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A Play in Four Acts 
 
 THE LADY BERTHA'S 
 HONEY-BROTH 
 
 Founded on Dumas' Story of the Same Name 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES VILA BLAKE 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 THE PRYOR PRESS 
 
 1911 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1911 
 BY 
 
 James Vila Blake 
 
 ©GID 28015 
 
X. 
 
 \ 
 
 THE LADY BERTHA'S HONEY-BROTH 
 
PERSONS OF THE DRAMA 
 
 Count Osmond, Seventy years old in the First Act. 
 
 Lady Bertha, Osmond's Wife, in whose line the 
 title to the Castle and Lands of Wistgaw de- 
 scends. 
 
 Fritz, the Steward, Fifty years old in the First Act. 
 
 RoLLO, the Gardener. 
 
 Grun, the Nurse, Rollo's Wife after the First Act. 
 
 Herman, a Child four years old in the First Act, 
 Grandson of Osmond and Bertha, afterward 
 known for a time as Torald. 
 
 Baron Wilbold, for a time in possession of Wist- 
 gaw. His own Castle and Estate is Eisenfelds. 
 
 Hilda, Wilbold's Daughter, Twenty years of age. 
 
 The Chevalier Hans, of Althausen. 
 
 KoHLiBRAN, King of the Kobolds. 
 
 YoHO, Kohlibran's Jester. 
 
 Workmen, Farm-hands, Servants, Kobolds, 
 Knights and Ladies. 
 
 Scene, the Castle of Wistgaw, in the upper Rhine 
 
 country, Germany. 
 Time, early in Sixteenth Century. Twenty years 
 
 elapse between the First and Second Acts. 
 
THE LADY BERTHA'S HONEY-BROTH 
 
 ACT I— SCENE 1. 
 
 SCENE— At the Castle of Wistgaw. The foreground is a 
 lawn of the Castle park. Shrubbery in the rear. In 
 the right middle distance is the front of a stately castle, 
 nearly finished, lacking two or three courses of stone 
 on the turrets. The park continues to right of castle 
 and behind it. In the far background, middle, is a 
 high wooded hill. At the extreme right front stands 
 a sturdy tree, and at the left, not so far front, is also 
 a very large tree encircled by a rustic seat. Late after- 
 noon of early summer. 
 
 Before curtain rises is heard men's chorus: 
 
 Tell me the time o' the day, 
 
 Tell over, tell over, tell over! 
 
 Tell me the time 'o the night, 
 
 Tell over, tell over, tell over! 
 
 The time o' day 
 
 When work's at height. 
 
 The time o' night 
 
 When work's away — 
 Tell over, tell over, tell over! 
 
 As the stanza closes the curtain rises, showing 
 a large number of workmen busy building the 
 castle; the stage is littered with tools, building 
 stones, etc., including a rigging fixed on the 
 castle for hoisting stone. The heavy front door 
 lies on its length against the tree in the right 
 front. The workmen continue singing two 
 more stanzas, working as they sing the next 
 stanza, and stopping to rest as they sing the 
 last stanza, but remaining grouped just as they 
 are when they cease work: 
 
 ACT I— SCENE 1 
 
Tell me the workman's song, 
 Tell over, tell over, tell over! 
 Tell me the baron's life, 
 Tell over, tell over, tell over! 
 
 The workman's song 
 
 Of child and wife, 
 
 The baron's life 
 
 In castle strong. 
 Tell over, tell over, tell over! 
 
 Here's to the lord and the man. 
 Tell over, tell over, tell over! 
 Here's to the man and the lord, 
 Tell over, tell over, tell over! 
 
 The man and soil, 
 
 And lady and lord. 
 
 And plenty stored 
 
 Of wine and oil. 
 Tell over, tell over, tell over! 
 
 As the song ends, the men gradually come 
 down front. 
 
 First W. I say, bully fellow, there's some work 
 for you. 
 
 Second W. What's that? 
 First W. Why, you make songs, they say. 
 SiJCOND W. Oh, some rhymes now and then. 
 First W. Well, add a verse or two to that song: 
 there's more to be sung than lord and peasants. 
 Second W. Ay? What? 
 
 First W. There are strange doings hereabout — 
 
 in our work on the castle. 
 Third W. Ay, you may say that, indeed! Do 
 
 ACT I — SCENE 1 8 
 
stones and mortar lift themselves up and lay 
 themselves yonder? Tell me that, now! 
 
 Fourth W. Hush, masters ! Softly ! Who knows 
 
 how they be listening? 
 First W. They? Who? 
 Third W. The things, whatever they be, who 
 
 work here at night. 
 Fourth W. We've all seen it, in the morning. 
 First W. Ay! but all feared to speak of it. 
 Fifth W. I was here first this morning, and I'll 
 
 show you what I found. 
 
 The workman goes to a bush and from under 
 it draws forth a finely made small wheelbarrow. 
 
 Fifth W. This little barrow lay alongside the 
 
 the big stone we got up onto the turret 
 
 this noon. Look at it, mates ! Did ye ever 
 
 see the like in a bit of ebony and ivory? 
 
 The barrow is passed from hand to hand, and 
 examined curiously, but taken and held timor- 
 ously, and with hushed murmurs and much 
 looking about. 
 
 Fifth W. Now, what I want to know, is how the 
 
 barrow came here and who's been working 
 
 here. 
 
 Enters Rollo, unseen by the workmen, and 
 stands looking at them. 
 
 Fourth W. Perhaps 'tis the devil and his imps. 
 
 First W. Why not angels ? 
 
 Fourth W. Oh ! devils come faster than angels. 
 
 First W. Tut, man! That's as you may happen 
 to be. 
 
 Roi.i.0. What are you doing? I heard you sing- 
 ing. That's lazy. Better work. 
 
 9 ACT I— SCENE 1 
 
When Rollo speaks the fifth workman, to whose 
 hands the barrow has been returned, hastily 
 hides it behind him. 
 
 Second W. Y' are always surly, Rollo. We've 
 
 worked our day — 'tis home-time. 
 Fifth W. Ay! our cows wait with full udders, 
 
 and our wives are busy with supper. 
 Enters Count Osmond, left, back. 
 Roi.i.0. Better work, I tell you. The count and 
 
 his lady are getting tired of waiting for their 
 
 new castle. 
 Count O. Yes, my good vassals, a little tired, 
 may be, 
 
 But not displeased. We know what loyal zeal 
 
 You work withal. We give you love for love, 
 
 And our warm thanks, good men. Yet we are 
 crowded 
 
 r the little cottage on the farm, and wish 
 
 Our fine new castle. 
 
 While Count Osmond speaks all the workmen 
 
 huddle over to the right, with rustic bows and 
 signs of respect. The fifth workman still con- 
 ceals the barrow. 
 
 Fourth W. Sooth, sir, so do we wish it for ye; 
 
 but, asking pardon, we are growing afeared to 
 
 work on it. 
 
 Count O. Afraid to work? How's that? 
 
 Enter, left, back, Lady Bertha, Grun the nurse, 
 and little Herman, whom Lady Bertha leads by 
 the hand. 
 
 Fourth W. Shall my lady hear it, sir? 
 
 Count O. Of course, good fellow. A woman may 
 
 share anything fit for a man — except hardship. 
 
 Speak out! 
 
 ACT I — scene 1 10 
 
Fourth W. Well, sir, we be afeared the devil 
 
 prowls here. 
 Count O. Devil prowls? 
 Fourth W. Ay, sir, o' nights. 
 Count O. What does that mean? 
 Third W. Witchcraft hereabout, sir. 
 Count O. Witchcraft? 
 First W. Why, thus it is, sir : For a month past 
 
 as much work has been done on the castle every 
 
 night as we have done by day. 
 Third W. Ay, sir, just as much, by the measure 
 
 of a hair. 
 Fourth W. And what we want to know, or be 
 
 afeared to know, is — Who does it? 
 
 Count O. Do you hear that, Bertha? 
 
 Be:rtha. I hear it, Osmond. 
 
 Count O. The Kobolds ! 
 
 Bejrtha. I am sure of it. 
 
 Workmen. The Kobolds? 
 
 Count O. Hark well, my vassals good, and you 
 shall learn. 
 My lady said to me, This castle old 
 Now crumbles sadly, and it never was 
 Sunny and pleasant; let us pull it down 
 And build a better. Fain I would, quoth I, 
 But I do fear the Kobolds, who have been 
 Good and propitious to our house. Belike 
 111 pleased they might be if we sacrificed 
 These antique towers, which their quaint revels 
 love. 
 
 11 ACT I— scene 1 
 
My lady shared my fears ; but that same night 
 When all the stars like twinkling golden tongues 
 Of bells invisible had signaled twelve, 
 And we awaked, the door swung wide, and en- 
 tered 
 A little troops of Kobolds, in good ranks, 
 And at their head a grave ambassador. 
 The envoy pointed to the wall, then bowed 
 In old and courtly way, and led his guard 
 Out by the door; but on the wall we saw 
 Emerge letters of fire, which with a message 
 Illumined both the chamber and our hearts. 
 My lady Bertha, you can repeat, I think 
 That flaming verse — 
 
 Lady Bertha passes the child to the nurse, and 
 comes forward. 
 
 Lady B. I can, indeed, good men, 
 
 And never can forget. The verse ran thus: 
 
 We know your wish, and we approve: 
 To build another hall be bold, 
 
 But from the new house ne'er remove 
 The virtues of your race of old! 
 
 Count O. You see now, my good men, they are 
 not imps 
 Dark and wild and damned that work with us. 
 But merry Kobolds, good friends of our house. 
 That watch and ward and bless. 
 
 Lady B. Ay, well they ward. 
 
 Good neighbors all, look at your golden fields — 
 For what's more golden to the eye or purse 
 Than such bright harvests? And your vines 
 behold, 
 
 ACT I^SCENE 1 12 
 
Dangling their purple clusters heavy with wine. 
 Is 't in the memory of the oldest of ye 
 That e'er a field was blasted, cattle killed, 
 Or barns set fire, in this dear favored place? 
 If hot skies menace drought, the Kobolds blow 
 From hills soft milky clouds to wash our lands 
 With fatness. If the unruly nimbus lowers, 
 Laced with foul gleams, the Kobolds puff away 
 The thundrous threat, that elsewhere drops its 
 
 harms. 
 Ay, my good men, 'tis sure the friendly elves 
 Top up by night what you have built by day. 
 As saith my husband lord; and I will add 
 They do 't for love of him, my lord, in whom 
 The honor of our ancient house is bright, 
 Undimmed, enlarged. 
 
 Count O. If so, whose praise? 
 
 But I assure you 'tis my Lady Bertha 
 The Kobolds love better. 
 
 First W. We know that, sir. Our Lord Osmond 
 
 is good, very good, as good men are good; but 
 
 our Lady Bertha is an angel from heaven. 
 
 When my little girl was taken of the pox, they 
 
 all fled ; but my lady came and soothed the child, 
 
 and fed her with the right stuff, and saved her. 
 
 Here the men exchange signs of respect and 
 affection for the Count and lady. 
 
 Fifth W. Where may these Kobolds live, sir? 
 
 I've heard tell of them, and some say 'tis in 
 
 yonder hill. 
 Count O. 'Tis said so ; but you know as much as 
 
 I. I never saw them before that midnight 
 
 embassy. 
 
 13 ACT I— SCENE 1 
 
Fifth W. Look, sir, at this little barrow which I 
 found behind yonder great stone we lifted to 
 the turret this noon. Is it a Kobold barrow ? — 
 though what could they carry in the little thing ? 
 
 The workman hands the barrow to the Count, 
 who examines it curiously and passes it to 
 Lady Bertha. 
 
 Count O. There's no doubt 'twas left by our elfin 
 friends. Look, Bertha, did'st ever see aught 
 so elegant as this ebony work seamed with 
 ivory ? 
 
 Lady Bertha takes it, admires it, places it on 
 ground and puts the handles into the hands of 
 the child. 
 
 Lady B. Now, little Herman, trundle the pretty 
 barrow. 
 
 The child wheels the barrow down stage and 
 up again to Lady Bertha, while all watch him, 
 and the men give many gestures and signs of 
 delight. Then Count Osmond takes it from 
 the child, who wishes to keep it and reaches 
 out his arms toward it. The Count hands it 
 to Rollo who, obeying the Count's gesture, 
 places it on the ground before the workman. 
 Rollo goes to the side of the nurse and talks. 
 
 Count O. Take it, good fellow. 'Tis yours. 
 
 Fifth W. But I'll give it to my little lord, sir ; he 
 wants it. 
 
 Count O. But my little lord can't have it. When 
 
 he's old enough to want anything, he's old 
 
 enough to learn he can't have everything. No, 
 
 no ; it belongs to you, if to anyone — you found 
 
 it. Take it home to your own babies. 
 
 A murmur of gratification from the men, and 
 signs of great satisfaction, and of admiration 
 for the barrow. The workman then reaches 
 
 ACT I— SCENE 1 14 
 
down to pick it up, but it moves just out of 
 his reach; he takes a step and reaches down 
 again, but again it moves a little away. This 
 time the workman steps cautiously, reaches 
 slowly, and makes a sudden grasp at it ; but 
 it rolls off stage, the workman pursuing it 
 lustily. All the other workmen first are aston- 
 ished and then laugh derisively, and just as 
 they cease the air is filled with high-pitched 
 musical peals of laughter. The workmen gaze 
 about and at each other, with wonder and 
 some signs of fear. 
 
 Count O. (To Lady Bertha) The Kobolds. 
 
 Workmen. The Kobolds ! 
 
 Count. O. Ay, they hke a bit of fun, these friendly 
 Drolls ; but they're good pixies — no harm in 
 them. 
 
 Re-enters the workman, breathless. 
 
 RoLi.0. (To Grun) I'll get a sight of these Ko- 
 bolds. 
 
 Grun. Better let 'em alone, Rollo. They might 
 pinch you. 
 
 RoLLO. No — I'll spy on 'em. 
 
 Fifth W. Did ye see it, masters? And hear the 
 laughing? And then it took a leap into the air 
 and went out with a puff of light, like a candle. 
 
 First W. Perhaps it would have stayed with my 
 little lord. 
 
 Count O. No, no; 'twas sure to go back to its 
 
 owners — so is everything at last. 
 Fifth W. Well, they use it well for us, anyway. 
 
 (Glancing at the castle and around at the 
 
 stones and tools.) 
 Workmen. Ay, that's true enough. 
 Lady B. Pray you, good men, believe my lord and I 
 
 15 ACT I— SCENE 1 
 
Have grateful heart's-ease that you build for us 
 This castle so enriched, stately and strong. 
 But 't has been long a-building ; sooth we now 
 Can hardly wrestle with our lively fever 
 To enter and possess our noble house ; 
 And Time, methinks, foots no expense of days. 
 Nor many hours, for what remains o' the work. 
 
 First W, 'Tis so, my lady, for the outside ; but in- 
 side there's something to be done yet. 
 
 Lady B. Good neighbors, hark ! May we not bar- 
 gain kindly ? 
 On whate'er day ye tell me the castle's ready, 
 So it be not delayed beyond a sennight, 
 I'll give to all the village a Honey-Broth, 
 And I will bind myself, and all who here 
 Come after me, to do the same each year 
 On the same day, forever. What say you, men ? 
 Will you not strain a little and hurry a little. 
 And work the harder these few days to found 
 So happy a holiday for all your lives. 
 And for your children's children's lives for aye ? 
 
 First W. Ay, that we will ! Eh, masters ? 
 
 Workmen. We will, we will! 
 
 The stage darkens a little. 
 
 Lady B. Thanks, my good neighbors all. I'm sure 
 
 ye'U try 
 
 Your best i' the work, not for the feast, but me. 
 
 But evening falls; our little Herman sleeps 
 
 Early, to keep these roses bright. Farewell ! 
 
 Exeunt Lady Bertha, the child, nurse, and 
 Count Osmond. 
 
 First W. D' ye hear that, masters? A Honey- 
 broth ! 
 
 ACT I — SCENE 1 16 
 
Second W. Ay! That's a whole good dinner — as 
 when one says, Take pot-luck with me. 
 
 Third W. Ay ! And pot-luck at the castle is mighty 
 good luck. 
 
 Fourth W. As everyone knows. Let's to it, mates, 
 and hustle. Belike we can end all in two or 
 three days. 
 
 Fifth W. Our Lady Bertha is a sweet soul — ^bless 
 her! 
 
 Exeunt the workmen, leaving the stage vacant. 
 The evening has been coming on, and now it 
 darkens much, as the workmen depart; but 
 suddenly lights up again by reason of a burst 
 of brilliant moon from behind thick clouds, 
 which clear away. Enters Rollo; he looks 
 about cautiously; finding he is alone, he casts 
 about for a hiding place; observes the door 
 leaning against the tree, goes to it and settles 
 himself comfortably behind it, meantime 
 speaking : 
 
 RoLLO. I'll see 'em, or say my eyes are no better 
 
 than pits. That way they come — from the hill 
 
 yonder — so the folk say. Yonder door's the 
 
 thing. Hough ! a warm day ! I'll make me easy 
 
 anyway. 
 
 Rollo takes off his outer coat, and rolls it up 
 into a pillow, which he places under his head 
 as he lies down on the ground, hidden by the 
 door from up-stage, but visible to the audience. 
 Soon he falls asleep. Enter the Kobolds, in six 
 lines, single file, from three points on right and 
 three on left up-stage, tripping in sprightly 
 manner, all coming to a halt at a central place, 
 leaving vacant a small circle. Then enters 
 Kohlibran and comes forward into the circle. 
 All of the Kobolds close in a group around 
 him in front and fall on one knee, Yoho has 
 entered after the King at a little distance and 
 now stands a little behind and to one side of 
 Kohlibran. 
 
 17 ACT I— SCENE 1 
 
KoHi.. Now harken, all my jolly Drolls ! 
 When here the moony night unrolls 
 Her silver curtain 'gainst the sun, 
 'Tis then our gambols have begun; 
 But now, though glinting moon hath spun 
 Her silvery gauze, and day is done, 
 To-night we must not play, but work, 
 While yet the elfin shadows lurk 
 Before the dawn. 
 
 Here a long, harsh snore from Rollo causes the 
 Kobolds to start and stare about and at each 
 other, and the King stops and stares a moment. 
 
 Kohl. I say before the dawn must we 
 Complete this castle fair to see 
 In every part. 
 
 Here Rollo emits another snore still more noisy 
 and prolonged. 
 
 Kohl. What is this unbeseeming sound? 
 
 Up, elves, and ply the place around, 
 
 To find what monstrous thing is wont 
 
 To perpetrate this shocking grunt, — 
 
 If there be gross or mortal eye 
 
 Ventures our quaint rich rites to spy. 
 
 The Kobolds run about, searching, and Rollo 
 is found, roughly wakened, dragged out and 
 rolled and hustled and pinched, till at last he 
 gets on his feet, and runs away roaring lustily, 
 with all the Kobolds in pursuit. 
 
 KoHL. Kobolds, return ! Let go the peeper — 
 
 A wheezy fool, a silly sleeper. 
 
 (To Yoho) My nimble elves must work to- 
 night. 
 
 To have the castle done ere light. 
 Yoho. (Aside) Work? I'll run, 
 
 ACT I— SCENE 1 18 
 
Till after work's begun. 
 
 Re-enter the Kobolds; exit Yoho, stealing out. 
 KoHi,. Ye hustled him and pinched him well — 
 He'll peep no more, I dare foretell. 
 But now to better things give place : 
 Ye know the Lady Bertha's grace 
 Hath pledged a Honey-broth apace 
 To all her happy peasantry 
 Whene'er the castle finished be, 
 And binds herself and all her race 
 That e'er inhabit in this place 
 To give the banquet every year 
 On that same day with generous cheer. 
 Now o'er and through the castle go 
 And use your merry magic so 
 That when with dawn the turrets turn 
 To red, as if the stones would burn. 
 The castle, like a sculptured urn, 
 Inside and out shall perfect be 
 For Bertha and her lord to see. 
 Away and work ! 
 
 The Kobolds all go crowding merrily into the 
 castle by the doorway, leaving King Kohlibran 
 alone. Enters Yoho, in a sprightly, gay and 
 gamboling manner, and bows before the King. 
 
 KoHi,. What, nonny, what ? Our elves are all 
 Hard at their work in yonder hall. 
 And you come idling in? 
 
 Yoho. Unkie, work be hanged ! 
 
 Kghl. Tut, tut, Jack-pudding ! You'll be whipped 
 for your face, some day. 
 
 Yoho. Why spoil a wise fool with work, Unkie ? 
 
 1» ACT I— SCENE 1 
 
KoHi.. Wise fool? What, what! Cold fire, hot 
 snow, 
 Dark light, light dark, and so-is-not-so ? 
 
 YoHO. Which is wise, to hate or to love — tell me 
 that, Unkie. 
 
 KoHi.. To love, of course. 
 
 YoHO. Mark now: The wise fellow hates folly, 
 but the fool loves wisdom — a wise fool he ! Oh, 
 Unkie! 
 
 Kohl. Ha! hum! 
 
 YoHO. And look you, Unkie, I know that a hun- 
 dred-pound is a hundred-pound. 
 
 Kohl. Ay, that's wise enough. 
 
 YoHO. Yes — a hundred-pound wise. Now, as I 
 weigh not a hundred-pound with all this little 
 body, my wisdom is more than all the mass 
 of my folly. Oh, Unkie! Shall I tell you, 
 Unkie, how to know your courtiers ? 
 
 Kohl. Ay, babble that, now. 
 
 YoHO. Why, thus it is : He that is no bit of a fool 
 is a big sum of a villain. 
 
 Kohl. Ha ! 
 
 YoHO. Your fool is the only ripe thing, Unkie. 
 
 Kohl. How make you that ? 
 
 YoHO. Tell me, Unkie, do you know everything? 
 
 Kohl. No, indeed. 
 
 YoHO. Then is your wisdom yet raw, like crabs 
 
 half stewed. But the fool knows nothing; 
 
 therefore he is cooked through, and a ripe dish. 
 
 Oh, Unkie! 
 
 ACT I — ^SCENE 1 20 
 
Kohl. You shall not escape work. Get you to the 
 woods and fetch me a good large evergreen, to 
 put on top of the tower. 
 
 YoHO. The tower? 
 
 Kohl. Ay, the tower, for good luck, and to keep 
 off bad spirits. 
 
 YoHO. Unkie, that's twaddle. 
 
 Kohl. What, sir? 
 
 YoHO. Is not twaddle nonsense? And nonsense 
 is folly ; and folly is fool-work ; and sure what's 
 laid on me is fool-work. Oh, Unkie! 
 
 KoHL. Go do it, rogue. 
 
 YoHO. But, Unkie 
 
 KoHL. Quick! Jump! Begone! 
 
 Exit Yoho. Here follows a pantomime of 
 some length. Kobolds emerge from inside onto 
 top of tower of the castle and one comes from 
 the door, mounts a stone, and it at once flies 
 up to the top of the tower, where the others 
 receive it and set and mortar it in its place. 
 Then comes forth one wielding a huge paint 
 brush and brings to the King a large surface 
 of paper painted, showing a tint proposed for 
 some interior walls. The King examines it in 
 several lights, close to it, and from a little dis- 
 tance, and rejects it, shaking his head and ges- 
 ticulating with strong disapproval, and the Ko- 
 bold returns into the castle crestfallen. Then 
 one flies down from the tower, mounts a stone, 
 which flies at once up to the tower as before. 
 Then one comes out with paint brush and an- 
 other tint on large surface, which he presents 
 to the King, and now the King approves it, and 
 the Kobold returns happy. Then one flies 
 down from tower for a stone and the stone 
 flies back with him, all as before. Then comes 
 one from castle with huge brush, as before, 
 showing the King the approved tint and an- 
 other to go under it, which the King approves, 
 
 21 ACT I — SCENE 1 
 
and the Kobold returns. Then come forth two 
 Kobolds gesticulating at each other in a bicker- 
 ing and quarrelsome way and soon, on their 
 way to the King, fall into a scuffle and fisticuff, 
 which the King discovers, and speaks : 
 
 Kohl. Ye naughty elves! What! will ye fight? 
 
 And quarrel in our royal sight? 
 
 What law have I pronounced so plain 
 
 As that ye shall not fight, on pain 
 
 Of our most royal stern displeasure, 
 
 And punishment in proper measure? 
 
 So, stand ye up, one here, one there; 
 
 Now, fight away, and bravely square, 
 
 Not at each other, but the air. 
 
 That's well! Keep up the pretty fight. 
 
 Good sooth, it is a proper sight! 
 
 I think I'll teach ye all at last 
 
 'Tis love that holds our kingdom fast, 
 
 And every tongue of spite shall fly, 
 
 As flame is canceled in the sky ! 
 
 Now, exercise ! 
 
 The two Kobolds thus commanded take their 
 places about a rod apart, facing the audience, 
 and continue to square and fisticuff the air. 
 Then an elf flies down, and mounts a stone 
 which flies up to the tower, as before. Then 
 two come out of the castle, to go to the King, 
 but seeing the two elves fighting the air, they 
 stare a moment and then fall into ecstasies of 
 jeers and laughter; which the King discovers, 
 and speaks : 
 
 KoHiv. Ye naughty elves! What! will ye jeer 
 
 At your unhappy fellows here? 
 
 I'll move you to a kinder play; 
 
 Step in between; now, laugh away! 
 
 Since ye will mock so fine and fair. 
 
