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If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Collected Works of Henrik Ibsen, Vol. 1 (of 11) - -Author: Henrik Ibsen - -Editor: William Archer - -Release Date: August 14, 2021 [eBook #66060] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Emmanuel Ackerman, Sigal Alon, Eileen Gormly and the Online - Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This - file was produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COLLECTED WORKS OF HENRIK -IBSEN, VOL. 1 (OF 11) *** - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - Transcriber’s Note: - -This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects. -Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_. In the printed -original, emphasis is indicated by gesperrt (spaced) text, but is here -also delimited as the italic. - -Footnotes have been collected at the end of each section or act in which -they are referenced. - -Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please -see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding -the handling of any other textual issues encountered during its -preparation. - - - - -THE COLLECTED WORKS OF - HENRIK IBSEN - - VOLUME I - - LADY INGER OF ÖSTRÅT - - THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG - - LOVE'S COMEDY - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - THE COLLECTED WORKS OF - HENRIK IBSEN - - _Copyright Edition. Complete in 11 Volumes._ - _Crown 8vo, price 4s. each._ - - =ENTIRELY REVISED AND EDITED BY= - =WILLIAM ARCHER= - - Vol. I. Lady Inger, The Feast at Solhoug, Love’s - Comedy - - Vol. II. The Vikings, The Pretenders - - Vol. III. Brand - - Vol. IV. Peer Gynt - - Vol. V. Emperor and Galilean (2 parts) - - Vol. VI. The League of Youth, Pillars of Society - - Vol. VII. A Doll’s House, Ghosts - - Vol. VIII. An Enemy of the People, The Wild Duck - - Vol. IX. Rosmersholm, The Lady from the Sea - - Vol. X. Hedda Gabler, The Master Builder - - Vol. XI. Little Eyolf, John Gabriel Borkman, When - We Dead Awaken - - LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN - 21 BEDFORD STREET, W.C. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - THE COLLECTED WORKS OF - HENRIK IBSEN - - COPYRIGHT EDITION - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - VOLUME I - - LADY INGER OF ÖSTRÅT - - THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG - - LOVE'S COMEDY - - WITH INTRODUCTIONS BY - - WILLIAM ARCHER - - AND - - C. H. HERFORD, LITT.D., M.A. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - -[Illustration: title page] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - LONDON - WILLIAM HEINEMANN - 1910 - - - - - - - - - _First printed (Collected Edition)_ 1908 - _Second Impression_ 1910 - - - - - - - - - _Copyright_ 1908 _by William Heinemann_ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - GENERAL PREFACE vii - - INTRODUCTION TO “LADY INGER OF ÖSTRÅT” xvii - - INTRODUCTION TO “THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG” xxxiii - - INTRODUCTION TO “LOVE’S COMEDY” xxxvii - - “LADY INGER OF ÖSTRÅT” 1 - _Translated by_ CHARLES ARCHER - - “THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG” 181 - _Translated by_ - WILLIAM ARCHER and MARY MORISON - - “LOVE’S COMEDY” 285 - _Translated by_ C. H. HERFORD - - - - - GENERAL PREFACE - - - The eleven volumes of this edition contain all, save one, of the - dramas which Henrik Ibsen himself admitted to the canon of his - works. The one exception is his earliest, and very immature, - tragedy, _Catilina_, first published in 1850, and republished in - 1875. This play is interesting in the light reflected from the - poet’s later achievements, but has little or no inherent value. A - great part of its interest lies in the very crudities of its style, - which it would be a thankless task to reproduce in translation. - Moreover, the poet impaired even its biographical value by largely - rewriting it before its republication. He did not make it, or - attempt to make it, a better play, but he in some measure corrected - its juvenility of expression. Which version, then, should a - translator choose? To go back to the original would seem a - deliberate disregard of the poet’s wishes; while, on the other hand, - the retouched version is clearly of far inferior interest. It seemed - advisable, therefore, to leave the play alone, so far as this - edition was concerned. Still more clearly did it appear unnecessary - to include _The Warrior’s Barrow_ and _Olaf Liliekrans_, two early - plays which were never admitted to any edition prepared by the poet - himself. They were included in a Supplementary Volume of the - Norwegian collected edition, issued in 1902, when Ibsen’s life-work - was over. They have even less intrinsic value than _Catilina_, and - ought certainly to be kept apart from the works by which he desired - to be remembered. A fourth youthful production, _St. John’s Night_, - remains to this day in manuscript. Not even German piety has dragged - it to light. - - With two exceptions, the plays appear in their chronological order. - The exceptions are _Love’s Comedy_, which ought by rights to come - between _The Vikings_ and _The Pretenders_, and _Emperor and - Galilean_, which ought to follow _The League of Youth_ instead of - preceding it. The reasons of convenience which prompted these - departures from the exact order are pretty obvious. It seemed highly - desirable to bring the two Saga Plays, if I may so call them, into - one volume; while as for _Emperor and Galilean_, it could not have - been placed between _The League of Youth_ and _Pillars of Society_ - save by separating its two parts, and assigning _Caesar’s Apostasy_ - to Volume V., _The Emperor Julian_ to Volume VI. - - For the translations of all the plays in this edition, except - _Love’s Comedy_ and _Brand_, I am ultimately responsible, in the - sense that I have exercised an unrestricted right of revision. This - means, of course, that, in plays originally translated by others, - the merits of the English version belong for the most part to the - original translator, while the faults may have been introduced, and - must have been sanctioned, by me. The revision, whether fortunate or - otherwise, has in all cases been very thorough. - - In their unrevised form, these translations have met with a good - deal of praise and with some blame. I trust that the revision has - rendered them more praiseworthy, but I can scarcely hope that it has - met all the objections of those critics who have found them - blameworthy. For, in some cases at any rate these objections - proceeded from theories of the translator’s function widely - divergent from my own—theories of which nothing, probably, could - disabuse the critic’s mind, save a little experience of the - difficulties of translating (as distinct from adapting) dramatic - prose. Ibsen is at once extremely easy and extremely difficult to - translate. It is extremely easy, in his prose plays, to realise his - meaning; it is often extremely difficult to convey it in natural, - colloquial, and yet not too colloquial, English. He is especially - fond of laying barbed-wire entanglements for the translator’s feet, - in the shape of recurrent phrases for which it is absolutely - impossible to find an equivalent that will fit in all the different - contexts. But this is only one of many classes of obstacles which - encountered us on almost every page. I think, indeed, that my - collaborators and I may take it as no small compliment that some of - our critics have apparently not realised the difficulties of our - task, or divined the laborious hours which have often gone to the - turning of a single phrase. And, in not a few cases, the - difficulties have proved sheer impossibilities. I will cite only one - instance. Writing of _The Master Builder_, a very competent, and - indeed generous, critic finds in it “a curious example of perhaps - inevitable inadequacy.... ‘Duty! Duty! Duty!’ Hilda once exclaims in - a scornful outburst. ‘What a short, sharp, stinging word!’ The - epithets do not seem specially apt. But in the original she cries - out ‘Pligt! Pligt! Pligt!’ and the very word stings and snaps.” I - submit that in this criticism there is one superfluous word—to wit, - the “perhaps” which qualifies “inevitable.” For the term used by - Hilda, and for the idea in her mind, there is only one possible - English equivalent: “Duty.” The actress can speak it so as more or - less to justify Hilda’s feeling towards it; and, for the rest, the - audience must “piece out our imperfections with their thoughts” and - assume that the Norwegian word has rather more of a sting in its - sound. It might be possible, no doubt, to adapt Hilda’s phrase to - the English word, and say, “It sounds like the swish of a whip - lash,” or something to that effect. But this is a sort of freedom - which, rightly or wrongly, I hold inadmissible. Once grant the right - of adaptation, even in small particulars, and it would be impossible - to say where it should stop. The versions here presented (of the - prose plays, at any rate) are translations, not paraphrases. If we - have ever dropped into paraphrase, it is a dereliction of principle; - and I do not remember an instance. For stage purposes, no doubt, a - little paring of rough edges is here and there allowable; but even - that, I think, should seldom go beyond the omission of lines which - manifestly lose their force in translation, or are incomprehensible - without a footnote. - - In the Introductions to previous editions I have always confined - myself to the statement of biographical and historic facts, holding - criticism no part of my business. Now that Henrik Ibsen has passed - away, and his works have taken a practically uncontested place in - world-literature, this reticence seemed no longer imposed upon me. I - have consequently made a few critical remarks on each play, chiefly - directed towards tracing the course of the poet’s technical - development. Nevertheless, the Introductions are still mainly - biographical, and full advantage has been taken of the stores of new - information contained in Ibsen’s Letters, and in the books and - articles about him that have appeared since his death. I have - prefixed to _Lady Inger of Östråt_ a sketch of the poet’s life down - to the date of that play; so that the Introductions, read in - sequence, will be found to form a pretty full record of a career - which, save for frequent changes of domicile, and the issuing of - play after play, was singularly uneventful. - - The Introductions to _Loves Comedy_ and _Brand_, as well as the - translations, are entirely the work of Professor Herford. - - A point of typography perhaps deserves remark. The Norwegian (and - German) method of indicating emphasis by spacing the letters of a - word, _thus_, has been adopted in this edition. It is preferable for - various reasons to the use of italics. In dramatic work, for one - thing, emphases have sometimes to be indicated so frequently that - the peppering of the page with italics would produce a very ugly - effect. But a more important point is this: the italic fount - suggests a stronger emphasis than the author, as a rule, intends. - The spacing of a word, especially if it be short, will often escape - the eye which does not look very closely; and this is as it should - be. Spacing, as Ibsen employs it, does not generally indicate any - obtrusive stress, but is merely a guide to the reader in case a - doubt should arise in his mind as to which of two words is intended - to be the more emphatic. When such a doubt occurs, the reader, by - looking closely at the text, will often find in the spacing an - indication which may at first have escaped him. In almost all cases, - a spaced word in the translation represents a spaced word in the - original. I have very seldom used spacing to indicate an emphasis - peculiar to the English phraseology. The system was first introduced - in 1897, in the translation of _John Gabriel Borkman_. It has no - longer even the disadvantage of unfamiliarity, since it has been - adopted by Mr. Bernard Shaw in his printed plays, and, I believe, by - other dramatists. - - * * * * * - - Just thirty years have passed since I first put pen to paper in a - translation of Ibsen. In October 1877, _Pillars of Society_ reached - me hot from the press; and, having devoured it, I dashed off a - translation of it in less than a week. It has since cost me five or - six times as much work in revision as it originally did in - translation. The manuscript was punctually returned to me by more - than one publisher; and something like ten years elapsed before it - slowly dawned on me that the translating and editing of Ibsen’s - works was to be one of the chief labours, as it has certainly been - one of the greatest privileges, of my life. Since 1887 or - thereabouts, not many months have passed in which a considerable - portion of my time has not been devoted to acting, in one form or - another, as intermediary between Ibsen and the English-speaking - public. The larger part of the work, in actual bulk, I have myself - done; but I have had invaluable aid from many quarters, and not - merely from those fellow workers who are named in the following - pages as the original translators of certain of the plays. These - “helpers and servers,” as Solness would say, are too many to be - individually mentioned; but to all of them, and chiefly to one who - has devoted to the service of Ibsen a good deal of the hard-won - leisure of Indian official life, I hereby convey my heartfelt - thanks. - - The task is now ended. Though it has involved not a little sheer - drudgery, it has, on the whole, been of absorbing interest. And I - should have been ungrateful indeed had I shrunk from drudgery in the - cause of an author who had meant so much to me. I have experienced - no other literary emotion at all comparable to the eagerness with - which, ever since 1877, I awaited each new play of Ibsen’s, or the - excitement with which I tore off the wrapper of the postal packets - in which the little paper-covered books arrived from Copenhagen. - People who are old enough to remember the appearance of the monthly - parts of _David Copperfield_ or _Pendennis_ may have some inkling of - my sensations; but they were all the intenser as they recurred at - intervals, not of one month, but of two years. And it was not Ibsen - the man of ideas or doctrines that meant so much to me; it was Ibsen - the pure poet, the creator of men and women, the searcher of hearts, - the weaver of strange webs of destiny. I can only trust that, by - diligence in seeking for the best interpretation of his thoughts, I - have paid some part of my debt to that great spirit, and to the - glorious country that gave him birth. - - WILLIAM ARCHER. - - LADY INGER OF ÖSTRÅT - - INTRODUCTION - - - Henrik Johan Ibsen was born on March 20, 1828, at the little seaport - of Skien, situated at the head of a long fiord on the south coast of - Norway. His great-great-grandfather was a Dane who settled in Bergen - about 1720. His great-grandmother, Wenche Dischington, was the - daughter of a Scotchman, who had settled and become naturalised in - Norway; and Ibsen himself was inclined to ascribe some of his - characteristics to the Scottish strain in his blood. Both his - grandmother (Plesner by name) and his mother, Maria Cornelia - Altenburg, were of German descent. It has been said that there was - not a drop of Norwegian blood in Ibsen’s composition; but it is - doubtful whether this statement can be substantiated. Most of his - male ancestors were sailors; but his father, Knud Ibsen, was a - merchant. When Henrik (his first child) was born, he seems to have - been prosperous, and to have led a very social and perhaps rather - extravagant life. But when the poet was eight years old financial - disaster overtook the family, and they had to withdraw to a - comparatively small farmhouse on the outskirts of the little town, - where they lived in poverty and retirement. - - As a boy, Ibsen appears to have been lacking in animal spirits and - the ordinary childish taste for games. Our chief glimpses of his - home life are due to his sister Hedvig, the only one of his family - with whom, in after years, he maintained any intercourse, and whose - name he gave to one of his most beautiful creations.[1] She relates - that the only out-door amusement he cared for was “building”—in what - material does not appear. Among indoor diversions, that to which he - was most addicted was conjuring, a younger brother serving as his - confederate. We also hear of his cutting out fantastically-dressed - figures in pasteboard, attaching them to wooden blocks, and ranging - them in groups or tableaux. He may be said, in short, to have had a - toy theatre without the stage. In all these amusements it is - possible, with a little goodwill, to divine the coming dramatist—the - constructive faculty, the taste for technical legerdemain (which - made him in his youth so apt a disciple of Scribe), and the - fundamental passion for manipulating fictitious characters. The - education he received was of the most ordinary, but included a - little Latin. The subjects which chiefly interested him were history - and religion. He showed no special literary proclivities, though a - dream which he narrated in a school composition so impressed his - master that he accused him (much to the boy’s indignation) of having - copied it out of some book. - - His chief taste was for drawing, and he was anxious to become an - artist; but his father could not afford to pay for his training.[2] - At the age of fifteen, therefore, he had to set about earning his - living, and was apprenticed to an apothecary in Grimstad, a town on - the south-west coast of Norway, between Arendal and Christianssand. - He was here in even narrower social surroundings than at Skien. His - birthplace numbered some 3000 inhabitants, Grimstad about 800. That - he was contented with his lot cannot be supposed; and the short, - dark, taciturn youth seems to have made an unsympathetic and rather - uncanny impression upon the burghers of the little township. His - popularity was not heightened by a talent which he presently - developed for drawing caricatures and writing personal lampoons. He - found, however, two admiring friends in Christopher Lorentz Due, a - custom-house clerk, and a law student named Olë Schulerud. - - The first political event which aroused his interest and stirred him - to literary expression was the French Revolution of 1848. He himself - writes:[3] “The times were much disturbed. The February revolution, - the rising in Hungary and elsewhere, the Slesvig War—all this had a - strong and ripening effect on my development, immature though it - remained both then and long afterwards. I wrote clangorous poems of - encouragement to the Magyars, adjuring them, for the sake of freedom - and humanity, not to falter in their righteous war against ‘the - tyrants’; and I composed a long series of sonnets to King Oscar, - mainly, so far as I remember, urging him to set aside all petty - considerations, and march without delay, at the head of his army, to - the assistance of our Danish brothers on the Slesvig frontier.” - These effusions remained in manuscript, and have, for the most part, - perished. About the same time he was reading for his matriculation - examination at Christiania University, where he proposed to study - medicine; and it happened that the Latin books prescribed were - Sallust’s _Catiline_ and Cicero’s Catilinarian Orations. “I devoured - these documents,” says Ibsen, “and a few months later my drama - [_Catilina_] was finished.” His friend Schulerud took it to - Christiania, to offer it to the theatre and to the publishers. By - both it was declined. Schulerud, however, had it printed at his own - expense; and soon after its appearance, in the early spring of 1850, - Ibsen himself came to Christiania.[4] - - For the most part written in blank verse, _Catilina_ towards the - close breaks into rhyming trochaic lines of thirteen and fifteen - syllables. It is an extremely youthful production, very interesting - from the biographical point of view, but of small substantive merit. - What is chiefly notable in it, perhaps, is the fact that it already - shows Ibsen occupied with the theme which was to run through so many - of his works—the contrast between two types of womanhood, one strong - and resolute, even to criminality, the other comparatively weak, - clinging, and “feminine” in the conventional sense of the word. - - In Christiania Ibsen shared Schulerud’s lodgings, and his poverty. - There is a significant sentence in his preface to the re-written - _Catilina_, in which he tells how the bulk of the first edition was - sold as waste paper, and adds: “In the days immediately following we - lacked none of the first necessities of life.” He went to a - “student-factory,” or, as we should say, a “crammer’s,” managed by - one Heltberg; and there he fell in with several of the leading - spirits of his generation—notably with Björnson, A. O. Vinje, and - Jonas Lie. In the early summer of 1850 he wrote a one-act play, - _Kiæmpehöien_ (_The Warrior’s Barrow_), entirely in the sentimental - and somewhat verbose manner of the Danish poet Oehlenschläger. It - was accepted by the Christiania Theatre, and performed three times, - but cannot have put much money in the poet’s purse. With Paul - Botten-Hansen and A. O. Vinje he co-operated in the production of a - weekly satirical paper, at first entitled _Manden_ (_The Man_), but - afterwards _Andhrimner_, after the cook of the gods in Valhalla. To - this journal, which lasted only from January to September 1851, he - contributed, among other things, a satirical “music-tragedy,” - entitled _Norma, or a Politician’s Love_. As the circulation of the - paper is said to have been something under a hundred, it cannot have - paid its contributors very lavishly. About this time, too, he - narrowly escaped arrest on account of some political agitation, in - which, however, he had not been very deeply concerned. - - Meanwhile a movement had been going forward in the capital of - Western Norway, Bergen, which was to have a determining influence on - Ibsen’s destinies. - - Up to 1850 there had been practically no Norwegian drama. The two - great poets of the first half of the century, Wergeland and - Welhaven, had nothing dramatic in their composition, though - Wergeland more than once essayed the dramatic form. Danish actors - and Danish plays held entire possession of the Christiania Theatre; - and, though amateur performances were not uncommon in provincial - towns, it was generally held that the Norwegians, as a nation, were - devoid of all talent for acting. The very sound of Norwegian (as - distinct from Danish) was held by Norwegians themselves to be - ridiculous on the stage. Fortunately Olë Bull, the great violinist, - was not of that opinion. With the insight of genius, he saw that the - time had come for the development of a national drama; he set forth - this view in a masterly argument addressed to the Storthing; and he - gave practical effect to it by establishing, at his own risk, a - Norwegian Theatre in Bergen. How rightly he had judged the situation - may be estimated from the fact that among the raw lads who first - presented themselves for employment was Johannes Brun, afterwards - one of the greatest of comedians; while the first “theatre-poet” - engaged by the management was none other than Henrik Ibsen. - - The theatre was opened on January 2, 1850; Ibsen entered upon his - duties (at a salary of less than £70 a year) in November 1851.[5] - - Incredibly, pathetically small, according to our ideas, were the - material resources of Bull’s gallant enterprise. The town of Bergen - numbered only 25,000 inhabitants. Performances were given only - twice, or, at the outside, three times, a week; and the highest - price of admission was two shillings. What can have been attempted - in the way of scenery and costumes it is hard to imagine. Of a - three-act play, produced in 1852, we read that “the mounting, which - cost £22 10s., left nothing to be desired.” - - Ibsen’s connection with the Bergen Theatre lasted from November 6, - 1851, until the summer of 1857—that is to say, from his - twenty-fourth to his thirtieth year. He was engaged in the first - instance “to assist the theatre as dramatic author,” but in the - following year he received from the management a “travelling - stipend” of £45 to enable him to study the art of theatrical - production in Denmark and Germany, with the stipulation that, on his - return, he should undertake the duties of “scene instructor”—that is - to say, stage-manager or producer. In this function he seems to have - been—as, indeed, he always was—extremely conscientious. A book - exists in the Bergen Public Library containing (it is said) careful - designs by him for every scene in the plays he produced, and full - notes as to entrances, exits, groupings, costumes, accessories, &c. - But he was not an animating or inspiring producer. He had none of - the histrionic vividness of his successor in the post, Björnstjerne - Björnson, who, like all great producers, could not only tell the - actors what to do, but show them how to do it. Perhaps it was a - sense of his lack of impulse that induced the management to give him - a colleague, one Herman Låding, with whom his relations were none of - the happiest. Ibsen is even said, on one occasion, to have - challenged Låding to a duel. - - One of the duties of the “theatre-poet” was to have a new play ready - for each recurrence of the “Foundation Day” of the theatre, January - 2. On that date, in 1853, Ibsen produced a romantic comedy, _St. - John’s Night_. This is the only one of his plays that has never been - printed. From the accounts of those who have seen the manuscript, it - would appear to be a strange jumble of fantastic fairy-lore with - modern comedy or melodrama. Perhaps it is not quite fanciful to - regard it as a sort of half-way house between _A Midsummer Night’s - Dream_ and _Peer Gynt_. In one of its scenes there appears to be an - unmistakable foreshadowing of the episode in the Troll-King’s palace - (_Peer Gynt_, Act II., Sc. 6). The play had no success, and was - performed only twice. For the next Foundation Day, January 2, 1854, - Ibsen prepared a revised version of _The Warrior’s Barrow_, already - produced in Christiania. A year later, January 2, 1855, _Lady Inger - of Östråt_ was produced—a work still immature, indeed, but giving, - for the first time, no uncertain promise of the master dramatist to - come. - - In an autobiographical letter to the Danish critic Peter Hansen, - written from Dresden in 1870, Ibsen says: “_Lady Inger of Östråt_ is - the result of a love-affair—hastily entered into and violently - broken off—to which several of my minor poems may also be - attributed, such as _Wild-flowers and Pot-plants_, _A Bird-Song_, - &c.” The heroine of this love-affair can now be identified as a lady - named Henrikke Holst, who seems to have preserved through a long - life the fresh, bright spirit, the overflowing joyousness, which - attracted Ibsen when she was only in her seventeenth year. Their - relation was of the most innocent. It went no further than a few - surreptitious rambles in the romantic surroundings of Bergen, - usually with a somewhat older girl to play propriety, and with a bag - of sugar-plums to fill up pauses in the conversation. The “violent” - ending seems to have come when the young lady’s father discovered - the secret of these excursions, and doubtless placed her under more - careful control. What there was in this episode to suggest, or in - any way influence, _Lady Inger_, I cannot understand. Nevertheless - the identification seems quite certain. The affair had a charming - little sequel. During the days of their love’s young dream, Ibsen - treated the “wild-flower” with a sort of shy and distant chivalry at - which the wood-gods must have smiled. He avoided even touching her - hand, and always addressed her by the “De” (you) of formal - politeness. But when they met again after many years, he a famous - poet and she a middle-aged matron, he instinctively adopted the “Du” - (thou) of affectionate intimacy, and she responded in kind. He asked - her whether she had recognised herself in any of his works, and she - replied: “I really don’t know, unless it be in the parson’s wife in - _Love’s Comedy_, with her eight children and her perpetual - knitting.” “Ibsen protested,” says Herr Paulsen, in whose _Samliv - med Ibsen_ a full account of the episode may be read. It is - interesting to note that the lady did not recognise herself in Eline - Gyldenlöve, any more than we can. - - It must have been less than a year after the production of _Lady - Inger_ that Ibsen made the acquaintance of the lady who was to be - his wife. Susanna Dåe Thoresen was a daughter (by his second - marriage) of Provost[6] Thoresen, of Bergen, whose third wife, - Magdalene Krag, afterwards became an authoress of some celebrity. It - is recorded that Ibsen’s first visit to the Thoresen household took - place on January 7, 1856,[7] and that on that occasion, speaking to - Susanna Thoresen, he was suddenly moved to say to her: “You are now - Elina, but in time you will become Lady Inger.” Twenty years later, - at Christmas 1876, he gave his wife a copy of the German translation - of _Lady Inger_, with the following inscription on the fly-leaf: - - “This book is by right indefeasible thine, - Who in spirit art born of the Östråt line.” - - In _Lady Inger_ Ibsen has chosen a theme from the very darkest hour - of Norwegian history. King Sverre’s democratic monarchy, dating from - the beginning of the thirteenth century, had paralysed the old - Norwegian nobility. One by one the great families died out, their - possessions being concentrated in the hands of the few survivors, - who regarded their wealth as a privilege unhampered by obligations. - At the beginning of the sixteenth century, then, patriotism and - public spirit were almost dead among the nobles, while the monarchy, - before which the old aristocracy had fallen, was itself dead, or - rather merged (since 1380) in the Crown of Denmark. The peasantry, - too, had long ago lost all effective voice in political affairs; so - that Norway lay prone and inert at the mercy of her Danish rulers. - It is at the moment of deepest national degradation that Ibsen has - placed his tragedy; and the degradation was, in fact, even deeper - than he represents it, for the longings for freedom, the stirrings - of revolt, which form the motive-power of the action, are invented, - or at any rate idealised, by the poet. Fru Inger Ottisdatter - Gyldenlöve was, in fact, the greatest personage of her day in - Norway. She was the best-born, the wealthiest, and probably the - ablest woman in the land. At the time when Ibsen wrote, little more - than this seems to have been known of her; so that in making her the - victim of a struggle between patriotic duty and maternal love, he - was perhaps poetising in the absence of positive evidence, rather - than in opposition to it. Subsequent research, unfortunately, has - shown that Fru Inger was but little troubled with patriotic - aspirations. She was a hard and grasping woman, ambitious of social - power and predominance, but inaccessible, or nearly so, to national - feeling. It was from sheer social ambition, and with no qualms of - patriotic conscience, that she married her daughters to Danish - noblemen. True, she lent some support to the insurrection of the - so-called “Dale-junker,” a peasant who gave himself out as the heir - of Sten Sture, a former regent of Sweden; but there is not a tittle - of ground for making this pretender her son. He might, indeed, have - become her son-in-law, for, speculating on his chances of success, - she had betrothed one of her daughters to him. Thus the Fru Inger of - Ibsen’s play is, in her character and circumstances, as much a - creation of the poet’s as though no historic personage of that name - had ever existed. Olaf Skaktavl, Nils Lykke, and Eline Gyldenlöve - are also historic names; but with them, too, Ibsen has dealt with - the utmost freedom. The real Nils Lykke was married in 1528 to the - real Eline Gyldenlöve. She died four years later, leaving him two - children; and thereupon he would fain have married her sister Lucia. - Such a union, however, was regarded as incestuous, and the lovers - failed in their effort to obtain a special dispensation. Lucia then - became her brother-in-law’s mistress, and bore him a son. But the - ecclesiastical law was in those days not to be trifled with; Nils - Lykke was thrown into prison for his crime, condemned, and killed in - his dungeon, in the year of grace 1535. Thus there was a tragedy - ready-made in Ibsen’s material, though it was not the tragedy he - chose to write. - - The Bergen public did not greatly take to _Lady Inger_, and it was - performed, in its novelty, only twice. Nor is the reason far to - seek. The extreme complexity of the intrigue, and the lack of clear - guidance through its mazes, probably left the Bergen audiences no - less puzzled than the London audiences who saw the play at the Scala - Theatre in 1906.[8] It is a play which can be appreciated only by - spectators who know it beforehand. Such audiences it has often found - in Norway, where it was revived at the Christiania Theatre in 1875; - but in Denmark and Germany, though it has been produced several - times, it has never been very successful. We need go no further than - the end of the first act to understand the reason. On an audience - which knows nothing of the play, the sudden appearance of a - “Stranger,” to whose identity it has not the slightest clue, can - produce no effect save one of bewilderment. To rely on such an - incident for what was evidently intended to be a thrilling - “curtain,” was to betray extreme inexperience; and this single trait - is typical of much in the play. Nevertheless _Lady Inger_ marks a - decisive advance in Ibsen’s development. It marks, one may say, the - birth of his power of invention. He did not as yet know how to - restrain or clarify his invention, and he made clumsy use of the - stock devices of a bad school. But he had once for all entered upon - that course of technical training which it took him five-and-twenty - years to complete. He was learning much that he was afterwards to - unlearn; but had he not undergone this apprenticeship, he would - never have been the master he ultimately became. - - When Ibsen entered upon his duties at the Bergen Theatre, the - influence of Eugène Scribe and his imitators was at its very height. - Of the 145 plays produced during his tenure of office, more than - half (seventy-five) were French, twenty-one being by Scribe himself, - and at least half the remainder by adepts of his school, Bayard, - Dumanoir, Mélesville, &c. It is to this school that Ibsen, in _Lady - Inger_, proclaims his adherence; and he did not finally shake off - its influence until he wrote the Third Act of _A Doll’s House_ in - 1879. Although the romantic environment of the play, and the tragic - intensity of the leading character, tend to disguise the - relationship, there can be no doubt that _Lady Inger_ is, in - essence, simply a French drama of intrigue, constructed after the - method of Scribe, as exemplified in _Adrienne Lecouvreur_, _Les - Contes de la Reine de Navarre_,[9] and a dozen other French plays, - with the staging of which the poet was then occupied. It might seem - that the figure of Elina, brooding over the thought of her dead - sister, coffined in the vault below the banqueting-hall, belonged - rather to German romanticism; but there are plenty of traces of - German romanticism even in the French plays with which the good - people of Bergen were regaled. For the suggestion of grave-vaults - and coffined heroines, for example, Ibsen need have gone no further - than Dumas’s _Catherine Howard_, which he produced in March 1853. I - do not, however, pretend that his romantic colouring came to him - from France. It came to him, doubtless, from Germany, by way of - Denmark. My point is that the conduct of the intrigue in _Lady - Inger_ shows the most unmistakable marks of his study of the great - French plot-manipulators. Its dexterity and its artificiality alike - are neither German nor Danish, but French. Ibsen had learnt the - great secret of Scribe—the secret of dramatic movement. The play is - full of those ingenious complications, mistakes of identity, and - rapid turns of fortune by which Scribe enchained the interest of his - audiences. Its central theme—a mother plunging into intrigue and - crime for the advancement of her son, only to find that her son - himself has been her victim—is as old as Greek tragedy. The - secondary story, too—that of Elina’s wild infatuation for the - betrayer and practically the murderer of her sister—could probably - be paralleled in the ballad literature of Scotland, Germany, or - Denmark, and might, indeed, have been told, in verse or prose, by - Sir Walter Scott. But these very un-Parisian elements are handled in - a fundamentally Parisian fashion, and Ibsen is clearly fascinated, - for the time, by the ideal of what was afterwards to be known as the - “well-made play.” The fact that the result is in reality an ill-made - play in no way invalidates this theory. It is perhaps the final - condemnation of the well-made play that in nine cases out of ten—and - even in the hands of far more experienced playwrights than the young - Bergen “theatre-poet”—it is apt to prove ill-made after all. - - Far be it from me, however, to speak in pure disparagement of _Lady - Inger_. With all its defects, it seems to me manifestly the work of - a great poet—the only one of Ibsen’s plays prior to _The Vikings at - Helgeland_ of which this can be said. It may be that early - impressions mislead me; but I still cannot help seeing in Lady Inger - a figure of truly tragic grandeur; in Nils Lykke one of the few - really seductive seducers in literature; and in many passages of the - dialogue, the touch of a master hand. - - W. A. - ------ - -Footnote 1: - - See Introduction to _The Wild Duck_, p. xxiii. - -Footnote 2: - - He continued to dabble in painting until he was thirty, or - thereabouts. - -Footnote 3: - - Preface to the second edition of _Catilina_, 1875. - -Footnote 4: - - This is his own statement of the order of events. According to - Halvdan Koht (_Samlede Værker_, vol. x. p. i) he arrived in - Christiania in March 1850, and _Catilina_ did not appear until - April. - -Footnote 5: - - The history of Ibsen’s connection with the Bergen Theatre is - written at some length in an article by me, entitled “Ibsen’s - Apprenticeship,” published in the _Fortnightly Review_ for January - 1904. From that article I quote freely in the following pages. - -Footnote 6: - - Provost (“Provst”) is an ecclesiastical title, roughly equivalent - to Dean. - -Footnote 7: - - See article by Dr. Julius Elias in _Die neue Rundschau_, December - 1906, p. 1463. Dr. Brahm, in the same magazine (p. 1414), writes - as though this were Ibsen’s first meeting with his wife; and a - note by Halvdan Koht, in the Norwegian edition of Ibsen’s Letters, - seems to bear out this view. But it would appear that what Fru - Ibsen told Dr. Elias was that on the date mentioned Ibsen for “the - first time visited at her father’s house.” The terms of the - anecdote almost compel us to assume that he had previously met her - elsewhere. It seems almost inconceivable that Ibsen, of all - people, should have made such a speech to a lady on their very - first meeting. - -Footnote 8: - - Stage Society performances, January 28 and 29, 1906. Lady Inger - was played by Miss Edyth Olive, Elina by Miss Alice Crawford, Nils - Lykke by Mr. Henry Ainley, Olaf Skaktavl by Mr. Alfred Brydone, - and Nils Stenssön by Mr. Harcourt Williams. - -Footnote 9: - - These two plays were produced, respectively, in March and October - 1854, at the very time when Ibsen must have been planning and - composing _Lady Inger_. - ------ - - - - - THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG - - INTRODUCTION - - - Exactly a year after the production of _Lady Inger of Östråt_—that - is to say on the “Foundation Day” of the Bergen Theatre, January 2, - 1856—_The Feast at Solhoug_ was produced. The poet himself has - written its history in full in the Preface to the second edition - (see p. 183). The only comment that need be made upon his rejoinder - to his critics has been made, with perfect fairness as it seems to - me, by George Brandes in the following passage:[10] “No one who is - unacquainted with the Scandinavian languages can fully understand - the charm that the style and melody of the old ballads exercise upon - the Scandinavian mind. The beautiful ballads and songs of _Des - Knaben Wunderhorn_ have perhaps had a similar power over German - minds; but, as far as I am aware, no German poet has ever succeeded - in inventing a metre suitable for dramatic purposes, which yet - retained the mediæval ballad’s sonorous swing and rich aroma. The - explanation of the powerful impression produced in its day by Henrik - Hertz’s _Svend Dyring’s House_ is to be found in the fact that in - it, for the first time, the problem was solved of how to fashion a - metre akin to that of the heroic ballads, a metre possessing as - great mobility as the verse of the _Niebelungenlied_, along with a - dramatic value not inferior to that of the iambic pentameter. Henrik - Ibsen, it is true, has justly pointed out that, as regards the - mutual relations of the principal characters, _Svend Dyring’s House_ - owes more to Kleist’s _Käthchen von Heilbronn_ than _The Feast at - Solhoug_ owes to _Svend Dyring’s House_. But the fact remains that - the versified parts of the dialogue of both _The Feast at Solhoug_ - and _Olaf Liliekrans_ are written in that imitation of the tone and - style of the heroic ballad, of which Hertz was the happily-inspired - originator. There seems to me to be no depreciation whatever of - Ibsen in the assertion of Hertz’s right to rank as his model. Even - the greatest must have learnt from some one.” - - The question is, to put it in a nutshell: Supposing Hertz had never - adapted the ballad measures to dramatic purposes, would Ibsen have - written _The Feast at Solhoug_, at any rate in its present form? I - think we must answer: Almost certainly, no. - - But while the influence of Danish lyrical romanticism is apparent in - the style of the play, the structure, as it seems to me, shows no - less clearly that influence of the French plot-manipulators which we - found so unmistakably at work in _Lady Inger_. Despite its lyrical - dialogue, _The Feast at Solhoug_ has that crispness of dramatic - action which marks the French plays of the period. It may indeed be - called Scribe’s _Bataille de Dames_ writ tragic. Here, as in the - _Bataille de Dames_ (one of the earliest plays produced under - Ibsen’s supervision), we have the rivalry of an older and a younger - woman for the love of a man who is proscribed on an unjust - accusation, and pursued by the emissaries of the royal power. One - might even, though this would be forcing the point, find an analogy - in the fact that the elder woman (in both plays a strong and - determined character) has in Scribe’s comedy a cowardly suitor, - while in Ibsen’s tragedy, or melodrama, she has a cowardly husband. - In every other respect the plays are as dissimilar as possible; yet - it seems to me far from unlikely that an unconscious reminiscence of - the _Bataille de Dames_ may have contributed to the shaping of _The - Feast at Solhoug_ in Ibsen’s mind. But more significant than any - resemblance of theme is the similarity of Ibsen’s whole method to - that of the French school—the way, for instance, in which - misunderstandings are kept up through a careful avoidance of the use - of proper names, and the way in which a cup of poison, prepared for - one person, comes into the hands of another person, is, as a matter - of fact, drunk by no one, but occasions the acutest agony to the - would-be poisoner. All this ingenious dovetailing of incidents and - working-up of misunderstandings, Ibsen unquestionably learned from - the French. The French language, indeed, is the only one which has a - word—_quiproquo_—to indicate the class of misunderstanding which, - from _Lady Inger_ down to _The League of Youth_, Ibsen employed - without scruple. - - Ibsen’s first visit to the home of his future wife took place five - days after the production of _The Feast at Solhoug_. It seems - doubtful whether this was actually his first meeting with her;[11] - but at any rate we can scarcely suppose that he knew her during the - previous summer, when he was writing his play. It is a curious - coincidence, then, that he should have found in Susanna Thoresen and - her sister Marie very much the same contrast of characters which had - occupied him in his first dramatic effort, _Catilina_, and which had - formed the main subject of the play he had just produced. It is less - wonderful that the same contrast should so often recur in his later - works, even down to _John Gabriel Borkman_. Ibsen was greatly - attached to his gentle and retiring sister-in-law, who died - unmarried in 1874. - - _The Feast at Solhoug_ has been translated by Miss Morison and - myself, only because no one else could be found to undertake the - task. We have done our best; but neither of us lays claim to any - great metrical skill, and the light movement of Ibsen’s verse is - often, if not always, rendered in a sadly halting fashion. It is, - however, impossible to exaggerate the irregularity of the verse in - the original, or its defiance of strict metrical law. The normal - line is one of four accents; but when this is said, it is almost - impossible to arrive at any further generalisation. There is a - certain lilting melody in many passages, and the whole play has not - unfairly been said to possess the charm of a northern summer night, - in which the glimmer of twilight gives place only to the gleam of - morning. But in the main (though much better than its successor, - _Olaf Liliekrans_) it is the weakest thing that Ibsen admitted into - the canon of his works. He wrote of it in 1870 as “a study which I - now disown”; and had he continued in that frame of mind, the world - would scarcely have quarrelled with his judgment. At worst, then, my - collaborator and I cannot be accused of marring a masterpiece; but - for which assurance we should probably have shrunk from the attempt. - - W. A. - ------ - -Footnote 10: - - _Ibsen and Björnson._ London, Heinemann, 1899, p. 88. - -Footnote 11: - - See note, p. xxv. - ------ - - - - - LOVE'S COMEDY - - INTRODUCTION - - - _Kærlighedens Komedie_ was published at Christiania in 1862. The - polite world—so far as such a thing existed at that time in the - Northern capital—received it with an outburst of indignation not now - entirely easy to understand. It has indeed faults enough. The - character-drawing is often crude, the action, though full of - effective by-play, extremely slight, and the sensational climax has - little relation to human nature as exhibited in Norway, or out of - it, at that or any other time. But the sting lay in the unflattering - veracity of the piece as a whole; in the merciless portrayal of the - trivialities of persons, or classes, high in their own esteem; in - the unexampled effrontery of bringing a clergyman upon the stage. - All these have long since passed in Scandinavia, into the category - of the things which people take with their Ibsen as a matter of - course, and the play is welcomed with delight by every Scandinavian - audience. But in 1862 the matter was serious, and Ibsen meant it to - be so. - - For they were years of ferment—those six or seven which intervened - between his return to Christiania from Bergen in 1857, and his - departure for Italy in 1864. As director of the newly founded - “Norwegian Theatre,” Ibsen was a prominent member of the little knot - of brilliant young writers who led the nationalist revolt against - Danish literary tradition, then still dominant in well-to-do, and - especially in official, Christiania. Well-to-do and official - Christiania met the revolt with contempt. Under such conditions, the - specific literary battle of the Norwegian with the Dane easily - developed into the eternal warfare of youthful idealism with - “respectability” and convention. Ibsen had already started work upon - the greatest of his Norse Histories—_The Pretenders_. But history - was for him little more than material for the illustration of modern - problems; and he turned with zest from the task of breathing his own - spirit into the stubborn mould of the thirteenth century, to hold up - the satiric mirror to the suburban drawing-rooms of Christiania, and - to the varied phenomena current there,—and in suburban drawing-rooms - elsewhere,—under the name of Love. - - Yet _Love’s Comedy_ is much more than a satire, and its exuberant - humour has a bitter core; the laughter that rings through it is the - harsh, implacable laughter of Carlyle. His criticism of commonplace - love-making is at first sight harmless and ordinary enough. The - ceremonial formalities of the continental _Verlobung_, the shrill - raptures of aunts and cousins over the engaged pair, the satisfied - smile of enterprising materfamilias as she reckons up the tale of - daughters or of nieces safely married off under her auspices; or, - again, the embarrassments incident to a prolonged _Brautstand_ - following a hasty wooing, the deadly effect of familiarity upon a - shallow affection, and the anxious efforts to save the appearance of - romance when its zest has departed—all these things had yielded such - “comedy” as they possess to many others before Ibsen, and an Ibsen - was not needed to evoke it. But if we ask what, then, is the right - way from which these “comic” personages in their several fashions - diverge; what is the condition which will secure courtship from - ridicule, and marriage from disillusion, Ibsen abruptly parts - company with all his predecessors. “‘Of course,’ reply the rest in - chorus, ‘a deep and sincere love’;—‘together,’ add some, 'with - prudent good sense.'” The prudent good sense Ibsen allows; but he - couples with it the startling paradox that the first condition of a - happy marriage is the absence of love, and the first condition of an - enduring love the absence of marriage. - - The student of the latter-day Ibsen is naturally somewhat taken - aback to find the grim poet of Doubt, whose task it seems to be to - apply a corrosive criticism to modern institutions in general and to - marriage in particular, gravely defending the “marriage of - convenience.” And his amazement is not diminished by the sense that - the author of this plea for the loveless marriage, which poets have - at all times scorned and derided, was himself beyond question a - poet, ardent, brilliant, and young, and himself, what is more, quite - recently and beyond question happily, married. The truth is that - there are two men—in Ibsen an idealist, exalted to the verge of - sentimentality, and a critic, hard, inexorable, remorseless, to the - verge of cynicism. What we call his “social philosophy” is a _modus - vivendi_ arrived at between them. Both agree in repudiating - “marriage for love”; but the idealist repudiates it in the name of - love, the critic in the name of marriage. Love, for the idealist - Ibsen, is a passion which loses its virtue when it reaches its goal, - which inspires only while it aspires, and flags bewildered when it - attains. Marriage, for the critic Ibsen, is an institution beset - with pitfalls into which those are surest to step who enter in - blinded with love. In the latter dramas the tragedy of married life - is commonly generated by other forms of blindness—the childish - innocence of Nora, the maidenly ignorance of Helena Alving, neither - of whom married precisely “for love”; here it is blind Love alone - who, to the jealous eye of the critic, plays the part of the Serpent - in the Edens of wedded bliss. There is, it is clear, an element of - unsolved contradiction in Ibsen’s thought;—Love is at once so - precious and so deadly, a possession so glorious that all other - things in life are of less worth, and yet capable of producing only - disastrously illusive effects upon those who have entered into the - relations to which it prompts. But with Ibsen—and it is a grave - intellectual defect—there is an absolute antagonism between spirit - and form. An institution is always, with him, a shackle for the free - life of souls, not an organ through which they attain expression; - and since the institution of marriage cannot but be, there remains - as the only logical solution that which he enjoins—to keep the - soul’s life out of it. To “those about to marry,” Ibsen therefore - says in effect, “Be sure you are not in love!” And to those who are - in love he says, “Part!” - - It is easy to understand the irony with which a man who thought thus - of love contemplated the business of “love-making,” and the - ceremonial discipline of Continental courtship. The whole unnumbered - tribe of wooing and plighted lovers were for him unconscious actors - in a world-comedy of Love’s contriving—naïve fools of fancy, - passionately weaving the cords that are to strangle passion. Comedy - like this cannot be altogether gay; and as each fresh romance decays - into routine, and each aspiring passion goes out under the spell of - a vulgar environment, or submits to the bitter salvation of a final - parting, the ringing laughter grows harsh and hollow, and notes of - ineffable sadness escape from the poet’s Stoic self-restraint. - - Ibsen had grown up in a school which cultivated the romantic, - piquant, picturesque in style; which ran riot in wit, in vivacious - and brilliant imagery, in resonant rhythms and telling double - rhymes. It must be owned that this was not the happiest school for a - dramatist, nor can _Love’s Comedy_ be regarded, in the matter of - style, as other than a risky experiment which nothing but the sheer - dramatic force of an Ibsen could have carried through. As it is, - there are palpable fluctuations, discrepancies of manner; the - realism of treatment often provokes a realism of style out of - keeping with the lyric afflatus of the verse; and we pass with - little warning from the barest colloquial prose to strains of - high-wrought poetic fancy. Nevertheless, the style, with all its - inequalities, becomes in Ibsen’s hands a singularly plastic medium - of dramatic expression. The marble is too richly veined for ideal - sculpture, but it takes the print of life. The wit, exuberant as it - is, does not coruscate indiscriminately upon all lips; and it has - many shades and varieties—caustic, ironical, imaginative, playful, - passionate—which take their temper from the speaker’s mood. - - The present version of the play retains the metres of the original, - and follows it in general line for line. For a long passage, - occupying substantially the first twenty pages, the translator is - indebted to the editor of the present work; and two other - passages—Falk’s tirades on pp. 58 and 100—result from a fusion of - versions made independently by us both. - - C. H. H. - - LADY INGER OF ÖSTRÅT - (1855) - - CHARACTERS - - LADY INGER OTTISDAUGHTER RÖMER, _widow of High Steward Nils - Gyldenlöve._ - ELINA GYLDENLÖVE, _her daughter._ - NILS LYKKE, _Danish knight and councillor._ - OLAF SKAKTAVL, _an outlawed Norwegian noble._ - NILS STENSSON. - JENS BIELKE, _Swedish commander._ - BIÖRN, _majordomo at Östråt._ - FINN, _a servant._ - EINAR HUK, _bailiff at Östråt._ - _Servants, peasants, and Swedish men-at-arms._ - - ------- - - _The action takes place at Östråt Manor, on the Trondhiem Fiord, in - the year 1528._ - - [PRONUNCIATION OF NAMES.—Östråt = _Östrot_; Elina (Norwegian, Eline) - = _Eleena_; Stensson = _Staynson_; Biörn = _Byörn_; Jens Bielke = - _Yens Byelke_; Huk = _Hook_. The _g_'s in “Inger” and in - “Gyldenlöve” are, of course, hard. The final _e_'s and the _ö_'s - pronounced much as in German.] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - LADY INGER OF ÖSTRÅT | DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS - - ---------- - - - ACT FIRST - - - _A room at Östråt. Through an open door in the back, the - Banquet Hall is seen in faint moonlight, which shines - fitfully through a deep bow-window in the opposite wall. - To the right, an entrance-door; further forward, a - curtained window. On the left, a door leading to the - inner rooms; further forward a large open fireplace, - which casts a glow over the room. It is a stormy - evening._ - - BIÖRN _and_ FINN _are sitting by the fireplace. The latter - is occupied in polishing a helmet. Several pieces of - armour lie near them, along with a sword and shield._ - - FINN. - - [_After a pause._] Who was Knut[12] Alfson? - - BIÖRN. - - My Lady says he was the last of Norway’s knighthood. - - FINN. - - And the Danes killed him at Oslo-fiord? - - BIÖRN. - - If you know not that, ask any child of five. - - FINN. - - So Knut Alfson was the last of our knighthood? And now he’s - dead and gone! [_Holds up the helmet._] Well, thou must e’en - be content to hang scoured and bright in the Banquet Hall; - for what art thou now but an empty nut-shell? The kernel—the - worms have eaten that many a winter agone. - - What say you, Biörn—may not one call Norway’s land an empty - nut-shell, even like the helmet here; bright without, - worm-eaten within? - - BIÖRN. - - Hold your peace, and mind your task!—Is the helmet ready? - - FINN. - - It shines like silver in the moonlight. - - BIÖRN. - - Then put it by.—See here; scrape the rust off the sword. - - FINN. - - [_Turning the sword over and examining it._] - - Is it worth while? - - BIÖRN. - - What mean you? - - FINN. - - The edge is gone. - - BIÖRN. - - What’s that to you? Give it me.—Here, take the shield. - - FINN. - - [_As before._] There is no grip to it! - - BIÖRN. - - [_Mutters._] Let me get a grip on _you_—— - - [FINN _hums to himself for a while._ - - BIÖRN. - - What now? - - FINN. - - An empty helmet, a sword with no edge, a shield with no - grip—so it has all come to that. Who can blame Lady Inger if - she leaves such weapons to hang scoured and polished on the - walls, instead of rusting them in Danish blood? - - BIÖRN. - - Folly! Is there not peace in the land? - - FINN. - - Peace? Ay, when the peasant has shot away his last arrow, - and the wolf has reft the last lamb from the fold, then is - there peace between them. But ’tis a strange friendship. - Well, well; let that pass. ’Tis fitting, as I said, that the - harness hang bright in the hall; for you know the old saw: - “Call none a man but the knightly man.” So now that we have - never a knight in the land, we have never a man; and where - no man is, there must women order things; therefore—— - - BIÖRN. - - Therefore—therefore I bid you hold your foul prate! - [_Rises._ - - The evening wears on. Enough; you may hang the helmet and - armour in the hall again. - - FINN. - - [_In a low voice._] Nay, best let it be till to-morrow. - - BIÖRN. - - What, do you fear the dark? - - FINN. - - Not by day. And if so be I fear it at even, I am not the - only one. Ah, you may look; I tell you in the housefolk’s - room there is talk of many things. [_Lower._] They say that, - night by night, a tall figure, clad in black, walks the - Banquet Hall. - - BIÖRN. - - Old wives’ tales! - - FINN. - - Ah, but they all swear ’tis true. - - BIÖRN. - - That I well believe. - - FINN. - - The strangest of all is that Lady Inger thinks the same—— - - BIÖRN. - - [_Starting._] Lady Inger? What does she think? - - FINN. - - What Lady Inger thinks? I warrant few can tell that. But - sure it is that she has no rest in her. See you not how day - by day she grows thinner and paler? [_Looks keenly at him._] - They say she never sleeps—and that it is because of the - black figure—— - - [_While he is speaking,_ ELINA GYLDENLÖVE _has - appeared in the half-open door on the left. She - stops and listens, unobserved._ - - BIÖRN. - - And you believe such follies? - - FINN. - - Well, half and half. There be folk, too, that read - things another way. But that is pure malice, I’ll be - bound.