Chapter II: Part 2

_The action takes place at Östråt Manor, on the Trondhiem Fiord, in
the year 1528._

[PRONUNCIATION OF NAMES.—Östråt = _Östrot_; Elina (Norwegian, Eline)
= _Eleena_; Stensson = _Staynson_; Biörn = _Byörn_; Jens Bielke =
_Yens Byelke_; Huk = _Hook_. The _g_'s in “Inger” and in
“Gyldenlöve” are, of course, hard. The final _e_'s and the _ö_'s
pronounced much as in German.]

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LADY INGER OF ÖSTRÅT | DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS

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ACT FIRST

_A room at Östråt. Through an open door in the back, the
Banquet Hall is seen in faint moonlight, which shines
fitfully through a deep bow-window in the opposite wall.
To the right, an entrance-door; further forward, a
curtained window. On the left, a door leading to the
inner rooms; further forward a large open fireplace,
which casts a glow over the room. It is a stormy
evening._

BIÖRN _and_ FINN _are sitting by the fireplace. The latter
is occupied in polishing a helmet. Several pieces of
armour lie near them, along with a sword and shield._

FINN.

[_After a pause._] Who was Knut[12] Alfson?

BIÖRN.

My Lady says he was the last of Norway’s knighthood.

FINN.

And the Danes killed him at Oslo-fiord?

BIÖRN.

If you know not that, ask any child of five.

FINN.

So Knut Alfson was the last of our knighthood? And now he’s
dead and gone! [_Holds up the helmet._] Well, thou must e’en
be content to hang scoured and bright in the Banquet Hall;
for what art thou now but an empty nut-shell? The kernel—the
worms have eaten that many a winter agone.

What say you, Biörn—may not one call Norway’s land an empty
nut-shell, even like the helmet here; bright without,
worm-eaten within?

BIÖRN.

Hold your peace, and mind your task!—Is the helmet ready?

FINN.

It shines like silver in the moonlight.

BIÖRN.

Then put it by.—See here; scrape the rust off the sword.

FINN.

[_Turning the sword over and examining it._]

Is it worth while?

BIÖRN.

What mean you?

FINN.

The edge is gone.

BIÖRN.

What’s that to you? Give it me.—Here, take the shield.

FINN.

[_As before._] There is no grip to it!

BIÖRN.

[_Mutters._] Let me get a grip on _you_——

[FINN _hums to himself for a while._

BIÖRN.

What now?

FINN.

An empty helmet, a sword with no edge, a shield with no
grip—so it has all come to that. Who can blame Lady Inger if
she leaves such weapons to hang scoured and polished on the
walls, instead of rusting them in Danish blood?

BIÖRN.

Folly! Is there not peace in the land?

FINN.

Peace? Ay, when the peasant has shot away his last arrow,
and the wolf has reft the last lamb from the fold, then is
there peace between them. But ’tis a strange friendship.
Well, well; let that pass. ’Tis fitting, as I said, that the
harness hang bright in the hall; for you know the old saw:
“Call none a man but the knightly man.” So now that we have
never a knight in the land, we have never a man; and where
no man is, there must women order things; therefore——

BIÖRN.

Therefore—therefore I bid you hold your foul prate!
[_Rises._

The evening wears on. Enough; you may hang the helmet and
armour in the hall again.

FINN.

[_In a low voice._] Nay, best let it be till to-morrow.

BIÖRN.

What, do you fear the dark?

FINN.

Not by day. And if so be I fear it at even, I am not the
only one. Ah, you may look; I tell you in the housefolk’s
room there is talk of many things. [_Lower._] They say that,
night by night, a tall figure, clad in black, walks the
Banquet Hall.

BIÖRN.

Old wives’ tales!

FINN.

Ah, but they all swear ’tis true.

BIÖRN.

That I well believe.

FINN.

The strangest of all is that Lady Inger thinks the same——

BIÖRN.

[_Starting._] Lady Inger? What does she think?

FINN.

What Lady Inger thinks? I warrant few can tell that. But
sure it is that she has no rest in her. See you not how day
by day she grows thinner and paler? [_Looks keenly at him._]
They say she never sleeps—and that it is because of the
black figure——

[_While he is speaking,_ ELINA GYLDENLÖVE _has
appeared in the half-open door on the left. She
stops and listens, unobserved._

BIÖRN.

And you believe such follies?

FINN.

Well, half and half. There be folk, too, that read
things another way. But that is pure malice, I’ll be
bound.—Hearken, Biörn—know you the song that is going
round the country?

BIÖRN.

A song?

FINN.

Ay, ’tis on all folks’ lips. ’Tis a shameful scurril thing,
for sure; yet it goes prettily. Just listen: [_Sings in a
low voice._

Dame Inger sitteth in Östråt fair,
She wraps her in costly furs—
She decks her in velvet and ermine and vair,
Red gold are the beads that she twines in her hair—
But small peace in that soul of hers.

Dame Inger hath sold her to Denmark’s lord.
She bringeth her folk ’neath the stranger’s yoke—
In guerdon whereof—

[BIÖRN _enraged, seizes him by the throat._ ELINA
GYLDENLÖVE _withdraws without having been seen._

BIÖRN.

I will send you guerdonless to the foul fiend, if you prate
of Lady Inger but one unseemly word more.

FINN.

[_Breaking from his grasp._] Why—did _I_ make the song?

[_The blast of a horn is heard from the right._

BIÖRN.

Hark—what is that?

FINN.

A horn. Then there come guests to-night.

BIÖRN.

[_At the window._] They are opening the gate. I hear the
clatter of hoofs in the courtyard. It must be a knight.

FINN.

A knight? Nay, that can scarce be.

BIÖRN.

Why not?

FINN.

Did you not say yourself: the last of our knighthood is dead
and gone?

[_Goes out to the right._

BIÖRN.

The accursed knave, with his prying and peering! What avails
all my striving to hide and hush things? They whisper of her
even now—; soon all men will be shouting aloud that——

ELINA.

[_Comes in again through the door on the left; looks round
her, and says with suppressed emotion:_] Are you alone,
Biörn?

