The Three Heron's Feathers.

by Hermann Sudermann.

ACT I.

_The coast of Samland. The background slopes upward at right and left to wooded hills. Between them is a gorge, behind which the sea glitters. In the right foreground are graves with wooden head-boards and crosses, overgrown with shrubbery. At the left is a stout watch-tower with a door in it. Common household furniture stands about the threshold._

Scene I.

Hans Lorba.s.s _seated on a grave with spade and shovel, a freshly dug mound behind him._

_Hans Lorba.s.s_ [_sings_].

Behind a juniper bush, On a night in July warm and red, Was my poor mother of me brought to bed [_Speaking_]. And knew not how.

Behind a juniper bush, Between c.o.c.k's crow and morning red, I struck in drink my father dead, [_Speaking_]. And knew not who.

Behind a juniper bush, When all the vermin have had their bite, I'll stretch myself out and give up the fight [_Speaking_]. Still I know not when.

Yet one thing I know: anywhere hereabouts, a mile-stone or a cross-roads will do very well some day; I do not need a juniper bush.

Let us say a garden hedge, that is a pleasant spot. If some day it should come into my head to lie down beneath one, in the tall gra.s.s, nearby a grave, and quietly turn my back on this dry, burnt-out old world, who--a plague upon him--would have aught to say against it? Here I sit and munch my crusts, and hold carouse--on water; [_getting up_]

here I stand and dig graves, a free-will servant to weakness. I dig the graves of the unnamed, unknown, when icy waves toss them rotting on the sh.o.r.e, tangled in slimy sea-weed. Once all my thoughts were wont to follow on the foeman's path, to cleave him through with my blithely swinging sword, to carve my path straight through the solid rock; yet now I stand here and smile submission at a woman. But I bide my time until my master comes again knocking to set me free from my graveyard prison and breathe new life into my frame. Him at whose side I once stood guardian-like with fiercest zeal, him will I serve again with all my love and life, and follow like a dog.... Like a dog, yes, but like a master, too. For it is strength alone that wins the day at last, in all the brave deeds done upon this earth. And only he who laughs can win.

The victory is never to the weakling whiner, nor to the man whose rage can master him; as little does it crown the man whose mind is woman-ruled; but less than these and least of all will it bless him who dreams away his life. For that I stole and sweated to secure,--his future good,--for that I sit now fixed firm within his soul,--I his servant and avenger! Here comes the old one. Never yet have I owned myself conquered by any soul on earth.... And yet--when she comes peering into my affairs, I feel as though I might become--I don't know what! I begin to know what strength is in sweet words; I feel a readiness for any sort of bout; my spirits swell to bursting roisteringness,--and yet I have not the shadow of a cause for any such ideas.

_Burial-wife_ [_entering_]. Tell me, my little Hans, hast been industrious? Hast made a fine soft bed?

_Hans_. I am no Hans of thine. My name is Hans Lorba.s.s. A knave who stalks stiff-necked and solemn up and down the world does not much relish being treated like a child.

_Burial-wife_. Thou art my dear child none the less. Only grow old and gray; and then shall thy body bear its scars and thy soul its sins back to the old wife.

_Hans_. Not yet.

_Burial-wife_. Thou hast dug many a deep still grave for me; many a wanderer will come and find rest, therein. Over the gray path of the boundless sea will each one come bringing his life's sorrow to lay it here upon my bosom. I open wide my arms to them as my father bade me, and blessing them I thus absolve myself from suffering and penance.

Beneath my breath sin and crime straightway disappear;--and smilingly I bear all my dear children to their rest.

