I had been wont to look up to you as a great and high-souled
woman. ’Twas in your likeness that I pictured the women of
the chronicles and the Book of Heroes. I thought the Lord
God himself had set his seal on your brow, and marked you
out as the leader of the helpless and the oppressed. Knights
and nobles sang your praise in the feast-hall; and even the
peasants, far and near, called you the country’s pillar and
its hope. All thought that through you the good times were
to come again! All thought that through you a new day was to
dawn over the land! The night is still here; and I scarce
know if through you I dare look for any morning.
LADY INGER.
’Tis easy to see whence you have learnt such venomous words.
You have let yourself give ear to what the thoughtless
rabble mutters and murmurs about things it can little judge
of.
ELINA.
“Truth is in the people’s mouth,” was your word when they
praised you in speech and song.
LADY INGER.
May be so. But if indeed I chose to sit here idle, though it
was my part to act—think you not that such a choice were
burden enough for me, without your adding to its weight?
ELINA.
The weight I add to your burden crushes me no less than you.
Lightly and freely I drew the breath of life, so long as I
had you to believe in. For my pride is my life; and well
might I have been proud, had you remained what once you
were.
LADY INGER.
And what proves to you that I have not? Elina—how know you
so surely that you are not doing your mother wrong?
ELINA.
[_Vehemently._] Oh, that I were!
LADY INGER.
Peace! You have no right to call your mother to
account.—With a single word I could——; but ’twould be an ill
word for you to hear; you must await what time shall bring;
may be that——
ELINA.
[_Turns to go._] Sleep well, my mother!
LADY INGER.
[_Hesitates._] Nay—stay with me; I have still somewhat——
Come nearer;—you must hear me, Elina!
[_Sits down by the table in front of the window._
ELINA.
I hear you.
LADY INGER.
For as silent as you are, I know well that you often long to
be gone from here. Östråt is too lonely and lifeless for
you.
ELINA.
Do you wonder at that, my mother?
LADY INGER.
It rests with you whether all this shall henceforth be
changed.
ELINA.
How so?
LADY INGER.
Listen.—I look for a guest to-night.
ELINA.
[_Comes nearer._] A guest?
LADY INGER.
A guest, who must remain a stranger to all. None must know
whence he comes or whither he goes.
ELINA.
[_Throws herself, with a cry of joy, at her mother’s feet,
and seizes her hands._] My mother! My mother! Forgive me, if
you can, all the wrong I have done you!
LADY INGER.
What do you mean? Elina, I do not understand you.
ELINA.
Then they were all deceived! You are still true at heart!
LADY INGER.
Rise, rise and tell me——
ELINA.
Think you I do not know who the stranger is?
LADY INGER.
You know? And yet——?
ELINA.
Think you the gates of Östråt shut so close, that never a
whisper of the country’s woe can slip through them? Think
you 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 his 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 Östråt 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 succour the outlaw——
LADY INGER.
Enough, I say!
[_After a short silence, adds with an effort:_ You mistake,
Elina—’tis no outlaw 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.
Attend, then, to what I have to tell you.—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? ’Tis not women’s weeping and
wailing that can deliver us; we need the courage and
strength of men.
ELINA.
Who has told you that, when courage and strength are 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, I mean, for them to strike the last blow at
our rights and our freedom. Therefore must we now——
ELINA.
[_Eagerly._] Openly rebel, my mother?
LADY INGER.
No; we must gain breathing-time. The Council is now
assembled at Copenhagen, considering how best to go to work.
Most of them hold, ’tis said, that there can be no end to
dissensions till Norway and Denmark are one; for should we
still possess our rights as a free land when the time comes
to choose the next king, ’tis 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 declare
open war—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 accomplished, it must be
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 has King Frederick sent hither one of his most
trusted councillors, to assure himself with his own eyes how
we stand affected.
ELINA.
[_In suspense._] Well—and then——?
LADY INGER.
He is the guest I look for to-night.
ELINA.
He comes hither? And to-night?
LADY INGER.
A trading ship brought him to Trondhiem yesterday. News has
just reached me of his approach; he may be here within the
hour.
ELINA.
And you do not bethink you, my mother, how ’twill endanger
your fame thus to receive the Danish envoy? Do not the
people already look on 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 that——
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
Östråt.
ELINA.
And the name of this Danish lord——?
LADY INGER.
It sounds well, Elina; Denmark has scarce a nobler name.
