SCENE I

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This series of SCANDINAVIAN CLASSICS was published by the

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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 co-operation to good

ends.

* * * * *

SCANDINAVIAN CLASSICS

VOLUME XVII

EARLY PLAYS

by

HENRIK IBSEN

* * * * *

EARLY PLAYS

CATILINE, THE WARRIOR'S BARROW,

OLAF LILJEKRANS

by

HENRIK IBSEN

TRANSLATED FROM THE NORWEGIAN BY

ANDERS ORBECK, A. M.

_Assistant Professor of English in the University

of Montana_

* * * * *

_To

O. W. Firkins

Teacher and Friend

and Inspirer of

these Translations._

* * * * *

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

CATILINE

THE WARRIOR'S BARROW

OLAF LILJEKRANS

LIST OF FOUNDATION PUBLICATIONS

* * * * *

INTRODUCTION

One of the most remarkable facts about Ibsen is the orderly

development of his genius. He himself repeatedly maintained that

his dramas were not mere isolated accidents. In the foreword to

the readers in the popular edition of 1898 he urges the public to

read his dramas in the same order in which he had written them,

deplores the fact that his earlier works are less known and less

understood than his later works, and insists that his writings

taken as a whole constitute an organic unity. The three of his

plays offered here for the first time in English translation will

afford those not familiar with the original Norwegian some light

on the early stages of his development.

_Catiline_, the earliest of Ibsen's plays, was written in

1849, while Ibsen was an apothecary's apprentice in Grimstad. It

appeared in Christiania in the following spring under the

pseudonym Brynjolf Bjarme. The revolutionary atmosphere of

1848-49, the reading of the story of Catiline in Sallust and

Cicero in preparation for the university examinations, the

hostility which existed between the apprentice and his immediate

social environment, the fate which the play met at the hands of

the theatrical management and the publishers, his own struggles

at the time,--are all set forth clearly enough in the preface to

the second edition. The play was written in the blank verse of

Oehlenschlaeger's romantic dramas. Ibsen's portrayal of the

Roman politician is not in accord with tradition; Catiline is not

an out-and-out reprobate, but an unfortunate and highly sensitive

individual in whom idealism and licentiousness struggle for

mastery. Vasenius, in his study of the poet (_Ibsens

Dramatiska Diktning in dess Första Skede_, Helsingfors, 1879),

insists that Ibsen thus intuitively hit upon the real Catiline

revealed by later nineteenth century research. The poet seems

not to have heard of Duma's _Catiline_, which appeared about

the same time, nor of earlier plays on the subject by Ben Jonson

and others. The struggle in Ibsen's play is centered in the soul

of Catiline; not once do his political opponents appear on the

scene. Only one critic raised his voice in behalf of the play at

the time of its appearance, and only a few copies of the original

edition survive. Ibsen issued in 1875 a revised edition in

celebration of his twenty-fifth anniversary as an author. Since

then a third edition has been issued in 1891, and a fourth in

1913.

_The Warrior's Barrow_, Ibsen's second play, was finished in

1850 shortly after the publication of _Catiline_. Ibsen

entered upon his literary career with a gusto he seems soon to

have lost; he wrote to his friend Ole Schulerud in January, 1850,

that he was working on a play about Olaf Trygvesson, an

historical novel, and a longer poem. He had begun _The

Warrior's Barrow_ while he was still at Grimstad, but this

early version, called _The Normans_, he revised on reaching

Christiania. In style and manner and even in subject-matter the

play echoes Oehlenschlaeger. Ibsen's vikings are, however, of a

fiercer type than Oehlenschlaeger's, and this treatment of viking

character was one of the things the critics, bred to

Oehlenschlaeger's romantic conception of more civilized vikings,

found fault with in Ibsen's play. The sketch fared better than

_Catiline_: it was thrice presented on the stage in

Christiania and was on the whole favorably reviewed. When Ibsen

became associated with the Bergen theater he undertook another

revision of the play, and in this version the play was presented

on the stage in 1854 and 1856. The final version was published

in the _Bergenske Blad_ in 1854, but no copy of this issue

has survived; the play remained inaccessible to the public until

1902, when it was included in a supplementary volume (Volume X)

to Ibsen's collected works. The earlier version remained in

manuscript form until it was printed in 1917 in _Scandinavian

Studies and Notes_ (Vol. IV, pp. 309-337).

_Olaf Liljekrans_, which was presented on the Bergen stage

in 1857, marks the end of Ibsen's early romantic interest. The

original idea for this play, which he had begun in 1850, he found

in the folk-tale "The Grouse in Justedal," about a girl who alone

had survived the Black Death in an isolated village. Ibsen had

with many others become interested in popular folk-tales and

ballads. It was from Faye's _Norwegian Folk-Tales_ (1844)

that he took the story of "The Grouse in Justedal." His interest

was so great that he even turned collector. Twice during this

period he petitioned for and received small university grants to

enable him to travel and "collect songs and legends still current

among the people." Of the seventy or eighty "hitherto

unpublished legends" which he collected on the first of these

trips only a few have ever appeared in print; the results of his

second trip are unknown. Ibsen had great faith in the

availability of this medieval material for dramatic purposes; he

even wrote an essay, "The Heroic Ballad and Its Significance for

Artistic Poetry," urging its superior claims in contrast to that

of the saga material, to which he was himself shortly to turn.

The original play based on "The Grouse in Justedal" was left

unfinished. After the completion of _Lady Inger of Östråt_

and _The Feast at Solhoug_ he came back to it, and taking a

suggestion from the ballad in Landstad's collection (1852-3) he

recast the whole play, substituted the ballad meter for the

iambic pentameters, and called the new version _Olaf

Liljekrans_. _Olaf Liljekrans_ indicates clearly a

decline in Ibsen's interest in pure romance. It is much more

satirical than _The Feast at Solhoug_, and marks a step in

the direction of those superb masterpieces of satire and romance,

_Brand_ and _Peer Gynt_. The play was twice presented

on the stage in Bergen with considerable success, but the critics

treated it harshly.

The relationship of the revised versions to the original versions

of Ibsen's early plays is interesting, and might, if

satisfactorily elucidated, throw considerable light on the

development of his genius. It is evident that he was in this

early period experimenting in metrical forms. He employed blank

verse in _Catiline_, in the original version of _The

Grouse in Justedal_, and even as late as 1853 in the revision

of _The Warrior's Barrow_. There can be no question but

that he was here following the Ochlenschlaeger tradition.

Unrhymed pentameter, however, did not seem to satisfy him. He

could with difficulty keep from falling into rhyme in

_Catiline_, and in the early version of _The Warrior's

Barrow_ he used rhymed pentameters. After the revision of

this play he threw aside blank verse altogether. "Iambic

pentameter," he says in the essay on the heroic ballad, "is by no

means the most suitable form for the treatment of ancient

Scandinavian material; this form of verse is altogether foreign

to our national meters, and it is surely through a national form

that the national material can find its fullest expression." The

folk-tale and the ballad gave him the suggestion he needed. In

_The Feast at Solhoug_ and the final version of _Olaf

Liljekrans_ he employed the ballad meter, and this form became

the basis for the verse in all his later metrical plays.

Six years intervened between _The Grouse in Justedal_ and

_Olaf Liljekrans_, and the revision in this case amounted

almost to the writing of a new play. Fredrik Paasche in his

study (_Olaf Liljekrans_, Christiania, 1909) discusses the

relation of _Olaf Liljekrans_ to the earlier form of the

play. Three years intervened between the first and final

versions of _The Warrior's Barrow_. Professor

A. M. Sturtevant maintains (_Journal of English and Germanic

Philology_, XII, 407 ff.) that although "the influence of

Ochlenschlaeger upon both versions of _The Warrior's Barrow_

is unmistakable," yet "the two versions differ so widely from

each other ... that it may be assumed that ... Ibsen had begun to

free himself from the thraldom of Ochlenschlaeger's romantic

conception of the viking character." He points out the influence

of Welhaven and Heiberg on the second version, elaborates upon

the superior character-delineation, and shows in considerable

detail the "inner necessity ... which brings about the change of

heart in Gandalf and his warriors."

The revision of _Catiline_ came twenty-five years after the

original version, and consisted largely of linguistic changes.

Ibsen seems never to have completely disowned this play; it has

been included in all the complete editions, whereas _The

Warrior's Barrow_ and _Olaf Liljekrans_ appear only in

the first complete edition, and were even then relegated to a

supplementary volume. In suggesting the revision of

_Catiline_, Ibsen proposed "to make no change in the thought

and ideas, but only in the language in which these are expressed;

for the verses are, as Brandes has somewhere remarked, bad,--one

reason being that the book was printed from my first rough

uncorrected draft." He had at that time not developed his

careful craftsmanship, and sought in the revision merely to put

the drama into the form which he had originally had in mind, but

which at that time he had been unable to achieve. The changes

that were actually made are summarized by D. A. Seip (Ibsen,

_Samlede Digter Verker_, 1918, VII, 114) who quotes Halvdan

Koht and Julius Elias (Ibsen, _Efterladte Skrifter_, III):

"The two editions 'agree in the sequence of tenses, with a few

exceptions also in the sequence of speeches, and on the whole

even in the sequence of lines. The changes involve principally

the poetic expression itself; after the second act they become

more and more extensive, and the last two acts have been

augmented with 100 lines.' ... Not infrequently there appear

words and expressions which are suggestive of Ibsen's later

works."

These plays now appear for the first time in English translation.

A. Johnstone published in _Translations from the Norse, by a

B. S. S._ (Gloucester, about 1876), an English rendering of

the first act of _Catiline_ and a synopsis of the last two

acts. William Archer explains at length his omission of

_Catiline_ from his edition of Ibsen. "A great part of the

interest lies in the very crudities of its style, which it would

be a thankless task to reproduce in translation. Moreover, the

poet impaired even its biographical value by largely rewriting it

before publication. He did not make it, or attempt to make it, a

better play, but he in some measure corrected its juvenility of

expression. Which version, then, should a translator choose? To

go back to the original would seem a deliberate disregard of the

poet's wishes; while, on the other hand, the retouched version is

clearly of far inferior interest. It seems advisable, therefore,

to leave the play alone, as far as this edition is concerned."

_Olaf Liljekrans_ and _The Warrior's Barrow_ were acted

in English in London in 1911 and 1912 respectively, but the

English renderings used in these presentations have never

appeared in print.

The text of _Catiline_ in the present translation is that of

the revised version as given in the edition of 1906-07; the text

of the other two plays is that of the edition of 1898-1902. The

meters of the original have been carefully reproduced. The great

difficulty of rendering the ballad and lyrical meters of Ibsen

into adequate English verse has made some stylistic changes

necessary, such as the substitution of masculine for feminine

rhymes, and the occasional alteration of the sense in slight

measure.

I take this opportunity to acknowledge my gratitude to Professor

O. W. Firkins, now of _The Weekly Review_, who suggested the

translating of these plays and who offered from time to time

invaluable criticisms; to Professor Howard M. Jones, of the

University of Texas, Professor S. B. Hustvedt, of the University

of Minnesota, and Professor W. W. Lawrence, of Columbia

University, who read all or parts of these translations and made

many helpful suggestions; and to Professor G. P. Krapp, of

Columbia University, and my wife, who were of assistance in

various ways.

ANDERS ORBECK.

_New York, January 3, 1921._

* * * * *

CATILINE

A Drama in Three Acts

185O

* * * * *

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION

The drama _Catiline_, with which I entered upon my literary

career, was written during the winter of 1848-49, that is in my

twenty-first year.

I was at the time in Grimstad, under the necessity of earning

with my hands the wherewithal of life and the means for

instruction preparatory to my taking the entrance examinations to

the university. The age was one of great stress. The February

revolution, the uprisings in Hungary and elsewhere, the Slesvig

war,--all this had a great effect upon and hastened my

development, however immature it may have remained for some time

after. I wrote ringing poems of encouragement to the Magyars,

urging them for the sake of liberty and humanity to hold out in

the righteous struggle against the "tyrants"; I wrote a long

series of sonnets to King Oscar, containing particularly, as far

as I can remember, an appeal to set aside all petty

considerations and to march forthwith at the head of his army to

the aid of our brothers on the outermost borders of Slesvig.

Inasmuch as I now, in contrast to those times, doubt that my

winged appeals would in any material degree have helped the cause

of the Magyars or the Scandinavians, I consider it fortunate that

they remained within the more private sphere of the manuscript.

I could not, however, on more formal occasions keep from

expressing myself in the impassioned spirit of my poetic

effusions, which meanwhile brought me nothing--from friends or

non-friends--but a questionable reward; the former greeted me as

peculiarly fitted for the unintentionally droll, and the latter

thought it in the highest degree strange that a young person in

my subordinate position could undertake to inquire into affairs

concerning which not even they themselves dared to entertain an

opinion. I owe it to truth to add that my conduct at various

times did not justify any great hope that society might count on

an increase in me of civic virtue, inasmuch as I also, with

epigrams and caricatures, fell out with many who had deserved

better of me and whose friendship I in reality prized.

Altogether,--while a great struggle raged on the outside, I

found myself on a war-footing with the little society where I

lived cramped by conditions and circumstances of life.

Such was the situation when amid the preparations for my

examinations I read through Sallust's _Catiline_ together

with Cicero's Catilinarian orations. I swallowed these

documents, and a few months later my drama was complete. As will

be seen from my book, I did not share at that time the conception

of the two ancient Roman writers respecting the character and

conduct of Catiline, and I am even now prone to believe that

there must after all have been something great and consequential

in a man whom Cicero, the assiduous counsel of the majority, did

not find it expedient to engage until affairs had taken such a

turn that there was no longer any danger involved in the attack.

It should also be remembered that there are few individuals in

history whose renown has been more completely in the hands of

enemies than that of Catiline.

My drama was written during the hours of the night. The leisure

hours for my study I practically had to steal from my employer, a

good and respectable man, occupied however heart and soul with

his business, and from those stolen study hours I again stole

moments for writing verse. There was consequently scarcely

anything else to resort to but the night. I believe this is the

unconscious reason that almost the entire action of the piece

transpires at night.

Naturally a fact so incomprehensible to my associates as that I

busied myself with the writing of plays had to be kept secret;

but a twenty-year old poet can hardly continue thus without

anybody being privy to it, and I confided therefore to two

friends of my own age what I was secretly engaged upon.

The three of us pinned great expectations on _Catiline_ when

it had been completed. First and foremost it was now to be

copied in order to be submitted under an assumed name to the

theater in Christiania, and furthermore it was of course to be

published. One of my faithful and trusting friends undertook to

prepare a handsome and legible copy of my uncorrected draft, a

task which he performed with such a degree of conscientiousness

that he did not omit even a single one of the innumerable dashes

which I in the heat of composition had liberally interspersed

throughout wherever the exact phrase did not for the moment occur

to me. The second of my friends, whose name I here mention since

he is no longer among the living, Ole C. Schulerud, at that time

a student, later a lawyer, went to Christiania with the

transcript. I still remember one of his letters in which he

informed me that _Catiline_ had now been submitted to the

theater; that it would soon be given a performance,--about that

there could naturally be no doubt inasmuch as the management

consisted of very discriminating men; and that there could be as

little doubt that the booksellers of the town would one and all

gladly pay a round fee for the first edition, the main point

being, he thought, only to discover the one who would make the

highest bid.

After a long and tense period of waiting there began to appear in

the meantime a few difficulties. My friend had the piece

returned from the management with a particularly polite but

equally peremptory rejection. He now took the manuscript from

bookseller to bookseller; but all to a man expressed themselves

to the same effect as the theatrical management. The highest

bidder demanded so and so much to publish the piece without any

fee.

All this, however, was far from lessening my friend's belief in

victory. He wrote to the contrary that it was best even so; I

should come forward myself as the publisher of my drama; the

necessary funds he would advance me; the profits we should divide

in consideration of his undertaking the business end of the deal,

except the proof-reading, which he regarded as superfluous in

view of the handsome and legible manuscript the printers had to

follow. In a later letter he declared that, considering these

promising prospects for the future, he contemplated abandoning

his studies in order to consecrate himself completely to the

publishing of my works; two or three plays a year, he thought, I

should with ease be able to write, and according to a calculation

of probabilities he had made he had discovered that with our

surplus we should at no distant time be able to undertake the

journey so often agreed upon or discussed, through Europe and the

Orient.

My journey was for the time being limited to Christiania. I

arrived there in the beginning of the spring of 1850 and just

previous to my arrival _Catiline_ had appeared in the

bookstalls. The drama created a stir and awakened considerable

interest among the students, but the critics dwelt largely on the

faulty verses and thought the book in other respects immature. A

more appreciative judgment was uttered from but one single

quarter, but this expression came from a man whose appreciation

has always been dear to me and weighty and whom I herewith offer

my renewed gratitude. Not very many copies of the limited

edition were sold; my friend had a good share of them in his

custody, and I remember that one evening when our domestic

arrangements heaped up for us insurmountable difficulties, this

pile of printed matter was fortunately disposed of as waste paper

to a huckster. During the days immediately following we lacked

none of the prime necessities of life.

During my sojourn at home last summer and particularly since my

return here there loomed up before me more clearly and more

sharply than ever before the kaleidoscopic scenes of my literary

life. Among other things I also brought out _Catiline_.

The contents of the book as regards details I had almost

forgotten; but by reading it through anew I found that it

nevertheless contained a great deal which I could still

acknowledge, particularly if it be remembered that it is my first

undertaking. Much, around which my later writings center, the

contradiction between ability and desire, between will and

possibility, the intermingled tragedy and comedy in humanity and

in the individual,--appeared already here in vague

foreshadowings, and I conceived therefore the plan of preparing a

new edition, a kind of jubilee-edition,--a plan to which my

publisher with his usual readiness gave his approval.

But it was naturally not enough simply to reprint without further

ado the old original edition, for this is, as already pointed

out, nothing but a copy of my imperfect and uncorrected concept

or of the very first rough draft. In the rereading of it I

remembered clearly what I originally had had in mind, and I saw

moreover that the form practically nowhere gave a satisfactory

rendering of what I had wished.

I determined therefore to revise this drama of my youth in a way

in which I believe even at that time I should have been able to

do it had the time been at my disposal and the circumstances more

favorable for me. The ideas, the conceptions, and the

development of the whole, I have not on the other hand altered.

The book has remained the original; only now it appears in a

complete form.

With this in mind I pray that my friends in Scandinavia and

elsewhere will receive it; I pray that they will receive it as a

greeting from me at the close of a period which to me has been

full of changes and rich in contradictions. Much of what I

twenty-five years ago dreamed has been realized, even though not

in the manner nor as soon as I then hoped. Yet I believe now

that it was best for me thus; I do not wish that any of that

which lies between should have been untried, and if I look back

upon what I have lived through I do so with thanks for everything

and thanks to all.

HENRIK IBSEN.

_Dresden, February, 1875._

* * * * *

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

LUCIUS CATILINE A noble Roman.

AURELIA His wife.

FURIA A vestal.

CURIUS A youth related to Catiline.

MANLIUS An old warrior.

LENTULUS Young and noble Roman.

GABINIUS " " " "

STATILIUS " " " "

COEPARIUS " " " "

CETHEGUS " " " "

AMBIORIX Ambassador of the Allobroges.

OLLOVICO " " " "

An old MAN.

PRIESTESSES and SERVANTS in the Temple of

Vesta.

GLADIATORS and WARRIORS.

ESCORT of the Allobroges.

Sulla's GHOST.

* * * * *

SETTING

The first and second acts are laid in and near Rome, the third

act in Etruria.

* * * * *

FIRST ACT

[The Flaminian Way outside of Rome. Off the road a

wooded hillside. In the background loom the walls and

the heights of the city. It is evening.]

[CATILINE stands on the hill among the bushes, leaning

against a tree.]

CATILINE. I must! I must! A voice deep in my soul

Urges me on,--and I will heed its call.

