Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
And Margit—is she then happy?
Bengt.
Bengt.
Bengt.
God and all men would think that she must be; but, strange to say—
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
What mean you?
Bengt.
Bengt.
Bengt.
Well, believe it or not as you list, but it seems to me that Margit was merrier of heart in the days of her poverty, than since she became the lady of Solhoug.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
[To himself.] I knew it; so it must be.
Bengt.
Bengt.
Bengt.
What say you, kinsman?
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
I say that I wonder greatly at what you tell me of your wife.
Bengt.
Bengt.
Bengt.
Aye, you may be sure I wonder at it too. On the faith and troth of an honest gentleman, ’tis beyond me to guess what more she can desire. I am about her all day long; and no one can say of me that I rule her harshly. All the cares of household and husbandry I have taken on myself; yet notwithstanding—Well, well, you were ever a merry heart; I doubt not you will bring sunshine with you. Hush! here comes Dame Margit! Let her not see that I—
[Margitenters from the left, richly dressed.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
[Going to meet her.] Margit—my dear Margit!
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
[Stops, and looks at him without recognition.] Your pardon, Sir Knight; but—? [As though she only now recognised him.] Surely, if I mistake not, ’tis Gudmund Alfson.
[Holding out her hand to him.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
[Without taking it.] And you did not at once know me again?
Bengt.
Bengt.
Bengt.
[Laughing.] Why, Margit, of what are you thinking? I told you but a moment agone that your kinsman—
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
[Crossing to the table on the right.] Twelve years is a long time, Gudmund. The freshest plant may wither ten times over in that space.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
’Tis seven years since last we met.
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
Surely it must be more than that.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
[Looking at her.] I could almost think so. But ’tis as I say.
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
How strange! I must have been but a child then; and it seems to me a whole eternity since I was a child. [Throws herself down on a chair.] Well, sit you down, my kinsman! Rest you, for to-night you shall dance, and rejoice us with your singing. [With a forced smile.] Doubtless you know we are merry here to-day—we are holding a feast.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
’Twas told me as I entered your homestead.
Bengt.
Bengt.
Bengt.
Aye, ’tis three years to-day since I became—
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
[Interrupting.] My kinsman has already heard it. [ToGudmund.] Will you not lay aside your cloak?
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
I thank you, Dame Margit; but it seems to me cold here—colder than I had foreseen.
Bengt.
Bengt.
Bengt.
For my part, I am warm enough; but then I have a hundred things to do and to take order for. [ToMargit.] Let not the time seem long to our guest while I am absent. You can talk together of the old days.
[Going.
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
[Hesitating.] Are you going? Will you not rather—?
Bengt.
Bengt.
Bengt.
[Laughing, toGudmund,as he comes forward again.] See you well—Sir Bengt of Solhoug is the man to make the women fain of him. How short so e’er the space, my wife cannot abide to be without me. [ToMargit,caressing her.] Content you; I shall soon be with you again.
[He goes out to the back.
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
[To herself.] Oh, torture, to have to endure it all.
[A short silence.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
How goes it, I pray, with your sister dear?
How goes it, I pray, with your sister dear?
How goes it, I pray, with your sister dear?
How goes it, I pray, with your sister dear?
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
Right well, I thank you.
Right well, I thank you.
Right well, I thank you.
Right well, I thank you.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
They said she was hereWith you.
They said she was hereWith you.
They said she was hereWith you.
They said she was here
With you.
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
She has been here ever since we—[Breaks off.She came, now three years since, to Solhoug with me.[After a pause.Ere long she’ll be here, her friend to greet.
She has been here ever since we—[Breaks off.She came, now three years since, to Solhoug with me.[After a pause.Ere long she’ll be here, her friend to greet.
She has been here ever since we—[Breaks off.She came, now three years since, to Solhoug with me.[After a pause.Ere long she’ll be here, her friend to greet.
She has been here ever since we—
[Breaks off.
She came, now three years since, to Solhoug with me.
[After a pause.
Ere long she’ll be here, her friend to greet.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Well I mind me of Signë’s nature sweet.No guile she dreamed of, no evil knew.When I call to remembrance her eyes so blueI must think of the angels in heaven.But of years there have passed no fewer than seven;In that time much may have altered. Oh, sayIf she, too, has changed so while I’ve been away?
Well I mind me of Signë’s nature sweet.No guile she dreamed of, no evil knew.When I call to remembrance her eyes so blueI must think of the angels in heaven.But of years there have passed no fewer than seven;In that time much may have altered. Oh, sayIf she, too, has changed so while I’ve been away?
Well I mind me of Signë’s nature sweet.No guile she dreamed of, no evil knew.When I call to remembrance her eyes so blueI must think of the angels in heaven.But of years there have passed no fewer than seven;In that time much may have altered. Oh, sayIf she, too, has changed so while I’ve been away?
Well I mind me of Signë’s nature sweet.
No guile she dreamed of, no evil knew.
When I call to remembrance her eyes so blue
I must think of the angels in heaven.
But of years there have passed no fewer than seven;
In that time much may have altered. Oh, say
If she, too, has changed so while I’ve been away?
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
She too? Is it, pray, in the halls of kingsThat you learn such courtly ways, Sir Knight?To remind me thus of the change time brings—
She too? Is it, pray, in the halls of kingsThat you learn such courtly ways, Sir Knight?To remind me thus of the change time brings—
She too? Is it, pray, in the halls of kingsThat you learn such courtly ways, Sir Knight?To remind me thus of the change time brings—
She too? Is it, pray, in the halls of kings
That you learn such courtly ways, Sir Knight?
To remind me thus of the change time brings—
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Nay, Margit, my meaning you read aright!You were kind to me, both, in those far-away years—Your eyes, when we parted were wet with tears.We swore like brother and sister stillTo hold together in good hap or ill.’Mid the other maids like a sun you shone,Far, far and wide was your beauty known.You are no less fair than you were, I wot;But Solhoug’s mistress, I see, has forgotThe penniless kinsman. So hard is your mindThat ever of old was gentle and kind.
