(A luxuriously furnished drawing-room in the house of the Town Judge. On the right, in front, a door. In the middle rear an open door draped with rich, heavy, deep-red curtains. On the left a large window. In the corner, between the window and the door, a grand piano, behind which stands a palm, the leaves spreading over the piano. In front, on the left, a divan. Alongside of it is a pedestal with a black terra cotta statue on it.)
(Hadda Padda and Kristrun are sitting toward the front, in large deep arm-chairs, throwing a crystal ball to each other. Near by is a small table, covered with a piece of velvet, on which the ball had lain. Hadda Padda is very sunburnt.)
RANNVEIG [enters from behind. She is knitting, keeping the ball of yarn under her arm. She is dressed in an Icelandic costume]. Take care! Don't drop the ball! [Drops a stitch, takes it up again—smiles.] Who knows—maybe it is your life-egg, children!
KRISTRUN. Life-egg!... Is that a fairy-tale?
RANNVEIG. Haven't you ever heard it? Come, let me tell you about it. [Takes a chair and sits down beside them.] Once upon a time there lived two giantesses who were sisters. One day, they lured a young prince to them. They let the prince sleep under a coverlet woven of gold, while they themselves slept under one woven of silver. When at last the prince pledged himself in marriage to one of them, he made them tell him how they spent the day in the forest. They went hunting deer and birds, and when they rested, they sat down under an oak, and threw their life-egg to each other. If they broke it they both would die. The next day, the prince went to the forest, and saw the sisters sitting there, under the oak. One of them was holding a golden egg in her hand, and just as she tossed it into the air, he hurled his spear. It hit the egg, and broke it—the giantesses fell down, dead.
KRISTRUN. Brave giantesses who dared to treat your sacred possession so heedlessly!
RANNVEIG. One does not hear the footstep of vengeance. It came to them unexpectedly.
KRISTRUN. How I wish my whole fate were held in this ball.
RANNVEIG. What would you do if it were?
KRISTRUN. I would lay it gently in the hand of the man I loved, saying: Take it to a safe place!—and I would shut my eyes—while he were searching for the place.
RANNVEIG. If my sister were here, perhaps she could read your fate in the ball, both the past and the future... Who knows, but the whole Universe may be mirrored in this one glass globe.
KRISTRUN. That's your favorite superstition. [Smiling surreptitiously.] Tell me, Veiga—haven't you a life-egg? [Turns abruptly from her, throwing the ball to Hadda.]
RANNVEIG [evasively]. I had one once....
KRISTRUN [catching the ball]. Then you haven't it any more?
RANNVEIG. No.
KRISTRUN. And you are still alive?
RANNVEIG. He who lived once in happiness dies twice. [Sees the sisters throw the ball faster and faster.] Don't throw the ball so carelessly.
KRISTRUN. Be calm. The prince won't come. And even if he came—do you think we have the same life-egg, I and Hrafnhild?
RANNVEIG. Now stop making fun of me! The ball may hit you in the face—there now!—that's enough!—you nearly dazed my Hadda. It is strange to like to do this. [Picks up the ball, and puts it back on the velvet.]
KRISTRUN. Tell me, Veiga, perhaps your life-egg was a young man's heart....
RANNVEIG. We won't talk about it any more.
KRISTRUN. And how did it break?
RANNVEIG [enraged]. At least I didn't play with it. I never played with anybody else's feelings.
KRISTRUN. There—there, don't snarl so, you're simply barking—bow, wow!
RANNVEIG [furious]. How many have you made fools of already?
KRISTRUN. Let me see—. [Counts on her fingers.] One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, [throws off one shoe, and counts on her toes] eleven... twelve... thirteen—ah! here's a hole in my stocking. Thirteen! Thirteen, Veiga dear! The unlucky number! Wonderful! I'll never throw him over!
RANNVEIG. You're horribly flippant, Kristrun.
KRISTRUN [sits down at the small table, shades her face as she looks into the ball]. Fancy, Veiga, I see your whole fate in the ball.
RANNVEIG. Leave the crystal alone, it won't hurt you.
