The Romance of a Princess: A Comedy; and Other Poems

ACT III. ACT III. 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. ] ACT IV. Scene.—The same as Act III, six years later. It has a more deserted appearance. Some smoke escapes the kiln. The steps of the barricade are broken down, leaving a narrow passage, through which enter Charles in hunting attire and Albert, whose court finery is somewhat dishevelled. Charles. Why, Albert, see, there's smoke, haste thee! Inquire! Albert. [ Looks into the hut. ] No sign of life within the hut, my Lord. Nor little else. An emptiness that weighs Like what's inside my belt. Will you not blow Your horn, my Lord, that baskets may be brought. Charles. My courtiers think of food, of clothes; thou'rt dressed As for a festival and so the rest. Indeed 'twould shock our simple ancestors Could they but see the follies prevalent To-day, the love of luxury, the splurge, The flaunt of silk and jewels, the rich-piled velvets, The pranking plumes, the strut and swagger. Yet Methinks, on closer view, thy feathers have A languid droop, thy coat has lost its vain Bravado, thy ribboned finery agrees But ill with huntsman's sport. Albert. My Lord, if I Am privileged to speak, we dressed prepared For Council work; but you withdrew, changed plans, Made call for dogs and horses, spears and bows; Gave us no time to change. Charles. Do I want fops For Councillors? Grave work needs grave attire. Ye came arrayed for dance and spectacle So I was forced to holiday. The chase Has made some spectacles, I trow. [ Laughing. ] Nay stay Thy sulks, seek now thy friends, beg them retain This morning's lesson; hark! and come not back Until my horn wakes echoes. Albert. [ Turns to go, then stops. ] But is it wise To leave you here alone, my Lord; this place Is ill reputed. Charles. See that rustic cross, Some pious pilgrim's work. Six years ago 'Twas noticed first; since then long winters have Unloaded snow and whipped the biting blast, Yet there it stands assuringly. How oft, When unsought vigils have distressed, my mind Has flown to this same spot, has tried to pierce Its mystery, has lingered round those branchlets, Gleaned a strange relief; and now again Smoke floats above the charcoal kiln. All haste, Count Albert, comb the woods, make nearby search, Discover him who caused that smoke, who stirs A smouldering hope; but still my heart! the flame May yet die down as has so oft occurred. Haste, haste Count Albert, I would know the worst Or best. [ Albert starts to go. Enter Ernst who collides with him. ] Ernst. Dost wish to murder me? a bandit! Ho! Help! Albert. [ Holding Ernst by his collar. ] Didst thou cause yonder smoke? Ernst. And if I did, where is the crime? the kiln is mine, Though long deserted. Unhand me pray. Albert. The King Desires thy presence. Ernst. A fitter one I'd show, Didst thou remove thy knuckles; though, in truth, Thou flatterest. To hold me so presumes that I Have still the nerve and mettle of rash youth, His racing-wind, his wiry limbs unfettered By time's harsh reckoning. Ay, that is better, I breathe again. A nobleman! it seems. I must have dreamt a cutthroat throttled me, But, by our Lady, thy dress belongs to neither. Gentility cast-off and mired. May be Thou art some actor who practises his part. Albert. Thou shouldst have studied thine. Servility Becomes a peasant's tongue. Charles. Polite to whom? To dainty nobles who presume on birth And wide possessions, whose love of play and sport Bids them forget the useful arts, the work That makes life passable, their Emperor's Renown, the safety of the realm? No, no. My love is for the striving man whate'er His station be. Is not the peasants' wisdom, His industry, the backbone of our nation? Ah woe the day when he forgets his high Estate and seeks to ape his so-called betters. Ernst. Great King, I kneel to you, the peasants' friend. Charles. And thou art truly Ernst whom we have sought These many years. Tell me, where is my daughter, The Princess Emma? My foster-son? whom we In sport called "ours." Ernst. How should I know? Charles. Why did'st Thou disappear? Ernst. My Guta was afraid. Charles. Afraid? Speak on! Impatience frets, afraid Of what? Ernst. Of telling tales. Charles. Thy trade of yore; But now I ask the simple truth unvarnished. Ernst. My Lord, 'twas truth we feared; when witchcraft plays, A silent tongue is safest. We had seen Too much. We slipped away. And now, alas! Poor Guta! [ He weeps. ] Charles. If she be dead I pity thee. 