen? It is the rule that when she comes we all
should rise. I am the Prince, and yet I must do it too.
_Prince Witte_ [_rising and bowing_]. Then beg, friend, that the Queen
grant me her forgiveness.
_The Young Prince_. That I will gladly. [_He runs back to the_ Queen.]
[_The_ Queen _passes on and turns again at the corner to look at_
Prince Witte, _who has already turned his back. Then she disappears
with her women into the cathedral, from which the gleam of lights and
the roll of the organ come forth. The door is closed._]
_Hans_. Well, did she please thee? Hast thou found her worthy to awake
thy idle sword to deeds of battle?
_Prince_. It would be no less than idleness for me to unsheathe my
sword in her behalf; for my field of battle lies not here.
_Hans_. Then come. Thy path is hot. Thy path is broad!--Then hasten!
Already far too long hast thou delayed before this tottering throne,
from which an eye in speechless pleading calls for help.
_Prince_. At first, when my desires pointed from hence, didst thou not
beg me to delay?--and now!--
_Skoell_ [_aside to_ Hans]. Heaven save us! Brother, who is this? I
would know him a thousand miles away!
_Hans_ [_with a gesture towards_ Skoell, _to leave him alone_]. Perhaps
I wished to test thee, or perhaps--
_Skoell_. All good spirits praise--
_Prince_. Whatever it was, I will go gladly.
_Skoell_ [_crossing himself_]. All good spirits praise the Lord!
[_Bursts out through the door to the left._]
_Prince_. Why, who was that, that went out in such a hurry?
_Hans_. Who would it have been? Some body-servant about the castle,
perhaps, some--
_Prince_. Where are my--?
_Hans_. Here is thy shield. Quick, take it.
_Prince_. Where is that ape that just now--
_Hans_. Let the filthy rascal go, whoever he is, and come!
[_Enter_ Duke Widwolf. Skoell, _behind him, pointing to the_ Prince.]
_Duke_. Hans Lorbass, thou shalt pay for this!
_Hans_. For what, my lord? Here are the very bones whereon thine eyes
desired to feast themselves. It is true they are covered with flesh for
the present, but they are there inside, I swear to thee.
_Prince_. Silence, Hans! This man stands above thy mockery; for though
he stole my inheritance in despicable treachery, yet he wears the crown
of my fathers, and I bow before it. And until heaven's cherubim call on
me loudly to avenge the wrong, in practice for a better thing I bend
before him, and grind my teeth.
[Duke _bursts into a loud laugh._]
_Prince_. I see destruction naming in thine eyes,--thou laughest in
scorn.... Laugh on. For I shall not avenge myself, nor count it my duty
to shatter the fearful edifice of thy throne. So long as it will uphold
thee and thy blood-blinded sword, so long be thou and thy people worthy
of one another. Enough! Hans, set forth!
[Coelestin _and the other nobles come up the steps._]
_Duke_. Behold, ye noble gentlemen! Blood of the cross, what a hero we
have here! He halts here: makes a mighty clamor: naught has or ever can
delay his march of triumph:--and then on a sudden he makes a short
turn, breathes a deep sigh, and like the other poltroons, leaves the
field to me.
_Hans_ [_aside_]. Control thyself, master, all this can be borne.
_Coelestin_. What, stranger, art thou also of princely blood?
_Prince_. Whether princely or not, my blood is mine, and I myself must
be the judge of what suits it. My host, I thank thee.... I would right
gladly have rested here, gladly have sat down at thy hearth as a humble
guest--
_Coelestin_. Thou earnest on the day of the tournament; and therefore
thou hast come to free the Queen.
_Prince_. Thou callest me stranger, and will pardon me that I had heard
naught of thy Queen.
_Coelestin_. Still thou sawest her when she and her women--
_Prince_. I saw her, yes.
_Coelestin_. And yet thou thinkest of departure? Art thou made of stone
that thou hast not felt a thrust of pity like a knife, at the mere
sight of that pious grace, that spring-like mildness?
_Duke_. Who speaks of pity, when I myself protect her with my shield?
