Halla (sits silent). Is time hanging heavy on you up here?

Arnes (goes to her). No, that is only something Kari has got into his head, because I am not always merry.

Halla (smiling). Once you boasted of being kin to the trolls.

Arnes. So I am. (Halla rises; blows a great puff of smoke into his face; laughs. Arnes takes hold of her wrists.) Once there were two trolls. They quarrelled and turned each other into stone. One had to stand where all the birds dropped their filth, and the other had to stand where all the winds blew. Which would you rather be?

Halla (tears herself away). I have not been turned to stone yet. (Laughs.) I thought you had forgotten all your old stories.

Arnes. You are strong.

Halla (sits down on the grass, leaning on her arm). Can you foretell things from the clouds?

Arnes. Yes, about the weather.

Halla. I don't mean that.

Arnes (sits down beside her). When I was a child, I used to sail my viking ships on the clouds. Do you want me to foretell your fate?

Halla. You just said that you could not.

Arnes. The clouds tell nothing about our lives. They are only the dreamlands of earth. Will you let me see your arm?

Halla. Why?

Arnes (lifts her arm). You think these lines on your arm are nothing but marks drawn by heather and grass, but if I knew enough, I could read your whole fate in them. Something, perhaps, I can see. Who would believe that these slender arms could be so strong.

Halla (laughing). And what stands written there?

Arnes. You must sit still. Here is a deep, narrow line across your arm, that means sorrow. And there is a big fire. (Stroking her arm with the tips of his fingers.) I can see the tongues of flame. That means that you are loved.

(Kisses her arm.)

Halla (stands up; laughs). Did you burn yourself?

Arnes. I should like to read your fate all day long.

Halla. Then you might tell me things I did not care to hear. But I must get to work.

(Halla goes into the hut. Arnes looks after her. She comes out bringing wool, a spindle, and a sheep's skin.)

Halla. If you are not too tired after the hunt, this skin can stand a little more.

Arnes. Give it to me. (Takes a large ring made of a ram's horn. From the ring hangs a loop of rope, in which he puts his foot. He draws the skin through the ring and keeps pulling it back and forth. Halla sits down, turning her spindle. They are silent.)

Halla. It is queer about the sound of the waterfall. Most of the time I don't hear it at all, but if it were to stop, I should miss it. Is it the same with you?

Arnes. Yes.

Halla. At first I was almost afraid of it. Then I began to love it, and now I should only miss it if it were not there any more. We mortals are strange.

(They are silent again.)

Arnes. Can you tell me why some people should be happier than others?

Halla. No, that I cannot.

Arnes. Kari has been happy for seven years.

Halla. Are you sure of that?

Arnes. Why should he not be happy? He has a wife and child.

Halla. Was there no one down your way whom you could bring with you up here?

Arnes. Who do you think would become an outlaw for my sake?

Halla. Wouldn't you dare to carry off a woman? I should try my best to be good to her.

Arnes. Do you think Kari would have dared to carry you off against your will?

Halla. Ask him.

Arnes. Why does he not show it, if he cares so much for you? He forgets about helping you with firewood and carrying water, and if the meat is not cooked the way he likes it, he scolds you. One might think you were his servant girl.

Halla. Don't let that worry you.

Arnes. And he can't even see the color of your hair.

Halla. Do you bear a grudge against Kari, because he caught the swan?

Arnes. You had house and home and a good name, and you gave it all up for his sake. He ought to keep that in mind more than he does.

Halla. I don't want Kari to be offering up thanks like a meek bondsman. Besides, I have done nothing for him. I did it all for myself.

Arnes. He does not even bother to curry the skins for your bedding. If you did not have me, you would have to do it yourself.

Halla (stands up). I don't want your help. (Takes hold of the skin.) Let go!

Arnes (gives it up reluctantly). Are you angry?

Halla (takes the skin out of the horn-ring and throws it into the hut) You are not so sorely needed as you think you are. (Sits down again to her work.)

Arnes. I did not mean that. It makes me happy when I can do some little thing for you. Won't you let me finish it?

Halla. You shall not touch it.

Arnes (stands for a moment, puzzled). Will you not forgive me what I said? I cannot bear to have you angry with me.

Halla. I am not angry.

Arnes. When you were ill, I once brought you some green leaves that had come up through the snow. Then you gave me a kiss.

Halla. Did I? (Smiles; kisses him lightly on the cheek.) Have you peace in your soul now?

Arnes. I don't know. I believe I shall never have peace in my soul any more.

(They are silent.)

Halla. You were good to me the time I was ill.

Arnes. I am not good to anybody. I am wicked.

Halla. You are not.

Arnes. Even with you I sometimes feel that I could hurt you.

Halla. We can all be ugly when we are tired and hungry.

Arnes. Will you let me kiss your mouth? Just once?

Halla (rising). No.

Arnes. Your lips will suffer no harm from it. (Takes hold of her shoulders and tries to draw her to him.)

Halla (tears herself away from him). Have you gone mad?

Arnes. You have been true to Kari for seven years now. It is time you tired of it.