Nay, Margit, my meaning you read aright!You were kind to me, both, in those far-away years—Your eyes, when we parted were wet with tears.We swore like brother and sister stillTo hold together in good hap or ill.’Mid the other maids like a sun you shone,Far, far and wide was your beauty known.You are no less fair than you were, I wot;But Solhoug’s mistress, I see, has forgotThe penniless kinsman. So hard is your mindThat ever of old was gentle and kind.
Nay, Margit, my meaning you read aright!You were kind to me, both, in those far-away years—Your eyes, when we parted were wet with tears.We swore like brother and sister stillTo hold together in good hap or ill.’Mid the other maids like a sun you shone,Far, far and wide was your beauty known.You are no less fair than you were, I wot;But Solhoug’s mistress, I see, has forgotThe penniless kinsman. So hard is your mindThat ever of old was gentle and kind.
Nay, Margit, my meaning you read aright!
You were kind to me, both, in those far-away years—
Your eyes, when we parted were wet with tears.
We swore like brother and sister still
To hold together in good hap or ill.
’Mid the other maids like a sun you shone,
Far, far and wide was your beauty known.
You are no less fair than you were, I wot;
But Solhoug’s mistress, I see, has forgot
The penniless kinsman. So hard is your mind
That ever of old was gentle and kind.
Margit.[Choking back her tears.]
Margit.[Choking back her tears.]
Margit.
[Choking back her tears.]
Aye, of old—!
Aye, of old—!
Aye, of old—!
Aye, of old—!
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
[Looks compassionately at her, is silent for a little, then says in a subdued voice.
[Looks compassionately at her, is silent for a little, then says in a subdued voice.
Shall we do as your husband said?Pass the time with talk of the dear old days?
Shall we do as your husband said?Pass the time with talk of the dear old days?
Shall we do as your husband said?Pass the time with talk of the dear old days?
Shall we do as your husband said?
Pass the time with talk of the dear old days?
Margit.[Vehemently.]
Margit.[Vehemently.]
Margit.
[Vehemently.]
No, no, not of them![More calmly.Their memory’s dead.My mind unwillingly backward strays.Tell rather of what your life has been,Of what in the wide world you’ve done and seen.Adventures you’ve lacked not, well I ween—In all the warmth and the space out yonder,That heart and mind should be light, what wonder?
No, no, not of them![More calmly.Their memory’s dead.My mind unwillingly backward strays.Tell rather of what your life has been,Of what in the wide world you’ve done and seen.Adventures you’ve lacked not, well I ween—In all the warmth and the space out yonder,That heart and mind should be light, what wonder?
No, no, not of them![More calmly.Their memory’s dead.My mind unwillingly backward strays.Tell rather of what your life has been,Of what in the wide world you’ve done and seen.Adventures you’ve lacked not, well I ween—In all the warmth and the space out yonder,That heart and mind should be light, what wonder?
No, no, not of them!
[More calmly.
Their memory’s dead.
My mind unwillingly backward strays.
Tell rather of what your life has been,
Of what in the wide world you’ve done and seen.
Adventures you’ve lacked not, well I ween—
In all the warmth and the space out yonder,
That heart and mind should be light, what wonder?
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
In the King’s high hall I found not the joyThat I knew by my own poor hearth as a boy.
In the King’s high hall I found not the joyThat I knew by my own poor hearth as a boy.
In the King’s high hall I found not the joyThat I knew by my own poor hearth as a boy.
In the King’s high hall I found not the joy
That I knew by my own poor hearth as a boy.
Margit.[Without looking at him.]
Margit.[Without looking at him.]
Margit.
[Without looking at him.]
While I, as at Solhoug each day flits past,Thank Heaven that here has my lot been cast.
While I, as at Solhoug each day flits past,Thank Heaven that here has my lot been cast.
While I, as at Solhoug each day flits past,Thank Heaven that here has my lot been cast.
While I, as at Solhoug each day flits past,
Thank Heaven that here has my lot been cast.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
’Tis well if for this you can thankful be—
’Tis well if for this you can thankful be—
’Tis well if for this you can thankful be—
’Tis well if for this you can thankful be—
Margit.[Vehemently.]
Margit.[Vehemently.]
Margit.
[Vehemently.]
Why not? For am I not honoured and free?Must not all folk here obey my hest?Rule I not all things as seemeth me best?Here I am first, with no second beside me;And that, as you know, from of old satisfied me.Did you think you would find me weary and sad?Nay, my mind is at peace and my heart is glad.You might, then, have spared your journey hereTo Solhoug; ’twill profit you little, I fear.
Why not? For am I not honoured and free?Must not all folk here obey my hest?Rule I not all things as seemeth me best?Here I am first, with no second beside me;And that, as you know, from of old satisfied me.Did you think you would find me weary and sad?Nay, my mind is at peace and my heart is glad.You might, then, have spared your journey hereTo Solhoug; ’twill profit you little, I fear.
Why not? For am I not honoured and free?Must not all folk here obey my hest?Rule I not all things as seemeth me best?Here I am first, with no second beside me;And that, as you know, from of old satisfied me.Did you think you would find me weary and sad?Nay, my mind is at peace and my heart is glad.You might, then, have spared your journey hereTo Solhoug; ’twill profit you little, I fear.
Why not? For am I not honoured and free?
Must not all folk here obey my hest?
Rule I not all things as seemeth me best?
Here I am first, with no second beside me;
And that, as you know, from of old satisfied me.
Did you think you would find me weary and sad?
Nay, my mind is at peace and my heart is glad.
You might, then, have spared your journey here
To Solhoug; ’twill profit you little, I fear.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
What, mean you, Dame Margit?
What, mean you, Dame Margit?
What, mean you, Dame Margit?
What, mean you, Dame Margit?
