_Page_. What shall I do?
_Colestin_. I am as wrung as though the fate of the whole country hung on the iron strength of the lock.... Give him his way.
[_The_ Page _opens the door_, Hans Lorba.s.s _enters._]
_Colestin_. Who art thou, and what wouldst thou here? Speak!
_Hans_. My master, a brave knight and skilled in arms, born far in the north, where he was betrayed in feud with his stepbrother, to atone has undertaken a journey to the Holy Sepulchre. We have but just now entered your kingdom, and crave for G.o.d"s love, if not a refuge, at least a resting place.
_Colestin_. Thou hast done well, my friend. Every wanderer is a welcome guest in this castle, for our Queen is one from whose soul there flow deeds of boundless kindness to all the world. From to-day, alas!...
nay, call thy knight, and if he stands on two such good legs as his servant, I warrant he has shivered many a spear.
_Hans_. And I warrant, my lord, that thou hast warranted rightly. [_He goes to the door and motions below_. Colestin _and the_ Page _look out from behind him._]
_Skoll_ [_dreaming_]. Hans Lorba.s.s--seize him!
[Prince Witte _enters._]
_Colestin_. Here is my hand, my guest. And though thou comest here in an unhappy hour, I look within thine eye, I gaze upon thy sword, and feel as though thou hadst lifted a cruel burden from my oppressed soul.
_Prince_. I thank thee that thou holdest me worthy thy confidence. Yet I fear that thou art misled; it was no fate drew us together, but only chance. Thinkest thou that because I took this path I was sent to thee?
_Colestin_. No, no! G.o.d forbid!--Well, unarm, my friend, ... so, so.
_Hans_. Whither then?
_Colestin_. We have for our guests--they will show it to thee.
_Prince_. They crowd in early at your doors,--have I come to a festival?
_Colestin_. To a ...? Stranger, there burns in me a fever of speech ...
they chide the doting chatter of old men, and yet--
_Prince_. Thou hast chosen me for thy confidant ... I listen gladly.
_Colestin_. Well then: our King, stricken with years, died and left us unprotected and afraid, for we had no guide nor saviour. The Queen, herself a child, carried trembling at her breast the babe she had borne him.... It is six years ago, and all this time have birds of prey scented the rich morsel from afar and come swooping down upon this fair land, where unmeasured riches lie. The danger grows--the people clamor for a master. And so our Queen, who had sat long sunk in modest grief, now divined in anguish her soul"s call, the echo of the kingly duty, and guessed the sacrifice her land demanded. She tore in twain her widow"s garlands, and made a vow that he who could bear all other suitors to her feet in battle, should be her lord and her country"s king. The day has come. The lists are hung, the people crowd into the tournament. Woe to them! Their tears are doomed to fall, for all the princes who came hither have fled faint-heartedly before a single one, a man of terror, who is thus victorious without a struggle.
_Prince_. And this one--who is he?
[_A clamor in the court below. A_ n.o.ble _enters._]
_n.o.ble_. Sir Major-domo, I beg thee, hasten. The guard is in confusion.
The people are already mounting the newly built lists in a countless throng.
_Colestin_ [_pointing below_]. Look, there is the flock; but where is the shepherd? Wait here, while I press into the thickest of the crowd and give the people a taste of my severity ... though I doubt much if it will aught avail. [_He hastens down by the middle way with the_ n.o.ble _and the_ Page.]
_Prince Witte_. That which I long for lies not here. My sober judgment whispers warningly within my breast of delay and thoughtless dalliance.
[_He seats himself on a bench to the right of the stage and looks up at the sky._]
_Skoll_ [_in his sleep_]. Quite right.
_Hans_. What"s that? Eh, there, sleepy-head, wake up!
_Skoll_. Leave me alone! When I sleep I am happy.
_Hans_ [_startled_]. What--Skoll?
_Skoll_. Hans Lor--
_Hans_. Hsh--sh!
_Skoll_. Well, old fellow, what wilt thou in this berth?
_Hans_. Thy master is here?
_Skoll_. Well, yes!
_Hans_. The devil take him! [_Looking round at the_ Prince.] What now?
_Skoll_. What now? Why now, we will have a drink.
_Hans_. What draws you here!
_Skoll_. Thou knowest, thou rogue! We are the jolliest of jolly good fellows ever found at a wedding.
_Hans_ [_to himself_]. Has he the strength for this redeeming act, and would it break the bonds of the madness that holds him?
[_Enter a_ Herald _from the left, behind. Then the_ Queen, _holding the young_ Prince _by the hand, and followed by her women. After them_, Anna Goldhair.]
_Herald_. Way there, the Queen approaches!
_Skoll_ [_standing attention_]. We cannot speak when the Queen comes by.
_Hans_ [_looking towards_ Prince Witte]. His soul dreams. The distance holds him spellbound.
[_The_ Queen _and her attendants approach. She stops near_ Prince Witte, _who is not conscious of her presence, and gazes at him long._]
_The Young Prince_ [_bustling up to him_]. Here, thou strange man, dost thou not know the Queen? It is the rule that when she comes we all should rise. I am the Prince, and yet I must do it too.
_Prince Witte_ [_rising and bowing_]. Then beg, friend, that the Queen grant me her forgiveness.
_The Young Prince_. That I will gladly. [_He runs back to the_ Queen.]
[_The_ Queen _pa.s.ses on and turns again at the corner to look at_ Prince Witte, _who has already turned his back. Then she disappears with her women into the cathedral, from which the gleam of lights and the roll of the organ come forth. The door is closed._]
_Hans_. Well, did she please thee? Hast thou found her worthy to awake thy idle sword to deeds of battle?
_Prince_. It would be no less than idleness for me to unsheathe my sword in her behalf; for my field of battle lies not here.