University of Virginia Library

THE WHITE PILGRIM.

A Dramatic Poem, IN FOUR ACTS.

Characters.

• Harold.
• Sigurd (his Companion)
• Leofric (his Companion)
• Frioth (his Companion)
• Rolf (his Foster-brother).
• Sir Hugo.
• The Lady Isabelle.
• Thordisa.
• Gerda (her Attendant).
• The White Pilgrim.

ACT I.

Scene.—Exterior of Harold's Castle in Finland. The windows of the Banquet-hall of the Castle and a flight of steps leading into the interior are to the left of the scene; to the right, an old Gothic arch, leading to a Chapel beyond. Along the back of the scene runs a turreted walk, overlooking the sea below, which, with a mountainous coast, forms the background. In its centre a rough cairn of stone. Evening.
(As the Curtain rises, Gerda is discovered watching by the Gothic arch. A psalm is heard from the Chapel.)
Enter Rolf from the Castle, looking back.
Rolf.
Ay, drink away; there were more space for brains,
Were there less room for liquor, in some heads.
(Seeing Gerda.)
But soft! what vision breaks upon my path?
Gerda, my pretty Gerda!

Ger.
Not so fast!
Gerda I am, and pretty, but not yours.

Rolf.
I took you for an angel.

Ger.
So I am;
Or so you used to say.

Rolf.
Yes, so I did,
And so I do, and so I always will,
Till better knowledge kill the simile.

Ger.
Then shall that better knowledge never be.
I'll moult no feather of my angel-wing
For such a faithless worshipper as you.

Rolf.
Faithless!

Ger.
Ay, faithless! faithless as your lord
To my dear mistress; faithless as all men
Are to all women. Oh, we know you, sir,
And all the doings of your wicked crew;
That villainous old Sigurd and the rest;
Sigurd the hunchback—Sigurd, the arch-fiend,
In the disguise of some malicious ape!
Sigurd, who makes of Harold what he pleases!
The savage foe of the pure faith that dawns
In morning splendour o'er our darkened land.

Rolf.
Not so; when Sigurd would have driven out
The band of Christian zealots that do hold
Their meetings in the ruined chapel there,
He swore he would not have them meddled with,
Or driven from their eyrie on the rock
For half his lordship.

Ger.
That's a sign of grace
Beyond my lady's hopes. Tell her of that;
She is among them now.

Rolf.
Thordisa there!

Ger.
Ay; with the morning she and I set forth
Upon a certain distant pilgrimage;
And first she prays for him; sweet, innocent soul,
To waste such breath in vain.

Rolf.
Why does she go?
And let her half-fledged warrior walk alone
When most he needs her? He is but a boy,
And he wants counsel.

Ger.
Why, what can she do?
He scorns her counsel; with high words of anger
They parted yesterday; oh, I am shamed
To think of what he said.

Rolf.
He was but mad
With a brief madness; for he loves her well;
As well as I love you.

Ger.
I'll believe that,
If ever the day come when he shall give
Proof of his love by driving from his castle
The ribald band that do deface the sun
With heathen rites and wild debauchery.

Rolf.
And will you love me when that day shall come?

Ger.
Ay, that I will, and long days afterwards,
And till I die, or you, or both of us;
By every pretty and becoming oath,
I'll love you—just as well as I do now;
Not a bit better!

Rolf.
Mock me as you will,
I yet will draw you to my lure some day;
Or else may the White Pilgrim call for me.

Ger.
What's that?

Rolf.
A legend in my family.

Ger.
You have a family, and make love to me?

Rolf.
My master's family is to me as mine;
I spoke in metaphor.

Ger.
Let that alone:
Plain speaking suits you better.

Rolf.
'Tis a tale
Of terror, Gerda! children tremble still
At the Earl Olaf's vow. 'Twill make you creep.

Ger.
I like to creep. Tell it.

Rolf.
Men say that once,
Between this land and distant Normandy,
There raged a bitter feud, which with the years
Was dying slowly out. One of the worst
And the most daring of Lord Harold's race,
Who ruled in these old halls, was feasting high
With kindred spirits; and half mad with wine,
And all the devil in his blood let loose,
He swore in fearful words a fearful oath;
Swore that to Norman hand and Norman life
Men owned nor knightly faith nor fealty;
And that, should foot of Norman knight that day
Cross but the threshold of his castle home,
And seek a knightly hospitality,
Within one month that trusting guest should die,
By his host's hand struck to the earth and slain!
Earl Olaf swore the oath in fearful words,
And, as the mighty rafters rang again
In hollow sound of ominous laughter back,
He called on Death to register the vow!

Ger.
How very awful!

Rolf.
Is it not? Sit close,
And listen how the legend runs. 'Tis said
That as the last irrevocable words
Fell from his impious lips, a sudden light
Flashed from the chapel window, and there passed
A sad and white-robed figure from its door
In pilgrim guise, but veiled from foot to head,
That with a gracious majesty of gait,
But footfall dumb and printless, glided down,
Halted awhile beside yon cairn of stone,
Then like a clouded shadow passed away
There, where you look!

Ger.
How you do frighten me
I cannot listen to such tales as these
Upon the very spot, and yet I feel
I wouldn't lose the rest for all the world!
Come this way, and go on.

Rolf.
Yes, step aside!
Here comes my master. Leave him here awhile,
And let him meet Thordisa; we will watch.
Then like a clouded shadow passed away—

Ger.
Go on, dear Rolf, go on.

[Exeunt. As they go out, Harold enters from the Castle.]
Har.
What forms were those?
Methought I saw a woman's figure pass,
And heard the rustle of a woman's dress.
Again the fumes of wine—again the dream
Of the one face whose starry maidenhood
Shone luminous through my spirit's trackless gloom,
Until my own mad hand put out the light.
[Shouts and laughter within.
Ay, riot on, fit mates for such as I!
I know no fellowship with better things,
But live as the beasts live, to die like them.
A God, Thordisa said. Where is He, then?
There is a Spirit of Evil, that I know,
For all day long he wantons in my veins,
Turns every nobler impulse into ill,
And sins—and sins—and sins. 'Tis he, not I!
Why, he was stronger than Thordisa's love,
To which the world without him were as naught:
He is a thing more living than myself;
But if there is a God, where tarries He?
Oh, answer me, thou great dumb oracle,
Pent in the steel-blue vault above my head,
In the vast silence of a world-wide grave!
Is there no key that shall let in the light
On all the imprisoned terrors that surround
The central mystery of life and death?
If thou hast ever answered, answer me!
Answer, I say!

[At the last words, Thordisa has entered from the Chapel.
Tho.
Harold!

Har.
What voice was that?

Tho.
Harold!

Har.
Is this mine answer? Art thou sent
Out of the misty spirit-world of air
To tell me—that God is? I dare not look
Upon thy face. Thordisa! Can it be
The ghost of a dead love that smiles on me,
Or does the devil of wine fever mine eyes,
And give my love-dream shape to mock at me?
Thou seem'st to tell me I am pardoned.

Tho.
How
Hast thou deserved that pardon?

Har.
'Tis her voice!
Sweet voice, speak on for ever! Though thou come
To call me hence into an unknown world,
I am prepared to go, if 'tis with thee.

Tho.
Do not mistake me longer; I am one
As mortal and as erring as thyself.
I am that same Thordisa whom you loved,
Or said you did—so often—and so well!
How could I choose but trust you, when you wooed
With such a magic eloquence of tongue?
Yet 'twas thy tongue, and not thy heart that spake.

Har.
It was my heart that spake, and not my tongue!
My tongue is rude, and has not learnt the trade
Of ready lovers; but my heart made words
So true, so strong, so tender, for thy sake,
They burst the barrier of common speech,
And poured my very soul out at thy foot,
To trample, spurn, and play with, what you pleased!
If that thou art Thordisa, leave me not!
If that thou art Thordisa, stay with me!
If that thou art Thordisa, be to me
My genius of good, my draught of health,
To kill the subtle poison in my blood,
Which makes me seem so all unworthy thee!
There is a devil within me, if thou wilt,
But all I have of good is only thine!

Tho.
Oh, Harold, rise! you fright me, wayward boy!
You are as rough—and sunny—as the sea!
As crystal seeming, yet as changeable!
How can I trust you? trust is all in all;
It is the keystone of that arch of love
Which in its rainbow beauty spans the world!
Such trust was mine; what did you do with it?

Har.
I know; I know; yet know not how to plead
That you were ever cold—

Tho.
Cold, cold! for shame!
Why, while the red-hot ardour of your love
Was quenched even in the wine which bore it up,
I with my prayers for thee was wearying Heaven,
Which seemed one mirror to reflect thy face!
But pardon me—I speak unmaidenly:
Cold! well, I may have been; but watch the sun
Behind yon bleak heights wake the tremulous dawn,
Ere yet has paled the evening after-glow;—
We northern maidens are not passionate;
Yet is our love like to our summer, Harold—
It may lack colour, but it knows no night.

Har.
Then let the shadow that has blurred our loves
Be but the twilight link 'twixt night and day,
Which softens, not obscures, their radiance.
Oh, thou sweet saint, thou pretty moralist,
Teach me to woo thee as thou wouldst be wooed,
Even in thy loved faith's chosen formulas!

Tho.
'Tis the true faith.

Har.
I know not; it is thine.

Tho.
Wilt thou then learn it?

Har.
Ay. Thou knowest not
How often I have communed with the stars
To give me answer; but they seem to me
Like rivets set in the far wall of heaven
To shut all entrance out.

