creator is the fact that he has imprinted on it the stamp
of his own personality. Therefore I hold that, in spite
of the above-mentioned points of resemblance, Svend
Dyrimfs House is as incontestably and entirely an orig-
inal work by Henrik Hertz as KatJichen von Heilbronn
is an original work by Heinrich von Kleist.
I advance the same claim on my own behalf as re-
gards The Feast at Solhoug, and I trust that, for the
future, each of the three namesakes^ will be permitted
to keep, in its entirety, what rightfully belongs to him.
In writing of The Feast at Solhoug in connection with
Svend Dyring's House, George Brandes expresses the
opinion, not that the former play is founded upon any
idea borrowed from the latter, but that it has been writ-
ten under an influence exercised by the older author
upon the younger. Brandes invariably criticises my
work in such a friendly spirit that I have all reason to
be obliged to him for this suggestion, as for so much else.
* Heinrich von Kleist, Henrik Hertz, Henrik Ibsen.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION 201
Nevertheless I must maintain that he, too, is in this
instance mistaken. I have never specially admired Hen-
rik Hertz as a dramatist. Hence it is impossible for me
to believe that he should, unknown to myself, have been
able to exercise any influence on my dramatic production.
As regards this point, and the matter in general, I
might confine myself to referring those interested to the
writings of Dr. Valfrid Vasenius, lecturer on ^Esthetics at
the University of Helsingfors. In the thesis which gained
him his degree of Doctor of Philosophy, Henrik Ibsen's
Dramatic Poetry in its First Stage (1879), and also in
Henrik Ibsen: The Portrait of a Skald (Jos. Seligman &
Co., Stockholm, 1882), Vasenius states and supports his
views on the subject of the play at present in question,
supplementing them in the latter work by what I told
him, very briefly, when we were together at Munich three
years ago.
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 of 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 cus-
toms, with the emotions, thoughts, and language, of the
men of those days.
The period, however, is not one over which the stu-
dent is tempted to linger, nor does it present much mate-
rial suitable for dramatic treatment.
202 THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG
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. Peter-
sen'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 lielgeland.
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
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION 203
produced by these, I meant to include whatever seemed
to me most t}-pical of the Hfe 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. jNIost 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 po-
etical than with prose composition, with the word-mel-
ody of the ballad than with the characterisation of the
Saga.
Thus it happened that the fermenting, formless design
for the tragedy. The Vikings at HeJgeland, transformed
itself temporarily into the lyric drama, Tlie Feast at Sol-
houg.
The two female charac!:ers, the foster-sisters Hiordis
and Dagny, of the projected tragedy, became the sisters
Margit and Signe of the completed IjtIc drama. The
derivation of the latter pair from the two women of the
Saga at once becomes apparent when attention is drawn
to it. The relationship is unmistakable. The tragic
hero, so far only vaguely outlined, Sigurd, the far-travelled
Viking, the welcome guest at the courts of kings, became
204 THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG
the knight and minstrel, Gudmund Alfson, who has
Hkewise been long absent in foreign lands, and has lived
in the king's household. His attitude towards the two
sisters was changed, to bring it into accordance with the
change in time and circumstances; but the position of
both sisters to him remained practically the same as that
in the projected and afterwards completed tragedy. The
fateful banquet, the presentation of which had seemed
to me of the first importance in my original plan, became
in the drama the scene upon which its personages made
their appearance; it became the background against
which the action stood out, and communicated to the
picture as a whole the general tone at which I aimed.
The ending of the play was, undoubtedly, softened and
subdued into harmony with its character as drama, not
tragedy; but orthodox sestheticians may still, perhaps,
find it disputable whether, in this ending, a touch of
pure tragedy has not been left behind, to testify to the
oriffin of the drama.
Upon this subject, however, I shall not enter further
at present. My object has simply been to maintain and
prove that the play under consideration, like all my other
dramatic works, is an inevitable outcome of the tenor of
my life at a certain period. It had its origin within, and
was not the result of any outward impression or influence
This, and no other, is the true account of the genesis
of The Feast at Solhoug.