BIÖRN.

Is it you, Mistress Elina?

ELINA.

Come, Biörn, tell me one of your stories; I know you can
tell others than those that-—-

BIÖRN.

A story? Now—so late in the evening——?

ELINA.

If you count from the time when it grew dark at Östråt, then
’tis late indeed.

BIÖRN.

What ails you? Has aught crossed you? You seem so restless.

ELINA.

May be so.

BIÖRN.

There is something amiss. I have hardly known you this half
year past.

ELINA.

Bethink you: this half year past my dearest sister Lucia has
been sleeping in the vault below.

BIÖRN.

That is not all, Mistress Elina—it is not that alone that
makes you now thoughtful and white and silent, now restless
and ill at ease, as you are to-night.

ELINA.

Not that alone, you think? And wherefore not? Was she not
gentle and pure and fair as a summer night? Biörn,—I tell
you, Lucia was dear to me as my life. Have you forgotten how
many a time, when we were children, we sat on your knee in
the winter evenings? You sang songs to us, and told us
tales——

BIÖRN.

Ay, then you were blithe and gay.

ELINA.

Ah, then, Biörn! Then I lived a glorious life in fable-land,
and in my own imaginings. Can it be that the sea-strand was
naked then as now? If it was so, I knew it not. ’Twas there
I loved to go weaving all my fair romances; my heroes came
from afar and sailed again across the sea; I lived in their
midst, and set forth with them when they sailed away.
[_Sinks on a chair._] Now I feel so faint and weary; I can
live no longer in my tales. They are only—tales. [_Rising,
vehemently._] Biörn, know you what has made me sick? A
truth; a hateful, hateful truth, that gnaws me day and
night.

BIÖRN.

What mean you?

ELINA.

Do you remember how sometimes you would give us good counsel
and wise saws? Sister Lucia followed them; but I—ah,
well-a-day!

BIÖRN.

[_Consoling her._] Well, well—-!

ELINA.

I know it—I was proud, overweening! In all our games, I
would still be the Queen, because I was the tallest, the
fairest, the wisest! I know it!

BIÖRN.

That is true.

ELINA.

Once you took me by the hand and looked earnestly at me, and
said: “Be not proud of your fairness, or your wisdom; but be
proud as the mountain eagle as often as you think: I am
Inger Gyldenlöve’s daughter!”

BIÖRN.

And was it not matter enough for pride?

ELINA.

You told me so often enough, Biörn! Oh, you told me many a
tale in those days. [_Presses his hand._] Thanks for them
all!—Now, tell me one more; it might make me light of heart
again, as of old.

BIÖRN.

You are a child no longer.

ELINA.

Nay, indeed! But let me dream that I am.—Come, tell on!

[_Throws herself into a chair._ BIÖRN _sits on the
edge of the high hearth._

BIÖRN.

Once upon a time there was a high-born knight——

ELINA.

[_Who has been listening restlessly in the direction of the
hall, seizes his arm and breaks out in a vehement whisper._]
Hush! No need to shout so loud; I can hear well!

BIÖRN.

[_More softly._] Once upon a time there was a high-born
knight, of whom there went the strange report——

[ELINA _half rises, and listens in anxious suspense
in the direction of the hall._

BIÖRN.

Mistress Elina,—what ails you?

ELINA.

[_Sits down again._] Me? Nothing. Go on.

BIÖRN.

Well, as I was saying—did this knight but look straight in a
woman’s eyes, never could she forget it after; her thoughts
must follow him wherever he went, and she must waste away
with sorrow.

ELINA.

I have heard that tale.—Moreover, ’tis no tale you are
telling, for the knight you speak of is Nils Lykke, who sits
even now in the Council of Denmark——

BIÖRN.

May be so.

ELINA.

Well, let it pass—go on!

BIÖRN.

Now it happened once on a time——

ELINA.

[_Rises suddenly._] Hush; be still!

BIÖRN.

What now? What is the matter?

ELINA.

[_Listening._] Do you hear?

BIÖRN.

What?

ELINA.

It is there! Yes, by the cross of Christ, it _is_ there!

BIÖRN.

[_Rises._] _What_ is there? Where?

ELINA.

She herself—in the hall——

[_Goes hastily towards the hall._

BIÖRN.

[_Following._] How can you think—? Mistress Elina,—go to
your chamber!

ELINA.

Hush; stand still! Do not move; do not let her see you!
Wait—the moon is coming out. Can you not see the black-robed
figure——?

BIÖRN.

By all the saints——!

ELINA.

Do you see—she turns Knut Alfson’s picture to the wall.
Ha-ha; be sure it looks her too straight in the eyes!

BIÖRN.

Mistress Elina, hear me!

ELINA.

[_Going back towards the fireplace._] Now I know what I
know!

BIÖRN.

[_To himself._] Then it is true!

ELINA.

Who was it, Biörn? Who was it?

BIÖRN.

You saw as plainly as I.

ELINA.

Well? Whom did I see?

BIÖRN.

You saw your mother.

ELINA.

[_Half to herself._] Night after night I have heard her
steps in there. I have heard her whispering and moaning like
a soul in pain. And what says the song—? Ah, now I know! Now
I know that——

BIÖRN.

Hush!

[LADY INGER GYLDENLÖVE _enters rapidly from the
hall, without noticing the others; she goes to
the window, draws the curtain, and gazes out as
if watching for some one on the high road; after
a while, she turns and goes slowly back into the
hall._

ELINA.

[_Softly, following her with her eyes._] White, white as the
dead——!

[_An uproar of many voices is heard outside the door
on the right._

BIÖRN.

What can this be?

ELINA.

Go out and see what is amiss.

[EINAR HUK, _the bailiff, appears in the anteroom,
with a crowd of_ RETAINERS _and_ PEASANTS.

EINAR HUK.

[_In the doorway._] Straight in to her! And be not abashed!

BIÖRN.

What seek you?

EINAR HUK.

Lady Inger herself.

BIÖRN.

Lady Inger? So late?