Halla. Now your face looks like the bailiff's when he called me a harlot. (Gives him a box on the ear.)

Arnes (furiously). I know you better than you think. You are so pure! You have never done an evil deed!

Halla. What do you mean?

Arnes. Kari is more open-mouthed than you think. You have had a child before this one.

(Halla shields her face with her hands as though warding off a blow. Arnes sits silent.)

Halla. Why don't you say that I killed my child? That is what you meant to say. You know I did it.

Arnes. My cursed mouth.

Halla. You judge me. How can you? You don't know what it means to bring a life into the world. It grows heavier day by day like the snow of winter. If we had had spring and sunshine! But the times were hard and food was scarce. I did a good deed when I laid my child out in the cold. Far less suffering that than life!

Arnes. I do not judge what you did.

Halla. No, you thought I was an angel who was longing to be your harlot. You can go with a lighted candle into my soul and search it. You will find no remorse there. What could we have done with a child, if we had been forced to flee? Should we have left it with strangers? And how do you think it would have fared? A child of felons, scorned by all!

Arnes (broken-hearted). I did not know that my words would hurt you so much.

Halla. Do you think I did it with a light heart? I have given birth to two children, and cruel was the pain, but I would rather bear ten children than live that night over again. When I had carried my child out into the cold, my mind gave way. In my ravings, I thought the child lay by my side, and above us was a flock of birds—pitch black. I bent over it to shield it, and the birds pecked into my back, into my lungs they pecked. (Stops short from emotion.)

Arnes. Would I were dead!

Halla (calmer). I wished for the death of that child long before it was born. (Goes to Tota.) But this my little springtime child I have never wished ill. The first time I felt her life, it seemed a token of forgiveness that I was allowed to become a mother again, and when she came into the world, the sun was shining, and the sky was blue and warm. (Kisses her.)

Arnes. My tongue got the better of me. (Puts his hand on his heart.) There is a devil dwelling in me. (Stands motionless.) I love you.

Halla (turns toward him). Have you not done hurting me yet?

Arnes (crushed). No matter what I say, you think I mean ill.

Halla. I shall not speak to you again. (Sits down to her work.)

Arnes. Nor will you have to listen to me any more. I am going down to the lowlands, and there they can do with me what they like.

Halla. If you tell them of our hiding-place, they may let you off more easily.

Arnes. Even that you believe I could do!

Halla (rising). If you cared for me as much as you say, you would be good to me instead of bad.

Arnes. Love has made you good and me bad. (He is silent.) Do you remember the time Kari and I went up the glacier, and he fell down into a crack? He told you I had been so frightened that I shook all over. It was not for his life I feared; I feared my own thoughts.

Halla (terrified by a dawning apprehension). What do you mean?

Arnes. I have often wished Kari dead.

Halla. It is not true!

Arnes. It is. Do you understand now that I must go away from here? I no longer dare to live with you two, and neither do I dare to live alone.

Halla. I wish you had never crossed our path.

Arnes (following up his own thoughts). If Kari had not been so trusting as he is, I don't know what I might not have done; but he had such faith in me. You don't know all the words the Tempter can whisper in one's ear. I thought Kari had been happy so long that it would be only fair if he had to die now. It seemed to me that you and I were more akin in our souls, that we had more of the wilds in us. I felt it was he alone that stood between us two.

Halla. I forbid you to say another word. All your thoughts are lies. If Kari had died, I should have followed him. You would have had my corpse, not me. And if I had learned that you were the cause of his death, I should have killed you while you were asleep. I have given my all to my husband, even my conscience. I can go on living, even if he should not always care so much for me, but when I no longer love him, then I die.

Arnes. I am glad you love your husband. I don't know whether it is because I have unburdened myself of all my evil thoughts, or whether it is because I have made up my mind to give myself up and serve my time, but I feel a peace within me that I have not known for long. To-morrow I shall go away from here and never come back. I shall tell Kari that I mean to take a short trip. (Goes to Halla.) Will you do the last thing I ask of you in this life—never to let him know the truth?

Halla. I can make you no promise.

Arnes. Then I will bid you good-bye while we are alone. I shall cross the lava strip and sit down where I can look out over the sand waste. You may tell Kari that I shall be back in an hour. (Holding out his hand.) Is there no hope that you can ever think of me without bitterness when I am gone?

Halla (takes his hand). Good-bye, Arnes.

Arnes. Good-bye, Halla. (Walks a few steps; stops.) When I am sitting within prison walls, I shall remember you as the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Exit.

Halla (stands looking after him; then goes to Tota). What a good, quiet little girl you are! Getting sleepy? (Finds a small skin, which she spreads on the ground.) Now mother will sing you to sleep, as she did in the old times. (Unfastens the rope.) Shall I, Tota?

Tota. Yes.

Halla (sits down and takes her on her lap). Then you must close your eyes. (Sits silent, then hums as she rocks the child.)

Are you asleep? (She rises slowly, lays the child on the skin, and covers her up, then sits down to her work.)

Enter Kari, his hair wet from the bath.

