(Slope of a valley overgrown with brush and heather and flowers. Toward
the rear on the left, a beautiful cataract rushes down from a great
height between steep cliffs. On the right, a rock shuts out the bottom
of the falls, and part of the river. In the background is a mountainous
landscape. It is an exquisite summer evening and the sun is playing on
the water in ever changing colours. The stage is empty. From beneath the
falls a song is heard, even before the rise of the curtain.)
(A little before the song ends, Hadda Padda enters from the left,
accompanied by the children. She wears a light summer dress with a
chiffon scarf thrown over her shoulders. The children have come prepared
to gather berries. One has a wooden box, one a coloured glass bottle
half filled with berries, etc. They stop to listen until the song is
finished.)
MAGGA. Who was singing?
HADDA PADDA. The summer guests down at the falls.--Well, children, hurry
now and gather your berries. We'll be going home soon. [Pointing to the
right.] See that hollow? There must be lots of berries in there. [Sits
down on a stone.]
SIGGA. Aren't you coming along with us, Hadda Padda?
HADDA PADDA. No, you bring your berries back to me.
SIGGA [turning the bottle over in her palm]. Do you want some?
HADDA PADDA [staying her off]. No, no--not now.
DODDI. Oh, Hadda! I'll gather the bluest berries for you.
LITTLE SKULI. When _I_ come back I'll bring you berries and flowers too.
MAGGA. You won't wait for us, Hadda Padda.
HADDA PADDA [_nodding assent--hand under cheek_]. No--no.
ALL THE CHILDREN. Aren't you going to wait for us?
HADDA PADDA [_with a start, recovering herself_]. Wait for you,
yes--yes, of course--do you think I would run away from you? I will
wait here till you come back. [_The children go off to the right. Hadda
remains seated for a moment, rises absent-mindedly, walks to and fro
thoughtfully, sometimes stumbling. Then she sits down again, hiding her
face in her hands._]
AN HERBORIST [_enters from the right. On her shoulder she is carrying
a canvas bag, half filled with herbs. She wears a knitted shawl and a
parti-colored kerchief on her head. In her hand, she holds a large knife
in a leather sheath_]. Good evening, young lady!
HADDA PADDA [_startled_]. Good evening, Arngerd!
HERBORIST [_putting the bag aside_]. I seemed to recognise one of the
sisters. It is you they call Hadda Padda.
HADDA PADDA. I came berrying with the children.
HERBORIST. I saw them down in the hollow.--It is lucky to visit the
falls to-night.--I heard the song.--What a beautiful day! [_Sits
down_]--Just look at the evening glow on that rock! [_Smiles._] Its
furrows seem like ruddy smiling lips!
HADDA PADDA [_looking up_]. Like bleeding wounds.
HERBORIST. Is the young lady in low spirits?
HADDA PADDA [_keeps silent_].
HERBORIST [_looking at the slope_]. What a host of blessed flowers! I'll
soon get my bag filled here. There are some of the right kind among them
I'm sure.
HADDA PADDA. That is a pretty bag you have.
HERBORIST. I thought it an insult to the flowers to put them in a coarse
sack, so I took my pillow case.
HADDA PADDA. Are there only flowers in it?
HERBORIST. They are healing plants.
HADDA PADDA. That's true. You heal with herbs.... You believe in their
power?
HERBORIST. I believe in a fact that cannot be doubted. And I am quite
sure that there is no disease that could not be healed by herbs, if
people knew enough about their mysteries.
HADDA PADDA. There are wounds, I suppose, that only death can heal.
HERBORIST [looking down into the bag, she takes out an herb]. I think
the young lady is very depressed, Shall I show her an herb that can heal
many ills?
HADDA PADDA. A lady-slipper?
HERBORIST. It is also called the love flower.... If you would gain a
man's heart you slip it under his pillow.
HADDA PADDA. Don't you see the ring on my finger? Don't you know my
sweetheart?
HERBORIST. Yes, certainly.--He was a handsome boy. [Plays with the bag,
as she hums.]:
"When love is the strongest, it leads to your fall, A maid's happy
longest, who heeds no man's call."