Pity?--how--wherefore? Have a care!
_Coelestin_. Thy threat hath no meaning today. Yet all the same I know
that wert thou king, thou wouldst lay my gray head at thy feet.
_Duke_. Perhaps. And again perhaps, if this braggart who was sent
hither and now crawls away again, did not quite take off that weak old
head of thine, he would just have thee hanged, out of pure pity.
_Coelestin_. Thou listenest in silence to this unmeasured raving? I ask
not now upon what throne thy father sat, I only ask the weakling: Art
thou a man? Is this body that glows in prideful youth, only a hardly
fed up paunch? Is the angry red painted upon thy brow, and yet canst
thou endure and not wipe out the insult thou hast received?
_Hans_ [_aside_]. Master, be stronger now than I have strength myself.
I have naught to say, not I. Only say to me: "Hans, we will go"--and I
will gulp down my rage; and never to the last day of my life shall a
look, a word, a motion of an eye-lash, remind thee of what befell
today.
_Prince_. Your eyes all hang in hopeful question on my broad-edged
sword; and yet I may not tell you why I wear it, but must endure what
ever you think. Still, know one thing; all the shame which he has
heaped today upon my dulled heart I will add to the need by which he
shattered my young days. I will reckon with him for those thirsting
nights wherein I drank the poison of renunciation,--when my trust in
mankind sank to ruin with my blood-defiled rights,--when in despair I
reckoned my coming manhood by my growing beard,--when my fate became a
lot of powerless shame,--and I will grope along the path where my
desires once ranged themselves when the rousing voice of hope rang out
of abyssmal blankness.... And thus the scorn I have received to-day
glides past my closed ears like unwelcome flattery; and silently I go
from hence.
[_The_ Queen _with the young_ Prince. Anna Goldhair _and her other
women come from the cathedral during the last words._]
_Queen_. O go not, stranger!
_A Noble_. Listen, the Queen!
_Another_. She who was never used to address a stranger.
_Queen_. A most unhappy woman stands before thee, and with streaming
eyes casts away all the shame that modesty and rank combine to weigh
her with, and prays thee: O go not! For behold! As I came to-day to
God's dwelling-house full of tormenting thoughts--I saw thee on the
way, thou scarce didst notice me--while I stood there before thy face
longing within me that a sign might be given me, it seemed as though
there flowed a something like light, like a murmuring through the
spacious place, as on a festal day the sacred miracle of His presence.
And a voice spoke in my heart: have faith, O woman, he came and he is
thine; to thy people whose courage failed them, he shall be a hero, to
thy child a father.... Then I fell thankfully upon my face. And now I
beg thee: O go not!
_Duke_. And I tell thee, my lady Queen, he goes! I answer for it with
my sword. If there is a prayer within the hero-soul of him, it runs
thus: dear God, graciously be pleased to spare my reputation only as
far as yonder door.
_Prince_. Thou liest.
_Hans_ [_whispers_]. Now defend thyself. Treason to thy being's
sanctuary is a half-voluntary deed.
_Prince_. Forgive me, Lady, if but hesitatingly I have sworn myself
into thy service. Behold, I tread a half-obscured path, and the dim
traces lead me into the far gray distance ... lead me--and I know not
whither. I know not whether that great night which descends upon the
crudest sorrow of our common day, bringing sleep to the wearied soul,
will wrap me also in its folds, or whether as reward for that
unquenched spirit in me that still must trust, endure, and spread its
wings, the sunshine of the heights at last will smile upon me. I am
Desire's unwearied son; I bear her token hidden in my breast, and till
that token fades or disappears, well canst thou say: "Come die for me,"
but never canst thou say: "Remain."
_Queen_. Then never shalt thou hear that bitter word, that word so full
of weakness, come from my trembling lips. The blessing of this hour
that passes now shall never rise to distract thee on thy path in the
gray distance. Yet there shall be a charm, rising unspoken in the soul
itself, which when thou pausest wearied on thy journey, shall whisper
to thee where a home still blooms for thee.... Where a balsam is
prepared to heal thy wounded feet, bleeding from the sharpness of thy
path ... where a thousand arms reach out to greet their loved one ...
whence those voices rise that call to thee out of the darkness ... and
where there waits a smile, smothered with joy, to say to thee: "I
charmed thee not."--I will be silent, lest thou shouldst be weary of my
speech; since all my words speak only this desire: it rings within
thine ears,--longing must find a resting-place.