ELINA.
But what then do you purpose? I cannot yet grasp your
meaning.
LADY INGER.
You will soon understand.—Since we cannot trample on the
serpent, we must bind it.
ELINA.
Take heed that it 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 Östråt 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—’twould avail
me little.
LADY INGER.
Your wings are not clipped, save 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 me further.—It would scarce break your
heart to leave Östråt?
ELINA.
Maybe not, my mother!
LADY INGER.
You told me once, that you lived your happiest life in your
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 to come and lead you to his
castle, where you should find damsels and squires, silken
robes and lofty halls awaiting you?
ELINA.
A noble, you say?
LADY INGER.
A noble.
ELINA.
[_More softly._] And the Danish envoy comes hither to-night?
LADY INGER.
To-night.
ELINA.
If so be, then I fear to read the meaning of your words.
LADY INGER.
There is naught to fear if you misread them not. It is far
from my thought to put force upon you. You shall choose for
yourself in this matter, and follow your own rede.
ELINA.
[_Comes a step nearer._] Know you the tale of the mother who
drove across the hills by night, with her little children in
the sledge? The wolves were on her track; ’twas life or
death with her;—and one by one she cast out her little ones,
to win 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 have you cast out
your daughters to the wolves. The eldest went first. Five
years ago Merete[16] went forth from Östråt; now she dwells
in Bergen, and is Vinzents Lunge’s[17] 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 squires,
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 ’twas then needful for him 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!
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.
’Tis you I ask; ’tis you must answer for her young life. She
was glad as a bird in spring when she sailed from Östråt 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, I startle you, my mother! You
thought 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. She shrank from
his name as though it stung her;—she never uttered it.
LADY INGER.
[_Relieved, to herself._] Ah, then you do _not_ know all——
Elina—’tis true that the whole of this matter was well known
to me. But there is one thing it seems you have overlooked.
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. Think you 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 beguile many, but they beguile not me——
Think not I know nothing of all that is passing in our land.
I understand your counsels but too well. I know that in you
the Danish lords have no true friend. It may be that you
hate them; but you 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 to whom, though he had deceived her,
she had given her life—things were far different then. The
King’s Danish governors had shamefully misused the common
people, and you deemed it not wise to link yourself still
more closely to the foreign tyrants.
And what have you done to avenge her that was sent so young
to her grave? 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 will 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 have you 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 one too many.
It may be there is yet time for you——; well, God strengthen
and guide you on your path! Forget not that the eyes of many
thousands are fixed on 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 on my shoulders a man’s work?
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 gesture of repulsion, 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 Gyldenlöve!
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._
-----
ACT SECOND
_The room at Östråt, as in the first Act._
LADY INGER GYLDENLÖVE _is seated at the table on the right,
by the window._ OLAF SKAKTAVL _is standing a little way
from her. Their faces show that they have been engaged
in a heated discussion._
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
For the last time, Inger Gyldenlöve—you are not to be moved
from your purpose?
LADY INGER.
I can do nought else. And my counsel to you is: do as I do.
If it be Heaven’s will that Norway perish utterly, perish it
must, for all we may do to save it.
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
And think you I can content my heart with that belief? Shall
I sit and look idly on, now that the hour is come? Do you
forget the reckoning I have against them? They have robbed
me of my lands, and parcelled them out among themselves. My
son, my only child, the last of my race, they have
slaughtered like a dog. Myself they have outlawed and hunted
through forest and fell these twenty years.—Once and again
have folk whispered of my death; but this I believe, that
they shall not lay me beneath the sod before I have seen my
vengeance.
LADY INGER.
There is there a long life before you. What have you in mind
to do?
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
Do? How should I know what I will do? It has never been my
part to plot and plan. That is where you must help me. You
have the wit for that. I have but my sword and my two arms.
LADY INGER.
Your sword is rusted, Olaf Skaktavl! All the swords in
Norway are rusted.
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
That is doubtless why some folk fight only with their
tongues.—Inger Gyldenlöve—great is the change in you. Time
was when the heart of a man beat in your breast.
LADY INGER.
Put me not in mind of what _was_.
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
’Tis for that very purpose I am here. You _shall_ hear me,
even if——
LADY INGER.
Be it so then; but be brief; for—I must say it—this is no
place of safety for you.
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
Östråt is no place of safety for an outlaw? That I have long
known. But you forget that an outlaw is unsafe wheresoever
he may wander.
