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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/34409-8.txt b/34409-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f381a95 --- /dev/null +++ b/34409-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7147 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Three Heron's Feathers, by Hermann Sudermann + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Three Heron's Feathers + +Author: Hermann Sudermann + +Translator: Helen Tracy Porter + +Release Date: November 23, 2010 [EBook #34409] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THREE HERON'S FEATHERS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books + + + + + +Transcriber's Notes: + 1. Page scan source: + http://books.google.com/books?id=FZ8W-SIMSR4C&dq + + 2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. + 3. Greek words are transliterated in bracket [Greek: ]. + + + + + + +Whole Vol. XII. YEARLY, $2.50 EACH NUMBER, 65 CENTS. No. 2 + +NEW SERIES IV. + + POET-LORE + + A QUARTERLY MAGAZINE OF LETTERS + + + SECOND NUMBER. + + VOL. IV. NEW SERIES. + + April, May, June, 1900. + + +POETRY AND FICTION. + +THE THREE HERON'S FEATHERS. Hermann Sudermann + +MARAH OF SHADOWTOWN. Verses. Anne Throop + +DIES IRAE. Verses. William Mountain + + +APPRECIATIONS AND ESSAYS. + +GEORGE MEREDITH ON THE SOURCE OF DESTINY. Emily G. Hooker + +THE TRAGEDY OF OPHELIA. David A. McKnight + +CLEWS TO EMERSON'S MYSTIC VERSE. III. William Sloane Kennedy + +A DEFENCE OF BROWNING'S LATER WORK. Helen A. Clarke + + +SCHOOL OF LITERATURE. + +GLIMPSES OF PRESENT-DAY POETS. A Selective Reading Course. II. An +American Group: Edmund Clarence Stedman, Louise Chandler Moulton, +Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Louise Imogen Guiney, Richard Hovey, Bliss +Carman, Hannah Parker Kimball. + + +REVIEWS. + +'Songs from the Ghetto' and 'A Vision of Hellas.' Harriott S. +Olive.--Col. Higginson's 'Contemporaries' and Mrs. Howe's +'Reminiscences.' Helen Tracy Porter. + + +LIFE AND LETTERS. + +The Modern Unrest in Nations, Markets and Minds.--Its +Portent.--Goethe's Iphigenia at Harvard. H. S. O.--Is Browning a +Legitimate Member of the Victorian School? Mary M. Cohen.--Etc. + + * * * * * + + BOSTON: + Published by POET-LORE CO., 16 Ashburton Place. + London: Gay and Bird, 22 Bedford St., Strand. + + + Entered at the Boston, Mass., Post-Office as Second-Class Mail Matter + + + + + + + POET-LORE + + A QUARTERLY MAGAZINE OF LETTERS + + _Founded January, 1889_ + +Devoted to Appreciation of the Poets and Comparative Literature. Its +object is to bring Life and Letters into closer touch with each other, +and, accordingly, its work is carried on in a new spirit: it considers +literature as an exponent of human evolution rather than as a finished +product, and aims to study life and the progress of ideals in letters. + + EDITORS: + + CHARLOTTE PORTER and HELEN A. CLARKE + + HONORARY ASSOCIATE EDITORS + +W. J. ROLFE, Litt.D., Cambridge, Mass. WILLIAM O. KINGSLAND, London, +England. HIRAM CORSON, LL.D., Prof, of English Literature, Cornell +University, Ithaca, N.Y. + + -->_Address all editorial communications to_ + + POET-LORE COMPANY, 16 Ashburton Place, Boston. + +YEARLY SUBSCRIPTION, $2.50 + +EACH QUARTERLY NUMBER, 65 cents + + + * * * * * + + +Poet-lore (New Series) is published quarterly, the New Year Number for +January, February, and March; the Spring Number for April, May, and +June; the Summer Number for July, August, and September; the Autumn +Number for October, November, and December. + +Poet-lore (Old Series) from January, 1889 to August-September, 1896, +inclusive, was published monthly except in July and August, a Double +Summer Number, however, being issued in June for June and July, and a +Double Autumn Number in September for August and September. +Subscription price for yearly parts same as for New Series, $2.50. +Single numbers, 25 cents; Double numbers, 50 cents. + + * * * * * + +-->_Subscriptions sent through booksellers and agents are discontinued +at expiration unless renewed. Other subscribers wishing this Magazine +stopped at the expiration of their subscription must notify us to that +effect, otherwise we shall consider it their wish to have it continued. +Due notice of expiration is sent._ + +-->_Money should be remitted by Post-Office Money Order, Draft, or +Registered Letter; from Foreign Countries, by International Post-Office +Money-Order or Bank Draft. All made payable to the order of_ + + * * * * * + +POET-LORE COMPANY, 16 Ashburton Place, Boston. + + + + + POET-LORE + +Vol. XII. No. 2 + + --_wilt thou not haply saie, + Truth needs no collour with his collour fixt, + Beautie no pensell, beauties truth to lay: + But best is best if never intermixt. + Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? + Excuse no silence so, for 't lies in thee, + To make him much outlive a gilded tombe: + And to be praised of ages yet to be. + Then do thy office_---- + + + + + THE THREE HERON'S FEATHERS. + + BY HERMANN SUDERMANN. + + * * * + + Characters. + +The Queen of Samland. Sköll, \ +The young Prince, her son. Ottar, > The Duke's men. +Anna Goldhair, her attendant. Gylf, / +Cölestin, her Major-domo. The Burial-wife. +The Chancellor. Miklas, a peasant. +Widwolf, Duke of Gotland. An old fisherman, a page, +Prince Witte. councillors, men and women of the +Hans Lorbass, his servant. Queen, the Duke's men, the + people. + +_The scene of the first and fifth acts is laid on the coast of Samland; +that of the second, third, and fourth acts in the capital city._ + +_Between the fourth and fifth acts a period of fifteen years elapses._ + + + + + ACT I. + +_The coast of Samland. The background slopes upward at right and left +to wooded hills. Between them is a gorge, behind which the sea +glitters. In the right foreground are graves with wooden head-boards +and crosses, overgrown with shrubbery. At the left is a stout +watch-tower with a door in it. Common household furniture stands about +the threshold._ + + + Scene I. + +Hans Lorbass _seated on a grave with spade and shovel, a freshly dug +mound behind him._ + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_sings_]. + + Behind a juniper bush, + On a night in July warm and red, + Was my poor mother of me brought to bed + [_Speaking_]. And knew not how. + + Behind a juniper bush, + Between cock's crow and morning red, + I struck in drink my father dead, + [_Speaking_]. And knew not who. + + Behind a juniper bush, + When all the vermin have had their bite, + I'll stretch myself out and give up the fight + [_Speaking_]. Still I know not when. + +Yet one thing I know: anywhere hereabouts, a mile-stone or a +cross-roads will do very well some day; I do not need a juniper bush. +Let us say a garden hedge, that is a pleasant spot. If some day it +should come into my head to lie down beneath one, in the tall grass, +nearby a grave, and quietly turn my back on this dry, burnt-out old +world, who--a plague upon him--would have aught to say against it? Here +I sit and munch my crusts, and hold carouse--on water; [_getting up_] +here I stand and dig graves, a free-will servant to weakness. I dig the +graves of the unnamed, unknown, when icy waves toss them rotting on the +shore, tangled in slimy sea-weed. Once all my thoughts were wont to +follow on the foeman's path, to cleave him through with my blithely +swinging sword, to carve my path straight through the solid rock; yet +now I stand here and smile submission at a woman. But I bide my time +until my master comes again knocking to set me free from my graveyard +prison and breathe new life into my frame. Him at whose side I once +stood guardian-like with fiercest zeal, him will I serve again with all +my love and life, and follow like a dog.... Like a dog, yes, but like a +master, too. For it is strength alone that wins the day at last, in all +the brave deeds done upon this earth. And only he who laughs can win. +The victory is never to the weakling whiner, nor to the man whose +rage can master him; as little does it crown the man whose mind is +woman-ruled; but less than these and least of all will it bless him +who dreams away his life. For that I stole and sweated to secure,--his +future good,--for that I sit now fixed firm within his soul,--I his +servant and avenger! Here comes the old one. Never yet have I owned +myself conquered by any soul on earth.... And yet--when she comes +peering into my affairs, I feel as though I might become--I don't know +what! I begin to know what strength is in sweet words; I feel a +readiness for any sort of bout; my spirits swell to bursting +roisteringness,--and yet I have not the shadow of a cause for any such +ideas. + +_Burial-wife_ [_entering_]. Tell me, my little Hans, hast been +industrious? Hast made a fine soft bed? + +_Hans_. I am no Hans of thine. My name is Hans Lorbass. A knave who +stalks stiff-necked and solemn up and down the world does not much +relish being treated like a child. + +_Burial-wife_. Thou art my dear child none the less. Only grow old and +gray; and then shall thy body bear its scars and thy soul its sins back +to the old wife. + +_Hans_. Not yet. + +_Burial-wife_. Thou hast dug many a deep still grave for me; many a +wanderer will come and find rest, therein. Over the gray path of the +boundless sea will each one come bringing his life's sorrow to lay it +here upon my bosom. I open wide my arms to them as my father bade me, +and blessing them I thus absolve myself from suffering and penance. +Beneath my breath sin and crime straightway disappear;--and smilingly I +bear all my dear children to their rest. + +_Hans_. Not me. What concern hast thou with me? It is true thou holdest +me here within thy grave-yard prison and compellest me to play the +grave-digger with blows and taunts; but let my prince once come this +way again, and not another hour of service shalt thou have.... My +prince, my gold-prince! My sweet lad! How I could burst with a single +leap straight to thy side through all the world, and with my +too-long-idle sword hurl down to hell the coward pack that presses +round thee!... And thou art all to blame,--yes, all. He had already +quite enough agonizing longings, unfulfilled desires; but thou must +needs fan the warmly glowing flames to a devouring blaze. It was thou +that lured him into that adventure, that willed his braving danger +singlehanded; and if he cracks the accursed nut, if I see the foam curl +again about his prow,--even if I clasp him to me and feel him safe +indeed,--who shall tell me that after all his prize is worth his pains? +Where is that woman thou hast showed to him, that pattern of beauty and +purity, that paragon of softness and strength, she who was born to +steal away his other longings,--where is she?--show her to me! + +_Burial-wife_. My little Hans, my son, why stormest thou so? + +_Hans_. Let me curse. + +_Burial-wife_. Hush thee, and lie down here beside me on the straw, and +listen what I tell thee. + +_Hans_. On the grave-straw? [_Lies down with a grimace._] + +_Burial-wife_. There landed two men yonder on a golden spring day, and +wandered lost like wild things through the thicket. Who were they? + +_Hans_. I and my master were the two. The villainy of his step-brother +had rent from him his throne and kingdom. He was too young, he was too +weak,--there lay the blame. + +_Burial-wife_. Yet he was blustering and drew his sword and demanded +with storm and threat that I should grant a wish for him. Still thou +knowest him, my dear son? + +_Hans_. Do I know him! + +_Burial-wife_. "Thou desirest the fairest of women for thy bride?" I +said. "She is not here; but if thou dost not shrink before the danger, +I can show thee the way, my son." + +_Hans_. The way to death! + +_Burial-wife_. "There lies an isle in the northern seas, where day and +night are merged in dawn; never more shall he rejoice at sight of home +who loses his path there in a storm. There lies thy path. And there, +where the holy word is never taught, within a crystal house there lives +a wild heron, worshiped as a god. From that heron thou must pluck three +feathers out and bring them hither." + +_Hans_. And if he brings them? + +_Burial-wife_. Then I will make him conscious of miraculous power, +through which he shall find and bind her to himself who awaits him in +night and need; for by this deed he grows a man, and worth the prize. + +_Hans_. And then? When he has got her, and sighs and coos and lies in +her bosom half a hundred years, when he turns himself a very woman, I +shall be the last to wonder at it. Look! [_he picks up a piece of +amber_] I shovelled this shining glittering bauble out of the +dune-sand. I have heaped up whole bushels of it in my greedy zeal. Now, +as I toss from me this sticky mass of resin, that borrows the name and +place of a stone, so with the act I hurl away in mocking laughter these +many-colored lies of womankind. [_He tosses the lump to the ground._] +Now go and brew my evening draught. I will to the sea to seek my +master. [_He goes out to the right. The_ Burial-wife _looks after him +grinning and goes into the tower._] + +_Ottar_ [_sticking his head through the bushes_]. Holloa, Gylf! + +_Gylf_ [_coming out_]. What is it? [_The others also appear._] + +_Ottar_. Here is the tower, here lie the graves in a sandy spot; run +below to the Duke and tell him; not a man to be seen, not even a worm, +naught but a burying-ground, rooted up and worried as though we had +been haunting it ourselves. [Gylf _goes out._] + +_Sköll_. Nay, for we would have saved some of our loved dead for the +raven, we would not have been so stingy as to bury them straightway. +[_They all laugh._] + +_The First_ [_pointing out to sea_].--Ho--there! + +_Ottar_. What's the matter? + +_The First_. Does not the boat pass there that yesterday crossed our +path on the high seas, whose steersman threatened fight with our +dragon? How comes the bold rascal here? + +_The Second_ [_who has raised up the lump of amber_]. I tell you, +comrades, let the fellow go, and look what I have found. + +_Ottar_. Death and the devil! Then we are in Amberland. + +_The Third_ [_staring_]. That is amber? + +_Ottar_. Give it to me! + +_The Second_. I found it--it is mine! + +_Ottar_. Thou gorging maw! + +_The Second_. Thieves! Flayers! + +_Ottar_. Dog! I'll strike thee dead! + +_Sköll_. Be quiet, fools, there is plenty more! Go look in the tower, +and you may curse me for a knave if you find the mouse-hole empty. + +_The First_. Come. + +_The Two Others_. Yes, come! [_The three go into the tower._] + +_Sköll_. Thou dost not go along? + +_Ottar_. Thou hadst gladly got us out of the way to dig all by thyself? +O, we all know thee, thou filthy fool! + +_Sköll_ [_slapping him on the back_]. More pretty words, my friend? Go +on! When we are our own men on shore again, I will see what I can +do;--but till that time I spare my skin. + +[_The three come reeling backwards out of the tower, followed by the_ +Burial-wife _with raised fist._] + +_Sköll_. What is this? + +_Ottar_. What do you call this? Seize her! + +_The First_. Seize her! Easy to say! Dost thou court the palsy? + +_The Second_. Or fits, at least! + +_Ottar_. Cowards! [_He advances upon her. The others, except_ Sköll, +_follow him yelling._] + +_Hans_ [_snatches his sword, that hangs on a tree, and throws the +assailants into confusion with a blow or two_]. Ho, there! Let her +alone, or-- + +_Sköll_. Look! Hans Lorbass! + +_The Others_. Who? Our Hans? + +_Ottar_ [_rubbing his shoulder_]. How comest thou here? Thou still hast +thy old strength, I find! + +_Sköll_. Tell us, old Hans, what brings thee here? Is she thy latest +love? + +_All_ [_burst out laughing_]. Hans, Hans! Poor old Hans! + +_Hans_. Bandits! Just come on once! [_To the_ Burial-wife.] How is it? +I hope they have not hurt thee. + +_Burial-wife_. None can harm me, none molest me, who has not first +wronged himself and all his hopes. + +_Ottar_ [_sings_]. Ho, Hans is playing with his love! + +_Hans_. Have a care! + +[_The_ Burial-wife _goes slowly into the tower._] + +_Hans_. It is now scarce three years since we bore within the hall our +master in his ash-hewn coffin. He raised his hand already cold, and +pointed with his pallid, bony finger--not toward the bastard Danish +conqueror, but towards his own true son, Prince Witte; and him he left +his country's lord. The land was poor, the people rude, yet it had +preserved its pride and loyalty un stained through a thousand murderous +brawls. Three years ago as everybody knows, you would have murdered +our young lord at summons of the Bastard and his fair promises; and +now--what are you? Thieves, sand-fleas, loafers, riff-raff, haunting +the moors and hiding in the thickets. Stop! I will build a gallows for +you presently; my brave sword is too good for you. [_He throws down his +sword. They laugh._] + +_Sköll_. Hanschen, has thou clean forgot who was the fiercest +bloodhound of us all? Who was it always shouted "I will do it, I!" till +everyone spread sail before him and left him to his work? Then wouldest +thou come, wiping thy bloody hand, and laugh, and say: "My work is +done!" And then one saw no more of thee. Now when we find thee and +rejoice at sight of thee, thou scornest us like a pack of thieves or +birds of such a feather, and playest the judge sitting above us;--fie, +Hanschen, 'tis not kind of thee. + +_Hans_. Quite right! Give us thy fist!... No use to wrangle! [_Offers +his hand to one after the other. Looking at one suspiciously._] Thou +hast need of a little scouring first, I think. Children, what fine +fellows you would be, if only you were not such frightful rogues. +[_They laugh._] Tell me now, what have you been at so long? + +_Ottar_ [_awkwardly_]. Who? We? + +_Hans_. Yes, you! + +_Ottar_. Thou wouldst draw us out then? + +_Hans_. No need. I know that trade a thousand miles away. You are +wreckers! + +_All_ [_laughing_]. Of course. + +_Hans_ [_half to himself_]. See, see! + +_Sköll_. Only the name is not quite right. We are wreckers hereabouts; +but we chiefly rob upon the high seas. + +_Hans_. And your Duke? + +_Ottar_. There's a man! He stands foremost in the attack. When the +grappling-irons lay hold, when the javelin whistles in the air, when +down upon the rashly canted dragon crashes the boarding-plank, when +above they wait like calves for the slaughter, then rings his +murder-cry: Ho huzzah! + +_All_. Ho huzzah! + +_Hans_ [_half to himself_]. It must be fine. [_Aloud._] Then in the +battle--how shows he there? + +_Ottar_. In what battle? We have no more battles. + +_Hans_. So, so! I just bethought myself. One question more: How come +you here? + +_Sköll_. Hast thou not taken our measure, then? Take notice of my +sparkling glance--its tender fire: observe his air, like to a love-sick +cock's: Do we not smell of myrrh and balm! In short, we go to gaze upon +the bride. + +_Hans_. Who, then? + +_Ottar_. Who? Dost thou mock at us? Thou livest here and yet thou hast +not heard of the Amberqueen, the marvel of beauty who has sworn to +yield herself and her throne to the man that is victorious in a +tournament for life and death, and bears all her other suitors to the +earth? The fair one is a widow, the heir an orphan; so it is meat and +drink to him who throws the others by the heels. + +_Hans_. Are you so sure of it? + +_Ottar_. Well, where is the man who cares to try conclusions with our +Duke? + +_Hans_ [_to himself_], I reared one who will strike him down some day. + +[_Enter_ Duke Widwolf _and more of his men._] + +_Duke_. Why stand you there? Did I send you ahead to chatter? On with +you! What stops your mouths? Clear the way! And if I find you sluggish +I will call out my cat-o'-nine-tails for you. + +_Hans_ [_aside to the first man, who stands near him_]. He drubs you +then? + +_The First_. Past bearing. + +_Duke_. Who is that man that speaks with you? Why have you not already +struck him down? + +_Sköll_. He is so droll, master, he would not let himself be killed. + +_Duke_. Meseems ... Hans Lorbass--do I see aright? What--what?... Thou +knowest I am in thy debt for business secretly done. I love not debts +between master and man. + +_Hans_. No need, my lord, I have my pay. + +_Duke_. At first thou seemedst to serve me diligently; yet thou didst +slip as suddenly from my throne as though thou hadst an ailing +conscience. + +_Hans_ [_gazing out to sea._] Perhaps. It may be. + +_Duke_. Where hast thou stayed so long? + +_Hans_ [_without stirring_]. I am a servant. I have served. + +_Duke_. What drivest thou now? + +_Hans_. I drive naught, my lord, I am driven. + +_Duke_ [_threateningly_]. It pleases thee to jest. + +_Hans_. And thee to be galled thereat. + +_Duke_. That fellow's corpse was never found! Now clear thyself from +the suspicion. + +_Hans_. Think what thou wilt. Covered with wounds I sunk it in the +ocean's depths. + +_Duke_. I trust thee. If thou wilt swear thy truth to me, then come. +With me all is feasting and revelry. + +_Hans_ [_looking out to sea again_]. Thank thee, my lord. I care not to +do murder, and I can play the robber by myself. + +_Duke_. Seize him. + +_Sköll_ [_beseechingly_]. Master, our dearest companion, who never yet +has played us false. + +[Duke _draws his sword and makes as if to attack_ Hans.] + +_Hans_ [_gripping his sword and flourishing it high in the air._] Thou +art the master and wonted to victory; but come too near, and thou hast +only been the master! + +_Duke_. Well, leave him then upon the path where thou hast found him. I +had wellnigh killed instead of paying him. + +[_He goes out. The others follow. Some of them shake_ Hans Lorbass +_furtively by the hand._] + +_Hans_ [_alone_]. Then there is something holds his spirit in bonds; +will make his race a race of weaklings, will plunge the land itself in +guilt,--and yet they know not their own shame.... Right! Just now +I saw something. Did I not behold, not far from land a blood-red sail +a-dazzle against the blue night cloud? The keel bore sharply toward the +shore--how gladly would I believe the old wife there, when--truly, it +frets me so I must--[_He goes to the tower and is about to open the +door_. Prince Witte _appears in the background._] + +_Hans_ [_casting himself at the_ Prince's _feet with a shout of +joy_]. Master!--Thou hast come! Art thou safe? Unharmed? Here is thy +nose--both ears--thy arm--and there thy sword! Thy voice alone is lost, +it seems. + +_Prince_. Let me be silent, friend. The horror I have seen stands black +about me and takes the color from my joy. + +_Hans_. What is that, now thou art here? [_Stammering._] And even if +thy journey were in vain, if thou hast not brought the heron's feathers +back with thee, what is-- + +_Prince_. I brought not the heron's feathers with me? My nightly +watches, twilight's scanty rest, the morning's ardent fiery prayers, +and more than all, the consecrated labor of the day, wherein what has +been obtained from God with tears, must be besieged anew with fierce +resolve, and conquered by the teeth-set "I will," won by obstinate +unshrinking,--sorrow--doubt--danger--struggle--unsuccess to-day and new +onslaught tomorrow--and so on and on--and always forward--have I all +this behind me, and yet have I returned without the feathers? + +_Hans_. Thou hast the feathers? Are they really heron's feathers, from +the very bird? + +_Prince_. Set thy fears at rest; the wonder is fulfilled, and all our +pains dispersed in thankful prayer. + +_Hans_. Forgive me, dear my lord and master, that I forgot a moment the +bare fact itself, to thee so all-important. I knew thou wouldst never +have returned without them, however my heart thirsted after thee. + +_Prince_. Thou wert right. I knew it well. + +_Hans_. Where are they, master? Dost thou bear them in thy breast? I +feel thou wouldest. Chide me if thou wilt, but show them to me. + +_Prince_. Look at my helmet. I understand thy eagerness. No sword can +cleave them from me, no rush of wind displace them. They are the +standard of my fortunes. + +_Hans_. Thy story, master,--come, tell it to me! + +_Prince_. Wait, Hans. The hour will come, at drinking-time, while the +dull camp-fire flickers to its end, and the fierce thirst of fighting +will not let us sleep,--then will I tell the tale and make it glow +anew. + +_Hans_. Master, how changed thou art. Thy fire seems smothered, and thy +passions burn less fiercely, being self-controlled. + +_Prince_. Thou art wrong, my friend; in me there dwells no calm. I stir +and seethe. Death itself, which I have conquered, reanimates in me. +Only henceforth I gain by firmer paths the end which I have chosen. My +country that betrayed me, lies small and half-forgotten in the +distance. I measure myself against the great henceforth. What are they? +Myself shall be the arbiter, and fate shall never again allure me with +her cruel "Take what I offer thee" to a starvation feast. + +_Hans_. I look at thee in wonderment. I left thee a boy, I find thee a +man. And for this, though my sword has itched in my hand to answer to +my thoughts, though I have sat for hours on end in gnawing tedium and +spat into the sea, for this result I bless the old wife there. Once +more I may strike good blows for thee, once more be proud to guard thee +as before. + +_Prince_ [_giving him his hand_]. It shall be so.... Yes, yes, my lad. +Since I have been gone--how long is it? + +_Hans_. A good two years, master. + +_Prince_. The old wife now, and quickly, that she may open to me all +the enchantment lurking in the feathers, to which I trusted and +surrendered myself. The time has come for this unmolded life to shape +itself after the law of its own desire. Why dost thou hesitate? + +_Hans_. I will go. + +_Prince_. But yet thou mutterest? + +_Hans_. Do not blame me, master; I know of what I speak. First of all, +mistrust the old one. I fear her not ... but something horrible and +slimy crawled in my throat when I first saw her crouching in a grave, +all stiff, her brows drawn and her staring eyes turned inwards +lifelessly.... When a storm stood coal-black in the heavens and gave +the greedy coffins fresh food--lo, there she stood and bade me dig the +graves; and when the wave cast corpses up on the strand, she bore each +one up the hill pressed mother-like to her breast, shaken meanwhile +with a sly laugh; and thus she laughed until they all lay quietly at +rest beneath. Have a care for thyself! + +_Prince_. Yet why? Her work is pious and she tends it faithfully. + +_Hans_. But if she weaves enchantment, master? + +_Prince_. I am the last from whom on that account a threat is fit. It +has turned to blessing for me. To him who chooses sacrifice for his +fate, there often comes the best of gifts,--to see deep into the +unsearchable, and smilingly to build as though within a pleasure-park, +upon the very boundary of the ideal. Once more-- + +_Hans_. And once more I stand broad-legged in thy unhappy path and +shout: Do not destroy thyself! Whoever runs after his desire shall +perish in the race; it only yields to him who hurls it from him. Thou +dost not know as yet the old wife's schemes; thou standest now above +enchantment, a young glowing god confiding in the magic of thine own +strength. What thou dost know is that thy prize is hidden, and that the +broad path of possibilities, on which thou thinkest to glide aloft, may +be choked all at once between black walls and leave thee fevered and +panting with the chase, with desire and loathing, eagerness and +shrinking, to hasten on forever and never gain the end. + +_Prince_ [_pointing to his helmet with a smile_]. Look there! + +_Hans_. Thou hast done well to bring them; if the fatal seed of death +does not draw thee down to eternal failure thou must do well indeed! +For now the secret purpose of thy path is about to reveal itself; now +thy proud and self-poised soul pants to mount aloft,--and here I stand +and counsel thee: Hurl away thy prize! + +_Prince_. Thou ravest. + +[_The_ Burial-wife _appears in the door of the tower, thrown into lurid +prominence by the fire that burns within on the hearth. It grows dark +rapidly._] + +_Hans_. Too late. It has begun. [_Whispers._] It looks as if the +hearth-fire glowed straight through her parchment skin and wrapped her +bones in flame. + +_Prince_. Burial-wife! Look me in the face! + +_Burial-wife_. Thou hast come! Welcome, dear son! + +_Prince_. Thy dear son--I am not. Thy creditor I am, and I demand my +own. + +_Burial-wife_. What dost thou ask? + +_Prince_. I forced from thee the words that taught me my way; the deed +thou hast demanded is accomplished, and I claim the prize! + +_Burial-wife_. What I have promised thee, I will faithfully fulfil, my +child. A primal force lies within these white husks. They change their +form according to their owner's will. What, then, is thy desire? A +woman? + +_Prince_. A woman? There are enough of women. More than one has borne +me down to earth in the snare of her supple limbs, and hampered my +soul's flight. What is a woman? A downfall and a heaviness, a darkness +and a theft of alien lights, a sweet allurement in the eternal void, a +smile without a thought, a cry for naught. + +_Hans_. Bravo! Bravo! + +_Prince_. What I demand now is that queen of women, after whom I have +thirsted even while drinking, by the side of whom my princely dignity +shall appear but as a herald; for whose voice my soul starves though I +sit in the wisest councils of the world; in whom I see our torturing +human weaknesses healed to a joyous beauty; that woman before whom I, +though mad with victory, must bend my proud knee in trembling and +affright; whose blushes shall bear witness to me how a longing heart +can shield itself in modesty; she who will stand in deepest need and +beg with me at the cross-roads; whose love can make death itself pass +me by; this woman, this deep peace, this calm still world in which when +lost I cannot lose myself, where wrong itself must turn to right,--this +woman,--mine--I now demand of thee. + +_Burial-wife_. Snatch down the prize from thy helmet: I will announce +its promise to thee; unless thou art blind or deaf, thou shalt pierce +to the depth of the riddle. The first of the feathers is but a gleam +from the lights and shadows that brew about thee. When thou throwest it +into the fire, thou shalt behold her image in the twilight. The second +of the feathers,--mark it well--shall bring her to thee in love, for +when thou burnest it alone in the dying glow, she must wander by night +and appear before thee. And until the third has perished in the flame, +thy hand stretched forth shall bless her; but the third burning brings +her death: and therefore guard it well and think upon the end. + +_Prince_. I will. Unwarned, I let them wave aloft in mad presumption; +but now I will hide them safe within my gorget. [_To_ Hans.] Why +shouldst thou look at me so grimly? I know myself to be quite freed +from sorrow; all I lack is a faithful companion on the way.... "When +thou throwest the first into the fire thou shalt behold her image in +the twilight." [_He pulls out one of the feathers and hastens toward +the tower._] + +_Hans_ [_boldly opposing him_]. What wilt thou do? + +_Prince_. Out of the way? [_He opens the door of the tower._] + +_Hans_. Cursed witch, thou hast-- [_A sudden bright blaze within the +tower. A flare of yellow light goes up. The Prince comes back._] Art +thou singed? + +_Prince_ [_looks about wildly_]. I see naught. + +[Burial-wife _points silently to the background, where on the horizon +above the sea the dark outline of a woman's figure appears and glides +slowly from left to right._] + +_Prince_. I see in the heavens a shadowy form, rosy with flame, pierced +through with light. If it be thou on whom my longing hangs, I pray thee +turn thy face and lighten me! Lift the veil from thine eyes! Remain, +ah, vanish not behind the stars,--step down that I may learn to love +thee!... She does not hear. When we part, say how I may know thee +again!... How shall I--? Her figure sways, it fades with the clouds-- +was that the sign? + +_Hans_. Thou hast bewitched him finely. + +_Prince_. Still she is mine, as I know who I am! And should she never +long to come to me, yet my soul's longings shall be stronger than she +herself. Hans Lorbass, my brave fellow-soldier, take thy sword and arm +thyself straightway. + +_Hans_. I am armed. [_To the_ Burial-wife.] The hangman-- + +_Prince_. Spare thy curses. She serves my happiness as best she can. +Farewell! We will seek the world over, and when the first promise is +fulfilled--Farewell! + +_Hans_ [_grimly_]. Farewell! + +[_They go out to the left._] + +_The Burial-wife_ [_alone_]. Go, my children, face the combat, fight +boldly, wield the feathers unrestrained; when you weary, bring me back +your outworn bodies, cast them here upon my shore. But till the time +shall come when I will plant them like twigs in my garden, go and fight +and love and dance ... for I can wait.... I can wait! + + + + + ACT. II. + +_Arcade on the first story of a Romanesque palace, separated in the +background by a row of columns from the court below, to which steps +lead down from the middle to right and left. On the platform between +them, facing the court, is a throne-chair, which later is covered with +a curtain. Walks lead right and left rectangularly toward the +background. On the right are several steps to the back, the principal +path to the castle chapel. On the left side-wall in front is a door +with a stone bench near it, and to the left of that another door. On +the right in front is an iron-bound outside door. Stone benches stand +between the columns. The back of the buildings surrounding the court +form the background of the scene. Early morning._ + + + Scene I. + +Sköll _with his spear between his knees, asleep on a bench_. Cölestin +_with a page holding a torch._ + +_Cölestin_. Put the link out, my son. It hangs on thy tired arm too +heavily.... Yes, yes, this morning many a one thinks of his bed.... +What, an alarm so early? Man and steed armed? + +_Sköll_ [_in his sleep_]. Brother--thy health! + +_Page_. Look! The fellow is still drunk. + +_Cölestin_. How else? Would, though, the filthy wretch and his Duke too +with his dissolute bravery, were smoked out of the country!... Still, I +am not anxious. The Pommeranian prince--there is a man of glorious +renown!--may win. + +_Page_. I fear, my lord, thou art wrong. The horses of the Pommeranian +snort below. They look as though they were about to start. + +_Cölestin_. Hast thou seen aright? The Pommeranian? + +_Page_. Yes. + +_Cölestin_. I feel as though the earth itself did sway, as though my +poor old head would burst in pieces. Now falls the Fatherland, which, +kingless, thought it might escape from rapine; yet all the while in its +own breast there stood the powerfullest of robbers. Here where a +continual harvest of peace once smiled, where inborn modesty of soul +once paired joyously with ingrown habit and youth grew guiltless to +maturity, the ruthless hand of tyranny will henceforth rest choking on +our necks, and-- [_Blows sound on the door to the right._] Who blusters +at the door? Go look. + +_Page_ [_looking through the peep-hole_]. I see a spear-shaft glitter. +[_Calling._] What wilt thou without there? + +_Hans Lorbass's Voice_. Open the door! + +_Page_ [_calling_]. Why didst thou come up the steps? The entrance is +there below. + +_Hans Lorbass's Voice_. I know that already. I did not care to sweat +there in the crowd. Open the door. + +_Page_. What shall I do? + +_Cölestin_. I am as wrung as though the fate of the whole country hung +on the iron strength of the lock.... Give him his way. + +[_The_ Page _opens the door_, Hans Lorbass _enters._] + +_Cölestin_. Who art thou, and what wouldst thou here? Speak! + +_Hans_. My master, a brave knight and skilled in arms, born far in the +north, where he was betrayed in feud with his stepbrother, to atone has +undertaken a journey to the Holy Sepulchre. We have but just now +entered your kingdom, and crave for God's love, if not a refuge, at +least a resting place. + +_Cölestin_. Thou hast done well, my friend. Every wanderer is a welcome +guest in this castle, for our Queen is one from whose soul there flow +deeds of boundless kindness to all the world. From to-day, alas!... +nay, call thy knight, and if he stands on two such good legs as his +servant, I warrant he has shivered many a spear. + +_Hans_. And I warrant, my lord, that thou hast warranted rightly. [_He +goes to the door and motions below_. Cölestin _and the_ Page _look out +from behind him._] + +_Sköll_ [_dreaming_]. Hans Lorbass--seize him! + +[Prince Witte _enters._] + +_Cölestin_. Here is my hand, my guest. And though thou comest here in +an unhappy hour, I look within thine eye, I gaze upon thy sword, and +feel as though thou hadst lifted a cruel burden from my oppressed soul. + +_Prince_. I thank thee that thou holdest me worthy thy confidence. Yet +I fear that thou art misled; it was no fate drew us together, but only +chance. Thinkest thou that because I took this path I was sent to thee? + +_Cölestin_. No, no! God forbid!--Well, unarm, my friend, ... so, so. + +_Hans_. Whither then? + +_Cölestin_. We have for our guests--they will show it to thee. + +_Prince_. They crowd in early at your doors,--have I come to a +festival? + +_Cölestin_. To a ...? Stranger, there burns in me a fever of speech ... +they chide the doting chatter of old men, and yet-- + +_Prince_. Thou hast chosen me for thy confidant ... I listen gladly. + +_Cölestin_. Well then: our King, stricken with years, died and left us +unprotected and afraid, for we had no guide nor saviour. The Queen, +herself a child, carried trembling at her breast the babe she had borne +him.... It is six years ago, and all this time have birds of prey +scented the rich morsel from afar and come swooping down upon this fair +land, where unmeasured riches lie. The danger grows--the people clamor +for a master. And so our Queen, who had sat long sunk in modest grief, +now divined in anguish her soul's call, the echo of the kingly duty, +and guessed the sacrifice her land demanded. She tore in twain her +widow's garlands, and made a vow that he who could bear all other +suitors to her feet in battle, should be her lord and her country's +king. The day has come. The lists are hung, the people crowd into the +tournament. Woe to them! Their tears are doomed to fall, for all the +princes who came hither have fled faint-heartedly before a single one, +a man of terror, who is thus victorious without a struggle. + +_Prince_. And this one--who is he? + +[_A clamor in the court below. A_ Noble _enters._] + +_Noble_. Sir Major-domo, I beg thee, hasten. The guard is in confusion. +The people are already mounting the newly built lists in a countless +throng. + +_Cölestin_ [_pointing below_]. Look, there is the flock; but where is +the shepherd? Wait here, while I press into the thickest of the crowd +and give the people a taste of my severity ... though I doubt much if +it will aught avail. [_He hastens down by the middle way with the_ +Noble _and the_ Page.] + +_Prince Witte_. That which I long for lies not here. My sober judgment +whispers warningly within my breast of delay and thoughtless dalliance. +[_He seats himself on a bench to the right of the stage and looks up at +the sky._] + +_Sköll_ [_in his sleep_]. Quite right. + +_Hans_. What's that? Eh, there, sleepy-head, wake up! + +_Sköll_. Leave me alone! When I sleep I am happy. + +_Hans_ [_startled_]. What--Sköll? + +_Sköll_. Hans Lor-- + +_Hans_. Hsh--sh! + +_Sköll_. Well, old fellow, what wilt thou in this berth? + +_Hans_. Thy master is here? + +_Sköll_. Well, yes! + +_Hans_. The devil take him! [_Looking round at the_ Prince.] What now? + +_Sköll_. What now? Why now, we will have a drink. + +_Hans_. What draws you here! + +_Sköll_. Thou knowest, thou rogue! We are the jolliest of jolly good +fellows ever found at a wedding. + +_Hans_ [_to himself_]. Has he the strength for this redeeming act, and +would it break the bonds of the madness that holds him? + +[_Enter a_ Herald _from the left, behind. Then the_ Queen, _holding the +young_ Prince _by the hand, and followed by her women. After them_, +Anna Goldhair.] + +_Herald_. Way there, the Queen approaches! + +_Sköll_ [_standing attention_]. We cannot speak when the Queen comes +by. + +_Hans_ [_looking towards_ Prince Witte]. His soul dreams. The distance +holds him spellbound. + +[_The_ Queen _and her attendants approach. She stops near_ Prince +Witte, _who is not conscious of her presence, and gazes at him long._] + +_The Young Prince_ [_bustling up to him_]. Here, thou strange man, dost +thou not know the Queen? It is the rule that when she comes we all +should rise. I am the Prince, and yet I must do it too. + +_Prince Witte_ [_rising and bowing_]. Then beg, friend, that the Queen +grant me her forgiveness. + +_The Young Prince_. That I will gladly. [_He runs back to the_ Queen.] + +[_The_ Queen _passes on and turns again at the corner to look at_ +Prince Witte, _who has already turned his back. Then she disappears +with her women into the cathedral, from which the gleam of lights and +the roll of the organ come forth. The door is closed._] + +_Hans_. Well, did she please thee? Hast thou found her worthy to awake +thy idle sword to deeds of battle? + +_Prince_. It would be no less than idleness for me to unsheathe my +sword in her behalf; for my field of battle lies not here. + +_Hans_. Then come. Thy path is hot. Thy path is broad!--Then hasten! +Already far too long hast thou delayed before this tottering throne, +from which an eye in speechless pleading calls for help. + +_Prince_. At first, when my desires pointed from hence, didst thou not +beg me to delay?--and now!-- + +_Sköll_ [_aside to_ Hans]. Heaven save us! Brother, who is this? I +would know him a thousand miles away! + +_Hans_ [_with a gesture towards_ Sköll, _to leave him alone_]. Perhaps +I wished to test thee, or perhaps-- + +_Sköll_. All good spirits praise-- + +_Prince_. Whatever it was, I will go gladly. + +_Sköll_ [_crossing himself_]. All good spirits praise the Lord! +[_Bursts out through the door to the left._] + +_Prince_. Why, who was that, that went out in such a hurry? + +_Hans_. Who would it have been? Some body-servant about the castle, +perhaps, some-- + +_Prince_. Where are my--? + +_Hans_. Here is thy shield. Quick, take it. + +_Prince_. Where is that ape that just now-- + +_Hans_. Let the filthy rascal go, whoever he is, and come! + +[_Enter_ Duke Widwolf. Sköll, _behind him, pointing to the_ Prince.] + +_Duke_. Hans Lorbass, thou shalt pay for this! + +_Hans_. For what, my lord? Here are the very bones whereon thine eyes +desired to feast themselves. It is true they are covered with flesh for +the present, but they are there inside, I swear to thee. + +_Prince_. Silence, Hans! This man stands above thy mockery; for though +he stole my inheritance in despicable treachery, yet he wears the crown +of my fathers, and I bow before it. And until heaven's cherubim call on +me loudly to avenge the wrong, in practice for a better thing I bend +before him, and grind my teeth. + +[Duke _bursts into a loud laugh._] + +_Prince_. I see destruction naming in thine eyes,--thou laughest in +scorn.... Laugh on. For I shall not avenge myself, nor count it my duty +to shatter the fearful edifice of thy throne. So long as it will uphold +thee and thy blood-blinded sword, so long be thou and thy people worthy +of one another. Enough! Hans, set forth! + +[Cölestin _and the other nobles come up the steps._] + +_Duke_. Behold, ye noble gentlemen! Blood of the cross, what a hero we +have here! He halts here: makes a mighty clamor: naught has or ever can +delay his march of triumph:--and then on a sudden he makes a short +turn, breathes a deep sigh, and like the other poltroons, leaves the +field to me. + +_Hans_ [_aside_]. Control thyself, master, all this can be borne. + +_Cölestin_. What, stranger, art thou also of princely blood? + +_Prince_. Whether princely or not, my blood is mine, and I myself must +be the judge of what suits it. My host, I thank thee.... I would right +gladly have rested here, gladly have sat down at thy hearth as a humble +guest-- + +_Cölestin_. Thou earnest on the day of the tournament; and therefore +thou hast come to free the Queen. + +_Prince_. Thou callest me stranger, and will pardon me that I had heard +naught of thy Queen. + +_Cölestin_. Still thou sawest her when she and her women-- + +_Prince_. I saw her, yes. + +_Cölestin_. And yet thou thinkest of departure? Art thou made of stone +that thou hast not felt a thrust of pity like a knife, at the mere +sight of that pious grace, that spring-like mildness? + +_Duke_. Who speaks of pity, when I myself protect her with my shield? +Pity?--how--wherefore? Have a care! + +_Cölestin_. Thy threat hath no meaning today. Yet all the same I know +that wert thou king, thou wouldst lay my gray head at thy feet. + +_Duke_. Perhaps. And again perhaps, if this braggart who was sent +hither and now crawls away again, did not quite take off that weak old +head of thine, he would just have thee hanged, out of pure pity. + +_Cölestin_. Thou listenest in silence to this unmeasured raving? I ask +not now upon what throne thy father sat, I only ask the weakling: Art +thou a man? Is this body that glows in prideful youth, only a hardly +fed up paunch? Is the angry red painted upon thy brow, and yet canst +thou endure and not wipe out the insult thou hast received? + +_Hans_ [_aside_]. Master, be stronger now than I have strength myself. +I have naught to say, not I. Only say to me: "Hans, we will go"--and I +will gulp down my rage; and never to the last day of my life shall a +look, a word, a motion of an eye-lash, remind thee of what befell +today. + +_Prince_. Your eyes all hang in hopeful question on my broad-edged +sword; and yet I may not tell you why I wear it, but must endure what +ever you think. Still, know one thing; all the shame which he has +heaped today upon my dulled heart I will add to the need by which he +shattered my young days. I will reckon with him for those thirsting +nights wherein I drank the poison of renunciation,--when my trust in +mankind sank to ruin with my blood-defiled rights,--when in despair I +reckoned my coming manhood by my growing beard,--when my fate became a +lot of powerless shame,--and I will grope along the path where my +desires once ranged themselves when the rousing voice of hope rang out +of abyssmal blankness.... And thus the scorn I have received to-day +glides past my closed ears like unwelcome flattery; and silently I go +from hence. + +[_The_ Queen _with the young_ Prince. Anna Goldhair _and her other +women come from the cathedral during the last words._] + +_Queen_. O go not, stranger! + +_A Noble_. Listen, the Queen! + +_Another_. She who was never used to address a stranger. + +_Queen_. A most unhappy woman stands before thee, and with streaming +eyes casts away all the shame that modesty and rank combine to weigh +her with, and prays thee: O go not! For behold! As I came to-day to +God's dwelling-house full of tormenting thoughts--I saw thee on the +way, thou scarce didst notice me--while I stood there before thy face +longing within me that a sign might be given me, it seemed as though +there flowed a something like light, like a murmuring through the +spacious place, as on a festal day the sacred miracle of His presence. +And a voice spoke in my heart: have faith, O woman, he came and he is +thine; to thy people whose courage failed them, he shall be a hero, to +thy child a father.... Then I fell thankfully upon my face. And now I +beg thee: O go not! + +_Duke_. And I tell thee, my lady Queen, he goes! I answer for it with +my sword. If there is a prayer within the hero-soul of him, it runs +thus: dear God, graciously be pleased to spare my reputation only as +far as yonder door. + +_Prince_. Thou liest. + +_Hans_ [_whispers_]. Now defend thyself. Treason to thy being's +sanctuary is a half-voluntary deed. + +_Prince_. Forgive me, Lady, if but hesitatingly I have sworn myself +into thy service. Behold, I tread a half-obscured path, and the dim +traces lead me into the far gray distance ... lead me--and I know not +whither. I know not whether that great night which descends upon the +crudest sorrow of our common day, bringing sleep to the wearied soul, +will wrap me also in its folds, or whether as reward for that +unquenched spirit in me that still must trust, endure, and spread its +wings, the sunshine of the heights at last will smile upon me. I am +Desire's unwearied son; I bear her token hidden in my breast, and till +that token fades or disappears, well canst thou say: "Come die for me," +but never canst thou say: "Remain." + +_Queen_. Then never shalt thou hear that bitter word, that word so full +of weakness, come from my trembling lips. The blessing of this hour +that passes now shall never rise to distract thee on thy path in the +gray distance. Yet there shall be a charm, rising unspoken in the soul +itself, which when thou pausest wearied on thy journey, shall whisper +to thee where a home still blooms for thee.... Where a balsam is +prepared to heal thy wounded feet, bleeding from the sharpness of thy +path ... where a thousand arms reach out to greet their loved one ... +whence those voices rise that call to thee out of the darkness ... and +where there waits a smile, smothered with joy, to say to thee: "I +charmed thee not."--I will be silent, lest thou shouldst be weary of my +speech; since all my words speak only this desire: it rings within +thine ears,--longing must find a resting-place. + +_Prince_. O, that mine lay not so far from here! There, where the +clouds disperse in light, and the eternal sun kisses my brow, there ... +Enough. Since thou hast asked no more than chance has in a measure +forced me to, whether for good or evil I know not, I must needs grant +thy wish. Hans, arm me. + +_Duke_ [_whispers_], Sköll, do not forget ... where are the others? + +_Sköll_. Who knows? + +_Duke_. But was there not a great feast to-night? + +_Sköll_. Yes. But they flung us out just now. + +_Duke_. Listen! And heed me well. As soon as that rascal has had enough +and grovels in the dust, shout out with all thy might "Hail to King +Widwolf!" Dost thou understand? + +_Sköll_. Eh? Yes, indeed. + +_Anna Goldhair_. Oh! dearest Lady, if I might speak I would beg thee to +go. The sight of all the horrors that gather round us will shake thee +sorely. + +_Queen_. Who stays for me if I will not for him? And is it not fitting +for an unhappy mother to protect the head of her child even with her +own shattered arm? [_To the young_ Prince.] Listen, my darling. Thou +must go. [_To_ Anna Goldhair.] Take him to my waiting-women. Without +this sight his heart will all too soon burn with a thirst for blood. + +_The Young Prince_. Ah, mother! + +_Queen_. Nay, thou must. But nestle once again upon my breast, my dear +one, so! + +_The Young Prince_ [_running up to_ Prince Witte]. Please, thou strange +man, be so good as to conquer for us! + +_Prince_ [_smiling_]. If thou art good, my Prince!... How clear their +glances sparkle! From those eyes a world of sunshine bursts; alas, I am +not worthy of it! [_The young_ Prince _and_ Anna Goldhair _go out._] + +[_The_ Chancellor _and a train of nobles come up the steps. After them +guards and two trumpeters. The_ Chancellor _makes obeisance and asks +the_ Queen _a question. The_ Queen _assents silently and mounts, +holding by the balustrade, to the platform on which the throne stands, +pushed to one side. The_ Chancellor _makes a sign to the trumpeters, +and they blow a signal, which echoes below, then he raises the sword, +which a page brings upon a cushion._] + +_Chancellor_. Illustrious Lady, honored Queen, as chancellor of thy +appointed realm, I offer thee this sword whereon to take the oath: that +in thy hand, so strong because so weak, what first prevailed as thy +country's law, what now prevails, and what shall prevail again when +violence and lust cease to clutch after our soul's sanctuaries,--that +law on which we have relied, so mild it was, because created by a free +and happy fatherland--will be forever new and vigorous. + +_Queen_. I swear it on the iron sword of my kingdom, and on the runes +carved thereupon; though nature has denied it to a woman to avenge a +violated oath with her own hand, yet I will never rest in my grave +unless all is fulfilled that I have spoken. I swore it solemnly, and on +this sword I will announce and reavow to you, that whosoever conquers +in this fight may claim me for his wife when he desires.... Speak now, +ye who cursed my mourning and my sorrow's backward glance: do I fulfill +your will with shuddering? Do I not give ye the King ye seek? + +[_The nobles strike their shields with their swords in token of +approval._] + +_Chancellor_. Now to you who stand prepared to ring the throne and +kingdom with the sharpness of your swords; before the land submits +itself to the victor, give answer who you are! + + +_Duke_. Thou knowest me well. + +_Chancellor_. Who knows thee not? Flames spread before thee hither like +a banner, the vulture knows thee that shrieks after carrion, the auk +knows thee on the blood-furrowed sea; yet custom demands, the which +thou knowest not, that thou shalt name thyself at this hour. + +_Duke_. I am the Duke of Gotland! + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_highly excited, pointing to_ Prince Witte]. He is the +Duke of Gotland! [_Great disturbance and amazement._] + +_Cölestin_. We are groping here in a black riddle. + +_Chancellor_ [_to_ Prince Witte]. Witness thyself. + +_Prince Witte_. If there is a man here in whom dwells a spirit of +sacrifice, a worship of the right, and not of power and bloody gain, to +him I speak, as to a stem of that ancient race which still springs from +Gotland's gods; I boldly say: "I am." But to that vicious misbegotten +wight who cringes in the dust and worships tyranny if it but prosper +him, to him I say: "No, I am not." + +_Chancellor_. A lofty mind, bred in the bitterness which deep sorrow +brings, speaks in thy words and gives them weight. But yet--we know not +who stands before us as the Duke of Gotland. + +_Duke_. It seems to me, my lords, that the sword will show. + +_Chancellor_. True enough. If the Queen will. + +[_The_ Queen _bows her head in assent. The_ Chancellor _gives a sign to +the trumpeters and they blow a signal which is answered below in the +court. The nobles make their obeisances to the_ Queen _and go down the +steps to the right and left._] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_meanwhile_]. Remember that thrust I showed thee once: +at the arm-joint where the leather is easily cut, thou canst-- + +_Prince Witte_ [_alarmed_]. Where are the feathers? + +_Hans_. How--what--? That witch-work to distract thee now? Here is thy +sword, and there the foe! Play with him, tickle him, stroke his beard, +till he weeps blood out of his mouth, till-- + +_Prince_. They are quite safe. + +_Hans_. Master! + +[Prince Witte _goes last behind_ Duke Widwolf, _with a bow to the_ +Queen _in passing. She watches him in agitation and follows him with +her eyes._] + +_Queen_. How is the Prince? + +_Anna Goldhair_. As children always are. At first he wept and tried to +slip away. Then he lay still and had his playthings brought. Now he +lies sprawling under a table, playing at dice, though he understands +them not. + +_Queen_. While we go to throw upon his life. + +[_The_ Queen, Cölestin, _the_ Chancellor, Anna Goldhair, _and the other +women go out. The guards draw the curtains behind the throne. The +applause of the people greeting the_ Queen _rises from the court. Then +silence._] + +_Sköll_. Well, my heart's brother, so we are alone again. + +[Hans Lorbass _without noticing_ Sköll, _tries to pass the_ First Guard +_after_ Prince Witte.] + +_First Guard_. Back! + +[Hans _tries on the other side of the curtain._] + +_Second Guard_. Back! The passage is forbidden. + +_Hans_. I am the Prince's servant! + +_Second Guard_. That may all be; but hast thou not seen-- + +_Hans_. I counsel thee, take off thy hands! + +_Sköll_ [_takes hold of his arm soothingly_]. Come, brother of my +heart, be sensible, stay in thy seat; down below there is just a mob of +women, and thou wouldst be no use at all. + +_Hans_. True enough. [_The drums sound._] The third call! Now is the +time! + +_Sköll_. Now I can put my hands in my pockets and let them break each +other's necks; if I only had something to drink, then--[_as_ Hans +_clutches him by the arm in excitement at the first clash of swords +sounding from below_] Ouch! Whew! The devil, what a grip thou hast! + +_Hans_ [_accompanying the movements below with dumb-show, which is +accentuated by the noise of the crashing weapons_]. There! That was a +blow! Take that! [_Alarmed._] Guard thyself! Ah, that was good! Now +after him and strike!... He missed! [_To_ Sköll, _threateningly._] I +thought thou didst laugh! + +_Sköll_. What should I do? + +_Hans_. I tell thee, thou brute beast, thou calf, thou knave, thou +thief, as truly as I love thee as my brother, I will kill thee! + +_Sköll_. Not so fierce! + +_Hans_. There, which one of them drives the other in the corner, now? +Eh? + +_Sköll_. What?... I will stand above both sides and wait to see which +one comes out ahead. + +_Hans_. Ho, ho! How the rascal puffs! Yes, thou wilt learn to run, my +fine fellow! Another blow! He struck him not! Now for thy life!--What +is he thinking of? [_Shrieks out._] My master bleeds! + +_Sköll_. Ei, ei! + +_Hans_. Wipe it off! Whisk it away! That little blood-letting but +sharpens the anger, pricks the hate and-- + +_Sköll_. Look! + +_Hans_. Now gather all thy powers together, master! And all my love for +thee turn into fire and flame, that-- + +[_Pause. Then a woman's shriek is heard, and the ringing fall of a +man's body. A dull murmur of many voices follows._] + +_Sköll_. That was a blow! [_Shouting down._] Hail to King Wid-- + +_Hans_ [_seizes him like lightning and hurls him to the ground, then +springs on the bench, waving his sword above his head and shouting._] +Back from his body! You men below there, is there one that wears a +sword and armor? + +_Voices_. I!--I!--I! + +_Hans Lorbass_. He will break through the lists with me and drive away +this robber of Samland! + +[_Cries of rage, together with the crashing of the lists_. Hans Lorbass +_storms upon the guards, who retreat to one side, and dashes below. +The_ Queen _comes upon the scene half unconscious, supported by_ Anna +Goldhair _and her other women. The_ Chancellor _and other nobles_. +Sköll _has squeezed himself behind the corner pillar on the right._] + +_Cölestin_ [_turning from the_ Queen _to a group of men who stand +gazing down on the tumult below_]. How goes it now? + +_Chancellor_. That man whose summons hurled the brand of mutiny among +us, look how great and small, man and woman crowd around him shouting +and hustle the Duke to the door! There, he is gone!--the other left! +Who was the devil? + +[_The uproar grows fainter and seems to lose itself in the distance._] + +_Cölestin_. I know not whether he was a devil or an angel; for without +his shriek of hate we should still be lying beneath the foot of +tyranny, bleeding and weaponless as he who lies below. + +[Chancellor _motions to him, pointing towards the_ Queen, _who has +revived and is looking about her wildly._] + +_Queen_. Where is the stranger? Why are you silent? I saw him fall ... +did he not conquer? + +_A Messenger_ [_comes hurrying up the steps_]. Hail to our Queen! I +bring glad tidings: the accursed Duke has fled upon a stolen horse. The +people vent their long-stored spleen upon his rascally followers. + +_Sköll_. Woe is me! Alas! [_He slips behind the church door and +disappears._] + +_Queen_. And that youth who smiling received the sacrificial blow for +you--think you his life so valueless that no one even remembers him as +a poor reward? Why are you silent? Will no one speak? + +_Chancellor_. We know not whether he is dead, or lives, though sorely +wounded. In every thrust he far over-reckoned the reach of his sword. A +more grievous trouble than this, my Lady Queen, avails to banish our +rejoicing; a broken oath is here, an unatoned-for-- + +_Cölestin_. Look! What a sight! + +[Hans Lorbass _supports the sorely wounded_ Prince Witte _up the steps, +lets him sink upon the bench to the left, and stands before him with +drawn sword, like a guard._] + +_Hans_. Away from here! Whoever loves his life, whether man or woman, +comes not too near! + +_Queen_ [_approaching him_]. Not even I, my friend? + +_Hans_ [_embarrassed, yielding_]. Thou, Lady,--yes. + +_Queen_ [_takes off her veil, and wipes the blood from the face of the_ +Prince]. Send for physicians that he may be saved. + +_Hans_. He is saved! If he were not, I'd spring in the very face of +death for him,--I would spring down death's very throat; death and I, +we know each other well. + +_Chancellor_. Thou who breathest out spume and fire as carelessly as +though hell itself had brought thee forth, I ask thee who thou art, +thou unclean spirit, who hast dared to raise this pious people to +revolt by thy furious onslaught, and taught them to poison for +themselves and the ensuing race the holy fount of justice? + +_Hans_. And I will answer thee: I myself am that justice. I bear it on +my sword's point, I carry it here beneath my cap, I pour it forth in my +master's name, who gave it for his glory and his happiness. [_Signs of +anger._] If ye believe it not, then listen trembling to the thousand +toned joy that peals from far away like spring thunder quivering in the +air, and sweeps throughout the land the joyous message of deliverance: +we are free! + +_Chancellor_. Speak, O Queen! Thy soldiers wait below. Methinks this +servant of the defeated one has too much confidence,--he speaks as +though he were instead our lord and victor. + +_Queen_. Let him speak! He has the right! And even were he a thousand +times defeated, this man who lies before us bleeding, if he recover and +seek it from me, shall be our lord and conqueror. [_Great confusion and +excitement._] + +_Prince Witte_ [_rousing from his unconsciousness and looking about him +painfully_]. There lies the heron! I have wrung his neck, I snatch my +prize, my salvation ... [_feeling on his head and in his breast with +anxious dismay_] where are the feathers? + +_Queen_. What seekest thou, dear one? + +_Hans_. Thou seest, O Queen, he speaks in fever. Do not listen, do not +heed his words. + +_Prince_. Hans, Hans! + +_Hans_ [_close by him_]. Take care what thou sayest. + +_Prince_ [_whispers earnestly_]. I will away from here ... [_with a +glance at the_ Queen _half complainingly_] I must away! + +_Hans_. When thou canst. + + + + + ACT III. + +_A chamber in the castle. The two farther corners slope away from the +front. In the left corner is a bay-window with a platform, to which +steps lead up. Burning torches are stuck in the branches of the pillars +which flank the steps. In the right corner is a fireplace. One can look +beyond into an ante-chamber, and farther on, through a wide door-way +whose curtains are drawn back, into a thickly planted garden, which at +the end of its middle path shows a little of the surrounding wall. In +the middle of the room is a table with seats about it. At the left in +front is a couch with furs and cushions on it. At the right is the door +to the sleeping apartments._ + + + Scene I. + +_The_ Queen _sits on the platform with her distaff before her, and +gazes dreamily into the red glow, which shines through the window. Two +old women sit spinning before the fire-place, in which a dying fire +glimmers_. Anna Goldhair _and the young_ Prince _on the steps of the +platform. Through the drawn curtains plays the red evening light._ + +_The Young Prince_. Say, mother, will the father come soon? + +_Queen_. Of course. + +_The Young Prince_. Will he come before my bed-time? + +_Queen_. I do not know. + +_The Young Prince_. The wood is full of darkness, is it not? + +_Queen_. Where our King goes, there is always light!... What, Anna, art +thou eavesdropping? Must I blush before thee, because I voiced a cry +out of my soul's longing, which envious time would smother? + +_Anna Goldhair_. Beloved Queen.... I know well that I am too young; my +little thoughts whisk twittering like swallows through my head,-- + +_The Young Prince_. And she pretends to me she is so wise! + +_Queen_. Run, run, my child! + +_The Young Prince_. I will get her by the hair first! [_He tugs at_ +Anna's _hair_. Anna Goldhair _pushes him off laughing._] Just wait! +[_He runs from her to the spinning-women, and teases them._] + +_Anna Goldhair_. But if thou hast need of any one to whisper to, in +whose breast at the still evening-time to plunge thine overflowing +soul--of anyone who if need were, could go for thee to her death as to +a feast,--thou knowest, dearest Queen, I am that one! + +_Queen_ [_caressing her_]. Yes, deep in my heart I know that thou art +mine. [_She rises._] But if it be death here for any human being, I am +that one! + +_Anna Goldhair_ [_frightened_]. What troubles thee, beloved Lady? +[_Three maidens, young and pretty, have entered shyly._] + +_Queen_. It is nothing,--nothing!... Why, here! What seek you my +children?... What not a word? Have you a favor to be granted, a +complaint to make? If you cannot speak, why then you must go away +again! + +_Anna Goldhair_. Mistress forgive them. They are of thy train, and they +have asked me to plead for them, lest their too eager speech should +lose for them the favor they desire. + +_Queen_. Well? + +_Anna Goldhair_. Dear Mistress, there is an old custom that runs thus: +when Easter-tide has come into the land, when the thorn bush grows +faintly green, when the blue wave shines bluer, when our desire takes +wing to sport among the flying things of spring,--that then, upon the +coming of the first full moon, the night must be watched out with sport +and dance. In a word they would sing. + +_Queen_ [_smiling_]. Ah, yes!... But tell me, dear children, if you +knew it, then why did this custom vanish from the land so many years? + +_Anna Goldhair_. We honored thy sorrow, my Queen. + +_Queen_. Well, then, go out and dance and frolic and sing together all +night long! Know you the song that you should sing? + +[_The maidens nod eagerly._] + +_Queen_. Go out and drink the moonlight as it pours down through the +branches; I think we little know how blessed we are. + +[_The maidens courtesy and kiss her hands and garments._] + +_Queen_ [_as she turns away smiling_]. Why are you old ones shivering? +Why look you so strange? Is it cold? Then you must rake the fire! + +_One of the Old Women_. Mistress, we spin our winding-sheets. Shall we +not be cold? + +_Queen_ [_drawing the young_ Prince _to her_]. Do not listen to them! +[Cölestin _enters._] + +_The Young Prince_. Oh, Uncle Cölestin! [_Runs to him._] What hast thou +brought me, Uncle Cölestin? + +_Cölestin_ [_lifting him up_]. A great sandman, and a small goodnight! + +_Queen_. The King is come? Thou wouldst announce him? + +_Cölestin_. No, my Lady. We heard his horn in the distance, but it died +away again. I come before thee a gloomy messenger. In the great hall +beyond there waits the council of the realm.... + +_Queen_. Stop! You, my women, seek your rest; my son, to bed! + +_The Young Prince_. And am I not to see the father again till morning? +Ah, mother, please! + +_Queen_. If thou canst not sleep, Anna shall take thee up and bring +thee here. Is it well so, dear one? + +_The Young Prince_. Yes. + +_Queen_. And goodnight! + +[_The_ Prince, Anna Goldhair, _and the women go out._] + +_Queen_. We are alone ... yet what a pity with too cool reason to chill +the buds of the May evening, which plunges all the waking soul into +sweet sickness.... But speak! + +_Cölestin_. Lady, I know not how I shall begin. The words come +stumbling from my lips. Thou knowest how we love him, and how, since +thou hast given him thyself, there is no single life but stands +prepared to serve him without a thought of self. And how does he reward +us? He shuns our glance, a smouldering suspicion breaks out whenever we +would speak in seriousness to him, and throws its shadows on us darkly. +The people idolize him. They greet him, great and small, with clapping +hands and waving kerchiefs,--why must we stand aloof? Is he ashamed of +us?--or of himself? I know not. A mysterious sadness clouds his eye so +falcon-bright, and even while our hearts still yearn upon him, he grows +a stranger to us, who was never our friend. + +_Queen_. It is your too easily wounded love complains of him. + +_Cölestin_. If that danger-- + +_Queen_ [_without listening to him_]. I see it, but I scarce can +blame it. I blame no one. I have built for myself out of dreams and +smiles a strong strong wall, outside of which you wait, thieves of my +happiness--nay, my friend, look not so grieved!--and out of which you +know not how to lure me, either by cunning or by clamor. + +_Cölestin_. Still, hast thou never come upon that knowledge, deep +within thy heart, which tells thee how in everything that is and was +and needs must be throughout our lives, a never expiated wrong must +weigh us down? + +_Queen_. Never, my friend! In my soul there rings but one harp-tone, +one voice, which says: be happy! + +_Cölestin_. And thy oath, Lady? + +_Queen_. My oath? + +_Cölestin_. Didst thou not swear before us all and in the sight of +heaven that he who hurled his rival to the earth, not he who lay there +shameful in defeat, might dare approach thee as thy lord and king? + +_Queen_. But tell me, my dear friend, did he not conquer? + +_Cölestin_. What madness has so blurred events for thee? + +_Queen_. I know he conquered, for he is here! + +_Cölestin_. Here indeed he is, but with what right? + +_Queen_. The right that raised for him in that dark hour when the cruel +wound gaped in his throat, a faithful servant to avenge him; a servant +whose brave shout and lifted blade have taught me this one thing: high +above the right there stands the sword, and high above the sword stands +love! + +_Cölestin_. May this wisdom please the Omnipotent, and may he pity +thee, and all of us! + +_Queen_. It was not given to everyone to know it; but it has brought +the King to me! Hark, do I hear a horn? How near it sounds! My King is +coming! My King is here! + + + Scene 2. + +_The Same_. King Witte, _the_ Chancellor _and other councillors and +nobles_. Hans Lorbass _stands guard at the door, spear in hand, at +ease._ + +_King_ [_embraces the_ Queen _and kisses her on the forehead. Comes +forward with her, but turns back irritably_]. What do you want? + +_Chancellor_. My lord, while thou didst tread the forest paths, +following the hunt, a fierce onslaught of new trouble came swooping +down upon our land. + +_King_. Trouble, always trouble! Mouldy, gray and blear, it lives far +longer than one's whole life! Must you, even in the daytime, din your +night-song in my ears? + +_Chancellor_. This time-- + +_King_ [_mocking_]. "This time "--I wager the state will crack in +pieces! [_Turning to the_ Queen.] If they had naught at which to fear, +I should have naught at which to laugh! + +_Queen_. Dear one--! + +_King_. Hush! It makes me glow with anger, only to look upon these gray +countenances, gloomy as the grave, full of foreboding, heavy with woes, +and yet with that little glint of malice in their half-lowered lids. +Must I suck in these complaints that fall drop by drop upon me? I might +lay about me recklessly--but what am I to dare it? + +_Queen_. All art thou, all darest thou, all hearts bow before thee! +Canst thou not guess their dumb entreaties, not understand their timid +longings? Look, they give thee so much, they give with open hands; +their love enfolds thee, blooms everywhere for thee to pluck! Go down +among them, then, step into their hearts, and speak, I beg thee, +graciously and kindly. + +_King_ [_softened_]. I will try, thanks to thee! Speak, as thou knowest +me: why does this anger and this curse fall daily and hourly over me? +My friends, mislike me not for my impatience, for one thing I know +right well, that I stand deeply in your debt. And now, speak! + +_Chancellor_. My lord, I speak--not trembling, for long necessity has +wonted us to terrors as to daily bread--of the fate which I have long +seen approaching, and which now stands thirsting for blood before us. +Duke Widwolf-- + +King [_starting_]. Duke Widwolf! + +_Chancellor_. Is mustering an army! + +King [_feigning calmness_]. What then? + +_Chancellor_. He makes his boast that when the ice on the northern sea +has turned to sheeted foam, he will descend with full a hundred ships +and fall upon us like an avenging spirit. + +_King_. The avenging spirit is a worthy part for him to play. + +_Chancellor_. Still thou knowest this once he serves a righteous cause. + +_King_. What sayest thou? + +_Chancellor_. Is not this realm, O King, forfeit to him as a reward of +victory? + +_King_. May the word choke thee! As a reward of victory? Oh, stands it +so with you, my lords? Do you stare at me? What means the scorn that +lurks in your eyes? Have I been here too long? Do you already rue your +act? + +_Chancellor_. We rue it not, my King! + +_King_. Say yes, say yes! Why so much pains with one who lay in the +dust, whom you so mercifully raised up that everyone might value me as +he chose, not as he must? Was it that I should fawn upon you, stroke +and caress and flatter you, and die, instead of that one death I owed +you, a thousand daily deaths? + +_Chancellor_. Thou hast seen no hatred in us. A reflection of thine own +feeling has deluded thee. + +_Cölestin_. And if thou hast heard the word guilt, it was but thus: let +me be guilty with thee! [Queen _nods gratefully to him._] + +_King_. Very fine! Quite beautiful! Accept my thanks! Hans! Come here +and tell me what thou sayest to all this. + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_comes forward boldly_]. Lord Chancellor and Lord House +Marshal, you nobles, councillors, and wise men all, who let yourselves +be plagued with doubts like flea-bites,--if you permit it I will say +one thing to you: between sin and punishment, between right and wrong, +between hate and love, and good and bad, between sand and sea, and +swamp and stone, between flesh of women and dead men's bones, between +desire and possession, between field and furrow,--he goes, a man of +men, straight through,--looking to neither right nor left! + +_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, _the_ Chancellor, _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 young_ Prince _with_ Anna Goldhair.] + +_The Young Prince_ [_running to the_ King]. 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 the_ Prince.] 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. The_ Queen, _the_ Prince, +_and_ Anna Goldhair _go 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 the_ King _stares wildly about, the_ Queen +_enters, 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 the_ Queen.] + + + + + ACT IV. + +_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._ + + + Scene 1. + +Anna Goldhair _cowering with covered face in the shadow of the throne_. +Hans Lorbass _and_ Cölestin _enter 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 Lorbass _nods._] + +_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 Goldhair _motions 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 Goldhair _cowers down again in the shadow of the throne. Then, +from behind, the_ King._] + +_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 sees_ Anna 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 Goldhair _hides 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 Lorbass_ And 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. + +_King_. And if? + +_Hans Lorbass_. If not? He swore,--and here his spleen burst out--that +let a single sword be raised against him, a single spear be laid in +rest, and he would hang and quarter every living, breathing thing, +without mercy. This he calls choking rebellion in the seed. + +_King_. And what was the decision of the people? + +_Hans Lorbass_. The people will fight. + +_King_. Will fight? Will fight? This flock of nestlings, lacking in +every sort of strength, inspired by no courage-breeding fire, wanting +in power, in discipline,-- + +_Hans Lorbass_. Like their King himself. + +_King_. Like their King himself. Quite true. The shadow of a King, set +on the throne by woman's love, is not the man to lead a forlorn hope. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Though his people offer themselves to the sword for +him. + +_King_. Take care; I have outgrown thy scorn. [_Knocking on the door to +the right._] + +_Cölestin_ [_outside_]. Open the door for the King's son. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Shall I? + +_King_. Thou must. This house is his; and if he chose to, he could +drive me hence. + +[Cölestin _enters, leading in the young_ Prince _by the hand. It is +gradually growing light._] + +_The Young Prince_ [_running to_ Anna Goldhair]. Anna! Ah, Anna, art +thou here? The mother told me thou wast dead. Say. Anna, art thou vexed +with me? I eat my supper all alone, I say my prayers and go to bed all +alone. I sing alone, I play alone,--and oh, the mother weeps so much! +They said my father had been cruel to her,--how sorry he would be to +see her weep! Anna, dear Anna, come and help us, for we are so sad! + +[Anna Goldhair _kneels down before him and sobs on his neck._] + +_King_. What now? + +_Cölestin_. My Prince, my little Prince! + +_King_. Well? + +_Cölestin_. Nay, with her thou canst have no concern. Thou knowest to +whom thy mother sent thee, and what she graved so deep upon thy heart. + +_The Young Prince_ [_timidly approaching the_ King]. My mother called +me very early, and bid me come to thee before my breakfast with Uncle +Cölestin, and kneel down here before thee, and ask thee--something,--I +forget. + +_Cölestin_. Then, my lord, according to the measure of my wisdom I must +speak here for this child, who in his innocence cannot comprehend how +basely thou hast forsaken thy people. I must embolden myself to speak a +last warning to thee. I speak not of the sins that now already weigh +thee down: eternal God shall judge them, for thou mayst not sin and not +atone. But even now thy spirit, corroded with rancorous spite, hast +turned the edge of our ancestral sword against thy honor and thy +manhood. Lo, there it glistens in thy burning grasp; and to that +all-avenging sword I make my prayer: to the arm where still resides +our safety: to the eyes from which looks out an unquenched thirst of +fighting: that thou wilt lead to victory thy broken people, who +surround the tower and call upon thee in their need. + +_King_. The sword that I unthinking raised--led thereto by occasion +only--I will lay down still clean. Thou callest it the all-avenging; +and it shall win that praise itself. Let the foe mow you down in +sheaves, it shall be naught to me,--it comes too late. + +_Cölestin_. Good! Though thou so hatest thy people-- + +_King_. I hate ye not. + +_Cölestin_. As to appease thy long-cherished revenge by scornful +laughter in their hour of need, yet one thing I shall never think, sir +King,--that thou wilt yield without a struggle, and give up thy +weaponless body to the slaughter. + +_King_. What can I otherwise? In whose blood shall I dip this body to +make it consecrate? With what right shall I plunge this sword into +fiery service? He who stands without there serves a righteous cause. So +sayest thou. The Chancellor, likewise. You all agree. Therefore I +counsel thee: be wise, rescue your country and make clean your house. +There is still time ... the storm yet lulls. The Duke has need of me; +deliver me to him. + +_Cölestin_. All my strength is broken against this madness, which +destroys itself.... And the hour presses.... What can I do? The crowd +shrieks lamentations in my ear. Kneel down, my child, stretch out thy +arms,--perhaps, that silent picture will reach this heart. [_He makes +the young_ Prince _kneel down._] + +_King_. Stand up. . . Come here. . . Thou hast stood in my way, and yet +I loved thee. A madness, an absurdity! [_Aside._] Suppose: if thou wert +not,--if in this coming hour I might but strike a blow for my own +throne.... Where now? + +_The young Prince_ [_clinging to_ Hans]. I am afraid. + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_gazing at the_ King]. There is the pinch. [_Going up +to him, aside_]. And if--- + +_King_. If--what? + +_Hans Lorbass_. If through some chance, quite unforseen, this land +should all at once become thine own, entirely thine? + +_King_ [_bewildered_]. What dost thou mean? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Well then, if that should disappear that stands in thy +way? [_Bursting out._] Then wouldst thou take thy sword in both thy +hands and storm exulting on the foe?... Well? + +_King_. I understand thee not. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Then-- + +_King_. Silence, silence! Thou knowest I have quenched the last embers +of my desires. Thinkest thou to kindle a new blaze thereon by victory +and sin? A fire must run from heaven, must mount from hell, to light a +new life in my fading course. A thing of horror must first come to +pass; whence it came would be as naught to me, if it could but rise +wonder-like upon my sight. Alas, from out these ashes no miracle can +rise for me! I can no longer hope and struggle.... The door stands open +to the upper room.... Once more I mount up to the height, once more +behold the gray dawn turn to gold in rosy glory-- + +_Hans Lorbass_. Wilt thou come back? + +_King_. Nay, didst thou not think so? I--[_As Cölestin with the young +Prince puts himself in the way._] Away with the child!--I must die! +[_Goes out._] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_to himself_]. "A thing of horror must first come to +pass." And then, "If I might strike a blow for my own throne." "If thou +wert not." And looked at him with such eyes!--Cölestin, if I had +something to ask--thou knowest, perhaps, the King will yield to +me--more than--in short, I am beloved by him-- + +_Cölestin_. Good reason for it. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Yes. Then what if I knew how to goad him into harness, +so that even before the hour had struck, he had the Bastard by the +throat with your all-avenging sword? + +_Cölestin_. It would be possible? Thou couldst? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Yes. But I need the Prince. + +_Cölestin_. The Princeling,--why? + +_Hans Lorbass_. With him by the hand I would sit there on the landing +and hold watch till he came down. + +_Cölestin_. And then? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Then, Major-domo,--that is my affair. + +_Cölestin_. The Queen left him in my care. But I know, Hans Lorbass +that thou lovest him. Wilt thou, my little Prince? + +_The Young Prince_. Dost thou ask me? I love to stay with him,--he +teaches me to fight. [_He runs to him._] + +_Cölestin_. And may God bless thee in thy task. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Much thanks. [_Turning to_ Anna Goldhair.] I do not +want her. Take her with thee. + +_Cölestin_. Come, poor wench. + +_The Young Prince_. May Anna stay here, too? + +[Hans Lorbass _hushes him._] + +_Anna Goldhair_. Oh, Cölestin, if I could hide somewhere, and see my +dear Queen pass by just once! + +_Cölestin_. Spare me thy plaints.... Well, wait, I will hide thee here +behind the curtains of the door; stay there, and do not move, and when +she goes to the cathedral--come, come! + +[Cölestin _and_ Anna Goldhair _go out._] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_grimly_]. My Prince! + +_The Young Prince_ [_tenderly_]. My Hans! + +_Hans Lorbass_. And still it grips me cruelly hard. + +_The Young Prince_. What is it thou grumblest in thy beard? Come, let +us fight. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Let us fight, child! If thou knewest how to fight +indeed! + +_The Young Prince_. How strange thou art to-day? Say, Hans, is it true +that a cruel enemy stands before the gate? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Quite true. + +_The Young Prince_. Will he come inside? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Not yet. Before long. + +_The Young Prince_. How long? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Until the drums sound the attack. + +_The Young Prince_. Soon? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Very soon. + +_The Young Prince_. Oh, that is splendid! And why did the father go up +to his tower? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Because ... If I knew whether this young blood would be +poured out in vain. To every foulness God created he has given a tongue +to shriek: "Behold my purpose!" And such a deed as this to-day ... but +no! "If thou wert not!" + +_The Young Prince_. If I were not,--what then? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Wha--? Why? His sick desires, his failing deeds, the +dreams that mock his brain, that make the right seem wrong,--if he +might see a wish of his become a fact, as if by magic power, perhaps +that knowledge of renewed strength might scatter his gloom to its +accursed source and set him free. Now show thy worth and bleed here +quietly on my breast--what dost thou there! + +_The Young Prince_ [_playing about meanwhile has drawn the sword from +its sheath_]. I am learning to carry the King's sword. Forward! Hasten, +the foe will come! Very well. Then I shall be the victor. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Put it down! + +_The Young Prince_. Ah, no! + +_Hans Lorbass_. Put it down! + +_The Young Prince_. Oh-oo! That is sharp! + +_Hans Lorbass_. Thou knowest who alone may carry that? + +_The Young Prince_. The King. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Well then. + +_The Young Prince_. But he left it there! + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_sternly_]. To take it up again. [_Draws his sword._] + +_The Young Prince_. Wait! I will kill thee! [_He has grasped the sword +in both hands, and thrusting at Hans, who does not see him, he wounds +him on the hand._] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_laughing grimly_]. The fiend torment-- + +_The Young Prince_. Thou bleedest--O me! + +_Hans Lorbass_. The very weakness of this child avenges itself in +death. + +_The Young Prince_. Wilt thou not scold me! [_Unfastening his +neckerchief_] Take my kerchief,--ah, please! Wrap it about thy hand. +Quick! + +_Hans Lorbass_. Is it intended for a sign to me to turn back in my +path? The wish was there, but who knows when he cherished it, whether +he was not so rent by torment, so quite unmanned as to harbor a thought +that sprang therefrom? He must ... Yea, and I must. The hour will slip +away.... [_Drums sound in the distance._] Hark, hark! There it is,--the +time has come. [_Drums._] Again! + +_The Young Prince_. Is that the signal? + +_Hans Lorbass_. What signal? + +_The Young Prince_. For the attack? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Yes. For the attack and-- + +_The Young Prince_. What happiness! Is it not, Hans! If I were grown! +If I were a man! + +_Hans Lorbass_. Come here! + +_The Young Prince_. Why dost thou look at me so sternly? Just like the +father.... Wouldst thou strike me? No, thou shalt not.... I am a king's +son. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Come here! + +_The Young Prince_. I am not afraid. [_Goes to him._] Just think, the +people say the father hates me. I believe it not. Whatever he should +do, I know right well he loves me,--even as much as thou, my Hans. +[_Throws his arms around him._] + +_Hans Lorbass_. How dost thou know? + +_The Young Prince_. What, Hans? + +_Hans Lorbass_. About the father. + +_The Young Prince_. Listen! One night, quite lately, when I had been a +little while in my bed, and was all alone, only think!--he came very +softly within my chamber. I was afraid, because I had not seen him in +so long, and all the people said: "The King is wicked." But he stood +there before my bed and looked at me,--Hans, what is all that noise? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Hasten,--thou knowest not what it means to thee! + +_The Young Prince_. And looked at me so stern and wild that I was +frightened and pretended that I slept. Then he leaned over me, so low +that I had nearly died of fright, and then,--only think, my Hansel,--he +kissed me. Here on my forehead, on my hair and both my cheeks, and then +very softly went away. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Thy good angel put the words into thy mouth! Could he +do so, my little man, then 'twas a fever in his blood that spoke +to-day,--no hate of thee!... It seems as though thou wert even dearer +to me now,--and yet my thoughts have scarce deserved it. [_Clasps him +to him._] Now let me, let ... There below they call upon thy father, +and he ... I have it! I will take thee in my arms and show thee to the +leaderless throng below, him who shall lead them when his form rears +itself kinglike and his brow darkens. Come then! Friend, if thy King +fights not for thee to-day, then fight thou for thy King! [_He raises +him in his arms and hurries with him down the steps._] + + + Scene 2. + +Anna Goldhair _comes timidly from the right, pushed into the room. +After her, the_ Chancellor, Cölestin, _nobles and ladies, who stand so +as to form a passage. Then, the_ Queen. _After her, other ladies_. Anna +Goldhair _in a shrinking attempt to hide herself, crouches near the +door, behind those coming in._ + +_Chancellor_. Away, lest the Queen see thee! Out of the way, wench! + +_Queen_ [_observing that someone is concealed from her_]. Who--? [_She +motions them to let her see. The group separates. She looks silently +down upon the kneeling_ Anna, _whose face is bowed to the earth, and +strokes her hair._] Much evil has come upon us both; therefore be it +unto thee according to thy sorrow, not according to thy deed. [_She +raises her and gives her over to her women._] + +_Chancellor_ [_meanwhile aside to_ Cölestin +]. Send above to the King +straightway. I cannot yet forbear to hope that when he--dost thou hear? + +_Cölestin_ [_who is looking in anxious search toward the background_]. +Where is the Prince? + +_Murmur of Voices_. The King comes. + +[_The_ King _comes down the steps._] + +_King_ [_startled, bewildered_]. Why do ye stand there so amazed? Do ye +not know me? I am he, your King, your much-loved King, he with whose +hero-tread treason has entered in your flock, into your hearts. + +_Queen_ [_coming forward_]. My King! + +_King_ [_reeling back_]. Thou! Thou hast come here,--into this den +where lust holds sway? Burst open all the windows wide! Perfume the air +with fine resin! Fetch sage and thyme and peppermint, that the fumes of +this place may not attaint her breath! Hasten! Faded and withered, let +them-- + +_Cölestin_ [_whispers_]. My lord, where hast thou left the Prince? + +_King_. What? Who? The--the--am I the Prince's keeper? + +_Queen_. My King, the battle rages now already about the castle walls. +The door still holds. The people wait, counting their heart-throbs till +thou comest, trusting in thee still. There is yet time. There lies the +kingly sword and waits for thee. + +_King_ [_to himself_]. If Hans understood me rightly-- + +_Queen_. Stoop to it. It is worth the stooping for. + +_King_. Thinkest thou?... Still?... And that this hand is worthy, too, +to raise it? + +_Queen_. I trust in it as in immortal life. + +_King_. Believest thou also that miracles still come to pass? + +_Queen_. I believe in thee. + +_King_. Then--[_he stoops, but starts back with a shriek._] Blood! +There is blood on it! Cölestine! Approach, lean down. Nearer. Thou hast +asked me just now, only in pretence, where I ... I ask thee, with whom +hast _thou_ left the Prince? + +_Cölestin_. Hans Lorbass was with him. + +_King_. Alone? + +_Cölestin_. Alone. + +_King_. Yes?... It is well.... See how the red shines bright on the +gray steel! The life that coursed within this blade cannot die--it +lives--it lives and drags me down, a death-devoted man, unto a doubly +shameful end. + +_Chancellor_ [_to the_ Queen]. Speak again before this madness gains +upon him! + +_Queen_. My King. + +_King_. Ha! The angel of destruction broods over us.... Where is thy +child? Where is thy child? + +_Queen_. I know that he is safe, for the most faithful of the faithful +guards him. Think of thyself and of thy sword. + +_King_. An hour since was this blade still clean.... I seemed too +great--nay, nay, too small--to wield it; doubted and cursed myself and +you and all the world. And yet defiance still blazed high in me; I +could be a warrior, perhaps a hero, and knew it not ... ah, cursed +fool!... Now I gaze in envy at that man, could even kiss his feet, who +with accusing conscience and hand yet free from blood-guiltiness, stood +a transgressor here within this hall. O were this sword still clean, +how might I wield it! What miracles exultingly perform! But for me now +no saving miracle can come to pass ... + +[_The smothered tumult in the court becomes suddenly louder._] + +_Two Nobles_ [_at the window_]. God be merciful! Fly!--Save yourselves! + +[Hans Lorbass, _the young_ Prince _in his arms, rushes up the steps._] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_breathless_]. Here--take the child! The foe is close +at hand--within the court! + +_King_ [_in frenzied joy throwing himself upon the_ Prince]. My +miracle! + +_Hans Lorbass_. If you would save yourself, barricade this door, +strengthen it ten-fold with beams, break off stones from the roof, roll +them down and heap them up-- + +_King_. Thou art wrong, my friend. The door--fling open! + +[Hans Lorbass _tears open the door with a joyous shout. They hear the +approaching battle-cry of the enemy._] + +_King_ [_who has seized the sword and shield_]. To me, man of the +righteous cause! + +[_The_ Duke _rushes on the_ King _with a shout of laughter, behind him +his men, among them_ Sköll, Ottar, Gylf, _held in check by_ Hans _with +upraised sword, stand crowded together at the door. Short conflict. +The_ Duke _falls._] + +_King_ [_to the crowd, his foot upon the prostrate body_]. On your +knees. [_The foremost sink upon their knees, the rest shrink back._] + + +_King_ [_during a long silence looks furtively at the_ Queen, _and the +councillors. Then to the crowd_]. Carry this man's body outside the +door.... Let everyone submit himself unto the peace of God, which +henceforth only he who courts his death will violate. Before we part, I +will come down to you, and under the free air of heaven I, your Duke, +will receive your oath and your allegiance. Away! + +[_The_ Duke's _men seize the body and hurry out._] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_tickling_ Sköll _under the nose with his +sword-blade_]. Who has it now, thou clown? + +_Chancellor_ [_approaching hesitatingly_]. My gracious Lord and King, I +would say: Forgive us, but the strength of all our words must break +against thy glorious victory. I only say: We are returned to thee. No +reproaches or regrets shall cheapen our return; we only ask [_with a +glance at the_ Queen] that honor be spared, and once again, after the +cruel conflict of to-day, we offer thee our country's throne in faith +and loyalty. + +_King_. I thank you noble lords, and put it from me. + +_Chancellor_. A second time thou turnest thy happiness and ours to +lamentation. + +_King_. Stay! Let not a poisoned word pollute this moment, for now at +last the riddling clouds of fate prepare to fall. I may slip the +fetters from my body, which weakness, shame, unwilling gratitude, +sorrow, and mistaken kindnesses, combined to weave about me. I dare to +speak, for now the sword has freed me.... For that I have shrunk from +thee, my wife, forgive me. Didst thou know how shudderingly I sent +myself into an exile of inexpiable guilt! From thence I now return, +love-empty; and still the harmony of thy grace, the breath of thy +self-forgetful love, wafts like a summer breeze about my head, heavy +with blessings. Yes, if I dared to stay, how much of all I have ... +Hush!... I know not the path that I must choose. I only know the end. I +only know that faint and far away there sounds a voice reproaching my +delay. It calls me back into the eternal gray,--that boundless country +where thy blessing ends, where no guiding star rises to lead me on. +Farewell. Forgive me if thou canst. If not ... I know no word to say +that can lift the load of guilt from off my soul.... I must endure and +bear it with me silently. + +_Queen_. Nay, my friend.... If thou hast laden thy life with guilt so +heavily, then must thou give me of thy burden a share to bear. I think +that all we leave unspoken to-day will burn our souls forever; and +therefore I make free confession: I have failed thee sorely. I saw thy +misery, I saw the torture growing on thy pale brow, and yet I had but +one thought; one alone; how to beguile him from that path on which his +soul delays and hesitates, but whither his stumbling feet turn of +themselves,--that he might leave me never again, whether in love or +hate ... this was my thought ... and as a bridal pair stand at the +altar and exchange their rings, while the deep church-bells lull them +into a smiling dream, so we in parting near each other, and offer, +smiling, guilt for guilt. [_She reaches out her hand to him with a +faint smile, and sinks back into the arms of her women._] + +_King_ [_kissing her hand, overcome with feeling_]. I thank thee. + +_The Young Prince_ [_timidly_]. Papa! + +_King_ [_recovering himself_]. Thou too, my son! Come here! I made thee +poor return--and had he not [_motioning toward_ Hans] known me better +than I myself ... give him thy hand; for thanks to him, I lay down +undefiled this borrowed sword. [_Gives the sword over to the_ +Chancellor.] Hans! + +_Hans Lorbass_. Here, master! [_He hands the_ King _his old sword, +which he seizes eagerly._] + +_King_. Farewell. + + + + + ACT V. + +_The scene of the first act. Early spring. March. The trees and bushes +are still bare, but tipped with the delicate red of young leaf-buds. In +the background, upon the slopes, is still snow, in the foreground fresh +young grass. The church-yard has grown larger. The crosses and +headboards reach back to the sand-hills. Sun-set. A blue haze hangs +over the sea._ + + + Scene I. + +_Out of a freshly dug grave on the right an invisible hand throws clods +of earth, but stops as_ Cölestin _enters on the right, led by two young +men. Behind them_, Miklas _and an old_ Fisherman. + +_Fisherman_. This is the place, my lord. + +_Cölestin_ [_much aged and broken_]. I thank thee, friend! That is the +tower? + +_Fisherman_ [_nodding_]. And above it cross on cross. + +_Cölestin_. Let me rest a little, I am dizzy. The way hither was hard. +Yet I rejoice to know that worn-out as I am, I still may serve our +young Prince. And more than him, our dear and holy lady, our Queen. +Else surely I had--remained at home. + +_Fisherman_ [_has meantime shaken the door of the tower_]. The tower +seems empty. The door is barred. There was a storm quite late.... Who +knows where she wanders now, scouting for new graves. + +_Cölestin_. Who speaks of graves? Fie! The hour will ripen all too soon +for us to yield our withered sinful bodies to the worms. Build a fire +for me, since we must wait. The evening lowers and this March wind +blows cold on me. Make haste. [_To the old_ Fisherman.] Run thou to our +sovereign Lady, who so honored thee as to share thy hut, and tell her I +beg her wait therein until we come to fetch her as she said. + +_Fisherman_. Yes, my lord. [_Goes out._] + +_Cölestin_ [_to_ Miklas _while the young men build the fire_]. And +thou, Miklas, tell us thy story again and on thy faith. It was last +night the strangers knocked at thy door? + +_Miklas_. Yes, my lord. + +_Cölestin_. How many? + +_Miklas_. Two. + +_Cölestin_. And thou didst open it? + +_Miklas_. Yes. I had lain a long time in bed, but I arose. The +moonlight fell bright through the window-bars. I saw them and was +afraid. + +_Cölestin_. Why? + +_Miklas_. The first had long white hair hanging all wild and shaggy +about a gloomy brow. One leg was hacked off, and a wooden one replaced +it. + +_Cölestin_. Thou will still--? + +_Miklas_. Whoever looked into that eye, must know, my lord: Hans +Lorbass stood before me. + +_Cölestin_. And the other? + +_Miklas_. It is hard to say. + +_Cölestin_. Still thou knowest him? + +_Miklas_. As I know myself, my lord. + +_Cölestin_. Consider. Full fifteen years have flown since that hour +when he slew the cruel Duke. + +_Miklas_. Yes, my lord. His step indeed was heavier, his face was +paler; and a gnawed and ragged beard hung about his mouth, stiffened +with blood and sweat. Yet it was he, our King, our star, at very +thought of whom our hearts must leap, to whose heroic deed we sing +triumphant songs,--it was he, and that I swear by God the Father. + +_Cölestin_. Go on. + +_Miklas_. Yet, mindful of what happened once, I made as though I had +never seen the two; and when they asked whether there was a path that +led to the sea and to the Burial-wife, and did not touch at town or +capital, I said: "Oh, yes; yet it is difficult to follow it, and not +wander lost by night among the bushes. Come in and sleep beside my +hearth, and I will play the host and spread the straw for you, and +early in the morning, for your sake and for God's sweet service my son +will lead you to the witch-wife." It was said and done. The fire of +pine chips had scarcely burned to ashes,--heigho!--I ran to the stable +and flung the saddle on the horse; and when the early dawn of the March +morning lay abroad white and misty on the hedges, I held my rein before +your castle,--"To the Queen" my cry. Thou wert with me for the rest. + +_Cölestin_. Thinkest thou thy son--? + +_Miklas_. Set thyself at rest, My son has always been a clever youth +and I answer for it they will be upon the spot before the sun there +dips beneath the sea. Yes, if I mistake not ... but wait! [_He runs to +the top of the hill, looks to the right and motions furtively._] Come +here! But crouch down well, that they may not spy us. + +_Cölestin_. My God, my God, how my old limbs do tremble! It is joy! +[_He goes up the slope, assisted by his attendant._] I see three +coming. + +_Miklas_. The small one is my boy. The other two--thou knowest them? + +_Cölestin_. My eyes have failed me a little, else I might. [_Coming +back down._] My God, if it were they! If the evening of my life might +shine so clear that before I closed my eyes in death they might rest +upon the Queen, their heart, their light, pleasured in happiness +without alloy! At such a sight I think I could not die.... Come, come! +Let us announce what we have seen; then may that bond once so +shamefully severed in wrong and need, be solemnly renewed, before we +turn our joyous bark toward home. Come, come! [_They all go out at the +left._] + +[_The_ King _and_ Hans Lorbass _come in at the right from above, both +unkempt and in rags like two wayfarers_. King _grown gray, lean, and +sallow, comes down forward silent and gloomy._] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_with hair grown quite white, and a wooden leg, +carrying a sack on his back, calls into the wing_]. There, take it, +rascal, it is the last! And leave! [_Coming down._] The clown has led +us twelve whole hours without a path through bushes and morass. He knew +well enough why he did it! + +_King_. Dost thou think-- + +_Hans Lorbass_. Oh let it be, no matter! + +_King_. Here is a fire. Is there corn in the sack? + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_opening the sack_]. Wait.... Yes. + +_King_. Good! I am hungry. + +_Hans Lorbass_. I am not, too? + +_King_. The corn was dear. Sometimes it costs us money, sometimes +blood. + +_Hans Lorbass_. We do not pay the blood. + +_King_. We pay more. We give out bit by bit from our own souls for our +lives' nakedest necessities, and pay for each mouthful with a shred of +joy--if indeed there be joy in clinging like a pitiable miser to one's +last vacant remnants of hopeless hope. + +_Hans Lorbass_. If it be not happiness it is life. + +_King_. What a life! + +_Hans Lorbass_. Our wants are over now. I wager if I climbed up to the +top of the hill, I should find not one but three ships to take us to +Gotland. + +_King_. Cook us our supper first. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Good, good! [_During the foregoing he has been fetching +cooking utensils, partly from the sack and partly from the outer wall +of the tower, where they lie among tree-stumps, etc._] + +_King_. I shall come soon enough to Gotland, and soon enough shall see +that refuge whence I once bore to save them those most daring wishes of +my powerless youth. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Until a heron came. + +_King_. Hans, be still! + +_Hans Lorbass_. How can I, here in this place, where the sea and +churchyard, yes, even the sea-wind itself, that strips the boughs with +knife-like tongue, all vie with each other to tell us of that day when +an old doting witch-wife with her cursed chatter, betrayed thee from +thy confident path, to pause and play the hero? + +_King_. Where is she hiding, that I may rip that shriveled skin of hers +about her ears? + +_Hans Lorbass_. She who played our fate in the world is not at home +when we come back so worsted by it. + +_King_. Burial-wife! + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_laughs mockingly_]. Yes, call away, my friend!... Come +here instead and sit down on this tub. The fire is singing,--the water +will soon boil; come warm thyself. + +_King_. Thou art right. This cold sea wind pants like a bloodhound +through the gorge. [_He sits down by the fire._] The country-people say +that spring is coming. Is it true, I wonder? + +_Hans Lorbass_. What? + +_King_. Why, that spring is coming. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Then I believe it, for my leg that I lost begins to +pain me. + +_King_. Listen! Back in the hedge a shepherd pipes upon his willow +whistle. The streams are beginning to thaw and run down hill.... Brown +buds come out on all the branches. The very sunsets are different. +Look, high up in the blue the wild geese fly in their triangle. +Northward they go. Not I.... I must. We both must, Hans, for we have +grown old. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Because our heads are white? Thou art wrong, master. I +dare venture many a conflict lies in our path before thou goest to thy +fathers' lofty house, and anointest thyself with thy fathers' honors. + +_King_. Honors are the mail-coat of the weary. I have need of them. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Thou? + +_King_. More than thou thinkest for. [_Goes up, laughing bitterly._] + +_Hans Lorbass_. Whither now? + +_King_. Do not ask. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Thou lookest toward the south,--what seekest thou +there? Hast thou not known it all long since? That sunny land, those +blue, flower-sown havens, whither thy hasting step once fled? Thou +knowest they are full of stench and lamentation. Those beauteous women, +fairest of the fair,--or passing as the fairest,--to bow in whose +impious slavery once compassed all thy thoughts? Thou knowest they are +all as empty as drained-out casks. And so, because the desire was +lacking in thee to fill them with thy own soul, thou hast sourly turned +away and sought perfection farther on. Thou hast come hither over lands +and seas, and climbest up into the star-teeming void. Yet thou wilt +never, never reach thy star. And that vailed enchanting distance +itself, if it would once unmask and let thee reach it, how miserable it +would look! Every conflict there would seem only a wrangle, every woman +but a doll! Come now, lay aside thy shoulder-belt stretch thyself out +and eat thy supper. + +_King_. Let be, old grumbler! I seek naught in the distance.... But +near by, floating in the haze of the spring evening, I think I see a +dim shape of white battlements. + +_Hans Lorbass_. It may well be. The town is only three miles farther +on, and the air is clear. Still I advise thee, do not think upon the +past. + +_King_. Why? + +_Hans Lorbass_. It was an evil-omened year. The worst of all, I think. +It taught thy wild untrammeled spirit to circle-hopping in a cage, to +limp instead of fly. + +_King_. Thou art wrong, my friend. Something wakes in me at sight of +those roofs.... There the wings of happiness once grazed my cheek, +there, though in the midst of torture joy ripened to summer in my +heart. Let me gaze on the place where imploring trustfulness once +confessed itself to me by joyous sacrifice, and the purest of womankind +yielded herself up in sweet urgency, and an oppressed country confided +in me as a master; where even victory surrendered me her standard; let +me gaze upon the spot, and then, instead of stretching forth my kingly +hand in love and gratitude, I must slip past it outlawed, like a beggar +or a thief. I stand here now and gaze through tears at that white glow +of light, and gnaw my lips to bleeding. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Master! + +_King_. It is nothing,--nothing! All I have ever desired, all my soul's +treasure, all I could not attain, can be spoken in one word. And that I +may not speak. In silence I decide, and put it from me. I tear it from +my breast, where it has clung so long; and with it all my longing pain +blows like a faded leaf a world away.--Now I will lie down and sleep; +for I am weary. + +_Hans Lorbass_. And do thy pains and desires all come to an end thus? +Look! Above there, where the sandy turf broadens among frozen clods +past the sun-pierced snow. The wisest of womankind has prepared a bed +for pilgrims such as we. Look! + +_King_ [_going toward the open grave_]. I see. It is just suited to a +guest like me. Here, where--[_He starts back in alarm._] Hans! + +_Hans Lorbass_. What is the matter? + +_King_. Come here. The grave is ready, but it is not empty. Look down +and tell me what thou callest it, crouched there gray in the sand, that +leers at me with staring eyes. Is it a corpse? Is it a spirit? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Oh look at it! The badger is at work. Thou hast her +now. + +_King_. The Burial-wife? [Hans Lorbass _nods._] + +_King_. Out with her! + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_stopping him_]. Listen to me. Thou knowest I have +known her longer than thou. Leave her alone. She was wont to lie thus +for hours and days, and heed no words nor prayers; but seemed as dead. +She is proof then against all summons and all blows; but when her time +comes, then her limbs will stir, and she will come up out of the grave. + +[Cölestin _and the train with the young_ Prince _enter._] + +_Cölestin_. There they stand! + +_King_ [_turning fiercely and raising his sword_]. What do you want? A +quarrel? We two are snarling dogs. We blindly seize on everybody near. +Now come on! Speak! + +_The Young Prince_. My father! + +_King_. Wha--? + +_The Young Prince_. My King! + +_King_ You would mock the man that fled from you? + +_The Young Prince_. Down on your knees and honor him as I do! + +_King_ [_dazed_]. Hans!... But stand up!... Am I King? A hapless +wretch,--naught but my man, my sword, and that pot of soup there, to +call my own. I have no more. My very crown, the gloomy throne of +Gotland must be fought for anew; stand up my son. [_He raises him, and +will embrace him, but suddenly pales, staring past the men in great +agitation._] Hans! Dost thou see who stands there in the twilight of +the wood--how spirit-like, how severed from this world--[_He shrieks._] + +[_Enter the_ Queen. _Behind her at a short distance, two of her +women._] + +_Queen_. Witte! + +_King_. Go! I know thee not. And yet--I know thee. Thou art my--peace. +Thou art ... Naught art thou more for me.... My body withers and my +strength is fallen asunder. Therefore I may not say: "Thou art." ... +Only "Thou wast." Still thou wast once of a surety--my wife. + +_Queen_. I am to-day--I am a thousandfold! Hast thou forgot what I +promised thee the day thou gavest thyself with hesitation to my +service? I search thy face. I know thou turnest wearied back to thy +northern home. Dost thou forget then where a balsam is prepared to heal +thy bruised feet, dost thou forget where a thousand arms reach out to +greet their loved one? Knowest thou not where thy home stands and calls +to thee? Knowest thou not how well-nigh breathless with its joy my +smile says unto thee: "I charm thee not?" + +_King_. Nay, charm me not. I am not worthy. Life has seared me, and put +a shameful kiss upon my brow. + +_Queen_. Then let me cool it with my health-bringing hand, and thou +wilt never feel the scar again. + +_King_. How can I feel that scar or even the happiness after which I +longed, now that those hours are past which knew thy love for me? + +_Queen_. In no other have I trusted. I guarded thy son for thee; and +still thy throne stands empty, waiting its master. + +_King_. Then thou hast waited fifteen years and sorrowed not. So shalt +thou learn my mystery. Two kingdoms I have won, to pleasure me; the +first has vanished into air, the second is my shame. Justice became a +mock,--all gifts a usury; and everywhere I turned a murderous laugh +pursued me. Then purity plunged in the mire, then honor mocked its own +best gift: all this the magic of the heron wreaked upon me.... Yea, now +thou knowest; a charm was all my crime and all my fate, year after +year. It blinded me to love and life, to wife and child; it hunted me +away from thee, and drove me from place to place; and when a lucent +flight of happiness sprang up from heaven after my downfall, it drowned +its glory in a flood of tears. Behold! [_He tears open his gorget and +draws out the last of the heron's feathers._] The enchantment's last +beguiling pledge I hold here in my hand. When this feather shrivels in +the flame there sinks an unblessed woman to her death, that woman whose +wraith stood in the heavens for me to gaze upon,--that woman whom I +sought and never found! Behold! I bury the madness in its grave, and +with the act I put the longing from me. [_He tosses the feather into +the flames. There is a flash of lightning, and a roll of thunder +follows it._] + +_Queen_ [_sinks down, whispering with failing strength_]. Now are we +two protected from all mischance.... I still ... have been thy +happiness ... even in ... death. [_She dies._] + +_Prince_. Mother! Speak one word to me! + +_King_. It was thou? It was thou? [_He throws himself upon her body._] + +_The Young Prince_ [_in tears_]. Ah, Mother! + +_Cölestin_. She has gone, and I, the shadow of a shadow, stay behind. + +_The Men_ [_murmur among themselves_]. His is the blame! Tear him from +off her body! [_They draw their swords to attack the_ King.] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_blocking the way with drawn sword_]. Away there! + +[_The Burial-wife mounting solemnly out of the open grave._] + +_Burial-wife_. Children, cease your strife! Can you not see his spirit +wanders far? He is wrapped about with the whisperings of eternity. The +message of death is on the way, the stone of sacrifice doth reek for +blood. Long has this man belonged to me; and now--[_she raises her arm +and lets it fall_]--I come into my own. [_The_ King _breathes heavily, +stirs, and dies._] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_kneels down beside him with a cry_]. Master, master! + +_Burial-wife_. Thus from lust and guilt and sorrow have I cleansed his +soul. To both of them it shall be as though they had not been. Wrap +them about with linen, bear them to my dark abode; then go in silent +thought from hence, for my work is done. + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_rises, in anguished bitterness_]. Mine must begin +anew. How gladly have I ever braved fresh dangers as my darling's +slave! That service, too, is past; but now his kingdom calls loudly on +my sword for aid. [_Pointing seaward._] Northward there lies a land +debauched, crying from out its shame for justice, for a righteous law, +for vengeance, for salvation; for a master,--and that shall the man +become! + + _Translated by Helen Tracy Porter_. + + + + + MARAH OF SHADOWTOWN. + + The days pass by in Shadowtown + Wearily, wearily;-- + And Bitter-Sweet Marah of Shadowtown + Sighs drearily, drearily. + + "Mother, tell him to come to me + While my hair is gold and beautiful + And my lips and eyes are young + While the songs that are welling up in my heart + May still be sung. + + "The days go by so wearily + Like crooked goblins, eërily, + Like silly shadows, fast and still, + Wind-driven and drearily. + + "Like the gray clouds are my eyes gray, mother, + Like them, heavy as things grown old + Only the clouds' tears are but dream-tears-- + Lifeless, cold. + + "Last night I had the strangest dream,-- + It seemed I stood on a barren hill + Where the wings of the ragged clouds went by + Hurrying and still. + + "And all of a sudden the moon came out + Making a pathway over the down,-- + And turned my hair to a gold mist, mother, + To light the way to Shadowtown. + + "But when I did not see him coming, + And because the clouds grew dark and gray + I walked through the shadows down the hillside + To help him better to find the way. + + "And in some wise I came to a forest + When all around was so strange and dim,-- + That I thought, 'If I should be lost in the darkness, + How could my hair be light for him?' + + "But groping, I found I was on a pathway + Where low soft branches swept my face,-- + When suddenly, close beside, and before me + I knew dim forms kept even pace. + + "They were so cowering, shivering, white + That I felt some ill thing came behind + And I heard a moan on the wind go by + 'Ah, but the end of the path to find!' + + "Then I looked behind, and saw that near + Like a wan marsh-fog, came a cloud + Hurrying on,--and I knew it wrapped + A dead love--as a shroud. + + "And guiltily the figures went, + Like coward things in a guilty race + And not one dared to look behind + For fear he knew that dead love's face. + + "Then suddenly at my side I knew + He I loved went;--but, for my hair, + Shadowed and blown about my face, + He knew me not beside him there. + + "And he, too, cowered with shaking hands + Over his eyes, for fear to meet + Haunting and still, my pallid face + In that strange mist of winding-sheet. + + "So on the shadowy figures went + Hurrying the loathéd cloud before,-- + Seeking an end of a fated path + That went winding evermore. + + "Oh, Mother, that path was hideous,-- + Long and ill and hideous-- + And the way was so near to Shadowtown,-- + Fairer to Shadowtown-- + But the gold of my hair shall not light the way + For anyone else to Shadowtown." + + Gray-eyed Marah of Shadowtown + Turns away wearily, wearily + Weaving her gold hair back and forth, + Thus she sings, and drearily-- + "Little Love, when you shall die, then so shall I, + Ha, merrily! + + "Then let them put us in some deep spot + Where one the growing of trees' roots hears + And you at my heart, all wet with tears, + All wet with tears. + + "Your wings are draggled and limp and wet,--Little Love,-- + From what rainy land have you come, and far,-- + Or who that has held you was crying so,-- + Who, little Love--? + My eyes are heavy and wet with tears + Whose eyes besides are heavy so--? + --Oh, little Love, how dumb you are!