AUGUST STRINDBERG

THE BRIDAL CROWN THE SPOOK SONATA THE FIRST WARNING GUSTAVUS VASA

TRANSLATED WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY

EDWIN BJÖRKMAN

AUTHORIZED EDITION

NEW YORK

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

1916

CONTENTS INTRODUCTION THE BRIDAL CROWN THE SPOOK SONATA THE FIRST WARNING GUSTAVUS VASA MUSICAL APPENDIX TO "THE BRIDAL CROWN"

INTRODUCTION

The province of Dalecarlia has often been called the heart of Sweden. It is a centrally located inland province, said to contain a sample of everything the country can offer in the way of natural beauty. For centuries it played a remarkable part in Swedish history, taking the leadership time and again in the long struggle to rid the nation of a perverted and abused union with Denmark and Norway. It has preserved the original stock, the original language, and the original customs of the race as no other province. The dialects used in Dalecarlia are among the most difficult to understand for outsiders and have an air of antiquity that irresistibly leads the thought back to old Norse. The picturesque costumes characteristic of the different parishes are still in use, and one of these—that of Rättvik—has almost become the national costume of Sweden.

The people are simple and shrewd, stem and kindly, energetic and obstinate, loyal and independent. They have much in common with the old New England stock, but possess, in spite of their unmistakably Puritanical outlook, a great store of spontaneous and pleasant joy in life. They are thinkers in their own humble way, but not morbid. In their attitude toward each other and toward the family they are distinctly and quaintly patriarchal, and in this respect, too, they preserve a quality that used to be characteristic of the whole Scandinavian north. It is impossible to read "The Bridal Crown," with its typical Dalecarlian atmosphere and setting, without being struck at once by the extent to which the individual plays the part of a link in the unbroken chain of generations rather than of an isolated, all-important point of personality. And the same impression is obtained from Selma Lagerlöf's contemporaneous novel, "Jerusalem."

Always a very religious race, though not always good church-goers, the Dalecarlians have long had and still have the Puritanical closeness to the Bible as the book, and they talk naturally in quotations from that source. At the same time the old Norse stores of legend and homely wisdom survive among them to an extent that is perhaps paralleled only in Iceland. And when Strindberg in this play makes his characters quote the old poetic Edda he violates no law of probability, although it is doubtful whether the expression in question would actually come in just such a form from living lips. I mean that the sentiment of such a phrase as "Vagrant women make bread of mould for their men as only food" survives among the people, while it is likely to have gradually changed into a form more wholly their own.

No matter from where the inspiration of their utterances may come, the Dalecarlians are apt to express themselves picturesquely, and this inclination to lapse into rhyme and alliteration is noticeable—sometimes in quoting old saws dating back to heathen times and sometimes in improvising. Strindberg has used this tendency in both ways. When the old grandfather says to the bride that she is "comely as he is homely," he is merely repeating a phrase dear to the heart of a people strongly bound up in traditions. When, on the other hand, he lets the fisherman in the last scene answer, "Krummedikke's castle and Krummedikke's lake, Krummedikke's church, and soon it will break," he is probably illustrating the tendency toward roughly rhymed improvisations.

A typical feature of Dalecarlian life has always been the sending of the cattle to upland pastures during the summer months in care of young men and women, who, in communication among themselves as well as with the people at the home farm, have availed themselves of the ancient alpenhorn, or lur, made out of wood and birch bark, as well as of the horn made out of the natural horn of the ox. And instinctively they have realised that melodious utterance carries farther than ordinary speech, and so they have come to sing or hum their communications. Furthermore, they have grown accustomed to use some song already familiar to the listener rather than what they might improvise, and have thus learned to pass on simple pieces of news, or a mere mood, perhaps, in what might be called a code.

Throughout Sweden such songs and snatches and tunes, made up in olden days by some more than usually audacious village genius, survived until far into the past century, and in Dalecarlia and a few neighbouring provinces they have survived to the present day in actual use. With the flaring up of a true historical interest that followed the Romantic movement of the early nineteenth century came a recognition of the beauty and value of those old songs and tunes. The first man in Sweden to make a systematic collection of them was Richard Dybeck, who, during the years 1842-50 published a periodical for lovers of the old which he called Runa—"The Rune." In 1846 the same man published a separate collection of the folk-material just referred to under the name of Svenska Vallvisor och Hornlåtar—"Swedish Herd-Songs and Horn-Melodies."

Both this little volume and the issues of "The Rune" must have come under the attention of Strindberg at an early period, and to both he remained strongly attached throughout life. In the pages of those two Dybeck publications he found almost everything that makes "The Bridal Crown" what it is—a remarkable picture of the external life and internal spirit of the Dalecarlian people. The musical duet between Kersti and Mats in the first scene is the basis of the whole play. It is found in Dybeck's work just as Strindberg has used it—both the music and the words. The legend has it that a young man and a young woman, herding cattle in adjoining pastures, fell in love with each other. The girl bore a child, which they nursed together as they best could, having tried to legitimise it by going through a simple wedding ceremony of their own improvisation. Once, when the girl could not get back to the pasture at night, she used her alpenhorn to communicate that fact to her lover and ask him to look after the baby. This legend is found all over Sweden in very slightly modified form.

To the old legend Strindberg has added the still more ancient Montecchi and Capuletti theme from "Romeo and Juliet," making the two lovers the offspring of mutually jealous and hostile families, and thereby giving the play the tragical twist which his mood required. How he was turned in this direction I don't know, but his work on the historical play, "Gustavus Vasa"—it was written in 1899, and "The Bridal Crown" seems to have been completed in the winter of 1900-1—had taken his mind to Dalecarlia, where its first act is laid. And the idea of a play built on Swedish folk-themes seems to have been long present in his mind.

For folk-colour as well as for local verisimilitude, he drew freely both on Dybeck and on other repositories of old Swedish lore and legend and superstition. One of the beauties of the play is that so many of the extranatural figures and elements introduced are common to the whole country. The Neck, or the Man of the Rapids, or the Brookman (Necken, Forskarlen, or Bäckamannen) exists in popular fancy wherever a peasant has put his plough into Swedish soil. He is a creature of the thousand rivers and brooks that beribbon the land from the arctic circle down to the fertile planes of Scania, and always he is associated with an unusual gift of music and with the fallen angel's longing for the lost Paradise. From Norrland to Scania is told the anecdote of the tot who heard the Neck sing the song used by Strindberg—"I am hoping, I am hoping that my Redeemer still liveth"—and who called out to him: "There is no Redeemer for you." On returning home, the child told his parents of what had happened and was ordered to go back with a less discouraging message to the wailing spirit of the waters.

The Midwife, half human, half extranatural, is another familiar figure, mostly called the Wood-Imp (Skogsrå). The queer snatches uttered by her from time to time are old Swedish riddles or "guess-rhymes," which Strindberg also found in Dybeck's work, and which he has employed very effectively as spells or incantations. That quaint dualistic revenant, which is called the Mewler as an apparition, and the Mocker as a bodiless voice, exists in the imagination of the people all over Sweden. It is a creation of the moral instinct, designed for the discouragement of poor maidens who have born a child "in hiding," as the old phrase puts it, and who may be tempted into ridding themselves of such a burden—a crime that has figured too frequently in the criminal annals of the country.

The word Myling, which I have had to translate as Mewler, is said to come from a verb meaning to kill, to choke, to bury, or to cover up. It is related to mylla, mould, however, and when we find the same term, mylingar, Mewlings, applied to the relatives of Kersti, this characterises them not as "murtherlings," as Strindberg's German translator would have it, but as "mouldings," as people delving in the soil. In the original text, the name applied both to the apparition of Kersti's dead baby and to her relatives is the same. I have thought this too confusing for English-speaking readers, and have made two terms to get the needed dearness and distinction.

It remains finally to say a word about the keystone to the whole dramatic conflict in the play—the desire of Kersti to wear a crown at her wedding—to be a "crown-bride," as the Swedish phrase and the name of the original text both have it. The chief ornaments of a Swedish bride have always been the crown, the wreath, and the veil—and so they are to this very day. The wreath is generally made out of myrtle. The crown is nowadays almost invariably made out of the same material. But it used to be of metal, richly ornamented, and kept ready for use in every country church throughout the land. It was another device meant to encourage morality, the convention being that only a chaste young woman could wear the crown at her wedding—only one "worthy" of it, as the old phrase had-it. To go to church without that ornament was, of course, a most humiliating confession, and tended to detract largely from the riotous joy of the festivity which the Swedish peasants have always placed above all others—the wedding. Originally the crown also served another purpose, however. It was, as I have already said, kept in the church and lent only with the sanction of the clergy. In other words, it was reserved for the bride whose relatives consented to have a church wedding at a time when the sacramental character of the ceremony had not yet become popularly recognised. For ages the Swedish wedding was wholly a secular ceremony based on the old custom of bride-barter, and it took the Catholic Church many centuries to turn it into a religious rite.

There are a few minor points that need some clearing up, too. The position of Kersti's father, the Soldier, must be a puzzle to non-Swedish readers. The presence of the picture of King Charles XV on the wall of the Soldier's cottage indicates that the action takes place in the eighteen-sixties, before the reorganisation of the Swedish army on the basis of universal conscription had been carried out. At that time each province had to furnish one or more regiments. The maintenance of this soldiery fell directly on the small landholders, and from two to ten of these formed a rote or "file" having to employ, equip, and maintain one soldier. Each soldier had a cottage and a small patch of soil furnished him by the men responsible for his up-keep. Under such circumstances the soldier would seem likely to fall into the position of a servant living under his masters, but that was not at all the case. The warlike qualities and traditions of the nation probably counteracted tendencies in that direction. Instead the soldier became one of the recognised honoratiores of his district, ranking next to the sexton and often filling the place of that functionary when the office was vacant.

The use of the name of Krummedikke in connection with the lake is a mystery I have not been able to clear up. The noble family of Krummedige or Krummedike belonged originally in the duchy of Holstein, but moved from there into Denmark and spread gradually into southern Sweden and Norway. During the period of Sweden's union with Denmark and Norway two members of that family held the famous old fortress of Baahus (now Bohus) on behalf of the Danish king. Other members controlled fortified places in Småland and the province of Halland along the west coast of present Sweden. But there is no record of any Krummedike having a "castle" in the northern part of Sweden. Whether legends connected with this family have actually spread from southern Sweden to Dalecarlia or the name, simply happened to catch Strindberg's fancy I cannot tell.

