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Transcriber's note:
The first few pages of the book, before the Contents, have been
rearranged in the order 4, 5, 2, 1, 3. Rows of asterisks show the
original page breaks.
The word "cooperation" was printed with dieresis (dots) over the
second "o". The dieresis was omitted from this e-text to minimize
confusion with the letter "ö". Variation between ö (Introduction
and Advertising sections, including all references to "Björnstjerne
Björnson") and ø (names within the plays) is unchanged.
The letters á and æ do not occur in the translations.
MODERN ICELANDIC PLAYS
Eyvind of the Hills
The Hraun Farm
by
JÓHANN SIGURJÓNSSON
Translated by Henninge Krohn Schanche
New York
The American-Scandinavian Foundation
London: Humphrey Milford
Oxford University Press
1916
* * * * *
_Copyright, 1916, by The American-Scandinavian Foundation_
_All Stage Rights reserved by Henninge Krohn Schanche_
_D. B. Updike · The Merrymount Press · Boston · U.S.A._
* * * * *
SCANDINAVIAN CLASSICS
VOLUME VI
·.·
MODERN ICELANDIC
PLAYS
* * * * *
This series of SCANDINAVIAN CLASSICS is published by
The American-Scandinavian Foundation in the belief that
greater familiarity with the chief literary monuments
of the North will help Americans to a better understanding
of Scandinavians, and thus serve to stimulate their
sympathetic cooperation to good ends.
* * * * *
[Illustration:
(AMERICAN SCANDINAVIAN FOUNDATION)
Established by
Niels Poulson]
* * * * *
CONTENTS
Introduction vii
Eyvind Of The Hills 1
The Hraun Farm 81
INTRODUCTION
Both volumes of the SCANDINAVIAN CLASSICS selected to appear in 1916 are
by natives of Iceland. They belong, however, to periods of time and to
modes of writing remote from each other. Snorri Sturluson, the greatest
of Icelandic historians, was born in 1179. His _Prose Edda_, the
companion-piece of the present volume, is a Christian's account of Old
Norse myths and poetic conceptions thus happily preserved as they were
about to pass into oblivion. More than seven hundred years separate
Jóhann Sigurjónsson from Snorri, and his work is in dramatic, not saga
form. But even as in outward appearance modern Iceland is not unlike
ancient Iceland, so the Icelandic writers of the present have marked
kinship with the past. Despite many centuries of relative neglect, the
old traditions lived on, cherished by scholars, until now, at the
beginning of the twentieth century, the Icelandic mind appears to be
again renascent and creative. Einar Jónsson, the sculptor, has his
counterpart in the domain of letters in such recent writers as Jónas
Jónasson, Emar Hjörleifsson, Gudmundur Magnússon, Jónas Gudlaugsson,
Gunnar Gunnarson, and Gudmundur Kamban, while every important fjord and
valley can claim its own poet or novelist. As yet, the most
distinguished performance of these younger authors is the play printed
in this volume, _Eyvind of the Hills_ (_Bjærg-Ejvind og hans Hustru_),
by Jóhann Sigurjónsson. Among literary phenomena _Eyvind of the Hills_
is a surprise, almost as though Iceland woke to find her naked mountains
clothed in forest in a night.
Let Sigurjónsson tell his life story in his own words:[1] "I was born
June 19, 1880, on a large farm in the northern part of Iceland. Our
household numbered about twenty people. A broad stream, well stocked
with salmon; on both sides of the river, rocks where thousands of
eider-ducks had their nests; a view out over the Atlantic with high
cliffs where sea-birds lived; lava-fields with unusual flowers; and in
the distance blue mountains; such was the theatre where I acted my
childhood pieces and where I wrote my first poems.
[Footnote 1: A letter dated November 7, 1912, to M. Leon Pineau,
published in _La Revue_ (Paris), July 1, 1914.]
"When fourteen years old, I was sent to school at Reykjavik; but after
pocketing the diploma of the upper class, my longing led me down to
Copenhagen, where I chose the study of veterinary science. For three
years I worked zealously at my studies and took all the preliminary
examinations required, until suddenly I burned my ships and resolutely
threw myself into the work of a playwright. At first one difficulty
piled up after another. To begin with, I had to write in a language not
my own. And then, what knowledge I had of human nature was limited to a
most incomplete knowledge of myself and of a few college chums of my own
age. Besides, it was not long before I had to concern myself about mere
bread and butter.
"My first victory was an appreciative letter from Björnstjerne Björnson,
wherein he promised warmly to recommend me to Gyldendal's, the great
publishing house, which subsequently published my first play, _Dr.
Rung_.
"My second victory was the acceptance by the Dagmar Theatre of _The
Hraun Farm_. After the sometime directors of that theatre resigned, my
play passed into the control of the Royal Theatre. Finally, I made my
stage debut with _Eyvind of the Hills_, which was received with much
enthusiasm both by press and public.
"In order to give as much actuality as possible to this drama,
I traversed Iceland on foot from north to south and saw the places high
up in the wild mountain waste where Eyvind lived with his wife. In my
little garret in Copenhagen I had learned by my own experience the agony
of loneliness."
Sigurjónsson's first drama, _Dr. Rung_, was written in Danish and
published in 1905. This tragedy presents a young Copenhagen physician,
Harold Rung, who is endeavoring to find a specific against tuberculosis.
