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The collected works of Henrik Ibsen, Vol. 01 (of 11) cover

The collected works of Henrik Ibsen, Vol. 01 (of 11)

Chapter 20: ACT FIRST
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About This Book

This volume gathers three stage dramas that range from historical saga pieces to a satirical comedy: two plays stage conflicts of allegiance, succession, and the demands of honor in a bygone setting, alternating intimate domestic moments with public intrigue; the third play treats courtship and artistic romance with biting wit, exposing hypocrisies in social convention and the theatricality of love. Together the dramas display variety in tone and form—lyrical passages, political maneuvering, and ironic commentary—while examining how personal desire, social expectation, and moral conviction collide onstage.

THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG
PLAY IN THREE ACTS

ACT FIRST

A stately room, with doors in the back and to both sides. In front, on the right, a bay window with small round panes, set in lead, and near the window a table, on which is a quantity of feminine ornaments. Along the left wall, a longer table with silver goblets, beakers and drinking-horns. The door in the back leads out to a passage-way,[24] through which can be seen a spacious fiord-landscape.

Bengt Gauteson, Margit, Knut Gesling and Erik of Heggë are seated around the table on the left. In the background are Knut’s followers, some seated, some standing; one or two flagons of ale are handed round among them. Far off are heard church bells, ringing to Mass.

Erik.

[Rising at the table.] In one word, now, what answer have you to make to my wooing on Knut Gesling’s behalf?

Bengt.

[Glancing uneasily towards his wife.] Well, I—to me it seems—[As she remains silent.] H’m, Margit, let us first hear your thought in the matter.

Margit.

[Rising.] Sir Knut Gesling, I have long known all that Erik of Heggë has told of you. I know full well that you come of a lordly house; you are rich in gold and gear, and you stand in high favour with our royal master.

Bengt.

[To Knut.] In high favour—so say I too.

Margit.

And doubtless my sister could choose her no doughtier mate—

Bengt.

None doughtier; that is what I say too.

Margit.

—if so be that you can win her to think kindly of you.

Bengt.

[Anxiously, and half aside.] Nay—nay, my dear wife—

Knut.

[Springing up.] Stands it so, Dame Margit! You think that your sister—

Bengt.

[Seeking to calm him.] Nay, nay, Knut Gesling! Have patience, now. You must understand us aright.

Margit.

There is naught in my words to wound you. My sister knows you only by the songs that are made about you—and these songs sound but ill in gentle ears.

No peaceful home is your father’s house.
With your lawless, reckless crew,
Day out, day in, must you hold carouse—
God help her who mates with you.
God help the maiden you lure or buy
With gold and with forests green—
Soon will her sore heart long to lie
Still in the grave, I ween.
Erik.

Aye, aye—true enough—Knut Gesling lives not overpeaceably. But there will soon come a change in that, when he gets him a wife in his hall.

Knut.

And this I would have you mark, Dame Margit: it may be a week since, I was at a feast at Heggë, at Erik’s bidding, whom here you see. The ale was strong; and as the evening wore on I vowed a vow that Signë, your fair sister, should be my wife, and that before the year was out. Never shall it be said of Knut Gesling that he brake any vow. You can see, then, that you must e’en choose me for your sister’s husband—be it with your will or against it.

Margit.
Ere that may be, I must tell you plain,
You must rid yourself of your ravening train.
You must scour no longer with yell and shout
O’er the country-side in a galloping rout;
You must still the shudder that spreads around
When Knut Gesling is to a bride-ale bound.
Courteous must your mien be when a-feasting you ride;
Let your battle-axe hang at home at the chimney-side—
It ever sits loose in your hand, well you know,
When the mead has gone round and your brain is aglow.
From no man his rightful gear shall you wrest,
You shall harm no harmless maiden;
You shall send to no man the shameless hest
That when his path crosses yours, he were best
Come with his grave-clothes laden.
And if you will so bear you till the year be past,
You may win my sister for your bride at last.
Knut.

[With suppressed rage.] You know how to order your words cunningly, Dame Margit. Truly, you should have been a priest, and not your husband’s wife.

Bengt.

Oh, for that matter, I too could—

Knut.

[Paying no heed to him.] But I would have you take note that had a sword-bearing man spoken to me in such wise—

Bengt.

Nay, but listen, Knut Gesling—you must understand us!

Knut.

[As before.] Well, briefly, he should have learnt that the axe sits loose in my hand, as you said but now.

Bengt.

[Softly.] There we have it! Margit, Margit, this will never end well.

Margit.

