Three Dramas by Bjornstjerne M. Bjornson

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Clara. Yes, I admit that.

The King. Then you must admit that the very position he has to
assume as a constitutional monarch is an acted lie. Think what a
king's vocation is; _can_ a vocation of that sort be hereditary?
Can the finest and noblest vocation in the world be that?

Clara. No!

The King. Then suppose that he realises that himself; suppose that
the young king is conscious, however dimly and partially, of the
lie he is living--and suppose that, to escape from it, he rushes
into a life of pleasure. Is it not conceivable that he may have
some good in him, for all that? And then suppose that one morning,
after a night of revelling, the sun shines into his room; and he
seems to see upon the wall, in letters of fire, some words that
were said to him the night before--true words (CLARA looks up at
him in surprise)--the words: "I despise you!" (CLARA gives a
start.) Words like that can burn out falsehood. And he, to whom
they are said, may long to hear again the tones of the voice that
spoke them. No man has ever hated what has given him new life. If
you had read a single one of the letters which I felt impelled to
write even if they were refused acceptance--you would not have
called it persecution. (CLARA does not answer.) And, as for my
persecution of your father--I am not going to make any excuses for
myself; I will only ask you to remember that a king has no control
over the law and its judgments. I feel the sincerest respect for
your father.

Clara. Thank you.

The King. And it is just part of the falsehood I was speaking of,
that he should be condemned for saying of me what I have said a
thousand times of myself!

Clara (softly). Dare I believe that?

The King. Ah, if only you had read one of my letters! Or even the
little book of poems I sent you last! I thought that, if you would
not receive my letters, perhaps a book--

Clara. I do not accept anonymous gifts.

The King. I see you are on your guard--although I don't admit that
the poems were mine! May I read it to you?

Clara. I don't understand--.

The King. One that I marked--for you. It will prove to you what
you refuse to believe.

Clara. But if the poem is not yours?

The King. The fact that I have marked it shows that its sentiments
apply to me. Will you let me read it to you? (CLARA looks up.) Do
not be too much surprised, Miss Ernst! (Takes a slim volume from
his pocket.) I found this somewhere. (Turns over the leaves.) It
won't take long to read. May I?

Clara. If only I understood--

The King. --why I want to read it? Simply for the reason that you
have forbidden me to speak to you--or to write to you; but not, as
yet, to read to you! (CLARA smiles. A pause.) Do you know--a little
event has just happened in my life?--and yet not such a little one,
after all!

Clara. What is that?

The King. I have seen you smile for the first time.

Clara. Your Majesty!

The King. But, Miss Ernst, is it an insult, too, to see you smile?

Clara (smiling). If I consent to hear the poem, shall not the
Baroness--

The King. --hear it also? With pleasure; but not at the same time!
Please! Because I am a very bad reader. You can show it to the
Baroness afterwards, if you like. (CLARA smiles.) May I?

Clara. You are sure there is nothing in it that--

The King. You can interrupt me, if you think fit. It is called "The
Young Prince;" and it is about--no, I won't tell you what it is
about unless you will be so good as to sit down, so that I can sit
down too. If I stand up I shall be sure to begin declaiming, and I
do that shockingly badly!--You can get up again when you like, you
know! (CLARA smiles and sits down. The KING sits down beside her.)
Now, then! "The Young Prince." (To himself.) I can scarcely
breathe. (He begins to read.)

Full fed with early flattery and pride--

(Breaks off.) Excuse me, Miss Ernst! I don't feel--

Clara. Is your Majesty not well?

The King. Quite well! It is only--. Now, then!

Full fed with early flattery and pride,
His sated soul was wearied all too young;
Honour and kingly pomp seemed naught to him
But whimsies from the people's folly sprung.

From such pretence he fled to what was real--
Fair women's arms, laughter and love and pleasure,
All the mad joy of life; whate'er he craved,
He found was given him in double measure.

Whate'er he craved--until one day a maiden
To whom he whispered, like a drunken sot,
"I'd give my life to make thee mine, my sweeting!"
Turned from him silently and answered not.