The play in its entirety is one of the most impersonal Strindberg ever wrote. Echoes of his private life are very rare—which is remarkable, considering how plentiful they are in such a work as the historical drama "Gustavus Vasa." In this respect "The Bridal Crown" connects logically with Strindberg's novels and stories from the islands outside of Stockholm: "The People at Hemsö," "Fisher Folks," and "At the Edge of the Sea." It seems that nothing helped more to take him out of himself and his morbid introspection than a study of the life of the common people.

How successful he was in that study is indicated by the wide popularity of the novels and stories in question as well as by the stage history of "The Bridal Crown." This play has been one of the most frequently produced of all his dramatic works. The first performance took place on September 14, 1907, at the Swedish Theatre, Stockholm, and since that time it has been played more than one hundred times in Stockholm alone—which is a great deal in Sweden.

The list of characters will suffice to indicate what a weird thing "The Spook Sonata" is. Rarely has Strindberg's peculiar fancy carried him further without bringing him to outright disaster. Mingling extreme realism of portrayal with a symbolism that frequently borders on the extravagant and the impossible, he has nevertheless produced a work that bites into the consciousness of the reader and challenges his thought to an unusual degree. The best characterisation of the play as a whole might be to call it a symbolistic mosaic pieced together with fragments of real life.

Reminiscences of the author's own life in all its periods recur constantly, and yet the play cannot be called autobiographical in any narrow sense. Not even its general tendency—if it can be said to have one—is particularly tied up with Strindberg's view of his own fate. No, the play is in all its aspects a generalisation along the lines of "The Dream Play," but brought nearer to the level and superficial appearance of every-day life.

One of its purposes is to illustrate the mysterious relationship between seemingly disconnected things and events which Strindberg during his latest period was so prone to discover everywhere.—When in this super-Swedenborgian mood, he was inclined to regard the slightest incident of daily life as a mere symbol meant to shadow or foreshadow vaster incidents on higher levels. It would be dangerous to accept his readings of life in this mood as so many formulations of truth, but, on the other hand, it would be unwise to discard them as meaningless. What must be remembered first and last in the study of Strindberg's work is that he was primarily, if not wholly, a bearer of suggestions rather than of final truths. We cannot go to him for knowledge of what life actually is, but we may be sure of never reading one of his pages without finding some new angle of approach, the use of which will help our own thought to enlarge our knowledge of actual life. Those who demand predigested thought will always be lost in the mazes of his irresponsible fancy. Those who ask nothing more of literature than to be set thinking will always find him one of the most fruitful writers produced by modern times.

For this very reason it would be futile to attempt any explanatory analysis of "The Spook Sonata." There must, in fact, be a separate analysis of that kind for every thinking reader. One may say, of course, that its name as well as the strange function which forms its central scene, points to an interpretation of all human life as a ghostly reflection of wasted and buried possibilities. But there is charity as well as bitterness in the play, and it seems to preach the lesson that we owe tolerance to every man but him who thinks himself better than the rest. It warns, too, against that interference with other lives which seems to have been one of the haunting spectres of Strindberg's own existence. In other words, the play may be regarded as a final passionate expression of his will to live his own life in his own way and of his resentment against real or fancied efforts to balk I that will.

Dramatically this play is well worthy of study, It contains some points that, whether successful or no in this particular connection, should not be passed over by future playwrights. Such a point, for instance, is the continued presence on the stage of several dumb characters during almost the entire first scene. I do not know whether it will come home to readers of the play that, while the conversation is going on between the Student and Old Hummel, for example, the Janitress and the Dark Lady are all the time present in the background as living reminders of the secret threads of human life underlying the conflict between the two men that do the talking. And the idea of trying to render simultaneous portrayal of life within and without a human habitation has again been tried by Strindberg in this play with very remarkable and suggestive results.

There are several signs which indicate that Strindberg changed his plan of the play while he was writing it. There is one character present on the list of characters in the Swedish text that never appears—the Janitor. On the other hand, that list does not contain the name of the Cook, who plays such a strange part in the final scene—a sort of infernalised Greek chorus with a Japanese soy bottle for its Dionysian emblem. The arrangement of the stage directions in the Swedish original indicates, too, that he intended a single setting to serve for the whole play. He hoped probably to be able to let the action laid within the house be seen from the outside, but, warned by his strong sense of theatrical feasibility, he changed his plans unhesitatingly, and with them his scenery.

Several of the minor themes running through the play may to the reader seem not only minor but hopelessly trivial. I am thinking principally of the constantly recurring charge against servants that they take the nourishment out of food before serving it to their masters. This suspicion seems to have been one of Strindberg's fixed ideas, occurring in almost every work where the relationship between masters and servants is at all mentioned. I think he has harped too much on this theme, both in "The Spook Sonata" and elsewhere. I think, too, that he is wrong in placing the responsibility with the servants. On the other hand, I think one of his services is that he works with modern science to bring us a better realisation of the dose interrelation between the material basis of our existences and the more important spiritual overtones.

"The Spook Sonata" was written and published in 1907. It was played for the first time on January 27, 1908, at the Intimate Theatre, Stockholm, reaching a total of twelve performances.

The little scene named "The First Warning" is frankly autobiographical. It relates an actual incident from Strindberg's first marriage, to which, I think, he makes reference in "A Fool's Confession"—a work, by the bye, which should really be named "A Fool's Plea" in English.

In spite of sinister undertones, "The First Warning" is distinctly a comedy, and practically the only short thing in a lighter vein written by Strindberg. At first he named it "The First Tooth," but he had adopted the present title before the original publication—with three other one-act plays—occurred, in 1893. In Germany the play is known under the name "Signs of Autumn" (Herbstzeichen). Beginning on September 10, 1910, it was given eight times in all at the Intimate Theatre, Stockholm, but long before that time it had been played a number of times on various German stages.

King Gustavus I, founder of the Vasa dynasty, which reigned over Sweden until 1818, has rightly been called the "father" of his country and the builder of modern Sweden. He finished the war of liberation, by which the hampering and unsatisfactory union between Sweden and the other two Scandinavian kingdoms was finally severed. But he did much more. He reorganised the whole country, in all its departments, on such a basis of efficiency that it became able to play the part of a great European power for more than a century. Some have pictured him as a sort of superman. Others have called him a mere country squire, applying the methods of stable and barn to a whole country. Both those views of him are probably correct as well as incorrect. He was undoubtedly first of all an able and conscientious peasant on a large scale, but as such he was very much in place at a time when agriculture was the only source of income that could be called national. And his cares on behalf of commerce and mining show him to have had a very broad and foresighted view of husbandry.

The figure of the first Vasa took an early hold of Strindberg's imagination. He introduced it in the first version of his first great play, "Master Olov." But there the king was a subordinate character—so much so, in fact, that he did not appear at all in the final metrical version of the play, completed in 1877. At that time Strindberg was more interested in Master Olov, the dreaming idealist who placed religious reform above political and economical reorganisation. When, in 1899, he returned to "old King Gustav," his interest had shifted, and in this play, said to be his greatest historical drama—and one of the greatest of its kind in the annals of modern literature—the royal figure dominates absolute.

When I first contemplated a translation of this play I feared it would be necessary to preface it with a condensed history of Sweden during the early sixteenth century. Having finished my task, I find that an elaborate historical introduction would merely be a duplication of the work done by the playwright. Barring a few minor points that have been illuminated by notes, all the history needed for the understanding of the play will be found within the play itself. The truth of the matter is that Strindberg was not writing history but poetry, and that he was more anxious to portray human character than to set forth all too familiar historical events.

He portrayed his main character in more than one way and sense, however. The King, as we find him in the drama, is a wonderfully vivid and faithful reconstruction of a great man that has writ himself in large letters on the map of his country. But he is also a symbolisation of a type that will always remain one of the most fascinating of all that people the earth: that of the ruler who is conscious both his mission and of the price that must be paid for its fulfilment. The problem of Strindberg's play might be said to be this: granted such a mission, how much has a man the right to pay for its proper fulfilment? And as behoves a poet Strindberg has brought this problem to no triumphant "Q.E.D." His ambiguous, yet tremendously significant, answer seems to be: "Such a man has the right to do whatever his mission demands, even though it may go against his grain as an individual, but he must be humble about it and not confuse himself with Providence." Gustavus is humbled and made to suffer, not because of this or that act, but because of an inclination to consider his own mission the only one in sight.

A few words need to be said about the chronology of the play. In accordance with his theories in regard to historical playwriting Strindberg has dealt very freely with dates and facts. The play occupies a period of about two years, which length of time separates the first act from the four last. These take place within a few days. The historical events that enter as material into the play were spread over nearly twenty years, and Strindberg has not hesitated to introduce them in reversed order either. This license must be considered in the light of what I have already said about his intentions. His main concern was to show how the principal character would act under certain given circumstances, and to use those circumstances in the manner most apt to throw light on the character in question. And in this respect he has undoubtedly been successful.

The Swedes think so, at least. "Gustavus Vasa" has drawn grudging approval from Strindberg's worst enemies among his own countrymen. The first performance of the play, which took place on October 17, 1899, at the Swedish Theatre, Stockholm, turned at the time into a national event. The play has since then been revived several times, particularly in connection with the celebration of its author's sixtieth and sixty-third birthday anniversaries, in 1909 and 1912. In all, the play has been performed about one hundred times in Stockholm alone, and it has been given on several German stages with striking success.

A word should be said concerning the spelling of Swedish names used in this volume. It can hardly be called a system at all. It is neither Swedish nor English. It is a frank compromise, designed exclusively to make the reading of the plays as easy as possible to English-speaking readers. Some time in the future, when the knowledge of the Scandinavian literatures and languages has reached a more advanced stage in this country, I should like to see a revised edition with the original Swedish spelling of all names preserved throughout.

