Act 5 — Scene 1.

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.