—Hearken, Biörn—know you the song that is going - round the country? - - BIÖRN. - - A song? - - FINN. - - Ay, ’tis on all folks’ lips. ’Tis a shameful scurril thing, - for sure; yet it goes prettily. Just listen: [_Sings in a - low voice._ - - Dame Inger sitteth in Östråt fair, - She wraps her in costly furs— - She decks her in velvet and ermine and vair, - Red gold are the beads that she twines in her hair— - But small peace in that soul of hers. - - Dame Inger hath sold her to Denmark’s lord. - She bringeth her folk ’neath the stranger’s yoke— - In guerdon whereof— - - [BIÖRN _enraged, seizes him by the throat._ ELINA - GYLDENLÖVE _withdraws without having been seen._ - - BIÖRN. - - I will send you guerdonless to the foul fiend, if you prate - of Lady Inger but one unseemly word more. - - FINN. - - [_Breaking from his grasp._] Why—did _I_ make the song? - - [_The blast of a horn is heard from the right._ - - BIÖRN. - - Hark—what is that? - - FINN. - - A horn. Then there come guests to-night. - - BIÖRN. - - [_At the window._] They are opening the gate. I hear the - clatter of hoofs in the courtyard. It must be a knight. - - FINN. - - A knight? Nay, that can scarce be. - - BIÖRN. - - Why not? - - FINN. - - Did you not say yourself: the last of our knighthood is dead - and gone? - - [_Goes out to the right._ - - BIÖRN. - - The accursed knave, with his prying and peering! What avails - all my striving to hide and hush things? They whisper of her - even now—; soon all men will be shouting aloud that—— - - ELINA. - - [_Comes in again through the door on the left; looks round - her, and says with suppressed emotion:_] Are you alone, - Biörn? - - BIÖRN. - - Is it you, Mistress Elina? - - ELINA. - - Come, Biörn, tell me one of your stories; I know you can - tell others than those that-—- - - BIÖRN. - - A story? Now—so late in the evening——? - - ELINA. - - If you count from the time when it grew dark at Östråt, then - ’tis late indeed. - - BIÖRN. - - What ails you? Has aught crossed you? You seem so restless. - - ELINA. - - May be so. - - BIÖRN. - - There is something amiss. I have hardly known you this half - year past. - - ELINA. - - Bethink you: this half year past my dearest sister Lucia has - been sleeping in the vault below. - - BIÖRN. - - That is not all, Mistress Elina—it is not that alone that - makes you now thoughtful and white and silent, now restless - and ill at ease, as you are to-night. - - ELINA. - - Not that alone, you think? And wherefore not? Was she not - gentle and pure and fair as a summer night? Biörn,—I tell - you, Lucia was dear to me as my life. Have you forgotten how - many a time, when we were children, we sat on your knee in - the winter evenings? You sang songs to us, and told us - tales—— - - BIÖRN. - - Ay, then you were blithe and gay. - - ELINA. - - Ah, then, Biörn! Then I lived a glorious life in fable-land, - and in my own imaginings. Can it be that the sea-strand was - naked then as now? If it was so, I knew it not. ’Twas there - I loved to go weaving all my fair romances; my heroes came - from afar and sailed again across the sea; I lived in their - midst, and set forth with them when they sailed away. - [_Sinks on a chair._] Now I feel so faint and weary; I can - live no longer in my tales. They are only—tales. [_Rising, - vehemently._] Biörn, know you what has made me sick? A - truth; a hateful, hateful truth, that gnaws me day and - night. - - BIÖRN. - - What mean you? - - ELINA. - - Do you remember how sometimes you would give us good counsel - and wise saws? Sister Lucia followed them; but I—ah, - well-a-day! - - BIÖRN. - - [_Consoling her._] Well, well—-! - - ELINA. - - I know it—I was proud, overweening! In all our games, I - would still be the Queen, because I was the tallest, the - fairest, the wisest! I know it! - - BIÖRN. - - That is true. - - ELINA. - - Once you took me by the hand and looked earnestly at me, and - said: “Be not proud of your fairness, or your wisdom; but be - proud as the mountain eagle as often as you think: I am - Inger Gyldenlöve’s daughter!” - - BIÖRN. - - And was it not matter enough for pride? - - ELINA. - - You told me so often enough, Biörn! Oh, you told me many a - tale in those days. [_Presses his hand._] Thanks for them - all!—Now, tell me one more; it might make me light of heart - again, as of old. - - BIÖRN. - - You are a child no longer. - - ELINA. - - Nay, indeed! But let me dream that I am.—Come, tell on! - - [_Throws herself into a chair._ BIÖRN _sits on the - edge of the high hearth._ - - BIÖRN. - - Once upon a time there was a high-born knight—— - - ELINA. - - [_Who has been listening restlessly in the direction of the - hall, seizes his arm and breaks out in a vehement whisper._] - Hush! No need to shout so loud; I can hear well! - - BIÖRN. - - [_More softly._] Once upon a time there was a high-born - knight, of whom there went the strange report—— - - [ELINA _half rises, and listens in anxious suspense - in the direction of the hall._ - - BIÖRN. - - Mistress Elina,—what ails you? - - ELINA. - - [_Sits down again._] Me? Nothing. Go on. - - BIÖRN. - - Well, as I was saying—did this knight but look straight in a - woman’s eyes, never could she forget it after; her thoughts - must follow him wherever he went, and she must waste away - with sorrow. - - ELINA. - - I have heard that tale.—Moreover, ’tis no tale you are - telling, for the knight you speak of is Nils Lykke, who sits - even now in the Council of Denmark—— - - BIÖRN. - - May be so. - - ELINA. - - Well, let it pass—go on! - - BIÖRN. - - Now it happened once on a time—— - - ELINA. - - [_Rises suddenly._] Hush; be still! - - BIÖRN. - - What now? What is the matter? - - ELINA. - - [_Listening._] Do you hear? - - BIÖRN. - - What? - - ELINA. - - It is there! Yes, by the cross of Christ, it _is_ there! - - BIÖRN. - - [_Rises._] _What_ is there? Where? - - ELINA. - - She herself—in the hall—— - - [_Goes hastily towards the hall._ - - BIÖRN. - - [_Following._] How can you think—? Mistress Elina,—go to - your chamber! - - ELINA. - - Hush; stand still! Do not move; do not let her see you! - Wait—the moon is coming out. Can you not see the black-robed - figure——? - - BIÖRN. - - By all the saints——! - - ELINA. - - Do you see—she turns Knut Alfson’s picture to the wall. - Ha-ha; be sure it looks her too straight in the eyes! - - BIÖRN. - - Mistress Elina, hear me! - - ELINA. - - [_Going back towards the fireplace._] Now I know what I - know! - - BIÖRN. - - [_To himself._] Then it is true! - - ELINA. - - Who was it, Biörn? Who was it? - - BIÖRN. - - You saw as plainly as I. - - ELINA. - - Well? Whom did I see? - - BIÖRN. - - You saw your mother. - - ELINA. - - [_Half to herself._] Night after night I have heard her - steps in there. I have heard her whispering and moaning like - a soul in pain. And what says the song—? Ah, now I know! Now - I know that—— - - BIÖRN. - - Hush! - - [LADY INGER GYLDENLÖVE _enters rapidly from the - hall, without noticing the others; she goes to - the window, draws the curtain, and gazes out as - if watching for some one on the high road; after - a while, she turns and goes slowly back into the - hall._ - - ELINA. - - [_Softly, following her with her eyes._] White, white as the - dead——! - - [_An uproar of many voices is heard outside the door - on the right._ - - BIÖRN. - - What can this be? - - ELINA. - - Go out and see what is amiss. - - [EINAR HUK, _the bailiff, appears in the anteroom, - with a crowd of_ RETAINERS _and_ PEASANTS. - - EINAR HUK. - - [_In the doorway._] Straight in to her! And be not abashed! - - BIÖRN. - - What seek you? - - EINAR HUK. - - Lady Inger herself. - - BIÖRN. - - Lady Inger? So late? - - EINAR HUK. - - Late, but time enough, I wot. - - THE PEASANTS. - - Yes, yes; she must hear us now! - - [_The whole rabble crowds into the room. At the same - moment_ LADY INGER _appears in the doorway of - the hall. A sudden silence._ - - LADY INGER. - - What would you with me? - - EINAR HUK. - - We sought you, noble lady, to—— - - LADY INGER. - - Well—say on! - - EINAR HUK. - - Why, we are not ashamed of our errand. In one word—we come - to pray you for weapons and leave—— - - LADY INGER. - - Weapons and leave—? And for what? - - EINAR HUK. - - There has come a rumour from Sweden that the people of the - Dales have risen against King Gustav—— - - LADY INGER. - - The people of the Dales? - - EINAR HUK. - - Ay, so the tidings run, and they seem sure enough. - - LADY INGER. - - Well—if it were so—what have you to do with, the Dale-folk’s - rising? - - THE PEASANTS. - - We will join them! We will help. We will free ourselves! - - LADY INGER. - - [_To herself._] Can the time be come? - - EINAR HUK. - - From all our borderlands the peasants are pouring across to - the Dales. Even outlaws that have wandered for years in the - mountains are venturing down to the homesteads again, and - drawing men together, and whetting their rusty swords. - - LADY INGER. - - [_After a pause._] Tell me, men—have you thought well of - this? Have you counted the cost, if King Gustav’s men should - win? - - BIÖRN. - - [_Softly and imploringly to_ LADY INGER.] Count the cost to - the Danes if King Gustav’s men should lose. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Evasively._] That reckoning is not for me - - to make. [_Turns to the people._ - - You know that King Gustav is sure of help from Denmark. King - Frederick is his friend, and will never leave him in the - lurch—-—- - - EINAR HUK. - - But if the people were now to rise all over Norway’s - land?—if we all rose as one man, nobles and peasants - together?—Ay, Lady Inger Gyldenlöve, the time we have waited - for is surely come. We have but to rise now to drive the - strangers from the land. - - THE PEASANTS. - - Ay, out with the Danish sheriffs! Out with the foreign - masters! Out with the Councillors’ lackeys! - - LADY INGER. - - [_To herself._] Ah, there is metal in them; and yet, yet——! - - BIÖRN. - - [_To himself._] She is of two minds. [_To Elina._] What say - you now, Mistress Elina—have you not sinned in misjudging - your mother? - - ELINA. - - Biörn—if my eyes have lied to me, I could tear them out of - my head! - - EINAR HUK. - - See you not, my noble lady, King Gustav must be dealt with - first. Were _his_ power once gone, the Danes cannot long - hold this land—— - - LADY INGER. - - And then? - - EINAR HUK. - - Then we shall be free. We shall have no more foreign - masters, and can choose ourselves a king, as the Swedes have - done before us. - - LADY INGER. - - [_With animation._] A king for ourselves! Are you thinking - of the Sture[13] stock? - - EINAR HUK. - - King Christiern and others after him have swept bare our - ancient houses. The best of our nobles are outlaws on the - mountain paths, if so be they still live. Nevertheless, it - might still be possible to find one or other shoot of the - old stems—— - - LADY INGER. - - [_Hastily._] Enough, Einar Huk, enough! [_To herself._] Ah, - my dearest hope! - - [_Turns to the_ PEASANTS _and_ RETAINERS. - - I have warned you, now, as well as I can. I have told you - how great is the risk you run. But if you are fixed in your - purpose, ’twere folly in me to forbid what I have no power - to prevent. - - EINAR HUK. - - Then we have your leave to——? - - LADY INGER. - - You have your own firm will; take counsel with _that_. If it - be as you say, that you are daily harassed and oppressed——I - know but little of these matters. I will not know more! What - can I, a lonely woman—? Even if you were to plunder the - Banquet Hall—and there’s many a good weapon on the walls—you - are the masters at Östråt to-night. You must do as seems - good to you. Good-night! - - [_Loud cries of joy from the multitude. Candles are - lighted; the_ RETAINERS _bring out weapons of - different kinds from the hall._ - - BIÖRN. - - [_Seizes_ LADY INGER’S _hand as she is going._] Thanks, my - noble and high-souled mistress! I, that have known you from - childhood up—I have never doubted you. - - LADY INGER. - - Hush, Biörn—’tis a dangerous game I have ventured this - night. The others stake only their lives; but I, trust me, a - thousandfold more! - - BIÖRN. - - How mean you? Do you fear for your power and your favour - with——? - - LADY INGER. - - My power? O God in Heaven! - - A RETAINER. - - [_Comes from the hall with a large sword._] - - See, here’s a real good wolf’s-tooth! With this will I flay - the blood-suckers’ lackeys! - - EINAR HUK. - - [_To another._] What is that you have found? - - THE RETAINER. - - The breastplate they call Herlof Hyttefad’s. - - EINAR HUK. - - ’Tis too good for such as you. Look, here is the shaft of - Sten Sture’s[14] lance; hang the breastplate upon it, and we - shall have the noblest standard heart can desire. - - FINN. - - [_Comes from the door on the left, with a letter in his - hand, and goes towards_ LADY INGER.] I have sought you - through all the house—— - - LADY INGER. - - What would you? - - FINN. - - [_Hands her the letter._] A messenger is come from - Trondhiem[15] with a letter for you. - - LADY INGER. - - Let me see! [_Opening the letter._] From Trondhiem? What can - it be? [_Runs through the letter._] O God! From him! and - here in Norway—— - - [_Reads on with strong emotion, while the men go on - bringing out arms from the hall._ - - LADY INGER. - - [_To herself._] He is coming here. He is coming here - to-night!—Ay, then ’tis with our wits we must fight, not - with the sword. - - EINAR HUK. - - Enough, enough, good fellows; we are well armed now. Set we - forth now on our way! - - LADY INGER. - - [_With a sudden change of tone._] No man shall leave my - house to-night! - - EINAR HUK. - - But the wind is fair, noble lady; ’twill take us quickly up - the fiord, and—— - - LADY INGER. - - It shall be as I have said. - - EINAR HUK. - - Are we to wait till to-morrow, then? - - LADY INGER. - - Till to-morrow, and longer still. No armed man shall go - forth from Östråt yet awhile. - - [_Signs of displeasure among the crowd._ - - SOME OF THE PEASANTS. - - We will go all the same, Lady Inger! - - THE CRY SPREADS. - - Ay, ay; we _will_ go! - - LADY INGER. - - [_Advancing a step towards them._] Who dares to move? - - [_A silence. After a moment’s pause, she adds:_ - - I have thought for you. What do you common folk know of the - country’s needs? How dare you judge of such things? You must - e’en bear your oppressions and burdens yet awhile. Why - murmur at that, when you see that we, your leaders, are as - ill bested as you?——Take all the weapons back to the hall. - You shall know my further will hereafter. Go! - - [_The_ RETAINERS _take back the arms, and the whole - crowd then withdraws by the door on the right._ - - ELINA. - - [_Softly to_ BIÖRN.] Say you still that I have sinned in - misjudging—the Lady of Östråt? - - LADY INGER. - - [_Beckons to_ BIÖRN, _and says_.] Have a guest-chamber - ready. - - BIÖRN. - - It is well, Lady Inger! - - LADY INGER. - - And let the gate be open to whoever shall knock. - - BIÖRN. - - But——? - - LADY INGER. - - The gate open! - - BIÖRN. - - The gate open. [_Goes out to the right._ - - LADY INGER. - - [_To_ ELINA, _who has already reached the door on the - left._] Stay here!——Elina—my child—I have something to say - to you alone. - - ELINA. - - I hear you. - - LADY INGER. - - Elina——you think evil of your mother. - - ELINA. - - I think, to my sorrow, what your deeds have forced me to - think. - - LADY INGER. - - And you answer as your bitter spirit bids you. - - ELINA. - - Who has filled my spirit with bitterness? From my childhood - I had been wont to look up to you as a great and high-souled - woman. ’Twas in your likeness that I pictured the women of - the chronicles and the Book of Heroes. I thought the Lord - God himself had set his seal on your brow, and marked you - out as the leader of the helpless and the oppressed. Knights - and nobles sang your praise in the feast-hall; and even the - peasants, far and near, called you the country’s pillar and - its hope. All thought that through you the good times were - to come again! All thought that through you a new day was to - dawn over the land! The night is still here; and I scarce - know if through you I dare look for any morning. - - LADY INGER. - - ’Tis easy to see whence you have learnt such venomous words. - You have let yourself give ear to what the thoughtless - rabble mutters and murmurs about things it can little judge - of. - - ELINA. - - “Truth is in the people’s mouth,” was your word when they - praised you in speech and song. - - LADY INGER. - - May be so. But if indeed I chose to sit here idle, though it - was my part to act—think you not that such a choice were - burden enough for me, without your adding to its weight? - - ELINA. - - The weight I add to your burden crushes me no less than you. - Lightly and freely I drew the breath of life, so long as I - had you to believe in. For my pride is my life; and well - might I have been proud, had you remained what once you - were. - - LADY INGER. - - And what proves to you that I have not? Elina—how know you - so surely that you are not doing your mother wrong? - - ELINA. - - [_Vehemently._] Oh, that I were! - - LADY INGER. - - Peace! You have no right to call your mother to - account.—With a single word I could——; but ’twould be an ill - word for you to hear; you must await what time shall bring; - may be that—— - - ELINA. - - [_Turns to go._] Sleep well, my mother! - - LADY INGER. - - [_Hesitates._] Nay—stay with me; I have still somewhat—— - Come nearer;—you must hear me, Elina! - - [_Sits down by the table in front of the window._ - - ELINA. - - I hear you. - - LADY INGER. - - For as silent as you are, I know well that you often long to - be gone from here. Östråt is too lonely and lifeless for - you. - - ELINA. - - Do you wonder at that, my mother? - - LADY INGER. - - It rests with you whether all this shall henceforth be - changed. - - ELINA. - - How so? - - LADY INGER. - - Listen.—I look for a guest to-night. - - ELINA. - - [_Comes nearer._] A guest? - - LADY INGER. - - A guest, who must remain a stranger to all. None must know - whence he comes or whither he goes. - - ELINA. - - [_Throws herself, with a cry of joy, at her mother’s feet, - and seizes her hands._] My mother! My mother! Forgive me, if - you can, all the wrong I have done you! - - LADY INGER. - - What do you mean? Elina, I do not understand you. - - ELINA. - - Then they were all deceived! You are still true at heart! - - LADY INGER. - - Rise, rise and tell me—— - - ELINA. - - Think you I do not know who the stranger is? - - LADY INGER. - - You know? And yet——? - - ELINA. - - Think you the gates of Östråt shut so close, that never a - whisper of the country’s woe can slip through them? Think - you I do not know that the heir of many a noble line wanders - outlawed, without rest or shelter, while Danish masters lord - it in the home of his fathers? - - LADY INGER. - - And what then? - - ELINA. - - I know well that many a high-born knight is hunted through - the woods like a hungry wolf. No hearth has he to rest by, - no bread to eat—— - - LADY INGER. - - [_Coldly._] Enough! Now I understand you. - - ELINA. - - [_Continuing._] And that is why the gates of Östråt must - stand open by night! That is why he must remain a stranger - to all, this guest of whom none must know whence he comes or - whither he goes! You are setting at naught the harsh decree - that forbids you to harbour or succour the outlaw—— - - LADY INGER. - - Enough, I say! - - [_After a short silence, adds with an effort:_ You mistake, - Elina—’tis no outlaw I look for. - - ELINA. - - [_Rises._] Then I have understood you ill indeed. - - LADY INGER. - - Listen to me, my child; but think as you listen; if indeed - you can tame that wild spirit of yours. - - ELINA. - - I am tame, till you have spoken. - - LADY INGER. - - Attend, then, to what I have to tell you.—I have sought, so - far as lay in my power, to keep you in ignorance of all our - griefs and miseries. What could it avail to fill your young - heart with wrath and care? ’Tis not women’s weeping and - wailing that can deliver us; we need the courage and - strength of men. - - ELINA. - - Who has told you that, when courage and strength are needed, - I shall be found wanting? - - LADY INGER. - - Hush, child;—I might take you at your word. - - ELINA. - - How mean you, my mother? - - LADY INGER. - - I might call on you for both; I might——; but let me say my - say out first. - - Know then that the time seems now to be drawing nigh, - towards which the Danish Council have been working for many - a year—the time, I mean, for them to strike the last blow at - our rights and our freedom. Therefore must we now—— - - ELINA. - - [_Eagerly._] Openly rebel, my mother? - - LADY INGER. - - No; we must gain breathing-time. The Council is now - assembled at Copenhagen, considering how best to go to work. - Most of them hold, ’tis said, that there can be no end to - dissensions till Norway and Denmark are one; for should we - still possess our rights as a free land when the time comes - to choose the next king, ’tis most like that the feud will - break out openly. Now the Danish councillors would hinder - this—— - - ELINA. - - Ay, they would hinder it—! But are we to endure such things? - Are we to look on quietly while——? - - LADY INGER. - - No, we will not endure it. But to take up arms—to declare - open war—what would come of that, so long as we are not - united? And were we ever less united in this land than we - are even now?—No, if aught is to be accomplished, it must be - secretly and in silence. Even as I said, we must have time - to draw breath. In the South, a good part of the nobles are - for the Dane; but here in the North they are still in doubt. - Therefore has King Frederick sent hither one of his most - trusted councillors, to assure himself with his own eyes how - we stand affected. - - ELINA. - - [_In suspense._] Well—and then——? - - LADY INGER. - - He is the guest I look for to-night. - - ELINA. - - He comes hither? And to-night? - - LADY INGER. - - A trading ship brought him to Trondhiem yesterday. News has - just reached me of his approach; he may be here within the - hour. - - ELINA. - - And you do not bethink you, my mother, how ’twill endanger - your fame thus to receive the Danish envoy? Do not the - people already look on you with distrustful eyes? How can - you hope that, when the time comes, they will let you rule - and guide them, if it be known that—— - - LADY INGER. - - Fear not. All this I have fully weighed; but there is no - danger. His errand in Norway is a secret; he has come - unknown to Trondhiem, and unknown shall he be our guest at - Östråt. - - ELINA. - - And the name of this Danish lord——? - - LADY INGER. - - It sounds well, Elina; Denmark has scarce a nobler name. - - ELINA. - - But what then do you purpose? I cannot yet grasp your - meaning. - - LADY INGER. - - You will soon understand.—Since we cannot trample on the - serpent, we must bind it. - - ELINA. - - Take heed that it burst not your bonds. - - LADY INGER. - - It rests with you to tighten them as you will. - - ELINA. - - With me? - - LADY INGER. - - I have long seen that Östråt is as a cage to you. The young - falcon chafes behind the iron bars. - - ELINA. - - My wings are clipped. Even if you set me free—’twould avail - me little. - - LADY INGER. - - Your wings are not clipped, save by your own will. - - ELINA. - - Will? My will is in your hands. Be what you once were, and I - too—— - - LADY INGER. - - Enough, enough. Hear me further.—It would scarce break your - heart to leave Östråt? - - ELINA. - - Maybe not, my mother! - - LADY INGER. - - You told me once, that you lived your happiest life in your - tales and histories. What if that life were to be yours once - more? - - ELINA. - - What mean you? - - LADY INGER. - - Elina—if a mighty noble were to come and lead you to his - castle, where you should find damsels and squires, silken - robes and lofty halls awaiting you? - - ELINA. - - A noble, you say? - - LADY INGER. - - A noble. - - ELINA. - - [_More softly._] And the Danish envoy comes hither to-night? - - LADY INGER. - - To-night. - - ELINA. - - If so be, then I fear to read the meaning of your words. - - LADY INGER. - - There is naught to fear if you misread them not. It is far - from my thought to put force upon you. You shall choose for - yourself in this matter, and follow your own rede. - - ELINA. - - [_Comes a step nearer._] Know you the tale of the mother who - drove across the hills by night, with her little children in - the sledge? The wolves were on her track; ’twas life or - death with her;—and one by one she cast out her little ones, - to win time and save herself. - - LADY INGER. - - Nursery tales! A mother would tear the heart from her - breast, before she would cast her child to the wolves! - - ELINA. - - Were I not my mother’s daughter, I would say you were right. - But you are like that mother; one by one have you cast out - your daughters to the wolves. The eldest went first. Five - years ago Merete[16] went forth from Östråt; now she dwells - in Bergen, and is Vinzents Lunge’s[17] wife. But think you - she is happy as the Danish noble’s lady? Vinzents Lunge is - mighty, well-nigh as a king; Merete has damsels and squires, - silken robes and lofty halls; but the day has no sunshine - for her, and the night no rest; for she has never loved him. - He came hither and he wooed her, for she was the greatest - heiress in Norway, and ’twas then needful for him to gain a - footing in the land. I know it; I know it well! Merete bowed - to your will; she went with the stranger lord.—But what has - it cost her? More tears than a mother should wish to answer - for at the day of reckoning! - - LADY INGER. - - I know my reckoning, and I fear it not. - - ELINA. - - Your reckoning ends not here. Where is Lucia, your second - child? - - LADY INGER. - - Ask God, who took her. - - ELINA. - - ’Tis you I ask; ’tis you must answer for her young life. She - was glad as a bird in spring when she sailed from Östråt to - be Merete’s guest. A year passed, and she stood in this room - once more; but her cheeks were white, and death had gnawed - deep into her breast. Ah, I startle you, my mother! You - thought the ugly secret was buried with her;—but she told me - all. A courtly knight had won her heart. He would have - wedded her. You knew that her honour was at stake; yet your - will never bent—and your child had to die. You see, I know - all! - - LADY INGER. - - All? Then she told you his name? - - ELINA. - - His name? No; his name she did not tell me. She shrank from - his name as though it stung her;—she never uttered it. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Relieved, to herself._] Ah, then you do _not_ know all—— - - Elina—’tis true that the whole of this matter was well known - to me. But there is one thing it seems you have overlooked. - The lord whom Lucia met in Bergen was a Dane—— - - ELINA. - - That, too, I know. - - LADY INGER. - - And his love was a lie. With guile and soft speeches he had - ensnared her. - - ELINA. - - I know it; but nevertheless she loved him; and had you had a - mother’s heart, your daughter’s honour had been more to you - than all. - - LADY INGER. - - Not more than her happiness. Think you that, with Merete’s - lot before my eyes, I could sacrifice my second child to a - man that loved her not? - - ELINA. - - Cunning words may beguile many, but they beguile not me—— - - Think not I know nothing of all that is passing in our land. - I understand your counsels but too well. I know that in you - the Danish lords have no true friend. It may be that you - hate them; but you fear them too. When you gave Merete to - Vinzents Lunge, the Danes held the mastery on all sides - throughout our land. Three years later, when you forbade - Lucia to wed the man to whom, though he had deceived her, - she had given her life—things were far different then. The - King’s Danish governors had shamefully misused the common - people, and you deemed it not wise to link yourself still - more closely to the foreign tyrants. - - And what have you done to avenge her that was sent so young - to her grave? You have done nothing. Well then, I will act - in your stead; I will avenge all the shame they have brought - upon our people and our house! - - LADY INGER. - - You? What will you do? - - ELINA. - - I will go my way, even as you go yours. What I shall do I - myself know not; but I feel within me the strength to dare - all for our righteous cause. - - LADY INGER. - - Then have you a hard fight before you. I once promised as - you do now—and my hair has grown grey under the burden of - that promise. - - ELINA. - - Good-night! Your guest will soon be here, and at that - meeting I should be one too many. - - It may be there is yet time for you——; well, God strengthen - and guide you on your path! Forget not that the eyes of many - thousands are fixed on you. Think on Merete, weeping late - and early over her wasted life. Think on Lucia, sleeping in - her black coffin. - - And one thing more. Forget not that in the game you play - this night, your stake is your last child. [_Goes out to the - left_. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Looks after her awhile._] My last child? You know not how - true was that word——But the stake is not my child only. God - help me, I am playing to-night for the whole of Norway’s - land. - - Ah—is not that some one riding through the gateway? - [_Listens at the window._ - - No; not yet. Only the wind; it blows cold as the grave—— - - Has God a right to do this?—To make me a woman—and then to - lay on my shoulders a man’s work? - - For I have the welfare of the country in my hands. It is in - my power to make them rise as one man. They look to _me_ for - the signal; and if I give it not now—it may never be given. - - To delay? To sacrifice the many for the sake of one?—Were it - not better if I could——? No, no, no—I _will_ not! I - _cannot_! - - [_Steals a glance towards the Banquet Hall, but - turns away again as if in dread, and whispers:_ - - I can see them in there now. Pale spectres—dead - ancestors—fallen kinsfolk.—Ah, those eyes that pierce me - from every corner! - - [_Makes a gesture of repulsion, and cries:_ - - Sten Sture! Knut Alfson! Olaf Skaktavl! Back—back!—I - _cannot_ do this! - - [_A_ STRANGER, _strongly built, and with grizzled - hair and beard, has entered from the Banquet - Hall. He is dressed in a torn lambskin tunic; - his weapons are rusty._ - - THE STRANGER. - - [_Stops in the doorway, and says in a low voice._] Hail to - you, Inger Gyldenlöve! - - LADY INGER. - - [_Turns with a scream._] Ah, Christ in heaven save me! - - [_Falls back into a chair. The_ STRANGER _stands - gazing at her, motionless, leaning on his - sword._ - ------ - - - - - ACT SECOND - - _The room at Östråt, as in the first Act._ - - LADY INGER GYLDENLÖVE _is seated at the table on the right, - by the window._ OLAF SKAKTAVL _is standing a little way - from her. Their faces show that they have been engaged - in a heated discussion._ - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - For the last time, Inger Gyldenlöve—you are not to be moved - from your purpose? - - LADY INGER. - - I can do nought else. And my counsel to you is: do as I do. - If it be Heaven’s will that Norway perish utterly, perish it - must, for all we may do to save it. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - And think you I can content my heart with that belief? Shall - I sit and look idly on, now that the hour is come? Do you - forget the reckoning I have against them? They have robbed - me of my lands, and parcelled them out among themselves. My - son, my only child, the last of my race, they have - slaughtered like a dog. Myself they have outlawed and hunted - through forest and fell these twenty years.—Once and again - have folk whispered of my death; but this I believe, that - they shall not lay me beneath the sod before I have seen my - vengeance. - - LADY INGER. - - There is there a long life before you. What have you in mind - to do? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Do? How should I know what I will do? It has never been my - part to plot and plan. That is where you must help me. You - have the wit for that. I have but my sword and my two arms. - - LADY INGER. - - Your sword is rusted, Olaf Skaktavl! All the swords in - Norway are rusted. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - That is doubtless why some folk fight only with their - tongues.—Inger Gyldenlöve—great is the change in you. Time - was when the heart of a man beat in your breast. - - LADY INGER. - - Put me not in mind of what _was_. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - ’Tis for that very purpose I am here. You _shall_ hear me, - even if—— - - LADY INGER. - - Be it so then; but be brief; for—I must say it—this is no - place of safety for you. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Östråt is no place of safety for an outlaw? That I have long - known. But you forget that an outlaw is unsafe wheresoever - he may wander. - - LADY INGER. - - Speak then; I will not hinder you. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - ’Tis nigh on thirty years now since first I saw you. It was - at Akershus[18] in the house of Knut Alfson and his wife. - You were little more than a child then; yet were you bold as - the soaring falcon, and wild and headstrong too at times. - Many were the wooers around you. I too held you dear—dear as - no woman before or since. But you cared for nothing, thought - of nothing, save your country’s evil case and its great - need. - - LADY INGER. - - I counted but fifteen summers then—remember that! And was it - not as though a frenzy had seized us all in those days? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Call it what you will; but one thing I know—even the old and - sober men among us thought it written in the counsels of the - Lord on high that you were she who should break our thraldom - and win us all our rights again. And more: you yourself then - thought as we did. - - LADY INGER. - - ’Twas a sinful thought, Olaf Skaktavl. ’Twas my proud heart, - and not the Lord’s call, that spoke in me. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - You _could_ have been the chosen one had you but willed it. - You came of the noblest blood in Norway; power and riches - were soon to be yours; and you had an ear for the cries of - anguish—then! - - Do you remember that afternoon when Henrik Krummedike and - the Danish fleet anchored off Akershus? The captains of the - fleet offered terms of peace, and, trusting to the - safe-conduct, Knut Alfson rowed on board. Three hours later, - we bore him through the castle gate—— - - LADY INGER. - - A corpse; a corpse! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - The best heart in Norway burst, when Krummedike’s hirelings - struck him down. Methinks I still can see the long - procession that passed into the banquet-hall, heavily, two - by two. There he lay on his bier, white as a spring cloud, - with the axe-cleft in his brow. I may safely say that the - boldest men in Norway were gathered there that night. Lady - Margrete stood by her dead husband’s head, and we swore as - one man to venture lands and life to avenge this last - misdeed and all that had gone before.—Inger Gyldenlöve,—who - was it that burst through the circle of men? A maiden—almost - a child—with fire in her eyes and her voice half choked with - tears.—What was it she swore? Shall I repeat your words? - - LADY INGER. - - I swore what the rest of you swore; neither more nor less. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - You remember your oath—and yet you have forgotten it. - - LADY INGER. - - And how did the others keep their promise? I speak not of - you, Olaf Skaktavl, but of your friends, all Norway’s - nobles? Not one of them, in all these years, has had the - courage to be a man; yet they lay it to my charge that I am - a woman. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - I know what you would say. Why have they bent to the yoke, - and not defied the tyrants to the last? ’Tis but too true; - there is base metal enough in our noble houses nowadays. But - had they held together—who knows what then might have been? - And you could have held them together, for before you all - had bowed. - - LADY INGER. - - My answer were easy enough, but ’twould scarce content you. - So let us leave speaking of what cannot be changed. Tell me - rather what has brought you to Östråt. Do you need harbour? - Well, I will try to hide you. If you would have aught else, - speak out; you shall find me ready—— - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - For twenty years have I been homeless. In the mountains of - Jæmteland my hair has grown grey. My dwelling has been with - wolves and bears.—You see, Lady Inger—_I_ need you not; but - both nobles and people stand in sore need of you. - - LADY INGER. - - The old burden. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Ay, it sounds but ill in your ears, I know; yet hear it you - must, for all that. In brief, then: I come from Sweden: - troubles are brewing: the Dales are ready to rise. - - LADY INGER. - - I know it. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Peter Kanzler[19] is with us—secretly, you understand. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Starting._] Peter Kanzler? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - ’Tis he that has sent me to Östråt. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Rises._] Peter Kanzler, say you? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - He himself;—but mayhap you no longer know him? - - LADY INGER. - - [_Half to herself._] Only too well!—But tell me, I pray - you,—what message do you bring? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - When the rumour of the rising reached the border mountains, - where I then was, I set off at once into Sweden. ’Twas not - hard to guess that Peter Kanzler had a finger in the game. I - sought him out and offered to stand by him;—he knew me of - old, as you know, and knew that he could trust me; so he has - sent me hither. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Impatiently._] Yes yes,—he sent you hither to——? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - [_With secrecy._] Lady Inger—a stranger comes to Östråt - to-night. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Surprised._] What? Know you that——? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Assuredly I know it. I know all. ’Twas to meet him that - Peter Kanzler sent me hither. - - LADY INGER. - - To meet him? Impossible, Olaf Skaktavl,—impossible! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - ’Tis as I tell you. If he be not already come, he will - soon—— - - LADY INGER. - - Doubtless, doubtless; but—— - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Then you knew of his coming? - - LADY INGER. - - Ay, surely. He sent me a message. ’Twas therefore they - opened to you as soon as you knocked. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - [_Listens._] Hush!—some one is riding along the road. [_Goes - to the window._] They are opening the gate. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Looks out._] It is a knight and his attendant. They are - dismounting in the courtyard. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - ’Tis he then. His name? - - LADY INGER. - - You know not his name? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Peter Kanzler refused to tell it me. He would say no more - than that I should find him at Östråt the third evening - after Martinmas—— - - LADY INGER. - - Ay; even to-night. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - He was to bring letters with him; and from them, and from - you, I was to learn who he is. - - LADY INGER. - - Then let me lead you to your chamber. You have need of rest - and refreshment. You shall soon have speech with the - stranger. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Well, be it as you will. - - [_Both go out to the left._ - - [_After a short pause_, FINN _enters cautiously by - the door on the right, looks round the room, and - peeps into the Banquet Hall; he then goes back - to the door, and makes a sign to some one - outside. Immediately after, enter_ COUNCILLOR - NILS LYKKE _and the Swedish Commander_, JENS - BIELKE. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Softly._] No one? - - FINN. - - [_In the same tone._] No one, master! - - NILS LYKKE. - - And we may depend on you in all things? - - FINN. - - The commandant in Trondhiem has ever given me a name for - trustiness. - - NILS LYKKE. - - ’Tis well; he has said as much to me. First of all, then—has - there come any stranger to Östråt to-night, before us? - - FINN. - - Ay; a stranger came an hour since. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Softly, to_ JENS BIELKE.] He is here. [_Turns again to_ - FINN.] Would you know him again? Have you seen him? - - FINN. - - Nay, none has seen him, that I know, but the gatekeeper. He - was brought at once to Lady Inger, and she—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - Well? What of her? He is not gone again already? - - FINN. - - No; but it seems she holds him hidden in one of her own - rooms; for—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - It is well. - - JENS BIELKE. - - [_Whispers._] Then the first thing is to put a guard on the - gate; so are we sure of him. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_With a smile._] H’m! [_To_ FINN.] Tell me—is there any way - of leaving the castle, save by the gate? Gape not at me so! - I mean—can one escape from Östråt unseen, though the castle - gate be barred? - - FINN. - - Nay, that I know not. ’Tis true they talk of secret ways in - the vaults beneath; but no one knows them save Lady - Inger—and mayhap Mistress Elina. - - JENS BIELKE. - - The devil! - - NILS LYKKE. - - It is well. You may go. - - FINN. - - Should you need me in aught again, you have but to open the - second door on the right in the Banquet Hall, and I shall - presently be at hand. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Good. - - [_Points to the entrance-door._ FINN _goes out._ - - JENS BIELKE. - - Now, by my soul, dear friend and brother—this campaign is - like to end but scurvily for both of us. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_With a smile._] Oh—not for me, I hope. - - JENS BIELKE. - - Say you so? First of all, there is little honour to be won - in hunting an overgrown whelp like this Nils Sture. Are we - to think him mad or in his sober senses after the pranks he - has played? First he breeds bad blood among the peasants; - promises them help and all their hearts can desire;—and - then, when it comes to the pinch, off he runs to hide behind - a petticoat! - - Moreover, to say truth, I repent that I followed your - counsel and went not my own way. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_To himself._] Your repentance comes somewhat late, my - brother! - - JENS BIELKE. - - For, let me tell you, I have never loved digging at a - badger’s earth. I looked for quite other sport. Here have I - ridden all the way from Jæmteland with my horsemen, and have - got me a warrant from the Trondhiem commandant to search for - the rebel wheresoever I please. All his tracks point towards - Östråt—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - He is here! He is here, I tell you! - - JENS BIELKE. - - Were it not liker, in that case, that we had found the gate - barred and well guarded? Would that we had; then could I - have found use for my men-at-arms—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - But instead, the gate is very courteously thrown open to us. - Mark now—if Inger Gyldenlöve’s fame belie her not, I warrant - she will not let her guests lack for either meat or drink. - - JENS BIELKE. - - Ay, to turn us aside from our errand! And what wild whim was - that of yours to have me leave my horsemen half a league - from the castle? Had we come in force—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - She had made us none the less welcome for _that_. But mark - well that then our coming had made a stir. The peasants - round about had held it for an outrage against Lady Inger; - she had risen high in their favour once more—and with that, - look you, we were ill served. - - JENS BIELKE. - - May be so. But what am I to do now? Count Sture is in - Östråt, you say. Ay, but how does that profit me? Be sure - Lady Inger Gyldenlöve has as many hiding-places as the fox, - and more than one outlet to them. You and I, alone, may go - snuffing about here as long as we please. I would the devil - had the whole affair! - - NILS LYKKE. - - Well, then, my friend—if you like not the turn your errand - has taken, you have but to leave the field to me. - - JENS BIELKE. - - To you? What will you do? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Caution and cunning may in this matter prove of more avail - than force of arms.—And to say truth, Captain Jens - Bielke—something of the sort has been in my mind ever since - we met in Trondhiem yesterday. - - JENS BIELKE. - - Was that why you persuaded me to leave the men-at-arms? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Both your purpose at Östråt and mine could best be served - without them; and so—— - - JENS BIELKE. - - The foul fiend seize you—I had almost said! And me to boot! - Might I not have known that there is guile in all your - dealings? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Be sure I shall need all my guile here, if I am to face my - foe with even weapons. And let me tell you, ’tis of the - utmost moment to me that I acquit me of my mission secretly - and well. You must know that when I set forth I was scarce - in favour with my lord the King. He held me in suspicion; - though I dare swear I have served him as well as any man - could, in more than one ticklish charge. - - JENS BIELKE. - - That you may safely boast. God and all men know you for the - craftiest devil in all the three kingdoms. - - NILS LYKKE. - - I thank you! Though, after all, ’tis not much to say. But - this present errand I count as indeed a crowning test of my - powers; for here I have to outwit a woman—— - - JENS BIELKE. - - Ha-ha-ha! In _that_ art you have long since given crowning - proofs of your skill, dear brother. Think you we in Sweden - know not the song— Fair maidens a-many they sigh and they - pine: “Ah God, that Nils Lykke were mine, mine, mine!” - - NILS LYKKE. - - Alas, ’tis women of twenty and thereabouts that ditty - speaks of. Lady Inger Gyldenlöve is nigh on fifty, and - wily to boot beyond all women. ’Twill be no light matter - to overmatch her. But it _must_ be done—at any cost. - Should I contrive to win certain advantages over her that - the King has long desired, I can reckon on the embassy to - France next spring. You know that I spent three years at - the University in Paris? My whole soul is set on coming - thither again, most of all if I can appear in lofty place, - a king’s ambassador.—Well, then—is it agreed—do you leave - Lady Inger to me? Remember—when you were last at Court in - Copenhagen, I made way for you with more than one fair - lady—— - - JENS BIELKE. - - Nay, truly now—that generosity cost you little; one and all - of them were at your beck and call. But let that pass; now - that I have begun amiss in this matter, I had as lief that - you should take it on your shoulders. Yet _one_ thing you - must promise—if the young Count Sture be in Östråt, you will - deliver him into my hands, dead or alive! - - NILS LYKKE. - - You shall have him all alive. I, at any rate, mean not to - kill him. But now you must ride back and join your people. - Keep guard on the road. Should I mark aught that mislikes - me, you shall know it forthwith. - - JENS BIELKE. - - Good, good. But how am I to get out——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - The fellow that brought us in will show the way. But go - quietly—— - - JENS BIELKE. - - Of course, of course. Well—good fortune to you! - - NILS LYKKE. - - Fortune has never failed me in a war with women. Haste you - now! - - [JENS BIELKE _goes out to the right._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Stands still for a while; then walks about the room, - looking round him; then he says softly:_] At last, then, I - am at Östråt—the ancient hall whereof a child, two years - ago, told me so much. - - Lucia. Ay, two years ago she was still a child. And now—now - she is dead. [_Hums with a half-smile._] “Blossoms plucked - are blossoms withered——” - - [_Looks round him again._ - - Östråt. ’Tis as though I had seen it all before; as though I - were at home here.—In there is the Banquet Hall. And - underneath is—the grave-vault. It must be there that Lucia - lies. - - [_In a lower voice, half seriously, half with forced - gaiety._ - - Were I timorous, I might well find myself fancying that when - I set foot within Östråt gate she turned about in her - coffin; as I crossed the courtyard she lifted the lid; and - when I named her name but now, ’twas as though a voice - summoned her forth from the grave-vault.—Maybe she is even - now groping her way up the stairs. The face-cloth blinds - her, but she gropes on and on in spite of it. - - Now she has reached the Banquet Hall! She stands watching me - from behind the door! - - [_Turns his head backwards over one shoulder, nods, - and says aloud:_ - - Come nearer, Lucia! Talk to me a little! Your mother keeps - me waiting. ’Tis tedious waiting—and you have helped me to - while away many a tedious hour—— - - [_Passes his hand over his forehead, and takes one - or two turns up and down._ - - Ah, there!—Right, right; there is the deep curtained window. - ’Tis there that Inger Gyldenlöve is wont to stand gazing out - over the road, as though looking for one that never comes. - In there—[_looks towards the door on the left_]—somewhere in - there is Sister Elina’s chamber. Elina? Ay, Elina is her - name. - - Can it be that she is so rare a being—so wise and so brave - as Lucia fancied her? Fair, too, they say. But for a wedded - wife—? I should not have written so plainly.—— - - [_Lost in thought, he is on the point of sitting - down by the table, but stands up again._ - - How will Lady Inger receive me?—She will scarce burn the - castle over our heads, or slip me through a trap-door. A - stab from behind—? No, not that way either—— - - [_Listens towards the hall._ - - Aha! - - [LADY INGER GYLDENLÖVE _enters from the hall._ - - LADY INGER. - - [_Coldly._] My greeting to you, Sir Councillor—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Bows deeply._] Ah—the Lady of Östråt! - - LADY INGER. - - ——and my thanks that you have forewarned me of your visit. - - NILS LYKKE. - - I could do no less. I had reason to think that my coming - might surprise you—— - - LADY INGER. - - Truly, Sir Councillor, therein you judged aright. Nils Lykke - was indeed the last guest I looked to see at Östråt. - - NILS LYKKE. - - And still less, mayhap, did you think to see him come as a - friend? - - LADY INGER. - - As a friend? You add mockery to all the shame and sorrow you - have heaped upon my house? After bringing my child to the - grave, you still dare—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - With your leave, Lady Inger Gyldenlöve—on that matter we - should scarce agree; for you count as nothing what _I_ lost - by that same unhappy chance. I purposed nought but in - honour. I was tired of my unbridled life; my thirtieth year - was already past; I longed to mate me with a good and gentle - wife. Add to all this the hope of becoming your son-in-law—— - - LADY INGER. - - Beware, Sir Councillor! I have done all in my power to hide - my child’s unhappy fate. But because it is out of sight, - think not it is out of mind. There may yet come a time—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - You threaten me, Lady Inger? I have offered you my hand in - amity; you refuse to take it. Henceforth, then, it is to be - open war between us? - - LADY INGER. - - I knew not there had ever been aught else? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Not on _your_ side, mayhap. _I_ have never been your - enemy,—though, as a subject of the King of Denmark, I lacked - not good cause. - - LADY INGER. - - I understand you. I have not been pliant enough. It has not - proved so easy as some of you hoped to lure me over into - your camp.—Yet methinks you have nought to complain of. My - daughter Merete’s husband is your countryman—further I - cannot go. My position is no easy one, Nils Lykke! - - NILS LYKKE. - - That I can well believe. Both nobles and people here in - Norway think they have an ancient claim on you—a claim, ’tis - said, you have but half fulfilled. - - LADY INGER. - - Your pardon, Sir Councillor,—I account for my doings to none - but God and myself. If it please you, then, let me - understand what brings you hither. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Gladly, Lady Inger! The purpose of my mission to this - country can scarce be unknown to you——? - - LADY INGER. - - I know the mission that report assigns you. Our King would - fain know how the Norwegian nobles stand affected towards - him. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Assuredly. - - LADY INGER. - - Then that is why you visit Östråt? - - NILS LYKKE. - - In part. But it is far from my purpose to demand any - profession of loyalty from you—— - - LADY INGER. - - What then? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Hearken to me, Lady Inger! You said yourself but now that - your position is no easy one. You stand half way between two - hostile camps, whereof neither dares trust you fully. Your - own interest must needs bind you to _us_. On the other hand, - you are bound to the disaffected by the bond of nationality, - and—who knows?—mayhap by some secret tie as well. - - LADY INGER. - - [_To herself._] A secret tie! Oh God, can he——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Notices her emotion, but makes no sign, and continues - without change of manner._] You cannot but see that such a - position must ere long become impossible.—Suppose, now, it - lay in my power to free you from these embarrassments - which—— - - LADY INGER. - - In your power, you say? - - NILS LYKKE. - - First of all, Lady Inger, I would beg you to lay no stress - on any careless words I may have used concerning that which - lies between us two. Think not that I have forgotten for a - moment the wrong I have done you. Suppose, now, I had long - purposed to make atonement, as far as might be, where I had - sinned. Suppose it were for that reason I had contrived to - have this mission assigned me. - - LADY INGER. - - Speak your meaning more clearly, Sir Councillor;—I cannot - follow you. - - NILS LYKKE. - - I can scarce be mistaken in thinking that you, as well as I, - know of the threatened troubles in Sweden. You know, or at - least you can guess, that this rising is of far wider aim - than is commonly supposed, and you understand therefore that - our King cannot look on quietly and let things take their - course. Am I not right? - - LADY INGER. - - Go on. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Searchingly, after a short pause._] There is _one_ - possible chance that might endanger Gustav Vasa’s throne—— - - LADY INGER. - - [_To herself._] Whither is he tending? - - NILS LYKKE. - - ——the chance, namely, that there should exist in Sweden a - man entitled by his birth to claim election to the kingship. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Evasively._] The Swedish nobles have been even as bloodily - hewn down as our own, Sir Councillor. Where would you seek - for——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_With a smile._] Seek? The man is found already—— - - LADY INGER. - - [_Starts violently._] Ah! He is found? - - NILS LYKKE. - - ——and he is too closely akin to you, Lady Inger, to be far - from your thoughts at this moment. [_Looks fixedly at her._ - - The last Count Sture left a son—— - - LADY INGER. - - [_With a cry._] Holy Saviour, how know you——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Surprised._] Be calm, Madam, and let me finish.—This young - man has till now lived quietly with his mother, Sten Sture’s - widow. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Breathes more freely._] With—? Ah, yes—true, true! - - NILS LYKKE. - - But now he has come forward openly. He has shown himself in - the Dales as leader of the peasants; their numbers are - growing day by day; and—as mayhap you know—they are finding - friends among the peasants on this side of the border-hills. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Who has in the meantime regained her composure._] - - Sir Councillor,—you speak of all these matters as though - they must of necessity be known to me. What ground have I - given you to believe so? I know, and wish to know, nothing. - All my care is to live quietly within my own domain; I give - no countenance to disturbers of the peace; but neither must - you reckon on me if it be your purpose to suppress them. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_In a low voice._] Would you still be inactive, were it my - purpose to come to their aid? - - LADY INGER. - - How am I to understand you? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Have you not seen, then, whither I have been aiming all this - time?—Well, I will tell you all, frankly and openly. Know, - then, that the King and his Council see clearly that we can - have no sure footing in Norway so long as the nobles and the - people continue, as now, to think themselves wronged and - oppressed. We understand to the full that willing allies are - better than sullen subjects; and we have therefore no - heartier wish than to loosen the bonds that hamper us, in - effect, even as straitly as you. But you will scarce deny - that the temper of Norway towards us makes such a step too - dangerous—so long as we have no sure support behind us. - - LADY INGER. - - And this support——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Should naturally come from Sweden. But, mark well, not so - long as Gustav Vasa holds the helm; his reckoning with - Denmark is not yet settled, and mayhap never will be. But a - new king of Sweden, who had the people with him, and who - owed his throne to the help of Denmark——. Well, you begin to - understand me? _Then_ we could safely say to you Norwegians: - “Take back your old ancestral rights; choose you a ruler - after your own mind; be our friends in need, as we will be - yours!”—Mark you well, Lady Inger, herein is our generosity - less than it may seem; for you must see that, far from - weakening, ’twill rather strengthen us. - - And now that I have opened my heart to you so fully, - do you too cast away all mistrust. And therefore - [_confidently_]—the knight from Sweden, who came - hither an hour before me—— - - LADY INGER. - - Then you already know of his coming? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Most certainly. ’Tis he whom I seek. - - LADY INGER. - - [_To herself._] Strange! Then it must be as Olaf Skaktavl - said. [_To_ NILS LYKKE.] I pray you wait here, Sir - Councillor! I will go bring him to you. - - [_Goes out through the Banquet Hall._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Looks after her a while in exultant astonishment._] She is - bringing him! Ay, truly—she is bringing him! The battle is - half won. I little thought it would go so smoothly.— - - She is deep in the counsels of the rebels; she started in - terror when I named Sten Sture’s son.— - - And now? H’m! Since Lady Inger has been simple enough to - walk into the snare, Nils Sture will not make many - difficulties. A hot-blooded boy, thoughtless and rash——. - With my promise of help he will set forth at once—unhappily - Jens Bielke will snap him up by the way—and the whole rising - will be nipped in the bud. - - And then? Then one further point to our advantage. It is - spread abroad that the young Count Sture has been at - Östråt,—that a Danish envoy has had audience of Lady - Inger—that thereupon the young Count Nils has been snapped - up by King Gustav’s men-at-arms a mile from the castle.——Let - Inger Gyldenlöve’s name among the people stand never so - high—’twill scarce recover from such a blow. [_Starts up in - sudden uneasiness._ - - By all the devils—! What if she has scented mischief! It may - be he is even now slipping through our fingers—[_Listens - towards the hall, and says with relief._] Ah, there is no - fear. Here they come. - - [LADY INGER GYLDENLÖVE _enters from the hall, - accompanied by_ OLAF SKAKTAVI. - - LADY INGER. - - [_To_ NILS LYKKE.] Here is the man you seek. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Aside._] Powers of hell—what means this? - - LADY INGER. - - I have told this knight your name and all that you have - imparted to me—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Irresolutely._] Ay? Have you so? Well—— - - LADY INGER. - - ——and I will not hide from you that his faith in your help - is none of the strongest. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Is it not? - - LADY INGER. - - Can you marvel at that? Surely you know both his way of - thinking and his bitter fate—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - This man’s—? Ah—yes, truly—— - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - [_To_ NILS LYKKE.] But seeing ’tis Peter Kanzler himself - that has appointed us this meeting—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - Peter Kanzler—? [_Recovers himself quickly._] Ay, right,—I - have a mission from Peter Kanzler—— - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - He must know best whom he can trust. So why should I trouble - my head with pondering how—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - Ay, you are right, noble Sir; why waste time over that? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Rather let us come straight to the matter. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Straight to the point; no beating about the bush—’tis ever - my fashion. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Then will you tell me your errand here? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Methinks you can partly guess my errand—— - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Peter Kanzler said something of papers that—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - Papers? Ay, true, the papers! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Doubtless you have them with you? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Of course; safely bestowed; so safely that I cannot at - once—— - - [_Appears to search the inner pockets of his - doublet; says to himself:_ - - Who the devil is he? What pretext can I make? I may be on - the brink of great discoveries—— - - [_Notices that the_ SERVANTS _are laying the table - and lighting the lamps in the Banquet Hall, and - says to_ OLAF SKAKTAVL: - - Ah, I see Lady Inger has taken order for the evening meal. - Mayhap we could better talk of our affairs at table. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Good; as you will. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Aside._] Time gained—all gained! - - [_To_ LADY INGER _with a show of great - friendliness:_ - - And meanwhile we might learn what part Lady Inger Gyldenlöve - purposes to take in our design? - - LADY INGER. - - I?—None. - - NILS LYKKE AND OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - None! - - LADY INGER. - - Can ye marvel, noble Sirs, that I venture not on a game - wherein loss would mean loss of all? And that, too, when - none of my allies dare trust me fully. - - NILS LYKKE. - - That reproach touches not me. I trust you blindly; I pray - you be assured of that. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Who should believe in you, if not your countrymen? - - LADY INGER. - - Truly,—this confidence rejoices me. - - [_Goes to a cupboard in the back wall and fills two - goblets with wine._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Aside._] Curse her, will she slip out of the noose? - - LADY INGER. - - [_Hands a goblet to each._] And since so it is, I offer you - a cup of welcome to Östråt. Drink, noble knights! Pledge me - to the last drop! - - [_Looks from one to the other after they have drunk, - and says gravely_: - - But now I must tell you—one goblet held a welcome for my - friend; the other—death for my enemy! - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Throws down the goblet._] Ah, I am poisoned! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - [_At the same time, clutches his sword._] Death and hell, - have you murdered me? - - LADY INGER. - - [_To_ OLAF SKAKTAVL, _pointing to_ NILS LYKKE.] You see the - Danes’ confidence in Inger Gyldenlöve—— - - [_To_ NILS LYKKE, _pointing to_ OLAF SKAKTAVL.] ——and - likewise my countrymen’s faith in me! [_To both of them._ - - Yet you would have me place myself in your power? Gently, - noble Sirs—gently! The Lady of Östråt is not yet in her - dotage. - - [ELINA GYLDENLÖVE _enters by the door on the left._ - - ELINA. - - I heard loud voices—. What is amiss? - - LADY INGER. - - [_To_ NILS LYKKE.] My daughter Elina. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Softly._] Elina! I had not pictured her thus. - - [ELINA _catches sight of_ NILS LYKKE, _and stands - still, as in surprise, gazing at him._ - - LADY INGER. - - [_Touches her arm._] My child—this knight is—— - - ELINA. - - [_Motions her mother back with her hand, still looking - intently at him, and says:_] There is no need! I see who he - is. He is Nils Lykke. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Aside, to_ LADY INGER.] How? Does she know me? Can Lucia - have—? Can she know——? - - LADY INGER. - - Hush! She knows nothing. - - ELINA. - - [_To herself._] I knew it;—even so must Nils Lykke appear. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Approaches her._] Yes, Elina Gyldenlöve,—you have guessed - aright. And as it seems that, in some sense, you know - me,—and, moreover, as I am your mother’s guest,——you will - not deny me the flower-spray you wear in your bosom. So long - as it is fresh and fragrant, I shall have in it an image of - yourself. - - ELINA. - - [_Proudly, but still gazing at him._] Pardon me, Sir - Knight——’twas plucked in my own chamber, and _there_ can - grow no flower for you. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Loosening a spray of flowers that he wears in the front of - his doublet._] At least you will not disdain this humble - gift. ’Twas a farewell token from a courtly dame when I set - forth from Trondhiem this morning.——But mark me, noble - maiden,——were I to offer you a gift that were fully worthy - of you, it could be nought less than a princely crown. - - ELINA. - - [_Who has taken the flowers passively._] And were it the - royal crown of Denmark you held forth to me——before I shared - it with _you_, I would crush it to pieces between my hands, - and cast the fragments at your feet! - - [_Throws down the flowers at his feet, and goes into - the Banquet Hall._ - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - [_Mutters to himself._] Bold——as Inger Ottisdaughter by Knut - Alfson’s bier! - - LADY INGER. - - [_Softly, after looking alternately at_ ELINA _and_ NILS - LYKKE.] The wolf _can_ be tamed. Now to forge the fetters. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Picks up the flowers and gazes in rapture after_ ELINA.] - God’s holy blood, but she is proud and fair! - ------ - - - - - ACT THIRD - - _The Banquet Hall. A high bow-window in the background; a - smaller window in front on the left. Several doors on - each side. The ceiling is supported by massive wooden - pillars, on which, as well as on the walls, are hung all - sorts of weapons. Pictures of saints, knights, and - ladies hang in long rows. Pendent from the ceiling a - large many-branched lamp, alight. In front, on the - right, an ancient carven high-seat. In the middle of the - hall, a table with the remnants of the evening meal._ - - ELINA GYLDENLÖVE _enters from the left, slowly and in deep - thought. Her expression shows that she is going over - again in her mind the scene with_ NILS LYKKE. _At last - she repeats the motion with which she flung away the - flowers, and says in a low voice:_ - - ELINA. - - ——And then he gathered up the fragments of the crown of - Denmark—no, ’twas the flowers—and: “God’s holy blood, but - she is proud and fair!” - - Had he whispered the words in the most secret spot, long - leagues from Östråt,—still had I heard them! - - How I hate him! How I have always hated him,—this Nils - Lykke!—There lives not another man like him, ’tis said. He - plays with women—and treads them under his feet. - - And ’twas to _him_ my mother thought to offer me!—How I hate - him! - - They say Nils Lykke is unlike all other men. It is not true! - There is nothing strange in him. There are many, many like - him! When Biörn used to tell me his tales, all the princes - looked as Nils Lykke looks. When I sat lonely here in the - hall and dreamed my histories, and my knights came and - went,—they were one and all even as he. - - How strange and how good it is to hate! Never have I known - how sweet it can be—till to-night. Ah—not to live a thousand - years would I sell the moments I have lived since I saw - him!— - - “God’s holy blood, but she is proud——” - - [_Goes slowly towards the back, opens the window and - looks out._ NILS LYKKE _comes in by the first - door on the right._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_To himself._] “Sleep well at Östråt, Sir Knight,” said - Inger Gyldenlöve as she left me. Sleep well? Ay, ’tis easily - said, but——Out there, sky and sea in tumult; below, in the - grave-vault, a young girl on her bier; the fate of two - kingdoms in my hand;—and in my breast a withered flower that - a woman has flung at my feet. Truly, I fear me sleep will be - slow of coming. - - [_Notices_ ELINA, _who has left the window, and is - going out on the left._ - - There she is. Her haughty eyes seem veiled with thought.—Ah, - if I but dared—. [_Aloud._] Mistress Elina! - - ELINA. - - [_Stops at the door._] What will you? Why do you pursue me? - - NILS LYKKE. - - You err; I pursue you not$1 $2am myself pursued. - - ELINA. - - You? - - NILS LYKKE. - - By a multitude of thoughts. Therefore ’tis with sleep as - with you:—it flees me. - - ELINA. - - Go to the window, and there you will find pastime;—a - storm-tossed sea—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Smiles._] A storm-tossed sea? That may I find in you as - well. - - ELINA. - - In me? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Ay, of that our first meeting has assured me. - - ELINA. - - And that offends you? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Nay, in nowise; yet I could wish to see you of milder mood. - - ELINA. - - [_Proudly._] Think you that you will ever have your wish? - - NILS LYKKE. - - I am sure of it. I have a welcome word to say to you. - - ELINA. - - What is it? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Farewell. - - ELINA. - - [_Comes a step nearer him._] Farewell? You are leaving - Östråt—so soon? - - NILS LYKKE. - - This very night. - - ELINA.. - - [_Seems to hesitate for a moment; then says coldly._] Then - take my greeting, Sir Knight! - - [_Bows and is about to go._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - Elina Gyldenlöve,—I have no right to keep you here; but - ’twill be unlike your nobleness if you refuse to hear what I - have to say to you. - - ELINA. - - I hear you, Sir Knight. - - NILS LYKKE. - - I know you hate me. - - ELINA. - - You are keen-sighted, I perceive. - - NILS LYKKE. - - But I know, too, that I have fully merited your hate. - Unseemly and wounding were the words I wrote of you in my - letter to Lady Inger. - - ELINA. - - Like enough; I have not read them. - - NILS LYKKE. - - But at least their purport is not unknown to you; I know - your mother has not left you in ignorance of the matter; at - the least she has told you how I praised the lot of the man - who—; surely you know the hope I nursed— - - ELINA. - - Sir Knight—if ’tis of that you would speak— - - NILS LYKKE. - - I speak of it, only to ask pardon for my words; for no other - reason, I swear to you. If my fame—as I have too much cause - to fear—has gone before me to Östråt, you must needs know - enough of my life not to wonder that in such things I should - go to work something boldly. I have met many women, Elina - Gyldenlöve; but not one have I found unyielding. Such - lessons, look you, teach a man to be secure. He loses the - habit of roundabout ways—— - - ELINA. - - May be so. I know not of what metal those women can have - been made. - - For the rest, you err in thinking ’twas your letter to my - mother that aroused my soul’s hatred and bitterness against - you. It is of older date. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Uneasily._] Of older date? What mean you? - - ELINA. - - ’Tis as you guessed:—your fame has gone before you, to - Östråt, even as over all the land. Nils Lykke’s name is - never spoken save with the name of some woman whom he has - beguiled and cast off. Some speak it in wrath, others with - laughter and wanton jeering at those weak-souled creatures. - But through the wrath and the laughter and the jeers rings - the song they have made of you, full of insolent challenge, - like an enemy’s song of triumph. - - ’Tis all this together that has begotten my hate for you. - You were ever in my thoughts, and ever I longed to meet you - face to face, that you might learn that there are women on - whom your subtle speeches are lost—if you should think to - use them. - - NILS LYKKE. - - You judge me unjustly, if you judge from what rumour has - told of me. Even if there be truth in all you have - heard,—you know not the causes behind it.—As a boy of - seventeen I began my course of pleasure. I have lived full - fifteen years since then. Light women granted me all that I - would—even before the wish had shaped itself into a prayer; - and what I offered them they seized with eager hands. You - are the first woman that has flung back a gift of mine with - scorn at my feet. - - Think not I reproach you. Rather I honour you for it, as - never before have I honoured woman. But for this I reproach - my fate—and the thought is a gnawing pain to me—that you and - I were not sooner brought face to face.——Elina Gyldenlöve! - Your mother has told me of you. While far from Östråt life - ran its restless course, you went your lonely way in - silence, living in your dreams and histories. Therefore you - will understand what I have to tell you.—Know, then, that - once I too lived even such a life as yours. Methought that - when I stepped forth into the great world, a noble and - stately woman would come to meet me, and would beckon to me - and point out the path towards a glorious goal.—I was - deceived, Elina Gyldenlöve! Women came to meet me; but _she_ - was not among them. Ere yet I had come to full manhood, I - had learnt to despise them all. - - Was it my fault? Why were not the others even as you?—I know - the fate of your fatherland lies heavy on your soul; and you - know the part I have in these affairs——. ’Tis said of me - that I am false as the sea-foam. Mayhap I am; but if I be, - it is women who have made me so. Had I sooner found what I - sought,—had I met a woman proud and noble and high-souled - even as you, then had my path been different indeed. At this - moment, maybe, I had been standing at your side as the - champion of all that suffer wrong in Norway’s land. For - _this_ I believe: a woman is the mightiest power in the - world, and in her hand it lies to guide a man whither God - Almighty would have him go. - - ELINA. - - [_To herself._] Can it be as he says? Nay, nay; there is - falsehood in his eyes and deceit on his lips. And yet—no - song is sweeter than his words. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Coming closer, speaks low and more intimately._] As you - have dwelt here at Östråt, alone with your changeful - thoughts, how often have you felt your bosom stifling; how - often have the roof and walls seemed to shrink together till - they crushed your very soul. Then have your longings taken - wing with you; then have you yearned to fly far from here, - you knew not whither.—How often have you not wandered alone - by the fiord; far out a ship has sailed by in fair array, - with knights and ladies on her deck, with song and music of - stringed instruments;—a faint, far-off rumour of great - events has reached your ears;—and you have felt a longing in - your breast, an unconquerable craving to know all that lies - beyond the sea. But you have not understood what ailed you. - At times you have thought it was the fate of your fatherland - that filled you with all these restless broodings. You - deceived yourself;—a maiden so young as you has other food - for musing.——Elina Gyldenlöve! Have you never had visions of - an unknown power—a strong mysterious might, that binds - together the destinies of mortals? When you dreamed of the - many-coloured life far out in the wide world—when you - dreamed of knightly jousts and joyous festivals—saw you - never in your dreams a knight, who stood in the midst of the - gayest rout, with a smile on his lips and with bitterness in - his heart,—a knight that had once dreamed a dream as fair as - yours, of a woman noble and stately, for whom he went ever - a-seeking, and ever in vain? - - ELINA. - - Who are you, that have power to clothe my most secret - thoughts in words? How can you tell me what I have borne in - my inmost soul—yet knew it not myself? How know you——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - All that I have told you, I have read in your eyes. - - ELINA. - - Never has any man spoken to me as you have spoken. I have - understood you but dimly; and yet—all, all seems changed - since—— - - [_To herself._] Now I understand why they said that Nils - Lykke was unlike all others. - - NILS LYKKE. - - There is one thing in the world that might drive a man to - madness, but to think of it; and that is the thought of what - might have been, had things but fallen out in this way or - that. Had I met you on my path while the tree of my life was - yet green and budding, at this hour, mayhap, you had been—— - - But forgive me, noble lady! Our speech of these past few - moments has made me forget how we stand one to another. - ’Twas as though a secret voice had told me from the first - that to you I could speak openly, without flattery or - dissimulation. - - ELINA. - - That can you. - - NILS LYKKE. - - ’Tis well;—and it may be that this openness has already in - part reconciled us. Ay—my hope is yet bolder. The time may - yet come when you will think of the stranger knight without - hate or bitterness in your soul. Nay,—mistake me not! I mean - not _now_—but some time, in the days to come. And that this - may be the less hard for you—and as I have begun once for - all to speak to you plainly and openly —let me tell you—— - - ELINA. - - Sir Knight——! - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Smiling._] Ah, I see the thought of my letter still - affrights you. Fear nought on that score. I would from my - heart it were unwritten, for—I know ’twill concern you - little enough, so I may even say it right out—for I love you - not, and shall never come to love you. Fear nothing, - therefore, as I said before; I shall in nowise seek to—— - - But what ails you——? - - ELINA. - - Me? Nothing, nothing.—Tell me but one thing: why do you - still wear those flowers? What would you with them? - - NILS LYKKE. - - These? Are they not a gage of battle you have thrown down to - the wicked Nils Lykke, on behalf of all womankind? What - could I do but take it up? - - You asked what I would with them? [_Softly._] When I stand - again amid the fair ladies of Denmark—when the music of the - strings is hushed and there is silence in the hall—then will - I bring forth these flowers and tell a tale of a young - maiden sitting alone in a gloomy black-beamed hall, far to - the north in Norway—— [_Breaks off and bows respectfully._ - - But I fear I detain the noble daughter of the house too - long. We shall meet no more; for before daybreak I shall be - gone. So now I bid you farewell. - - ELINA. - - Fare you well, Sir Knight! [_A short silence._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - Again you are deep in thought, Elina Gyldenlöve! Is it the - fate of your fatherland that weighs upon you still? - - ELINA. - - [_Shakes her head, absently gazing straight in front of - her._] My fatherland?—I think not of my fatherland. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Then ’tis the strife and misery of the time that disquiets - you. - - ELINA. - - The time? I had forgotten it——You go to Denmark? Said you - not so - - NILS LYKKE. - - I go to Denmark. - - ELINA. - - Can I look towards Denmark from this hall? - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Points to the window on the left._] Ay, from this window. - Denmark lies there, to the south. - - ELINA. - - And is it far from here? More than a hundred leagues? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Much more. The sea lies between you and Denmark. - - ELINA. - - [_To herself._] The sea? Thought has seagulls’ wings. The - sea cannot stay it. - - [_Goes out to the left._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Looks after her awhile; then says:_] If I could but spare - two days now—or even one—I would have her in my power, even - as the others. - - And yet is there rare stuff in this maiden. She is proud. - Might I not after all——? No; rather humble her—— - - [_Paces the room._ - - Verily, I believe she has set my blood afire. Who would have - thought it possible after all these years?—Enough of this! I - must get out of the tangle I have here thrust myself into. - - [_Sits in a chair on the right._ - - What is the meaning of it? Both Olaf Skaktavl and Inger - Gyldenlöve seem blind to the mistrust ’twill waken, when - ’tis rumoured that I am in their league.—Or can Lady Inger - have seen through my purpose? Can she have seen that all my - promises were but designed to lure Nils Sture forth from his - hiding-place? - - [_Springs up._ - - Damnation! Is it I that have been fooled? ’Tis like enough - that Count Sture is not at Östråt at all. It may be the - rumour of his flight was but a feint. He may be safe and - sound among his friends in Sweden, while I—— - - [_Walks restlessly up and down._ - - And to think I was so sure of success! If I should effect - nothing? If Lady Inger should penetrate all my designs—and - publish my discomfiture—-. To be a laughing-stock both - here and in Denmark! To have sought to lure Lady Inger - into a trap—and given her cause the help it most - needed—strengthened her in the people’s favour——! Ah, I - could well-nigh sell myself to the Evil One, would he but - help me to lay hands on Count Sture. - - [_The window in the background is pushed open._ NILS - STENSSON _appears outside._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Clutches at his sword._] Who is there? - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_Jumps down on to the floor._] Ah; here I am at last then! - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Aside._] What means this? - - NILS STENSSON. - - God’s peace, master! - - NILS LYKKE. - - Thanks, good Sir! Methinks you have chosen a strange way of - entrance. - - NILS STENSSON. - - Ay, what the devil was I to do? The gate was shut. Folk must - sleep in this house like bears at Yuletide. - - NILS LYKKE. - - God be thanked! Know you not that a good conscience is the - best pillow? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Ay, it must be even so; for with all my rattling and - thundering, I—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - ——You won not in? - - NILS STENSSON. - - You have hit it. So I said to myself: As you are bidden to - be in Östråt to-night, if you have to go through fire and - water, you may surely make free to creep through a window. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Aside._] Ah, if it should be——! - - [_Moves a step or two nearer._ - - Was it, then, of the last necessity that you should reach - Östråt to-night? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Was it? Ay, faith but it was. I love not to keep folk - waiting, I can tell you. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Aha,—then Lady Inger Gyldenlöve looks for your coming? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Lady Inger Gyldenlöve? Nay, that I can scarce say for - certain; [_with a sly smile_] but there might be some one - else—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Smiles in answer._] Ah, so there might be some one else—? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Tell me—are you of the house? - - NILS LYKKE. - - I? Well, in so far that I am Lady Inger’s guest this - evening. - - NILS STENSSON. - - A guest?—Is not to-night the third night after Martinmas? - - NILS LYKKE. - - The third night after—? Ay, right enough.—Would you seek the - lady of the house at once? I think she is not yet gone to - rest. But might not _you_ sit down and rest awhile, dear - young Sir? See, here is yet a flagon of wine remaining, and - doubtless you will find some food. Come, fall to; you will - do wisely to refresh your strength. - - NILS STENSSON. - - You are right, Sir; ’twere not amiss. - - [_Sits down by the table and eats and drinks._ - - Both roast meat and sweet cakes! Why, you live like lords - here! When one has slept, as I have, on the naked ground, - and lived on bread and water for four or five days—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Looks at him with a smile._] Ay, such a life must be hard - for one that is wont to sit at the high-table in noble - halls—— - - NILS STENSSON. - - Noble halls——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - But now can you take your ease at Östråt, as long as it - likes you. - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_Pleased._] Ay? Can I truly? Then I am not to begone again - so soon? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Nay, that I know not. Sure you yourself can best say that. - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_Softly._] Oh, the devil! [_Stretches himself in the - chair._] Well, you see—’tis not yet certain. I, for my part, - were nothing loath to stay quiet here awhile; but—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - ——But you are not in all points your own master? There be - other duties and other affairs——? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Ay, that is just the rub. Were I to choose, I would rest me - at Östråt at least the winter through; I have for the most - part led a soldier’s life, and—— - - [_Interrupts himself suddenly, fills a goblet, and - drinks._ - - Your health, Sir! - - NILS LYKKE. - - A soldier’s life? H’m! - - NILS STENSSON. - - Nay, what I would have said is this: I have long been eager - to see Lady Inger Gyldenlöve, whose fame has spread so wide. - She must be a queenly woman,—is’t not so?——The one thing I - like not in her, is that she is so cursedly slow to take - open action. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Open action? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Ay, ay, you understand me; I mean she is so loath to take a - hand in driving the foreign masters out of the land. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Ay, there you are right. But if now you do what you can, you - will doubtless move her. - - NILS STENSSON. - - I? God knows ’twould but little serve if _I_—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - Yet ’tis strange you should seek her here if you have so - little hope. - - NILS STENSSON. - - What mean you?—Tell me, know you Lady Inger? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Surely; since I am her guest—— - - NILS STENSSON. - - Ay, but it in nowise follows that you know her. I too am her - guest, yet have I never seen so much as her shadow. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Yet did you speak of her—— - - NILS STENSSON. - - ——as all folk speak. Why should I not? And besides, I have - often enough heard from Peter Kanzler—— - - [_Stops in confusion, and falls to eating busily._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - You would have said——? - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_Eating._] I? Nay, ’tis all one. - - [_Nils Lykke laughs._ - - NILS STENSSON. - - Why laugh you, Sir? - - NILS LYKKE. - - At nothing, Sir! - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_Drinks._] A pretty vintage ye have in this house. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Approaches him confidentially._] Listen—were it not time - now to throw off the mask? - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_Smiling._] The mask? Why, do as seems best to you. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Then off with all disguise. You are known, Count Sture! - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_Bursts out laughing._] Count Sture? Do you too take me for - Count Sture? - - [_Rises from the table._ - - You mistake, Sir! I am not Count Sture. - - NILS LYKKE. - - You are not? Then who are you? - - NILS STENSSON. - - My name is Nils Stensson. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Looks at him with a smile._] H’m! Nils Stensson? But you - are not Sten Sture’s son Nils? The name chimes at least. - - NILS STENSSON. - - True enough; but God knows what right I have to bear it. My - father I never knew; my mother was a poor peasant-woman, - that was robbed and murdered in one of the old feuds. Peter - Kanzler chanced to be on the spot; he took me into his care, - brought me up, and taught me the trade of arms. As you know, - King Gustav has been hunting him this many a year; and I - have followed him faithfully, wherever he went. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Peter Kanzler has taught you more than the trade of arms, - meseems.——Well, well; then you are not Nils Sture. But at - least you come from Sweden. Peter Kanzler has sent you - hither to find a stranger, who—— - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_Nods cunningly._]——who is found already. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Somewhat uncertain._] And whom you do not know? - - NILS STENSSON. - - As little as you know me; for I swear to you by God himself: - I am not Count Sture! - - NILS LYKKE. - - In sober earnest, Sir? - - NILS STENSSON. - - As truly as I live! Wherefore should I deny it, if I were? - - NILS LYKKE. - - But where, then, is Count Sture? - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_In a low voice._] Ay, _that_ is just the secret. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Whispers._] Which is known to you? Is’t not so? - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_Nods._] And which I am to tell you. - - NILS LYKKE. - - To tell me? Well then,—where is he? - - [NILS STENSSON _points upwards._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - Up there? Lady Inger holds him hidden in the loft-room? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Nay, nay; you mistake me. - - [_Looks round cautiously._ - - Nils Sture is in Heaven! - - NILS LYKKE. - - Dead? And where? - - NILS STENSSON. - - In his mother’s castle,—three weeks since. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Ah, you are deceiving me! ’Tis but five or six days since he - crossed the frontier into Norway. - - NILS STENSSON. - - Oh, that was I. - - NILS LYKKE. - - But just before that the Count had appeared in the Dales. - The people, who were restless already, broke out openly and - would have chosen him for king. - - NILS STENSSON. - - Ha-ha-ha; that was me too! - - NILS LYKKE. - - You? - - NILS STENSSON. - - I will tell you how it came about. One day Peter Kanzler - called me to him and gave me to know that great things were - preparing. He bade me set out for Norway and fare to Östråt, - where I must be on a certain fixed day—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Nods._] The third night after Martinmas. - - NILS STENSSON. - - There I was to meet a stranger—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - Ay, right; I am he. - - NILS STENSSON. - - From him I should learn what more I had to do. Moreover, I - was to let him know that the Count was dead of a sudden, but - that as yet ’twas known to no one save to his mother the - Countess, together with Peter Kanzler and a few old servants - of the Stures. - - NILS LYKKE. - - I understand. The Count was the peasants’ rallying-point. - Were the tidings of his death to spread, they would fall - asunder,—and ’twould all come to nought. - - NILS STENSSON. - - Ay, maybe so; I know little of such matters. - - NILS LYKKE. - - But how came you to give yourself out for the Count? - - NILS STENSSON. - - How came I to——? Nay, what know I? Many’s the mad prank I - have hit on in my day. And yet ’twas not I hit on it - neither; for whereever I appeared in the Dales, the people - crowded round me and hailed me as Count Sture. Deny it as I - pleased, ’twas wasted breath. The Count had been there two - years before, they said—and the veriest child knew me again. - Well, so be it, thought I; never again will you be a Count - in this life; why not try what ’tis like for once? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Well,—and what did you more? - - NILS STENSSON. - - I? I ate and drank and took my ease. The only pity was that - I had to take the road again so soon. But when I set forth - across the frontier—ha-ha-ha—I promised them I would soon be - back with three or four thousand men—I know not how many I - said—and then we would lay on in earnest. - - NILS LYKKE. - - And you did not bethink you that you were acting rashly? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Ay, afterwards; but then, to be sure, ’twas too late. - - NILS LYKKE. - - I grieve for you, my young friend; but you will soon come to - feel the effects of your folly. Let me tell you that you are - pursued. A troop of Swedish men-at-arms is out after you. - - NILS STENSSON. - - After me? Ha-ha-ha! Nay, that is rare! And when they come - and think they have Count Sture in their clutches—ha-ha-ha! - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Gravely._]——Then ’tis all over with you. - - NILS STENSSON. - - All over——? But I am not Count Sture. - - NILS LYKKE. - - You have called the people to arms. You have given seditious - promises, and raised troubles in the land. - - NILS STENSSON. - - Ay, but ’twas only in jest! - - NILS LYKKE. - - King Gustav will scarce take that view of the affair. - - NILS STENSSON. - - Truly, there is something in what you say. To think I could - be so featherwitted——Well, well, I’m not a dead man yet! You - will protect me; and besides—-the men-at-arms can scarce be - at my heels yet. - - NILS LYKKE. - - But what else have you to tell me? - - NILS STENSSON. - - I? Nothing. When once I have given you the packet—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Off his guard._] The packet? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Ay, sure you know—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - Ah, right, right; the papers from Peter Kanzler—— - - NILS STENSSON. - - See, here they all are. - - [_Takes out a packet from inside his doublet, and - hands it to_ NILS LYKKE. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Aside._] Letters and papers for Olaf Skaktavl. [_To_ - NILS STENSSON. - - The packet is open, I see. ’Tis like you know what it - contains? - - NILS STENSSON. - - No, good sir; I love not to read writing; and for reason - good. - - NILS LYKKE. - - I understand; you have given most care to the trade of arms. - - [_Sits down by the table on the right, and runs - through the papers._ - - Aha! Here is light enough and to spare on what is brewing. - - This small letter tied with a silken thread—[_Examines the - address._] This too for Olaf Skaktavl. [_Opens the letter, - and glances through its contents._] From Peter Kanzler. I - thought as much. [_Reads under his breath._] “I am hard - bested, for—”; ay, sure enough; here it stands,—“Young Count - Sture has been gathered to his fathers, even at the time - fixed for the revolt to break forth”—“—but all may yet be - made good—” What now? [_Reads on in astonishment._] “You - must know, then, Olaf Skaktavl, that the young man who - brings you this letter is a son of—” Heaven and earth—can it - be so?—Ay, by the cross of Christ, even so ’tis written! - [_Glances at_ NILS STENSSON.] Can he be—? Ah, if it were so! - [_Reads on._] “I have nurtured him since he was a year old; - but up to this day I have ever refused to give him back, - trusting to have in him a sure hostage for Inger - Gyldenlöve’s faithfulness to us and to our friends. Yet in - that respect he has but little availed us. You may marvel - that I told you not this secret when you were with me here - of late; therefore will I confess freely that I feared you - might seize upon him, even as I had done, and to the same - intent. But now, when you have seen Lady Inger, and have - doubtless assured yourself how loath she is to have a hand - in our undertaking, you will see that ’tis wisest to give - her back her own as soon as may be. Well might it come to - pass that in her joy and security and thankfulness—” —— - “—that is now our last hope.” - - [_Sits for a while as though struck dumb with - surprise; then exclaims in a low voice:_ - - Aha,—what a letter! Gold would not buy it! - - NILS STENSSON. - - ’Tis plain I have brought you weighty tidings. Ay, ay,—Peter - Kanzler has many irons in the fire, folk say. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_To himself._] What to do with all this? A thousand paths - are open to me—What if I were—? No, ’twere to risk too much. - But if—ah, if I—? I will venture it! - - [_Tears the letter across, crumples up the pieces, - and hides them inside his doublet; puts back the - other papers into the packet, which he thrusts - inside his belt; rises and says:_ - - A word, my young friend! - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_Approaching him._] Well—your looks say that the game goes - bravely. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Ay, by my soul it does. You have given me a hand of nought - but court cards,—queens and knaves—— - - NILS STENSSON. - - But what of me, that have brought all these good tidings? - Have I nought more to do? - - NILS LYKKE. - - You? Ay, that have you. You belong to the game. You are a - king—and king of trumps too. - - NILS STENSSON. - - I a king? Oh, now I understand; you are thinking of my - exaltation—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - Your exaltation? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Ay; that which you foretold for me, if King Gustav’s men got - me in their clutches—— - - [_Makes a motion to indicate hanging._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - True enough;—but let that trouble you no more. It now lies - with yourself alone whether within a month you shall have - the hempen noose or a chain of gold about your neck. - - NILS STENSSON. - - A chain of gold? And it lies with me? - - [NILS LYKKE _nods._ - - NILS STENSSON. - - Why then, the devil take doubting! Do you but tell me what I - am to do. - - NILS LYKKE. - - I will. But first you must swear me a solemn oath that no - living creature in the wide world shall know what I confide - to you. - - NILS STENSSON. - - Is that all? You shall have ten oaths, if you will. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Not so lightly, young Sir! ’Tis no jesting matter. - - NILS STENSSON. - - Well, well; I am grave enough. - - NILS LYKKE. - - In the Dales you called yourself a Count’s son;—is’t not so? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Nay—begin you now on _that_ again? Have I not made free - confession—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - You mistake me. What you said in the Dales was the truth. - - NILS STENSSON. - - The truth? What mean you by that? Tell me but——! - - NILS LYKKE. - - First your oath! The holiest, the most inviolable you can - swear. - - NILS STENSSON. - - That you shall have. Yonder on the wall hangs the picture of - the Holy Virgin—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - The Holy Virgin has grown infirm of late. Know you not what - the monk of Wittenberg maintains? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Fie! how can you heed the monk of Wittenberg? Peter Kanzler - says he is a heretic. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Well, let us not dispute the matter. Here can I show you a - saint will serve full well to make oath by. - - [_Points to a picture hanging on one of the panels._ - - Come hither,—swear that you will be silent till I myself - release your tongue—silent, as you hope for Heaven’s - salvation for yourself and for the man whose picture hangs - there. - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_Approaching the picture._] I swear it—so help me God’s - holy word! - - [_Falls back a step in amazement._ - - But—Christ save me——! - - NILS LYKKE. - - What now? - - NILS STENSSON. - - The picture—! Sure ’tis I myself! - - NILS LYKKE. - - ’Tis old Sten Sture, even as he lived and moved in his - youthful years. - - NILS STENSSON. - - Sten Sture!—And the likeness—? And—said you not I spoke the - truth, when I called myself a Count’s son? Was’t not so? - - NILS LYKKE. - - So it was. - - NILS STENSSON. - - Ah, I have it, I have it! I am—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - You are Sten Sture’s son, good Sir! - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_With the quiet of amazement._] _I_ Sten Sture’s son! - - NILS LYKKE. - - On the mother’s side too your blood is noble. Peter Kanzler - spoke not the truth, if he said that a poor peasant woman - was your mother. - - NILS STENSSON. - - Oh strange! oh marvellous!—But can I believe——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - You may believe all that I tell you. But remember, all this - will be merely your ruin, if you should forget what you - swore to me by your father’s salvation. - - NILS STENSSON. - - Forget it? Nay, _that_ you may be sure I never shall.—But - you, to whom I have given my word,—tell me—who are you? - - NILS LYKKE. - - My name is Nils Lykke. - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_Surprised._] Nils Lykke? Surely not the Danish Councillor? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Even so. - - NILS STENSSON. - - And it was you—? ’Tis strange. How come you——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - ——to be receiving missives from Peter Kanzler? You marvel at - that? - - NILS STENSSON. - - I cannot deny it. He has ever named you as our bitterest - foe—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - And therefore you mistrust me? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Nay, not wholly that; but—well, the devil take musing! - - NILS LYKKE. - - Well said. Go but your own way, and you are as sure of the - halter as you are of a Count’s title and a chain of gold if - you trust to me. - - NILS STENSSON. - - That will I. My hand upon it, dear Sir! Do you but help me - with good counsel as long as there is need; when counsel - gives place to blows, I shall look to myself. - - NILS LYKKE. - - ’Tis well. Come with me now into yonder chamber, and I will - tell you how all these matters stand, and what you have - still to do. - - [_Goes out to the right._ - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_With a glance at the picture._] _I_ Sten Sture’s son! Oh, - marvellous as a dream——! - - [_Goes out after_ NILS LYKKE. - - - - - ACT FOURTH - - _The Banquet Hall, as before, but without the supper-table._ - - BIÖRN, _the majordomo, enters carrying a lighted - branch-candlestick, and lighting in_ LADY INGER _and_ - OLAF SKAKTAVL _by the second door on the left._ LADY - INGER _has a bundle of papers in her hand._ - - LADY INGER. - - [_To_ BIÖRN.] And you are sure my daughter had speech with - the knight, here in the hall? - - BIÖRN. - - [_Putting down the branch-candlestick on the table on the - left_.] Sure as may be. I met her even as she stepped into - the passage. - - LADY INGER. - - And she seemed greatly moved? Said you not so? - - BIÖRN. - - She looked all pale and disturbed. I asked if she were sick; - she answered not, but said: “Go to my mother and tell her - the knight sets forth from here ere daybreak; if she have - letters or messages for him, beg her not to delay him - needlessly.” And then she added somewhat that I heard not - rightly. - - LADY INGER. - - Did you not hear it at all? - - BIÖRN. - - It sounded to me as though she said:—“Almost I fear he has - already tarried too long at Östråt.” - - LADY INGER. - - And the knight? Where is he? - - BIÖRN. - - In his chamber belike, in the gate-wing. - - LADY INGER. - - It is well. What I have to send by him is ready. Go to him - and say I await him here in the hall. [BIÖRN _goes out to - the right._ - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Know you, Lady Inger,—’tis true that in such things I am - blind as a mole; yet seems it to me as though——h’m! - - LADY INGER. - - Well? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - ——as though Nils Lykke bore a mind to your daughter. - - LADY INGER. - - Then ’twould seem you are not so blind after all; for I am - the more deceived if you be not right. Marked you not at the - supper-board how eagerly he listened to the least word I let - fall concerning Elina? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - He forgot both food and drink. - - LADY INGER. - - And our secret affairs as well. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Ay, and what is more—the papers from Peter Kanzler. - - LADY INGER. - - And from all this you conclude——? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - From all this I chiefly conclude that, as you know Nils - Lykke and the name he bears, especially in all that touches - women—— - - LADY INGER. - - ——I should be right glad to know him outside my gates? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Ay; and that as soon as may be. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Smiling._] Nay—the case is just the contrary, Olaf - Skaktavl! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - How mean you? - - LADY INGER. - - If things be as we both think, Nils Lykke must in nowise - depart from Östråt yet awhile. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - [_Looks at her with disapproval._] Are you again embarked on - crooked courses, Lady Inger? What guile are you now - devising? Something that may increase your own power at the - cost of our—— - - LADY INGER. - - Oh this blindness, that makes you all do me such wrong! I - see well you think I purpose to make Nils Lykke my - daughter’s husband. Were such a thought in my mind, why had - I refused to take part in what is afoot in Sweden, when Nils - Lykke and all the Danish crew seem willing to support it? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Then if it be not your wish to win him and bind him to - you—what would you with him? - - LADY INGER. - - I will tell you in few words. In a letter to me, Nils Lykke - has spoken of the high fortune it were to be allied to our - house; and I do not say but, for a moment, I let myself - think of the matter. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Ay, see you! - - LADY INGER. - - To wed Nils Lykke to one of my house were doubtless a great - step toward stanching many discords in our land. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Meseems your daughter Merete’s marriage with Vinzents Lunge - might have taught you what comes of such a step. Scarce had - my lord gained firm footing among us, when he began to make - free with both our goods and our rights—— - - LADY INGER. - - I know it even too well, Olaf Skaktavl! But times there be - when my thoughts are manifold and strange. I cannot impart - them fully either to you or to any one else. Often I know - not the right course to choose. And yet—a second time to - make a Danish lord my son-in-law,—nought but the uttermost - need could drive me to that resource; and heaven be - praised—things have not yet come to _that_! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - I am no wiser than before, Lady Inger;—why would you keep - Nils Lykke at Östråt? - - LADY INGER. - - [_In a low voice._] Because I owe him an undying hate. Nils - Lykke has done me deadlier wrong than any other man. I - cannot tell you wherein it lies; but never shall I rest till - I am avenged on him. See you not now? Say that Nils Lykke - were to love my daughter—as meseems were like enough. I will - persuade him to tarry here; he shall learn to know Elina - well. She is both fair and wise.—Ah, if he should one day - come before me, with hot love in his heart, to beg for her - hand! Then—to chase him away like a dog; to drive him off - with jibes and scorn; to make it known over all the land - that Nils Lykke had come a-wooing to Östråt in vain—! I tell - you I would give ten years of my life but to see that day! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - In faith and truth, Inger Gyldenlöve—is _this_ your purpose - towards him? - - LADY INGER. - - This and nought else, as sure as God lives! Trust me, Olaf - Skaktavl, I mean honestly by my countrymen; but I am in - nowise my own mistress. Things there be that must be kept - hidden, or ’twere my death-blow. But let me once be secure - on _that_ side, and you shall see if I have forgotten the - oath I swore by Knut Alfson’s bier. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - [_Shakes her by the hand._] Thanks for those words! I am - loath indeed to think evil of you.—Yet, touching your design - towards this knight, methinks ’tis a venturesome game you - would play. What if you had misreckoned? What if your - daughter—? ’Tis said no woman can stand against this subtle - devil. - - LADY INGER. - - My daughter? Think you that she—? Nay, have no fear of that; - I know Elina better. All she has heard of his renown has but - made her hate him the more. You saw with your own eyes—— - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Ay, but—a woman’s mind is shifting ground to build on. - ’Twere best you looked well before you. - - LADY INGER. - - That will I, be sure; I will watch them narrowly. But even - were he to succeed in luring her into his toils, I have but - to whisper two words in her ear, and—— - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - What then? - - LADY INGER. - - ——She will shrink from him as though he came straight from - the foul Tempter himself. - - Hist, Olaf Skaktavl! Here he comes. Now be cautious. - - [NILS LYKKE _enters by the foremost door on the right._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Approaches_ LADY INGER _courteously._] My noble hostess - has summoned me. - - LADY INGER. - - I have learned through my daughter that you are minded to - leave us to-night. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Even so, to my sorrow;—since my business at Östråt is over. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Not before I have the papers. - - NILS LYKKE. - - True, true. I had well-nigh forgot the weightiest part of my - errand. ’Twas the fault of our noble hostess. With such - gracious skill did she keep her guests in talk at table—— - - LADY INGER. - - That you no longer remembered what had brought you hither? I - rejoice to hear it; for that was my design. Methought that - if my guest, Nils Lykke, were to feel at his ease in Östråt, - he must forget—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - What, lady? - - LADY INGER. - - ——First of all his errand—and then all that had gone before - it. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_To_ OLAF SKAKTAVL, _as he takes out the packet and hands - it to him._] The papers from Peter Kanzler. You will find in - them a full account of our partizans in Sweden. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - It is well. - - [_Sits down by the table on the left, where he opens - the packet and examines its contents._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - And now, Lady Inger Gyldenlöve,—I know not that there is - aught else for me to do here. - - LADY INGER. - - Had it been things of state alone that brought us together, - you might be right. But I should be loath to think so. - - NILS LYKKE. - - You would say——? - - LADY INGER. - - I would say that ’twas not alone as a Danish Councillor or - as the ally of Peter Kanzler that Nils Lykke came to be my - guest.—Do I err in fancying that somewhat you may have heard - down in Denmark may have made you curious to know more of - the Lady of Östråt. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Far be it from me to deny—— - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - [_Turning over the papers._] Strange. No letter. - - NILS LYKKE. - - ——Lady Inger Gyldenlöve’s fame is all too widely spread that - I should not long have been eager to see her face to face. - - LADY INGER. - - So I thought. But what, then, is an hour’s jesting talk at - the supper-table? Let us try to sweep away all that has till - now lain between us; it may well come to pass that the Nils - Lykke I know may wipe out the grudge I bore the one I knew - not. Prolong your stay here but a few days, Sir Councillor! - I dare not persuade Olaf Skaktavl thereto, since his secret - charge in Sweden calls him hence. But as for you, doubtless - your sagacity has placed all things beforehand in such train - that your presence can scarce be needed. Trust me, your time - shall not pass tediously with us; at least you will find - both me and my daughter heartily disposed to do all in our - power to pleasure you. - - NILS LYKKE. - - I doubt neither your goodwill towards me nor your - daughter’s; of that I have had ample proof. And I trust you - will not doubt that my presence elsewhere must be vitally - needful, since, despite of all, I must declare my longer - stay at Östråt impossible. - - LADY INGER. - - Is it even so!—Know you, Sir Councillor, were I evilly - minded, I might fancy you had come to Östråt to try a fall - with me, and that, having lost, you cared not to linger on - the battlefield among the witnesses of your defeat. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Smiling._] There might be some show of reason for such a - reading of the case; but sure it is that as yet _I_ hold not - the battle lost. - - LADY INGER. - - However that may be, it might at any rate be retrieved, if - you would tarry some days with us. You see yourself, I am - still halting and wavering at the parting of the - ways,—persuading my redoubtable assailant not to quit the - field.—Well, to speak plainly, the thing is this: your - alliance with the disaffected in Sweden still seems to me - somewhat—how shall I call it?—somewhat miraculous, Sir - Councillor! I tell you this frankly, dear Sir! The thought - that has moved the King’s Council to this secret step is in - truth most politic; but ’tis strangely at variance with the - deeds of certain of your countrymen in bygone years. Be not - offended, then, if my trust in your fair promises needs to - be somewhat strengthened ere I can place my whole welfare in - your hands. - - NILS LYKKE. - - A longer stay at Östråt would scarce help towards that end; - since I purpose not to make any further effort to shake your - resolve. - - LADY INGER. - - Then must I pity you from my heart. Ay, Sir Councillor—’tis - true I stand here an unfriended widow; yet may you trust my - word when I foretell that this visit to Östråt will strew - your future path with thorns. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_With a smile._] Is that your forecast, Lady Inger? - - LADY INGER. - - Truly it is! What can one say, dear Sir? ’Tis an age of - tattling tongues. Many a scurril knave will make jeering - rhymes at your expense. Ere half a year is out, you will be - all men’s fable; people will stop and gaze after you on the - high roads; ’twill be: “Look, look; there rides Sir Nils - Lykke, that fared north to Östråt to trap Inger Gyldenlöve, - and was caught in his own nets.”—Softly, softly, Sir Knight, - why so impatient! ’Tis not that _I_ think so; I do but - forecast the thoughts of the malicious and evil-minded; and - of them, alas! there are many.— Ay, ’tis shame; but so it - is—you will reap nought but mockery—mockery, because a woman - was craftier than you. “Like a cunning fox,” men will say, - “he crept into Östråt; like a beaten hound he slunk - away.”—And one thing more: think you not that Peter Kanzler - and his friends will forswear your alliance, when ’tis known - that _I_ venture not to fight under a standard borne by you? - - NILS LYKKE. - - You speak wisely, lady! Wherefore to secure me from - mockery—and not to endanger the alliance with all our dear - friends in Sweden—I must needs—— - - LADY INGER. - - [_Hastily._] ——prolong your stay at Östråt. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - [_Who has been listening._] He is in the trap! - - NILS LYKKE. - - No, my noble lady;—I must needs bring you to terms within - this hour. - - LADY INGER. - - But what if you should fail? - - NILS LYKKE. - - I shall _not_ fail. - - LADY INGER. - - You lack not confidence, it seems. - - NILS LYKKE. - - What shall be the wager that you make not common cause with - myself and Peter Kanzler? - - LADY INGER. - - Östråt Castle against your knee-buckles! - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Slaps his breast and cries:_] Olaf Skaktavl—here stands - the master of Östråt! - - LADY INGER. - - Sir Councillor——! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - [_Rises from the table._] What now? - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_To_ LADY INGER.] I accept not the wager; for in a moment - you will gladly give Östråt Castle, and more to boot, to be - freed from the snare wherein not I but you are tangled. - - LADY INGER. - - Your jest, Sir, grows a vastly merry one. - - NILS LYKKE. - - ’Twill be merrier yet—at least for me. You boast that you - have overreached me. You threaten to heap on me all men’s - scorn and mockery. Ah, beware that you stir not up my - vengefulness; for with two words I can bring you to your - knees at my feet. - - LADY INGER. - - Ha-ha——! - - [_Stops suddenly, as if struck by a foreboding._ - - And these two words, Nils Lykke?—these two words——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - ——The secret of Sten Sture’s son and yours. - - LADY INGER. - - [_With a shriek._] Oh, God in heaven——! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Inger Gyldenlöve’s son! What say you? - - LADY INGER. - - [_Half kneeling to_ NILS LYKKE.] Mercy! oh, be merciful——! - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Raises her up._] Collect yourself, and let us talk - together calmly. - - LADY INGER. - - [_In a low voice, as though bewildered._] Did you hear it, - Olaf Skaktavl? Or was it but a dream? Heard you what he - said? - - NILS LYKKE. - - It was no dream, Lady Inger! - - LADY INGER. - - [_Clasping her hands._] And you know it! You,—you!—Where is - he then? Where have you got him? What would you do with him? - [_Screams._] Do not kill him, Nils Lykke! Give him back to - me! Do not kill my child! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Ah, I begin to understand—— - - LADY INGER. - - And this fear—this torturing dread! Through all these weary - years it has been ever with me——and then all fails at last, - and I must bear this agony!—Oh Lord my God, is it right of - thee? Was it for this thou gavest him to me? - - [_Controls herself and says with forced composure:_ - - Nils Lykke—tell me _one_ thing. Where have you got him? - Where is he? - - NILS LYKKE. - - With his foster-father. - - LADY INGER. - - Still with his foster-father. Oh, that merciless man—! For - ever to deny me—. But it _must_ not go on thus! Help me, - Olaf Skaktavl! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - I? - - NILS LYKKE. - - There will be no need, if only you—— - - LADY INGER. - - Hearken, Sir Councillor! What you know you shall know - thoroughly. And you too, my old and faithful friend! - - Listen then. To-night you bade me call to mind that fatal - day when Knut Alfson was slain at Oslo. You bade me remember - the promise I made as I stood by his corpse amid the bravest - men in Norway. I was scarce full-grown then; but I felt - God’s strength in me, and methought, as many have thought - since, that the Lord himself had set his mark on me and - chosen me to fight in the forefront for my country’s cause. - - Was it pride of heart? Or was it a calling from on high? - That I have never clearly known. But woe to whoso is charged - with a mighty task. - - For seven years I fear not to say that I kept my promise - faithfully. I stood by my countrymen in all their sufferings - and their need. Playmates of mine, all over the land, were - wives and mothers now. I alone could give ear to no - wooer—not to one. That you know best, Olaf Skaktavl! - - Then I saw Sten Sture for the first time. Fairer man had - never met my sight. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Ah, now it grows clear to me! Sten Sture was then in Norway - on a secret errand. We Danes were not to know that he wished - your friends well. - - LADY INGER. - - In the guise of a mean serving-man he lived a whole winter - under one roof with me. - - That winter I thought less and less of the country’s - weal.——So fair a man had I never seen—and I had lived - well-nigh five-and-twenty years. - - Next autumn Sten Sture came once more; and when he departed - again he took with him, in all secrecy, a little child. - ’Twas not folk’s evil tongues I feared; but our cause would - have suffered had it got abroad that Sten Sture stood so - near to me. - - The child was given to Peter Kanzler to rear. I waited for - better times, that were soon to come. They never came. Sten - Sture took a wife two years later in Sweden, and, when he - died, he left a widow—— - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - ——And with her a lawful heir to his name and rights. - - LADY INGER. - - Time after time I wrote to Peter Kanzler beseeching him to - give me back my child. But he was ever deaf to my prayers. - “Cast in your lot with us once for all,” he said, “and I - send your son back to Norway; not before.” But ’twas even - that I dared not do. We of the disaffected party were then - ill regarded by many timorous folk in the land. Had these - learnt how things stood—oh, I know it!—to cripple the mother - they had gladly meted to the child the fate that would have - been King Christiern’s had he not saved himself by - flight.[20] - - But, besides that, the Danes, too, were active. They spared - neither threats nor promises to force me to join them. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - ’Twas but reason. The eyes of all men were fixed on you as - on the vane that should show them how to shape their course. - - LADY INGER. - - Then came Herlof Hyttefad’s rising. Do you remember that - time, Olaf Skaktavl? Was it not as though a new spring had - dawned over the whole land! Mighty voices summoned me to - come forth;—yet I dared not. I stood doubting—far from the - strife—in my lonely castle. At times it seemed as though the - Lord God himself were calling me; but then would come the - killing dread again to benumb my will. “Who will - win?”—_that_ was the question that was ever ringing in my - ears. - - ’Twas but a short spring that had come to Norway. Herlof - Hyttefad, and many more with him, were broken on the wheel - during the months that followed. None could call me to - account; yet there lacked not covert threats from Denmark. - What if they knew the secret? At last methought they _must_ - know; I knew not how else to understand their words. - - ’Twas even in that time of agony that Gyldenlöve, the High - Steward, came hither and sought me in marriage. Let any - mother anguished for her child think herself in my place!—A - month after, I was the High Steward’s wife—and homeless in - the hearts of my countrymen. - - Then came the quiet years. No one raised his head any more. - Our masters might grind us down even as heavily as they - listed. There were times when I loathed myself; for what had - I to do? Nought but to endure terror and scorn and bring - forth daughters into the world. My daughters! God must - forgive me if I have had no mother’s heart towards them. My - wifely duties were as serfdom to me; how then could I love - my daughters? Oh, how different with my son! _He_ was the - child of my very soul. He was the one thing that brought to - mind the time when I was a woman and nought but a woman.—And - him they had taken from me! He was growing up among - strangers, who might, mayhap, be sowing in him the seed of - corruption! Olaf Skaktavl—had I wandered, like you, on the - lonely hills, hunted and forsaken, in winter and storm—if I - had but held my child in my arms,—trust me, I had not - sorrowed and wept so sore as I have sorrowed and wept for - him from his birth even to this hour! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - There is my hand. I have judged you too hardly, Lady Inger! - Command me even as before; I will obey.—Ay, by all the - saints, I know what it is to sorrow for a child. - - LADY INGER. - - Yours was slain by men of blood. But what is death to the - restless terror of all these long years? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Mark, then—’tis in your power to end this terror. You have - but to make peace between the jarring factions, and neither - will think of seizing on your child as a pledge of your - faith. - - LADY INGER. - - [_To herself._] This is the vengeance of Heaven. [_Looks at - him._] In one word, what do you demand? - - NILS LYKKE. - - I demand first that you shall call the people of the - northern districts to arms, in support of the disaffected in - Sweden. - - LADY INGER. - - And next——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - ——that you do your best to advance young Count Sture’s - ancestral claim to the throne of Sweden. - - LADY INGER. - - His? You demand that I—— - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - [_Softly._] It is the wish of many Swedes, and ’twould serve - our turn too. - - NILS LYKKE. - - You hesitate, lady? You tremble for your son’s safety. What - better can you wish than to see his half-brother on the - throne? - - LADY INGER. - - [_In thought._] True—true—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Looks at her sharply._] Unless there be other plans - afoot—— - - LADY INGER. - - What mean you? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Inger Gyldenlöve might have a mind to be—a king’s mother. - - LADY INGER. - - No, no! Give me back my child, and let who will have the - crowns. - - But know you so surely that Count Sture is willing——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Of that he will himself assure you. - - LADY INGER. - - Himself? And when? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Even now. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - How now? - - LADY INGER. - - What say you? - - NILS LYKKE. - - In one word, Count Sture is in Östråt. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Here? - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_To_ Lady Inger.] You have doubtless heard that another - rode through the gate along with me? The Count was my - attendant. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Softly._] I am in his power. I have no longer any choice. - - [_Looks at him and says:_ - - ’Tis well, Sir Councillor—you shall have full assurance of - my support. - - NILS LYKKE. - - In writing? - - LADY INGER. - - As you will. - - [_Goes to the table on the left, sits down, and - takes writing materials from the drawer._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Aside, standing by the table on the right._] At last, - then, I win! - - LADY INGER. - - [_After a moment’s thought, turns suddenly in her chair to_ - OLAF SKAKTAVL _and whispers._] Olaf Skaktavl—I am certain of - it now—Nils Lykke is a traitor! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - [_Softly._] What? You think——? - - LADY INGER. - - He has treachery in his heart. - - [_Lays the paper before her and dips the pen in the - ink._ - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - And yet you would give him a written promise that may be - your ruin? - - LADY INGER. - - Hush; leave me to act. Nay, wait and listen first——[_Talks - with him in a whisper._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Softly, watching them._] Ah, take counsel together as much - as ye list! All danger is over now. With her written consent - in my pocket, I can denounce her whenever I please. A secret - message to Jens Bielke this very night—. I tell him but the - truth—that the young Count Sture is not at Östråt. And then - to-morrow, when the road is open—to Trondhiem with my young - friend, and thence by ship to Copenhagen with him as my - prisoner. Once we have him safe in the castle-tower, we can - dictate to Lady Inger what terms we will. And I—? After - this, methinks, the King will scarce place the French - mission in other hands than mine. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Still whispering to_ OLAF SKAKTAVL.] Well, you understand - me? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Ay, fully. Let us make the venture, even as you will. [_Goes - out by the back, to the right._ - - [NILS STENSSON _comes in by the first door on the - right, unseen by_ LADY INGER, _who has begun to - write._ - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_In a low voice._] Sir Knight,—Sir Knight! - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Moves towards him._] Rash boy! What would you here? Said I - not you should wait within until I called you? - - NILS STENSSON. - - How could I? Now you have told me that Inger Gyldenlöve is - my mother, I thirst more than ever to see her face to face—— - - Oh, it is she! How proud and high her mien! Even thus did I - ever picture her. Fear not, dear Sir,—I shall do nought - rashly. Since I have learnt this secret, I feel, as it were, - older and wiser. I will no longer be wild and heedless; I - will be even as other well-born youths.—Tell me,—knows she - that I am here? Surely you have prepared her? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Ay, sure enough; but—— - - NILS STENSSON. - - Well? - - NILS LYKKE. - - ——She will not own you for her son. - - NILS STENSSON. - - Will not own me? But she is my mother.—Oh, if it be that she - doubts _that_—[_takes out a ring which he wears on a cord - round his neck_]—show her this ring. I have worn it since my - earliest childhood; she must surely know its history. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Hide the ring, man! Hide it, I say! - - You mistake me. Lady Inger doubts not at all that you are - her child; but—ay, look about you; look at all this wealth; - look at these mighty forefathers and kinsmen whose pictures - deck the walls both high and low; look lastly at herself, - the haughty dame, used to bear sway as the first noblewoman - in the kingdom. Think you it can be to her mind to take a - poor ignorant youth by the hand before all men’s eyes and - say: Behold my son! - - NILS STENSSON. - - Ay, doubtless you are right. I am poor and ignorant. I have - nought to offer her in return for what I crave. Oh, never - have I felt my poverty weigh on me till this hour! But tell - me—what think you I should do to win her favour? Tell me, - dear Sir; sure you must know! - - NILS LYKKE. - - You must win your father’s kingdom. But until that may be, - look well that you wound not her ears by hinting at kinship - or the like. She will bear her as though she believed you to - be the real Count Sture, until you have made yourself worthy - to be called her son. - - NILS STENSSON. - - Oh, but tell me——! - - NILS LYKKE. - - Hush; hush! - - LADY INGER. - - [_Rises and hands him a paper._] Sir Knight—here is my - promise. - - NILS LYKKE. - - I thank you. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Notices_ NILS STENSSON.] Ah,—this young man is——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Ay, Lady Inger, he is Count Sture. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Aside, looks at him stealthily._] Feature for feature;—ay, - by God,—it is Sten Sture’s son! - - [_Approaches him and says with cold courtesy:_ - - I bid you welcome under my roof, Count! It rests with you - whether or not we shall bless this meeting a year hence. - - NILS STENSSON. - - With me? Oh, do but tell me what I must do! Trust me, I have - both courage and will—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Listens uneasily._] What is this noise and uproar, Lady - Inger? There are people pressing hitherward. What does this - mean? - - LADY INGER. - - [_In a loud voice._] ’Tis the spirits awaking! - - [OLAF SKAKTAVL, EINAR HUK, BIÖRN, FINN, _and a - number of_ PEASANTS _and_ RETAINERS _come in - from the back, on the right._ - - THE PEASANTS AND RETAINERS. - - Hail to Lady Inger Gyldenlöve! - - LADY INGER. - - [_To_ OLAF SKAKTAVL.] Have you told them what is afoot? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - I have told them all they need to know. - - LADY INGER. - - [_To the_ CROWD.] Ay, now, my faithful house-folk and - peasants, now must ye arm you as best you can and will. That - which earlier to-night I forbade you, ye have now my fullest - leave to do. And here I present to you the young Count - Sture, the coming ruler of Sweden—and Norway too, if God - will it so. - - THE WHOLE CROWD. - - Hail to him! Hail to Count Sture! - - [_General excitement. The_ PEASANTS _and_ RETAINERS - _choose out weapons and put on breastplates and - helmets, amid great noise_. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Softly and uneasily._] The spirits awaking, she said? I - but feigned to conjure up the devil of revolt—’twere a - cursed spite if he got the upper hand of us. - - LADY INGER. - - [_To_ NILS STENSSON.] Here I give you the first earnest of - our service—thirty mounted men, to follow you as a - bodyguard. Trust me—ere you reach the frontier many hundreds - will have ranged themselves under my banner and yours. Go, - then, and God be with you! - - NILS STENSSON. - - Thanks,—Inger Gyldenlöve! Thanks—and be sure you shall never - have cause to shame you for—for Count Sture! If you see me - again, I shall have won my father’s kingdom. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_To himself._] Ay, _if_ she see you again! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - The horses wait, good fellows! Are ye ready——? - - THE PEASANTS. - - Ay, ay, ay! - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Uneasily_, to LADY INGER.] What?, You mean not to-night, - even now——? - - LADY INGER. - - This very moment, Sir Knight! - - NILS LYKKE. - - Nay, nay, impossible! - - LADY INGER. - - I have said it. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Softly, to_ NILS STENSSON.] Obey her not! - - NILS STENSSON. - - How can I do aught else? I _will_; I _must_! - - NILS LYKKE. - - But ’tis your certain ruin—— - - NILS STENSSON. - - What then! _Her_ must I obey in all things—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_With authority._] And _me_? - - NILS STENSSON. - - I shall keep my word; be sure of that. The secret shall not - pass my lips till you yourself release me. But she is my - mother! - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Aside._] And Jens Bielke in wait on the road! Damnation! - He will snatch the prize out of my fingers—— - - [_To_ LADY INGER. - - Wait till to-morrow! - - LADY INGER. - - [_To_ NILS STENSSON.] Count Sture—do you obey me or not? - - NILS STENSSON. - - To horse! - - [_Goes up towards the background._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Aside._] Unhappy boy! He knows not what he does. - - [_To_ LADY INGER. - - Well, since so it must be,—farewell! - - [_Bows hastily, and begins to move away._ - - Lady Inger. - - [_Detains him._] Nay, stay! Not so, Sir Knight,—not so! - - NILS LYKKE. - - What mean you? - - LADY INGER. - - [_In a low voice._] Nils Lykke—you are a traitor! Hush! Let - no one see there is discord in the camp of the leaders. You - have won Peter Kanzler’s trust by some devilish wile that as - yet is dark to me. You have forced me to rebellious acts—not - to help our cause, but to further your own plots, whatever - they may be. I can draw back no more. But think not - therefore that you have conquered! I shall know how to make - you harmless—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Lays his hand involuntarily on his sword._] - - Lady Inger! - - LADY INGER. - - Be calm, Sir Councillor! Your life is safe. But you come not - outside the gates of Östråt before victory is ours. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Death and destruction! - - LADY INGER. - - It boots not to resist. You come not from this place. So - rest you quiet; ’tis your wisest course. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_To himself._] Ah,—I am overreached. She has been craftier - than I. [_A thought strikes him._] But if I yet——? - - LADY INGER. - - [_To_ OLAF SKAKTAVL.] Ride with Count Sture’s troops to the - frontier; then without pause to Peter Kanzler, and bring me - back my child. Now has he no longer any plea for keeping - from me what is my own. - - [_Adds, as_ OLAF SKAKTAVL _is going:_ - - Wait; a token—. He that wears Sten Sture’s ring, he is my - son. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - By all the saints, you shall have him! - - LADY INGER. - - Thanks,—thanks, my faithful friend! - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_To_ FINN, _whom he has beckoned to him unobserved, and - with whom he has been whispering._] Good—now contrive to - slip out. Let none see you. The Swedes are in ambush half a - league hence. Tell the commander that Count Sture is dead. - The young man you see there must on no account be touched. - Tell the commander so. Tell him the boy’s life is worth - thousands to me. - - FINN. - - It shall be done. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Who has meanwhile been watching_ NILS LYKKE.] And now go, - all of you, and God be with you! [_Points to_ NILS LYKKE.] - This noble knight cannot find it in his heart to leave his - friends at Östråt so hastily. He will abide here with me - till the tidings of your victory arrive. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_To himself._] Devil! - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_Seizes his hand._] Trust me—you shall not have long to - wait! - - NILS LYKKE. - - It is well; it is well! [_Aside._] All may yet be saved. If - only my message reach Jens Bielke in time—— - - LADY INGER. - - [_To_ EINAR HUK, _the bailiff, pointing to_ FINN.] And let - _that_ man be placed under close guard in the castle - dungeon. - - FINN. - - Me? - - THE BAILIFF AND THE SERVANTS. - - Finn! - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Aside._] My last anchor gone! - - LADY INGER. - - [_Imperatively._] To the dungeon with him! - - [EINAR HUK, BIÖRN, _and a couple of the - house-servants lead_ FINN _out to the left_. - - ALL THE REST. - - [_Except_ NILS LYKKE, _rushing out to the right._] Away! To - horse,—to horse! Hail to Lady Inger Gyldenlöve! - - LADY INGER. - - [_Passing close to_ NILS LYKKE _as she goes out after the - others._] Who wins? - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Remains alone._] Who? Ay, woe to you;—your victory will - cost you dear. _I_ wash my hands of it. ’Tis not _I_ that am - murdering him. - - But my prey is escaping me none the less; and the revolt - will grow and spread!—Ah, ’tis a foolhardy, a frantic game I - have here taken in hand! - - [_Listens at the window._. - - There they ride clattering out through the gateway.—Now ’tis - closed after them—and I am left here a prisoner. - - No way of escape! Within half-an-hour the Swedes will be - upon him. He has thirty well-armed horsemen with him. ’Twill - be life or death. - - But if, after all, they should take him alive?—Were I but - free, I could overtake the Swedes ere they reach the - frontier, and make them deliver him up. [_Goes towards the - window in the background and looks out._] Damnation! Guards - outside on every hand. Can there be no way of escape? - - [_Comes quickly forward again; suddenly stops and - listens._ - - What is that? Music and singing. It seems to come from - Elina’s chamber. Ay, ’tis she that is singing. Then she is - still awake—— - - [_A thought seems to strike him._ - - Elina!—Ah, if _that_ could be! Were it possible to—And why - should I not? Am I not still myself? Says not the song:— - - Fair maidens a-many they sigh and they pine: - “Ah God, that Nils Lykke were mine, mine, mine.” - - And she—? ——Elina Gyldenlöve shall set me free! - - [_Goes quickly but stealthily towards the first door - on the left._ - - - - - ACT FIFTH - - - _The Banquet Hall. It is still night. The hall is but dimly - lighted by a branch-candlestick on the table, in front, - on the right._ - - LADY INGER _is sitting by the table, deep in thought._ - - LADY INGER. - - [_After a pause._] They call me keen-witted beyond all - others in the land. I believe they are right. The - keenest-witted—No one knows how I became so. For more than - twenty years I have fought to save my child. _That_ is the - key to the riddle. Ay, that sharpens the wits! - - My wits? Where have they flown to-night? What has become of - my forethought? There is a ringing and rushing in my ears. I - see shapes before me, so lifelike that methinks I could lay - hold on them. - - [_Springs up._ - - Lord Jesus—what is this? Am I no longer mistress of my - reason? Is it to come to that——? - - [_Presses her clasped hands over her head; sits down - again, and says more calmly:_ - - Nay, ’tis nought. ’Twill pass. There is no fear;—it will - pass. - - How peaceful it is in the hall to-night! No threatening - looks from forefathers or kinsfolk. No need to turn their - faces to the wall. - - [_Rises again._ - - Ay, ’twas well that I took heart at last. We shall - conquer;—and then am I at the goal of all my longings. I - shall have my child again. - - [_Takes up the light as if to go, but stops and says - musingly:_ - - At the goal? The goal? To have him back? Is that all?—is - there nought further? - - [_Sets the light down on the table._ - - That heedless word that Nils Lykke threw forth at random—. - How could he see my unborn thought? - - [_More softly._ - - A king’s mother? A king’s mother, he said—And why not? Have - not my fathers before me ruled as kings, even though they - bore not the kingly name? Has not _my_ son as good a title - as the other to the rights of the house of Sture? In the - sight of God he has—if so be there is justice in Heaven. - - And in an hour of terror I have signed away his rights. I - have recklessly squandered them, as a ransom for his - freedom. - - If they could be recovered?—Would Heaven be angered, if I—? - Would it call down fresh troubles on my head if I were to—? - Who knows;—who knows! It may be safest to refrain. [_Takes - up the light again._] I shall have my child again. _That_ - must content me. I will try to rest. All these desperate - thoughts,—I will sleep them away. - - [_Goes towards the back, but stops in the middle of - the hall, and says broodingly:_ - - A king’s mother! - - [_Goes slowly out at the back, to the left._ - - [_After a short pause, NILS LYKKE and ELINA - GYLDENLÖVE enter noiselessly by the first door - on the left. NILS LYKKE has a small lantern in - his hand._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Throws the light from his lantern around, so as to search - the room._] All is still. I must begone. - - ELINA. - - Oh, let me look but once more into your eyes, before you - leave me. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Embraces her._] Elina! - - ELINA. - - [_After a short pause._] Will you come nevermore to Östråt? - - NILS LYKKE. - - How can you doubt that I will come? Are you not henceforth - my betrothed?—But will _you_ be true to _me_, Elina? Will - you not forget me ere we meet again? - - ELINA. - - Do you ask if I _will_ be true? Have I any will left then? - Have I power to be untrue to you, even if I would?—You came - by night; you knocked upon my door;—and I opened to you. You - spoke to me. What was it you said? You gazed in my eyes. - What was the mystic might that turned my brain, and lured me - as into a magic net? [_Hides her face on his shoulder._] Oh, - look not on me, Nils Lykke! You must not look upon me after - this—True, say you? Do you not own me? I am yours;—I _must_ - be yours—to all eternity. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Now, by my knightly honour, ere the year be past, you shall - sit as my wife in the hall of my fathers! - - ELINA. - - No vows, Nils Lykke! No oaths to me. - - NILS LYKKE. - - What ails you? Why do you shake your head so mournfully? - - ELINA. - - Because I know that the same soft words wherewith you turned - my brain, you have whispered to so many a one before. Nay, - nay, be not angry, my beloved! In nowise do I reproach you, - as I did while yet I knew you not. Now I understand how high - above all others is your goal. How can love be aught to - _you_ but a pastime, or woman but a toy? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Elina,—hear me! - - ELINA. - - As I grew up, your name was ever in my ears. I hated the - name, for meseemed that all women were dishonoured by your - life. And yet,—how strange!—when I built up in my dreams the - life that should be mine, you were ever my hero, though I - knew it not. Now I understand it all. What was it that I - felt? It was a foreboding, a mysterious longing for you, you - only one—for you that were one day to come and reveal to me - all the glory of life. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Aside, putting down the lantern on the table._] How is it - with me? This dizzy fascination—. If this it be to love, - then have I never known it till this hour.—Is there not yet - time—? Oh horror—Lucia! [_Sinks into the chair._ - - ELINA. - - What is amiss with you? So heavy a sigh—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - O, ’tis nought,—nought! - - Elina,—now will I confess all to you. I have beguiled many - with both words and glances; I have said to many a one what - I whispered to you this night. But trust me—— - - ELINA. - - Hush! No more of that. My love is no exchange for that you - give me. No, no; I love you because your every glance - commands it like a king’s decree. [_Lies down at his feet._ - Oh, let me once more stamp that kingly mandate deep into my - soul, though well I know it stands imprinted there for all - time and eternity. - - Dear God—how little I have known myself! ’Twas but to-night - I said to my mother: “My pride is my life.” And what is now - my pride? Is it to know my countrymen free, or my house held - in honour throughout many lands? Oh, no, no! My love is my - pride. The little dog is proud when he may sit by his - master’s feet and eat bread-crumbs from his hand. Even so am - I proud, so long as I may sit at your feet, while your looks - and your words nourish me with the bread of life. See, - therefore, I say to you, even as I said but now to my - mother: “My love is my life;” for therein lies all my pride, - now and evermore. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Raises her up on his lap._] Nay, nay—not at my feet, but - at my side is your place,—how high soever fate may exalt me. - Ay, Elina—you have led me into a better path; and should it - one day be granted me to atone by a deed of fame for the - sins of my reckless youth, then shall the honour be yours - and mine together. - - ELINA. - - Ah, you speak as though I were still that Elina who but this - evening flung down the flowers at your feet. - - I have read in my books of the many-coloured life in far-off - lands. To the winding of horns, the knight rides forth into - the greenwood, with his falcon on his wrist. Even so do you - go your way through life;—your name rings out before you - whithersoever you fare.—All that _I_ desire of the glory, is - to rest like the falcon on your arm. Like him was I, too, - blind to light and life, till you loosed the hood from my - eyes and set me soaring high over the tree-tops.—But trust - me—bold as my flight may be, yet shall I ever turn back to - my cage. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Rises._] Then will I bid defiance to the past! See - now;—take this ring, and be _mine_ before God and - men—_mine_,—ay, though it should trouble the dreams of the - dead. - - ELINA. - - You make me tremble. What is it that——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - ’Tis nought. Come, let me place the ring on your - finger.—Even so—now are you my betrothed! - - ELINA. - - _I_ Nils Lykke’s bride! It seems but a dream, all that has - befallen this night. Oh, but so fair a dream! My breast is - so light. No longer is there bitterness and hatred in my - soul. I will atone to all whom I have wronged. I have been - unloving to my mother. To-morrow will I go to her; she must - forgive me where I have erred. - - NILS LYKKE. - - And give her consent to our bond. - - ELINA. - - That will she. Oh, I am sure she will. My mother is kind; - all the world is kind;—I can no longer feel hatred for any - living soul—save _one_. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Save _one_? - - ELINA. - - Ah, ’tis a mournful history. I had a sister—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - Lucia? - - ELINA. - - Did you know Lucia? - - NILS LYKKE. - - No, no; I have but heard her name. - - ELINA. - - She too gave her heart to a knight. He betrayed her;—now she - is in Heaven. - - NILS LYKKE. - - And you—— - - ELINA. - - I hate him. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Hate him not! If there be mercy in your heart, forgive him - his sin. Trust me, he bears his punishment in his own - breast. - - ELINA. - - Him will I never forgive! I _cannot_, even if I would; for I - have sworn so dear an oath—— - - [_Listening._ - - Hush! Can you hear——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - What? Where? - - ELINA. - - Without; far off. The noise of many horsemen on the - high-road. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Ah, ’tis _they_! And I had forgotten—! They are coming - hither. Then is the danger great! I must begone! - - ELINA. - - But whither? Oh, Nils Lykke, what are you hiding——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Tomorrow, Elina—; for as God lives, I will return - tomorrow.—Quickly now—where is the secret passage whereof - you told me? - - ELINA. - - Through the grave-vault. See,—here is the trap-door—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - The grave-vault! [_To himself._] No matter, he _must_ be - saved! - - ELINA. - - [_By the window._] The horsemen have reached the gate—— - [_Hands him the lantern._ - - NILS LYKKE. - - Oh, then—— [_Begins to descend._ - - ELINA. - - Go forward along the passage till you reach the coffin with - the death’s-head and the black cross; it is Lucia’s—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Climbs back hastily and shuts the trapdoor._] Lucia’s! - Pah——! - - ELINA. - - What said you? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Nay, nothing. ’Twas the air of the graves that made me - dizzy. - - ELINA. - - Hark; they are hammering at the gate! - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Lets the lantern fall._] Ah! too late——! - - [BIÖRN _enters hurriedly from the right, carrying a - light._ - - ELINA. - - [_Goes towards him._] What is amiss, Biörn? What is it? - - BIÖRN. - - An ambuscade! Count Sture—— - - ELINA. - - Count Sture? What of him? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Have they killed him? - - BIÖRN. - - [_To Elina._] Where is your mother? - - TWO RETAINERS. - - [_Rushing in from the right._] Lady Inger! Lady Inger! - - [LADY INGER GYLDENLÖVE _enters by the furthest back - door on the left, with a branch-candlestick, - lighted, in her hand, and says quickly:_ - - LADY INGER. - - I know all. Down with you to the courtyard! Keep the gate - open for our friends, but closed against all others! - - [_Puts down the candlestick on the table to the - left._ BIÖRN _and the two_ RETAINERS _go out - again to the right._ - - LADY INGER. - - [_To_ NILS LYKKE.] So _that_ was the trap, Sir Councillor! - - NILS LYKKE. - - Inger Gyldenlöve, believe me——! - - LADY INGER. - - An ambuscade that was to snap him up as soon as you had - secured the promise that should destroy me! - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Takes out the paper and tears it to pieces._] There is - your promise. I keep nothing that can bear witness against - you. - - LADY INGER. - - What is this? - - NILS LYKKE. - - From this hour will I put your thoughts of me to shame. If I - have sinned against you,—by Heaven I will strive to repair - my crime. But now I _must_ out, if I have to hew my way - through the gate!—Elina—tell your mother all!—And you, Lady - Inger, let our reckoning be forgotten! Be generous—and - silent! Trust me, ere dawn of day you shall owe me a life’s - gratitude. [_Goes out quickly to the right._ - - LADY INGER. - - [_Looks after him with exultation._] ’Tis well! I understand - him. - - [_Turns to_ ELINA. - - Nils Lykke—? Well——? - - ELINA. - - He knocked upon my door, and set this ring upon my finger. - - LADY INGER. - - And from his soul he holds you dear? - - ELINA. - - He has said so, and I believe him. - - LADY INGER. - - Bravely done, Elina! Ha-ha, Sir Knight, now is it my turn! - - ELINA. - - My mother—you are so strange. Ah, yes—I know—’tis my - unloving ways that have angered you. - - LADY INGER. - - Not so, dear Elina! You are an obedient child. You have - opened your door to him; you have hearkened to his soft - words. I know full well what it must have cost you; for I - know your hatred—— - - ELINA. - - But, my mother—— - - LADY INGER. - - Hush! We have played into each other’s hands. What wiles did - you use, my subtle daughter? I saw the love shine out of his - eyes. Hold him fast now! Draw the net closer and closer - about him; and then—Ah, Elina, if we could but rend asunder - his perjured heart within his breast! - - ELINA. - - Woe is me—what is it you say? - - LADY INGER. - - Let not your courage fail you. Hearken to me. I know a word - that will keep you firm. Know then— [_Listening._] They are - fighting before the gate. Courage! Now comes the pinch! - [_Turns again to_ ELINA.] Know then: Nils Lykke was the man - that brought your sister to her grave. - - ELINA. - - [_With a shriek._] Lucia! - - LADY INGER. - - He it was, as truly as there is an Avenger above us! - - ELINA. - - Then Heaven be with me! - - LADY INGER. - - [_Appalled._] Elina——?! - - ELINA. - - I am his bride in the sight of God. - - LADY INGER. - - Unhappy child,—what have you done? - - ELINA. - - [_In a toneless voice._] Made shipwreck of my - soul.—Good-night, my mother! - - [_She goes out to the left._ - - LADY INGER. - - Ha-ha-ha! It goes down-hill apace with Inger Gyldenlöve’s - house. _There_ went the last of my daughters. - - Why could I not keep silence? Had she known nought, it may - be she had been happy—after a kind. - - It _was_ to be so. It is written up yonder in the stars that - I am to break off one green branch after another till the - trunk stand leafless at last. - - ’Tis well, ’tis well! I shall have my son again. Of the - others, of my daughters, I will not think. - - My reckoning? To face my reckoning?—It falls not due till - the last great day of wrath.—_That_ comes not yet awhile. - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_Calling from outside on the right._] Ho—shut the gate! - - LADY INGER. - - Count Sture’s voice——! - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_Rushes in, unarmed, and with his clothes torn, and shouts - with a laugh of desperation._] Well met again, Inger - Gyldenlöve! - - LADY INGER. - - What have you lost? - - NILS STENSSON. - - My kingdom and my life! - - LADY INGER. - - And the peasants? My servants?—where are they? - - NILS STENSSON. - - You will find the carcasses along the highway. Who has the - rest, I cannot tell you. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - [_Outside on the right._] Count Sture! Where are you? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Here, here! - - [OLAF SKAKTAVL _comes in with his right hand wrapped - in a clout._ - - LADY INGER. - - Alas, Olaf Skaktavl, you too——! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - ’Twas impossible to break through. - - LADY INGER. - - You are wounded, I see! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - A finger the less; that is all. - - NILS STENSSON. - - Where are the Swedes? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - At our heels. They are breaking open the gate—— - - NILS STENSSON. - - Oh, God! No, no! I _cannot_—I _will_ not die. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - A hiding-place, Lady Inger! Is there no corner where we can - hide him? - - LADY INGER. - - But if they search the castle——? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Ay, ay; they will find me! And then to be dragged away to - prison, or be strung up——! No, no, Inger Gyldenlöve,—I know - full well,—you will never suffer that to be! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - [_Listening._] There burst the lock. - - LADY INGER. - - [_At the window._] Many men rush in at the gateway. - - NILS STENSSON. - - And to lose my life _now_! Now, when my true life was but - beginning! Now, when I have so lately learnt that I have - aught to live for. No, no, no!—Think not I am a coward, - Inger Gyldenlöve! Might I but have time to show—— - - LADY INGER. - - I hear them now in the hall below. - - [_Firmly to_ OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - He _must_ be saved—cost what it will! - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_Seizes her hand._] Oh, I knew it;—you are noble and good! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - But how? Since we cannot hide him—— - - NILS STENSSON. - - Ah, I have it! I have it! The secret——! - - LADY INGER. - - The secret? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Even so; yours and mine! - - LADY INGER. - - Merciful Heaven—you know it? - - NILS STENSSON. - - From first to last. And now when ’tis life or death—Where is - Nils Lykke? - - LADY INGER. - - Fled. - - NILS STENSSON. - - Fled? Then God help me; for he alone can unseal my lips.—But - what is a promise against a life! When the Swedish captain - comes—— - - LADY INGER. - - What then? What will you do? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Purchase life and freedom;—tell him all. - - LADY INGER. - - Oh no, no;—be merciful! - - NILS STENSSON. - - Nought else can save me. When I have told him what I know—— - - LADY INGER. - - [_Looks at him with suppressed agitation._] You will be - safe? - - NILS STENSSON. - - Ay, safe! Nils Lykke will speak for me. You see, ’tis the - last resource. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Composedly, with emphasis._] The last resource? Right, - right—the last resource all are free to try. [_Points to the - left._] See, meanwhile you can hide in there. - - NILS STENSSON. - - [_In a low voice._] Trust me—you will never repent of this. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Half to herself._] God grant that you speak the truth! - - [NILS STENSSON _goes out hastily by the furthest - door on the left._ OLAF SKAKTAVL _is following; - but Lady Inger detains him._ - - LADY INGER. - - Did you understand his meaning? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - The dastard! He would betray your secret. He would sacrifice - your son to save himself. - - LADY INGER. - - When life is at stake, he said, we must try the last - resource.—’Tis well, Olaf Skaktavl,—let it be as he has - said! - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - What mean you? - - LADY INGER. - - Life against life! One of them must perish. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Ah—you would——? - - LADY INGER. - - If we close not the lips of him that is within ere he come - to speech with the Swedish captain, then is my son lost to - me. But if, on the other hand, he be swept from my path, - when the time comes I can claim all his rights for my own - child. Then shall you see that Inger Ottis’ daughter has - metal in her yet. Of this be assured—you shall not have long - to wait for the vengeance you have thirsted after for twenty - years.—Hark! They are coming up the stairs! Olaf - Skaktavl,—it lies with you whether tomorrow I shall be no - more than a childless woman, or —— - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - So be it! I have yet one sound hand left. - - [_Gives her his hand._] Inger Gyldenlöve—your name shall not - die out through me. - - _Follows_ NILS STENSSON _into the inner room._ - - LADY INGER. - - [_Pale and trembling._] But dare I——? - - [_A noise is heard in the room; she rushes with a - scream towards the door._ - - No, no,—it must not be! - - [_A heavy fall is heard within; she covers her ears - with her hands and hurries back across the hall - with a wild look. After a pause she takes her - hands cautiously away, listens again, and says - softly:_ - - Now it is over. All is still within—— - - Thou sawest it, God—I repented me! But Olaf Skaktavl was too - swift of hand. - - [OLAF SKAKTAVL _comes silently into the hall._ - - LADY INGER. - - [_After a pause, without looking at him._] Is it done? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - You need fear him no more; he will betray no one. - - LADY INGER. - - [_As before._] Then he is dumb? - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - Six inches of steel in his breast. I felled him with my left - hand. - - LADY INGER. - - Ay, ay—the right was too good for such work. - - OLAF SKAKTAVL. - - That is your affair;—the thought was yours.—And now to - Sweden! Peace be with you meanwhile! When next we meet at - Östråt, I shall bring another with me. - - [_Goes out by the furthest door on the right._ - - LADY INGER. - - Blood on my hands. Then ’twas to come to that!—He begins to - be dear-bought now. - - [BIÖRN _comes in, with a number of Swedish_ - MEN-AT-ARMS, _by the first door on the right._ - - ONE OF THE MEN-AT-ARMS. - - Pardon, if you are the lady of the house—— - - LADY INGER. - - Is it Count Sture ye seek? - - THE MAN-AT-ARMS. - - The same. - - LADY INGER. - - Then you are on the right track. The Count has sought refuge - with me. - - THE MAN-AT-ARMS. - - Refuge? Pardon, my noble lady,—you have no power to harbour - him; for—— - - LADY INGER. - - That the Count himself has doubtless understood; and - therefore he has—ay, look for yourselves—therefore he has - taken his own life. - - THE MAN-AT-ARMS. - - His own life! - - LADY INGER. - - Look for yourselves, I say. You will find the corpse within - there. And since he already stands before another judge, it - is my prayer that he may be borne hence with all the honour - that beseems his noble birth.—Biörn, you know my own coffin - has stood ready this many a year in the secret chamber. [_To - the_ MEN-AT-ARMS.] I pray that in it you will bear Count - Sture’s body to Sweden. - - THE MAN-AT-ARMS. - - It shall be as you command. [_To one of the others._] Haste - with these tidings to Jens Bielke. He holds the road with - the rest of the troop. We others must in and—— - - _One of the_ MEN-AT-ARMS _goes out to the right; the - others go with_ BIÖRN _into the room on the - left._ - - LADY INGER. - - [_Moves about for a time in uneasy silence._] - - If Count Sture had not taken such hurried leave of the - world, within a month he had hung on a gallows, or had lain - for all his days in a dungeon. Had he been better served - with such a lot? - - Or else he had bought his life by betraying my child into - the hands of my foes. Is it _I_, then, that have slain him? - Does not even the wolf defend her cubs? Who dare condemn me - for striking my claws into him that would have reft me of my - flesh and blood?—It had to be. No mother but would have done - even as I. - - But ’tis no time for idle musings now. I must to work. - - [_Sits down by the table on the left._ - - I will write to all my friends throughout the land. They - must rise as one man to support the great cause. A new - king,—regent first, and then king—— - - _Begins to write, but falls into thought, and says - softly:_ - - Who will be chosen in the dead man’s place?—A king’s - mother—? ’Tis a fair word. It has but one blemish—the - hateful likeness to another word.—King’s _mother_ and—king’s - _murderer_.[21]—King’s murderer—one that takes a king’s - life. King’s mother—one that gives a king life. - - [_She rises._ - - Well, then; I will make good what I have taken.—My son shall - be a king! - - _She sits down again and begins writing, but pushes - the paper away again, and leans back in her - chair._ - - There is ever an eerie feeling in a house where lies a - corpse. ’Tis therefore my mood is so strange. [_Turns her - head to one side as if speaking to some one._] Not - therefore? Why else should it be? - - [_Broodingly._ - - Is there such a great gulf, then, between openly striking - down a foe and slaying one—thus? Knut Alfson had cleft many - a brow with his sword; yet was his own as peaceful as a - child’s. Why then do I ever see this—[_makes a motion as - though striking with a knife_]—-this stab in the heart—and - the gush of red blood after? - - _Rings, and goes on speaking while shifting about - her papers._ - - Hereafter I will have nought to do with such ugly sights. I - will be at work both day and night. And in a month—in a - month my son will be here—— - - BIÖRN. - - [_Entering._] Did you strike the bell, my lady? - - LADY INGER. - - [_Writing._] Bring more lights. See to it in future that - there are many lights in the room. - - [BIÖRN _goes out again to the left._ - - LADY INGER. - - _After a pause, rises impetuously._] No, no, no;—I cannot - guide the pen to-night! My head is burning and throbbing—— - - [_Startled, listens._ - - What is _that_? Ah, they are screwing the lid on the coffin. - - They told me when I was a child the story of Sir Aage,[22] - who rose up and walked with his coffin on his back.—If _he_ - in there bethought him one night to come with the coffin on - his back, and thank me for the loan? [_Laughs quietly._] - H’m—what have we grown people to do with childish fancies? - [_Vehemently._] Nevertheless, such stories do no good! They - give uneasy dreams. When my son is king, they shall be - forbidden. - - _Paces up and down once or twice; then opens the - window._ - - How long is it, commonly, ere a body begins to rot? All the - rooms must be aired. ’Tis not wholesome here till that be - done. - - BIÖRN _comes in with two lighted - branch-candlesticks, which he places on the - tables._ - - LADY INGER. - - [_Who has set to work at the papers again._] It is well. See - you forget not what I have said. Many lights on the table! - - What are they about now in there? - - BIÖRN. - - They are still screwing down the coffin-lid. - - LADY INGER. - - [_Writing._] Are they screwing it down _tight_? - - BIÖRN. - - As tight as need be. - - LADY INGER. - - Ay, ay—who can tell how tight it needs to be? Do you see - that ’tis well done. - - [_Goes up to him with her hand full of papers, and - says mysteriously:_ - - Biörn, you are an old man; but _one_ counsel I will give - you. Be on your guard against all men—both those that are - dead and those that are still to die.—Now go in—go in and - see to it that they screw the lid down tightly. - - BIÖRN. - - [_Softly, shaking his head._] I cannot make her out. - - [_Goes back again into the room on the left._ - - LADY INGER. - - [_Begins to seal a letter, but throws it down half-closed; - walks up and down awhile, and then says vehemently:_] Were I - a coward I had never done it—never to all eternity! Were I a - coward, I had shrieked to myself: Refrain, while there is - yet a shred of hope for the saving of thy soul! - - [_Her eye falls on Sten Sture’s picture; she turns - to avoid seeing it, and says softly:_ - - He is laughing down at me as though he were alive! Pah! - - [_Turns the picture to the wall without looking at it._ - - Wherefore did you laugh? Was it because I did evil to your - son? But the other,—is not he your son too? And he is _mine_ - as well; mark that! - - [_Glances stealthily along the row of pictures._ - - So wild as they are to-night, I have never seen them yet. - Their eyes follow me wherever I may go. [_Stamps on the - floor._] I will not have it! I will have peace in my house! - [_Begins to turn all the pictures to the wall._] Ay, if it - were the Holy Virgin herself——Thinkest thou _now_ is the - time——? Why didst thou never hear my prayers, my burning - prayers, that I might have my child again? Why? Because the - monk of Wittenberg is right: There is no mediator between - God and man! - - [_She draws her breath heavily, and continues in - ever-increasing distraction._ - - ’Tis well that I know what to think in such things. There - was no one to see what was done in there. There is none to - bear witness against me. - - [_Suddenly stretches out her hands and whispers:_ - - My son! My beloved child! Come to me! Here I am!—Hush! I - will tell you something: They hate me up there—beyond the - stars—because I bore you into the world. ’Twas their will - that I should bear the Lord God’s standard over all the - land. But I went my own way. That is why I have had to - suffer so much and so long. - - BIÖRN. - - [_Comes from the room on the left._] My lady, I have to tell - you—Christ save me—what is this? - - LADY INGER. - - [_Has climbed up into the high-seat by the right-hand - wall._] Hush! Hush! I am the King’s mother. My son has been - chosen king. The struggle was hard ere it came to this—for - ’twas with the Almighty One himself I had to strive. - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Comes in breathless from the right._] He is saved! I have - Jens Bielke’s promise. Lady Inger,—know that—— - - LADY INGER. - - Peace, I say! look how the people swarm. - - [_A funeral hymn is heard from the room within._ - - There comes the coronation train. What a throng! All men bow - themselves before the King’s mother. Ay, ay; has she not - fought for her son—even till her hands grew red - withal?—Where are my daughters? I see them not. - - NILS LYKKE. - - God’s blood!—what has befallen here? - - LADY INGER. - - My daughters—my fair daughters! I have none any more. I had - _one_ left, and her I lost even as she was mounting her - bridal bed. [_Whispers._] In it lay Lucia dead. There was no - room for two. - - NILS LYKKE. - - Ah—it has come to this! The Lord’s vengeance is upon me. - - LADY INGER. - - Can you see him? Look, look! ’Tis the King. It is Inger - Gyldenlöve’s son! I know him by the crown and by Sten - Sture’s ring that he wears round his neck. Hark, what a - joyful sound! He is coming! Soon will he be in my arms! - Ha-ha!—who conquers, God or I? - - [_The_ MEN-AT-ARMS _come out with the coffin._ - - LADY INGER. - - [_Clutches at her head and shrieks._] The corpse! - [_Whispers._] Pah! ’Tis a hideous dream. [_Sinks back - into the high-seat._ - - JENS BIELKE. - - [_Who has come in from the right, stops and cries in - astonishment._] Dead! Then after all—— - - ONE OF THE MEN-AT-ARMS. - - ’Twas he himself that—— - - JENS BIELKE. - - [_With a look at_ NILS LYKKE.] He himself——? - - NILS LYKKE. - - Hush! - - LADY INGER. - - [_Faintly, coming to herself._] Ay, right;—now I remember - all. - - JENS BIELKE. - - [_To the_ MEN-AT-ARMS.] Set down the corpse. It is not Count - Sture. - - ONE OF THE MEN-AT-ARMS. - - Your pardon, Captain;—this ring that he wore around his - neck—— - - NILS LYKKE. - - [_Seizes his arm._] Be still! - - LADY INGER. - - [_Starts up._] The ring? The ring! - - [_Rushes up and snatches the ring from him._ - - Sten Sture’s ring! [_With a shriek._] Oh God, oh God—my son! - - [_Throws herself down on the coffin._ - - THE MEN-AT-ARMS. - - Her son? - - JENS BIELKE. - - [_At the same time._] Inger Gyldenlöve’s son? - - NILS LYKKE. - - So is it. - - JENS BIELKE. - - But why did you not tell me——? - - BIÖRN. - - [_Trying to raise her up._] Help! help! My lady—what ails - you? what lack you? - - LADY INGER. - - [_In a faint voice, half raising herself._] What lack I? One - coffin more. A grave beside my child—— - - [_Sinks again, senseless, on the coffin._ NILS LYKKE - _goes hastily out to the right. General - consternation among the rest._ - ------ - -Footnote 12: - - Pronounce _Knoot_. - -Footnote 13: - - Pronounce _Stoorë_. - -Footnote 14: - - Pronounce _Stayn Stoorë_. - -Footnote 15: - - Pronounce _Tronyem_. - -Footnote 16: - - Pronounce _Mayraytë_. - -Footnote 17: - - Pronounce _Loonghë_. - -Footnote 18: - - Pronounce _Ahkers-hoos_. - -Footnote 19: - - That is, Peter the Chancellor. - -Footnote 20: - - King Christian II. of Denmark (the perpetrator of the - massacre at Stockholm known as the Blood-Bath) fled to - Holland in 1523, five years before the date assigned to - this play, in order to escape death or imprisonment at the - hands of his rebellious nobles, who summoned his uncle, - Frederick I., to the throne. Returning to Denmark in 1532, - Christian was thrown into prison, where he spent the last - twenty-seven years of his life. - -Footnote 21: - - The words in the original are “Kongemoder” and - “Kongemorder,” a difference of one letter only. - -Footnote 22: - - Pronounce _Oaghë_. - ------ - - - - - THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG - (1856) - - - - - THE AUTHOR’S PREFACE TO THE - SECOND EDITION - - - I wrote _The Feast at Solhoug_ in Bergen in the summer of 1855—that - is to say, about twenty-eight years ago. - - The play was acted for the first time on January 2, 1856, also at - Bergen, as a gala performance on the anniversary of the foundation - of the Norwegian Stage. - - As I was then stage-manager of the Bergen Theatre, it was I myself - who conducted the rehearsals of my play. It received an excellent, a - remarkably sympathetic interpretation. Acted with pleasure and - enthusiasm, it was received in the same spirit. The “Bergen - emotionalism,” which is said to have decided the result of the - latest elections in those parts, ran high that evening in the - crowded theatre. The performance ended with repeated calls for the - author and for the actors. Later in the evening I was serenaded by - the orchestra, accompanied by a great part of the audience. I almost - think that I went so far as to make some kind of speech from my - window; certain I am that I felt extremely happy. - - A couple of months later, _The Feast at Solhoug_ was played in - Christiania. There also it was received by the public with much - approbation, and the day after the first performance Björnson wrote - a friendly, youthfully ardent article on it in the _Morgenblad_. It - was not a notice or criticism proper, but rather a free, fanciful - improvisation on the play and the performance. - - On this, however, followed the real criticism, written by the real - critics. - - How did a man in the Christiania of those days—by which I mean the - years between 1850 and 1860, or thereabouts—become a real literary, - and in particular dramatic, critic? - - As a rule, the process was as follows: After some preparatory - exercises in the columns of the _Samfundsblad_, and after having - frequently listened to the discussions which went on in Treschow’s - café or at “Ingebret’s” after the play, the future critic betook - himself to Johan Dahl’s bookshop and ordered from Copenhagen a copy - of J. L. Heiberg’s _Prose Works_, among which was to be found—so he - had heard it said—an essay entitled _On the Vaudeville_. This essay - was in due course read, ruminated on, and possibly to a certain - extent understood. From Heiberg’s writings the young man, moreover, - learned of a controversy which that author had carried on in his day - with Professor Oehlenschläger and with the Sorö poet, Hauch. And he - was simultaneously made aware that J. L. Baggesen (the author of - _Letters from the Dead_) had at a still earlier period made a - similar attack on the great author who wrote both _Axel and Valborg_ - and _Hakon Jarl_. - - A quantity of other information useful to a critic was to be - extracted from these writings. From them one learned, for instance, - that taste obliged a good critic to be scandalised by a hiatus. Did - the young critical Jeronimuses of Christiania encounter such a - monstrosity in any new verse, they were as certain as their - prototype in Holberg to shout their “Hoity-toity! the world will not - last till Easter!” - - The origin of another peculiar characteristic of the criticism then - prevalent in the Norwegian capital was long a puzzle to me. Every - time a new author published a book or had a little play acted, our - critics were in the habit of flying into an ungovernable passion and - behaving as if the publication of the book or the performance of the - play were a mortal insult to themselves and the newspapers in which - they wrote. As already remarked, I puzzled long over this - peculiarity. At last I got to the bottom of the matter. Whilst - reading the Danish _Monthly Journal of Literature_ I was struck by - the fact that old State-Councillor Molbech was invariably seized - with a fit of rage when a young author published a book or had a - play acted in Copenhagen. - - Thus, or in a manner closely resembling this, had the tribunal - qualified itself, which now, in the daily press, summoned _The Feast - at Solhoug_ to the bar of criticism in Christiania. It was - principally composed of young men who, as regards criticism, lived - upon loans from various quarters. Their critical thoughts had long - ago been thought and expressed by others; their opinions had long - ere now been formulated elsewhere. Their æsthetic principles were - borrowed; their critical method was borrowed; the polemical tactics - they employed were borrowed in every particular, great and small. - Their very frame of mind was borrowed. Borrowing, borrowing, here, - there, and everywhere! The single original thing about them was that - they invariably made a wrong and unseasonable application of their - borrowings. - - It can surprise no one that this body, the members of which, as - critics, supported themselves by borrowing, should have presupposed - similar action on my part, as author. Two, possibly more than two, - of the newspapers promptly discovered that I had borrowed this, - that, and the other thing from Henrik Hertz’s play, _Svend Dyring’s - House_. - - This is a baseless and indefensible critical assertion. It is - evidently to be ascribed to the fact that the metre of the ancient - ballads is employed in both plays. But my tone is quite different - from Hertz’s; the language of my play has a different ring; a light - summer breeze plays over the rhythm of my verse; over that of - Hertz’s brood the storms of autumn. - - Nor, as regards the characters, the action, and the contents of the - plays generally, is there any other or any greater resemblance - between them than that which is a natural consequence of the - derivation of the subjects of both from the narrow circle of ideas - in which the ancient ballads move. - - It might be maintained with quite as much, or even more, reason that - Hertz in his _Svend Dyring’s House_ had borrowed, and that to no - inconsiderable extent, from Heinrich von Kleist’s _Käthchen von - Heilbronn_, a play written at the beginning of this century. - Käthchen’s relation to Count Wetterstrahl is in all essentials the - same as Ragnhild’s to the knight, Stig Hvide. Like Ragnhild, - Käthchen is compelled by a mysterious, inexplicable power to follow - the man she loves wherever he goes, to steal secretly after him, to - lay herself down to sleep near him, to come back to him, as by some - innate compulsion, however often she may be driven away. And other - instances of supernatural interference are to be met with both in - Kleist’s and in Hertz’s play. - - But does any one doubt that it would be possible, with a little - good- or a little ill-will, to discover among still older dramatic - literature a play from which it could be maintained that Kleist had - borrowed here and there in his _Käthchen von Heilbronn_? I, for my - part, do not doubt it. But such suggestions of indebtedness are - futile. What makes a work of art the spiritual property of its - creator is the fact that he has imprinted on it the stamp of his own - personality. Therefore I hold that, in spite of the above-mentioned - points of resemblance, _Svend Dyring’s House_ is as incontestably - and entirely an original work by Henrik Hertz as _Käthchen von - Heilbronn_ is an original work by Heinrich von Kleist. - - I advance the same claim on my own behalf as regards _The Feast at - Solhoug_, and I trust that, for the future, each of the three - namesakes[23] will be permitted to keep, in its entirety, what - rightfully belongs to him. - - In writing of _The Feast at Solhoug_ in connection with _Svend - Dyring’s House_, George Brandes expresses the opinion, not that the - former play is founded upon any idea borrowed from the latter, but - that it has been written under an influence exercised by the older - author upon the younger. Brandes invariably criticises my work in - such a friendly spirit that I have all reason to be obliged to him - for this suggestion, as for so much else. - - Nevertheless I must maintain that he, too, is in this instance - mistaken. I have never specially admired Henrik Hertz as a - dramatist. Hence it is impossible for me to believe that he should, - unknown to myself, have been able to exercise any influence on my - dramatic production. - - As regards this point and the matter in general, I might confine - myself to referring those interested to the writings of Dr. Valfrid - Vasenius, lecturer on Æsthetics at the University of Helsingfors. In - the thesis which gained him his degree of Doctor of Philosophy, - _Henrik Ibsen’s Dramatic Poetry in its First Stage_ (1879), and also - in _Henrik Ibsen: The Portrait of a Skald_ (Jos. Seligman & Co., - Stockholm, 1882), Vasenius states and supports his views on the - subject of the play at present in question, supplementing them in - the latter work by what I told him, very briefly, when we were - together at Munich three years ago. - - But, to prevent all misconception, I will now myself give a short - account of the origin of _The Feast at Solhoug_. - - I began this Preface with the statement that _The Feast at Solhoug_ - was written in the summer of 1855. - - In 1854 I had written _Lady Inger of Östråt_. This was a task which - had obliged me to devote much attention to the literature and - history of Norway during the Middle Ages, especially the latter part - of that period. I did my utmost to familiarise myself with the - manners and customs, with the emotions, thoughts, and language, of - the men of those days. - - The period, however, is not one over which the student is tempted to - linger, nor does it present much material suitable for dramatic - treatment. - - Consequently I soon deserted it for the Saga period. But the Sagas - of the Kings, and in general the more strictly historical traditions - of that far-off age, did not attract me greatly; at that time I was - unable to put the quarrels between kings and chieftains, parties and - clans, to any dramatic purpose. This was to happen later. - - In the Icelandic “family” Sagas, on the other hand, I found in - abundance what I required in the shape of human garb for the moods, - conceptions, and thoughts which at that time occupied me, or were, - at least, more or less distinctly present in my mind. With these - Old-Norse contributions to the personal history of our Saga period I - had had no previous acquaintance; I