Bjornstjerne Bjornson | Page 7

all has a strange and solemn beauty. It is on
the eve of the battle in which Sigurd is to be captured and put to death
by his enemies. The actual manner of his death was too horrible even
for the purposes of tragedy; and the poet has chosen the better part in
ending the play with a foreshadowing of the outcome. Sigurd has made
his last stand, his Danish allies have deserted him, and he well knows
what will be the next day's issue. And here we have one of the noblest
illustrations in all literature of that _Versöhnung_ which is the last
word of tragic art. For in this supreme hour the peace of mind which he
has sought for so many years comes to him when least expected, and all
the tempests of life are stilled. That reconciliation which the hour of
approaching death brings to men whose lives have been set at tragic
pitch, has come to him also; he now sees that this was the inevitable
end, and the recognition of the fitness with which events have shaped
themselves brings with it an exaltation of soul in which life is seen
revealed in its true aspect. No longer veiled in the mists which have
hitherto hidden it from his passionate gaze, he takes note of what it
really is, and casts it from him. In this hour of passionless
contemplation such a renunciation is not a thing torn from the reluctant
soul, but the clear solution, so long sought, of the problem so long
blindly attempted. That which his passion enslaved self has so
struggled to avert, his higher self, at last set free, calmly and gladly
accepts.
"What miracle is this? for in the hour I prayed, the prayer was granted!
Peace, perfect peace! Then I will go to-morrow to my last battle as to
the altar; peace shall at last be mine for all my longings. "How this
autumn evening brings reconciliation to my soul! Sun and wave and
shore and sea flow all together, as in the thought of God all others;

never yet has it seemed so fair to me. But it is not mine to rule over this
lovely land. How greatly I have done it ill! But how has it all so come
to pass? for in my wanderings I saw thy mountains in every sky, I
yearned for home as a child longs for Christmas, yet I came no sooner,
and when at last I came, I gave thee wound upon wound. "But now, in
contemplative mood, thou gazest upon me, and givest me at parting this
fairest autumn night of thine; I will ascend yonder rock and take a long
farewell."
The action of "Sigurd Slembe," is interspersed with several lyrics, the
most striking of which is herd translated in exact reproduction of the
original form:
"Sin and Death, at break of day, Day, day, Spoke together with bated
breath; 'Marry thee, sister, that I may stay, Stay, stay, In thy house,'
quoth Death. "Death laughed aloud when Sin was wed, Wed, wed, And
danced on the bridal day: But bore that night from the bridal bed, Bed,
bed, The groom in a shroud away. "Death came to her sister at break of
day, Day, day, And Sin drew a weary breath; 'He whom thou lovest is
mine for aye, Aye, aye, Mine he is,' quoth Death."
One more saga drama was to be written by Björnson, but "Sigurd
Slembe" remains his greatest achievement in this field of activity. Its
single successor, "Sigurd Jorsalfar," was not published until ten years
later, and may not be compared with it for either strength or poetic
inspiration. The author called it a "folkplay," and announced the
intention, which was never fulfilled, of making several similar
experiments with scenes from the sagas, "which should appeal to every
eye and every stage of culture, to each in its own way, and at the
performance of which all, for the time being, would experience the joy
of fellow feeling." The experiment proves interesting, and is carried out
without didacticism or straining after sensational effects; the play is
vigorous and well planned, but for the reader it has little of the dramatic
impressiveness of its predecessor, although as an acting drama it is
better fitted for the requirements of the stage.
The two volumes which contain the greater part of Björnson's poetry
not dramatic in form were both published in 1870. One of them was the
collection of his "Poems and Songs," the other was the epic cycle,
"Arnljot Gelline," the only long poem that he has written. The volume
of lyrics includes many pieces of imperfect quality and slight

value,--personal tributes and occasional productions,--but it includes
also those national songs that every Norwegian knows by