Chapter 8

SCENE--_A cottage in Sweden_.--CATHERINE, _a young and handsome woman, is sitting at her spinning wheel.--A little Boy and Girl, of six and seven years of age, are seated on the ground eating their dinner_.

CATHERINE _sings, while she is spinning_.

Haste from the wars, oh, haste to me, The wife that fondly waits for thee; Long are the years, and long each day, While my loved soldier's far away. Haste from the wars, &c.

Lone ev'ry field, and lone the bow'r; Pleasant to me nor sun nor show'r: The snows are gone, the flow'rs are gay--Why is my life of life away? Haste from the wars, &c.

_Little Girl_. When will father come home?

_Little Boy_. When will he come, mother? when? To-day? to-morrow?

_Cath_. No, not to-day, nor to-morrow, but soon, I hope, very soon; for they say the wars are over.

_Little Girl_. I am glad of that, and when father comes home, I'll give him some of my flowers.

_Little Boy (who is still eating)_. And I'll give him some of my bread and cheese, which he'll like better than flowers, if he is as hungry as I am, and that to be sure he will be, after coming such a long, long journey.

_Little Girl_. Long, long journey! how long?--how far is father off, mother?--where is he?

_Little Boy_. I know, he is in--in--in--in--in Finland? how far off, mother?

_Cath_. A great many miles, my dear; I don't know how many.

_Little Boy_. Is it not two miles to the great house, mother, where we go to sell our faggots?

_Cath_. Yes, about two miles--and now you had best set out towards the great house, and ask Mrs. Ulrica, the housekeeper, to pay you the little bill she owes you for faggots--there's good children; and when you have been paid for your faggots, you can call at the baker's, in the village, and bring home some bread for to-morrow (_patting the little boy's head_)--you that love bread and cheese so much must work hard to get it.

_Little Boy_. Yes, so I will work hard, then I shall have enough for myself and father too, when he comes. Come along--come (_to his sister_)--and, as we come home through the forest, I'll show you where we can get plenty of sticks for to-morrow, and we'll help one another.

_Little Girl sings_.

That's the best way, At work and at play, To help one another--I heard mother say--To help one another--I heard mother say--

{_The children go off, singing these words_.}

_Cath. (alone_.) Dear, good children, how happy their father will be to see them, when he comes back!--(_She begins to eat the remains of the dinner, which the children have left_.) The little rogue was so hungry, he has not left me much; but he would have left me all, if he had thought that I wanted it: he shall have a _good large bowl_ of milk for supper. It was but last night he skimmed the cream off his milk for me, because he thought I liked it. Heigho!--God knows how long they may have milk to skim--as long as I can work they shall never want; but I'm not so strong as I used to be; but then I shall get strong, and all will be well, when my husband comes back (_a drum beats at a distance_). Hark! a drum!--some news from abroad, perhaps--nearer and nearer (_she sinks upon a chair_)--why cannot I run to see--to ask (_the drum beats louder and louder_)--fool that I am! they will be gone! they will be all gone! (_she starts up_.)

{_Exit hastily_.}

SCENE _changes to a high road, leading to a village.--A party of ragged, tired soldiers, marching slowly. Serjeant ranges them_.

_Serj_. Keep on, my brave fellows, keep on, we have not a great way further to go:--keep on, my brave fellows, keep on, through yonder village. (_The drum beats_.)

{_Soldiers exeunt_.}

_Serj_. (_alone_.) Poor fellows, my heart bleeds to see them! the sad remains, these, of as fine a regiment as ever handled a musket. Ah! I've seen them march quite another guess sort of way, when they marched, and I amongst them, to face the enemy--heads up--step firm--thus it was--quick time--march!--(_he marches proudly_)--My poor fellows, how they lag now (_looking after them_)--ay, ay, there they go, slower and slower; they don't like going through the village; nor I neither; for, at every village we pass through, out come the women and children, running after us, and crying, "Where's my father?--What's become of my husband?"--Stout fellow as I am, and a Serjeant too, that ought to know better, and set the others an example, I can't stand these questions.

_Enter_ CATHERINE, _breathless_.

_Cath_. I--I--I've overtaken him at last. Sir--Mr. Serjeant, one word! What news from Finland?

_Serj_. The best--the war's over. Peace is proclaimed.

