Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HANNELE, by GERHART HAUPTMANN


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HANNELE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Abide with us in mercy
Last Line: Eia popeia, to heaven above.
Subject(s): Child Psychology; Dreams; Poorhouses; Stepfathers; Nightmares; Workhouses


DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

HANNELE.
GOTTWALD, a Schoolmaster.
TULPE, Paupers.
HEDWIG,
PLESCHKE,
HANKE,
SISTER MARTHA, a Sister of Mercy
SEIDEL, a Forester.
BERGER, Parish Overseer.
SCHMIDT, Parish Officer.
DR. WACHLER.

PART I.

A room in the Pauper Refuge of a mountain village.

At the table sits Tulpe, an old, ragged beggar woman, singing from a hymn-book
by the light of a tallow candle.

Tulpe.—(Sings.) Abide with us in mercy,
Lord Jesus Christ, we pray,
That henceforth we may never—

Hedwig, commonly called Hete, a disreputable-looking woman of about thirty,
enters the room.

Hete.—Oh, Lord, Lord! what weather! (She lets her bundle slip down
upon the table.) We haven't had such an awful night this many a year.
Tul.—What have you got there?
Hete.—Oh, mercy! oh, mercy! my toes! They burn like fire.
Tul.—(Has untied the bundle. A loaf, a packet of chicory, a cornet
of coffee and one or two pairs of stockings, etc., are revealed.) You'll be able
to spare me a trifle out of all this.
(Hete now swoops like a vulture upon her property, and gathers it
together.)
Hete.—Do you think I've trudged miles and miles, hey? and had the
marrow frozen in my bones, for you to go and grab it all, hey?
Tul.—Oh, shut up, you fool! Do you think I want to steal the
blessed rubbish you've wheedled out of people?
Hete.—(Concealing her bundle under the straw pallet.) Who's done
more hard work in her life, I wonder–me or you? You've never done anything
worth talking about, for as old as you are—every one knows that!
Tul.—Leastways I haven't done what you have. Haven't I heard the
pastor calling you over the coals? When I was young, like you, I took better
care of myself, I can tell you.
Hete.—Was that why they put you in prison, perhaps?
Tul.—And you may go there, too, as soon as you please. I've only
to find a Shandarm—I could tell him a thing or two. Just you keep a civil
tongue in your head, my girl, I warn you.
Hete.—All right! Send on your Shandarm to me, and I'll have
something to tell him, too.
Tul.—You can tell what tales you like, for me.
Hete.—Who was it that stole the great-coat, hey? from the
innkeeper's little boy, hey? (Tulpe makes a motion as if to spit at Hete.)
Tulpe! take care! just drop that.
Tul.—Get along with you! I wouldn't have a thing of yours at a
gift.
Hete.—'Cause you know you won't get anything.
(A furious gust of wind shakes the house. Pleschke and Hanke are actually
hurled by the storm into the passage.)
Pleschke.—Oh, curse the hail! curse the hail! it stings like the
devil! The old shanty of a Refuge, one of these days—one of these days,
it'll come toppling about our ears.
(Hete, seized with a thought at the sight of them, takes her bundle from
under the pallet, rushes out past the men, and can be heard running up a flight
of stairs.)
Ples.—(Calling after Hete.) Why are you running—why are you
running away? We—we won't—do nothing to you. Hey, Hanke, hey?
Tul.—(At the stove, busied with a pot of potatoes.) The creature's
out of her senses. She thinks we want to take her things away from her.
Ples.—(Coming into the room.) Oh, Lord, Lord, good people! Did
ever—did ever you see the like! Good evenin'—good evening', ha! Oh,
the devil, the devil! what weather! what weather! I was blown down, I
was—all my length—all my length—as flat as a pancake.
Tul.—Where have you been to?
Ples.—Me? Me? Where have I been? Oh, a long—a long way off.
I've just gone—I've just gone the round of Oberdorf.
Tul.—Brought anything back?
Ples.—Aye, aye, fine things—fine things. At the
Precentor's—they gave me—gave me—five groschen, they did. And up
at the inn—up—at the inn—I got—got a canful—aye, a
canful of soup, that's what I got.
Tul.—I'll heat it up at once. Give it here.
Ples.—I've got—I've got—the stump of a sausage, too. The
butcher—Seipelt the butcher—gave—gave it me.
Tul.—How much money have you got?
Ples.—Three five-groschen pieces—aye, three five-groschen
pieces—I think—I think it is.
Tul.—Out with them, too. I'll keep 'em for you.
Hete.—(Reëntering.) A nice fool, you, to give her everything.
Tul.—You mind your own business.
Hanke.—Why, he's her fancy man.
Hete.—Oh, good Lord! good Lord!
Hanke.—He must bring a bit of a present to his sweetheart. That's
the proper thing.
Ples.—Do you go and make a fool—and make a fool—of
whoever you like? Leave an old man—an old man—leave him in peace.
Hete.—(Imitating Pleschke's manner of speaking.) Old
Pleschke—poor old Pleschke—he'll soon—he'll soon have stuttered
himself dumb. Soon he won't be—he won't be—able to get a single word
out.
Ples.—(Threatening her with his stick.) Now you—now
