—­Signe and Hegge have umlauts above the e’s, the
  ultimate e only in Hegge. 
—­Passages that are in lyric form are not indented
  and have the directorial comments to the right of
  the character’s name.

THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG

PLAY IN THREE ACTS

ACT FIRST

A stately room, with doors in the back and to both sides.  In front
    on the right, a bay window with small round panes, set in lead,
    and near the window a table, on which is a quantity of feminine
    ornaments.  Along the left wall, a longer table with silver
    goblets and drinking-horns.  The door in the back leads out
    to a passage-way,* through which can be seen a spacious
    fiord-landscape.

BENGT GAUTESON, MARGIT, KNUT GESLING and ERIK OF HEGGE are seated
    around the table on the left.  In the background are KNUT’s
    followers, some seated, some standing; one or two flagons of
    ale are handed round among them.  Far off are heard church
    bells, ringing to Mass.

This no doubt means a sort of arcaded veranda running along the outer wall of the house.

ERIK.

[Rising at the table.] In one word, now, what answer have you to make to my wooing on Knut Gesling’s behalf?

BENGT.

[Glancing uneasily towards his wife.] Well, I—­to me it seems—­ [As she remains silent.] H’m, Margit, let us first hear your thought in the matter.

MARGIT.

[Rising.] Sir Knut Gesling, I have long known all that Erik of Hegge has told of you.  I know full well that you come of a lordly house; you are rich in gold and gear, and you stand in high favour with our royal master.

BENGT.

  [To KNUT.] In high favour—­so say I too.

MARGIT.

  And doubtless my sister could choose her no doughtier mate—­

BENGT.

  None doughtier; that is what I say too.

MARGIT.

  —­If so be that you can win her to think kindly of you.

BENGT.

  [Anxiously, and half aside.] Nay—­nay, my dear wife—­

KNUT.

[Springing up.] Stands it so, Dame Margit!  You think that your sister—­

BENGT.

[Seeking to calm him.] Nay, nay, Knut Gesling!  Have patience, now.  You must understand us aright.

MARGIT.

There is naught in my words to wound you.  My sister knows you only by the songs that are made about you—­and these songs sound but ill in gentle ears.