  SCENE ONE—A road through a forest. On either side trees stand thick and dark. Immediately in front the light sifts down upon a rude bridge spanning a narrow stream. At the roadside, to the right, a large crucifix, apparently new, stands upon a post some ten feet in height. It is elaborately carved and is set in a deep frame to protect it from the weather. At the foot of the post, cut into the mossy bank which slopes toward the road, is a kneeling place with a white sheep's pelt lying upon it. A sound of voices is heard. Fritz and Rudolph enter from the left and pause where a path leads off through the wood. The latter has an ax upon his shoulder. Far in the forest a faint sound of chopping is heard. TIME—Mid-day in summer, in the early part of the thirteenth century. Rudolph—He's worth six. Fritz— I'll give you five, you pick them. Rudolph—I'll pick six. Fritz— I'll keep my ewes, then. Rudolph— And walk To the mountains? Fritz— We have not gone yet. Rudolph— But— Fritz—And if I had my way we would not go. Rudolph—Nor would we go had I mine, Fritz. But we Have not our way. The dragon has his way. As far as Niflheim the North is red. Fritz—Are we their sheep that we must follow them Or be hung up on trees? Rudolph— He follows us. Fritz—Who do these woods belong to, anyhow? Rudolph—Where a man puts his foot the dragon puts His belly, and the man's track disappears. Where is the tree that has not felt the storm? Have they not disappeared? Like leaves the tribes Are scattered. Fritz— It has blown down trunk and all. Rudolph—Forests and rivers and ten thousand graves Lie under that red paw. Fritz— It stains the world. Rudolph—The Weser rolls down bodies to the sea; Their yellow hair is matted in the Rhine; The deer that drinks the Aller in the night Starts back from bloody faces in the stream. They are our fathers, Fritz, who cannot sleep While this coiled Hunger tracks us toward the north. Fritz—And we must feed it, eh? We must grub roots, Fatten ourselves on acorns in the wood, As swine do, and then waddle to the swamp And stuff its belly so that it will sleep And trouble us no more, we must do that? Rudolph—No; we must leave, and starve it. Fritz— It don't starve. More hunger means more flesh. Let's feed it steel. Rudolph—Steel draws the blood and brings the hunger on. Fritz—Then draw the life. We don't feed it enough. Rudolph—It eats the blade— Fritz— Then feed it hilt and all. Rudolph—It eats our swords and they come out in claws. As Canzler says, a thousand spears have but Peeled off its poisonous scales, and where they fall A deadly fire burns and the elves die. Fritz—We will call Wittikind. Rudolph— From out the grave? Fritz—His spirit will hear. Rudolph— Wittikind was baptized. Fritz—His head was baptized, but his heart was not. A few drops here could not put out a fire That scarred and seamed the dragon till it lashed, Maddened and bleeding, all the tribes away. A spark of him is in this forest. Rudolph— Oswald. Fritz— Yes. Rudolph—Silent and shy. Fritz— Their fate whom Woden loves. He homes the lightning in the silent cloud. Rudolph—Weak. Fritz— In himself, but strong by prophesy. Rudolph—Can you or I or chief hasten the day Wherein Val-father's voice shall wake the North? What man can say unto the lightning, "Leap"? Of Woden's race, a million summer leaves, We are, as it were, the winter mistletoe, A lone green sprig with barren woods all round. Can we shake off the snow and say, "Appear," To the young race asleep within the trees? Cry out above the dragon winter, "Die"? You cannot hurry in its growth one leaf. Yet you would thrust a sword in Oswald's hands, Thinking to hurry Prophesy along. If naked strength can save us, why not chief's? Why Oswald, if the battle is to be now? Without the aid of Woden, he is naught. Fritz—Without it, naught, and with it, everything. Rudolph—Val-father calls to-day then? Fritz— Wiglaf's ears Are where the whispers of the dead go by. Rudolph—Heard he the word, "to-day"? Fritz— And Wiglaf's eyes Blazed glee-fire and his lips spake Woden's word: Rudolph—In Oswald? Fritz— In the seed of Wittikind. "The seed of Wittikind shall put forth a sprout Shall make the whole North green." Rudolph— The "seed" of. Fritz— Yes. Rudolph—There, Fritz, is where the whole great purpose turns. Fritz—Eh? Rudolph—Prophesy, you see, walks in the air. No man can say on whom it will lay its hand. Fritz—Why? Rudolph—Would not Oswald's seed be Wittikind's? Do you not see that some child still unborn, The issue of Oswald's loins, may be the one To take the sword that Woden will hand down? Meanwhile, suppose the Christians hear of this. Their spies are all about us. (Dropping his voice and pointing to the bridge.) Who knows? Fritz—(After looking under it.) No. Rudolph—Suppose they once get rumor of it. Then Suppose they torture Wiglaf for the rest. Will not a thousand trumpets sound the chase? Will they not beat the forest through and through, Set fire to it, and when the stag appears Shall breed the fawn shall grow the golden horns— (As though drawing back a bow-string and letting spring the arrow.) Then what? What then? Fritz— We— Rudolph— We—? Fritz— We have our swords. Rudolph—We have them now. Fritz— And we can keep them. Rudolph— We Can neither keep our swords nor keep ourselves. Who is it plants the white cross in our land? The Frank? The Wend? The Saxon; we ourselves. No; in that fire that burns up from the south Thousands of our swords have melted and become Scales on the dragon's back and teeth and claws That now tear out our hearts. To-day swords strike For Woden, and to-morrow the strange god With those same swords storms Valhal, and lays low Its golden roof. Our ash Iggdrasil dies. Its beautiful leaves fall far off on the sea. Fritz—Let's kill the worm that bites it, then. Rudolph— That worm Hath bit the Northman and the Northman bites Val-father. (A crash is heard in the forest.) Fritz— It was the tree fell. Rudolph— So falls Iggdrasil and the golden roof comes down. When the North bites, Val-father dies. No, Fritz; The South has thrown a snake upon the North, And in its trail no fairy can be found. They, too, have gone to the mountains. Fritz— Leave our homes? Rudolph—For all of us it will be better there. The slopes are thickly clothed with oak and pine. There, too, your flock will find good grazing, Fritz. Conrad and I saw ledges thick with