EINAR HUK.

Late, but time enough, I wot.

THE PEASANTS.

Yes, yes; she must hear us now!

[_The whole rabble crowds into the room. At the same
moment_ LADY INGER _appears in the doorway of
the hall. A sudden silence._

LADY INGER.

What would you with me?

EINAR HUK.

We sought you, noble lady, to——

LADY INGER.

Well—say on!

EINAR HUK.

Why, we are not ashamed of our errand. In one word—we come
to pray you for weapons and leave——

LADY INGER.

Weapons and leave—? And for what?

EINAR HUK.

There has come a rumour from Sweden that the people of the
Dales have risen against King Gustav——

LADY INGER.

The people of the Dales?

EINAR HUK.

Ay, so the tidings run, and they seem sure enough.

LADY INGER.

Well—if it were so—what have you to do with, the Dale-folk’s
rising?

THE PEASANTS.

We will join them! We will help. We will free ourselves!

LADY INGER.

[_To herself._] Can the time be come?

EINAR HUK.

From all our borderlands the peasants are pouring across to
the Dales. Even outlaws that have wandered for years in the
mountains are venturing down to the homesteads again, and
drawing men together, and whetting their rusty swords.

LADY INGER.

[_After a pause._] Tell me, men—have you thought well of
this? Have you counted the cost, if King Gustav’s men should
win?

BIÖRN.

[_Softly and imploringly to_ LADY INGER.] Count the cost to
the Danes if King Gustav’s men should lose.

LADY INGER.

[_Evasively._] That reckoning is not for me

to make. [_Turns to the people._

You know that King Gustav is sure of help from Denmark. King
Frederick is his friend, and will never leave him in the
lurch—-—-

EINAR HUK.

But if the people were now to rise all over Norway’s
land?—if we all rose as one man, nobles and peasants
together?—Ay, Lady Inger Gyldenlöve, the time we have waited
for is surely come. We have but to rise now to drive the
strangers from the land.

THE PEASANTS.

Ay, out with the Danish sheriffs! Out with the foreign
masters! Out with the Councillors’ lackeys!

LADY INGER.

[_To herself._] Ah, there is metal in them; and yet, yet——!

BIÖRN.

[_To himself._] She is of two minds. [_To Elina._] What say
you now, Mistress Elina—have you not sinned in misjudging
your mother?

ELINA.

Biörn—if my eyes have lied to me, I could tear them out of
my head!

EINAR HUK.

See you not, my noble lady, King Gustav must be dealt with
first. Were _his_ power once gone, the Danes cannot long
hold this land——

LADY INGER.

And then?

EINAR HUK.

Then we shall be free. We shall have no more foreign
masters, and can choose ourselves a king, as the Swedes have
done before us.

LADY INGER.

[_With animation._] A king for ourselves! Are you thinking
of the Sture[13] stock?

EINAR HUK.

King Christiern and others after him have swept bare our
ancient houses. The best of our nobles are outlaws on the
mountain paths, if so be they still live. Nevertheless, it
might still be possible to find one or other shoot of the
old stems——

LADY INGER.

[_Hastily._] Enough, Einar Huk, enough! [_To herself._] Ah,
my dearest hope!

[_Turns to the_ PEASANTS _and_ RETAINERS.

I have warned you, now, as well as I can. I have told you
how great is the risk you run. But if you are fixed in your
purpose, ’twere folly in me to forbid what I have no power
to prevent.

EINAR HUK.

Then we have your leave to——?

LADY INGER.

You have your own firm will; take counsel with _that_. If it
be as you say, that you are daily harassed and oppressed——I
know but little of these matters. I will not know more! What
can I, a lonely woman—? Even if you were to plunder the
Banquet Hall—and there’s many a good weapon on the walls—you
are the masters at Östråt to-night. You must do as seems
good to you. Good-night!

[_Loud cries of joy from the multitude. Candles are
lighted; the_ RETAINERS _bring out weapons of
different kinds from the hall._

BIÖRN.

[_Seizes_ LADY INGER’S _hand as she is going._] Thanks, my
noble and high-souled mistress! I, that have known you from
childhood up—I have never doubted you.

LADY INGER.

Hush, Biörn—’tis a dangerous game I have ventured this
night. The others stake only their lives; but I, trust me, a
thousandfold more!

BIÖRN.

How mean you? Do you fear for your power and your favour
with——?

LADY INGER.

My power? O God in Heaven!

A RETAINER.

[_Comes from the hall with a large sword._]

See, here’s a real good wolf’s-tooth! With this will I flay
the blood-suckers’ lackeys!

EINAR HUK.

[_To another._] What is that you have found?

THE RETAINER.

The breastplate they call Herlof Hyttefad’s.

EINAR HUK.

’Tis too good for such as you. Look, here is the shaft of
Sten Sture’s[14] lance; hang the breastplate upon it, and we
shall have the noblest standard heart can desire.

FINN.

[_Comes from the door on the left, with a letter in his
hand, and goes towards_ LADY INGER.] I have sought you
through all the house——

LADY INGER.

What would you?

FINN.

[_Hands her the letter._] A messenger is come from
Trondhiem[15] with a letter for you.

LADY INGER.

Let me see! [_Opening the letter._] From Trondhiem? What can
it be? [_Runs through the letter._] O God! From him! and
here in Norway——

[_Reads on with strong emotion, while the men go on
bringing out arms from the hall._

LADY INGER.

[_To herself._] He is coming here. He is coming here
to-night!—Ay, then ’tis with our wits we must fight, not
with the sword.

EINAR HUK.

Enough, enough, good fellows; we are well armed now. Set we
forth now on our way!

LADY INGER.

[_With a sudden change of tone._] No man shall leave my
house to-night!

EINAR HUK.

But the wind is fair, noble lady; ’twill take us quickly up
the fiord, and——

LADY INGER.

It shall be as I have said.

EINAR HUK.

Are we to wait till to-morrow, then?

LADY INGER.

Till to-morrow, and longer still. No armed man shall go
forth from Östråt yet awhile.