Courage I have and strength for something better,

Something far nobler than this present life,--

A series of unbridled dissipations--!

No, no; they do not satisfy the yearning soul.

CATILINE. I rave and rave,--long only to forget.

'Tis past now,--all is past! Life has no aim.

CATILINE. [After a pause.]

And what became of all my youthful dreams?

Like flitting summer clouds they disappeared,

Left naught behind but sorrow and remorse;--

Each daring hope in turn fate robbed me of.

[He strikes his forehead.]

CATILINE. Despise yourself! Catiline, scorn yourself!

You feel exalted powers in your soul;--

And yet what is the goal of all your struggle?

The surfeiting of sensual desires.

CATILINE. [More calmly.]

But there are times, such as the present hour,

When secret longings kindle in my breast.

Ah, when I gaze on yonder city, Rome,

The proud, the rich,--and when I see that ruin

And wretchedness to which it now is sunk

Loom up before me like the flaming sun,--

Then loudly calls a voice within my soul:

Up, Catiline;--awake and be a man!

CATILINE. [Abruptly.] Ah, these are but delusions of the night,

Mere dreaming phantoms born of solitude.

At the slightest sound from grim reality,--

They flee into the silent depths within.

[The ambassadors of the Allobroges, AMBIORIX and OLLOVICO, with

their Escort, come down the highway without noticing CATILINE.]

AMBIORIX. Behold our journey's end! The walls of Rome!

To heaven aspires the lofty Capitol.

OLLOVICO. So that is Rome? Italy's overlord,

Germany's soon,--and Gaul's as well, perchance.

AMBIORIX. Ah, yes, alas;--so it may prove betimes;

The sovereign power of Rome is merciless;

It crushes all it conquers, down to earth.

Now shall we see what lot we may expect:

If here be help against the wrongs at home,

And peace and justice for our native land.

OLLOVICO. It will be granted us.

AMBIORIX. So let us hope;

For we know nothing yet with certainty.

OLLOVICO. You fear somewhat, it seems?

AMBIORIX. And with good reason.

Jealous was ever Rome of her great power.

And bear in mind, this proud and haughty realm

Is not by chieftains ruled, as is our land.

At home the wise man or the warrior reigns,--

The first in wisdom and in war the foremost;

Him choose we as the leader of our people,

As arbiter and ruler of our tribe.

But here--

CATILINE. [Calls down to them.]

--Here might and selfishness hold sway;--

Intrigue and craft are here the keys to power.

OLLOVICO. Woe to us, brethren, woe! He spies upon us.

AMBIORIX. [To CATILINE.]

Is such the practice of the high-born Roman?

A woman's trick we hold it in our nation.

CATILINE. [comes down on the road.]

Ah, have no fear;--spying is not my business;

By chance it was I heard your conversation.--

Come you from Allobrogia far away?

Justice you think to find in Rome? Ah, never!

Turn home again! Here tyranny holds sway,

And rank injustice lords it more than ever.

Republic to be sure it is in name;

And yet all men are slaves who cringe and cower,

Vassals involved in debt, who must acclaim

A venal senate--ruled by greed and power.

Gone is the social consciousness of old,

The magnanimity of former ages;--

Security and life are favors sold,

Which must be bargained for with hire and wages.

Not righteousness, but power here holds sway;

The noble man is lost among the gilded--

AMBIORIX. But say,--who then are you to tear away

The pillars of the hope on which we builded?

CATILINE. A man who burns in freedom's holy zeal;

An enemy of all unrighteous power;

Friend of the helpless trodden under heel,--

Eager to hurl the mighty from their tower.

AMBIORIX. The noble race of Rome--? Ah, Roman, speak--

Since we are strangers here you would deceive us?

Is Rome no more the guardian of the weak,

The dread of tyrants,--ready to relieve us?

CATILINE. [Points towards the city and speaks.]

Behold the mighty Capitol that towers

On yonder heights in haughty majesty.

See, in the glow of evening how it lowers,

Tinged with the last rays of the western sky.--

So too Rome's evening glow is fast declining,

Her freedom now is thraldom, dark as night.--

Yet in her sky a sun will soon be shining,

Before which darkness quick will take its flight.

[He goes.]

* * * * *

[A colonnade in Rome.]

[LENTULUS, STATILIUS, COEPARIUS, and CETHEGUS enter,

in eager conversation.]

COEPARIUS. Yes, you are right; things go from bad to worse;

And what the end will be I do not know.

CETHEGUS. Bah! I am not concerned about the end.

The fleeting moment I enjoy; each cup

Of pleasure as it comes I empty,--letting

All else go on to ruin as it will.

LENTULUS. Happy is he who can. I am not blessed

With your indifference, that can outface

The day when nothing shall be left us more,

Nothing with which to pay the final score.

STATILIUS. And not the faintest glimpse of better things!

Yet it is true: a mode of life like ours--

CETHEGUS. Enough of that!

LENTULUS. Today because of debt

The last of my inheritance was seized.

CETHEGUS. Enough of sorrow and complaint! Come, friends!

We'll drown them in a merry drinking bout!

COEPARIUS. Yes, let us drink. Come, come, my merry comrades!

LENTULUS. A moment, friends; I see old Manlius yonder,--

Seeking us out, I think, as is his wont.

MANLIUS. [Enters impetuously.]

Confound the shabby dogs, the paltry scoundrels!

Justice and fairness they no longer know!

LENTULUS. Come, what has happened? Wherefore so embittered?

STATILIUS. Have usurers been plaguing you as well?

MANLIUS. Something quite different. As you all know,

I served with honor among Sulla's troops;

A bit of meadow land was my reward.

And when the war was at an end, I lived

Thereon; it furnished me my daily bread.

Now is it taken from me! Laws decree--

State property shall to the state revert

For equal distribution. Theft, I say,--

It is rank robbery and nothing else!

Their greed is all they seek to satisfy.

COEPARIUS. Thus with our rights they sport to please themselves.

The mighty always dare do what they will.

CETHEGUS. [Gaily.] Hard luck for Manlius! Yet, a worse mishap

Has come to me, as I shall now relate.

Listen,--you know my pretty mistress, Livia,--

The little wretch has broken faith with me,

Just now when I had squandered for her sake

The slender wealth that still remained to me.

STATILIUS. Extravagance--the cause of your undoing.

CETHEGUS. Well, as you please; but I will not forego

My own desires; these, while the day is fair,

To their full measure I will satisfy.

MANLIUS. And I who fought so bravely for the glory

And might which now the vaunting tyrants boast!

I shall--! If but the brave old band were here,

My comrades of the battlefield! But no;

The greater part of them, alas, is dead;

The rest live scattering in many lands.--

MANLIUS. Oh, what are you, the younger blood, to them?

You bend and cringe before authority;

You dare not break the chains that bind you fast;

You suffer patiently this life of bondage!

LENTULUS. By all the Gods,--although indeed he taunts us,

Yet, Romans, is there truth in what he says.

CETHEGUS. Oh, well,--what of it? He is right, we grant,

But where shall we begin? Ay, there's the rub.

LENTULUS. Yes, it is true. Too long have we endured

This great oppression. Now--now is the time

To break the bonds asunder that injustice

And vain ambition have about us forged.

STATILIUS. Ah, Lentulus, I understand. Yet hold;

For such a thing we need a mighty leader,--

With pluck and vision. Where can he be found?

LENTULUS. I know a man who has the power to lead us.

MANLIUS. Ah, you mean Catiline?

LENTULUS. The very man.

CETHEGUS. Yes, Catiline perchance is just the man.

MANLIUS. I know him well. I was his father's friend;

Many a battle side by side we fought.

Often his young son went with him to war.

Even his early years were wild and headstrong;

Yet he gave open proof of rare endowments,--

His mind was noble, dauntless was his courage.

LENTULUS. We'll find him, as I think, most prompt and willing.

I met him late this evening much depressed;

He meditates in secret some bold plan;--

Some desperate scheme he long has had in mind.

STATILIUS. No doubt; the consulate he long has sought.

LENTULUS. His efforts are in vain; his enemies

Have madly raged against him in the senate;--

He was himself among them; full of wrath

He left the council--brooding on revenge.

STATILIUS. Then will he surely welcome our proposal.

LENTULUS. I hope so. Yet must we in secret weigh

Our enterprise. The time is opportune.

[They go.]

* * * * *

[In the Temple of Vesta in Rome. On an altar in the

background burns a lamp with the sacred fire.]

[CATILINE, followed by CURIUS, comes stealing in

between the pillars.]

CURIUS. What, Catiline,--you mean to bring me here?

In Vesta's temple!

CATILINE. [Laughing.] Well, yes; so you see!

CURIUS. Ye gods,--what folly! On this very day

Has Cicero denounced you in the council;

And yet you dare--

CATILINE. Oh, let that be forgotten!

CURIUS. You are in danger, and forget it thus--

By rushing blindly into some new peril.

CATILINE. [Gaily.] Well, change is my delight. I never knew

Ere now a vestal's love,--forbidden fruit;--

Wherefore I came to try my fortune here.

CURIUS. What,--here, you say? Impossible! A jest!

CATILINE. A jest? Why, yes,--as all my loving is.

And yet I was in earnest when I spoke.

During the recent games I chanced to see

The priestesses in long and pompous train.

By accident I cast my roving eye

On one of them,--and with a hasty glance

She met my gaze. It pierced me to the soul.

Ah, the expression in those midnight eyes

I never saw before in any woman.

CURIUS. Yes, yes, I know. But speak--what followed

then?

CATILINE. A way into the temple I have found,

And more than once I've seen and spoken to her.

Oh, what a difference between this woman

And my Aurelia!

CURIUS. And you love them both

At once? No,--that I cannot understand.

CATILINE. Yes, strange, indeed; I scarcely understand myself.

And yet--I love them both, as you have said.

But oh, how vastly different is this love!

The one is kind: Aurelia often lulls

With soothing words my soul to peace and rest;--

But Furia--. Come, away; some one approaches.

[They hide themselves among the pillars.]

FURIA. [Enters from the opposite side.]

Oh, hated walls,--witnesses of my anguish.

Home of the torment I must suffer still!

My hopes and cherished aspirations languish

Within my bosom,--now with feverish chill

Pervaded, now with all the heat of passion,

More hot and burning than yon vestal fire.

FURIA. Ah, what a fate! And what was my transgression

That chained me to this temple-prison dire,--

That robbed my life of every youthful pleasure,--

In life's warm spring each innocent delight?

FURIA. Yet tears I shall not shed in undue measure;

Hatred and vengeance shall my heart excite.

CATILINE. [Comes forward.]

Not even for me, my Furia, do you cherish

Another feeling,--one more mild than this?

FURIA. Ye gods! you, reckless man,--you here again?

Do you not fear to come--?

CATILINE. I know no fear.

'Twas always my delight to mock at danger.

FURIA. Oh, splendid! Such is also my delight;--

This peaceful temple here I hate the more,

Because I live in everlasting calm,

And danger never lurks within its walls.

FURIA. Oh, this monotonous, inactive life,

A life faint as the flicker of the lamp--!

How cramped a field it is for all my sum

Of fervid longings and far-reaching plans!

Oh, to be crushed between these narrow walls;--

Life here grows stagnant; every hope is quenched;

The day creeps slowly on in drowsiness,--

And not one single thought is turned to deeds.

CATILINE. O Furia, strange, in truth, is your complaint!

It seems an echo out of my own soul,--

As if with flaming script you sought to paint

My every longing towards a worthy goal.

Rancour and hate in my soul likewise flourish;

My heart--as yours--hate tempers into steel;

I too was robbed of hopes I used to nourish;

An aim in life I now no longer feel.

CATILINE. In silence still I mask my grief, my want;

And none can guess what smoulders in my breast.

They scoff and sneer at me,--these paltry things;

They can not grasp how high my bosom beats

For right and freedom, all the noble thoughts

That ever stirred within a Roman mind.

FURIA. I knew it! Ah, your soul, and yours alone,

Is born for me,--thus clearly speaks a voice

That never fails and never plays me false.

Then come! Oh, come--and let us heed the call.

CATILINE. What do you mean, my sweet enthusiast?

FURIA. Come,--let us leave this place, flee far away,

And seek a new and better fatherland.

Here is the spirit's lofty pride repressed;

Here baseness smothers each auspicious spark

Ere it can break into a burning flame.

Come, let us fly;--lo, to the free-born mind

The world's wide compass is a fatherland!

CATILINE. Oh, irresistibly you lure me on--

FURIA. Come, let us use the present moment then!

High o'er the hills, beyond the sea's expanse,--

Far, far from Rome we first will stay our journey.

Thousands of friends will follow you outright;

In foreign lands we shall a home design;

There shall we rule; 'twill there be brought to light

That no hearts ever beat as yours and mine.

CATILINE. Oh, wonderful!--But flee? Why must we flee?

Here too our love for freedom can be nourished;

Here also is a field for thought and action,

As vast as any that your soul desires.

FURIA. Here, do you say? Here, in this paltry Rome,

Where naught exists but thraldom and oppression?

Ah, Lucius, are you likewise one of those

Who can Rome's past recall without confession

Of shame? Who ruled here then? Who rule to-day?

Then an heroic race--and now a rabble,

The slaves of other slaves--

CATILINE. Mock me you may;--

Yet know,--to save Rome's freedom from this babble,

To see yet once again her vanished splendor,

Gladly I should, like Curtius, throw myself

Into the abyss--

FURIA. I trust you, you alone;

Your eyes glow bright; I know you speak the truth.

Yet go; the priestesses will soon appear;

Their wont it is to meet here at this hour.

CATILINE. I go; but only to return again.

A magic power binds me to your side;--

So proud a woman have I never seen.

FURIA. [With a wild smile.] Then pledge me this; and

swear that you will keep

Whatever you may promise. Will you, Lucius?

CATILINE. I will do aught my Furia may require;

Command me,--tell me what am I to promise.

FURIA. Then listen. Though I dwell a captive here,

I know there lives a man somewhere in Rome

Whom I have sworn deep enmity to death--

And hatred even beyond the gloomy grave.

CATILINE. And then--?

FURIA. Then swear, my enemy shall be

Your enemy till death. Will you, my Lucius?

CATILINE. I swear it here by all the mighty gods!

I swear it by my father's honored name

And by my mother's memory--! But, Furia,--

What troubles you? Your eyes are wildly flaming,--

And white as marble, deathlike, are your cheeks.

FURIA. I do not know myself. A fiery stream

Flows through my veins. Swear to the end your oath!

CATILINE. Oh, mighty powers, pour out upon this head

Your boundless fury, let your lightning wrath

Annihilate me, if I break my oath;

Aye, like a demon I shall follow him!

FURIA. Enough! I trust you. Ah, my heart is eased.

In your hand now indeed rests my revenge.

CATILINE. It shall be carried out. But tell me this,--

Who is your foe? And what was his transgression?

FURIA. Close by the Tiber, far from the city's tumult,

My cradle stood; it was a quiet home!

A sister much beloved lived with me there,

A chosen vestal from her childhood days.--

Then came a coward to our distant valley;--

He saw the fair, young priestess of the future--

CATILINE. [Surprised.] A priestess? Tell me--! Speak--!

FURIA. He ravished her.

She sought a grave beneath the Tiber's stream.

CATILINE. [Uneasy.] You know him?

FURIA. I have never seen the man.

When first I heard the tidings, all was past.

His name is all I know.

CATILINE. Then speak it out!

FURIA. Now is it famed. His name is Catiline.

CATILINE. [Taken aback.]

What do you say? Oh, horrors! Furia, speak--!

FURIA. Calm yourself! What perturbs you? You grow pale.

My Lucius,--is this man perhaps your friend?

CATILINE. My friend? Ah, Furia, no;--no longer now.

For I have cursed,--and sworn eternal hate

Against myself.

FURIA. You--you are Catiline?

CATILINE. Yes, I am he.

FURIA. My Sylvia you disgraced?

Nemesis then indeed has heard my prayer;--

Vengeance you have invoked on your own head!

Woe on you, man of violence! Woe!

CATILINE. How blank

The stare is in your eye. Like Sylvia's shade

You seem to me in this dim candle light.

[He rushes out; the lamp with the sacred fire goes out.]

FURIA. [After a pause.] Yes, now I understand it. From my eyes

The veil is fallen,--in the dark I see.

Hatred it was that settled in my breast,

When first I spied him in the market-place.

A strange emotion; like a crimson flame!

Ah, he shall know what such a hate as mine,

Constantly brewing, never satisfied,

Can fashion out in ruin and revenge!

A VESTAL. [Enters.] Go, Furia, go; your watch is at an end;

Therefore I came--. Yet, sacred goddess, here--

Woe unto you! The vestal fire is dead!

FURIA. [Bewildered.]

Dead, did you say? So bright it never burned;--

'Twill never, never die!

THE VESTAL. Great heavens,--what is this?

FURIA. The fires of hate are not thus lightly quenched!

Behold, love bursts forth of a sudden,--dies

Within the hour; but hate--

THE VESTAL. By all the gods,--

This is sheer madness!

[Calls out.]

THE VESTAL. Come! Oh, help! Come, help!

[VESTALS and temple SERVANTS rush in.]

SOME. What is amiss?

OTHERS. The vestal fire is dead!

FURIA. But hate burns on; revenge still blazes high!

THE VESTALS. Away with her to trial and punishment!

[They carry her out between them.]

CURIUS. [Comes forward.]

To prison now they take her. Thence to death.--

No, no, by all the gods, this shall not be!

Must she, most glorious of womankind,

Thus perish in disgrace, entombed alive?--

Oh, never have I felt so strangely moved.

Is this then love? Yes, love it is indeed.--

Then shall I set her free!--But Catiline?

With hate and vengeance will she follow him.

Has he maligners not enough already?

Dare I still others to their number add?

He was to me as were an elder brother;

And gratitude now bids me that I shield him.--

But what of love? Ah, what does it command?

And should he quake, the fearless Catiline,

Before the intrigues of a woman? No;--

Then to the rescue work this very hour!

Wait, Furia;--I shall drag you from your grave

To life again,--though at the risk of death!

[He goes away quickly.]

* * * * *

[A room in CATILINE's house.]

CATILINE. [Enters impetuous and uneasy.]

"Nemesis then indeed has heard my prayer,

Vengeance you have invoked on your own head!"

Such were the words from the enchantress' lips.

Remarkable! Perchance it was a sign,--

A warning of what time will bring to me.

CATILINE. Now therefore I have pledged myself on oath

The blood avenger of my own misdeed.

Ah, Furia,--still I seem to see your eye,

Wildly aflame like that of death's own goddess!

Your words still echo hollow in my ears;--

The oath I shall remember all my life.

[During the following AURELIA enters and approaches him

unnoticed.]

CATILINE. Yet, it is folly now to go on brooding

Upon this nonsense; it is nothing else.

Far better things there are to think upon;

A greater work awaits my energies.

The restless age is urgent with its plea;

Toward this I must direct my thought in season;

Of hope and doubt I am a stormy sea--

AURELIA. [Seizes his hand.]

And may not your Aurelia know the reason?

May she not know what moves within your breast,

What stirs therein and rages with such madness?

May she not cheer and soothe your soul to rest,

And banish from your brow its cloud of sadness?

CATILINE. [Tenderly.] O, my Aurelia,--O, how kind and tender--.

Yet why should I embitter all your life?

Why should I share with you my many sorrows?

For my sake you have borne enough of anguish.

Henceforth upon my own head I shall bear

What ill-designing fate allotted me,--

The curse that lies in such a soul as mine,

Full of great spiritual energies,

Of fervent longings for a life of deeds,

Yet dwarfed in all its work by sordid cares.--

Must you, too, sharing in my wretched life,

Bitter with blasted hopes, then with me perish?

AURELIA. To comfort is the role of every wife,

Though dreams of greatness she may never cherish.

When the man, struggling for his lofty dream,

Reaps nothing but adversity and sorrow,--

Her words to him then sweet and tender seem,

And give him strength sufficient for the morrow;

And then he sees that even the quiet life

Has pleasures which the most tumultuous lacks.

