University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

LOVE IN A MIST.
Scene same. Time—nine days later. Sunset.
Duke discovered seated, with Arnfeld standing beside him. Heinrich at a distance, leaning against a stone urn.
Duke.
Another day passed, and no tidings yet!

Arnfeld.
The messengers have not returned, my lord;
There is some hope in that.

Duke.
Less of despair
To have heard nothing, than to hear the worst?
Poor crumbs enow to stay heart-hunger on!

Arnfeld.
Yet crumbs lie only where the board was spread,
And may be spread again. Were no clue found
To follow, what should lengthen their delay?
We may have news to-night. But you need rest;
Let me conduct you hence.

Duke.
Well, lead me in:
Though 'tis mere use, a blind mechanic law,
When life is hateful, bids the body still
Crave food and shelter. (Seeing Heinrich)
What does he do here,
Companion-fiend of him who stole my daughter,
And robber of my gold, for aught I know?
Back with him into darkness!

[Ascending the steps.
Arnfeld.
Patience, sire!
Karl never robbed you, nay, would deem earth's gold
Too small a price to win your daughter back.

Duke.
O Heaven! 'tis here that I last looked upon her;
Here she embraced me, as she went, and said
“Heaven keep thee, father! I shall soon be back.”
Soon! and how long since then?—nine endless years!
Mock, if you will; I care not how you call them—
Years, months, or days—what matters it, when sorrow
Hath done a rape on time, and every hour
Swells to the birth with some new load of anguish?

Arnfeld.
Nay, if the Princess said “I will return,”
Live on her promise, who betrayed it never.
Take comfort, sire, and all shall yet be well.

[Exeunt Duke and Arnfeld.
Heinrich moves slowly to the front, and sinks upon a seat. Re-enter Arnfeld.
Arnfeld.
I never loved that old man, ere to-day.

Heinrich.
I never hated the whole world till now.

Arnfeld.
Like Solomon, his wives have been his bane.

Heinrich.
What! is he wedded to more wives than one?

Arnfeld.
Yes, a stone woman, and a goddess, gold.

Heinrich.
So were his daughter a half human thing.

Arnfeld.
Ay, and the other half?

Heinrich.
Nine days ago
I had said divine.

Arnfeld.
Nine days! do you remember?

Heinrich.
Ah! might I but forget it!—I who thought
This day to save her from brute-enemies,
And failed to save her from my bosom friend.

Arnfeld.
My love, being free from jealousy, is stronger
Than your most just suspicion. To men's acts
Who impute basest motives, err the most,
As they the least, who noblest. May I still
Count on your succour, should the rebels strike?

Heinrich.
If there be help in a despairing man,
Whose sole hope is that they will strike at him.

Arnfeld.
To fight from such a motive were no better
Than suicide by proxy. You lack patience
To bide the storm, like some rash mariner,
Who, terror-crazed, anticipating wreck
From the sea's peril, leaps into the sea.

Heinrich
(rising).
I am not of so staid a temper, sir,
As in the crash of fate to bear myself
Meek, passionless, persistent, self-contained;
Nor, truth to tell you, can I comprehend
What heart still animates your enterprise.
This dukedom, ere the light went out of it,
Seemed worth the saving, for her sake who shed
Some beacon-brightness o'er the waste; but these
Charred faggot-ashes, smouldering in their smoke,
That once burned baleful, but are past rekindling—
Why lock the sluice-gate that lets in the flood?
Were it not better they were quenched outright?

Arnfeld.
Haply, but not through negligence of me.
A crime may save a kingdom, a good deed
Wreck it, for aught I know; but I know naught.
I see but one step onward in the dark,
Where the straight path is sundered into twain,
Duty and treachery, and, beyond them both,
Chaos, a dismal swamp, on treachery's side
Scarred with red blotches and a lurid scum;
And, wade or sink the sequel, here choose I
Duty—so habit sways our preferences—
And trust to Heaven for stepping-stones. Farewell.

Heinrich.

