THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG
PLAY IN THREE ACTS
ACT FIRST
A stately room, with doors in the back and to both sides. In front, on the right, a bay window with small round panes, set in lead, and near the window a table, on which is a quantity of feminine ornaments. Along the left wall, a longer table with silver goblets, beakers and drinking-horns. The door in the back leads out to a passage-way,[24] through which can be seen a spacious fiord-landscape.
Bengt Gauteson, Margit, Knut Gesling and Erik of Heggë are seated around the table on the left. In the background are Knut’s followers, some seated, some standing; one or two flagons of ale are handed round among them. Far off are heard church bells, ringing to Mass.
[Rising at the table.] In one word, now, what answer have you to make to my wooing on Knut Gesling’s behalf?
[Glancing uneasily towards his wife.] Well, I—to me it seems—[As she remains silent.] H’m, Margit, let us first hear your thought in the matter.
[Rising.] Sir Knut Gesling, I have long known all that Erik of Heggë has told of you. I know full well that you come of a lordly house; you are rich in gold and gear, and you stand in high favour with our royal master.
[To Knut.] In high favour—so say I too.
And doubtless my sister could choose her no doughtier mate—
None doughtier; that is what I say too.
—if so be that you can win her to think kindly of you.
[Anxiously, and half aside.] Nay—nay, my dear wife—
[Springing up.] Stands it so, Dame Margit! You think that your sister—
[Seeking to calm him.] Nay, nay, Knut Gesling! Have patience, now. You must understand us aright.
There is naught in my words to wound you. My sister knows you only by the songs that are made about you—and these songs sound but ill in gentle ears.
Aye, aye—true enough—Knut Gesling lives not overpeaceably. But there will soon come a change in that, when he gets him a wife in his hall.
And this I would have you mark, Dame Margit: it may be a week since, I was at a feast at Heggë, at Erik’s bidding, whom here you see. The ale was strong; and as the evening wore on I vowed a vow that Signë, your fair sister, should be my wife, and that before the year was out. Never shall it be said of Knut Gesling that he brake any vow. You can see, then, that you must e’en choose me for your sister’s husband—be it with your will or against it.
[With suppressed rage.] You know how to order your words cunningly, Dame Margit. Truly, you should have been a priest, and not your husband’s wife.
Oh, for that matter, I too could—
[Paying no heed to him.] But I would have you take note that had a sword-bearing man spoken to me in such wise—
Nay, but listen, Knut Gesling—you must understand us!
[As before.] Well, briefly, he should have learnt that the axe sits loose in my hand, as you said but now.
[Softly.] There we have it! Margit, Margit, this will never end well.
[To Knut.] You asked for a forthright answer, and that I have given you.
Well, well; I will not reckon too closely with you, Dame Margit. You have more wit than all the rest of us together. Here is my hand;—it may be there was somewhat of reason in the keen-edged words you spoke to me.
This I like well; now are you already on the right way to amendment. Yet one word more—to-day we hold a feast at Solhoug.
A feast?
Yes, Knut Gesling: you must know that it is our wedding-day; this day three years ago made me Dame Margit’s husband.
[Impatiently, interrupting.] As I said, we hold a feast to-day. When Mass is over, and your other business done, I would have you ride hither again, and join in the banquet. Then you can learn to know my sister.
So be it, Dame Margit; I thank you. Yet ’twas not to go to Mass that I rode hither this morning. Your kinsman, Gudmund Alfson, was the cause of my coming.
[Starts.] He! My kinsman? Where would you seek him?
His homestead lies behind the headland, on the other side of the fiord.
But he himself is far away.
Be not so sure; he may be nearer than you think.
[Whispers.] Hold your peace!
Nearer? What mean you?
Have you not heard, then, that Gudmund Alfson has come back to Norway? He came with the Chancellor Audun of Hegranes, who was sent to France to bring home our new Queen.
True enough; but in these very days the King holds his wedding-feast in full state at Bergen, and there is Gudmund Alfson a guest.
And there could we too have been guests had my wife so willed it.
[Aside to Knut.] Then Dame Margit knows not that—?
[Aside.] So it would seem; but keep your counsel. [Aloud.] Well, well, Dame Margit, I must go my way none the less, and see what may betide. At nightfall I will be here again.
And then you must show whether you have power to bridle your unruly spirit.
