The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 06

ESTHER. What             Becomes of us?

RACHEL. O stay, I beg you, stay!

KING. The castle's safe, the keeper faithful, too;             And he will guard you with his very life.             For though I feel that I have sinned full sore,             Let no one suffer who has trusted me             And who with me has shared my guilt and sin.             Come, Garceran! Or, rather, take the lead;             For if the estates were in assembly still,             Not called by me, nor rightfully convened,             I then must punish—much against my will.             Command them to disperse—and quickly, too!             Thy father tell: Although protector he             And regent for me in my boyhood days,             I now know how to guard my right myself—             Against him, too, against no matter whom.             Come on! And ye, farewell!

RACHEL (approaching). O mighty Prince!

KING. No more! I need my strength and steadfast will,             No parting words shall cripple my resolve.             Ye'll hear from me when I have done my work;             But how, and what the future brings, is still             Enwrapt in night and gloom. But come what may,             I give my princely word ye shall be safe.             Come, Garceran! With God! He be with you!

[Exeunt KING and GARCERAN at the left.]

RACHEL. He loves me not—O, I have known it long!

ESTHER. O sister, useless is too tardy knowledge,             When injury has made us sadly wise.             I warned thee, but thou wouldst not ever heed.

RACHEL. He was so hot and ardent at the first!

ESTHER. And now makes up in coolness for his haste.

RACHEL. But I who trusted, what shall be my fate?             Come, let us flee!ESTHER. The streets are occupied;             Against us all the land is in revolt.RACHEL. And so I then must die and am so young?             And I should like to live! Not live, indeed—             But die, unwarned, an unexpected death!             'Tis but the moment of our death that shocks!

(At ESTHER's neck.)

Unhappy am I, sister, hopeless, lost!

(After a pause, with a voice broken by sobs.)

             And is the necklace set with amethysts,             Thou broughtst?ESTHER. It is. And pearls it has as bright             And many, too, as are thy tears.RACHEL. I would             Not look at it at all—at least not now.             But only if our prison lasts too long,             I'll try divert eternal wretchedness,             And shall adorn myself unto my death.             But see, who nears? Ha, ha, ha, ha, it is,             In sooth, our father, armèd cap-a-pie!

[ISAAC, a helmet on his head, under his long coat a cuirass, enters from the left.]

ISAAC. 'Tis I, the father of a wayward brood,            Who ere my time are shortening my days.            In harness, yes! When murder stalks abroad,            Will one's bare body save one from the steel?            A blow by chance, and then the skull is split!            This harness hides, what's more, my notes of 'change,            And in my pockets carry I my gold;            I'll bury that and curse and soul will save            From poverty and death. And if ye mock,            I'll curse you with a patriarchal curse—            With Isaac's curse! O ye, with voices like            The voice of Jacob, but with Esau's hands,            Invert the law of primogeniture!            Myself, my care! What care I more for you!            Hark!

RACHEL. What noise?

ESTHER. The drawbridge has been raised—             And now our refuge is a prison too.—RACHEL. A token that the King has left these walls.             So hastes he forth.—Will he return again?             I fear me no—I fear the very worst!

(Sinking on ESTHER's breast.)

And yet I loved him truly, loved him well!

ACT IV

A large room with a throne in the foreground to the right. Next to the throne, and running in a straight row to the left, several chairs upon which eight or ten Castilian grandees are sitting. Close to the throne, MANRIQUE DE LARA, who has arisen.

MANRIQUE. In sadness we are now assembled here,             But few of us, whom close proximity             Allowed to gather in so short a time.             There will be more to join us presently.             Stern, universal need, delaying not,             Commands us count ourselves as competent.             Before all others, in our earnest group,             Is missing he to whom belongs the right             To call this parliament and here preside;             We then are half illegal at the start.             And so, my noble lords, I took the care             To ask her royal majesty, the Queen,             Although our business much concerns herself,             Here to convene with us and take her place,             That we may know we are not masterless,             Nor feel 'tis usurpation brought us here.             The subject of our council at this time             I hope—I fear—is known to all too well.             The King, our mighty sov'reign—not alone             In rank, estate, and dignity he's high,             But, too, in natural gifts, that when we gaze             Behind us in the past's wide-open book,             We scarce again can find his equal there—             Except that strength, the lever of all good,             When wandered from her wonted path of good,             Wills e'er to do her will with equal strength—             The King, I say, withdraws himself from court,             Lured by a woman's too lascivious charm,             A thing in no wise seeming us to judge—             The Queen!

The QUEEN, accompanied by DOÑA CLARA and several ladies, enters from the right, and seats herself on the throne, after she has indicated to the grandees who have arisen that they are to resume their seats.

MANRIQUE. Have I permission, Majesty?

QUEEN. Proceed.

