-j ^-jr* . v 
 P* LIBRARY > 
 
 UNIVERSITY r.r . I 
 
 CALIFOR^-'!! 
 I SAN //O
 
 T H 8 S V
 
 'BSLL 
 
 FAIT^T PLAY 
 
 FIVE 
 
 e DOU e BLEDAY f TAGE 6- CO 
 
 MCM VIII
 
 THIS play is published with the written approval 
 ofGfiRHART HAUPTMANN, and by ar- 
 rangement with the holder of the English copy- 
 right, and is fully protected by the copyright law, all 
 requirements of which have been complied with. In its 
 present form it is dedicated to the reading public only, 
 and no performances of it may be given, except by 
 special arrangement with the owner of the acting rights, 
 who may be addressed in care of the publisher. 
 T[A11 rights reserved. Entered at STATIONERS' HALL. 
 Entered at the LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, Washington^ D. C. 
 
 Copyright, 7899 
 
 By ROBERT HOWARD RUSSELL 
 Printed in the United States 
 
 Copyright, 1899 
 
 By DOUBLEDAY & McCLURE Co.
 
 
 a 
 
 ^TX-t^c^*^^-
 
 E W O R D 
 
 IVE years ago, when Gerhart 
 Hauptmann was on a visit to 
 this country, it was my privilege 
 to be associated with him in the 
 memorable production of his 
 "Hannele." I met him for 
 the first time at a little country 
 inn (at Meriden, Connecticut). 
 Instead of the aggressive, self- 
 confident man I had fancied him, I saw a student 
 almost an ascetic. His boyish airand shrinking gravity were 
 curiously at variance with the great will-power betokened 
 by his set though tortured lips and the experience in his 
 pale and weary eyes. He had a smooth face, a high fore- 
 head, crowned with short and careless hair, a well-shaped, 
 sensitive nose. If I had passed him in the street I 
 might have set him down as a perfervid young curate, 
 or a seminarist. A painful, introspective, haunted earnest- 
 ness was stamped upon his face the face of a thinker, 
 a dreamer, a genius. 
 
 Although Hauptmann was then hardly known to most 
 of us, the announcement that "Hannele" was to be per- 
 formed at the Fifth Avenue Theatre stirred up a storm. 
 Frank bigots, sham philanthropists, hack writers, and 
 political quacks, all of a sudden became filled with 
 pious fears as to the supposed tendencies and teach- 
 ings of this "Hannele." In the name of religion, they
 
 banded themselves into a League of Ignorance, to pre 
 vent, by open action and by secret tricks, the produc, 
 tion of what they stupidly and ignorantly proclaimed 
 a blasphemous play. Hauptmann, who had neither 
 invited nor desired the performance of his "dream 
 poem," was dragged into the controversy. The news- 
 papers took sides. At the solicitation of Commo- 
 dore Elbridge T. Gerry, a Tammany Mayor forbade 
 the appearance of the young actress who had been en- 
 gaged to impersonate Hannele; while the author, the 
 lessees of the Fifth Avenue Theatre, and the writer of 
 these lines, who had put the drama into English, 
 were threatened with imprisonment. The warfare waged 
 so bitterly against the Theatre-Libre in France and 
 the Freie-Biihne in Germany had, by some miracle, 
 spread to America. And the attack on the free stage was 
 met here as it had been met abroad. Some hundreds 
 of literary and critical people were bidden to a private 
 representation of the much talked-of play. Next morn- 
 ing the papers, with a few impenitent exceptions, pub- 
 lished eulogies of "Hannele." No one was arrested. 
 And the public performance took place. 
 
 But the community was not yet ripe for works so 
 strange, and deep, and true, as Hauptmann's dream- 
 poem. "Hannele" failed. Something, however, had been 
 accomplished. A stone had been cast into the theatrical 
 pond, and interest in the new movement which was in- 
 forming an old art with truth and life had been violently, 
 perhaps too violently, quickened. The production of 
 "Die Weber" ("The Weavers"), at the Irving Place 
 Theatre, soon after renewed and strengthened the impres- 
 sion made by "Hannele." An earlier play, "Vor Son- 
 nenaufgang" ("Before Sunrise"), which had established 
 Hauptmann's reputation in Germany, had already been 
 seen here, at the Thalia Theatre, but had passed almost 
 unnoticed. Ere long, another work by the young master 
 will be presented on the American boards, in English.
 
 That work is the fairy play called "Die versunkene 
 Glocke," of which "The Sunken Bell" is a confessedly 
 free, but, I would fain hope, not unfaithful English 
 transcript. 
 
 "Die versunkene Glocke" is the ninth of the ten plays 
 that Gerhart Hauptmann has thus far thought worth 
 preserving. His latest drama, "Fuhrmann Henschel," 
 was interpreted at the Irving Place Theatre only a few 
 weeks ago. His earlier works (in order of succession) are 
 "Vor Sonnenaufgang" ("Before Sunrise"), "Das Fried- 
 ensfest" ("The Family Festival"), "Einsame Menschen" 
 ("Lonely Lives"),"Die Weber" ("The Weavers"), "Col- 
 lege Crampton" ("Our Colleague Crampton"), "Der 
 Biberpelz" ("The Fur Coat"), "Hannele," now known as 
 "Hannele's Himmelfahrt," ("The Assumption of Han- 
 ele"), and "Florian Geyer." All have been written, pub- 
 lished, and performed within one decade. And each, in its 
 own way, is notable. This, surely, is a great record for a 
 man soyoungas Hauptmann. At thirty-six he was born 
 at Ober Salzburg, in Silesia, on the fifteenth of No- 
 vember, 1862 he has wrought wonders. 
 
 Unlike some men who have grown famous, in his child- 
 hood the future author of "The Sunken Bell" gave little 
 promise. A dreamer from his nursery up, he lounged 
 through school, winning faint praise and but few laurels 
 from his teachers, who seem to have regarded him as 
 hopelessly lazy and by no means brilliant. His 
 father (a substantial innkeeper) no doubt agreed with 
 them. But Carl, young Gerhart's brother, had more 
 faith in the strange, wayward youth who showed so 
 little interest in his books and so much passionate fond- 
 ness for nature. He saw, or he divined, more than his 
 ciders. Years later, when he received a copy of "Vor 
 Sonnenaufgang," he knew that he had not misplaced his 
 confidence. After reading the play, he sent Gerhart a 
 rather remarkable message, congratulating him on having
 
 tafcen "the first step towards immortality." And it is 
 immortality no less that we, who admire Gerhart 
 Hauptmann, believe reserved for him. We see, or we 
 fancy that we see, in the young poet-dramatist, the gift 
 of genius. We hold him to be a legitimate suc- 
 cessor of Goethe, and we regard him as the completer 
 of Henrik Ibsen. We hail him as akin to the grand Russian, 
 Tolstoi. We feel that he has inherited something nay, 
 much of Shakespeare. Even as those writers, he has 
 digged into the soul of humanity. He has probed its 
 sorrow and its joy, its good and its evil, its hope and 
 its despair. And out of all these things he has made plays, 
 like unto no other plays of this our day; plays that may 
 anger or perplex and startle some, but which, once 
 seen, will never be forgotten. His insight into the 
 dark mysteries of the heart is deep, his sympathy with 
 all his kind is wide, his art rings true. Yet Ibsen him- 
 self has hardly been more combated, and hated, and de- 
 cried, than Gerhart Hauptmann. Some have professed 
 to take him for an atheist. Others have called him a 
 nihilist. But he is neither. He is only a great artist, a 
 true poet, and a dramatist. Long before the appearance 
 of "Vor Sonnenaufgang" he described his aims: 
 
 Dir nur gehorch ich, reiner Trieb der Seele! 
 Des sei mein Zeuge, Geist des Ideales, 
 Das keine Riicksicht eitler Art mich bindet. 
 Ich kann nicht slngen wie die Philomele. 
 Ich bin ein Sanger jenes diistern Tales, 
 Wo alles Edle beim Ergreifen schwindet. 
 
 Du aber, Volk der ruhelosen Biirger, 
 Du armes Volk, zu dem ich selbst mich zahle, 
 Das sei mir feme, dass ich deiner fluche ! 
 Durch deine Reihen gehen tausend Wiirger, 
 Und dass ich dich, ein neuer Wiirger, quale, 
 Verhiit es Gott, den ich noch immer suche ! 
 
 At school he was not happy. Nor was it till he went to 
 the University of Jena with his brother Carl that he 
 found the companionship he needed for the unfolding of 
 his genius. At Jena, to his sorrow, he became steeped in 
 the prevalent Darwinism of his fellow students. But his
 
 acquired materialism, which still clogs his wings, has 
 always been at war with his intuitive idealism. We may 
 be sure, too, that, at some period or other, he has been 
 affected by religious emotionalism. At twenty-two he 
 married. Before this he had wandered through Europe, 
 with a copy of "Childe Harold" in his pocket, visiting, 
 among other lands, Spain and Italy. In Rome he was for 
 a time tempted to turn sculptor. Later on, he aspired to 
 become an actor. Happily for himself and for the stage, 
 he abandoned both plans. In 1887, after he had published 
 two short stories, written a few poems, and forgotten 
 his two jejune plays ("Tiberius" and "Promethidenlos"), 
 he made the acquaintance of Bruno Wille, the socialist, 
 and Arno Holz, author of the "Papa Hamlet" which did 
 so much to foster the growth of stage realism in Ger- 
 many. Both men unquestionably influenced him. They 
 led him to discard, for the time being, his old favorites 
 Goethe, Byron and Darwin for Tolstoi, Zola, and 
 Ibsen. Fresh from his long talks with Holz, and while 
 he was still filled with admiration of Tolstoi's "Dominion 
 of Darkness," Hauptmann went into his Silesian moun- 
 tains and wrote his earliest realistic play, "Vor Sonnen- 
 aufgang." It was produced, in 1889, at the Berlin Les- 
 sing Theatre, under the auspices of the Freie-Buhne. 
 
 From that hour, his vocation was clear to him. Forsak- 
 ing the conventions, the falsities, and the mock romance 
 of the accepted German stage, he became a dramatist. 
 His characters, drawn from life and informed with the 
 passions of real, suffering, men and women, distressed 
 the orthodox. The simplicity and frequent crudity of his 
 dialogue horrified many of the critics. But others, like 
 TheodorFontaneand Otto Brahm, had morediscernment. 
 Soon Hauptmann came to be looked up to as the stand- 
 ard-bearer, the champion, of the "new movement." In 
 "Lonely Lives" his art grew more delicate and more 
 psychological. It broadened marvellously in the work 
 which some maintain to be his masterpiece the epic of
 
 misery known to us as "The Weavers." This was fol- 
 lowed by "Hannele." The appearance of each play, 
 whether in book-form or on the boards, was the signal 
 for fresh outbreaks of enthusiasm and virulent hostility. 
 With the production of his historic play, "Florian 
 Geyer," Hauptmann for the first time met disaster. 
 "Florian Geyer" was to have formed part of a dra- 
 matic trilogy woven about the grand story of the Reform- 
 ation. The poet had put his whole soul into his work, 
 and its failure almost paralyzed his energy. But he recov- 
 ered. When things looked darkest to him, and he had be- 
 gun to doubt his own genius, he received news that the 
 Grillparzer Prize had been awarded to him for his "Han- 
 nele." It was about thistimehe wrote "The Sunken Bell." 
 
 Hauptmann has chosen to call "The Sunken Bell" "a 
 German fairy play." Those who so wish may take the 
 author's description literally, and spare themselves the 
 trouble of seeking to read into the work the deep sig- 
 nificance that most will find in it. To the literal, a prim- 
 rose but a primrose is, and the characters in "The Sunken 
 Bell" Heinrich, the bell-founder, who breaks his heart 
 in the vain effort to reach the sun and to create a 
 wondrous chime; Rautendelein, the elf, who spirits him 
 to her wild mountain home; Magda, the deserted wife; 
 the Vicar, the Barber, and the Schoolmaster, who go in 
 search of the lost Master; the Nickelmann, the Wood- 
 Sprite, Old Wittikin, and all the rest of them will seem 
 but figures in a lovely though mysterious legend, spun 
 out of the German folk-lore (some acquaintance with 
 which is indispensable to a full comprehension of even 
 themost superficial sense of the play). To these I take the 
 liberty of commending Grimm's "Teutonic Mythology." 
 Hauptmann had unquestionably studied that work closely 
 before wr ing "The Sunken Bell." His elves, his sprites, 
 and his wise-woman, are not chance creations. All have 
 their places and their meanings in the myths of Germany.
 
 But it can hardly be doubted that there is more, yea, infi 
 nitely more, in the words, the characters, and the plot, 
 of "The Sunken Bell" than a mere fairy tale, however 
 beautiful. Each eye will see in them what it is capable of 
 seeing. Each mind will read into themthe meaningthat best 
 fits its own experience. Some may interpret the symbolism 
 of the play from an aesthetic standpoint. Some may en- 
 rich it with a world-wide sense moral, or religious, or 
 social, or all three. The drama has, aptly enough, been 
 likened to a symphony. Who would dare say that he 
 has fathomed the whole meaning of the grand "Choral?" 
 Or even of less certain master-works ? 
 
 Look at the story of "The Sunken Bell" with the eye 
 of an artist, and you may take it as a parable showing 
 the eternal effort of all artists (typified in Heinrich) to 
 attain their aesthetic ideals. View the play from the 
 standpoint of the reformer, and you may interpret it as 
 the tale of the dreamer who, hampered by inevitable 
 conditions, strives to remodel human society. For my 
 own part I incline to regard Heinrich, the bell-founder, 
 as a symbol of Humanity struggling painfully towards the 
 realization of its dream of the ideal truth and joy and 
 light and justice. Rautendelein in this reading stands 
 for Nature, or, rather, for the freedom and sincerity of 
 Nature, missing a re-union with which Humanity can 
 never hope to reach the supreme truth and the supreme 
 bliss of which the Sun is the emblem. In Magda, the 
 poor, faithful, patient wife, whose dead hand, in the 
 tragical fourth act, tolls the bell that arouses Heinrich 
 from his dream, we have a symbol of the domestic 
 loves, the earthly ties, from which no man, howevel 
 noble and far-reaching be his aims, can be released. 
 Old Wittikin embodies the eternal, passionless, phi- 
 losophy of Life. The Vicar, the Barber, and the School- 
 master stand for the conventions the half-dead, half- 
 living, creeds, theories, and superstitions of society, which 
 stand in the way of the idealist. Heinrich makes the
 
 attempt to break with them. Filled with despair at the 
 failure of his old ideals (symbolized in the lost bell), 
 and enlightened by communion with Rautendelein, he 
 turns his back on all the shams, and alas, on some of the 
 realities, which bind him to the earth. The kiss of the 
 fair elf who heals him when he lies upon his sick-bed 
 broadens his vision, steels his hand, puts youth into his 
 soul. Only by a mystical union with the Nature which 
 society, as it is now constituted, has disowned, can he 
 "work wonders with the power on high" and fashion 
 the grand peal of bells which is to ring out a new, glad, 
 and merciful, Gospel through the world. 
 
 And Heinrich's Gospel would weld the forgotten truths 
 of a pure, primitive Christianity with the sweet teachings 
 of a serene Paganism. But it is not proclaimed. For, to per- 
 fect his mighty task, Heinrich must have faith in his own 
 purpose. He must be more than man: more even than 
 Over-man. He must be god-like. Although Rautende- 
 lein may name him Balder, god of the Spring and joy of 
 life, he is no god, but only a poor searcher after light. 
 Doubt and materialism, symbolized in the Nickelmann, 
 and earthly lusts, embodied in the Wood-Sprite, disturb 
 him on the threshold of his triumph. His old ideals 
 may be sunk in the dark mountain mere; but they are not 
 quite dead. And when the bell, "the long-lost, buried, 
 bell" peals out; when the visions of his poor lads appear 
 to him; he has not strength, he has not the incredible and 
 superhuman steadfastness, to withstand their appeal. He 
 spurns "the very pinion of his soul," Rautendelein, and 
 leaves his heights. "What's past is past what's done is 
 done for aye!" His early ideals have perished. He has 
 rejected his new light. So, when Old Wittikin wise- 
 woman, but not witch comes wkh the cup of death, he 
 drinks it thankfully. And, as he dies to earth, Rauten- 
 delein returns to him for a brief moment, bringing com- 
 
 DO 
 
 fort. "Heinrich! The sun is coming!" His eyes are filled 
 with mystic radiance. His ears are charmed with the
 
 sweet music of the sun-bells his sun-bells that were 
 to have rung joy throughout the world. 
 
 Some may see pessimism in this ending of the tragedy 
 others, optimism. The creator of "The Sunken Bell" 
 leaves us to draw our own inferences. 
 
 CHARLES HENRY MELTZER. 
 
 New York, June, 1899.
 
 (< Open the windows Light and God stream in." 
 
 C H AR ACTER S 
 
 HEINRICH, a bell-founder 
 
 M A G D A , his wife 
 
 Two CHILDREN, boys, aged 5 and 9 
 
 THE VICAR 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER 
 
 THE BARBER 
 
 OLD WITTIKIN 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN, an elfin creature 
 
 THE NICKELMANN, an elemental spirit 
 
 THE Woo D-S PRITE 
 
 FOUR ELVES 
 
 TROLDS AND DWARFS 
 
 VILLAGERS 
 
 ^[The scenes are laid in the mountains and in a 
 village below.
 
 The Incidental Music 
 AIMK LACKAUMX 
 
 THE SUNKEN BELL 
 
 HKINRICH : Here all is beautiful ! The rustling boughs 
 Hare such a strange, full sound 
 
 No. 7. ACT I. 
 
 Indantino. 
 
 
 
 -<5* 
 
 pp 
 
 F=f=*^?=FT? 
 
 Armonioso.-f- 
 
 tPed. 
 
 iSgbt 
 
 i 
 
 fc= 
 
 i 
 
 r rrrn I~T 
 
 =* 
 
 
 tnf 
 
 ^ , v> |r _ 
 
 \\m I 
 i r^-- - 
 
 r 
 
 fa 
 
 
 oco a vow. 
 
 A A 
 
 & 
 
 rz 
 
 
 Copyright^ 1899, by Airae Lo-chauroe. 
 
 + *
 
 The Sunken Sell 
 
 i 
 
 fed. 
 
 poco, crctctndo* 
 
 J& . 
 
 Eirr-r-H^ 
 
 a= 
 
 - 
 
 
 PI 
 
 f . i 
 
 I !- 
 
 r.r '4.rr 
 
 k-O, ' & 
 
 
 ^- 
 
 1 P^r ~**. 
 
 g i ^ ~" 
 
 -k 
 
 

 
 The Sunken Bell. 
 
 ELVKS. "First, second and third Elves steal cut of the woods one after the 
 other, and join hands in a dance" 
 
 No. 9. ACT I. 
 
 Allegretto. 
 
 2 Fed. 
 
 Pd. 
 
 dinsni 
 
 Fed. 
 
 
 
 
 . 1 
 
 St5 r 
 
 1* r 2 ^ I ii 
 
 M i 
 
 fmP J pEZE 
 
 ! 1 1* * * 1 i 1 
 
 r r 
 
 v>y ( i 
 
 j r < i i u 
 
 U 1 
 
 y f u 
 
 ^' J < r" | - J^^^5 
 
 ^"'J 
 
 
 
 
 t^~ 
 
 
 1 
 
 ^ H 
 
 
 
 t 
 
 
 1 
 
 Ped. 
 
 Ped.
 
 The Sunken Bell. 
 
 Ped. 
 
 <j n n ^m 
 
 Ped. 
 
 Ped 
 
 m 
 
 Ped, 
 
 Ped,
 
 The Sunken Bell, 
 
 i m .35B rn 
 
 i=t 
 
 r v 
 
 ^>- 
 
 i 
 
 Ped. 
 
 Pd. 
 
 *
 
 The Sunken Bell. 
 
 dimin. 
 
 
 
 J.J.J 
 
 3-f-f-f-pt^i 
 
 J <U4lSi 
 
 < -0- 
 
 : 'f 
 
 r^ 
 
 It ' 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ^^^^^ffl p-fTi ff 
 
 ^~^ 4* & 
 
 fed. jk Fed. A Ped. * Ped.
 
 The Sunken Bell. 
 
 
 Fed. Ped. 
 
 _U i 
 
 -fc E-tr: sr 
 
 PP
 
 The Sunken Bell. 
 
 -U 
 
 
 J 
 
 * ^ ^ 
 
 
 Ped. 
 
 A molto. dimin, D.O. al Fine. 
 
 
 Ped.
 
 THE SUNKEN BELL. 
 
 ACT ONE. 
 
 SCENE : A fir-clad glade in the mountains. R. up stage, be- 
 neath an overhanging rock, a hut, with practicable door and 
 windows. L. C. an old well. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN is seated on the edge of the well, combing 
 her thick golden locks and addressing a bee which she is 
 trying to drive away. In one hand she has a mirror. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Thou buzzing, golden, wight whence com'st thou here ? 
 
 Thou sipper of sweets, thou little wax-maker ! 
 
 Nay ! Tease me not, thou sun-born good-for-naught ! 
 
 Dost hear ? . . . Begone ! . . . 'Tis time I combed my hair 
 
 With Granny's golden comb. Should I delay, 
 
 She'll scold me when she comes. Begone, I say ! 
 
 What ? . . . Loit'ring still ? . . . Away away with thee ! 
 
 Am I a rose bush ? . . . Are my lips a rose ? 
 
 Off to the wood with thee, beyond the brook ! 
 
 There, there, my pretty bee, bloom cowslips fair, 
 
 And crocuses, and violets thou canst suck 
 
 Thy fill of them. Dost think I jest ? No. No. 
 
 Quick ! Get thee home. Thou'rt not in favor here. 
 
 Thou knowest Granny's cast a spell on thee 
 
 For furnishing the Church with altar-lights. 
 
 Come ! Must I speak again ? Go not too far ! 
 
 Hey ! . . . Chimney ! Puff some smoke across the glade, 
 
 To drive away this naughty, wilful, bee.
 
 2 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 
 
 Ho! Gander! Hither! Hither! . . . Hurry! Hurry! 
 Away ! Away ! [Bee flies off.} ... At last ! . . . 
 
 [RAUTENDELEIN combs her hair quietly for a moment 
 or two. Then, leaning over the well, she calls down.'} 
 
 Hey ! Nickelmann ! 
 [Pause.} 
 He does not hear me. Well I'll sing to myself. 
 
 Where do I come from ? . . . Whither go ? 
 
 Tell me I long to know ! 
 