Kari. Do you know what I have a mind to do?

Halla. You must not speak too loud. Tota is asleep. (Kari goes to the left.) Where are you going?

Kari. I'll be right back. (Disappears down the gorge. A moment later he comes into view again.) Some day when I feel good and strong I have a mind to try to swim against the current all the way into the inner ravine. From here I should look like a dwarf down there.

Halla (rising). Arnes went out on the sands. He will be back in about an hour. He has made up his mind to start on a trip to the southland to-morrow.

Kari. I knew he was longing to get away from here. I only hope he will not come to harm!

Halla (goes to him). If he should never come back, we two should be alone, as we were in the old days. (Takes his hands.) Do you care a little for me yet?

Kari. You know I do.

Halla. I feel that I need to hear you say it.

Kari (holding her hands). And I show it far too seldom. I forget. You must tell me when there is anything you want me to do. (Kisses her; releases her hands.) Are you sorry that Arnes is going?

Halla. You never saw the queer little brook I found once. It welled out from a moss-covered hillock and ran in a ring. Where it flowed the banks were green, but elsewhere there was nothing but sand. Its whole course was no longer than what I could walk in thirty steps. It seems to me that life is like that stream.

Enter Arnes, running.

Arnes (in a whisper). They're coming!

Kari (terrified). What?

Halla (goes to Arnes). Are you trying to scare us?

Arnes. They'll be here in a minute. I counted nine. You must flee at once! There's no time to lose.

Halla. I won't run away from Tota.

Kari. We stand no chance, three against nine. You must leave her with them. There they are! For God's sake, run!

(Halla is on the point of running.)

Bjørn's voice (full of bitter malice). Now catch the foxes!

Halla (startled, stops). It's Bjørn! (A terrible expression as of madness darkens her features. She seizes Tota; her voice is harsh and unnatural.) The cub he shall not have!

Tota (frightened and sleepy). Mother!

Halla (runs sobbing to the gorge). Tota! Tota! Tota! (Disappears.)

Kari (who has remained inert and dumb with terror runs after). What are you doing?

(From the gorge is heard the scream of a child, which is suddenly silenced. Halla comes up again.)

Kari. Halla! Halla!

Bjørn's voice (very near). Make haste!

Halla (shrieks to him). Devil!

Enter Bjørn.

Bjørn (grabbing Halla). Now I've got you!

(Kari seizes his knife and stabs Bjørn through the heart. Bjørn falls dead. Kari and Halla flee. Bjørn's men enter, stand as though paralyzed at the sight of the slain man. Arnes goes slowly up to them.)

ACT IV

A small hut in the hills. Two large stones covered with skins serve as seats. The low bedstead is also covered with skins. On the wall hang some poor, clumsy tools. In the slanting roof, a small window is darkened with snow. On the hearth, a low fire. Outside, a snowstorm. Now and then, snow comes whirling down the smoke-hole.

Kari is pacing to and fro, beating his arms. Halla sits silent. They are both dressed in skins.

Halla. Are you cold?

Kari. I don't know. (Halla rises and puts some faggots on the fire. Kari takes a stick from the wall; counts.) I needn't count the notches. This is the seventh day the snowstorm is raging without a break, and it is past Easter. How long do you think it can keep on?

Halla. It's no use asking me about it.

Kari (replaces the stick in the wall). If the walls were not frozen so hard, the storm would have torn down the hut long ago.

Halla. It is bound to stop sometime.

Kari. You think so? It's four years now since that terrible summer when the sun was red and dim from morning till night. (In secret awe.) There may come a summer when the sun does not rise at all.

Halla. It was the ashes that made the sun look so red that summer.

Kari. I could well live a whole summer without the sun, if I only had food. (Picks up a big knife.) This fellow has not tasted meat in a whole eternity. (A rapturous ring comes into his voice.) I remember a ram I once killed; he was so fat he could hardly walk. (Plants himself in front of Halla.) If he stood there now, bodily, should you have strength enough to hold his feet for me?

Halla. I think I should.

Kari. We should have to take care not to be too greedy. If we could only hold back the first two days, we might eat as much as we wanted afterward. (His mouth waters; he swallows saliva.) You have seen a butchered sheep hung up to dry in the wind; its flesh is as tender as a young girl's. I feel as though I could fondle it; I could bite it.

Halla. We have promised each other not to speak of food.

Kari. And how do you think the heart would taste smoking hot from the fire? I could swallow it in one mouthful. I should feel as if I had eaten, if I could only smell warm meat.

Halla. You will make me sick if you don't stop talking about food. Don't you think I am just as hungry as you are? And I hold my peace.

Kari. Yes, you hold your peace. (Puts down the knife.) If I did not see your eyes, I should think you were dead, and yet you are human and living like myself. Are you not? (Halla is silent.) Or perhaps you are a heathen image? Must I kneel down before you and pray for fine weather? Shall I build a fire before you and stain your feet with blood? What do you want?

Halla. I want to be left in peace.