In order to test the effect of his serum, he decides to inoculate
himself with the disease, and the pleading of Vilda, who loves him,
fails to shake him from his purpose. The remedy proves a failure; the
young scientist goes mad, giving Vilda poisoned grapes.
_The Hraun Farm_ was published in Icelandic in 1908 (_Bóndinn á
Hrauni_), and in Danish in 1912 (_Gaarden Hraun_). In rewriting the play
for the Copenhagen stage, Sigurjónsson gave it a happy ending, thus
changing a tragedy into a pleasant dramatic idyl of contemporary country
life in Iceland. It is the familiar Scandinavian theme of the struggle
of human love with love of the homestead. An old farmer, Sveinungi, is a
veritable patriarch living at the edge of the "hraun," the lava-field.
His only daughter, Ljot, he has destined for a sturdy neighbor's son,
who will keep up the estate. But the girl falls in love with a young
geologist and arouses her father's wrath, until the play ends with a
scene in which Sveinungi is won over by Jorunn, his persuasive wife. The
action is interrupted by an earthquake. The dialogue is well maintained
and rises to heights of lyrical splendor. In point of dramatic
effectiveness, _The Hraun Farm_ may be regarded as only a preliminary
study compared to the next play, but its picture of pastoral Iceland
makes it a fitting companion-piece to the greater drama in the present
volume.
All other work of Sigurjónsson and the younger Icelandic dramatists
pales beside _Eyvind of the Hills_, written in Danish and published in
1911.[2] The high sky of dramatic vision, the simple nobility of the
characters portrayed, and the poetry of exalted passion raise above the
ordinary this stern tragedy of natural lives in the wilderness. Eyvind
is a man of heroic mould, who was forced by circumstances and hunger to
the state of a common thief. When outlawed, he fled to the mountains.
Seeking human companionship, he now descends into a valley where his
identity is unknown and takes service with Halla, a rich young widow.
She learns of his disguise only to fall in love with his real character.
Persecuted by her brother-in-law, who wishes to marry her, and possessed
by a great love, she insists on sharing the outlaw's lot and escapes
with him to his old haunt in the mountains. Here they have two children,
but she is obliged to sacrifice them both in turn, and to flee ever
farther away. The last act finds the outlaw and his wife facing each
other in a lonely hut, in the midst of a snowstorm which has shut off
every avenue of sustenance. Although the beautiful reality of love is
there, they are tormented by hunger and utter need into doubts and
mutual reproaches, and at last seek death in the snow.
[Footnote 2: The English translation combines features of the
original edition and a revised version printed in 1913. The play
appeared also in Icelandic (_Fjalla-Eyvindur_) in 1912.]
According to the historical facts upon which the story is based, a stray
horse found its way to the hut of the starving couple, and so their
lives were saved. Sigurjónsson used this ending when he rewrote the last
scenes of the fourth act for Fru Dybvad, who played the part of Halla in
Copenhagen, concluding with Halla's exclamation: "So there is then a
God!" With _Eyvind_, as with _The Hraun Farm_, we can thus take our
choice of two endings.
_The Wish_ (_Önsket_), Sigurjónsson's latest play, was published in
1915. Gloomy and terrible, but strong and restrained, it is built on a
theme of seduction, remorse, and forgiveness in death, woven about the
legendary figure of Galdra-Loftur, who lived in Iceland at the beginning
of the eighteenth century. It ends with an intensely dramatic scene in
the old cathedral church at Hólar.
In addition to these four plays, Sigurjónsson has also written some
beautiful verse.
In Mrs. Schanche, Sigurjónsson has a translator well fitted by artistic
family traditions for the task. Herself of Norwegian descent, she has
been for upward of thirty years a resident of Philadelphia. She has
interpreted the pure idiom of Sigurjónsson's dialogue with real dramatic
perception. In editing the volume the Publication Committee has had the
valuable assistance of Hanna Astrup Larsen.
Georg Brandes, the veteran Danish critic, though not given to over
optimism, has recognized Sigurjónsson's distinction, and the Icelander
is acclaimed by the public who best know Ibsen and Strindberg, in
Copenhagen, Stockholm, and Christiania. _Eyvind_ has been successful
also on the German stage. "Poetic talent of high order," says Brandes,
"manifests itself in this new drama, with its seriousness, rugged force,
and strong feeling. Few leading characters, but these with a most
intense inner life; courage to confront the actual, and exceptional
skill to depict it; material fully mastered and a corresponding
confident style!" And the French critic, Leon Pineau, concludes a long
account of Sigurjónsson's production with the following estimate of
_Eyvind of the Hills_: "In this drama there is no haze of fantasy, no
bold and startling thesis, not even a new theory of art-- nothing but
poetry; not the poetry of charming and fallacious words, not that of
lulling rhythm, nor of dazzling imagery which causes forgetfulness, but
the sublimely powerful poetry which creates being of flesh and blood
like ourselves-- to whom Jóhann Sigurjónsson has given of his own soul."
Written by the author in a language not his by birth, this rock-ribbed
tragedy of the strong and simple passions of Iceland lends itself
peculiarly to international interpretation. It is with some curiosity,
therefore, as well as satisfaction, that we introduce to English readers
a young representative of the renaissance of Icelandic literature. How
will he be judged by our countrymen, and what will be his place, if any,
upon the American stage?
