Chapter III: Act II

_Scene.—The same as Act I. The following morning. Emma, in her gala
attire, lies asleep on the couch, a mantle over her feet. Etta
enters abruptly through centre door. She notices the Princess and
seems relieved._

_Etta._ Why there she lies and fast asleep. I had Such fright to find her bed untenanted. The day's excitement must have tired and then The King's late visit. I should have stayed or sent A waiting-maid; but she insists at times On privacy, the privilege of being As lesser folk. I have a shrewd suspicion! Well let it be! Her virtue's proof 'gainst fire Itself and Master Eginhardt is old In wisdom. Their talk is but of grammar-rules, Of ancient days and poetry. They have My sympathy; though scarce my understanding. Frivolity would seem more natural, Would better suit their youthfulness; but learning Has set its seal on courtly fashion, till even The cooks and pantry men discuss in terms Of rhetoric. Well, well the King attends The palace school and comprehends; while others, Of weaker wit, absorb the jargon, failing To delve for sense.——How sweet my Princess looks, Dear soul; her dimpling smile disarms all envy, Else might one say 'tis most unfair that she Should have so much; while houseless beggars crowd Our narrow streets. Pretence may smirk and strut And poverty may wince and crawl but here There's restfulness. A knock!

[_The door, left, is pushed
open.... Enter Albert._]

Hist, hist, you must Not enter. The Princess is asleep. She's there— Lies there upon that couch. Please slip away. Go quietly.

_Albert._ I have a message. You
Must waken her.

_Etta._ Your tone is somewhat rude, My Lord; the Princess wakens when she pleases; And not before.

_Albert._ The message that I bear Forbids delay. 'Tis from the King himself, Of utmost urgency.

_Etta._ If you but say The Princess sleeps, the King will pardon us. He would not wish his bird disturbed.

_Albert._ His bird Must wake and spread her wings. The other bird Has flown. An unexpected play was staged Last night—I would that I had witnessed it— The King alone was privileged. He liked It not. Deep creases line his face, his eyes Flash steel. The Princess must be wakened, yet I dread to mar that prettiness with grief. O why will maids forget the beauty-sleep That wards away next morning's tears. She fell Asleep—too late, alas!

[_Emma wakes up, seems surprised to see her visitors, sits
up and listens unnoticed by them._]

_Etta._ My Lord, your head Is turned. I left her here last night 'tis true, But with the King. To her sweet care he must Have lent the holy silk, see there it lies And shimmers trustfully. You have an answer. 'Twill satisfy the King.

_Albert._ But Charles himself Was witness. Listen! last night another came. Where were your eyes and ears? The King retired Alone, he practised Greek; when suddenly A knavish moonbeam danced its mischief through A chink and blurred the alpha-beta. The King Threw wide the casement hangings, and sought to wrest An ode, a monody from night's allurement, When lo! 'twas farce that greeted him, a farce That failed to tap his laughter.

_Etta._ A chill has knifed
My heart. Speak on!

_Albert._ He clearly saw two forms That peered; they seemed to shrink beneath the moon's Cold gaze and then from out this very room There came a restless prancing jennet, that stayed Its curveting, that slid and well-nigh stumbled Beneath the slender weight of whom indeed? But solemn Master Eginhardt.

_Etta._ The Princess Has so demeaned herself! has so abused Her rank and sex! I'll not believe a word Of it, e'en though her pretty lips give their Consent.

_Emma._ He speaks the truth, dear Etta! 'Twas not In wanton play! 'twas dire distress. We hoped To hide our secret from the telltale snow. But now, that all's discovered; give me the worst, My Lord. What punishment is meted him I love?

_Albert._ 'Tis not so heavy, ease yourself.

_Emma._ Not death?

_Albert._ No, no—

_Emma._ Then tell me all.

_Albert._ The King
Has seen——

_Emma._ Of that you've said enough; but after?

