_The scene is at first empty. Then_ Sigurd Slembe _enters, climbing over
a rock; he comes forward in silence, but powerfully agitated._
The Danes forsake me! The battle is lost! Thus far--and no farther!
Escape to the mountains to-night! Exchange my ships for freedom! There
are herds of horses on the mountains: we will climb up there and then
fall upon the valleys like a snowstorm.
But when winter comes? To begin at the beginning: the outlaw's
life--never more! I have made my last effort; had it been successful,
men would have wondered at me. It has failed, and vengeance is loose. I
cannot gather another force in Norway!
All over? Thus far and no farther? No! The Danes sail, but we will sail
with them! This night, this very night we will raise our yards and
follow them to the open sea.
But whither shall we turn our prows? To Denmark? We may raise no third
force in Denmark. Start out again as merchant? No! Serve in foreign
lands? No! Crusade? No! Hither and no farther! Sigurd, the end has come!
[_Almost sobbing._] Death! The thought sprang up in my mind as a door
swings open, clashing upon its hinges; light, air, receive me! [_He
draws his sword._] No; I will fall fighting in the cause I have lived
for--my men shall have a leader!
Is there no chance of victory? no trick? Can I not get them ashore? Can
I not get them in the toils? try them in point-blank fight, man to man,
all the strength of despair fighting with me? Ah, could they but hear
me, could I but find some high place and speak to them; tell them how
clear as the sun is my right, how monstrous the wrongs I have borne,
what a crime is theirs in withstanding me! You murder not me alone, but
thousands upon thousands of thoughts for my fatherland's welfare; I have
carried nothing out, I have not sown the least grain, or laid one stone
upon another to witness that I have lived. Ah, I have strength for
better things than strife; it was the desire to work that drove me
homewards; it was impatience that wrought me ill! Believe me, try me,
give me but half what Harald Gille promised me, even less; I ask but
very little, if I may still live and strive to accomplish something!
Jesus, my God, it was ever the little that thou didst offer me, and
that I ever scorned!
Where am I? I stand upon my own grave, and hear the great bell ring. I
tremble as the tower beneath its stroke, for where now are the aims that
were mine? The grave opens its mouth and makes reply. But life lies
behind me like a dried-up stream, and these eighteen years are lost as
in a desert. The sign, the sign that was with me from my birth! In lofty
flight I have followed it hither with all the strength of my soul, and
here I am struck by the arrow of death. I fall, and behold the rocks
beneath, upon which I shall be crushed. Have I, then, seen a-wrong? Ah,
how the winds and currents of my life stood yonder, where it was warm
and fruitful, while I toiled up where it grew ever colder, and my ship
is now clasped by the drifting icebergs; a moment yet, and it must sink.
Then let it sink, and all will be over. [_On his knees_.] But in thy
arms, All-Merciful, I shall find peace!
What miracle is this? For in the hour I prayed the prayer was granted!
Peace, perfect peace! [_Rises_.] Then will I go to-morrow to my last
battle as to the altar; peace shall at last be mine for all my longings.
[_Holds his head bowed and covered by his hands. As he, after a time,
slowly removes them, he looks around_.]
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! Yet it is not mine to
reign over this lovely land. How greatly I have done it ill! But how has
it all come so 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 thou, in contemplative mood, now gazest upon me, and givest me at
parting this fairest autumn night of thine. I will ascend yonder rock
and take a long farewell. [_Mounts up_.]
And even thus I stood eighteen years ago,--thus looked out upon the sea,
blue beneath the rising sun. The fresh breezes of morning seemed wafted
to me from a high future; through the sky's light veil a vision of
strange lands was mine; in the glow of the morning sun, wealth and honor
shone upon me; and to all this, the white sails of the Crusaders should
swiftly bear me.
Farewell, dreams of my youth! Farewell, my sweet country! Ah, to what
sorrow thou hast brought me forth! But now it will soon be over. [_He
descends_.]