H. G. L.
_New York, June 1, 1916._
EYVIND OF THE HILLS
[_Bjærg-Ejvind og Hans Hustru_]
A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS
1911
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
HALLA (pronounced Hadla), a well-to-do widow.
KARI (pronounced Kowri), overseer on Halla's farm.
BJØRN, Halla's brother-in-law, farmer and bailiff.
ARNES, a vagrant laborer.
GUDFINNA, an elderly, unmarried relative of the family.
MAGNUS }
ODDNY } Halla's servants.
SIGRID }
A Shepherd Boy }
ARNGRIM, a leper.
A District Judge.
TOTA, a child of three years.
Peasants, peasant women, and farm-hands.
_The action takes place in Iceland in the middle of the eighteenth
century. The story of the two principal characters is founded an
historical events. Halla's nature is moulded on a Danish woman's soul._
ACT I
_A "badstofa" or servants' hall. Along each side-wall, a row of
bedsteads with bright coverlets of knitted wool. Between the bedsteads,
a narrow passageway. On the right, the entrance, which is reached by a
staircase. On the left, opposite the entrance, a dormer-window with
panes of bladder. On the right, over the bedsteads, a similar window.
Long green blades of grass are visible through the panes. In the centre
back a door opens into Halla's bed-chamber, which is separated from the
"badstofa" by a thin board partition. A small table-leaf is attached by
hinges to the partition. A copper train-oil lamp is fastened in the
doorcase. Over the nearest bedsteads a cross-beam runs at a man's height
from the floor; from this to the roof-tree is half of a man's height.
Under the window stands a painted chest. Carved wooden boxes are pushed
in under the bedsteads. The "badstofa" is old, the woodwork blackened by
age and soot._
_It is early spring, a late afternoon. Gudfinna and Oddny are sitting on
the beds facing each other, Gudfinna mending shoes, Oddny putting
patches on a coat. The Shepherd Boy is standing in the middle of the
room, throwing a dart adorned with red cock's feathers. The costumes are
old Icelandic._
_The Boy (throws his dart)._
Ho! ho! I came pretty near hitting her that time!
_Gudfinna._
Hitting whom?
_The Boy._
Can't you see the little spider hanging down from the beam? I mean to
shoot and break her thread.
_Oddny._
You are always up to some tomfoolery.
_Gudfinna._
Leave the poor creature in peace! It has done you no harm.
_The Boy (laughing)._
Do you think she'd break her legs if she should happen to fall down on
the floor?
_Gudfinna._
I won't have it! Destroying a spider's web is sure to bring bad luck,
and you'll end by tearing the window-pane with your dart.
_The Boy._
Kari has told me of a man who broke a bow-string with one shot, and that
from way off. (_Shoots._)
_Gudfinna._
If you don't stop, you shall wear your shoes with the holes in them.
_The Boy (pulling the dart out of the beam)._
Would you rather have me shoot your ear-locks?
_Gudfinna._
Are you crazy, lad? You might hit my eyes.
_The Boy._
I must have some kind of fun. I think I'll have a shot at Oddny's
plaits.
_Oddny._
If you dare!
_The Boy (laughing)._
If I have bad luck, you will look at Kari with only one eye.
_Oddny._
You need a good spanking.
_Gudfinna._
Kari ought not to have given you that dart.
_The Boy (going to the spider, makes a fanning motion with his hand)._
Up, old spinning-woman, if you bode good! Down, if you bode ill! Up, if
you bode good! Down, if you bode ill!
_Gudfinna._
You are awfully hard on your shoes, worse than a grown man. I hope you
don't walk on the sharpest stones just for fun?
_Oddny._
Of course he does!
_The Boy._
The sheep were so restless to-day. Some of them came near slipping away
from me.
_Oddny._
If they had, you wouldn't be riding such a high horse now!
_Gudfinna._
Have they been bad to you, laddie? Do you never feel timid when you are
alone so much?
_The Boy._
Sometimes I keep thinking what I should do if a mad bull came tearing
down the mountains.
_Gudfinna._
Don't speak of them! They are the worst monsters in the world-- except,
perhaps, the skoffin.
_The Boy._
What is a skoffin?
_Gudfinna._
Don't you know that? When a rooster gets to be very old, he lays an egg,
and if that's hatched, it becomes a skoffin. It kills a man by just
looking at him, and the only thing that can slay it is a church-blessed
silver bullet. Indeed, there are many things you have to be careful of,
my child. Are you not afraid of the outlaws? They're not good, those
fellows; they go about in skins with the wool on them and carry long
sticks with ice-spurs, and that at midsummer. Have you ever seen
anything of them?
_The Boy._
No, but yesterday I pretty near got scared. There came a man with a big
bag under his arm. I didn't know him at first, but it was only Arnes.
_Gudfinna._
And what did he want of you?
_The Boy._
He asked me to show him the way to a spring. He was thirsty.
_Gudfinna._
You had better not have too much talk with him. (_Hands him the shoes._)
There! Now they will last till to-morrow anyway. (_Kneels down, pulls
out a box, and examines its contents._)
_Enter Halla from her chamber._
_Halla._
It is time for the sheep to be milked.
_The Boy._
I am going now to drive them home. I was waiting for my shoes.
_Halla._
Have you seen anything of the cows to-day?