[Sinks back on the seat.
[The darkness has been gathering throughout this scene. Now ensues a pause, during which the moon rises.
Enter the Duke, walking in his sleep, with bags of gold in his hand.
Duke.
Firm earth again, and in the self-same spot!
But oh, how dizzy still! The gold, the gold!
Yes, yes, I have it. Helene, thou!

Heinrich.
The Duke.
Mad, mad, by Heaven! this grief has crazed his brain.

Duke.
That was not her sweet voice; but all is changed.
Who led thee hither, flying, flying, flying,
Through those long leagues of air? How cold it is!
And the rough stones of yonder mountain-stair
Have torn me. She is gone! am I alone?
Nay, who is this? She-fiend, I left thee sleeping.
Avaunt! or I will hurl thee from this ledge
Into yon smoking chasm! The way is long;
Give me your hand, my darling; why so, so.
'Tis here I bury it. You'll not betray me?
See, see, what wealth below! but mark the stone,
For I can ne'er remember, being old,
And when I need most, cannot find the way.
[Buries the gold.
There, I have told the secret, and you promise
Never to leave me.—Arnfeld, thou are faithful;
Do one last service, cover up the grave,
And lead me hence.—It was thy pride that killed her;
If tears were pearls, I should be rich anon.
Go tell Prince Rudolph I have changed my mind:
He shall not have her; she is not for sale.
Thou badst me sell the child, and God has bought her.—
In that low pit my life, my treasure lies.

[Exit.
Heinrich.
Not mad, but dreaming! Ha! what have we here?
All the lost treasure! gold in heaps! a key
That opes the door on Arnfeld's innocence!
One problem solved, how strangely! and the other—
Nay, hope not, Heinrich, for thy life's solution:
Naught but eternity can undo that,
So tangled by the fumbling hand of time.
'Twas pitiful, I trow, to hear him rave,
Could pity flow in such a frost of scorn,
As in one biting hour hath turned my tide
From genial tropic to the frozen pole,
And sunk the blood to zero. 'Tis sheer waste
To send emotion gadding to the moon,
Which should be stored for vital warmth within.
Eat fat, my soul, and clothe thyself with fur,
And in thy clay-built hovel house with beasts;
So live, a mummy with the heart-tick heard,
As do the wiser Lapps! Helene here
Loved her old sire. What profits it?—a man,
The heart of him so saturate through and through
With lust of lucre, that his brain in sleep
Hoards it from knowledge of his waking self!
Did her love suck the poison from his soul?
Corcilius was my friend. Friendship, a name
For all that's brief and brittle, henceforth I deem
No better than a vantage-coign, wherefrom
To plant the secret dagger, and the clinch
Of her close hand the snapping of a trap.
Did my trust in him keep Corcilius true?
“She too may fail you: look to it,” said he,
And with that bitter farewell seemed to add
“As I am false to you, and Proszka false,
And all your subjects, as these wretched serfs
To their more wretched master, as thyself
To thine own self, and all men to each other.”
Enter Helene unnoticed.
And she did fail me! she who said “Believe
Whatever most is unbelievable,
Rather than disbelieve the faith of friends.”
Oh, Heinrich, thou art wound about thy throat
With triple folds of treachery, hydra-formed,
But faced as a fair woman; and though fortune
Should give me back my country, and disprove
Corcilius of unkindness, I shall never
Pass from the shadow of my love's eclipse.

Helene.
Heinrich!

Heinrich.
Her ghost! Then, thou art dead, Helene!
[Helene advances and touches him.
Thy hand is warm, thou livest! I feel, I see thee!
But where is thy false lover?

Helene.
Close at hand.

Heinrich.
Let him not step within my sword's revenge.

Helene.
Look to it truly, lest it prove for thee
No better than self-slaughter.

Heinrich.
Not so surely,
Unless his skill keep measure with his crimes.

Helene.
If faithless doubt were crimeful, so might he
Challenge creation and not find his match.

Heinrich.
What! hath he flung thee from his heart love-cloyed
So soon?