Margit.[Rising.]
Margit.[Rising.]
Margit.
[Rising.]
I understand all—I know why you come to my lonely hall.
I understand all—I know why you come to my lonely hall.
I understand all—I know why you come to my lonely hall.
I understand all—
I know why you come to my lonely hall.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
And you welcome me not, though you know why I came?[Bowing, and about to go.God’s peace and farewell, then, my noble dame!
And you welcome me not, though you know why I came?[Bowing, and about to go.God’s peace and farewell, then, my noble dame!
And you welcome me not, though you know why I came?[Bowing, and about to go.God’s peace and farewell, then, my noble dame!
And you welcome me not, though you know why I came?
[Bowing, and about to go.
God’s peace and farewell, then, my noble dame!
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
To have stayed in the royal hall, indeed,Sir Knight, had better become your fame.
To have stayed in the royal hall, indeed,Sir Knight, had better become your fame.
To have stayed in the royal hall, indeed,Sir Knight, had better become your fame.
To have stayed in the royal hall, indeed,
Sir Knight, had better become your fame.
Gudmund.[Stops.]
Gudmund.[Stops.]
Gudmund.
[Stops.]
In the royal hall? Do you scoff at my need?
In the royal hall? Do you scoff at my need?
In the royal hall? Do you scoff at my need?
In the royal hall? Do you scoff at my need?
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
Your need? You are ill to content, my friend;Where, I would know, do you think to end?You can dress you in velvet and cramoisie,You stand by the throne, and have lands in fee—
Your need? You are ill to content, my friend;Where, I would know, do you think to end?You can dress you in velvet and cramoisie,You stand by the throne, and have lands in fee—
Your need? You are ill to content, my friend;Where, I would know, do you think to end?You can dress you in velvet and cramoisie,You stand by the throne, and have lands in fee—
Your need? You are ill to content, my friend;
Where, I would know, do you think to end?
You can dress you in velvet and cramoisie,
You stand by the throne, and have lands in fee—
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Do you deem, then, that fortune is kind to me? You said but now that full well you knew What brought me to Solhoug—
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
I told you true!
I told you true!
I told you true!
I told you true!
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Then you know what of late has befallen me;—You have heard the tale of my outlawry?
Then you know what of late has befallen me;—You have heard the tale of my outlawry?
Then you know what of late has befallen me;—You have heard the tale of my outlawry?
Then you know what of late has befallen me;—
You have heard the tale of my outlawry?
Margit.[Terror-struck.]
Margit.[Terror-struck.]
Margit.
[Terror-struck.]
An outlaw! You, Gudmund!
An outlaw! You, Gudmund!
An outlaw! You, Gudmund!
An outlaw! You, Gudmund!
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
I am indeed.But I swear, by the Holy Christ I swear,Had I known the thoughts of your heart, I ne’erHad bent me to Solhoug in my need.I thought that you still were gentle-hearted,As you ever were wont to be ere we parted:But I truckle not to you; the wood is wide,My hand and my bow shall fend for me there;I will drink of the mountain brook, and hideMy head in the wild beast’s lair.[On the point of going.
I am indeed.But I swear, by the Holy Christ I swear,Had I known the thoughts of your heart, I ne’erHad bent me to Solhoug in my need.I thought that you still were gentle-hearted,As you ever were wont to be ere we parted:But I truckle not to you; the wood is wide,My hand and my bow shall fend for me there;I will drink of the mountain brook, and hideMy head in the wild beast’s lair.[On the point of going.
I am indeed.But I swear, by the Holy Christ I swear,Had I known the thoughts of your heart, I ne’erHad bent me to Solhoug in my need.I thought that you still were gentle-hearted,As you ever were wont to be ere we parted:But I truckle not to you; the wood is wide,My hand and my bow shall fend for me there;I will drink of the mountain brook, and hideMy head in the wild beast’s lair.[On the point of going.
I am indeed.
But I swear, by the Holy Christ I swear,
Had I known the thoughts of your heart, I ne’er
Had bent me to Solhoug in my need.
I thought that you still were gentle-hearted,
As you ever were wont to be ere we parted:
But I truckle not to you; the wood is wide,
My hand and my bow shall fend for me there;
I will drink of the mountain brook, and hide
My head in the wild beast’s lair.
[On the point of going.
Margit.[Holding him back.]
Margit.[Holding him back.]
Margit.
[Holding him back.]
Outlawed! Nay, stay! I swear to youThat naught of your outlawry I knew.
Outlawed! Nay, stay! I swear to youThat naught of your outlawry I knew.
Outlawed! Nay, stay! I swear to youThat naught of your outlawry I knew.
Outlawed! Nay, stay! I swear to you
That naught of your outlawry I knew.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
It is as I tell you. My life’s at stake;And to live are all men fain.Three nights like a dog ’neath the sky I’ve lain,My couch on the hillside forced to make,With for pillow the boulder grey.Though too proud to knock at the door of the stranger,And pray him for aid in the hour of danger,Yet strong was my hope as I held on my way:I thought: When to Solhoug you come at lastThen all your pains will be done and past.You have sure friends there, whatever betide.—But hope like a wayside flower shrivels up;Though your husband met me with flagon and cup,And his doors flung open wide,Within, your dwelling seems chill and bare;Dark is the hall; my friends are not there.’Tis well; I will back to my hills from your halls.
It is as I tell you. My life’s at stake;And to live are all men fain.Three nights like a dog ’neath the sky I’ve lain,My couch on the hillside forced to make,With for pillow the boulder grey.Though too proud to knock at the door of the stranger,And pray him for aid in the hour of danger,Yet strong was my hope as I held on my way:I thought: When to Solhoug you come at lastThen all your pains will be done and past.You have sure friends there, whatever betide.—But hope like a wayside flower shrivels up;Though your husband met me with flagon and cup,And his doors flung open wide,Within, your dwelling seems chill and bare;Dark is the hall; my friends are not there.’Tis well; I will back to my hills from your halls.
