University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

The Mill House.
An inner apartment, with hangings of needlework.
Countess and Otho Jucold.
COUNTESS.
What hope of better weather?

OTHO.
None to-night:
The wind blows spitefully and full this way.

COUNTESS.
We must rest here, then.

OTHO.
He who looks abroad
Need use his hands to keep his feet the steadier,
And hold by what seems fixed or least disturbed.

COUNTESS.
Canst see across the Danube?

OTHO.
'Twixt the blasts,
And when the rain forbears to pelt and blind us,
The boat is seen, but nothing else we wait for.
All breathing life seeks shelter. Half-drowned trees
Mark where the river's margin used to be.
Some yield both leaves and branches to the wind,
And purchase safety for their lightened trunks
With what the imperious tempest robs them of.
Others float by with all their green boughs round them,
As wearied of the struggle and subdued—
Like wrestlers fallen.

COUNTESS.
Dost know what time it is?

OTHO.
An hour to sunset.

COUNTESS.
Are the servants cared for?

OTHO.
They and their horses largely. Were it calm,
We scarce could cross to-night.

COUNTESS.
You will not cross
To-morrow nor the next day—so adieu!
I shall wait here for better guidance hence.
Your charge is ended, sir.

OTHO.
Return—what now?
In such a night as this go back again?

COUNTESS.
Go when you please, or where, if not with me.

OTHO.
My lord expects to find me here. He will
Distrust the haste which could not wait his coming.

COUNTESS.
And if he do, he will at last think justly.
I can interpret for thee. It were well
Such knowledge found his ears without thy presence:
And wise in thee to teach by deputy.
Art studious lest thy kinsman should mistake?
Both he and I have done so. We have thought—
Like those who find divinity in fools—
That something good might bless the dreaming spirit
With safer revelations now and then—
Visions of holier promise—that the flowers
So gaudily embroidered on thy brain,
Had honor for their foil, and truth behind them.
Henceforth I shall loath such for seeming thus,
And scorn myself for trusting them.

OTHO.
It was
The grace of such fair thoughts that dazzled me!
Trust in my temperance made me drunk! I reel,
But not away from honor.

COUNTESS.
Honor was it,
Which whispered foully of adulterous hope?
Sighed to supplant a benefactor? Nay,
The ear of baseness tingles not, or else
I might have blushed to say how largely so.

OTHO.
I never had a hope which wronged his peace.

COUNTESS.
Then what you told to me, tell him:—why not?
Make the profession face to face, if true.
While I stand by, begin your history—
Say that you love his wife—have told her so—
Being careful for the honor of us both.
Or else, shall I say this?

OTHO.
If so, say all:
Tell him the sort of love as well. Perchance
He may remember how his own began,
And start the less at mine.

COUNTESS.
His own? Was his
Unmatched with his condition—conscience crossed?
What sacred laws did his break?

OTHO.
I have heard
That some it did; and those, in part, the same.
Conscience, being largely feed, kept out of hearing.

COUNTESS.
What hast thou heard, knave?

OTHO.
This is tyranny!
I suffer if I answer or forbear.

COUNTESS.
Wouldst half unwrap a falsehood—then retract
And cover it up again? Speak out! heard what?

OTHO.
That friendship, like an image made of wax,
Dissolves before love's heat and disappears.
My lord was neither free himself to love,
Nor loved the free.

COUNTESS.
Hast followed tales like these
The road to baseness? run so fast with hearsay?
Harnessed thine honor to a lie? The Count
Could know but what I taught him of my freedom:
Have I misled thee too? Believing this,
How then? What share in it hast thou? love thee!
Why, sick imagination's gorge is strained
Conceiving its own argument. Thrust faith
With all that awes or hinders out of sight;
Or changing, not confounding, our estate—
A flax-girl I—and thou a nobleman—
Presuming any change but that of will—
Dost think thy hopes were nearer?

OTHO.
I have none.
We gaze upon the heavens, content without them.
Is love like this an injury?

COUNTESS.
Ay is it!
A loathsome one is any kind from thee.
The purest possible a gutter's vapour.
I pray thee take thine incense to the kitchen.
Look for some idol with a fire before it;
And suit the goddess to the worshipper.
Why shouldst thou gaze upon the heavens? Be gone—
Send me this lady's steward.—O here he is!

(Exit Otho. Enter Netherstein.)
COUNTESS.
Thy message from the winds is not a kind one:
I thank thee nevertheless. They will not hear us?
We may not cross to-day?

NETHERSTEIN.
The drift scuds faster,
And Danube rises, though the tempest lulls.
These are not bated yet. Were I a traveller,
I should prefer rough fare, with honest lodging,
To darkness in a night like that before us—
Even if there were no river.

