Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (12 page)
Read Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen Online
Authors: Henrik Ibsen
Inside the theatre, 1898
RODERIK An old recluse.
BLANKA His foster-daughter.
GANDALF A sea-king from Norway.
ASGAUT An old viking.
HROLLOUG “ “ “
JOSTEJN “ “ “
Several VIKINGS
HEMMING A young scald in Gandalf’s service.
SETTING
The action takes place on a small island off the coast of Sicily shortly before the introduction of Christianity into Norway.
An open place surrounded by trees near the shore. To the left in the background the ruins of an old temple. In the center of the scene a huge barrow upon which is a monument decked with flower wreaths.
[At the right of the stage sits RODERIK writing. To the left BLANKA in a half reclining position.]
BLANKA. Lo! the sky in dying glory
Surges like a sea ablaze, —
It is all so still before me,
Still as in a sylvan maze.
Summer evening’s mellow power
Settles round us like a dove,
Hovers like a swan above
Ocean wave and forest flower.
In the orange thicket slumber
Gods and goddesses of yore,
Stone reminders in great number
Of a world that is no more.
Virtue, valor, trust are gone,
Rich in memory alone;
Could there be a more complete
Picture of the South effete?
[Rises.]
BLANKA. But my father has related
Stories of a distant land,
Of a life, fresh, unabated,
Neither carved nor wrought by hand!
Here the spirit has forever
Vanished into stone and wave, —
There it breathes as free as ever,
Like a warrior strong and brave!
When the evening’s crystallizing
Vapors settle on my breast,
Lo! I see before me rising
Norway’s snow-illumined crest!
Here is life decayed and dying,
Sunk in torpor, still, forlorn, —
There go avalanches flying,
Life anew in death is born!
If I had the white swan’s coat —
RODERIK.
[After a pause writing.]
“Then, it is said, will Ragnarök have stilled
The wilder powers, brought forth a chastened life;
All-Father, Balder, and the gentle Freya
Will rule again the race of man in peace!” —
[After having watched her for a moment.]
RODERIK. But, Blanka, now you dream away again;
You stare through space completely lost in thought, —
What is it that you seek?
BLANKA.
[Draws near.]
Forgive me, father!
I merely followed for a space the swan,
That sailed on snowy wings across the sea.
RODERIK. And if I had not stopped you in your flight,
My young and pretty little swan! who knows
How far you might have flown away from me, —
Perchance to Thule?
BLANKA. And indeed why not?
To Thule flies the swan in early spring,
If only to return again each fall.
[Seats herself at his feet.]
BLANKA. Yet I — I am no swan, — no, call me rather
A captured falcon, sitting tame and true,
A golden ring about his foot.
RODERIK. Well, — and the ring?
BLANKA. The ring? That is my love for you, dear father!
With that you have your youthful falcon bound,
I cannot fly, — not even though I wished to.
[Rises.]
BLANKA. But when I see the swan sail o’er the wave,
Light as a cloud before the summer wind,
Then I remember all that you have told
Of the heroic life in distant Thule;
Then, as it seems, the bird is like a bark
With dragon head and wings of burnished gold;
I see the youthful hero in the prow,
A copper helmet on his yellow locks,
With eyes of blue, a manly, heaving breast,
His sword held firmly in his mighty hand.
I follow him upon his rapid course,
And all my dreams run riot round his bark,
And frolic sportively like merry dolphins
In fancy’s deep and cooling sea!
RODERIK. O you, —
You are an ardent dreamer, my good child, —
I almost fear your thoughts too often dwell
Upon the people in the rugged North.
BLANKA. And, father, whose the fault, if it were so?
RODERIK. You mean that I — ?
BLANKA. Yes, what else could I mean;
You live yourself but in the memory
Of early days among these mighty Norsemen;
Do not deny that often as you speak
Of warlike forays, combats, fights,
Your cheek begins to flush, your eye to glow;
It seems to me that you grow young again.
RODERIK. Yes, yes, but I have reason so to do;
For I have lived among them in the North,
And every bit that memory calls to mind
Is like a page to me from my own saga.
But you, however, fostered in the South,
Who never saw the silver-tinted mountains,
Who never heard the trumpet’s echoing song, —
Ah, how could you be moved by what I tell?
BLANKA. Oh, must a human being see and hear
All things but with his outer senses then?
Has not the inner soul, too, eye and ear,
With which it can both see and hearken well?
