VOLUME XVII Poet Lore SPRING 1906 ELGA BY GERHART HAUPTMANN Translated from the German by Mary Harned NUMBER I HE following scenes, which are written in the year 1896, are founded on a short story of Grillparzers. TH SCENE FIRST High, somber chamber in a monastery, in a niche behind dark curtains an antique bedstead. There is also a large fireplace in the room. The high window is open. Twilight. A KNIGHT who has just dismounted, and his SERVANT carrying his cloak, travelling rugs and harness. The Knight. I began to think we should have to spend the night in the open; so we have been rather fortunate in coming upon this place. The Servant. Yes, sire. The Knight. The room is small, but the bed seems good. We even have a fireplace. The Servant. The serf, who took the horses on to the village, crossed himself several times when he helped me carry the saddles in here. The blockhead said he thought this room was sometimes haunted. The Knight. Ha, ha! Are you afraid? Well, in case of need-there are such things as ghosts of flesh and blood-put my pistols near the bed. It is a rather queer looking bed, I must say. The Servant. Yes, rather queer looking. The Knight. Indeed, it looks much more like a coffin than a bed. You better push back the curtains. I would much rather the moon shone right in my face, than that I should stifle behind those coal black hangings. Have we still wine? The Servant. Tomorrow we shall be in Warsaw. We have plenty to last till then. In Warsaw we shall have to buy more. The Knight. This seems to be an old tower chamber, Peter; the walls are round. ELGA The Servant. Yes, sire! So the serf said. And he said, beside, sire, that the old tower had been here long before the monastery; that the monastery had been added to it and built up round it. The Knight (pushing aside a frugal luncheon). Clear the table, I have had enough. Leave the cup and tankard here. Now go to bed, Peter, and waken me tomorrow before sunrise. O, Holy Virgin; I wish we were home again! Good night. (The SERVANT goes out. The KNIGHT sits with his elbows propped up on the round table. Moonlight, growing constantly clearer and brighter, penetrates obliquely through the window. A MONK appears in the doorway, carrying a bundle of brushwood.) The Monk (in a low voice). Pardon me! (He goes to the fireplace, puts down his bundle and begins at once to lay the logs and brushwood for a fire.) The Knight. Who comes so late? Oh, it is you, worthy father. You see, worthy brother, I do not need your fire, I have opened the window and am enjoying this mild, moonlit night. The fire is not necessary. The Monk. The nights are cool about here. The Knight (shakes his head wonderingly.) The Knight. Worthy brother, I pray you, give me some information before you go: I believe I am in the waywodeship of Sendomir? The Monk. Yes. The Knight. It is a goodly land. Magnificent forests, hills and ravines everywhere. Everything full of blossoms. Fruitful fields. I should like to live here, and here build my cottage, were I a child of this land! You are cold, dear brother? The Monk. No. Good night. The Knight. Stay and drink some wine! It is a fiery Spanish wine, and will warm you. I pray you, drink! The Monk (declines with a shake of the head.) The Knight. I pray you, drink! You shall drink out of the cup of my beloved. You shall drink out of pure gold! I pray you, drink with me. The Monk. I may not offend you, brother. lips). I thank you, and now, good night. (He puts the cup to his The Knight. Stay, brother, you please me! A word more: I am a stranger, ignorant of your country. Tell me, who built your wonderful monastery? |