MANRIQUE. What I just said, I shall repeat             "A thing in no wise seeming us to judge."             But at the bound'ries arms him now the Moor,             And threats with war the hard-oppressed land;             So now the right and duty of the King             Is straight to ward this danger from us all,             With forces he has called and raised himself.             But see, the King is missing! He will come,             I know, if only angry that we called             Of our own power and will this parliament.             But if the cause remains that keeps him hence,             Unto his former bonds he will return,             And, first as last, we be an orphan land.             Your pardon?

[The QUEEN signs him to continue.]

                          First of all, the girl must go.             Full many propositions are at hand.             Some are there here who wish to buy her off,             And others wish to send her from the land,             A prisoner in some far distant clime.             The King has money, too, and though she's far,             You know that power can find whate'er it seeks.             A third proposal—

[The QUEEN, at these words, has arisen.]

                                 Pardon, noble Queen!             You are too mild for this our business drear!             Your very kindness, lacking vigorous will             From which to draw renewal of its strength,             Has most of all, perhaps, estranged our King.             I blame you not, I say but what is true.             I pray you, then, to waive your own desire,             But if it please you otherwise, then speak!             What flow'ry fate, what flatt'ring punishment,             Is suited to the sin this drab has done?QUEEN (softly).             Death.

MANRIQUE. In truth?

QUEEN (more firmly).

Yes, death.

MANRIQUE. Ye hear, my lords!             This was the third proposal, which, although             A man, I did not earlier dare to speak.QUEEN. Is marriage not the very holiest,             Since it makes right what else forbidden is,             And that, which horrible to all the chaste,             Exalts to duty, pleasing unto God?             Other commandments of our God most high             Give added strength to our regard for right,             But what so strong that it ennobles sin             Must be the strongest of commandments all.             Against that law this woman now has sinned.             But if my husband's wrong continueth,             Then I myself, in all my married years,             A sinner was and not a wife, our son             Is but a misborn bastard-spawn, a shame             Unto himself, and sore disgrace to us.             If ye in me see guilt, then kill me, pray!             I will not live if I be flecked with sin.             Then may he from the princesses about             A spouse him choose, since only his caprice,             And not what is allowed, can govern him.             But if she is the vilest of this earth,             Then purify your King and all his land.             I am ashamed to speak like this to men,             It scarce becomes me, but I needs must speak.

MANRIQUE. But will the King endure this? If so, how?

QUEEN. He will, indeed, because he ought and must.             Then on the murd'rers he can take revenge,             And first of all strike me and this, my breast.

[She sits down.]

MANRIQUE. There is no hope of any other way.             The noblest in the battle meet their doom—             To die a bitter, yea, a cruel death—             Tortured with thirst, and under horses' hoofs,             A doubler, sharper, bitt'rer meed of pain             Than ever, sinner on the gallows-tree,             And sickness daily takes our best away;             For God is prodigal with human life;             Should we be timid, then, where his command,             His holy law, which he himself has giv'n,             Demands, as here, that he who sins shall die?             Together then, we will request the King             To move from out his path this stumbling-block             Which keeps him from his own, his own from him.             If he refuse, blood's law be on the land,             Until the law and prince be one again,             And we may serve them both by serving one.

A servant comes.

SERVANT. Don Garceran!

MANRIQUE. And does the traitor dare?             Tell him—

SERVANT. The message is his Majesty's.

MANRIQUE. That's diff'rent. An' he were my deadly foe,             He has my ear, when speaks he for the King.

_Enter _GARCERAN.

MANRIQUE. At once your message give us; then, farewell.

GARCERAN. O Queen, sublime, and thou my father, too,             And ye besides, the best of all the land!             I feel today, as ne'er before I felt,             That to be trusted is the highest good,             And that frivolity, though free of guilt,             Destroys and paralyzes more than sin             Itself. One error is condoned at last,             Frivolity is ever prone to err.             And so, today, though conscious of no fault,             I stand before you sullied, and atone             For youthful heedlessness that passed for wrong.

MANRIQUE. Of that, another time! Your message now!

GARCERAN. The King through me dissolves this parliament.

  MANRIQUE. And since he sent frivolity itself             He surely gave some token from his hand,             Some written word as pledge and surety?

GARCERAN. Hot-foot he followeth.

MANRIQUE. That is enough!             So in the royal name I now dissolve             This parliament. Ye are dismissed. But list             Ye to my wish and my advice: Return             Ye not at once unto your homes, but wait             Ye rather, round about, till it appears             Whether the King will take the task we leave,             Or we must still perform it in his name.

(To GARCERAN.)

