_King_. Say naught! A man may wear his shame, may panting draw it draggled after him, and yet in spite of it he can hunger, thirst, and draw his sword. But when he must say to himself besides: thou hast squandered thy own happiness in shameful dalliance,--to whom then, dare he show his face? Yes, thou canst do all!... Yet one thing thou canst not do: thou never canst give back to the world its face of bloom. The great festal day that lay red and golden over all the earth, on which I closed my eyes when I lay down to rest, which roused me to joyous labor with its fanfare, which cast on toil itself a glorious light,--that, thou canst never bring back to me. Never.... Never again. The spring-time gleams to-day in vain. In vain the blossoms crowd to show their splendor to me, in vain do autumn's golden apples bow to my hand. Another hand will pluck them, while I descend my narrow path, hedged in with poverty, weighed down with despair, shut in with duties as with graves, and see my own grave stretched across the end. Thus I go on and on, so quietly,--yet all the time I stifle in my throat a cry, a shriek,--oh, save me from my daily burden, friend! _Hans_ [_to himself_]. A last hope,--but dare I venture it? I must. Lest he languish and slip hither beneath my eye. [_Aloud._] Master, if thou cherishest a grief, thou hast then forgot the talisman-- _King_. The what? _Hans Lorbass_ [_watching him_]. The feathers thou didst once possess. _King_ [_feeling in his breast. Angrily_]. Be still. _Hans Lorbass_. Since thou still wearest them on thy heart, why-- _King_. Be still, I tell thee, churl! _Hans Lorbass_ [_bursts out_]. Cursed be the churl that dog-like yields himself to thee. Yet I will be thy dog, that I may howl, for at least I have that right. _King_. No one shall speak of them,--neither I nor thou. The door is closed upon the past. All is done, is spent, and these feathers are nothing but a mark of my violent downfall, a monument to my dead longing. _Hans Lorbass_. It is dead, then? It lives and cries aloud,--so loud that even the deaf could hear! Have courage, wield the magic power, and call thy unknown bride to thee. _King_. Here? _Hans Lorbass_. Where else? I trust in the charm thou hast wrung from the witch-wife. I remember it well. [_Repeating_] "The first of the feathers"--no, it is burned. [_Repeating_] "The second feather, mark it well, shall bring her to thee in love; for when thou--burnest--it"-- [_Stops._] _King_. "Alone in the dying glow, she must wander by night and appear before thee." _Hans Lorbass_. Well? _King_ [_in great agitation_]. The thought thou hast thrown out in faring jest, has lain a last hope, deep within my hearts shrinking depths. _Hans Lorbass_. Why hast thou when so devil-ridden, not yielded to the strain? _King_. Hast thou forgot what else she said? _Hans Lorbass_. What she said--she spoke of the third feather.