_Scene.—A clearing in the forest near Aquisgranum. At the back, amid
trees, a charcoal-burner's hut and a kiln. On the left a linden and
copse leading to a grove once sacred to heathen deities; but now
feared and shunned. On the right a barricade of logs and fallen
trees so placed in one part to form steps. Ernst advances from his
kiln, looks over the barricade as though expecting some one. He is
joined by Guta who comes out of the hut._
_Ernst._ 'Tis mild for harvest-moon and yet the wind's
Unsettled, portending what? How strange the snow
That came so suddenly then disappeared
As some night wraith that fears clear-visioned day.
_Guta._ The Devil must have pinched his wife she dropped
Such frozen tears. 'Tis most unfair that when
She's disciplined poor folk should feel so oft
The dripping moisture of her grief; 'tis bad
For rheumatism.
_Ernst._ And good for forest trees.
The witch deserves to spill some tears, she has
So often damaged them; what branches crunch
And fall, when she, amount her broomstick, rides
A gale through serpent-hissing, midnight skies.
_Guta._ And so thou'rt in the skies and never wilt
Thou heed my limping gait, that cries a life
In town, some gaiety before a coffin
Completes this stiffening.
_Ernst._ And leave our home?
_Guta._ That hovel!
_Ernst._ What could I do?
_Guta._ Thou might'st instruct
The palace school, save Master Eginhardt
These many visits here.
_Ernst._ If I had been
A cleric, had learnt to read and write, maybe,
May be—
_Guta._ Thou hast a head well stacked with knowledge.
Do books all boast as much? 'Tis odd that thou,
A peasant, hast such stuff within, that courtiers
Must come to pump it out then serve it for
The King.
_Ernst._ The King loves ancient hero-tales.
A proper King! a proper Emperor!
What's more, a proper man. I wonder why
Good Master Eginhardt delays; I promised
Some verse, it quivers on my lips. That's just
The way, he comes when I am disinclined
And now he dallies.
_Guta._ Last night I dreamt of death,
Royal mourners wailed. In fright I woke. The wind
Blew fluted dirge-like notes; but dreams are ay
Contrariwise. Most like 'twas wedding bells.
I wish good Master Eginhardt would come;
I thirst to hear Court gossip, e'en the bits
He doles with grudging tongue. And he could tell
Us of the long-nosed beast with dragon skin
That I so dread, yet wish to see.
_Ernst._ A crackling!
Hist! but not our scholar's steed, nor yet
A wandering huntsman's. Such a footfall, quiet
And even, forewarns at least a Bishop's palfrey.
As I'm alive 'tis Father Hildebold;
Who now dismounts and ties his horse. [_He mounts the
barricade and stoops to help Hildebold up._] The steps
Are steep so have a care. We welcome you.
[_Enter Hildebold, appearing over the barricade._]
_Hildebold._ Thou bar'st thy citadel, good friend.
_Ernst._ Against
Four-footed beasts, not two. Step gingerly.
I beg your Lordship's pardon. Come Guta, kneel
And kiss the ring. Our old Confessor climbs
Too high for peasant jokes; so let us help
Him down.
[_After helping him, the peasants kneel to receive a
blessing._]
_Hildebold._ My children, it pleases me to greet
Old friends. Receive God's blessing.—Tell me now
Has Master Eginhardt been lately here?
Or Princess Emma?
_Ernst._ The Princess once was here,
While hunting with the King; who has himself
Broke fast with me and stayed awhile to rest.
He talked of Master Eginhardt, whom both
Call foster-son, which makes a kind of sweet
Relationship between our Lord, the King,
And me, his servant.
_Hildebold._ And dost thou soon expect
This gifted foster-son?
_Ernst._ Ay, surely, unless
He fails to come.
_Hildebold._ Hark then! If he should come
Or Princess Emma, use a kind detention,
Some artifice, then steal away and bring
Me news or send a trusty messenger.
Remember as thou valuest salvation.—
Is there no easier exit? well, thy hand.
Remember! and beg thy wife to curb her tongue.
[_Exit with Ernst who soon returns. Guta mutters
to herself._]
_Guta._ 'Tis always thus, a woman's tongue, a woman's—
Depend upon it, some ill has chanced; my dream,
The winds have prophesied; but what indeed?
Why should the Princess visit us? There is
No reason; nor that Master Eginhardt
Should be detained; for that is what, through love
Of company, we ever strive; nor is
Their reason to inform 'gainst her or him
Or them. Canst thou, good man, make ought of this?
_Ernst._ Why puzzle, when time brings plain solution.
Let time
Then bear the brunt and weight of ravelling riddles,
Nor goad ourselves with useless questionings.
[_A cry for help is heard. It dies down, then comes again._]
But hark, that erie cry! or is't the wind?