Helene.
I know not: I have come to see.

Heinrich.
I have no will to fence with thee in words:
All this is idle. Say, wherefore didst thou leave us,
And why returning addest scorn to scorn?

Helene.
Scant claim hast thou to ask; but I will answer.
'Twas for the sake of one who loved me well,
To seek lost treasure. I have found the treasure,
And lost the love.

Heinrich.
God help me! so have I.

Helene.
What scorn is there in this? what wrong to thee?

Heinrich.
I scarce can look into thine eyes and read
A guilty soul behind them; yet believe me
That by thine action thou hast slain belief,
Slain love of man for woman, friend for friend,
Slain awe, slain reverence, and what else beside
Still breathed of heaven within this earth-bound breast.

Helene.
Am I so multiplied in villainies,
So manifold a murderess? Then, slay me.

Heinrich.
Ah, if I dared! so might we die together.

Helene.
But why not live? (Aside)
Was ever love so blind?

Heinrich.
So, the rich banquet of Corcilius failing,
Heinrich's half-loaf is better than no bread!

Helene.
I cannot purge thy vision. Matched with thee
Self-blinded Œdipus was Argus-eyed:
By thy bleared sight Tiresias and the rest
Saw keen as Lynceus; for their inward orbs,
Through bodily darkness made more bright, beheld
The viewless things of heaven and thoughts of men,
Falsehood from truth discerning. Infidel!
Hast thou forgotten what mad dance of doubt
That will-o'-the-wisp Suspicion once ere now
Led thee, and landed in what groundless mire,
And how I chid thee to a nobler mind,
When Arnfeld was the traitor? Now that I
Myself am mark and target for the same
Rash arrow-flight of censure, can I stoop
To prove my own fame stainless, e'en to thee?
Nay, though a breath should clear it. Many a mist
Born of damp valleys hides the mountain-height,
Which yet shows clear to heaven. Let the vain breeze,
Which brought, disperse them; 'tis no mountain's work,
Unless the cold pride of its virgin-peaks
Condense and melt them into contrite showers.

Heinrich.
E'en so hast thou from thy pure height dissolved
The cloud-belt that obscured thee. I must cleanse
The sour waste places and low feverish haunts,
Where the rank fumes are bred. Tell me no more;
I do but ask one question: Canst thou pardon?
'Tis but in absence that my heart could doubt thee.

Helene.
Pardon is cheap; but how if doubt return,
When the time comes for us to part again?

Heinrich.
When the time comes! Helene, could you know—
Nay, but you must not. The poor forester
Should worse offend by kneeling at your shrine,
Than when he lifted impious hands against it.

Helene.
But what if this poor forester should prove
Indeed “a peer of mickle trust and power,”
Waiting the whisk of his good fairy's wand,
To rid him of enchantment?

Heinrich.
Then, you know
One-half the bitter secret of my life,
And, come what will, Corcilius has betrayed me;
But the other half—Oh, I have flung away
A power deemed worthless, that were now worth all;
As some rash diver, seeing gleam beneath
The prize he sought for, madly might forsake
His precious air-bell, pendent house of breath,
Then feel his body through the stifling vault
Borne upward like a bubble, far alike
From treasure and retrieval.

Helene.
Are not you
That Heinrich, Duke of Traumberg, whose dear friend
You feigned yourself? Then, what strange words are these?
How could you dare resign, lose, fling away
That which, you living, must be yours or no man's?
For what sly Jacob's savoury pottage-mess,
So wrong your birthright?

Heinrich.
Then sink hope, and mount
Despair! Heinrich I am, but Traumberg's Duke
No longer; a deposed and outlawed man,
Beggar and vagabond, a mean, beaten hound,
That, skulking in dark corners, not for life
Durst face the yelping kennel. Lash him back
Homeward, and let the white teeth grin for scorn
Before they tear him! 'Tis an ugly death.