If these ships should sail up to me this very night bearing the
fulfillment of all my dreams! Could any one of them be now in truth
mine,--or may a tree bear fruit twice in one year?
I give way to make room for some better man. But be thou gracious to me,
and let death be mine with these feelings in my heart, for strength to
be faithful might not long be vouchsafed me.
"Thou shalt die to-morrow!" How sure a father-confessor is that word!
Now for the first time I speak truth to myself.
_Ivar_ [_climbing' over a rock_]--Yes, here he is. [_Gives his hand to
the nun._]
_The Nun_ [_without seeing_]--Sigurd! [_Mounts up._] Yes, there he is!
_Sigurd_--Mother!
_The Nun_--My child, found once more! [_They remain long clasped in each
other's arms._] My son, my son, now shalt thou no more escape me!
_Sigurd_--O my mother!
_The Nun_--Thou wilt keep away from this battle, is it not so? We two
will win another kingdom,--a much better one.
_Sigurd_--I understand thee, mother. [_Leads her to a seat, and falls
upon his knee._]
_The Nun_--Yes, dost thou not? Thou art not so bad as all men would have
it. I knew that well, but wanted so much to speak with thee,--and since
thou art wearied and hast lost thy hopes for this world, thou hast come
back to me, for even now there is time! And of all thy realm they must
leave thee some little plot, and there we will live by the church, so
that when the bells ring for vespers we shall be near the blessed Olaf,
and with him seek the presence of the Almighty. And there we will heal
thy wounds with holy water, and thoughts of love, more than thou canst
remember ever to have had, shall come back to thee robed in white, and
wondering recollection shall have no end. For the great shall be made
small and the small great, and there shall be questionings and
revelations and eternal happiness. Thou wilt come and thus live with me,
my son, wilt thou not? Thou wilt stay from this battle and come quickly?
_Sigurd_--Mother, I have not wept till now since I lay upon the parched
earth of the Holy Land.
_The Nun_--Thou wilt follow me?
_Sigurd_--To do thus were to escape the pledges I have made but by
breaking them.
_The Nun_--To what art thou now pledged?
_Sigurd_--Pledged to the blind king I took from the cloister; pledged to
the men I have led hither.
_The Nun_--And these pledges thou shalt redeem--how?
_Sigurd_--By fighting and falling at their head.
_The Nun [springs to her feet. Sigurd also rises_.]--No! No! No! Shall I
now, after a lifetime of sorrow, behold thy death?
_Sigurd_--Yes, mother. The Lord of life and death will have it so.
_The Nun_--Ah! what sufferings a moment's sin may bring! [_She falls
upon his breast, then sinks, with outstretched arms_.] O my son,
spare me!
_Sigurd_--Do not tempt me, mother!
_The Nun_--Hast thou taken thought of what may follow? Hast thou thought
of capture, of mutilation?
_Sigurd_--I have some hymns left me from childhood. I can sing them.
_The Nun_--But I--thy mother--spare me!
_Sigurd_--Make not to me this hour more bitter than death itself.
_The Nun_--But why now die? We have found one another.
_Sigurd_--We two have nothing more to live for.
_The Nun_--Wilt thou soon leave me?
_Sigurd_--Till the morning sun appear we will sit together. Let me lift
thee upon this rock. [_He does so, and casts himself at her feet_.] It
was fair that thou shouldst come to me. All my life is now blotted out,
and I am a child with thee once more. And now we will seek out together
the land of our inheritance. I must away for a moment to take my leave,
and then I shall be ready, and I think that thou too art ready.
_Ivar Ingemundson [falling on his knee_]--My lord, now let me be your
friend.
_Sigurd [extending his hand_]--Ivar, thou wilt not leave her to-morrow?
_Ivar Ingemundson_--Not until she is set free.
_Sigurd_--And now sing me the Crusader's song. I may joyfully go hence
after that.