Henrik Ibsen.
Rome, April, 1883.
THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG
(1856)
CHARACTERS
Bengt Gauteson, Master of Solhoug
Margit, his wife.
SiGNE, her sister.
GuDMUND Alfson, their kinsman.
Knut Gesling, the King's sheriff.
Erik of Hegge, his friend.
A House-carl.
Another House-carl.
The King's Envoy.
An Old Man.
A Maiden.
Guests, both Men and liADiEs,
Men of Knut Gesling's Train.
Serving-Men and Maidens at Solhoug.
The action passes at Solhoug in the Fourteenth Century.
[Pronunciation of Names: Gndmnwd = Goodmoond. The
g in "Margit" and in "Gesling" is hard, as in "go," or, in
"GesHng," it may be pronounced as y — "Yeshng." The first
in "Solhoug" ought to have the sound of a very long "oo."]
THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG
PLAY IN THREE ACTS
ACT FIRST
A stately room, icith doors in the hack and to both sides.
In front, on the right, a bay window with small round
panes, set in lead, arid near the window a table, on
which is a quantity of feminine ornaments. Along
the left wall, a longer table witJc silver goblets, beakers
and drinking-horns. The door in the back leads out
to a passage-way,^ through which can be seen a spa-
cious 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.
Erik.
[Rising at the table.] In one word, now, what answer
have you to make to my wooing on Knut Gesling's
behalf ?
' This no doubt means a sort of arcaded veranda running along
the outer wall of the house.
207
208 THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG [act i
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 —
ACT I] THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG 209
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.
No peaceful home is your father's house.
With your lawless, reckless crew,
Day out, day in, must you hold carouse —
God help her who mates with you.
God help the maiden you lure or buy
With gold and with forests green —
Soon will her sore heart long to lie
Still in the grave, I ween.
Erik.
Aye, aye — true enough — Knut Gesling lives not over-
peaceably. But there will soon come a change in that,
when he gets him a wife in his hall.
Knut,
And this I would have you mark. Dame Margit: it
may be a week since, I was at a feast at Hegge, at Erik's
bidding, whom here you see. The ale was strong; and
as the evening wore on I vowed a vow that Signe, your
fair sister, should be my wife, and that before the year
was out. Never shall it be said of Knut Gesling that he
brake any vow. You can see, then, that you must e'en
choose me for your sister's husband — be it with your
will or against it.
210 THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG [act i
Margit.
Ere that may be, I must tell you plain.
You must rid yourself of your ravening train.
You must scour no longer with yell and shout
O'er the country-side in a galloping rout;
You must still the shudder that spreads around
When Knut Gesling is to a bride-ale bound.
Courteous must your mien be when a-feasting you ride;
Let your battle-axe hang at home at the chimney-side —
It ever sits loose in your hand, well you know.
When the mead has gone round and your brain is aglow.
From no man his rightful gear shall you wrest,
You shall harm no harmless maiden;
You shall send to no man the shameless hest
That when his path crosses yours, he were best
Come with his grave-clothes laden.
And if you will so bear you till the year be past,
You may win my sister for your bride at last.
Knut.
[With suppressed rage.] You know how to order your
words cunningly. Dame Margit. Truly, you should have
been a priest, and not your husband's wife.
Bengt.
Oh, for that matter, I too could —
Knut.
[Paying no heed to him.] But I would have you take
note that had a sword-bearing man spoken to me in such
wise —
ACT I] THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG 211
Bengt.
Nay, but listen, Knut Gesling — you must understand
us!
Knut.
[As before.] Well, briefly, he should have learnt that
the axe sits loose in my hand, as you said but now.
Bengt.
[Softly.] There we have it! Margit, Margit, this will
never end well.
Margit.
[To Knut.] You asked for a forthright answer, and
that I have given you.