grass. Fritz—It's thick here, too. Rudolph— And torrents tumbling down Fill to the brim the basins of the rocks. There, in the dryest season— Fritz— Look down here. (He points down in the stream.) And this mid-summer. Rudolph— And game is plentiful. Fritz—It's plentiful here, too; deer and— Rudolph— Chamois And wild-goats browsing on the crags. Fritz— And here Are wild-boars' lairs and— Rudolph— The dragon's den. Fritz—His den is here, but he feeds everywhere. Rudolph—Not on the mountains. Fritz— They are barren; but He would feed there if we should go there. Rudolph— No. Fritz—He ravages the whole wide— Rudolph— (Moving his hand horizontally.) This way, yes; But that way? (Pointing up.) No. He dare not face the light That father Woden pours upon the peaks. Under Valhalla's eaves the dark elf died When the dawn smote him; so the dragon there. His paws would break off on the mountain sides. Fritz—We will stay here and cut them off. Rudolph— Those paws? Those huge, red, century-scarred paws? With what? Fritz—They want our woods and crofts, that's what they want. Rudolph—The Saxon sword is broken. The great shield That covered all the North lies in the loam Rusting, and the wild-flowers eat its stains. Where are our fathers, Fritz? Heimdall, who sees All races, sees not anywhere that race That stood at bay when Swabian went down, A paw was put upon its breast and lo, It is scattered, blood and bones and heart and brain! Its hand is here; its heart is in the north; Its head far off an island in the sea; Its blood is everywhere, in grass, in leaves; Its flesh still fronts the dragon in these trees. Fritz—And we, we men— Rudolph— Our time has not yet come. Fritz—Must be the feet and run, eh? Rudolph— We must wait Until the heart calls from the silent north. Fritz—Wait? Rudolph— You would have us—? Fritz— If we are the hand, For the hand strikes. Rudolph— Without the head? No, Fritz; We must delay our battle with the beast. A new shield we will shape us on the heights; Temper it in the flashes of the sky And boss it with the terror of the grave. Of mountain metal on the mountain tops, New armor we will forge. Let the old shield Lie here upon the plain, covering the dead. Let the leaves cover it. And for the sword That broken lies between the dragon's paws, Val-father will reach down and put the hilt Of some great Fafnir's-bane in Canzler's hand, Canzler, in turn, in Oswald's when he weds, And Oswald and the girl will pass it on Down to the hand of that child— Fritz— Canzler go? Rudolph—Whom Woden shall bid seek the dragon's den, And Siegfried of the North shall slay the snake. Fritz—Canzler will not go. Canzler! Rudolph— He will go. Fritz—Canzler will lay him in the grave first. Rudolph— Fritz, Who calls the fairies? Fritz— What of that? Rudolph— Witchcraft. Fritz—You mean that they will burn her? Rudolph— Do they not Burn witches in the city...? We can die; We on our swords can perish; but the girl...? (He goes off through the wood, leaving Fritz silent upon the bridge.) Fritz— (To himself.) Canzler will lay his sword upon her throat. (With bowed head he walks on across the bridge. As he passes into the deeper shadows the white sheep's pelt lying in the bank at the roadside catches his eye. He goes curiously toward it, when, seeing the post, he glances up and stops suddenly. For a time he stands as one appalled.) Rudolph! Rudolph—Ho! Fritz— Here! (To himself.) This will break Canzler's heart. (Rudolph reappears and joins Fritz, and the two stand in silence, Rudolph with his eyes fixed upon the crucifix, and Fritz with his eyes on Rudolph.) Fritz—What do you think? Rudolph— It was put up last night. Fritz—You still think we should leave here? Rudolph— Still think? Fritz— Yes. Rudolph—Can there be any doubt of what this means? Almost its eyeballs gleam between the trees. Fritz—And if we leave here, what? Rudolph— We bear away To some far mountain nest our eagle's egg. We save our hope. (Fritz points to the crucifix.) Only proves what I say. 'Tis some poor burgher who refused to bow And would not leave. (Fritz goes toward the crucifix.) And they have put it up To mock us with the pains they will make us feel If we don't bow. Fritz— (Bending over the pelt.) Knee prints. He has knelt here; Knelt here and prayed— (Coming back to the road.) to Woden, do you think? You know the hand that carved that? (Rudolph goes closer and scrutinizes the crucifix.) Your great sword, Where is it now, Rudolph? the Fafnir's-bane Val-father should reach down to Canzler's hand; To whose hand will the chief's hand pass it now? Out of the dragon's belly will he come, Our Siegfried, with the great heart of the beast? Our hope, our eagle's egg, where is it now? Rudolph—It can't be. Fritz— Can't be? Rudolph— Can't be. Fritz— But it is. At dusk last night I saw him in the wood And he was wending this way carrying that. And there are knee-prints on it. (A pause.) And that thing; What other hand could have carved out that brow Rudolph—This is why he has shunned us. Fritz— Say no word To Canzler about this or to the girl. Never will she be happy any more. He will leave now. Rudolph— (Contemplating the knee-prints.) Under Val-father's trees! Fritz—Canzler has been a father to the boy. (Rudolph comes toward the road, then turns and looks back at the Christ.) So Balder looked lying on Valhal floor. If the men hear this, they will vote to die. Rudolph—He must go quietly and no word be said. (They walk together along the road.) Fritz—The way he goes, the Saxon race has gone. Rudolph—We must go to the mountains, not the grave. Fritz—Canzler has been a father to the boy. Rudolph—He may return and bring the Saxon race. Fritz—Who will deliver him? Rudolph— Val-father lives. Fritz—(Bitterly.) Lives with the dead. (He goes out.) Rudolph— He may yet be reclaimed. The paths of Prophesy lead far away But still the Powers of the air are bent To guide it and their eyes are on its feet. Let us not doubt Val-father's hand in this. That eye in Mimer's fountain sees through all The dark, gnome-haunted caverns of the earth; The other under his calm brow watches heaven. (He goes off through the forest.) SCENE TWO—Under an old beech in the edge of the forest. A knoll, like the toe of a large boot shoved in from the rear, butts squarely against the trunk. Up under the boughs, left, lies a decaying log with here and there a tuft of