you—just hold your jaw.
Hete.—Who'll make me, hey?
Ples.—Now hold your—your jaw.
Tul.—Go on! Give her one!
Ples.—Just you—hold your jaw.
Hanke.—Stop this nonsense.
Ples.—Leave me alone.
(Hete has taken refuge behind Hanke, and while he is busy protecting her
from Pleschke, seizes the opportunity to snatch something, quick as lightning,
out of his bag, and to run off with it. Tulpe, who has observed her, shakes with
laughter.)
Hanke.—I don't see nothing to laugh at.
Tul.—(Still laughing.) There, now! There, now! Who could help
laughing?
Ples.—Oh, Lord! Lord! just look!
Tul.—You look to your bag, my man. Perhaps you won't find it as
heavy as it was.
Hanke.—(Turns and sees he has been made a fool of.) The hussy! (He
rushes after Hete.) Just let me catch you!
(His footsteps are heard as he rushes upstairs, then sounds of a chase
and suppressed screaming.)
Ples.—A devil of a wench! a devil of a wench!
(He laughs in all possible keys. Tulpe is also in fits of laughter.
Suddenly a sound is heard as of the outer door being thrown violently open.)
Ples.—Hey? What was that?
(Violent gusts of wind hurtle against the house. Hard-frozen snow is
dashed against the window panes. A moment's calm ensues. Now appears the School-
master, Gottwald, a man of two-and-thirty, with a black beard, carrying in his
arms Hannele Mattern, a girl of about fourteen.)
Ples.—(Staring in stupid astonishment.) Hey, hey, hey, hey! What's
all this? what's all this?
Gottwald.—(Spreading coverings and his own cloak over the girl.)
Heat some bricks, Seidel! Quick! quick!
Seidel.—Look alive, now, look alive! A couple of bricks! Hallo,
hallo! Come, bustle about there!
Tul.—What's the matter with her?
Sei.—Oh, there's no time for questions.
(Goes quickly out with Tulpe.)
Got.—(Soothingly, to Hannele.) There, now, there, now! Don't be
afraid—no one will hurt you.
Hannele.—(Her teeth chattering.) I'm so frightened! I'm so
frightened!
Got.—You've nothing at all to be afraid of. No one will do
anything to you.
Han.—My father! my father!———
Got.—But he's not here.
Han.—I'm so frightened for fear father should come.
Got.—But he isn't coming. Believe me, he isn't.
(Some one is heard to come rushing down the stairs.)
Hete.—(Holding up a grater.) Just look here! This is the sort of
present they give Hanke.
(Hanke, who has come tearing in after her, catches her and tries to wrest
the grater from her, but she throws it so that it falls in the middle of the
floor.)
Han.—(Starting up in terror.) He's coming! he's coming!
Hanke.—I'll polish you with it! Just you look out!
Got.—(To Hannele.) There's nothing to fear, Hannele. (To Hanke.)
What do you want?
Hanke.—(Astonished.) Me? What do I want?
Hete.—(Sticks her head in at the door and calls:) Who stole the
grater? Who stole the grater?
Hanke.—(Threateningly.) Just you wait; I'll pay you out, no fear!
Got.—Please make as little noise as you can; the girl is ill.
Hanke.—(Has picked up the grater and put it in his pocket. He
retreats, somewhat abashed.) What's all the trouble?
Seidel.—(Reënters, carrying two bricks.) Here's something in
the meantime.
Got.—(Touching the bricks to try their warmth.) Are they hot
enough already?
Sei.—They'll warm her a little, anyway.
(He places one of the bricks under the girl's feet.)
Got.—(Pointing out another place.) The other one here.
Sei.—She isn't the least bit warmer yet.
Got.—She's positively shuddering with cold.
(Tulpe has come in after Seidel, Hete and Pleschke following her. Some
other paupers, doubtful-looking characters, appear at the door.)
Tulpe.—(Standing close to the bed, with her arms akimbo.) Brandy
and hot water, if you have any.
Sei.—(Produces a flask, as do Pleschke and Hanke.) There's a drop
left here.
Tul.—(Already at the stove.) Give it here.
Sei.—Have you hot water?
Tul.—Oh, Lord! yes, enough to boil an ox.
Got.—And put a little sugar in it, if you have any.
Hete.—How should the likes of us have sugar?
Tul.—Why, you have some. Don't speak like a fool.
Hete.—Me? Sugar? No, I haven't. (With a forced laugh.)
Tul.—I know you brought some back with you. Didn't I see it in
your bundle just now? You needn't be telling lies about it.
Sei.—Come along, out with it.
Hanke.—Run, Hete, run!
Sei.—Can't you see how ill the girl is?
Hete.—(Stubbornly.) Oh, what do I care!
Pleschke.—Fetch the sugar.
Hete.—You can go to the grocer's for it. (Slinks out.)
Sei.—Yes, it's high time for you to be off, else I'd warm your
ears for you. I'd give you something, so that I don't think you'd come back for
more.
Ples.—That's the sort of girl she is—the sort of girl she is.
Sei.—I'd soon knock the nonsense out of her. If I were the
overseer, I'd take a good stout cudgel to her, and, mark my words, she'd soon
find work to do. A girl like that—a strapping young hussy!—what has
she to do loafing about the Refuge?
Ples.—Here I've got—a little bit—a little bit of sugar.
I've just—I've just—found it.
Hanke.—(Scenting the brandy and water.) My word, don't I wish I
was ill!