CATILINE. Yes, you are right; I know it all too well.

And yet I cannot tear myself away.

A ceaseless yearning surges in my breast,--

Which only life's great tumult now can quiet.

AURELIA. Though your Aurelia be not all to you,--

Though she can never still your restless soul,--

Your heart yet open to a gentle word,

A word of comfort from your loving wife.

Though she may never slake your fiery thirst,

Nor follow in their flight your noble thoughts,--

Know this, that she can share your every sorrow,

Has strength and fortitude to ease your burden.

CATILINE. Then listen, dear Aurelia; you shall hear

What has of late depressed so deep my spirits.

You know, I long have sought the consulate--

Without avail. You know the whole affair--

How to increase the votes for my election,

I have expended--

AURELIA. Catiline, no more;

You torture me--

CATILINE. Do you too blame my course?

What better means therefor had I to choose?--

In vain I lavished all that I possessed;

My one reward was mockery and shame.

Now in the senate has my adversary,

The crafty Cicero, trampled me to earth.

His speech was a portrayal of my life,

So glaring that I, even I, must gasp.

In every look I read dismay and fear;

With loathing people speak of Catiline;

To races yet unborn my name will be

A symbol of a low and dreadful union

Of sensuality and wretchedness,

Of scorn and ridicule for what is noble.--

And there will be no deed to purge this name

And crush to earth the lies that have been told!

Each will believe whatever rumor tells--

AURELIA. But I, dear husband, trust no such reports.

Let the whole world condemn you if it will;

And let it heap disgrace upon your head;--

I know you hide within your inmost soul

A seed that still can blossom and bear fruit.

Only it cannot burst forth here in Rome;

Poisonous weeds would quickly prove the stronger.

Let us forsake this degradation's home;--

What binds you here? Why should we dwell here longer?

CATILINE. I should forsake the field,--and go away?

I should my greatest dreams in life surrender?

The drowning man still clutches firm and fast

The broken spars--though hope is frail and slender;

And should the wreck be swallowed in the deep,

And the last hope of rescue fail forever,--

Still clings he to the lone remaining spar,

And sinks with it in one last vain endeavor.

AURELIA. But should a kindly seacoast smile on him,

With groves all green along the rolling billows,

Hope then awakens in his heart again,--

He struggles inward, toward the silvery willows.

There reigns a quiet peace; 'tis beautiful;

There roll the waves, in silence, without number;

His heated brow sweet evening breezes cool,

As weary-limbed he rests himself in slumber;

Each sorrow-laden cloud they drive away;

A restful calm his weary mind assuages;--

There he finds shelter and prolongs his stay

And soon forgets the sorry by-gone ages.

The distant echo of the world's unrest

Alone can reach his dwelling unfrequented.

It does not break the calm within his breast;--

It makes his soul more happy and contented;

It calls to mind the by-gone time of strife,

Its shattered hopes and its unbridled pleasures;

He finds twice beautiful this quiet life--

And would not change it for the greatest treasures.

CATILINE. You speak the truth; and in this very hour

From strife and tumult I could go with you.

But can you name me some such quiet spot,

Where we can live in shelter and in peace?

AURELIA. [Joyful.] You will go, Catiline? What happiness,--

Oh, richer than my bosom can contain!

Let it be so, then! Come! This very night

We'll go away--

CATILINE. But whither shall we go?

Name me the spot where I may dare to rest

My head in homely peace!

AURELIA. How can you ask?

Have you forgot our villa in the country,

Wherein I passed my childhood days, where since,

Enraptured during love's first happy dawn,

We two spent many a blithesome summer day?

Where was the grass indeed so green as there?

Where else the groves so shady and sweet-smelling?

The snow-white villa from its wooded lair

Peeps forth and bids us there to make our dwelling.

There let us flee and dedicate our life

To rural duties and to sweet contentment;--

You will find comfort in a loving wife,

And through her kisses banish all resentment.

[Smiling.]

AURELIA. And when with all the flowers of the land

You come to me, your sovereign, in my bowers,

Then shall I crown you with the laurel band,

And cry, All hail to you, my king of flowers!--

But why do you grow pale? Wildly you press

My hand,--and strangely now your eyes are glowing--

CATILINE. Aurelia, alas, past is your happiness;--

There we can never, never think of going.

There we can never go!

AURELIA. You frighten me!

Yet, surely,--you are jesting, Catiline?

CATILINE. I jest! Would only that it were a jest!

Each word you speak, like the avenging dart

Of Nemesis, pierces my heavy heart,

Which fate will never grant a moment's rest.

AURELIA. O gods! speak, speak! What do you mean?

CATILINE. See here!

Here is your villa,--here your future joys!

[He draws out a purse filled with gold and throws it on the

table.]

AURELIA. Oh, you have sold--?

CATILINE. Yes,--all I sold today;--

And to what end? In order to corrupt--

AURELIA. O Catiline, no more! Let us not think

On this affair; sorrow is all it brings.

CATILINE. Your quiet-patience wounds me tenfold more

Than would a cry of anguish from your lips!

[An old SOLDIER enters and approaches CATILINE.]

THE SOLDIER. Forgive me, master, that thus unannounced

I enter your abode at this late hour.

Ah, be not wroth--

CATILINE. What is your errand here?

THE SOLDIER. My errand here is but a humble prayer,

Which you will hear. I am a needy man,

One who has sacrificed his strength for Rome.

Now I am feeble, can no longer serve;

Unused my weapons rust away at home.

The hope of my old age was in a son,

Who labored hard and was my one support.

Alas,--in prison now he's held for debt.

And not a ray of hope--. Oh, help me, master!

[Kneeling.]

THE SOLDIER. If but a penny! I have gone on foot

From house to house; each door is long since closed.

I know not what to do--

CATILINE. The paltry knaves!

A picture this is of the many's want.

Thus they reward the old brave company.

No longer gratitude is found in Rome!

Time was I might have wished in righteous wrath

To punish them with sword and crimson flames;

But tender words have just been spoken here;

My soul is moved; I do not wish to punish;--

To ease misfortune likewise is a deed.--

Take this, old warrior;--clear with this your debt.

[He hands him the purse with the gold.]

THE SOLDIER. [Rising.]

O gracious lord,--dare I believe your words?

CATILINE. Yes; but be quick, old man; go free your son.

[The SOLDIER goes hurriedly out.]

CATILINE. A better use,--not so, Aurelia dear?--

Than bribery and purchasing of votes?

Noble it is to crush the tyrant's might;

Yet quiet solace too has its reward.

AURELIA. [Throws herself in his arms.]

Oh, rich and noble is your spirit still.

Yes,--now I know my Catiline again.

* * * * *

[An underground tomb with a freshly walled-in passage

high on the rear wall. A lamp burns faintly.]

[FURIA, in long black robes, is standing in the tomb

as if listening.]

FURIA. A hollow sound. 'Tis thunder rolls above.

I hear its rumble even in the tomb.

Yet is the tomb itself so still--so still!

Am I forever damned to drowsy rest?

Never again am I to wander forth

By winding paths, as ever was my wish?

FURIA. [After a pause.]

A strange, strange life it was;--as strange a fate.

Meteor-like all came--and disappeared.

He met me. A mysterious magic force,

An inner harmony, together drew us.

I was his Nemesis;--and he my victim;--

Yet punishment soon followed the avenger.

FURIA. [Another pause.]

Now daylight rules the earth.--Am I perchance

To slip--unknowing--from the realm of light?

'Tis well, if so it be,--if this delay

Within the tomb be nothing but a flight

Upon the wings of lightning into Hades,--

If I be nearing even now the Styx!

There roll the leaden billows on the shore;

There silently old Charon plies his boat.

Soon am I there! Then shall I seat myself

Beside the ferry,--question every spirit,

Each fleeting shadow from the land of life,

As light of foot he nears the river of death,--

Shall ask each one in turn how Catiline

Fares now among the mortals of the earth,--

Shall ask each one how he has kept his oath.

I shall illumine with blue sulphur light

Each spectral countenance and hollow eye,--

To ascertain if it be Catiline.

And when he comes, then shall I follow him;--

Together we shall make the journey hence,

Together enter Pluto's silent hall.

I too a shadow shall his shade pursue;--

Where Catiline is, must Furia also be!

FURIA. [After a pause, more faintly.]

The air is growing close and clammy here,--

And every breath in turn more difficult.--

Thus am I drawing near the gloomy swamps,

Where creep the rivers of the underworld.

FURIA. [She listens; a dull noise is heard.]

A muffled sound? 'Tis like the stroke of oars.

It is the ferryman of shades who comes

To take me hence. No, here--here will I wait!

[The stones in the freshly walled-in passage are broken asunder.

CURIUS comes into view on the outside; he beckons to her.]

FURIA. Ah, greetings, Charon! Are you ready now

To lead me hence, a guest among the spirits?

Here will I wait!

CURIUS. [Whispering.] I come to set you free!

* * * * *

SECOND ACT

[A room in CATILINE's house with a colonnade in the

rear; a lamp lights up the room.]

[CATILINE paces the floor back and forth; LENTULUS and

CETHEGUS are with him.]

CATILINE. No, no! I say, you do not understand

Yourselves what you demand of me. Should I

Turn traitor and incite a civil war,--

Besmear my hand with Roman blood? No, no!

I'll never do it! Let the entire state

Condemn me if--

LENTULUS. You will not, Catiline?

CATILINE. No.

LENTULUS. Tell me,--have you nothing to avenge?

No insult? No one here you fain would strike?

CATILINE. Let him who will avenge; I shall not stir.

Yet silent scorn is likewise a revenge;--

And that alone shall be enough.

CETHEGUS. Aha,--

Our visit was, I see, inopportune.

Yet doubtless will the morrow bring you back

To other thoughts.

CATILINE. But why the morrow?

CETHEGUS. There are mysterious rumors in the air.

A vestal recently was led to death--

CATILINE. [Surprised.]

A vestal,--say you? Ah, what do you mean?

LENTULUS. Why, yes, a vestal. Many people murmur--

CATILINE. What do they murmur?

CETHEGUS. That in this dark affair

You are not altogether innocent.

CATILINE. This they believe of me?

LENTULUS. Such is the rumor;

Of course,--to us, to all your good old friends,

Such talk is trifling and of no account;--

The world, however, judges more severely.

CATILINE. [Deep in thought.] And is she dead?

CETHEGUS. Undoubtedly she is.

An hour's confinement in the convict tomb

Is quite enough--

LENTULUS. That is not our affair.

It was not therefore that we spoke of her.

But hear me, Catiline! Bethink yourself.

You sought the consulate; and all your welfare

Hung on that single fragile thread of hope.

Now is it sundered; everything is lost.

CATILINE. [Still deep in thought.]

"Vengeance you have invoked on your own head!"

CETHEGUS. Shake off these useless thoughts; they profit naught;

Act like a man; still can this fight be won;

A bold resolve now--; you have friends enough;

Speak but the word, and we shall follow you.--

You are not tempted? Answer!

CATILINE. No, I say!

And why are you so eager to conspire?

Be honest! Are you driven by thirst for freedom?

Is it in order to renew Rome's splendor

That you would ruin all?

LENTULUS. Indeed, 'tis not;

Yet surely is the hope of personal greatness

Sufficient motive for our enterprise!

CETHEGUS. And means enough to taste the joys of life

Are not, in truth, to be so lightly scorned.

That is my motive;--I am not ambitious.

CATILINE. I knew it. Only mean and paltry motives,

The hope of private vantage, urge you on.

No, no, my friends; I aimed at nobler things!

True, I have sought with bribes and promises

To seize ere now the consulate, and yet

My plan was greater and comprised much more

Than means like these would point to. Civic freedom,

The welfare of the state,--these were my aims.

Men have misjudged, appearances belied me;

My fate has willed it so. It must so be!

CETHEGUS. True; but the thought of all your many friends

Whom you can save from ruin and disgrace--?

You know, we shall ere long be driven to take

The beggars' staff because of our wild living.

CATILINE. Then stop in season; that is my resolve.

LENTULUS. What, Catiline,--now you intend to change

Your mode of life? Ha, ha! you surely jest?

CATILINE. I am in earnest,--by the mighty gods!

CETHEGUS. Then there is nothing we can do with him.

Come, Lentulus, the others we'll inform

What answer he has given. We shall find

The merry company with Bibulus.

CATILINE. With Bibulus? How many a merry night

We have caroused at Bibulus' table!

Now is the tempest of my wild life ended;

Ere dawns the day I shall have left the city.

LENTULUS. What is all this?

CETHEGUS. You mean to go away?

CATILINE. This very night my wife and I together

Shall bid farewell to Rome forevermore.

In quiet Gaul we two shall found a home;--

The land I cultivate shall nourish us.

CETHEGUS. You will forsake the city, Catiline?

CATILINE. I will; I must! Disgrace here weighs me down.

Courage I have to bear my poverty,

But in each Roman face to read disdain

And frank contempt--! No, no; that is too much!

In Gaul I'll live in quiet solitude;

There shall I soon forget my former self,

Dull all my longings for the greater things,

And as the vaguest dream recall the past.

LENTULUS. Then fare you well; may fortune follow you!

CETHEGUS. Remember us with kindness, Catiline,

As we shall you remember! To our brothers

We will relate this new and strange resolve.

CATILINE. Then give them all a brother's hearty greeting!

[LENTULUS and CETHEGUS leave.]

[AURELIA has entered from the side, hut-stops frightened at the

sight of those who are leaving; when they are gone she

approaches CATILINE.]

AURELIA. [Gently reprimanding.]

Again these stormy comrades in your house?

O Catiline--!

CATILINE. This was their final visit.

I bade them all farewell. Now every bond

Forevermore is broken that bound me fast

And fettered me to Rome.

AURELIA. I've gathered up

Our bit of property. Not much perhaps;--

Yet, Catiline, enough for our contentment.

CATILINE. [Engrossed in thought.]

More than enough for me who squandered all.

AURELIA. Oh, brood no more on things we can not change;--

Forget what--

CATILINE. Happy he who could forget,--

Who could the memory tear from out his soul,

The many hopes, the goal of all desires.

Ah, time is needed ere I reach that state;

But I shall struggle--

AURELIA. I shall help you strive;

You shall be comforted for all your loss.

Yet we must leave as soon as possible.

Here life calls to you with a tempter's voice.

Is it not so,--we go this very night?

CATILINE. Yes, yes,--we leave this very night, Aurelia!

AURELIA. The little money left I've gathered up;

And for the journey it will be enough.

CATILINE. Good! I shall sell my sword and buy a spade.

What value henceforth is a sword to me?

AURELIA. You clear the land, and I shall till the soil.

Around our home will grow in floral splendor

A hedge of roses, sweet forget-me-nots,

The silent tokens of a chastened soul,

When as some youthful comrade you can greet

Each memory recurrent of the past.

CATILINE. That time, Aurelia? Ah, beloved, I fear--

That hour lies in a distant future's keeping.

CATILINE. [In a milder tone.]

But go, dear wife, and, while you may, repose.

Soon after midnight we shall start our journey.

The city then is lapped in deepest slumber,

And none shall guess our hidden destination.

The first glow in the morning sky shall find us

Far--far away; there in the laurel grove

We'll rest ourselves upon the velvet grass.

AURELIA. A new life opens up before us both--

Richer in happiness than this that's ended.

Now will I go. An hour's quiet rest

Will give me strength--. Good-night, my Catiline!

[She embraces him and goes out.]

CATILINE. [Gazes after her.]

Now is she gone! And I--what a relief!

Now can I cast away this wearisome

Hypocrisy, this show of cheerfulness,

Which least of all is found within my heart.

She is my better spirit. She would grieve

Were she to sense my doubt. I must dissemble.

Yet shall I consecrate this silent hour

To contemplation of my wasted life.--

This lamp,--ah, it disturbs my very thoughts;--

Dark it must be here,--dark as is my soul!

[He puts out the light; the moon shines through the pillars in

the rear.]

CATILINE.

Too light,--yes, still too light! And yet, no matter;--

The pallid moonlight here does well befit

The twilight and the gloom that shroud my soul,--

Have ever shrouded all my earthly ways.

CATILINE. Hm, Catiline, then is this day your last;

Tomorrow morning you will be no longer

The Catiline you hitherto have been.

Distant in barren Gaul my life shall run

Its course, unknown as is a forest stream.--

Now am I wakened from those many visions

Of power, of greatness, of a life of deeds;--

They vanished like the dew; in my dark soul

They struggled long and died,--unseen of men.

CATILINE. Ah, it is not this dull and drowsy life,

Far from all mundane tumult, that affrights me.

If only for a moment I could shine,

And blaze in splendor like a shooting star,--

If only by a glorious deed I could

Immortalize the name of Catiline

With everlasting glory and renown,--

Then gladly should I, in the hour of triumph,

Forsake all things,--flee to a foreign strand;--

I'd plunge the dagger in my exiled heart,

Die free and happy; for I should have lived!

CATILINE. But oh,--to die without first having lived.

Can that be possible? Shall I so die?

[With uplifted hands.]

CATILINE. A hint, oh angry powers,--that it is

My fate to disappear from life forgotten,

Without a trace!

FURIA. [Outside behind the pillars.] It is not, Catiline!

CATILINE. [Taken aback.]

Who speaks? What warning voice is this I hear?

A spirit voice from out the underworld!

FURIA. [Comes forward in the moonlight.] I am your shadow.

CATILINE. [Terrified.] What,--the vestal's ghost!

FURIA. Deep must your soul have sunk if you recoil

From me!

CATILINE. Speak! Have you risen from the grave

With hatred and with vengeance to pursue me?

FURIA. Pursue you,--did you say? I am your shadow.

I must be with you wheresoe'er you go.

[She comes nearer.]

CATILINE. She lives! O gods,--then it is she,--no other,

No disembodied ghost.

FURIA. Or ghost or not,--

It matters little; I must follow you.

CATILINE. With mortal hate!

FURIA. Hate ceases in the grave,

As love and all the passions do that flourish

Within an earthly soul. One thing alone

In life and death remains unchangeable.

CATILINE. And what? Say forth!

FURIA. Your fate, my Catiline!

CATILINE. Only the gods of wisdom know my fate,--

No human being.

FURIA. Yet I know your fate.

I am your shadow;--strange, mysterious ties

Bind us together.

CATILINE. Bonds of hatred.

FURIA. No!

Rose ever spirit from the dankest grave

For hate and vengeance? Listen, Catiline!

The rivers of the underworld have quenched

Each earthly flame that raged within my breast.

As you behold me here, I am no longer

The stormy Furia,--wild and passionate,--

Whom once you loved--

CATILINE. You do not hate me then?

FURIA. Ah, now no more. When in the tomb I stood,--

And faltered on the path that separates

This life from death, at any moment ready

To greet the underworld,--lo, seized me then

An eerie shuddering; I know not what--;

I felt in me a mystic transformation;--

Away flowed hate, revenge, my very soul;

Each memory vanished and each earthly longing;--

Only the name of "Catiline" remains

Written in fiery letters on my heart.

CATILINE. Ah, wonderful! No matter who you are,--

A human form, a shadow from the dead,--

There lies withal a dreadful fascination

In your dark eyes, in every word you speak.

FURIA. Your mind is strong as mine; yet you give up,

Disheartened and irresolute, each hope

Of triumph and dominion. You forsake

The battlefield, where all your inmost plans

Could grow and blossom forth into achievement.

CATILINE. I must! Inexorable fate decrees it!

FURIA. Your fate? Why were you given a hero's strength,--

If not to struggle with what you call fate?

CATILINE. Oh, I have fought enough! Was not my life

A constant battle? What are my rewards?

Disgrace and scorn--!

FURIA. Ah, you are fallen low!

You struggle towards a high and daring goal,

Are eager to attain it; yet you fear

Each trifling hindrance.

CATILINE. Fear is not the reason.