COUNTESS.
So should I
With power to choose 'twixt roadside-fare indeed,
And the dark road. Our haste to get away
Is quickened by the pain we cause in tarrying:
We press too heavily here. Superfluous kindness
Expels us while it holds us. I must quit,
At risk of missing him who comes to meet me.
O, that thy mistress were but half so good!

NETHERSTEIN.
Double her goodness scarce would seem too much.
No fear lest patience fail me that way tested.
My portion of the cherry, as it is,
Is but the stone.

COUNTESS.
Hush! hush!—Couldst not befriend me?
Suggest that ease is fevered by excess?
Raise banks about her hospitality
Which overflows and drowns me?

NETHERSTEIN.
Such a prayer
Would light amongst the poultry like the pip:
Slay all, and haply reach to larger matters.
She would not bate a feather. Let her be;
Or strive to eat her up.

COUNTESS.
At any time
Our presence were a burden here: but now,
So new a widow troubled with such guests!
Her daughter's eyes are filled with tears. I see
A hatchment o'er the gate.

NETHERSTEIN.
Her father's scutcheon.

COUNTESS.
An orphan like myself when younger still!

NETHERSTEIN.
Nay, she is old enough to let him slip;
She weeps not for her father—has forgotten him.
His widow never will forget the while
The moon endureth—nor let me forget him.
I fain would shake this father by the hand
Alive and in his place again.

COUNTESS.
There is
Too bright a hue upon her cheek for sorrow's—
Else might the angel Pity call her sister.
Whom shall we trust if she too is forgetful?
Her mother spoke of some unworthy choice:
Would call a stranger in to arbitrate!
Asks aid of me! thinks fancy may be quenched
By hints which casual kindness throws upon it!
Heart-counsel from the ignorant passer-by!
A worthy lady, but of strange conclusions!
What can I do?

NETHERSTEIN.
She thinks that one so great
Can do and undo harder things than this.
Were she a countess she would stop the wind,
Or blow it back again. The girl is good:
An honest man the one she thinks about.

COUNTESS.
Of what estate?

NETHERSTEIN.
He was the Ferryman.

COUNTESS.
A ferryman! and she of gentle blood!
This swift oblivion of her father's death,
With such a love succeeding!

NETHERSTEIN.
Fifteen years
Suffice for grief: he died when she was three.
At holy-rood she counts eighteen.

COUNTESS.
What sayest?

NETHERSTEIN.
His heiress has succeeded to his shield,
With nothing else, these fifteen years:—her sighs
Are not for him.

COUNTESS.
A hatchment o'er the gate
For fifteen years?

NETHERSTEIN.
It has hung there but twelve.
These twelve seem long enough, and many enough,
To him whose gate it is—her second husband.
The first had none to hang it on.

COUNTESS.
A second?

NETHERSTEIN.
She has had, and she still has, two. The first
Her ghostly man of honour, Knipperbrock,
Whose scutcheon shines above the other's door—
A spectral champion kept to talk about—
O'er-awes and shames his fleshly counterpart.

COUNTESS.
What is this last, and where?

NETHERSTEIN.
A married miller;
Lord of the ferry here. He is on earth
The duplicate of Knipperbrock above:
Takes toll and tribute with both hands. So much
For what he is—Belthazar Netherstein:
The other part, the where he is, is answered,
For here he is.

COUNTESS.
Her husband?

NETHERSTEIN.
Bodily:
In temporal things.

COUNTESS.
Didst thou not say her servant?

NETHERSTEIN.
Ay, so I am, indeed—the twain in one;
First servant, second husband—minor domo.
My lady might prevail to do me good.
The man defunct has had a twelve-year's preference:
It is my turn to head the partnership.
I would have this made known without offence;
And henceforth take priority.
Enter Chatherine.
Come hither—
The child and I have what this sprite has left us.
Speak wisely, mouse!

[Exit Netherstein.
COUNTESS.
Bear with me yet a little;
I am not thankless for my welcome here:
But scarcely less bewildered than the sot
Who slept a clown, and woke an emperor.
This lady is thy mother?

CATHERINE.
Yes.

COUNTESS.
And noble?

CATHERINE.
My father was.

COUNTESS.
I never will distrust
What nature writes upon a page so fair;
Nor ask if eyes like those could look toward folly.
Let us be friends at once—date sisterhood
Neither by months nor years, but her suggestion.
Away with blushes, then. There is a task
So pinned to my consent by many prayers,
Girt on by gratitude, that doing it,
Or leaving it undone, I should blush too.
Might we not ease each other? There must be
Some witchcraft here.

