(Slope of a valley overgrown with brush and heather and flowers. Toward the rear on the left, a beautiful cataract rushes down from a great height between steep cliffs. On the right, a rock shuts out the bottom of the falls, and part of the river. In the background is a mountainous landscape. It is an exquisite summer evening and the sun is playing on the water in ever changing colours. The stage is empty. From beneath the falls a song is heard, even before the rise of the curtain.)
(A little before the song ends, Hadda Padda enters from the left, accompanied by the children. She wears a light summer dress with a chiffon scarf thrown over her shoulders. The children have come prepared to gather berries. One has a wooden box, one a coloured glass bottle half filled with berries, etc. They stop to listen until the song is finished.)
MAGGA. Who was singing?
HADDA PADDA. The summer guests down at the falls.—Well, children, hurry now and gather your berries. We'll be going home soon. [Pointing to the right.] See that hollow? There must be lots of berries in there. [Sits down on a stone.]
SIGGA. Aren't you coming along with us, Hadda Padda?
HADDA PADDA. No, you bring your berries back to me.
SIGGA [turning the bottle over in her palm]. Do you want some?
HADDA PADDA [staying her off]. No, no—not now.
DODDI. Oh, Hadda! I'll gather the bluest berries for you.
LITTLE SKULI. When I come back I'll bring you berries and flowers too.
MAGGA. You won't wait for us, Hadda Padda.
HADDA PADDA [nodding assent—hand under cheek]. No—no.
ALL THE CHILDREN. Aren't you going to wait for us?
HADDA PADDA [with a start, recovering herself]. Wait for you, yes—yes, of course—do you think I would run away from you? I will wait here till you come back. [The children go off to the right. Hadda remains seated for a moment, rises absent-mindedly, walks to and fro thoughtfully, sometimes stumbling. Then she sits down again, hiding her face in her hands.]
AN HERBORIST [enters from the right. On her shoulder she is carrying a canvas bag, half filled with herbs. She wears a knitted shawl and a parti-colored kerchief on her head. In her hand, she holds a large knife in a leather sheath]. Good evening, young lady!
HADDA PADDA [startled]. Good evening, Arngerd!
HERBORIST [putting the bag aside]. I seemed to recognise one of the sisters. It is you they call Hadda Padda.
HADDA PADDA. I came berrying with the children.
HERBORIST. I saw them down in the hollow.—It is lucky to visit the falls to-night.—I heard the song.—What a beautiful day! [Sits down]—Just look at the evening glow on that rock! [Smiles.] Its furrows seem like ruddy smiling lips!
HADDA PADDA [looking up]. Like bleeding wounds.
HERBORIST. Is the young lady in low spirits?
HADDA PADDA [keeps silent].
HERBORIST [looking at the slope]. What a host of blessed flowers! I'll soon get my bag filled here. There are some of the right kind among them I'm sure.
HADDA PADDA. That is a pretty bag you have.
HERBORIST. I thought it an insult to the flowers to put them in a coarse sack, so I took my pillow case.
HADDA PADDA. Are there only flowers in it?
HERBORIST. They are healing plants.
HADDA PADDA. That's true. You heal with herbs.... You believe in their power?
HERBORIST. I believe in a fact that cannot be doubted. And I am quite sure that there is no disease that could not be healed by herbs, if people knew enough about their mysteries.
HADDA PADDA. There are wounds, I suppose, that only death can heal.
HERBORIST [looking down into the bag, she takes out an herb]. I think the young lady is very depressed, Shall I show her an herb that can heal many ills?
HADDA PADDA. A lady-slipper?
HERBORIST. It is also called the love flower.... If you would gain a man's heart you slip it under his pillow.
HADDA PADDA. Don't you see the ring on my finger? Don't you know my sweetheart?
HERBORIST. Yes, certainly.—He was a handsome boy. [Plays with the bag, as she hums.]:
"When love is the strongest, it leads to your fall, A maid's happy longest, who heeds no man's call."