-- + + "Then, poor Love, that has lived in my heart + Come, take my hand, we will go together, + Hemlock boughs are full of sleep + Out of the way of the weather. + + "For a cavern of cold gray mist is my heart + Will not the hemlock boughs be better + Over our feet and under our heads + Keeping us from the weather?" + + Her gold hair duskily glints in her hands + Marah of Shadowtown sings--"Together,-- + You, little Love, and I, will go + Into the Land of Pleasanter Weather." + + _Anne Throop._ + + + + + DIES IRAE. + + Go fight your fight with Tagal and with Boer, + Cheer in the lust of strength and brutal pride; + Beat down the lamb to fatten up the fox, + Shout victory o'er the prostrate shape of truth. + + Take cross and pike and gold and sophistry, + To pray and prod and purchase, wheedle, wile; + Stamp out the roses in a waste of weeds, + Shout while the trembling voice of truth is hushed. + + Shatter with iron heel the poet's dream, + The prophet's protest, and the ages' hope, + Of brotherhood and light and love on earth-- + Of peace and plenty and a perfect race. + + Tear down the fabric of ten thousand years, + The world's best wisdom woven in its woe; + Lift ruthless hands to rend the fairy fane + That holds the heart hopes of humanity. + + Let loose greed, envy, lust, and avarice, + The myriad throated dragon of desire; + Let might rule, riot, batten on the meek, + The tyranny of man o'er man seem right. + + Forget the Lord Christ smiled, forgave, and died; + Frowned down every appeal to brutish strength; + Bade man put up the sword, lest by the sword + He perish; prayed evil might be paid by good. + + Forget he turned cheek to the coward blow, + Cried "Pardon!" yes, seven and seventy times! "Judge not; + Do not condemn; give coat as well as cloak; + Resist not evil, wrong's not made right by wrong." + + Forget each drop of blood burns in the race, + Cries for atonement while the last man lives; + That murder for the state is murder still, + The gilded not less guilty though more great. + + Forget, and flay and flame; in din grow deaf + To piteous cries without, and voice within; + Conquer, triumph, and when the world is won, + Turn terroring towards the demon in your heart. + + _William Mountain_. + + + * * * * * + + + GEORGE MEREDITH ON THE SOURCE OF + DESTINY. + + +If, as has so often been said, literature is an expression of life, +surely we may study literature to discover the laws of life. Not all +our writers, but all our masters, have given us records from which we +may learn what has been discerned and accepted concerning life by the +race. + +The scientific study of our day has led men to consider genius from the +modern point of view. Is genius a natural product? If so, whence comes +it, and what are its laws? These are among the most interesting +questions of the present time. Formerly, men contented themselves with +calling the literary faculty a "gift," the result of "inspiration." Of +late we have been told that it is a natural race impulse which finds +expression in some individual. Personally, we believe genius to be the +heated, pregnant condition of a great mind under the influence of a +great enthusiasm. However our definitions of genius may differ, on one +point we all agree. We are all sure that genius is true to life, that +genius teaches us the truth. + +In its formed philosophical theories it may err, but not in its +perceptions of life. Shelley may teach atheistic views in 'Queen Mab,' +and he may err, for intellectual belief is a matter of opinion. +Nevertheless Shelley's inspired interpretation of life can but be +accepted as real. George Meredith may teach in his 'Lord Ormond and his +Aminta' doctrines of free love, resulting from an attempt to separate +what can not be separated in our human lives,--the physical and the +spiritual loves; and in doing this he may err. Nevertheless, in his +inspired representations of life and character, coming not from thought +alone but from his whole nature, Meredith cannot err. + +Those of us who read thoughtlessly, without formed theory, accept +literature as real. Have you never, when asked: "Did you ever know of a +case of love at first sight?" answered carelessly: "Oh, yes! There's +Romeo and Juliet, you know?" Or have you never instanced, as the most +persuasive oration you ever heard, Mark Antony's speech in 'Julius +Cćsar?' + +Thinkers who claim a natural mental origin for the literary gift must +believe in its reality as a matter of course. Those who speak +reverently of its "inspiration" claim a spirit of truth, not of error, +for its parent. Even those who enjoy comparisons of the states of +genius and insanity, ranging from Shakespeare, with his words: "The +fool, the lover, and the poet are of imagination all compact" to the +masterly modern treatment of John Fiske, agree that the sharp division +line of truth and error separates the two. They confess that while the +insane mind may accept hallucinations, the mind of genius deals only +with the truth. The results of both are imaginative; only those of +insanity are imaginary. + +All thinkers, then, accept the masterpieces of literature as among +life's real phenomena. Whether Meredith's novels hold this high place +is at present a matter of opinion. For men do not know Meredith very +well. A knowledge of his position on this question of Destiny will help +us to learn whether or not he ranks among the elect. + +In our great literature there has always appeared a close sequence +between wisdom and success, righteousness and happiness, and, on the +other hand, between the choice of moral evil and suffering. This +sequence has been not merely expressed in words, but built into the +very structure of the plot through the workings of the imagination +kindled by genius. The law of this succession, and its relationship +with other laws, philosophers have always been seeking. It is this +search that has led men into the mazy discussions of freedom and +fatalism. For in this law lies the crucial point of the question of +human destiny. + +'Beowulf,' our first epic, tells us not only much of the manner of life +of our rude Saxon ancestors, but also much of their thought. The note +of fatalism in its chord of life is no weak one. "A man must bear his +fate," the hero says when about to go into a dangerous combat. Yet even +in 'Beowulf' we find the contrasting element, the character choice +appearing. + +As a child boldly states a problem as though it were a solution, +Beowulf naďvely says: "Fate always aids the undoomed man, if his +courage holds out." This expression side by side of the two elements of +the question has never been surpassed, and is, in its way, matchless. + +Have we learned much more to-day? We cannot fail to recognize the +duality of the truth, but have we been able yet to join the two sides +into one, to discover the unity that surely lies behind the seeming +contrast? + +Each side of the question has been largely developed. Some, in a narrow +spirit, have echoed merely Beowulf's, "Fate always aids the undoomed +man"; while others, often as narrowly, have answered, "A man succeeds, +if his courage holds out." Ever in our greatest literature the two +elements have appeared side by side. The mystery has always been +recognized. + +That even Shakespeare is reverent before fate, yet believes in the +influence of character on a man's life can easily be seen from words +like Helena's in 'All's Well that Ends Well':-- + + "Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie + Which we ascribe to heaven; the fated sky + Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull + Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull." + +'Macbeth,' with its successive steps of unhappiness following one +critical evil choice is sufficient proof of Shakespear's belief in the +determining power of character. 'King Lear,' with its sad result of +folly shows his belief in the influence of the critical foolish +decision. In the uncrowned king's conversation with his fool, occur +these words: + +_Lear_. Dost thou call me fool, boy? + +_Fool_. All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born +with. + +In Robert Browning literature has brought even up to the present time +the old mystery, the ever continuing struggle between fatalism and +freedom. But to him, as to most thinkers of his day, fate has become +the instrument of a God, a divine Providence rules the world, while +man, too, has his little realm of choice. + +At the present time this discussion is carried to a greater extent than +ever before. The one side finds its expression in our modern idealistic +philosophy, the other in our modern sceptical science. Idealistic +philosophy, since Kant, has been trying to lay the responsibility for +all life upon the free moral choice. It has been seeking to prove that +the spiritual is the source of life. + +Modern science, on the other hand, with its keen, wide-opened eyes, has +tried to lay all the necessary sequence of law, forgetting at times +that law is but the explanation of the phenomena. Science sometimes +refuses to consider such phenomena as require a new point of view, +beyond the physical and mental,--a moral point of view. By this refusal +to recognize the spiritual part of man, science attempts to avoid a +second mystery. The mystery of the union of the physical and mental +realms it has been forced, long since, to accept. It would shun the +moral realms because that, too, entails its mystery of connection. + +Once accept physical life, and science is, in so far, free from +impassable gulfs. Once accept mental life and that realm also becomes +capable of study. Let the free moral nature once be accepted, and again +we shall have reached firm footing. But to cross between these realms +by law, by reason, is impossible; for life, any kind of life, is its +own only explanation. + +While the problem of freedom becomes simple for one who, like Meredith, +will take this view, there are many who will not or cannot do so, and +the very impossibility of the question from reason's point of view +makes the path a very labyrinth for them. We all try to solve the +question, and different personalities arrive at different answers; but +all are partial. They vary from the logical, but dead outcome of +Swinburne: "There is no bad nor good," to the struggling faith of Omar +Khayyam: + + "The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes, + But here or there as strikes the Player goes; + And he that toss'd you down into the Field, + He knows about it all--He knows--He knows." + +At such a time as this of ours it is especially helpful to study a +writer like George Meredith, who far from ignoring the many sides of +the problem, yet clings firmly to his faith in character. With no +doubtful accent, he tells us that Character is the Source of Destiny. + +As any great writer of the day must do, Meredith accepts much in the +arguments of the fatalists. He does not refuse to see that nature and +circumstances are strong to mould life. He recognizes the great power +of environment and the absolute power, within its realm, of heredity. +Like Beowulf, like Shakespeare, like Browning, he is reverent before +human destiny. Yet in spite of all this, he accepts the moral with its +necessary result of freedom. He declares that, although the laws of +necessity rule up to the crisis of the moral choice, that very choice +sets all the laws of intellect and body working according to itself. + +All the stronger for his acceptance of life's necessity becomes his +belief in life's freedom. All the stronger for his concessions becomes +his final dictum. The more intricate the machine, the greater its +master's mind. The narrower the realm of choice, the greater power must +that choice have, to move life as it does. + +To show that the same peculiar mixture of belief in fatalism and in the +determining power of character on life exists in Meredith's writings as +in Beowulf and in Shakespeare, let me quote a few words from 'Evan +Harrington': + +"Most youths, like Pope's women, have no character at all, and indeed a +character that does not wait for circumstances to shape it, is of small +worth in the race that must be run." + +Again he says: + +"When we have cast off the scales of hope and fancy, and surrender our +claims on made chance: when the wild particles of this universe consent +to march as they are directed, it is given them to see if they see at +all that some plan is working out: that the heavens, icy as they are to +the pangs of our blood, have been throughout speaking to our souls; +and, according to the strength there existing, we learn to comprehend +them." + +That Meredith, although very reverent before human destiny, is not, on +the other hand, one of those who lay the responsibility for their own +lives on "the stars," or "fate," or "Providence," may be shown by a +study of the characters into whose mouths he puts such sentiments. + +In 'Rhoda Fleming' who is it but Algernon, "the fool," who says: + +"I'm under some doom. I see it now. Nobody cares for me. I don't know +what happiness is. I was born under a bad star. My fate's written." + +It is of Algernon, likewise, that the author says: + +"Behind the figures he calculated that, in all probability, Rhoda would +visit her sister this night. 'I can't stop that,' he said: and hearing +a clock strike, 'nor that.' The reflection inspired him with fatalistic +views." + +In 'The Tragic Comedians,' who is it but Clotilde, "the craven," who +lays the successive steps which lead to the tragedy in her life, now to +fate, now to other people's power or lack of insight, now to +Providence? She reaps, as Meredith plainly shows us, simply what she +sows. + +In 'Sandra Belloni,' it is Mr. Barrett, that sentimentalist of the +better order, of which class the author says: "We will discriminate +more closely here than to call them fools," who lets his whole life be +crushed with the melancholy thought that he is under the influence of +some baneful star. His death, which he lets chance bring or keep away, +is a fitting conclusion to his story. He shuts two pistols up together +in the same case overnight, knowing that one of them is loaded, the +other not. In the morning he takes out one, prepared to fire it upon +himself, in case his beloved does not keep tryst. She does not come, he +fires, the pistol happens to be loaded, and so comes death. It shows +that the "star" of which he thought was not a real star burning clear +in the high heavens. It was rather but a will-o'-the-wisp, born of the +marshy exhalations of his own morbid brain. Meredith reverences the +real star. He kindly ridicules the will-o'-the-wisp. + +But there is still another class of fatalists in Meredith's novels. He +recognizes also the fatalism of youth. Such is that of the young +Wilfrid in 'Sandra Belloni,' concerning whom the author informs us that +we "shall see him grow." Meredith is too great a thinker not to see +that this tendency toward fatalism does not belong merely to the +"fool," the "craven," and the "sentimentalist," but that it is a +tendency of our youth. We are all weak when we are growing, he assures +us. Is not ours preëminently a growing age? + +But we must not linger too long on the negative side of Meredith's +belief. We have seen that he is willing to recognize that there is a +wonderful, mysterious power governing human destiny. We have seen, +also, that he does not side in the least with those who lay the +responsibility for their own lives on fate. Let us seek for his +positive message. + +In the 'Adventures of Harry Richmond' he says: + +"If a man's fate were as a forbidden fruit, detached from him, and in +front of him, he might hesitate fortunately before plucking it; but, as +most of us are aware, the vital half of it lies in the seed paths he +has traversed." + +This is certainly a very definite statement of a strong belief in a +man's choice of his own destiny. Again, in 'Modern Love' we find the +following: + + "In tragic life, God wot, + No villain need be! Passions spin the plot; + We are betrayed by what is false within." + "I take the hap + Of all my deeds. The wind that fills my sails + Propels; but I am helmsman. Am I wrecked, + I know the devil has sufficient weight + To bear; I lay it not on him, or fate. + Besides, he's damned. That man I do suspect + A coward, who would burden the poor deuce + With what ensues from his own slipperiness." + +The main issue between freedom and fatalism lies in just this question: +Is a man's life determined by what he is or by what he does? Does his +nature, received through inheritance, moulded by circumstance, +determine his acts and so his life? Or does his moral choice determine +these? + +Extreme fatalists declare that the former is true. Moralists, +idealists, believers in freedom, support the latter view. + +Now Meredith leaves us no doubt as to his position on the point. Again +and again we see his characters choosing their lives. And their choices +rest on no inherited nature, but on character. Thus our author +declares, by his plots, as in plain words, that "Our deathlessness is +in what we do, not in what we are." + +As we have said, a writer's thought of life can be best understood from +his plots. He builds life, consciously or unconsciously, as he believes +that nature builds it. Does he let the righteous perish and the evil +man prosper in the end? Then he either does not believe in this law of +ours, or in its present successful working. Perhaps, like Victor Hugo, +he teaches a higher law, that of self-sacrifice. Perhaps, like some +little modern writers, he teaches a lower law of the temporary success, +at times, of hypocrisy and deceit. Whatever he believes in and likes to +think of, his structure will disclose. + +Now one very marked thing about Meredith's structure is the agreement +of the two crises, that of character and that of circumstances. When +any one of his characters chooses for good or evil, for wisdom or +folly, at that very time, and by that very choice, he decides his +future happiness and success, or unhappiness and failure. Therein lies +the decision of the question whether that particular novel shall be a +tragedy or a comedy. + +When Dahlia Fleming chooses evil, she chooses unhappiness. No kind +Providence intervenes to save her from her harvest. How many of our +little writers of to-day would have caused her marriage with Edward to +take place in the end! Is not Meredith's conclusion far more true to +life? + +When Diana of the Cross-Ways resists Percy's temptings and is led by +her hatred of his evil to betray his secret, she chooses for her own +happiness in the end. The storms through which she goes to reach it are +the natural result of her impulsive, unbalanced mind. + +Stronger still is the teaching in 'The Tragic Comedians.' When Clotilde +chooses the craven's part to play, she chooses also the craven's +reward. + +It is in his scientific insight into moral life that Meredith's growth +beyond Beowulf, Shakespeare, and even Browning appears. We of the +nineteenth century would be sorry to think that we had not one master +who goes even deeper into our modern life than these. We believe that, +as men of the later twentieth century look back upon our day, they will +call George Meredith our greatest literary exponent. + +Beowulf asserts the general truth that Circumstance and Character +determine Destiny. + +Shakespeare has not gone very much farther in the philosophy of life. +He teaches that character determines character, and that circumstance +determines circumstance; and that, in some way, circumstance obeys +character. + +Browning would advance a step and teach us, as his age taught the +world, that the dependence of the external upon the spiritual comes +about through the agency of a personal God. + +But Meredith takes up the cry of our scientific age, and says: "The god +of this world is in the machine, not out of it." + +This is no irreverent teaching, for Meredith is not irreverent. It is +simply the search for primary causes. It is the result of the same +tendency that leads us to be dissatisfied with calling typhoid fever a +"dispensation of Providence," and to lay it to bad drains. Like +evolution in the physical world, this theory does not tend to remove +God, but to explain more fully his agency and methods. It is no new +theory. But the manner of its teaching is as new as this latter +nineteenth century of ours. + +If one were to compare Meredith with Shakespeare on this subject, one +would naturally coordinate Macbeth and Rhoda Fleming, Diana of the +Cross-Ways and King Lear. + +'Rhoda Fleming' is, like 'Macbeth,' a tale with a moral purpose. The +dependence of fate on the moral choice is its chief thought. The +book gains force, as all these novels do, from its striking +characterizations. We see Dahlia, the fair-haired one, whose great +failing is weakness,--the fault of a negative character. And we see +plainly the long process of pain to which she thereby subjects herself +in the course of her purification. + +Rhoda, her sister has, on the other hand, the defects of the positive +character. She is head-strong, over-proud. It is from these +characteristics that she suffers or leads others to suffer. "The Fates +that mould us, always work from the main-spring." + +In her relations with Anthony Hope, Rhoda takes the part of the +tempter. The interview between the two shows such wonderful insight +into character that from this passage alone Meredith might be ranked as +great. Rhoda discovers that she has sold her sister in marriage to a +brute. In her head-strong desire to buy her off from him, she goes to +her uncle to beg for a large sum of money. Anthony, although a poor man +in reality, has always delighted in deceiving his brother and his +nieces on that point. Rhoda finds him struggling with the greatest +temptation of his life. He has carried home money belonging to the bank +of which he is a trusted employee. His love of money, his former +deceit, make him very weak before Rhoda. So he falls. She is allowed to +take with her the money she wants. As the reader looks back over the +story, he sees that the money will prove useless for her ends, and that +his fall will ruin her uncle's life. Meredith here shows himself a +master of tragedy. + +The life of the strong, impulsive, young Robert is not so dependent +upon the crises of temptation. For he knows himself and lives with a +constant purpose to conquer himself. His purpose is stronger than his +passions. In respect to his obedience to Socrates's favorite maxim, he +is a man rare even in our self-conscious age. What shall we say of +Edward, "villain and hero in one"? Like Dahlia he loses his life's +happiness through his besetting sin. Several times a courageous word +said that ought to be said, or a brave deed done that should have been +done might have saved him. And each time he proves himself a coward, +until it is too late. Like the children of Israel he would not enter +the promised land for fear of the inhabitants thereof. Like them too, +he atoned by spending his forty years in the wilderness, and there +laying down his life. + +We must not neglect the "fascinating Peggy Lovell,"--a coquette whose +charm even a woman can feel. Avarice and love of pleasure are her +besetting sins. And avarice leads her to her fate. She has chosen to +sow her wild oats and to accrue her debts. These she pays, as we all +must in one way or another, with herself. Her way is to marry the man +who can pay them rather than the man she loves. + +One and all, major and minor characters, they come to the crises of +their destinies. One after another chooses according to his character +his life. This is Meredith's teaching. + +But our author is not always sounding the very depths of life. He is no +preacher, but a painter of human nature. The power of mind has a large +place in his books. "Drink of faith in the brains a full draught," he +tells us; and again:--"To read with a soul in the mirror of mind Is +man's chief lesson." + +'Diana of the Cross-Ways' teaches the partial failure, the temporary +unhappiness, that result from lack of mental balance. It is the story +of a charming, brilliant, but impulsive woman who makes many mistakes +and who suffers from them. Diana is capable of loving one unworthy of +her, and for such lack of wisdom she pays dearly. Yet she holds firmly +and purely to the right and so wins happiness in the end. She is +foolish sometimes, but she is not a fool. Hence her story is not a +tragedy. + +This novelist-philosopher has taught us, then, that folly tends to +bring failure, but that righteousness is stronger than folly. He is not +content to stop in his teachings even here. In 'The Tragic Comedians' +he goes still further, and deals with the interrelations of the moral +and intellectual. For character rules intellect, as intellect reacts +upon character. + +'The Tragic Comedians' begins with the birth of a love. With Clotilde, +daughter of a highly respectable, but very conventional citizen, Alvan, +a Jew and demagogue, a man of widespread and somewhat notorious +reputation, falls in love. Clotilde is a beautiful, bright woman; +interesting, but cowardly. Like all Meredith's heroes and heroines, she +has her besetting sin. + +To this sudden, overpowering new love Clotilde yields her heart, but +will not yield her actions. She is afraid. While Alvan would go at once +to her parents to ask for her hand, Clotilde, seeing only too plainly +how little hope there is of obtaining their consent, prefers to dally +with matters, and insists on his postponing the interview. Alvan's +straightforward nature cannot understand such half-way measures. He +leaves her unsought for a time, and begins to fade out of Clotilde's +mind. Suddenly, when in the mountains with a friend, she hears that +Alvan is near. She wants him then, and goes to seek him. Again he +misunderstands her. This time he asks her to run away with him, but she +refuses, seeming not so much shocked as afraid. She answers, not in a +womanly, straightforward way, but with an evasion. Then she consents to +let him speak to her father and mother. She addresses them first on the +subject, but is met with a torrent of angry words. The poor thing +cannot stand that. In her weakness she makes her next great mistake, +and runs away to Alvan, beseeching him to marry her secretly. The woman +who would not listen to his request for this very thing but a day or +two before now begs for it. She finds that it is too late. Her lover, +in his pride, has determined to meet her parents on their own ground. +He will win her, he now declares, by conventional methods. So he takes +her to a friend's home. It is there that the chief crisis of the book +takes place, a crisis which is one of the most interesting I know in +literature. It is a moral crisis. + +Clotilde has come to it through various steps of weakness. Alvan has +reached it through pride and its reaction from his former shady life to +a desire for conventionalism. A strong man who had before obeyed +conventional rules might there have thrown them aside. To Alvan, on +account of their long disuse, they seemed more precious than they need. + +So Alvan meets the crisis overconfident in his strength. Clotilde meets +it afraid, cowering in her weakness. Of her state Meredith says: + +"Men and women alike, who renounce their own individuality by cowering +thus abjectly under some other before the storm, are in reality +abjuring their idea of that other, and offering themselves up to the +genius of Power in whatsoever direction it may chance to be manifested, +in whatsoever person. We no sooner shut our eyes than we consent to be +prey, we lose the soul of election." + +Alvan handed Clotilde back to her parents. She meekly did what he said. +She was hurt. She could not understand his action. Had she but stood up +against this mistake, he might have had pity on her even yet. Or, had +he not changed his own rigid determination, the action might have +prevented that worst result, the weakening of her belief in him. There +is nothing like cowardice to destroy one's faith in others. There is +nothing like courageous action to clear away those mists of doubt. +Clotilde's "craven" will began to demoralize her mind. + +But her chance is not over yet. She may still cling to Alvan. Doubtless +he will seek her, he has not given her up. Ah, but circumstances were +too strong. For the craven they are always too strong. By a short +imprisonment, by family storms and prayers, Clotilde is reduced to +external subjection. The disorder of her mind increases. + +While submitting to her father's command, while writing words of +dismissal to Alvan, and even accepting the attentions of a former +suitor, she still says in her heart of hearts that she will always be +loyal to him. How peculiar seems the twisting, "serpentine" nature! She +still waits for Alvan to save her from the chains she daily forges for +herself. Meanwhile Alvan does his best. He uses all means,-- +conventional and otherwise. He finally forces permission from +Clotilde's father to hold a free interview with Clotilde. She is to +tell him openly and freely whether she will marry him or not. So he +hopes to free her of coercion. + +So far as circumstances are concerned, there is now nothing to prevent +a happy ending; but from moral causes it is impossible. + +The chains she has forged for herself are too strong. Her fancies have +become diseased by long straining to a cowardly deceit. She think's +Alvan's messengers deceitful too. + +So she refuses. She throws away thereby her last chance. And yet--can +we believe it?--she still hopes. Alvan has done his best and has +failed. His friends have tried to help him. Circumstance has given away +before them. And she has thrown away their help--yet she still hopes. +Alvan sends a challenge to her father. Prince Marko accepts it, and now +her shuddering trust is in Providence. Marko will be killed. Now Alvan +shall have her hand. But "Providence" does not save her. Alvan is +killed, and Prince Marko returns Clotilde cannot understand it. She is +stunned, but recovers sufficiently to marry Prince Marko. + +"Not she, it was the situation they had created which was guilty," she +had thought. + +"The craven with desires expecting to be blest is a zealot of the faith +which ascribes the direction of events to the outer world." + +Of Alvan's death, Meredith says some very characteristic words. Let me +quote once again: + +"He perished of his weakness, but it was a strong man that fell." + +"He was 'a tragic comedian,' one of the lividly ludicious, whom we +cannot laugh at, but must contemplate, to distinguish where their +character strikes the note of discord with life; for otherwise, in the +reflection of their history, life will seem a thing demoniacally +inclined by fits to antic and dive into gulfs." + +This, then, is George Meredith's message. We have eaten of the fruit of +the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and the power to choose +between the two has entered into our souls. We are under the rule of a +great overhanging law. Destiny's wheels we cannot stop, but through our +capacity for moral choice, our hands lie on the button that moves the +whole machine in its relation to our own individual lives. + +This is a great lesson. How strong in its likeness to the teachings of +our great masters of the past! How needful in its new scientific form +to-day! How suggestive as to the universe! Does it not follow that as +our lives are planned so is this universe planned in which we live! +Does it not follow that the spiritual is the central life upon which +all else depends? It is the teaching of the childhood of the race, +broadened through knowledge of life's passion, humbled and heightened +through sight of God's hand, strengthened and widened through the +opening of our eyes in modern science to a fuller and clearer +knowledge, not only of the machinery of the universe, but also of its +motive power. + + _Emily G. Hooker_. + + + + + THE TRAGEDY OF OPHELIA. + + RENUNCIATION. + + +The "Tragedy of Hamlet" has its origin in the murder of Hamlet's +father, its development in Hamlet's preparation for revenge, and its +consummation in the murderer's death. It is well summed up in the +Anglicized title of the old German play, 'Fratricide Punished,' +('Hamlet,' Variorum Edition, Furness, Vol. II., p. 121). In the +progress of this tragedy Ophelia's own sad story has no part or lot. +She is in it, but not of it, and her relationship to it is an episode. +Like 'The Murder of Gonzago,' however, it is a tragedy within the +tragedy, but it turns wholly upon the loves of Hamlet and Ophelia, +their interruption, and its result. For this reason it is greatly shorn +of detail, and therefore doubtless it has always been regarded as a +mystery. + +"The Tragedy of Ophelia" opens with a narrative of Hamlet's ardent +pursuit of Ophelia with vows of love, the surrender of her maiden heart +to him, and their free and bounteous interviews thereafter. Here the +action of the drama begins, and her father, doubting the integrity of +Hamlet's purpose, forbids her further reception of his attentions, and, +apparently without explanation made to Hamlet, she obeys him. Of what +Hamlet thinks or says of this we are not in terms informed, and can +only infer it from his conduct towards her afterwards. But that conduct +was of a most extraordinary character, seeming to many students of the +play to be inexplicable. The explanations of others may be resolved +into three theories, each of which deserves a passing notice. It has +been claimed that insanity will account for it, and indeed Hamlet's +treatment of Ophelia has been the chief argument advanced in proof of +his insanity; but it is incredible that Shakespeare should have devoted +the only two interviews which he had with her, and which had so +important an influence upon her life, to the mere vaporings of a +madman. It has been suggested that he is putting on "an antic +disposition," as he had foretold he would, with a view to deceiving the +King concerning his intentions, and such conduct would have been +fitting with the temptress in Belleforest's 'Hystorie,' (_Ibid_., 91); +but Shakespeare has transformed the creature of that story into +Hamlet's gentle sweetheart, and so to lacerate her soul by way of +subterfuge would have been an act of unjustifiable brutality, of which +he could by no means have been guilty. It has been urged that his +mind's eye is jaundiced by his mother's gross behavior, and that +thereupon he turns distrustfully from womankind; but long after his +mother's wicked marriage, perhaps a month afterwards, he is reveling in +Ophelia's love,--a balm that gracious Nature often pours on bleeding +hearts. And further, from either of these points of view, the sudden +and extravagant change in Hamlet's feelings towards Ophelia, the cruel +harshness of his speech to her soon after, and his subsequent complete +indifference to her, are beyond the requirements of the situation, and +the theories therefore seem rather to perplex than to explain. + +Undoubtedly the cause of this is that they seek the solution of the +riddle in the effect on Hamlet's relations to Ophelia of prior +incidents in the play, his father's murder, his mother's marriage to +the murderer, and the ghostly mission of revenge. But there are in the +situation at the end of Act I of 'Hamlet' and wholly unconnected with +these incidents, all the elements of a tragedy, few and simple, but +profoundly significant. Thus, we have a prince who is an ardent lover, +a court lady who has as ardently returned his love, the lady's sudden +and unexplained refusal to see or hear from him, her ambitious and +time-serving courtier father, and for a King a "remorseless, +treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain." Let but a spark of jealous +suspicion reach such a mixture, and there must be an explosion; with a +war-hardened Othello-like titanic rage and murder, but with the softer +Hamlet renunciation and reproach, and with poor Ophelia, who represses +her feelings always, heart-break, insanity, and death. + +Now, Hamlet is pictured as one of the most suspicious of men, and in +particular at this juncture about his mortal enemy the King. In +addition, he is very proud and very revengeful, as he admits, and there +is every indication that he has been passionately fond of Ophelia. When +therefore she persistently denies herself to him in private, though +doubtless a regular attendant at the functions of the court, his +suspicions are excited, his pride wounded, his anger aroused; and, with +"the pangs of despis'd love" in his heart, and in his mind a tumult of +conflicting thoughts, he suddenly presents himself before her, resolved +to know the truth. "What damned moments counts he o'er Who dotes, yet +doubts,--suspects, yet fondly loves." In Quarto I she says: "He found +me walking in the gallery, all alone"; that is, in the gallery of the +King's palace,--(compare lines 673 and 803),--and of course within +reach of the King; and, though Shakespeare afterwards transferred this +scene to her chamber in her father's house, it may not be overlooked +that the remarkable interview of which Ophelia tells was conceived +originally as occurring on the impulse of the moment and under stress +of feeling caused apparently, by Hamlet's unexpected and dumbfoundering +discovery: + + "He took me by the wrist and held me hard. + Then goes he to the length of all his arm, + And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow, + He falls to such perusal of my face + As he would draw it. Long time stayed he so. + At last--a little shaking of my arm, + And thrice his head thus waving up and down-- + He raised a sigh so piteous and profound + As it did seem to shatter all his bulk + And end his being. That done, he lets me go, + And with his head over his shoulder turned + He seemed to find his way without his eyes; + For out o' doors he went without their help, + And to the last bended their light on me." + +In that harsh grip is anger, in that long study of her face the search +for truth, in his silence the wounded pride that cannot utter his +suspicions, in the triple nod the confirmation of their verity, in the +sigh the efflux of his love, in the hand-shaking a farewell, and in the +retroverted face a hope yet lingering but doomed to disappointment. For +Ophelia still utters no word of explanation, and Hamlet the lover +leaves her forever. + +The renunciation of Ophelia at this interview is generally conceded, +but the reason assigned for it is the incompatibility of Hamlet's +passion for her with his mission of revenge;--a most unsatisfactory +explanation, because after the Ghost's command was laid on him he still +pursued her, for it was after that that she says: "I did refuse his +letters and denied his access to me." There is apparently an interval +of two months between Acts I and II of Hamlet, and during this period +Hamlet has evidently been brooding over his father's murder and +considering the means of executing his dread command, and he has +doubtless been vexing his soul over the conduct of Ophelia until he can +stand the strain no longer. In immediate sequence in the play his +silent interview with her follows upon her denial of herself to him, +and an echo of the bitter feeling then aroused in him is subsequently +heard, when he tells her that the prologue to the players' scene is +brief "as woman's love";--sometimes mistakenly supposed to refer to the +Queen, whose defection did not occur for more than thirty years after +her marriage. If Hamlet's belief in an intrigue between her and the +King be assumed, it fully explains his conduct before, at, and after +his renunciation of Ophelia, and it would seem that no other theory can +explain it adequately. + +When Othello is brooding over the supposed delinquencies of Desdemona, +tortured by commingled love and hate, in his wrath he strikes her. +Afterwards he demands: "Let me see your eyes; look in my face"; and as +she does so, and he searches there for her innocence and finds it not, +he bitterly adjures her: "Swear thou art honest," though all the while +assured that she is "false as hell." And he weeps and laments over her +at the very moment that he determines upon an eternal separation. +Othello's interview with Desdemona and this interview of Hamlet's with +Ophelia are identical in outline, and they differ in detail only as the +character of the two men differ. Shakespeare has told us in words that +Othello is jealously suspicious of Desdemona, and with equal +faithfulness he has depicted jealous suspicion in the acts of Hamlet. + +This mute interview between Hamlet and Ophelia reminds one of the "Dumb +Shew," which precedes the scene from the drama of 'Gonzago's Murder'; +and as in the latter instance the Duke and Duchess afterwards put into +words the thoughts which the pantomime foreshadows, so on examination +will this be found to be the case in the second interview between +Hamlet and Ophelia, which immediately follows upon his great soliloquy. + +This second interview concludes Scene i of Act III in Quarto II and in +the Folios, but in Quarto I it is in Act II, and logically it belongs +there. Act I of 'Hamlet' was designed to disclose the relation of the +several characters to each other, and the command imposed on Hamlet to +avenge his Father's death upon the King; and Act II was originally +intended to exhibit Hamlet erratically making ready to obey the Ghost's +command, and the various artifices which the King employs to detect his +hidden purpose. When Ophelia tells her father of Hamlet's wordless +interview with her, Polonius promptly goes to the King with the story +of their amours and his termination of them, and with the announcement +that Hamlet is mad for his daughter's love; and, after hearing his +reasons for this opinion, being impressed by them, naturally the first +thought of the King is: "How may we try it further?" To this Polonius +replies: "I'll loose my daughter to him" during one of his walks in the +gallery here, whilst you and I, unseen but seeing, will witness their +encounter. In Quarto I the meeting between Hamlet and Ophelia follows +at once, and when it fails Polonius undertakes to board him, and when +that fails Rosencrantz and Guildenstern assay him. Afterwards +Shakespeare saw fit to change the order of these scenes, but this +particular scene may properly be considered now, and before others +which it logically precedes. + +In the interpretation of this interview, as of the former, commentators +have been misled by the assumption that it is in some way connected +with Hamlet's mission of revenge, and consequently they have found it, +as has been suggested, a veritable _pons asinorum_. Apart from the +three theories above referred to, there is an attempt to explain it on +the hypothesis that when Hamlet meets Ophelia in the palace, whither he +has been sent for by the King for the express purpose of meeting her, +but "as 'twere by accident," he at once suspects the ruse, and +therefore talks in the extraordinary manner recorded of him; that is, +that he is rude and brutal, and refuses to yield to his feelings of +affection, in order to deceive the King, who he well knows is within +hearing, or to punish Ophelia, who he is assured is spying on him. But +this theory seems to be wholly without support in the text. In the +first place, there is not a word which indicates that he suspects the +King's presence, and, on the contrary, the delivery of the soliloquy, +the admission that he is revengeful and ambitious, and the covert +threat to kill the King, all tend to prove that he does not suspect it. +Further, such a suspicion could reasonably originate only in the fact +that the King had sent for him, and that instead of the King he found +Ophelia, but it is to be remembered that in Quarto I the King does not +send for him, and that the meeting is in fact accidental. Conceding the +suspicion, however, for argument's sake, whilst it might induce Hamlet +to be reticent or cautious in his speech, it does not explain why +Shakespeare put into his mouth the denunciatory language he employs, +and this is after all the vital question. It cannot have been in order +to deceive the King by concealing his love for Ophelia, for such +concealment must necessarily undeceive him; the King, Queen, and +Polonius are all deluded into believing him mad for Ophelia's love, and +this test is expected to confirm them in it; but we know that in fact +the King is undeceived, for his comment is: "Love! His affections do +not that way tend; Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little, +Was not like madness." Were he profuse in his protestations of love, +the King might indeed be deceived into believing that it is not his +conduct, but Ophelia's, which troubles Hamlet; for herein the situation +differs from that narrated by Belleforest, the lady there being a mere +vulgar temptress, whose preconcerted blandishments Hamlet shrewdly +refuses to yield to. As for Ophelia's spying on him, it is untenable; +for she also expects that Hamlet will exhibit affection for her, and, +were he to do so, instead of betraying his secret, she would aid him in +concealing it. It seems plain from his inquiry that Hamlet sees +Polonius during the interview, but it is not probable that he believes +Ophelia to be cognizant of his presence; her answer is a denial of such +knowledge, and Hamlet's succeeding sarcastic speech is meant for the +conscience of Polonius, not for hers. The worst that he could say to +her is said before the discovery of her father, and before her +falsehood, and hence the discovery and the falsehood do not serve to +explain it. Nothing can explain it satisfactorily, but Hamlet's +conviction that she has transferred her affections to the King. + +After Hamlet has for some time been in the King's chamber, whether it +is with or without the King's request, he meets Ophelia there, and he +finds her apparently waiting for some one, and whiling away the time by +reading. So it has been pre-arranged, and so it seems to him. Plainly +she has not been waiting for him, for, though he himself has been +waiting, she has not addressed him, and in the end he first accosts +her. Indeed, it has been planned that their meeting shall seem to him +to be "by accident," and, so seeming, the idea of her waiting for him +is precluded. Hence to him, already suspicious of her integrity, she +must have come to meet the King. But he has before this been convinced +of such an intrigue, as above shown, and because of it has renounced +her; and accordingly he petitions her lightly, if not ironically: +"Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remember'd." Their meeting is on +the same day as, or certainly not more than one day later than, the +speechless interview; but Ophelia ignores that, and ignores his +petition also, and inquires into the state of his health "for this many +a day,"--that is, since Polonius has separated them,--to which he +responds gravely, and without show of affection. Thereupon ensues the +following conversation: + + "_Oph_. My lord, I have remembrances of yours + That I have longed long to redeliver; + I pray you now receive them. + + "_Ham_. No, not I; + I never gave you aught. + + "_Oph_. My honor'd lord, you know right well you did, + And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd + As made the things more rich. Their perfume lost, + Take them again; for to the noble mind + Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind." + +It seems clear that Ophelia returns these remembrances in pursuance of +her father's orders, express or implied; that Hamlet repudiates them +because, proud and sensitive, he would blot their old associations from +his memory; and that Ophelia insists on their return with a sad and +tender recollection of those music-vows of love that he has made so +often. But why she should accuse him of unkindness towards her is not +so clear, since it is she who has broken off their intimacy. Her +meaning is not doubtful in Quarto I, where this reference to Hamlet's +unkindness follows upon his comments on her honesty, and evidently +refers to them. But in Quarto II Shakespeare changes the order of the +conversation, and so apparently intends to make Ophelia's suggestion of +unkindness refer to Hamlet's visit to her closet. Hence he had not only +frightened her at that interview, as she informed her father, but he +had hurt her, she realizes that he had renounced her, and in this +gentle way she now upbraids him. But Hamlet, wrought to sudden fury by +the reminiscence, like Othello, can see nothing but the supposed wrong +which she has done him, and, like Othello, charges her with unchastity, +without indicating the suspected man: + + "_Ham_. Ha, ha! are you honest? + + "_Oph_. My lord? + + "_Ham_. Are you fair? + + "_Oph_. What means your lordship! + + "_Ham_. That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit +of no discourse to your beauty. + + "_Oph_. Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with +honesty? + + "_Ham_. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform +honesty from what it is to a bawd, than the force of honesty can +translate beauty into his likeness. This was sometime a paradox, but +now the time gives it proof." + +Though expressed figuratively, there can be no doubt of Hamlet's +intention in this passage to warn Ophelia against some temptation then +assailing her, which is attacking her virtue through the medium of her +beauty, and which will probably prevail over it. It concerns her +"honesty,"--a virtuous woman being honest in respect of others who have +claims on her, and chaste in respect of herself,--and undoubtedly it +refers to the temptation which assails all women who win unscrupulous +admirers by their charms, and to which they sometimes succumb. In +Ophelia's case it has been to Hamlet an impossible possibility that she +could prove unfaithful to him, but here and now, since he has +discovered her secret visit to the King, it has become reality. + +Then, as the scene proceeds, Hamlet in a breath admits and denies his +former love for her, thus plainly repudiating any present affection. +(This conclusion is entirely consistent with his declaration "I lov'd +Ophelia" in the grave-yard scene). Here he renounces her in words, as +formerly he had renounced her by signs. Then he denounces himself and +his "old stock" as being without virtue, and concludes the subject by +declaring: "We are arrant knaves, all; believe none of us. Go thy ways +to a nunnery." Here he unmistakeably warns her against the King, for of +that old stock only they two are left. To the blandishments of both she +has yielded, as he supposes, and since Hamlet no longer loves her, and +the King but lusts after her, her only safe retreat is in a nunnery. In +those old days a nunnery was often the only refuge for a woman who was +fancied by a king, if she would retain her purity. + +At this juncture Hamlet discovers Polonius, as is evident by his +suggestion that he had better remain at home when he desires to play +the fool; if the remark were not intended for his ear, it would be +absurd. Of course he realizes that Polonius has been listening to their +conversation, but he does not betray his knowledge, though the rest of +his comments are perhaps more particularly intended for Polonius's ear. +His words turn "wild and whirling," Ophelia notes the change, and her +responses change in tone accordingly. He protests that though she +marries she must lose that immediate jewel of her soul of which Iago +prates, or that she will transform her husband into the horned monster +of Othello's fears. And then he inveighs against wanton womankind in +general, but in such terms as might befit the woman he supposes that +she has become. He puts on "an antic disposition" for the benefit of +Polonius, but under it all is the pointed notice to Ophelia that their +past relationship can never be renewed, and the masked charge that it +is her adoption of the ways of her frail sisters that has made him +mad,--as her words indicate that she supposes him to be,--and that has +wrecked the future happiness of both of them. + +When Hero is charged by Claudio with unchastity, she fancies that +something must be wrong with him, and says: "Is my lord well, that he +doth speak so wild?" Of Othello's accusation Desdemona thinks that +"something, sure, of state ... Hath puddled his clear spirit." In a +similar frame of mind Ophelia entreats: "Ye heavenly powers restore +him," and bewails the overthrow of Hamlet's reason. These three tender +hearted women are singularly alike in their mental attitudes under the +accusation, and but too willing to extenuate the cruel blow and to +forgive it. But both Hero and Desdemona defend themselves against the +charge, whilst Ophelia, maintaining her habitual reticence, neither +admits nor denies anything, and Hamlet's conviction of her wrongdoing +with the King remains unchanged. + +Thus far Hamlet has made no direct charge of the transfer of Ophelia's +affections from him to another, but he seems to do this at their next +interview, which takes place at the time of the play of 'Gonzago's +Murder.' There is a bitterness towards her in his speech, a brutality +in his obscene allusions, and a degree of heartlessness in it all, +which can be excused--if indeed it be deemed excusable--only on the +theory that he believes her to have herself become a heartless, wicked +woman. When he is commenting on the facts of the play, and Ophelia +suggests that he is "as good as a chorus," he snarlingly replies: "I +could interpret between you and your love if I could see the puppets +dallying." Everything which Hamlet says is pregnant with meaning, and +Ophelia evidently regards this as a keen thrust at her, which it +plainly is. Both of them know that they two are no longer lovers, and +each of them therefore understands that the allusion is to some other +man with whom she treads "the primrose path of dalliance." As usual +Ophelia does not deny the charge, and it would not be singular if +Hamlet were to accept her silence as an admission of its truth. To whom +she thinks that he refers does not appear, but there can be no doubt +that his conviction is that her new lover is the King. + +The next incident indicating this conviction is the interview in which +Polonius undertakes with much complacency to "board" the Prince: + + "_Pol_. Do you know me, my lord? + + "_Ham_. Excellent well; you are a fishmonger. + + "_Pol_. Not I, my lord. + + "_Ham_. Then I would you were so honest a man. + + "_Pol_. Honest, my lord? + + "_Ham_. Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one +man picked out of ten thousand. + + "_Pol_. That's very true, my lord. + + "_Ham_. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god +kissing carrion--Have you a daughter? + + "_Pol_. I have, my lord. + + "_Ham_. Let her not walk i' the sun. Conception is a blessing, +but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to it. + + "_Pol_. How say you by that? Still harping on my daughter. Yet +he knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger. He is far gone, +far gone." [_aside_]. + +There has been much discussion of this passage, but no satisfactory +solution of it. It is a good sample of the enigmatic style of speech +characteristic of Hamlet, which presumably the audiences of +Shakespeare's day comprehended, which of course the astute Polonius did +not understand, and which puzzles later generations because they have +lost the ancient significance of certain words. Polonius is so +prejudiced in favor of his theory that it was "the very ecstacy of +love" that troubled Hamlet, that he does not even attempt to fathom his +allusions. And yet Hamlet's last remark, warning him about his +daughter, rivets his attention, and he demands to know what is meant by +it; but it is only for an instant, his illusion again diverts him from +the matter, and the chance of explanation thus escapes. + +Malone says that "fishmonger" was a cant term for a "wencher"; and in +Barnabe Rich's 'Irish Hubbub' is the expression "senex fornicator, an +old fishmonger." Possibly this is its primary significance in Hamlet's +mind, for shortly afterwards he satirically says of Polonius to the +players: "He's for a jig, or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps." In +several instances Shakespeare similarly alludes to "fishing"; as in +'Measure for Measure,' i, 2, 91: "Groping for trouts in a peculiar +river"; 'Winter's Tale,' i, 2, 195: "And his pond fish'd by his next +neighbor"; and possibly in 'Antony and Cleopatra,' i, 4, 4: "He fishes, +drinks, and wastes the lamps of night in revels." The word "monger" in +compound words, as used by Shakespeare, does not always mean a trader +in the article, but sometimes one who merely indulges in the act; as in +'Love's Labour's Lost,' ii, 1, 253: "Thou art an old love-monger"; +in 'Romeo and Juliet,' ii, 4, 30: "These strange flies, these +fashion-mongers"; and in 'Measure for Measure,' v, 1, 337: "Was the +Duke a fleshmonger?" In common usage the word has this double +significance, indeed, dependent upon whether its adjunct refers to a +thing or to an act; as, for example, cheesemonger and scandalmonger, +and other similar compounds which will readily suggest themselves. +Hence "fishmonger" means both one given to "fishing" and a trader in +fish. And doubtless the latter is its most important significance in +Hamlet's mind, when Polonius denies that he is a fishmonger, namely +that he is a trader in a food which from time immemorial has been +supposed to be an aphrodisiac. Wherefore we are to understand Hamlet as +meaning that Polonius is not so honest a man as the fishmonger that +Polonius has in mind, or the senex fornicator that he originally +had in mind, but that he is a fleshmonger,--a pander, as Tieck puts +it;--"traders in flesh" such persons are termed in 'Troilus and +Cressida,' v, 11, 46. It is supposed by Tieck that the allusion is to +the way in which Polonius threw Hamlet and Ophelia together, by Friesen +that it refers to his pandering to the desires of Claudius and the +Queen before the old King's death, and by Doering that it points to his +promotion of the o'er-hasty marriage of the King and Queen. But the +foregoing discussion shows that the secondary thought in Hamlet's mind +is that for some personal end Polonius permits Ophelia to accept the +King's attentions, knowing the necessary effect of her youth and beauty +on his licentious nature; for at his last interview with her he saw her +father also, though apparently hiding from both of them, and therefore +believes that he was cognizant of the fact that she had gone to the +palace privately to meet the King. It is evidently this belief which +inspires him with the contempt which he afterwards exhibits towards +Polonius. + +His next speech manifests this contempt in a notable degree, but it has +been unappreciated because of the failure to perceive the significance +of the word "sun." It is an argument intended to enforce what he had +already said, and, supplying the omitted portion, the whole runs thus: +You are not honest, and you cannot be honest; "for if the sun (in the +sky) breed maggots in a dead dog, being a (heavenly) god kissing +carrion," even so will the sun of this realm (the King) engender +misdeeds in you, a corrupt man caressed by an earthly god. In +characteristic fashion Shakespeare uses "sun" in a double sense, as he +has just used "fishmonger," and again the occult reference is to +Polonius as a procurer for the King. + +And Hamlet follows this up by the warning concerning Ophelia; "Let her +not walk i' the sun (shine of the King's favor); conception is a +blessing, but not as your daughter may conceive (if she does so)." +"Sun" in this passage means "sunshine" or "sunlight," as in ordinary +usage it often does, but it is the light of the sun of royalty that he +has just mentioned. + +Hamlet's meaning is made so plain by this construction, that it +scarcely needs argument to enforce it. It may however be remarked that, +assuming its correctness in respect of the declaration that Polonius is +not so honest as a fishmonger, its correctness as to the sun's breeding +maggots in carrion and causing conception in Ophelia necessarily +follows. The three enigmatical statements, thus interpreted, complement +and explain each other, and therefore tend to prove each other; and the +proof is strengthened by the fact that they are the sequelae of a +single thought, namely, his belief in an intrigue between Ophelia and +the King. On the other hand, conceding such a belief, a man of Hamlet's +character would most naturally think these thoughts, and utter them in +characteristic style to Ophelia's father:--The King breeds corruption +in you as does the sun in a carrion dog, you are risking your +daughter's honor to win his favor, and the experiment will probably end +in her dishonor. Hence Hamlet's alleged belief, deduced from his three +interviews with Ophelia, and these three resulting comments tend to +prove each other's correctness. + +Again, the sun is plainly credited by Hamlet with a double function, +namely, corruptly breeding life in a dead dog and in a living woman, +and the only possible means of harmonizing the two' statements, and of +making sense out of the latter, is to assume that some man is typified +by the second sun. It is generally admitted that an uncompleted +argument is introduced by the particle "for," and, such being the case, +it is a fair assumption that that also shall contain a reference to +"the sun" as doing something which a man may do. On such an assumption, +the argument is readily followed up: "For if the sun breed maggots in a +dead dog," so must "the sun" breed dishonesty in you, and so may "the +sun" cause your daughter to conceive. These three propositions are +consistent, the logical connection between them is perfect, and their +reason and purpose is clear, if the term "sun" may figuratively +indicate "the King." + +Now, it is to be observed that Shakespeare not infrequently refers to +kings as suns, and likens them to gods. When the King has pardoned her +son, the Duchess of York exclaims: "A god on earth thou art"; 'Richard +II,' v, 3, 136. "Kings are earth's gods," says Pericles; 'Pericles,' i, +1, 103. And again he says of the King, his father, that he "Had princes +sit like stars about his throne, And he the sun, for them to +reverence," _Ibid_., II, iii, 40, In 'Henry VIII,' i, 1, 6, Buckingham, +referring to the meeting of the Kings of England and France on the +Field of the Cloth of Gold, styles them "Those suns of glory, those two +lights of men." And Norfolk tells of the wondrous deeds done there, +"when these suns (For so they phrase them) by their heralds challenged +The noble spirits to arms"; _Ibid_., i, 1, 33. Again, adverting to the +manner in which Cardinal Woolsey overshadows all other men in the +King's favor, Buckingham says: "I wonder That such a keech can with his +very bulk Take up the rays o' th' beneficial sun, And keep it from the +earth"; _Ibid_., i, 1, 56. When the Cardinal has procured the King to +arrest him, Buckingham foresees his speedy death, and again uses this +metaphor in a passage which has been much misunderstood, _Ibid_., i. 1, +236: "I am the shadow of poor Buckingham, Whose figure even this +instant cloud puts on By dark'ning my clear sun"; that is, whose body +was even that moment entombed by the darkening of the King's +countenance against him; he was already a dead man. (Compare the +thought: "Darkness does the face of earth entomb When living light +should kiss it"; 'Macbeth,' ii, 4, 10).[1] In like manner, in 'King +John,' ii, i, 500, the Dauphin of France refers to himself as King, +when he says to his father that his shadow, visible in the eye of the +Princess, "Becomes a sun and makes your son a shadow." In Richard II,' +iii, 2, 50, the King, likening himself to the sun, says that, as the +"eye of heaven" reveals the dark deeds of night when he fires the proud +tops of the eastern pines, "So when this thief, this traitor, +Bolingbroke ... Shall see us rising on our throne, the east, His +treasons will sit blushing in his face." And again, _Ibid_., iv, 1, +260, transferring the metaphor to Bolingbroke, he wails: "O, that I +were a mockery King of snow Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, To +melt myself away in waterdrops." In '1 Henry IV,' iii, 2, 79, the King +speaks of "sunlike majesty, When it shines seldom in admiring eyes." In +'Richard III.' i, 1, 1, Gloster says, referring to the King: "Now is +the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York." +In 'Hamlet,' i, 2, 67, the King asks Hamlet: "How is it that the clouds +still hang on you?" and he ironically replies: "Not so, my lord, I am +too much i' the sun." Here again "sun" means "sunshine," and Hamlet, +choosing to understand the King literally, and referring to the fact +that clouds are dissipated by a genial sun, sneeringly protests that he +is too much in the sunshine of royalty to have clouds hanging about +him. Referring to a different effect of the sun's warmth, Prince John +speaks of "The man that sits within a monarch's heart And ripens in the +sunshine of his favor"; '2 Henry IV,' iv, 2, 12. There are other +similar uses of the word "sun," which need not now be cited. + +The last reference to Ophelia's supposed relation to the King occurs +when Polonius comes to announce the presence of the players: + + "_Ham_. 'O Jephthah, judge of Israel,' what a treasure hadst +thou! + + "_Pol_. What treasure had he, my lord? + + "_Ham_. Why 'One fair daughter, and no more, the which he loved +passing well.' + + "_Pol_. Still on my daughter [_aside_]. + + "_Ham_. Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah? + + "_Pol_. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that +I love passing well. + + "_Ham_. Nay, that follows not. + + "_Pol_. What follows then, my lord? + + "_Ham_. Why, 'As by lot, God wot.'" + +Here Hamlet again mystifies Polonius about his daughter, quoting from +an old English ballad. Jephthah is pilloried in history as the man who +sacrificed his daughter in payment for his worldly success. Shakespeare +also refers to him in '3 Henry VI,' v, 1, 91: "To keep that oath were +more impiety than Jephthah's when he sacrificed his daughter." Hamlet +dubs Polonius "Jephthah," because he believes that he has paid for +political preferment by yielding his daughter to the King. And when +Polonius says that, if he is to be called Jephthah, he admits that like +Jephthah he loves his daughter, Hamlet replies in characteristic vein, +"Nay, that follows not"; meaning that it follows instead that like +Jephthah he has sacrificed her. But when Polonius presses him to say +what does follow, he conceals his real meaning, as his custom is, and +diverts the old man's mind by answering the line from the ballad. As +was the case with regard to Ophelia, Hamlet is reluctant to make the +open charge against her father. + +Thus in every instance in which Hamlet comes in contact with Ophelia, +or refers to her, his actions and his words consistently point to the +fact that he renounces her because he believes her to have thrust him +aside while engaging in an intrigue with the King. And the fact that +from this point of view there is a connected story of their relations +told by the several interviews above discussed, that Hamlet's conduct +and language in them all are adequately explained, and that a single +belief of his accounts for each of them, is strong confirmation of the +theory's correctness. It is in harmony with the general scheme of the +drama also, all of whose important movements hinge on "purposes +mistook"; and it furnishes Hamlet with an adequate motive for his +treatment of Ophelia, and removes from him the stigma of mere +brutishness or insanity. Coleridge well says that there must have been +"some profound heart truth" under the story, and the theory herein +advanced seems to disclose it. _David A. McKnight_. + +Washington, D. C., February 26, 1898. + + + * * * * * + + + CLEWS TO EMERSON'S MYSTIC VERSE. + + (Third Paper.) + +"When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit +seconded with the forward child understanding, it strikes a man more +dead than a great reckoning in a little room."--_Touchstone_. + + +The phantasmal lords of life of the poem 'Experience,' which we +considered at the close of the last paper, were presumably suggested to +Emerson by the following lines from Tennyson's 'Mystic,' published in +1830 (Emerson imported these early volumets of young Tennyson, and +never tired of praising them to his friends):-- + + "Always there stood before him, night and day, + Of wayward vary-colored circumstance + The imperishable presences serene, + Colossal, without form, or sense, or sound, + Dim shadows but unwaning presences + Four-faced to four corners of the sky." + +The "silent congregated hours," "daughters of time, divinely tall," +with "severe and youthful brows," in this same poem of Tennyson gave +Emerson his "daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days," congregated in +procession. Tennyson's mystic, who hears "time flowing in the middle of +the night" recalls Emerson's 'Two Rivers,' in which the living All, the +Infinite Soul, is figured as a stream flowing through eternity:-- + + "I hear the spending of the stream, + Through years, through men, through nature fleet, + Through love and thought, through power and dream." + +At the close of the poem 'Wealth' there is a bit of scientific +nature-ethics which is a little obscure. The greater part of the +poem is a series of graphic pictures, detailing the process of +world-development through the geologic ages down to the advent of man. +Suddenly, at the end,--just as at the end of the prose essay on the +same subject,--he remembers his manners and makes his bow to the august +Soul, kindles a light in the Geissler tube of nature, sets it aglow +interiorly with spiritual law:-- + + "But, though light-headed man forget, + Remembering Matter pays her debt: + Still, through her motes and masses, draw + Electric thrills and ties of Law, + Which bind the strength of Nature wild + To the conscience of a child." + +The logical link connecting this part with the rest has dropped out in +the poem, but is clear enough in the essay. The lines mean simply this: +that, though man may forget to obey the laws of the universe, Nature +never forgets her debt of obedience; she bites and stings the +transgressor and caresses and soothes him who obeys. In her own +submission to law she has that artlessness and quasi-moral sense that +affines her to the moral nature of a child. The "awful victors" and +"Eternal Rights" of 'Voluntaries' are only "remembering Matter" in +another mask: with all their innocent obedience they are themselves +terrible executors:-- + + "They reach no term, they never sleep, + In equal strength through space abide; + Though, feigning dwarfs, they crouch and creep, + The strong they slay, the swift outstride." + +In the following high pantheistic strain the seer chants the old rune +that God is all:-- + + "The living Heaven thy prayers respect, + House at once and architect, + Quarrying man's rejected hours, + Builds therewith eternal towers; + Sole and self-commanded works, + Fears not undermining days, + Grows by decays, + And, by the famous might that lurks + In reaction and recoil, + Makes flame to freeze and ice to boil; + Forging, through swart arms of Offence, + The silver seat of Innocence." + + --'Spiritual Laws.' + +When the Living Universe builds a house, it builds it out of its own +soul substance; while man sleeps and loiters, the Unconscious +ceaselessly toils. In the phrase "grows by decays," Emerson embodies, I +believe, the law of the conservation of energy. The magazine of divine +power is exhaustless; does energy sink out of sight here, it is only to +reappear yonder; the tree decays, but out of its fertilizing substance +new plants may spring up; the coal under the steam boiler of the +locomotive is consumed, but the swart goblin has lost no whit of his +might: he just slips darkling up into the steam, makes the driving-rods +his swift-shuttling arms, and, grasping with his steel fingers the +felloes of the wheel, whirls you half a thousand miles over the green +bulge of the earth ere set of sun, The mystic Power grows by decays; +and also, by "the famous might that lurks in reaction and recoil," +reconciles apparent antinomies and opposites, and is the agent that +visits evil upon the head of the evil doer and mercy upon the merciful. +If a heavy body be rolled up an inclined plane, it acquires potential +and kinetic energy just equal to the force expended in getting it +there, and in reaction develops such a famous might that, if massive +enough, it will knock you down if you stand in its way. If you lift the +big pendulum of the clock in the corner, you also confer latent, or +reactionary, energy upon it. Only it is of course hyperbolical for the +poet to say that reaction is potent enough to actually freeze flame and +make ice boil your kettle. That is only one of Emerson's rhetorical +Chinese crackers, his startling thaumaturgic way of illustrating his +thesis. + +The key-thought of the essay 'Spiritual Laws,' to which the occult +lines we are considering were prefixed, is, Be noble; for, if you are +not, your face and life will, by the law of reaction and return, +publish your lapse. Punishment and reward are fruits that ripen +unsuspected in the deeds of men. + +The pertinency and application of many of Emerson's titles are not at +once apparent. + +In 'Merops' the bard affirms that in his high philosophical soarings he +cares not whether he can at once ticket his intuitions and perceptions +with names or not. Merops was changed into an eagle, says Ovid, and +placed among the constellations,--hence, I suppose, is selected by +Emerson as a good type of the kind of soaring thinker he is describing. +That he also has in mind that Merops was the putative father of +Phaëthon is shown perhaps by the allusion (in the last stanza) to +Phaëthon's mishap:-- + + "Space grants beyond his fated road + No inch to the god of day, + And copious language still bestowed + One word, no more, to say." + +'Alphonso of Castile' is a dramatic monologue containing a whimsical +suggestion for compounding a Man out of ordinary weak-timbered manikins +by killing nine in ten of them and "stuffing nine brains in one hat." +It is put into the mouth of Alphonso, King of Castile, born in 1221, +called _El Sabio_, "The Wise." He was a man who suffered much in his +life. He wrote a famous code of laws, and first made the Castilian a +national language by causing the Bible to be translated into it. +Emerson chooses him as the vehicle of his own whimsey about the +condensed homunculus chiefly on account of one famous sentence +attributed to him: "Had I been present at the creation, I could have +given some useful hints for the better ordering of the universe." +Emerson, in his rhymed soliloquy, put into Alphonso's mouth, +sarcastically twits Nature with her depleted stocks, her run-out +strains of lemons, figs, roses, and men. The remedy proposed in the +case of man, and outlined above, has the true Emerson-Swift bouquet, is +colored and veined with a right Shakespearian scorn of the mob. + +'Mithridates' is a monologue put into the mouth of Mithridates the +Great, King of Pontus, who is said to have discovered an antidote for +poisons which made him poison-proof against his many enemies:-- + + "I cannot spare water or wine, + Tobacco-leaf, or poppy, or rose; + From the earth-poles to the line, + All between that works or grows, + Everything is kin of mine. + + Give me agates for my meat; + Give me cantharids to eat; + From air and ocean bring me foods, + From all zones and altitudes." + +As late as 1787 "mithridate" was the name for an antidote against +poison included in the London pharmacop[oe]ia. In Jonson's 'Every Man +in his Humour,' Kitely, thinking he is poisoned, calls for mithridate +and oil. It was composed of many ingredients and given in the form of +electuaries. In our modern pharmacopoeias we have plenty of antidotes +against virulent poisons; _e. g_., atropine for the deadly amanita +mushroom. And counter-poisons are often used, as the tincture of +foxglove for aconite, atropine for morphia, or morphia for belladonna. +According to the tradition, Mithridates gradually inured his system to +counter-poisons, and became poison-proof. At any rate, Emerson uses him +for his metaphor, which, in untropical speech, is this: "lam tired of +the nambypamby and goody-goody; give me things strong and rank; give me +evil for a change and a spur. + + "Too long shut in strait and few, + Thinly dieted on dew, + I will use the world, and sift it, + To a thousand humors shift it, + As you spin a cherry. + O doleful ghosts and goblins merry! + O all you virtues, methods, mights, + Means, appliances, delights, + Reputed wrongs and braggart rights, + Smug routine, and things allowed, + Minorities, things under cloud! + Hither! take me, use me, fill me, + Vein and artery, though ye kill me!" + +In brief, "I have run the gauntlet of experience, sounded all the +depths of passion, joy, woe, evil. I am dipped in Styx, more +invulnerable than Siegfried, and strong now to use the world and be +used by it." The mood of the poem is the wild longing that sometimes +comes over the good man to break loose and have his fling, come what +may, cry, _Vive la bagatelle!_ or run amuck and tilt at all he meets. +It is needless to say that the staid Emerson never carried this mood +farther than to smoke a cigar now and then, or take an Adirondack +outing. His contemporary, the untrammelled Whitman, could both preach +and practise (within the bounds of reason) the Mithridatic doctrine; +and he was a more many-sided and symmetrical man in consequence. + +The last two lines of 'Mithridates,' as printed from the autograph +copy, were,-- + + "God! I will not be an owl, + But sun me in the Capitol." + +These lines Emerson wisely dropped. + +'Forerunners' ("Long I followed happy guides)" mean one's brave hopes +and ideals of good to come, our dreams and aspirations. The lines + + "No speed of mine avails + To hunt upon their shining trails" + +Thoreau evidently utilized as text for his well-known fable in 'Walden' +of the lost hound, bay horse, and turtle-dove. + +The portrait of Hermione, the patient-sweet wife of Leontes in 'The +Winter's Tale' of Shakespeare, serves Emerson, in his poem 'Hermione,' +as the model of a perfect wife, and a more acceptable one to this age +than Chaucer's abject Griselda. Such a lady as Shakespeare's Hermione, +beautiful in person and of rare self-control and virtue, is an +adumbration or epitome of the universal beauty. Looking at nature, the +American poet finds the features of his Hermione there: "mountains and +the misty plains, Her colossal portraiture." I suppose that this +sketch, tender and delicately toned as if with a silver point, is +autobiographical, and is a shadowing forth of the character of +Emerson's first wife, the ethereal souled Ellen Tucker, who died of +consumption after only a year and a half of married life. When her +"meteor glances came," he says, he was "hermit vowed to books and +gloom," and dwelling alone. In the lines + + "The chains of kind + The distant bind; + Deed thou doest she must do," + +he anticipates (does he not?) the telepathy of our days,--kindred minds +seeking similar places and thinking like thoughts, although in this +case, to be sure, the kindred soul is thought of as merged with the +inorganic world,--the winds and waterfalls and twilight nooks. + +Search the whole world through, you shall find no predecessor of +Emerson the poet. The only verse resembling his in general style is +that of the enigmatic 'Phoenix and the Turtle,' attributed to +Shakespeare, and much admired by Emerson:-- + + "Let the bird of loudest lay, + On the sole Arabian tree. + Herald sad and trumpet be, + To whose sound chaste wings obey." + +Emerson's verses have also a slight Persian tinge now and then, caught +from his studies of Saadi and Hafiz. In his fine lyric cry 'Bacchus,' +in which he calls for a wine of life, a cup of divine soma or amrita, +that shall sinew his brain and exalt all his powers of thought and +action to a godlike pitch,-- + + "Bring me wine, but wine which never grew + In the belly of the grape, + + * * * * + + That I intoxicated, + And by the draught assimilated, + May float at pleasure through all natures; + + * * * * + + Quickened so, will I unlock + Every crypt of every rock,"-- + +he unconsciously gave his lines, I think, the outward form of some +verses by Hafiz, in which that singer intimates that, give him the +right kind of wine, and he can perform wonders as if with Solomon's +ring or Jemschid's wine-cup mirror. Emerson himself in one of his early +editions gives a spirited verse translation of Hafiz's poem. Mr. +William R. Alger ('Specimens of Oriental Poetry,' Boston, 1856) +translates Hafiz thus:-- + + "Bring me wine! By my puissant arm + The thick net of deceit and of harm + Which the priests have spread over the world + Shall be rent and in laughter be hurled. + Bring me wine! I the earth will subdue. + Bring me wine! I the heaven will storm through. + Bring me wine, bring it quick, make no halt! + To the throne of both worlds will I vault. + All is in the red streamlet divine. + Bring me wine! O my host, bring me wine!" + +'Etienne de la Boéce' gets its title (with Emersonian variations) from +the name of one of Montaigne's most intimate friends,--Estienne de la +Boëtie. Montaigne tells us about him in Chapter xxvii of his Essays, +affirming that he would have accomplished miracles, had he lived. He +died when only thirty-three at Bordeaux (1563). His scholarship was +solid, his translations from the Greek excellent. He was so eager to +read Greek that he copied whole volumes with his own hand. A French +critic says, "Les qualités qui brillaient en lui imprimaient ŕ toute +sa personne un cachet distingué et un charme sévčre." Yet he seems to +have been something of an imitator of his great friend; and it is in +this aspect of his life that Emerson regards him, using him, perhaps +somewhat unjustly to his powers and developing genius, as the type of a +too imitative disciple:-- + + "I serve you not, if you I follow, + Shadowlike, o'er hill and hollow; + + * * * * + + Vainly valiant, you have missed + The manhood that should yours resist." + +Probably most Americans, if asked to explain the relevancy of the title +of Emerson's poem 'Guy,' would be unable to answer offhand. The verses +celebrate the lucky man:-- + + "The common waters fell + As costly wine into his well. + The zephyr in his garden rolled + From plum-trees vegetable gold. + Stream could not so perversely wind + But corn of Guy's was there to grind." + +The reference, of course, is to a man well known in England,--Thomas +Guy (d. 1724), founder of Guy's Hospital in London. He was the George +Peabody of his day. Beginning life as a bookseller, he made a good deal +of money in printing Bibles, but acquired most of his enormous fortune +by financial speculations. He was extremely economical; for example, +always ate his dinner on his shop counter, first spreading out a +newspaper to catch the crumbs. His charities were boundless. To his +hospital he gave $1,000,000; and at his death his will was found to +contain an enormous number of special benefactions, including bequests +to over ninety cousins. Emerson in his poem compares Guy to Polycrates, +who was King of Samos some five hundred years before Christ. He says +that Polycrates "chained the sunshine and the breeze"; that is, the +very elements seemed to be in his pay. This run of luck was without a +break up to his death; his fleet of a hundred ships was the largest +then known; he conquered all his enemies, and amassed great treasure. +His ally, Amasis, King of Egypt, was so alarmed at his prosperity, +fearing the envy of the gods, that he advised him to make some +noteworthy sacrifice. The story goes that Polycrates accordingly threw +his emerald signet-ring into the sea, but it came back to his kitchens +in the belly of a large fish, as in the Arabian Nights story. The fears +of Amasis were finally justified; for the Persian satrap Or[oe]tes +enticed Polycrates to the mainland, and crucified him. + +'Xenophanes' embodies poetically the doctrine of the earnest old +Greek agnostic and monist of that name, that God, or the All, is +uncreated, immovable, and one,--not immovable in its parts, but as a +whole, and just because it is all. Xenophanes saw the grandeur and +incomprehensibility of the universe, he violently opposed what seemed +to him the disgraceful polytheism of Homer, and anticipated the modern +atomic theory and the doctrine of the unity of life as revealed by the +spectroscope and the discovery of the conservation and mutual +convertibility of forces. Or, as Emerson puts it in his haunting +numbers,-- + + "By fate, not option, frugal Nature gave + One scent to hyson and to wall-flower, + One sound to pine-groves and to waterfalls, + One aspect to the desert and the lake. + It was her stern necessity." + +The title of the poem 'Hamatreya' seemed at first to baffle a perfect +and indubitable explanation. The word can be found in no English or +foreign dictionary that the largest libraries afford. We are indebted, +however, to Col. T. W. Higginson (_The Critic_, Feb. 18, 1888) for not +only giving us a clew to the title, but for pointing out the portion of +the Vishnu Purana (Wilson's translation, 1840) on which Emerson based +his 'Earth Song' in 'Hamatreya,' and, in fact, got the hint for the +whole poem; namely, at the close of Book IV. Maitreya is a disciple of +Parasara, who relates to Maitreya the Vishnu Purana. Among other things +he tells Maitreya of a chant of the Earth, who said, "When I hear a +king sending word to another by his ambassador, 'This earth is mine: +immediately resign your pretensions to it,' I am moved to violent +laughter at first; but it soon subsides in pity for the infatuated +fool." Again, the Purana says, "Earth laughs, as if smiling with +autumnal flowers, to behold her kings unable to effect the subjugation +of themselves"; which is Emerson's + + "Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys + Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs." + +And again: "These were the verses, Maitreya, which Earth recited, and +by listening to which ambition fades away, like snow before the sun." +Here are Emerson's lines:-- + + "When I heard the Earth-song, + I was no longer brave; + My avarice cooled + Like lust in the chill of the grave." + +Colonel Higginson suggests that Emerson may also have had in mind, in +writing 'Hamatreya,' Psalm, xlix. 11. As he rightly says, the title +evidently is meant to give a hint of the Hindoo source of the argument +of the poem. It is in line with the uniform custom of Emerson in giving +historical catch-words, especially proper names, as his titles. After +an exhaustive search through all the Hindoo scriptures, I have reached +a conviction which approaches absolute certainty that Hamatreya is +Emerson's imperfect recollection of Maitreya or that he purposely +coined the word. Emerson, it is nearly certain, read the Vishnu Purana, +translated by H. H. Wilson (a large and costly work), by the copy then +in the Harvard Library or the Boston Athenaeum, perhaps taking brief +notes, but omitting to write down "Maitreya." In his exhaustive index +of proper names, appended to the Vishnu Purana, Wilson has no such word +as Hamatreya, nor does it occur anywhere in the book. To clinch the +argument, Prof. Charles R. Lanman, the well-known Sanskrit scholar of +Harvard University, writes me that "Hamatreya is not a Sanskrit word." +"The Atreyas," he says, "were the descendants of Atri." "It is an easy +mistake to make _Hamatreya_ out of _Maitreya_. I really think you will +have to assume a simple slip here." + +Emerson is not wilfully obscure. But he comes dangerously near to being +so in the demand he often makes upon his readers for out-of-the-way +knowledge. 'Casella' is the title of an Emersonian quatrain,-- + + "Test of the poet is knowledge of love, + For Eros is older than Saturn or Jove. + Never was poet, of late or of yore, + Who was not tremulous with love-lore." + +The reference is to Dante's friend Casella ("Casella mio"), whom he +meets in Purgatory, and who sweetly sings (as of yore on earth he was +wont) a canzone by Dante himself,--"_Amor, che nella mente mi +ragiona_." Emerson's favorite poet, Milton, in his sonnet to Henry +Lawes, alludes, as Mr. Norton points out, to this friendship:-- + + "Dante shall give fame leave to set thee higher + Than his Casella, whom he wooed to sing + Met in the milder shades of Purgatory." + +The title [Greek: adakrun nemontai aiona] is from Pindar, I believe. +Emerson took it from _The Dial_, where (July, '43) it appears as the +motto to a poem by Charles A. Dana on 'Manhood.' It means, literally, +"They pass a tearless life"; or, very freely rendered, "They live a +life of smiles,"--a sentiment explained by the first lines,-- + + "A new commandment, said the smiling Muse, + I give my darling son, Thou shalt not preach." + +Even in so slight a matter as choosing a name for his verses 'To Rhea,' +Emerson's philosophical belief is glimpsed; for Rhea was the mother of +gods, and such he believed all women to be. The thought of this +remarkable poem, which its author feigns to have received from the +thousand chattering tongues of the poplar-tree, is extremely subtle and +somewhat difficult to formulate. The analysis is this. If you, a wife, +have lost your supremacy in your husband's affections, take a strange +and noble revenge, not by hating, but, in a kind of calm altruistic +despair, endowing him with all the gifts and blessings at your command. +The poem is headed 'To Rhea' (Rhea being the wife of the cruel Saturn, +who devoured his own children) as to a wife whose husband had merely +"drank of Cupid's nectar cup," married her from sex-instinct alone, and +then, the "bandages of purple light" fallen from "his eyes," treated +her with indifference. But she continues to love him; and more the poet +gives her the advice just noted, illustrating by the supposed case of a +god loving a mortal maid, and warily knowing that she, with her +inferior ideals, can never adequately requite his love, yet nobly +endowing her with all gifts and graces, which are the hostages he pawns +for freedom from "his thrall." He does this in an altruistic spirit, in +order by her to "model newer races" and "carry man to new degrees of +power and comeliness." But what thrall? We must walk warily here. In +order not to seem to give his verses an autobiographical cast (although +the god, the "wise Immortal," of them is really such a type as the seer +Emerson himself), he withdraws into dim recesses and speaks in subtlest +metaphors. The thrall, I think, is the bondage a lover or husband is in +to his beloved, in whom the solecisms and disenchantments of possession +have supplanted the poetic illusions of romantic love. The man of +supreme wisdom, by the magic of self-sacrifice and boundless profusion +of gifts turns the trap or prison in which nature has caught him into a +bower of Eden. By the road of generosity he escapes. He cunningly +builds up in her mind gratitude and friendship in place of the lost +romanticism. There is in this treatment of love a touch of the +coldblooded philosophy of the Emersonian critique of friendship. But if +it is not a marriage of ideal kind, such as that of the Brownings, +which he celebrates, he at least embodies in his verse the shrewd +love-philosophy of the practical-poetical Englishman, united to the +average woman for the furtherance of the ends of the species. + +Mr. George Brown, in his Emerson primer, thinks that the key-thought of +'Rhea' is in these lines from 'The World-Soul' about the gods:-- + + "To him who scorns their charities + Their arms fly open wide." + +But the parallelism somewhat halts. For mark: In the one case +Napoleon's maxim is embodied, that God is on the side of the strongest +battalions. The one who scorns the favoritisms and alms of Heaven, and +yet, will he nill he, receives its aid, is really the strong God +himself in mask, the noble and resolute man executing his will in time +and space. But in the case supposed in 'Rhea,' of husband and wife, the +ones who scorn love are those not deserving of gifts at all (although +Nature finds her account in them), but persons who receive gifts in +charity from one altruistically nobler than themselves. It is just this +idea of sublime self-sacrifice that gives to 'Rhea' its strange +subtlety and its uniqueness among poems on love. There is a consolatory +under-thought in the palimpsest, too. By his illustration of the god +and the mortal maid the poet wishes Rhea to divine that, if wives make +moan over husbands' lost love, husbands no less often have reason to +lament the cooled affection of wives. + +The central idea in 'Uriel' is that there is no such thing as evil. +This thesis is put into the mouth of Uriel, one of the seven +archangels, because he was the "interpreter" of God's will. So Milton +says, in the _locus classicus_ on Uriel in Book III of 'Paradise Lost.' +He also says he was + + "The sharpest-sighted spirit of all in heav'n." + +His station was in the all-viewing sun. Uriel, in Milton, tells how, +when the universe was yet chaos, + + "Or ever the wild Time coined itself + Into calendar months and days," + +he saw the worlds a-forming,--earth, sun, and stars. Emerson (or +"Sayd") takes Milton at his word, and leads us back into that dark +backward and abysm of time, and lets us overhear a conversation between +Uriel and the other seraphs. At his speech "the gods shook," because if +there is no sin, if all comes round to good, even a lie, then good-bye +gods, hells and heavens, and their punishments. But note that, though +the All turns your wrong to good in the end, yet you, an individual, +suffer for your wrongdoing. + +In a genial paper in the _Andover Review_ for March, 1887, Dr. C. C. +Everett says that Dr. Hedge suggested to him that 'Uriel' probably took +its origin in the discussions of the Boston Association of Ministers on +the theme (then rife), "There is no line in nature": all is circular, +and by the law of reaction every deed returns upon the doer. At any +rate, it was written in 1838, soon after his Divinity School Address. +('Emerson in Concord,' by Edward Emerson.) + +The god of boundaries in ancient Rome--Terminus--gives his name to the +cheeriest of monodies or anchoring songs sung by the gayest of old +sailors on the sea of eternity, and at last approaching port. Terminus, +like Hermes, the Greek god of bounds, was shown in his statues without +hands or feet, to indicate that he never moved. Was Emerson a little +rusty in his classical lore, or did he boldly and knowingly defy +classical verities when he says the divinity came to him "in his fatal +rounds"? He seems to have attributed to Terminus patrolling functions +like those of his own New England village fence-viewers. Or, rather, +speaking in noble and more adequate terms, has he not added to the +world's mythologies a new and poetical deity,--the god of the bounds of +human life, a kind of avant-courier or Death's dragoman to announce to +men their approaching end? 'Terminus' was written about 1866, when +Emerson was in or near his sixty-third year, and sixteen years before +his death. _William Sloane Kennedy._ + + + * * * * * + + + A DEFENCE OF BROWNING'S LATER WORK. + +If a defence of Browning's work were to include all he has written +since the date when Edmund Gosse said his books were chiefly valuable +as keeping alive popular interest in the poet, and as leading fresh +generations of readers to what he had already published, it would needs +begin as far back as 1868; and considering the amount of work done +since that time would require at least a volume to do the subject +justice. + +Fortunately it has long been admitted that Homer sometimes nods, +though not with such awful effect as was said to attend the nods of +Jove--Hence, in spite of Mr. Gosse's undoubted eminence as a critic, we +may dare to assume that in this particular instance he fell into the +ancient and distinguished trick of nodding. + +If Mr. Gosse were right, it would practically put on a par with a mere +advertising scheme many poems which have now become household +favorites. Take, for example, 'Hervé Riel.' Think of the blue-eyed +Breton hero whom all the world has learned to love through Browning, +tolerated as nothing more than an index finger to 'The Pied Piper of +Hamelin!' Take, too, such poems, as 'Donald,' whose dastardly +sportsmanship is so vividly portrayed that it has the power to arouse +strong emotion in strong men, who have been known literally to break +down in the middle of it through excess of feeling; 'Ivan Ivanovitch,' +in which is embodied such fear and horror that weak hearts cannot stand +the strain of hearing it read; the story of the dog Tray who rescued a +drowning doll with the same promptitude as he did a drowning child--at +the relation of whose noble deeds the eyes of little children grow +eager with excitement and sympathy. And where is there in any poet's +work, a more vivid bit of tragedy than 'A Forgiveness!' + +And would not an unfillable gap be left in the ranks of our friends of +the imaginative world if Balaustion were blotted out? The exquisite +lyric girl, brave, tender and with a mind in which wisdom and wit are +fair playfellows. + +As Carlyle might say, "Verily, verily Mr. Gosse, thou hast out-Homered +Homer, and thy nod hath taken upon itself very much the semblance of a +snore." + +These and many others which might be mentioned as having appeared since +the date when Mr. Gosse autocratically put up the bars to the poet's +genius are now so universally accepted that any defence of them would +be absurd. + +There are again others whose tenure of fame is still hanging in the +balance like 'The Red Cotton Night-cap Country,' 'The Inn Album,' +'Aristophanes' Apology,' 'Fifine at the Fair'; but as they have had +already some able defenders, I shall not attempt any defence of them +further than to say, in passing, that the longer I know them, and the +more I read them, the more I am impressed with their masterly portrayal +of human motives as they either reflect a given social environment or +work contrary to it. Only a genius of the greatest power could have +grasped and moulded into palpitating life beings of the calibre of the +brilliant complex and illogical Aristophanes, or the dunderheaded, well +meaning and equally illogical Miranda and set them to act out their +little parts in a living historical environment--one in decadent Athens +with her petty political and literary rivalries and dying religion; the +other in ultramontane France where superstition and materialism were +fighting for the mastery. Such art as is illustrated in these poems on +in 'Fifine at the Fair' or in 'The Inn Album,' may not be of the kind +to give one direct ideals for the conduct of life; but it represents +the most splendid realism from which as from life itself deep moral +lessons may be drawn. There is an actuality of realism in these poems +of Browning's that puts into the shade, that of the great apostle of +realism, Zola, for his realism too often presents what I venture to +call obverse idealism--evil apotheosized, not evil struggling toward +good as it invariably appears in life. + +Among the poet's later works, 'Ferishtah's Fancies' and 'The Parleyings +with Certain People of Importance in Their Day' have perhaps been more +obscured by mists of non-appreciation than any others. I shall, +therefore, confine myself for the present to making here and there a +rift in these mists in the hope that some glimpses of the splendor of +the giant form behind them may be gained. + +Without particularizing either critics or criticism, it may be said +that criticism of these poems divides itself into the usual three +branches,--one which objects to their philosophy, one which objects to +their art, one which finds them difficult of comprehension at all. This +last criticism may easily be disposed of by admitting it as in part +true. The mind whose highest reaches of poetic inspiration are +ministered unto by such simple and easily understandable lyrics as +'Twinkle, twinkle little star' might not at once grasp the significance +of the Parleying with George Bubb Dodington. Indeed, it may be surmised +that some minds might sing upon the starry heights with Hegel and +fathom the doctrine of the equivalence of being and non-being and yet +be led into a slough of despond by this same cantankerous George. + +But a poetical slough of despond may be transfigured in the twinkling +of an eye--after a proper amount of study and hard thinking--into an +elevated plateau with prospects upon every side, grand or terrible or +smiling. + +Are we never to feel spurred to any poetical pleasure more vigorous +than dilly-dallying with Keats while we feast our eyes upon the +wideness of the seas? Or lazily floating in a lotus land with Tennyson, +say, among the meadows of the Musketaquid, in canoes with silken +cushions? Beauty and peace is the reward of such poetical pleasures. +They fall upon the spirit like the "sweet sound that breathes upon a +bank of violets, stealing and giving odor," but shall we never return +from the land where it is always afternoon? Is it only in such a land +as this that we realize the true power of emotion? Rather does it +conduce to the slumber of emotion; for progress is the law of feeling +as it is the law of life, and many times we feel,--yes--feel--with +tremendous rushes of enthusiasm like climbing Matterhorns with great +iron nails in our shoes, with historical and archaeological, and +philosophical Alpen-stocks in our hands, and when we reach the summit +what unsuspected beauties become ours. + +Advancing a step more seriously into the subject, I may say that these +two series of poems form the key-stone to Browning's whole work. They +are like a final synthesis of the problems of existence which he has +previously made analyses of from myriad points of view in his dramatic +presentation of character. It has been said that in these poems his +philosophy loses its intuitional and assured point of view, to become +hard-headed and doubting. But does not a careful comparison with his +early work disprove this assertion? + +In his two early poems, 'Pauline' and 'Paracelsus,' before the poet's +personality became merged in that of his characters, he presents us +with his poetic creed and his theory of the universe in no mistakable +terms. In 'Pauline' we get a direct glimpse of the poet's own artistic +temperament, and may literally put our fingers upon those qualities +which were to be a large influence in moulding his work. + +As described by himself the poet of 'Pauline' was + + "Made up of an intensest life + Of a most clear idea of consciousness + Of self, distinct from all its qualities, + From all affections, passions, feelings, powers; + And thus far it exists, if tracked, in all: + But linked in me to self-supremacy, + Existing as a centre to all things, + Most potent to create and rule and call + Upon all things to minister to it." + +This sense of an over-consciousness is the mark of an objective +poet--one who sympathizes with all the emotions and aspirations of +humanity,--interprets their actions through the light of this sympathy, +and at the same time keeps his own individuality distinct. The poet of +this poem discovers that he can no longer lose himself with enthusiasm +in any phase of life; but what does that mean to a soul constituted as +his? It means that the way has been cleared for the birth of that +greater, broader love of the fully developed artist-soul which, while +entering into sympathy with all phases of life, finds its true +complement only in an ideal of absolute Love. + +This picture of the artist aspiring toward the absolute by means of his +large human sympathy may be supplemented by the theory of man's +relation to the universe involved in 'Paracelsus' where it is shown +that the Absolute cannot be fully realized by mankind either through +knowledge or love. Aprile's doctrine has an element of fatalism in it. +He sees and loves God in imperfection, but does not seem to have much +notion of progress. On the other hand, Paracelsus sees God only in +perfected Mankind, until he is really made wise to know that + + "Even hate is but a mask of love's + To see a good in evil and a hope + In ill success," + +and so is led to combine his own former standpoint with Aprile's by +perceiving God and God's love in progress from lesser to ever greater +good, and that evil and failure are the spurs that send man onwards to +a future where joy climbs its heights "forever and forever." + +From this point in his work Browning, like the Hindu Brahmah, becomes +manifest not as himself, but in his creations. The poet whose portrait +we get in 'Pauline' is the same poet who sympathetically presents a +whole world of human experiences to us, keeping his own individuality +for the most part intact, and the philosopher whose portrait is drawn +in 'Paracelsus' is the same who interprets these human experiences in +the light of the great life-theories therein presented. + +But as the creations of Brahmah return into himself, so the human +experiences Browning has entered into artistic sympathy with return to +enrich his completed view of the problems of life, when like his own +Rabbi Ben Ezra, he reaches the last of life for which "the first was +planned" in these 'Fancies' and 'Parleyings'. + +Though these two groups of poems undoubtedly express the poet's own +mature conclusions, they yet preserve the dramatic form. Several things +are gained in this way. First, the poems are saved from didacticism, +for the poet expresses his opinion as an individual and not as a seer, +trying to implant his theories in the minds of disciples. Second, +variety is given and the mind is stimulated by having opposite points +of view presented, while the thought is infused with a certain amount +of emotional force through the heat of argument. + +It has, of course, been objected that philosophical and ethical +problems are not fit subjects for discussion in poetry. It should be +remembered, however, that there is one point the critic of Ćsthetics +has not yet learned to realize; namely, that the law of evolution is +differentiation, in art as well as in cosmic, organic, and social life. +It is just as prejudiced and unforeseeing in these days to limit poetry +to this or that subject, or say that nothing is dramatic that does not +deal with immediate action, as it would have been for Homer to declare +that no poem would ever be worthy the name that did not contain a +catalogue of ships. + +These facts exist! We have dramas dealing merely with action, dramas, +in which character development is of prime importance; dramas, wherein +action and character are entirely synchronous; and those in which the +action means more than appears upon the surface, like Hauptmann's +'Sunken Bell,' or Ibsen's 'Master Builder,' then why not dramas of +thought and dramas of mood when the brain and heart become the stage of +action instead of an actual stage. Surely, such dramas are a natural +development of this Nineteenth Century. As the man in 'Half Rome' says + +"Facts are facts and lie not, and the question 'How came that purse i' +the poke o' you admits of no reply.'" Art has a great many forms of +drama in its poke already, so we would better be careful how we make +authoritative statements on the subject. + +Another advantage, gained from the dramatic form and this is most +important, is that the poet has been enabled by means of it to hold the +mirror up to the turmoil of thought that has racked the brains and +hearts of the last half of the Nineteenth Century. Victorian England in +its thought phases lives just as surely in these poems as Renaissance +Italy in its art phases in 'Fra Lippo Lippi,' 'Andrea del Sarto,' +'Pictor Ignotus' and 'The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. Praxed's;' and +this is true though the first series is cast in the form of Persian +Fables and the second, in the form of Parleyings with worthies of past +centuries. + +We who have grown up under the dispensation, so to speak, of the +doctrine of evolution, now acknowledged to be the guiding principle in +every department of knowledge find it hard to enter into the spirit of +that mid-century Sturm and Drang period which resulted upon the +publication of Darwin's 'Origin of Species.' This book is the landmark +of the century, and commemorates at once the triumph of knowledge, and +its failure. The triumph of science in the realm of phenomena, its +failure to pierce into the ultimate causes of these phenomena. What a +hard fight scientific methods of investigating the phenomena of nature +and life had had up to that time, in the teeth of opposition from the +less instructed religious world, has been summarized for us in the +fascinating pages of Andrew D. White's 'Warfare Between Theology and +Science.' One by one, Science won the outposts held by prejudice and +conservatism. It had to be admitted that the earth was not flat and +that it did not float upon an infinite sea supported on the back of a +tortoise. It had to be admitted, even, that it did not occupy the chief +seat in the synagogue of the firmament, but went rolling about the sun +like any common little asteroid. Finally, the great guns of science +were trained upon man himself and he was forced to retire from his +lofty position of Lord of Creation to the much more humble one of +outcome of creation. + +To a large proportion of mankind it seemed as if, should these things +be admitted as truth, the whole fabric of society must fall to pieces +and religion become a mockery. Those who felt so fought, as for their +life, against the conclusions of science. There was a large minority, +however, which, intellectually constrained to accept the conclusions of +science, yet differed much in temperament and were by consequence, +affected in very different ways by the new truths. There were men like +Matthew Arnold who no longer believed in the revelations of the past, +yet who clung to the beauty of religious forms, in despair at the +thought of the wilderness life would be without them. There were others +like George Eliot, who became positivists, and gained comfort only in +the thought of a religion of humanity and an immortality of nothing +more tangible than human influence. There were those like William +Morris who accepted cheerfully this life as being all and who devoted +their energies to making it as lovely as possible and working to make +it more lovely for the future. There were still others, like Clifford, +entirely hopeless, but who like Childe Roland put the slug horn to +their lips, and lived brave, noble lives in the certainty of coming +annihilation; a divine melancholy seized upon some, such as we see +reflected in much of Tennyson's verse. + +But there were a few who beheld the triumph of science undismayed, for +they saw that her sway could not pass beyond the realm of phenomena, +that the failure of the intellect to penetrate behind the mysteries of +nature and life must be the saving of religion. Herbert Spencer is +among scientists undoubtedly the greatest of this type of mind. +Whatever misunderstandings and vituperations he may have been subjected +to, from the positivist who thinks him inconsistent for his religious +tone to the religionist who dubs him an atheist, the fact still remains +that his was the genius that stood out against the advancing flood of +materialism saying "Thus far shalt thou go and no farther." He it was +who declared that underlying phenomena was an Infinite power that +transcended all human faculties of imagination, and that this fact was +the most certain intuition of the human mind. + +So great an upheaval of thought, changing, as it finally has, man's +whole outlook upon the universe from one more or less static with fixed +codes of morals and standards of art to one that is dynamic and +progressive, brought in its wake the consideration of many ethical as +well as philosophical problems. + +Nothing bears upon the grounds of moral action more disastrously than +blind fatalism, and while there have been many evil forms of this +doctrine in the past there has probably been none worse than the modern +form because it seems to have scientific sanction in the doctrines of +the conservation of energy, the persistence of heredity and the +survival of the fittest, and tends to positive atrophy of the will. +Even wise and thoughtful men now-a-days take such a philosophic view of +events that they hesitate to throw in their voice on either side in the +solution of a national problem because things are bound to follow the +laws of development either way. This is equivalent to admitting that +you are simply a heap of burnt out ashes in the furnace of life, and +that you have no longer any part to play in the combustion that leads +to progress. In the first of 'Ferishtah's Fancies,' a strong plea is +made for those human impulses that lead to action. The will to serve +the world is the true force from God. Every man, though he be the last +link in a chain of causes over which he had no control, can at least +have a determining influence upon the direction in which the next link +shall be forged. Ferishtah appears upon the scene, himself, a fatalist, +leaving himself wholly in God's hands until he is taught by the dream +God sent him that man's part is to act as he saw the eagle act, +succouring the helpless, not to play the part of the helpless birdlings +who were taken care of. Another phase of the same thought is touched +upon in 'A Camel Driver.' The discussion turns upon punishment and the +point is, if, as Ferishtah declares, the sinner is not to be punished +eternally, then why should man trouble himself to punish him. The +answer amounts to this. Man must regard sin from the human point of +view as something evil and to be got rid of and must, therefore, will +to work for its annihilation. It follows then that the sinner should be +punished as that is a means for teaching him to cease sinning. + +Another doctrine upon which the Nineteenth Century belief in progress +as the law of life has set its seal is that of the pursuit of +happiness, or the striving for the greatest good of the whole number +including oneself. With this Browning shows himself in full sympathy in +'Two Camels,' wherein Ferishtah contends that only through the +development of individual happiness and the experiencing of many forms +of joyousness can one help others to happiness and joyousness, while in +'Plot Culture,' the enjoyment of human emotion as a means of developing +the soul is emphasized. + +The relations of good and evil have also had to be re-considered in the +light of Nineteenth Century thought, the dualism of the past not being +compatible with the evolutionary doctrine that good and evil are +relative, a phrase which we sometimes forget must be understood in two +ways:--first, that good and evil are relative to the state of society +in which they exist, and what may be good in one phase of society, may +become evil in a more developed phase. Second, were it not for evil, we +should never be able to appreciate the superiority of good and so to +work for good, and in working for it to bring about progress. To his +pupil worried over the problem of evil Ferishtah points out in 'Mihrab +Shah' that evil in the form of bodily suffering has given rise to the +beautiful sentiments of pity and sympathy. But though it be recognized +that good comes of evil, shall evil be encouraged? No! Ferishtah +declares, Man bound by man's conditions is obliged to estimate as "fair +or foul Right, wrong, good, evil, what man's faculty adjudges such," +therefore the man will do all he can to relieve the suffering of poor +Mihrab Shah with a fig-plaster. The answers, then, that Browning gives +to the ethical problems of the century growing out of the acceptance of +modern scientific doctrines, are, in brief, that man shall use that +will-power of which he feels himself possessed, and which really +distinguishes him from the brute creation, in working against whatever +appears to him evil; while the good for which he shall work is the +greatest happiness of all. + +What of the philosophical doctrines to which Browning gives expression +in the remaining poems of the group? We find it insisted upon in +'Cherries', 'The Sun', in 'A Bean Stripe also Apple Eating', and +especially in that remarkable poem 'A Pillar at Sebzevar' that +knowledge fails. Knowledge the golden is but lacquered ignorance, as +gain to be mistrusted. Curiously, enough, this contention of Browning's +has been the cause of most of the criticisms against him as a +philosopher, yet as far as I have been able to discover, there has been +no deep thinker of this century, and there have been many in other +centuries, who has not held in some form or another the opinion that +intellect was unable to solve the mysterious problems of the universe. +Even the metaphysicians who build very wonderful air castles on _ŕ +priori_ ideas declare that these ideas cannot be matters of mere +intellectual perception, but must be intuitions of the higher reason. +Browning, however, does not rest in the assertion that the intellect +fails. He draws immense comfort from this