University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

Morning. A large Granary, connecting the House and the Corn-mill, furnished with meal-sacks, &c.
Ferryman and Tycho.
FERRYMAN.
After their wrath the Heavens are friends with us.
They cast their dark and wintry cloaks away
To show like princes at a monarch's bridal.
Remorseless as they are to smile so soon
Above the scatterings of their cruelty;
And quite forget how many saw their rage,
Who will not wake to feel their gentleness!

TYCHO.
What casts thee down so? These are past the caring
For sun or squall! They will not feel the heart-ache,
As we, with better luck, may live to do.

FERRYMAN.
Hast heard how many lost, and who they be?
There were two noblemen?

TYCHO.
We have our share.
One man in ten is saved, and he a Count.
Some think there was no other aboard. My lord
Says nothing, or as little; snorts and snifts
The while they question him, but holds his peace:
Looks at them right and left, then up and down.
A maid of ten might sneeze as heartily.
The river hath gone nigh to melt his wits,
And wash his soul out. “Is your lordship sick?”
“Ay,” saith he. “Is your lordship well at ease?”
“Ay,” saith he too. The moon shines full upon him,
And will breed May-fly-maggots in his brain.
He walks a yard or less, and tires of it:
Smells at his kerchief daintily, then sighs,
And so sits down again to scratch his finger.
The hand inside and out must be regarded.

FERRYMAN.
One special nurse he has beside his wife.

TYCHO.
His lady, sir,—his Countess—pray take heed!
It were well worth a long pull up the stream
To see this wife and her that shall be thine
Placed side by side, like swans upon a pool;
'Midst whitest water-lilies, whitest swans,
Save that the one of them is red with blushes,
The while the other praises thee. Come down!
And let them view thee now thy face is cleansed.
The fish will profit by its last night's scouring;
And I shall save my grains.

FERRYMAN.
I must be hidden:
At least so much of me. Before she see it,
Another noble lady must require it.

TYCHO.
(Sings.)

FERRYMAN.
Get back among the pasties, then I will.

TYCHO.
I never was in love but with my mother:
And she was worth a church-full like Grace Geert.
No swan, indeed! but up by break of day
To set my porridge hot upon the hob.
Then Tycho was a nobleman. Her eyes
Were on him, going forth and coming home.
He would feel better pleased to see them yet
Than twenty such as Geert's, or Minna Been's.
I shall grow fog-bound too if prisoned here.
Come down and sun thyself. If fixed on fasting,
And obstinate in emptiness—walk forth!
The smoking ground smells sweetly after rain.
Earth is a mighty mesh-tub—steaming, brewing:
The blessèd sun the brewer. This sick Count
Is tethered for a day or two.

FERRYMAN.
At least.
The horse-boat must not swim 'midst shoals and eddies;
And half his company would swamp the skiff.
Nor can they leave their cattle here.

TYCHO.
Would'st know
What makes me glad?

FERRYMAN.
Ay—tell me.

TYCHO.
Thou shalt tarry.
Old Dark and Abraham Screech are with the saints.
There is none other now on either side.
I want the learning but to say—Amen.
We need a wiser parson. What dost think
Of warnings 'cross the Danube, in the wind?
That voice which called thee by thy name, last night?
Hallooing for life? It ducked, but should have drowned thee.

FERRYMAN.
Hark!

TYCHO.
What affrights thee?

FERRYMAN.
There are steps—look out!

TYCHO.
I hear the moon-light—creep—creep—creep. She has thee!
There is no meal at hand.

FERRYMAN.
Hast got the key?

TYCHO.
It locks upon the outside—not within.
[Stands on the sacks and looks out.
This Count alive again, by Rabshekeh!
Peep 'twixt the shutters.—Softly with him, sir!
He leans upon his kinsman. Gently!—so—
They come abroad to sun and air themselves.
If he look ever as he does to-day,
He barely pays for saving.

FERRYMAN.
Which way go they?

TYCHO.
Why, this way—straightway—hitherward, direct.

FERRYMAN.
How shall I 'scape, or hide me?

TYCHO.
Face their faces—
Thine is as good as theirs. Why shouldst thou hide it?
They made no contract with thee.

FERRYMAN.
Help this once!
'Twere better leap the window-sill.

TYCHO.
Come down!
Wouldst break thy legs?

FERRYMAN.
They are upon the stairs!
Pull forth a sack or two before the ruck!
[Removes a sack of corn.
Make me a hole behind it.

