ACT SECOND

Lady Inger.

Let me see! [Opening the letter.] From Trondhiem? What can it be? [Runs throughthe letter.] O God! From him! and here in Norway——

[Reads on with strong emotion, while the men go on bringing out arms from the hall.

Lady Inger.

[To herself.] He is coming here. He is coming here to-night!—Ay, then ’tis with our wits we must fight, not with the sword.

Einar Huk.

Enough, enough, good fellows; we are well armed now. Set we forth now on our way!

Lady Inger.

[With a sudden change of tone.] No man shall leave my house to-night!

Einar Huk.

But the wind is fair, noble lady; ’twill take us quickly up the fiord, and——

Lady Inger.

It shall be as I have said.

Einar Huk.

Are we to wait till to-morrow, then?

Lady Inger.

Till to-morrow, and longer still. No armed man shall go forth from Östråt yet awhile.

[Signs of displeasure among the crowd.

Some of the Peasants.

We will go all the same, Lady Inger!

The Cry Spreads.

Ay, ay; wewillgo!

Lady Inger.

[Advancing a step towards them.] Who dares to move?

[A silence. After a moment’s pause, she adds:

I have thought for you. What do you common folk know of the country’s needs? How dare you judge of such things? You must e’en bear your oppressions and burdens yet awhile. Why murmur at that, when you see that we, your leaders, are as ill bested as you?——Take all the weapons back to the hall. You shall know my further will hereafter. Go!

[TheRetainerstake back the arms, and the whole crowd then withdraws by the door on the right.

Elina.

[Softly toBiörn.] Say you still that I have sinned in misjudging—the Lady of Östråt?

Lady Inger.

[Beckons toBiörn,and says.] Have a guest-chamber ready.

Biörn.

It is well, Lady Inger!

Lady Inger.

And let the gate be open to whoever shall knock.

Biörn.

But——?

Lady Inger.

The gate open!

Biörn.

The gate open.[Goes out to the right.

Lady Inger.

[ToElina,who has already reached the door on the left.] Stay here!——Elina—my child—I have something to say to you alone.

Elina.

I hear you.

Lady Inger.

Elina——you think evil of your mother.

Elina.

I think, to my sorrow, what your deeds have forced me to think.

Lady Inger.

And you answer as your bitter spirit bids you.

Elina.

Who has filled my spirit with bitterness? From my childhood I had been wont to look up to you as a great and high-souled woman. ’Twasin your likeness that I pictured the women of the chronicles and the Book of Heroes. I thought the Lord God himself had set his seal on your brow, and marked you out as the leader of the helpless and the oppressed. Knights and nobles sang your praise in the feast-hall; and even the peasants, far and near, called you the country’s pillar and its hope. All thought that through you the good times were to come again! All thought that through you a new day was to dawn over the land! The night is still here; and I scarce know if through you I dare look for any morning.

Lady Inger.

’Tis easy to see whence you have learnt such venomous words. You have let yourself give ear to what the thoughtless rabble mutters and murmurs about things it can little judge of.

Elina.

“Truth is in the people’s mouth,” was your word when they praised you in speech and song.

Lady Inger.

May be so. But if indeed I chose to sit here idle, though it was my part to act—think you not that such a choice were burden enough for me, without your adding to its weight?

Elina.

The weight I add to your burden crushes me no less than you. Lightly and freely I drew the breath of life, so long as I had you to believein. For my pride is my life; and well might I have been proud, had you remained what once you were.

Lady Inger.

And what proves to you that I have not? Elina—how know you so surely that you are not doing your mother wrong?

Elina.

[Vehemently.] Oh, that I were!

Lady Inger.

Peace! You have no right to call your mother to account.—With a single word I could——; but ’twould be an ill word for you to hear; you must await what time shall bring; may be that——

Elina.

[Turns to go.] Sleep well, my mother!

Lady Inger.

[Hesitates.] Nay—stay with me; I have still somewhat—— Come nearer;—you must hear me, Elina!

[Sits down by the table in front of the window.

Elina.

I hear you.

Lady Inger.

For as silent as you are, I know well that you often long to be gone from here. Östråt is too lonely and lifeless for you.

Elina.

Do you wonder at that, my mother?

Lady Inger.

It rests with you whether all this shall henceforth be changed.

Elina.

How so?

Lady Inger.

Listen.—I look for a guest to-night.

Elina.

[Comes nearer.] A guest?

Lady Inger.

A guest, who must remain a stranger to all. None must know whence he comes or whither he goes.

Elina.

[Throws herself, with a cry of joy, at her mother’s feet, and seizes her hands.] My mother! My mother! Forgive me, if you can, all the wrong I have done you!