[_Signs of displeasure among the crowd._

SOME OF THE PEASANTS.

We will go all the same, Lady Inger!

THE CRY SPREADS.

Ay, ay; we _will_ go!

LADY INGER.

[_Advancing a step towards them._] Who dares to move?

[_A silence. After a moment’s pause, she adds:_

I have thought for you. What do you common folk know of the
country’s needs? How dare you judge of such things? You must
e’en bear your oppressions and burdens yet awhile. Why
murmur at that, when you see that we, your leaders, are as
ill bested as you?——Take all the weapons back to the hall.
You shall know my further will hereafter. Go!

[_The_ RETAINERS _take back the arms, and the whole
crowd then withdraws by the door on the right._

ELINA.

[_Softly to_ BIÖRN.] Say you still that I have sinned in
misjudging—the Lady of Östråt?

LADY INGER.

[_Beckons to_ BIÖRN, _and says_.] Have a guest-chamber
ready.

BIÖRN.

It is well, Lady Inger!

LADY INGER.

And let the gate be open to whoever shall knock.

BIÖRN.

But——?

LADY INGER.

The gate open!

BIÖRN.

The gate open. [_Goes out to the right._

LADY INGER.

[_To_ ELINA, _who has already reached the door on the
left._] Stay here!——Elina—my child—I have something to say
to you alone.

ELINA.

I hear you.

LADY INGER.

Elina——you think evil of your mother.

ELINA.

I think, to my sorrow, what your deeds have forced me to
think.

LADY INGER.

And you answer as your bitter spirit bids you.

ELINA.

Who has filled my spirit with bitterness? From my childhood
I had been wont to look up to you as a great and high-souled
woman. ’Twas in your likeness that I pictured the women of
the chronicles and the Book of Heroes. I thought the Lord
God himself had set his seal on your brow, and marked you
out as the leader of the helpless and the oppressed. Knights
and nobles sang your praise in the feast-hall; and even the
peasants, far and near, called you the country’s pillar and
its hope. All thought that through you the good times were
to come again! All thought that through you a new day was to
dawn over the land! The night is still here; and I scarce
know if through you I dare look for any morning.

LADY INGER.

’Tis easy to see whence you have learnt such venomous words.
You have let yourself give ear to what the thoughtless
rabble mutters and murmurs about things it can little judge
of.

ELINA.

“Truth is in the people’s mouth,” was your word when they
praised you in speech and song.

LADY INGER.

May be so. But if indeed I chose to sit here idle, though it
was my part to act—think you not that such a choice were
burden enough for me, without your adding to its weight?

ELINA.

The weight I add to your burden crushes me no less than you.
Lightly and freely I drew the breath of life, so long as I
had you to believe in. For my pride is my life; and well
might I have been proud, had you remained what once you
were.

LADY INGER.

And what proves to you that I have not? Elina—how know you
so surely that you are not doing your mother wrong?

ELINA.

[_Vehemently._] Oh, that I were!

LADY INGER.

Peace! You have no right to call your mother to
account.—With a single word I could——; but ’twould be an ill
word for you to hear; you must await what time shall bring;
may be that——

ELINA.

[_Turns to go._] Sleep well, my mother!

LADY INGER.

[_Hesitates._] Nay—stay with me; I have still somewhat——
Come nearer;—you must hear me, Elina!

[_Sits down by the table in front of the window._

ELINA.

I hear you.

LADY INGER.

For as silent as you are, I know well that you often long to
be gone from here. Östråt is too lonely and lifeless for
you.

ELINA.

Do you wonder at that, my mother?

LADY INGER.

It rests with you whether all this shall henceforth be
changed.

ELINA.

How so?

LADY INGER.

Listen.—I look for a guest to-night.

ELINA.

[_Comes nearer._] A guest?

LADY INGER.

A guest, who must remain a stranger to all. None must know
whence he comes or whither he goes.

ELINA.

[_Throws herself, with a cry of joy, at her mother’s feet,
and seizes her hands._] My mother! My mother! Forgive me, if
you can, all the wrong I have done you!

LADY INGER.

What do you mean? Elina, I do not understand you.

ELINA.

Then they were all deceived! You are still true at heart!

LADY INGER.

Rise, rise and tell me——

ELINA.

Think you I do not know who the stranger is?

LADY INGER.

You know? And yet——?

ELINA.

Think you the gates of Östråt shut so close, that never a
whisper of the country’s woe can slip through them? Think
you I do not know that the heir of many a noble line wanders
outlawed, without rest or shelter, while Danish masters lord
it in the home of his fathers?

LADY INGER.

And what then?

ELINA.

I know well that many a high-born knight is hunted through
the woods like a hungry wolf. No hearth has he to rest by,
no bread to eat——

LADY INGER.

[_Coldly._] Enough! Now I understand you.

ELINA.

[_Continuing._] And that is why the gates of Östråt must
stand open by night! That is why he must remain a stranger
to all, this guest of whom none must know whence he comes or
whither he goes! You are setting at naught the harsh decree
that forbids you to harbour or succour the outlaw——

LADY INGER.

Enough, I say!

[_After a short silence, adds with an effort:_ You mistake,
Elina—’tis no outlaw I look for.

ELINA.

[_Rises._] Then I have understood you ill indeed.

LADY INGER.

Listen to me, my child; but think as you listen; if indeed
you can tame that wild spirit of yours.

ELINA.

I am tame, till you have spoken.

LADY INGER.

Attend, then, to what I have to tell you.—I have sought, so
far as lay in my power, to keep you in ignorance of all our
griefs and miseries. What could it avail to fill your young
heart with wrath and care? ’Tis not women’s weeping and
wailing that can deliver us; we need the courage and
strength of men.

ELINA.

Who has told you that, when courage and strength are needed,
I shall be found wanting?

LADY INGER.

Hush, child;—I might take you at your word.

ELINA.

How mean you, my mother?

LADY INGER.

I might call on you for both; I might——; but let me say my
say out first.