 Now cackle to the empty air, 
 
 ACT I — SCENE 1 22 
 
As gentler brooks with better grace 
 Prattle into a leafy space. 
 Come, giggle! 
 
 The two take place between the other two who 
 are fighting the air, and laugh foolishly into 
 space. Then once more an elf flies down from 
 the tower, mounts the last stone and it flies up 
 to its place and is set. Enters Yoho, carrying 
 on his shoulder a large evergreen tree, and 
 staggering under the weight of it. 
 
 Yoho. Here's your evergreen, Unkie. 
 
 Kohl. Ha ! Good ! Up with it onto the tower. 
 
 Yoho bestrides the tree which then flies up 
 with him to the tower and is received there 
 by the Kobolds and erected on the turret. The 
 elves come crowding from the castle and sur- 
 round the King, and then all on the tower come 
 flying down, and together signify by signs that 
 the work is done and the castle finished. Mean- 
 time the moon, with which the stage has been 
 brilliant, has ascended toward the left and 
 gone out of sight, and the stage darkens a 
 little. At same time a very faint streaking of 
 dawn appears over the hill in the background, 
 and this gradually grows brighter. The King 
 speaks to Yoho, who at once, in his own man- 
 ner, communicates to the four elves under pun- 
 ishment that the penalty is ended, and they 
 join their fellows around the King. 
 
 KoHL. Fine spirits, ye have nobly done; 
 
 But now behold the golden sun. 
 
 With all his rainbow garments on, 
 
 Peeps o'er the ridge, and soon he will 
 
 Come tumbling down the beamy hill 
 
 To light the fields that now with thrill 
 
 Of coming morning wake and wave. 
 
 So hie we to the Kobold's cave; 
 
 We leave a lightsome day in troth. 
 
 For Lady Bertha's Honey-Broth! 
 
 23 ACT I— SCENE 1 
 
Exeunt Kohlibran and all the Kobolds. The 
 morning light deepens and the turrets burn 
 red in the glow. Enters the first workman, 
 who stares around at the ground and at the 
 castle. Enters then the second workman. 
 
 First W. What say you to this, bully boy? 
 Se^cond W. All the big stones gone? 
 First W. Ay, and the turret finished. 
 Second W. What say, indeed? 
 
 Enter all the workmen, right and left. 
 Third W. Early to work, mates. Sooth, my 
 
 mouth waters for the Honey-Broth. 
 Fourth W. Where be the stones? 
 First W. Up on the tower. 
 
 All the workmen stare at the tower, and at 
 each other, and there is a general loud murmur. 
 
 Fifth W. The Kobolds! 
 
 All. The Kobolds ! 
 
 SeJcond W. Have they finished the castle inside? 
 
 Third W. We'll see that. 
 
 All the workmen huddle into the castle. Enter 
 Rollo and Grun. 
 
 Grun. I told you so. What would you be spy- 
 ing for? 
 
 RoLLO. Devil take your telling! Perhaps that's 
 what brought 'em on me. 
 
 Grun. Was that what made you turn Jack Spy? 
 I warned you. 
 
 RoLLO. They lit on me like hornets, or like lob- 
 sters with their pincers. There's not an inch 
 o' my back or thighs or calves but's sore-blue. 
 
 Grun. Well, better let alone what lets you alone. 
 
 ACT I— SCENE 1 24 
 
Enter the workmen from the castle, with gen- 
 eral exclamation. 
 
 First W. Done, every inch! 
 
 Se;cond W. What will the Lady Bertha say? 
 
 Third W. Ah! the Honey-Broth, this very day! 
 
 Eh? 
 Fourth W. So said our Lady. 
 Fifth W. Not a stroke left for us but to hang 
 
 the big door. Come, we'll whip it into place 
 
 in a thrice. 
 
 RoLLO. Ay, do: it got me whipped enough. 
 
 The workmen lay hold of the heavy door, drag 
 it to the castle and hang it on its hinges at the 
 portal. Meanwhile enters Lady Bertha, sur- 
 veying the workmen, and then they come to 
 her respectfully. 
 
 First W. My Lady, your castle is finished. 
 
 Skcond W. Ay, outside and inside. 
 
 Third W. Ay, and all swept out. 
 
 Fourth W. Sooth, so; all left as clean as a 
 
 whistle. 
 Fifth W. And we be main glad for you, my 
 
 Lady. 
 Bertha. And you found it thus this morning, 
 
 my good men? 
 First W. So it was. 
 
 Second W. Ay, when we got here at sun-up. 
 Third W. And we be a-thinking 'twas your 
 
 friends, the Kobolds, did it. 
 Bertha. Indeed, indeed, my men, but this is good ! 
 
 And, sooth, I am right sure 'tis Kobolds' work. 
 
 The quaint sprites are our friends; and look 
 where they 
 
 25 ACT I— SCENE 1 
 
Have perched an evergreen for gentle omen. 
 Yonder red turret, fading now, will burn 
 Thus always with the glad-returning sun, 
 Like as our hearts, there roofed, will glow and 
 
 nod 
 Unto the blessed day-spring. Thank ye, all, 
 And thanks to the good sprites. Osmond, my 
 
 lord! 
 
 Enters Count Osmond. 
 
 Bertha. Look, look, my lord, my husband, and 
 
 my love. Look, look, 'tis done, in this last 
 
 night, 'tis done! 
 
 Count Osmond surveys the castle, Bertha and 
 the workmen. 
 
 Count O. The Kobolds, Bertha! 
 
 Bertha. Ay, my lord, most sure; 
 
 So have I said, and all the workmen say 
 
 Surely the Kobolds. 
 Count O. A beaming day for us, 
 
 A royal day ! Have yet you stept inside ? 
 
 Bertha. Not yet: come, now we will go in to- 
 gether. 
 
 Count Osmond and Lady Bertha enter the 
 castle. Rollo and Grun stand apart talking, 
 and he makes rustic familiar love to her. 
 
 First W. Mates, let us take down yon lift and 
 tackle. 
 
 Third W. She said naught about the Honey- 
 Broth. 
 
 Second W. Get along with your greedy paunch. 
 Do your work first. 
 
 Fourth W. So! When did Lady Bertha forget? 
 
 ACT I— SCENE 1 26 
 
Fifth W. Down with this rigging. 
 
 The men take down the derrick and tackle, and 
 remove it off the stage; meanwhile RoUo and 
 Grun converse. 
 
 RoLi.0. Come now, pretty Grun, say the word — 
 
 there's a honey ! 
 Grun. Court a little longer, RoUo. 
 RoLLO. I've been after you these two months. 
 Grun. And there's ten-months more in the year, 
 
 my lad. 
 RoLLO. Ten months! 
 Grun. Did ye come courting before ye chose? — 
 
 tell me that. And why should I consent at a 
 
 look? 
 
 RoLivO. Will you leave me dangling for ten 
 
 months ? 
 Grun. If ye call it dangling, I'll let ye hang a 
 
 main time, thank 'e. 
 RoLLO. O, now, Grun, come, be as pretty as you 
 
 look, and say yes. 
 Grun. And how pretty do I look? 
 RoLLO. As pretty as — as — as — 
 Grun. Ay, now, as what? 
 RoivLO. As every woman would be, but no other 
 
 is. Say yes, — there's a honey. 
 Grun. I'll think of it, Master Rollo. 
 RoLLO. Think of it? 
 Grun. Is that bad? Then I'll say I'll not think 
 
 of it. Is that better? 
 
 Enter from castle Count Osmond and Lady 
 Bertha. The workmen now gather around the 
 Count and Lady. 
 
 27 ACT I— SCENE 1 
 
Count O. Good vassals all, well have ye done, 
 all well, 
 And th' Kobolds — ^gentle sprites — 
 Roi.i.0. (To Grun): Gentle? Ha! ha! 
 Count O. They too, with antique holy sorceries 
 Have fellow-wrought with you; our house is 
 
 builded ! 
 And now expect what my dear lady promised. 
 Bertha, speak to our men. 
 
 Bertha. That will I merrily. 
 
 The edge of morn severed my veil of sleep. 
 Like soft silk ripped, and I peeped through the 
 
 shreds. 
 Sweet the low silver light, the high gray sweet, 
 Sweet the red turret's flush, sweet the birds' 
 
 song, 
 The spilled brook sweet, and sweet the rustled 
 
 leaves ; 
 But not the low silver light, nor the high gray. 
 Nor the red turret's flush, nor song of birds, 
 Spilled brook nor rustled leaves, to me were 
 
 sweet 
 As evermore they will be from this house 
 Your hands have wrought. And now for the 
 
 Honey-Broth ! 
 Hie you all home — make up a holiday! 
 Hither bring sweethearts, daughters, wives 
 
 the whole 
 Gay village to my noon-day festival. 
 Away ! There's much to do. 
 
 Exeunt the men with exclamations of pleasure. 
 Bkrtha. Grun, send me hither the cooks, and 
 
 ACT I— SCENE 1 28 
 
faithful Fritz. 
 Exit Grun. 
 Bertha. Run, Rollo, fetch me hither the hunting- 
 tables 
 From the old hall, quickly, and set them up. 
 Exit Rollo. 
 Bertha. My dear lord, thou'rt a scholar, versed 
 r the law 
 And able with sound terms. I pray thee, go, 
 Draw me the deed to make the feast perpetual. 
 And to the parchment put my ancient seal. 
 With your good will. We'll make a happy day ! 
 Exit Count Osmond. Enter three cooks. 
 Bertha. Ah! good my merry knights o' the pan 
 and ladle. 
 Ye must bestir yourselves : I give a banquet. 
 
 First C. That's naught uncommon, my lady. 
 Bertha. Ay, but 'tis this very day. 
 Second C. That's a little close. 
 Bertha. This very noon, or near it. 
 Third C. This noon? 
 
 Enters Roll carrying a long table-board which 
 he leans against a tree, and exit. 
 
 Bertha. And to the village-folk. 
 First C. The village? 
 
 Bertha. To all the folk, both men and women, 
 I give 
 A Honey-Broth — I think you've store of honey. 
 
 Second C. We have, my lady, but 'twill consume 
 
 it all. 
 Bertha. Buy more; or if no more's to have, 
 
 what matter? 
 
 29 ACT I— SCENE 1 
 
Third C. For so many we have scare food enough. 
 First C. Nay, not enough ; 'twill take all, and fall 
 
 short. 
 Bi^RTHA. Use all, and sauce it with your skill to 
 eke 
 
 It out. I'll send our steward to purchase more, 
 
 Whatever may be had. Be lively men — 
 
 I do depend upon you. 
 
 Exeunt the cooks. Enters Fritz. Also Rollo 
 with another table-board which he places as 
 before, and exit. 
 
 Fritz. Lord bless your kind ladyship ! 
 
 Bertha. Ah ! then you know the happy news, my 
 Fritz— 
 The castle's done, I give my folks a Honey- 
 Broth. 
 
 Fritz. Ay : Lord bless you, I say ; 'tis a merry 
 deed. 
 
 Be:rtha. But we've not food enough in hand, my 
 
 Fritz — 
 So the cooks say. Buy all the people have, 
 I mean what all they'll sell, pleasant to eat. 
 Then hie with the best horse and cart to the 
 
 town — 
 'Tis but a scant four miles — and fetch big 
 
 stores. 
 You'll hurry, Fritz? 
 
 Fritz. To my best, my lady. 
 
 Exit Fritz. Enters Count Osmond. 
 Bertha. My good, dear lord, all's going very well. 
 And have you drawn me now the deed per- 
 petual ? 
 
 ACT I-^SCENE 1 30 
 
I see you have — read it — rm like a child 
 With all this fond impatience. 
 
 Enters Rollo with table-board and places it, as 
 before. 
 
 Bkrtha. Three tables — good! Now Rollo, the 
 fourth one quickly, 
 And with you fetch some lads to set them up — 
 And — O, yes, send Grun to me. 
 Exit Rollo. 
 Bertha. O, good my dear lord, if I could but utter 
 How it doth gladden my soul to make this feast 
 For our good vassals — they are good vassals, 
 Osmond. 
 
 Count O. None better. Bertha. 
 
 Enters Grun, 
 Bertha. Grun, how's little Herman? 
 
 So! fast asleep; that's well. Now harken, 
 
 Grun: 
 Rollo will be here presently with board 
 Like these, and lads to set them up anon. 
 Direct the work for me. Place here the longest, 
 r the middle, end to end, extending far 
 This way and that, both sides, out under the 
 
 trees. 
 At the mid-hne my lord and I will sit; 
 Thence place the other tables spreading 
 
 obliquely 
 From each side of our posts, my lord's and 
 
 mine — 
 Thus: 
 
 While saying this to Grun, Lady Bertha has 
 shown her by steps and gestures where to 
 
 31 ACT I— SCENE 1 
 
place the tables that they may be arranged 
 thus : 
 
 Enters Rollo carrying the fourth table-board, 
 and with him enter several serving men carry- 
 ing the wooden supports to the tables. Under 
 Grun's direction these are set. Meantime Os- 
 mond and Bertha go to the tree at left and 
 sit on the circular bench, and Osmond shows 
 and reads the deed to Bertha. Exeunt the 
 serving men after arranging fhe tables. Enters 
 Fritz. 
 
 Fritz. All is done as my lady directed. I gath- 
 ered plenty, and the cooks are well advanced. 
 All will be ready in good time. And the folk 
 will come soon. I saw them standing in little 
 groups by their door-steps and on the road. 
 
 Count O. Thanks, my good Fritz. Our Steward 
 
 will sit next us at the table. And Fritz, I'll 
 
 have nothing less than a grand march before 
 
 dinner. You know what 'tis. Instruct Rollo 
 
 and Grun how to lead the people after us; 
 
 Rollo the men and Grun the women. We will 
 
 go make us ready for our guests. 
 
 Exeunt Osmond and Bertha. Enter the serv- 
 ing men who set the tables with china, glass 
 and cutlery. Fritz instructs Rollo and Grun; 
 this in silence, music meanwhile. Then enters 
 a serving man. ^ 
 
 Man. Master Steward, the people are waiting at 
 the gates. 
 
 ACT I — SCENE 1 32 
 
Fritz. Let them come in. 
 
 Exit serving man. The setting of the tables is 
 completed. 
 
 Fritz. Let the cooks know, and be all of you ready 
 
 to serve. 
 
 Exeunt serving men. Enter the people, right 
 and left, filling the space between the tables, 
 but massing into two groups with a clear space 
 between in which are Rollo, Grun and Fritz. 
 Then Rollo and Grun mingle with the people, 
 telling them how to march, etc. Enter Osmond 
 and Bertha richly dressed. They come down 
 the middle clear space and there separate, Os- 
 mond going up on the right and Bertha on the 
 left, through the people, greeting them. Then 
 reuniting up stage they come down the 
 middle, the people following closely in couples, 
 led by Rollo and Grun. Fritz takes stand in 
 middle extreme front and parts the people into 
 single files following Osmond and Bertha. 
 Then follows a march of intricate figures and 
 graceful involutions. When the march ends 
 Osmond and Bertha take their places at the 
 middle of the long table. Fritz, Rollo and 
 Grun signify to the people that they shall take 
 seats at pleasure, which they do. 
 
 Fritz. My lord, there are many late arrivals at 
 
 the gates. 
 
 Count O. O, bid them all welcome. There is room 
 at this table on both sides. (The Count indi- 
 cates by gestures places to right and left of the 
 table beyond stage-setting.) 
 
 Fritz. Rollo and Grun, go welcome them and 
 place them. 
 
 Exeunt Rollo and Grun. The Count and Lady 
 rise and wave welcome in both directions, right 
 and left; then the lady Bertha is seated again, 
 but Count Osmond remains standing: 
 
 Count O. Good folks and neighbors, the Scrip- 
 ture saith, by the mouth of St. James, "Every 
 
 33 ACT I — SCENE 1 
 
good and perfect gift is from above and cometh 
 down from the Father of lights, with whom is 
 no variableness, neither shadow of turning." 
 Let us return thanks: We offer our thanks- 
 givings for this bounty and this happiness, and 
 ask humbly that it be blest unto us. And now, 
 good neighbors all, belike you expect a speech 
 from me ; and I may say something by and by ; 
 but just now I confess I am too honestly hun- 
 gry for speechmaking, and I hope all of you are 
 too honestly hungry for listening. Therefore 
 we will all soberly fall to. Bring in the — 
 Bertha interrupts hastily : 
 Bertha. My lord, you have forgot this instru- 
 ment, the bond perpetual. 
 
 Osmond. Most true. Good folks, listen to my 
 Lady Bertha. 
 
 Bertha rises. 
 
 Bertha. My people, I am much beholden to you 
 for your love and for the occasion of this gay 
 holiday. Now you will hear that I have done as 
 I promised you (reads the deed) : "Whereas, 
 I, the Lady Bertha of Wistgaw, with the hearty 
 good will of my husband. Count Osmond, give 
 this Honey-Broth, on this first day of June, in 
 the year of grace 1500, in commemoration of 
 the completion on this day, of our second castle 
 of Wistgaw, now I ordain and appoint that this 
 festival shall be perpetual, and enjoin all and 
 every one who after me shall dwell in the 
 castle of Wistgaw, to give a rich and bountiful 
 Honey-Broth to the peasantry on every first 
 
 ACT I — SCENE 1 34 
 
day of June hereafter, forever. Bertha of 
 Wistgaw. This deed shall be preserved in the 
 archives of our family. Fritz, our Steward, re- 
 ceive it and guard it. 
 
 Bertha gives the deed to Fritz, and sits down 
 amid the acclamations of the people. The sec- 
 ond workman rises : 
 
 Skcond W. We all be main thankful to Lady 
 Bertha and to you. Count Osmond; which to 
 say I have writ a song to a tune we all know 
 well, and with your leave, sir, I will ask the folk 
 to sing it, sir. 
 
 Count O. Sing on and sing all. I'll take a dip 
 in it myself. 
 
 Bertha. And so will I. 
 
 Second W. Thank 'e, sir. Now, folks, harken to 
 
 each^ verse, one at a time, and sing it. 'Tis to 
 
 the tune of the "Red Meadow." 
 
 Here the second workman recites the song as 
 follows, giving one stanza and then all singing 
 it, and so on : 
 
 Second W. We yeomen know a thing or two 
 Ha! ha! Ho! ho! 
 It can not be gainsayed : 
 We have our homes, and heaven's blue, 
 Ha! ha! Ho! ho! 
 And every lad his maid, 
 
 Ha! ha! Ho! ho! 
 Our noble lord and lady ! 
 
 We yeomen know the foul or fair. 
 Ha! ha! Ho! ho! 
 It can not be denied: 
 
 35 ACT I— SCENE 1 
 
We know what state the princes bear, 
 
 Ha! ha! Ho! ho! 
 But we too have our pride, 
 
 Ha! ha! Ho! ho! 
 Our noble lord and lady. 
 
 We yeomen know the good or had. 
 Ha! ha! Ho! ho! 
 It can not be withstood : 
 And this we say, none ever had 
 A lord and dame so good. 
 
 Ha! ha! Ho! ho! 
 Count Osmond, Lady Bertha! 
 
 Count O. A good song, and well sung, and thanks, 
 
 master poet, and thank all. And now, bring in 
 
 the Honey-Broth ! 
 
 Enter two cooks bearing two immense steam- 
 ing tureens, which they place before Osmond 
 and Bertha. Both the Count and Lady rise 
 and ladle the broth into large deep plates. The 
 serving men have come in and they carry the 
 plates to the people, during which action, after 
 a few plates have been served comes the fall 
 of the 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 ACT I— SCENE 1 36 
 
ACT I— SCENE 2. 
 
 Six months later, the lady Bertha has died. A stately bed 
 chamber in the castle, having massive stone walls, an 
 immense fire-place and chimney at back, and alongside 
 it a large portal opening on a balcony filled with plants 
 and flowers. The portal has swinging doors of glass. 
 Over the fire-place and mantel hangs a picture of Lady 
 Bertha. Under the picture and on the mantel stands 
 a vase of flowers and a ewer or bottle of water. A 
 large stately bed and a few handsome pieces constitute 
 the furniture, including a large arm chair; also the 
 child's small bed or crib. Time, late night. The 
 stage is dim, but the balcony is highly lighted. Very 
 soft music pervades. Osmond is seen moving among 
 the plants in the balcony, examining them, carrying 
 lighted candle. He sets down the candle, gathers some 
 flowers, and then goes to the edge or rail of the bal- 
 cony, still holding the flowers : 
 
 Count O. How lovely is this lone and verging 
 
 hour, 
 And from this balcony how goldenly 
 The moon bronzes the night ! Bright and pert 
 
 flowers, 
 Gay cousins of the day, lineage of light, 
 Like me, whose eyes and feet night halts, ye 
 
 seem 
 Like me no less to love the moon-espousing 
 Darkness. With you I'll retinue the night, 
 Which shall no longer blacken with my grief. 
 Come up, my heart, and let my Bertha relight 
 Yon stars for me, and I will learn to see them — 
 They shall again glow to these mortal eyes 
 And twinkle comfort. 
 
 37 ACT I— SCENE 2 
 
Osmond enters from the balcony, carrying the 
 flowers and candle, and the stage lights up. 
 He places candle and flowers on the mantel, 
 takes the vase of flowers, goes into balcony and 
 tosses the flowers and water over the rail, re- 
 turns and fills the vase from the water bottle 
 on the mantel, and arranges the fresh flowers 
 in the vase. The music ceases. Then the little 
 Herman sits up in the crib and calls Osmond, 
 stretching out his arms to him : 
 
 HtR. Grandpa ! 
 
 Osmond comes quickly to the child and lifts 
 him from the crib and sits in the great arm- 
 chair, holding Herman. Osmond talks to him, 
 leaning his ear to the child as to catch his soft 
 whispered words, and then repeating them : 
 
 Count O. What, little man! Awake this time o' 
 the night? How's that? What? "Fright- 
 ened?" At what art frightened? Eh? What 
 sayest? "Afraid of the big dark?" My boy, 
 the dark's no bigger than the Hght — learn that ! 
 You must grow up, my fine little lad, with 
 fearing nothing — that's the way for our noble 
 house. And why fear nothing? Because 
 there's nothing to fear. And why naught to 
 fear? Because there's everything not to fear. 
 And that everything is as much in the big dark 
 as in the big Hght, and the name of everything 
 is God. Dost not remember, sweet child, how 
 Grandma told thee of God? Eh? What's 
 that? "What is an orphan?" Who said that 
 to thee? What? "Nurse called thee an or- 
 phan?" Yes, 'tis so. An orphan is a child 
 who has no papa or mamma. What? "But 
 you have me?" Yes; but I'm your mamma's 
 papa — so your Grandpapa. What? "And my 
 lady Bertha?" Yes, she was your mamma's 
 
 ACT I— SCENE 2 38 
 
mamma — so your grandmamma. What ? What's 
 that? Um— um — um — what? "I don't hear 
 well at all?" Come now, perhaps I hear as 
 well as you speak. Try again. Ah! "Where 
 is my Lady Bertha?" We don't know, little 
 Herman, she died. What? "What's dying?" 
 We don't know that, either. My lady just 
 went away somewhere six sad months ago. 
 What? "Who was papa?" What? "And 
 where is he ?" He was a brave soldier and was 
 killed in the wars. What? "What's killedf" 
 That means he died. Eh? "Like my Lady 
 Bertha?" Yes. What? "Where is your 
 mamma?" She grieved so much when your 
 papa died that soon she died too. Ah! What? 
 A little louder. "What does grieve mean?" It 
 means that she wanted to go with him. Eh? 
 What? O, that was a long speech. Once 
 again. Oh! You are very sorry Grandma 
 died, and went away, because nurse is not so 
 good to you as grandma?" No one could be 
 so good as my lady, dear; but I'll speak to 
 nurse, and she shall be more careful of thee. 
 What? "You want another nurse? " What? 
 "You don't love nurse?" Well, thou shalt 
 have another nurse, a good nurse. What? 
 "She never takes thee up in her arms?" And 
 what? "Leaves thee alone sometimes?" Well, 
 one shall take thee up in her arms — yes, in- 
 deed — and thou shalt not be left alone any 
 more. 
 
 Enters Grun. 
 Count O. Where have you been, Grun? Your 
 
 39 ACT I— SCENE 2 
 
place is where this child is. 
 
 Grun. Pardon, sir ; I knew sir, that you were 
 here; else I would not have been absent. 
 
 Count O. Hum! Well — go call me RoUo hither, 
 and come back. 
 Exit Grun. 
 
 Count O. Come, now, my child, to bed again, and 
 close those bright peepers. What? "You 
 don't want to sleep?" But 'tis time to sleep. 
 Eh? "Tell you a story?" Oh! no; 'tis sleep- 
 time. What? "A very little short story?" 
 Well, listen then : There was once a little bird, 
 and he came, and he came, hop, hop, hop, hop, 
 hop, hop, hop ! Then I spoke to the little fel- 
 low, and said : Little Bird, will you stop, stop, 
 stop, stop, stop, stop, stop? Then I went to 
 the window, and said, How do you do — do, do, 
 do, do, do, do, do? But he shook his little tail, 
 and away and away he flew, flew, flew, flew, 
 flew, flew, flew ! And now back to bed ! What's 
 that? "You will tell me a story?" Eh! "And 
 make it all up yourself?" Well. There was 
 once a boy and a dog and a bear!" Yes. 
 "Then there was a boy and a bear, but no dog !" 
 Yes. "Then there was a bear, but no boy!" 
 Ha ! O, the little man ! What a tale ! 'Tis an 
 epic in three lines! There's a genius in him. 
 Come, now, 'tis bed indeed this time. Now 
 up you go, now down you come, now up you 
 go, now down you come, now up you go, now 
 down you come — plump ! 
 
