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_ ACT III - SCENE IV
[The Nave of Bamberg Cathedral. A procession entering
the West Door, headed by Elizabeth and the Bishop,
Nobles, etc. Religious bearing the coffin which
encloses Lewis's bones.]
1st Lady.
See! the procession comes--the mob streams in
At every door. Hark! how the steeples thunder
Their solemn bass above the wailing choir.
2d Lady.
They will stop at the screen.
Knight.
And there, as I hear, open the coffin. Push forward,
ladies, to that pillar: thence you will see all.
1st Peas.
Oh dear! oh dear! If any man had told me that I should
ride forty miles on this errand, to see him that went out flesh come
home grass, like the flower of the field!
2d Peas.
We have changed him, but not mended him, say I, friend.
1st Peas.
Never we. He knew where a yeoman's heart lay! One that
would clap a man on the back when his cow died, and behave like a
gentleman to him--that never met you after a hailstorm without
lightening himself of a few pocket-burners.
2d Peas.
Ay, that's your poor-man's plaster: that's your right
grease for this world's creaking wheels.
1st Peas.
Nay, that's your rich man's plaster too, and covers the
multitude of sins. That's your big pike's swimming-bladder,
that keeps him atop and feeding: that's his calling and
election, his oil of anointing, his salvum fac regem,
his yeoman of the wardrobe, who keeps the velvet-piled
side of this world uppermost, lest his delicate eyes
should see the warp that holds it.
2d Peas.
Who's the warp, then?
1st Peas.
We, man, the friezes and fustians, that rub on till we
get frayed through with overwork, and then all's abroad,
and the nakedness of Babylon is discovered, and catch
who catch can.
Old Woman.
Pity they only brought his bones home! He would have
made a lovely corpse, surely. He was a proper man!
1st Lady.
Oh the mincing step he had with him! and the delicate
hand on a horse, fingering the reins as St. Cicely does
the organ-keys!
2d Lady.
And for hunting, another Siegfried.
Knight.
If he was Siegfried the gay, she was Chriemhild the grim;
and as likely to prove a firebrand as the girl in the ballad.
1st Lady.
Gay, indeed! His smiles were like plumcake,
the sweeter the deeper iced. I never saw him
speak civil word to woman, but to her.
2d Lady.
O ye Saints! There was honey spilt on the ground! If I
had such a knight, I'd never freeze alone on the
chamber-floor, like some that never knew when they
were well off. I'd never elbow him off to crusades
with my pruderies.
'Pluck your apples while they're ripe,
And pull your flowers in May, O!'
Eh! Mother?
Old Woman.
'Till when she grew wizened, and he grew cold,
The balance lay even 'twixt young and old.'
Monk.
Thus Satan bears witness perforce against the vanities
of Venus! But what's this babbling? Carolationes in
the holy place? Tace, vetula! taceas, taceto also, and
that forthwith.
Old Woman.
Tace in your teeth, and taceas also, begging-box!
Who put the halter round his waist to keep it off
his neck,--who? Get behind your screen, sirrah!
Am I not a burgher's wife? Am I not in the nave?
Am I not on my own ground? Have I brought up eleven
children, without nurse wet or dry, to be taced
nowadays by friars in the nave? Help! good folks!
Where be these rooks a going?
Knight.
The monk has vanished.
1st Peas.
It's ill letting out waters, he finds. Who is that old
gentleman, sir, holds the Princess so tight by the hand?
Knight.
Her uncle, knave, the Bishop.
1st Peas.
Very right, he: for she's almost a born natural, poor
soul. It was a temptation to deal with her.
2d Peas.
Thou didst cheat her shockingly, Frank, time o' the
famine, on those nine sacks of maslin meal.
Knight.
Go tell her of it, rascal, and she'll thank you for it, and
give you a shilling for helping her to a 'cross.'
Old Woman.
Taceing free women in the nave! This comes of your
princesses, that turn the world upside down, and demean
themselves to hob and nob with these black baldicoots!
Eliz.
[in a low voice].
I saw all Israel scattered on the hills
As sheep that have no shepherd! O my people!
Who crowd with greedy eyes round this my jewel,
Poor ivory, token of his outward beauty--
Oh! had ye known his spirit!--Let his wisdom
Inform your light hearts with that Saviour's likeness
For whom he died! So had you kept him with you;
And from the coming evils gentle Heaven
Had not withdrawn the righteous: 'tis too late!
1st Lady.
There, now, she smiles; do you think she ever loved him?
Knight.
Never creature, but mealy-mouthed inquisitors, and shaven
singing birds. She looks now as glad to be rid of him as
any colt broke loose.
1st Lady.
What will she do now, when this farce is over?
2d Lady.
Found an abbey, that's the fashion, and elect herself
abbess--tyrannise over hysterical girls, who are forced to thank her
for making them miserable, and so die a saint.
Knight.
Will you pray to her, my fair queen?
2d Lady.
Not I, sir; the old Saints send me lovers enough, and to
spare--yourself for one.
1st Lady.
There is the giant-killer slain. But see--they have
stopped: who is that raising the coffin lid?
2d Lady.
Her familiar spirit, Conrad the heretic-catcher.
Knight.
I do defy him! Thou art my only goddess;
My saint, my idol, my--ahem!
1st Lady.
That well's run dry.
Look, how she trembles--Now she sinks, all shivering,
Upon the pavement--Why, you'll see nought there
Flirting behind the pillar--Now she rises--
And choking down that proud heart, turns to the altar--
Her hand upon the coffin.
Eliz.
I thank thee, gracious Lord, who hast fulfilled
Thine handmaid's mighty longings with the sight
Of my beloved's bones, and dost vouchsafe
This consolation to the desolate.
I grudge not, Lord, the victim which we gave Thee,
Both he and I, of his most precious life,
To aid Thine holy city: though Thou knowest
His sweetest presence was to this world's joy
As sunlight to the taper--Oh! hadst Thou spared--
Had Thy great mercy let us, hand in hand,
Have toiled through houseless shame, on beggar's dole,
I had been blest: Thou hast him, Lord, Thou hast him--
Do with us what Thou wilt! If at the price
Of this one silly hair, in spite of Thee,
I could reclothe these wan bones with his manhood,
And clasp to my shrunk heart my hero's self--
I would not give it!
I will weep no more--
Lead on, most holy; on the sepulchre
Which stands beside the choir, lay down your burden.
[To the people.]
Now, gentle hosts, within the close hard by,
Will we our court, as queen of sorrows, hold--
The green graves underneath us, and above
The all-seeing vault, which is the eye of God,
Judge of the widow and the fatherless.
There will I plead my children's wrongs, and there,
If, as I think, there boil within your veins
The deep sure currents of your race's manhood,
Ye'll nail the orphans' badge upon your shields,
And own their cause for God's. We name our champions--
Rudolf, the Cupbearer, Leutolf of Erlstetten,
Hartwig of Erba, and our loved Count Walter,
Our knights and vassals, sojourners among you.
Follow us.
[Exit Elizabeth, etc.; the crowd following.] _
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