_The Boy._
No. (_To Oddny._) When I get rich I'll give you a cow's tail to tie up
your plaits with.
_Oddny._
Hold your tongue!
[_Exit the Boy._
_Halla (smiling)._
I heard him teasing you a while ago.
_Oddny._
He's forever pestering me about Kari-- as if I cared!
_Halla (with a little laugh)._
Well, Sigrid doesn't take such good care of Magnus's clothes as you of
Kari's. [_Exit._
_Oddny (is silent for a moment and looks at the door)._
If I were a widow and owned a farm, the men would be noticing me too,
even if I had been nothing but a poor orphan servant girl before I
married-- like some others.
_Gudfinna (rising, a pair of stockings in her hand)._
What are you talking about? (_Pushes the box under the bed._)
_Oddny._
Do you know who was Halla's father?
_Gudfinna._
That is what no one seems to know. Some would have it that he was a
parson. (_She darns the stockings._)
_Oddny._
Yes, or a vagabond. There were also some ugly whispers about a stain on
her birth.
_Gudfinna._
You'd better bridle your tongue!
_Oddny._
I am not so dull as you imagine. When Halla thinks no one is looking,
she doesn't take her eyes from Kari. And she has made him overseer; that
seems queer to others besides me. Last Sunday at church some one asked
me if there was anything between the widow and the "overseer."
_Gudfinna._
And what did you say?
_Oddny._
I told them that it was quite possible Halla had her lines out for him,
but that I did not think Kari would swallow the fly, even if it had gold
on its wings.
_Gudfinna._
Much good it did you, the gospel you heard in church! I am sorry for
you, poor girl! You are crazy about a man who has neither eye nor ear
for you, but that is no reason why you should be running around
spreading gossip. Halla is not the kind of woman that is fond of men.
There was never a harsh word between her and her husband, God rest his
soul, but there was not much love-making between them either. No,
indeed!
_Oddny._
Well, what of that! He was a man up in years and had a fine farm.
_Gudfinna._
He was an upright and honest man, and Halla made him a good wife, my
dear.
_Oddny._
Who doubts that? (_Silence._) I don't know what ails Kari of late.
Yesterday he flew into a rage when I asked him if he knew of a cure for
freckles. I hope Halla has not become such a saint yet that one can't
notice her freckles.
_Enter Kari and Magnus._
_Kari and Magnus._
Good evening!
_Gudfinna and Oddny._
Good evening!
_Oddny (rising)._
I am sitting on your bed, I believe.
_Magnus (throws off his cap)._
Oddny, ask Sigrid to come here and pull off my stockings. (_Sits down._)
It feels good to sit down. [_Oddny goes reluctantly._
_Kari._
Why is she so grumpy? She is not so cheerful a body as you are. I should
like to have known you in your young days. I dare say you knew how to
handle a rake.
_Gudfinna (straightening her back)._
You may be sure. On dry ground, two lively fellows had all they could do
to make ready for my rake.
_Kari._
And you were not afraid to tuck up your skirts, where the ground was low
and marshy.
_Gudfinna._
Indeed not! Many a time I had water in my shoes.
_Enter Sigrid and Oddny._
_Magnus (stretching his feet out on the floor)._
Pull off my shoes! I'm so tired to-night I can't move.
_Sigrid._
It must be laziness that ails you, as usual. (_Kneels down._) How in the
name of heaven did you manage to get so wet in this dry weather? I can
wring the water out of your stockings.
_Magnus._
Kari wanted to jump the creek to make a short cut, and I fell in.
_Oddny (to Kari)._
Aren't you wet, too?
_Kari._
No. (_Sits down._)
_Magnus._
Kari skims over everything like a bird.
_Kari._
Every man has his gift. (_To Sigrid._) You should see the rocks Magnus
can lift.
_Magnus._
Well, it may be true that I am pretty strong, but I should like to see
the man who could throw you in an honest _glima_.
_Oddny._
I know one whom Kari couldn't stand against.
_Magnus._
And who is that? (_Sigrid pulls at his stockings._) There! There!
_Oddny._
Bjørn, Halla's brother-in-law.
_Magnus._
I should not be afraid to bet on Kari against him. (_To Sigrid._) Give
me the stockings! (_Dries his feet with the stocking legs._)
(_Sigrid pulls out a chest, where she finds dry stockings._)
_Enter Halla._
_Oddny._
I don't think Kari would dare to try a fall with the bailiff.
_Kari._
If you were the prize, I should not dare to!
_Gudfinna (laughing)._
There you got it!
(_Everybody laughs except Oddny._)
_Halla (smiling)._
Yet many have fought for less.
_Magnus._
I'm ready to make a wager with you, Oddny, that Kari would win.
_Halla._
It does not look as if the cows were coming home to-night. Magnus, won't
you go up the gorge and see if they are there, and I will send the boy
down to the creek.
[_Exit Sigrid with the wet stockings._
_Magnus._
Oh, why did I bother to change my stockings!
_Halla._
You can take a horse. (_A dog is heard barking._) There! we shall have
company.
_Kari (rising)._
I'll run up there.
_Halla._
You have your trout nets to look after. I know Magnus won't mind.