The goal I sought is unattainable;--

The whole was but a fleeting dream of youth.

FURIA. Now you deceive yourself, my Catiline!

You hover still about that single project;--

Your soul is noble,--worthy of a ruler,--

And you have friends--. Ah, wherefore hesitate?

CATILINE. [Meditating.]

I shall--? What do you mean--? With civil blood--?

FURIA. Are you a man,--yet lack a woman's courage?

Have you forgot that nimble dame of Rome,

Who sought the throne straight over a father's corpse?

I feel myself a Tullia now; but you--?

Scorn and despise yourself, O Catiline!

CATILINE. Must I despise myself because my soul

No longer harbors selfish aspirations?

FURIA. You stand here at a cross-road in your life;

Yonder a dull, inactive course awaits you,--

A half-way something, neither sleep nor death;--

Before you, on the other hand, you see

A sovereign's throne. Then choose, my Catiline!

CATILINE. You tempt me and allure me to destruction.

FURIA. Cast but the die,--and in your hand is placed

Forevermore the welfare of proud Rome.

Glory and might your silent fate conceals,

And yet you falter,--dare not lift a hand!

You journey yonder to the forests, where

Each longing that you cherished will be quenched.

Ah, tell me, Catiline, is there no trace

Of thirst for glory left within your heart?

And must this princely soul, for triumphs born,

Vanish unknown in yonder nameless desert?

Hence, then! But know that thus you lose forever

What here you could by daring deeds attain.

CATILINE. Go on, go on!

FURIA. With trembling and with fear

The future generations will recall

Your fate. Your life was all a daring game;--

Yet in the lustre of atonement it would shine,

Known to all men, if with a mighty hand

You fought your way straight through this surging

throng,--

If the dark night of thraldom through your rule

Gave way before a new-born day of freedom,--

If at some time you--

CATILINE. Hold! Ah, you have touched

The string that quivers deepest in my soul.

Your every word sounds like a ringing echo

Of what my heart has whispered day and night.

FURIA. Now, Catiline, I know you once again!

CATILINE. I shall not go! You have recalled to life

My youthful zeal, my manhood's full-grown longings.

Yes, I shall be a light to fallen Rome,--

Daze them with fear like some erratic star!

You haughty wretches,--you shall soon discover

You have not humbled me, though for a time

I weakened in the heat of battle!

FURIA. Listen!

Whatever be the will of fate,--whatever

The mighty gods decree, we must obey.

Just so! My hate is gone;--fate thus decreed,

And so it had to be! Give me your hand

In solemn compact!--Ah, you hesitate?

You will not?

CATILINE. Will--? I gaze upon your eyes:

They flash,--like lightning in the gloom of night.

Now did you smile! Just so I've often pictured

Nemesis--

FURIA. What? Herself you wish to see,--

Then look within. Have you forgot your oath?

CATILINE. No, I remember;--yet you seem to me

A Nemesis--

FURIA. I am an image born

From your own soul.

CATILINE. [Meditating.] What is all this you say?

I sense but vaguely what I fail to grasp;

I glimpse mysterious, strangely clouded visions,--

But can not understand. I grope in darkness!

FURIA. It must be dark here. Darkness is our realm;--

In darkness is our rule. Give me your hand

In solemn pledge!

CATILINE. [Wildly.] O lovely Nemesis,--

My shadow,--image of my very soul,--

Here is my hand in everlasting compact.

[He seizes her hand violently; she looks at him with a stern

smile.]

FURIA. Now we can never part!

CATILINE. Ah, like a stream

Of fire your touch went coursing through my veins!

'Tis blood no more that flows, but fiery flames;--

My breast now cabins and confines my heart;

My sight grows dull. Soon shall a flaming sea

Illumine with its light the Roman state!

[He draws his sword and brandishes it.]

CATILINE. My sword! My sword! Do you see how it flashes?

Soon will it redden in their tepid blood!--

What change is this in me? My brow burns hot;

A multitude of visions flit before me.--

Vengeance it is,--triumph for all those dreams

Of greatness, regal power, and lasting fame.

My watch-word shall be: livid flames and death!

The capitol! Now first I am myself!

[He rushes out; FURIA follows him.]

* * * * *

[The inside of a dimly illumined tavern.]

[STATILIUS, GABINIUS, COEPARIUS, and other young

ROMANS enter.]

STATILIUS. Here, comrades, we can while away the night;

Here we are safe; no one will overhear us.

GABINIUS. Ah, yes; now let us drink, carouse, enjoy!

Who knows how long it will be granted us?

STATILIUS. No, let us first await whatever tidings

Lentulus and Cethegus have for us.

GABINIUS. Bah, let them bring whatever news they will!

Meanwhile the wine is here; come, let us taste.

Quick, brothers, quick,--let's have a merry song!

[SERVANTS bring in wine and glasses.]

THE ASSEMBLED FRIENDS. (Sing.)

Bacchus, all praise to thee!

Joyful we raise to thee

Brimful the beaker!

Hail to thee, hail!

Wine, red and glowing,

Merrily flowing,

Drink of the wine-god,--

This be our song.

Gracious and friendly

Smiles father Liber;

Drunkenness waits us;

Clear is the wine.

Come, do not tarry!

Wine will make merry,

Joyful and airy,

Body and soul.

Thou above all the

Glittering bubbles,

Sparkling Falernian,

Glorious drink!

Courage and power,

These are your dower.

Gladsome the gift you

Bring to the soul.

Bacchus, all praise to thee!

Joyful we raise to thee

Brimful the beaker!

Hail to thee, hail!

Wine, red and glowing,

Merrily flowing,

Drink of the wine-god,--

This be our song.

[LENTULUS and CETHEGUS enter.]

LENTULUS. Cease all your song and merriment!

STATILIUS. What now?

Is Catiline not in your company?

GABINIUS. Surely he was quite willing?

COEPARIUS. Come, say forth!

What was his answer?

CETHEGUS. Ah, quite otherwise

Than we expected was his answer.

GABINIUS. Well?

LENTULUS. Well, all of our proposals he declined;--

He would not even hearken to our counsels.

STATILIUS. Is this the truth?

COEPARIUS. And wherefore would he not?

LENTULUS. In short, he will not. He forsakes his friends,--

Abandons us,--and leaves the city.

STATILIUS. What?

He leaves, you say?

CETHEGUS. 'Tis true;--he goes away

This very night. Yet,--blamed he can not be;

His ground was valid--

LENTULUS. Fear was his excuse!

In danger he forsakes us faithlessly.

GABINIUS. That is the friendship of our Catiline!

COEPARIUS. Never was Catiline faithless or afraid!

LENTULUS. And yet he leaves us now.

STATILIUS. Our hopes go with him.

Where's now the man to take the leadership?

COEPARIUS. He'll not be found; our plan we must forego.

LENTULUS. Not yet, not yet, my friends! First you shall hear

What I will say. Now what have we resolved?

That we should win at last by force of arms

What an unrighteous destiny denied.

Tyrants oppress us;--yet we wish to rule.

We suffer want;--yet wealth is our desire.

MANY VOICES. Yes, wealth and power! Wealth and power we want!

LENTULUS. Yes, yes; we chose a comrade as our chief,

On whom there was no doubt we could rely.

Our trust he fails and turns his back to danger.

Ah, brothers,--be not daunted. He shall learn

We can succeed without him. What we need

Is some one man, fearless and resolute,

To take the lead--

SOME. Well, name us such a man!

LENTULUS. And should I name him, and should he comeforth,--

Will you then straightway choose him as your leader?

SOME. Yes, we will choose him!

OTHERS. Yes, we will, we will!

STATILIUS. Then name him, friend!

LENTULUS. Suppose it were myself?

GABINIUS. Yourself?

COEPARIUS. You, Lentulus--!

SEVERAL. [In doubt.] You wish to lead us?

LENTULUS. I do.

CETHEGUS. But can you? Such a task requires

The strength and courage of a Catiline.

LENTULUS. I do not lack the courage, nor the strength.

Each to his task! Or will you now turn back,

Now when the moment seems most opportune?

'Tis now or never! All things prophesy

Success for us--

STATILIUS. Good;--we will follow you!

OTHERS. We'll follow you!

GABINIUS. Well, now that Catiline

Forsakes our cause, you are no doubt the man

To lead us in our enterprise.

LENTULUS. Then hear

What plan of action I have outlined. First--

[CATILINE enters hastily.]

CATILINE. Here, comrades, here I am!

ALL. Catiline!

LENTULUS. He?

Oh, damned--

CATILINE. Speak out,--what do you ask of me?

Yet stay; I know already what it is.

I'll lead you on. Say--will you follow me?

ALL (EXCEPT LENTULUS). Yes, Catiline,--we follow if you lead!

STATILIUS. They have deceived us--

GABINIUS. --and belied your name!

COEPARIUS. They said you did intend to leave the city

And wash your hands completely of our cause.

CATILINE. Yes, so I did. Yet now no more; henceforth

Only for this great purpose do I live.

LENTULUS. What is this mighty purpose you proclaim?

CATILINE. My purpose here is higher than you think--

Perhaps than any thinks. Ah, hear me, friends!

First will I win to us each citizen

Who prizes liberty and values most

The public honor and his country's weal.

The spirit of ancient Rome is yet alive;--

The last faint spark is not yet wholly dead.

Now into brilliant flames it shall be fanned,

More glorious than ever flames before!

Alas, too long the stifling gloom of thraldom,

Dark as the night, lay blanketed on Rome.

Behold,--this realm--though proud and powerful

It seems--totters upon the edge of doom.

Therefore the stoutest hand must seize the helm.

Rome must be cleansed,--cleansed to the very roots;

The sluggish we must waken from their slumber,--

And crush to earth the power of these wretches

Who sow their poison in the mind and stifle

The slightest promise of a better life.

Look you,--'tis civic freedom I would further,--

The civic spirit that in former times

Was regnant here. Friends, I shall conjure back

The golden age, when Romans gladly gave

Their lives to guard the honor of the nation,

And all their riches for the public weal!

LENTULUS. Ah, Catiline, you rave! Nothing of this

Had we in mind.

GABINIUS. What will it profit us

To conjure up again those ancient days

With all their dull simplicity?

SOME. No, no!

Might we demand--

OTHERS. --and means enough to live

A gay and carefree life!

MANY VOICES. That is our aim!

COEPARIUS. Is it for others' happiness and freedom

We stake our lives upon a throw of dice?

THE WHOLE GROUP. We want the spoils of victory!

CATILINE. Paltry race!

Are you the offspring of those ancient fathers?

To heap dishonor on your country's name,--

In such a way you would preserve its lustre!

LENTULUS. And you dare taunt us,--you who long since were

A terrifying token--

CATILINE. True, I was;

I was a terror to the good; and yet,

So paltry as you are was never I.

LENTULUS. Restrain your tongue; we brook no ridicule.

MANY. No, no,--we will not--

CATILINE. [Calmly.] So? You timid brood,--

You dare to think of doing something,--you?

LENTULUS. Ah, down with him!

MANY VOICES. Yes, down with Catiline!

[They draw their daggers and rush in on him; CATILINE calmly

removes the cloak from his breast and regards them with a cold,

scornful smile; they lower their daggers.]

CATILINE.

Thrust! Thrust! You dare not? Oh, my friends, my friends,--

I should respect you, if you plunged your daggers

In this uncovered bosom, as you threaten.

Is there no spark of courage in your souls?

SOME. He means our weal!

OTHERS. His taunts we have deserved.

CATILINE. You have, indeed.--Yet, see,--the hour is come

When you can wash away the blot of shame.

All that is of the past we will forget;--

A new existence is in store for us.

CATILINE. [With bitterness.]

Fool that I am! To stake success on you!

Burns any zeal within this craven mob?

CATILINE. [Carried away.]

Time was my dreams were glorious; great visions

Rushed through my mind or swept before my gaze.

I dreamed that, winged like Icarus of old,

I flew aloft beneath the vault of heaven;

I dreamed the gods endued my hands with strength

Of giants, offered me the lightning flash.

And this hand seized the lightning in its flight

And hurled it at the city far beneath.

And when the crimson flames lapped all, and rose

As Rome fell crumbling in a heap of ruins,--

Then called I with a loud and mighty voice,

And conjured Cato's comrades from the grave;

Thousands of spirits heard my call and came,--

Took life again--raised Rome from out her ashes.

[He breaks off.]

CATILINE. These were but dreams! Gods do not conjure up

The by-gone past into the light of day,--

And parted spirits never leave the grave.

CATILINE. [Wildly.] Is now this hand unable to restore

The ancient Rome, our Rome it shall destroy.

Where marble colonnades now towering stand,

Pillars of smoke through crackling flames shall whirl;

Then shall the Capitol crumble from its heights,

And palaces and temples sink to ruin!

CATILINE. Swear, comrades, that you dedicate your lives

To this great purpose! I shall take the lead.

Say,--will you follow me?

STATILIUS. We'll follow you!

[Several seem to be in doubt, and speak in whispers to one

another. CATILINE regards them with a scornful smile.]

LENTULUS. [In an undertone.]

'Tis best we follow him. In sunken ruins

We're likeliest to realize our goal.

ALL. [Shouting.] Yes, Catiline; we'll all--all follow you!

CATILINE. Swear to me by the gods of our great sires

That you will heed my every nod!

THE WHOLE GROUP. [With uplifted hands.] Yes, yes;

We swear in all things blindly to obey!

CATILINE. Then singly steal your way, by different paths,

Into my house. Weapons you there will find.

I shall come later; you shall then discover

What plan of action I propose. Now go!

[They all go out.]

LENTULUS. [Detains CATILINE.]

A word! Know you the Allobrogian tribes

Have to the Senate sent ambassadors

With grievances and charges?

CATILINE. Yes, I know.

They came today into the city.

LENTULUS. Good.

What if we should attune them to our plans?

With them all Gaul will rise up in revolt;

And stir up strife against our enemies.

CATILINE. [Reluctant.]

Ah, we should seek barbarian allies?

LENTULUS. But such a league is a necessity.

With our own strength alone the fight is lost;

Help from without--

CATILINE. [With a bitter smile.] Ah, Rome is fallen low!

Her walls no longer harbor men with strength

Enough to overthrow a tottering ruin!

[They go out.]

* * * * *

[A garden to the rear of CATILINE's house, which is

visible through the trees. To the left a

side-building.]

[CURIUS, CETHEGUS, and OTHER CONSPIRATORS enter

cautiously from the right in whispered conversation.]

CURIUS. But is it really true what you relate?

CETHEGUS. Yes, every word is true. A moment since

It was decided.

CURIUS. He takes charge of all?

CETHEGUS. Of everything. Just speak with him yourself.

[All, except CURIUS, enter the house.]

CURIUS. An eerie night! How all my thoughts are tossed

About in circles! Did I dream perchance?

Ah, real or fancied,--now I am awake,--

Whichever way I turn I see her form.

[CATILINE enters from the right.]

CATILINE. [Goes toward him.]

You here, my Curius? I have missed you much.--

My visit with the vestal took a turn

Quite unexpected--

CURIUS. [Confused.] So? Yes, you are right!

CATILINE. I shall no longer think of this affair.

It was a visit fraught with fate for me.

CATILINE. [Meditating.]

The furies, we are told, return at times

From the dark underworld to follow us

Through life forever.--Ah, if it were so!

CURIUS. [Uneasy.] What? Have you seen her--?

CATILINE. She was here tonight.--

Yet let this be forgotten. Curius, listen,--

A weighty undertaking is on foot--

CURIUS. I know it all. Cethegus told me here--

CATILINE. Who knows what issue for this work the gods

Have set? Perchance it is my destiny

To perish now, crushed by malignant forces,--

And never reach my goal. Well, be it so!

But you, dear Curius, you whom I have loved

Since childhood,--you shall not be drawn within

This fateful maelstrom. Promise me,--remain

Within the city if I elsewhere choose

To open my attack,--which is quite likely;

Nor aid us till success has crowned our work.

CURIUS. [Moved.]

Oh, what a friend and father! All this care--!

CATILINE. You promise this? Then here we say farewell;

Wait but a moment; I shall soon return.

[He goes into the house.]

CURIUS. [Gazing after him.]

He loves me still. Of naught is he distrustful.

[LENTULUS and OTHER CONSPIRATORS enter from the right.]

LENTULUS. Ah, Curius, did not Catiline just now

Pass through the garden?

CURIUS. Yes, he is within.

[They go into the house.]

CURIUS. [Paces about uneasy.]

How shall I curb this longing in my soul?

There is a restless turmoil in my blood.

Ah, Furia,--what a strange, mysterious woman!

Where are you? When shall I see your face again?

CURIUS. Where has she fled? Ah, shadow-like she slipped

Away, when I had freed her from the grave.

And those mysterious, prophetic words,--

And more, her eyes, gleaming at once and dimmed--!

What if it were but madness? Has the grave

With all its terror darkened--?

FURIA. [Behind him among the trees.] No, pale youth!

CURIUS. [With a cry.] My Furia! You--?

FURIA. [Comes nearer.] Here dwells Catiline.

Where he is,--there must Furia also be.

CURIUS. Oh, come with me, beloved. I shall lead

You into safety. Think--if some one saw you!

FURIA. The dead need have no fear. Have you forgotten--

You took my corpse and brought it from the grave?

CURIUS. Again those terrifying words! Oh, hear me;--

Come to your senses,--come with me away!

[He tries to seize her hand.]

FURIA. [Thrusts him wildly back.]

You reckless fool,--do you not shrink with fear

Before this child of death, but risen up

A fleeting moment from the underworld?

CURIUS. Before you now I fear. And yet this fear,

This strange, mysterious dread, is my delight.

FURIA. What would you me? In vain is all your pleading.

I'm of the grave, and yonder is my home;--

With dawn's approach I must again be speeding

Back to the vale of shadows whence I come.

You doubt me,--do not think that I have sat

Among the pallid shades in Pluto's hall?

I tell you, I was even now below,--

Beyond the river and the gloomy marshes.

CURIUS. Then lead me there!

FURIA. You?

CURIUS. I shall gladly follow,

Though you should lead me through the jaws of death!

FURIA. It cannot be! On earth we two must part;--

Yonder the dead and living dare not meet.--

FURIA. Why do you rob me of my fleeting moments?

I've but the hours of night in which to work;

My task is of the night; I am its herald.

But where is Catiline?

CURIUS. Ah, him you seek?

FURIA. Yes, him I seek.

CURIUS. Then him you still pursue?

FURIA. Why rose I from the spirit underworld

Tonight, if not because of Catiline?

CURIUS. Alas, this fury that has seized your soul--!

Yet you are lovely even in your madness.

Oh, Furia, think no more of Catiline!

Come, flee with me! Command me,--I shall serve you!

[He prostrates himself before her.]

CURIUS. A prostrate slave I here entreat of you

One single look. Oh, hear me, Furia, hear me!

I love but you! A sweet and lethal fire

Consumes my soul, and you--ah, you alone--

Can ease my suffering.--

FURIA. [Looks towards the house.] Yonder there's a light--

And many men. What now is going on

Within the house of Catiline?

CURIUS. [Jumps up.] Again

This name! Around him hover all your thoughts.

Oh, I could hate him--!

FURIA. Has he then resolved

To launch at last the daring enterprise

He long has cherished?

CURIUS. Then you know--?

FURIA. Yes, all.

CURIUS. Ah, then you doubtless know, too, he himself

Is foremost in this daring enterprise?

Yet, I adjure you, beg you, think no more

Of Catiline!

FURIA. Answer me this alone;

'Tis all I ask of you. Do you go with him?

CURIUS. He is to me a tender father--

FURIA. [Smiling.] He?

My Catiline?

CURIUS. Ah!

FURIA. He,--round whom my thoughts

Course without rest?

CURIUS. My brain is in a tumult--

I hate this man--! Oh, I could murder him!

FURIA. Did you not lately swear you were prepared

To do my bidding?

CURIUS. Ask me what you will;

In everything I serve you and obey!

