Ibsen, Henrik, 1828-1906 / 2008-07-23 00:00:00
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 over-looked.
[He goes out to the left.
MARGIT. [Sinks down on a chair by the table on the right.]
'Twas well he departed. While here he remains
Meseems the blood freezes within my veins;
Meseems that a crushing mighty and cold
My heart in its clutches doth still enfold.
[With tears she cannot repress.
He is my husband! I am 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,
'Twere 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.
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