It is as I tell you. My life’s at stake;And to live are all men fain.Three nights like a dog ’neath the sky I’ve lain,My couch on the hillside forced to make,With for pillow the boulder grey.Though too proud to knock at the door of the stranger,And pray him for aid in the hour of danger,Yet strong was my hope as I held on my way:I thought: When to Solhoug you come at lastThen all your pains will be done and past.You have sure friends there, whatever betide.—But hope like a wayside flower shrivels up;Though your husband met me with flagon and cup,And his doors flung open wide,Within, your dwelling seems chill and bare;Dark is the hall; my friends are not there.’Tis well; I will back to my hills from your halls.
It is as I tell you. My life’s at stake;
And to live are all men fain.
Three nights like a dog ’neath the sky I’ve lain,
My couch on the hillside forced to make,
With for pillow the boulder grey.
Though too proud to knock at the door of the stranger,
And pray him for aid in the hour of danger,
Yet strong was my hope as I held on my way:
I thought: When to Solhoug you come at last
Then all your pains will be done and past.
You have sure friends there, whatever betide.—
But hope like a wayside flower shrivels up;
Though your husband met me with flagon and cup,
And his doors flung open wide,
Within, your dwelling seems chill and bare;
Dark is the hall; my friends are not there.
’Tis well; I will back to my hills from your halls.
Margit.[Beseechingly.]
Margit.[Beseechingly.]
Margit.
[Beseechingly.]
Oh, hear me!
Oh, hear me!
Oh, hear me!
Oh, hear me!
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
My soul is not base as a thrall’s.Now life to me seems a thing of nought;Truly I hold it scarce worth a thought.You have killed all that I hold most dear;Of my fairest hopes I follow the bier.Farewell, then, Dame Margit!
My soul is not base as a thrall’s.Now life to me seems a thing of nought;Truly I hold it scarce worth a thought.You have killed all that I hold most dear;Of my fairest hopes I follow the bier.Farewell, then, Dame Margit!
My soul is not base as a thrall’s.Now life to me seems a thing of nought;Truly I hold it scarce worth a thought.You have killed all that I hold most dear;Of my fairest hopes I follow the bier.Farewell, then, Dame Margit!
My soul is not base as a thrall’s.
Now life to me seems a thing of nought;
Truly I hold it scarce worth a thought.
You have killed all that I hold most dear;
Of my fairest hopes I follow the bier.
Farewell, then, Dame Margit!
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
Nay, Gudmund, hear!By all that is holy—!
Nay, Gudmund, hear!By all that is holy—!
Nay, Gudmund, hear!By all that is holy—!
Nay, Gudmund, hear!
By all that is holy—!
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Live on as beforeLive on in honour and joyance—Never shall Gudmund darken your door,Never shall cause you ’noyance.
Live on as beforeLive on in honour and joyance—Never shall Gudmund darken your door,Never shall cause you ’noyance.
Live on as beforeLive on in honour and joyance—Never shall Gudmund darken your door,Never shall cause you ’noyance.
Live on as before
Live on in honour and joyance—
Never shall Gudmund darken your door,
Never shall cause you ’noyance.
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
Enough, enough. Your bitternessYou presently shall rue.Had I known you outlawed, shelterless,Hunted the country through—Trust me, the day that brought you hereWould have seemed the fairest of many a year;And a feast I had counted it indeedWhen you turned to Solhoug for refuge in need.
Enough, enough. Your bitternessYou presently shall rue.Had I known you outlawed, shelterless,Hunted the country through—Trust me, the day that brought you hereWould have seemed the fairest of many a year;And a feast I had counted it indeedWhen you turned to Solhoug for refuge in need.
Enough, enough. Your bitternessYou presently shall rue.Had I known you outlawed, shelterless,Hunted the country through—Trust me, the day that brought you hereWould have seemed the fairest of many a year;And a feast I had counted it indeedWhen you turned to Solhoug for refuge in need.
Enough, enough. Your bitterness
You presently shall rue.
Had I known you outlawed, shelterless,
Hunted the country through—
Trust me, the day that brought you here
Would have seemed the fairest of many a year;
And a feast I had counted it indeed
When you turned to Solhoug for refuge in need.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
What say you—? How shall I read your mind?
What say you—? How shall I read your mind?
What say you—? How shall I read your mind?
What say you—? How shall I read your mind?
Margit.[Holding out her hand to him.]
Margit.[Holding out her hand to him.]
Margit.
[Holding out her hand to him.]
Read this: that at Solhoug dwell kinsfolk kind.
Read this: that at Solhoug dwell kinsfolk kind.
Read this: that at Solhoug dwell kinsfolk kind.
Read this: that at Solhoug dwell kinsfolk kind.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
But you said of late—?
But you said of late—?
But you said of late—?
But you said of late—?
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
To that pay no heed.Or hear me, and understand indeed.For me is life but a long, black night,Nor sun, nor star for me shines bright.I have sold my youth and my liberty,And none from my bargain can set me free.My heart’s content I have bartered for gold,With gilded chains I have fettered myself;Trust me, it is but comfort coldTo the sorrowful soul, the pride of pelf.How blithe was my childhood—how free from care!Our house was lowly and scant our store;But treasures of hope in my breast I bore.
To that pay no heed.Or hear me, and understand indeed.For me is life but a long, black night,Nor sun, nor star for me shines bright.I have sold my youth and my liberty,And none from my bargain can set me free.My heart’s content I have bartered for gold,With gilded chains I have fettered myself;Trust me, it is but comfort coldTo the sorrowful soul, the pride of pelf.How blithe was my childhood—how free from care!Our house was lowly and scant our store;But treasures of hope in my breast I bore.
