Early Plays - Catiline, the Warrior's Barrow, Olaf Liljekrans Part 56

He must not die! Life anew he must win!

[She jumps up in fright; the music ceases.]

ALFHILD. Where am I! He stands here before me, it seems!

Olaf Liljekrans! save me from my dreams!

OLAF. Alfhild! take heart, here you need fear no harm!

ALFHILD. [Moves away, fearfully and apprehensively.]

You think with sweet words my soul to beguile?

In your heart there is evil, though with lips you may smile, On me you shall nevermore practice your charm!

OLAF. Alfhild! be calm, do not start; 'Tis Olaf I am, the friend of your heart!

Unkind I have been, I have treated you ill; But deep in my heart I was faithful to you!

I was blind and deluded and weak of will,-- And thus I did wound you far more than I knew!

O, can you forgive me? Alfhild, you must,-- I swear to you I shall be worthy your trust!

I shall bear you aloft and smooth your way, And kiss from your cheek the tears of dole, The grief in your heart I shall try to allay, And heal the wound that burns in your soul!

ALFHILD. I know you too well and your cunning disguise.

Since last I did see you I too have grown wise.

You would have me believe with your wily speech It is you for whom I now suffer and languish.

You would have me believe it was you that did teach Me to revel in joy and to writhe in anguish.

'Twill profit you little, I know you too well, Whether early or late you come to my dell.

I know you too well; for deceit on your brow I can read. Not so was the other, I vow!

OLAF. The other? Whom mean you?

ALFHILD. He that is dead!

'Tis therefore I suffer so bitter a dread.

You don't understand? You must know there were two; And that is why peace I shall nevermore find!

The one was all love, so good and so true, The other was evil, faithless, unkind; The one to me came on a late summer day, When my heart burst in flower and bloom; The other led me in the mountain astray, Where all things are shrouded in gloom!

'Tis the evil one, you, that has come again; The other who loved me, so good and so kind, The one who will never be out of my mind,-- Ah, him have I slain!

[She sinks down on a stone near the house and busts into tears.]

OLAF. Has he stolen your peace, has he robbed you of rest, Then why let him longer dwell there in your breast!

ALFHILD. Alas, were I laid in the grave far below, With me, I am sure, my sorrow would go!

I knew it not then,--to you do I swear, I thought it was little for him I did care; Now I see I must die of a grief-broken heart, Yet his image will never depart!

[A short pause.]

ALFHILD. Have you chords in your bosom that you can command?

It seems so; your voice sounds so pleasant and sweet; Pleasant--though blended it is with deceit.

Have you chords in your breast, then go round in the land And sing of Alfhild a plaintive lay To the village girls you meet on the way:

Only yesterday I was so little a roe, I roamed in the green groves around; They came to the forest with arrow and bow, And chased me with falcon and hound!

Only yesterday I was a bird so forlorn, I sat 'neath the linden alone; They drove me away from the place I was born, And threw at me stone after stone.

Only yesterday I was an untamed dove, Which nowhere finds peace or rest; They came from below, they came from above, And pierced with an arrow my breast!

OLAF. [Deeply moved.]

Alas, that I lay in the grave below.

Lulled in eternal rest!

Your every word is a steel-made bow That strikes with an arrow my breast!

ALFHILD. [Jumps up with childlike joy.]

Just so it shall be,--'tis rightfully so!

Yes, truly, indeed, have you chords in your breast!

So let it be sung; they easily show That you are yourself by my sorrow oppressed.

They show that your own grief is just as strong As the one that you voice in your plaintive song!

[She stops and looks sorrowfully at him.]

ALFHILD. Yet no,--you shall not sing of Alfhild's lament; What stranger is there whom my sorrow will move!

From whence I came, and whither I went There is no one out there who shall question or prove!

Sing rather of Olaf Liljekrans, Who wandered astray in the elf-maidens' dance!

Sing of Alfhild, the false and unkind, Who drove his betrothed quite out of his mind; And sing of all the sorrow and fear, When dead Olaf Liljekrans lay on the bier.

Sing of all the weeping below, When away they carried the three who had died!

The one was Olaf, the other his bride!

The third was his mother who perished of woe.

OLAF. Yes, Olaf is dead; it is just as you say; But I shall be now so faithful a friend; Wherever you dwell, wherever you wend, From your side I shall nevermore stray!

May I suffer in full for the sin I committed,-- Atonement to me shall be sweet.

'Twill comfort me much if I be permitted To roam with you here in some far-off retreat!

From early dawn till the end of day, Like a faithful hound I shall follow your lead!

I shall clothe my remorse in so plaintive a lay Till finally you shall believe me indeed.

Each moment we spent here in ecstasy I shall call up again to your memory!

Each flower that blooms shall speak it anew, The cuckoo and swallow shall sing it to you!

The trees that grow here in the forest so green Shall whisper thereof both soft and serene!

ALFHILD. Enough! You would only beguile me anew; Far better were it for you now to depart!

So fair is the falsehood I see within you, So faithless the thoughts that dwell in your heart!

What would you up here? What is it you want?

You think that you know the place that you haunt?

So pleasant a spot was this valley of yore, A curse lies upon it forevermore!

In the past, when lone in the forest I went, The leaves on the trees had so fragrant a scent!

The flowers bloomed forth on my every side, When you pressed me to you and called me your bride!

But now--the whole valley is burned in the night; The trees are burned to the left and the right; The straw and the leaves are withered away, Each flower is turned to a dusty gray!--

ALFHILD. Yes, clearly I see,--in a single night Is the world become old!--When I wandered below All alone, and sank down 'neath my shame and my woe, Then faded the world and its golden delight.

All things but deceit have vanished away; So much have I learned on my bridal day!

My father lied; he was wrong when he said The dead are borne to the dwelling of G.o.d; But Olaf knew better the fate of the dead: The dead sink below, far under the sod!

ALFHILD. [She breaks out in deepest agony.]

Ah, well do I see now you knew what you did; For low in the grave my body is hid.