THE BRIDAL CROWN

(KRONBRUDEN)

A FOLK-PLAY IN SIX SCENES

1902

CHARACTERS

MATS KERSTI The MOTHER of KERSTI The SOLDIER, her father The VERGER, her grandfather BRITA, the grown-up sister of MATS The GRANDFATHER } The GRANDMOTHER } The FATHER } of MATS The MOTHER } ANNA } LIT-KAREN } younger sisters of MATS LIT-MATS, the small brother of MATS The SHERIFF The PASTOR The FISHERMAN The MIDWIFE The NECK The CHILD IN WHITE The MEWLER (Mylingen), an apparition The MOCKER (Skratten), a voice The HEADSMAN MATS'S RELATIVES, called the MILL-FOLK KERSTI'S RELATIVES, called the MEWLINGS (Mylingarne) FOUR BRIDESMAIDS SIX SERVANT-GIRLS TWO FIDDLERS TWO SOLDIERS

SCENARIO

SCENE I. THE HILL PASTURE SCENE II. THE FAMILY COUNCIL AT THE MILL SCENE III. THE SOLDIER'S HOUSE ON THE EVE OF THE WEDDING SCENE IV. THE WEDDING AT THE MILL SCENE V. AT THE CHURCH: THE PENANCE OF KERSTI SCENE VI. ON THE ICE OF THE LAKE

FIRST SCENE

A hill pasture in Dalecarlia. A hut of rough-hewn boards, painted red, Stands at the left. Beside it grow two birches with trunks that are white clear down to the ground.

On the right-hand side appears a sloping hillside covered with spruces. The hillside is cut by a large brook forming a waterfall. At the foot of it is a tarn covered by water-lilies. The background shows a big lake bordered by blue hills. A church is visible across the lake.

A grindstone set in a wooden frame stands in the foreground by the corner of the hut.

It is Sunday evening, about sunset time.

KERSTI'S MOTHER sits on a wooden block outside the hut, smoking her pipe.

KERSTI enters with an alpenhorn in her hand. She stops in front of her MOTHER.

MOTHER. Where have you been all this time, daughter?

KERSTI. In the woods, mother.

MOTHER. Picking strawberries, I suppose. Your lips are so red.

KERSTI. Why did you call me, mother?

MOTHER. The woods were full of noises, child, and of stealthy footfalls. Could it be the bear?

KERSTI. Can't tell.

MOTHER. I thought I heard the strokes of an axe, but maybe I was mistaken.

KERSTI. The bear uses no axe, mother.

MOTHER. Why dressed up in your best, daughter?

KERSTI. It's Sunday, mother.

MOTHER. There is milk on your tucker, child. Have you been milking May-dew or Starbright?

KERSTI. Could I but milk the stars—and the moon, O!

MOTHER. While it's night, O!

KERSTI. Day and night!

MOTHER. Night and day!—Yes, I know! Beware of the bear!

KERSTI. Do you think he would tear my pet cow?

MOTHER. Have you lost her?

KERSTI. Shall I ask Anna?

MOTHER. You had better!

KERSTI. [Picks up her alpenhorn and sounds a melody; see musical appendix, Melody No. 1. Then she sings; see Melody No. 2]

"Too-la-loo, Ann at Boorness! Do you see my cosset cow Over there at your place?"

MATS. [Answering from a distance in a dear tenor voice; see musical appendix, Melody No. 3]

"Too-la-loo, so I do. Come at once: Cosset cow is here now!"

MOTHER. What a deep voice Anna has got!

KERSTI. She has been calling her cows since the sun began to set.

MOTHER. What do you hear down there in the valley, child?

KERSTI. The big bell of the cow, the low bell of the goat....

MOTHER. Oh, no!

KERSTI. I can hear the cock crowing and the dog barking, the gun banging and the cart clanking, and the oars saying "duck-duck" in the rowlocks.

MOTHER. Whose cock do you mean, and whose dog?

KERSTI. The miller's.

MOTHER. What's his name? Is it Anna?

KERSTI looks embarrassed and does not answer.

MOTHER. What do you see down there in the valley?

KERSTI. The water-wheel in the mill-race, the smoke from the chimney....

MOTHER. Whose chimney? The mill-folk's, I suppose?

KERSTI. It's growing dark, mother.

MOTHER. I am going—before it grows still darker! [She rises to her feet] This has been the longest Sunday in all my life!—What kind of a smell is that?

KERSTI. I smell the woods; I smell the cattle; I smell the hay.

MOTHER. No, it was tattle-berries you were picking! [For a while she stands still, lost in thought; then she sings; see musical appendix, Melody No. 4]

"The joy that was mine Has been turned into woe!"

KERSTI. It is growing dark, mother!

MOTHER. So I see, daughter mine. The darkness is coming down on us heavy as a pall, and downward goes my path now—ever downward! But you must stay to watch the curds. And trust me to see if you let the fire go out.

KERSTI. Trust me to see that the fire won't go out, mother.

MOTHER. Good night, then. And don't forget your evening prayers!

KERSTI. Good night, mother.

MOTHER. "The joy that was mine has been turned into woe!" Don't forget your evening prayers!

[She goes out to the left.

KERSTI opens the door of the hut. A big pot is seen hanging over the fire, on which she puts more wood; coming out again, she looks around to make sure that her mother is gone; then she picks up the alpenhorn and sounds another wordless melody on it. [See musical appendix, Melody No. 5.]

MATS. [Is heard singing outside, on the right-hand side; see musical appendix, Melody No. 6]

"Kersti dearest, Kersti dearest, Baby sleeps in the forest."

KERSTI. [Answers in the same way; see Melody No. 7]

"Dillery-dell! Fareth he well, Fareth he well Far in the forest?"

MATS. [Answers as before; see Melody No. 8]

"Nothing to fear! Nothing to fear! Baby sleeps in his cradle here, Far, far, in the forest!"

KERSTI. [Singing; see Melody No. 9]

"Haste to the house and milk the cows, And see that baby lacks nothing. I cannot come, must stay at home, Helping my folks with the baking."

MATS. [Answers as before; see Melody No. 10]

"Birches nod in the blowing breeze, But baby slumbers in perfect peace, Kersti, Kersti, dearest!"

A strong wind springs up. The centre of the stage grows dark, but the sun is still shining on the tops of spruces on the hillside.

Very faintly at first, then more and more clearly, the yells and cries of a gang of game beaters are heard. These are followed by the snapping of branches, the baying of hounds, the trampling of horses in trot and gallop, the cracking of guns, the snarling of rattles, the crashing of trees that fall, and, above all, the constantly rising roar of the waterfall.

Finally a canon is sounded by ten hunting-horns, the first horn repeating its theme while the rest join in one by one. [See musical appendix, Melody No. 11.]

Badly frightened, KERSTI stands staring in every direction while the noise lasts. When it has died away in the distance and the woods are silent again, she brings bunches of spruce branches and spreads them on the ground, covering them at last with a brightly coloured rag carpet. Next she fetches two young spruce-trees that have been stripped of branches and bark, so that only their tops remain green. These she places beside the door of the hut, one on either side. Then she goes to the tarn and picks a number of white water-lilies, which she binds into a wreath.

MATS enters from the left, carrying a baby in a cradle of leather with straps attached to it.

KERSTI. Baby, baby darling! Is he still asleep?

MATS. Indeed he is!

KERSTI. Bring him here, and we'll let the trees rock him.

They hang the cradle between the two birches that are swayed gently by the wind.

KERSTI. [Humming] "Birches nod in the blowing breeze, but baby slumbers in perfect peace.".... Did you hear the hunt, Mats?

MATS. No hunt at this time of day, girl!

KERSTI. But I heard it!

MATS. Hardly!—What did your mother have to say?

KERSTI. She bothered me until I thought she would bother the life out of me.

MATS. Yes, dear, there can be no peace or happiness for us until our union has been hallowed and our baby baptised.

KERSTI. As long as the old folk resist there can be no wedding. But we must pray the Lord to bless our union before we give baby a name.

MATS. So we have agreed, and now it may as well be done.

KERSTI. Everything is ready, as you see.

MATS. It's well done, but—we're a sorry couple for all that, and a sorry wedding we're having.

KERSTI. Let the Lord look into our minds and hearts, and if they hold no evil—what matters the rest? Have you brought the Book?

MATS. I have. But are you sure, dear, that what we mean to do is not sinful?

KERSTI. Why should it be? Don't you know that the midwife can baptise in case of need?

MATS. Well, that's the midwife!

KERSTI. [Putting the wreath on her head] Let us begin!

MATS. In the name of the Lord! And may we never come to regret it! [They kneel on the carpet, facing each other; MATS takes out a ring, which they hold between them while he is reading out of the prayer-book] "I, Mats Anders Larsson, take you, Kersti Margaret Hansdaughter, to be my wedded wife, whom I will love in good days and bad, and in token thereof I give you this ring."

KERSTI. "I, Kersti Margaret Hansdaughter, take you, Mats Anders Larsson, to be my wedded husband, whom I will love in good days and bad, and in token thereof I give you this ring."

They pray in silence for a while; then they rise and take hold of each other's hands, but they do not kiss each other.

MATS. Now you are mine in the sight of God, dear, and after this we won't mind what people may say.

KERSTI. That remains to be seen.

MATS. And what have we to eat, dear.

KERSTI. Nothing at all, Mats.

MATS. Then there is nothing left but to smoke.

They seat themselves on two small, three-legged stools and we flint and steel to light their pipes.

MATS. [When they have smoked a while in silence] What was that you said about the hunt just now?

KERSTI. I haven't the heart to tell, Mats. I haven't the heart since I guessed what folk they were.

MATS. Better not, maybe!... Look at the cradle—going as if it could rock itself.

KERSTI. That's the wind, Mats; the wind in the birches.

MATS. But there is no wind in the spruces over there.

KERSTI. So I see. Surely the evil ones are abroad to-night.

MATS. Don't talk of them!

KERSTI. Do you see my smoke going northward?

MATS. And mine southward!

KERSTI. The gnats are dancing....

MATS. Which means a wedding....

KERSTI. Do you think we are happier now?

MATS. Hardly!

KERSTI. Do you hear the cry of the blackcock?

MATS. A sure sign of wedding....

KERSTI. But not a single church bell to be heard MATS. It's Sunday, and the ringing during the day has made them tired What shall we call the little one?

KERSTI. [In wild rebellion] Burden and Ill-luck and Un-asked and crown-thief....

MATS. Why crown-thief?

KERSTI. Because and because and because Even if we get a real wedding, I can wear no crown! What should he be called? Bride-spoil, Mother-woe, Forest-find!

MATS. Badly fares who badly does!

KERSTI. Yes, that's for you to say!

The MOTHER of KERSTI appears on the hillside among the spruces and stands looking at MATS and her daughter.

MATS. There are evil eyes about!

KERSTI. And evil thoughts.... What you brew I have to drink. What you grind I have to bake.

The MOTHER disappears.

MATS. Can you tell what made our families hate each other so fiercely?

KERSTI. It had to do with land—with bought favours, and ill-gotten gains, and corrupt judges, and—everything that's bad, bad, bad!