To that pay no heed.Or hear me, and understand indeed.For me is life but a long, black night,Nor sun, nor star for me shines bright.I have sold my youth and my liberty,And none from my bargain can set me free.My heart’s content I have bartered for gold,With gilded chains I have fettered myself;Trust me, it is but comfort coldTo the sorrowful soul, the pride of pelf.How blithe was my childhood—how free from care!Our house was lowly and scant our store;But treasures of hope in my breast I bore.
To that pay no heed.
Or hear me, and understand indeed.
For me is life but a long, black night,
Nor sun, nor star for me shines bright.
I have sold my youth and my liberty,
And none from my bargain can set me free.
My heart’s content I have bartered for gold,
With gilded chains I have fettered myself;
Trust me, it is but comfort cold
To the sorrowful soul, the pride of pelf.
How blithe was my childhood—how free from care!
Our house was lowly and scant our store;
But treasures of hope in my breast I bore.
Gudmund.[Whose eyes have been fixed upon her.]
Gudmund.[Whose eyes have been fixed upon her.]
Gudmund.
[Whose eyes have been fixed upon her.]
E’en then you were growing to beauty rare.
E’en then you were growing to beauty rare.
E’en then you were growing to beauty rare.
E’en then you were growing to beauty rare.
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
Mayhap; but the praises showered on meCaused the wreck of my happiness—that I now see.To far-off lands away you sailed;But deep in my heart was graven each songYou had ever sung; and their glamour was strong;With a mist of dreams my brow they veiled.In them all the joys you had dwelt uponThat can find a home in the beating breast;You had sung so oft of the lordly life’Mid knights and ladies. And lo! anonCame wooers a many from east and from west;And so—I became Bengt Gauteson’s wife.
Mayhap; but the praises showered on meCaused the wreck of my happiness—that I now see.To far-off lands away you sailed;But deep in my heart was graven each songYou had ever sung; and their glamour was strong;With a mist of dreams my brow they veiled.In them all the joys you had dwelt uponThat can find a home in the beating breast;You had sung so oft of the lordly life’Mid knights and ladies. And lo! anonCame wooers a many from east and from west;And so—I became Bengt Gauteson’s wife.
Mayhap; but the praises showered on meCaused the wreck of my happiness—that I now see.To far-off lands away you sailed;But deep in my heart was graven each songYou had ever sung; and their glamour was strong;With a mist of dreams my brow they veiled.In them all the joys you had dwelt uponThat can find a home in the beating breast;You had sung so oft of the lordly life’Mid knights and ladies. And lo! anonCame wooers a many from east and from west;And so—I became Bengt Gauteson’s wife.
Mayhap; but the praises showered on me
Caused the wreck of my happiness—that I now see.
To far-off lands away you sailed;
But deep in my heart was graven each song
You had ever sung; and their glamour was strong;
With a mist of dreams my brow they veiled.
In them all the joys you had dwelt upon
That can find a home in the beating breast;
You had sung so oft of the lordly life
’Mid knights and ladies. And lo! anon
Came wooers a many from east and from west;
And so—I became Bengt Gauteson’s wife.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Oh, Margit!
Oh, Margit!
Oh, Margit!
Oh, Margit!
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
The days that passed were but fewEre with tears my folly I ’gan to rue.To think, my kinsman and friend, on theeWas all the comfort left to me.How empty now seemed Solhoug’s hall,How hateful and drear its great rooms all!Hither came many a knight and dame,Came many a skald to sing my fame.But never a one who could fathom arightMy spirit and all its yearning—I shivered, as though in the Hill-King’s might;Yet my head throbbed, my blood was burning.
The days that passed were but fewEre with tears my folly I ’gan to rue.To think, my kinsman and friend, on theeWas all the comfort left to me.How empty now seemed Solhoug’s hall,How hateful and drear its great rooms all!Hither came many a knight and dame,Came many a skald to sing my fame.But never a one who could fathom arightMy spirit and all its yearning—I shivered, as though in the Hill-King’s might;Yet my head throbbed, my blood was burning.
The days that passed were but fewEre with tears my folly I ’gan to rue.To think, my kinsman and friend, on theeWas all the comfort left to me.How empty now seemed Solhoug’s hall,How hateful and drear its great rooms all!Hither came many a knight and dame,Came many a skald to sing my fame.But never a one who could fathom arightMy spirit and all its yearning—I shivered, as though in the Hill-King’s might;Yet my head throbbed, my blood was burning.
The days that passed were but few
Ere with tears my folly I ’gan to rue.
To think, my kinsman and friend, on thee
Was all the comfort left to me.
How empty now seemed Solhoug’s hall,
How hateful and drear its great rooms all!
Hither came many a knight and dame,
Came many a skald to sing my fame.
But never a one who could fathom aright
My spirit and all its yearning—
I shivered, as though in the Hill-King’s might;
Yet my head throbbed, my blood was burning.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
But your husband—?
But your husband—?
But your husband—?
But your husband—?
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
He never to me was dear.’Twas his gold was my undoing.When he spoke to me, aye, or e’en drew near,My spirit writhed with ruing.[Clasping her hands.And thus have I lived for three long years—A life of sorrow, of unstanched tears!Your coming was rumoured. You know full wellWhat pride deep down in my heart doth dwell.I hid my anguish, I veiled my woe,For you were the last that the truth must know.
He never to me was dear.’Twas his gold was my undoing.When he spoke to me, aye, or e’en drew near,My spirit writhed with ruing.[Clasping her hands.And thus have I lived for three long years—A life of sorrow, of unstanched tears!Your coming was rumoured. You know full wellWhat pride deep down in my heart doth dwell.I hid my anguish, I veiled my woe,For you were the last that the truth must know.
He never to me was dear.’Twas his gold was my undoing.When he spoke to me, aye, or e’en drew near,My spirit writhed with ruing.[Clasping her hands.And thus have I lived for three long years—A life of sorrow, of unstanched tears!Your coming was rumoured. You know full wellWhat pride deep down in my heart doth dwell.I hid my anguish, I veiled my woe,For you were the last that the truth must know.