_Cath. (clasping her hands joyfully_.) Peace! happy sound!--Peace! The war's over!--Peace!--And the regiment of Helmaar--(_The Serjeant appears impatient to get away_)--Only one word, good serjeant: when will the regiment of Helmaar be back?

_Serj_. All that remain of it will be home next week.

_Cath_. Next week?--But, all that _remain_, did you say?--Then many have been killed?

_Serj_. Many, many--too many. Some honest peasants are bringing home the knapsacks of those who have fallen in battle. 'Tis fair that what little they had should come home to their families. Now, I pray you, let me pass on.

_Cath_. One word more: tell me, do you know, in the regiment of Helmaar, one Christiern Aleftson?

_Serj, (with eagerness_.) Christiern Aleftson! as brave a fellow, and as good as ever lived, if it be the same that I knew.

_Cath_. As brave a fellow, and as good as ever lived! Oh, that's he! he is my husband--where is he? where is he?

_Serj, (aside_.) She wrings my heart!--(_Aloud_)--He was--

_Cath_. _Was!_

_Serj_. He is, I hope, safe.

_Cath_. You _hope!_--don't look away--I must see your face: tell me all you know.

_Serj_. I know nothing for certain. When the peasants come with the knapsacks, you will hear all from them. Pray you, let me follow my men; they are already at a great distance.

{_Exit Serj. followed by Catherine_.}

_Cath_. I will not detain you an instant--only one word more--

{_Exit_.}

SCENE.--_An apartment in Count Helmaar's Castle.--A train of dancers.--After they have danced for some time, _

Enter a Page.

_Page_. Ladies! I have waited, according to your commands, till Count Helmaar appeared in the ante-chamber--he is there now, along with the ladies Christina and Eleonora.

_1st Dancer_. Now is our time--Count Helmaar shall hear our song to welcome him home.

_2nd Dancer_. None was ever more welcome.

_3rd Dancer_. But stay till I have breath to sing.

SONG.

I.

Welcome, Helmaar, welcome home; In crowds your happy neighbours come, To hail with joy the cheerful morn, That sees their Helmaar's safe return.

II.

No hollow heart, no borrow'd face. Shall ever Helmaar's hall disgrace: Slaves alone on tyrants wait; Friends surround the good and great.

Welcome Helmaar, &c.

_Enter_ ELEONORA, CHRISTINA, _and_ COUNT HELMAAR.

_Helmaar_. Thanks, my friends, for this kind welcome.

_1st Dancer (looking at a black fillet on Helmaar's head_). He has been wounded.

_Christina_. Yes--severely wounded.

_Helmaar_. And had it not been for the fidelity of the soldier who carried me from the field of battle, I should never have seen you more, my friends, nor you, my charming Eleonora. (_A noise of one singing behind the scenes_.)--What disturbance is that without?

_Christina_. Tis only Aleftson, the fool:--in your absence, brother, he has been the cause of great diversion in the castle:--I love to play upon him, it keeps him in tune;--you can't think how much good it does him.

_Helmaar_. And how much good it does you, sister:--from your childhood you had always a lively wit, and loved to exercise it; but do you waste it upon fools?

_Christina_. I'm sometimes inclined to think this Aleftson is more knave than fool.

_Eleon_. By your leave, Lady Christina, he is no knave, or I am much mistaken. To my knowledge, he has carried his whole salary, and all the little presents he has received from us, to his brother's wife and children. I have seen him chuck his money, thus, at those poor children, when they have been at their plays, and then run away, lest their mother should make them give it back.

_Enter_ ALEFTSON, _the fool, in a fool's coat, fool's cap and bells, singing_.

I.

There's the courtier, who watches the nod of the great; Who thinks much of his pension, and nought of the state: When for ribands and titles his honour he sells--What is he, my friends, but a fool without bells?

II.

There's the gamester, who stakes on the turn of a die His house and his acres, the devil knows why: His acres he loses, his forests he sells--What is he, my friends, but a fool without bells?

III.

There's the student so crabbed and wonderful wise, With his plus and his minus, his x's and y's: Pale at midnight he pores o'er his magical spells--What is he, my friends, but a fool without bells?

IV.

The lover, who's ogling, and rhyming, and sighing, Who's musing, and pining, and whining, and dying: When a thousand of lies ev'ry minute he tells--What is he, my friends, but a fool without bells?

V.