‘Tis true it is with eyes of flesh I see
The richly glowing color of the rose;
But with the spirit’s eye I see within
A lovely elf, a fairy butterfly,
Who archly hides behind the crimson leaves,
And singeth of a secret power from heaven
That gave the flower brightness and perfume.
RODERIK. True, true, my child!
BLANKA. I almost do believe
That just because I do not really see,
The whole looms up more beautiful in thought;
That, father, is the way with you at least!
The ancient sagas and heroic lays, —
These you remember, speak of with delight,
And scratch in runic script upon your parchment;
But if I ask about your youthful life
In Norway’s distant realm, your eyes grow dark,
Your lips are silent, and it seems at times
Your bosom houses gloomy memories.
RODERIK.
[Rises.]
Come, speak no more, good child, about the past.
Who is there then whose youthful memories
Are altogether free from self-reproach;
You know, the Norsemen are a savage lot.
BLANKA. But are the warriors of the South less fierce?
Have you forgot that night, now ten years past,
The time the strangers landed on the coast,
And plundered — ?
RODERIK.
[Visibly ill at ease.]
Say no more now, — let us hence;
The sundown soon will be upon us; — come!
BLANKA.
[As they go.]
Give me your hand!
[Stops.]
BLANKA. No, wait!
RODERIK. What is the matter?
BLANKA. I have today for the first time forgot —
RODERIK. And what have you forgot?
BLANKA.
[Points to the barrow.]
Behold the wreath!
RODERIK. It is —
BLANKA. The withered one of yesterday;
I have forgot today to make the change;
Yet, let me take you to the cabin first,
Then shall I venture out in search of flowers;
The violet never is so sweet and rare
As when the dew has bathed its silver lining;
The budding rose is never quite so fair
As when ‘tis plucked in child-like sleep reclining!
[They go out at the back to the right.]
[GANDALF and the VIKINGS enter from the right.]
ASGAUT. Now we shall soon be there.
GANDALF. Point out the place!
ASGAUT. No, wait till we have gone beyond the wood.
There was still standing on the rocky cliff
Against the sea a remnant of the wall, —
I dare say it is standing there to-day.
JOSTEJN. But tell us, king, what can it profit us
To tramp about here on the isle like fools?
HROLLOUG. Yes, tell us what shall —
GANDALF. You shall hold your tongues!
And blindly follow where your king commands!
GANDALF.
[To ASGAUT.]
It seems to me, however, you cleaned house
Too well when you were last here on the isle;
You might have left a little, I should think,
For me and my revenge!
HROLLOUG. You are the king,
And loyalty we pledged you at the thing,
But when we followed you upon the war path,
It was to win our share of fame and glory.
JOSTEJN. And golden treasures, Hrolloug, golden treasures.
SEVERAL. That, Gandalf, is the law, and heed it well!
GANDALF. I know the law perhaps as well as you;
But is there not since days of old a law
And covenant with us that when a kinsman
Falls slain before the enemy and his corpse
Unburied lies a prey unto the raven,
Blood vengeance must be had?
SOME. Yes, so it is!
GANDALF. Then stand you ready with your sword and shield, —
You have a king to avenge and I a father!
[Commotion among the VIKINGS.]
JOSTEJN. A king?
HROLLOUG. A father?
GANDALF. Wait, — I shall relate
How all this stands. You know, my father was
A mighty viking. Twelve years gone it is
Since he the last time sallied forth one spring
With Asgaut there and all his old time warriors.
Two years he roamed about from strand to strand,
Visiting Bratland, Valland, even Blaaland;
At length he went and harried Sicily,
And there heard stories of a wealthy chief,
Who lived upon this island in a castle
With sturdy walls built on a rocky base,
And in it there were costly treasures hid.
At night he took his men and went ashore,
And razed the castle walls with fire and sword.
Himself went foremost like an angry bear,
And in the fury of the fight saw not
How all his warriors fell about him dead;
And when the morning sun rose in the east,
There lay the castle smouldering in ruin.
Asgaut alone survived with one or two, —
My father and the hundred others there
Had ridden to Valhalla through the flames.
ASGAUT. I hoisted every sail upon the bark,
And turned the prow straight homeward to the North;
There sought I all in vain for Gandalf king;
The youthful eagle, I was told, had flown
Across the sea to Iceland or the Faroes.