Enter Schmidt, the parish officer, carrying a lantern.

Schmidt.—Make way there! Here comes the Overseer.

Enter Overseer Berger.

The Paupers.—Good evening, Mr. Overseer! Good evening, Captain!
Berger.—'Evening! Now clear out of this! Good evening, Mr.
Gottwald. (Shakes hands with him.) Well, what's the matter here?
Got.—We've just got her out of the water.
Sei.—(Steps forward.) By your leave, Mr. Overseer. You see, I had
some business at the smithy. I wanted to have a band round my axe-haft. And just
as I came out of the smithy—I mean Jeuchner's smithy down there—you
know there's a pond—you might almost call it a kind of a lake. (To
Gottwald.) Yes, it's true; it's big enough for that. And, like enough, you know,
Mr. Overseer, there's one spot in it that doesn't freeze; it's never been known
to freeze right over. When I was quite a little boy———
Ber.—Well, well, come to the point.
Sei.—Well, as I was saying, as I came out of the smithy, just then
the moon broke through the clouds a bit, and I heard a sort of moaning. First I
thought it was just some one playing me a trick, but presently I saw that there
was something in the pond—in the open spot, I mean. I hollered out, but it
disappeared. Well, I—you may guess I tore into the smithy and got hold of a
board, and I never spoke a word, but just rushed round the pond, out with the
board on the ice, and then, before you could say one, two, three, there I was
out upon it and had her fast by her hair.
Ber.—Come, now, that's better, Seidel. Generally, when I hear of
you, it's something to do with fighting, and bloody heads and broken bones. This
is a very different affair. And then you brought her straight here?
Sei.—The schoolmaster, you see———
Got.—I happened to be passing. I was coming from the teachers'
meeting. First I took her home to my house, and my wife managed to find some
clothes, so that she might at least have something dry on her.
Ber.—But what can have put it into her head?
Sei.—Well, you see, she's Mattern the mason's step-daughter.
Ber.—Whose did you say? That scoundrel's!
Sei.—The mother died six weeks ago—and you can guess the
rest. She scratched me and struck out at me, only because she thought I was her
father.
Ber.—(Murmurs.) The hound!
Sei.—He's down at Niederkretscham at this very moment; he's been
sitting soaking there ever since yesterday. The people there let him have as
much as ever he likes.
Ber.—We'll make the scoundrel pay dear for this. (He stoops over
the bed to speak to Hannele.) Come, my girl, speak to me. Don't moan so, and
don't look at me in that scared way. I won't do anything to you. Tell me, what's
your name? What do you say? I couldn't hear you. (He stands erect.) I believe
the girl's a little stubborn.
Got.—She's only terrified. Hannele!
Han.—(Whispers.) Yes.
Got.—You must answer the overseer.
Han.—(Shivering.) Dear God! I'm cold!
Sei.—(Coming forward with the brandy and water.) Come, now, drink
a little of this.
Han.—(As before.) Dear God! I'm hungry!
Got.—(To the overseer.) And when we offer her anything she won't
eat it.
Han.—Dear God! it hurts me so!
Got.—What hurts you?
Han.—I'm so afraid.
Ber.—Who's been hurting you? Who? Come, now, speak out. I don't
understand a word, my dear child. This won't do, you know. Listen, my good girl:
has your stepfather been ill-using you?—I mean, has he beaten you? locked
you in? turned you out of doors, or anything of that sort, eh? Why, good
Heavens—
Sei.—The girl's very silent. Things have got to be very bad,
indeed, before she'll say a word. You see, in a manner of speaking, she's as
mute as a mackerel.
Ber.—I only want to have something definite to act upon. Perhaps I
can get hold of the rascal this time.
Got.—She's beside herself with terror of the fellow.
Sei.—You see, it's nothing new, all this. Everyone, as you might
say—everyone knows all about it; you can ask whoever you please. The wonder
is that the girl's still alive; you wouldn't think it possible.
Ber.—What has he done to her, then?
Sei.—Well, you see, all manner of things, as you might say. He'll
drive her out of the house at nine at night, even in weather like this, and he
won't let her back again unless she brings at least a five-groschen piece with
her—for him to go and drink it, of course. Where was the child to find five
groschen? Many's the time she's been out half the night, and then, when she came
home and brought no money—well, it's made people come running out from all
quarters to hear how she shrieked—how she bellowed, as you might say.
Got.—Her mother was a little bit of protection to her while she
lived.
Ber.—Well, in any case, I'll have the rascal arrested. His name's
been for years on the list of habitual drunkards. Come, now, my child, just look
at me.
Han.—(Imploringly.) Oh, no, no, no!
Sei.—You won't find it so easy to get anything out of her.
Got.—(Gently.) Hannele!
Han.—Yes.
Got.—Do you know me?
Han.—Yes.
Got.—Who am I?
Han.—The—the schoolmaster—Mr. Gottwald.
Got.—That's right. Well, now, you know I only want to be kind to
you, so you can tell me all about it. You were down at the smithy pond. Why
didn't you stop at home? Well, why didn't you?
Han.—I'm so frightened.
Ber.—We'll stand right back. Now, you just tell the schoolmaster
all about it, quite alone.
Han.—(Shyly and mysteriously.) He called to me.
Got.—Who called?
Han.—The dear Lord Jesus.
Got.—Where did the dear Lord Jesus call to you?
Han.—Out of the water.
Got.—Where?
Han.—Down there in the water.
Ber.—(Puts on his cloak.) The first thing to be done is to send
for the doctor. I dare say he's still to be found at the inn.
Got.—I sent at once to the Sisters of Mercy. The child will
certainly need nursing.
Ber.—I'll go and tell the doctor. (To Schmidt.) You bring the
police officer to me. I'll wait at the inn. Good-night, Mr. Gottwald. We'll have
the fellow under lock and key this very night.
(He goes out with Schmidt. Hannele falls asleep.)
Sei.—(After a pause.) He'll take care not to catch him.
Got.—Why should he do that?
Sei.—He knows why. Who do you think is the child's father?
Got.—Oh, Seidel, that's all mere gossip.
Sei.—You know quite well he was the woman's lover.
Got.—Oh, people don't mind what lies they tell. You can't believe
half you hear. If only the doctor would come!
Sei.—(In a low voice.) I don't believe she'll ever get up again.

Enter Doctor Wachler.

The Doctor.—Good evening.
Got.—Good evening.
Sei.—Good evening, doctor.
The Doc.—(Warming his hands at the stove.) I should like another
candle. (The sound of a barrel-organ is heard from the back room.) They're
surely out of their senses in there.
Sei.—(Who has opened the door of the back room.) Will you just be
quiet in there, please!
The Doc.—Mr. Gottwald, I believe?
Got.—My name is Gottwald.
The Doc.—She tried to drown herself, I hear.
Got.—She must have been driven to desperation.
(A short pause.)
The Doc.—She seems to be talking in her sleep.
Han.—Millions of little stars! Why are you pulling at my arms? Oh,
oh! the pain is killing me.
The Doc.—(Loosening her shirt.) Her whole body seems to be covered
with scars.
Sei.—(Who has returned.) So was her mother's as she lay in her
coffin.
The Doc.—Pitiful! pitiful!
Han.—I won't! I won't! I won't go home! I must go—to Mother
Hollie—in the pond. Let me go, father. Ouf! what a smell! You've been
drinking brandy again! Hark! how the wind roars in the wood! There was a tree
blown down this morning on the hill. If only no fire breaks out—Unless the
tailor has a stone in his pocket and an iron in his hand, the storm will sweep
him away right over the mountains. Hark! hark to the storm!

Enter Martha, the Sister of Mercy.