CATHERINE.
If so, my lady brought it.

COUNTESS.
I came since noon, and am already suborned
To interpose with spells against love's wiles,
And wedlock's injuries! A stranger spurred
By adjurations leaps where friends walk trembling!
Would we were such, indeed!

CATHERINE.
I should wish so
If both were humbler, or myself the greatest:
Now all I ask is clearance from ill thoughts
Suggested to my shame.

COUNTESS.
Well answered, maid!
If something proudly too, why, perhaps the better.
What right have I where love has locked his pearls?
At least forgive me.

CATHERINE.
Think me that I am—
Indeed a child, ill-taught and ignorant;
But neither proud nor thankless. Shame it is
Which burns at last against unjust abasement.
My lady blushed for me: a stranger hears
Of that which, when it prospers, hides itself—
Is bashful at the best; though praised and happy
Creeps out of sight: but here is cried abroad,
With fie upon it, in the ears of greatness;
And told to beggars as they pass the door.
Why did my lady speak so heedfully,
But that she thought the thing she spoke of shameful?

COUNTESS.
I thought love's choice unworthy, not love's self.

CATHERINE.
Now Heaven forgive me, for I will speak proudly!
If there be truth in those who lived before us,
The fair and noble did not think so once.

COUNTESS.
What thought they not?

CATHERINE.
That gentleness is baseness,
The brave unworthy.

COUNTESS.
Ah, since Love could talk,
He lisped his eloquence with infant lip,
And ever reasoned thus 'gainst fortune's crosses!
His second childhood babbles like his first.
Let us pluck off the roses from his pate,
And see how bald it is. Why, every shepherd
Seems bright as Mercury to the maid who loves him.
These May-day garlands fit ten thousand wearers.
My gentle hostess, scorn such worshipry!
A holier altar is there for our prayers,
Than this of love: and if we would do well,
We must present a costlier sacrifice.

CATHERINE.
What sacrifice?

COUNTESS.
Both what appears to be,
And sometimes too what is our happiness.

CATHERINE.
But wherefore should we?

COUNTESS.
Our own hearts constrain us.
By such a tenure do we hold our state:
On this condition is it ours. We turn
And leave the chase of butterflies to babes.
If nobly born, thou hast no choice of baseness.

CATHERINE.
I do not choose it when I love the noble.

COUNTESS.
A ferryman?

CATHERINE.
Were I a Countess too,
I should not blush at all—being proud to love him.

Enter Netherstein.
NETHERSTEIN.
There is, at last, a running to and fro
'Twixt boat and burrow on the farther side:
Such signs of speech as deaf men hearken at—
Uplifted hands and bonnets.

COUNTESS.
Then he comes.

NETHERSTEIN.
The wind blows trumpet-like. They cannot cross!
We scarce dare trust the covert whence we peep,
Such gusts and angry eddies howl against it.
Tiles drop even here, though looking leewardly,
With all the house between.

Enter Otho.
OTHO.
They hoist a pennon.

COUNTESS.
The Count's?

OTHO.
We cannot see its blazonry;
The streamer points this way.

COUNTESS.
Then what dost judge by?

OTHO.
Their numbers, and the plumes upon their caps.

COUNTESS.
But can they cross the river, sir, or no?

OTHO.
The wind is with them.

COUNTESS.
Call the ferryman:
His practice may instruct us what to hope.
Let the rest watch again.

Exeunt Netherstein and Otho. Enter Tycho Thollpinne.
COUNTESS.
So! who is this?

TYCHO.
My lady's ferryman.

COUNTESS.
Shame on thee, Cupid!
To drown a Triton! Breathe, and dry thy tears.
What is it that afflicts thee thus? Alas,
His sorrows choke him! Can my lord come hither?

TYCHO.
In time he may—when the wind falls he will.
I care not if he tarry there till Christmas.
Let him go back again, or bide my crossing.
(Cries without.)
The boat is off.

TYCHO.
A good deliverance then!

COUNTESS.
Dost doubt it, Patch? This nature's nobleman!

CATHERINE.
Who? Thollpinne? This is Tycho!

COUNTESS.
And what is he?

CATHERINE.
He helps the ferryman.

TYCHO.
I did my best
With larboard oar these three years past in June.
But now I cannot help him.

CATHERINE.
What has chanced?

TYCHO.
His wits have slipped the painter—drifted off.
Past help he is.

COUNTESS.
Then, prithee, let him rest.

TYCHO.
The Count? I will do so.

COUNTESS.
The ferryman.

