[The HOUSE SERVANTS rush in one by one without torches
and stand as if turned to stone. OLAF comes
into view up in the opening, which he seeks to widen
with desperate efforts.]
OLAF. Alfhild! ’Tis you! So
might I have known! If only from out of this
danger you save me, ’T is silver and gold you
shall hereafter own!
ALFHILD. [With wild laughter.]
Too well I remember the promise you gave me!
Now ride to the church with minstrel and priest!
Now hold your wedding,—forget all the rest!
Alfhild has honored you as she knew best,—
The torch she has swung at your bridal feast!
[She rushes out at the back. The SERVANTS hasten
to lend their help; a part of the roof falls in; OLAF
is seen high amidst the flames as the curtain falls.]
* * *
* *
[A sunny valley, rich in flowers, trees, and vegetation
of all kinds, and surrounded by lofty snow-capped
mountains. In the center of the background a
quiet mountain tarn; on the left side a rocky cliff
which drops straight down to the water. On the
same side nearer the front of the stage a very old
log hut, almost entirely hidden in the dense shrubbery.
The glow of dawn shines over the mountains; in the
valley itself the day is only half begun; during the
following scene’s the sun rises.]
[ALFHILD lies sleeping and half concealed among the
bushes beside the hut; soft music indicates her shifting
dreams. OLAF comes down the hillside to the
right. Over his wedding clothes he wears a coarse
cloak.]
OLAF. Here it was; I know the green there this
side of the tarn. It was yonder beneath the linden
tree that I dreamed my strange dream. On the
slope of the mountain there I stood when Alfhild for
the first time came to meet me; I placed my betrothal
ring on the string of my bow and shot;—that
shot has proved a magic shot; it struck the huntsman
himself.
OLAF. It is strange that when I wander up here,
far from the village below, it seems as if another
atmosphere played around me, as if a more vigorous
blood flowed in my veins, as if I had another mind,
another soul.
OLAF. Where is she now?
OLAF. I shall,—I will find her again!
Up here she must come; she has no home out there
in the cold wide world. And I—am I
not also a homeless fugitive? Did I not become
a stranger in my mother’s house, a stranger
among my kinsmen, the very first hour I met her?
OLAF. Is she then a witch,—has she
power over secret arts as—?
OLAF. My mother! Hm! It seems to
me it would scarcely be well for me to allow her to
manage my life; she insinuates thoughts into my heart
which do not belong there. No, no, I will find
Alfhild again and ask forgiveness for the wrong I have
done, and then—