_Albert._ To-day the court has stirred betimes. A King, Who spent a sleepless night, would not respect Another's rest. His messengers flew back And forth, while rumors faster sped. A council At such unseemly hour! portending what? And few but nurse some covert guilt. The King Was grey with wrath—and fear disturbed. But when He spoke, recounting all, faint titters rose Unbidden, soon quelled beneath his iron glance. And then, with icy voice, he hurled the question: What judgment should be meted one who so Forgot—I pray your pardon—her royal rank? The councillors gazed mournfully at one Another and then, as though a signal prompted, They chimed together: "In love affairs we crave Indulgence." Scarce heeding them the King continued: "What punishment deserves that man, whom I Have favoured? who brings my house to shame." Again The answer came: "In love affairs we crave Indulgence." But one dissentient voice: "Our laws Proclaim a speedy death." 'Twas Eginhardt, The youngest councillor, who spoke.

_Emma._ You said—

_Albert._ That death was not the penalty; Ay! listen! The King replied: "My youngest councillor Gives wiser judgment. Yes he understands How stain can spread. Such doings, if left unpunished, Might influence court customs, Frankish habits; Deserving death, I pass a lighter sentence: 'Tis banishment without repeal. Now go, Nor trouble more mine eyes!" The King had finished, A quivering silence reigned. Then slowly rose The one proscribed, nor made obeisance, nor bade Adieu, unless his footsteps echoed it. The air was chill as though a wraith had passed.

_Emma._ None offered him a kindly word? none gave
A friendly glance?

_Albert._ Before the angered King, Was't possible? Besides a favorite, That's fallen from regard, must needs incite A wonder seldom damped with pity's dew.

_Emma._ Mayhap the gateman has inquired which way
He went. Etta! go question him.

_Albert._ He spoke To none; but strode along, nor visited His rooms. His writing tools alone he carried, Unless a book or so that bulged his wallet.

_Emma._ You may depart, my Lord. Your story's told.

_Albert._ I would it were. Why are you still? can you Not ease the telling? Question me. Take you No interest in your fate?

_Emma._ 'Tis blank to-day.

_Albert._ Then woe must color it and I must speak Unhelped. Prepare yourself for grevious change. When heavy steps had ceased to echo, all Within the Council-Hall seemed moulded there By frost of death. Then spoke the King: "My daughter"— A moment's pause till words swelled through emotion. They thickly came as waters that soak their way From out a sodden, leaf-strewn ridge. "My daughter, Let her fare forth. The fault's the same and so The punishment!" and then he turned toward me. His words now sharply fell as waters freed That clang 'mid stones. "Go tell the Princess Emma, Mine eyes must dwell on her no more. Let her Leave home and friends, henceforth a wanderer. Bid her begone at once, nor moan her fate With others. Let her depart for presently I come to seal a tomb that holds the corpse Of erstwhile loving memory." His words Sank deep like waters pooled, his eyelids closed To stay the signs of grief. He blinked them back, Then called for state affairs. I hastened here, You may believe, unwillingly.

_Emma._ So, finis. I've heard your message, listened patiently. Tell the King 'twas well delivered. Now I pray your absence, go!

_Albert._ To take with me Your promise of obedience. Nay rather To beg a Father's clemency, to wake His fond indulgence, haply some excuse.

_Emma._ Did Eginhardt reply? went he not forth
In silence? go!

[_Exit Albert._]

_Etta._ My dear, sweet Princess. O
How has it happened? where's the cure?

_Emma._ The "how" Is past, a vain inquiry! where's the cure? The outlet from this coil? I see it not.

_Etta._ Then haste! gain entrance to the Council-Hall, Implore the King—not with that stony look. Let tears entreat and fervent promises. Speak loving words; those little, winging words, That search a Father's heart. Let beauty plead, With clinging arms; till soft embrace wears wrath Away. My Princess! run, beg mercy! conjure With woman's art, insist! O pray arouse Yourself, throw off this bleak November mood, Weep April drops, and then come singing back, A lightsome smiling May.

_Emma._ Impossible, When Eginhardt has gone. Besides what would The masses think did he, the new Augustus, Show weakness, bend beneath a daughter's pleadings. No Etta, the King is law, its fountain head; If it be questioned, the nations totter. Yes 'Tis harvest month and I have harvested. Unfasten the stringing pearls that bind my hair, Then help me loose this festive frock, 'tis stiff With woven gold. A homespun hunting gown Will better serve the time's occasion. Bring The russet; 'twas worn that day my ankle twisted.