I only beg,--forget this Catiline.

FURIA. I shall forget him first--when he has stepped

Into his grave.

CURIUS. [Draws back.] Ah, you demand that I--?

FURIA. You need not use the steel; you can betray

His enterprise--

CURIUS. Murder and treachery

At once! Remember, Furia, he is still

My foster-father and--

FURIA. --My aim in life!

Ah, timid fool,--so you dare speak of love,--

Who lack the fortitude to strike him down

That stands across your path? Away from me!

[She turns her back on him.]

CURIUS. [Holding her back.]

No;--do not leave me! I am in all things willing!

A shudder chills me as I look on you;

And yet I cannot break this net asunder

Wherein you trapped my soul.

FURIA. Then you are willing?

CURIUS. Why do you mock me with such questioning?

If I am willing? Have I any will?

Your gaze is like the serpent's when 'tis fixed

With magic power upon the bird, that circles

Wildly about in terror-stricken awe,

Drawn ever nearer to the dreadful fangs.

FURIA. Then to your task!

CURIUS. And when I've sacrificed

My friendship to my love for you,--what then?

FURIA. I shall forget that Catiline existed.

Then will my task be ended. Ask no more!

CURIUS. For this reward I should--?

FURIA. You hesitate?

Is then your hope so faint that you forget

What gifts a grateful woman can bestow,

When first the time--?

CURIUS. By all the powers of night,--

I'll not delay! He only stands between us.

Then let him perish! Quenched is every spark

Of feeling for him; every bond is sundered!--

Who are you, lovely vision of the night?

Near you I'm turned to marble, burned to ashes.

My longing chills me,--terror fires the soul;

My love is blended hate and sorcery.

Who am I now? I know myself no more;

One thing I know; I am not he I was,

Ere you I saw. I'll plunge into the deep

To follow you! Doomed--doomed is Catiline!

I'll to the Capitol. This very night

The senate is assembled. Then farewell!

A written note betrays his enterprise.

[He goes out hastily.]

FURIA. [To herself.]

The heavens grow dark; soon will the lightning play.

The end is fast approaching, Catiline;--

With measured steps you journey to your grave!

[The Allobrogian ambassadors, AMBIORIX and OLLOVICO, come out of

the house without noticing FURIA, who stands half concealed in

the shade between the trees.]

AMBIORIX. So then it is decided! Venturesome

It was to enter into such a compact.

OLLOVICO. True;

Yet their refusal of each righteous claim

Opens no other way to liberty.

The prize of victory,--should our friends succeed,--

Outweighs indeed the perils of the conflict

That now awaits us.

AMBIORIX. Brother, so it is!

OLLOVICO. Emancipation from the rule of Rome,--

Freedom long lost is surely worth a struggle.

AMBIORIX. Now we must hasten homeward with all speed,

Kindling through Gaul the flames of insurrection.

It will be easy to persuade the tribes

To 'rise up in revolt; they'll follow us

And join the partisans of Catiline.

OLLOVICO. Hard will the fight be; mighty still is Rome.

AMBIORIX. It must be risked. Come, Ollovico, come!

FURIA. [Calls warningly to them.] Woe unto you!

AMBIORIX. [Startled.] By all the gods!

OLLOVICO. [Terrified.] Ah, hear!

A voice cries warning to us in the dark!

FURIA. Woe to your people!

OLLOVICO. Yonder stands she, brother,--

The pale and ill-foreboding shadow. See!

FURIA. Woe unto all who follow Catiline!

AMBIORIX. Home, home! Away! We'll break all promises!

OLLOVICO. A voice has warned us, and we shall obey.

[They go out hurriedly to the right.]

[CATILINE comes out of the house in the background.]

CATILINE. Ah, desperate hope--to think of crushing Rome

With such a host of cowards and poltroons!

What spurs them on? With frankness they confess--

Their only motive is their want and greed.

Is it then worth the trouble for such aims

To shed men's blood? And what have I to win?

What can I gain?

FURIA. [Invisible among the trees.] Revenge, my Catiline!

CATILINE. [Startled.]

Who speaks! Who wakes the spirit of revenge

From slumber? Came this voice then from the deep

Within my soul? Revenge? Yes, that's the word,--

My watch-word and my battle-cry. Revenge!

Revenge for all the hopes and all the dreams

Which ever a vindictive fate destroyed!

Revenge for all my years of wasted life!

[The CONSPIRATORS come armed out of the house.]

LENTULUS. Still rest the shades of darkness on the city.

Now is it time to break away.

SEVERAL. [Whispering.] Away!

[AURELIA comes out of the side-building without noticing the

CONSPIRATORS.]

AURELIA. Beloved,--are you here?

CATILINE. [With a cry.] Aurelia!

AURELIA. Say,--

Have you been waiting for me?

[She becomes aware of the Conspirators and rushes to him.]

AURELIA. Gracious gods!

CATILINE. [Thrusts her aside.] Woman, away from me!

AURELIA. Speak, Catiline!

These many men in arms--? And you as well--?

Oh, you will go--

CATILINE. [Wildly.] Yes, by the spirits of night,--

A merry journey! See--this flashing sword!

It thirsts for blood! I go--to quench its thirst.

AURELIA. My hope,--my dream! Ah, blissful was my dream!

Thus am I wakened from my dreaming--

CATILINE. Silence!

Stay here,--or follow! But my heart is cold

To tears and lamentations.--Friends, behold

How bright the full moon in the west declines!

When next that full moon in its orient shines,

An avalanche of fire shall sweep the state

And all its golden glory terminate.

A thousand years from now, when it shall light

Mere crumbling ruins in the desert night,--

One pillar in the dust of yonder dome

Shall tell the weary wanderer: Here stood Rome!

[He rushes out to the right; all follow him.]

* * * * *

THIRD ACT

[CATILINE's camp in a wooded field in Etruria. To the

right is seen CATILINE's tent and close by it an old

oak tree. A camp fire is burning outside the tent;

similar fires are to be seen among the trees in the

background. It is night. At intervals the moon breaks

through the clouds.]

[STATILIUS lies stretched out asleep by the camp fire.

MANLIUS paces back and forth in front of the tent.]

MANLIUS. Such is the way of young and buoyant souls.

They slumber on as peaceful and secure

As though embosomed in their mothers' arms,

Instead of in a forest wilderness.

They rest as though they dream some merry game

Were held in store for them when they awake,

Instead of battle,--the last one, perchance,

That will be theirs to fight.

STATILIUS. [Awakes and rises.] Still standing guard?

You must be weary? I'll relieve you now.

MANLIUS. Go rest yourself instead. Youth needs his sleep;

His untamed passions tax his native strength.

'Tis otherwise when once the hair turns gray,

When in our veins the blood flows lazily,

And age weighs heavily upon our shoulders.

STATILIUS. Yes, you are right. Thus I too shall in time,

An old and hardened warrior--

MANLIUS. Are you sure

The fates decreed you such a destiny?

STATILIUS. And pray, why not? Why all these apprehensions?

Has some misfortune chanced?

MANLIUS. You think no doubt

That we have naught to fear, foolhardy youth?

STATILIUS. Our troops are strongly reenforced--

MANLIUS. Indeed,--

With fugitive slaves and gladiators--

STATILIUS. Well,--

Grant that they are; together they may prove

No little aid, and all the tribes of Gaul

Will send us help--

MANLIUS. --Which has not yet arrived.

STATILIUS. You doubt that the Allobroges will keep

Their promised word?

MANLIUS. I know these people well

From days gone by. However, let that pass.

The day that dawns will doubtless bring to light

What destinies the gods have set for us.

MANLIUS. But go the rounds, my friend, and ascertain

If all the guards perform their proper tasks.

For we must fend against a night attack;

We know not where the enemy makes his stand.

[STATILIUS goes into the forest.]

MANLIUS. [Alone by the camp fire.]

The clouds begin to gather thick and fast;

It is a dark and storm-presaging night;--

A misty fog hangs heavy on my breast,

As though foreboding mishap to us all.

Where is it now, that easy carefree spirit

With which in former times I went to war?

Ah, can it be the weight of years alone

That now I feel? Strange--strange, indeed,--last night

Even the young seemed sorely out of heart.

MANLIUS. [After a pause.]

The gods shall know revenge was not the aim

For which I joined and followed Catiline.

My wrath flared up within me for a space

When first I felt I had been wronged, insulted;--

The old blood is not yet entirely cold;

Now and again it courses warmly through my veins.

But the humiliation is forgotten.

I followed Catiline for his own sake;

And I shall watch o'er him with zealous care.

Here stands he all alone amidst these hosts

Of paltry knaves and dissolute companions.

They cannot comprehend him,--he in turn

Is far too proud to wish to fathom them.

[He throws some branches on the fire and remains standing in

silence. CATILINE comes out of the tent.]

CATILINE. [To himself.]

Midnight approaches. Everything is hushed;--

Only to my poor eyes sleep fails to come.

Cold is the night wind; 'twill refresh my soul

And give me strength anew--. I sorely need it!

[He becomes aware of MANLIUS.]

CATILINE. 'Tis you, old Manlius? And do you stand guard

Alone on such a night?

MANLIUS. Oft have I stood

Guard over you in childhood's early days.

Say, do you not recall?

CATILINE. Those days are gone;

With them, my peace; wherever now I go,

I'm haunted by a multitude of visions.

All things find shelter in my bosom, Manlius;--

Save peace alone. That--that is far away.

MANLIUS. Cast off these gloomy thoughts and take your rest!

Remember that the morrow may require

Your utmost strength for our deliverance.

CATILINE. I cannot rest. If I but close my eyes

One fleeting moment in forgetful slumber,

I'm tossed about in strange, fantastic dreams.

Here on my couch I lay now, half asleep,

When these same visions reappeared again,

More strange than ever,--more mysterious

And puzzling--. Ah, if I could only know

What this forebodes! But no--

MANLIUS. Confide your dream

To me. Perhaps I can expound its meaning.

CATILINE. [After a pause.]

If I slept or if I waked, scarcely can I say;

Visions fast pursued each other in a mad array.

Soon a deepening twilight settles over everything;

And a night swoops down upon me on her wide-spread wing,

Terrible and dark, unpierced, save by the lightning's flare;

I am in a grave-like dungeon, filled with clammy air.

Lofty is the ceiling and with thunderclouds o'ercast;

Multitudes of shadow forms go racing wildly past,

Whirl around in roaring eddies, as the ocean wave

Draws the raging storm and breaks against a rocky cave.

Yet amid this frenzied tumult children often come,

Decked in flowers, singing of a half-forgotten home.

Soon the darkness round them changes to a vivid glare,--

Dimly in the center I descry a lonely pair;

Ah, two women,--stern the one and gloomy as the night,--

And the other gentle, like the evening in its flight.

How familiar to my eyes the two lone figures seemed!

With her smiling countenance the one upon me beamed;

Like the zigzag lightning flashed the other's piercing eye;

Terror seized my soul,--yet on I gazed in ecstasy.

Proudly upright stands the one, the other leans in weariness

On the solitary table, where they play a game of chess.

Pawns they barter, or they move them now from place to place;--

Then the game is lost and won,--she fades away in space,--

She who radiantly smiled, ah, she who lost the game;

Instantly the bands of children vanish whence they came.

Tumult rises; darkness deepens; but from out the night

Two eyes fix upon me, in a victor's gloating right;

Then my brain reels; I see nothing but those baleful eyes.

But what else I dreamed of in that frenzied slumber lies

Far within me hidden, buried deep beyond recall.

Could I but remember. Gone forever is it all.

MANLIUS. Remarkable, indeed, my Catiline,

Is this your dream.

CATILINE. [Meditating.] If I could but remember--

But no; my memory fails me--

MANLIUS. Brood no longer

Upon these thoughts. For what are dreams, indeed,

But pale chimeras only, darkling visions,

On nothing founded, and by naught explained?

CATILINE. Yes, you are right; I will no longer brood;--

Already I am calm. But go your way;

You need some rest. The meanwhile I shall walk

In privacy and meditate my plans.

[MANLIUS goes into the forest.]

CATILINE. [Paces for some time back and forth by the

camp fire, which is about to go out; then he stops and

speaks thoughtfully.] If I could only--. Ah, it is unmanly

To brood and be distressed by thoughts like these.

And yet,--here in the stillness of the night,

This lonely solitude, again I see

Rising before me life-like all I dreamed.

[A SHADOW, attired like an old warrior in armor and toga, stems

to rise from the earth among the trees a short distance from

him.]

CATILINE. [Recoils before THE SHADOW.]

Great powers of heaven--!

THE SHADOW. Greetings, Catiline!

CATILINE. What will you have? Who are you, pallid shade?

THE SHADOW. One moment! It is here my right to question,--

And you shall answer. Do you no longer know

This voice from ages long since passed away?

CATILINE. Methinks I do; yet certain I am not--.

But speak, whom seek you at this midnight hour?

THE SHADOW. 'Tis you I seek. Know that this hour alone

Is granted me as respite here on earth.

CATILINE. By all the gods! Who are you? Speak!

THE SHADOW. Be calm!

Hither I come to call you to account.

Why do you envy me the peace of death?

Why do you drive me from my earthy dwelling?

Why do you mar my rest with memories,

That I must seek you, whisper menaces,

To guard the honor I so dearly bought?

CATILINE. Alas! this voice--! Somehow I seem to know--

THE SHADOW. What is there left of my imperial power?

A shadow like myself; yes, scarcely that.

Both sank into the grave--and came to naught.

'Twas dearly bought; dear, dear was it attained.

For it I sacrificed all peace in life,

And waived all claims to peace beyond the grave.

And now you come and want to wrest from me

With daring hands what little I have left.

Are there not paths enough to noble deeds?

Why must you choose the one that I have chosen?

I gave up everything in life to power;

My name--so dreamed I--should forever stand,

Not beaming like a star with friendly lustre,--

No, like a flash against the midnight sky!

I did not covet fame, the goal of hundreds,

For magnanimity and noble deeds;

Nor admiration;--far too many share

That fate already: so will many more

Until the end of time. Of blood and horror

I wished to build me my renown and fame.

With silent dread, as on some meteor

That now appears in mystery and is gone

Again,--men should gaze back upon my life,

And look askance on me, whom no one ever,

Before or since then, dared to emulate.

Yes, thus I dreamed and dreamed,--and was deceived.

Why did I not surmise, when you stood near me,

The secret thoughts then growing in your soul.

Yet, Catiline, beware; know that I see

Beyond the veil that hides from you the future.

Written among the stars--I read your fate!

CATILINE. You read my fate? Expound it then to me!

THE SHADOW. No, first beyond death's gloomy gate

Shall fade away the mists that hide

The gruesome and the nobly great,

Borne ever on by time and tide.

This from thy book of fate alone

A liberated soul may tell thee:

Perish thou shalt by deed thine own,

And yet a stranger's hand shall fell thee.

[THE SHADOW glides away as in a mist.]

CATILINE. [After a pause.]

Ah, he has vanished. Was it but a dream?

No, no; even here he stood; the moonbeams played

Upon his sallow visage. Yes, I knew him!

It was the man of blood, the old dictator,

Who sallied from his grave to frighten me.

He feared lest he should lose the victor's crown,--

Not the reward of honor, but the terror

Whereby his memory lives. Are bloodless shades

Spurred onward also by the thought of glory?

[Paces to and fro uneasily.]

CATILINE. All things storm in upon me. Now Aurelia

In gentle admonition speaks,--and now

In me reëchoes Furia's warning cry.

Nay, more than that;--out of the grave appear

The pallid shadows of a by-gone age.

They threaten me. I should now stop and pause?

I should turn back? No. I shall venture on

Unfaltering;--the victory soon is mine!

[CURIUS comes through the forest in great agitation.]

CURIUS. O Catiline--!

CATILINE. [Surprised.] What, you,--you here, my friend!

CURIUS. I had to--

CATILINE. Wherefore staid you not in town?

CURIUS. Fear prompted me; I had to seek you here.

CATILINE. You rush for my sake blindly into danger.

You thoughtless lad! Yet, come into my arms!

[Moves to embrace him.]

CURIUS. [Draws back.]

No! Do not touch me! Do not even come near me!

CATILINE. What ails you, my dear Curius?

CURIUS. Up! Break camp!

Flee, if you can, even this very hour!

On every highway come the enemy troops;

Your camp is being surrounded.

CATILINE. Calm yourself;

You rave. Speak, has the journey shaken you--?

CURIUS. Oh no; but save yourself while there is time!

You are betrayed--

[Prostrates himself before him.]

CATILINE. [Starts back.] Betrayed! What are you saying?

CURIUS. Betrayed by one in friendly guise!

CATILINE. You err;

These stormy friends are loyal even as you.

CURIUS. Then woe to you for all their loyalty!

CATILINE. Compose yourself! It is your love for me,

Your interest in my safety, that has wakened

Imaginary dangers in your mind.

CURIUS. Oh, do you know these words do murder me?

But flee! I do entreat you earnestly--

CATILINE. Be calm and speak your mind. Why should I flee?

The enemy knows not where I make my stand.

CURIUS. Indeed he does,--he knows your every plan!

CATILINE. What, are you mad? He knows--? Impossible!

CURIUS. Oh, were it so! But use the hour remaining;

Still you may save yourself perhaps in flight!

CATILINE. Betrayed? No,--ten times no; impossible!

CURIUS. [Seizes his dagger and holds it out to him.]

Catiline, plunge this dagger in my bosom;--

Straight through the heart! 'Twas I betrayed your plans!

CATILINE. You? What madness!

CURIUS. Yes, it was in madness!

Ask not the reason; scarce I know myself;

I say,--I have revealed your every counsel.

CATILINE. [In bitter grief.]

Now have you killed my faith in sacred friendship!

CURIUS. Oh, send the dagger home, and torture me

No longer with forbearance--!

CATILINE. [Kindly.] Live, my Curius!

Arise! You erred;--but I forgive you all.

CURIUS. [Overcome.]

O Catiline, my heart is crushed with grief--!

But hasten; flee! There is no time to tarry.

Soon will the Roman troops invade your camp;

They're under way; on every side they come.

CATILINE. Our comrades in the city--?

CURIUS. They are captured;--

Some were imprisoned, most of them were killed!

CATILINE. [To himself.] What fate--what fate!

CURIUS. [Again holds out the dagger to him.]

Then plunge it in my heart!

CATILINE. [Looks at him calmly.] No, you were but a tool.

You acted well--

CURIUS. Oh, let me die and expiate my sin!

CATILINE. I have forgiven you.

CATILINE. [As he goes.] But one thing now

Is there to choose!

CURIUS. [Jumps up.] Yes, flight!

CATILINE. Heroic death!

[He goes away through the forest.]

CURIUS. 'Tis all in vain! Ruin awaits him here.

This mildness is a tenfold punishment!

I'll follow him; one thing I shall be granted:--

To perish fighting by the hero's side!

[He rushes out. LENTULUS and TWO GLADIATORS come stealing among

the trees.]

LENTULUS. [Softly.] Some one was speaking--

ONE OF THE GLADIATORS. Aye, but now all's quiet.

THE OTHER GLADIATOR. Perchance it was the sentinel relieved

Of duty.

LENTULUS. That may be. This is the place;

Here shall you wait. Are both your weapons sharp,

Ground for their purpose?

THE FIRST GLADIATOR. Bright as is the lightning!

THE SECOND GLADIATOR.

Mine, too, cuts well. In the last Roman games

Two gladiators died beneath this sword.

LENTULUS. Then stand you ready in this thicket here.

And when a man, whom I shall designate,

Goes toward the tent, then shall you rush out quick

And strike him from behind.

THE FIRST GLADIATOR. It shall be done!

[Both GLADIATORS conceal themselves; LENTULUS goes spying

around.]

LENTULUS. [To himself.]

It is a daring game I here attempt;--

Yet must it be performed this very night,

If done at all.--If Catiline should fall,

No one can lead them on except myself;

I'll purchase them with golden promises,

And march without delay upon the city,

Where still the senate, struck with panic fear,

Neglects to arm itself against the danger.