Know then that the time seems now to be drawing nigh,
towards which the Danish Council have been working for many
a year—the time, I mean, for them to strike the last blow at
our rights and our freedom. Therefore must we now——

ELINA.

[_Eagerly._] Openly rebel, my mother?

LADY INGER.

No; we must gain breathing-time. The Council is now
assembled at Copenhagen, considering how best to go to work.
Most of them hold, ’tis said, that there can be no end to
dissensions till Norway and Denmark are one; for should we
still possess our rights as a free land when the time comes
to choose the next king, ’tis most like that the feud will
break out openly. Now the Danish councillors would hinder
this——

ELINA.

Ay, they would hinder it—! But are we to endure such things?
Are we to look on quietly while——?

LADY INGER.

No, we will not endure it. But to take up arms—to declare
open war—what would come of that, so long as we are not
united? And were we ever less united in this land than we
are even now?—No, if aught is to be accomplished, it must be
secretly and in silence. Even as I said, we must have time
to draw breath. In the South, a good part of the nobles are
for the Dane; but here in the North they are still in doubt.
Therefore has King Frederick sent hither one of his most
trusted councillors, to assure himself with his own eyes how
we stand affected.

ELINA.

[_In suspense._] Well—and then——?

LADY INGER.

He is the guest I look for to-night.

ELINA.

He comes hither? And to-night?

LADY INGER.

A trading ship brought him to Trondhiem yesterday. News has
just reached me of his approach; he may be here within the
hour.

ELINA.

And you do not bethink you, my mother, how ’twill endanger
your fame thus to receive the Danish envoy? Do not the
people already look on you with distrustful eyes? How can
you hope that, when the time comes, they will let you rule
and guide them, if it be known that——

LADY INGER.

Fear not. All this I have fully weighed; but there is no
danger. His errand in Norway is a secret; he has come
unknown to Trondhiem, and unknown shall he be our guest at
Östråt.

ELINA.

And the name of this Danish lord——?

LADY INGER.

It sounds well, Elina; Denmark has scarce a nobler name.

ELINA.

But what then do you purpose? I cannot yet grasp your
meaning.

LADY INGER.

You will soon understand.—Since we cannot trample on the
serpent, we must bind it.

ELINA.

Take heed that it burst not your bonds.

LADY INGER.

It rests with you to tighten them as you will.

ELINA.

With me?

LADY INGER.

I have long seen that Östråt is as a cage to you. The young
falcon chafes behind the iron bars.

ELINA.

My wings are clipped. Even if you set me free—’twould avail
me little.

LADY INGER.

Your wings are not clipped, save by your own will.

ELINA.

Will? My will is in your hands. Be what you once were, and I
too——

LADY INGER.

Enough, enough. Hear me further.—It would scarce break your
heart to leave Östråt?

ELINA.

Maybe not, my mother!

LADY INGER.

You told me once, that you lived your happiest life in your
tales and histories. What if that life were to be yours once
more?

ELINA.

What mean you?

LADY INGER.

Elina—if a mighty noble were to come and lead you to his
castle, where you should find damsels and squires, silken
robes and lofty halls awaiting you?

ELINA.

A noble, you say?

LADY INGER.

A noble.

ELINA.

[_More softly._] And the Danish envoy comes hither to-night?

LADY INGER.

To-night.

ELINA.

If so be, then I fear to read the meaning of your words.

LADY INGER.

There is naught to fear if you misread them not. It is far
from my thought to put force upon you. You shall choose for
yourself in this matter, and follow your own rede.

ELINA.

[_Comes a step nearer._] Know you the tale of the mother who
drove across the hills by night, with her little children in
the sledge? The wolves were on her track; ’twas life or
death with her;—and one by one she cast out her little ones,
to win time and save herself.

LADY INGER.

Nursery tales! A mother would tear the heart from her
breast, before she would cast her child to the wolves!

ELINA.

Were I not my mother’s daughter, I would say you were right.
But you are like that mother; one by one have you cast out
your daughters to the wolves. The eldest went first. Five
years ago Merete[16] went forth from Östråt; now she dwells
in Bergen, and is Vinzents Lunge’s[17] wife. But think you
she is happy as the Danish noble’s lady? Vinzents Lunge is
mighty, well-nigh as a king; Merete has damsels and squires,
silken robes and lofty halls; but the day has no sunshine
for her, and the night no rest; for she has never loved him.
He came hither and he wooed her, for she was the greatest
heiress in Norway, and ’twas then needful for him to gain a
footing in the land. I know it; I know it well! Merete bowed
to your will; she went with the stranger lord.—But what has
it cost her? More tears than a mother should wish to answer
for at the day of reckoning!

LADY INGER.

I know my reckoning, and I fear it not.

ELINA.

Your reckoning ends not here. Where is Lucia, your second
child?

LADY INGER.

Ask God, who took her.

ELINA.

’Tis you I ask; ’tis you must answer for her young life. She
was glad as a bird in spring when she sailed from Östråt to
be Merete’s guest. A year passed, and she stood in this room
once more; but her cheeks were white, and death had gnawed
deep into her breast. Ah, I startle you, my mother! You
thought the ugly secret was buried with her;—but she told me
all. A courtly knight had won her heart. He would have
wedded her. You knew that her honour was at stake; yet your
will never bent—and your child had to die. You see, I know
all!

LADY INGER.

All? Then she told you his name?

ELINA.

His name? No; his name she did not tell me. She shrank from
his name as though it stung her;—she never uttered it.

LADY INGER.

[_Relieved, to herself._] Ah, then you do _not_ know all——

Elina—’tis true that the whole of this matter was well known
to me. But there is one thing it seems you have overlooked.
The lord whom Lucia met in Bergen was a Dane——

ELINA.

That, too, I know.

LADY INGER.

And his love was a lie. With guile and soft speeches he had
ensnared her.

ELINA.

I know it; but nevertheless she loved him; and had you had a
mother’s heart, your daughter’s honour had been more to you
than all.

LADY INGER.

Not more than her happiness. Think you that, with Merete’s
lot before my eyes, I could sacrifice my second child to a
man that loved her not?