Got.—Good evening, Sister. (The Sister nods.)
Han.—Where is my mother? In Heaven? Oh, dear, so far, far away!
Where—where am I?
The Doc.—(Bending over her.) Among kind people.
Han.—I'm thirsty.
The Doc.—Water. Have you any pain anywhere? No? Oh, well, then,
there's not so much the matter with us!
Han.—Are you the doctor?
The Doc.—Of course, I am.
Han.—Then—then I must be ill.
The Doc.—A little; not very.
Han.—Do you want to make me well again?
The Doc.—Have you a pain here? or there? Do you feel anything
here? here? here? Don't look so frightened, I'm not going to hurt you. How is it
here? Have you any pain here?
Got.—Answer the doctor, Hannele!
Han.—Oh, dear Mr. Gottwald!
Got.—Now attend to what the doctor says and answer him nicely.
(Hannele shakes her head.) Why won't you?
Han.—Because—because—I want so to go to mother.
Got.—There, there, now—you mustn't think of that.
(A short pause. The doctor stands erect, draws a long breath and is
plunged in thought for a moment. Sister Martha has taken the second candle from
the table and holds it by the bed.)
The Doc.—(Beckons to Sister Martha.) A word with you, please. (He
goes with her to the table and gives her some whispered directions.) I'll come
again bye-and-bye, and meantime I'll send the medicine. (To Gottwald.) I hear
they've arrested him at the Sword Inn.
The Sister.—At least, so I heard them say.
The Doc.—(Putting on his fur coat. To Seidel.) Will you come with
me to the druggist's?
(The Doctor, Gottwald and Seidel nod to Sister Martha as they pass out
quietly.)
Got.—(Anxiously.) What do you think of her, doctor? (All three go
out.)
(Sister Martha is now alone with Hannele. She pours some milk into a
little bowl. As she is doing so, Hannele opens her eyes and gazes at her.)
Han.—Do you come from the Lord Jesus?
The Sis.—What do you say?
Han.—Do you come from the Lord Jesus?
The Sis.—Don't you know me, Hannele? I'm Sister Martha, you know.
You used to come to us, don't you remember? We used to pray together, and sing
beautiful songs. Don't you remember?
Han.—(Nods joyfully.) Oh, the beautiful songs!
The Sis.—Now I'm going to nurse you, please God, until you're
quite well again.
Han.—I don't want to be well again.
The Sis.—The doctor says that you're to take some milk, so as to
get strong.
Han.—(Refusing it.) I don't want to get well again.
The Sis.—You don't want to get well again? Come, now, just think a
little. Wait a moment, let me tie up your hair for you.
Han.—(Crying softly.) I won't get well again.
The Sis.—Why not?
Han.—I want so much—so much—to go to heaven.
The Sis.—That's not within our power, my dear child. We must wait
till God calls us. But if you repent your sins—
Han.—(Eagerly.) Oh, Sister! I do repent them.
The Sis.—And believe in the Lord Jesus Christ?
Han.—Oh, I believe so firmly in my Saviour—
The Sis.—Then you can wait in peace and full assurance. Now I'll
put your pillow right for you, and you'll go to sleep.
Han.—I can't sleep.
The Sis.—Only try to.
Han.—Sister Martha!
The Sis.—Well!
Han.—Sister Martha! Are there sins—are there sins that can't
be forgiven?
The Sis.—Now go to sleep, Hannele. Don't excite yourself.
Han.—Oh, tell me, please, please tell me!
The Sis.—Well, yes, there are such sins—sins against the Holy
Ghost.
Han.—Oh, if I should have committed one!
The Sis.—Oh, nonsense! It's only very, very wicked people that
have done that—like Judas, who betrayed the Lord Jesus.
Han.—Yet it might be—it might be!
The Sis.—Now you must sleep.
Han.—I'm so afraid.
The Sis.—You haven't the least reason to be.
Han.—What if I should have committed such a sin!
The Sis.—But you haven't done anything of the sort.
Han.—(Clinging to the Sister.) Oh, Sister, Sister!
The Sis.—There's nothing to be afraid of.
Han.—Sister!
The Sis.—What is it?
Han.—He's coming right in. Don't you hear?
The Sis.—I hear nothing at all.
Han.—That's his voice—outside. Listen!
The Sis.—Who do you mean?
Han.—My father, my father! There he is!
The Sis.—Where?
Han.—At the foot of the bed.
The Sis.—There's a cloak and hat hanging here. We'll take away the
ugly things; we'll take them out to Father Pleschke. Now I'll get some water and
make a cold compress for you. You'll let me leave you alone just one moment? But
you must lie quiet—quiet still and quiet.
Han.—Oh, how stupid I am! It was only a cloak, was it, and a hat?
The Sis.—Now quite, quite still; and I'll be back immediately.
I'll place the candle out here in the passage. Now quite, quite quiet.
(She goes. It is almost entirely dark. Immediately there appears at the
foot of Hannele's bed the form of Mattern, the mason. A pale light emanates from
the apparition. Hannele covers her eyes with her hands in terror, groans,
writhes in her bed and makes low moaning sounds.)
The Apparition.—Where are you? Where have you been, girl? What
have you been doing? I'll teach you! I'll pay you out, trust me for that. What
have you been saying to people? That I've beaten you and ill-used you, hey? Is
that what you've told them? You're not my child. Come, now, get up out of that?
I've nothing to do with you. I could turn you out into the streets. Get up and
light the fire!—do you hear me? I've taken you in out of pity and charity,
and now you think you're to lie there and do nothing. Well, are you going to
move? I'll beat you till, till—
(Hannele, with closed eyes, has struggled out of bed and has dragged
herself to the stove. She opens the stove door and sinks to the ground,
fainting. At this moment Sister Martha returns with the candle and a jug of
water, and the hallucination vanishes.)
The Sis.—I just went to fetch some water and here she's gone and
got out of bed. Do, Hedwig, please, come and help me!
Hanke.—Now, Hete, you had better be careful, or you'll do her an
injury.
Pleschke.—I believe—I believe there's
something—something more than we think—the matter with the girl,
Sister!
Tulpe.—Maybe—maybe the girl's bewitched.
Hanke.—(Loudly.) She won't last long—take my word for it.
The Sis.—Perhaps you're right, my man; but surely you can see we
mustn't excite the poor child any more.
Hanke.—Well, we're not doing any harm.