Kari. You ought to be a tree, then you could wither in peace. Why don't you cry out like every living thing that suffers. You don't know how your calmness racks me. Even the trees cry and moan in the autumn gales—they wail!

Halla. I should wail too, if there was any one that could hear me.

Kari. I don't care whether anybody hears my screams or not. I'll scream; I'll yell. (Yells.)

Halla (stands up). Are you not ashamed of yourself?

Kari (in a weak voice). This cannot last. I should have gone long ago. I ought to have gone at once, the first day the food gave out, but you thought every day that the morrow would bring fine weather. I know you said it to soothe me, but it was not right.

Halla. It was no use going to certain death.

Kari. I should never be afraid of getting lost. If the snowstorm is ever so dark, I find my way. (Raises his hand.) I know where I am by trend of the wind.

Halla. If you were so sure of yourself, you ought indeed to have gone long ago.

Kari (hardening). You say that?

Halla. Yes, I say that.

Kari. Take care! You have tempted me to stay day after day. Your believing and hoping palsied my will. You wormed your own fear into my heart and broke my courage. If we both die of hunger, the fault is yours, and yours alone.

Halla. Is it my fault?

Kari. You have lived in the hills for sixteen years, and you don't know them more than a child does. Perhaps you think the snowstorm will have pity? Won't you open the door and bid the snowstorm be still? Why don't you?

Halla. You say that it is my fault if we starve to death. Who was it that stole?

Kari (stands for a moment speechless). You are homely. I have never before seen how homely you are. Your face makes me think of the head of a dead horse. (Reaches out his arms.) May I feel of your hair if it doesn't all come out?

Halla. Don't touch me!

Kari (lets his arms fall. An expression of sadness comes into his voice). I thought you were the only one who understood that I could not help what I did. Neither could you help what you have done, and yet you are bringing my misdeeds up against me.

Halla. Never before have I upbraided you for this, but you put the whole blame on me.

Kari. And you said it in such a hard tone. It was as if you struck me with stones.

Halla. My voice was no harder than yours.

Kari. It's becoming in you to chide me, as if you had not yourself urged me to steal many a time!

Halla. Since we became outlawed we have had a right to steal. We had to do it to keep from starving.

Kari. I thought you had forgiven me, and then you have been hoarding your charges. For sixteen years you have kept them, and they have not been corrupted either by rust or moth.

Halla. Come now, don't be angry, Kari. I said it in the heat of temper.

Kari. I am not angry, but it hurt so! I thought that you would be my spokesman before the Great Judge. If you If could forgive me, He might do it, too.

Halla. I did not mean to hurt you. I only said it to defend myself.

Kari (following up his own thoughts). There are stones in the hills that are blood-stained from my feet; you must gather those and bring them before the Great Judge.

Halla. Won't you take to weeping, so I can gather up your tears and bring them before the Great Judge?

Kari. Are you mocking me?

Halla. Yes; I won't listen to your whining any longer. Now we shall sit down and hold our peace. (Sits down.)

Kari. You shall not be worried by my whining. (Takes the fur socks down from the wall; sits down and unties the straps of his shoes. Halla watches him in silence, while he puts on one sock.)

Halla. Are you going?

Kari. Yes.

Halla. You don't ask my advice?

Kari. No, this time I don't ask it.

Halla (rising). When you go out of that door, you need not think of me any more.

Kari. I know your voice when you are angry. You ought to thank me for going out in such weather.

Halla. Yes, you are brave. It is not that you have any hope of saving our lives. You will only lie down in the snow and die.

Kari. You can believe it if you like.

Halla (goes to him). I beg of you, let those hard words be forgotten.

Kari. It is not because of them that I am going. The worst that can befall me is to die in the snow, and that is better than sitting here.

Halla. First of all, we must use our common sense. The only thing we can do is to wait here until the weather clears.

Kari. And then the food will come flying in through the door!

Halla. Not that, but there will be means of help. We can dig up roots to still the worst hunger, and we can go to the lake for fish.

Kari. The snowstorm may last four or five days yet, and by that time we shall be dead from hunger.

Halla. How long shall you be gone?

Kari. Two days at the most.

Halla (goes to him and touches his shoulder). I beg you to stay for my sake! We have lived together for sixteen years, and now let us also die together.

Kari. I know your way of hiding your will. Now it is your will that I should stay, but this time you are foiled.

Halla. You cared for me when I fled with you to the hills. You told me there was no one like me in all the world. You carried me across the streams, until I grew strong enough to ford them myself. You risked your life to get the things you knew I liked. Have you forgotten?

Kari. I have forgotten nothing.

Halla. And all the nights we slept with the heavens above us! Was it not blessed to feel the morning breeze over your face and to open your eyes and look into the blue sky? Then you kissed me and said that you loved me.

Kari. You shall not stop me from going.

Halla (turns away from him). I know why I have this fear of being alone. It is because I am so far away from every living thing, and there's no sun and no stream here. (Turns toward him.) If we feel that we must die, you can close the smoke-hole, and I will fill the hut with smoke. We shall lie down side by side. (Touches his hand.) I will take your hand, and we shall dream that we are going out into a sand-storm together.