ELINA.

Cunning words may beguile many, but they beguile not me——

Think not I know nothing of all that is passing in our land.
I understand your counsels but too well. I know that in you
the Danish lords have no true friend. It may be that you
hate them; but you fear them too. When you gave Merete to
Vinzents Lunge, the Danes held the mastery on all sides
throughout our land. Three years later, when you forbade
Lucia to wed the man to whom, though he had deceived her,
she had given her life—things were far different then. The
King’s Danish governors had shamefully misused the common
people, and you deemed it not wise to link yourself still
more closely to the foreign tyrants.

And what have you done to avenge her that was sent so young
to her grave? You have done nothing. Well then, I will act
in your stead; I will avenge all the shame they have brought
upon our people and our house!

LADY INGER.

You? What will you do?

ELINA.

I will go my way, even as you go yours. What I shall do I
myself know not; but I feel within me the strength to dare
all for our righteous cause.

LADY INGER.

Then have you a hard fight before you. I once promised as
you do now—and my hair has grown grey under the burden of
that promise.

ELINA.

Good-night! Your guest will soon be here, and at that
meeting I should be one too many.

It may be there is yet time for you——; well, God strengthen
and guide you on your path! Forget not that the eyes of many
thousands are fixed on you. Think on Merete, weeping late
and early over her wasted life. Think on Lucia, sleeping in
her black coffin.

And one thing more. Forget not that in the game you play
this night, your stake is your last child. [_Goes out to the
left_.

LADY INGER.

[_Looks after her awhile._] My last child? You know not how
true was that word——But the stake is not my child only. God
help me, I am playing to-night for the whole of Norway’s
land.

Ah—is not that some one riding through the gateway?
[_Listens at the window._

No; not yet. Only the wind; it blows cold as the grave——

Has God a right to do this?—To make me a woman—and then to
lay on my shoulders a man’s work?

For I have the welfare of the country in my hands. It is in
my power to make them rise as one man. They look to _me_ for
the signal; and if I give it not now—it may never be given.

To delay? To sacrifice the many for the sake of one?—Were it
not better if I could——? No, no, no—I _will_ not! I
_cannot_!

[_Steals a glance towards the Banquet Hall, but
turns away again as if in dread, and whispers:_

I can see them in there now. Pale spectres—dead
ancestors—fallen kinsfolk.—Ah, those eyes that pierce me
from every corner!

[_Makes a gesture of repulsion, and cries:_

Sten Sture! Knut Alfson! Olaf Skaktavl! Back—back!—I
_cannot_ do this!

[_A_ STRANGER, _strongly built, and with grizzled
hair and beard, has entered from the Banquet
Hall. He is dressed in a torn lambskin tunic;
his weapons are rusty._

THE STRANGER.

[_Stops in the doorway, and says in a low voice._] Hail to
you, Inger Gyldenlöve!

LADY INGER.

[_Turns with a scream._] Ah, Christ in heaven save me!

[_Falls back into a chair. The_ STRANGER _stands
gazing at her, motionless, leaning on his
sword._

-----

ACT SECOND

_The room at Östråt, as in the first Act._

LADY INGER GYLDENLÖVE _is seated at the table on the right,
by the window._ OLAF SKAKTAVL _is standing a little way
from her. Their faces show that they have been engaged
in a heated discussion._

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

For the last time, Inger Gyldenlöve—you are not to be moved
from your purpose?

LADY INGER.

I can do nought else. And my counsel to you is: do as I do.
If it be Heaven’s will that Norway perish utterly, perish it
must, for all we may do to save it.

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

And think you I can content my heart with that belief? Shall
I sit and look idly on, now that the hour is come? Do you
forget the reckoning I have against them? They have robbed
me of my lands, and parcelled them out among themselves. My
son, my only child, the last of my race, they have
slaughtered like a dog. Myself they have outlawed and hunted
through forest and fell these twenty years.—Once and again
have folk whispered of my death; but this I believe, that
they shall not lay me beneath the sod before I have seen my
vengeance.

LADY INGER.

There is there a long life before you. What have you in mind
to do?

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

Do? How should I know what I will do? It has never been my
part to plot and plan. That is where you must help me. You
have the wit for that. I have but my sword and my two arms.

LADY INGER.

Your sword is rusted, Olaf Skaktavl! All the swords in
Norway are rusted.

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

That is doubtless why some folk fight only with their
tongues.—Inger Gyldenlöve—great is the change in you. Time
was when the heart of a man beat in your breast.

LADY INGER.

Put me not in mind of what _was_.

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

’Tis for that very purpose I am here. You _shall_ hear me,
even if——

LADY INGER.

Be it so then; but be brief; for—I must say it—this is no
place of safety for you.

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

Östråt is no place of safety for an outlaw? That I have long
known. But you forget that an outlaw is unsafe wheresoever
he may wander.

LADY INGER.

Speak then; I will not hinder you.

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

’Tis nigh on thirty years now since first I saw you. It was
at Akershus[18] in the house of Knut Alfson and his wife.
You were little more than a child then; yet were you bold as
the soaring falcon, and wild and headstrong too at times.
Many were the wooers around you. I too held you dear—dear as
no woman before or since. But you cared for nothing, thought
of nothing, save your country’s evil case and its great
need.

LADY INGER.

I counted but fifteen summers then—remember that! And was it
not as though a frenzy had seized us all in those days?

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

Call it what you will; but one thing I know—even the old and
sober men among us thought it written in the counsels of the
Lord on high that you were she who should break our thraldom
and win us all our rights again. And more: you yourself then
thought as we did.

LADY INGER.

’Twas a sinful thought, Olaf Skaktavl. ’Twas my proud heart,
and not the Lord’s call, that spoke in me.

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

You _could_ have been the chosen one had you but willed it.
You came of the noblest blood in Norway; power and riches
were soon to be yours; and you had an ear for the cries of
anguish—then!

Do you remember that afternoon when Henrik Krummedike and
the Danish fleet anchored off Akershus? The captains of the
fleet offered terms of peace, and, trusting to the
safe-conduct, Knut Alfson rowed on board. Three hours later,
we bore him through the castle gate——

LADY INGER.