             However, you, in princely service skilled,             If spying be your office 'mongst us here,             I beg you tell your King what I advised,             And that th' estates in truth have been dissolved,             But yet are ready to unite for deeds.GARCERAN. Then once again, before you all, I say             No tort have I in this mad escapade.             As it was chance that brought me from the camp,             So chanced it that the King selected me             To guard this maiden from the people's rage;             And what with warning, reason, argument,             A man may do to ward off ill, although             'Twas fruitless, I admit,—that have I tried.             I should deserve your scorn were this not so.             And Doña Clara, doubly destined mine,             By parents both and by my wish as well,             You need not hang your noble head, for though             Unworthy of you—never worthy,—I             Not less am worthy now than e'er before.             I stand before you here and swear: 'Tis so.MANRIQUE. If this is so, and thou art still a man,             Be a Castilian now and join with us             To serve thy country's cause as we it serve.             Thou art acquainted in the castle there;             The captain opes the gates if thou demand.             Perhaps we soon shall need to enter thus,             If deaf the King, our noble lord.GARCERAN. No word             Against the King, my master!MANRIQUE. Thine the choice!             But follow for the nonce these other lords,             The outcome may be better than we think.

[Servant entering from the left.]

SERVANT. His Majesty, the King!

MANRIQUE (to the estates, pointing to the middle door).This way—withdraw!

(To the servants.)

             And ye, arrange these chairs along the wall.             Naught shall remind him that we gathered here

QUEEN (who has stepped down from the throne).

My knees are trembling, yet there's none to aid.

MANRIQUE. Virtue abode with strength in days of yore,             But latterly, estranged, they separate.             Strength stayed with youth—where she was wont to be—             And virtue fled to gray and ancient heads.             Here, take my arm! Though tottering the step,             And strength be lacking,—virtue still abides.

[_He leads the _QUEEN _off at the right. The estates, with GARCERAN, have gone out through the centre door. The_ KING comes from the left, behind him his page.]

KING. The sorrel, say you, limps? The pace was fast,             But I no further need shall have of him.             So to Toledo, pray you, have him led,             Where rest will soon restore him. I, myself,             Will at my spouse's side, in her own coach             Return from here, in sight of all the folk,             That what they see they may believe, and know             That discord and dissension are removed.

[The page goes.]

             I am alone. Does no one come to meet?             Naught but bare walls and silent furniture!             It is but recently that they have met.             And oh, these empty chairs much louder speak             Than those who sat upon them e'er have done!             What use to chew the bitter cud of thought?             I must begin to remedy the ill.             Here goes the way to where my wife doth dwell.—             I'll enter on this most unwelcome path.

[He approaches the side door at the right.]

             What, barred the door? Hallo, in there! The King             It is, who's master in this house! For me             There is no lock, no door to shut me out.

[A waiting-woman enters through the door.]

KING. Ye bar yourselves?

WAITING WOMAN. The Queen, your Majesty—

(_As the _KING is about to enter rapidly.)

The inner door she, too, herself, has locked.

KING. I will not force my way. Announce to her             That I am back, and this my summons is—             Say, rather, my request—as now I say.

[Exit waiting-woman.]

KING (standing opposite the throne).             Thou lofty seat, o'ertopping others all,             Grant that we may no lower be than thou,             And even unexalted by these steps             We yet may hold just measure of the good.

_Enter the _QUEEN.

KING (going toward her with outstretched hands).

I greet thee, Leonore!

QUEEN. Be welcome, thou!

KING. And not thy hand?

QUEEN. I'm glad to see thee here.

KING. And not thy hand?

QUEEN (bursting into tears).

O help me, gracious God!

KING. This hand is not pest-stricken, Leonore,             Go I to battle, as I ought and must,             It will be smeared and drenched with hostile blood;             Pure water will remove the noisome slime,             And for thy "welcome" I shall bring it pure.             Like water for the gross and earthly stain             There is a cleanser for our sullied souls.             Thou art, as Christian, strong enough in faith             To know repentance hath a such-like might.             We others, wont to live a life of deeds,             Are not inclined to modest means like this,             Which takes the guilt away, but not the harm—             Yes, half but is the fear of some new sin.             If wishing better things, if glad resolve             Are any hostage-bond for now and then,             Take it—as I do give it—true and whole!

QUEEN (holding out both hands).

O God, how gladly!

KING. No, not both thy hands!             The right alone, though farther from the heart,             Is giv'n as pledge of contract and of bond,             Perhaps to indicate that not alone             Emotion, which is rooted in our hearts,             But reason, too, the person's whole intent,             Must give endurance to the plighted word.             Emotion's tide is swift of change as time;             That which is pondered, has abiding strength.

QUEEN (offering him her right hand).

That too! Myself entire!

KING. Trembleth thy hand!

(Dropping her hand.)