 Did I grow as the birds of the woodland gay ? 
 
 Am I a fay ? 
 
 Who asks the sweet flower 
 
 That blooms in the dell, 
 
 And brightens the bower, 
 
 Its tale to tell ? 
 
 Yet, oft, as I sit by my well, alone, 
 
 I sigh for the mother I ne'er have known. 
 
 But my weird I must dree 
 
 And I'm fair to see 
 
 A golden-haired maid of the forest free ! 
 
 [Pause. She calls. 
 
 Hey ! Nickelmann ! Come up ! 'Tis lonely here. 
 Granny's gone gathering fir-apples. I'm dull ! . . 
 Wilt keep me company and tell me tales ? 
 Why then, to-night, perhaps, as a reward . . . 
 I'll creep into some farmer's yard and steal 
 A big, black, cock for thee ! . . . Ah, here he comef 
 The silver bubbles to the surface mount ! 
 If he should bob up now, the glass he'd break, 
 That such bright answer to my nod doth make. 
 
 [Admiring her reflection in the well. 
 Godden' to thee, my sweet maid o' the well ! 
 Thy name? . . . Rautendelein ? . . . Indeed! I see 
 Thou'rt jealous of my beauty. Look at me. 
 For I, not thou, Rautendelein should be. 
 What didst thou answer ? Didst thou dare to point 
 Thy finger at thy soft twin-breasts ? . . . Nay, nay
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 3 
 
 I'm fairer ; fair as Freya. Not for naught 
 
 My hair was spun out of the sunbeams red, 
 
 To shine, in golden glory, even as the sun 
 
 Shines up at us, at noon, from out a lake. 
 
 Aha ! Thou spread'st thy tresses, like a net, 
 
 All fiery-scarlet, set to catch the fishes ! 
 
 Thou poor, vain, foolish, trull . . . There ! Catch this stone. 
 
 {Throwing pebble down the well and disturbing the 
 reflection^ 
 
 Thy hour is ended. Now I'm fair alone ! 
 
 [Catting.} 
 
 Ho ! Nickelmann ! Come help me pass the time ! 
 
 [7$ NICKELMANN, a water-spirit, half emerges from the 
 well, and flops over the edge. He is streaming with 
 water. Weeds cling to his head. He snorts like a 
 seal, and his eyes blink as if the daylight hurt them.} 
 
 He's here ! . . . Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! How dreadfully plain 
 
 He is ! . . . Didst thou not hear me call ! Dear, dear 
 
 It makes one's flesh creep but to know him near ! 
 
 THE NICKELMANN [croaking]. 
 
 Brekekekex ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [mocking], 
 
 Brekekekex ! Ay, ay 
 
 It smells of springtide. Well, is that so strange ? 
 Why every lizard, mole, and worm, and mouse 
 The veriest water-rat had scented that. 
 The quail, the hare, the trout, the fly, the weeds, 
 Had told thee Spring was here. 
 
 THE NICKELMANN [touchily]. 
 
 Brekekekex ! 
 
 Be not too nosey-wise. Dost understand ? 
 Thou ape, thou midge, thou tomtit, irk me not ! 
 I say, beware ! ... So, Quorax ! Quack ! Quack ! Quack !
 
 4 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 If Master Uncle's cross to-day, 
 I'll leave him all alone to play. 
 And I'll go dance a ring-a-round. 
 Partners a-plenty, I'll be bound, 
 For pretty maidens may be found. 
 
 \Calling.-\ 
 Heigh-a-aye ! 
 
 Voice of WOOD-SPRITE \Jteard without}. 
 Heigh-a-o ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 My merry faun, come dance with me, I pray ! 
 [Enter the WOOD-SPRITE, skipping comically across the glade} 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Nay, I'm no dancer; but I know a leap 
 Would make the mountain-goat with envy weep. 
 If that won't do for thee, I know a game 
 Will please thee more, my nixey. Fly with me ; 
 I'll show thee in the woods a willow tree 
 All hollowed out with age, where never came 
 The sound of babbling brook, nor crow of cock. 
 There, in the shadow of some friendly rock, 
 I'll cut for thee, my own, the wond'rous pipe 
 All maids must dance to. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN {eluding him}. 
 
 Thanks, I'm not yet ripe 
 
 For such as thou ! An thou must play thy pranks, 
 Go woo thy wood-wench. She may like thy shanks ! 
 Or go to thy dear partner, who they say 
 Another baby bears thee every day ; 
 Except on Sundays, when, at early morn, 
 Three dirty little brats to thee are born ! 
 Ha! Ha! Ha! 
 
 [She runs off into the hut, laughing. The WOOD-SPRITE 
 vainly pursues her and returns disconsolate.}
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 5 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 Brekekekex ! How mad the baggage seems ! 
 The lightning blast thee ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE [sitting], 
 
 Ay ! ... I'd love to tame her. 
 
 {He produces a short pipe and lights it by striking a match 
 on his hoof.] 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 And how go things at home ? 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 So so. So so. 
 
 It's warmer here than on the hills. You're snug. 
 Up yonder the wind shrieks and howls all day ; 
 The swollen clouds drift damp about the peaks, 
 And burst at last, like sponges, when they're squeezed. 
 A foul time we have of it ! 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 And is that all ? 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 No . . . Yesterday I cut 
 
 My first spring salad. It grew near my hut. 
 
 This morning, early, I went out, 
 
 And, roaming carelessly about, 
 
 Through brush and brier, 
 
 Then climbing higher, 
 
 At last I reached the topmost wood. 
 
 There I espied a hateful brood 
 
 Of mortals, who did sweat and stew, 
 
 And dig the earth, and marble hew. 
 
 A curse upon their church and creed 
 
 Their chapels, and their clanging bells * 
 
 * The sprites and dwarfs hated bells, especially church bells, as dis- 
 turbers of their ancient privacy.
 
 6 The SUNKEN BELL Act L 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 Their bread they mix with cummin-seed ! * 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 They plague us in our woods and wells. 
 
 But vain is all our wrath and woe. 
 
 Beside the deep abyss 'twill grow 
 
 With tower and spire, and, overhead, 
 
 The cross that you and I do dread. 
 
 Ay ! . . . The noisy monster was all but hung 
 
 In the lofty steeple, and soon had rung. 
 
 But I was alert ! We shall never hear 
 
 That bell ! It is drowned in the mere ! 
 
 [Changing tone^ 
 By cock and pie ! 
 
 A devil of a joke ! . . . I stood on the brink 
 Of the cliff, chewing sorrel, to help me think, 
 As I rested against a stump of birch, 
 'Mid the mountain grasses, I watched the church. 
 When, all of a sudden, I saw the wing 
 Of a blood-red butterfly, trying to cling 
 To a stone. And I marked how it dipped, and tipped, 
 As if from a blossom the sweet it sipped. 
 I called. It fluttered, to left and to right, 
 Until on my hand I felt it light. 
 I knew the elf. It was faint with fright. 
 We babbled o' this, 
 And we babbled o' that, 
 Of the frogs that had spawned 
 Ere the day had dawned, 
 We babbled and gabbled, a-much, I wis : 
 Then it broke 
 Into tears ! . . . 
 I calmed its fears. 
 And again it spoke. 
 
 * Cummin-seed was obnoxious to the sprites.
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 
 
 " O, they're cracking their whips, 
 
 " And they gee ! and they whoa ! 
 
 " As they drag it aloft 
 
 " From the dale below. 
 
 " Tis some terrible tub, that has lost its lid, 
 
 " All of iron ! Will nobody rid 
 
 "Our woods of the horrible thing? 'Twould make 
 
 " The bravest moss-mannikin shudder and quake. 
 
 " They swear they will hang it, these foolish people, 
 
 " High up in the heart of the new church steeple, 
 
 " And they'll hammer, and bang, at its sides all day 
 
 " To frighten good spirits of earth away ! " 
 
 I hummed, and I hawed, and I said, ho ho ! 
 
 As the butterfly fell to the earth : while I 
 
 Stole off in pursuit of a herd near by. 
 
 I guzzled my fill of good milk, I trow ! 
 
 Three udders ran dry. They will seek in vain 
 
 So much as a drop of it more to drain. 
 
 Then, making my way to a swirling stream, 
 
 I hid in the brush, as a sturdy team 
 
 Came snorting, and panting, along the road 
 
 Eight nags, tugging hard at their heavy load. 
 
 We will bide our time, quoth I and lay 
 
 Quite still in the grass, till the mighty dray 
 
 Rumbled by : when, stealing from hedge to hedge. 
 
 And hopping and skipping from rock to rock, 
 
 I followed the fools. They had reached the edge 
 
 Of the cliff when there came a block ! 
 
 With flanks all a-quiver, and hocks a-thrill, 
 
 They hauled and they lugged at the dray until, 
 
 Worn out by the struggle to move the bell, 
 
 They had to lie down for a moment. Well 
 
 Quoth I to myself, the Faun will play 
 
 Them a trick that will spare them more work to-day. 
 
 One clutch at the wheel I had loosened a spoke 
 
 A wrench, and a blow, and the wood-work broke. 
 
 A wobble, a crack, and the hateful bell
 
 8 The SUNKEN BELL Act L 
 
 Rolled over and into the gulf it fell ! 
 
 And oh, how it sounded, 
 
 And clanged, as it bounded, 
 
 From crag to crag, on its downward way : 
 
 Till at last in the welcoming splash and the spray 
 
 Of the lake it was lost for aye ! 
 
 [During the WOOD-SPRITE'S speech night has drawn near. 
 It is now dusk. Several times, towards the end of the 
 narrative, faint cries for help have been heard, coming 
 from the wood. Enter from back, HEINRICH. As 
 he approaches the hut, the WOOD-SPRITE vanishes in 
 the wood and the NICKELMANN disappears in the well. 
 HEINRICH is about 30 years of age. His face is pale 
 and careworn^ 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Good people open ! Quick ! I've lost my way ! 
 
 Help ! Help ! I've fallen ! ... I am weak ... I faint ! 
 
 Will no one answer? . . . Help! Kind people ! Help! 
 
 \He sinks on the ground, unconscious, near the hut. The 
 sun has set dark purple clouds hang over the hills. 
 The wind rises. Enter from the wood, carrying a 
 basket on her back, OLD WITTIKIN.] 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 Rautendel' ! Come and help me with my load ! 
 I've too much on my shoulders. Come, I say ! 
 I'm scant o' breath ! . . . Where can the girl be dawdling? 
 
 \A bat flies across the glade ^ 
 Ho ! Stop thy gadding, flitter-mouse, and list ! 
 Thou'lt fill thy greedy craw quite soon enough. 
 Come hither. Fly through yonder hole and see 
 If she's within. Then send her quick to me ! 
 
 [Faint lightning. WITTIKIN shakes her fist at the sky.} 
 Ay, ay, I see thee, Father Thor ! . . . 'Twill storm ! 
 But give thy noisy goats not too much rope, 
 And see thy great red beard gleams not too bright. 
 Rautendel' ! Hey ! Rautendel' . . . Dost not hear ? 
 
 [A squirrel skips across the path^\
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act L 9 
 
 Hey ! Squirrel ! Thou hast fleet and nimble feet. 
 Hop thou into the hut, and, shouldst thou meet 
 Rautendel', send her hither. As a treat, 
 I'll give thee, for thy pains, a nut to eat! 
 
 [WiTTiKiN sees HEINRICH and touches him contemptuously 
 
 with her foot] 
 
 What's this? A stranger? Well, well, I declare ! 
 And pray, what brings you here, my man, so late ? 
 Rautenclel'! . . . Hey! Rautendel'! [To HEINRICH]. Are you dead? 
 Plague take you ! As if I'd not more'n enough 
 To worry me what wi ' the Bailiff and the Priest 
 Hunting me down like a mad dog. And now 
 I find a dead man at my door Rautendel' ! 
 A rare time I'd have of it, I'll be bound, 
 If they should find this fellow lying here. 
 They'd burn my house about my ears. \To HEINRICH.] Art 
 
 dumb? 
 Ay. Ay. 
 [RAUTENDELEIN enters from hut, and looks out inquiringly] 
 
 Oho ! Thou'rt come at last. Look there ! 
 We have a visitor. And what a one ! 
 He's still enough. Go ! Fetch a truss of hay, 
 And make a litter. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 In the hut ? 
 
 WITTIKIN [grumbling]. 
 
 What next ? 
 Nay, nay. We've no room in the hut for him. 
 
 [Exit into hut. RAUTENDELEIN follows her. She re- 
 appears a moment later, with an armful of hay, and 
 is about to kneel beside HEINRICH, when he recovers 
 consciousness] 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Where am I ? Maiden wilt thou answer me ?
 
 10 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Why, in the mountains. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 In the mountains ? Ay 
 But how . . . and why ? What brought me here to-night ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Nay, gentle stranger, naught know I of that. 
 Why fret thyself about such trifles ? See 
 Here I have brought thee hay. So lay thy head 
 Down and take all the rest thou need'st. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Yes ! Yes ! 
 
 Tis rest I need. Indeed indeed thou'rt right. 
 But rest will come to me no more, my child ! 
 
 [ Uneasily} 
 Now . . . tell me ... what has happened ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Nay, if I knew . . . 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Meseems . . . methinks . . . and . . . then ... all ends in dreams. 
 Ay, surely, I am dreaming. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Here is milk. 
 Thou must drink some oi it, for thou art weak. 
 
 HEINRICH {eagerly}. 
 
 Thanks, maiden. I will drink. Give me the milk. 
 
 [He drinks from a bowl which she offers fo'm.] 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 [ While he drinks.} 
 
 Thou art not used to mountain ways. Thy home 
 Lies in the vale below, where mortals dwell. 
 And, like a hunter who once fell from the cliff
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. II 
 
 While giving chase to some wild mountain fowl, 
 
 Thou hast climbed far too high. And yet ... that man 
 
 Was not quite fashioned as the man thou art. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 [After drinking and looking ecstatically and fixedly at 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN.] 
 
 Speak on ! Speak on ! Thy drink was very sweet. 
 But sweeter still thy voice . . . 
 
 [Again becoming anxious.'] 
 She said a man 
 
 Not fashioned like myself. A better man 
 And yet he fell ! . . . Speak on, my child. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Why speak ? 
 
 What can my words avail ? I'll rather go 
 And fetch thee water from the brook, to wash 
 The blood and dust from off thy brow . . . 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 [Pleading and grasping her by the wrist. RAUTENDELEIN 
 stands undecided.'] 
 
 Ah, stay ! 
 
 And look into mine eyes with thy strange eyes. 
 For lo, the world, within thine eyes renewed, 
 So sweetly bedded, draws me back to life ! 
 Stay, child. O stay ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [uneasy]. 
 
 Then ... as thou wilt. And yet ... 
 
 HEINRICH [fevered and imploring]. 
 
 Ah, stay with me ! Thou wilt not leave me so ? 
 Thou dost not dream how dear to me thou art. 
 O, wake me not, my child. I'll tell thee all. 
 I fell . . . Yet no. Speak thou ; for thy dear voice
 
 12 The SUNKEN BELL Act L 
 
 Has Heaven's own music. God did give it thee. 
 And I will listen. Speak ! . . . Wilt thou not speak ? 
 Wilt thou not sing to me ? Why then ... I must . . . 
 I fell. I know not how I've told thee that 
 Whether the path gave way beneath my feet ; 
 Whether 'twas willingly I fell, or no 
 God wot. Enough. I fell into the gulf. 
 
 \More fevered.\ 
 
 And then I clutched at a wild cherry tree 
 That grew between the rocks. It broke and I, 
 Still clasping a bough tightly, felt a shower 
 Of pale pink blossoms riot round my head ; 
 Then swift was hurled to the abyss and died ! 
 And even now I'm dead. It must be so. 
 Let no one wake me ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [uncertainly]. 
 
 Yet thou seem'st alive ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 I know I know what once I did not know : 
 That Life is Death, and only Death is Life. 
 
 [Collapsing- again.] 
 
 I fell. I lived and fell. The bell fell, too ! 
 We two the bell and I. Was I the first 
 To slip, and next the bell ? Or the reverse ? 
 Who seeks to know ? And who could prove the truth ? 
 And even were it proven, what care I ? 
 Then I was living. Now ah, now ... I'm dead. 
 
 [Tenderly.] 
 Ah, go not yet ! 
 
 [Looks at his hand.] 
 My hand ! . . . Tis white as milk ! 
 My hand ! ... It hangs so heavy ! ... It seems dead. 
 I cannot lift it ! ... Yet How sweet thou art ! 
 The mere touch of thy soft hair doth bring relief, 
 As water of Bethesda 1 ... Nay, do not fear ! 
 My hand shall never harm thee thou art holy ! 
 Where have we met ? . . . I surely know thy face.
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act /. 13 
 
 Somewhere, but where, or when, I cannot tell, 
 
 I wrought for thee, and strove in one grand Bell, 
 
 To wed the silver music of thy voice 
 
 With the warm gold of a Sun-holiday. 
 
 It should have been a master-work ! . . . I failed. 
 
 Then wept I tears of blood. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Wept tears of blood ? 
 I cannot follow thee. What be these tears ? 
 
 HEINRICH [trying to raise his head~\. 
 
 Thou lovely picture ! . . . Help me to sit up. 
 
 [RAUTENDELEIN stoops and supports his head.'] 
 Dost thou bend down to me ? Then, with love's arms, 
 Do thou release me from this cruel Earth, 
 Whereunto the hour nails me, as to a cross. 
 Release me ! For thou canst. I know thou canst ! 
 And, with thy tender hands, pluck off the thorns 
 That crown my head. No crown ! Love only Love ! 
 
 [ His head is slightly raised. He seems exhausted^ 
 
 Thanks ! Thanks ! 
 
 [Gently and in a lost kind of way as he looks at the land- 
 scape.] 
 
 Here all is beautiful ! The rustling boughs 
 Have such a strange, full sound. The darkling arms 
 Of the great firs move so mysteriously. 
 How solemnly their heads sway to and fro ! 
 The very soul of fairy fantasy 
 
 Sighs through the wood. It murmurs low, and then, 
 Still gently whisp'ring, stirs the tiny leaves. 
 Now it goes singing through the green wood-grass. 
 And now, veiled all in misty white, it nears 
 It stretches out its long white hand and points 
 At me I . . . Now closer, it draws! It touches my ear . . . 
 My tongue . . . my eyes! . . . 'Tisgone! Yet thou art here! 
 Thou art my fantasy I . . Kiss me, sweet fantasy ! 
 
 [He faints.]
 
 14 The SUNKEN BELL Act L 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN {half to herself \ 
 
 Thy speech is strange. I know not what to make of 't. 
 
 {She suddenly resolves to go] 
 Lie thou, and sleep. 
 
 HEINRICH \dr earning}. 
 
 Kiss me, sweet fantasy ! 
 
 [RAUTENDELEIN stops, and gazes at HEINRICH. The 
 darkness deepens. RAUTENDELEIN suddenly grows 
 frightened and calls.} 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 O grandmother ! 
 
 WITTIKIN {from within the huf\. 
 Well, girl ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Come here ! Come here ! 
 
 WlTTIKIN [as above}. 
 Nay, come thou here, and help me make the fire ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 O Granny ! 
 
 WITTIKIN. 
 
 Hark'ee, wench. Dost hear me ? Come. 
 'Tis time we fed the goat. And then to milk it ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Grandmother ! Help him ! Help him ! He is dying ! 
 [Enter from hut, WITTIKIN. She stands on the threshold, hold- 
 ing a milk pail in her left hand, and calls to her cat.} 
 
 WITTIKIN. 
 
 Here ! Puss, Puss, Puss ! 
 
 [She looks carelessly at HEINRICH.]
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 15 
 
 He hasn't budged, I see. 
 Well mortals all must die. No help for it. 
 What matter ? Let him be. He's better so. 
 Come pussy ! pussy ! . . . Here is milk for thee 
 
 Why, where is pussy ? 
 
 [Calling] 
 
 Hurry, hurry, wood-folk, when I call ! 
 Here, I've milk a-plenty for ye all ! 
 Hurry, hurry, hurry, trold and sprite ! 
 [Enter ten droll little TROLDS, male and female. They bustle 
 
 about the milk pail] 
 Here is bread for every one a bite ! 
 Here's enough to drink, and here's to eat : 
 Food that dukes and earls 'ud count a treat. 
 
 [ To one of the TROLDS.] 
 Thou, go ! 
 Thou art full, I trow. 
 
 [To the other TROLDS.] 
 For thee a sop 
 And for thee a drop 
 Now enough ye've guzzled, 
 And off ye hop ! 
 
 [ They riot and shout.] 
 I'll have ye muzzled, 
 Unless ye stop ! 
 Nay, this won't do 
 Ye riotous crew ! 
 Enough for to-day ! 
 Away ! Away ! 
 
 [The TROLDS vanish into the wood. Moonlight. The 
 WOOD-SPRITE appears, seated on the rocks beyond 
 the hut. Putting his horny hands to his mouth, hi 
 imitates the echo of a cry for help] 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Help! Help! 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 Why, what's amiss ?
 
 16 The SUNKEN BELL Act L 
 
 DISTANT VOICES [from the wood], 
 
 Heinrich ! Heinrich ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE [as above]. 
 
 Help! Help! 
 
 WlTTIKIN [threateningly to the WOOD-SPRITE]. 
 Fool, thy knavish antics cease ! 
 Leave our mountain-folk in peace ! 
 Ay, ay. It pleases thee to vent thy spite 
 On the poor glass-workers ! . . . Thou lov'st to bite 
 Stray dogs to lead lost travelers into fogs, 
 And see them floundering in the moorland bogs. 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Granny, never heed my jests. 
 Soon thou shalt have noble guests ! 
 Who rides on the goose's down ? 
 The barber, light as lather. 
 Who rides on the goose's crown ? 
 The parson, reverend father 
 The teacher, with his cue 
 Three screech-owls all for you ! 
 
 THE VOICES [nearer]. 
 Heinrich ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE [as before]. 
 Help! 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 Now may the lightning strike thee ! 
 Wouldst hang a schoolmaster about my neck, 
 And eke a parson ? 
 
 [Shaking her fist at the WOOD-SPRITE.] 
 Thou shalt smart for this. 
 
 I'll send thee swarming gnats, and stinging flies, 
 To plague thee till thou shalt be so distraught 
 Thou'lt long to hide thyself.
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act L 17 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE \with malignant glee]. 
 
 They're coming, Granny ! 
 
 [He disappears.} 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 Well, and what then ? They're no concern o' mine. 
 
