King[with a smile of satisfaction]. Good words, for which we shall reward him. Yes, if you all thought with him, then I might bravely, out of the fulness of-- Enough! We each do what befits us and what it was decreed that we should do. We can no more. Time came upon us undesired and unasked,--even to-day. Each of us drags listlessly our weight of humanity unto the grave. Farewell my lords.... Lay by your letters. I will prove, as it stands I will-- Yes, and give your wisdom air, my dear friends, for it grows musty! [Cölestin,theChancellor,and the other nobles go out.] Hans, stay!
King. Well, my wife?
Queen. Thou lookest at me so earnestly.
King. I am smiling.
Queen. Yet sorrow looks from all thy features. My friend, I fear that thou canst never learn to yield thyself up to this country.
King. Yield thyself, thou sayest. Belie thyself,--it is the same. To me it is a polished farce, at which I play and play and play myself quite out, entangled sleepily in fog and mist. But sometimes comes a wandering south wind, and plays faintly with its wings upon my wearied soul, striking vague and half-audible dream tones.
Queen. Thou torturest thyself.
King. And thee, my wife,--forgive! I look at thee and know that thou hast long hung in imploring anguish on my neck; it shames me, for see, I love thee!
Queen[repeats half dreamily]. I love thee.
The Voice of the Young Prince. Papa.
King. Art thou still awake, my son?
The Voice of the Young Prince. Papa, may I come in?
King. Thou mayst. [Enter the youngPrincewithAnna Goldhair.]
The Young Prince[running to theKing]. Papa, papa!
King. My boy, didst thou do well to leave thy bed and run with such haste to thy playfellow?
Queen. He begged me, and I let him.
King. So then. [To himself.] Now calm, quite calm!
The Young Prince[running to the door]. Hans, did they shoot much?
King. Thy name is Anna with the golden hair?
Anna Goldhair[shyly]. They call me Goldhair--but--
King. Let it be, it is true. [To thePrince.] Come here!
The Young Prince. Yes, father.
King. Listen! If thou hast that in thee that seethes and bubbles and strives to burst out, then smother it! When others take to themselves the cream from off thy cup of life, do not curse and slay them! Smile and be calm,--quite calm, there still remains in my breast, I fear, a little of that former passion and unrest; I will employ it to shield this calmness of thine.
The Young Prince. Have I been bad, father? When thou lookest at me so, I am afraid.
Queen. Come!
The Young Prince. The father is angry.
Queen. The father jests.
The Young Prince. Good night!
King. Good night!
Queen. I cannot find the key that harmonizes with thy mood; though once I knew how to resolve into harmony all the dissonance in the world. Perhaps the knowledge will come back again.
King. Perhaps.
Queen. And good night! [They clasp hands. TheQueen,thePrince,andAnna Goldhairgo out.]
King. No statue stands in the cathedral gates as stony as thou art. Hatred grazes thee, envy seeks to belittle thy worth. But thou smilest not. Thou movest in silent resignation, so tense, so ... Say, how canst thou?
Hans Lorbass. I serve.
King. Is that the reason?
Hans Lorbass. A servant has no choice. Else had I torn from off its nail my spear which the worms are conquering, burnished my shield and mail, and with a shout of righteous anger which has gnawed its chain for years, I would leap forth--where? Thou knowest, master!
King[smiling bitterly]. What use? He serves a righteous cause.
Hans Lorbass. Master, I will not look longer upon this farce! Lay about thee, kindle flames, slay, torture, make a harvest of the people,--but laugh and feel thyself a man once more!
King. A man? A husband! That is the word! That is my office. And my virtue. Wouldst thou soar? Then load a burden on thy back. Art thou hungry? Then toss away thy food. Dost thou hear thy heart clamor within thee after freedom? Seek a prison, and lay thee down therein.
Hans Lorbass. Dost thou hate her so?