[_Exit Etta, centre door.... She soon returns with the
gown. Sighing and shaking her head she helps Emma
make the change._]

_Etta._ 'Tis torn and stained.

_Emma._ I know, nor would I part With it, nor have it mended. The rent will suit My shifted fortune. Eginhardt went forth With student's ware. I'll take my bow and arrows, My spear and ah, this silk, 'twas given me Last night to guard and am I different? My place in life may be; but not myself. So fare thee well, dear Etta, I find no words For messages. [_She opens the door left._]

_Etta._ But stay! You cannot go
Like this alone, to face a thieving world.

_Emma._ What have I here to tempt?

_Etta._ Those spangled pins,
What's more, your beauty.

_Emma._ Pull the pins, now let My hair fall loose; divided o'er each shoulder It ripples to my feet. Am I not like The strange wild-women habiting the hills? I may draw glances; none will venture near.

_Etta._ Then fairy-folk will seize you trespassing.

_Emma._ O plague me not with fancied fears; but let Remembrance follow me and now and then A whispered prayer. [_A dove flies into the room and lights on Emma's arm._] What's this? my dear, pet dove. It nestles faithfully, yet I must part With it, alas! O guard it, nurture it.

[_She hands the dove to Etta. Exit, left, hastily. Etta
makes a movement to follow her, then stops and soothes
the bird._]

_Etta._ Poor fluttering thing that shares unhappiness. How far doth sorrow spread? and can I stay Its murky flow? I'll importune the King, The Royal family. There must be some Recourse.

[_Enter, left, Albert._]

_Albert._ And has the Princess gone?

_Etta._ But now.
Where is the King?

_Albert._ He comes this way. He wishes
An empty cage, nor view of hapless bird.

_Etta._ And I've one here that may remind.

[_Exit, left, Albert. Etta seeks to soothe the bird.
Enter Charles, in ordinary Frankish attire, attended by
Albert. Etta kneels imploringly._]

O Sire! I beg for her. Where are the tears that flowed Beside her Mother's bier? Do they not force Forgiveness, if indeed what's pure requires Such word. O send for her lest harm may come To one so gently nurtured.

_Charles._ [_Sitting down heavily._] Harm has come. If more ensues it scarce can blacken what's Already black. Begone. I've said enough.

[_The dove escapes through doorway, left._]

_Etta._ [_Rising._] The bird! O Sire, the bird!

_Charles._ What's that?

_Etta._ Her dove.
She treasured it.

_Charles._ Then let it follow her. Sir Count, remove the woman. Fail not to give My message. None must speak the words proscribed, Nor hint we had such daughter.

[_Exuent Etta, door centre;
Albert door left.... Charles stares round moodily. A
knock is heard._]

Who raps? Can I The Emperor, Augustus, not have some hours Alone to toy with grief?

[_Enter Hildebold, left, closing the
door after him._]

_Hildebold._ My gracious Lord,
You sent for me?

_Charles._ And you have tarried long.
The judgment's given. Leave me here in peace.

_Hildebold._ If peace reigned here, I'd gladly go. Methinks A wounded soul awaits my help. I missed You, Sire, at mass.

_Charles._ I had excuse. You may
Have heard. Respect my sorrow. Leave me now.

_Hildebold._ [_Sitting down._] One time, long since, you rode with Eginhardt; Nor stayed for pomp of retinue, your wish Was speed, to reach a mother's side; who gasped Your name while breath still lingered. Not a word You spoke; but peered the gloom, as on you raced 'Gainst death itself. The night was dark and still, The thudding horses woke strange echoes, hark! That tinkling bell betokens mass, though dawn Has scarcely greyed the sky. A mother's blessing Depends on haste and yet God's call was heeded. You turned aside to find the forest church, My dear, first charge; and there you humbly knelt. At that same hour, you later heard, the Queen, Your Mother's breath came evenly. She smiled And seemed content to wait. Three days of sweet Communing God allowed his servants ere The parting came.—You raced 'gainst death that night And won. To-day, I fear, God's face is turned, His help rejected.

_Charles._ [_Wearily._] My Lord Archbishop, I Have scarcely followed, have indeed no will To argue; granting all your premises, Pray leave me now.