MATS. And then the hatred turned into liking, love, lust....

KERSTI. All of it poisoned....

MATS. How dark it turns when the hatred breaks through!

KERSTI. [Throwing her wreath into the tarn] Well may you say so! The devil take the wreath, as I can't have a crown....

MATS. Don't say that!

KERSTI. We hold wedding like beggars, and rascals, and roving folk.... What is it you cannot eat or drink, but that tastes good for all that? It's tobacco—and that's all you get for a wedding-feast! The fire under the kettle is going out, Mats. Go and fetch some wood. It's all the dancing there will be.

MATS. If tokens tell the truth, you were born to be a queen!

KERSTI. Maybe! Surely not to milk the cows!

MATS. And the baby, the baby, the dear little thing!

KERSTI. The poor dear! Oh, what will become of us? What can be in store for us? Get some wood, Mats! Mother will beat me if the milk doesn't curdle. Go, Mats!

MATS. There was a time when you served my father, KERSTI, and now it's my turn to serve you. Because he was harsh to you, I'll be good to you!

KERSTI. Yes, Mats, you are good, but I am not. If I only were!

MATS. Try to be!

KERSTI. Try to be bad, Mats, and we'll see if you can.

MATS. You don't mean it!

KERSTI. Who can tell?—Get away from here, Mats, and hurry up! Somebody is coming. I know her steps. It's mother!

MATS. Your mother?—And how about the baby?

KERSTI. [Picks up the carpet and throws it across the cradle; then she takes her sheepskin coat that has been hanging on the outside wall of the hut and spreads it on top of the carpet] Go, go, go!

MATS. Be careful about baby—be careful now!

[He goes out.

KERSTI. Of course, of course!

MOTHER. [Entering from the left] Was it Anna that was here?

KERSTI. It was.

MOTHER. [Looking hard at KERSTI] And she left when I came?—What a voice she has!

KERSTI. Yes, has she not?

MOTHER. And she cut the wedding poles, too, and spread the spruce?

KERSTI. What is strange about that?

MOTHER. [Pulling KERSTI by the hair] Storyteller, hussy, strumpet....

KERSTI. [Raising her hand against her MOTHER] Take care!

MOTHER. Will you lay hand on your own mother, you trull? Is that what Mats has been teaching you? His father drove us from house and home, and now you take the son in your arms, daughter mine.... O!

KERSTI. That such things can be said.... O!

MOTHER. [Pointing to the cradle] What have you there?

KERSTI. Clothes to be aired.

MOTHER. Small ones, I guess.

KERSTI. Not so very.

MOTHER. And inside the cradle?

KERSTI. Small wash—not for small ones.

MOTHER. The child is there!

KERSTI. What child?

MOTHER. Yours!

KERSTI. There is no such thing!

MOTHER. Will you swear?

KERSTI. I swear! May the Neck get me if I lie!

MOTHER. You shouldn't swear by the evil one.

KERSTI. I will swear by no one else!

MOTHER. [Seating herself] There is talk in the village.

KERSTI. Indeed?

MOTHER. A queer sort of talk.

KERSTI. No, really?

MOTHER. They say that Mats is to have the mill.

KERSTI [Rising] Is it true?

MOTHER. As true as it is that rashness always gets into trouble.

KERSTI. So Mats gets the mill? Then he will marry, I guess?

MOTHER. They talk of that, too.

KERSTI. Whom do you think?

MOTHER. Whoever it be that his fancy will take—the crown she must surely be able to wear.

KERSTI. Oh!

MOTHER. Oh, indeed!—There is gold on your finger.

KERSTI. There is.

MOTHER. Are you pledged?

KERSTI. I am.

MOTHER. And the crown? [KERSTI does not reply] Have you lost it?

KERSTI. [Walking back and forth restlessly] You know, it was foretold that I should wear a crown.

MOTHER. Stuff and nonsense! A virgin's crown is more beautiful than a queen's. And happy is she who wears it with honour!

KERSTI. Oh!

MOTHER. And oh, indeed!—Little we had. Wrong we suffered. Badly we fared. Alas the day!

KERSTI. Little we had, but shall have plenty! Luck is near!

MOTHER. Race against race, hating and hated; fire and water: now it's coming to a boil.

KERSTI. Water may cool what the fire has heated. All will be well!

MOTHER. [Rising to leave] "The joy that was mine has been turned into woe." [She goes toward the right] There is a wreath floating on the water—where's the crown?

[She goes out.

KERSTI. It will come, it will come!

NECK. [Appears at the foot of the falls surrounded by a bright, white light; he wears a red cap, and a silvery tunic fastened about the waist with a green sash; he is young and fair, with blond hair that is falling down his back; he has a fiddle of gold with a bow of silver, and plays to his own singing; see musical appendix, Melody No. 12] "I am hoping, I am hoping that my Redeemer still liveth."

KERSTI. [Who has been lost in thought, becomes aware of the Neck; when he has repeated his song twice, she remarks sneeringly] There is no redeemer for you, I can tell you!

The NECK pauses for a while and looks sadly at her; then he repeats the same song twice again.

KERSTI. If you'll keep quiet I'll let you play at my wedding.

The NECK nods assent and vanishes into the rock behind the falls.

MIDWIFE. [Enters from behind the hut wearing a wide Hack cloak and a close-fitting black hood; she carries a bag under her cloak, and she is very careful never to let her back be seen] Good evening, my dear. I hope my visit is not inconvenient.

KERSTI. You are the midwife—Mrs. Larsson—are you not?

MIDWIFE. Of course, I am. It was I that helped you, my dear....

KERSTI. Oh, yes; but you promised never to speak of it.

MIDWIFE. And we won't! How—is the little one doing?

KERSTI. [Impatiently] Oh, well enough!

MIDWIFE. Better not be too impatient, dear....

KERSTI. Who says I am?

MIDWIFE. The snappy voice and the tap of the little foot! But now there is gold on your finger, I see. Then I shall be asked to a wedding shortly, I think.

KERSTI. You?

MIDWIFE. I am always at the baptism, but can never get to a wedding—and I think it would be such fun!

KERSTI. No doubt it would!

MIDWIFE. Of all human virtues, there is one I value above the rest....

KERSTI. I don't suppose it is chastity.

MIDWIFE. What no one has, is beyond value. That which I put value on is gratitude.

KERSTI. You were paid, were you not?

MIDWIFE. There are services that money can't pay.

KERSTI. And people you cannot get rid of.

MIDWIFE. Exactly, my dear, and of those I am one....

KERSTI. So I find.

MIDWIFE. And there is another,

KERSTI. Who can that be?

MIDWIFE. The Sheriff!

KERSTI. [Startled] The Sheriff?

MIDWIFE. Yes, the Sheriff. He is a very remarkable man, and I have heard of no one who knows the law as he does, from cover to cover.... You and I could never get all that into our heads, but—there is one chapter I have to know by heart, being a midwife.... And a most remarkable chapter it is, with a most remarkable number of paragraphs.... What's the matter?

KERSTI. [Agitated] Tell me what you know.

MIDWIFE. Nothing at all I am nothing but a poor old woman who has come here to get lodging for the night....

KERSTI. Lodging here?

MIDWIFE. Right here.

KERSTI. Begone!

MIDWIFE. I can't be walking the woods in the dark of the night.

KERSTI. [Threatening her with a stick] If you won't walk, I'll make you run.

MIDWIFE. [Moving back a couple of steps without turning about] Have we got that far now? You had better leave the stick alone, or....

KERSTI. Or what?

MIDWIFE. The Sheriff, of course, and that chapter I spoke of....

KERSTI [With the stick raised for a blow] Go to the devil, you cursed witch! [The stick breaks into small pieces.

MIDWIFE. Ha-ha! Ha-ha!

KERSTI. [Picks up the flint and steel, and strikes fire] In the name of Christ and His Passion, get thee gone!

MIDWIFE. [Turns and runs out with the galloping movement of a wild thing; her back, which then becomes visible, looks like that of a fox and ends in a sweeping, bushy tail; she hisses rather than speaks] We'll meet at the wedding, bid or unbid! And the Sheriff, too! Ad-zee! Ad-zee! Ad-zee!

KERSTI takes a few faltering steps in direction of the tarn, as if she meant to throw herself into the water.

Then she begins to walk up and down in front of the cradle. After a while she takes off the round Dalecarlian jacket she is wearing and puts it on top of the clothing already covering the cradle. Finally she sits down on one of the stools by the corner of the hut and buries her face in her hands.

The grindstone begins to whirl with a hissing sound. Little bells, like those worn by goats, are heard ringing in the woods. Little white flames appear among the spruces on the hillside. Cow-bells are heard dose by. The NECK appears as before and sings the same song.

KERSTI rises horror-stricken and stands like a statue.

Tones like those produced by a harmonica are heard from the tarn. Unseen by KERSTI, the CHILD IN WHITE emerges from among the water-lilies and goes to the cradle. Then all sounds die out. The grindstone comes to a stop. The NECK disappears. All the will-o'-the-wisps but one go out.

Still unseen by KERSTI, the CHILD IN WHITE rocks the cradle gently, puts his ear dose to it, and draws back with an expression of great sadness. At last he bursts into tears and covers his face with one arm. During this scene the beltlike tones from the tarn continue.

The CHILD IN WHITE picks several water-lilies to pieces and strews them on the cradle, which he finally kisses before he descends into the tarn again. Then the last will-o'-the-wisp disappears and the harmonica can no longer be heard.

MIDWIFE. [Enters again, carrying her bag so that it can be seen] Perhaps I shall be more welcome this time. Does the fair maiden care to see the midwife now?

KERSTI. What do you bring?

MIDWIFE. [Taking a bridal crown from her bag] This!

KERSTI. What do you take?

MIDWIFE. [Pointing toward the cradle] "You see it, I see it, the whole world sees it, and yet it is not there."[1]

KERSTI. Take it, then!

MIDWIFE. [Goes to the cradle] I have it. [She takes stealthily something from the cradle and drops it into her bag, which she then hides under her cloak again] Can I come to the wedding now?

KERSTI. Yes, come.

MIDWIFE. You must say that I'll be welcome.

KERSTI. That would be a lie.

MIDWIFE. You must practise....

KERSTI. Welcome, then—if you'll only leave me now!

MIDWIFE. [Withdrawing backwards]

"Four that whirl and twirl; Eight that hurl and purl; Four that flip-flap in a row; Four that question where to go."[2]

[She disappears.