Tho.
Oh no! they are
Heaven's portals, Harold, golden gates that stand
Unbarred above to let our prayers in;
Heaven is so near.

Har.
It seems not so to me.
Perchance I see it through a haze of wine,
Which lends it distance. Let me learn of thee!
I'll hold no longer with my father's gods,
If they must part us two. Ask what thou wilt,
So thou wilt be but mine. Take me, and take
My lands, my wealth, my heritage, my youth,
All that I have and all that I may win;
But let me wear thee as an amulet
Against the powers of evil!

Tho.
It may be
That I too hastily left thee. But, my love,
For that I hold my soul dearer than thee,
That are to me more dear than all the world,
Strive for my sake, strive for one little year,
To be the Harold of thy lady's dream,
Her very true and very upright servant,
Her Christian knight in very word and deed,
To cast the pagan bonds from off thy soul,
Live worthy of thyself—of Heaven—of me—
And, if what simple service I can render
Should in thine eyes seem good, my hand shall follow
The heart that I had almost lost from sight,
So long ago it travelled forth—to thee.

Har.
But for that year, you will not leave me?

Tho.
No.
I do not think I could; but for a while
We must be parted; for I go to-morrow
Upon a pilgrimage to a certain shrine,
To which I have been sent—

Har.
Sent?

Tho.
Yes; a sign
Was given me to obey. I shall be back
Before the month is over.

Har.
It will seem
All the long year, till then. I take thy promise;
And, in what words thou wilt, I give thee mine.

Tho.
(taking a cross from her neck.)
Here, take this cross; I give it you to wear
As proxy for that amulet you spoke of,
In token it is only yours. Read there.

Har.
(reading from the cross).
“Through Life to Death—through Death to Life.”
Ay, so.
Thordisa mine, I will be true to thee
Through Life to Death, through Death to Life!

Tho.
Amen!

[They embrace, and go up the scene. Re-enter Rolf and Gerda.
Ger.
'Tis a strange legend. Is it really true?

Rolf.
I always tell the truth.

Ger.
Here is my lady
In close talk with your master.

Rolf.
Very close.
See, Gerda, what a thing is confidence!
When will you learn such confidence in me?

Ger.
When you become as handsome as your lord.
—My lady, it grows late.

Har.
Peace, envious girl!
Wouldst thou part lovers newly reconciled,
On such an earthly plea?

Ger.
My lord, you owe
Much to my pleading, if you knew the truth.

Tho.
Yes, Harold, she has ever stood your friend
And mine—dear Gerda!

Har.
Let me thank her then,
And leave my sign upon her little hand.

[Kissing Gerda's hand.
Ger.
(to Rolf).
When will you kiss with such a grace as that?

Rolf.
Now, if you'll let me!

Tho.
Have you quarrelled too?

Har.
Nay, pretty Gerda, be not hard with him,
'Tis a right honest fellow, take my word;
And he has better merited of you
Than I of my Thordisa.

Ger.
Possibly.
He might be better looking, for all that.

Rolf.
Such better looks are for our betters. Rest
Contented with my virtues.

Tho.
Gerda, come,
I know you like him well.

Ger.
Faith, well enough!
But not so well but that I'll follow you
Where'er you go, dear lady, to the end.

Har.
Then when she places this white hand in mine,
As she has sworn to me but now she will,
When my year's test is over, follow her
And profit by example.

Tho.
Now, good-bye!
Thus lovers trifle with the passing hour,
And find “Good-bye!” so hard a word to say.

Har.
Good-bye, beloved, good-bye! for one brief month,
That I will wear away in thoughts of you;
None else could lend it wings. Why do I draw
So ill a presage from so short a parting?
I should be glad, yet am I sick at heart.

Tho.
'Tis but thy fancy, Harold; be but true
To me and to thyself, thro' Death, to Life!

[Exeunt Thordisa and Gerda.
Har.
Farewell, my better angel! as she goes
I seem to feel the spirit of ill fall on me,
To darken all her sunlight into gloom,
And with its mocking echo drown her voice!

Enter Sigurd from the Castle.
Sig.
Come, Harold, come! you were not wont to be
A laggard in your cups. There's Leofric
Snoring at table, Siegfried underneath it;
Some fighting, and some kissing, but all do
Their duty to the wine-cup manfully,
Except their lazy host. Why, your wine blushes
A deeper purple than its mother grape
At such a want of proper courtesy.
Come in and drink.

Har.
I'll drink no more to-night.

Sig.
You'll drink no more? Harold will drink no more!
Hear that, ye spirits of his forefathers!
Such words must cure, if anything can cure,
Your everlasting deafness. Oh, my boy,
Think of your gallant father's charge to me,
To guard you and to keep you as myself;
To train and perfect you in manly arts!
And so I have. Harold, you know I have!
You wrestle, fight, play, swear—as none else can;
And now you turn your back upon your drink,
The noblest and the manliest art of all!

Rolf
(aside).
At least it has one merit. Drink alone
Has power to bring the tears to Sigurd's eyes.

Har.
Truce to this fooling, Sigurd. I have said
I'll have no more of it to-night.

Sig.
(turning on Rolf).
You knave!
You wretched, puny, scurvy, sober knave!
This is your doing; curse your canting ways!
Because your own infernal little head
Declines to carry its due weight of wine,
Others must thirst to please you.

Har.
(angrily).
Let him be!
And listen, Sigurd. I have had to-night
A glimpse of the heaven you would shut me from;
The heaven of a pure woman's holy love.

Sig.
A woman!

Har.
Ay; unless Thordisa bear
Some other name, to show she stands alone
Above the race of women. I know well
That in all love for me you think to draw me
Away from her—

Sig.
A recreant! false to all
Her country's story and her country's gods!
A priest of that rebellious heresy,
That would discrown our royal deities,
Make women of our men, monks of our heroes,
And shame of our dear honours! Even here,
In the great shadow of our fathers' halls,
Fell Superstition, like a baleful star,
Misleads and baffles us! A wicked witch!
A pale-faced heretic!

Har.
Do not blaspheme!
For I will live a Christian, for her sake.

Rolf.
And so will I for Gerda's.

Sig.
Hold your peace!
A Christian, you! a fickle, feeble boy,
Led by the halter of a woman's hair,
Charmed with the sorcery of a woman's tongue,
Drunk in the bad wine of a woman's eyes,
Which cannot touch the palate, and but racks
The head i' the morning? So, she has been here,
Your white Thordisa! Wenches are the worst
Of all men's damning vices—yet she comes
And preaches you out of good honest liquor,
And a good honest friend and guardian.
I hate all women! but by my father's bones,
Were she a warm frail piece of flesh and blood,
With a good spice of the devil, I'd forgive you.

Rolf
(aside).
If that's his taste, I must take care of Gerda.

Sig.
But this cold hypocrite—

Har.
Silence! One more word,
And I forget my father's love for you,
And all the ties between us—I forget
All but the saint at whom your slanderous tongue
Rails all in vain. Your insults pass her over,
As idle darts the warrior armed in proof!
For she is armoured against ribaldry,
Even in the silver mail of maidenhood.
Not for her sake I bid you pause, but mine;
Mine—and your own. Breathe but another word,
And dearly as I love you, we cross swords.

Sig.
Thou most ungrateful and irreverent boy!
[Turning to the Castle.
What ho, there! Leofric! Frioth! Ludwig! each
And any of you that can stand upright,
Come here, and listen.

Enter Leofric and Frioth and Companions.
Leo.
What's the matter now?
Is there a fight on hand?

Fri.
I'll bear my part,
And his besides that has no stomach for it.

Leo.
Here's Harold with his sword out!

Fri.
Quarrelsome,
And very drunk, no doubt.

Sig.
And if he were
I would forgive him. Look at him, my comrades!
Look at our pride—our master-spirit—our hero;
Since he last left us, but an hour ago,
He has turned Christian.

Leo.
Christian! What a freak!

Fri.
He really must be very drunk indeed.
Fear nothing, Sigurd. Put the boy to bed;
To-morrow morning he'll recant his errors.

Leo.
Or quite forget he'd errors to recant.

Fri.
Come in, my Harold, come, and have some wine!

Har.
When you are sober, I will talk with you.

Fri.
Then may you never talk with me again.

Har.
Sigurd, you know me!

Sig.
(aside).
Better than you think,
For a hot-headed and unstable child,
Who shall forget Thordisa in a trice.

Har.
I would not quarrel with you, and to-night
We are too heated to be reasonable.
To-morrow we will speak of this again:
And now I sheathe my steel; sheathe thou thy tongue.
(Aside).
Sweet saint, for thee I rule myself to-night,
And thus begins my service.

Sig.
Holy sir!
I am at your orders at what time you will.

Fri.
Is there no fight, then? This is most unfair;
Who'll have a turn with me?

Sig.
Our Harold's valour
Is not well primed to-night. He has not drunk
Enough to make it boil. But he talks big,
And that is something.

Fri.
Very sad indeed!

Leo.
I've often heard of Christian meeknesses,
But never thought to meet with them in him.
Hail, gentle creature!

Fri.
Hail, thou man of peace!

Leo.
Should but the Norman foe come back again,
He'd find an easy market for his sword,
When our best warriors turn saints.

Sig.
Not so
Lord Harold's fathers talked—

Har.
Unmannerly!
I dare do anything my fathers dared.

Sig.
I'll lay you a round wager that you dare not—
A thousand crowns!

Har.
I take your wager!

Fri.
Bravo!
Next to a fight I love a bet.