Kari (harshly). Now leave me in peace.

Halla (in helpless fear). I will tell you the truth. I don't dare to be alone.

Kari. Are you afraid of the dark?

Halla. When you are gone, I know I shall begin to listen. I know what I shall hear.

Kari. What do you hear?

Halla. I hear the sound of a great heavy waterfall. I hear the screams of my child. You must not leave me.

Kari (turns away). You spare me nothing; you make my going as hard as can be.

Halla. I forbid you to go! It's inhuman to leave me here alone. If you ever come back, you will find me a mad beast.

Kari. Now you shall keep still. I will not listen to your whining any longer.

Halla. You are like all the rest. When your will is set, you have no heart. (Sits down silently.)

Kari (fastens his foot-gear; ties a rope around his waist). When I draw it tight enough, I don't feel that I am hungry. (Puts on a coat of heavy fur.) You must watch the fire and not let it go out. I'll bring you some more faggots from the wood-shed.

Halla (stands up; her voice is husky). Better kill me before you go. (Bares her breast.) Stab me with your knife—right here! I won't scream. (Shuts her eyes.) I shall think I am nursing my child, and the little teeth are biting my breast.

Kari. Have you gone mad?

Halla. You haven't the heart, but you have the heart to let me sit here all alone. A wretched little train-oil lamp you would put out before you went; you could not bear to let it burn over nothing. (Sits down.)

Kari (stands silent a long time). I have been guilty of many a bad deed, but so far as I know, I have never been cruel. Nor will I be cruel to you. (Takes off his coat.) Then we shall wait together as you wish. Does that make you feel happier?

Halla. I don't know. I can feel neither joy nor grief any longer. I think I would rather be alone.

Kari. You don't mean that.

Halla. If you think it wiser to go, you must do so.

Kari. I thought it would make you glad if I stayed.

Halla (rising). If you had taken me in your arms and told me that you loved me with all my wretchedness and all my homeliness, that would have made me glad; but you did not.

Kari. Yet you know it was for your sake I stayed.

Halla. Are you so sure of that? Perhaps you were afraid that you might be guilty of a wrong deed. I think you had in mind the Great Judge rather than me.

Kari. I have once been judged by men; that is why I so often think of the last judgment.

Halla. I will have no talk of conscience between you and me. Be yourself with me, whether you are good or bad. After all, you don't know if the Great Judge looks kindly at what you call good deeds. Look at me! Look at me! You could not be more cruel to your worst enemy. Why was I given this hunger and not the food to still it? I have never wished to be born. I would rather be anything else than a human being. I would rather be the sand, whirling aimlessly over yonder waste. If there is a God, He must be cruel—but there is no God.

Kari. You are only lashing yourself up. You ought rather to humble yourself and pray God to help both you and me. Without Him we are but dust and ashes.

Halla. I want no mercy any more, but you can go on calling for help. (Mockingly.) I am sure He will hear you, if He is not busy breaking up the glaciers or cleaning out the gorge of a volcano to make it belch up more fire.

Kari. Don't say another word! We are wretched enough without your calling down new curses upon us.

Halla. I have but one sole and only wish before I die, and that is to do some unheard-of cruel deed. I should like to be a snowslide. I would come in the dead of night. It would be a joy to see the people half naked running for their lives—chaste old maids with gouty hips, and smug peasant women with bellies bobbing with fat. (Sits down, breaks into a paroxysm of laughter, wild and continued.)

Kari. You have become a monster. I am afraid of you—afraid of the only human being I care for. (Walks over to a corner, where he finds his old Bible. Sits down, turning the pages with trembling hands; reads.) "And it came to pass that as he was praying in a certain place, when he ceased one of his disciples said unto him, Lord, teach us to pray as John also taught his disciples. And he said unto them, When ye pray, say, Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, as in heaven, so in earth. Give us day by day our daily bread. And forgive us our sins: for we also forgive every one that is indebted to us. And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory for ever. Amen."

(They sit silent a while. Halla, leaning her elbows on her knees, her face buried in her hands, cries softly. Kari rises, stands silent for a moment, then goes to her.)

Kari. You must not lose heart. When things are at the worst, they will mend. Perhaps the storm will quiet down during the night.

Halla. It is so hard. (Bursts into sobs.)

Kari (kneeling). But, dearest Halla! Are you ill?

Halla (warding him off). Let me alone.

Kari (rises slowly). You were always so strong. I thought nothing could make you lose heart.

Halla (looks up. She has stopped crying; her voice is calm and cold). You don't love me any more. You have never loved me.

Kari. Is that what you are crying for?

Halla. Before when you wanted to leave me, I besought you by all the memories I thought were dear to you. That did not touch you. I humbled myself so low that I would have thanked you just for a little pity,—that might have been an afterglow of your love, but you had no pity. You stayed only because you were anxious about your own soul.

Kari. I stayed also for your sake.