HADDA PADDA [drawing her scarf more closely around her]. Do you hear the flies buzzing?
HERBORIST [looking deep down into the bag]. Yes.
HADDA PADDA. It is like the sound of a burning wick.
HERBORIST [does not hear].
HADDA PADDA. Now there is only one left.—It is buzzing around my bead. [Putting her hand on the arm of the herborist.] Say something to me, good healer.
HERBORIST. Pretty are her hands! Were they chapped or sore I would heal them with yarrow ointment. [Taking up a yarrow.]
HADDA PADDA. Can that be done?
HERBORIST. Oh, yes, with finely cut yarrow, boiled in fresh new butter. [Puts the plant aside, picks up a dandelion.]
HADDA PADDA. What do you use the dandelion for?
HERBORIST. If the young lady had warts on her hands, I would rub them with the milk of the dandelion, and the warts would vanish. [Takes up a new plant.]
HADDA PADDA. What do you call this flower?
HERBORIST. Doesn't she know the sun-dew? It is a cure for freckles.
HADDA PADDA [taking the flower]. Ah! I know this.—You cruel pretty little flower! With your beauty you lure the insects to you. Then you close on them, and kill them. You cruel pretty little flower! Do you know my sister? [Puts the sun-dew aside.]
HERBORIST [holding a new plant in her hand]. This is the grass of Parnassus. It makes a good hair-ointment.—Pretty is the young lady's hair.
HADDA PADDA. You have dug up all the flowers by the roots.
HERBORIST [pointing to the knife]. I cut them up by the roots. They must not lose their power. They are all alive.—Shall I tell you more?
HADDA PADDA. Not now, thank you.
HERBORIST [puts the flowers into the bag; points to the sky]. Look how red the clouds are!—I think we'll have fine weather to-morrow.
HADDA PADDA. Do you think so?
HERBORIST. Evening-glow means warm, morning-glow means storm.
HADDA PADDA [is silent].
HERBORIST. Why do you look at me so long?
HADDA PADDA. You have such a peaceful smile on your face. Are you always so contented?
HERBORIST. I have no reason not to be.
HADDA PADDA. Have you never been discontented with life?
HERBORIST. Yes, when I deserved it. But when one is kind to every one, life brings peace and happiness.
HADDA PADDA. Has kindness never taken revenge?
HERBORIST. Kindness does not take revenge. It is only evil that takes revenge.
HADDA PADDA. Then you have been obedient to your fate?
HERBORIST. What I say is true, my girl. Life treats us as we deserve. We cannot get rid of our past. Nature is a righteous judge.
HADDA PADDA. Nature is heartless and blind.
HERBORIST. Nature IS a righteous judge. I shall never forget something that happened thirty years ago. I lived at the sea-shore then. One day, when I was washing fish with some other girls, we saw a woman from the farm take her child by the hand and lead her out to a jutting rock—when the flood tide came it took her....
HADDA PADDA [looking up].
HERBORIST.... The case was brought before the judge. The mother insisted that she had left the child on the ridge, and that it must have walked down to the shore while she was gathering some dulse. Each of us had to point out the spot where she had left the child, but the mother pointed to the ridge. As she raised her three fingers to swear that it was true, a wave rose, and out of it shot a white column of foam. It stretched like an arm into the air—like an arm with three swearing fingers. The sea itself swore against her.
HADDA PADDA [A cold shiver runs through her. She draws her scarf more closely around her]. It is so strangely cold here.
HERBORIST. The sun is going down. I had better be going. [The bag upsets, and some plants slip out.]
HADDA PADDA. The dandelion is slipping out of the bag. Grant the dandelion its life.
HERBORIST. I can't grant the dandelion its life. Perhaps to-morrow a mother will come with her little girl. "Rid her of her warts," she will say, "for her hands are so fine."...
HADDA PADDA [takes the dandelion in her hands]. Grant the dandelion its life. Do you see how it stretches its thousand delicate fingers to the fading light? If you plant it again, it will close up and be silent a whole night with joy.