_Prince_. O, that mine lay not so far from here! There, where the
clouds disperse in light, and the eternal sun kisses my brow, there ...
Enough. Since thou hast asked no more than chance has in a measure
forced me to, whether for good or evil I know not, I must needs grant
thy wish. Hans, arm me.
_Duke_ [_whispers_], Skoell, do not forget ... where are the others?
_Skoell_. Who knows?
_Duke_. But was there not a great feast to-night?
_Skoell_. Yes. But they flung us out just now.
_Duke_. Listen! And heed me well. As soon as that rascal has had enough
and grovels in the dust, shout out with all thy might "Hail to King
Widwolf!" Dost thou understand?
_Skoell_. Eh? Yes, indeed.
_Anna Goldhair_. Oh! dearest Lady, if I might speak I would beg thee to
go. The sight of all the horrors that gather round us will shake thee
sorely.
_Queen_. Who stays for me if I will not for him? And is it not fitting
for an unhappy mother to protect the head of her child even with her
own shattered arm? [_To the young_ Prince.] Listen, my darling. Thou
must go. [_To_ Anna Goldhair.] Take him to my waiting-women. Without
this sight his heart will all too soon burn with a thirst for blood.
_The Young Prince_. Ah, mother!
_Queen_. Nay, thou must. But nestle once again upon my breast, my dear
one, so!
_The Young Prince_ [_running up to_ Prince Witte]. Please, thou strange
man, be so good as to conquer for us!
_Prince_ [_smiling_]. If thou art good, my Prince!... How clear their
glances sparkle! From those eyes a world of sunshine bursts; alas, I am
not worthy of it! [_The young_ Prince _and_ Anna Goldhair _go out._]
[_The_ Chancellor _and a train of nobles come up the steps. After them
guards and two trumpeters. The_ Chancellor _makes obeisance and asks
the_ Queen _a question. The_ Queen _assents silently and mounts,
holding by the balustrade, to the platform on which the throne stands,
pushed to one side. The_ Chancellor _makes a sign to the trumpeters,
and they blow a signal, which echoes below, then he raises the sword,
which a page brings upon a cushion._]
_Chancellor_. Illustrious Lady, honored Queen, as chancellor of thy
appointed realm, I offer thee this sword whereon to take the oath: that
in thy hand, so strong because so weak, what first prevailed as thy
country's law, what now prevails, and what shall prevail again when
violence and lust cease to clutch after our soul's sanctuaries,--that
law on which we have relied, so mild it was, because created by a free
and happy fatherland--will be forever new and vigorous.
_Queen_. I swear it on the iron sword of my kingdom, and on the runes
carved thereupon; though nature has denied it to a woman to avenge a
violated oath with her own hand, yet I will never rest in my grave
unless all is fulfilled that I have spoken. I swore it solemnly, and on
this sword I will announce and reavow to you, that whosoever conquers
in this fight may claim me for his wife when he desires.... Speak now,
ye who cursed my mourning and my sorrow's backward glance: do I fulfill
your will with shuddering? Do I not give ye the King ye seek?
[_The nobles strike their shields with their swords in token of
approval._]
_Chancellor_. Now to you who stand prepared to ring the throne and
kingdom with the sharpness of your swords; before the land submits
itself to the victor, give answer who you are!
_Duke_. Thou knowest me well.
_Chancellor_. Who knows thee not? Flames spread before thee hither like
a banner, the vulture knows thee that shrieks after carrion, the auk
knows thee on the blood-furrowed sea; yet custom demands, the which
thou knowest not, that thou shalt name thyself at this hour.
_Duke_. I am the Duke of Gotland!
_Hans Lorbass_ [_highly excited, pointing to_ Prince Witte]. He is the
Duke of Gotland! [_Great disturbance and amazement._]
_Coelestin_. We are groping here in a black riddle.