Halla. You know better. You would rather die than have your God find you guilty of an evil deed. You counted the saving of your soul higher than your life, but I have no God, and I have never been able to tell my soul from my love. If you had loved me, you would have understood that I was pleading for my soul. You would have heard it in my voice, but you did not hear it.

Kari. You forget that it was to save our lives I wanted to go.

Halla (rises. Her eyes are large and burning). Why did you not take me with you?

Kari. If I had gone alone, I might have come back alive. The two of us would have been sure to perish.

Halla (kneels). I once dreamed of two people. To them their love was the one and only law. When they had lived a long life together, they were thrown into direst need. Hunger drew near to the fine web that time had woven between them and would tear it asunder. Then they looked into each other's eyes, and together they walked out into the snowstorm to die.

Kari. It is every man's duty to keep alive as long as he can.

Halla (rising). And why should it be, when life has become an agony to ourselves and of use to no one?

Kari. It is the law of God.

Halla. The storm writes many laws in the sand. (Sits down.) When my strength had given out, you could have left me in the snow.

Kari. You know very well that I would never have done that.

Halla. That would have been better than to leave me waiting here. And I don't believe that death is so hard. The storm carries you until you drop from weariness, and then the snow comes and covers you up. (Staring before her with eyes wide open.)

Kari (is silent for a moment). You are bitter, because of our sore plight. Many a time have I told myself that I have been the curse of your life. If you had never known me, you would now be living in peace and quiet. You could have ridden to church every Sunday, if you liked. You would have been the rich and comely widow with all the young men flocking about you. I dare say you have often been sorry that you fled with me to the hills. (Halla is silent.) I remember once we had been out hunting together all night. Early in the morning we stood on the rim of the mountain plain looking down upon the fields and the dwellings of men. On some of the farms, the fires were lighted already, and the smoke rose straight up into the blue air, and the streams ran so quietly and pleasantly through the meadows. I thought then that I could see the homesickness in your eyes.

Halla (starting up, her voice cold and calm again). If I could only have saved my faith in my own love, but I love you no longer, and it may be that I never have loved you. As a child I used to live more in my dreams than in the life about me. When I fled with you to the hills, I thought it was because I loved you, but perhaps it was only my longing for the strange and unknown. Afterwards, when the days became harder and lonelier, my love for you was a shelter which I would seek when sorrow for what I had done came clutching at my heart.

Kari. Say no more! You are befouling our love—yours and mine. You say it was only a longing for the unknown and the free, unfettered life that made you flee with me to the hills. Shame on you! (His voice is soft and full of sadness.) I know what you have been. No woman was ever greater in her love than you. When the sun strikes the rim of the glacier, it takes on the loveliest hues, though in truth it is nothing but dull, colorless clay. So your love has been the sunlight in my life, and I love you—have always loved you. When I was away from you even for a single day, I would long to see you and hear your voice as eagerly as I would long for the murmur of a brook when nearly dying from thirst. When I went hunting and had good luck, I always thought of you. When I pictured to myself how pleased you would be, I forgot all about my weariness. But you must not ask the impossible of a man.

Halla (rising). I am cold. Will you fetch some wood?

Kari. Yes, indeed. (Goes to the door; leaves it ajar.) You cannot see a hand before you. (Goes out and shuts the door after him.) Halla goes to the door, listens, opens the door. A cloud of snow comes whirling in. Outside the storm sweeps past. She takes a long, lingering look around the hut, goes out into the doorway, throws her head back, and disappears, carried by the storm.

(The stage stands empty for a moment.)

Kari returns, covered with snow, his arms full of faggots.

Kari. Why do you leave the door open? (Sees that Halla is not there, drops the faggots, goes out hurriedly, calls.) Halla! (His call is heard outside the hut. He comes back into the doorway, looks in, cries out.) Almighty God! (Two heart-broken cries are heard outside, the latter farther away and hushed by the storm.) Halla! Halla!

(The snow comes whirling into the empty hut.)

---

THE HRAUN FARM

[GAARDEN HRAUN]

A PLAY IN THREE ACTS

1912

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Sveinungi, owner of the Hraun Farm.
Jorunn, his wife.
Ljot, their daughter.
Einar, a relative of Jorunn.
Jakobina, an old woman.
Frida, a child, eleven years old.
Sølvi, a geologist.
Jon	Servants.
Indridi
Helgi
Rannveig
Bjørg
Thora
A Shepherd Boy.

The action takes place in Iceland. Time, the Present. "Hraun" is the Icelandic word for lava-field.

ACT I

The farm. Five white gables, all adjoining and separated by heavy partitions. The roof is covered with turf, the walls are of earth and stone. The gable farthest to the left is without a door, but has two windows on the ground floor and a smaller window above. The next has a door leading into the "badstofa" or servants' quarters. The third is a dairy and storehouse; the fourth, a smithy; the fifth, a drying-shed. In the yard is a horse-block; to the left, a picket fence. Before the doors lie the packs unloaded from nine horses: two green chests, sacks of grain and household stuff, lumber, and a number of other articles. Jakobina stands feeling one of the sacks. Helgi is undoing the strappings. The door to the smithy is open. Einar is seen within, forging horseshoe nails.

