[They go into the hut and come out laden.]
[Exuent, the trees closing on them.]
ACT IV.
Scene.—The same as Act III, six years later. It has a more deserted appearance. Some smoke escapes the kiln. The steps of the barricade are broken down, leaving a narrow passage, through which enter Charles in hunting attire and Albert, whose court finery is somewhat dishevelled.
Charles. Why, Albert, see, there's smoke, haste thee! Inquire! Albert. [Looks into the hut.] No sign of life within the hut, my Lord.
Nor little else. An emptiness that weighs
Like what's inside my belt. Will you not blow
Your horn, my Lord, that baskets may be brought. Charles. My courtiers think of food, of clothes; thou'rt dressed
As for a festival and so the rest.
Indeed 'twould shock our simple ancestors
Could they but see the follies prevalent
To-day, the love of luxury, the splurge,
The flaunt of silk and jewels, the rich-piled velvets,
The pranking plumes, the strut and swagger. Yet
Methinks, on closer view, thy feathers have
A languid droop, thy coat has lost its vain
Bravado, thy ribboned finery agrees
But ill with huntsman's sport. Albert. My Lord, if I
Am privileged to speak, we dressed prepared
For Council work; but you withdrew, changed plans,
Made call for dogs and horses, spears and bows;
Gave us no time to change. Charles. Do I want fops
For Councillors? Grave work needs grave attire.
Ye came arrayed for dance and spectacle
So I was forced to holiday. The chase
Has made some spectacles, I trow. [Laughing.] Nay stay
Thy sulks, seek now thy friends, beg them retain
This morning's lesson; hark! and come not back
Until my horn wakes echoes. Albert. [Turns to go, then stops.] But is it wise
To leave you here alone, my Lord; this place
Is ill reputed. Charles. See that rustic cross,
Some pious pilgrim's work. Six years ago
'Twas noticed first; since then long winters have
Unloaded snow and whipped the biting blast,
Yet there it stands assuringly. How oft,
When unsought vigils have distressed, my mind
Has flown to this same spot, has tried to pierce
Its mystery, has lingered round those branchlets,
Gleaned a strange relief; and now again
Smoke floats above the charcoal kiln. All haste,
Count Albert, comb the woods, make nearby search,
Discover him who caused that smoke, who stirs
A smouldering hope; but still my heart! the flame
May yet die down as has so oft occurred.
Haste, haste Count Albert, I would know the worst
Or best.
[Albert starts to go. Enter Ernst who collides with him.]
[A rustling is heard 'mid the trees.]
[Exuent Albert and Ernst.]
[He falls asleep. The scene grows perfectly dark. After
a time the twinkling light of candles gradually discloses