 [ To RAUTENDELEIN, who is gazing fixedly at HEINRICH.] 
 Into the hut ! Blow out the light ! To bed ! 
 Quick, wench ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [sullen and defiant}. 
 I won't ! 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 What ? Disobey me ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Yes! 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 And why ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 They'll take him from me. 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 Well? What oft? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 They must not take him, Granny ! 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 Girl, ha* done ! 
 
 And let them deal wi' him as they may list. 
 Dust will to dust, and some day he must die. 
 So let him die. He'll be the better for 't. 
 See how life irks him, how it rends his heart, 
 Wi' pain and agony.
 
 18 The SUNKEN BELL Act L 
 
 HEINRICH [Dreaming}. 
 
 The Sun sets fast ! 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 He never saw the Sun, girl ! Let him be. 
 
 Come. Follow me. Be warned, or thou wilt rue ! 
 
 {Exit into hut. Cries of " Heinrich ! Heinrich/" 
 RAUTENDELEIN listens for a moment. Then she sud- 
 denly breaks a flowery twig from a bough, and draws 
 a circle -with it round HEINRICH as she speaks the 
 following lines.] 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 With the first fresh buds of Spring, 
 Lo, I draw the magic ring ! 
 Safe from every harm and ill, 
 Thus thou art. It is my will ! 
 Thou art thine, and thine, and mine \ 
 None may cross the mystic line ! 
 Be thou youth, or man, or maid, 
 Here thou surely must be stayed ! 
 
 [She hides behind the trees in shadow^ 
 
 [Enter one after the other, from the wood, the VICAR, the BAR- 
 BER, and the SCHOOLMASTER.] 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 I see a light. 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 And I! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Where are we now ? 
 
 THE BARBER. 
 
 God only knows. Again I hear that cry 
 Of " Help ! Help ! Help ! "
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 19 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 It is the Master's voice ! 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 I heard no cry. 
 
 THE BARBER. 
 
 It came from yonder height. 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 If one fell up to Heaven, that might be, 
 But, as a general rule, one tumbles down : 
 From cliff to vale, and not from vale to cliff. 
 The Master lies I'd stake my soul upon 't 
 Full fifty fathoms deeper : not up here. 
 
 THE BARBER. 
 
 Ods bodikins ! Did you not hear him then ? 
 If that was not the voice of Master Heinrich, 
 May I be set to shave old Riibezahl ! 
 As I'm a living barber, I will swear 
 I heard a cry. 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 Where from ? 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 What place is this ? 
 
 Ere we continue, tell me that, my friends. 
 My face is bleeding ; I can hardly drag 
 One foot after another. How they do ache ! 
 I'll go no further. 
 
 A VOICE. 
 Help! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Again that voice!
 
 20 The SUNKEN BELL Act 1. 
 
 THE BARBER. 
 
 And this time it was close to where we stand ! 
 
 THE VICAR [sitting wearily]. 
 
 I'm racked with pain. Indeed, my worthy friends, 
 
 I can no more. So leave me, in God's name. 
 
 In truth, though you should beat me black and blue, 
 
 You could not make me budge another step. 
 
 I am worn out. Alack, that this glad day 
 
 Should end so sadly ! Who had ever thought 
 
 Such things could happen ! And the mighty bell 
 
 The noblest of the Master's master-works ! 
 
 Thy ways, O Lord, indeed pass finding out 
 And are most wonderful ! 
 
 THE BARBER. 
 
 Ay, Father, ay. 
 
 And do you wish to know what place this be ? 
 Well, I will tell you. If you'll be advised, 
 You'll get from hence and that without delay. 
 'Twere better far we spent the livelong night 
 Bare-backed, and in a hornet's nest, than here. 
 For, by the Lord, we're on the Silver Hill ! 
 Within a hundred steps should stand the house 
 Of that accursed witch. So let's away ! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 I cannot budge. 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 Nay, come, I pray you, come. 
 Worse things than witches are encountered here. 
 If they were all, I should not turn a hair. 
 Ah, there's no wilder spot for leagues around 
 A paradise of smugglers, thieves, and rogues 
 A trysting-place for cut-throat murderers 
 So infamous that Peter, he who longed 
 To know what fear and trembling meant might learn 
 Both easily if he but came this way.
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act L 21 
 
 THE BARBER. 
 
 Yes. One and one make two we all know that. 
 
 But that is not the only thing worth knowing. 
 
 I hope, my master, you may never learn 
 
 What witchcraft means ! . . The hellish sluts who lurk, 
 
 Like toads in a hole, hatching their evil plots, 
 
 May send you illnesses, and plague your ox, 
 
 Make blood flow from the udders of your cows 
 
 Instead of milk, and rot your sheep with worms 
 
 Or curse your children with unwholesome wens, 
 
 And horrible ulcers. All this they can do. 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 You're wandering, Sirs. The night has turned your heads. 
 While you go babbling here of witches' games, 
 Your ears grow dull. Heard you not moans ? By Heaven I 
 I see the very man we seek ! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 See whom ? 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 Why, Master Heinrich. 
 
 THE BARBER. 
 
 O, he's lost his wits ! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 'Twas witchcraft. 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 Nay, then two and two's not four, 
 But five. And that's impossible. Prate not 
 Of witches. For, as I do hope for Heaven, 
 There lies the master bell-founder himself ! 
 Look ! Now the clouds have ceased to hide the moon. 
 Look, gentlemen I Now ! Now ! Well was I right ?
 
 22 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Indeed you were, my master. 
 
 THE BARBER. 
 
 Tis the bell-founder ! 
 
 [All three hurry towards HEINRICH, but recoil on reach- 
 ing the edge of the magic ring:] 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Oh! 
 
 THE BARBER. 
 Oh! 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 Oh ! Oh ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 [Becoming visible for a moment among the trees.] 
 
 Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! 
 
 [She vanishes amid peals of mocking laughter. A pause.] 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER {bewildered}. 
 
 What was it ? 
 
 THE BARBER. 
 
 Ay. What was 't ? 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 I heard a laugh ! 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 The bright light dazzled me. I do believe 
 It's made a hole in my head as big as my fist. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 You heard the laughter ?
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 23 
 
 THE BARBER. 
 
 Ay, and something cracked. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 The laughter seemed to come from every pine 
 
 That rustles round us in the growing gloom. 
 
 There ! Yonder ! Where the horn-owl hoots and flies ! 
 
 THE BARBER. 
 
 Didn't I tell you of these devilish folk ? 
 O Lord, O Lord ! I warned you of their spells. 
 D'ye think we're safe here ? As for me, I quake 
 My flesh creeps. Curses on the hag, say I ! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 {Raising the crucifix which hangs round his neck, and 
 
 moving steadfastly towards the hutl\ 
 You may be right. Yet, though the Devil himself 
 Dwelt here, I'd still say : Courage ! On ! 
 Against him we will pit God's Holy Word ! 
 Ah ! never yet was Satan's craft more clear 
 Than when he hurled the Master and the bell 
 To death God's servant and his instrument 
 The bell that, from the edge of the abyss 
 Had sung the hymn of everlasting Love, 
 And Peace, and Mercy, through the firmament ! 
 Here stand we as true soldiers of the Lord ! 
 I'll knock! 
 
 THE BARBER. 
 
 Dd don't risk it ! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Yes ! I say, I'll knock ! 
 [He knocks at the door of the hut.} 
 
 WlTTlKlN [from within the hut}. 
 Who's there?
 
 24 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 A Christian ! 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 Christian or no Christian, 
 What d'you want ? 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Open! 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 {Appearing in the doorway carrying a lighted lantern. 
 Well ? What's your will ? 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 In God's name, woman, whom thou dost not know 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 Oho ! A pious opening, I declare ! 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 Thou carrion-crow, how durst thou wag thy tongue ? 
 
 The measure's full thy time is meted out. 
 
 Thy evil life and thy accursed deeds 
 
 Have made thee hated through the countryside. 
 
 So an thou do not now as thou art bid 
 
 Ere dawn the red cock* from thy roof shall crow 
 
 Thy den of thieves shall flame and smoke to Heaven ! 
 
 THE BARBER [Crossing himself repeatedly]* 
 
 Thou wicked cat ! I'm not afraid of thee ! 
 Ay scowl, and glare, and glower, as thou wilt ! , 
 Though thy red eyes should light upon my corpse, 
 They'll find the Cross before them. Do as thou'rt bid ! 
 
 * In Germany "der rothe Halm" is a symbol of incendiarism.
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 25 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 I charge thce, woman, in God's holy name, 
 Have done with all thy devilish juggleries, 
 And help this man ! Here lies a child of God, 
 A Master, gifted with a wondrous art 
 That him doth honor, while it puts to shame 
 The damned companies of air and Hell. 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 [ Who has been prowling round HEINRICH with her lantern] 
 And, what's all that to do wi' me ? Enough ! 
 You're welcome to the creature. Take him hence. 
 What harm did I to him ? For aught I care, 
 He may live on, till he has spent his breath. 
 I'll wager that won't be so very long ! 
 Ye name him " Master," and ye love the sound 
 O' the big iron bells the creature makes. 
 Ye all are hard o' hearin', or ye'd know 
 There's no good in his bells. He knows it, too. 
 Ah, I could tell ye, an' I would, what's wrong. 
 The best and worst o' them ring false. They're cracked. 
 There ! Take the litter. Bear the man away 
 The " Master," as ye call him ! Master Milksop ! 
 
 [To HEINRICH.] 
 
 Get up ! Go home and help the panon preach ! 
 Go help the schoolmaster to birch his boys 
 Go mix the lather in the barber's shop ! 
 [The BARBER and the SCHOOLMASTER //// HEINRICH on to 
 the litter] 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Thou wicked, scolding hag ! Restrain thy tongue ! 
 Thy way shall lead thee straight to Hell. Begone ! 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 O, spare your sermons. I ha' heard ye preach. 
 1 know, I know. Tis sinful to ha' senses. 
 The earth's a coffin, and the Heavens above
 
 26 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 
 
 Are but a coffin-lid. The stars are holes ; 
 The sun's a bigger hole in the blue sky. 
 The world 'ucl come to grief wi'out the priests, 
 And God himself ye'd make a bug-a-boo ! 
 The Lord should take a rod to ye poor fools ! 
 Ay, fools are ye all, all ! and nothing more ! 
 
 [She bangs open her door and goes into hut.} 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Thou beldame ! 
 
 THE BARBER. 
 
 For Heaven's sake don't vex her more ! 
 
 If you should goad her further, we are lost. 
 
 [Exeunt the VICAR, the SCHOOLMASTER, and the BARBER into 
 the wood, bearing away HEINRICH on the litter. The moon 
 shines out, and lights up the peaceful landscape. FIRST, 
 SECOND, and THIRD ELVES steal out of the wood one after 
 the other and join hands in a dance.] 
 
 FIRST ELF [ whispering]. 
 Sister ! 
 
 SECOND ELF [as above]. 
 Sister ! 
 
 FIRST ELF [as above]. 
 
 White and chill 
 
 Shines the moon across the hill. 
 Over bank, and over brae, 
 Queen she is, and Queen shall stay. 
 
 SECOND ELF. 
 
 Whence com'st thou ? 
 
 FIRST ELF. 
 
 From where the light 
 In the waterfall gleams bright, 
 Where the glowing flood cloth leap, 
 Roaring, down into the deep.
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act /. 27 
 
 Then, from out the mirk and mist, 
 Where the foaming torrent hissed, 
 Past the dripping rocks and spray, 
 Up I swiftly made my way. 
 
 THIRD ELF [Joining them]. 
 Sisters, is it here ye dance ? 
 
 FIRST ELF. 
 
 Wouldst thou join us ? Quick advance ! 
 
 SECOND ELF. 
 
 And whence com'st thou ? 
 
 THIRD ELF. 
 
 Hark and hist ! 
 
 Dance, and dance, as ye may list ! 
 'Mid the rocky peaks forlorn 
 Lies the lake where I was born. 
 Starry gems are mirrored clear 
 On the face of that dark mere. 
 Ere the fickle moon could wane, 
 Up I swept my silver train. 
 Where the mountain breezes sigh, 
 Over clove and crag came I ! 
 
 FOURTH ELF [entering], 
 Sisters ! 
 
 FIRST ELF. 
 
 Sister ! Join the round ! 
 
 ALL [together]. 
 
 Ring-a-ring-a-ring-around ! 
 
 FOURTH ELF. 
 
 From Dame Holle's flowery brae, 
 Secretly I stole away.
 
 28 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 
 
 FIRST ELF. 
 
 Wind and wander, in and out ! 
 
 ALL {together}. 
 
 Ring-a-ring-a-round-about ! 
 
 [Lightning and distant thunder.} 
 
 [Enter suddenly, from the hut, RAUTENDELEIN. Clasping 
 her hands behind her head, she watches the dance from the 
 doorway. The moonlight falls full on her.} 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Ho, my fairies ! 
 
 FIRST ELF. 
 
 Hark ! A cry ! 
 
 SECOND ELF. 
 
 Owch ! My dress is all awry ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Ho, ye fairies ! 
 
 THIRD ELF. 
 
 O, my gown ! 
 Flit and flutter, up and down. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [joining in the dance]. 
 
 Let me join the merry round. 
 Ring-a-ring-a-ring-around ! 
 Silver nixey, sweetest maid, 
 See how richly I'm arrayed. 
 All of silver, white and rare, 
 Granny wove my dress so fair. 
 Thou, my fairy brown, I vow, 
 Browner far am I than thou. 
 And, my golden sister fair, 
 I can match thee with my hair,
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 29 
 
 Now I toss it high behold, 
 Thou hast surely no such gold. 
 Now it tumbles o'er my face : 
 Who can rival me in grace ? 
 
 ALL {together}. 
 
 Wind and wander, in and out, 
 Ring-a-ring-a-round-about ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Into the gulf there fell a bell. 
 Where is it lying ? Will ye tell ? 
 
 ALL {together}. 
 
 Wind and wander, in and out, 
 
 Ring-a-ring-a-round-about ! 
 
 Daisy and forget-me-not, 
 
 Fairy footsteps injure not. 
 
 [Enter the WOOD-SPRITE, skipping. Thunder this time 
 louder. During the following speech, a storm rages 
 thunder and hail^\ 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Daisy and forget-me-not 
 
 Crush I in the earth to rot. 
 
 If the moorland's all a-drip 
 
 'Tis because I leap, and skip ! 
 
 Now the bull doth seek his mate, 
 
 Bellows at the stable gate. 
 
 And the heifer, sleeping by, 
 
 Lifts her head and lows reply. 
 
 On the stallion's warm brown hide 
 
 Every fly doth seek his bride, 
 
 While the midges dance above, 
 
 Fill the air with life and love. 
 
 See ! The ostler woos the maid ! 
 
 Buss her, fool ! Dost fear the jade? 
 
 With the rotting straw for bed.
 
 30 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 
 
 Soft and tender, lo they wed ! 
 
 Hul'lo! Hul'lo! Heigh-o-hey! 
 
 Whisp'ring's over for to-day. 
 
 Done the dancing, hushed and chill, 
 
 Lusty life is master still ! 
 
 Be it early, be it late, 
 
 Mews the tom-cat, mews its mate. 
 
 Nightingale, and thrush, and stork, 
 
 Hart, and hare, and hen, and hawk, 
 
 Snipe, and quail, and swan, and duck, 
 
 Crane, and pheasant, doe and buck, 
 
 Beetle, moth, and mole, and louse, 
 
 Toad, and frog, and bat, and mouse, 
 
 Bee, and gnat, and moth, and fly 
 
 All must love, and all must die ! 
 
 [ The WOOD-SPRITE snatches up one of the ELVES and car- 
 ries her off into the -wood. The three other ELVES 
 vanish in different directions. RAUTENDELEIN re- 
 mains standing alone and sad, in the middle of the 
 glade. The storm gradually dies away. ] 
 
 [THE NlCKELMANN rises from the well, as before] 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 Brekekekex ! Brekekekex ! Hey ! Ho ! 
 Why dost thou stand there ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Thou dear water-sprite 
 Alas, I am so sad. So sad am I ! 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN [mockingly]. 
 Brekekekex ! And which eye hurts thee, dear ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [gaily]. 
 
 The left eye. But, perhaps, thou think'st I jest ? 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 Ay, surely, surely.
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act L 31 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN ^pointing to a tear in her eye], 
 
 Look what can it be ? 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 What dost thou mean ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Why see what's in my eye ! 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 What's in thine eye ? Come let me see it close. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 A warm, wet, drop has fallen on my lid. . 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 The deuce it has ! Come nearer let me see. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN \_holding out the tear to hini\* 
 
 A tiny, pure, warm, glitt'ring, drop of dew. 
 There, only see ! 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 
 By Heaven ! 'Tis beautiful. 
 How would it please thee an I took the thing 
 And set it in a fine, pink shell for thee ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Why, as thou wilt. I'll lay it on the edge 
 Of the well. What can it be ? 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 
 A wondrous gem ! 
 
 Within that little globe lies all the pain, 
 And all the joy, the world can ever know. 
 Tis called a tear !
 
 32 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 A tear ! . . . I must have wept. 
 So now at last I've learned what these tears be ... 
 O, tell me something ! 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 Come to me, dear child ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Not I, forsooth. What good were that to me ? 
 The edge of thine old well is wet and rough ; 
 Tis overrun with spiders, worms and worse. 
 They irk me all of them. And so dost thou. 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 Brekekekex ! I grieve to hear it, dear. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Another of those drops ! How strange ! 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 
 More rain ! 
 
 Behold ! Now Father Thor is all ablaze. 
 The lightnings from his beard fall soft, and blink 
 Like babies' eyes, setting the misty train 
 Of rolling clouds aglow with purple flame. 
 And yonder, near the grey, mark how a flight 
 Of ravens rushes madly through the night 
 To keep him company. With every flash 
 Their wings gleam wetter in the whirling rain. 
 Hark, child, how thirstily our Mother Earth 
 Drinks every drop ! And how the trees and grass, 
 The flies and worms, grow glad in the quick light ! 
 
 \Ligktning 
 
 Quorax ! Now in the valley ! Master ! Hail ! 
 Old Thor is kindling a rare Easter fire. 
 His hammer flares twelve thousand miles it sweeps ! 
 The church-tower totters now the belfry cracks ! 
 The smoke pours out ! . . .
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act L 33 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Enough ! Enough ! No more ! 
 Come, tell me something else. I'm tired of Thor. 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 
 Thou saucy sparrow, thou . Brekekekex ! 
 
 What ails the creature ? When it's stroked it pecks. 
 A pretty way to thank one ! When you're done, 
 You're no bit further than ere you'd begun ! 
 Am I not right ? . . . Still pouting, eh ? . . . Well, well. 
 What wouldst thou know ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 O, nothing. Do but go ! 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 Naught thou wouldst know ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Naught ! 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN {imploringly}. 
 
 Then, speak thou, I pray. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 I long to leave you all and go away ! 
 
 [Her eyes fill with tears and she stares into the distance.] 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN [with anguish}. 
 
 What have I done to thee ? Where wouldst thou go ? 
 
 Is it the world of men that thou wouldst know ? 
 
 I warn thee, maiden. Man's a curious thing, 
 
 Who naught but woe to such as thou could bring. 
 
 Although, perchance, with ours his fate's entwined, 
 
 He is, yet is not quite, of our own kind. 
 
 His world is ours and yet, I say, beware ! 
 
 Half here, he lives half, no one could tell where !
 
 34 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 
 
 Half he's our brother ; yet, this many a day, 
 
 A foe he's been, and lost to us for aye. 
 
 Woe, woe to all who our free mountains flee 
 
 To join these mortals, hoping bliss to see ! 
 
 Man's feet are in the Earth. In toil and pain 
 
 He lives his fleeting life. And yet he's vain. 
 
 He's like a plant that in a cellar shoots, 
 
 And needs must pluck and pluck at its own roots. 
 
 So, languishing for light, he rots away. 
 
 Nor ever knows the joy of one sun-ray. 
 
 The breath of Spring that kisses the green leaf, 
 
 To sickly boughs brings death, and not relief. 
 
 Pry thou no further, but let Man alone : 
 
 Lest thou should hang about thy neck a stone. 
 
 Man will but sadden thee with his grey skies, 
 
 And turn thy happy laugh to tears and sighs. 
 
 Thou shalt be chained unto an ancient Book. 
 
 Accurst no more upon the Sun thou'lt look ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Grandmother says thou art a learned seer. 
 Yet, an thou wilt but in thy waters peer, 
 Thou'lt see that never yet a rill did flow 
 But longed into the world of men to go. 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN [angrily]. 
 
 Quorax ! Brekekekex ! Be not so bold. 
 
 Hear now the words of one ten centuries old ! 
 
 Let slavish streams pursue their fated way, 
 
 Work, wash, for men, and grind their corn each day, 
 
 Water their cabbages and garden stuff, 
 
 And swallow Heav'n knows what! And now . . . enough! 
 
 [ Warmly and earnestly.] 
 But, O, my dear Princess Rautendelein, 
 For thee a King's chamber were none too fine. 
 I know a rare crown, all of crystal so green, 
 In a great golden hall, thou shalt wear it, my queen. 
 The floor and the roof are of clear blue stone, 
 Red coral the coffers and chests I own. . .
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 35 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 And what though thy coffers of coral be wrought ? 
 
 Life lived with the fishes were good for naught. 
 
 And though thy King's crown of pure sapphire should be, 
 
 Thy daughters should prink it alone with thee. 
 
 My own golden tresses are far more dear ; 
 
 Their touch a caress is ; my crown is here ! 
 
 {She turns to go^\ 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 Where art thou going ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN {airily and indifferently}. 
 What is that to thee ? 
 
 THE NICKELMANN {sorrowfully}. 
 
 Much. Much. Brekekekex ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 O, whither I will 
 Go I. 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 And whither wouldst go ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Away and away ! 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 Away and away ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN {flinging her arms aloft], 
 
 To the world of men ! 
 
 [She vanishes in (he wood.\
 
 36 The SUNKEN BELL Act I. 
 
 THE NICKELMANN {terrified}. 
 Quorax ! 
 
 [ Whimpering.'] 
 Quorax ! 
 
 {Softly.} 
 Quorax ! 
 
 is head sadly.} 
 Brekekekex ! 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 ACT Two. 
 
 An old-fashioned room in the house of HEINRICH the 
 bell-founder. A deep recess occupies half the back wall. 
 In the recess is a large open fireplace, with a chimney 
 above it. A copper kettle is suspended above the un- 
 lighted fire. The other half of the back wall, set at an 
 angle, is lighted by a large old-fashioned window, with 
 bottle-glass panes. Below this window, a bed. Doors R. 
 and L. That on the R. leads to the workshop, while that on 
 the L. leads to the courtyard. L. C. a table and chairs 
 placed. On the table : a full jug of milk, mugs, and a loaf 
 of bread. Near the table, a tub. The room is decorated 
 with works by Adam Kraft, Peter Fischer, etc. , conspicuous 
 among them a painted wooden image of Christ on the Cross. 
 
