The Three Heron's Feathers Part 17

_Miklas_. Yes, my lord.

_Colestin_. How many?

_Miklas_. Two.

_Colestin_. 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.

_Colestin_. Why?

_Miklas_. The first had long white hair hanging all wild and s.h.a.ggy about a gloomy brow. One leg was hacked off, and a wooden one replaced it.

_Colestin_. Thou will still--?

_Miklas_. Whoever looked into that eye, must know, my lord: Hans Lorba.s.s stood before me.

_Colestin_. And the other?

_Miklas_. It is hard to say.

_Colestin_. Still thou knowest him?

_Miklas_. As I know myself, my lord.

_Colestin_. 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 G.o.d the Father.

_Colestin_. 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 G.o.d'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.

_Colestin_. 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.

_Colestin_. My G.o.d, my G.o.d, how my old limbs do tremble! It is joy!

[_He goes up the slope, a.s.sisted by his attendant._] I see three coming.

_Miklas_. The small one is my boy. The other two--thou knowest them?

_Colestin_. My eyes have failed me a little, else I might. [_Coming back down._] My G.o.d, 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 Lorba.s.s _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 Lorba.s.s_ [_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 mora.s.s. He knew well enough why he did it!

_King_. Dost thou think--

_Hans Lorba.s.s_. Oh let it be, no matter!

_King_. Here is a fire. Is there corn in the sack?

_Hans Lorba.s.s_ [_opening the sack_]. Wait.... Yes.

_King_. Good! I am hungry.

_Hans Lorba.s.s_. I am not, too?

_King_. The corn was dear. Sometimes it costs us money, sometimes blood.

_Hans Lorba.s.s_. 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 Lorba.s.s_. If it be not happiness it is life.

_King_. What a life!

_Hans Lorba.s.s_. 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 Lorba.s.s_. 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 Lorba.s.s_. Until a heron came.

_King_. Hans, be still!

_Hans Lorba.s.s_. 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 Lorba.s.s_. She who played our fate in the world is not at home when we come back so worsted by it.

_King_. Burial-wife!

_Hans Lorba.s.s_ [_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 Lorba.s.s_. What?

_King_. Why, that spring is coming.