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

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.

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.