 | The Maid of Mariendorpt |  |
ACT II.
SCENE I.
—Muhldenau's Garden.Wreaths of flowers hung from the branches of the trees—rustic seats here and there, ornamented.
Enter Esther and Hans.
Hans.
Now, Esther, have I pleased you? Is there aught
I have forgotten? Are the garlands right?
The seats in order, and the company,
Bid as you told me? There's the music too,
Three fiddles—first and second, and a bass,
A hautboy, flute, and harp! Are you not pleased?
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On me; and welcomer than Christmas day,
Or New-Year's day, or any day o' the year,
Were one kind look from Esther.
Esther.
To say truth,
You have managed finely!
Hans.
La! how sweet you smile!
What's honey now? I wouldn't take a hive
To pay for't with that smile. Indeed, I wouldn't,
In very deed, I wouldn't—and I'm fond
Of honey! furious fond of it. O dear!
A thing so sweet to see, what must it be
To taste? O happy days of boyhood, when
Whatever I did right was sure to get me
A kiss from my mother. Times are changed with Hans;
Do what he may, he gets no kisses now.
Esther.
The boy wants me to kiss him!—So!—Good Hans,
'Tis not with men, you know, as 'tis with boys:
Kisses may come to boys, but men must fetch them.
Hans.
But knew I, I could get them—I would fetch them!
Esther.
Why, Hans, how can you know unless you try?
Hans.
Unless I try!—Now mean you what you say?
Esther.
Why say it else?
Hans.
And they'll be had by fetching?
Esther.
A fool may tell they'll not be had without.
Hans.
O Esther!
Esther.
Well!
Hans.
Would I could hear thee say,
“O Hans!”
Esther.
O Hans! There, I've said it!—Well?
Hans.
Durst I but try? But then there is the fear!
Esther.
And there's the hope! the flower beside the weed.
Hans.
O Esther!—Oh.
Esther.
O Hans!
Hans.
Give me a kiss!
Esther.
Fool!—said I not before,
Men must fetch kisses, though to boys they come?
Hans.
O would you fancy me a boy!
Esther.
I do;
Not only fancy thee, but know thee one!
Hans.
Then treat me as a boy.
Esther.
How?
Hans.
As you said
Just now that boys were treated
Esther.
As I live,
He'd have it come from me! What said I now?
Hans.
You said that kisses come to boys.
Esther.
I did;
And so do railings, cuffs, and fifty things
That are not half so sweet!—Did I not say
The dance was to be practised? Where are, then,
The partners? Where's the music? In a minute
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Is that the time for making ready? Stand'st
With gaping mouth when busy hands are needed—
Fetch here the dancers and the music.
Hans.
[Without moving.]
Yes.
Esther.
Is that the way to do it? Will they come
With only saying “Yes?” Art thou a post?
Hans.
In sooth I know not what I am! I know
I'm not myself! I may be man or woman,
A fish or a brute beast, a stone, or log
Of wood, for what I care! I would 'twere now
All over with me, and the undertaker
Were working for me! It will come to that!
I'll do thy bidding—then I'll go and die—
I will! I'll tie a true true-lover's knot,
You'll see I will—Good-bye!—
Esther.
[Stamping.]
Hans!
Hans.
Well?
Esther.
Have here
The dancers, ere I stamp my foot again.
Hans.
I fly.
[Goes out.
Esther.
Poor Hans! The boy is deep in love!
How have I managed to light up this flame?
“Heigho-ho!” “O dear!” The simpleton, I vow,
Grows interesting! I should grieve for Hans,
Were aught to happen to him. It is hard
To be the bane of a poor fellow's peace,
Much more to be the death of him! Should he go
And drown himself! or hang himself, indeed!
Hans! [Calling]
I could never bear myself again!
To see him laid out in his shroud! Hans! Hans! [Calling]
To follow the poor fellow to his grave—
To see him lower'd into't.—Why, Hans! [Calling]
I hear
The earth upon him is coffin! Hans, I say!
Where are you?
Hans.
[Entering with dancers.]
Here! Is anything the matter,
You call'd me in a tone of such distress?
Esther.
[Recovering herself.]
Am I not in a hurry, and you take
An hour and more to do a minute's work!
Hans.
I'm sure I'm hardly gone a minute.
Esther.
Fool!
You cannot tell a minute from an hour!
Hans.
Here are the dancers and the music, but
One partner is a-wanting.
Esther.
You stand up!
Hans.
It is a woman's wanting.
Esther.
'Tis no matter,
Take you her place.
Hans.
I'll do whate'er you bid me,
But 'tis too bad to make a woman of me.
Esther.
[impatiently].
Are you ready?
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Yes! I'll dance him till I tire him.
[Dance. Hans exerts himself to the utmost, constantly looking towards Esther, who gradually becomes pleased, and still more and more enjoys his vivacity. His partner gives up, and Hans dances by himself before Esther, who humours his steps. The others at length dance off.