 During these last lines Osmond has swung the 
 child up high in his arms, and then down low, 
 
 ACT I— SCENE 2 40 
 
three times, the last time plunging him into 
 his crib and tucking him in. 
 
 Count O. There, you sweet precious rogue, go to 
 sleep! Shut your eyes! That's right. 
 
 Osmond goes to fire-place and gazes up at 
 Bertha's picture. 
 
 Count O. My Bertha. Oh! my Bertha, is there 
 
 another 
 Like thee in all the earth, or hath there been? 
 Was't ever known in some gold age or Eden? 
 Can such a grace descend in frequent showers 
 That sprinkle many seasons and far lands? 
 I hope so, will believe so, for men's sake ; 
 But this heart breaks, for thou wert mine, mine 
 
 own. 
 For thee, poor little orphan, as thy nurse 
 Called thee, belike not over kindly, I fear, 
 More than twice orphaned, losing thy mother's 
 
 mother, 
 Have I been watchful enough? I fear my grief 
 Hath very selfish been. But I'll requite 
 My lady now with better care of thee. 
 And for thine own sweet sake. Ay, verily 
 Thou shalt be taken up in arms again — 
 Ah—! 
 
 Enter Grun and Rollo, 
 Count O. Rollo, I noted on the southern lawn 
 Today a broken branch trailing unseemly, 
 And the rose-bed neglected ; and the north road, 
 I' the willow corner where the brook circles. 
 Hath poaching weeds making the fair line 
 
 ragged. 
 And other signals I have noted too 
 
 41 ACT I— SCENE 2 
 
That you of late have slackened attention. 
 
 Look to 't ! 
 Is't the king's eye must make the king's horse 
 
 fat? 
 If so, I'll follow you with observation. 
 But I would rather trust than spy. Look to't! 
 And here i' the balcony there are pots too dry, 
 And plants ill-trimmed, and trailing flowers 
 
 un-staked. 
 
 Go you, observe them now against to-morrow, 
 
 And begone quickly. 
 
 Osmond points to the candle, which Rollo 
 takes, and goes onto the balcony. The room 
 dims a little. 
 
 Count O. Grun, leave not this room 
 
 Till I return — I'll walk an hour i' the park. 
 
 He goes near the balcony windows and looks 
 out through them, and then looks up at the 
 picture. 
 
 Count O. Yes, in my one lone hermit-dark among 
 The oft two-companied trees such perfect 
 
 nights. 
 Mark, Grun, I say, stir not till I come bid you. 
 There'll be an eye on you. 
 
 Grun. An eye, my lord? 
 
 Count O. I said an eye. 
 
 Grun. I'd stir not though — 
 
 Count O. Enough! 
 
 Exit Count Osmond. Grun looks into the 
 child's crib for a moment, then goes a little 
 toward the balcony. 
 
 Grun. Rollo, you've looked the plants over enough. 
 
 Did you hear the Count? He said begone by 
 
 this. 
 
 ACT I— SCENE 2 42 
 
RoLLO. I am to look them all over against to-mor- 
 row's work on them. 
 Grun. I say you've looked enough. 
 
 Rollo comes from the balcony, candle in hand, 
 and the room lights up. 
 
 RoLLO. But I haven't looked enough at you, pretty 
 
 Grun. 
 
 Grun. Be done — and begone, as the Count said. 
 
 Rollo. The Count isn't here to order me off, and 
 
 you're here bidding me stay. 
 Grun. I bidding you? 
 
 Rollo. Surely — your pretty face bids me, and 
 your pretty voice bids me, and all your pretty 
 pleasantries bid me. How can I leave you ? 
 
 Grun. By yonder plain way, the door. 
 
 Rollo. Well, give me a kiss on it. 
 
 Grun. No. 
 
 RoLLO. Ah! a kiss, now! Why not now as well 
 as an hour ago? 
 
 Grun. Not here. I'm afraid of this place. 
 
 RoLLO. This place? 
 
 Grun. I mean this room. Sometimes I think Lady 
 Bertha never has gone out of it! And some- 
 times that picture seems to me half alive. Did 
 you mark, he said there would be an eye on me ? 
 
 RoLLO. Tush ! he meant he would watch you. 
 
 Grun. I fear there's more in it. 
 
 RoLLO. You heard what he said to me. He's 
 grown mighty prying and rummaging of late. 
 That kiss, now.' 
 
 Grun. Not here. 
 
 43 ACT I— SCENE 2 
 
RoLLO. Come out with me then to the nook in 
 the garden. 
 
 Grun. I dare not. 
 
 RoivLO. Then I'll stay here. 
 
 Grun. That's worse. Will you let me come back 
 in ten minutes ? 
 
 RoLLO. Why not twenty or a half-hour? 
 
 Grun. He might return. 
 
 RoLivO. He's good for an hour, or more, likely 
 two hours. You know yourself how he wan- 
 ders and mourns under the trees by day and 
 night, and longest at night. Come ! 
 
 Grun. For ten minutes. 
 
 RoLi.0. Twenty. Come! (Looks into the crib.) 
 
 Bub's asleep. Come ! 
 
 Exeunt Rollo and Grun, Rollo carrying the 
 candle which he has held. The_ stage is left 
 very dark, though moon-light is visible through 
 the balcony window. A bell slowly strikes 
 twelve. With the last stroke a sudden light 
 breaks in the chamber, and the spirit of Lady 
 Bertha appears standing by the child's crib. 
 The light emanates from her — she seems 
 clothed with light, so that the chamber is 
 brilliant. She looks tenderly at the child and 
 bends over him. 
 
 BijRTHA. I who am twice thy mother, twice by love, 
 
 Being thy mother's mother, come for thee. 
 
 Thou'rt like a jewel, meant for some rich care. 
 
 But lost i' the freighting, dropt upon the sand 
 
 And covered with the ship's discharging litter. 
 
 Loosed from my arms, the barge that carried 
 
 thee. 
 
 Thou fallest on the ocean-edge of days, 
 
 ACT I— scene 2 44 
 
With Osmond's grief and sordid servant- 
 slights 
 Littered on thee. I'll trust thee here no more, 
 But take thee to the Kobolds, who shall train 
 Thy virtuous youth to all the valorous arts 
 Of chivalrous manhood. But first for Osmond 
 Here will I leave a pictured face o' the child, 
 To be upon the wall next mine — where else? 
 Good Kobolds, enter, bring the picture, and 
 place it ! 
 
 A bevy of Kobolds come pouring up over the 
 railing of the balcony and through the swing- 
 ing door-way into the room, bearing a picture 
 of the child like in size and style to that of 
 Bertha. They ascend to the mantel, fix the 
 picture by side of Bertha's, descend and run 
 through the balcony, vanishing over the rail- 
 ing. At both entrance and departure they pay 
 respect to Lady Bertha. Lady Bertha now 
 lifts the sleeping child from the crib and folds 
 him in her arms. Enters Grun, with lighted 
 candle. She stands aghast and terrified, then 
 speaks with an effort at boldness : 
 
 Grun. What are you? How came hither? Put 
 
 down the child ! 
 
 The Lady Bertha turns slowly and fixes her 
 eyes on Grun, who utters a stifled cry. Then 
 Bertha turns away and goes slowly to the bal- 
 cony, enters and goes to the railing whence she 
 floats up and away through the air, carrying 
 the child with her. Grun has followed tremb- 
 lingly, and when Bertha thus disappears, she 
 turns back, staggering through the room, 
 screaming. Enters Rollo. 
 
 RoLLO. What's the matter ? Be quiet ! 
 
 Grun. Oh ! the boy, the boy ! 
 
 Rollo turns to the crib and looks into it. 
 RoLLO. How? Where? When? 
 
 Grun. She took him in arms and flew away. 
 
 45 ACT I— SCENE 2 
 
Roi.1.0. Who? 
 
 Grun. The Lady Bertha. 
 
 R01.1.0. Stuff ! 
 
 Grun. I saw her face. 
 
 Confused murmurs and footsteps are heard 
 outside growing louder and nearer. 
 
 R0LI.0. You've roused the castle — they're coming. 
 
 I'll hide in the balcony and steal in among 'em. 
 
 Rollo runs into the balcony and hides among 
 the plants. Enter the servants of the castle, 
 carrying lighted candles. Grun meets them 
 wailing and wringing her hands. They answer 
 with looks and gestures, mingled with excla- 
 mations of "What's the matter?" "What's 
 wrong?" "Speak!" "Are you gone daft?" 
 Grun waves her hands wildly toward the crib. 
 They all hasten to it, crowding around it with 
 their backs to the balcony. Rollo enters un- 
 noticed and joins them. Enters Fritz. 
 
 Fritz. What means this din? Why are you jang- 
 ling here at midnight ? 
 Grun. Oh ! Sir, the boy, the boy ! 
 
 Fritz goes to the crib and stares into it aghast. 
 Fritz. Gone! What! How! 
 Enters Count Osmond. 
 Count O. What's this ? What do you here ? What 
 makes this clamor? I heard the din, saw buz- 
 zing lights i' the castle. Speak, some one ! 
 
 Fritz. O! my lord, the boy, the child! 
 
 Osmond strides to the crib, looks into it, starts 
 away trembling, then turns sternly to the 
 crowd of servants. 
 
 Count O. Where is he? Speak, I say. Who 
 
 knows ? Speak ! 
 Fritz. My lord, I nothing know — ^this moment 
 
 came. 
 
 ACT I— SCENE 2 46 
 
Count O. Grun, come hither ! 
 
 Grun falls trembling on her knees before Os- 
 mond. 
 
 Count O. Where's the boy ? Speak! 
 
 Grun only wails more wildly. 
 Count O. Find thy tongue quickly — I do think I'll 
 rend you 
 r the frenzy of another moment's silence ! 
 
 Grun. My lord, she took him in her arms and flew 
 
 away. 
 Count O. She took him? Who? Who? 
 Grun. The Lady Bertha. 
 Count O. What? Are you mad? 
 Grun. I saw her face; I swear, my lord, 'twas 
 
 Lady Bertha. 
 Count O. Blaspheme not, wretch ! Away to your 
 room. I'll deal with you anon. 
 
 Exit Grun. 
 Belike the child is stolen. 
 Some crafty hirelings of designing patrons 
 Have hatched a trick and stolen the precious 
 
 Boy- 
 Professed friends, but legal enemies. 
 Willing to wring this rich and fair domain 
 From Bertha's faultless line. Away, and 
 
 search ! 
 Use my best horses! Conrad, take some fel- 
 lows 
 And scour the northern road! And you, Ger- 
 
 hart. 
 Off on the southern pike, in double party, 
 
 47 ACT I — scene 2 
 
The one to turn by th' old west road at the 
 fork. 
 
 Exeunt the servants. Count Osmond calls to 
 one of them, who returns : 
 
 Count O. Sigmund, take you a light and search 
 
 the rock, 
 
 A cruel place, below the balcony — 
 
 He might have wandered to the rail and fallen. 
 
 Exit the servant. With the going out of all 
 the servants with the candles the stage has 
 gradually darkened, till now it is dim with 
 the light of only one candle. Fritz remains 
 with Count Osmond. Suddenly on the stone 
 wall burst out these lines, in letters of fire: 
 
 We have the boy to train aright, 
 To be a perfect gentle Knight. 
 He shall return, and you shall see 
 A pattern of fair chivalrie. 
 
 Count O. Fritz ! 
 
 Fritz. My lord, the Kobolds? 
 
 Instantly under the lines appears, in quaint 
 script, as an autograph, the name Kohlibran. 
 
 Count O. The iCobold King ! 
 
 Fritz. Ay! And look, my lord! My lord, look! 
 
 Fritz stands with raised arm, pointing wonder- 
 ingly to the portrait of the child beside that 
 of Lady Bertha. As the Count looks, both 
 frames become suddenly bright and fiery, illum- 
 ining the pictures brilliantly. Osmond falls on 
 his knees with face uplifted. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 ACT I— SCENE 2 48 
 
ACT II— SCENE 1. 
 
 Twenty years have elapsed. The scene is the same as in 
 Act I, Scene 1, except that the castle shows twenty 
 years of age. Count Osmond, now ninety years old, 
 is not demented radically, but is different at different 
 moments. Sometimes very sensible, shrewd, wise and 
 again very childish, a little wandering, credulous, fan- 
 ciful. Sometimes he knows Hilda perfectly well ; but 
 sometimes he thinks she is an angel guarding him. He 
 is given to very early rising, and Hilda, who watches 
 him closely, always rises early so as to look after him. 
 Her attitude to the old man is one of deep reverence 
 and loving care. 
 
 Time, early morning late in the month of May. Curtain 
 rises on vacant stage. 
 
 Enters from castle door Count Osmond. He 
 leans heavily on a staff and comes slowly. 
 
 Count O. So old, old, old, old, old ! 
 
 Old — and when shall be young again? 
 
 Gracious Mercy, when ? Ninety to-day ! 
 
 Ha ! all my gossips are older, older, but young ! 
 
 Enters Grun from castle and stands watching 
 the old Count. He caresses the large tree sur- 
 rounded with a seat and leans on it. 
 
 Count O. Older than ninety art thou, and yet art 
 
 young; 
 
 And light's a million times ninety, but young, 
 
 And drops his fires on me these ninety years, 
 
 And yet the sun is young. Ha ! 'tis because 
 
 They end and look not onward; but I 
 
 Who peak over th' horizon, I grow old — 
 
 Which means that I am going whither I look! 
 
 Exit Grun into castle. 
 
 49 ACT II — SCENE] 1 
 
Count O. Ah ! sough ! sough ! 'Tis early warm to- 
 day — 
 The sun but hangs his chin on th' east, yet's hot. 
 Sough ! Sough ! 
 
 He sits on the seat encircling the tree. Enter 
 Grun and Hilda from castle. 
 
 Hii^DA. As usual, at the sun-up, seldom later. 
 Was ever known so old and young a soul? 
 His retinue of years sometimes discourse 
 Sweet wisdom to him, sometimes sweet delu- 
 sion — 
 A Solon now, anon a tender babbler. 
 'Tis strange to be this hour ninety years wise, 
 And the next moment less than prattling child ; 
 But howsoever, most dear and honorable. 
 The aged ought to be most dear next Heaven, 
 For they are nearest Heaven, and shine white 
 
 with 't. 
 He likes few with him. Go, but be not far. 
 Exit Grun. 
 Hilda. Now, will he know me, or not know me, 
 or speak 
 Of angels and his lady, or say naught. 
 Or do all these in a breath, as often he does ? 
 Hilda goes to the old man. 
 Hii,DA. Good morning, bright good morning, dear 
 Grandsire, dost know the day? Your birth- 
 day 'tis. 
 Ninety years old to-day ! To think of that ! 
 Count O. Ninety ! Who says that ? No. Millions 
 of them, 
 Sky-fulls of angels! Thou are one, an angel, 
 
 ACT II— SCENE 1 50 
 
Sent to me by Bertha, Lady Bertha. 
 She always sends the same, yes, you, the same. 
 Hilda. Grun! The same, Grandsire, always me, 
 the same. 
 Grun ! Grun ! Why, Grun ! Grun, I say. 
 Enters Grun from castle. 
 Hilda. He's in his wandering way — 
 
 Grun. 'Tis grown more frequent. 
 Hilda. Perhaps. I have not noted. Prythee, 
 fetch me 
 The fragrant lotion on my dresser. Hasten ! 
 
 Exit Grun. The old man has let his head drop 
 forward and seems absent and inattentive. 
 Hilda takes off his hat and loosens his collar. 
 He looks up. 
 
 Count O. Cannot you sing? 
 
 Hilda. Oh, no ! 
 
 Count O. All angels sing. 
 
 Hilda. No, only some. I'm of the talking kind. 
 
 Count O. And those that sing they can not talk? 
 
 Is't so? 
 Hilda. Oh, no, the singers can talk too. Ah ! Grun ! 
 
 Enters Grun with the vial, which she hands 
 to Hilda who laves the old man's head and 
 face and neck, cooing to him all the time. 
 
 Count O. Hilda ! 
 
 Grun. Himself again, my lady ! 
 
 Hilda. Yes. 
 
 This moment ; he changes on and off, like April. 
 Count O. Hilda ! 
 Hilda. Yes, Hilda — who else? 
 Count O. My own pretty Hilda! 
 
 51 ACT II— SCENE 1 
 
Hii,DA. Yes, just your own, your own Hilda! 
 Who else? 
 
 Hilda hands the vial to Grun. 
 Hilda. Replace it, Grun. 
 
 Exit Grun. 
 Count O. None else. The old, old man 
 
 Has no one else but you. 
 Hilda. No one but me? 
 
 Why, then call me a hundred. Wilt like that? 
 
 Count O. Nay, nay. I'll have you one, just one, 
 yourself. 
 
 Hilda. Well, I'll be one, and you are one; that's 
 
 two! 
 
 And merry hours will we two have together! 
 
 Come now, and let me see you walk in the park, 
 
 And you will see me too, for I'll go with you. 
 
 Hilda helps the old Count up, and puts arm 
 about him and slowly they walk away toward 
 rear of the castle. Soft music. After a few 
 steps the old man stops, looks around, and 
 then at Hilda, half absently. 
 
 Count O. Yes, merry hours, we two, ha! as you 
 
 said, 
 
 But that I fear you. 
 
 Hilda. Fear me? Fear your Hilda? 
 
 Count O. Not Hilda, but you, the angel. All fear 
 angels ! 
 I think y' are made of light! Have you just 
 
 dropt 
 From Heaven ? Did Lady Bertha send you ? 
 Hilda. She did. 
 
 Count O. And what says Lady Bertha, my Lady 
 Bertha? 
 
 act II— scene 1 52 
 
HiLDA._ She says she waits you yonder every hour. 
 Count O. Ha ! yes ! And I am coming — it must 
 be soon ! 
 
 Ha! I'll not fear you; go with me under the 
 trees. 
 
 Did she send word of Herman, little Herman? 
 
 He died not, nor was stolen ; my lady took him 
 
 To the Kobolds. He shall return. Is't so? 
 H11.DA. I can not tell. 
 Count O. Not tell? Don't angels know? 
 
 The angels? 
 Hilda. Angels know not everything. 
 Count O. Ah, true ! That's true, that's very true, 
 indeed. 
 
 Awaiting me, you say, my Bertha — Bertha ! 
 
 But only good souls go to her — is't so? 
 Hilda. They say so. 
 Count O. Say so? Don't the angels know. 
 
 The angels? 
 Hilda. Angels know not everything. 
 Count O. Ah, true! 'Tis only one knows every- 
 thing. 
 
 Only one, only one. One ! 
 
 No, no, I fear you not — come under the trees. 
 
 Exeunt the old Count and Hilda into the park, 
 behind the castle. Enter Hans and Wilbold, 
 left front. 
 
 WiL. My dear Hans, I think you are afraid of 
 
 them. 
 
 Hans. No, no! Afraid of what? 
 
 WiL. Spirits, ghosts, angels, imps, pixies, elves, and 
 
 53 ACT II— SCENE 1 
 
all the rest of them. Yes, you are afraid of 
 
 them. 
 Hans. No, no! 
 WiL. Yes, yes! I own / am. 
 
 Hans. That's a good reason why I should not be. 
 Somebody must face them. 
 
 Wii.. Well, something in that. 
 
 Hans. And the Chevalier Hans is the man to do it, 
 afraid of nothing that looks like men or devils. 
 
 Wiiv. O, we all know you are a big fellow. 
 
 Hans. By my soul, no bigger in body than in mind. 
 Baron Wilbold, and no bigger in words than 
 in deeds, and no quicker with my tongue than 
 my sword flashes when there's an enemy in 
 front. 
 
 WiL. Well, something in that. 
 Hans. I want some breakfast. 
 Wii.. Too early. 
 
 Hans. It might be noon by the race I've had. I 
 wish you'd tell me why the devil you would 
 leave my towers at gray dawn and race hither 
 for sun-up. 
 
 WiL. Why, as for that, Chevalier, I couldn't stand 
 it any longer — fact — ^haven't visited anywhere 
 over night before for twenty years. I was 
 homesick — fact ! 
 
 Hans. Gammon! And there was no need of it 
 anyway, with what you had under my turrets. 
 
 WiL. What was that? 
 
 Hans. My company. 
 
 Wii.. Well, something in that. 
 
 ACT II — SCENE 1 54 
 
Hans. Now hark 'e, Baron, since you will not give 
 me a belly-full yet awhile, I'll make bold to 
 ask you for a heart-full. 
 
 WiL. Eh? 
 
 Hans. Yes — a long time I've wished to speak of it. 
 
 WiL. Then why have you not ? 
 
 Hans. Afraid — just afraid. 
 
 WiL. Afraid? I thought the great and doughty 
 Hans feared no one, man or devil. 
 
 Hans. But this is a girl. 
 
 WiL. Um! Well, something in that. 
 
 Hans. I assure you, my dear Baron, I'm con- 
 foundedly in love.. 
 
 Wiiv. Well, then, fall in deeper, or jump out alto- 
 gether. 
 
 Hans. That's just it — deeper. That's where I 
 want your help. 
 
 WiL. Mine? 
 
 Hans. Yes. The girl is your daughter. 
 
 WiL. What? Hilda? What are you saying, 
 Chevalier ? Preposterous ! 
 
 Hans. And why? 
 
 WiL. You are forty-five if you're a day, or forty- 
 seven — which is it? And Hilda has barely 
 turned twenty. 
 
 Hans. A woman is always twice as old as her 
 years. Twenty, say you? That's as good as 
 a man's forty. There you have a man and a 
 woman. If I were twenty-five it would be a 
 woman and a boy. 
 
 55 ACT II— scene 1 
 
Wii.. Well, something in that! But — , 
 Um! Um! Um! Pish! Nonsense! 
 
 Hans. Not at all, Baron. Do you wish me to 
 understand that you oppose me? 
 
 Wii.. Well, um ! Not exactly that. That is Hilda's 
 business. 
 
 Hans. Hilda will obey her father, like a pious girl. 
 Wiiv. Will she ? Ha ! You'll find she has a mind 
 of her own. 
 
 Hans. So ? But you can help, if you will. 
 
 Wiiv. Hilda is a pretty maiden. But you think, 
 
 perhaps, she is sure to be owner of this rich 
 
 Wistgaw. 
 
 Hans. That has nothing to do with it. 
 
 WiL. By my soul, but it has much to do with it. 
 
 Would you want her, now, if her only dower 
 
 was my little hall of Eisenfelds? 
 
 Hans. Ahem ! Of course. Chevalier Hans must 
 be mated, and his lands must be mated too. 
 
 Wiiv. Ay ! So ! You've heard the story ? 
 
 Hans. Story? 
 
 WiL. No? There was a little fellow named Her- 
 man who would be rightful heir to Wistgaw, 
 if living. 'Tis said he never died, but the spirit 
 of his grandmother took him away and gave 
 him to the Kobolds to be brought up. 
 What if he should come riding up some 
 fine day, with plume and crest and lance, and 
 claim his acres ? 
 
 Hans. Old wives' tales. 
 
 WiL. My Steward, old Fritz, says he saw it. 
 
 act II— scene 1 56 
 
Hans. A crafty old knave, — likes to make himself 
 important. 
 
 WiL. Urn! Urn! 
 
 Hans. Besides, Baron, once get me married to 
 Hilda and I'll pit my sword against this Her- 
 man's, or any man's. 
 
 WiL. Well, something in that. Hark 'e, Chevalier 
 Hans, — we've been good cronies a long time, 
 and many's the good bout we've had with bump- 
 ers, and more to come, I hope, and your lands 
 join mine, and you're a big bold fellow — 
 though, sooth, I've never seen any of those 
 hacking battles you tell about. 
 
 Hans. Tell about? 
 
 WiL. Well, well, well, well, I don't doubt you — 
 though, faith, I'd like to see that whopping car- 
 case of yours parrying, lunging, hacking and 
 hewing — it were a brave sight. 
 
 Hans. You'll have it. 
 
 WiL. Well, I've no objection to you for a son-in- 
 law, but I'll not force Hilda to it. 
 
 Hans. But you'll persuade her, urge her? 
 
 WiL. Why — yes, I'll speak for you, commend you. 
 
 I see her yonder in the Park, coming this way. 
 
 Be off with you, and come back soon; but no 
 
 eaves-dropping, mind you ! 
 
 Exit Hans, left front. Enter Hilda from park, 
 behind castle. 
 
 Hilda. My father, why back so early? 
 WiL. Homesick, my dear, just homesick. 
 Hilda. Homesick ? Was it not host-sick ? 
 
 57 act II— scene I 
 
Wii,. Host-sick? What's that? 
 
 Hilda. HI passed an hour in the castle of the 
 Chevalier Hans, I should be sick of my host. 
 
 WiL. Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut! That's no way for a 
 
 girl to speak of a valiant Knight. 
 Hilda. Is he valiant, papa? 
 WiL. Assuredly, you should hear his deeds. 
 Hilda. Who tells them? 
 WiL. Why, well, — as to that — 
 Hilda. O, I know, he is stuffed with his own 
 
 words ; but that makes but lean fame. 
 
 WiL. Tut! tut! I've wintered and summered him 
 a long time, and he's a good crony and a good 
 Knight. Hilda, what say you, now, to the 
 Chevalier Hans for a husband? 
 