HADDA PADDA [drawing her scarf more closely around her]. Do you hear the
flies buzzing?
HERBORIST [looking deep down into the bag]. Yes.
HADDA PADDA. It is like the sound of a burning wick.
HERBORIST [does not hear].
HADDA PADDA. Now there is only one left.--It is buzzing around my bead.
[Putting her hand on the arm of the herborist.] Say something to me,
good healer.
HERBORIST. Pretty are her hands! Were they chapped or sore I would heal
them with yarrow ointment. [Taking up a yarrow.]
HADDA PADDA. Can that be done?
HERBORIST. Oh, yes, with finely cut yarrow, boiled in fresh new butter.
[_Puts the plant aside, picks up a dandelion._]
HADDA PADDA. What do you use the dandelion for?
HERBORIST. If the young lady had warts on her hands, I would rub them
with the milk of the dandelion, and the warts would vanish. [_Takes up a
new plant._]
HADDA PADDA. What do you call this flower?
HERBORIST. Doesn't she know the sun-dew? It is a cure for freckles.
HADDA PADDA [_taking the flower_]. Ah! I know this.--You cruel pretty
little flower! With your beauty you lure the insects to you. Then you
close on them, and kill them. You cruel pretty little flower! Do you
know my sister? [_Puts the sun-dew aside._]
HERBORIST [_holding a new plant in her hand_]. This is the grass of
Parnassus. It makes a good hair-ointment.--Pretty is the young lady's
hair.
HADDA PADDA. You have dug up all the flowers by the roots.
HERBORIST [_pointing to the knife_]. I cut them up by the roots. They
must not lose their power. They are all alive.--Shall I tell you more?
HADDA PADDA. Not now, thank you.
HERBORIST [_puts the flowers into the bag; points to the sky_]. Look how
red the clouds are!--I think we'll have fine weather to-morrow.
HADDA PADDA. Do you think so?
HERBORIST. Evening-glow means warm, morning-glow means storm.
HADDA PADDA [_is silent_].
HERBORIST. Why do you look at me so long?
HADDA PADDA. You have such a peaceful smile on your face. Are you always
so contented?
HERBORIST. I have no reason not to be.
HADDA PADDA. Have you never been discontented with life?
HERBORIST. Yes, when I deserved it. But when one is kind to every one,
life brings peace and happiness.
HADDA PADDA. Has kindness never taken revenge?
HERBORIST. Kindness does not take revenge. It is only evil that takes
revenge.
HADDA PADDA. Then you have been obedient to your fate?
HERBORIST. What I say is true, my girl. Life treats us as we deserve. We
cannot get rid of our past. Nature is a righteous judge.
HADDA PADDA. Nature is heartless and blind.
HERBORIST. Nature IS a righteous judge. I shall never forget something
that happened thirty years ago. I lived at the sea-shore then. One day,
when I was washing fish with some other girls, we saw a woman from the
farm take her child by the hand and lead her out to a jutting rock--when
the flood tide came it took her....
HADDA PADDA [looking up].
HERBORIST.... The case was brought before the judge. The mother insisted
that she had left the child on the ridge, and that it must have walked
down to the shore while she was gathering some dulse. Each of us had to
point out the spot where she had left the child, but the mother pointed
to the ridge. As she raised her three fingers to swear that it was true,
a wave rose, and out of it shot a white column of foam. It stretched
like an arm into the air--like an arm with three swearing fingers. The
sea itself swore against her.
HADDA PADDA [A cold shiver runs through her. She draws her scarf more
closely around her]. It is so strangely cold here.
HERBORIST. The sun is going down. I had better be going. [The bag
upsets, and some plants slip out.]
HADDA PADDA. The dandelion is slipping out of the bag. Grant the
dandelion its life.
HERBORIST. I can't grant the dandelion its life. Perhaps to-morrow a
mother will come with her little girl. "Rid her of her warts," she will
say, "for her hands are so fine."...
HADDA PADDA [takes the dandelion in her hands]. Grant the dandelion its
life. Do you see how it stretches its thousand delicate fingers to the
fading light? If you plant it again, it will close up and be silent a
whole night with joy.
