OLAF. I realize it, mother, full well!
LADY KIRSTEN. And Ingeborg, whom you have betrothed
and who loves you, yes, Olaf! loves you with all her
heart—the punishment of heaven would be
visited on you, in case you—
OLAF. True, true!
LADY KIRSTEN. I will not speak of our own circumstances;
but you can easily see that Arne’s daughter
can help us greatly in one thing or another; our affairs
have been going from bad to worse, and if the harvest
should fail this year I should not in the least be
surprised if we had to take up the beggar’s staff.
OLAF. Yes, I know it.
LADY KIRSTEN. With Arne’s money we can
mend everything; an honorable place you will win for
yourself among the king’s men. Think this
carefully over; if you have promised Alfhild more than
you can fulfil—and I seem to notice in her
something like that in spite of her quiet demeanor—why,
speak with her about it. Tell her,—well,
tell her anything you please; empty-handed she shall
not go away from here,—that you can freely
promise. See, here she comes! Olaf, my
son! think of your betrothed and your noble race,
think of your old mother who would have to go to her
grave in shame, in case—be a man, Olaf!
Now I go in to look after the banqueting table.
[Goes into the house.]
* * *
* *
[OLAF alone.]
OLAF. [Gazes out to the right.]
As merry she is as the youthful roe,
As it plays with no thought of the morrow;
But soon will she wring her small hands in woe,
And suffer in anguish and sorrow!
Soon must I destroy the faith in her heart,
And waken her out of her dreams.
And then—yes, then we forever must part.
Poor Alfhild! So bitter your fate to me seems!
OLAF. [Brooding.]
What cared I for honor, what cared I for power,
What mattered my race when I wandered with you!
It seemed in your eyes was reflected a flower,
More precious than any the world ever knew!
Forgotten I had both struggle and strife,
But since I again came home to this life,
Since at table I sat in my father’s hall,
Since I went to answer my mother’s call—
OLAF. [Abruptly.] ’Tis true from a noble race
I am born,
And Alfhild lives up in the mountains forlorn.
In her I should find but a constant sorrow.
I must tell her—yet, no, I can’t
let her know!
Yet truly—I must—I must ere
the morrow,
She must hear what to me is the bitterest woe!
* * *
* *
[OLAF. ALFHILD from the church.]
ALFHILD. [Runs eagerly to meet him.]
Olaf! Olaf! You have led me to the land
Where I walk amid flowers, where before I trod on
sand.
In truth you have here so pleasant an isle,
O here I can live without worry or guile!
So much I would question, so little I know,
The riddles must you explain as we go.—
Is it green here always in summer and spring?
