Chapter IV: Act III

_Scene.—A clearing in the forest near Aquisgranum. At the back, amid
trees, a charcoal-burner's hut and a kiln. On the left a linden and
copse leading to a grove once sacred to heathen deities; but now
feared and shunned. On the right a barricade of logs and fallen
trees so placed in one part to form steps. Ernst advances from his
kiln, looks over the barricade as though expecting some one. He is
joined by Guta who comes out of the hut._

_Ernst._ 'Tis mild for harvest-moon and yet the wind's Unsettled, portending what? How strange the snow That came so suddenly then disappeared As some night wraith that fears clear-visioned day.

_Guta._ The Devil must have pinched his wife she dropped Such frozen tears. 'Tis most unfair that when She's disciplined poor folk should feel so oft The dripping moisture of her grief; 'tis bad For rheumatism.

_Ernst._ And good for forest trees. The witch deserves to spill some tears, she has So often damaged them; what branches crunch And fall, when she, amount her broomstick, rides A gale through serpent-hissing, midnight skies.

_Guta._ And so thou'rt in the skies and never wilt Thou heed my limping gait, that cries a life In town, some gaiety before a coffin Completes this stiffening.

_Ernst._ And leave our home?

_Guta._ That hovel!

_Ernst._ What could I do?

_Guta._ Thou might'st instruct The palace school, save Master Eginhardt These many visits here.

_Ernst._ If I had been A cleric, had learnt to read and write, maybe, May be—

_Guta._ Thou hast a head well stacked with knowledge. Do books all boast as much? 'Tis odd that thou, A peasant, hast such stuff within, that courtiers Must come to pump it out then serve it for The King.

_Ernst._ The King loves ancient hero-tales. A proper King! a proper Emperor! What's more, a proper man. I wonder why Good Master Eginhardt delays; I promised Some verse, it quivers on my lips. That's just The way, he comes when I am disinclined And now he dallies.

_Guta._ Last night I dreamt of death, Royal mourners wailed. In fright I woke. The wind Blew fluted dirge-like notes; but dreams are ay Contrariwise. Most like 'twas wedding bells. I wish good Master Eginhardt would come; I thirst to hear Court gossip, e'en the bits He doles with grudging tongue. And he could tell Us of the long-nosed beast with dragon skin That I so dread, yet wish to see.

_Ernst._ A crackling! Hist! but not our scholar's steed, nor yet A wandering huntsman's. Such a footfall, quiet And even, forewarns at least a Bishop's palfrey. As I'm alive 'tis Father Hildebold; Who now dismounts and ties his horse. [_He mounts the barricade and stoops to help Hildebold up._] The steps Are steep so have a care. We welcome you.

[_Enter Hildebold, appearing over the barricade._]

_Hildebold._ Thou bar'st thy citadel, good friend.

_Ernst._ Against Four-footed beasts, not two. Step gingerly. I beg your Lordship's pardon. Come Guta, kneel And kiss the ring. Our old Confessor climbs Too high for peasant jokes; so let us help Him down.

[_After helping him, the peasants kneel to receive a
blessing._]

_Hildebold._ My children, it pleases me to greet Old friends. Receive God's blessing.—Tell me now Has Master Eginhardt been lately here? Or Princess Emma?

_Ernst._ The Princess once was here, While hunting with the King; who has himself Broke fast with me and stayed awhile to rest. He talked of Master Eginhardt, whom both Call foster-son, which makes a kind of sweet Relationship between our Lord, the King, And me, his servant.

_Hildebold._ And dost thou soon expect
This gifted foster-son?

_Ernst._ Ay, surely, unless
He fails to come.

_Hildebold._ Hark then! If he should come Or Princess Emma, use a kind detention, Some artifice, then steal away and bring Me news or send a trusty messenger. Remember as thou valuest salvation.— Is there no easier exit? well, thy hand. Remember! and beg thy wife to curb her tongue.

[_Exit with Ernst who soon returns. Guta mutters
to herself._]

_Guta._ 'Tis always thus, a woman's tongue, a woman's— Depend upon it, some ill has chanced; my dream, The winds have prophesied; but what indeed? Why should the Princess visit us? There is No reason; nor that Master Eginhardt Should be detained; for that is what, through love Of company, we ever strive; nor is Their reason to inform 'gainst her or him Or them. Canst thou, good man, make ought of this?

_Ernst._ Why puzzle, when time brings plain solution. Let time Then bear the brunt and weight of ravelling riddles, Nor goad ourselves with useless questionings.