 Hilda. For a husband? Well, I say nothing to 
 him. 
 
 WiL. Nothing? Why nothing? 
 
 Hilda. Because he says nothing to me. 
 
 WiL. Yes, he has asked me for you. 
 
 Hilda. But that's not asking me for myself. 
 
 WiL. Hey-day ! hey-day ! my girl. Where learned 
 you that pretty treason? 
 
 Hilda. No treason, no rebellion ; only a knowledge 
 of my gentle papa, my commander. 
 
 WiL. Well, something in that ! 
 
 Hilda. I know you would not force your mother- 
 less girl to a detested marriage. 
 
 WiL. Force, force? Why, no. Force? By my 
 soul, I would not, and by my head I will not, 
 
 ACT II— SCENE 1 58 
 
Hans or no Hans. All the same, Hilda, 'tis my 
 wish and will that you marry him, and he has 
 asked for you boldly and fairly. 
 Hilda. And why? 
 
 WiL. Why? What mean you? Because he loves 
 you. 
 
 Hilda. Does he love me, papa ? 
 
 WiL. He says so. 
 
 Hilda. But do you believe him? 
 
 WiL. Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut, again. You are speak- 
 ing of a brave knight. 
 
 Hilda. Truly, he says that ! But I'll not marry 
 him, father. What you call his deeds make 
 a rattling gale from his own mouth ; but they'll 
 not drive this little craft on a shoal. No, no; 
 I'll keep the open sea. 
 
 WiL. Now look you, Hilda, the Chevalier Hans 
 is a doughty Knight and my friend and my 
 guest — 
 
 Hilda. Guest? Better say Cousin Bottle-tipper. 
 He almost lives here. 
 
 WiL. Well, something in that; but that's as I'll 
 have it. 
 
 Hilda. And I think drinks nowhere else. Did you 
 see any wine in his hall? 
 
 WiL. Faith, no, I never thought of it. Well, some- 
 thing in that. But, however, I have given him 
 leave to address you, and that means duty in 
 you. I don't command you to marry, as many 
 a father would — I'll not do that; but I'd like to 
 see you his wife, and I bid you consider and 
 
 59 act II— scene 1 
 
use him well. And you'd not take my words 
 lightly, Hilda. 
 
 HiivDA. Use him well — that means use him as he 
 deserves. Yes. Don't tie up my wit too short, 
 dear papa. Leave me a little frolic. Why 
 should I take him seriously? He cares nothing 
 for me. 
 
 Wii.. Why so? You are pretty and sweet enough 
 to love. 
 
 Hilda. But he's too big a braggart to love any one. 
 
 WiL. Tut, tut! 
 
 Hilda. He wants the broad lands of Wistgaw. 
 
 WiL. Well, something in that. But why should he 
 not want them? 
 
 Hilda. True ; but he'll find this little bird too quick 
 a wing for him if he hunts me for that fat 
 meat, the old grimalkin ! 
 
 WiL. Hilda, Hilda, what's this ? I bid you be bet- 
 ter-mannered. Remember he has my grace and 
 favor. Look to yourself. 
 
 Hilda. I'll treat him in two ways, dear papa ; first, 
 as being in grace with my father, and then as 
 being in disgrace with me. 
 
 WiL. Tut, tut! Look to it! 
 
 Hilda turns away petulantly, defiantly, roguish- 
 ly and walks toward the castle. Enters Hans, 
 left front. Wilbold takes him by the arm and 
 turns him so that both tfie men stand with 
 back to Hilda, and Wilbold signs toward her 
 with his thumb over his right shoulder. Just 
 then Hilda, as if to speak again, turns, sees 
 Hans and Wilbold's gesture, and turns away 
 again more defiantly and mockingly than be- 
 fore. 
 
 ACT II— SCENE 1 60 
 
Wii,. There she is, like a pretty little tower all 
 grown with ivy, but mighty frowning and war- 
 like. I've done wfeat I can for you, and will; 
 but you'll have to lay siege yourself. 
 
 Hans. I don't know how to woo, Baron Wilbold — 
 except with my sword. 
 
 WiL. Faith, I think you'll get little of Hilda, if 
 you don't learn. Come, begin, now; to her! 
 Begin, I say. 
 
 Wilbold signs again with his thumb over his 
 shoulder toward Hilda, and exit left. Hans 
 sheepishly watches Wilbold retire. Hilda, who 
 has seen the Baron's gesture and retreat, turns 
 away again with a very roguish, mocking, 
 whimsical manner. At same moment Hans 
 turns and goes to her, as she stands with her 
 back toward him, 
 
 Hilda. No, no, papa ; say no more. I'll not marry 
 him. I saw the old merchant-lugger plotting 
 with you ; but he'll not get little me on his decks 
 — no, no ! 
 
 Hans. Hem! hem! 
 
 Hilda. No wonder you clear your throat of him ! 
 I wish you'd clear your mind of him ! 
 
 Hans. Hem ! Ah-h-h ! 
 
 Hilda. He's an old thing, a bygone, just a gray 
 old Jack — nothing left but the wag of his ears, 
 or of his tongue, too. Sooth, yes, he brays 
 enough for ten asses ! Nonsense, Papa ! 
 
 Hans. Hem ! Ah-h-h ! 
 
 Hilda. There's nothing in all his big striding car- 
 cass but victuals and drink — he's a granary, a 
 meat-stall, a wine-tun. Abominable, Papa! 
 
 61 act II— scene 1 
 
Hans. Hem! hem! Ah-h-h-h! 
 
 Hilda. And he's a mere mouther, a windy brag- 
 gart, a cowardly blusterer, a strutting swash- 
 buckler. Sooth, if his sword rattled like his 
 stories, 'twould be heard around the world. I've 
 heard say a goose flapped at him on his land, 
 and he fled in a fright. For shame, Papa ! 
 
 Hans. Hem! hem! hum! 
 
 Hilda. And he knows nothing — I warrant he can- 
 not write his name. Tut, tut. Papa! 
 
 Hans. My lady, Hilda — 
 
 Hilda. O, if you come to that, not only to plead 
 his stupid case but to ape the rusty growl he 
 calls his voice, I have done. I say, say, say, say 
 say, say No! . . . No, no, no, no, no, no, 
 no! 
 
 Hans. I say, lady Hilda — 
 
 Hilda turns quickly toward him. 
 
 Hilda. Oh! You are yourself! Fie, fie, fie, fie! 
 The Chevalier Hans of Althausen, a listener, 
 an eavesdropper! Fie, fie! 
 
 Hans. But, my pretty Hilda — 
 
 Hilda. Oh! fie, fie, fie! But I think you can not 
 tell what I said. 
 
 Hans. Why as to that — 
 
 Hilda. Yes, as to that, I think you can not. But 
 
 I can put it all in one little syllable; what you 
 
 listened to — fie, fie! — is all in one short word, 
 
 the TRUTH ! 
 
 Exit Hilda into the castle, tripping away with 
 a trill of gay, mocking laughter. 
 
 ACT II — SCENE 1 62 
 
Hans. Ha! ha! fooled, flouted, hooted, jeered! 
 
 Enters Rollo from rear of castle. 
 Hans. Ha ! ha ! Tweaked, rapped o'er the knuckles, 
 plucked, pooh-poohed! Ha! ha! 
 
 Rollo. (Aside.) Now, what is Sir Swagbelly 
 saying to himself? 
 
 Hans. The Chevalier Hans of Althausen twitted 
 and laughed at, ha ! ha ! by a chit of a girl ! 
 When I get you into my towers, my pretty lady 
 bird, you'll cackle another way, I think. Ha! 
 ha! 
 
 Rollo. Servant, Chevalier Hans. 
 
 Hans. Ha! Rollo! Here, you fellow! 
 
 Rollo comes forward. 
 Rollo. Servant, sir. 
 
 Hans. The lady Hilda has just given me a devil 
 of a rating — and all for wishing to marry her ! 
 
 Rollo. Ah ! that is very bad for my lady. 
 
 Hans. What? Blockhead, mind your words, or 
 I'll crack your crown. 
 
 Rollo. I mean 'tis bad for my lady to quarrel 
 with your worship. 
 
 Hans. That's certain. You seem a sensible kind 
 
 of fellow. Master Rollo. 
 Rollo. Ay, sir. But for cracking my crown, your 
 
 worship, what would you do it with? Would 
 
 you butt me? — for I think my skull is thicker 
 
 than any but yours. 
 
 Hans. Out, fool, lout, rascal! Take that, and 
 that, and that. (Strikes Rollo.) 
 
 Rollo. Oh ! of mercy, hold, your worship, hold 
 
 63 ACT II— SCENE 1 
 
your hand, of mercy! 
 Hans. Clown, I am more like to mercy you with 
 
 cuffing your ears. Hark'e — go fetch me your 
 
 wife. 
 RoivLO. My wife? Grun? 
 Hans. Ay, Grun, your wife. She is the Lady 
 
 Hilda's maid — isn't she? 
 Roi.i.0. Indeed she is, and was her nurse before 
 
 her maid. 
 Hans. So much the better. Fetch her. 
 RoLLO. But, sir, I — I — 
 
 Enters Grun from castle. 
 Hans. Lout, will you be cuffed again? Off with 
 
 you! 
 RoivivO. But, sir, here she is, pat for your worship's 
 
 purpose. 
 Hans. Ah ! the pretty Grun ! Come hither, pretty 
 
 Grun. 
 
 Rollo stares at Hans sourly, then goes to Grun. 
 RoLLO. There's Sir Snappy Hackstory wants you. 
 Grun. Hold your tongue ! He's a good big swash- 
 ing Knight. 
 
 Grun goes to Hans. 
 RoLLO. (Aside.) Ha! both of 'em. Is that the 
 
 corner o' the wind ? I'll lurk a bit, watch a bit. 
 Hans. Ah — h — h ! So may a man see how he has 
 
 been a busy fool ! 
 Grun. How is that? 
 Hans. And where have my eyes been? Tell me 
 
 that! 
 
 'act II--SCENE 1 64 
 
Grun. Your eyes? In your head. I suppose. 
 
 Hans. By my head, have I had a head? Where 
 was it, and my eyes and my wits, that never 
 before I have seen how charming is Grun ! 
 
 Grun. Nay, now. Chevalier Hans, I am a married 
 woman and honesi. 
 
 Hans. And may not a woman be honest and 
 charming ? 
 
 Grun. Oh ! Chevalier, some men say not. 
 
 Hans. Then they have not met you, pretty Grun. 
 
 Grun. Oh, sir! 
 
 Hans. And if a belted Knight puts arm about 
 
 you, so, and takes a kiss, so — does it not taste 
 
 good? 
 
 Grun. Ay, sir, a poor woman is pleased with a fine 
 bold knight, and his favors taste good — and 
 so, why, there ! 
 
 Hans. Ay, ay! And so another! And another! 
 
 Grun. That's enough now, sir — one to keep, one 
 to forget, and one to wait on. 
 
 Hans. Ha! And now, while I wait for the next 
 one, I'll ask you to do me a service. 
 
 Grun. So ? I . thought so. When a high-born 
 fondles a woman the like of me, he wants some- 
 thing — she must pay for his dawdling. 
 
 Hans. No, no, no, no ! I was going to ask favor 
 and help of you, and when, to do so, I look at 
 you, I see how comely and charming Grun is. 
 
 Grun. **Help"? Well, what do you want. 
 
 Hans. Your favor. 
 
 65 act II — scene 1 
 
Grun. My favor? 
 
 Hans. With your lady. 
 
 Grun. The Lady Hilda? 
 
 Hans. The Lady Hilda — I want to marry her. 
 
 Grun. So! The cat's out! You kiss me to get 
 past me to another. A poor woman might be 
 proud of a Knight's kiss, but not that kind, 
 Chevalier. 
 
 Hans. Now, tut, tut, pretty Grun. Would I not 
 marry you if I could? Of course I would — 
 that's what I mean. But as it is, I want to 
 marry the little lady. 
 
 Grun. Then speak to her — that's a man*s way. 
 Isn't it a Chevalier's way? 
 
 Hans. Why, yes (aside) — devilish sharp tongue 
 — and so I have; but she will not listen. Oh, 
 'tis past telling how she flouted me. But now, 
 as you and I would wed if we could — 
 
 Grun. Don't lie. Chevalier. The Chevalier Hans 
 of Althausen marry a poor commoner? No, 
 no. But he will amuse himself with her. 
 
 Hans. Don't say that, pretty Grun. — (Aside.) 
 Curse her bold face ! — Even a king has married 
 a beggar-maid. 
 
 Grun. Yes, a king, a king, but not — 
 
 Hans. Not what? 
 
 Grun. Oh, never mind. 
 
 Hans. Well, won't you speak for me to the little 
 lady as you feel and think about a Knight who 
 has kissed you? Do so, my pretty Grun. 
 
 Grun. Oh, yes, I'll do that. 
 
 ACT II— SCENE 1 66 * 
 
Hans. That's a charming Grun. Another kiss! 
 
 No? Well, lose no time about it, pretty Grun. 
 
 Enters the old Count Osmond from rear of 
 castle. 
 
 Grun. Not a wink. My lady will be here quickly. 
 
 Hans. Now, tell how you know that. 
 
 Grun. By the old Count coming yonder. She is 
 
 never far when he is near. She keeps after him 
 
 that closely. 
 Hans. Ah! good soul! 
 Grun. Ay! But go you off, now; and hark, no 
 
 eavesdropping or spying. You may come back 
 
 soon, but make some noise about it, mind you. 
 
 Grun turns away and goes to the old Count. 
 
 Hans. So I will, pretty Grun. 
 
 Exit Hans, left front. Grun helps the old 
 Count toward the seat at foot of tree. Soon 
 he stops, and gazes at Grun earnestly. 
 
 Count O. My little Hilda ? No, no. The Angel? 
 
 No, no, no! 
 Grun. But let me help you to the bench under the 
 
 tree. Count Osmond. 
 
 Count O. Yes, yes. 
 
 He sits on the bench, then looks at Grun. 
 
 Count O. The Angel ? No, no, no, no ! 
 
 The old Count leans his head forward, resting 
 it on his hands which rest on his walking 
 stick; sits motionless. Enters Hilda from cas- 
 tle. 
 
 Hilda. Ah ! the dear old grandsire is here. 
 
 Grun. Yes, my lady, and talking of Angels. 
 
 Hilda. Let be, Grun. 'Tis well if the place seem 
 
 67 act II — scene 1 
 
peopled like Heaven — we shall keep him the 
 longer. 
 
 Grun. That would please you, my lady, but how 
 might the Chevalier Hans think of it? 
 
 Hii^DA. What has the Chevalier Hans to do with it ? 
 
 Grun. Much, or nothing, as may happen. The 
 
 big Knight has been talking to me — ^he wants 
 
 to marry you. 
 
 Hilda. Yes, so he says; but I think he wants not 
 me, really. 
 
 Grun. What then? 
 
 Hilda. Oh! my youth, and the bit of beauty I 
 
 have, and chiefly the fair lands of Wistgaw. 
 
 Well — what say you to the big Chevalier for a 
 
 husband ? 
 Grun. I think, dear madam, that a lady should 
 
 beware of a man who kisses her maid. 
 Hilda. What, what, what — do you mean to say — 
 Grun. I say nothing, my lady; but a poor woman 
 
 may be flattered first, and then ashamed. The 
 
 mighty Hans will be here soon. Will you see 
 
 him, or leave him to me? 
 Hilda. Ah, ha! Ah, ha! I see! I smell some fun 
 
 in the air. Out of your wrap and bonnet, Grun, 
 
 and give them to me, and take mine away. Ah ! 
 
 that does well. 
 
 Hilda and Grun have quickly taken off wraps 
 and hats and Hilda has put on Grun's. Then 
 a rough singing is heard outside. 
 
 Grun. He is coming, my lady. 
 
 Hilda. Hurry away! Hold! Put on my garb, 
 
 ACT II— scene 1 68 
 
lest he see you going off. 
 
 Grun hastily dons Hild's wrap and hat and 
 goes toward castle. Enters Hans left front, 
 sees Grun, supposes her Hilda, and approaches 
 Hilda supposing her Grun. Exit Grun into 
 castle. RoUo has followed Hans in stealthily. 
 During the following talk Hans pauses at some 
 distance from Hilda and gradually draws 
 nearer, turning in doing so till his back is to- 
 ward right of stage, while Rollo moves care- 
 fully so as to keep behind Hans. 
 
 Hans. Ha! pretty Grun, what news? I saw the 
 
 little lady making off. Any success with her? 
 
 If not, the devil's in it! Eh? Not a word? 
 
 Perhaps you want a Chevalier's arm around 
 
 you, as the Chevalier wants it — so. Eh? Still 
 
 dumb. Perhaps you want a Chevalier's kiss as 
 
 the Chevalier wants yours — so. 
 
 Here Rollo shakes his fist at Hans, and at 
 same moment Hans roughly whirls Hilda 
 around and attempts a kiss. But Hilda springs 
 lightly backward, breaking away from him, and 
 catching sight of Rollo just as he ends his 
 threatening gesture and goes oflF right. 
 
 Hilda. Chevalier Hans! Oh! Chevalier! Fie, 
 fie ! Is this the way you treat a lady's waiting 
 woman? Fie, fie! Oh! Chevalier! Ha, ha! 
 
 Hans. Not so fast, my lady — 
 
 Hilda. Nay, say that to yourself, Chevalier. Fie, 
 fie! Oh, Chevalier! Ha, ha! 
 
 Hans. I say you are too quick, Lady Hilda. They 
 that play tricks must look for tricks. You 
 think I didn't know you. I knew you all the 
 time. It is my "Ha, ha!" 
 
 Hilda. Did you, indeed? 
 
 Hans. By my head — 
 
 69 act II — scene 1 
 
Hilda. A dull oath, and a vacant oath, yet a 
 
 sounding oath, as by an empty tub. 
 Hans. By my honor, fair Hilda — 
 
 HiivDA. "By all that is not" were as good an oath. 
 Fie, fie! Oh, Chevalier! Ha, ha! 
 
 Hans. I say, I should know you under any dis- 
 guise. Body o' me, my lady — 
 
 Hilda. That's a big oath, but not a brave one. 
 Fie, fie! Oh, Chevalier! Ha, ha! 
 
 Hans. I tell you, my lady — 
 
 Hilda. Nay, but I tell you, that — that — that — 
 
 that — somebody saw you just now. 
 
 Hans looks timidly to right and left and behind 
 him. 
 
 Hilda. Oh! he's not here, but he will be, with 
 something to say and do, if I guess right. I'll 
 leave you to him. A merry hour, to you. Fie, 
 fie ! Oh, Chevalier ! Ha, ha ! 
 
 Exit Hilda into castle, with a peal of mocking 
 laughter. Hans stands looking after her. En- 
 ters Rollo right front, trimming with his knife 
 a stout green stick he has cut in the shrubbery. 
 He clasps the knife and puts in his pocket, 
 eyeing Hans the while, then goes to him and 
 gives him a light tap on the shoulder with the 
 stick. Hans whirls round facing Rollo. The 
 old Count rises from the seat and moves very 
 slowly toward the door of the castle. 
 
 Rollo. That's a tip to show what you're to get. 
 
 Sir Swagbelly. 
 Hans. (Drawing his sword.) What? Out, var- 
 
 let, out, before I cut you in two. 
 
 Rollo. Your sword? Bah! I know a bit of 
 single-stick. I'll show you the twist. Thwack ! 
 
 ACT II^SCENE 1 70 
 
By a strong, dexterous whirling blow, Rollo 
 strikes the sword from Hans' hand. Hans 
 thereupon runs to the tree and gets it between 
 himself and Rollo, who chases him. 
 
 Hans. Rollo, good Rollo, I beg you, good Rollo, 
 don't be rash. What's the matter? What do 
 you want? 
 
 Roi.i.0. What do I want? To get at you, and I 
 
 will. What's the matter? Didn't I see you 
 
 putting arm around my wife? Didn't you take 
 
 a kiss of her ? Out, Sir Rabble ! A fine Knight 
 
 you ! I'll polish the back of your Knighthood ! 
 
 Rollo begins to dodge around the tree, aiming 
 blows, and Hans dodges in like manner. Soon 
 the dodging becomes a race round and round, 
 in which Rollo gains, and Hans bolts from the 
 tree, runs to the old Count, pursued by Rollo, 
 catches the old Count by the arms and holds 
 him between himself and Rollo as a shield. 
 Rollo stops. 
 
 RoivLO. So! Chevalier Gammon! Sir Rake, Sir 
 
 Snap, Sir Quack-Mouth ! There lies your 
 
 sword. Leave my old master, and come out. 
 
 Sir Quake-liver! 
 
 Enter Hilda and Grun from castle. Hilda runs 
 to the old Count, throws oflf Hans' hands, and 
 puts her arm protectingly over the old Count's 
 shoulders. Hans retreats a little to one side, 
 but keeps back of Hilda, looking timorously at 
 Rollo. 
 
 Hilda. What's all this, Rollo? 
 
 Rollo. Why, my lady, I caught him putting arm 
 
 around Grun and taking a kiss of her, not ten 
 
 minutes ago on this spot. 
 Hilda. Oh! no, Rollo! That was I. The htg 
 
 Chevalier has made love to me, and I borrowed 
 
 71 ACT II— SCENE 1 
 
some things of Grun, to play a trick on him. 
 
 But he swore he knew me, in spite of Grun's 
 
 togs, and we must believe him, you know — Oh, 
 
 never shake your head so, we must believe him, 
 
 indeed. And anyway, it was I and not Grun, 
 
 letting him put arm about me and court me. 
 
 So away with you, and be a good loving couple. 
 
 Exeunt Rollo and Grun together, though Rollo 
 casts contemptuous and suspicious glances at 
 Hans. 
 
 HiiyDA. Pick up your sword, Chevalier. Did you 
 get a slap on the knuckles? No? That's well. 
 But your sword on the ground, Chevalier? 
 
 Hans. My lady would not have me use my sword 
 on a peasant lout? 
 
 Hilda. No, indeed, big Chevalier; 'tis so much 
 
 better to throw down your sword and run 
 
 away — Oh, fie, fie ! — and to use an old man for 
 
 a shield — fie, fie! Oh, Chevalier! Ha, ha! 
 
 Hilda leads the old Count tenderly toward the 
 castle, cooing and talking to him. Hans goes 
 left, scowling viciously. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 ACT II— SCENE 1 72 
 
ACT II— SCENE 2. 
 
 SCENE — The ascending slope of the hill of the Kobolds, 
 occupying about one-third of the depth of the stage, 
 and nearly the whole of the width, leaving just enough 
 space on each side to show the round of the hill. The 
 slope is steep and high, prettily brushed, with outcrop- 
 pings of rock adorned with gray and green lichens. In 
 front of the hill is an open green lawn. Boughs of 
 trees overhang it in part, projecting on both sides from 
 trunks just appearing in view. Night, with bright 
 moonlight. Enter three Kobolds who look about watch- 
 fully, then give a signal by striking on the hill, which 
 returns a hollow, deep, sonorous music, like the stroke 
 of a huge bell, and then opens ; a large portion of the 
 front silope and all the width of it dissolve away, show- 
 ing a fine and large hall, brilliantly lighted, adorned 
 with hanging crystals, and thronged with Kobolds. The 
 interior is so painted as to appear very deep. The rear 
 corners of the deep vista are hung with tapestries. 
 From behind the tapestry at the left enters King 
 Kohlibran, to whom all the Kobolds pay obeisance. 
 
 Kohl. Rally, ye canty Kobolds bright, 
 Who, bred of thrice distilled light, 
 Make like mid-noon the mid of night 
 And witch-time change to double day, 
 Rally, and barken, and obey; 
 For now's to be uncommon play. 
 As I shall bid you. Know you, then, 
 Our Herman must return to men, 
 But first 'tis Lady Bertha's will 
 He Hilda meet ; this we fulfill. 
 Go two of you and find the maid, 
 Where, in her ivied window's shade 
 Viewing the pomp of stars and moon, 
 
 73 ACT II— SCENE 2 
 
She fell asleep. Go, bring her soon, 
 
 Yet charm her hither without waking, 
 
 Nor sound, nor touch her slumber breaking. 
 
 Exeunt two of the Kobolds, floating up and 
 off through the air. 
 
 KoHi,. Prepare ye for our lovely guest 
 
 The dance we Kobolds love the best, 
 
 Tripping with gay fantastic feet 
 
 Where grass-green and our cave-light meet. 
 
 But Where's our Herman? Why away? 
 
 Blow him the call we all obey. 
 
 A Kobold takes down a long silver horn or 
 trumpet from the wall, and blows with a rich 
 tone the following music: 
 
 i^,rJ^\iJJi\iiii\iih]lf,l 
 
 KoHi,. Well sung, and bravely ! Sound again ! 
 
 The blowing of the horn is repeated as before. 
 
 Kohl. Brave! And enough! 
 
 Enters Herman, left, from behind the tapes- 
 tries which screen the inner chambers of the 
 cave. 
 
 Kohl. Our man of men, 
 
 My Herman, welcome ! What delay ? 
 
 Herman. Sooth, Sire, in troubled sleep I lay. 
 Dreaming you sent me off, away, — 
 A vexing dream ! My heart was torn, 
 'Till roused by th' music of the horn. 
 