TYCHO.
Get thee in:
Snug as a parlour—here is room for two.
With bread and cheese, I could endure a sevennight.
Sit down and go to sleep.

FERRYMAN.
A sack above—
Here, cross the top, boy!

TYCHO.
I will roof thee in.
They rest upon the landing-place.

FERRYMAN.
Make haste!

TYCHO.
[As the Count and Otho enter, he turns his back and sings.
[Sings:

OTHO.
What frights thee, gentle goatherd—not the mermaid?
The younger of the Ferrymen, my lord!

TYCHO.
His grace is welcome! By the mass, he looked
More mermaid-like at sunset yestereven,
Than he doth now—except that such as they,
Swim not with boots and spurs upon their legs.
I give your lordship happy time of day!

COUNT.
Thou canst not; yet I thank thee, boy.

TYCHO.
No! why?
The merry heart is meat, drink, clothes, and fuel.
Most feel but simple when we fish them out.
A bellyful of nothing makes one sorry:
Water is worse! Colen strove all he might—
Did he not, sir?—to keep both heads from drinking.
He ever swims breast high, and looks about.
My lord came landward like a wounded coot:
And Colen, with him, like a water-rug—
Only he doth not carry in his mouth.

OTHO.
Thy likenesses lack nothing for resemblance,
But being unlike.

TYCHO.
They do not hook-and-eye
Both top and bottom, fitting everywhere;
But hold i' the midst. This Colen knows a Count
For what he is, although his hat be off:
And picked him, half-way under, out from three.
He could discern a Count drowned fifty years,
If he might see a rag on's skeleton.
So might I too, while lords wore crimson breeches,
And clad their serving-men in Lutzen-blue.
Not now; but almost always guess amiss.

COUNT.
Where is this Ferryman?

TYCHO.
He hides him somewhere—
Creeps out of sight for fear the moonshine blind him.
Unless he ride on Gipsey to the smith.
Her shoes want shifting. Here is roguery, sir!
When iron was thirteen thalers to the pood,
They made it tougher-grained than now they do.
Two sets would last above a quarter's wearing—
A rat-trap twenty years.

COUNT.
Go, find thy fellow.
The lives of both were risked for mine last night.

TYCHO.
His was, but mine was not.

COUNT.
Didst thou not help?

TYCHO.
I helped the ferryman—and he the Count.

COUNT.
Well—canst thou find this ferryman, or no?

TYCHO.
Patience! Speak softly, sir! A rat has ears:
He learns, by listening, what we talk about.
Help me to shift the bean-sacks next that bin.
The rogue is somewhere under, or behind.
There be but six-score quarters. Do our best,
And we shall near him yet by supper-time.

COUNT.
I cannot help thee.

OTHO.
Seek for Colen, boy.

TYCHO.
I was about to do so:—when I find him,
What shall say to him?

OTHO.
We stay to thank him.

TYCHO.
He ever doth eschew men's thanks.

COUNT.
Be gone—
And bring, or leave him, as he will. More air
And easier breathing here—we can sit down—
The house grows noisy.

TYCHO.
I will leave him then.
My charge it is to lock the door behind me,
While Melchior scowers the pewter.

COUNT.
Lock us in—
So that thou lock out others.

TYCHO.
For how long?

COUNT.
Release me after dinner: now adieu!

TYCHO.
[Exit, singing.

OTHO.
At last, we are quit of him.

COUNT.
He leaves us room,
If time and strength suffice, for that which brought us.
Speak quickly, Jucold—tell me of my sleep,
And what was said while waking?

OTHO.
When, my lord?

COUNT.
Wast present when they landed me last night?

OTHO.
I was.

COUNT.
Who else beside these ferrymen?

OTHO.
Some six or seven were there.

COUNT.
What said I, boy?

OTHO.
Nothing, my lord.

COUNT.
Nothing—or nonsense—which?

OTHO.
There scarce was so much sense as serves for nonsense.

COUNT.
But afterwards?

OTHO.
The twilight dawned at last.

COUNT.
What said I then?

OTHO.
Half words, and those half uttered:
Inaudible enquiries sunk in sighs:
The Countess, Rabensberg, myself, and more—
Stilled out by syllables.

COUNT.
But was this all?
Did Gertrude speak to me?

OTHO.
Sometimes she did—
Small nursery questions, such as help remembrance.