_Magnus._
Confound those cows! Why can't they come home in time! (_Puts on his
shoes._)
(_Kari pulls out a small box from under the bed and begins to
whittle teeth for a rake._)
_Arnes puts his head in at the door; he carries a large bag._
_Arnes._
Good evening! I did not want to trouble any one to come to the outside
door. (_Drops his bag on the floor._) Now Arnes is rich-- there's gold
sand in my bag.
_Halla._
I dare say there is.
_Arnes._
You people don't know what lies hidden in the hills. I have heard of a
man who lost his way in Surt's Cave. For days he walked underground, and
when at last he came up he had gold sand in his shoes.
_Halla._
What would you do if that were really gold in your bag?
_Arnes._
Then Arnes would do many things. You should help yourself to all your
hands could hold, and as many times as you have given me shelter, and
Arngrim the leper should also fill his fists. I know of no one else to
whom I care to do good.
_Gudfinna._
And should I have nothing?
_Arnes._
I would give you new, long ear-locks of gold.
_Magnus (laughing)._
Some little gift you'd surely have for the bailiff-- no?
_Arnes._
For him? Yes, if I could throw the sand into his eyes. (_Opens the bag
and takes out a handful of Iceland moss._) They are fine, these lichens,
and taste good when you cook them in milk.
_Gudfinna (rising and muttering to herself)._
The milk! [_Exit._
_Arnes (holding up a handful)._
See how big they are.
_Halla._
Yes, they are fine.
_Arnes (patting the bag)._
And it is well stuffed, too.
_Enter the Boy._
_The Boy._
Now you can milk the sheep.
_Halla._
You are not through yet, poor boy. You will have to go down along the
creek and look for the cows.
[_Exit Oddny._
_The Boy._
I hope they're not up to new tricks and begin to stay out nights.
[_Exit._
_Halla (calling after him)._
Take a drink of milk in the pantry; the key is in the door. (_Magnus
rises slowly._)
_Arnes._
Are you going to buy my bag?
_Halla._
If you make the price right.
_Arnes._
You ought to have it for nothing-- you've given me shelter and good food
so often. (_Lifts his foot._) What I need most just now is to get
something on my feet.
_Halla._
I don't think we shall quarrel about the price. (_To Magnus._) Take it
out into the kitchen.
[_Exit Magnus with the bag._
_Halla._
Will you not sit down? I'll go and find you a bite to eat. [_Exit._
_Arnes (following her with his eyes)._
That woman has a kind heart. (_Sits down._) How long have you been
working here on the farm?
_Kari._
This is my second year.
_Arnes._
And overseer already? Yes, some folks have luck. (_Leans toward him._)
As you may know, I haven't a very good name. I can't settle down very
long at any one place, and it comes hard for me to be anybody's servant.
You must surely have heard me spoken of as a thief?
_Kari._
People will say so many things.
_Arnes (passing his hand over his ears)._
My ears are not marked yet, but somehow it sticks to you like dust--
what people say-- no matter whether it is true or not. Have you ever
been the target for gossipy tales?
_Kari (slowly)._
Not that I know of.
_Arnes._
Then you have it coming to you. Shall I tell you what they are saying
about you in these parts?
_Kari._
Is it about me and Halla?
_Arnes._
I have heard that too, but this story is about yourself.
_Kari._
I would rather be spared listening to gossip.
_Arnes._
If I had been quite sure that it was nothing but gossip, I should not
have opened my mouth about it.
_Kari (laughing coldly)._
You are at least frank.
_Arnes (rising)._
It is all the same to me, but if you have anything to hide, you had
better keep your eyes and ears open, for you have an enemy, that much I
can tell you.
_Kari._
I don't know that I have harmed any one around here.
_Arnes._
You live and fill your place. That is enough to make enemies.
_Enter Halla with a wooden mug filled with porridge and milk.
The lid is turned back and some meat, dried fish, and butter
are placed upon it._
_Halla._
You get nothing but skimmed milk. I thought you would rather have that
than wait until the cows had been milked. (_Lets down the table-leaf._)
_Arnes (sits down and reaches for the mug)._
God bless you, woman! I am used to having it on my knees. (_Pulls out
his pocket-knife and eats._)
_Halla (stops in front of Kari and looks at him)._
You are working hard; there are drops of sweat on your forehead.
_Kari._
Are there? (_Wipes his forehead; looks up._) Should you like to know
your life beforehand? (_Stands up and raises both arms to the ceiling._)
I have lived where I could touch the roof over my head with my clenched
fists, and I have lived where my eyes could not reach it. (_Sits down._)
Can you remember how few clothes I had when I came here?
_Halla (sitting down)._
I can well remember the green knitted jerkin you wore-- you have it
yet-- and your coat and brown breeches. (_Smiling._) There was a big
black patch on the left knee.
_Kari._
The rags on my back were all I had in the world, and now I own two new
sets and even more underclothes. You deserve that I should put teeth of
gold in your rake.
_Halla (smiling)._
That rake would be too heavy for me.
_Kari (looking at Halla)._
So many things come back to me to-night that I have not thought of
before. You gave me leave to work in the smithy in my spare time instead
of doing the wool-carding. You saw to it that I should be one of the men
who gather the sheep down from the hills in the fall, because you knew I
liked it.
_Halla._
That was only natural, since you are so swift of foot.
_Kari._
And for my bed you knitted a coverlet with seven colors in it. You have
always been good to me.