 Kohl. Ah ! dreams are strange, a mystic shore 
 Where signals flame to us before 
 The ships at sea come sailing in. 
 Herman, the time arriveth when 
 
 ACT II— SCENE 2 74 
 
You must return to live with men ; 
 
 And you have ta'en our discipline 
 
 So well you shall high honor win ; 
 
 We render you to human sight 
 
 A very perfect gentle knight. 
 
 For a preparatory ken 
 
 Some several sallies unto men 
 
 Thou hast performed, and hither again, 
 
 And at their jousts of knights and steeds 
 
 Hast done such skilled and gallant deeds 
 
 That all the chevaliers exclaimed 
 
 Who was that knight so valiant famed, — 
 
 Sir Torald hight when fight was on, 
 
 But never found when fight was done. 
 
 For Herman is thy name by birth. 
 
 But hast been Torald called on earth; 
 
 Now 'mong thy kind resume thy name 
 
 And man it with its ancient fame. 
 
 For time has come you forth to stay 
 
 And with your people keep your way. 
 
 But first you must a secret know, 
 
 And understand before you go : 
 
 Although your lands you never saw, 
 
 Nor aught else human — such our law — 
 
 Yet of the Castle of Wistgaw 
 
 And all its meads and forests fair 
 
 You are the one and only heir. 
 
 Herman. Sooth, a rich tale, your Majesty; 
 And tell me, please you, who may be 
 The present holder. 
 
 Kohl. You shall see. 
 
 She comes at word that lovely she, 
 
 75 ACT II— SCENE 2 
 
A maiden of your mortal kind, 
 
 As sweet and good as ever shined 
 
 On manly heart. In slumber blind 
 
 She comes ; and you shall wake her ! Find 
 
 Some happy way. 
 
 Enter at left the two Kobolds, backward, mak- 
 ing beckoning gestures with one hand, with the 
 other leading Hilda by a long ribbon, the ends 
 of the ribbon held by the Kobolds. Hilda 
 walks with closed eyes, evidently asleep, yet 
 fearlessly, guided by a dream-sight. Then the 
 two Kobolds tie the ribbon into a graceful 
 knot falling to Hilda's waist, and retire among 
 their fellows, leaving Hilda standing still. The 
 crowd of Kobolds all mass to the right front, 
 one still holding the long silver horn and a 
 little in advance of his fellows. Herman goes 
 to Hilda with evident rapturous admiration, 
 falls on one knee, takes her hand and kisses 
 it. Herman then signs to the Kobold, who 
 blows on the horn the same call as before. 
 Hilda slowly opens her eyes. 
 
 Hilda. Is 't music wakes me to light, or light to 
 
 music? 
 
 The Kobold blows the horn again to same 
 strain. 
 
 H11.DA. That strain again! A very calling music. 
 
 I think 'twould call my soul out of my body 
 
 If heard too much. This ribbon ! Mine ! But 
 
 how? 
 
 I think I am awake ! But where ? What these ? 
 
 And who is he that kneels, kissing my hand, 
 
 And holding it, and looking at me so dearly ? 
 
 Oh ! is this heaven ? Or are the banished happy ? 
 
 The Kobolds form a picturesque group around 
 and at one side, not too near. Hilda and Her- 
 man remain gazing at each other. Meanwhile 
 Kohlibran and Yoho are to front on right : 
 
 YoHO. Sire Unkie, this man is a liar. 
 
 ACT II — SCENE 2 76 
 
Kohl. What — what — what — what? What's that, 
 
 fool? 
 YoHO. Is not a double-dealer a liar? 
 Kohl. What then? 
 YoHO. This man is a double-dealer. 
 Kohl. How make you that? 
 YoHO. 'Tis twenty years since he was placed with 
 
 us. 
 KoHL. Well? 
 
 YoHO. And twenty is double ten. Oh, Unkie ! 
 Kohl. You'll be whipped for smartness some day. 
 YoHO. What matter? I shall not feel it. 
 Kohl. How so? 
 Yoho. I shall not know 'tis myself whipped, being 
 
 called smart. 
 Kohl. You'll feel the smart of the lash, I fancy. 
 Yoho. Then it were a smart lash. Now, as a 
 
 smart wit is a sharp wit, so a smart lash is a 
 
 sharp lash — which is no lash at all, for all lashes 
 
 are round and dull. Oh, Unkie ! 
 Kohl. Go to ! You're a bad fool. 
 YoHO. I'll wager you a laugh, Unkie, that I have a 
 
 better head than you have. 
 Kohl. Ah! Where's your proof of that? 
 YoHO. Why here: If a king reign well, like your 
 
 great majesty, he hath king-wit; but if I make 
 
 folly, I have fool-wit. And your fool-wit for a 
 
 fool is as good as king-wit for a king. 
 Kohl. But you said a better head. How that? 
 YoHO. Yes, because I knew it was as good — you 
 
 77 ACT II— SCENE 2 
 
did not know that. Oh, Unkie ! 
 
 Here the tableau dissolves. 
 
 KoHiv. Away, you canty sprites, good elves. 
 
 Go now and brightly deck yourselves, 
 
 Ready to come unto the dance 
 
 Upon my call and ordinance. 
 
 Exeunt the Kobolds behind the tapestry at 
 right corner of cave. Kohlibran, Yoho and the 
 Kobold with the trumpet remain. 
 
 H11.DA. Am I dreaming? 
 
 Herman. Dear lady, no; 'twere pity 
 
 If beauty as dear as thine were but a dream. 
 HiivDA. I wake then, yet behold this gentle knight, 
 
 Gentle and brave, fairer than all yet seen. 
 
 Yea, and methinks than all could ever come. 
 
 'Tis strange, 'tis wondrous strange ! And thou, 
 thou art 
 
 A stranger within the strange. What is thy 
 name? 
 Herman. They call me Torald. Lady, I ne'er be- 
 fore 
 
 Met mortal maid. Thou 'rt beautiful and dear. 
 Kohl. Ay, ay! You see, it works. I've done my 
 part ; 
 
 Let Nature do the rest. 
 YoHO. So Nature will. 
 
 Unkie, canst tell me why this twain are like 
 
 The fruit of yonder tree ? 
 KoHi,. Well, well — and why? 
 YoHO. Is't not a fair and lovely pear ? Oh, Unkie ! 
 KoHi,. Go to ! You're a simple fool. 
 YoHO. Not so, neither. 
 
 ACT II — SCENE 2 78 
 
I'll prove you, Unkie, now — 
 
 Kohl. Be still ! What saith he ? 
 
 Herman. If one from childhood dwelt beneath a 
 roof, 
 Even though a temple's, fortunate were he 
 If first he wandered out and saw the earth 
 Upon a day celestial, full of sun. 
 Meads of gay flowers, deep dells of plumy 
 
 green, 
 And brooks like warbling wires of silver strung 
 Across the bends of hills, and over all 
 The heavenly dome of blue latticed with clouds ; 
 Or if by night 'twas that he first went forth. 
 Then to the moon full-sailing mid cumulous 
 
 islands, 
 Or when the crescent, light full, yet sharp- 
 peaked, 
 Swims down a late horizon's soberness. 
 Leaving the host of stars a-tiptoe, peering; — 
 So I who, nursed with Kobolds, ne'er before 
 Met fellow-mortal maid, am prosperous 
 In seeing first one fair and dear as thou. 
 
 Hilda. Pray Heaven I be awake ! I'd not be 
 wooed 
 So sweetly, dreaming. 
 
 Herman. Nor I dreaming woo. 
 Most precious lady. 
 
 Kohl. Enough ! Trumpet the call ! 
 
 The Kobold sounds the call on the horn as 
 before. 
 
 Herman. The Kobolds' call ! They come to dance 
 
 — with us ! 
 
 79 ACT II— SCENE 2 
 
The call is sounded again, the Kobolds pour 
 in from behind the tapestry, right corner of 
 cave. 
 
 Herman. With us, sweet lady! See them come! 
 
 Wilt foot 
 With me an honorable ancient measure ? — 
 While they will gambol round us like bright 
 
 birds. 
 
 Hilda signs assent and gives Herman her hand, 
 and he leads her to place. The Kobolds have 
 arrayed themselves. They are dressed, in two 
 companies, one all white, one all bright red; 
 but all wear caps of golden yellow with green 
 wavy plumes. Then follows a dance long and 
 full of many intricate and changing figures, 
 moving gaily around Herman and Hilda who 
 dance a stately measure like a minuet in the 
 center. When the dance ends, the Kobolds 
 all mass at the right front. 
 
 Herman. Dear lady, your dancing is as excellent 
 As soul, 'tis sure, excels your beauty's promise. 
 Tell me, doth your sweet countenance forebode 
 Action in all as rich as in your feet ? 
 And yet methinks you cannot look so good 
 As good in sooth you are, by your sweet soul 
 Invisibly fairer than your beauty's praise. 
 
 Hilda. Dear prince — for sure a prince you are, 
 must be — 
 I wander in a maze. You say I wake ; 
 Yet ne'er before have I been wakeful so ; 
 But now, how be it, in dream or act, I droop ? 
 This scene, these wondrous beings, the dance, 
 
 thy praise. 
 Ah ! yes, not least thy praise, my happiness, 
 Bespeak me rest awhile. 
 
 Herman. Yoho, a chair. 
 
 act II — scene 2 80 
 
YoHO. What, is her beauty lame? 
 
 Herman. Lame ? 
 
 YoHO. That she requires a truss ? 
 
 Herman. Truss ? 
 
 YoHO. Ay, so. What is a chair but a seat between 
 
 two trusses? 
 
 Herman. Out, fool ! Bring a rest-seat ! 
 
 Yoho runs to side of the cave and brings a 
 light but comfortable easy-chair. Meanwhile 
 Kohlibran beckons and the two Kobolds who 
 brought Hildo come to him : 
 
 KoHi,. Go toll her home again and leave her where 
 she was asleep at her window. 
 
 Yoho. Here's your ointment and rouge. 
 
 Herman. What? 
 
 Yoho. Ay, so ! A bolster for lame beauty ! 
 
 Herman. Away, rogue ! 
 
 Yoho darts off, Herman places chair and ten- 
 derly seats Hilda. The two Kobolds approach. 
 
 KoHL. Torald ! 
 
 Herman instantly obeys the King's call; mean- 
 time the two Kobolds charm Hilda to sleep, 
 untie the long ribbon, and with gestures and 
 leading by the ribbon make her rise and follow 
 them, left. 
 
 Herman. What will you, Sire? 
 
 KoHi,. Would you see a fair sight? 
 
 Herman. Already you have given me a sight the 
 
 fairest in the world. 
 
 Kohl. But look again. 
 
 Herman looks, and sees Hilda following the 
 two Kobolds and starts toward her impetu- 
 ously. 
 
 81 ACT II— SCENE 2 
 
Kohl. Herman, not so ! Stay ! 
 
 Hilda disappears under the trees left, tolled on 
 by the Kobolds. 
 
 Herman. But, Sire, I cannot lose her ! 
 
 Kohl. Nay. 
 
 You shall not ; yet awhile must stay. 
 
 Behind our hill soon breaks the day. 
 
 And morning, on yon crystal crown, . 
 
 Opens her gates and tumbles down 
 
 Her troops of children, rosy crew, 
 
 Chasing the berries of the dew. 
 
 Come, we must go in ! 
 
 Kohlibran and Herman enter the cave and all 
 the Kobolds crowd after. The hill shuts as it 
 opened, and the stage is light only with the 
 moon. Music. Soon enter the two Kobolds, 
 who strike on the hill, which reverberates like 
 a bell, then opens and the two Kobolds enter. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 ACT II— SCENE 2 82 
 
ACT III— SCENE 1. 
 
 SCENE — Same as Scene 1 of Act 11. Time, early sun- 
 up the next morning, a radiant slant sunlight breaking 
 over everything. 
 
 Enters Count Osmond from the castle. 
 Count O. I am not wont to be alone when I come 
 out to the day. Belike 'tis too early — or too 
 late. Yet I think the day is like other days in 
 the morning. Where's my little Hilda? In- 
 doors — safe in the Castle — she must be in the 
 Castle of course. But where is the angel that 
 always comes? The angel never is in-doors, 
 but out-doors always comes. I will look about 
 for my angel. 
 
 The old Count wanders slowly off. Enters 
 Hilda from the castle, looking for the Count. 
 
 Hilda. I have awakened late — the day's too old ! 
 Where is my ancient saint this lovely morn ? 
 Nay, sooth, but where am I? In what land 
 
 living? 
 I think I grew a woman yester night. 
 And suddenly learned how richer the joy of 
 
 soul, 
 Richer the joy enriched with the pain too. 
 Than glee the lamb skips in the meadow withal. 
 A dream 'twas — must have been ; but such a 
 
 dream 
 As was more living than some waking is; 
 More loving too ; being woman by it, I know 
 
 83 ACT III — SCENE 1 
 
I ne'er can love unless my Torald comes, 
 The perfect Torald of my dream. Alas ! 
 What gain I so ? I gain my dream, my dream ! 
 With it, life's full, without it, bootless void. 
 Ne'er love, say I, unless he come, my Torald ? 
 Doth it mean I love him now ? Love whom ? A 
 
 dream ? 
 Oh, oh, I know not what to say or reason. 
 But only what I feel, which is new love 
 Embracing all. The fountains are broken up, 
 And dream or real, Torald is in my soul. 
 That now I love the world in every creature. 
 Come new into my ears, my eyes, my arms, 
 Ye singing birds, ye painted flowers and trees, 
 And all ye creatures gentle and needful, come; 
 I love you all anew ! But where's the Count ? 
 The while I chant or pray — which is 't? — 
 
 where's he, 
 The very dear and venerable Count ? 
 Rollo and Grun ! — I fear for him. — Why, Grun. 
 Enter Rollo and Grun from castle. 
 Hilda. Where is Count Osmond ? Have you seen 
 him this morning? 
 
 Grun. No, my lady. 
 
 Rollo. Not I, my lady. 
 
 Hilda. He must have wandered off. Go you this 
 
 way and that, two roads, looking for him. I'll 
 
 search the grove behind the castle. Quickly ! 
 
 Exeunt all, Rollo and Grun to right and left, 
 Hilda behind the castle. Enter Hans, left 
 front. He holds a flat board and paper and 
 crayon. 
 
 Hans. Oh ! She flouts me like a pig, a very pig. I 
 
 ACT III— SCENE 1 84 
 
think a waddling swine would have more favor 
 from her lily hands. But a verse may fetch 
 her — many a shrew tumbles before a verse. 
 And I've some good ones in my head picking 
 like chicks at the shell. Come out now, and 
 let's see how you look. 
 
 Hans writes and then reads : 
 Hans. Hilda is like the air. 
 She is so fine and fair. 
 
 Well enough. The air is fine, but is it fair ? 
 But who presses a rhyme far? Not a flattered 
 girl. 
 
 Hans writes again, and reads : 
 Hans. She has such pretty ears, 
 My heart is full of fears ; 
 
 Right! Any woman will understand that. 
 Hans writes, and reads again : 
 Hans. She has such pretty eyes 
 That I am all surprise. 
 
 Good again ! A rhyme on eyes is taking. 
 Hans writes again. Enters Rollo. 
 RoLLO. Oh, will the big Chevalier tell me — has he 
 met the old Count ? — we're all looking for him. 
 Hans. Away, you lout! Don't you see I'm busy? 
 
 Exit Rollo. Hans reads : 
 Hans. And such a pretty hand. 
 Better than gold or land. 
 
 Good again. That's handsome — makes 
 much of herself and light of her dowry. 
 Hans writes. Enters Grun : 
 Grun. Oh, please you, Chevalier, have you seen 
 
 85 act III— scene 1 
 
the old Count? We're running about for him 
 everywhere ! 
 Hans. Out, you foul wench ! Will you bother me ? 
 
 Grun. That's not what you called me last, Cheva- 
 lier Hans. 
 
 Hans turns and looks at her. 
 Hans. Oh, bless me ! So busy I didn't know you, 
 pretty Grun. Give me your pretty lip now. 
 {Offers to kiss her.) 
 Grun. Know little, get little. Ha, ha! big Cheva- 
 lier. 
 
 Exit Grun, mockingly. 
 Hans. I'll put that saucy jade in her place, and 
 she'll know it. 
 
 Hans reads : 
 If Hilda is my bride 
 I shall be full of pride. 
 
 Good again. A fair and full ending. And 
 a good contrast. The ears make me full of 
 fears, but the bride full of pride. 
 Enter old Count Osmund. 
 Hans. Now will I woo her with the verses, hum- 
 bly begging her to read them. A man must be 
 humble before marriage, the woman after it. 
 
 The old Count has approached Hans and is 
 now at his elbow ; Hans is surveying the verses 
 admiringly. 
 
 Count O. I don't know you. But you are big 
 and strong. I think you can tell me how to 
 find the angel. 
 
 Enters Hilda from behind castle. 
 
 Hans. Away, old carrion ! 
 
 ACT III— scene 1 86 
 
Hans gives the old Count a vexed and violent 
 shove with his elbow, which throws the aged 
 man to the ground, while Hans still gazes at 
 his verses. Hilda utters a cry and runs to the 
 old Count. Enter Rollo and Grun at same 
 moment, and the three help the Count tenderly 
 to rise. Hilda, Rollo and Grun lead him to- 
 ward the castle. 
 
 Hilda. Take him to his room, Grun. I will be 
 
 with him in a few moments. 
 
 They go into the castle, while Hilda faces Hans 
 with blazing eyes. 
 
 Hans. An accident, my Lady Hilda. 
 
 Hilda. Liar ! 
 
 Hans. Madame ! I say I meant not to throw the 
 
 old man down. 
 
 Hilda. Ha! Meant not, meant not! Sooth, a 
 
 doughty answer. 
 Oh, a brave answer from the big Chevalier ! 
 And if a wanton hind let fly an arrow 
 Into a throng, doth he intend the hurt 
 Of that one man whose heart or throat is 
 
 stabbed ? 
 You gored him with a brutal arm, and felled 
 
 him, 
 Venerable with ninety years ; and foul 
 Words soiled his silvered head. Little you 
 
 recked 
 H he was grieved ! Oh, I could be a man 
 One moment long, to brand it on your body, 
 Wherein alone I think you have some feeling. 
 It boils my blood and flames around my brain. 
 Scorches mine eyes, and makes my tear-pools 
 
 blisters. 
 That his so ancient honorable age 
 
 87 ACT III— SCENE 1 
 
Brooks such a foul from such a thing as you ! 
 
 Enters Wilbold behind, so that Hilda does not 
 see him. 
 
 Hilda. Pah! go! You pitch the blue clear heav- 
 ens, and make 
 The honied bosom of the air a stench ! 
 
 Hilda is drawn up proudly and scornfully, but 
 dashes tears from her eyes. Exit into castle. 
 
 Wii,. What's the matter. I never saw my little 
 Hilda like that before. 
 
 Hans. Belike you never crossed her will before. 
 
 WiL. Well, something in that. But how cross her 
 now? 
 
 Hans. Oh ! She kicks like a colt at the pretty 
 harness I would put on her, which you ap- 
 prove — I mean the pretty harness, not the kick- 
 ing. 
 
 Wiiv. Well, something in that. But choose better 
 words, Chevalier — ^you speak of my daughter. 
 
 Hans. No offense, Baron. But, body o' me, she 
 can slap mighty hard with her tongue. 
 
 WiL. You must win or lose as you can. Chevalier 
 Hans. I say I never saw my little girl moved 
 so and looking so, since she fought piratical 
 flies with her chubby little fists in her cradle. 
 She is changed — something has happened to 
 her. Faith, I can think she has grown tall 
 suddenly, or else I have lacked note of her 
 height. 
 
 Enters Fritz, the steward. 
 
 Fritz. My lord, 'tis the day of the Honey Broth, 
 and I have had no orders. My Lady Hilda 
 
 ACT III — scene 1 88 
 
sends me to you, and says she will come her- 
 self anon. 
 
 WiL. That bothersome thing! 
 
 Fritz. My lord, for twenty of my seventy years 
 I've seen the Honey Broth here, and for thir- 
 teen of those twenty I've had your order for 
 it, until, you know, my lord, last year — 
 
 WiL. Hold your tongue ! I say 'tis bothersome 
 and tiresome, and devilish costly. 
 
 Hans. Baron, I've begged you a hundred times to 
 be done with that plaguey fool-play. 
 
 WiL. But what can I do? 
 
 Hans. Do? Say no, cut the knot, end it. 
 
 WiL. Faith, I think I will; faith, so! 
 
 Fritz. My lord — 
 
 WiL. Tush ! tush ! 
 
 Enters Hilda from castle. 
 HiIvDA. What's this? Fritz sorrowful, my father 
 moved, 
 The Chevalier again ! What is this? What? 
 My father, you'll vouchsafe the Honey-Broth — 
 Is 't not so? You'll not break the ancient 
 usage ! , 
 
 Hans. Ancient? Ha, ha! 
 
 Hilda. Yes, ancient ; deeds of heart take soon the 
 full 
 Of reverend antique grace. So is this feast 
 Ancient by Lady Bertha's heart, and the peo- 
 ple's — 
 Most reverend, hoar, religious, dedicate. 
 Hans. Fine coddling! 
 
 89 act III— scene 1 
 
Hilda. Bethink you, too, my father, 
 
 Bethink you that Count Osmond still is here, 
 A nobleman ancient, venerable, dear. 
 The honored consort of the sainted dame 
 Who first bestowed and then entailed forever 
 This friendly feast to cheer our yoemanry. 
 Spot not the antique silver of his head 
 With rusty riddance of the festival 
 Which his sweet lady made. 
 
 Hans. And when he's gone, 
 
 My Lady Hilda will persuade to feed 
 The rustic yokels for his memory. 
 Pah ! If you could but cook his good fat fame 
 To make meat for the clowns, 'twere econom- 
 ical. 
 
 H11.DA. Remember what a lovely pleasure 'tis — 
 No little thing — and ties their grateful souls 
 Unto our house ; they love you for it fondly. 
 
 Hans. Ay, ay ! And, Baron, shrewdly keep them 
 feeding ; 
 Full-stomach love is empty-stomach hate. 
 
 Wih. Well, something in that. But still I fear to 
 
 break 
 Th' old custom — sooth, I have some cause to 
 
 fear it. 
 Well, something in that. Oh, let the fret go on. 
 I say, Fritz, order the Honey-Broth as usual. 
 
 Hilda. My dear, good father ! Fritz, go bid Grun 
 wait 
 Wi' the aged Count for me — I'll not be long. 
 
 Fritz goes toward castle. Hilda turns to her 
 father, but immediately, after a suspicious look 
 
 ACT III— SCENE 1 90 
 
at Hans, turns again toward Fritz and calls to 
 him. 
 
 Hilda. Fritz ! 
 
 Fritz. My Lady ! 
 
 Fritz stops and takes a step toward Hilda, but 
 she has hastened to him. Meantime Hans has 
 fallen to arguing with Wilbold, making em- 
 phatic and angry gestures. 
 Hilda. And, good Fritz, touching this same 
 Honey-Broth, 
 See to 't 'tis good, as rich as ever 'twas. 
 Fritz. My dear, good lady! 
 
 Hilda. Bless thy good soul, Fritz ! We know th' 
 Honey-Broth, 
 A rite how fair, religious, dear ! See to 't ! 
 
 Fritz goes again toward castle, and Hilda turns 
 toward her father. 
 
 Hans. I tell you, Baron, the rogues laugh in their 
 
 sleeves while they eat your pudding. 
 WiL. No, no, I think not so. 
 Hans. I know it, the scurvy clowns. 
 
 Hilda stops, turns and calls to Fritz, who as 
 before turns and moves toward her, while 
 Hilda goes to him. Hans continues his urgent 
 gestures to Wilbold. 
 
 Hilda. And, Fritz, hasten to tell the village folk. 
 
 And bid them all to the tables. Go! make 
 
 haste ! 
 
 But first unto the noble Count and Grun — 
 
 Command my nurse as I have bidden you ; 
 
 I must remain to watch that knavish Hans, 
 
 Lest he prevail to change my father's mind. 
 
 Speaks musingly, to herself. 
 
 Yet is it well to call the Chevalier knavish? 
 
 91 act III — SCENE 1 
 
Methinks my mind — why is it? — hath suffered 
 
 change, 
 
 Some expeditious change, and I am new; 
 
 My new heart sembles now a rich parterre. 
 
 Kind to a thousand flowers, as kind to weeds. 
 
 With a wave of hand to dismiss Fritz and has- 
 ten him, Hilda turns again toward Wilbold, and 
 Fritz toward the castle. 
 
 Wii,. Well, something in that ! Something in that ! 
 
 Ay, by my house ! And faith, I'll not be pushed 
 
 by them. Fritz ! 
 
 Fritz returns to Wilbold. 
 Fritz. My lord? 
 WiL. I'll give no Honey-Broth. 
 Fritz. My lord? 
 WiL. What are ears for ? I say I will not give the 
 
 Honey-Broth. 
 Fritz. My lord, may an old servant venture — 
 WiL. No ! 
 
 Fritz. Then pray you let your servant venture to 
 venture. 
 
 You will have peace, and so will all the spirits 
 
 That faithfully keep this castle, if you vouch- 
 safe 
 
 To show this ancient customary love. 
 Hans. Ancient again ! Ha, ha ! 
 Wiiy. Away, old steward ! I have said ! 
 Hilda. My father! 
 