_Chancellor_ [_to_ Prince Witte]. Witness thyself.
_Prince Witte_. If there is a man here in whom dwells a spirit of
sacrifice, a worship of the right, and not of power and bloody gain, to
him I speak, as to a stem of that ancient race which still springs from
Gotland's gods; I boldly say: "I am." But to that vicious misbegotten
wight who cringes in the dust and worships tyranny if it but prosper
him, to him I say: "No, I am not."
_Chancellor_. A lofty mind, bred in the bitterness which deep sorrow
brings, speaks in thy words and gives them weight. But yet--we know not
who stands before us as the Duke of Gotland.
_Duke_. It seems to me, my lords, that the sword will show.
_Chancellor_. True enough. If the Queen will.
[_The_ Queen _bows her head in assent. The_ Chancellor _gives a sign to
the trumpeters and they blow a signal which is answered below in the
court. The nobles make their obeisances to the_ Queen _and go down the
steps to the right and left._]
_Hans Lorbass_ [_meanwhile_]. Remember that thrust I showed thee once:
at the arm-joint where the leather is easily cut, thou canst--
_Prince Witte_ [_alarmed_]. Where are the feathers?
_Hans_. How--what--? That witch-work to distract thee now? Here is thy
sword, and there the foe! Play with him, tickle him, stroke his beard,
till he weeps blood out of his mouth, till--
_Prince_. They are quite safe.
_Hans_. Master!
[Prince Witte _goes last behind_ Duke Widwolf, _with a bow to the_
Queen _in passing. She watches him in agitation and follows him with
her eyes._]
_Queen_. How is the Prince?
_Anna Goldhair_. As children always are. At first he wept and tried to
slip away. Then he lay still and had his playthings brought. Now he
lies sprawling under a table, playing at dice, though he understands
them not.
_Queen_. While we go to throw upon his life.
[_The_ Queen, Coelestin, _the_ Chancellor, Anna Goldhair, _and the other
women go out. The guards draw the curtains behind the throne. The
applause of the people greeting the_ Queen _rises from the court. Then
silence._]
_Skoell_. Well, my heart's brother, so we are alone again.
[Hans Lorbass _without noticing_ Skoell, _tries to pass the_ First Guard
_after_ Prince Witte.]
_First Guard_. Back!
[Hans _tries on the other side of the curtain._]
_Second Guard_. Back! The passage is forbidden.
_Hans_. I am the Prince's servant!
_Second Guard_. That may all be; but hast thou not seen--
_Hans_. I counsel thee, take off thy hands!
_Skoell_ [_takes hold of his arm soothingly_]. Come, brother of my
heart, be sensible, stay in thy seat; down below there is just a mob of
women, and thou wouldst be no use at all.
_Hans_. True enough. [_The drums sound._] The third call! Now is the
time!
_Skoell_. Now I can put my hands in my pockets and let them break each
other's necks; if I only had something to drink, then--[_as_ Hans
_clutches him by the arm in excitement at the first clash of swords
sounding from below_] Ouch! Whew! The devil, what a grip thou hast!
_Hans_ [_accompanying the movements below with dumb-show, which is
accentuated by the noise of the crashing weapons_]. There! That was a
blow! Take that! [_Alarmed._] Guard thyself! Ah, that was good! Now
after him and strike!... He missed! [_To_ Skoell, _threateningly._] I
thought thou didst laugh!
_Skoell_. What should I do?
_Hans_. I tell thee, thou brute beast, thou calf, thou knave, thou
thief, as truly as I love thee as my brother, I will kill thee!
_Skoell_. Not so fierce!
_Hans_. There, which one of them drives the other in the corner, now?
Eh?
_Skoell_. What?... I will stand above both sides and wait to see which
one comes out ahead.
_Hans_. Ho, ho! How the rascal puffs! Yes, thou wilt learn to run, my
fine fellow! Another blow! He struck him not! Now for thy life!--What
is he thinking of? [_Shrieks out._] My master bleeds!
