Henrik Ibsen

“ I have wrought so woeful a play, Soon will her sorrow begin! ALFHILD. O, tell me, Olaf! what people are they Who live in the house I was in? OLAF. Each one who like you is good and kind, Each one who is child-like in spirit and mind. 'Tis the church, God's house,—it belongs to him. ALFHILD. The mighty father! 'Tis only your whim! His house is high over the stars in the sky, Where the white swan sails undefiled, So high 'tis beyond any mortal eye Save that of the dreaming child!— The church that you spoke of! So then it is there We shall ride in festal procession, As bridegroom and bride! ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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! ”

“ Olaf, behold! A corpse they carry, to the grave they creep; But no mother is there, no children who weep, No pillows are there of blue or of red,— Alfhild on shavings and straw lies dead! I shall never ride now to the heaven above, And awake in the arms of the God of love. No mother have I whose heart will break, No one who follows and weeps for my sake; No person have I in the world so wide, Who weeps for me at the bier,— No angels to scatter on every side Blue pearls in the heavenly sphere; And ne'er shall I reach the dwelling of God, Where the dead dream only of mirth! OLAF. Alfhild! ”

“ INGEBORG. Never will I marry one who holds me so lightly.
ARNE. Be still!
HEMMING. [Softly to ARNE.] Mistress Ingeborg is right; best it is you break the agreement.
ARNE. Be still, I say!
LADY KIRSTEN. [To ARNE.] You may well be rilled with wrath and resentment; but if you think I meant to deceive you, you do me the greatest injustice. You think we are playing a game of deception with you. But tell me,—what would tempt me and my son to such a thing? Does he not love Ingeborg? Where could he choose him a better bride? Is she not fair and lithe? Is her father not rich and mighty? ”

“ THORGJERD. No, no, Alfhild! A minstrel has never a place to rest, His soul fares afar, he forever must roam! For he who has music deep down in his breast, Is never in mountains or lowlands at home; In the meadows green, in the sheltering bower, He must touch the strings and sing every hour, He must watch for the life that lives in the shower, Beneath the wild fjord, in the rushing stream, Must watch for the life that beats in the soul, And clothe in music what people but dream, And give voice to its sorrow and dole! OLAF. But sometime you will surely visit us here! ”

“ OLAF. [Deeply moved.] Alas, that I lay in the grave below. Lulled in eternal rest! Your every word is a steel-made bow That strikes with an arrow my breast! ALFHILD. [Jumps up with childlike joy.] Just so it shall be,—'tis rightfully so! Yes, truly, indeed, have you chords in your breast! So let it be sung; they easily show That you are yourself by my sorrow oppressed. They show that your own grief is just as strong As the one that you voice in your plaintive song! [She stops and looks sorrowfully at him.] ALFHILD. Yet no,—you shall not sing of Alfhild's lament ”

“ LADY KIRSTEN. But do you stop to consider—
OLAF. Nothing will I now consider,—I know what I want. Now first I understand my strange dream. It was prophesied of me that I was to find the fairest of flowers,—that I was to tear it asunder and strew it to all the winds. O, thus it has happened! A woman's heart is the fairest flower in the world; all its rich and golden leaves I have torn asunder and scattered to the winds. But be of good cheer, my Alfhild! Many a seed has gone too, and sorrow has ripened it, and from it shall grow a rich life for us here in the valley ”

“ It will cost you your happiness; stay, do not go! ALFHILD. But, father, I must! Your sweetest lays Will seem to me now like a misty haze! THORGJERD. Then go, my Alfhild! and dream while you may, Your father will guard you alway! But look you take care of the crafty young swains With words so cunning and free! ALFHILD. Away in the distant and sunny domains,— Where Olaf is, there must I be! There stands his castle with golden hall! From the ballads you sang his face I recall; The king's son is he, the knight who can ride, And I, the poor Alfhild,—I am his bride! ”

“ ALFHILD. And where is the home, the house of God, Where the dead dream only of mirth? OLAF. Behold! Now they place him beneath the sod And cover him over with earth. ALFHILD. [Quiet and thoughtful, after a pause.] Not so was death in the song—not so. OLAF. 'Tis true; but no such joy and pleasure Has any one felt here below.— Have you never heard of the mountain king's treasure, Which night after night like gold would glow; But if you would seize the gold in your hand, You nothing would find save gravel and sand; And listen, Alfhild! it often is true That life turns out in the selfsame way ”

“ ALFHILD. Yes, lovely is life in its every breath, As lovely almost as the journey to death! OLAF. In the grave you think it is pleasant to lie? ALFHILD. I know not your meaning, but I brooded long. And asked of my father "What means it to die?" In answer thereto he sang me a song: "When the child of man is weighted with grief And longs to be rocked to rest, Then comes there an elf with wings of white And frees its spirit oppressed. "The little elf with his wings of white Makes ready a downy bed, Of lilies he weaves the linen sheets And pillows of roses red. ”