KRISTRUN. As sure as I live—I can see the most trivial events in your life. I see you by day, in this room here, when your nose begins to itch, and you steal into the kitchen to take a pinch of snuff. I see.... [Looks up; Rannveig has come up to her, and is about to strike her.]
KRISTRUN [slipping away from her]. Look out, the snuff is dripping from your nose! [Runs out, Rannveig shuts the door behind her, and turns around. She passes her finger under her nose, looks at it, shakes her head.]
HADDA PADDA. You and Runa don't seem to get on any better since I've been away.
RANNVEIG. We have never gotten along together.... I don't understand the young people nowadays. They are merely butterflies—all of them.
HADDA PADDA. You once told me, dear, that sometime in every one's life there comes a wishing hour. Maybe Runa had hers when she wished for the joy of living.
RANNVEIG. It's a strange joy then, to want to make other people miserable! To use the beauty God has given her, against those who cannot resist it.... Why do you suppose the new engineer has stopped coming here since the son of the Chief Justice returned from Copenhagen—and he seemed like such a sweet boy too! It is not the first or the second time she has changed her mind.
HADDA PADDA. When a true and deep love comes to her, she will not change her mind.
RANNVEIG. It's no use to stand up for her; she wheedles them all.
HADDA PADDA. But still you told me, dear, that you would be fonder of me if I did not marry.
RANNVEIG. How can you say that, Hadda dear? I said that marriage doesn't always bring happiness. HADDA PADDA. I know. You told me that only to console me, because I am now twenty-six years old. Runa is nineteen, prettier than most girls, and a wild little imp, surrounded by young men all the time. And they play upon her vanity only to make her cruel. [Stands up.]
RANNVEIG. At her age you were prettier, and are, still, but you were not like that. No, she hasn't your character.
KRISTRUN [enters from behind]. The prince is coming! [Rannveig gathers her knitting, and drops the yarn. Kristrun jumps at it like a cat, and catches it.] Now I'll dance for you, Veiga dear. [She whirls around her, singing, yarn in hand, twisting the thread around the old woman. They listen for footsteps. Rannveig slips out, on the right, entangled in the yarn, Kristrun following.]
INGOLF [enters. Like Hadda, he is sunburnt].
HADDA PADDA. How do you do! You promised to be here earlier, dear. [Kisses him.]
INGOLF. What time is it? [About to take out his watch.]
HADDA PADDA [catching his hands]. I don't know. But I felt the moment slipping by, when you should have been here.
INGOLF [kisses her again].
HADDA PADDA. While I was sitting there, in the arm-chair, waiting for you, I closed my eyes, and do you know what I saw?
INGOLF. No.
HADDA PADDA [pointing to the crystal]. I saw the crystal ball through my eyelashes.
INGOLF [smiling]. Then you did not close your eyes—
HADDA PADDA. No, I cheated. [They laugh.]... and then I began to throw the crystal ball to Runa, do you know why?
INGOLF. No—?
HADDA PADDA. So as to lure back an old recollection.... Do you remember, it was your last winter at the Latin school. One day you came home, and we two were alone in the room here, you took the ball, threw it to me, and called: WISHING—! I caught it, and said:—STONE! And so we continued to play, till you called HADDA! I didn't quite follow your trick at first, but caught the word: PADDA! Then you laughed and said: From now on, you shall never be called anything but HADDA PADDA. Do you remember?
INGOLF. I do.
HADDA PADDA. Everybody calls me that now, except my nurse.
RANNVEIG [peeping in through the curtain]. Don't let me hear that name. Hf! Padda! That's an insect! [Disappears.]
HADDA PADDA [walks gently forth, and rolls the door back]. Then I asked you what christening gift I was to have. You gave me your first kiss.
INGOLF [sits down on the divan, takes Hadda on his knee]. Hadda Padda! You don't know how I love that name. You don't know how many times I have wrapped you in it, as in some fantastic mantle. After you had left Copenhagen last spring, and I sat reading all the live-long day, until at last I went to bed, my lips did not close on your name, till my eyes had closed on your picture.