He never to me was dear.
’Twas his gold was my undoing.
When he spoke to me, aye, or e’en drew near,
My spirit writhed with ruing.
[Clasping her hands.
And thus have I lived for three long years—
A life of sorrow, of unstanched tears!
Your coming was rumoured. You know full well
What pride deep down in my heart doth dwell.
I hid my anguish, I veiled my woe,
For you were the last that the truth must know.
Gudmund.[Moved.]
Gudmund.[Moved.]
Gudmund.
[Moved.]
’Twas therefore, then, that you turned away—
’Twas therefore, then, that you turned away—
’Twas therefore, then, that you turned away—
’Twas therefore, then, that you turned away—
Margit.[Not looking at him.]
Margit.[Not looking at him.]
Margit.
[Not looking at him.]
I thought you came at my woe to jeer.
I thought you came at my woe to jeer.
I thought you came at my woe to jeer.
I thought you came at my woe to jeer.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Margit, how could you think—?
Margit, how could you think—?
Margit, how could you think—?
Margit, how could you think—?
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
Nay, nay,There was reason enough for such a fear.But thanks be to Heaven, that fear is gone;And now no longer I stand alone;My spirit now is as light and freeAs a child’s at play ’neath the greenwood tree.[With a sudden start of fear.Ah, where are my wits fled! How could I forget—?Ye saints, I need sorely your succor yet!An outlaw, you said—?
Nay, nay,There was reason enough for such a fear.But thanks be to Heaven, that fear is gone;And now no longer I stand alone;My spirit now is as light and freeAs a child’s at play ’neath the greenwood tree.[With a sudden start of fear.Ah, where are my wits fled! How could I forget—?Ye saints, I need sorely your succor yet!An outlaw, you said—?
Nay, nay,There was reason enough for such a fear.But thanks be to Heaven, that fear is gone;And now no longer I stand alone;My spirit now is as light and freeAs a child’s at play ’neath the greenwood tree.[With a sudden start of fear.Ah, where are my wits fled! How could I forget—?Ye saints, I need sorely your succor yet!An outlaw, you said—?
Nay, nay,
There was reason enough for such a fear.
But thanks be to Heaven, that fear is gone;
And now no longer I stand alone;
My spirit now is as light and free
As a child’s at play ’neath the greenwood tree.
[With a sudden start of fear.
Ah, where are my wits fled! How could I forget—?
Ye saints, I need sorely your succor yet!
An outlaw, you said—?
Gudmund.[Smiling.]
Gudmund.[Smiling.]
Gudmund.
[Smiling.]
Nay, now I’m at home;Hither the King’s men scarce dare come.
Nay, now I’m at home;Hither the King’s men scarce dare come.
Nay, now I’m at home;Hither the King’s men scarce dare come.
Nay, now I’m at home;
Hither the King’s men scarce dare come.
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
Your fall has been sudden. I pray you, tellHow you lost the King’s favour.
Your fall has been sudden. I pray you, tellHow you lost the King’s favour.
Your fall has been sudden. I pray you, tellHow you lost the King’s favour.
Your fall has been sudden. I pray you, tell
How you lost the King’s favour.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
’Twas thus it befell.You know how I journeyed to France of late,When the Chancellor, Audun of Hegranes,Fared thither from Bergen, in royal state,To lead home the King’s bride, the fair Princess,With her squires, and maidens, and ducats bright.Sir Audun’s a fair and a stately knight,The Princess shone with a beauty rare—Her eyes seemed full of a burning prayer.They would oft talk alone and in whispers, the two—Of what? That nobody guessed or knew.There came a night when I leant at easeAgainst the galley’s railing;My thoughts flew onward to Norway’s leas,With the milk-white seagulls sailing.Two voices whispered behind my back;—I turned—it was he and she;I knew them well, though the night was black,But they—they saw not me.She gazed upon him with sorrowful eyesAnd whispered: “Ah, if to southern skiesWe could turn the vessel’s prow,And we were alone in the bark, we twain,My heart, methinks, would find peace again,Nor would fever burn my brow.”Sir Audun answers; and straight she replies,In words so fierce, so bold;Like glittering stars I can see her eyes;She begged him—[Breaking off.My blood ran cold.
’Twas thus it befell.You know how I journeyed to France of late,When the Chancellor, Audun of Hegranes,Fared thither from Bergen, in royal state,To lead home the King’s bride, the fair Princess,With her squires, and maidens, and ducats bright.Sir Audun’s a fair and a stately knight,The Princess shone with a beauty rare—Her eyes seemed full of a burning prayer.They would oft talk alone and in whispers, the two—Of what? That nobody guessed or knew.There came a night when I leant at easeAgainst the galley’s railing;My thoughts flew onward to Norway’s leas,With the milk-white seagulls sailing.Two voices whispered behind my back;—I turned—it was he and she;I knew them well, though the night was black,But they—they saw not me.She gazed upon him with sorrowful eyesAnd whispered: “Ah, if to southern skiesWe could turn the vessel’s prow,And we were alone in the bark, we twain,My heart, methinks, would find peace again,Nor would fever burn my brow.”Sir Audun answers; and straight she replies,In words so fierce, so bold;Like glittering stars I can see her eyes;She begged him—[Breaking off.My blood ran cold.
’Twas thus it befell.You know how I journeyed to France of late,When the Chancellor, Audun of Hegranes,Fared thither from Bergen, in royal state,To lead home the King’s bride, the fair Princess,With her squires, and maidens, and ducats bright.Sir Audun’s a fair and a stately knight,The Princess shone with a beauty rare—Her eyes seemed full of a burning prayer.They would oft talk alone and in whispers, the two—Of what? That nobody guessed or knew.There came a night when I leant at easeAgainst the galley’s railing;My thoughts flew onward to Norway’s leas,With the milk-white seagulls sailing.Two voices whispered behind my back;—I turned—it was he and she;I knew them well, though the night was black,But they—they saw not me.She gazed upon him with sorrowful eyesAnd whispered: “Ah, if to southern skiesWe could turn the vessel’s prow,And we were alone in the bark, we twain,My heart, methinks, would find peace again,Nor would fever burn my brow.”Sir Audun answers; and straight she replies,In words so fierce, so bold;Like glittering stars I can see her eyes;She begged him—[Breaking off.My blood ran cold.