LADY INGER.
Speak then; I will not hinder you.
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
’Tis nigh on thirty years now since first I saw you. It was
at Akershus[18] in the house of Knut Alfson and his wife.
You were little more than a child then; yet were you bold as
the soaring falcon, and wild and headstrong too at times.
Many were the wooers around you. I too held you dear—dear as
no woman before or since. But you cared for nothing, thought
of nothing, save your country’s evil case and its great
need.
LADY INGER.
I counted but fifteen summers then—remember that! And was it
not as though a frenzy had seized us all in those days?
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
Call it what you will; but one thing I know—even the old and
sober men among us thought it written in the counsels of the
Lord on high that you were she who should break our thraldom
and win us all our rights again. And more: you yourself then
thought as we did.
LADY INGER.
’Twas a sinful thought, Olaf Skaktavl. ’Twas my proud heart,
and not the Lord’s call, that spoke in me.
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
You _could_ have been the chosen one had you but willed it.
You came of the noblest blood in Norway; power and riches
were soon to be yours; and you had an ear for the cries of
anguish—then!
Do you remember that afternoon when Henrik Krummedike and
the Danish fleet anchored off Akershus? The captains of the
fleet offered terms of peace, and, trusting to the
safe-conduct, Knut Alfson rowed on board. Three hours later,
we bore him through the castle gate——
LADY INGER.
A corpse; a corpse!
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
The best heart in Norway burst, when Krummedike’s hirelings
struck him down. Methinks I still can see the long
procession that passed into the banquet-hall, heavily, two
by two. There he lay on his bier, white as a spring cloud,
with the axe-cleft in his brow. I may safely say that the
boldest men in Norway were gathered there that night. Lady
Margrete stood by her dead husband’s head, and we swore as
one man to venture lands and life to avenge this last
misdeed and all that had gone before.—Inger Gyldenlöve,—who
was it that burst through the circle of men? A maiden—almost
a child—with fire in her eyes and her voice half choked with
tears.—What was it she swore? Shall I repeat your words?
LADY INGER.
I swore what the rest of you swore; neither more nor less.
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
You remember your oath—and yet you have forgotten it.
LADY INGER.
And how did the others keep their promise? I speak not of
you, Olaf Skaktavl, but of your friends, all Norway’s
nobles? Not one of them, in all these years, has had the
courage to be a man; yet they lay it to my charge that I am
a woman.
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
I know what you would say. Why have they bent to the yoke,
and not defied the tyrants to the last? ’Tis but too true;
there is base metal enough in our noble houses nowadays. But
had they held together—who knows what then might have been?
And you could have held them together, for before you all
had bowed.
LADY INGER.
My answer were easy enough, but ’twould scarce content you.
So let us leave speaking of what cannot be changed. Tell me
rather what has brought you to Östråt. Do you need harbour?
Well, I will try to hide you. If you would have aught else,
speak out; you shall find me ready——
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
For twenty years have I been homeless. In the mountains of
Jæmteland my hair has grown grey. My dwelling has been with
wolves and bears.—You see, Lady Inger—_I_ need you not; but
both nobles and people stand in sore need of you.
LADY INGER.
The old burden.
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
Ay, it sounds but ill in your ears, I know; yet hear it you
must, for all that. In brief, then: I come from Sweden:
troubles are brewing: the Dales are ready to rise.
LADY INGER.
I know it.
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
Peter Kanzler[19] is with us—secretly, you understand.
LADY INGER.
[_Starting._] Peter Kanzler?
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
’Tis he that has sent me to Östråt.
LADY INGER.
[_Rises._] Peter Kanzler, say you?
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
He himself;—but mayhap you no longer know him?
LADY INGER.
[_Half to herself._] Only too well!—But tell me, I pray
you,—what message do you bring?
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
When the rumour of the rising reached the border mountains,
where I then was, I set off at once into Sweden. ’Twas not
hard to guess that Peter Kanzler had a finger in the game. I
sought him out and offered to stand by him;—he knew me of
old, as you know, and knew that he could trust me; so he has
sent me hither.
LADY INGER.
[_Impatiently._] Yes yes,—he sent you hither to——?
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
[_With secrecy._] Lady Inger—a stranger comes to Östråt
to-night.
LADY INGER.
[_Surprised._] What? Know you that——?
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
Assuredly I know it. I know all. ’Twas to meet him that
Peter Kanzler sent me hither.