Helene.
Heinrich, I may not for my father's sake
Wed where I love, if love mean indigence;
No needy vagabond must call me wife,
Nor will I mate with a mean beaten hound.
Therefore, unless yourself malign yourself,
If you are that deposed, poor, outlawed man,
From some base motive skulking out of sight,
And not the noble heart and happy prince
I hope and think you, then indeed has come
The hour for parting, and our dream is o'er.

Heinrich.
It is, then, as I feared. Farewell, farewell!
Wife, friend, and dukedom, lost and gone for ever!

Helene.
But, Heinrich, on what errand, think you, bound,
Corcilius and Clarissa rode with me,
To seek for what lost treasure? Come, divine.
I know not why you paused inactive here,
Stirring no finger to redeem your own,
When the mere tidings of the truth in Traumberg,
Blown from our lips, so fierce a tempest woke
As straightway wrecked the liar upon his lie;
But I believe 'twas no ignoble sloth
Or weak love-sickness held you.

Heinrich.
God forgive me!
Who for a season, made me first of fools,
To prove thee still his maiden-miracle!

Helene.
If it be so, though I deny your doctrine,
You must be orthodox, and doubt no more
Of miracles—Ah! here they come! See now,
I give you back your dukedom and your friend.

Heinrich.
And not my wife?
[A trumpet heard.
Ah! wait, and I will win thee.
Enter Corcilius and Clarissa.
Clarissa and Corcilius, there have been
Thoughts in my heart, while ye were absent yonder,
Which will demand forgiveness, but not now.
(Aside to Corcilius)
Be on your guard! Danger is imminent
Within the palace. I must hasten thither;
The safety of our dear ones rests with you.
[Uproar heard in the palace.
Enter Duke and Duchess, flying for their lives, pursued by Kauz and others.
By heaven! 'twill be too late.

Helene.
Oh, save my father!

[Corcilius draws Helene and Clarissa into shelter. Heinrich rushes forward, and keeps the conspirators at bay, till, Arnfeld arriving with his men, Kauz is secured, and the rest driven back into the palace.
Arnfeld
(returning)
All are secured, shut fast in their own trap.
I marvel how this villain and his dupes
Pierced through the palace-walls, except they know
Some secret postern, or have friends within.
This should be looked to.

Kauz.
Ask the Duchess, fool.

Duchess.
Friends, I confess it to my shame, this man
Was hired by me, gulled with his slanderous lies,
To spy upon Count Arnfeld, in my folly
Deeming him faithless, by whose loyal aid
With your true friendship, sir, we are saved to-day.
At length, impatient of his idle questing,
For closer observation I unlocked
The secret of a dark and tortuous way,
With subterranean outlet, known to none
Beside ourselves; and, as in wayward sickness,
Taking sound medicine to be deadly bane,
Called Death himself within the doors, to plot
Against my doctor. I am taught in time.

Arnfeld
(to guards).
Take him within, and look you guard him well.

[Exeunt guards with Kauz.
Duke.
Sir, you have saved my life, which, though indeed
A doubtful gift, I scarce were loth to part with,
Yet for the giver's sake claims gratitude.
Take, then, my thanks, and with them what beside,
As from a bankrupt and a broken man,
'Tis mine to offer.

Heinrich.
I have news to tell,
Should make life worth the living.

Duke.
What! say what!

Heinrich.
Your Highness is no bankrupt, but the lord
Of rich revenues, the recovered sum
Of all your treasure lost in Schlafenstein,
A very mine of gold, whereof by chance
I was the happy finder.

Duke.
Then, take that.

Heinrich.
Forgive me, sire, but that is not my suit.
I ask a nobler guerdon at your hand—
Your dear-loved daughter.

Duke.
If you are not mad,
You should be gentler than to flout my sorrow.
Oh, lost Helene, wheresoe'er you stray,
By misery banished, or by hope beguiled,
Though time and distance like a gulf divide us,
Grief knows no distance; love can laugh at time.
Let grief and love my wingèd carriers be;
Recall your parting promise, and come back!

Heinrich
(crossing stage, and leading Helene forward).
Your prayer is answered.