Knut.
Well, well; I will not reckon too closely with you, Dame
Margit. You have more wit than all the rest of us to-
gether. Here is my hand; — it may be there was some-
what of reason in the keen-edged words you spoke to
me.
Margit.
This I like well; now are you already on the right
way to amendment. Yet one word more — to-day we
hold a feast at Solhoug.
Knut.
A feast ?
Bengt.
Yes, Knut Gesling: you must know that it is our
wedding-day; this day three years ago made me Dame
Margit's husband.
212 THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG [act i
Margit.
[Impatiently, interrupting.] As I said, we hold a feast
to-day. When Mass is over, and your other business
done, I would have you ride hither again, and join in the
banquet. Then you can learn to know my sister.
Knut.
So be it, Dame Margit; I thank you. Yet 'twas not to
go to Mass that I rode hither this morning. Your kins-
man, Gudmund Alfson, was the cause of my coming.
Margit.
[Starts.] He ! My kinsman ? Where would you seek
him ?
Knut.
His homestead lies behind the headland, on the other
side of the fiord.
Margit.
But he himself is far away.
Erik.
Be not so sure; he may be nearer than you think.
Knut.
[Whispers.] Hold your peace!
Margit.
Nearer ? What mean you ?
ACT I] THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG 213
Knut.
Have you not heard, then, that Gudmund Alfson has
come back to Norway ? He came with the Chancellor
Audun of Hegranes, who was sent to France to bring
home our new Queen.
Margit.
True enough; but in these very days the King holds
his wedding-feast in full state at Bergen, and there is
Gudmund Alfson a guest.
Bengt.
And there could we too have been guests had my wife
so willed it.
Erik.
[Aside to Knut.] Then Dame Margit knows not
that— ?
Knut.
[Aside.] So it would seem; but keep your counsel.
[Aloud.] Well, well. Dame Margit, I must go my way
none the less, and see what may betide. At nightfall I
will be here again.
Margit.
And then you must show whether you have power to
bridle your unruly spirit.
Bengt.
Aye, mark you that.
Margit.
You must lay no hand on your axe — hear you, Knut
Gesling ?
214 THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG [act i
Bengt.
Neither on your axe, nor on your knife, nor on any
other weapon whatsoever.
Margit.
For then can you never hope to be one of our kindred!
Bengt.
Nay, that is our firm resolve.
Knut.
[To Margit.] Have no fear.
Bengt.
And what we have firmly resolved stands fast.
Knut.
That I like well. Sir Bengt Gauteson. I, too, say the
same; and I have pledged myself at the feast-board to
wed your kinswoman. You may be sure that my pledge,
too, will stand fast. — God's peace till to-night!
[He and Erik, with their men, go out at the back.
[Bengt accompanies them to the door. The sound of
the bells has in the meantime ceased.
Bengt.
[Returning.] Methought he seemed to threaten us as
he departed.
Margit.
[Absently.] Aye, so it seemed.
ACT I] THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG 215
Bengt.
Knut Gesling is an ill man to fall out with. And,
when I bethink me, we gave him overmany hard words.
But come, let us not brood over that. To-day we must
be merry, Margit! — as I trow we have both good reason
to be.
Margit.
[With a weary smile.] Aye, surely, surely.
Bengt.
'Tis true I was no mere stripling when I courted you.
But well I wot I was the richest man for many and many
a mile. You were a fair maiden, and nobly born; but
your dowry would have tempted no wooer.
Margit.
[To herself.] Yet was I then so rich.
Bengt.
What said you, my wife r
Margit.
Oh, nothing, nothing. [Crosses to the right.] I will
deck me with pearls and rings. Is not to-night a time
of rejoicing for me?
Bengt.
I am fain to hear you say it. Let me see that you
deck you in your best attire, that our guests may say:
Happy she who mated with Bengt Gauteson. — But now
must I to the larder; there are many things to-day that
must not be overlooked. [He goes out to the left.