_Skoell_. Ei, ei!
_Hans_. Wipe it off! Whisk it away! That little blood-letting but
sharpens the anger, pricks the hate and--
_Skoell_. Look!
_Hans_. Now gather all thy powers together, master! And all my love for
thee turn into fire and flame, that--
[_Pause. Then a woman's shriek is heard, and the ringing fall of a
man's body. A dull murmur of many voices follows._]
_Skoell_. That was a blow! [_Shouting down._] Hail to King Wid--
_Hans_ [_seizes him like lightning and hurls him to the ground, then
springs on the bench, waving his sword above his head and shouting._]
Back from his body! You men below there, is there one that wears a
sword and armor?
_Voices_. I!--I!--I!
_Hans Lorbass_. He will break through the lists with me and drive away
this robber of Samland!
[_Cries of rage, together with the crashing of the lists_. Hans Lorbass
_storms upon the guards, who retreat to one side, and dashes below.
The_ Queen _comes upon the scene half unconscious, supported by_ Anna
Goldhair _and her other women. The_ Chancellor _and other nobles_.
Skoell _has squeezed himself behind the corner pillar on the right._]
_Coelestin_ [_turning from the_ Queen _to a group of men who stand
gazing down on the tumult below_]. How goes it now?
_Chancellor_. That man whose summons hurled the brand of mutiny among
us, look how great and small, man and woman crowd around him shouting
and hustle the Duke to the door! There, he is gone!--the other left!
Who was the devil?
[_The uproar grows fainter and seems to lose itself in the distance._]
_Coelestin_. I know not whether he was a devil or an angel; for without
his shriek of hate we should still be lying beneath the foot of
tyranny, bleeding and weaponless as he who lies below.
[Chancellor _motions to him, pointing towards the_ Queen, _who has
revived and is looking about her wildly._]
_Queen_. Where is the stranger? Why are you silent? I saw him fall ...
did he not conquer?
_A Messenger_ [_comes hurrying up the steps_]. Hail to our Queen! I
bring glad tidings: the accursed Duke has fled upon a stolen horse. The
people vent their long-stored spleen upon his rascally followers.
_Skoell_. Woe is me! Alas! [_He slips behind the church door and
disappears._]
_Queen_. And that youth who smiling received the sacrificial blow for
you--think you his life so valueless that no one even remembers him as
a poor reward? Why are you silent? Will no one speak?
_Chancellor_. We know not whether he is dead, or lives, though sorely
wounded. In every thrust he far over-reckoned the reach of his sword. A
more grievous trouble than this, my Lady Queen, avails to banish our
rejoicing; a broken oath is here, an unatoned-for--
_Coelestin_. Look! What a sight!
[Hans Lorbass _supports the sorely wounded_ Prince Witte _up the steps,
lets him sink upon the bench to the left, and stands before him with
drawn sword, like a guard._]
_Hans_. Away from here! Whoever loves his life, whether man or woman,
comes not too near!
_Queen_ [_approaching him_]. Not even I, my friend?
_Hans_ [_embarrassed, yielding_]. Thou, Lady,--yes.
_Queen_ [_takes off her veil, and wipes the blood from the face of the_
Prince]. Send for physicians that he may be saved.
_Hans_. He is saved! If he were not, I'd spring in the very face of
death for him,--I would spring down death's very throat; death and I,
we know each other well.
_Chancellor_. Thou who breathest out spume and fire as carelessly as
though hell itself had brought thee forth, I ask thee who thou art,
thou unclean spirit, who hast dared to raise this pious people to
revolt by thy furious onslaught, and taught them to poison for
themselves and the ensuing race the holy fount of justice?
_Hans_. And I will answer thee: I myself am that justice. I bear it on
my sword's point, I carry it here beneath my cap, I pour it forth in my
master's name, who gave it for his glory and his happiness. [_Signs of
anger._] If ye believe it not, then listen trembling to the thousand
toned joy that peals from far away like spring thunder quivering in the
air, and sweeps throughout the land the joyous message of deliverance:
we are free!