Helene.
Father!

Duke.
She is come!

Duchess.
Daughter, the crabbed text of your departing
Is scarce unriddled by your home-return.

Helene.
Patience, good mother. Chide not till you know.

Heinrich.
Now, sire, I claim your promise.

Duke.
This sweet hand,
Meet for the noblest, is not mine to give,
E'en to the man that saved her father's life,
Except she bid me. I am so distraught,
And sorrow's waves so boisterously have tossed me
To this high beach of joy, that I am fain
To doubt my senses. Sir, unfold yourself.
You are a wizard, and my forester—
What more, I know not.

Heinrich.
But an hour ago
I must have answered “a poor vagabond;”
But thanks to this dear maid and brave Corcilius—

Corcilius.
No thanks, then, to Clarissa?

Heinrich.
Not so fast—
And fair Clarissa, I am Duke of Traumberg.

Duke, Duchess, Arnfeld.
The Duke of Traumberg!

Heinrich.
To make short my story,
When fortune led me hither, tired of state,
Filled with dark broodings, and, though free to roam,
A self-incarcerate captive, soul-immured,
Then, first, the light of your sweet daughter's eyes
Broke on my prison-darkness; and anon
Her angel-virtue, gliding to my side,
Touched me; the chains fell off; I rose and walked
A freeman.

Helene.
Heinrich, at this jog, methinks,
Your journey will prove endless.

Duchess.
Tell us how
You lost your dukedom.

Arnfeld.
Ay, and how regained it.

Corcilius.
And what was the strong power that held you here
Spell-fettered from regaining it yourself.

Clarissa.
And where you found the treasure; for Corcilius
Still taunts me with the theft.

Heinrich.
Madam, to you
I answer, by the treachery of a friend,
And heaven's requital of my past supineness.
Arnfeld, to you, by loyalty and grace
Of a true man and of a matchless lady.
To you, Corcilius, knowledge of the plot,
Which love and duty bade me stay to hinder.
And to you, fair inquisitor, but this,
That within reach, yet out of risk, it lies,
By stealth conveyed, although no thief purloined it.

Duke.
Stay further question: I will never know
Where lies that treasure. You shall tender half
To Arnfeld's faithful keeping, who, empowered
With what best wisdom may be brought to aid,
Shall spend or spare it for our own country's weal.
One-half the rest shall loose the strands of dearth,
Whereof Rebellion twines her knotted scourge;
The other take you for our daughter's dowry.
The heart is yours, and let the hand go with it.

Duchess.
I can but say, amen. Prince Rudolph's suit,
That towered so nimbly to so fair a tree,
Is fallen, or blasted by war's thunderbolt,
Or nipt and withered by the frost of scorn
Helene could not for that loss, I deem,
Find worthier quittance.

Corcilius.
May it further please
Your Highnesses, amid the general joy,
To think of poor Clarissa?

Helene.
What says she?

Clarissa.
Rather than from her old dear mistress part
She will e'en stoop to her new master's man.

Duke.
Well, let us in.

Arnfeld.
And these poor prisoners?

Duchess.
They must be dealt with ere we go to rest.

Duke.
Nay, nay, to-morrow. I must first take counsel
With Heinrich and Helene.

Duchess.
Be it so.

Corcilius.
Pshaw! I shall give up landscape, and learn heads.
Clarissa, will you be my model, sweet?

Clarissa.
Ay, if you paint me thus.

[Laying her head on his shoulder.
Helene.
You foolish creatures!

Clarissa.
We stand rebuked, dear lady; but example
Were more than precept.

Heinrich.
So, then, I perceive
Art is not all, art's fruit indeed the essence
Of the whole sum of man, his best and worst
In thought and act and suffering, thrice distilled,
A cordial for all time: and yet 'twere better
To live the virtue and live down the vice,
And be, do, suffer, what we play, paint, sing,
Than sing, or paint, or play them.

Helene.
'Tis e'en so;
But why not both, my darling?

Heinrich.
We will try.