 | How Dreams Come True |  |
SCENE II.
(Bertha discovered alone, spinning.)Bertha.
Three years, almost three days; and yet he comes not!
What fortune hast thou found in the great world,
My dream-led Aldobrand? Will thy dreams tell thee
What changes thou shalt find in Nuremberg:
My father dead, and I his wealthy heiress,
O'erthronged with suitors? If thou keep'st the heart
Thou hadst when thou went'st forth, methinks that now
It should have jealous throbs. Yet wherefore so?
Now I see men, I am out of love with men!
I see none to my mind. (Calls.)
Gretchen!
Gretchen.
(Without.)
Anon!
Bertha.
Well, Gretchen, are we fairly rid of this last
brace of gallants?
Gretchen.
Ay, mistress; but methinks 'tis a woeful pity
to send away so many a fine young man.
Bertha.
And many an old one too!
Gretchen.
I count that none so great a pity. But
the sighs of your rejected suitors have filled
Nuremberg, ay, and all the free towns of
Germany to boot, with sick winds.
Bertha.
It is not I who reject them, but my new
press yonder. Let them lay the blame on
their own want of skill. I'll have no man for
master who is not master of his craft.
I doubt it be some godless thing, this new
printing-press of yours, that came to you from
Heaven knows where, and that, now it be
come, no man can work. And you to lay the
possession of your hand and fortune on the
working of it! I doubt it be ill-done, mistress.
Bertha.
Why? Wilt thou set down the honest mystery
of printing among the black arts? But
for this press, it came not up through the
floor, smelling of brimstone, but by Fritz the
carrier's waggon, with my name inscribed upon
it in a fair current hand. 'Tis a press of most
quaint devising, though it be not for all men
to work.
(Knocking heard.)
See who knocks.
That young gallant with the purfiled sleeves
had a fair face enough but such sparks as he
are not for me, nor I for him. Well, I am in
God's hands.
What now? A new suitor?
Gretchen.
Even so, mistress; but such a suitor—the
worst that came before was a beauty to him.
Bertha.
Why, what manner of man is this one?
Gretchen.
What manner of man? I doubt he be no
proper man at all.
Bertha.
Nonsense, wench! What semblance is he
of? Of what favour? What complexion?
What may be his age? Goes he on two legs
like a Christian?
Gretchen.
O! a thing he is—a thing to fright a naughty
babe with—worse than the bogey-man: a very
scarecrow, a rag-bag: a bent back, a huge
belly, a hobbling gait, a sour visage, a great
that roasts your very eyes but to look on!—
and to keep it company a bleary eye that
scowls at you from under the black brow—
and but one, but one, for the other is naught
but a black patch. The saints keep me from
a one-eyed man!
Bertha.
What does he want?
Gretchen.
Yourself, mistress, yourself!
Bertha.
But what, think'st thou, can he be?
Gretchen.
I am in two minds about that. Something
whereof if holy water will not rid us, nothing
else will. Have you holy water handy?
Bertha.
Under yon crucifix. But what are thy two
minds?
Truly I am in more than two minds about
him. First I thought he was the Wandering
Jew himself—if he be nothing worse, for he
limps on the left foot, very notably. 'Tis just
a hundred year since the Wandering Jew came
by Nuremberg.
Bertha.
An old wife's tale!
Gretchen.
Nay, 'tis more than an old wife's tale, I
warrant you. The old Burgomaster's wife's
cousin's aunt—ay, 'twas her aunt on the
mother's side—
Bertha.
(Shuddering slightly.)
No more of that.
But come, thy second mind?
Gretchen.
My second mind was not so reasonable.
I thought him no worse a customer than the
Pied Piper—yon rat-catching carle that danced
away the children of Hameln.
Pshaw! Why not the Flying Dutchman
come ashore? They are notable printers in
Haarlem. Let me see the man.
Gretchen.
But mistress, dear mistress, I think I know
who he be. I think I know who he be.
Bertha.
And what is thy last mind?
Gretchen.
(Whispering.)
Marry, 'tis the Elf-King out
of the Oberwald. He sent you the press to
snare your fancy, and now he will work it,
and you are but a lost maiden.
Bertha.
The Angels be my guard! Shew him in.
He is no worse, I wager, than some jug-bitten
toss-pot.
Gretchen.
Alas! it may be death—or—worse than
death to look on him.
(Whimpering.)
He
limps sorely on the left leg.
Bid him limp in, then.
Gretchen.
All holy saints watch over us!
(Exit.)
Bertha.
If he work the press, save with my good
will, he is a cleverer wight than I take him for.
Re-enter Gretchen (R.), shewing in Aldobrand, disguised as described in the text. He salutes Bertha with quaint ceremony. Gretchen remains in the background, watching anxiously.
Bertha.
What is your pleasure, sir?
Aldobrand.
(In a feigned voice.)
I come from far,
Seeking your hand.
Bertha.
And fortune, I presume?
Rather my own, held fast in that fair hand.
Bertha.
You know what trial of your skill awaits you?
There stands my printing-press. With your own hands
And that good press, you must imprint for me
A sheet of copy fairer than the best
My father deemed the glory of his time.