 DISCOVERED: Seated at the farther side of the table, and, 
 in their Sunday best, the two CHILDREN (boys) of HEIN- 
 RICH (aged respectively five and nine}, with their mugs of 
 milk before them. MAGDA, their mother, also in her Sun- 
 day best, enters L., with a bunch of cowslips in her hand. 
 
 Early morning. The light grows brighter as the action 
 progresses. 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 See, children, what I've brought you from the fields! 
 Beyond the garden a whole patch grew wild. 
 Now we can make ourselves look fine and gay, 
 In honor of your father's birthday feast. 
 
 FIRST CHILD. 
 
 O, give me some ! 
 
 SECOND CHILD. 
 
 And me I 
 
 37
 
 38 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 There ! Five for each ! 
 And every single one they say's a key * 
 That opens Heaven. Now drink your milk, my dears, 
 And eat your bread. 'Tis almost time to start. 
 The road to church, you know, is long and steep. 
 
 NEIGHBOR [a woman]. 
 
 [Looking in at the window.} 
 What! Up already, neighbor ? 
 
 MAGDA [at the window]. 
 
 Yes, indeed. 
 
 I hardly closed my eyes the livelong night. 
 But, 'twas not care that kept me wide-awake. 
 So now I'm just as fresh as if I'd slept 
 Sound as a dormouse. Why, how bright it is ! 
 
 NEIGHBOR. 
 
 Ay. Ay. You're right. 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 You'll come with us, I hope ? 
 Now don't say no. You'll find it easy walking 
 On the road . . . These tiny feet 
 Shall lead the way, and gently mark our steps. 
 If you must have the truth, I long for wings : 
 I'm wild to-day with joy and eagerness ! 
 
 NEIGHBOR. 
 
 And has your good-man not been home all night ? 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 What are you dreaming of ? I'll be content 
 
 If only the big bell is safely hung 
 
 In time to ring the people in to mass ! 
 
 *In German the cowslip is called " Himmelschltissel," '. e., "the 
 key of Heaven."
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act 1L 39 
 
 You see the time was short. They'd none to waste. 
 
 And as for sleeping if the Master snatched 
 
 So much as one short wink in the wood-grass 
 
 Why, Heaven be praised ! But, oh, what does it matter? 
 
 The work was hard : but great is the reward. 
 
 You cannot think how pure, and clear, and true, 
 
 The new bell sounds. Just wait until you hear 
 
 Its voice ring out to-day from the church tower. 
 
 'Tis like a prayer, a hymn, a song of praise 
 
 Filling the heart with comfort and with gladness. 
 
 NEIGHBOR. 
 
 No doubt, ma'am. Yet one thing amazes me. 
 From my front door, as doubtless you're aware, 
 The church upon the hill is plainly seen. 
 Now I had heard that when the bell was hung 
 A white flag would be hoisted from the tower. 
 I've seen no sign of that white flag. Have you? 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 O, look again. It must be there by now. 
 
 NEIGHBOR. 
 
 No, no. It's not. 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 Well, even were you right, 
 It would not frighten me. Did you but know 
 The fret and toil and pain, by night and day, 
 It costs the Master to complete his work, 
 You would not wonder if the final stroke 
 Should be delayed a bit. I understand. 
 By this time, I'll be bound, the flag is there. 
 Why, yes, I'm sure it is, could we but see 't. 
 
 NEIGHBOR. 
 
 I can't believe it. In the village streets 
 They do say something dreadful has occurred.
 
 40 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 
 
 Dark omens, boding evil, fill the air. 
 But now, a farmer saw a naked witch, 
 Perched on a boar's back, riding through his corn. 
 Lifting a stone, he cast it at the hag 
 Straightway his hand dropped palsied to the knuckles ! 
 Tis said that all the mischievous mountain sprites 
 Are leagued and up in arms against the bell. 
 How strange you have not heard all this before ! 
 Well now the Bailiff's gone into the hills, 
 With half the village at his heels, to see . . . 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 The Bailiff ? Merciful God ! What can be wrong ? 
 
 NEIGHBOR. 
 
 Why, nothing's certain. All may yet be well. 
 
 There don't take on so, neighbor. Come be calm ! 
 
 It's not so bad as that. Now don't 'ee fret. 
 
 It seems the wagon and the bell broke down . . . 
 
 That's all we 've heard. 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 Pray Heav'n that be the worst ! 
 What matters one bell more or less ! ... If he, 
 The Master, be but safe these flowers may stay. 
 Yet till we know what's happened . . . Here, prithee, 
 Take the two children . . . 
 
 [She lifts the two CHILDREN through the window] 
 Will you ? 
 
 NEIGHBOR. 
 
 Why, to be sure. 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 Thanks. Take them home with you. And, as for me, 
 Ah, I must go, as fast as go I can,
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 41 
 
 To see what may be done to help. For I 
 Must be with my dear Master or, I die ! 
 
 [Exit hurriedly.'] 
 
 [The NEIGHBOR retires with the CHILDREN. Confused 
 noise of voices without. Then a piercing cry from 
 MAGDA.] 
 
 [Enter quickly the VICAR, sighing, and wiping the tears from 
 his eyes. He looks round the room hastily, and turns down 
 the coverlet of the bed. Then, hurrying to the door, he 
 meets the SCHOOLMASTER and the BARBER, carrying 
 HEINRICH in on the litter seen in Act One. HEINRICH 
 reclines on a rude bed of green branches. MAGDA, half 
 beside herself with anguish, follows, supported by a MAN 
 and a WOMAN. Crowd of VILLAGERS presses in behind 
 MAGDA. HEINRICH is laid on his own bed.} 
 
 THE VICAR [to MAGDA]. 
 
 Bear up, my mistress ! Put your trust in God ! 
 We laid him on our litter as one dead ; 
 Yet, on the way, he came to life again, 
 And, as the doctor told us, only now, 
 Hope's not yet lost. 
 
 MAGDA [moaning]. 
 
 Dear God, who speaks of hope ? 
 A moment since, I was so happy ! . . . Now 
 What's come to me ? What's happened ? Won't you speak ? 
 Where are the children ? 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Put your trust in God. 
 
 Do but have patience, mistress. Patience and faith ! 
 Often remember in our direst need 
 God's help is nearest. And, forget not this : 
 Should He, of His all-wisdom, have resolved, 
 In His own time, to call the Master hence,
 
 42 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 
 
 Still there shall be this comfort for your soul 
 Your husband goes from Earth to endless bliss. 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 Why do you speak of comfort, reverend Sir ? 
 Do I need comfort ? Nay he will get well. 
 He must get well. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 So all of us do hope. 
 
 But . . . should he not . . . God's holy will be done. 
 Come now what may, the Master's fight is won. 
 To serve the Lord, he fashioned his great belj, 
 To serve the Lord, he scaled the mountain-heights 
 Where the malignant powers of Darkness dwell, 
 And the Abyss defies the God of Hosts. 
 Serving the Lord, at last he was laid low 
 Braving the hellish spirits in his path. 
 They feared the gospel that his bell had rung : 
 So leagued themselves against him, one and all, 
 In devilish brotherhood. God punish them ! 
 
 THE BARBER. 
 
 A wonder-working woman lives hard by, 
 Who heals, as the Disciples healed of old, 
 By prayer and faith. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Let some one search for her : 
 And when she's found, return with her at once. 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 What's come to him ? Why do you stand and gape ? 
 
 Off with you all ! You shall not stare at him 
 
 With your unfeeling eyes. D'you hear ? Begone ! 
 
 Cover him so with linen, lest your looks 
 
 Should shame the Master. Now away with you ! 
 
 Get to the juggler's, if you needs must gape. 
 
 Ah, God ! What's happened ? . . . Are ye all struck dumb ?
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 43 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 Truly, 'tis hard to tell just what took place. 
 Whether he tried to stop the bell or what . . . 
 This much is certain : if you could but see 
 How deep he fell, you would go down on your knees 
 And thank the Lord. For, if your husband lives, 
 'Tis nothing short of the miraculous ! 
 
 HEINRICH [feebly]. 
 
 Give me a little water ! 
 
 MAGDA [driving out the VILLAGERS quickly}. 
 Out you go ! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Go, my good people. He has need of rest. 
 
 [VILLAGERS withdraw^ 
 If I can serve you, Mistress, why, you know 
 Where you may find me. 
 
 THE BARBER. 
 
 Yes, and me. 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 And me. 
 No. On reflection, I'll stay here. 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 You'll go ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Give me some water ! 
 
 \The VICAR, SCHOOLMASTER, and BARBER withdraw 
 slowly, talking low, shaking their heads, and shrugging 
 their shoulders.] 
 
 MAGDA [hastening to HEINRICH with water], 
 
 Heinrich, are you awake ?
 
 44 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 I'm parched. Give me some water. Can't you hear ? 
 
 MAGDA [unable to control herself \ 
 Nay, patience. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Magda, all too soon I'll learn 
 What patience means. Bear with me yet a while. 
 It will not be for long. 
 
 [He drinks.} 
 Thanks, Magda. Thanks. 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 Don't speak to me so strangely, Heinrich. Don't ! 
 I ... I'm afraid. 
 
 HEINRICH [fevered and angry}. 
 
 Thou must not be afraid. 
 When I am gone, thou'lt have to live alone. 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 I cannot ... no, I will not . . . live without thee ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Thy pain is childish. Torture me no more ! 
 
 It is unworthy, for thou art a mother. 
 
 Bethink thee what that word means, and be brave ! 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 Ah, do not be so stern and harsh with me ! 
 
 HEINRICH [painfully]. 
 
 The plain truth harsh and stern ? Again I say 
 Thy place is by the bedside of thy boys. 
 There lies thy joy, thy peace, thy work, thy life. 
 All all is tucked up in their fair, white sheets. 
 Could it be otherwise, 'twere infamous !
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 45 
 
 MAGDA [falling on his necK\. 
 
 So help me Heav'n, I love thee far, far, more 
 Than our dear children, and myself, and all ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Then woe unto ye all, too soon bereaved ! 
 And thrice-unhappy I, untimely doomed 
 To snatch the milk and bread from your poor lips ! 
 Yet, on my tongue, I feel them turn to poison. 
 That, too, is just ! . . . Farewell. Thee I commend 
 To one from whom none living may escape. 
 Many a man has found Death's deepest shadow 
 Prove but a welcome light. God grant it be ! 
 
 [ Tenderly^ 
 
 Give me thy hand. I've done thee many a wrong 
 By word and deed. Often I've grieved thy heart, 
 Far, far, too often. But thou wilt forgive me ! 
 I would have spared thee, had I but been free. 
 I know not what compelled me ; yet I know 
 I could not choose but stab thee and myself. 
 Forgive me, Magda ! 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 I forgive thee ? What ? 
 If thou dost love me, Heinrich, be less sad : 
 Or thou wilt bring the tears back. Rather scold. 
 Thou knowest well how dear 
 
 HEINRICH [painfully}. 
 I do not know ! 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 Nay, who, but thou, did wake my woman's soul ? 
 Till thou didst come, I was a poor, dull, clod, 
 Pining away beneath a cheerless sky. 
 Thou thou didst rescue me and make me live, 
 Fill me with joy, and set my heart in the sun. 
 And never did I feel thy love more sure
 
 46 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 
 
 Than when, with thy strong hand, thou'dst draw my face 
 Out of the dark, and turn it towards the light. 
 And thou wouldst have me pardon thee ! For what? 
 Do I not owe thee all I love in life ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Strangely entangled seems the web of souls. 
 
 MAGDA [stroking his hair tenderly]. 
 
 If I have ever been a help to thee 
 
 If I have sometimes cheered thy working hours 
 
 If favor in thine eyes I ever found . . . 
 
 Bethink thee, Heinrich : I, who would have given 
 
 Thee everything my life the world itself 
 
 I had but that to pay thee for thy love ! 
 
 HEINRICH [uneasily]. 
 
 I'm dying. That is best. God means it well. 
 
 Should I live on ... Come nearer, wife, and hear me. 
 
 'Tis better for us both that I should die. 
 
 Thou think'st, because we blossomed out together, 
 
 I was the sun that caused thy heart to bloom. 
 
 But that the eternal Wonder-Worker wrought, 
 
 Who, on the wings of His chill winter-storms, 
 
 Rides through a million million woodland flowers, 
 
 Slaying them, as He passes, in their Spring ! 
 
 'Tis better for us both that I should die. 
 
 See : I was cracked and ageing all misshaped. 
 
 If the great Bell-Founder who moulded me 
 
 Tosses aside His work, I shall not mourn. 
 
 When He did hurl me down to the abyss, 
 
 After my own poor, faulty, handiwork, 
 
 I did not murmur : for my work was bad ! 
 
 Good-wife the bell that sank into the mere 
 
 Was not made for the heights it was not fit 
 
 To wake the answering echoes of the peaks !
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 47 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 I cannot read the meaning of thy words. 
 A work so highly-prized, so free from flaw, 
 So clear and true that, when it first rang out 
 Between the mighty trees from which it hung, 
 All marveled and exclaimed, as with one voice, 
 " The Master's bell sings as the Angels sing ! " 
 
 HEINRICH \_fevered\ 
 'Twas for the valley, not the mountain-top ! 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 That is not true ! Hadst thou but heard, as I, 
 
 The Vicar tell the Clerk, in tones that shook, 
 
 " How gloriously 'twill sound upon the heights! "... 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 'Twas for the valley not the mountain-top ! 
 
 I only know 't. The Vicar does not know. 
 
 So I must die I wish to die, my child. 
 
 For, look now : should I heal as men would call 't 
 
 Thanks to the art of our good village leech, 
 
 I'd be at best a botch, a crippled wretch ; 
 
 And so the warm and generous draught of life 
 
 Ofttimes I've found it bitter, ofttimes sweet, 
 
 But ever it was strong, as I did drink 't 
 
 Would turn to a stale, flat, unsavory brew, 
 
 Thin and grown cold and sour. I'll none of it ! 
 
 Let him who fancies it enjoy the draught. 
 
 Me it would only sicken and repel. 
 
 Hush ! Hear me out. Though thou shouldst haply find 
 
 A doctor of such skill that he could cure me, 
 
 Giving me back my joy nerving my hand, 
 
 Till it could turn to the old, daily task 
 
 Even then, Magda, I were still undone.
 
 48 The SUNKEN BELL Act 1L 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 For God's sake, husband, tell me what to think ! 
 
 What has come over thee a man so strong, 
 
 So blessed, so weighted down with Heaven's best gifts ; 
 
 Respected, loved, of all of all admired, 
 
 A master of thy craft ! . . . A hundred bells 
 
 Hast thou set ringing, in a hundred towers. 
 
 They sing thy praise, with restless industry ; 
 
 Pouring the deep, glad, beauty of thy soul 
 
 As from a hundred wine-cups, through the land. 
 
 At eve, the purple-red at dawn, God's gold 
 
 Know thee. Of both thou art become a part. 
 
 And thou rich, rich, beyond thy greatest need 
 
 Thou, voicing God able to give, and give, 
 
 Rolling in happiness, where others go 
 
 Begging their daily dole of joy or bread 
 
 Thou look'st unthankfully upon thy work! 
 
 Then, Heinrich, why must I still bear the life 
 
 That thou dost hate so ? . . . What is life to me ? 
 
 What could that be to me which thou dost scorn 
 
 Casting it from thee, like a worthless thing ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Mistake me not. Now thou thyself hast sounded 
 
 Deeper and clearer than my loudest bells. 
 
 And many a one I've made ! . . . I thank thee, Magda. 
 
 Yet thou shalt understand my thought. Thou must. 
 
 Listen ! . . . The latest of my works had failed. 
 
 With anguished heart I followed where they climbed, 
 
 Shouting and cursing loudly, as the bell 
 
 Was dragged towards the peak. And then it fell. 
 
 It fell a hundred fathoms deep, ay more, 
 
 Into the mere. There, in the mere, now lies 
 
 The last and noblest work my art could mould ! 
 
 Not all my life, as I have lived it, Magda, 
 
 Had fashioned, or could fashion, aught so good. 
 
 Now I have thrown it after my bad work. 
 
 While I lie drinking the poor dregs of life,
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act IT. 49 
 
 Deep in the waters of the lake it's drowned. 
 I mourn not for what's lost. And then I mourn : 
 Knowing this only neither bell, nor life, 
 Shall evermore come back. Alas ! woe's me ! 
 My heart's desire was bound up in the tones 
 The buried tones I never more shall hear. 
 And now the life to which I clung so tight 
 Is turned to bitterness, and grief, and rue, 
 Madness, and gloom, confusion, pain, and gall ! 
 
 Well, let life go ! The service of the valleys 
 Charms me no longer, and no more their peace 
 Calms my wild blood. Since on the peak I stood, 
 All that I am has longed to rise, and rise, 
 Cleaving the mists, until it touched the skies ! 
 I would work wonders with the power on high : 
 And, since I may not work them, being so weak ; 
 Since, even could I, with much straining, rise, 
 I should but fall again I choose to die ! 
 Youth a new youth I'd need, if I should live: 
 Out of some rare and magic mountain flower 
 Marvelous juices I should need to press 
 Heart-health, and strength, and the mad lust of triumph, 
 Steeling my hand to work none yet have dreamed of 1 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 Heinrich, Heinrich, did I but know the spot 
 Where that thou pantest for, the Spring of Youth, 
 Lies hid, how gladly would these feet of mine 
 Wear themselves out to find it for thee ! Yea, 
 Even though the waters which restored thy life 
 Should bring me death ! 
 
 HEINRICH {tormented, collapsing and delirious]. 
 
 Thou deadest, truest ! . . . No, I will not drink ! 
 
 Keep it ! . . . The Spring is full of blood ! . . . blood ! . . . blood ! 
 
 1 will not ! . . . No ! . . . Leave me . . . and ... let me . . . die ! 
 
 {He becomes unconscious^
 
 50 The SUNKEN BELL Act 21. 
 
 {Enter the VlCAR.] 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 How goes it with the patient, mistress ? 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 111! 
 
 Terribly ill ! He's sick in every part. 
 
 Some strange, mysterious pain's consuming him. 
 
 I know not what to fear, and what to hope. 
 
 {Hurriedly throwing a scarf over her shoulders^ 
 Did you not speak of a woman who works miracles? 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 I did. Indeed, 'tis that has brought me back. 
 She lives ... at most a mile away from here . . . 
 Her name . . . I can't recall it. But she lives, 
 If I mistake not, in the pinewood . . . Ay . . . 
 Her name . . . 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 Not Wittikin ? 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 How can you ask ! 
 
 Why, she's a wicked witch, the Devil's dam, 
 And she must die. By now they're up in arms, 
 Eager for battle with the pestilent fiend. 
 With cudgels, torches, stones, they're hurrying fast 
 To make an end of her. For you must know 
 She's charged with all the evil that afflicts us. 
 No. I was thinking of ... Frau Findeklee . . . 
 A shepherd's widow . . . and a worthy soul . . . 
 Her husband left her an old recipe 
 Which, as I am assured by many here, 
 Has wondrous virtues. Will you go for her? 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 Yes, yes, most reverend Sir !
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 51 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 You'll go at once ? 
 
 [Enter RAUTENDELEIN, disguised as a peasant girl, and carry- 
 ing a basket of berries in her hand.] 
 
 MAGDA [to RAUTENDELEIN]. 
 
 What wouldst thou, child ? . . . Who art thou ? . . . 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Why 'tis Anna, 
 
 Anna the maiden from the wayside inn. 
 Nay, 'twould be vain to question her. Alas, 
 She's dumb. A good girl. Ah, she's brought some berries. 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 Come here, my child . . . What was't I wished to say . . . 
 
 Ah, yes ! This man lies sick. When he awakes 
 
 Be near to help him. Dost thou understand me ? 
 
 Frau Findeklee . . . That was the name, you said ? . . . 
 
 But, no ; I cannot go. It is too far. 
 
 If you'll stay here a moment, I am sure, 
 
 My neighbor will go for me . . . I'll come back. 
 
 And don't forget . . . O God, my heart will break ! 
 
 {Exit.} 
 
 THE VICAR [to RAUTENDELEIN]. 
 
 Stand here, my child ; or, if thou wilt, sit down, 
 
 Be good and do the very best thou canst. 
 
 Make thyself helpful, while they need thy help. 
 
 God will reward thee for the work thou doest. 
 
 Thou art greatly changed, clear child, since last I saw thee. 
 
 But keep thou honest be a good, true maid 
 
 For the dear Lord has blessed thee with much beauty. 
 
 In truth, my dear, now that I look at thee, 
 
 Thou art, yet art not, Anna. As a princess, 
 
 Stepped from the pages of some fairy book, 
 
 Thou seem'st. So quickly changed ! Who would have thought
 
 52 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 
 
 It possible ! Well, well ! . . . Thou'lt keep him cool ? 
 
 He's burning! {To HEINRICH] May God bring thee back to 
 
 health ! 
 
 [**.] 
 
 [RAUTENDELEIN, who till now has seemed shy and meek, 
 changes suddenly and bustles about the hearth.] 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Flickering spark in the ash of death, 
 Glow with life of living breath ! 
 Red, red wind, thy loudest blow! 
 I, as thou, did lawless grow ! 
 Simmer, sing, and simmer! 
 
 \Theflame leaps up on the hearth.} 
 
 Kettle swaying left and right 
 Copper-lid, thou'rt none too light! 
 Bubble, bubble, broth and brew, 
 Turning all things old to new ! 
 
 Simmer, sing, and simmer! 
 >" 
 Green and tender herbs of Spring, 
 In the healing draught I fling. 
 Drink it sweet, and drink it hot 
 Life and youth are in the pot ! 
 
 Simmer, sing, and simmer! 
 
 And now to scrape the roots and fetch the water. 
 The cask is empty . . . But we need more light ! 
 
 [She throws the window wide open.] 
 A glorious day ! But there'll be wind anon. 
 A mighty cloud, in shape like some huge fish, 
 Lies on the hills. To-morrow it will burst ; 
 And roystering spirits will ride madly down, 
 Sweeping athwart the pines, to reach the vale. 
 Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! . . . Here, too, the cuckoo calls, 
 And the swift swallow darts across the sky . . . 
 