rank grass growing from the cores of old knots. Beside it is a small basket filled with berries. At the foot of the beech, bubbles a spring partly walled in with dark mossy rocks, on top of which lies a brown gourd dipper. Two worn foot-paths, one winding up the slope into the forest, the other entering from the left, meet at the spring. The ground is checkered with flakes of sunlight that fall through the leaves, and over all is the silence of the summer noon. A crackle is heard as of a dry twig breaking under foot. The branches on the left swing apart and Selma pushes through backwards. She is a fairy-like creature dressed in green. Her hair falls loose about her shoulders and upon her head she wears a coronet of wild-flowers. Holding the boughs slightly apart, she stands peering intently to the left, then, turning quickly, she snatches up the basket and hides it behind the log, and after picking a few green burrs from the branches above her, darts to the right and conceals herself behind the trunk. For a time she stands motionless. Then, as if upon second thought, she stoops and removes the dipper from the rocks. Along the foot-path, leading in from the left, Oswald enters. He stops and looks back and for a time stands thus, as one undecided, a forlorn expression upon his face. He then turns and proceeds to the spring. Not finding the dipper, he lays aside his staff and hat, and stretches himself out upon the flat stone at the entrance of the spring. While he is drinking, Selma leans cautiously from behind the trunk and raises her arm as if to drop something. Having evidently seen her shadow in the water, Oswald glances up, but seeing no one, lies down again and drinks. From behind the hole Selma tosses a burr into the spring. Oswald continues to drink. Finally he rises, and, taking up his hat and staff, goes up the slope and sits down upon the log. The girl moves stealthily around the trunk. Oswald—Selma. (After a pause.) Selma. I saw you in the spring. Selma—I'm there yet, then; you didn't take me out. (She comes round the side of the trunk opposite the log and, stooping over, looks down into the spring.) O you should see the fishes! two, three, four, A troop of them! O Oswald, come and see! They're round a splash of sunlight in the spring. See how they twinkle and in the current stir Their little crimson fins. Ah, I've scared them. I really did; I scared them with my hair. See how it fell. (She points to a mass of hair that has fallen past her cheek.) It would not hurt them, though. We must be still; we must not say a word. They never will play if they see us looking. (Oswald points down into the spring.) That little green thing? That's a beech-nut burr. I threw it in to scare the water-sprite That looked up at you when you stooped to drink. You did not see her? Oh, I did. I peeped Like this, softly, over, over the edge, And saw her peeping from the mossy stones Down in the spring. Her hair was loose like mine And brown as buckeyes, and her lips were stained With juice of berries. Then I raised my hand. Thinks I: "I'll drop a beech-nut on his head." Then she raised hers as if to say: "Be still! I'll make the bubbles break against his nose." Was that what made you jump? You scared her so. I saw her hair fly up about her face As I leaped back. She lives down in the spring. "I'm going after berries; won't you come?" She beckoned to me, too, and seemed to say: "I can't leave home; my little fish will stray. You come down here; I have some pretty shells." Oh, look! Be still! She's let them come again. See them flash. Oswald— It's the green shell they're after. Selma—Why, there's no kernel in it. If there were They could not eat it; it would break their gills, They are so very thin. Oswald— We all do that; We follow shells sometimes. Selma— O Oswald, look! See how the little silver bubbles rise. Oswald—And we are like the fishes— Selma— Oh, do look! You are not thinking of the fishes. See! They follow it through the dimples round and round, Paddling the current with their little fins, And poising. They're afraid. They're drawing back. There, by the green stone. Oswald— They are safer there Than in the current. Selma— See, there's one that still Nips at it in the eddies. See its scales. You cannot carve like that. Look out! Oh, oh! (She runs down to the outlet of the spring by which the minnow has passed out, and walks up and down, stooping occasionally to feel among the stones of the rill. Oswald goes back and sits down upon the log. After a while Selma rises and looks toward the spring. The trunk is between her and Oswald.) 'Twill grieve her so. (In a low chant, abstractedly.) She's sleeping in the spring Under the dark rock where the white sand pours. The moss is softer in the forest there, And there the wood-doves coo. He's going away; they told me yesterday. The forest heard them moan: He will not come. The chestnut burr shall break; The wild bird, feeding, shake Unpicked the purple hartcrops to the ground, And the hushed forest only hear the sound Of antlers knocking where the wild deer rubs. He's going away—away—away. (Staring vacantly into the forest, her back to Oswald, she unconsciously picks the green burrs from the branches above her.) Oswald—Selma. (After a pause.) Come here; will you? Selma— I'm gathering mast. My fawns, they like it so. It makes them sleek. Oswald—I want to tell you something. Selma— Tell me here. If I had listened to the forest birds, I'd have no berries. And my fawns must eat. Oswald—'Tis something serious. Selma— Ah, you've been to town. (As she saunters toward the log she reaches up in the air.) Gossamers, where do they come from, Oswald? You never are gay when you've heard the bells. We are going to the mountains, may be. Then You will not hear them. Are there berries there? Rudolph said he saw flowers in the ice. Think of that. Blue-bells.—You are like my crow. (She takes a berry from her basket and holds it up between her fingers.) If you will talk, you may.—I must go home. (She pulls down a bough and begins to pick the leaves off, one by one.) Oswald—I want you to go with me to the bridge. Selma—I can't. I must go home. Father will think I have been captured by the villagers. (She removes her basket from the sun and lays the leaves upon her berries.) He said: "You will not find them." But I did. Oswald—Sit down. Selma— I can't.