Hans.
Danced I to please you?
Esther.
Yes: and there your thanks.
[Kisses him.
Hans.
And there are yours for paying me so well!
[Kissing again.
Mars! if I haven't kiss'd her!
Esther.
Hans! Why, Hans!
Hans.
Nay, don't be angry! All the blame was yours;
You kiss'd me first. 'Twas only kiss for kiss!
Esther.
Here's some one coming! Why you idle boy!
Nothing within, without the house, to do,
That you keep standing here? No plate to clean?
No knives and forks? no furniture to polish?
No glasses nor decanters to be rinsed,
And dried and clear'd? When put you last to rights
Your pantry? 'Twas in wondrous order when
I look'd into it yesterday! Go, sir!
A gaping mouth won't serve for busy hands!
To work, I say! Do you hear me, boy?
Hans.
I do,
Yet hardly can believe it.
Esther.
Hence. To work!
[Hans goes out,
Mad. Ros.
[Entering.]
To work? Why, Esther 'tis a holiday!
Knew you what you were saying? Do you hear me?
Esther turn'd girl! May I believe my eyes—
And they have never fail'd me yet—I saw thee
Kiss the lad Hans just now?
Esther.
'Twas he kiss'd me.
Mad. Ros.
You first kiss'd him.
Esther.
Well, if I did, I did.
He danced just now, and pleased me, 'twas so well—
And so I kiss'd him, as a woman may
A boy!
Mad. Ros.
You are right; you might have said a child:
Hans is no more.
Esther.
Hans no more than a child?
He's twenty-five!—He says so, next birthday.
A pretty child indeed! If he's a child,
Children are marriageable! Such a child
My mother's husband was, when birth of me
Made him a father.
Mad. Ros.
Be not angry, Esther;
I did not say of Hans he was too young
To be a husband—if you fancy him.
Esther.
I fancy Hans? I fancy living man,
And Hans especially! I, that am gall
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I, to whom never ventured man to say
Soft thing a second time—and those have tried
Who have back'd furious seas, and shown a front
To bayonet-points and loaded cannon-mouths—
And I to fancy Hans! I thank you, ma'am.
Dress up a girl in boy's clothes for me, do,
And send her me for husband! Hans indeed
To call me wife! I to call Hans my husband!
How I should like to hear myself! I'll marry
When it rains husbands!—but it shan't be Hans!
Mad. Ros.
Well, Esther, do not fret.
Esther.
I fret? I think
I see myself! Fret about Hans! I know
You only jested. 'Twas a rare conceit
To say I'd marry Hans. [Laughs.]
I'll kill myself
With laughing at the thought. Esther to marry—
And Hans, of all mankind!
Mad. Ros.
You are right. 'Twas jest!
I have always set you down for an old maid.
Go see if Meeta's ready.
Esther.
[Aside.]
An old maid!
Thank Heaven, I'm only five-and-thirty yet.
Old maid indeed, and only thirty-five!
I yet may live to be a grandmother!
[Goes out.
Mad. Ros.
No sign of Rupert yet, and noon is past.
He will not come. These nuptials will be stopp'd.
Her father's summons boded, as I thought,
No good. There is in the affairs of life,
As in the atmosphere, a season, where
To shining day succeedeth shining day;
But once the weather breaks, 'tis cloud and cloud,
And long-deferr'd and slow, the clearing up!
Enter Messenger with letters, and retires.
From Rupert! I was right—he will not come:
The field is ta'en a month before the time.
His leave has been recall'd! Poor Meeta! Go
Undress thee, girl! Thy gear of every day
Belongs to this, on which thou thought'st to wear
The brightest suit that virginhood puts on!
This is to Meeta—from her father? No—
The hand is strange! Why, who should write to her
Except her father? About whom but him,
Or Rupert should she hear, and he has told
His errand in my letter! If it speaks
About her father, harm has fall'n upon him!
And how will Meeta bear it? Firm of mind—
Yet with a heart, so quickly tender, how
Support the news of evil fall'n on him!
What can have chanced? Perhaps imprisonment!
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Heaven, for his child's sake—for his own—will spare him.
[Goes out.
SCENE II.
—Meeta's Dressing-room.Meeta and Esther enter—the former abstracted, the latter making a bridal knot.
Esther.
No favour for your breast! A bride, and go
To church without a favour! Well! to think,
Of all things, that should be forgot! Almost
As well forget your wedding-day itself!
Almost as well no wedding as no favour!
Know'st thou not so?
[Touching her.
Meeta.
What said you to me, Esther?
Esther.
There! I protest, as well it were the wall
I spoke to as to you! as much 'twould hear me!
What said you to me, Esther? Esther said—
It was your wedding-day—that you forgot
A favour for your breast—that she would make one—
And here 'tis ready! Let me pin it on.