_Halla._
Now you are getting far too grateful. (_To Arnes._) Do you think you
have enough food there, Arnes? I can get you some more, if you want it.
_Arnes (patting his stomach)._
I don't even know if I can make room for the porridge.
_Kari (looking at Halla)._
If I were to leave this place, I should miss you more than any other
living being I have ever known. (_Rises, pushes the box under the bed._)
_Halla._
I hope you will stay here for many years yet.
_Kari._
Nobody knows what the morrow may bring. [_Exit._
(_Halla follows Kari with her eyes. Silence._)
_Arnes (puts the wooden mug on the table)._
Now I give thanks for the meal. Will you let me lie in one of your barns
to-night?
_Halla._
You would surely sleep better in a bed. You can lie with Magnus.
_Arnes._
I never sleep better than in old dry hay.
_Enter Gudfinna._
_Gudfinna._
Is it true, Arnes, that you can tell what the birds are talking about?
_Arnes._
Do they say that?
_Gudfinna._
In olden times there were wise folks who understood all such things, but
people nowadays are backward in that as in so many other ways. (_Sits
down._)
_Halla (smiling)._
Yes, young people are not good for much, in your opinion.
_Gudfinna._
We need only think of the sagas. Where have we men now like Skarphjedinn
and Grettir Asmundsson? There are none such in these days.
_Halla._
When I was a child there was nothing I wished so much as that I might
have lived with Grettir in his banishment.
_Arnes._
Was it not eighteen years he was an outlaw?
_Halla._
Nineteen. He lived longer as an outlaw than any one else has done. He
lacked only one year to become free.
_Arnes._
He must have been a great man, but that brings to my mind what the leper
said the other day, when the talk turned to the old sagas.
_Halla._
And what did he say?
_Arnes._
Distance makes mountains blue and mortals great.
_Enter the Boy, running._
_The Boy._
The bailiff is coming on horseback.
_Halla (rising)._
What can he want so late? Did you find the cows?
_The Boy._
Yes, I met them coming home. They are in.
_Halla._
Did you tell the girls?
_The Boy._
No. [_Exit._
_Halla._
Gudfinna, you go and ask him to come in. (_Gudfinna rises._) You won't
forget about the milk?
[_Exit Gudfinna._
_Arnes (rising)._
Now I think I shall go and seek my bed.
_Halla (smiling)._
Don't you want to have a talk with the bailiff?
_Arnes._
If I had found some dead sheep up in the hills with his mark on their
ears, I'd gladly have told him so.
_Halla._
Sleep well!
[_Exit Arnes._
(_Halla smooths her hair._)
_Enter Bjørn, carrying a riding-whip with a silver-mounted
handle and a leather lash; he wears riding-socks reaching
above the knees._
_Halla._
Good evening!
_Bjørn (pointing to his feet)._
I did not take off my socks. I see now that they are not quite clean.
_Halla._
Will you be seated? May I offer you anything?
_Bjørn._
No, thank you. I want nothing. (_Sits down._) You know I have not far to
come. The sorrel and I can make it in fifteen minutes, when we are in
the humor.
_Halla._
How is everything at your place? Have you any news?
_Bjørn._
That depends on what you mean. Who was that I met in the hall? It was
quite dark there.
_Halla._
It must have been Arnes.
_Bjørn._
Is he spending the night here?
_Halla._
Yes.
_Bjørn._
It is no concern of mine, but I doubt if my late brother would have
sheltered men of his kind, and yet he had the name of being hospitable.
(_Takes a snuff-box from his pocket._)
_Halla (sitting down)._
I know nothing wrong of Arnes, and I do know that he is grateful for
what I can offer him.
_Bjørn._
I thought you had heard the common talk. His record is not of the best,
I am sorry to say. I have been told that little things are apt to be
missing where he has made his stay.
_Halla._
I would rather bear such a loss in silence than perhaps throw suspicion
on an innocent man.
_Bjørn._
Finely thought! Yet some one must be the first to warn the unwary.
(_Takes snuff._) You must hear what happened to me not long ago. The boy
lost two milch sheep up in the hills. I was vexed that it should occur
so early in the summer when they still had their wool, and therefore I
sent one of my men to look for them. Near Red Peak he found tracks of
the sheep and also the footprints of a large man. (_Lowering his
voice._) You could do me a good turn if you would give Arnes a pair of
new shoes; I should pay for them, of course. He will not suspect
anything, if you do it. Then you keep his old shoes for me.
_Halla (rising)._
No, I will have nothing to do with that.
_Bjørn._
Then we shan't speak of it any more. I think I shall find out what I am
after, nevertheless. (_He is silent._)
_Halla._
You surely didn't come here to-night for Arnes's sake?
_Bjørn._
I did not. Was Kari at church last Sunday?
_Halla._
Why do you ask?
_Bjørn._
I know that he was there. (_Sits down._) You are satisfied with him as
an overseer?
_Halla (sits down)._
In every way.
_Bjørn._
All the same, I advise you to get rid of him, the sooner the better.
_Halla (laughing)._
I thank you for your kind advice.
_Bjørn._
My advice is not to be scorned, and besides, am I not your
brother-in-law?
_Halla._
My sheep had to learn that to their cost, when they strayed in on your
pastures, and you set your dogs on them.