Lady Inger.

What do you mean? Elina, I do not understand you.

Elina.

Then they were all deceived! You are still true at heart!

Lady Inger.

Rise, rise and tell me——

Elina.

Think you I do not know who the stranger is?

Lady Inger.

You know? And yet——?

Elina.

Think you the gates of Östråt shut so close, that never a whisper of the country’s woe can slip through them? Think you I do not know that the heir of many a noble line wanders outlawed, without rest or shelter, while Danish masters lord it in the home of his fathers?

Lady Inger.

And what then?

Elina.

I know well that many a high-born knight is hunted through the woods like a hungry wolf. No hearth has he to rest by, no bread to eat——

Lady Inger.

[Coldly.] Enough! Now I understand you.

Elina.

[Continuing.] And that is why the gates of Östråt must stand open by night! That is why he must remain a stranger to all, this guest of whom none must know whence he comes orwhither he goes! You are setting at naught the harsh decree that forbids you to harbour or succour the outlaw——

Lady Inger.

Enough, I say!

[After a short silence, adds with an effort:You mistake, Elina—’tis no outlaw I look for.

Elina.

[Rises.] Then I have understood you ill indeed.

Lady Inger.

Listen to me, my child; but think as you listen; if indeed you can tame that wild spirit of yours.

Elina.

I am tame, till you have spoken.

Lady Inger.

Attend, then, to what I have to tell you.—I have sought, so far as lay in my power, to keep you in ignorance of all our griefs and miseries. What could it avail to fill your young heart with wrath and care? ’Tis not women’s weeping and wailing that can deliver us; we need the courage and strength of men.

Elina.

Who has told you that, when courage and strength are needed, I shall be found wanting?

Lady Inger.

Hush, child;—I might take you at your word.

Elina.

How mean you, my mother?

Lady Inger.

I might call on you for both; I might——; but let me say my say out first.

Know then that the time seems now to be drawing nigh, towards which the Danish Council have been working for many a year—the time, I mean, for them to strike the last blow at our rights and our freedom. Therefore must we now——

Elina.

[Eagerly.] Openly rebel, my mother?

Lady Inger.

No; we must gain breathing-time. The Council is now assembled at Copenhagen, considering how best to go to work. Most of them hold, ’tis said, that there can be no end to dissensions till Norway and Denmark are one; for should we still possess our rights as a free land when the time comes to choose the next king, ’tis most like that the feud will break out openly. Now the Danish councillors would hinder this——

Elina.

Ay, they would hinder it—! But are we to endure such things? Are we to look on quietly while——?

Lady Inger.

No, we will not endure it. But to take up arms—to declare open war—what would comeof that, so long as we are not united? And were we ever less united in this land than we are even now?—No, if aught is to be accomplished, it must be secretly and in silence. Even as I said, we must have time to draw breath. In the South, a good part of the nobles are for the Dane; but here in the North they are still in doubt. Therefore has King Frederick sent hither one of his most trusted councillors, to assure himself with his own eyes how we stand affected.

Elina.

[In suspense.] Well—and then——?

Lady Inger.

He is the guest I look for to-night.

Elina.

He comes hither? And to-night?

Lady Inger.

A trading ship brought him to Trondhiem yesterday. News has just reached me of his approach; he may be here within the hour.

Elina.

And you do not bethink you, my mother, how ’twill endanger your fame thus to receive the Danish envoy? Do not the people already look on you with distrustful eyes? How can you hope that, when the time comes, they will let you rule and guide them, if it be known that——

Lady Inger.

Fear not. All this I have fully weighed; but there is no danger. His errand in Norway is a secret; he has come unknown to Trondhiem, and unknown shall he be our guest at Östråt.

Elina.

And the name of this Danish lord——?

Lady Inger.

It sounds well, Elina; Denmark has scarce a nobler name.

Elina.

But what then do you purpose? I cannot yet grasp your meaning.

Lady Inger.

You will soon understand.—Since we cannot trample on the serpent, we must bind it.

Elina.

Take heed that it burst not your bonds.

Lady Inger.

It rests with you to tighten them as you will.

Elina.

With me?

Lady Inger.

I have long seen that Östråt is as a cage to you. The young falcon chafes behind the iron bars.

Elina.

My wings are clipped. Even if you set me free—’twould avail me little.

Lady Inger.

Your wings are not clipped, save by your own will.

Elina.

Will? My will is in your hands. Be what you once were, and I too——

Lady Inger.

Enough, enough. Hear me further.—It would scarce break your heart to leave Östråt?

Elina.

Maybe not, my mother!

Lady Inger.