A corpse; a corpse!

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

The best heart in Norway burst, when Krummedike’s hirelings
struck him down. Methinks I still can see the long
procession that passed into the banquet-hall, heavily, two
by two. There he lay on his bier, white as a spring cloud,
with the axe-cleft in his brow. I may safely say that the
boldest men in Norway were gathered there that night. Lady
Margrete stood by her dead husband’s head, and we swore as
one man to venture lands and life to avenge this last
misdeed and all that had gone before.—Inger Gyldenlöve,—who
was it that burst through the circle of men? A maiden—almost
a child—with fire in her eyes and her voice half choked with
tears.—What was it she swore? Shall I repeat your words?

LADY INGER.

I swore what the rest of you swore; neither more nor less.

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

You remember your oath—and yet you have forgotten it.

LADY INGER.

And how did the others keep their promise? I speak not of
you, Olaf Skaktavl, but of your friends, all Norway’s
nobles? Not one of them, in all these years, has had the
courage to be a man; yet they lay it to my charge that I am
a woman.

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

I know what you would say. Why have they bent to the yoke,
and not defied the tyrants to the last? ’Tis but too true;
there is base metal enough in our noble houses nowadays. But
had they held together—who knows what then might have been?
And you could have held them together, for before you all
had bowed.

LADY INGER.

My answer were easy enough, but ’twould scarce content you.
So let us leave speaking of what cannot be changed. Tell me
rather what has brought you to Östråt. Do you need harbour?
Well, I will try to hide you. If you would have aught else,
speak out; you shall find me ready——

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

For twenty years have I been homeless. In the mountains of
Jæmteland my hair has grown grey. My dwelling has been with
wolves and bears.—You see, Lady Inger—_I_ need you not; but
both nobles and people stand in sore need of you.

LADY INGER.

The old burden.

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

Ay, it sounds but ill in your ears, I know; yet hear it you
must, for all that. In brief, then: I come from Sweden:
troubles are brewing: the Dales are ready to rise.

LADY INGER.

I know it.

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

Peter Kanzler[19] is with us—secretly, you understand.

LADY INGER.

[_Starting._] Peter Kanzler?

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

’Tis he that has sent me to Östråt.

LADY INGER.

[_Rises._] Peter Kanzler, say you?

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

He himself;—but mayhap you no longer know him?

LADY INGER.

[_Half to herself._] Only too well!—But tell me, I pray
you,—what message do you bring?

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

When the rumour of the rising reached the border mountains,
where I then was, I set off at once into Sweden. ’Twas not
hard to guess that Peter Kanzler had a finger in the game. I
sought him out and offered to stand by him;—he knew me of
old, as you know, and knew that he could trust me; so he has
sent me hither.

LADY INGER.

[_Impatiently._] Yes yes,—he sent you hither to——?

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

[_With secrecy._] Lady Inger—a stranger comes to Östråt
to-night.

LADY INGER.

[_Surprised._] What? Know you that——?

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

Assuredly I know it. I know all. ’Twas to meet him that
Peter Kanzler sent me hither.

LADY INGER.

To meet him? Impossible, Olaf Skaktavl,—impossible!

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

’Tis as I tell you. If he be not already come, he will
soon——

LADY INGER.

Doubtless, doubtless; but——

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

Then you knew of his coming?

LADY INGER.

Ay, surely. He sent me a message. ’Twas therefore they
opened to you as soon as you knocked.

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

[_Listens._] Hush!—some one is riding along the road. [_Goes
to the window._] They are opening the gate.

LADY INGER.

[_Looks out._] It is a knight and his attendant. They are
dismounting in the courtyard.

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

’Tis he then. His name?

LADY INGER.

You know not his name?

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

Peter Kanzler refused to tell it me. He would say no more
than that I should find him at Östråt the third evening
after Martinmas——

LADY INGER.

Ay; even to-night.

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

He was to bring letters with him; and from them, and from
you, I was to learn who he is.

LADY INGER.

Then let me lead you to your chamber. You have need of rest
and refreshment. You shall soon have speech with the
stranger.

OLAF SKAKTAVL.

Well, be it as you will.

[_Both go out to the left._

[_After a short pause_, FINN _enters cautiously by
the door on the right, looks round the room, and
peeps into the Banquet Hall; he then goes back
to the door, and makes a sign to some one
outside. Immediately after, enter_ COUNCILLOR
NILS LYKKE _and the Swedish Commander_, JENS
BIELKE.

NILS LYKKE.

[_Softly._] No one?

FINN.

[_In the same tone._] No one, master!

NILS LYKKE.

And we may depend on you in all things?

FINN.

The commandant in Trondhiem has ever given me a name for
trustiness.

NILS LYKKE.

’Tis well; he has said as much to me. First of all, then—has
there come any stranger to Östråt to-night, before us?

FINN.

Ay; a stranger came an hour since.

NILS LYKKE.

[_Softly, to_ JENS BIELKE.] He is here. [_Turns again to_
FINN.] Would you know him again? Have you seen him?

FINN.

Nay, none has seen him, that I know, but the gatekeeper. He
was brought at once to Lady Inger, and she——

NILS LYKKE.

Well? What of her? He is not gone again already?

FINN.

No; but it seems she holds him hidden in one of her own
rooms; for——

NILS LYKKE.

It is well.

JENS BIELKE.

[_Whispers._] Then the first thing is to put a guard on the
gate; so are we sure of him.

NILS LYKKE.

[_With a smile._] H’m! [_To_ FINN.] Tell me—is there any way
of leaving the castle, save by the gate? Gape not at me so!
I mean—can one escape from Östråt unseen, though the castle
gate be barred?

FINN.

Nay, that I know not. ’Tis true they talk of secret ways in
the vaults beneath; but no one knows them save Lady
Inger—and mayhap Mistress Elina.

JENS BIELKE.

The devil!

NILS LYKKE.

It is well. You may go.

FINN.