_Chancellor_. Speak, O Queen! Thy soldiers wait below. Methinks this
servant of the defeated one has too much confidence,--he speaks as
though he were instead our lord and victor.
_Queen_. Let him speak! He has the right! And even were he a thousand
times defeated, this man who lies before us bleeding, if he recover and
seek it from me, shall be our lord and conqueror. [_Great confusion and
excitement._]
_Prince Witte_ [_rousing from his unconsciousness and looking about him
painfully_]. There lies the heron! I have wrung his neck, I snatch my
prize, my salvation ... [_feeling on his head and in his breast with
anxious dismay_] where are the feathers?
_Queen_. What seekest thou, dear one?
_Hans_. Thou seest, O Queen, he speaks in fever. Do not listen, do not
heed his words.
_Prince_. Hans, Hans!
_Hans_ [_close by him_]. Take care what thou sayest.
_Prince_ [_whispers earnestly_]. I will away from here ... [_with a
glance at the_ Queen _half complainingly_] I must away!
_Hans_. When thou canst.
ACT III.
_A chamber in the castle. The two farther corners slope away from the
front. In the left corner is a bay-window with a platform, to which
steps lead up. Burning torches are stuck in the branches of the pillars
which flank the steps. In the right corner is a fireplace. One can look
beyond into an ante-chamber, and farther on, through a wide door-way
whose curtains are drawn back, into a thickly planted garden, which at
the end of its middle path shows a little of the surrounding wall. In
the middle of the room is a table with seats about it. At the left in
front is a couch with furs and cushions on it. At the right is the door
to the sleeping apartments._
Scene I.
_The_ Queen _sits on the platform with her distaff before her, and
gazes dreamily into the red glow, which shines through the window. Two
old women sit spinning before the fire-place, in which a dying fire
glimmers_. Anna Goldhair _and the young_ Prince _on the steps of the
platform. Through the drawn curtains plays the red evening light._
_The Young Prince_. Say, mother, will the father come soon?
_Queen_. Of course.
_The Young Prince_. Will he come before my bed-time?
_Queen_. I do not know.
_The Young Prince_. The wood is full of darkness, is it not?
_Queen_. Where our King goes, there is always light!... What, Anna, art
thou eavesdropping? Must I blush before thee, because I voiced a cry
out of my soul's longing, which envious time would smother?
_Anna Goldhair_. Beloved Queen.... I know well that I am too young; my
little thoughts whisk twittering like swallows through my head,--
_The Young Prince_. And she pretends to me she is so wise!
_Queen_. Run, run, my child!
_The Young Prince_. I will get her by the hair first! [_He tugs at_
Anna's _hair_. Anna Goldhair _pushes him off laughing._] Just wait!
[_He runs from her to the spinning-women, and teases them._]
_Anna Goldhair_. But if thou hast need of any one to whisper to, in
whose breast at the still evening-time to plunge thine overflowing
soul--of anyone who if need were, could go for thee to her death as to
a feast,--thou knowest, dearest Queen, I am that one!
_Queen_ [_caressing her_]. Yes, deep in my heart I know that thou art
mine. [_She rises._] But if it be death here for any human being, I am
that one!
_Anna Goldhair_ [_frightened_]. What troubles thee, beloved Lady?
[_Three maidens, young and pretty, have entered shyly._]
_Queen_. It is nothing,--nothing!... Why, here! What seek you my
children?... What not a word? Have you a favor to be granted, a
complaint to make? If you cannot speak, why then you must go away
again!
_Anna Goldhair_. Mistress forgive them. They are of thy train, and they
have asked me to plead for them, lest their too eager speech should
lose for them the favor they desire.
_Queen_. Well?
_Anna Goldhair_. Dear Mistress, there is an old custom that runs thus:
when Easter-tide has come into the land, when the thorn bush grows
faintly green, when the blue wave shines bluer, when our desire takes
wing to sport among the flying things of spring,--that then, upon the
coming of the first full moon, the night must be watched out with sport
and dance. In a word they would sing.
_Queen_ [_smiling_]. Ah, yes!... But tell me, dear children, if you
knew it, then why did this custom vanish from the land so many years?