You told me once, that you lived your happiest life in your tales and histories. What if that life were to be yours once more?

Elina.

What mean you?

Lady Inger.

Elina—if a mighty noble were to come and lead you to his castle, where you should find damsels and squires, silken robes and lofty halls awaiting you?

Elina.

A noble, you say?

Lady Inger.

A noble.

Elina.

[More softly.] And the Danish envoy comes hither to-night?

Lady Inger.

To-night.

Elina.

If so be, then I fear to read the meaning of your words.

Lady Inger.

There is naught to fear if you misread them not. It is far from my thought to put force upon you. You shall choose for yourself in this matter, and follow your own rede.

Elina.

[Comes a step nearer.] Know you the tale of the mother who drove across the hills by night, with her little children in the sledge? The wolves were on her track; ’twas life or death with her;—and one by one she cast out her little ones, to win time and save herself.

Lady Inger.

Nursery tales! A mother would tear the heart from her breast, before she would cast her child to the wolves!

Elina.

Were I not my mother’s daughter, I would say you were right. But you are like thatmother; one by one have you cast out your daughters to the wolves. The eldest went first. Five years ago Merete[16]went forth from Östråt; now she dwells in Bergen, and is Vinzents Lunge’s[17]wife. But think you she is happy as the Danish noble’s lady? Vinzents Lunge is mighty, well-nigh as a king; Merete has damsels and squires, silken robes and lofty halls; but the day has no sunshine for her, and the night no rest; for she has never loved him. He came hither and he wooed her, for she was the greatest heiress in Norway, and ’twas then needful for him to gain a footing in the land. I know it; I know it well! Merete bowed to your will; she went with the stranger lord.—But what has it cost her? More tears than a mother should wish to answer for at the day of reckoning!

Lady Inger.

I know my reckoning, and I fear it not.

Elina.

Your reckoning ends not here. Where is Lucia, your second child?

Lady Inger.

Ask God, who took her.

Elina.

’Tis you I ask; ’tis you must answer for her young life. She was glad as a bird in springwhen she sailed from Östråt to be Merete’s guest. A year passed, and she stood in this room once more; but her cheeks were white, and death had gnawed deep into her breast. Ah, I startle you, my mother! You thought the ugly secret was buried with her;—but she told me all. A courtly knight had won her heart. He would have wedded her. You knew that her honour was at stake; yet your will never bent—and your child had to die. You see, I know all!

Lady Inger.

All? Then she told you his name?

Elina.

His name? No; his name she did not tell me. She shrank from his name as though it stung her;—she never uttered it.

Lady Inger.

[Relieved, to herself.] Ah, then you donotknow all——

Elina—’tis true that the whole of this matter was well known to me. But there is one thing it seems you have overlooked. The lord whom Lucia met in Bergen was a Dane——

Elina.

That, too, I know.

Lady Inger.

And his love was a lie. With guile and soft speeches he had ensnared her.

Elina.

I know it; but nevertheless she loved him; and had you had a mother’s heart, your daughter’s honour had been more to you than all.

Lady Inger.

Not more than her happiness. Think you that, with Merete’s lot before my eyes, I could sacrifice my second child to a man that loved her not?

Elina.

Cunning words may beguile many, but they beguile not me——

Think not I know nothing of all that is passing in our land. I understand your counsels but too well. I know that in you the Danish lords have no true friend. It may be that you hate them; but you fear them too. When you gave Merete to Vinzents Lunge, the Danes held the mastery on all sides throughout our land. Three years later, when you forbade Lucia to wed the man to whom, though he had deceived her, she had given her life—things were far different then. The King’s Danish governors had shamefully misused the common people, and you deemed it not wise to link yourself still more closely to the foreign tyrants.

And what have you done to avenge her that was sent so young to her grave? You have done nothing. Well then, I will act in your stead; I will avenge all the shame they have brought upon our people and our house!

Lady Inger.

You? What will you do?

Elina.

I will go my way, even as you go yours. What I shall do I myself know not; but I feel within me the strength to dare all for our righteous cause.

Lady Inger.

Then have you a hard fight before you. I once promised as you do now—and my hair has grown grey under the burden of that promise.

Elina.

Good-night! Your guest will soon be here, and at that meeting I should be one too many.

It may be there is yet time for you——; well, God strengthen and guide you on your path! Forget not that the eyes of many thousands are fixed on you. Think on Merete, weeping late and early over her wasted life. Think on Lucia, sleeping in her black coffin.

And one thing more. Forget not that in the game you play this night, your stake is your last child. [Goes out to the left.

Lady Inger.