—It makes my berries red. Father will say: "You see? They are not ripe." (She goes about under the boughs selecting the largest of the leaves.) It makes them black, then makes them red again. (After a pause.) I heard bells ring last night. I dreamed I did. I called and they called and you would not come. I thought you could not hear me where you were. Oswald—In a great forest once two children lived. They used to wander about the wood. One day, Playing among the trees, suddenly they heard Small voices calling: "Ho, children!" At that— Selma—Fairies. (She comes to the log.) Oswald— The children rose wide-eyed and let Fall the wild-flowers they had gathered and stood Listening. Again the cry: "Ho, children!" (Selma sits down.) Then They, hand in hand, slowly, and half afraid, Moved forward, and the voices, as they moved, Moved onward, sometimes above them in the air Singing, and sometimes in the fernshaws: "Ho, Here we are!" And then a wisp of sun-bright hair Flashed in the deeper shadows of the wood. The children, shouting, "Catch her! There she goes!" The voices died away. The children saw The great trees glooming round them— Selma— Oh, I know! They cried themselves to sleep, for they were lost, And then the birds brought leaves and—Didn't they? No. Oswald—As night came on, the elder of them, a boy, Remembering to have heard a holy man Speak of a house—a holy house—where men Live as the angels live— Selma— Went there? Oswald— To pray. To pray for help. Selma— For the other child? Oswald— For her. Selma—What did the fairies do? Oswald— But ere he went, Carved with his knife upon a tree a sign A good man in the wood had taught him, a charm Against the spirit of the forest. Then he Told her strange words to say and leaving her Kneeling upon the moss, her little hands Folded, he went away. (A pause.) Not for himself. Selma—And did he not come back? Tell me the rest. Oswald—Come with me to the bridge. Selma— Did he come back? Oswald—I have carved a charm. Selma— A charm? Oswald— For you. Selma— For me? (A pause.) Where are you going, Oswald?—(A pause.) See my hair. Why should it scare the fishes? You are wise; Down in the spring, and if you'll come and look You'll see the smallest minnows twinkle there; They do not fear. Oswald— It is a snare. Selma— (Naively.) Is it? I would not harm them, Oswald. Oswald— Father Paul says It is the snare of Satan. Selma— I know him. 'Tis not my hair he uses. Oswald— (With horror.) Know Satan! (He turns away.) Selma—I did not know his name was—Ah, you run! You are just like the fishes. Come and play. I will not let it fall. (Throwing back her hair.) I will just peep Over the edge. (Going up the slope to where the boughs hang low, she begins to gather the green burrs. While she gathers them, she sings:) Hark, shepherd, hark; the forest calls Away to the greenwood still. We'll leave the dewy wether-bell To tinkle on the hill. Our ewes shall nibble gowan; We'll gipsy in the wood; Our bed shall be the wild plush moss; Our cruse shall be the flood. The lush blue whortle-berries We'll gather eve and morn And we'll wander where the brocket Rubs the velvet from his horn. Come, shepherd, come— I will not sing; the shepherd will not come. I'll go and call the forest children. (She takes up her basket.) Oswald— Selma. Selma—Night-bird hooting at noon! Oswald— Listen to me. Selma—I'll listen to the jay; he's merrier. Oswald—You are not of the witches that at night Fly through the air to that far windy crag That beetles o'er the foam of the wild sea And there, with orgies lewd to the black goat, Whirl in the revel with dark Barrabam? Selma—There is no fairy with a name like that. Oswald—He is the prince of fairies and of fiends. Father Paul says that oft on stormy nights, When stars scarce venture to the brink of heaven, Witches go down the sky scattering fogs, Diseases, blights, and death, and with them go Those whom their cursed arts have wrought upon To taste the air of Hell. Far in the West, From every quarter of the earth and sky And from those awful rivers, they assemble And hold their sabbaths on a windy cliff, A headland hanging over the edge of the world, About whose base an ocean bellows so That nothing dares approach save frenzied things. There, while the moon protrudes an awful horn Far off at sea and rocks among the waves, They curse God's watchful planets from the sky And lead their converts, dizzy with the brew, To trample on the blood of Christ and swear To serve the arch-demon who is known to them As Barrabam. A while ago you said You did not know his name as Satan. Selma,— Selma—You said he used my hair, but 'tis not mine. The other day I saw him in the stream Snaring the silver chubs. Said he: "My lass, I'll give two shiners for a lock of hair." "To snare the fishes with! You horrid man. I will not give it." And I ran away. 'Tis not my hair he uses. Oswald—(Aside.) What a child! Walking in darkness to the Tempter's snare. Oh, I would die for you! Selma— You run away. (He looks at her.) You cannot guess what I found in the wood. Oswald—You do not know what danger you are in. Selma—I know the ground-bird lays five speckled eggs; That filberts wear green hoods. Oswald— Oh, what of that? What will that profit in the Judgment Day? You have not been baptized. You do not hear The terrible, terrible, groanings of the lost. O God, you do not know, you do not know! Selma—I know the wood-pink is the first to wake Of all the flowers. I know where king-cups grow And wink-a-peeps that sleep when days are dark. I know when shadows lie beneath the boughs As they do now, I know you'll never find A squirrel or chipmunk out in all the wood, For then the forest sleeps. And I know where— Oswald—O Selma, listen to me just this once, And then forever listen to the years Give back the echo of this golden hour. Do you remember that day in the wood When we were gathering may-apples? You ran Shouting: "Here is a large one," and you stooped To pick it, when a snake coiled round the stalk, Hissed at you and you started back in fear. Had it not hissed you never would have known The stalk it coiled about. You saw that one Because it hissed. But one that hisses not Is coiled about the world, as like the world As was the green one to the may-flower stalk. Selma—I have heard father speak of it. He says That it is full of bones. Oswald— And souls of men. Only in holy houses