King. Hate her? Her--from whose soul a mildness like honey drops on mine? Her, in whose golden beauty the loveliness about her pales to a shadow? If I knew a blot which she had hidden from me, a single grain of dust upon the mirror of her soul, a single pretext however bald or hollow, then I should have a weapon with which to pierce my shame, to free me from this need of speaking out my humility--oh, might I hate her, my God, it would be well for me! But at that glance of sorrowing goodness with which she smiles on all our faults, all trace of defiant courage dies in me, and I am weaponless because she is.
Hans Lorbass. Then come, escape!
King[smiling wearily]. True, the door stands open.
Hans Lorbass. And when we have once passed the border, thou canst learn to forget.
King. Perhaps! It may be! But can I learn to hope again? I went forth a conqueror; joyous self-confidence was my companion on the way--my bright horizon stretched itself to the boundless heavens. And now? I wear a sickly crown, which did not fall to me as victor, but fell upon me as I fell myself; and this fall has so sweated it to me that neither help of hands nor curses, but only death itself can tear it from my head.
Hans Lorbass. Well, at least thou hast it; thou hast a crown, thou art king.
King. King am I? Wilt thou mock me? Dost thou think I am so besotted as not to know my state? Yea, I might be king, were not the youth already ripening to maturity for whom I guard his throne from harm until he occupies it!
Hans Lorbass. But every man holds what he has and hopes to have, in security, in pawn, as it were, for his children.
King. Yes, for his own, not for a stranger's.
Hans Lorbass. Then get some of thy own.
King. To beg their bread? Thou knowest that in this whole kingdom of which I am king, there is not a single crust of bread, not a rag, that I may call my own. It is all his.
Hans Lorbass. What is in thy head?
King. Say naught! A man may wear his shame, may panting draw it draggled after him, and yet in spite of it he can hunger, thirst, and draw his sword. But when he must say to himself besides: thou hast squandered thy own happiness in shameful dalliance,--to whom then, dare he show his face? Yes, thou canst do all!... Yet one thing thou canst not do: thou never canst give back to the world its face of bloom. The great festal day that lay red and golden over all the earth, on which I closed my eyes when I lay down to rest, which roused me to joyous labor with its fanfare, which cast on toil itself a glorious light,--that, thou canst never bring back to me. Never.... Never again. The spring-time gleams to-day in vain. In vain the blossoms crowd to show their splendor to me, in vain do autumn's golden apples bow to my hand. Another hand will pluck them, while I descend my narrow path, hedged in with poverty, weighed down with despair, shut in with duties as with graves, and see my own grave stretched across the end. Thus I go on and on, so quietly,--yet all the time I stifle in my throat a cry, a shriek,--oh, save me from my daily burden, friend!
Hans[to himself]. A last hope,--but dare I venture it? I must. Lest he languish and slip hither beneath my eye. [Aloud.] Master, if thou cherishest a grief, thou hast then forgot the talisman--
King. The what?
Hans Lorbass[watching him]. The feathers thou didst once possess.
King[feeling in his breast. Angrily]. Be still.
Hans Lorbass. Since thou still wearest them on thy heart, why--
King. Be still, I tell thee, churl!
Hans Lorbass[bursts out]. Cursed be the churl that dog-like yields himself to thee. Yet I will be thy dog, that I may howl, for at least I have that right.
King. No one shall speak of them,--neither I nor thou. The door is closed upon the past. All is done, is spent, and these feathers are nothing but a mark of my violent downfall, a monument to my dead longing.
Hans Lorbass. It is dead, then? It lives and cries aloud,--so loud that even the deaf could hear! Have courage, wield the magic power, and call thy unknown bride to thee.
King. Here?
Hans Lorbass. Where else? I trust in the charm thou hast wrung from the witch-wife. I remember it well. [Repeating] "The first of the feathers"--no, it is burned. [Repeating] "The second feather, mark it well, shall bring her to thee in love; for when thou--burnest--it"-- [Stops.]
King. "Alone in the dying glow, she must wander by night and appear before thee."
Hans Lorbass. Well?
King[in great agitation]. The thought thou hast thrown out in faring jest, has lain a last hope, deep within my hearts shrinking depths.