Ples.—(To Hanke.) You're a blockhead—just a
blockhead—you're a blockhead, let me tell you—and nothing—nothing
else. Any child knows that a sick person—a sick person—mustn't be
disturbed.
Hete.—(Mimicking him.) A sick person—a sick person—
The Sis.—Now do, do go. I beg you to.
Tul.—The Sister's right. You'd better get out of this.
Hanke.—We'll go without telling, just when we want to.
Hete.—I suppose we've got to sleep in the hen-house.
Ples.—There'll be room for you—room for you—you know
where.
Han.—(Opens her eyes.) Has—has he gone.
The Sis.—The people have all gone. Did anything frighten you,
Hannele?
Han.—(Still apprehensive.) Has father gone?
The Sis.—He was never here.
Han.—Yes, Sister, he was.
The Sis.—You must have dreamed it.
Han.—Oh, dear Lord Jesus! oh, dear Lord Jesus! Oh, good, kind,
blessed Lord Jesus, take me to thee, oh, take me to thee!
"Oh! come to me, dear;
Oh! take me from here,
Away from the people—
Their glances I fear."
I'm quite sure of it, Sister.
The Sis.—What are you sure of?
Han.—He has promised me. I shall go to heaven, he has promised me.
The Sis.—H'm.
Han.—Do you know who?
The Sis.—Well!
Han.—The dear Lord—Gottwald.
The Sis.—Now you must go to sleep, Hannele—you really must.
Han.—Sister, tell me—my master, Mr. Gottwald—isn't he a
handsome man? His name is Heinrich. Heinrich is a pretty name, isn't it? You
dear, sweet Heinrich! Sister, shall I tell you something? We're going to be
married! Yes, yes, we two—my master, Mr. Gottwald, and I:
"And when they now their troth had plight,
They laid them down together,
Beneath a snow-white feather quilt,
All in a darksome bower."
He has a lovely beard. His hair is like flowering clover. Hark! he's calling to
me. Don't you hear?
The Sis.—Go to sleep, Hannele, go to sleep; no one is calling.
Han.—It was the Lord Jesus. Hark! hark! Now he's calling to me
again—"Hannele!" quite loud—"Hannele!" quite quite clear. Come, come
with me, Sister!
The Sis.—When God calls me, I shall be ready.
Han.—Don't you smell anything, Sister?
The Sis.—No, Hannele.
Han.—Don't you smell the lilac-flower? Oh, listen! oh, do listen!
What can it be? Is it the angels? Don't you hear?
The Sis.—Yes, yes, I hear; but listen now, you must turn on your
side and lie still, and sleep quietly till to-morrow morning.
Han.—Can you sing it, too?
The Sis.—What, my child?
Han.—"Sleep, baby, sleep."
The Sis.—Do you want to hear it?
Han.—Mother dear, sing it to me! Mother dear, sing it to me!
The Sis.—"Sleep, baby, sleep,
The hills are white with sheep—
The curly little lammikin
Is nestling to its mammikin—
Sleep, baby, sleep."
(A faint light now fills the room. On one side of the bed sits a pale,
ghostly figure of a woman.)
The Figure.—Hannele!
Han.—Mother, dear little mother, is that you?
The Fig.—Yes. I have washed our dear Saviour's feet with my tears
and dried them with the hairs of my head!
Han.—Do you bring me good tidings?
The Fig.—Yes.
Han.—Do you come from far?
The Fig.—A hundred thousand miles through the night.
Han.—Mother, what do you look like?
The Fig.—Like the children of this world.
Han.—Your teeth are as lilies of the valley; your voice is like a
peal of bells!
The Fig.—But its tones are not pure.
Han.—Mother, dear mother! how you shine in your beauty!
The Fig.—The angels in heaven are many hundred times fairer.
Han.—Why are you not as fair as they?
The Fig.—I have suffered because of your suffering.
Han.—Little mother, stay with me!
The Fig.—(Rises.) I must go.
Han.—Is it beautiful where you are?
The Fig.—Wide, wide meadows, sheltered from the wind, shielded
from storm and hail by the care of God.
Han.—Do you rest when you are weary?
The Fig.—Yes.
Han.—Have you food to eat when you are hungry?
The Fig.—I still my hunger with fruits and meat. I thirst, and I
drink golden wine. (She recedes.)
Han.—Are you going, mother?
The Fig.—God calls me.
Han.—Does God call loud?
The Fig.—God calls loudly for me.
Han.—My heart is burnt up within me, mother!
The Fig.—God will cool it with roses and lilies.
Han.—Will God save me?
The Fig.—Do you know the flower that I hold in my hand?
Han.—A cowslip.
The Fig.—What do the people call it?
Han.—The key of heaven.
The Fig.—(Places it in Hannele's hand.) You are to keep it as a
pledge from God. Farewell!
Han.—Little mother, stay with me!
The Fig.—(Receding.) A little while and ye shall not see me; and
again a little while and ye shall see me.
Han.—I am afraid.
The Fig.—As the wind scatters the white snow-dust on the mountain,
so will God pursue them that persecute you.
Han.—Do not leave me.
The Fig.—The children of heaven are like the blue lightnings of
the night.—Sleep!
(Once more it becomes gradually dark. Meanwhile boys' voices are heard
singing the second verse of the song.)
"Sleep. baby, dear!
What guests are drawing near?
(The room is now all of a sudden filled with a goldgreen radiance. Three
Angels of Light appear—beautiful winged youths, with rose-wreaths on their
heads—who sing the end of the song.)
The guests that come to visit thee
Are God's dear little angels three—
Sleep, baby dear!"
Han.—Angels! Angels! Angels!
(A short pause, then the angels in turn speak the following, to music:)
First Angel.—The sun shedding gold on the hillsides
To thee gave no share of its riches;
The soft-waving green of the valley,
It spread not its mantle for thee.
Second Angel.—The wealth of the gold-laden cornfields
The pangs of thy hunger appeased not;
The milk of the pasturing cattle,
It foamed not for thee in the pail.
Third Angel.—The blossoms of earth and its flowers,
All brimming with perfume and sweetness,
With purple and blue as of heaven
Aglow, never bordered thy path.
(A short pause.)
First A.—We bring thee an earliest greeting,
Through blackness of darkness we bring it;
We waft from the plumes of our pinions
An earliest breath of joy.
Second A.—We bear on the hem of our garments
An earliest fragrance of springtime;
And lo! on our lips is glowing
The earliest flush of the day.
Third A.—Behold! from our feet there shineth
The emerald light of our homeland;
The spires of the heavenly city,
They gleam in the depths of our eyes.