HADDA PADDA. You must never call me anything but that. Each time you say it, it brings back the joy of your first kiss.
INGOLF. Were you really in love with me then?
HADDA PADDA. You don't know?... Then I did succeed in hiding it?
INGOLF. Why did you hide it, Hadda? Why, I almost believed you bore me a grudge. You seemed to hold more aloof each day.
HADDA PADDA. And even that did not betray me?
INGOLF. Why did you hide it, Hadda?
(Footsteps are heard outside.)
HADDA PADDA [kisses Ingolf hastily, gets up, and seats herself at his side, takes his hand]. Don't you understand, dear, I was afraid of knowing the certainty. The stronger my love grew, the more carefully I had to hide it. I dared not risk those beautiful dream-children of uncertainty for a disguised certainty. Whenever we talked together, and you looked up at me, I was startled. I thought you understood, and your hurried glance reached me only after the fear of seeing the answer in it.
INGOLF. You, the most sincere of women, could cherish so strong a love and seem so cold.
HADDA PADDA. Now I have made too great a virtue of my love. Some of my reserve was pride. Just think, you lived with us during your entire schooltime, and in the summer sister and I were by turns at your home. We grew up, you, handsome and manly, and a lord of pleasures; and you always seemed to be careful not to pay me greater attention than the other girls, especially at parties. That was why I drew back.—I was eighteen, you were twenty; you were graduated and went abroad. And poor, proud little Hadda Padda was left alone.
INGOLF. Poor proud little Hadda Padda. [They laugh.]
HADDA PADDA. Then when you came back the next spring, it was Kristrun's turn to go to the country. And since then, you have not been home during the summer.
INGOLF. And when you went to Copenhagen the following winter, it just happened to be the only year I stayed home.
HADDA PADDA. Then I thought it surely was the will of fate to separate us. But I loved you even more. I could not give up hope. Not even when you wrote home, the year before last, that you had decided to live abroad. I got that news on the shortest day of the year. I watched the twilight darken into night until the very blackness swam before my eyes in blood-red spots. It was then I made up my mind to go.
INGOLF. Yes, you came in the autumn.
HADDA PADDA. And it was not before December, at a meeting of the Icelandic Society—we sat alone, in an outer room. Then I placed my fate in your hand.
INGOLF. Then you placed your hand in mine.
HADDA PADDA. Then I placed my life in your hand. I willed all my power into my hand and placed it in yours. That instant, nothing but my hand lived. Had you thrust it away, I would not now be living.
INGOLF. How silently happiness steals upon us. We sat alone in the room, far from the din of the dance. Then it came. I heard its tread in the quiver of your breath.... Then I felt it in my hand.
HADDA PADDA. And yet you sat there immovable, and made the very seconds fight for my life. When I held your hand, I was afraid lest a single finger tremble—till you closed your hand around my wrist, and drew me to you. [She leans toward him.]
INGOLF. Do you know what attracted me most to you?
HADDA PADDA. You don't know yourself.
INGOLF. Why not...?
HADDA PADDA. Because you love me.
INGOLF. But I think I know now.
HADDA PADDA. Well, what is it?
INGOLF. The thing that kept us apart so long.
HADDA PADDA. And that is?...
INGOLF. Your reticence. That awaiting attitude you just called pride. I have known other women. They came to me without first listening to my heart... but you did not.
HADDA PADDA. I looked into your eyes. I saw the flame in them increase, the longer they gazed at me.
INGOLF. The human heart is like the mountains: they give no echo if we get too near.
HADDA PADDA [lets herself slide down at Ingolf's knees, so that he sits bending over her]. Let me look at you for a long time.—How long your eyelashes are! Each time you blink, it is as though invisible petals were sprinkled upon me.
INGOLF [closing her hands in his]. Now you have no hands.... Shall I give them to you again? [Lets go, but looks at her one hand lying in his.] Your nails have a tinge like that of ice in sunshine.
HADDA PADDA [withdraws her hand, laughing, and gets up]. I am just thinking...
INGOLF. What are you thinking?