are we safe. Selma—He said that I should not go near the village In gathering berries. Oswald— 'Tis the serpent Sin. Oh, how its sting has marred the perfect world! Ready to spring, the fiends couch for us. We Are hunted, Father Paul says, through the world As was the deer the good saint saved, Saint Giles. And men are fleeing from the wrath to come. Selma—It cannot come up on the mountain tops. Oswald—(Fervently.) Call on the Virgin. Yield to Lord Jesus. Do not reject him. Be baptized. Be saved. Do you not see that I would die for you? O Selma, playmate, loved one, promise me— Selma—I will not eat May-apples any more. Oswald—Oh, not to understand and yet be lost! (He walks away.) Selma—I will not eat them, Oswald. I will not Go near them if you do not wish me to. Oswald—Some day you will know why. (He takes up his staff.) Then you will know It was not for myself. You will know why. (He stops near the spring.) You will remember this—this day—these leaves— The golden sunlight on the waters there— (Thoughtfully, looking down into the spring.) And never will come back forevermore. SELMA—Oh, yes it will. They will not let her grieve. The fairies, when they trip the wood to-night, Will miss her, for she dances with them there. Oh, you should see them, Oswald. When they dance She is no bigger than the fairies are. To see them swing— Oh, 'tis a sight to make the wood-dove gay. (Circling round in a dance.) Lightly whirling round and round Through the forest, scarcely shaking Flower stalk upon the ground. In the leaves the violets waking Scatter perfume. Fairies, bow; Lift their purple hoods and kiss them. Join the dance and leave them now. (Ecstatically.) One night up in the wood, when silver flakes Were dancing with the fairies on the moss, An owl whooped. The fairies scampered off Into the ferns. The little water elf I found up close against a gnarled oak trunk, Hid in a moss-pink in a drop of dew. Oh, she was tiny as a fairykin! Her hair was scattered, she was frightened so. You should have seen her how she looked at me, As if to say: "You here!" I nod, and then We laugh together, thinking of the trick The surly owl played. (Again she circles round in a dance.) Oswald—(With horror.) This is enchantment! This is the cursed spells of forest devils, Witchcraft and Barrabam, the broth of Hell And the wild mountain and the swirling sea! (Advancing toward her, he reaches into his bosom and fetches forth a large silver crucifix fastened to a black string that encircles his neck.) Selma, touch this, touch this and say with me: "Pater noster—" come—"qui es in coelis—" Selma— (Still dancing.) I don't know what it means. Oswald— "Pater—". Repeat. Selma—I say I do not know— Oswald— It does not matter. Selma—Then tell me what it means. Oswald— You must not ask. You show more faith not knowing. "Pater—" Come. "Pater noster—" (Reaching toward her.) Will you? Selma—(Snatching up her basket.) What does it mean? Oswald— (Bowing his head.) I do not know. Selma— You are just teasing me. Oswald—Selma, listen to me. If our dear Lord, Who died upon the tree that we might live, Had meant that we should know what this thing means, He would have told us. Let us show our faith. Oh, let us say it as He taught us. Come, Repeat it with me. "Pater—" (Advancing toward her.) Will you say it? Selma—(Skipping up the slope and disappearing through the boughs.) I will not till you tell me what it means. (Oswald stands as one who knows not what to do. Along the path leading in from the left, Father Paul, the friar, enters. For a time he stands contemplating the scene before him.) Father Paul—My son. Come now. Come now. The Lord Christ calls. Delay is death. Give up this heathen world. You cannot save her here. But there, who knows? I shall wait for you in the grotto here. (They go out, right.) SCENE THREE—In the depths of the forest. Back through the trees, to the right, is seen the home of Canzler, a small cottage built of logs, with antlers over the doorway. It sits in a space partially cleared, and the light falls golden about it. Among the trees in the foreground, where the shadows are thicker, is the stump of a large oak and a newly fallen trunk extending out left. Over to the right, at the foot of one of the trees, lies a small bundle fastened to the end of a stick. At intervals a bird is heard singing in the forest. Near the stump several men are gathered. Canzler, facing right, stands beside the log with his hand resting upon his ax. He is bareheaded. His sleeves are rolled up above his elbows and his shirt, open in front, discloses his broad, hairy breast. Near the stump stands Hartzel, a man apparently seventy years of age. He wears a long, white beard and his hands are folded on top of a tall rustic staff. The others are Fritz and Rudolph and Wiglaf, the gleeman, in a fantastic garb faded and tattered. On the other side of the log, to the right of Canzler, is Max, another woodman, also in his shirt sleeves. Wiglaf—Why did they burn my harp, then? I'm a man. Fritz— (Leaning forward and speaking in a loud voice in Hartzel's ear.) You hear what Wiglaf says? Says he's a man; Why did they burn his harp, then? Canzler— No, Hartzel; 'Tis not enough with them that we are men; We must be Christians. Wiglaf— That's it. Canzler— We must pray The prayers the priests pray. We must go to church, Chant when they chant and what they chant and be Clay, as it were, upon their potter's-wheel. 