CATHERINE.
What dost thou grieve for?

TYCHO.
None in twenty leagues
Could pull a wherry with him up the stream;
Nor break a random colt in thrice the time.
He rode Schweile's brimstone gelding 'cross the Danube
Stark naked like a babe. In twelve-score yards,
Outran Stark's warrener by half a pole;
And gave the flying tailor what he asked.
Punt lost five bouts in six at single stick:
Shadrach and Melchior with the mergenstern.
He fixed the weathercock for Abraham Screech;
And carried Taus's load with him astride it.
If Gregory brags he lies—I saw Giles under.
The angel of the house he was!

CATHERINE.
Where is he?

COUNTESS.
What has befallen him, sirrah?

TYCHO.
Beseech your grace
To speak on his behalf!

COUNTESS.
To whom?

TYCHO.
Her mother.

COUNTESS.
A three-fold mediation! What about?

TYCHO.
Let him be married—he has lost his wits,
Who was the stay of all awhile ago!
His face is crusted like a calves-head pasty.
One might make fritters from his cheeks—they shine
Like morris-men's at Whitsuntide. Behold,
His father could not know him!

(Enter Mark Menno, leading in the Ferryman disguised with meal on his face.)
MARK MENNO.
Now—your curtesy—
We look for country breeding, but beware!
My lady will speak first.

COUNTESS.
A mask to-day?
Why, this is changing Tycho for a fool!
Small brains for none at all! Is he the right one?
Thou natural nobleman, art drunk or crazed?
Canst answer what I ask thee?

FERRYMAN.
Let me hear it.
My lady must not always trust outsides.

COUNTESS.
She must not always; then she does sometimes?
Why mask where known?

FERRYMAN.
Ask thou thy mother, Kate.
It is a contract sworn to whilst I tarry.
I keep my footing here by such a pact;
And thou thine ears.

COUNTESS.
Canst see the ferry-boat?

FERRYMAN.
The while it swims, I can.

COUNTESS.
Dost doubt its swimming?

FERRYMAN.
Not if they miss the shoals, and keep her free.
[Going.
I will return again.

COUNTESS.
I pray stay here;
Let these look out, and tell us what befalls.
How keep her free again?

FERRYMAN.
Their craft swims deep—
Her gunwale nothing with the wind abeam;
Yet must they hoist a rag or two for clearance.
She makes but little way, howe'er it blow.

NETHERSTEIN
calls.
They near us, boy.

FERRYMAN.
But can they stem the current,
And keep her quarter to the wind?

OTHO
calls.
The Count!
I see their liveries. They are past half way.

FERRYMAN.
Come to the wool-room casement, Netherstein.

COUNTESS.
Stay thou by me.

TYCHO.
Seek counsel from a fool?

FERRYMAN.
I may be nearer than I thought I was;
Like many a counsellor who doubts not yet.
The senses or the brains are leaky somewhere.

TYCHO.
I told my lady so.

FERRYMAN.
When heaven is mildest
No tongue can send its meaning half across.
In such a day as this, the lip and ear
Need touch, and do their best for one another.
Yet did I hear my name, with cries for aid,
Far off, and mingling with the blast it rode on—
Shrill as the tempest's wailing—help! help! help!
Even thrice I heard it.

COUNTESS.
How long since?

FERRYMAN.
An hour—
It may be less than one. If all the bones
The Danube buries from us, lived again—
And every mouth were hallooing through the storm,
I had not heard, or hearing, understood them.
That cry I did hear nevertheless.

NETHERSTEIN
calls.
They come!
All hands are baling her: the boat swims low.

COUNTESS.
How many canst see?

NETHERSTEIN.
Why, ten or twelve.

FERRYMAN.
Close-reefed?

NETHERSTEIN
calls.
A quarter of the foresail—yet too much.

TYCHO.
The shoals have shifted place since yesterday.
Fresh banks and drifting trees are everywhere.
A duck would wait at home for better weather.

NETHERSTEIN
calls.
The scullery-casement looks upon them now:
This way, Sir Otho. Stop! she strikes—hold! hold!
Twice struck! her mast and tackle overboard!
Fast! she is fast! they cannot help themselves!
No—now she swims again.

COUNTESS.
Where is this casement?

FERRYMAN.
Stay near her, Kate—and do not let her go.

[Exit.
Enter Rachel.
RACHEL.
Is it the Count, child? Sirrah, what art doing?
[To Tycho.
Make haste, and take the boat to him.

TYCHO.
Canst tell
The readiest way, and how to get her there?
Wouldst run aground for love of company?
Then let us go together, Mistress Moon.