 Go, Fritz, to the old Count and Grun. 
 Exit Fritz into the castle. 
 Hilda. My father, 
 
 ACT III — SCENE 1 92 
 
You'll not drive me away — nay, frown not, 
 
 sir — 
 You'll smith no iron frown into a lock 
 To buckle my lips, whence now my soul wilf 
 
 out. 
 Bethink you, I have been all gentleness. 
 All duty, affectionate, obedient; 
 Yet now will I defy denial, and speak, 
 And you must hear me, must, I say, and ought. 
 You who have listened to this naughty knight 
 That spoils your honor, reverence, piety. 
 
 WiL. Hilda, have done ! 
 
 Hilda. Yea, yea ! when done is done, 
 
 Then will I too have done, but now I speak. 
 And why, sir, will I speak ? To save my father, 
 My father own, whom I do love, from danger. 
 
 Hans. Danger! Ha, ha! 
 
 Hilda. Remember what befell 
 Two years ago — 
 
 WiL. Tut ! tut ! 
 
 Hilda. Two years, I say. 
 
 When you but only pinched the diet, and gave 
 
 But parsimoniously what had been rich. 
 
 And when next year you but bestowed the 
 
 broth. 
 Naught but the broth alone, no meats there- 
 with. 
 The angry Kobolds then ransacked the earth 
 For noises worst affrighting, foul and hateful, 
 And made the long night hideous in the castle. 
 You know you slept not by one wink that night, 
 And none else but th' aged Count and me ; 
 
 93 ACT III— SCENE 1 
 
Eke did they such a breakage in the house, 
 That when old Fritz cast up th' amount, it made 
 The very cost of the Honey-Broth to a penny. 
 What may they do, or rather what not do, 
 If now again you scorn the antique rite 
 On which they dote? 
 
 Hans. Pah ! Here's no chronicle ; 
 
 These are but dreams of tales, whisps, vapors. 
 
 Wii.. I dreamt not that mad uproar. Chevalier. 
 
 Hans. Well, well, suppose 'tis so, what of 't? 
 Defy them ! 
 
 Wii.. Well, something in that. I own I'm not dis- 
 posed 
 To be dragooned to this preposterous pottage. 
 Hans. And I must tell you it is no girl's busi- 
 ness — 
 'Tis men's affair — be sovereign with your own. 
 
 Wii,. Well something in that! I'll not be coaxed 
 too much. 
 
 H11.DA. My father, remember it hath long been 
 
 said 
 The fame and fortune of our noble house 
 Hang like a shield on th' arm o' the Kobolds' 
 
 favor. 
 
 WiL. Well, something in that! I've oft heard 
 that, friend Hans. 
 
 Hans. Pooh ! old wives' tales ! Will you be made 
 a fool? 
 
 WiL. No, no, I'll not be fooled ! I'll give no revels. 
 H11.DA. Dear father, be not so prevailed upon 
 
 To make you stubborn in this matter, pray you ! 
 
 ACT III— scene 1 94 
 
WiL. Ha! What's that? Stubborn? What say 
 you ? Stubborn ? Stubborn ? 
 Out on the word ! A disrespectful daughter ! 
 
 Hilda. No, no ! no disrespect ; only to say — 
 
 WiL. But I say! That's enough! I'll give no 
 feast — 
 
 Except to my friends ! Ay, so ! A happy 
 thought ! 
 
 I will defy your Kobolds with a banquet 
 
 Given my friends — Fritz ! — to knights and la- 
 dies, 
 
 Fritz, Fritz, I say! Ay, and to-morrow, sooth, 
 
 I' the teeth of this their pet enforced feast ! 
 
 Why, Fritz ! 
 
 Enters Fritz. 
 
 Go send abroad to all my friends. 
 
 Knights, ladies, to banquet here to-morrow 
 night. 
 Fritz. My lord ! 
 
 WiL. Go do it, instantly ! Look to it ! 
 Hilda. My father — 
 
 WiL. Peace ! I say I rule. No pottage ! 
 
 Instead, I'll feast my friends to-morrow night. 
 And yet, good sooth, 'tis one thing to meet 
 
 mortals. 
 But ticklish elves and vexed whimsical spirits, 
 These be different. You, what would you do 
 If droll or ghost confronted you, Chevalier? 
 
 Hans. I would conjure it! Ha! And never again 
 The thing would dare adventure me, I promise. 
 
 Here Hans draws himself up fiercely to his 
 utmost height and strikes his huge sword on 
 the floor till it rings loudly. 
 
 95 ACT III — SCENE 1 
 
Hilda. You would conjure it? Well, and so you 
 
 shall — 
 Hans. Eh, what ! 
 
 Hii,DA. Or may, or have at least a chance to prove 
 Your boast, big Chevalier. For they will come, 
 O yes, the Kobolds come, I know they will. 
 And wake the drowsy darkness with their 
 
 wrath 
 To-night — they'll not delay their angry sport. 
 Stay you now with my father, doughty Hans, 
 Stay here to-night, and help my father spar 
 With these same antic sprites and pinching 
 
 elves. 
 You shall conjure them, ah, you know, conjure 
 
 them ! 
 Will you not stay? 
 
 Hans. Well, hem ! my lady, no — 
 HiiyDA. What! no? But you'll conjure them, be- 
 think you, conjure them! 
 
 Hans. I have affairs at home. 
 Hilda. 'Tis early morn. 
 
 You may go thither, and return to-night. 
 
 Hans. Why two to fight with shadows? One's 
 
 enough. 
 Hilda. But to conjure them. Chevalier, conjure 
 them! 
 My father hath not caught that trick, to con- 
 jure them. 
 Will you desert your friend? Nay, come, con- 
 jure them! 
 For they will come, as sure as midnight, yes, 
 
 ACT III — scene 1 96 
 
A-trooping through the halls with monstrous 
 
 riot, 
 Pound doors, shake screens, make creatures 
 
 hoot, winds howl ! 
 But you'll conjure them, surely, ah! Conjure 
 
 them. 
 
 Hans. Nay, nay, I have some business at my cas- 
 tle— 
 
 I must be gone — 'tis nothing. Baron, nothing. 
 Exit Hans, hastily. 
 Hilda. You see, my father, what he is, a coward; 
 
 He dare not stay. 
 Wii.. Tut ! tut ! 
 Hilda. I say he quakes. 
 
 Will you be ruled by such a thing as he 
 
 Against your daughter's prayers? 
 WiL. Tut ! tut ! I say. 
 
 My mind is made — I'll give no Honey-Broth. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 97 ACT III— SCENE 1 
 
ACT III— SCENE 2. 
 
 SCENE — The great bed-chamber of the castle, the same as 
 in Scene 2, Act I. The large and handsome bed is 
 ready for use. It is night, a half-hour before mid- 
 night. 
 
 Wilbold is discovered, just ready for bed and 
 two servants helping him, one holding a candle. 
 The stage is amply lighted. 
 
 WiL. That will do. Off with you now. And, 
 hark 'e — quiet in the house ! D' ye hear ? No 
 tricks, no noise ! By my faith, I never thought 
 of it before, but mayhap the roaring fracas a 
 year ago was made by you and your fellows 
 to force the Honey-Broth from me. 
 
 First Servant. My lord, my lord, can you think 
 that of us? 
 
 Se^cond Servant. My lord, do us not such wrong. 
 We should be first bad and then mad to do 
 such a thing. 
 
 WiL. Well, something in that. But look to it! 
 
 I'll bear no pranks. 
 
 Wilbold lies down on the bed, the servants 
 spread over him a light covering, suitable for 
 summer weather, and go out carrying the can- 
 dles, leaving the room very dark. Then begin 
 ominous signs, dim lights of sundry colors 
 flash about, low and rumbling sounds arise as 
 if a storm were threatening, curious little faces 
 appear and disappear in the walls. The noise 
 grows louder and more grating, till the din 
 becomes dreadful. It seems as if huge chains 
 were dragged all over the castle floors, back 
 and forth through the halls, up and down the 
 
 ACT III— SCENE 2 98 
 
stairways, crashes and poundings break forth, 
 the casements and doors rattle and there is 
 loud knocking at them, outside dogs howl and 
 bark, cats mew, owls hoot, and all the domestic 
 animals add their voices affrighted. Wilbold 
 is horribly terrified, alternately sitting up and 
 lying down, putting up his head and hiding it 
 under the covering, jumping out of bed and 
 running to door or window at some especially 
 loud and wild knocking or shaking or crash 
 and roar. The room is kept light enough to 
 show his movements plainly by the ominous 
 flashes of colored lights here and there and 
 the mocking little faces appearing and vanish- 
 ing in the walls. Suddenly there is entire still- 
 ness, the silence is profound, all lights cease 
 and the room is pitchy dark. A bell tolls mid- 
 night, striking twelve. Then a strange, weird, 
 blueish light gradually fills the room, fades 
 again, and all is omniously black. In the dark- 
 ness a figure slowly becomes visible, very 
 dimly, then more plainly, till suddenly a candle 
 springs alight in the figure's hand, the room 
 lights up, and the spirit of Lady Bertha is 
 there. She slowly advances to the bed-side, 
 where the terrified but fascinated Wilbold is 
 shaking and staring, and a scroll unrolls in 
 her hand, which is the deed of the Honey 
 Broth executed by Lady Bertha. She holds up 
 the scroll for Wilbold to read it, and lights it 
 with the candle, and speaks: 
 
 Lady B. Do what is here written. 
 
 Then the figure moves slowly backward to the 
 middle of the room, still holding out the scroll 
 lighted by the candle; then the candle is sud- 
 denly extinguished, the figure is gone, a dim 
 blueish light pervades, which slowly becomes 
 deep blackness. Then the din and roar begins 
 again furiously. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 99 ACT III — SCENE 2 
 
ACT IV— SCENE l. 
 
 SCENE— Late twilight of the next day. The great dining 
 room of the castle. The long table is set brilliantly, for 
 a banquet in rear center, in shape of a semi-ellipse, 
 with a very small table in front, thus : 
 
 The little table is to be used for a splendid bunch of 
 roses. Servants are putting the last touches to the 
 banquet table. There is a wide window at rear, and 
 two handsome double-doors, at sides, right and left. 
 
 First Servant. The farm-hands are outside, to 
 see the tables. Let 'em in, lad. 
 Exit a servant. 
 
 SECOND SERVANT. Ay, poor chappies, that's all 
 they'll get of it. We inside can pick a little. 
 Enter farm hands. 
 
 First Farm. By the saints, but 'tis a fine board! 
 
 First Servant. Is it not, masters. 
 
 Second Farm. Ah-h-h! No honey-broth for us 
 poor folks yesterday, but riot for the quality 
 to-day. 
 
 Third Farm. Well, they do say my lord the Baron 
 had little sleep last night. 
 
 First Farm. You house-lads can tell us what hap- 
 pened. 
 
 ACT IV— SCENE 1 100 
 
First Servant. What happened outside? 
 
 Second Farm. The very devil happened — such a 
 hellish roar was never heard. 
 
 Third Farm. Ugh ! it makes me quake now to tell 
 of it. Naught that could make a noise was still. 
 
 Second Farm. Except the babies. 
 
 Third Farm. Ay, the babies! 'Twas strange they 
 all slept so in the din. 
 
 First Farm. Din, say you? 'Twas a fury of 
 crashing and brawling. All the cattle lowed, all 
 the sheep bleated, all the pigs squealed, all the 
 dogs howled, all the cats mewed, and all the 
 owls hooted. 
 
 Second Farm. And all the jacks brayed — ye for- 
 get the jacks. 
 
 First Farm. Sooth, yes, jacks and jennies too — 
 brayed like trumpets all night. 
 
 Third Farm. And thunder rolled around the sky 
 like a groaning wheel. 
 
 Second Farm. But no lightning. 
 
 First Farm. No, nor any light. I never knew it 
 so dark. You could feel the night on your 
 cheek like a black powder. 
 
 Third Farm. But did ye note that just at mid- 
 night 'twas suddenly still awhile? 
 
 Second Farm. Ay, like a clap of silence — then the 
 racket began again worse than ever. 
 
 First Farm. Now, what happened in the house, 
 lads? 
 
 First Servant. Ghosts. 
 
 101 ACT IV — scene 1 
 
Au, Farm. Ghosts? 
 
 First Servant. Ay! Kobolds, pixies, brownies, 
 elves. 
 
 Secx)nd Servant. And they say Lady Bertha 
 walks sometimes. 
 
 First Farm. Ugh! I be af eared of those things 
 when I talk of 'em. 
 
 Second Servant. Better say people or spirits, not 
 things. 'Tis said they pinch folks that speak 
 ill of them. 
 
 First Farm. Ugh! 
 
 Sdcond Farm. But what did they in the house? 
 
 First Servant. A worse hubbub than all your 
 
 squealing, howling and hooting creatures. 
 
 Third Farm. No? 
 
 Second Servant. Ay, they did. 
 
 Second Farm. But what? 
 
 First Servant. Beating at all the casements and 
 rattling 'em like wind and rain, knocking on 
 all the doors and opening and shutting and 
 slamming 'em, no matter how locked, and a 
 crashing and grinding everywhere, as if terri- 
 ble chains were dragged up and down the stair- 
 ways and thrown over and tin pans thrown 
 about, and furniture breaking up, and a pound- 
 ing on the floors like ten thousand canes 
 a-dancing and stamping. 
 
 Second Farm. And blueish light? 
 
 Second Servant. No light at all — dark as a pocket 
 — nothing but the roaring and pounding. 
 
 ACT IV— scene 1 102 
 
First Farm. Ugh! 
 
 Sounds of a cane on the floor outside at left, 
 and all the farm hands and servants retreat 
 to right side with signs and sounds of super- 
 stitious fright. Enters Count Osmond, left, and 
 walks slowly half way across the room, pauses, 
 and looks about uncertainly: 
 
 Count O. Have you seen her? 
 
 A murmur of fear, awe, confusion, among the 
 servants. 
 
 Count O. Have you seen her? 
 
 First Servant (Advancing). Seen whom, my 
 
 lord? 
 Count O. The beautiful spirit that comes to me 
 
 and waits on me. 
 
 First Servant (Retreating). No, my lord. 
 
 At mention of the spirit the servants have hud- 
 dled closer together and watch the old Count 
 with evident fear. He turns and goes slowly 
 back, and exit left. 
 
 First Farm. What is that spirit he spoke of? 
 
 First Servant. I never heard of it. 
 
 Second Farm. Mark you, he called it a fair spirit. 
 
 Third Farm. Ay, but one man's fair is another 
 man's foul. 
 
 Second Farm. Sooth so. I think the same bogie 
 might pat the old Count on his head and take 
 me a pinch o' the buttocks. 
 
 First Farm. Ay, mind you when goody Gammer 
 was left with a babe an hour old while her 
 man went to the drink-place; when he came 
 back boozy, a hobgoblin lass was tending his 
 wife, and she took him such a cuff on the ear 
 
 103 ACT IV— scene 1 
 
as knocked him flat, and sober, too. Now 
 
 pick you up and take care of your woman, 
 
 quoth she, and vanished in a blue mist; but 
 
 they say her voice was as sweet as her hand 
 
 was heavy. 
 
 The farm hands and servants have been mov- 
 ing bit by bit to the center, deeply interested 
 in their ghost-talk and looking about and at 
 one another fearsomely. Hilda enters, right, 
 unnoticed, and comes close to them. 
 
 H11.DA. Have you seen the old Count? I am look- 
 ing for him. 
 
 With startled murmurs and looks the men all 
 huddle over to the left. Enters Fritz, right. 
 
 Hilda. What is the matter, my good men? Am 
 
 I so frightful? 
 First Farm. The Lady Hilda! 
 Skcond Farm. Ay, Lady Hilda ! 
 Aiyi. Farm. Save you, ma'am! 
 Fritz. Now what are you fellows doing here? 
 First Farm. Please, sir, we were let in to see the 
 
 tables. 
 
 Fritz. Well, you have seen them. Off with you. 
 
 Exeunt the farmers awkwardly, left. The serv- 
 ants retire to the banquet table. 
 
 HiivDA. Fritz, the aged Count? 
 
 Fritz. I saw him but now, my lady, with Grun, 
 
 who cares for him. 
 
 Hilda. That is well. I must oversee the table. 
 
 Hilda surveys all carefully, changes place of 
 two or three things, meantime saying: 
 
 Hilda. Spread the candles, lads — there are too 
 many in the middle. So. That is well. No 
 
 ACT IV— SCENE 1 104 
 
need to wait here; one of you bring soon a 
 large, dewy bunch of red and white roses. 
 Exeunt servants, right. 
 
 Fritz. I wish the gentle folks a pleasant banquet, 
 my lady ; but 'tis a sad business. 
 
 Hilda. 'Tis indeed, my good Fritz; I have no 
 heart in it. 
 
 Fritz. I have not asked of your health, my lady, 
 after last night. 
 
 Hilda. Last night? 
 
 Fritz. Last night, indeed — all night long — the wild 
 uproar they made. 
 
 Hilda. Wild uproar? And who are theyf 
 
 Fritz. The angry Kobolds. Surely, my lady, you 
 heard their terrible noises ? 
 
 Hilda. Not a sound, Fritz. 
 
 Fritz. And slept? 
 
 Hilda. Indeed I did. 
 
 Fritz. No one else did. 
 
 Hilda. Yes, the aged Count. I awaked once and 
 rose, and stole to his bedside, as my wont is, 
 and there he lay in his venerable beauty, slum- 
 bering as softly as a child, as I too had slept, 
 and then did, falling at once asleep again. 
 
 Fritz. Most wonderful ! At what time was that ? 
 
 Hilda. Just midnight. 
 
 Fritz. Ah ! the truce-time, and visit-time. 
 
 Hilda. Truce? and visit? 
 
 Fritz. Yes, my lady; just at midnight the horrible 
 clamor suddenly ceased for a few minutes, and 
 
 105 ACT IV— SCENE 1 
 
Lady Bertha's spirit visited your father. 
 
 Hilda. Fritz \ Of all this he has said not a word 
 to me. 
 
 Fritz. He told me, my lady; but words recked 
 little — his pale and haggard face told enough. 
 But with the morning he grew stubborn again, 
 saving your presence, my lady, and swore he 
 would outface them all, and ordered that this 
 banquet go on in defiance. 
 
 Hilda. But how slumbered I through such a bat- 
 tle? 
 
 Fritz. The Kobolds must have charmed your 
 sleep, and the Count's, too — they love you both. 
 
 Hilda. My poor father, what can misguide him 
 so? 
 
 Fritz. A small name, but a big load of earth. 
 
 Hilda. Unriddle me that, good Fritz. 
 
 Fritz. Hans — asking pardon. 
 
 Hilda. You need not ask pardon. 
 
 Fritz. 'Tis not for me to speak ill of a knight. 
 
 Hilda. Of Hans to me you may say what you 
 please. 
 
 Fritz. Why then, my lady, I'll take comfort to 
 call him what he is, a cowardly braggart, and 
 a bad genius to your father. 
 
 Hilda. Yes, he is both at present, and he will be 
 one as long as he lives ; but I think I shall win 
 my father from him. 
 
 Fritz. If I might have an old servant's leave — 
 
 Hilda. Of course, Fritz. 
 
 ACT IV— SCENE 1 106 
 
Fritz. Why, then, I will tell your ladyship how 
 beautiful you are, and noble! You have 
 changed suddenly and wondrously to my old 
 eyes, "put away childish things," as the good 
 book says, and become a woman in a day. 
 
 Hilda. Oh! Fritz, Fritz! I have a dream in my 
 heart ! 
 
 Fritz. Of such dreams come such changes. But 
 now I must tell you that the raging clatter of 
 the Kobolds was not the only strange thing that 
 befell last night. 
 For some months past it hath been noised 
 
 abroad 
 That a new knight hath suddenly appeared. 
 Most dexterous, brave, beautiful, honorable, 
 Who hath been like some eagle flying through 
 A banquet, in fro' th' dark and out to th' dark. 
 Or like a crested star transported thwart 
 A circle of the heavens, beheld and gone. 
 So enters he a parliament of knights. 
 Hath jousted and done wonders in the lists, 
 Then disappears, unknown, unnamed, unques- 
 tioned, 
 But with each sudden presence the better famed 
 For gallantry and grace and feats of arms. 
 And rich caparison and noble steed. 
 Now come two wonders touching this same 
 
 knight : 
 One wonder is that twice he hath been seen, 
 Full armed, with lance aloft, but visor up. 
 Showing a youthful face most brave, fair, gen- 
 tle, 
 
 107 ACT IV— SCENE 1 
 
A-th rough this little village galloping. 
 
 The other miracle methinks I sole 
 
 Have seen, for none this day my hints hath 
 
 answered ; 
 But certain 'tis that I last night beheld 
 That unknown hero, horsed, in arms complete, 
 Erected like a statue on yon peak 
 Pedestaled, moveless as a figure carved. 
 And bronzed in the full rondure of the moon, 
 Whose golden quiet beams were spread above 
 The horrid and black din that clung to the 
 
 earth — 
 There stood, I say, that noble wondrous knight. 
 Gazing at your high window steadily. 
 Which that one height commands. 
 Hilda. Marvels indeed! 
 
 Before my window? And no name is known? 
 Fritz. Not certainly; rumor hath called him Tor- 
 aid. 
 HiivDA. Alas! my dreaming soul! Else my most 
 seeming 
 Vision that actual was! What can I think? 
 
 During this talk between Hilda and Fritz it 
 has grown dusk. Enters Wilbold, and enter 
 servants who light lamps, and exeunt. Wilbold 
 looks haggard and wretched, and also some- 
 what sheep-faced after the fearful tumult and 
 his still more fearful visit from Lady Bertha; 
 but he is also angry and more stubborn than 
 ever. 
 
 WiL. Fritz! 
 Fritz. My lord — 
 
 WiL. As to this thing the Honey-Broth, you have 
 told me there is an enforcing deed hid in the 
 
 ACT IV — SCENE 1 108 
 
castle's archives? Is it true? 
 Fritz. My lord! 
 
 WiL. Nay, no ceremony. I say, Is it true? 
 Fritz. My lord, I am an old man and speak the 
 
 truth. 
 WiL. Well, something in that. Bring me the deed. 
 
 Exit Fritz. 
 WiL. Well, Hilda, child, what of that business 
 near 
 
 My heart? 
 Hilda. What is that business, father? 
 
 WiL. What ! 
 
 Nay, nay, pretend not ignorance, yet blush 
 Confession; although I think your blush is 
 
 harsh. 
 The crimson of anger, not the pretty pink 
 Of sweet and lovely shame. What is the mat- 
 ter? 
 
 Hilda. I will not marry Hans. 
 
 WiL. Will not? Bold words! 
 
 Hilda. You said you would not force me. 
 
 WiL. Why, that's true. 
 
 But have you reasoned of 't? 
 
 Hilda. Oh, very well. 
 
 WiL. A bold, rich knight— there's reason, my wish 
 
 — there's reason. 
 Hilda. And that I love him not— there's better 
 
 reason. 
 
 WiL. Tush ! tush ! 
 
 Hilda is silent. WilboW looks at her askance 
 a moment. 
 
 109 ACT IV — SCENE 1 
 
Wily. I say, tush! tush! 
 Hii^DA. What can I answer? 
 
 Bethink you, father, that when I wed I promise 
 
 To give all that I am, or can be, or have — 
 
 Which doth include my love, my utmost love, 
 
 Oh, my most fervent love, religious love! 
 
 If then I marry loveless, 'tis my lie ; 
 
 And if I wed unloved, another's lie ; 
 
 And both of these in one are monstrous, base! 
 
 I will not do it. 
 WiL. Tush ! tush ! I say again. 
 
 And tush it is — a whimsy, rubbish, stuff ! 
 
 Now, hark 'e, Hilda — I married your mother 
 kindly. 
 
 But not in love, I never was in love. 
 
 But kindly, and so I was — and she was happy. 
 H11.DA. Ah ! Was she happy ? 
 Wii.. Yes ! Who says not ? 
 Hii,DA. I do ! 
 WiL. Hilda! 
 
 Hilda. My lord Wilbold and father, in me 
 
 Behold a new-made thing, that is, but was not, 
 A woman, but was not, my mother's child, but 
 
 was not. 
 I am as a sorry shrub, a wayside weed 
 That, bulging under soil to two tap roots, 
 Then suddenly puts forth a glorious bloom 
 That travelers nor itself conceived lay in 't. 
 One root's in a dream, one spears my mother's 
 
 grave. 
 My mother died when I was seven years old — 
 
 ACT IV— SCENE 1 110 
 
I think 'tis so you tell me. 
 WiL. Ay, 'tis so. 
 
 Hilda. And that is thirteen years ago. 
 WiL. Yes, child. 
 Hilda. And you remember, sir, how suddenly 
 
 At twelve years old I fevered to learn Latin ? 
 
 WiL. Yes, yes. 
 
 Hilda. You never asked the cause. 
 WiL. The cause? 
 
 Hilda. Yes ! Rummaging by chance in an old 
 chest, 
 
 I found my mother's journal, writ in Latin; 
 
 That's why I studied. 
 WiL. Well, she was ever a scholard. 
 
 Hilda. Over and over I read that diary, 
 
 With glossary painfully picking out the words, 
 With grammar the meaning, until I had it by 
 
 heart. 
 In all those years I learned the language well — 
 You know that, father — and conned those sa- 
 cred pages 
 With skill grammatical ; yet understood not 
 The heart o' the words, albeit the phrase was 
 
 plain. 
 At last, but now, I dreamed — or was 't a 
 
 dream ? 
 Thing dreamed or actual, I cannot tell ; 
 But dream or act, I came from it a woman ! 
 And then I understood my mother's book. 
 And knew the meaning of those mystical em- 
 blems. 
 