’Twas thus it befell.
You know how I journeyed to France of late,
When the Chancellor, Audun of Hegranes,
Fared thither from Bergen, in royal state,
To lead home the King’s bride, the fair Princess,
With her squires, and maidens, and ducats bright.
Sir Audun’s a fair and a stately knight,
The Princess shone with a beauty rare—
Her eyes seemed full of a burning prayer.
They would oft talk alone and in whispers, the two—
Of what? That nobody guessed or knew.
There came a night when I leant at ease
Against the galley’s railing;
My thoughts flew onward to Norway’s leas,
With the milk-white seagulls sailing.
Two voices whispered behind my back;—
I turned—it was he and she;
I knew them well, though the night was black,
But they—they saw not me.
She gazed upon him with sorrowful eyes
And whispered: “Ah, if to southern skies
We could turn the vessel’s prow,
And we were alone in the bark, we twain,
My heart, methinks, would find peace again,
Nor would fever burn my brow.”
Sir Audun answers; and straight she replies,
In words so fierce, so bold;
Like glittering stars I can see her eyes;
She begged him—
[Breaking off.
My blood ran cold.
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
She begged—?
She begged—?
She begged—?
She begged—?
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
I arose, and they vanished apace;All was silent, fore and aft;—[Producing a small phial.But this I found by their resting place.
I arose, and they vanished apace;All was silent, fore and aft;—[Producing a small phial.But this I found by their resting place.
I arose, and they vanished apace;All was silent, fore and aft;—[Producing a small phial.But this I found by their resting place.
I arose, and they vanished apace;
All was silent, fore and aft;—
[Producing a small phial.
But this I found by their resting place.
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
And that—?
And that—?
And that—?
And that—?
Gudmund.[Lowering his voice.]
Gudmund.[Lowering his voice.]
Gudmund.
[Lowering his voice.]
Holds a secret draught.A drop of this in your enemy’s cupAnd his life will sicken and wither up.No leechcraft helps ’gainst the deadly thing.
Holds a secret draught.A drop of this in your enemy’s cupAnd his life will sicken and wither up.No leechcraft helps ’gainst the deadly thing.
Holds a secret draught.A drop of this in your enemy’s cupAnd his life will sicken and wither up.No leechcraft helps ’gainst the deadly thing.
Holds a secret draught.
A drop of this in your enemy’s cup
And his life will sicken and wither up.
No leechcraft helps ’gainst the deadly thing.
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
And that—?
And that—?
And that—?
And that—?
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
That draught was meant for the King.
That draught was meant for the King.
That draught was meant for the King.
That draught was meant for the King.
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
Great God!
Great God!
Great God!
Great God!
Gudmund.[Putting up the phial again.]
Gudmund.[Putting up the phial again.]
Gudmund.
[Putting up the phial again.]
That I found it was well for them all.In three days more was our voyage ended;Then I fled, by my faithful men attended.For I knew right well, in the royal hall,That Audun subtly would work my fall,—Accusing me—
That I found it was well for them all.In three days more was our voyage ended;Then I fled, by my faithful men attended.For I knew right well, in the royal hall,That Audun subtly would work my fall,—Accusing me—
That I found it was well for them all.In three days more was our voyage ended;Then I fled, by my faithful men attended.For I knew right well, in the royal hall,That Audun subtly would work my fall,—Accusing me—
That I found it was well for them all.
In three days more was our voyage ended;
Then I fled, by my faithful men attended.
For I knew right well, in the royal hall,
That Audun subtly would work my fall,—
Accusing me—
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
Aye, but at Solhoug heCannot harm you. All as of old will be.
Aye, but at Solhoug heCannot harm you. All as of old will be.
Aye, but at Solhoug heCannot harm you. All as of old will be.
Aye, but at Solhoug he
Cannot harm you. All as of old will be.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
All? Nay, Margit—you then were free.
All? Nay, Margit—you then were free.
All? Nay, Margit—you then were free.
All? Nay, Margit—you then were free.
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
You mean—?
You mean—?
You mean—?
You mean—?
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
I? Nay, I meant naught. My brainIs wildered; but ah, I am blithe and fainTo be, as of old, with you sisters twain.But tell me,—Signë—?
I? Nay, I meant naught. My brainIs wildered; but ah, I am blithe and fainTo be, as of old, with you sisters twain.But tell me,—Signë—?
I? Nay, I meant naught. My brainIs wildered; but ah, I am blithe and fainTo be, as of old, with you sisters twain.But tell me,—Signë—?
I? Nay, I meant naught. My brain
Is wildered; but ah, I am blithe and fain
To be, as of old, with you sisters twain.
But tell me,—Signë—?
Margit.[Points smiling towards the door on the left.]
Margit.[Points smiling towards the door on the left.]
Margit.
[Points smiling towards the door on the left.]
She comes anon.To greet her kinsman she needs must donHer trinkets—a task that takes time, ’tis plain.
She comes anon.To greet her kinsman she needs must donHer trinkets—a task that takes time, ’tis plain.
She comes anon.To greet her kinsman she needs must donHer trinkets—a task that takes time, ’tis plain.
She comes anon.
To greet her kinsman she needs must don
Her trinkets—a task that takes time, ’tis plain.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
I must see—I must see if she knows me again.[He goes out to the left.
I must see—I must see if she knows me again.[He goes out to the left.
I must see—I must see if she knows me again.[He goes out to the left.
I must see—I must see if she knows me again.
[He goes out to the left.