[Sigurd whispers to Leofric, who goes into the Castle, and returns with a large sword.
Rolf
(to Harold).
My lord,
Think of Thordisa.

Har.
So I do. Would she
Have me insulted thus?

Sig.
I wager then
That the Lord Harold dares not take the oath
His bold forefather swore upon the sword
The oath they call Earl Olaf's.

Rolf.
Oh, not that!
Why do you call that devilish memory up,
Tempter?

Sig.
(threatening him).
What means the rascal?

Rolf.
I care not!
Do what you please; ay, kill me if you will;
But let not my dear master soil his lips
With blasphemies like that. He shall not do it
While I stand by.

Fri.
Then you shall not stand by,
For I'll proceed at once to knock you down!

Har.
Back, Frioth! This is folly. Norman foot
Has never trod our coast for years.

Sig.
And yet
You are afraid to take that oath! Pay down
Your crowns, and write yourself a coward, boy.

Har.
Coward! you lie!

[Drawing.
Sig.
Oh, you will fight, perhaps,
But dare not take the oath!

Har.
I dare, and will.

All.
Bravo! The oath! The oath!

Rolf.
My lord! My lord!

Har.
Silence, I say! I'll not be baited thus.
Shall I be frighted with a bugbear, made
To scare a baby with?

Sig.
(giving him the sword).
Here is the weapon!
I say you dare not do it!

Har.
Listen, then.

Rolf.
Oh, Heaven, be deaf to him, and pardon us!

Har.
(lays his hand upon the sword and recites the oath, while the others, except Rolf, gather round).
By the might of Odin's hand,
By the light of Odin's brand,
By the trumpet-blast sent forth
On the echoes of the north,
By the thunderbolt of war
Welded by the hand of Thor,
By this falchion's jewelled hilt,
By the blood its blade hath spilt,
Northern valour, Norman guilt,
By its dye of scarlet red,
By the living, by the dead—
Ere the world's unmeasured bound
Once the sun hath travelled round,
Should but foot of Norman fall
In the shadow of my wall,
Yonder moon of silver stain
Shall not wane and wax again,
Ere with sure and secret blow
I will lay that Norman low!
By mine own hand he shall die,
Meed of Norman perjury!
If he fall not so, then Death
Call for me that break my faith!
Hear mine oath, and mark it well;
Be my witness, Death—and Hell!

[All stand silent in a circle round the sword. Rolf, on his knees, gazes back at the chapel. A light appears in the window, and the White Pilgrim enters from the chapel, and walks silently down to the stone in the centre at the back, and there pauses, unseen by all but Rolf. A bell strikes one.
Rolf
(aside).
'Tis the White Pilgrim, and they see him not!

[The sound of a horn is heard outside; all start.
Har.
What sound is that?—a stranger—at the gate?—
And at this hour! Great Heaven!

Sig.
What can it mean?

Har.
(to Rolf).
Go, see who asks admittance.
[Rolf goes out. As he goes, the White Pilgrim goes off slowly behind the Castle on the opposite side. The others stand grouped, in silence, in the centre till Rolf returns.
Well, what news?

Rolf.
A stranger knight—and lady—at the gate!

Har.
Bid them come in.

[Rolf introduces Hugo and Isabelle, who come forward; Harold and the others standing back, as in fear.
Hugo.
This is cold welcome, sirs,
For a spent traveller, who has wandered far.

Har.
From what—land—do you come?

Hugo.
From Normandy.

The Curtain Falls. Between the First and Second Acts a month, all but a day, is supposed to elapse.

ACT II.

Scene.—The same. Morning.
Enter from the Castle Sigurd and Rolf.
Rolf.
I say it must not be.

Sig.
I say it shall.
You're a nice knave to preach flat perjury
To the “good master,” whom you whine about.
I do not like the business, and am sorry
I ever put him on it; but to waste
Time in regrets is idle. He has sworn,
And trifles with his purpose all too long.
To-morrow ends the month, and the sun sets
On Harold perjured, or on Hugo dead.

Rolf.
And were that all, there were no room for doubt;
I had rather see him perjured ten times o'er,
Than turn a murderer for conscience' sake.

Sig.
You irreligious dog! An oath is sacred:
What is a Norman more or less, to that?
He swore to strike the blow, and strike himself.
Would I might do the deed, and that my hand
Might save young Harold from the penalty
Which must await him if he break the vow.

Rolf
(aside).
Ay, the White Pilgrim! did I dream that night?
Was that pale phantom my embodied fear?
No! it was real; I saw it! You speak truly;
And, tempter that you are, Lord Harold's life
Hangs on the base fulfilment of his vow.
Oh, my dear master, must I see thee die,
Or live a thing of shame, a traitor, false
To hospitable trust, to knightly honour,
Outcast from heaven and from Thordisa's love?

Sig.
That love is out of date.
[Pointing off the stage.
Look where he goes
With his new charmer—with his dainty sample
Of luscious fruit grafted from southern vines
Upon our polar ice. What pretty things
He whispers in the little ear, which blushes
In proof it listens not! “Sweet Isabelle,”
“I never loved till now!” Ay, ay, go on.

Rolf.
You do him grievous wrong; he would not be
So light and fickle a thing.

Sig.
Fickle, not he!
Once let a man swear vassalage to women,
And he remains so very true to them,
That, if the first should leave him for awhile,
He must e'en find a second, then and there.
I like this wanton well; for she will arm
Young Harold's hand against her husband's life,
Which stands between their passion and the sun.
The iron is red hot, the furnace full!
And of the flowers that spring from Hugo's grave,
Harold shall weave new chains for Isabelle.
I must go call the Norman to the chase,
His last! Sing on, my love-birds! ere to-morrow
To harsher chords we'll fit your melody.

[Exit into Castle.
Rolf.
Can such a liar speak truth, and has my lord
So soon forgot Thordisa? No, not he;
I'll not believe it! Courtesy, not love,
Draws him to Isabelle; that man's foul thoughts
Soil purity itself. Her gentle face
Must palsy Harold's arm ere it can strike
At his guest and her husband. Horrible!
Since that accursëd night I live in fear
Lest every moment bring a deed so black
That it would overcast the smiling Heaven,
And from its own dark womb draw lightning down
To scorch us into nothingness! And yet,
What if the vow be broken—if that life
That I, poor slave, have loved and tended so,
Must perish as the forfeit? Many a time
Would I have warned these Normans of their danger,
But that I feared their safety were his death.
Where is Thordisa? Why, thou guardian saint,
Leav'st thou thy shrine untenanted, when most
Our knees should wear the stones out at thy foot
In agony of prayer? I have not dared
To breathe the fearful secret in the ear
Of living soul, till she return.

Enter Harold and Isabelle from the shore. Rolf watches behind.
Isa.
Your friends
Will miss you, my Lord Harold.

Har.
Gentle lady,
They have your husband with them as my pledge.
May I not stay with you?

Rolf
(aside).
Too close, too close!

Isa.
You ask the favour of me rather late.
Have you not stayed some time?

Har.
I do not think it.
In your sweet presence time goes much too fast.

Isa.
(aside).
And other things go quite as fast as time.
I thought you told me that you never learned
To flatter, my kind host?

Har.
I never have.

Isa.
Faith, then, it comes by instinct, or by ear.
There's ne'er a gallant in our Norman court
Pays compliments so smooth.

Har.
Am I not rough?
I always thought so; but would gladly change
The image of myself my thoughts reflect,
If they distort it.

Isa.
Good Sir Pagan, no,
I can't deny the roughness; but it makes
The better setting for smooth compliments.
Contrast is always pleasing.

Har.
Then I think
That I should please you well.

Isa.
Perhaps you do;
But change the subject.

Rolf.
(aside).
It is time to change it!

Isa.
You said that time flies fast, and you said true;
One month to-morrow since we stormed your hold
And took possession. Why do you start so?

Har.
(aside).
A month to-morrow! Oh, how I have striven
To drown the memory; to think of it
As of an evil nightmare born of wine!
That oath, I dare not break, and cannot keep!
How have I lived since then!

Isa.
What mutter you?
Some Pagan charm against the evil eye?
Am I so dangerous?

Har.
All is dangerous here!
Most dangerous to yourself—to your lord—to me!
There's danger in the sea and in the air,
Danger within the castle, and without,
Danger by day, by night, above, around,
Danger in the eye that drinks your beauty in,
And danger—in the hand that presses yours!

Isa.
(shrinking as he takes her hand),
You hurt me! What means this?

Rolf
(coming up to her and speaking rapidly).
It means he is right!
Danger there is—it comes!

Enter Sigurd, Hugo, Leofric, Frioth, &c.
Hugo.
My good Lord Sigurd,
You do yourself much wrong—our monarchs give
No truer hospitality than you.
Good morrow, my brave host. You were stirring early:
You join the chase with us?

Har.
No; not to-day.

Hugo.
Why is your face so clouded? Isabelle,
Is there a quarrel between him and you?

Isa.
Something has crossed him, sir; I know not what.
(Aside to Hugo)
I pray you, Hugo, make him go with you,
And I will wait within for your return.

Har.
Fair Isabelle, I am not so much a churl
As to leave you untended and alone.
These gentlemen will pardon me, if to-day
I bear you company.

Isa.
That will not I, then!
And, good mine host, you have so maimed my hand,
That I am better tended—by myself;
While air and exercise will cool your brain,
Which, I think, needs it. Rolf, come in with me.

[Exeunt Isabelle and Rolf into Castle.
Hugo.
You have your quittance. Come, 'twere sin to tarry;
See how the hunt of heaven is afoot!
The clouds that chase each other through the skies
Vie with the hounds' impatience, and set us
A great example. 'Tis a day for sport
To make a hunter of a hermit.