MATS. [Is heard singing triumphantly outside; see musical appendix, Melody No. 13] "Come, cosset, cosset, cosset; come, cosset, cosset!"

As KERSTI hears him a happy look comes into her face, and she seems to swell with pride and new courage. MATS enters, with an armful of wood, looking joyful.

KERSTI. [Going to meet him] Did you see anybody?

MATS. I did!—Now for the wedding! [He dumps the wood into the hut] Let the kettle boil over—I am boiling, too.

KERSTI. Was it your father?

MATS. Father and mother. And I get the mill!

KERSTI. [Showing her crown] Do you see what I...?

MATS. Where did you get it?

KERSTI. Mother brought it for me.

MATS. Has she been here?

KERSTI. Happy as anything!

MATS. But the baby, the baby!

KERSTI. Sit down, Mats! Sit down! You know I can always find a way!

MATS. [Seating himself] But the baby!

KERSTI. There now!—Listen! Now, when trouble is on the wane and life is smiling, don't you think a little patience might carry us very far....

MATS. If only the course be straight....

KERSTI. Of course, straight and short.

MATS. What are you after?

KERSTI. If the big fish is to be hooked, the small ones must be overlooked.

MATS. Can't you talk plainly?

KERSTI. Wait a little!

MATS. I am waiting.

KERSTI. The old folks make conditions.

MATS. Yes, I know.

KERSTI. They want a croton bride. What does that mean if not a bride that wears a crown?

MATS. And wears it with honour!

KERSTI. With or without! What no one sees and no one knows does not exist.

MATS. Let me think. [He sits silent for a few moments] All right! And furthermore?

KERSTI. To hook what's big, you must overlook what's less.

MATS. Which does not mean the little one!

KERSTI. Do you mean to prove false?

MATS. I don't! Not to you, Kersti!

KERSTI. Suppose now—the banns have been read, the wedding is under way, but the little one sleeps in the forest. Who will haste to the house, and milk the cows, and see that baby lacks nothing? Who, I ask?

MATS. Well may you ask! [He broods a while] If we only dared.... What was that you said?

KERSTI. Not a word.

MATS. It seems to me If we only dared....

KERSTI. What? Say it!

MATS. Say it yourself!

KERSTI. No, it's for you!

MATS. Somebody must take care of the little one.

KERSTI. Who?

MATS. There is only one.

KERSTI. Then it's easy to guess who!

MATS. Tell whom you mean.

KERSTI. No, you must tell.

MATS. Beside ourselves, there is only one who knows about the baby.

KERSTI. Who is that?

MATS. If you know, why don't you tell?

KERSTI. Because I want you to tell.

MATS. It's the midwife. Was that what you said?

KERSTI. I said nothing, but you did—and, as you know, I do what you say.

MATS. I have my doubts.

KERSTI. But what you said I have done already. The baby can't stay in the woods. It must have shelter when the nights grow cold. And if anything should happen, then comes—the Sheriff!

MATS. The Sheriff, you say? Yes, so he does!

KERSTI. [Leaping to her feet] Is he coming, you say?

MATS. Yes, if something should happen.... Well, where's the midwife to be found?

KERSTI. Would you like to call her?

MATS. I wish she were here!

KERSTI. And what do you want her to do?

MATS. Give the baby a home.

KERSTI. With whom?

MATS. With herself.

KERSTI. For how long?

MATS. Till the wedding is over.

KERSTI. But if he were taken sick while with her?

MATS. Better than have him freeze in the woods—better than have him freeze to death! Take a look at the cradle. I think I heard him!

KERSTI. No, he's asleep....

MATS. Hush—I heard him.

KERSTI. No, you didn't!

MATS. Yes, I did. [He rises.

KERSTI. [Placing herself in front of the cradle] Don't you wake him! If he should cry, somebody might hear.

MATS. Oh.... Do you think any one has—that your mother may have heard him? Oh, Kersti, we should never have done what we have!

KERSTI. Undone were better!

MATS. [Dejectedly] We must take him to the midwife to-night. I must go to the village.

KERSTI. I'll take him!

MATS. [Going to the cradle] Do!

KERSTI. But don't wake him!

MATS. Can't I bid him good night?

KERSTI. Don't touch him!

MATS. Think if I should never see him again!

KERSTI. Then it would be the will of Him whose will we cannot change.

MATS. His will be done!

KERSTI. Now you have said it!

MATS. What have I said that could please you like that?

KERSTI. That—that—you submit to the will of Him that performeth all things.

MATS. [Simply] Yes, whatever may happen is His will, of course.

KERSTI. Of course!

MATS. Good night, then, Kersti dear, and good night, baby! [He goes out.

KERSTI. Good night, Mats.

KERSTI loosens the empty cradle from its fastenings and drops it into the tarn, from the waters of which the CHILD IN WHITE rises to threaten her with raised forefinger. At the sight of him KERSTI shrinks back.

NECK. [Appears in the same spot as before, but now bareheaded and carrying a golden harp, on which he accompanies himself; he has a threatening look as he sings; see musical appendix, Melody No. 20]

"Stilled are the waters, dark grows the sky: Dark grows the sky. Once in the world of the ages I lived, Blessed by the sun. Gone is the light, Conquered by night. Deep is my sin, Black as the tarn. Joy there is none; Plenty of woe. Torture and Shame must I name my abode: O!"

While the NECK is singing, KERSTI hides the bridal crown in the hid. Then she puts out the fire under the pot. As she does so, the smoke pours in large quantities from the chimney, forming a dark background against which appear fantastically shaped and vividly coloured snakes, dragons, birds, etc.

When KERSTI comes out of the hut again, she has on a short Dalecarlian jacket and is carrying a bag and the alpenhorn. She locks the door of the hut and walks across the stage with proud bearing and firm steps just as the NECK is singing the last line.

Curtain.

SECOND SCENE

The living-room of the mill. Everything is covered by white dust. In the background, on the right-hand side, is an open trap-door, showing part of the water-wheel. The end of the flour chute, with a bag attached to it, is protruding from the right wall not far from the trap-door. Near it appears a lever used for starting and stopping the water-wheel.

Large gates occupy the centre of the real wall. Heavy wooden shutters dose another opening farther to the left and half-way from the floor.

In the foreground, at the right, is a huge open fireplace, in which a coal-fire is burning. An iron pot is hanging over the fire. On the left-hand side appear a bedstead, a hand-loom, a bobbin, a red, and a spinning-wheel. There is a door in the right wall.

The following members of the family are seated in a circle in front of the fireplace: the GRANDFATHER; the GRANDMOTHER; the FATHER and MOTHER of MATS; his sisters, BRITA, who is full-grown, ANNA, who is half-grown, and LIT-KAREN, who is still a child; and his brother, LIT-MATS, who is also a mere boy. All are smoking out of small pipes with iron bowls and looking very serious. BRITA is plaiting a chain out of human hair. LIT-KAREN and LIT-MATS are playing with two dolls.

BRITA. [To LIT-KAREN] Where did you get the doll?

LIT-KAREN. Kersti gave it to me.

BRITA. [Taking the doll from her] Away with it! [To Lit-Mats] Where did you get your doll?

LIT-MATS. Kersti gave it to me.

BRITA. [Taking the doll] Out with it!

FATHER. Hush! Hush! Grandfather is thinking. [Silence.

MOTHER. [To BRITA] What are you doing?

BRITA. A watch-chain, but there is hardly hair enough.

MOTHER. Where can you get any?

BRITA. I know where it ought to be pulled.

MOTHER. Horses pull.

BRITA. Hens are picked, pigs give bristles, and maidens are combed.—Combed hair is good, but cut is better.

FATHER. Hush, hush, grandfather is thinking. [Silence.

ANNA. [In a low voice to BRITA] What is he thinking of?

BRITA. You'll hear by and by. And all will have to swallow.

ANNA. Is it about Mats? [BRITA makes no answer] And Kersti? Will there be a wedding?

FATHER. Hush, hush, grandfather is thinking. [Silence.

ANNA. [To BRITA] I'll give you some of my hair.

BRITA. Not the right colour.

ANNA. Who's got it? [BRITA does not answer] Is it Kersti you mean?

BRITA. Don't mention her. [Silence.

GRANDMOTHER. [To GRANDFATHER] Have you thought it out?

GRANDFATHER. [Who has been sitting with the Bible and the hymn-book in his lap, lost in thought, wakes up] I have! [He opens the hymn-book at haphazard and says to the others] It is No. 278, the fourth verse: "All at birth and death." Let us have it!

ALL. [Read in unison like children at school]

"All at birth and death are equals, As the graveyard bones proclaim, Poor and rich and low and mighty In the end appear the same; And the naked new-born baby Brings no evidence to prove Whether poverty or fortune Will attend its fated groove."

GRANDFATHER. It is settled! "He that hath an ear, let him hear."—Is it settled?

GRANDMOTHER. Not yet.

FATHER. Not quite.

MOTHER. The Lord beholdeth!

BRITA. What does the Scripture, say?

ANNA. "Doth God pervert judgment, or doth the Almighty pervert justice?"

LIT-KAREN. What do you want me to say?

GRANDFATHER. You must give us your advice, child, although we may not take it. Out of the mouth of babes may come the truth.... Shall Kersti have Mats?

LIT-KAREN. If they want each other.

GRANDFATHER. Well spoken! [To LIT-MATS] And you, Lit-Mats?

LIT-MATS. [With his fingers in his mouth] I want my doll!

GRANDFATHER. And Mats wants his. Shall he have her?

LIT-MATS. If it is Kersti, he may, for she gave me the doll.

BRITA. Listen to him!

GRANDFATHER. Let us search the Scripture. [He opens the Bible and reads] Genesis, thirty-fourth chapter and eighth verse. "And Hamor communed with them, saying, The soul of my son Shechem longeth for your daughter: I pray you give her him to wife." Is that enough?

GRANDMOTHER. Enough and to spare!

FATHER. There wasn't anything about the mill.

MOTHER. Let His will be done!

BRITA. [Abruptly] Amen.

ANNA. Verily, it shall be done!

LIT-KAREN. I like Kersti because she's nice.

LIT-MATS. Me, too!

FATHER. Hush, hush, grandfather is thinking. [Silence.

GRANDFATHER. [To FATHER] Ask your brother-in-law to come in.

The FATHER goes to the door in the background, where he stops.

GRANDFATHER. [Goes to the bed, pulls a box from under it, takes a bundle of papers from the box, and turns to the FATHER again] Let him come!

