Henrik Ibsens Prose Dramas, Vol III. | Page 2

of all is that Lady Inger thinks the same----
BIORN (starting). Lady Inger? What does she think?
FINN. What Lady Inger thinks no one can tell. But sure it is that she has no rest in her. See you not how day by day she grows thinner and paler? (Looks keenly at him.) They say she never sleeps--and that it is because of the dark figure----
(While he is speaking, ELINA GYLDENLOVE has appeared in the half-open door on the left. She stops and listens, unobserved.)
BIORN. And you believe such follies?
FINN. Well, half and half. There be folk, too, that read things another way. But that is pure malice, for sure.--Hearken, Biorn-- know you the song that is going round the country?
BIORN. A song?
FINN. Ay, 'tis on all folks' lips. 'Tis a shameful scurril thing, for sure; yet it goes prettily. Just listen (sings in a low voice):
Dame Inger sitteth in Ostrat fair, She wraps her in costly furs-- She decks her in velvet and ermine and vair, Red gold are the beads that she twines in her hair-- But small peace in that soul of hers.
Dame Inger hath sold her to Denmark's lord. She bringeth her folk 'neath the stranger's yoke-- In guerdon whereof---- ----
(BIORN enraged, seizes him by the throat. ELINA GYLDENLOVE withdraws without having been seen.)
BIORN. And I will send you guerdonless to the foul fiend, if you prate of Lady Inger but one unseemly word more.
FINN (breaking from his grasp). Why--did I make the song?
(The blast of a horn is heard from the right.)
BIORN. Hush--what is that?
FINN. A horn. So we are to have guests to-night.
BIORN (at the window). They are opening the gate. I hear the clatter of hoofs in the courtyard. It must be a knight.
FINN. A knight? A knight can it scarce be.
BIORN. Why not?
FINN. You said it yourself: the last of our knighthood is dead and gone. (Goes out to the right.)
BIORN. The accursed knave, with his prying and peering! What avails all my striving to hide and hush things? They whisper of her even now----; ere long will all men be clamouring for----
ELINA (comes in again through the door on the left; looks round her, and says with suppressed emotion). Are you alone, Biorn?
BIORN. Is it you, Mistress Elina?
ELINA. Come, Biorn, tell me one of your stories; I know you have more to tell than those that----
BIORN. A story? Now--so late in the evening----?
ELINA. If you count from the time when it grew dark at Ostrat, it is late indeed.
BIORN. What ails you? Has aught crossed you? You seem so restless.
ELINA. May be so.
BIORN. There is something the matter. I have hardly known you this half year past.
ELINA. Bethink you: this half year past my dearest sister Lucia has been sleeping in the vault below.
BIORN. That is not all, Mistress Elina--it is not that alone that makes you now thoughtful and white and silent, now restless and ill at ease, as you are to-night.
ELINA. You think so? And wherefore not? Was she not gentle and pure and fair as a summer night? Biorn, I tell you, Lucia was dear to me as my life. Have you forgotten how many a time, as children, we sat on your knee in the winter evenings? You sang songs to us, and told us tales----
BIORN. Ay, then your were blithe and gay.
ELINA. Ah, then, Biorn! Then I lived a glorious life in the fable-land of my own imaginings. Can it be that the sea-strand was naked then as now? If it were so, I did not know it. It was there I loved to go, weaving all my fair romances; my heroes came from afar and sailed again across the sea; I lived in their midst, and set forth with them when they sailed away. (Sinks on a chair.) Now I feel so faint and weary; I can live no longer in my tales. They are only--tales. (Rises hastily.) Biorn, do you know what has made me sick? A truth; a hateful, hateful truth, that gnaws me day and night.
BIORN. What mean you?
ELINA. Do you remember how sometimes you would give us good counsel and wise saws? Sister Lucia followed them; but I--ah, well-a-day!
BIORN (consoling her). Well, well----!
ELINA. I know it--I was proud and self-centred! In all our games, I would still be the Queen, because I was the tallest, the fairest, the wisest! I know it!
BIORN. That is true.
ELINA. Once you took me by the hand and looked earnestly at me, and said: "Be not proud of your fairness, or your wisdom; but be proud as the mountain eagle as often as you think: I am Inger Gyldenlove's daughter!"
BIORN. And was it not matter enough for pride?
ELINA. You told me so often enough, Biorn! Oh, you told me so many tales in those days. (Presses his hand.)