[Looks after her awhile.] My last child? You know not how true was that word——But the stake is not my child only. God help me, I am playing to-night for the whole of Norway’s land.

Ah—is not that some one riding through the gateway? [Listens at the window.

No; not yet. Only the wind; it blows cold as the grave——

Has God a right to do this?—To make me a woman—and then to lay on my shoulders a man’s work?

For I have the welfare of the country in my hands. It is in my power to make them rise as one man. They look tomefor the signal; and if I give it not now—it may never be given.

To delay? To sacrifice the many for the sake of one?—Were it not better if I could——? No, no, no—Iwillnot! Icannot!

[Steals a glance towards the Banquet Hall, but turns away again as if in dread, and whispers:

I can see them in there now. Pale spectres—dead ancestors—fallen kinsfolk.—Ah, those eyes that pierce me from every corner!

[Makes a gesture of repulsion, and cries:

Sten Sture! Knut Alfson! Olaf Skaktavl! Back—back!—Icannotdo this!

[AStranger,strongly built, and with grizzled hair and beard, has entered from the Banquet Hall. He is dressed in a torn lambskin tunic; his weapons are rusty.

The Stranger.

[Stops in the doorway, and says in a low voice.] Hail to you, Inger Gyldenlöve!

Lady Inger.

[Turns with a scream.] Ah, Christ in heaven save me!

[Falls back into a chair. TheStrangerstands gazing at her, motionless, leaning on his sword.

ACT SECOND

The room at Östråt, as in the first Act.

Lady Inger Gyldenlöveis seated at the table on the right, by the window.Olaf Skaktavlis standing a little way from her. Their faces show that they have been engaged in a heated discussion.

Olaf Skaktavl.

For the last time, Inger Gyldenlöve—you are not to be moved from your purpose?

Lady Inger.

I can do nought else. And my counsel to you is: do as I do. If it be Heaven’s will that Norway perish utterly, perish it must, for all we may do to save it.

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

And think you I can content my heart with that belief? Shall I sit and look idly on, now that the hour is come? Do you forget the reckoning I have against them? They have robbed me of my lands, and parcelled them out among themselves. My son, my only child, the last of my race, they have slaughtered like a dog. Myself they have outlawed and hunted throughforest and fell these twenty years.—Once and again have folk whispered of my death; but this I believe, that they shall not lay me beneath the sod before I have seen my vengeance.

Lady Inger.

There is there a long life before you. What have you in mind to do?

Olaf Skaktavl.

Do? How should I know what I will do? It has never been my part to plot and plan. That is where you must help me. You have the wit for that. I have but my sword and my two arms.

Lady Inger.

Your sword is rusted, Olaf Skaktavl! All the swords in Norway are rusted.

Olaf Skaktavl.

That is doubtless why some folk fight only with their tongues.—Inger Gyldenlöve—great is the change in you. Time was when the heart of a man beat in your breast.

Lady Inger.

Put me not in mind of whatwas.

Olaf Skaktavl.

’Tis for that very purpose I am here. Youshallhear me, even if——

Lady Inger.

Be it so then; but be brief; for—I must say it—this is no place of safety for you.

Olaf Skaktavl.

Östråt is no place of safety for an outlaw? That I have long known. But you forget that an outlaw is unsafe wheresoever he may wander.

Lady Inger.

Speak then; I will not hinder you.

Olaf Skaktavl.

’Tis nigh on thirty years now since first I saw you. It was at Akershus[18]in the house of Knut Alfson and his wife. You were little more than a child then; yet were you bold as the soaring falcon, and wild and headstrong too at times. Many were the wooers around you. I too held you dear—dear as no woman before or since. But you cared for nothing, thought of nothing, save your country’s evil case and its great need.

Lady Inger.

I counted but fifteen summers then—remember that! And was it not as though a frenzy had seized us all in those days?

Olaf Skaktavl.

Call it what you will; but one thing I know—even the old and sober men among us thoughtit written in the counsels of the Lord on high that you were she who should break our thraldom and win us all our rights again. And more: you yourself then thought as we did.

Lady Inger.

’Twas a sinful thought, Olaf Skaktavl. ’Twas my proud heart, and not the Lord’s call, that spoke in me.

Olaf Skaktavl.

Youcouldhave been the chosen one had you but willed it. You came of the noblest blood in Norway; power and riches were soon to be yours; and you had an ear for the cries of anguish—then!

Do you remember that afternoon when Henrik Krummedike and the Danish fleet anchored off Akershus? The captains of the fleet offered terms of peace, and, trusting to the safe-conduct, Knut Alfson rowed on board. Three hours later, we bore him through the castle gate——

Lady Inger.

A corpse; a corpse!

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