[To Knut.] You asked for a forthright answer, and that I have given you.

Knut.

Well, well; I will not reckon too closely with you, Dame Margit. You have more wit than all the rest of us together. Here is my hand;—it may be there was somewhat of reason in the keen-edged words you spoke to me.

Margit.

This I like well; now are you already on the right way to amendment. Yet one word more—to-day we hold a feast at Solhoug.

Knut.

A feast?

Bengt.

Yes, Knut Gesling: you must know that it is our wedding-day; this day three years ago made me Dame Margit’s husband.

Margit.

[Impatiently, interrupting.] As I said, we hold a feast to-day. When Mass is over, and your other business done, I would have you ride hither again, and join in the banquet. Then you can learn to know my sister.

Knut.

So be it, Dame Margit; I thank you. Yet ’twas not to go to Mass that I rode hither this morning. Your kinsman, Gudmund Alfson, was the cause of my coming.

Margit.

[Starts.] He! My kinsman? Where would you seek him?

Knut.

His homestead lies behind the headland, on the other side of the fiord.

Margit.

But he himself is far away.

Erik.

Be not so sure; he may be nearer than you think.

Knut.

[Whispers.] Hold your peace!

Margit.

Nearer? What mean you?

Knut.

Have you not heard, then, that Gudmund Alfson has come back to Norway? He came with the Chancellor Audun of Hegranes, who was sent to France to bring home our new Queen.

Margit.

True enough; but in these very days the King holds his wedding-feast in full state at Bergen, and there is Gudmund Alfson a guest.

Bengt.

And there could we too have been guests had my wife so willed it.

Erik.

[Aside to Knut.] Then Dame Margit knows not that—?

Knut.

[Aside.] So it would seem; but keep your counsel. [Aloud.] Well, well, Dame Margit, I must go my way none the less, and see what may betide. At nightfall I will be here again.

Margit.

And then you must show whether you have power to bridle your unruly spirit.

Bengt.

Aye, mark you that.

Margit.

You must lay no hand on your axe—hear you, Knut Gesling?

Bengt.

Neither on your axe, nor on your knife, nor on any other weapon whatsoever.

Margit.

For then can you never hope to be one of our kindred.

Bengt.

Nay, that is our firm resolve.

Knut.

[To Margit.] Have no fear.

Bengt.

And what we have firmly resolved stands fast.

Knut.

That I like well, Sir Bengt Gauteson. I, too, say the same; and I have pledged myself at the feast-board to wed your kinswoman. You may be sure that my pledge, too, will stand fast.—God’s peace till to-night!

[He and Erik, with their men, go out at the back.

[Bengt accompanies them to the door. The sound of the bells has in the meantime ceased.

Bengt.

[Returning.] Methought he seemed to threaten us as he departed.

Margit.

[Absently.] Aye, so it seemed.

Bengt.

Knut Gesling is an ill man to fall out with. And, when I bethink me, we gave him over many hard words. But come, let us not brood over that. To-day we must be merry, Margit!—as I trow we have both good reason to be.

Margit.

[With a weary smile.] Aye, surely, surely.

Bengt.

’Tis true I was no mere stripling when I courted you. But well I wot I was the richest man for many and many a mile. You were a fair maiden, and nobly born; but your dowry would have tempted no wooer.

Margit.

[To herself.] Yet was I then so rich.

Bengt.

What said you, my wife?

Margit.

Oh, nothing, nothing. [Crosses to the right.] I will deck me with pearls and rings. Is not to-night a time of rejoicing for me?

Bengt.

I am fain to hear you say it. Let me see that you deck you in your best attire, that our guests may say: Happy she who mated with Bengt Gauteson.—But now must I to the larder; there are many things to-day that must not be overlooked.

[He goes out to the left.
Margit.

[Sinks down on a chair by the table on the right.

’Twas well he departed. While here he remains
Meseems the blood freezes within my veins;
Meseems that a crushing might and cold
My heart in its clutches doth still enfold.
[With tears she cannot repress.
He is my husband! I am his wife!
How long, how long lasts a woman’s life?
Sixty years, mayhap—God pity me
Who am not yet full twenty-three!
[More calmly, after a short silence.
Hard, so long in a gilded cage to pine;
Hard a hopeless prisoner’s lot—and mine.

[Absently fingering the ornaments on the table, and beginning to put them on.