Sig.
(apart to Har.)
Harold,
What mean these looks, man?

Har.
Do not speak to me!
You know their meaning.—Friends, I am not well,
And you must pardon me.

Leo.
Impossible!
There are some sins past pardon. Shun the chase!

Fri.
You ill deserve the bottle if you do.
My life upon it that he means to stay,
And have a morning drink all to himself.
Harold, this is not fair, upon my soul.

Hugo.
Let me entreat you, friend.

Sig.
Leave him to me;
I know his moods, Sir Knight, and will persuade him,
Ere you have passed the mountain, to put by
This gloomy humour.

Leo.
Come, then, to the chase.

[Exeunt all but Harold and Sigurd.
Sig.
Harold—

Har.
Begone and leave me, tempter! fiend!
Do I not know you? I can read your face,
And speak the words in which your lips would hiss
Their poison in mine ear. The hour is come
When I have sworn to do a thing more vile
Than e'er the vilest did, and write myself
More vile than they, than villany, than thou!
But—I have sworn it! Sigurd, you have been
My guardian, father, and, I thought, my friend.
Is there no way but this? I am ill-taught,
Uncultured, rude of spirit and of speech,
But I have loved you—you, and one beside!
Thordisa, my good angel, come to me!
I dare not think of her, or I go mad!

Sig.
Think not of her, then. I am sorry, boy,
To see you thus—I am sorry that my tongue
Outran my sense that night, and laid this oath
Upon your soul—but, Harold, it is there!
I never thought of it save as a jest.

Har.
Then as a jest let me but pass it by.

Sig.
It may not be—you know it! After all,
The Heaven you grope your way so blindly after
Must have a purpose on this Norman's life,
Or it had never sent him here so pat.
And what is a man's life, that you should make
So much ado about it? Every day
Your Heaven takes many lives, with much less cause,
And just as blindly, here and there, by chance!

Har.
Blasphemer!

Sig.
Nonsense; it's philosophy.

Har.
But this man is my guest; his hand and mine
Have clasped each other; and the wife he loves—

Sig.
You love. More reason; now, it is a sin;
Then, you may do it freely.

Har.
It is false!
I do not love her. From my darkened soul
Thordisa stands severed as by a veil!
With the good part of me I worship her,
And that you have robbed me of. My evil self
Woos this warm beauty's fiery loveliness
As it woos the wine-cup, for oblivion!

Sig.
Then woo her to some purpose, man alive!
Why, the rich blood that wantons in her cheeks
Flutters an answering signal to Desire,
Whene'er you speak with her. She's a glorious prize
For the bold cruiser in forbidden seas!
Take heart of grace, man; do what must be done—
You have delayed too long.

Har.
My guest and friend!

Sig.
Who made him so? Had you but kept your vow
A month ago—not feasted him, and fawned,
Where you were sworn to strike—he had not been
Aught but a doomed and alien enemy.
It must be done to-day!

Har.
There is one day more;
Let him live till to-morrow.

Sig.
No, to-day.

Har.
Well, be it so. I dare not break that oath;
Its fearful burden's damning monotone
Appals my sense—I dare not break that oath!
Oh, were it but to die instead of him,
I would die fifty thousand deaths a day;
But to die perjured is to die accursed,
And to be pointed at in worlds unknown
As he that did the worst the worst can do!
Look down on me, ye spirits of my sires,
See what your faith, your creed, have done for me!
I know no other creed, no better faith!
Thordisa's God is deaf—Thordisa gone.
And I am helpless. I will do this thing!
And as all mercy fails me, I will fill
The measure to the full. I will win that woman,
And riot in her arms, until we two,
Locked in an earthy and abhorred embrace,
Go down together to the lowest deep,
Embosomed in the everlasting fire!
But—you and I are of one blood no more!
And mark me, when we meet beyond the earth,
In whatsoever place lost spirits are,
I will nor touch your hand, nor know your face,
For ever and for ever! In an hour
I will meet you in the wood, at the mountain's foot,
And damn us both at once. Go to our friends,
Bid Hugo look for me in an hour, in the wood!

[Exeunt severally. Rolf has re-entered at the back with Isabelle just at the last words.
Rolf.
An hour! In the wood! You heard the words?

Isa.
I did,
But know not what they mean. Why do you hint
So darkly, man? Speak out, and speak your mind,
If you have got one.

Rolf.
I can scarcely tell
Whether I have or no—whether I am
Or am not—whether anything has been
Or ever will be. What I ought to do
Is quite beyond me, a poor willing knave,
That only seeks to live at peace with men
And women—Gerda most especially.
Oh, where is Gerda, to advise with me?
She ever says there's wisdom in my head,
And thinks that she can find it. I can not!

Isa.
I vow, the changes of the northern moon
Give colour to the proverb, that the brain
Turns with its turnings. Both your lord and you
Are strangely out of tune. When first we came,
You greeted us with such scant courtesy
And such odd looks, that we had almost gone,
Wrecked as we were upon your coast, to find
Some other shelter. As the moon grew less
Our cheer grew better. Now she broadens over
The face of Heaven once more—

Rolf.
Ay, ay, that's it.

Isa.
What is it, in God's name?

Rolf.
Not in God's name,
But in the devil's! More I dare not say
Than I have told you. Keep my master by you,
Encourage him, let him make love to you,
Make love to him—do anything on earth
Save let him join the hunt, or go to-night
To that dark wood he spoke of—dark indeed
With all the shadows of the nether gloom.
(Aside).
He shall not do the deed; though the white robe
Of that dread visitant enshroud us all,
And make one mighty pall on Nature's face,
In folds to shrivel her!—Look, my lord comes!
I dare not meet him now. Remember well
The charge I gave you—for your husband's life!

[Exit.
Isa.
My husband's life! What can this warning mean?
His wild words strike the key of mine own dread.
All things are savage here; at night, the air
Seems living with strange whispers, which the day
Swells to a louder tone; I seemed to hear
One when he spoke. What would they do with us?
Ah, my young host, beware a woman's wit!
Forewarned, forearmed, they say, and I will throw
About your eyes a mist of witchery,
To which your warlocks, and your imps, and all
Your battery of pagan devilries,
Shall be a common conjuror's clumsy play.
You shall not leave my side to-night, Lord Harold,
Before I know your secrets as mine own.
I am a practised warrior, and in arms.
Here comes the enemy!
Enter Harold.
Still muttering charms?

Har.
Charms for the charmer! Ah! I thought the sun
Shone brighter than it did a while ago.
It has come back again to shine on you.

Isa.
I think the sun is hidden in a cloud.

Har.
Then 'tis because she sees a rival here,
And dares not show her face.

Isa.
The sun's a man!

Har.
A woman, on my life! a very woman!
A woman in her light, her warmth, her splendour,
Whose satellites pale before her where she goes.
A woman! for 'tis summer where she lingers,
And winter when she hastens to be gone!
A woman! for she warms one land to life,
Then leaves it for another—blighted—blank—
You are my sun. I love you!

Isa.
(terrified).
Ah!

Har.
I see
You are afraid of me—yes, you are fair,
And, I think, pure and good; (aside)
and what have I
To do with goodness and with purity?
My hand can strike him; soil her it shall not.
Forgive me. I spoke wildly. Fare you well!

Isa.
(aside).
The wood! He must not leave me! Do not go!

Har.
(aside).
Sigurd was right, then. We are all alike;
Women and men—save one!—I will stay with you
For ever, if you will.

Isa.
That's a long day.

Har.
Is it? I fear it is.

Isa.
You say you love me?
It is a courtly phrase, and means, I know,
No more than fashion. Let us walk this way.
(Aside).
Will the time never pass?—Why do you start?

Har.
It was a sudden gust that stirred the trees.
(Aside).
Methought Thordisa's voice was on the wind
Wailing a sad good-bye!—You are beautiful!

[Exeunt behind the Castle.
Enter Thordisa.
Tho.
How slowly heavenward rolls the stream of time
For parted lovers; but how swift the tide,
Slipping in noiseless current out of sight,
When on his full broad breast he bears along
Two happy lives in sweet companionship.
Thus Love points out the quickest road to Heaven,
And Heaven's best angel upon earth is Love.
How will you meet me, Harold? Oh, my soul
Shrinks from its own excess of happiness.
Thou art too much the burden of my prayers,
Too much my mcarnate Heaven—too much? Oh, no.
I'll not believe it; 'tis an idle fear
Engendered of the Evil One, who tempts us
To put aside the choicest cup that God
Has offered to our lips. I cannot think
Too much of him that only thinks of me.
To-day, then, I shall see him once again,
And feel once more his kisses on my lips,
And speak with him once more, and once more hear
The words of the troth-plight he plighted me,
The words—

Isa.
(without).
Through Life to Death, through Death to Life!

Tho.
A woman's voice! A woman's!—oh! no, no!
My ears deceive me—that way came the sound;
I heard it.
[Looks off the Scene.
Ah! Yes: I did love too much!

[She falls back and listens.
Enter Harold and Isabelle.
Isa.
A pretty posy, and a pretty token:
Who gave it you?

Har.
What matter? It was given me
By a vision, in a dream, a dream that passed
So long ago.

Tho.
(aside).
One month!

Har.
Don't speak of it.
Speak only of ourselves; there are to us
No others in the world; its mighty orbit
Has not an inch of breathing space save that
My passion needs. Will you not answer me
Save with excuses? Dalliance is well;
But there are better things than dalliance.