Hark! Some poor soul has missed her path and dreads
The forest loneliness. I'll succour her.
_Guta._ Thou must not go, that cry is not from tongue
Made true through taste of Holy Sacrament.
Such shrilling gentleness is not the moan
Of fagot-picker in distress. 'Tis like
The dirge of last night's dream. I recognize;
'Tis some wild woman of the woods that seeks
To lure a Christian soul—Nay husband, stay!
I warn thee. [_Clutching his coat, then wringing her hands.
Exit Ernst, by the steps. He soon returns supporting
Emma._] O the foolish man and worse
Than foolish—what will come of this? He brings
Her here, alas! our happiness has flown.
_Ernst._ Quick Guta, fetch some water, haste, she faints.
_Guta._ Then let her lie; but no; discourtesy
Might bring revenge. They say 'tis best to flatter,
To wheedle with fair words and deeds. [_She goes into the hut
and brings out some water in a horn mug._] My pretty!
A sip will freshen thee; another! See
Thy colour comes and delicate as that
Pink robe that's bundled 'neath thy mantle, frayed
And torn most like in some uproarious
Fandango, some brawling midnight junketing,
Some screech-owl revels.
_Emma._ [_Reviving._] Thou dost forget thyself
To so address—I had forgot!—but this
Is holy silk.
_Guta._ If I should contradict
'Twould be for sake of bickering. The holes
Are plain enough. Thou seem'st to treasure them,
And yet the hole thou comest from is lined
With gold, they say.
_Emma._ The woman's mad!
_Ernst._ Thou talk'st
Too much, my wife.
_Guta._ [_Addressing Emma._] 'Tis true. Take no affront.
But if I may not talk, who will? a silence
Is often more discourteous than words
And gives the Devil chance—
[_The noise of some one
approaching is heard._]
_Ernst._ To show his horns.
And thou hast said it! hush! hush—
[_Enter Eginhardt._]
_Emma._ Eginhardt!
O Eginhardt!
_Guta._ The devil in disguise!
Or is't our friend in troth? I know not friend
From enemy.
_Eginhardt._ [_Embracing Emma._] My sweetheart, how cam'st thou here?
Alone? without a following? thy hair
Unbound, a rivulet of gold! Or art
Thou but a bloodless figment, a fancy born
Of seething thought? Nay, nay, 'tis Paradise
My lagging steps have mounted unawares
And thou'rt my angel guide.
_Emma._ [_Sinking in his arms._] O Eginhardt,
'Tis peace at last!
_Ernst._ [_Addressing Guta._] She seeks a younger prey
Than us old folk and one, methinks, that's more
Susceptible; but we must warn—
_Guta._ Let us
Away, advise good Father Hildebold.
He'll exorcise with book and candle.
_Ernst._ And while
Our backs are turned what harm may come. I'll pluck
His sleeve and warn. Dear Master Eginhardt,
I'd speak with you.
_Eginhardt._ [_Testily._] Well! well!
_Ernst._ Not here, but step
Aside; one moment! pray.
_Eginhardt._ Think'st thou I'd tempt
The winds? All day they've strangely whirled. But now
The air is still, this precious burden rests
With me. If I should loose my grasp might not
Some mischievous air-current spirit her
Afar.
_Ernst._ If only such could happen!
_Eginhardt._ Man,
Thou must be mad to e'en suggest the thought.
Has dotage crept thus suddenly? Begone,
Let thy old wife coax reason back.
_Emma._ A poor
Instructor! She's mad as he.
_Guta._ O Master, you
Alone are crazed. Quick cross yourself, break loose,
Use Latin words, delve deep within your learning;
From useless lumber pluck some magic art;
Whose strength will free from love's bewitching power,
From spectral glamour.
_Eginhardt._ Break loose from love? O Guta;
Each golden hair, that showers its wealth about
This yielding form, holds me in closer bondage
Than shackling chains of adamant. Break loose
From love? this head, that leans its gentle weight,
Impresses more than all the rolling skies
That bowed great-shouldered Atlas, steadying.
Break loose from love? 'Twould be a harsher fall,
Than Satan's fierce descent from Heaven's peace
To Hell's contentious flame. Break loose from love?
Not while there's breath to seal its troth, to pledge
Its honour. [_He kisses Emma._]
_Guta._ [_Addressing Ernst._] Pray come! let us obey! seek
help
From Father Hildebold, lest worse should follow.
If that most sober scholar is thus enmeshed
By magic wile, what hope is there for thee?
Who spinnest love tales as others gossip. Come!
A lengthy walk!
_Ernst._ And leave the youth? O youth!
First love! sweet raptures, mine no more—no more—
_Guta._ Come, come away; thou moonstruck fool! white hairs
Are no safe shielding 'gainst man's foolish bent.