Hans Lorbass. Why hast thou when so devil-ridden, not yielded to the strain?
King. Hast thou forgot what else she said?
Hans Lorbass. What she said--she spoke of the third feather.
King[repeating]. "Until the third has perished in the flame, thy hand stretched forth shall bless her"--
Hans Lorbass[going on]. "but the third burning brings her death"--
King. Suppose she should come now and vanish again?
Hans Lorbass. But why?
King. Ask thyself what it means--my hand stretched forth shall bless her--if I have and hold her? Would fate withdraw her gift a second time and leave me no security? Does a new misery lie in wait behind the dark disguise of these words? Thus I have delayed the deed, hoping I might be new-redeemed, by my own strength, without the laming weakness of enchantment, to see and win the woman of whom my soul has dreamed. All that is past.... The broken pinion can no longer unfurl itself.... [listening.] I hear laughter outside. What is it?
Hans Lorbass[lifting the curtain]. Only our maidens, who sport outside, modest and chaste as their land's innocence.
King. I will employ this hour of rest, while they dance there beneath the birches, to set the charm to work, and call my long-dead happiness as guest. Now go!
Hans Lorbass. Thou knowest, master, danger often comes from business such as this.
King. Danger--for whom?
Hans Lorbass. Let me stay with thee! Crouched in the farthest corner--
King. The charm says it must be done alone.
Hans Lorbass. Well then! I will hold a watch outside. [Goes out.]
The King[alone. Looks about distrustfully, then draws the feathers from his corselet, puts one back and goes toward the fireplace with the other]. The fire dies down? Then thou canst strive to brighten it, as thou hast the flames of my will.... Too late! Naught but this lazy, luke-warm heap of sodden ashes. What is to be done now?--The torch, a-flicker there! Though thy dim mocking glimmer has often frightened me in the forest it smiles alluringly at me now. And look, above, the parchments which so long have made my life a hell--now I know how to use you! Out of the paper sorrows of my country I will kindle for myself a glad new morning,--a new sun shall rise for me in their light! [He hurls the torch among the rolls and they take fire.] And now! [He tosses the feather into the flames. A violet lightning flashes high above the stone chimney-piece. A light peal of thunder follows, with a long roll like the noise of rattling chains. The door on the right has sprung open. As theKingstares wildly about, theQueenenters, at first not seen by him, and stands with closed eyes near the door.]
King[turning round]. What wilt thou here?
Queen[opening her eyes]. Didst thou not call?
King. I--call thee?... But hush!... No, nothing, nothing! No shadow climbs the starred blue sky ... no light ... only the moon laughs in the green water, and laughs ... and laughs.... The world is drained quite empty. Thou hast done well, Maria ... thou holdest thy watch faithfully. No spy could have done better.
Queen. I came because thou--
King. Hast called me? Was that it? I knew it well.
Queen. And if thou hadst not called--
King. Thou wouldst still have come, to see that no thief was gliding up the steps of thy throne [aside] alone, alas, alone--a thief of fortune, such as pious women like thyself, whose longings form but to be granted, brew spectre-like in their porridge pots. Wouldst thou not?
Queen. For God's sake, what burns there?
King. My manhood! Let it burn, child, let it burn! While I sat piously amid thy flock, there came a flame of piety upon me, burning more fiercely than myself, and burned and burned, until I was consumed with piety.... But thou, woman, that thou mayst know how in this dark hour thou hast snatched the cup of freedom from my longing lips,--I ask thee, woman, what have I done to thee? What have I done, that thy love-longing--I will not mock, else I had said love-lust--should force me, who was naught to thee, to grovel in the dust here at thy feet? Now hast thou what thou wilt. Here stands thy spouse, the second father of thy son,--thy mock, thy love potion and thy sleeping-draught, catch-poll of the great, butt of the small, and to both a vent for every scorn. Yes, gaze upon me in my pride! This am I, this hast thou made of me!--speak, then, and stand not staring into space! Strike back, defend thyself; that is the way with happy married folk.... Well?