Isa.
(aside).
I know not what to do; I am at the end
Of all my fence.—Nay, but I have a fancy
That in this text you pledge yourself to me.

Har.
I will not.

Isa.
No? Then you have sworn most falsely,
And I will never trust so false a love.

Har.
Ask anything but that.

Isa.
No other boon
I care to ask. 'Tis but a little thing,
And it means nothing.

Tho.
(aside).
Nothing!

Har.
No; not much.
I will buy you at that price—(Aside)
nor you alone!
—Fair Isabelle, I will be true to thee
Through Life to Death, through Death to Life!

[Music heard from the Chapel.
Isa.
What's that?

Har.
I'll have those Christians silenced. I have said it;
And if we need a witness, Death, attend
And take me at my word!

Tho.
(aside).
Ay, come, come, Death!
In the most fearful of the shapes you wear,
Take them and me! Ay, come, thou thing accursed!
Come, terrible phantom! severer of hearts
That beat for thee to blight when hope is highest!
Thou stealthy reaper of the golden grain!
Thou image of the darkness whereupon
Thou sitt'st enthroned! Thou nightmare of the night!
Come with the cruellest weapons that thou hast,
Red-heated from thine awful armoury!
Bring all thy choicest tortures for these two,
And spare me not. Come, fiend!
[The White Pilgrim appears, seen only by Thordisa; she throws herself between it and the others.
Oh, no, not yet!

Isa.
It is very cold. Oh, take me from this place;
There is a rush of darkness in the air.
I am afraid.

Har.
Fear nothing; come with me.

[Exeunt Harold and Isabelle.
Tho.
Spirit, I know thee not. I look on thee
With awe, but not with terror. All my fears
Fall from me as a garment. Art thou—

Pilgrim.

Tho.
A little while!
Give me a little yet! Spirit, I love him
And would not go till I have heard once more
In accents whose rich music was the tune
To which my life was set, not that he loves me,
But that he loved me once. Spirit, not yet!
I am all too earthly in my thoughts of him;
I am not fit for—

Pilgrim.
Hush! Miscall me not!

[The Spirit disappears; Thordisa remains prostrate.
Enter Gerda.
Ger.
Mistress, where are you?

Tho.
Gerda, come away!
I have much to say; I cannot tell it here.
Tread softly! look not! speak not! Come away!

[Thordisa remains looking backward to the place where the Spirit stood.

CHANT IN THE CHAPEL.

Death here is lord of all!
Spread we the funeral pall,
Hoping, not sighing!
In the far land where rest
Those whom God loves the best,
There is no dying.

ACT III.

Scene.—The same. Evening. Horns heard.
Enter Hugo, Sigurd, Leofric, and Frioth.
Hugo.
A goodly capture, and a goodly day!
Where is our host, that he breaks faith with us,
And will not share in the sport?

Leo.
Faith, 'tis his loss.
He is the foremost hunter of us all,
And makes me feel a bungler at his side.

Fri.
(to Leofric).
I fancy that he's hunting somewhere else,
And means to run his game down for himself.

Leo.
(to Frioth).
Ah, but his oath?

Fri.
(to Leofric).
Oath! pshaw! a drunkard's vow!
When was it that he swore? A month ago!
What was it that he swore? I quite forget!
It is the noble privilege of wine
To give full license to our memories
To play us fast and loose as best we please.
To take a joke in earnest is a thing
Which makes a man bad company for his kind.

Sig.
I am ashamed, Sir Hugo, of our host;
But he lacks breeding.

Hugo.
No, you do him wrong;
He is a right good gentleman at heart.
Our courtly polish lends a fair outside,
But often rubs away the sterling worth,
Which is too rough of mould to take it well.

Sig.
(aside).
Has he turned coward? Is he shrinking still
From his sworn purpose, that but now his hand
Was armed to work on? Or has Isabelle
Drugged all his senses into impotence?
A curse upon a woman's apron-strings!
Their knots are far too intricate to play with.

Hugo.
Here comes the laggard, and my wife!

Fri.
(to Leofric).
You see!
He brings his bag with him.

Enter Harold and Isabelle.
Isa.
Returned at last!

(Aside).
Thank Heaven for this!
[She goes to Hugo.
Har.
(aside).
She seeks her husband's side!
Has she been fooling me?

Sig.
(to Harold).
Where have you been?
Have you forgot again?

Har.
(to Sigurd).
I shall forget
Just what I please, and when!

Sig.
(aside).
Nay, then, by Heaven
I'll shame him to the proof! I will tell Hugo
His wife is wanton, and call up the devil
Of jealousy to aid me!

Hugo
(to Isabelle).
Isabelle,
Why do you tremble so?

Isa.
(to Hugo).
Oh, my dear lord,
If you but knew how I have looked for you!
My eyes are happy in your safe return.

Hugo
(to Isabelle).
My safe return! Am I so poor a hunter
That you fear danger for me?

Isa.
(to Hugo).
Yes, I do!
I would we were far hence, with all my heart!

Hugo
(to Isabelle).
You were not wont to be so fearful, child.

Sig.
(aside).
The lover and the husband! rare dissembler!
Why, what a brazen thing a woman is!

Har.
(aside).
She hangs about his neck! her lips are his—
Only her promises are mine! (to Isabelle).
Take care;
The price you offered must be paid in full.

Hugo.
Lord Harold, answer for this trembler here.
What have you said to her?

Sig.
(aside).
Ay, tell him that!
And if you don't, I will, before to-morrow!

Isa.
(aside).
I dare not tell him! Did I breathe the truth,
Then my lord's life were forfeited indeed.
Would Rolf but tell me all!—My noble husband,
He has been speaking of strange things to me;
Whispering wild tales of witchcraft.

Hugo.
Is that all?
We'll match them with some legends of our own
Over the wine-cup.

Fri.
Come to it at once, then!
I am as dry as a bookworm!

Enter Rolf from the Castle.
Rolf.
My Lord Harold,
The supper waits.

Fri.
Oh, blessèd messenger!
Be all your sins forgiven you for those words!
Harold, my Harold, you were slack in the chase,
And if you have not gained an appetite,
I'll eat for both of us—and drink, if need be,
For all the party!

Har.
Gentlemen, come in.
Fair lady, will you grace us with your presence,
As is your wont?

Isa.
(to Harold).
Spare me your witchcraft, then.

Har.
(to her).
You have not spared me yours.

Fri.
Make haste, make haste.

[Exeunt into the Castle all but Sigurd and Rolf, the former stopping the latter as he is following.
Sig.
A word with you. Is it your doing, knave,
That the strong wings of opportunity
Flit thus unheeded by, when we should clip
And chain them to our uses? Have you come
Again between this Norman and his fate,
And with your scruples cooled your master's courage,
As water drenches wine? You love him not, then?

Rolf.
I love him better than I love my life,
Better than all the world (except, perhaps,
One foolish little woman, whom I miss
More than discretion). 'Tis you love him not,
But only love your malice and yourself!
Why do you hate the Norman?

Sig.
For his youth
And for his fairness, as I hate the world,
The light, and whatsoever power it is
That brings men such as I am into being,
And vents its spite on me, who will give back
As much—and more. For I have but the space
Of a short life to circumscribe my spleen,
While it may fashion others like to me,
And spit its venom out to the end of time.
I love that boy, though—or I think I do—
And he shall keep his word; I know a spell
To set those two at one another's throats.

[Going in, Rolf stands between him and the door.
Rolf.
You shall not say it, then!

Sig.
(advancing).
Ha!

Enter Gerda.
Ger.
Rolf!

Rolf.
Who is that?
Gerda! Now all goes well, all must go well,
Gerda, my life, my angel!

[Crosses to her.
Ger.
Touch me not,
Thou worthy slave of an unworthy lord!

Sig.
(aside).
Well done, propitious stars! I called upon
The devil of jealousy, and he sends me here
His own familiar.

[He stops behind and listens.
Rolf.
Why, what have I done?

Ger.
Oh, I don't know. You best can answer that.

Rolf.
I'll tell you everything.

Ger.
No. Such a tale
Were little fitted for a maiden's ear.
Oh, you abominably wicked man!
Faith-breaker, light-o'-love, pagan!

Rolf.
That's enough!
Such ugly words ill suit such pretty lips.

Ger.
How dare you pay a compliment to me?

Rolf.
I couldn't help it, and I never can.

Ger.
You never spoke a truer word than that.
Little you care to whom you pay them, though;
You offer them, you know, with such a grace,
So prettily, so daintily, so—Ah!
My very fingers tingle to the tips
To think of all the hussies you've been courting
In the same language that you talked to me!
Little you care for that, though, I suppose;
All women are alike, sir, are they not,
Mere pegs to hang a compliment upon?

Rolf.
All women like? Well, if they talk like that,
I hope they are not, for the sake of men.
And as for pegs, pray Heaven that some of them
Abide more quietly in their holes than you,
Nor creak so harshly.

Ger.
Oh, how dare you come
Here to insult me?

Rolf.
Gerda! I declare
This is too much.

Ger.
Too much, am I? No doubt,
You've had enough without me. Have I lived
To hear I am “too much!”

Rolf.
Not you—not you.
I didn't say so.

Ger.
But you thought it, sir.
I saw you think it, and I see you now.

Rolf.
You don't.

Ger.
I do.

Rolf.
You can't, for no such thought
Was in my mind.

Ger.
Your mind! I dare say not.
I know that I can see farther than most,
But not even I can look into your mind,
Because it isn't there to look into.

Sig.
(aside).
Now, this is very meat and drink to me.

