Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (70 page)

GREGORIUS JONSSON.
[To the Earl, as the crowd is departing.]
Methought you seemed afraid during the ordeal, and now you look so glad and of good cheer.

EARL SKULE.
[Well at ease.]
Marked you that he had Sverre’s eyes as he spoke? Whether he or I be chosen king, the choice will be good.

GREGORIUS JONSSON.
[Uneasily.]
But do not you give way. Think of all who stand or fall with your cause.

EARLE SKULE.
I stand now upon justice; I no longer fear to call upon Saint Olaf.
[Goes out to the left with his followers.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.
[Hastening after Dagfinn the Peasant.]
All goes well, good Dagfinn, all goes well; — but keep the Earl far from the King when he is chosen; — see you keep them far apart! —
[All go out to the left, behind the church.
A hall in the Palace. In front, on the left, is a low window; on the right, the entrance-door; at the back
,
a larger door which leads into the King’s Hall. By the window, a table; chairs and benches stand about.
LADY RAGNHILD
and
MARGRETE
enter by the smaller door;
SIGRID
follows immediately.

LADY RAGNIIILD.
In here?

MARGRETE.
Ay, here it is darkest.

LADY RAGNHILD.
[Goes to the window.]
And here we can look down upon the mote-stead.

MARGRETE.
[Looks out cautiously.]
Ay, there they are, all gathered behind the church.
[Turns, in tears.]
Yonder must now betide what will bring so much in its tram.

LADY RAGNHILD.
Who will be master in this hall to-morrow?

MARGRETE.
Oh, hush! So heavy a day I had never thought to see.

LADY RAGNHILD.
It had to be; to rule in another’s name was no full work for him.

MARGRETE.
Ay, it had to be; he could never rest content with but the name of king.

LADY RAGNHILD.
Of whom speak you?

MARGRETE.
Of Håkon.

LADY RAGNHILD.
I spoke of the Earl.

MARGRETE.
There breathe not nobler men than they two.

LADY RAGNHILD.
See you Sigurd Ribbung? With what a look of evil cunning he sits there — like a wolf in chains.

MARGRETE.
Ay, see! — He folds his hands before him on his sword hilt and rests his chin upon them.

LADY RAGNHILD.
He bites his beard and laughs —

MARGRETE.
‘Tis an evil laugh.

LADY RAGNHILD.
He knows that none will further his cause;—’tis that which makes him wroth. Who is yonder thane that speaks now?

MARGRETE.
That is Gunnar Grionbak.

LADY RAGNHILD.
Is he for the Earl?

MARGRETE.
NO, he is for the King —

LADY RAGNHILD.
[Looking at her.]
For whom say you?

MARGRETE.
For Håkon Håkonsson.

LADY RAGNHILD.
[Looks out; after a short pause.]
Where sits Guthorm Ingesson? — I see him not.

MARGRETE.
Behind his men, lowest of all there — in a long mantle. Lady Ragnhild. Ay, there.

MARGRETE.
He looks as though he were ashamed —

LADY RAGNHILD.
That is for his mother’s sake.

MARGRETE.
So looked not Håkon.

LADY RAGNHILD.
Who speaks now?

MARGRETE.
[Looking out.]
Tord Skolle, the thane of Ranafylke.

LADY RAGNHILD.
Is he for the Earl?

MARGRETE.
No — for Håkon.

LADY RAGNHILD.
How motionless the Earl sits listening!

MARGRETE.
Håkon seems thoughtful — but strong none the less.
[With animation.]
If there came a traveller from afar, he could pick out those two amongst all the thousand others.

LADY RAGNHILD.
See, Margrete! Dagfinn the Peasant drags forth a gilded chair for Håkon —

MARGRETE.
Paul Flida places one like it behind the Earl —

LADY RAGNHILD.
Håkon’s men seek to hinder it!

MARGRETE.
The Earl holds fast to the chair — !

LADY RAGNHILD.
Håkon speaks wrathfully to him.
[Starts back, with a cry, from the window.]
Lord Jesus! Saw you his eyes — and his smile — ! No, that was not the Earl!

MARGRETE.
[Who has followed her in terror.]
’Twas not Håkon either! Neither one nor the other!

SIGRID.
[At the window.]
Oh pitiful! Oh pitiful!

MARGRETE.
Sigrid!

LADY RAGNHILD.
You here!

SIGRID.
Goes the path so low that leads up to the throne! Margrete. Oh, pray with us, that all be guided for the best.

LADY RAGNHILD.
[White and horror-stricken, to Sigrid.]
Saw you
him — ? Saw you my husband — ? His eyes and his smile — I should not have known him!

SIGRID.
Looked he like Sigurd Ribbung?

LADY RAGNHILD.
[Softly.]
Ay, he looked like Sigurd Ribbung.

SIGRID.
Laughed he like Sigurd?

LADY RAGNHILD.
Ay, ay!

SIGRID.
Then must we all pray.

LADY RAGNHILD.
[With the force of despair.]
The Earl must be chosen King. ‘Twill work ruin in his soul if he be not the first man in the land!

SIGRID.
[More loudly.]
Then must we all pray!

LADY RAGNHILD.
Hist! What is that?
[At the window.]
What shouts! All the men have risen; all the banners and standards wave in the wind.