“ But—tell me more of the life that is yonder!
OLAF. The life that is yonder may go its own way; Here is my home; with you will I wander, My lovely wife! Alfhild, behold! Is it not as if here in the mountainous fold Were built for us two a bower so fair! The snowdrops in splendor stand garbed everywhere; In here there is feasting, there is joy, there is mirth, More real than any I have found on this earth! The song rings out from the river so deep; It is that which makes me both laugh and weep! The song of magic, the mysterious lay, Has made me so free, so happy and gay! ”

“ 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. ”

“ ARNE. [To LADY KIRSTEN.] He lies! Do not believe him!
HEMMING. But it is nevertheless true,—the tale of the bride who disappeared on the eve of her wedding.
ARNE. Aye, that was many years ago; nowadays such things never happen. But we'll all help to find him.
INGEBORG. It was not sung at my cradle that I should run about in forest and field to find my bridegroom.
ARNE. Be still!
INGEBORG. If he is enthralled in the mountain, then let her take him who has done it; I don't propose to share my betrothed's heart and soul. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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! ”

“ 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! ”

“ ALFHILD. The life in my dream had so rosy a hue! 'Tis nothing but fiction, nothing is true,— 'Tis nothing but nonsense and shifting lies; Naught can be seized and held in the hand. Naught must be looked at with open eyes, Nothing stands proof when we understand! [The sound of trumpets is heard from the wood.] ALFHILD. My mother's heirlooms I take with me; I shall bury them deep in the ground! I shall bury them deep 'neath the tall birch tree, Over yonder where Olaf I found! [She opens her bundle and takes out a bridal crown and other ornaments.] ”

“ 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. ”

“ My bosom is filled with joy and with song; Wherever I wander in field or at home, They shine on my path, they light me along,— Like stars at night in the heavenly dome! You said the whole world would be asked to the feast, And foremost should ride the minstrel and priest, Knights should go forward and guide my steed, And roses should blossom on every side, Each lily we met should bow like a weed, The flowers should curtsy before the bride! OLAF. Have I said— ALFHILD. Olaf, you surely recall! All things have followed your every desire; The lindens stand yonder so green and so tall ”

“ 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. ”

“ HEMMING AND INGEBORG. O, thanks, thanks!
SCENE X
[The Preceding. THORGJERD with a harp in his hand has during the foregoing mingled with the people.]
THORGJERD. Aye, see, see! A multitude of people in the valley today!
THE PEASANTS. Thorgjerd, the fiddler!
ALFHILD. [Throws herself in his arms.] My father!
ALL. Her father!
OLAF. Yes, yes, old man! There are people and merriment in here today, and hereafter it shall always be thus. It is your daughter's wedding we are celebrating; for love has she chosen her betrothed, of love have you sung for her,—you will not stand in our way! ”

“ 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! ”

“ They sing the bride and the bridegroom to greet!— O, you—you make me so happy and blessed, Both heaven and earth could I hold to my breast! Nowhere can so humble a weed be found Which under my feet I could crush and destroy, Nowhere a creature so deep in the ground, But I would share in its sorrow and joy! My bosom is filled with the glory of spring; It surges and roars like a wood in a storm! OLAF. [Aside.] And soon this youthful and lovely form Shall writhe beneath sorrow's tormenting sting! ALFHILD. O, glorious life! ”

“ LADY KIRSTEN. Cursed you and gone to my grave in sorrow!—But tell me, why do you ask?
OLAF. Ah, it was only a jest; I little thought of doing so.
LADY KIRSTEN. That I can believe; for you have always held your family in high honor. But be merry and gay; tomorrow Ingeborg will sit in there as your wife, and then you will find both peace and happiness.
OLAF. Peace and happiness. One thing there is lacking. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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? ”

“ The little child we carry With sorrow to the grave, Beneath the mould we bury What soon the worms will crave. Hard is this lot and dreary: With mournful dirge and sigh To carry sad and weary The child where it shall lie! ALFHILD. [Uncertain and anxious.] What is it, Olaf? What is it, I say? OLAF. A child that death is bearing away, A mother and children weep on the way. ALFHILD. Death! Then where are the pillows of red, The lily-white linen, and where is the dead? OLAF. I see no pillows of red or of gray, But only the dark black boards of the bier ”

“ 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. ”

“ OLAF. [As he rises.] What are you brooding over?
ALFHILD. High in the mountain there is a rocky ledge so steep that not even the eagle can fasten his claws thereon; there stands a lonely birch,—ill does it thrive, it is poor in leaves; but downward it bends its branches to the valley which lies far away; it is as though it longed for its sisters in the fresh and luxuriant grove, as though it yearned to be transplanted in the warm sunny life down below.... ”

“ 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 ”