The Three Heron's Feathers Part 11

_Hans Lorba.s.s_ [_bursts out_]. Cursed be the churl that dog-like yields himself to thee. Yet I will be thy dog, that I may howl, for at least I have that right.

_King_. No one shall speak of them,--neither I nor thou. The door is closed upon the past. All is done, is spent, and these feathers are nothing but a mark of my violent downfall, a monument to my dead longing.

_Hans Lorba.s.s_. It is dead, then? It lives and cries aloud,--so loud that even the deaf could hear! Have courage, wield the magic power, and call thy unknown bride to thee.

_King_. Here?

_Hans Lorba.s.s_. Where else? I trust in the charm thou hast wrung from the witch-wife. I remember it well. [_Repeating_] "The first of the feathers"--no, it is burned. [_Repeating_] "The second feather, mark it well, shall bring her to thee in love; for when thou--burnest--it"-- [_Stops._]

_King_. "Alone in the dying glow, she must wander by night and appear before thee."

_Hans Lorba.s.s_. Well?

_King_ [_in great agitation_]. The thought thou hast thrown out in faring jest, has lain a last hope, deep within my hearts shrinking depths.

_Hans Lorba.s.s_. Why hast thou when so devil-ridden, not yielded to the strain?

_King_. Hast thou forgot what else she said?

_Hans Lorba.s.s_. What she said--she spoke of the third feather.

_King_ [_repeating_]. "Until the third has perished in the flame, thy hand stretched forth shall bless her"--

_Hans Lorba.s.s_ [_going on_]. "but the third burning brings her death"--

_King_. Suppose she should come now and vanish again?

_Hans Lorba.s.s_. But why?

_King_. Ask thyself what it means--my hand stretched forth shall bless her--if I have and hold her? Would fate withdraw her gift a second time and leave me no security? Does a new misery lie in wait behind the dark disguise of these words? Thus I have delayed the deed, hoping I might be new-redeemed, by my own strength, without the laming weakness of enchantment, to see and win the woman of whom my soul has dreamed. All that is past.... The broken pinion can no longer unfurl itself....

[_listening._] I hear laughter outside. What is it?

_Hans Lorba.s.s_ [_lifting the curtain_]. Only our maidens, who sport outside, modest and chaste as their land's innocence.

_King_. I will employ this hour of rest, while they dance there beneath the birches, to set the charm to work, and call my long-dead happiness as guest. Now go!

_Hans Lorba.s.s_. Thou knowest, master, danger often comes from business such as this.

_King_. Danger--for whom?

_Hans Lorba.s.s_. Let me stay with thee! Crouched in the farthest corner--

_King_. The charm says it must be done alone.

_Hans Lorba.s.s_. Well then! I will hold a watch outside. [_Goes out._]

The King [_alone. Looks about distrustfully, then draws the feathers from his corselet, puts one back and goes toward the fireplace with the other_]. The fire dies down? Then thou canst strive to brighten it, as thou hast the flames of my will.... Too late! Naught but this lazy, luke-warm heap of sodden ashes. What is to be done now?--The torch, a-flicker there! Though thy dim mocking glimmer has often frightened me in the forest it smiles alluringly at me now. And look, above, the parchments which so long have made my life a h.e.l.l--now I know how to use you! Out of the paper sorrows of my country I will kindle for myself a glad new morning,--a new sun shall rise for me in their light!

[_He hurls the torch among the rolls and they take fire._] And now!

[_He tosses the feather into the flames. A violet lightning flashes high above the stone chimney-piece. A light peal of thunder follows, with a long roll like the noise of rattling chains. The door on the right has sprung open. As the_ King _stares wildly about, the_ Queen _enters, at first not seen by him, and stands with closed eyes near the door._]

_King_ [_turning round_]. What wilt thou here?

_Queen_ [_opening her eyes_]. Didst thou not call?

_King_. I--call thee?... But hush!... No, nothing, nothing! No shadow climbs the starred blue sky ... no light ... only the moon laughs in the green water, and laughs ... and laughs.... The world is drained quite empty. Thou hast done well, Maria ... thou holdest thy watch faithfully. No spy could have done better.

_Queen_. I came because thou--

_King_. Hast called me? Was that it? I knew it well.

_Queen_. And if thou hadst not called--

_King_. Thou wouldst still have come, to see that no thief was gliding up the steps of thy throne [_aside_] alone, alas, alone--a thief of fortune, such as pious women like thyself, whose longings form but to be granted, brew spectre-like in their porridge pots. Wouldst thou not?

_Queen_. For G.o.d's sake, what burns there?

_King_. My manhood! Let it burn, child, let it burn! While I sat piously amid thy flock, there came a flame of piety upon me, burning more fiercely than myself, and burned and burned, until I was consumed with piety.... But thou, woman, that thou mayst know how in this dark hour thou hast s.n.a.t.c.hed the cup of freedom from my longing lips,--I ask thee, woman, what have I done to thee? What have I done, that thy love-longing--I will not mock, else I had said love-l.u.s.t--should force me, who was naught to thee, to grovel in the dust here at thy feet?

Now hast thou what thou wilt. Here stands thy spouse, the second father of thy son,--thy mock, thy love potion and thy sleeping-draught, catch-poll of the great, b.u.t.t of the small, and to both a vent for every scorn. Yes, gaze upon me in my pride! This am I, this hast thou made of me!--speak, then, and stand not staring into s.p.a.ce! Strike back, defend thyself; that is the way with happy married folk.... Well?

_Queen_. Witte, Witte!

_King_. Well?

_Queen_. Witte, Witte!

_King_. So piteously thou callest me, child! Thus piteously stands thy image in my soul's midst.

_Queen_. No more.

_King_. Well, then?

_Queen_. It is past. It must be past. Alas, how many a night have I pictured myself thy happiness, thy refuge, thy solace,--oh, pardon me!

I had so much love to give to thee, so wholly lay my trembling soul within thy hand, such streams of light and glory leaped and played about me,--how could I know that what was so precious and so dear to me was naught at all to thee? Now I know how I have deceived myself; it grieves me sorely, and for many a year must I endure and sorrow. But to thee I grant the one gift left for me to give,--thy freedom. Take it, but ah, believe, I love thee!

_King_. Shall I be free, Maria?

_Queen_. Free; and more than that; thou shalt be happy. I shall know thee so glad, so radiant, so buoyantly poised heaven-high above all black necessity, whether here or far away, so unfalteringly turned toward the light upon the eagle wing of thy desire, that a reflection of thy radiance shall laugh into my lonely darkness.

_King_ [_takes her head between his hands and gazes at her steadily_].

Listen, Maria! Should I say: I thank thee,--how raw 'twould sound!...

And yet I feel thy meaning; as I drank in thy words, there slipped away and fell from my breast a ... Maria, thou art weeping!

_Queen_ [_smiling_]. What slipped away, what fell? Thou art silent again.

_King_. Look, what thou givest, thou Lady Bountiful, is not thine to give. But thou hast given so freely of thy kindness, that at thy words something like happiness itself flowers out of black necessity itself, whose slave I am. I may not be free in very truth; but thou hast so generously hidden my chains, so mercifully forborne all blame of my weak struggle for self-redemption, that freedom's self seems near. I welcome her, and feel new blood course through my tainted and empoverished frame.

_Queen_. Why should I judge thee, and not rather love? For why else am I thy wife?

_King_. Come here! Come to me! Sit down--nay, here!... How strange it is! I thought to flee before thee, and only fled with all my pain straight to thy arms.