[He goes in among the trees.]

THE FIRST GLADIATOR. [Softly to the other.]

Who is this stranger we must fall upon?

THE SECOND GLADIATOR. What matters it to us who he may be?

Lentulus pays our hire; the blame is his:

He must himself defend the act we do.

LENTULUS. [Returns quickly.]

Stand ready now; the man we wait is coming!

[LENTULUS and the GLADIATORS lie in wait among the bushes.]

[Soon after, CATILINE comes through the forest and goes toward

the tent.]

LENTULUS. [Whispering.]

Out! Fall upon him! Strike him from behind!

[All three rush on CATILINE.]

CATILINE. [Draws his sword and defends himself.]

Ah, scoundrels,--do you dare to--?

LENTULUS. [To the GLADIATORS.] Cut him down!

CATILINE. [Recognizes him.]

You, Lentulus, would murder Catiline?

THE FIRST GLADIATOR. [Terrified.] He it is!

THE SECOND GLADIATOR. [Draws back.] Catiline! I'll never use

The sword on him. Come flee!

[Both GLADIATORS make their escape.]

LENTULUS. Then die by mine!

[They fight; CATILINE strikes the sword from the hand of

Lentulus; the latter tries to escape, but CATILINE holds him

fast.]

CATILINE. Murderer! Traitor!

LENTULUS. [Entreating.] Mercy, Catiline!

CATILINE. I spell your plans upon your countenance.

You wished to murder me, and put yourself

Into the chieftain's place. Was it not so?

LENTULUS. Yes, Catiline, it was even so!

CATILINE. [Looks at him with repressed scorn.] What then?

If 'tis the power you want,--so let it be!

LENTULUS. Explain,--what do you mean?

CATILINE. I shall resign;

And you may lead the army--

LENTULUS. [Surprised.] You resign?

CATILINE. I shall. But be prepared for all events;

Know this--our undertaking is revealed:

The senate is informed of every plan;

Its troops hem us about--

LENTULUS. What do you say?

CATILINE. Now shall I call a council of our friends;

Do you come too,--announce your leadership;

I shall resign.

LENTULUS. [Detains him.] One moment, Catiline!

CATILINE. Your time is precious; ere the dawn of day

You may expect an onslaught--

LENTULUS. [Anxiously.] Hear me, friend!

Surely you jest? It is impossible--

CATILINE. Our project, I have told you, is betrayed.

Show now your firmness and sagacity!

LENTULUS. Betrayed? Then woe to us!

CATILINE. [Smiles scornfully.] You paltry coward!

You tremble _now_;--yet _you_ would murder _me_;

You think a man like you is called to rule?

LENTULUS. Forgive me, Catiline!

CATILINE. Make your escape

By hurried flight, if still it can be done.

LENTULUS. Ah, you permit me then--?

CATILINE. And did you think

It was my purpose to forsake this post

In such an hour as this? You little know me.

LENTULUS. O, Catiline--!

CATILINE. [Coldly.] Waste not your moments here!

Seek your own safety;--I know how to die.

[He turns away from him.]

LENTULUS. [To himself.]

I thank you for these tidings, Catiline;--

I shall make use of them to serve my end.

'Twill stand me in good stead now that I know

This region well; I'll seek the hostile army

And guide it hitherward by secret paths,

To your destruction and to my salvation.--

The serpent that you trample in the dust

So arrogantly still retains its sting!

[He goes.]

CATILINE. [After a pause.]

This is the trust I built my hopes upon!

Thus one by one they leave me. Oh ye gods!

Treason and cowardice alone stir up

The sullen currents of their slavish souls.

Oh, what a fool am I with all my hopes!

I would destroy yon viper's nest, that Rome,--

Which is long since a heap of sunken ruins.

[The sound of arms is heard approaching; he listens.]

CATILINE. They come, they come! Still are there valiant men

Among them. Ah, the joyous clang of steel!

The merry clash of shields against each other!

Anew the fire kindles in my breast;

The reckoning is near,--the mighty hour

That settles every doubt. I hail the day!

[MANLIUS, STATILIUS, GABINIUS, and many OTHER CONSPIRATORS come

through the forest.]

MANLIUS. Here, Catiline, come your friends and comrades true;

In camp I spread the alarm, as you commanded--

CATILINE. And have you told them--?

MANLIUS. Yes,--they know our plight.

STATILIUS. We know it well, and we shall follow you

With sword in hand to fight for life and death.

CATILINE. I thank you all, my comrades brave in arms!

But do not think, my friends, that life or death

Is ours to choose;--our only choice is this:

Death in heroic battle with the foe,

Or death by torture when like savage beasts

We shall be hounded down relentlessly.

Ah, which do you prefer? To risk in flight

A wretched life prolonged in misery,

Or like your proud and worthy sires of old

To perish nobly on the battlefield?

GABINIUS. We choose to fight and die!

MANY VOICES. Lead us to death!

CATILINE. Then let us be off! Through death we shall achieve

The glorious life of immortality.

Our fall, our name, through distant generations

Shall be proclaimed with lofty pride--

FURIA. [Calls out behind him among the trees.] --O terror!

SOME VOICES. Behold,--a woman--!

CATILINE. [Startled.] Furia! You--you here?

What brought you here?

FURIA. Ah, I must lead you on

To your great goal.

CATILINE. Where is my goal, then? Speak!

FURIA. Each mortal seeks his goal in his own way.

And you seek yours through ever hopeless strife;

The struggle yields defeat and certain death.

CATILINE. Yet also honor and immortal fame!

Go, woman! Great and noble is this hour!

My heart is closed against your raucous cries.

[AURELIA appears in the door of the tent.]

AURELIA. My Catiline--!

[She stops, terrified at the sight of the throng.]

CATILINE. [Painfully.] Aurelia,--oh, Aurelia!

AURELIA. What is the trouble? All this stir in camp--

What is on foot here?

CATILINE. You I could forget!

What will your fate be now--?

FURIA. [Whispers scornfully, unnoticed by AURELIA.]

Ah, Catiline,

Already wavering in your high resolve?

Is this your death defiance?

CATILINE. [Flaring up.] No, by the gods!

AURELIA. [Comes nearer.]

Oh, speak, beloved! Keep me in doubt no longer--

FURIA. [In an undertone behind him.]

Flee with your wife--the while your comrades die!

MANLIUS. Tarry no longer; lead us out to battle--

CATILINE. Oh, what a choice! And yet,--here is no choice;--

I must go on,--I dare not stop midway.

CATILINE. [Calls out.] Then follow me to battle on the plain!

AURELIA. [Throws herself in his arms.]

Catiline,--do not leave me,--take me with you!

CATILINE. No, stay, Aurelia!

FURIA. [As before.] Take her, Catiline!

Worthy your death will be, as was your life,

When you are vanquished--in a woman's arms!

CATILINE. [Thrusts AURELIA aside.]

Away, you who would rob me of my fame!

Death shall o'ertake me in the midst of men.

I have a life to atone, a name to clear--

FURIA. Just so; just so, my gallant Catiline!

CATILINE. All things I will uproot from out my soul

That bind me to my life of empty dreams!

All that is of the past shall henceforth be

As if 'twere not--

AURELIA. Oh, cast me not away!

By all the love I bear you, Catiline,--

I beg you, I adjure,--let us not part!

CATILINE. My heart is dead, my sight is blind to love.

From life's great mockery I turn my eyes;

And gaze but on the dim, yet mighty star

Of fame that is to be!

AURELIA. O gods of mercy!

[She leans faint against the tree outside the tent.]

CATILINE. [To the Warriors.] And now away!

MANLIUS. The din of arms I hear!

SEVERAL VOICES. They come, they come.

CATILINE. Good! We will heed their warning.

Long was our night of shame; our dawn is near--.

To battle in the crimson sky of morning!

By Roman sword, with Roman fortitude,

The last of Romans perish in their blood!

[They rush out through the forest; a great alarm, rent with

battle-cries, is heard from within the camp.]

FURIA. He is gone forever. My great task in life is done.

Cold and rigid we shall find him in the morning sun.

AURELIA. [Aside.]

In his passion-glutted bosom then should love no longer dwell?

Was it nothing but a dream? His angry words I heard full well.

FURIA. Hark, the weapons clash; already at the brink

of death he stands;

Soon a noiseless shadow he will hasten toward the spirit

lands.

AURELIA. [Startled.]

Who are you, prophetic voice, that yonder comes to me,

Like the night-owl's cry of warning from some far-off tree!

Are you from the clammy underworld of spirits come

Hence to lead my Catiline into your gloomy home?

FURIA. Home is ay the journey's goal, and all his wanderings lay

Through the reeking swamps of life--

AURELIA. But only for a day.

Free and noble was his heart, his spirit strong and true,

Till around it serpent-like a poisoned seedling grew.

FURIA.

So the plane-tree, too, keeps fresh and green its leafy dress,

Till its trunk is smothered in a clinging vine's caress.

AURELIA.

Now did you betray your source. For time and time again

Echoed from the lips of Catiline this one refrain.

You the serpent are, who poisoned all my joy in life,

Steeled his heart against my kindness through your deadly strife.

From those waking night-dreams well I know your infamy,

Like a threat I see you stand between my love and me.

With my husband at my side I cherished in my breast

Longings for a tranquil life, a home of peace and rest.

Ah, a garden-bed I planted in his weary heart;

As its fairest ornament our love I hedged apart.

Flower and all have you uprooted with malignant hand;

In the dust it lies where thriving it did lately stand.

FURIA. Foolish weakling; you would guide the steps of Catiline?

Do you not perceive his heart was never wholly thine?

Think you that in such a soil your flower can survive?

In the sunny springtime only violets can thrive,

While the henbane grows in strength beneath a clouded grey;

And his soul was long ago a clouded autumn day.

All is lost to you. Soon dies the spark within his breast;

As a victim of revenge he shall go to his rest.

AURELIA. [With increasing vehemence.]

Thus he shall not perish; no, by all the gods of day!

To his weary heart my tears will somehow force a way.

If I find him pale and gory on the battlefield,

I shall throw my arms about him and his bosom shield,

Breathe upon his speechless lips the love within my soul,

Ease the pain within him and his suffering mind console.

Herald of revenge, your victim from you I shall wrest,

Bind him to the land of sunshine, to a home of rest;

If his eyes be dimmed already, stilled his beating heart,

Linked together arm in arm we shall this life depart.

Grant me, gods of mercy, in return for what I gave,

By the side of him I love, the stillness of the grave.

[She goes.]

FURIA. [Gazes after her.]

Seek him, deluded soul;--I have no fear;

I hold the victory safe within my hands.

FURIA. The roar of battle grows; its rumble blends

With death-cries and the crash of broken shields.

Is he perchance now dying? Still alive?

Oh, blessed is this hour! The sinking moon

Secludes herself in massive thunderclouds.

One moment more it will be night anew

Ere comes the day;--and with the coming day

All will be over. In the dark he dies,

As in the dark he lived. O blessed hour!

[She listens.]

FURIA. Now sweeps the wind by, like an autumn gust,

And lapses slowly in the far-off distance.

The ponderous armies slowly sweep the plain.

Like angry ocean billows on they roll,

Unyielding, trampling down the fallen dead.

Out yonder I hear whines and moans and sighs,--

The final lullaby,--wherewith they lull

Themselves to rest and all their pallid brothers.

Now speaks the night-owl forth to welcome them

Into the kingdom of the gloomy shadows.

FURIA. [After a pause.]

How still it is. Now is he mine at last,--

Aye, mine alone, and mine forevermore.

Now we can journey toward the river Lethe--

And far beyond where never dawns the day.

Yet first I'll seek his bleeding body yonder,

And freely glut my eyes upon those features,

Hated and yet so fair, ere they be marred

By rising sunshine and by watchful vultures.

[She starts to go, but is suddenly startled at something.]

FURIA. What is that gliding o'er the meadow yonder?

Is it the misty vapors of the moor

That form a picture in the morning chill?

Now it draws near.--The shade of Catiline!

His spectre--! I can see his misty eye,

His broken shield, his sword bereft of blade.

Ah, he is surely dead; one thing alone,--

Remarkable,--his wound I do not see.

[CATILINE comes through the forest, pale and weary, with

drooping head and troubled countenance.]

CATILINE. [To himself.] "Perish thou shalt by deed thine own,

And yet a stranger's hand shall fell thee."

Such was his prophecy. Now am I fallen--

Though struck by no one. Who will solve the riddle?

FURIA. I greet you after battle, Catiline!

CATILINE. Ah, who are you?

FURIA. I am a shadow's shadow.

CATILINE. You, Furia,--you it is! You welcome me?

FURIA. Welcome at last into our common home!

Now we can go--two shades--to Charon's bark.

Yet first--accept the wreath of victory.

[She picks some flowers, which she weaves into a wreath during

the following.]

CATILINE. What make you there?

FURIA. Your brow I shall adorn.

But wherefore come you hither all alone?

A chieftain's ghost ten thousand dead should follow.

Then where are all your comrades, Catiline?

CATILINE. They slumber, Furia!

FURIA. Ah, they slumber still?

CATILINE. They slumber still,--and they will slumber long.

They slumber all. Steal softly through the forest,

Peer out across the plain,--disturb them not!

There will you find them in extended ranks.

They fell asleep lulled by the clang of steel;

They fell asleep,--and wakened not, as I did,

When in the distant hills the echoes died.

A shadow now you called me. True, I am

A shadow of myself. But do not think

Their slumber yonder is so undisturbed

And void of dreams. Oh, do not think so!

FURIA. Speak!

What may your comrades dream?

CATILINE. Ah, you shall hear.--

I led the battle with despairing heart,

And sought my death beneath the play of swords.

To right and left I saw my comrades fall;

Statilius first,--then one by one the rest;

My Curius fell trying to shield my breast;

All perished there beneath Rome's flaming sword,--

The sword that me alone passed by untouched.

Yes, Catiline was spared by the sword of Rome.

Half-stunned I stood there with my broken shield,

Aware of nothing as the waves of battle

Swept o'er me. I recovered first my senses

When all grew still again, and I looked up

And saw the struggle seething--far behind me!

How long I stood there? Only this I know,--

I stood alone among my fallen comrades.

But there was life within those misty eyes;

The corners of their mouths betrayed a smile;

And they addressed their smile and gaze to me,

Who stood alone erect among the dead,--

Who had for ages fought for them and Rome,--

Who stood there lonely and disgraced, untouched

By Roman sword. Then perished Catiline.

FURIA. False have you read your fallen comrades' dreams;

False have you judged the reason of your fall.

Their smiles and glances were but invitations

To sleep with them--

CATILINE. Yes, if I only could!

FURIA. Have courage,--spectre of a former hero;

Your hour of rest is near. Come, bend your head;--

I shall adorn you with the victor's crown.

[She offers the wreath to him.]

CATILINE. Bah,--what is that? A poppy-wreath--!

FURIA. [With wild glee.] Well, yes;

Are not such poppies pretty? They will glow

Around your forehead like a fringe of blood.

CATILINE. No, cast the wreath away! I hate this crimson.

FURIA. [Laughs aloud.]

Ah, you prefer the pale and feeble shades?

Good! I shall bring the garland of green rushes

That Sylvia carried in her dripping locks,

The day she came afloat upon the Tiber?

CATILINE. Alas, what visions--!

FURIA. Shall I bring you rather

The thorny brambles from the market-place,

With crimson-spots, the stain of civic blood,

That flowed at your behest, my Catiline?

CATILINE. Enough!

FURIA. Or would you like a crown of leaves

From the old winter oak near mother's home,

That withered when a young dishonored woman

With piercing cries distraught leaped in the river?

CATILINE. Pour out at once your measures of revenge

Upon my head--

FURIA. I am your very eye,--

Your very memory, your very doom.

CATILINE. But wherefore now?

FURIA. His goal at length attained,

The traveller spent looks back from whence he came.

CATILINE. Have I then reached my goal? Is this the goal?

I am no longer living,--nor yet buried.

Where lies the goal?

FURIA. In sight,--if you but will.

CATILINE. A will I have no longer; my will perished

When all the things I willed once, came to naught.

CATILINE. [Waves his arms.]

Away,--away from me, ye sallow shades!

What claim you here of me, ye men and women?

I cannot give you--! Oh, this multitude--!

FURIA. To earth your spirit still is closely bound!

These thousand-threaded nets asunder tear!

Come, let me press this wreath upon your locks,--

'Tis gifted with a strong and soothing virtue;

It kills the memory, lulls the soul to rest!

CATILINE. [Huskily.]

It kills the memory? Dare I trust your word?

Then press your poison-wreath upon my forehead.

FURIA. [Puts the wreath on his head.]

Now it is yours! Thus decked you shall appear

Before the prince of darkness, Catiline!

CATILINE. Away! away! I yearn to go below;--

I long to pass into the spirit lands.

Let us together go! What holds me here?

What stays my steps? Behind me here I feel

Upon the morning sky a misty star;--

It holds me in the land of living men;

It draws me as the moon attracts the sea.

FURIA. Away! Away!

CATILINE. It beckons and it twinkles.

I cannot follow you until this light

Is quenched entirely, or by clouds obscured,--

I see it clearly now; 'tis not a star;

It is a human heart, throbbing and warm;

It binds me here; it fascinates and draws me

As draws the evening star the eye of children.

FURIA. Then stop this beating heart!

CATILINE. What do you mean?

FURIA. The dagger in your belt--. A single thrust,--

The star will vanish and the heart will die

That stand between us like an enemy.

CATILINE. Ah, I should--? Sharp and shining is the

dagger--

CATILINE. [With a cry.]

Aurelia! O Aurelia, where--where are you?

Were you but here--! No, no,--I will not see you!

And yet methinks all would be well again,

And peace would come, if I could lay my head

Upon your bosom and repent--repent!

FURIA. And what would you repent?

CATILINE. Oh, everything!

That I have been, that I have ever lived.

FURIA. 'Tis now too late--too late! Whence now you stand

No path leads back again.--Go try it, fool!

Now am I going home. Place you your head

Upon her breast and see if there you find

The blessed peace your weary soul desires.

FURIA. [With increasing wildness.]

Soon will the thousand dead rise up again;

Dishonored women will their numbers join;

And all,--aye, they will all demand of you

The life, the blood, the honor you destroyed.

In terror you will flee into the night,--

Will roam about the earth on every strand,

Like old Actean, hounded by his dogs,--

A shadow hounded by a thousand shades!

CATILINE. I see it, Furia. Here I have no peace.

I am an exile in the world of light!

I'll go with you into the spirit realms;--

The bond that binds me I will tear asunder.

FURIA. Why grope you with the dagger?

CATILINE. She shall die.

[The lightning strikes and the thunder rolls.]

FURIA. The mighty powers rejoice at your resolve!--

See, Catiline,--see, yonder comes your wife.

[AURELIA comes through the forest in an anxious search.]

AURELIA. Where shall I find him? Where--where can he be!

I've searched in vain among the dead--

[Discovers him.]

AURELIA. Great heavens,--

My Catiline!

[She rushes toward him.]

CATILINE. [Bewildered.] Speak not that name again!

AURELIA. You are alive?

[Is about to throw herself in his arms.]

CATILINE. [Thrusting her aside.] Away! I'm not alive.

AURELIA. Oh, hear me, dearest--!

CATILINE. No, I will not hear!

I hate you. I see through your cunning wiles.

You wish to chain me to a living death.

Cease staring at me! Ah, your eyes torment me,--

They pierce like daggers through my very soul!

Ah, yes, the dagger! Die! Come, close your eyes--

[He draws the dagger and seizes her by the hand.]

AURELIA. Keep guard, oh gracious gods, o'er him and me!

CATILINE. Quick, close your eyes; close them, I say;--in them

I see the starlight and the morning sky--.

Now shall I quench the heavenly star of dawn!

[The thunder rolls again.]

