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.
[TheBurial-wifeappears 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. [ToHans.] 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-wifepoints 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 theBurial-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!
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.
Sköllwith his spear between his knees, asleep on a bench.Cölestinwith a page holding a torch.
Cölestin. 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?
Sköll[in his sleep]. Brother--thy health!
Page. Look! The fellow is still drunk.
Cölestin. 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.
Cölestin. Hast thou seen aright? The Pommeranian?
Page. Yes.
Cölestin. 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?
Cölestin. I am as wrung as though the fate of the whole country hung on the iron strength of the lock.... Give him his way.
[ThePageopens the door,Hans Lorbassenters.]
Cölestin. 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.
Cölestin. 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.Cölestinand thePagelook out from behind him.]
Sköll[dreaming]. Hans Lorbass--seize him!
[Prince Witteenters.]
Cölestin. 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?
Cölestin. No, no! God forbid!--Well, unarm, my friend, ... so, so.
Hans. Whither then?
Cölestin. 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?
Cölestin. 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.
Cölestin. 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. ANobleenters.]
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.
Cölestin[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 theNobleand thePage.]
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.]
Sköll[in his sleep]. Quite right.
Hans. What's that? Eh, there, sleepy-head, wake up!
Sköll. Leave me alone! When I sleep I am happy.
Hans[startled]. What--Sköll?
Sköll. Hans Lor--
Hans. Hsh--sh!
Sköll. Well, old fellow, what wilt thou in this berth?
Hans. Thy master is here?
Sköll. Well, yes!
Hans. The devil take him! [Looking round at thePrince.] What now?
Sköll. What now? Why now, we will have a drink.
Hans. What draws you here!
Sköll. 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 aHeraldfrom the left, behind. Then theQueen,holding the youngPrinceby the hand, and followed by her women. After them,Anna Goldhair.]
Herald. Way there, the Queen approaches!
Sköll[standing attention]. We cannot speak when the Queen comes by.
Hans[looking towardsPrince Witte]. His soul dreams. The distance holds him spellbound.
[TheQueenand her attendants approach. She stops nearPrince 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 theQueen.]
[TheQueenpasses on and turns again at the corner to look atPrince 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!--
Sköll[aside toHans]. Heaven save us! Brother, who is this? I would know him a thousand miles away!
Hans[with a gesture towardsSköll,to leave him alone]. Perhaps I wished to test thee, or perhaps--
Sköll. All good spirits praise--
Prince. Whatever it was, I will go gladly.
Sköll[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!
[EnterDuke Widwolf.Sköll,behind him, pointing to thePrince.]
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.
[Dukebursts 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!
[Cölestinand 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.
Cölestin. 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--
Cölestin. 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.
Cölestin. Still thou sawest her when she and her women--
Prince. I saw her, yes.
Cölestin. 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!
Cölestin. 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.
Cölestin. 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.
[TheQueenwith the youngPrince.Anna Goldhairand 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.