ELINA. Do you think I do not know who the stranger is?
LADY INGER. You know? And yet----?
ELINA. Do you think the gates of Ostrat shut so close that never
a whisper of evil tidings can slip through? Do you think I do not
know that the heir of many a noble line wanders outlawed, without
rest or shelter, while Danish masters lord it in the home of their
fathers?
LADY INGER. And what then?
ELINA. I know well that many a high-born knight is hunted through
the woods like a hungry wolf. No hearth has he to rest by, no bread
to eat----
LADY INGER (coldly). Enough! Now I understand you.
ELINA (continuing). And that is why the gates of Ostrat must
stand open by night! That is why he must remain a stranger to all,
this guest of whom none must know whence he comes or whither he
goes! You are setting at naught the harsh decree that forbids
you to harbour or succor the exiles----
LADY INGER. Enough, I say!
(After a short silence, adds with an effort:)
You mistake, Elina--it is no outlaw that I look for----
ELINA (rises). Then I have understood you ill indeed.
LADY INGER. Listen to me, my child; but think as you listen;
if indeed you can tame that wild spirit of yours.
ELINA. I am tame, till you have spoken.
LADY INGER. Then hear what I have to say--I have sought, so far
as lay in my power, to keep you in ignorance of all our griefs and
miseries. What could it avail to fill your young heart with wrath
and care? It is not weeping and wailing of women that can free us
from our evil lot; we need the courage and strength of men.
ELINA. Who has told you that, when courage and strength are
indeed needed, I shall be found wanting?
LADY INGER. Hush, child;--I might take you at your word.
ELINA. How mean you, my mother?
LADY INGER. I might call on you for both; I might----; but let
me say my say out first.
Know then that the time seems now to be drawing nigh, towards
which the Danish Council have been working for many a year--the
time for them to strike a final blow at our rights and our freedom.
Therefore must we now----
ELINA (eagerly). Throw off the yoke, my mother?
LADY INGER. No; we must gain breathing-time. The Council is
now sitting in Copenhagen, considering how best to aim the blow.
Most of them are said to hold that there can be no end to dissensions
till Norway and Denmark are one; for if we should still have our
rights as a free land when the time comes to choose the next king,
it is most like that the feud will break out openly. Now the Danish
Councillors would hinder this----
ELINA. Ay, they would hinder it----! But are we to endure such
things? Are we to look on quietly while----?
LADY INGER. No, we will not endure it. But to take up arms--to
begin open warfare--what would come of that, so long as we are not
united? And were we ever less united in this land than we are even
now?--No, if aught is to be done, it must be done secretly and in
silence. Even as I said, we must have time to draw breath. In the
South, a good part of the nobles are for the Dane; but here in the
North they are still in doubt. Therefore King Frederick has sent
hither one of his most trusted councillors, to assure himself with
his own eyes how we stand affected.
ELINA (anxiously). Well--and then----?
LADY INGER. He is the guest I look for to-night.
ELINA. He comes here? And to-night?
LADY INGER. He reached Trondhiem yesterday by a trading ship.
Word has just been brought that he is coming to visit me; he may
be here within the hour.
ELINA. Have you not thought, my mother, how it will endanger
your fame thus to receive the Danish envoy? Do not the people
already regard you with distrustful eyes? How can you hope that,
when the time comes, they will let you rule and guide them, if
it be known----
LADY INGER. Fear not. All this I have fully weighed; but there
is no danger. His errand in Norway is a secret; he has come unknown
to Trondhiem, and unknown shall he be our guest at Ostrat.
ELINA. And the name of this Danish lord----?
LADY INGER. It sounds well, Elina; Denmark has scarce a nobler
name.
ELINA. But what do you propose then? I cannot yet grasp your
meaning.
LADY INGER. You will soon understand.--Since we cannot trample
on the serpent, we must bind him.
ELINA. Take heed that he burst not your bonds.
LADY INGER. It rests with you to tighten them as you will.
ELINA. With me?
LADY INGER. I have long seen that Ostrat is as a cage to you.
The young falcon chafes behind the iron bars.
ELINA. My wings are clipped. Even if you set me free--it would
avail me little.
LADY INGER. Your wings are not clipped, except by your own will.
ELINA. Will? My will is in your hands. Be what you once were,
and I too----
LADY INGER. Enough, enough. Hear what remains---- It would
scarce break your heart to leave Ostrat?
ELINA. Maybe not, my mother!
LADY INGER. You told me once, that you lived your happiest life
in tales and histories. What if that life were to be yours once
more?
ELINA. What mean you?
LADY INGER. Elina--if a mighty noble were now to come and lead
you to his castle, where you should find damsels and pages, silken
robes and lofty halls awaiting you?
ELINA. A noble, you say?
LADY INGER. A noble.
ELINA (more softly). And the Danish envoy comes here to-night?
LADY INGER. To-night.
ELINA. If so be, then I fear to read the meaning of your words.
LADY INGER. There is nought to fear if you misread them not. Be
sure it is far from my thought to put force upon you. You shall
choose for yourself in this matter, and follow your own counsel.
ELINA (comes a step nearer). Have you heard the story of the
mother that drove across the hills by night with her little children
by her in the sledge? The wolves were on her track; it was life
or death with her;--and one by one she cast out her little ones,
to gain time and save herself.