Aldobrand.
Where is the text that I must go beyond?
Bertha.
Hung in the printing-room.
Aldobrand.
And who the judge?
Bertha.
Marry, for fault of better, that am I.
Aldobrand.
I ask none better, madam. I will not say
Be now a gentle judge: be only just.
You stake your hand for prize of my success?
That is my bargain.
Aldobrand.
To the trial then.
(As he is about to enter the printing-room, Gretchen dashes holy water upon him with the sprinkler. He turns and grins at her with a horrible grimace, as he passes in. She screams and runs out (R.) He draws the curtain behind him and during Bertha's next speech, the press is heard at work.)
Bertha.
Pacing about in growing agitation, and pausing now and then to listen.)
If this should prove indeed some spirit unblest
My sins give power to! Yet what sins are mine
To draw so strange a horror on my head?
Hark! does it work? No, no, that cannot be.
And yet, methinks it works: what if these tales
Of days far-off, another world than mine,
Whereat I shuddered with a pleasing sense
Of awe, safe and aloof, be true to-day,
To practise on with their unhallowed spells!
(Listens.)
It works!
(Kneels on the Prie-Dieu.)
Redeemer of all sinful souls,
Save me now!
(Dips her finger in holy water, and crosses herself, then springs up.)
Better sink in some swift death
Than keep this bond.
(Looks at the door of the printing room.)
With what a hideous look
The Thing went to the trial. O Aldobrand,
Could I but see once more thy honest face!
(Lays her head upon the table.)
(Re-enter Aldobrand, with a printed sheet. He shews it to Bertha. She drops it with a cry and reels back, her hand over her eyes.)
Bertha.
O this is magic!
(Picking up the sheet.)
Is my skill at fault,
Or have I so surpassed your paragon
That you stand dumb with wonder?
Bertha.
(Hesitating.)
'Tis well done.
Aldobrand.
Look on these head-lines, and this colophon,
When saw you ever such a masterpiece
Pulled from your father's press?
Bertha.
I must speak truth,
Never.
Aldobrand.
Then you allow my victory?
(He approaches her. She recoils.)
When shall the bells ring for our wedding-day?
Bertha.
When they toll slowly for my funeral.
Will you not keep your word? I claim your hand.
Bertha.
My hand offends me, and shall be cut off
To pay your claim.
Aldobrand.
The hand without the heart
Were a cold gift. You played at Providence,
Will you not love the husband fate assigns you?
Bertha.
How can I love—O God!
Aldobrand.
So grim a bridegroom?
As Beauty loved the Beast. I'll prove as kind.
Bertha.
O then be merciful, take all my fortune,
But set me free!
Aldobrand.
Perhaps you are not free?
There is some fancy hidden in your breast,
This uncouth form conceals. O could you see
As I would have you see, the love I bear you
Would so transfigure all this outward show
That I should stand before you in the shape
Most pleasing to your fancy.
Bertha.
You speak strangely
But in a strain that gives me one wild hope:
Say I did love another—say I waited
Long for his coming.
Aldobrand.
I would wait no longer
To be the plaything of your coquetries.
I must have all or nothing: will not have
Your hand without your heart. Here I renounce
All claim upon your fortune or your person,
As I renounce these outward lineaments
That win your loathing.
(Tears off his beard and the patch over his eye.)
Bertha.
(Startled.)
Can the devil go mad?
Ay, I am lunatic, and in my lunes
Endure strange transformations.
(Tears off his false nose.)
Dost thou know me?
Bertha.
No!
Aldobrand.
(Tears off his wig.)
I am quickly coming to myself,
Dost thou not know me yet?
Bertha.
(Recognising him.)
Not yet, methinks!
(Aldobrand pulls a pillow from under his vest, and straightens himself.)
I do begin to guess thee.
Aldobrand.
Know me, then.
(He takes off his ragged cloak and stands before her in the dress of a journeyman printer).
Bertha! I said I should come back a man;
I have come back, and with the self-same heart
(He pulls out his half coin and comes close to her).
Where is the unmated half of this poor groat,
My heart has warmed so long in all its wanderings.
Bertha.
(Smiling and showing hers).
Here, Aldobrand, and by some wicked charm
The thing is round my neck.
Aldobrand.
(Embracing her).
Warm, too. And see
How the two halves fit, and are one again.
(He looks round).
The old house once more! But is my dream come true,
And canst thou love me, Bertha?
Bertha.
Safe in thine arms
From the new frighting of thy goblin double,
It seems the only natural thing to do;
I think I loved thee always, Aldobrand.
What flattering loyal things these women say,
Murmuring the sweet romance of their own tongues,
Like holy credos, and believed as fondly!
Bertha.
Nay, in the fair religion of my love,
Soft flatteries have no place; and my heart's truth
Is truth upon my tongue. O welcome home!
Hard was thy fight out in yon striving world.
Aldobrand.
But now 'tis won, and I am crowned by thee.
Bertha.
Who endures conquers. Many a 'prentice brave
Lives to reign master where he served as knave.
CURTAIN.
| How Dreams Come True | |