Meeta.
No word yet from my father!
Esther.
From your father?
Your lover, don't you mean?
Meeta.
I mean my father!
Esther.
Humph! Give me anything but want of nature!
I do not like you, Meeta! Flesh and blood
Are flesh and blood! Were it my wedding-day,
Almost the very hour, and every minute
The bridegroom look'd for, would my thought be running
Upon my father? To be honest, Meeta,
I'd think of something dearer—that I would,
And be a good child still!
Meeta.
You lost your father
When you were but an infant. You don't know
What 'tis to love a father.
Esther.
Do I not?
Yes; but I do! It is to honour him,
So we are bidden—that is, to obey him—
Respectfully entreat him!
Meeta.
Nothing more?
Esther.
What more?
Meeta.
O, much!—O, very much!—Such things
We do to those that are indifferent to us,
Compared to a father! There is something more—
Better—less earthly—more o' th' grain of Heaven—
A love that's indefinable!—that holds
Ourselves as nothing, in respect of cherishing!
That's ever kneeling though no limb be bent,
And looking up with ever-watching will,
Anticipating wishes!—It is worship—
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No hands be clasp'd—next that which hath acceptance
Above—O' the soul! O, how I love my father!
To say “before my life” is to say nothing—
That's his, and 'tis a gasp and over! but
To slave, beg, starve for him—forego possession
Of mine own dearest earthly wishes—havings—
I'd do it, Esther, in a moment!—Yes!
Not give't a second thought! Remember'st thou
I once was froward with thee? I was then
A girl not ten years old—dost not remember?
I had found a hair of his—a long white hair,
And I had coil'd it up to treasure it;
But thou didst flout me for't and take't away,
And cast into the fire—whence all your might
It took to hold me. Yes, I would have thrust
My hand into the fire to save that hair!
That is to love a father!
Esther.
If it is,
Then know I not what 'tis to love a father!
Meeta.
You never knew one, said I not before?
But mine was twice a parent—that is, Esther,
He was my father and my mother too.
I never knew my mother, but I am sure
I should have loved her—dearly loved her, Esther;
But my father—nurse was he to me, instructor,
Playmate, companion, father—all, together!
Think of that, Esther. Playmate! Such a man
To bend into a child for my sake! There
I half believe I find the root of love
Which has struck deepest.—He to play the child
With his white hairs!—There is not one of them
But has a heart and soul in't—to me, Esther!—
Don't smile—You know you own you cannot tell
What 'tis to love a father.
Enter Madame Roselheim.
Mad. Ros.
Meeta!
Meeta.
Well,
Dear Madame Roselheim?
Mad. Ros.
The post is in.
Meeta.
And Rupert doesn't come?—I thought 'twould be so!
I was prepared for it! I wish'd it—though
My father will'd our nuptials should go on.
'Tis well! O, if there be one hour, which more
Than any other craves a parent's presence,
'Tis that which gives his child away from him!
She should go with his blessing, warm upon her, breathed
With an attesting kiss; then may she go
With perfect hope, and cheerly take with her
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You know I love your son?
Mad. Ros.
[Weeps.]
I know it, well,
My Meeta.
Meeta.
Madam!—Mother! I'm the bride—
You must not weep till I do!—'Tis not fair,
I'll not be beat in disappointment, I
That have chief cause to feel it! Is he ill?
Mad. Ros.
No!—No!
Meeta.
Thank Heaven! and yet some other cause
As grave as that of health, perhaps, prevents him?
Mad. Ros.
No; the campaign has open'd—nothing more.
Meeta.
Enough!—Long marches—nightly guards—chill sleeping
In the open fields—foragings—reconnoiterings—
Skirmishings—stormings and pitch'd battles! Rupert,
Poor Rupert! [Weeps.]
—Mother, I am quits with you,
There are my tears 'gainst yours!
Mad. Ros.
I wasn't weeping
For Rupert, Meeta.
Meeta.
For whom, then?—My father?
Mad. Ros.
For no one—that is, there's no cause I know of
Why I should weep.
Meeta.
Why weep then?
Mad. Ros.
'Twas a fear
I had—
Meeta.
About my father?—Is that letter
For me? The one unopen'd?—Give it me! don't fear.
Though I'm a girl, I have a resolution.
[Reads letter.
Read it!
[Handing it to Madame Roselheim.
Mad. Ros.
Arrested! and a prisoner
In Prague!—His fate uncertain—but his life
In peril, Meeta!
[Tottering as on the point of fainting.
Meeta.
[Trying to recover her.]
Mother!—Madam!—Madam!—
Mother!—Madame Roselheim, don't give way!—these things
Are catching, and I want to be myself!
I must be myself—I will be myself!—I'll not waver,
Flinch, droop, the matter of a moment.—Madam!