 Ill ACT IV— SCENE 1 
 
Wii.. Well, well, well, well, well, well, well, well — 
 
 what now? 
 HiivDA. You say she was a happy wife. Not so ! 
 Her words, now burning for me, blaze with 
 
 the soul 
 Of a heart-hungry woman! Of that she died. 
 Starved in her soul and with starvation shamed 
 To death. And I her girl am warned of her. 
 Warned of my blessed mother pitifully. 
 I will not wed unloving, nor unloved. 
 WiL. Well, love him then. He swears that he 
 
 loves you. 
 Hilda. The Chevalier loves nothing but himself. 
 WiL. Tush ! tush ! 
 
 Notwithstanding Wilbold's trifling manner, he 
 is moved by Hilda's words and manner and 
 cannot help showing it. Hilda herself ends 
 with much emotion. Enters a servant bearmg 
 a large mass of roses. Hilda receives them, 
 hides her face behind them, then turns away 
 and arranges the roses in a large bowl or vase 
 on the small table. Enters Fritz, with the 
 parchment. 
 
 Fritz. The deed, my lord. 
 Wii.. Unroll it. 
 
 Wilbold turns away. Fritz unrolls the parch- 
 ment and holds it out toward Wilbold. Wil- 
 bold turns slowly, looks at the parchment 
 keenly, starts visibly and recoils a pace or two. 
 
 Wih. 'Tis the same ! 
 
 Fritz. What same, my lord? 
 
 WiL. The same the ghost showed me last night. 
 
 Fritz. Indeed, so, if any; there is but one deed, 
 
 and this is it. 
 
 ACT IV— SCENE 1 112 
 
WiL. Away with it! 
 
 Fritz, Oh, my Lord Wilbold, if an old servant 
 may — 
 
 WiL. Away ! No, give it me ! I'll tear it. 
 
 Fritz puts the parchment behind his back, 
 
 WiL. Give it me, I say! 
 
 Fritz slowly and tremblingly brings forward the 
 paper, and is about to yield it to Wilbold, 
 when Hilda, who has turned from the roses, 
 rushes forward, snatches the deed and clasps 
 it to her breast. Frtiz moves a little back and 
 to side. Hilda stands drawn to her height, 
 confronting Wilbold. 
 
 Hilda. My lord father, you will tear me first ! 
 
 Enters servant. 
 
 Servant. My lord Baron, the guests have arrived 
 
 and are readv. 
 
 WiL. Show them in. 
 
 Hilda hands the deed to Fritz, who exit with 
 it. The servant throws wide open the double 
 doors at left, goes out and immediately re- 
 turns, ushering in knights and ladies, the 
 Chevalier Hans with them. Hilda goes to 
 meet them as they enter, receiving them with 
 gracious courtesy, speaking and curtseying to 
 each and so passing them on to Wilbold. 
 
 Hilda. Welcome all ! My Lord and Lady of Stefif- 
 hausen, you are reverently welcome. Sir Philip 
 and Lady Ellen, your presence is gratefully 
 desired. Sir Heinrich and Lady Gertrude, have 
 as much pleasure to be here, I pray you, as it 
 is pleasure to receive you. Chevalier Hans, you 
 are a near neighbor and have a lodge here 
 whenever you favor my father. My Lord and 
 Lady of Sevenberg, you bring a grace to chal- 
 lenge any welcome. Sir Gerhardt and Lady 
 
 113 ACT IV — SCENE 1 
 
Elizabeth, you live not far and you come near 
 in friendship. Sir Ludwig and Lady of Alsen, 
 I thank you for your presence which is most 
 welcome. My Lords and Ladies of Wandorf, 
 of Amberg, of Barby, of Camentzburg, of 
 Dahlenberg, of Fohr, know all what favor you 
 bestow and accept greeting. And the same with 
 all truth and good will to you, knights and la- 
 dies of Hohenburg, Zahlstaufen and Verden. 
 
 Wiiv. Brave knights and fair ladies, belike you 
 think my summons rather sudden. 
 
 One: of Gue^sts. Faith, my Lord Wilbold, we had 
 to make speed. 
 
 WiL. And I will tell you how it happened so. 
 
 HiivDA. But first, my father, let us seat our friends. 
 Please take your own place. I will take leave 
 to sit at my father's left. Chevalier, as a near 
 neighbor, will you take the right. Venerable 
 and honored Lord and Lady of Steffhausen, 
 will you sit next me? Sir Philip and Lady 
 Ellen, will you honor the Chevalier? And all 
 brave and fair friends, will you take places as 
 may please you at this very off-hand regale- 
 ment ? 
 
 They all place themselves at table, Wilbold at 
 the head at the middle and the others to right 
 and left. One servant is present, behind Wil- 
 bold's chair. When seated : 
 
 Wii,. Neighbors and friends, knights and ladies, 
 
 in the matter of this sudden summons — 
 
 A horn or bugle call is heard, outside, and all 
 at the table give attention to it. Enters 
 servant. 
 
 ACT IV — SCENE 1 114 
 
SERVANT. My lord Baron, there is a stranger 
 knight at the gate, demanding hospitality. 
 
 WiL. Troth, the gallant has a good nose. Give 
 him water and bid him in, and say we will not 
 call dinner till he comes. 
 Exit servant. 
 
 WiL. In the matter, I say, of this sudden summons, 
 I am much beholden to you for your kind and 
 ready presence. Now, the occasion of it is a 
 certain old custom here, a yearly feast given 
 to the peasantry and vassals of Wistgaw, called 
 the Lady Bertha's Honey-Broth. 
 
 Hans. We all know about the Honey-Broth, 
 Baron. 
 
 Wily. Good. But perhaps you do not know that 
 all the ghosts, elves, and hobgoblins of the 
 world seem to dote on the custom. Now, I have 
 tired of gorging a crowd of yokels once a year, 
 and so I pared down the feast a year ago, and, 
 if you will credit me, the rascal elves, Kobolds, 
 and ghosts, I know not what, made a noise at 
 night and broke up my furniture to the exact 
 cost of the usual feast. This year, not to be 
 made a fool, henchman and cup-bearer in my 
 own castle, I defied all their ghostships and 
 gave no Honey-Broth at all; whereupon, last 
 night the rogue spirits made such a din and 
 did such crashing and pounding and breaking 
 that what with the knocking at casements 
 and banging of doors and cracking-up of fur- 
 niture and howling, hooting and yelling of all 
 the cattle and creatures, you would have sup- 
 
 116 ACT IV — SCENE 1 
 
posed Bedlam had broken loose in the castle 
 and out. 
 
 Hans. Oh, Baron, this is too childish, green and 
 innocent ! 
 
 Wii.. You may pish and pshaw all you please, 
 Chevalier, but that. is what happened; and fur- 
 thermore, a devilish unpleasant ghost, supposed 
 to be Lady Bertha, visited me at midnight, 
 with a candle in her hand, and commanded me 
 to give the Honey-Broth. 
 
 Hans. Oh, Baron ! 
 
 WiL. I'll not deny I was shaken; but at dawn I 
 swore I'd not wear cap and bells for all their 
 spookships, and called you all hither that I 
 might give this pot-luck in defiance of all the 
 bogies, and also that your lodgement in the 
 castle to-night might quell the varlet nixes, 
 though I think they'll rap no more for another 
 year. 
 
 Hans. By my head, my Lord Baron, you edu- 
 cate cheek, chin, brow, eyes and nose. 
 
 WiL. How's that. Chevalier? 
 
 Hans. In keeping a straight face. Baron. 
 
 Hilda rises. 
 
 Hilda. You know too much or not enough. Cheva- 
 lier, 
 Too much for mortals, or not enough for you. 
 My noble friends, I wish I might prevail 
 To move your intercession with my father. 
 They tell me 'twas a very horrible din, 
 Yet slumbered I, not tost, rocked by the noise 
 
 ACT IV— SCENE 1 116 
 
Like to a sea bird on a roaring wave; 
 
 From which I gather the spirits have no ire 
 
 Against our house, but only will enforce 
 
 The Lady Bertha's pledge perpetual. 
 
 Is't not a goodly wont, first in itself, 
 
 Blithe charity, and then by age? Lords, ladies. 
 
 Move ye my father to give the Honey-Broth, 
 
 For me, our folk, the sprites, appeasing all. 
 
 A servant opens the door left and Torald en- 
 ters, advances toward the front and greets the 
 company with a courtly bow. at which all 
 the company rise, Hilda, at first glance, has 
 paled, trembled, and as the company stand she 
 sinks into her chair, and under cover of their 
 attention to the knight she presses hands on 
 brow, temples and eyes as if to make sure she 
 is awake and then flushing and trembling 
 stares at Torald. 
 
 Torald. My gracious lord Baron, I perceive this 
 is very high company, as it must be at Wist- 
 gaw ; but I am sure your goodness of heart 
 will make me no intruder, though uninvited 
 and a wayfarer. I am an honorable Knight, 
 my lord. 
 
 WiL, By my faith. Sir Knight, your words but 
 repeat your face and bearing. You are right 
 welcome. Tell us your name. 
 
 Torald. I am called the Chevalier Torald. 
 
 On hearing that name the company murmur 
 and look at each other, and then gaze on the 
 knight with respect and admiration. 
 
 WiL. Your fame has come to Wistgaw before you ; 
 
 Hke a trusty herald. Chevalier. . 
 
 Hilda rises and with effort commands her 
 emotion, yet not wholly. 
 
 Hilda. My lord father, shall I yield my place 
 
 117 ACT IV— SCENE 1 
 
by you to grace the honorable stranger? 
 ToRAi^D. By no means, gentle and lovely lady. I 
 will seat me here. 
 
 Torald goes to seat at foot of table, left, and 
 all are seated again. 
 
 Wii.. Now call the dinner. 
 
 Hans. A moment, Baron; let us finish this mat- 
 ter of the Honey-Broth, with leave of your new 
 guest. 
 
 ToRAivD. I have heard much of the Lady Bertha's 
 Honey-Broth — a far-famed festival. 
 
 Hans. This I say, friend Baron, as I have said 
 before to you, and now to all these Knights 
 and high dames, that I would give not one 
 spoon-sip of Honey-Broth to these yokels, not 
 I, nor be troubled with rogue ghosts and nixes, 
 either, if there be any such things. 
 
 WiL. And what would you do with the ghosts 
 and urchins. Chevalier Hans? 
 
 Hans. I would conjure them, my lord Baron, so 
 that it should please them to scramble out of 
 my way in a thrice. 
 
 WiL. A bold word taken up ! Look you now, 
 Chevalier, appease the Spirit of Lady Bertha, 
 and pack off the Kobolds, and I'll give you 
 anything you ask. 
 
 Hans. Anything ? 
 
 WiL. Yes, by all the line of Wistgaw, anything. 
 
 Hans. Have a care — anything? 
 
 WiL. I have said it. 
 
 Hans. Even the Lady Hilda's hand? 
 
 ACT IV— SCENE 1 118 
 
WiL. Well — I have said it. 
 
 Here there is great stir among the guests, and 
 Torald, leaning forward, gazes sternly at 
 Hans. Hilda is greatly distressed. 
 
 Hilda. My lord father! 
 WiL. I say yes, Hilda; my word is passed. 
 Hilda. But I had your word first, my father; 
 you said you would not compel me. 
 
 WiL. Why — yes; but that was only a fatherly in- 
 tention, not a Baron's promise, a Knight's word. 
 
 Hilda leaves the table in tears and agitation 
 and goes to door right, 
 
 WiL. Hilda, why away? Stay here, with our 
 
 guests, where your place is ! 
 
 Hilda returns slowly from the door toward 
 front and center. 
 
 Hilda. 'Tis true, my father, here's my place and 
 duty — 
 I'll sit in one, submit me to the other; 
 And that I would have fled from either, for- 
 give. 
 The heart-quake of a frightened desolate girl 
 O'erthrew my towers and left my manners un- 
 
 chambered. 
 I crave the pardon of all. But, oh! to whom, 
 To whom, to what or whither can I appeal. 
 My lords and ladies, in this case so hard? 
 Not to my father, — he pleads his knightly word ; 
 And not to you, his peers in custom leagued, 
 Parents yourselves, whose girls must not rebel. 
 I'd gladly vanish in my mother's bosom. 
 Or willingly invoke the Lady Bertha, 
 My blessed ancestress, than whom no soul 
 
 119 ACT IV — SCENE 1 
 
More saintly, ever lived on earth or went to 
 
 heaven ; 
 Ay, or the Kobolds, faithful elves, her friends. 
 Friends of our house, let who say what who 
 
 will; 
 On all things heavenly, earthly, or dreamed of 
 
 men, 
 I may with warrant call ! And this I say, 
 I will not, will not, wed the Chevalier Hans, 
 Will not — nay, I'll be torn with pincers first 
 And die by shreds. 
 
 WiL. Hilda, too much ! Be done ! 
 
 ToRALD. My lord Baron, a word. Will you grant 
 
 the same offer to another, even to me, when 
 
 the Chevalier Hans fails? 
 
 Hans. How? Fails? By my head, sir, say you 
 
 I shall fail? 
 ToRALD. Yes, Chevalier, you will fail. 
 Hans. By my sword. Baron, your new acquaint- 
 ance is troubled with a frankness that smacks 
 
 of something else. 
 ToRALD. No reflection. Chevalier. I say you will 
 
 fail because you undertake what no man can do. 
 Hans. Why, sir, 'tis no man's part to say what 
 
 / can do. 
 ToRALD. I ask you, my lord Baron, if you will 
 
 grant me the same great and heavenly offer, 
 
 if the Chevalier Hans fails? 
 WiL. Your knightly fame is ample, Sir Torald, 
 
 but I know naught of your family. 
 ToRAivD. I will satisfy you on that score. Baron; 
 
 ACT IV — scene 1 120 
 
indeed, I will show you that I share your own 
 
 worth — I mean, we are kin. 
 
 WiL. Why on that understanding, Sir Torald, yes, 
 
 my daughter awaits you on the same terms 
 
 promised the Chevalier Hans. 
 
 Hilda clasps her hands, bows her head and 
 falls tremblingly on her knees at the small 
 table, half hidden from Torald by the roses. 
 
 Wii.. But how is this, Sir Torald! Just now you 
 said my friend Hans undertakes what no man 
 can do, yet you essay the same thing. 
 
 Torald. Not quite the same, Baron, for I honor 
 the Honey-Broth. 
 
 WiL. I will promise no Honey-Broth. 
 
 Torald. But I will promise it. 
 
 WiL. Sooth, I must own you speak riddles, and 
 riddles not all to my mind. 
 
 Torald. I crave your patience for a few liours. 
 
 Baron. 
 
 Torald goes to Hilda, takes her hand and lifts 
 her up. 
 
 Torald. And I will win this heavenly maid, and 
 
 then give her back to herself, for her to make 
 
 her own gift of herself to whom she will, and 
 
 if to me, high Heaven be praised ! Dear lady 
 
 let me lead you to your place. 
 
 Torald leads Hilda in courtly manner to Wil- 
 bold's left hand and returns to his own seat 
 at left end of table. Hans has been showing 
 a doubtful mind, in fact, his fears are rising. 
 
 Hans. You may think, Baron Wilbold, that the 
 first trial belongs by courtesy to your stranger 
 guest, and I think so too, and will — 
 
 121 act IV — SCENE 1 
 
WiL. By no means, friend Hans. The first trial 
 is yours. 
 
 Hans. But I will yield the advantage. 
 
 ToRAi^D. I will accept it. 
 
 WiL. I say no, Chevalier. All shall be as first 
 declared. 
 
 Hans. Well, well, 'tis small matter — nonsense, 
 anyway — the spirits will not come. 
 
 ToRAivD. You are mistaken, Chevalier, they will 
 
 come. 
 
 Hans is sorely frightened, turns pale and is 
 silenced. 
 
 WiL. 'Tis all determined, and friend Hans will 
 
 make trial of the spirits this very night in the 
 
 great bed chamber of the castle. And now call 
 
 the dinner; but first bring red wine and fill 
 
 all the glasses. 
 
 Exit servant who at once re-enters with others 
 who carry decanters of wine from which they 
 fill the goblets on the table. Wilbold stands 
 and then Hilda rises by his side, they lift their 
 glasses, the servants are grouped, the guests 
 postured and follows a long tableau. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 ACT IV — SCENE 1 122 
 
ACT IV— SCENE 2. 
 
 SCENE — The great bed chamber of the castle, same as 
 Act I — Scene 2. The stage is utterly dark and 
 black. Enters a servant carrying a small torch, and 
 the stage lights up dimly, yet so as to make things 
 plainly visible. Enter then Fritz and servants. 
 
 Fritz. Light up the big lamp, lad. 
 
 The servant carrying the torch kindles the 
 lamp, and the stage at once is amply lighted. 
 
 Fritz. Now lay wood, and kindle a fire. 
 
 First Serv. Why, 'tis good summer weather. 
 
 Fritz. Ay, by day, but 'tis chilly to-night, and so 
 
 the Baron orders. 
 
 Servants lay and kindle a fire in the great 
 chimney, which soon blazes up brightly. Mean- 
 while : 
 
 First Serv. What o'clock may it be? 
 
 Fritz. It lacks a half of midnight. 
 
 Second Serv. 'Tis a strange freak, this, Master 
 
 Steward. 
 
 Fritz. Nay, that big boaster. Chevalier Hans, got 
 well trapped in his own bluster. 
 
 Second Serv. And will the Kobolds come? 
 Fritz. Sooth, they will, depend on it; the sturdy 
 sprites will not be wanting at a challenge. 
 
 Enter Wilbold, several knights and ladies and 
 Hans. Hans is in full armor, with hugh 
 sword and a poniard. Wilbold carries a large 
 key. 
 
 123 ACT IV — SCENE 2 
 
WiL. By all the stones of Wistgaw, friend Hans, 
 methinks you are Fortune's baby. 'Tis not 
 every Chevalier that has chance to win spurs 
 and watch his arms twice, once against this 
 world and once against another. You will be 
 in a sorry plight to-morrow morning, or else 
 I will clap you o' the shoulder as a twice- 
 belted knight. 
 
 Hans. By all the bogies, Baron Wilbold, that ever 
 were, or never were, how many knightings 
 would you have? Methinks one is enough. 
 But as you are minded to this foolery, so be it ; 
 have the flat of your sword ready in the morn- 
 ing. 
 
 Wiiv. My sword is ready, and my good will too, 
 which I leave with you, my dear Hans. No 
 one can come or go by yonder balcony — 'tis a 
 dizzy height of sheer smooth wall; and I will 
 double-lock this door and keep the key myself. 
 So good night, Chevalier — a good night indeed ! 
 
 Exit Wilbold, and all with him, the locking 
 of the door is heard and Hans is left alone. 
 He looks around him slowly, with evident 
 fear, but with effort to keep his courage up. 
 
 Hans. If I could get out now and get in at dawn, 
 
 that would suit my humor. 
 
 He examines and pulls at the door softly, 
 looks up and down the walls, sounding them 
 here and there, looks out through the bal- 
 cony door and turns away with a shudder, 
 examines the chimney and fireplace. 
 
 Hans. Caged, that's certain. But if I can not 
 
 get out, no one can get in. Good! Spirits? 
 
 Pooh, pooh ! But they all tell of them. Pooh, 
 
 pooh ! I never saw one. 
 
 ACT IV— SCENE 2 124 
 
Hans starts suddenly and stares at the door, 
 then starts again and whirls around and stares 
 at the balcony door. 
 
 Hans. Pooh, pooh ! If they come, they come — 
 ugh! But if they come not — pooh, pooh! ha! 
 — I will have a fine battle to tell in the morn- 
 ing, and win the pretty Hilda, who, methinks, 
 will not be so pert after a little. 
 
 Hans sits down in the big arm-chair. A bell 
 slowly strikes twelve. A loud knock sounds 
 from the door. Hans half starts from the 
 chair, leaning on it, and half whirls around 
 toward the door, shaking. The doors of the 
 balcony fly open, with a dismal, long wail 
 of the wind. Hans runs to the doors and 
 closes them, leaning his weight against them. 
 A noise is heard at the chimney. Hans runs 
 and throws wood on the fire, which flashes 
 up brightly. But at the same moment a wide 
 plank appears, pushing out from the chimney 
 over the flames, advancing in a long slant to 
 the floor. Hans retreats before it and sinks 
 into the arm-chair again. The plank coming 
 to rest and forming a bridge over the flames, 
 a company of Kobolds, flying a banner and 
 pennants, come marching down the plank, and 
 in the middle walks King Kohlibran. Yoho 
 marches a little to one side behind the King. 
 Some of the Kobolds carry trumpets. They 
 descend the plank to the floor, marching in 
 admirable order to music of the trumpets. 
 They march once around the room, and then 
 move toward Hans, who backs his chair away 
 till the wall stops his further retreat. Then 
 the Kobolds halt, the music ceases, and the 
 King advances near Hans. Yoho follows. 
 
 Kohl. Chevalier Hans, we are informed of your 
 boast that you will conjure and drive away the 
 spirits of the Castle of Wistgaw, and we have 
 heard your valor and prowess much famed. 
 True, it was famed by yourself, but as a true 
 knight can speak only the truth, we must be- 
 
 125 ACT IV— SCENE 2 
 
lieve you are a doughty warrior. Therefore, 
 
 the spirit of Lady Bertha allows me to meet 
 
 you in her place, to do battle with you; and 
 
 she promises, and I promise for the Kobolds, 
 
 that if you overcome me, we will depart from 
 
 this castle and never return. I challenge you 
 
 to combat — there lies my glove. 
 
 Kohlibran throws at the Chevalier's feet a very 
 diminutive gauntlet, and the trumpets sound 
 a martial flourish. Hans stares at his small 
 enemy, picks up the glove, sets it on his little 
 finger and regards it with a smile of reviv- 
 ing bravado. 
 
 YoHo. By our Kobold's hill, Unkie, you were a 
 good Unkie to let me come with you. For now 
 I see why the big Chevalier was made so big, 
 to wit, to show off your majesty's glove. Sooth, 
 it sits his little finger neatly, like a spry bird 
 on a twig of a gnarled old tree. 
 
 Kohl. Well, Chevalier Hans, do you accept my 
 challenge ? 
 
 Hans. But with what shall we fight, my pretty 
 manikin ? 
 
 Kohl. Each with his usual weapon, you with your 
 sword, I with my whip. 
 
 Hans. What! With your whip? 
 Kohl. Yes, 'tis my ordinary weapon ; for as I am 
 a small being, I require a long reach. 
 At this Hans laughs derisively. 
 Hans. Do you mean to fight me with a whip? 
 
 Kohl. Assuredly. Have I not told you 'tis my 
 weapon ? 
 
 Hans. And you will use no other? 
 
 ACT IV — scene 2 12« 
 
Kohl. No. 
 
 Hans. You promise me. 
 
 Kohl. On the word of a Knight and King. 
 
 Hans chuckles more derisively than before. 
 
 Hans. Then I accept your challenge. 
 
 Kohlibran speaks to two Kobolds, who im- 
 mediately melt into the wall and disappear. 
 Meantime Yoho advances and makes a low 
 ironical bow to Hans. 
 
 Hans. Motley, what's your business? 
 
 YoHO. To advise the Chevalier to beware — 
 
 Hans. Beware ? Ha ! — 
 
 YoHO. Of King Kohlibran's whip. 
 
 Hans. Pah! Go to! 
 
 YoHO. 'Tis a fiery thing. 
 
 Hans. Belike you have felt it. 
 
 Yoho. 'Tis for his foes, the Kobolds' foes, Lady 
 
 Bertha's foes. You will feel it. 
 
 Hans. Away, motley manikin ! 
 
 YoHO. As your excellency pleases — which will be 
 to howl very soon. The whip has five lashes 
 of fine gold chains, each ending with a dia- 
 mond as large as a pea, which will pierce your 
 pretty armor as 'twere paste, and cut and sting 
 your flesh horribly. Go your way! 
 
 Hans. Bah! Begin when you will. 
 
 KoHL. 'Tis surely known to you, Sir Knight, 
 That when a hero is to fight, 
 He prays it be beneath the beams 
 Of th' eyes o' the lady of his dreams; 
 By her sweet praise and sweeter eyes 
 
 127 ACT IV— scene 2 
 
He doth his deeds of best emprize. 
 Therefore, my servants have I sent 
 With this most knightly true intent, 
 To bring her by our fairy ways, 
 Your valor both to raise and praise. 
 The Lady Hilda had not slept 
 But pious watch at window kept. 
 Sweet vigils, filled with maiden prayer 
 Not whispered even to the air. 
 To slumber charmed, they lead her here, 
 And now she comes, she doth appear; 
 Of what avail are human locks 
 Whenas a canty fairy knocks ! 
 
 The great doors fly open of themselves and 
 the two Kobolds enter backward, beckoning 
 and charming Hilda onward, who comes walk- 
 ing in sleep, eyes closed. The doors shut, the 
 large chair still is close against the wall, and 
 the Kobolds guide Hilda and seat her in the 
 chair. Thus a clear space is left for the en- 
 counter. Kohlibran turns to Hans. 
 
 Kohl. Ready. Draw, Chevalier. Yoho, bring me 
 
 my whip. 
 
 Yoho comes with the whip. As he passes Hans 
 he stops and shows the whip to him. 
 