[_Ernst and Guta mount the steps but as they descend
the other side they pause and look round unnoticed by
Emma and Eginhardt._]
_Emma._ They speak of Father Hildebold, most like
The Bishop. Would that he or some poor monk
Were here to give God's blessing.
_Eginhardt._ My Lord Archbishop
Would give such duteous advice that we,
In following, might find ourselves constrained
To cloistered cells; to hold, apart, sad vigils,
Remembering the happiness that's ours
To grasp. But I, like thee, would have God's blessing.
See Love! two lengthy sticks! we'll form them crosswise;
So notched, this silken cord will serve. [_He gathers two heavy sticks
to make a cross, using some string that bound the silk._] I'll plant
The longest end; how easily it slides!
And firm as though God truly wished it here.
And now we'll drape with this most blessed silk.
See Love, 'tis woman's work.
[_Emma drapes the cross with the white silk._]
_Ernst._ [_Whispering to Guta._] A solemn rite,
And e'en a pious, stay! 'tis worth the watching.
_Guta._ Nay, let us fly! 'tis impious, a wild
Hill-woman to hide the sign of Christendom
'Neath tattered rags of vile debauchery.
A worn ball gown that's torn in lengths.
_Ernst._ Whist! Silence!
[_Some leaves of the linden rustle slightly._]
_Emma._ A sound, a fluttering sound, and voices! no,
All's quiet. O would that we had witnesses,
Those mad-brained peasants if none else and yet
We're kindly rid of them.—The forest hush
Breathes thoughts of God. This mellowed silk was once
Around the Virgin's dress and now it decks
The marriage cross. O we have audience.
[_Emma and Eginhardt kneel before the cross and repeat
together._]
O Lord! be witness to our mutual vow.
_Emma._ My husband!
_Eginhardt._ My treasured wife!
_Together._ Whom none may part.
[_They kneel in silent prayer. Suddenly from the
linden tree a dove flits down and lights on Emma's
shoulder._]
_Emma._ My dove, my own pet dove. O God has sent
This sign.
_Ernst._ [_Whispering to Guta._] It seems like some strange
miracle;
Yet what it is I fail to grasp; yes, yes,
We'll go to Father Hildebold. He'll straight
This tangle, if any can.
[_Exuent Ernst and Guta._]
_Emma._ [_Resting with Eginhardt against a log._] O Eginhardt,
To think the bird has followed us! It links
The past and present, soothes the sting, and brings
A sweet assurance. Soft, wee nestler! a bit
Of pampered yesterday; that tears with us
The veiling morrow, fearing nought for love
Encompasses. O husband of my dreams,
Thou art reality. No tempest can
Disturb—And see, look round, 'twas here those dreams
Grew strong from sudden birth. Incredible
That chance has drifted us to this same spot.
A higher agency methinks has forced
Our steps. They say this world is evil, 'tis but
A tottery stepping stone; I say 'tis wrought
Of solid bliss; whence beauty springs and all
That holds and satisfies.
_Eginhardt._ Thou speak'st the truth,
My Emma, the world is passing good; whate'er
Its slips and fallacies some moments since.
Ay, here it was that Love surprised. Unasked
The lusty teaser flashed his bolt, exciting
The carmine to thy cheeks, a shining moist
To soft thine eyes, a shrinking tenderness
Through all thy being.
_Emma._ But thou wert bold, my friend.
_Eginhardt._ So saved a nasty fall. I see thee now
As then. Thou stood'st upon that fallen oak
In this same garb methinks. Thy hair neat-tucked
Within a huntsman's cap, some tendrils though
Fell gently loose, thy lips were curved to smile.
Asudden there came a stir from out the black
Of those deep woods that yonder lie, a stag
Brushed by, sprang lightly forward; ere the dogs
Caught scent or vision, an arrow whirred; thy sister,
The Princess Bertha's aim was good, beside
Thee lay the struggling beast. To end its pain
Thou raisedst thy hunting spear, but stumbling would
Have wrenched I know not what of this most dear
Anatomy, had I not seized thine arm
And righted thee. In that same flash of time
Two lives were changed, our eyes had met. Pray God
The ill averted may not lead to worse.
_Emma._ Who speaks of ill upon his wedding day
Deserves the same. Fie, shame, my Eginhardt.
Must we not fashion plans together, "together."
Ay, a precious word! what matters else?
"Together; together"—Hark! a stir! are we
Repeating history? Another stag!
Quick! my bow. [_She shoots toward the copse, a heavy
animal falls at its entrance. She and Eginhardt walk
over and examine it._] I've brought him down. There is
No need to spear. He's dead, quite dead. See here
An ancient wound that's scabbed and healed. Indeed
The very stag. He must have 'scaped that day
But we, enamoured, had no thought to spare.