Queen. Witte, Witte!
King. Well?
Queen. Witte, Witte!
King. So piteously thou callest me, child! Thus piteously stands thy image in my soul's midst.
Queen. No more.
King. Well, then?
Queen. It is past. It must be past. Alas, how many a night have I pictured myself thy happiness, thy refuge, thy solace,--oh, pardon me! I had so much love to give to thee, so wholly lay my trembling soul within thy hand, such streams of light and glory leaped and played about me,--how could I know that what was so precious and so dear to me was naught at all to thee? Now I know how I have deceived myself; it grieves me sorely, and for many a year must I endure and sorrow. But to thee I grant the one gift left for me to give,--thy freedom. Take it, but ah, believe, I love thee!
King. Shall I be free, Maria?
Queen. Free; and more than that; thou shalt be happy. I shall know thee so glad, so radiant, so buoyantly poised heaven-high above all black necessity, whether here or far away, so unfalteringly turned toward the light upon the eagle wing of thy desire, that a reflection of thy radiance shall laugh into my lonely darkness.
King[takes her head between his hands and gazes at her steadily]. Listen, Maria! Should I say: I thank thee,--how raw 'twould sound!... And yet I feel thy meaning; as I drank in thy words, there slipped away and fell from my breast a ... Maria, thou art weeping!
Queen[smiling]. What slipped away, what fell? Thou art silent again.
King. Look, what thou givest, thou Lady Bountiful, is not thine to give. But thou hast given so freely of thy kindness, that at thy words something like happiness itself flowers out of black necessity itself, whose slave I am. I may not be free in very truth; but thou hast so generously hidden my chains, so mercifully forborne all blame of my weak struggle for self-redemption, that freedom's self seems near. I welcome her, and feel new blood course through my tainted and empoverished frame.
Queen. Why should I judge thee, and not rather love? For why else am I thy wife?
King. Come here! Come to me! Sit down--nay, here!... How strange it is! I thought to flee before thee, and only fled with all my pain straight to thy arms.
Queen. So shouldst thou! And so long as thou needest me, so long will I be at thy side.... But when thou sayest: "Enough! I ride abroad to seek my happiness," then all silently will I vanish from thy path.
King. And thus thou gavest me thy life, without condition or return; and with sweet service snatched me from the grave. But when I was whole once more, I felt so confined within the hedge thy tenderness had built about me, so twined about with thy gentle arms, so dazed by weakness and by shame, that I seized eagerly, as on a penance, upon thy offered throne. My deed seems voluntary now, and like a weak submission to the fate that bore me, the faithless one, here to thy feet. Thou art no less than I its victim,--then forgive me if for a moment I rebelled at the sight of my last hope strewn to the winds.
Queen. We sit here hand in hand, and, third in our company sits misery.
King[shaking his head]. Nay, if a man has found a friend whose voice is gentle, whose soul speaks harmony and keeps sweet accord with his in that holy hour which turns our griefs to calm, whose love rings true in sorrow and in joy,--such a man is far from deepest misery.
Queen. Thou speakest so gently now, and yet thou couldst speak so cruelly before! Nay, I mean no reproach, no blame. I have hung so long upon the hope of being thy happiness, that even the smallest change upon thy face has become to me a consciousness of some fault of mine. And when I saw a laugh in thine eye, a smile, or even a single friendly beam, the whole broad world lay straightway in sunshine. Yet do not tell me that I am too fond. It is not that ... or only a very, very little. For look, I have a child; and my heart has the same gift for him. Thou canst believe there was a struggle there. And just because I yearned for thee so deeply, there fell a shadow over thine ... it was the child's!
King. No.
Queen. I thought that he was dear to thee.
King. That he is. Yes.
Queen. How many times hast thou beguiled the time in play and frolic with him, at all the little dreams that make his. Thou hast poured into his the strength of thy own soul.