_Hildebold._ Your rank and mine we'll set Aside. Consider me that Hildebold Whom you have raised to be your chosen friend, Who comes to offer——

_Charles._ Not the golden coins This time but useless words. O would that you Had kept my largess then, nor parted with Humility.

_Hildebold._ [_Reminiscently._] And how surprised I was To see those gulden left by seeming huntsmen. I felt such gold might burn a simple monk; Besides our chapel needed nought and so I hailed you back and asked instead a doeskin, Soft and pliable, to bind my mass-book, That time had sadly ragged.

_Charles._ Your modesty Appealed. I sent you one deep-purple dyed And limned with gold—'twas not enough; a ring, A staff, a bishopric were further added, And so a mentor saddles me. Pray take The hint, begone!

[_He leans on the table and sinks his head
on his arms, oblivious to everything. Hildebold
advances as though to touch him, then steps back and
sits down, casting pitying glances at him. After a
while Charles looks up._]

My hints are lost, well stay; A humbled man may wish an audience. O yesterday what glory streaked my life. Those blessed relics brought uplift, a sense That I, above all others, was indeed God's chosen vessel, Emperor and Chief Of millions. Yes, I had a deeper sense Of His abiding grace and awesome trust Than even on that Christmas morn when vast St. Peter's thundered forth the ancient plaudits: "Long life and victory to Charles, the pious Augustus, crowned by God, the great, pacific Emperor!" while on my head there rested The precious diadem. Ah, then I felt Some fear, a dread that I perchance usurped A mighty privilege. But yesterday 'Twas peace, as though the all-pervading God Communed with me, not as man talks with man; But as the angels gain instruction, thought That comes unvoiced, yet glows with warmth of knowledge. And so, deluded, I kissed goodnight. Outside 'Twas bleak, rough winds assailed, snow flurries pricked. Within my chamber's solitude I sought Relief through study; tossed my books aside; Revulsion gripped my soul. What had I done With power? Some cruel acts grew large and then The future glowed uncertain. Everywhere Dissensions rise; they say the brazen cock That crowns our palace points the spot, so swift Comes punishment; but age may weaken, have My sons the force that pushes me? I see The Northmen's snake-like galleys nosing, feel The Saracens' sharp sword; to meet them warriors With discipline relaxed, disordered laws, False judges, ignorance, a church debased.

_Hildebold._ Hold, hold, my Son, mirage is in your eyes
To-day, transforming faults to giant-size.

_Charles._ And then I pulled the curtain back and saw God's eye of night, the lustrous moon, that stared Suggestive quiet. Prophet of storms, it failed To prophesy; but shed meek rays along Fresh-fallen, smirch-less snow, ay spotless! spotless! My thoughts now strayed to her, my youngest daughter, Her baby hands that clutched my beard, her soul Developing; her proud, young ways and later Her matchless maidenhood, her sweet accord With all my moods, her soothing charm, ah then A door was opened furtively, I saw—

[_Covering his face with his hands._]

Are we God's care or Devil's sport?

_Hildebold._ My Son, You saw not far enough; but thus it is And God is blamed. Was't love of justice made You banish her; or jealousy, or fret That things went not to please your wishes?

_Charles._ You'd
Excuse such conduct?

_Hildebold._ I'd seek its cause and seek The cure. The cause, those two so thrown together; The cure to separate or sanction.

_Charles._ Let winds Draw them apart or close. They blow without. I've said my say. And now give orders that This room be sealed, a memory that's ended. My Lord Archbishop, take the silk, I know Of none else worthy.

[_Exit, left, hastily._]

_Hildebold._ Take the silk? I see It not. Poor Princess! Poor Emperor! [_He opens centre door, against which Etta has evidently been leaning._] But Etta, Thou stumblest! Is't sympathy that holds thee near? Well let it be. Thy reddened eyes do penance. Now beg the Palace Count to seal this room, That none may enter. Would the deed were done With lowered head and lips that move in prayer. But give me first the sacred silk.

_Etta._ The Princess
Has taken it.

_Hildebold._ That proves her innocence. 'Twas but a youthful prank. I'll follow her. A convent wall will guard her charm until The King relents.

[_Exit, left._]

_Etta._ I fear his mind is set. And what can change whom all obey?—who has So changed himself.