Margit.
Margit.
Margit.
[Following him-with her eyes.] How fair and manlike he is! [With a sigh.] There is little likeness ’twixt him and—[Begins putting things in order on the table, but presently stops.] “You then were free,” he said. Yes, then! [A short pause.] ’Twas a strange tale, that of the Princess who—She held another dear, and then—Aye, those women of far-off lands—I have heard it before—they are not weak as we are; they do not fear to pass from thought to deed. [Takes up a goblet which stands on the table.] ’Twas in this beaker that Gudman and I, when he went away, drank to his happy return. ’Tis well-nigh the only heirloom I brought with me to Solhoug. [Putting the goblet away in a cupboard.] How soft isthis summer day; and how light it is in here! So sweetly has the sun not shone for three long years.
[Signë,and after herGudmund,enters from the left.
[Signë,and after herGudmund,enters from the left.
Signë.[Runs laughing up toMargit.]
Signë.[Runs laughing up toMargit.]
Signë.
[Runs laughing up toMargit.]
Ha, ha, ha! He will not believe that ’tis I!
Ha, ha, ha! He will not believe that ’tis I!
Ha, ha, ha! He will not believe that ’tis I!
Ha, ha, ha! He will not believe that ’tis I!
Margit.[Smiling, toGudmund.]
Margit.[Smiling, toGudmund.]
Margit.
[Smiling, toGudmund.]
You see: while in far-off lands you strayed,She, too, has altered, the little maid.
You see: while in far-off lands you strayed,She, too, has altered, the little maid.
You see: while in far-off lands you strayed,She, too, has altered, the little maid.
You see: while in far-off lands you strayed,
She, too, has altered, the little maid.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Gudmund.
Aye truly! But that she should be—Why,’Tis a marvel in very deed.
Aye truly! But that she should be—Why,’Tis a marvel in very deed.
Aye truly! But that she should be—Why,’Tis a marvel in very deed.
Aye truly! But that she should be—Why,
’Tis a marvel in very deed.
[Takes bothSignë’shands and looks at her.
Yet, when I look in these eyes so blue,The innocent child-mind I still can read—Yes, Signë, I know that ’tis you!I needs must laugh when I think how oftI have thought of you perched on my shoulder aloftAs you used to ride. You were then a child;Now you are a nixie, spell-weaving, wild.
Yet, when I look in these eyes so blue,The innocent child-mind I still can read—Yes, Signë, I know that ’tis you!I needs must laugh when I think how oftI have thought of you perched on my shoulder aloftAs you used to ride. You were then a child;Now you are a nixie, spell-weaving, wild.
Yet, when I look in these eyes so blue,The innocent child-mind I still can read—Yes, Signë, I know that ’tis you!I needs must laugh when I think how oftI have thought of you perched on my shoulder aloftAs you used to ride. You were then a child;Now you are a nixie, spell-weaving, wild.
Yet, when I look in these eyes so blue,
The innocent child-mind I still can read—
Yes, Signë, I know that ’tis you!
I needs must laugh when I think how oft
I have thought of you perched on my shoulder aloft
As you used to ride. You were then a child;
Now you are a nixie, spell-weaving, wild.
Signë.[Threatening with her finger.]
Signë.[Threatening with her finger.]
Signë.
[Threatening with her finger.]
Beware! If the nixie’s ire you awaken,Soon in her nets you will find yourself taken.
Beware! If the nixie’s ire you awaken,Soon in her nets you will find yourself taken.
Beware! If the nixie’s ire you awaken,Soon in her nets you will find yourself taken.
Beware! If the nixie’s ire you awaken,
Soon in her nets you will find yourself taken.
Gudmund.[To himself.]
Gudmund.[To himself.]
Gudmund.
[To himself.]
I am snared already, it seems to me.
I am snared already, it seems to me.
I am snared already, it seems to me.
I am snared already, it seems to me.
Signë.
Signë.
Signë.
But, Gudmund, wait—you have still to seeHow I’ve shielded your harp from the dust and the rust.[As she goes out to the left.You shall teach me all of your songs! You must!
But, Gudmund, wait—you have still to seeHow I’ve shielded your harp from the dust and the rust.[As she goes out to the left.You shall teach me all of your songs! You must!
But, Gudmund, wait—you have still to seeHow I’ve shielded your harp from the dust and the rust.[As she goes out to the left.You shall teach me all of your songs! You must!
But, Gudmund, wait—you have still to see
How I’ve shielded your harp from the dust and the rust.
[As she goes out to the left.
You shall teach me all of your songs! You must!
Gudmund.[Softly, as he follows her with his eyes.]
Gudmund.[Softly, as he follows her with his eyes.]
Gudmund.
[Softly, as he follows her with his eyes.]
She has flushed to the loveliest rose of May,That was yet but a bud in the morning’s ray.
She has flushed to the loveliest rose of May,That was yet but a bud in the morning’s ray.
She has flushed to the loveliest rose of May,That was yet but a bud in the morning’s ray.
She has flushed to the loveliest rose of May,
That was yet but a bud in the morning’s ray.
Signë.[Returning with the harp.]
Signë.[Returning with the harp.]
Signë.
[Returning with the harp.]
Behold!
Behold!
Behold!
Behold!
Gudmund.[Taking it.]
Gudmund.[Taking it.]
Gudmund.
[Taking it.]
My harp! As bright as of yore![Striking one or two chords.
My harp! As bright as of yore![Striking one or two chords.
My harp! As bright as of yore![Striking one or two chords.
My harp! As bright as of yore!
[Striking one or two chords.
Still the old chords ring sweet and clear—On the wall, untouched, thou shalt hang no more.
Still the old chords ring sweet and clear—On the wall, untouched, thou shalt hang no more.
Still the old chords ring sweet and clear—On the wall, untouched, thou shalt hang no more.
Still the old chords ring sweet and clear—
On the wall, untouched, thou shalt hang no more.