I have need of all the nerve I have—and help me!
Don't take it from me!—My father wants it all,
And he must have it, and shall!—Well, well! give way!
The more you are water, the more will I be rock!
I am so!—Let me see—
Mad. Ros.
My child!—my Meeta!
Thou show'st it not; but, if I feel the shock,
What must it prove to thee!
Meeta.
Nothing, madam!—nothing!
Let's see—How many miles is Prague from this?
I recollect—that's right!—that's right!—I have
My senses all about me—I thank Heaven!
The paper that he gave me?—It is here—
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I am quite myself!
Mad. Ros.
Meeta! this calmness frights me!
Meeta.
Don't mind it!—All is well!—I recollect,
To every syllable, all my father told me!
And I will do his bidding.—A fine time
'Twould be for me to swoon! [Laughs]
—a proper time! [Laughs.
I must not laugh; for if I do, I'm lost!
Heaven give me firmness!—Of myself, I'm nothing!
There!—'tis gone off. I'll but provide myself,
And away!
[Going towards her chamber.
Mad. Ros.
Where go you, Meeta?
Meeta.
To my chamber, madam!
Mad. Ros.
What go you there to do?
Meeta.
To change my dress.
Mad. Ros.
But, Meeta!—
Meeta.
Mother, let me have my way!—
Don't hinder me, and do not follow me!
Else, that may come you would not wish to happen!
Command me, after, all my life, so now
You suffer me be mistress of myself!
[Goes out.
Mad. Ros.
She makes me tremble—she's so little moved!
Why, Esther! are you too about to swoon?
Esther.
Almost I am!—My heart turn'd sick just now;
But it grows better.
Mad. Ros.
What do you think of Meeta?
Esther.
I wonder at her—but she's all a wonder!
Had you but heard her talk, ere you came in,
About her father!—
Mad. Ros.
I'm afraid of her.
She is too calm—it is unnatural!—
She cannot be herself, thus to sustain
What taxes you and me, too much, to whom
It comes not half so home!—She has not shed
A tear!—No sound of suffering—a moan,
A sigh—a breath, you could mistake for one—
Has 'scaped her! She forbade me follow her;
But am I right to heed her? Reason is gone,
Ere you suspect that it has given way;
So this collectedness may be but crust,
Not substance; which, while you believe't to be,
Straight crumbles into dust! We should not leave her
Alone.
Esther.
I heed her not!—I'll follow her!
[Going.
Meeta.
[Entering.]
Where are you going, Esther?
Esther.
Into your chamber,
To look for you.
Meeta.
Well!—here I am!—What want you?
Esther.
Why, you are dress'd as 'twere to go a journey!
Meeta.
I am.
Mad. Ros.
And whither go you, Meeta?
Meeta.
To
My father!
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Are you mad?
Meeta.
I could be mad!
But I must keep my reason—and I will!
Mad. Ros.
Reflect you on the distance?
Meeta.
'Tis a stride!
Mad. Ros.
A stride! And do you calculate
The danger?
Meeta.
There's no danger—none, but that
In which he lies!
Mad. Ros.
You may be stopp'd by robbers!
Meeta.
There are no robbers.
Mad. Ros.
Recollect the war!
Meeta.
There is no war.
Mad. Ros.
Know'st thou what thou art saying?
Meeta.
I do,—Believe it! 'Tis the shortest way.
Thou'lt have to take't at last!
Esther.
She shall not stir.
Meeta.
Nay, but I will!—and go!
Mad. Ros.
Don't let her, Esther;
Lay hold upon her.
Esther.
Will I not!
Meeta.
You will not!—
You must not!—dare not! If you do, his blood
Lie at your door!
Mad. Ros.
Alas! what power have you
To help him, child?
Meeta.
My will!—Where there's the will,
You cannot tell but there may be the power!
Strong will can make a little power go far—
At least, can I not beg his enemies
To spare his life?
Mad. Ros.
You'll find their hearts are stone.
Meeta.
Perhaps; but I shall try to prove them flesh.
Mad. Ros.
And if thou prove they are not?
Meeta.
Then, I'll deal
With his prison bolts and bars. Mother, 'tis vain!
Prevent me now, and I will 'scape again;
If not to-day, to-morrow. If not then,
The next day—or the following. So time
That's precious—everything—is lost, and, then,
The mischief done, and no good come of it
That might have come, were time used promptly! Madam—
Mother,—'tis reason, plain to speculation,
As the hand I lift before you now to Heaven
To register my vow, that no regard
Of difficulty, or unlikelihood,
Or danger, or persuasion, or enforcement,
Shall hold me back one moment from the attempt
To save my father's life. Heaven bless you, madam!
Esther, good-bye! That's right—No weeping—Nothing
But a kiss, and part!—Good-bye!—Good-bye!—Good-bye
| The Maid of Mariendorpt | |