HERBORIST. You are silent and you don't smile--is it with joy?
HADDA PADDA. You must not ask me that.
HERBORIST. Smile, and I will grant the dandelion its life.
HADDA PADDA. Now I am smiling.
HERBORIST [thrusts her hand into the bag]. Tell me of your joy, young
woman. Each time you give an answer you grant a flower its life.--
Of all things,--what is the softest you have ever felt?
HADDA PADDA. The hair on my cheek when my lover stroked it.
HERBORIST [taking a plant from the bag]. Now you have granted the yarrow
its life.--Tell me of your joy, young woman. What made your hand so
pretty?
HADDA PADDA. Happiness made my hand so pretty. It has smoothed back the
hair from the most beautiful forehead.
HERBORIST [taking out another plant]. Now you have granted the catch-fly
its life.--What cast the shade of sorrow in your eyes?
HADDA PADDA. Now you are not asking me of joy. Now I will not answer.
HERBORIST [shows her a new plant, fondling the flower]. Why shall the
violet die?
HADDA PADDA. Do not ask me why the violet shall die.... I want to be
alone.
HERBORIST [gets up, puts the bag on her shoulder, takes the knife and
flowers]. God bless thee, young woman! The Lord be with thee, Hadda
Padda. [Disappears to the left.]
[The sun sets behind the mountains and twilight gradually descends.
Hadda Padda sits gazing into space. Suddenly she is startled by voices,
and she disappears into the bushes. Native and foreign tourists come
from behind the rock, two by two, crossing the stage, conversing. German
and French are heard. Behind them all, comes]
A YOUNG WOMAN [waiting till the others are gone, she calls]. Hadda
Padda!... Hadda!... Hrafnhild! [She shades her eyes with her hand.]
There they are! [Goes out to the right.]
[Ingolf and Kristrun enter from behind the rock.]
INGOLF [stops]. Look, there are the children gathering berries. ... Do
you see Hrafnhild?
KRISTRUN. No, but I see Helga walking toward them.
INGOLF. I wonder if Hrafnhild is down in the hollow?
KRISTRUN. Perhaps she is.
INGOLF. We won't pass there then. Let's rest here for a moment. [Sits
down.]
KRISTRUN. You act as if Hrafnhild were still your sweetheart.
INGOLF. What do you mean?
KRISTRUN. I thought you wanted to show me the greater consideration. But
it is quite the contrary. Sometimes you are positively hard to me, just
to spare Hrafnhild every conceivable annoyance.
INGOLF. Do you remember the day after--. When she walked around trying
to smile to every one. She was like a sick butterfly. You didn't
complain then that I was too considerate to her.
KRISTRUN [disregarding his remark]. You and she--you wear the rings--you
are the lovers in every one's opinion! And I have to endure it.
INGOLF. You gave your consent for us to wear the rings till we leave
here.
KRISTRUN. My consent, yes! If it is a consent that you made me pity her.
I don't think she needs any pity now.
INGOLF. Yes, it is very strange,--to-day, to-day and yesterday she has
been tingling with joy.
KRISTRUN [sitting down]. Now you can see how deeply her love touched
her. After ONE week she's as though nothing had ever happened.
INGOLF. Hrafnhild is proud by nature. She would never let it be seen
that an unfortunate love affair could make her miserable.
KRISTRUN. Yes, SHE is proud by nature, she is everything fine.--And I--I
am nothing. [Tears in her eyes.]
INGOLF. You are the loveliest woman in the world. [Embraces her.]
HADDA PADDA [appears between the bushes, seeing them she stops an
instant, then goes toward them]. I didn't know you were here.
INGOLF [gets up]. We have just come from the falls.
HADDA PADDA. And I was just gathering berries. Aren't my lips blue?...
Why are you so silent, Runa, dear?
KRISTRUN [does not answer].
HADDA PADDA [in a changed voice]. I am going away to-morrow.
INGOLF. Going away to-morrow?
KRISTRUN. Going away--?
HADDA PADDA. I leave to-morrow. I'm going with Helga.--Let us part
friends.--I have only one thing to say to you before I go.