_Bjørn._
Even though we have not always been as neighborly as I might wish, you
must listen to me this time. I have always disliked Kari; I would never
have hired that man. Believe me, there is something underhanded about
him. Nobody knows him, and no one has heard of his people. It is as if
he had shot up out of the ground. The only thing you know about him is
that his name is Kari, and you don't even know that.
_Halla (rising)._
What are you driving at with all this?
_Bjørn._
Sit still. (_Halla sits down._) Last fall two strangers who stopped on
their journey through here thought they knew Kari. They said it was
easier to change one's name than one's face. As bad luck would have it,
I did not get a chance to talk with them myself, but my suspicions were
roused. Now there is a man staying with me who has just come from the
south. He saw Kari at church last Sunday, and if he is right, it is an
ugly story.
_Halla._
What do you mean?
_Bjørn (rising)._
Neither more nor less than that your overseer's name is not Kari but
Eyvind, that he was locked up for theft, and got away.
_Halla (has risen)._
You must be mad, both of you.
_Bjørn._
The man would not swear that he had seen right. (_Smiles._) Somehow he
seemed sorry that he had told me. He said he had never seen two people
more alike, and Eyvind had a scar on his forehead just as Kari has--
that much he remembered plainly.
_Halla._
It was last Sunday at church that he saw Kari?
_Bjørn._
Yes.
_Halla (laughing)._
Kari was not at church last Sunday.
_Bjørn._
That's queer. Two of my men were there. But we can easily solve that
riddle, if I bring my guest over here to-morrow.
_Halla._
I don't believe for a moment that Kari is a thief.
_Bjørn._
You need not believe it. Simply tell him what I have said, and that I
mean to have the judge look into the matter. I warrant he will be out of
the house before sunrise.
_Halla._
You are quick to believe evil and quick to run to the judge, but in this
case you will not reap much honor.
_Bjørn._
If you suppose I shall act hastily, you are mistaken. I shall write to
the county that Eyvind hails from and give the letter to my guest, who
will see that it gets safely and speedily into the proper hands. The
answer can be here within two or three months.
_Halla._
Is it out of kindness to me that you are so eager about this matter?
_Bjørn._
If it is true what people say, it would be best for you that Kari should
take himself away from here as fast as can be. You might find it harder
to part from him two or three months hence.
_Halla (icily)._
Now you show your real self. You did not come here to give me kind
counsel, nor do I look for such from you, but you had better leave me
and my household in peace. Do you think I have forgotten what you did to
me? When your brother told you that he intended to marry me, you thought
it would be a disgrace to the family for him to make a poor servant girl
his wife. You urged him to satisfy his fleeting passion, as you called
it, without any marriage.
_Bjørn._
I never said that.
_Halla (laying her hand on her heart)._
In here I have a sealed book in which I keep the words my friends have
spoken. And I have more to tell you. There was something behind it--
your fear of losing a part of your power.
_Bjørn._
What are you saying?
_Halla._
Did that prick your soul, you godly man! You knew that your brother
would follow your advice like a child, but you had misgivings that you
could not work me like dough in your hands, and what you feared came
true. You can never forget that I made my husband stand on his own feet.
I know your greed for power! But now I warn you for all time to let me
and mine alone. (_Sits down._)
_Bjørn (flushed with anger, but still controlling his voice)._
Much have I learned to-night that I did not know before. Now I see why
you made Kari overseer. You are not your mother's daughter for nothing.
_Halla (her lips trembling)._
You want to make me angry. You can't do it. Nor shall you succeed in
blackening Kari in my eyes. You were hoping that I should hurt him by
telling him what you have said. I shall not tell him.
_Bjørn._
You will talk differently when I hold the proof in my hand. (_Shakes his
hand; goes toward the door._)
_Halla (rising, hatred burning in her eyes)._
Just before you came, the servants were making bets about who was best
at _glima_, you or Kari. Oddny was the only one who stood up for you.
Kari thought you had grown so old and stiff in your joints that you
would not dare to go in for a wrestling-match.
_Bjørn._
Tell Kari that I am ready to meet him this evening, if he wishes it.
_Halla._
No, I shall tell Kari that you have given your word to wrestle with him
at the big sheep-folds in the fall. I hope to have a good many
witnesses, when the bailiff bites the dust.
_Bjørn._
I will fight him whenever and wherever he may wish-- anywhere but in
jail. Good-bye! [_Exit._
_Halla (stands motionless for a moment; passes her hands down over her
face; goes to the door; calls)._
Gudfinna! Gudfinna! (_Goes back into the room; again passes her hands
down over her face._)
_Enter Gudfinna._
_Gudfinna._
Has the bailiff gone?
_Halla._
Yes.
_Gudfinna._
He came near upsetting me in the hall and didn't even say good evening.
_Halla._
Do sweep the floor! I won't have in here the dirt he has dragged with
him.
(_Gudfinna takes a bird's wing and sweeps._)
_Enter the Boy._
_The Boy (shouting)._
Come and see what we have caught!
_Gudfinna._
Not so noisy! Did you catch a whale?
_The Boy._
We got a salmon-- so big! (_Shows the size with his hands._)
_Halla._
Tell Kari to come here; I want to speak with him. I will let you take
care of the salmon. Open and clean it, sprinkle some salt on it, and lay
it in fresh grass overnight.
_The Boy._
Won't you look at it before it is cut?