COUNT.
Of whom?

OTHO.
Yourself—if cold, or warm, or easy.
And sometimes of her cousin Rabensberg.

COUNT.
Were answered how?

OTHO.
Faith, many not at all:
Most part by sobs and silence.

COUNT.
But this cousin?
We talked of Baron Rabensberg, it seems?

OTHO.
Not otherwise.

COUNT.
I shall speak plainer, soon:
And I must trust thee, Otho.

OTHO.
Trust me, how?

COUNT.
A perilous trust, boy—since thou hast at hand
Thy book of grievances for ready reference—
A trespass-roll of slights and injuries
Set down, from time to time, as helps for memory:
Rash words, and casual wrongs: the ancient cyphering
Which kinsmen use to balance charity—
Written, I say, with truth, and all against me.
Therefore a dangerous trust it is.

OTHO.
Of slights?
I never said so.

COUNT.
Thou hast thought so, Jucold.

OTHO.
As heaven is witness, never!

COUNT.
Why dost start?

OTHO.
My lord will hear me!

COUNT.
Presently I will.
Hear what, boy?—what affrights thee? There must be
Such thoughts between us two, as make it easier
To say I trust, than love thee. Thou canst pay
All grievances together in an hour—
My sparing kindnesses when I was kind,
Imperious looks at other times—the wrongs
Which chafe dependence, be they light or heavy,
Supposed or true.

OTHO.
What then, my lord?

COUNT.
Why then
I shall stand one step nearer hell, than now;
There is but one.—Go, hearken at the door.

OTHO.
This eager speaking wearies you—sit down.

(Count leans against the sacks which hide Ferryman.)
COUNT.
Ay—but I must haste forward. Thou hast heard
Of Gertrude's other cousin?—She had two—
A younger brother to the one she asks for?
Let us pass by this Baron Rabensberg—
I say, the younger.

OTHO.
John of Rabensberg?

COUNT.
Well, John—and what hast heard of him? Speak truth.

OTHO.
What might offend in telling, perhaps.

COUNT.
No matter!
Say what thou wilt, I must say worse.

OTHO.
He was
The comrade of my lord—he should have been
The husband of his Countess.

COUNT.
Should have been!
So far the tale is shorter, then—Go on.

OTHO.
Nay, let the gossips bail their own report!
Why make me sponsor to their forgeries?
What part in it have I?—They painted, gilded,
And robed their wooden image royally!
No garniture was found too gorgeous for him.
They wrote his title in the list of men
Whom Nature sets like columns near her shrine
On loftier pedestals, as more adorned,
And wrought of purer metal than the rest,
To hang her costliest gifts upon!—Betrothed,
And almost married to the Baroness—
This John of Rabensberg—the younger brother—
Was superseded by his friend, they said!
His friend and fellow-soldier stepped between!
One that came with him as a marriage guest!
To quicken pity for this lamb of theirs,
They crowned his head with flowers—the good! the gentle!
First both in mirth and meekness—yet so chaste,
That tongues of older men were shamed from evil!
The soldier followed with his eyes—the child
With both his hands stretched out!

COUNT.
Thy breath revives
A carcase which would make me desperate now:
Blast me for ever, if we stood indeed
Bare-bosomed at the steadfast seat of truth,
With none to plead for pale humanity—
Our errors, our temptations all swept out,
While Justice weighed us, each one as he is,
And irrespectively of accident,
Rejecting love and pity from the scale,
As guilty or not guilty.

OTHO.
If we did?
Ay, but we do not stand there. If we did,
We were accursed—both you and I, my lord.
Then such betrayal were accursed indeed!
But Love, though unacquitted, grasps so fast
The feet of Mercy, that he must be heard.
Could youth approach thus near, and then stand off?

COUNT.
These tell-tales have gained faith, it seems?—thou dost
With all thy might excuse Love's guiltiness.
A skilful advocate, but ill divine!
Thou should'st have known at that time what inflamed it,
When reason superscribed all fancy wrote;
A joyful witness of its promises;
Confirming outward grace by more within.
Pure love, strong faith, chaste beauty's majesty!

OTHO.
I have known since, my lord.

COUNT.
Its shade at most:
A faded portrait gazed at in the dusk!
Even I, who stand so near to it, can see
The change from love's and beauty's radiancy,
To that reproachful hue which grief has bleached,
Like marble-breasted Niobe's, with tears.