With rings, and with jewels, and all of my best
By his order myself I am decking—
But oh, if to-day were my burial-feast,
’Twere little that I’d be recking.
[Breaking off.
But if thus I brood I must needs despair;
I know a song that can lighten care.
[She sings.
The Hill-King to the sea did ride;
—Oh, sad are my days and dreary—
To woo a maiden to be his bride.
—I am waiting for thee, I am weary.—
The Hill-King rode to Sir Håkon’s hold;
—Oh, sad are my days and dreary—
Little Kirsten sat combing her locks of gold.
—I am waiting for thee, I am weary.—
The Hill-King wedded the maiden fair;
—Oh, sad are my days and dreary—
A silvern girdle she ever must wear.
—I am waiting for thee, I am weary.—
The Hill-King wedded the lily-wand,
—Oh, sad are my days and dreary—
With fifteen gold rings on either hand.
—I am waiting for thee, I am weary.—
Three summers passed, and there passed full five;
—Oh, sad are my days and dreary—
In the hill little Kirsten was buried alive.
—I am waiting for thee, I am weary.—
Five summers passed, and there passed full nine;
—Oh, sad are my days and dreary—
Little Kirsten ne’er saw the glad sunshine.
—I am waiting for thee, I am weary.—
In the dale there are flowers and the birds’ blithe song;
—Oh, sad are my days and dreary—
In the hill there is gold and the night is long
—I am waiting for thee, I am weary.—
[She rises and crosses the room.
How oft in the gloaming would Gudmund sing
This song in my father’s hall.
There was somewhat in it—some strange, sad thing
That took my heart in thrall;
Though I scarce understood, I could ne’er forget—
And the words and the thoughts they haunt me yet.
[Stops horror-struck.
Rings of red gold! And a belt beside—!
’Twas with gold the Hill-King wedded his bride!

[In despair; sinks down on a bench beside the table on the left.

Woe! Woe! I myself am the Hill-King’s wife!
And there cometh none to free me from the prison of my life.

[Signë, radiant with gladness, comes running in from the back.

Signë.

[Calling.] Margit, Margit,—he is coming!

Margit.

[Starting up.] Coming? Who is coming?

Signë.

Gudmund, our kinsman!

Margit.

Gudmund Alfson! Here! How can you think—?

Signë.

Oh, I am sure of it.

Margit.

[Crosses to the right.] Gudmund Alfson is at the wedding-feast in the King’s hall; you know that as well as I.

Signë.

Maybe; but none the less I am sure it was he.

Margit.

Have you seen him?

Signë.

Oh, no, no; but I must tell you—

Margit.

Yes, haste you—tell on!

Signë.
’Twas early morn, and the church bells rang,
To Mass I was fain to ride;
The birds in the willows twittered and sang,
In the birch-groves far and wide.
All earth was glad in the clear, sweet day;
And from church it had well-nigh stayed me;
For still, as I rode down the shady way,
Each rosebud beguiled and delayed me.
Silently into the church I stole;
The priest at the altar was bending;
He chanted and read, and with awe in their soul,
The folk to God’s word were attending.
Then a voice rang out o’er the fiord so blue;
And the carven angels, the whole church through,
Turned round, methought, to listen thereto.
Margit.

O Signë, say on! Tell me all, tell me all!

Signë.
’Twas as though a strange, irresistible call
Summoned me forth from the worshipping flock,
Over hill and dale, over mead and rock.
’Mid the silver birches I listening trod,
Moving as though in a dream;
Behind me stood empty the house of God;
Priest and people were lured by the magic, ’twould seem,
Of the tones that still through the air did stream.
No sound they made; they were quiet as death;
To hearken the song-birds held their breath,
The lark dropped earthward, the cuckoo was still,
As the voice re-echoed from hill to hill.
Margit.

Go on.

