Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (33 page)

GUDMUND.

                   Only to be
Ta’en by Knut Gesling, with bow and spear,
Swung on the croup of his battle-horse,
And made his wife by force.

SIGNE.

Quick, let us flee. But whither go?

GUDMUND.

Down by the fiord a friend I know;
He’ll find us a ship. O’er the salt sea foam
We’ll sail away south to Denmark’s bowers.
There waits you there a happy home;
Right joyously will fleet the hours;
The fairest of flowers they bloom in the shade
Of the beech-tree glade.

SIGNE. [Bursts into tears.]

Farewell, my poor sister! Like my mother tender
Thou hast guarded the ways my feet have trod,
Hast guided my footsteps, aye praying to God,
The Almighty, to be my defender. —
Gudmund — here is a goblet filled with mead;
Let us drink to her; let us wish that ere long
Her soul may again be calm and strong,
And that God may be good to her need.

[She takes the goblet into her hands.

GUDMUND.

Aye, let us drain it, naming her name!
     [Starts.

Stop!
     [Takes the goblet from her.

For meseems it is the same —

SIGNE.

‘Tis Margit’s beaker.

GUDMUND. [Examining it carefully.]

       By Heaven, ‘tis so!
I mind me still of the red wine’s glow
As she drank from it on the day we parted
To our meeting again in health and glad-hearted.
To herself that draught betided woe.
No, Signe, ne’er drink wine or mead
From that goblet.
     [Pours its contents out at the window.

We must away with all speed.

[Tumult and calls without, at the back.

SIGNE.

List, Gudmund! Voices and trampling feet!

GUDMUND.

Knut Gesling’s voice!

SIGNE.

O save us, Lord!

GUDMUND. [Places himself in front of her.]

Nay, nay, fear nothing, Signe sweet —
I am here, and my good sword.

[MARGIT comes in in haste from the left.

MARGIT.

[Listening to the noise.] What means this? Is my husband — ?

GUDMUND AND SIGNE.

Margit!

MARGIT.

[Catches sight of them.] Gudmund! And Signe! Are you here?

SIGNE.

[Going towards her.] Margit — dear sister!

MARGIT.

[Appalled, having seen the goblet which GUDMUND still holds in his hand.] The goblet! Who has drunk from it?

GUDMUND.

[Confused.] Drunk — ? I and Signe — we meant —

MARGIT.

[Screams.] O God, have mercy! Help! Help! They will die!

GUDMUND.

[Setting down the goblet.] Margit — !

SIGNE.

What ails you, sister?

MARGIT.

[Towards the back.] Help, help! Will no one help?

[A HOUSE-CARL rushes in from the passage-way.

HOUSE-CARL.

[Calls in a terrified voice.] Lady Margit! Your husband — !

MARGIT.

He — has he, too, drunk — !

GUDMUND.

[To himself.] Ah! now I understand —

HOUSE-CARL.

Knut Gesling has slain him.

SIGNE.

Slain!

GUDMUND.

[Drawing his sword.] Not yet, I hope. [Whispers to MARGIT.]
Fear not. No one has drunk from your goblet.

MARGIT.

Then thanks be to God, who has saved us all!

[She sinks down on a chair to the left. Gudmund hastens towards the door at the back.

ANOTHER HOUSE-CARL.

[Enters, stopping him.] You come too late. Sir Bengt is dead.

GUDMUND.

Too late, then, too late.

HOUSE-CARL.

The guests and your men have prevailed against the murderous crew. Knut Gesling and his men are prisoners. Here they come.

[GUDMUND’s men, and a number of GUESTS and HOUSE-CARLS, lead in KNUT GESLING, ERIK OF HEGGE, and several of KNUT’s men, bound.

KNUT.

[Who is pale, says in a low voice.] Man-slayer, Gudmund. What say you to that?

GUDMUND.

Knut, Knut, what have you done?

ERIK.

‘Twas a mischance, of that I can take my oath.

KNUT.

He ran at me swinging his axe; I meant but to defend myself, and struck the death-blow unawares.

ERIK.

Many here saw all that befell.

KNUT.

Lady Margit, crave what fine you will. I am ready to pay it.

MARGIT.

I crave naught. God will judge us all. Yet stay — one thing I require. Forgo your evil design upon my sister.

KNUT.

Never again shall I essay to redeem my baleful pledge. From this day onward I am a better man. Yet would I fain escape dishonourable punishment for my deed. [To GUDMUND.] Should you be restored to favour and place again, say a good word for me to the King!

GUDMUND.

I? Ere the sun sets, I must have left the country.