Should you need me in aught again, you have but to open the
second door on the right in the Banquet Hall, and I shall
presently be at hand.

NILS LYKKE.

Good.

[_Points to the entrance-door._ FINN _goes out._

JENS BIELKE.

Now, by my soul, dear friend and brother—this campaign is
like to end but scurvily for both of us.

NILS LYKKE.

[_With a smile._] Oh—not for me, I hope.

JENS BIELKE.

Say you so? First of all, there is little honour to be won
in hunting an overgrown whelp like this Nils Sture. Are we
to think him mad or in his sober senses after the pranks he
has played? First he breeds bad blood among the peasants;
promises them help and all their hearts can desire;—and
then, when it comes to the pinch, off he runs to hide behind
a petticoat!

Moreover, to say truth, I repent that I followed your
counsel and went not my own way.

NILS LYKKE.

[_To himself._] Your repentance comes somewhat late, my
brother!

JENS BIELKE.

For, let me tell you, I have never loved digging at a
badger’s earth. I looked for quite other sport. Here have I
ridden all the way from Jæmteland with my horsemen, and have
got me a warrant from the Trondhiem commandant to search for
the rebel wheresoever I please. All his tracks point towards
Östråt——

NILS LYKKE.

He is here! He is here, I tell you!

JENS BIELKE.

Were it not liker, in that case, that we had found the gate
barred and well guarded? Would that we had; then could I
have found use for my men-at-arms——

NILS LYKKE.

But instead, the gate is very courteously thrown open to us.
Mark now—if Inger Gyldenlöve’s fame belie her not, I warrant
she will not let her guests lack for either meat or drink.

JENS BIELKE.

Ay, to turn us aside from our errand! And what wild whim was
that of yours to have me leave my horsemen half a league
from the castle? Had we come in force——

NILS LYKKE.

She had made us none the less welcome for _that_. But mark
well that then our coming had made a stir. The peasants
round about had held it for an outrage against Lady Inger;
she had risen high in their favour once more—and with that,
look you, we were ill served.

JENS BIELKE.

May be so. But what am I to do now? Count Sture is in
Östråt, you say. Ay, but how does that profit me? Be sure
Lady Inger Gyldenlöve has as many hiding-places as the fox,
and more than one outlet to them. You and I, alone, may go
snuffing about here as long as we please. I would the devil
had the whole affair!

NILS LYKKE.

Well, then, my friend—if you like not the turn your errand
has taken, you have but to leave the field to me.

JENS BIELKE.

To you? What will you do?

NILS LYKKE.

Caution and cunning may in this matter prove of more avail
than force of arms.—And to say truth, Captain Jens
Bielke—something of the sort has been in my mind ever since
we met in Trondhiem yesterday.

JENS BIELKE.

Was that why you persuaded me to leave the men-at-arms?

NILS LYKKE.

Both your purpose at Östråt and mine could best be served
without them; and so——

JENS BIELKE.

The foul fiend seize you—I had almost said! And me to boot!
Might I not have known that there is guile in all your
dealings?

NILS LYKKE.

Be sure I shall need all my guile here, if I am to face my
foe with even weapons. And let me tell you, ’tis of the
utmost moment to me that I acquit me of my mission secretly
and well. You must know that when I set forth I was scarce
in favour with my lord the King. He held me in suspicion;
though I dare swear I have served him as well as any man
could, in more than one ticklish charge.

JENS BIELKE.

That you may safely boast. God and all men know you for the
craftiest devil in all the three kingdoms.

NILS LYKKE.

I thank you! Though, after all, ’tis not much to say. But
this present errand I count as indeed a crowning test of my
powers; for here I have to outwit a woman——

JENS BIELKE.

Ha-ha-ha! In _that_ art you have long since given crowning
proofs of your skill, dear brother. Think you we in Sweden
know not the song— Fair maidens a-many they sigh and they
pine: “Ah God, that Nils Lykke were mine, mine, mine!”

NILS LYKKE.

Alas, ’tis women of twenty and thereabouts that ditty
speaks of. Lady Inger Gyldenlöve is nigh on fifty, and
wily to boot beyond all women. ’Twill be no light matter
to overmatch her. But it _must_ be done—at any cost.
Should I contrive to win certain advantages over her that
the King has long desired, I can reckon on the embassy to
France next spring. You know that I spent three years at
the University in Paris? My whole soul is set on coming
thither again, most of all if I can appear in lofty place,
a king’s ambassador.—Well, then—is it agreed—do you leave
Lady Inger to me? Remember—when you were last at Court in
Copenhagen, I made way for you with more than one fair
lady——

JENS BIELKE.

Nay, truly now—that generosity cost you little; one and all
of them were at your beck and call. But let that pass; now
that I have begun amiss in this matter, I had as lief that
you should take it on your shoulders. Yet _one_ thing you
must promise—if the young Count Sture be in Östråt, you will
deliver him into my hands, dead or alive!

NILS LYKKE.

You shall have him all alive. I, at any rate, mean not to
kill him. But now you must ride back and join your people.
Keep guard on the road. Should I mark aught that mislikes
me, you shall know it forthwith.

JENS BIELKE.

Good, good. But how am I to get out——?

NILS LYKKE.

The fellow that brought us in will show the way. But go
quietly——

JENS BIELKE.

Of course, of course. Well—good fortune to you!

NILS LYKKE.

Fortune has never failed me in a war with women. Haste you
now!

[JENS BIELKE _goes out to the right._

NILS LYKKE.

[_Stands still for a while; then walks about the room,
looking round him; then he says softly:_] At last, then, I
am at Östråt—the ancient hall whereof a child, two years
ago, told me so much.

Lucia. Ay, two years ago she was still a child. And now—now
she is dead. [_Hums with a half-smile._] “Blossoms plucked
are blossoms withered——”

[_Looks round him again._

Östråt. ’Tis as though I had seen it all before; as though I
were at home here.—In there is the Banquet Hall. And
underneath is—the grave-vault. It must be there that Lucia
lies.

[_In a lower voice, half seriously, half with forced
gaiety._