HERBORIST. You are silent and you don't smile—is it with joy?
HADDA PADDA. You must not ask me that.
HERBORIST. Smile, and I will grant the dandelion its life.
HADDA PADDA. Now I am smiling.
HERBORIST [thrusts her hand into the bag]. Tell me of your joy, young woman. Each time you give an answer you grant a flower its life.—
Of all things,—what is the softest you have ever felt?
HADDA PADDA. The hair on my cheek when my lover stroked it.
HERBORIST [taking a plant from the bag]. Now you have granted the yarrow its life.—Tell me of your joy, young woman. What made your hand so pretty?
HADDA PADDA. Happiness made my hand so pretty. It has smoothed back the hair from the most beautiful forehead.
HERBORIST [taking out another plant]. Now you have granted the catch-fly its life.—What cast the shade of sorrow in your eyes?
HADDA PADDA. Now you are not asking me of joy. Now I will not answer.
HERBORIST [shows her a new plant, fondling the flower]. Why shall the violet die?
HADDA PADDA. Do not ask me why the violet shall die.... I want to be alone.
HERBORIST [gets up, puts the bag on her shoulder, takes the knife and flowers]. God bless thee, young woman! The Lord be with thee, Hadda Padda. [Disappears to the left.]
[The sun sets behind the mountains and twilight gradually descends. Hadda Padda sits gazing into space. Suddenly she is startled by voices, and she disappears into the bushes. Native and foreign tourists come from behind the rock, two by two, crossing the stage, conversing. German and French are heard. Behind them all, comes]
A YOUNG WOMAN [waiting till the others are gone, she calls]. Hadda Padda!... Hadda!... Hrafnhild! [She shades her eyes with her hand.] There they are! [Goes out to the right.]
[Ingolf and Kristrun enter from behind the rock.]
INGOLF [stops]. Look, there are the children gathering berries. ... Do you see Hrafnhild?
KRISTRUN. No, but I see Helga walking toward them.
INGOLF. I wonder if Hrafnhild is down in the hollow?
KRISTRUN. Perhaps she is.
INGOLF. We won't pass there then. Let's rest here for a moment. [Sits down.]
KRISTRUN. You act as if Hrafnhild were still your sweetheart.
INGOLF. What do you mean?
KRISTRUN. I thought you wanted to show me the greater consideration. But it is quite the contrary. Sometimes you are positively hard to me, just to spare Hrafnhild every conceivable annoyance.
INGOLF. Do you remember the day after—. When she walked around trying to smile to every one. She was like a sick butterfly. You didn't complain then that I was too considerate to her.
KRISTRUN [disregarding his remark]. You and she—you wear the rings—you are the lovers in every one's opinion! And I have to endure it.
INGOLF. You gave your consent for us to wear the rings till we leave here.
KRISTRUN. My consent, yes! If it is a consent that you made me pity her. I don't think she needs any pity now.
INGOLF. Yes, it is very strange,—to-day, to-day and yesterday she has been tingling with joy.
KRISTRUN [sitting down]. Now you can see how deeply her love touched her. After ONE week she's as though nothing had ever happened.
INGOLF. Hrafnhild is proud by nature. She would never let it be seen that an unfortunate love affair could make her miserable.
KRISTRUN. Yes, SHE is proud by nature, she is everything fine.—And I—I am nothing. [Tears in her eyes.]
INGOLF. You are the loveliest woman in the world. [Embraces her.]
HADDA PADDA [appears between the bushes, seeing them she stops an instant, then goes toward them]. I didn't know you were here.
INGOLF [gets up]. We have just come from the falls.
HADDA PADDA. And I was just gathering berries. Aren't my lips blue?... Why are you so silent, Runa, dear?
KRISTRUN [does not answer].
HADDA PADDA [in a changed voice]. I am going away to-morrow.
INGOLF. Going away to-morrow?
KRISTRUN. Going away—?
HADDA PADDA. I leave to-morrow. I'm going with Helga.—Let us part friends.—I have only one thing to say to you before I go.