SIGRID.
[Seizes her by the arm.]
Pray, woman! Pray for your husband!

LADY RAGNHILD.
Ay, Holy King Olaf, give him all the power in this land!

SIGRID.
[Wildly]
None — none! Else is he lost!

LADY RAGNHILD.
He must have the power. All the good in him will grow and blossom should he win it. — Look forth, Margrete! Listen!
[Starts back a step.]
All hands are lifted for an oath! [Margrete
listens at the window.

LADY RAGNHILD.
God and St. Olaf, to whom do they swear?

SIGRID.
Pray! [Margrete
listens, and with uplifted hand motions for silence.

LADY RAGNHILD.
[After a little while.]
Speak!
[From the mote-stead is heard a loud blast of trumpets and horns.

LADY RAGNHILD.
God and St. Olaf! To whom have they sworn?
[A short pause.

MARGRETE.
[Turns her head and says:]
They have chosen Håkon Håkonsson king.
[The music of the royal procession is heard, first in the distance and then nearer and nearer.
Lady Ragnhild
clings weeping to
Sigrid,
who leads her quietly out on the right;
Margrete
remains immovable, leaning against the window-frame. The
King’s
attendants open the great doors, disclosing the interior of the Hall
,
which is gradually filled by the procession from the mote-stead.

HÅKON.
[In the doorway, turning to Ivar Bodde.]
Bring me a pen and wax and silk — I have parchment here.
[.Advances exultantly to the table and spreads some rolls of parchment upon it.]
Margrete, now am! King!

MARGRETE.
Hail to my lord and King!

HÅKON.
I thank you.
[Looks at her and takes her hand.]
Forgive me; I forgot that it must wound you.

MARGRETE.
[Drawing her hand away.]
It did not wound me; — of a surety you are born to be king.

HÅKON.
[With animation.]
Ay, must not all men own it, who remember how marvellously God and the saints have shielded me from all harm? I was but a year old when the Birchlegs bore me over the mountains, in frost and storm, and through the very midst of those who sought my life. At Nidaros I came scatheless from the Baglers when they burnt the town with so great a slaughter, while King Ingë himself barely saved his life by climbing on shipboard up the anclior-cable.

MARGRETE.
Your youth has been a hard one.

HÅKON.
[Looking steadily at her.]
Methinks you might have made it easier.

MARGRETE.
I?

HÅKON.
You might have been so good a foster-sister to me, through all the years when we were growing up together.

MARGRETE.
But it fell out otherwise.

HÅKON.
Ay, it fell out otherwise; — we looked at each other, I from my corner, you from yours, but we seldom spoke —
[Impatiently.]
What is keeping him?
[Ivar Bodde comes with the writing materials.]
Are you there? Give me the things! [Håkon
seats himself at the table and writes. A little while after,
Earl Skule
comes in; then
Dagfinn the Peasant, Bishop Nicholas
and
VEGARD VÆRADAL.

HÅKON.
[Looks up and lays down his pen.]
Know you, Sir Earl, what I am writing here?
[The Earl approaches.]
This is to my mother; I thank her for all her love, and kiss her a thousand times — here in the letter you understand. She is to be sent eastward to Borgasyssel, there to live with all queenly honours.

EARL SKULE.
You will not keep her in the palace?

HÅKON.
She is too dear to me, Earl; — a king must have none about him whom he loves too well. A king must act with free hands; he must stand alone; he must neither be led nor lured. There is so much to be mended in Norway.
[Goes on writing.

VEGARD VÆRADAL.
[Softly to Bishop Nicholas.]
’Tis by my counsel he deals thus with Inga, his mother.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.
I knew your hand in it at once.

VEGARD VÆRADAL.
But now one good turn deserves another.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.
Wait. I will keep my promise.

HÅKON.
[Gives the parchment to Ivar Bodde.]
Fold it together and bear it to her yourself, with many loving greetings —

IVAR BODDE.
[Who has glanced at the parchment.]
— My lord — you
write here—”to-day” — !

HÅKON.
The wind is fair for a southward course.

DAGFINN.
[Slowly]
Bethink you, my lord King, that she has Iain all night on the altar-steps in prayer and fasting.

IVAR BODDE.
And she may well be weary after the ordeal.

HÅKON.
True, true; — my good, kind mother — !
[Collects himself.]
Well, if she be too weary, let her wait until to-morrow.

IVAR BODDE.
It shall be as you will.
[Puts another parchment forward.]
But this other, my lord.

HÅKON.
That other? — Ivar Bodde, I cannot.

DAGFINN.
[Points to the letter for Inga.]
Yet you could do that.

IVAR BODDE.
All things sinful must be put away.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.
[Who has drawn near in the meantime.]
Bind the Earl’s hands, King Håkon.

HÅKON.
[In a low voice.]
Think you that is needful?

BISHOP NICHOLAS.
At no cheaper rate can you buy peace in the land.

HÅKON.
Then I can do it! Give me the pen! —
[Writes.

EARL SKULE.
[To the Bishop, who crosses to the right.]
You have the King’s ear, it would seem.

BISHOP NICHOLAS.
For your behoof.

EARL SKULE.
Say you so?