_Hans_. Not me. What concern hast thou with me? It is true thou holdest me here within thy grave-yard prison and compellest me to play the grave-digger with blows and taunts; but let my prince once come this way again, and not another hour of service shalt thou have.... My prince, my gold-prince! My sweet lad! How I could burst with a single leap straight to thy side through all the world, and with my too-long-idle sword hurl down to h.e.l.l the coward pack that presses round thee!... And thou art all to blame,--yes, all. He had already quite enough agonizing longings, unfulfilled desires; but thou must needs fan the warmly glowing flames to a devouring blaze. It was thou that lured him into that adventure, that willed his braving danger singlehanded; and if he cracks the accursed nut, if I see the foam curl again about his prow,--even if I clasp him to me and feel him safe indeed,--who shall tell me that after all his prize is worth his pains?

Where is that woman thou hast showed to him, that pattern of beauty and purity, that paragon of softness and strength, she who was born to steal away his other longings,--where is she?--show her to me!

_Burial-wife_. My little Hans, my son, why stormest thou so?

_Hans_. Let me curse.

_Burial-wife_. Hush thee, and lie down here beside me on the straw, and listen what I tell thee.

_Hans_. On the grave-straw? [_Lies down with a grimace._]

_Burial-wife_. There landed two men yonder on a golden spring day, and wandered lost like wild things through the thicket. Who were they?

_Hans_. I and my master were the two. The villainy of his step-brother had rent from him his throne and kingdom. He was too young, he was too weak,--there lay the blame.

_Burial-wife_. Yet he was bl.u.s.tering and drew his sword and demanded with storm and threat that I should grant a wish for him. Still thou knowest him, my dear son?

_Hans_. Do I know him!

_Burial-wife_. "Thou desirest the fairest of women for thy bride?" I said. "She is not here; but if thou dost not shrink before the danger, I can show thee the way, my son."

_Hans_. The way to death!

_Burial-wife_. "There lies an isle in the northern seas, where day and night are merged in dawn; never more shall he rejoice at sight of home who loses his path there in a storm. There lies thy path. And there, where the holy word is never taught, within a crystal house there lives a wild heron, worshiped as a G.o.d. From that heron thou must pluck three feathers out and bring them hither."

_Hans_. And if he brings them?

_Burial-wife_. Then I will make him conscious of miraculous power, through which he shall find and bind her to himself who awaits him in night and need; for by this deed he grows a man, and worth the prize.

_Hans_. And then? When he has got her, and sighs and coos and lies in her bosom half a hundred years, when he turns himself a very woman, I shall be the last to wonder at it. Look! [_he picks up a piece of amber_] I shovelled this shining glittering bauble out of the dune-sand. I have heaped up whole bushels of it in my greedy zeal. Now, as I toss from me this sticky ma.s.s of resin, that borrows the name and place of a stone, so with the act I hurl away in mocking laughter these many-colored lies of womankind. [_He tosses the lump to the ground._]

Now go and brew my evening draught. I will to the sea to seek my master. [_He goes out to the right. The_ Burial-wife _looks after him grinning and goes into the tower._]

_Ottar_ [_sticking his head through the bushes_]. Holloa, Gylf!

_Gylf_ [_coming out_]. What is it? [_The others also appear._]

_Ottar_. Here is the tower, here lie the graves in a sandy spot; run below to the Duke and tell him; not a man to be seen, not even a worm, naught but a burying-ground, rooted up and worried as though we had been haunting it ourselves. [Gylf _goes out._]

_Skoll_. Nay, for we would have saved some of our loved dead for the raven, we would not have been so stingy as to bury them straightway.

[_They all laugh._]

_The First_ [_pointing out to sea_].--Ho--there!

_Ottar_. What's the matter?

_The First_. Does not the boat pa.s.s there that yesterday crossed our path on the high seas, whose steersman threatened fight with our dragon? How comes the bold rascal here?

_The Second_ [_who has raised up the lump of amber_]. I tell you, comrades, let the fellow go, and look what I have found.

_Ottar_. Death and the devil! Then we are in Amberland.

_The Third_ [_staring_]. That is amber?

_Ottar_. Give it to me!

_The Second_. I found it--it is mine!

_Ottar_. Thou gorging maw!

_The Second_. Thieves! Flayers!