INGOLF. What is that?
HADDA PADDA. You may feel safe now. I won't be the shadow in your sunny
path.... I don't love you any longer, Ingolf. [Ingolf and Kristrun look
at her amazed.]
HADDA PADDA. Nor do I bear you a grudge... that is why I can tell you
this.
INGOLF. I always knew you were high-minded, Hrafnhild, but--
HADDA PADDA. And Runa, dear, won't we be the same friendly sisters we
have always been? [Strokes her hair.] Do you want to see that I love you
as much as ever? [Takes her hand.] Come, let me take you in my arms.
KRISTRUN [bursting into tears, she throws herself into Hadda's arms].
Hadda, dear--
HADDA PADDA [presses Kristrun violently to her breast].
KRISTRUN [throwing her head back]. Hadda, Hadda, you are hurting me!
HADDA PADDA [lets go of her--turns to Ingolf]. And now I would like to
speak to you for a moment. May I?
INGOLF. Yes, certainly.
HADDA PADDA, Oh, there's Helga. She is looking for me, Runa, dear, may I
say a few words to Ingolf? You meet Helga, and start for home with her,
won't you?
KRISTRUN. I'll do that, Hadda. [Hurries away.]
HADDA PADDA [sits down]. I think I have discovered that you don't really
enjoy your new happiness. That is why I want to talk to you.
INGOLF. You have told me all I want to hear.
HADDA PADDA [involuntarily frowning a moment]. It is strange how proud
the imagination can be, pretending to be a strong reality. If I had
really loved you at all, I would still. I do not. So long as you were
free, I made myself believe I had a certain claim to you. But once you
were engaged to any one else, the same thing would have happened?--I
should have forgotten you in a week.
INGOLF. You need not tell me this, I know it.
HADDA PADDA. What do you know?
INGOLF. I know that you deny your own heart for the sake of others.
HADDA PADDA. Now you think too highly of both of us. I am not so good
as you would make me, and it is not so difficult to forget you as you
imagine.--You won't believe that I have succeeded in forgetting you.
Won't you believe, either, that I have made every effort to do it?
The day before yesterday I locked myself in my room, and took out your
letters to see whether I could bear to read them. I wanted to test
myself,--you know I like to get to the very heart of things. Well, I
read letter after letter. It is a remarkable power that is given to a
trivial matter. If I had not read the letters, I might still have felt
unhappy, but I read and read with ever increasing calmness. I don't
believe my feelings. I go walking, searching for all the places where
the earth must be scorched with burning pleasures, in order to know
whether they enkindle memories so sacred that they can again inflame
me. Everything, everything, is extinguished. What is the matter, little
Hadda? Does everything leave you cold? Is this death perhaps? And a
mixed feeling of joy and pain seizes me, for this came so unexpected--it
came so unexpected--it came so unexpected--
INGOLF. What is the matter, Hrafnhild? Are you ill? You are so excited.
Why are you so eager to tell me all this?
HADDA PADDA. Because I don't want you to think I am making any
sacrifice. You think so, but I am not.
INGOLF. I understand.
HADDA PADDA. No, you don't understand. There was still one place where I
was afraid to go, because it meant more to me than any other. I grasped
my heart with fear, and there I seemed to find the place. It was the
Angelica Gorge,--where you had put your life in my hands. I was afraid
that if I went there, I would instantly lose the peace of mind I had
gained. But if I could not bear that, then this peace was nothing but
an illusion. I wanted to be sincere with myself--so I went up there last
night.
INGOLF. We saw you walking up the mountain.
HADDA PADDA. I lay down on the edge of the cliff and looked down into
the depth from which I had seen you come up. "Little heart," I said,
"try to be calm while I am tormenting you: Here it was that he raised
himself up on the rope _I_ held. Here it was that he showed me how well
he loved me." But instead of feeling pain, my whole frame quivered with
trembling joy. Here, too, I had conquered. Tears of gratitude came into
my eyes, I stretched myself farther out on the edge to make my tears of
joy fall into the chasm, down to the very bottom.--Do you see now that
I am not going to make a sacrifice. Now tell all this to Runa, for she
should know it too.
