LADY INGER OF ÖSTRÅT (1855) (continued 2)
Reading edition
101Nils 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.
102Nils 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 103me; 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.
104Nils 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 105yourself 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.
106Nils 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.
107Nils 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——!
108Nils 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——!
109Nils 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.
110Nils 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——
111Nils 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.
112
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 113or 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.
114Lady 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.
115Lady 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?
116Lady 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!
117Olaf 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 118if 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.
119Hist, 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——
120Nils 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 121Nils 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.
122Nils 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 123in 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.— 124Ay, ’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.
125Lady 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 126threaten 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?
127Nils 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!
128Olaf 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.
129Nils 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 130’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. 131“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 132and 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——?
133Nils 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.
134But 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.
135Nils 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?
136Lady 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!
137Nils 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.
138Nils 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!
139Lady 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?
140Lady 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.
141Nils 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——?
142Lady 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 143road! 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 144rebellious 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. 145Now 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.
146Nils 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.
147All 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.
148What 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.
149
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 150threatening 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.
151
[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 152you, 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!
153Elina.
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. 154Oh, 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 155his 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.
156Elina.
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.
157Elina.
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!
158Elina.
[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?
159Biörn.
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!
160Nils 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——?
161Elina.
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 162closer 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?
163Elina.
[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!
164Lady 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.
165Nils 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. 166No, 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.
167Nils 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.
168Nils 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——?
169Lady 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——
170Thou 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.
171One 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 172in 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 173the 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.
174Hereafter 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.
175How 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.
176Biörn.
[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 177the 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——
178Lady 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.
179Lady 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!
180Lady 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.
181
THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG (1856)
183
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, 184and 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 185critic 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. 186Their 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 187Dyring’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 188namesakes[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.
189But, 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; 190I 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 191its 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 192upon 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.
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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.”
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