University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—A Garden, low Garden Wall, and a House.
Enter a Courier.
Cour.
Hoa, there! You in the garden there!

Hans
[without].
Anan!
[Enters.
Good day, Sir. A fine morning. Did you call?
O Esther! Esther!

Cour.
Who lives here?

Hans.
My master.

Cour.
That know I, well as you do! Do you think
I took you for the owner of the house?

Hans.
I never said you did. O Esther!

Cour.
Who
Lives here?

Hans.
My master, as I said before.

Cour.
You sluggish-witted knave! I want to know
Your master's name.

Hans.
Couldn't you tell me so
At once? What need of going round about,
The gate before your nose? Why give you talk,
And call you names, when all the fault's your own?
How could I guess it was my master's name
You wish'd to know—O Esther!

Cour.
Who lives here?

Hans.
The minister of Mariendorpt.

Cour.
Is that
Thy master's name?

Hans.
Why, 'tis all one. His name
Is Muhldenau, and he's the minister
Of Mariendorpt.

Cour.
Is that the only door
To the house?

Hans.
Go round, you'll find another door—
The proper one—O Esther!

Cour.
This way?

Hans.
Yes.

Cour.
I'd like to have the quick'ning of thy wits!

Esther
[without].
What does that coxcomb speaking there so high?

Hans.
There's Esther coming! You had best be off!

Cour.
Hang you and her together!

[Goes out.
Hans.
That is kind.
I would not mind to hang along with her!
I'm sick for love! I'm sure I am! I have lost
My appetite! My stomach was my clock
That used to give me note of eating-time—
It never warns me now! A smoking dish
Was sure to set my heart a-beating once;
Now be it flesh, or fish, or fowl, or aught,
It moves me nothing. I would rather feast—
A thousand times I would—on Esther's face!
I'm mortal sick for love! I used to sleep;
Scarce touch'd my head my pillow, I was off,
And, let me lie, I took my measure on't
Six hours, at least, upon a stretch! but now
I toss and turn, lie straight, or doubled up,
Enfold mine arms, or throw them wide abroad,
Rhyme o'er my prayers, or count a hundred out,
And then begin again—yet not a wink
The richer for't, but rise as I lie down!
And 'tis true love that ails me!—very love!
Of womankind but one can work my cure!
'Tis not as one may fancy veal, and, yet,
Put up with mutton! If I get not her,
I starve and die! How I do love thee, Esther!
But thou regard'st it not, nor pay'st it heed;
Thou ratest me as nothing; but I'm something,
Or never had I fall'n in love with thee.
Nor durst I tell thee how I love thee, Esther!
O! my fair Esther! O! my goddess, Esther!—
My lily, pink, rose, tulip, everything
That's beautiful and sweet!—would thou wast by
To hear the love-names I am calling thee!

Esther enters, speaking angrily, holding some roots.
Esther.
Hoa, sirrah Hans? Is this your work?

Hans.
Dear Esther!
Esther, I can bear anything, except
Your anger! labour without wages!—work
From morn till night—go without breakfast, dinner,
Or supper—suffer aught, yet be a man!
But when you rate me I am good for nothing!—
A joint that's pick'd to the bone—fish, three days stale—
Wine gone a month without the stopper—cheese
Scoop'd to the rind and kept in a hot pantry,
Or foot of capon only with the strings
Raked from the garbage where't has lain a week!
Don't scold me, then—in sooth you should not do't,
For never say I unkind word to thee,
But call thee, still, all sorts of loving names.

Esther.
You've spoil'd my garden! hoe'd my tulips up
Instead of weeds—you have!—

Hans.
Don't stamp at me,
It makes my heart jump—Ah!—'Twas kind of you
To stop! But knew she how I loved her foot,
She would not stamp it at me.

Esther.
Why do you touch
My garden?

Hans.
'Tis to make it orderly;
Keep the earth smooth, and rake it small as crumbs;
Prop the tall flowers with standards; clear the beds
Of chick-weed, grass, and thievish dandelion,
That sucks up all the nourishment around it;
Trim the box edges straight, and of a piece;
And roll the gravel-walks till they are even
And smooth as any carpet.

Esther.
Would your pains
Would spare themselves! The other day you broke
My finest rose.

Hans.
It was with kissing it!
It was indeed your finest rose, and so
I call'd it Esther; and, in very truth,
Made love to it, and in my rapture broke it!
O Esther, if you knew—

Esther.
Knew what?

Hans.
Nay, nothing.
You take me up so snappishly! I am sure
I bear you much good will—I say good will
Because I am afraid to tell you what
I bear you; and when you intreat me harshly,
I can't endure it, but it brings my heart
Into my throat, that I begin to choke,
And then I fall a-crying. Don't you see
I'm crying now—and wiping of my eyes?