 Yoho. Look, big Hans ! Here are the big diamonds 
 
 I told you of. I tell you again they will go 
 
 through your armor like light through glass. 
 
 You'll think a thousand wasps and a hundred 
 
 cats are clawing and stinging you. But go your 
 
 way. Speak not to the fool according to his 
 
 folly. Ho ! ho ! 
 
 KoHi,. Yoho ! 
 
 Yoho runs to Kohlibran and delivers the whip. 
 YoHO. Pardon, Unkie, I hardly could get around 
 
 ACT IV — SCENE 2 128 
 
the Chevalier Mountain. 
 KoHi,. Mountain? 
 YoHO. Truly — so big a load of earth, and nothing 
 
 at the peak of it. Oh, Unkie ! 
 
 Kohlibran goes to Hilda, and waves his hands 
 gently over her head. 
 
 Kohl. Awake ! Yet let this pageant seem 
 
 The medley of a half-waked dream ! 
 
 Hilda opens her eyes. 
 
 Kohl. Now, ChevaHer, have at you! 
 
 The trumpets again sound a flourish. Kohli- 
 bran approaches Hans, threatening with his 
 whip. Hans aims and strikes a terrific blow 
 at Kohlibran, but the nimble Kobold leaps 
 aside, the sweep of the huge sword swings 
 Hans completely around, and the King brings 
 down his whip on Hans' back. Hans starts 
 violently, utters a cry, and claps his hands 
 to his back, letting his sword fall. The trum- 
 pets cease. 
 
 KoHL. Recover your sword. Chevalier; but if you 
 
 lose it again, I'll not hold for you. 
 
 With a very wry and raging and frightened 
 face, Hans picks up his sword, the trumpets 
 sound, and the fight goes on. Soon Hans 
 strikes a furious blow downward, which Kohli- 
 bran avoids, and the sword sticks fast in the 
 floor. While Hans tries to withdraw it, Kohli- 
 bran falls on him with the whip and so lashes 
 him that soon Hans forsakes his sword and 
 runs away, writhing and howling. Kohlibran 
 pursues him around the room, up and down 
 over the furniture and bed, as he tries to es- 
 cape the lash, and at last Hans falls on his 
 knees, begging mercy. The trumpets cease. 
 During this affray, Hilda has been very highly 
 amused and yet pitifully concerned, too. 
 
 KoHL. Chevalier Hans, you are no better than an 
 old woman. Armor, sword and poniard be- 
 
 129 ACT IV — SCENE 2 
 
come you not. You should have a gown, a dis- 
 taff and a spindle. 
 
 The trumpets play gaily but softly. Kohlibran 
 signs to the Kobolds, who surround Hans, take 
 off his armor bit by bit, and place the pieces 
 with the sword and poniard on the floor. Kohli- 
 bran waves his hand over them, they disap- 
 pear, and in their place is a heap of women's 
 garments, in which the Kobolds dress Hans, 
 including the tying on of a cap which looks 
 grotesque with his fierce moustache. A distaff 
 with a spindle is put into Hans' girdle. Then 
 the Kobolds hold their sides and sway with 
 merry laughter and jeers which make a har- 
 mony with the trumpet music. Hilda is merry 
 too, yet again pitiful. 
 
 Kohl. Seat him, hide him, and steep him in slum- 
 ber. 
 
 Hans is led to a chair in a corner, seated, 
 charmed to sleep by the waving of the Kobolds' 
 hands, and a screen drawn around him. 
 
 Kohl. This hath been brief and easy. Time 
 
 Still waits before the sun will climb 
 
 Over our hill. Torald shall take 
 
 His watch this self-same night, and make 
 
 Once more the Honey-Broth secure. 
 
 And Lady Bertha's deed endure. 
 
 This night no moment doth he sleep 
 
 But vigil worshipful doth keep 
 
 Upon the lone and chilly height 
 
 From which he can with true love's sight 
 
 The Lady Hilda's window see. 
 
 Go bring him hither instantly. 
 
 Two Kobolds immediately melt into the wall 
 and disappear. 
 
 KoHL. Charm back the maiden slumbering, 
 Then leave her waked and wondering. 
 
 ACT IV — SCENE 2 130 
 
Two Kobolds charm Hilda to sleep by waving 
 their hands around her, then beckon and 
 charm her away through the great doors, which 
 open for them and close again. Then the two 
 Kobolds and Torald are seen slowly floating 
 down through the air onto the balcony. 
 
 YoHO. Here he comes, like a buzzard. 
 Kohl. A buzzard? How now, Knave. 
 YoHO. A buzzard is but a bird, and birds come 
 through the air. Oh, Unkie! 
 
 The glass doors open and Torald enters. Ko- 
 bolds move the big chair from the wall to 
 center. Kohlibran and all the Kobolds salute 
 Torald kindly, but silently, with fingers on 
 lips, then melt away into the stone wall till 
 all are gone and Torald is alone. 
 
 Tor. Truly my friends the Kobolds have their 
 
 own ways. I think I am to have my trial-watch 
 
 to-night. Good ! The sooner to woo the lovely 
 
 Lady Hilda. What have they done with the 
 
 Chevalier Hans I wonder? Well, I have only 
 
 to wait, and if I sleep, 'tis well in this manner 
 
 of watch. 
 
 Torald extinguishes the lamp, the stage be- 
 comes slightly dim. He sits in the great chair. 
 The fire is dying down, and the stage grows 
 dimmer. Torald sleeps. The fire flickers and 
 goes out, and the stage becomes densely dark. 
 Then the spirit of Lady Bertha appears sud- 
 denly, just as in Act first, standing near Torald, 
 and the chamber is brilliant with the light that 
 streams from her. She awakens Torald with 
 a loving laying of her hand on his forehead. 
 He shows no fear. 
 
 Lady Bertha. Herman, for the second time I re- 
 turn to you ; the first time, I came to take you 
 away; now I come to restore you to your es- 
 tate. You have justified my wishes and sur- 
 
 131 ACT IV — SCENE 2 
 
passed my hopes. Now, my brave, honorable 
 Knight, you shall be acknowledged, as you are, 
 the rightful lord of Wistgaw. In witness 
 whereof, I show you a secret. Attend, ap- 
 proach. 
 
 The Lady Bertha goes to the wall to left of 
 the balcony door, Herman following. She 
 touches the wall, and it opens, showing a cur- 
 tain hanging over the opening. 
 
 Lady Bertha. This veil I hung here, now I re- 
 move it. 
 
 She pulls away the curtain, disclosing a great 
 treasure of gems, and gold and silver vessels, 
 and ingots. 
 
 Lady Be:rtha. This treasure I hid here in times of 
 
 war and danger. None knew it but my lord. 
 
 Count Osmond, and he hath forgotten it in his 
 
 age. It is yours. The wall will open for you 
 
 at the name of the lovely Hilda, whom you 
 
 shall wed. Receive my blessing. 
 
 She kisses Herman on the forehead, then 
 touches the wall and it closes. 
 
 ToRALD. Dear Grandmother, in the Lady Hilda 
 
 you give me what you came from, heaven ! 
 
 The light streaming from Lady Bertha almost 
 ceases, but not quite, leaving her for a mo- 
 ment a dim vision, then that also vanishes. 
 But the stage is quite dark only for a mo- 
 ment; the morning red faintly shows through 
 the balcony doors. It grows slowly brighter. 
 Torald goes to the great chair, falls on his 
 knees by it for a moment, then rises and sits 
 in it. 
 
 ToRALD. Come, morning, and with it come the 
 brighter dawn of my hopes, the dear and radi- 
 ant girl, more lovely than yonder rosy east. 
 
 A Kobold emerges from the wall behind and 
 
 ACT IV— SCENE 2 132 
 
waves his hands around Herman, who thus is 
 charmed to sleep. The Kobold melts into the 
 wall. The light brightens into full morning. 
 Soon a soft murmur and sound is heard out- 
 side, the lock is quietly turned, the doors are 
 opened by Fritz, and Wilbold, Hilda, Knights 
 and Ladies, enter softly. Great astonishment is 
 manifested. 
 
 WiL. Sooth, the gallant Knight seems very much 
 
 at ease. If the spirits have come they have been 
 
 mighty comfortable to him. But by all those 
 
 same spirits, what has become of friend Hans ? 
 
 Methinks it is well to rouse this sleeper and 
 
 ask questions. Ho ! Chevalier Torald ! What 
 
 news. Chevalier? Ho! 
 
 Torald opens his eyes quietly, then rises and 
 salutes the company, with special courtly recog- 
 nition of Hilda. 
 
 Wii.. You must know that we are in the very suf- 
 focation of curiosity. Chevalier. 
 
 Her. As to what, Baron? 
 
 WiL. As to what, indeed? Sooth everything. 
 How came you hither? What has happened? 
 And where is the Chevalier Hans ? 
 
 Her. I was brought hither by our friends, the Ko- 
 bolds, the Lady Bertha has come to me and 
 made much revelation, and as to the Chevalier 
 Hans I know nothing. He was not here when 
 I came. 
 
 WiL. Body o* me, have they spirited away my old 
 crony ? 
 
 Hilda. My lord and father, mayhaps I can ex- 
 plain. 
 
 WiL. Ha! You? 
 
 Hilda. Whether in the body or out of the body, 
 
 133 ACT IV—SCENB 2 
 
I know not, whether in dream or in action, I 
 came hither last night and saw the Chevalier 
 Hans do battle with the King of the Kobolds, 
 the Chevalier using his sword and the king his 
 whip. 
 
 WiL. How! A whip? Fight Hans with a whip? 
 
 Hilda. 'Twas a whip having a handle of the clear- 
 est and most shining ivory and five lashes of 
 gold chains, each tipped with a large diamond; 
 and I heard the King's jester tell the Chevalier 
 Hans that the diamonds would cut through his 
 armor as it were so much paste, and torment 
 his flesh horribly. And so it was. With that 
 whip the King so belabored the Chevalier that 
 presently he let go his sword and ran about 
 the room, up and down, over the furniture, 
 howling monstrously, till he fell on his knees 
 begging mercy. Then the Kobolds, making 
 very merry over him, stripped oi¥ his armor, 
 and dressed him like an old woman, even to a 
 cap on his head tied under his chin; and they 
 put a distafif and spindle in his girdle. Then I 
 heard the King command his servants to bring 
 the Chevalier Torald hither, from which, find- 
 ing him here as we have, methinks that pos- 
 sibly these things were no dream but done in 
 act, and I too was led hither by the Kobolds. 
 But first the sprites set Hans in a chair and 
 charmed him asleep and drew yonder screen 
 around him. 
 
 WiL. What say you? The screen? Fritz, re- 
 move it. 
 
 ACT IV— SCENE 2 134 
 
Fritz pulls away the screen, disclosing Hans 
 asleep in the chair. They all stare silently a 
 moment, then look at each other, then break 
 into merry laughter. Whereat Hans awakes. 
 
 WiL. By the towers of all of us, friend Hans, you 
 
 have invented a merry sport. 
 Hans. It seems a Uttle odd, Baron — 
 WiL. Troth, yes, monstrous odd — 
 Hans. But it worked well. I have done the deed 
 
 and claim the Lady Hilda. 
 WiL. The deed? 
 Hans. Met the spirit of the Lady Bertha and laid 
 
 it forever. 
 WiL. But this dress! 
 
 Hans. Ah ! there's a shrewd bit of wit. The ghost 
 
 being a woman methought this attire suitable, 
 
 and this distaff and spindle the best weapons 
 
 to meet her with. 
 
 WiL. Well, something in that. But how came you 
 
 by this toggery — I left you well locked in? 
 Hans. I had it under my armor. 
 WiL. But where is your armor, Chevalier? 
 
 Hans looks about helplessly and foolishly. 
 WiL. My daughter here says she saw the Kobolds 
 strip you of your iron, putting this cloth on you, 
 and beheld you brought to begging by a whip. 
 Stand forth Hilda. 
 
 Hilda, who has been withdrawn and hidden 
 among the ladies since Hans awoke, now ap- 
 pears in front. 
 
 WiL. What say you? 
 
 Hilda. My dear father, 'tis true. But what will 
 
 135 ACT IV — SCENE 2 
 
you with the Chevalier? You, and all these 
 true knights and ladies are too chivalrous, and 
 gentle to prick a fallen man with sword or wit. 
 
 WiL. Sooth, something in that. Chevalier, some- 
 thing in that. Methinks, Chevalier, you will 
 be pleased now to change your attire. 
 Exit Hans, crestfallen. 
 
 Wii,. Now, Hilda, say what befell Sir Torald, and 
 how he came hither. 
 
 Hilda. My father, I saw him not. After witness- 
 ing the ill-luck of Sir Hans, I fell asleep, and 
 when I awoke in the red dawn I was kneeling at 
 my chamber casement. 
 
 A noise outside as of shouts, hooting and jeer- 
 ing. 
 
 Wiiv. The children of the village baiting Sir Hans. 
 I fear they will pelt him well. 
 Enters a servant hastily. 
 
 Serv. My lord Baron, all the children of the vil- 
 lage and many folk in a great rabble are chasing 
 the Chevalier Hans, or one who looks like him, 
 dressed like an old woman, heading him off 
 and turning him about, pelting him with clods, 
 sticks and stones. 
 
 Hii^DA. Go quickly and ask the people to let Sir 
 Hans alone, for my sake. 
 Exit servant. 
 
 WiL. Sooth, I think he gets no more than his 
 bargain. 
 
 HiivDA. Who dares pray for his own deserts ? 
 
 WiL. Well, something in that. Now, Sir Torald? 
 
 ACT IV— SCENE 2 136 
 
Her. My lord Baron, what I have to tell is like 
 gold, a small heap, but weighty. The Lady 
 Bertha of Wistgaw, my grandmother, came 
 back from heaven, took me, a child, from my 
 cradle and gave me to the Kobolds to rear. 
 
 Wiiv. What? What? Sir Torald, is your name 
 Herman ? 
 
 Her. It is, my lord. 
 
 WiL. You are the child Herman that disappeared? 
 
 Her. I am, my lord Baron. 'Tis but now that I 
 have returned to live with men. Last night the 
 Kobolds brought me hither through the air, 
 snatching me from the bare height of the hill 
 where I was watching with love the window ©f 
 the Lady Hilda. The Lady Bertha came to me 
 here, blessed me, said I should be acknowledged 
 the rightful lord of Wistgaw, and in proof 
 thereof gave me power to open with a charmed 
 word the wall yonder, where lies hidden a great 
 treasure. This to be true I do engage my 
 honor; and the Honey-Broth is promised, and 
 the spirits of the castle will trouble you no more. 
 
 WiL. Let me see the wall open. Chevalier. 
 
 Her. The charmed word is the name of your 
 
 daughter, uttered by me. Behold! 
 
 Herman goes to the wall, touches it, says, 
 "Hilda," and the wall opens as before, disclos- 
 ing the treasure. 
 
 WiL. By all the good ghosts in heaven, kinsman. 
 I bear you no grudge for your return. Wist- 
 gaw is yours, and welcome. 
 
 Her. And — for your lovely daughter, Baron. 
 
 137 ACT IV— SCENE 2 
 
Wii.. Troth, she is yours, too, by my knightly 
 word. 
 
 Fritz approaches, trembling with fervent loyalty 
 and eagerness, and peers into Herman's face. 
 
 Fritz. May an old servant look closely? 
 
 Hkr. Honest Fritz, I know your place and your 
 worth. 
 
 Fritz. What my old heart hath weened, mine eyes 
 behold 
 With youth-retrieving sight ! Blest lineaments ! 
 Blest Nature, that doth hold congenial lines, 
 Chiseling frame and face from antique models, 
 Childing the forebears with their daughter's 
 
 girl, 
 Or making them twice the parents of a son ! 
 You dear memorial of Lady Bertha, 
 Eke of the noble Osmond framed in her. 
 Gold potency gold framed, I see them both 
 In your fair countenance, by them know you— 
 Your ancestry is writ from brow to chin. 
 Oh, my young master, dear, most dear young 
 
 master. 
 My old heart's like a populous loyalty 
 That hails you to recovered coronation. 
 Now let thy servant, lord, depart in peace 
 In thine own time ! Mine eyes have seen thy 
 
 glory ! 
 Hi:r. O good old servant, live, live long, for us, 
 
 Honored and trusted as your virtue claims. 
 Fritz. Ay, ay! for you. You say for us. For 
 
 whom ? 
 
 ACT IV — SC?ENE 2 138 
 
Her. Sooth, yes, you're shrewdly right, my honest 
 Fritz ; 
 Now must I speak unto the Lady Hilda 
 In humble wooing what you I spake in hope. 
 Most dear and lovely lady, if your father's 
 Paternal right giveth me right in you, 
 Now do I reinstate you in that right ; 
 Being given you, I give you back to you. 
 And with yourself endow you. Both are free. 
 You to bestow your treasury of love 
 As your heart wills, and I to woo. I ne'er 
 Were free to woo any but a free lady. 
 Now, lovely queen, queen of yourself, and 
 
 queen 
 Of loveliness, shall I have leave to woo? 
 Answer from a free heart. 
 
 Hilda. Alas ! Sir Knight, 
 
 You give me freedom, yet I am not free — 
 I am no longer powered to grant that warrant. 
 
 Her. Is't possible? You love another! Farewell! 
 Madam, I go ; you shall remain forever 
 Of Wistgaw mistress. 
 
 Hilda. Honorable knight, 
 
 Vouchsafe me first with you a private word. 
 
 Exeunt, with show of great respect, Wilbold 
 and all the Knights and Ladies. 
 
 Hilda. The aged count liveth in my concern — 
 This whirl of dear events hath snatched me 
 
 from him — 
 Yet must he this new day have crept abroad — 
 Find him, good Fritz — come tell me of him 
 soon. 
 Exit Fritz. 
 
 139 ACT IV — SCENE L 
 
Hilda. Now must I speak, with maiden hesitation, 
 Dear gentle knight, and yet with simple truth 
 That should, methinks, brook not to falter or 
 
 fear. 
 Have you forgotten, dear my lord, that night 
 When we together were i' the Kobolds' cave, 
 And danced? 
 
 He:r. Not I. Did not you think it a dream? 
 
 HiivDA. I did, and yet did not. It grew too sweet 
 To be unreal. Your dear memorial ways 
 With all your manful care and tenderness 
 Became a wooing, and I was wooed and won 
 In precious reveries, exploring love. 
 Then when you entered at the banquet hall, 
 I knew you instantly, with you all love. 
 And love was life, and life was love, my lord. 
 Behold, dear knight, behold now why I said 
 I was no longer powered to grant a warrant 
 To woo me, being already wooed — and won. 
 
 Her. O joy! May't not be heaven, though 'tis 
 not foreign? 
 To what can I compare you, my sweet love, 
 To what compare you, or how can I name you. 
 Since all words veil their faces? Light's too 
 
 harsh. 
 The air too wayward, water is too dim; 
 Naught but the sweetness and significance 
 Of Nature's total rondure tallies with you, 
 Blue firmanent and green reflective earth 
 And all that's fair, soft, vocal, flourished be- 
 tween. 
 Sweet lady, you see me as I am, a man 
 
 ACT rV— SCENE 2 140 
 
Untaught to woo, unchartered to't before, 
 Unchartered eke with offerings save myself ; 
 For I would hack my soul from the immortals 
 Ere point a question at these lands — thine, 
 
 thine ! 
 In family I am but as thyself, 
 No less illustrious, but yet no more; 
 In naught am rich above thee, in naught equal 
 Save love and kin, one mine, the other ours; 
 And for what's mine, my love to thee, in that 
 Challenge I dare e'en thee better to love, 
 Belike as well, since thou art worthier loved. 
 Dear love, you prove earth may build heaven. 
 
 And so 
 My sweet, mine own, beloved and thrice be- 
 loved, 
 And thrice that thrice, lady, by your leave. 
 The betrothal kiss. 
 Her. Ah ! let me hear your voice music my name. 
 
 Hilda. Is not Herman hard to pronounce, my 
 lord? 
 
 Her. Ay, so it is, as difficult as — Hilda: 
 Yet you did very well ; try soon again. 
 
 Hilda. Ah, me ! if you so sweetly speak my name 
 When I say yours, I'll utter yours all day. 
 Enters Fritz. 
 
 Fritz. My lady, the count comes, and following 
 
 him are Rollo and Grun, perplexed and 
 
 troubled, striving with him to no effect. 
 
 Enter Count Osmond, Rollo and Grun. The 
 old Count is very vacant and dim in face and 
 manner. 
 
 RoLLO. Indeed, my lady, we did all we could to 
 
 141 ACT IV— SCENE 2 
 
wile him about the park and keep him outdoors ; 
 but he seemed smitten with a sudden will to 
 come hither and we could not persuade him. 
 
 Grun. My lady, he seemed not even to hear what 
 we said, and we dared not put hands to him, 
 though we feared he should not come to this 
 room and the things here on this day of days. 
 
 Hilda. My Herman, I perceive some difference, 
 some change in your dear aged grandfather. 
 
 Grun. 'Tis true, my lady ; he was abroad with the 
 
 first ray of dawn, very restless and would not 
 
 be stayed, and seemed weaker and waning, and 
 
 babbled strangely. 
 
 Hilda at once goes to the old Count and de- 
 votes herself to him. 
 
 Count O. My angel — ^yes, the same — mine! 
 
 Where have you been? Was it so hard to get 
 
 out of heaven to-day? 
 Hilda. 'Tis never hard to come to you. 
 Count O. I could not find you. 
 Hilda. Now you have found me. 
 Count O. Yes, yes. 
 
 The old Count moves about, very weakly and 
 restlessly, Hilda keeping close to him, the oth- 
 ers grouping according to his movements. Sud- 
 denly he sees tHe open wall and the treasure. 
 He stops and stares, seems struck or shocked 
 with memory, trembles, then grows firmer and 
 stronger, and knows Hilda. 
 
 Count O. Hilda! Little Hilda! Never far or 
 long from the old man. Yonder? I had for- 
 gotten — have not thought — but I remember it — 
 
 ACT IV— scene 2 142 
 
something buzzes in my old head — we put it 
 there. 
 
 Hilda. You, dear grandsire? 
 
 Count O. I and my lady, my Bertha — for Her- 
 man — I have not thought for a long time, but 
 I remember now — she took Herman away — 
 but he will come again. I am to see him — 'twas 
 certain I should see him ! 
 
 Hilda. Such memory returns at the extreme hour. 
 I fear our dear grandsire verges to the bar, my 
 Herman. 
 
 Her. I think so, my Hilda. 
 
 Hilda. Good Fritz, go call my father. 
 
 Exit Fritz. 
 
 Hilda leads the aged Count tenderly to the 
 great chair. He talks as he goes, stopping to 
 speak : 
 
 Count O. Hilda, my little Hilda, so much light in 
 my old head suddenly. Good, good ! All these 
 visions, memories — the old things come back 
 as if new things, and new things mix with the 
 old things. 
 
 He has come to the chair and sits. Rollo and 
 Grun are at side and back. Hilda, at side, 
 signs to Herman, who comes and kneels to 
 the old man at the other side. The spirit of 
 Lady Bertha suddenly appears in the balcony, 
 robed in luminous white, and she opens the 
 glass doors and enters, invisible to them all, 
 carrying a wreath of laurel. Enter Wilbold 
 and Fritz, grouping with the others. The old 
 Count suddenly takes note of Herman, bends 
 forward and gazes into his face. 
 
 Count O. I know you. Memory, memory, mem- 
 ory, how it flames ! What a light I am in — and 
 it grows brighter. You are Herman — I see 
 
 143 act IV — scene 2 
 
your grandmother, my Lady Bertha, in your 
 
 face. 
 Her. Yes, dear Grandfather, I am Herman. 
 Count O. Good, good ! I knew you would come 
 
 — I used to say so — but I forgot — long ago — is 
 
 it very long since I forgot? — very long? 
 HiiyDA. No, dear grandsire. 
 
 Count Osmond looks several times at Herman 
 and Hilda, from one to the other. 
 Count O. Brave boy! dear girl! gallant young 
 
 knight! fair young maid! 
 
 HiiyDA. We are to wed, dear grandsire. 
 
 Count O. Better, better, and better, and best. 
 
 Lady Bertha has crowned with the laurel wreath 
 the old Count, and then stands by Herman. All 
 look with astonishment on the wreath. 
 Wiiv. Mark you that? 
 
 Fritz. Ay, my lord. 
 
 WiL. How comes the wreath upon him out of the 
 
 air, as dew falls? 
 Fritz. I know not what to say. There be good 
 
 spirits in the castle. 
 
 Count Osmond sees Lady Bertha, starts, looks 
 with all his soul, trembles, grows strong and 
 firm again. 
 
 Count O. My lady, oh my lady, my Bertha! 
 Her. Doth he wander again ? 
 Hilda. Nay, I know not. 
 WiL. He thinks he sees the Lady Bertha. 
 Hilda. Who knows he sees her not? He is on 
 the brink, may he not look over? 
 
 Lady Bertha holds out her arms to him. He 
 smiles joyously, lays back his head on the 
 chair peacefully, closes his eyes, and is gone. 
 Long tableau, and music. 
 
 CURTAIN. 
 
 ACT IV— SCENE 2 144 
 
LBNlr'12 
 
A PLA Y IN FOUR A CTS 
 
 THE 
 
 LADY BERTHA'S 
 
 HONEY-BROTH 
 
 
 By JAMES VILA BLAKE 
 
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