'Tis heartfelt! I have drained the bitter cup. I understand. A worthy woman! a dear Companion! Friend Ernst thou hast my sympathy, But grief with thee is indexed, chapter and verse, Each last sad smile, each parting word. Thou mayst Read slowly this remembrance, skip the next, Avoid what is most harassing. It can't Be changed, the book is writ; but mine is blank. Where is my daughter? write the lines for me. Ernst. My Lord, why ask a charcoal-burner? If she Be missing, those of higher rank will know, Not I. Charles. But thou hast just confessed a knowledge. Shall I stand longer here and wheedle words, Or shall I blow my horn? Let torture bring Some sense. Ernst. My Lord, have mercy! Charles. Then out with it! Why did'st thou fly six years ago? nor bring The Lord Archbishop news. Ernst. My Lord, that is A simple question, simple as thin ice, That skins the depth, yet holds till rudely struck. Let us reach shallows far from here before We test its brittleness. Charles. Nay speak, and promptly. Ernst. Then take the onus, Sire, I've warned. For me Nought matters now, my Guta's dead. Besides A king's hot temper may extrude more sparks Than witch's fell bedevilment. So listen! Six years ago a semblance, a strange wild woman, Not of mortal birth, escaped the hills, Came moaning here, cast amorous glances, trapping With beauty's mesh the soul of our dear friend, Our foster-son. Before this feeble cross, Whose magic keeps it firm spite time's decay, An awesome rite took place; those two exchanged The marriage oath, scarce said the words, when skies Blew open, a bird descended, 'twas like a dove; But well we knew 'twas come from Odin's shoulder To perch upon the smiling hag. Charles. Thou darest So call my child, insulting her as me. It was the Princess Emma. Ernst. Nay, my Lord, Although methinks there was some likeness, still She came without attendants, her hair dishevelled, Her garments torn; besides I've proof. But patience! We sought good Father Hildebold, mistook The way, took council, agreed 'twas well to wait Developments, so found an ancient friend And visited the elephant, a beast Of weirdest size, whose arm-like nose, whose trunk, Was sucking from a bucket, then mouthwards curved And poured the flow until we heard the water Gushing through his mighty stomach. O— Charles. Away with rounding O's. Keep straight thy tale. Ernst. 'Twas late one night when we crept back, the place Was still, no movement, deserted; ay and more; The hut was vacant, our belongings gone. A light though strangely gleamed, a moon ray or— We plucked it, troth a goblin stone; 'twas left As pay; but could it pay for goods endeared By use? No, no, a thousand times. We wept; So passed the hours till ruthless day affirmed Our loss. Provisions, tools, utensils, all Were gone, and e'en some garnered seeds. If such Could happen, why not worse? Our lives? We'd find A safe asylum, work elsewhere, poor Guta! And now my proofs: the goblin stone, this bit Of beldame finery, a scrap, the cross Had kept. [ He unwraps his treasures. ] Charles. Why Ernst, thou hast a royal stone. 'Tis worth a noble's ransom, and thou dost cry For peasant chattels, a royal stone indeed! It must have slipped my crown that night six years Ago. What corners have been swept for it. What countries searched for them; who left it here. And this frayed scrap is holy silk; I feel Its texture. Where? O where can they have gone? Ernst. Those thickets yonder hide the secret. Fierce Carousing, banqueting from golden plate Or grave-yard bones, who knows? No mortal has Retraced his steps though more than they have dared The bosky growth. Far, far within are dwarfs, Wild women of the hills and mystic stags That lure to doom. O Sire, return! it is Not safe to meddle, nor speak where trees have ears. [ A rustling is heard 'mid the trees. ] What's that? a rustling breath that warns. Charles. More like A prying zephyr. The woodman's axe will fell This mystery. I'll give prompt orders—yet A pause—to think, prepare myself for what? Hope fanned afresh? or chilled to ash? So leave me Ernst, and thou Count Albert, a moment's rest Before we prize the lock. I would be strong. Albert. 'Tis injudicious, most unsafe, my Lord. We've heard enough to fright the staunchest saint Of Holy Church. Charles. And thou art far from that. Well cross thyself, tell beads, or what thou wilt; But leave me here. Go, quiet the horses. Hark! They champ impatience. I must curb myself. If kingdoms fell would I be so disturbed? Albert. Come Ernst, we'll tarry near, thou must know more, I'd hear it all. [ Exuent Albert and Ernst. ] Charles. I'm strangely tired, this bank Affords repose, though peace is far. [ He falls asleep. The scene grows perfectly dark. After a time the twinkling light of candles gradually discloses three mushroom-shaped tables, on which the candles stand among golden goblets and dishes. Around each table sits a group of three Wish-maidens, aethereally dressed, with long flowing locks. ] Wish-maidens. Sisters, we quaff to the past, When forests were thick and daylight dim. Sisters, we quaff to the past. Once sacred this grove, here heard Woden's hymn. Sisters, we quaff to the past. The past! the past! [ They drink deeply. ] Wind-spirits are we, wild women called, Substance of water and air, Of fabric whence breathed the ancient scald Verses that seize and ensnare. Through tempests we ride, upheaval's din, Light as a figment of dreams, And sometimes we flash a visioned sin, Sometimes a virtue that gleams. The