had hardly so much as heard them - named. But now N. M. Petersen’s excellent translation—excellent, at - least, as far as the style is concerned—fell into my hands. In the - pages of these family chronicles, with their variety of scenes and - of relations between man and man, between woman and woman, in short, - between human being and human being, there met me a personal, - eventful, really living life; and as the result of my intercourse - with all these distinctly individual men and women, there presented - themselves to my mind’s eye the first rough, indistinct outlines of - _The Vikings at Helgeland_. - - How far the details of that drama then took shape, I am no longer - able to say. But I remember perfectly that the two figures of which - I first caught sight were the two women who in course of time became - Hiördis and Dagny. There was to be a great banquet in the play, with - passion-rousing, fateful quarrels during its course. Of other - characters and passions, and situations produced by these, I meant - to include whatever seemed to me most typical of the life which the - Sagas reveal. In short, it was my intention to reproduce - dramatically exactly what the Saga of the Volsungs gives in epic - form. - - I made no complete, connected plan at that time; but it was evident - to me that such a drama was to be my first undertaking. - - Various obstacles intervened. Most of them were of a personal - nature, and these were probably the most decisive; but it - undoubtedly had its significance that I happened just at this time - to make a careful study of Landstad’s collection of Norwegian - ballads, published two years previously. My mood of the moment was - more in harmony with the literary romanticism of the Middle Ages - than with the deeds of the Sagas, with poetical than with prose - composition, with the word-melody of the ballad than with the - characterisation of the Saga. - - Thus it happened that the fermenting, formless design for the - tragedy, _The Vikings at Helgeland_, transformed itself temporarily - into the lyric drama, _The Feast at Solhoug_. - - The two female characters, the foster sisters Hiördis and Dagny, of - the projected tragedy, became the sisters Margit and Signë of the - completed lyric drama. The derivation of the latter pair from the - two women of the Saga at once becomes apparent when attention is - drawn to it. The relationship is unmistakable. The tragic hero, so - far only vaguely outlined, Sigurd, the far-travelled Viking, the - welcome guest at the courts of kings, became the knight and - minstrel, Gudmund Alfson, who has likewise been long absent in - foreign lands, and has lived in the king’s household. His attitude - towards the two sisters was changed, to bring it into accordance - with the change in time and circumstances; but the position of both - sisters to him remained practically the same as that in the - projected and afterwards completed tragedy. The fateful banquet, the - presentation of which had seemed to me of the first importance in my - original plan, became in the drama the scene upon which its - personages made their appearance; it became the background against - which the action stood out, and communicated to the picture as a - whole the general tone at which I aimed. The ending of the play was, - undoubtedly, softened and subdued into harmony with its character as - drama, not tragedy; but orthodox æstheticians may still, perhaps, - find it disputable whether, in this ending, a touch of pure tragedy - has not been left behind, to testify to the origin of the drama. - - Upon this subject, however, I shall not enter further at present. My - object has simply been to maintain and prove that the play under - consideration, like all my other dramatic works, is an inevitable - outcome of the tenor of my life at a certain period. It had its - origin within, and was not the result of any outward impression or - influence. - - This, and no other, is the true account of the genesis of _The Feast - at Solhoug_. - - HENRIK IBSEN. - - ROME, April, 1883. - ------ - -Footnote 23: - - Heinrich von Kleist, Henrik Hertz, Henrik Ibsen. - ------ - - - - - CHARACTERS - - BENGT GAUTESON, _Master of Solhoug._ - MARGIT, _his wife._ - SIGNË, _her sister._ - GUDMUND ALFSON, _their kinsman._ - KNUT GESLING, _the King’s sheriff._ - ERIK OF HEGGË, _his friend._ - A HOUSE-CARL. - ANOTHER HOUSE-CARL. - THE KING’S ENVOY. - AN OLD MAN. - A MAIDEN. - GUESTS, BOTH MEN AND LADIES. - MEN OF KNUT GESLING’S TRAIN. - SERVING-MEN AND MAIDENS AT SOLHOUG. - - ------- - - _The action passes at Solhoug in the Fourteenth Century._ - - PRONUNCIATION OF NAMES: Gudmund = _Goodmoond_. The g in - “Margit” and in “Gesling” is hard, as in “go,” or, in - “Gesling,” it may be pronounced as y—“Yesling.” The first o - in “Solhoug” ought to have the sound of a very long “oo.” - - - - - THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG - PLAY IN THREE ACTS - - - ACT FIRST - - _A stately room, with doors in the back and to both sides. - In front, on the right, a bay window with small round - panes, set in lead, and near the window a table, on - which is a quantity of feminine ornaments. Along the - left wall, a longer table with silver goblets, beakers - and drinking-horns. The door in the back leads out to a - passage-way,[24] through which can be seen a spacious - fiord-landscape._ - - BENGT GAUTESON, MARGIT, KNUT GESLING _and_ ERIK OF HEGGË - _are seated around the table on the left. In the - background are_ KNUT’S _followers, some seated, some - standing; one or two flagons of ale are handed round - among them. Far off are heard church bells, ringing to - Mass._ - - - ERIK. - - [_Rising at the table._] In one word, now, what answer have - you to make to my wooing on Knut Gesling’s behalf? - - BENGT. - - [_Glancing uneasily towards his wife._] Well, I—to me it - seems—[_As she remains silent._] H’m, Margit, let us first - hear your thought in the matter. - - MARGIT. - - [_Rising._] Sir Knut Gesling, I have long known all that - Erik of Heggë has told of you. I know full well that you - come of a lordly house; you are rich in gold and gear, and - you stand in high favour with our royal master. - - BENGT. - - [_To_ KNUT.] In high favour—so say I too. - - MARGIT. - - And doubtless my sister could choose her no doughtier mate— - - BENGT. - - None doughtier; that is what _I_ say too. - - MARGIT. - - —if so be that you can win her to think kindly of you. - - BENGT. - - [_Anxiously, and half aside._] Nay—nay, my dear wife— - - KNUT. - - [_Springing up._] Stands it so, Dame Margit! You think that - your sister— - - BENGT. - - [_Seeking to calm him._] Nay, nay, Knut Gesling! Have - patience, now. You must understand us aright. - - MARGIT. - - There is naught in my words to wound you. My sister knows - you only by the songs that are made about you—and these - songs sound but ill in gentle ears. - - No peaceful home is your father’s house. - With your lawless, reckless crew, - Day out, day in, must you hold carouse— - God help her who mates with you. - God help the maiden you lure or buy - With gold and with forests green— - Soon will her sore heart long to lie - Still in the grave, I ween. - - ERIK. - - Aye, aye—true enough—Knut Gesling lives not overpeaceably. - But there will soon come a change in that, when he gets him - a wife in his hall. - - KNUT. - - And this I would have you mark, Dame Margit: it may be a - week since, I was at a feast at Heggë, at Erik’s bidding, - whom here you see. The ale was strong; and as the evening - wore on I vowed a vow that Signë, your fair sister, should - be my wife, and that before the year was out. Never shall it - be said of Knut Gesling that he brake any vow. You can see, - then, that you must e’en choose me for your sister’s - husband—be it with your will or against it. - - MARGIT. - - Ere _that_ may be, I must tell you plain, - You must rid yourself of your ravening train. - You must scour no longer with yell and shout - O’er the country-side in a galloping rout; - You must still the shudder that spreads around - When Knut Gesling is to a bride-ale bound. - Courteous must your mien be when a-feasting you ride; - Let your battle-axe hang at home at the chimney-side— - It ever sits loose in your hand, well you know, - When the mead has gone round and your brain is aglow. - From no man his rightful gear shall you wrest, - You shall harm no harmless maiden; - You shall send to no man the shameless hest - That when his path crosses yours, he were best - Come with his grave-clothes laden. - And if you will so bear you till the year be past, - You may win my sister for your bride at last. - - KNUT. - - [_With suppressed rage._] You know how to order your words - cunningly, Dame Margit. Truly, you should have been a - priest, and not your husband’s wife. - - BENGT. - - Oh, for that matter, I too could— - - KNUT. - - [_Paying no heed to him._] But I would have you take note - that had a sword-bearing man spoken to me in such wise— - - BENGT. - - Nay, but listen, Knut Gesling—you must understand us! - - KNUT. - - [_As before._] Well, briefly, he should have learnt that the - axe sits loose in my hand, as you said but now. - - BENGT. - - [_Softly._] There we have it! Margit, Margit, this will - never end well. - - MARGIT. - - [_To_ KNUT.] You asked for a forthright answer, and that I - have given you. - - KNUT. - - Well, well; I will not reckon too closely with you, Dame - Margit. You have more wit than all the rest of us together. - Here is my hand;—it may be there was somewhat of reason in - the keen-edged words you spoke to me. - - MARGIT. - - This I like well; now are you already on the right way to - amendment. Yet one word more—to-day we hold a feast at - Solhoug. - - KNUT. - - A feast? - - BENGT. - - Yes, Knut Gesling: you must know that it is our wedding-day; - this day three years ago made me Dame Margit’s husband. - - MARGIT. - - [_Impatiently, interrupting._] As I said, we hold a feast - to-day. When Mass is over, and your other business done, I - would have you ride hither again, and join in the banquet. - Then you can learn to know my sister. - - KNUT. - - So be it, Dame Margit; I thank you. Yet ’twas not to go to - Mass that I rode hither this morning. Your kinsman, Gudmund - Alfson, was the cause of my coming. - - MARGIT. - - [_Starts._] He! My kinsman? Where would you seek him? - - KNUT. - - His homestead lies behind the headland, on the other side of - the fiord. - - MARGIT. - - But he himself is far away. - - ERIK. - - Be not so sure; he may be nearer than you think. - - KNUT. - - [_Whispers._] Hold your peace! - - MARGIT. - - Nearer? What mean you? - - KNUT. - - Have you not heard, then, that Gudmund Alfson has come back - to Norway? He came with the Chancellor Audun of Hegranes, - who was sent to France to bring home our new Queen. - - MARGIT. - - True enough; but in these very days the King holds his - wedding-feast in full state at Bergen, and there is Gudmund - Alfson a guest. - - BENGT. - - And there could we too have been guests had my wife so - willed it. - - ERIK. - - [_Aside to_ KNUT.] Then Dame Margit knows not that—? - - KNUT. - - [_Aside._] So it would seem; but keep your counsel. - [_Aloud._] Well, well, Dame Margit, I must go my way none - the less, and see what may betide. At nightfall I will be - here again. - - MARGIT. - - And then you must show whether you have power to bridle your - unruly spirit. - - BENGT. - - Aye, mark you that. - - MARGIT. - - You must lay no hand on your axe—hear you, Knut Gesling? - - BENGT. - - Neither on your axe, nor on your knife, nor on any other - weapon whatsoever. - - MARGIT. - - For then can you never hope to be one of our kindred. - - BENGT. - - Nay, that is our firm resolve. - - KNUT. - - [_To_ MARGIT.] Have no fear. - - BENGT. - - And what we have firmly resolved stands fast. - - KNUT. - - That I like well, Sir Bengt Gauteson. I, too, say the same; - and I have pledged myself at the feast-board to wed your - kinswoman. You may be sure that my pledge, too, will stand - fast.—God’s peace till to-night! - - [_He and_ ERIK, _with their men, go out at the back._ - - [_BENGT accompanies them to the door. The sound of the bells - has in the meantime ceased._ - - BENGT. - - [_Returning._] Methought he seemed to threaten us as he - departed. - - MARGIT. - - [_Absently._] Aye, so it seemed. - - BENGT. - - Knut Gesling is an ill man to fall out with. And, when I - bethink me, we gave him over many hard words. But come, let - us not brood over that. To-day we must be merry, Margit!—as - I trow we have both good reason to be. - - MARGIT. - - [_With a weary smile._] Aye, surely, surely. - - BENGT. - - ’Tis true I was no mere stripling when I courted you. But - well I wot I was the richest man for many and many a mile. - You were a fair maiden, and nobly born; but your dowry would - have tempted no wooer. - - MARGIT. - - [_To herself._] Yet was I then so rich. - - BENGT. - - What said you, my wife? - - MARGIT. - - Oh, nothing, nothing. [_Crosses to the right._] I will deck - me with pearls and rings. Is not to-night a time of - rejoicing for me? - - BENGT. - - I am fain to hear you say it. Let me see that you deck you - in your best attire, that our guests may say: Happy she who - mated with Bengt Gauteson.—But now must I to the larder; - there are many things to-day that must not be overlooked. - - [_He goes out to the left._ - - MARGIT. - - [_Sinks down on a chair by the table on the right._ - - ’Twas well he departed. While here he remains - Meseems the blood freezes within my veins; - Meseems that a crushing might and cold - My heart in its clutches doth still enfold. - - [_With tears she cannot repress._ - - _He_ is my husband! I am _his_ wife! - How long, how long lasts a woman’s life? - Sixty years, mayhap—God pity me - Who am not yet full twenty-three! - - [_More calmly, after a short silence._ - - Hard, so long in a gilded cage to pine; - Hard a hopeless prisoner’s lot—and mine. - - [_Absently fingering the ornaments on the table, and - beginning to put them on._ - - With rings, and with jewels, and all of my best - By his order myself I am decking— - But oh, if to-day were my burial-feast, - ’Twere little that I’d be recking. - - [_Breaking off._ - - But if thus I brood I must needs despair; - I know a song that can lighten care. - - [_She sings._ - - The Hill-King to the sea did ride; - —Oh, sad are my days and dreary— - To woo a maiden to be his bride. - —I am waiting for thee, I am weary.— - - The Hill-King rode to Sir Håkon’s hold; - —Oh, sad are my days and dreary— - Little Kirsten sat combing her locks of gold. - —I am waiting for thee, I am weary.— - - The Hill-King wedded the maiden fair; - —Oh, sad are my days and dreary— - A silvern girdle she ever must wear. - —I am waiting for thee, I am weary.— - - The Hill-King wedded the lily-wand, - —Oh, sad are my days and dreary— - With fifteen gold rings on either hand. - —I am waiting for thee, I am weary.— - - Three summers passed, and there passed full five; - —Oh, sad are my days and dreary— - In the hill little Kirsten was buried alive. - —I am waiting for thee, I am weary.— - - Five summers passed, and there passed full nine; - —Oh, sad are my days and dreary— - Little Kirsten ne’er saw the glad sunshine. - —I am waiting for thee, I am weary.— - - In the dale there are flowers and the birds’ blithe song; - —Oh, sad are my days and dreary— - In the hill there is gold and the night is long - —I am waiting for thee, I am weary.— - - [_She rises and crosses the room._ - - How oft in the gloaming would Gudmund sing - This song in my father’s hall. - There was somewhat in it—some strange, sad thing - That took my heart in thrall; - Though I scarce understood, I could ne’er forget— - And the words and the thoughts they haunt me yet. - - [_Stops horror-struck._ - - Rings of red gold! And a belt beside—! - ’Twas with gold the Hill-King wedded his bride! - - [_In despair; sinks down on a bench beside the table - on the left._ - - Woe! Woe! I myself am the Hill-King’s wife! - And there cometh none to free me from the prison of my life. - - [SIGNË, _radiant with gladness, comes running in - from the back._ - - SIGNË. - - [_Calling._] Margit, Margit,—he is coming! - - MARGIT. - - [_Starting up._] Coming? Who is coming? - - SIGNË. - - Gudmund, our kinsman! - - MARGIT. - - Gudmund Alfson! Here! How can you think—? - - SIGNË. - - Oh, I am sure of it. - - MARGIT. - - [_Crosses to the right._] Gudmund Alfson is at the - wedding-feast in the King’s hall; you know that as well as - I. - - SIGNË. - - Maybe; but none the less I am sure it was he. - - MARGIT. - - Have you seen him? - - SIGNË. - - Oh, no, no; but I must tell you— - - MARGIT. - - Yes, haste you—tell on! - - SIGNË. - - ’Twas early morn, and the church bells rang, - To Mass I was fain to ride; - The birds in the willows twittered and sang, - In the birch-groves far and wide. - All earth was glad in the clear, sweet day; - And from church it had well-nigh stayed me; - For still, as I rode down the shady way, - Each rosebud beguiled and delayed me. - Silently into the church I stole; - The priest at the altar was bending; - He chanted and read, and with awe in their soul, - The folk to God’s word were attending. - Then a voice rang out o’er the fiord so blue; - And the carven angels, the whole church through, - Turned round, methought, to listen thereto. - - MARGIT. - - O Signë, say on! Tell me all, tell me all! - - SIGNË. - - ’Twas as though a strange, irresistible call - Summoned me forth from the worshipping flock, - Over hill and dale, over mead and rock. - ’Mid the silver birches I listening trod, - Moving as though in a dream; - Behind me stood empty the house of God; - Priest and people were lured by the magic, ’twould seem, - Of the tones that still through the air did stream. - No sound they made; they were quiet as death; - To hearken the song-birds held their breath, - The lark dropped earthward, the cuckoo was still, - As the voice re-echoed from hill to hill. - - MARGIT. - - Go on. - - SIGNË. - - They crossed themselves, women and men; - - [_Pressing her hands to her breast._ - - But strange thoughts arose within me then; - For the heavenly song familiar grew: - Gudmund oft sang it to me and you— - Ofttimes has Gudmund carolled it, - And all he e’er sang in my heart is writ. - - MARGIT. - - And you think that it may be—? - - SIGNË. - - I know it is he! - I know it! I know it! You soon shall see! - - [_Laughing._ - - From far-off lands, at the last, in the end, - Each song-bird homewards his flight doth bend! - I am so happy—though why I scarce know—! - Margit, what say you? I’ll quickly go - And take down his harp, that has hung so long - In there on the wall that ’tis rusted quite; - Its golden strings I will polish bright, - And tune them to ring and to sing with his song. - - MARGIT. - - [_Absently._] - - Do as you will— - - SIGNË. - - [_Reproachfully._] - - Nay, this is not right. - - [_Embracing her._ - - But when Gudmund comes will your heart grow light— - Light, as when I was a child, again. - - MARGIT. - - [_To herself._] - - So much has changed—ah, so much!—since then— - - SIGNË. - - Margit, you _shall_ be happy and gay! - Have you not serving-maids many, and thralls? - Costly robes hang in rows on your chamber walls; - How rich you are, none can say. - By day you can ride in the forest deep, - Chasing the hart and the hind; - By night in a lordly bower you can sleep, - On pillows of silk reclined. - - MARGIT. - - [_Looking towards the window._] - - And he comes to Solhoug! He, as a guest! - - SIGNË. - - What say you? - - MARGIT. - - [_Turning._] - - Naught.—Deck you out in your best. - That fortune which seemeth to you so bright - May await yourself. - - SIGNË. - - Margit, say what you mean! - - MARGIT. - - [_Stroking her hair._] - - I mean—nay, no more! Twill shortly be seen—; - I mean—should a wooer ride hither to-night—? - - SIGNË. - - A wooer? For whom? - - MARGIT. - - For you. - - SIGNË. - - [_Laughing._] - - For me? - That he’d ta’en the wrong road full soon he would see. - - MARGIT. - - What would you say if a valiant knight - Begged for your hand? - - SIGNË. - - That my heart was too light - To think upon suitors or choose a mate. - - MARGIT. - - But if he were mighty, and rich, and great? - - SIGNË. - - Oh, were he a king, did his palace hold - Stores of rich garments and ruddy gold, - ’Twould ne’er set my heart desiring. - With you I am rich enough here, meseems, - With summer and sun and the murmuring streams, - And the birds in the branches quiring. - Dear sister mine—here shall my dwelling be; - And to give any wooer my hand in fee, - For that I am too busy, and my heart too full of glee! - - [SIGNË _runs out to the left, singing._ - - MARGIT. - - [_After a pause._] Gudmund Alfson coming hither! Hither—to - Solhoug? No, no, it cannot be.—Signë heard him singing, she - said! When I have heard the pine-trees moaning in the forest - afar, when I have heard the waterfall thunder and the birds - pipe their lure in the treetops, it has many a time seemed - to me as though, through it all, the sound of Gudmund’s - songs came blended. And yet he was far from here.—Signë has - deceived herself. Gudmund cannot be coming. - - [BENGT _enters hastily from the back._ - - BENGT. - - [_Entering, calls loudly._] An unlooked-for guest, my wife! - - MARGIT. - - What guest? - - BENGT. - - Your kinsman, Gudmund Alfson! [_Calls through the doorway on - the right._] Let the best guest-room be prepared—and that - forthwith! - - MARGIT. - - Is he, then, already here? - - BENGT. - - [_Looking out through the passage-way._] - - Nay, not yet; but he cannot be far off. [_Calls again to the - right._] The carved oak bed, with the dragon-heads! - [_Advances to_ MARGIT.] His shield-bearer brings a message - of greeting from him; and he himself is close behind. - - MARGIT. - - His shield-bearer! Comes he hither with a shield-bearer? - - BENGT. - - Aye, by my faith he does. He has a shield-bearer and six - armed men in his train. What would you? Gudmund Alfson is a - far other man than he was when he set forth to seek his - fortune. But I must ride forth and receive him. - - [_Calls out._] The gilded saddle on my horse! And forget not - the bridle with the serpents’ heads! [_Looks out to the - back._] Ha, there he is already at the gate! Well, then, my - staff—my silver-headed staff! Such a lordly knight—Heaven - save us!—we must receive him with honour, with all seemly - honour! - - [_Goes hastily out to the back._ - - MARGIT. - [_Brooding._] - - Alone he departed, a penniless swain; - With esquires and henchmen now comes he again. - What would he? Comes he, forsooth, to see - My bitter and gnawing misery? - Would he try how long, in my lot accurst, - I can writhe and moan, ere my heart-strings burst— - Thinks he that—? Ah, let him only try! - Full little joy shall he reap thereby. - - [_She beckons through the doorway on the right. - Three handmaidens enter._ - - List, little maids, what I say to you: - Find me my silken mantle blue. - Go with me into my bower anon: - My richest of velvets and furs do on. - Two of you shall deck me in scarlet and vair, - The third shall wind pearl-strings into my hair. - All my jewels and gauds bear away with ye! - - [_The handmaids go out to the left, taking the - ornaments with them._ - - Since Margit the Hill-King’s bride must be, - Well! don we the queenly livery! - - [_She goes out to the left._ - - [BENGT _ushers in_ GUDMUND ALFSON, _through the - pent-house passage at the back._ - - BENGT. - - And now once more—welcome under Solhoug’s roof, my wife’s - kinsman. - - GUDMUND. - - I thank you. And how goes it with her? She thrives well in - every way, I make no doubt? - - BENGT. - - Aye, you may be sure she does. There is nothing she lacks. - She has five handmaidens, no less, at her beck and call; a - courser stands ready saddled in the stall when she lists to - ride abroad. In one word, she has all that a noble lady can - desire to make her happy in her lot. - - GUDMUND. - - And Margit—is she then happy? - - BENGT. - - God and all men would think that she must be; but, strange - to say— - - GUDMUND. - - What mean you? - - BENGT. - - Well, believe it or not as you list, but it seems to me that - Margit was merrier of heart in the days of her poverty, than - since she became the lady of Solhoug. - - GUDMUND. - - [_To himself._] I knew it; so it must be. - - BENGT. - - What say you, kinsman? - - GUDMUND. - - I say that I wonder greatly at what you tell me of your - wife. - - BENGT. - - Aye, you may be sure I wonder at it too. On the faith and - troth of an honest gentleman, ’tis beyond me to guess what - more she can desire. I am about her all day long; and no one - can say of me that I rule her harshly. All the cares of - household and husbandry I have taken on myself; yet - notwithstanding—Well, well, you were ever a merry heart; I - doubt not you will bring sunshine with you. Hush! here comes - Dame Margit! Let her not see that I— - - [MARGIT _enters from the left, richly dressed._ - - GUDMUND. - - [_Going to meet her._] Margit—my dear Margit! - - MARGIT. - - [_Stops, and looks at him without recognition._] Your - pardon, Sir Knight; but—? [_As though she only now - recognised him._] Surely, if I mistake not, ’tis Gudmund - Alfson. - - [_Holding out her hand to him._ - - GUDMUND. - - [_Without taking it._] And you did not at once know me - again? - - BENGT. - - [_Laughing._] Why, Margit, of what are you thinking? I told - you but a moment agone that your kinsman— - - MARGIT. - - [_Crossing to the table on the right._] Twelve years is a - long time, Gudmund. The freshest plant may wither ten times - over in that space. - - GUDMUND. - - ’Tis seven years since last we met. - - MARGIT. - - Surely it must be more than that. - - GUDMUND. - - [_Looking at her._] I could almost think so. But ’tis as I - say. - - MARGIT. - - How strange! I must have been but a child then; and it seems - to me a whole eternity since I was a child. [_Throws herself - down on a chair._] Well, sit you down, my kinsman! Rest you, - for to-night you shall dance, and rejoice us with your - singing. [_With a forced smile._] Doubtless you know we are - merry here to-day—we are holding a feast. - - GUDMUND. - - ’Twas told me as I entered your homestead. - - BENGT. - - Aye, ’tis three years to-day since I became— - - MARGIT. - - [_Interrupting._] My kinsman has already heard it. [_To_ - GUDMUND.] Will you not lay aside your cloak? - - GUDMUND. - - I thank you, Dame Margit; but it seems to me cold - here—colder than I had foreseen. - - BENGT. - - For my part, I am warm enough; but then I have a hundred - things to do and to take order for. [_To_ MARGIT.] Let not - the time seem long to our guest while I am absent. You can - talk together of the old days. [_Going._ - - MARGIT. - - [_Hesitating._] Are you going? Will you not rather—? - - BENGT. - - [_Laughing, to_ GUDMUND, _as he comes forward again._] See - you well—Sir Bengt of Solhoug is the man to make the women - fain of him. How short so e’er the space, my wife cannot - abide to be without me. [_To_ MARGIT, _caressing her._] - Content you; I shall soon be with you again. [_He goes - out to the back._ - - MARGIT. - - [_To herself_.] Oh, torture, to have to endure it all. - [_A short silence._ - - GUDMUND. - - How goes it, I pray, with your sister dear? - - MARGIT. - - Right well, I thank you. - - GUDMUND. - - They said she was here - With you. - - MARGIT. - - She has been here ever since we— - - [_Breaks off._ - - She came, now three years since, to Solhoug with me. - - [_After a pause._ - - Ere long she’ll be here, her friend to greet. - - GUDMUND. - - Well I mind me of Signë’s nature sweet. - No guile she dreamed of, no evil knew. - When I call to remembrance her eyes so blue - I must think of the angels in heaven. - But of years there have passed no fewer than seven; - In that time much may have altered. Oh, say - If she, too, has changed so while I’ve been away? - - MARGIT. - - She too? Is it, pray, in the halls of kings - That you learn such courtly ways, Sir Knight? - To remind me thus of the change time brings— - - GUDMUND. - - Nay, Margit, my meaning you read aright! - You were kind to me, both, in those far-away years— - Your eyes, when we parted were wet with tears. - We swore like brother and sister still - To hold together in good hap or ill. - ’Mid the other maids like a sun you shone, - Far, far and wide was your beauty known. - You are no less fair than you were, I wot; - But Solhoug’s mistress, I see, has forgot - The penniless kinsman. So hard is your mind - That ever of old was gentle and kind. - - MARGIT. - [_Choking back her tears._] - - Aye, of old—! - - GUDMUND. - - [_Looks compassionately at her, is silent for a - little, then says in a subdued voice._ - - Shall we do as your husband said? - Pass the time with talk of the dear old days? - - MARGIT. - [_Vehemently._] - - No, no, not of them! [_More calmly._ - Their memory’s dead. - My mind unwillingly backward strays. - Tell rather of what your life has been, - Of what in the wide world you’ve done and seen. - Adventures you’ve lacked not, well I ween— - In all the warmth and the space out yonder, - That heart and mind should be light, what wonder? - - GUDMUND. - - In the King’s high hall I found not the joy - That I knew by my own poor hearth as a boy. - - MARGIT. - [WITHOUT LOOKING AT HIM.] - - While I, as at Solhoug each day flits past, - Thank Heaven that here has my lot been cast. - - GUDMUND. - - ’Tis well if for this you can thankful be— - - MARGIT. - [_Vehemently._] - - Why not? For am I not honoured and free? - Must not all folk here obey my hest? - Rule I not all things as seemeth me best? - Here I am first, with no second beside me; - And that, as you know, from of old satisfied me. - Did you think you would find me weary and sad? - Nay, my mind is at peace and my heart is glad. - You might, then, have spared your journey here - To Solhoug; ’twill profit you little, I fear. - - GUDMUND. - - What, mean you, Dame Margit? - - MARGIT. - [_Rising._] - - I understand all— - I know why you come to my lonely hall. - - GUDMUND. - - And you welcome me not, though you know why I came? - - [_Bowing, and about to go._ - - God’s peace and farewell, then, my noble dame! - - MARGIT. - - To have stayed in the royal hall, indeed, - Sir Knight, had better become your fame. - - GUDMUND. - [_Stops._] - - In the royal hall? Do you scoff at my need? - - MARGIT. - - Your need? You are ill to content, my friend; - Where, I would know, do you think to end? - You can dress you in velvet and cramoisie, - You stand by the throne, and have lands in fee— - - GUDMUND. - - Do you deem, then, that fortune is kind to me? You said but - now that full well you knew What brought me to Solhoug— - - MARGIT. - - I told you true! - - GUDMUND. - - Then you know what of late has befallen me;— - You have heard the tale of my outlawry? - - MARGIT. - [_Terror-struck._] - - An outlaw! You, Gudmund! - - GUDMUND. - - I am indeed. - But I swear, by the Holy Christ I swear, - Had I known the thoughts of your heart, I ne’er - Had bent me to Solhoug in my need. - I thought that you still were gentle-hearted, - As you ever were wont to be ere we parted: - But I truckle not to you; the wood is wide, - My hand and my bow shall fend for me there; - I will drink of the mountain brook, and hide - My head in the wild beast’s lair. - - [_On the point of going._ - - MARGIT. - [_Holding him back._] - - Outlawed! Nay, stay! I swear to you - That naught of your outlawry I knew. - - GUDMUND. - - It is as I tell you. My life’s at stake; - And to live are all men fain. - Three nights like a dog ’neath the sky I’ve lain, - My couch on the hillside forced to make, - With for pillow the boulder grey. - Though too proud to knock at the door of the stranger, - And pray him for aid in the hour of danger, - Yet strong was my hope as I held on my way: - I thought: When to Solhoug you come at last - Then all your pains will be done and past. - You have sure friends there, whatever betide.— - But hope like a wayside flower shrivels up; - Though your husband met me with flagon and cup, - And his doors flung open wide, - Within, your dwelling seems chill and bare; - Dark is the hall; my friends are not there. - ’Tis well; I will back to my hills from your halls. - - MARGIT. - [_Beseechingly._] - - Oh, hear me! - - GUDMUND. - - My soul is not base as a thrall’s. - Now life to me seems a thing of nought; - Truly I hold it scarce worth a thought. - You have killed all that I hold most dear; - Of my fairest hopes I follow the bier. - Farewell, then, Dame Margit! - - MARGIT. - - Nay, Gudmund, hear! - By all that is holy—! - - GUDMUND. - - Live on as before - Live on in honour and joyance— - Never shall Gudmund darken your door, - Never shall cause you ’noyance. - - MARGIT. - - Enough, enough. Your bitterness - You presently shall rue. - Had I known you outlawed, shelterless, - Hunted the country through— - Trust me, the day that brought you here - Would have seemed the fairest of many a year; - And a feast I had counted it indeed - When you turned to Solhoug for refuge in need. - - GUDMUND. - - What say you—? How shall I read your mind? - - MARGIT. - [_Holding out her hand to him._] - - Read this: that at Solhoug dwell kinsfolk kind. - - GUDMUND. - - But you said of late—? - - MARGIT. - - To that pay no heed. - Or hear me, and understand indeed. - For me is life but a long, black night, - Nor sun, nor star for me shines bright. - I have sold my youth and my liberty, - And none from my bargain can set me free. - My heart’s content I have bartered for gold, - With gilded chains I have fettered myself; - Trust me, it is but comfort cold - To the sorrowful soul, the pride of pelf. - How blithe was my childhood—how free from care! - Our house was lowly and scant our store; - But treasures of hope in my breast I bore. - - GUDMUND. - [_Whose eyes have been fixed upon her._] - - E’en then you were growing to beauty rare. - - MARGIT. - - Mayhap; but the praises showered on me - Caused the wreck of my happiness—that I now see. - To far-off lands away you sailed; - But deep in my heart was graven each song - You had ever sung; and their glamour was strong; - With a mist of dreams my brow they veiled. - In them all the joys you had dwelt upon - That can find a home in the beating breast; - You had sung so oft of the lordly life - ’Mid knights and ladies. And lo! anon - Came wooers a many from east and from west; - And so—I became Bengt Gauteson’s wife. - - GUDMUND. - - Oh, Margit! - - MARGIT. - - The days that passed were but few - Ere with tears my folly I ’gan to rue. - To think, my kinsman and friend, on thee - Was all the comfort left to me. - How empty now seemed Solhoug’s hall, - How hateful and drear its great rooms all! - Hither came many a knight and dame, - Came many a skald to sing my fame. - But never a one who could fathom aright - My spirit and all its yearning— - I shivered, as though in the Hill-King’s might; - Yet my head throbbed, my blood was burning. - - GUDMUND. - - But your husband—? - - MARGIT. - - He never to me was dear. - ’Twas his gold was my undoing. - When he spoke to me, aye, or e’en drew near, - My spirit writhed with ruing. - - [_Clasping her hands._ - - And thus have I lived for three long years— - A life of sorrow, of unstanched tears! - Your coming was rumoured. You know full well - What pride deep down in my heart doth dwell. - I hid my anguish, I veiled my woe, - For you were the last that the truth must know. - - GUDMUND. - [_Moved._] - - ’Twas therefore, then, that you turned away— - - MARGIT. - [_Not looking at him._] - - I thought you came at my woe to jeer. - - GUDMUND. - - Margit, how could you think—? - - MARGIT. - - Nay, nay, - There was reason enough for such a fear. - But thanks be to Heaven, that fear is gone; - And now no longer I stand alone; - My spirit now is as light and free - As a child’s at play ’neath the greenwood tree. - - [_With a sudden start of fear._ - - Ah, where are my wits fled! How could I forget—? - Ye saints, I need sorely your succor yet! - An outlaw, you said—? - - GUDMUND. - [_Smiling._] - - Nay, now I’m at home; - Hither the King’s men scarce dare come. - - MARGIT. - - Your fall has been sudden. I pray you, tell - How you lost the King’s favour. - - GUDMUND. - - ’Twas thus it befell. - You know how I journeyed to France of late, - When the Chancellor, Audun of Hegranes, - Fared thither from Bergen, in royal state, - To lead home the King’s bride, the fair Princess, - With her squires, and maidens, and ducats bright. - Sir Audun’s a fair and a stately knight, - The Princess shone with a beauty rare— - Her eyes seemed full of a burning prayer. - They would oft talk alone and in whispers, the two— - Of what? That nobody guessed or knew. - There came a night when I leant at ease - Against the galley’s railing; - My thoughts flew onward to Norway’s leas, - With the milk-white seagulls sailing. - Two voices whispered behind my back;— - I turned—it was he and she; - I knew them well, though the night was black, - But they—they saw not me. - She gazed upon him with sorrowful eyes - And whispered: “Ah, if to southern skies - We could turn the vessel’s prow, - And we were alone in the bark, we twain, - My heart, methinks, would find peace again, - Nor would fever burn my brow.” - Sir Audun answers; and straight she replies, - In words so fierce, so bold; - Like glittering stars I can see her eyes; - She begged him— [_Breaking off._ - My blood ran cold. - - MARGIT. - - She begged—? - - GUDMUND. - - I arose, and they vanished apace; - All was silent, fore and aft;— - - [_Producing a small phial._ - - But this I found by their resting place. - - MARGIT. - - And that—? - - GUDMUND. - [_Lowering his voice._] - - Holds a secret draught. - A drop of this in your enemy’s cup - And his life will sicken and wither up. - No leechcraft helps ’gainst the deadly thing. - - MARGIT. - - And that—? - - GUDMUND. - - That draught was meant for the King. - - MARGIT. - - Great God! - - GUDMUND. - [_Putting up the phial again._] - - That I found it was well for them all. - In three days more was our voyage ended; - Then I fled, by my faithful men attended. - For I knew right well, in the royal hall, - That Audun subtly would work my fall,— - Accusing me— - - MARGIT. - - Aye, but at Solhoug he - Cannot harm you. All as of old will be. - - GUDMUND. - - All? Nay, Margit—you then were free. - - MARGIT. - - You mean—? - - GUDMUND. - - I? Nay, I meant naught. My brain - Is wildered; but ah, I am blithe and fain - To be, as of old, with you sisters twain. - But tell me,—Signë—? - - MARGIT. - [_Points smiling towards the door on the left._] - - She comes anon. - To greet her kinsman she needs must don - Her trinkets—a task that takes time, ’tis plain. - - GUDMUND. - - I must see—I must see if she knows me again. - - [_He goes out to the left._ - - MARGIT. - - [_Following him-with her eyes._] How fair and manlike he is! - [_With a sigh._] There is little likeness ’twixt him - and—[_Begins putting things in order on the table, but - presently stops._] “You then were free,” he said. Yes, then! - [_A short pause._] ’Twas a strange tale, that of the - Princess who—She held another dear, and then—Aye, those - women of far-off lands—I have heard it before—they are not - weak as we are; they do not fear to pass from thought to - deed. [_Takes up a goblet which stands on the table._] ’Twas - in this beaker that Gudman and I, when he went away, drank - to his happy return. ’Tis well-nigh the only heirloom I - brought with me to Solhoug. [_Putting the goblet away in a - cupboard._] How soft is this summer day; and how light it is - in here! So sweetly has the sun not shone for three long - years. - - [SIGNË, _and after her_ GUDMUND, _enters from the - left._ - - SIGNË. - [_Runs laughing up to_ MARGIT.] - - Ha, ha, ha! He will not believe that ’tis I! - - MARGIT. - [_Smiling, to_ GUDMUND.] - - You see: while in far-off lands you strayed, - She, too, has altered, the little maid. - - GUDMUND. - - Aye truly! But that she should be—Why, - ’Tis a marvel in very deed. - - [_Takes both_ SIGNË’S _hands and looks at her._ - - Yet, when I look in these eyes so blue, - The innocent child-mind I still can read— - Yes, Signë, I know that ’tis you! - I needs must laugh when I think how oft - I have thought of you perched on my shoulder aloft - As you used to ride. You were then a child; - Now you are a nixie, spell-weaving, wild. - - SIGNË. - [_Threatening with her finger._] - - Beware! If the nixie’s ire you awaken, - Soon in her nets you will find yourself taken. - - GUDMUND. - [_To himself._] - - I am snared already, it seems to me. - - SIGNË. - - But, Gudmund, wait—you have still to see - How I’ve shielded your harp from the dust and the rust. - - [_As she goes out to the left._ - - You shall teach me all of your songs! You must! - - GUDMUND. - [_Softly, as he follows her with his eyes._] - - She has flushed to the loveliest rose of May, - That was yet but a bud in the morning’s ray. - - SIGNË. - [_Returning with the harp._] - - Behold! - - GUDMUND. - [_Taking it._] - - My harp! As bright as of yore! - - [_Striking one or two chords._ - - Still the old chords ring sweet and clear— - On the wall, untouched, thou shalt hang no more. - - MARGIT. - [_Looking out at the back._] - - Our guests are coming. - - SIGNË. - - [_While_ GUDMUND _preludes his song._] - - Hush—hush! Oh, hear! - - GUDMUND. - [_Sings._] - - I roamed through the uplands so heavy of cheer; - The little birds quavered in bush and in brere; - The little birds quavered, around and above: - Wouldst know of the sowing and growing of love? - - It grows like the oak tree through slow-rolling years; - ’Tis nourished by dreams, and by songs, and by tears; - But swiftly ’tis sown; ere a moment speeds by, - Deep, deep in the heart love is rooted for aye. - - [_As he strikes the concluding chords, he goes - towards the back, where he lays down his harp._ - - SIGNË. - [_Thoughtfully, repeats to herself._] - - But swiftly ’tis sown; ere a moment speeds by, - Deep, deep in the heart love is rooted for aye. - - MARGIT. - - [_Absently._] Did you speak to me?—I heard not clearly—? - - SIGNË. - - I? No, no. I only meant— - - [_She again becomes absorbed in dreams._ - - MARGIT. - [_Half aloud; looking straight before her._] - - It grows like the oak tree through slow-rolling years; - ’Tis nourished by dreams, and by songs and by tears. - - SIGNË. - - [_Returning to herself._] You said that—? - - MARGIT. - - [_Drawing her hand over her brow._] Nay, ’twas nothing. - Come, we must go meet our guests. - - [BENGT _enters with many_ GUESTS, _both men and - women, through the passageway._ - - GUESTS. - [_Sing._] - - With song and harping enter we - The feast-hall opened wide; - Peace to our hostess kind and free, - All happiness to her betide. - O’er Solhoug’s roof for ever may - Bright as to-day - The heavens abide. - - - - - ACT SECOND - - _A birch grove adjoining the house, one corner of which is - seen to the left. At the back, a footpath leads up the - hillside. To the right of the footpath a river comes - tumbling down a ravine and loses itself among boulders - and stones. It is a light summer evening. The door - leading to the house stands open; the windows are - lighted up. Music is heard from within._ - - THE GUESTS. - [_Singing in the Feast Hall._] - - Set bow to fiddle! To sound of strings - We’ll dance till night shall furl her wings, - Through the long hours glad and golden! - Like blood-red blossom the maiden glows— - Come, bold young wooer and hold the rose - In a soft embrace enfolden. - - [KNUT GESLING _and_ ERIK OF HEGGË _enter from the - house. Sounds of music, dancing and merriment - are heard from within during what follows._ - - ERIK. - - If only you come not to repent it, Knut. - - KNUT. - - That is my affair. - - ERIK. - - Well, say what you will, ’tis a daring move. You are the - King’s Sheriff. Commands go forth to you that you shall - seize the person of Gudmund Alfson, wherever you may find - him. And now, when you have him in your grasp, you proffer - him your friendship, and let him go freely, whithersoever he - will. - - KNUT. - - I know what I am doing. I sought him in his own dwelling, - but there he was not to be found. If, now, I went about to - seize him here—think you that Dame Margit would be minded to - give me Signë to wife? - - ERIK. - - [_With deliberation._] No, by fair means it might scarcely - be, but— - - KNUT. - - And by foul means I am loth to proceed. Moreover, Gudmund is - my friend from bygone days; and he can be helpful to me. - [_With decision._] Therefore it shall be as I have said. - This evening no one at Solhoug shall know that Gudmund - Alfson is an outlaw;—to-morrow he must look to himself. - - ERIK. - - Aye, but the King’s decree? - - KNUT. - - Oh, the King’s decree! You know as well as I that the King’s - decree is but little heeded here in the uplands. Were the - King’s decree to be enforced, many a stout fellow among us - would have to pay dear both for bride-rape and for - man-slaying. Come this way, I would fain know where Signë—? - - [_They go out to the right._ - - [GUDMUND _and_ SIGNË _come down the footpath at the - back._ - - SIGNË. - - Oh, speak! Say on! For sweeter far - Such words than sweetest music are. - - GUDMUND. - - Signë, my flower, my lily fair! - - SIGNË. - - [_In subdued, but happy wonderment._] - - I am dear to him—I! - - GUDMUND. - - As none other I swear. - - SIGNË. - - And is it I that can bind your will! - And is it I that your heart can fill! - Oh, dare I believe you? - - GUDMUND. - - Indeed you may. - List to me, Signë! The years sped away, - But faithful was I in my thoughts to you, - My fairest flowers, ye sisters two. - My own heart I could not clearly read. - When I left, my Signë was but a child, - A fairy elf, like the creatures wild - Who play, while we sleep, in wood and mead. - But in Solhoug’s hall to-day, right loud - My heart spake, and right clearly; - It told me that Margit’s a lady proud, - Whilst you’re the sweet maiden I love most dearly. - - SIGNË. - [_Who has only half listened to his words._] - - I mind me, we sat in the hearth’s red glow, - One winter evening—’tis long ago— - And you sang to me of the maiden fair - Whom the neckan had lured to his watery lair. - There she forgot both father and mother, - There she forgot both sister and brother; - Heaven and earth and her Christian speech, - And her God, she forgot them all and each. - But close by the strand a stripling stood - And he was heartsore and heavy of mood. - He struck from his harpstrings notes of woe, - That wide o’er the waters rang loud, rang low. - The spell-bound maid in the tarn so deep, - His strains awoke from her heavy sleep. - The neckan must grant her release from his rule, - She rose through the lilies afloat on the pool— - Then looked she to heaven while on green earth she trod, - And wakened once more to her faith and her God. - - GUDMUND. - - Signë, my fairest of flowers! - - SIGNË. - - It seems - That I, too, have lived in a world of dreams. - But the strange deep words you to-night have spoken, - Of the power of love, have my slumber broken. - The heavens seemed never so blue to me, - Never the world so fair; - I can understand, as I roam with thee, - The song of the birds in air. - - GUDMUND. - - So mighty is love—it stirs in the breast - Thoughts and longings and happy unrest. - But come, let us both to your sister go. - - SIGNË. - - Would you tell her—? - - GUDMUND. - - Everything she must know. - - SIGNË. - - Then go you alone;—I feel that my cheek - Would be hot with blushes to hear you speak. - - GUDMUND. - - So be it, I go. - - SIGNË. - - And here will I bide; - - [_Listening towards the right._ - - Or better—down by the riverside, - I hear Knut Gesling, with maidens and men. - - GUDMUND. - - There will you stay? - - SIGNË. - - Till you come again. - - [_She goes out to the right._ GUDMUND _goes into the - house._ - - [MARGIT _enters from behind the house on the - left._ - - MARGIT. - - In the hall there is gladness and revelry; - The dancers foot it with jest and glee. - The air weighed hot on my brow and breast; - For Gudmund, he was not there. - - [_She draws a deep breath._ - - Out here ’tis better: here’s quiet and rest. - How sweet is the cool night air! - - [_A brooding silence._ - - That horrible thought! Oh, why should it be - That wherever I go it follows me? - The phial—doth a secret draught contain; - A drop of this in my—enemy’s cup, - And his life would sicken and wither up; - The leech’s skill would be tried in vain. - - [_Again a silence._ - - Were I sure that Gudmund—held me dear— - Then little I’d care for— - - [_Gudmund enters from the house._ - - GUDMUND. - - You, Margit, here? - And alone? I have sought you everywhere. - - MARGIT. - - ’Tis cool here. I sickened of heat and glare. - See you how yonder the white mists glide - Softly over the marshes wide? - Here it is neither dark nor light, - But midway between them— - - [_To herself._ - - —as in my breast. - - [_Looking at him._ - - Is’t not so—when you wander on such a night - You hear, though but half to yourself confessed, - A stirring of secret life through the hush, - In tree and in leaf, in flower and in rush? - - [_With a sudden change of tone_. - - Can you guess what I wish? - - GUDMUND. - - Well? - - MARGIT. - - That I could be - The nixie that haunts yonder upland lea. - How cunningly I should weave my spell! - Trust me—! - - GUDMUND. - - Margit, what ails you? Tell! - - MARGIT. - [_Paying no heed to him._] - - How I should quaver my magic lay! - Quaver and croon it both night and day! - - [_With growing vehemence._ - - How I would lure the knight so bold - Through the greenwood glades to my mountain hold. - There were the world and its woes forgot - In the burning joys of our blissful lot. - - GUDMUND. - - Margit! Margit! - - MARGIT. - [_Ever more wildly._] - - At midnight’s hour - Sweet were our sleep in my lonely bower;— - And if death should come with the dawn, I trow - ’Twere sweet to die so;—what thinkest thou? - - GUDMUND. - - You are sick! - - MARGIT. - [_Bursting into laughter._] - - Ha, ha!—Let me laugh! ’Tis good - To laugh when the heart is in laughing mood! - - GUDMUND. - - I see that you still have the same wild soul - As of old— - - MARGIT. - [_With sudden seriousness._] - - Nay, let not that vex your mind, - ’Tis only at midnight it mocks control; - By day I am timid as any hind. - How tame I have grown, you yourself must say, - When you think on the women in lands far away— - Of that fair Princess—ah, _she_ was wild! - Beside her lamblike am I and mild. - She did not helplessly yearn and brood, - She would have acted; and that— - - GUDMUND. - - ’Tis good - You remind me; straightway I’ll cast away - What to me is valueless after this day— - - [_Takes out the phial._ - - MARGIT. - - The phial! You meant—? - - GUDMUND. - - I thought it might be - At need a friend that should set me free - Should the King’s men chance to lay hands on me. - But from to-night it has lost its worth; - Now will I fight all the kings of earth, - Gather my kinsfolk and friends to the strife, - And battle right stoutly for freedom and life. - - [_Is about to throw the phial against a rock._ - - MARGIT. - [_Seizing his arm._] - - Nay, hold! Let me have it— - - GUDMUND. - - First tell me why? - - MARGIT. - - I’d fain fling it down to the neckan hard by, - Who so often has made my dull hours fleet - With his harping and songs, so strange and sweet. - Give it me! - - [_Takes the phial from his hand._ - - There! - - [_Feigns to throw it into the river._ - - GUDMUND. - - [_Goes to the right, and looks down into the ravine._] - - Have you thrown it away? - - MARGIT. - [_Concealing the phial._] - - Aye, surely! You saw— - - [_Whispers as she goes towards the house._ - - Now God help and spare me! - The ice must now either break or bear me! - - [_Aloud._ - - Gudmund! - - GUDMUND. - [_Approaching_.] - - What would you? - - MARGIT. - - Teach me, I pray, - How to interpret the ancient lay - They sing of the church in the valley there: - A gentle knight and a lady fair, - They loved each other well. - That very day on her bier she lay - He on his sword-point fell. - They buried her by the northward spire, - And him by the south kirk wall; - And theretofore grew neither bush nor briar - In the hallowed ground at all. - But next spring from their coffins twain - Two lilies fair upgrew— - And by and by, o’er the roof-tree high, - They twined and they bloomed the whole year through. - How read you the riddle? - - GUDMUND. - [_Looks searchingly at her._] - - I scarce can say. - - MARGIT. - - You may doubtless read it in many a way; - But its truest meaning, methinks, is clear: - The church can never sever two that hold each other dear. - - GUDMUND. - [_To himself._] - - Ye saints, if she should—? Lest worse befall, - ’Tis time indeed I told her all! [_Aloud._ - Do you wish for my happiness—Margit, tell! - - MARGIT. - [_In joyful agitation._] - - Wish for it! I! - - GUDMUND. - - Then, wot you well, - The joy of my life now rests with you— - - MARGIT. - [_With an outburst._] - - Gudmund! - - GUDMUND. - - Listen! ’tis time you knew— - - [_He stops suddenly._ - - [_Voices and laughter are heard by the river bank._ - SIGNË _and some other_ GIRLS _enter from the - right, accompanied by_ KNUT, ERIK _and several_ - YOUNGER MEN. - - KNUT. - - [_Still at a distance._] Gudmund Alfson! Wait; I must speak - a word with you. - - [_He stops, talking to_ ERIK. _The other_ GUESTS _in the - meantime enter the house._ - - MARGIT. - - [_To herself._] The joy of his life—! What else can he mean - but—! [_Half aloud._] Signë—my dear, dear sister! - - [_She puts her arm round SIGNË’S waist, and they go towards - the back talking to each other._ - - GUDMUND. - - [_Softly, as he follows them with his eyes._] - - Aye, so it were wisest. Both Signë and I must away from - Solhoug. Knut Gesling has shown himself my friend; he will - help me. - - KNUT. - - [_Softly, to_ ERIK.] Yes, yes, I say, Gudmund is her - kinsman; he can best plead my cause. - - ERIK. - - Well, as you will. [_He goes into the house._ - - KNUT. - - [_Approaching._] Listen, Gudmund— - - GUDMUND. - - [_Smiling._] Come you to tell me that you dare no longer let - me go free. - - KNUT. - - Dare! Be at your ease as to that. Knut Gesling dares - whatever he will. No, ’tis another matter. You know that - here in the district, I am held to be a wild, unruly - companion— - - GUDMUND. - - Aye, and if rumour lies not— - - KNUT. - - Why no, much that it reports may be true enough. But now, I - must tell you— - - [_They go, conversing, up towards the back._ - - SIGNË. - - [_To_ MARGIT, _as they come forward beside the house._] I - understand you not. You speak as though an unlooked-for - happiness had befallen you. What is in your mind? - - MARGIT. - - Signë—you are still a child; you know not what it means to - have ever in your heart the dread of—[_Suddenly breaking - off._] Think, Signë, what it must be to wither and die - without ever having lived. - - SIGNË. - - [_Looks at her in astonishment, and shakes her head._] Nay, - but, Margit—? - - MARGIT. - - Aye, aye, you do not understand, but none the less— - - [_They go up again, talking to each other._ GUDMUND _and_ - KNUT _come down on the other side._ - - GUDMUND. - - Well, if so it be—if this wild life no longer contents - you—then I will give you the best counsel that ever friend - gave to friend: take to wife an honourable maiden. - - KNUT. - - Say you so? And if I now told you that ’tis even that I have - in mind? - - GUDMUND. - - Good luck and happiness to you then, Knut Gesling! And now - you must know that I too— - - KNUT. - - You? Are you, too, so purposed? - - GUDMUND. - - Aye, truly. But the King’s wrath;—I am a banished man— - - KNUT. - - Nay, to that you need give but little thought. As yet there - is no one here, save Dame Margit, that knows aught of the - matter; and so long as I am your friend, you have one in - whom you can trust securely. Now I must tell you— - - [_He proceeds in a whisper as they go up again._ - - SIGNË. - - [_As she and_ MARGIT _again advance._] But tell me then, - Margit—! - - MARGIT. - - More I dare not tell you. - - SIGNË. - - Then will I be more open-hearted than you. But first answer - me one question. [_Bashfully, with hesitation._] Is there—is - there no one who has told you anything concerning me? - - MARGIT. - - Concerning you? Nay, what should that be? - - SIGNË. - - [_As before, looking downwards._] You said to me this - morning: if a wooer came riding hither—? - - MARGIT. - - That is true. [_To herself._] Knut Gesling—has he already—? - [_Eagerly, to_ SIGNË.] Well? What then? - - SIGNË. - - [_Softly, but with exultation._] The wooer has come! He has - come, Margit! I knew not then whom you meant; but now—! - - MARGIT. - - And what have you answered him? - - SIGNË. - - Oh, how should I know? [_Flinging her arms round her - sister’s neck._] But the world seems to me so rich and - beautiful since the moment when he told me that he held me - dear. - - MARGIT. - - Why, Signë, Signë, I cannot understand that you should so - quickly—! You scarce knew him before to-day. - - SIGNË. - - Oh, ’tis but little I yet know of love; but this - I know that what the song says is true: - Full swiftly ’tis sown; ere a moment speeds by, - Deep, deep in the heart love is rooted for aye— - - MARGIT. - - So be it; and since so it is, I need no longer hold aught - concealed from you. Ah— - - [_She stops suddenly, as she sees_ KNUT _and_ GUDMUND - _approaching._ - - KNUT. - - [_In a tone of satisfaction._] Ha, this is as I would have - it, Gudmund. Here is my hand! - - MARGIT. - - [_To herself._] What is this? - - GUDMUND. - - [_To_ KNUT.] And here is mine! - - [_They shake hands._ - - KNUT. - - But now we must each of us name who it is— - - GUDMUND. - - Good. Here at Solhoug, among so many fair women, I have - found her whom— - - KNUT. - - I too. And I will bear her home this very night, if it be - needful. - - MARGIT. - - [_Who has approached unobserved._] All saints in heaven! - - GUDMUND. - - [_Nods to_ KNUT.] The same is my intent! - - SIGNË. - - [_Who has also been listening._] Gudmund! - - GUDMUND AND KNUT. - - [_Whispering to each other, as they both point at_ SIGNË.] - There she is! - - GUDMUND. - - [_Starting._] Aye, mine. - - KNUT. - - [_Likewise._] No, mine! - - MARGIT. - - [_Softly, half bewildered._] Signë! - - GUDMUND. - - [_As before, to_ KNUT.] What mean you by that? - - KNUT. - - I mean that ’tis Signë whom I— - - GUDMUND. - - Signë! Signë is my betrothed in the sight of God. - - MARGIT. - - [_With a cry._] It was she! No—no! - - GUDMUND. - - [_To himself, as he catches sight of her._] Margit! She has - heard everything. - - KNUT. - - Ho, ho! So this is how it stands? Nay, Dame Margit, ’tis - needless to put on such an air of wonder; now I understand - everything. - - MARGIT. - - [_To_ SIGNË.] But not a moment ago you said—? [_Suddenly - grasping the situation._] ’Twas Gudmund you meant! - - SIGNË. - - [_Astonished._] Yes, did you not know it! But what ails you, - Margit? - - MARGIT. - - [_In an almost toneless voice._] Nay, nothing, nothing. - - KNUT. - - [_To_ MARGIT.] And this morning, when you made me give my - word that I would stir no strife here to-night—you already - knew that Gudmund Alfson was coming. Ha, ha, think not that - you can hoodwink Knut Gesling! Signë has become dear to me. - Even this morning ’twas but my hasty vow that drove me to - seek her hand; but now— - - SIGNË. - - [_To_ MARGIT.] He? Was _this_ the wooer that was in your - mind? - - MARGIT. - - Hush, hush! - - KNUT. - - [_Firmly and harshly._] Dame Margit—you are her elder - sister; you shall give me an answer. - - MARGIT. - - [_Battling with herself._] Signë has already made her - choice;—I have naught to answer. - - KNUT. - - Good; then I have nothing more to do at Solhoug. But after - midnight—mark you this—the day is at an end; then you may - chance to see me again, and then Fortune must decide whether - it be Gudmund or I that shall bear Signë away from this - house. - - GUDMUND. - - Aye, try if you dare; it shall cost you a bloody sconce. - - SIGNË. - - [_In terror._] Gudmund! By all the saints—! - - KNUT. - - Gently, gently, Gudmund Alfson! Ere sunrise you shall be in - my power. And she—your lady-love—[_Goes up to the door, - beckons and calls in a low voice._] Erik! Erik! come hither! - we must away to our kinsfolk. [_Threateningly, while_ ERIK - _shows himself in the doorway._] Woe upon you all when I - come again! - - [_He and_ ERIK _go off to the left at the back._] - - SIGNË. - - [_Softly to_ GUDMUND.] Oh, tell me, what does all this mean? - - GUDMUND. - - [_Whispering._] We must both leave Solhoug this very night. - - SIGNË. - - God shield me—you would—! - - GUDMUND. - - Say nought of it! No word to any one, not even to your - sister. - - MARGIT. - - [_To herself._] She—it is she! She of whom he had scarce - thought before to-night. Had I been free, I know well whom - he had chosen.