PART II.

Everything is as it was before the appearance of the angels. The Sister of Mercy
is seated beside the bed in which Hannele is lying.

Hannele.—Sister! Angels!—Sister Martha! Angels!—Do you
know who have been here?
The Sister.—H'm—are you awake again already?
Han.—Just guess! Do! (Unable to contain herself.) Angels! Angels!
Real angels! Angels from heaven, Sister Martha! Angels, you know, with long
wings.
The Sis.—Well, then, if you've had such beautiful
dreams———
Han.—There now! She says I dreamt it! But look at what I've got
here! Just look at it!
The Sis.—What is it?
Han.—Just look at it!
The Sis.—H'm.
Han.—Here it is—look at it!
The Sis.—Aha!
Han.—Just smell it.
The Sis.—(Pretending to smell a flower.) H'm—lovely.
Han.—Not so close to it! You'll break the stalk.
The Sis.—Oh, I'm very sorry. What sort of flower is it?
Han.—Why, don't you know? The key of heaven.
The Sis.—Is it, really?
Han.—Why, surely you're——— Do bring the
light—quick, quick!
The Sis.—(Holding up the candle.) Ah, yes, now I see it.
Han.—Isn't it lovely?
The Sis.—But you're talking a great deal too much. We must keep
quite quiet now, or the doctor will scold us. And here he has sent you your
medicine. We must take it, as he bids us.
Han.—Oh, Sister, you're far too much troubled about me! You don't
know what has happened. Do you?—do you?—do tell me, if you know. Who
gave me this? Well? The little golden key? Who? Say! What is the little golden
key meant to open? Well?
The Sis.—You'll tell me all about it to-morrow morning. Then,
after a good night's rest, you'll be strong and well.
Han.—But I am well. (She sits up and puts her feet to the ground.)
You see, Sister, I'm quite, quite well!
The Sis.—Why, Hannele! No, you mustn't do that—you really
mustn't!
Han.—(Rising and pushing the Sister away.) You must—let me.
You must—let me. I must—go. (She starts in terror and gazes fixedly at
a certain point.) Oh, heavenly Saviour!
(A black-robed and black-winged angel becomes visible.)
Who are you? Are you an angel? Is it to me you come? I am Hannele Mattern. Is it
to me you come? Has God taken the gift of speech from your tongue? Do you come
from God? Are you a friend to me? Do you come as an enemy? Have you a sword in
the folds of your garment? B-r-r-r! I am cold. Piercing frost spreads from your
wings; cold breathes around you. Who are you? (No answer. A sudden horror
overcomes her. She turns, with a scream, as though some one stood behind her.)
Mother! Little mother!
(A figure in the dress of the Sister of Mercy, but younger and more
beautiful, with long white pinions, comes in.)
Han.—(Shrinking close up to the figure and seizing her hand.)
Mother! Little mother! There is some one here.
The Sis.—Where?
Han.—There, there!
The Sis.—Why are you trembling so?
Han.—I'm frightened!
The Sis.—Fear nothing, I am with you.
Han.—My teeth are chattering with terror. I can't help it. He
makes me shudder!
The Sis.—Do not be frightened, he is your friend.
Han.—Who is he, mother?
The Sis.—Do you not know him?
Han.—Who is he?
The Sis.—Death.
Han.—Death! Must it be, then?
The Sis.—It is the entrance, Hannele.
Han.—Must every one pass through the entrance?
The Sis.—Every one.
Han.—Will you grasp me hard, Death?—He is silent. He makes no
answer, mother, to anything I say.
The Sis.—The words of God are loud within you.
Han.—I have often longed for you from the depths of my heart; but
now I am afraid.
The Sis.—Make you ready.
Han.—To die?
The Sis.—Yes.
Han.—(After a pause, timidly.) Must I lie in the coffin in these
rags and tatters?
The Sis.—God will clothe you.
(She produces a small silver bell and rings it. Immediately there appears
a little hump-backed village tailor.)
The Tailor.—Mistress Johanna Katharina Mattern—his Serene
Highness, your most gracious father, has condescended to order your bridal dress
of me.
The Sis.—Come, I will put it on for you.
Han.—(In joyful excitement.) Oh, how it rustles!
The Sis.—White silk, Hannele.
Han.—Won't people be astonished to see me so beautifully dressed
in my coffin?
The Tai.—Mistress Johanna Katharina Mattern, the whole village is
talking of nothing but what good fortune death is bringing you, Mistress Hanna.
His Serene Highness, your most gracious father, has been to the
overseer———
The Sis.—(Placing a wreath on Hannele's head.) Now bend thy head,
thou bride of heaven.
Han.—Do you know, Sister Martha, I'm looking forward so to death.
(She looks dubiously at the Sister.) It is you, isn't it?
The Sis.—Yes.
Han.—You are really Sister Martha? Oh, no! You are my mother?
The Sis.—Yes.
Han.—Are you both?
The Sis.—The children of heaven are as one in God.
The Tai.—If I might be permitted, Princess Hannele! These are the
tiniest little slippers in the land. They have all too large feet—Hedwig,
and Agnes, and Lisa, and Martha, and Minna, and Anna, and Kate, and Greta. They
fit, they fit! The bride is found. Mistress Hannele has the smallest feet. If
you should have any further orders— Your servant, your servant!
Han.—I can scarcely bear to wait, little mother.
The Sis.—Now you need not take any more medicine.
Han.—No.
The Sis.—Now you'll soon be as fresh and sound as a mountain
trout, Hannele!
Han.—Yes.
The Sis.—Come, now, and lay you down on your deathbed.
Han.—At last I shall know what it is to die.
The Sis.—Yes, you will, Hannele.
Han.—I have a pledge.
The Sis.—Press it close to your breast.
Han.—(Looking toward the angel.) Must it be, then?
The Sis.—It must.
Han.—Now they're playing for the burial—Meister Seyfried and
the musicians. (The angel rises.) Now he stands up. (The angel moves slowly and
solemnly toward Hannele.) Now he is coming to me. Oh, Sister! mother! I can't
see you! Where are you? Quick, quick, thou dumb black spirit! (As though
groaning under an insupportable weight.) It is crushing me, crushing
me—like a—like a stone. (The angel slowly raises his great sword.)
He's going to—going to—destroy me utterly. Help! help, Sister!
The Sis.—(Interposing.) He dare not! I lay my consecrated hands
upon thy heart!
(The Black Angel disappears. Silence. The strains of the funeral march
have continued without interruption. Presently the figure of the schoolmaster,
Gottwald, appears in the middle doorway. The funeral march ceases. Gottwald is
dressed in black, as though for a funeral, and carries in his hand a bunch of
beautiful lilies-of-the-valley. Behind him appear his school children—boys
and girls in their best clothes.)
Gottwald.—(In a low voice.) Good day, Sister Martha!
The Sis.—Mr. Gottwald, God's greeting to you!
Got.—(Looking at Hannele.) Poor little thing!
The Sis.—Why are you so sad, Mr. Gottwald?
Got.—Because she is dead.
The Sis.—We will not grieve for that; she has found peace, and for
her sake I am glad.
Got.—(Sighing.) Yes, it is well with her. Now she is free from all
trouble and sorrow.
The Sis.—(Sunk in contemplation.) How beautiful she looks as she
lies there.
Got.—Yes, beautiful. Now that you are dead, you bloom forth in all
your loveliness!
The Sis.—God has made her so beautiful because she had faith in
Him.
Got.—Yes, she had faith and she was good.
The Sis.—We must not mourn. We must be still and patient.
Got.—Ah, my heart is heavy.
The Sis.—Because she is set free?