'Tis not enough the great All-father wrought Us in his image; not enough to live The honest life of man. We must submit To be remolded to whatever shape The potter-priest may give us. So we bear His stamp and pray his prayers and wear the name Christian— Fritz— Then you can steal or— Canzler— No, Hartzel; Mass counts with them much more than manhood does. Wiglaf—Canzler's just right. Who ever heard of them Injuring a man because his life was bad, If his Faith was good? (Hartzel puts his hand to his ear and looks at Fritz.) Fritz— Who ever heard of them Injuring a man because his life was bad, If his Faith was good? (Wiglaf listens to the bird.) Hartzel— I don't doubt that some would. (Canzler touches him.) Wiglaf—The birds are free to sing Val-father's songs. Wiglaf must sing the songs men bid him sing Or have his tongue pulled out. Canzler— Speaking of Faith, How can a good man have a bad Faith? Isn't His life his Faith? Hartzel— Life his faith? Just so; but— But circumstances, Canzler. If we knew— Wiglaf—He thinks I've been a scoundrel. Hartzel— I don't say. I don't say that, for I don't know. Wiglaf— Don't know! (Back through the trees to the left, Selma is seen going toward the cottage.) Fritz— (Shouting in Hartzel's ear.) He says you think he's been a scoundrel? Think That's why they tried to kill him? Hartzel—(In amazement.) Why—why—no: I did not hear, Wiglaf; your back was turned. Selma— (Holding up her basket.) I found them, Father. See? I said I would. Wiglaf—That island, Canzler, where they say our race Rebuilt its kingdom, who knows aught of it? Canzler—No word has reached us from that far off land. Wiglaf—It used to live in gleemen's songs, but now— Canzler—Old men recall it as a forgotten thing. (Selma enters the cottage.) Wiglaf—In what sea lies it? Canzler— Where the Frankish land Looks toward the setting Balder, I have heard. Wiglaf—And does this river off here empty near it? Canzler—First flowing through wide forests and high rocks. (Wiglaf walks to and fro thoughtfully.) Hartzel—I don't doubt you've been wronged, Wiglaf. I don't Doubt that they're arming. What I do say is Who knows it is against us? Wiglaf— Wait and see. Hartzel—It may be they are mustering a host To take the East again. Nigh forty years Ago now, Frederic Red-beard—Canzler here Remembers; he was young then—mustered Nigh on to four score thousand, Canzler? Canzler— About. Hartzel—And they were not against us. Wiglaf— (Taking up the bundle and starting right.) Farewell, all. Canzler—Where are you going, Wiglaf? Wiglaf— There's no place In all this land for Wiglaf. Canzler— Don't say that While that roof stands. Wiglaf— It won't stand long, Canzler. Fritz— (Clenching his hands.) 'Twill stand till he won't need it any more. Wiglaf—Wild deer shall listen and no foot be heard. Canzler—Have you forgotten your inspired word? (Fritz and Rudolph exchange glances.) Wiglaf—But centuries may pass ere that child comes. (Selma comes from the cottage and begins to gather dry leaves and chips about the doorway. She is singing to herself and her voice comes faintly through the trees.) Canzler—Or in these hard days have you, too, lost faith In Woden? Wiglaf—Wiglaf lose faith in Woden! O chief! (Looking down.) What shall Wiglaf say? Shall the skald, Whose eye sees through the darkness, see no light? Beyond the winter see no spring, beyond The storm, no calm? (He starts away.) Canzler— Stay here with us, Wiglaf. (Selma enters the cottage.) Wiglaf—Lose faith in Woden when the north wind blows? Think the trunk dead because the boughs are bare? Shall the bloom live forever, and the seed Not swell and break its pod and find the earth? Val-father sows and reaps and sows again. Our race has come to harvest, and the hands Of southern reapers have laid low the tribes, Bound them in sheaves and stacked them far away Canzler—And the war-maidens have gleaned heroes there. Wiglaf—Gleaned them and sown them in the earth again. The years fall white upon the silent tribes. Val-father's winter locks them in the ground. (Looking up at the trees.) But O, O chief, these, too, were once down there. Canzler—The seed of Wittikind shall put forth a sprout. (Fritz bows his head and walks back among the trees.) Rudolph— (From a pent-up heart.) Shall it, Wiglaf? Canzler— The bare North shall be green. Wiglaf—Be red. Canzler— Wiglaf! Wiglaf— The young leaves come out red. As one who puts his ear against a door (He gets down and puts his ear to the earth.) And hears within a noise of armed men, I hear the washing of Val-father's waves Rushing from Naastrand where their bodies lie Piled on the dark shore where the ships come not. Canzler—Bringing them back. Wiglaf—(Rising.) With shock of arms, O chief, The breaking of the bark. Canzler— Then comes the leaf. Wiglaf—Red from the breaking of— Canzler— It shall be green. Wiglaf—Bragi is singing the white years away. (He goes out right.) Canzler—We may be few, Wiglaf, but— Max— Stay with us. Wiglaf—He beckons from that island in the sea. Wiglaf must go where Bragi calls. Canzler— Oh, say "Hail," to that kindred land! (He drops his ax against the log.) From us say "Hail!" (Stepping past the stump.) Oh, if you find them holding up the North, Oh, tell them, Wiglaf, to keep iron hearts! Say that the ancient trunk of Wittikind Shows a green sprout! Say all the North is green! Rudolph—Go with us to the mountains! Fritz— Stay and die! Canzler—Or say—say, Wiglaf, say—it shall be green! (Smoke is seen curling above the roof of the cottage.) Hartzel—I did not say he was a scoundrel. Eh? (To Rudolph.) Did I? Did I, Max? (Calling to Canzler.) Where is he going? I don't doubt he's been wronged; I don't doubt that. Where's he— (Fritz comes forward.) Rudolph (To Max.)—We must leave here. Fritz— We must stay here. (In Hartzel's ear.) He says we, too, must leave here. Hartzel— Leave? What for? What have we done? Fritz— But I say stay and die. Let them thresh us out, too. (To Max.) What do you say? Rudolph—What do you say, Max? Max— I say stay and live. They cannot kill us. Rudolph— How so? Max— If they do, They must kill Oswald, too. Then where's the child? (Fritz and Rudolph exchange glances.) Where then's Val-father's promised child? Fritz— Max— Rudolph— No. Canzler— (Returning to the stump.) The question, Hartzel, is not what they've done; It's what they think they have a right to do. They own, they think, our bodies and our brains. There is no thing or thought or word or deed Can take its way, but must report to them And square itself and do a bondman's work. They have a right, they think, to chop the North, Lop off her great green boughs and graft instead The South's pale branches. Fritz— To bear bastard fruit. Canzler—The oak's red blood must nourish olive leaves. They would remake the world Val-father made And take the seasons from his great right hand. We must be like them or be not at all. Like them in manhood, Hartzel? Fritz— No; in Faith. And even their gods know not the Saxon tongue. Rudolph—If a man speak Val-father's name, he dies. Max—And we must die if we be not baptized. Fritz—Must even ask of them what we may eat! Canzler—Why is it not enough to be a man? To do a man's work and to live a life Free like the wild deer, and to grow like these? (He looks about upon the trees.) You, Hartzel, have lived longer than