216 THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG [act i
Margit,
Siiiks down on a chair hy the table on the right.
'Twas well he departed. While here he remains
Meseems the blood freezes within my veins;
Meseems that a crushing might and cold
My heart in its clutches doth still enfold.
[With tears slie cannot repress.
He is my husband! lam his wife!
How long, how long lasts a woman's life?
Sixty years, mayhap — God pity me
Who am not yet full twenty-three!
[More calmly, after a short silence.
Hard, so long in a gilded cage to pine;
Hard a hopeless prisoner's lot — and mine.
[Absently fingering the ornaments on the table, and
beginning to 'put them on.
With rings, and with jewels, and all of my best
By his order myself I am decking —
But oh, if to-day were my burial-feast,
'Twerc little that I'd be recking. [Breaking off.
But if thus I brood I must needs despair;
I know a song that can lighten care. [She sings.
The Hill-King to the sea did ride;
— Oh, sad are my days and dreary —
To woo a maiden to be his bride.
— I am waiting for thee, I am weary. —
The Hill-King rode to Sir Hakon's hold;
— Oh, sad are my days and dreary —
Little Kirslen sat combing her locks of gold.
— I am waiting for thee, I am weary. —
ACT I] THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG 217
The Hill-King wedded the maiden fair;
— Oh, sad are my days and dreary —
A silvern girdle she ever must vi^ear.
— I am waiting for thee, I am weary. —
The Hill-King wedded the lily-wand,
— Oh, sad are my days and dreary —
With fifteen gold rings on either hand.
— I am waiting for thee, I am weary. —
Three summers passed, and there passed full five;
— Oh, sad are my days and dreary —
In the hill little Kirsten was buried alive.
— I am waiting for thee, I am weary. —
Five summers passed, and there passed full nine;
— Oh, sad are my days and dreary —
Little Kirsten ne'er saw the glad sunshine.
— I am waiting for thee, I am weary. —
In the dale there are flowers and the birds' blithe song;
— Oh, sad are my days and dreary —
In the hill there is gold and the night is long
— I am waiting for thee, I am weary. —
[She rises and crosses the room.
How oft in the gloaming would Gudmund sing
This song in my father's hall.
There was somewhat in it— some strange, sad thing
That took my heart in thrall;
Though I scarce understood, I could ne'er forget —
And the words and the thoughts they haunt me yet.
[Stops horror-struck.
218 THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG [act i
Rinss of red ijold! And a belt beside — !
'Twas with gold the Hill-King wedded his bride!
[In despair; sinks down on a bench beside the table
on the left.
Woe! Woe! I myself am the Hill-King's wife!
And there cometh none to free me from the prison of my
life.
[SiGNE, radiant with gladness, comes running 171 from
the back.
SlGNJ^.
[Calling.] Margit, Margit, — he is coming!
Margit.
[Starting up.] Coming ? Who is coming ?
SiGNE.
Gudmund, our kinsman!
Margit.
Gudmund Alfson! Here! How can you think — ?
SiGNE.
Oh, I am sure of it.
Margit.
[Crosses to the rigid.] Gudmund Alfson is at the wed-
ding-feast in the King's hall; you know that as well as I.
Signe.
Maybe; but none the less I am sure it was he.
Margit.
Have you seen him ?
ACT I] THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG 219
SiGXE.
Oh, no, no; but I must tell you —
Margit.
Yes, haste you — tell on!
SiGNE.
'Twas early morn, and the church bells rang.
To Mass I was fain to ride;
The birds in the willows twittered and sang.
In the birch-groves far and wide.
All earth was glad in the clear, sweet day;
And from church it had well-nigh staved me;
For still, as I rode down the shady way.
Each rosebud beguiled and delayed me.
Silently into the church I stole;
The priest at the altar was bending;
He chanted and read, and with awe in their soul,
The folk to God's word were attending.