INGOLF [very much moved, throws himself at her feet]. When you have
risen I will kiss the ground your feet have marked.
HADDA PADDA. Then I shall never rise.... Don't lie down like that. Get
up, Ingolf, INGOLF. I will lie down and forget. Let me dream of death
for one moment.
HADDA PADDA. Death! You who are happy!
INGOLF. Death is not unhappiness.
HADDA PADDA. Come, sit down again. I will tell you what death is. Last
night I was only a hair's breadth away from it.
INGOLF [starts, terror stricken, he half arises]. What are you saying?
HADDA PADDA. When I lay there on the edge of the gorge, looking down,
something dazzlingly white flashed before my eyes. Quite instinctively I
reached out for it. It was as if my hands perceived what it was, before
my eyes had had time to make it clear to me. It was the string of pearls
which bad loosened from my hair. I reached for it without considering
how unsafely I was lying there, when suddenly I felt myself slipping
down. The sensation cannot be described. While my right hand reached for
the pearls which were dropping down into the gorge, my left caught hold
of the turf on the brink. I was losing my balance and nothing held me
up but a few blades of grass. I felt my heart in my throat, and a cold
perspiration over my whole body. Now the grass was giving way, now I
clawed my fingers down into the earth and dug my feet into it, but it
was too hard; I tried to press my knees down into the turf--nothing
helped, I was slipping. Life or death! To the right there was a stone.
I let go of the grass, and blindly swung my body to the right, my feet
slipped beyond the edge,--but my hands had caught hold of the stone.
When I got to the edge again, I lay in a stupour for a long time, and
I did not know whether I was at the bottom of the gorge or at the
top.--Never have I loved life as I do to-day.
INGOLF. How horrible! But what made you wear the pearls?
HADDA PADDA. It was foolish, but I don't know whether you can blame me.
One day, when I was almost melancholy, and I could not talk to anybody,
I was seized with an unconquerable home-sick feeling. I yearned for
mother, and felt how much I loved her. I took the pearls out and looked
at this precious heirloom, which she had given me. I fastened it in my
hair,--and immediately I felt better. That was why I wore them the nest
day too.
INGOLF. And now they lie at the bottom of the gorge!
HADDA PADDA. Yes.
INGOLF. What are you going to tell your mother?
HADDA PADDA. I won't tell her anything before I know whether they will
be found.
INGOLF. Have you asked any one to search for them?
HADDA PADDA. I just thought of asking Steindor, but I can hardly bring
myself to tell him,--if afterwards they should not be found.
INGOLF [A vague disquietude takes possession of him. He is silent for an
instant, then stares at Hadda, trying to read the influence of his words
upon her]. Well, you are going to-morrow, and the very next day I will
go down into the gorge and look for them.
HADDA PADDA. Will you really, Ingolf? And not tell Runa that I lost
them? Mother must not know that I have treated the pearls so carelessly.
INGOLF. I won't tell any one.
HADDA PADDA [looking at him with wide-opened eyes]. I'd like it even
more if you would do it before I left. If you looked for them to-morrow
morning while I am getting ready to go. Then you'd spare me the anxiety.
Take Steindor with you, will you?
INGOLF [gets up. All doubt leaves his mind as he looks into her face and
he is ashamed of the unworthy suspicion that had touched his soul]. Yes,
Hrafnhild, don't be distressed. We shall find your pearls.--Aren't you
coming with me?
HADDA. PADDA. No, I will wait for the children.
INGOLF. Good-night, Hrafnhild. [Goes.]
HADDA PADDA. Good-night. [Looks after him for a long time. Her eyes
fill with tears, and she throws herself down weeping violently. Soon the
voices of children, laughing, are heard near by. She looks up, passes
her hand over her eyes, hears the children's footsteps and lies down
again as if asleep.]
THE CHILDREN [enter. In addition to the berries, each of them carries a
bouquet of flowers].
LITTLE SKULI. She's asleep. [He takes his bouquet, and those of the
others, placing them around her head.]
The children sit down quietly, eating their berries.
CURTAIN