[Astonishment amongst the GUESTS. ERIK in whispers, explains the situation.

MARGIT.

[To GUDMUND.] You go? And Signe with you?

SIGNE.

[Beseechingly.] Margit!

MARGIT.

Good fortune follow you both!

SIGNE.

[Flinging her arms round MARGIT’s neck.] Dear sister!

GUDMUND.

Margit, I thank you. And now farewell. [Listening.] Hush!
I hear the tramp of hoofs in the court-yard.

SIGNE.

[Apprehensively.] Strangers have arrived.

[A HOUSE-CARL appears in the doorway at the back.

HOUSE-CARL.

The King’s men are without. They seek Gudmund Alfson.

SIGNE.

Oh God!

MARGIT.

[In great alarm.] The King’s men!

GUDMUND.

All is at an end, then. Oh Signe, to lose you now — could there be a harder fate?

KNUT.

Nay, Gudmund; sell your life dearly, man! Unbind us; we are ready to fight for you, one and all.

ERIK.

[Looks out.] ‘Twould be in vain; they are too many for us.

SIGNE.

Here they come. Oh Gudmund, Gudmund!

[The KING’s MESSENGER enters from the back, with his escort.

MESSENGER.

In the King’s name I seek you, Gudmund Alfson, and bring you his behests.

GUDMUND.

Be it so. Yet am I guiltless; I swear it by all that is holy!

MESSENGER.

We know it.

GUDMUND.

What say you?

[Agitation amongst those present.

MESSENGER.

I am ordered to bid you as a guest to the King’s house. His friendship is yours as it was before, and along with it he bestows on you rich fiefs.

GUDMUND.

Signe!

SIGNE.

Gudmund!

GUDMUND.

But tell me — ?

MESSENGER.

Your enemy, the Chancellor Audun Hugleikson, has fallen.

GUDMUND.

The Chancellor!

GUESTS.

[To each other, in half-whisper.] Fallen!

MESSENGER.

Three days ago he was beheaded at Bergen. [Lowering his voice.]
His offence was against Norway’s Queen.

MARGIT. [Placing herself between GUDMUND and SIGNE.]

Thus punishment treads on the heels of crime!
Protecting angels, loving and bright,
Have looked down in mercy on me to-night,
And come to my rescue while yet it was time.
Now know I that life’s most precious treasure
Is nor worldly wealth nor earthly pleasure,
I have felt the remorse, the terror I know,
Of those who wantonly peril their soul,
To St. Sunniva’s cloister forthwith I go. —
     [Before GUDMUND and SIGNE can speak.

Nay: think not to move me or control.
     [Places SIGNE’s hand in GUDMUND’s.

Take her then Gudmund, and make her your bride.
Your union is holy; God’s on your side.

[Waving farewell, she goes towards the doorway on the left. GUDMUND and SIGNE follow her, she stops them with a motion of her hand, goes out, and shuts the door behind her. At this moment the sun rises and sheds its light in the hall.

GUDMUND.

Signe — my wife! See, the morning glow!
‘Tis the morning of our young love. Rejoice!

SIGNE.

All my fairest of dreams and of memories I owe
To the strains of thy harp and the sound of thy voice.
My noble minstrel, to joy or sadness
Tune thou that harp as seems thee best;
There are chords, believe me, within my breast
To answer to thine, or of woe or of gladness.

CHORUS OF MEN AND WOMEN.

Over the earth keeps watch the eye of light,
Guardeth lovingly the good man’s ways,
Sheddeth round him its consoling rays; —
Praise be to the Lord in heaven’s height!

Translated by Anders Orbeck

In 1856, Ibsen resumed work on a fragment he had started six years ago,
The Grouse of Justedal
. After the success of
The Feast at Solhoug
, he was tempted to write another play in the style of the folk ballads.
The Grouse of Justedal
had been inspired by a story in Andreas Faye’s collection
Norwegian Legends
about a little girl on the farm “Birkehaug” in Justedalen. She was the only survivor in the valley of the Black Death, and when, after a long time, people came from the neighbouring parish and discovered her, she had been named “The Grouse of Justedalen”, due to her timidity. Ibsen included this motif in
Olaf Liljekrans
, though in the end not a single line from
The Grouse of Justedal
was to make its way into
Olaf Liljekrans
.

The play was handed in at Det norske Theater in Bergen at the beginning of October 1856, and was immediately accepted for staging and first performed on January 2nd 1857. Ibsen directed the production himself. Due to the success of
The Feast at Solhoug,
the previous year there were great expectations, with a full house, but the play was not a success with either audiences or the critics, being only performed twice.