failure of knowledge. Though +it is to be distrusted as gain, it is not to be mistrusted as means to +gain. "Friend" quoth Ferishtah in 'A Pillar at Sebzevar' + + "As gain--mistrust it! Not as means to gain: + Lacquer we learn by: cast in firing-pot, + We learn,--when what seemed ore assayed proves dross-- + Surelier true gold's worth, guess how purity + I' the lode were precious could one light on ore + Clarified up to test of crucible. + The prize is in the process: knowledge means + Ever-renewed assurance by defeat + That victory is somehow still to reach." + +For men with minds of the type of Spencer's, this negative assurance of +an infinite ever on before is sufficient, but human beings, as a rule, +will not rest satisfied in such cold abstractions. Though Job said +thousands of years ago "Who by searching can find out God," mankind +still continues to search. + +Now comes Browning and says that it is in that very act of searching +that the absolute becomes most directly manifest. From the earliest +times of which we have any record man has been aspiring toward God. +Many times he has thought that he had found God, but later discovered +it to be only God's image built up out of his own human experiences. +This search is very beautifully described in the Fancy called 'The +Sun,' under the symbol of the man who seeks the prime giver that he may +give thanks where it is due for a palatable fig. This search for God +Browning calls Love, meaning by that the moving, aspiring force of the +whole universe, and many are its manifestations, from the love that +goes forth in thanks for benefits received, through the aspirations of +the artist toward beauty, of the lover toward human sympathy, even of +the scientist toward knowledge, to the lover of humanity like +Ferishtah, who declares "I know nothing save that love I can +boundlessly, endlessly." + +The poet argues from this that if mankind has with ever increasing +fervor aspired toward a God of Love, and has ever developed toward +broader conceptions of human love, it is only reasonable to infer that +in his nature God has something which corresponds to human love, though +it transcend our most exalted imagining of it. In John Fiske's recent +book 'Through Nature to God' he advances a theory identical with this, +evidently unaware that Browning had been before him, for he claims it +as entirely original. Fiske's originality consists in his having based +his proof upon analogies drawn from the evolution of organic life in +following out the law of the adjustment of inner to outer relations. +For example, since the eye has through aeons of time gradually adjusted +itself into harmony with light, why should not man's search for God be +the gradual adjustment of the soul into harmony with the infinite +spirit. Other modern thinkers have advanced the idea that love was the +ruling force of the universe; nor need we confine ourselves to the +moderns, for like nearly every phase of thought, it had its counterpart +or at least its seed in Greek thought. Thus we find that Empedocles +declared that the ruling forces of the universe were Love and Strife +and that the conflict between these was necessary for the continuance +of life. As far as I know, however, no other thinker or poet has +emphasized with such power the thought that the only true basis of +belief is the intuition of God that comes from the direct revelation of +feeling in the human heart, and which has been at once the motive force +of the search for God and the basis of a conception of God's nature. A +natural corollary of such a theory is that every conception man has had +of the Infinite had its value as a partial image since it grew out of +the divine impulse planted in man, but that in the Christian ideal, the +highest symbolical conception was attained through the mystical +unfolding of love in the human soul. + +The thought of the 'Fancies' is optimistically rounded out in 'A Bean +Stripe also Apple Eating' in which Ferishtah argues that life, in spite +of the evil in it, seems to him on the whole good, and he cannot +believe that evil is not meant for good ends since he is so sure that +God is infinite in love. + +From all this it will be seen that our poet accepts with Spencerians +the negative proof of God growing out of the failure of intellect, but +adds to it the positive proof derived from emotion. + +It was a happy thought of the poet to present such problems in Persian +guise, for Persia stands in Zoroastrianism for the dualism which +Ferishtah denies in his recognition of the part evil plays in the +development of good, and through Mahometanism for the Fatalism, +Ferishtah learned to cast from him. The Persian atmosphere is preserved +throughout not only by the introduction constantly of Persian allusions +traceable to the great Persian epic the Shah Nameh, but by the telling +of fables in the Persian manner to point the morals intended. With the +exception of the first Fancy, which is derived from a fable of +Bidpai's, we have the poet's own word that all the others are +inventions of his own, but they are none the worse for this. These +clever stories make the poems lively reading, and we soon find +ourselves growing fond of the wise and clever Ferishtah, who like +Socrates is never at a loss for an answer, no matter what bothersome +questions his pupils may propound. + +If we see the thoughtful and brilliant Browning in the 'Fancies' +proper, we perhaps see even more clearly the emotional and passionate +Browning in the lyrics which add such variety and charm to the whole. +This feature is also borrowed from Persian form, a beautiful example of +which has been given to English readers in Edwin Arnold's 'Gulistan' or +'Rose Garden' of the poet Sa' di. In fact Sa' di's preface to his 'Rose +Garden' evidently gave Browning the hint for his humorous prologue, in +which he likens the poems to follow to an Italian dish made of ortolans +on toast with a bitter sage leaf, symbolizing sense, sight and song + + "Sage-leaf is bitter-pungent--so's a quince: + Eat each who's able! + But through all three bite boldly--lo, the gust! + Flavor--no fixture-- + Flies, permeating flesh and leaf and crust + In fine admixture. + So with your meal, my poem masticate + Sense, sight, and song there! + Digest these, and I praise your peptics' state, + Nothing found wrong there." + +Similarly Sa' di says "Yet will men of light and learning, from whom +the true countenance of a discourse is not concealed, be well aware +that herein the pearls of good counsel which heal are threaded on +strings of right sense; that the bitter physic of admonition is +constantly mingled with the honey of good humor, so that the spirits of +listeners grow not sad, and that they remain not exempt from blessings +of acceptance." + +A further interest attaches to these lyrics because they form a series +of emotional phases in the soul-life of two lovers whom I think, we may +be justified in regarding as Mr. and Mrs. Browning themselves. I always +think of them as companion pictures to 'The Sonnets from the +Portuguese.' In these the sun-rise of a great love is portrayed with +intense and exalted passion while the lyrics in 'Ferishtah's Fancies' +reflect the subsequent development of such a love, through the +awakening of whole new realms of feeling, wherein love for humanity is +enlarged, criticism from the one beloved, welcome; all the little +trials of life dissolved in the new light; and divine love realized +with a force never before possible. Do we not see a living portrait of +the two poets in the lyric 'So the head aches and the limbs are faint'? +Many a hint may be found in their letters to prove that Mrs. Browning +with just such a frail body possessed a fire of spirit that carried her +constantly toward attainment while he, with all the vigor of splendid +health could with truth have frequently said "In the soul of me sits +sluggishness." These exquisite lyrics which, whether they conform to +Elizabethan models or not, are as fine as anything ever done in that +line, are crowned by the epilogue in which we hear the stricken husband +crying out to her whom twenty years earlier he had called his "lyric +love" in a voice doubting, yet triumphing in the thought that his +optimism is the light radiating from the halo which her human love had +irised round his head. + +In 'The Parleyings' the discussions turn principally upon artistic +problems and their relation to modern philosophy, four out of the seven +being inspired by artist, poet, or musician. The forgotten worthies +whom Browning rescued from oblivion, make their appeal to him upon +various grounds that connect them with the present. Bernard de +Mandeville evidently caught Browning's fancy because in his satirical +poem 'The Grumbling Hive' he forestalled, by a defence of the Duke of +Marlborough's war policy, the doctrine of the relativity of good and +evil. One might have imagined that this subject had been exhausted in +'Ferishtah's Fancies,' but it seems to have had a great fascination for +Browning, probably because the idea was a new one and he felt the need +of thinking his way through all its implications. Fresh interest is +added in this case because the objector in the argument was a +contemporary of Browning's--Carlyle, whose well-known pessimism over +the existence of evil is graphically presented. Browning clenches his +side of the argument with an original and daring variation upon the +Prometheus myth led up to by one of the most magnificent passages in +the whole range of his poetry, and probably the finest example anywhere +in literature of a description of nature as interpreted by the laws of +cosmic evolution. He describes the effect of the sun-light in +developing the life upon the earth, tracing it as far as the mind of +man. But the mind of man is not satisfied with the purely physical and +phenomenal. + + "What avails sun's earth-felt thrill + To me? Mind seeks to see, + Touch, understand, by mind inside me, + The outside mind--whose quickening I attain + To recognize--I only." + +But Prometheus offered an artifice whereby man's mind is satisfied. He +drew Sun's rays into a focus plain and true. The very sun in little: +made fire burn and henceforth do man service. Denuded of its scientific +and mystical symbolism Browning makes the Prometheus myth teach his +favorite doctrine, namely that the image of love formed in the human +heart by means of the burning glass supplied by sense and feeling is a +symbol of infinite love. + +Daniel Bartoli, an extremely superstitious old Jesuit of the 17th +century is set up by Browning in the next poem, simply to be knocked +down again on the ground that all the legendary saints he worshipped +could not compare with a real woman the poet knows. The romantic story +of this lady is told in Browning's most fascinating narrative style, so +rapid and direct that it has all the force of a dramatic sketch. Her +claim upon his admiration consists in her recognition of the sacredness +of love which she will not dishonor for worldly considerations, and +finding her betrothed love incapable of attaining her height of +nobleness, she leaves him free. This story only bears upon the poet's +philosophy as it reflects his attitude toward human love, which he +considers so clearly a revelation, that any treatment of it not +absolutely noble and true to the highest ideals is a sin against heaven +itself. + +George Bubb Dodington is the black sheep of these later poems and gives +the poet an opportunity to let loose all his subtlety and sarcasm; and +the reader a chance to use his wits in discovering that the poet +_assumes_ to agree with Dodington that when one is serving his state, +he should at the same time have an eye to his own private welfare, that +he _pretends_ to criticise only Dodington's method of attaining this-- +which is to disclaim that he works for any other good than the state's, +nobody would ever believe that. He then gives what purports to be his +own opinion on the correct method of successful statesmanship--that is, +to pose as a superior being with a divine right to rule, treating +everybody as his puppet and entirely scornful of their opinion of him. +If he will adopt this attitude he may change his tactics every year and +the people instead of suspecting his sincerity will think that he has +wise reasons beyond their insight for his changes. Browning is said to +have had Lord Beaconsfield in mind when he described this proper method +for the statesman. Be that as it may the type is not unknown in this +day. Having discovered all this, the wit of the reader may now draw its +inferences--which will doubtless be that the whole poem is a powerful, +intensely cynical argument, against what we to-day call imperialism and +in favor of liberal government which means the development of every +individual so that he will be able to see for himself whether this or +that policy be right instead of depending upon the leadership of the +over-man, whose intentions are unfortunately too seldom to be trusted. + +The poet Browning calls out from the shades is Christopher Smart, who +was celebrated for having only once in his life composed a great poem, +'The Song of David,' that put him on a par with Milton and Keats. +Perhaps we might not altogether agree with this decision, but critics +have loved to eulogize its great beauties and whether Browning actually +agreed with their conclusions or not makes little difference, for the +fact furnishes him with a text for discussing the problem of beauty +versus truth in art. Should the poet's province simply be to record his +visions of the beauty and strength of nature and the universe, that +come to him in moments of inspiration such as that which came once to +Christopher Smart? "No," says Browning, whose feet are always firmly +based upon the earth. These visions of poets should not be considered +ends in themselves but the materials for greater ends. He asks such +poets if they would + + "Play the fool, + Abjuring a superior privilege? + Please simply when your function is to rule-- + By thought incite to deed? Ears and eyes + Want so much strength and beauty, and no less + Nor more, to learn life's lesson by." + +He goes on to insist that the poet should find his inspiration in the +human heart and climb to heaven by its means, not investigate the +heavens first. He evidently does not sympathize with Emerson's attitude +that the poet has some mysterious connection with the divine mind which +enables him to become at one bound a seer who may henceforth lead +mankind. Rather must the poet diligently study mankind and teach as a +man may through this knowledge. Space does not permit me to dwell on +the beautiful opening of this poem which recalls the imaginative +faculty of the visions in 'Christmas Eve' and 'Easter Day.' + +In 'Francis Furini' the subject is the nude in art, and Browning vows +he will never believe the tale told by Baldinucci that Furini ordered +all his pictures of this description burned. He expresses his +indignation vigorously at some length, showing plainly his own +sympathies then makes Furini pray a very beautiful prayer, then deliver +before a supposed cultured London audience a long and decidedly +recondite speech containing an attack upon that species of agnosticism +that allies itself with positivism and Furini's refutation. The upshot +of it all is that Furini declares the only thing he is certain of is +his own consciousness and the fact that it had a cause behind it, +called God. + + "Knowledge so far impinges on the cause + Before me, that I know--by certain laws + Wholly unknown, what'ere I apprehend + Within, without, me, had its rise: thus blend + I, and all things perceived in one effect." + +Readers of philosophy will recognize in this an echo from Descartes. +This fact of the human consciousness he further develops into an +argument that the painter should paint the human body, just as it was +argued the poet should study the human heart. + +A Philippic against Greek art and its imitation is delivered by the +poet in the 'Parleying with Gerard de Lairesse' whom he makes the +scape-goat of his strictures, on the score of a book Lairesse wrote in +which was described a walk through a Dutch landscape transmogrified by +classic imaginings. To this good soul an old sepulchre, struck by +lightning became the tomb of Phaeton, and an old cart wheel half buried +in the sand near by, the Chariot of the Sun. In a spirit of bravado +Browning proceeds to show what he himself could make of a walk provided +he condescended to illuminate it by classic metaphor and symbol, and a +remarkable passage is the result. It occupies from the eighth to the +twelfth stanzas. It is meant to be in derision of the grandiloquent, +classically embroidered style but so splendid is the language, so +haunting the pictures, the symbolism so profound that it is as if a God +were showing some poor weakling mortal how not to do it--and through +his omniscience must perforce create something wondrously beautiful. +The double feeling one has about this passage only adds to its +interest. After thus classicizing in a manner that might make Euripides +himself turn green with envy, he nonchalantly remarks-- + + "Enough, stop further fooling," + +and to show how a modern poet greets a landscape he flings in the +perfectly simple and irresistible little lyric + + "Dance, yellows, and whites and reds." + +The poet's strictures upon classicism are entirely in line with his +philosophy, placing as it does the paramount importance on living +realities. + + "'Do and no wise dream,' he exclaims + 'Earth's young significance is all to learn; + The dead Greek lore lies buried in its urn + Where who seeks fire finds ashes.'" + +The 'Parleying with Charles Avison' is more a poem of moods than any of +the others. The poet's love for music is reflected in his claiming it +as the highest expression possible to man; but sadness comes to him at +the thought of the ephemeralness of its forms, a fact that is borne in +on him by the inadequateness of Avison's old March styled "grand." He +finally makes of music the most perfect symbol of the evolution of +spirit of which the central truth remains always permanent, while the +form though ever changing is of absolute value to the time when the +spirit found expression in it. + +Even this does not quite satisfy the poet's desires for the supremacy +of music, and his final conclusion is that if we only get ourselves +into a proper historical frame of mind, any form will reveal its +beauty, This is a truth which needs especially to be recognized in +music, for we too often hear people objecting to Haydn or Mozart and +even Beethoven because they are not modern, never realizing that each +age has produced its distinctive musical beauty. + +But Browning means it of course to have the largest significance in +relation to all forms of truth and beauty of which every age has had +its living example--thus--his last triumphant mood is, "Never dream +that what once lived shall ever die." + +I have been able to throw out only a few general suggestions as to +these late masterpieces. There are many subtleties of thought and +graces of expression which reveal themselves upon every fresh reading, +and each poem might well be made the subject of a special study. + +I have said nothing about the Prologue and Epilogue to the Parleyings, +not because I love them less, but because I love them so much that I +should never be able to bring this paper, already too long, to a close +if I once began on them. I hope, however, I have said enough not only +to prove the point that these poems give complete expression to the +thought of the age, but that Browning appears in them, to borrow an apt +term from Whitman, as the "Answerer" of the age. That he has +unquestioningly accepted the knowledge which science has brought and +recognizing its relative character, has yet interpreted it in such a +way as to make it subserve the highest ideals in ethics, religion, and +art, and that far from reflecting any degeneration in Browning's +philosophy of life, these poems put on a firmer basis than ever the +thoughts prominent in his poetry from the first, and which constantly +find illustration indirectly and sometimes directly in his dramatic +poems. + +I am just as unable to find any fault with their subject matter as with +their form. The variety in both is remarkable. Religion and fable, +romance and philosophy, art and science all commingled in rich +profusion. Everything in language--talk almost colloquial, dainty +lyrics full of exquisite emotion, and grand passages which present in +sweeping images now the processes of cosmic evolution, now those of +spiritual evolution, until it seems as if we had indeed been conducted +to some vast mountain height, whence we could look forth upon the +century's turbulent seas of thought, into which flows many a current +from the past, while suspended above between the sea and sky like the +crucifix in Simons' wonderful symbolistic picture of the Middle Ages, +is the mystical form of Divine Love. _Helen A. Clarke._ + + + + + SCHOOL OF LITERATURE. + + GLIMPSES OF PRESENT DAY POETS: A SELECTIVE READING COURSE. + + II. A Group Of American Poets.[2] + +1. Edmund Clarence Stedman. + +_Readings from Stedman_:--'Hebe,' 'A Sea Change.' New York Scenes: +'Peter Stuyvesant,' 'Pan in Wall Street,' 'The Door Step.' A Sheaf of +Patriotic Poems: 'The Pilgrims,' 'Old Brown,' 'Wanted a Man,' +'Treason's Device,' 'Israel Freyer,' 'Cuba.' (In 'Poems' Household +Edition. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $1.50.) + +_Query for Discussion_.--Are Mr. Stedman's local and patriotic themes +inconsistent with the highest degree of lyric grace, or does his poetic +gift appear to best advantage when enlivened by familiar home +interests? + +2. Louise Chandler Moulton. + +_Readings_:--'A Quest,' 'The House of Death.' Sonnets: 'The New Day,' +'One Dread,' 'Afar,' 'Love's Empty House,' 'The Cup of Death,' 'Before +the Shrine,' 'As in Vision,' 'Though We Were Dust,' 'Were but My Spirit +Loosed Upon the Air,' 'The New Year Dawns,' 'Aspiration,' 'The Secret +of Arcady,' 'Her Picture.' (The first two selections and first three +sonnets are in 'Swallow Flights.' New edition of poems of 1877 with +additional poems; the four following are in 'The Garden of Dreams'; and +the four last sonnets and the other poems in 'At the Wind's Will.' +Boston: Little, Brown & Co. $1.25 each. For general review of work see, +also, 'The Poetry of Louise Chandler Moulton.' Contemporary Writer +Series in _Poet-lore_. Vol. IV. New Series. Opening Number, 1900, pp. +114-125.) + +_Query for Discussion_.--Is Mrs. Moulton too narrowly restricted to +emotional themes and emotional means of expression for bounteous poetic +cheer, or is the perfect alliance of her emotional range and +workmanship the very source of her lyric excellence. + +3. Thomas Bailey Aldrich. + +Readings:--'Unsung,' 'Nameless Pain,' 'Quits,' 'Andromeda,' 'Baby +Bell,' 'An Untimely Thought,' 'Bagatelle,' 'Palabras Carinosas,' 'On an +Intaglio of Head of Minerva.' Sonnets: 'Books and Seasons,' 'The +Poets,' 'On Reading William Watson's "The Purple East."' (In Poetical +Works. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $2.00.) + +_Queries for Discussion_.--Does Mr. Aldrich escape the usual penalty +for laying emphasis on delicacy of finish so that the result is +satisfying in its happy precision? Or does he seem cold and elaborately +superficial? Does he, so to speak, carve cherry-stones oftener than he +engraves cameos? + +4. Louise Imogen Guiney. + +_Readings_:--'Peter Rugg,' 'Open Time,' 'The Still of the Year,' +'Hylas,' 'The Kings,' Alexandrina, I, x, and xiii. 'The Martyr's Idyl,' +'Sanctuary,' 'Arboricide,' 'To the Outbound Republic,' 'The Perfect +Hour,' 'Deo Optimo Maximo,' 'Borderlands.' (From 'A Roadside Harp' are +selected the first five poems and the Alexandrina, from 'The Martyr's +Idyl and Shorter Poems' the others. $1.00 each. Boston: Houghton, +Mifflin & Co.) + +_Queries for Discussion_.--Is Miss Guiney's scholasticism too dominant +in her work? Does she lack human warmth? Or are her restraint and good +taste the index of deeper feeling? Does her cultured thought and chaste +concentrated power of expression lift her above the ranks of the minor +poets? + +5. Richard Hovey. + +_Readings_:--'Spring,' an Ode, 'The Wander-lovers.' 'Taliesin,' Second, +Third, Movements. Sonnets: 'Love in the Winds,' 'After Business Hours,' +Act V from 'The Marriage of Guenevere.' ('Spring' first published in +_Poet-lore_, is included in 'Along the Trail' ($1.25), which also +contains the sonnets here selected. 'Taliesin' also originally +published in _Poet-lore_, Vol. VIII, old series, January, February, and +June, 1896, pp. 1-14, 63-78, 292-306, is recently published in 1 vol. +uniform with 'The Marriage of Guenevere' ($1.50). 'The Wander-lovers' +appears in 'Vagabondia.' Boston: Small, Maynard & Co. A general review +of Hovey's work will be the second of the 'Contemporary Writer Series' +in next _Poet-lore_.) + +_Queries for Discussion_.--Has Hovey's way of telling the story of +Guenevere and Launcelot an advantage realistically over Tennyson's, but +none either poetically or ethically? (See on this query, 'The Disloyal +Wife in Literature: Comparative Study Programme,' _Poet-lore_, Vol. I., +new series, pp. 265-274, Spring Number, 1897.) Does Hovey attain +greatness by his liveliness and human quality joined to varied and +skilful metrical effects? Is 'Taliesin' his best work, or is his best +work done in his short pieces? + +6. Bliss Carman. + +_Readings_:--'Spring Song,' 'A More Ancient Mariner,' 'Envoy,' 'Beyond +the Gaspereau,' 'Behind the Arras,' 'The Cruise of the Galleon,' 'A +Song before Sailing,' 'The Lodger,' 'Beyond the Gamut,' 'The Ships of +St. John,' 'The Marring of Malyn.' (The first, second, and third are +in 'Vagabondia'; the fourth in _Poet-lore_, Vol. I., new series, pp. +321-329, Summer Number, 1897; the next five in 'Behind the Arras' +($1.50); the others in 'Ballads of Lost Haven' ($1.00). Boston: Small, +Maynard & Co.) + +_Query for Discussion_.--Is Carman better in his earlier descriptive +lyrics, or better in his later symbolical lyrics because these being +richer in interest are stronger to hold the deeper reader? + +7. Hannah Parker Kimball. + +_Readings_:--'Revelation,' 'The Smoke,' 'The Sower,' 'Consummation,' +'Glory of Earth,' 'Primitive Man,' 'Man to Nature,' 'Eavesdroppers,' +'Social Appeal,' 'The Quiet Land Within,' 'The Saving of Judas +Iscariot.' (The first four of the poems named are in 'Soul and Sense,' +75 cents; the last in _Poet-lore_, Vol. I., new series, pp. 161-168, +Spring Number, 1897; the others in 'Victory and Other Poems.' Boston: +Copeland & Day, now Small, Maynard & Co.) + +_Queries for Discussion_.--Does Miss Kimball's portraiture of Judas +Iscariot reveal a capacity for dramatically creating development in +character? Are her lyrics too grave, or is it their especial blend of +high seriousness and intellectual insight with unforced expression +which gives them unusual richness? + + _The Editors._ + + + * * * * * + + + SONGS FROM THE GHETTO AND A VISION OF + HELLAS. + +Conceived amid the heat and discomfort of the sweating-shops, born in +poverty and squalid surroundings, growing up with hunger and despair +and failure, and at last an honored guest at the table of ease and +culture--such is the history of the 'Songs from the Ghetto' by Morris +Rosenfeld. Mr. Rosenfeld was born of poor parents in Poland in 1862. +Wandering in search of work in England and Holland, he at length found +a scanty means of support as a tailor in the sweating-shops of New +York. Of miserable origin, poorly educated, struggling for the barest +necessities of life, there was yet in him a poet's soul, struggling for +expression. + +The poems of Mr. Rosenfeld, written in the Judeo-German dialect, which +he has brought to great literary perfection, have been collected, +translated into English prose and edited by Professor Leo Wiener, +instructor in Slavic languages at Harvard. + +The songs in this little volume are very beautiful, but whether they +sing of labour or nature, of the shop or the country, there is in every +one a strain of sadness, the melody of each is broken with tears. For +the beauty of which the poet sings, the birds and the flowers, are only +dreams from which he wakes to the misery in his life. It is not the +bitter sadness of hate and rebellion, but the sadness of the Jewish +race, resigned and oppressed, expecting no happiness among an alien +people, but looking for a life of peace in a new Jerusalem. + +"Again your lime will be fragrant, and your orange will gleam," he +comforts the wanderer, "again God will awaken and bring you thither. +You will sing Shepherd songs as you will herd your sheep; you will live +again, live eternally, without end. After your terrible wanderings you +will again breathe freely; there will again beat a hero's heart under +the silent mountain Moriah." + +The songs are not all of labour, or of the sorrows of the Jews. In +lighter vein is 'The Nightingale to the Labourer,' 'The Creation of +Man'--which contains the pretty idea that the poet alone was given +wings, and an angel stood always "ready day and night to attach the +wings to him whenever his holy song will rise." + +The last song in the little volume, called 'In the Wilderness,' is +typical of the poet's spirit; but not, we believe, of his place in the +world. For the world is always ready to listen to a song that carries +with it the impress of truth and beauty. + +"In a distant wilderness a bird stands alone and looks about him, +sadly, and sings a beautiful song. + +"His heavenly-sweet voice flows like the purest gold, and wakens the +cold stones and the prairie wide and deserted. + +"He wakens the dead rocks and the silent mountains round about,--but +the dead remain dead, and the silent remain silent. + +"For whom, sweet singer, do your clear tones resound? Who hears you, +and who feels you? And whose concern are you? + +"You may put your whole soul into your singing. You will not awaken a +heart in the cold, hard rock! + +"You will not sing there long,--I feel it, I know it: your heart will +soon burst with loneliness and woe. + +"In vain is your endeavour, it will not help you, no! Alone you have +come, and alone you will pass away!" + +'A Vison of New Hellas' is one of the books that is destined to be more +important than interesting, more noteworthy than popular. The +conception is certainly very beautiful and very wonderful even if the +author does not always reach the height of expression towards which he +aims. But it is a book which can only appeal to the few, who are ready +to search beneath the covering of fantastic imagery and strange verse +forms which clothe a high poetic purpose and ideal. Even those who come +to the work with a knowledge of the songs of old Hellas and the +philosophy of Plato must feel deeply grateful for the elucidating of +the meaning of the book in an argument which the author has kindly +supplied to forestall the vain imaginings of the uninitiated. + +The poet's aim is as serious as was that of Milton or Dante--"to +realize as best he can such visions of beauty as may be vouchsafed to +him," that through his work he may "make richer the human world in +things of the spirit that quicken and delight." + +In contemplation the poet rises above the mists of sordidness which +rise from the struggle of trade and industry, beyond the clouds of +pessimism and religious doubt, and on the Pisgah heights of Hellenic +culture he sees a vision of the new life that shall come to man. + +Through the beautiful world-myth, the story of Demeter and Persephone +and Dionysus, the poet is taught the lesson of the immortality of the +race, of its ceaseless progression toward a nobler and more beautiful +future. To celebrate their happiness at the discovery that Aidoneus, +dread King of Death, is none other than the Lord of Life "leader of the +blessed to the highest heaven," they resolve to bring about the +redemption of the world. + +This is made possible through the union of Aphrodite, Beauty of Form, +with Apollo, Light of the Mind. From them shall spring a new race of +Gods, typifying the new ideals which shall uplift man until he is +fitted for fellowship at the banquet of the Immortals. Thence will rise +"a nobler, a larger mankind," wakened at length from "the night of +toil, unhallowed by joy in the task." Through Aphrodite will come +"feeling and loving--and art that bids death defiance," and through +Apollo "seeing and knowing and man's life-mastering science." Thence +shall come + + "The lover's rapture Elysian, + The poet's fury, the prophet's vision, + The serene world-sight of the thinker." + +This vision typified the future regeneration of America and through her +of the race. From the sordid reality of present conditions man must +advance ever nearer to the "eternal ideal"; from mean conditions, +inspired by lofty emotions and holy enthusiasms, shall come new +standards of life and of art. + +Mr. Guthrie's work indicates in its form some of the characteristics of +the new literary art. Though his theories are undoubtedly good, the +expression is as yet too crude to form much idea of its possibilities. +Whatever may be the age of the author, his work indicates a certain +inexperience and lacks the grasp and finish of the skilled workman. His +work is too reminiscent; he has not sufficiently assimilated his +sources and impressed them with his own individuality, giving them a +distinctive unity of conception and expression. Though we are quite +willing to accept his assurance that he "did not intend his work to +resemble any known performance," we are continually reminded of +passages in other writers who had inspired him. At times we are struck +with admiration at his power for catching the very trick of his model. + +His work is as "oddly suited" as was Portia's lover. For he suggests to +us--Homer and the Greek tragedians of course in theme and expression; +Milton and Dante with their lofty ideals; Piers Ploughman dreaming +about his "fair field full of folk." For the conception he owes much to +Shelley's 'Prometheus,' whose theme is very similar, but his methods +are more modern, with verse theories of Whitman, philosophy of +Browning, a Wagnerian idea of rhythm, making each rhythmical theme +represent a peculiar mood or image, which is frequently very effective +but sometimes forced. + + _Harriott S. Olive._ + +(Songs from the Ghetto, by Morris Rosenfeld. With Introduction, Prose +Translation, and Glossary. By Leo Weiner, Instructor in the Slavic +Languages at Harvard University. Boston: Small, Maynard & Co.--A Vision +of New Hellas--Songs of American Destiny. William Norman Guthrie. +Clarke Publishing Company. Chicago: $2.50.) + + + * * * * * + + + COL. HIGGINSON'S 'CONTEMPORARIES' AND MRS. + HOWE'S 'REMINISCENCES.' + +Colonel Higginson might have added to his 'Contemporaries' as a +sub-title: 'Our Nineteenth Century Roll of Honor,' for he makes +mention, either brief or extended, in his book, of nearly all the men +and women of the age who would be entitled to a place on such a roll. +It gives one's patriotism a thrill, on looking down the list, to see +how long and splendid a one it is, to note what fine thoughts, +emotions, and achievements stand representative in the brief sketches +of the period of our national existence which the author has observed +and shared in. Patriotic fervor for the past, and, arguing from the +past, a renewed hope in the national future, are the dominant feelings +the book begets. Not that the author has emphasized the bequests of +statesmen and reformers to the country, to the neglect of other +influences. The volume contains nineteen sketches; and the poet, the +philosopher, the scientist, the man of private though beneficent life, +have all places therein; yet all is woven into a whole with one aspect, +the national one. + +All of the sketches are, as the preface states, reprinted pieces first +published in different periodicals any time during the past fifty +years. Since from this point of view the volume can have little or no +consecutiveness, it is noteworthy that a picture of the times is +nevertheless obtained unbroken in its continuity. Every sketch, however +fragmentary a part of the life of its subject, has the vigor of its +surroundings; and the papers upon the men and women of the Abolitionist +period and the Civil War, though most of them have been somewhat +revised for their present publication, have the heart-beats of the +"times that tried men's souls" throbbing in them true and loud. + +One paper, upon John Brown's Household, printed in 1859 and quite +unaltered, preserves by the splendid restraint of its simple language +the very spirit of the iron endeavor and concentred force it describes. + +The value of an author's judgment upon his contemporaries, is +unquestioned; the advantage of a personal share in the lives and +actions of the men who form his theme, added to our already confidence +in his critical judgment, give it worth over other proved biography. On +the deeds of many of the men whose work he commemorates, Fame has yet +to pronounce lastly: their services are too recent for a perfect +judgment. But testimony such as this will surely have value in a +decision. + +One feels a little inclined to quarrel with the author that there is so +little "I" in his book, that there are so few really personal glimpses, +but of course this is too much to ask of a book which is really a +compilation of scattered sketches; and perhaps Colonel Higginson will +remedy the lack in the future. + +It is seldom that one has the pleasure of reading so satisfying and +delightful a piece of autobiography as Mrs. Howe's 'Reminiscences.' One +hardly knows, when the last page is turned, which of two capacities of +the mind has been more completely filled and brimmed over: that of +intellectual appreciation, or the well where abides the feeling of +delighted enthusiasm which is inspired by our friend. We respond to the +pleasure the reading gives us with a really personal sense of +gratitude. + +The subject matter of the book could not have been of other than deep +interest. Mrs. Howe's long and beautiful life has been lived in +surroundings of the highest culture of her time; the events of which +she has written are those which will take their place in the history of +the century just closing; and finally, the men and women who were her +friends and in whose labors she shared, were the men and women whose +opinions have largely moulded the events. But it is not all this, of +unfailing interest though it must be, that gives the book its finest +quality, and that makes one wish to read it over the moment one has +read it through. It is, instead, that we have learned so much of a +beauty-gifted and beauty-giving life in words at once so simple and so +satisfying. Cheeriness and healthiness--if by the latter word one may +express a certain poise and normalness of outlook--are the +characteristics of the narrative. The great and the small of life each +receive their just due; perhaps it is by her treatment of the small +that we are best assured we have read into an intimacy with Mrs. Howe. +That perennial question as to the feminine lack of humor, which has +lately been re-threshed in the newspapers, should receive final and +silencing reply--had it ever deserved a reply at all--in the +'Reminiscences.' The narrative twinkles with keen appreciation of the +humorous, the ludicrous, even of the deliciously nonsensical; also +abounding in that larger sort of humor which does not consist in seeing +the point to a joke, but which makes life bearable and judgments tender +under conditions least likely to keep them so. + +Assuredly Mrs. Howe did not put together the recollections of her life +with primarily didactic purpose, just as assuredly she did not write +them down primarily for the benefit of the American young woman. Yet in +view of the cause to which she has given the work of her latter years, +it is permitted me to say that no greater encouragement could be given +it for the future than the words from which we learn her personal +services to it and to the other causes which she has aided with brain +and hands throughout her life. _Helen Tracy Porter._ + +(Contemporaries, By Thomas Wentworth Higginson. Boston and New York: +Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1899. $2.00. Reminiscences: Julia Ward Howe. +Houghton, Mifflin & Co. Boston and New York. $2.50.) + + + * * * * * + + + LIFE AND LETTERS. + +----The last scenes in the present-day epoch of commercialism promise +to be like the last scenes in the old-time epoch of feudalism, +picturesque, violent, and significant rendings and tearings of the +whole body politic prior to a re-formation on the basis of a larger +unity. Then they portended the unification of England under the Tudors, +or the unification of France under the eleventh Louis. Now they +portend--what? + +Some larger, more spiritual unity, it may be guessed, that shall +quietly and with unprecedented swiftness make use of the materialistic +objects which the short-sighted leaders of commercialism now have in +mind, and after a manner they no more dream is implied in their success +than the royal dynasties of England and France dreamed that the bloody +heads of kings would be the fruit of the new nationality. + + * * * + +----To the leaders of the commercial world-movement, their +materialistic objects are ends in themselves, very substance of very +substance. But the Time-spirit already laughs them to scorn and tosses +them, as mere tools out of place, to some more convenient corner of her +spacious work-shop, where they make but one with a mass of other such +tools awaiting the mastery of her history-shaping hand. + +The tumults of South Africa and China are but signs of the vaster +tumult in which these tumults shall be devoured and assimilated. + + * * * + +----In the world of faith, too, how restless is the aggregate organism! +Ruptures and dissolutions are splitting and fusing orthodoxies and +heterodoxies. + +And in the withdrawn and secret world of the human consciousness the +ferment of new desires and potencies, opposed by all the organized and +settled forces of opinion, is permeating thought, and stirring the +slumbering soul to try the unguessed faculties of its idealism, as if +the real king of the total Unquietness held there his throne. + +The world of politics and commerce, the world of faith and intelligence +tend, it would seem, already, towards that synthetic development +foreseen in 1855, by one whom the obtuse world may yet have reason +enough to recognize as one of the clearest-brained statesmen of the +nineteenth century, though her trade was poetry not politics--Elizabeth +Barrett Browning, when she said of the future: + +"What I expect is a great development of Christianity in opposition to +the churches, and of humanity generally in opposition to the nations." + + * * * + + GOETHE'S IPHIGENIE AT HARVARD. + +It is an age of the universality of genius. Not only the treasures of +our own literature in our own day, but the best that has been written +in all lands in all ages, the best that is being thought and sung in +every tongue to-day is ours. And the test of what is good is no longer +that it appeals to the people of a certain period or race, but that it +appeals to and expresses the spirit of humanity, that it fills a place +in a _Welt-Litteratur_. + +A striking instance of the power of the present to interpret the spirit +of the past was the performance of Goethe's Iphigenie at Harvard on the +sixty-eighth anniversary of Goethe's death. Professor Kuno Franke, +writing in the New York Evening Post speaks of Iphigenie as "the +worthiest production of artistic genius to represent German ideals to a +distinctly academic audience at the foremost of American universities." +This it seems to us Iphigenie emphatically is _not_. In conscious +imitation of Greek tragedy in the literary form and expression, as well +as in the details of the story, it is Greek; in its psychological +treatment, in the idea that personal salvation comes only through +self-sacrifice, it is distinctively modern, but not German, in subject, +expression or treatment. + +Although the choice of Iphigenie as a representative German play was +not justified, certainly nothing could have better expressed the genius +of the greatest of German poets. The greatness of Goethe!--that was the +fact of all others demonstrated by the performance of Iphigenie. He has +given us a play which realizes the ideals of the Greek poets and +sculptors, a play instinct with the deepest reverence of the Greek +religion, yet at the same time a play which expressed the deepest +emotions of a great spiritual revolution in his own life; a play which +may be considered as a presentation of the very spirit of that +Christianity which findeth its soul in losing it. One of its leading +critics says of Iphigenie--"its ideals are not those of Greece or of +Germany, or of any nationality or time, but rather the realization of +the highest and noblest aspirations of mankind in all lands and all +tongues." + +A universal literature is but the child of a universal religion, of +that yearning toward the good and beautiful and true which has been the +guiding star of man since the world began. The struggle in his own +soul; the mystic meaning of a pagan faith, that in passing has touched +all succeeding ages with some measure of its radiant beauty; the poet's +vision of the future spiritual triumph of the race; all these Goethe +united in one artistic expression, and the result is one of the great +poems of the world. + +The presentation of the play at Harvard was a marvellous exhibition of +the power of a great artistic conception to carry an audience with it +in enthusiastic appreciation of the spirit, without the necessity for +an understanding of the medium of expression. Back of all expression is +the spirit of its author, and as a beautiful voice interprets the +meaning of the song written in an unknown tongue, so these German +actors by the power of an art statuesque in its beauty, musical in +expression, deeply spiritual in its interpretation of the poet's soul, +revealed to the audience the wondrous charm of Iphigenie. In a foreign +tongue they portrayed the emotions of mythical heroes long dead in a +distant land, and as we watched and listened the mythical dead became +living mortals, and we understood their suffering and their heroism, +saw the agony of the spiritual struggle, realized the force of the +great temptation, knew the joy of the final victory. + +A great poet, a drama of transcendent power and beauty, actors of +consummate art, an enthusiastic audience,--nothing was lacking to make +the event a memorable one. _H. S. O._ + + * * * + +----At a recent debate at the 'Philadelphia Browning Society' Miss Mary +M. Cohen, the founder and first president of the Society and now one of +its vice-presidents, opened the discussion with the following bright +paper written to the question:-- + +Is Browning to be ranked as a legitimate member of the Victorian +School? + +Certainly he is. If any one tries to prove that he is not entitled to +the claim, it must be because the poet has so much more of brilliant +mental make-up than most of the Victorian writers that the critics are +dazzled. + +They want to cut and fit a man's ability and achievement to a +particular class of work, to press him down, as it were, into a +jelly-mould and say, "There, take that shape and mind, not a drop of +you is to spill over!" It is a good deal like a woman when asked her +age; she often says, "I am twenty"; so she is, dear thing, and +frequently much more, besides. Our poet is a Victorian poet and +gloriously transcends them all. "If this be treason, make the most of +it." My opponent is no doubt carefully writing down this challenge with +a view to crushing me later, but unlike my sex in general, I do not +want the last word, if I can only get the first. "He laughs best who +laughs last" has always had rather a prejudiced sound in my ears; on +the contrary, he who makes the first score has often a tremendous +advantage. A charming young artist, a friend of mine, has thrown a +certain light upon the subject of this debate: She said, "Victorian +always suggests to me something housekeepery and mutton-choppy: Is +Browning mutton-choppy?" I suppose that the adversary will answer this. + +In one of the popular manuals of English literature, we find Tennyson +and Browning described as the two masters of Victorian poetry. My +definition of a poet of the Victorian School would be that he should +combine a musical versification with ethical, philosophical and +artistic thought. I believe that Tennyson is generally received as an +example. If Shelley be accepted as a Victorian School poet, then it is +absolutely certain that Browning, having absorbed Shelley until poetic +inspiration was fused to a white heat, may be held to represent the +Victorian School in gigantic and overwhelming form. Although it has +been said that "until late years Browning has been entirely at variance +with the tendencies of his time and for nearly forty years represented +that opposition to the poetry of the age which has recently been made +prominent by a small band of poetical innovators of whom Swinburne is +the most extreme," still I feel justified in my claim. Browning +incorporated the introspective philosophy of his period in his work, +and also displayed in many of his writings the musical sweetness which +is supposed especially to mark the Victorian poets. Think of his poem +of 'Saul,' forceful, yet melodious, suffused with the intense interest +of the Biblical story, glorified by the superb imagery of a mind +dwelling in a time of psychological inquiry. Almost the whole of +'Asolando' is musical. Remember the poem 'Reverie': + + "I know there shall dawn a day + --Is it here on homely earth? + Is it yonder, worlds away, + Where the strange and new have birth + That Power comes full in play?" + +Note the influence which contemporary events must have on a man like +Browning: in 1851 the great Exhibition, the first of the series held +later in different countries, and stimulating in its effects upon the +intellectual, social and spiritual culture of the poet: in 1854 the +Crimean War, conducted with France against Russia who had appropriated +the Turkish principalities of Moldavia and Wallachia, and made famous +by such battles as Alma, Balaklava and Inkermann. In 1853 came Florence +Nightingale with her reform in hospital service. In 1858 the Atlantic +cable was laid. In 1888 came the "Philadelphia Browning Society." No +one of the Victorian poets was mentally organized by these events, the +last excepted, as was Browning. The critic Alexander has said "A man's +work is determined not only by the character of his genius, but also by +the conditions of his age. Homer would not write a great epic, were he +alive now, nor Shakespeare great dramas." + +'Prospice' is another instance of melodious verse, expressing thought +exalted, philosophical and spiritual. + +Who is not impressed with the strength and sweep of 'Cristina'? + + "There are flashes struck from mid-nights, there are fire-flames + noon-days kindle, + Whereby piled-up honors perish, Whereby swollen ambitions dwindle." + +We cannot ignore the graceful flow of 'Confessions': + + "How sad and bad and mad it was-- + But then, how it was sweet!" + +I must also quote what seems to me a very vital tribute to his genius: + +"Browning is one of the very few men--Mr. Meredith excepted--who can +paint women without idealization or degradation, not from the man's +side, but from their own; as living equals, not as goddesses or as +toys." His poetry has been described as "superb landscape painting in +verse." Swinburne differentiates Browning's work as marked by decisive +and incisive faculty of thought, sureness and intensity of perception, +rapid and trenchant resolution of aim. 'The Ring and the Book' is the +masterpiece of this great Victorian master. + +If then it be remembered that Browning ranks high as a humorist, that +he has brilliant and subtle qualities, that he could appreciate and +translate into poetry the stirring events of both sacred and profane +history; that he drew Religion in all shapes to his side, that +Mythology and Orientalism were his boon companions; that he moulded Art +to his purpose, allured Music by his call, won Philosophy by his gaze, +looked Truth in the eyes; there can be little or no doubt that he was +the greatest of all the poets of the Victorian School and in his single +person united all the highest characteristics of his literary +contemporaries. Through him the Victorian School was raised to a height +and deepened to a depth that without him it never would have had. + + _Mary M. Cohen._ + + * * * + +----Is there anything that so forcibly brings home to us the foreign +point of view or rather the point of tongue and point of ear that makes +a Frenchman's expression alien to ours, than to see how he explains the +proper English pronunciation of English? Here is the way, for example, +that he elaborately spells out the sound of 'Much Ado About Nothing' in +a dictionary of Foreign Names and Phrases: "Meutch a-dou a-boutt' +neuth' igne." And of course our point of ear is quite as droll to him. + + + +FOOTNOTE: + +[Footnote 1: In 'The Broken Heart,' John Ford, 1633, Calantha, +addressing the dead body of her betrothed husband, says: "Now turn I to +thee, thou shadow Of my departed lord." Antony refers to his dead body +as "a mangled shadow"; 'Antony and Cleopatra,' iv., 2, 27. Shakespeare +elsewhere refers to disembodied spirits as "shadows"; as in 'Richard +III,' i, 4, 53; _Ibid_., v, 3, 216; 'Cymbeline, v, 4, 97; and 'Titus +Andronicus,' I, 1, 126.] + +[Footnote 2: For 'I. A Group of British Poets' see _Poet-lore_, Vol. +III. (New Series), End Year Number 1899. Pp. 610-612.] + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Three Heron's Feathers, by Hermann Sudermann + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THREE HERON'S FEATHERS *** + +***** This file should be named 34409-8.txt or 34409-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/4/0/34409/ + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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New Series.</title> +<meta name="Author" content="Hermann Sudermann"> +<meta name="Publisher" content="Poet-Lore Co."> +<meta name="Date" content="1900"> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> +<style type="text/css"> +body {margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; background-color:#FFFFFF;} + + + +p.normal {text-indent:.25in; text-align: justify;} +p.center {text-align:center; margin-top:9pt;} + + +p.right {text-align:right; margin-right:20%;} + +p.continue {text-indent: 0in; margin-top:9pt;} +.text10 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:10%; margin-right:0px; font-size:90%;} +.text20 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:20%; margin-right:0px; font-size:90%;} + +.t0 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:0em; margin-right:0px;} +.t1 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:1em; margin-right:0px;} +.t2 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:2em; margin-right:0px;} +.t3 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:3em; margin-right:0px;} +.t4 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:4em; margin-right:0px;} +.t5 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:5em; margin-right:0px;} +.t6 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:6em; margin-right:0px;} +.t7 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:7em; margin-right:0px;} +.t8 {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:8em; margin-right:0px;} + +.quote {font-size:90%; margin-top:24pt; margin-bottom:24pt} +.dateline {text-align:right; font-size:90%; margin-right:10%; margin-top:24pt; margin-bottom:24pt} + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5 {text-align: center;} + +span.sc {font-variant: small-caps; font-size:100%;} +span.sc2 {font-variant: small-caps; font-size:90%;} + +hr.W10 {width:10%; margin-top:12pt; margin-bottom:12pt; + color:black;} + +hr.W20 {width:20%; margin-top:12pt; margin-bottom:12pt; + color:black;} + +hr.W50 {width:50%; margin-top:12pt; color:black;} +hr.W90 {width:90%; margin-top:12pt; color:black;} + +p.hang1 {margin-left:1em; text-indent:-1em;} +p.hang2 {margin-left:1em; text-indent:0em;} + +.poem { + margin-top: 24pt; + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; + text-align: left; + margin-bottom: 24pt + } + .poem .stanza { + margin : 1em 0; + margin-top:24pt; + } + +span.Greek { + font-family: 'Arial Unicode MS', 'Gentium', 'GentiumAlt', 'Palatino Linotype', 'Times New Roman'; + font-size:100%; + color: red; +} +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Three Heron's Feathers, by Hermann Sudermann + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Three Heron's Feathers + +Author: Hermann Sudermann + +Translator: Helen Tracy Porter + +Release Date: November 23, 2010 [EBook #34409] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THREE HERON'S FEATHERS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books + + + + + +</pre> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<p class="hang1">Transcriber's Notes:<br> +1. Page scan source: http://books.google.com/books?id=FZ8W-SIMSR4C&dq<br> +<br> +2. Greek words are transliterated in bracket [Transliteration: ].</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<table style="width:100%; font-size:125%"><tr> +<td><b>Whole Vol. XII.</b><br><b><span style="font-size:80%">NEW SERIES IV.</span></b></td> +<td style="text-align:center; vertical-align:top"><b>YEARLY, $2.50 EACH NUMBER, +65 CENTS.</b></td> +<td style="text-align:left;vertical-align:top"><b>No. 2</b></td> +</tr> +</table> +<br> +<br> +<h1>POET-LORE</h1> + +<h3>A ˇ QUARTERLY ˇ MAGAZINE ˇ OF ˇ LETTERS</h3> +<br> +<br> +<h2>SECOND NUMBER.</h2> + +<h3>VOL. IV. NEW SERIES.</h3> +<hr class="W10" style="margin-bottom:0px"> +<h4>April, May, June, 1900.</h4> +<hr class="W10" style="margin-top:0px"> +<p class="continue"><a name="div1Ref_poetry" href="#div1_poetry"><b>POETRY AND +FICTION.</b></a></p> +<br> +<p class="hang1"><a name="div2Ref_feathers" href="#div2_feathers">THE THREE +HERON'S FEATHERS</a>. Hermann Sudermann</p> + +<p class="hang1"><a name="div2Ref_marah" href="#div2_marah">MARAH OF SHADOWTOWN</a>. Verses. Anne Throop</p> + +<p class="hang1"><a name="div2Ref_dies" href="#div2_dies">DIES IRAE</a>. Verses. William Mountain</p> +<br> + +<p class="continue"><a name="div1Ref_essays" href="#div1_essays"><b> +APPRECIATIONS AND ESSAYS.</b></a></p> + +<p class="hang1"><a name="div2Ref_meredith" href="#div2_meredith">GEORGE MEREDITH ON THE SOURCE OF DESTINY</a>. Emily G. Hooker</p> + +<p class="hang1"><a name="div2Ref_ophelia" href="#div2_ophelia">THE TRAGEDY OF OPHELIA</a>. David A. McKnight</p> + +<p class="hang1"><a name="div2Ref_clews" href="#div2_clews">CLEWS TO EMERSON'S MYSTIC VERSE</a>. III. William Sloane Kennedy</p> + +<p class="hang1"><a name="div2Ref_defence" href="#div2_defence">A DEFENCE OF BROWNING'S LATER WORK</a>. Helen A. Clarke</p> +<br> + +<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_school" href="#div1_school"><b>SCHOOL OF +LITERATURE.</b></a></p> + +<p class="hang1"><a name="div2Ref_glimpses" href="#div2_glimpses">GLIMPSES OF PRESENT-DAY POETS</a>. A Selective Reading Course. II. +An +American Group: Edmund Clarence Stedman, Louise Chandler Moulton, +Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Louise Imogen Guiney, Richard Hovey, Bliss +Carman, Hannah Parker Kimball.</p> +<br> + +<p class="continue"><a name="div1Ref_reviews" href="#div1_reviews"><b>REVIEWS.</b></a></p> + +<p class="hang1"><a name="div2Ref_songs" href="#div2_songs">'Songs from the Ghetto' and 'A Vision of Hellas.'</a> Harriott S. +Olive.--<a name="div2Ref_higginson" href="#div2_higginson">Col. Higginson's 'Contemporaries' and Mrs. Howe's +'Reminiscences.'</a> Helen Tracy Porter.</p> +<br> + +<p class="continue"><a name="div1Ref_letters" href="#div1_letters"><b>LIFE AND +LETTERS.</b></a></p> + +<p class="hang1"><a name="div2Ref_unrest" href="#div2_unrest">The Modern Unrest in Nations, Markets and +Minds.</a>--<a name="div2Ref_portent" href="#div2_portent">Its +Portent.</a>--<a name="div2Ref_iphigenie" href="#div2_iphigenie">Goethe's Iphigenia at Harvard.</a> H. S. +O.--<a name="div2Ref_browning" href="#div2_browning">Is Browning a +Legitimate Member of the Victorian School?</a> Mary M. Cohen.--<a name="div2Ref_etc" href="#div2_etc">Etc.</a></p> + +<hr class="W20"> + +<h3>BOSTON:</h3> +<h3>Published by POET-LORE CO., 16 Ashburton Place.</h3> +<h4>London: Gay and Bird, 22 Bedford St., Strand.</h4> +<br> +<br> +<p class="center">Entered at the Boston, Mass., Post-Office as Second-Class Mail Matter</p> +<br> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h1>POET-LORE</h1> + +<h3>A QUARTERLY MAGAZINE OF LETTERS</h3> +<hr class="W10" style="margin-bottom:0px"> +<h3><i>Founded January, 1889</i></h3> +<hr class="W10" style="margin-top:0px"> + +<p class="continue">Devoted to Appreciation of the Poets and Comparative Literature. Its +object is to bring Life and Letters into closer touch with each other, +and, accordingly, its work is carried on in a new spirit: it considers +literature as an exponent of human evolution rather than as a finished +product, and aims to study life and the progress of ideals in letters.</p> + +<h5>EDITORS:</h5> + +<h4>CHARLOTTE PORTER and HELEN A. CLARKE</h4> + +<h5>HONORARY ASSOCIATE EDITORS</h5> + +<h4>W. J. ROLFE, Litt.D., Cambridge, Mass. WILLIAM O. KINGSLAND, London, +England. HIRAM CORSON, LL.D., Prof, of English Literature, Cornell +University, Ithaca, N.Y.</h4> + +<h5>--><i>Address all editorial communications to</i></h5> + +<h3>POET-LORE COMPANY, 16 Ashburton Place, Boston.</h3> + +<p class="continue">YEARLY SUBSCRIPTION, $2.50<br> +EACH QUARTERLY NUMBER, 65 cents</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr class="W20"> +<br> +<br> +<p class="hang1"><span style="font-size:150%"><b>Poet-lore (New Series)</b></span> is published quarterly, the New Year Number for +January, February, and March; the Spring Number for April, May, and +June; the Summer Number for July, August, and September; the Autumn +Number for October, November, and December.</p> + +<p class="hang1"><span style="font-size:150%"><b>Poet-lore (Old Series)</b></span> from January, 1889 to August-September, 1896, +inclusive, was published monthly except in July and August, a Double +Summer Number, however, being issued in June for June and July, and a +Double Autumn Number in September for August and September. +Subscription price for yearly parts same as for New Series, $2.50. +Single numbers, 25 cents; Double numbers, 50 cents.</p> + +<hr class="W20"> + +<p class="normal">--><i>Subscriptions sent through booksellers and agents are discontinued +at expiration unless renewed. Other subscribers wishing this Magazine +stopped at the expiration of their subscription must notify us to that +effect, otherwise we shall consider it their wish to have it continued. +Due notice of expiration is sent.</i></p> + +<p class="normal">--><i>Money should be remitted by Post-Office Money Order, Draft, or +Registered Letter; from Foreign Countries, by International Post-Office +Money-Order or Bank Draft. All made payable to the order of</i></p> + +<hr class="W20"> + +<h2>POET-LORE COMPANY, 16 Ashburton Place, Boston.</h2> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h1><a name="div1_poetry" href="#div1Ref_poetry">POET-LORE</a></h1> +<br> +<table style="width:100%"> +<tr> +<td>Vol. XII.</td> +<td style="text-align:right">No. 2</td> +</tr></table> +<div style="margin-left:20%"> +<p class="t8">--<i>wilt thou not haply saie</i>,</p> +<p class="t5"><i>Truth needs no collour with his collour fixt</i>,</p> +<p class="t5"><i>Beautie no pensell, beauties truth to lay</i>:</p> +<p class="t5"><i>But best is best if never intermixt</i>.</p> +<p class="t3"><i>Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb</i>?</p> +<p class="t3"><i>Excuse no silence so, for 't lies in thee</i>,</p> +<p class="t3"><i>To make him much outlive a gilded tombe</i>:</p> +<p class="t5"><i>And to be praised of ages yet to be</i>.</p> +<p class="t5"><i>Then do thy office</i>----</p> +</div> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2><a name="div2_feathers" href="#div2Ref_feathers">THE THREE HERON'S FEATHERS.</a></h2> + +<h3>BY HERMANN SUDERMANN.</h3> + +<hr class="W10"> + +<h3>Characters.</h3> +<table style="width:90%; margin-left:5%"> +<colgroup><col style="width:50%"> +<col style="width:20%"><col style="width:5%"><col style="25%"></colgroup> +<tr> +<td>The Queen of Samland.</td> +<td>Sköll,</td> +<td rowspan="3" style="font-size:36pt">}</td> +<td rowspan="3" style="vertical-align:middle">The Duke's men.</td> +</tr><tr> +<td>The young Prince, her son.</td> +<td>Ottar,</td> +</tr><tr> +<td>Anna Goldhair, her attendant.</td> +<td>Gylf,</td> +</tr><tr> +<td>Cölestin, her Major-domo.</td> +<td colspan="3">The Burial-wife.</td> +</tr><tr> +<td>The Chancellor.</td> +<td colspan="3">Miklas, a peasant.</td> +</tr><tr> +<td>Widwolf, Duke of Gotland.</td> +<td rowspan="3" colspan="3"><p class="hang1" style="margin-top:0px">An old fisherman, a page, +councillors, men and women of the +Queen, the Duke's men, the people.</p></td> +</tr><tr> +<td>Prince Witte.</td> +</tr><tr> +<td>Hans Lorbass, his servant.</td> +</tr><tr> +<td colspan="4"> +<p class="normal" style="margin-top:12pt"><i>The scene of the first and fifth acts is laid on the coast of Samland; +that of the second, third, and fourth acts in the capital city.</i></p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Between the fourth and fifth acts a period of fifteen years elapses.</i></p></td> +</tr></table> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>ACT I.</h2> +<br> +<p class="hang1"><i>The coast of Samland. The background slopes upward at right and left +to wooded hills. Between them is a gorge, behind which the sea +glitters. In the right foreground are graves with wooden head-boards +and crosses, overgrown with shrubbery. At the left is a stout +watch-tower with a door in it. Common household furniture stands about +the threshold.</i></p> +<br> +<br> +<h3>Scene 1.</h3> +<br> +<p class="hang1"><span class="sc2">Hans Lorbass </span><i>seated on a grave with spade and shovel, a freshly dug +mound behind him.</i></p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>sings</i>].</p> +<div style="margin-left:20%"> +<p class="t0">Behind a juniper bush,<br> +On a night in July warm and red,<br> +Was my poor mother of me brought to bed</p> +<p style="text-indent:-122px; margin-top:0px">[<i>Speaking</i>].<span style="letter-spacing:16px"> </span> And knew not how.</p> +<p class="t0"></p> +<p class="t0">Behind a juniper bush,<br> +Between cock's crow and morning red,<br> +I struck in drink my father dead,</p> +<p style="text-indent:-122px; margin-top:0px">[<i>Speaking</i>].<span style="letter-spacing:16px"> </span> And new not who.</p> +<p class="t0"></p> +<p class="t0">Behind a juniper bush,<br> +When all the vermin have had their bite,<br> +I'll stretch myself out and give up the fight</p> +<p style="text-indent:-122px; margin-top:0px">[<i>Speaking</i>].<span style="letter-spacing:16px"> </span> Still I know not when.</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">Yet one thing I know: anywhere hereabouts, a mile-stone or a +cross-roads will do very well some day; I do not need a juniper bush. +Let us say a garden hedge, that is a pleasant spot. If some day it +should come into my head to lie down beneath one, in the tall grass, +nearby a grave, and quietly turn my back on this dry, burnt-out old +world, who--a plague upon him--would have aught to say against it? Here +I sit and munch my crusts, and hold carouse--on water; [<i>getting up</i>] +here I stand and dig graves, a free-will servant to weakness. I dig the +graves of the unnamed, unknown, when icy waves toss them rotting on the +shore, tangled in slimy sea-weed. Once all my thoughts were wont to +follow on the foeman's path, to cleave him through with my blithely +swinging sword, to carve my path straight through the solid rock; yet +now I stand here and smile submission at a woman. But I bide my time +until my master comes again knocking to set me free from my graveyard +prison and breathe new life into my frame. Him at whose side I once +stood guardian-like with fiercest zeal, him will I serve again with all +my love and life, and follow like a dog.... Like a dog, yes, but like a +master, too. For it is strength alone that wins the day at last, in all +the brave deeds done upon this earth. And only he who laughs can win. +The victory is never to the weakling whiner, nor to the man whose +rage can master him; as little does it crown the man whose mind is +woman-ruled; but less than these and least of all will it bless him +who dreams away his life. For that I stole and sweated to secure,--his +future good,--for that I sit now fixed firm within his soul,--I his +servant and avenger! Here comes the old one. Never yet have I owned +myself conquered by any soul on earth.... And yet--when she comes +peering into my affairs, I feel as though I might become--I don't know +what! I begin to know what strength is in sweet words; I feel a +readiness for any sort of bout; my spirits swell to bursting +roisteringness,--and yet I have not the shadow of a cause for any such +ideas.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i> [<i>entering</i>]. Tell me, my little Hans, hast been +industrious? Hast made a fine soft bed?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. I am no Hans of thine. My name is Hans Lorbass. A knave who +stalks stiff-necked and solemn up and down the world does not much +relish being treated like a child.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i>. Thou art my dear child none the less. Only grow old and +gray; and then shall thy body bear its scars and thy soul its sins back +to the old wife.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Not yet.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i>. Thou hast dug many a deep still grave for me; many a +wanderer will come and find rest, therein. Over the gray path of the +boundless sea will each one come bringing his life's sorrow to lay it +here upon my bosom. I open wide my arms to them as my father bade me, +and blessing them I thus absolve myself from suffering and penance. +Beneath my breath sin and crime straightway disappear;--and smilingly I +bear all my dear children to their rest.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Not me. What concern hast thou with me? It is true thou holdest +me here within thy grave-yard prison and compellest me to play the +grave-digger with blows and taunts; but let my prince once come this +way again, and not another hour of service shalt thou have.... My +prince, my gold-prince! My sweet lad! How I could burst with a single +leap straight to thy side through all the world, and with my +too-long-idle sword hurl down to hell the coward pack that presses +round thee!... And thou art all to blame,--yes, all. He had already +quite enough agonizing longings, unfulfilled desires; but thou must +needs fan the warmly glowing flames to a devouring blaze. It was thou +that lured him into that adventure, that willed his braving danger +singlehanded; and if he cracks the accursed nut, if I see the foam curl +again about his prow,--even if I clasp him to me and feel him safe +indeed,--who shall tell me that after all his prize is worth his pains? +Where is that woman thou hast showed to him, that pattern of beauty and +purity, that paragon of softness and strength, she who was born to +steal away his other longings,--where is she?--show her to me!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i>. My little Hans, my son, why stormest thou so?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Let me curse.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i>. Hush thee, and lie down here beside me on the straw, and +listen what I tell thee.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. On the grave-straw? [<i>Lies down with a grimace.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i>. There landed two men yonder on a golden spring day, and +wandered lost like wild things through the thicket. Who were they?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. I and my master were the two. The villainy of his step-brother +had rent from him his throne and kingdom. He was too young, he was too +weak,--there lay the blame.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i>. Yet he was blustering and drew his sword and demanded +with storm and threat that I should grant a wish for him. Still thou +knowest him, my dear son?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Do I know him!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i>. "Thou desirest the fairest of women for thy bride?" I +said. "She is not here; but if thou dost not shrink before the danger, +I can show thee the way, my son."</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. The way to death!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i>. "There lies an isle in the northern seas, where day and +night are merged in dawn; never more shall he rejoice at sight of home +who loses his path there in a storm. There lies thy path. And there, +where the holy word is never taught, within a crystal house there lives +a wild heron, worshiped as a god. From that heron thou must pluck three +feathers out and bring them hither."</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. And if he brings them?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i>. Then I will make him conscious of miraculous power, +through which he shall find and bind her to himself who awaits him in +night and need; for by this deed he grows a man, and worth the prize.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. And then? When he has got her, and sighs and coos and lies in +her bosom half a hundred years, when he turns himself a very woman, I +shall be the last to wonder at it. Look! [<i>he picks up a piece of +amber</i>] I shovelled this shining glittering bauble out of the +dune-sand. I have heaped up whole bushels of it in my greedy zeal. Now, +as I toss from me this sticky mass of resin, that borrows the name and +place of a stone, so with the act I hurl away in mocking laughter these +many-colored lies of womankind. [<i>He tosses the lump to the ground.</i>] +Now go and brew my evening draught. I will to the sea to seek my +master. [<i>He goes out to the right. The </i><span class="sc2">Burial-wife </span><i>looks after him +grinning and goes into the tower.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i> [<i>sticking his head through the bushes</i>]. Holloa, Gylf!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Gylf</i> [<i>coming out</i>]. What is it? [<i>The others also appear.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i>. Here is the tower, here lie the graves in a sandy spot; run +below to the Duke and tell him; not a man to be seen, not even a worm, +naught but a burying-ground, rooted up and worried as though we had +been haunting it ourselves. [<span class="sc2">Gylf </span><i>goes out.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Nay, for we would have saved some of our loved dead for the +raven, we would not have been so stingy as to bury them straightway. +[<i>They all laugh.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The First</i> [<i>pointing out to sea</i>].--Ho--there!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i>. What's the matter?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The First</i>. Does not the boat pass there that yesterday crossed our +path on the high seas, whose steersman threatened fight with our +dragon? How comes the bold rascal here?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Second</i> [<i>who has raised up the lump of amber</i>]. I tell you, +comrades, let the fellow go, and look what I have found.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i>. Death and the devil! Then we are in Amberland.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Third</i> [<i>staring</i>]. That is amber?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i>. Give it to me!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Second</i>. I found it--it is mine!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i>. Thou gorging maw!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Second</i>. Thieves! Flayers!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i>. Dog! I'll strike thee dead!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Be quiet, fools, there is plenty more! Go look in the tower, +and you may curse me for a knave if you find the mouse-hole empty.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The First</i>. Come.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Two Others</i>. Yes, come! [<i>The three go into the tower.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Thou dost not go along?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i>. Thou hadst gladly got us out of the way to dig all by thyself? +O, we all know thee, thou filthy fool!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i> [<i>slapping him on the back</i>]. More pretty words, my friend? Go +on! When we are our own men on shore again, I will see what I can +do;--but till that time I spare my skin.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The three come reeling backwards out of the tower, followed by the </i> +<span class="sc2">Burial-wife </span><i>with raised fist.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. What is this?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i>. What do you call this? Seize her!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The First</i>. Seize her! Easy to say! Dost thou court the palsy?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Second</i>. Or fits, at least!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i>. Cowards! [<i>He advances upon her. The others, except </i><span class="sc2">Sköll</span>, +<i>follow him yelling.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>snatches his sword, that hangs on a tree, and throws the +assailants into confusion with a blow or two</i>]. Ho, there! Let her +alone, or--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Look! Hans Lorbass!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Others</i>. Who? Our Hans?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i> [<i>rubbing his shoulder</i>]. How comest thou here? Thou still +hast +thy old strength, I find!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Tell us, old Hans, what brings thee here? Is she thy latest +love?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>All</i> [<i>burst out laughing</i>]. Hans, Hans! Poor old Hans!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Bandits! Just come on once! [<i>To the </i><span class="sc2">Burial-wife</span>.] How is it? +I hope they have not hurt thee.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i>. None can harm me, none molest me, who has not first +wronged himself and all his hopes.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i> [<i>sings</i>]. Ho, Hans is playing with his love!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Have a care!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The </i><span class="sc2">Burial-wife </span><i>goes slowly into the tower.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. It is now scarce three years since we bore within the hall our +master in his ash-hewn coffin. He raised his hand already cold, and +pointed with his pallid, bony finger--not toward the bastard Danish +conqueror, but towards his own true son, Prince Witte; and him he left +his country's lord. The land was poor, the people rude, yet it had +preserved its pride and loyalty un stained through a thousand murderous +brawls. Three years ago as everybody knows, you would have murdered +our young lord at summons of the Bastard and his fair promises; and +now--what are you? Thieves, sand-fleas, loafers, riff-raff, haunting +the moors and hiding in the thickets. Stop! I will build a gallows for +you presently; my brave sword is too good for you. [<i>He throws down his +sword. They laugh.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Hanschen, has thou clean forgot who was the fiercest +bloodhound of us all? Who was it always shouted "I will do it, I!" till +everyone spread sail before him and left him to his work? Then wouldest +thou come, wiping thy bloody hand, and laugh, and say: "My work is +done!" And then one saw no more of thee. Now when we find thee and +rejoice at sight of thee, thou scornest us like a pack of thieves or +birds of such a feather, and playest the judge sitting above us;--fie, +Hanschen, 'tis not kind of thee.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Quite right! Give us thy fist!... No use to wrangle! [<i>Offers +his hand to one after the other. Looking at one suspiciously.</i>] Thou +hast need of a little scouring first, I think. Children, what fine +fellows you would be, if only you were not such frightful rogues. +[<i>They laugh.</i>] Tell me now, what have you been at so long?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i> [<i>awkwardly</i>]. Who? We?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Yes, you!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i>. Thou wouldst draw us out then?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. No need. I know that trade a thousand miles away. You are +wreckers!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>All</i> [<i>laughing</i>]. Of course.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>half to himself</i>]. See, see!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Only the name is not quite right. We are wreckers hereabouts; +but we chiefly rob upon the high seas.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. And your Duke?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i>. There's a man! He stands foremost in the attack. When the +grappling-irons lay hold, when the javelin whistles in the air, when +down upon the rashly canted dragon crashes the boarding-plank, when +above they wait like calves for the slaughter, then rings his +murder-cry: Ho huzzah!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>All</i>. Ho huzzah!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>half to himself</i>]. It must be fine. [<i>Aloud.</i>] Then in +the +battle--how shows he there?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i>. In what battle? We have no more battles.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. So, so! I just bethought myself. One question more: How come +you here?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Hast thou not taken our measure, then? Take notice of my +sparkling glance--its tender fire: observe his air, like to a love-sick +cock's: Do we not smell of myrrh and balm! In short, we go to gaze upon +the bride.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Who, then?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i>. Who? Dost thou mock at us? Thou livest here and yet thou hast +not heard of the Amberqueen, the marvel of beauty who has sworn to +yield herself and her throne to the man that is victorious in a +tournament for life and death, and bears all her other suitors to the +earth? The fair one is a widow, the heir an orphan; so it is meat and +drink to him who throws the others by the heels.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Are you so sure of it?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Ottar</i>. Well, where is the man who cares to try conclusions with our +Duke?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>to himself</i>], I reared one who will strike him down some day.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>Enter </i><span class="sc2">Duke Widwolf </span><i>and more of his men.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. Why stand you there? Did I send you ahead to chatter? On with +you! What stops your mouths? Clear the way! And if I find you sluggish +I will call out my cat-o'-nine-tails for you.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>aside to the first man, who stands near him</i>]. He drubs you +then?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The First</i>. Past bearing.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. Who is that man that speaks with you? Why have you not already +struck him down?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. He is so droll, master, he would not let himself be killed.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. Meseems ... Hans Lorbass--do I see aright? What--what?... Thou +knowest I am in thy debt for business secretly done. I love not debts +between master and man.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. No need, my lord, I have my pay.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. At first thou seemedst to serve me diligently; yet thou didst +slip as suddenly from my throne as though thou hadst an ailing +conscience.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>gazing out to sea.</i>] Perhaps. It may be.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. Where hast thou stayed so long?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>without stirring</i>]. I am a servant. I have served.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. What drivest thou now?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. I drive naught, my lord, I am driven.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i> [<i>threateningly</i>]. It pleases thee to jest.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. And thee to be galled thereat.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. That fellow's corpse was never found! Now clear thyself from +the suspicion.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Think what thou wilt. Covered with wounds I sunk it in the +ocean's depths.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. I trust thee. If thou wilt swear thy truth to me, then come. +With me all is feasting and revelry.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>looking out to sea again</i>]. Thank thee, my lord. I care not +to +do murder, and I can play the robber by myself.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. Seize him.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i> [<i>beseechingly</i>]. Master, our dearest companion, who never yet +has played us false.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Duke </span><i>draws his sword and makes as if to attack </i><span class="sc2">Hans</span>.]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>gripping his sword and flourishing it high in the air.</i>] Thou +art the master and wonted to victory; but come too near, and thou hast +only been the master!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. Well, leave him then upon the path where thou hast found him. I +had wellnigh killed instead of paying him.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>He goes out. The others follow. Some of them shake </i><span class="sc2">Hans Lorbass </span> +<i>furtively by the hand.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>alone</i>]. Then there is something holds his spirit in bonds; +will make his race a race of weaklings, will plunge the land itself in +guilt,--and yet they know not their own shame.... Right! Just now +I saw something. Did I not behold, not far from land a blood-red sail +a-dazzle against the blue night cloud? The keel bore sharply toward the +shore--how gladly would I believe the old wife there, when--truly, it +frets me so I must--[<i>He goes to the tower and is about to open the +door</i>. <span class="sc2">Prince Witte </span><i>appears in the background.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>casting himself at the </i><span class="sc2">Prince's </span><i>feet with a shout of +joy</i>]. Master!--Thou hast come! Art thou safe? Unharmed? Here is thy +nose--both ears--thy arm--and there thy sword! Thy voice alone is lost, +it seems.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Let me be silent, friend. The horror I have seen stands black +about me and takes the color from my joy.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. What is that, now thou art here? [<i>Stammering.</i>] And even if +thy journey were in vain, if thou hast not brought the heron's feathers +back with thee, what is--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. I brought not the heron's feathers with me? My nightly +watches, twilight's scanty rest, the morning's ardent fiery prayers, +and more than all, the consecrated labor of the day, wherein what has +been obtained from God with tears, must be besieged anew with fierce +resolve, and conquered by the teeth-set "I will," won by obstinate +unshrinking,--sorrow--doubt--danger--struggle--unsuccess to-day and new +onslaught tomorrow--and so on and on--and always forward--have I all +this behind me, and yet have I returned without the feathers?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Thou hast the feathers? Are they really heron's feathers, from +the very bird?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Set thy fears at rest; the wonder is fulfilled, and all our +pains dispersed in thankful prayer.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Forgive me, dear my lord and master, that I forgot a moment the +bare fact itself, to thee so all-important. I knew thou wouldst never +have returned without them, however my heart thirsted after thee.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Thou wert right. I knew it well.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Where are they, master? Dost thou bear them in thy breast? I +feel thou wouldest. Chide me if thou wilt, but show them to me.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Look at my helmet. I understand thy eagerness. No sword can +cleave them from me, no rush of wind displace them. They are the +standard of my fortunes.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Thy story, master,--come, tell it to me!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Wait, Hans. The hour will come, at drinking-time, while the +dull camp-fire flickers to its end, and the fierce thirst of fighting +will not let us sleep,--then will I tell the tale and make it glow +anew.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Master, how changed thou art. Thy fire seems smothered, and thy +passions burn less fiercely, being self-controlled.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Thou art wrong, my friend; in me there dwells no calm. I stir +and seethe. Death itself, which I have conquered, reanimates in me. +Only henceforth I gain by firmer paths the end which I have chosen. My +country that betrayed me, lies small and half-forgotten in the +distance. I measure myself against the great henceforth. What are they? +Myself shall be the arbiter, and fate shall never again allure me with +her cruel "Take what I offer thee" to a starvation feast.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. I look at thee in wonderment. I left thee a boy, I find thee a +man. And for this, though my sword has itched in my hand to answer to +my thoughts, though I have sat for hours on end in gnawing tedium and +spat into the sea, for this result I bless the old wife there. Once +more I may strike good blows for thee, once more be proud to guard thee +as before.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i> [<i>giving him his hand</i>]. It shall be so.... Yes, yes, my lad. +Since I have been gone--how long is it?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. A good two years, master.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. The old wife now, and quickly, that she may open to me all +the enchantment lurking in the feathers, to which I trusted and +surrendered myself. The time has come for this unmolded life to shape +itself after the law of its own desire. Why dost thou hesitate?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. I will go.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. But yet thou mutterest?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Do not blame me, master; I know of what I speak. First of all, +mistrust the old one. I fear her not ... but something horrible and +slimy crawled in my throat when I first saw her crouching in a grave, +all stiff, her brows drawn and her staring eyes turned inwards +lifelessly.... When a storm stood coal-black in the heavens and gave +the greedy coffins fresh food--lo, there she stood and bade me dig the +graves; and when the wave cast corpses up on the strand, she bore each +one up the hill pressed mother-like to her breast, shaken meanwhile +with a sly laugh; and thus she laughed until they all lay quietly at +rest beneath. Have a care for thyself!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Yet why? Her work is pious and she tends it faithfully.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. But if she weaves enchantment, master?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. I am the last from whom on that account a threat is fit. It +has turned to blessing for me. To him who chooses sacrifice for his +fate, there often comes the best of gifts,--to see deep into the +unsearchable, and smilingly to build as though within a pleasure-park, +upon the very boundary of the ideal. Once more--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. And once more I stand broad-legged in thy unhappy path and +shout: Do not destroy thyself! Whoever runs after his desire shall +perish in the race; it only yields to him who hurls it from him. Thou +dost not know as yet the old wife's schemes; thou standest now above +enchantment, a young glowing god confiding in the magic of thine own +strength. What thou dost know is that thy prize is hidden, and that the +broad path of possibilities, on which thou thinkest to glide aloft, may +be choked all at once between black walls and leave thee fevered and +panting with the chase, with desire and loathing, eagerness and +shrinking, to hasten on forever and never gain the end.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i> [<i>pointing to his helmet with a smile</i>]. Look there!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Thou hast done well to bring them; if the fatal seed of death +does not draw thee down to eternal failure thou must do well indeed! +For now the secret purpose of thy path is about to reveal itself; now +thy proud and self-poised soul pants to mount aloft,--and here I stand +and counsel thee: Hurl away thy prize!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Thou ravest.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The </i><span class="sc2">Burial-wife </span><i>appears in the door of the tower, thrown into lurid +prominence by the fire that burns within on the hearth. It grows dark +rapidly.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Too late. It has begun. [<i>Whispers.</i>] It looks as if the +hearth-fire glowed straight through her parchment skin and wrapped her +bones in flame.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Burial-wife! Look me in the face!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i>. Thou hast come! Welcome, dear son!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Thy dear son--I am not. Thy creditor I am, and I demand my +own.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i>. What dost thou ask?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. I forced from thee the words that taught me my way; the deed +thou hast demanded is accomplished, and I claim the prize!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i>. What I have promised thee, I will faithfully fulfil, my +child. A primal force lies within these white husks. They change their +form according to their owner's will. What, then, is thy desire? A +woman?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. A woman? There are enough of women. More than one has borne +me down to earth in the snare of her supple limbs, and hampered my +soul's flight. What is a woman? A downfall and a heaviness, a darkness +and a theft of alien lights, a sweet allurement in the eternal void, a +smile without a thought, a cry for naught.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Bravo! Bravo!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. What I demand now is that queen of women, after whom I have +thirsted even while drinking, by the side of whom my princely dignity +shall appear but as a herald; for whose voice my soul starves though I +sit in the wisest councils of the world; in whom I see our torturing +human weaknesses healed to a joyous beauty; that woman before whom I, +though mad with victory, must bend my proud knee in trembling and +affright; whose blushes shall bear witness to me how a longing heart +can shield itself in modesty; she who will stand in deepest need and +beg with me at the cross-roads; whose love can make death itself pass +me by; this woman, this deep peace, this calm still world in which when +lost I cannot lose myself, where wrong itself must turn to right,--this +woman,--mine--I now demand of thee.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i>. Snatch down the prize from thy helmet: I will announce +its promise to thee; unless thou art blind or deaf, thou shalt pierce +to the depth of the riddle. The first of the feathers is but a gleam +from the lights and shadows that brew about thee. When thou throwest it +into the fire, thou shalt behold her image in the twilight. The second +of the feathers,--mark it well--shall bring her to thee in love, for +when thou burnest it alone in the dying glow, she must wander by night +and appear before thee. And until the third has perished in the flame, +thy hand stretched forth shall bless her; but the third burning brings +her death: and therefore guard it well and think upon the end.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. I will. Unwarned, I let them wave aloft in mad presumption; +but now I will hide them safe within my gorget. [<i>To </i><span class="sc2">Hans</span>.] Why +shouldst thou look at me so grimly? I know myself to be quite freed +from sorrow; all I lack is a faithful companion on the way.... "When +thou throwest the first into the fire thou shalt behold her image in +the twilight." [<i>He pulls out one of the feathers and hastens toward +the tower.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>boldly opposing him</i>]. What wilt thou do?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Out of the way? [<i>He opens the door of the tower.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Cursed witch, thou hast-- [<i>A sudden bright blaze within the +tower. A flare of yellow light goes up. The Prince comes back.</i>] Art +thou singed?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i> [<i>looks about wildly</i>]. I see naught.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Burial-wife </span><i>points silently to the background, where on the horizon +above the sea the dark outline of a woman's figure appears and glides +slowly from left to right.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. I see in the heavens a shadowy form, rosy with flame, pierced +through with light. If it be thou on whom my longing hangs, I pray thee +turn thy face and lighten me! Lift the veil from thine eyes! Remain, +ah, vanish not behind the stars,--step down that I may learn to love +thee!... She does not hear. When we part, say how I may know thee +again!... How shall I--? Her figure sways, it fades with the clouds-- +was that the sign?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Thou hast bewitched him finely.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Still she is mine, as I know who I am! And should she never +long to come to me, yet my soul's longings shall be stronger than she +herself. Hans Lorbass, my brave fellow-soldier, take thy sword and arm +thyself straightway.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. I am armed. [<i>To the </i><span class="sc2">Burial-wife</span>.] The hangman--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Spare thy curses. She serves my happiness as best she can. +Farewell! We will seek the world over, and when the first promise is +fulfilled--Farewell!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>grimly</i>]. Farewell!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>They go out to the left.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Burial-wife</i> [<i>alone</i>]. Go, my children, face the combat, fight +boldly, wield the feathers unrestrained; when you weary, bring me back +your outworn bodies, cast them here upon my shore. But till the time +shall come when I will plant them like twigs in my garden, go and fight +and love and dance ... for I can wait.... I can wait! +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>ACT. II.</h2> +<br> +<p class="hang1"><i>Arcade on the first story of a Romanesque palace, separated in the +background by a row of columns from the court below, to which steps +lead down from the middle to right and left. On the platform between +them, facing the court, is a throne-chair, which later is covered with +a curtain. Walks lead right and left rectangularly toward the +background. On the right are several steps to the back, the principal +path to the castle chapel. On the left side-wall in front is a door +with a stone bench near it, and to the left of that another door. On +the right in front is an iron-bound outside door. Stone benches stand +between the columns. The back of the buildings surrounding the court +form the background of the scene. Early morning.</i></p> +<br> +<br> +<h3>Scene 1.</h3> +<br> +<p class="hang1"><span class="sc2">Sköll </span><i>with his spear between his knees, asleep on a bench</i>. <span class="sc2">Cölestin </span> +<i>with a page holding a torch.</i></p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Put the link out, my son. It hangs on thy tired arm too +heavily.... Yes, yes, this morning many a one thinks of his bed.... +What, an alarm so early? Man and steed armed?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i> [<i>in his sleep</i>]. Brother--thy health!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Page</i>. Look! The fellow is still drunk.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. How else? Would, though, the filthy wretch and his Duke too +with his dissolute bravery, were smoked out of the country!... Still, I +am not anxious. The Pommeranian prince--there is a man of glorious +renown!--may win.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Page</i>. I fear, my lord, thou art wrong. The horses of the Pommeranian +snort below. They look as though they were about to start.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Hast thou seen aright? The Pommeranian?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Page</i>. Yes.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. I feel as though the earth itself did sway, as though my +poor old head would burst in pieces. Now falls the Fatherland, which, +kingless, thought it might escape from rapine; yet all the while in its +own breast there stood the powerfullest of robbers. Here where a +continual harvest of peace once smiled, where inborn modesty of soul +once paired joyously with ingrown habit and youth grew guiltless to +maturity, the ruthless hand of tyranny will henceforth rest choking on +our necks, and-- [<i>Blows sound on the door to the right.</i>] Who blusters +at the door? Go look.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Page</i> [<i>looking through the peep-hole</i>]. I see a spear-shaft glitter. +[<i>Calling.</i>] What wilt thou without there?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass's Voice</i>. Open the door!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Page</i> [<i>calling</i>]. Why didst thou come up the steps? The entrance is +there below.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass's Voice</i>. I know that already. I did not care to sweat +there in the crowd. Open the door.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Page</i>. What shall I do?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. I am as wrung as though the fate of the whole country hung +on the iron strength of the lock.... Give him his way.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The </i><span class="sc2">Page </span><i>opens the door</i>, <span class="sc2">Hans Lorbass </span><i>enters.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Who art thou, and what wouldst thou here? Speak!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. My master, a brave knight and skilled in arms, born far in the +north, where he was betrayed in feud with his stepbrother, to atone has +undertaken a journey to the Holy Sepulchre. We have but just now +entered your kingdom, and crave for God's love, if not a refuge, at +least a resting place.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Thou hast done well, my friend. Every wanderer is a welcome +guest in this castle, for our Queen is one from whose soul there flow +deeds of boundless kindness to all the world. From to-day, alas!... +nay, call thy knight, and if he stands on two such good legs as his +servant, I warrant he has shivered many a spear.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. And I warrant, my lord, that thou hast warranted rightly. [<i>He +goes to the door and motions below</i>. <span class="sc2">Cölestin </span><i>and the </i><span class="sc2">Page </span><i>look out +from behind him.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i> [<i>dreaming</i>]. Hans Lorbass--seize him!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Prince Witte </span><i>enters.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Here is my hand, my guest. And though thou comest here in +an unhappy hour, I look within thine eye, I gaze upon thy sword, and +feel as though thou hadst lifted a cruel burden from my oppressed soul.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. I thank thee that thou holdest me worthy thy confidence. Yet +I fear that thou art misled; it was no fate drew us together, but only +chance. Thinkest thou that because I took this path I was sent to thee?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. No, no! God forbid!--Well, unarm, my friend, ... so, so.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Whither then?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. We have for our guests--they will show it to thee.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. They crowd in early at your doors,--have I come to a +festival?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. To a ...? Stranger, there burns in me a fever of speech ... +they chide the doting chatter of old men, and yet--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Thou hast chosen me for thy confidant ... I listen gladly.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Well then: our King, stricken with years, died and left us +unprotected and afraid, for we had no guide nor saviour. The Queen, +herself a child, carried trembling at her breast the babe she had borne +him.... It is six years ago, and all this time have birds of prey +scented the rich morsel from afar and come swooping down upon this fair +land, where unmeasured riches lie. The danger grows--the people clamor +for a master. And so our Queen, who had sat long sunk in modest grief, +now divined in anguish her soul's call, the echo of the kingly duty, +and guessed the sacrifice her land demanded. She tore in twain her +widow's garlands, and made a vow that he who could bear all other +suitors to her feet in battle, should be her lord and her country's +king. The day has come. The lists are hung, the people crowd into the +tournament. Woe to them! Their tears are doomed to fall, for all the +princes who came hither have fled faint-heartedly before a single one, +a man of terror, who is thus victorious without a struggle.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. And this one--who is he?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>A clamor in the court below. A </i><span class="sc2">Noble </span><i>enters.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Noble</i>. Sir Major-domo, I beg thee, hasten. The guard is in confusion. +The people are already mounting the newly built lists in a countless +throng.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i> [<i>pointing below</i>]. Look, there is the flock; but where is +the shepherd? Wait here, while I press into the thickest of the crowd +and give the people a taste of my severity ... though I doubt much if +it will aught avail. [<i>He hastens down by the middle way with the </i> +<span class="sc2">Noble </span><i>and the </i><span class="sc2">Page</span>.]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince Witte</i>. That which I long for lies not here. My sober judgment +whispers warningly within my breast of delay and thoughtless dalliance. +[<i>He seats himself on a bench to the right of the stage and looks up at +the sky.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i> [<i>in his sleep</i>]. Quite right.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. What's that? Eh, there, sleepy-head, wake up!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Leave me alone! When I sleep I am happy.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>startled</i>]. What--Sköll?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Hans Lor--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Hsh--sh!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Well, old fellow, what wilt thou in this berth?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Thy master is here?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Well, yes!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. The devil take him! [<i>Looking round at the </i><span class="sc2">Prince</span>.] What now?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. What now? Why now, we will have a drink.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. What draws you here!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Thou knowest, thou rogue! We are the jolliest of jolly good +fellows ever found at a wedding.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>to himself</i>]. Has he the strength for this redeeming act, and +would it break the bonds of the madness that holds him?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>Enter a </i><span class="sc2">Herald </span><i>from the left, behind. Then the </i><span class="sc2">Queen</span>, <i>holding +the +young </i><span class="sc2">Prince </span><i>by the hand, and followed by her women. After them</i>, +<span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair</span>.]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Herald</i>. Way there, the Queen approaches!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i> [<i>standing attention</i>]. We cannot speak when the Queen comes +by.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>looking towards </i><span class="sc2">Prince Witte</span>]. His soul dreams. The distance +holds him spellbound.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The </i><span class="sc2">Queen </span><i>and her attendants approach. She stops near </i><span class="sc2">Prince +Witte</span>, <i>who is not conscious of her presence, and gazes at him long.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i> [<i>bustling up to him</i>]. Here, thou strange man, +dost +thou not know the Queen? It is the rule that when she comes we all +should rise. I am the Prince, and yet I must do it too.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince Witte</i> [<i>rising and bowing</i>]. Then beg, friend, that the Queen +grant me her forgiveness.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. That I will gladly. [<i>He runs back to the </i><span class="sc2">Queen</span>.]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The </i><span class="sc2">Queen </span><i>passes on and turns again at the corner to look at </i> +<span class="sc2">Prince Witte</span>, <i>who has already turned his back. Then she disappears +with her women into the cathedral, from which the gleam of lights and +the roll of the organ come forth. The door is closed.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Well, did she please thee? Hast thou found her worthy to awake +thy idle sword to deeds of battle?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. It would be no less than idleness for me to unsheathe my +sword in her behalf; for my field of battle lies not here.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Then come. Thy path is hot. Thy path is broad!--Then hasten! +Already far too long hast thou delayed before this tottering throne, +from which an eye in speechless pleading calls for help.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. At first, when my desires pointed from hence, didst thou not +beg me to delay?--and now!--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i> [<i>aside to </i><span class="sc2">Hans</span>]. Heaven save us! Brother, who is this? I +would know him a thousand miles away!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>with a gesture towards </i><span class="sc2">Sköll</span>, <i>to leave him alone</i>]. +Perhaps +I wished to test thee, or perhaps--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. All good spirits praise--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Whatever it was, I will go gladly.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i> [<i>crossing himself</i>]. All good spirits praise the Lord! +[<i>Bursts out through the door to the left.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Why, who was that, that went out in such a hurry?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Who would it have been? Some body-servant about the castle, +perhaps, some--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Where are my--?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Here is thy shield. Quick, take it.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Where is that ape that just now--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Let the filthy rascal go, whoever he is, and come!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>Enter </i><span class="sc2">Duke Widwolf</span>. <span class="sc2">Sköll</span>, <i>behind him, pointing to the </i><span class="sc2">Prince</span>.]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. Hans Lorbass, thou shalt pay for this!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. For what, my lord? Here are the very bones whereon thine eyes +desired to feast themselves. It is true they are covered with flesh for +the present, but they are there inside, I swear to thee.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Silence, Hans! This man stands above thy mockery; for though +he stole my inheritance in despicable treachery, yet he wears the crown +of my fathers, and I bow before it. And until heaven's cherubim call on +me loudly to avenge the wrong, in practice for a better thing I bend +before him, and grind my teeth.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Duke </span><i>bursts into a loud laugh.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. I see destruction naming in thine eyes,--thou laughest in +scorn.... Laugh on. For I shall not avenge myself, nor count it my duty +to shatter the fearful edifice of thy throne. So long as it will uphold +thee and thy blood-blinded sword, so long be thou and thy people worthy +of one another. Enough! Hans, set forth!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Cölestin </span><i>and the other nobles come up the steps.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. Behold, ye noble gentlemen! Blood of the cross, what a hero we +have here! He halts here: makes a mighty clamor: naught has or ever can +delay his march of triumph:--and then on a sudden he makes a short +turn, breathes a deep sigh, and like the other poltroons, leaves the +field to me.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>aside</i>]. Control thyself, master, all this can be borne.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. What, stranger, art thou also of princely blood?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Whether princely or not, my blood is mine, and I myself must +be the judge of what suits it. My host, I thank thee.... I would right +gladly have rested here, gladly have sat down at thy hearth as a humble +guest--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Thou earnest on the day of the tournament; and therefore +thou hast come to free the Queen.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Thou callest me stranger, and will pardon me that I had heard +naught of thy Queen.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Still thou sawest her when she and her women--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. I saw her, yes.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. And yet thou thinkest of departure? Art thou made of stone +that thou hast not felt a thrust of pity like a knife, at the mere +sight of that pious grace, that spring-like mildness?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. Who speaks of pity, when I myself protect her with my shield? +Pity?--how--wherefore? Have a care!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Thy threat hath no meaning today. Yet all the same I know +that wert thou king, thou wouldst lay my gray head at thy feet.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. Perhaps. And again perhaps, if this braggart who was sent +hither and now crawls away again, did not quite take off that weak old +head of thine, he would just have thee hanged, out of pure pity.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Thou listenest in silence to this unmeasured raving? I ask +not now upon what throne thy father sat, I only ask the weakling: Art +thou a man? Is this body that glows in prideful youth, only a hardly +fed up paunch? Is the angry red painted upon thy brow, and yet canst +thou endure and not wipe out the insult thou hast received?