[_A cry for help is heard. It dies down, then comes again._]

But hark, that erie cry! or is't the wind? Hark! Some poor soul has missed her path and dreads The forest loneliness. I'll succour her.

_Guta._ Thou must not go, that cry is not from tongue Made true through taste of Holy Sacrament. Such shrilling gentleness is not the moan Of fagot-picker in distress. 'Tis like The dirge of last night's dream. I recognize; 'Tis some wild woman of the woods that seeks To lure a Christian soul—Nay husband, stay! I warn thee. [_Clutching his coat, then wringing her hands. Exit Ernst, by the steps. He soon returns supporting Emma._] O the foolish man and worse Than foolish—what will come of this? He brings Her here, alas! our happiness has flown.

_Ernst._ Quick Guta, fetch some water, haste, she faints.

_Guta._ Then let her lie; but no; discourtesy Might bring revenge. They say 'tis best to flatter, To wheedle with fair words and deeds. [_She goes into the hut and brings out some water in a horn mug._] My pretty! A sip will freshen thee; another! See Thy colour comes and delicate as that Pink robe that's bundled 'neath thy mantle, frayed And torn most like in some uproarious Fandango, some brawling midnight junketing, Some screech-owl revels.

_Emma._ [_Reviving._] Thou dost forget thyself To so address—I had forgot!—but this Is holy silk.

_Guta._ If I should contradict 'Twould be for sake of bickering. The holes Are plain enough. Thou seem'st to treasure them, And yet the hole thou comest from is lined With gold, they say.

_Emma._ The woman's mad!

_Ernst._ Thou talk'st
Too much, my wife.

_Guta._ [_Addressing Emma._] 'Tis true. Take no affront. But if I may not talk, who will? a silence Is often more discourteous than words And gives the Devil chance—

[_The noise of some one
approaching is heard._]

_Ernst._ To show his horns.
And thou hast said it! hush! hush—

[_Enter Eginhardt._]

_Emma._ Eginhardt!
O Eginhardt!

_Guta._ The devil in disguise! Or is't our friend in troth? I know not friend From enemy.

_Eginhardt._ [_Embracing Emma._] My sweetheart, how cam'st thou here? Alone? without a following? thy hair Unbound, a rivulet of gold! Or art Thou but a bloodless figment, a fancy born Of seething thought? Nay, nay, 'tis Paradise My lagging steps have mounted unawares And thou'rt my angel guide.

_Emma._ [_Sinking in his arms._] O Eginhardt,
'Tis peace at last!

_Ernst._ [_Addressing Guta._] She seeks a younger prey Than us old folk and one, methinks, that's more Susceptible; but we must warn—

_Guta._ Let us Away, advise good Father Hildebold. He'll exorcise with book and candle.

_Ernst._ And while Our backs are turned what harm may come. I'll pluck His sleeve and warn. Dear Master Eginhardt, I'd speak with you.

_Eginhardt._ [_Testily._] Well! well!

_Ernst._ Not here, but step
Aside; one moment! pray.

_Eginhardt._ Think'st thou I'd tempt The winds? All day they've strangely whirled. But now The air is still, this precious burden rests With me. If I should loose my grasp might not Some mischievous air-current spirit her Afar.

_Ernst._ If only such could happen!

_Eginhardt._ Man, Thou must be mad to e'en suggest the thought. Has dotage crept thus suddenly? Begone, Let thy old wife coax reason back.

_Emma._ A poor
Instructor! She's mad as he.

_Guta._ O Master, you Alone are crazed. Quick cross yourself, break loose, Use Latin words, delve deep within your learning; From useless lumber pluck some magic art; Whose strength will free from love's bewitching power, From spectral glamour.

_Eginhardt._ Break loose from love? O Guta; Each golden hair, that showers its wealth about This yielding form, holds me in closer bondage Than shackling chains of adamant. Break loose From love? this head, that leans its gentle weight, Impresses more than all the rolling skies That bowed great-shouldered Atlas, steadying. Break loose from love? 'Twould be a harsher fall, Than Satan's fierce descent from Heaven's peace To Hell's contentious flame. Break loose from love? Not while there's breath to seal its troth, to pledge Its honour. [_He kisses Emma._]

_Guta._ [_Addressing Ernst._] Pray come! let us obey! seek help From Father Hildebold, lest worse should follow. If that most sober scholar is thus enmeshed By magic wile, what hope is there for thee? Who spinnest love tales as others gossip. Come! A lengthy walk!

_Ernst._ And leave the youth? O youth!
First love! sweet raptures, mine no more—no more—

_Guta._ Come, come away; thou moonstruck fool! white hairs
Are no safe shielding 'gainst man's foolish bent.