 [HEINRICH has opened his eyes, and lies staring at 
 RAUTENDELEIN.]
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 53 
 
 But now to scrape my roots, and fetch the water. 
 I've much to do since I turned waiting-maid. 
 Thou, thou, dear flame, shall cheer me at my work. 
 
 HEINRICH [amazed']. 
 
 Tell me ... who art thou? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [quickly and unconcernedly]. 
 I ? Rautendelein. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Rautendelein ? I never heard that name. 
 Yet somewhere I have seen thee once before. 
 Where was it ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Why, 'twas on the mountain-side. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 True. True. 'Twas there what time I fevered lay. 
 
 I dreamt I saw thee there . . . Again I dream. 
 
 At times we dream strange dreams! See. Here's my house. 
 
 There burns the fire upon the well-known hearth. 
 
 Here lie I, in my bed, sick unto death. 
 
 I push the window back. There flies a swallow. 
 
 Yonder the nightingales are all at play. 
 
 Sweet scents float in of jasmine . . . elder-blossom . . . 
 
 I see ... I feel ... I know . . . the smallest thing 
 
 Even to the pattern of this coverlet . . . 
 
 Each thread . . . each tiny knot ... I could describe 
 
 And yet I'm dreaming. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Thou art dreaming ? Why ? 
 
 HEINRICH [in anguish}. 
 Because ... I must be dreaming. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Art thou so sure ?
 
 54 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Yes. No. Yes. No. I'm wandering. Let me dream on ! 
 
 Thou askest if I am so sure. I know not. 
 
 Ah, be it what it will : or dream, or life 
 
 It is. I feel it, see it thou dost live ! 
 
 Real or unreal, within me or without, 
 
 Child of my brain, or whatsoe'er thou art, 
 
 Still I do love thee, for thou art thyself. 
 
 So stay with me, sweet spirit. Only stay ! I \ 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. >.' 
 
 So long as thou shall choose. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Then ... I do dream. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [familiarly], 
 
 Take care. Dost see me lift this little foot 
 
 With the rosy heel ? Thou dost ? Why, that is well. 
 
 Now here's a hazel nut. I take it so 
 
 Between my finger and my dainty thumb 
 
 I set my heel on it. Crack ! Now, 'tis broken. 
 
 Was that a dream ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 That only God can tell. 
 
 ; . 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Now watch me. See. I'll come quite close to thee, 
 And sit upon thy bed. So. Here I am ! . . . 
 Feasting away as merrily as thou wilt . . . 
 Hast thou not room enough ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 I've all I need. 
 
 But tell me whence thou'rt sprung and who has sent thee ! 
 What would'st thou of a broken, suffering, man, 
 A bundle of sorrow, drawing near the end 
 Of his brief pilgrimage . . . ?
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 55 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 I like thee. 
 
 Whence I did spring I know not nor could tell 
 Whither I go. But Granny said one day 
 She found me lying in the moss and weeds. 
 A hind did give me suck. My home's the wood, 
 The mountain-side, the crag, the storm-swept moor 
 Where the wind moans and rages, shrieks and groans, 
 Or purrs and mews, like some wild tiger-cat ! 
 There thou wilt find me, whirling through the air ; 
 \\ There I laugh loud and shout for sheer mad joy ; 
 Till faun and nixey, gnome and water-sprite, 
 Echo my joy and split their sides with laughter. 
 I'm spiteful when I'm vexed, and scratch and bite: 
 And who should anger me had best beware. 
 Yet 'tis no better when I'm left alone: 
 For good and bad in me's all mood and impulse. 
 I'm thus, or thus, and change with each new whim. 
 But thee I am fond of ... Thee I would not scratch. 
 And, if thou wilt, I'll stay. Yet were it best 
 Thou earnest with me to my mountain home. 
 Then thou should'st see how faithfully I'd serve thee. 
 I'd show thee diamonds, and rubies rare, 
 Hid at the bottom of unfathomed deeps. 
 / Emeralds, and topazes, and amethysts 
 I'd bring thee all I'd hang upon thy lids ! 
 Froward, unruly, lazy, I may be ; 
 Spiteful, rebellious, wayward, what thou wilt ! 
 Yet thou shouldst only need to blink thine eye, 
 And ere ihou'dst time to speak, I'd nod thee yes. 
 And Granny tells me . . . 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Ah, thou dear, dear child. 
 Tell me, who is thy Granny ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Dost thou not know?
 
 56 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 No. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Not know Granny ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 No, I am a man, 
 And blind. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Soon thou shall see ! To me is given 
 The power to open every eye I kiss 
 To the most hidden mysteries of earth 
 And air. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Then . . . kiss me! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Thou'lt keep still ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Nay, try me ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN {kissing his eyes]. 
 Ye eyes, be opened ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Ah, thou lovely child, 
 Sent to enchant me in my dying hour 
 Thou fragrant blossom, plucked by God's own hand 
 In the forgotten dawn of some dead Spring 
 Thou free, fair, bud ah, were I but that man 
 Who, in the morn of life, fared forth so glad 
 How I would press thee to this leaping heart ! 
 Mine eyes were blinded. Now, they're filled with light, 
 And, as by instinct, I divine thy world. 
 Ay, more and more, as I do drink thee in, 
 Thou dear enigma, I am sure I see.
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act IL 57 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Why look at me, then, till thine eyes are tired. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 How golden gleams thy hair! How dazzling bright! . . . 
 
 With thee for company, thou dearest dream, 
 
 Old Charon's boat becomes a bark for kings, 
 
 That spreads its purple sails to catch the sun 
 
 Lighting it eastward on its stately way. 
 
 Feel'st thou the Western breeze that creeps behind us, 
 
 Flecking with foam from tiny waterfalls 
 
 The swelling bosom of the blue South seas, 
 
 And showering diamonds on us ? Dost thou not feel it ? 
 
 And we, reclining here on cloth of gold, 
 
 In blissful certitude of what must be, 
 
 Do scan the distance that divides us twain . . . 
 
 Thou knowest well from what ! . . . For thou hast seen 
 
 The fair green island, where the birch bends down, 
 
 Bathing its branches in the azure flood 
 
 Thou hearest the glad song of all Spring's choirs, 
 
 Waiting to welcome us ... 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Yes! Yes! I hear it! 
 
 HEINRICH {collapsing}. 
 
 So be it. I am ready. When I awake, 
 
 A voice shall say to me Come thou with me. 
 
 Then fades the light ! . . . Here now the air grows chill. 
 
 The seer dies, as the blind man had died. 
 
 But I have seen thee . . . seen . . . thee . . . ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [with incantations]. 
 
 Master, sleep is thine ! 
 When thou wakest, thou art mine. 
 Happy dreams shall dull thy pain, 
 Help to make thee whole again. 
 
 [She bustles about by the hearth.']
 
 58 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 
 
 Hidden treasures, now grow bright ! 
 In the depths ye give no light. 
 Glowing hounds in vain do bark, 
 Whine and whimper in the dark! 
 We, who serve him, glad will be : 
 For the Master sets us free ! 
 
 [Addressing HEINRICH, and with gestures^ 
 One, two, three. A new man be ! 
 For the future thou art free ! 
 
 HEINRICH \awaking\. 
 
 What's happened to me ? ... From what wondrous sleep 
 
 Am I aroused ? . . . What is this glorious sun 
 
 That, streaming through the window, gilds my hand ? 
 
 O, breath of morning ! Heaven, if 'tis thy will 
 
 If 'tis thy strength that rushes through my veins 
 
 If, as a token of thy power, I feel 
 
 This strange, new, beating heart within my breast ? 
 
 Then, should I rise again again I'd long 
 
 To wander out into the world of life : 
 
 And wish, and strive, and hope, and dare, and do ... 
 
 And do ... and do . . . ! 
 
 [RAUTENDELEIN has meanwhile moved to L. and stands, 
 leaning against the wall, gazing fixedly at HEIN- 
 'RiCH. A dazzling light falls on her face. Enter 
 MAGDA.] 
 
 Ah, Magda. Is it thou ? 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 Is he awake ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Yes, Magda. Is it thou ? 
 
 MAGDA [delightedly]. 
 How is it with thee ?
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act II. 59 
 
 HEINRICH [overcome with emotion}. 
 
 Well. Ah, well! I'll live! 
 I feel it. I shall live ... Yes ! I shall . . . live ! 
 
 [As he speaks, he gazes fixedly, not at MAGDA, but at 
 RAUTENDELEIN, who stands in an elfin attitude, 
 looking toward him, with an unnatural light on her 
 face.} 
 
 MAGDA. 
 
 [Overjoyed and embracing HEINRICH, who seems uncon- 
 
 scious of her presence. ,] 
 He lives ! He lives ! O dearest Heinrich ! Dearest ! 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 ACT THREE. 
 
 A deserted glass-works in the mountains, near the snow fields. 
 L., an earthenware pipe, through which water from the 
 natural rock runs into a natural stone trough. R., a "prac- 
 ticable " smith's forge, with chimney and bellows. Through 
 the open entrance to the glass-works at back, R., is seen a 
 mountain landscape, with peaks, moors, and dense fir-woods. 
 Close to the entrance is a precipitous descending slope. In 
 the roof is an outlet for the smoke. L., the rock forms a 
 rude, pointed vault. 
 
 DISCOVERED : THE WOOD- SPRITE. After throwing a stump 
 on a heap of pinewood outside, he enters, reluctantly, and 
 looks round. THE NICKELMANN rises from the water- 
 trough, remaining immersed up to his breast. 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 Brekekekex! Come in! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Ah, there thou art ! 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 Ay. Plague upon this nasty smoke and soot ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Have they gone out ? 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 Have who gone out ? 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Why they. 
 60
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act ///. 61 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 Yes. I suppose so. Else they would be here. 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 I've seen old Horny. 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 Ugh! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 . . . With saw and axe. 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 What did he say ? 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 He said . . thou croakedst much. 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 Then let the booby keep his ears closed tight. 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 And then he said . . . thou quackedst dismally. 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 I'll wring his neck for him. 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 And serve him right ! 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 More necks than one I'd wring 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE [laughing]. 
 
 Accursed wight ! 
 
 He crowds us from our hills. He hacks and hews, 
 Digs up our metals, sweats, and smelts, and brews. 
 The earth-man and the water-sprite he takes 
 To drag his burdens, and, to harness, breaks.
 
 62 The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 
 
 Our fairest elf's his sweetheart. As for us, 
 
 We must stand by, and watch them as they buss. 
 
 She steals my cherished flowers, my red-brown ores, 
 
 My gold, my precious stones, my resinous stores. 
 
 She serves him like a slave, by night and day. 
 
 'Tis he she kisses us she keeps at bay. 
 
 Naught stands against him. Ancient trees he fells. 
 
 The earth quakes at his tread, and all the dells 
 
 Ring with the echo of his thunderous blows. 
 
 His crimson smithy furnace glows and shines 
 
 Into the depths of my most secret mines. 
 
 What he is up to, only Satan knows ! 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 
 Brekekekex ! Hadst thou the creature slain, 
 A-rotting in the mere long since he had lain 
 The maker of the bell, beside the bell. 
 And so when next I had wished to throw the stones, 
 The bell had been my box the dice, his bones ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 By cock and pie ! That, truly, had been well. 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 
 But, as it is. he's hale and strong, and works. 
 Each hammer-stroke my marrow thrills and irks. 
 
 [ Whimpering^ 
 
 He makes her rings, and chains, and bracelets rare- 
 Kisses her neck, her breast, her golden hair. 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Now, by my goaty face, thou must be crazed. 
 An old chap whine and whimper? I'm amazed. 
 He has a fancy for the child ? What then ? 
 'Tis plain she does not love you water-men. 
 Cheer up ! Although she shall not be thy bride, 
 The sea is deep : the earth is long and wide.
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 63 
 
 Catch some fair nixey, and your passion slake. 
 Live like a pacha : riot be a rake ! 
 Soon thou'lt be cured : and when they hie to bed, 
 Thou wilt not even turn to wag thy head. 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 I'll have his blood, I say ! . . . 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 She dotes on him. 
 Thou'rt powerless. 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 
 I'll tear him limb from limb ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 She will not have thee, and thy rage is vain. 
 While Granny stands his friend, thy cries of pain 
 Will all be wasted. Ay, this loving pair 
 Is closely guarded. Patience ! and beware ! 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 Patience ? I hate the word ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Time runs on fast : 
 ft.nd men are men. Their passion is soon past. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN \heard singing without}. 
 
 A beetle sat in a tree ! 
 
 Zum ! Zum ! 
 
 A coat all black and white had he ! 
 
 Zum ! Zum ! 
 
 {She enters^ 
 
 Oho ! We've company. Godden, Godden to you. 
 Hast washed that gold for me, good Nickelmann ? 
 Hast brought the pine-stumps, as I ordered thee, 
 Dear Goat's-Foot ? . . . See : I bend beneath the weight 
 Of the rare treasures I have found to-day. 
 Oh, I'm no laggard when I set to work !
 
 64 The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 
 
 Here I have diamonds : here, crystals clear. 
 This little bag is filled with gold-dust. Look ! 
 And here is honeycomb . . . How warm it grows ! 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 Warm days are followed by still warmer nights. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Maybe. Cold water is thine element : 
 
 So get thee whence thou cam'st, and cool thyself. 
 
 [ The WOOD-SPRITE laughs.} 
 [The NlCKELMANN sinks silently down into his trough 
 
 and disappears.'] 
 He will not stop until he's angered me. 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE [still laughing]. 
 Ods bobs ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 My garter's twisted at the knee ! 
 It cuts me. Oh ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Shall I untwist it, dear ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 A pretty page thou'dst make ! . . . No. Go away. 
 Thou bring'st ill smells with thee . . . and oh, the gnats ! 
 Why, they are swarming round thee now, in clouds. 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 I love them better than the butterflies 
 That flap their dusty wings about thy face, 
 Now hanging on thy lips now on thy hair, 
 Or clinging to thy hip and breast at night. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [laughing']. 
 
 There ! That will do. Enough !
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 65 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 A happy thought ! 
 Give me this cart-wheel. How did it come here ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 That thou couldst answer best, thou mischievous rogue. 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Had I not broken down the dray, I trow, 
 
 Thy falcon were not now meshed in thy net. 
 
 So give me thanks and let me take the thing. 
 
 I'll have it tied with ropes, and smeared with pitch. 
 
 And when it's lighted, I will roll it down 
 
 The steepest hillside. Ah ! That were a joke ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Not for the village-folk. Their huts would flame. 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 The flame of sacrifice ! The red, red wind ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 But I'll not hear of it. So get thee gone ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Thou'rt in a hurry ? . . . Must I really go ? 
 Then tell me first what is the Master doing ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 He's working a great work ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Ah, yes, no doubt! 
 We know how bells are cast : by day 
 Ye work at night, ye kiss and play. 
 Hill pines for dale, dale pines for hill, 
 Then, quick, the Master works his will : 
 A bastard thing, half brute, half God 
 The pride of Earth to Heaven a clod.
 
 66 The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 
 
 Come to the hazelwoods with me ! 
 What he could be to thee, I'll be. 
 To honor thee shall be my pleasure 
 Ape not the Virgin pure, my treasure ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Thou beast ! Thou rogue ! I'll blind thy thankless eyes, 
 
 Should'st thou not cease that Master to despise 
 
 Whose hammer, clanging through the dark, long night, 
 
 Strikes to redeem thee ! . . . For, without his might, 
 
 Thou, I, and all of our unhappy race, 
 
 Are curst, and kept beyond the pale of grace. 
 
 Yet, stay ! ... Be what thou wilt, thy strength is vain. 
 
 Here he, the Master, and his will, must reign ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 What's that to me ? . . . My greeting to thy love. 
 Some day, thou'lt see, I'll be thy turtle-dove. 
 
 {Exit laughing. Short pause.} 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 What ails me ? . . . Here the air seems close and warm. 
 I'll hie to some cool grot beside the snow. 
 The dripping water, green and cold as ice, 
 Will soon refresh me . . . To-day I trod on a snake, 
 As it lay sunning itself on a green stone. 
 It bit at me up yonder by the falls. 
 
 Heigho ! How close it is ! ... Steps ! . . . Hark ! Who comes ? 
 \Enter the VICAR, in mountain costume. He pants for breath as 
 he stands outside the door.} 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Ho ! Master Barber ! Follow me. This way ! 
 The road was rough. But here I stand, at last. 
 Well, well. I've come to do God's own good work. 
 My pains will be repaid a hundred-fold 
 If, like the Blessed Shepherd, I should find
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 67 
 
 One poor, lost sheep, and bring him safely home. 
 
 So, courage ! Courage ! \He enters^ Is there no one here ? 
 
 {He sees RAUTENDELEIN.] 
 Ah, there thou art. I might have known as much ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [pale and angry}. 
 
 What do you seek ? 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 That thou shalt quickly learn. 
 Ay, soon enough, as God shall be my witness. 
 Give me but time to get my breath again 
 And dry my face a bit. And now, my child 
 I pray thee, tell me art thou here alone? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Thou hast no right to question me ! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Oho! 
 
 A pretty answer, truly. But thou art frank 
 Thou showest me thy very self at once. 
 So much the better. Now my course is plain. 
 Thou creature ! . . . 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Man, beware ! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 [Folding his hands and approaching her.] 
 
 I fear thee not ! 
 
 My heart is pure and true. Thou canst not harm me. 
 He who did give my poor old limbs the strength 
 To brave thee in thy hidden mountain home 
 Will not forsake me now. Thou devilish thing, 
 Think not to daunt me with thy scornful glance 
 Waste thy infernal witchcraft not on me ! 
 Thou thou hast lured him hither to thy hills !
 
 68 The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Whom? 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Whom ? Why, Master Heinrich. Canst thou ask ? 
 With magic spells, and sweet unhallowed draughts, 
 Thou hast witched him, till he obeys thee like a dog. 
 A man so upright, pious to the core ; 
 A father and a husband ! Thou great God ! 
 This mountain trull had but to raise her hand 
 And, in a trice, she had tied him to her skirts, 
 Dragged him away with her, where'er she pleased, 
 Shaming the honor of all Christendom. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 If I'm a robber, 'twas not thou I robbed ! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 What ! 'Tis not I thou hast robbed ? Thou insolent jade, 
 
 Not me alone, not only his wife and boys 
 
 No all mankind thou hast cheated of this man ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 [Suddenly transformed and in triumph^ 
 Ah, look before thee ! See who comes this way! 
 Dost thou not hear the free and even sound 
 Of his firm footsteps ? Shall thy sland'rous flouts 
 Not even now be turned to joyous shouts ? 
 Dost thou not feel my Balder's conqu'ring glance 
 Dart through thy soul, and stir thee, as the dance ? 
 The grass his foot treads down is proud and glad. 
 A King draws nigh ! Thou, beggarly wretch, art sad ? 
 Hail ! Hail ! O Master, Master ! Thee I greet ! 
 
 [She runs to meet HEINRICH, and throws herself into his 
 
 arms as he enters.] 
 [HEINRICH is attired in a picturesque -working costume. 
 
 In his hand he holds a hammer. He enters hand in 
 
 hand with RAUTENDELEIN, and recognizes the 
 
 VICAR.]
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 69 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Welcome ! Thrice welcome, friend ! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Now God be praised ! 
 Beloved Master : is it yourself I see ? 
 You, who but lately came so near to death, 
 Now stand before me, beaming with rude strength, 
 Straight as a stout young beech, and hale and well 
 You, who did seem a sickly, tottering man, 
 Hopeless, and ageing ? What has wrought this change ? 
 How, in a moment, has the grace of God, 
 With but a puff of His all-quickening breath, 
 Helped you to spring from your sick-bed to life, 
 Ready to dance, as David danced, and sing, 
 Praising the Lord, your Saviour and your King ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Tis even as you say. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 You are a marvel ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 That also is true. In all my frame I feel 
 Wonders are being worked. 
 
 [To Rautendeletn.] 
 Go thou, my dear. 
 The Vicar must be thirsty. Bring some wine. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 I thank you. But I will not drink to-day. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Go. Bring the wine. I'll vouch for it. Tis good. 
 Well as you please. I pray you, do not stand. 
 This is my first encounter with a friend
 
 70 The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 
 
 Since I released myself from the distress 
 
 And shame that sickness brings. I had not hoped 
 
 To welcome you, before all others, here 
 
 Within the narrow sphere that bounds my work. 
 
 Now am I doubly glad : for now 'tis clear 
 
 You have learned what strength, and love, and duty mean. 
 
 I see you breaking, with one resolute blow, 
 
 The murderous chains of worldly interest 
 
 Fleeing mankind, to seek the one true God. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Now, God be thanked ! You are the old, true, Heinrich 
 They lied, who, in the valley, had proclaimed 
 You were no more the man that once we knew. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 That man am I, and yet ... another man. 
 Open the windows Light and God stream in ! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 A goodly saying. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Ay. The best I know. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 I know some better. Yet your saying's good. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Then, if you are ready, give me your right hand. 
 I swear, by Cock and Swan and Head of Horse, 
 With all my soul to serve you as your friend. 
 I'll open to you wide the gates of Spring 
 The Spring that fills my heart. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Do as you say. 
 Twill not be the first time. You know me well.
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act III. ^l 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 I know you. Yes. And though I knew you not, 
 Yea, though a vulgar soul your face should hide, 
 So boundless is my craving to do good, 
 
 That I . Enough. Gold always will be gold. 
 
 And even on the souls of sycophants 
 Good seed's not wasted. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Master, tell me this : 
 What was the meaning of your curious oath ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 By Cock and Swan ? 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Ay ; and by Head of Horse ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 I know not how the words came to my lips . . . 
 
 Methinks . . . the weathercock on your church steeple 
 
 The horse's head upon your neighbor's roof 
 
 The swan that soared into the bright blue sky 
 
 Or ... something else was in my mind just then. 
 
 What does it matter? . . . Ah, here comes the wine. 
 
 Now, in the deepest sense of every word, 
 
 i drink to our good health . . . yours . . . thine . . . and mine. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 I thank you : and once more I wish good health 
 To him who has so wondrously been healed. 
 
 HEINRICH {pacing to and fro]. 
 