It is morning, before breakfast.

Jakobina (talking half to herself). This must be coffee. (Lays her hand on one of the chests.) And what has Jorunn got in these, I wonder! I fancy there are many pretty things there.

Helgi. You may be sure of that.

Jakobina. Nineteen years I've been here now, and it's never happened yet that the mistress has forgotten to bring something or other to please me when she came back from town,—and it wasn't always little things either, God bless her! Oh, but there they have knocked off the paint. What a shame! (Sits down on the chest and runs her hand over the paint.)

Enter Bjørg and Rannveig from the left, carrying pails full of milk, which they set down.

Rannveig. They brought home quite a bit. We shall not go hungry for a while yet. Where are they?

Helgi. They are inside, drinking coffee.

Bjørg. Is Jon drunk?

Helgi. Not so very; he's just a little gay.

The Shepherd Boy. Are you through milking already?

Bjørg. Can't you see for yourself?

The Shepherd Boy. Oh, pshaw! (His eyes light on the lumber piles. He bends down and begins to count the knots in the wood.) One, two, three—

Enter Sveinungi from the "badstofa."

Sveinungi. What do you say, girls? Quite a pack, isn't it?

Bjørg. I should say so!

Sveinungi (to Helgi). You've begun to undo the strappings? That's fine. And here come the others.

Enter Jon and Indridi from the house. Jon is somewhat intoxicated.

Jon. Here stands our dear master. Good day to you, Rannveig! Good day!

Bjørg and Rannveig. Good day, and welcome home!

Sveinungi (laughing). Why don't you put your arms around the girls and give them a kiss? Are you afraid?

Jon. No, Jon isn't afraid.

Sveinungi. You didn't get anything with your coffee. Runs into the house.

Jon. He is the same as ever. Bjørg and Rannveig carry the milk into the store-house.

Jakobina (rising). You didn't take notice of anything in particular on your way back?

Indridi. Not that I remember.

Jakobina. Did you see many birds?

Indridi. Come to think of it, I don't believe I saw any.

Jakobina. That's what I thought. Goes into the house.

Enter Sveinungi from the house with a flask and a glass, which he fills.

Sveinungi. Here, this is for you.

Jon (drinks). Thanks.

Sveinungi (fills the glass again for Indridi and Helgi). Won't you take a drop too, Einar?

Einar appears in the doorway of the smithy.

Einar. Thank you. (Drinks.)

Sveinungi (sees the Shepherd Boy). Are you here? Why, the girls are all through milking. Do you suppose you can keep the sheep standing in the fold all day? (The Shepherd Boy is about to go.) Wait a minute! I have a little thing here that I bought for you yesterday. (Takes a knife from his vest pocket.) I think the blade is good iron, and that is the main thing. (Gives him the knife. The Shepherd Boy kisses him.) It is not much. You are welcome to it.

The Shepherd Boy (opens the knife). Look, Einar, it's a regular hunting-knife. (Closes it, runs to the left, calling.) Snati! Pila! Snati!

Rannveig. You needn't call the dogs. They are up at the fold. Exit the Shepherd Boy.

Sveinungi. That boy will amount to something in time. It's well done for one so young to tend more than four-score sheep, and he hasn't lost one yet. Takes the flask back to the house.

Jon. He's in mighty good humor to-day, the old man.

Bjørg. I should say so.

Indridi. Why, he got the highest price for his wool.

Jon. And a sorry day it would be when we didn't get that!

Indridi. What do you think Jakobina had in mind when she asked about the birds?

Jon. It's hard to tell! She has her mind on so many things.

Enter Sveinungi and Jorunn from the house.

Sveinungi (in the door, laughing and talking). I believe the girls have their eye on the green chests. Indridi, will you carry them in? Indridi goes with one of the chests.

Jorunn. You can put them in the little room.

Sveinungi. Rannveig, will you bring me the key to the drying-shed? You know where it hangs. (Rannveig runs in.) You boys will have to carry the breadstuffs up into the loft of the storehouse, and the coffee and sugar too, and while I think of it, you had better take one sack out to the mill, Helgi.

Helgi. I will.

Sveinungi (opening a bag). Here, Einar, you'll find iron and nails and brazil-wood, and here's something for yourself. (Hands him a plug of tobacco.) See if you can be a bit saving of it.

Einar (pats him on the shoulder). God bless you! Goes into the smithy.

Rannveig (comes out). Here is the key.

Sveinungi (unlocks the door to the drying-shed). You can stack the timber on top of the old pile. After you have had your breakfast, you, Jon, and Indridi had better go and lie down. You must be tired.

Jon. I am sure I could keep on working all day if need be, and just as hard as those who have had their sleep. (Indridi comes for the other chest.)

Sveinungi (laughs). There are not many like you.

Jorunn. Where is Ljot? I thought she was here.

Helgi. I saw her walking in the yard. I have not seen her come back.

Sveinungi (goes to the picket fence; calls). Ljot!

Ljot (is heard answering). Yes!