_Halla (patting his cheek)._
You big baby! Do you think I have never seen a salmon before? Now run
and tell Kari that I want to speak to him.
[_Exit the Boy._
_Gudfinna (calling after him through the door)._
And tell him to lift the milk pot from the fire.
_Halla._
If the coals are good, I must ask you to do some baking to-night for
Sunday.
_Gudfinna._
The coals are good enough. [_Exit._
(_Halla stands listening. Footsteps are heard in the hall._)
_Enter Kari._
_Kari._
You wanted to speak to me?
_Halla._
I hear you have made a fine catch. Thank you! I have promised the
bailiff that you shall meet him in a _glima_ at the folds in the autumn.
What do you say to that?
_Kari._
I call that great news, but surely that was not what he came here for
to-night?
_Halla._
No, he had another errand. He spoke ill of you.
_Kari._
What did he say?
_Halla._
There is a man just come from the south who saw you at church last
Sunday. He told Bjørn that you looked like some one by the name of
Eyvind, a thief who had run away. He even thought he recognized the scar
on your forehead.
_Kari (in a low voice, sitting down)._
And did the bailiff believe the man was right?
_Halla._
He said I should tell you that he meant to speak to the judge, and that
then you would flee from here this very night.
_Kari (rising with a loud laugh)._
This is to laugh at. Do you know when they will come to catch the thief!
_Halla (has been looking at him steadily; holds out her hand to him)._
Give me your hand, Kari, and say that you have nothing to fear from any
man.
_Kari (evasively)._
I understand that this seems strange to you, but the man who saw me must
be some one who has a grudge against me from former days, and does this
out of spite.
_Halla._
What do I care about him or about the bailiff! Say that you are
innocent!
_Kari._
So you doubt me, too!
_Halla (aloof)._
I have no right to call you to task.
_Kari (warmly)._
I know of no one in the world whom I would rather trust than you.
_Halla._
You are innocent?
_Kari._
Yes, in this I am innocent.
_Halla._
God be praised! (_Puts her hand on her heart._) If it had been
otherwise, I don't see how I could have borne it.
_Kari._
I shall remember the bailiff for this.
_Halla (in an outburst of joy)._
Let him do his worst! What care we! I am so happy now that I know you
are innocent, I could kiss you for joy. (_Exultantly._) Kari, will you
be my husband?
(_It is growing dark._)
_Kari (terrified)._
No, Halla, I cannot.
_Halla_ (_stares at him, speechless. Suddenly she goes close to him and
scans his face_). Have you a wife?
_Kari._
No.
_Halla._
I could not believe that your eyes lied this evening. (_Stamps her foot
with anger and shame._) Take yourself away from here! Go! (_Covers her
face with her hands; rocks to and fro._)
_Kari._
My eyes did not lie to-night. (_Stands for a moment in terrible emotion;
then begins to walk up and down._) I knew a man named Eyvind. His father
was poor and had many children. Eyvind was the next to the oldest.
It was said in those parts that thieving ran in the blood of his kin,
though no one could say anything against Eyvind's father. (_Halla looks
up, listening._) Two years ago or more, toward the end of the winter, it
happened, as often before, that there was no food in the house. Eyvind
went to the parson to ask him to help them out with food. He offered to
pay for it with his work in the spring, but the parson refused. It was
late in the evening, dark and snowing. The road to Eyvind's home went
past the parson's sheep-cots. (_As Kari proceeds, he now and then passes
his hand over his forehead._) They loomed before him like a big black
mound. Then the temptation came over him. The herdsman had gone home,
the snow would cover up the tracks, and the parson was rich enough.
I hated him! (_Halla rises._) Late that night, Eyvind came home with a
fine big sheep. The next day, word came from the parson. They had found
his mittens in the sheep-cot. Eyvind was locked up and given ten years
in prison. They thought they could prove that he had more thefts to
answer for-- (_He breaks off suddenly._)
_Halla (breathlessly)._
Kari!
_Kari._
My name is not Kari-- it is Eyvind. I was sentenced for theft. I fled
and lived one year in the hills as an outlaw.
_Halla._
After this I shall never believe in any one. (_Sits down and bursts into
tears._)
_Kari (kneeling)._
Do with me what you will. Drive me out of your house-- now-- this
evening, or give me into the hands of the law, but you must forgive me.
It was our poverty and the snow that made me steal.
_Halla (rising)._
I will not cry. It is stupid to cry. Get up! I am no God that you should
ask my forgiveness.
_Kari (rising to his feet)._
It is lonesome to live a whole winter up there in the hills. That is why
I ventured down here, far from home, and under a new name. Since then I
have gone about like one who walks in his sleep, afraid of the
awakening. Many a time have I made up my mind to tell you the whole
truth, but somehow it seemed to get harder with every day that passed.
I have never understood why it was so before to-night, but now I know
it, and now I can speak of it. Kari has loved you. You are the only
woman he has ever loved, but now Kari is no more, and never has been
anything but the dream of a poor and unhappy man.
_Halla._
Say no more!
_Kari._
He has loved you long, but never until to-night has he seen how
beautiful you are. (_Carried away._) Like a blue mountain rising from
the mist!
_Halla (stepping close to him)._
Close your eyes, Kari, and sleep yet a while. Kiss me!
_Kari (kissing her)._
I will sleep with my eyes open.