King. Let the child be. I love him, thou knowest it. A little unwillingly, but what is that? He is not of my blood.... Let be. Speak of thyself. With every word thou drawest a thorn out of my soul.
Queen. What shall I say? Am I so powerful, then? And yet--I am! Thou gavest my power to me! Nay, before that--I learned it from a gray-haired man. Still half a child, I owed my love to him; and gave it, though as yet I knew not how to love.
[The swinging maidens outside have begun to sing.]
King. Hark! What is that? Some one is singing. How their voices exult together, as if they mocked the sound!... The air thrills as with the tremulousness of virgin bells on Sunday from a far-off lonely height.
Queen[who has drawn aside the curtain. On the moonlit sward the white-robed maidens are singing]. Are they not fair, thy singing land, thy moonlit house?
King. Come back! Let the curtain fall! Give me thy hand, and I will drink therefrom a draught of deep forgetfulness. Lay it upon my burning forehead, ah, so coolingly! So rests the snow upon the slopes in my childhood's home.... My home ... what is it to me now?... A balmy wind blows over me ... it rises from a blue flower-besprinkled spot, far, far away, where happiness begins ... it seems so very long. I have not slept. I think ... [He sleeps.]
Queen[after she has tenderly pillowed and covered him]. I hold thee to my breast, beloved prisoner; at this hour thou art mine, even if tomorrow thou wouldst tread me in the dust. Until tomorrow is a long respite, to have thee and to hold thee, to give to thee a thousand golden gifts--if thou desirest them. How many joyous fountains might leap to the light of day from their deep sleep in my heart's depths. Alas that no word breaks their enchantment! They must sink back again from whence they came. Never will sunshine build its seven-hued bridge between my dream and the reality, between to-day and happiness. Thou wilt go from me, I must see but cannot hinder it; but tonight thou still art mine,--I may protect the slumber of my sleeping child.
[Before going out, she draws the curtain so that the moonlight streams in.Hans Lorbass,spear in hand and quite motionless, is visible for a moment, and steps aside at the approach of theQueen.]
A vaulted tower in the castle. In the centre of the background is a landing with stairs going up and down. Beyond, a corridor that loses itself in the distance. In the left foreground a window, and next to it a vaulted passage. In the right foreground a door bound with iron, and next to it a chimney-piece. In the middle of the room is a table with the remains of a feast upon it. Overturned goblets, burned-out lights, stringed instruments, garments, etc., about. On the left side of the stage is the throne, with the King's arms hanging upon it. Night, and half-darkness. The wind wails faintly in the chimney.
Anna Goldhaircowering with covered face in the shadow of the throne.Hans LorbassandCölestinenter from the landing.
Hans Lorbass. Master!... No answer.
Cölestin. His lair is empty. The hall seems forsaken. Nothing, but the sighing of the autumn wind. Not even a trace of the women that herd with him.
Hans Lorbass. And before the door, the foe.
Cölestin. We are to suffer for his sins.
Hans Lorbass. Pah!--We!
Cölestin. Since he so far betrayed morality as to draw to his lustful embraces the young maid with the golden hair, even from the very feet of his most virtuous spouse, it has gone ill with him and us. For half a year this shameless wanton bond has blazoned itself beneath this roof.
Hans Lorbass. If I choose to cry him down, why it is my affair. I advise thee, old man, to let it be.
Cölestin. Have I ever yet mingled with the crowd that boldly raise their heads against him? But now the foe hangs at our very heels,--and he, instead of showing fist in need, buries a thorn in our own flesh;-- must I still be silent?
Hans Lorbass. Gabble or not, as thou choosest. Dost thou think the slime out of thy old mouth can make him slippery enough to--
Cölestin. Hark! [A muffled drum-beat]. The morning signal of the foe!
Hans Lorbass[stretching out his arms]. Come, mighty hour!
Cölestin. There is one way ... some one might ... with more influence than I ... seek out the King and fetch him here. The tardy day still lies in heavy sleep . . wilt thou go? [Hans Lorbassnods.]
Cölestin. Good! [Going out.] I am cold.