Sveinungi. Are you there? Aren't you coming home?

Ljot (is heard answering). I am coming.

Jorunn. Have you set the milk?

Rannveig. Yes.

Jorunn. Then come in, if you want to see what I have bought.

Einar (steps out into the door of the smithy. He holds a snuff-box in his hand, and is rolling up a long plug of tobacco, which he puts into the box). This tastes better; the old stuff was getting as dry as hay. (Spits.) Oh, well, there was a time, but that's so long ago.

Helgi. What are you talking about?

Einar. It was a winter night, and I was lying in wait for the fox. Well, what happened was neither more nor less than this, that when I wanted to take a chew of tobacco, I found I'd left the box at home. I can stand it for one night, I thought, but it was cold where I was lying, and the fox made himself scarce. Let me tell you, when I had been waiting till nearly dawn, I'd gladly have given my soul for a good honest chew.

(Ljot passes through from the right, carrying some freshly gathered flowers in her hand. Goes into the house.)

Helgi. And did you get the fox?

Einar. I did. It came just as I was about to go home.

Enter Indridi from the house.

Jon. When you got home, I'm sure you went straight for a good big plug of tobacco.

Einar. Maybe I did! It was the finest blue fox I've ever shot.

Enter Frida from the left. She is warm from running.

Frida. Now I've turned the horses out on the grass. (Wipes her forehead.) Do you want me to pull the bellows for you?

Einar. You'd better go in and see if Jorunn should happen to have something for you. Then you can come back here. Frida runs in.

Enter Bjørg and Rannveig from the house.

Bjørg. See what the mistress has brought for me! (Holding up a piece of cloth.) It will be fun to make that into an apron.

Rannveig. I got a head-kerchief with red flowers (holds it up) and a piece of soap. (Smells it.)

Jon. May I? (Smells it.) You'll be good to kiss, when you have washed with that soap.

Rannveig. Only I won't let you.

Thora (in the doorway). I must show you what I got, too.

Enter Sølvi from the left, carrying a gun over his shoulder and a small knapsack on his back.

Sølvi. Good day to you!

The Servants. Good day!

Indridi. We did not see you coming.

Sølvi. I took the short cut. May I have something to drink? I am thirsty.

Rannveig. I'll get it for you.

Sølvi (lowering his voice). And may I see Ljot for a moment? I have something for her.

Rannveig. I'll tell her. Exeunt Girls.

Indridi. Have you any news?

Sølvi. No.

Indridi. You are still at Hol?

Sølvi. Yes.

Indridi. Have they begun to cut the hay?

Sølvi. Not yet.

Indridi. They generally start before any of the other farms.

Sølvi. They need to. They don't keep much help.

Enter Rannveig with the milk.

Rannveig. Here it is, and you are welcome to it.

Sølvi (drinks). Thanks.

Rannveig. I have told Ljot. Goes in.

Helgi. Here, give me a hand! (Indridi lifts the sack to Helgi's back; Helgi carries it out to the left.)

Jon (coiling the last ropes). We can start carrying the lumber into the shed.

Enter Ljot from the house.

Sølvi. Good day to you, Ljot!

Ljot. Good day! You wished to see me?

Sølvi. You won't be angry with me?—I thought perhaps you would like this. (Takes the skin of a duck from his knapsack.) I shot it on the creek the other day, and I thought it was so pretty that I took off the skin and dried it. Do you think you could make use of it—say for a riding-cap?

Ljot. It is beautiful.

Sølvi. When you hold the wing this way the spot is blue, and when you hold it so it is green; it's the way the light falls.

Ljot. I doubt if I dare take it. I scarcely know you.

Sølvi. You would make me very happy if you would take it.

Ljot. Then I will, and thank you. (Gives him her hand.) How lovely it is!

Sølvi (lowering his voice). Do you never go for a walk by yourself in the hraun?

Ljot. Why do you ask?

Sølvi. You know the pretty spot by the old roan tree; it is not more than a good ten minutes' walk from here. I thought perhaps you might go there sometimes on Sundays.

Ljot (blushes). I don't know—

Sølvi. I shall be there all day Sunday. Good-bye, Ljot.

Ljot (confused). Good-bye.

Sølvi. I shall be there at sunrise, and I shall be there when the sun goes down. Exit to the left.

Enter Sveinungi, hurriedly.

Sveinungi. Who was it that went just now?

Indridi. Is he gone? It was Sølvi.

Sveinungi. What did he want here?

Indridi. He got a cup of milk.

Sveinungi (to Ljot). It seemed to me he was talking to you. What have you there?

Ljot. He gave me a bird's skin.

Sveinungi. Pshaw! You should have made him keep it himself.

Ljot. There was no harm meant.

Sveinungi. Einar could have brought you down one just like it, if you had cared for it. Why are you blushing so?

Ljot. I did not think you would be so angry because I took the bird's skin.

Sveinungi. I can't bear him, that stone-picker! He roves from place to place like a tramp. Let him dare to set his nets for you! Give me the creature, and I'll hand it back to him next time he comes; for he's sure to come.