Got.—Because my two flowers are withered.
The Sis.—What flowers?
Got.—Two violets here in my book. They are the dead eyes of my
dear Hannele.
The Sis.—In God's heaven they will bloom again far more sweetly.
Got.—Oh, God! how much longer will our pilgrimage last through
this vale of darkness and of tears? What do you think? I thought we might begin,
here in the house, by singing the hymn: "Jesus, Oh, I Trust in Thee."
The Sis.—Yes, that is a beautiful hymn; and Hannele Mattern's
heart was full of faith.
Got.—And then out in the churchyard we will sing "Set Me Free."
(He turns, goes to the school children and says:) Number 62, "Set Me Free."
(He intones softly, beating time:)
"Set me free, oh, set me free,
That I may my Jesus see."
(The children have joined in softly.)
Children, are you all warmly dressed? It will be very cold out in the
churchyard. Come in for a moment. Look at poor little Hannele once more. Just
see how beautiful death has made the poor little girl! She was huddled in rags;
now she wears silken raiment. She ran about barefoot; now she has glass slippers
on her feet. Soon she will dwell in a golden palace and eat roast meat every
day. Here she lived on cold potatoes, and often she had not enough of them. Here
you always called her the Beggar Princess; now she will soon be a princess in
very deed. So if any of you have anything that you want to beg her pardon for,
do it now, or she will tell the dear God all about it, and then it will go ill
with you.
A Little Boy.—Dear Princess Hannele, don't be angry with me, and
don't tell the dear God that I always called you the Beggar Princess.
All the Children.—We are all so very, very sorry!
Got.—So! Now poor Hannele has already forgiven you. Now go into
the other room and wait for me there.
The Sis.—Come, I'll take you into the back room, and there I'll
tell you what you must do if you want to become beautiful angels, as beautiful
as Hannele will soon be.
Got.—(Now alone with Hannele.) Hannele, dear, here I've brought
you another bunch of beautiful lilies-of-the-valley. (Kneeling by her bed with
trembling voice.) Don't quite, quite forget me in your glory! It breaks my heart
to part from you.
(Voices are heard; Gottwald rises and covers Hannele with a sheet. Two
old women, dressed for a funeral, with handkerchiefs and gilt-edged hymnbooks in
their hands, enter softly.)
First Woman.—(Looking round.) I suppose we're the first.
Second Woman.—No. the schoolmaster is here already, Good day, Mr.
Gottwald.
Got.—Good day.
First W.—Ah, this'll be a sore trouble to you, Mr. Gottwald! She
was such a good pupil to you—always industrious, always busy.
Second W.—Is it true what people are saying? Surely it can't be
true? They say she took her own life?
A Third Woman.—That would be a sin against the Holy Spirit.
Second W.—A sin against the Holy Ghost.
Third W.—And the pastor says such a sin can never be forgiven.
Got.—Have you forgotten what the Saviour said?—"Suffer the
little children to come unto me."
A Fourth Woman.—Oh, good people, good people, what weather! It's
enough to freeze the feet off you. I only hope the pastor won't be too long
about it! The snow is lying a yard deep in the churchyard.
A Fifth Woman.—The pastor is not going to bury her, good people!
He's going to refuse her consecrated ground.
Pleschke.—(Also appearing.) Have you heard? have you heard? A
grand gentleman has been to see the pastor—has been to see the
pastor—and has told him—yes, told him—that Hannla Mattern is a
blessed saint.
Hanke.—(Entering hastily.) Do you know what they're
bringing?—A crystal coffin!
Several Voices.—A crystal coffin! A crystal coffin!
Hanke.—Oh, Lord! It must have cost a pretty penny!
Sev. Voi.—A crystal coffin! A crystal coffin!
Seidel.—(Who has appeared.) We're going to see fine things, that
we are! An angel has passed right through the village, as tall as a poplar tree,
if you'll believe me. And two others are sitting by the smithy pond; but they're
small, like little children. The girl was more than a beggar-girl.
Sev. Voi.—"The girl was more than a beggar-girl." "They're
bringing a crystal coffin." "An angel has passed through the village."
(Four white-robed youths carry in a crystal coffin, which they set down
near Hannele's bed. The mourners whisper to each other, full of curiosity and
astonishment.)
Got.—(Raising the sheet from Hannele's face.) Look at the dead
child, too.
First W.—Why, her hair is like gold.
Got.—And she has silken garments and glass slippers.
Sev. Voi.—"Ah, how beautiful she is!" "Who can it be?" "Who can it
be?" "Little Hannla Mattern?" "Hannla Mattern?" "No, I don't believe it!"
Ples.—The girl—the girl—is a—a saint.
Hanke.—They say she isn't to be buried at all.
First W.—Her coffin is to be set up in the church.
Second W.—I believe the girl isn't really dead. She looks as alive
as ever she can be.
Ples.—Just give me—just give me—a down feather. We'll
try—we'll try. (Holding a down feather to her mouth.) Yes, and we'll
see—and we'll see if she still—if she's still breathing, we will. It
doesn't stir. The girl is dead! She hasn't a breath of life in her!
Third W.—I'll give her my bunch of rosemary.
Fourth W.—She can take my bit of lavender with her, too.
Fifth W.—But where is Mattern?
First W.—Yes, where is Mattern?
Second W.—Oh, he—he's sitting over there in the ale-house.
First W.—Most like he doesn't know a word of what has happened.
Second W.—He cares for nothing so long as he has his dram. He
knows nothing about it.
Ples.—Haven't you—haven't you told him, then—told
him—that there's a death—in his house?
Third W.—He might know that without any telling.
Fourth W.—I don't say anything, heaven forbid! But everyone knows
who has killed the girl.
Sci.—You're right there! The whole village, as you might say,
knows that. There's a lump on her as big as my fist.
Fifth W.—No grass grows where that fellow sets his feet.
Sci.—I was there when they changed her wet clothes, and I saw it
as plain as I see you. She has a lump on her as big as my first—and that's
what has killed her.
First W.—It's Mattern must answer for her, and no one else.
All.—No one else, no one else.
Second W.—He's a murderer, he is.
All.—A murderer, a murderer!
(The harsh voice of the tipsy Mattern is heard.)
Mattern's Voice.—"A con—science from all trou—ouble
free.
What so—ofter pil—low can there be?"
Hannele! Hannele! You brat! Where are you hiding? I'll count up to five—and
I'll wait not a moment longer. One, two—three and one are—I tell you,
my girl, you'd better not make me wild. If I have to search for you and find
you, you hussy, I'll pound you to a jelly, I will! (Starts as he notices the
others who are present, and who remain as still as death.) What do you want
here? How do you come here? Was it the devil sent you, eh? Just clear out of
this, now! Well, are you going to stop all night? Wait a minute, wait a
minute—I know what it is. It's nothing but that. I have a little too much
in my noddle—that's what brings 'em. (He sings.)
"A con—science from all trou—ouble free,
What so—ofter pil—low can there be?"
you still there? (Looking around for something to attack them with.) I'll
take the first thing that comes handy———