I hastened after him but found no trace,-
Yet everywhere I went his name was known;
For though his bark sped cloud-like in the storm,
Yet flew his fame on even swifter wings.
At last this spring I found him, as you know;
It was in Italy; I told him then
What things had happened, how his father died,
And Gandalf swore by all Valhalla’s gods
Blood-vengeance he would take with fire and sword.
JOSTEJN. It is an ancient law and should be honored!
But had I been in your place, Gandalf king,
I should have lingered on in Italy, —
For there was gold to win.
HROLLOUG. And honor too.
GANDALF. That is your loyalty to your dead king.
JOSTEJN. Come, come now; no offence; I merely meant
The dead could wait perhaps.
ASGAUT.
[With suppressed rage.]
You paltry race!
JOSTEJN. But now that we are here —
HROLLOUG. Yes; let us raise
Unto the king a worthy monument!
SOME. Yes, yes!
OTHERS. With bloodshed and with fire!
ASGAUT. Now that I like!
GANDALF. And now away to spy around the island;
For even tonight blood-vengeance shall be mine;
If not, I must myself fall.
ASGAUT. So he swore.
GANDALF. I swore it solemnly by all the gods!
And once again I swear it —
HEMMING.
[With a harp on his shoulder has during the preceding emerged from among the WARRIORS and cries out imploringly.]
Swear not, Gandalf!
GANDALF. What troubles you?
HEMMING. Swear not here in this wood!
Here in the South our gods can never hear;
Out on your bark, up North among the hills,
There they still hearken to you, but not here!
ASGAUT. Have you too breathed the poison of the South?
HEMMING. In Italy I heard the pious monks
Tell lovely stories of the holy Christ,
And what they told still lingers in my mind
Through night and day and will no more be gone.
GANDALF. I had you brought with me because in youth
You showed great promise of poetic gifts.
You were to see my bold and warlike deeds,
So that when I, King Gandalf, old and gray,
Sat with my warriors round the oaken table,
The king’s young scald might while away
Long winter evenings with heroic lays,
And sing at last a saga of my deeds;
The hero’s fame voiced in the poet’s song
Outlives the monument upon his grave.
But now, be off, and if you choose go cast
Your harp aside and don the monkish cowl.
Aha! King Gandalf has a mighty scald!
[The VIKINGS go into the forest to the left; HEMMING follows them.]
ASGAUT. It is a mouldy time we live in now;
Our faith and customs from the olden days
Are everywhere upon the downward path.
Lucky it is that I am growing old;
My eyes shall never see the North decay.
But you, King Gandalf, you are young and strong;
And wheresoe’er you roam in distant lands,
Remember that it is a royal task
To guard the people and defend the gods!
[He follows the rest.]
GANDALF.
[After a pause.]
Hm, he has no great confidence in me.
‘Tis well he went! Whenever he is near,
It is as if a burden weighed me down.
The grim old viking with his rugged face, —
He looks like Asathor, who with his belt
Of strength and Mjölnir stood within the grove,
Carved out in marble, near my father’s home.
My father’s home! Who knows, alas! how things
Around the ancient landmarks now may look! —
Mountains and fields are doubtless still the same;
The people — ? Have they still the same old heart?
No, there is fallen mildew o’er the age,
And it is that which saps the Northern life
And eats away like poison what is best.
Well, I will homeward, — save what still is left
To save before it falls to utter ruin.
GANDALF.
[After a pause during which he looks around.]
How lovely in these Southern groves it is;
My pine groves can not boast such sweet perfume.
[He perceives the mound.]
GANDALF. What now? A warrior’s grave? No doubt it hides
A countryman from those more stirring days.
A warrior’s barrow in the South!—’Tis only just;
It was the South gave us our mortal wound.
How lovely it is here! It brings to mind
One winter night when as a lad I sat
Upon my father’s knee before the hearth,
The while he told me stories of the gods,
Of Odin, Balder, and the mighty Thor;
And when I mentioned Freya’s grove to him,
He pictured it exactly like this grove, —
But when I asked him something more of Freya,
What she herself was like, the old man laughed
And answered as he placed me on my feet,
“A woman will in due time tell you that!”
GANDALF.
[Listening.]
Hush! Footsteps in the forest! Quiet, Gandalf,-
They bring the first fruits of your blood-revenge!
[He steps aside so that he is half concealed among the bushes to the right.]