HADDA PADDA [walks a few steps and stops behind him]. I was lying down outside in the garden to-day. I could not keep awake. I dreamed I stood outside the Cathedral. It was dark inside, but all along the church floor, on either side, was a straight row of unlit candles. I remember all the white soft wicks, peeping half out, waiting for light. Then a sudden gust of wind swept through the whole church, and as it grazed the wicks, all the candles were lighted.
INGOLF [keeps silent].
HADDA PADDA. What do you think the dream means? I think it means happiness.
INGOLF. You must not deprive your dream of its beauty by interpreting it.
HADDA PADDA. Happiness comes to us like a beautiful dream that we don't dare to interpret.
INGOLF. You have promised to trust me as much as you love me.
HADDA PADDA. I see the future mirrored in those days we lived together.
INGOLF. I love you, Hadda Padda.
HADDA PADDA. Your words are the light, your caresses are the warmth. Give me both, Ingolf. Kiss me.
INGOLF [kisses her].
HADDA PADDA. And I should not trust you? Has not a sacred hour welded our hearts together? And have you not placed your life in my hands?—Do you remember last summer, when I visited your home, how you lowered me with a rope down the Angelica Gorge? I have not often lived so exquisite an hour. Then I became quite foolhardy. When I came up again, I asked you to go down and let me hold the rope for you.
INGOLF. I hardly believed you were as strong as you are.
HADDA PADDA. If you had not had courage to go down by my hands, I am not quite sure that I could be so fond of you. I shall never forget that moment. I saw you come up again with an angelica crown on your head. I saw you rise up like a green-crowned sea-god from the deep.—
INGOLF. I can't bear the thought that I shall leave you in a few days.
HADDA PADDA [smiles].
INGOLF. You smile?
HADDA PADDA. I am thinking of something. Shall I tell you?
LITTLE SKULI [comes rushing in from the right]. Hadda Padda! Have you seen—? Ah, Ingolf, are you here? [Runs straight up to Ingolf, catching hold of both his hands]. Why did you leave home so soon, Ingolf?
INGOLF. Because I wanted to go to Copenhagen.
HADDA PADDA. Skuli dear, will you be a good boy and make me a ship?
LITTLE SKULI. Oh no, not now.
HADDA PADDA. Oh yes, your last ship was so well cut out, with great big masts. [Pats him.] You're a dear.
INGOLF. Then you'll be allowed to come along with us to the country next summer.
HADDA PADDA. And sit in front, on the Sheriff's horse, many, many times.
LITTLE SKULI. Then will the Sheriff give me a sheep again?
INGOLF. Yes, my little friend, father will give you a sheep, and I will give you one too; I'll give you one with pretty rounded horns.
LITTLE SKULI. Does it butt?
INGOLF. O, of course not, it eats bread from your hand.
LITTLE SKULI. Then I'll saw its horns off, and give them to Sigga—she has lots of horns she plays sheep with. [Laughter.]
INGOLF. Well, are you going to make that ship?
LITTLE SKULI. Are you the one who gets all Hadda Padda's ships?
INGOLF. Well, I daresay I get most of them.—What makes you think so?
LITTLE SKULI. Because, whenever she is with you, she always wants me to make ships. [Ingolf and Hadda look at each other and laugh.]
INGOLF. Yes, she knows I am very fond of your ships.
LITTLE SKULI. Then I'll make ships for you often. [Runs out, Ingolf and Hadda still laughing.]
INGOLF. What was it you were going to tell me before?
HADDA PADDA. Something that...
INGOLF. That..?
HADDA PADDA. That...
INGOLF. Are you teasing me?
RANNVEIG [enters from the back, knitting, sits down]. What a lovely day it is.
HADDA PADDA. Veiga, dear, you promised to darn my lilac stockings for me. I haven't any to wear to-morrow.
RANNVEIG [considering]. How about the yellow ones?
HADDA PADDA. Oh, Runa must have taken them; I couldn't find them.
RANNVEIG [gets up]. Well, I can't let you go barefooted. [Goes out.]
INGOLF. You are shrewd, Hadda Padda!—Now, tell it to me.
HADDA PADDA. First, kiss me!