INGOLF. What is that?
HADDA PADDA. You may feel safe now. I won't be the shadow in your sunny path.... I don't love you any longer, Ingolf. [Ingolf and Kristrun look at her amazed.]
HADDA PADDA. Nor do I bear you a grudge... that is why I can tell you this.
INGOLF. I always knew you were high-minded, Hrafnhild, but—
HADDA PADDA. And Runa, dear, won't we be the same friendly sisters we have always been? [Strokes her hair.] Do you want to see that I love you as much as ever? [Takes her hand.] Come, let me take you in my arms.
KRISTRUN [bursting into tears, she throws herself into Hadda's arms]. Hadda, dear—
HADDA PADDA [presses Kristrun violently to her breast].
KRISTRUN [throwing her head back]. Hadda, Hadda, you are hurting me!
HADDA PADDA [lets go of her—turns to Ingolf]. And now I would like to speak to you for a moment. May I?
INGOLF. Yes, certainly.
HADDA PADDA, Oh, there's Helga. She is looking for me, Runa, dear, may I say a few words to Ingolf? You meet Helga, and start for home with her, won't you?
KRISTRUN. I'll do that, Hadda. [Hurries away.]
HADDA PADDA [sits down]. I think I have discovered that you don't really enjoy your new happiness. That is why I want to talk to you.
INGOLF. You have told me all I want to hear.
HADDA PADDA [involuntarily frowning a moment]. It is strange how proud the imagination can be, pretending to be a strong reality. If I had really loved you at all, I would still. I do not. So long as you were free, I made myself believe I had a certain claim to you. But once you were engaged to any one else, the same thing would have happened?—I should have forgotten you in a week.
INGOLF. You need not tell me this, I know it.
HADDA PADDA. What do you know?
INGOLF. I know that you deny your own heart for the sake of others.
HADDA PADDA. Now you think too highly of both of us. I am not so good as you would make me, and it is not so difficult to forget you as you imagine.—You won't believe that I have succeeded in forgetting you. Won't you believe, either, that I have made every effort to do it? The day before yesterday I locked myself in my room, and took out your letters to see whether I could bear to read them. I wanted to test myself,—you know I like to get to the very heart of things. Well, I read letter after letter. It is a remarkable power that is given to a trivial matter. If I had not read the letters, I might still have felt unhappy, but I read and read with ever increasing calmness. I don't believe my feelings. I go walking, searching for all the places where the earth must be scorched with burning pleasures, in order to know whether they enkindle memories so sacred that they can again inflame me. Everything, everything, is extinguished. What is the matter, little Hadda? Does everything leave you cold? Is this death perhaps? And a mixed feeling of joy and pain seizes me, for this came so unexpected—it came so unexpected—it came so unexpected—
INGOLF. What is the matter, Hrafnhild? Are you ill? You are so excited. Why are you so eager to tell me all this?
HADDA PADDA. Because I don't want you to think I am making any sacrifice. You think so, but I am not.
INGOLF. I understand.
HADDA PADDA. No, you don't understand. There was still one place where I was afraid to go, because it meant more to me than any other. I grasped my heart with fear, and there I seemed to find the place. It was the Angelica Gorge,—where you had put your life in my hands. I was afraid that if I went there, I would instantly lose the peace of mind I had gained. But if I could not bear that, then this peace was nothing but an illusion. I wanted to be sincere with myself—so I went up there last night.
INGOLF. We saw you walking up the mountain.
HADDA PADDA. I lay down on the edge of the cliff and looked down into the depth from which I had seen you come up. "Little heart," I said, "try to be calm while I am tormenting you: Here it was that he raised himself up on the rope I held. Here it was that he showed me how well he loved me." But instead of feeling pain, my whole frame quivered with trembling joy. Here, too, I had conquered. Tears of gratitude came into my eyes, I stretched myself farther out on the edge to make my tears of joy fall into the chasm, down to the very bottom.—Do you see now that I am not going to make a sacrifice. Now tell all this to Runa, for she should know it too.