Aye, mark you that.
You must lay no hand on your axe—hear you, Knut Gesling?
Neither on your axe, nor on your knife, nor on any other weapon whatsoever.
For then can you never hope to be one of our kindred.
Nay, that is our firm resolve.
[To Margit.] Have no fear.
And what we have firmly resolved stands fast.
That I like well, Sir Bengt Gauteson. I, too, say the same; and I have pledged myself at the feast-board to wed your kinswoman. You may be sure that my pledge, too, will stand fast.—God’s peace till to-night!
[He and Erik, with their men, go out at the back.
[Bengt accompanies them to the door. The sound of the bells has in the meantime ceased.
[Returning.] Methought he seemed to threaten us as he departed.
[Absently.] Aye, so it seemed.
Knut Gesling is an ill man to fall out with. And, when I bethink me, we gave him over many hard words. But come, let us not brood over that. To-day we must be merry, Margit!—as I trow we have both good reason to be.
[With a weary smile.] Aye, surely, surely.
’Tis true I was no mere stripling when I courted you. But well I wot I was the richest man for many and many a mile. You were a fair maiden, and nobly born; but your dowry would have tempted no wooer.
[To herself.] Yet was I then so rich.
What said you, my wife?
Oh, nothing, nothing. [Crosses to the right.] I will deck me with pearls and rings. Is not to-night a time of rejoicing for me?
I am fain to hear you say it. Let me see that you deck you in your best attire, that our guests may say: Happy she who mated with Bengt Gauteson.—But now must I to the larder; there are many things to-day that must not be overlooked.
[Sinks down on a chair by the table on the right.
[Absently fingering the ornaments on the table, and beginning to put them on.
[In despair; sinks down on a bench beside the table on the left.
[Signë, radiant with gladness, comes running in from the back.
[Calling.] Margit, Margit,—he is coming!
[Starting up.] Coming? Who is coming?
Gudmund, our kinsman!
Gudmund Alfson! Here! How can you think—?
Oh, I am sure of it.
[Crosses to the right.] Gudmund Alfson is at the wedding-feast in the King’s hall; you know that as well as I.
Maybe; but none the less I am sure it was he.
Have you seen him?
Oh, no, no; but I must tell you—
Yes, haste you—tell on!
O Signë, say on! Tell me all, tell me all!
Go on.
[After a pause.] Gudmund Alfson coming hither! Hither—to Solhoug? No, no, it cannot be.—Signë heard him singing, she said! When I have heard the pine-trees moaning in the forest afar, when I have heard the waterfall thunder and the birds pipe their lure in the treetops, it has many a time seemed to me as though, through it all, the sound of Gudmund’s songs came blended. And yet he was far from here.—Signë has deceived herself. Gudmund cannot be coming.
[Entering, calls loudly.] An unlooked-for guest, my wife!
What guest?
Your kinsman, Gudmund Alfson! [Calls through the doorway on the right.] Let the best guest-room be prepared—and that forthwith!
Is he, then, already here?
Nay, not yet; but he cannot be far off. [Calls again to the right.] The carved oak bed, with the dragon-heads! [Advances to Margit.] His shield-bearer brings a message of greeting from him; and he himself is close behind.
His shield-bearer! Comes he hither with a shield-bearer?
Aye, by my faith he does. He has a shield-bearer and six armed men in his train. What would you? Gudmund Alfson is a far other man than he was when he set forth to seek his fortune. But I must ride forth and receive him.
[Calls out.] The gilded saddle on my horse! And forget not the bridle with the serpents’ heads! [Looks out to the back.] Ha, there he is already at the gate! Well, then, my staff—my silver-headed staff! Such a lordly knight—Heaven save us!—we must receive him with honour, with all seemly honour!
[She beckons through the doorway on the right. Three handmaidens enter.
[The handmaids go out to the left, taking the ornaments with them.
[Bengt ushers in Gudmund Alfson, through the pent-house passage at the back.
And now once more—welcome under Solhoug’s roof, my wife’s kinsman.
I thank you. And how goes it with her? She thrives well in every way, I make no doubt?
Aye, you may be sure she does. There is nothing she lacks. She has five handmaidens, no less, at her beck and call; a courser stands ready saddled in the stall when she lists to ride abroad. In one word, she has all that a noble lady can desire to make her happy in her lot.