Rolf.
Hear me!

Ger.
Good heavens! how you interrupt!
Haven't I heard you quietly all this time?

Rolf.
Oh! have you finished?

Ger.
Finished—no, indeed!
I've scarcely yet begun.

Rolf
(gloomily).
Then I believe
I shall not be alive to hear the end.

Ger.
So much the better for the female sex.

Sig.
(aside).
And with this sort of goods men fall in love.
(Coming forward).
Good even, gentle creature!

Ger.
Who are you?
Lord Sigurd?

Rolf.
I forgot him.(To Gerda).
He has heard
All you've been saying.

Ger.
(to Rolf).
All you said to me
Is more to the purpose; what he thinks of you
I can't imagine; me you heard him call
A gentle creature.

Rolf
(to Gerda).
That was irony.

Ger.
Don't let him try his “irony” with me,
I'll not endure it. Pardon me, my lord,
(quieting herself)
I am not smooth enough in speech for you,
But come as fair Thordisa's messenger.

Sig.
And speak in fair Thordisa's gracious tones.

Rolf
(to Gerda).
That's irony again.

Ger.
(to Rolf).
Then I will match him
With his own weapons. Oh, my courteous lord,
My handsome, kind Lord Sigurd, I am come
To Harold, from Thordisa! We have heard
Much of his Norman visitors—his fine lady
And—all her women.

Rolf.
On my life and love,
There's not a woman with her! Is that all
That made you jealous?

Ger.
Jealous! what, of you?
How dare you call me jealous?

Rolf.
If you're not,
I don't know what a woman is.

Ger.
Indeed!
You ought to, by this time.

Rolf.
Again, I swear
There's but one woman here!

Ger.
A harem of them!
I've heard about your dainty Southern dames;
They want six maids to put their hair in curl,
As many more to take it out again;
Some fan them when they're hot, more fan the fire
When they are cold—a harem, sir, I swear!

Rolf.
Lord Sigurd, tell her that I speak the truth.

Sig.
She'd not believe me.

Ger.
Very likely not.
When I believed his promises, I believed
A man just once too often. They are made
All of the self-same kidney. Where is Harold?
What are my wrongs to my lady's? Where is he?
That I may ask him in whose ear he whispered
Here, in this place, a few short hours ago,
The very words with which he won the heart
That he has broken. Oh, how could he do it?

Sig.
And—those words were?

Ger.
Thro' Life to Death—thro' Death
To Life!

Sig.
Indeed, a very pretty text!
Thank you—I'll ask him.

Rolf.
Mischief! I forgot.

[Going to the door. Sigurd passes before him mockingly, and on the threshold crosses Isabelle, who enters from the Castle. He bows to her and goes in.
Isa.
Hist! Rolf, where are you?

Ger.
(starting).
There, I told you so.
One of your women wants you.

Rolf.
Gerda, hush!

Ger.
Why should I hush? I shan't!

Rolf.
This is the lady
Of whom you spoke just now—

Isa.
Where are you, Rolf?
Come here to me; I have no friend but you.

Ger.
Oh, you abandoned person!

Isa.
(with dignity).
This to me?
Who are you? You mistake.

Ger.
(looking at her).
I think I do.
Your face is gentle, but why are you here?
Are you that Norman that has stolen away
A false heart from Thordisa?

Isa.
I know not
Of whom you speak, nor who Thordisa is,
Or you! But you are woman, and I pine
To see a woman's face. I have met with none
Since first I reached this fatal place till now.

Rolf
(to Gerda).
I told you so.

Ger.
Are you quite sure of that?

Isa.
'Tis Heaven's own truth.

Rolf
(to Gerda).
There!

Ger.
(to Rolf).
I forgive you, then,
For all your falsehood and your violence.

Isa.
Do not turn from me; be not harsh with me;
Woman ne'er needed woman's counsel more.
Listen! My fears have overmastered me;
I am a stranger on your northern coast,
Save for my husband, friendless and alone!
He has no thought of fear, nor will believe
The dangers that surround us. I know not
Or what they are, or whence! But in all eyes
I read imagined terrors every hour;
I cannot bear it. (To Rolf).
Make your warnings clear,
And shape the horrors we must cope withal,
Or—I—

[Fainting.
Ger.
Bring water, she has fainted. Quick! [Exit Rolf.
Enter Thordisa.

She has a fair face!

Tho.
(coming forward).
Let me look at it;
Yes, a fair face; and fairer far than mine.

Ger.
It is not true.

Tho.
He thinks so; that's enough.
And yet—what is there, Gerda, in these lines,
That they should so cross and disfigure mine,
As leave no trace of them?

Ger.
Ay, what, indeed?
Why, they are poor and pale.

Tho.
Yes; so they are.
But then the blood has left them for a while;
And when it courses from the heart again,
And in full channel overflows the veins,
Gives redness to the lip, bloom to the cheek,
And lustre to the eye, then you shall see
How tempting ripe she is. What if I stole
Blood from her arm, think you that it would warm
And make me wanton? He might love me then.

Ger.
Oh, do not speak like that!

Tho.
No; she is fair.

Re enter Rolf.
Rolf.
My lady! oh, my lady! ere she wakes
Give me your counsel; only you can help
My master in his sorest need.

Tho.
You jest!
I am nothing to your master; here is she
That shall advise him.

Rolf.
No; you do him wrong.
You know not in how terrible a strait
You left him when you parted from this place.
I sought you in the morning—you were gone!
That night! that awful night! Do you remember
The legend that I told you, Gerda?

Ger.
Ay;
Earl Olaf's vow. I never was so frightened
In all my life.

Tho.
I know that legend well.
What of it now?

Rolf.
That very night, my lord,
Goaded by Sigurd past endurance, took,
In all its terrible solemnity,
That oath upon him.

Tho. and Ger.
What?

Rolf.
And scarce had sworn,
Before these Normans came—this woman here
And her brave husband.

Tho.
Husband! Yes, go on.

Rolf.
The month expires to-morrow. Ere that time,
With his own hand, his own guest he must slay,
Or pay the forfeit.

Ger.
Ah!

Tho.
Be still; she wakes!

Isa.
(recovering herself).
Where am I? Was I dreaming? Did I see
A woman's face just now? (Seeing Thordisa.)
It was not yours.
Hugo!

Tho.
Fear nothing for him.

Isa.
What are you
That are so sad and stern, and yet so sweet?
I dread you, yet I trust you. Oh, your eyes
Have all the depth of Heaven in their blue,
And all its truth; and you are very fair.

Tho.
Do you think so?

Isa.
Yes.

Tho.
You are no scholar, then,
And read to little purpose. Let your glass
Tell you what beauty is, or what men think
That beauty should be. Gerda, you and Rolf
Take charge of her, and lead her to my house.

Isa.
Your house?

Tho.
You wonder? Well, perhaps you might
If you knew all. But doubtless you have heard
Lord Harold speak of a poor slighted thing,
A woman called Thordisa?

Isa.
No.

Tho.
Indeed!
That's passing strange. But now, go to my house,
You will be safe from danger there—not here.

Isa.
My husband—

Tho.
Do you love him?

Isa.
From my heart!

Tho.
Then what of Harold?

Isa.
He is but a boy.
I did but sport with him, and he with me.

Tho.
Sport! I can bear no more! Take her away!
I answer for your husband. Ere the morning
He shall be safe with you. Oh, do not touch me!

Isa.
I cannot understand you. I have done
No wrong to any; there's some error here.
You will not save my husband?

Tho.
I have said
I can, and will; and you may trust me.

Isa.
Yes;
I see I can. Heaven bless you!

Tho.
Mock me not! [Exeunt Isabelle, Gerda, and Rolf.

Earl Olaf's vow! What is a vow to him
That he should keep it—he, who swore to me
One short year's fealty one long month ago,
Then, with a lip still wet with kiss of mine,
And in the very words my folly lent him
To snare a woman with, could pawn again
His counterfeit of love yet unredeemed,
And lie his soul away? But then that oath,
Of which Rolf told me? If he break his faith
With me, a woman, penalty is none
For such a trifle; but Earl Olaf's vow!
How runs the legend? If he keep it—murder!
And if he break it—death! Well, what then?
Why, I have seen and spoken with it. Oh,
The ground is holy where thy feet have trod,
Thou mystery of beauty and of love!
Thy silver tones must lead the worst aright,
And teach the falsest, truth. Death! Let it take him.
[Shouts and sounds of quarrel from within.
What noise is that?

[She falls back and listens.
Enter Harold, Hugo, Sigurd, Leofric, and Frioth.
Hugo.
By Heaven, I'll have from you
Your answer to this charge! What, play the traitor
To your own guest, that trusted you as fully
As brother trusts to brother! Is it true
That Sigurd hints?

Sig.
Nay, nay, I hinted nothing.
Be gentle with him, Harold; he has drunk
Too much for wisdom. Good Sir Hugo, see,
Harold is mad with wine—it were not well
To press him now.

Har.
I will not talk with you
While you are heated thus.

Hugo.
I say you shall.

Sig.
Oh, that my innocent words should work such ill!
It was a jest, Sir Hugo, but a jest!
Thro' Life to Death, thro' Death to Life! a pledge
Of little meaning! I but bade you ask him
To whom he gave it—

Hugo.
He shall answer that.
Does he speak truly? Did you say those words
To a woman—here—but now?

Sig.
(aside).
It works, it works!
Let me against each other arm those two,
And I will look to it which of them shall fall.

Hugo.
Answer him, answer! Did you speak those words?