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>aside</i>]. Master, be stronger now than I have strength myself. +I have naught to say, not I. Only say to me: "Hans, we will go"--and I +will gulp down my rage; and never to the last day of my life shall a +look, a word, a motion of an eye-lash, remind thee of what befell +today.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Your eyes all hang in hopeful question on my broad-edged +sword; and yet I may not tell you why I wear it, but must endure what +ever you think. Still, know one thing; all the shame which he has +heaped today upon my dulled heart I will add to the need by which he +shattered my young days. I will reckon with him for those thirsting +nights wherein I drank the poison of renunciation,--when my trust in +mankind sank to ruin with my blood-defiled rights,--when in despair I +reckoned my coming manhood by my growing beard,--when my fate became a +lot of powerless shame,--and I will grope along the path where my +desires once ranged themselves when the rousing voice of hope rang out +of abyssmal blankness.... And thus the scorn I have received to-day +glides past my closed ears like unwelcome flattery; and silently I go +from hence.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The </i><span class="sc2">Queen </span><i>with the young </i><span class="sc2">Prince</span>. <span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair </span><i>and her other +women come from the cathedral during the last words.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. O go not, stranger!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>A Noble</i>. Listen, the Queen!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Another</i>. She who was never used to address a stranger.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. A most unhappy woman stands before thee, and with streaming +eyes casts away all the shame that modesty and rank combine to weigh +her with, and prays thee: O go not! For behold! As I came to-day to +God's dwelling-house full of tormenting thoughts--I saw thee on the +way, thou scarce didst notice me--while I stood there before thy face +longing within me that a sign might be given me, it seemed as though +there flowed a something like light, like a murmuring through the +spacious place, as on a festal day the sacred miracle of His presence. +And a voice spoke in my heart: have faith, O woman, he came and he is +thine; to thy people whose courage failed them, he shall be a hero, to +thy child a father.... Then I fell thankfully upon my face. And now I +beg thee: O go not!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. And I tell thee, my lady Queen, he goes! I answer for it with +my sword. If there is a prayer within the hero-soul of him, it runs +thus: dear God, graciously be pleased to spare my reputation only as +far as yonder door.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Thou liest.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>whispers</i>]. Now defend thyself. Treason to thy being's +sanctuary is a half-voluntary deed.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Forgive me, Lady, if but hesitatingly I have sworn myself +into thy service. Behold, I tread a half-obscured path, and the dim +traces lead me into the far gray distance ... lead me--and I know not +whither. I know not whether that great night which descends upon the +crudest sorrow of our common day, bringing sleep to the wearied soul, +will wrap me also in its folds, or whether as reward for that +unquenched spirit in me that still must trust, endure, and spread its +wings, the sunshine of the heights at last will smile upon me. I am +Desire's unwearied son; I bear her token hidden in my breast, and till +that token fades or disappears, well canst thou say: "Come die for me," +but never canst thou say: "Remain."</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Then never shalt thou hear that bitter word, that word so full +of weakness, come from my trembling lips. The blessing of this hour +that passes now shall never rise to distract thee on thy path in the +gray distance. Yet there shall be a charm, rising unspoken in the soul +itself, which when thou pausest wearied on thy journey, shall whisper +to thee where a home still blooms for thee.... Where a balsam is +prepared to heal thy wounded feet, bleeding from the sharpness of thy +path ... where a thousand arms reach out to greet their loved one ... +whence those voices rise that call to thee out of the darkness ... and +where there waits a smile, smothered with joy, to say to thee: "I +charmed thee not."--I will be silent, lest thou shouldst be weary of my +speech; since all my words speak only this desire: it rings within +thine ears,--longing must find a resting-place.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. O, that mine lay not so far from here! There, where the +clouds disperse in light, and the eternal sun kisses my brow, there ... +Enough. Since thou hast asked no more than chance has in a measure +forced me to, whether for good or evil I know not, I must needs grant +thy wish. Hans, arm me.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i> [<i>whispers</i>], Sköll, do not forget ... where are the others?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Who knows?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. But was there not a great feast to-night?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Yes. But they flung us out just now.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. Listen! And heed me well. As soon as that rascal has had enough +and grovels in the dust, shout out with all thy might "Hail to King +Widwolf!" Dost thou understand?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Eh? Yes, indeed.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i>. Oh! dearest Lady, if I might speak I would beg thee to +go. The sight of all the horrors that gather round us will shake thee +sorely.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Who stays for me if I will not for him? And is it not fitting +for an unhappy mother to protect the head of her child even with her +own shattered arm? [<i>To the young </i><span class="sc2">Prince</span>.] Listen, my darling. Thou +must go. [<i>To </i><span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair</span>.] Take him to my waiting-women. Without +this sight his heart will all too soon burn with a thirst for blood.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Ah, mother!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Nay, thou must. But nestle once again upon my breast, my dear +one, so!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i> [<i>running up to </i><span class="sc2">Prince Witte</span>]. Please, thou +strange +man, be so good as to conquer for us!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i> [<i>smiling</i>]. If thou art good, my Prince!... How clear their +glances sparkle! From those eyes a world of sunshine bursts; alas, I am +not worthy of it! [<i>The young </i><span class="sc2">Prince </span><i>and </i><span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair </span><i>go out.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The </i><span class="sc2">Chancellor </span><i>and a train of nobles come up the steps. After them +guards and two trumpeters. The </i><span class="sc2">Chancellor </span><i>makes obeisance and asks +the </i><span class="sc2">Queen </span><i>a question. The </i><span class="sc2">Queen </span><i>assents silently and mounts, +holding by the balustrade, to the platform on which the throne stands, +pushed to one side. The </i><span class="sc2">Chancellor </span><i>makes a sign to the trumpeters, +and they blow a signal, which echoes below, then he raises the sword, +which a page brings upon a cushion.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. Illustrious Lady, honored Queen, as chancellor of thy +appointed realm, I offer thee this sword whereon to take the oath: that +in thy hand, so strong because so weak, what first prevailed as thy +country's law, what now prevails, and what shall prevail again when +violence and lust cease to clutch after our soul's sanctuaries,--that +law on which we have relied, so mild it was, because created by a free +and happy fatherland--will be forever new and vigorous.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. I swear it on the iron sword of my kingdom, and on the runes +carved thereupon; though nature has denied it to a woman to avenge a +violated oath with her own hand, yet I will never rest in my grave +unless all is fulfilled that I have spoken. I swore it solemnly, and on +this sword I will announce and reavow to you, that whosoever conquers +in this fight may claim me for his wife when he desires.... Speak now, +ye who cursed my mourning and my sorrow's backward glance: do I fulfill +your will with shuddering? Do I not give ye the King ye seek?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The nobles strike their shields with their swords in token of +approval.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. Now to you who stand prepared to ring the throne and +kingdom with the sharpness of your swords; before the land submits +itself to the victor, give answer who you are! +</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. Thou knowest me well.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. Who knows thee not? Flames spread before thee hither like +a banner, the vulture knows thee that shrieks after carrion, the auk +knows thee on the blood-furrowed sea; yet custom demands, the which +thou knowest not, that thou shalt name thyself at this hour.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. I am the Duke of Gotland!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>highly excited, pointing to </i><span class="sc2">Prince Witte</span>]. He is the +Duke of Gotland! [<i>Great disturbance and amazement.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. We are groping here in a black riddle.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i> [<i>to </i><span class="sc2">Prince Witte</span>]. Witness thyself.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince Witte</i>. If there is a man here in whom dwells a spirit of +sacrifice, a worship of the right, and not of power and bloody gain, to +him I speak, as to a stem of that ancient race which still springs from +Gotland's gods; I boldly say: "I am." But to that vicious misbegotten +wight who cringes in the dust and worships tyranny if it but prosper +him, to him I say: "No, I am not."</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. A lofty mind, bred in the bitterness which deep sorrow +brings, speaks in thy words and gives them weight. But yet--we know not +who stands before us as the Duke of Gotland.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Duke</i>. It seems to me, my lords, that the sword will show.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. True enough. If the Queen will.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The </i><span class="sc2">Queen </span><i>bows her head in assent. The </i><span class="sc2">Chancellor </span><i>gives a sign +to +the trumpeters and they blow a signal which is answered below in the +court. The nobles make their obeisances to the </i><span class="sc2">Queen </span><i>and go down the +steps to the right and left.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>meanwhile</i>]. Remember that thrust I showed thee once: +at the arm-joint where the leather is easily cut, thou canst--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince Witte</i> [<i>alarmed</i>]. Where are the feathers?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. How--what--? That witch-work to distract thee now? Here is thy +sword, and there the foe! Play with him, tickle him, stroke his beard, +till he weeps blood out of his mouth, till--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. They are quite safe.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Master!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Prince Witte </span><i>goes last behind </i><span class="sc2">Duke Widwolf</span>, <i>with a bow to the</i> +<span class="sc2">Queen </span><i>in passing. She watches him in agitation and follows him with +her eyes.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. How is the Prince?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i>. As children always are. At first he wept and tried to +slip away. Then he lay still and had his playthings brought. Now he +lies sprawling under a table, playing at dice, though he understands +them not.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. While we go to throw upon his life.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The </i><span class="sc2">Queen</span>, <span class="sc2">Cölestin</span>, <i>the </i><span class="sc2">Chancellor</span>, <span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair</span>, <i>and the +other +women go out. The guards draw the curtains behind the throne. The +applause of the people greeting the </i><span class="sc2">Queen </span><i>rises from the court. Then +silence.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Well, my heart's brother, so we are alone again.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Hans Lorbass </span><i>without noticing </i><span class="sc2">Sköll</span>, <i>tries to pass the </i><span class="sc2">First +Guard </span><i>after </i><span class="sc2">Prince Witte</span>.]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>First Guard</i>. Back!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Hans </span><i>tries on the other side of the curtain.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Second Guard</i>. Back! The passage is forbidden.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. I am the Prince's servant!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Second Guard</i>. That may all be; but hast thou not seen--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. I counsel thee, take off thy hands!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i> [<i>takes hold of his arm soothingly</i>]. Come, brother of my +heart, be sensible, stay in thy seat; down below there is just a mob of +women, and thou wouldst be no use at all.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. True enough. [<i>The drums sound.</i>] The third call! Now is the +time!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Now I can put my hands in my pockets and let them break each +other's necks; if I only had something to drink, then--[<i>as </i><span class="sc2">Hans </span> +<i>clutches him by the arm in excitement at the first clash of swords +sounding from below</i>] Ouch! Whew! The devil, what a grip thou hast!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>accompanying the movements below with dumb-show, which is +accentuated by the noise of the crashing weapons</i>]. There! That was a +blow! Take that! [<i>Alarmed.</i>] Guard thyself! Ah, that was good! Now +after him and strike!... He missed! [<i>To </i><span class="sc2">Sköll</span>, <i>threateningly.</i>] I +thought thou didst laugh!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. What should I do?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. I tell thee, thou brute beast, thou calf, thou knave, thou +thief, as truly as I love thee as my brother, I will kill thee!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Not so fierce!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. There, which one of them drives the other in the corner, now? +Eh?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. What?... I will stand above both sides and wait to see which +one comes out ahead.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Ho, ho! How the rascal puffs! Yes, thou wilt learn to run, my +fine fellow! Another blow! He struck him not! Now for thy life!--What +is he thinking of? [<i>Shrieks out.</i>] My master bleeds!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Ei, ei!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Wipe it off! Whisk it away! That little blood-letting but +sharpens the anger, pricks the hate and--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Look!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Now gather all thy powers together, master! And all my love for +thee turn into fire and flame, that--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>Pause. Then a woman's shriek is heard, and the ringing fall of a +man's body. A dull murmur of many voices follows.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. That was a blow! [<i>Shouting down.</i>] Hail to King Wid--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>seizes him like lightning and hurls him to the ground, then +springs on the bench, waving his sword above his head and shouting.</i>] +Back from his body! You men below there, is there one that wears a +sword and armor?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Voices</i>. I!--I!--I!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. He will break through the lists with me and drive away +this robber of Samland!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>Cries of rage, together with the crashing of the lists</i>. <span class="sc2">Hans Lorbass </span> +<i>storms upon the guards, who retreat to one side, and dashes below. +The </i><span class="sc2">Queen </span><i>comes upon the scene half unconscious, supported by </i><span class="sc2">Anna +Goldhair </span><i>and her other women. The </i><span class="sc2">Chancellor </span><i>and other nobles</i>. +<span class="sc2">Sköll </span><i>has squeezed himself behind the corner pillar on the right.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i> [<i>turning from the </i><span class="sc2">Queen </span><i>to a group of men who stand +gazing down on the tumult below</i>]. How goes it now?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. That man whose summons hurled the brand of mutiny among +us, look how great and small, man and woman crowd around him shouting +and hustle the Duke to the door! There, he is gone!--the other left! +Who was the devil?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The uproar grows fainter and seems to lose itself in the distance.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. I know not whether he was a devil or an angel; for without +his shriek of hate we should still be lying beneath the foot of +tyranny, bleeding and weaponless as he who lies below.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Chancellor </span><i>motions to him, pointing towards the </i><span class="sc2">Queen</span>, <i>who has +revived and is looking about her wildly.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Where is the stranger? Why are you silent? I saw him fall ... +did he not conquer?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>A Messenger</i> [<i>comes hurrying up the steps</i>]. Hail to our Queen! I +bring glad tidings: the accursed Duke has fled upon a stolen horse. The +people vent their long-stored spleen upon his rascally followers.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Sköll</i>. Woe is me! Alas! [<i>He slips behind the church door and +disappears.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. And that youth who smiling received the sacrificial blow for +you--think you his life so valueless that no one even remembers him as +a poor reward? Why are you silent? Will no one speak?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. We know not whether he is dead, or lives, though sorely +wounded. In every thrust he far over-reckoned the reach of his sword. A +more grievous trouble than this, my Lady Queen, avails to banish our +rejoicing; a broken oath is here, an unatoned-for--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Look! What a sight!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Hans Lorbass </span><i>supports the sorely wounded </i><span class="sc2">Prince Witte </span><i>up the steps, +lets him sink upon the bench to the left, and stands before him with +drawn sword, like a guard.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Away from here! Whoever loves his life, whether man or woman, +comes not too near!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i> [<i>approaching him</i>]. Not even I, my friend?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>embarrassed, yielding</i>]. Thou, Lady,--yes.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i> [<i>takes off her veil, and wipes the blood from the face of the </i> +<span class="sc2">Prince</span>]. Send for physicians that he may be saved.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. He is saved! If he were not, I'd spring in the very face of +death for him,--I would spring down death's very throat; death and I, +we know each other well.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. Thou who breathest out spume and fire as carelessly as +though hell itself had brought thee forth, I ask thee who thou art, +thou unclean spirit, who hast dared to raise this pious people to +revolt by thy furious onslaught, and taught them to poison for +themselves and the ensuing race the holy fount of justice?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. And I will answer thee: I myself am that justice. I bear it on +my sword's point, I carry it here beneath my cap, I pour it forth in my +master's name, who gave it for his glory and his happiness. [<i>Signs of +anger.</i>] If ye believe it not, then listen trembling to the thousand +toned joy that peals from far away like spring thunder quivering in the +air, and sweeps throughout the land the joyous message of deliverance: +we are free!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. Speak, O Queen! Thy soldiers wait below. Methinks this +servant of the defeated one has too much confidence,--he speaks as +though he were instead our lord and victor.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Let him speak! He has the right! And even were he a thousand +times defeated, this man who lies before us bleeding, if he recover and +seek it from me, shall be our lord and conqueror. [<i>Great confusion and +excitement.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince Witte</i> [<i>rousing from his unconsciousness and looking about him +painfully</i>]. There lies the heron! I have wrung his neck, I snatch my +prize, my salvation ... [<i>feeling on his head and in his breast with +anxious dismay</i>] where are the feathers?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. What seekest thou, dear one?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. Thou seest, O Queen, he speaks in fever. Do not listen, do not +heed his words.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Hans, Hans!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>close by him</i>]. Take care what thou sayest.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i> [<i>whispers earnestly</i>]. I will away from here ... [<i>with a +glance at the </i><span class="sc2">Queen </span><i>half complainingly</i>] I must away!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i>. When thou canst. +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>ACT III.</h2> +<br> +<p class="hang1"><i>A chamber in the castle. The two farther corners slope away from the +front. In the left corner is a bay-window with a platform, to which +steps lead up. Burning torches are stuck in the branches of the pillars +which flank the steps. In the right corner is a fireplace. One can look +beyond into an ante-chamber, and farther on, through a wide door-way +whose curtains are drawn back, into a thickly planted garden, which at +the end of its middle path shows a little of the surrounding wall. In +the middle of the room is a table with seats about it. At the left in +front is a couch with furs and cushions on it. At the right is the door +to the sleeping apartments.</i></p> +<br> +<br> +<h3>Scene 1.</h3> +<br> +<p class="hang1"><i>The </i><span class="sc2">Queen </span><i>sits on the platform with her distaff before her, and +gazes dreamily into the red glow, which shines through the window. Two +old women sit spinning before the fire-place, in which a dying fire +glimmers</i>. <span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair </span><i>and the young </i><span class="sc2">Prince </span><i>on the steps of the +platform. Through the drawn curtains plays the red evening light.</i></p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Say, mother, will the father come soon?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Of course.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Will he come before my bed-time?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. I do not know.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. The wood is full of darkness, is it not?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Where our King goes, there is always light!... What, Anna, art +thou eavesdropping? Must I blush before thee, because I voiced a cry +out of my soul's longing, which envious time would smother?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i>. Beloved Queen.... I know well that I am too young; my +little thoughts whisk twittering like swallows through my head,--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. And she pretends to me she is so wise!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Run, run, my child!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. I will get her by the hair first! [<i>He tugs at </i> +<span class="sc2">Anna's </span><i>hair</i>. <span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair </span><i>pushes him off laughing.</i>] Just wait! +[<i>He runs from her to the spinning-women, and teases them.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i>. But if thou hast need of any one to whisper to, in +whose breast at the still evening-time to plunge thine overflowing +soul--of anyone who if need were, could go for thee to her death as to +a feast,--thou knowest, dearest Queen, I am that one!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i> [<i>caressing her</i>]. Yes, deep in my heart I know that thou art +mine. [<i>She rises.</i>] But if it be death here for any human being, I am +that one!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i> [<i>frightened</i>]. What troubles thee, beloved Lady? +[<i>Three maidens, young and pretty, have entered shyly.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. It is nothing,--nothing!... Why, here! What seek you my +children?... What not a word? Have you a favor to be granted, a +complaint to make? If you cannot speak, why then you must go away +again!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i>. Mistress forgive them. They are of thy train, and they +have asked me to plead for them, lest their too eager speech should +lose for them the favor they desire.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Well?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i>. Dear Mistress, there is an old custom that runs thus: +when Easter-tide has come into the land, when the thorn bush grows +faintly green, when the blue wave shines bluer, when our desire takes +wing to sport among the flying things of spring,--that then, upon the +coming of the first full moon, the night must be watched out with sport +and dance. In a word they would sing.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i> [<i>smiling</i>]. Ah, yes!... But tell me, dear children, if you +knew it, then why did this custom vanish from the land so many years?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i>. We honored thy sorrow, my Queen.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Well, then, go out and dance and frolic and sing together all +night long! Know you the song that you should sing?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The maidens nod eagerly.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Go out and drink the moonlight as it pours down through the +branches; I think we little know how blessed we are.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The maidens courtesy and kiss her hands and garments.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i> [<i>as she turns away smiling</i>]. Why are you old ones shivering? +Why look you so strange? Is it cold? Then you must rake the fire!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>One of the Old Women</i>. Mistress, we spin our winding-sheets. Shall we +not be cold?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i> [<i>drawing the young </i><span class="sc2">Prince </span><i>to her</i>]. Do not listen to +them! [<span class="sc2">Cölestin </span><i>enters.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Oh, Uncle Cölestin! [<i>Runs to him.</i>] What hast +thou +brought me, Uncle Cölestin?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i> [<i>lifting him up</i>]. A great sandman, and a small goodnight!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. The King is come? Thou wouldst announce him?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. No, my Lady. We heard his horn in the distance, but it died +away again. I come before thee a gloomy messenger. In the great hall +beyond there waits the council of the realm....</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Stop! You, my women, seek your rest; my son, to bed!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. And am I not to see the father again till morning? +Ah, mother, please!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. If thou canst not sleep, Anna shall take thee up and bring +thee here. Is it well so, dear one?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Yes.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. And goodnight!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The </i><span class="sc2">Prince</span>, <span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair</span>, <i>and the women go out.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. We are alone ... yet what a pity with too cool reason to chill +the buds of the May evening, which plunges all the waking soul into +sweet sickness.... But speak!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Lady, I know not how I shall begin. The words come +stumbling from my lips. Thou knowest how we love him, and how, since +thou hast given him thyself, there is no single life but stands +prepared to serve him without a thought of self. And how does he reward +us? He shuns our glance, a smouldering suspicion breaks out whenever we +would speak in seriousness to him, and throws its shadows on us darkly. +The people idolize him. They greet him, great and small, with clapping +hands and waving kerchiefs,--why must we stand aloof? Is he ashamed of +us?--or of himself? I know not. A mysterious sadness clouds his eye so +falcon-bright, and even while our hearts still yearn upon him, he grows +a stranger to us, who was never our friend.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. It is your too easily wounded love complains of him.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. If that danger--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i> [<i>without listening to him</i>]. I see it, but I scarce can +blame it. I blame no one. I have built for myself out of dreams and +smiles a strong strong wall, outside of which you wait, thieves of my +happiness--nay, my friend, look not so grieved!--and out of which you +know not how to lure me, either by cunning or by clamor.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Still, hast thou never come upon that knowledge, deep +within thy heart, which tells thee how in everything that is and was +and needs must be throughout our lives, a never expiated wrong must +weigh us down?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Never, my friend! In my soul there rings but one harp-tone, +one voice, which says: be happy!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. And thy oath, Lady?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. My oath?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Didst thou not swear before us all and in the sight of +heaven that he who hurled his rival to the earth, not he who lay there +shameful in defeat, might dare approach thee as thy lord and king?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. But tell me, my dear friend, did he not conquer?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. What madness has so blurred events for thee?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. I know he conquered, for he is here!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Here indeed he is, but with what right?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. The right that raised for him in that dark hour when the cruel +wound gaped in his throat, a faithful servant to avenge him; a servant +whose brave shout and lifted blade have taught me this one thing: high +above the right there stands the sword, and high above the sword stands +love!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. May this wisdom please the Omnipotent, and may he pity +thee, and all of us!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. It was not given to everyone to know it; but it has brought +the King to me! Hark, do I hear a horn? How near it sounds! My King is +coming! My King is here!</p> +<br> +<br> +<h3>Scene 2.</h3> +<br> +<p class="hang1"><i>The Same</i>. <span class="sc2">King Witte</span>, <i>the </i><span class="sc2">Chancellor </span><i>and other councillors and +nobles</i>. <span class="sc2">Hans Lorbass </span><i>stands guard at the door, spear in hand, at +ease.</i></p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>embraces the </i><span class="sc2">Queen </span><i>and kisses her on the forehead. Comes +forward with her, but turns back irritably</i>]. What do you want?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. My lord, while thou didst tread the forest paths, +following the hunt, a fierce onslaught of new trouble came swooping +down upon our land.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Trouble, always trouble! Mouldy, gray and blear, it lives far +longer than one's whole life! Must you, even in the daytime, din your +night-song in my ears?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. This time--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>mocking</i>]. "This time "--I wager the state will crack in +pieces! [<i>Turning to the </i><span class="sc2">Queen</span>.] If they had naught at which to fear, +I should have naught at which to laugh!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Dear one--!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Hush! It makes me glow with anger, only to look upon these gray +countenances, gloomy as the grave, full of foreboding, heavy with woes, +and yet with that little glint of malice in their half-lowered lids. +Must I suck in these complaints that fall drop by drop upon me? I might +lay about me recklessly--but what am I to dare it?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. All art thou, all darest thou, all hearts bow before thee! +Canst thou not guess their dumb entreaties, not understand their timid +longings? Look, they give thee so much, they give with open hands; +their love enfolds thee, blooms everywhere for thee to pluck! Go down +among them, then, step into their hearts, and speak, I beg thee, +graciously and kindly.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>softened</i>]. I will try, thanks to thee! Speak, as thou +knowest +me: why does this anger and this curse fall daily and hourly over me? +My friends, mislike me not for my impatience, for one thing I know +right well, that I stand deeply in your debt. And now, speak!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. My lord, I speak--not trembling, for long necessity has +wonted us to terrors as to daily bread--of the fate which I have long +seen approaching, and which now stands thirsting for blood before us. +Duke Widwolf--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>starting</i>]. Duke Widwolf!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. Is mustering an army!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>feigning calmness</i>]. What then?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. He makes his boast that when the ice on the northern sea +has turned to sheeted foam, he will descend with full a hundred ships +and fall upon us like an avenging spirit.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. The avenging spirit is a worthy part for him to play.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. Still thou knowest this once he serves a righteous cause.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. What sayest thou?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. Is not this realm, O King, forfeit to him as a reward of +victory?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. May the word choke thee! As a reward of victory? Oh, stands it +so with you, my lords? Do you stare at me? What means the scorn that +lurks in your eyes? Have I been here too long? Do you already rue your +act?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. We rue it not, my King!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Say yes, say yes! Why so much pains with one who lay in the +dust, whom you so mercifully raised up that everyone might value me as +he chose, not as he must? Was it that I should fawn upon you, stroke +and caress and flatter you, and die, instead of that one death I owed +you, a thousand daily deaths?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. Thou hast seen no hatred in us. A reflection of thine own +feeling has deluded thee.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. And if thou hast heard the word guilt, it was but thus: let +me be guilty with thee! [<span class="sc2">Queen </span><i>nods gratefully to him.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Very fine! Quite beautiful! Accept my thanks! Hans! Come here +and tell me what thou sayest to all this.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>comes forward boldly</i>]. Lord Chancellor and Lord +House +Marshal, you nobles, councillors, and wise men all, who let yourselves +be plagued with doubts like flea-bites,--if you permit it I will say +one thing to you: between sin and punishment, between right and wrong, +between hate and love, and good and bad, between sand and sea, and +swamp and stone, between flesh of women and dead men's bones, between +desire and possession, between field and furrow,--he goes, a man of +men, straight through,--looking to neither right nor left!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>with a smile of satisfaction</i>]. 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! [<span class="sc2">Cölestin</span>, <i>the </i><span class="sc2">Chancellor</span>, <i>and the +other nobles go out.</i>] Hans, stay!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Well, my wife?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Thou lookest at me so earnestly.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. I am smiling.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Yet sorrow looks from all thy features. My friend, I fear that +thou canst never learn to yield thyself up to this country.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Thou torturest thyself.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i> [<i>repeats half dreamily</i>]. I love thee.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Voice of the Young Prince</i>. Papa.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Art thou still awake, my son?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Voice of the Young Prince</i>. Papa, may I come in?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Thou mayst. [<i>Enter the young </i><span class="sc2">Prince </span><i>with </i><span class="sc2">Anna +Goldhair</span>.]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i> [<i>running to the </i><span class="sc2">King</span>]. Papa, papa!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. My boy, didst thou do well to leave thy bed and run with such +haste to thy playfellow?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. He begged me, and I let him.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. So then. [<i>To himself.</i>] Now calm, quite calm!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i> [<i>running to the door</i>]. Hans, did they shoot much?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Thy name is Anna with the golden hair?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i> [<i>shyly</i>]. They call me Goldhair--but--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Let it be, it is true. [<i>To the </i><span class="sc2">Prince</span>.] Come here!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Yes, father.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Have I been bad, father? When thou lookest at me +so, I am afraid.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Come!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. The father is angry.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. The father jests.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Good night!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Good night!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Perhaps.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. And good night! [<i>They clasp hands. The </i><span class="sc2">Queen</span>, <i>the </i> +<span class="sc2">Prince</span>, +<i>and </i><span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair </span><i>go out.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. I serve.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Is that the reason?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. 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!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>smiling bitterly</i>]. What use? He serves a righteous cause.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. 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!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Dost thou hate her so?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Then come, escape!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>smiling wearily</i>]. True, the door stands open.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. And when we have once passed the border, thou canst +learn to forget.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Well, at least thou hast it; thou hast a crown, thou +art king.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. But every man holds what he has and hopes to have, in +security, in pawn, as it were, for his children.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Yes, for his own, not for a stranger's.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Then get some of thy own.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. What is in thy head?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans</i> [<i>to himself</i>]. A last hope,--but dare I venture it? I must. +Lest he languish and slip hither beneath my eye. [<i>Aloud.</i>] Master, if +thou cherishest a grief, thou hast then forgot the talisman--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. The what?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>watching him</i>]. The feathers thou didst once possess.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>feeling in his breast. Angrily</i>]. Be still.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Since thou still wearest them on thy heart, why--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Be still, I tell thee, churl!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>bursts out</i>]. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Here?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Where else? I trust in the charm thou hast wrung from +the witch-wife. I remember it well. [<i>Repeating</i>] "The first of the +feathers"--no, it is burned. [<i>Repeating</i>] "The second feather, mark it +well, shall bring her to thee in love; for when thou--burnest--it"-- +[<i>Stops.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. "Alone in the dying glow, she must wander by night and appear +before thee."</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Well?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>in great agitation</i>]. The thought thou hast thrown out in +faring jest, has lain a last hope, deep within my hearts shrinking +depths.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Why hast thou when so devil-ridden, not yielded to the +strain?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Hast thou forgot what else she said?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. What she said--she spoke of the third feather.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>repeating</i>]. "Until the third has perished in the flame, thy +hand stretched forth shall bless her"--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>going on</i>]. "but the third burning brings her +death"--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Suppose she should come now and vanish again?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. But why?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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.... +[<i>listening.</i>] I hear laughter outside. What is it?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>lifting the curtain</i>]. Only our maidens, who sport +outside, modest and chaste as their land's innocence.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Thou knowest, master, danger often comes from business +such as this.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Danger--for whom?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Let me stay with thee! Crouched in the farthest +corner--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. The charm says it must be done alone.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Well then! I will hold a watch outside. [<i>Goes out.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The King</i> [<i>alone. Looks about distrustfully, then draws the feathers +from his corselet, puts one back and goes toward the fireplace with the +other</i>]. 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! +[<i>He hurls the torch among the rolls and they take fire.</i>] And now! +[<i>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 the </i><span class="sc2">King </span><i>stares wildly about, the </i><span class="sc2">Queen </span> +<i>enters, at first not seen by him, and stands with closed eyes near the +door.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>turning round</i>]. What wilt thou here?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i> [<i>opening her eyes</i>]. Didst thou not call?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. I came because thou--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Hast called me? Was that it? I knew it well.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. And if thou hadst not called--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Thou wouldst still have come, to see that no thief was gliding +up the steps of thy throne [<i>aside</i>] 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?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. For God's sake, what burns there?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Witte, Witte!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Well?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Witte, Witte!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. So piteously thou callest me, child! Thus piteously stands thy +image in my soul's midst.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. No more.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Well, then?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. 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!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Shall I be free, Maria?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>takes her head between his hands and gazes at her steadily</i>]. +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!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i> [<i>smiling</i>]. What slipped away, what fell? Thou art silent +again.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Why should I judge thee, and not rather love? For why else am +I thy wife?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. We sit here hand in hand, and, third in our company sits +misery.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>shaking his head</i>]. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. 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!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. No.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. I thought that he was dear to thee.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. That he is. Yes.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The swinging maidens outside have begun to sing.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i> [<i>who has drawn aside the curtain. On the moonlit sward the +white-robed maidens are singing</i>]. Are they not fair, thy singing land, +thy moonlit house?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. 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 ... [<i>He sleeps.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i> [<i>after she has tenderly pillowed and covered him</i>]. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>Before going out, she draws the curtain so that the moonlight streams +in</i>. <span class="sc2">Hans Lorbass</span>, <i>spear in hand and quite motionless, is visible for +a moment, and steps aside at the approach of the </i><span class="sc2">Queen</span>.] +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>ACT IV.</h2> +<br> +<p class="hang1"><i>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.</i></p> +<br> +<br> +<h3>Scene 1.</h3> +<br> +<p class="hang1"><span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair </span><i>cowering with covered face in the shadow of the throne</i>. +<span class="sc2">Hans Lorbass </span><i>and </i><span class="sc2">Cölestin </span><i>enter from the landing.</i></p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Master!... No answer.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. And before the door, the foe.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. We are to suffer for his sins.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Pah!--We!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. If I choose to cry him down, why it is my affair. I +advise thee, old man, to let it be.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. 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?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Gabble or not, as thou choosest. Dost thou think the +slime out of thy old mouth can make him slippery enough to--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Hark! [<i>A muffled drum-beat</i>]. The morning signal of the +foe!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>stretching out his arms</i>]. Come, mighty hour!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. 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? [<span class="sc2">Hans Lorbass </span><i>nods.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Good! [<i>Going out.</i>] I am cold.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. 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?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i> [<i>gets up trembling</i>]. I do not know.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Is he asleep somewhere?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i>. No.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Where have the women gone, then,--those wanton +flaunting blossoms of his?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i>. He sprang up from the table to-night and drove them +out with scourging.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. How was he before that?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i>. His greeting long since stiffened into silence and +sternness. All night long his feet have wandered up and down the +echoing passages.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. And to-night--which way did he go?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair </span><i>motions towards the left.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Give me a light.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i> [<i>as she takes a taper from the table and gives it to +him</i>]. Hans!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Well?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i>. Hans--dost thou know what the Queen says of me?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Queens are no friends of thine; the women will have +none of thee now. Thou'dst best befriend thyself, and be thine own +queen. [<i>He goes out.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair </span><i>cowers down again in the shadow of the throne. Then, +from behind, the </i><span class="sc2">King</span>.]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>coming forward</i>]. 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. [<i>He sees </i><span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair</span>.] 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?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i>. Yes, sire.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. I thank thee. [<i>Caressing her.</i>] 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? [<i>Whispers.</i>] Is +thy sorrow for thy Queen.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair </span><i>hides her face in her hands, shuddering.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Then cease thy grief ... methinks the sword already clangs +without to bring thee peace.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Master.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Thou, Hans, here in my tower, which thou hast so avoided? What +brings thee here?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. 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!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. What offer did he make?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. A respite until day-break, in which time to yield +thyself and me into his hands.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Me, Hans, and alone.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> And 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.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. And if?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. If not? He swore,--and here his spleen burst out--that +let a single sword be raised against him, a single spear be laid in +rest, and he would hang and quarter every living, breathing thing, +without mercy. This he calls choking rebellion in the seed.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. And what was the decision of the people?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. The people will fight.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Will fight? Will fight? This flock of nestlings, lacking in +every sort of strength, inspired by no courage-breeding fire, wanting +in power, in discipline,--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Like their King himself.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Like their King himself. Quite true. The shadow of a King, set +on the throne by woman's love, is not the man to lead a forlorn hope.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Though his people offer themselves to the sword for +him.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Take care; I have outgrown thy scorn. [<i>Knocking on the door to +the right.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i> [<i>outside</i>]. Open the door for the King's son.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Shall I?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Thou must. This house is his; and if he chose to, he could +drive me hence.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Cölestin </span><i>enters, leading in the young </i><span class="sc2">Prince </span><i>by the hand. It is +gradually growing light.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i> [<i>running to </i><span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair</span>]. Anna! Ah, Anna, art +thou here? The mother told me thou wast dead. Say. Anna, art thou vexed +with me? I eat my supper all alone, I say my prayers and go to bed all +alone. I sing alone, I play alone,--and oh, the mother weeps so much! +They said my father had been cruel to her,--how sorry he would be to +see her weep! Anna, dear Anna, come and help us, for we are so sad!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair </span><i>kneels down before him and sobs on his neck.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. What now?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. My Prince, my little Prince!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Well?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Nay, with her thou canst have no concern. Thou knowest to +whom thy mother sent thee, and what she graved so deep upon thy heart.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i> [<i>timidly approaching the </i><span class="sc2">King</span>]. My mother called +me very early, and bid me come to thee before my breakfast with Uncle +Cölestin, and kneel down here before thee, and ask thee--something,--I +forget.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Then, my lord, according to the measure of my wisdom I must +speak here for this child, who in his innocence cannot comprehend how +basely thou hast forsaken thy people. I must embolden myself to speak a +last warning to thee. I speak not of the sins that now already weigh +thee down: eternal God shall judge them, for thou mayst not sin and not +atone. But even now thy spirit, corroded with rancorous spite, hast +turned the edge of our ancestral sword against thy honor and thy +manhood. Lo, there it glistens in thy burning grasp; and to that +all-avenging sword I make my prayer: to the arm where still resides +our safety: to the eyes from which looks out an unquenched thirst of +fighting: that thou wilt lead to victory thy broken people, who +surround the tower and call upon thee in their need.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. The sword that I unthinking raised--led thereto by occasion +only--I will lay down still clean. Thou callest it the all-avenging; +and it shall win that praise itself. Let the foe mow you down in +sheaves, it shall be naught to me,--it comes too late.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Good! Though thou so hatest thy people--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. I hate ye not.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. As to appease thy long-cherished revenge by scornful +laughter in their hour of need, yet one thing I shall never think, sir +King,--that thou wilt yield without a struggle, and give up thy +weaponless body to the slaughter.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. What can I otherwise? In whose blood shall I dip this body to +make it consecrate? With what right shall I plunge this sword into +fiery service? He who stands without there serves a righteous cause. So +sayest thou. The Chancellor, likewise. You all agree. Therefore I +counsel thee: be wise, rescue your country and make clean your house. +There is still time ... the storm yet lulls. The Duke has need of me; +deliver me to him.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. All my strength is broken against this madness, which +destroys itself.... And the hour presses.... What can I do? The crowd +shrieks lamentations in my ear. Kneel down, my child, stretch out thy +arms,--perhaps, that silent picture will reach this heart. [<i>He makes +the young </i><span class="sc2">Prince </span><i>kneel down.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Stand up. . . Come here. . . Thou hast stood in my way, and yet +I loved thee. A madness, an absurdity! [<i>Aside.</i>] Suppose: if thou wert +not,--if in this coming hour I might but strike a blow for my own +throne.... Where now?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The young Prince</i> [<i>clinging to </i><span class="sc2">Hans</span>]. I am afraid.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>gazing at the </i><span class="sc2">King</span>]. There is the pinch. [<i>Going +up +to him, aside</i>]. And if---</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. If--what?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. If through some chance, quite unforseen, this land +should all at once become thine own, entirely thine?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>bewildered</i>]. What dost thou mean?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Well then, if that should disappear that stands in thy +way? [<i>Bursting out.</i>] Then wouldst thou take thy sword in both thy +hands and storm exulting on the foe?... Well?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. I understand thee not.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Then--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Silence, silence! Thou knowest I have quenched the last embers +of my desires. Thinkest thou to kindle a new blaze thereon by victory +and sin? A fire must run from heaven, must mount from hell, to light a +new life in my fading course. A thing of horror must first come to +pass; whence it came would be as naught to me, if it could but rise +wonder-like upon my sight. Alas, from out these ashes no miracle can +rise for me! I can no longer hope and struggle.... The door stands open +to the upper room.... Once more I mount up to the height, once more +behold the gray dawn turn to gold in rosy glory--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Wilt thou come back?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Nay, didst thou not think so? I--[<i>As Cölestin with the young +Prince puts himself in the way.</i>] Away with the child!--I must die! +[<i>Goes out.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>to himself</i>]. "A thing of horror must first come to +pass." And then, "If I might strike a blow for my own throne." "If thou +wert not." And looked at him with such eyes!--Cölestin, if I had +something to ask--thou knowest, perhaps, the King will yield to +me--more than--in short, I am beloved by him--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Good reason for it.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Yes. Then what if I knew how to goad him into harness, +so that even before the hour had struck, he had the Bastard by the +throat with your all-avenging sword?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. It would be possible? Thou couldst?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Yes. But I need the Prince.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. The Princeling,--why?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. With him by the hand I would sit there on the landing +and hold watch till he came down.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. And then?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Then, Major-domo,--that is my affair.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. The Queen left him in my care. But I know, Hans Lorbass +that thou lovest him. Wilt thou, my little Prince?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Dost thou ask me? I love to stay with him,--he +teaches me to fight. [<i>He runs to him.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. And may God bless thee in thy task.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Much thanks. [<i>Turning to </i><span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair</span>.] I do not +want her. Take her with thee.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Come, poor wench.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. May Anna stay here, too?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Hans Lorbass </span><i>hushes him.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Anna Goldhair</i>. Oh, Cölestin, if I could hide somewhere, and see my +dear Queen pass by just once!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Spare me thy plaints.... Well, wait, I will hide thee here +behind the curtains of the door; stay there, and do not move, and when +she goes to the cathedral--come, come!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Cölestin </span><i>and </i><span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair </span><i>go out.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>grimly</i>]. My Prince!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i> [<i>tenderly</i>]. My Hans!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. And still it grips me cruelly hard.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. What is it thou grumblest in thy beard? Come, let +us fight.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Let us fight, child! If thou knewest how to fight +indeed!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. How strange thou art to-day? Say, Hans, is it true +that a cruel enemy stands before the gate?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Quite true.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Will he come inside?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Not yet. Before long.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. How long?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Until the drums sound the attack.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Soon?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Very soon.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Oh, that is splendid! And why did the father go up +to his tower?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Because ... If I knew whether this young blood would be +poured out in vain. To every foulness God created he has given a tongue +to shriek: "Behold my purpose!" And such a deed as this to-day ... but +no! "If thou wert not!"</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. If I were not,--what then?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Wha--? Why? His sick desires, his failing deeds, the +dreams that mock his brain, that make the right seem wrong,--if he +might see a wish of his become a fact, as if by magic power, perhaps +that knowledge of renewed strength might scatter his gloom to its +accursed source and set him free. Now show thy worth and bleed here +quietly on my breast--what dost thou there!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i> [<i>playing about meanwhile has drawn the sword from +its sheath</i>]. I am learning to carry the King's sword. Forward! Hasten, +the foe will come! Very well. Then I shall be the victor.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Put it down!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Ah, no!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Put it down!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Oh-oo! That is sharp!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Thou knowest who alone may carry that?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. The King.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Well then.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. But he left it there!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>sternly</i>]. To take it up again. [<i>Draws his sword.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Wait! I will kill thee! [<i>He has grasped the sword +in both hands, and thrusting at Hans, who does not see him, he wounds +him on the hand.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>laughing grimly</i>]. The fiend torment--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Thou bleedest--O me!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. The very weakness of this child avenges itself in +death.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Wilt thou not scold me! [<i>Unfastening his +neckerchief</i>] Take my kerchief,--ah, please! Wrap it about thy hand. +Quick!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Is it intended for a sign to me to turn back in my +path? The wish was there, but who knows when he cherished it, whether +he was not so rent by torment, so quite unmanned as to harbor a thought +that sprang therefrom? He must ... Yea, and I must. The hour will slip +away.... [<i>Drums sound in the distance.</i>] Hark, hark! There it is,--the +time has come. [<i>Drums.</i>] Again!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Is that the signal?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. What signal?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. For the attack?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Yes. For the attack and--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. What happiness! Is it not, Hans! If I were grown! +If I were a man!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Come here!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Why dost thou look at me so sternly? Just like the +father.... Wouldst thou strike me? No, thou shalt not.... I am a king's +son.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Come here!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. I am not afraid. [<i>Goes to him.</i>] Just think, the +people say the father hates me. I believe it not. Whatever he should +do, I know right well he loves me,--even as much as thou, my Hans. +[<i>Throws his arms around him.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. How dost thou know?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. What, Hans?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. About the father.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Listen! One night, quite lately, when I had been a +little while in my bed, and was all alone, only think!--he came very +softly within my chamber. I was afraid, because I had not seen him in +so long, and all the people said: "The King is wicked." But he stood +there before my bed and looked at me,--Hans, what is all that noise?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Hasten,--thou knowest not what it means to thee!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. And looked at me so stern and wild that I was +frightened and pretended that I slept. Then he leaned over me, so low +that I had nearly died of fright, and then,--only think, my Hansel,--he +kissed me. Here on my forehead, on my hair and both my cheeks, and then +very softly went away.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Thy good angel put the words into thy mouth! Could he +do so, my little man, then 'twas a fever in his blood that spoke +to-day,--no hate of thee!... It seems as though thou wert even dearer +to me now,--and yet my thoughts have scarce deserved it. [<i>Clasps him +to him.</i>] Now let me, let ... There below they call upon thy father, +and he ... I have it! I will take thee in my arms and show thee to the +leaderless throng below, him who shall lead them when his form rears +itself kinglike and his brow darkens. Come then! Friend, if thy King +fights not for thee to-day, then fight thou for thy King! [<i>He raises +him in his arms and hurries with him down the steps.</i>]</p> +<br> +<br> +<h3>Scene 2.</h3> +<br> +<p class="hang1"><span class="sc2">Anna Goldhair </span><i>comes timidly from the right, pushed into the room. +After her, the </i><span class="sc2">Chancellor</span>, <span class="sc2">Cölestin</span>, <i>nobles and ladies, who stand so +as to form a passage. Then, the </i><span class="sc2">Queen</span>. <i>After her, other ladies</i>. <span class="sc2">Anna +Goldhair </span><i>in a shrinking attempt to hide herself, crouches near the +door, behind those coming in.</i></p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. Away, lest the Queen see thee! Out of the way, wench!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i> [<i>observing that someone is concealed from her</i>]. Who--? [<i>She +motions them to let her see. The group separates. She looks silently +down upon the kneeling </i><span class="sc2">Anna</span>, <i>whose face is bowed to the earth, and +strokes her hair.</i>] Much evil has come upon us both; therefore be it +unto thee according to thy sorrow, not according to thy deed. [<i>She +raises her and gives her over to her women.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i> [<i>meanwhile aside to </i><span class="sc2">Cölestin</span>]. Send above to the King +straightway. I cannot yet forbear to hope that when he--dost thou hear?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i> [<i>who is looking in anxious search toward the background</i>]. +Where is the Prince?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Murmur of Voices</i>. The King comes.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The </i><span class="sc2">King </span><i>comes down the steps.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>startled, bewildered</i>]. Why do ye stand there so amazed? Do +ye +not know me? I am he, your King, your much-loved King, he with whose +hero-tread treason has entered in your flock, into your hearts.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i> [<i>coming forward</i>]. My King!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>reeling back</i>]. Thou! Thou hast come here,--into this den +where lust holds sway? Burst open all the windows wide! Perfume the air +with fine resin! Fetch sage and thyme and peppermint, that the fumes of +this place may not attaint her breath! Hasten! Faded and withered, let +them--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i> [<i>whispers</i>]. My lord, where hast thou left the Prince?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. What? Who? The--the--am I the Prince's keeper?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. My King, the battle rages now already about the castle walls. +The door still holds. The people wait, counting their heart-throbs till +thou comest, trusting in thee still. There is yet time. There lies the +kingly sword and waits for thee.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>to himself</i>]. If Hans understood me rightly--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Stoop to it. It is worth the stooping for.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Thinkest thou?... Still?... And that this hand is worthy, too, +to raise it?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. I trust in it as in immortal life.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Believest thou also that miracles still come to pass?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. I believe in thee.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Then--[<i>he stoops, but starts back with a shriek.</i>] Blood! +There is blood on it! Cölestine! Approach, lean down. Nearer. Thou hast +asked me just now, only in pretence, where I ... I ask thee, with whom +hast <i>thou</i> left the Prince?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Hans Lorbass was with him.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Alone?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Alone.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Yes?... It is well.... See how the red shines bright on the +gray steel! The life that coursed within this blade cannot die--it +lives--it lives and drags me down, a death-devoted man, unto a doubly +shameful end.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i> [<i>to the </i><span class="sc2">Queen</span>]. Speak again before this madness gains +upon him!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. My King.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Ha! The angel of destruction broods over us.... Where is thy +child? Where is thy child?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. I know that he is safe, for the most faithful of the faithful +guards him. Think of thyself and of thy sword.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. An hour since was this blade still clean.... I seemed too +great--nay, nay, too small--to wield it; doubted and cursed myself and +you and all the world. And yet defiance still blazed high in me; I +could be a warrior, perhaps a hero, and knew it not ... ah, cursed +fool!... Now I gaze in envy at that man, could even kiss his feet, who +with accusing conscience and hand yet free from blood-guiltiness, stood +a transgressor here within this hall. O were this sword still clean, +how might I wield it! What miracles exultingly perform! But for me now +no saving miracle can come to pass ...</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The smothered tumult in the court becomes suddenly louder.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Two Nobles</i> [<i>at the window</i>]. God be merciful! Fly!--Save +yourselves!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Hans Lorbass</span>, <i>the young </i><span class="sc2">Prince </span><i>in his arms, rushes up the steps.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>breathless</i>]. Here--take the child! The foe is close +at hand--within the court!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>in frenzied joy throwing himself upon the </i><span class="sc2">Prince</span>]. My +miracle!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. If you would save yourself, barricade this door, +strengthen it ten-fold with beams, break off stones from the roof, roll +them down and heap them up--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Thou art wrong, my friend. The door--fling open!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Hans Lorbass </span><i>tears open the door with a joyous shout. They hear the +approaching battle-cry of the enemy.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>who has seized the sword and shield</i>]. To me, man of the +righteous cause!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The </i><span class="sc2">Duke </span><i>rushes on the </i><span class="sc2">King </span><i>with a shout of laughter, behind +him +his men, among them </i><span class="sc2">Sköll</span>, <span class="sc2">Ottar</span>, <span class="sc2">Gylf</span>, <i>held in check by </i><span class="sc2">Hans </span><i>with +upraised sword, stand crowded together at the door. Short conflict. +The </i><span class="sc2">Duke </span><i>falls.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>to the crowd, his foot upon the prostrate body</i>]. On your +knees. [<i>The foremost sink upon their knees, the rest shrink back.</i>] +</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>during a long silence looks furtively at the </i><span class="sc2">Queen</span>, <i>and +the +councillors. Then to the crowd</i>]. Carry this man's body outside the +door.... Let everyone submit himself unto the peace of God, which +henceforth only he who courts his death will violate. Before we part, I +will come down to you, and under the free air of heaven I, your Duke, +will receive your oath and your allegiance. Away!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The </i><span class="sc2">Duke's </span><i>men seize the body and hurry out.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>tickling </i><span class="sc2">Sköll </span><i>under the nose with his +sword-blade</i>]. Who has it now, thou clown?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i> [<i>approaching hesitatingly</i>]. My gracious Lord and King, +I +would say: Forgive us, but the strength of all our words must break +against thy glorious victory. I only say: We are returned to thee. No +reproaches or regrets shall cheapen our return; we only ask [<i>with a +glance at the </i><span class="sc2">Queen</span>] that honor be spared, and once again, after the +cruel conflict of to-day, we offer thee our country's throne in faith +and loyalty.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. I thank you noble lords, and put it from me.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Chancellor</i>. A second time thou turnest thy happiness and ours to +lamentation.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Stay! Let not a poisoned word pollute this moment, for now at +last the riddling clouds of fate prepare to fall. I may slip the +fetters from my body, which weakness, shame, unwilling gratitude, +sorrow, and mistaken kindnesses, combined to weave about me. I dare to +speak, for now the sword has freed me.... For that I have shrunk from +thee, my wife, forgive me. Didst thou know how shudderingly I sent +myself into an exile of inexpiable guilt! From thence I now return, +love-empty; and still the harmony of thy grace, the breath of thy +self-forgetful love, wafts like a summer breeze about my head, heavy +with blessings. Yes, if I dared to stay, how much of all I have ... +Hush!... I know not the path that I must choose. I only know the end. I +only know that faint and far away there sounds a voice reproaching my +delay. It calls me back into the eternal gray,--that boundless country +where thy blessing ends, where no guiding star rises to lead me on. +Farewell. Forgive me if thou canst. If not ... I know no word to say +that can lift the load of guilt from off my soul.... I must endure and +bear it with me silently.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Nay, my friend.... If thou hast laden thy life with guilt so +heavily, then must thou give me of thy burden a share to bear. I think +that all we leave unspoken to-day will burn our souls forever; and +therefore I make free confession: I have failed thee sorely. I saw thy +misery, I saw the torture growing on thy pale brow, and yet I had but +one thought; one alone; how to beguile him from that path on which his +soul delays and hesitates, but whither his stumbling feet turn of +themselves,--that he might leave me never again, whether in love or +hate ... this was my thought ... and as a bridal pair stand at the +altar and exchange their rings, while the deep church-bells lull them +into a smiling dream, so we in parting near each other, and offer, +smiling, guilt for guilt. [<i>She reaches out her hand to him with a +faint smile, and sinks back into the arms of her women.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>kissing her hand, overcome with feeling</i>]. I thank thee.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i> [<i>timidly</i>]. Papa!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>recovering himself</i>]. Thou too, my son! Come here! I made +thee +poor return--and had he not [<i>motioning toward </i><span class="sc2">Hans</span>] known me better +than I myself ... give him thy hand; for thanks to him, I lay down +undefiled this borrowed sword. [<i>Gives the sword over to the</i> +Chancellor.] Hans!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Here, master! [<i>He hands the </i><span class="sc2">King </span><i>his old sword, +which he seizes eagerly.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Farewell.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>ACT V.</h2> +<br> +<p class="hang1"><i>The scene of the first act. Early spring. March. The trees and bushes +are still bare, but tipped with the delicate red of young leaf-buds. In +the background, upon the slopes, is still snow, in the foreground fresh +young grass. The church-yard has grown larger. The crosses and +headboards reach back to the sand-hills. Sun-set. A blue haze hangs +over the sea.</i></p> +<br> +<br> +<h3>Scene 1.</h3> +<br> +<p class="hang1"><i>Out of a freshly dug grave on the right an invisible hand throws clods +of earth, but stops as </i><span class="sc2">Cölestin </span><i>enters on the right, led by two young +men. Behind them</i>, <span class="sc2">Miklas </span><i>and an old </i><span class="sc2">Fisherman</span>.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Fisherman</i>. This is the place, my lord.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i> [<i>much aged and broken</i>]. I thank thee, friend! That is the +tower?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Fisherman</i> [<i>nodding</i>]. And above it cross on cross.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Let me rest a little, I am dizzy. The way hither was hard. +Yet I rejoice to know that worn-out as I am, I still may serve our +young Prince. And more than him, our dear and holy lady, our Queen. +Else surely I had--remained at home.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Fisherman</i> [<i>has meantime shaken the door of the tower</i>]. The tower +seems empty. The door is barred. There was a storm quite late.... Who +knows where she wanders now, scouting for new graves.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Who speaks of graves? Fie! The hour will ripen all too soon +for us to yield our withered sinful bodies to the worms. Build a fire +for me, since we must wait. The evening lowers and this March wind +blows cold on me. Make haste. [<i>To the old </i><span class="sc2">Fisherman</span>.] Run thou to our +sovereign Lady, who so honored thee as to share thy hut, and tell her I +beg her wait therein until we come to fetch her as she said.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Fisherman</i>. Yes, my lord. [<i>Goes out.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i> [<i>to </i><span class="sc2">Miklas </span><i>while the young men build the fire</i>]. +And +thou, Miklas, tell us thy story again and on thy faith. It was last +night the strangers knocked at thy door?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Miklas</i>. Yes, my lord.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. How many?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Miklas</i>. Two.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. And thou didst open it?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Miklas</i>. Yes. I had lain a long time in bed, but I arose. The +moonlight fell bright through the window-bars. I saw them and was +afraid.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Why?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Miklas</i>. The first had long white hair hanging all wild and shaggy +about a gloomy brow. One leg was hacked off, and a wooden one replaced +it.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Thou will still--?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Miklas</i>. Whoever looked into that eye, must know, my lord: Hans +Lorbass stood before me.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. And the other?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Miklas</i>. It is hard to say.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Still thou knowest him?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Miklas</i>. As I know myself, my lord.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Consider. Full fifteen years have flown since that hour +when he slew the cruel Duke.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Miklas</i>. Yes, my lord. His step indeed was heavier, his face was +paler; and a gnawed and ragged beard hung about his mouth, stiffened +with blood and sweat. Yet it was he, our King, our star, at very +thought of whom our hearts must leap, to whose heroic deed we sing +triumphant songs,--it was he, and that I swear by God the Father.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Go on.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Miklas</i>. Yet, mindful of what happened once, I made as though I had +never seen the two; and when they asked whether there was a path that +led to the sea and to the Burial-wife, and did not touch at town or +capital, I said: "Oh, yes; yet it is difficult to follow it, and not +wander lost by night among the bushes. Come in and sleep beside my +hearth, and I will play the host and spread the straw for you, and +early in the morning, for your sake and for God's sweet service my son +will lead you to the witch-wife." It was said and done. The fire of +pine chips had scarcely burned to ashes,--heigho!--I ran to the stable +and flung the saddle on the horse; and when the early dawn of the March +morning lay abroad white and misty on the hedges, I held my rein before +your castle,--"To the Queen" my cry. Thou wert with me for the rest.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. Thinkest thou thy son--?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Miklas</i>. Set thyself at rest, My son has always been a clever youth +and I answer for it they will be upon the spot before the sun there +dips beneath the sea. Yes, if I mistake not ... but wait! [<i>He runs to +the top of the hill, looks to the right and motions furtively.</i>] Come +here! But crouch down well, that they may not spy us.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. My God, my God, how my old limbs do tremble! It is joy! +[<i>He goes up the slope, assisted by his attendant.</i>] I see three +coming.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Miklas</i>. The small one is my boy. The other two--thou knowest them?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. My eyes have failed me a little, else I might. [<i>Coming +back down.</i>] My God, if it were they! If the evening of my life might +shine so clear that before I closed my eyes in death they might rest +upon the Queen, their heart, their light, pleasured in happiness +without alloy! At such a sight I think I could not die.... Come, come! +Let us announce what we have seen; then may that bond once so +shamefully severed in wrong and need, be solemnly renewed, before we +turn our joyous bark toward home. Come, come! [<i>They all go out at the +left.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The </i><span class="sc2">King </span><i>and </i><span class="sc2">Hans Lorbass </span><i>come in at the right from above, +both +unkempt and in rags like two wayfarers</i>. <span class="sc2">King </span><i>grown gray, lean, and +sallow, comes down forward silent and gloomy.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>with hair grown quite white, and a wooden leg, +carrying a sack on his back, calls into the wing</i>]. There, take it, +rascal, it is the last! And leave! [<i>Coming down.</i>] The clown has led +us twelve whole hours without a path through bushes and morass. He knew +well enough why he did it!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Dost thou think--</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Oh let it be, no matter!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Here is a fire. Is there corn in the sack?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>opening the sack</i>]. Wait.... Yes.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Good! I am hungry.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. I am not, too?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. The corn was dear. Sometimes it costs us money, sometimes +blood.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. We do not pay the blood.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. We pay more. We give out bit by bit from our own souls for our +lives' nakedest necessities, and pay for each mouthful with a shred of +joy--if indeed there be joy in clinging like a pitiable miser to one's +last vacant remnants of hopeless hope.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. If it be not happiness it is life.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. What a life!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Our wants are over now. I wager if I climbed up to the +top of the hill, I should find not one but three ships to take us to +Gotland.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Cook us our supper first.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Good, good! [<i>During the foregoing he has been fetching +cooking utensils, partly from the sack and partly from the outer wall +of the tower, where they lie among tree-stumps, etc.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. I shall come soon enough to Gotland, and soon enough shall see +that refuge whence I once bore to save them those most daring wishes of +my powerless youth.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Until a heron came.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Hans, be still!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. How can I, here in this place, where the sea and +churchyard, yes, even the sea-wind itself, that strips the boughs with +knife-like tongue, all vie with each other to tell us of that day when +an old doting witch-wife with her cursed chatter, betrayed thee from +thy confident path, to pause and play the hero?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Where is she hiding, that I may rip that shriveled skin of hers +about her ears?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. She who played our fate in the world is not at home +when we come back so worsted by it.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Burial-wife!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>laughs mockingly</i>]. Yes, call away, my friend!... +Come +here instead and sit down on this tub. The fire is singing,--the water +will soon boil; come warm thyself.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Thou art right. This cold sea wind pants like a bloodhound +through the gorge. [<i>He sits down by the fire.</i>] The country-people say +that spring is coming. Is it true, I wonder?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. What?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Why, that spring is coming.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Then I believe it, for my leg that I lost begins to +pain me.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Listen! Back in the hedge a shepherd pipes upon his willow +whistle. The streams are beginning to thaw and run down hill.... Brown +buds come out on all the branches. The very sunsets are different. +Look, high up in the blue the wild geese fly in their triangle. +Northward they go. Not I.... I must. We both must, Hans, for we have +grown old.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Because our heads are white? Thou art wrong, master. I +dare venture many a conflict lies in our path before thou goest to thy +fathers' lofty house, and anointest thyself with thy fathers' honors.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Honors are the mail-coat of the weary. I have need of them.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Thou?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. More than thou thinkest for. [<i>Goes up, laughing bitterly.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Whither now?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Do not ask.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Thou lookest toward the south,--what seekest thou +there? Hast thou not known it all long since? That sunny land, those +blue, flower-sown havens, whither thy hasting step once fled? Thou +knowest they are full of stench and lamentation. Those beauteous women, +fairest of the fair,--or passing as the fairest,--to bow in whose +impious slavery once compassed all thy thoughts? Thou knowest they are +all as empty as drained-out casks. And so, because the desire was +lacking in thee to fill them with thy own soul, thou hast sourly turned +away and sought perfection farther on. Thou hast come hither over lands +and seas, and climbest up into the star-teeming void. Yet thou wilt +never, never reach thy star. And that vailed enchanting distance +itself, if it would once unmask and let thee reach it, how miserable it +would look! Every conflict there would seem only a wrangle, every woman +but a doll! Come now, lay aside thy shoulder-belt stretch thyself out +and eat thy supper.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Let be, old grumbler! I seek naught in the distance.... But +near by, floating in the haze of the spring evening, I think I see a +dim shape of white battlements.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. It may well be. The town is only three miles farther +on, and the air is clear. Still I advise thee, do not think upon the +past.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Why?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. It was an evil-omened year. The worst of all, I think. +It taught thy wild untrammeled spirit to circle-hopping in a cage, to +limp instead of fly.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Thou art wrong, my friend. Something wakes in me at sight of +those roofs.... There the wings of happiness once grazed my cheek, +there, though in the midst of torture joy ripened to summer in my +heart. Let me gaze on the place where imploring trustfulness once +confessed itself to me by joyous sacrifice, and the purest of womankind +yielded herself up in sweet urgency, and an oppressed country confided +in me as a master; where even victory surrendered me her standard; let +me gaze upon the spot, and then, instead of stretching forth my kingly +hand in love and gratitude, I must slip past it outlawed, like a beggar +or a thief. I stand here now and gaze through tears at that white glow +of light, and gnaw my lips to bleeding.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Master!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. It is nothing,--nothing! All I have ever desired, all my soul's +treasure, all I could not attain, can be spoken in one word. And that I +may not speak. In silence I decide, and put it from me. I tear it from +my breast, where it has clung so long; and with it all my longing pain +blows like a faded leaf a world away.--Now I will lie down and sleep; +for I am weary.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. And do thy pains and desires all come to an end thus? +Look! Above there, where the sandy turf broadens among frozen clods +past the sun-pierced snow. The wisest of womankind has prepared a bed +for pilgrims such as we. Look!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>going toward the open grave</i>]. I see. It is just suited to a +guest like me. Here, where--[<i>He starts back in alarm.</i>] Hans!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. What is the matter?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Come here. The grave is ready, but it is not empty. Look down +and tell me what thou callest it, crouched there gray in the sand, that +leers at me with staring eyes. Is it a corpse? Is it a spirit?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i>. Oh look at it! The badger is at work. Thou hast her +now.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. The Burial-wife? [<span class="sc2">Hans Lorbass </span><i>nods.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Out with her!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>stopping him</i>]. Listen to me. Thou knowest I have +known her longer than thou. Leave her alone. She was wont to lie thus +for hours and days, and heed no words nor prayers; but seemed as dead. +She is proof then against all summons and all blows; but when her time +comes, then her limbs will stir, and she will come up out of the grave.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<span class="sc2">Cölestin </span><i>and the train with the young </i><span class="sc2">Prince </span><i>enter.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. There they stand!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>turning fiercely and raising his sword</i>]. What do you want? A +quarrel? We two are snarling dogs. We blindly seize on everybody near. +Now come on! Speak!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. My father!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Wha--?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. My King!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> You would mock the man that fled from you?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i>. Down on your knees and honor him as I do!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i> [<i>dazed</i>]. Hans!... But stand up!... Am I King? A hapless +wretch,--naught but my man, my sword, and that pot of soup there, to +call my own. I have no more. My very crown, the gloomy throne of +Gotland must be fought for anew; stand up my son. [<i>He raises him, and +will embrace him, but suddenly pales, staring past the men in great +agitation.</i>] Hans! Dost thou see who stands there in the twilight of +the wood--how spirit-like, how severed from this world--[<i>He shrieks.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>Enter the </i><span class="sc2">Queen</span>. <i>Behind her at a short distance, two of her +women.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Witte!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Go! I know thee not. And yet--I know thee. Thou art my--peace. +Thou art ... Naught art thou more for me.... My body withers and my +strength is fallen asunder. Therefore I may not say: "Thou art." ... +Only "Thou wast." Still thou wast once of a surety--my wife.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. I am to-day--I am a thousandfold! Hast thou forgot what I +promised thee the day thou gavest thyself with hesitation to my +service? I search thy face. I know thou turnest wearied back to thy +northern home. Dost thou forget then where a balsam is prepared to heal +thy bruised feet, dost thou forget where a thousand arms reach out to +greet their loved one? Knowest thou not where thy home stands and calls +to thee? Knowest thou not how well-nigh breathless with its joy my +smile says unto thee: "I charm thee not?"</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Nay, charm me not. I am not worthy. Life has seared me, and put +a shameful kiss upon my brow.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. Then let me cool it with my health-bringing hand, and thou +wilt never feel the scar again.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. How can I feel that scar or even the happiness after which I +longed, now that those hours are past which knew thy love for me?</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i>. In no other have I trusted. I guarded thy son for thee; and +still thy throne stands empty, waiting its master.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. Then thou hast waited fifteen years and sorrowed not. So shalt +thou learn my mystery. Two kingdoms I have won, to pleasure me; the +first has vanished into air, the second is my shame. Justice became a +mock,--all gifts a usury; and everywhere I turned a murderous laugh +pursued me. Then purity plunged in the mire, then honor mocked its own +best gift: all this the magic of the heron wreaked upon me.... Yea, now +thou knowest; a charm was all my crime and all my fate, year after +year. It blinded me to love and life, to wife and child; it hunted me +away from thee, and drove me from place to place; and when a lucent +flight of happiness sprang up from heaven after my downfall, it drowned +its glory in a flood of tears. Behold! [<i>He tears open his gorget and +draws out the last of the heron's feathers.</i>] The enchantment's last +beguiling pledge I hold here in my hand. When this feather shrivels in +the flame there sinks an unblessed woman to her death, that woman whose +wraith stood in the heavens for me to gaze upon,--that woman whom I +sought and never found! Behold! I bury the madness in its grave, and +with the act I put the longing from me. [<i>He tosses the feather into +the flames. There is a flash of lightning, and a roll of thunder +follows it.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Queen</i> [<i>sinks down, whispering with failing strength</i>]. Now are we +two protected from all mischance.... I still ... have been thy +happiness ... even in ... death. [<i>She dies.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Prince</i>. Mother! Speak one word to me!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>King</i>. It was thou? It was thou? [<i>He throws himself upon her body.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Young Prince</i> [<i>in tears</i>]. Ah, Mother!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Cölestin</i>. She has gone, and I, the shadow of a shadow, stay behind.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>The Men</i> [<i>murmur among themselves</i>]. His is the blame! Tear him from +off her body! [<i>They draw their swords to attack the </i><span class="sc2">King</span>.]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>blocking the way with drawn sword</i>]. Away there!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal">[<i>The Burial-wife mounting solemnly out of the open grave.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i>. Children, cease your strife! Can you not see his spirit +wanders far? He is wrapped about with the whisperings of eternity. The +message of death is on the way, the stone of sacrifice doth reek for +blood. Long has this man belonged to me; and now--[<i>she raises her arm +and lets it fall</i>]--I come into my own. [<i>The </i><span class="sc2">King </span><i>breathes heavily, +stirs, and dies.</i>]</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>kneels down beside him with a cry</i>]. Master, master!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Burial-wife</i>. Thus from lust and guilt and sorrow have I cleansed his +soul. To both of them it shall be as though they had not been. Wrap +them about with linen, bear them to my dark abode; then go in silent +thought from hence, for my work is done.</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Hans Lorbass</i> [<i>rises, in anguished bitterness</i>]. Mine must begin +anew. How gladly have I ever braved fresh dangers as my darling's +slave! That service, too, is past; but now his kingdom calls loudly on +my sword for aid. [<i>Pointing seaward.</i>] Northward there lies a land +debauched, crying from out its shame for justice, for a righteous law, +for vengeance, for salvation; for a master,--and that shall the man +become!</p> +<br> +<p class="normal"><i>Translated by Helen Tracy Porter</i>.</p> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2><a name="div2_marah" href="#div2Ref_marah">MARAH OF SHADOWTOWN.</a></h2> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t1">The days pass by in Shadowtown<br> +Wearily, wearily;--<br> +And Bitter-Sweet Marah of Shadowtown<br> +Sighs drearily, drearily.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"Mother, tell him to come to me<br> +While my hair is gold and beautiful<br> +And my lips and eyes are young<br> +While the songs that are welling up in my heart<br> +May still be sung.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"The days go by so wearily<br> +Like crooked goblins, eërily,<br> +Like silly shadows, fast and still,<br> +Wind-driven and drearily.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"Like the gray clouds are my eyes gray, mother,<br> +Like them, heavy as things grown old<br> +Only the clouds' tears are but dream-tears--<br> +Lifeless, cold.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"Last night I had the strangest dream,--<br> +It seemed I stood on a barren hill<br> +Where the wings of the ragged clouds went by<br> +Hurrying and still.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"And all of a sudden the moon came out<br> +Making a pathway over the down,--<br> +And turned my hair to a gold mist, mother,<br> +To light the way to Shadowtown.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"But when I did not see him coming,<br> +And because the clouds grew dark and gray<br> +I walked through the shadows down the hillside<br> +To help him better to find the way.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"And in some wise I came to a forest<br> +When all around was so strange and dim,--<br> +That I thought, 'If I should be lost in the darkness,<br> +How could my hair be light for him?'</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"But groping, I found I was on a pathway<br> +Where low soft branches swept my face,--<br> +When suddenly, close beside, and before me<br> +I knew dim forms kept even pace.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"They were so cowering, shivering, white<br> +That I felt some ill thing came behind<br> +And I heard a moan on the wind go by<br> +'Ah, but the end of the path to find!'</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"Then I looked behind, and saw that near<br> +Like a wan marsh-fog, came a cloud<br> +Hurrying on,--and I knew it wrapped<br> +A dead love--as a shroud.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"And guiltily the figures went,<br> +Like coward things in a guilty race<br> +And not one dared to look behind<br> +For fear he knew that dead love's face.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"Then suddenly at my side I knew<br> +He I loved went;--but, for my hair,<br> +Shadowed and blown about my face,<br> +He knew me not beside him there.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"And he, too, cowered with shaking hands<br> +Over his eyes, for fear to meet<br> +Haunting and still, my pallid face<br> +In that strange mist of winding-sheet.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"So on the shadowy figures went<br> +Hurrying the loathéd cloud before,--<br> +Seeking an end of a fated path<br> +That went winding evermore.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"Oh, Mother, that path was hideous,--<br> +Long and ill and hideous--<br> +And the way was so near to Shadowtown,--<br> +Fairer to Shadowtown--<br> +But the gold of my hair shall not light the way<br> +For anyone else to Shadowtown."</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">Gray-eyed Marah of Shadowtown<br> +Turns away wearily, wearily<br> +Weaving her gold hair back and forth,<br> +Thus she sings, and drearily--<br> +"Little Love, when you shall die, then so shall I,<br> +Ha, merrily!</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"Then let them put us in some deep spot<br> +Where one the growing of trees' roots hears<br> +And you at my heart, all wet with tears,<br> +All wet with tears.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"Your wings are draggled and limp and wet,--Little Love,--<br> +From what rainy land have you come, and far,--<br> +Or who that has held you was crying so,--<br> +Who, little Love--?<br> +My eyes are heavy and wet with tears<br> +Whose eyes besides are heavy so--?<br> +--Oh, little Love, how dumb you are!--</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"Then, poor Love, that has lived in my heart<br> +Come, take my hand, we will go together,<br> +Hemlock boughs are full of sleep<br> +Out of the way of the weather.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px">"For a cavern of cold gray mist is my heart<br> +Will not the hemlock boughs be better<br> +Over our feet and under our heads<br> +Keeping us from the weather?"</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1">Her gold hair duskily glints in her hands<br> +Marah of Shadowtown sings--"Together,--<br> +You, little Love, and I, will go<br> +Into the Land of Pleasanter Weather."</p> + +<p class="right"><i>Anne Throop.</i></p> +</div> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2><a name="div2_dies" href="#div2Ref_dies">DIES IRAE.</a></h2> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t1">Go fight your fight with Tagal and with Boer,</p> +<p class="t1">Cheer in the lust of strength and brutal pride;</p> +<p class="t1">Beat down the lamb to fatten up the fox,</p> +<p class="t1">Shout victory o'er the prostrate shape of truth.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1">Take cross and pike and gold and sophistry,</p> +<p class="t1">To pray and prod and purchase, wheedle, wile;</p> +<p class="t1">Stamp out the roses in a waste of weeds,</p> +<p class="t1">Shout while the trembling voice of truth is hushed.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1">Shatter with iron heel the poet's dream,</p> +<p class="t1">The prophet's protest, and the ages' hope,</p> +<p class="t1">Of brotherhood and light and love on earth--</p> +<p class="t1">Of peace and plenty and a perfect race.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1">Tear down the fabric of ten thousand years,</p> +<p class="t1">The world's best wisdom woven in its woe;</p> +<p class="t1">Lift ruthless hands to rend the fairy fane</p> +<p class="t1">That holds the heart hopes of humanity.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1">Let loose greed, envy, lust, and avarice,</p> +<p class="t1">The myriad throated dragon of desire;</p> +<p class="t1">Let might rule, riot, batten on the meek,</p> +<p class="t1">The tyranny of man o'er man seem right.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1">Forget the Lord Christ smiled, forgave, and died;</p> +<p class="t1">Frowned down every appeal to brutish strength;</p> +<p class="t1">Bade man put up the sword, lest by the sword</p> +<p class="t1">He perish; prayed evil might be paid by good.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1">Forget he turned cheek to the coward blow,</p> +<p class="t1">Cried "Pardon!" yes, seven and seventy times! "Judge not;</p> +<p class="t1">Do not condemn; give coat as well as cloak;</p> +<p class="t1">Resist not evil, wrong's not made right by wrong."</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1">Forget each drop of blood burns in the race,</p> +<p class="t1">Cries for atonement while the last man lives;</p> +<p class="t1">That murder for the state is murder still,</p> +<p class="t1">The gilded not less guilty though more great.</p> +<p class="t1"> </p> +<p class="t1">Forget, and flay and flame; in din grow deaf</p> +<p class="t1">To piteous cries without, and voice within;</p> +<p class="t1">Conquer, triumph, and when the world is won,</p> +<p class="t1">Turn terroring towards the demon in your heart.</p> +<p class="right"><i>William Mountain</i>.</p> +</div> +<br> +<br> +<hr class="W20"> +<br> +<br> +<h2><a name="div1_essays" href="#div1Ref_essays"></a><a name="div2_meredith" href="#div2Ref_meredith">GEORGE MEREDITH ON THE SOURCE OF +DESTINY.</a></h2> +<br> + +<p class="continue">If, as has so often been said, literature is an expression of life, +surely we may study literature to discover the laws of life. Not all +our writers, but all our masters, have given us records from which we +may learn what has been discerned and accepted concerning life by the +race.</p> + +<p class="normal">The scientific study of our day has led men to consider genius from the +modern point of view. Is genius a natural product? If so, whence comes +it, and what are its laws? These are among the most interesting +questions of the present time. Formerly, men contented themselves with +calling the literary faculty a "gift," the result of "inspiration." Of +late we have been told that it is a natural race impulse which finds +expression in some individual. Personally, we believe genius to be the +heated, pregnant condition of a great mind under the influence of a +great enthusiasm. However our definitions of genius may differ, on one +point we all agree. We are all sure that genius is true to life, that +genius teaches us the truth.</p> + +<p class="normal">In its formed philosophical theories it may err, but not in its +perceptions of life. Shelley may teach atheistic views in 'Queen Mab,' +and he may err, for intellectual belief is a matter of opinion. +Nevertheless Shelley's inspired interpretation of life can but be +accepted as real. George Meredith may teach in his 'Lord Ormond and his +Aminta' doctrines of free love, resulting from an attempt to separate +what can not be separated in our human lives,--the physical and the +spiritual loves; and in doing this he may err. Nevertheless, in his +inspired representations of life and character, coming not from thought +alone but from his whole nature, Meredith cannot err.</p> + +<p class="normal">Those of us who read thoughtlessly, without formed theory, accept +literature as real. Have you never, when asked: "Did you ever know of a +case of love at first sight?" answered carelessly: "Oh, yes! There's +Romeo and Juliet, you know?" Or have you never instanced, as the most +persuasive oration you ever heard, Mark Antony's speech in 'Julius +Cćsar?'</p> + +<p class="normal">Thinkers who claim a natural mental origin for the literary gift must +believe in its reality as a matter of course. Those who speak +reverently of its "inspiration" claim a spirit of truth, not of error, +for its parent. Even those who enjoy comparisons of the states of +genius and insanity, ranging from Shakespeare, with his words: "The +fool, the lover, and the poet are of imagination all compact" to the +masterly modern treatment of John Fiske, agree that the sharp division +line of truth and error separates the two. They confess that while the +insane mind may accept hallucinations, the mind of genius deals only +with the truth. The results of both are imaginative; only those of +insanity are imaginary.</p> + +<p class="normal">All thinkers, then, accept the masterpieces of literature as among +life's real phenomena. Whether Meredith's novels hold this high place +is at present a matter of opinion. For men do not know Meredith very +well. A knowledge of his position on this question of Destiny will help +us to learn whether or not he ranks among the elect.</p> + +<p class="normal">In our great literature there has always appeared a close sequence +between wisdom and success, righteousness and happiness, and, on the +other hand, between the choice of moral evil and suffering. This +sequence has been not merely expressed in words, but built into the +very structure of the plot through the workings of the imagination +kindled by genius. The law of this succession, and its relationship +with other laws, philosophers have always been seeking. It is this +search that has led men into the mazy discussions of freedom and +fatalism. For in this law lies the crucial point of the question of +human destiny.</p> + +<p class="normal">'Beowulf,' our first epic, tells us not only much of the manner of life +of our rude Saxon ancestors, but also much of their thought. The note +of fatalism in its chord of life is no weak one. "A man must bear his +fate," the hero says when about to go into a dangerous combat. Yet even +in 'Beowulf' we find the contrasting element, the character choice +appearing.