INGOLF [very much moved, throws himself at her feet]. When you have risen I will kiss the ground your feet have marked.
HADDA PADDA. Then I shall never rise.... Don't lie down like that. Get up, Ingolf, INGOLF. I will lie down and forget. Let me dream of death for one moment.
HADDA PADDA. Death! You who are happy!
INGOLF. Death is not unhappiness.
HADDA PADDA. Come, sit down again. I will tell you what death is. Last night I was only a hair's breadth away from it.
INGOLF [starts, terror stricken, he half arises]. What are you saying?
HADDA PADDA. When I lay there on the edge of the gorge, looking down, something dazzlingly white flashed before my eyes. Quite instinctively I reached out for it. It was as if my hands perceived what it was, before my eyes had had time to make it clear to me. It was the string of pearls which bad loosened from my hair. I reached for it without considering how unsafely I was lying there, when suddenly I felt myself slipping down. The sensation cannot be described. While my right hand reached for the pearls which were dropping down into the gorge, my left caught hold of the turf on the brink. I was losing my balance and nothing held me up but a few blades of grass. I felt my heart in my throat, and a cold perspiration over my whole body. Now the grass was giving way, now I clawed my fingers down into the earth and dug my feet into it, but it was too hard; I tried to press my knees down into the turf—nothing helped, I was slipping. Life or death! To the right there was a stone. I let go of the grass, and blindly swung my body to the right, my feet slipped beyond the edge,—but my hands had caught hold of the stone. When I got to the edge again, I lay in a stupour for a long time, and I did not know whether I was at the bottom of the gorge or at the top.—Never have I loved life as I do to-day.
INGOLF. How horrible! But what made you wear the pearls?
HADDA PADDA. It was foolish, but I don't know whether you can blame me. One day, when I was almost melancholy, and I could not talk to anybody, I was seized with an unconquerable home-sick feeling. I yearned for mother, and felt how much I loved her. I took the pearls out and looked at this precious heirloom, which she had given me. I fastened it in my hair,—and immediately I felt better. That was why I wore them the nest day too.
INGOLF. And now they lie at the bottom of the gorge!
HADDA PADDA. Yes.
INGOLF. What are you going to tell your mother?
HADDA PADDA. I won't tell her anything before I know whether they will be found.
INGOLF. Have you asked any one to search for them?
HADDA PADDA. I just thought of asking Steindor, but I can hardly bring myself to tell him,—if afterwards they should not be found.
INGOLF [A vague disquietude takes possession of him. He is silent for an instant, then stares at Hadda, trying to read the influence of his words upon her]. Well, you are going to-morrow, and the very next day I will go down into the gorge and look for them.
HADDA PADDA. Will you really, Ingolf? And not tell Runa that I lost them? Mother must not know that I have treated the pearls so carelessly.
INGOLF. I won't tell any one.
HADDA PADDA [looking at him with wide-opened eyes]. I'd like it even more if you would do it before I left. If you looked for them to-morrow morning while I am getting ready to go. Then you'd spare me the anxiety. Take Steindor with you, will you?
INGOLF [gets up. All doubt leaves his mind as he looks into her face and he is ashamed of the unworthy suspicion that had touched his soul]. Yes, Hrafnhild, don't be distressed. We shall find your pearls.—Aren't you coming with me?
HADDA. PADDA. No, I will wait for the children.
INGOLF. Good-night, Hrafnhild. [Goes.]
HADDA PADDA. Good-night. [Looks after him for a long time. Her eyes fill with tears, and she throws herself down weeping violently. Soon the voices of children, laughing, are heard near by. She looks up, passes her hand over her eyes, hears the children's footsteps and lies down again as if asleep.]
THE CHILDREN [enter. In addition to the berries, each of them carries a bouquet of flowers].
LITTLE SKULI. She's asleep. [He takes his bouquet, and those of the others, placing them around her head.]
The children sit down quietly, eating their berries.
All books are sourced from Project Gutenberg