Then a voice rang out o'er the fiord so blue;
And the carven angels, the whole church through.
Turned round, methought, to listen thereto.
Margit.
O Signe, say on! Tell me all, tell me all!
SiGNE.
'Twas as though a strange, irresistible call
Summoned me forth from the worshipping flock,
Over hill and dale, over mead and rock.
'Mid the silver birches I listening trod,
220 THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG [act i
Moving as though in a dream;
Behind me stood empty the house of God;
Priest and people were lured by the magic, 'twould
seem,
Of the tones that still through the air did stream.
No sound they made; they were quiet as death;
To hearken the song-birds held their breath,
The lark dropped earthward, the cuckoo was still,
As the voice re-echoed from hill to hill.
Margit,
Go on.
SiGNE.
They crossed themselves, women and men;
[Pressing Jier hands to her breast.
But strange thoughts arose within me then;
For the heavenly song familiar grew:
Gudmund oft sang it to me and you —
Ofttimes has Gudmund carolled it,
And all he e'er sang in my heart is writ.
Margit.
And you think that it may be — ?
SiGNic.
I know it is he!
I know it! I know it! You soon shall see!
[Laughing.
From far-off lands, at the last, in the end,
Each song-bird homewards his flight doth bend!
I am so happy — though why I scarce know — '
Margit, what say you ? I'll quickly go
ACT I] THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG 221
And take down his harp, that has hung so long
In there on the wall that 'tis rusted quite;
Its golden strings I wnll polish bright,
And tune them to ring and to sing with his song.
Margit.
[Absently.]
Do as you will —
SiGXE.
[Reproachfully .]
Nay, this is not right.
[Embracing her.
But when Gudmund comes will your heart grow light —
Light, as when I was a child, again.
Margit.
[To Jierself.]
So much has changed — ah, so much! — since then —
SiGNE.
Margit, you shall be happy and gay I
Have vou not serving-maids manv, and thralls ?
Costly robes hang in rows on your chamber walls;
How rich vou are, none can sav.
By day you can ride in the forest deep.
Chasing the hart and the hind;
By night in a lordly bower you can sleep,
On pillows of silk reclined.
Margit.
[Loolxing towards the window.']
And he comes to Solhoug ! He, as a guest !
222 THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG [act i
SiGNE.
What say you ?
Margit.
[Tur7iing.]
Naught. — Deck you out in your best.
That fortune which seemeth to you so bright
May await yourself.
SiGNE.
Margit, say what you mean!
Margit.
[Stroking her hair.'\
I mean — nay, no more! 'Twill shortly be seen — ;
I mean — should a wooer ride hither to-night — ?
SiGNE.
A wooer ? For whom ?
Margit.
For you.
SiGNE.
\Laughing .1
For me ?
That he'd ta'en the wrong road full soon he would see.
Margit.
What would you say if a valiant knight
Begged for your hand ?
Signe.
That my heart was too light
To think upon suitors or choose a mate.
ACT I] THE FEAST AT SOLHOUG 223
Margit.
But if he were mighty, and rich, and great?
SiGXE.
Oh, were he a king, did his palace hold
Stores of rich garments and ruddy gold,
'Twould ne'er set mv heart desiring;.
With you I am rich enough here, meseems.
With summer and sun and the murmuring streams,
And the birds in the branches quiring.
Dear sister mine — here shall my dwelling be;
And to give any wooer my hand in fee,
For that I am too busy, and my heart too full of glee!
[SiGNE runs out to tlw left, singing.
Margit.
[After a pause.] Gudmund Alfson coming hither!
Hither — to Solhoug ? No, no, it cannot be. — Signe
heard him singing, she said! When I have heard the
pine-trees moaning in the forest afar, when I have heard
the waterfall thunder and the birds pipe their lure in the
tree-tops, it has many a time seemed to me as though,
through it all, the sound of Gudmund's songs came
blended. And yet he was far from here. — Signe has
deceived herself. Gudmund cannot be coming.