we have And you have seen more seasons, and you know In father Woden's forests how the trees Grow as they will, acknowledging no lord But him who made them to be lordless, and Obeying no law save that law that bids Each be itself and bring forth its own fruit. In all the populous forests of this world There is no tyrant tree that lifts its head For each tree hath its own law in itself, And no tree hears another, but each hears The voice of father Woden in the loam Laying the law of selfhood on each seed. The seed bursts and the law starts toward the sky. The acorn lays it softly on the oak, The chestnut on the chestnut, and the pine Upon the loftiest mountain hears its cone Whispering with father Woden in the air, Learning the law it taketh to the ground. Thus by that law that each tree be itself, This forest hath become a stalwart state, A nation governed by one law, a vast Green kingdom of ten thousand happy trees With father Woden monarch in the boughs. The law of selfhood is the law of trees; Who says the law of sameness governs man? Because the South has not the girth of trunk To bear Val-father's weight upon its boughs, Must he climb down from ours and let the South Climb up and with its law bind leaf and limb? Did he, who made these oaks to grow and spread Their branches, make our branching minds to be Pinched to a point and put inside a ring? Hartzel—But they say that they got that ring from some God that once came down— Canzler— From their southern skies? Who gave the southern cypress mouth to speak Val-father's law unto the northern pine? God, do you say, come down to bind men? God? A God that binds? (Looking up at the trees.) I see no ring on these. Fritz—Loki is a smith. He made their ring. Canzler—Where in our northern sagas will you find A track of any shackle-bearing god? In all the past has any such a god Come down the northern sky? All round the walls Of Midgard stand the Asas guarding man Against whatever brings bonds. (Selma comes from the cottage with a bucket.) Fritz— Sons of Lok. Canzler—The southern gods may bring down shackles, but The northern hammer breaks the shackles off. Selma— (From back among the trees.) I'm going after water, Father. Canzler—And one shall come to take that hammer up. Max—The Asas walk the walls of Midgard still. (Selma goes out left.) Rudolph —Val-father made the mountain rocks to be The bastions of the oppressed. Fritz— He made the grave. (He sits down on the log and takes his head between his hands.) Canzler—"In him shall be the strength of all your dead." No, Hartzel; as Fritz says, their ring was wrought Far in the south at that old fire that burns Eternal mid the hills. Of old they forged Law for our fathers, and, with iron hands, Welded it on them. For five hundred years The noise of that old furnace filled the world, And from her red mouth link on link her hands Drew one continuous shackle, and the North Walked heavily, until Val-father's spear Flashed southward. Then the noise stopped. The great beast, That wore for head and neck those seven hills, Roused her and saw her whelps come bleeding back And heard wild Tyr holloing the tribes for dogs Round her on every side, and rose at bay Her hills go round and round and with a crash Stretched her vast skeleton over all the south. Hartzel—Then she is dead. Canzler— Rome dead? Hartzel— If she is bones. Canzler—-Bones, Hartzel, are not dead. The life returns. The ghastly thing moves in the silent night When swords are sleeping and the ear hears not. Old hands scratch round old battle-fields and there The skulls that wore the helmet don the hood, And when the morning breaks no man will say. "The thing that stands there is the thing that fell." Our father found it so. For after that Great hunt down in the south, the tribes lay down And slept and woke and saw—they knew not what. It wore a sword, but had no hauberk on. 'Twas robed in black and on each shoulder sat What seemed an eagle in a vulture's plumes. They, too, thought bones were dead, and seeing no Mark of their swords upon it nor anywhere The indenture of those old hills in the south, They showed it all the paths among the tribes. Fritz—Welcomed it to their homes. Max— And took its ring. Rudolph—And then lay down and slept and never woke. Canzler—If Rome is dead, whence all these harried lands, Wigmodia and the Phalias, East and West? Rudolph—There, even to this day, the clay is red. Canzler—If Rome is dead, what is this thing that now On hands and knees creeps on us toward the north Gathering flesh for its bones as it comes? Hartzel—Most of them have gone over to their Faith. Canzler—Most of them? Most of them lie, as Wiglaf says, Piled on the dark shore where the ships come not. Fritz—Between the ring and sword they chose the sword. Canzler—What is this thing that says, "Accept this Faith," But the same thing that to our fathers said, "Accept this Law"? It is the same old Rome. The snake hath cast her skin but not her fangs. Witness the rivers red. Witness the charred Track of the dragon and these silent lands. Has she not gathered flesh? Has she not clothed Her limbs and filled her bowels with the North? Climb to the clouds and call the Saxon race And who will answer? Silence. Rudolph— And the streams Moaning and hurrying red waves to the sea. Canzler—There is a day that would but cannot die. That day— Max and Rudolph—At Verden. Canzler— When our fathers died Unarmed, defenceless, butchered, Hartzel. Ah, that day hides her face among the years But cannot hide her hand. Val-father has— (Closing his fingers.) Her wrist in his grasp and holds that hand aloft To drip and rouse the North, and it shall drip Till Ragnarok shall swallow it up at last And vomit it out to bleed forevermore. Four thousand and five hundred in one day! Till set of sun, all day the axes swang, And when night fell the Aller's waters slipped Thick through the headless bodies in her bed. Oh, for once more a day like Dachtelfeld! (He turns away.) Rudolph—Val-father's spear shall flash again, Canzler. There shall a horn wind that shall rouse the tribes And strew those bones again. Fritz— Let's wind it now. Hartzel (To Canzler.)