</p> + +<p class="normal">As a child boldly states a problem as though it were a solution, +Beowulf naďvely says: "Fate always aids the undoomed man, if his +courage holds out." This expression side by side of the two elements of +the question has never been surpassed, and is, in its way, matchless.</p> + +<p class="normal">Have we learned much more to-day? We cannot fail to recognize the +duality of the truth, but have we been able yet to join the two sides +into one, to discover the unity that surely lies behind the seeming +contrast?</p> + +<p class="normal">Each side of the question has been largely developed. Some, in a narrow +spirit, have echoed merely Beowulf's, "Fate always aids the undoomed +man"; while others, often as narrowly, have answered, "A man succeeds, +if his courage holds out." Ever in our greatest literature the two +elements have appeared side by side. The mystery has always been +recognized.</p> + +<p class="normal">That even Shakespeare is reverent before fate, yet believes in the +influence of character on a man's life can easily be seen from words +like Helena's in 'All's Well that Ends Well':--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t5" style="text-indent:-8px">"Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie</p> +<p class="t5">Which we ascribe to heaven; the fated sky</p> +<p class="t5">Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull</p> +<p class="t5">Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull."</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">'Macbeth,' with its successive steps of unhappiness following one +critical evil choice is sufficient proof of Shakespear's belief in the +determining power of character. 'King Lear,' with its sad result of +folly shows his belief in the influence of the critical foolish +decision. In the uncrowned king's conversation with his fool, occur +these words:</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Lear</i>. Dost thou call me fool, boy?</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Fool</i>. All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born +with.</p> + +<p class="normal">In Robert Browning literature has brought even up to the present time +the old mystery, the ever continuing struggle between fatalism and +freedom. But to him, as to most thinkers of his day, fate has become +the instrument of a God, a divine Providence rules the world, while +man, too, has his little realm of choice.</p> + +<p class="normal">At the present time this discussion is carried to a greater extent than +ever before. The one side finds its expression in our modern idealistic +philosophy, the other in our modern sceptical science. Idealistic +philosophy, since Kant, has been trying to lay the responsibility for +all life upon the free moral choice. It has been seeking to prove that +the spiritual is the source of life.</p> + +<p class="normal">Modern science, on the other hand, with its keen, wide-opened eyes, has +tried to lay all the necessary sequence of law, forgetting at times +that law is but the explanation of the phenomena. Science sometimes +refuses to consider such phenomena as require a new point of view, +beyond the physical and mental,--a moral point of view. By this refusal +to recognize the spiritual part of man, science attempts to avoid a +second mystery. The mystery of the union of the physical and mental +realms it has been forced, long since, to accept. It would shun the +moral realms because that, too, entails its mystery of connection.</p> + +<p class="normal">Once accept physical life, and science is, in so far, free from +impassable gulfs. Once accept mental life and that realm also becomes +capable of study. Let the free moral nature once be accepted, and again +we shall have reached firm footing. But to cross between these realms +by law, by reason, is impossible; for life, any kind of life, is its +own only explanation.</p> + +<p class="normal">While the problem of freedom becomes simple for one who, like Meredith, +will take this view, there are many who will not or cannot do so, and +the very impossibility of the question from reason's point of view +makes the path a very labyrinth for them. We all try to solve the +question, and different personalities arrive at different answers; but +all are partial. They vary from the logical, but dead outcome of +Swinburne: "There is no bad nor good," to the struggling faith of Omar +Khayyam:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t5" style="text-indent:-8px">"The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,</p> +<p class="t5">But here or there as strikes the Player goes;</p> +<p class="t5">And he that toss'd you down into the Field,</p> +<p class="t5">He knows about it all--He knows--He knows."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">At such a time as this of ours it is especially helpful to study a +writer like George Meredith, who far from ignoring the many sides of +the problem, yet clings firmly to his faith in character. With no +doubtful accent, he tells us that Character is the Source of Destiny.</p> + +<p class="normal">As any great writer of the day must do, Meredith accepts much in the +arguments of the fatalists. He does not refuse to see that nature and +circumstances are strong to mould life. He recognizes the great power +of environment and the absolute power, within its realm, of heredity. +Like Beowulf, like Shakespeare, like Browning, he is reverent before +human destiny. Yet in spite of all this, he accepts the moral with its +necessary result of freedom. He declares that, although the laws of +necessity rule up to the crisis of the moral choice, that very choice +sets all the laws of intellect and body working according to itself.</p> + +<p class="normal">All the stronger for his acceptance of life's necessity becomes his +belief in life's freedom. All the stronger for his concessions becomes +his final dictum. The more intricate the machine, the greater its +master's mind. The narrower the realm of choice, the greater power must +that choice have, to move life as it does.</p> + +<p class="normal">To show that the same peculiar mixture of belief in fatalism and in the +determining power of character on life exists in Meredith's writings as +in Beowulf and in Shakespeare, let me quote a few words from 'Evan +Harrington':</p> + +<p class="normal">"Most youths, like Pope's women, have no character at all, and indeed a +character that does not wait for circumstances to shape it, is of small +worth in the race that must be run."</p> + +<p class="normal">Again he says:</p> + +<p class="normal">"When we have cast off the scales of hope and fancy, and surrender our +claims on made chance: when the wild particles of this universe consent +to march as they are directed, it is given them to see if they see at +all that some plan is working out: that the heavens, icy as they are to +the pangs of our blood, have been throughout speaking to our souls; +and, according to the strength there existing, we learn to comprehend +them."</p> + +<p class="normal">That Meredith, although very reverent before human destiny, is not, on +the other hand, one of those who lay the responsibility for their own +lives on "the stars," or "fate," or "Providence," may be shown by a +study of the characters into whose mouths he puts such sentiments.</p> + +<p class="normal">In 'Rhoda Fleming' who is it but Algernon, "the fool," who says:</p> + +<p class="normal">"I'm under some doom. I see it now. Nobody cares for me. I don't know +what happiness is. I was born under a bad star. My fate's written."</p> + +<p class="normal">It is of Algernon, likewise, that the author says:</p> + +<p class="normal">"Behind the figures he calculated that, in all probability, Rhoda would +visit her sister this night. 'I can't stop that,' he said: and hearing +a clock strike, 'nor that.' The reflection inspired him with fatalistic +views."</p> + +<p class="normal">In 'The Tragic Comedians,' who is it but Clotilde, "the craven," who +lays the successive steps which lead to the tragedy in her life, now to +fate, now to other people's power or lack of insight, now to +Providence? She reaps, as Meredith plainly shows us, simply what she +sows.</p> + +<p class="normal">In 'Sandra Belloni,' it is Mr. Barrett, that sentimentalist of the +better order, of which class the author says: "We will discriminate +more closely here than to call them fools," who lets his whole life be +crushed with the melancholy thought that he is under the influence of +some baneful star. His death, which he lets chance bring or keep away, +is a fitting conclusion to his story. He shuts two pistols up together +in the same case overnight, knowing that one of them is loaded, the +other not. In the morning he takes out one, prepared to fire it upon +himself, in case his beloved does not keep tryst. She does not come, he +fires, the pistol happens to be loaded, and so comes death. It shows +that the "star" of which he thought was not a real star burning clear +in the high heavens. It was rather but a will-o'-the-wisp, born of the +marshy exhalations of his own morbid brain. Meredith reverences the +real star. He kindly ridicules the will-o'-the-wisp.</p> + +<p class="normal">But there is still another class of fatalists in Meredith's novels. He +recognizes also the fatalism of youth. Such is that of the young +Wilfrid in 'Sandra Belloni,' concerning whom the author informs us that +we "shall see him grow." Meredith is too great a thinker not to see +that this tendency toward fatalism does not belong merely to the +"fool," the "craven," and the "sentimentalist," but that it is a +tendency of our youth. We are all weak when we are growing, he assures +us. Is not ours preëminently a growing age?</p> + +<p class="normal">But we must not linger too long on the negative side of Meredith's +belief. We have seen that he is willing to recognize that there is a +wonderful, mysterious power governing human destiny. We have seen, +also, that he does not side in the least with those who lay the +responsibility for their own lives on fate. Let us seek for his +positive message.</p> + +<p class="normal">In the 'Adventures of Harry Richmond' he says:</p> + +<p class="normal">"If a man's fate were as a forbidden fruit, detached from him, and in +front of him, he might hesitate fortunately before plucking it; but, as +most of us are aware, the vital half of it lies in the seed paths he +has traversed."</p> + +<p class="normal">This is certainly a very definite statement of a strong belief in a +man's choice of his own destiny. Again, in 'Modern Love' we find the +following:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t8" style="text-indent:-8px">"In tragic life, God wot,</p> +<p class="t5">No villain need be! Passions spin the plot;</p> +<p class="t5">We are betrayed by what is false within."</p> +<p class="t8">"I take the hap</p> +<p class="t5">Of all my deeds. The wind that fills my sails</p> +<p class="t5">Propels; but I am helmsman. Am I wrecked,</p> +<p class="t5">I know the devil has sufficient weight</p> +<p class="t5">To bear; I lay it not on him, or fate.</p> +<p class="t5">Besides, he's damned. That man I do suspect</p> +<p class="t5">A coward, who would burden the poor deuce</p> +<p class="t5">With what ensues from his own slipperiness."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">The main issue between freedom and fatalism lies in just this question: +Is a man's life determined by what he is or by what he does? Does his +nature, received through inheritance, moulded by circumstance, +determine his acts and so his life? Or does his moral choice determine +these?</p> + +<p class="normal">Extreme fatalists declare that the former is true. Moralists, +idealists, believers in freedom, support the latter view.</p> + +<p class="normal">Now Meredith leaves us no doubt as to his position on the point. Again +and again we see his characters choosing their lives. And their choices +rest on no inherited nature, but on character. Thus our author +declares, by his plots, as in plain words, that "Our deathlessness is +in what we do, not in what we are."</p> + +<p class="normal">As we have said, a writer's thought of life can be best understood from +his plots. He builds life, consciously or unconsciously, as he believes +that nature builds it. Does he let the righteous perish and the evil +man prosper in the end? Then he either does not believe in this law of +ours, or in its present successful working. Perhaps, like Victor Hugo, +he teaches a higher law, that of self-sacrifice. Perhaps, like some +little modern writers, he teaches a lower law of the temporary success, +at times, of hypocrisy and deceit. Whatever he believes in and likes to +think of, his structure will disclose.</p> + +<p class="normal">Now one very marked thing about Meredith's structure is the agreement +of the two crises, that of character and that of circumstances. When +any one of his characters chooses for good or evil, for wisdom or +folly, at that very time, and by that very choice, he decides his +future happiness and success, or unhappiness and failure. Therein lies +the decision of the question whether that particular novel shall be a +tragedy or a comedy.</p> + +<p class="normal">When Dahlia Fleming chooses evil, she chooses unhappiness. No kind +Providence intervenes to save her from her harvest. How many of our +little writers of to-day would have caused her marriage with Edward to +take place in the end! Is not Meredith's conclusion far more true to +life?</p> + +<p class="normal">When Diana of the Cross-Ways resists Percy's temptings and is led by +her hatred of his evil to betray his secret, she chooses for her own +happiness in the end. The storms through which she goes to reach it are +the natural result of her impulsive, unbalanced mind.</p> + +<p class="normal">Stronger still is the teaching in 'The Tragic Comedians.' When Clotilde +chooses the craven's part to play, she chooses also the craven's +reward.</p> + +<p class="normal">It is in his scientific insight into moral life that Meredith's growth +beyond Beowulf, Shakespeare, and even Browning appears. We of the +nineteenth century would be sorry to think that we had not one master +who goes even deeper into our modern life than these. We believe that, +as men of the later twentieth century look back upon our day, they will +call George Meredith our greatest literary exponent.</p> + +<p class="normal">Beowulf asserts the general truth that Circumstance and Character +determine Destiny.</p> + +<p class="normal">Shakespeare has not gone very much farther in the philosophy of life. +He teaches that character determines character, and that circumstance +determines circumstance; and that, in some way, circumstance obeys +character.</p> + +<p class="normal">Browning would advance a step and teach us, as his age taught the +world, that the dependence of the external upon the spiritual comes +about through the agency of a personal God.</p> + +<p class="normal">But Meredith takes up the cry of our scientific age, and says: "The god +of this world is in the machine, not out of it."</p> + +<p class="normal">This is no irreverent teaching, for Meredith is not irreverent. It is +simply the search for primary causes. It is the result of the same +tendency that leads us to be dissatisfied with calling typhoid fever a +"dispensation of Providence," and to lay it to bad drains. Like +evolution in the physical world, this theory does not tend to remove +God, but to explain more fully his agency and methods. It is no new +theory. But the manner of its teaching is as new as this latter +nineteenth century of ours.</p> + +<p class="normal">If one were to compare Meredith with Shakespeare on this subject, one +would naturally coordinate Macbeth and Rhoda Fleming, Diana of the +Cross-Ways and King Lear.</p> + +<p class="normal">'Rhoda Fleming' is, like 'Macbeth,' a tale with a moral purpose. The +dependence of fate on the moral choice is its chief thought. The +book gains force, as all these novels do, from its striking +characterizations. We see Dahlia, the fair-haired one, whose great +failing is weakness,--the fault of a negative character. And we see +plainly the long process of pain to which she thereby subjects herself +in the course of her purification.</p> + +<p class="normal">Rhoda, her sister has, on the other hand, the defects of the positive +character. She is head-strong, over-proud. It is from these +characteristics that she suffers or leads others to suffer. "The Fates +that mould us, always work from the main-spring."</p> + +<p class="normal">In her relations with Anthony Hope, Rhoda takes the part of the +tempter. The interview between the two shows such wonderful insight +into character that from this passage alone Meredith might be ranked as +great. Rhoda discovers that she has sold her sister in marriage to a +brute. In her head-strong desire to buy her off from him, she goes to +her uncle to beg for a large sum of money. Anthony, although a poor man +in reality, has always delighted in deceiving his brother and his +nieces on that point. Rhoda finds him struggling with the greatest +temptation of his life. He has carried home money belonging to the bank +of which he is a trusted employee. His love of money, his former +deceit, make him very weak before Rhoda. So he falls. She is allowed to +take with her the money she wants. As the reader looks back over the +story, he sees that the money will prove useless for her ends, and that +his fall will ruin her uncle's life. Meredith here shows himself a +master of tragedy.</p> + +<p class="normal">The life of the strong, impulsive, young Robert is not so dependent +upon the crises of temptation. For he knows himself and lives with a +constant purpose to conquer himself. His purpose is stronger than his +passions. In respect to his obedience to Socrates's favorite maxim, he +is a man rare even in our self-conscious age. What shall we say of +Edward, "villain and hero in one"? Like Dahlia he loses his life's +happiness through his besetting sin. Several times a courageous word +said that ought to be said, or a brave deed done that should have been +done might have saved him. And each time he proves himself a coward, +until it is too late. Like the children of Israel he would not enter +the promised land for fear of the inhabitants thereof. Like them too, +he atoned by spending his forty years in the wilderness, and there +laying down his life.</p> + +<p class="normal">We must not neglect the "fascinating Peggy Lovell,"--a coquette whose +charm even a woman can feel. Avarice and love of pleasure are her +besetting sins. And avarice leads her to her fate. She has chosen to +sow her wild oats and to accrue her debts. These she pays, as we all +must in one way or another, with herself. Her way is to marry the man +who can pay them rather than the man she loves.</p> + +<p class="normal">One and all, major and minor characters, they come to the crises of +their destinies. One after another chooses according to his character +his life. This is Meredith's teaching.</p> + +<p class="normal">But our author is not always sounding the very depths of life. He is no +preacher, but a painter of human nature. The power of mind has a large +place in his books. "Drink of faith in the brains a full draught," he +tells us; and again:--"To read with a soul in the mirror of mind Is +man's chief lesson."</p> + +<p class="normal">'Diana of the Cross-Ways' teaches the partial failure, the temporary +unhappiness, that result from lack of mental balance. It is the story +of a charming, brilliant, but impulsive woman who makes many mistakes +and who suffers from them. Diana is capable of loving one unworthy of +her, and for such lack of wisdom she pays dearly. Yet she holds firmly +and purely to the right and so wins happiness in the end. She is +foolish sometimes, but she is not a fool. Hence her story is not a +tragedy.</p> + +<p class="normal">This novelist-philosopher has taught us, then, that folly tends to +bring failure, but that righteousness is stronger than folly. He is not +content to stop in his teachings even here. In 'The Tragic Comedians' +he goes still further, and deals with the interrelations of the moral +and intellectual. For character rules intellect, as intellect reacts +upon character.</p> + +<p class="normal">'The Tragic Comedians' begins with the birth of a love. With Clotilde, +daughter of a highly respectable, but very conventional citizen, Alvan, +a Jew and demagogue, a man of widespread and somewhat notorious +reputation, falls in love. Clotilde is a beautiful, bright woman; +interesting, but cowardly. Like all Meredith's heroes and heroines, she +has her besetting sin.</p> + +<p class="normal">To this sudden, overpowering new love Clotilde yields her heart, but +will not yield her actions. She is afraid. While Alvan would go at once +to her parents to ask for her hand, Clotilde, seeing only too plainly +how little hope there is of obtaining their consent, prefers to dally +with matters, and insists on his postponing the interview. Alvan's +straightforward nature cannot understand such half-way measures. He +leaves her unsought for a time, and begins to fade out of Clotilde's +mind. Suddenly, when in the mountains with a friend, she hears that +Alvan is near. She wants him then, and goes to seek him. Again he +misunderstands her. This time he asks her to run away with him, but she +refuses, seeming not so much shocked as afraid. She answers, not in a +womanly, straightforward way, but with an evasion. Then she consents to +let him speak to her father and mother. She addresses them first on the +subject, but is met with a torrent of angry words. The poor thing +cannot stand that. In her weakness she makes her next great mistake, +and runs away to Alvan, beseeching him to marry her secretly. The woman +who would not listen to his request for this very thing but a day or +two before now begs for it. She finds that it is too late. Her lover, +in his pride, has determined to meet her parents on their own ground. +He will win her, he now declares, by conventional methods. So he takes +her to a friend's home. It is there that the chief crisis of the book +takes place, a crisis which is one of the most interesting I know in +literature. It is a moral crisis.</p> + +<p class="normal">Clotilde has come to it through various steps of weakness. Alvan has +reached it through pride and its reaction from his former shady life to +a desire for conventionalism. A strong man who had before obeyed +conventional rules might there have thrown them aside. To Alvan, on +account of their long disuse, they seemed more precious than they need.</p> + +<p class="normal">So Alvan meets the crisis overconfident in his strength. Clotilde meets +it afraid, cowering in her weakness. Of her state Meredith says:</p> + +<p class="normal">"Men and women alike, who renounce their own individuality by cowering +thus abjectly under some other before the storm, are in reality +abjuring their idea of that other, and offering themselves up to the +genius of Power in whatsoever direction it may chance to be manifested, +in whatsoever person. We no sooner shut our eyes than we consent to be +prey, we lose the soul of election."</p> + +<p class="normal">Alvan handed Clotilde back to her parents. She meekly did what he said. +She was hurt. She could not understand his action. Had she but stood up +against this mistake, he might have had pity on her even yet. Or, had +he not changed his own rigid determination, the action might have +prevented that worst result, the weakening of her belief in him. There +is nothing like cowardice to destroy one's faith in others. There is +nothing like courageous action to clear away those mists of doubt. +Clotilde's "craven" will began to demoralize her mind.</p> + +<p class="normal">But her chance is not over yet. She may still cling to Alvan. Doubtless +he will seek her, he has not given her up. Ah, but circumstances were +too strong. For the craven they are always too strong. By a short +imprisonment, by family storms and prayers, Clotilde is reduced to +external subjection. The disorder of her mind increases.</p> + +<p class="normal">While submitting to her father's command, while writing words of +dismissal to Alvan, and even accepting the attentions of a former +suitor, she still says in her heart of hearts that she will always be +loyal to him. How peculiar seems the twisting, "serpentine" nature! She +still waits for Alvan to save her from the chains she daily forges for +herself. Meanwhile Alvan does his best. He uses all means,-- +conventional and otherwise. He finally forces permission from +Clotilde's father to hold a free interview with Clotilde. She is to +tell him openly and freely whether she will marry him or not. So he +hopes to free her of coercion.</p> + +<p class="normal">So far as circumstances are concerned, there is now nothing to prevent +a happy ending; but from moral causes it is impossible.</p> + +<p class="normal">The chains she has forged for herself are too strong. Her fancies have +become diseased by long straining to a cowardly deceit. She think's +Alvan's messengers deceitful too.</p> + +<p class="normal">So she refuses. She throws away thereby her last chance. And yet--can +we believe it?--she still hopes. Alvan has done his best and has +failed. His friends have tried to help him. Circumstance has given away +before them. And she has thrown away their help--yet she still hopes. +Alvan sends a challenge to her father. Prince Marko accepts it, and now +her shuddering trust is in Providence. Marko will be killed. Now Alvan +shall have her hand. But "Providence" does not save her. Alvan is +killed, and Prince Marko returns Clotilde cannot understand it. She is +stunned, but recovers sufficiently to marry Prince Marko.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Not she, it was the situation they had created which was guilty," she +had thought.</p> + +<p class="normal">"The craven with desires expecting to be blest is a zealot of the faith +which ascribes the direction of events to the outer world."</p> + +<p class="normal">Of Alvan's death, Meredith says some very characteristic words. Let me +quote once again:</p> + +<p class="normal">"He perished of his weakness, but it was a strong man that fell."</p> + +<p class="normal">"He was 'a tragic comedian,' one of the lividly ludicious, whom we +cannot laugh at, but must contemplate, to distinguish where their +character strikes the note of discord with life; for otherwise, in the +reflection of their history, life will seem a thing demoniacally +inclined by fits to antic and dive into gulfs."</p> + +<p class="normal">This, then, is George Meredith's message. We have eaten of the fruit of +the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and the power to choose +between the two has entered into our souls. We are under the rule of a +great overhanging law. Destiny's wheels we cannot stop, but through our +capacity for moral choice, our hands lie on the button that moves the +whole machine in its relation to our own individual lives.</p> + +<p class="normal">This is a great lesson. How strong in its likeness to the teachings of +our great masters of the past! How needful in its new scientific form +to-day! How suggestive as to the universe! Does it not follow that as +our lives are planned so is this universe planned in which we live! +Does it not follow that the spiritual is the central life upon which +all else depends? It is the teaching of the childhood of the race, +broadened through knowledge of life's passion, humbled and heightened +through sight of God's hand, strengthened and widened through the +opening of our eyes in modern science to a fuller and clearer +knowledge, not only of the machinery of the universe, but also of its +motive power.</p> + +<p class="right"><i>Emily G. Hooker</i>.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + +<h2><a name="div2_ophelia" href="#div2Ref_ophelia">THE TRAGEDY OF OPHELIA.</a></h2> + +<h4>RENUNCIATION.</h4> +<hr class="W10"> + +<p class="continue">The "Tragedy of Hamlet" has its origin in the murder of Hamlet's +father, its development in Hamlet's preparation for revenge, and its +consummation in the murderer's death. It is well summed up in the +Anglicized title of the old German play, 'Fratricide Punished,' +('Hamlet,' Variorum Edition, Furness, Vol. II., p. 121). In the +progress of this tragedy Ophelia's own sad story has no part or lot. +She is in it, but not of it, and her relationship to it is an episode. +Like 'The Murder of Gonzago,' however, it is a tragedy within the +tragedy, but it turns wholly upon the loves of Hamlet and Ophelia, +their interruption, and its result. For this reason it is greatly shorn +of detail, and therefore doubtless it has always been regarded as a +mystery.</p> + +<p class="normal">"The Tragedy of Ophelia" opens with a narrative of Hamlet's ardent +pursuit of Ophelia with vows of love, the surrender of her maiden heart +to him, and their free and bounteous interviews thereafter. Here the +action of the drama begins, and her father, doubting the integrity of +Hamlet's purpose, forbids her further reception of his attentions, and, +apparently without explanation made to Hamlet, she obeys him. Of what +Hamlet thinks or says of this we are not in terms informed, and can +only infer it from his conduct towards her afterwards. But that conduct +was of a most extraordinary character, seeming to many students of the +play to be inexplicable. The explanations of others may be resolved +into three theories, each of which deserves a passing notice. It has +been claimed that insanity will account for it, and indeed Hamlet's +treatment of Ophelia has been the chief argument advanced in proof of +his insanity; but it is incredible that Shakespeare should have devoted +the only two interviews which he had with her, and which had so +important an influence upon her life, to the mere vaporings of a +madman. It has been suggested that he is putting on "an antic +disposition," as he had foretold he would, with a view to deceiving the +King concerning his intentions, and such conduct would have been +fitting with the temptress in Belleforest's 'Hystorie,' (<i>Ibid</i>., 91); +but Shakespeare has transformed the creature of that story into +Hamlet's gentle sweetheart, and so to lacerate her soul by way of +subterfuge would have been an act of unjustifiable brutality, of which +he could by no means have been guilty. It has been urged that his +mind's eye is jaundiced by his mother's gross behavior, and that +thereupon he turns distrustfully from womankind; but long after his +mother's wicked marriage, perhaps a month afterwards, he is reveling in +Ophelia's love,--a balm that gracious Nature often pours on bleeding +hearts. And further, from either of these points of view, the sudden +and extravagant change in Hamlet's feelings towards Ophelia, the cruel +harshness of his speech to her soon after, and his subsequent complete +indifference to her, are beyond the requirements of the situation, and +the theories therefore seem rather to perplex than to explain.</p> + +<p class="normal">Undoubtedly the cause of this is that they seek the solution of the +riddle in the effect on Hamlet's relations to Ophelia of prior +incidents in the play, his father's murder, his mother's marriage to +the murderer, and the ghostly mission of revenge. But there are in the +situation at the end of Act I of 'Hamlet' and wholly unconnected with +these incidents, all the elements of a tragedy, few and simple, but +profoundly significant. Thus, we have a prince who is an ardent lover, +a court lady who has as ardently returned his love, the lady's sudden +and unexplained refusal to see or hear from him, her ambitious and +time-serving courtier father, and for a King a "remorseless, +treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain." Let but a spark of jealous +suspicion reach such a mixture, and there must be an explosion; with a +war-hardened Othello-like titanic rage and murder, but with the softer +Hamlet renunciation and reproach, and with poor Ophelia, who represses +her feelings always, heart-break, insanity, and death.</p> + +<p class="normal">Now, Hamlet is pictured as one of the most suspicious of men, and in +particular at this juncture about his mortal enemy the King. In +addition, he is very proud and very revengeful, as he admits, and there +is every indication that he has been passionately fond of Ophelia. When +therefore she persistently denies herself to him in private, though +doubtless a regular attendant at the functions of the court, his +suspicions are excited, his pride wounded, his anger aroused; and, with +"the pangs of despis'd love" in his heart, and in his mind a tumult of +conflicting thoughts, he suddenly presents himself before her, resolved +to know the truth. "What damned moments counts he o'er Who dotes, yet +doubts,--suspects, yet fondly loves." In Quarto I she says: "He found +me walking in the gallery, all alone"; that is, in the gallery of the +King's palace,--(compare lines 673 and 803),--and of course within +reach of the King; and, though Shakespeare afterwards transferred this +scene to her chamber in her father's house, it may not be overlooked +that the remarkable interview of which Ophelia tells was conceived +originally as occurring on the impulse of the moment and under stress +of feeling caused apparently, by Hamlet's unexpected and dumbfoundering +discovery:</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t1" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"He took me by the wrist and held me hard.</p> +<p class="t1">Then goes he to the length of all his arm,</p> +<p class="t1">And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow,</p> +<p class="t1">He falls to such perusal of my face</p> +<p class="t1">As he would draw it. Long time stayed he so.</p> +<p class="t1">At last--a little shaking of my arm,</p> +<p class="t1">And thrice his head thus waving up and down--</p> +<p class="t1">He raised a sigh so piteous and profound</p> +<p class="t1">As it did seem to shatter all his bulk</p> +<p class="t1">And end his being. That done, he lets me go,</p> +<p class="t1">And with his head over his shoulder turned</p> +<p class="t1">He seemed to find his way without his eyes;</p> +<p class="t1">For out o' doors he went without their help,</p> +<p class="t1">And to the last bended their light on me."</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">In that harsh grip is anger, in that long study of her face the search +for truth, in his silence the wounded pride that cannot utter his +suspicions, in the triple nod the confirmation of their verity, in the +sigh the efflux of his love, in the hand-shaking a farewell, and in the +retroverted face a hope yet lingering but doomed to disappointment. For +Ophelia still utters no word of explanation, and Hamlet the lover +leaves her forever.</p> + +<p class="normal">The renunciation of Ophelia at this interview is generally conceded, +but the reason assigned for it is the incompatibility of Hamlet's +passion for her with his mission of revenge;--a most unsatisfactory +explanation, because after the Ghost's command was laid on him he still +pursued her, for it was after that that she says: "I did refuse his +letters and denied his access to me." There is apparently an interval +of two months between Acts I and II of Hamlet, and during this period +Hamlet has evidently been brooding over his father's murder and +considering the means of executing his dread command, and he has +doubtless been vexing his soul over the conduct of Ophelia until he can +stand the strain no longer. In immediate sequence in the play his +silent interview with her follows upon her denial of herself to him, +and an echo of the bitter feeling then aroused in him is subsequently +heard, when he tells her that the prologue to the players' scene is +brief "as woman's love";--sometimes mistakenly supposed to refer to the +Queen, whose defection did not occur for more than thirty years after +her marriage. If Hamlet's belief in an intrigue between her and the +King be assumed, it fully explains his conduct before, at, and after +his renunciation of Ophelia, and it would seem that no other theory can +explain it adequately.</p> + +<p class="normal">When Othello is brooding over the supposed delinquencies of Desdemona, +tortured by commingled love and hate, in his wrath he strikes her. +Afterwards he demands: "Let me see your eyes; look in my face"; and as +she does so, and he searches there for her innocence and finds it not, +he bitterly adjures her: "Swear thou art honest," though all the while +assured that she is "false as hell." And he weeps and laments over her +at the very moment that he determines upon an eternal separation. +Othello's interview with Desdemona and this interview of Hamlet's with +Ophelia are identical in outline, and they differ in detail only as the +character of the two men differ. Shakespeare has told us in words that +Othello is jealously suspicious of Desdemona, and with equal +faithfulness he has depicted jealous suspicion in the acts of Hamlet.</p> + +<p class="normal">This mute interview between Hamlet and Ophelia reminds one of the "Dumb +Shew," which precedes the scene from the drama of 'Gonzago's Murder'; +and as in the latter instance the Duke and Duchess afterwards put into +words the thoughts which the pantomime foreshadows, so on examination +will this be found to be the case in the second interview between +Hamlet and Ophelia, which immediately follows upon his great soliloquy.</p> + +<p class="normal">This second interview concludes Scene i of Act III in Quarto II and in +the Folios, but in Quarto I it is in Act II, and logically it belongs +there. Act I of 'Hamlet' was designed to disclose the relation of the +several characters to each other, and the command imposed on Hamlet to +avenge his Father's death upon the King; and Act II was originally +intended to exhibit Hamlet erratically making ready to obey the Ghost's +command, and the various artifices which the King employs to detect his +hidden purpose. When Ophelia tells her father of Hamlet's wordless +interview with her, Polonius promptly goes to the King with the story +of their amours and his termination of them, and with the announcement +that Hamlet is mad for his daughter's love; and, after hearing his +reasons for this opinion, being impressed by them, naturally the first +thought of the King is: "How may we try it further?" To this Polonius +replies: "I'll loose my daughter to him" during one of his walks in the +gallery here, whilst you and I, unseen but seeing, will witness their +encounter. In Quarto I the meeting between Hamlet and Ophelia follows +at once, and when it fails Polonius undertakes to board him, and when +that fails Rosencrantz and Guildenstern assay him. Afterwards +Shakespeare saw fit to change the order of these scenes, but this +particular scene may properly be considered now, and before others +which it logically precedes.</p> + +<p class="normal">In the interpretation of this interview, as of the former, commentators +have been misled by the assumption that it is in some way connected +with Hamlet's mission of revenge, and consequently they have found it, +as has been suggested, a veritable <i>pons asinorum</i>. Apart from the +three theories above referred to, there is an attempt to explain it on +the hypothesis that when Hamlet meets Ophelia in the palace, whither he +has been sent for by the King for the express purpose of meeting her, +but "as 'twere by accident," he at once suspects the ruse, and +therefore talks in the extraordinary manner recorded of him; that is, +that he is rude and brutal, and refuses to yield to his feelings of +affection, in order to deceive the King, who he well knows is within +hearing, or to punish Ophelia, who he is assured is spying on him. But +this theory seems to be wholly without support in the text. In the +first place, there is not a word which indicates that he suspects the +King's presence, and, on the contrary, the delivery of the soliloquy, +the admission that he is revengeful and ambitious, and the covert +threat to kill the King, all tend to prove that he does not suspect it. +Further, such a suspicion could reasonably originate only in the fact +that the King had sent for him, and that instead of the King he found +Ophelia, but it is to be remembered that in Quarto I the King does not +send for him, and that the meeting is in fact accidental. Conceding the +suspicion, however, for argument's sake, whilst it might induce Hamlet +to be reticent or cautious in his speech, it does not explain why +Shakespeare put into his mouth the denunciatory language he employs, +and this is after all the vital question. It cannot have been in order +to deceive the King by concealing his love for Ophelia, for such +concealment must necessarily undeceive him; the King, Queen, and +Polonius are all deluded into believing him mad for Ophelia's love, and +this test is expected to confirm them in it; but we know that in fact +the King is undeceived, for his comment is: "Love! His affections do +not that way tend; Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little, +Was not like madness." Were he profuse in his protestations of love, +the King might indeed be deceived into believing that it is not his +conduct, but Ophelia's, which troubles Hamlet; for herein the situation +differs from that narrated by Belleforest, the lady there being a mere +vulgar temptress, whose preconcerted blandishments Hamlet shrewdly +refuses to yield to. As for Ophelia's spying on him, it is untenable; +for she also expects that Hamlet will exhibit affection for her, and, +were he to do so, instead of betraying his secret, she would aid him in +concealing it. It seems plain from his inquiry that Hamlet sees +Polonius during the interview, but it is not probable that he believes +Ophelia to be cognizant of his presence; her answer is a denial of such +knowledge, and Hamlet's succeeding sarcastic speech is meant for the +conscience of Polonius, not for hers. The worst that he could say to +her is said before the discovery of her father, and before her +falsehood, and hence the discovery and the falsehood do not serve to +explain it. Nothing can explain it satisfactorily, but Hamlet's +conviction that she has transferred her affections to the King.</p> + +<p class="normal">After Hamlet has for some time been in the King's chamber, whether it +is with or without the King's request, he meets Ophelia there, and he +finds her apparently waiting for some one, and whiling away the time by +reading. So it has been pre-arranged, and so it seems to him. Plainly +she has not been waiting for him, for, though he himself has been +waiting, she has not addressed him, and in the end he first accosts +her. Indeed, it has been planned that their meeting shall seem to him +to be "by accident," and, so seeming, the idea of her waiting for him +is precluded. Hence to him, already suspicious of her integrity, she +must have come to meet the King. But he has before this been convinced +of such an intrigue, as above shown, and because of it has renounced +her; and accordingly he petitions her lightly, if not ironically: +"Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remember'd." Their meeting is on +the same day as, or certainly not more than one day later than, the +speechless interview; but Ophelia ignores that, and ignores his +petition also, and inquires into the state of his health "for this many +a day,"--that is, since Polonius has separated them,--to which he +responds gravely, and without show of affection. Thereupon ensues the +following conversation:</p> +<div style="margin-top:12pt; margin-left:10%"> + +<p style="text-indent:-7%">"<i>Oph</i>. My lord, I have remembrances of yours<br> +That I have longed long to redeliver;<br> +I pray you now receive them.</p> + +<p style="text-indent:-7%">"<i>Ham</i>. No, not I;<br> +I never gave you aught.</p> + +<p style="text-indent:-7%">"<i>Oph</i>. My honor'd lord, you know right well you did, +And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd +As made the things more rich. Their perfume lost, +Take them again; for to the noble mind +Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind." +</div> +<p class="normal">It seems clear that Ophelia returns these remembrances in pursuance of +her father's orders, express or implied; that Hamlet repudiates them +because, proud and sensitive, he would blot their old associations from +his memory; and that Ophelia insists on their return with a sad and +tender recollection of those music-vows of love that he has made so +often. But why she should accuse him of unkindness towards her is not +so clear, since it is she who has broken off their intimacy. Her +meaning is not doubtful in Quarto I, where this reference to Hamlet's +unkindness follows upon his comments on her honesty, and evidently +refers to them. But in Quarto II Shakespeare changes the order of the +conversation, and so apparently intends to make Ophelia's suggestion of +unkindness refer to Hamlet's visit to her closet. Hence he had not only +frightened her at that interview, as she informed her father, but he +had hurt her, she realizes that he had renounced her, and in this +gentle way she now upbraids him. But Hamlet, wrought to sudden fury by +the reminiscence, like Othello, can see nothing but the supposed wrong +which she has done him, and, like Othello, charges her with unchastity, +without indicating the suspected man:</p> + +<div style="margin-top:12pt; margin-bottom:12pt; font-size:90%"> +<p class="normal">"<i>Ham</i>. Ha, ha! are you honest?</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Oph</i>. My lord?</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Ham</i>. Are you fair?</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Oph</i>. What means your lordship!</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Ham</i>. That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit +of no discourse to your beauty.</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Oph</i>. Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with +honesty?</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Ham</i>. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform +honesty from what it is to a bawd, than the force of honesty can +translate beauty into his likeness. This was sometime a paradox, but +now the time gives it proof."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">Though expressed figuratively, there can be no doubt of Hamlet's +intention in this passage to warn Ophelia against some temptation then +assailing her, which is attacking her virtue through the medium of her +beauty, and which will probably prevail over it. It concerns her +"honesty,"--a virtuous woman being honest in respect of others who have +claims on her, and chaste in respect of herself,--and undoubtedly it +refers to the temptation which assails all women who win unscrupulous +admirers by their charms, and to which they sometimes succumb. In +Ophelia's case it has been to Hamlet an impossible possibility that she +could prove unfaithful to him, but here and now, since he has +discovered her secret visit to the King, it has become reality.</p> + +<p class="normal">Then, as the scene proceeds, Hamlet in a breath admits and denies his +former love for her, thus plainly repudiating any present affection. +(This conclusion is entirely consistent with his declaration "I lov'd +Ophelia" in the grave-yard scene). Here he renounces her in words, as +formerly he had renounced her by signs. Then he denounces himself and +his "old stock" as being without virtue, and concludes the subject by +declaring: "We are arrant knaves, all; believe none of us. Go thy ways +to a nunnery." Here he unmistakeably warns her against the King, for of +that old stock only they two are left. To the blandishments of both she +has yielded, as he supposes, and since Hamlet no longer loves her, and +the King but lusts after her, her only safe retreat is in a nunnery. In +those old days a nunnery was often the only refuge for a woman who was +fancied by a king, if she would retain her purity.</p> + +<p class="normal">At this juncture Hamlet discovers Polonius, as is evident by his +suggestion that he had better remain at home when he desires to play +the fool; if the remark were not intended for his ear, it would be +absurd. Of course he realizes that Polonius has been listening to their +conversation, but he does not betray his knowledge, though the rest of +his comments are perhaps more particularly intended for Polonius's ear. +His words turn "wild and whirling," Ophelia notes the change, and her +responses change in tone accordingly. He protests that though she +marries she must lose that immediate jewel of her soul of which Iago +prates, or that she will transform her husband into the horned monster +of Othello's fears. And then he inveighs against wanton womankind in +general, but in such terms as might befit the woman he supposes that +she has become. He puts on "an antic disposition" for the benefit of +Polonius, but under it all is the pointed notice to Ophelia that their +past relationship can never be renewed, and the masked charge that it +is her adoption of the ways of her frail sisters that has made him +mad,--as her words indicate that she supposes him to be,--and that has +wrecked the future happiness of both of them.</p> + +<p class="normal">When Hero is charged by Claudio with unchastity, she fancies that +something must be wrong with him, and says: "Is my lord well, that he +doth speak so wild?" Of Othello's accusation Desdemona thinks that +"something, sure, of state ... Hath puddled his clear spirit." In a +similar frame of mind Ophelia entreats: "Ye heavenly powers restore +him," and bewails the overthrow of Hamlet's reason. These three tender +hearted women are singularly alike in their mental attitudes under the +accusation, and but too willing to extenuate the cruel blow and to +forgive it. But both Hero and Desdemona defend themselves against the +charge, whilst Ophelia, maintaining her habitual reticence, neither +admits nor denies anything, and Hamlet's conviction of her wrongdoing +with the King remains unchanged.</p> + +<p class="normal">Thus far Hamlet has made no direct charge of the transfer of Ophelia's +affections from him to another, but he seems to do this at their next +interview, which takes place at the time of the play of 'Gonzago's +Murder.' There is a bitterness towards her in his speech, a brutality +in his obscene allusions, and a degree of heartlessness in it all, +which can be excused--if indeed it be deemed excusable--only on the +theory that he believes her to have herself become a heartless, wicked +woman. When he is commenting on the facts of the play, and Ophelia +suggests that he is "as good as a chorus," he snarlingly replies: "I +could interpret between you and your love if I could see the puppets +dallying." Everything which Hamlet says is pregnant with meaning, and +Ophelia evidently regards this as a keen thrust at her, which it +plainly is. Both of them know that they two are no longer lovers, and +each of them therefore understands that the allusion is to some other +man with whom she treads "the primrose path of dalliance." As usual +Ophelia does not deny the charge, and it would not be singular if +Hamlet were to accept her silence as an admission of its truth. To whom +she thinks that he refers does not appear, but there can be no doubt +that his conviction is that her new lover is the King.</p> + +<p class="normal">The next incident indicating this conviction is the interview in which +Polonius undertakes with much complacency to "board" the Prince:</p> +<div style="margin-top:12pt; margin-bottom:12pt; font-size:90%"> +<p class="normal">"<i>Pol</i>. Do you know me, my lord?</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Ham</i>. Excellent well; you are a fishmonger.</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Pol</i>. Not I, my lord.</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Ham</i>. Then I would you were so honest a man.</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Pol</i>. Honest, my lord?</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Ham</i>. Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one +man picked out of ten thousand.</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Pol</i>. That's very true, my lord.</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Ham</i>. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god +kissing carrion--Have you a daughter?</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Pol</i>. I have, my lord.</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Ham</i>. Let her not walk i' the sun. Conception is a blessing, +but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to it.</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Pol</i>. How say you by that? Still harping on my daughter. Yet +he knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger. He is far gone, +far gone." [<i>aside</i>].</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">There has been much discussion of this passage, but no satisfactory +solution of it. It is a good sample of the enigmatic style of speech +characteristic of Hamlet, which presumably the audiences of +Shakespeare's day comprehended, which of course the astute Polonius did +not understand, and which puzzles later generations because they have +lost the ancient significance of certain words. Polonius is so +prejudiced in favor of his theory that it was "the very ecstacy of +love" that troubled Hamlet, that he does not even attempt to fathom his +allusions. And yet Hamlet's last remark, warning him about his +daughter, rivets his attention, and he demands to know what is meant by +it; but it is only for an instant, his illusion again diverts him from +the matter, and the chance of explanation thus escapes.</p> + +<p class="normal">Malone says that "fishmonger" was a cant term for a "wencher"; and in +Barnabe Rich's 'Irish Hubbub' is the expression "senex fornicator, an +old fishmonger." Possibly this is its primary significance in Hamlet's +mind, for shortly afterwards he satirically says of Polonius to the +players: "He's for a jig, or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps." In +several instances Shakespeare similarly alludes to "fishing"; as in +'Measure for Measure,' i, 2, 91: "Groping for trouts in a peculiar +river"; 'Winter's Tale,' i, 2, 195: "And his pond fish'd by his next +neighbor"; and possibly in 'Antony and Cleopatra,' i, 4, 4: "He fishes, +drinks, and wastes the lamps of night in revels." The word "monger" in +compound words, as used by Shakespeare, does not always mean a trader +in the article, but sometimes one who merely indulges in the act; as in +'Love's Labour's Lost,' ii, 1, 253: "Thou art an old love-monger"; +in 'Romeo and Juliet,' ii, 4, 30: "These strange flies, these +fashion-mongers"; and in 'Measure for Measure,' v, 1, 337: "Was the +Duke a fleshmonger?" In common usage the word has this double +significance, indeed, dependent upon whether its adjunct refers to a +thing or to an act; as, for example, cheesemonger and scandalmonger, +and other similar compounds which will readily suggest themselves. +Hence "fishmonger" means both one given to "fishing" and a trader in +fish. And doubtless the latter is its most important significance in +Hamlet's mind, when Polonius denies that he is a fishmonger, namely +that he is a trader in a food which from time immemorial has been +supposed to be an aphrodisiac. Wherefore we are to understand Hamlet as +meaning that Polonius is not so honest a man as the fishmonger that +Polonius has in mind, or the senex fornicator that he originally +had in mind, but that he is a fleshmonger,--a pander, as Tieck puts +it;--"traders in flesh" such persons are termed in 'Troilus and +Cressida,' v, 11, 46. It is supposed by Tieck that the allusion is to +the way in which Polonius threw Hamlet and Ophelia together, by Friesen +that it refers to his pandering to the desires of Claudius and the +Queen before the old King's death, and by Doering that it points to his +promotion of the o'er-hasty marriage of the King and Queen. But the +foregoing discussion shows that the secondary thought in Hamlet's mind +is that for some personal end Polonius permits Ophelia to accept the +King's attentions, knowing the necessary effect of her youth and beauty +on his licentious nature; for at his last interview with her he saw her +father also, though apparently hiding from both of them, and therefore +believes that he was cognizant of the fact that she had gone to the +palace privately to meet the King. It is evidently this belief which +inspires him with the contempt which he afterwards exhibits towards +Polonius.</p> + +<p class="normal">His next speech manifests this contempt in a notable degree, but it has +been unappreciated because of the failure to perceive the significance +of the word "sun." It is an argument intended to enforce what he had +already said, and, supplying the omitted portion, the whole runs thus: +You are not honest, and you cannot be honest; "for if the sun (in the +sky) breed maggots in a dead dog, being a (heavenly) god kissing +carrion," even so will the sun of this realm (the King) engender +misdeeds in you, a corrupt man caressed by an earthly god. In +characteristic fashion Shakespeare uses "sun" in a double sense, as he +has just used "fishmonger," and again the occult reference is to +Polonius as a procurer for the King.</p> + +<p class="normal">And Hamlet follows this up by the warning concerning Ophelia; "Let her +not walk i' the sun (shine of the King's favor); conception is a +blessing, but not as your daughter may conceive (if she does so)." +"Sun" in this passage means "sunshine" or "sunlight," as in ordinary +usage it often does, but it is the light of the sun of royalty that he +has just mentioned.</p> + +<p class="normal">Hamlet's meaning is made so plain by this construction, that it +scarcely needs argument to enforce it. It may however be remarked that, +assuming its correctness in respect of the declaration that Polonius is +not so honest as a fishmonger, its correctness as to the sun's breeding +maggots in carrion and causing conception in Ophelia necessarily +follows. The three enigmatical statements, thus interpreted, complement +and explain each other, and therefore tend to prove each other; and the +proof is strengthened by the fact that they are the sequelae of a +single thought, namely, his belief in an intrigue between Ophelia and +the King. On the other hand, conceding such a belief, a man of Hamlet's +character would most naturally think these thoughts, and utter them in +characteristic style to Ophelia's father:--The King breeds corruption +in you as does the sun in a carrion dog, you are risking your +daughter's honor to win his favor, and the experiment will probably end +in her dishonor. Hence Hamlet's alleged belief, deduced from his three +interviews with Ophelia, and these three resulting comments tend to +prove each other's correctness.</p> + +<p class="normal">Again, the sun is plainly credited by Hamlet with a double function, +namely, corruptly breeding life in a dead dog and in a living woman, +and the only possible means of harmonizing the two' statements, and of +making sense out of the latter, is to assume that some man is typified +by the second sun. It is generally admitted that an uncompleted +argument is introduced by the particle "for," and, such being the case, +it is a fair assumption that that also shall contain a reference to +"the sun" as doing something which a man may do. On such an assumption, +the argument is readily followed up: "For if the sun breed maggots in a +dead dog," so must "the sun" breed dishonesty in you, and so may "the +sun" cause your daughter to conceive. These three propositions are +consistent, the logical connection between them is perfect, and their +reason and purpose is clear, if the term "sun" may figuratively +indicate "the King."</p> + +<p class="normal">Now, it is to be observed that Shakespeare not infrequently refers to +kings as suns, and likens them to gods. When the King has pardoned her +son, the Duchess of York exclaims: "A god on earth thou art"; 'Richard +II,' v, 3, 136. "Kings are earth's gods," says Pericles; 'Pericles,' i, +1, 103. And again he says of the King, his father, that he "Had princes +sit like stars about his throne, And he the sun, for them to +reverence," <i>Ibid</i>., II, iii, 40, In 'Henry VIII,' i, 1, 6, Buckingham, +referring to the meeting of the Kings of England and France on the +Field of the Cloth of Gold, styles them "Those suns of glory, those two +lights of men." And Norfolk tells of the wondrous deeds done there, +"when these suns (For so they phrase them) by their heralds challenged +The noble spirits to arms"; <i>Ibid</i>., i, 1, 33. Again, adverting to the +manner in which Cardinal Woolsey overshadows all other men in the +King's favor, Buckingham says: "I wonder That such a keech can with his +very bulk Take up the rays o' th' beneficial sun, And keep it from the +earth"; <i>Ibid</i>., i, 1, 56. When the Cardinal has procured the King to +arrest him, Buckingham foresees his speedy death, and again uses this +metaphor in a passage which has been much misunderstood, <i>Ibid</i>., i. 1, +236: "I am the shadow of poor Buckingham, Whose figure even this +instant cloud puts on By dark'ning my clear sun"; that is, whose body +was even that moment entombed by the darkening of the King's +countenance against him; he was already a dead man. (Compare the +thought: "Darkness does the face of earth entomb When living light +should kiss it"; 'Macbeth,' ii, 4, 10).<a name="div3Ref_01" href="#div3_01"><sup>[1]</sup></a> In like manner, in 'King +John,' ii, i, 500, the Dauphin of France refers to himself as King, +when he says to his father that his shadow, visible in the eye of the +Princess, "Becomes a sun and makes your son a shadow." In Richard II,' +iii, 2, 50, the King, likening himself to the sun, says that, as the +"eye of heaven" reveals the dark deeds of night when he fires the proud +tops of the eastern pines, "So when this thief, this traitor, +Bolingbroke ... Shall see us rising on our throne, the east, His +treasons will sit blushing in his face." And again, <i>Ibid</i>., iv, 1, +260, transferring the metaphor to Bolingbroke, he wails: "O, that I +were a mockery King of snow Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, To +melt myself away in waterdrops." In '1 Henry IV,' iii, 2, 79, the King +speaks of "sunlike majesty, When it shines seldom in admiring eyes." In +'Richard III.' i, 1, 1, Gloster says, referring to the King: "Now is +the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York." +In 'Hamlet,' i, 2, 67, the King asks Hamlet: "How is it that the clouds +still hang on you?" and he ironically replies: "Not so, my lord, I am +too much i' the sun." Here again "sun" means "sunshine," and Hamlet, +choosing to understand the King literally, and referring to the fact +that clouds are dissipated by a genial sun, sneeringly protests that he +is too much in the sunshine of royalty to have clouds hanging about +him. Referring to a different effect of the sun's warmth, Prince John +speaks of "The man that sits within a monarch's heart And ripens in the +sunshine of his favor"; '2 Henry IV,' iv, 2, 12. There are other +similar uses of the word "sun," which need not now be cited.</p> + +<p class="normal">The last reference to Ophelia's supposed relation to the King occurs +when Polonius comes to announce the presence of the players:</p> +<div style="margin-top:12pt; margin-bottom:12pt; font-size:90%"> +<p class="normal">"<i>Ham</i>. 'O Jephthah, judge of Israel,' what a treasure hadst +thou!</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Pol</i>. What treasure had he, my lord?</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Ham</i>. Why 'One fair daughter, and no more, the which he loved +passing well.'</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Pol</i>. Still on my daughter [<i>aside</i>].</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Ham</i>. Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah?</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Pol</i>. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that +I love passing well.</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Ham</i>. Nay, that follows not.</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Pol</i>. What follows then, my lord?</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>Ham</i>. Why, 'As by lot, God wot.'"</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">Here Hamlet again mystifies Polonius about his daughter, quoting from +an old English ballad. Jephthah is pilloried in history as the man who +sacrificed his daughter in payment for his worldly success. Shakespeare +also refers to him in '3 Henry VI,' v, 1, 91: "To keep that oath were +more impiety than Jephthah's when he sacrificed his daughter." Hamlet +dubs Polonius "Jephthah," because he believes that he has paid for +political preferment by yielding his daughter to the King. And when +Polonius says that, if he is to be called Jephthah, he admits that like +Jephthah he loves his daughter, Hamlet replies in characteristic vein, +"Nay, that follows not"; meaning that it follows instead that like +Jephthah he has sacrificed her. But when Polonius presses him to say +what does follow, he conceals his real meaning, as his custom is, and +diverts the old man's mind by answering the line from the ballad. As +was the case with regard to Ophelia, Hamlet is reluctant to make the +open charge against her father.</p> + +<p class="normal">Thus in every instance in which Hamlet comes in contact with Ophelia, +or refers to her, his actions and his words consistently point to the +fact that he renounces her because he believes her to have thrust him +aside while engaging in an intrigue with the King. And the fact that +from this point of view there is a connected story of their relations +told by the several interviews above discussed, that Hamlet's conduct +and language in them all are adequately explained, and that a single +belief of his accounts for each of them, is strong confirmation of the +theory's correctness. It is in harmony with the general scheme of the +drama also, all of whose important movements hinge on "purposes +mistook"; and it furnishes Hamlet with an adequate motive for his +treatment of Ophelia, and removes from him the stigma of mere +brutishness or insanity. Coleridge well says that there must have been +"some profound heart truth" under the story, and the theory herein +advanced seems to disclose it.</p> + +<p class="right"><i>David A. McKnight</i>.</p> + +<p class="normal"><span class="sc2">Washington, D. C.</span>, February 26, 1898.</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr class="W10"> +<br> +<br> +<h2><a name="div2_clews" href="#div2Ref_clews">CLEWS TO EMERSON'S MYSTIC VERSE.</a></h2> +<hr class="W10"> +<h3>(<span class="sc2">Third Paper</span>.)</h3> + +<p class="normal">"When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit +seconded with the forward child understanding, it strikes a man more +dead than a great reckoning in a little room."--<i>Touchstone</i>.</p> +<br> + +<p class="normal">The phantasmal lords of life of the poem 'Experience,' which we +considered at the close of the last paper, were presumably suggested to +Emerson by the following lines from Tennyson's 'Mystic,' published in +1830 (Emerson imported these early volumets of young Tennyson, and +never tired of praising them to his friends):--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4">"Always there stood before him, night and day,</p> +<p class="t4">Of wayward vary-colored circumstance</p> +<p class="t4">The imperishable presences serene,</p> +<p class="t4">Colossal, without form, or sense, or sound,</p> +<p class="t4">Dim shadows but unwaning presences</p> +<p class="t4">Four-faced to four corners of the sky."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">The "silent congregated hours," "daughters of time, divinely tall," +with "severe and youthful brows," in this same poem of Tennyson gave +Emerson his "daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days," congregated in +procession. Tennyson's mystic, who hears "time flowing in the middle of +the night" recalls Emerson's 'Two Rivers,' in which the living All, the +Infinite Soul, is figured as a stream flowing through eternity:--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"I hear the spending of the stream,</p> +<p class="t4">Through years, through men, through nature fleet,</p> +<p class="t4">Through love and thought, through power and dream."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">At the close of the poem 'Wealth' there is a bit of scientific +nature-ethics which is a little obscure. The greater part of the +poem is a series of graphic pictures, detailing the process of +world-development through the geologic ages down to the advent of man. +Suddenly, at the end,--just as at the end of the prose essay on the +same subject,--he remembers his manners and makes his bow to the august +Soul, kindles a light in the Geissler tube of nature, sets it aglow +interiorly with spiritual law:--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"But, though light-headed man forget,</p> +<p class="t4">Remembering Matter pays her debt:</p> +<p class="t4">Still, through her motes and masses, draw</p> +<p class="t4">Electric thrills and ties of Law,</p> +<p class="t4">Which bind the strength of Nature wild</p> +<p class="t4">To the conscience of a child."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">The logical link connecting this part with the rest has dropped out in +the poem, but is clear enough in the essay. The lines mean simply this: +that, though man may forget to obey the laws of the universe, Nature +never forgets her debt of obedience; she bites and stings the +transgressor and caresses and soothes him who obeys. In her own +submission to law she has that artlessness and quasi-moral sense that +affines her to the moral nature of a child. The "awful victors" and +"Eternal Rights" of 'Voluntaries' are only "remembering Matter" in +another mask: with all their innocent obedience they are themselves +terrible executors:--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"They reach no term, they never sleep,</p> +<p class="t4">In equal strength through space abide;</p> +<p class="t4">Though, feigning dwarfs, they crouch and creep,</p> +<p class="t4">The strong they slay, the swift outstride."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">In the following high pantheistic strain the seer chants the old rune +that God is all:--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"The living Heaven thy prayers respect,</p> +<p class="t4">House at once and architect,</p> +<p class="t4">Quarrying man's rejected hours,</p> +<p class="t4">Builds therewith eternal towers;</p> +<p class="t4">Sole and self-commanded works,</p> +<p class="t4">Fears not undermining days,</p> +<p class="t4">Grows by decays,</p> +<p class="t4">And, by the famous might that lurks</p> +<p class="t4">In reaction and recoil,</p> +<p class="t4">Makes flame to freeze and ice to boil;</p> +<p class="t4">Forging, through swart arms of Offence,</p> +<p class="t4">The silver seat of Innocence."</p> +<p class="right">--'Spiritual Laws.'</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">When the Living Universe builds a house, it builds it out of its own +soul substance; while man sleeps and loiters, the Unconscious +ceaselessly toils. In the phrase "grows by decays," Emerson embodies, I +believe, the law of the conservation of energy. The magazine of divine +power is exhaustless; does energy sink out of sight here, it is only to +reappear yonder; the tree decays, but out of its fertilizing substance +new plants may spring up; the coal under the steam boiler of the +locomotive is consumed, but the swart goblin has lost no whit of his +might: he just slips darkling up into the steam, makes the driving-rods +his swift-shuttling arms, and, grasping with his steel fingers the +felloes of the wheel, whirls you half a thousand miles over the green +bulge of the earth ere set of sun, The mystic Power grows by decays; +and also, by "the famous might that lurks in reaction and recoil," +reconciles apparent antinomies and opposites, and is the agent that +visits evil upon the head of the evil doer and mercy upon the merciful. +If a heavy body be rolled up an inclined plane, it acquires potential +and kinetic energy just equal to the force expended in getting it +there, and in reaction develops such a famous might that, if massive +enough, it will knock you down if you stand in its way. If you lift the +big pendulum of the clock in the corner, you also confer latent, or +reactionary, energy upon it. Only it is of course hyperbolical for the +poet to say that reaction is potent enough to actually freeze flame and +make ice boil your kettle. That is only one of Emerson's rhetorical +Chinese crackers, his startling thaumaturgic way of illustrating his +thesis.</p> + +<p class="normal">The key-thought of the essay 'Spiritual Laws,' to which the occult +lines we are considering were prefixed, is, Be noble; for, if you are +not, your face and life will, by the law of reaction and return, +publish your lapse. Punishment and reward are fruits that ripen +unsuspected in the deeds of men.</p> + +<p class="normal">The pertinency and application of many of Emerson's titles are not at +once apparent.</p> + +<p class="normal">In 'Merops' the bard affirms that in his high philosophical soarings he +cares not whether he can at once ticket his intuitions and perceptions +with names or not. Merops was changed into an eagle, says Ovid, and +placed among the constellations,--hence, I suppose, is selected by +Emerson as a good type of the kind of soaring thinker he is describing. +That he also has in mind that Merops was the putative father of +Phaëthon is shown perhaps by the allusion (in the last stanza) to +Phaëthon's mishap:--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"Space grants beyond his fated road</p> +<p class="t5">No inch to the god of day,</p> +<p class="t4">And copious language still bestowed</p> +<p class="t5">One word, no more, to say."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">'Alphonso of Castile' is a dramatic monologue containing a whimsical +suggestion for compounding a Man out of ordinary weak-timbered manikins +by killing nine in ten of them and "stuffing nine brains in one hat." +It is put into the mouth of Alphonso, King of Castile, born in 1221, +called <i>El Sabio</i>, "The Wise." He was a man who suffered much in his +life. He wrote a famous code of laws, and first made the Castilian a +national language by causing the Bible to be translated into it. +Emerson chooses him as the vehicle of his own whimsey about the +condensed homunculus chiefly on account of one famous sentence +attributed to him: "Had I been present at the creation, I could have +given some useful hints for the better ordering of the universe." +Emerson, in his rhymed soliloquy, put into Alphonso's mouth, +sarcastically twits Nature with her depleted stocks, her run-out +strains of lemons, figs, roses, and men. The remedy proposed in the +case of man, and outlined above, has the true Emerson-Swift bouquet, is +colored and veined with a right Shakespearian scorn of the mob.</p> + +<p class="normal">'Mithridates' is a monologue put into the mouth of Mithridates the +Great, King of Pontus, who is said to have discovered an antidote for +poisons which made him poison-proof against his many enemies:--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"I cannot spare water or wine,</p> +<p class="t5">Tobacco-leaf, or poppy, or rose;</p> +<p class="t4">From the earth-poles to the line,</p> +<p class="t5">All between that works or grows,</p> +<p class="t4">Everything is kin of mine.</p> +<p class="t4"> </p> +<p class="t4">Give me agates for my meat;</p> +<p class="t4">Give me cantharids to eat;</p> +<p class="t4">From air and ocean bring me foods,</p> +<p class="t4">From all zones and altitudes."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">As late as 1787 "mithridate" was the name for an antidote against +poison included in the London pharmacopœia. In Jonson's 'Every Man +in his Humour,' Kitely, thinking he is poisoned, calls for mithridate +and oil. It was composed of many ingredients and given in the form of +electuaries. In our modern pharmacopoeias we have plenty of antidotes +against virulent poisons; <i>e. g</i>., atropine for the deadly amanita +mushroom. And counter-poisons are often used, as the tincture of +foxglove for aconite, atropine for morphia, or morphia for belladonna. +According to the tradition, Mithridates gradually inured his system to +counter-poisons, and became poison-proof. At any rate, Emerson uses him +for his metaphor, which, in untropical speech, is this: "lam tired of +the nambypamby and goody-goody; give me things strong and rank; give me +evil for a change and a spur.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"Too long shut in strait and few,</p> +<p class="t4">Thinly dieted on dew,</p> +<p class="t4">I will use the world, and sift it,</p> +<p class="t4">To a thousand humors shift it,</p> +<p class="t4">As you spin a cherry.</p> +<p class="t4">O doleful ghosts and goblins merry!</p> +<p class="t4">O all you virtues, methods, mights,</p> +<p class="t4">Means, appliances, delights,</p> +<p class="t4">Reputed wrongs and braggart rights,</p> +<p class="t4">Smug routine, and things allowed,</p> +<p class="t4">Minorities, things under cloud!</p> +<p class="t4">Hither! take me, use me, fill me,</p> +<p class="t4">Vein and artery, though ye kill me!"</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">In brief, "I have run the gauntlet of experience, sounded all the +depths of passion, joy, woe, evil. I am dipped in Styx, more +invulnerable than Siegfried, and strong now to use the world and be +used by it." The mood of the poem is the wild longing that sometimes +comes over the good man to break loose and have his fling, come what +may, cry, <i>Vive la bagatelle!</i> or run amuck and tilt at all he meets. +It is needless to say that the staid Emerson never carried this mood +farther than to smoke a cigar now and then, or take an Adirondack +outing. His contemporary, the untrammelled Whitman, could both preach +and practise (within the bounds of reason) the Mithridatic doctrine; +and he was a more many-sided and symmetrical man in consequence.</p> + +<p class="normal">The last two lines of 'Mithridates,' as printed from the autograph +copy, were,--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"God! I will not be an owl,</p> +<p class="t4">But sun me in the Capitol."</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">These lines Emerson wisely dropped.</p> + +<p class="normal">'Forerunners' ("Long I followed happy guides)" mean one's brave hopes +and ideals of good to come, our dreams and aspirations. The lines</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"No speed of mine avails</p> +<p class="t4">To hunt upon their shining trails"</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">Thoreau evidently utilized as text for his well-known fable in 'Walden' +of the lost hound, bay horse, and turtle-dove.</p> + +<p class="normal">The portrait of Hermione, the patient-sweet wife of Leontes in 'The +Winter's Tale' of Shakespeare, serves Emerson, in his poem 'Hermione,' +as the model of a perfect wife, and a more acceptable one to this age +than Chaucer's abject Griselda. Such a lady as Shakespeare's Hermione, +beautiful in person and of rare self-control and virtue, is an +adumbration or epitome of the universal beauty. Looking at nature, the +American poet finds the features of his Hermione there: "mountains and +the misty plains, Her colossal portraiture." I suppose that this +sketch, tender and delicately toned as if with a silver point, is +autobiographical, and is a shadowing forth of the character of +Emerson's first wife, the ethereal souled Ellen Tucker, who died of +consumption after only a year and a half of married life. When her +"meteor glances came," he says, he was "hermit vowed to books and +gloom," and dwelling alone. In the lines</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"The chains of kind</p> +<p class="t4">The distant bind;</p> +<p class="t4">Deed thou doest she must do,"</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">he anticipates (does he not?) the telepathy of our days,--kindred minds +seeking similar places and thinking like thoughts, although in this +case, to be sure, the kindred soul is thought of as merged with the +inorganic world,--the winds and waterfalls and twilight nooks.</p> + +<p class="normal">Search the whole world through, you shall find no predecessor of +Emerson the poet. The only verse resembling his in general style is +that of the enigmatic 'Phoenix and the Turtle,' attributed to +Shakespeare, and much admired by Emerson:--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"Let the bird of loudest lay,</p> +<p class="t4">On the sole Arabian tree.</p> +<p class="t4">Herald sad and trumpet be,</p> +<p class="t4">To whose sound chaste wings obey."</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">Emerson's verses have also a slight Persian tinge now and then, caught +from his studies of Saadi and Hafiz. In his fine lyric cry 'Bacchus,' +in which he calls for a wine of life, a cup of divine soma or amrita, +that shall sinew his brain and exalt all his powers of thought and +action to a godlike pitch,--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"Bring me wine, but wine which never grew</p> +<p class="t4">In the belly of the grape,</p> +<p class="t4"></p> +<p class="t5">ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ</p> +<p class="t4"></p> +<p class="t4">That I intoxicated,</p> +<p class="t4">And by the draught assimilated,</p> +<p class="t4">May float at pleasure through all natures;</p> + +<p class="t5">ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ</p> + +<p class="t4">Quickened so, will I unlock</p> +<p class="t4">Every crypt of every rock,"--</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">he unconsciously gave his lines, I think, the outward form of some +verses by Hafiz, in which that singer intimates that, give him the +right kind of wine, and he can perform wonders as if with Solomon's +ring or Jemschid's wine-cup mirror. Emerson himself in one of his early +editions gives a spirited verse translation of Hafiz's poem. Mr. +William R. Alger ('Specimens of Oriental Poetry,' Boston, 1856) +translates Hafiz thus:--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"Bring me wine! By my puissant arm</p> +<p class="t4">The thick net of deceit and of harm</p> +<p class="t4">Which the priests have spread over the world</p> +<p class="t4">Shall be rent and in laughter be hurled.</p> +<p class="t4">Bring me wine! I the earth will subdue.</p> +<p class="t4">Bring me wine! I the heaven will storm through.</p> +<p class="t4">Bring me wine, bring it quick, make no halt!</p> +<p class="t4">To the throne of both worlds will I vault.</p> +<p class="t4">All is in the red streamlet divine.</p> +<p class="t4">Bring me wine! O my host, bring me wine!"</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">'Etienne de la Boéce' gets its title (with Emersonian variations) from +the name of one of Montaigne's most intimate friends,--Estienne de la +Boëtie. Montaigne tells us about him in Chapter xxvii of his Essays, +affirming that he would have accomplished miracles, had he lived. He +died when only thirty-three at Bordeaux (1563). His scholarship was +solid, his translations from the Greek excellent. He was so eager to +read Greek that he copied whole volumes with his own hand. A French +critic says, "Les qualités qui brillaient en lui imprimaient ŕ toute +sa personne un cachet distingué et un charme sévčre." Yet he seems to +have been something of an imitator of his great friend; and it is in +this aspect of his life that Emerson regards him, using him, perhaps +somewhat unjustly to his powers and developing genius, as the type of a +too imitative disciple:--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"I serve you not, if you I follow,</p> +<p class="t4">Shadowlike, o'er hill and hollow;</p> + +<p class="t5">ˇ ˇ ˇ ˇ</p> +<p class="t4">Vainly valiant, you have missed</p> +<p class="t4">The manhood that should yours resist."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">Probably most Americans, if asked to explain the relevancy of the title +of Emerson's poem 'Guy,' would be unable to answer offhand. The verses +celebrate the lucky man:--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t7" style="text-indent:-8px">"The common waters fell</p> +<p class="t4">As costly wine into his well.</p> +<p class="t4">The zephyr in his garden rolled</p> +<p class="t4">From plum-trees vegetable gold.</p> +<p class="t4">Stream could not so perversely wind</p> +<p class="t4">But corn of Guy's was there to grind."</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">The reference, of course, is to a man well known in England,--Thomas +Guy (d. 1724), founder of Guy's Hospital in London. He was the George +Peabody of his day. Beginning life as a bookseller, he made a good deal +of money in printing Bibles, but acquired most of his enormous fortune +by financial speculations. He was extremely economical; for example, +always ate his dinner on his shop counter, first spreading out a +newspaper to catch the crumbs. His charities were boundless. To his +hospital he gave $1,000,000; and at his death his will was found to +contain an enormous number of special benefactions, including bequests +to over ninety cousins. Emerson in his poem compares Guy to Polycrates, +who was King of Samos some five hundred years before Christ. He says +that Polycrates "chained the sunshine and the breeze"; that is, the +very elements seemed to be in his pay. This run of luck was without a +break up to his death; his fleet of a hundred ships was the largest +then known; he conquered all his enemies, and amassed great treasure. +His ally, Amasis, King of Egypt, was so alarmed at his prosperity, +fearing the envy of the gods, that he advised him to make some +noteworthy sacrifice. The story goes that Polycrates accordingly threw +his emerald signet-ring into the sea, but it came back to his kitchens +in the belly of a large fish, as in the Arabian Nights story. The fears +of Amasis were finally justified; for the Persian satrap Orœtes +enticed Polycrates to the mainland, and crucified him.</p> + +<p class="normal">'Xenophanes' embodies poetically the doctrine of the earnest old +Greek agnostic and monist of that name, that God, or the All, is +uncreated, immovable, and one,--not immovable in its parts, but as a +whole, and just because it is all. Xenophanes saw the grandeur and +incomprehensibility of the universe, he violently opposed what seemed +to him the disgraceful polytheism of Homer, and anticipated the modern +atomic theory and the doctrine of the unity of life as revealed by the +spectroscope and the discovery of the conservation and mutual +convertibility of forces. Or, as Emerson puts it in his haunting +numbers,--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"By fate, not option, frugal Nature gave</p> +<p class="t4">One scent to hyson and to wall-flower,</p> +<p class="t4">One sound to pine-groves and to waterfalls,</p> +<p class="t4">One aspect to the desert and the lake.</p> +<p class="t4">It was her stern necessity."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">The title of the poem 'Hamatreya' seemed at first to baffle a perfect +and indubitable explanation. The word can be found in no English or +foreign dictionary that the largest libraries afford. We are indebted, +however, to Col. T. W. Higginson (<i>The Critic</i>, Feb. 18, 1888) for not +only giving us a clew to the title, but for pointing out the portion of +the Vishnu Purana (Wilson's translation, 1840) on which Emerson based +his 'Earth Song' in 'Hamatreya,' and, in fact, got the hint for the +whole poem; namely, at the close of Book IV. Maitreya is a disciple of +Parasara, who relates to Maitreya the Vishnu Purana. Among other things +he tells Maitreya of a chant of the Earth, who said, "When I hear a +king sending word to another by his ambassador, 'This earth is mine: +immediately resign your pretensions to it,' I am moved to violent +laughter at first; but it soon subsides in pity for the infatuated +fool." Again, the Purana says, "Earth laughs, as if smiling with +autumnal flowers, to behold her kings unable to effect the subjugation +of themselves"; which is Emerson's</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys</p> +<p class="t4">Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">And again: "These were the verses, Maitreya, which Earth recited, and +by listening to which ambition fades away, like snow before the sun." +Here are Emerson's lines:--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"When I heard the Earth-song,</p> +<p class="t4">I was no longer brave;</p> +<p class="t4">My avarice cooled</p> +<p class="t4">Like lust in the chill of the grave."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">Colonel Higginson suggests that Emerson may also have had in mind, in +writing 'Hamatreya,' Psalm, xlix. 11. As he rightly says, the title +evidently is meant to give a hint of the Hindoo source of the argument +of the poem. It is in line with the uniform custom of Emerson in giving +historical catch-words, especially proper names, as his titles. After +an exhaustive search through all the Hindoo scriptures, I have reached +a conviction which approaches absolute certainty that Hamatreya is +Emerson's imperfect recollection of Maitreya or that he purposely +coined the word. Emerson, it is nearly certain, read the Vishnu Purana, +translated by H. H. Wilson (a large and costly work), by the copy then +in the Harvard Library or the Boston Athenaeum, perhaps taking brief +notes, but omitting to write down "Maitreya." In his exhaustive index +of proper names, appended to the Vishnu Purana, Wilson has no such word +as Hamatreya, nor does it occur anywhere in the book. To clinch the +argument, Prof. Charles R. Lanman, the well-known Sanskrit scholar of +Harvard University, writes me that "Hamatreya is not a Sanskrit word." +"The Atreyas," he says, "were the descendants of Atri." "It is an easy +mistake to make <i>Hamatreya</i> out of <i>Maitreya</i>. I really think you will +have to assume a simple slip here."</p> + +<p class="normal">Emerson is not wilfully obscure. But he comes dangerously near to being +so in the demand he often makes upon his readers for out-of-the-way +knowledge. 'Casella' is the title of an Emersonian quatrain,--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"Test of the poet is knowledge of love,</p> +<p class="t4">For Eros is older than Saturn or Jove.</p> +<p class="t4">Never was poet, of late or of yore,</p> +<p class="t4">Who was not tremulous with love-lore."</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">The reference is to Dante's friend Casella ("Casella mio"), whom he +meets in Purgatory, and who sweetly sings (as of yore on earth he was +wont) a canzone by Dante himself,--"<i>Amor, che nella mente mi +ragiona</i>." Emerson's favorite poet, Milton, in his sonnet to Henry +Lawes, alludes, as Mr. Norton points out, to this friendship:--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"Dante shall give fame leave to set thee higher</p> +<p class="t4">Than his Casella, whom he wooed to sing</p> +<p class="t4">Met in the milder shades of Purgatory."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">The title <span class="Greek">ἀδάκρυν νεμόνται +αἰῶνα</span> [Transliteration: adakrun nemontai aiona] is from Pindar, I believe. +Emerson took it from <i>The Dial</i>, where (July, '43) it appears as the +motto to a poem by Charles A. Dana on 'Manhood.' It means, literally, +"They pass a tearless life"; or, very freely rendered, "They live a +life of smiles,"--a sentiment explained by the first lines,--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"A new commandment, said the smiling Muse,<br> +I give my darling son, Thou shalt not preach."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">Even in so slight a matter as choosing a name for his verses 'To Rhea,' +Emerson's philosophical belief is glimpsed; for Rhea was the mother of +gods, and such he believed all women to be. The thought of this +remarkable poem, which its author feigns to have received from the +thousand chattering tongues of the poplar-tree, is extremely subtle and +somewhat difficult to formulate. The analysis is this. If you, a wife, +have lost your supremacy in your husband's affections, take a strange +and noble revenge, not by hating, but, in a kind of calm altruistic +despair, endowing him with all the gifts and blessings at your command. +The poem is headed 'To Rhea' (Rhea being the wife of the cruel Saturn, +who devoured his own children) as to a wife whose husband had merely +"drank of Cupid's nectar cup," married her from sex-instinct alone, and +then, the "bandages of purple light" fallen from "his eyes," treated +her with indifference. But she continues to love him; and more the poet +gives her the advice just noted, illustrating by the supposed case of a +god loving a mortal maid, and warily knowing that she, with her +inferior ideals, can never adequately requite his love, yet nobly +endowing her with all gifts and graces, which are the hostages he pawns +for freedom from "his thrall." He does this in an altruistic spirit, in +order by her to "model newer races" and "carry man to new degrees of +power and comeliness." But what thrall? We must walk warily here. In +order not to seem to give his verses an autobiographical cast (although +the god, the "wise Immortal," of them is really such a type as the seer +Emerson himself), he withdraws into dim recesses and speaks in subtlest +metaphors. The thrall, I think, is the bondage a lover or husband is in +to his beloved, in whom the solecisms and disenchantments of possession +have supplanted the poetic illusions of romantic love. The man of +supreme wisdom, by the magic of self-sacrifice and boundless profusion +of gifts turns the trap or prison in which nature has caught him into a +bower of Eden. By the road of generosity he escapes. He cunningly +builds up in her mind gratitude and friendship in place of the lost +romanticism. There is in this treatment of love a touch of the +coldblooded philosophy of the Emersonian critique of friendship. But if +it is not a marriage of ideal kind, such as that of the Brownings, +which he celebrates, he at least embodies in his verse the shrewd +love-philosophy of the practical-poetical Englishman, united to the +average woman for the furtherance of the ends of the species.</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. George Brown, in his Emerson primer, thinks that the key-thought of +'Rhea' is in these lines from 'The World-Soul' about the gods:--</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"To him who scorns their charities<br> +Their arms fly open wide."</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">But the parallelism somewhat halts. For mark: In the one case +Napoleon's maxim is embodied, that God is on the side of the strongest +battalions. The one who scorns the favoritisms and alms of Heaven, and +yet, will he nill he, receives its aid, is really the strong God +himself in mask, the noble and resolute man executing his will in time +and space. But in the case supposed in 'Rhea,' of husband and wife, the +ones who scorn love are those not deserving of gifts at all (although +Nature finds her account in them), but persons who receive gifts in +charity from one altruistically nobler than themselves. It is just this +idea of sublime self-sacrifice that gives to 'Rhea' its strange +subtlety and its uniqueness among poems on love. There is a consolatory +under-thought in the palimpsest, too. By his illustration of the god +and the mortal maid the poet wishes Rhea to divine that, if wives make +moan over husbands' lost love, husbands no less often have reason to +lament the cooled affection of wives.</p> + +<p class="normal">The central idea in 'Uriel' is that there is no such thing as evil. +This thesis is put into the mouth of Uriel, one of the seven +archangels, because he was the "interpreter" of God's will. So Milton +says, in the <i>locus classicus</i> on Uriel in Book III of 'Paradise Lost.' +He also says he was</p> + +<p class="center">"The sharpest-sighted spirit of all in heav'n."</p> + +<p class="continue">His station was in the all-viewing sun. Uriel, in Milton, tells how, +when the universe was yet chaos,</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t8" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"Or ever the wild Time coined itself<br> +Into calendar months and days,"</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">he saw the worlds a-forming,--earth, sun, and stars. Emerson (or +"Sayd") takes Milton at his word, and leads us back into that dark +backward and abysm of time, and lets us overhear a conversation between +Uriel and the other seraphs. At his speech "the gods shook," because if +there is no sin, if all comes round to good, even a lie, then good-bye +gods, hells and heavens, and their punishments. But note that, though +the All turns your wrong to good in the end, yet you, an individual, +suffer for your wrongdoing.</p> + +<p class="normal">In a genial paper in the <i>Andover Review</i> for March, 1887, Dr. C. C. +Everett says that Dr. Hedge suggested to him that 'Uriel' probably took +its origin in the discussions of the Boston Association of Ministers on +the theme (then rife), "There is no line in nature": all is circular, +and by the law of reaction every deed returns upon the doer. At any +rate, it was written in 1838, soon after his Divinity School Address. +('Emerson in Concord,' by Edward Emerson.)</p> + +<p class="normal">The god of boundaries in ancient Rome--Terminus--gives his name to the +cheeriest of monodies or anchoring songs sung by the gayest of old +sailors on the sea of eternity, and at last approaching port. Terminus, +like Hermes, the Greek god of bounds, was shown in his statues without +hands or feet, to indicate that he never moved. Was Emerson a little +rusty in his classical lore, or did he boldly and knowingly defy +classical verities when he says the divinity came to him "in his fatal +rounds"? He seems to have attributed to Terminus patrolling functions +like those of his own New England village fence-viewers. Or, rather, +speaking in noble and more adequate terms, has he not added to the +world's mythologies a new and poetical deity,--the god of the bounds of +human life, a kind of avant-courier or Death's dragoman to announce to +men their approaching end? 'Terminus' was written about 1866, when +Emerson was in or near his sixty-third year, and sixteen years before +his death. <span style="letter-spacing:10px"> </span><i>William Sloane Kennedy.</i></p> +<br> +<br> +<hr class="W10"> +<br> +<br> +<h2><a name="div2_defence" href="#div2Ref_defence">A DEFENCE OF BROWNING'S LATER WORK.</a></h2> +<br> +<p class="normal">If a defence of Browning's work were to include all he has written +since the date when Edmund Gosse said his books were chiefly valuable +as keeping alive popular interest in the poet, and as leading fresh +generations of readers to what he had already published, it would needs +begin as far back as 1868; and considering the amount of work done +since that time would require at least a volume to do the subject +justice.</p> + +<p class="normal">Fortunately it has long been admitted that Homer sometimes nods, +though not with such awful effect as was said to attend the nods of +Jove--Hence, in spite of Mr. Gosse's undoubted eminence as a critic, we +may dare to assume that in this particular instance he fell into the +ancient and distinguished trick of nodding.</p> + +<p class="normal">If Mr. Gosse were right, it would practically put on a par with a mere +advertising scheme many poems which have now become household +favorites. Take, for example, 'Hervé Riel.' Think of the blue-eyed +Breton hero whom all the world has learned to love through Browning, +tolerated as nothing more than an index finger to 'The Pied Piper of +Hamelin!' Take, too, such poems, as 'Donald,' whose dastardly +sportsmanship is so vividly portrayed that it has the power to arouse +strong emotion in strong men, who have been known literally to break +down in the middle of it through excess of feeling; 'Ivan Ivanovitch,' +in which is embodied such fear and horror that weak hearts cannot stand +the strain of hearing it read; the story of the dog Tray who rescued a +drowning doll with the same promptitude as he did a drowning child--at +the relation of whose noble deeds the eyes of little children grow +eager with excitement and sympathy. And where is there in any poet's +work, a more vivid bit of tragedy than 'A Forgiveness!'</p> + +<p class="normal">And would not an unfillable gap be left in the ranks of our friends of +the imaginative world if Balaustion were blotted out? The exquisite +lyric girl, brave, tender and with a mind in which wisdom and wit are +fair playfellows.</p> + +<p class="normal">As Carlyle might say, "Verily, verily Mr. Gosse, thou hast out-Homered +Homer, and thy nod hath taken upon itself very much the semblance of a +snore."</p> + +<p class="normal">These and many others which might be mentioned as having appeared since +the date when Mr. Gosse autocratically put up the bars to the poet's +genius are now so universally accepted that any defence of them would +be absurd.</p> + +<p class="normal">There are again others whose tenure of fame is still hanging in the +balance like 'The Red Cotton Night-cap Country,' 'The Inn Album,' +'Aristophanes' Apology,' 'Fifine at the Fair'; but as they have had +already some able defenders, I shall not attempt any defence of them +further than to say, in passing, that the longer I know them, and the +more I read them, the more I am impressed with their masterly portrayal +of human motives as they either reflect a given social environment or +work contrary to it. Only a genius of the greatest power could have +grasped and moulded into palpitating life beings of the calibre of the +brilliant complex and illogical Aristophanes, or the dunderheaded, well +meaning and equally illogical Miranda and set them to act out their +little parts in a living historical environment--one in decadent Athens +with her petty political and literary rivalries and dying religion; the +other in ultramontane France where superstition and materialism were +fighting for the mastery. Such art as is illustrated in these poems on +in 'Fifine at the Fair' or in 'The Inn Album,' may not be of the kind +to give one direct ideals for the conduct of life; but it represents +the most splendid realism from which as from life itself deep moral +lessons may be drawn. There is an actuality of realism in these poems +of Browning's that puts into the shade, that of the great apostle of +realism, Zola, for his realism too often presents what I venture to +call obverse idealism--evil apotheosized, not evil struggling toward +good as it invariably appears in life.</p> + +<p class="normal">Among the poet's later works, 'Ferishtah's Fancies' and 'The Parleyings +with Certain People of Importance in Their Day' have perhaps been more +obscured by mists of non-appreciation than any others. I shall, +therefore, confine myself for the present to making here and there a +rift in these mists in the hope that some glimpses of the splendor of +the giant form behind them may be gained.</p> + +<p class="normal">Without particularizing either critics or criticism, it may be said +that criticism of these poems divides itself into the usual three +branches,--one which objects to their philosophy, one which objects to +their art, one which finds them difficult of comprehension at all. This +last criticism may easily be disposed of by admitting it as in part +true. The mind whose highest reaches of poetic inspiration are +ministered unto by such simple and easily understandable lyrics as +'Twinkle, twinkle little star' might not at once grasp the significance +of the Parleying with George Bubb Dodington. Indeed, it may be surmised +that some minds might sing upon the starry heights with Hegel and +fathom the doctrine of the equivalence of being and non-being and yet +be led into a slough of despond by this same cantankerous George.</p> + +<p class="normal">But a poetical slough of despond may be transfigured in the twinkling +of an eye--after a proper amount of study and hard thinking--into an +elevated plateau with prospects upon every side, grand or terrible or +smiling.</p> + +<p class="normal">Are we never to feel spurred to any poetical pleasure more vigorous +than dilly-dallying with Keats while we feast our eyes upon the +wideness of the seas? Or lazily floating in a lotus land with Tennyson, +say, among the meadows of the Musketaquid, in canoes with silken +cushions? Beauty and peace is the reward of such poetical pleasures. +They fall upon the spirit like the "sweet sound that breathes upon a +bank of violets, stealing and giving odor," but shall we never return +from the land where it is always afternoon? Is it only in such a land +as this that we realize the true power of emotion? Rather does it +conduce to the slumber of emotion; for progress is the law of feeling +as it is the law of life, and many times we feel,--yes--feel--with +tremendous rushes of enthusiasm like climbing Matterhorns with great +iron nails in our shoes, with historical and archaeological, and +philosophical Alpen-stocks in our hands, and when we reach the summit +what unsuspected beauties become ours.</p> + +<p class="normal">Advancing a step more seriously into the subject, I may say that these +two series of poems form the key-stone to Browning's whole work. They +are like a final synthesis of the problems of existence which he has +previously made analyses of from myriad points of view in his dramatic +presentation of character. It has been said that in these poems his +philosophy loses its intuitional and assured point of view, to become +hard-headed and doubting. But does not a careful comparison with his +early work disprove this assertion?</p> + +<p class="normal">In his two early poems, 'Pauline' and 'Paracelsus,' before the poet's +personality became merged in that of his characters, he presents us +with his poetic creed and his theory of the universe in no mistakable +terms. In 'Pauline' we get a direct glimpse of the poet's own artistic +temperament, and may literally put our fingers upon those qualities +which were to be a large influence in moulding his work.</p> + +<p class="normal">As described by himself the poet of 'Pauline' was</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"Made up of an intensest life</p> +<p class="t4">Of a most clear idea of consciousness</p> +<p class="t4">Of self, distinct from all its qualities,</p> +<p class="t4">From all affections, passions, feelings, powers;</p> +<p class="t4">And thus far it exists, if tracked, in all:</p> +<p class="t4">But linked in me to self-supremacy,</p> +<p class="t4">Existing as a centre to all things,</p> +<p class="t4">Most potent to create and rule and call</p> +<p class="t4">Upon all things to minister to it."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">This sense of an over-consciousness is the mark of an objective +poet--one who sympathizes with all the emotions and aspirations of +humanity,--interprets their actions through the light of this sympathy, +and at the same time keeps his own individuality distinct. The poet of +this poem discovers that he can no longer lose himself with enthusiasm +in any phase of life; but what does that mean to a soul constituted as +his? It means that the way has been cleared for the birth of that +greater, broader love of the fully developed artist-soul which, while +entering into sympathy with all phases of life, finds its true +complement only in an ideal of absolute Love.</p> + +<p class="normal">This picture of the artist aspiring toward the absolute by means of his +large human sympathy may be supplemented by the theory of man's +relation to the universe involved in 'Paracelsus' where it is shown +that the Absolute cannot be fully realized by mankind either through +knowledge or love. Aprile's doctrine has an element of fatalism in it. +He sees and loves God in imperfection, but does not seem to have much +notion of progress. On the other hand, Paracelsus sees God only in +perfected Mankind, until he is really made wise to know that</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"Even hate is but a mask of love's</p> +<p class="t4">To see a good in evil and a hope</p> +<p class="t4">In ill success,"</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">and so is led to combine his own former standpoint with Aprile's by +perceiving God and God's love in progress from lesser to ever greater +good, and that evil and failure are the spurs that send man onwards to +a future where joy climbs its heights "forever and forever."</p> + +<p class="normal">From this point in his work Browning, like the Hindu Brahmah, becomes +manifest not as himself, but in his creations. The poet whose portrait +we get in 'Pauline' is the same poet who sympathetically presents a +whole world of human experiences to us, keeping his own individuality +for the most part intact, and the philosopher whose portrait is drawn +in 'Paracelsus' is the same who interprets these human experiences in +the light of the great life-theories therein presented.</p> + +<p class="normal">But as the creations of Brahmah return into himself, so the human +experiences Browning has entered into artistic sympathy with return to +enrich his completed view of the problems of life, when like his own +Rabbi Ben Ezra, he reaches the last of life for which "the first was +planned" in these 'Fancies' and 'Parleyings'.</p> + +<p class="normal">Though these two groups of poems undoubtedly express the poet's own +mature conclusions, they yet preserve the dramatic form. Several things +are gained in this way. First, the poems are saved from didacticism, +for the poet expresses his opinion as an individual and not as a seer, +trying to implant his theories in the minds of disciples. Second, +variety is given and the mind is stimulated by having opposite points +of view presented, while the thought is infused with a certain amount +of emotional force through the heat of argument.</p> + +<p class="normal">It has, of course, been objected that philosophical and ethical +problems are not fit subjects for discussion in poetry. It should be +remembered, however, that there is one point the critic of Ćsthetics +has not yet learned to realize; namely, that the law of evolution is +differentiation, in art as well as in cosmic, organic, and social life. +It is just as prejudiced and unforeseeing in these days to limit poetry +to this or that subject, or say that nothing is dramatic that does not +deal with immediate action, as it would have been for Homer to declare +that no poem would ever be worthy the name that did not contain a +catalogue of ships.</p> + +<p class="normal">These facts exist! We have dramas dealing merely with action, dramas, +in which character development is of prime importance; dramas, wherein +action and character are entirely synchronous; and those in which the +action means more than appears upon the surface, like Hauptmann's +'Sunken Bell,' or Ibsen's 'Master Builder,' then why not dramas of +thought and dramas of mood when the brain and heart become the stage of +action instead of an actual stage. Surely, such dramas are a natural +development of this Nineteenth Century. As the man in 'Half Rome' says</p> + +<p class="normal">"Facts are facts and lie not, and the question 'How came that purse i' +the poke o' you admits of no reply.'" Art has a great many forms of +drama in its poke already, so we would better be careful how we make +authoritative statements on the subject.</p> + +<p class="normal">Another advantage, gained from the dramatic form and this is most +important, is that the poet has been enabled by means of it to hold the +mirror up to the turmoil of thought that has racked the brains and +hearts of the last half of the Nineteenth Century. Victorian England in +its thought phases lives just as surely in these poems as Renaissance +Italy in its art phases in 'Fra Lippo Lippi,' 'Andrea del Sarto,' +'Pictor Ignotus' and 'The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. Praxed's;' and +this is true though the first series is cast in the form of Persian +Fables and the second, in the form of Parleyings with worthies of past +centuries.</p> + +<p class="normal">We who have grown up under the dispensation, so to speak, of the +doctrine of evolution, now acknowledged to be the guiding principle in +every department of knowledge find it hard to enter into the spirit of +that mid-century Sturm and Drang period which resulted upon the +publication of Darwin's 'Origin of Species.' This book is the landmark +of the century, and commemorates at once the triumph of knowledge, and +its failure. The triumph of science in the realm of phenomena, its +failure to pierce into the ultimate causes of these phenomena. What a +hard fight scientific methods of investigating the phenomena of nature +and life had had up to that time, in the teeth of opposition from the +less instructed religious world, has been summarized for us in the +fascinating pages of Andrew D. White's 'Warfare Between Theology and +Science.' One by one, Science won the outposts held by prejudice and +conservatism. It had to be admitted that the earth was not flat and +that it did not float upon an infinite sea supported on the back of a +tortoise. It had to be admitted, even, that it did not occupy the chief +seat in the synagogue of the firmament, but went rolling about the sun +like any common little asteroid. Finally, the great guns of science +were trained upon man himself and he was forced to retire from his +lofty position of Lord of Creation to the much more humble one of +outcome of creation.</p> + +<p class="normal">To a large proportion of mankind it seemed as if, should these things +be admitted as truth, the whole fabric of society must fall to pieces +and religion become a mockery. Those who felt so fought, as for their +life, against the conclusions of science. There was a large minority, +however, which, intellectually constrained to accept the conclusions of +science, yet differed much in temperament and were by consequence, +affected in very different ways by the new truths. There were men like +Matthew Arnold who no longer believed in the revelations of the past, +yet who clung to the beauty of religious forms, in despair at the +thought of the wilderness life would be without them. There were others +like George Eliot, who became positivists, and gained comfort only in +the thought of a religion of humanity and an immortality of nothing +more tangible than human influence. There were those like William +Morris who accepted cheerfully this life as being all and who devoted +their energies to making it as lovely as possible and working to make +it more lovely for the future. There were still others, like Clifford, +entirely hopeless, but who like Childe Roland put the slug horn to +their lips, and lived brave, noble lives in the certainty of coming +annihilation; a divine melancholy seized upon some, such as we see +reflected in much of Tennyson's verse.</p> + +<p class="normal">But there were a few who beheld the triumph of science undismayed, for +they saw that her sway could not pass beyond the realm of phenomena, +that the failure of the intellect to penetrate behind the mysteries of +nature and life must be the saving of religion. Herbert Spencer is +among scientists undoubtedly the greatest of this type of mind. +Whatever misunderstandings and vituperations he may have been subjected +to, from the positivist who thinks him inconsistent for his religious +tone to the religionist who dubs him an atheist, the fact still remains +that his was the genius that stood out against the advancing flood of +materialism saying "Thus far shalt thou go and no farther." He it was +who declared that underlying phenomena was an Infinite power that +transcended all human faculties of imagination, and that this fact was +the most certain intuition of the human mind.</p> + +<p class="normal">So great an upheaval of thought, changing, as it finally has, man's +whole outlook upon the universe from one more or less static with fixed +codes of morals and standards of art to one that is dynamic and +progressive, brought in its wake the consideration of many ethical as +well as philosophical problems.</p> + +<p class="normal">Nothing bears upon the grounds of moral action more disastrously than +blind fatalism, and while there have been many evil forms of this +doctrine in the past there has probably been none worse than the modern +form because it seems to have scientific sanction in the doctrines of +the conservation of energy, the persistence of heredity and the +survival of the fittest, and tends to positive atrophy of the will. +Even wise and thoughtful men now-a-days take such a philosophic view of +events that they hesitate to throw in their voice on either side in the +solution of a national problem because things are bound to follow the +laws of development either way. This is equivalent to admitting that +you are simply a heap of burnt out ashes in the furnace of life, and +that you have no longer any part to play in the combustion that leads +to progress. In the first of 'Ferishtah's Fancies,' a strong plea is +made for those human impulses that lead to action. The will to serve +the world is the true force from God. Every man, though he be the last +link in a chain of causes over which he had no control, can at least +have a determining influence upon the direction in which the next link +shall be forged. Ferishtah appears upon the scene, himself, a fatalist, +leaving himself wholly in God's hands until he is taught by the dream +God sent him that man's part is to act as he saw the eagle act, +succouring the helpless, not to play the part of the helpless birdlings +who were taken care of. Another phase of the same thought is touched +upon in 'A Camel Driver.' The discussion turns upon punishment and the +point is, if, as Ferishtah declares, the sinner is not to be punished +eternally, then why should man trouble himself to punish him. The +answer amounts to this. Man must regard sin from the human point of +view as something evil and to be got rid of and must, therefore, will +to work for its annihilation. It follows then that the sinner should be +punished as that is a means for teaching him to cease sinning.