 Yes. I am healed indeed. I feel it here 
 Here, in my breast, that swells as I draw in 
 Strength and new rapture with each living breath,
 
 72 The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 
 
 It is as though the very youth of May 
 Gladdened my heart and streamed into my being. 
 I feel it in my arm 'tis hard as steel ; 
 And in my hand, that, as the eagle's claw, 
 Clutches at empty air, and shuts again, 
 Wild with impatience to achieve great deeds. 
 Saw you the sanctuary in my garden ? 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 What do you mean ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 There ! . . . "Tis another marvel. 
 Look! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 I see nothing. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 I mean yonder tree, 
 
 That seems so like a glowing evening-cloud. 
 For the god Freyr once rested in its boughs. 
 From its green branches, and from round its stem, 
 Comes the voluptuous hum of countless bees 
 Hark how they buzz and swarm about the flowers 
 Eager to sip sweet draughts from every bud ! 
 I feel that I am like that wondrous tree . . . 
 Even as he came clown into those boughs, 
 So did the god descend into my soul, 
 And, in an instant, it was all a-bloom. 
 If any bees go thirsting, let them suck ! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Go on, go on, my friend. I love to listen. 
 
 You and your blossoming tree indeed may boast. 
 
 Whether your fruit shall ripen, rests with God !
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 73 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Surely, dear friend. Does He not order all ? 
 
 He hurled me down the precipice. 'Twas He 
 
 Who raised me up and caused my life to bloom. 
 
 He made the fruit, and flowers, and all that grows. 
 
 Yet pray that He may bless my new-born Summer ! 
 
 What's germed within me's worthy of the blessing 
 
 Worthy of ripening : really and indeed. 
 
 It is a work like none I had yet conceived ; 
 
 A chime, of all the noblest metals wrought, 
 
 That, of itself, shall ring and, ringing, live. 
 
 If I but put my hand up to my ear, 
 
 Straightway I hear it sing. I close my eyes 
 
 Form after form at once grows palpable. 
 
 Behold. What now is freely given to me, 
 
 Of old when ye were wont to acclaim me " Master " 
 
 In nameless agony, I vainly sought. 
 
 I was no Master then, nor was I happy. 
 
 Now am I both ; I am happy and a Master ! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 I love to hear men call you by that name. 
 
 Yet it seems strange that you yourself should do so. 
 
 For what church are you making your great work ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 For no church. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Then who ordered it, my friend ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 He who commanded yonder pine to rise 
 In strength and majesty beside the abyss ! . . . 
 But seriously : the little church you had built 
 Lies half in ruins half it has been burned. 
 So I must find a new place on the heights : 
 A new place, for a new, a nobler, temple !
 
 74 The SUNKEN BELL Act III 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 O, Master, Master ! . . . But, I will not argue. 
 Perchance we have misunderstood each other. 
 To put things plainly, what I mean is this : 
 As your new work must cost so very dear . . . 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Yes. It is costly. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Such a chime as yours . . . 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Oh, call it what you will. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 You said a chime ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 A name I gave to that which none may name, 
 Nor can, nor shall baptize, except itself. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 And tell me, pray who pays you for your work ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Who pays me for my work ? Oh, Father ! Father ! 
 
 Would you give joy to joy add gold to gold ? . . . 
 
 If I so named it, and the name you love 
 
 Call my great work a chime ! . . . But 'tis a chime 
 
 Such as no minster in the world has seen. 
 
 Loud and majestic is its mighty voice. 
 
 Even as the thunder of a storm it sounds, 
 
 Rolling and crashing o'er the meads in Spring. 
 
 Ay, in the tumult of its trumpet-tones, 
 
 All the church-bells on earth it shall strike dumb. 
 
 All shall be hushed, as through the sky it rings
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 75 
 
 The glad new Gospel of the new-born light ! 
 
 Eternal Sun ! * Thy children, and my children, 
 
 Know thee for Father, and proclaim thy power. 
 
 Thou, aided by the kind and gentle rain, 
 
 Didst raise them from the dust and give them health ! 
 
 So now their joy triumphant they shall send 
 
 Singing along thy clear, bright, path to Heaven ! 
 
 And now, at last, like the grey wilderness 
 
 That thou hast warmed, and mantled with thy green, 
 
 Me thou hast kindled into sacrifice ! 
 
 I offer thee myself, and all I am ! . . . 
 
 O Day of Light when, from the marble halls 
 
 Of my fair Temple, the first waking peal 
 
 Shall shake the skies when, from the sombre clouds 
 
 That weighed upon us through the winter night, 
 
 Rivers of jewels shall go rushing clown 
 
 Into a million hands outstretched to clutch ! 
 
 Then all who drooped, with sudden power inflamed, 
 
 Shall bear their treasure homeward to their huts, 
 
 There to unfurl, at last, the silken banners, 
 
 Waiting so long, so long to be upraised, 
 
 And, pilgrims of the Sun, draw near the Feast ! 
 
 O, Father, that great Day ! . . . You know the tale 
 Of the lost Prodigal ? ... It is the Sun 
 That bids his poor, lost, children to my Feast. 
 With rustling banners, see the swelling host 
 Draw nearer, and still nearer to my Temple. 
 And now the wondrous chime again rings out, 
 Filling the air with such sweet, passionate sound 
 As makes each breast to sob with rapturous pain. 
 It sings a song, long lost and long forgotten, 
 A song of home a childlike song of Love, 
 Born in the waters of some fairy well 
 Known to all mortals, and yet heard of none ! 
 
 * In the German the Sun is feminine. The original passage has con- 
 sequently been modified.
 
 76 The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 
 
 And as it rises, softly first, and low, 
 
 The nightingale and dove seem singing, too ; 
 
 And all the ice in every human breast 
 
 Is melted, and the hate, and pain, and woe, 
 
 Stream out in tears. 
 
 Then shall we all draw nearer to the Cross, 
 
 And, still in tears, rejoice, until at last 
 
 The dead Redeemer, by the Sun set free, 
 
 His prisoned limbs shall stir from their long sleep, 
 
 And, radiant with the joy of endless youth, 
 
 Come down, Himself a youth, into the May ! 
 
 [HElNRlCH's enthusiasm has swelled as he has spoken the 
 foregoing speech, till at last it has become ecstatic. 
 He walks to and fro. RAUTENDELEIN, who has been 
 silently watching him all this time, showing her love 
 and adoration by the changing expression of her 
 face, now approaches HEINRICH, with tears in her 
 eyes, kneels beside him, and kisses his hand. The 
 VlCAR has listened to HEINRICH with growing pain 
 and horror. Towards the end of HEINRICH'S speech 
 he has contained himself with difficulty. After a 
 brief pause he answers. At first he speaks with en- 
 forced calm. Gradually, however, his feeling carries 
 him awayj] 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 And now, dear Master, I have heard you out : 
 Now every syllable those worthy men 
 Had told me of your state, alas, is proved. 
 Yea, even to the story of this chime of bells. 
 I cannot tell you all the pain I feel ! . . . 
 A truce to empty words ! If here I stand, 
 'Tis not because I thirsted for your marvels. 
 No ! 'Tis to help you in your hour of need ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 My need ? . . . And so you think I am in need ?
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 77 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Man ! Man ! Bestir yourself. Awake ! You dream ! 
 A dreadful dream, from which you'll surely wake 
 To everlasting sorrow. Should I fail 
 To rouse you, with God's wise and holy words, 
 You are lost, ay, lost for ever, Master Heinrich ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 I do not think so. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 What saith the Good Book ? * 
 " Those whom He would destroy, He first doth blind." 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 If God so willed it you'd resist in vain. 
 
 Yet, should I own to blindness, 
 
 Filled as I feel myself with pure, new life, 
 
 Bedded upon a glorious morning cloud, 
 
 Whence with new eyes I drink in all the heavens ; 
 
 Why, then, indeed, I should deserve God's curse, 
 
 And endless Darkness. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Master Heinrich friend, 
 I am too humble to keep pace with you. 
 A simple man am I a child of Earth : 
 The superhuman lies beyond my grasp. 
 But one thing I do know, though you forget, 
 That wrong is never right, nor evil, good. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 And Adam did not know so much in Eden ! 
 
 * So it stands in the original.
 
 ;S The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Fine phrases, sounding well, but meaningless. 
 They will not serve to cloak your deadly sin. 
 It grieves me sore I would have spared you this. 
 You have a wife, and children . . . 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Well what more ? 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 You shun the church, take refuge in the mountains ; 
 This many a month you have not seen the home 
 Where your poor wife sits sighing, while, each day, 
 Your children drink their lonely mother's tears ! 
 
 [A 
 
 HEINRICH [with emotion}. 
 
 Could I but wipe away those sorrowful tears, 
 
 How gladly would I do it ! . . . But I cannot. 
 
 In my dark hours, I've digged into my soul, 
 
 Only to feel, I have no power to dry them. 
 
 I, who am now all love, in love renewed, 
 
 Out of the overflowing wealth I own, 
 
 May not fill up their cup ! For, lo, my wine 
 
 Would be to them but bitter gall and venom ! 
 
 Should he whose hand is as the eagle's claw 
 
 Stroke a sick child's wet cheek ? . . . Here none but God 
 
 Could help ! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 For this there is no name but madness, 
 And wicked madness. Yes. I speak the truth. 
 Here stand I, Master, overcome with horror 
 At the relentless cruelty of your heart. 
 Now Satan, aping God, hath dealt a blow 
 Yes, I must speak my mind a blow so dread 
 That even he must marvel at his triumph.
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 79 
 
 That work, Almighty God, whereof he prates 
 Do I not know 't ? . . . Tis the most awful crime 
 Ever was hatched within a heathen brain ! 
 Far rather would I see the dreadful plagues 
 Wherewith the Lord once scourged rebellious Egypt 
 Threaten our Christendom, than watch your Temple 
 Rise to the glory of Beelzebub. 
 Awake ! Arise ! Come back, my son, to Christ ! 
 It is not yet too late ! Cast out this witch ! 
 Renounce this wanton hag ay, cast her out ! 
 This elf, this sorceress, this cursed sprite ! 
 Then in a trice, the evil spell shall fade 
 And vanish into air. You shall be saved ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 What time I fevered lay, a prey to death, 
 
 She came, and raised me up, and made me well 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 'Twere better you had died than live like this ! 
 
 HEINRICH. . 
 
 Why, as to that, think even as you will. 
 But, as for me I took life's burden up. 
 I live anew, and, till death comes, must thank 
 Her who did give me life. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Now I have done ! 
 
 Too deep, yea to the neck, you are sunk in sin ! 
 Your Hell, decked out in beauty as high Heaven, 
 Shall hold you fast. I will not waste more words. 
 Yet mark this, Master : witches make good fuel, 
 Even as heretics, for funeral-pyres. 
 Vox popult, vox Dei ! Your ill deeds, 
 Heathen, and secret once, are now laid bare. 
 Horror they wake, and soon there shall come hate.
 
 8o The SUNKEN BELL Act III. 
 
 So it may happen that the storm, long-curbed, 
 All bounds shall overleap, and that the people 
 Whom you have outraged in their holiest faith, 
 Shall rise against you in their own defence, 
 And crush you ruthlessly ! 
 
 [Pause.] 
 
 HEINRICH {calmly}. 
 
 And now hear me . . . 
 
 I fear you not ! . . . Should they who panting lie 
 Dash from my hand the cup of cooling wine 
 I bore to them : if they would rather thirst 
 Why, then, it is their will perhaps their fate 
 And none may justly charge me with their act. 
 I am no longer thirsty. I have drunk. 
 If it is fitting that, of all men, you 
 Who have closed your eyes against the truth should be 
 That man who now assails so hatefully 
 The blameless cup-bearer, and flings the mud 
 Of Darkness 'gainst his soul, where all is light : 
 Yet I am I ! . . . What I would work, I know. 
 And if, ere now, full many a faulty bell 
 My stroke has shattered, once again will I 
 Swing my great hammer, for a mightier blow, 
 Dealt at another bell the mob has made 
 Fashioned of malice, gall, and all ill things, 
 Last but not least among them ignorance. 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 Then, go your way ! Farewell. My task is done. 
 
 The hemlock of your sin no man may hope 
 
 To rid your soul of. May God pity you ! 
 
 But this remember ! There's a word named rue ! 
 
 And some day, some day, as your dreams you dream, 
 
 A sudden arrow, shot from out the blue, 
 
 Shall pierce your breast ! And yet you shall not die, 
 
 Nor shall you live. In that dread day you'll curse 
 
 All you now cherish God, the world, your work, 
 
 Your wretched self you'll curse. Then . . think of me-'
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act HI. 81 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Had I a fancy to paint phantoms, Vicar, 
 
 I'd be more skilful in the art than you. 
 
 The things you rave of never shall come true, 
 
 And I am guarded well against your arrow. 
 
 No more it frets me, nor my heart can shake, 
 
 Than that old bell, which in the water rolled 
 
 Where it lies buried now, and hushed forever ! 
 
 THE VICAR. 
 
 That bell shall toll again ! Then think of me ! 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 ACT FOUR. 
 
 SCENE: The glass-works as in Act Three. A rude door has 
 been hewn out of the rocky wall, L. Through this, access is 
 obtained to a mountain-cave. R., the open forge, with bel- 
 lows and chimney. The fire is lighted. Near the forge 
 stands an anvil. 
 
 DISCOVERED : HEINRICH, at the anvil, on which he is laying a 
 bar of red-hot iron which he holds tight with his tongs. 
 Near him stand six little DWARFS attired as mountaineers. 
 The FIRST DWARF holds the tongs with HEINRICH ; the 
 SECOND DWARF lifts the great forge hammer and brings it 
 down with a ringing blow on the' iron. The THIRD DWARF 
 works the bellows. The FOURTH DWARF stands motionless, 
 intently watching the progress of the work. The FIFTH 
 DWARF stands by, waiting. In his hand he holds a club, 
 ready to strike. The SIXTH DWARF sits perched on the 
 stump of a tree. On his head he wears a glittering crown. 
 Here and there lie fragments of forged iron and cast- 
 ings, models and plans. 
 
 HEINRICH [to SECOND DWARF]. 
 
 Strike hard ! Strike harder ! Till thy arm hangs limp. 
 Thy whimpering does not move me, thou poor sluggard 
 Shouldst thou relax before the time I set, 
 I'll singe thy beard for thee in these red flames. 
 
 [SECOND DWARF throws his hammer down.} 
 Oho ! 'Tis as I thought. Well, wait, thou imp ! 
 And thou shalt see I mean what I have threaten'd ! 
 
 [SECOND DWARF struggles and screams as HEINRICH 
 holds him ouer the fire. THIRD DWARF^WJ to work 
 more busily than ever at the bellows.~\ 
 82
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 83 
 
 FIRST DWARF [with the tongs]. 
 I can't hold on. My hand is stiff, great Master ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 I'm coming. 
 
 [He turns to SECOND DWARF.] 
 Well, dost thou feel stronger now ? 
 
 [SECOND DWARF nods reassuringly, and hammers away 
 for dear life.'] 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 By Cock and Swan ! I'll have no mercy on you ! 
 
 [He clutches the tongs again.] 
 No blacksmith living could a horseshoe shape 
 An he should stand on trifles with such rogues. 
 No sooner have they struck the first good stroke 
 When off they'd go, and leave the rest to chance. 
 And as for counting on them for the zeal 
 That spurs an honest workman to attempt 
 Ten thousand miracles why, 'twould be mad. 
 To work ! To work ! Hot iron bends not cold ! 
 
 [To FIRST DWARF.] 
 What art thou at ? 
 
 FIRST DWARF. 
 
 [Busily trying to mould the red-hot iron with his hand.] 
 I'm moulding it with my hand. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Thou reckless fool. What ? Hast thou lost thy wits ? 
 Wouldst thou reduce thy clumsy paw to ashes ? 
 Thou wretched dwarf, if thou shouldst fail me now, 
 What power had I ? . . . Without thy helping art, 
 How could I hope to see my cherished work 
 Rise from the summit of my temple towers 
 Into the free and sunlit air of heaven ?
 
 84 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 
 
 FIRST DWARF. 
 
 The iron is well forged. The hand is whole 
 Deadened and numbed a little : that is all. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Off to the well with thee ! The Nickelmann 
 Will cool thy fingers with his water-weeds. 
 
 [ To the SECOND DWARF.] 
 
 Now take the rest thou'st earned, thou lazy imp, 
 And make the most of it. I'll comfort seek 
 In the reward that comes of honest effort. 
 
 [He picks up the newly forged iron, sits, and examines /'/.] 
 Ah, here's rare work for you ! The kindly powers 
 Have crowned our labor with this good result. 
 I am content. Methinks I have cause to be, 
 Since, out of shapelessness, a shape has grown, 
 And, out of chaos, this rare masterpiece : 
 Nicely proportioned here . . . above . . . below . . . 
 Just what was needed to complete the work. 
 
 [The FOURTH DWARF clambers on to a stool and whispers 
 
 in HEINRICH'S ear.] 
 
 What art thou muttering, imp? Disturb me not, 
 Lest I should tie thy hands and feet together, 
 And clap a gag into thy chattering throat ! 
 
 [DWARF retreats in a/arm.] 
 
 What's out of joint in the great scheme ? What's wrong? 
 What irks thee ? Speak when thou art questioned, dwarf ! 
 Never as now was I so filled with joy ; 
 Never were heart and hand more surely one. 
 What art thou grumbling at ? Am I not Master ? 
 Wouldst thou, poor hireling, dare to vie with me ? 
 Well out with it ! Thy meaning Speak ! Be plain ! 
 
 [DWARF returns and -whispers. HEINRICH turns pale, 
 
 sighs, rises, and angrily lays the iron on the anvil.] 
 Then may the Devil end this work himself ! 
 I'll grow potatoes, and plant cabbages.
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 85 
 
 I'll eat and drink and sleep, and then I'll die ! 
 
 [FIFTH DWARF approaches the anvil.'} 
 Thou, fellow, do not dare to lay thy hand on 't! 
 Ay, burst with fury, an thou wilt. I care not. 
 And let thy hair stand straight on end thy glance 
 Dart death. Thou rogue ! Who yields but once to thee, 
 Or fails to hold thee tightly in his clutch, 
 Might just as well bow down and be thy slave, 
 And wait till, with thy club, thou end his pain ! 
 
 [FIFTH DWARF angrily shatters the iron on the anvil ; 
 
 HElNRICH^^vW-y his teeth with rage.] 
 Well, well ! Run riot ! No more work to-night. 
 A truce to duty. Get ye hence, ye dwarfs ! 
 Should morning, as I hope, put fresh, new life 
 Into this frame of mine I'll call ye back. 
 Go ! Work unbidden would avail me naught. 
 
 [ To THIRD DWARF.] 
 
 Come drop thy bellows, dwarf. With all thy might, 
 Thou'dst hardly heat me a new iron to-night. 
 
 Away ! Away ! 
 [All the DWARFS, with the exception of the one with the 
 
 crown, vanish through the door Z,.] 
 And thou, crowned King, who only once shalt speak 
 Why dost thou linger ? Get thee gone, I say. 
 Thou wilt not speak to-day, nor yet to-morrow : 
 Heaven only knows if thou wilt ever speak ! 
 
 My work ! . . . My work ! When will it end ! . . . I'm tired ! 
 I love thee not, sad twilight hour, that liest 
 Pressed 'twixt the dying day and growing night. 
 Thou wringest from my nerveless hand the hammer, 
 Yet bring'st me not the sleep, the dreamless sleep, 
 That gives men rest. A heart athirst for work 
 Knows it must wait, and wait in idleness : 
 And so in pain it waits . . . for the new day. 
 The sun, wrapped round in purple, slowly sinks 
 Into the depths . . . and leaves us here alone. 
 While we, who are used to light, look helpless on, 
 And, stripped of everything, must yield to night.
 
 86 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 
 
 Rags are the coverlets that cloak our sleep. 
 
 At noon we're kings ... at dusk we're only beggars. 
 
 [He throws himself on a couch and lies dreaming, with 
 wide-open eyes. A white mist comes in through the 
 open door. When it disappears, the NICKELMANN is 
 discovered leaning over the. edge of the water-trough.} 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 Quorax ! . . . Brekekekex ! ... So there he lies 
 
 This Master Earth-Worm in his mossgrown house. 
 
 He's deaf and blind, while crookback imps do creep 
 
 Like the grey mists upon the mountain-side. 
 
 Now they uplift their shadowy hands, and threaten ! 
 
 Now they go wringing them, as though in pain ! 
 
 He sleeps ! He does not heed the moaning pines ; 
 
 The low, malignant piping of the elves 
 
 That makes the oldest fir-trees quake and thrill, 
 
 And, like a hen that flaps her foolish wings, 
 
 Beat their own boughs against their quivering flanks . . . ! 
 
 Now, he grows chiller, as the winter-grey 
 
 Searches the marrow in his bones. And still, 
 
 Even in sleep, he toils ! 
 
 Give over, fool ! Thou canst not fight with God ! 
 
 'Twas God that raised thee up, to prove thy strength ; 
 
 And now, since thou art weak, He casts thee down ! 
 
 [HEINRICH tosses about and moans in his sleep.} 
 Vain is thy sacrifice. For Sin is Sin. 
 Thou hast not wrung from God the right to change 
 Evil to good or wages give to guilt. 
 Thou'rt foul with stains. Thy garments reek with blood. 
 Now, call thou ne'er so loud, the gentle hand 
 That might have washed thee clean, thou'lt never see ! 
 Black spirits gather in the hills and dales. 
 Soon in thine anguished ear the sound shall ring 
 Of the wild huntsmen and the baying hounds ! 
 - They know what game they hunt ! . . . And now, behold !
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 87 
 
 The giant builders of the air upraise 
 Castles of cloud, with monstrous walls and towers. 
 Frowning and grim, they move against thy heights, 
 Eager to crush thy work, and thee, and all ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Help ! Help ! Rautendelein ! An alp ! I choke ! 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 
 She hears thee and she comes but brings no help ! 
 Though she were Freya, and though thou wert Balder 
 Though sun-tipped shafts did fill thy radiant quiver, 
 And ev'ry shaft that thou shouldst point went home 
 Thou must be vanquished. Hear me ! 
 
 A sunken bell in the deep mere lies, 
 
 Under the rocks and the rolling : 
 
 And it longs to rise 
 
 In the sunlight again to be tolling ! 
 
 The fishes swim in, and the fishes swim out, 
 
 As the old bell tosses, and rolls about. 
 
 It shudders and sways as they come and go, 
 
 And weeping is heard, and the sound of woe. 
 
 A muffled moan, and a throb of pain, 
 
 Answer the swirling flood 
 
 For the mouth of the bell is choked with blood ! 
 
 Woe, woe, to thee, man, when it tolls again ! 
 
 Bim ! . . . Boom ! 
 The Lord save thee from thy doom ! 
 
 Bim ! . . . Boom ! 
 Hark to the knell ! 
 Death is the burden of that lost bell ! 
 
 Bim ! . . . Boom ! 
 The Lord save thee from thy doom ! 
 