OTHO.
Some think this marble holds a heart yet harder.

COUNT.
No matter what they think. I would it were so.
Better feel nothing than too much! Who thinks it?

OTHO.
'Midst other changes, is this possible,
That men may love and hate at once? That love
Made mad by scorn, may so far hate the scorner
As not to lose the properties of love?

COUNT.
Why dost thou ask me?

OTHO.
I believe it may.
Love made my lord unfaithful—what made her?
This seraph left her sunshine in the skies,
To light upon the reptile prey of gold!
Born rich and noble, must be more than both!
So dropped her lover, kinsman, almost husband;
The good, the gentle—but the youngest born,
Even for his friend, a guest of yesterday!

COUNT.
All wide, and far beyond the mark! Thou aimest
Thine arrows at the innocent: they pierce
My side instead. The treachery is confessed—
Dost also know the traitors? There were two—
Two were betrayed by them—canst guess and pair us?

OTHO.
The lovers?—what, not both of them betrayed?

COUNT.
Ay, and the traitors went by couples too.
This Baron Rabensberg was one of them:
John's brother, whom you looked for yesterday.

OTHO.
How could the elder profit by his loss?
John halved no lordships with him? Perhaps, indeed
He loved her too?

COUNT.
He never said he did;
But I believe he did. Nay, who did not!
So near in blood, and sharing one estate,
Opinion matched them on their nurse's knees:
But Nature laughs at gossip's policy,
Widening preposterous difference to extremes.
As hills in storm and sunshine, light and shade,
These brothers stood confronting one another:
Yet were they not, in all things, all unlike.
That which the other wanted, each had most.
Opposed they were, but not dissimilar.
Envy burns hottest 'gainst the first and nearest:
A stranger's rivalry torments us less
Than smiles upon the lip we know so well!
Beside the partial gifts of love and grace,
A younger brother sharing one estate!
Equalled with him!—his peer!

OTHO.
My lord grows faint.

COUNT.
I cannot tell the rest, boy.

OTHO.
Let it be.
I think I can by guess alone.

COUNT.
Then do.

OTHO.
The losers helped each other; I know not how—
But peradventure thus it might have been:
Some baseness whispered, some imputed guilt,
Such as pate-shaking pity marvels at,
And fain would hide for sake of charity.
No matter what they were, if she believed them.
Scorn would shut ears and heart 'gainst truth and mercy!
She would not listen to one word.

COUNT.
She would not.
John thought she dared not—crediting, like you,
Inconstant preference for my state to his.
Disdain it was which gave the bride away:
Not avarice nor ambition. Ask no more:
We are, and shall be childless.

OTHO.
John a soldier
Was easily entreated, after all,
And passing patiently marched off elsewhere!
Yet do they say he died like one.

COUNT.
He died
With twenty thousand more and not a braver—
His friends on either hand, not face to face:
His blood an offering to the soil which reared him,
Not to a woman's scorn and fickleness.
So much, for truth's sake, of him. Now this Baron.
The kernel of our moral is to come.
At last I reach it, but I break my teeth.
The elder brother saw me in the place
The younger fell from—I was Gertrude's husband—
Joint heir, with him, at Rabensberg—his heir
If longer lived, and he without a child.
The gain was this adoption of an alien—
A stranger for a brother—and at last,
His name and lordship swallowed up in mine!
The rival gone, the brother lived again!
He turned, at first, his Cain-like brow this way,
Then fled from me.

OTHO.
I would be shunned by such.

COUNT.
If safely, so would I. But seven years' silence
Might end in noise enough. Our lands were mixed:
We could not quit the thoughts of one another.
And Gertrude, wondering at her kinsman's wrath,
Would be his guest at Rabensberg to quench it:
So sent me on to bear the olive-branch.
At first the petted hound felt pleased and flattered:
A moment's sunshine fell upon his spirit.
He would run with me here to meet his cousin.
But soon he swerved again! Ten times a day,
On this side Rabensberg, his humour shifted.
Rough roads and weather made rough tempers worse.
We reached the Danube wearied by mishaps.
In wilder eddies beat the rain against us
A mile, or less, below the crossing place:
It choked and blinded us. While some ran on,
The grooms and horses were sent back a stage.
A little moss-walled quarry arched with roots—
Scooped out by panting goats for shade in spring—
Close to the river's margin, held us two,
While those before us sought the ferrymen.
Ere this received us, Saul's mad spirit was on him.
He would not cross—he would go back again!
What could he tell the Countess if they met?
That both were traitors, and his brother belied?
At last I lost my patience too—“If both—
Which first? which made the other such?” I said.
This changed his mind once more. By all things just,
He would reveal the treason ere he slept!
A hundred imprecations pledged him now.
More furious than the tempest over-head,
He was upon his legs before they ceased.
I caught and held him by the cloak a moment—
He turned to strike me with his riding-rod.
And now the fiend was busy with us both—
The bank sustained him, but my sword passed through him
So far that when I would have plucked it out,
His carcase followed it, and fell my way,
Hiding the hilt beneath it.