INGOLF [kisses her].
HADDA PADDA. Do you think you will miss me very much when you are gone?
INGOLF. How can you ask?
RANNVEIG [enters from the back, with the stockings in her hand]. I knew as much. I was right.—[Sees them embracing.]—I might have saved myself the trouble of looking for the stockings. [Turns round, and goes out.]
HADDA PADDA. Ingolf!
INGOLF. Yes—
HADDA PADDA. Now listen:—
THE JUDGE [enters from the back].
INGOLF [looks impatiently at his watch, and walks toward the door on the right.]
THE JUDGE. Are you going out, Ingolf?
INGOLF. I'm just going up to my room. I have a letter to answer. [Goes out.]
THE JUDGE. Well, my dear, to-morrow is the great day. HADDA PADDA. How good you are, father, to make me feel your gladness as you do.
THE JUDGE [takes her to his side, and sits down with her]. You happy child! I can't believe that you are grown up. It is as if I were beginning to realise it now, for the first time. But still, I shall have you one year more.
HADDA PADDA. Father!
THE JUDGE. Yes, dear.
HADDA PADDA. Father....!
THE JUDGE. What is the matter, dear?
HADDA PADDA. There is something I want to ask you.
THE JUDGE. And that is?
HADDA PADDA. I want to ask you—[Stops abruptly.]
LADY ANNA [enters from the back].
THE JUDGE [to Hadda]. What did you want to ask me? [Smiles to his wife.] Something mother may not hear?
HADDA PADDA. No, something I have to ask both of you.
THE JUDGE. Let us hear it, then.
HADDA PADDA. It is a very great favor, but you must not say no.
THE JUDGE. Ask it.
LADY ANNA. Well, what is it? [She has taken some work from the basket, and sits down to sew.]
HADDA PADDA. I want you to let me go to Copenhagen again. I want to go with Ingolf.
THE JUDGE. Now?
HADDA PADDA. Yes, now, Tuesday.
LADY ANNA. You are not in earnest, Hrafnhild. You know, Kristrun is going to leave for England next month, your brother has written for her. And she hasn't been abroad yet, while you have been twice.
HADDA PADDA. Nor do I want her to abandon her plan.
LADY ANNA. But do you want me to do without both of you at the same time?
HADDA PADDA. Would that be hard for you, mother?
LADY ANNA. Hard—it would be impossible. With all the parties we have, I must have one of you at home.
THE JUDGE. Of course, it would be difficult for mother to manage without your assistance—since Kristrun is going away.
LADY ANNA. I never thought of that, Hrafnhild. Besides, I think it in good taste, since your engagement will be announced to-morrow before Ingolf leaves, for you to remain at home this year till he has passed his examination and comes back.
HADDA PADDA. Yes, that would be in very good taste, if I could only bear it.
LADY ANNA. You must also remember that you would disturb him in his studies, if you were with him this winter.... Just when he wants to concentrate on his work.
HADDA PADDA. I want to make his work easier—that's just what I want to do.
LADY ANNA. I can't do without you, Hadda.
THE JUDGE [pats his wife on the cheek]. If our dear little Hadda Padda were sick, we would have to get one girl more in the house. And then, if she had to go away for a year to recover, and we were waiting for her to come back strong and healthy—don't you think we would readily allow her to go?
HADDA PADDA [throws her arms around his neck]. Father, I was sure that you...
LADY ANNA. That would be quite another thing.
THE JUDGE. Then you would realise that you COULD do without her.
LADY ANNA. But you don't mean, that any one else can fill her place—
HADDA PADDA. Mother, you think so much of Helga. I have talked to her, and she is willing to help you.
THE JUDGE. There you are! Can you imagine any one better?
LADY ANNA. It is not only that—If they were married, it would be quite proper for them to go abroad together.
HADDA PADDA [looks angrily at her mother, but says nothing].
THE JUDGE [discovers it. Walks up to his wife, and lays his arm on her shoulder]. We have not grown so old as you would have us. [Heartily.] Perhaps then, it is not proper for an old venerable judge to be as much in love with his silver-haired wife as when they were engaged. But he can't help it, and that's just the reason, he still understands love in young people. [To Hadda.] Ask your mother once more to let you go. Maybe she will when she knows you have my consent.