 \The NICKELMANN sinks into the well.]
 
 88 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Help ! Help ! A nightmare chokes me ! Help ! Help ! Help ! 
 
 {He awakes."] 
 Where am I ? ... Am I living ? 
 
 [He rubs his eyes and looks round him] 
 No one here? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [entering]. 
 
 I'm here ! Did'st call ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Yes ! Come ! Come here to me. 
 Lay thy dear hand upon my forehead so, 
 And let me stroke thy hair . . . and feel thy heart. 
 Come. Nearer. In thy train thou bring'st the scent 
 Of the fresh woods and rosemary. Ah, kiss me ! 
 Kiss me ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 What ails thee, dearest ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Nothing, nothing! 
 
 Give me a coverlet ... I lay here chilled . . . 
 Too tired to work . . . My heart grew faint . . . and then 
 Dark powers of evil seemed to enter in ... 
 Laid hold of me, possessed me, plagued me sore, 
 And tried to throttle me . . . But now I'm well. 
 Have thou no fear, child. I'm myself again } 
 Now let them come ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Who? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Why, my foes.
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 89 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 What foes ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 My nameless enemies ay, one and all ! 
 
 I stand upon my feet, as once I stood, 
 
 Ready to brave them, though they filled my sleep 
 
 With crawling, creeping, cowardly terrors ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Thou'rt fevered, Heinrich ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Ay, 'tis chill to-night. 
 No matter. Put thy arms around me. So. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Thou, dearest, dearest ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Tell me this, my child. 
 Dost trust in me ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Thou Balder ! Hero ! God ! 
 I press my lips against the fair white brow 
 That overhangs the clear blue of thine eyes. 
 
 [Pause.} 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 So I am all thou say'st ? ... I am thy Balder ? 
 Make me believe it make me know it, child ! 
 Give my faint soul the rapturous joy it needs, 
 To nerve it to its task. For, as the hand, 
 Toiling with tong and hammer, on and on, 
 To hew the marble and to guide the chisel, 
 Now bungles here, now there, yet may not halt,
 
 90 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 
 
 And nothing, small or great, dare leave to chance, 
 
 So do we ofttimes lose our passionate faith, 
 
 Feel the heart tighten, and the eyes grow dim, 
 
 Till, in the daily round of drudging work, 
 
 The clear projection of the soul doth vanish. 
 
 For, to preserve that Heaven-sent gift is hard. 
 
 No clamp have we, no chain, to hold it fast. 
 
 'Tis as the aura that surrounds a sun, 
 
 Impalpable. That lost, all's lost. 
 
 Defrauded now we stand, and tempted sore 
 
 To shirk the anguish that foreruns fruition. 
 
 What, in conception, seemed all ecstacy, 
 
 Now turns to sorrow. But enough of this. 
 
 Still straight and steady doth the smoke ascend 
 
 From my poor human sacrifice to Heaven. 
 
 Should now a Hand on high reject my gift, 
 
 Why, it may do so. Then the priestly robe 
 
 Falls from my shoulder by no act of mine ; 
 
 While I, who erst upon the heights was set, 
 
 Must look my last on Horeb, and be dumb ! 
 
 But now bring torches ! Lights ! And show thine art I 
 
 Enchantress ! Fill the winecup ! We will drink ! 
 
 Ay, like the common herd of mortal men, 
 
 With resolute hands our fleeting joy we'll grip ! 
 
 Our unsought leisure we will fill with life, 
 
 Not waste it, as the herd, in indolence. 
 
 We will have music ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 O'er the hills I flew : 
 
 Now, as a cobweb, on the breezes drifting, 
 Now frolicing as a bee, or butterfly, 
 And darting hungrily from flower to flower. 
 From each and all, from every shrub and plant, 
 Each catch-fly, harebell, and forget-me-not, 
 I dragged the promise, and I forced the oath, 
 That bound them never to do harm to thee. 
 And so the blackest elf, most bitter foe
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 91 
 
 To thee, so good and white, should vainly seek 
 To cut thy death-arrow ! * 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 What is this arrow? 
 
 I know the spirit ! . . . Yes, I know 't ! . . . There came 
 A spirit to me once, in priestly garb, 
 Who, threat'ning, raised his hand, the while he raved 
 Of some such arrow that should pierce my heart. 
 Who'll speed the arrow from his bow, I say ? 
 Who who will dare ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Why, no one, dearest. No one. 
 Thou'rt proof against all ill, I say thou'rt proof. 
 And now, blink but thine eye, or only nod, 
 And gentle strains shall upward float, as mist, 
 Hem thee about, and, with a wall of music, 
 Guard thee from call of man, and toll of bell : 
 Yea, mock at even Loki's mischievous arts. 
 Make the most trifling gesture with thy hand, 
 These rocks shall turn to vaulted palace-halls, 
 Earth-men unnumbered shall buzz round, and stand 
 Ready to deck the floor, the walls, the board ! 
 Yet since by dark, fierce foes we are beset, 
 Wilt thou not flee into the earth with me ? 
 There we need fear no icy giant's breath 
 There the vast halls shall shine with dazzling light 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Peace, child. No more. What were thy feast to me 
 
 So long as solemn, mute, and incomplete, 
 
 My work the hour awaits, wherein its voice 
 
 Shall loudly usher in the Feast of Feasts ! . . . 
 
 I'll have one more good look at the great structure. 
 
 So shall new fetters bind me to it fast. 
 
 * It was an old belief that dangerous arrows were shot down from the 
 air by elves.
 
 2 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 
 
 Take thou a torch, and light me on my way. 
 
 Haste ! Haste ! . . . Since now I feel my nameless foes 
 
 Busy at work to do me injury 
 
 Since now the fabric's menaced at the base 
 
 Tis meet the Master, too, should toil not revel. 
 
 For, should success his weary labor crown, 
 
 The secret wonder stand at last revealed, 
 
 In gems and gold expressed, and ivory, 
 
 Even to the faintest, feeblest, of its tones 
 
 His work should live, triumphant, through the ages ! 
 
 'Tis imperfection that draws down the curse, 
 
 Which, could we brave it here, we'd make a mock of. 
 
 Ay, we will make a mock of 't ! 
 
 [He moves to the door and halts,} 
 Well, child ? . . . 
 Why dost thou linger ! . . . Have I grieved thee ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 No! 
 No! No! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 What ails thee ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Nothing ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Thou poor soul ! 
 
 I know what grieves thee. Children, such as thou, 
 Run lightly after the bright butterflies, 
 And often, laughing, kill what most they love. 
 But I am not a butterfly. I am more. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 And I ? Am I a child ? ... No more than that ?
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 93 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Ay, truly, thou art more ! . . . That to forget 
 Were to forget the brightness of my life. 
 The clew that glistened in thy shining eyes 
 Filled me with pain. And then I pained thee, too. 
 Come ! 'Twas my tongue, not I, that hurt thee so. 
 My heart of hearts knows naught, save only love. 
 Nay do not weep so. See now I am armed ; 
 Thou hast equipped me for the game anew. 
 Lo, thou hast filled my empty hands with gold; 
 Given me courage for one more last throw ! 
 Now I can play with Heaven ! . . . Ah, and I feel 
 So blessed, so wrapped in thy strange loveliness 
 Yet, when I, wond'ring, seek to grasp it all, 
 I am baffled. For thy charm's unsearchable. 
 And then I feel how near joy's kin to pain 
 Lead on ! And light my path ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE [without], 
 
 Holdrio ! 
 
 Up! Up! Bestir yourselves ! Plague o' the dawdlers! 
 The heathen temple must be laid in ashes ! 
 Haste, reverend Sir ! Haste, Master Barber, haste ! 
 Here there is straw and pitch a-plenty. See ! 
 The Master's cuddling his fair elfin bride 
 And while he toys with her, naught else he heeds. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 The deadly nightshade must have made him mad. 
 What art thou yelling in the night, thou rogue ? 
 Beware ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE [defiantly]. 
 Of thee ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Ay, fool. Beware of me ! 
 I know the way to manage such as thou, 
 I'll grab thee by thy beard, thou misshaped oaf;
 
 94 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 
 
 Thou shalt be shorn and stripped, and when thou'rt tamed, 
 When thou hast learned to know who's master here, 
 I'll make thee work and slave for me thou goat-shank ! 
 What? . . . Neighing, eh? . . . Dost see this anvil, beast? 
 And, here, this hammer? It is hard enough 
 To beat thee to a jelly. 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 [ Turning his back on HEINRICH insolently^ 
 
 Bah ! Hammer away ! 
 Many and many a zealot's flashing sword 
 Has tickled me, ere it was turned to splinters. 
 The iron on thy anvil's naught but clay, 
 And, like a cow's dug, at the touch it bursts. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 We'll see, thou windbag, thou hobgoblin damned! 
 Wert thou as ancient as the Wester wood, 
 Or did thy power but match thy braggart tongue 
 I'll have thee chained, and make thee fetch and carry, 
 Sweep, drudge, draw water, roll huge stones and rocks, 
 And shouldst thou loiter, beast, I'll have thee flayed! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 Heinrich! He warns thee! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Ay! Go to! Go to! 
 
 'Twill be a mad game when they drag thee hence 
 And roast thee, like an ox! And I'll be by! 
 But now to find the brimstone, oil, and pitch, 
 Wherewith to make a bonfire that shall smoke 
 Till daylight shall be blotted out in darkness. 
 
 [ Cries and murmurs of many voices heard from 
 without.'}
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 9$ 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Dost thou not hear them, Heinrich ? Men are coming ! 
 Hark to their boding cries ! . . . They are for thee ! 
 
 [A stone flung from without strikes RAUTENDELEIN.] 
 Help, grandmother ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 So that is what was meant ! 
 I dreamt a pack of hounds did hunt me down. 
 The hounds I hear. The hunt has not begun ! 
 Their yelping, truly, could not come more pat. 
 For, though an angel had hung down from Heaven, 
 All lily-laden, and, with gentle sighs, 
 Entreated me to steadfastness, 
 He had convinced me less than those fierce cries 
 Of the great weight and purport of my mission. 
 Come one, come all ! What's yours I guard for you ! 
 I'll shield you from your selves ! . . . That be my watchword ! 
 
 \Exit with hammer] 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 [Alone and in excitement. ,] 
 Help, help, Bush-Grandmother ! Help, Nickelmann ! 
 
 [ The NICKELMANN rises from the well] 
 Ah, my dear Nickelmann, I beg of you 
 Bid water, quick, come streaming from the rocks, 
 Wave upon wave, and drive them all away ! 
 Do! Do! 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 Brekekekex ! What shall I do ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Let thy wild waters sweep them to the abyss ! 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 I cannot,
 
 96 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 But thou canst, good Nickelmann ! 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 And if I should what good were that to me? 
 
 I have no cause to wish well to the Master. 
 
 He'd love to lord it over God and men. 
 
 'Twould suit me if the fools should strike him down ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Oh, help him help ! Or it will be too late ! 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 What wilt thou give me, dear ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 I give thee ? 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Ah, what thou wilt ! 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 Oho ! Brekekekex ! 
 
 Then strip thy pretty gown from thy brown limbs, 
 Take off thy crimson shoon, thy dainty cap. 
 Be what thou art ! Come down into my well 
 I'll spirit thee a thousand leagues away. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Forsooth ! How artfully he'd made his plans ! 
 
 But now I tell thee once, and once for all ; 
 
 Thou'dst better clear thy pate of all thy schemes. 
 
 For, shouklst thou live to thrice thy hoary age 
 
 Shouldst thou grow old as Granny shouldst thou forever 
 
 Prison me close in thine own oyster shells, 
 
 I would not look at thee !
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 9; 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 Then ... he must die. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Thou liest ! ... I'm sure of 't. Thou liest ! Hark ! 
 Ah, well thou knowest his clear-sounding voice ! 
 Dost think I do not see thee shrink in fear? 
 
 [The NICKELMANN disappears in the well.} 
 [Enter HEINRICH in triumph, and flushed with the excite- 
 ment of the strife. He laughs.} 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 They came at me like hounds, and, even as hounds, 
 I drove them from me with the flaming brands ! 
 Great boulders then I rolled upon their heads : 
 Some perished others fled ! Come give me drink ! 
 War cools the breast 'tis steeled by victory. 
 The warm blood rushes through my veins. Once more 
 My pulse throbs joyously. War does not tire. 
 War gives a man the strength of twenty men, 
 And hate and love makes new! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Here, Heinrich. Drink ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Yes, give it me, my child. I am athirst 
 
 For wine, and light, and love, and joy, and thee ! 
 
 [He drinks.\ 
 
 I drink to thee, thou airy^elfin sprite ! 
 And, with this drink, again I thee do wed. 
 Without thee, my invention would be clogged, 
 I were a prey to gloom world-weariness. 
 My child, I entreat thee, do not fail me now. 
 Thou art the very pinion of my soul. 
 Fail not my soul ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Ah, do not thou fail me!
 
 98 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 That God forbid ! . . . Ho ! Music ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Hither ! Hither ! 
 
 Come hither, little people ! Elves and gnomes ! 
 Come ! Help us to make merry ! Leave your homes ! 
 Tune all your tiny pipes, and harps, and flutes, 
 
 [Faint elfin music heard "without.} 
 And watch me dance responsive to your lutes ! 
 With glowworms, gleaming emerald, lo, I deck 
 My waving tresses and my dainty neck. 
 So jeweled, and adorned with fairy light, 
 I'll make e'en Freya's necklace seem less bright! 
 
 HEINRICH [interrupting}. 
 Be still ! . . . Methought . . . 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 What? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Didst not hear it then ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Hear what ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Why nothing. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Dearest, what is wrong ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 I know not . . . But, commingling with thy music . . . 
 Methought I heard ... a strain ... a sound . . . 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 What sound ?
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 99 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 A plaint ... a tone ... a long, long, buried tone . . . 
 No matter. It was nothing ! Sit thou here! 
 Give me thy rose-red lips. From this fair cup 
 I'll drink forgetfulness ! 
 
 {They kiss. Long and ecstatic pause. Then HEINRICH 
 
 and RAUTENDELEIN move, locked in each other's 
 
 arms, through the doorway.] 
 
 See ! Deep and cool and monstrous yawns the gulf 
 That parts us from the world where mortals dwell. 
 I am a man. Canst understand me, child ? . . . 
 Yonder I am at home . . . and yet a stranger 
 Here I am strange . . . and yet I seem at home. 
 Canst understand ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Yes! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Yet thou eyest me 
 So wildly. Why ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 I'm filled with dread with horror! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 With dread ? Of what ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Of what ? I cannot tell. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 'Tis nothing. Let us rest. 
 
 [HEINRICH leads RAUTENDELEIN towards the doorway 
 in the rocks, L. He stops suddenly, and turns towards 
 the open country.] 
 
 Yet may the moon, 
 
 That hangs so chalky-white in yonder heavens, 
 Not shed the still light of her staring eyes
 
 ioo The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 
 
 On what's below . . . may she not flood with brightness 
 
 The valley whence I rose to these lone heights ! 
 
 For what lies hid beneath that pall of grey 
 
 I dare not gaze on ! ... Hark ! Child ! Didst hear nothing ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Nothing ! And what thou saidst was dark to me ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 What ! Dost thou still not hear 't ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 What should I hear ? 
 
 The night wind playing on the heath, I hear 
 I hear the cawing of the carrion-kite 
 I hear thee, strangely uttering strange, wild, words, 
 In tones that seem as though they were not thine ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 There ! There ! Below . . . where shines the wicked moon, 
 Look ! Yonder ! Where the light gleams on the waters ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Nothing I see ! Nothing ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 With thy gerfalcon eyes 
 
 Thou seest naught ? Art blind ? What drags its way 
 Slowly and painfully along . . . There . . . See ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Thy fancy cheats thee ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 No ! ... It was no cheat, 
 
 As God shall pardon me I ... Peace! Peace ! I sayl 
 Now it climbs over the great boulder, yonder- 
 Down by the footpath . . .
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 101 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Heinrich ! Do not look! 
 I'll close the doors and rescue thee by force ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 No ! Let me be ! ... I must look down ! I will ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 See how the fleecy clouds whirl round and round, 
 As in a giant cauldron, 'mid the rocks ! 
 Weak as thou art, beware ! Go not too near ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 I am not weak ! . . 'Twas fancy. Now 'tis gone ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 That's well ! Now be once more our Lord and Master ! 
 
 Shall wretched visions so undo thy strength ? 
 
 No 1 Take thy hammer ! Swing it wide and high ! . . . 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Dost thou not see them, where they climb and climb ? . . . 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Where ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 There ! . . . Now they have reached the rocky path . . . 
 Clad only in their little shirts they come ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Who come ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Two little lads, with bare, white feet. 
 They hold an urn between them . . . 'Tis so heavy ! 
 Now one, and now the other, bends his knee . . . 
 His little, baby knee, to raise it up ...
 
 102 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 O, help him, mother help him in his need ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 A halo shines about their tiny heads . . . 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 Some will-o'-the-wisp ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 No ! . . . Kneel, and clasp thy hands ! 
 
 Now . . . see . . . they are coming. Now . . . they are here ! 
 [He kneels, as the phantom forms of two CHILDREN, bare- 
 footed and clad only in their nightgowns, ascend from 
 below and advance painfully towards him. Between 
 them they carry a two-handled pitcher] 
 
 FIRST CHILD {faintly}. 
 Father ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 My child ! 
 
 FIRST CHILD. 
 
 Our mother sends thee greeting. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Thanks, thanks, my dear, dear lad ! All's well with her ? 
 
 FIRST CHILD {slowly and sadly}. 
 All's very well ! . . . 
 
 {The first faint tones of the sunken bell are heard from the 
 depths] 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 What have you brought with you ? 
 
 SECOND CHILD. 
 A pitcher.
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Is't for me f 
 
 SECOND CHILD, 
 
 Yes, father dear. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 What is there in the pitcher, my dear boy ? 
 
 SECOND CHILD. 
 
 Tis something salt ! . . . 
 
 FIRST CHILD. 
 
 . . . And bitter ! 
 
 SECOND CHILD. 
 
 Mother's tears I 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Merciful God ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 What art thou staring at ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 At them ... at them . . 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 At whom ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Hast thou not eyes ? 
 
 103 
 
 At them ! 
 
 Our mother ? 
 
 {To the CHILDREN.] 
 Where is your mother ? Speak, oh, speak ! 
 
 FIRST CHILD. 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Yes ! Where is she !
 
 104 The SUNKEN BELL Act IV. 
 
 SECOND CHILD. 
 
 With ... the ... lilies . . . 
 The water-lilies . . . 
 
 [The Ml tolls loudly.] 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Ah! The bell! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 What bell? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 The old, old, buried bell ! ... It rings ! It tolls ! 
 Who dealt this blow at me ? ... I will not listen ! 
 Help ! Help me ! ... Help ! . . . 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Come to your senses, Heinrich ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 It tolls ! . . . God help me ! ... Who has dealt this blow ? 
 Hark, how it peals ! Hark, how the buried tones 
 Swell louder, louder, till they sound as thunder, 
 Flooding the world ! . . . 
 
 [Turning to RAUTENDELEIN.] 
 I hate thee ! I abhor thee ! 
 
 Back ! Lest I strike thee ! Hence ! Thou witch ! Thou trull 1 
 Accursed spirit ! Curst be thou and I ! 
 
 Curst be my work ! . . And all ! . . . Here ! Here am I ! ... 
 I come ! . . . I come! . . . Now may God pity me ! ... 
 
 [He makes an effort, rises, stumbles, rises again, and tears 
 himself away.] 
 
 [The CHILDREN have vanished.] 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Stay ! Heinrich ! Stay ! . . . Woe's me ! Lost ! . . . Lost for aye ! 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 ACT FIVE. 
 
 The fir-clad glade seen in Act One. 
 TIME : Between midnight and dawn. 
 DISCOVERED : Three ELVES, resting near the well. 
 
 FIRST ELF. 
 
 The flame glows bright ! 
 
 SECOND ELF. 
 
 The wind of sacrifice 
 The red, red wind blows in the vale ! 
 
 THIRD ELF. 
 
 And lo, 
 
 The dark smoke from the pine-clad peak streams down 
 Into the gulf ! 
 
 FIRST ELF. 
 
 And, in the gulf, white clouds 
 Lie thickly gathered ! From the misty sea 
 The wond'ring herds lift up their drowsy heads, 
 Lowing, impatient, for their sheltered stalls ! 
 
 SECOND ELF. 
 
 A nightingale within the beechwood sang : 
 It sang and sobbed into the waning night 
 Till, all a-quiver with responsive woe, 
 I sank upon the dewy grass and wept. 
 
 THIRD ELF. 
 
 'Tis strange ! I lay upon a spider's web. 
 Between the blades of meadow-grass it hung, 
 All woven out of marvelous purple threads, 
 
 105
 
 io6 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 
 
 And softer than a royal shift it clung. 
 
 I lay, and rested, while the glistening dew 
 
 Flashed up at me from the green mead below : 
 
 And so, my heavy lids did gently droop, 
 
 Until at last I slept. When I awoke, 
 
 The light had faded in the distant west : 
 
 My bed had turned to grey. But, in the east, 
 
 Thick clouds went up, and up, that hid the moon, 
 
 While all the rocky ridge was covered o'er 
 
 With molten metal, glowing in the night. 
 
 And, in the bloody glare that downward streamed, 
 
 Methought 'twas strange the fields did stir with life, 
 
 And whisp'rings, sighs, and voices low I heard 
 
 That filled the very air with wretchedness. 
 
 Ah, it was pitiful ! . . . Then, quick, I hailed 
 
 A fire-fly, who his soft, green lamp had trimmed. 
 
 But on he flew. And so alone I lay, 
 
 Trembling with fear, and lost in wonderment. 
 
 Till, winged and gleaming as the dragon-fly, 
 
 The dearest, loveliest, of all the elves, 
 
 Who from afar his coming had proclaimed, 
 
 Rustled and fell into my waiting arms. 
 
 And, as we prattled in our cosy bed, 
 
 Warm tears were mingled with our kisses sweet, 
 
 And then he sighed, and sobbed, and pressed me tight, 
 
 Mourning for Balder . . . Balder, who was dead ! 
 
 FIRST ELF [rising]. 
 The flame glows bright ! 
 
 SECOND ELF [rising]. 
 
 'Tis Balder's funeral pyre ! 
 
 THIRD ELF. 
 
 [ Who meanwhile has moved slowly to the edge of the 
 
 wood.] 
 Balder is dead! . . . I'm chill ! [She vanishes.]
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 107 
 
 FIRST ELF. 
 