</p> + +<p class="normal">Another doctrine upon which the Nineteenth Century belief in progress +as the law of life has set its seal is that of the pursuit of +happiness, or the striving for the greatest good of the whole number +including oneself. With this Browning shows himself in full sympathy in +'Two Camels,' wherein Ferishtah contends that only through the +development of individual happiness and the experiencing of many forms +of joyousness can one help others to happiness and joyousness, while in +'Plot Culture,' the enjoyment of human emotion as a means of developing +the soul is emphasized.</p> + +<p class="normal">The relations of good and evil have also had to be re-considered in the +light of Nineteenth Century thought, the dualism of the past not being +compatible with the evolutionary doctrine that good and evil are +relative, a phrase which we sometimes forget must be understood in two +ways:--first, that good and evil are relative to the state of society +in which they exist, and what may be good in one phase of society, may +become evil in a more developed phase. Second, were it not for evil, we +should never be able to appreciate the superiority of good and so to +work for good, and in working for it to bring about progress. To his +pupil worried over the problem of evil Ferishtah points out in 'Mihrab +Shah' that evil in the form of bodily suffering has given rise to the +beautiful sentiments of pity and sympathy. But though it be recognized +that good comes of evil, shall evil be encouraged? No! Ferishtah +declares, Man bound by man's conditions is obliged to estimate as "fair +or foul Right, wrong, good, evil, what man's faculty adjudges such," +therefore the man will do all he can to relieve the suffering of poor +Mihrab Shah with a fig-plaster. The answers, then, that Browning gives +to the ethical problems of the century growing out of the acceptance of +modern scientific doctrines, are, in brief, that man shall use that +will-power of which he feels himself possessed, and which really +distinguishes him from the brute creation, in working against whatever +appears to him evil; while the good for which he shall work is the +greatest happiness of all.</p> + +<p class="normal">What of the philosophical doctrines to which Browning gives expression +in the remaining poems of the group? We find it insisted upon in +'Cherries', 'The Sun', in 'A Bean Stripe also Apple Eating', and +especially in that remarkable poem 'A Pillar at Sebzevar' that +knowledge fails. Knowledge the golden is but lacquered ignorance, as +gain to be mistrusted. Curiously, enough, this contention of Browning's +has been the cause of most of the criticisms against him as a +philosopher, yet as far as I have been able to discover, there has been +no deep thinker of this century, and there have been many in other +centuries, who has not held in some form or another the opinion that +intellect was unable to solve the mysterious problems of the universe. +Even the metaphysicians who build very wonderful air castles on <i>ŕ +priori</i> ideas declare that these ideas cannot be matters of mere +intellectual perception, but must be intuitions of the higher reason. +Browning, however, does not rest in the assertion that the intellect +fails. He draws immense comfort from this failure of knowledge. Though +it is to be distrusted as gain, it is not to be mistrusted as means to +gain. "Friend" quoth Ferishtah in 'A Pillar at Sebzevar'</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"As gain--mistrust it! Not as means to gain:</p> +<p class="t4">Lacquer we learn by: cast in firing-pot,</p> +<p class="t4">We learn,--when what seemed ore assayed proves dross--</p> +<p class="t4">Surelier true gold's worth, guess how purity</p> +<p class="t4">I' the lode were precious could one light on ore</p> +<p class="t4">Clarified up to test of crucible.</p> +<p class="t4">The prize is in the process: knowledge means</p> +<p class="t4">Ever-renewed assurance by defeat</p> +<p class="t4">That victory is somehow still to reach."</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">For men with minds of the type of Spencer's, this negative assurance of +an infinite ever on before is sufficient, but human beings, as a rule, +will not rest satisfied in such cold abstractions. Though Job said +thousands of years ago "Who by searching can find out God," mankind +still continues to search.</p> + +<p class="normal">Now comes Browning and says that it is in that very act of searching +that the absolute becomes most directly manifest. From the earliest +times of which we have any record man has been aspiring toward God. +Many times he has thought that he had found God, but later discovered +it to be only God's image built up out of his own human experiences. +This search is very beautifully described in the Fancy called 'The +Sun,' under the symbol of the man who seeks the prime giver that he may +give thanks where it is due for a palatable fig. This search for God +Browning calls Love, meaning by that the moving, aspiring force of the +whole universe, and many are its manifestations, from the love that +goes forth in thanks for benefits received, through the aspirations of +the artist toward beauty, of the lover toward human sympathy, even of +the scientist toward knowledge, to the lover of humanity like +Ferishtah, who declares "I know nothing save that love I can +boundlessly, endlessly."</p> + +<p class="normal">The poet argues from this that if mankind has with ever increasing +fervor aspired toward a God of Love, and has ever developed toward +broader conceptions of human love, it is only reasonable to infer that +in his nature God has something which corresponds to human love, though +it transcend our most exalted imagining of it. In John Fiske's recent +book 'Through Nature to God' he advances a theory identical with this, +evidently unaware that Browning had been before him, for he claims it +as entirely original. Fiske's originality consists in his having based +his proof upon analogies drawn from the evolution of organic life in +following out the law of the adjustment of inner to outer relations. +For example, since the eye has through aeons of time gradually adjusted +itself into harmony with light, why should not man's search for God be +the gradual adjustment of the soul into harmony with the infinite +spirit. Other modern thinkers have advanced the idea that love was the +ruling force of the universe; nor need we confine ourselves to the +moderns, for like nearly every phase of thought, it had its counterpart +or at least its seed in Greek thought. Thus we find that Empedocles +declared that the ruling forces of the universe were Love and Strife +and that the conflict between these was necessary for the continuance +of life. As far as I know, however, no other thinker or poet has +emphasized with such power the thought that the only true basis of +belief is the intuition of God that comes from the direct revelation of +feeling in the human heart, and which has been at once the motive force +of the search for God and the basis of a conception of God's nature. A +natural corollary of such a theory is that every conception man has had +of the Infinite had its value as a partial image since it grew out of +the divine impulse planted in man, but that in the Christian ideal, the +highest symbolical conception was attained through the mystical +unfolding of love in the human soul.</p> + +<p class="normal">The thought of the 'Fancies' is optimistically rounded out in 'A Bean +Stripe also Apple Eating' in which Ferishtah argues that life, in spite +of the evil in it, seems to him on the whole good, and he cannot +believe that evil is not meant for good ends since he is so sure that +God is infinite in love.</p> + +<p class="normal">From all this it will be seen that our poet accepts with Spencerians +the negative proof of God growing out of the failure of intellect, but +adds to it the positive proof derived from emotion.</p> + +<p class="normal">It was a happy thought of the poet to present such problems in Persian +guise, for Persia stands in Zoroastrianism for the dualism which +Ferishtah denies in his recognition of the part evil plays in the +development of good, and through Mahometanism for the Fatalism, +Ferishtah learned to cast from him. The Persian atmosphere is preserved +throughout not only by the introduction constantly of Persian allusions +traceable to the great Persian epic the Shah Nameh, but by the telling +of fables in the Persian manner to point the morals intended. With the +exception of the first Fancy, which is derived from a fable of +Bidpai's, we have the poet's own word that all the others are +inventions of his own, but they are none the worse for this. These +clever stories make the poems lively reading, and we soon find +ourselves growing fond of the wise and clever Ferishtah, who like +Socrates is never at a loss for an answer, no matter what bothersome +questions his pupils may propound.</p> + +<p class="normal">If we see the thoughtful and brilliant Browning in the 'Fancies' +proper, we perhaps see even more clearly the emotional and passionate +Browning in the lyrics which add such variety and charm to the whole. +This feature is also borrowed from Persian form, a beautiful example of +which has been given to English readers in Edwin Arnold's 'Gulistan' or +'Rose Garden' of the poet Sa' di. In fact Sa' di's preface to his 'Rose +Garden' evidently gave Browning the hint for his humorous prologue, in +which he likens the poems to follow to an Italian dish made of ortolans +on toast with a bitter sage leaf, symbolizing sense, sight and song</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"Sage-leaf is bitter-pungent--so's a quince:</p> +<p class="t4">Eat each who's able!</p> +<p class="t4">But through all three bite boldly--lo, the gust!</p> +<p class="t4">Flavor--no fixture--</p> +<p class="t4">Flies, permeating flesh and leaf and crust</p> +<p class="t4">In fine admixture.</p> +<p class="t4">So with your meal, my poem masticate</p> +<p class="t4">Sense, sight, and song there!</p> +<p class="t4">Digest these, and I praise your peptics' state,</p> +<p class="t4">Nothing found wrong there."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">Similarly Sa' di says "Yet will men of light and learning, from whom +the true countenance of a discourse is not concealed, be well aware +that herein the pearls of good counsel which heal are threaded on +strings of right sense; that the bitter physic of admonition is +constantly mingled with the honey of good humor, so that the spirits of +listeners grow not sad, and that they remain not exempt from blessings +of acceptance."</p> + +<p class="normal">A further interest attaches to these lyrics because they form a series +of emotional phases in the soul-life of two lovers whom I think, we may +be justified in regarding as Mr. and Mrs. Browning themselves. I always +think of them as companion pictures to 'The Sonnets from the +Portuguese.' In these the sun-rise of a great love is portrayed with +intense and exalted passion while the lyrics in 'Ferishtah's Fancies' +reflect the subsequent development of such a love, through the +awakening of whole new realms of feeling, wherein love for humanity is +enlarged, criticism from the one beloved, welcome; all the little +trials of life dissolved in the new light; and divine love realized +with a force never before possible. Do we not see a living portrait of +the two poets in the lyric 'So the head aches and the limbs are faint'? +Many a hint may be found in their letters to prove that Mrs. Browning +with just such a frail body possessed a fire of spirit that carried her +constantly toward attainment while he, with all the vigor of splendid +health could with truth have frequently said "In the soul of me sits +sluggishness." These exquisite lyrics which, whether they conform to +Elizabethan models or not, are as fine as anything ever done in that +line, are crowned by the epilogue in which we hear the stricken husband +crying out to her whom twenty years earlier he had called his "lyric +love" in a voice doubting, yet triumphing in the thought that his +optimism is the light radiating from the halo which her human love had +irised round his head.</p> + +<p class="normal">In 'The Parleyings' the discussions turn principally upon artistic +problems and their relation to modern philosophy, four out of the seven +being inspired by artist, poet, or musician. The forgotten worthies +whom Browning rescued from oblivion, make their appeal to him upon +various grounds that connect them with the present. Bernard de +Mandeville evidently caught Browning's fancy because in his satirical +poem 'The Grumbling Hive' he forestalled, by a defence of the Duke of +Marlborough's war policy, the doctrine of the relativity of good and +evil. One might have imagined that this subject had been exhausted in +'Ferishtah's Fancies,' but it seems to have had a great fascination for +Browning, probably because the idea was a new one and he felt the need +of thinking his way through all its implications. Fresh interest is +added in this case because the objector in the argument was a +contemporary of Browning's--Carlyle, whose well-known pessimism over +the existence of evil is graphically presented. Browning clenches his +side of the argument with an original and daring variation upon the +Prometheus myth led up to by one of the most magnificent passages in +the whole range of his poetry, and probably the finest example anywhere +in literature of a description of nature as interpreted by the laws of +cosmic evolution. He describes the effect of the sun-light in +developing the life upon the earth, tracing it as far as the mind of +man. But the mind of man is not satisfied with the purely physical and +phenomenal.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"What avails sun's earth-felt thrill</p> +<p class="t4">To me? Mind seeks to see,</p> +<p class="t4">Touch, understand, by mind inside me,</p> +<p class="t4">The outside mind--whose quickening I attain</p> +<p class="t4">To recognize--I only."</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">But Prometheus offered an artifice whereby man's mind is satisfied. He +drew Sun's rays into a focus plain and true. The very sun in little: +made fire burn and henceforth do man service. Denuded of its scientific +and mystical symbolism Browning makes the Prometheus myth teach his +favorite doctrine, namely that the image of love formed in the human +heart by means of the burning glass supplied by sense and feeling is a +symbol of infinite love.</p> + +<p class="normal">Daniel Bartoli, an extremely superstitious old Jesuit of the 17th +century is set up by Browning in the next poem, simply to be knocked +down again on the ground that all the legendary saints he worshipped +could not compare with a real woman the poet knows. The romantic story +of this lady is told in Browning's most fascinating narrative style, so +rapid and direct that it has all the force of a dramatic sketch. Her +claim upon his admiration consists in her recognition of the sacredness +of love which she will not dishonor for worldly considerations, and +finding her betrothed love incapable of attaining her height of +nobleness, she leaves him free. This story only bears upon the poet's +philosophy as it reflects his attitude toward human love, which he +considers so clearly a revelation, that any treatment of it not +absolutely noble and true to the highest ideals is a sin against heaven +itself.</p> + +<p class="normal">George Bubb Dodington is the black sheep of these later poems and gives +the poet an opportunity to let loose all his subtlety and sarcasm; and +the reader a chance to use his wits in discovering that the poet +<i>assumes</i> to agree with Dodington that when one is serving his state, +he should at the same time have an eye to his own private welfare, that +he <i>pretends</i> to criticise only Dodington's method of attaining this-- +which is to disclaim that he works for any other good than the state's, +nobody would ever believe that. He then gives what purports to be his +own opinion on the correct method of successful statesmanship--that is, +to pose as a superior being with a divine right to rule, treating +everybody as his puppet and entirely scornful of their opinion of him. +If he will adopt this attitude he may change his tactics every year and +the people instead of suspecting his sincerity will think that he has +wise reasons beyond their insight for his changes. Browning is said to +have had Lord Beaconsfield in mind when he described this proper method +for the statesman. Be that as it may the type is not unknown in this +day. Having discovered all this, the wit of the reader may now draw its +inferences--which will doubtless be that the whole poem is a powerful, +intensely cynical argument, against what we to-day call imperialism and +in favor of liberal government which means the development of every +individual so that he will be able to see for himself whether this or +that policy be right instead of depending upon the leadership of the +over-man, whose intentions are unfortunately too seldom to be trusted.</p> + +<p class="normal">The poet Browning calls out from the shades is Christopher Smart, who +was celebrated for having only once in his life composed a great poem, +'The Song of David,' that put him on a par with Milton and Keats. +Perhaps we might not altogether agree with this decision, but critics +have loved to eulogize its great beauties and whether Browning actually +agreed with their conclusions or not makes little difference, for the +fact furnishes him with a text for discussing the problem of beauty +versus truth in art. Should the poet's province simply be to record his +visions of the beauty and strength of nature and the universe, that +come to him in moments of inspiration such as that which came once to +Christopher Smart? "No," says Browning, whose feet are always firmly +based upon the earth. These visions of poets should not be considered +ends in themselves but the materials for greater ends. He asks such +poets if they would</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p style="margin-left:25%; text-indent:-8px; margin-bottom:0px"> +"Play the fool,</p> +<p class="t1">Abjuring a superior privilege?</p> +<p class="t1">Please simply when your function is to rule--</p> +<p class="t1">By thought incite to deed? Ears and eyes</p> +<p class="t1">Want so much strength and beauty, and no less</p> +<p class="t1">Nor more, to learn life's lesson by."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">He goes on to insist that the poet should find his inspiration in the +human heart and climb to heaven by its means, not investigate the +heavens first. He evidently does not sympathize with Emerson's attitude +that the poet has some mysterious connection with the divine mind which +enables him to become at one bound a seer who may henceforth lead +mankind. Rather must the poet diligently study mankind and teach as a +man may through this knowledge. Space does not permit me to dwell on +the beautiful opening of this poem which recalls the imaginative +faculty of the visions in 'Christmas Eve' and 'Easter Day.'</p> + +<p class="normal">In 'Francis Furini' the subject is the nude in art, and Browning vows +he will never believe the tale told by Baldinucci that Furini ordered +all his pictures of this description burned. He expresses his +indignation vigorously at some length, showing plainly his own +sympathies then makes Furini pray a very beautiful prayer, then deliver +before a supposed cultured London audience a long and decidedly +recondite speech containing an attack upon that species of agnosticism +that allies itself with positivism and Furini's refutation. The upshot +of it all is that Furini declares the only thing he is certain of is +his own consciousness and the fact that it had a cause behind it, +called God.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"Knowledge so far impinges on the cause</p> +<p class="t4">Before me, that I know--by certain laws</p> +<p class="t4">Wholly unknown, what'ere I apprehend</p> +<p class="t4">Within, without, me, had its rise: thus blend</p> +<p class="t4">I, and all things perceived in one effect."</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">Readers of philosophy will recognize in this an echo from Descartes. +This fact of the human consciousness he further develops into an +argument that the painter should paint the human body, just as it was +argued the poet should study the human heart.</p> + +<p class="normal">A Philippic against Greek art and its imitation is delivered by the +poet in the 'Parleying with Gerard de Lairesse' whom he makes the +scape-goat of his strictures, on the score of a book Lairesse wrote in +which was described a walk through a Dutch landscape transmogrified by +classic imaginings. To this good soul an old sepulchre, struck by +lightning became the tomb of Phaeton, and an old cart wheel half buried +in the sand near by, the Chariot of the Sun. In a spirit of bravado +Browning proceeds to show what he himself could make of a walk provided +he condescended to illuminate it by classic metaphor and symbol, and a +remarkable passage is the result. It occupies from the eighth to the +twelfth stanzas. It is meant to be in derision of the grandiloquent, +classically embroidered style but so splendid is the language, so +haunting the pictures, the symbolism so profound that it is as if a God +were showing some poor weakling mortal how not to do it--and through +his omniscience must perforce create something wondrously beautiful. +The double feeling one has about this passage only adds to its +interest. After thus classicizing in a manner that might make Euripides +himself turn green with envy, he nonchalantly remarks--</p> + +<p style="text-indent:10%">"Enough, stop further fooling,"</p> + +<p class="continue">and to show how a modern poet greets a landscape he flings in the +perfectly simple and irresistible little lyric</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px">"Dance, yellows, and whites and reds."</p> +</div> +<p class="continue">The poet's strictures upon classicism are entirely in line with his +philosophy, placing as it does the paramount importance on living +realities.</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"'Do and no wise dream,' he exclaims</p> +<p class="t4">'Earth's young significance is all to learn;</p> +<p class="t4">The dead Greek lore lies buried in its urn</p> +<p class="t4">Where who seeks fire finds ashes.'"</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">The 'Parleying with Charles Avison' is more a poem of moods than any of +the others. The poet's love for music is reflected in his claiming it +as the highest expression possible to man; but sadness comes to him at +the thought of the ephemeralness of its forms, a fact that is borne in +on him by the inadequateness of Avison's old March styled "grand." He +finally makes of music the most perfect symbol of the evolution of +spirit of which the central truth remains always permanent, while the +form though ever changing is of absolute value to the time when the +spirit found expression in it.</p> + +<p class="normal">Even this does not quite satisfy the poet's desires for the supremacy +of music, and his final conclusion is that if we only get ourselves +into a proper historical frame of mind, any form will reveal its +beauty, This is a truth which needs especially to be recognized in +music, for we too often hear people objecting to Haydn or Mozart and +even Beethoven because they are not modern, never realizing that each +age has produced its distinctive musical beauty.</p> + +<p class="normal">But Browning means it of course to have the largest significance in +relation to all forms of truth and beauty of which every age has had +its living example--thus--his last triumphant mood is, "Never dream +that what once lived shall ever die."</p> + +<p class="normal">I have been able to throw out only a few general suggestions as to +these late masterpieces. There are many subtleties of thought and +graces of expression which reveal themselves upon every fresh reading, +and each poem might well be made the subject of a special study.</p> + +<p class="normal">I have said nothing about the Prologue and Epilogue to the Parleyings, +not because I love them less, but because I love them so much that I +should never be able to bring this paper, already too long, to a close +if I once began on them. I hope, however, I have said enough not only +to prove the point that these poems give complete expression to the +thought of the age, but that Browning appears in them, to borrow an apt +term from Whitman, as the "Answerer" of the age. That he has +unquestioningly accepted the knowledge which science has brought and +recognizing its relative character, has yet interpreted it in such a +way as to make it subserve the highest ideals in ethics, religion, and +art, and that far from reflecting any degeneration in Browning's +philosophy of life, these poems put on a firmer basis than ever the +thoughts prominent in his poetry from the first, and which constantly +find illustration indirectly and sometimes directly in his dramatic +poems.</p> + +<p class="normal">I am just as unable to find any fault with their subject matter as with +their form. The variety in both is remarkable. Religion and fable, +romance and philosophy, art and science all commingled in rich +profusion. Everything in language--talk almost colloquial, dainty +lyrics full of exquisite emotion, and grand passages which present in +sweeping images now the processes of cosmic evolution, now those of +spiritual evolution, until it seems as if we had indeed been conducted +to some vast mountain height, whence we could look forth upon the +century's turbulent seas of thought, into which flows many a current +from the past, while suspended above between the sea and sky like the +crucifix in Simons' wonderful symbolistic picture of the Middle Ages, +is the mystical form of Divine Love. <span style="letter-spacing:10px"> </span> <i>Helen A. Clarke.</i></p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2><a name="div1_school" href="#div1Ref_school">SCHOOL OF LITERATURE.</a></h2> +<br> +<h3><a name="div2_glimpses" href="#div2Ref_glimpses">GLIMPSES OF PRESENT DAY POETS: A SELECTIVE READING COURSE.</a></h3> + +<h3>II. <span class="sc">A Group Of American Poets</span>.<a name="div3Ref_02" href="#div3_02"><sup>[2]</sup></a></h3> + +<p class="continue">1. Edmund Clarence Stedman.</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Readings from Stedman</i>:--'Hebe,' 'A Sea Change.' New York Scenes: +'Peter Stuyvesant,' 'Pan in Wall Street,' 'The Door Step.' A Sheaf of +Patriotic Poems: 'The Pilgrims,' 'Old Brown,' 'Wanted a Man,' +'Treason's Device,' 'Israel Freyer,' 'Cuba.' (In 'Poems' Household +Edition. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $1.50.)</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Query for Discussion</i>.--Are Mr. Stedman's local and patriotic themes +inconsistent with the highest degree of lyric grace, or does his poetic +gift appear to best advantage when enlivened by familiar home +interests? + +<p class="continue">2. Louise Chandler Moulton.</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Readings</i>:--'A Quest,' 'The House of Death.' Sonnets: 'The New Day,' +'One Dread,' 'Afar,' 'Love's Empty House,' 'The Cup of Death,' 'Before +the Shrine,' 'As in Vision,' 'Though We Were Dust,' 'Were but My Spirit +Loosed Upon the Air,' 'The New Year Dawns,' 'Aspiration,' 'The Secret +of Arcady,' 'Her Picture.' (The first two selections and first three +sonnets are in 'Swallow Flights.' New edition of poems of 1877 with +additional poems; the four following are in 'The Garden of Dreams'; and +the four last sonnets and the other poems in 'At the Wind's Will.' +Boston: Little, Brown & Co. $1.25 each. For general review of work see, +also, 'The Poetry of Louise Chandler Moulton.' Contemporary Writer +Series in <i>Poet-lore</i>. Vol. IV. New Series. Opening Number, 1900, pp. +114-125.)</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Query for Discussion</i>.--Is Mrs. Moulton too narrowly restricted to +emotional themes and emotional means of expression for bounteous poetic +cheer, or is the perfect alliance of her emotional range and +workmanship the very source of her lyric excellence. + +<p class="continue">3. Thomas Bailey Aldrich.</p> + +<p class="normal">Readings:--'Unsung,' 'Nameless Pain,' 'Quits,' 'Andromeda,' 'Baby +Bell,' 'An Untimely Thought,' 'Bagatelle,' 'Palabras Carinosas,' 'On an +Intaglio of Head of Minerva.' Sonnets: 'Books and Seasons,' 'The +Poets,' 'On Reading William Watson's "The Purple East."' (In Poetical +Works. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $2.00.)</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Queries for Discussion</i>.--Does Mr. Aldrich escape the usual penalty +for laying emphasis on delicacy of finish so that the result is +satisfying in its happy precision? Or does he seem cold and elaborately +superficial? Does he, so to speak, carve cherry-stones oftener than he +engraves cameos?</p> + +<p class="continue">4. Louise Imogen Guiney.</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Readings</i>:--'Peter Rugg,' 'Open Time,' 'The Still of the Year,' +'Hylas,' 'The Kings,' Alexandrina, I, x, and xiii. 'The Martyr's Idyl,' +'Sanctuary,' 'Arboricide,' 'To the Outbound Republic,' 'The Perfect +Hour,' 'Deo Optimo Maximo,' 'Borderlands.' (From 'A Roadside Harp' are +selected the first five poems and the Alexandrina, from 'The Martyr's +Idyl and Shorter Poems' the others. $1.00 each. Boston: Houghton, +Mifflin & Co.)</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Queries for Discussion</i>.--Is Miss Guiney's scholasticism too dominant +in her work? Does she lack human warmth? Or are her restraint and good +taste the index of deeper feeling? Does her cultured thought and chaste +concentrated power of expression lift her above the ranks of the minor +poets?</p> + +<p class="continue">5. Richard Hovey.<</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Readings</i>:--'Spring,' an Ode, 'The Wander-lovers.' 'Taliesin,' Second, +Third, Movements. Sonnets: 'Love in the Winds,' 'After Business Hours,' +Act V from 'The Marriage of Guenevere.' ('Spring' first published in +<i>Poet-lore</i>, is included in 'Along the Trail' ($1.25), which also +contains the sonnets here selected. 'Taliesin' also originally +published in <i>Poet-lore</i>, Vol. VIII, old series, January, February, and +June, 1896, pp. 1-14, 63-78, 292-306, is recently published in 1 vol. +uniform with 'The Marriage of Guenevere' ($1.50). 'The Wander-lovers' +appears in 'Vagabondia.' Boston: Small, Maynard & Co. A general review +of Hovey's work will be the second of the 'Contemporary Writer Series' +in next <i>Poet-lore</i>.)</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Queries for Discussion</i>.--Has Hovey's way of telling the story of +Guenevere and Launcelot an advantage realistically over Tennyson's, but +none either poetically or ethically? (See on this query, 'The Disloyal +Wife in Literature: Comparative Study Programme,' <i>Poet-lore</i>, Vol. I., +new series, pp. 265-274, Spring Number, 1897.) Does Hovey attain +greatness by his liveliness and human quality joined to varied and +skilful metrical effects? Is 'Taliesin' his best work, or is his best +work done in his short pieces?</p> + +<p class="continue">6. Bliss Carman.</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Readings</i>:--'Spring Song,' 'A More Ancient Mariner,' 'Envoy,' 'Beyond +the Gaspereau,' 'Behind the Arras,' 'The Cruise of the Galleon,' 'A +Song before Sailing,' 'The Lodger,' 'Beyond the Gamut,' 'The Ships of +St. John,' 'The Marring of Malyn.' (The first, second, and third are +in 'Vagabondia'; the fourth in <i>Poet-lore</i>, Vol. I., new series, pp. +321-329, Summer Number, 1897; the next five in 'Behind the Arras' +($1.50); the others in 'Ballads of Lost Haven' ($1.00). Boston: Small, +Maynard & Co.)</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Query for Discussion</i>.--Is Carman better in his earlier descriptive +lyrics, or better in his later symbolical lyrics because these being +richer in interest are stronger to hold the deeper reader? + +<p class="continue">7. Hannah Parker Kimball.</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Readings</i>:--'Revelation,' 'The Smoke,' 'The Sower,' 'Consummation,' +'Glory of Earth,' 'Primitive Man,' 'Man to Nature,' 'Eavesdroppers,' +'Social Appeal,' 'The Quiet Land Within,' 'The Saving of Judas +Iscariot.' (The first four of the poems named are in 'Soul and Sense,' +75 cents; the last in <i>Poet-lore</i>, Vol. I., new series, pp. 161-168, +Spring Number, 1897; the others in 'Victory and Other Poems.' Boston: +Copeland & Day, now Small, Maynard & Co.)</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Queries for Discussion</i>.--Does Miss Kimball's portraiture of Judas +Iscariot reveal a capacity for dramatically creating development in +character? Are her lyrics too grave, or is it their especial blend of +high seriousness and intellectual insight with unforced expression +which gives them unusual richness?</p> + +<p class="right"><i>The Editors.</i></p> +<br> +<br> +<hr class="W20"> +<br> +<br> +<h2><a name="div1_reviews" href="#div1Ref_reviews"></a> +<a name="div2_songs" href="#div2Ref_songs">SONGS FROM THE GHETTO AND A VISION OF +HELLAS.</a></h2> + +<p class="normal">Conceived amid the heat and discomfort of the sweating-shops, born in +poverty and squalid surroundings, growing up with hunger and despair +and failure, and at last an honored guest at the table of ease and +culture--such is the history of the 'Songs from the Ghetto' by Morris +Rosenfeld. Mr. Rosenfeld was born of poor parents in Poland in 1862. +Wandering in search of work in England and Holland, he at length found +a scanty means of support as a tailor in the sweating-shops of New +York. Of miserable origin, poorly educated, struggling for the barest +necessities of life, there was yet in him a poet's soul, struggling for +expression.</p> + +<p class="normal">The poems of Mr. Rosenfeld, written in the Judeo-German dialect, which +he has brought to great literary perfection, have been collected, +translated into English prose and edited by Professor Leo Wiener, +instructor in Slavic languages at Harvard.</p> + +<p class="normal">The songs in this little volume are very beautiful, but whether they +sing of labour or nature, of the shop or the country, there is in every +one a strain of sadness, the melody of each is broken with tears. For +the beauty of which the poet sings, the birds and the flowers, are only +dreams from which he wakes to the misery in his life. It is not the +bitter sadness of hate and rebellion, but the sadness of the Jewish +race, resigned and oppressed, expecting no happiness among an alien +people, but looking for a life of peace in a new Jerusalem.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Again your lime will be fragrant, and your orange will gleam," he +comforts the wanderer, "again God will awaken and bring you thither. +You will sing Shepherd songs as you will herd your sheep; you will live +again, live eternally, without end. After your terrible wanderings you +will again breathe freely; there will again beat a hero's heart under +the silent mountain Moriah."</p> + +<p class="normal">The songs are not all of labour, or of the sorrows of the Jews. In +lighter vein is 'The Nightingale to the Labourer,' 'The Creation of +Man'--which contains the pretty idea that the poet alone was given +wings, and an angel stood always "ready day and night to attach the +wings to him whenever his holy song will rise."</p> + +<p class="normal">The last song in the little volume, called 'In the Wilderness,' is +typical of the poet's spirit; but not, we believe, of his place in the +world. For the world is always ready to listen to a song that carries +with it the impress of truth and beauty.</p> + +<p class="normal">"In a distant wilderness a bird stands alone and looks about him, +sadly, and sings a beautiful song.</p> + +<p class="normal">"His heavenly-sweet voice flows like the purest gold, and wakens the +cold stones and the prairie wide and deserted.</p> + +<p class="normal">"He wakens the dead rocks and the silent mountains round about,--but +the dead remain dead, and the silent remain silent.</p> + +<p class="normal">"For whom, sweet singer, do your clear tones resound? Who hears you, +and who feels you? And whose concern are you?</p> + +<p class="normal">"You may put your whole soul into your singing. You will not awaken a +heart in the cold, hard rock!</p> + +<p class="normal">"You will not sing there long,--I feel it, I know it: your heart will +soon burst with loneliness and woe.</p> + +<p class="normal">"In vain is your endeavour, it will not help you, no! Alone you have +come, and alone you will pass away!"</p> + +<p class="normal">'A Vison of New Hellas' is one of the books that is destined to be more +important than interesting, more noteworthy than popular. The +conception is certainly very beautiful and very wonderful even if the +author does not always reach the height of expression towards which he +aims. But it is a book which can only appeal to the few, who are ready +to search beneath the covering of fantastic imagery and strange verse +forms which clothe a high poetic purpose and ideal. Even those who come +to the work with a knowledge of the songs of old Hellas and the +philosophy of Plato must feel deeply grateful for the elucidating of +the meaning of the book in an argument which the author has kindly +supplied to forestall the vain imaginings of the uninitiated.</p> + +<p class="normal">The poet's aim is as serious as was that of Milton or Dante--"to +realize as best he can such visions of beauty as may be vouchsafed to +him," that through his work he may "make richer the human world in +things of the spirit that quicken and delight."</p> + +<p class="normal">In contemplation the poet rises above the mists of sordidness which +rise from the struggle of trade and industry, beyond the clouds of +pessimism and religious doubt, and on the Pisgah heights of Hellenic +culture he sees a vision of the new life that shall come to man.</p> + +<p class="normal">Through the beautiful world-myth, the story of Demeter and Persephone +and Dionysus, the poet is taught the lesson of the immortality of the +race, of its ceaseless progression toward a nobler and more beautiful +future. To celebrate their happiness at the discovery that Aidoneus, +dread King of Death, is none other than the Lord of Life "leader of the +blessed to the highest heaven," they resolve to bring about the +redemption of the world.</p> + +<p class="normal">This is made possible through the union of Aphrodite, Beauty of Form, +with Apollo, Light of the Mind. From them shall spring a new race of +Gods, typifying the new ideals which shall uplift man until he is +fitted for fellowship at the banquet of the Immortals. Thence will rise +"a nobler, a larger mankind," wakened at length from "the night of +toil, unhallowed by joy in the task." Through Aphrodite will come +"feeling and loving--and art that bids death defiance," and through +Apollo "seeing and knowing and man's life-mastering science." Thence +shall come</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-6pt"> +"The lover's rapture Elysian,</p> +<p class="t4">The poet's fury, the prophet's vision,</p> +<p class="t4">The serene world-sight of the thinker."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">This vision typified the future regeneration of America and through her +of the race. From the sordid reality of present conditions man must +advance ever nearer to the "eternal ideal"; from mean conditions, +inspired by lofty emotions and holy enthusiasms, shall come new +standards of life and of art.</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. Guthrie's work indicates in its form some of the characteristics of +the new literary art. Though his theories are undoubtedly good, the +expression is as yet too crude to form much idea of its possibilities. +Whatever may be the age of the author, his work indicates a certain +inexperience and lacks the grasp and finish of the skilled workman. His +work is too reminiscent; he has not sufficiently assimilated his +sources and impressed them with his own individuality, giving them a +distinctive unity of conception and expression. Though we are quite +willing to accept his assurance that he "did not intend his work to +resemble any known performance," we are continually reminded of +passages in other writers who had inspired him. At times we are struck +with admiration at his power for catching the very trick of his model.</p> + +<p class="normal">His work is as "oddly suited" as was Portia's lover. For he suggests to +us--Homer and the Greek tragedians of course in theme and expression; +Milton and Dante with their lofty ideals; Piers Ploughman dreaming +about his "fair field full of folk." For the conception he owes much to +Shelley's 'Prometheus,' whose theme is very similar, but his methods +are more modern, with verse theories of Whitman, philosophy of +Browning, a Wagnerian idea of rhythm, making each rhythmical theme +represent a peculiar mood or image, which is frequently very effective +but sometimes forced.</p> + +<p class="right"><i>Harriott S. Olive.</i></p> + +<p class="normal">(Songs from the Ghetto, by Morris Rosenfeld. With Introduction, Prose +Translation, and Glossary. By Leo Weiner, Instructor in the Slavic +Languages at Harvard University. Boston: Small, Maynard & Co.--A Vision +of New Hellas--Songs of American Destiny. William Norman Guthrie. +Clarke Publishing Company. Chicago: $2.50.)</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr class="W20"> +<br> +<br> +<h2><a name="div2_higginson" href="#div2Ref_higginson">COL. HIGGINSON'S 'CONTEMPORARIES' AND MRS. +HOWE'S 'REMINISCENCES.'</a></h2> +<br> +<p class="normal">Colonel Higginson might have added to his 'Contemporaries' as a +sub-title: 'Our Nineteenth Century Roll of Honor,' for he makes +mention, either brief or extended, in his book, of nearly all the men +and women of the age who would be entitled to a place on such a roll. +It gives one's patriotism a thrill, on looking down the list, to see +how long and splendid a one it is, to note what fine thoughts, +emotions, and achievements stand representative in the brief sketches +of the period of our national existence which the author has observed +and shared in. Patriotic fervor for the past, and, arguing from the +past, a renewed hope in the national future, are the dominant feelings +the book begets. Not that the author has emphasized the bequests of +statesmen and reformers to the country, to the neglect of other +influences. The volume contains nineteen sketches; and the poet, the +philosopher, the scientist, the man of private though beneficent life, +have all places therein; yet all is woven into a whole with one aspect, +the national one.</p> + +<p class="normal">All of the sketches are, as the preface states, reprinted pieces first +published in different periodicals any time during the past fifty +years. Since from this point of view the volume can have little or no +consecutiveness, it is noteworthy that a picture of the times is +nevertheless obtained unbroken in its continuity. Every sketch, however +fragmentary a part of the life of its subject, has the vigor of its +surroundings; and the papers upon the men and women of the Abolitionist +period and the Civil War, though most of them have been somewhat +revised for their present publication, have the heart-beats of the +"times that tried men's souls" throbbing in them true and loud.</p> + +<p class="normal">One paper, upon John Brown's Household, printed in 1859 and quite +unaltered, preserves by the splendid restraint of its simple language +the very spirit of the iron endeavor and concentred force it describes.</p> + +<p class="normal">The value of an author's judgment upon his contemporaries, is +unquestioned; the advantage of a personal share in the lives and +actions of the men who form his theme, added to our already confidence +in his critical judgment, give it worth over other proved biography. On +the deeds of many of the men whose work he commemorates, Fame has yet +to pronounce lastly: their services are too recent for a perfect +judgment. But testimony such as this will surely have value in a +decision.</p> + +<p class="normal">One feels a little inclined to quarrel with the author that there is so +little "I" in his book, that there are so few really personal glimpses, +but of course this is too much to ask of a book which is really a +compilation of scattered sketches; and perhaps Colonel Higginson will +remedy the lack in the future.</p> + +<p class="normal">It is seldom that one has the pleasure of reading so satisfying and +delightful a piece of autobiography as Mrs. Howe's 'Reminiscences.' One +hardly knows, when the last page is turned, which of two capacities of +the mind has been more completely filled and brimmed over: that of +intellectual appreciation, or the well where abides the feeling of +delighted enthusiasm which is inspired by our friend. We respond to the +pleasure the reading gives us with a really personal sense of +gratitude.</p> + +<p class="normal">The subject matter of the book could not have been of other than deep +interest. Mrs. Howe's long and beautiful life has been lived in +surroundings of the highest culture of her time; the events of which +she has written are those which will take their place in the history of +the century just closing; and finally, the men and women who were her +friends and in whose labors she shared, were the men and women whose +opinions have largely moulded the events. But it is not all this, of +unfailing interest though it must be, that gives the book its finest +quality, and that makes one wish to read it over the moment one has +read it through. It is, instead, that we have learned so much of a +beauty-gifted and beauty-giving life in words at once so simple and so +satisfying. Cheeriness and healthiness--if by the latter word one may +express a certain poise and normalness of outlook--are the +characteristics of the narrative. The great and the small of life each +receive their just due; perhaps it is by her treatment of the small +that we are best assured we have read into an intimacy with Mrs. Howe. +That perennial question as to the feminine lack of humor, which has +lately been re-threshed in the newspapers, should receive final and +silencing reply--had it ever deserved a reply at all--in the +'Reminiscences.' The narrative twinkles with keen appreciation of the +humorous, the ludicrous, even of the deliciously nonsensical; also +abounding in that larger sort of humor which does not consist in seeing +the point to a joke, but which makes life bearable and judgments tender +under conditions least likely to keep them so.</p> + +<p class="normal">Assuredly Mrs. Howe did not put together the recollections of her life +with primarily didactic purpose, just as assuredly she did not write +them down primarily for the benefit of the American young woman. Yet in +view of the cause to which she has given the work of her latter years, +it is permitted me to say that no greater encouragement could be given +it for the future than the words from which we learn her personal +services to it and to the other causes which she has aided with brain +and hands throughout her life.</p> +<p class="right"><i>Helen Tracy Porter.</i></p> + +<p class="normal">(Contemporaries, By Thomas Wentworth Higginson. Boston and New York: +Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1899. $2.00. Reminiscences: Julia Ward Howe. +Houghton, Mifflin & Co. Boston and New York. $2.50.)</p> +<br> +<br> +<hr class="W20"> +<br> +<br> +<h1><a name="div1_letters" href="#div1Ref_letters">LIFE AND LETTERS.</a></h1> +<br> +<p class="normal"><a name="div2_unrest" href="#div2Ref_unrest"></a>----The last scenes in the present-day epoch of commercialism promise +to be like the last scenes in the old-time epoch of feudalism, +picturesque, violent, and significant rendings and tearings of the +whole body politic prior to a re-formation on the basis of a larger +unity. Then they portended the unification of England under the Tudors, +or the unification of France under the eleventh Louis. Now they +portend--what?</p> + +<p class="normal">Some larger, more spiritual unity, it may be guessed, that shall +quietly and with unprecedented swiftness make use of the materialistic +objects which the short-sighted leaders of commercialism now have in +mind, and after a manner they no more dream is implied in their success +than the royal dynasties of England and France dreamed that the bloody +heads of kings would be the fruit of the new nationality.</p> + +<hr class="W10"> + +<p class="normal"><a name="div2_portent" href="#div2Ref_portent"></a>----To the leaders of the commercial world-movement, their +materialistic objects are ends in themselves, very substance of very +substance. But the Time-spirit already laughs them to scorn and tosses +them, as mere tools out of place, to some more convenient corner of her +spacious work-shop, where they make but one with a mass of other such +tools awaiting the mastery of her history-shaping hand.</p> + +<p class="normal">The tumults of South Africa and China are but signs of the vaster +tumult in which these tumults shall be devoured and assimilated.</p> + +<hr class="W10"> + +<p class="normal">----In the world of faith, too, how restless is the aggregate organism! +Ruptures and dissolutions are splitting and fusing orthodoxies and +heterodoxies.</p> + +<p class="normal">And in the withdrawn and secret world of the human consciousness the +ferment of new desires and potencies, opposed by all the organized and +settled forces of opinion, is permeating thought, and stirring the +slumbering soul to try the unguessed faculties of its idealism, as if +the real king of the total Unquietness held there his throne.</p> + +<p class="normal">The world of politics and commerce, the world of faith and intelligence +tend, it would seem, already, towards that synthetic development +foreseen in 1855, by one whom the obtuse world may yet have reason +enough to recognize as one of the clearest-brained statesmen of the +nineteenth century, though her trade was poetry not politics--Elizabeth +Barrett Browning, when she said of the future:</p> + +<p class="normal">"What I expect is a great development of Christianity in opposition to +the churches, and of humanity generally in opposition to the nations."</p> +<br> +<hr class="W20"> +<br> +<h2><a name="div2_iphigenie" href="#div2Ref_iphigenie">GOETHE'S IPHIGENIE AT HARVARD.</a></h2> +<br> +<p class="normal">It is an age of the universality of genius. Not only the treasures of +our own literature in our own day, but the best that has been written +in all lands in all ages, the best that is being thought and sung in +every tongue to-day is ours. And the test of what is good is no longer +that it appeals to the people of a certain period or race, but that it +appeals to and expresses the spirit of humanity, that it fills a place +in a <i>Welt-Litteratur</i>.</p> + +<p class="normal">A striking instance of the power of the present to interpret the spirit +of the past was the performance of Goethe's Iphigenie at Harvard on the +sixty-eighth anniversary of Goethe's death. Professor Kuno Franke, +writing in the New York Evening Post speaks of Iphigenie as "the +worthiest production of artistic genius to represent German ideals to a +distinctly academic audience at the foremost of American universities." +This it seems to us Iphigenie emphatically is <i>not</i>. In conscious +imitation of Greek tragedy in the literary form and expression, as well +as in the details of the story, it is Greek; in its psychological +treatment, in the idea that personal salvation comes only through +self-sacrifice, it is distinctively modern, but not German, in subject, +expression or treatment.</p> + +<p class="normal">Although the choice of Iphigenie as a representative German play was +not justified, certainly nothing could have better expressed the genius +of the greatest of German poets. The greatness of Goethe!--that was the +fact of all others demonstrated by the performance of Iphigenie. He has +given us a play which realizes the ideals of the Greek poets and +sculptors, a play instinct with the deepest reverence of the Greek +religion, yet at the same time a play which expressed the deepest +emotions of a great spiritual revolution in his own life; a play which +may be considered as a presentation of the very spirit of that +Christianity which findeth its soul in losing it. One of its leading +critics says of Iphigenie--"its ideals are not those of Greece or of +Germany, or of any nationality or time, but rather the realization of +the highest and noblest aspirations of mankind in all lands and all +tongues."</p> + +<p class="normal">A universal literature is but the child of a universal religion, of +that yearning toward the good and beautiful and true which has been the +guiding star of man since the world began. The struggle in his own +soul; the mystic meaning of a pagan faith, that in passing has touched +all succeeding ages with some measure of its radiant beauty; the poet's +vision of the future spiritual triumph of the race; all these Goethe +united in one artistic expression, and the result is one of the great +poems of the world.</p> + +<p class="normal">The presentation of the play at Harvard was a marvellous exhibition of +the power of a great artistic conception to carry an audience with it +in enthusiastic appreciation of the spirit, without the necessity for +an understanding of the medium of expression. Back of all expression is +the spirit of its author, and as a beautiful voice interprets the +meaning of the song written in an unknown tongue, so these German +actors by the power of an art statuesque in its beauty, musical in +expression, deeply spiritual in its interpretation of the poet's soul, +revealed to the audience the wondrous charm of Iphigenie. In a foreign +tongue they portrayed the emotions of mythical heroes long dead in a +distant land, and as we watched and listened the mythical dead became +living mortals, and we understood their suffering and their heroism, +saw the agony of the spiritual struggle, realized the force of the +great temptation, knew the joy of the final victory.</p> + +<p class="normal">A great poet, a drama of transcendent power and beauty, actors of +consummate art, an enthusiastic audience,--nothing was lacking to make +the event a memorable one. <span style="letter-spacing:10px"> </span> <i>H. S. O.</i></p> +<br> +<hr class="W10"> +<br> +<p class="normal"><a name="div2_browning" href="#div2Ref_browning"></a>----At a recent debate at the 'Philadelphia Browning Society' Miss Mary +M. Cohen, the founder and first president of the Society and now one of +its vice-presidents, opened the discussion with the following bright +paper written to the question:--</p> + +<p class="normal">Is Browning to be ranked as a legitimate member of the Victorian +School?</p> + +<p class="normal">Certainly he is. If any one tries to prove that he is not entitled to +the claim, it must be because the poet has so much more of brilliant +mental make-up than most of the Victorian writers that the critics are +dazzled.</p> + +<p class="normal">They want to cut and fit a man's ability and achievement to a +particular class of work, to press him down, as it were, into a +jelly-mould and say, "There, take that shape and mind, not a drop of +you is to spill over!" It is a good deal like a woman when asked her +age; she often says, "I am twenty"; so she is, dear thing, and +frequently much more, besides. Our poet is a Victorian poet and +gloriously transcends them all. "If this be treason, make the most of +it." My opponent is no doubt carefully writing down this challenge with +a view to crushing me later, but unlike my sex in general, I do not +want the last word, if I can only get the first. "He laughs best who +laughs last" has always had rather a prejudiced sound in my ears; on +the contrary, he who makes the first score has often a tremendous +advantage. A charming young artist, a friend of mine, has thrown a +certain light upon the subject of this debate: She said, "Victorian +always suggests to me something housekeepery and mutton-choppy: Is +Browning mutton-choppy?" I suppose that the adversary will answer this.</p> + +<p class="normal">In one of the popular manuals of English literature, we find Tennyson +and Browning described as the two masters of Victorian poetry. My +definition of a poet of the Victorian School would be that he should +combine a musical versification with ethical, philosophical and +artistic thought. I believe that Tennyson is generally received as an +example. If Shelley be accepted as a Victorian School poet, then it is +absolutely certain that Browning, having absorbed Shelley until poetic +inspiration was fused to a white heat, may be held to represent the +Victorian School in gigantic and overwhelming form. Although it has +been said that "until late years Browning has been entirely at variance +with the tendencies of his time and for nearly forty years represented +that opposition to the poetry of the age which has recently been made +prominent by a small band of poetical innovators of whom Swinburne is +the most extreme," still I feel justified in my claim. Browning +incorporated the introspective philosophy of his period in his work, +and also displayed in many of his writings the musical sweetness which +is supposed especially to mark the Victorian poets. Think of his poem +of 'Saul,' forceful, yet melodious, suffused with the intense interest +of the Biblical story, glorified by the superb imagery of a mind +dwelling in a time of psychological inquiry. Almost the whole of +'Asolando' is musical. Remember the poem 'Reverie':</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4">"I know there shall dawn a day</p> +<p class="t5">--Is it here on homely earth?</p> +<p class="t4">Is it yonder, worlds away,</p> +<p class="t4">Where the strange and new have birth</p> +<p class="t4">That Power comes full in play?"</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">Note the influence which contemporary events must have on a man like +Browning: in 1851 the great Exhibition, the first of the series held +later in different countries, and stimulating in its effects upon the +intellectual, social and spiritual culture of the poet: in 1854 the +Crimean War, conducted with France against Russia who had appropriated +the Turkish principalities of Moldavia and Wallachia, and made famous +by such battles as Alma, Balaklava and Inkermann. In 1853 came Florence +Nightingale with her reform in hospital service. In 1858 the Atlantic +cable was laid. In 1888 came the "Philadelphia Browning Society." No +one of the Victorian poets was mentally organized by these events, the +last excepted, as was Browning. The critic Alexander has said "A man's +work is determined not only by the character of his genius, but also by +the conditions of his age. Homer would not write a great epic, were he +alive now, nor Shakespeare great dramas."</p> + +<p class="normal">'Prospice' is another instance of melodious verse, expressing thought +exalted, philosophical and spiritual.</p> + +<p class="normal">Who is not impressed with the strength and sweep of 'Cristina'?</p> +<div style="font-size:90%"> +<p class="continue">"There are flashes struck from mid-nights, there are fire-flames +noon-days kindle,</p> +<p class="continue">Whereby piled-up honors perish, Whereby swollen ambitions dwindle."</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">We cannot ignore the graceful flow of 'Confessions':</p> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="t4" style="text-indent:-8px"> +"How sad and bad and mad it was--</p> +<p class="t4">But then, how it was sweet!"</p> +</div> +<p class="normal">I must also quote what seems to me a very vital tribute to his genius:</p> + +<p class="normal">"Browning is one of the very few men--Mr. Meredith excepted--who can +paint women without idealization or degradation, not from the man's +side, but from their own; as living equals, not as goddesses or as +toys." His poetry has been described as "superb landscape painting in +verse." Swinburne differentiates Browning's work as marked by decisive +and incisive faculty of thought, sureness and intensity of perception, +rapid and trenchant resolution of aim. 'The Ring and the Book' is the +masterpiece of this great Victorian master.</p> + +<p class="normal">If then it be remembered that Browning ranks high as a humorist, that +he has brilliant and subtle qualities, that he could appreciate and +translate into poetry the stirring events of both sacred and profane +history; that he drew Religion in all shapes to his side, that +Mythology and Orientalism were his boon companions; that he moulded Art +to his purpose, allured Music by his call, won Philosophy by his gaze, +looked Truth in the eyes; there can be little or no doubt that he was +the greatest of all the poets of the Victorian School and in his single +person united all the highest characteristics of his literary +contemporaries. Through him the Victorian School was raised to a height +and deepened to a depth that without him it never would have had.</p> + +<p class="right"><i>Mary M. Cohen.</i></p> +<br> +<hr class="W10"> +<br> +<p class="normal"><a name="div2_etc" href="#div2Ref_etc"></a>----Is there anything that so forcibly brings home to us the foreign +point of view or rather the point of tongue and point of ear that makes +a Frenchman's expression alien to ours, than to see how he explains the +proper English pronunciation of English? Here is the way, for example, +that he elaborately spells out the sound of 'Much Ado About Nothing' in +a dictionary of Foreign Names and Phrases: "Meutch a-dou a-boutt' +neuth' igne." And of course our point of ear is quite as droll to him.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> +<br> +<p class="hang1"><a name="div3_01" href="#div3Ref_01">Footnote 1</a>: In 'The Broken Heart,' John Ford, 1633, Calantha, +addressing the dead body of her betrothed husband, says: "Now turn I to +thee, thou shadow Of my departed lord." Antony refers to his dead body +as "a mangled shadow"; 'Antony and Cleopatra,' iv., 2, 27. Shakespeare +elsewhere refers to disembodied spirits as "shadows"; as in 'Richard +III,' i, 4, 53; <i>Ibid</i>., v, 3, 216; 'Cymbeline, v, 4, 97; and 'Titus +Andronicus,' I, 1, 126.</p> + +<p class="hang1"><a name="div3_02" href="#div3Ref_02">Footnote 2</a>: For 'I. A Group of British Poets' see <i>Poet-lore</i>, Vol. +III. (New Series), End Year Number 1899. Pp. 610-612.]</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Three Heron's Feathers, by Hermann Sudermann + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THREE HERON'S FEATHERS *** + +***** This file should be named 34409-h.htm or 34409-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/4/0/34409/ + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Three Heron's Feathers + +Author: Hermann Sudermann + +Translator: Helen Tracy Porter + +Release Date: November 23, 2010 [EBook #34409] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THREE HERON'S FEATHERS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books + + + + + +Transcriber's Notes: + 1. Page scan source: + http://books.google.com/books?id=FZ8W-SIMSR4C&dq + + 2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. + 3. Greek words are transliterated in bracket [Greek: ]. + + + + + + +Whole Vol. XII. YEARLY, $2.50 EACH NUMBER, 65 CENTS. No. 2 + +NEW SERIES IV. + + POET-LORE + + A QUARTERLY MAGAZINE OF LETTERS + + + SECOND NUMBER. + + VOL. IV. NEW SERIES. + + April, May, June, 1900. + + +POETRY AND FICTION. + +THE THREE HERON'S FEATHERS. Hermann Sudermann + +MARAH OF SHADOWTOWN. Verses. Anne Throop + +DIES IRAE. Verses. William Mountain + + +APPRECIATIONS AND ESSAYS. + +GEORGE MEREDITH ON THE SOURCE OF DESTINY. Emily G. Hooker + +THE TRAGEDY OF OPHELIA. David A. McKnight + +CLEWS TO EMERSON'S MYSTIC VERSE. III. William Sloane Kennedy + +A DEFENCE OF BROWNING'S LATER WORK. Helen A. Clarke + + +SCHOOL OF LITERATURE. + +GLIMPSES OF PRESENT-DAY POETS. A Selective Reading Course. II. An +American Group: Edmund Clarence Stedman, Louise Chandler Moulton, +Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Louise Imogen Guiney, Richard Hovey, Bliss +Carman, Hannah Parker Kimball. + + +REVIEWS. + +'Songs from the Ghetto' and 'A Vision of Hellas.' Harriott S. +Olive.--Col. Higginson's 'Contemporaries' and Mrs. Howe's +'Reminiscences.' Helen Tracy Porter. + + +LIFE AND LETTERS. + +The Modern Unrest in Nations, Markets and Minds.--Its +Portent.--Goethe's Iphigenia at Harvard. H. S. O.--Is Browning a +Legitimate Member of the Victorian School? Mary M. Cohen.--Etc. + + * * * * * + + BOSTON: + Published by POET-LORE CO., 16 Ashburton Place. + London: Gay and Bird, 22 Bedford St., Strand. + + + Entered at the Boston, Mass., Post-Office as Second-Class Mail Matter + + + + + + + POET-LORE + + A QUARTERLY MAGAZINE OF LETTERS + + _Founded January, 1889_ + +Devoted to Appreciation of the Poets and Comparative Literature. Its +object is to bring Life and Letters into closer touch with each other, +and, accordingly, its work is carried on in a new spirit: it considers +literature as an exponent of human evolution rather than as a finished +product, and aims to study life and the progress of ideals in letters. + + EDITORS: + + CHARLOTTE PORTER and HELEN A. CLARKE + + HONORARY ASSOCIATE EDITORS + +W. J. ROLFE, Litt.D., Cambridge, Mass. WILLIAM O. KINGSLAND, London, +England. HIRAM CORSON, LL.D., Prof, of English Literature, Cornell +University, Ithaca, N.Y. + + -->_Address all editorial communications to_ + + POET-LORE COMPANY, 16 Ashburton Place, Boston. + +YEARLY SUBSCRIPTION, $2.50 + +EACH QUARTERLY NUMBER, 65 cents + + + * * * * * + + +Poet-lore (New Series) is published quarterly, the New Year Number for +January, February, and March; the Spring Number for April, May, and +June; the Summer Number for July, August, and September; the Autumn +Number for October, November, and December. + +Poet-lore (Old Series) from January, 1889 to August-September, 1896, +inclusive, was published monthly except in July and August, a Double +Summer Number, however, being issued in June for June and July, and a +Double Autumn Number in September for August and September. +Subscription price for yearly parts same as for New Series, $2.50. +Single numbers, 25 cents; Double numbers, 50 cents. + + * * * * * + +-->_Subscriptions sent through booksellers and agents are discontinued +at expiration unless renewed. Other subscribers wishing this Magazine +stopped at the expiration of their subscription must notify us to that +effect, otherwise we shall consider it their wish to have it continued. +Due notice of expiration is sent._ + +-->_Money should be remitted by Post-Office Money Order, Draft, or +Registered Letter; from Foreign Countries, by International Post-Office +Money-Order or Bank Draft. All made payable to the order of_ + + * * * * * + +POET-LORE COMPANY, 16 Ashburton Place, Boston. + + + + + POET-LORE + +Vol. XII. No. 2 + + --_wilt thou not haply saie, + Truth needs no collour with his collour fixt, + Beautie no pensell, beauties truth to lay: + But best is best if never intermixt. + Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? + Excuse no silence so, for 't lies in thee, + To make him much outlive a gilded tombe: + And to be praised of ages yet to be. + Then do thy office_---- + + + + + THE THREE HERON'S FEATHERS. + + BY HERMANN SUDERMANN. + + * * * + + Characters. + +The Queen of Samland. Skoell, \ +The young Prince, her son. Ottar, > The Duke's men. +Anna Goldhair, her attendant. Gylf, / +Coelestin, her Major-domo. The Burial-wife. +The Chancellor. Miklas, a peasant. +Widwolf, Duke of Gotland. An old fisherman, a page, +Prince Witte. councillors, men and women of the +Hans Lorbass, his servant. Queen, the Duke's men, the + people. + +_The scene of the first and fifth acts is laid on the coast of Samland; +that of the second, third, and fourth acts in the capital city._ + +_Between the fourth and fifth acts a period of fifteen years elapses._ + + + + + ACT I. + +_The coast of Samland. The background slopes upward at right and left +to wooded hills. Between them is a gorge, behind which the sea +glitters. In the right foreground are graves with wooden head-boards +and crosses, overgrown with shrubbery. At the left is a stout +watch-tower with a door in it. Common household furniture stands about +the threshold._ + + + Scene I. + +Hans Lorbass _seated on a grave with spade and shovel, a freshly dug +mound behind him._ + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_sings_]. + + Behind a juniper bush, + On a night in July warm and red, + Was my poor mother of me brought to bed + [_Speaking_]. And knew not how. + + Behind a juniper bush, + Between cock's crow and morning red, + I struck in drink my father dead, + [_Speaking_]. And knew not who. + + Behind a juniper bush, + When all the vermin have had their bite, + I'll stretch myself out and give up the fight + [_Speaking_]. Still I know not when. + +Yet one thing I know: anywhere hereabouts, a mile-stone or a +cross-roads will do very well some day; I do not need a juniper bush. +Let us say a garden hedge, that is a pleasant spot. If some day it +should come into my head to lie down beneath one, in the tall grass, +nearby a grave, and quietly turn my back on this dry, burnt-out old +world, who--a plague upon him--would have aught to say against it? Here +I sit and munch my crusts, and hold carouse--on water; [_getting up_] +here I stand and dig graves, a free-will servant to weakness. I dig the +graves of the unnamed, unknown, when icy waves toss them rotting on the +shore, tangled in slimy sea-weed. Once all my thoughts were wont to +follow on the foeman's path, to cleave him through with my blithely +swinging sword, to carve my path straight through the solid rock; yet +now I stand here and smile submission at a woman. But I bide my time +until my master comes again knocking to set me free from my graveyard +prison and breathe new life into my frame. Him at whose side I once +stood guardian-like with fiercest zeal, him will I serve again with all +my love and life, and follow like a dog.... Like a dog, yes, but like a +master, too. For it is strength alone that wins the day at last, in all +the brave deeds done upon this earth. And only he who laughs can win. +The victory is never to the weakling whiner, nor to the man whose +rage can master him; as little does it crown the man whose mind is +woman-ruled; but less than these and least of all will it bless him +who dreams away his life. For that I stole and sweated to secure,--his +future good,--for that I sit now fixed firm within his soul,--I his +servant and avenger! Here comes the old one. Never yet have I owned +myself conquered by any soul on earth.... And yet--when she comes +peering into my affairs, I feel as though I might become--I don't know +what! I begin to know what strength is in sweet words; I feel a +readiness for any sort of bout; my spirits swell to bursting +roisteringness,--and yet I have not the shadow of a cause for any such +ideas. + +_Burial-wife_ [_entering_]. Tell me, my little Hans, hast been +industrious? Hast made a fine soft bed? + +_Hans_. I am no Hans of thine. My name is Hans Lorbass. A knave who +stalks stiff-necked and solemn up and down the world does not much +relish being treated like a child. + +_Burial-wife_. Thou art my dear child none the less. Only grow old and +gray; and then shall thy body bear its scars and thy soul its sins back +to the old wife. + +_Hans_. Not yet. + +_Burial-wife_. Thou hast dug many a deep still grave for me; many a +wanderer will come and find rest, therein. Over the gray path of the +boundless sea will each one come bringing his life's sorrow to lay it +here upon my bosom. I open wide my arms to them as my father bade me, +and blessing them I thus absolve myself from suffering and penance. +Beneath my breath sin and crime straightway disappear;--and smilingly I +bear all my dear children to their rest. + +_Hans_. Not me. What concern hast thou with me? It is true thou holdest +me here within thy grave-yard prison and compellest me to play the +grave-digger with blows and taunts; but let my prince once come this +way again, and not another hour of service shalt thou have.... My +prince, my gold-prince! My sweet lad! How I could burst with a single +leap straight to thy side through all the world, and with my +too-long-idle sword hurl down to hell the coward pack that presses +round thee!... And thou art all to blame,--yes, all. He had already +quite enough agonizing longings, unfulfilled desires; but thou must +needs fan the warmly glowing flames to a devouring blaze. It was thou +that lured him into that adventure, that willed his braving danger +singlehanded; and if he cracks the accursed nut, if I see the foam curl +again about his prow,--even if I clasp him to me and feel him safe +indeed,--who shall tell me that after all his prize is worth his pains? +Where is that woman thou hast showed to him, that pattern of beauty and +purity, that paragon of softness and strength, she who was born to +steal away his other longings,--where is she?--show her to me! + +_Burial-wife_. My little Hans, my son, why stormest thou so? + +_Hans_. Let me curse. + +_Burial-wife_. Hush thee, and lie down here beside me on the straw, and +listen what I tell thee. + +_Hans_. On the grave-straw? [_Lies down with a grimace._] + +_Burial-wife_. There landed two men yonder on a golden spring day, and +wandered lost like wild things through the thicket. Who were they? + +_Hans_. I and my master were the two. The villainy of his step-brother +had rent from him his throne and kingdom. He was too young, he was too +weak,--there lay the blame. + +_Burial-wife_. Yet he was blustering and drew his sword and demanded +with storm and threat that I should grant a wish for him. Still thou +knowest him, my dear son? + +_Hans_. Do I know him! + +_Burial-wife_. "Thou desirest the fairest of women for thy bride?" I +said. "She is not here; but if thou dost not shrink before the danger, +I can show thee the way, my son." + +_Hans_. The way to death! + +_Burial-wife_. "There lies an isle in the northern seas, where day and +night are merged in dawn; never more shall he rejoice at sight of home +who loses his path there in a storm. There lies thy path. And there, +where the holy word is never taught, within a crystal house there lives +a wild heron, worshiped as a god. From that heron thou must pluck three +feathers out and bring them hither." + +_Hans_. And if he brings them? + +_Burial-wife_. Then I will make him conscious of miraculous power, +through which he shall find and bind her to himself who awaits him in +night and need; for by this deed he grows a man, and worth the prize. + +_Hans_. And then? When he has got her, and sighs and coos and lies in +her bosom half a hundred years, when he turns himself a very woman, I +shall be the last to wonder at it. Look! [_he picks up a piece of +amber_] I shovelled this shining glittering bauble out of the +dune-sand. I have heaped up whole bushels of it in my greedy zeal. Now, +as I toss from me this sticky mass of resin, that borrows the name and +place of a stone, so with the act I hurl away in mocking laughter these +many-colored lies of womankind. [_He tosses the lump to the ground._] +Now go and brew my evening draught. I will to the sea to seek my +master. [_He goes out to the right. The_ Burial-wife _looks after him +grinning and goes into the tower._] + +_Ottar_ [_sticking his head through the bushes_]. Holloa, Gylf! + +_Gylf_ [_coming out_]. What is it? [_The others also appear._] + +_Ottar_. Here is the tower, here lie the graves in a sandy spot; run +below to the Duke and tell him; not a man to be seen, not even a worm, +naught but a burying-ground, rooted up and worried as though we had +been haunting it ourselves. [Gylf _goes out._] + +_Skoell_. Nay, for we would have saved some of our loved dead for the +raven, we would not have been so stingy as to bury them straightway. +[_They all laugh._] + +_The First_ [_pointing out to sea_].--Ho--there! + +_Ottar_. What's the matter? + +_The First_. Does not the boat pass there that yesterday crossed our +path on the high seas, whose steersman threatened fight with our +dragon? How comes the bold rascal here? + +_The Second_ [_who has raised up the lump of amber_]. I tell you, +comrades, let the fellow go, and look what I have found. + +_Ottar_. Death and the devil! Then we are in Amberland. + +_The Third_ [_staring_]. That is amber? + +_Ottar_. Give it to me! + +_The Second_. I found it--it is mine! + +_Ottar_. Thou gorging maw! + +_The Second_. Thieves! Flayers! + +_Ottar_. Dog! I'll strike thee dead! + +_Skoell_. Be quiet, fools, there is plenty more! Go look in the tower, +and you may curse me for a knave if you find the mouse-hole empty. + +_The First_. Come. + +_The Two Others_. Yes, come! [_The three go into the tower._] + +_Skoell_. Thou dost not go along? + +_Ottar_. Thou hadst gladly got us out of the way to dig all by thyself? +O, we all know thee, thou filthy fool! + +_Skoell_ [_slapping him on the back_]. More pretty words, my friend? Go +on! When we are our own men on shore again, I will see what I can +do;--but till that time I spare my skin. + +[_The three come reeling backwards out of the tower, followed by the_ +Burial-wife _with raised fist._] + +_Skoell_. What is this? + +_Ottar_. What do you call this? Seize her! + +_The First_. Seize her! Easy to say! Dost thou court the palsy? + +_The Second_. Or fits, at least! + +_Ottar_. Cowards! [_He advances upon her. The others, except_ Skoell, +_follow him yelling._] + +_Hans_ [_snatches his sword, that hangs on a tree, and throws the +assailants into confusion with a blow or two_]. Ho, there! Let her +alone, or-- + +_Skoell_. Look! Hans Lorbass! + +_The Others_. Who? Our Hans? + +_Ottar_ [_rubbing his shoulder_]. How comest thou here? Thou still hast +thy old strength, I find! + +_Skoell_. Tell us, old Hans, what brings thee here? Is she thy latest +love? + +_All_ [_burst out laughing_]. Hans, Hans! Poor old Hans! + +_Hans_. Bandits! Just come on once! [_To the_ Burial-wife.] How is it? +I hope they have not hurt thee. + +_Burial-wife_. None can harm me, none molest me, who has not first +wronged himself and all his hopes. + +_Ottar_ [_sings_]. Ho, Hans is playing with his love! + +_Hans_. Have a care! + +[_The_ Burial-wife _goes slowly into the tower._] + +_Hans_. It is now scarce three years since we bore within the hall our +master in his ash-hewn coffin. He raised his hand already cold, and +pointed with his pallid, bony finger--not toward the bastard Danish +conqueror, but towards his own true son, Prince Witte; and him he left +his country's lord. The land was poor, the people rude, yet it had +preserved its pride and loyalty un stained through a thousand murderous +brawls. Three years ago as everybody knows, you would have murdered +our young lord at summons of the Bastard and his fair promises; and +now--what are you? Thieves, sand-fleas, loafers, riff-raff, haunting +the moors and hiding in the thickets. Stop! I will build a gallows for +you presently; my brave sword is too good for you. [_He throws down his +sword. They laugh._] + +_Skoell_. Hanschen, has thou clean forgot who was the fiercest +bloodhound of us all? Who was it always shouted "I will do it, I!" till +everyone spread sail before him and left him to his work? Then wouldest +thou come, wiping thy bloody hand, and laugh, and say: "My work is +done!" And then one saw no more of thee. Now when we find thee and +rejoice at sight of thee, thou scornest us like a pack of thieves or +birds of such a feather, and playest the judge sitting above us;--fie, +Hanschen, 'tis not kind of thee. + +_Hans_. Quite right! Give us thy fist!... No use to wrangle! [_Offers +his hand to one after the other. Looking at one suspiciously._] Thou +hast need of a little scouring first, I think. Children, what fine +fellows you would be, if only you were not such frightful rogues. +[_They laugh._] Tell me now, what have you been at so long? + +_Ottar_ [_awkwardly_]. Who? We? + +_Hans_. Yes, you! + +_Ottar_. Thou wouldst draw us out then? + +_Hans_. No need. I know that trade a thousand miles away. You are +wreckers! + +_All_ [_laughing_]. Of course. + +_Hans_ [_half to himself_]. See, see! + +_Skoell_. Only the name is not quite right. We are wreckers hereabouts; +but we chiefly rob upon the high seas. + +_Hans_. And your Duke? + +_Ottar_. There's a man! He stands foremost in the attack. When the +grappling-irons lay hold, when the javelin whistles in the air, when +down upon the rashly canted dragon crashes the boarding-plank, when +above they wait like calves for the slaughter, then rings his +murder-cry: Ho huzzah! + +_All_. Ho huzzah! + +_Hans_ [_half to himself_]. It must be fine. [_Aloud._] Then in the +battle--how shows he there? + +_Ottar_. In what battle? We have no more battles. + +_Hans_. So, so! I just bethought myself. One question more: How come +you here? + +_Skoell_. Hast thou not taken our measure, then? Take notice of my +sparkling glance--its tender fire: observe his air, like to a love-sick +cock's: Do we not smell of myrrh and balm! In short, we go to gaze upon +the bride. + +_Hans_. Who, then? + +_Ottar_. Who? Dost thou mock at us? Thou livest here and yet thou hast +not heard of the Amberqueen, the marvel of beauty who has sworn to +yield herself and her throne to the man that is victorious in a +tournament for life and death, and bears all her other suitors to the +earth? The fair one is a widow, the heir an orphan; so it is meat and +drink to him who throws the others by the heels. + +_Hans_. Are you so sure of it? + +_Ottar_. Well, where is the man who cares to try conclusions with our +Duke? + +_Hans_ [_to himself_], I reared one who will strike him down some day. + +[_Enter_ Duke Widwolf _and more of his men._] + +_Duke_. Why stand you there? Did I send you ahead to chatter? On with +you! What stops your mouths? Clear the way! And if I find you sluggish +I will call out my cat-o'-nine-tails for you. + +_Hans_ [_aside to the first man, who stands near him_]. He drubs you +then? + +_The First_. Past bearing. + +_Duke_. Who is that man that speaks with you? Why have you not already +struck him down? + +_Skoell_. He is so droll, master, he would not let himself be killed. + +_Duke_. Meseems ... Hans Lorbass--do I see aright? What--what?... Thou +knowest I am in thy debt for business secretly done. I love not debts +between master and man. + +_Hans_. No need, my lord, I have my pay. + +_Duke_. At first thou seemedst to serve me diligently; yet thou didst +slip as suddenly from my throne as though thou hadst an ailing +conscience. + +_Hans_ [_gazing out to sea._] Perhaps. It may be. + +_Duke_. Where hast thou stayed so long? + +_Hans_ [_without stirring_]. I am a servant. I have served. + +_Duke_. What drivest thou now? + +_Hans_. I drive naught, my lord, I am driven. + +_Duke_ [_threateningly_]. It pleases thee to jest. + +_Hans_. And thee to be galled thereat. + +_Duke_. That fellow's corpse was never found! Now clear thyself from +the suspicion. + +_Hans_. Think what thou wilt. Covered with wounds I sunk it in the +ocean's depths. + +_Duke_. I trust thee. If thou wilt swear thy truth to me, then come. +With me all is feasting and revelry. + +_Hans_ [_looking out to sea again_]. Thank thee, my lord. I care not to +do murder, and I can play the robber by myself. + +_Duke_. Seize him. + +_Skoell_ [_beseechingly_]. Master, our dearest companion, who never yet +has played us false. + +[Duke _draws his sword and makes as if to attack_ Hans.] + +_Hans_ [_gripping his sword and flourishing it high in the air._] Thou +art the master and wonted to victory; but come too near, and thou hast +only been the master! + +_Duke_. Well, leave him then upon the path where thou hast found him. I +had wellnigh killed instead of paying him. + +[_He goes out. The others follow. Some of them shake_ Hans Lorbass +_furtively by the hand._] + +_Hans_ [_alone_]. Then there is something holds his spirit in bonds; +will make his race a race of weaklings, will plunge the land itself in +guilt,--and yet they know not their own shame.... Right! Just now +I saw something. Did I not behold, not far from land a blood-red sail +a-dazzle against the blue night cloud? The keel bore sharply toward the +shore--how gladly would I believe the old wife there, when--truly, it +frets me so I must--[_He goes to the tower and is about to open the +door_. Prince Witte _appears in the background._] + +_Hans_ [_casting himself at the_ Prince's _feet with a shout of +joy_]. Master!--Thou hast come! Art thou safe? Unharmed? Here is thy +nose--both ears--thy arm--and there thy sword! Thy voice alone is lost, +it seems. + +_Prince_. Let me be silent, friend. The horror I have seen stands black +about me and takes the color from my joy. + +_Hans_. What is that, now thou art here? [_Stammering._] And even if +thy journey were in vain, if thou hast not brought the heron's feathers +back with thee, what is-- + +_Prince_. I brought not the heron's feathers with me? My nightly +watches, twilight's scanty rest, the morning's ardent fiery prayers, +and more than all, the consecrated labor of the day, wherein what has +been obtained from God with tears, must be besieged anew with fierce +resolve, and conquered by the teeth-set "I will," won by obstinate +unshrinking,--sorrow--doubt--danger--struggle--unsuccess to-day and new +onslaught tomorrow--and so on and on--and always forward--have I all +this behind me, and yet have I returned without the feathers? + +_Hans_. Thou hast the feathers? Are they really heron's feathers, from +the very bird? + +_Prince_. Set thy fears at rest; the wonder is fulfilled, and all our +pains dispersed in thankful prayer. + +_Hans_. Forgive me, dear my lord and master, that I forgot a moment the +bare fact itself, to thee so all-important. I knew thou wouldst never +have returned without them, however my heart thirsted after thee. + +_Prince_. Thou wert right. I knew it well. + +_Hans_. Where are they, master? Dost thou bear them in thy breast? I +feel thou wouldest. Chide me if thou wilt, but show them to me. + +_Prince_. Look at my helmet. I understand thy eagerness. No sword can +cleave them from me, no rush of wind displace them. They are the +standard of my fortunes. + +_Hans_. Thy story, master,--come, tell it to me! + +_Prince_. Wait, Hans. The hour will come, at drinking-time, while the +dull camp-fire flickers to its end, and the fierce thirst of fighting +will not let us sleep,--then will I tell the tale and make it glow +anew. + +_Hans_. Master, how changed thou art. Thy fire seems smothered, and thy +passions burn less fiercely, being self-controlled. + +_Prince_. Thou art wrong, my friend; in me there dwells no calm. I stir +and seethe. Death itself, which I have conquered, reanimates in me. +Only henceforth I gain by firmer paths the end which I have chosen. My +country that betrayed me, lies small and half-forgotten in the +distance. I measure myself against the great henceforth. What are they? +Myself shall be the arbiter, and fate shall never again allure me with +her cruel "Take what I offer thee" to a starvation feast. + +_Hans_. I look at thee in wonderment. I left thee a boy, I find thee a +man. And for this, though my sword has itched in my hand to answer to +my thoughts, though I have sat for hours on end in gnawing tedium and +spat into the sea, for this result I bless the old wife there. Once +more I may strike good blows for thee, once more be proud to guard thee +as before. + +_Prince_ [_giving him his hand_]. It shall be so.... Yes, yes, my lad. +Since I have been gone--how long is it? + +_Hans_. A good two years, master. + +_Prince_. The old wife now, and quickly, that she may open to me all +the enchantment lurking in the feathers, to which I trusted and +surrendered myself. The time has come for this unmolded life to shape +itself after the law of its own desire. Why dost thou hesitate? + +_Hans_. I will go. + +_Prince_. But yet thou mutterest? + +_Hans_. Do not blame me, master; I know of what I speak. First of all, +mistrust the old one. I fear her not ... but something horrible and +slimy crawled in my throat when I first saw her crouching in a grave, +all stiff, her brows drawn and her staring eyes turned inwards +lifelessly.... When a storm stood coal-black in the heavens and gave +the greedy coffins fresh food--lo, there she stood and bade me dig the +graves; and when the wave cast corpses up on the strand, she bore each +one up the hill pressed mother-like to her breast, shaken meanwhile +with a sly laugh; and thus she laughed until they all lay quietly at +rest beneath. Have a care for thyself! + +_Prince_. Yet why? Her work is pious and she tends it faithfully. + +_Hans_. But if she weaves enchantment, master? + +_Prince_. I am the last from whom on that account a threat is fit. It +has turned to blessing for me. To him who chooses sacrifice for his +fate, there often comes the best of gifts,--to see deep into the +unsearchable, and smilingly to build as though within a pleasure-park, +upon the very boundary of the ideal. Once more-- + +_Hans_. And once more I stand broad-legged in thy unhappy path and +shout: Do not destroy thyself! Whoever runs after his desire shall +perish in the race; it only yields to him who hurls it from him. Thou +dost not know as yet the old wife's schemes; thou standest now above +enchantment, a young glowing god confiding in the magic of thine own +strength. What thou dost know is that thy prize is hidden, and that the +broad path of possibilities, on which thou thinkest to glide aloft, may +be choked all at once between black walls and leave thee fevered and +panting with the chase, with desire and loathing, eagerness and +shrinking, to hasten on forever and never gain the end. + +_Prince_ [_pointing to his helmet with a smile_]. Look there! + +_Hans_. Thou hast done well to bring them; if the fatal seed of death +does not draw thee down to eternal failure thou must do well indeed! +For now the secret purpose of thy path is about to reveal itself; now +thy proud and self-poised soul pants to mount aloft,--and here I stand +and counsel thee: Hurl away thy prize! + +_Prince_. Thou ravest. + +[_The_ Burial-wife _appears in the door of the tower, thrown into lurid +prominence by the fire that burns within on the hearth. It grows dark +rapidly._] + +_Hans_. Too late. It has begun. [_Whispers._] It looks as if the +hearth-fire glowed straight through her parchment skin and wrapped her +bones in flame. + +_Prince_. Burial-wife! Look me in the face! + +_Burial-wife_. Thou hast come! Welcome, dear son! + +_Prince_. Thy dear son--I am not. Thy creditor I am, and I demand my +own. + +_Burial-wife_. What dost thou ask? + +_Prince_. I forced from thee the words that taught me my way; the deed +thou hast demanded is accomplished, and I claim the prize! + +_Burial-wife_. What I have promised thee, I will faithfully fulfil, my +child. A primal force lies within these white husks. They change their +form according to their owner's will. What, then, is thy desire? A +woman? + +_Prince_. A woman? There are enough of women. More than one has borne +me down to earth in the snare of her supple limbs, and hampered my +soul's flight. What is a woman? A downfall and a heaviness, a darkness +and a theft of alien lights, a sweet allurement in the eternal void, a +smile without a thought, a cry for naught. + +_Hans_. Bravo! Bravo! + +_Prince_. What I demand now is that queen of women, after whom I have +thirsted even while drinking, by the side of whom my princely dignity +shall appear but as a herald; for whose voice my soul starves though I +sit in the wisest councils of the world; in whom I see our torturing +human weaknesses healed to a joyous beauty; that woman before whom I, +though mad with victory, must bend my proud knee in trembling and +affright; whose blushes shall bear witness to me how a longing heart +can shield itself in modesty; she who will stand in deepest need and +beg with me at the cross-roads; whose love can make death itself pass +me by; this woman, this deep peace, this calm still world in which when +lost I cannot lose myself, where wrong itself must turn to right,--this +woman,--mine--I now demand of thee. + +_Burial-wife_. Snatch down the prize from thy helmet: I will announce +its promise to thee; unless thou art blind or deaf, thou shalt pierce +to the depth of the riddle. The first of the feathers is but a gleam +from the lights and shadows that brew about thee. When thou throwest it +into the fire, thou shalt behold her image in the twilight. The second +of the feathers,--mark it well--shall bring her to thee in love, for +when thou burnest it alone in the dying glow, she must wander by night +and appear before thee. And until the third has perished in the flame, +thy hand stretched forth shall bless her; but the third burning brings +her death: and therefore guard it well and think upon the end. + +_Prince_. I will. Unwarned, I let them wave aloft in mad presumption; +but now I will hide them safe within my gorget. [_To_ Hans.] Why +shouldst thou look at me so grimly? I know myself to be quite freed +from sorrow; all I lack is a faithful companion on the way.... "When +thou throwest the first into the fire thou shalt behold her image in +the twilight." [_He pulls out one of the feathers and hastens toward +the tower._] + +_Hans_ [_boldly opposing him_]. What wilt thou do? + +_Prince_. Out of the way? [_He opens the door of the tower._] + +_Hans_. Cursed witch, thou hast-- [_A sudden bright blaze within the +tower. A flare of yellow light goes up. The Prince comes back._] Art +thou singed? + +_Prince_ [_looks about wildly_]. I see naught. + +[Burial-wife _points silently to the background, where on the horizon +above the sea the dark outline of a woman's figure appears and glides +slowly from left to right._] + +_Prince_. I see in the heavens a shadowy form, rosy with flame, pierced +through with light. If it be thou on whom my longing hangs, I pray thee +turn thy face and lighten me! Lift the veil from thine eyes! Remain, +ah, vanish not behind the stars,--step down that I may learn to love +thee!... She does not hear. When we part, say how I may know thee +again!... How shall I--? Her figure sways, it fades with the clouds-- +was that the sign? + +_Hans_. Thou hast bewitched him finely. + +_Prince_. Still she is mine, as I know who I am! And should she never +long to come to me, yet my soul's longings shall be stronger than she +herself. Hans Lorbass, my brave fellow-soldier, take thy sword and arm +thyself straightway. + +_Hans_. I am armed. [_To the_ Burial-wife.] The hangman-- + +_Prince_. Spare thy curses. She serves my happiness as best she can. +Farewell! We will seek the world over, and when the first promise is +fulfilled--Farewell! + +_Hans_ [_grimly_]. Farewell! + +[_They go out to the left._] + +_The Burial-wife_ [_alone_]. Go, my children, face the combat, fight +boldly, wield the feathers unrestrained; when you weary, bring me back +your outworn bodies, cast them here upon my shore. But till the time +shall come when I will plant them like twigs in my garden, go and fight +and love and dance ... for I can wait.... I can wait! + + + + + ACT. II. + +_Arcade on the first story of a Romanesque palace, separated in the +background by a row of columns from the court below, to which steps +lead down from the middle to right and left. On the platform between +them, facing the court, is a throne-chair, which later is covered with +a curtain. Walks lead right and left rectangularly toward the +background. On the right are several steps to the back, the principal +path to the castle chapel. On the left side-wall in front is a door +with a stone bench near it, and to the left of that another door. On +the right in front is an iron-bound outside door. Stone benches stand +between the columns. The back of the buildings surrounding the court +form the background of the scene. Early morning._ + + + Scene I. + +Skoell _with his spear between his knees, asleep on a bench_. Coelestin +_with a page holding a torch._ + +_Coelestin_. Put the link out, my son. It hangs on thy tired arm too +heavily.... Yes, yes, this morning many a one thinks of his bed.... +What, an alarm so early? Man and steed armed? + +_Skoell_ [_in his sleep_]. Brother--thy health! + +_Page_. Look! The fellow is still drunk. + +_Coelestin_. How else? Would, though, the filthy wretch and his Duke too +with his dissolute bravery, were smoked out of the country!... Still, I +am not anxious. The Pommeranian prince--there is a man of glorious +renown!--may win. + +_Page_. I fear, my lord, thou art wrong. The horses of the Pommeranian +snort below. They look as though they were about to start. + +_Coelestin_. Hast thou seen aright? The Pommeranian? + +_Page_. Yes. + +_Coelestin_. I feel as though the earth itself did sway, as though my +poor old head would burst in pieces. Now falls the Fatherland, which, +kingless, thought it might escape from rapine; yet all the while in its +own breast there stood the powerfullest of robbers. Here where a +continual harvest of peace once smiled, where inborn modesty of soul +once paired joyously with ingrown habit and youth grew guiltless to +maturity, the ruthless hand of tyranny will henceforth rest choking on +our necks, and-- [_Blows sound on the door to the right._] Who blusters +at the door? Go look. + +_Page_ [_looking through the peep-hole_]. I see a spear-shaft glitter. +[_Calling._] What wilt thou without there? + +_Hans Lorbass's Voice_. Open the door! + +_Page_ [_calling_]. Why didst thou come up the steps? The entrance is +there below. + +_Hans Lorbass's Voice_. I know that already. I did not care to sweat +there in the crowd. Open the door. + +_Page_. What shall I do? + +_Coelestin_. I am as wrung as though the fate of the whole country hung +on the iron strength of the lock.... Give him his way. + +[_The_ Page _opens the door_, Hans Lorbass _enters._] + +_Coelestin_. Who art thou, and what wouldst thou here? Speak! + +_Hans_. My master, a brave knight and skilled in arms, born far in the +north, where he was betrayed in feud with his stepbrother, to atone has +undertaken a journey to the Holy Sepulchre. We have but just now +entered your kingdom, and crave for God's love, if not a refuge, at +least a resting place. + +_Coelestin_. Thou hast done well, my friend. Every wanderer is a welcome +guest in this castle, for our Queen is one from whose soul there flow +deeds of boundless kindness to all the world. From to-day, alas!... +nay, call thy knight, and if he stands on two such good legs as his +servant, I warrant he has shivered many a spear. + +_Hans_. And I warrant, my lord, that thou hast warranted rightly. [_He +goes to the door and motions below_. Coelestin _and the_ Page _look out +from behind him._] + +_Skoell_ [_dreaming_]. Hans Lorbass--seize him! + +[Prince Witte _enters._] + +_Coelestin_. Here is my hand, my guest. And though thou comest here in +an unhappy hour, I look within thine eye, I gaze upon thy sword, and +feel as though thou hadst lifted a cruel burden from my oppressed soul. + +_Prince_. I thank thee that thou holdest me worthy thy confidence. Yet +I fear that thou art misled; it was no fate drew us together, but only +chance. Thinkest thou that because I took this path I was sent to thee? + +_Coelestin_. No, no! God forbid!--Well, unarm, my friend, ... so, so. + +_Hans_. Whither then? + +_Coelestin_. We have for our guests--they will show it to thee. + +_Prince_. They crowd in early at your doors,--have I come to a +festival? + +_Coelestin_. To a ...? Stranger, there burns in me a fever of speech ... +they chide the doting chatter of old men, and yet-- + +_Prince_. Thou hast chosen me for thy confidant ... I listen gladly. + +_Coelestin_. Well then: our King, stricken with years, died and left us +unprotected and afraid, for we had no guide nor saviour. The Queen, +herself a child, carried trembling at her breast the babe she had borne +him.... It is six years ago, and all this time have birds of prey +scented the rich morsel from afar and come swooping down upon this fair +land, where unmeasured riches lie. The danger grows--the people clamor +for a master. And so our Queen, who had sat long sunk in modest grief, +now divined in anguish her soul's call, the echo of the kingly duty, +and guessed the sacrifice her land demanded. She tore in twain her +widow's garlands, and made a vow that he who could bear all other +suitors to her feet in battle, should be her lord and her country's +king. The day has come. The lists are hung, the people crowd into the +tournament. Woe to them! Their tears are doomed to fall, for all the +princes who came hither have fled faint-heartedly before a single one, +a man of terror, who is thus victorious without a struggle. + +_Prince_. And this one--who is he? + +[_A clamor in the court below. A_ Noble _enters._] + +_Noble_. Sir Major-domo, I beg thee, hasten. The guard is in confusion. +The people are already mounting the newly built lists in a countless +throng. + +_Coelestin_ [_pointing below_]. Look, there is the flock; but where is +the shepherd? Wait here, while I press into the thickest of the crowd +and give the people a taste of my severity ... though I doubt much if +it will aught avail. [_He hastens down by the middle way with the_ +Noble _and the_ Page.] + +_Prince Witte_. That which I long for lies not here. My sober judgment +whispers warningly within my breast of delay and thoughtless dalliance. +[_He seats himself on a bench to the right of the stage and looks up at +the sky._] + +_Skoell_ [_in his sleep_]. Quite right. + +_Hans_. What's that? Eh, there, sleepy-head, wake up! + +_Skoell_. Leave me alone! When I sleep I am happy. + +_Hans_ [_startled_]. What--Skoell? + +_Skoell_. Hans Lor-- + +_Hans_. Hsh--sh! + +_Skoell_. Well, old fellow, what wilt thou in this berth? + +_Hans_. Thy master is here? + +_Skoell_. Well, yes! + +_Hans_. The devil take him! [_Looking round at the_ Prince.] What now? + +_Skoell_. What now? Why now, we will have a drink. + +_Hans_. What draws you here! + +_Skoell_. Thou knowest, thou rogue! We are the jolliest of jolly good +fellows ever found at a wedding. + +_Hans_ [_to himself_]. Has he the strength for this redeeming act, and +would it break the bonds of the madness that holds him? + +[_Enter a_ Herald _from the left, behind. Then the_ Queen, _holding the +young_ Prince _by the hand, and followed by her women. After them_, +Anna Goldhair.] + +_Herald_. Way there, the Queen approaches! + +_Skoell_ [_standing attention_]. We cannot speak when the Queen comes +by. + +_Hans_ [_looking towards_ Prince Witte]. His soul dreams. The distance +holds him spellbound. + +[_The_ Queen _and her attendants approach. She stops near_ Prince +Witte, _who is not conscious of her presence, and gazes at him long._] + +_The Young Prince_ [_bustling up to him_]. Here, thou strange man, dost +thou not know the Queen? It is the rule that when she comes we all +should rise. I am the Prince, and yet I must do it too. + +_Prince Witte_ [_rising and bowing_]. Then beg, friend, that the Queen +grant me her forgiveness. + +_The Young Prince_. That I will gladly. [_He runs back to the_ Queen.] + +[_The_ Queen _passes on and turns again at the corner to look at_ +Prince Witte, _who has already turned his back. Then she disappears +with her women into the cathedral, from which the gleam of lights and +the roll of the organ come forth. The door is closed._] + +_Hans_. Well, did she please thee? Hast thou found her worthy to awake +thy idle sword to deeds of battle? + +_Prince_. It would be no less than idleness for me to unsheathe my +sword in her behalf; for my field of battle lies not here. + +_Hans_. Then come. Thy path is hot. Thy path is broad!--Then hasten! +Already far too long hast thou delayed before this tottering throne, +from which an eye in speechless pleading calls for help. + +_Prince_. At first, when my desires pointed from hence, didst thou not +beg me to delay?--and now!-- + +_Skoell_ [_aside to_ Hans]. Heaven save us! Brother, who is this? I +would know him a thousand miles away! + +_Hans_ [_with a gesture towards_ Skoell, _to leave him alone_]. Perhaps +I wished to test thee, or perhaps-- + +_Skoell_. All good spirits praise-- + +_Prince_. Whatever it was, I will go gladly. + +_Skoell_ [_crossing himself_]. All good spirits praise the Lord! +[_Bursts out through the door to the left._] + +_Prince_. Why, who was that, that went out in such a hurry? + +_Hans_. Who would it have been? Some body-servant about the castle, +perhaps, some-- + +_Prince_. Where are my--? + +_Hans_. Here is thy shield. Quick, take it. + +_Prince_. Where is that ape that just now-- + +_Hans_. Let the filthy rascal go, whoever he is, and come! + +[_Enter_ Duke Widwolf. Skoell, _behind him, pointing to the_ Prince.] + +_Duke_. Hans Lorbass, thou shalt pay for this! + +_Hans_. For what, my lord? Here are the very bones whereon thine eyes +desired to feast themselves. It is true they are covered with flesh for +the present, but they are there inside, I swear to thee. + +_Prince_. Silence, Hans! This man stands above thy mockery; for though +he stole my inheritance in despicable treachery, yet he wears the crown +of my fathers, and I bow before it. And until heaven's cherubim call on +me loudly to avenge the wrong, in practice for a better thing I bend +before him, and grind my teeth. + +[Duke _bursts into a loud laugh._] + +_Prince_. I see destruction naming in thine eyes,--thou laughest in +scorn.... Laugh on. For I shall not avenge myself, nor count it my duty +to shatter the fearful edifice of thy throne. So long as it will uphold +thee and thy blood-blinded sword, so long be thou and thy people worthy +of one another. Enough! Hans, set forth! + +[Coelestin _and the other nobles come up the steps._] + +_Duke_. Behold, ye noble gentlemen! Blood of the cross, what a hero we +have here! He halts here: makes a mighty clamor: naught has or ever can +delay his march of triumph:--and then on a sudden he makes a short +turn, breathes a deep sigh, and like the other poltroons, leaves the +field to me. + +_Hans_ [_aside_]. Control thyself, master, all this can be borne. + +_Coelestin_. What, stranger, art thou also of princely blood? + +_Prince_. Whether princely or not, my blood is mine, and I myself must +be the judge of what suits it. My host, I thank thee.... I would right +gladly have rested here, gladly have sat down at thy hearth as a humble +guest-- + +_Coelestin_. Thou earnest on the day of the tournament; and therefore +thou hast come to free the Queen. + +_Prince_. Thou callest me stranger, and will pardon me that I had heard +naught of thy Queen. + +_Coelestin_. Still thou sawest her when she and her women-- + +_Prince_. I saw her, yes. + +_Coelestin_. And yet thou thinkest of departure? Art thou made of stone +that thou hast not felt a thrust of pity like a knife, at the mere +sight of that pious grace, that spring-like mildness? + +_Duke_. Who speaks of pity, when I myself protect her with my shield? +Pity?--how--wherefore? Have a care! + +_Coelestin_. Thy threat hath no meaning today. Yet all the same I know +that wert thou king, thou wouldst lay my gray head at thy feet. + +_Duke_. Perhaps. And again perhaps, if this braggart who was sent +hither and now crawls away again, did not quite take off that weak old +head of thine, he would just have thee hanged, out of pure pity. + +_Coelestin_. Thou listenest in silence to this unmeasured raving? I ask +not now upon what throne thy father sat, I only ask the weakling: Art +thou a man? Is this body that glows in prideful youth, only a hardly +fed up paunch? Is the angry red painted upon thy brow, and yet canst +thou endure and not wipe out the insult thou hast received? + +_Hans_ [_aside_]. Master, be stronger now than I have strength myself. +I have naught to say, not I. Only say to me: "Hans, we will go"--and I +will gulp down my rage; and never to the last day of my life shall a +look, a word, a motion of an eye-lash, remind thee of what befell +today. + +_Prince_. Your eyes all hang in hopeful question on my broad-edged +sword; and yet I may not tell you why I wear it, but must endure what +ever you think. Still, know one thing; all the shame which he has +heaped today upon my dulled heart I will add to the need by which he +shattered my young days. I will reckon with him for those thirsting +nights wherein I drank the poison of renunciation,--when my trust in +mankind sank to ruin with my blood-defiled rights,--when in despair I +reckoned my coming manhood by my growing beard,--when my fate became a +lot of powerless shame,--and I will grope along the path where my +desires once ranged themselves when the rousing voice of hope rang out +of abyssmal blankness.... And thus the scorn I have received to-day +glides past my closed ears like unwelcome flattery; and silently I go +from hence. + +[_The_ Queen _with the young_ Prince. Anna Goldhair _and her other +women come from the cathedral during the last words._] + +_Queen_. O go not, stranger! + +_A Noble_. Listen, the Queen! + +_Another_. She who was never used to address a stranger. + +_Queen_. A most unhappy woman stands before thee, and with streaming +eyes casts away all the shame that modesty and rank combine to weigh +her with, and prays thee: O go not! For behold! As I came to-day to +God's dwelling-house full of tormenting thoughts--I saw thee on the +way, thou scarce didst notice me--while I stood there before thy face +longing within me that a sign might be given me, it seemed as though +there flowed a something like light, like a murmuring through the +spacious place, as on a festal day the sacred miracle of His presence. +And a voice spoke in my heart: have faith, O woman, he came and he is +thine; to thy people whose courage failed them, he shall be a hero, to +thy child a father.... Then I fell thankfully upon my face. And now I +beg thee: O go not! + +_Duke_. And I tell thee, my lady Queen, he goes! I answer for it with +my sword. If there is a prayer within the hero-soul of him, it runs +thus: dear God, graciously be pleased to spare my reputation only as +far as yonder door. + +_Prince_. Thou liest. + +_Hans_ [_whispers_]. Now defend thyself. Treason to thy being's +sanctuary is a half-voluntary deed. + +_Prince_. Forgive me, Lady, if but hesitatingly I have sworn myself +into thy service. Behold, I tread a half-obscured path, and the dim +traces lead me into the far gray distance ... lead me--and I know not +whither. I know not whether that great night which descends upon the +crudest sorrow of our common day, bringing sleep to the wearied soul, +will wrap me also in its folds, or whether as reward for that +unquenched spirit in me that still must trust, endure, and spread its +wings, the sunshine of the heights at last will smile upon me. I am +Desire's unwearied son; I bear her token hidden in my breast, and till +that token fades or disappears, well canst thou say: "Come die for me," +but never canst thou say: "Remain." + +_Queen_. Then never shalt thou hear that bitter word, that word so full +of weakness, come from my trembling lips. The blessing of this hour +that passes now shall never rise to distract thee on thy path in the +gray distance. Yet there shall be a charm, rising unspoken in the soul +itself, which when thou pausest wearied on thy journey, shall whisper +to thee where a home still blooms for thee.... Where a balsam is +prepared to heal thy wounded feet, bleeding from the sharpness of thy +path ... where a thousand arms reach out to greet their loved one ... +whence those voices rise that call to thee out of the darkness ... and +where there waits a smile, smothered with joy, to say to thee: "I +charmed thee not."--I will be silent, lest thou shouldst be weary of my +speech; since all my words speak only this desire: it rings within +thine ears,--longing must find a resting-place. + +_Prince_. O, that mine lay not so far from here! There, where the +clouds disperse in light, and the eternal sun kisses my brow, there ... +Enough. Since thou hast asked no more than chance has in a measure +forced me to, whether for good or evil I know not, I must needs grant +thy wish. Hans, arm me. + +_Duke_ [_whispers_], Skoell, do not forget ... where are the others? + +_Skoell_. Who knows? + +_Duke_. But was there not a great feast to-night? + +_Skoell_. Yes. But they flung us out just now. + +_Duke_. Listen! And heed me well. As soon as that rascal has had enough +and grovels in the dust, shout out with all thy might "Hail to King +Widwolf!" Dost thou understand? + +_Skoell_. Eh? Yes, indeed. + +_Anna Goldhair_. Oh! dearest Lady, if I might speak I would beg thee to +go. The sight of all the horrors that gather round us will shake thee +sorely. + +_Queen_. Who stays for me if I will not for him? And is it not fitting +for an unhappy mother to protect the head of her child even with her +own shattered arm? [_To the young_ Prince.] Listen, my darling. Thou +must go. [_To_ Anna Goldhair.] Take him to my waiting-women. Without +this sight his heart will all too soon burn with a thirst for blood. + +_The Young Prince_. Ah, mother! + +_Queen_. Nay, thou must. But nestle once again upon my breast, my dear +one, so! + +_The Young Prince_ [_running up to_ Prince Witte]. Please, thou strange +man, be so good as to conquer for us! + +_Prince_ [_smiling_]. If thou art good, my Prince!... How clear their +glances sparkle! From those eyes a world of sunshine bursts; alas, I am +not worthy of it! [_The young_ Prince _and_ Anna Goldhair _go out._] + +[_The_ Chancellor _and a train of nobles come up the steps. After them +guards and two trumpeters. The_ Chancellor _makes obeisance and asks +the_ Queen _a question. The_ Queen _assents silently and mounts, +holding by the balustrade, to the platform on which the throne stands, +pushed to one side. The_ Chancellor _makes a sign to the trumpeters, +and they blow a signal, which echoes below, then he raises the sword, +which a page brings upon a cushion._] + +_Chancellor_. Illustrious Lady, honored Queen, as chancellor of thy +appointed realm, I offer thee this sword whereon to take the oath: that +in thy hand, so strong because so weak, what first prevailed as thy +country's law, what now prevails, and what shall prevail again when +violence and lust cease to clutch after our soul's sanctuaries,--that +law on which we have relied, so mild it was, because created by a free +and happy fatherland--will be forever new and vigorous. + +_Queen_. I swear it on the iron sword of my kingdom, and on the runes +carved thereupon; though nature has denied it to a woman to avenge a +violated oath with her own hand, yet I will never rest in my grave +unless all is fulfilled that I have spoken. I swore it solemnly, and on +this sword I will announce and reavow to you, that whosoever conquers +in this fight may claim me for his wife when he desires.... Speak now, +ye who cursed my mourning and my sorrow's backward glance: do I fulfill +your will with shuddering? Do I not give ye the King ye seek? + +[_The nobles strike their shields with their swords in token of +approval._] + +_Chancellor_. Now to you who stand prepared to ring the throne and +kingdom with the sharpness of your swords; before the land submits +itself to the victor, give answer who you are! + + +_Duke_. Thou knowest me well. + +_Chancellor_. Who knows thee not? Flames spread before thee hither like +a banner, the vulture knows thee that shrieks after carrion, the auk +knows thee on the blood-furrowed sea; yet custom demands, the which +thou knowest not, that thou shalt name thyself at this hour. + +_Duke_. I am the Duke of Gotland! + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_highly excited, pointing to_ Prince Witte]. He is the +Duke of Gotland! [_Great disturbance and amazement._] + +_Coelestin_. We are groping here in a black riddle. + +_Chancellor_ [_to_ Prince Witte]. Witness thyself. + +_Prince Witte_. If there is a man here in whom dwells a spirit of +sacrifice, a worship of the right, and not of power and bloody gain, to +him I speak, as to a stem of that ancient race which still springs from +Gotland's gods; I boldly say: "I am." But to that vicious misbegotten +wight who cringes in the dust and worships tyranny if it but prosper +him, to him I say: "No, I am not." + +_Chancellor_. A lofty mind, bred in the bitterness which deep sorrow +brings, speaks in thy words and gives them weight. But yet--we know not +who stands before us as the Duke of Gotland. + +_Duke_. It seems to me, my lords, that the sword will show. + +_Chancellor_. True enough. If the Queen will. + +[_The_ Queen _bows her head in assent. The_ Chancellor _gives a sign to +the trumpeters and they blow a signal which is answered below in the +court. The nobles make their obeisances to the_ Queen _and go down the +steps to the right and left._] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_meanwhile_]. Remember that thrust I showed thee once: +at the arm-joint where the leather is easily cut, thou canst-- + +_Prince Witte_ [_alarmed_]. Where are the feathers? + +_Hans_. How--what--? That witch-work to distract thee now? Here is thy +sword, and there the foe! Play with him, tickle him, stroke his beard, +till he weeps blood out of his mouth, till-- + +_Prince_. They are quite safe. + +_Hans_. Master! + +[Prince Witte _goes last behind_ Duke Widwolf, _with a bow to the_ +Queen _in passing. She watches him in agitation and follows him with +her eyes._] + +_Queen_. How is the Prince? + +_Anna Goldhair_. As children always are. At first he wept and tried to +slip away. Then he lay still and had his playthings brought. Now he +lies sprawling under a table, playing at dice, though he understands +them not. + +_Queen_. While we go to throw upon his life. + +[_The_ Queen, Coelestin, _the_ Chancellor, Anna Goldhair, _and the other +women go out. The guards draw the curtains behind the throne. The +applause of the people greeting the_ Queen _rises from the court. Then +silence._] + +_Skoell_. Well, my heart's brother, so we are alone again. + +[Hans Lorbass _without noticing_ Skoell, _tries to pass the_ First Guard +_after_ Prince Witte.] + +_First Guard_. Back! + +[Hans _tries on the other side of the curtain._] + +_Second Guard_. Back! The passage is forbidden. + +_Hans_. I am the Prince's servant! + +_Second Guard_. That may all be; but hast thou not seen-- + +_Hans_. I counsel thee, take off thy hands! + +_Skoell_ [_takes hold of his arm soothingly_]. Come, brother of my +heart, be sensible, stay in thy seat; down below there is just a mob of +women, and thou wouldst be no use at all. + +_Hans_. True enough. [_The drums sound._] The third call! Now is the +time! + +_Skoell_. Now I can put my hands in my pockets and let them break each +other's necks; if I only had something to drink, then--[_as_ Hans +_clutches him by the arm in excitement at the first clash of swords +sounding from below_] Ouch! Whew! The devil, what a grip thou hast! + +_Hans_ [_accompanying the movements below with dumb-show, which is +accentuated by the noise of the crashing weapons_]. There! That was a +blow! Take that! [_Alarmed._] Guard thyself! Ah, that was good! Now +after him and strike!... He missed! [_To_ Skoell, _threateningly._] I +thought thou didst laugh! + +_Skoell_. What should I do? + +_Hans_. I tell thee, thou brute beast, thou calf, thou knave, thou +thief, as truly as I love thee as my brother, I will kill thee! + +_Skoell_. Not so fierce! + +_Hans_. There, which one of them drives the other in the corner, now? +Eh? + +_Skoell_. What?... I will stand above both sides and wait to see which +one comes out ahead. + +_Hans_. Ho, ho! How the rascal puffs! Yes, thou wilt learn to run, my +fine fellow! Another blow! He struck him not! Now for thy life!