Early Plays by Henrik Ibsen (best novels in english txt) 📕

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 Mjolnir 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.]

[GANDALF.  BLANKA with oak leaves in her hair and a

basket of flowers enters from the left.]

BLANKA.  [Seated at the left busily weaving a flower wreath.]

Fountains may murmur in the sunny vales,

Resplendent billows roll beneath the shore;

Nor fountain's murmur, nor the billow's song

Has half the magic of those flowers there,

That stand in clusters round the barrow's edge

And nod at one another lovingly;

They draw me hither during night and day,--

And it is here I long to come and dream.

The wreath is done.  The hero's monument,

So hard and cold, shall under it be hid.

Yes, it is beautiful!

[Pointing to the mound.]

BLANKA.  A vanished life,

Of giant strength, lies mouldering in the ground,--

And the memorial which should speak to men,--

A cold unyielding stone like yonder one!

But then comes art, and with a friendly hand

She gathers flowers from the breast of nature

And hides the ugly, unresponsive stone

With snow-white lilies, sweet forget-me-nots.

[She ascends the barrow, hangs the wreath over the monument, and

speaks after a pause.]

BLANKA.  Again my dreams go sailing to the North

Like birds of passage o'er the ocean waves;

I feel an urging where I long to go,

And willingly I heed the secret power,

Which has its royal seat within the soul.

I stand in Norway, am a hero's bride,

And from the mountain peak watch eagle-like.

O'er shining waves the vessel heaves in sight.--

Oh, like the gull fly to your fatherland!

I am a Southern child, I cannot wait;

I tear the oaken wreath out of my hair,--

Take this, my hero!  'Tis the second message

I greet you with,--my yearning was the first.

[She throws the wreath.  GANDALF steps forth and seizes it.]

BLANKA.  What's this?  There