Like a ruined castle.
And there, on that spot—the middle one—I’ll build my royal castle.
It’s cold up there, and windy.
I’ll have thick stone walls and large windows with all the panes made out of a single piece of glass. At night, when the winter snowstorms begin to rage and the fjord below to roar, we’ll draw the curtains and make a fire in the huge fireplace. It is such a tremendous fireplace that it will hold a whole log. It will burn up a whole forest of pines.
How nice and warm.
And how quiet too, if you will please notice. Carpets covering the whole, floor and lots of books will make it cosy and quietly lively. And we’ll be there, the two of us. The wind howling outside and we two sitting before the fireplace on a white bear-skin rug. “Wouldn’t you like to have a look at what’s doing outside?” you’ll say. “All right!” And we’ll go to the largest window and draw aside the curtain. Good heavens! What a sight!
See the snow whirling.
Galloping like white horses, like myriads of frightened little spirits, pale with fear and seeking safety in the night. And what a howling and roaring!
Oh, it’s cold. I’m shivering.
Go back to the fireplace, quick! Hey there, fetch me grandfather’s goblet—not that one, the golden one from which the vikings drank. Fill it up with sparkling wine—not that way—fill it to the brim with the burning draught. Venison is roasting on the spit. Bring it here. I’ll eat some. Quick, or I’ll eat you. I’m hungry as the devil.
There, they have brought it. Now, go on.
Go on? I’ll eat some, of course. What else do you expect? What are you doing to my head, little wife?
I am the goddess of fame. I have woven a crown of the oak leaves that our neighbors scattered here, and I’m crowning you. It’s Fame that has come to you, the beautiful goddess Fame. (Puts the wreath on his head)
Yes, fame; loud, noisy fame. Look at the wall. Do you see this? It’s I, walking. And who is this next to me? Do you see?