OTHO.
Through his back?

COUNT.
Ay, but he struck me!—there was no choice given me
'Twixt back and breast. 'Twere easier touch a snake—
I must have thrown him round to get my weapon.
Both swords are there, and his within its sheath.

OTHO.
How then? What followed?

COUNT.
How I reached the boat,
And what I taught the servants, is recalled
Like last night's brawls by drunkards. They stood mute.
The ferrymen refused to cross with me.
But gold prevailed on these, and threats the others—
I forced them hither.

OTHO.
We are swallowed up
By fortune's whirlpool; then tossed out again!
Ten witnesses there were, beside these swords;
And now, behold, not one!

COUNT.
A child might launch
The carcase from so steep a bank down stream:
But I, to-day, could not. It was for life!
The wolf had seized my throat, boy! Wilt discharge
This office for me?—first, pluck out the sword,
And cast it from the body far enough—
So sink them both?

OTHO.
Wait till the sun goes down.

COUNT.
But yet be speedy, Jucold!

OTHO.
Here they come!—
A mile below the crossing-place?

COUNT.
Less—less:
Let us walk forth; we may discern it, hence.

TYCHO
heard singing.

OTHO.
The key?

TYCHO.
The rat, sir. Lord, what thing was meant for!
He is not off? Wilt tarry while I run?

OTHO.
Tarry for what?

TYCHO.
The ferrets.

COUNT.
Let us out!

TYCHO.
Well, patience! said the hermit to his belly.

COUNT.
Sirrah, hast lost the key?

TYCHO.
Hast lost the rat,
Sirrah, my lord the Count? O, here it is!
[Enter Tycho.
My lord is looked for up and down the house.
They soon will help the sun with candle-light,
And sweep to find him.

OTHO.
Why didst keep us then?

TYCHO.
The chine kept me, pig's-cheek, and tansey-pudding,
The leathern stoup, Grace Geert, and Minna Been;
I had all these to think upon—beside
The elder Ferryman.

COUNT.
Hast found him, owl?

TYCHO.
Your eaglish highness has not found the rat;
Therefore, we have not found him.

COUNT.
Look again.

TYCHO.
I will.

OTHO.
Make haste, and send him after us.

TYCHO.
[Ex. Count and Otho.
Sings:
[He removes the sacks, and lifts the Ferryman.

FERRYMAN.
Stand aside.

TYCHO.
Thou art not mealed again; and yet thy face
Is white as Gabriel's bleaching-mead! What ails thee?
Four leagues up stream in August would not sweat thee
As those four sacks have done. Hast been asleep?

FERRYMAN.
I wish to think so.

TYCHO.
What didst dream of?

FERRYMAN.
Treachery.
Wilt help me yet this second time?

TYCHO.
This sixtieth.

FERRYMAN.
I have to do what needs more hands than mine:
And yet it shall be done.

TYCHO.
Thy wits were lost
'Twixt noon and sunset yesterday: to-day
The fit comes earlier. There were cries for help—
A voice across the Danube—fie upon thee!
What hearest thou now?

FERRYMAN.
The same a second time.
Go thou, and I will shew thee in a mile
The lips they came from.

TYCHO.
If they shout so loud
I need not go.

FERRYMAN.
I will.

TYCHO.
For what?

FERRYMAN.
For vengeance.

TYCHO.
Nay, by the saints in glory—I will not!
Ask grace upon thy knees against the fiend.
I do abhor to see thee gnaw thy lip.
What part have we with vengeance?

FERRYMAN.
Justice, Tycho.
Blood calls for that, at least. Wilt help, or leave me?
No more than justice.

TYCHO.
What didst hear them talk of?
I will not quit thee.

FERRYMAN.
Keep the skiff afloat.
I must be masked again.