—Aye, free! - - [BENGT _and_ GUESTS, _both Men and Women, enter from - the house._ - - YOUNG MEN AND MAIDENS. - - Out here, out here be the feast arrayed, - While the birds are asleep in the greenwood shade. - How sweet to sport in the flowery glade - ’Neath the birches. - - Out here, out here, shall be mirth and jest, - No sigh on the lips and no care in the breast, - When the fiddle is tuned at the dancers’ ’hest, - ’Neath the birches. - - BENGT. - - That is well, that is well! So I fain would see it! I am - merry, and my wife likewise; and therefore I pray ye all to - be merry along with us. - - ONE OF THE GUESTS. - - Aye, now let us have a stave-match.[25] - - MANY. - - [_Shout._] Yes, yes, a stave-match! - - ANOTHER GUEST. - - Nay, let that be; it leads but to strife at the feast. - [_Lowering his voice._] Bear in mind that Knut Gesling is - with us to-night. - - SEVERAL. - - [_Whispering among themselves._] Aye, aye, that is true. - Remember the last time, how he—. Best beware. - - AN OLD MAN. - - But you, Dame Margit—I know your kin had ever wealth of - tales in store; and you yourself, even as a child, knew many - a fair legend. - - MARGIT. - - Alas! I have forgot them all. But ask Gudmund Alfson, my - kinsman; he knows a tale that is merry enough. - - GUDMUND. - - [_In a low voice, imploringly._] Margit! - - MARGIT. - - Why, what a pitiful countenance you put on! Be merry, - Gudmund! Be merry! Aye, aye, it comes easy to you, well I - wot. [_Laughing, to the_ GUESTS.] He has seen the huldra - to-night. She would fain have tempted him; but Gudmund is a - faithful swain. [_Turns again to_ GUDMUND.] Aye, but the - tale is not finished yet. When you bear away your lady-love, - over hill and through forest, be sure you turn not round; be - sure you never look back—the huldra sits laughing behind - every bush; and when all is done—[_In a low voice, coming - close up to him._]—you will go no further than she will let - you. [_She crosses to the right._] - - SIGNË. - - Oh, God! Oh, God! - - BENGT. - - [_Going around among the_ GUESTS _in high contentment._] Ha, - ha, ha! Dame Margit knows how to set the mirth afoot! When - she takes it in hand, she does it much better than I. - - GUDMUND. - - [_To himself._] She threatens! I must tear the last hope out - of her breast; else will peace never come to her mind. - [_Turns to the_ GUESTS.] I mind me of a little song. If it - please you to hear it— - - SEVERAL OF THE GUESTS. - - Thanks, thanks, Gudmund Alfson! - - [_They close around him, some sitting, others - standing._ MARGIT _leans against a tree in front - on the right._ SIGNË _stands on the left, near - the house._ - - GUDMUND. - [_Sings._] - - I rode into the wildwood, - I sailed across the sea, - But ’twas at home I wooed and won - A maiden fair and free. - - It was the Queen of Elfland, - She waxed full wroth and grim: - Never, she swore, shall that maiden fair - Ride to the church with him. - - Hear me, thou Queen of Elfland. - Vain, vain are threat and spell; - For naught can sunder two true hearts - That love each other well! - - AN OLD MAN. - - That is a right fair song. See how the young swains cast - their glances thitherward! [_Pointing towards the_ GIRLS.] - Aye, aye, doubtless each has his own. - - BENGT. - - [_Making eyes at_ MARGIT.] Yes, I have mine, that is sure - enough. Ha, ha, ha! - - MARGIT. - - [_To herself, quivering._] To have to suffer all this shame - and scorn! No, no; now to essay the last remedy! - - BENGT. - - What ails you? Meseems you look so pale. - - MARGIT. - - ’Twill soon pass over. [_Turns to the_ GUESTS.] Did I say - e’en now that I had forgotten all my tales? I bethink me now - that I remember one. - - BENGT. - - Good, good, my wife! Come, let us hear it. - - YOUNG GIRLS. - - [_Urgently._] Yes, tell it us, tell it us, Dame Margit! - - MARGIT. - - I almost fear that ’twill little please you; but that must - be as it may. - - GUDMUND. - - [_To himself._] Saints in heaven, surely she would not—! - - MARGIT. - - It was a fair and noble maid, - She dwelt in her father’s hall; - Both linen and silk did she broider and braid, - Yet found in it solace small. - For she sat there alone in cheerless state, - Empty were hall and bower; - In the pride of her heart, she was fain to mate - With a chieftain of pelf and power. - But now ’twas the Hill King, he rode from the north, - With his henchmen and his gold; - On the third day at night he in triumph fared forth, - Bearing _her_ to his mountain hold. - Full many a summer she dwelt in the hill; - Out of beakers of gold she could drink at her will. - Oh, fair are the flowers of the valley, I trow, - But only in dreams can she gather them now! - ’Twas a youth, right gentle and bold to boot, - Struck his harp with such magic might - That it rang to the mountain’s inmost root, - Where she languished in the night. - The sound in her soul waked a wondrous mood— - Wide open the mountain-gates seemed to stand; - The peace of God lay over the land, - And she saw how it all was fair and good. - There had happened what never had happened before; - She had wakened to life as his harp-strings thrilled; - And her eyes were opened to all the store - Of treasure wherewith the good earth is filled. - For mark this well: it hath ever been found - That those who in caverns deep lie bound - Are lightly freed by the harp’s glad sound. - He saw her prisoned, he heard her wail— - But he cast unheeding his harp aside, - Hoisted straightway his silken sail, - And sped away o’er the waters wide - To stranger strands with his new-found bride. - - [_With ever-increasing passion._ - - So fair was thy touch on the golden strings - That my breast heaves high and my spirit sings! - I must out, I must out to the sweet green leas! - I die in the Hill-King’s fastnesses! - He mocks at my woe as he clasps his bride - And sails away o’er the waters wide! - - [_Shrieks._ - - With me all is over; my hill-prison barred; - Unsunned is the day, and the night all unstarred. - - [_She totters and, fainting, seeks to support - herself against the trunk of a tree._ - - SIGNË. - - [_Weeping, has rushed up to her, and takes her in her - arms._] Margit! My sister! - - GUDMUND. - - [_At the same time, supporting her._] Help! Help! she is - dying! - - [BENGT _and the_ GUESTS _flock round them with cries - of alarm._ - - - - - ACT THIRD - - _The hall at Solhoug as before, but now in disorder after - the feast. It is night still, but with a glimmer of - approaching dawn in the room and over the landscape - without._ - - BENGT _stands outside in the passage-way, with a beaker of - ale in his hand. A party of_ GUESTS _are in the act of - leaving the house. In the room a_ MAID-SERVANT _is - restoring order._ - - - BENGT. - - [_Calls to the departing_ GUESTS.] God speed you, then, and - bring you back ere long to Solhoug. Methinks you, like the - rest, might have stayed and slept till morning. Well, well! - Yet hold—I’ll e’en go with you to the gate. I must drink - your healths once more. [_He goes out._ - - GUESTS. - [_Sing in the distance._] - - Farewell, and God’s blessing on one and all - Beneath this roof abiding! - The road must be faced. To the fiddler we call: - Tune up! Our cares deriding, - With dance and with song - We’ll shorten the way so weary and long. - Right merrily off we go. - - [_The song dies away in the distance._ - - [MARGIT _enters the hall by the door on the right._ - - MAID. - - God save us, my lady, have you left your bed? - - MARGIT. - - I am well. Go you and sleep. Stay—tell me, are the guests - all gone? - - MAID. - - No, not all; some wait till later in the day; ere now they - are sleeping sound. - - MARGIT. - - And Gudmund Alfson—? - - MAID. - - He, too, is doubtless asleep. [_Points to the right._] ’Tis - some time since he went to his chamber—yonder, across the - passage. - - MARGIT. - - Good; you may go. - - [_The_ MAID _goes out to the left._ - - [MARGIT _walks slowly across the hall, seats herself by the - table on the right, and gazes out at the open window._ - - MARGIT. - - To-morrow, then, Gudmund will ride away - Out into the world so great and wide. - Alone with my husband here I must stay; - And well do I know what will then betide. - Like the broken branch and the trampled flower - I shall suffer and fade from hour to hour. - - [_Short pause; she leans back in her chair._ - - I once heard a tale of a child blind from birth, - Whose childhood was full of joy and mirth; - For the mother, with spells of magic might, - Wove for the dark eyes a world of light. - And the child looked forth with wonder and glee - Upon valley and hill, upon land and sea. - Then suddenly the witchcraft failed— - The child once more was in darkness pent; - Good-bye to games and merriment; - With longing vain the red cheeks paled. - And its wail of woe, as it pined away, - Was ceaseless, and sadder than words can say.— - Oh! like that child’s my eyes were sealed, - To the light and the life of summer blind— - - [_She springs up._ - - But _now_—! And I in this cage confined! - No, now is the worth of my youth revealed! - Three years of life I on him have spent— - My husband—but were I longer content - This hapless, hopeless weird to dree, - Meek as a dove I needs must be. - I am wearied to death of petty brawls; - The stirring life of the great world calls. - I will follow Gudmund with shield and bow, - I will share his joys, I will soothe his woe, - Watch o’er him both by night and day. - All that behold shall envy the life - Of the valiant knight and Margit his wife.— - His wife! [_Wrings her hands._ - Oh God, what is this I say! - Forgive me, forgive me, and oh! let me feel - The peace that hath power both to soothe and to heal. - - [_Walks back and forward, brooding silently._ - - Signë, my sister—? How hateful ’twere - To steal her glad young life from her! - But who can tell? In very sooth - She may love him but with the light love of youth. - - [_Again silence; she takes out the little phial, - looks long at it and says under her breath:_ - - This phial—were I its powers to try— - My husband would sleep for ever and aye! - - [_Horror-struck._ - - No, no! To the river’s depths with it straight! - - [_In the act of throwing it out of the window, - stops._ - - And yet I could—’tis not yet too late.— - - [_With an expression of mingled horror and rapture, - whispers._ - - With what a magic resistless might - Sin masters us in our own despite! - Doubly alluring methinks is the goal - I must reach through blood, with the wreck of my soul. - - [BENGT, _with the empty beaker in his hand, comes in - from the passage-way; his face is red; he - staggers slightly._ - - BENGT. - - [_Flinging the beaker upon the table on the left._] My - faith, this has been a feast that will be the talk of the - country. [_Sees_ MARGIT.] Eh, are you there? You are well - again. Good, good. - - MARGIT. - - [_Who in the meantime has concealed the phial._] Is the door - barred? - - BENGT. - - [_Seating himself at the table on the left._] I have seen to - everything. I went with the last guests as far as the gates. - But what became of Knut Gesling to-night?—Give me mead, - Margit! I am thirsty. Fill this cup. - - [MARGIT _fetches a flagon of mead from a cupboard, and fills - the goblet which is on the table in front of him._ - - MARGIT. - - [_Crossing to the right with the flagon._] You asked about - Knut Gesling. - - BENGT. - - That I did. The boaster, the braggart! I have not forgot his - threats of yester-morning. - - MARGIT. - - He used worse words when he left to-night. - - BENGT. - - He did? So much the better. I will strike him dead. - - MARGIT. - - [_Smiling contemptuously._] H’m— - - BENGT. - - I will kill him, I say! I fear not to face ten such fellows - as he. In the store-house hangs my grandfather’s axe; its - shaft is inlaid with silver; with that axe in my hands, I - tell you—! [_Thumps the table and drinks._] To-morrow I - shall arm myself, go forth with all my men, and slay Knut - Gesling. [_Empties the beaker._ - - MARGIT. - - [_To herself._] Oh, to have to live with him! - - [_Is in the act of leaving the room._ - - BENGT. - - Margit, come here! Fill my cup again. [_She approaches; he - tries to draw her down on to his knee._] Ha, ha, ha! You are - right fair, Margit! I love you well! - - MARGIT. - - [_Freeing herself._] Let me go! - - [_Crosses, with the goblet in her hand, to the - left._ - - BENGT. - - You are not in the humour to-night. Ha, ha, ha! That means - no great matter, I know. - - MARGIT. - - [_Softly, as she fills the goblet._] Oh, that this might be - the last beaker I should fill for you. - - [_She leaves the goblet on the table and is making - her way out to the left._ - - BENGT. - - Hark to me, Margit. For one thing you may thank Heaven, and - that is, that I made you my wife before Gudmund Alfson came - back. - - MARGIT. - - [_Stops at the door._] Why so? - - BENGT. - - Why, say you? Am not I ten times the richer man? And certain - I am that he would have sought you for his wife, had you not - been the mistress of Solhoug. - - MARGIT. - - [_Drawing nearer and glancing at the goblet._] Say you so? - - BENGT. - - I could take my oath upon it. Bengt Gauteson has two sharp - eyes in his head. But he may still have Signë. - - MARGIT. - - And you think he will—? - - BENGT. - - Take her? Aye, since he cannot have you. But had you been - free,—then—Ha, ha, ha! Gudmund is like the rest. He envies - me my wife. That is why I set such store by you, Margit. - Here with the goblet again. And let it be full to the brim! - - MARGIT. - - [_Goes unwillingly across to the right._] You shall have it - straightway. - - BENGT. - - Knut Gesling is a suitor for Signë, too, but him I am - resolved to slay. Gudmund is an honourable man; he shall - have her. Think, Margit, what good days we shall have with - them for neighbours. We will go a-visiting each other, and - then will we sit the live-long day, each with his wife on - his knee, drinking and talking of this and of that. - - MARGIT. - - [_Whose mental struggle is visibly becoming more severe, - involuntarily takes out the phial as she says:_] No doubt, - no doubt! - - BENGT. - - Ha, ha, ha! it may be that at first Gudmund will look - askance at me when I take you in my arms; but that, I doubt - not, he will soon get over. - - MARGIT. - - This is more than woman can bear! [_Pours the contents of - the phial into the goblet, goes to the window and throws out - the phial, then says, without looking at him._] Your beaker - is full. - - BENGT. - - Then bring it hither! - - MARGIT. - - [_Battling in an agony of indecision, at last says._] I pray - you drink no more to-night! - - BENGT. - - [_Leans back in his chair and laughs._] Oho! You are - impatient for my coming? Get you in; I will follow you soon. - - MARGIT. - - [_Suddenly decided._] Your beaker is full. [_Points._] There - it is. - - [_She goes quickly out to the left._ - - BENGT. - - [_Rising._] I like her well. It repents me not a whit that I - took her to wife, though of heritage she owned no more than - yonder goblet and the brooches of her wedding gown. - - [_He goes to the table at the window and takes the - goblet._ - - [_A_ HOUSE-CARL _enters hurriedly and with scared - looks, from the back._ - - HOUSE-CARL. - - [_Calls._] Sir Bengt, Sir Bengt! haste forth with all the - speed you can! Knut Gesling with an armed train is drawing - near the house. - - BENGT. - - [_Putting down the goblet._] Knut Gesling? Who brings the - tidings? - - HOUSE-CARL. - - Some of your guests espied him on the road beneath, and - hastened back to warn you. - - BENGT. - - E’en so. Then will I—! Fetch me my grandfather’s battle-axe! - - [_He and the_ HOUSE-CARL, _go out at the back._ - - [_Soon after,_ GUDMUND _and_ SIGNË _enter quietly and - cautiously by the door on the right._ - - SIGNË. - [_In muffled tones._] - - It must, then, be so! - - GUDMUND. - [_Also softly._] - - Necessity’s might - Constrains us. - - SIGNË. - - Oh! thus under cover of night - To steal from the valley where I was born! - - [_Dries her eyes._ - - Yet shalt thou hear no plaint forlorn. - ’Tis for thy sake my home I flee; - Wert thou not outlawed, Gudmund dear, - I’d stay with my sister. - - GUDMUND. - - Only to be - Ta’en by Knut Gesling, with bow and spear, - Swung on the croup of his battle-horse, - And made his wife by force. - - SIGNË. - - Quick, let us flee. But whither go? - - GUDMUND. - - Down by the fiord a friend I know; - He’ll find us a ship. O’er the salt sea foam - We’ll sail away south to Denmark’s bowers. - There waits you there a happy home; - Right joyously will fleet the hours; - The fairest of flowers they bloom in the shade - Of the beech-tree glade. - - SIGNË. - [_Bursts into tears._] - - Farewell, my poor sister! Like mother tender - Thou hast guarded the ways my feet have trod, - Hast guided my footsteps, aye praying to God, - The Almighty, to be my defender.— - Gudmund—here is a goblet filled with mead; - Let us drink to her; let us wish that ere long - Her soul may again be calm and strong, - And that God may be good to her need. - - [_She takes the goblet into her hands._ - - GUDMUND. - - Aye, let us drain it, naming her name! - - [_Starts._ - - Stop! [_Takes the goblet from her._ - For meseems it is the same— - - SIGNË. - - ’Tis Margit’s beaker. - - GUDMUND. - - [_Examining it carefully._] - - By Heaven, ’tis so! - I mind me still of the red wine’s glow - As she drank from it on the day we parted - To our meeting again in health and glad-hearted. - To herself that draught betided woe. - No, Signë, ne’er drink wine or mead - From that goblet. - - [_Pours its contents out at the window._ - - We must away with all speed. - - [_Tumult and calls without, at the back._ - - SIGNË. - - List, Gudmund! Voices and trampling feet! - - GUDMUND. - - Knut Gesling’s voice! - - SIGNË. - - O save us, Lord! - - GUDMUND. - [_Places himself in front of her._] - - Nay, nay, fear nothing, Signë sweet— - I am here, and my good sword. - - [MARGIT _comes in in haste from the left._ - - MARGIT. - - [_Listening to the noise._] What means this? Is my husband—? - - GUDMUND AND SIGNË. - - Margit! - - MARGIT. - - [_Catches sight of them._] Gudmund! And Signë! Are you here? - - SIGNË. - - [_Going towards her._] Margit—dear sister! - - MARGIT. - - [_Appalled, having seen the goblet which GUDMUND still holds - in his hand._] The goblet! Who has drunk from it? - - GUDMUND. - - [_Confused._] Drunk—? I and Signë—we meant— - - MARGIT. - - [_Screams._] O God, have mercy! Help! Help! They will die. - - GUDMUND. - - [_Setting down the goblet._] Margit—! - - SIGNË. - - What ails you, sister? - - MARGIT. - - [_Towards the back._] Help, help! Will no one help? - - [_A_ HOUSE-CARL _rushes in from the passage-way._ - - HOUSE-CARL. - - [_Calls in a terrified voice._] Lady Margit! Your husband—! - - MARGIT. - - He—has he, too, drunk—! - - GUDMUND. - - [_To himself._] Ah! now I understand— - - HOUSE-CARL. - - Knut Gesling has slain him. - - SIGNË. - - Slain! - - GUDMUND. - - [_Drawing his sword._] Not yet, I hope. [_Whispers to_ - MARGIT.] Fear not. No one has drunk from your goblet. - - MARGIT. - - Then thanks be to God, who has saved us all! - - [_She sinks down on a chair to the left._ GUDMUND - _hastens towards the door at the back._ - - ANOTHER HOUSE-CARL. - - [_Enters, stopping him._] You come too late. Sir Bengt is - dead. - - GUDMUND. - - Too late, then, too late. - - HOUSE-CARL. - - The guests and your men have prevailed against the murderous - crew. Knut Gesling and his men are prisoners. Here they - come. - - [GUDMUND’S _men, and a number of_ GUESTS _and_ - HOUSE-CARLS, _lead in_ KNUT GESLING, ERIK OF - HEGGË, _and several of_ KNUT’S _men, bound_. - - KNUT. - - [_Who is pale, says in a low voice._] Manslayer, Gudmund. - What say you to that? - - GUDMUND. - - Knut, Knut, what have you done? - - ERIK. - - ’Twas a mischance, of that I can take my oath. - - KNUT. - - He ran at me swinging his axe; I meant but to defend myself, - and struck the death-blow unawares. - - ERIK. - - Many here saw all that befell. - - KNUT. - - Lady Margit, crave what fine you will. I am ready to pay it. - - MARGIT. - - I crave naught. God will judge us all. Yet stay—one thing I - require. Forgo your evil design upon my sister. - - KNUT. - - Never again shall I essay to redeem my baleful pledge. From - this day onward I am a better man. Yet would I fain escape - dishonourable punishment for my deed. [_To_ GUDMUND.] Should - you be restored to favour and place again, say a good word - for me to the King! - - GUDMUND. - - I? Ere the sun sets, I must have left the country. - - [_Astonishment amongst the_ GUESTS. ERIK, _in whispers, - explains the situation._ - - MARGIT. - - [_To_ GUDMUND.] You go? And Signë with you? - - SIGNË. - - [_Beseechingly._] Margit! - - MARGIT. - - Good fortune follow you both! - - SIGNË. - - [_Flinging her arms round_ MARGIT’S _neck._] - - Dear sister! - - GUDMUND. - - Margit, I thank you. And now farewell. [_Listening._] Hush! - I hear the tramp of hoofs in the court-yard. - - SIGNË. - - [_Apprehensively._] Strangers have arrived. - - [_A_ HOUSE-CARL _appears in the doorway at the back._ - - HOUSE-CARL. - - The King’s men are without. They seek Gudmund Alfson. - - SIGNË. - - Oh God! - - MARGIT. - - [_In great alarm._] The King’s men! - - GUDMUND. - - All is at an end, then. Oh Signë, to lose you now—could - there be a harder fate? - - KNUT. - - Nay, Gudmund; sell your life dearly, man! Unbind us; we are - ready to fight for you, one and all. - - ERIK. - - [_Looks out._] ’Twould be in vain; they are too many for us. - - SIGNË. - - Here they come. Oh Gudmund, Gudmund! - - [_The_ KING’S MESSENGER _enters from the back, with his - escort._ - - MESSENGER. - - In the King’s name I seek you, Gudmund Alfson, and bring you - his behests. - - GUDMUND. - - Be it so. Yet am I guiltless; I swear it by all that is - holy! - - MESSENGER. - - We know it. - - GUDMUND. - - What say you? - - [_Agitation amongst those present._ - - MESSENGER. - - I am ordered to bid you as a guest to the King’s house. His - friendship is yours as it was before, and along with it he - bestows on you rich fiefs. - - GUDMUND. - - Signë! - - SIGNË. - - Gudmund! - - GUDMUND. - - But tell me—? - - MESSENGER. - - Your enemy, the Chancellor Audun Hugleikson, has fallen. - - GUDMUND. - - The Chancellor! - - GUESTS. - - [_To each other, in a half-whisper._] Fallen! - - MESSENGER. - - Three days ago he was beheaded at Bergen. [_Lowering his - voice._] His offence was against Norway’s Queen. - - MARGIT. - - [_Placing herself between_ GUDMUND _and_ SIGNË.] - - Thus punishment treads on the heels of crime! - Protecting angels, loving and bright, - Have looked down in mercy on me to-night, - And come to my rescue while yet it was time. - Now know I that life’s most precious treasure - Is nor worldly wealth nor earthly pleasure, - I have felt the remorse, the terror I know, - Of those who wantonly peril their soul, - To St. Sunniva’s cloister forthwith I go.— - - [_Before_ GUDMUND _and_ SIGNË _can speak._ - - Nay: think not to move me or control. - - [_Places_ SIGNË’S _hand in_ GUDMUND’S. - - Take her then, Gudmund, and make her your bride. - Your union is holy; God’s on your side. - - [_Waving farewell, she goes towards the doorway on - the left._ GUDMUND _and_ SIGNË _follow her, she - stops them with a motion of her hand, goes out, - and shuts the door behind her. At this moment - the sun rises and sheds its light into the - hall._ - - GUDMUND. - - Signë—my wife! See, the morning glow! - ’Tis the morning of our young love. Rejoice! - - SIGNË. - - All my fairest of dreams and of memories I owe - To the strains of thy harp and the sound of thy voice. - My noble minstrel, to joy or sadness - Tune thou that harp as seems thee best; - There are chords, believe me, within my breast - To answer to thine, or of woe or of gladness. - - CHORUS OF MEN AND WOMEN. - - Over earth keeps watch the eye of light, - Guardeth lovingly the good man’s ways, - Sheddeth round him its consoling rays;— - Praise be to the Lord in heaven’s height! - ------ - -Footnote 24: - - This no doubt means a sort of arcaded veranda running - along the outer wall of the house. - -Footnote 25: - - A contest in impromptu verse-making. - ------ - - - - - LOVE’S COMEDY - - - - - PERSONS OF THE COMEDY - - MRS. HALM, _widow of a government official._ - SVANHILD, } _her daughters._ - ANNA, } - FALK, _a young author_, } _her boarders._ - LIND, _a divinity student_,} - GULDSTAD, _a wholesale merchant._ - STIVER, _a law-clerk._ - MISS JAY, _his fiancée._ - STRAWMAN, _a country clergyman._ - MRS. STRAWMAN, _his wife._ - STUDENTS, GUESTS, MARRIED AND PLIGHTED PAIRS. - THE STRAWMANS’ EIGHT LITTLE GIRLS. - FOUR AUNTS, A PORTER, DOMESTIC SERVANTS. - - ------- - - SCENE.—_Mrs. Halm’s Villa on the Drammensvejen at - Christiania._ - - - - - LOVE’S COMEDY - PLAY IN THREE ACTS - - - ACT FIRST - - _The_ SCENE _represents a pretty garden irregularly but - tastefully laid out; in the background are seen the - fjord and the islands. To the left is the house, with a - verandah and an open dormer window above; to the right - in the foreground an open summer-house with a table and - benches. The landscape lies in bright afternoon - sunshine. It is early summer; the fruit-trees are in - flower_. - - _When the Curtain rises_, MRS. HALM, ANNA, _and_ MISS JAY - _are sitting on the verandah, the first two engaged in - embroidery, the last with a book. In the summer-house - are seen_ FALK, LIND, GULDSTAD, _and_ STIVER: _a - punch-bowl and glasses are on the table._ SVANHILD _sits - alone in the background by the water._ - - FALK [_rises, lifts his glass, and sings_]. - - Sun-glad day in garden shady - Was but made for thy delight: - What though promises of May-day - Be annulled by Autumn’s blight? - Apple-blossom white and splendid - Drapes thee in its glowing tent,— - Let it, then, when day is ended, - Strew the closes storm-besprent. - - CHORUS OF GENTLEMEN. - - Let it, then, when day is ended, etc. - - FALK. - - Wherefore seek the harvest’s guerdon - While the tree is yet in bloom? - Wherefore drudge beneath the burden - Of an unaccomplished doom? - Wherefore let the scarecrow clatter - Day and night upon the tree? - Brothers mine, the sparrows’ chatter - Has a cheerier melody. - - CHORUS. - - Brothers mine, the sparrow’s chatter, etc. - - FALK. - - Happy songster! Wherefore scare him - From our blossom-laden bower? - Rather for his music spare him - All our future, flower by flower; - Trust me, ’twill be cheaply buying - Present song with future fruit; - List the proverb, “Time is flying;—” - Soon our garden music’s mute. - - CHORUS. - - List the proverb, etc. - - FALK. - - I will live in song and gladness,— - Then, when every bloom is shed, - Sweep together, scarce in sadness, - All that glory, wan and dead: - Fling the gates wide! Bruise and batter, - Tear and trample, hoof and tusk; - I have plucked the flower, what matter - Who devours the withered husk! - - CHORUS. - - I have plucked the flower, etc. - - [_They clink and empty their glasses._ - - FALK [_to the ladies_]. - - There—that’s the song you asked me for; but pray - Be lenient to it—I can’t think to-day. - - GULDSTAD. - - Oh, never mind the sense—the sound’s the thing. - - MISS JAY [_looking round_]. - - But Svanhild, who was eagerest to hear—? - When Falk began, she suddenly took wing - And vanished— - - ANNA [_pointing towards the back_]. - - No, for there she sits—I see her. - - MRS. HALM [_sighing_]. - - That child! Heaven knows, she’s past my comprehending! - - MISS JAY. - - But, Mr. Falk, I thought the lyric’s ending - Was not so rich in—well, in poetry, - As others of the stanzas seemed to be. - - STIVER. - - Why yes, and I am sure it could not tax - Your powers to get a little more inserted— - - FALK [_clinking glasses with him_]. - - You cram it in, like putty into cracks, - Till lean is into streaky fat converted. - - STIVER [_unruffled_]. - - Yes, nothing easier—I, too, in my day - Could do the trick. - - GULDSTAD. - - Dear me! Were you a poet? - - MISS JAY. - - My Stiver! Yes! - - STIVER. - - Oh, in a humble way. - - MISS JAY [_to the ladies_]. - - His nature is romantic. - - MRS. HALM. - - Yes, we know it. - - STIVER. - - Not now; it’s ages since I turned a rhyme. - - FALK. - - Yes, varnish and romance go off with time. - But in the old days—? - - STIVER. - - Well, you see, ’twas when - I was in love. - - FALK. - - Is that time over, then? - Have you slept off the sweet intoxication? - - STIVER. - - I’m now _engaged_—I hold official station— - That’s better than in love, I apprehend! - - FALK. - - Quite so! You’re in the right, my good old friend. - The worst is past—_vous voilà bien avancé_— - Promoted from mere lover to _fiancé_. - - STIVER [_with a smile of complacent recollection_]. - - It’s strange to think of it—upon my word, - I half suspect my memory of lying— - - [_Turns to_ FALK. - - But seven years ago—it sounds absurd!— - I wasted office hours in versifying. - - FALK. - - What! Office hours—! - - STIVER. - - Yes, such were my transgressions. - - GULDSTAD [_ringing on his glass_]. - - Silence for our solicitor’s confessions! - - STIVER. - - But chiefly after five, when I was free, - I’d rattle off whole reams of poetry— - Ten—fifteen folios ere I went to bed— - - FALK. - - I see—you gave your Pegasus his head, - And off he tore— - - STIVER. - - On stamped or unstamped paper— - ’Twas all the same to him—he’d prance and caper— - - FALK. - - The spring of poetry flowed no less flush? - But how, pray, did you teach it first to gush? - - STIVER. - - By aid of love’s divining-rod, my friend! - Miss Jay it was that taught me where to bore, - My _fiancée_—she became so in the end— - For then she was— - - FALK. - - Your love and nothing more. - - STIVER [_continuing_]. - - ’Twas a strange time; I could not read a bit; - I tuned my pen instead of pointing it; - And when along the foolscap sheet it raced, - It twangled music to the words I traced;— - At last by letter I declared my flame - To her—to her— - - FALK. - - Whose _fiancé_ you became. - - STIVER. - - In course of post her answer came to hand— - The motion granted—judgment in my favour! - - FALK. - - And you felt bigger, as you wrote, and braver, - To find you’d brought your venture safe to land! - - STIVER. - - Of course. - - FALK. - - And then you bade the Muse farewell? - - STIVER. - - I’ve felt no lyric impulse, truth to tell, - From that day forth. My vein appeared to peter - Entirely out; and now, if I essay - To turn a verse or two for New Year’s Day, - I make the veriest hash of rhyme and metre, - And—I’ve no notion what the cause can be— - It turns to law and not to poetry. - - GULDSTAD [_clinks glasses with him_]. - - And, trust me, you’re no whit the worse for that! - - [_To_ FALK. - - You think the stream of life is flowing solely - To bear you to the goal you’re aiming at— - But you may find yourself mistaken wholly. - As for your song, perhaps it’s most poetic, - Perhaps it’s not—on that point we won’t quarrel— - But here I lodge a protest energetic, - Say what you will, against its wretched moral. - A masterly economy and new - To let the birds play havoc at their pleasure - Among your fruit-trees, fruitless now for you, - And suffer flocks and herds to trample through - Your garden, and lay waste its springtide treasure! - A pretty prospect, truly, for next year! - - FALK. - - Oh, next, next, next! The thought I loathe and fear - That these four letters timidly express— - It beggars millionaires in happiness! - If I could be the autocrat of speech - But for one hour, that hateful word I’d banish; - I’d send it packing out of mortal reach, - As B and G from Knudsen’s Grammar vanish. - - STIVER. - - Why should the word of hope enrage you thus? - - FALK. - - Because it darkens God’s fair earth for us. - “Next year,” “next love,” “next life,”—my soul is vext - To see this world in thraldom to “the next.” - ’Tis this dull forethought, bent on future prizes, - That millionaires in gladness pauperises. - Far as the eye can reach, it blurs the age; - All rapture of the moment it destroys; - No one dares taste in peace life’s simplest joys - Until he’s struggled on another stage— - And there arriving, can he there repose? - No—to a new “next” off he flies again; - On, on, unresting, to the grave he goes; - And God knows if there’s any resting then. - - MISS JAY. - - Fie, Mr. Falk, such sentiments are shocking. - - ANNA [_pensively_]. - - Oh, I can understand the feeling quite; - I am sure at bottom Mr. Falk is right. - - MISS JAY [_perturbed_]. - - My Stiver mustn’t listen to his mocking. - He’s rather too eccentric even now.— - My dear, I want you. - - STIVER [_occupied in cleaning his pipe_]. - - Presently, my dear. - - GULDSTAD [_to_ FALK]. - - One thing at least to me is very clear;— - And that is that you cannot but allow - Some forethought indispensable. For see, - Suppose that you to-day should write a sonnet, - And, scorning forethought, you should lavish on it - Your last reserve, your all, of poetry, - So that, to-morrow, when you set about - Your next song, you should find yourself cleaned out, - Heavens! how your friends the critics then would crow! - - FALK. - - D’you think they’d notice I was bankrupt? No! - Once beggared of ideas, I and they - Would saunter arm in arm the selfsame way— [_Breaking off._ - But Lind! why, what’s the matter with you, pray? - You sit there dumb and dreaming—I suspect you’re - Deep in the mysteries of architecture. - - LIND [_collecting himself_]. - - I? What should make you think so? - - FALK. - - I observe. - Your eyes are glued to the verandah yonder— - You’re studying, mayhap, its arches’ curve, - Or can it be its pillars’ strength you ponder, - The door perhaps, with hammered iron hinges? - The window blinds, and their artistic fringes? - From something there your glances never wander. - - LIND. - - No, you are wrong—I’m just absorbed in being— - Drunk with the hour—naught craving, naught foreseeing. - I feel as though I stood, my life complete, - With all earth’s riches scattered at my feet. - Thanks for your song of happiness and spring— - From out my inmost heart it seemed to spring. - - [_Lifts his glass and exchanges a glance, - unobserved, with_ ANNA. - - Here’s to the blossom in its fragrant pride! - What reck we of the fruit of autumn-tide? - - [_Empties his glass._ - - FALK [_looks at him with surprise and emotion, but assumes a - light tone_]. - - Behold, fair ladies! though you scorn me quite, - Here I have made an easy proselyte. - His hymn-book yesterday was all he cared for— - To-day e’en dithyrambics he’s prepared for! - We poets must be born, cries every judge; - But prose-folks, now and then, like Strasburg geese, - Gorge themselves so inhumanly obese - On rhyming balderdash and rhythmic fudge, - That, when cleaned out, their very souls are thick - With lyric lard and greasy rhetoric. - - [_To_ LIND. - - Your praise, however, I shall not forget; - We’ll sweep the lyre henceforward in duet. - - MISS JAY. - - You, Mr. Falk, are hard at work, no doubt, - Here in these rural solitudes delightful, - Where at your own sweet will you roam about— - - MRS. HALM [_smiling_]. - - Oh, no, his laziness is something frightful. - - MISS JAY. - - What! here at Mrs. Halm’s! that’s most surprising— - Surely it’s just the place for poetising— - - [_Pointing to the right._ - - That summer-house, for instance, in the wood - Sequestered, name me any place that could - Be more conducive to poetic mood— - - FALK. - - Let blindness veil the sunlight from mine eyes, - I’ll chant the splendour of the sunlit skies! - Just for a season let me beg or borrow - A great, a crushing, a stupendous sorrow, - And soon you’ll hear my hymns of gladness rise! - But best, Miss Jay, to nerve my wings for flight, - Find me a maid to be my life, my light— - For that incitement long to Heaven I’ve pleaded; - But hitherto, worse luck, it hasn’t heeded. - - MISS JAY. - - What levity! - - MRS. HALM. - - Yes, most irreverent! - - FALK. - - Pray don’t imagine it was my intent - To live with her on bread and cheese and kisses. - No! just upon the threshold of our blisses, - Kind Heaven must snatch away the gift it lent. - I need a little spiritual gymnastic; - The dose in that form surely would be drastic. - - SVANHILD. - - [_Has during the talk approached; she stands close - to the table, and says in a determined but - whimsical tone:_ - - I’ll pray that such may be your destiny. - But, when it finds you—bear it like a man. - - FALK [_turning round in surprise_]. - - Miss Svanhild!—well, I’ll do the best I can. - But think you I may trust implicitly - To finding your petitions efficacious? - Heaven, as you know, to faith alone is gracious— - And though you’ve doubtless will enough for two - To make me bid my peace of mind adieu, - Have you the faith to carry matters through? - That is the question. - - SVANHILD [_half in jest_]. - - Wait till sorrow comes, - And all your being’s springtide chills and numbs, - Wait till it gnaws and rends you, soon and late, - Then tell me if my faith is adequate. - - [_She goes across to the ladies._ - - MRS. HALM [_aside to her_]. - - Can you two never be at peace? you’ve made - Poor Mr. Falk quite angry, I’m afraid. - - [_Continues reprovingly in a low voice._ MISS JAY - _joins in the conversation._ SVANHILD _remains - cold and silent._ - - FALK [_after a pause of reflection goes over to the - summer-house, then to himself_]. - - With fullest confidence her glances lightened. - Shall I believe, as she does so securely, - That Heaven intends— - - GULDSTAD. - - No, hang it; don’t be frightened! - The powers above would be demented surely - To give effect to orders such as these. - No, my good sir—the cure for your disease - Is exercise for muscle, nerve, and sinew. - Don’t lie there wasting all the grit that’s in you - In idle dreams; cut wood, if that were all; - And then I’ll say the devil’s in’t indeed - If one brief fortnight does not find you freed - From all your whimsies high-fantastical. - - FALK. - - Fetter’d by choice, like Burnell’s ass, I ponder— - The flesh on this side, and the spirit yonder. - Which were it wiser I should go for first? - - GULDSTAD [_filling the glasses_]. - - First have some punch—that quenches ire and thirst. - - MRS. HALM [_looking at her watch_]. - - Ha! Eight o’clock! my watch is either fast, or - It’s just the time we may expect the Pastor. - - [_Rises, and puts things in order on the verandah._ - - FALK. - - What! have we parsons coming? - - MISS JAY. - - Don’t you know? - - MRS. HALM. - - I told you, just a little while ago— - - ANNA. - - No, mother—Mr. Falk had not yet come. - - MRS. HALM. - - Why no, that’s true; but pray don’t look so glum. - Trust me, you’ll be enchanted with his visit. - - FALK. - - A clerical enchanter; pray who is it? - - MRS. HALM. - - Why, Pastor Strawman, not unknown to fame. - - FALK. - - Indeed! Oh, yes, I think I’ve heard his name, - And read that in the legislative game - He comes to take a hand, with voice and vote. - - STIVER. - - He speaks superbly. - - GULDSTAD. - - When he’s cleared his throat. - - MISS JAY. - - He’s coming with his wife— - - MRS. HALM. - - And all their blessings— - - FALK. - - To give them three or four days’ treat, poor dears— - Soon he’ll be buried over head and ears - In Swedish muddles and official messings— - I see! - - MRS. HALM [_to_ FALK]. - - Now there’s a man for you, in truth! - - GULDSTAD. - - They say he was a rogue, though, in his youth. - - MISS JAY [_offended_]. - - There, Mr. Guldstad, I must break a lance! - I’ve heard as long as I can recollect, - Most worthy people speak with great respect - Of Pastor Strawman and his life’s romance. - - GULDSTAD [_laughing_]. - - Romance? - - MISS JAY. - - Romance! I call a match romantic - At which mere worldly wisdom looks askance. - - FALK. - - You make my curiosity gigantic. - - MISS JAY [_continuing_]. - - But certain people always grow splenetic— - Why, goodness knows—at everything pathetic, - And scoff it down. We all know how, of late, - An unfledged, upstart undergraduate - Presumed, with brazen insolence, to declare - That “William Russell” was a poor affair! - - FALK. - - But what has this to do with Strawman, pray? - Is he a poem, or a Christian play? - - MISS JAY [_with tears of emotion_]. - - No, Falk,—a man, with heart as large as day. - But when a—so to speak—mere lifeless thing - Can put such venom into envy’s sting, - And stir up evil passions fierce and fell - Of such a depth— - - FALK [_sympathetically_]. - - And such a length as well— - - MISS JAY. - - Why then, a man of your commanding brain - Can’t fail to see— - - FALK. - - Oh yes, that’s very plain. - But hitherto I haven’t quite made out - The nature, style, and plot of this romance. - It’s something quite delightful I’ve no doubt— - But just a little inkling in advance— - - STIVER. - - I will abstract, in rapid _résumé_, - The leading points. - - MISS JAY. - - No, I am more _au fait_, - I know the ins and outs— - - MRS. HALM. - - I know them too! - - MISS JAY. - - Oh Mrs. Halm! now let me tell it, do! - Well, Mr. Falk, you see—he passed at college - For quite a miracle of wit and knowledge, - Had admirable taste in books and dress— - - MRS. HALM. - - And acted—privately—with great success. - - MISS JAY. - - Yes, wait a bit—he painted, played and wrote— - - MRS. HALM. - - And don’t forget his gift of anecdote. - - MISS JAY. - - Do give me time; I know the whole affair: - He made some verses, set them to an air, - Also his own,—and found a publisher. - O heavens! with what romantic melancholy - He played and sang his “Madrigals to Molly”! - - MRS. HALM. - - He was a genius, that’s the simple fact. - - GULDSTAD [_to himself_]. - - Hm! Some were of opinion he was cracked. - - FALK. - - A gray old stager, whose sagacious head - Was never upon mouldy parchments fed, - Says “Love makes Petrarchs, just as many lambs - And little occupation, Abrahams.” - But who was Molly? - - MISS JAY. - - Molly? His elect, - His lady-love, whom shortly we expect. - Of a great firm her father was a member— - - GULDSTAD. - - A timber house. - - MISS JAY [_curtly_]. - - I’m really not aware. - - GULDSTAD. - - Did a large trade in scantlings, I remember. - - MISS JAY. - - That is the trivial side of the affair. - - FALK. - - A firm? - - MISS JAY [_continuing_]. - - Of vast resources, I’m informed. - You can imagine how the suitors swarm’d; - Gentlemen of the highest reputation.— - - MRS. HALM. - - Even a baronet made application. - - MISS JAY. - - But Molly was not to be made their catch. - She had met Strawman upon private stages; - To see him was to love him— - - FALK. - - And despatch - The wooing gentry home without their wages? - - MRS. HALM. - - Was it not just a too romantic match? - - MISS JAY. - - And then there was a terrible old father, - Whose sport was thrusting happy souls apart; - She had a guardian also, as I gather, - To add fresh torment to her tortured heart. - But each of them was loyal to his vow; - A straw-thatched cottage and a snow-white ewe - They dream’d of, just enough to nourish two— - - MRS. HALM. - - Or at the very uttermost a cow,— - - MISS JAY. - - In short, I’ve heard it from the lips of both,— - A beck, a byre, two bosoms, and one troth. - - FALK. - - Ah yes! And then—? - - MISS JAY. - - She broke with kin and class. - - FALK. - - She broke—? - - MRS. HALM. - - Broke with them. - - FALK. - - There’s a plucky lass! - - MISS JAY. - - And fled to Strawman’s garret— - - FALK. - - How? Without— - Ahem—the priestly consecration? - - MISS JAY. - - Shame! - - MRS. HALM. - - Fy, fy! my late beloved husband’s name - Was on the list of sponsors—! - - STIVER [_to_ MISS JAY]. - - You’re to blame - For leaving that important item out. - In a report ’tis of the utmost weight - That the chronology be accurate. - But what I never yet could comprehend - Is how on earth they managed— - - FALK. - - The one room - Not housing sheep and cattle, I presume. - - MISS JAY [_to_ STIVER]. - - O, but you must consider this, my friend; - There is no _Want_ where Love’s the guiding star; - All’s right without if tender Troth’s within. - - [_To_ FALK. - - He loved her to the notes of the guitar, - And she gave lessons on the violin— - - MRS. HALM. - - Then all, of course, on credit they bespoke— - - GULDSTAD. - - Till, in a year, the timber merchant broke. - - MRS. HALM. - - Then Strawman had a call to north. - - MISS JAY. - - And there - Vowed, in a letter that I saw (as few did), - He lived but for his duty, and for her. - - FALK [_as if completing her statement_]. - - And with those words his Life’s Romance concluded. - - MRS. HALM [_rising_]. - - How if we should go out upon the lawn, - And see if there’s no prospect of them yet? - - MISS JAY [_drawing on her mantle_]. - - It’s cool already. - - MRS. HALM. - - Svanhild, will you get - My woollen shawl?—Come ladies, pray! - - LIND [_to_ ANNA, _unobserved by the others_]. - - Go on! - - [SVANHILD _goes into the house; the others, except_ - FALK, _go towards the back and out to the left._ - LIND, _who has followed, stops and returns._ - - LIND. - - My friend! - - FALK. - - Ah, ditto. - - LIND. - - Falk, your hand! The tide - Of joy’s so vehement, it will perforce - Break out— - - FALK. - - Hullo there; you must first be tried; - Sentence and hanging follow in due course. - Now, what on earth’s the matter? To conceal - From me, your friend, this treasure of your finding; - For you’ll confess the inference is binding: - You’ve come into a prize off Fortune’s wheel! - - LIND. - - I’ve snared and taken Fortune’s blessed bird! - - FALK. - - How? Living,—and undamaged by the steel? - - LIND. - - Patience; I’ll tell the matter in one word. - I am engaged! Conceive—! - - FALK [_quickly_]. - - Engaged! - - LIND. - - It’s true. - To-day,—with unimagined courage swelling, - I said,—ahem, it will not bear re-telling;— - But only think,—the sweet young maiden grew - Quite rosy-red,—but not at all enraged! - You see, Falk, what I ventured for a bride! - She listened,—and I rather think she cried; - That, sure, means “Yes“? - - FALK. - - If precedents decide; - Go on. - - LIND. - - And so we really are—engaged? - - FALK. - - I should conclude so; but the only way - To be quite certain, is to ask Miss Jay. - - LIND. - - O no, I feel so confident, so clear! - So perfectly assured, and void of fear. - - [_Radiantly, in a mysterious tone._ - - Hark! I had leave her fingers to caress - When from the coffee-board she drew the cover. - - FALK [_lifting and emptying his glass_]. - - Well, flowers of spring your wedding garland dress! - - LIND [_doing the same_]. - - And here I swear by heaven that I will love her - Until I die, with love as infinite - As now glows in me,—for she is so sweet! - - FALK. - - Engaged! Aha, so that was why you flung - The Holy Law and Prophets on the shelf! - - LIND [_laughing_]. - - And you believed it was the song you sung—! - - FALK. - - A poet believes all things of himself. - - LIND [_seriously_]. - - Don’t think, however, Falk, that I dismiss - The theologian from my hour of bliss. - Only, I find the Book will not suffice - As Jacob’s ladder unto Paradise. - I must into God’s world, and seek Him there. - A boundless kindness in my heart upsprings, - I love the straw, I love the creeping things; - They also in my joy shall have a share. - - FALK. - - Yes, only tell me this, though— - - LIND. - - I have told it,— - My precious secret, and our three hearts hold it! - - FALK. - - But have you thought about the future? - - LIND. - - Thought? - I?—thought about the future? No, from this - Time forth I live but in the hour that is. - In home shall all my happiness be sought; - We hold Fate’s reins, we drive her hither, thither, - And neither friend nor mother shall have right - To say unto my budding blossom: Wither! - For I am earnest and her eyes are bright, - And so it must unfold into the light! - - FALK. - - Yes, Fortune likes you, you will serve her turn! - - LIND. - - My spirits like wild music glow and burn; - I feel myself a Titan: though a foss - Opened before me—I would leap across! - - FALK. - - Your love, you mean to say, in simple prose, - Has made a reindeer of you. - - LIND. - - Well, suppose; - But in my wildest flight, I know the nest - In which my heart’s dove longs to be at rest! - - FALK. - - Well then, to-morrow it may fly _con brio_; - You’re off into the hills with the quartette. - I’ll guarantee you against cold and wet— - - LIND. - - Pooh, the quartette may go and climb in _trio_, - The lowly dale has mountain air for me; - Here I’ve the immeasurable fjord, the flowers, - Here I have warbling birds and choral bowers; - And lady Fortune’s self,—for here is _she_! - - FALK. - - Ah, lady Fortune by our Northern water - Is _rara avis_,—hold her if you’ve caught her! - - [_With a glance towards the house._ - - Hist—Svanhild— - - LIND. - - Well; I go,—disclose to none - The secret that we share alone with one. - ’Twas good of you to listen: now enfold it - Deep in your heart,—warm, glowing, as I told it. - - [_He goes out in the background to the others._ FALK - _looks after him a moment, and paces up and down - in the garden, visibly striving to master his - agitation. Presently_ SVANHILD _comes out with a - shawl on her arm, and is going towards the - back_. FALK _approaches and gazes at her - fixedly._ SVANHILD _stops._ - - SVANHILD [_after a short pause_]. - - You gaze so at me! - - FALK [_half to himself_]. - - Yes, ’tis _there_—the same; - The shadow in her eyes’ deep mirror sleeping, - The roguish elf about her lips a-peeping, - It is there. - - SVANHILD. - - _What_? You frighten me. - - FALK. - - Your name - Is Svanhild? - - SVANHILD. - - Yes, you know it very well. - - FALK. - - But do _you_ know the name is laughable? - I beg you to discard it from to-night! - - SVANHILD. - - That would be far beyond a daughter’s right— - - FALK [_laughing_]. - - Hm. “Svanhild! Svanhild!” - - [_With sudden gravity._ - - With your earliest breath - How came you by this prophecy of death? - - SVANHILD. - - Is it so grim? - - FALK. - - No, lovely as a song, - But for our age too great and stern and strong, - How can a modern demoiselle fill out - The ideal that heroic name expresses? - No, no, discard it with your outworn dresses. - - SVANHILD. - - You mean the mythical princess, no doubt— - - FALK. - - Who, guiltless, died beneath the horse’s feet. - - SVANHILD. - - But now such acts are clearly obsolete. - No, no, I’ll mount his saddle! There’s my place! - How often have I dreamt, in pensive ease, - He bore me, buoyant, through the world apace, - His mane a flag of freedom in the breeze! - - FALK. - - Yes, the old tale. In “pensive ease” no mortal - Is stopped by thwarting bar or cullis’d portal; - Fearless we cleave the ether without bound; - In practice, tho’, we shrewdly hug the ground; - For all love life and, having choice, will choose it; - And no man dares to leap where he may lose it. - - SVANHILD. - - Yes! show me but the end, I’ll spurn the shore; - But let the end be worth the leaping for! - A Ballarat beyond the desert sands— - Else each will stay exactly where he stands. - - FALK [_sarcastically_]. - - I grasp the case;—the due conditions fail. - - SVANHILD [_eagerly_]. - - Exactly: what’s the use of spreading sail - When there is not a breath of wind astir? - - FALK [_ironically_]. - - Yes, what’s the use of plying whip and spur - When there is not a penny of reward - For him who tears him from the festal board, - And mounts, and dashes headlong to perdition? - Such doing for the deed’s sake asks a knight, - And knighthood’s now an idle superstition. - That was your meaning, possibly? - - SVANHILD. - - Quite right. - Look at that fruit tree in the orchard close,— - No blossom on its barren branches blows. - You should have seen last year with what brave airs - It staggered underneath its world of pears. - - FALK [_uncertain_]. - - No doubt, but what’s the moral you impute? - - SVANHILD [_with finesse_]. - - O, among other things, the bold unreason - Of modern Zacharies who seek for fruit. - If the tree blossom’d to excess last season, - You must not crave the blossoms back in this. - - FALK. - - I knew you’d find your footing in the ways - Of old Romance. - - SVANHILD. - - Yes, modern virtue is - Of quite another stamp. Who now arrays - Himself to battle for the truth? Who’ll stake - His life and person fearless for truth’s sake? - Where is the hero? - - FALK [_looking keenly at her_]. - - Where is the Valkyria? - - SVANHILD [_shaking her head_]. - - Valkyrias find no market in this land! - When the faith lately was assailed in Syria, - Did you go out with the crusader-band? - No, but on paper you were warm and willing,— - And sent the “Clerical Gazette” a shilling. - - [_Pause._ FALK _is about to retort, but checks - himself, and goes into the garden._ - - SVANHILD. - - [_After watching him a moment, approaches him and - asks gently:_ - - Falk, are you angry? - - FALK. - - No, I only brood,— - - SVANHILD [_with thoughtful sympathy_]. - - You seem to be two natures, still at feud,— - Unreconciled— - - FALK. - - I know it well. - - SVANHILD [_impetuously_]. - - But why? - - FALK [_losing self-control_]. - - Why, why? Because I hate to go about - With soul bared boldly to the vulgar eye, - As Jock and Jennie hang their passions out; - To wear my glowing heart upon my sleeve, - Like women in low dresses. You, alone, - Svanhild, you only,—you, I did believe,— - Well, it is past, _that_ dream, for ever flown.— - - [_She goes to the summer-house and looks out; he - follows._ - - You listen—? - - SVANHILD. - - To another voice, that sings. - Hark! every evening when the sun’s at rest, - A little bird floats hither on beating wings,— - See there—it darted from its leafy nest— - And, do you know, it is my faith,—as oft - As God makes any songless soul, He sends - A little bird to be her friend of friends, - And sing for ever in her garden-croft. - - FALK [_picking up a stone_]. - - Then must the owner and the bird be near, - Or its song’s squandered on a stranger’s ear. - - SVANHILD. - - Yes, that is true; but I’ve discovered mine. - Of speech and song I am denied the power, - But when it warbles in its leafy bower, - Poems flow in upon my brain like wine— - Ah, yes,—they fleet—they are not to be won— - - [FALK _throws the stone._ SVANHILD _screams._ - - O God, you’ve hit it! Ah, what have you done! - - [_She hurries out to the right and then quickly - returns._ - - O pity! pity! - - FALK [_in passionate agitation_]. - - No,—but eye for eye, - Svanhild, and tooth for tooth. Now you’ll attend - No further greetings from your garden-friend, - No guerdon from the land of melody. - That is my vengeance: as you slew, I slay. - - SVANHILD. - - I slew? - - FALK. - - You slew. Until this very day, - A clear-voiced song-bird warbled in my soul; - See,—now one passing bell for both may toll— - You’ve killed it! - - SVANHILD. - - Have I? - - FALK. - - Yes, for you have slain - My young, high-hearted, joyous exultation— - - [_Contemptuously._ - - By your betrothal! - - SVANHILD. - - How! But pray, explain—! - - FALK. - - O, it’s in full accord with expectation; - He gets his licence, enters orders, speeds to - A post,—as missionary in the West— - - SVANHILD [_in the same tone_]. - - A pretty penny, also, he succeeds to;— - For it is Lind you speak of—? - - FALK. - - You know best - Of whom I speak. - - SVANHILD [_with a subdued smile_]. - - As the bride’s sister, true, - I cannot help— - - FALK. - - Great God! It is not you—? - - SVANHILD. - - Who win this overplus of bliss? Ah no! - - FALK [_with almost childish joy_]. - - It is not you! O God be glorified! - What love, what mercy does He not bestow! - I shall not see you as another’s bride;— - ’Twas but the fire of pain He bade me bear— - - [_Tries to seize her hand._ - - O hear me, Svanhild, hear me then— - - SVANHILD [_pointing quickly to the background_]. - - See there! - - [_She goes towards the house. At the same moment_ - MRS. HALM, ANNA, MISS JAY, GULDSTAD, STIVER, - _and_ LIND _emerge from the background. During - the previous scene the sun has set; it is now - dark._ - - MRS. HALM [_to_ SVANHILD]. - - The Strawmans may be momently expected. - Where have you been? - - MISS JAY [_after glancing at_ FALK]. - - Your colour’s very high. - - SVANHILD. - - A little face-ache; it will soon pass by. - - MRS. HALM. - - And yet you walk at nightfall unprotected? - Arrange the room, and see that tea is ready; - Let everything be nice; I know the lady. - - [SVANHILD _goes in._ - - STIVER [_to_ FALK]. - - What is the colour of this parson’s coat? - - FALK. - - I guess bread-taxers would not catch his vote. - - STIVER. - - How if one made allusion to the store - Of verses, yet unpublished, in my drawer? - - FALK. - - It might do something. - - STIVER. - - Would to heaven it might! - Our wedding’s imminent; our purses light. - Courtship’s a very serious affair. - - FALK. - - Just so: “_Qu’allais-tu faire dans cette galère?_” - - STIVER. - - Is courtship a “galère”? - - FALK. - - No, married lives;— - All servitude, captivity, and gyves. - - STIVER [_seeing_ MISS JAY _approach_]. - - You little know what wealth a man obtains - From woman’s eloquence and woman’s brains. - - MISS JAY [_aside to_ STIVER]. - - Will Guldstad give us credit, think you? - - STIVER [_peevishly_]; - - I - Am not quite certain of it yet: I’ll try. - - [_They withdraw in conversation;_ LIND _and_ ANNA - _approach._ - - LIND [_aside to_ FALK]. - - I can’t endure it longer; in post-haste - I must present her— - - FALK. - - You had best refrain, - And not initiate the eye profane - Into your mysteries— - - LIND. - - That would be a jest!— - From you, my fellow-boarder, and my mate, - To keep concealed my new-found happy state! - Nay, now, my head with Fortune’s oil anointed— - - FALK. - - You think the occasion good to get it _curled_? - Well, my good friend, you won’t be disappointed; - Go and announce your union to the world! - - LIND. - - Other reflections also weigh with me, - And one of more especial gravity; - Say that there lurked among our motley band - Some sneaking, sly pretender to her hand; - Say, his attentions became undisguised,— - We should be disagreeably compromised. - - FALK. - - Yes, it is true; it had escaped my mind, - You for a higher office were designed, - Love as his young licentiate has retained you; - Shortly you’ll get a permanent position; - But it would be defying all tradition - If at the present moment he ordained you. - - LIND. - - Yes if the merchant does not— - - FALK. - - What of him? - - ANNA [_troubled_]. - - Oh, it is Lind’s unreasonable whim. - - LIND. - - Hush; I’ve a deep foreboding that the man - Will rob me of my treasure, if he can. - The fellow, as we know, comes daily down, - Is rich, unmarried, takes you round the town; - In short, my own, regard it as we will, - There are a thousand things that bode us ill. - - ANNA [_sighing_]. - - Oh, it’s too bad; to-day was so delicious! - - FALK [_sympathetically to_ LIND]. - - Don’t wreck your joy, unfoundedly suspicious, - Don’t hoist your flag till time the truth disclose— - - ANNA. - - Great God! Miss Jay is looking; hush, be still! - - [_She and_ LIND _withdraw in different directions._ - - FALK [_looking after_ LIND]. - - So to the ruin of his youth he goes. - - GULDSTAD. - - [_Who has meantime been conversing on the steps - with_ MRS. HALM _and_ MISS JAY, _approaches_ - FALK _and slaps him on the shoulder._ - - Well, brooding on a poem? - - FALK. - - No, a play. - - GULDSTAD. - - The deuce;—I never heard it was your line. - - FALK. - - O no, the author is a friend of mine, - And your acquaintance also, I daresay. - The knave’s a dashing writer, never doubt. - Only imagine, in a single day - He’s worked a perfect little Idyll out. - - GULDSTAD [_slily_]. - - With happy ending, doubtless! - - FALK. - - You’re aware, - No curtain falls but on a plighted pair. - Thus with the Trilogy’s First Part we’ve reckoned; - But now the poet’s labour-throes begin; - The Comedy of Troth-plight, Part the Second, - Thro’ five insipid Acts he has to spin, - And of that staple, finally, compose - Part Third,—or Wedlock’s Tragedy, in prose. - - GULDSTAD [_smiling_]. - - The poet’s vein is catching, it would seem. - - FALK. - - Really? How so, pray? - - GULDSTAD. - - Since I also pore - And ponder over a poetic scheme,— - - [_Mysteriously._ - - An actuality—and not a dream. - - FALK. - - And pray, who is the hero of your theme? - - GULDSTAD. - - I’ll tell you that to-morrow—not before. - - FALK. - - It is yourself! - - GULDSTAD. - - You think me equal to it? - - FALK. - - I’m sure no other mortal man could do it. - But then the heroine? No city maid, - I’ll swear, but of the country, breathing balm? - - GULDSTAD [_lifting his finger_]. - - Ah,—that’s the point, and must not be betrayed!