CATILINE. Your heart; your blood! Now speak the gods of life

Their last farewell to you and Catiline!

[He lifts the dagger toward her bosom; she escapes into the

tent; he pursues her.]

FURIA. [Listens.] She stretches out her hand imploringly.

She pleads with him for life. He hears her not.

He strikes her down! She reels in her own blood!

[CATILINE comes slowly out of the tent with the dagger in his

hand.]

CATILINE. Now am I free. Soon I shall cease to be.

Now sinks my soul in vague oblivion.

My eyes are growing dim, my hearing faint,

As if through rushing waters. Ah, do you know

What I have slain with this my little dagger?

Not her alone,--but all the hearts on earth,--

All living things, all things that grow and bloom;--

The starlight have I dimmed, the crescent moon,

The flaming sun. Ah, see,--it fails to rise;

'Twill never rise again; the sun is dead.

Now is the whole wide realm of earth transformed

Into a huge and clammy sepulchre,

Its vault of leaden grey;--beneath this vault

Stand you and I, bereft of light and darkness,

Of death and life,--two restless exiled shadows.

FURIA. Now stand we, Catiline, before our goal!

CATILINE. No, one step more--before I reach my goal.

Relieve me of my burden! Do you not see,

I bend beneath the corpse of Catiline?

A dagger through the corpse of Catiline!

[He shows her the dagger.]

CATILINE. Come, Furia, set me free! Come, take this dagger;--

On it the star of morning I impaled;--

Take it--and plunge it straightway through the corpse;

Then it will loose its hold, and I am free.

FURIA. [Takes the dagger.]

Your will be done, whom I have loved in hate!

Shake off your dust and come with me to rest.

[She buries the dagger deep in his heart; he sinks down at the

foot of the tree.]

CATILINE. [After a moment comes to consciousness

again, passes his hand across his forehead, and speaks

faintly.] Now, mysterious voice, your prophecy I understand!

I shall perish by my own, yet by a stranger's hand.

Nemesis has wrought her end. Shroud me, gloom of night!

Raise your billows, murky Styx, roll on in all your might!

Ferry me across in safety; speed the vessel on

Toward the silent prince's realm, the land of shadows wan.

Two roads there are running yonder; I shall journey dumb

Toward the left--

AURELIA. [From the tent, pale and faltering, her

bosom bloody.] --no, toward the right! Oh, toward Elysium!

CATILINE. [Startled.]

How this bright and lurid picture fills my soul with dread!

She herself it is! Aurelia, speak,--are you not dead?

AURELIA. [Kneels before him.]

No, I live that I may still your agonizing cry,--

Live that I may lean my bosom on your breast and die.

CATILINE. Oh, you live!

AURELIA. I did but swoon; though my two eyes grew blurred,

Dimly yet I followed you and heard your every word.

And my love a spouse's strength again unto me gave;--

Breast to breast, my Catiline, we go into the grave!

CATILINE. Oh, how gladly would I go! Yet all in vain you sigh.

We must part. Revenge compels me with a hollow cry.

You can hasten, free and blithesome, forth to peace and light;

I must cross the river Lethe down into the night.

[The day dawns in the background.]

AURELIA. [Points toward the increasing light.]

No, the terrors and the gloom of death love scatters far.

See, the storm-clouds vanish; faintly gleams the morning star.

AURELIA. [With uplifted arms.]

Light is victor! Grand and full of freshness dawns the day!

Follow me, then! Death already speeds me on his way.

[She sinks down over him.]

CATILINE. [Presses her to himself and speaks with his last

strength.] Oh, how sweet! Now I remember my forgotten dream,

How the darkness was dispersed before a radiant beam,

How the song of children ushered in the new-born day.

Ah, my eye grows dim, my strength is fading fast away;

But my mind is clearer now than ever it has been:

All the wanderings of my life loom plainly up within.

Yes, my life a tempest was beneath the lightning blaze;

But my death is like the morning's rosy-tinted haze.

[Bends over her.]

CATILINE.

You have driven the gloom away; peace dwells within my breast.

I shall seek with you the dwelling place of light and rest!

CATILINE. [He tears the dagger quickly out of his breast and

speaks with dying voice.]

The gods of dawn are smiling in atonement from above;

All the powers of darkness you have conquered with your love!

[During the last scene FURIA has withdrawn farther and farther

into the background and disappears at last among the trees.

CATILINE's head sinks down on AURELIA's breast; they die.]

* * * * *

THE WARRIOR'S BARROW

[Kaempehojen]

A Dramatic Poem in One Act

1854

* * * * *

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

RODERIK An old recluse.

BLANKA His foster-daughter.

GANDALF A sea-king from Norway.

ASGAUT An old viking.

HROLLOUG " " "

JOSTEJN " " "

Several VIKINGS

HEMMING A young scald in Gandalf's service.

* * * * *

SETTING

The action takes place on a small island off the coast of Sicily

shortly before the introduction of Christianity into Norway.

An open place surrounded by trees near the shore. To the left

in the background the ruins of an old temple. In the center of

the scene a huge barrow upon which is a monument decked with

flower wreaths.

* * * * *

SCENE I

[At the right of the stage sits RODERIK writing. To

the left BLANKA in a half reclining position.]

BLANKA. Lo! the sky in dying glory

Surges like a sea ablaze,--

It is all so still before me,

Still as in a sylvan maze.

Summer evening's mellow power

Settles round us like a dove,

Hovers like a swan above

Ocean wave and forest flower.

In the orange thicket slumber

Gods and goddesses of yore,

Stone reminders in great number

Of a world that is no more.

Virtue, valor, trust are gone,

Rich in memory alone;

Could there be a more complete

Picture of the South effete?

[Rises.]

BLANKA. But my father has related

Stories of a distant land,

Of a life, fresh, unabated,

Neither carved nor wrought by hand!

Here the spirit has forever

Vanished into stone and wave,--

There it breathes as free as ever,

Like a warrior strong and brave!

When the evening's crystallizing

Vapors settle on my breast,

Lo! I see before me rising

Norway's snow-illumined crest!

Here is life decayed and dying,

Sunk in torpor, still, forlorn,--

There go avalanches flying,

Life anew in death is born!

If I had the white swan's coat--

RODERIK. [After a pause writing.]

"Then, it is said, will Ragnarök have stilled

The wilder powers, brought forth a chastened life;

All-Father, Balder, and the gentle Freya

Will rule again the race of man in peace!"--

[After having watched her for a moment.]

RODERIK. But, Blanka, now you dream away again;

You stare through space completely lost in thought,--

What is it that you seek?

BLANKA. [Draws near.] Forgive me, father!

I merely followed for a space the swan,

That sailed on snowy wings across the sea.

RODERIK. And if I had not stopped you in your flight,

My young and pretty little swan! who knows

How far you might have flown away from me,--

Perchance to Thule?

BLANKA. And indeed why not?

To Thule flies the swan in early spring,

If only to return again each fall.

[Seats herself at his feet.]

BLANKA. Yet I--I am no swan,--no, call me rather

A captured falcon, sitting tame and true,

A golden ring about his foot.

RODERIK. Well,--and the ring?

BLANKA. The ring? That is my love for you, dear father!

With that you have your youthful falcon bound,

I cannot fly,--not even though I wished to.

[Rises.]

BLANKA. But when I see the swan sail o'er the wave,

Light as a cloud before the summer wind,

Then I remember all that you have told

Of the heroic life in distant Thule;

Then, as it seems, the bird is like a bark

With dragon head and wings of burnished gold;

I see the youthful hero in the prow,

A copper helmet on his yellow locks,

With eyes of blue, a manly, heaving breast,

His sword held firmly in his mighty hand.

I follow him upon his rapid course,

And all my dreams run riot round his bark,

And frolic sportively like merry dolphins

In fancy's deep and cooling sea!

RODERIK. O you,--

You are an ardent dreamer, my good child,--

I almost fear your thoughts too often dwell

Upon the people in the rugged North.

BLANKA. And, father, whose the fault, if it were so?

RODERIK. You mean that I--?

BLANKA. Yes, what else could I mean;

You live yourself but in the memory

Of early days among these mighty Norsemen;

Do not deny that often as you speak

Of warlike forays, combats, fights,

Your cheek begins to flush, your eye to glow;

It seems to me that you grow young again.

RODERIK. Yes, yes, but I have reason so to do;

For I have lived among them in the North,

And every bit that memory calls to mind

Is like a page to me from my own saga.

But you, however, fostered in the South,

Who never saw the silver-tinted mountains,

Who never heard the trumpet's echoing song,--

Ah, how could you be moved by what I tell?

BLANKA. Oh, must a human being see and hear

All things but with his outer senses then?

Has not the inner soul, too, eye and ear,

With which it can both see and hearken well?

'Tis true it is with eyes of flesh I see

The richly glowing color of the rose;

But with the spirit's eye I see within

A lovely elf, a fairy butterfly,

Who archly hides behind the crimson leaves,

And singeth of a secret power from heaven

That gave the flower brightness and perfume.

RODERIK. True, true, my child!

BLANKA. I almost do believe

That just because I do not really see,

The whole looms up more beautiful in thought;

That, father, is the way with you at least!

The ancient sagas and heroic lays,--

These you remember, speak of with delight,

And scratch in runic script upon your parchment;

But if I ask about your youthful life

In Norway's distant realm, your eyes grow dark,

Your lips are silent, and it seems at times

Your bosom houses gloomy memories.

RODERIK. [Rises.]

Come, speak no more, good child, about the past.

Who is there then whose youthful memories

Are altogether free from self-reproach;

You know, the Norsemen are a savage lot.

BLANKA. But are the warriors of the South less fierce?

Have you forgot that night, now ten years past,

The time the strangers landed on the coast,

And plundered--?

RODERIK. [Visibly ill at ease.] Say no more now,--let us hence;

The sundown soon will be upon us;--come!

BLANKA. [As they go.] Give me your hand!

[Stops.]

BLANKA. No, wait!

RODERIK. What is the matter?

BLANKA. I have today for the first time forgot--

RODERIK. And what have you forgot?

BLANKA. [Points to the barrow.] Behold the wreath!

RODERIK. It is--

BLANKA. The withered one of yesterday;

I have forgot today to make the change;

Yet, let me take you to the cabin first,

Then shall I venture out in search of flowers;

The violet never is so sweet and rare

As when the dew has bathed its silver lining;

The budding rose is never quite so fair

As when 'tis plucked in child-like sleep reclining!

[They go out at the back to the right.]

* * * * *

SCENE II

[GANDALF and the VIKINGS enter from the right.]

ASGAUT. Now we shall soon be there.

GANDALF. Point out the place!

ASGAUT. No, wait till we have gone beyond the wood.

There was still standing on the rocky cliff

Against the sea a remnant of the wall,--

I dare say it is standing there to-day.

JOSTEJN. But tell us, king, what can it profit us

To tramp about here on the isle like fools?

HROLLOUG. Yes, tell us what shall--

GANDALF. You shall hold your tongues!

And blindly follow where your king commands!

GANDALF. [To ASGAUT.]

It seems to me, however, you cleaned house

Too well when you were last here on the isle;

You might have left a little, I should think,

For me and my revenge!

HROLLOUG. You are the king,

And loyalty we pledged you at the thing,

But when we followed you upon the war path,

It was to win our share of fame and glory.

JOSTEJN. And golden treasures, Hrolloug, golden treasures.

SEVERAL. That, Gandalf, is the law, and heed it well!

GANDALF. I know the law perhaps as well as you;

But is there not since days of old a law

And covenant with us that when a kinsman

Falls slain before the enemy and his corpse

Unburied lies a prey unto the raven,

Blood vengeance must be had?

SOME. Yes, so it is!

GANDALF. Then stand you ready with your sword and shield,--

You have a king to avenge and I a father!

[Commotion among the VIKINGS.]

JOSTEJN. A king?

HROLLOUG. A father?

GANDALF. Wait,--I shall relate

How all this stands. You know, my father was

A mighty viking. Twelve years gone it is

Since he the last time sallied forth one spring

With Asgaut there and all his old time warriors.

Two years he roamed about from strand to strand,

Visiting Bratland, Valland, even Blaaland;

At length he went and harried Sicily,

And there heard stories of a wealthy chief,

Who lived upon this island in a castle

With sturdy walls built on a rocky base,

And in it there were costly treasures hid.

At night he took his men and went ashore,

And razed the castle walls with fire and sword.

Himself went foremost like an angry bear,

And in the fury of the fight saw not

How all his warriors fell about him dead;

And when the morning sun rose in the east,

There lay the castle smouldering in ruin.

Asgaut alone survived with one or two,--

My father and the hundred others there

Had ridden to Valhalla through the flames.

ASGAUT. I hoisted every sail upon the bark,

And turned the prow straight homeward to the North;

There sought I all in vain for Gandalf king;

The youthful eagle, I was told, had flown

Across the sea to Iceland or the Faroes.

I hastened after him but found no trace,-

Yet everywhere I went his name was known;

For though his bark sped cloud-like in the storm,

Yet flew his fame on even swifter wings.

At last this spring I found him, as you know;

It was in Italy; I told him then

What things had happened, how his father died,

And Gandalf swore by all Valhalla's gods

Blood-vengeance he would take with fire and sword.

JOSTEJN. It is an ancient law and should be honored!

But had I been in your place, Gandalf king,

I should have lingered on in Italy,--

For there was gold to win.

HROLLOUG. And honor too.

GANDALF. That is your loyalty to your dead king.

JOSTEJN. Come, come now; no offence; I merely meant

The dead could wait perhaps.

ASGAUT. [With suppressed rage.] You paltry race!

JOSTEJN. But now that we are here--

HROLLOUG. Yes; let us raise

Unto the king a worthy monument!

SOME. Yes, yes!

OTHERS. With bloodshed and with fire!

ASGAUT. Now that I like!

GANDALF. And now away to spy around the island;

For even tonight blood-vengeance shall be mine;

If not, I must myself fall.

ASGAUT. So he swore.

GANDALF. I swore it solemnly by all the gods!

And once again I swear it--

HEMMING. [With a harp on his shoulder has during the

preceding emerged from among the WARRIORS and cries

out imploringly.] Swear not, Gandalf!

GANDALF. What troubles you?

HEMMING. Swear not here in this wood!

Here in the South our gods can never hear;

Out on your bark, up North among the hills,

There they still hearken to you, but not here!

ASGAUT. Have you too breathed the poison of the South?

HEMMING. In Italy I heard the pious monks

Tell lovely stories of the holy Christ,

And what they told still lingers in my mind

Through night and day and will no more be gone.

GANDALF. I had you brought with me because in youth

You showed great promise of poetic gifts.

You were to see my bold and warlike deeds,

So that when I, King Gandalf, old and gray,

Sat with my warriors round the oaken table,

The king's young scald might while away

Long winter evenings with heroic lays,

And sing at last a saga of my deeds;

The hero's fame voiced in the poet's song

Outlives the monument upon his grave.

But now, be off, and if you choose go cast

Your harp aside and don the monkish cowl.

Aha! King Gandalf has a mighty scald!

[The VIKINGS go into the forest to the left; HEMMING follows

them.]

ASGAUT. It is a mouldy time we live in now;

Our faith and customs from the olden days

Are everywhere upon the downward path.

Lucky it is that I am growing old;

My eyes shall never see the North decay.

But you, King Gandalf, you are young and strong;

And wheresoe'er you roam in distant lands,

Remember that it is a royal task

To guard the people and defend the gods!

[He follows the rest.]

GANDALF. [After a pause.] Hm, he has no great confidence in me.

'Tis well he went! Whenever he is near,

It is as if a burden weighed me down.

The grim old viking with his rugged face,--

He looks like Asathor, who with his belt

Of strength and Mjölnir stood within the grove,

Carved out in marble, near my father's home.

My father's home! Who knows, alas! how things

Around the ancient landmarks now may look!--

Mountains and fields are doubtless still the same;

The people--? Have they still the same old heart?

No, there is fallen mildew o'er the age,

And it is that which saps the Northern life

And eats away like poison what is best.

Well, I will homeward,--save what still is left

To save before it falls to utter ruin.

GANDALF. [After a pause during which he looks around.]

How lovely in these Southern groves it is;

My pine groves can not boast such sweet perfume.

[He perceives the mound.]

GANDALF. What now? A warrior's grave? No doubt it hides

A countryman from those more stirring days.

A warrior's barrow in the South!--'Tis only just;

It was the South gave us our mortal wound.

How lovely it is here! It brings to mind

One winter night when as a lad I sat

Upon my father's knee before the hearth,

The while he told me stories of the gods,

Of Odin, Balder, and the mighty Thor;

And when I mentioned Freya's grove to him,

He pictured it exactly like this grove,--

But when I asked him something more of Freya,

What she herself was like, the old man laughed

And answered as he placed me on my feet,

"A woman will in due time tell you that!"

GANDALF. [Listening.]

Hush! Footsteps in the forest! Quiet, Gandalf,-

They bring the first fruits of your blood-revenge!

[He steps aside so that he is half concealed among the bushes to

the right.]

* * * * *

SCENE III

[GANDALF. BLANKA with oak leaves in her hair and a

basket of flowers enters from the left.]

BLANKA. [Seated at the left busily weaving a flower wreath.]

Fountains may murmur in the sunny vales,

Resplendent billows roll beneath the shore;

Nor fountain's murmur, nor the billow's song

Has half the magic of those flowers there,

That stand in clusters round the barrow's edge

And nod at one another lovingly;

They draw me hither during night and day,--

And it is here I long to come and dream.

The wreath is done. The hero's monument,

So hard and cold, shall under it be hid.

Yes, it is beautiful!

[Pointing to the mound.]

BLANKA. A vanished life,

Of giant strength, lies mouldering in the ground,--

And the memorial which should speak to men,--

A cold unyielding stone like yonder one!

But then comes art, and with a friendly hand

She gathers flowers from the breast of nature

And hides the ugly, unresponsive stone

With snow-white lilies, sweet forget-me-nots.

[She ascends the barrow, hangs the wreath over the monument, and

speaks after a pause.]

BLANKA. Again my dreams go sailing to the North

Like birds of passage o'er the ocean waves;

I feel an urging where I long to go,

And willingly I heed the secret power,

Which has its royal seat within the soul.

I stand in Norway, am a hero's bride,

And from the mountain peak watch eagle-like.

O'er shining waves the vessel heaves in sight.--

Oh, like the gull fly to your fatherland!

I am a Southern child, I cannot wait;

I tear the oaken wreath out of my hair,--

Take this, my hero! 'Tis the second message

I greet you with,--my yearning was the first.

[She throws the wreath. GANDALF steps forth and seizes it.]

BLANKA. What's this? There stands a--

[She rubs her eyes and stares amazed at him.]

No, it is no dream.

Who are you, stranger? What is it you seek

Here on the shore?

GANDALF. Step first from off the mound,--

Then we can talk at ease.

BLANKA. [Comes down.] Well, here I am!

BLANKA. [Aside as she looks him over.]

The chain mail o'er his breast, the copper helmet,--

Exactly as my father has related.

BLANKA. [Aloud.] Take off your helmet!

GANDALF. Why?

BLANKA. Well, take it off!

BLANKA. [Aside.]

Two sparkling eyes, locks like a field of grain,--

Exactly as I saw him in my dream.

GANDALF. Who are you, woman?

BLANKA. I? A poor, poor child!

GANDALF. Yet certainly the fairest on the isle.

BLANKA. The fairest? That indeed is possible,

For here there's no one else.

GANDALF. What,--no one else?

BLANKA. Unless my father be,--but he is old

And has a silver beard, as long as this;

No, after all I think I win the prize.

GANDALF. You have a merry spirit.

BLANKA. Not always now!

GANDALF. But tell me, pray, how this is possible;

You say you live alone here with your father,

Yet I have heard men say most certainly

The island here is thickly populated?

BLANKA. It was so once, three years ago or more;

But,--well, it is a sad and mournful tale--

Yet you shall hear it if you wish.