—Do you think we should leave here? Rudolph— Yes. Fritz— No. Max— No. Our Wittikind shall come and— Canzler— They shall hear The North's great hammer ringing round the world. Max, you tell Conrad that we meet to-night. Have Herman come. (Max goes out left.) And, Rudolph, you go down— Hartzel— (Touching, him with his staff.) Canzler, you said just now the point was not What they have done. Canzler— Nor is it. Hartzel— Then why this Summoning of the men? Are we to have war? (Fritz and Rudolph, talking together, walk back among the trees.) Canzler—Hartzel, the past and present are two limbs On one tree. Though the one bears withered leaves And these on this around us here are green, The trunk is the same; the sap is the same; The new fruit is the old fruit. What to-day Is Wiglaf fleeing to the ocean isles But the whole Saxon race? What is his harp In ashes but our homes and all this land? Are those graves yonder old? Were these, our scars, (Opening his bosom.) Handed down from our fathers? When we start Alarmed in the night, is it the past we fear? There is no past to things that have been dead. It is a scabbard empty of its sword. What shall we do? Accept their Faith? Hartzel— No, no. Canzler—Without it, we must steal the air we breath Their blades are out; shall we not lift our shields? Wolves are we? Wolves are not hunted so. Bears have the caves; must our cave be the grave? There is no room there. How then can we die? After his great meal, Death hath lain him down. Famine, the gleaner, has the field. There is No plot unreaped, no sheaf unflailed. The barns Are stuffed to breaking with the dead. And we, In this great carnage, in this harvest-home, The last few straws whisked from the threshing-floor, Hunted by that old Hunger of the south From field to wood, from wood to darker wood, Far up strange rivers and—down under them— Hartzel, remember; when we fall, there goes Down the whole North. We alone stand. Of all Val-father's oaks, there's but one acorn left That can re-forest and make green the North. Rudolph and you and I and the rest, save one, Are, as it were, its protecting shell. Off there, A sword is coming toward us, and shall we With hands down take the point and hear the unborn Wail of that child that should have filled the north With shouts and wound his horn upon its hills? Behind him, in array, the dead tribes come On fire for the south; their umbered shields Upon the gunwales lour; and shall the snake Swallow the haven where that host must land? See the North die? Never. (He turns as if to call Rudolph.) Hartzel—Accept their Faith, We need not. Canzler—Die? Hartzel—We need not. (A pause.) We might flee. Canzler— (Emphatically.) Canzler will never vote to flee. Fritz— Hear that? Canzler will never vote to flee. (Coming forward.) Nor Fritz, chief. Canzler—Where could we flee? Fritz— We have already fled. Canzler—No. (Hartzel turns and, with his face to the ground, walks slowly left.) Rudolph—Canzler, listen to me. (Unnoticed, Conrad appears coming through the trees on the right. Several young squirrels hang from the belt about his waist and in his right hand is a cross-bow. Upon his left shoulder he carries the crucifix which he has pulled up, post and all.) Canzler— The red ax They swung at Verden swings clear round the North And her great head falls. (With a jolt Conrad sets the crucifix down and leans it against one of the large trees.) Where did that come from? Conrad—Over on the road; by the bridge. (Canzler goes toward it. Fritz quickly says something to Rudolph. The latter walks lack in the rear.) Rudolph— (As if to draw him away.) Canzler, here. Conrad—There was a sheep's pelt lying in the bank— (With a motion.) Down here where we could kneel to it. Hartzel— (Coming back.) What is it? Conrad—It is the Christians' Irminsul. They chop Ours down to put theirs up. Rudolph— Canzler. Fritz— The men That followed Wiglaf must have put it up. Conrad—They're closing round us, Canzler, every day. If you say stay and fight through, for my part— (Suddenly Canzler turns and looks Conrad full in the face.) I know I did, but if the rest say stay— (After looking tip at the crucifix again, Canzler turns slowly and walks away left.) What is the matter? (When near the stump, Canzler again glances back; then drops his head and walks on among the trees. Conrad turns to Fritz.) What is the matter? Hartzel— (Apologetically, following him.) Canzler, I hope I have said nothing. I— I did not mean flee—in that sense. (Canzler goes out.) I meant Leave. (He goes out. The men stand looking after them. Rudolph comes forward.) Fritz—This will break Canzler's heart. Conrad— What? Rudolph— (Pointing to the crucifix.) Oswald. Fritz—We tried to keep it from him. Rudolph— Selma, too. Fritz—Canzler must never tell her. Conrad— Where is he? Rudolph—No one has seen him since last night when Fritz— Fritz—I saw him with the pelt— Rudolph— (Quickly.) Here comes Canzler. (The men assume an expression of unconcern.) Conrad— (Aloud.) Whatever Canzler says. If he says stay— (Canzler appears among the trees. He stops and looks off through the forest to the right, and his brow darkens.) Fritz—And brought it out from town and put it up. (Rudolph lifts up the squirrels at Conrad's belt.) Conrad—There were not many in the woods to-day. Canzler— (Coming forward and giving his orders hastily.) Rudolph, you and Fritz go summon the men. Go with them, Conrad. (Fritz glances off through the forest, right.) Rudolph— That we meet to-night? Canzler—This afternoon. Be quick. (The men start back left.) Fritz—(Huskily.) Oswald. (Conrad glances right.) Oswald. (Rudolph glances right, and the three go out in silence. Canzler, who has stepped left, stands in the shadow of one of the trees. A little later Oswald appears coming through the trees to the right. He is looking about as if in search of something.) Canzler— (Firmly, but without passion.) There, there it is. Take it, take it and go. Oswald—(Downcast, stammering.) I— Canzler—(Lifting his hand.) No word. (Oswald moves slowly to the tree, takes the crucifix upon his shoulder, and, with bowed head, goes off right.) Selma—(Calling from the left.) Oswald! (The girl enters with her water. She stops, looks after Oswald until he has disappeared, then turns with a questioning look to her father.) O father! Canzler— As for me, Let a man be a man. Outside of that, There is no power on earth that dares ask more; No power in heaven that will. (He turns and goes back toward the cottage.) Selma—(With a sigh, looking right.) Oswald, Oswald. |
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