 A curse doth fall 
 Upon the land as Balder's funeral pall ! 
 
 \Fog drifts across the glade. When it clears away the 
 
 ELVES have vanished^ 
 
 [Enter RAUTENDELEIN, slowly and wearily descending from 
 the hillside. She drags herself towards the -well, halting to 
 rest, sitting and rising again with an effort, on her way. 
 When she speaks, her voice is faint and strange^ 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Whither ? . . . Ah, whither ? ... I sat till late, 
 While the gnomes ran wild in my hall of state. 
 They brought me a red, red cup to drain 
 And I drank it down, in pain. 
 
 For the wine I drank was blood ! 
 
 And, when I had drained the last red drop, 
 My heart in my bosom seemed to stop : 
 For a hand of iron had gripped the strings 
 And still with a burning pain it wrings 
 The heart that I long to cool ! 
 
 Then a crown on my wedding-board they laid 
 All of rose-red coral and silver made. 
 As I set it upon my brow I sighed. 
 Woe's me ! Now the Water-man's won his bride ! 
 And I'll cool my burning heart ! 
 
 Three apples fell into my lap last night, 
 Rose-red, and gold, and white 
 Wedding-gifts from my water-sprite. 
 I ate the white apple, and white I grew : 
 I ate the gold apple, and rich I grew 
 And the red one last I ate ! 
 
 Pale, white, and rosy-red, 
 
 A maiden sat and she was dead.
 
 108 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 
 
 Now, Water-man, unbar thy gate 
 I bring thee home thy dead, dead, mate. 
 Deep down in the cold, damp, darkness, see 
 With the silver fishes I come to thee . . . 
 Ah, my poor, burnt, aching, heart ! 
 
 [She descends slowly into the well.] 
 
 [THE WOOD-SPRITE enters from the wood, crosses to the 
 well, and calls down.\ 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Hey ! Holdrio ! Old frog-king ! Up with thee ! 
 Hey ! Holdrio ! Thou web-foot wight bewitched ! 
 Dost thou not hear me, monster ? Art asleep ? 
 I say, come up ! and though beside thee lay 
 Thy fairest water-maid, and plucked thy beard, 
 I'd still say, leave thy reedy bed and come ! 
 Thou'lt not repent it : for, by cock and pie, 
 What I've to tell thee is worth many a night 
 Spent in the arms of thy most lovesick sprite. 
 
 THE NICKELMANN [from below], 
 Brekekekex ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Up ! Leave thy weedy pool ! 
 
 THE NICKELMANN [from below] 
 
 I have no time. Begone, thou chattering fool ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 What ? What ? Thou toad-i'-the-hole, thou hast no time 
 
 To spare from wallowing in thy mud and slime ? 
 
 I say, I bring thee news. Didst thou not hear? 
 
 What I foretold's come true. I played the seer ! 
 
 He's left her ! . . . Now, an thou wilt but be spry, 
 
 Thou'lt haply catch thy wondrous butterfly ! 
 
 A trifle jaded ay, and something worn : 
 
 But, Lord, what care the Nickelmann and Faun ?
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 109 
 
 Rare sport thou'lt find her, comrade, even now 
 Ay, more than thou hadst bargained for, I'll vow. 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 
 [Rising from the well and blinking slyly.~\ 
 Forsooth ! . . . He's tired of her, the minx ! And so 
 Thou'dst have me hang upon her skirts ? . . . No, no ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 What ? . . . Hast thou wearied of this beauty, too ? 
 Why, then I would her whereabouts I knew ! 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 Go hunt for her ! 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 I've sought her, like a dog : 
 Above below, through mirk, and mist, and fog. 
 I've climbed where never mountain-goat had been, 
 And every marmot far and near I've seen. 
 Each falcon, glede, and finch, and rat, and snake, 
 I've asked for news. But none could answer make. 
 Woodmen I passed around a fire they slept 
 From them I stole a brand, and upward crept : 
 Till, grasping in my hand the burning wood, 
 At last before the lonely forge I stood. 
 And now the smoke of sacrifice ascends ! 
 Loud roar the flames each rafter cracks and bends ! 
 The power the Master boasted once is fled : 
 For ever and for aye, 'tis past and dead 1 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 
 I know. I know. Thy news is old and stale. 
 Hast thou disturbed me with this idle tale ? 
 Much more I'd tell thee ay, who tolled the bell ! 
 And how the clapper swung that rang the knell ! 
 Hadst thou but seen, last night, as I did see, 
 What ne'er before had been, nor more shall be,
 
 i io The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 
 
 The hand of a dead woman, stark and cold, 
 Go groping for the bell that tossed and rolled. 
 And hadst thou heard the bell then make reply, 
 Peal upon peal send thundering to the sky 
 Till, like the lioness that seeks her mate, 
 It thrilled the Master, even as the Voice of Fate ! 
 I saw the woman drowned. Her long, brown hair 
 Floated about her face : 'twas wan with care. 
 And alway, when her hand the bell had found, 
 The awful knell did loud, and louder, sound! 
 I'm old, and used to many a gruesome sight : 
 Yet horror seized me, and I took to flight ! 
 Hadst thou but seen, last night, what I have seen, 
 Thou wouldst not fret about thine elfin quean. 
 So, let her flit at will, from flower to flower: 
 I care not, I ! Her charm has lost its power. 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE. 
 
 Ods bodikins ! I care, though, for the maid. 
 So each to his own taste. I want the jade. 
 And once I hold her panting in these arms, 
 'Tis little I shall reck of dead alarms ! 
 
 THE NlCKELMANN. 
 Quorax ! Brekekekex ! Oho ! I see. 
 So that is still the flea that's biting thee ? 
 Well kill it, then. Go hunt her till thou'rt spent. 
 Yet, though a-hunting twice ten years thou went, 
 Thou shouldst not have her. 'Tis for me she sighs ! 
 She has no liking for thy goaty eyes. 
 A hen-pecked Water-man, alack, I'm tied 
 By every whim and humor of my bride. 
 Now fare thee well. Thou'rt free, to come, or go : 
 But, as for me 'tis time I went below ! 
 
 [He disappears in 
 
 THE WOOD-SPRITE \calling down the well} 
 
 So sure as all the stars in heaven do shine 
 
 So sure as these stout shanks and horns are mine
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act VJ in 
 
 So sure as fishes swim and birds do fly 
 
 A man-child in thy cradle soon shall lie ! 
 
 Good-night. Sleep well ! And now, be off to bed ! 
 
 On ! On ! Through brush and brier ! . . . The flea is dead ! 
 
 [THE WOOD-SPRITE skips off".} 
 
 [OLD WITTIKIN issues from the hut and takes down her 
 shutters^ 
 
 WITTIKIN. 
 
 Twas time I rose. I sniff the morning air. 
 A pretty hurly there has been to-night. 
 
 \A cock crows.} 
 
 Oho ! I thought so. Kikereekikee ! 
 No need to give thyself such pains for me 
 Thou noisy rogue as if we did not know 
 What's coming, ere such cocks as thou did crow. 
 Thy hen another golden egg has laid ? 
 And soon the sun shall warm the mirky glade ? 
 Ay. Crow thy loudest, gossip ! Sing and sing ! 
 The dawn draws near. So strut thy fill and sing. 
 Another day's at hand. But here 'tis dark . . . 
 Will no mad jack-o'-lantern give me a spark ? . . . 
 I'll need more light to do my work, I wis . . . 
 And, as I live, my carbuncle I miss. 
 
 [She fumbles in her pocket and produces a carbuncle^ 
 Ah, here it is. 
 
 HEINRICH {heard without}. 
 Rautendelein ! 
 
 WITTIKIN. 
 
 Ay, call her ! 
 She'll answer thee, I wager, thou poor brawler ! 
 
 HEINRICH [without]. 
 Rautendelein ! I come. Dost thou not hear ?
 
 112 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 Thou'lt need to call her louder, man, I fear. 
 
 [HEINRICH, worn and weary, appears on the rocks above 
 the hut. He is pale and in tatters. In his right hand 
 he holds a heavy stone, ready to hurl it back into the 
 depths^ 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Come, if you dare ! Be it priest, or be it barber, 
 Sexton, or schoolmaster I care not who ! 
 The first who dares another step to take, 
 Shall fall and headlong plunge into the gulf ! 
 'Twas ye who drove my wife to death, not I ! 
 Vile rabble, witless wretches, beggars, rogues 
 Who weeks together mumble idle prayers 
 For a lost penny ! Yet, so base are ye, 
 That, where ye can, God's everlasting love 
 Ye cheat of ducats ! . . . Liars ! Hypocrites ! 
 Like rocks ye are heaped about your nether-land, 
 Ringing it round, as with a dam of stone, 
 Lest haply God's own waters, rushing in, 
 Should flood your arid Hell with Paradise. 
 When shall the great destroyer wreck your dam ? 
 I am not he ... Alas ! I am not the man ! 
 
 \He drops the stone and begins to ascend.} 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 That way is barred. So halt ! And climb no more. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Woman, what burns up yonder ? 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 Nay, I know not. 
 
 Some man there was, I've heard, who built a thing, 
 Half church, half royal castle. Now he's gone ! 
 And, since he's left it, up it goes in flame. 
 
 [HEINRICH makes a feeble effort to press upward.}
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 113 
 
 Did I not tell thee, man, the road was barred ? 
 He who would pass that way had need o' wings. 
 And thy wings have been broken. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Ah, broken or no, 
 
 I tell thee, woman, I must reach the peak ! 
 What flames up yonder is my work all mine ! 
 Dost understand me ? . . . I am he who built it. 
 And all I was, and all I grew to be, 
 Was spent on it ... I can ... I can ... no more ! 
 
 WlTTlKIN. 
 
 [Pause.] 
 
 Halt here a while. The roads are still pitch-dark. 
 There is a bench. Sit down and rest. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 I ? . . . Rest ? . . . 
 
 Though thou shouldst bid me sleep on silk and down, 
 That heap of ruins still would draw me on. 
 The kiss my mother long she's joined the dust 
 Did press years since upon my fevered brow, 
 Would bring no blessing to me now, no peace : 
 'Twould sting me like a wasp. 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 Ay, so it would ! 
 
 Wait here a bit, man. I will bring thee wine. 
 I've still a sup or two. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 I must not wait. 
 Water ! I thirst ! I thirst ! 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 Go, draw, and drink ! 
 
 [HEINRICH moves to the well, draws, sits on the edge of 
 the well, and drinks. A faint, sweet voice is heard 
 from below, singing mournfully^
 
 114 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 
 
 THE VOICE [from 
 
 Heinrich, my sweetheart, I loved thee true. 
 Now thou art come to my well to woo. 
 Wilt thou not go ? 
 Love is all woe 
 Adieu ! Adieu ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Woman, what voice was that ? Speak answer me t 
 
 What called and sang to me in such sad tones ? 
 
 It murmured, " Heinrich ! " . . . from the depths it came 
 
 And then it softly sighed, "Adieu ! Adieu ! " 
 
 Who art thou, woman ? And what place is this? 
 
 Am I awaking from some dream ? . . . These rocks, 
 
 Thy hut, thyself, I seem to know ye all ! 
 
 Yet all are strange. Can that which me befell 
 
 Have no more substance than a peal that sounds, 
 
 And, having sounded, dies away in silence ? 
 
 Woman, who art thou ? 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 I ? . . . And who art thou ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Dost ask me that ? . . . Yes ! Who am I ? God wot ! 
 
 How often have I prayed to Heaven to tell me ! . . . 
 
 Who am I, God ! . . . But Heaven itself is mute. 
 
 Yet this I do know : whatsoe'er I be, 
 
 Hero or weakling, demi-god or beast 
 
 I am the outcast child of the bright Sun 
 
 That longs for home : all helpless now, and maimed, 
 
 A bundle of sorrow, weeping for the Light 
 
 That stretches out its radiant arms in vain, 
 
 And yearns for me ! ... What dost thou there ? 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 Thou'lt learn that soon enough.
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 115 
 
 HEINRICH [rising]. 
 
 Nay, I'll begone ! 
 
 Now, with thy bloody lamplight, show me a way 
 Will lead me onward, upward, to the heights ! 
 Once I am there, where erst I Master stood. 
 Lonely I'll live thenceforth a hermit be 
 Who neither rules, nor serves. 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 I doubt it much ! 
 What thou would'st seek up yonder is not that. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 How canst thou know ? 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 We know what we do know. 
 
 They'd almost run thee down, my friend ? . . . Ay, ay! 
 When life shines bright, like wolves ye men do act, 
 Rend it and torture it. But, when death comes, 
 No bolder are ye than a flock of sheep, 
 That trembles at the wolf. Ay, ay, 'tis true ! 
 The herds that lead ye are but sorry carles 
 Who with the hounds do hunt and loudly yelp : 
 They do not set their hounds to hunt the wolf : 
 Nay, nay : their sheep they drive into its jaws ! . . . 
 Thou'rt not much better than the other herds. 
 Thy bright life thou has torn and spurned away. 
 And when death fronted thee, thou wast not bold. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Ah, woman, list ! . . . I know not how it came 
 
 That I did spurn and kill my clear bright life : 
 
 And, being a Master, did my task forsake, 
 
 Like a mere 'prentice, quaking at the sound 
 
 Of my own handiwork, the bell which I 
 
 Had blessed with speech. And yet 'tis true ! Its voice 
 
 Rang out so loud from its great iron throat,
 
 ii6 The SUNKEN BELL Act Fl 
 
 Waking the echoes of the topmost peaks, 
 
 That, as the threatening peal did rise and swell, 
 
 It shook my soul ! . . . Yet I was still the Master J 
 
 Ere it had shattered me who moulded it, 
 
 With this same hand, that gave it form and life, 
 
 I should have crushed and ground it into atoms. 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 What's past, is past : what's done, is done, for aye. 
 
 Thou'lt never win up to thy heights, I trow. 
 
 This much I'll grant : thou wast a sturdy shoot, 
 
 And mighty yet too weak. Though thou wast called, 
 
 Thou'st not been chosen ! . . . Come. Sit down beside me. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Woman ! Farewell ! 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 Come here, and sit thee down. 
 Strong yet not strong enow I 
 Who lives, shall life pursue. But be thou sure, 
 Up yonder thou shalt find it nevermore. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Then let me perish here, where now I stand ! 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 Ay, so thou shalt. He who has flown so high, 
 Into the very Light, as thou hast flown, 
 Must perish, if he once fall back to Earth ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 I know it. I have reached my journey's end. 
 So be it 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 Yes I Thou hast reached the end !
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 117 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Then tell me 
 
 Thou who dost seem to me so strangely wise 
 Am I to die and never more set eyes 
 On what, with bleeding feet, I still must seek? 
 Thou dost not answer me ? . . . Must I go hence 
 Leave my deep night, and pass to deepest darkness 
 Missing the afterglow of that lost light ? 
 Shall I not see her once . . . ? 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 Whom wouldst thou see ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 I would see her. Whom else ? . . . Dost not know that ? 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 Thou hast one wish ! ... It is thy last ! . . . So wish. 
 
 HEINRICH [quickly]. 
 
 I have wished J 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 Then thou shall see her once again. 
 
 HEINRICH \rising and ecstatically]. 
 
 Ah, mother ! . . . Why I name thee thus, I know not . . . 
 
 Art thou so mighty ? . . . Canst thou do so much ? . . . 
 
 Once I was ready for the end, as now : 
 
 Half hoping, as each feeble breath I drew, 
 
 That it might be the last. But then she came 
 
 And healing, like the breeze in early Spring, 
 
 Rushed through my sickly frame: and I grew well . . . 
 
 All of a sudden, now I feel so light, 
 
 That I could soar up to the heights again . . .
 
 ii8 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 
 
 WlTTIKIN. 
 
 Too late ! 
 
 [HEINRICH recoils in terror.} 
 Thy heavy burdens weigh thee down: 
 Thy dead ones are too mighty for thee. See ! 
 I place three goblets on the table. So. 
 The first I fill with white wine. In the next, 
 Red wine I pour : the last I fill with yellow. 
 Now, shouldst thou drain the first, thy vanished power 
 Shall be restored to thee. Shouldst drink the second, 
 Once more thou shalt behold the spirit bright 
 Whom thou hast lost. But an thou dost drink bot\., 
 Thou must drain down the last. 
 
 [She turns to enter the hut. On the threshold she halts 
 and utters the next words with solemn emphasis.'} 
 I say thou must ! 
 
 [She goes into the hut.} 
 
 .[HEINRICH has listened to the preceding speech like a 
 man dazed. As OLD WITTIKIN leaves him, he 
 rouses himself and sinks on a bench.} 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Too late ! . . . She said, " Too late ! " . . . Now all is done ! 
 
 heart, that knowest all, as ne'er before : 
 
 Why dost thou question ? . . . Messenger of Fate ! 
 Thy fiat, as the axe, doth sharply fall, 
 Cutting the strand of life ! ... It is the end ! 
 What's left is respite ! . . . But I'll profit by 't. 
 Chill blows the wind from the abyss. The day 
 That yonder gleam so faintly doth forerun, 
 Piercing the sullen clouds with pale white shafts, 
 
 1 shall not see. So many days I have lived : 
 Yet this one day I shall not live to see ! 
 
 [He raises the first goblet^ 
 Come then, thou goblet, ere the horror come ! 
 A dark drop glistens at the bottom. One !
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 119 
 
 A last one . . . Why, thou crone, hadst thou no more ? 
 
 So be it ! {He drinks.} And now to thee, thou second cup ! 
 
 [He raises the second goblet '.] 
 It was for thee that I did drain the first. 
 And, wert thou missing, thou delicious draught, 
 Whose fragrance tempts to madness, the carouse 
 Whereunto God has bid us in this world 
 Were all too poor, meseems unworthy quite, 
 Of thee, who dost the festal board so honor. 
 Now I do thank thee thus ! 
 
 \He drinks.} 
 The drink is good. 
 [A murmur as of czolian harps floats on the air while he 
 
 drinks.] 
 
 [RAUTENDELEIN rises slowly from the well. She looks 
 weary and sad. She sits on the edge of the well, 
 combing her long flowing locks. Moonlight. 
 RAUTENDELEIN is pale. She sings into vacancy. 
 Her voice is faint]. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 All, all alone, in the pale moon-shine, 
 I comb my golden hair, 
 
 Fair, fairest Rautendelein ! 
 The mists are rising, the birds take flight, 
 The fires burn low in the weary night . . . 
 
 THE NICKELMANN [from below]. 
 Rautendelein ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 I'm coming ! 
 
 THE NICKELMANN [from below]. 
 
 Come at once ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Woe, woe, is me ! 
 
 So tight I am clad, 
 
 A maid o' the well, bewitched and so sad !
 
 120 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 
 
 THE NICKELMANN [front below}. 
 Rautendelein ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 I'm coming ! 
 
 THE NICKELMANN [from below]. 
 
 Come thou now ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 
 
 I comb my hair in the moonlight clear, 
 
 And think of the sweetheart who loved me dear. 
 
 The blue-bells all are ringing. 
 
 Ring they of joy ? Ring they of pain? 
 
 Blessing and bane 
 
 Answers the song they are singing ! 
 
 Now down I go, to my weedy well 
 
 No more I may wait : 
 
 I must join my mate 
 
 Farewell ! Farewell ! 
 
 [She prepares to descend.] 
 Who calls so softly ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 i. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Who'rtthou? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Why I. 
 
 Do but come nearer ah, why wouldst thou fly ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 I dare not come ! . . . I know thee not. Away I 
 For him who speaks to me, I am doomed to slay.
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 121 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Why torture me ? Come. Lay thy hand in mine, 
 And thou shalt know me. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 I have never known thee. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Thou know'st me not ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 No! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Thou hast never seen me? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN- 
 
 I cannot tell. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Then may God cast me off ! 
 I never kissed thee till thy lips complained ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Never. 
 
 HEINRICH 
 
 Thou'st never pressed thy lips to mine ? 
 
 THE NICKELMANN [from below}. 
 Rautendelein ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 I'm coming ! 
 
 THE NICKELMANN. 
 
 Come. I waiti 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Who called to thee ?
 
 122 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 The Water-man my mate ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Thou seest my agony the pain and strife 
 7hat rend my soul, and eat away my life ! 
 Ah, torture me no longer. Set me free ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Then, as thou wilt. But how ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Come close to me ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 1 cannot come. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Thou canst not ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 No. I am bound. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 By what ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [retreating]. 
 
 I must begone to join the round, 
 A merry dance and though my foot be sore, 
 Soon, as I dancing go, it burns no more. 
 Farewell ! Farewell ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Where art thou ? Stay, ah stay ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [disappearing behind the well]. 
 Lost, lost, for ever !
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 123 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 The goblet quick, I say ! 
 There . . there . . the goblet ! . . . Magda? Thou? . . So 
 
 pale ! . . . 
 
 Give me the cup. Who brings it, I will hail 
 My truest friend. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [reappearing]. 
 
 I bring it. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Be thou blessed. 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Yes. I will do it. Leave the dead to rest ! 
 
 \Shegives HEINRICH the goblet.] 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 I feel thee near me, thou dear heart of mine ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN \rttreating}. 
 
 Farewell ! Farewell ! I never can be thine I 
 Once I was thy true love in May, in May- 
 Now all is past, for aye ! . . . 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 For aye ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 For aye ! 
 
 Who sang thee soft to sleep with lullabies ? 
 Who woke thee with enchanting melodies ? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Who, who but thou ? 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Who am I ?
 
 124 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Rautendelein ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Who poured herself into thy veins, as wine ? 
 Whom didst thou drive into the well to pine? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Thee, surely thee ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Who am I? 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Rautendelein ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 Farewell! Farewell! [He drinks.] 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Nay : lead me gently down. 
 Now comes the night the night that all would flee. 
 
 [RAUTENDELEIN hastens to htm, and clasps him about the 
 knees.] 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [exultingly]. 
 
 The Sun is coming ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 The Sun ! 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN [half sobbing, half rejoicing] 
 
 Ah, Heinrich ! 
 
 HEINRICH. 
 
 Thanks !
 
 The SUNKEN BELL Act V. 125 
 
 RAUTENDELEIN. 
 
 {Embracing HEINRICH, she presses her lips to his, and then 
 
 gently lays him down as he dies.'} 
 Heinrich ! 
 
 HEINRICH [ecstatically]. 
 
 I hear them ! 'Tis the Sun-bells' song ! 
 
 The Sun . . the Sun . . draws near ! . . The Night is ... long ! 
 
 \Dawn breaks. He dies.] 
 
 THE END.
 
 33528
 
 f 
 
 A ''"lli