[_Ernst and Guta mount the steps but as they descend
the other side they pause and look round unnoticed by
Emma and Eginhardt._]

_Emma._ They speak of Father Hildebold, most like The Bishop. Would that he or some poor monk Were here to give God's blessing.

_Eginhardt._ My Lord Archbishop Would give such duteous advice that we, In following, might find ourselves constrained To cloistered cells; to hold, apart, sad vigils, Remembering the happiness that's ours To grasp. But I, like thee, would have God's blessing. See Love! two lengthy sticks! we'll form them crosswise; So notched, this silken cord will serve. [_He gathers two heavy sticks to make a cross, using some string that bound the silk._] I'll plant The longest end; how easily it slides! And firm as though God truly wished it here. And now we'll drape with this most blessed silk. See Love, 'tis woman's work.

[_Emma drapes the cross with the white silk._]

_Ernst._ [_Whispering to Guta._] A solemn rite,
And e'en a pious, stay! 'tis worth the watching.

_Guta._ Nay, let us fly! 'tis impious, a wild Hill-woman to hide the sign of Christendom 'Neath tattered rags of vile debauchery. A worn ball gown that's torn in lengths.

_Ernst._ Whist! Silence!

[_Some leaves of the linden rustle slightly._]

_Emma._ A sound, a fluttering sound, and voices! no, All's quiet. O would that we had witnesses, Those mad-brained peasants if none else and yet We're kindly rid of them.—The forest hush Breathes thoughts of God. This mellowed silk was once Around the Virgin's dress and now it decks The marriage cross. O we have audience.

[_Emma and Eginhardt kneel before the cross and repeat
together._]

O Lord! be witness to our mutual vow.

_Emma._ My husband!

_Eginhardt._ My treasured wife!

_Together._ Whom none may part.

[_They kneel in silent prayer. Suddenly from the
linden tree a dove flits down and lights on Emma's
shoulder._]

_Emma._ My dove, my own pet dove. O God has sent
This sign.

_Ernst._ [_Whispering to Guta._] It seems like some strange miracle; Yet what it is I fail to grasp; yes, yes, We'll go to Father Hildebold. He'll straight This tangle, if any can.

[_Exuent Ernst and Guta._]

_Emma._ [_Resting with Eginhardt against a log._] O Eginhardt, To think the bird has followed us! It links The past and present, soothes the sting, and brings A sweet assurance. Soft, wee nestler! a bit Of pampered yesterday; that tears with us The veiling morrow, fearing nought for love Encompasses. O husband of my dreams, Thou art reality. No tempest can Disturb—And see, look round, 'twas here those dreams Grew strong from sudden birth. Incredible That chance has drifted us to this same spot. A higher agency methinks has forced Our steps. They say this world is evil, 'tis but A tottery stepping stone; I say 'tis wrought Of solid bliss; whence beauty springs and all That holds and satisfies.

_Eginhardt._ Thou speak'st the truth, My Emma, the world is passing good; whate'er Its slips and fallacies some moments since. Ay, here it was that Love surprised. Unasked The lusty teaser flashed his bolt, exciting The carmine to thy cheeks, a shining moist To soft thine eyes, a shrinking tenderness Through all thy being.

_Emma._ But thou wert bold, my friend.

_Eginhardt._ So saved a nasty fall. I see thee now As then. Thou stood'st upon that fallen oak In this same garb methinks. Thy hair neat-tucked Within a huntsman's cap, some tendrils though Fell gently loose, thy lips were curved to smile. Asudden there came a stir from out the black Of those deep woods that yonder lie, a stag Brushed by, sprang lightly forward; ere the dogs Caught scent or vision, an arrow whirred; thy sister, The Princess Bertha's aim was good, beside Thee lay the struggling beast. To end its pain Thou raisedst thy hunting spear, but stumbling would Have wrenched I know not what of this most dear Anatomy, had I not seized thine arm And righted thee. In that same flash of time Two lives were changed, our eyes had met. Pray God The ill averted may not lead to worse.