bubbles of thought we puff at night Enter the soul that is cursed, Awaking a shameless appetite, Perfidy, shuffling, war-thirst. The bubbles of thought we throw from light Enter the soul that is blessed, Like dust of the rainbow, pearled and bright, Singing of hope and of quest. But Sisters the future stores for us Obloquy, exile, and wrong; Already the signs grow ominous, Seldom man hearkens to song. So spill from our cups—earth honouring, Earth that will triumph one day; Let earth play the tune round faery ring, Twanging the strings we obey. [ Where the wine is spilt on the ground dwarfs spring up, each clad in green and bearing a golden harp. ] Clear tables away, come dwarfs, come elves Harp for us, harp long and loud! Let fingers that grasp the golden helves Work strings with music endowed. [ The tables are pushed back. In front sit the dwarfs who first play slow dance music, gradually quickening the time. The Wish-maidens dance in three groups. From a slow gliding step they arrive at a dizzy whirl. Then suddenly they stop, break up their groups and sing while making steps and motions to imitate weaving. ] We dance to the past while weaving tales, Rosy with mist of the dawn, Astir with the mood of wilful gales, Lightsome as leap of a fawn. We dance to the present, weaving fears. Daylight strews shadows behind; The dazzle of noon dissolves in tears, Man is the sport of the wind. We dance to the future, weaving death, Purpled with evening sky; A knowledge has come with failing breath, The courts of Valhalla on high. So round and around we faster spin, Straightening the tangles of time; We dance to the earth, find spirit within, Hark! to the music sublime. [ They stand prettily poised listening, each with the right forefinger raised. The scene grows quite dark again while delightful strains of heavenly music are heard. After a time they die away. The scene lightens, Charles is discovered still sleeping. All trace of Wish-maidens, tables and dwarfs have disappeared unless it be David, a little green-clad figure, who enters from the copse, losing his hat on a thornbush. He looks round wonderingly, then comes and examines Charles. ] David. Goliath as my name is David, Giant Goliath. Indeed I've found adventure. Yet I have no sling. Might I not steal his sword, To carry home a giant's head, would not The ancients envy me? My Father, though A mighty hunter, has never brought such game. Soft, soft, he sleeps. I'll lightly pull. The sword Slips loose from out its sheath, a bolder tug; Ah now it comes. [ Enter Ernst. He sees David and stands transfixed. ] Charles. [ Waking. ] What's that? who drags my sword. Am I asleep? do I still dream? a dwarf, A tiny green-clad man like those who harped The magic tune. Have pagan times returned? My Lord Archbishop warned me 'gainst the tales Of ancient days. An old man's mind should steep Itself in gospel truth; what troubles have I brewed? And yet the sky seems natural, The sun and trees. What art thou? elf or child? Of goblin birth or Christian ancestry? David. [ Singing. ] Pass the loving cup, Kling, klang, klung. Let us brightly sup, Ting, tang, tung. What's disturbed by light, Ting, tang, tung. Let us mend at night, Kling, klang, klung. Ernst. That song has answered you. My mother heard It in her youth and hers before and alway A little man like this made music. See, Thorn-caught, there hangs the hat that blurs and hides Its goblin wearer. Never have I seen Such mannikin until to-day; though oft On winter nights annoyed by raps and creaks; Strange pranks they play, themselves invisible. David. 'Tis true, my hat was flicked away. This sword Will help recovery. Alack the tear! A nasty rent. Charles. Before thou fad'st in space, Return my sword. David. Nay, nay, Goliath, we'll Consult my mother. Charles. Thy Mother? David. Ay, my Mother. Her favoured stag, the one she trained and petted, Came flagging home to die, a pool of blood Around. Charles. A wounded stag but lately 'scaped Our dogs. David. I knew thou wert the culprit, Giant Goliath. If thou hadst not waked, I would Have sawed thy neck as Father saws great logs, Then carried home thy gory head, that long White beard would serve as handle. Instead I'll take Thee prisoner! so follow, march. They call Me David, a name that strikes some fear. Charles. Indeed, My little man, it does, and some have called Me David too and some have shrunk from me. But I will follow thee. Lead on! David. If thou'lt Play fair, will promise not to snatch the sword, I'll lend my help, hold back the twigs that else Might blind; but thou must make a giant's promise. Charles. I promise! David. And I can trust thy word for giants Like dwarfs and elves must speak what's in their hearts. They are all through as clear as bright spring-water. 