GANDALF. Yes, certainly!

BLANKA. You see, three years ago--

[Seats herself.]

BLANKA. Come, seat yourself!

GANDALF. [Steps back a pace.] No, sit you down, I'll stand.

BLANKA. Three years ago there came, God knows from whence,

A warlike band of robbers to the isle;

They plundered madly as they went about,

And murdered everything they found alive.

A few escaped as best they could by flight

And sought protection in my father's castle,

Which stood upon the cliff right near the sea.

GANDALF. Your father's, did you say?

BLANKA. My father's, yes.--

It was a cloudy evening when they burst

Upon the castle gate, tore through the wall,

Rushed in the court, and murdered right and left.

I fled into the darkness terrified,

And sought a place of refuge in the forest.

I saw our home go whirling up in flames,

I heard the clang of shields, the cries of death.--

Then everything grew still; for all were dead.--

The savage band proceeded to the shore

And sailed away.--I sat upon the cliff

The morning after, near the smouldering ruins.

I was the only one whom they had spared.

GANDALF. But you just told me that your father lives.

BLANKA. My foster-father; wait, and you shall hear!

I sat upon the cliff oppressed and sad,

And listened to the awful stillness round;

There issued forth a faint and feeble cry,

As from beneath the rocky cleft beneath my feet;

I listened full of fear, then went below,

And found a stranger, pale with loss of blood.

I ventured nearer, frightened as I was,

Bound up his wounds and tended him,--

GANDALF. And he?

BLANKA. Told me as he recovered from his wounds,

That he had come aboard a merchantman,

Had reached the island on the very day

The castle was destroyed,--took refuge there

And fought the robber band with all his might

Until he fell, faint with the loss of blood,

Into the rocky cleft wherein I found him.

And ever since we two have lived together;

He built for us a cabin in the wood,

I grew to love him more than any one.

But you must see him,--come!

GANDALF. No, wait,--not now!

We meet in ample time, I have no doubt.

BLANKA. Well, all right, as you please; but rest assured

He would be glad to greet you 'neath his roof;

For you must know that hospitality

Is found not only in the North.

GANDALF. The North?

You know then--

BLANKA. Whence you come, you mean? Oh, yes!

My father has so often told of you

That I the moment that I saw you--

GANDALF. Yet you

Were not afraid!

BLANKA. Afraid? And why afraid?

GANDALF. Has he not told you then,--of course if not--

BLANKA. Told me that you were fearless heroes? Yes!

But pray, why should that frighten me?

I know you seek your fame on distant shores,

In manly combat with all doughty warriors;

But I have neither sword nor coat of mail,

Then why should I fear--

GANDALF. No, of course, of course!

But still, those strangers who destroyed the castle?

BLANKA. And what of them?

GANDALF. Only,--has not your father

Told you from whence they came?

BLANKA. Never! How could he!

Strangers they were alike to him and us.

But if you wish I'll ask him right away.

GANDALF. [Quickly.] No, let it be.

BLANKA. Ah, now I understand!

You wish to know where you can seek them now,

And take blood-vengeance, as you call it.

GANDALF. Ah,

Blood-vengeance! Thanks! The word I had forgot;

You bring me back--

BLANKA. But do you know, it is

An ugly practice.

GANDALF. [Going toward the background.] Farewell!

BLANKA. O, you are going?

GANDALF. We meet in time.

[Stops.]

GANDALF. Tell me this one thing more:

What warrior is it rests beneath the mound?

BLANKA. I do not know.

GANDALF. You do not know, and still

You scatter flowers on the hero's grave.

BLANKA. My father led me here one morning early

And pointed out to me the fresh-made mound,

Which I had never seen upon the strand.

He bade me say my morning prayers out here,

And in my supplications to remember

Those who had harried us with sword and fire.

GANDALF. And you?

BLANKA. Each morning from that day to this

I sent a prayer to heaven for their salvation;

And every evening flowers afresh I wove

Into a garland for the grave.

GANDALF. Yes, strange!

How can you pray thus for your enemy?

BLANKA. My faith commands me.

GANDALF. [Vehemently.] Such a faith is craven;

It is the faith which saps the hero's strength;

'Twas therefore that the great, heroic life

Died feebly in the South!

BLANKA. But now suppose

My craven faith, as you see fit to call it,

Could be transplanted to your virgin soil,--

I know full well, there would spring forth a mass

Of flowers so luxuriant as to hide

The naked mountain.

GANDALF. Let the mountain stand

In nakedness until the end of time!

BLANKA. O! Take me with you!

GANDALF. What do you mean?

I sail for home--

BLANKA. Well, I shall sail with you;

For I have often traveled in my dreams

To far-off Norway, where you live mid snow

And ice and sombre woods of towering pines.

There should come mirth and laughter in the hall,

If I could have my say, I promise you;

For I am merry;--have you any scald?

GANDALF. I had one, but the sultry Southern air

Has loosened all the strings upon his harp,--

They sing no longer--

BLANKA. Good! Then shall I be

Your scald.

GANDALF. And you?--You could go with us there,

And leave your father and your home?

BLANKA. [Laughing.] Aha!

You think I meant it seriously?

GANDALF. Was it

Only a jest?

BLANKA. Alas! a foolish dream

I often used to dream before we met,--

Which often I no doubt shall dream again,

When you--

[Suddenly breaking off.]

BLANKA. You stare so fixedly.

GANDALF. Do I?

BLANKA. Why, yes! What are you thinking of?

GANDALF. I? Nothing!

BLANKA. Nothing?

GANDALF. That is, I scarcely know myself;

And yet I do--and you shall hear it now:

I thought of you and how you would transplant

Your flowers in the North, when suddenly

My own faith came as if by chance to mind.

One word therein I never understood

Before; now have you taught me what it means.

BLANKA. And that is what?

GANDALF. Valfader, it is said,

Receives but half the warriors slain in battle;

The other half to Freya goes by right.

That I could never fully comprehend;

But--now I understand,--I am myself

A fallen warrior, and to Freya goes

The better part of me.

BLANKA. [Amazed.] What does this mean?

GANDALF. Well, in a word, then know--

BLANKA. [Quickly.] No, say it not!

I dare not tarry longer here to-night,--

My father waits, and I must go; farewell!

GANDALF. O, you are going?

BLANKA. [Takes the wreath of oak leaves which he has

let fall and throws it around his helmet.] You can keep it now.

Lo, what I hitherto bestowed on you

In dreams, I grant you now awake.

GANDALF. Farewell!

[He goes quickly out to the right.]

* * * * *

SCENE IV

BLANKA. [Alone.]

He is gone! Ah, perfect stillness

Rules upon the barren strand.

Perfect stillness, grave-like stillness

Rules my heart with heavy hand.

Came he then to vanish only

Through the mist, a ray of light?

Soon he flies, a sea-gull lonely,

Far away into the night!

What is left me of this lover?

But a flower in the dark:

In my loneliness to hover

Like a petrel round his bark!

[The war trumpet of the Vikings is heard from the left.]

BLANKA. Ah! What was that! A trumpet from the wood!

* * * * *

SCENE V

[BLANKA, GANDALF from the right.]

GANDALF. [Aside.] It is too late!

BLANKA. O, there he is again!

What do you want?

GANDALF. Quick,--quick, away from here!

BLANKA. What do you mean?

GANDALF. Away! There's danger here!

BLANKA. What danger?

GANDALF. Death!

BLANKA. I do not understand you.

GANDALF. I thought to hide it from you,--hence I went

To call my people to the ship again

And sail away; you never should have known,--

The trumpet warns me that it is too late,--

That they are coming.

BLANKA. Who are coming?

GANDALF. Then know,--

The strangers who once harried on the isle

Were vikings like myself.

BLANKA. From Norway?

GANDALF. Yes.

My father, who was chief among them, fell,--

Hence must he be avenged.

BLANKA. Avenged?

GANDALF. Such is

The custom.

BLANKA. Ah, I see now!

GANDALF. Here they come!

Stand close behind me!

BLANKA. Man of blood,--away!

* * * * *

SCENE VI

[The Preceding.]

[ASGAUT, HEMMING and the VIKINGS, who lead RODERIK

between them.]

ASGAUT. [To GANDALF.] A meagre find, yet something, to be sure.

BLANKA. My father!

[She throws herself in his arms.]

RODERIK. Blanka! O, my child!

JOSTEJN. A woman!

He will have company.

ASGAUT. Yes, straight to Hell!

BLANKA. O father, wherefore have you never told me--

RODERIK. Hush! Hush! my child!

[Points to GANDALF.]

RODERIK. Is this your chieftain?

ASGAUT. Yes.

ASGAUT. [To GANDALF.]

This man can tell you how your father died;

For he was in the thick of it, he says,

The only one to get away alive.

GANDALF. Hush! I will nothing hear.

ASGAUT. Good; let us then

Begin the task.

BLANKA. O God! what will they do?

GANDALF. [In an undertone.] I cannot, Asgaut!

ASGAUT. [Likewise.] Is our king afraid?

Has woman's flattering tongue beguiled his mind?

GANDALF. No matter,--I have said--

ASGAUT. Bethink yourself,--

Your standing with your warriors is at stake.

Your word you pledged Valhalla's mighty gods,

And if you fail a dastard you'll be judged.

Do not forget our faith is insecure--

And wavering; one blow can strike its root,

And if the blow comes from the king above,

It will have had a mortal wound.

GANDALF. Ah me!

That was a most unhappy oath I swore.

ASGAUT. [To the VIKINGS.] Now ready, warriors!

BLANKA. Will you murder him,

An old, defenseless man?

ASGAUT. Down with them both!

BLANKA. O God!

HROLLOUG. The woman is too fair! Let her

Return with us.

JOSTEJN. [Laughing.] Yes, as a warrior maid.

GANDALF. Stand back!

RODERIK. O spare,--O spare at least my child!

The slayer of your chieftain I will bring you,

If you will only spare her!

GANDALF. [Quickly.] Bring him here,

And she is free. What say you?

THE VIKINGS. She is free!

BLANKA. [To RODERIK.] You promise that?

ASGAUT. Then fetch him!

RODERIK. Here he stands!

SOME. Ha, that old man!

GANDALF. O woe!

BLANKA. No, no, you shall not--

RODERIK. Struck by this hand the viking found his death,

Now rests he peacefully in yonder mound!

GANDALF. My father's barrow!

RODERIK. He was strong and brave;

Wherefore I laid him here in viking style.

GANDALF. Since he is buried, then,--

ASGAUT. Though he be buried,

The fallen king cries for revenge,--strike, strike!

BLANKA. He is deceiving you!

BLANKA. [To GANDALF.] Do you not see

It is alone his daughter he would save?

Yet, how should your kind understand a soul

That sacrifices all--

GANDALF. I do not understand?

You do not think I can?

GANDALF. [To the VIKINGS.] He shall not die!

ASGAUT. How so?

BLANKA. O father! He is good like you.

ASGAUT. You mean to break your oath?

GANDALF. No, I shall keep it!

JOSTEJN. Then what have you in mind?

HROLLOUG. Explain!

GANDALF. I swore

To take revenge or else to die myself.

Well, he is free,--I to Valhalla go.

BLANKA. [To RODERIK.] What does he mean?

ASGAUT. Your honor you would save?--

GANDALF. Go,--hold a ship in readiness for me,

With hoisted sail, the pyre light in the prow;

In ancient fashion I shall go aboard!

Behold, the evening breeze blows from the strand,--

On crimson wings I sail into Valhalla!

[JOSTEJN goes out to the right.]

ASGAUT. Ah, 'tis the woman who has cast her spell on you!

BLANKA. No, you must live!

GANDALF. I live? No, to the gods

I must be true, I cannot break with them.

BLANKA. Your oath is bloody, Balder hates it.

GANDALF. Yes,

But Balder lives no longer with us now!

BLANKA. For you he lives; your soul is gentleness.

GANDALF. Yes, to my ruin! It became my task

As king to keep intact our great ideal,--

But I lack strength enough! Come, Asgaut, you

Shall take the kingly sceptre from my hand;

You are a warrior of the truest steel;

On me the Southern plague has been at work.

But if I cannot for my people live,

I now can die for them.

ASGAUT. Well said, King Gandalf!

BLANKA. Then need no more be said! Die like a hero,

Faithful and true unto the very end!

But now that we must part forever,--know,

That when you die yourself to keep your oath

You are then likewise marking me for death!

GANDALF. What! You for death?

BLANKA. My life was like a flower,

Transplanted in an unfamiliar soil,

Which therefore slumbered in its prison folds:

Then came a sunbeam from the distant home,--

O, that was you, my Gandalf! Opened then

The flower its calyx. In another hour,

Alas! the sunbeam paled,--the flower died!

GANDALF. O, have I understood you right? You could?

Then is my promise thrice unfortunate!

BLANKA. But we shall meet again!

GANDALF. O, nevermore!

You go to heaven and the holy Christ,

I to Valhalla; silent I shall take

My place among the rest,--but near the door;

Valhalla's merriment is not for me.

JOSTEJN. [Returns with a banner in his hand.]

See, now the bark is ready, as you bade.

ASGAUT. O, what a glorious end! Many a man

Will envy you, indeed.

GANDALF. [To BLANKA.] Farewell!

BLANKA. Farewell!

Farewell for life and for eternity!

RODERIK. [Struggling with himself.] Wait! Wait!

[Prostrates himself before BLANKA.]

RODERIK. Mercy, I cry! Forgive, forgive me!

BLANKA. O God!

GANDALF. What means he?

RODERIK. All will I confess:

My whole life here with you has been deceit!

BLANKA. Ah, terror has unhinged his mind!

RODERIK. No, no!

RODERIK. [To GANDALF, after he has risen.]

You are released forever from your vow;

Your father's shadow needs no blood revenge!

GANDALF. Ah, then explain!

BLANKA. Oh, speak!

RODERIK. Here stands King Rorek!

SOME. The fallen king?

BLANKA. O heavens!

GANDALF. [In doubt.] You,--my father?

RODERIK. See, Asgaut! Do you still recall the scratch

You gave me on our earliest viking trip,

The time we fought about the booty?

[He uncovers his arm and shows it to ASGAUT.]

ASGAUT. Yes,

By Thor, it is King Rorek!

GANDALF. [Throws himself in his arms.] Father! Father!

A second time now have you given me life.

My humble thanks!

RODERIK. [Downcast; to BLANKA.] And you now--what will you

Grant the old robber?

BLANKA. Love as hitherto!

I am your daughter! Has not three years' care

Wiped off each spot of blood upon your shield?

ASGAUT. Yet now explain,--how comes it that you live!

GANDALF. She saved his life.

RODERIK. Yes, like a friendly elf

She healed my wounds and cared for me,

And all the while she told me of the faith

These quiet people in the South believe,

Until my rugged heart itself was moved.

And day by day I kept the truth from her;

I did not dare to tell her--

GANDALF. But the mound there?

RODERIK. I laid therein my armor and my sword,

It seemed to me the grim old savage viking

Was buried then and there. Each day my child

Sent up a prayer for him beside the mound.

ASGAUT. Farewell!

GANDALF. Where do you go?

ASGAUT. Northward again!

I now see clearly that my time is past--

So likewise is the viking life. I go

To Iceland; there the plague has not yet come.

ASGAUT. [To BLANKA.] You, woman, take my place beside the king!

For Thor is gone--and Mjölnir out of gear;

Through you now Balder rules.--Farewell!

[He goes.]

GANDALF. Yes, Balder ruleth now, through you, my Blanka!

I see the meaning of my viking life!

'Twas not alone desire for fame and wealth

That drove me hence from my forefathers' home;

No, that which called me was a secret longing,

A quiet yearning after Balder. See,

Now is the longing stilled, now go we home;

There will I live in peace among my people.

GANDALF. [To the VIKINGS.] And will you follow?

ALL. We will follow you!

GANDALF. And you, my Blanka?

BLANKA. I? I too am born

A Northern child; for on your mountain sides

The choicest flowers of my heart took root.

To you it was I journeyed in my dreams,

From you it was that I received my love.

RODERIK. And now away!

GANDALF. But you?

BLANKA. He comes with us!

RODERIK. I shall remain.

[He points to the mound.]

RODERIK. My barrow waits for me.

BLANKA. And should I leave you here alone?

HEMMING. No, no!

Be not afraid! For I shall close his eyes

And sing to him a saga from the mound;

My last song it will be.

HEMMING. [Moved as he seizes GANDALF's hand.]

Farewell, my king!

Now have you found a better scald than I.

RODERIK. [With firmness.]

It must be so, my Gandalf; you are king,

And you have sacred duties to discharge.

[He puts their hands together.]

RODERIK. You are the children of the coming dawn,--

Go yonder where the royal throne awaits you;

I am the last one of the by-gone age,

My throne--it is the barrow--grant me that!

[GANDALF and BLANKA throw themselves silently into his arms.

RODERIK ascends the burial mound.--HEMMING with his harp seats

himself at his feet.]

GANDALF. [With resolution.] And now to Norway!

HROLLOUG. Home!

ALL. To Norway! Home!

BLANKA. [Fired as she seizes the banner from JOSTEJN's hand.]

Yes, now away! Our course shall northward run

O'er ocean billow on through storm and sun.

Soon fades the daylight o'er the glacier's peak,

Soon is the viking life a memory bleak!

Already sits the hero on his mound;

The time is past when he could sail around

With sword and battle cry from strand to strand.

Thor's hammer will no longer rule the land,

The North will be itself a giant grave.

But bear in mind the pledge All-Fader gave:

When moss and flowers shall the barrow hide,

To Idavold the hero's ghost shall ride,--

Then Norway too shall from the grave be brought

To chastened deeds within the realm of thought!

* * * * *

OLAF LILJEKRANS

A Play in Three Acts

1857

* * * * *

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

LADY KIRSTEN LILJEKRANS.

OLAF LILJEKRANS Her son.

ARNE OF GULDVIK.

INGEBORG His daughter.

HEMMING His page.

THORGJERD An old fiddler.

ALFHILD.

Wedding GUESTS.

RELATIVES of Arne of Guldvik.

MAIDS and SERVANTS of Lady Kirsten.

* * * * *

SETTING

The action takes place in the middle ages, in a mountain,

district.

* * * * *

FIRST ACT

[A thickly wooded hillside which leads up to higher

mountain regions; in a deep ravine a swift river runs

from the background out to the right; over the river

lie some old logs and other remnants of a dilapidated

bridge. Huge rocks lie scattered in the foreground;

far away can be seen the summits of snow-capped

mountain peaks. Evening twilight rests over the

landscape; later on the moon appears.]

SCENE I

[THORGJERD stands on a rocky projection near the river

and listens to the various choruses which are heard

off the stage.]

CHORUS OF LADY KIRSTEN'S RETINUE. [Deep in the wood to the

right.]

With ringing of bells we hurry along,

We wander in field and in dell;

O Christian, come, give heed to our song,

Awake from your magic spell.

RELATIVES OF ARNE OF GULDVIK. [Far away to the right.]

Now hasten we all

To the wedding hall;

The foal runneth light and gay!

The hoofs resound

On the grassy ground

As the merry swains gallop away!

LADY KIRSTEN'S RETINUE. [A little nearer than before.]

We conjure you forth from mountain and hill,

From the places which hold you bound.

Awake to our call, come, free your will

From elves that hover around!

[THORGJERD disappears in the ravine where the river runs; after

a rapid interplay the choruses are heard much nearer.]

ARNE'S RELATIVES. Our way we shorten with jest and with song,

And all of the bridal night.

LADY KIRSTEN'S RETINUE. With tears we wander the whole day long,

We search to the left and the right.

ARNE'S RELATIVES. [In close proximity, yet still outside the

scene.] To wedding and banquet, to song and dance,

Both servants and hand-maidens throng.

LADY KIRSTEN'S RETINUE. [Nearer than before.]

Olaf Liljekrans! Olaf Liljekrans!

Why sleep you so deep and so long?

* * * * *