             O noble wife, I would not treat thee ill.             Believe not that, because I speak less mild,             I know less well how great has been my fault,             Nor honor less the kindness of thy heart.QUEEN. 'Tis easy to forgive; to comprehend             Is much more difficult. How it could be,             I understand it not!KING. My wife and queen,             We lived as children till but recently.             As such our hands were joined in marriage vows,             And then as guileless children lived we on.             But children grow, with the increase of years,             And ev'ry stage of our development             By some discomfort doth proclaim itself.             Often it is a sickness, warning us             That we are diff'rent—other, though the same,             And other things are fitting in the same.             So is it with our inmost soul as well—             It stretches out, a wider orbit gains,             Described about the selfsame centre still.             Such sickness have we, then, but now passed through;             And saying we, I mean that thou as well             Art not a stranger to such inner growth.             Let's not, unheeding, pass the warning by!             In future let us live as kings should live—             For kings we are. Nor let us shut ourselves             From out this world, and all that's good and great;             And like the bees which, at each close of day,             Return unto their hives with lading sweet,             So much the richer by their daily gain,             We'll find within the circle of our home,             Through hours of deprivation, added sweets.

QUEEN. If thou desirest, yes; for me, I miss them not.

KING. But thou wilt miss them then in retrospect,             When thou hast that whereby one judges worth.             But let us now forget what's past and gone!             I like it not, when starting on a course,             By any hindrance thus to bar the way             With rubbish from an earlier estate.             I do absolve myself from all my sins.             Thou hast no need—thou, in thy purity!QUEEN. Not so! Not so! My husband, if thou knew'st             What black and mischief-bringing thoughts have found             Their way into my sad and trembling heart!KING. Perhaps of vengeance? Why, so much the better!             Thou feel'st the human duty to forgive,             And know'st that e'en the best of us may err.             We will not punish, nor avenge ourselves;             For she, believe me, she is guiltless quite,             As common grossness or vain weakness is,             Which merely struggles not, but limply yields.             I only bear the guilt, myself alone.QUEEN. Let me believe what keeps and comforts me             The Moorish folk, and all that like them are,             Do practise secret and nefarious arts,             With pictures, signs and sayings, evil draughts,             Which turn a mortal's heart within his breast,             And make his will obedient to their own.KING. Magic devices round about us are,             But we are the magicians, we ourselves.             That which is far removed, a thought brings near;             What we have scorned, another time seems fair;             And in this world so full of miracles,             We are the greatest miracle ourselves!

QUEEN. She has thy picture!

KING. And she shall return 't,             In full view I shall nail it to the wall,             And for my children's children write beneath:             A King, who, not so evil in himself,             Hath once forgot his office and his duty.             Thank God that he did find himself again.

QUEEN. But thou, thyself, dost wear about thy neck—

KING. Oh yes! Her picture? So you knew that, too?

[He takes the picture with the chain from his neck, and lays it on the table in the foreground to the right.]

             So then I lay it down, and may it lie—             A bolt not harmful, now the thunder's past.             The girl herself—let her be ta'en away!             She then may have a man from out her race—

[Walking fitfully back and forth from the rear to the front of the stage, and stopping short now and then.]

             But no, not that!—The women of this race             Are passable, good even, but the men             With dirty hands and narrow greed of gain—             This girl shall not be touched by such a one.             Indeed, she has to better ones belonged.             But then, what's that to me?—If thus or thus,             If near or far—they may look after that!

QUEEN. Wilt thou, then, Don Alfonso, stay thus strong?

KING (standing still).             Forsooth, thou ne'er hast known or seen this girl!             Take all the faults that on this broad earth dwell,             Folly and vanity, and weakness, too,             Cunning and boldness, coquetry and greed—             Put them together and thou hast this woman;             And if, enigma thou, not magic art,             Shouldst call her power to charm me, I'll agree,             And were ashamed, were't not but natural, too!

QUEEN (walks up and down).

Believe me, husband, 'twas not natural!

KING (standing still).             Magic there is, in truth. Its name is custom,             Which first not potent, later holds us fast;             So that which at the outset shocked, appalled,             Sloughs off the first impression of disgust,             And grows, a thing continued, to a need—             Is this not of our very bodies true?             This chain I wore—which now here idly lies,             Ta'en off forever—breast and neck alike,             To this impression have become so used—

(Shaking himself.)

             The empty spaces make me shake with cold.             I'll choose myself another chain forthwith;             The body jests not when it warning sends.             And now enough of this!                                     But that you could             Avenge yourselves in blood on this poor fool—             That was not well!

(Stepping to the table.)

                                For do but see these eyes—             Yes, see the eyes, the body, neck, and form!             God made them verily with master hand;             'Twas she herself the image did distort.             Let us revere in her, then, God's own work,             And not destroy what he so wisely built.

QUEEN. Oh, touch it not!