There's the lady so fine, with her airs and her graces, With a face like an angel's--if angels have faces: She marries, and Hymen the vision dispels--What's her husband, my friends, but a fool without bells?

_Christina, Eleonora, Helmaar, &c_.--Bravo! bravissimo!--excellent fool!--Encore.

{_The fool folds his arms, and begins to cry bitterly_.}

_Christina_. What now, Aleftson? I never saw you sad before--What's the matter?--Speak.

{_Fool sobs, but gives no answer_.}

_Helm_. Why do you weep so bitterly?

_Aleft_. Because I am a fool.

_Helm_. Many should weep, if that were cause sufficient.

_Eleon_. But, Aleftson, you have all your life, till now, been a merry fool.

_Fool_. Because always, till now, I was a fool, but now I am grown wise: and 'tis difficult, to all but you, lady, to be merry and wise.

_Christina_. A pretty compliment; 'tis a pity it was paid by a fool.

_Fool_. Who else should pay compliments, lady, or who else believe them?

_Christina_. Nay, I thought it was the privilege of a fool to speak the truth without offence.

_Fool_. Fool as you take me to be, I'm not fool enough yet to speak truth to a lady, and think to do it without offence.

_Eleon_. Why, you have said a hundred severe things to _me_ within this week, and have I ever been angry with you?

_Fool_. Never; for, out of the whole hundred, not one was true. But have a care, lady--fool as I am, you'd be glad to stop a fool's mouth with your white hand this instant, rather than let him tell the truth of you.

_Christina_ (_laughing, and all the other ladies, except Eleonora, exclaim_)--Speak on, good fool; speak on--

_Helm_. I am much mistaken, or the lady Eleonora fears not to hear the truth from either wise men or fools--Speak on.

_Fool_. One day, not long ago, when there came news that our count there was killed in Finland--I, being a fool, was lying laughing, and thinking of nothing at all, on the floor, in the west drawing-room, looking at the count's picture--In comes the Lady Eleonora, all in tears.

_Eleon_. (stopping his mouth.) Oh! tell any thing but _that_, good fool.

_Helmaar_ (_kneels and kisses her hand_). Speak on, excellent fool.

_Christina and ladies_. Speak on, excellent fool--In came the Lady Eleonora, all in tears.

_Fool_. In comes the Lady Eleonora, all in tears--(_pauses and looks round_). Why now, what makes you all so curious about these tears?--Tears are but salt water, let them come from what eyes they will--my tears are as good as hers--in came John Aleftson, all in tears, just now, and nobody kneels to me--nobody kisses my hands--nobody cares half a straw for my tears--(_folds his arms and looks melancholy_). I am not one of those--I know the cause of my tears too well.

_Helm_. Perhaps they were caused by my unexpected return--hey?

_Fool_ (_scornfully_). No--I am not such a fool as that comes to. Don't I know that, when you are at home, the poor may hold up their heads, and no journeyman-gentleman of an agent dares then to go about plaguing those who live in cottages? No, no,--I am not such a fool as to cry because Count Helmaar is come back; but the truth is, I cried because I am tired and ashamed of wearing this thing--(_throwing down his fool's cap upon the floor, changes his tone entirely_)--_I!_--who am brother to the man who saved Count Helmaar's life--I to wear a fool's cap and bells--Oh shame! shame!

{_The ladies look at one another with signs of astonishment._}

_Christina_ (_aside_). A lucid interval--poor fool!--I will torment him no more--he has feeling--'twere better he had none.

_Eleon_. Hush!--hear him!

_Aleft_. (_throwing himself at the counts feet_). Noble count, I have submitted to be thought a fool; I have worn this fool's cap in your absence, that I might indulge my humour, and enjoy the liberty of speaking my mind freely to the people of all conditions. Now that you are returned, I have no need of such a disguise--I may now speak the truth without fear, and without a cap and bells.--I resign my salary, and give back the ensign of my office--(_presents the fool's cap_).

{_Exit_.}

_Christina_. He might well say, that none but fools should pay compliments--this is the best compliment that has been paid you, brother.

_Eleon_. And observe, he has resigned his salary.

_Helm_. From this moment let it be doubled:--he made an excellent use of money when he was a fool--may he make half as good a use of it now he is a wise man.

_Christina_. Amen--and now I hope we are to have some more dancing.

{_Exeunt_.}