_Anna Goldhair_. We honored thy sorrow, my Queen.
_Queen_. Well, then, go out and dance and frolic and sing together all
night long! Know you the song that you should sing?
[_The maidens nod eagerly._]
_Queen_. Go out and drink the moonlight as it pours down through the
branches; I think we little know how blessed we are.
[_The maidens courtesy and kiss her hands and garments._]
_Queen_ [_as she turns away smiling_]. Why are you old ones shivering?
Why look you so strange? Is it cold? Then you must rake the fire!
_One of the Old Women_. Mistress, we spin our winding-sheets. Shall we
not be cold?
_Queen_ [_drawing the young_ Prince _to her_]. Do not listen to them!
[Coelestin _enters._]
_The Young Prince_. Oh, Uncle Coelestin! [_Runs to him._] What hast thou
brought me, Uncle Coelestin?
_Coelestin_ [_lifting him up_]. A great sandman, and a small goodnight!
_Queen_. The King is come? Thou wouldst announce him?
_Coelestin_. No, my Lady. We heard his horn in the distance, but it died
away again. I come before thee a gloomy messenger. In the great hall
beyond there waits the council of the realm....
_Queen_. Stop! You, my women, seek your rest; my son, to bed!
_The Young Prince_. And am I not to see the father again till morning?
Ah, mother, please!
_Queen_. If thou canst not sleep, Anna shall take thee up and bring
thee here. Is it well so, dear one?
_The Young Prince_. Yes.
_Queen_. And goodnight!
[_The_ Prince, Anna Goldhair, _and the women go out._]
_Queen_. We are alone ... yet what a pity with too cool reason to chill
the buds of the May evening, which plunges all the waking soul into
sweet sickness.... But speak!
_Coelestin_. Lady, I know not how I shall begin. The words come
stumbling from my lips. Thou knowest how we love him, and how, since
thou hast given him thyself, there is no single life but stands
prepared to serve him without a thought of self. And how does he reward
us? He shuns our glance, a smouldering suspicion breaks out whenever we
would speak in seriousness to him, and throws its shadows on us darkly.
The people idolize him. They greet him, great and small, with clapping
hands and waving kerchiefs,--why must we stand aloof? Is he ashamed of
us?--or of himself? I know not. A mysterious sadness clouds his eye so
falcon-bright, and even while our hearts still yearn upon him, he grows
a stranger to us, who was never our friend.
_Queen_. It is your too easily wounded love complains of him.
_Coelestin_. If that danger--
_Queen_ [_without listening to him_]. I see it, but I scarce can
blame it. I blame no one. I have built for myself out of dreams and
smiles a strong strong wall, outside of which you wait, thieves of my
happiness--nay, my friend, look not so grieved!--and out of which you
know not how to lure me, either by cunning or by clamor.
_Coelestin_. Still, hast thou never come upon that knowledge, deep
within thy heart, which tells thee how in everything that is and was
and needs must be throughout our lives, a never expiated wrong must
weigh us down?
_Queen_. Never, my friend! In my soul there rings but one harp-tone,
one voice, which says: be happy!
_Coelestin_. And thy oath, Lady?
_Queen_. My oath?
_Coelestin_. Didst thou not swear before us all and in the sight of
heaven that he who hurled his rival to the earth, not he who lay there
shameful in defeat, might dare approach thee as thy lord and king?
_Queen_. But tell me, my dear friend, did he not conquer?
_Coelestin_. What madness has so blurred events for thee?
_Queen_. I know he conquered, for he is here!
_Coelestin_. Here indeed he is, but with what right?
_Queen_. The right that raised for him in that dark hour when the cruel
wound gaped in his throat, a faithful servant to avenge him; a servant
whose brave shout and lifted blade have taught me this one thing: high
above the right there stands the sword, and high above the sword stands
love!
_Coelestin_. May this wisdom please the Omnipotent, and may he pity
thee, and all of us!
_Queen_. It was not given to everyone to know it; but it has brought
the King to me! Hark, do I hear a horn? How near it sounds! My King is
coming! My King is here!