_Emma._ Who speaks of ill upon his wedding day Deserves the same. Fie, shame, my Eginhardt. Must we not fashion plans together, "together." Ay, a precious word! what matters else? "Together; together"—Hark! a stir! are we Repeating history? Another stag! Quick! my bow. [_She shoots toward the copse, a heavy animal falls at its entrance. She and Eginhardt walk over and examine it._] I've brought him down. There is No need to spear. He's dead, quite dead. See here An ancient wound that's scabbed and healed. Indeed The very stag. He must have 'scaped that day But we, enamoured, had no thought to spare. What ages since that hunting party; so It seems, my sister's merry laughter, the King, My Father's kind solicitude.—And now This cruel break—but Eginhardt, I'll wink Salt drops away, lest one should fall to splash Our luck, to mar our wedding-day. Why is't When joy is keenest, there lurks beneath a pool Of woe? Well, well 'tis far beneath, we'll lid It with a stern forgetfulness. "Together;" That's the word, "together;" and now we'll plan To make a wild and beautiful adventure.

_Eginhardt._ Brave Heart, together, yes together we'll stem The tide; but 'tis for thee I fear, for one So gently nurtured.

_Emma._ Remember, Eginhardt, My ancestors: the Pepin of Landen, the Pepin Of Herestal; iron-handed Charles who cowed The Saracen; his son who trembled not From royal power; and his, in turn, my Father, Who scaled fresh heights and slipped not back when offered Imperial pomp and dignity. Each rose To circumstance. Shall I, who boast such race, Grow pale, show fear, lay down my arms before So slight a foe as seeming poverty. For poverty, what is't? but just a nought, A nothingness and I have thee so I Am rich.

_Eginhardt._ And I far richer! So let us shape Our future. This stag will nourish us and more Whence it has come. For shelter here's a hut With fire, utensils—poor but clean.

_Emma._ Could we Not further go from those old folk? I liked Them not! A something calls me toward the thickets, As though the inky depth they fringe held safe Asylum. There must be entrance where the stag Came forth. Let us push through the coppice, search What lies beyond.

_Eginhardt._ 'Tis mystery, unsafe To penetrate. The peasants say that dwarfs Dwell there, that wild hill-women dance. They say Some few of mortal birth have forced a way; But what they saw none know, for none have since Returned.

_Emma._ Ay, peasants' talk; but e'en if true— St. Augustine, I've heard, hath not denied There may be other hidden agencies Than those of scriptural warrant—yet this silk Will serve as amulet. I have no fear. Hast thou?

_Eginhardt._ I'd be ashamed to so confess
And once indeed I peeped.

_Emma._ And saw?

_Eginhardt._ We'll let It be for now. Thou'rt weak and famished. Rest Thee here. I'll do some foraging.

[_Exit through door of hut._]

_Emma._ [_After a pause, gathering up the silk._] Yes, yes We must go further then. A call from out Those tangled depths comes loud, insistent. There Solution lies. But first this precious silk Must he repacked, the cross unwound. What's here? A shimmering droplet, a gem that must have slipped Its setting. Eginhardt! please come!

[_Enter Eginhardt
with some hunks of bread and a mug of milk._]

A jewel Has fallen from its royal resting place. Last night I handled the King, my Father's crown. It lay beside the holy silk, whose folds Have not disdained earth's wealth though they were used To fairer things. The sun gives warmth; but this Pale imitation chills my hand, what shall We do with it? and how return?

_Eginhardt._ Now eat
This bread, and drink; then we'll consider.

[_They both eat hastily._]

_Emma._ Listen! For our adventure in those mazy woods, For go we must, we need some wherewithal, Some first provisions, some household stuff. We'll leave This gem, and in its place take our requirements; Reward, that's offered, would more than pay for such Poor odds and ends as we may choose to plunder.

_Eginhardt._ Thou'st said the word. If thou'rt refreshed, we'll make A kindly start before the day grows late; But I must bear this stag, so wilt thou help As would a peasant woman?

_Emma._ With joyous heart! My life has seemingly begun—so free. I'll take deep breaths.

[_They go into the hut and come out laden._]

_Eginhardt._ [_Laughing._] Dost think we have enough?

_Emma._ Enough and e'en to spare! 'Tis laughable The troubles ta'en preparing 'gainst one's wedding; The puckered brow, the oft vexatious thought, The wondering if this or that becomes One most; what furnishings are suitable; What friends invited. Well, we're saved some burdens. Compared, this sack is light; but canst thou manage? Then sling the stag upon thy back. Now let Us venture? Where's my dove? Ah here still perched Upon my shoulder, our only wedding guest; Who shows the confidence we feel.

_Eginhardt._ I would
'Twere better witnessed.

_Emma._ Tush, Eginhardt, lead on.

_Eginhardt._ Then bend thy head, protect the bird, protect Our confidence against recoiling twigs. 'Twas by this linden tree I one time found A path; but thou must stoop, be careful! Love.

[_Exuent, the trees closing on them._]