Esther.
A fly has got into them.

Hans.
Do you say
A fly? I would it were so small a thing!
I would it were a gnat, a wasp, a hornet—
Better be stung by anything, than Esther.
A fly indeed! I would it were a fly—
It was no fly! O Esther, if you knew!

Esther.
Knew what? What dost thou mean?

Hans.
Alack-aday!

Esther.
Go clean the knives and forks!

[Stamping at him.
Hans.
They are made of steel,
And steel is hard, and, if it is, no wonder.
'Tis steel—and 'tis its nature! 'Tis not so
With human hearts, for they are flesh and blood,
Whereof was never made, nor will be made,
Nor can be made, a knife and fork; and yet
No steel at times is harder! 'Tis a pity.

Esther.
Is all that silver clean'd?

Hans.
How sweet a sound
Has silver! Yet 'tis heat-proof. Without fear
You dip it in a pot of boiling broth,
Which can not you the tongue, and yet how harsh
The tongue will sometimes sound!

Esther.
[Stamping.]
Have you your wits?

Hans.
Yes!—No!—I only have a part of them.
I'll tell you where the other part is gone,
If you will let me.

Esther.
Well, sir!

Hans.
If you knew—

Esther.
[Stamping more violently.]
Begone, I'll never know!—
[Hans goes out.]
—What does he mean?
The creature's not in love with me? Ne'er yet
Met I the man was bold enough to woo me,
And that among bold men—and would he try,
Whom nature, by mistaking, framed a man,
And gave a chicken's heart to? I should like
To see him woo me! Why, I have ta'en his part,
As might a mother, her girl-petted boy's,
A thousand times—saved him from kicks and beatings—
Fought for him, standing by and crowing, while
He saw me win his battle—“If I knew!”
I half suspect the thing's in love with me!
And, now I think on't, for this month or two
The boy is alter'd wondrously! He sighs,
And sighs!—and mumbles to himself, and goes
Moping about the house. Sure as I live,
The boy's in love, and I'm to have a husband!
I, to whom man durst never say soft thing
The second time! A husband! I shall die
At the thought. [Laughs.]
Make Hans my husband [Laughs]
—then the end
O' th' world were come. [Laughs.]
O dear! my sides will crack
With laughter! Esther go to church with Hans!
Take oath to love, to honour, and obey him! [Laughs.]

Yes, with a curtsey! and then take him home
In my apron! Esther become wife to Hans! [Laughs.]

Hans husband unto Esther! [Laughs.]
Husband! [Laughs.]
Husband! [Laughs.]


Enter Madame Roselheim.
Mad. Ros.
Why, Esther, what's the matter?

Esther.
[Still laughing.]
I'm laughing!

Mad. Ros.
I see you are. What makes you laugh?

Esther.
[Laughing.]
A thought
That came into my head.

Mad. Ros.
Dismiss it then—
Behoves you to be busy with grave matters.
Your master leaves us. He is summon'd hence
By sudden requisition of high duty.

Esther.
How soon?

Mad. Ros.
At once. Prepare for his departure.

Esther.
Goes Meeta with him?

Mad. Ros.
No, nor any one.
A secret mission takes him, for the service
Of her, the royal dame, who was his mistress.

Esther.
And how will Meeta bear it?

Mad. Ros.
As she ought.
Meeta knows nothing paramount to duty.

Esther.
And this to fall upon the very eve
Of her wedding. Will it stop it?

Mad. Ros.
I don't know.

Esther.
I hope it will not; I have fear of crosses
In all such matters.

Mad. Ros.
Thinkest thou of weddings?

Esther.
Madam!

[Stifling a laugh.
Mad. Ros.
Why, Esther, what's the matter with you?

Esther.
Nothing!—That is—Unless I laugh I die!

[Goes out, laughing immoderately.
Mad. Ros.
What's come to her? 'Tis not her mood to laugh—
At such a time, too! But I have not thought
To waste on her. A dangerous mission this—
A search, unauthorized, and that, with foes
On every side of him. The reverend man
For duty puts his life in jeopardy,
Nor pauses, but as soon as call'd obeys—
His daughter on the eve of marriage too,
As Esther said—her bridegroom daily look'd for,
My son, my Rupert—fit to mate a princess,
But yet more fitly with sweet Meeta match'd,
In virtue without peer! Will he postpone
Their nuptials? No, he will not, if I know him.
But whatsoever he resolves is wise;
For piety is still the good man's law.

[Goes out.