LADY INGER.
To meet him? Impossible, Olaf Skaktavl,—impossible!
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
’Tis as I tell you. If he be not already come, he will
soon——
LADY INGER.
Doubtless, doubtless; but——
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
Then you knew of his coming?
LADY INGER.
Ay, surely. He sent me a message. ’Twas therefore they
opened to you as soon as you knocked.
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
[_Listens._] Hush!—some one is riding along the road. [_Goes
to the window._] They are opening the gate.
LADY INGER.
[_Looks out._] It is a knight and his attendant. They are
dismounting in the courtyard.
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
’Tis he then. His name?
LADY INGER.
You know not his name?
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
Peter Kanzler refused to tell it me. He would say no more
than that I should find him at Östråt the third evening
after Martinmas——
LADY INGER.
Ay; even to-night.
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
He was to bring letters with him; and from them, and from
you, I was to learn who he is.
LADY INGER.
Then let me lead you to your chamber. You have need of rest
and refreshment. You shall soon have speech with the
stranger.
OLAF SKAKTAVL.
Well, be it as you will.
[_Both go out to the left._
[_After a short pause_, FINN _enters cautiously by
the door on the right, looks round the room, and
peeps into the Banquet Hall; he then goes back
to the door, and makes a sign to some one
outside. Immediately after, enter_ COUNCILLOR
NILS LYKKE _and the Swedish Commander_, JENS
BIELKE.
NILS LYKKE.
[_Softly._] No one?
FINN.
[_In the same tone._] No one, master!
NILS LYKKE.
And we may depend on you in all things?
FINN.
The commandant in Trondhiem has ever given me a name for
trustiness.
NILS LYKKE.
’Tis well; he has said as much to me. First of all, then—has
there come any stranger to Östråt to-night, before us?
FINN.
Ay; a stranger came an hour since.
NILS LYKKE.
[_Softly, to_ JENS BIELKE.] He is here. [_Turns again to_
FINN.] Would you know him again? Have you seen him?
FINN.
Nay, none has seen him, that I know, but the gatekeeper. He
was brought at once to Lady Inger, and she——
NILS LYKKE.
Well? What of her? He is not gone again already?
FINN.
No; but it seems she holds him hidden in one of her own
rooms; for——
NILS LYKKE.
It is well.
JENS BIELKE.
[_Whispers._] Then the first thing is to put a guard on the
gate; so are we sure of him.
NILS LYKKE.
[_With a smile._] H’m! [_To_ FINN.] Tell me—is there any way
of leaving the castle, save by the gate? Gape not at me so!
I mean—can one escape from Östråt unseen, though the castle
gate be barred?
FINN.
Nay, that I know not. ’Tis true they talk of secret ways in
the vaults beneath; but no one knows them save Lady
Inger—and mayhap Mistress Elina.
JENS BIELKE.
The devil!
NILS LYKKE.
It is well. You may go.
FINN.
Should you need me in aught again, you have but to open the
second door on the right in the Banquet Hall, and I shall
presently be at hand.
NILS LYKKE.
Good.
[_Points to the entrance-door._ FINN _goes out._
JENS BIELKE.
Now, by my soul, dear friend and brother—this campaign is
like to end but scurvily for both of us.
NILS LYKKE.
[_With a smile._] Oh—not for me, I hope.
JENS BIELKE.
Say you so? First of all, there is little honour to be won
in hunting an overgrown whelp like this Nils Sture. Are we
to think him mad or in his sober senses after the pranks he
has played? First he breeds bad blood among the peasants;
promises them help and all their hearts can desire;—and
then, when it comes to the pinch, off he runs to hide behind
a petticoat!
Moreover, to say truth, I repent that I followed your
counsel and went not my own way.
NILS LYKKE.
[_To himself._] Your repentance comes somewhat late, my
brother!
JENS BIELKE.
For, let me tell you, I have never loved digging at a
badger’s earth. I looked for quite other sport. Here have I
ridden all the way from Jæmteland with my horsemen, and have
got me a warrant from the Trondhiem commandant to search for
the rebel wheresoever I please. All his tracks point towards
Östråt——
NILS LYKKE.
He is here! He is here, I tell you!
JENS BIELKE.
Were it not liker, in that case, that we had found the gate
barred and well guarded? Would that we had; then could I
have found use for my men-at-arms——
NILS LYKKE.