LADY ANNA. Well, I see what this is leading to. You know I don't usually oppose you.
HADDA PADDA. Father, you're always so good to me. [Kisses him.]
THE JUDGE [in a whisper to Hadda]. Now kiss your mother too!
HADDA PADDA. Nice mother! I will be twice as much pleasure to you when I come back. [Kisses her.]
LITTLE SKULI [enters]. Hadda Padda, do you want the ship to have two or three masts?
HADDA PADDA. Now let me see, my boy. [Goes out with him.]
THE JUDGE. To-morrow—that will be a happy day. At last I shall see my fondest wish fulfilled, mine and my dear old friend's—that our children should belong to each other. I never suspected this would happen when Hrafnhild went abroad last year.
LADY ANNA. And now she is to go with him again. She has much to thank her father for.
THE JUDGE. I think time has kept them apart long enough.—I had a long talk with Helga the other day—they are very good friends, you know, and she was in Copenhagen at the same time as Hadda last year. She told me that Ingolf had quite given up his studies, and it was Hadda Padda who made him take them up again.... From Christmas on, last year, he studied from morning to night,—and now he will pass his examination, and begin here as an attorney. Then they will probably marry next autumn.
LADY ANNA [nods]. He must be kind to Hrafnhild—she is more than just fond of him. Have you noticed that she is beginning to resemble him?
THE JUDGE. Now, in spite of everything, I think we are beginning to grow old; our sight is failing us.
LADY ANNA. Not my sight. Listen to me. You should have seen her with the flowers this summer while she was home. When she watered them, she talked with them as if they could understand her. It was as if she returned every rise of fragrance with a smile. And the flowers thrived and blossomed, as if they absorbed her tenderness.
THE JUDGE. I have noticed something else lately: that every time she comes into a room it is as though the air were filled with the beauty of peace. I could have myself blindfolded, and all Reykavik could walk through the room on soles of velvet—when SHE entered I could recognize her by the delightful calm that accompanies her.
LADY ANNA. This excessive love... it is worrying me. Maybe it was mostly on that account that I delayed agreeing to her departure.
THE JUDGE. There are so many things that worry you. Why doesn't Ingolf come back? [Kisses her on the cheek.] I will talk to him about it. [Goes out.]
RANNVEIG [enters]. The servants want to know how many places to lay for dinner.
LADY ANNA [putting aside her needlework]. Well, I'm coming—[Goes out.]
RANNVEIG [walks slowly to the centre of the room, stands looking at the terra cotta statue]. When you dream something, you don't want to come true, you ought to tell it to some one—better to a stone than to no one. [Hands folded, she walks slowly up to the statue, whispering in its ear,] I dreamed of a beautiful and marvellous diamond palace. I walked around it, but it had no doors. No one could get in. If any one were inside, he could not get out. I heard weeping inside the palace. It seemed to tear my heart. I recognised the weeping?—[She passes her hand over her eyes, looks at the statue a long time, walks away from it, looks back at it once more, and goes out. In the doorway she encounters Hadda, looks at her, pats her cheek, and disappears.]
HADDA PADDA [enters with a water jug in her hand, walks up to a flower in the window].
INGOLF [enters and steals up to her].
INGOLF. Now I know the secret. You are going with me to Copenhagen. Hadda Padda, Hadda Padda, I love you! Let me sing to you. [He takes both her hands and while he sings, wild with joy, she hums the tune.]
You shall stand upon my skis,
In a mad precipitation
We, together, cleave the breeze:
We will,
My daffodil!
To the place where we'll abide
On my white horse you'll be riding:
Clouds of dust the moon will hide—
They will,
My daffodil!
[He lifts her in his arms. The sun is shining through the window and lights up the room.]
HADDA PADDA [stretches her arms toward the light]. It is as though I had wings. [Turns round in his arms, and folds him in her embrace.] I will fly to my happiness.
All books are sourced from Project Gutenberg