What ages since that hunting party; so
It seems, my sister's merry laughter, the King,
My Father's kind solicitude.—And now
This cruel break—but Eginhardt, I'll wink
Salt drops away, lest one should fall to splash
Our luck, to mar our wedding-day. Why is't
When joy is keenest, there lurks beneath a pool
Of woe? Well, well 'tis far beneath, we'll lid
It with a stern forgetfulness. "Together;"
That's the word, "together;" and now we'll plan
To make a wild and beautiful adventure.
_Eginhardt._ Brave Heart, together, yes together we'll stem
The tide; but 'tis for thee I fear, for one
So gently nurtured.
_Emma._ Remember, Eginhardt,
My ancestors: the Pepin of Landen, the Pepin
Of Herestal; iron-handed Charles who cowed
The Saracen; his son who trembled not
From royal power; and his, in turn, my Father,
Who scaled fresh heights and slipped not back when offered
Imperial pomp and dignity. Each rose
To circumstance. Shall I, who boast such race,
Grow pale, show fear, lay down my arms before
So slight a foe as seeming poverty.
For poverty, what is't? but just a nought,
A nothingness and I have thee so I
Am rich.
_Eginhardt._ And I far richer! So let us shape
Our future. This stag will nourish us and more
Whence it has come. For shelter here's a hut
With fire, utensils—poor but clean.
_Emma._ Could we
Not further go from those old folk? I liked
Them not! A something calls me toward the thickets,
As though the inky depth they fringe held safe
Asylum. There must be entrance where the stag
Came forth. Let us push through the coppice, search
What lies beyond.
_Eginhardt._ 'Tis mystery, unsafe
To penetrate. The peasants say that dwarfs
Dwell there, that wild hill-women dance. They say
Some few of mortal birth have forced a way;
But what they saw none know, for none have since
Returned.
_Emma._ Ay, peasants' talk; but e'en if true—
St. Augustine, I've heard, hath not denied
There may be other hidden agencies
Than those of scriptural warrant—yet this silk
Will serve as amulet. I have no fear.
Hast thou?
_Eginhardt._ I'd be ashamed to so confess
And once indeed I peeped.
_Emma._ And saw?
_Eginhardt._ We'll let
It be for now. Thou'rt weak and famished. Rest
Thee here. I'll do some foraging.
[_Exit through door of hut._]
_Emma._ [_After a pause, gathering up the silk._] Yes, yes
We must go further then. A call from out
Those tangled depths comes loud, insistent. There
Solution lies. But first this precious silk
Must he repacked, the cross unwound. What's here?
A shimmering droplet, a gem that must have slipped
Its setting. Eginhardt! please come!
[_Enter Eginhardt
with some hunks of bread and a mug of milk._]
A jewel
Has fallen from its royal resting place.
Last night I handled the King, my Father's crown.
It lay beside the holy silk, whose folds
Have not disdained earth's wealth though they were used
To fairer things. The sun gives warmth; but this
Pale imitation chills my hand, what shall
We do with it? and how return?
_Eginhardt._ Now eat
This bread, and drink; then we'll consider.
[_They both eat hastily._]
_Emma._ Listen!
For our adventure in those mazy woods,
For go we must, we need some wherewithal,
Some first provisions, some household stuff. We'll leave
This gem, and in its place take our requirements;
Reward, that's offered, would more than pay for such
Poor odds and ends as we may choose to plunder.
_Eginhardt._ Thou'st said the word. If thou'rt refreshed, we'll make
A kindly start before the day grows late;
But I must bear this stag, so wilt thou help
As would a peasant woman?
_Emma._ With joyous heart!
My life has seemingly begun—so free.
I'll take deep breaths.
[_They go into the hut and come out laden._]
_Eginhardt._ [_Laughing._] Dost think we have enough?
_Emma._ Enough and e'en to spare! 'Tis laughable
The troubles ta'en preparing 'gainst one's wedding;
The puckered brow, the oft vexatious thought,
The wondering if this or that becomes
One most; what furnishings are suitable;
What friends invited. Well, we're saved some burdens.
Compared, this sack is light; but canst thou manage?
Then sling the stag upon thy back. Now let
Us venture? Where's my dove? Ah here still perched
Upon my shoulder, our only wedding guest;
Who shows the confidence we feel.
_Eginhardt._ I would
'Twere better witnessed.
_Emma._ Tush, Eginhardt, lead on.
_Eginhardt._ Then bend thy head, protect the bird, protect
Our confidence against recoiling twigs.
'Twas by this linden tree I one time found
A path; but thou must stoop, be careful! Love.
[_Exuent, the trees closing on them._]