But, to prevent all misconception, I will now myself give a short account of the origin of The Feast at Solhoug.

I began this Preface with the statement that The Feast at Solhoug was written in the summer 1855.

In 1854 I had written Lady Inger of Ostrat.  This was a task which had obliged me to devote much attention to the literature and history of Norway during the Middle Ages, especially the latter part of that period.  I did my utmost to familiarise myself with the manners and customs, with the emotions, thought, and language of the men of those days.

The period, however, is not one over which the student is tempted to linger, nor does it present much material suitable for dramatic treatment.

Consequently I soon deserted it for the Saga period.  But the Sagas of the Kings, and in general the more strictly historical traditions of that far-off age, did not attract me greatly; at that time I was unable to put the quarrels between kings and chieftains, parties and clans, to any dramatic purpose.  This was to happen later.

In the Icelandic “family” Sagas, on the other hand, I found in abundance what I required in the shape of human garb for the moods, conceptions, and thoughts which at that time occupied me, or were, at least, more or less distinctly present in my mind.  With these Old Norse contributions to the personal history of our Saga period I had had no previous acquaintance; I had hardly so much as heard them named.  But now N. M. Petersen’s excellent translation—­ excellent, at least, as far as the style is concerned—­fell into my hands.  In the pages of these family chronicles, with their variety of scenes and of relations between man and man, between woman and woman, in short, between human being and human being, there met me a personal, eventful, really living life; and as the result of my intercourse with all these distinctly individual men and women, there presented themselves to my mind’s eye the first rough, indistinct outlines of The Vikings at Helgeland.

How far the details of that drama then took shape, I am no longer able to say.  But I remember perfectly that the two figures of which I first caught sight were the two women who in course of time became Hiordis and Dagny.  There was to be a great banquet in the play, with passion-rousing, fateful quarrels during its course.  Of other characters and passions, and situations produced by these, I meant to include whatever seemed to me most typical of the life which the Sagas reveal.  In short, it was my intention to reproduce dramatically exactly what the Saga of the Volsungs gives in epic form.

I made no complete, connected plan at that time; but it was evident to me that such a drama was to be my first undertaking.

Various obstacles intervened.  Most of them were of a personal nature, and these were probably the most decisive; but it undoubtedly had its significance that I happened just at this time to make a careful study of Landstad’s collection of Norwegian ballads, published two years previously.  My mood of the moment was more in harmony with the literary romanticism of the Middle Ages than with the deeds of the Sagas, with poetical than with prose composition, with the word-melody of the ballad than with the characterisation of the Saga.