— - - [_Changing his tone._ - - Pray tell me your opinion of Miss Halm. - - FALK. - - O you’re best able to pronounce upon her; - My voice can neither credit nor dishonour,— - - [_Smiling._ - - But just take care no mischief-maker blot - This fine poetic scheme of which you talk. - Suppose I were so shameless as to balk - The meditated climax of the plot? - - GULDSTAD [_good-naturedly_]. - - Well, I would cry “Amen,” and change my plan. - - FALK. - - What! - - GULDSTAD. - - Why, you see, you are a letter’d man; - How monstrous were it if your skill’d design - Were ruined by a bungler’s hand like mine! - - [_Retires to the background._ - - FALK [_in passing, to_ LIND]. - - Yes, you were right; the merchant’s really scheming - The ruin of your new-won happiness. - - LIND [_aside to_ ANNA]. - - Now then you see, my doubting was not dreaming; - We’ll go this very moment and confess. - - [_They approach_ MRS. HALM, _who is standing with_ - MISS JAY _by the house._ - - GULDSTAD [_conversing with_ STIVER]. - - ’Tis a fine evening. - - STIVER. - - Very likely,—when - A man’s disposed— - - GULDSTAD [_facetiously_]. - - What, all not running smooth - In true love’s course? - - STIVER. - - Not that exactly— - - FALK [_coming up_]. - - Then - With your engagement? - - STIVER. - - That’s about the truth. - - FALK. - - Hurrah! Your spendthrift pocket has a groat - Or two still left, it seems, of poetry. - - STIVER [_stiffly_]. - - I cannot see what poetry has got - To do with my engagement, or with me. - - FALK. - - You are not meant to see; when lovers prove - What love is, all is over with their love. - - GULDSTAD [_to_ STIVER]. - - But if there’s matter for adjustment, pray - Let’s hear it. - - STIVER. - - I’ve been pondering all day - Whether the thing is proper to disclose, - But still the Ayes are balanced by the Noes. - - FALK. - - I’ll right you in one sentence. Ever since - As plighted lover you were first installed, - You’ve felt yourself, if I may say so, galled— - - STIVER. - - And sometimes to the quick. - - FALK. - - You’ve had to wince - Beneath a crushing load of obligations - That you’d send packing, if good form permitted. - That’s what’s the matter. - - STIVER. - - Monstrous accusations! - My legal debts I’ve honestly acquitted; - But other bonds next month are falling due; - - [_To_ GULDSTAD. - - When a man weds, you see, he gets a wife— - - FALK [_triumphant_]. - - Now your youth’s heaven once again is blue, - There rang an echo from your old song-life! - That’s how it is: I read you thro’ and thro’; - Wings, wings were all you wanted,—and a knife! - - STIVER. - - A knife? - - FALK. - - Yes, Resolution’s knife, to sever - Each captive bond, and set you free for ever, - To soar— - - STIVER [_angrily_]. - - Nay, now you’re insolent beyond - Endurance! Me to charge with violation - Of law,—me, me with plotting to abscond! - It’s libellous, malicious defamation, - Insult and calumny— - - FALK. - - Are you insane? - What is all this about? Explain! Explain! - - GULDSTAD [_laughingly to_ STIVER]. - - Yes, clear your mind of all this balderdash! - What do you want? - - STIVER [_pulling himself together_]. - - A trifling loan in cash. - - FALK. - - A loan! - - STIVER [_hurriedly to_ GULDSTAD]. - - That is, I mean to say, you know, - A voucher for a ten pound note, or so. - - MISS JAY [_to_ LIND _and_ ANNA]. - - I wish you joy! How lovely, how delicious! - - GULDSTAD [_going up to the ladies_]. - - Pray what has happened? - - [_To himself_.] This was unpropitious. - - FALK [_throws his arms about_ STIVER’S _neck_]. - - Hurrah! the trumpet’s dulcet notes proclaim - A brother born to you in Amor’s name! - - [_Drags him to the others._ - - MISS JAY [_to the gentlemen_]. - - Think! Lind and Anna—think!—have plighted hearts, - Affianced lovers! - - MRS. HALM [_with tears of emotion_]. - - ’Tis the eighth in order Who - well-provided from this house departs; - - [_To_ FALK. - - Seven nieces wedded—always with a boarder— - - [_Is overcome; presses her handkerchief to her eyes._ - - MISS JAY [_to_ ANNA]. - - Well, there will come a flood of gratulation! - - [_Caresses her with emotion_. - - LIND [_seizing_ FALK’S _hand_]. - - My friend, I walk in rapt intoxication! - - FALK. - - Hold! As a plighted man you are a member - Of Rapture’s Temperance-association. - Observe its rules;—no orgies here, remember! - - [_Turning to_ GULDSTAD _sympathetically._ - - Well, my good sir! - - GULDSTAD [_beaming with pleasure_]. - - I think this promises - All happiness for both. - - FALK [_staring at him_]. - - You seem to stand - The shock with exemplary self-command. - That’s well. - - GULDSTAD. - - What do you mean, sir? - - FALK. - - Only this; - That inasmuch as you appeared to feed - Fond expectations of your own— - - GULDSTAD. - - Indeed? - - FALK. - - At any rate, you were upon the scent. - You named Miss Halm; you stood upon this spot - And asked me— - - GULDSTAD [_smiling_]. - - There are two, though, are there not? - - FALK. - - It was—the other sister that you meant? - - GULDSTAD. - - _That_ sister, yes, the other one,—just so. - Judge for yourself, when you have come to know - That sister better, if she has not in her - Merits which, if they were divined, would win her - A little more regard than we bestow. - - FALK [_coldly_]. - - Her virtues are of every known variety - I’m sure. - - GULDSTAD. - - Not quite; the accent of society - She cannot hit exactly; there she loses. - - FALK. - - A grievous fault. - - GULDSTAD. - - But if her mother chooses - To spend a winter on her, she’ll come out of it - Queen of them all, I’ll wager. - - FALK. - - Not a doubt of it. - - GULDSTAD [_laughing_]. - - Young women are odd creatures, to be sure! - - FALK [_gaily_]. - - Like winter rye-seed, canopied secure - By frost and snow, invisibly they sprout. - - GULDSTAD. - - Then in the festive ball-room bedded out— - - FALK. - - With equivoque and scandal for manure— - - GULDSTAD. - - And when the April sun shines— - - FALK. - - There the blade is; - The seed shot up in mannikin green ladies! - - [LIND _comes up and seizes_ FALK’S _hand._ - - LIND. - - How well I chose,—past understanding well;— - I feel a bliss that nothing can dispel. - - GULDSTAD. - - There stands your mistress; tell us, if you can, - The right demeanor for a plighted man. - - LIND [_perturbed_]. - - That’s a third person’s business to declare. - - GULDSTAD [_joking_]. - - Ill-tempered! This to Anna’s ears I’ll bear. - - [_Goes to the ladies._ - - LIND [_looking after him_]. - - Can such a man be tolerated? - - FALK. - - You - Mistook his aim, however,— - - LIND. - - And how so? - - FALK. - - It was not Anna that he had in view. - - LIND. - - How, was it Svanhild? - - FALK. - - Well, I hardly know. - - [_Whimsically._ - - Forgive me, martyr to another’s cause! - - LIND. - - What do you mean? - - FALK. - - You’ve read the news to-night? - - LIND. - - No. - - FALK. - - Do so. There ’tis told in black and white - Of one who, ill-luck’s bitter counsel taking, - Had his sound teeth extracted from his jaws - Because his cousin-german’s teeth were aching. - - MISS JAY [_looking out to the left_]. - - Here comes the priest! - - MRS. HALM. - - Now see a man of might! - - STIVER. - - Five children, six, seven, eight— - - FALK. - - And, heavens, all recent! - - MISS JAY. - - Ugh! it is almost to be called indecent. - - [_A carriage has meantime been heard stopping - outside to the left._ STRAWMAN, _his wife, and - eight little girls, all in travelling dress, - enter one by one._ - - MRS. HALM [_advancing to meet them_]. - - Welcome, a hearty welcome! - - STRAWMAN. - - Thank you. - - MRS. STRAWMAN. - - Is it - A party? - - MRS. HALM. - - No, dear madam, not at all. - - MRS. STRAWMAN. - - If we disturb you— - - MRS. HALM. - - _Au contraire_, your visit - Could in no wise more opportunely fall. - My Anna’s just engaged. - - STRAWMAN [_shaking_ ANNA’S _hand with unction_]. - - Ah then, I must - Bear witness;—Lo! in wedded Love’s presented - A treasure such as neither moth nor rust - Corrupt—if it be duly supplemented. - - MRS. HALM. - - But how delightful that your little maids - Should follow you to town. - - STRAWMAN. - - Four tender blades - We have besides. - - MRS. HALM. - - Ah, really? - - STRAWMAN. - - Three of whom - Are still too infantine to take to heart - A loving father’s absence, when I come - To town for sessions. - - MISS JAY [_to_ MRS. HALM, _bidding farewell_]. - - Now I must depart. - - MRS. HALM. - - O, it is still so early! - - MISS JAY. - - I must fly - To town and spread the news. The Storms, I know, - Go late to rest, they will be up; and oh! - How glad the aunts will be! Now, dear, put by - Your shyness; for to-morrow a spring-tide - Of callers will flow in from every side! - - MRS. HALM. - - Well, then, good-night. - - [_To the others._ - - Now friends, what would you say - To drinking tea? - - [_To_ MRS. STRAWMAN. - - Pray, madam, lead the way. - - [MRS. HALM, STRAWMAN, _his wife and children, with_ - GULDSTAD, LIND, _and_ ANNA _go into the house._ - - MISS JAY [_taking_ STIVER’S _arm_]. - - Now let’s be tender! Look how softly floats - Queen Luna on her throne o’er lawn and lea!— - Well, but you are not looking! - - STIVER [_crossly_]. - - Yes, I see; - I’m thinking of the promissory notes. - - [_They go out to the left._ FALK, _who has been - continuously watching_ STRAWMAN _and his wife, - remains behind alone in the garden. It is now - dark; the house is lighted up._ - - FALK. - - All is as if burnt out;—all desolate, dead—! - So thro’ the world they wander, two and two; - Charred wreckage, like the blackened stems that strew - The forest when the withering fire is fled. - Far as the eye can travel, all is drought, - And nowhere peeps one spray of verdure out! - - [SVANHILD _comes out on to the verandah with a - flowering rose-tree which she sets down._ - - Yes one—yes one—! - - SVANHILD. - - Falk, in the dark? - - FALK. - - And fearless! - Darkness to me is fair, and light is cheerless - But are not _you_ afraid in yonder walls - Where the lamp’s light on sallow corpses falls— - - SVANHILD. - - Shame! - - FALK [_looking after_ STRAWMAN _who appears at the window_]. - - He was once so brilliant and so strong; - Warred with the world to win his mistress; passed - For Custom’s doughtiest iconoclast; - And poured forth love in pæans of glad song—! - Look at him now! In solemn robes and wraps, - A two-legged drama on his own collapse! - And she, the limp-skirt slattern, with the shoes - Heel-trodden, that squeak and clatter in her traces, - This is the winged maid who was his Muse - And escort to the kingdom of the graces! - Of all that fire this puff of smoke’s the end! - _Sic transit gloria amoris_, friend. - - SVANHILD. - - Yes, it is wretched, wretched past compare. - I know of no one’s lot that I would share. - - FALK [_eagerly_]. - - Then let us two rise up and bid defiance - To this same order Art, not Nature, bred! - - SVANHILD [_shaking her head_]. - - Then were the cause for which we made alliance - Ruined, as sure as this is earth we tread. - - FALK. - - No, triumph waits upon two souls in unity. - To Custom’s parish-church no more we’ll wend, - Seatholders in the Philistine community. - See, Personality’s one aim and end - Is to be independent, free and true. - In that I am not wanting, nor are you. - A fiery spirit pulses in your veins, - For thoughts that master, you have words that burn; - The corslet of convention, that constrains - The beating hearts of other maids, you spurn. - The voice that you were born with will not chime to - The chorus Custom’s baton gives the time to. - - SVANHILD. - - And do you think pain has not often pressed - Tears from my eyes, and quiet from my breast? - I longed to shape my way to my own bent— - - FALK. - - “In pensive ease?” - - SVANHILD. - - O no, ’twas sternly meant. - But then the aunts came in with well-intended - Advice, the matter must be sifted, weighed— - - [_Coming nearer._ - - “In pensive ease,” you say; oh no, I made - A bold experiment—in art. - - FALK. - - Which ended—? - - SVANHILD. - - In failure. I lacked talent for the brush. - The thirst for freedom, tho’, I could not crush; - Checked at the easel, it essayed the stage— - - FALK. - - That plan was shattered also, I engage? - - SVANHILD. - - Upon the eldest aunt’s suggestion, yes; - She much preferred a place as governess— - - FALK. - - But of all this I never heard a word! - - SVANHILD [_smiling_]. - - No wonder; they took care that none was heard. - They trembled at the risk “my future” ran - If this were whispered to unmarried Man. - - FALK [_after gazing a moment at her in meditative - sympathy_]. - - That such must be your lot I long had guessed. - When first I met you, I can well recall, - You seemed to me quite other than the rest, - Beyond the comprehension of them all. - They sat at table,—fragrant tea a-brewing, - And small-talk humming with the tea in tune, - The young girls blushing and the young men cooing, - Like pigeons on a sultry afternoon. - Old maids and matrons volubly averred - Morality and faith’s supreme felicity, - Young wives were loud in praise of domesticity, - While you stood lonely like a mateless bird. - And when at last the gabbling clamour rose - To a tea-orgy, a debauch of prose, - You seemed a piece of silver, newly minted, - Among foul notes and coppers dulled and dinted. - You were a coin imported, alien, strange, - Here valued at another rate of change, - Not passing current in that babel mart - Of poetry and butter, cheese and art. - Then—while Miss Jay in triumph took the field— - - SVANHILD [_gravely_]. - - Her knight behind her, like a champion bold, - His hat upon his elbow, like a shield— - - FALK. - - Your mother nodded to your untouched cup: - “Drink, Svanhild dear, before your tea grows cold.” - And then you drank the vapid liquor up, - The mawkish brew beloved of young and old. - But that name gripped me with a sudden spell; - The grim old Völsungs as they fought and fell, - With all their faded æons, seemed to rise - In never-ending line before my eyes. - In you I saw a Svanhild, like the old, - But fashioned to the modern age’s mould. - Sick of its hollow warfare is the world; - Its lying banner it would fain have furled; - But when the world does evil, its offence - Is blotted in the blood of innocence. - - SVANHILD [_with gentle irony_]. - - I think, at any rate, the fumes of tea - Must answer for that direful fantasy; - But ’tis your least achievement, past dispute, - To hear the spirit speaking, when ’tis mute. - - FALK [_with emotion_]. - - Nay, Svanhild, do not jest: behind your scoff - Tears glitter,—O, I see them plain enough. - And I see more: when you to dust are fray’d, - And kneaded to a formless lump of clay, - Each bungling dilettante’s scalpel-blade - On you his dull devices shall display. - The world usurps the creature of God’s hand - And sets its image in the place of His, - Transforms, enlarges that part, lightens this; - And when upon the pedestal you stand - Complete, cries out in triumph: “_Now_ she is - At last what woman ought to be: Behold, - How plastically calm, how marble-cold! - Bathed in the lamplight’s soft irradiation, - How well in keeping with the decoration!” - - [_Passionately seizing her hand._ - - But if you are to die, live first! Come forth - With me into the glory of God’s earth! - Soon, soon the gilded cage will claim its prize. - The Lady thrives there, but the Woman dies, - And I love nothing but the Woman in you. - There, if they will, let others woo and win you, - But here, my spring of life began to shoot, - Here my Song-tree put forth its firstling fruit; - Here I found wings and flight:—Svanhild, I know it, - Only be mine,—here I shall grow a poet! - - SVANHILD [_in gentle reproof, withdrawing her hand_]. - - O, why have you betrayed yourself? How sweet - It was when we as friends could freely meet! - You should have kept your counsel. Can we stake - Our bliss upon a word that we may break? - Now you have spoken, all is over. - - FALK. - - No! - I’ve pointed to the goal,—now leap with me, - My high-souled Svanhild—if you dare, and show - That you have heart and courage to be free. - - SVANHILD. - - Be free? - - FALK. - - Yes, free, for freedom’s all-in-all - Is absolutely to fulfil our Call. - And you by heaven were destined, I know well, - To be my bulwark against beauty’s spell. - I, like my falcon namesake, have to swing - Against the wind, if I would reach the sky! - You are the breeze I must be breasted by, - You, only you, put vigour in my wing: - Be mine, be mine, until the world shall take you, - When leaves are falling, then our paths shall part - Sing unto me the treasures of your heart, - And for each song another song I’ll make you; - So may you pass into the lamplit glow - Of age, as forests fade without a throe. - - SVANHILD [_with suppressed bitterness_]. - - I cannot thank you, for your words betray - The meaning of your kind solicitude. - You eye me as a boy a sallow, good - To cut and play the flute on for a day. - - FALK. - - Yes, better than to linger in the swamp - Till autumn choke it with her grey mists damp! - - [_Vehemently._ - - You must! you shall! To me you must present - What God to you so bountifully lent. - I speak in song what you in dreams have meant. - See yonder bird I innocently slew, - Her warbling was Song’s book of books for you. - O, yield your music as she yielded hers! - My life shall be that music set to verse! - - SVANHILD. - - And when you know me, when my songs are flown, - And my last requiem chanted from the bough,— - What then? - - FALK [_observing her_]. - - What then? Ah well, remember now! - - [_Pointing to the garden._ - - SVANHILD [_gently_]. - - Yes, I remember you can drive a stone. - - FALK [_with a scornful laugh_]. - - This is your vaunted soul of freedom therefore! - All daring, if it had an end to dare for! - - [_Vehemently._ - - I’ve shown you one; now, once for all, your yea - Or nay. - - SVANHILD. - - You know the answer I must make you: - I never can accept you in your way. - - FALK [_coldly, breaking off_]. - - Then there’s an end of it; the world may take you! - - [SVANHILD _has silently turned away. She supports - her hands upon the verandah railing, and rests - her head upon them._ - - FALK. - - [_Walks several times up and down, takes a cigar, - stops near her and says, after a pause:_ - - You think the topic of my talk to-night - Extremely ludicrous, I should not wonder? - - [_Pauses for an answer._ SVANHILD _is silent._ - - I’m very conscious that it was a blunder; - Sister’s and daughter’s love alone possess you; - Henceforth I’ll wear kid gloves when I address you, - Sure, so, of being understood aright. - - [_Pauses, but as_ SVANHILD _remains motionless, he - turns and goes towards the right._ - - SVANHILD [_lifting her head after a brief silence, looking - at him and drawing nearer_]. - - Now I will recompense your kind intent - To save me, with an earnest admonition. - That falcon-image gave me sudden vision - What your “emancipation” really meant. - You said you were the falcon, that must fight - Athwart the wind if it would reach the sky, - I was the breeze you must be breasted by, - Else vain were all your faculty of flight; - How pitifully mean! How paltry! Nay - How ludicrous, as you yourself divined! - That seed, however, fell not by the way, - But bred another fancy in my mind - Of a far more illuminating kind. - You, as I saw it, were no falcon, but - A tuneful dragon, out of paper cut, - Whose Ego holds a secondary station, - Dependent on the string for animation; - Its breast was scrawled with promises to pay - In cash poetic,—at some future day; - The wings were stiff with barbs and shafts of wit - That wildly beat the air, but never hit; - The tail was a satiric rod in pickle - To castigate the town’s infirmities, - But all it compass’d was to lightly tickle - The casual doer of some small amiss. - So you lay helpless at my feet, imploring: - “O raise me, how and where is all the same! - Give me the power of singing and of soaring. - No matter at what cost of bitter blame!” - - FALK [_clenching his fists in inward agitation_]. - - Heaven be my witness—! - - SVANHILD. - - No, you must be told:— - For such a childish sport I am too old. - But you, whom Nature made for high endeavour, - Are you content the fields of air to tread - Hanging your poet’s life upon a thread - That at my pleasure I can slip and sever? - - FALK [_hurriedly_]. - - What is the date to-day? - - SVANHILD [_more gently_]. - - Why, now, that’s right! - Mind well this day, and heed it, and beware; - Trust to your own wings only for your flight, - Sure, if they do not break, that they will bear. - The paper poem for the desk is fit, - That which is lived alone has life in it; - _That_ only has the wings that scale the height; - Choose now between them, poet: be, or write! - - [_Nearer to him._ - - Now I have done what you besought me; now - My requiem is chanted from the bough; - My only one; now all my songs are flown; - Now, if you will, I’m ready for the stone! - - [_She goes into the house;_ FALK _remains - motionless, looking after her; far out on the - fjord is seen a boat, from which the following - chorus is faintly heard:_ - - CHORUS. - - My wings I open, my sails spread wide, - And cleave like an eagle life’s glassy tide; - Gulls follow my furrow’s foaming; - Overboard with the ballast of care and cark; - And what if I shatter my roaming bark, - It is passing sweet to be roaming! - - FALK [_starting from a reverie_]. - - What, music? Ah, it will be Lind’s quartette - Getting their jubilation up.—Well met! - - [_To_ GULDSTAD, _who enters with an overcoat on his - arm_. - - Ah, slipping off, sir? - - GULDSTAD. - - Yes, with your goodwill. - But let me first put on my overcoat. - We prose-folks are susceptible to chill; - The night wind takes us by the tuneless throat. - Good evening! - - FALK. - - Sir, a word ere you proceed! - Show me a task, a mighty one, you know—! - I’m going in for life—! - - GULDSTAD [_with ironical emphasis_]. - - Well, in you go! - You’ll find that you are in for it, indeed. - - FALK [_looking reflectively at him, says slowly_]. - - There is my program, furnished in a phrase. - - [_In a lively outburst._ - - _Now_ I have wakened from my dreaming days, - I’ve cast the die of life’s supreme transaction, - I’ll show you—else the devil take me— - - GULDSTAD. - - Fie, - No cursing: curses never scared a fly. - - FALK. - - Words, words, no more, but action, only action! - I will reverse the plan of the Creation;— - Six days were lavish’d in that occupation; - My world’s still lying void and desolate, - Hurrah, to-morrow, Sunday—I’ll create! - - GULDSTAD [_laughing_]. - - Yes, strip, and tackle it like a man, that’s right! - But first go in and sleep on it. Good-night! - - [_Goes out to the left._ SVANHILD _appears in the - room over the verandah; she shuts the window and - draws down the blind._ - - FALK. - - No, first I’ll act. I’ve slept too long and late. - - [_Looks up at_ SVANHILD’S _window, and exclaims, as - if seized with a sudden resolution:_ - - Good-night! Good-night! Sweet dreams to-night be thine; - To-morrow, Svanhild, thou art plighted mine! - - [_Goes out quickly to the right; from the water the_ - CHORUS _is heard again._ - - CHORUS. - - Maybe I shall shatter my roaming bark, - But it’s passing sweet to be roaming! - - [_The boat slowly glides away as the curtain falls._ - - - - - ACT SECOND. - - _Sunday afternoon. Well-dressed ladies and gentlemen are - drinking coffee on the verandah. Several of the guests - appear through the open glass door in the garden-room; - the following song is heard from within._ - - - CHORUS. - - Welcome, welcome, new plighted pair - To the merry ranks of the plighted! - Now you may revel as free as air, - Caress without stint and kiss without care,— - No longer of footfall affrighted. - - Now you are licensed, wherever you go, - To the rapture of cooing and billing; - Now you have leisure love’s seed to sow, - Water, and tend it, and make it grow;— - Let us see you’ve a talent for tilling! - - MISS JAY [_within_]. - - Ah Lind, if I only had chanced to hear, - I would have teased you! - - A LADY [_within_]. - - How vexatious though! - - ANOTHER LADY [_in the doorway_]. - - Dear Anna, did he ask in writing? - - AN AUNT. - - No! - - MISS JAY. - - _Mine_ did. - - A LADY [_on the verandah_]. - - How long has it been secret, dear? - - [_Runs into the room._ - - MISS JAY. - - To-morrow there will be the ring to choose. - - LADIES [_eagerly_]. - - We’ll take his measure! - - MISS JAY. - - Nay; that _she_ must do. - - MRS. STRAWMAN [_on the verandah, to a lady who is busy with - embroidery_]. - - What kind of knitting-needles do you use? - - A SERVANT [_in the door with a coffee-pot_]. - - More coffee, madam? - - A LADY. - - Thanks, a drop or two. - - MISS JAY [_to_ ANNA]. - - How fortunate you’ve got your new manteau - Next week to go your round of visits in! - - AN ELDERLY LADY [_at the window_]. - - When shall we go and order the trousseau? - - MRS. STRAWMAN. - - How are they selling cotton-bombasine? - - A GENTLEMAN [_to some ladies on the verandah_]. - - Just look at Lind and Anna; what’s his sport? - - LADIES [_with shrill ecstasy_]. - - Gracious, he kissed her glove! - - OTHERS [_similarly, springing up_]. - - No! Kiss’d it? Really? - - LIND [_appears, red and embarrassed, in the doorway_]. - - O, stuff and nonsense! - - [_Disappears._ - - MISS JAY. - - Yes, I saw it clearly. - - STIVER - - [_in the door, with a coffee-cup in one hand and - a biscuit in the other_]. - - The witnesses must not mislead the court; - I here make affidavit, they’re in error. - - MISS JAY [_within_]. - - Come forward, Anna; stand before this mirror! - - SOME LADIES [_calling_]. - - You, too, Lind! - - MISS JAY. - - Back to back! A little nearer! - - LADIES. - - Come, let us see by how much she is short. - - [_All run into the garden-room; laughter and shrill - talk are heard for a while from within_. - - [FALK, _who during the preceding scene has been - walking about in the garden, advances into the - foreground, stops and looks in until the noise - has somewhat abated._ - - FALK. - - There love’s romance is being done to death.— - The butcher once who boggled at the slaughter, - Prolonging needlessly the ox’s breath,— - He got his twenty days of bread and water; - But these—these butchers yonder—they go - free. [_Clenches his fist._ - I could be tempted—; hold, words have no worth, - I’ve sworn it, action only from henceforth! - - LIND [_coming hastily but cautiously out_]. - - Thank God, they’re talking fashions; now’s my chance - To slip away— - - FALK. - - Ha, Lind, _you’ve_ drawn the prize - Of luck,—-congratulations buzz and dance - All day about you, like a swarm of flies. - - LIND. - - They’re all at heart so kindly and so nice; - But rather fewer clients would suffice. - Their helping hands begin to gall and fret me; - I’ll get a moment’s respite, if they’ll let me. - - [_Going out to the right._ - - FALK. - - Whither away? - - LIND. - - Our den;—it has a lock; - In case you find the oak is sported, knock. - - FALK. - - But shall I not fetch Anna to you? - - LIND. - - No— - If she wants anything, she’ll let me know. - Last night we were discussing until late; - We’ve settled almost everything of weight; - Besides I think it scarcely goes with piety - To have too much of one’s beloved’s society. - - FALK. - - Yes, you are right; for daily food we need - A simple diet. - - LIND. - - Pray excuse me, friend. - I want a whiff of reason and the weed; - I haven’t smoked for three whole days on end. - My blood was pulsing in such agitation, - I trembled for rejection all the time— - - FALK. - - Yes, you may well desire recuperation— - - LIND. - - And won’t tobacco’s flavour be sublime! - - [_Goes out to the right._ MISS JAY _and some other_ - LADIES _come out of the garden-room._ - - MISS JAY [_to_ FALK]. - - That was _he_ surely? - - FALK. - - Yes, your hunted deer. - - LADIES. - - To run away from us! - - OTHERS. - - For shame! For shame! - - FALK. - - ’Tis a bit shy at present, but, no fear, - A week of servitude will make him tame. - - MISS JAY [_looking round_]. - - Where is he hid? - - FALK. - - His present hiding-place - Is in the garden loft, our common lair; - - [_Blandly._ - - But let me beg you not to seek him there; - Give him a breathing time! - - MISS JAY. - - Well, good: the grace - Will not be long, tho’. - - FALK. - - Nay, be generous! - Ten minutes,—then begin the game again. - He has an English sermon on the brain. - - MISS JAY. - - An English—? - - LADIES. - - O you laugh! You’re fooling us! - - FALK. - - I’m in grim earnest. ’Tis his fixed intention - To take a charge among the emigrants, - And therefore— - - MISS JAY [_with horror_]. - - Heavens, he had the face to mention - That mad idea? - - [_To the ladies._ - - O quick—fetch all the aunts! - Anna, her mother, Mrs. Strawman too. - - LADIES [_agitated_]. - - This must be stopped! - - ALL. - - We’ll make a great ado! - - MISS JAY. - - Thank God, they’re coming. - - [_To_ ANNA, _who comes from the garden-room with_ - STRAWMAN, _his wife and children_, STIVER, - GULDSTAD, MRS. HALM _and the other guests._ - - MISS JAY. - - Do you know what Lind - Has secretly determined in his mind? - To go as missionary— - - ANNA. - - Yes, I know. - - MRS. HALM. - - And you’ve agreed—! - - ANNA [_embarrassed_]. - - That I will also go. - - MISS JAY [_indignant_]. - - He’s talked this stuff to you! - - LADIES [_clasping their hands together_]. - - What tyranny! - - FALK. - - But think, his Call that would not be denied—! - - MISS JAY. - - Tut, that’s what people follow when they’re free: - A bridegroom follows nothing but his bride.— - No, my sweet Anna, ponder, I entreat: - You, reared in comfort from your earliest breath—? - - FALK. - - Yet, sure, to suffer for the faith is sweet! - - MISS JAY. - - Is one to suffer for one’s bridegroom’s faith? - That is a rather novel point of view. - - [_To the ladies_. - - Ladies, attend! - - [_Takes_ ANNA’S _arm._ - - Now listen; then repeat - For his instruction what he has to do. - - [_They go into the background and out to the right - in eager talk with several of the ladies; the - other guests disperse in groups about the - garden._ FALK _stops_ STRAWMAN, _whose wife and - children keep close to him._ GULDSTAD _goes to - and fro during the following conversation._ - - FALK. - - Come, pastor, help young fervour in its fight, - Before they lure Miss Anna from her vows. - - STRAWMAN [_in clerical cadence_]. - - The wife must be submissive to the spouse;— - - [_Reflecting._ - - But if I apprehended him aright, - His Call’s a problematical affair, - The Offering altogether in the air— - - FALK. - - Pray do not judge so rashly. I can give - You absolute assurance, as I live, - His Call is definite and incontestable— - - STRAWMAN [_seeing it in a new light_]. - - Ah—if there’s something fixed—investable— - _Per annum_—then I’ve nothing more to say. - - FALK [_impatiently_]. - - You think the most of what I count the least; - I mean the _inspiration_,—not the _pay_! - - STRAWMAN [with an unctuous smile]. - - Pay is the first condition of a priest - In Asia, Africa, America, - Or where you will. Ah yes, if he were free, - My dear young friend, I willingly agree, - The thing might pass; but, being pledged and bound, - He’ll scarcely find the venture very sound. - Reflect, he’s young and vigorous, sure to found - A little family in time; assume his will - To be the very best on earth—but still - The _means_, my friend—? ‘Build not upon the sand,’ - Says Scripture. If, upon the other hand, - The Offering— - - FALK. - - That’s no trifle, I’m aware. - - STRAWMAN. - - Ah, come—that wholly alters the affair. - When men are zealous in their Offering, - And liberal— - - FALK. - - There he far surpasses most. - - STRAWMAN. - - “He” say you? How? In virtue of his post - The Offering is not what he has to _bring_ - But what he has to _get_. - - MRS. STRAWMAN [_looking towards the background_]. - - They’re sitting there. - - FALK [_after staring a moment in amazement, suddenly - understands and bursts out laughing_]. - - Hurrah for Offerings—the ones that caper - And strut—on Holy-days—in bulging paper! - - STRAWMAN. - - All the year round the curb and bit we bear, - But Whitsuntide and Christmas make things square. - - FALK [_gaily_]. - - Why then, provided only there’s enough of it, - Even family-founders will obey their Calls. - - STRAWMAN. - - Of course; a man assured the _quantum suff_ of it - Will preach the Gospel to the cannibals. - - [_Sotto voce._ - - Now I must see if she cannot be led, - - [_To one of the little girls._ - - My little Mattie, fetch me out my head— - My pipe-head I should say, my little dear— - - [_Feels in his coat-tail pocket._ - - Nay, wait a moment tho’: I have it here. - - [_Goes across and fills his pipe, followed by his - wife and children._ - - GULDSTAD [_approaching_]. - - You seem to play the part of serpent in - This paradise of lovers. - - FALK. - - O, the pips - Upon the tree of knowledge are too green - To be a lure for anybody’s lips. - - [_To_ LIND, _who comes in from the right._ - - Ha, Lind! - - LIND. - - In heaven’s name, who’s been ravaging - Our sanctum? There the lamp lies dashed - To pieces, curtain dragged to floor, pen smashed, - And on the mantelpiece the ink pot splashed— - - FALK [_clapping him on the shoulder_]. - - This wreck’s the first announcement of my spring; - No more behind drawn curtains I will sit, - Making pen poetry with lamp alit; - My dull domestic poetising’s done, - I’ll walk by day, and glory in the sun: - My spring is come, my soul has broken free, - Action henceforth shall be my poetry. - - LIND. - - Make poetry of what you please for me; - But how if Mrs. Halm should take amiss - Your breaking of her furniture to pieces? - - FALK. - - What!—she, who lays her daughters and her nieces - Upon the altar of her boarders’ bliss,— - She frown at such a bagatelle as this? - - LIND [_angrily_]. - - It’s utterly outrageous and unfair, - And compromises me as well as you! - But that’s her business, settle it with her. - The lamp was mine, tho’, shade and burner too— - - FALK. - - Tut, on that head, I’ve no account to render; - You have God’s summer sunshine in its splendour,— - What would you with the lamp? - - LIND. - - You are grotesque; - You utterly forget that summer passes; - If I’m to make a figure in my classes - At Christmas I must buckle to my desk. - - FALK [_staring at him_]. - - What, you look _forward_? - - LIND. - - To be sure I do, - The examination’s amply worth it too. - - FALK. - - Ah but—you ‘only sit and live’—remember! - Drunk with the moment, you demand no more— - Not even a modest third-class next December. - You’ve caught the bird of Fortune fair and fleet, - You feel as if the world with all its store - Were scattered in profusion at your feet. - - LIND. - - Those were my words; they must be understood, - Of course, _cum grano salis_— - - FALK. - - Very good! - - LIND. - - In the _forenoons_ I will enjoy my bliss; - That I am quite resolved on— - - FALK. - - Daring man! - - LIND. - - I have my round of visits to the clan; - Time will run anyhow to waste in this; - But any further dislocation of - My study-plan I strongly disapprove. - - FALK. - - A week ago, however, you were bent - On going out into God’s world with song. - - LIND. - - Yes, but I thought the tour a little long; - The fourteen days might well be better spent. - - FALK. - - Nay, but you had another argument - For staying; how the lovely dale for you - Was mountain air and winged warble too. - - LIND. - - Yes, to be sure, this air is unalloyed; - But all its benefits may be enjoyed - Over one’s book without the slightest bar. - - FALK. - - But it was just the _Book_ which failed, you see, - As Jacob’s ladder— - - LIND. - - How perverse you are! - That is what people say when they are _free_— - - FALK - - [_looking at him and folding his hands in silent - amazement_]. - - Thou also, Brutus! - - LIND [_with a shade of confusion and annoyance_]. - - Pray remember, do! - That I have other duties now than you; - I have my _fiancée_. Every plighted pair, - Those of prolonged experience not excepted,— - Whose evidence you would not wish rejected,— - Will tell you, that if two are bound to fare - Through life together, they must— - - FALK. - - Prithee spare - The comment; who supplied it? - - LIND. - - Well, we’ll say - Stiver, he’s honest surely; and Miss Jay, - Who has such very great experience here, - She says— - - FALK. - - Well, but the Parson and his—dear? - - LIND. - - Yes, they’re remarkable. There broods above - Them such placidity, such quietude,— - Conceive, she can’t remember being wooed, - Has quite forgotten what is meant by love. - - FALK. - - Ah yes, when one has slumber’d over long, - The birds of memory refuse their song. - - [_Laying his hand on_ LIND’S _shoulder, with an - ironical look._ - - You, Lind, slept sound last night, I guarantee? - - LIND. - - And long. I went to bed in such depression, - And yet with such a fever in my brain, - I almost doubted if I could be sane. - - FALK. - - Ah yes, a sort of witchery, you see. - - LIND. - - Thank God I woke in perfect self-possession. - - [_During the foregoing scene_ STRAWMAN _has been - seen from time to time walking in the background - in lively conversation with_ ANNA; MRS. STRAWMAN - _and the children follow._ MISS JAY _now appears - also, and with her_ MRS. HALM _and other - ladies._ - - MISS JAY [_before she enters_]. - - Ah, Mr. Lind. - - LIND [_to_ FALK]. - - They’re after me again! - Come, let us go. - - MISS JAY. - - Nay, nay, you must remain, - Let us make speedy end of the division - That has crept in between your love and you. - - LIND. - - Are we divided? - - MISS JAY [_pointing to_ ANNA, _who is standing further off - in the garden_]. - - Gather the decision - From yon red eyes. The foreign mission drew - Those tears. - - LIND. - - But heavens, she was glad to go— - - MISS JAY [_scoffing_]. - - Yes, to be sure, one would imagine so! - No, my dear Lind, you’ll take another view - When you have heard the whole affair discussed; - - LIND. - - But then this warfare for the faith, you know, - Is my most cherished dream! - - MISS JAY. - - O who would build - On dreaming in this century of light? - Why, Stiver had a dream the other night; - There came a letter singularly sealed— - - MRS. STRAWMAN. - - It’s _treasure_ such a dream prognosticates. - - MISS JAY [_nodding_]. - - Yes, and next day they sued him for the rates. - - [_The ladies make a circle round LIND and go in - conversation with him into the garden._ - - STRAWMAN [_continuing, to_ ANNA, _who faintly tries to - escape_]. - - From these considerations, daughter mine, - From these considerations, buttressed all - With reason, morals, and the Word Divine, - You now perceive that to desert your Call - Were absolutely inexcusable. - - ANNA [_half crying_]. - - Oh! I’m so young— - - STRAWMAN. - - And it is natural, - I own, that one should tremble to essay - These perils, dare the lures that there waylay; - But from doubt’s tangle you must now break free,— - Be of good cheer and follow Moll and me! - - MRS. STRAWMAN. - - Yes, your dear mother tells me that I too - Was just as inconsolable as you - When we received our Call— - - STRAWMAN. - - And for like cause— - The fascination of the town—it was; - But when a little money had come in, - And the first pairs of infants, twin by twin, - She quite got over it. - - FALK [_sotto voce to_ STRAWMAN]. - - Bravo, you able - Persuader. - - STRAWMAN [_nodding to him and turning again to_ ANNA]. - - Now you’ve promised me, be stable. - Shall man renounce his work? Falk says the Call - Is not so very slender after all. - Did you not, Falk? - - FALK. - - Nay, pastor— - - STRAWMAN. - - To be sure—! - - [_To_ ANNA. - - Of something then at least you are secure. - What’s gained by giving up, if that is so? - Look back into the ages long ago, - See, Adam, Eve—the Ark, see, pair by pair, - Birds in the field—the lilies in the air, - The little birds—the little birds—the fishes— - - [_Continues in a lower tone, as he withdraws with_ - ANNA. - - [MISS JAY _and the_ AUNTS _return with_ LIND. - - FALK. - - Hurrah! Here come the veterans in array; - The old guard charging to retrieve the day! - - MISS JAY. - - Ah, in exact accordance with our wishes! - - [_Aside._ - - We _have_ him, Falk!—Now let us tackle _her_! - - [_Approaches_ ANNA. - - STRAWMAN [_with a deprecating motion_]. - - She needs no secular solicitation; - The Spirit has spoken, what can Earth bestead—? - - [_Modestly._ - - If in some small degree my words have sped, - Power was vouchsafed me—! - - MRS. HALM. - - Come, no more evasion, - Bring them together! - - AUNTS [_with emotion_]. - - Ah, how exquisite! - - STRAWMAN. - - Yes, can there be a heart so dull and dead - As not to be entranced at such a sight! - It is so thrilling and so penetrating, - So lacerating, so exhilarating, - To see an innocent babe devoutly lay - Its offering on Duty’s altar. - - MRS. HALM. - - Nay, - Her family have also done their part. - - MISS JAY. - - I and the Aunts—I should imagine so. - You, Lind, may have the key to Anna’s heart, - - [_Presses his hand._ - - But we possess a picklock, you must know, - Able to open where the key avails not. - And if in years to come, cares throng and thwart, - Only apply to us, our friendship fails not. - - MRS. HALM. - - Yes, we shall hover round you all your life,— - - MISS JAY. - - And shield you from the fiend of wedded strife. - - STRAWMAN. - - Enchanting group! Love, friendship, hour of gladness, - Yet so pathetically touched with sadness. - - [_Turning to_ LIND. - - But now, young man, pray make an end of this. - - [_Leading_ ANNA _to him._ - - Take thy betrothed—receive her—with a kiss! - - LIND [_giving his hand to_ ANNA]. - - I stay at home! - - ANNA [_at the same moment_]. - - I go with you! - - ANNA [_amazed_]. - - You stay? - - LIND [_equally so_]. - - You go with me? - - ANNA [_with a helpless glance at the company_]. - - Why, then, we are divided as before! - - LIND. - - What’s this? - - THE LADIES. - - What now? - - MISS JAY [_excitedly_]. - - Our wills are all at war— - - STRAWMAN. - - She gave her solemn word to cross the sea - With him! - - MISS JAY. - - And he gave his to stay ashore - With her! - - FALK [_laughing_]. - - They both complied; what would you more! - - STRAWMAN. - - These complications are too much for me. - - [_Goes towards the background._ - - AUNTS [_to one another_]. - - How in the world came they to disagree? - - MRS. HALM. - - [_To_ GULDSTAD _and_ STIVER, _who have been walking - in the garden and now approach._ - - The spirit of discord’s in possession here. - - [_Talks aside to them._ - - MRS. STRAWMAN. - - [_To_ MISS JAY, _noticing that the table is being - laid._ - - There comes the tea. - - MISS JAY [_curtly_]. - - Thank heaven. - - FALK. - - Hurrah! a cheer - For love and friendship, maiden aunts and tea! - - STIVER. - - But if the case stands thus, the whole proceeding - May easily be ended with a laugh; - All turns upon a single paragraph, - Which bids the wife attend the spouse. No pleading - Can wrest an ordinance so clearly stated— - - MISS JAY. - - Doubtless, but does that help us to agree? - - STRAWMAN. - - She must obey a law that heaven dictated. - - STIVER. - - But Lind can circumvent that law, you see. - - [_To_ LIND. - - Put off your journey, and then—budge no jot. - - AUNTS [_delighted_]. - - Yes, that’s the way! - - MRS. HALM.. - - Agreed! - - MISS JAY. - - That cuts the knot. - - [SVANHILD _and the maids have meantime laid the - tea-table beside the verandah steps. At_ MRS. - HALM’S _invitation the ladies sit down. The rest - of the company take their places, partly on the - verandah and in the summer-house, partly in the - garden._ FALK _sits on the verandah. During the - following scene they drink tea._ - - MRS. HALM [_smiling_]. - - And so our little storm is overblown. - Such summer showers do good when they are gone; - The sunshine greets us with a double boon, - And promises a cloudless afternoon. - - MISS JAY. - - Ah yes, Love’s blossom without rainy skies - Would never thrive according to our wishes. - - FALK. - - In dry land set it, and it forthwith dies; - For in so far the flowers are like the fishes— - - SVANHILD. - - Nay, for Love lives, you know, upon the air— - - MISS JAY. - - Which is the death of fishes— - - FALK. - - So I say. - - MISS JAY. - - Aha, we’ve put a bridle on you there! - - MRS. STRAWMAN. - - The tea is good, one knows by the bouquet. - - FALK. - - Well, let us keep the simile you chose. - Love is a flower; for if heaven’s blessed rain - Fall short, it all but pines to death— [_Pauses._ - - MISS JAY. - - What then? - - FALK [_with a gallant bow_]. - - Then come the aunts with the reviving hose.— - But poets have this simile employed, - And men for scores of centuries enjoyed,— - Yet hardly one its secret sense has hit; - For flowers are manifold and infinite. - Say, then, what flower is love? Name me, who knows, - The flower most like it? - - MISS JAY. - - Why, it is the rose; - Good gracious, that’s exceedingly well known;— - Love, all agree, lends life a rosy tone. - - A YOUNG LADY. - - It is the snowdrop; growing, snow enfurled; - Till it peer forth, undreamt of by the world. - - AN AUNT. - - It is the dandelion,—made robust - By dint of human heel and horse hoof thrust; - Nay, shooting forth afresh when it is smitten, - As Pedersen so charmingly has written. - - LIND. - - It is the bluebell,—ringing in for all - Young hearts life’s joyous Whitsun festival. - - MRS. HALM. - - No, ’tis an evergreen,—as fresh and gay - In desolate December as in May. - - GULDSTAD. - - No, Iceland moss, dry gathered,—far the best - Cure for young ladies with a wounded breast. - - A GENTLEMAN. - - No, the wild chestnut tree,—in high repute - For household fuel, but with a bitter fruit. - - SVANHILD. - - No, a camellia; at our balls, ’tis said, - The chief adornment of a lady’s head. - - MRS. STRAWMAN. - - No, it is like a flower, O such a bright one;— - Stay now—a blue one, no, it was a white one— - What is its name—? Dear me—the one I met—; - Well it is singular how I forget! - - STIVER. - - None of these flower similitudes will run. - The flowerpot is a likelier candidate. - There’s only room in it, at once, for _one_; - But by progressive stages it holds _eight_. - - STRAWMAN [_with his little girls round him_]. - - No, love’s a pear tree; in the spring like snow - With myriad blossoms, which in summer grow - To pearlets; in the parent’s sap each shares;— - And with God’s help they’ll all alike prove pears. - - FALK. - - So many heads, so many sentences! - No, you all grope and blunder off the line. - Each simile’s at fault; I’ll tell you mine;— - You’re free to turn and wrest it as you please. - - [_Rises as if to make a speech._ - - In the remotest east there grows a plant; - And the sun’s cousin’s garden is its haunt— - - THE LADIES. - - Ah, it’s the tea-plant! - - FALK. - - Yes. - - MRS. STRAWMAN. - - His voice is so - Like Strawman’s when he— - - STRAWMAN. - - Don’t disturb his flow. - - FALK. - - It has its home in fabled lands serene; - Thousands of miles of desert lie between;— - Fill up, Lind!—So.—Now in a tea-oration, - I’ll show of tea and Love the true relation. - - [_The guests cluster round him._ - - It has its home in the romantic land; - Alas, Love’s home is also in Romance, - Only the Sun’s descendants understand - The herb’s right cultivation and advance. - With Love it is not otherwise than so. - Blood of the Sun along the veins must flow - If Love indeed therein is to strike root, - And burgeon into blossom, into fruit. - - MISS JAY. - - But China is an ancient land; you hold - In consequence that tea is very old— - - STRAWMAN. - - Past question antecedent to Jerusalem. - - FALK. - - Yes, ’twas already famous when Methusalem - His picture-books and rattles tore and flung— - - MISS JAY [_triumphantly_]. - - And Love is in its very nature young! - To find a likeness there is pretty bold. - - FALK. - - No; Love, in truth, is also very old; - That principle we here no more dispute - Than do the folks of Rio or Beyrout. - Nay, there are those from Cayenne to Caithness, - Who stand upon its everlastingness;— - Well, that may be a slight exaggeration, - But old it is beyond all estimation. - - MISS JAY. - - But Love is all alike; whereas we see - Both good and bad and middling kinds of tea! - - MRS. STRAWMAN. - - Yes, they sell tea of many qualities. - - ANNA. - - The green spring shoots I count the very first— - - SVANHILD. - - Those serve to quench celestial daughters’ thirst. - - A YOUNG LADY. - - Witching as ether fumes they say it is— - - ANOTHER. - - Balmy as lotus, sweet as almond, clear— - - GULDSTAD. - - That’s not an article we deal in here. - - FALK [_who has meanwhile come down from the verandah_]. - - Ah, ladies, every mortal has a small - Private celestial empire in his heart. - There bud such shoots in thousands, kept apart - By Shyness’s soon shatter’d Chinese Wall. - But in her dim fantastic temple bower - The little Chinese puppet sits and sighs, - A dream of far-off wonders in her eyes— - And in her hand a golden tulip flower. - For _her_ the tender firstling tendrils grew;— - Rich crop or meagre, what is that to you? - Instead of it we get an after crop - They kick the tree for, dust and stalk and stem,— - As hemp to silk beside what goes to them— - - GULDSTAD. - - That is the black tea. - - FALK [_nodding_]. - - That’s what fills the shop. - - A GENTLEMAN. - - There’s beef tea too, that Holberg says a word of— - - MISS JAY [_sharply_]. - - To modern taste entirely out of date. - - FALK. - - And a _beef love_ has equally been heard of, - Wont—in romances—to brow-beat its mate, - And still they say its trace may be detected - Amongst the henpecked of the married state. - In short there’s likeness where ’twas least expected. - So, as you know, an ancient proverb tells, - That something ever passes from the tea - Of the bouquet that lodges in its cells, - If it be carried hither over sea. - It must across the desert and the hills,— - Pay toll to Cossack and to Russian tills;— - It gets their stamp and licence, that’s enough, - We buy it as the true and genuine stuff. - But has not Love the self-same path to fare? - Across Life’s desert? How the world would rave - And shriek if you or I should boldly bear - Our Love by way of Freedom’s ocean wave! - “Good heavens, his moral savour’s passed away, - “And quite dispersed Legality’s bouquet!”— - - STRAWMAN [_rising_]. - - Yes, happily,—in every moral land - Such wares continue to be contraband! - - FALK. - - Yes, to pass current here, Love must have cross’d - The great Siberian waste of regulations, - Fann’d by no breath of ocean to its cost; - It must produce official attestations - From friends and kindred, devils of relations, - From church curators, organist and clerk, - And other fine folks—over and above - The primal licence which God gave to Love.— - And then the last great point of likeness;—mark - How heavily the hand of culture weighs - Upon that far Celestial domain; - Its power is shatter’d, and its wall decays, - The last true Mandarin’s strangled; hands profane - Already are put forth to share the spoil; - Soon the Sun’s realm will be a legend vain, - An idle tale incredible to sense; - The world is gray in gray—we’ve flung the soil - On buried Faery,—we have made her mound. - But if we have,—then where can Love be found? - Alas, Love also is departed hence! - - [_Lifts his cup._ - - - Well let him go, since so the times decree;— - A health to Amor, late of Earth,—in tea! - - [_He drains his cup; indignant murmurs amongst the company._ - - MISS JAY. - - A very odd expression! “Dead” indeed! - - THE LADIES. - - To say that Love is dead—! - - STRAWMAN. - - Why, here you see - Him sitting, rosy, round and sound, at tea, - In all conditions! Here in her sable weed - The widow— - - MISS JAY. - - Here a couple, true and tried,— - - STIVER. - - With many ample pledges fortified. - - GULDSTAD. - - Then Love’s light cavalry, of maid and man, - The plighted pairs in order— - - STRAWMAN. - - In the van - The veterans, whose troth has laughed to scorn - The tooth of Time— - - MISS JAY [_hastily interrupting_]. - - And then the babes new-born— - The little novices of yester-morn— - - STRAWMAN. - - Spring, summer, autumn, winter, in a word, - Are here; the truth is patent, past all doubt, - It can be clutched and handled, seen and heard,— - - FALK. - - What then? - - MISS JAY. - - And yet you want to thrust it out! - - FALK. - - Madam, you quite mistake. In all I spoke - I cast no doubt on anything you claim; - But I would fain remind you that, from smoke, - We cannot logically argue flame. - That men are married, and have children, I - Have no desire whatever to deny; - Nor do I dream of doubting that such things - Are in the world as troth and wedding-rings; - That billets-doux some tender hands indite - And seal with pairs of turtle doves that—fight; - That sweethearts swarm in cottage and in hall, - That chocolate rewards the wedding-call; - That usage and convention have decreed, - In every point, how “Lovers” shall proceed:— - But, heavens! We’ve majors also by the score, - Arsenals heaped with muniments of war, - With spurs and howitzers and drums and shot, - But what does that permit us to infer? - That we have men who dangle swords, but not - That they will wield the weapons that they wear. - Tho’ all the plain with gleaming tents you crowd, - Does that make heroes of the men they shroud? - - STRAWMAN. - - Well, all in moderation; I must own, - It is not quite conducive to the truth - That we should paint the enamourment of youth - So bright, as if—ahem—it stood alone. - Love-making still a frail foundation is. - Only the snuggery of wedded bliss - Provides a rock where Love may builded be - In unassailable security. - - MISS JAY. - - There I entirely differ. In my view, - A free accord of lovers, heart with heart, - Who hold together, having leave to part, - Gives the best warrant that their love is true. - - ANNA [_warmly_]. - - O no—Love’s bond when it is fresh and young - Is of a stuff more precious and more strong. - - LIND [_thoughtfully_]. - - Possibly the ideal flower may blow, - Even as that snowdrop,—hidden by the snow. - - FALK [_with a sudden outburst_]. - - You fallen Adam! There a heart was cleft - With longing for the Eden it has left! - - LIND. - - What stuff! - - MRS. HALM [_offended, to_ FALK, _rising_]. - - ’Tis not a very friendly act - To stir a quarrel where we’ve made a peace. - As for your friend’s good fortune, be at ease— - - SOME LADIES. - - Nay that’s assured— - - OTHERS. - - A very certain fact. - - MRS. HALM. - - The cooking-class at school, I must confess, - She did not take; but she shall learn it still. - - MISS JAY. - - With her own hands she’s trimming her own dress - - AN AUNT [_patting_ ANNA’S _hand_]. - - And growing exquisitely sensible. - - FALK [_laughing aloud_]. - - O parody of sense, that rives and rends - In maniac dance upon the lips of friends! - Was it good sense he wanted? Or a she- - Professor of the lore of Cookery? - A joyous son of springtime he came here, - For the wild rosebud on the bush he burned. - You reared the rosebud for him; he returned— - And for his rose found what? The hip! - - MISS JAY [_offended_]. - - You jeer! - - FALK. - - A useful household condiment, heaven knows! - But yet the hip was not his bridal rose. - - MRS. HALM. - - O, if it is a ball-room queen he wants, - I’m very sorry; these are not their haunts. - - FALK. - - O yes, I know the pretty coquetry - They carry on with “Domesticity.” - It is a suckling of the mighty Lie - That, like hop-tendrils, spreads itself on high. - , madam, reverently bare my head - To the ball queen; a child of beauty she— - And the ideal’s golden woof is spread - In ball-rooms, hardly in the nursery. - - MRS. HALM [_with suppressed bitterness_]. - - Your conduct, sir, is easily explained; - A plighted lover cannot be a friend; - That is the kernel of the whole affair; - I have a very large experience there. - - FALK. - - No doubt,—with seven nieces, each a wife— - - MRS. HALM. - - And each a happy wife— - - FALK [_with emphasis_]. - - Ah, do we know? - - GULDSTAD. - - How! - - MISS JAY. - - Mr. Falk! - - LIND. - - Are you resolved to sow - Dissension? - - FALK [_vehemently_]. - - Yes, war, discord, turmoil, strife! - - STIVER. - - What you, a lay, profane outsider here! - - FALK. - - No matter, still the battle-flag I’ll rear! - Yes, it is war I mean with nail and tooth - Against the Lie with the tenacious root, - The lie that you have fostered into fruit, - For all its strutting in the guise of truth! - - STIVER. - - Against these groundless charges I protest, - Reserving right of action— - - MISS JAY. - - Do be still! - - FALK. - - So then it is Love’s ever-running rill - That tells the widow what she once possess’d,— - That very Love that, in the days gone by, - Out of her language blotted “moan” and “sigh”! - So then it is Love’s brimming tide that rolls - Along the placid veins of wedded souls,— - That very Love that faced the iron sleet, - Trampling inane Convention under feet, - And scoffing at the impotent discreet! - So then it is Love’s beauty-kindled flame - That keeps the plighted from the taint of time - Year after year! Ah yes, the very same - That made our young bureaucrat blaze in rhyme! - So it is Love’s young bliss that will not brave - The voyage over vaulted Ocean’s wave, - But asks a sacrifice when, like the sun, - Its face should fill with glory, _making_ one! - Ah no, you vulgar prophets of the Lie, - Give things the names we ought to know them by; - Call widows’ passion—wanting what they miss, - And wedlock’s _habit_—call it what it is! - - STRAWMAN. - - Young man, this insolence has gone too far! - In every word there’s scoffing and defiance. - - [_Goes close up to Falk._ - - Now I’ll gird up my aged loins to war - For hallowed custom against modern science! - - FALK. - - I go to battle as it were a feast! - - STRAWMAN. - - Good! For your bullets I will be a beacon!