Cölestin. We are groping here in a black riddle.
Chancellor [to Prince Witte]. Witness thyself.
Prince Witte. If there is a man here in whom dwells a spirit of sacrifice, a worship of the right, and not of power and bloody gain, to him I speak, as to a stem of that ancient race which still springs from Gotland's gods; I boldly say: "I am." But to that vicious misbegotten wight who cringes in the dust and worships tyranny if it but prosper him, to him I say: "No, I am not."
Chancellor. A lofty mind, bred in the bitterness which deep sorrow brings, speaks in thy words and gives them weight. But yet--we know not who stands before us as the Duke of Gotland.
Duke. It seems to me, my lords, that the sword will show.
Chancellor. True enough. If the Queen will.
[The Queen bows her head in assent. The Chancellor gives a sign to the trumpeters and they blow a signal which is answered below in the court. The nobles make their obeisances to the Queen and go down the steps to the right and left.]
Hans Lorbass [meanwhile]. Remember that thrust I showed thee once: at the arm-joint where the leather is easily cut, thou canst--
Prince Witte [alarmed]. Where are the feathers?
Hans. How--what--? That witch-work to distract thee now? Here is thy sword, and there the foe! Play with him, tickle him, stroke his beard, till he weeps blood out of his mouth, till--