Act 4 — 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.