--What +is he thinking of? [_Shrieks out._] My master bleeds! + +_Skoell_. Ei, ei! + +_Hans_. Wipe it off! Whisk it away! That little blood-letting but +sharpens the anger, pricks the hate and-- + +_Skoell_. Look! + +_Hans_. Now gather all thy powers together, master! And all my love for +thee turn into fire and flame, that-- + +[_Pause. Then a woman's shriek is heard, and the ringing fall of a +man's body. A dull murmur of many voices follows._] + +_Skoell_. That was a blow! [_Shouting down._] Hail to King Wid-- + +_Hans_ [_seizes him like lightning and hurls him to the ground, then +springs on the bench, waving his sword above his head and shouting._] +Back from his body! You men below there, is there one that wears a +sword and armor? + +_Voices_. I!--I!--I! + +_Hans Lorbass_. He will break through the lists with me and drive away +this robber of Samland! + +[_Cries of rage, together with the crashing of the lists_. Hans Lorbass +_storms upon the guards, who retreat to one side, and dashes below. +The_ Queen _comes upon the scene half unconscious, supported by_ Anna +Goldhair _and her other women. The_ Chancellor _and other nobles_. +Skoell _has squeezed himself behind the corner pillar on the right._] + +_Coelestin_ [_turning from the_ Queen _to a group of men who stand +gazing down on the tumult below_]. How goes it now? + +_Chancellor_. That man whose summons hurled the brand of mutiny among +us, look how great and small, man and woman crowd around him shouting +and hustle the Duke to the door! There, he is gone!--the other left! +Who was the devil? + +[_The uproar grows fainter and seems to lose itself in the distance._] + +_Coelestin_. I know not whether he was a devil or an angel; for without +his shriek of hate we should still be lying beneath the foot of +tyranny, bleeding and weaponless as he who lies below. + +[Chancellor _motions to him, pointing towards the_ Queen, _who has +revived and is looking about her wildly._] + +_Queen_. Where is the stranger? Why are you silent? I saw him fall ... +did he not conquer? + +_A Messenger_ [_comes hurrying up the steps_]. Hail to our Queen! I +bring glad tidings: the accursed Duke has fled upon a stolen horse. The +people vent their long-stored spleen upon his rascally followers. + +_Skoell_. Woe is me! Alas! [_He slips behind the church door and +disappears._] + +_Queen_. And that youth who smiling received the sacrificial blow for +you--think you his life so valueless that no one even remembers him as +a poor reward? Why are you silent? Will no one speak? + +_Chancellor_. We know not whether he is dead, or lives, though sorely +wounded. In every thrust he far over-reckoned the reach of his sword. A +more grievous trouble than this, my Lady Queen, avails to banish our +rejoicing; a broken oath is here, an unatoned-for-- + +_Coelestin_. Look! What a sight! + +[Hans Lorbass _supports the sorely wounded_ Prince Witte _up the steps, +lets him sink upon the bench to the left, and stands before him with +drawn sword, like a guard._] + +_Hans_. Away from here! Whoever loves his life, whether man or woman, +comes not too near! + +_Queen_ [_approaching him_]. Not even I, my friend? + +_Hans_ [_embarrassed, yielding_]. Thou, Lady,--yes. + +_Queen_ [_takes off her veil, and wipes the blood from the face of the_ +Prince]. Send for physicians that he may be saved. + +_Hans_. He is saved! If he were not, I'd spring in the very face of +death for him,--I would spring down death's very throat; death and I, +we know each other well. + +_Chancellor_. Thou who breathest out spume and fire as carelessly as +though hell itself had brought thee forth, I ask thee who thou art, +thou unclean spirit, who hast dared to raise this pious people to +revolt by thy furious onslaught, and taught them to poison for +themselves and the ensuing race the holy fount of justice? + +_Hans_. And I will answer thee: I myself am that justice. I bear it on +my sword's point, I carry it here beneath my cap, I pour it forth in my +master's name, who gave it for his glory and his happiness. [_Signs of +anger._] If ye believe it not, then listen trembling to the thousand +toned joy that peals from far away like spring thunder quivering in the +air, and sweeps throughout the land the joyous message of deliverance: +we are free! + +_Chancellor_. Speak, O Queen! Thy soldiers wait below. Methinks this +servant of the defeated one has too much confidence,--he speaks as +though he were instead our lord and victor. + +_Queen_. Let him speak! He has the right! And even were he a thousand +times defeated, this man who lies before us bleeding, if he recover and +seek it from me, shall be our lord and conqueror. [_Great confusion and +excitement._] + +_Prince Witte_ [_rousing from his unconsciousness and looking about him +painfully_]. There lies the heron! I have wrung his neck, I snatch my +prize, my salvation ... [_feeling on his head and in his breast with +anxious dismay_] where are the feathers? + +_Queen_. What seekest thou, dear one? + +_Hans_. Thou seest, O Queen, he speaks in fever. Do not listen, do not +heed his words. + +_Prince_. Hans, Hans! + +_Hans_ [_close by him_]. Take care what thou sayest. + +_Prince_ [_whispers earnestly_]. I will away from here ... [_with a +glance at the_ Queen _half complainingly_] I must away! + +_Hans_. When thou canst. + + + + + ACT III. + +_A chamber in the castle. The two farther corners slope away from the +front. In the left corner is a bay-window with a platform, to which +steps lead up. Burning torches are stuck in the branches of the pillars +which flank the steps. In the right corner is a fireplace. One can look +beyond into an ante-chamber, and farther on, through a wide door-way +whose curtains are drawn back, into a thickly planted garden, which at +the end of its middle path shows a little of the surrounding wall. In +the middle of the room is a table with seats about it. At the left in +front is a couch with furs and cushions on it. At the right is the door +to the sleeping apartments._ + + + Scene I. + +_The_ Queen _sits on the platform with her distaff before her, and +gazes dreamily into the red glow, which shines through the window. Two +old women sit spinning before the fire-place, in which a dying fire +glimmers_. Anna Goldhair _and the young_ Prince _on the steps of the +platform. Through the drawn curtains plays the red evening light._ + +_The Young Prince_. Say, mother, will the father come soon? + +_Queen_. Of course. + +_The Young Prince_. Will he come before my bed-time? + +_Queen_. I do not know. + +_The Young Prince_. The wood is full of darkness, is it not? + +_Queen_. Where our King goes, there is always light!... What, Anna, art +thou eavesdropping? Must I blush before thee, because I voiced a cry +out of my soul's longing, which envious time would smother? + +_Anna Goldhair_. Beloved Queen.... I know well that I am too young; my +little thoughts whisk twittering like swallows through my head,-- + +_The Young Prince_. And she pretends to me she is so wise! + +_Queen_. Run, run, my child! + +_The Young Prince_. I will get her by the hair first! [_He tugs at_ +Anna's _hair_. Anna Goldhair _pushes him off laughing._] Just wait! +[_He runs from her to the spinning-women, and teases them._] + +_Anna Goldhair_. But if thou hast need of any one to whisper to, in +whose breast at the still evening-time to plunge thine overflowing +soul--of anyone who if need were, could go for thee to her death as to +a feast,--thou knowest, dearest Queen, I am that one! + +_Queen_ [_caressing her_]. Yes, deep in my heart I know that thou art +mine. [_She rises._] But if it be death here for any human being, I am +that one! + +_Anna Goldhair_ [_frightened_]. What troubles thee, beloved Lady? +[_Three maidens, young and pretty, have entered shyly._] + +_Queen_. It is nothing,--nothing!... Why, here! What seek you my +children?... What not a word? Have you a favor to be granted, a +complaint to make? If you cannot speak, why then you must go away +again! + +_Anna Goldhair_. Mistress forgive them. They are of thy train, and they +have asked me to plead for them, lest their too eager speech should +lose for them the favor they desire. + +_Queen_. Well? + +_Anna Goldhair_. Dear Mistress, there is an old custom that runs thus: +when Easter-tide has come into the land, when the thorn bush grows +faintly green, when the blue wave shines bluer, when our desire takes +wing to sport among the flying things of spring,--that then, upon the +coming of the first full moon, the night must be watched out with sport +and dance. In a word they would sing. + +_Queen_ [_smiling_]. Ah, yes!... But tell me, dear children, if you +knew it, then why did this custom vanish from the land so many years? + +_Anna Goldhair_. We honored thy sorrow, my Queen. + +_Queen_. Well, then, go out and dance and frolic and sing together all +night long! Know you the song that you should sing? + +[_The maidens nod eagerly._] + +_Queen_. Go out and drink the moonlight as it pours down through the +branches; I think we little know how blessed we are. + +[_The maidens courtesy and kiss her hands and garments._] + +_Queen_ [_as she turns away smiling_]. Why are you old ones shivering? +Why look you so strange? Is it cold? Then you must rake the fire! + +_One of the Old Women_. Mistress, we spin our winding-sheets. Shall we +not be cold? + +_Queen_ [_drawing the young_ Prince _to her_]. Do not listen to them! +[Coelestin _enters._] + +_The Young Prince_. Oh, Uncle Coelestin! [_Runs to him._] What hast thou +brought me, Uncle Coelestin? + +_Coelestin_ [_lifting him up_]. A great sandman, and a small goodnight! + +_Queen_. The King is come? Thou wouldst announce him? + +_Coelestin_. No, my Lady. We heard his horn in the distance, but it died +away again. I come before thee a gloomy messenger. In the great hall +beyond there waits the council of the realm.... + +_Queen_. Stop! You, my women, seek your rest; my son, to bed! + +_The Young Prince_. And am I not to see the father again till morning? +Ah, mother, please! + +_Queen_. If thou canst not sleep, Anna shall take thee up and bring +thee here. Is it well so, dear one? + +_The Young Prince_. Yes. + +_Queen_. And goodnight! + +[_The_ Prince, Anna Goldhair, _and the women go out._] + +_Queen_. We are alone ... yet what a pity with too cool reason to chill +the buds of the May evening, which plunges all the waking soul into +sweet sickness.... But speak! + +_Coelestin_. Lady, I know not how I shall begin. The words come +stumbling from my lips. Thou knowest how we love him, and how, since +thou hast given him thyself, there is no single life but stands +prepared to serve him without a thought of self. And how does he reward +us? He shuns our glance, a smouldering suspicion breaks out whenever we +would speak in seriousness to him, and throws its shadows on us darkly. +The people idolize him. They greet him, great and small, with clapping +hands and waving kerchiefs,--why must we stand aloof? Is he ashamed of +us?--or of himself? I know not. A mysterious sadness clouds his eye so +falcon-bright, and even while our hearts still yearn upon him, he grows +a stranger to us, who was never our friend. + +_Queen_. It is your too easily wounded love complains of him. + +_Coelestin_. If that danger-- + +_Queen_ [_without listening to him_]. I see it, but I scarce can +blame it. I blame no one. I have built for myself out of dreams and +smiles a strong strong wall, outside of which you wait, thieves of my +happiness--nay, my friend, look not so grieved!--and out of which you +know not how to lure me, either by cunning or by clamor. + +_Coelestin_. Still, hast thou never come upon that knowledge, deep +within thy heart, which tells thee how in everything that is and was +and needs must be throughout our lives, a never expiated wrong must +weigh us down? + +_Queen_. Never, my friend! In my soul there rings but one harp-tone, +one voice, which says: be happy! + +_Coelestin_. And thy oath, Lady? + +_Queen_. My oath? + +_Coelestin_. Didst thou not swear before us all and in the sight of +heaven that he who hurled his rival to the earth, not he who lay there +shameful in defeat, might dare approach thee as thy lord and king? + +_Queen_. But tell me, my dear friend, did he not conquer? + +_Coelestin_. What madness has so blurred events for thee? + +_Queen_. I know he conquered, for he is here! + +_Coelestin_. Here indeed he is, but with what right? + +_Queen_. The right that raised for him in that dark hour when the cruel +wound gaped in his throat, a faithful servant to avenge him; a servant +whose brave shout and lifted blade have taught me this one thing: high +above the right there stands the sword, and high above the sword stands +love! + +_Coelestin_. May this wisdom please the Omnipotent, and may he pity +thee, and all of us! + +_Queen_. It was not given to everyone to know it; but it has brought +the King to me! Hark, do I hear a horn? How near it sounds! My King is +coming! My King is here! + + + Scene 2. + +_The Same_. King Witte, _the_ Chancellor _and other councillors and +nobles_. Hans Lorbass _stands guard at the door, spear in hand, at +ease._ + +_King_ [_embraces the_ Queen _and kisses her on the forehead. Comes +forward with her, but turns back irritably_]. What do you want? + +_Chancellor_. My lord, while thou didst tread the forest paths, +following the hunt, a fierce onslaught of new trouble came swooping +down upon our land. + +_King_. Trouble, always trouble! Mouldy, gray and blear, it lives far +longer than one's whole life! Must you, even in the daytime, din your +night-song in my ears? + +_Chancellor_. This time-- + +_King_ [_mocking_]. "This time "--I wager the state will crack in +pieces! [_Turning to the_ Queen.] If they had naught at which to fear, +I should have naught at which to laugh! + +_Queen_. Dear one--! + +_King_. Hush! It makes me glow with anger, only to look upon these gray +countenances, gloomy as the grave, full of foreboding, heavy with woes, +and yet with that little glint of malice in their half-lowered lids. +Must I suck in these complaints that fall drop by drop upon me? I might +lay about me recklessly--but what am I to dare it? + +_Queen_. All art thou, all darest thou, all hearts bow before thee! +Canst thou not guess their dumb entreaties, not understand their timid +longings? Look, they give thee so much, they give with open hands; +their love enfolds thee, blooms everywhere for thee to pluck! Go down +among them, then, step into their hearts, and speak, I beg thee, +graciously and kindly. + +_King_ [_softened_]. I will try, thanks to thee! Speak, as thou knowest +me: why does this anger and this curse fall daily and hourly over me? +My friends, mislike me not for my impatience, for one thing I know +right well, that I stand deeply in your debt. And now, speak! + +_Chancellor_. My lord, I speak--not trembling, for long necessity has +wonted us to terrors as to daily bread--of the fate which I have long +seen approaching, and which now stands thirsting for blood before us. +Duke Widwolf-- + +King [_starting_]. Duke Widwolf! + +_Chancellor_. Is mustering an army! + +King [_feigning calmness_]. What then? + +_Chancellor_. He makes his boast that when the ice on the northern sea +has turned to sheeted foam, he will descend with full a hundred ships +and fall upon us like an avenging spirit. + +_King_. The avenging spirit is a worthy part for him to play. + +_Chancellor_. Still thou knowest this once he serves a righteous cause. + +_King_. What sayest thou? + +_Chancellor_. Is not this realm, O King, forfeit to him as a reward of +victory? + +_King_. May the word choke thee! As a reward of victory? Oh, stands it +so with you, my lords? Do you stare at me? What means the scorn that +lurks in your eyes? Have I been here too long? Do you already rue your +act? + +_Chancellor_. We rue it not, my King! + +_King_. Say yes, say yes! Why so much pains with one who lay in the +dust, whom you so mercifully raised up that everyone might value me as +he chose, not as he must? Was it that I should fawn upon you, stroke +and caress and flatter you, and die, instead of that one death I owed +you, a thousand daily deaths? + +_Chancellor_. Thou hast seen no hatred in us. A reflection of thine own +feeling has deluded thee. + +_Coelestin_. And if thou hast heard the word guilt, it was but thus: let +me be guilty with thee! [Queen _nods gratefully to him._] + +_King_. Very fine! Quite beautiful! Accept my thanks! Hans! Come here +and tell me what thou sayest to all this. + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_comes forward boldly_]. Lord Chancellor and Lord House +Marshal, you nobles, councillors, and wise men all, who let yourselves +be plagued with doubts like flea-bites,--if you permit it I will say +one thing to you: between sin and punishment, between right and wrong, +between hate and love, and good and bad, between sand and sea, and +swamp and stone, between flesh of women and dead men's bones, between +desire and possession, between field and furrow,--he goes, a man of +men, straight through,--looking to neither right nor left! + +_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! [Coelestin, _the_ Chancellor, _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 young_ Prince _with_ Anna Goldhair.] + +_The Young Prince_ [_running to the_ King]. 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 the_ Prince.] 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. The_ Queen, _the_ Prince, +_and_ Anna Goldhair _go 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 the_ King _stares wildly about, the_ Queen +_enters, 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 the_ Queen.] + + + + + ACT IV. + +_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._ + + + Scene 1. + +Anna Goldhair _cowering with covered face in the shadow of the throne_. +Hans Lorbass _and_ Coelestin _enter from the landing._ + +_Hans Lorbass_. Master!... No answer. + +_Coelestin_. 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. + +_Coelestin_. We are to suffer for his sins. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Pah!--We! + +_Coelestin_. 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. + +_Coelestin_. 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-- + +_Coelestin_. Hark! [_A muffled drum-beat_]. The morning signal of the +foe! + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_stretching out his arms_]. Come, mighty hour! + +_Coelestin_. 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 Lorbass _nods._] + +_Coelestin_. 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 Goldhair _motions 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 Goldhair _cowers down again in the shadow of the throne. Then, +from behind, the_ King._] + +_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 sees_ Anna 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 Goldhair _hides 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 Skoell 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 Lorbass_ And 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. + +_King_. And if? + +_Hans Lorbass_. If not? He swore,--and here his spleen burst out--that +let a single sword be raised against him, a single spear be laid in +rest, and he would hang and quarter every living, breathing thing, +without mercy. This he calls choking rebellion in the seed. + +_King_. And what was the decision of the people? + +_Hans Lorbass_. The people will fight. + +_King_. Will fight? Will fight? This flock of nestlings, lacking in +every sort of strength, inspired by no courage-breeding fire, wanting +in power, in discipline,-- + +_Hans Lorbass_. Like their King himself. + +_King_. Like their King himself. Quite true. The shadow of a King, set +on the throne by woman's love, is not the man to lead a forlorn hope. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Though his people offer themselves to the sword for +him. + +_King_. Take care; I have outgrown thy scorn. [_Knocking on the door to +the right._] + +_Coelestin_ [_outside_]. Open the door for the King's son. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Shall I? + +_King_. Thou must. This house is his; and if he chose to, he could +drive me hence. + +[Coelestin _enters, leading in the young_ Prince _by the hand. It is +gradually growing light._] + +_The Young Prince_ [_running to_ Anna Goldhair]. Anna! Ah, Anna, art +thou here? The mother told me thou wast dead. Say. Anna, art thou vexed +with me? I eat my supper all alone, I say my prayers and go to bed all +alone. I sing alone, I play alone,--and oh, the mother weeps so much! +They said my father had been cruel to her,--how sorry he would be to +see her weep! Anna, dear Anna, come and help us, for we are so sad! + +[Anna Goldhair _kneels down before him and sobs on his neck._] + +_King_. What now? + +_Coelestin_. My Prince, my little Prince! + +_King_. Well? + +_Coelestin_. Nay, with her thou canst have no concern. Thou knowest to +whom thy mother sent thee, and what she graved so deep upon thy heart. + +_The Young Prince_ [_timidly approaching the_ King]. My mother called +me very early, and bid me come to thee before my breakfast with Uncle +Coelestin, and kneel down here before thee, and ask thee--something,--I +forget. + +_Coelestin_. Then, my lord, according to the measure of my wisdom I must +speak here for this child, who in his innocence cannot comprehend how +basely thou hast forsaken thy people. I must embolden myself to speak a +last warning to thee. I speak not of the sins that now already weigh +thee down: eternal God shall judge them, for thou mayst not sin and not +atone. But even now thy spirit, corroded with rancorous spite, hast +turned the edge of our ancestral sword against thy honor and thy +manhood. Lo, there it glistens in thy burning grasp; and to that +all-avenging sword I make my prayer: to the arm where still resides +our safety: to the eyes from which looks out an unquenched thirst of +fighting: that thou wilt lead to victory thy broken people, who +surround the tower and call upon thee in their need. + +_King_. The sword that I unthinking raised--led thereto by occasion +only--I will lay down still clean. Thou callest it the all-avenging; +and it shall win that praise itself. Let the foe mow you down in +sheaves, it shall be naught to me,--it comes too late. + +_Coelestin_. Good! Though thou so hatest thy people-- + +_King_. I hate ye not. + +_Coelestin_. As to appease thy long-cherished revenge by scornful +laughter in their hour of need, yet one thing I shall never think, sir +King,--that thou wilt yield without a struggle, and give up thy +weaponless body to the slaughter. + +_King_. What can I otherwise? In whose blood shall I dip this body to +make it consecrate? With what right shall I plunge this sword into +fiery service? He who stands without there serves a righteous cause. So +sayest thou. The Chancellor, likewise. You all agree. Therefore I +counsel thee: be wise, rescue your country and make clean your house. +There is still time ... the storm yet lulls. The Duke has need of me; +deliver me to him. + +_Coelestin_. All my strength is broken against this madness, which +destroys itself.... And the hour presses.... What can I do? The crowd +shrieks lamentations in my ear. Kneel down, my child, stretch out thy +arms,--perhaps, that silent picture will reach this heart. [_He makes +the young_ Prince _kneel down._] + +_King_. Stand up. . . Come here. . . Thou hast stood in my way, and yet +I loved thee. A madness, an absurdity! [_Aside._] Suppose: if thou wert +not,--if in this coming hour I might but strike a blow for my own +throne.... Where now? + +_The young Prince_ [_clinging to_ Hans]. I am afraid. + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_gazing at the_ King]. There is the pinch. [_Going up +to him, aside_]. And if--- + +_King_. If--what? + +_Hans Lorbass_. If through some chance, quite unforseen, this land +should all at once become thine own, entirely thine? + +_King_ [_bewildered_]. What dost thou mean? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Well then, if that should disappear that stands in thy +way? [_Bursting out._] Then wouldst thou take thy sword in both thy +hands and storm exulting on the foe?... Well? + +_King_. I understand thee not. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Then-- + +_King_. Silence, silence! Thou knowest I have quenched the last embers +of my desires. Thinkest thou to kindle a new blaze thereon by victory +and sin? A fire must run from heaven, must mount from hell, to light a +new life in my fading course. A thing of horror must first come to +pass; whence it came would be as naught to me, if it could but rise +wonder-like upon my sight. Alas, from out these ashes no miracle can +rise for me! I can no longer hope and struggle.... The door stands open +to the upper room.... Once more I mount up to the height, once more +behold the gray dawn turn to gold in rosy glory-- + +_Hans Lorbass_. Wilt thou come back? + +_King_. Nay, didst thou not think so? I--[_As Coelestin with the young +Prince puts himself in the way._] Away with the child!--I must die! +[_Goes out._] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_to himself_]. "A thing of horror must first come to +pass." And then, "If I might strike a blow for my own throne." "If thou +wert not." And looked at him with such eyes!--Coelestin, if I had +something to ask--thou knowest, perhaps, the King will yield to +me--more than--in short, I am beloved by him-- + +_Coelestin_. Good reason for it. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Yes. Then what if I knew how to goad him into harness, +so that even before the hour had struck, he had the Bastard by the +throat with your all-avenging sword? + +_Coelestin_. It would be possible? Thou couldst? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Yes. But I need the Prince. + +_Coelestin_. The Princeling,--why? + +_Hans Lorbass_. With him by the hand I would sit there on the landing +and hold watch till he came down. + +_Coelestin_. And then? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Then, Major-domo,--that is my affair. + +_Coelestin_. The Queen left him in my care. But I know, Hans Lorbass +that thou lovest him. Wilt thou, my little Prince? + +_The Young Prince_. Dost thou ask me? I love to stay with him,--he +teaches me to fight. [_He runs to him._] + +_Coelestin_. And may God bless thee in thy task. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Much thanks. [_Turning to_ Anna Goldhair.] I do not +want her. Take her with thee. + +_Coelestin_. Come, poor wench. + +_The Young Prince_. May Anna stay here, too? + +[Hans Lorbass _hushes him._] + +_Anna Goldhair_. Oh, Coelestin, if I could hide somewhere, and see my +dear Queen pass by just once! + +_Coelestin_. Spare me thy plaints.... Well, wait, I will hide thee here +behind the curtains of the door; stay there, and do not move, and when +she goes to the cathedral--come, come! + +[Coelestin _and_ Anna Goldhair _go out._] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_grimly_]. My Prince! + +_The Young Prince_ [_tenderly_]. My Hans! + +_Hans Lorbass_. And still it grips me cruelly hard. + +_The Young Prince_. What is it thou grumblest in thy beard? Come, let +us fight. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Let us fight, child! If thou knewest how to fight +indeed! + +_The Young Prince_. How strange thou art to-day? Say, Hans, is it true +that a cruel enemy stands before the gate? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Quite true. + +_The Young Prince_. Will he come inside? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Not yet. Before long. + +_The Young Prince_. How long? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Until the drums sound the attack. + +_The Young Prince_. Soon? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Very soon. + +_The Young Prince_. Oh, that is splendid! And why did the father go up +to his tower? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Because ... If I knew whether this young blood would be +poured out in vain. To every foulness God created he has given a tongue +to shriek: "Behold my purpose!" And such a deed as this to-day ... but +no! "If thou wert not!" + +_The Young Prince_. If I were not,--what then? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Wha--? Why? His sick desires, his failing deeds, the +dreams that mock his brain, that make the right seem wrong,--if he +might see a wish of his become a fact, as if by magic power, perhaps +that knowledge of renewed strength might scatter his gloom to its +accursed source and set him free. Now show thy worth and bleed here +quietly on my breast--what dost thou there! + +_The Young Prince_ [_playing about meanwhile has drawn the sword from +its sheath_]. I am learning to carry the King's sword. Forward! Hasten, +the foe will come! Very well. Then I shall be the victor. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Put it down! + +_The Young Prince_. Ah, no! + +_Hans Lorbass_. Put it down! + +_The Young Prince_. Oh-oo! That is sharp! + +_Hans Lorbass_. Thou knowest who alone may carry that? + +_The Young Prince_. The King. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Well then. + +_The Young Prince_. But he left it there! + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_sternly_]. To take it up again. [_Draws his sword._] + +_The Young Prince_. Wait! I will kill thee! [_He has grasped the sword +in both hands, and thrusting at Hans, who does not see him, he wounds +him on the hand._] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_laughing grimly_]. The fiend torment-- + +_The Young Prince_. Thou bleedest--O me! + +_Hans Lorbass_. The very weakness of this child avenges itself in +death. + +_The Young Prince_. Wilt thou not scold me! [_Unfastening his +neckerchief_] Take my kerchief,--ah, please! Wrap it about thy hand. +Quick! + +_Hans Lorbass_. Is it intended for a sign to me to turn back in my +path? The wish was there, but who knows when he cherished it, whether +he was not so rent by torment, so quite unmanned as to harbor a thought +that sprang therefrom? He must ... Yea, and I must. The hour will slip +away.... [_Drums sound in the distance._] Hark, hark! There it is,--the +time has come. [_Drums._] Again! + +_The Young Prince_. Is that the signal? + +_Hans Lorbass_. What signal? + +_The Young Prince_. For the attack? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Yes. For the attack and-- + +_The Young Prince_. What happiness! Is it not, Hans! If I were grown! +If I were a man! + +_Hans Lorbass_. Come here! + +_The Young Prince_. Why dost thou look at me so sternly? Just like the +father.... Wouldst thou strike me? No, thou shalt not.... I am a king's +son. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Come here! + +_The Young Prince_. I am not afraid. [_Goes to him._] Just think, the +people say the father hates me. I believe it not. Whatever he should +do, I know right well he loves me,--even as much as thou, my Hans. +[_Throws his arms around him._] + +_Hans Lorbass_. How dost thou know? + +_The Young Prince_. What, Hans? + +_Hans Lorbass_. About the father. + +_The Young Prince_. Listen! One night, quite lately, when I had been a +little while in my bed, and was all alone, only think!--he came very +softly within my chamber. I was afraid, because I had not seen him in +so long, and all the people said: "The King is wicked." But he stood +there before my bed and looked at me,--Hans, what is all that noise? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Hasten,--thou knowest not what it means to thee! + +_The Young Prince_. And looked at me so stern and wild that I was +frightened and pretended that I slept. Then he leaned over me, so low +that I had nearly died of fright, and then,--only think, my Hansel,--he +kissed me. Here on my forehead, on my hair and both my cheeks, and then +very softly went away. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Thy good angel put the words into thy mouth! Could he +do so, my little man, then 'twas a fever in his blood that spoke +to-day,--no hate of thee!... It seems as though thou wert even dearer +to me now,--and yet my thoughts have scarce deserved it. [_Clasps him +to him._] Now let me, let ... There below they call upon thy father, +and he ... I have it! I will take thee in my arms and show thee to the +leaderless throng below, him who shall lead them when his form rears +itself kinglike and his brow darkens. Come then! Friend, if thy King +fights not for thee to-day, then fight thou for thy King! [_He raises +him in his arms and hurries with him down the steps._] + + + Scene 2. + +Anna Goldhair _comes timidly from the right, pushed into the room. +After her, the_ Chancellor, Coelestin, _nobles and ladies, who stand so +as to form a passage. Then, the_ Queen. _After her, other ladies_. Anna +Goldhair _in a shrinking attempt to hide herself, crouches near the +door, behind those coming in._ + +_Chancellor_. Away, lest the Queen see thee! Out of the way, wench! + +_Queen_ [_observing that someone is concealed from her_]. Who--? [_She +motions them to let her see. The group separates. She looks silently +down upon the kneeling_ Anna, _whose face is bowed to the earth, and +strokes her hair._] Much evil has come upon us both; therefore be it +unto thee according to thy sorrow, not according to thy deed. [_She +raises her and gives her over to her women._] + +_Chancellor_ [_meanwhile aside to_ Coelestin +]. Send above to the King +straightway. I cannot yet forbear to hope that when he--dost thou hear? + +_Coelestin_ [_who is looking in anxious search toward the background_]. +Where is the Prince? + +_Murmur of Voices_. The King comes. + +[_The_ King _comes down the steps._] + +_King_ [_startled, bewildered_]. Why do ye stand there so amazed? Do ye +not know me? I am he, your King, your much-loved King, he with whose +hero-tread treason has entered in your flock, into your hearts. + +_Queen_ [_coming forward_]. My King! + +_King_ [_reeling back_]. Thou! Thou hast come here,--into this den +where lust holds sway? Burst open all the windows wide! Perfume the air +with fine resin! Fetch sage and thyme and peppermint, that the fumes of +this place may not attaint her breath! Hasten! Faded and withered, let +them-- + +_Coelestin_ [_whispers_]. My lord, where hast thou left the Prince? + +_King_. What? Who? The--the--am I the Prince's keeper? + +_Queen_. My King, the battle rages now already about the castle walls. +The door still holds. The people wait, counting their heart-throbs till +thou comest, trusting in thee still. There is yet time. There lies the +kingly sword and waits for thee. + +_King_ [_to himself_]. If Hans understood me rightly-- + +_Queen_. Stoop to it. It is worth the stooping for. + +_King_. Thinkest thou?... Still?... And that this hand is worthy, too, +to raise it? + +_Queen_. I trust in it as in immortal life. + +_King_. Believest thou also that miracles still come to pass? + +_Queen_. I believe in thee. + +_King_. Then--[_he stoops, but starts back with a shriek._] Blood! +There is blood on it! Coelestine! Approach, lean down. Nearer. Thou hast +asked me just now, only in pretence, where I ... I ask thee, with whom +hast _thou_ left the Prince? + +_Coelestin_. Hans Lorbass was with him. + +_King_. Alone? + +_Coelestin_. Alone. + +_King_. Yes?... It is well.... See how the red shines bright on the +gray steel! The life that coursed within this blade cannot die--it +lives--it lives and drags me down, a death-devoted man, unto a doubly +shameful end. + +_Chancellor_ [_to the_ Queen]. Speak again before this madness gains +upon him! + +_Queen_. My King. + +_King_. Ha! The angel of destruction broods over us.... Where is thy +child? Where is thy child? + +_Queen_. I know that he is safe, for the most faithful of the faithful +guards him. Think of thyself and of thy sword. + +_King_. An hour since was this blade still clean.... I seemed too +great--nay, nay, too small--to wield it; doubted and cursed myself and +you and all the world. And yet defiance still blazed high in me; I +could be a warrior, perhaps a hero, and knew it not ... ah, cursed +fool!... Now I gaze in envy at that man, could even kiss his feet, who +with accusing conscience and hand yet free from blood-guiltiness, stood +a transgressor here within this hall. O were this sword still clean, +how might I wield it! What miracles exultingly perform! But for me now +no saving miracle can come to pass ... + +[_The smothered tumult in the court becomes suddenly louder._] + +_Two Nobles_ [_at the window_]. God be merciful! Fly!--Save yourselves! + +[Hans Lorbass, _the young_ Prince _in his arms, rushes up the steps._] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_breathless_]. Here--take the child! The foe is close +at hand--within the court! + +_King_ [_in frenzied joy throwing himself upon the_ Prince]. My +miracle! + +_Hans Lorbass_. If you would save yourself, barricade this door, +strengthen it ten-fold with beams, break off stones from the roof, roll +them down and heap them up-- + +_King_. Thou art wrong, my friend. The door--fling open! + +[Hans Lorbass _tears open the door with a joyous shout. They hear the +approaching battle-cry of the enemy._] + +_King_ [_who has seized the sword and shield_]. To me, man of the +righteous cause! + +[_The_ Duke _rushes on the_ King _with a shout of laughter, behind him +his men, among them_ Skoell, Ottar, Gylf, _held in check by_ Hans _with +upraised sword, stand crowded together at the door. Short conflict. +The_ Duke _falls._] + +_King_ [_to the crowd, his foot upon the prostrate body_]. On your +knees. [_The foremost sink upon their knees, the rest shrink back._] + + +_King_ [_during a long silence looks furtively at the_ Queen, _and the +councillors. Then to the crowd_]. Carry this man's body outside the +door.... Let everyone submit himself unto the peace of God, which +henceforth only he who courts his death will violate. Before we part, I +will come down to you, and under the free air of heaven I, your Duke, +will receive your oath and your allegiance. Away! + +[_The_ Duke's _men seize the body and hurry out._] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_tickling_ Skoell _under the nose with his +sword-blade_]. Who has it now, thou clown? + +_Chancellor_ [_approaching hesitatingly_]. My gracious Lord and King, I +would say: Forgive us, but the strength of all our words must break +against thy glorious victory. I only say: We are returned to thee. No +reproaches or regrets shall cheapen our return; we only ask [_with a +glance at the_ Queen] that honor be spared, and once again, after the +cruel conflict of to-day, we offer thee our country's throne in faith +and loyalty. + +_King_. I thank you noble lords, and put it from me. + +_Chancellor_. A second time thou turnest thy happiness and ours to +lamentation. + +_King_. Stay! Let not a poisoned word pollute this moment, for now at +last the riddling clouds of fate prepare to fall. I may slip the +fetters from my body, which weakness, shame, unwilling gratitude, +sorrow, and mistaken kindnesses, combined to weave about me. I dare to +speak, for now the sword has freed me.... For that I have shrunk from +thee, my wife, forgive me. Didst thou know how shudderingly I sent +myself into an exile of inexpiable guilt! From thence I now return, +love-empty; and still the harmony of thy grace, the breath of thy +self-forgetful love, wafts like a summer breeze about my head, heavy +with blessings. Yes, if I dared to stay, how much of all I have ... +Hush!... I know not the path that I must choose. I only know the end. I +only know that faint and far away there sounds a voice reproaching my +delay. It calls me back into the eternal gray,--that boundless country +where thy blessing ends, where no guiding star rises to lead me on. +Farewell. Forgive me if thou canst. If not ... I know no word to say +that can lift the load of guilt from off my soul.... I must endure and +bear it with me silently. + +_Queen_. Nay, my friend.... If thou hast laden thy life with guilt so +heavily, then must thou give me of thy burden a share to bear. I think +that all we leave unspoken to-day will burn our souls forever; and +therefore I make free confession: I have failed thee sorely. I saw thy +misery, I saw the torture growing on thy pale brow, and yet I had but +one thought; one alone; how to beguile him from that path on which his +soul delays and hesitates, but whither his stumbling feet turn of +themselves,--that he might leave me never again, whether in love or +hate ... this was my thought ... and as a bridal pair stand at the +altar and exchange their rings, while the deep church-bells lull them +into a smiling dream, so we in parting near each other, and offer, +smiling, guilt for guilt. [_She reaches out her hand to him with a +faint smile, and sinks back into the arms of her women._] + +_King_ [_kissing her hand, overcome with feeling_]. I thank thee. + +_The Young Prince_ [_timidly_]. Papa! + +_King_ [_recovering himself_]. Thou too, my son! Come here! I made thee +poor return--and had he not [_motioning toward_ Hans] known me better +than I myself ... give him thy hand; for thanks to him, I lay down +undefiled this borrowed sword. [_Gives the sword over to the_ +Chancellor.] Hans! + +_Hans Lorbass_. Here, master! [_He hands the_ King _his old sword, +which he seizes eagerly._] + +_King_. Farewell. + + + + + ACT V. + +_The scene of the first act. Early spring. March. The trees and bushes +are still bare, but tipped with the delicate red of young leaf-buds. In +the background, upon the slopes, is still snow, in the foreground fresh +young grass. The church-yard has grown larger. The crosses and +headboards reach back to the sand-hills. Sun-set. A blue haze hangs +over the sea._ + + + Scene I. + +_Out of a freshly dug grave on the right an invisible hand throws clods +of earth, but stops as_ Coelestin _enters on the right, led by two young +men. Behind them_, Miklas _and an old_ Fisherman. + +_Fisherman_. This is the place, my lord. + +_Coelestin_ [_much aged and broken_]. I thank thee, friend! That is the +tower? + +_Fisherman_ [_nodding_]. And above it cross on cross. + +_Coelestin_. Let me rest a little, I am dizzy. The way hither was hard. +Yet I rejoice to know that worn-out as I am, I still may serve our +young Prince. And more than him, our dear and holy lady, our Queen. +Else surely I had--remained at home. + +_Fisherman_ [_has meantime shaken the door of the tower_]. The tower +seems empty. The door is barred. There was a storm quite late.... Who +knows where she wanders now, scouting for new graves. + +_Coelestin_. Who speaks of graves? Fie! The hour will ripen all too soon +for us to yield our withered sinful bodies to the worms. Build a fire +for me, since we must wait. The evening lowers and this March wind +blows cold on me. Make haste. [_To the old_ Fisherman.] Run thou to our +sovereign Lady, who so honored thee as to share thy hut, and tell her I +beg her wait therein until we come to fetch her as she said. + +_Fisherman_. Yes, my lord. [_Goes out._] + +_Coelestin_ [_to_ Miklas _while the young men build the fire_]. And +thou, Miklas, tell us thy story again and on thy faith. It was last +night the strangers knocked at thy door? + +_Miklas_. Yes, my lord. + +_Coelestin_. How many? + +_Miklas_. Two. + +_Coelestin_. And thou didst open it? + +_Miklas_. Yes. I had lain a long time in bed, but I arose. The +moonlight fell bright through the window-bars. I saw them and was +afraid. + +_Coelestin_. Why? + +_Miklas_. The first had long white hair hanging all wild and shaggy +about a gloomy brow. One leg was hacked off, and a wooden one replaced +it. + +_Coelestin_. Thou will still--? + +_Miklas_. Whoever looked into that eye, must know, my lord: Hans +Lorbass stood before me. + +_Coelestin_. And the other? + +_Miklas_. It is hard to say. + +_Coelestin_. Still thou knowest him? + +_Miklas_. As I know myself, my lord. + +_Coelestin_. Consider. Full fifteen years have flown since that hour +when he slew the cruel Duke. + +_Miklas_. Yes, my lord. His step indeed was heavier, his face was +paler; and a gnawed and ragged beard hung about his mouth, stiffened +with blood and sweat. Yet it was he, our King, our star, at very +thought of whom our hearts must leap, to whose heroic deed we sing +triumphant songs,--it was he, and that I swear by God the Father. + +_Coelestin_. Go on. + +_Miklas_. Yet, mindful of what happened once, I made as though I had +never seen the two; and when they asked whether there was a path that +led to the sea and to the Burial-wife, and did not touch at town or +capital, I said: "Oh, yes; yet it is difficult to follow it, and not +wander lost by night among the bushes. Come in and sleep beside my +hearth, and I will play the host and spread the straw for you, and +early in the morning, for your sake and for God's sweet service my son +will lead you to the witch-wife." It was said and done. The fire of +pine chips had scarcely burned to ashes,--heigho!--I ran to the stable +and flung the saddle on the horse; and when the early dawn of the March +morning lay abroad white and misty on the hedges, I held my rein before +your castle,--"To the Queen" my cry. Thou wert with me for the rest. + +_Coelestin_. Thinkest thou thy son--? + +_Miklas_. Set thyself at rest, My son has always been a clever youth +and I answer for it they will be upon the spot before the sun there +dips beneath the sea. Yes, if I mistake not ... but wait! [_He runs to +the top of the hill, looks to the right and motions furtively._] Come +here! But crouch down well, that they may not spy us. + +_Coelestin_. My God, my God, how my old limbs do tremble! It is joy! +[_He goes up the slope, assisted by his attendant._] I see three +coming. + +_Miklas_. The small one is my boy. The other two--thou knowest them? + +_Coelestin_. My eyes have failed me a little, else I might. [_Coming +back down._] My God, if it were they! If the evening of my life might +shine so clear that before I closed my eyes in death they might rest +upon the Queen, their heart, their light, pleasured in happiness +without alloy! At such a sight I think I could not die.... Come, come! +Let us announce what we have seen; then may that bond once so +shamefully severed in wrong and need, be solemnly renewed, before we +turn our joyous bark toward home. Come, come! [_They all go out at the +left._] + +[_The_ King _and_ Hans Lorbass _come in at the right from above, both +unkempt and in rags like two wayfarers_. King _grown gray, lean, and +sallow, comes down forward silent and gloomy._] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_with hair grown quite white, and a wooden leg, +carrying a sack on his back, calls into the wing_]. There, take it, +rascal, it is the last! And leave! [_Coming down._] The clown has led +us twelve whole hours without a path through bushes and morass. He knew +well enough why he did it! + +_King_. Dost thou think-- + +_Hans Lorbass_. Oh let it be, no matter! + +_King_. Here is a fire. Is there corn in the sack? + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_opening the sack_]. Wait.... Yes. + +_King_. Good! I am hungry. + +_Hans Lorbass_. I am not, too? + +_King_. The corn was dear. Sometimes it costs us money, sometimes +blood. + +_Hans Lorbass_. We do not pay the blood. + +_King_. We pay more. We give out bit by bit from our own souls for our +lives' nakedest necessities, and pay for each mouthful with a shred of +joy--if indeed there be joy in clinging like a pitiable miser to one's +last vacant remnants of hopeless hope. + +_Hans Lorbass_. If it be not happiness it is life. + +_King_. What a life! + +_Hans Lorbass_. Our wants are over now. I wager if I climbed up to the +top of the hill, I should find not one but three ships to take us to +Gotland. + +_King_. Cook us our supper first. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Good, good! [_During the foregoing he has been fetching +cooking utensils, partly from the sack and partly from the outer wall +of the tower, where they lie among tree-stumps, etc._] + +_King_. I shall come soon enough to Gotland, and soon enough shall see +that refuge whence I once bore to save them those most daring wishes of +my powerless youth. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Until a heron came. + +_King_. Hans, be still! + +_Hans Lorbass_. How can I, here in this place, where the sea and +churchyard, yes, even the sea-wind itself, that strips the boughs with +knife-like tongue, all vie with each other to tell us of that day when +an old doting witch-wife with her cursed chatter, betrayed thee from +thy confident path, to pause and play the hero? + +_King_. Where is she hiding, that I may rip that shriveled skin of hers +about her ears? + +_Hans Lorbass_. She who played our fate in the world is not at home +when we come back so worsted by it. + +_King_. Burial-wife! + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_laughs mockingly_]. Yes, call away, my friend!... Come +here instead and sit down on this tub. The fire is singing,--the water +will soon boil; come warm thyself. + +_King_. Thou art right. This cold sea wind pants like a bloodhound +through the gorge. [_He sits down by the fire._] The country-people say +that spring is coming. Is it true, I wonder? + +_Hans Lorbass_. What? + +_King_. Why, that spring is coming. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Then I believe it, for my leg that I lost begins to +pain me. + +_King_. Listen! Back in the hedge a shepherd pipes upon his willow +whistle. The streams are beginning to thaw and run down hill.... Brown +buds come out on all the branches. The very sunsets are different. +Look, high up in the blue the wild geese fly in their triangle. +Northward they go. Not I.... I must. We both must, Hans, for we have +grown old. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Because our heads are white? Thou art wrong, master. I +dare venture many a conflict lies in our path before thou goest to thy +fathers' lofty house, and anointest thyself with thy fathers' honors. + +_King_. Honors are the mail-coat of the weary. I have need of them. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Thou? + +_King_. More than thou thinkest for. [_Goes up, laughing bitterly._] + +_Hans Lorbass_. Whither now? + +_King_. Do not ask. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Thou lookest toward the south,--what seekest thou +there? Hast thou not known it all long since? That sunny land, those +blue, flower-sown havens, whither thy hasting step once fled? Thou +knowest they are full of stench and lamentation. Those beauteous women, +fairest of the fair,--or passing as the fairest,--to bow in whose +impious slavery once compassed all thy thoughts? Thou knowest they are +all as empty as drained-out casks. And so, because the desire was +lacking in thee to fill them with thy own soul, thou hast sourly turned +away and sought perfection farther on. Thou hast come hither over lands +and seas, and climbest up into the star-teeming void. Yet thou wilt +never, never reach thy star. And that vailed enchanting distance +itself, if it would once unmask and let thee reach it, how miserable it +would look! Every conflict there would seem only a wrangle, every woman +but a doll! Come now, lay aside thy shoulder-belt stretch thyself out +and eat thy supper. + +_King_. Let be, old grumbler! I seek naught in the distance.... But +near by, floating in the haze of the spring evening, I think I see a +dim shape of white battlements. + +_Hans Lorbass_. It may well be. The town is only three miles farther +on, and the air is clear. Still I advise thee, do not think upon the +past. + +_King_. Why? + +_Hans Lorbass_. It was an evil-omened year. The worst of all, I think. +It taught thy wild untrammeled spirit to circle-hopping in a cage, to +limp instead of fly. + +_King_. Thou art wrong, my friend. Something wakes in me at sight of +those roofs.... There the wings of happiness once grazed my cheek, +there, though in the midst of torture joy ripened to summer in my +heart. Let me gaze on the place where imploring trustfulness once +confessed itself to me by joyous sacrifice, and the purest of womankind +yielded herself up in sweet urgency, and an oppressed country confided +in me as a master; where even victory surrendered me her standard; let +me gaze upon the spot, and then, instead of stretching forth my kingly +hand in love and gratitude, I must slip past it outlawed, like a beggar +or a thief. I stand here now and gaze through tears at that white glow +of light, and gnaw my lips to bleeding. + +_Hans Lorbass_. Master! + +_King_. It is nothing,--nothing! All I have ever desired, all my soul's +treasure, all I could not attain, can be spoken in one word. And that I +may not speak. In silence I decide, and put it from me. I tear it from +my breast, where it has clung so long; and with it all my longing pain +blows like a faded leaf a world away.--Now I will lie down and sleep; +for I am weary. + +_Hans Lorbass_. And do thy pains and desires all come to an end thus? +Look! Above there, where the sandy turf broadens among frozen clods +past the sun-pierced snow. The wisest of womankind has prepared a bed +for pilgrims such as we. Look! + +_King_ [_going toward the open grave_]. I see. It is just suited to a +guest like me. Here, where--[_He starts back in alarm._] Hans! + +_Hans Lorbass_. What is the matter? + +_King_. Come here. The grave is ready, but it is not empty. Look down +and tell me what thou callest it, crouched there gray in the sand, that +leers at me with staring eyes. Is it a corpse? Is it a spirit? + +_Hans Lorbass_. Oh look at it! The badger is at work. Thou hast her +now. + +_King_. The Burial-wife? [Hans Lorbass _nods._] + +_King_. Out with her! + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_stopping him_]. Listen to me. Thou knowest I have +known her longer than thou. Leave her alone. She was wont to lie thus +for hours and days, and heed no words nor prayers; but seemed as dead. +She is proof then against all summons and all blows; but when her time +comes, then her limbs will stir, and she will come up out of the grave. + +[Coelestin _and the train with the young_ Prince _enter._] + +_Coelestin_. There they stand! + +_King_ [_turning fiercely and raising his sword_]. What do you want? A +quarrel? We two are snarling dogs. We blindly seize on everybody near. +Now come on! Speak! + +_The Young Prince_. My father! + +_King_. Wha--? + +_The Young Prince_. My King! + +_King_ You would mock the man that fled from you? + +_The Young Prince_. Down on your knees and honor him as I do! + +_King_ [_dazed_]. Hans!... But stand up!... Am I King? A hapless +wretch,--naught but my man, my sword, and that pot of soup there, to +call my own. I have no more. My very crown, the gloomy throne of +Gotland must be fought for anew; stand up my son. [_He raises him, and +will embrace him, but suddenly pales, staring past the men in great +agitation._] Hans! Dost thou see who stands there in the twilight of +the wood--how spirit-like, how severed from this world--[_He shrieks._] + +[_Enter the_ Queen. _Behind her at a short distance, two of her +women._] + +_Queen_. Witte! + +_King_. Go! I know thee not. And yet--I know thee. Thou art my--peace. +Thou art ... Naught art thou more for me.... My body withers and my +strength is fallen asunder. Therefore I may not say: "Thou art." ... +Only "Thou wast." Still thou wast once of a surety--my wife. + +_Queen_. I am to-day--I am a thousandfold! Hast thou forgot what I +promised thee the day thou gavest thyself with hesitation to my +service? I search thy face. I know thou turnest wearied back to thy +northern home. Dost thou forget then where a balsam is prepared to heal +thy bruised feet, dost thou forget where a thousand arms reach out to +greet their loved one? Knowest thou not where thy home stands and calls +to thee? Knowest thou not how well-nigh breathless with its joy my +smile says unto thee: "I charm thee not?" + +_King_. Nay, charm me not. I am not worthy. Life has seared me, and put +a shameful kiss upon my brow. + +_Queen_. Then let me cool it with my health-bringing hand, and thou +wilt never feel the scar again. + +_King_. How can I feel that scar or even the happiness after which I +longed, now that those hours are past which knew thy love for me? + +_Queen_. In no other have I trusted. I guarded thy son for thee; and +still thy throne stands empty, waiting its master. + +_King_. Then thou hast waited fifteen years and sorrowed not. So shalt +thou learn my mystery. Two kingdoms I have won, to pleasure me; the +first has vanished into air, the second is my shame. Justice became a +mock,--all gifts a usury; and everywhere I turned a murderous laugh +pursued me. Then purity plunged in the mire, then honor mocked its own +best gift: all this the magic of the heron wreaked upon me.... Yea, now +thou knowest; a charm was all my crime and all my fate, year after +year. It blinded me to love and life, to wife and child; it hunted me +away from thee, and drove me from place to place; and when a lucent +flight of happiness sprang up from heaven after my downfall, it drowned +its glory in a flood of tears. Behold! [_He tears open his gorget and +draws out the last of the heron's feathers._] The enchantment's last +beguiling pledge I hold here in my hand. When this feather shrivels in +the flame there sinks an unblessed woman to her death, that woman whose +wraith stood in the heavens for me to gaze upon,--that woman whom I +sought and never found! Behold! I bury the madness in its grave, and +with the act I put the longing from me. [_He tosses the feather into +the flames. There is a flash of lightning, and a roll of thunder +follows it._] + +_Queen_ [_sinks down, whispering with failing strength_]. Now are we +two protected from all mischance.... I still ... have been thy +happiness ... even in ... death. [_She dies._] + +_Prince_. Mother! Speak one word to me! + +_King_. It was thou? It was thou? [_He throws himself upon her body._] + +_The Young Prince_ [_in tears_]. Ah, Mother! + +_Coelestin_. She has gone, and I, the shadow of a shadow, stay behind. + +_The Men_ [_murmur among themselves_]. His is the blame! Tear him from +off her body! [_They draw their swords to attack the_ King.] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_blocking the way with drawn sword_]. Away there! + +[_The Burial-wife mounting solemnly out of the open grave._] + +_Burial-wife_. Children, cease your strife! Can you not see his spirit +wanders far? He is wrapped about with the whisperings of eternity. The +message of death is on the way, the stone of sacrifice doth reek for +blood. Long has this man belonged to me; and now--[_she raises her arm +and lets it fall_]--I come into my own. [_The_ King _breathes heavily, +stirs, and dies._] + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_kneels down beside him with a cry_]. Master, master! + +_Burial-wife_. Thus from lust and guilt and sorrow have I cleansed his +soul. To both of them it shall be as though they had not been. Wrap +them about with linen, bear them to my dark abode; then go in silent +thought from hence, for my work is done. + +_Hans Lorbass_ [_rises, in anguished bitterness_]. Mine must begin +anew. How gladly have I ever braved fresh dangers as my darling's +slave! That service, too, is past; but now his kingdom calls loudly on +my sword for aid. [_Pointing seaward._] Northward there lies a land +debauched, crying from out its shame for justice, for a righteous law, +for vengeance, for salvation; for a master,--and that shall the man +become! + + _Translated by Helen Tracy Porter_. + + + + + MARAH OF SHADOWTOWN. + + The days pass by in Shadowtown + Wearily, wearily;-- + And Bitter-Sweet Marah of Shadowtown + Sighs drearily, drearily. + + "Mother, tell him to come to me + While my hair is gold and beautiful + And my lips and eyes are young + While the songs that are welling up in my heart + May still be sung. + + "The days go by so wearily + Like crooked goblins, eerily, + Like silly shadows, fast and still, + Wind-driven and drearily. + + "Like the gray clouds are my eyes gray, mother, + Like them, heavy as things grown old + Only the clouds' tears are but dream-tears-- + Lifeless, cold. + + "Last night I had the strangest dream,-- + It seemed I stood on a barren hill + Where the wings of the ragged clouds went by + Hurrying and still. + + "And all of a sudden the moon came out + Making a pathway over the down,-- + And turned my hair to a gold mist, mother, + To light the way to Shadowtown. + + "But when I did not see him coming, + And because the clouds grew dark and gray + I walked through the shadows down the hillside + To help him better to find the way. + + "And in some wise I came to a forest + When all around was so strange and dim,-- + That I thought, 'If I should be lost in the darkness, + How could my hair be light for him?' + + "But groping, I found I was on a pathway + Where low soft branches swept my face,-- + When suddenly, close beside, and before me + I knew dim forms kept even pace. + + "They were so cowering, shivering, white + That I felt some ill thing came behind + And I heard a moan on the wind go by + 'Ah, but the end of the path to find!' + + "Then I looked behind, and saw that near + Like a wan marsh-fog, came a cloud + Hurrying on,--and I knew it wrapped + A dead love--as a shroud. + + "And guiltily the figures went, + Like coward things in a guilty race + And not one dared to look behind + For fear he knew that dead love's face. + + "Then suddenly at my side I knew + He I loved went;--but, for my hair, + Shadowed and blown about my face, + He knew me not beside him there. + + "And he, too, cowered with shaking hands + Over his eyes, for fear to meet + Haunting and still, my pallid face + In that strange mist of winding-sheet. + + "So on the shadowy figures went + Hurrying the loathed cloud before,-- + Seeking an end of a fated path + That went winding evermore. + + "Oh, Mother, that path was hideous,-- + Long and ill and hideous-- + And the way was so near to Shadowtown,-- + Fairer to Shadowtown-- + But the gold of my hair shall not light the way + For anyone else to Shadowtown." + + Gray-eyed Marah of Shadowtown + Turns away wearily, wearily + Weaving her gold hair back and forth, + Thus she sings, and drearily-- + "Little Love, when you shall die, then so shall I, + Ha, merrily! + + "Then let them put us in some deep spot + Where one the growing of trees' roots hears + And you at my heart, all wet with tears, + All wet with tears. + + "Your wings are draggled and limp and wet,--Little Love,-- + From what rainy land have you come, and far,-- + Or who that has held you was crying so,-- + Who, little Love--? + My eyes are heavy and wet with tears + Whose eyes besides are heavy so--? + --Oh, little Love, how dumb you are!-- + + "Then, poor Love, that has lived in my heart + Come, take my hand, we will go together, + Hemlock boughs are full of sleep + Out of the way of the weather. + + "For a cavern of cold gray mist is my heart + Will not the hemlock boughs be better + Over our feet and under our heads + Keeping us from the weather?" + + Her gold hair duskily glints in her hands + Marah of Shadowtown sings--"Together,-- + You, little Love, and I, will go + Into the Land of Pleasanter Weather." + + _Anne Throop._ + + + + + DIES IRAE. + + Go fight your fight with Tagal and with Boer, + Cheer in the lust of strength and brutal pride; + Beat down the lamb to fatten up the fox, + Shout victory o'er the prostrate shape of truth. + + Take cross and pike and gold and sophistry, + To pray and prod and purchase, wheedle, wile; + Stamp out the roses in a waste of weeds, + Shout while the trembling voice of truth is hushed. + + Shatter with iron heel the poet's dream, + The prophet's protest, and the ages' hope, + Of brotherhood and light and love on earth-- + Of peace and plenty and a perfect race. + + Tear down the fabric of ten thousand years, + The world's best wisdom woven in its woe; + Lift ruthless hands to rend the fairy fane + That holds the heart hopes of humanity. + + Let loose greed, envy, lust, and avarice, + The myriad throated dragon of desire; + Let might rule, riot, batten on the meek, + The tyranny of man o'er man seem right. + + Forget the Lord Christ smiled, forgave, and died; + Frowned down every appeal to brutish strength; + Bade man put up the sword, lest by the sword + He perish; prayed evil might be paid by good. + + Forget he turned cheek to the coward blow, + Cried "Pardon!" yes, seven and seventy times! "Judge not; + Do not condemn; give coat as well as cloak; + Resist not evil, wrong's not made right by wrong." + + Forget each drop of blood burns in the race, + Cries for atonement while the last man lives; + That murder for the state is murder still, + The gilded not less guilty though more great. + + Forget, and flay and flame; in din grow deaf + To piteous cries without, and voice within; + Conquer, triumph, and when the world is won, + Turn terroring towards the demon in your heart. + + _William Mountain_. + + + * * * * * + + + GEORGE MEREDITH ON THE SOURCE OF + DESTINY. + + +If, as has so often been said, literature is an expression of life, +surely we may study literature to discover the laws of life. Not all +our writers, but all our masters, have given us records from which we +may learn what has been discerned and accepted concerning life by the +race. + +The scientific study of our day has led men to consider genius from the +modern point of view. Is genius a natural product? If so, whence comes +it, and what are its laws? These are among the most interesting +questions of the present time. Formerly, men contented themselves with +calling the literary faculty a "gift," the result of "inspiration." Of +late we have been told that it is a natural race impulse which finds +expression in some individual. Personally, we believe genius to be the +heated, pregnant condition of a great mind under the influence of a +great enthusiasm. However our definitions of genius may differ, on one +point we all agree. We are all sure that genius is true to life, that +genius teaches us the truth. + +In its formed philosophical theories it may err, but not in its +perceptions of life. Shelley may teach atheistic views in 'Queen Mab,' +and he may err, for intellectual belief is a matter of opinion. +Nevertheless Shelley's inspired interpretation of life can but be +accepted as real. George Meredith may teach in his 'Lord Ormond and his +Aminta' doctrines of free love, resulting from an attempt to separate +what can not be separated in our human lives,--the physical and the +spiritual loves; and in doing this he may err. Nevertheless, in his +inspired representations of life and character, coming not from thought +alone but from his whole nature, Meredith cannot err. + +Those of us who read thoughtlessly, without formed theory, accept +literature as real. Have you never, when asked: "Did you ever know of a +case of love at first sight?" answered carelessly: "Oh, yes! There's +Romeo and Juliet, you know?" Or have you never instanced, as the most +persuasive oration you ever heard, Mark Antony's speech in 'Julius +Caesar?' + +Thinkers who claim a natural mental origin for the literary gift must +believe in its reality as a matter of course. Those who speak +reverently of its "inspiration" claim a spirit of truth, not of error, +for its parent. Even those who enjoy comparisons of the states of +genius and insanity, ranging from Shakespeare, with his words: "The +fool, the lover, and the poet are of imagination all compact" to the +masterly modern treatment of John Fiske, agree that the sharp division +line of truth and error separates the two. They confess that while the +insane mind may accept hallucinations, the mind of genius deals only +with the truth. The results of both are imaginative; only those of +insanity are imaginary. + +All thinkers, then, accept the masterpieces of literature as among +life's real phenomena. Whether Meredith's novels hold this high place +is at present a matter of opinion. For men do not know Meredith very +well. A knowledge of his position on this question of Destiny will help +us to learn whether or not he ranks among the elect. + +In our great literature there has always appeared a close sequence +between wisdom and success, righteousness and happiness, and, on the +other hand, between the choice of moral evil and suffering. This +sequence has been not merely expressed in words, but built into the +very structure of the plot through the workings of the imagination +kindled by genius. The law of this succession, and its relationship +with other laws, philosophers have always been seeking. It is this +search that has led men into the mazy discussions of freedom and +fatalism. For in this law lies the crucial point of the question of +human destiny. + +'Beowulf,' our first epic, tells us not only much of the manner of life +of our rude Saxon ancestors, but also much of their thought. The note +of fatalism in its chord of life is no weak one. "A man must bear his +fate," the hero says when about to go into a dangerous combat. Yet even +in 'Beowulf' we find the contrasting element, the character choice +appearing. + +As a child boldly states a problem as though it were a solution, +Beowulf naively says: "Fate always aids the undoomed man, if his +courage holds out." This expression side by side of the two elements of +the question has never been surpassed, and is, in its way, matchless. + +Have we learned much more to-day? We cannot fail to recognize the +duality of the truth, but have we been able yet to join the two sides +into one, to discover the unity that surely lies behind the seeming +contrast? + +Each side of the question has been largely developed. Some, in a narrow +spirit, have echoed merely Beowulf's, "Fate always aids the undoomed +man"; while others, often as narrowly, have answered, "A man succeeds, +if his courage holds out." Ever in our greatest literature the two +elements have appeared side by side. The mystery has always been +recognized. + +That even Shakespeare is reverent before fate, yet believes in the +influence of character on a man's life can easily be seen from words +like Helena's in 'All's Well that Ends Well':-- + + "Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie + Which we ascribe to heaven; the fated sky + Gives us free scope, only doth backward pull + Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull." + +'Macbeth,' with its successive steps of unhappiness following one +critical evil choice is sufficient proof of Shakespear's belief in the +determining power of character. 'King Lear,' with its sad result of +folly shows his belief in the influence of the critical foolish +decision. In the uncrowned king's conversation with his fool, occur +these words: + +_Lear_. Dost thou call me fool, boy? + +_Fool_. All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born +with. + +In Robert Browning literature has brought even up to the present time +the old mystery, the ever continuing struggle between fatalism and +freedom. But to him, as to most thinkers of his day, fate has become +the instrument of a God, a divine Providence rules the world, while +man, too, has his little realm of choice. + +At the present time this discussion is carried to a greater extent than +ever before. The one side finds its expression in our modern idealistic +philosophy, the other in our modern sceptical science. Idealistic +philosophy, since Kant, has been trying to lay the responsibility for +all life upon the free moral choice. It has been seeking to prove that +the spiritual is the source of life. + +Modern science, on the other hand, with its keen, wide-opened eyes, has +tried to lay all the necessary sequence of law, forgetting at times +that law is but the explanation of the phenomena. Science sometimes +refuses to consider such phenomena as require a new point of view, +beyond the physical and mental,--a moral point of view. By this refusal +to recognize the spiritual part of man, science attempts to avoid a +second mystery. The mystery of the union of the physical and mental +realms it has been forced, long since, to accept. It would shun the +moral realms because that, too, entails its mystery of connection. + +Once accept physical life, and science is, in so far, free from +impassable gulfs. Once accept mental life and that realm also becomes +capable of study. Let the free moral nature once be accepted, and again +we shall have reached firm footing. But to cross between these realms +by law, by reason, is impossible; for life, any kind of life, is its +own only explanation. + +While the problem of freedom becomes simple for one who, like Meredith, +will take this view, there are many who will not or cannot do so, and +the very impossibility of the question from reason's point of view +makes the path a very labyrinth for them. We all try to solve the +question, and different personalities arrive at different answers; but +all are partial. They vary from the logical, but dead outcome of +Swinburne: "There is no bad nor good," to the struggling faith of Omar +Khayyam: + + "The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes, + But here or there as strikes the Player goes; + And he that toss'd you down into the Field, + He knows about it all--He knows--He knows." + +At such a time as this of ours it is especially helpful to study a +writer like George Meredith, who far from ignoring the many sides of +the problem, yet clings firmly to his faith in character. With no +doubtful accent, he tells us that Character is the Source of Destiny. + +As any great writer of the day must do, Meredith accepts much in the +arguments of the fatalists. He does not refuse to see that nature and +circumstances are strong to mould life. He recognizes the great power +of environment and the absolute power, within its realm, of heredity. +Like Beowulf, like Shakespeare, like Browning, he is reverent before +human destiny. Yet in spite of all this, he accepts the moral with its +necessary result of freedom. He declares that, although the laws of +necessity rule up to the crisis of the moral choice, that very choice +sets all the laws of intellect and body working according to itself. + +All the stronger for his acceptance of life's necessity becomes his +belief in life's freedom. All the stronger for his concessions becomes +his final dictum. The more intricate the machine, the greater its +master's mind. The narrower the realm of choice, the greater power must +that choice have, to move life as it does. + +To show that the same peculiar mixture of belief in fatalism and in the +determining power of character on life exists in Meredith's writings as +in Beowulf and in Shakespeare, let me quote a few words from 'Evan +Harrington': + +"Most youths, like Pope's women, have no character at all, and indeed a +character that does not wait for circumstances to shape it, is of small +worth in the race that must be run." + +Again he says: + +"When we have cast off the scales of hope and fancy, and surrender our +claims on made chance: when the wild particles of this universe consent +to march as they are directed, it is given them to see if they see at +all that some plan is working out: that the heavens, icy as they are to +the pangs of our blood, have been throughout speaking to our souls; +and, according to the strength there existing, we learn to comprehend +them." + +That Meredith, although very reverent before human destiny, is not, on +the other hand, one of those who lay the responsibility for their own +lives on "the stars," or "fate," or "Providence," may be shown by a +study of the characters into whose mouths he puts such sentiments. + +In 'Rhoda Fleming' who is it but Algernon, "the fool," who says: + +"I'm under some doom. I see it now. Nobody cares for me. I don't know +what happiness is. I was born under a bad star. My fate's written." + +It is of Algernon, likewise, that the author says: + +"Behind the figures he calculated that, in all probability, Rhoda would +visit her sister this night. 'I can't stop that,' he said: and hearing +a clock strike, 'nor that.' The reflection inspired him with fatalistic +views." + +In 'The Tragic Comedians,' who is it but Clotilde, "the craven," who +lays the successive steps which lead to the tragedy in her life, now to +fate, now to other people's power or lack of insight, now to +Providence? She reaps, as Meredith plainly shows us, simply what she +sows. + +In 'Sandra Belloni,' it is Mr. Barrett, that sentimentalist of the +better order, of which class the author says: "We will discriminate +more closely here than to call them fools," who lets his whole life be +crushed with the melancholy thought that he is under the influence of +some baneful star. His death, which he lets chance bring or keep away, +is a fitting conclusion to his story. He shuts two pistols up together +in the same case overnight, knowing that one of them is loaded, the +other not. In the morning he takes out one, prepared to fire it upon +himself, in case his beloved does not keep tryst. She does not come, he +fires, the pistol happens to be loaded, and so comes death. It shows +that the "star" of which he thought was not a real star burning clear +in the high heavens. It was rather but a will-o'-the-wisp, born of the +marshy exhalations of his own morbid brain. Meredith reverences the +real star. He kindly ridicules the will-o'-the-wisp. + +But there is still another class of fatalists in Meredith's novels. He +recognizes also the fatalism of youth. Such is that of the young +Wilfrid in 'Sandra Belloni,' concerning whom the author informs us that +we "shall see him grow." Meredith is too great a thinker not to see +that this tendency toward fatalism does not belong merely to the +"fool," the "craven," and the "sentimentalist," but that it is a +tendency of our youth. We are all weak when we are growing, he assures +us. Is not ours preeminently a growing age? + +But we must not linger too long on the negative side of Meredith's +belief. We have seen that he is willing to recognize that there is a +wonderful, mysterious power governing human destiny. We have seen, +also, that he does not side in the least with those who lay the +responsibility for their own lives on fate. Let us seek for his +positive message. + +In the 'Adventures of Harry Richmond' he says: + +"If a man's fate were as a forbidden fruit, detached from him, and in +front of him, he might hesitate fortunately before plucking it; but, as +most of us are aware, the vital half of it lies in the seed paths he +has traversed." + +This is certainly a very definite statement of a strong belief in a +man's choice of his own destiny. Again, in 'Modern Love' we find the +following: + + "In tragic life, God wot, + No villain need be! Passions spin the plot; + We are betrayed by what is false within." + "I take the hap + Of all my deeds. The wind that fills my sails + Propels; but I am helmsman. Am I wrecked, + I know the devil has sufficient weight + To bear; I lay it not on him, or fate. + Besides, he's damned. That man I do suspect + A coward, who would burden the poor deuce + With what ensues from his own slipperiness." + +The main issue between freedom and fatalism lies in just this question: +Is a man's life determined by what he is or by what he does? Does his +nature, received through inheritance, moulded by circumstance, +determine his acts and so his life? Or does his moral choice determine +these? + +Extreme fatalists declare that the former is true. Moralists, +idealists, believers in freedom, support the latter view. + +Now Meredith leaves us no doubt as to his position on the point. Again +and again we see his characters choosing their lives. And their choices +rest on no inherited nature, but on character. Thus our author +declares, by his plots, as in plain words, that "Our deathlessness is +in what we do, not in what we are." + +As we have said, a writer's thought of life can be best understood from +his plots. He builds life, consciously or unconsciously, as he believes +that nature builds it. Does he let the righteous perish and the evil +man prosper in the end? Then he either does not believe in this law of +ours, or in its present successful working. Perhaps, like Victor Hugo, +he teaches a higher law, that of self-sacrifice. Perhaps, like some +little modern writers, he teaches a lower law of the temporary success, +at times, of hypocrisy and deceit. Whatever he believes in and likes to +think of, his structure will disclose. + +Now one very marked thing about Meredith's structure is the agreement +of the two crises, that of character and that of circumstances. When +any one of his characters chooses for good or evil, for wisdom or +folly, at that very time, and by that very choice, he decides his +future happiness and success, or unhappiness and failure. Therein lies +the decision of the question whether that particular novel shall be a +tragedy or a comedy. + +When Dahlia Fleming chooses evil, she chooses unhappiness. No kind +Providence intervenes to save her from her harvest. How many of our +little writers of to-day would have caused her marriage with Edward to +take place in the end! Is not Meredith's conclusion far more true to +life? + +When Diana of the Cross-Ways resists Percy's temptings and is led by +her hatred of his evil to betray his secret, she chooses for her own +happiness in the end. The storms through which she goes to reach it are +the natural result of her impulsive, unbalanced mind. + +Stronger still is the teaching in 'The Tragic Comedians.' When Clotilde +chooses the craven's part to play, she chooses also the craven's +reward. + +It is in his scientific insight into moral life that Meredith's growth +beyond Beowulf, Shakespeare, and even Browning appears. We of the +nineteenth century would be sorry to think that we had not one master +who goes even deeper into our modern life than these. We believe that, +as men of the later twentieth century look back upon our day, they will +call George Meredith our greatest literary exponent. + +Beowulf asserts the general truth that Circumstance and Character +determine Destiny. + +Shakespeare has not gone very much farther in the philosophy of life. +He teaches that character determines character, and that circumstance +determines circumstance; and that, in some way, circumstance obeys +character. + +Browning would advance a step and teach us, as his age taught the +world, that the dependence of the external upon the spiritual comes +about through the agency of a personal God. + +But Meredith takes up the cry of our scientific age, and says: "The god +of this world is in the machine, not out of it." + +This is no irreverent teaching, for Meredith is not irreverent. It is +simply the search for primary causes. It is the result of the same +tendency that leads us to be dissatisfied with calling typhoid fever a +"dispensation of Providence," and to lay it to bad drains. Like +evolution in the physical world, this theory does not tend to remove +God, but to explain more fully his agency and methods. It is no new +theory. But the manner of its teaching is as new as this latter +nineteenth century of ours. + +If one were to compare Meredith with Shakespeare on this subject, one +would naturally coordinate Macbeth and Rhoda Fleming, Diana of the +Cross-Ways and King Lear. + +'Rhoda Fleming' is, like 'Macbeth,' a tale with a moral purpose. The +dependence of fate on the moral choice is its chief thought. The +book gains force, as all these novels do, from its striking +characterizations. We see Dahlia, the fair-haired one, whose great +failing is weakness,--the fault of a negative character. And we see +plainly the long process of pain to which she thereby subjects herself +in the course of her purification. + +Rhoda, her sister has, on the other hand, the defects of the positive +character. She is head-strong, over-proud. It is from these +characteristics that she suffers or leads others to suffer. "The Fates +that mould us, always work from the main-spring." + +In her relations with Anthony Hope, Rhoda takes the part of the +tempter. The interview between the two shows such wonderful insight +into character that from this passage alone Meredith might be ranked as +great. Rhoda discovers that she has sold her sister in marriage to a +brute. In her head-strong desire to buy her off from him, she goes to +her uncle to beg for a large sum of money. Anthony, although a poor man +in reality, has always delighted in deceiving his brother and his +nieces on that point. Rhoda finds him struggling with the greatest +temptation of his life. He has carried home money belonging to the bank +of which he is a trusted employee. His love of money, his former +deceit, make him very weak before Rhoda. So he falls. She is allowed to +take with her the money she wants. As the reader looks back over the +story, he sees that the money will prove useless for her ends, and that +his fall will ruin her uncle's life. Meredith here shows himself a +master of tragedy. + +The life of the strong, impulsive, young Robert is not so dependent +upon the crises of temptation. For he knows himself and lives with a +constant purpose to conquer himself. His purpose is stronger than his +passions. In respect to his obedience to Socrates's favorite maxim, he +is a man rare even in our self-conscious age. What shall we say of +Edward, "villain and hero in one"? Like Dahlia he loses his life's +happiness through his besetting sin. Several times a courageous word +said that ought to be said, or a brave deed done that should have been +done might have saved him. And each time he proves himself a coward, +until it is too late. Like the children of Israel he would not enter +the promised land for fear of the inhabitants thereof. Like them too, +he atoned by spending his forty years in the wilderness, and there +laying down his life. + +We must not neglect the "fascinating Peggy Lovell,"--a coquette whose +charm even a woman can feel. Avarice and love of pleasure are her +besetting sins. And avarice leads her to her fate. She has chosen to +sow her wild oats and to accrue her debts. These she pays, as we all +must in one way or another, with herself. Her way is to marry the man +who can pay them rather than the man she loves. + +One and all, major and minor characters, they come to the crises of +their destinies. One after another chooses according to his character +his life. This is Meredith's teaching. + +But our author is not always sounding the very depths of life. He is no +preacher, but a painter of human nature. The power of mind has a large +place in his books. "Drink of faith in the brains a full draught," he +tells us; and again:--"To read with a soul in the mirror of mind Is +man's chief lesson." + +'Diana of the Cross-Ways' teaches the partial failure, the temporary +unhappiness, that result from lack of mental balance. It is the story +of a charming, brilliant, but impulsive woman who makes many mistakes +and who suffers from them. Diana is capable of loving one unworthy of +her, and for such lack of wisdom she pays dearly. Yet she holds firmly +and purely to the right and so wins happiness in the end. She is +foolish sometimes, but she is not a fool. Hence her story is not a +tragedy. + +This novelist-philosopher has taught us, then, that folly tends to +bring failure, but that righteousness is stronger than folly. He is not +content to stop in his teachings even here. In 'The Tragic Comedians' +he goes still further, and deals with the interrelations of the moral +and intellectual. For character rules intellect, as intellect reacts +upon character. + +'The Tragic Comedians' begins with the birth of a love. With Clotilde, +daughter of a highly respectable, but very conventional citizen, Alvan, +a Jew and demagogue, a man of widespread and somewhat notorious +reputation, falls in love. Clotilde is a beautiful, bright woman; +interesting, but cowardly. Like all Meredith's heroes and heroines, she +has her besetting sin. + +To this sudden, overpowering new love Clotilde yields her heart, but +will not yield her actions. She is afraid. While Alvan would go at once +to her parents to ask for her hand, Clotilde, seeing only too plainly +how little hope there is of obtaining their consent, prefers to dally +with matters, and insists on his postponing the interview. Alvan's +straightforward nature cannot understand such half-way measures. He +leaves her unsought for a time, and begins to fade out of Clotilde's +mind. Suddenly, when in the mountains with a friend, she hears that +Alvan is near. She wants him then, and goes to seek him. Again he +misunderstands her. This time he asks her to run away with him, but she +refuses, seeming not so much shocked as afraid. She answers, not in a +womanly, straightforward way, but with an evasion. Then she consents to +let him speak to her father and mother. She addresses them first on the +subject, but is met with a torrent of angry words. The poor thing +cannot stand that. In her weakness she makes her next great mistake, +and runs away to Alvan, beseeching him to marry her secretly. The woman +who would not listen to his request for this very thing but a day or +two before now begs for it. She finds that it is too late. Her lover, +in his pride, has determined to meet her parents on their own ground. +He will win her, he now declares, by conventional methods. So he takes +her to a friend's home. It is there that the chief crisis of the book +takes place, a crisis which is one of the most interesting I know in +literature. It is a moral crisis. + +Clotilde has come to it through various steps of weakness. Alvan has +reached it through pride and its reaction from his former shady life to +a desire for conventionalism. A strong man who had before obeyed +conventional rules might there have thrown them aside. To Alvan, on +account of their long disuse, they seemed more precious than they need. + +So Alvan meets the crisis overconfident in his strength. Clotilde meets +it afraid, cowering in her weakness. Of her state Meredith says: + +"Men and women alike, who renounce their own individuality by cowering +thus abjectly under some other before the storm, are in reality +abjuring their idea of that other, and offering themselves up to the +genius of Power in whatsoever direction it may chance to be manifested, +in whatsoever person. We no sooner shut our eyes than we consent to be +prey, we lose the soul of election." + +Alvan handed Clotilde back to her parents. She meekly did what he said. +She was hurt. She could not understand his action. Had she but stood up +against this mistake, he might have had pity on her even yet. Or, had +he not changed his own rigid determination, the action might have +prevented that worst result, the weakening of her belief in him. There +is nothing like cowardice to destroy one's faith in others. There is +nothing like courageous action to clear away those mists of doubt. +Clotilde's "craven" will began to demoralize her mind. + +But her chance is not over yet. She may still cling to Alvan. Doubtless +he will seek her, he has not given her up. Ah, but circumstances were +too strong. For the craven they are always too strong. By a short +imprisonment, by family storms and prayers, Clotilde is reduced to +external subjection. The disorder of her mind increases. + +While submitting to her father's command, while writing words of +dismissal to Alvan, and even accepting the attentions of a former +suitor, she still says in her heart of hearts that she will always be +loyal to him. How peculiar seems the twisting, "serpentine" nature! She +still waits for Alvan to save her from the chains she daily forges for +herself. Meanwhile Alvan does his best. He uses all means,-- +conventional and otherwise. He finally forces permission from +Clotilde's father to hold a free interview with Clotilde. She is to +tell him openly and freely whether she will marry him or not. So he +hopes to free her of coercion. + +So far as circumstances are concerned, there is now nothing to prevent +a happy ending; but from moral causes it is impossible. + +The chains she has forged for herself are too strong. Her fancies have +become diseased by long straining to a cowardly deceit. She think's +Alvan's messengers deceitful too. + +So she refuses. She throws away thereby her last chance. And yet--can +we believe it?--she still hopes. Alvan has done his best and has +failed. His friends have tried to help him. Circumstance has given away +before them. And she has thrown away their help--yet she still hopes. +Alvan sends a challenge to her father. Prince Marko accepts it, and now +her shuddering trust is in Providence. Marko will be killed. Now Alvan +shall have her hand. But "Providence" does not save her. Alvan is +killed, and Prince Marko returns Clotilde cannot understand it. She is +stunned, but recovers sufficiently to marry Prince Marko. + +"Not she, it was the situation they had created which was guilty," she +had thought. + +"The craven with desires expecting to be blest is a zealot of the faith +which ascribes the direction of events to the outer world." + +Of Alvan's death, Meredith says some very characteristic words. Let me +quote once again: + +"He perished of his weakness, but it was a strong man that fell." + +"He was 'a tragic comedian,' one of the lividly ludicious, whom we +cannot laugh at, but must contemplate, to distinguish where their +character strikes the note of discord with life; for otherwise, in the +reflection of their history, life will seem a thing demoniacally +inclined by fits to antic and dive into gulfs." + +This, then, is George Meredith's message. We have eaten of the fruit of +the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and the power to choose +between the two has entered into our souls. We are under the rule of a +great overhanging law. Destiny's wheels we cannot stop, but through our +capacity for moral choice, our hands lie on the button that moves the +whole machine in its relation to our own individual lives. + +This is a great lesson. How strong in its likeness to the teachings of +our great masters of the past! How needful in its new scientific form +to-day! How suggestive as to the universe! Does it not follow that as +our lives are planned so is this universe planned in which we live! +Does it not follow that the spiritual is the central life upon which +all else depends? It is the teaching of the childhood of the race, +broadened through knowledge of life's passion, humbled and heightened +through sight of God's hand, strengthened and widened through the +opening of our eyes in modern science to a fuller and clearer +knowledge, not only of the machinery of the universe, but also of its +motive power. + + _Emily G. Hooker_. + + + + + THE TRAGEDY OF OPHELIA. + + RENUNCIATION. + + +The "Tragedy of Hamlet" has its origin in the murder of Hamlet's +father, its development in Hamlet's preparation for revenge, and its +consummation in the murderer's death. It is well summed up in the +Anglicized title of the old German play, 'Fratricide Punished,' +('Hamlet,' Variorum Edition, Furness, Vol. II., p. 121). In the +progress of this tragedy Ophelia's own sad story has no part or lot. +She is in it, but not of it, and her relationship to it is an episode. +Like 'The Murder of Gonzago,' however, it is a tragedy within the +tragedy, but it turns wholly upon the loves of Hamlet and Ophelia, +their interruption, and its result. For this reason it is greatly shorn +of detail, and therefore doubtless it has always been regarded as a +mystery. + +"The Tragedy of Ophelia" opens with a narrative of Hamlet's ardent +pursuit of Ophelia with vows of love, the surrender of her maiden heart +to him, and their free and bounteous interviews thereafter. Here the +action of the drama begins, and her father, doubting the integrity of +Hamlet's purpose, forbids her further reception of his attentions, and, +apparently without explanation made to Hamlet, she obeys him. Of what +Hamlet thinks or says of this we are not in terms informed, and can +only infer it from his conduct towards her afterwards. But that conduct +was of a most extraordinary character, seeming to many students of the +play to be inexplicable. The explanations of others may be resolved +into three theories, each of which deserves a passing notice. It has +been claimed that insanity will account for it, and indeed Hamlet's +treatment of Ophelia has been the chief argument advanced in proof of +his insanity; but it is incredible that Shakespeare should have devoted +the only two interviews which he had with her, and which had so +important an influence upon her life, to the mere vaporings of a +madman. It has been suggested that he is putting on "an antic +disposition," as he had foretold he would, with a view to deceiving the +King concerning his intentions, and such conduct would have been +fitting with the temptress in Belleforest's 'Hystorie,' (_Ibid_., 91); +but Shakespeare has transformed the creature of that story into +Hamlet's gentle sweetheart, and so to lacerate her soul by way of +subterfuge would have been an act of unjustifiable brutality, of which +he could by no means have been guilty. It has been urged that his +mind's eye is jaundiced by his mother's gross behavior, and that +thereupon he turns distrustfully from womankind; but long after his +mother's wicked marriage, perhaps a month afterwards, he is reveling in +Ophelia's love,--a balm that gracious Nature often pours on bleeding +hearts. And further, from either of these points of view, the sudden +and extravagant change in Hamlet's feelings towards Ophelia, the cruel +harshness of his speech to her soon after, and his subsequent complete +indifference to her, are beyond the requirements of the situation, and +the theories therefore seem rather to perplex than to explain. + +Undoubtedly the cause of this is that they seek the solution of the +riddle in the effect on Hamlet's relations to Ophelia of prior +incidents in the play, his father's murder, his mother's marriage to +the murderer, and the ghostly mission of revenge. But there are in the +situation at the end of Act I of 'Hamlet' and wholly unconnected with +these incidents, all the elements of a tragedy, few and simple, but +profoundly significant. Thus, we have a prince who is an ardent lover, +a court lady who has as ardently returned his love, the lady's sudden +and unexplained refusal to see or hear from him, her ambitious and +time-serving courtier father, and for a King a "remorseless, +treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain." Let but a spark of jealous +suspicion reach such a mixture, and there must be an explosion; with a +war-hardened Othello-like titanic rage and murder, but with the softer +Hamlet renunciation and reproach, and with poor Ophelia, who represses +her feelings always, heart-break, insanity, and death. + +Now, Hamlet is pictured as one of the most suspicious of men, and in +particular at this juncture about his mortal enemy the King. In +addition, he is very proud and very revengeful, as he admits, and there +is every indication that he has been passionately fond of Ophelia. When +therefore she persistently denies herself to him in private, though +doubtless a regular attendant at the functions of the court, his +suspicions are excited, his pride wounded, his anger aroused; and, with +"the pangs of despis'd love" in his heart, and in his mind a tumult of +conflicting thoughts, he suddenly presents himself before her, resolved +to know the truth. "What damned moments counts he o'er Who dotes, yet +doubts,--suspects, yet fondly loves." In Quarto I she says: "He found +me walking in the gallery, all alone"; that is, in the gallery of the +King's palace,--(compare lines 673 and 803),--and of course within +reach of the King; and, though Shakespeare afterwards transferred this +scene to her chamber in her father's house, it may not be overlooked +that the remarkable interview of which Ophelia tells was conceived +originally as occurring on the impulse of the moment and under stress +of feeling caused apparently, by Hamlet's unexpected and dumbfoundering +discovery: + + "He took me by the wrist and held me hard. + Then goes he to the length of all his arm, + And, with his other hand thus o'er his brow, + He falls to such perusal of my face + As he would draw it. Long time stayed he so. + At last--a little shaking of my arm, + And thrice his head thus waving up and down-- + He raised a sigh so piteous and profound + As it did seem to shatter all his bulk + And end his being. That done, he lets me go, + And with his head over his shoulder turned + He seemed to find his way without his eyes; + For out o' doors he went without their help, + And to the last bended their light on me." + +In that harsh grip is anger, in that long study of her face the search +for truth, in his silence the wounded pride that cannot utter his +suspicions, in the triple nod the confirmation of their verity, in the +sigh the efflux of his love, in the hand-shaking a farewell, and in the +retroverted face a hope yet lingering but doomed to disappointment. For +Ophelia still utters no word of explanation, and Hamlet the lover +leaves her forever. + +The renunciation of Ophelia at this interview is generally conceded, +but the reason assigned for it is the incompatibility of Hamlet's +passion for her with his mission of revenge;--a most unsatisfactory +explanation, because after the Ghost's command was laid on him he still +pursued her, for it was after that that she says: "I did refuse his +letters and denied his access to me." There is apparently an interval +of two months between Acts I and II of Hamlet, and during this period +Hamlet has evidently been brooding over his father's murder and +considering the means of executing his dread command, and he has +doubtless been vexing his soul over the conduct of Ophelia until he can +stand the strain no longer. In immediate sequence in the play his +silent interview with her follows upon her denial of herself to him, +and an echo of the bitter feeling then aroused in him is subsequently +heard, when he tells her that the prologue to the players' scene is +brief "as woman's love";--sometimes mistakenly supposed to refer to the +Queen, whose defection did not occur for more than thirty years after +her marriage. If Hamlet's belief in an intrigue between her and the +King be assumed, it fully explains his conduct before, at, and after +his renunciation of Ophelia, and it would seem that no other theory can +explain it adequately. + +When Othello is brooding over the supposed delinquencies of Desdemona, +tortured by commingled love and hate, in his wrath he strikes her. +Afterwards he demands: "Let me see your eyes; look in my face"; and as +she does so, and he searches there for her innocence and finds it not, +he bitterly adjures her: "Swear thou art honest," though all the while +assured that she is "false as hell." And he weeps and laments over her +at the very moment that he determines upon an eternal separation. +Othello's interview with Desdemona and this interview of Hamlet's with +Ophelia are identical in outline, and they differ in detail only as the +character of the two men differ. Shakespeare has told us in words that +Othello is jealously suspicious of Desdemona, and with equal +faithfulness he has depicted jealous suspicion in the acts of Hamlet. + +This mute interview between Hamlet and Ophelia reminds one of the "Dumb +Shew," which precedes the scene from the drama of 'Gonzago's Murder'; +and as in the latter instance the Duke and Duchess afterwards put into +words the thoughts which the pantomime foreshadows, so on examination +will this be found to be the case in the second interview between +Hamlet and Ophelia, which immediately follows upon his great soliloquy. + +This second interview concludes Scene i of Act III in Quarto II and in +the Folios, but in Quarto I it is in Act II, and logically it belongs +there. Act I of 'Hamlet' was designed to disclose the relation of the +several characters to each other, and the command imposed on Hamlet to +avenge his Father's death upon the King; and Act II was originally +intended to exhibit Hamlet erratically making ready to obey the Ghost's +command, and the various artifices which the King employs to detect his +hidden purpose. When Ophelia tells her father of Hamlet's wordless +interview with her, Polonius promptly goes to the King with the story +of their amours and his termination of them, and with the announcement +that Hamlet is mad for his daughter's love; and, after hearing his +reasons for this opinion, being impressed by them, naturally the first +thought of the King is: "How may we try it further?" To this Polonius +replies: "I'll loose my daughter to him" during one of his walks in the +gallery here, whilst you and I, unseen but seeing, will witness their +encounter. In Quarto I the meeting between Hamlet and Ophelia follows +at once, and when it fails Polonius undertakes to board him, and when +that fails Rosencrantz and Guildenstern assay him. Afterwards +Shakespeare saw fit to change the order of these scenes, but this +particular scene may properly be considered now, and before others +which it logically precedes. + +In the interpretation of this interview, as of the former, commentators +have been misled by the assumption that it is in some way connected +with Hamlet's mission of revenge, and consequently they have found it, +as has been suggested, a veritable _pons asinorum_. Apart from the +three theories above referred to, there is an attempt to explain it on +the hypothesis that when Hamlet meets Ophelia in the palace, whither he +has been sent for by the King for the express purpose of meeting her, +but "as 'twere by accident," he at once suspects the ruse, and +therefore talks in the extraordinary manner recorded of him; that is, +that he is rude and brutal, and refuses to yield to his feelings of +affection, in order to deceive the King, who he well knows is within +hearing, or to punish Ophelia, who he is assured is spying on him. But +this theory seems to be wholly without support in the text. In the +first place, there is not a word which indicates that he suspects the +King's presence, and, on the contrary, the delivery of the soliloquy, +the admission that he is revengeful and ambitious, and the covert +threat to kill the King, all tend to prove that he does not suspect it. +Further, such a suspicion could reasonably originate only in the fact +that the King had sent for him, and that instead of the King he found +Ophelia, but it is to be remembered that in Quarto I the King does not +send for him, and that the meeting is in fact accidental. Conceding the +suspicion, however, for argument's sake, whilst it might induce Hamlet +to be reticent or cautious in his speech, it does not explain why +Shakespeare put into his mouth the denunciatory language he employs, +and this is after all the vital question. It cannot have been in order +to deceive the King by concealing his love for Ophelia, for such +concealment must necessarily undeceive him; the King, Queen, and +Polonius are all deluded into believing him mad for Ophelia's love, and +this test is expected to confirm them in it; but we know that in fact +the King is undeceived, for his comment is: "Love! His affections do +not that way tend; Nor what he spake, though it lack'd form a little, +Was not like madness." Were he profuse in his protestations of love, +the King might indeed be deceived into believing that it is not his +conduct, but Ophelia's, which troubles Hamlet; for herein the situation +differs from that narrated by Belleforest, the lady there being a mere +vulgar temptress, whose preconcerted blandishments Hamlet shrewdly +refuses to yield to. As for Ophelia's spying on him, it is untenable; +for she also expects that Hamlet will exhibit affection for her, and, +were he to do so, instead of betraying his secret, she would aid him in +concealing it. It seems plain from his inquiry that Hamlet sees +Polonius during the interview, but it is not probable that he believes +Ophelia to be cognizant of his presence; her answer is a denial of such +knowledge, and Hamlet's succeeding sarcastic speech is meant for the +conscience of Polonius, not for hers. The worst that he could say to +her is said before the discovery of her father, and before her +falsehood, and hence the discovery and the falsehood do not serve to +explain it. Nothing can explain it satisfactorily, but Hamlet's +conviction that she has transferred her affections to the King. + +After Hamlet has for some time been in the King's chamber, whether it +is with or without the King's request, he meets Ophelia there, and he +finds her apparently waiting for some one, and whiling away the time by +reading. So it has been pre-arranged, and so it seems to him. Plainly +she has not been waiting for him, for, though he himself has been +waiting, she has not addressed him, and in the end he first accosts +her. Indeed, it has been planned that their meeting shall seem to him +to be "by accident," and, so seeming, the idea of her waiting for him +is precluded. Hence to him, already suspicious of her integrity, she +must have come to meet the King. But he has before this been convinced +of such an intrigue, as above shown, and because of it has renounced +her; and accordingly he petitions her lightly, if not ironically: +"Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remember'd." Their meeting is on +the same day as, or certainly not more than one day later than, the +speechless interview; but Ophelia ignores that, and ignores his +petition also, and inquires into the state of his health "for this many +a day,"--that is, since Polonius has separated them,--to which he +responds gravely, and without show of affection. Thereupon ensues the +following conversation: + + "_Oph_. My lord, I have remembrances of yours + That I have longed long to redeliver; + I pray you now receive them. + + "_Ham_. No, not I; + I never gave you aught. + + "_Oph_. My honor'd lord, you know right well you did, + And with them words of so sweet breath compos'd + As made the things more rich. Their perfume lost, + Take them again; for to the noble mind + Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind." + +It seems clear that Ophelia returns these remembrances in pursuance of +her father's orders, express or implied; that Hamlet repudiates them +because, proud and sensitive, he would blot their old associations from +his memory; and that Ophelia insists on their return with a sad and +tender recollection of those music-vows of love that he has made so +often. But why she should accuse him of unkindness towards her is not +so clear, since it is she who has broken off their intimacy. Her +meaning is not doubtful in Quarto I, where this reference to Hamlet's +unkindness follows upon his comments on her honesty, and evidently +refers to them. But in Quarto II Shakespeare changes the order of the +conversation, and so apparently intends to make Ophelia's suggestion of +unkindness refer to Hamlet's visit to her closet. Hence he had not only +frightened her at that interview, as she informed her father, but he +had hurt her, she realizes that he had renounced her, and in this +gentle way she now upbraids him. But Hamlet, wrought to sudden fury by +the reminiscence, like Othello, can see nothing but the supposed wrong +which she has done him, and, like Othello, charges her with unchastity, +without indicating the suspected man: + + "_Ham_. Ha, ha! are you honest? + + "_Oph_. My lord? + + "_Ham_. Are you fair? + + "_Oph_. What means your lordship! + + "_Ham_. That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit +of no discourse to your beauty. + + "_Oph_. Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with +honesty? + + "_Ham_. Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform +honesty from what it is to a bawd, than the force of honesty can +translate beauty into his likeness. This was sometime a paradox, but +now the time gives it proof." + +Though expressed figuratively, there can be no doubt of Hamlet's +intention in this passage to warn Ophelia against some temptation then +assailing her, which is attacking her virtue through the medium of her +beauty, and which will probably prevail over it. It concerns her +"honesty,"--a virtuous woman being honest in respect of others who have +claims on her, and chaste in respect of herself,--and undoubtedly it +refers to the temptation which assails all women who win unscrupulous +admirers by their charms, and to which they sometimes succumb. In +Ophelia's case it has been to Hamlet an impossible possibility that she +could prove unfaithful to him, but here and now, since he has +discovered her secret visit to the King, it has become reality. + +Then, as the scene proceeds, Hamlet in a breath admits and denies his +former love for her, thus plainly repudiating any present affection. +(This conclusion is entirely consistent with his declaration "I lov'd +Ophelia" in the grave-yard scene). Here he renounces her in words, as +formerly he had renounced her by signs. Then he denounces himself and +his "old stock" as being without virtue, and concludes the subject by +declaring: "We are arrant knaves, all; believe none of us. Go thy ways +to a nunnery." Here he unmistakeably warns her against the King, for of +that old stock only they two are left. To the blandishments of both she +has yielded, as he supposes, and since Hamlet no longer loves her, and +the King but lusts after her, her only safe retreat is in a nunnery. In +those old days a nunnery was often the only refuge for a woman who was +fancied by a king, if she would retain her purity. + +At this juncture Hamlet discovers Polonius, as is evident by his +suggestion that he had better remain at home when he desires to play +the fool; if the remark were not intended for his ear, it would be +absurd. Of course he realizes that Polonius has been listening to their +conversation, but he does not betray his knowledge, though the rest of +his comments are perhaps more particularly intended for Polonius's ear. +His words turn "wild and whirling," Ophelia notes the change, and her +responses change in tone accordingly. He protests that though she +marries she must lose that immediate jewel of her soul of which Iago +prates, or that she will transform her husband into the horned monster +of Othello's fears. And then he inveighs against wanton womankind in +general, but in such terms as might befit the woman he supposes that +she has become. He puts on "an antic disposition" for the benefit of +Polonius, but under it all is the pointed notice to Ophelia that their +past relationship can never be renewed, and the masked charge that it +is her adoption of the ways of her frail sisters that has made him +mad,--as her words indicate that she supposes him to be,--and that has +wrecked the future happiness of both of them. + +When Hero is charged by Claudio with unchastity, she fancies that +something must be wrong with him, and says: "Is my lord well, that he +doth speak so wild?" Of Othello's accusation Desdemona thinks that +"something, sure, of state ... Hath puddled his clear spirit." In a +similar frame of mind Ophelia entreats: "Ye heavenly powers restore +him," and bewails the overthrow of Hamlet's reason. These three tender +hearted women are singularly alike in their mental attitudes under the +accusation, and but too willing to extenuate the cruel blow and to +forgive it. But both Hero and Desdemona defend themselves against the +charge, whilst Ophelia, maintaining her habitual reticence, neither +admits nor denies anything, and Hamlet's conviction of her wrongdoing +with the King remains unchanged. + +Thus far Hamlet has made no direct charge of the transfer of Ophelia's +affections from him to another, but he seems to do this at their next +interview, which takes place at the time of the play of 'Gonzago's +Murder.' There is a bitterness towards her in his speech, a brutality +in his obscene allusions, and a degree of heartlessness in it all, +which can be excused--if indeed it be deemed excusable--only on the +theory that he believes her to have herself become a heartless, wicked +woman. When he is commenting on the facts of the play, and Ophelia +suggests that he is "as good as a chorus," he snarlingly replies: "I +could interpret between you and your love if I could see the puppets +dallying." Everything which Hamlet says is pregnant with meaning, and +Ophelia evidently regards this as a keen thrust at her, which it +plainly is. Both of them know that they two are no longer lovers, and +each of them therefore understands that the allusion is to some other +man with whom she treads "the primrose path of dalliance." As usual +Ophelia does not deny the charge, and it would not be singular if +Hamlet were to accept her silence as an admission of its truth. To whom +she thinks that he refers does not appear, but there can be no doubt +that his conviction is that her new lover is the King. + +The next incident indicating this conviction is the interview in which +Polonius undertakes with much complacency to "board" the Prince: + + "_Pol_. Do you know me, my lord? + + "_Ham_. Excellent well; you are a fishmonger. + + "_Pol_. Not I, my lord. + + "_Ham_. Then I would you were so honest a man. + + "_Pol_. Honest, my lord? + + "_Ham_. Ay, sir; to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one +man picked out of ten thousand. + + "_Pol_. That's very true, my lord. + + "_Ham_. For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god +kissing carrion--Have you a daughter? + + "_Pol_. I have, my lord. + + "_Ham_. Let her not walk i' the sun. Conception is a blessing, +but not as your daughter may conceive. Friend, look to it. + + "_Pol_. How say you by that? Still harping on my daughter. Yet +he knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger. He is far gone, +far gone." [_aside_]. + +There has been much discussion of this passage, but no satisfactory +solution of it. It is a good sample of the enigmatic style of speech +characteristic of Hamlet, which presumably the audiences of +Shakespeare's day comprehended, which of course the astute Polonius did +not understand, and which puzzles later generations because they have +lost the ancient significance of certain words. Polonius is so +prejudiced in favor of his theory that it was "the very ecstacy of +love" that troubled Hamlet, that he does not even attempt to fathom his +allusions. And yet Hamlet's last remark, warning him about his +daughter, rivets his attention, and he demands to know what is meant by +it; but it is only for an instant, his illusion again diverts him from +the matter, and the chance of explanation thus escapes. + +Malone says that "fishmonger" was a cant term for a "wencher"; and in +Barnabe Rich's 'Irish Hubbub' is the expression "senex fornicator, an +old fishmonger." Possibly this is its primary significance in Hamlet's +mind, for shortly afterwards he satirically says of Polonius to the +players: "He's for a jig, or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps." In +several instances Shakespeare similarly alludes to "fishing"; as in +'Measure for Measure,' i, 2, 91: "Groping for trouts in a peculiar +river"; 'Winter's Tale,' i, 2, 195: "And his pond fish'd by his next +neighbor"; and possibly in 'Antony and Cleopatra,' i, 4, 4: "He fishes, +drinks, and wastes the lamps of night in revels." The word "monger" in +compound words, as used by Shakespeare, does not always mean a trader +in the article, but sometimes one who merely indulges in the act; as in +'Love's Labour's Lost,' ii, 1, 253: "Thou art an old love-monger"; +in 'Romeo and Juliet,' ii, 4, 30: "These strange flies, these +fashion-mongers"; and in 'Measure for Measure,' v, 1, 337: "Was the +Duke a fleshmonger?" In common usage the word has this double +significance, indeed, dependent upon whether its adjunct refers to a +thing or to an act; as, for example, cheesemonger and scandalmonger, +and other similar compounds which will readily suggest themselves. +Hence "fishmonger" means both one given to "fishing" and a trader in +fish. And doubtless the latter is its most important significance in +Hamlet's mind, when Polonius denies that he is a fishmonger, namely +that he is a trader in a food which from time immemorial has been +supposed to be an aphrodisiac. Wherefore we are to understand Hamlet as +meaning that Polonius is not so honest a man as the fishmonger that +Polonius has in mind, or the senex fornicator that he originally +had in mind, but that he is a fleshmonger,--a pander, as Tieck puts +it;--"traders in flesh" such persons are termed in 'Troilus and +Cressida,' v, 11, 46. It is supposed by Tieck that the allusion is to +the way in which Polonius threw Hamlet and Ophelia together, by Friesen +that it refers to his pandering to the desires of Claudius and the +Queen before the old King's death, and by Doering that it points to his +promotion of the o'er-hasty marriage of the King and Queen. But the +foregoing discussion shows that the secondary thought in Hamlet's mind +is that for some personal end Polonius permits Ophelia to accept the +King's attentions, knowing the necessary effect of her youth and beauty +on his licentious nature; for at his last interview with her he saw her +father also, though apparently hiding from both of them, and therefore +believes that he was cognizant of the fact that she had gone to the +palace privately to meet the King. It is evidently this belief which +inspires him with the contempt which he afterwards exhibits towards +Polonius. + +His next speech manifests this contempt in a notable degree, but it has +been unappreciated because of the failure to perceive the significance +of the word "sun." It is an argument intended to enforce what he had +already said, and, supplying the omitted portion, the whole runs thus: +You are not honest, and you cannot be honest; "for if the sun (in the +sky) breed maggots in a dead dog, being a (heavenly) god kissing +carrion," even so will the sun of this realm (the King) engender +misdeeds in you, a corrupt man caressed by an earthly god. In +characteristic fashion Shakespeare uses "sun" in a double sense, as he +has just used "fishmonger," and again the occult reference is to +Polonius as a procurer for the King. + +And Hamlet follows this up by the warning concerning Ophelia; "Let her +not walk i' the sun (shine of the King's favor); conception is a +blessing, but not as your daughter may conceive (if she does so)." +"Sun" in this passage means "sunshine" or "sunlight," as in ordinary +usage it often does, but it is the light of the sun of royalty that he +has just mentioned. + +Hamlet's meaning is made so plain by this construction, that it +scarcely needs argument to enforce it. It may however be remarked that, +assuming its correctness in respect of the declaration that Polonius is +not so honest as a fishmonger, its correctness as to the sun's breeding +maggots in carrion and causing conception in Ophelia necessarily +follows. The three enigmatical statements, thus interpreted, complement +and explain each other, and therefore tend to prove each other; and the +proof is strengthened by the fact that they are the sequelae of a +single thought, namely, his belief in an intrigue between Ophelia and +the King. On the other hand, conceding such a belief, a man of Hamlet's +character would most naturally think these thoughts, and utter them in +characteristic style to Ophelia's father:--The King breeds corruption +in you as does the sun in a carrion dog, you are risking your +daughter's honor to win his favor, and the experiment will probably end +in her dishonor. Hence Hamlet's alleged belief, deduced from his three +interviews with Ophelia, and these three resulting comments tend to +prove each other's correctness. + +Again, the sun is plainly credited by Hamlet with a double function, +namely, corruptly breeding life in a dead dog and in a living woman, +and the only possible means of harmonizing the two' statements, and of +making sense out of the latter, is to assume that some man is typified +by the second sun. It is generally admitted that an uncompleted +argument is introduced by the particle "for," and, such being the case, +it is a fair assumption that that also shall contain a reference to +"the sun" as doing something which a man may do. On such an assumption, +the argument is readily followed up: "For if the sun breed maggots in a +dead dog," so must "the sun" breed dishonesty in you, and so may "the +sun" cause your daughter to conceive. These three propositions are +consistent, the logical connection between them is perfect, and their +reason and purpose is clear, if the term "sun" may figuratively +indicate "the King." + +Now, it is to be observed that Shakespeare not infrequently refers to +kings as suns, and likens them to gods. When the King has pardoned her +son, the Duchess of York exclaims: "A god on earth thou art"; 'Richard +II,' v, 3, 136. "Kings are earth's gods," says Pericles; 'Pericles,' i, +1, 103. And again he says of the King, his father, that he "Had princes +sit like stars about his throne, And he the sun, for them to +reverence," _Ibid_., II, iii, 40, In 'Henry VIII,' i, 1, 6, Buckingham, +referring to the meeting of the Kings of England and France on the +Field of the Cloth of Gold, styles them "Those suns of glory, those two +lights of men." And Norfolk tells of the wondrous deeds done there, +"when these suns (For so they phrase them) by their heralds challenged +The noble spirits to arms"; _Ibid_., i, 1, 33. Again, adverting to the +manner in which Cardinal Woolsey overshadows all other men in the +King's favor, Buckingham says: "I wonder That such a keech can with his +very bulk Take up the rays o' th' beneficial sun, And keep it from the +earth"; _Ibid_., i, 1, 56. When the Cardinal has procured the King to +arrest him, Buckingham foresees his speedy death, and again uses this +metaphor in a passage which has been much misunderstood, _Ibid_., i. 1, +236: "I am the shadow of poor Buckingham, Whose figure even this +instant cloud puts on By dark'ning my clear sun"; that is, whose body +was even that moment entombed by the darkening of the King's +countenance against him; he was already a dead man. (Compare the +thought: "Darkness does the face of earth entomb When living light +should kiss it"; 'Macbeth,' ii, 4, 10).[1] In like manner, in 'King +John,' ii, i, 500, the Dauphin of France refers to himself as King, +when he says to his father that his shadow, visible in the eye of the +Princess, "Becomes a sun and makes your son a shadow." In Richard II,' +iii, 2, 50, the King, likening himself to the sun, says that, as the +"eye of heaven" reveals the dark deeds of night when he fires the proud +tops of the eastern pines, "So when this thief, this traitor, +Bolingbroke ... Shall see us rising on our throne, the east, His +treasons will sit blushing in his face." And again, _Ibid_., iv, 1, +260, transferring the metaphor to Bolingbroke, he wails: "O, that I +were a mockery King of snow Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke, To +melt myself away in waterdrops." In '1 Henry IV,' iii, 2, 79, the King +speaks of "sunlike majesty, When it shines seldom in admiring eyes." In +'Richard III.' i, 1, 1, Gloster says, referring to the King: "Now is +the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York." +In 'Hamlet,' i, 2, 67, the King asks Hamlet: "How is it that the clouds +still hang on you?" and he ironically replies: "Not so, my lord, I am +too much i' the sun." Here again "sun" means "sunshine," and Hamlet, +choosing to understand the King literally, and referring to the fact +that clouds are dissipated by a genial sun, sneeringly protests that he +is too much in the sunshine of royalty to have clouds hanging about +him. Referring to a different effect of the sun's warmth, Prince John +speaks of "The man that sits within a monarch's heart And ripens in the +sunshine of his favor"; '2 Henry IV,' iv, 2, 12. There are other +similar uses of the word "sun," which need not now be cited. + +The last reference to Ophelia's supposed relation to the King occurs +when Polonius comes to announce the presence of the players: + + "_Ham_. 'O Jephthah, judge of Israel,' what a treasure hadst +thou! + + "_Pol_. What treasure had he, my lord? + + "_Ham_. Why 'One fair daughter, and no more, the which he loved +passing well.' + + "_Pol_. Still on my daughter [_aside_]. + + "_Ham_. Am I not i' the right, old Jephthah? + + "_Pol_. If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that +I love passing well. + + "_Ham_. Nay, that follows not. + + "_Pol_. What follows then, my lord? + + "_Ham_. Why, 'As by lot, God wot.'" + +Here Hamlet again mystifies Polonius about his daughter, quoting from +an old English ballad. Jephthah is pilloried in history as the man who +sacrificed his daughter in payment for his worldly success. Shakespeare +also refers to him in '3 Henry VI,' v, 1, 91: "To keep that oath were +more impiety than Jephthah's when he sacrificed his daughter." Hamlet +dubs Polonius "Jephthah," because he believes that he has paid for +political preferment by yielding his daughter to the King. And when +Polonius says that, if he is to be called Jephthah, he admits that like +Jephthah he loves his daughter, Hamlet replies in characteristic vein, +"Nay, that follows not"; meaning that it follows instead that like +Jephthah he has sacrificed her. But when Polonius presses him to say +what does follow, he conceals his real meaning, as his custom is, and +diverts the old man's mind by answering the line from the ballad. As +was the case with regard to Ophelia, Hamlet is reluctant to make the +open charge against her father. + +Thus in every instance in which Hamlet comes in contact with Ophelia, +or refers to her, his actions and his words consistently point to the +fact that he renounces her because he believes her to have thrust him +aside while engaging in an intrigue with the King. And the fact that +from this point of view there is a connected story of their relations +told by the several interviews above discussed, that Hamlet's conduct +and language in them all are adequately explained, and that a single +belief of his accounts for each of them, is strong confirmation of the +theory's correctness. It is in harmony with the general scheme of the +drama also, all of whose important movements hinge on "purposes +mistook"; and it furnishes Hamlet with an adequate motive for his +treatment of Ophelia, and removes from him the stigma of mere +brutishness or insanity. Coleridge well says that there must have been +"some profound heart truth" under the story, and the theory herein +advanced seems to disclose it. _David A. McKnight_. + +Washington, D. C., February 26, 1898. + + + * * * * * + + + CLEWS TO EMERSON'S MYSTIC VERSE. + + (Third Paper.) + +"When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit +seconded with the forward child understanding, it strikes a man more +dead than a great reckoning in a little room."--_Touchstone_. + + +The phantasmal lords of life of the poem 'Experience,' which we +considered at the close of the last paper, were presumably suggested to +Emerson by the following lines from Tennyson's 'Mystic,' published in +1830 (Emerson imported these early volumets of young Tennyson, and +never tired of praising them to his friends):-- + + "Always there stood before him, night and day, + Of wayward vary-colored circumstance + The imperishable presences serene, + Colossal, without form, or sense, or sound, + Dim shadows but unwaning presences + Four-faced to four corners of the sky." + +The "silent congregated hours," "daughters of time, divinely tall," +with "severe and youthful brows," in this same poem of Tennyson gave +Emerson his "daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days," congregated in +procession. Tennyson's mystic, who hears "time flowing in the middle of +the night" recalls Emerson's 'Two Rivers,' in which the living All, the +Infinite Soul, is figured as a stream flowing through eternity:-- + + "I hear the spending of the stream, + Through years, through men, through nature fleet, + Through love and thought, through power and dream." + +At the close of the poem 'Wealth' there is a bit of scientific +nature-ethics which is a little obscure. The greater part of the +poem is a series of graphic pictures, detailing the process of +world-development through the geologic ages down to the advent of man. +Suddenly, at the end,--just as at the end of the prose essay on the +same subject,--he remembers his manners and makes his bow to the august +Soul, kindles a light in the Geissler tube of nature, sets it aglow +interiorly with spiritual law:-- + + "But, though light-headed man forget, + Remembering Matter pays her debt: + Still, through her motes and masses, draw + Electric thrills and ties of Law, + Which bind the strength of Nature wild + To the conscience of a child." + +The logical link connecting this part with the rest has dropped out in +the poem, but is clear enough in the essay. The lines mean simply this: +that, though man may forget to obey the laws of the universe, Nature +never forgets her debt of obedience; she bites and stings the +transgressor and caresses and soothes him who obeys. In her own +submission to law she has that artlessness and quasi-moral sense that +affines her to the moral nature of a child. The "awful victors" and +"Eternal Rights" of 'Voluntaries' are only "remembering Matter" in +another mask: with all their innocent obedience they are themselves +terrible executors:-- + + "They reach no term, they never sleep, + In equal strength through space abide; + Though, feigning dwarfs, they crouch and creep, + The strong they slay, the swift outstride." + +In the following high pantheistic strain the seer chants the old rune +that God is all:-- + + "The living Heaven thy prayers respect, + House at once and architect, + Quarrying man's rejected hours, + Builds therewith eternal towers; + Sole and self-commanded works, + Fears not undermining days, + Grows by decays, + And, by the famous might that lurks + In reaction and recoil, + Makes flame to freeze and ice to boil; + Forging, through swart arms of Offence, + The silver seat of Innocence." + + --'Spiritual Laws.' + +When the Living Universe builds a house, it builds it out of its own +soul substance; while man sleeps and loiters, the Unconscious +ceaselessly toils. In the phrase "grows by decays," Emerson embodies, I +believe, the law of the conservation of energy. The magazine of divine +power is exhaustless; does energy sink out of sight here, it is only to +reappear yonder; the tree decays, but out of its fertilizing substance +new plants may spring up; the coal under the steam boiler of the +locomotive is consumed, but the swart goblin has lost no whit of his +might: he just slips darkling up into the steam, makes the driving-rods +his swift-shuttling arms, and, grasping with his steel fingers the +felloes of the wheel, whirls you half a thousand miles over the green +bulge of the earth ere set of sun, The mystic Power grows by decays; +and also, by "the famous might that lurks in reaction and recoil," +reconciles apparent antinomies and opposites, and is the agent that +visits evil upon the head of the evil doer and mercy upon the merciful. +If a heavy body be rolled up an inclined plane, it acquires potential +and kinetic energy just equal to the force expended in getting it +there, and in reaction develops such a famous might that, if massive +enough, it will knock you down if you stand in its way. If you lift the +big pendulum of the clock in the corner, you also confer latent, or +reactionary, energy upon it. Only it is of course hyperbolical for the +poet to say that reaction is potent enough to actually freeze flame and +make ice boil your kettle. That is only one of Emerson's rhetorical +Chinese crackers, his startling thaumaturgic way of illustrating his +thesis. + +The key-thought of the essay 'Spiritual Laws,' to which the occult +lines we are considering were prefixed, is, Be noble; for, if you are +not, your face and life will, by the law of reaction and return, +publish your lapse. Punishment and reward are fruits that ripen +unsuspected in the deeds of men. + +The pertinency and application of many of Emerson's titles are not at +once apparent. + +In 'Merops' the bard affirms that in his high philosophical soarings he +cares not whether he can at once ticket his intuitions and perceptions +with names or not. Merops was changed into an eagle, says Ovid, and +placed among the constellations,--hence, I suppose, is selected by +Emerson as a good type of the kind of soaring thinker he is describing. +That he also has in mind that Merops was the putative father of +Phaethon is shown perhaps by the allusion (in the last stanza) to +Phaethon's mishap:-- + + "Space grants beyond his fated road + No inch to the god of day, + And copious language still bestowed + One word, no more, to say." + +'Alphonso of Castile' is a dramatic monologue containing a whimsical +suggestion for compounding a Man out of ordinary weak-timbered manikins +by killing nine in ten of them and "stuffing nine brains in one hat." +It is put into the mouth of Alphonso, King of Castile, born in 1221, +called _El Sabio_, "The Wise." He was a man who suffered much in his +life. He wrote a famous code of laws, and first made the Castilian a +national language by causing the Bible to be translated into it. +Emerson chooses him as the vehicle of his own whimsey about the +condensed homunculus chiefly on account of one famous sentence +attributed to him: "Had I been present at the creation, I could have +given some useful hints for the better ordering of the universe." +Emerson, in his rhymed soliloquy, put into Alphonso's mouth, +sarcastically twits Nature with her depleted stocks, her run-out +strains of lemons, figs, roses, and men. The remedy proposed in the +case of man, and outlined above, has the true Emerson-Swift bouquet, is +colored and veined with a right Shakespearian scorn of the mob. + +'Mithridates' is a monologue put into the mouth of Mithridates the +Great, King of Pontus, who is said to have discovered an antidote for +poisons which made him poison-proof against his many enemies:-- + + "I cannot spare water or wine, + Tobacco-leaf, or poppy, or rose; + From the earth-poles to the line, + All between that works or grows, + Everything is kin of mine. + + Give me agates for my meat; + Give me cantharids to eat; + From air and ocean bring me foods, + From all zones and altitudes." + +As late as 1787 "mithridate" was the name for an antidote against +poison included in the London pharmacop[oe]ia. In Jonson's 'Every Man +in his Humour,' Kitely, thinking he is poisoned, calls for mithridate +and oil. It was composed of many ingredients and given in the form of +electuaries. In our modern pharmacopoeias we have plenty of antidotes +against virulent poisons; _e. g_., atropine for the deadly amanita +mushroom. And counter-poisons are often used, as the tincture of +foxglove for aconite, atropine for morphia, or morphia for belladonna. +According to the tradition, Mithridates gradually inured his system to +counter-poisons, and became poison-proof. At any rate, Emerson uses him +for his metaphor, which, in untropical speech, is this: "lam tired of +the nambypamby and goody-goody; give me things strong and rank; give me +evil for a change and a spur. + + "Too long shut in strait and few, + Thinly dieted on dew, + I will use the world, and sift it, + To a thousand humors shift it, + As you spin a cherry. + O doleful ghosts and goblins merry! + O all you virtues, methods, mights, + Means, appliances, delights, + Reputed wrongs and braggart rights, + Smug routine, and things allowed, + Minorities, things under cloud! + Hither! take me, use me, fill me, + Vein and artery, though ye kill me!" + +In brief, "I have run the gauntlet of experience, sounded all the +depths of passion, joy, woe, evil. I am dipped in Styx, more +invulnerable than Siegfried, and strong now to use the world and be +used by it." The mood of the poem is the wild longing that sometimes +comes over the good man to break loose and have his fling, come what +may, cry, _Vive la bagatelle!_ or run amuck and tilt at all he meets. +It is needless to say that the staid Emerson never carried this mood +farther than to smoke a cigar now and then, or take an Adirondack +outing. His contemporary, the untrammelled Whitman, could both preach +and practise (within the bounds of reason) the Mithridatic doctrine; +and he was a more many-sided and symmetrical man in consequence. + +The last two lines of 'Mithridates,' as printed from the autograph +copy, were,-- + + "God! I will not be an owl, + But sun me in the Capitol." + +These lines Emerson wisely dropped. + +'Forerunners' ("Long I followed happy guides)" mean one's brave hopes +and ideals of good to come, our dreams and aspirations. The lines + + "No speed of mine avails + To hunt upon their shining trails" + +Thoreau evidently utilized as text for his well-known fable in 'Walden' +of the lost hound, bay horse, and turtle-dove. + +The portrait of Hermione, the patient-sweet wife of Leontes in 'The +Winter's Tale' of Shakespeare, serves Emerson, in his poem 'Hermione,' +as the model of a perfect wife, and a more acceptable one to this age +than Chaucer's abject Griselda. Such a lady as Shakespeare's Hermione, +beautiful in person and of rare self-control and virtue, is an +adumbration or epitome of the universal beauty. Looking at nature, the +American poet finds the features of his Hermione there: "mountains and +the misty plains, Her colossal portraiture." I suppose that this +sketch, tender and delicately toned as if with a silver point, is +autobiographical, and is a shadowing forth of the character of +Emerson's first wife, the ethereal souled Ellen Tucker, who died of +consumption after only a year and a half of married life. When her +"meteor glances came," he says, he was "hermit vowed to books and +gloom," and dwelling alone. In the lines + + "The chains of kind + The distant bind; + Deed thou doest she must do," + +he anticipates (does he not?) the telepathy of our days,--kindred minds +seeking similar places and thinking like thoughts, although in this +case, to be sure, the kindred soul is thought of as merged with the +inorganic world,--the winds and waterfalls and twilight nooks. + +Search the whole world through, you shall find no predecessor of +Emerson the poet. The only verse resembling his in general style is +that of the enigmatic 'Phoenix and the Turtle,' attributed to +Shakespeare, and much admired by Emerson:-- + + "Let the bird of loudest lay, + On the sole Arabian tree. + Herald sad and trumpet be, + To whose sound chaste wings obey." + +Emerson's verses have also a slight Persian tinge now and then, caught +from his studies of Saadi and Hafiz. In his fine lyric cry 'Bacchus,' +in which he calls for a wine of life, a cup of divine soma or amrita, +that shall sinew his brain and exalt all his powers of thought and +action to a godlike pitch,-- + + "Bring me wine, but wine which never grew + In the belly of the grape, + + * * * * + + That I intoxicated, + And by the draught assimilated, + May float at pleasure through all natures; + + * * * * + + Quickened so, will I unlock + Every crypt of every rock,"-- + +he unconsciously gave his lines, I think, the outward form of some +verses by Hafiz, in which that singer intimates that, give him the +right kind of wine, and he can perform wonders as if with Solomon's +ring or Jemschid's wine-cup mirror. Emerson himself in one of his early +editions gives a spirited verse translation of Hafiz's poem. Mr. +William R. Alger ('Specimens of Oriental Poetry,' Boston, 1856) +translates Hafiz thus:-- + + "Bring me wine! By my puissant arm + The thick net of deceit and of harm + Which the priests have spread over the world + Shall be rent and in laughter be hurled. + Bring me wine! I the earth will subdue. + Bring me wine! I the heaven will storm through. + Bring me wine, bring it quick, make no halt! + To the throne of both worlds will I vault. + All is in the red streamlet divine. + Bring me wine! O my host, bring me wine!" + +'Etienne de la Boece' gets its title (with Emersonian variations) from +the name of one of Montaigne's most intimate friends,--Estienne de la +Boetie. Montaigne tells us about him in Chapter xxvii of his Essays, +affirming that he would have accomplished miracles, had he lived. He +died when only thirty-three at Bordeaux (1563). His scholarship was +solid, his translations from the Greek excellent. He was so eager to +read Greek that he copied whole volumes with his own hand. A French +critic says, "Les qualites qui brillaient en lui imprimaient a toute +sa personne un cachet distingue et un charme severe." Yet he seems to +have been something of an imitator of his great friend; and it is in +this aspect of his life that Emerson regards him, using him, perhaps +somewhat unjustly to his powers and developing genius, as the type of a +too imitative disciple:-- + + "I serve you not, if you I follow, + Shadowlike, o'er hill and hollow; + + * * * * + + Vainly valiant, you have missed + The manhood that should yours resist." + +Probably most Americans, if asked to explain the relevancy of the title +of Emerson's poem 'Guy,' would be unable to answer offhand. The verses +celebrate the lucky man:-- + + "The common waters fell + As costly wine into his well. + The zephyr in his garden rolled + From plum-trees vegetable gold. + Stream could not so perversely wind + But corn of Guy's was there to grind." + +The reference, of course, is to a man well known in England,--Thomas +Guy (d. 1724), founder of Guy's Hospital in London. He was the George +Peabody of his day. Beginning life as a bookseller, he made a good deal +of money in printing Bibles, but acquired most of his enormous fortune +by financial speculations. He was extremely economical; for example, +always ate his dinner on his shop counter, first spreading out a +newspaper to catch the crumbs. His charities were boundless. To his +hospital he gave $1,000,000; and at his death his will was found to +contain an enormous number of special benefactions, including bequests +to over ninety cousins. Emerson in his poem compares Guy to Polycrates, +who was King of Samos some five hundred years before Christ. He says +that Polycrates "chained the sunshine and the breeze"; that is, the +very elements seemed to be in his pay. This run of luck was without a +break up to his death; his fleet of a hundred ships was the largest +then known; he conquered all his enemies, and amassed great treasure. +His ally, Amasis, King of Egypt, was so alarmed at his prosperity, +fearing the envy of the gods, that he advised him to make some +noteworthy sacrifice. The story goes that Polycrates accordingly threw +his emerald signet-ring into the sea, but it came back to his kitchens +in the belly of a large fish, as in the Arabian Nights story. The fears +of Amasis were finally justified; for the Persian satrap Or[oe]tes +enticed Polycrates to the mainland, and crucified him. + +'Xenophanes' embodies poetically the doctrine of the earnest old +Greek agnostic and monist of that name, that God, or the All, is +uncreated, immovable, and one,--not immovable in its parts, but as a +whole, and just because it is all. Xenophanes saw the grandeur and +incomprehensibility of the universe, he violently opposed what seemed +to him the disgraceful polytheism of Homer, and anticipated the modern +atomic theory and the doctrine of the unity of life as revealed by the +spectroscope and the discovery of the conservation and mutual +convertibility of forces. Or, as Emerson puts it in his haunting +numbers,-- + + "By fate, not option, frugal Nature gave + One scent to hyson and to wall-flower, + One sound to pine-groves and to waterfalls, + One aspect to the desert and the lake. + It was her stern necessity." + +The title of the poem 'Hamatreya' seemed at first to baffle a perfect +and indubitable explanation. The word can be found in no English or +foreign dictionary that the largest libraries afford. We are indebted, +however, to Col. T. W. Higginson (_The Critic_, Feb. 18, 1888) for not +only giving us a clew to the title, but for pointing out the portion of +the Vishnu Purana (Wilson's translation, 1840) on which Emerson based +his 'Earth Song' in 'Hamatreya,' and, in fact, got the hint for the +whole poem; namely, at the close of Book IV. Maitreya is a disciple of +Parasara, who relates to Maitreya the Vishnu Purana. Among other things +he tells Maitreya of a chant of the Earth, who said, "When I hear a +king sending word to another by his ambassador, 'This earth is mine: +immediately resign your pretensions to it,' I am moved to violent +laughter at first; but it soon subsides in pity for the infatuated +fool." Again, the Purana says, "Earth laughs, as if smiling with +autumnal flowers, to behold her kings unable to effect the subjugation +of themselves"; which is Emerson's + + "Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys + Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs." + +And again: "These were the verses, Maitreya, which Earth recited, and +by listening to which ambition fades away, like snow before the sun." +Here are Emerson's lines:-- + + "When I heard the Earth-song, + I was no longer brave; + My avarice cooled + Like lust in the chill of the grave." + +Colonel Higginson suggests that Emerson may also have had in mind, in +writing 'Hamatreya,' Psalm, xlix. 11. As he rightly says, the title +evidently is meant to give a hint of the Hindoo source of the argument +of the poem. It is in line with the uniform custom of Emerson in giving +historical catch-words, especially proper names, as his titles. After +an exhaustive search through all the Hindoo scriptures, I have reached +a conviction which approaches absolute certainty that Hamatreya is +Emerson's imperfect recollection of Maitreya or that he purposely +coined the word. Emerson, it is nearly certain, read the Vishnu Purana, +translated by H. H. Wilson (a large and costly work), by the copy then +in the Harvard Library or the Boston Athenaeum, perhaps taking brief +notes, but omitting to write down "Maitreya." In his exhaustive index +of proper names, appended to the Vishnu Purana, Wilson has no such word +as Hamatreya, nor does it occur anywhere in the book. To clinch the +argument, Prof. Charles R. Lanman, the well-known Sanskrit scholar of +Harvard University, writes me that "Hamatreya is not a Sanskrit word." +"The Atreyas," he says, "were the descendants of Atri." "It is an easy +mistake to make _Hamatreya_ out of _Maitreya_. I really think you will +have to assume a simple slip here." + +Emerson is not wilfully obscure. But he comes dangerously near to being +so in the demand he often makes upon his readers for out-of-the-way +knowledge. 'Casella' is the title of an Emersonian quatrain,-- + + "Test of the poet is knowledge of love, + For Eros is older than Saturn or Jove. + Never was poet, of late or of yore, + Who was not tremulous with love-lore." + +The reference is to Dante's friend Casella ("Casella mio"), whom he +meets in Purgatory, and who sweetly sings (as of yore on earth he was +wont) a canzone by Dante himself,--"_Amor, che nella mente mi +ragiona_." Emerson's favorite poet, Milton, in his sonnet to Henry +Lawes, alludes, as Mr. Norton points out, to this friendship:-- + + "Dante shall give fame leave to set thee higher + Than his Casella, whom he wooed to sing + Met in the milder shades of Purgatory." + +The title [Greek: adakrun nemontai aiona] is from Pindar, I believe. +Emerson took it from _The Dial_, where (July, '43) it appears as the +motto to a poem by Charles A. Dana on 'Manhood.' It means, literally, +"They pass a tearless life"; or, very freely rendered, "They live a +life of smiles,"--a sentiment explained by the first lines,-- + + "A new commandment, said the smiling Muse, + I give my darling son, Thou shalt not preach." + +Even in so slight a matter as choosing a name for his verses 'To Rhea,' +Emerson's philosophical belief is glimpsed; for Rhea was the mother of +gods, and such he believed all women to be. The thought of this +remarkable poem, which its author feigns to have received from the +thousand chattering tongues of the poplar-tree, is extremely subtle and +somewhat difficult to formulate. The analysis is this. If you, a wife, +have lost your supremacy in your husband's affections, take a strange +and noble revenge, not by hating, but, in a kind of calm altruistic +despair, endowing him with all the gifts and blessings at your command. +The poem is headed 'To Rhea' (Rhea being the wife of the cruel Saturn, +who devoured his own children) as to a wife whose husband had merely +"drank of Cupid's nectar cup," married her from sex-instinct alone, and +then, the "bandages of purple light" fallen from "his eyes," treated +her with indifference. But she continues to love him; and more the poet +gives her the advice just noted, illustrating by the supposed case of a +god loving a mortal maid, and warily knowing that she, with her +inferior ideals, can never adequately requite his love, yet nobly +endowing her with all gifts and graces, which are the hostages he pawns +for freedom from "his thrall." He does this in an altruistic spirit, in +order by her to "model newer races" and "carry man to new degrees of +power and comeliness." But what thrall? We must walk warily here. In +order not to seem to give his verses an autobiographical cast (although +the god, the "wise Immortal," of them is really such a type as the seer +Emerson himself), he withdraws into dim recesses and speaks in subtlest +metaphors. The thrall, I think, is the bondage a lover or husband is in +to his beloved, in whom the solecisms and disenchantments of possession +have supplanted the poetic illusions of romantic love. The man of +supreme wisdom, by the magic of self-sacrifice and boundless profusion +of gifts turns the trap or prison in which nature has caught him into a +bower of Eden. By the road of generosity he escapes. He cunningly +builds up in her mind gratitude and friendship in place of the lost +romanticism. There is in this treatment of love a touch of the +coldblooded philosophy of the Emersonian critique of friendship. But if +it is not a marriage of ideal kind, such as that of the Brownings, +which he celebrates, he at least embodies in his verse the shrewd +love-philosophy of the practical-poetical Englishman, united to the +average woman for the furtherance of the ends of the species. + +Mr. George Brown, in his Emerson primer, thinks that the key-thought of +'Rhea' is in these lines from 'The World-Soul' about the gods:-- + + "To him who scorns their charities + Their arms fly open wide." + +But the parallelism somewhat halts. For mark: In the one case +Napoleon's maxim is embodied, that God is on the side of the strongest +battalions. The one who scorns the favoritisms and alms of Heaven, and +yet, will he nill he, receives its aid, is really the strong God +himself in mask, the noble and resolute man executing his will in time +and space. But in the case supposed in 'Rhea,' of husband and wife, the +ones who scorn love are those not deserving of gifts at all (although +Nature finds her account in them), but persons who receive gifts in +charity from one altruistically nobler than themselves. It is just this +idea of sublime self-sacrifice that gives to 'Rhea' its strange +subtlety and its uniqueness among poems on love. There is a consolatory +under-thought in the palimpsest, too. By his illustration of the god +and the mortal maid the poet wishes Rhea to divine that, if wives make +moan over husbands' lost love, husbands no less often have reason to +lament the cooled affection of wives. + +The central idea in 'Uriel' is that there is no such thing as evil. +This thesis is put into the mouth of Uriel, one of the seven +archangels, because he was the "interpreter" of God's will. So Milton +says, in the _locus classicus_ on Uriel in Book III of 'Paradise Lost.' +He also says he was + + "The sharpest-sighted spirit of all in heav'n." + +His station was in the all-viewing sun. Uriel, in Milton, tells how, +when the universe was yet chaos, + + "Or ever the wild Time coined itself + Into calendar months and days," + +he saw the worlds a-forming,--earth, sun, and stars. Emerson (or +"Sayd") takes Milton at his word, and leads us back into that dark +backward and abysm of time, and lets us overhear a conversation between +Uriel and the other seraphs. At his speech "the gods shook," because if +there is no sin, if all comes round to good, even a lie, then good-bye +gods, hells and heavens, and their punishments. But note that, though +the All turns your wrong to good in the end, yet you, an individual, +suffer for your wrongdoing. + +In a genial paper in the _Andover Review_ for March, 1887, Dr. C. C. +Everett says that Dr. Hedge suggested to him that 'Uriel' probably took +its origin in the discussions of the Boston Association of Ministers on +the theme (then rife), "There is no line in nature": all is circular, +and by the law of reaction every deed returns upon the doer. At any +rate, it was written in 1838, soon after his Divinity School Address. +('Emerson in Concord,' by Edward Emerson.) + +The god of boundaries in ancient Rome--Terminus--gives his name to the +cheeriest of monodies or anchoring songs sung by the gayest of old +sailors on the sea of eternity, and at last approaching port. Terminus, +like Hermes, the Greek god of bounds, was shown in his statues without +hands or feet, to indicate that he never moved. Was Emerson a little +rusty in his classical lore, or did he boldly and knowingly defy +classical verities when he says the divinity came to him "in his fatal +rounds"? He seems to have attributed to Terminus patrolling functions +like those of his own New England village fence-viewers. Or, rather, +speaking in noble and more adequate terms, has he not added to the +world's mythologies a new and poetical deity,--the god of the bounds of +human life, a kind of avant-courier or Death's dragoman to announce to +men their approaching end? 'Terminus' was written about 1866, when +Emerson was in or near his sixty-third year, and sixteen years before +his death. _William Sloane Kennedy._ + + + * * * * * + + + A DEFENCE OF BROWNING'S LATER WORK. + +If a defence of Browning's work were to include all he has written +since the date when Edmund Gosse said his books were chiefly valuable +as keeping alive popular interest in the poet, and as leading fresh +generations of readers to what he had already published, it would needs +begin as far back as 1868; and considering the amount of work done +since that time would require at least a volume to do the subject +justice. + +Fortunately it has long been admitted that Homer sometimes nods, +though not with such awful effect as was said to attend the nods of +Jove--Hence, in spite of Mr. Gosse's undoubted eminence as a critic, we +may dare to assume that in this particular instance he fell into the +ancient and distinguished trick of nodding. + +If Mr. Gosse were right, it would practically put on a par with a mere +advertising scheme many poems which have now become household +favorites. Take, for example, 'Herve Riel.' Think of the blue-eyed +Breton hero whom all the world has learned to love through Browning, +tolerated as nothing more than an index finger to 'The Pied Piper of +Hamelin!' Take, too, such poems, as 'Donald,' whose dastardly +sportsmanship is so vividly portrayed that it has the power to arouse +strong emotion in strong men, who have been known literally to break +down in the middle of it through excess of feeling; 'Ivan Ivanovitch,' +in which is embodied such fear and horror that weak hearts cannot stand +the strain of hearing it read; the story of the dog Tray who rescued a +drowning doll with the same promptitude as he did a drowning child--at +the relation of whose noble deeds the eyes of little children grow +eager with excitement and sympathy. And where is there in any poet's +work, a more vivid bit of tragedy than 'A Forgiveness!' + +And would not an unfillable gap be left in the ranks of our friends of +the imaginative world if Balaustion were blotted out? The exquisite +lyric girl, brave, tender and with a mind in which wisdom and wit are +fair playfellows. + +As Carlyle might say, "Verily, verily Mr. Gosse, thou hast out-Homered +Homer, and thy nod hath taken upon itself very much the semblance of a +snore." + +These and many others which might be mentioned as having appeared since +the date when Mr. Gosse autocratically put up the bars to the poet's +genius are now so universally accepted that any defence of them would +be absurd. + +There are again others whose tenure of fame is still hanging in the +balance like 'The Red Cotton Night-cap Country,' 'The Inn Album,' +'Aristophanes' Apology,' 'Fifine at the Fair'; but as they have had +already some able defenders, I shall not attempt any defence of them +further than to say, in passing, that the longer I know them, and the +more I read them, the more I am impressed with their masterly portrayal +of human motives as they either reflect a given social environment or +work contrary to it. Only a genius of the greatest power could have +grasped and moulded into palpitating life beings of the calibre of the +brilliant complex and illogical Aristophanes, or the dunderheaded, well +meaning and equally illogical Miranda and set them to act out their +little parts in a living historical environment--one in decadent Athens +with her petty political and literary rivalries and dying religion; the +other in ultramontane France where superstition and materialism were +fighting for the mastery. Such art as is illustrated in these poems on +in 'Fifine at the Fair' or in 'The Inn Album,' may not be of the kind +to give one direct ideals for the conduct of life; but it represents +the most splendid realism from which as from life itself deep moral +lessons may be drawn. There is an actuality of realism in these poems +of Browning's that puts into the shade, that of the great apostle of +realism, Zola, for his realism too often presents what I venture to +call obverse idealism--evil apotheosized, not evil struggling toward +good as it invariably appears in life. + +Among the poet's later works, 'Ferishtah's Fancies' and 'The Parleyings +with Certain People of Importance in Their Day' have perhaps been more +obscured by mists of non-appreciation than any others. I shall, +therefore, confine myself for the present to making here and there a +rift in these mists in the hope that some glimpses of the splendor of +the giant form behind them may be gained. + +Without particularizing either critics or criticism, it may be said +that criticism of these poems divides itself into the usual three +branches,--one which objects to their philosophy, one which objects to +their art, one which finds them difficult of comprehension at all. This +last criticism may easily be disposed of by admitting it as in part +true. The mind whose highest reaches of poetic inspiration are +ministered unto by such simple and easily understandable lyrics as +'Twinkle, twinkle little star' might not at once grasp the significance +of the Parleying with George Bubb Dodington. Indeed, it may be surmised +that some minds might sing upon the starry heights with Hegel and +fathom the doctrine of the equivalence of being and non-being and yet +be led into a slough of despond by this same cantankerous George. + +But a poetical slough of despond may be transfigured in the twinkling +of an eye--after a proper amount of study and hard thinking--into an +elevated plateau with prospects upon every side, grand or terrible or +smiling. + +Are we never to feel spurred to any poetical pleasure more vigorous +than dilly-dallying with Keats while we feast our eyes upon the +wideness of the seas? Or lazily floating in a lotus land with Tennyson, +say, among the meadows of the Musketaquid, in canoes with silken +cushions? Beauty and peace is the reward of such poetical pleasures. +They fall upon the spirit like the "sweet sound that breathes upon a +bank of violets, stealing and giving odor," but shall we never return +from the land where it is always afternoon? Is it only in such a land +as this that we realize the true power of emotion? Rather does it +conduce to the slumber of emotion; for progress is the law of feeling +as it is the law of life, and many times we feel,--yes--feel--with +tremendous rushes of enthusiasm like climbing Matterhorns with great +iron nails in our shoes, with historical and archaeological, and +philosophical Alpen-stocks in our hands, and when we reach the summit +what unsuspected beauties become ours. + +Advancing a step more seriously into the subject, I may say that these +two series of poems form the key-stone to Browning's whole work. They +are like a final synthesis of the problems of existence which he has +previously made analyses of from myriad points of view in his dramatic +presentation of character. It has been said that in these poems his +philosophy loses its intuitional and assured point of view, to become +hard-headed and doubting. But does not a careful comparison with his +early work disprove this assertion? + +In his two early poems, 'Pauline' and 'Paracelsus,' before the poet's +personality became merged in that of his characters, he presents us +with his poetic creed and his theory of the universe in no mistakable +terms. In 'Pauline' we get a direct glimpse of the poet's own artistic +temperament, and may literally put our fingers upon those qualities +which were to be a large influence in moulding his work. + +As described by himself the poet of 'Pauline' was + + "Made up of an intensest life + Of a most clear idea of consciousness + Of self, distinct from all its qualities, + From all affections, passions, feelings, powers; + And thus far it exists, if tracked, in all: + But linked in me to self-supremacy, + Existing as a centre to all things, + Most potent to create and rule and call + Upon all things to minister to it." + +This sense of an over-consciousness is the mark of an objective +poet--one who sympathizes with all the emotions and aspirations of +humanity,--interprets their actions through the light of this sympathy, +and at the same time keeps his own individuality distinct. The poet of +this poem discovers that he can no longer lose himself with enthusiasm +in any phase of life; but what does that mean to a soul constituted as +his? It means that the way has been cleared for the birth of that +greater, broader love of the fully developed artist-soul which, while +entering into sympathy with all phases of life, finds its true +complement only in an ideal of absolute Love. + +This picture of the artist aspiring toward the absolute by means of his +large human sympathy may be supplemented by the theory of man's +relation to the universe involved in 'Paracelsus' where it is shown +that the Absolute cannot be fully realized by mankind either through +knowledge or love. Aprile's doctrine has an element of fatalism in it. +He sees and loves God in imperfection, but does not seem to have much +notion of progress. On the other hand, Paracelsus sees God only in +perfected Mankind, until he is really made wise to know that + + "Even hate is but a mask of love's + To see a good in evil and a hope + In ill success," + +and so is led to combine his own former standpoint with Aprile's by +perceiving God and God's love in progress from lesser to ever greater +good, and that evil and failure are the spurs that send man onwards to +a future where joy climbs its heights "forever and forever." + +From this point in his work Browning, like the Hindu Brahmah, becomes +manifest not as himself, but in his creations. The poet whose portrait +we get in 'Pauline' is the same poet who sympathetically presents a +whole world of human experiences to us, keeping his own individuality +for the most part intact, and the philosopher whose portrait is drawn +in 'Paracelsus' is the same who interprets these human experiences in +the light of the great life-theories therein presented. + +But as the creations of Brahmah return into himself, so the human +experiences Browning has entered into artistic sympathy with return to +enrich his completed view of the problems of life, when like his own +Rabbi Ben Ezra, he reaches the last of life for which "the first was +planned" in these 'Fancies' and 'Parleyings'. + +Though these two groups of poems undoubtedly express the poet's own +mature conclusions, they yet preserve the dramatic form. Several things +are gained in this way. First, the poems are saved from didacticism, +for the poet expresses his opinion as an individual and not as a seer, +trying to implant his theories in the minds of disciples. Second, +variety is given and the mind is stimulated by having opposite points +of view presented, while the thought is infused with a certain amount +of emotional force through the heat of argument. + +It has, of course, been objected that philosophical and ethical +problems are not fit subjects for discussion in poetry. It should be +remembered, however, that there is one point the critic of AEsthetics +has not yet learned to realize; namely, that the law of evolution is +differentiation, in art as well as in cosmic, organic, and social life. +It is just as prejudiced and unforeseeing in these days to limit poetry +to this or that subject, or say that nothing is dramatic that does not +deal with immediate action, as it would have been for Homer to declare +that no poem would ever be worthy the name that did not contain a +catalogue of ships. + +These facts exist! We have dramas dealing merely with action, dramas, +in which character development is of prime importance; dramas, wherein +action and character are entirely synchronous; and those in which the +action means more than appears upon the surface, like Hauptmann's +'Sunken Bell,' or Ibsen's 'Master Builder,' then why not dramas of +thought and dramas of mood when the brain and heart become the stage of +action instead of an actual stage. Surely, such dramas are a natural +development of this Nineteenth Century. As the man in 'Half Rome' says + +"Facts are facts and lie not, and the question 'How came that purse i' +the poke o' you admits of no reply.'" Art has a great many forms of +drama in its poke already, so we would better be careful how we make +authoritative statements on the subject. + +Another advantage, gained from the dramatic form and this is most +important, is that the poet has been enabled by means of it to hold the +mirror up to the turmoil of thought that has racked the brains and +hearts of the last half of the Nineteenth Century. Victorian England in +its thought phases lives just as surely in these poems as Renaissance +Italy in its art phases in 'Fra Lippo Lippi,' 'Andrea del Sarto,' +'Pictor Ignotus' and 'The Bishop orders his Tomb at St. Praxed's;' and +this is true though the first series is cast in the form of Persian +Fables and the second, in the form of Parleyings with worthies of past +centuries. + +We who have grown up under the dispensation, so to speak, of the +doctrine of evolution, now acknowledged to be the guiding principle in +every department of knowledge find it hard to enter into the spirit of +that mid-century Sturm and Drang period which resulted upon the +publication of Darwin's 'Origin of Species.' This book is the landmark +of the century, and commemorates at once the triumph of knowledge, and +its failure. The triumph of science in the realm of phenomena, its +failure to pierce into the ultimate causes of these phenomena. What a +hard fight scientific methods of investigating the phenomena of nature +and life had had up to that time, in the teeth of opposition from the +less instructed religious world, has been summarized for us in the +fascinating pages of Andrew D. White's 'Warfare Between Theology and +Science.' One by one, Science won the outposts held by prejudice and +conservatism. It had to be admitted that the earth was not flat and +that it did not float upon an infinite sea supported on the back of a +tortoise. It had to be admitted, even, that it did not occupy the chief +seat in the synagogue of the firmament, but went rolling about the sun +like any common little asteroid. Finally, the great guns of science +were trained upon man himself and he was forced to retire from his +lofty position of Lord of Creation to the much more humble one of +outcome of creation. + +To a large proportion of mankind it seemed as if, should these things +be admitted as truth, the whole fabric of society must fall to pieces +and religion become a mockery. Those who felt so fought, as for their +life, against the conclusions of science. There was a large minority, +however, which, intellectually constrained to accept the conclusions of +science, yet differed much in temperament and were by consequence, +affected in very different ways by the new truths. There were men like +Matthew Arnold who no longer believed in the revelations of the past, +yet who clung to the beauty of religious forms, in despair at the +thought of the wilderness life would be without them. There were others +like George Eliot, who became positivists, and gained comfort only in +the thought of a religion of humanity and an immortality of nothing +more tangible than human influence. There were those like William +Morris who accepted cheerfully this life as being all and who devoted +their energies to making it as lovely as possible and working to make +it more lovely for the future. There were still others, like Clifford, +entirely hopeless, but who like Childe Roland put the slug horn to +their lips, and lived brave, noble lives in the certainty of coming +annihilation; a divine melancholy seized upon some, such as we see +reflected in much of Tennyson's verse. + +But there were a few who beheld the triumph of science undismayed, for +they saw that her sway could not pass beyond the realm of phenomena, +that the failure of the intellect to penetrate behind the mysteries of +nature and life must be the saving of religion. Herbert Spencer is +among scientists undoubtedly the greatest of this type of mind. +Whatever misunderstandings and vituperations he may have been subjected +to, from the positivist who thinks him inconsistent for his religious +tone to the religionist who dubs him an atheist, the fact still remains +that his was the genius that stood out against the advancing flood of +materialism saying "Thus far shalt thou go and no farther." He it was +who declared that underlying phenomena was an Infinite power that +transcended all human faculties of imagination, and that this fact was +the most certain intuition of the human mind. + +So great an upheaval of thought, changing, as it finally has, man's +whole outlook upon the universe from one more or less static with fixed +codes of morals and standards of art to one that is dynamic and +progressive, brought in its wake the consideration of many ethical as +well as philosophical problems. + +Nothing bears upon the grounds of moral action more disastrously than +blind fatalism, and while there have been many evil forms of this +doctrine in the past there has probably been none worse than the modern +form because it seems to have scientific sanction in the doctrines of +the conservation of energy, the persistence of heredity and the +survival of the fittest, and tends to positive atrophy of the will. +Even wise and thoughtful men now-a-days take such a philosophic view of +events that they hesitate to throw in their voice on either side in the +solution of a national problem because things are bound to follow the +laws of development either way. This is equivalent to admitting that +you are simply a heap of burnt out ashes in the furnace of life, and +that you have no longer any part to play in the combustion that leads +to progress. In the first of 'Ferishtah's Fancies,' a strong plea is +made for those human impulses that lead to action. The will to serve +the world is the true force from God. Every man, though he be the last +link in a chain of causes over which he had no control, can at least +have a determining influence upon the direction in which the next link +shall be forged. Ferishtah appears upon the scene, himself, a fatalist, +leaving himself wholly in God's hands until he is taught by the dream +God sent him that man's part is to act as he saw the eagle act, +succouring the helpless, not to play the part of the helpless birdlings +who were taken care of. Another phase of the same thought is touched +upon in 'A Camel Driver.' The discussion turns upon punishment and the +point is, if, as Ferishtah declares, the sinner is not to be punished +eternally, then why should man trouble himself to punish him. The +answer amounts to this. Man must regard sin from the human point of +view as something evil and to be got rid of and must, therefore, will +to work for its annihilation. It follows then that the sinner should be +punished as that is a means for teaching him to cease sinning. + +Another doctrine upon which the Nineteenth Century belief in progress +as the law of life has set its seal is that of the pursuit of +happiness, or the striving for the greatest good of the whole number +including oneself. With this Browning shows himself in full sympathy in +'Two Camels,' wherein Ferishtah contends that only through the +development of individual happiness and the experiencing of many forms +of joyousness can one help others to happiness and joyousness, while in +'Plot Culture,' the enjoyment of human emotion as a means of developing +the soul is emphasized. + +The relations of good and evil have also had to be re-considered in the +light of Nineteenth Century thought, the dualism of the past not being +compatible with the evolutionary doctrine that good and evil are +relative, a phrase which we sometimes forget must be understood in two +ways:--first, that good and evil are relative to the state of society +in which they exist, and what may be good in one phase of society, may +become evil in a more developed phase. Second, were it not for evil, we +should never be able to appreciate the superiority of good and so to +work for good, and in working for it to bring about progress. To his +pupil worried over the problem of evil Ferishtah points out in 'Mihrab +Shah' that evil in the form of bodily suffering has given rise to the +beautiful sentiments of pity and sympathy. But though it be recognized +that good comes of evil, shall evil be encouraged? No! Ferishtah +declares, Man bound by man's conditions is obliged to estimate as "fair +or foul Right, wrong, good, evil, what man's faculty adjudges such," +therefore the man will do all he can to relieve the suffering of poor +Mihrab Shah with a fig-plaster. The answers, then, that Browning gives +to the ethical problems of the century growing out of the acceptance of +modern scientific doctrines, are, in brief, that man shall use that +will-power of which he feels himself possessed, and which really +distinguishes him from the brute creation, in working against whatever +appears to him evil; while the good for which he shall work is the +greatest happiness of all. + +What of the philosophical doctrines to which Browning gives expression +in the remaining poems of the group? We find it insisted upon in +'Cherries', 'The Sun', in 'A Bean Stripe also Apple Eating', and +especially in that remarkable poem 'A Pillar at Sebzevar' that +knowledge fails. Knowledge the golden is but lacquered ignorance, as +gain to be mistrusted. Curiously, enough, this contention of Browning's +has been the cause of most of the criticisms against him as a +philosopher, yet as far as I have been able to discover, there has been +no deep thinker of this century, and there have been many in other +centuries, who has not held in some form or another the opinion that +intellect was unable to solve the mysterious problems of the universe. +Even the metaphysicians who build very wonderful air castles on _a +priori_ ideas declare that these ideas cannot be matters of mere +intellectual perception, but must be intuitions of the higher reason. +Browning, however, does not rest in the assertion that the intellect +fails. He draws immense comfort from this failure of knowledge. Though +it is to be distrusted as gain, it is not to be mistrusted as means to +gain. "Friend" quoth Ferishtah in 'A Pillar at Sebzevar' + + "As gain--mistrust it! Not as means to gain: + Lacquer we learn by: cast in firing-pot, + We learn,--when what seemed ore assayed proves dross-- + Surelier true gold's worth, guess how purity + I' the lode were precious could one light on ore + Clarified up to test of crucible. + The prize is in the process: knowledge means + Ever-renewed assurance by defeat + That victory is somehow still to reach." + +For men with minds of the type of Spencer's, this negative assurance of +an infinite ever on before is sufficient, but human beings, as a rule, +will not rest satisfied in such cold abstractions. Though Job said +thousands of years ago "Who by searching can find out God," mankind +still continues to search. + +Now comes Browning and says that it is in that very act of searching +that the absolute becomes most directly manifest. From the earliest +times of which we have any record man has been aspiring toward God. +Many times he has thought that he had found God, but later discovered +it to be only God's image built up out of his own human experiences. +This search is very beautifully described in the Fancy called 'The +Sun,' under the symbol of the man who seeks the prime giver that he may +give thanks where it is due for a palatable fig. This search for God +Browning calls Love, meaning by that the moving, aspiring force of the +whole universe, and many are its manifestations, from the love that +goes forth in thanks for benefits received, through the aspirations of +the artist toward beauty, of the lover toward human sympathy, even of +the scientist toward knowledge, to the lover of humanity like +Ferishtah, who declares "I know nothing save that love I can +boundlessly, endlessly." + +The poet argues from this that if mankind has with ever increasing +fervor aspired toward a God of Love, and has ever developed toward +broader conceptions of human love, it is only reasonable to infer that +in his nature God has something which corresponds to human love, though +it transcend our most exalted imagining of it. In John Fiske's recent +book 'Through Nature to God' he advances a theory identical with this, +evidently unaware that Browning had been before him, for he claims it +as entirely original. Fiske's originality consists in his having based +his proof upon analogies drawn from the evolution of organic life in +following out the law of the adjustment of inner to outer relations. +For example, since the eye has through aeons of time gradually adjusted +itself into harmony with light, why should not man's search for God be +the gradual adjustment of the soul into harmony with the infinite +spirit. Other modern thinkers have advanced the idea that love was the +ruling force of the universe; nor need we confine ourselves to the +moderns, for like nearly every phase of thought, it had its counterpart +or at least its seed in Greek thought. Thus we find that Empedocles +declared that the ruling forces of the universe were Love and Strife +and that the conflict between these was necessary for the continuance +of life. As far as I know, however, no other thinker or poet has +emphasized with such power the thought that the only true basis of +belief is the intuition of God that comes from the direct revelation of +feeling in the human heart, and which has been at once the motive force +of the search for God and the basis of a conception of God's nature. A +natural corollary of such a theory is that every conception man has had +of the Infinite had its value as a partial image since it grew out of +the divine impulse planted in man, but that in the Christian ideal, the +highest symbolical conception was attained through the mystical +unfolding of love in the human soul. + +The thought of the 'Fancies' is optimistically rounded out in 'A Bean +Stripe also Apple Eating' in which Ferishtah argues that life, in spite +of the evil in it, seems to him on the whole good, and he cannot +believe that evil is not meant for good ends since he is so sure that +God is infinite in love. + +From all this it will be seen that our poet accepts with Spencerians +the negative proof of God growing out of the failure of intellect, but +adds to it the positive proof derived from emotion. + +It was a happy thought of the poet to present such problems in Persian +guise, for Persia stands in Zoroastrianism for the dualism which +Ferishtah denies in his recognition of the part evil plays in the +development of good, and through Mahometanism for the Fatalism, +Ferishtah learned to cast from him. The Persian atmosphere is preserved +throughout not only by the introduction constantly of Persian allusions +traceable to the great Persian epic the Shah Nameh, but by the telling +of fables in the Persian manner to point the morals intended. With the +exception of the first Fancy, which is derived from a fable of +Bidpai's, we have the poet's own word that all the others are +inventions of his own, but they are none the worse for this. These +clever stories make the poems lively reading, and we soon find +ourselves growing fond of the wise and clever Ferishtah, who like +Socrates is never at a loss for an answer, no matter what bothersome +questions his pupils may propound. + +If we see the thoughtful and brilliant Browning in the 'Fancies' +proper, we perhaps see even more clearly the emotional and passionate +Browning in the lyrics which add such variety and charm to the whole. +This feature is also borrowed from Persian form, a beautiful example of +which has been given to English readers in Edwin Arnold's 'Gulistan' or +'Rose Garden' of the poet Sa' di. In fact Sa' di's preface to his 'Rose +Garden' evidently gave Browning the hint for his humorous prologue, in +which he likens the poems to follow to an Italian dish made of ortolans +on toast with a bitter sage leaf, symbolizing sense, sight and song + + "Sage-leaf is bitter-pungent--so's a quince: + Eat each who's able! + But through all three bite boldly--lo, the gust! + Flavor--no fixture-- + Flies, permeating flesh and leaf and crust + In fine admixture. + So with your meal, my poem masticate + Sense, sight, and song there! + Digest these, and I praise your peptics' state, + Nothing found wrong there." + +Similarly Sa' di says "Yet will men of light and learning, from whom +the true countenance of a discourse is not concealed, be well aware +that herein the pearls of good counsel which heal are threaded on +strings of right sense; that the bitter physic of admonition is +constantly mingled with the honey of good humor, so that the spirits of +listeners grow not sad, and that they remain not exempt from blessings +of acceptance." + +A further interest attaches to these lyrics because they form a series +of emotional phases in the soul-life of two lovers whom I think, we may +be justified in regarding as Mr. and Mrs. Browning themselves. I always +think of them as companion pictures to 'The Sonnets from the +Portuguese.' In these the sun-rise of a great love is portrayed with +intense and exalted passion while the lyrics in 'Ferishtah's Fancies' +reflect the subsequent development of such a love, through the +awakening of whole new realms of feeling, wherein love for humanity is +enlarged, criticism from the one beloved, welcome; all the little +trials of life dissolved in the new light; and divine love realized +with a force never before possible. Do we not see a living portrait of +the two poets in the lyric 'So the head aches and the limbs are faint'? +Many a hint may be found in their letters to prove that Mrs. Browning +with just such a frail body possessed a fire of spirit that carried her +constantly toward attainment while he, with all the vigor of splendid +health could with truth have frequently said "In the soul of me sits +sluggishness." These exquisite lyrics which, whether they conform to +Elizabethan models or not, are as fine as anything ever done in that +line, are crowned by the epilogue in which we hear the stricken husband +crying out to her whom twenty years earlier he had called his "lyric +love" in a voice doubting, yet triumphing in the thought that his +optimism is the light radiating from the halo which her human love had +irised round his head. + +In 'The Parleyings' the discussions turn principally upon artistic +problems and their relation to modern philosophy, four out of the seven +being inspired by artist, poet, or musician. The forgotten worthies +whom Browning rescued from oblivion, make their appeal to him upon +various grounds that connect them with the present. Bernard de +Mandeville evidently caught Browning's fancy because in his satirical +poem 'The Grumbling Hive' he forestalled, by a defence of the Duke of +Marlborough's war policy, the doctrine of the relativity of good and +evil. One might have imagined that this subject had been exhausted in +'Ferishtah's Fancies,' but it seems to have had a great fascination for +Browning, probably because the idea was a new one and he felt the need +of thinking his way through all its implications. Fresh interest is +added in this case because the objector in the argument was a +contemporary of Browning's--Carlyle, whose well-known pessimism over +the existence of evil is graphically presented. Browning clenches his +side of the argument with an original and daring variation upon the +Prometheus myth led up to by one of the most magnificent passages in +the whole range of his poetry, and probably the finest example anywhere +in literature of a description of nature as interpreted by the laws of +cosmic evolution. He describes the effect of the sun-light in +developing the life upon the earth, tracing it as far as the mind of +man. But the mind of man is not satisfied with the purely physical and +phenomenal. + + "What avails sun's earth-felt thrill + To me? Mind seeks to see, + Touch, understand, by mind inside me, + The outside mind--whose quickening I attain + To recognize--I only." + +But Prometheus offered an artifice whereby man's mind is satisfied. He +drew Sun's rays into a focus plain and true. The very sun in little: +made fire burn and henceforth do man service. Denuded of its scientific +and mystical symbolism Browning makes the Prometheus myth teach his +favorite doctrine, namely that the image of love formed in the human +heart by means of the burning glass supplied by sense and feeling is a +symbol of infinite love. + +Daniel Bartoli, an extremely superstitious old Jesuit of the 17th +century is set up by Browning in the next poem, simply to be knocked +down again on the ground that all the legendary saints he worshipped +could not compare with a real woman the poet knows. The romantic story +of this lady is told in Browning's most fascinating narrative style, so +rapid and direct that it has all the force of a dramatic sketch. Her +claim upon his admiration consists in her recognition of the sacredness +of love which she will not dishonor for worldly considerations, and +finding her betrothed love incapable of attaining her height of +nobleness, she leaves him free. This story only bears upon the poet's +philosophy as it reflects his attitude toward human love, which he +considers so clearly a revelation, that any treatment of it not +absolutely noble and true to the highest ideals is a sin against heaven +itself. + +George Bubb Dodington is the black sheep of these later poems and gives +the poet an opportunity to let loose all his subtlety and sarcasm; and +the reader a chance to use his wits in discovering that the poet +_assumes_ to agree with Dodington that when one is serving his state, +he should at the same time have an eye to his own private welfare, that +he _pretends_ to criticise only Dodington's method of attaining this-- +which is to disclaim that he works for any other good than the state's, +nobody would ever believe that. He then gives what purports to be his +own opinion on the correct method of successful statesmanship--that is, +to pose as a superior being with a divine right to rule, treating +everybody as his puppet and entirely scornful of their opinion of him. +If he will adopt this attitude he may change his tactics every year and +the people instead of suspecting his sincerity will think that he has +wise reasons beyond their insight for his changes. Browning is said to +have had Lord Beaconsfield in mind when he described this proper method +for the statesman. Be that as it may the type is not unknown in this +day. Having discovered all this, the wit of the reader may now draw its +inferences--which will doubtless be that the whole poem is a powerful, +intensely cynical argument, against what we to-day call imperialism and +in favor of liberal government which means the development of every +individual so that he will be able to see for himself whether this or +that policy be right instead of depending upon the leadership of the +over-man, whose intentions are unfortunately too seldom to be trusted. + +The poet Browning calls out from the shades is Christopher Smart, who +was celebrated for having only once in his life composed a great poem, +'The Song of David,' that put him on a par with Milton and Keats. +Perhaps we might not altogether agree with this decision, but critics +have loved to eulogize its great beauties and whether Browning actually +agreed with their conclusions or not makes little difference, for the +fact furnishes him with a text for discussing the problem of beauty +versus truth in art. Should the poet's province simply be to record his +visions of the beauty and strength of nature and the universe, that +come to him in moments of inspiration such as that which came once to +Christopher Smart? "No," says Browning, whose feet are always firmly +based upon the earth. These visions of poets should not be considered +ends in themselves but the materials for greater ends. He asks such +poets if they would + + "Play the fool, + Abjuring a superior privilege? + Please simply when your function is to rule-- + By thought incite to deed? Ears and eyes + Want so much strength and beauty, and no less + Nor more, to learn life's lesson by." + +He goes on to insist that the poet should find his inspiration in the +human heart and climb to heaven by its means, not investigate the +heavens first. He evidently does not sympathize with Emerson's attitude +that the poet has some mysterious connection with the divine mind which +enables him to become at one bound a seer who may henceforth lead +mankind. Rather must the poet diligently study mankind and teach as a +man may through this knowledge. Space does not permit me to dwell on +the beautiful opening of this poem which recalls the imaginative +faculty of the visions in 'Christmas Eve' and 'Easter Day.' + +In 'Francis Furini' the subject is the nude in art, and Browning vows +he will never believe the tale told by Baldinucci that Furini ordered +all his pictures of this description burned. He expresses his +indignation vigorously at some length, showing plainly his own +sympathies then makes Furini pray a very beautiful prayer, then deliver +before a supposed cultured London audience a long and decidedly +recondite speech containing an attack upon that species of agnosticism +that allies itself with positivism and Furini's refutation. The upshot +of it all is that Furini declares the only thing he is certain of is +his own consciousness and the fact that it had a cause behind it, +called God. + + "Knowledge so far impinges on the cause + Before me, that I know--by certain laws + Wholly unknown, what'ere I apprehend + Within, without, me, had its rise: thus blend + I, and all things perceived in one effect." + +Readers of philosophy will recognize in this an echo from Descartes. +This fact of the human consciousness he further develops into an +argument that the painter should paint the human body, just as it was +argued the poet should study the human heart. + +A Philippic against Greek art and its imitation is delivered by the +poet in the 'Parleying with Gerard de Lairesse' whom he makes the +scape-goat of his strictures, on the score of a book Lairesse wrote in +which was described a walk through a Dutch landscape transmogrified by +classic imaginings. To this good soul an old sepulchre, struck by +lightning became the tomb of Phaeton, and an old cart wheel half buried +in the sand near by, the Chariot of the Sun. In a spirit of bravado +Browning proceeds to show what he himself could make of a walk provided +he condescended to illuminate it by classic metaphor and symbol, and a +remarkable passage is the result. It occupies from the eighth to the +twelfth stanzas. It is meant to be in derision of the grandiloquent, +classically embroidered style but so splendid is the language, so +haunting the pictures, the symbolism so profound that it is as if a God +were showing some poor weakling mortal how not to do it--and through +his omniscience must perforce create something wondrously beautiful. +The double feeling one has about this passage only adds to its +interest. After thus classicizing in a manner that might make Euripides +himself turn green with envy, he nonchalantly remarks-- + + "Enough, stop further fooling," + +and to show how a modern poet greets a landscape he flings in the +perfectly simple and irresistible little lyric + + "Dance, yellows, and whites and reds." + +The poet's strictures upon classicism are entirely in line with his +philosophy, placing as it does the paramount importance on living +realities. + + "'Do and no wise dream,' he exclaims + 'Earth's young significance is all to learn; + The dead Greek lore lies buried in its urn + Where who seeks fire finds ashes.'" + +The 'Parleying with Charles Avison' is more a poem of moods than any of +the others. The poet's love for music is reflected in his claiming it +as the highest expression possible to man; but sadness comes to him at +the thought of the ephemeralness of its forms, a fact that is borne in +on him by the inadequateness of Avison's old March styled "grand." He +finally makes of music the most perfect symbol of the evolution of +spirit of which the central truth remains always permanent, while the +form though ever changing is of absolute value to the time when the +spirit found expression in it. + +Even this does not quite satisfy the poet's desires for the supremacy +of music, and his final conclusion is that if we only get ourselves +into a proper historical frame of mind, any form will reveal its +beauty, This is a truth which needs especially to be recognized in +music, for we too often hear people objecting to Haydn or Mozart and +even Beethoven because they are not modern, never realizing that each +age has produced its distinctive musical beauty. + +But Browning means it of course to have the largest significance in +relation to all forms of truth and beauty of which every age has had +its living example--thus--his last triumphant mood is, "Never dream +that what once lived shall ever die." + +I have been able to throw out only a few general suggestions as to +these late masterpieces. There are many subtleties of thought and +graces of expression which reveal themselves upon every fresh reading, +and each poem might well be made the subject of a special study. + +I have said nothing about the Prologue and Epilogue to the Parleyings, +not because I love them less, but because I love them so much that I +should never be able to bring this paper, already too long, to a close +if I once began on them. I hope, however, I have said enough not only +to prove the point that these poems give complete expression to the +thought of the age, but that Browning appears in them, to borrow an apt +term from Whitman, as the "Answerer" of the age. That he has +unquestioningly accepted the knowledge which science has brought and +recognizing its relative character, has yet interpreted it in such a +way as to make it subserve the highest ideals in ethics, religion, and +art, and that far from reflecting any degeneration in Browning's +philosophy of life, these poems put on a firmer basis than ever the +thoughts prominent in his poetry from the first, and which constantly +find illustration indirectly and sometimes directly in his dramatic +poems. + +I am just as unable to find any fault with their subject matter as with +their form. The variety in both is remarkable. Religion and fable, +romance and philosophy, art and science all commingled in rich +profusion. Everything in language--talk almost colloquial, dainty +lyrics full of exquisite emotion, and grand passages which present in +sweeping images now the processes of cosmic evolution, now those of +spiritual evolution, until it seems as if we had indeed been conducted +to some vast mountain height, whence we could look forth upon the +century's turbulent seas of thought, into which flows many a current +from the past, while suspended above between the sea and sky like the +crucifix in Simons' wonderful symbolistic picture of the Middle Ages, +is the mystical form of Divine Love. _Helen A. Clarke._ + + + + + SCHOOL OF LITERATURE. + + GLIMPSES OF PRESENT DAY POETS: A SELECTIVE READING COURSE. + + II. A Group Of American Poets.[2] + +1. Edmund Clarence Stedman. + +_Readings from Stedman_:--'Hebe,' 'A Sea Change.' New York Scenes: +'Peter Stuyvesant,' 'Pan in Wall Street,' 'The Door Step.' A Sheaf of +Patriotic Poems: 'The Pilgrims,' 'Old Brown,' 'Wanted a Man,' +'Treason's Device,' 'Israel Freyer,' 'Cuba.' (In 'Poems' Household +Edition. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $1.50.) + +_Query for Discussion_.--Are Mr. Stedman's local and patriotic themes +inconsistent with the highest degree of lyric grace, or does his poetic +gift appear to best advantage when enlivened by familiar home +interests? + +2. Louise Chandler Moulton. + +_Readings_:--'A Quest,' 'The House of Death.' Sonnets: 'The New Day,' +'One Dread,' 'Afar,' 'Love's Empty House,' 'The Cup of Death,' 'Before +the Shrine,' 'As in Vision,' 'Though We Were Dust,' 'Were but My Spirit +Loosed Upon the Air,' 'The New Year Dawns,' 'Aspiration,' 'The Secret +of Arcady,' 'Her Picture.' (The first two selections and first three +sonnets are in 'Swallow Flights.' New edition of poems of 1877 with +additional poems; the four following are in 'The Garden of Dreams'; and +the four last sonnets and the other poems in 'At the Wind's Will.' +Boston: Little, Brown & Co. $1.25 each. For general review of work see, +also, 'The Poetry of Louise Chandler Moulton.' Contemporary Writer +Series in _Poet-lore_. Vol. IV. New Series. Opening Number, 1900, pp. +114-125.) + +_Query for Discussion_.--Is Mrs. Moulton too narrowly restricted to +emotional themes and emotional means of expression for bounteous poetic +cheer, or is the perfect alliance of her emotional range and +workmanship the very source of her lyric excellence. + +3. Thomas Bailey Aldrich. + +Readings:--'Unsung,' 'Nameless Pain,' 'Quits,' 'Andromeda,' 'Baby +Bell,' 'An Untimely Thought,' 'Bagatelle,' 'Palabras Carinosas,' 'On an +Intaglio of Head of Minerva.' Sonnets: 'Books and Seasons,' 'The +Poets,' 'On Reading William Watson's "The Purple East."' (In Poetical +Works. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. $2.00.) + +_Queries for Discussion_.--Does Mr. Aldrich escape the usual penalty +for laying emphasis on delicacy of finish so that the result is +satisfying in its happy precision? Or does he seem cold and elaborately +superficial? Does he, so to speak, carve cherry-stones oftener than he +engraves cameos? + +4. Louise Imogen Guiney. + +_Readings_:--'Peter Rugg,' 'Open Time,' 'The Still of the Year,' +'Hylas,' 'The Kings,' Alexandrina, I, x, and xiii. 'The Martyr's Idyl,' +'Sanctuary,' 'Arboricide,' 'To the Outbound Republic,' 'The Perfect +Hour,' 'Deo Optimo Maximo,' 'Borderlands.' (From 'A Roadside Harp' are +selected the first five poems and the Alexandrina, from 'The Martyr's +Idyl and Shorter Poems' the others. $1.00 each. Boston: Houghton, +Mifflin & Co.) + +_Queries for Discussion_.--Is Miss Guiney's scholasticism too dominant +in her work? Does she lack human warmth? Or are her restraint and good +taste the index of deeper feeling? Does her cultured thought and chaste +concentrated power of expression lift her above the ranks of the minor +poets? + +5. Richard Hovey. + +_Readings_:--'Spring,' an Ode, 'The Wander-lovers.' 'Taliesin,' Second, +Third, Movements. Sonnets: 'Love in the Winds,' 'After Business Hours,' +Act V from 'The Marriage of Guenevere.' ('Spring' first published in +_Poet-lore_, is included in 'Along the Trail' ($1.25), which also +contains the sonnets here selected. 'Taliesin' also originally +published in _Poet-lore_, Vol. VIII, old series, January, February, and +June, 1896, pp. 1-14, 63-78, 292-306, is recently published in 1 vol. +uniform with 'The Marriage of Guenevere' ($1.50). 'The Wander-lovers' +appears in 'Vagabondia.' Boston: Small, Maynard & Co. A general review +of Hovey's work will be the second of the 'Contemporary Writer Series' +in next _Poet-lore_.) + +_Queries for Discussion_.--Has Hovey's way of telling the story of +Guenevere and Launcelot an advantage realistically over Tennyson's, but +none either poetically or ethically? (See on this query, 'The Disloyal +Wife in Literature: Comparative Study Programme,' _Poet-lore_, Vol. I., +new series, pp. 265-274, Spring Number, 1897.) Does Hovey attain +greatness by his liveliness and human quality joined to varied and +skilful metrical effects? Is 'Taliesin' his best work, or is his best +work done in his short pieces? + +6. Bliss Carman. + +_Readings_:--'Spring Song,' 'A More Ancient Mariner,' 'Envoy,' 'Beyond +the Gaspereau,' 'Behind the Arras,' 'The Cruise of the Galleon,' 'A +Song before Sailing,' 'The Lodger,' 'Beyond the Gamut,' 'The Ships of +St. John,' 'The Marring of Malyn.' (The first, second, and third are +in 'Vagabondia'; the fourth in _Poet-lore_, Vol. I., new series, pp. +321-329, Summer Number, 1897; the next five in 'Behind the Arras' +($1.50); the others in 'Ballads of Lost Haven' ($1.00). Boston: Small, +Maynard & Co.) + +_Query for Discussion_.--Is Carman better in his earlier descriptive +lyrics, or better in his later symbolical lyrics because these being +richer in interest are stronger to hold the deeper reader? + +7. Hannah Parker Kimball. + +_Readings_:--'Revelation,' 'The Smoke,' 'The Sower,' 'Consummation,' +'Glory of Earth,' 'Primitive Man,' 'Man to Nature,' 'Eavesdroppers,' +'Social Appeal,' 'The Quiet Land Within,' 'The Saving of Judas +Iscariot.' (The first four of the poems named are in 'Soul and Sense,' +75 cents; the last in _Poet-lore_, Vol. I., new series, pp. 161-168, +Spring Number, 1897; the others in 'Victory and Other Poems.' Boston: +Copeland & Day, now Small, Maynard & Co.) + +_Queries for Discussion_.--Does Miss Kimball's portraiture of Judas +Iscariot reveal a capacity for dramatically creating development in +character? Are her lyrics too grave, or is it their especial blend of +high seriousness and intellectual insight with unforced expression +which gives them unusual richness? + + _The Editors._ + + + * * * * * + + + SONGS FROM THE GHETTO AND A VISION OF + HELLAS. + +Conceived amid the heat and discomfort of the sweating-shops, born in +poverty and squalid surroundings, growing up with hunger and despair +and failure, and at last an honored guest at the table of ease and +culture--such is the history of the 'Songs from the Ghetto' by Morris +Rosenfeld. Mr. Rosenfeld was born of poor parents in Poland in 1862. +Wandering in search of work in England and Holland, he at length found +a scanty means of support as a tailor in the sweating-shops of New +York. Of miserable origin, poorly educated, struggling for the barest +necessities of life, there was yet in him a poet's soul, struggling for +expression. + +The poems of Mr. Rosenfeld, written in the Judeo-German dialect, which +he has brought to great literary perfection, have been collected, +translated into English prose and edited by Professor Leo Wiener, +instructor in Slavic languages at Harvard. + +The songs in this little volume are very beautiful, but whether they +sing of labour or nature, of the shop or the country, there is in every +one a strain of sadness, the melody of each is broken with tears. For +the beauty of which the poet sings, the birds and the flowers, are only +dreams from which he wakes to the misery in his life. It is not the +bitter sadness of hate and rebellion, but the sadness of the Jewish +race, resigned and oppressed, expecting no happiness among an alien +people, but looking for a life of peace in a new Jerusalem. + +"Again your lime will be fragrant, and your orange will gleam," he +comforts the wanderer, "again God will awaken and bring you thither. +You will sing Shepherd songs as you will herd your sheep; you will live +again, live eternally, without end. After your terrible wanderings you +will again breathe freely; there will again beat a hero's heart under +the silent mountain Moriah." + +The songs are not all of labour, or of the sorrows of the Jews. In +lighter vein is 'The Nightingale to the Labourer,' 'The Creation of +Man'--which contains the pretty idea that the poet alone was given +wings, and an angel stood always "ready day and night to attach the +wings to him whenever his holy song will rise." + +The last song in the little volume, called 'In the Wilderness,' is +typical of the poet's spirit; but not, we believe, of his place in the +world. For the world is always ready to listen to a song that carries +with it the impress of truth and beauty. + +"In a distant wilderness a bird stands alone and looks about him, +sadly, and sings a beautiful song. + +"His heavenly-sweet voice flows like the purest gold, and wakens the +cold stones and the prairie wide and deserted. + +"He wakens the dead rocks and the silent mountains round about,--but +the dead remain dead, and the silent remain silent. + +"For whom, sweet singer, do your clear tones resound? Who hears you, +and who feels you? And whose concern are you? + +"You may put your whole soul into your singing. You will not awaken a +heart in the cold, hard rock! + +"You will not sing there long,--I feel it, I know it: your heart will +soon burst with loneliness and woe. + +"In vain is your endeavour, it will not help you, no! Alone you have +come, and alone you will pass away!" + +'A Vison of New Hellas' is one of the books that is destined to be more +important than interesting, more noteworthy than popular. The +conception is certainly very beautiful and very wonderful even if the +author does not always reach the height of expression towards which he +aims. But it is a book which can only appeal to the few, who are ready +to search beneath the covering of fantastic imagery and strange verse +forms which clothe a high poetic purpose and ideal. Even those who come +to the work with a knowledge of the songs of old Hellas and the +philosophy of Plato must feel deeply grateful for the elucidating of +the meaning of the book in an argument which the author has kindly +supplied to forestall the vain imaginings of the uninitiated. + +The poet's aim is as serious as was that of Milton or Dante--"to +realize as best he can such visions of beauty as may be vouchsafed to +him," that through his work he may "make richer the human world in +things of the spirit that quicken and delight." + +In contemplation the poet rises above the mists of sordidness which +rise from the struggle of trade and industry, beyond the clouds of +pessimism and religious doubt, and on the Pisgah heights of Hellenic +culture he sees a vision of the new life that shall come to man. + +Through the beautiful world-myth, the story of Demeter and Persephone +and Dionysus, the poet is taught the lesson of the immortality of the +race, of its ceaseless progression toward a nobler and more beautiful +future. To celebrate their happiness at the discovery that Aidoneus, +dread King of Death, is none other than the Lord of Life "leader of the +blessed to the highest heaven," they resolve to bring about the +redemption of the world. + +This is made possible through the union of Aphrodite, Beauty of Form, +with Apollo, Light of the Mind. From them shall spring a new race of +Gods, typifying the new ideals which shall uplift man until he is +fitted for fellowship at the banquet of the Immortals. Thence will rise +"a nobler, a larger mankind," wakened at length from "the night of +toil, unhallowed by joy in the task." Through Aphrodite will come +"feeling and loving--and art that bids death defiance," and through +Apollo "seeing and knowing and man's life-mastering science." Thence +shall come + + "The lover's rapture Elysian, + The poet's fury, the prophet's vision, + The serene world-sight of the thinker." + +This vision typified the future regeneration of America and through her +of the race. From the sordid reality of present conditions man must +advance ever nearer to the "eternal ideal"; from mean conditions, +inspired by lofty emotions and holy enthusiasms, shall come new +standards of life and of art. + +Mr. Guthrie's work indicates in its form some of the characteristics of +the new literary art. Though his theories are undoubtedly good, the +expression is as yet too crude to form much idea of its possibilities. +Whatever may be the age of the author, his work indicates a certain +inexperience and lacks the grasp and finish of the skilled workman. His +work is too reminiscent; he has not sufficiently assimilated his +sources and impressed them with his own individuality, giving them a +distinctive unity of conception and expression. Though we are quite +willing to accept his assurance that he "did not intend his work to +resemble any known performance," we are continually reminded of +passages in other writers who had inspired him. At times we are struck +with admiration at his power for catching the very trick of his model. + +His work is as "oddly suited" as was Portia's lover. For he suggests to +us--Homer and the Greek tragedians of course in theme and expression; +Milton and Dante with their lofty ideals; Piers Ploughman dreaming +about his "fair field full of folk." For the conception he owes much to +Shelley's 'Prometheus,' whose theme is very similar, but his methods +are more modern, with verse theories of Whitman, philosophy of +Browning, a Wagnerian idea of rhythm, making each rhythmical theme +represent a peculiar mood or image, which is frequently very effective +but sometimes forced. + + _Harriott S. Olive._ + +(Songs from the Ghetto, by Morris Rosenfeld. With Introduction, Prose +Translation, and Glossary. By Leo Weiner, Instructor in the Slavic +Languages at Harvard University. Boston: Small, Maynard & Co.--A Vision +of New Hellas--Songs of American Destiny. William Norman Guthrie. +Clarke Publishing Company. Chicago: $2.50.) + + + * * * * * + + + COL. HIGGINSON'S 'CONTEMPORARIES' AND MRS. + HOWE'S 'REMINISCENCES.' + +Colonel Higginson might have added to his 'Contemporaries' as a +sub-title: 'Our Nineteenth Century Roll of Honor,' for he makes +mention, either brief or extended, in his book, of nearly all the men +and women of the age who would be entitled to a place on such a roll. +It gives one's patriotism a thrill, on looking down the list, to see +how long and splendid a one it is, to note what fine thoughts, +emotions, and achievements stand representative in the brief sketches +of the period of our national existence which the author has observed +and shared in. Patriotic fervor for the past, and, arguing from the +past, a renewed hope in the national future, are the dominant feelings +the book begets. Not that the author has emphasized the bequests of +statesmen and reformers to the country, to the neglect of other +influences. The volume contains nineteen sketches; and the poet, the +philosopher, the scientist, the man of private though beneficent life, +have all places therein; yet all is woven into a whole with one aspect, +the national one. + +All of the sketches are, as the preface states, reprinted pieces first +published in different periodicals any time during the past fifty +years. Since from this point of view the volume can have little or no +consecutiveness, it is noteworthy that a picture of the times is +nevertheless obtained unbroken in its continuity. Every sketch, however +fragmentary a part of the life of its subject, has the vigor of its +surroundings; and the papers upon the men and women of the Abolitionist +period and the Civil War, though most of them have been somewhat +revised for their present publication, have the heart-beats of the +"times that tried men's souls" throbbing in them true and loud. + +One paper, upon John Brown's Household, printed in 1859 and quite +unaltered, preserves by the splendid restraint of its simple language +the very spirit of the iron endeavor and concentred force it describes. + +The value of an author's judgment upon his contemporaries, is +unquestioned; the advantage of a personal share in the lives and +actions of the men who form his theme, added to our already confidence +in his critical judgment, give it worth over other proved biography. On +the deeds of many of the men whose work he commemorates, Fame has yet +to pronounce lastly: their services are too recent for a perfect +judgment. But testimony such as this will surely have value in a +decision. + +One feels a little inclined to quarrel with the author that there is so +little "I" in his book, that there are so few really personal glimpses, +but of course this is too much to ask of a book which is really a +compilation of scattered sketches; and perhaps Colonel Higginson will +remedy the lack in the future. + +It is seldom that one has the pleasure of reading so satisfying and +delightful a piece of autobiography as Mrs. Howe's 'Reminiscences.' One +hardly knows, when the last page is turned, which of two capacities of +the mind has been more completely filled and brimmed over: that of +intellectual appreciation, or the well where abides the feeling of +delighted enthusiasm which is inspired by our friend. We respond to the +pleasure the reading gives us with a really personal sense of +gratitude. + +The subject matter of the book could not have been of other than deep +interest. Mrs. Howe's long and beautiful life has been lived in +surroundings of the highest culture of her time; the events of which +she has written are those which will take their place in the history of +the century just closing; and finally, the men and women who were her +friends and in whose labors she shared, were the men and women whose +opinions have largely moulded the events. But it is not all this, of +unfailing interest though it must be, that gives the book its finest +quality, and that makes one wish to read it over the moment one has +read it through. It is, instead, that we have learned so much of a +beauty-gifted and beauty-giving life in words at once so simple and so +satisfying. Cheeriness and healthiness--if by the latter word one may +express a certain poise and normalness of outlook--are the +characteristics of the narrative. The great and the small of life each +receive their just due; perhaps it is by her treatment of the small +that we are best assured we have read into an intimacy with Mrs. Howe. +That perennial question as to the feminine lack of humor, which has +lately been re-threshed in the newspapers, should receive final and +silencing reply--had it ever deserved a reply at all--in the +'Reminiscences.' The narrative twinkles with keen appreciation of the +humorous, the ludicrous, even of the deliciously nonsensical; also +abounding in that larger sort of humor which does not consist in seeing +the point to a joke, but which makes life bearable and judgments tender +under conditions least likely to keep them so. + +Assuredly Mrs. Howe did not put together the recollections of her life +with primarily didactic purpose, just as assuredly she did not write +them down primarily for the benefit of the American young woman. Yet in +view of the cause to which she has given the work of her latter years, +it is permitted me to say that no greater encouragement could be given +it for the future than the words from which we learn her personal +services to it and to the other causes which she has aided with brain +and hands throughout her life. _Helen Tracy Porter._ + +(Contemporaries, By Thomas Wentworth Higginson. Boston and New York: +Houghton, Mifflin & Co., 1899. $2.00. Reminiscences: Julia Ward Howe. +Houghton, Mifflin & Co. Boston and New York. $2.50.) + + + * * * * * + + + LIFE AND LETTERS. + +----The last scenes in the present-day epoch of commercialism promise +to be like the last scenes in the old-time epoch of feudalism, +picturesque, violent, and significant rendings and tearings of the +whole body politic prior to a re-formation on the basis of a larger +unity. Then they portended the unification of England under the Tudors, +or the unification of France under the eleventh Louis. Now they +portend--what? + +Some larger, more spiritual unity, it may be guessed, that shall +quietly and with unprecedented swiftness make use of the materialistic +objects which the short-sighted leaders of commercialism now have in +mind, and after a manner they no more dream is implied in their success +than the royal dynasties of England and France dreamed that the bloody +heads of kings would be the fruit of the new nationality. + + * * * + +----To the leaders of the commercial world-movement, their +materialistic objects are ends in themselves, very substance of very +substance. But the Time-spirit already laughs them to scorn and tosses +them, as mere tools out of place, to some more convenient corner of her +spacious work-shop, where they make but one with a mass of other such +tools awaiting the mastery of her history-shaping hand. + +The tumults of South Africa and China are but signs of the vaster +tumult in which these tumults shall be devoured and assimilated. + + * * * + +----In the world of faith, too, how restless is the aggregate organism! +Ruptures and dissolutions are splitting and fusing orthodoxies and +heterodoxies. + +And in the withdrawn and secret world of the human consciousness the +ferment of new desires and potencies, opposed by all the organized and +settled forces of opinion, is permeating thought, and stirring the +slumbering soul to try the unguessed faculties of its idealism, as if +the real king of the total Unquietness held there his throne. + +The world of politics and commerce, the world of faith and intelligence +tend, it would seem, already, towards that synthetic development +foreseen in 1855, by one whom the obtuse world may yet have reason +enough to recognize as one of the clearest-brained statesmen of the +nineteenth century, though her trade was poetry not politics--Elizabeth +Barrett Browning, when she said of the future: + +"What I expect is a great development of Christianity in opposition to +the churches, and of humanity generally in opposition to the nations." + + * * * + + GOETHE'S IPHIGENIE AT HARVARD. + +It is an age of the universality of genius. Not only the treasures of +our own literature in our own day, but the best that has been written +in all lands in all ages, the best that is being thought and sung in +every tongue to-day is ours. And the test of what is good is no longer +that it appeals to the people of a certain period or race, but that it +appeals to and expresses the spirit of humanity, that it fills a place +in a _Welt-Litteratur_. + +A striking instance of the power of the present to interpret the spirit +of the past was the performance of Goethe's Iphigenie at Harvard on the +sixty-eighth anniversary of Goethe's death. Professor Kuno Franke, +writing in the New York Evening Post speaks of Iphigenie as "the +worthiest production of artistic genius to represent German ideals to a +distinctly academic audience at the foremost of American universities." +This it seems to us Iphigenie emphatically is _not_. In conscious +imitation of Greek tragedy in the literary form and expression, as well +as in the details of the story, it is Greek; in its psychological +treatment, in the idea that personal salvation comes only through +self-sacrifice, it is distinctively modern, but not German, in subject, +expression or treatment. + +Although the choice of Iphigenie as a representative German play was +not justified, certainly nothing could have better expressed the genius +of the greatest of German poets. The greatness of Goethe!--that was the +fact of all others demonstrated by the performance of Iphigenie. He has +given us a play which realizes the ideals of the Greek poets and +sculptors, a play instinct with the deepest reverence of the Greek +religion, yet at the same time a play which expressed the deepest +emotions of a great spiritual revolution in his own life; a play which +may be considered as a presentation of the very spirit of that +Christianity which findeth its soul in losing it. One of its leading +critics says of Iphigenie--"its ideals are not those of Greece or of +Germany, or of any nationality or time, but rather the realization of +the highest and noblest aspirations of mankind in all lands and all +tongues." + +A universal literature is but the child of a universal religion, of +that yearning toward the good and beautiful and true which has been the +guiding star of man since the world began. The struggle in his own +soul; the mystic meaning of a pagan faith, that in passing has touched +all succeeding ages with some measure of its radiant beauty; the poet's +vision of the future spiritual triumph of the race; all these Goethe +united in one artistic expression, and the result is one of the great +poems of the world. + +The presentation of the play at Harvard was a marvellous exhibition of +the power of a great artistic conception to carry an audience with it +in enthusiastic appreciation of the spirit, without the necessity for +an understanding of the medium of expression. Back of all expression is +the spirit of its author, and as a beautiful voice interprets the +meaning of the song written in an unknown tongue, so these German +actors by the power of an art statuesque in its beauty, musical in +expression, deeply spiritual in its interpretation of the poet's soul, +revealed to the audience the wondrous charm of Iphigenie. In a foreign +tongue they portrayed the emotions of mythical heroes long dead in a +distant land, and as we watched and listened the mythical dead became +living mortals, and we understood their suffering and their heroism, +saw the agony of the spiritual struggle, realized the force of the +great temptation, knew the joy of the final victory. + +A great poet, a drama of transcendent power and beauty, actors of +consummate art, an enthusiastic audience,--nothing was lacking to make +the event a memorable one. _H. S. O._ + + * * * + +----At a recent debate at the 'Philadelphia Browning Society' Miss Mary +M. Cohen, the founder and first president of the Society and now one of +its vice-presidents, opened the discussion with the following bright +paper written to the question:-- + +Is Browning to be ranked as a legitimate member of the Victorian +School? + +Certainly he is. If any one tries to prove that he is not entitled to +the claim, it must be because the poet has so much more of brilliant +mental make-up than most of the Victorian writers that the critics are +dazzled. + +They want to cut and fit a man's ability and achievement to a +particular class of work, to press him down, as it were, into a +jelly-mould and say, "There, take that shape and mind, not a drop of +you is to spill over!" It is a good deal like a woman when asked her +age; she often says, "I am twenty"; so she is, dear thing, and +frequently much more, besides. Our poet is a Victorian poet and +gloriously transcends them all. "If this be treason, make the most of +it." My opponent is no doubt carefully writing down this challenge with +a view to crushing me later, but unlike my sex in general, I do not +want the last word, if I can only get the first. "He laughs best who +laughs last" has always had rather a prejudiced sound in my ears; on +the contrary, he who makes the first score has often a tremendous +advantage. A charming young artist, a friend of mine, has thrown a +certain light upon the subject of this debate: She said, "Victorian +always suggests to me something housekeepery and mutton-choppy: Is +Browning mutton-choppy?" I suppose that the adversary will answer this. + +In one of the popular manuals of English literature, we find Tennyson +and Browning described as the two masters of Victorian poetry. My +definition of a poet of the Victorian School would be that he should +combine a musical versification with ethical, philosophical and +artistic thought. I believe that Tennyson is generally received as an +example. If Shelley be accepted as a Victorian School poet, then it is +absolutely certain that Browning, having absorbed Shelley until poetic +inspiration was fused to a white heat, may be held to represent the +Victorian School in gigantic and overwhelming form. Although it has +been said that "until late years Browning has been entirely at variance +with the tendencies of his time and for nearly forty years represented +that opposition to the poetry of the age which has recently been made +prominent by a small band of poetical innovators of whom Swinburne is +the most extreme," still I feel justified in my claim. Browning +incorporated the introspective philosophy of his period in his work, +and also displayed in many of his writings the musical sweetness which +is supposed especially to mark the Victorian poets. Think of his poem +of 'Saul,' forceful, yet melodious, suffused with the intense interest +of the Biblical story, glorified by the superb imagery of a mind +dwelling in a time of psychological inquiry. Almost the whole of +'Asolando' is musical. Remember the poem 'Reverie': + + "I know there shall dawn a day + --Is it here on homely earth? + Is it yonder, worlds away, + Where the strange and new have birth + That Power comes full in play?" + +Note the influence which contemporary events must have on a man like +Browning: in 1851 the great Exhibition, the first of the series held +later in different countries, and stimulating in its effects upon the +intellectual, social and spiritual culture of the poet: in 1854 the +Crimean War, conducted with France against Russia who had appropriated +the Turkish principalities of Moldavia and Wallachia, and made famous +by such battles as Alma, Balaklava and Inkermann. In 1853 came Florence +Nightingale with her reform in hospital service. In 1858 the Atlantic +cable was laid. In 1888 came the "Philadelphia Browning Society." No +one of the Victorian poets was mentally organized by these events, the +last excepted, as was Browning. The critic Alexander has said "A man's +work is determined not only by the character of his genius, but also by +the conditions of his age. Homer would not write a great epic, were he +alive now, nor Shakespeare great dramas." + +'Prospice' is another instance of melodious verse, expressing thought +exalted, philosophical and spiritual. + +Who is not impressed with the strength and sweep of 'Cristina'? + + "There are flashes struck from mid-nights, there are fire-flames + noon-days kindle, + Whereby piled-up honors perish, Whereby swollen ambitions dwindle." + +We cannot ignore the graceful flow of 'Confessions': + + "How sad and bad and mad it was-- + But then, how it was sweet!" + +I must also quote what seems to me a very vital tribute to his genius: + +"Browning is one of the very few men--Mr. Meredith excepted--who can +paint women without idealization or degradation, not from the man's +side, but from their own; as living equals, not as goddesses or as +toys." His poetry has been described as "superb landscape painting in +verse." Swinburne differentiates Browning's work as marked by decisive +and incisive faculty of thought, sureness and intensity of perception, +rapid and trenchant resolution of aim. 'The Ring and the Book' is the +masterpiece of this great Victorian master. + +If then it be remembered that Browning ranks high as a humorist, that +he has brilliant and subtle qualities, that he could appreciate and +translate into poetry the stirring events of both sacred and profane +history; that he drew Religion in all shapes to his side, that +Mythology and Orientalism were his boon companions; that he moulded Art +to his purpose, allured Music by his call, won Philosophy by his gaze, +looked Truth in the eyes; there can be little or no doubt that he was +the greatest of all the poets of the Victorian School and in his single +person united all the highest characteristics of his literary +contemporaries. Through him the Victorian School was raised to a height +and deepened to a depth that without him it never would have had. + + _Mary M. Cohen._ + + * * * + +----Is there anything that so forcibly brings home to us the foreign +point of view or rather the point of tongue and point of ear that makes +a Frenchman's expression alien to ours, than to see how he explains the +proper English pronunciation of English? Here is the way, for example, +that he elaborately spells out the sound of 'Much Ado About Nothing' in +a dictionary of Foreign Names and Phrases: "Meutch a-dou a-boutt' +neuth' igne." And of course our point of ear is quite as droll to him. + + + +FOOTNOTE: + +[Footnote 1: In 'The Broken Heart,' John Ford, 1633, Calantha, +addressing the dead body of her betrothed husband, says: "Now turn I to +thee, thou shadow Of my departed lord." Antony refers to his dead body +as "a mangled shadow"; 'Antony and Cleopatra,' iv., 2, 27. Shakespeare +elsewhere refers to disembodied spirits as "shadows"; as in 'Richard +III,' i, 4, 53; _Ibid_., v, 3, 216; 'Cymbeline, v, 4, 97; and 'Titus +Andronicus,' I, 1, 126.] + +[Footnote 2: For 'I. A Group of British Poets' see _Poet-lore_, Vol. +III. (New Series), End Year Number 1899. Pp. 610-612.] + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Three Heron's Feathers, by Hermann Sudermann + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THREE HERON'S FEATHERS *** + +***** This file should be named 34409.txt or 34409.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/4/0/34409/ + +Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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