Har.
Yes, I did speak them. Fall my sins on me
And all who cross me. I did speak those words,
And I will answer for them with my life,
My life, or yours! There is no man in the world
That shall dare question me!

Hugo.
Before all here,
In full arraignment, you shall plead to this:
To whom were those words spoken? Say, to whom,
And damn thyself!

Tho.
(coming forward).
He spoke those words to me.

The Curtain Falls. A lapse of Twenty-four Hours.

ACT IV.

Scene.—The same. Night. A Storm raging. Sigurd discovered alone.
Sig.
Forsworn, forsworn! within an hour, forsworn!
Unless the spiteful pilot of the world,
Who laughs to see men sorry, should bethink him
Of that same silken-favoured Norman there,
As a fair freight worth wrecking in its prime,
And blasting into everlasting waste,
Just when it promises best. Why, when I die,
I needs must have some share i' the government
Of mortal business, for it goes almost
As cross as I would rule it. Enter Rolf.

Well, what news?
What does your master? Does he know the hour?

Rolf.
He sits and watches time as it goes by;
And ever as the last sands leave the glass,
And mark another footprint on the day,
He moves his lips and mutters to himself
Something I cannot hear.

Sig.
He has been thus
All the day long?

Rolf.
All the long night and day,
Since he beheld Thordisa, has he sate
Locked in his turret, all access denied,
Save to me only; and on me he looks
As upon nothing—sees me, knows me not.

Sig.
Has he not spoken?

Rolf.
No; though once or twice
I thought he named Thordisa.

Sig.
Let her come
And look upon her work. Now, but for her,
Last night had ended all; but since she came,
And cast the icy shadow of her presence
Upon the face of the sun, I might as well
Move yon dull rock to strike the insolent waves
That chatter at its base, as wake in him
The spirit of his fathers. Ay, howl on!
Nature herself is up in arms to-night,
In censure of our paltering, and the Spirit
Of Death rides forth upon the wings o' the storm
To claim the craven who invoked him here,
And dares not stand the challenge.

Rolf.
What a flash!
Methought it showed me that white form again,
Waiting for Harold. What a slave was I
To stay his hand! I should have armed it here
In triple steel against the Norman stranger,
Who were more fit to die to spare an ache
To Harold's finger, than my lord to fall
For all the blood that waters Normandy!
There may be time—

Sig.
Too late! The spell is on him,
Which none may loose but the fell witch that wove it.
Send his Thordisa here.

Enter Thordisa.
Tho.
Who speaks of me?
Lord Harold's evil spirit?

Sig.
Oh, fair creature,
I would not claim precedence of yourself;
But 'tis no time to bandy courtesies.
Do you love Harold?

Tho.
If you love him, no.

Sig.
Say that I love him not, then. Only think
That every storm-driven minute, as it goes,
Is heavy with his life, and bid him hasten
To keep the oath he swore.

Tho.
Bid Harold come,
If my poor name has yet the charm to draw him
To a brief converse. Do not answer. Go!

[Exit Rolf.
Sig.
His life is in your hands; oh, think of that!
A word from you will steel the nerveless heart—
A look from you will fire the frozen spirit.
Could I but rob you of the power you own
To move him to your wishes, I would kill you
Here where you stand, in your pale saintliness,
And think the deed well done.

Tho.
I ask no better:
It is not good to live.

Sig.
'Tis ill to die.

Tho.
Yes; to die ill is ill; but to die well
Is better than the best.

Sig.
Tell Hugo that;
And do not rob him of so great a boon.
For me, I am not enough in love with death,
To court it for myself, or for my boy.
What will you say to him?

Tho.
Leave that to me.

Sig.
I cannot read the purpose of your heart
In that cold eye of yours. But mark me, woman!
If that harm comes to Harold, you shall rue it,
For I will kill you.

Tho.
Pagan! to your knees!
And pray the Heaven, whose stern arrest you dread,
To strike at others, but to spare you yet
For late remorse—repentance—sorrow—shame!
Talk you of killing—you, whose every word
Might kill the one immortal part in you,
But that it is immortal, which should make
Even of that crooked form a thing more fair
Than the dead glories of the universe?
Thou, that hast lived for evil from thy birth,
Thou, that in very wantonness of ill
Hast laid this bitter sin on Harold's soul,
On Harold's whom thou lovest! lovest—thou!
Thou, that hast perjured him, and widowed me;
Thou, that hast blighted man, and outraged God,
Look on the ruin round thee—'tis thy work!

Enter Harold.
Sig.
Harold!

Har.
Go in; this is no place for you,
For where she is is Heaven; go forth from it.
[Sigurd shrinks off.
You sent for me?

Tho.
Yes.

Har.
Why?

Tho.
To look on you,
And bid you look on me. Are you afraid?
Is this the Harold whom I knew erewhile?
Oh, no; for he was weak, perchance, and yielding,
But he was fearless. In his eyes there shone
A light that made a halo where he went,
And stamped him noble in his own despite.
Where is that lustre now? And where is he?
This Harold is not Harold.

Har.
If you will,
Stab me with sharp reproaches; on my head
Pour all the words of love I spoke to you,
Transmuted into gall; and let thine eyes,
Changed more than mine, flash anger back on me,
Which once had gathered all the light of love
Into their magic circle. Do all this,
But do not stand thus cold and passionless,
As is the marble to the craftsman's hand,
When he has lost his cunning, and no more
Can fashion life out of the sleeping stone!

Tho.
Artist, you wrong yourself! Good sooth, you do!
I am not marble, but poor common earth,
That served as matter for your 'prentice hand
To mould in plastic shapes, then throw away
For work more worthy. Oh, your cunning, sir,
Has grown with practice, and your latest model
Has been more deftly carved of fairer stuff.
She sent me to you.

Har.
Who?

Tho.
Have you forgotten
Her name so soon? She is called Isabelle,
And asks you for her husband.

Har.
You know all?
That I am bound within this hour to kill him,
Or pay the forfeit with my life?

Tho.
I know.

Har.
And you would have me—

Tho.
Pay it!

Har.
And be perjured!

Tho.
Is perjury to you so hard a thing?

Har.
And is my death so slight a thing to thee?

Tho.
Lighter than such dishonour. Oh, this deed
Would top dishonour, and would underwrite
My griefs against thee with so black a charge,
That Mercy's self must scorn to plead for thee
Before the bar of Justice. Not for me,
That have no longer right or part in you,
But for your soul's sake, stay your hand to-night,
And let the Norman go.

Har.
I had no soul,
Save that thou lentest me. I'll not stay my hand
For such a scruple. Ask for thine own sake
All that thou wilt. I'll do or leave undone
Anything, everything—so thou wilt plead
As thou wert wont to do.

Tho.
Oh, shame upon you!
Do you not hear the wrath of God cry out
Upon your sacrilege? Do you not see
God's eye dart forth the flame to burn you up,
Where self-attainted in his sight you stand?
I will not plead with you as was my wont,
Lest, as your wont was, you should lie to me!
But I will beg the name of Isabelle;
And, being Isabelle, to whom you swore,
But yesterday, a truth beyond the grave,
I say to you, be true but for an hour,
And give me back my husband!

Har.
And I answer,
I will not. If I love you, Isabelle,—
You, Isabelle, loving me—what offering
Can do such grace to us and to our love,
As this your husband's blood? What blow can rivet
Closer the links of our unhallowed chain,
Than that which strikes him down?

Tho.
She loves you not,
Vain-glorious boy! Think you all women are
As weak as I, as easily wooed and won?
With ear so ill-attuned to the rich ring
Of sterling metal, as to take the dross
For the pure ore, the burnished lead for gold,
The churl for the knight, the lackey for the lord?
She loves you not, I say! She played with you,
As, had I courtly breeding, I had played,
Poor puppet in her strings of fairy silk!
And as thy sin, so is thy punishment!

Har.
Was that her message? Give her mine again.
Tell her, my love was counterfeit as hers,
Tell her, my passion grew but of my pain,
And that one sin gave monstrous birth to another,
Worse than itself! I read but in her eyes
The record of mine oath, that oath which damned me
Past all redemption of thy love and thee!
She was the phantom of thy beauty, dear!
I sought in her forgetfulness of thee,
But still thy shadow overshadowed all
Her ripe reality, and made the substance
Seem but the seeming; when I pressed her hardest
With my hot words, it was thy breath that fired them,
Even with the shame it ever cried on me!
Tell her I love her not! Tell her I ask
Her pity and her pardon! Tell her I have
One love—one life—one hope—one saviour—
All called Thordisa. Do not turn away!
What's Hugo now to us? or Isabelle?
Come back to me, come back; I love you so,
That I must wipe my sins out with that love,
Had they ten times their burden. Answer me!

Tho.
What can I answer?

Har.
Kiss me!

Tho.
Never, never!
What, are you tired of the new toy already,
And would have back the old? Too late, my lord!
Not all the encircling air shall breathe again
Into the frozen ashes one brief spark;
Or, if it seem to do so, it shall be
Like will-o'-the-wisp upon a barren moor,
To lure you to your death!

Har.
Your words are cruel;
I do not know Thordisa.

Tho.
I myself
Now know myself no longer. Oh, the sin,
To change a nature that was soft and kind,
To such a thing as thou hast made of me!

Har.
Thordisa, listen!

Tho.
No; between us two
The words of that troth-plight are as a bar
Words cannot overleap. Let Hugo go!
And in His sovereign mercy may the Lord,
Whose face thy guilt has covered, hold His hand,
And spare you to repent. Ay, and me, too;
For I had all forgot Him in my wrongs,
And He is angry (muttered thunder).
Do you hear Him? Hark!
It is our sentence.

