The Three Heron's Feathers Part 16

_Colestin_. Hans Lorba.s.s was with him.

_King_. Alone?

_Colestin_. Alone.

_King_. Yes?... It is well.... See how the red s.h.i.+nes 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 pa.s.s ...

[_The smothered tumult in the court becomes suddenly louder._]

_Two n.o.bles_ [_at the window_]. G.o.d be merciful! Fly!--Save yourselves!

[Hans Lorba.s.s, _the young_ Prince _in his arms, rushes up the steps._]

_Hans Lorba.s.s_ [_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 Lorba.s.s_. 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 Lorba.s.s _tears open the door with a joyous shout. They hear the approaching battle-cry of the enemy._]

_King_ [_who has seized the sword and s.h.i.+eld_]. To me, man of the righteous cause!

[_The_ Duke _rushes on the_ King _with a shout of laughter, behind him his men, among them_ Skoll, 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 G.o.d, 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 Lorba.s.s_ [_tickling_ Skoll _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 n.o.ble 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 grat.i.tude, 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 ...

Hus.h.!.+... 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 Lorba.s.s_. 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 gra.s.s. 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_ Colestin _enters on the right, led by two young men. Behind them_, Miklas _and an old_ Fisherman.

_Fisherman_. This is the place, my lord.

_Colestin_ [_much aged and broken_]. I thank thee, friend! That is the tower?

_Fisherman_ [_nodding_]. And above it cross on cross.

_Colestin_. 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.

_Colestin_. 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._]

_Colestin_ [_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?