Hans Lorbass. What? All empty?... Thou shadow there, give answer what thou art. What, Goldhair, thou? Asleep here on the stones? Where is the King?... The King, where is he?
Anna Goldhair[gets up trembling]. I do not know.
Hans Lorbass. Is he asleep somewhere?
Anna Goldhair. No.
Hans Lorbass. Where have the women gone, then,--those wanton flaunting blossoms of his?
Anna Goldhair. He sprang up from the table to-night and drove them out with scourging.
Hans Lorbass. How was he before that?
Anna Goldhair. His greeting long since stiffened into silence and sternness. All night long his feet have wandered up and down the echoing passages.
Hans Lorbass. And to-night--which way did he go?
[Anna Goldhairmotions towards the left.]
Hans Lorbass. Give me a light.
Anna Goldhair[as she takes a taper from the table and gives it to him]. Hans!
Hans Lorbass. Well?
Anna Goldhair. Hans--dost thou know what the Queen says of me?
Hans Lorbass. Queens are no friends of thine; the women will have none of thee now. Thou'dst best befriend thyself, and be thine own queen. [He goes out.]
[Anna Goldhaircowers down again in the shadow of the throne. Then, from behind, theKing.]
King[coming forward]. When I was yet a little boy I loved to put my ear down to the earth and shudder at the danger coming toward me in the thunder of the horses' hoofs. Even so now, the voice of the north wind wails aloud in the chimney how grim-visored death stands threatening upon my outer wall.... Was it for this the sea once rolled in music to my feet, for this my drawn sword thrilled in my hand, for this a woman beckoned me from out the clouds,--that here in this corner my young and lusty body should rot away to naught? Patience yet! I know my revenge! Though every broil burst out here, though my life itself were forfeit, though I became a very brute, scurvy and bleeding, goaded to despair, yet justice should be done! Only wait! I will die right joyfully, but fight--I will not. [He seesAnna Goldhair.] What, Goldhair, thou awake? Come here!--Come, I command thee! Thou wast no joyous guest at the feast, I warrant. Nor I.... Do not speak, Goldhair.... Hush! Lest they believe I vaunt my sin. But then, what they believe is naught to me. Come, give me thy hand. Thou art fettered to me,--yet thou wast only a plaything, only a splinter of glass wherein I saw my image, only the last string of a broken lute.... Lean down. I will entrust something to thy care: here, under my doeskin corselet I carry a treasure. It is not much to see, neither gold nor precious stone,--only a feather. I won it once, it was a prize,--that was long since.... Enough, that it was precious to me. If I should come to harm to-day, take it and throw it in the fire. Wilt thou?
Anna Goldhair. Yes, sire.
King. I thank thee. [Caressing her.] Why dost thou shroud thy pretty hair with a grey veil? It is still golden. Dost thou thus seek to shroud dreams of the past? What look'st thou at so? [Whispers.] Is thy sorrow for thy Queen.
[Anna Goldhairhides her face in her hands, shuddering.]
King. Then cease thy grief ... methinks the sword already clangs without to bring thee peace.
Hans Lorbass. Master.
King. Thou, Hans, here in my tower, which thou hast so avoided? What brings thee here?
Hans Lorbass. We are attacked. The Duke has surrounded the castle by night with a thousand men. The battering-ram and beam had even begun their cursed work, when suddenly there came a lull, and by the glow of torches we saw upon the plain a white flag held aloft upon a lance-point. We held communication a spear's length from the camp. There he stood, murder in his glance, and there stood Sköll and Gylf, and all the other vermin that have crawled to his feet; and he rolled his eyes, gnashing his teeth like a nut-cracker--Heaven send we're not the nut!
King. What offer did he make?
Hans Lorbass. A respite until day-break, in which time to yield thyself and me into his hands.
King. Me, Hans, and alone.
Hans LorbassAnd if they yield he will allow his heart to melt with pity; he will butter on both sides the bread of all the people who will shout for him. That is his way; all innocence, like the rest of us.