(Exit Tycho.)
NETHERSTEIN
calls.
They tail to leeward, right upon a shoal!
O, help! they ground again!

RACHEL.
Count Altheim lost!
Why, where is Colen?

COUNTESS.
Call the Ferryman.

Enter Otho.
OTHO.
Less than an arrow's flight from twenty friends,
Two nobles perish!

Enter Tycho.
TYCHO.
Wherefore mouth the wind?
Better to drown in peace, than burst with bawling.
What use of waving hats? If Dark is there,
Heaven's mercy on his babes!

COUNTESS.
Can no one help?

TYCHO.
He can, but no one here below. A cork
Were worth a hundred wherries.

COUNTESS.
Here is gold—
Or else for pity help us!

Enter Ferryman.
TYCHO.
Gold, boy, gold—
Thou mayest feed eels with florins in thy pocket.

FERRYMAN.
It is a sight for devils—away to bed!
Men must go mad, or run from it.

NETHERSTEIN
calls.
She swamps—
The boat breaks under him.

RACHEL.
Didst say two nobles?

NETHERSTEIN
calls.
They hold by stumps and branches—six or eight—
The strongest dies the last.

RACHEL.
Two Counts, didst say?

OTHO.
Count Altheim and the Lord of Rabensberg.
Give air—stand farther back.

RACHEL.
Of Rabensberg?

FERRYMAN.
Run with me to the skiff—it lies up stream—
Now stir and help me.

TYCHO.
Thou mayst wash thy face
Without my help, cock robin, or the Danube's;
In clearer water too. So bide content.
What dost thou want the skiff for?

FERRYMAN.
Come with me.

TYCHO.
Not to the Count.

FERRYMAN.
Set me afloat, and leave me.

CATHERINE.
Stop, Colen! hear me!

RACHEL.
Let him go, child—fie!
Ah, hussey!—shame upon thee!

FERRYMAN.
Hold her back—
And if I perish, as I think I shall—
For he that called me by my name just now,
Was farther off than all on this side death,
And spoke with louder tongue than nature uses—
Farewell to both! Instead of giving gold, (to the Countess.)

Receive her from me as a legacy—
I know thou wilt be good to her.

[Exit.
TYCHO.
Come back!
If man might help, I had not tarried here.
Nay—prithee—stop him, sir! wouldst drown thyself?

[Exit.
NETHERSTEIN.
'Twere easier stop the tempest. He is desperate!
Heaven's mercy go beside him wheresoe'er!
Look up, mouse!—deaf and speechless?—in a swoon?
My lady prays—pray too!—the angels hear thee!

RACHEL.
Wouldst have him bide, if he may save the Count?

NETHERSTEIN.
He cannot save a hair of him. Look out—
Who watches at the casement there?

M. MENNO
calls.
Now for it—
The skiff is floating—if they could but wait.
Miller, come hither.

NETHERSTEIN.
I will look no more.
Is Colen in the skiff? Do thou stay there.
I will not see him drowning.

M. MENNO
calls.
Off! she swims—
There is one in. Both! both!—the boy goes too!

NETHERSTEIN.
I knew he would. Sir Otho, run down stream!
Be ready with the rest below—wait for him—
And land him if the current drift him thither.

[Exit Otho.
M. MENNO
calls.
Scarce half have kept their hold—two more fall off!

NETHERSTEIN.
Can the skiff live, man? does it near them yet?

M. MENNO
calls.
Hold fast a moment longer! Three bide still.
They hang upon the driftwood's roots and branches.
The skiff is grounding—all must perish now!
Off—she is off again! look! now she floats!

NETHERSTEIN.
But can she reach them? Have they loosed—or how?

M. MENNO
calls.
Swept past! The boat swims wide and far below—
Gone by a mile! Not one is on the shoal!

NETHERSTEIN.
Then mercy on them!—Colen in the boat?

M. MENNO
calls.
The boy is there.

NETHERSTEIN.
And not the ferryman?

M. MENNO
calls.
There is but one—and he rows fast ashore—
He will do well enough:—pull mightily!
Pull, boy, for life!—What now? His oars back water!
He waits for something!—Fool—to drown thyself!
By holy Nicholas—hands and heads above!
Hands on the tiller! Bravely, Tycho, yet!
Row for thy life, good boy! two heads astern!
Hold hard a moment longer, ferryman!
I see two heads!

NETHERSTEIN.
Then one of them is Colen's.

M. MENNO
calls.
They fish them from the water—two are saved!
They land them—both of them—beside the boy!

NETHERSTEIN.
Then Colen left his skiff upon the shoal,
To swim down stream, and pick up one of them.