LADY INGER. Nursery tales! A mother would tear the heart from
her breast, before she would cast her child to the wolves!
ELINA. Were I not my mother's daughter, I would say you were
right. But you are like that mother; one by one you have cast out
your daughters to the wolves. The eldest went first. Five years
ago Merete* went forth from Ostrat; now she dwells in Bergen
and is Vinzents Lunge's** wife. But think you she is happy as
the Danish noble's lady? Vinzents Lunge is mighty, well-nigh as
a king; Merete has damsels and pages, silken robes and lofty halls;
but the day has no sunshine for her, and the night no rest; for
she has never loved him. He came hither and he wooed her; for she
was the greatest heiress in Norway, and he needed to gain a footing
in the land. I know it; I know it well! Merete bowed to your
will; she went with the stranger lord.--But what has it cost her?
More tears than a mother should wish to answer for at the day of
reckoning.
* Pronounce _Mayrayte_ ** Pronounce _Loonghe_.
LADY INGER. I know my reckoning, and I fear it not.
ELINA. Your reckoning ends not here. Where is Lucia, your second
child?
LADY INGER. Ask God, who took her.
ELINA. It is you I ask; it is you that must answer for her young
life. She was glad as a bird in spring when she sailed from Ostrat
to be Merete's guest. A year passed, and she stood in this room
once more; but her cheeks were white, and death had gnawed deep into
her breast. Ah, you wonder at me, my mother! You thought that the
ugly secret was buried with her;--but she told me all. A courtly
knight had won her heart. He would have wedded her. You knew that
her honour was at stake; yet your will never bent--and your child
had to die. You see, I know all!
LADY INGER. All? Then she told you his name?
ELINA. His name? No; his name she did not tell me. His name
was a torturing horror to her;--she never uttered it.
LADY INGER (relieved, to herself). Ah, then you do _not_ know
all---- ----
Elina--it is true that the whole of this matter was well known
to me. But there is one thing about it you seem not to have noted.
The lord whom Lucia met in Bergen was a Dane----
ELINA. That too I know.
LADY INGER. And his love was a lie. With guile and soft speeches
he had ensnared her.
ELINA. I know it; but nevertheless she loved him; and had you
had a mother's heart, your daughter's honour had been more to you
than all.
LADY INGER. Not more than her happiness. Do you think that,
with Merete's lot before my eyes, I could sacrifice my second
child to a man that loved her not?
ELINA. Cunning words may befool many, but they befool not me----
Think not I know nothing of all that is passing in our land.
I understand your counsels but too well. I know well that our
Danish lords have no true friend in you. It may be that you hate
them; but your fear them too. When you gave Merete to Vinzents
Lunge the Danes held the mastery on all sides throughout our land.
Three years later, when you forbade Lucia to wed the man she had
given her life to, though he had deceived her,--things were far
different then. The King's Danish governors had shamefully misused
the common people, and you thought it not wise to link yourself
still more closely to the foreign tyrants.
And what have you done to avenge her that had to die so young?
You have done nothing. Well then, I will act in your stead; I
will avenge all the shame they have brought upon our people and
our house.
LADY INGER. You? What will you do?
ELINA. I shall go _my_ way, even as you go yours. What I shall
do I myself know not; but I feel within me the strength to dare
all for our righteous cause.
LADY INGER. Then you have a hard fight before you. I once
promised as you do now--and my hair has grown grey under the burden
of that promise.
ELINA. Good-night! Your guest will soon be here, and at that
meeting I should be out of place.
It may be there is yet time for you---- ----; well, God
strengthen you and guide your way! Forget not that the eyes of
many thousands are fixed upon you. Think on Merete, weeping late
and early over her wasted life. Think on Lucia, sleeping in her
black coffin.
And one thing more. Forget not that in the game you play this
night, your stake is your last child.
(Goes out to the left.)
LADY INGER (looks after her awhile). My last child? You know
not how true was that word---- ---- But the stake is not my child
only. God help me, I am playing to-night for the whole of Norway's
land.
Ah--is not that some one riding through the gateway? (Listens
at the window.)
No; not yet. Only the wind; it blows cold as the grave---- ----
Has God a right to do this?--To make me a woman--and then to lay
a man's duty upon my shoulders?
For I _have_ the welfare of the country in my hands. It _is_ in
my power to make them rise as one man. They look to _me_ for the
signal; and if I give it not now---- it may never be given.
To delay? To sacrifice the many for the sake of one?--Were it
not better if I could---- ----? No, no, no--I _will_ not! I
_cannot!_ (Steals a glance towards the Banquet Hall, but turns
away again as if in dread, and whispers:)
I can see them in there now. Pale spectres--dead ancestors--
fallen kinsfolk.--Ah, those eyes that pierce me from every corner!
(Makes a backward gesture with her hand, and cries:)
Sten Sture! Knut Alfson! Olaf Skaktavl! Back--back!--I _cannot_
do this!
(A STRANGER, strongly built, and with grizzled hair and beard,
has entered from the Banquet Hall. He is dressed in a torn
lambskin tunic; his weapons are rusty.)
THE STRANGER (stops in the doorway, and says in a low voice).
Hail to you, Inger Gyldenlove!
LADY INGER (turns with a scream). Ah, Christ in heaven save me!
(Falls back into a chair. The STRANGER stands gazing at her,
motionless, leaning on his sword.)