FATHER. [Opening the door in the background] Come in, Stig Matsson.

SHERIFF. [Enters, dressed in uniform] The peace of God be with you!

ALL. [Rising] And his blessing on you!

GRANDFATHER. It is I who have called you, Stig Matsson, and you know the reason. Kersti Margaret Hansdaughter—[He sighs]—is to become the wife of Mats Anders Larsson, my grandson. The two families have fought and fumed at each other for a long time—all too long! At this late hour I have come to feel that an end should be put to all strife and ill will before my eyes are closed and I am carried to my last rest. Take a look at these papers. [He hands the bundle to the SHERIFF, who opens it and glances at some of the papers] They are legal documents, deeds, wills, receipts, authorisations—belonging to suits that have been settled or are still unsettled. Have you looked them over?

SHERIFF. I have.

GRANDFATHER. [Takes back the bundle] All right! Then I shall throw them into the fire. There is a time to hate and a time to love. The time of hatred must come to an end I am longing for peace. Therefore, I beg you, my next of kin, to regard all that has happened in the past as if it had not happened at all—and I ask you: Will you forget everything, and will you meet your new relatives without grudge or guile, and greet them as friends? Answer me!

ALL. We will!

GRANDFATHER. Then I shall let the fire consume what is left of past evils. [He throws the bundle of papers into the fire, pulls the iron lid in front of the grate, and opens three small ventilators in the lid] Let us be seated!

All seat themselves in front of the fireplace, staring at the red glare from the three ventilators.

ANNA. [To BRITA, in a low voice] Do you hear it sing?

BRITA. No, it moans. And within me it's aching!

The GRANDFATHER rises. Then all the rest follow his example.

GRANDFATHER. [To the FATHER] Bring them in!

The FATHER goes to the door at the right and brings in MATS.

The MOTHER goes to the door in the rear and opens it. KERSTI enters, accompanied by her MOTHER, her FATHER, the SOLDIER, who is wearing the old full-dress uniform of the Swedish infantry of the line, and her GRANDFATHER, the VERGER.

GRANDFATHER. May God bless you! And be seated, please!

All seat themselves except MATS, KERSTI, and the SHERIFF. MATS has taken hold of KERSTI by both hands. Long silence.

GRANDFATHER. When is the wedding to be?

MATS. In a fortnight, as soon as the banns have been read the third time.

GRANDFATHER. What is the hurry?

KERSTI shows evidence of being offended.

MATS. Haven't we waited long enough?

GRANDFATHER. Maybe you have!

MATS. [To his relatives] Have you no word to say to Kersti? [Pause] Not one of you?

SHERIFF. [Goes to KERSTI and takes her by the hands with evident friendliness] Let us welcome the new child!

Panic-stricken, KERSTI tries to tear herself loose.

SHERIFF. You are not afraid of me, are you?—Oh, no!—Look me in the face, Kersti. I have dandled you on my knees when you were a little child, and I have held your pretty head in my hands.... Yes, you have a very pretty head, and a forehead that makes me think of a bull. That's why you are having your own way now, I suppose.

[He lets go of her.

GRANDFATHER. Let us leave the young ones alone!

Alt rise, walk past MATS and KERSTI, and disappear through the door in the rear.

BRITA. [Who is the last to leave, spits scornfully as she passes KERSTI] Fie!

MATS. [Spitting in the same way] Fie yourself!

KERSTI and MATS are left alone.

MATS. I hope you will feel at home with me, Kersti!

KERSTI. With you, yes!

MATS. What have you to do with the others?

KERSTI. That's the question.

MATS. You are not marrying the family.

KERSTI. But into it.

MATS. Of course, we are not very soft or cuddlesome.

KERSTI. That's plain.... Is this the place where we are to live?

MATS. Yes, what do you think of it?

KERSTI. Everything is white....

MATS. It's the flour, you see. Do you object?

KERSTI. And damp....

MATS. It's the mill-race....

KERSTI. And cold, too....

MATS. It's the water....

KERSTI. Shall we have new furniture?

MATS. There will be nothing new. Everything is handed down from one generation to another.

KERSTI. But we can sweep, can't we?

MATS. No, we can't! The dust in a mill is like the coating in a pipe. Mustn't be touched!

KERSTI. Is that the wheel?

MATS. That's the wheel.

He pulls the lever, whereupon the rushing of the water through the race is heard, and the wheel begins to turn.

KERSTI. Ugh! Have we to listen to that noise?

MATS. It's ours! And we should be thankful as long as we hear it, because that means we have grist for the mill.

KERSTI. And the sun never gets here?

MATS. Never! How could it?

KERSTI. And nothing grows here—except that green stuff on the wheel.

MATS. But we catch eels here and lampreys.

KERSTI. Ugh! I like it better in the pasture, where the wind is blowing....

MATS. And the birches rock....

KERSTI. [Covering her face with the apron and weeping] Must I live in a place like this, beneath the water, at the bottom of the sea?

MATS. I was born here.

KERSTI. And here we are to die—O!

MATS. Why "O"?

KERSTI. Stop the wheel at least.

MATS. Well, if you can't get along with the wheel, then....

KERSTI. [Opening a trap-door in the floor] What's down here?

MATS. The river.

KERSTI. Please stop that wheel!

MATS. [Labours with the lever, but is unable to stop the wheel] Well! There must be mischief abroad!—It won't stop!

KERSTI. I shall die here!

MATS. I must go outside to stop it! There is mischief abroad, I tell you!

KERSTI. And at home?

MATS. Oh, dear!

KERSTI. "Meow, said the cat."[1]

MATS. What is the matter?

KERSTI. Merely that I have got what I wanted.

MATS. And it was not worth having? [The noise made by the wheel has become, deafening, and the wheel itself has begun to turn in the opposite direction] Christ Jesus, help! The wheel is turning backward!

[He runs out through the rear door.

KERSTI remains alone.

The handloom starts. The bobbin, the reel, and the spinning-wheel begin to turn, each one in its own manner. The stage becomes brightly illumined as if with sunlight. Then the room turns very dark. The fireplace swings around so that the glare from the ventilators confronts KERSTI like three burning eyes. It looks as if the fireplace were chasing her. Then it drops back into its accustomed place. The roar of the water-wheel increases again. The NECK appears in the wheel with the red cap on his head, and the golden fiddle in his hand. Be sings and plays as before, repeating the brief tune several times.

NECK. "I am hoping, I am hoping, that my Redeemer still liveth!"

KERSTI. [Running out through the rear door] Mats, Mats!

The NECK disappears, but his song is still heard for a while, as it gradually dies away in the distance.

MIDWIFE. [Enters, opens the small trap-door in the floor, and drops her leather bag through it] "If you come back, it's all off, and if you don't, it's all on!" Now that's done! And I shall dance at the wedding!

She takes some dance steps, but without letting her back be seen. The hand-loom begins to rap in waltz time, accompanied by the bobbin, the reel, and the spinning-wheel. Then the MIDWIFE disappears through the rear door, showing her back with the fox tail for a brief moment. The handloom, the bobbin, the reel, and the spinning-wheel keep right on as before.

KERSTI enters, and at once everything stops. A moment later the VERGER enters.

KERSTI. Is that you, grandfather?

VERGER. Yes, girl, I forgot something.

He picks up a large leather bag which he dropped on the bed at his first entrance.

KERSTI. What have you there?

VERGER. I come from the sacristy, and I am taking home the numbers to be polished.

KERSTI. What numbers?

VERGER. Those that show the hymns you are to sing, don't you know?

KERSTI. Let me see!

VERGER. [Takes out of his bag a small black board, such as is found in every Swedish church; it has a number of nails on which are hung numbers made of brass] Here you can see.... What's the matter, sweetheart?

KERSTI. I don't know, grandfather, but I think I should never have come here....

VERGER. What talk is that, child?

KERSTI. There is mischief astir in this house....

VERGER. Oh, mercy, no...; No, my dear....

KERSTI. Oh, oh, oh! Everything has grown so strange all of a sudden....

VERGER. But how is this going to end, Kersti?

KERSTI. Yes, tell me, tell me!

VERGER. I must go now, child. I must go back to the church and get the crown so I can send it to a goldsmith. It has to be cleaned with cream of tartar....

KERSTI. All right, grandfather....

VERGER. It is for your sake the crown is to be cleaned—for your own sake, don't you know?...

[He goes out by the rear door.

The SOLDIER enters immediately afterward.

KERSTI. Is that you, father?

SOLDIER. Yes, it's only me. I want my chaco, which I left in here.

[He picks up the chaco.

KERSTI. Oh, father, father, I am so unhappy....

SOLDIER. [Drily] What has happened?

KERSTI. Nothing!

SOLDIER. Why should you be unhappy, then?

KERSTI. You don't understand!

SOLDIER. [Brusquely, as he adjusts the chin-strap of the chaco] Come to your senses, child!

KERSTI. Don't go, father!

SOLDIER. The sorrows of love pass quickly—Come to your senses is my advice. Do come to your senses! [He goes out.

BRITA enters.

KERSTI. And what have you forgotten?

BRITA. I never forget anything.

KERSTI. What are you looking for?

BRITA. You!

KERSTI. How kindly!

BRITA. Yes, is it not?

KERSTI. You hateful thing!

BRITA. You hussy!

KERSTI. You—sister-in-law!

BRITA. Who knows?

KERSTI. Are you telling my fortune, you witch?

BRITA. Yes—a rope!

KERSTI. Should not be mentioned in the house of a hanged man!

BRITA. [Goes to the bag attached to the end of the flour chute] Now I shall tell your fortune! You get the mill, and the grist will be accordingly. [She takes from the bag a handful of black mould out of which she forms a small mound on the floor; then she says]

"Vagrant women Grind for their men Meal out of mould As only food."[1]

KERSTI. A witch you are, indeed!

BRITA. Yes, and one who can find buried treasures! Perhaps you will let me find a little treasure for you?

KERSTI. Take care, you witch! Have you no shame? It's mortal sin you are practising now! You should be burned by fire, for I am sure you would float if thrown in the water!

BRITA. [Taking a pinch of mould from the bag and pouring it on KERSTI'S head] To the dust I wed you, and a crown of dirt shall you wear, so that your shame may find you out!

KERSTI. Fie on you! Fie!

VOICE. [Like that of a small child, repeats after her] Fie!

KERSTI. Who was that?

VOICE. Who was that?