Har.
Let me meet it, then,
As a man should. The ways of Him you pray to
Are dark to such as I, and I am lost
In their strange mazes. If, forsworn to thee,
I must for thee forswear myself again,
Why, I will do it! What you ask of me
Is Hugo's life, and what you ask I give,
Come what come may; but if I fall for him,
First he shall know the truth, and on his sword
I'll pay the forfeit of my broken vow,
And blot dishonour out! Hugo!

Enter Sigurd.
Sig.
Too late!
Some juggling devil has been here at work.
Hugo has fled.

Har.
Fled?

Sig.
How or where I know not.
But he has gone: and even now the hour
Draws to its fatal ending. Who has been
Hell's messenger to him? Who warned him?

Tho.
I!

Sig.
The Christian witch again! nay, then all's lost!

Tho.
All's won, all's gained, if Heaven but gain a soul!
I dared not hope that my weak voice could win
The boon I asked for. For your sake, not his,
I wrestled for his life; for with the morning
He left the castle. He and Isabelle
Are far away ere this.

Har.
I am dishonoured,
And you have done it. Are we even now?

Sig.
We will be, traitress. (To Harold).
Now you know the worth
Of her that has ensnared you. Gone, those two,
To make a sport of the northern savages
Among their courtly minions.

Har.
Gone!

Enter Hugo.
Hugo.
Not yet.

Har.
Ah!

Sig.
(to Harold).
There is time; kill him!

Tho.
Oh, God, have mercy!

[Hugo and Harold face each other with drawn swords.
Hugo.
I have learned all, young sir, from Isabelle.
I will not call you knight; for in my country
The man who thus, under his own roof-tree,
Plots 'gainst the life and honour of his guest,
And masks the face of murder and of lust
With the fair-seeming smile of fellowship,
If such a thing could live, must strike the spurs
With his own base hand from his serpent heel,
Ere dare to wear them! Oh, that one so young
Should be so old a villain! Think you, sir,
That I would leave this coast infested thus,
Nor strive to rid it, first, of such as thou!
Defend yourself.

Tho.
Oh, spare him!

Hugo.
Gentle lady,
I saw you not. If you will go with us,
My Isabelle shall tend you as a sister,
For your kind service.

Tho.
For that service, spare him!

Hugo.
You are too true a woman not to know
A true man's sacred duty. For my wife
And for my honour. Leave us, I entreat.

Sig.
(to Thordisa).
Stand by, and watch the issue of your love.

Tho.
What have I done? Where are you, Isabelle?

[Exit.
Sig.
(aside).
Now then, my trusty counsellor!

[Half drawing his sword.
Hugo.
To your guard.

Har.
I will not fight with you.

Hugo.
What?

Har.
You have spoken
The truth, and less. Yes, I have been most base;
Base and unknightly. Yes, I swore to kill you,
And would have done it. Yes, I would have made
Your wife my mistress. But all this is nothing
In my great sum of sin; for from my brow
I plucked the brightest jewel of the earth
And trod it in the mire. Thordisa's love
I had, and lost. Look on my sword, Sir Hugo;
As keen and shining was my honour once,
As smooth and fair my fortune, till one day
I broke them—thus. (Breaking his sword).
Kill me; it is your right.

[He folds his arms across his eyes.
Sig.
Ay, and his duty! Use it, Norman, do;
And let thy hand do justice for us all
On this degenerate puny stripling here,
Who shames all manhood. These be your new creeds,
That teach a man to write himself a cur.
I'll none of them, or you, but I will go
And rail my tongue out 'gainst a world that rears
Nothing but mongrels. I have cared for you,
That do not even care to curse at me
For bringing you to this. Well, peace be with you!
A Christian peace! and may all pagan plagues
Be doubled in that word. Die, fool, and rot!

[Exit.
Har.
You see me as I am, a butt for all,
Good men and knaves, to shoot at; and already,
If words could kill the body, as they kill
The heart beyond all surgery, should I lie
Mere carrion at your foot. Why do you wait?

Hugo.
I am no executioner, Sir Harold,
Nor you the thing I thought you. On your face
I read an open record fairly writ,
That doth belie your fault. May Heaven forbid
That I should mar its blazon! Boy, you sinned
But in the thought; and standing self-condemned,
You stand to me acquit. Young brother-in-arms,
I do absolve you freely. Fail no more!

Har.
Come these words from your heart?

Hugo.
'Tis in my hand,
Take it.

Har.
Ay; with my lips, and on my knee.

[Kneeling.
Enter Thordisa and Isabelle.
Tho.
Come with me, come! Oh, lend me strength to plead;
Lend me thy winning tongue, thy fairy grace,
Thy mellow wiles, the blush that burns betimes,
To light up worship. Come! I am so weak
That thought myself so strong in scorn of him,
That I would rather see him in your arms
Than at your husband's foot.

Isa.
(smiling).
Yet he is there.

Hugo.
Rise, Harold. Here is she to whom your knees
Owe all their fealty.

Tho.
(drawing back).
Safe!

Hugo.
Come, Isabelle.
(To Tho.)
Forgive him, lady, he is worth forgiveness.

Har.
(to Isabelle).
First give me yours, fair Norman, and farewell;
If you should think of me when you are gone,
Be it as of one who died when he was young,
And had not learned to live.

Isa.
I will think of you
As of a wayward but a noble heart,
Kept in such keeping, that its fitful pulse
Beats with a steadier music day by day,
Till age steal gently o'er its harmonies,
And lull them to repose more musical
Than the best concords of a jarring world.
Adieu, Sir Pagan! As I think, you know
The trick of lovers' vows, forget it not!
You are forgiven. Sister, fare you well!

[Exeunt Hugo and Isabelle.
Tho.
Farewell! I know not how all this may end;
But as from yon black storm-cloud breaks the sky,
So hope shines through thy sin. The tempest's fury
Is well-nigh spent.

Har.
There are more clouds behind:
And even their latest message teems with fires
That carry death. Look! It is dark again,
But through their rift the moon showed at the full,
And the bell treads upon the stroke of one.
My hour is come, Thordisa. I have broken
That oath for thee, and I did well to break it.
But turn thy face in kindness upon mine,
For I shall never see it any more.

Tho.
It cannot be!

Har.
I know it.

Tho.
Dreams! And yet
What change is on thy face! Some unseen hand
Writes on its page in fearful characters
Something I cannot read. Come closer to me.

Har.
The unknown language of the land unknown.
I soon shall hear it spoken. Hark! In the air
I hear it now.

Tho.
It is the dying storm!

Har.
That shall not die alone. Thordisa, listen,
There is so little time. I give my life
To please you—that is nothing. Where I go to
You say you know—I do not—but it must be
Where I shall be a stranger. Let me take
Some gentle record of the place which knew me,
To bear me company where I am not known,
Or I shall feel so lonely.

Tho.
Hush! oh, hush!

Har.
Ay, soon I shall! Tell me—when I am gone
Into that country, and the trackless hills,
Which are its nearest confines, have shut out
Earth's real sounds for ever, shall I not
Hear for awhile the echo of my life
Roll back across them, in the words that last
Fell on my living ear?

Tho.
Harold!

Har.
Oh, yes!
That is the sound that I would take with me!
I have not heard it for so long—so long!
All has been bitter here! Say that again,
Say just my name! I dare not ask for more!

Tho.
But you shall have it! You shall have it all
That heart can fashion or words imitate,
For I adore you! I forgive you—no—
I know that I have nothing to forgive—
Nothing! It was not you that played me false!
It was not you that broke your troth to me!
It was your evil angel, who had drugged
Your own true self to sleep, and breathed that oath
Which, like the sudden blast upon the grain,
Blighted the promise of our harvest time!
And as it was not you, so shall not you
Die for the forfeit.

Har.
Love! But now I can.

Tho.
You will not be so cruel; do not leave me
Just when I find you. No, you cannot die,
Shielded by such a death-proof love as mine!

The bell strikes one, and the White Pilgrim appears. Both pause, chilled and horror-stricken. The Pilgrim advances.
Har.
(dazed).
I do not know that form.

Tho.
Ah, God, I do!

Har.
(facing the Pilgrim, who has come down between them. Thordisa has fallen back.)
Yes, it is coming. I am not afraid.
Why, this is sleep—no worse. Who art thou, then?
What is thy message?

Pil.
To the restless—rest!

[Unveils to Harold, who sinks at her feet. Thordisa springs forward as the veil closes again.
Tho.
Harold!

Har.
Why, Death is not so hard as Life.
’Tis better so, belovèd, better so!

[Dies.
Tho.
Oh, not alone! Dear Spirit, look on me!
I know my heart is breaking—is it not?
For if it were not, it were worse than stone.
I must go hence; I will not stay behind!
Sweet Spirit, let me not! Unite us now
In the one union we may ever know—
We that so loved each other! Oh, draw back
The envious curtain that enfolds you both,
And let me see the face behind the veil!
(Triumphantly).
My heart is broken!

Pil.
(unveiling to Thordisa).
Like a tired child!

[Thordisa sinks down by Harold's side.
Tho.
Darling, you will not be a stranger there!

[Dies.
The figure of the Pilgrim disappears. Enter Sigurd, Leofric, Frioth, Rolf, Gerda, and others with torches, who rush up to the figures, then stand awe-struck and silent. Gerda in Rolf's arms. The music breaks out from the Chapel in the hymn which closed the Second Act:
Curtain.