'Tis otherwise with man, my Father says, His lips may smile the softest "yes" while "no" Is boring through his heart. There's one who plucks Thy coat. He has a baneful eye. Come shake Him off, I wait. Ernst. [ Holding Charles' coat. ] My Lord, consider, I pray you. Remember your high station. You are the Star; Whose rays shed peace on countless millions. O Imperil not the light of Christendom! My voice may crack and quiver from the strain Of time. It carries though authority, Thy peoples' need! Charles. [ Shaking Ernst off. ] Back Ernst, my mind is set. I'll sift the matter through, take consequence. Lead on my boy; let briars, thorns and nettles Prick doubt to shreds. Lead on! Give me that peace My humblest subject craves. David. [ Parting the shrubs by the linden. ] Then stoop, Goliath, Stoop. Here is the secret entrance. Canst thou Bend low enough? Charles. [ Stooping. ] Ay low enough, God knows, May He protect! [ As Charles disappears, following David, enter Albert. ] Albert. The King? Ernst. Enticed away Like Master Eginhardt. Those woods have closed On Majesty, ah woe the day! Albert. Ah woe Indeed! where shall we turn? Old man, come steer My course; the ship is rudderless, the captain Has gone. Ernst. And so you call on me, a peasant; Forgetting noble birth and heritage! Go search your prized gentility, your schooling, Your war-time prowess, your hunting skill, your pride, Vain-glory, your anything. Leave me. I have A friend—another friend, to mourn. When one Is old and poorly circumstanced, good friends Are sadly missed, alas! Albert. Thou weep'st a friend— The surging ocean 'broils the land and thou Dost cower above a puddle! A friend, nay, nay; A King, an Emperor, the one strong man. Ernst. Did I not plead?—but grief digs as it will. Albert. And thou art right. Have I not cause for fear? Who is responsible? will I be blamed? Old man dry up thy tears, give thought, help break This hush that tantalizes. Hark! a rumble! The clash of horses; our friends arrive. Ho there! Come help!—The King is lost. [ Enter Audulf, Herbert and other courtiers scrambling over the barricade. Their rich attire, like Albert's, has suffered somewhat from the chase. ] Audulf. Is lost? How can That be when you Lord Count are found? Ay hang Your head, 'twill need explaining. Is lost? but here's His hunting-spear. You jest, Lord Count, he can't Be far. Is this a game? Albert. I would it were! Audulf. Then let us search; which way went he? Ernst. Where ways Are none, whence none have yet returned. Audulf. Thou mean'st The King is dead. Impossible! Ernst. See there That tanglement. Could you alone, unweaponed Pierce far? And yet those branches swung apart As once the Red Sea waves, then swiftly closed Upon our Charles as surged the swelling tide O'er Egypt's host. Alas! no fiery pillar Has guided him; there skipped before a dwarf, Green-hued, a morsel from the nether world, A thievish imp, an elf-enchanter. Albert. It seemed As though the King stooped low, 'twas here he went. Audulf. I see no passage. Herbert. Let us break through with swords And spears. Ernst. Take heed for magic dwells within. 'Twere pity to impair those silken fabrics; Though somewhat rent and smeared, still maids might find Some trimmings. Your lives no doubt concern yourselves. Who else would grieve? Albert. If we were lost or dead Would majesty let fall a scalding tear? The King has oft rebuked. This morning too He led a wilful chase. Indeed our clothes Can testify. Have we not cause for quarrel? Upbraiding us forsooth because times change And fashions too. Is he not Emperor? Why prate of ancient days? of meek, out-worn, Out-lived simplicity? Instead should we Not rival Eastern Courts in luxury, In pomp and ease? the trappings of success— Success! and there's the jolt, has he not paved Its way? whate'er his faults he must be found And that right speedily. Will none suggest? If we but had a charm of Baltic amber, A phial of spittal, at least some pungent herbs. There's Ernst, whose mind is stored with peasant-tales Who tunes the old heroic sagas; who Pretends a knowledge of those deities That cradled our great race. Does he not know Some runic sign, some spell, some heathen rite To drown this vile uncertainty? If age Has not undone thy wit, give us some nostrum, Some countenance from out the crafty past. Ernst. My Lord, you sport with words, have you not said Times change and fashions too? Has daily Mass, The Palace School left you thus weaponless? Must you, of this ninth century, turn back To pagan thought to fight the power of ill? O fie! fie! fie! a peasant must accoutre, Must offer arms to noblemen? If help There be, 'tis by that cross. Fall on your knees In humble supplication, tell your beads, Make Christian vows, invoke the Saints, wake Heaven With moans and pleading sobs. But he, whose horse Outstrips the rest, must foam its mouth and froth Its flanks until good Father Hildebold Be traced,—our Lord Archbishop. Say to him That Ernst has sent—six years may be too late.

Related documents

• The Princess Elopes#39094
• The Romance of an Old Fool#40508
• The Princess Galva: A Romance#47101
• The Prince of the Captivity: The Epilogue to a Romance#61388
• Poems — Volume 1#26578