BRITA. Guess!—That was the Mocker!

KERSTI. Who is the Mocker?

VOICE. The Mocker!

BRITA. The Mocker is the Mocker. Don't you know the Mewler?

KERSTI. The Mewler, you say? What have I got to do with that one?

VOICE. With that one!

BRITA. The wages of sin is death!

KERSTI. [Calling through the door] Mats!

VOICE. Mats!

KERSTI. [In despair] Oh! Oh! [She unfastens one of her red garters and ties it about her own neck] Let me die! Let me die!

BRITA. You shall have your wish!

KERSTI. Hang me to a tree!

VOICE. To a tree!

BRITA. Not I!

MATS. [Is heard singing outside] "Kersti dear, is baby asleep?"

BRITA. "Far in the forest!" Fie on you! [She goes out.

MATS. [Enters, looking very happy] "Far, far, in the forest!" [He comes up behind KERSTI and puts his hands over her eyes] Guess who it is!

KERSTI. Oh, you hurt me!

MATS. [Taking hold of the garter which is still about the neck of KERSTI] What kind of necklace is this?

KERSTI. Let go!

MATS. [Pulling playfully at the garter] Now I have you! Now you are my prisoner, my dove, my goat that I bought for a groat! [He leads her about by the garter] My little white kid! My little pet cow! [Singing] "Come, cosset, cosset, cosset! Come, cosset, cosset!"

KERSTI. Yes, you can be happy, Mats!

MATS. I am, and guess why?

KERSTI. Can't any longer!

MATS. Because I met the midwife, and she brought word of the little one.

KERSTI. Did she?

MATS. She did! He's sleeping, she said, so quietly, so quietly.

KERSTI. Oh!

MATS. Far in the forest!—What's that in your hair?

KERSTI. Mould.

MATS. Have you been buried?

KERSTI. Yes, already!

MATS. [Brushing the mould out of her hair] Ugh! Who did that?

KERSTI. Can't you tell?

MATS. Brita with the evil eye?

KERSTI. Can't you blind it?

MATS. Not I! The only one who can is Jesus Christ!

A church-bell sounds the call to even-song.

KERSTI. Fray for me!

MATS. One must do that for oneself.

KERSTI. But suppose you can't?

MATS. You can if your conscience is clear.

KERSTI. But when is it?

MATS. Do you hear the even-song bell?

KERSTI. No!

MATS. But I do; so you must hear it, too.

KERSTI. I don't, I don't! Alas the day!

MATS. Can you hear the rapids?

KERSTI. The roar of the rapids, the beat of the flail, the tinkle of cowbells—but of holy bells not a sound!

MATS. That's a bad sign! I remember when the bells were rung at the burial of our former sheriff—we could see them move, but not a sound was heard. A bad sign!

KERSTI. Brita put a spell on me!

MATS. It will be worst for herself.

KERSTI. Come to the pasture! I must see the sun!

MATS. I will—Kersti dear!

KERSTI. Oh!

MATS. [Putting his arms about her and pressing her head to his breast] Oh!

Curtain.

THIRD SCENE

The eve of the wedding. The house of KERSTI'S parents.

Above the door in the rear hangs a smalt tin plate on which are painted the SOLDIER'S regimental number and the coat-of-arms of Dalecarlia. There is a window on either side of the door, both filled with potted plants. The floor is of pine boards, full of knot-holes and nail-heads, but scrubbed immaculately dean.

Half-way down the left wall is an open fireplace with a hood. On the same side, nearer the footlights, stands a wooden seat covered with brightly coloured home-made draperies.

Against the opposite wall stands a chest of drawers surmounted by a mirror, over which a white veil has been draped. A pair of candlesticks and a few simple ornaments are arranged in front of the mirror. A table and a wooden seat are placed between the chest and the footlights. On the wall above this seat hangs the SOLDIER'S old-fashioned musket, with stock of birch wood, stained yellow, red leather sling, and percussion-lock. His chaco, cartridge-case, and white bandoleer with bayonet are grouped around the musket. Below appears a portrait of King Charles XV of Sweden in full uniform.

A landscape with stacks of sheaves in the fields can be seen through the windows and the open door in the rear.

When the curtain rises, a maid servant is at work by the fireplace scouring and polishing copper pans, iron pots, and coffee-kettles.

The VERGER is seated at the table on the right-hand side engaged in polishing the brass numbers of the hymn-board, which is lying on the table beside him. There lies also the collection-bag of red velvet with embroideries in silver and a small bell attached to the bottom of it for the rousing of sleeping worshippers.

The SOLDIER, in undress uniform and forage-cap, is seated at the same table, looking over some papers on which he is making notes with a pencil, the point of which he wets from time to time.

LIT-KAREN and LIT-MATS stand beside the table, with their chins resting on the edge of it, watching the VERGER. Their eyes are agog, and their fingers in their mouths. The VERGER smiles at them and strokes their hair from time to time. The MOTHER is standing by the fireplace drying a couple of towels. As the curtain rises, the merry singing of girls is heard from the outside, but the atmosphere in the room is oppressive, and everybody is trying to lose himself in what he has at hand, forgetful of the rest.

GIRLS. [Singing outside; see musical appendix, Melody No. 14]

"When I was a little lassie, herding on the hill, One day I lost the bell-cow and Gossamer, too. I stood upon a rock and called and cried with a will, Till I heard Gossamer begin to moo In a pasture far, far away. 'Hush,' said Pine-tree, 'She will surely find thee,' Hemlock told me not to stumble; Willow asked me not to grumble; Birch-tree said I could not hope to miss a spanking."

SOLDIER. [Looks up from his work and remarks phlegmatically to the MOTHER] Say, Mother!

MOTHER. We-ell?

SOLDIER. Was it three quarters we got off the place last year?

MOTHER. Yes, that's right.

VERGER. Haven't the girls come out of the bath yet?

MOTHER. No.... This business of the wedding takes a lot of people.... We should be bringing in the oats.... And it will soon be time to pick berries....

VERGER. Yes, the dog-days are most over. You can see it on the flies; they're kind of drowsy.... Will there be a lot of berries this year?

MOTHER. Yes. [Silence.

SOLDIER. Will those girls never come back?

MOTHER. I don't know what can be keeping them so long.

SOLDIER. It's hot.

VERGER. It must be bad in camp.

SOLDIER. Well, it isn't so very hard on the infantry....

VERGER. You were lucky to get leave.

SOLDIER. I guess I was!

MOTHER. Now they are coming.

SOLDIER. Did you see that they had something to eat and drink?

MOTHER. Yes, right in the bath, and plenty of it. [Silence.

The girls are heard outside, talking and laughing. KERSTI enters first, white-faced, with her wet hair streaming down her back. She is followed by BRITA, ANNA, and the four bridesmaids, ELSA, RICKA, GRETA, and LISA. The maids are carrying jars and wine-glasses which they put down by the fireplace. KERSTI, BRITA, and ANNA carry long bath-towels with coloured borders, which they hang up by the door.

The MOTHER puts a chair in the middle of the floor and makes KERSTI sit on it. KERSTI'S hair having first been carefully dried with towels, the MOTHER begins to comb it. The maids duster on the bench at the left. BRITA seats herself so that she can stare at KERSTI. No greetings are exchanged, and no emotion of any hind is shown.

MOTHER. Give me the mirror.

KERSTI. Don't! I don't want any mirror.

BRITA. You ought to look at yourself, as you won't let anybody else see you.

KERSTI. What do you mean?

BRITA. Hard to tell, isn't it?—Nice hair you've got. Can I have it, if it should come off?

KERSTI. No, you can't!

MOTHER. What would you do with it?

BRITA. Watch-chain for Mats.

MOTHER. [To her daughter] Won't you let Mats have it?

KERSTI. No, I won't!

BRITA. [Taking from her skirt-bag the same piece of work on which she was employed in the previous scene] I'll never be able to match the colour.

KERSTI. You can have it when I am dead.

BRITA. That's a promise, but will you keep it?

KERSTI. I will! [Silence.

SOLDIER. Say, Mother.... Please keep quiet a while, children.... Do you know if the sergeant has been asked?

MOTHER. Vesterlund? Of course!

SOLDIER. It's to be at four o'clock in the church, isn't it?

MOTHER. That's right.

SOLDIER. [Putting his papers together] Then I'll go and see the Pastor now.... And I'll go right on to the sexton.... [To himself] Hm-hm! That was that! Hm-hm!

[He goes out pensively without greeting anybody. Silence.

VERGER. Now, my dears, I hope you won't touch anything.

LIT-KAREN. I'll look after Lit-Mats and see that he doesn't.

VERGER. So you're going to look after him, are you?

MOTHER. Where are you going, father?

VERGER. To the store to get the crown, which should be back from the city by this time.

BRITA. [Sneeringly] Oh—the crown!

VERGER. [Rising] The goldsmith has had it, you know—to clean it with cream of tartar. That's what you do with silver: you boil it in cream of tartar.

BRITA. [As before] Ha-ha!

MOTHER. [To the Verger] Wait a moment, and I'll go along to the store.

VERGER. Is it safe to leave the children alone?

BRITA. What do you fear might happen?

MOTHER. Why, they are grown-up people!

BRITA. And Kersti likes to be alone for that matter. She can't stand having anybody look at her....

MOTHER. Now, now!

BRITA. When she is bathing, she doesn't want any company at all. But, of course, she's grown-up, so she doesn't have to be afraid....

KERSTI is turning and twisting to escape the stare of BRITA.

MOTHER. Keep still, girl!

BRITA. No, she's no longer any child. She's outgrown that, and a lot more. Perhaps the crown won't fit her even? Have you tried it on?

VERGER. [Quietly] That's what we are going to do in a little while.

He goes out accompanied by the MOTHER. Silence.

KERSTI seats herself at the table on the right-hand side and begins to play with the brass numbers.

BRITA. [Pursuing KERSTI with her stare] A merry wedding eve, isn't it?

KERSTI. Do you want to play games?

BRITA. We might play "papa and mamma and the children."

KERSTI. Would you like to guess riddles?

BRITA. I have already guessed....

KERSTI. Or sing?

BRITA. "Hush-a-bye, baby," I suppose you mean?... No, let us read the Bible.

KERSTI. The Bible, you say?

BRITA. Yes—Genesis, thirty-fourth and eight.

KERSTI. About Shechem, you mean?

BRITA. Exactly, and about Dinah, for whom his heart was longing.... Do you know who Dinah was?