Signë.
They crossed themselves, women and men;
[Pressing her hands to her breast.
But strange thoughts arose within me then;
For the heavenly song familiar grew:
Gudmund oft sang it to me and you—
Ofttimes has Gudmund carolled it,
And all he e’er sang in my heart is writ.
Margit.
And you think that it may be—?
Signë.
I know it is he!
I know it! I know it! You soon shall see!
[Laughing.
From far-off lands, at the last, in the end,
Each song-bird homewards his flight doth bend!
I am so happy—though why I scarce know—!
Margit, what say you? I’ll quickly go
And take down his harp, that has hung so long
In there on the wall that ’tis rusted quite;
Its golden strings I will polish bright,
And tune them to ring and to sing with his song.
Margit.
[Absently.]
Do as you will—
Signë.
[Reproachfully.]
Nay, this is not right.
[Embracing her.
But when Gudmund comes will your heart grow light—
Light, as when I was a child, again.
Margit.
[To herself.]
So much has changed—ah, so much!—since then—
Signë.
Margit, you shall be happy and gay!
Have you not serving-maids many, and thralls?
Costly robes hang in rows on your chamber walls;
How rich you are, none can say.
By day you can ride in the forest deep,
Chasing the hart and the hind;
By night in a lordly bower you can sleep,
On pillows of silk reclined.
Margit.
[Looking towards the window.]
And he comes to Solhoug! He, as a guest!
Signë.
What say you?
Margit.
[Turning.]
Naught.—Deck you out in your best.
That fortune which seemeth to you so bright
May await yourself.
Signë.
Margit, say what you mean!
Margit.
[Stroking her hair.]
I mean—nay, no more! Twill shortly be seen—;
I mean—should a wooer ride hither to-night—?
Signë.
A wooer? For whom?
Margit.
For you.
Signë.
[Laughing.]
For me?
That he’d ta’en the wrong road full soon he would see.
Margit.
What would you say if a valiant knight
Begged for your hand?
Signë.
That my heart was too light
To think upon suitors or choose a mate.
Margit.
But if he were mighty, and rich, and great?
Signë.
Oh, were he a king, did his palace hold
Stores of rich garments and ruddy gold,
’Twould ne’er set my heart desiring.
With you I am rich enough here, meseems,
With summer and sun and the murmuring streams,
And the birds in the branches quiring.
Dear sister mine—here shall my dwelling be;
And to give any wooer my hand in fee,
For that I am too busy, and my heart too full of glee!
[Signë runs out to the left, singing.
Margit.

[After a pause.] Gudmund Alfson coming hither! Hither—to Solhoug? No, no, it cannot be.—Signë heard him singing, she said! When I have heard the pine-trees moaning in the forest afar, when I have heard the waterfall thunder and the birds pipe their lure in the treetops, it has many a time seemed to me as though, through it all, the sound of Gudmund’s songs came blended. And yet he was far from here.—Signë has deceived herself. Gudmund cannot be coming.

[Bengt enters hastily from the back.
Bengt.

[Entering, calls loudly.] An unlooked-for guest, my wife!

Margit.

What guest?

Bengt.

Your kinsman, Gudmund Alfson! [Calls through the doorway on the right.] Let the best guest-room be prepared—and that forthwith!

Margit.

Is he, then, already here?

Bengt.
[Looking out through the passage-way.]

Nay, not yet; but he cannot be far off. [Calls again to the right.] The carved oak bed, with the dragon-heads! [Advances to Margit.] His shield-bearer brings a message of greeting from him; and he himself is close behind.

Margit.

His shield-bearer! Comes he hither with a shield-bearer?

Bengt.

Aye, by my faith he does. He has a shield-bearer and six armed men in his train. What would you? Gudmund Alfson is a far other man than he was when he set forth to seek his fortune. But I must ride forth and receive him.

[Calls out.] The gilded saddle on my horse! And forget not the bridle with the serpents’ heads! [Looks out to the back.] Ha, there he is already at the gate! Well, then, my staff—my silver-headed staff! Such a lordly knight—Heaven save us!—we must receive him with honour, with all seemly honour!

[Goes hastily out to the back.
Margit.
[Brooding.]
Alone he departed, a penniless swain;
With esquires and henchmen now comes he again.
What would he? Comes he, forsooth, to see
My bitter and gnawing misery?
Would he try how long, in my lot accurst,
I can writhe and moan, ere my heart-strings burst—
Thinks he that—? Ah, let him only try!
Full little joy shall he reap thereby.

[She beckons through the doorway on the right. Three handmaidens enter.

List, little maids, what I say to you:
Find me my silken mantle blue.
Go with me into my bower anon:
My richest of velvets and furs do on.
Two of you shall deck me in scarlet and vair,
The third shall wind pearl-strings into my hair.
All my jewels and gauds bear away with ye!

[The handmaids go out to the left, taking the ornaments with them.

Since Margit the Hill-King’s bride must be,
Well! don we the queenly livery!
[She goes out to the left.

[Bengt ushers in Gudmund Alfson, through the pent-house passage at the back.

Bengt.

And now once more—welcome under Solhoug’s roof, my wife’s kinsman.

Gudmund.

I thank you. And how goes it with her? She thrives well in every way, I make no doubt?

Bengt.

Aye, you may be sure she does. There is nothing she lacks. She has five handmaidens, no less, at her beck and call; a courser stands ready saddled in the stall when she lists to ride abroad. In one word, she has all that a noble lady can desire to make her happy in her lot.