(A man has entered, wearing a threadbare brown cloak. He is about thirty, has
long black hair and a pale face with the features of the schoolmaster, Gottwald.
He touches Mattern lightly on the arm, interrupting his speech. Mattern turns
sharply round. The stranger looks him straight in the face gravely and quietly.)

The Stranger.—(Humbly.) Mattern, God's greeting to you!
Mat.—How have you come here? What do you want?
The Str.—I have walked till my feet are bleeding—give me
water to wash them. The hot sun has parched me—give me wine to drink and to
refresh me. I have not broken bread since I set forth in the morning—I am
hungry.
Mat.—What's that to me? What brings you tramping round here? Go
and work. I have to work, too.
The Str.—I am a workman.
Mat.—You're a tramp, that's what you are. A workman need not go
about begging.
The Str.—I am a workman without wages.
Mat.—You're a tramp, you are.
The Str.—I am a physician. It may be that you have need of me.
Mat.—I'm all right, I don't need any doctor.
The Str.—Mattern, bethink you! You need give me no water, and yet
I will heal you. You may give me no bread to eat, and yet, God helping me, I
will make you whole.
Mat.—You get out of this! Go about your business. I have sound
bones in my body. I need no doctor. Do you understand?
The Str.—Mattern, bethink you! I will wash your feet for you. I
will give you wine to drink. You shall eat white bread. Tread me under foot, and
yet, God helping me, I will make you whole and sound.
Mat.—Now, will you go or will you not? If you won't get out of
this, I tell you I'll———
The Str.—Mattern, do you know what you have in your house?
Mat.—All that belongs there. All that belongs there. You don't
belong there. Just get out, now.
The Str.—Your daughter is ill.
Mat.—Her illness doesn't need any doctor. It's nothing but
laziness, her illness isn't. I can knock that out of her without your help.
The Str.—Mattern, I come as a messenger to you.
Mat.—As a messenger, eh? Who from?
The Str.—I come from the Father—and I go to the Father. What
have you done with His child?
Mat.—How am I to know what's become of her? What have I to do with
his children? He's never troubled about her, he hasn't.
The Str.—You have death in your house.
Mat.—Where have you got the beautiful clothes? Who has bought you
the crystal coffin? I've never ill-used you. I've clothed you. I've fed you.
What do you want with me? What have I to do with all this?
The Str.—Mattern, have you anything to say to me? Have you nothing
to reproach yourself with? Have you never torn her from her bed by night? Has
she never fallen as though dead under your blows?
Mat.—Strike me dead if she has—here, on the spot! Heaven's
lightning blast me if I've been to blame!
(A flash of pale blue lightning and distant thunder.)
All.—"There's a thunderstorm coming!" "Right in the middle of
winter!" "He's perjured himself!" "The child-murderer has perjured himself!"
The Str.—Have you still nothing to say to me, Mattern?
Mat.—Who loves his child chastens it. I've done nothing but good
to the girl. I've kept her as my own child. I've a right to punish her when she
does wrong.
The Women.—Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!
Mat.—She's lied to me and cheated me. She has robbed me day by
day.
The Str.—Are you speaking the truth?
Mat.—God strike me———
(At this moment a cowslip—"the key of heaven"—is seen in
Hannele's folded hands, emitting a yellow-green radiance. Mattern stares at it
as though out of his senses, trembling all over.)
The Str.—Mattern, you are lying!
All.—(In the greatest excitement.) A miracle! a miracle!
Ples.—The girl—the girl—is a—a saint. He
has—he has—sworn away—body—body and soul.
Mat.—(Shrieks.) I'll go and hang myself. (Rushes off.)
The Str.—(Goes to Hannele's coffin, and turns so as to face the
others, who all draw back reverently.) Fear nothing. (He bends down and takes
hold of Hannele's hand.) The maiden is not dead, but sleepeth. Johanna Mattern,
arise!
(A gold-green radiance fills the room. Hannele opens her eyes and raises
herself by aid of the stranger's hand, but without daring to look in his face.
She steps out of the coffin and at once sinks to the ground at the feet of the
awakener. Terror seizes upon all the others and they flee. The stranger and
Hannele remain alone. The brown mantle has slipped from his shoulders and he
stands in a golden-white robe.)
The Str.—(Tenderly.) Hannele!
Hannele.—(In an ecstasy.) He is there.
The Str.—Who am I?
Han.—Thou!
The Str.—Name my name.
Han.—(Whispers, trembling with awe.) Holy! holy!
The Str.—I know all thy sorrows and thy sufferings.
Han.—Thou dear, dear———
The Str.—Arise.
Han.—Thy robe is spotless. I am full of stains.
The Str.—(Laying his right hand on Hannele's head.) Thus do I take
away all baseness from thee. (Raising her face toward him, he touches her eyes.)
Behold, I bestow on thine eyes eternal light. Let them be filled with the light
of countless suns; with the light of endless day, from morning-glow to evening-
glow, from evening-glow to morning-glow. Let them be filled with the brightness
of all that shines: blue sea, blue sky and the green plains of eternity. (He
touches her ear.) Behold, I give to thine ear to hear all the rejoicing of all
the millions of angels in the million heavens of God. (He touches her lips.)
Behold, I set free thy stammering tongue, and lay upon it thy soul, and my soul,
and the soul of God in the Highest.
(Hannele attempts to rise. She cannot do so. In a storm of sobs and tears
she buries her head on the stranger's breast.)
With these tears I wash from thy soul all the dust and anguish of the world. I
will exalt thy feet above the stars of God.
(To soft music, and stroking Hannele's hair with his hand, the stranger
speaks as follows. As he is speaking angelic forms appear in the doorway,
swinging censers and decorating the chamber with hangings and wreaths:)
The City of the Blessed is marvellously fair.
And peace and utter happiness are never-ending there.
(Harps, at first played softly, gradually ring out loud and clear.)
The houses are of marble, the roofs of gold so fine,
And down their silver channels bubble brooks of ruby wine.
The streets that shine so white, so white, are all bestrewn with flowers,
And endless peals of wedding bells ring out from all the towers.
The pinnacles, as green as May, gleam in the morning light,
Beset with flickering butterflies, with rose-wreaths decked and dight.
Twelve milk-white swans fly round them in mazy circles wide,
And preen themselves, and ruffle up their plumage in their pride;
They soar aloft so bravely through the shining heavenly air,
With fragrance all aquiver and with golden trumpetblare;
In circle-sweeps majestical forever they are winging,
And the pulsing of their pinions is like harp-strings softly ringing.
They look abroad o'er Sion, on garden and on sea,
And green and filmy streamers behind them flutter free—
And underneath them wander, throughout the heavenly land,
The people in their feast-array, for ever hand in hand;
And then into the wide, wide sea, filled with the red, red wine,
Behold! they plunge their bodies with glory all ashine—
They plunge their shining bodies into the gleaming sea,
Till in the deep clear purple they're swallowed utterly;
And when again they leap aloft rejoicing from the flood,
Their sins have all been washed away in Jesus' blessed blood.
(The stranger now turns to the angels, who have finished their work. They
form a half-circle round Hannele and the stranger.)
Come heaven's children, come with linen fine!
Dear ones, come hither! come, my turtle-doves!
Softly enwrap the fragile outworn frame
That cold has racked and fever-glow has parched,
Heedful for fear ye hurt the tender flesh;
Then sail ye forth on pulseless, sleeping wings,
Brushing the dewy meadow-grass, and bear her
Through the cool moonshine, lovingly along. ...
Through fragrant blossom-breath of paradise,
Till in the blissful temple-shade she rests.
(A short pause.)
There, while on silken bed she slumbers, mix
In the white marble bath the hill-brook's water
With purple wine and milk of antelopes,
Pure essences to lave her back to health.
Break from the bushes heavy sprays of bloom,
Jasmine and lilac, drenched with morning dews,
And let their sparkling charge of crystal drops,
Fragrant and quickening, rain down upon her.
Then, with the softest silk, dry limb by limb,
As tenderly as they were lily-leaves.
With wine refresh her, poured in golden goblets,
Wherein is pressed the flesh of mellow fruits—
Of strawberries, from their sun-steeped bed still warm,
Of ruby-red, sweet-blooded raspberries,
Of satin peaches, golden pineapples.
Bring yellow oranges, great glossy globes,
On silver chargers flashing mirror-like.
Stilled be her hunger; let her heart embrace
All the new morning's pomp and lavishness.
Let the proud palace-halls enchant her eyes,
While flame-winged butterflies around her flitting
Are mirrored in the floor's green malachite.
On outspread satin let her glide along
Through hyacinths and tulips—at her side
Let branching palm trees wave their broad green fans,
Reflected in the sheen of crystal walls.
O'er fields of scarlet poppies let her gaze,
Where heaven's children play with golden balls
In the first radiance of the new-born light,
While round her heart sweet harmonies entwine.

The Angels Sing in Chorus.—Bear we her tenderly, lapped in our love,
Eia popeia, to heaven above.
Eia popeia, to heaven above.





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