— - - [_Nearer._ - - A wedded pair is holy, like a priest— - - STIVER [_at_ FALK’S _other side_]. - - And a betrothed— - - FALK. - - Half-holy, like the deacon. - - STRAWMAN. - - Behold these children;—see,—this little throng! - _Io triumphe_ may for them be sung! - How was it possible—how practicable—; - The words of truth are strong, inexorable;— - He has no hearing whom they cannot move. - See,—every one of them’s a child of Love—! - - [_Stops in confusion._ - - That is—you understand—I would have said—! - - MISS JAY [_fanning herself with her handkerchief_]. - - This is a very mystical oration! - - FALK. - - There you yourself provide the demonstration,— - A good old Norse one, sound, true-born, homebred. - You draw distinction between wedded pledges - And those of Love: your Logic’s without flaw. - They are distinguished just as roast from raw, - As hothouse bloom from wilding of the hedges! - Love is with us a science and an art; - It long since ceased to animate the heart. - Love is with us a trade, a special line - Of business, with its union, code and sign; - It is a guild of married folks and plighted, - Past-masters with apprentices united; - For they cohere compact as jelly-fishes, - A singing-club their single want and wish is— - - GULDSTAD. - - And a gazette! - - FALK. - - A good suggestion, yes! - We too must have our organ in the press, - Like ladies, athletes, boys, and devotees. - Don’t ask the price at present, if you please. - There I’ll parade each amatory fetter - That John and Thomas to our town unites, - There publish every pink and perfumed letter - That William to his tender Jane indites; - There you shall read, among “Distressing Scenes”— - Instead of murders and burnt crinolines, - The broken matches that the week’s afforded; - There under “goods for sale” you’ll find what firms - Will furnish cast-off rings on easy terms; - There double, treble births will be recorded; - No wedding, but our rallying rub-a-dub - Shall drum to the performance all the club; - No suit rejected, but we’ll set it down, - In letters large, with other news of weight - Thus: “Amor-Moloch, we regret to state, - Has claimed another victim in our town.” - You’ll see, we’ll catch subscribers: once in sight - Of the propitious season when they bite, - By way of throwing them the bait they’ll brook - I’ll stick a nice young man upon my hook. - Yes, you will see me battle for our cause, - With tiger’s, nay with editorial, claws - Rending them— - - GULDSTAD. - - And the paper’s name will be—? - - FALK. - - Amor’s Norse Chronicle of Archery. - - STIVER [_going nearer_]. - - You’re not in earnest, you will never stake - Your name and fame for such a fancy’s sake! - - FALK. - - I’m in grim earnest. We are often told - Men cannot live on love; I’ll show that this - Is an untenable hypothesis; - For Love will prove to be a mine of gold: - Particularly if Miss Jay, perhaps, - Will Mr. Strawman’s “Life’s Romance” unfold, - As appetising feuilleton, in scraps. - - STRAWMAN [_in terror_]. - - Merciful heaven! My “life’s romance!” What, what! - When was my life romantic, if you please? - - MISS JAY. - - I never said so. - - STIVER. - - Witness disagrees. - - STRAWMAN. - - That I have ever swerved a single jot - From social prescript,—is a monstrous lie. - - FALK. - - Good. - - [_Clapping_ STIVER _on the shoulder_. - - Here’s a friend who will not put me by. - We’ll start with Stiver’s lyric ecstasies. - - STIVER [_after a glance of horror at_ STRAWMAN]. - - Are you quite mad! Nay then I must be heard! - You dare accuse me for a poet— - - MISS JAY. - - How—! - - FALK. - - Your office has averred it anyhow. - - STIVER [_in towering anger_]. - - Sir, by our office nothing is averred. - - FALK. - - Well, leave me then, you also: I have by me - One comrade yet whose loyalty will last. - “A true heart’s story” Lind will not deny me, - Whose troth’s too tender for the ocean blast, - Who for his mistress makes surrender of - His fellow-men—pure quintessence of Love! - - MRS. HALM. - - My patience, Mr. Falk, is now worn out. - The same abode no longer can receive us:— - I beg of you this very day to leave us— - - FALK [_with a bow as_ MRS. HALM _and the company withdraw_]. - - That this would come I never had a doubt! - - STRAWMAN. - - Between us two there’s battle to the death; - You’ve slandered me, my wife, nay little flock, - From Molly down to Millie, in one breath. - Crow on, crow on—Emancipation’s cock,— - - [_Goes in, followed by his wife and children._ - - FALK. - - And go you on observing Peter’s faith - To Love your lord—who, thanks to your advice, - Was thrice denied before the cock crew thrice! - - MISS JAY [_turning faint_]. - - Attend me, Stiver! help me get unlaced - My corset—this way, this way—do make haste! - - STIVER [_to_ FALK _as he withdraws with_ MISS JAY _on his - arm_]. - - I here renounce your friendship. - - LIND. - - I likewise. - - FALK [_seriously_]. - - You too, my Lind? - - LIND. - - Farewell. - - FALK. - - You were my nearest one— - - LIND. - - No help, it is the pleasure of my dearest one. - - [_He goes in:_ SVANHILD _has remained standing on - the verandah steps._ - - FALK. - - So, now I’ve made a clearance, have free course - In all directions! - - SVANHILD. - - Falk, one word with you! - - FALK [_pointing politely to the house_]. - - That way, Miss Halm;—that way, with all the force - Of aunts and inmates, Mrs. Halm withdrew. - - SVANHILD [_nearer to him_]. - - Let them withdraw; their ways and mine divide; - I will not swell the number of their band. - - FALK. - - You’ll stay? - - SVANHILD. - - If you make war on lies, I stand - A trusty armour-bearer by your side. - - FALK. - - You, Svanhild, you who— - - SVANHILD. - - Were you yourself, Falk, yesterday the same? - You bade me be a sallow, for your play. - - FALK. - - And a sweet sallow sang me into shame. - No, you are right: I was a child to ask; - But you have fired me to a nobler task. - Eight in the midst of men the Church is founded - Where Truth’s appealing clarion must be sounded - We are not called, like demigods, to gaze on - The battle from the far-off mountain’s crest, - But in our hearts to bear our fiery blazon, - An Olaf’s cross upon a mailed breast,— - To look afar across the fields of flight, - Tho’ pent within the mazes of its might,— - Beyond the mirk descry one glimmer still - Of glory—that’s the Call we must fulfil. - - SVANHILD. - - And you’ll fulfil it when you break from men, - Stand free, alone,— - - FALK. - - Did I frequent them _then_? - And there lies duty. No, that time’s gone by,— - My solitary compact with the sky. - My four-wall-chamber poetry is done; - My verse shall live in forest and in field, - I’ll fight under the splendour of the sun;— - I or the Lie—one of us two must yield! - - SVANHILD. - - Then forth with God from Verse to Derringdoe! - I did you wrong: you have a feeling heart; - Forgive me,—and as good friends let us part— - - FALK. - - Nay, in my future there is room for two! - We part not. Svanhild, if you dare decide, - We’ll battle on together side by side. - - SVANHILD. - - _We_ battle? - - FALK. - - See, I have no friend, no mate, - By all abandoned, I make war on all: - At me they aim the piercing shafts of hate; - Say, do you dare with me to stand or fall? - Henceforth along the beaten walks I’ll move - Heedful of each constraining etiquette; - Spread, like the rest of men, my board, and set - The ring upon the finger of my love! - - [_Takes a ring from his finger and holds it up._ - - SVANHILD [in breathless suspense]. - - You mean _that_? - - FALK. - - Yes, by us the world shall see, - Love has an everlasting energy, - That suffers not its splendour to take hurt - From the day’s dust, the common highway’s dirt. - Last night I showed you the ideal aflame, - Beaconing from a dizzy mountain’s brow. - You shuddered, for you were a woman,—now - I show you woman’s veritable aim;— - A soul like yours, what it has vowed, will keep. - You see the abyss before you,—Svanhild, leap! - - SVANHILD [_almost inaudibly_]. - - If we should fail—! - - FALK [_exulting_]. - - No, in your eyes I see - A gleam that surely prophesies our winning! - - SVANHILD. - - Then take me as I am, take all of me! - Now buds the young leaf; now my spring’s beginning! - - [_She flings herself boldly into his arms as the - curtain falls._ - - - - - ACT THIRD. - - _Evening. Bright moonlight. Coloured lanterns are hung about - the trees. In the background are covered tables with - bottles, glasses, biscuits, etc. From the house, which - is lighted up from top to bottom, subdued music and - singing are heard during the following scene._ SVANHILD - _stands on the verandah._ FALK _comes from the right - with some books and a portfolio under his arm. The_ - PORTER _follows with a portmanteau and a knapsack._ - - - FALK. - - That’s all, then? - - PORTER. - - Yes, sir, all is in the pack, - But just a satchel, and the paletot. - - FALK. - - Good; when I go, I’ll take them on my back. - Now off. See, this is the portfolio. - - PORTER. - - It’s locked, I see. - - FALK. - - Locked, Peter. - - PORTER. - - Good, sir. - - FALK. - - Pray, - Make haste and burn it. - - PORTER. - - Burn it? - - FALK. - - Yes, to ash— - - [_Smiling._ - - With every draft upon poetic cash; - As for the books, you’re welcome to them. - - PORTER. - - Nay, - Such payment is above a poor man’s earning. - But, sir, I’m thinking, if you can bestow - Your books, you must have done with all your learning? - - FALK. - - Whatever can be learnt from books I know, - And rather more. - - PORTER. - - More? Nay, that’s hard, I doubt! - - FALK. - - Well, now be off; the carriers wait without. - Just help them load the barrow ere you go. - - [_The_ PORTER _goes out to the left._ - - FALK [approaching SVANHILD who comes to meet him]. - - One moment’s ours, my Svanhild, in the light - Of God and of the lustrous summer night. - How the stars glitter thro’ the leafage, see, - Like bright fruit hanging on the great world-tree. - Now slavery’s last manacle I slip, - Now for the last time feel the wealing whip; - Like Israel at the Passover I stand, - Loins girded for the desert, staff in hand. - Dull generation, from whose sight is hid - The Promised Land beyond that desert flight, - Thrall tricked with knighthood, never the more knight, - Tomb thyself kinglike in the Pyramid,— - I cross the barren desert to be free. - My ship strides on despite an ebbing sea; - But there the Legion Lie shall find its doom, - And glut one deep, dark, hollow-vaulted tomb. - - [_A short pause; he looks at her and takes her hand._ - - You are so still! - - SVANHILD. - - So happy! Suffer me, - O suffer me in silence still to dream. - Speak you for me; my budding thoughts, grown strong, - One after one will burgeon into song, - Like lilies in the bosom of the stream. - - FALK. - - O say it once again, in truth’s pure tone - Beyond the fear of doubt, that thou art mine! - O say it, Svanhild, say— - - SVANHILD [_throwing herself on his neck_]. - - Yes, I am thine! - - FALK. - - Thou singing-bird God sent me for my own! - - SVANHILD. - - Homeless within my mother’s house I dwelt, - Lonely in all I thought, in all I felt, - A guest unbidden at the feast of mirth,— - Accounted nothing—less than nothing—worth. - Then you appeared! For the first time I heard - My own thought uttered in another’s word; - To my lame visions you gave wings and feet— - You young unmasker of the Obsolete! - Half with your caustic keenness you alarmed me, - Half with your radiant eloquence you charmed me, - As sea-girt forests summon with their spell - The sea their flinty beaches still repel. - Now I have read the bottom of your soul, - Now you have won me, undivided, whole; - Dear forest, where my tossing billows beat, - My tide’s at flood and never will retreat! - - FALK. - - And I thank God that in the bath of Pain - He purged my love. What strong compulsion drew - Me on I knew not, till I saw in you - The treasure I had blindly sought in vain. - I praise Him, who our love has lifted thus - To noble rank by sorrow,—licensed us - To a triumphal progress, bade us sweep - Thro’ fen and forest to our castle-keep, - A noble pair, astride on Pegasus! - - SVANHILD [_pointing to the house_]. - - The whole house, see, is making feast to-night. - There, in their honour, every room’s alight, - There cheerful talk and joyous song ring out; - On the highroad no passer-by will doubt - That men are happy where they are so gay. - - [_With compassion._ - - Poor sister!—happy in the great world’s way! - - FALK. - - “Poor” sister, say you? - - SVANHILD. - - Has she not divided - With kith and kin the treasure of her soul, - Her capital to fifty hands confided, - So that not one is debtor for the whole? - From no one has she _all_ things to receive, - For no one has she utterly to live. - O beside my wealth hers is little worth; - I have but one possession upon earth. - My heart was lordless when with trumpet blare - And multitudinous song you came, its king, - The banners of my thought your ensign bear, - You fill my soul with glory, like the spring. - Yes, I must needs thank God, when it is past, - That I was lonely till I found out thee,— - That I lay dead until the trumpet blast - Waken’d me from the world’s frivolity. - - FALK. - - Yes we, who have no friends on earth, we twain - Own the true wealth, the golden fortune,—we - Who stand without, beside the starlit sea, - And watch the indoor revel thro’ the pane. - Let the lamp glitter and the song resound, - Let the dance madly eddy round and round;— - Look up, my Svanhild, into yon deep blue,— - There glitter little lamps in thousands, too— - - SVANHILD. - - And hark, beloved, thro’ the limes there floats - This balmy eve a chorus of sweet notes— - - FALK. - - It is for us that fretted vault’s aglow— - - SVANHILD. - - It is for us the vale is loud below! - - FALK. - - I feel myself like God’s lost prodigal; - I left Him for the world’s delusive charms. - With mild reproof He wooed me to His arms; - And when I come, He lights the vaulted hall, - Prepares a banquet for the son restored, - And makes His noblest creature my reward. - From this time forth I’ll never leave that Light,— - But stand its armed defender in the fight; - Nothing shall part us, and our life shall prove - A song of glory to triumphant love! - - SVANHILD. - - And see how easy triumph is for two, - When he’s a man— - - FALK. - - She, woman thro’ and thro’;— - It is impossible for such to fall! - - SVANHILD. - - Then up, and to the war with want and sorrow; - This very hour I will declare it all! - - [_Pointing to_ FALK’S _ring on her finger._ - - FALK [_hastily_]. - - No, Svanhild, not to-night, wait till to-morrow! - To-night we gather our young love’s red rose; - ’Twere sacrilege to smirch it with the prose - Of common day. - - [_The door into the garden-room opens._ - - Your mother’s coming! Hide! - No eye this night shall see thee as my bride! - - [_They go out among the trees by the summer-house._ - MRS. HALM _and_ GULDSTAD _come out on the - balcony._ - - MRS. HALM. - - He’s really going? - - GULDSTAD. - - Seems so, I admit. - - STIVER [_coming_]. - - He’s going, madam! - - MRS. HALM. - - We’re aware of it! - - STIVER. - - A most unfortunate punctilio. - He’ll keep his word; his stubbornness I know. - In the Gazette he’ll put us all by name; - My love will figure under leaded headings, - With jilts, and twins, and countermanded weddings. - Listen; I tell you, if it weren’t for shame, - I would propose an armistice, a truce— - - MRS. HALM. - - You think he would be willing? - - STIVER. - - I deduce - The fact from certain signs, which indicate - That his tall talk about his Amor’s News - Was uttered in a far from sober state. - One proof especially, if not transcendent, - Yet tells most heavily against defendant: - It has been clearly proved that after dinner - To his and Lind’s joint chamber he withdrew, - And there displayed such singular demeanour - As leaves no question— - - GULDSTAD. - - [_Sees a glimpse of_ FALK _and_ SVANHILD, _who - separate_, FALK _going to the background_; - SVANHILD _remains standing hidden by the - summer-house._ - - Hold, we have the clue! - Madam, one word!—Falk does not mean to go, - Or if he does, he means it as a friend. - - STIVER. - - How, you believe then—? - - MRS. HALM. - - What do you intend? - - GULDSTAD. - - With the least possible delay I’ll show - That matters move precisely as you would. - Merely a word in private— - - MRS. HALM. - - Very good. - - [_They go together into the garden and are seen from - time to time in lively conversation._ - - STIVER. - - [_Descending into the garden discovers_ FALK, _who - is standing by the water and gazing over it._ - - These poets are mere men of vengeance, we - State servants understand diplomacy. - I need to labour for myself— - - [_Seeing_ STRAWMAN, _who enters from the garden-room._ - - Well met! - - STRAWMAN [_on the verandah_]. - - He’s really leaving! - - [_Going down to_ STIVER. - - Ah, my dear sir, let - Me beg you just a moment to go in - And hold my wife— - - STIVER. - - I—hold her, sir? - - STRAWMAN. - - I mean - In talk. The little ones and we are so - Unused to be divided, there is no - Escaping— - - [_His wife and children appear in the door._ - - Ha! already on my trail. - - MRS. STRAWMAN. - - Where are you, Strawman? - - STRAWMAN [_aside to_ STIVER]. - - Do invent some tale, - Something amusing—something to beguile! - - STIVER [_going on to the verandah_]. - - Pray, madam, have you read the official charge? - A masterpiece of literary style. - - [_Takes a book from his pocket._ - - Which I shall now proceed to cite at large. - - [_Ushers her politely into the room, and follows - himself._ FALK _comes forward; he and_ STRAWMAN - _meet; they regard one another a moment in - silence._ - - STRAWMAN. - - Well? - - FALK. - - Well? - - STRAWMAN. - - Falk! - - FALK. - - Pastor! - - STRAWMAN. - - Are you less - Intractable than when we parted? - - FALK. - - Nay, - I go my own inexorable way— - - STRAWMAN. - - Even tho’ you crush another’s happiness? - - FALK. - - I plant the flower of knowledge in its place. - - [_Smiling._ - - If, by the way, you have not ceased to think - Of the Gazette— - - STRAWMAN. - - Ah, that was all a joke? - - FALK. - - Yes, pluck up courage, that will turn to smoke; - I break the ice in action, not in ink. - - STRAWMAN. - - But even though you spare me, sure enough - There’s one who won’t so lightly let me off; - He has the advantage, and he won’t forego it, - That lawyer’s clerk—and ’tis to you I owe it; - You raked the ashes of our faded flames, - And you may take your oath he won’t be still - If once I mutter but a syllable - Against the brazen bluster of his claims. - These civil-service gentlemen, they say, - Are very potent in the press to-day. - A trumpery paragraph can lay me low, - Once printed in that Samson-like Gazette - That with the jaw of asses fells its foe, - And runs away with tackle and with net, - Especially towards the quarter day— - - FALK [_acquiescing_]. - - Ah, were there scandal in the case, indeed— - - STRAWMAN [_despondently_]. - - No matter. Read its columns with good heed, - You’ll see me offered up to Vengeance. - - FALK [_whimsically_]. - - Nay, - To retribution—well-earned punishment. - Thro’ all our life there runs a Nemesis, - Which may delay, but never will relent, - And grants to none exception or release. - Who wrongs the Ideal? Straight there rushes in - The Press, its guardian with the Argus eye, - And the offender suffers for his sin. - - STRAWMAN. - - But in the name of heaven, what pledge have I - Given this “Ideal” that’s ever on your tongue? - I’m married, have a family, twelve young - And helpless innocents to clothe and keep; - I have my daily calls on every side, - Churches remote and glebe and pasture wide, - Great herds of breeding cattle, ghostly sheep— - All to be watched and cared for, clipt and fed, - Grain to be winnowed, compost to be spread;— - Wanted all day in shippon and in stall, - What time have _I_ to serve the “Ideal” withal? - - FALK. - - Then get you home with what dispatch you may, - Creep snugly in before the winter-cold; - Look, in young Norway dawns at last the day, - Thousand brave hearts are in its ranks enroll’d, - Its banners in the morning breezes play! - - STRAWMAN. - - And if, young man, I were to take my way - With bag and baggage home, with everything - That made me yesterday a little king, - Were mine the only _volte face_ to-day? - Think you I carry back the wealth I brought? - - [_As FALK is about to answer._ - - Nay, listen, let me first explain my thought. - - [_Coming nearer._ - - Time was when I was young, like you, and played - Like you, the unconquerable Titan’s part; - Year after year I toiled and moiled for bread, - Which hardens a man’s hand, but not his heart. - For northern fells my lonely home surrounded, - And by my parish bounds my world was bounded. - My home—Ah, Falk, I wonder, do you know - What home is? - - FALK [_curtly_]. - - I have never known. - - STRAWMAN. - - Just so. - That is a home, where five may dwell with ease, - Tho’ two would be a crowd, if enemies. - That is a home, where all your thoughts play free - As boys and girls about their father’s knee, - Where speech no sooner touches heart, than tongue - Darts back an answering harmony of song; - Where you may grow from flax-haired snowy-polled, - And not a soul take note that you grow old; - Where memories grow fairer as they fade, - Like far blue peaks beyond the forest glade. - - FALK [_with constrained sarcasm_]. - - Come, you grow warm— - - STRAWMAN. - - Where you but jeered and flouted. - So utterly unlike God made us two! - I’m bare of that he lavished upon you. - But I have won the game where you were routed. - Seen from the clouds, full many a wayside grain - Of truth seems empty chaff and husks. You’d soar - To heaven, I scarcely reach the stable door, - One bird’s an eagle born— - - FALK. - - And one a hen. - - STRAWMAN. - - Yes, laugh away, and say it be so, grant - I am a hen. There clusters to my cluck - A crowd of little chickens,—which you want! - And I’ve the hen’s high spirit and her pluck, - And for my little ones forget myself. - You think me dull, I know it. Possibly - You pass a harsher judgment yet, decree - Me over covetous of worldly pelf. - Good, on that head we will not disagree. - - [_Seizes FALK’S arm and continues in a low tone but - with gathering vehemence._ - - You’re right, I’m dull and dense and grasping, yes; - But grasping for my God-given babes and wife, - And dense from struggling blindly for bare life, - And dull from sailing seas of loneliness. - Just when the pinnace of my youthful dream - Into the everlasting deep went down, - Another started from the ocean stream - Borne with a fair wind onward to life’s crown. - For every dream that vanished in the wave, - For every buoyant plume that broke asunder, - God sent me in return a little Wonder, - And gratefully I took the good He gave. - For them I strove, for them amassed, annexed,— - For them, for them, explained the Holy text; - My clustering girls, my garden of delight! - On them you’ve poured the venom of your spite! - You’ve proved, with all the cunning of the schools, - My bliss was but the paradise of fools, - That all I took for earnest was a jest;— - Now I implore, give me my quiet breast - Again, the flawless peace of mind I had— - - FALK. - - Prove, in a word, your title to be glad? - - STRAWMAN. - - Yes, in my path you’ve cast the stone of doubt, - And nobody but you can cast it out. - Between my kin and me you’ve set a bar,— - Remove the bar, the strangling noose undo— - - FALK. - - You possibly believe I keep the glue - Of lies for Happiness’s broken jar? - - STRAWMAN. - - I do believe, the faith your reasons tore - To shreds, your reasons may again restore; - The limb that you have shatter’d, you can set; - Reverse your judgment,—the whole truth unfold, - Restate the case—I’ll fly my banner yet— - - FALK [_haughtily_]. - - I stamp no copper Happiness as gold. - - STRAWMAN [_looking fixedly at him_]. - - Remember then that, lately, one whose scent - For truth is of the keenest told us this: - - [_With uplifted finger._ - - “There runs through all our life a Nemesis, - Which may delay, but never will relent.” - - [_He goes towards the house._ - - STIVER. - - [_Coming out with glasses on, and an open book in - his hand._ - - Pastor, you must come flying like the blast! - Your girls are sobbing— - - THE CHILDREN [_in the doorway_]. - - Pa! - - STIVER. - - And Madam waiting! - - [_STRAWMAN goes in._ - - This lady has no talent for debating. - - [_Puts the book and glasses in his pocket, and - approaches_ FALK. - - Falk! - - FALK. - - Yes! - - STIVER. - - I hope you’ve changed your mind at last? - - FALK. - - Why so? - - STIVER. - - For obvious reasons. To betray - Communications made in confidence, - Is conduct utterly without defence. - They must not pass the lips. - - FALK. - - No, I’ve heard say - It is at times a risky game to play. - - STIVER. - - The very devil! - - FALK. - - Only for the great. - - STIVER [_zealously_]. - - No, no, for all us servants of the state. - Only imagine how my future chances - Would dwindle, if the governor once knew - I keep a Pegasus that neighs and prances - In office hours—and such an office, too! - From first to last, you know, in our profession, - The winged horse is viewed with reprobation: - But worst of all would be, if it got wind - That I against our primal law had sinn’d - By bringing secret matters to the light— - - FALK. - - That’s penal, is it—such an oversight? - - STIVER [_mysteriously_]. - - It can a servant of the state compel - To beg for his dismissal out of hand. - On us officials lies a strict command, - Even by the hearth to be inscrutable. - - FALK. - - O those despotical authorities, - Muzzling the—clerk that treadeth out the grain! - - STIVER [_shrugging his shoulders_]. - - It is the law; to murmur is in vain. - Moreover, at a moment such as this, - When salary revision is in train, - It is not well to advertise one’s views - Of office time’s true function and right use. - That’s why I beg you to be silent; look, - A word may forfeit my— - - FALK. - - Portfolio? - - STIVER. - - Officially it’s called a transcript book; - A protocol’s the clasp upon the veil of snow - That shrouds the modest breast of the Bureau. - What lies beneath you must not seek to know. - - FALK. - - And yet I only spoke at your desire; - You hinted at your literary crop. - - STIVER. - - How should I guess he’d grovel in the mire - So deep, this parson perch’d on fortune’s top, - A man with snug appointments, children, wife, - And money to defy the ills of life? - If such a man prove such a Philistine, - What shall of us poor copyists be said? - Of me, who drive the quill and rule the line, - A man engaged and shortly to be wed, - With family in prospect—and so forth? - - [_More vehemently._ - - O, if I only had a well-lined berth, - I’d bind the armour’d helmet on my head, - And cry defiance to united earth! - And were I only unengaged like you, - Trust me, I’d break a road athwart the snow - Of Prose, and carry the Ideal through! - - FALK. - - To work then, man! - - STIVER. - - How? - - FALK. - - You may still do so! - Let the world’s prudish owl unheeded flutter by; - Freedom converts the grub into a butterfly! - - STIVER [_stepping back_]. - - You mean, to break the engagement—? - - FALK. - - That’s my mind;— - The fruit is gone, why keep the empty rind? - - STIVER. - - Such a proposal’s for a green young shoot, - Not for a man of judgment and repute. - I heed not what King Christian in his time - (The Fifth) laid down about engagements broken-off; - For that relationship is nowhere spoken of - In any rubric of the code of crime. - The act would not be criminal in name, - It would in no way violate the laws— - - FALK. - - Why there, you see then! - - STIVER [_firmly_]. - - Yes, but all the same,— - I must reject all pleas in such a cause. - Staunch comrades we have been in times of dearth; - Of life’s disport she asks but little share, - And I’m a homely fellow, long aware - God made me for the ledger and the hearth. - Let others emulate the eagle’s flight, - Life in the lowly plains may be as bright. - What does his Excellency Goethe say - About the white and shining milky way? - Man may not there the milk of fortune skim, - Nor is the butter of it meant for him. - - FALK. - - Why, even were fortune-churning our life’s goal, - The labour must be guided by the soul;— - Be citizens of the time that is—but then - Make the time worthy of the citizen. - In homely things lurks beauty, without doubt, - But watchful eye and brain must draw it out. - Not every man who loves the soil he turns - May therefore claim to be another Burns. - - STIVER. - - Then let us each our proper path pursue, - And part in peace; we shall not hamper you; - We keep the road, you hover in the sky, - There where we too once floated, she and I. - But work, not song, provides our daily bread, - And when a man’s alive, his music’s dead. - A young man’s life’s a lawsuit, and the most - Superfluous litigation in existence: - Withdraw, make terms, abandon all resistance: - Plead where and how you will, your suit is lost. - - FALK [_bold and confident, with a glance at the - summer-house_]. - - Nay, tho’ I took it to the highest place,— - Judgment, I know, would be reversed by grace! - I know two hearts can live a life complete, - With hope still ardent, and with faith still sweet; - You preach the wretched gospel of the hour, - That the Ideal is secondary! - - STIVER. - - No! - It’s primary: appointed, like the flower, - To generate the fruit, and then to go. - - [_Indoors_, MISS JAY _plays and sings: “In the - Gloaming.”_ STIVER _stands listening in silent - emotion._ - - With the same melody she calls me yet - Which thrilled me to the heart when first we met. - - [_Lays his hand on FALK’S arm and gazes intently at - him._ - - Oft as she wakens those pathetic notes, - From the white keys reverberating floats - An echo of the “yes” that made her mine. - And when our passions shall one day decline, - To live again as friendship, to the last - That song shall link that present to this past. - And what tho’ at the desk my back grow round, - And my day’s work a battle for mere bread, - Yet joy will lead me homeward, where the dead - Enchantment will be born again in sound. - If one poor bit of evening we can claim, - I shall come off undamaged from the game! - - [_He goes into the house._ FALK _turns towards the - summer-house._ SVANHILD _comes out, she is pale - and agitated. They gaze at each other in silence - a moment, and fling themselves impetuously into - each other’s arms._ - - FALK. - - O, Svanhild, let us battle side by side! - Thou fresh glad blossom flowering by the tomb,— - See what the life is that they call youth’s bloom! - There’s coffin-stench of bridegroom and of bride; - There’s coffin-stench wherever two go by - At the street corner, smiling outwardly, - With falsehood’s reeking sepulchre beneath, - And in their blood the apathy of death. - And this they think is living! Heaven and earth, - Is such a load so many antics worth? - For such an end to haul up babes in shoals, - To pamper them with honesty and reason, - To feed them fat with faith one sorry season, - For service, after killing-day, as souls? - - SVANHILD. - - Falk, let us travel! - - FALK. - - Travel? Whither, then? - Is not the whole world everywhere the same? - And does not Truth’s own mirror in its frame - Lie equally to all the sons of men? - No, we will stay and watch the merry game, - The conjurer’s trick, the tragi-comedy - Of liars that are dupes of their own lie; - Stiver and Lind, the Parson and his dame, - See them,—prize oxen harness’d to love’s yoke, - And yet at bottom very decent folk! - Each wears for others and himself a mask, - Yet one too innocent to take to task; - Each one, a stranded sailor on a wreck, - Counts himself happy as the gods in heaven; - Each his own hand from Paradise has driven, - Then, splash! into the sulphur to the neck! - But none has any inkling where he lies, - Each thinks himself a knight of Paradise, - And each sits smiling between howl and howl; - And if the Fiend come by with jeer and growl, - With horns, and hoofs, and things yet more abhorred,— - Then each man jogs the neighbour at his jowl: - “Off with your hat, man! See, there goes the Lord!” - - SVANHILD [_after a brief thoughtful silence_]. - - How marvellous a love my steps have led - To this sweet trysting place! My life that sped - In frolic and fantastic visions gay, - Henceforth shall grow one ceaseless working day! - O God! I wandered groping,—all was dim: - Thou gavest me light—and I discovered _him_! - - [_Gazing at_ FALK _in love and wonder._ - - Whence is that strength of thine, thou mighty tree - That stand’st unshaken in the wind-wrecked wood, - That stand’st alone, and yet canst shelter me—? - - FALK. - - God’s truth, my Svanhild;—that gives fortitude. - - SVANHILD [_with a shy glance towards the house_]. - - They came like tempters, evilly inclined, - Each spokesman for his half of humankind, - One asking: How can true love reach its goal - When riches’ leaden weight subdues the soul? - The other asking: How can true love speed - When life’s a battle to the death with Need? - O horrible!—to bid the world receive - That teaching as the truth, and yet to live! - - FALK. - - How if ’twere meant for us? - - SVANHILD. - - For us?—What, then? - Can outward fate control the wills of men? - I have already said: if thou’lt stand fast, - I’ll dare and suffer by thee to the last. - How light to listen to the gospel’s voice, - To leave one’s home behind, to weep, rejoice, - And take with God the husband of one’s choice! - - FALK [_embracing her_]. - - Come then, and blow thy worst, thou winter weather! - We stand unshaken, for we stand together! - - [MRS. HALM _and_ GULDSTAD _come in from the right in - the background._ - - GULDSTAD [aside]. - - Observe! - - [FALK _and_ SVANHILD _remain standing by the - summer-house._ - - MRS. HALM [_surprised_]. - - Together! - - GULDSTAD. - - Do you doubt it now? - - MRS. HALM. - - This is most singular. - - GULDSTAD. - - O, I’ve noted how - His work of late absorb’d his interest. - - MRS. HALM [_to herself_]. - - Who would have fancied Svanhild was so sly? - - [_Vivaciously to_ GULDSTAD. - - But no—I can’t think. - - GULDSTAD. - - Put it to the test. - - MRS. HALM. - - Now, on the spot? - - GULDSTAD - - Yes, and decisively! - - MRS. HALM [_giving him her hand_]. - - God’s blessing with you! - - GULDSTAD [_gravely_]. - - Thanks, it may bestead. - - [_Comes to the front._ - - MRS. HALM [_looking back as she goes towards the house_]. - - Whichever way it goes, my child is sped. - - [_Goes in._ - - GULDSTAD [_approaching FALK_]. - - It’s late, I think? - - FALK. - - Ten minutes and I go. - - GULDSTAD. - - Sufficient for my purpose. - - SVANHILD [_going_]. - - Farewell. - - GULDSTAD. - - No, - Remain. - - SVANHILD. - - Shall I? - - GULDSTAD. - - Until you’ve answered me. - It’s time we squared accounts. It’s time we three - Talked out for once together from the heart. - - FALK [_taken aback_]. - - We three? - - GULDSTAD. - - Yes,—all disguises flung apart. - - FALK [_suppressing a smile_]. - - O, at your service. - - GULDSTAD. - - Very good, then hear. - We’ve been acquainted now for half a year; - We’ve wrangled— - - FALK. - - Yes. - - GULDSTAD. - - We’ve been in constant feud; - We’ve changed hard blows enough. You fought—alone— - For a sublime ideal; I as one - Among the money-grubbing multitude. - And yet it seemed as if a chord united - Us two, as if a thousand thoughts that lay - Deep in my own youth’s memory benighted - Had started at your bidding into day. - Yes, I amaze you. But this hair grey-sprinkled - Once fluttered brown in spring-time, and this brow, - Which daily occupation moistens now - With sweat of labour, was not always wrinkled. - Enough; I am a man of business, hence— - - FALK [_with gentle sarcasm_]. - - You are the type of practical good sense. - - GULDSTAD. - - And you are hope’s own singer young and fain. - - [_Stepping between them._ - - Just therefore, Falk and Svanhild, I am here. - Now let us talk, then; for the hour is near - Which brings good hap or sorrow in its train. - - FALK [_in suspense_]. - - Speak, then! - - GULDSTAD [_smiling_]. - - My ground is, as I said last night, - A kind of poetry— - - FALK. - - In practice. - - GULDSTAD [_nodding slowly_]. - - Right! - - FALK. - - And if one asked the source from which you drew—? - - GULDSTAD. - - [_Glancing a moment at_ SVANHILD, _and then turning - again to_ FALK. - - A common source discovered by us two. - - SVANHILD. - - Now I must go. - - GULDSTAD. - - No, wait till I conclude. - I should not ask so much of others. You, - Svanhild, I’ve learnt to fathom thro’ and thro’; - You are too sensible to play the prude. - I watched expand, unfold, your little life; - A perfect woman I divined within you, - But long I only saw a daughter in you;— - Now I ask of you—will you be my wife? - - [SVANHILD _draws back in embarrassment._ - - FALK [_seizing his arm_]. - - Hold! - - GULDSTAD. - - Patience; she must answer. Put your own - Question;—then her decision will be free. - - FALK. - - I—do you say? - - GULDSTAD [_looking steadily at him_]. - - The happiness of three - Lives is at stake to-day,—not mine alone. - Don’t fancy it concerns you less than me; - For tho’ base matter is my chosen sphere, - Yet nature made me something of a seer. - Yes, Falk, you love her. Gladly, I confess, - I saw your young love bursting into flower. - But this young passion, with its lawless power, - May be the ruin of her happiness. - - FALK [_firing up_]. - - You have the face to say so? - - GULDSTAD [_quietly_]. - - Years give right. - Say now you won her— - - FALK [_defiantly_]. - - And what then? - - GULDSTAD [_slowly and emphatically_]. - - Yes, say - She ventured in one bottom to embark - Her _all_, her all upon one card to play,— - And then life’s tempest swept the ship away, - And the flower faded as the day grew dark? - - FALK [_involuntarily_]. - - She must not! - - GULDSTAD [_looking at him with meaning_]. - - Hm. So I myself decided - When I was young, like you. In days of old - I was afire for one. Our paths divided. - Last night we met again;—the fire was cold. - - FALK. - - Last night? - - GULDSTAD. - - Last night. You know the parson’s dame— - - FALK. - - What? It was _she_, then, who— - - GULDSTAD. - - Who lit the flame. - Long I remembered her with keen regret, - And still in my remembrance she arose - As the young lovely woman that she was - When in life’s buoyant spring-time first we met. - And that same foolish fire you now are fain - To light, that game of hazard you would dare. - See, that is why I call to you—beware! - The game is perilous! Pause, and think again! - - FALK. - - No, to the whole tea-caucus I declared - My fixed and unassailable belief— - - GULDSTAD [_completing his sentence_]. - - That heartfelt love can weather unimpaired - Custom, and Poverty, and Age, and Grief. - Well, say it be so; possibly you’re right; - But see the matter in another light. - What _love_ is, no man ever told us—whence - It issues, that ecstatic confidence - That one life may fulfil itself in two,— - To this no mortal ever found the clue. - But _marriage_ is a practical concern, - As also is betrothal, my good sir— - And by experience easily we learn - That we are fitted just for _her_, or _her_. - But love, you know, goes blindly to its fate, - Chooses a woman, not a wife, for mate; - And what if now this chosen woman was - No wife for you—? - - FALK [_in suspense_]. - - Well? - - GULDSTAD [_shrugging his shoulders_]. - - Then you’ve lost your cause. - To make a happy bridegroom and a bride - Demands not love alone, but much beside, - Relations one can meet with satisfaction, - Ideas that do not wholly disagree. - And marriage? Why, it is a very sea - Of claims and calls, of taxing and exaction, - Whose bearing upon love is very small. - Here mild domestic virtues are demanded, - A kitchen soul, inventive and neat handed, - Making no claims, and executing all;— - And much which in a lady’s presence I - Can hardly with decorum specify. - - FALK. - - And therefore—? - - GULDSTAD. - - Hear a golden counsel then. - Use your experience; watch your fellow-men, - How every loving couple struts and swaggers - Like millionaires among a world of beggars. - They scamper to the altar, lad and lass, - They make a home and, drunk with exultation, - Dwell for awhile within its walls of glass. - Then comes the day of reckoning;—out, alas, - They’re bankrupt, and their house in liquidation! - Bankrupt the bloom of youth on woman’s brow, - Bankrupt the flower of passion in her breast, - Bankrupt the husband’s battle-ardour now, - Bankrupt each spark of passion he possessed. - Bankrupt the whole estate, below, above,— - And yet this broken pair were once confessed - A first-class house in all the wares of love! - - FALK [_vehemently_]. - - That is a lie! - - GULDSTAD [_unmoved_]. - - Some hours ago ’twas true - However. I have only quoted you;— - In these same words you challenged to the field - The “caucus” with love’s name upon your shield. - Then rang repudiation fast and thick - From all directions, as from you at present; - Incredible, I know; who finds it pleasant - To hear the name of death when he is sick? - Look at the priest! A painter and composer - Of taste and spirit when he wooed his bride;— - What wonder if the man became a proser - When she was snugly settled by his side? - To be his lady-love she was most fit; - To be his wife, tho’—not a bit of it. - And then the clerk, who once wrote clever numbers? - No sooner was the gallant plighted, fixed, - Than all his rhymes ran counter and got mixed; - And now his Muse continuously slumbers, - Lullabied by the law’s eternal hum. - Thus you see— [_Looks at_ SVANHILD. - - Are you cold? - - SVANHILD [_softly_]. - - No. - - FALK [_with forced humour_]. - - Since the sum - Works out a _minus_ then in every case - And never shows a _plus_,—why should you be - So resolute your capital to place - In such a questionable lottery? - It almost looks as if you fancied Fate - Had meant you for a bankrupt from your birth? - - GULDSTAD [_looks at him, smiles, and shakes his head_]. - - My bold young Falk, reserve a while your mirth.— - There are two ways of founding an estate. - It may be built on credit—drafts long-dated - On pleasure in a never-ending bout, - On perpetuity of youth unbated, - And permanent postponement of the gout. - It may be built on lips of rosy red, - On sparkling eyes and locks of flowing gold, - On trust these glories never will be shed, - Nor the dread hour of periwigs be tolled. - It may be built on thoughts that glow and quiver,— - Flowers blowing in the sandy wilderness,— - On hearts that, to the end of life, for ever - Throb with the passion of the primal “yes.” - To dealings such as this the world extends - One epithet: ’tis known as “humbug,” friends. - - FALK. - - I see, you are a dangerous attorney, - You—well-to-do, a millionaire may-be; - While two broad backs could carry in one journey - All that beneath the sun belongs to me. - - GULDSTAD [_sharply_]. - - What do you mean? - - FALK. - - That is not hard to see. - For the sound way of building, I suppose, - Is just with cash—the wonder-working paint - That round the widow’s batten’d forehead throws - The aureole of a young adored saint. - - GULDSTAD. - - O no, ’tis something better that I meant. - ’Tis the still flow of generous esteem, - Which no less honours the recipient - Than does young rapture’s giddy-whirling dream. - It is the feeling of the blessedness - Of service, and home quiet, and tender ties, - The joy of mutual self-sacrifice, - Of keeping watch lest any stone distress - Her footsteps wheresoe’er her pathway lies; - It is the healing arm of a true friend, - The manly muscle that no burdens bend, - The constancy no length of years decays, - The arm that stoutly lifts and firmly stays. - This, Svanhild, is the contribution I - Bring to your fortune’s fabric: now, reply. - - [SVANHILD _makes an effort to speak;_ GULDSTAD - _lifts his hand to check her._ - - Consider well before you give your voice! - With clear deliberation make your choice. - - FALK. - - And how have you discovered— - - GULDSTAD. - - That you love her? - That in your eyes ’twas easy to discover. - Let her too know it. [_Presses his hand._ - Now I will go in. - Let the jest cease and earnest work begin; - And if you undertake that till the end - You’ll be to her no less a faithful friend, - A staff to lean on, and a help in need, - Than I can be— [_Turning to_ SVANHILD. - Why, good, my offer’s nought; - Cancel it from the tables of your thought. - Then it is I who triumph in very deed; - You’re happy, and for nothing else I fought. - - [_To_ FALK. - - And, apropos—just now you spoke of cash, - Trust me, ’tis little more than tinsell’d trash. - I have no ties, stand perfectly alone; - To you I will make over all I own; - My daughter she shall be, and you my son. - You know I have a business by the border: - There I’ll retire, you set your home in order, - And we’ll foregather when a year is gone. - Now, Falk, you know me; with the same precision - Observe yourself: the voyage down life’s stream, - Remember, is no pastime and no dream. - Now, in the name of God—make your decision! - - [_Goes into the house. Pause._ FALK _and_ SVANHILD - _look shyly at each other._ - - FALK. - - You are so pale. - - SVANHILD. - - And you so silent. - - FALK. - - True. - - SVANHILD. - - He smote us hardest. - - FALK. [_to himself_]. - - Stole my armour, too. - - SVANHILD. - - What blows he struck! - - FALK. - - He knew to place them well. - - SVANHILD. - - All seemed to go to pieces where they fell. - - [_Coming nearer to him._ - - How rich in one another’s wealth before - We were, when all had left us in despite, - And Thought rose upward like the echoing roar - Of breakers in the silence of the night. - With exultation then we faced the fray, - And confidence that Love is lord of death;— - He came with worldly cunning, stole our faith, - Sowed doubt,—and all the glory pass’d away! - - FALK [_with wild vehemence_]. - - Tear, tear it from thy memory! All his talk - Was true for others, but for us a lie! - - SVANHILD [_slowly shaking her head_]. - - The golden grain, hail-stricken on its stalk, - Will never more wave wanton to the sky. - - FALK [_with an outburst of anguish_]. - - Yes, we two, Svanhild—! - - SVANHILD. - - Hence with hopes that snare! - If you sow falsehood, you must reap despair. - For others true, you say? And do you doubt - That each of them, like us, is sure, alike, - That he’s the man the lightning will not strike, - And no avenging thunder will find out, - Whom the blue storm-cloud, scudding up the sky - On wings of tempest, never can come nigh? - - FALK. - - The others split their souls on scattered ends: - Thy single love my being comprehends. - They’re hoarse with yelling in life’s Babel din: - I in this quiet shelter fold thee in. - - SVANHILD. - - But if love, notwithstanding, should decay, - —Love being Happiness’s single stay— - Could you avert, then, Happiness’s fall? - - FALK. - - No, my love’s ruin were the wreck of all. - - SVANHILD. - - And can you promise me before the Lord - That it will last, not drooping like the flower, - But smell as sweet as now till life’s last hour? - - FALK [_after a short pause_]. - - It will last long. - - SVANHILD [_with anguish_]. - - “Long!” “Long!”—Poor starveling word! - Can “long” give any comfort in Love’s need? - It is her death-doom, blight upon her seed. - “My faith is, Love will never pass away”— - _That_ song must cease, and in its stead be heard: - “My faith is, that I loved you yesterday!” - - [_As uplifted by inspiration._ - - No, no, not thus our day of bliss shall wane, - Flag drearily to west in clouds and rain;— - But at high noontide, when it is most bright, - Plunge sudden, like a meteor, into night! - - FALK. [_in anguish_]. - - What would you, Svanhild? - - SVANHILD. - - We are of the Spring; - No Autumn shall come after, when the bird - Of music in thy breast shall not be heard, - And long not thither where it first took wing. - Nor ever Winter shall his snowy shroud - Lay on the clay-cold body of our bliss;— - This Love of ours, ardent and glad and proud, - Pure of disease’s taint and age’s cloud, - Shall die the young and glorious thing it is! - - FALK [_in deep pain_]. - - And far from thee—what would be left of life? - - SVANHILD. - - And near me what were left—if Love depart? - - FALK. - - A home! - - SVANHILD. - - Where Joy would gasp in mortal strife. - - [_Firmly._ - - It was not given to me to be your wife. - That is the clear conviction of my heart! - In courtship’s merry pastime I can lead, - But not sustain your spirit in its need. - - [_Nearer and with gathering fire._ - - Now we have revell’d out a feast of spring; - No thought of slumber’s sluggard couch come nigh! - Let Joy amid delirious song make wing - And flock with choirs of cherubim on high. - And tho’ the vessel of our fate capsize, - One plank yet breasts the waters, strong to save;— - The fearless swimmer reaches Paradise! - Let Joy go down into his watery grave; - Our Love shall yet in triumph, by God’s hand, - Be borne from out the wreckage safe to land! - - FALK. - - O, I divine thee! But—to sever thus! - Now, when the portals of the world stand wide,— - When the blue spring is bending over us, - On the same day that plighted thee my bride! - - SVANHILD. - - Just therefore must we part. Our joy’s torch fire - Will from this moment wane till it expire! - And when at last our worldly days are spent, - And face to face with our great Judge we stand, - And, as a righteous God, he shall demand - Of us the earthly treasure that he lent— - Then, Falk, we cry—past power of Grace to save— - “O Lord, we lost it going to the grave!” - - FALK [_with strong resolve_]. - - Pluck off the ring! - - SVANHILD [_with fire_]. - - Wilt thou? - - FALK. - - Now I divine! - Thus and no otherwise canst thou be mine! - As the grave opens into life’s Dawn-fire, - So Love with Life may not espoused be - Till, loosed from longing and from wild desire, - It soars into the heaven of memory! - Pluck off the ring, Svanhild! - - SVANHILD [_in rapture_]. - - My task is done! - Now I have filled thy soul with song and sun. - Forth! Now thou soarest on triumphant wings,— - Forth! Now thy Svanhild is the swan that sings! - - [_Takes off the ring and presses a kiss upon it._ - - To the abysmal ooze of ocean bed - Descend, my dream!—I fling thee in its stead! - - [_Goes a few steps back, throws the ring into the - fjord, and approaches_ FALK _with a transfigured - expression._ - - Now for this earthly life I have foregone thee,— - But for the life eternal I have won thee! - - FALK [_firmly_]. - - And now to the day’s duties, each, alone. - Our paths no more will mingle. Each must wage - His warfare single-handed, without moan. - We caught the fevered frenzy of the age, - Fain without fighting to secure the spoil, - Win Sabbath ease, and shirk the six days’ toil, - Tho’ we are called to strive and to forego. - - SVANHILD. - - But not in sickness. - - FALK. - - No,—made strong by truth. - Our heads no penal flood will overflow; - This never-dying memory of our youth - Shall gleam against the cloud-wrack like the bow - Of promise flaming in its colours seven,— - Sign that we are in harmony with heaven. - That gleam your quiet duties shall make bright— - - SVANHILD. - - And speed the poet in his upward flight! - - FALK. - - The poet, yes; for poets all men are - Who see, thro’ all their labours, mean or great, - In pulpit or in schoolroom, church or state, - The Ideal’s lone beacon-splendour flame afar. - Yes, upward is my flight; the winged steed - Is saddled; I am strung for noble deed. - And now, farewell! - - SVANHILD. - - Farewell! - - FALK [_embracing her_]. - - One kiss! - - SVANHILD. - - The last! - - [_Tears herself free._ - - Now I can lose thee gladly till life’s past! - - FALK. - - Tho’ quenched were all the light of earth and sky,— - The thought of light is God, and cannot die. - - SVANHILD [_withdrawing towards the background_]. - - Farewell! - - [_Goes further._ - - FALK. - - Farewell—gladly I cry again— - - [_Waves his hat._ - - Hurrah for love, God’s glorious gift to men! - - [_The door opens._ FALK _withdraws to the right; the - younger guests come out with merry laughter._ - - THE YOUNG GIRLS. - - A lawn dance! - - A YOUNG GIRL. - - Dancing’s life! - - ANOTHER. - - A garland spread - With dewy blossoms fresh on every head! - - SEVERAL. - - Yes, to the dance, the dance! - - ALL. - - And ne’er to bed! - - [STIVER _comes out with_ STRAWMAN _arm in arm._ MRS. - STRAWMAN _and the children follow._ - - STIVER. - - Yes, you and I henceforward are fast friends. - - STRAWMAN. - - Allied in battle for our common ends. - - STIVER. - - When the twin forces of the State agree— - - STRAWMAN. - - They add to all men’s— - - STIVER [_hastily_]. - - Gains! - - STRAWMAN. - - And gaiety. - - [MRS. HALM, LIND, ANNA, GULDSTAD, _and_ MISS JAY, - _with the other guests, come out. All eyes are - turned upon_ FALK _and_ SVANHILD. _General - amazement when they are seen standing apart._ - - MISS JAY [_among the_ AUNTS, _clasping her hands_]. - - What! Am I awake or dreaming, pray? - - LIND [_who has noticed nothing_]. - - I have a brother’s compliments to pay. - - [_He, with the other guests, approaches_ FALK, _but - starts involuntarily and steps back on looking - at him._ - - What is the matter with you? You’re a Janus - With double face! - - FALK [_smiling_]. - - I cry, like old Montanus, - The earth is flat, Messieurs;—my optics lied; - Flat as a pancake—are you satisfied? - - [_Goes quickly out to the right._ - - MISS JAY. - - Refused! - - THE AUNTS. - - Refused! - - MRS. HALM. - - Hush, ladies, if you please! - - [_Goes across to_ SVANHILD. - - MRS. STRAWMAN [_to STRAWMAN_]. - - Fancy, refused! - - STRAWMAN. - - It cannot be! - - MISS JAY. - - It is! - - THE LADIES [_from mouth to mouth_]. - - Refused! Refused! Refused! - - [_They gather in little groups about the garden._ - - STIVER [_dumfounded_]. - - _He_ courting? How? - - STRAWMAN. - - Yes, think! He laugh’d at us, ha, ha—but - now— - - [_They gaze at each other speechless._ - - ANNA [_to_ LIND]. - - That’s good! He was too horrid, to be sure! - - LIND [_embracing her_]. - - Hurrah, now thou art mine, entire and whole. - - [_They go outside into the garden._ - - GULDSTAD [_looking back towards_ SVANHILD]. - - Something is shattered in a certain soul; - But what is yet alive in it I’ll cure. - - STRAWMAN [_recovering himself and embracing_ STIVER]. - - Now then, you can be very well contented - To have your dear _fiancée_ for a spouse. - - STIVER. - - And you complacently can see your house - With little Strawmans every year augmented. - - STRAWMAN - - [_Rubbing his hands with satisfaction and looking - after_ FALK. - - Insolent fellow! Well, it served him right;— - Would all these knowing knaves were in his plight! - - [_They go across in conversation_; MRS. HALM - _approaches with_ SVANHILD. - - MRS. HALM [_aside, eagerly_]. - - And nothing binds you? - - SVANHILD. - - Nothing. - - MRS. HALM. - - Good, you know - A daughter’s duty— - - SVANHILD. - - Guide me, I obey. - - MRS. HALM - - Thanks, child. - - [_Pointing to_ GULDSTAD. - - He is a rich and _comme il faut - Parti_; and since there’s nothing in the way— - - SVANHILD. - - Yes, there is one condition I require!— To leave this place. - - MRS. HALM. - - Precisely his desire. - - SVANHILD. - - And time— - - MRS. HALM. - - How long? Bethink you, fortune’s calling! - - SVANHILD [_with a quiet smile_]. - - Only a little; till the leaves are falling. - - [_She goes towards the verandah;_ MRS. HALM _seeks - out_ GULDSTAD. - - STRAWMAN [_among the guests_]. - - One lesson, friends, we learn from this example! - Tho’ Doubt’s beleaguering forces hem us in, - Yet Truth upon the Serpent’s head shall trample, - The cause of Love shall win— - - GUESTS. - - Yes, Love shall win! - - [_They embrace and kiss, pair by pair. Outside to - the left are heard song and laughter._ - - MISS JAY. - - What can this mean? - - ANNA. - - The students! - - LIND. - - The quartette, - Bound for the mountains;—and I quite forgot - To tell them— - - [_The_ STUDENTS _come in to the left and remain - standing at the entrance._ - - A STUDENT [_to_ LIND]. - - Here we are upon the spot! - - MRS. HALM. - - It’s Lind you seek, then? - - MISS JAY. - - That’s unfortunate. - He’s just engaged— - - AN AUNT. - - And so, you may be sure, - He cannot think of going on a tour. - - THE STUDENTS. - - Engaged! - - ALL THE STUDENTS. - - Congratulations! - - LIND [_to his comrades_]. - - Thanks, my friends! - - THE STUDENT [_to his comrades_]. - - There goes our whole fish-kettle in the fire! - Our tenor lost! No possible amends! - - FALK - - [_Coming from the right, in summer suit, with - student’s cap, knapsack and stick._ - - _I_’ll sing the tenor in young Norway’s choir! - - THE STUDENTS. - - You, Falk! hurrah! - - FALK. - - Forth to the mountains, come! - As the bee hurries from her winter home! - A twofold music in my breast I bear, - A cither with diversely sounding strings, - One for life’s joy, a treble loud and clear, - And one deep note that quivers as it sings. - - [_To individuals among the_ STUDENTS. - - You have the palette?—You the note-book? Good, - Swarm then, my bees, into the leafy wood, - Till at night-fall with pollen-laden thigh, - Home to our mighty mother-queen we fly! - - [_Turning to the company, while the_ STUDENTS - _depart and the Chorus of the First Act is - faintly heard outside._ - - Forgive me my offences great and small, - I resent nothing;— - - [_Softly._ - - but remember all. - - STRAWMAN [_beaming with happiness_]. - - Now fortune’s garden once again is green! - My wife has hopes,—a sweet presentiment— - - [_Draws him whispering apart._ - - She lately whispered of a glad event— - - [_Inaudible words intervene._ - - If all goes well ... at Michaelmas ... thirteen! - - STIVER - - [_With_ MISS JAY _on his arm, turning to_ FALK, - _smiles triumphantly, and says, pointing to_ - STRAWMAN: - - I’m going to start a household, flush of pelf! - - MISS JAY [_with an ironical courtesy_]. - - I shall put on my wedding-ring next Yule. - - ANNA [_similarly, as she takes_ LIND’S _arm_]. - - My Lind will stay, the Church can mind itself— - - LIND [_hiding his embarrassment_]. - - And seek an opening in a ladies’ school. - - MRS. HALM. - - I cultivate my Anna’s capabilities— - - GULDSTAD [_gravely_]. - - An unromantic poem I mean to make - Of one who only lives for duty’s sake. - - FALK [_with a smile to the whole company_]. - - I go to scale the Future’s possibilities! - Farewell! [_Softly to_ SVANHILD. - - God bless thee, bride of my life’s dawn, - Where’er I be, to nobler deed thou’lt wake me. - - - - [_Waves his hat and follows the_ STUDENTS. - - SVANHILD. - - [_Looks after him a moment, then says, softly but - firmly:_ - - Now over is my life, by lea and lawn, - The leaves are falling;—now the world may take me. - - [_At this moment the piano strikes up a dance, and - champagne corks explode in the background. The - gentlemen hurry to and fro with their ladies on - their arms._ GULDSTAD _approaches_ SVANHILD _and - bows: she starts momentarily, then collects - herself and gives him her hand._ MRS. HALM _and - her family, who have watched the scene in - suspense, throng about them with expressions of - rapture, which are overpowered by the music and - the merriment of the dancers in the garden._ - - [_But from the country the following chorus rings - loud and defiant through the dance music:_ - - CHORUS OF FALK AND THE STUDENTS. - - And what if I shattered my roaming bark, It was - passing sweet to be roaming! - - MOST OF THE COMPANY. - - Hurrah! - - [_Dance and merriment; the curtain falls._ - - - - - NOTES - - - P. 18. “_William Russel._” An original historic tragedy, founded - upon the career of the ill-fated Lord William Russell, by Andreas - Munch, cousin of the historian P. A. Munch. It was produced at - Christiania in 1857, the year of Ibsen’s return from Bergen, and - reviewed by him in the _Illustreret Nyhedsblad_ for that year, Nos. - 51 and 52. Professor Johan Storm of Christiania, to whose kindness I - owe these particulars, adds that “it is rather a fine play and - created a certain sensation in its time; but Munch is forgotten.” - - P. 20. _A grey old stager._ Ibsen’s friend P. Botten-Hansen, author - of the play _Hyldrebryllupet_. - - P. 59. _A Svanhild like the old._ In the tale of the Völsungs - Svanhild was the daughter of Sigurd and Gudrun,—the Siegfried and - Kriemhild of the _Nibelungenlied_. The fierce king Jormunrek, - hearing of her matchless beauty, sends his son Randwer to woo her in - his name. Randwer is, however, induced to woo her in his own, and - the girl approves. Jormunrek thereupon causes Randwer to be arrested - and hanged, and meeting with Svanhild, as he and his men ride home - from the hunt, tramples her to death under their horses’ hoofs. - Gudrun incites her sons Sorli and Hamdir to avenge their sister; - they boldly enter Jormunrek’s hall, and succeed in cutting off his - hands and feet, but are themselves slain by his men. This last - dramatic episode is told in the Eddic _Hamthismol_. - - P. 94. _In the remotest east there grows a plant._ The germ of the - famous tea-simile is due to Fru Collett’s romance, “The Official’s - Daughters” (_cf._ Introduction, p. ix.). But she exploits the idea - only under a single and obvious aspect, viz., the comparison of the - tender bloom of love with the precious firstling blade which brews - the quintessential tea for the Chinese emperor’s table; what the - world calls love being, like what it calls tea, a coarse and - flavourless aftercrop. Ibsen has, it will be seen, given a number of - ingenious developments to the analogy. I know Fru Collett’s work - only through the accounts of it given by Brandes and Jæger. - - P. 135. _Another Burns._ In the original: “Dölen” (“The Dalesman”), - that is A. O. Vinje, Ibsen’s friend and literary comrade, editor of - the journal so-called and hence known familiarly by its name. See - the Introduction. - - P. 160. _Like Old Montanus._ The hero of Holberg’s comedy _Erasmus - Montanus_, who returns from foreign travel to his native parish with - the discovery that the world is not flat. Public indignation is - aroused, and Montanus finds it expedient to announce that his eyes - had deceived him, that “the world _is_ flat, gentlemen.” - - - - - ERRATA IN LATER VOLUMES - - VOLUME II - - Page 65, lines 13 and 15 from bottom, _for_ “Thorold” _read_ - “Thorolf.” - Page 223, line 10 from top, _for_ “our” _read_ “your.” - Page 306, last line, _for_ “comes” _read_ “come.” - - VOLUME III - - Page 31, last line, first word “Ha!” - Page 41, line 9 from bottom, _for_ “wing” _read_ “wings.” - Page 106, last line, first word “But.” - Page 136, line 13 from bottom, _for_ “in” _read_ “is.” - Page 163, line 4 from bottom, _before_ “must” insert “I.” - Page 204, first line, _for_ “Babe” _read_ “Babel.” - - VOLUME IV - - Page 68, line 2 from top, _after_ “Black” _read_ “it.” - Page 165, line 2 from bottom, _for_ “than” _read_ “that.” - Page 226, line 10 from top, _for_ “mus” _read_ “muss.” - Page 239, line 5 from top, _for_ “That” _read_ “That’s.” - - VOLUME VI - - Page 288, line 10 from bottom, _for_ “railways” _read_ “railway.” - - VOLUME VIII - - Page 9, line 6 from top, _for_ “it” _read_ “is.” - Page 125, line 14 from top, _for_ “doubt” _read_ “doubts.” - Page 227, line 2 from top, _after_ “us” _insert_ “is.” - Page 296, line 14 from bottom, _after_ “takes” _delete_ comma. - Page 366, line 10 from bottom, _after_ “getting” _insert_ “some.” - - VOLUME IX - - Page 170, line 14 from top, _for_ “waters” _read_ “water.” - Page 243, line 8 from top, _for_ “rises” _read_ “rise.” - - VOLUME X - - Page 81, line 2 from bottom, _after_ “if” _insert_ “I.” - Page 151, line 2 from top, _delete_ second “the.” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - Transcriber’s Note - - The Notes that follow “Love’s Comedy” are indexed to page numbers - relative to the start of that play. Page 18, for instance, is - printed as page 304, and is the 18th page. The sole exception is the - final note, referenced to p. 160, which should be p. 168 according - to this scheme. The situation is moot in this text, as page numbers - are not preserved. - - Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, - and are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the - original. The following issues should be noted, along with the - resolutions. - - 374.19 MISS JAY [(/[]_scoffing_.] Replaced. - 431.30 my steps ha[s/ve] led Replaced. - 465.3 _for_ “Thorold” _read_ “Thorolf[.”] Added. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COLLECTED WORKS OF HENRIK IBSEN, -VOL. 1 (OF 11) *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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