KERSTI. She was the daughter of Jacob and Leah.

BRITA. That's right. And do you know what she was?

KERSTI. Is that a riddle?

BRITA. Not at all. Do you know what she was?

KERSTI. No.

BRITA. She was a little—spoiled!

KERSTI. Is that a play on words?

BRITA. More than that!

KERSTI lets her head fall forward as if wishing to hide her face.

BRITA. Do you understand? [Pause] Is Mrs. Larsson the only one you have asked?

KERSTI. Have I asked?... The midwife, you say?

BRITA. Well, so she says.

KERSTI. Then she is lying!

BRITA. As midwife she has been sworn, although I couldn't tell whether her oath be false or fair. Just now she swears that she doesn't lie.

KERSTI lets her head droop again.

BRITA. Hold up your head! Can't you look people in the face?

KERSTI. [To the other girls] Say something, girls! [Silence.

BRITA. It's hard to say anything when one has seen nothing. But nevertheless—one knows what one knows!

SHERIFF. [Appearing in the doorway] I am making free It won't matter if an old fellow like me gets in to the girls—although the boys have to keep out!

BRITA. [Shaking her fist in the face of KERSTI] But you'll never wear the crown!

KERSTI. You don't say!

BRITA goes out.

The SHERIFF pulls up a chair and sits down beside KERSTI.

The girls sneak out of the room one by one. LIT-MATS stays behind, clinging to the skirt of KERSTI.

It is plain that the intentions of the SHERIFF are kindly, and so are his words, but the more discreet he tries to be, the more awkward he becomes, and so all his words assume an ambiguous meaning.

SHERIFF. [Taking one of KERSTI'S hands and looking her straight in the eyes] What sort of a bride is this, looking so sad when she is getting her heart's desire? What is the matter?

KERSTI. With what?

SHERIFF. Is that the way to answer an old friend who will be a kinsman by this hour to-morrow? There is more than one lass who envies you, and who would like to get to the altar ahead of you to-morrow.

KERSTI. Maybe there is.

SHERIFF. And there is the new life ahead of you, in mill and kitchen. No more running about in the woods, where "birches nod in the blowing breeze." No more dancing in the barns on Saturday nights. You'll be busy 'tending your pots, and watching the cradle, and having the meals on the table when Mats comes home, and—keeping an even temper when the dark days arrive—for after sunshine there is sure to be a little rain. Does it scare you to find life so serious, dear? It isn't as bad as it looks. It merely helps to make life kind of solemn.

KERSTI. Oh!

SHERIFF. What are you oh-ing about, girl?—There seems to be something in the air that has no place in the thoughts of a young girl—something amiss. Now, my dear, let me see if I can't straighten it out. [Jestingly] The guardian of the law knows how to get the truth out of all sorts of people. What's on your mind, dear? Has Mats been nasty to you?

KERSTI. Oh, mercy!

SHERIFF. Has the family been playing the high-and-mighty? What have you to do with the family anyhow?

LIT-MATS climbs into the lap of KERSTI, puts his arms about her, nestles up to her as close as he can get, and falls asleep.

SHERIFF. Look at that little chap now! He likes his sister-in-law, and that's a good sign. Children always know their real friends. Are you fond of children, Kersti?

KERSTI. [Suspiciously] Why do you ask?

SHERIFF. That's not the right kind of an answer!... Don't you think it's nice to have a little thing like that—to hold it on your lap and feel how it trusts you—just as if there could never be any harm or deceit in the bosom that shelters it.... I think he's falling asleep. Helpless as he is, he's not afraid of trusting his sleep to a stranger—who means nothing but well by him, I am sure.

KERSTI. Have you seen anything of Mats?

SHERIFF. He was busy with the boys making the mill ready for the dance to-morrow. [Silence] It's some time since we saw a crown bride in this place.

KERSTI. Is that so?

SHERIFF. Yes, indeed. The old ways are gone, and new ones have come in—from the cities and the camps....

KERSTI. [Pertly] They used to blame the fellows who came to buy the timber.

SHERIFF. Yes, but if it hadn't been for them, there would have been no mill....

KERSTI. They are always putting the blame on somebody else....

SHERIFF. You are getting a nice husband, Kersti....

KERSTI. Yes, he's fine—too fine for me!

SHERIFF. That's a bitter answer to a kind word!

KERSTI. There was nothing bitter about it—nothing but the truth....

SHERIFF. Why should it be so hard for us to understand each other? It looks almost as if you didn't want us to be friends?

KERSTI. Why do you think so?

SHERIFF. What is well meant, you take badly, and the other way around. Well—that happens frequently when there is something amiss.

KERSTI. What's amiss?

SHERIFF. I don't know.

KERSTI. Neither do I, but it isn't customary to say things like that to a young girl.

SHERIFF. Now, now!—Where there's no sick conscience, you don't have to walk in your stocking feet—but, but, but....

KERSTI. Has the examination begun already?

SHERIFF. I didn't mean....

KERSTI. The—"guardian of the law" doesn't know how to talk to ladies.

SHERIFF. [Sharply] Kersti!

KERSTI. What is it?

SHERIFF. [Looking hard at her] What do you mean? KERSTI. What do you mean yourself?

SHERIFF. Lo and behold! That's just the kind of questions asked by my ladies when they want to find out whether I know anything.

KERSTI. What could there be to know?

SHERIFF. Whew—is the wind in that corner? Well, well! [Silence] Well—I guess I'll be going! Yes, I had better be going!

He goes out by the rear door, stepping very softly and putting his forefinger across his lips as if meaning to enforce silence on himself.

KERSTI, left alone, kisses the head of the sleeping LIT-MATS.

MATS appears at the right-hand window.

The twilight has come, but it is the lingering, luminous twilight of the northern summer night.

MATS. Hey!

KERSTI. Mats! Oh, come here!

MATS. I mustn't come in—I have promised.

KERSTI. Yes, do!

MATS. No, no!—Is the little one asleep?

KERSTI. This one—yes!—Hush! Hush!

A bugle-call is faintly heard in the distance. It is the summons to evening service in the camp of the regiment to which KERSTI'S father belongs. (See the musical appendix, Melody No. 15.)

KERSTI. [Scared] Are they hunting again?

MATS. No, who would be hunting at this time of day?

KERSTI. What is it?

MATS. A soldier's daughter you are, and don't know!

KERSTI. Tell me!

MATS. That's at the camp, you know. They are calling them to evening prayers.

KERSTI. Of course—but everything seems strange and confused!

MATS. Come to the window, Kersti.

KERSTI. I think.... I'll just put the little one away.

MATS. The little one, you say?

KERSTI. [Rises very carefully and carries LIT-MATS to the bench by the fireplace, where she pulls him down and covers him up] Hushaby, hushaby!

The singing of a hymn in unison is heard from the camp. KERSTI kneels beside the bench and tries to pray, bid merely wrings her hands in despair. At last she kisses the shoes of the sleeping child, struggles to her feet, and goes to window.

MATS. There is something nice about children, isn't there?

KERSTI. Yes—yes!

MATS. Are you alone?

KERSTI. Yes, they left! Hating me—all of them!

MATS. To-morrow is our wedding-day!

KERSTI. Yes—think of it!

MATS. Yes, think of it—to-morrow is our wedding-day!

KERSTI. And I shall be living in the mill!

MATS. In the mill with me!

KERSTI. Till death us do part!

MATS. Which won't be soon!

KERSTI. Oh!

Curtain.

FOURTH SCENE

The wedding. The living-room at the mill has been cleared for the occasion. The big doors in the rear stand wide open. Through the doorway is seen a large loft, where a number of tables have been spread for the impending feast, of which coffee is to form one of the principal features. The shutters covering the rectangular opening to the left of the main doorway are also open, disclosing a table with several candlesticks on it. On this table the fiddlers subsequently take up their position.

The opening to the water-wheel appears to the right of the main door. The hand-loom, the bobbin, the reel, and the spinning-wheel have disappeared.

On the floor, beneath the place reserved for the fiddlers, stands the "old men's table," with a full equipment of jugs, mugs, pipes, and playing-cards.

A number of chairs and benches occupy the middle of the floor, and on these are spread clean white sheets, pillow-cases, and towels for drying.

As the curtain rises, six servant-girls are busily grinding coffee on as many hand-mills, while from the outside are heard the ringing of church-bells and a bridal march played on violins. When the coffee is ground, the girls begin to gather up the linen and sing while they are doing so.

GIRLS. [Singing; see musical appendix, Melody No. 16]

"Dillery-deering! Twelve in the clearing: Twelve men glare at me, Twelve swords flare at me. Kine they are slaughtering; Sheep they are quartering; Naught but my life they're leaving: Dillery-deering!"

The bridal procession is drawing near. The girls put the benches and chairs where they belong and go out with their burdens of linen.

The stage is left empty for a few moments, all the sounds previously heard having died out.

Then the song of the NECK is heard from the water-wheel, while he himself remains unseen.

NECK. [Singing outside] "I am hoping, I am hoping, that my Redeemer still liveth."

The trap-door in the floor is raised and the MEWLER ascends from the hole: a blurred mass of white veils beneath which the outlines of a small infant in long clothes are barely discernible. This apparition remains hovering above the opening in the floor.

Then the bridal march is again heard outside. The song of the NECK ceases, and the MEWLER disappears, the trap-door falling back into its wonted position.

The bridal procession enters the room. First come the fiddlers, then the bridesmaids and bridesmen. After these come the bride and the groom, and then follow the PASTOR, the parents of the couple, the members of both families, friends, and young people. Everybody seems depressed, and the entrance is made in gloomy silence.

The bride is led to a chair in the middle of the floor, placed so that she must face the trap-door in the floor. She is very pale and does not look up at all. The guests pass in front of her as in review. Now and then one stops and says a few words to her. Little by little they disappear into the loft in the rear.

MATS. [To KERSTI] Now the worst is over, Kersti.

[He goes out.

BRITA. [Heading the bridesmaids, to KERSTI] You have got the crown—see that you keep it! [She and the maids go out.

KERSTI'S MOTHER. [Making sure that the crown is on straight] Keep your back straight and your head high, girl!

[She goes out.

SOLDIER. [To KERSTI] God bless you! [Goes out.

VERGER. [To KERSTI] And protect you! [Goes out.

MATS'S GRANDFATHER. [To KERSTI] Comely you are as I am homely! [Goes out.

MATS'S MOTHER. [To KERSTI] Your new family bids you welcome! [She goes out.