He sought by every means to win her to him;
But when his love with cold _contempt_ was met,
It was as if a judgment had been spoken
Upon his life, and doom thereon were set.

His boon companions left him; in his castles
None seemed to be awake but he alone,
Racked with remorse, enshrouded in the darkness
Of dull despair, yet longing to atone.

Then through the darkness she appeared! and humbly,
Emboldend by her gentleness of mien,
He sued once more: "If only thou wouldst listen!
If still 'twere not too late--"

(His emotion overcomes him, and he stops suddenly, gets up, and
walks away from CLARA. She gets up, as he comes back to her.)
Excuse me! I had no intention of making a scene. But it made me
think of--. (Breaks of again overcome by emotion, and moves a
little way from her. There is a pause as he collects himself before
returning to her.) As you can hear, Miss Ernst, it is nothing much
of a poem--not written by a real poet, that is to say; a real poet
would have exalted his theme, but this is a commonplace--

Clara. Has your Majesty anything more to say to me? (A pause.)

The King. If I have anything more to say to any one, it is to you.

Clara. I beg your pardon.

The King. No, it is I should beg yours. But I am sure you do not
wish me to lie to you.

Clara (turning her head away). No.

The King. You have no confidence in me. (Control, his emotion.)
Will you ever, I wonder, come to under stand that the only thing I
crave for now is--one person's confidence!

Clara. Any one who speaks as your Majesty has done to-day surely
craves for more than that.

The King. More than that, yes; but, first of all, one person's
confidence.

Clara (turning away). I don't understand--

The King (interrupting her, with emotion). Your life has not been
as empty and artificial as mine.

Clara. But surely you have your task here to fill it with?

The King. I remember reading once about the way a rock was
undermined, and the mine filled with gunpowder with an electric
wire leading to it. Just a slight pressure on a little button and
the great rock was shattered into a thousand pieces. And in the
same way everything is ready here; but the little pressure--to
cause the explosion--is what I am waiting for!

Clara. The metaphor is a little forced.

The King. And yet it came into my mind as unconsciously as you
broke off that twig just now. If I do not get what I lack, nothing
can be accomplished--there can be no explosion! I shall abandon the
whole thing and let myself go under.

Clara. Go under?

The King. Well, not like the hero of a sensational novel--not
straight to the bottom like a stone--but like a dreamer carried off
by pixies in a wood, with one name ever upon my lips! And the world
would have to look after itself.

Clara. But that is sheer recklessness.

The King. I know it is; but I am reckless. I stake everything upon
one throw! (A pause.)

Clara. Heaven send you may win.

The King. At least I am daring enough to hope that I may--and there
are moments when I almost feel certain of victory!

Clara (embarrassed). It is a lovely morning--

The King. --for the time of year; yes. And it is lovelier here than
it is anywhere else!

Clara. I cannot really understand a course of action which implies
a want of all sense of responsibility--

The King. Every one has their own point of view. A scheme of life,
to satisfy me, must have its greatest happiness hidden away at its
core; in my case that would be to have a house of my own--all to
myself, like any other citizen--from which I should go away to my
work, and come back to as to a safe refuge. That is the button on
the electric wire, do you understand? It is the little pressure on
it that I am waiting for. (A pause.)

Clara. Have you read my father's book, _Democratic Monarchy_?

The King. Yes.

Clara. He wrote it when I was a child; and so I may say that I grew
up amongst ideas like--like those I have heard from you to-day. All
the friends that came to our house used to talk to me about it.

The King. Then no doubt you heard the crown prince talked about,
too!

Clara. I think I heard his name oftener mentioned at home than any
one's. I believe the book was written expressly for you.

The King. I can feel that when I read it. If only I had been
allowed to read it in those days! Do you remember how in it your
father maintains, too, that all reform depends on the beating down
of the hedge that surrounds royalty?--on a king's becoming, as he
says, "wedded to his people" in the fullest sense of the word, not
irregularly or surreptitiously? No king can share his people's
thoughts if he lives apart from them in a great palace, married to
a foreign princess. There is no national spirit behind a
complicated court life of outlandish ceremonial.

Clara (turning away her head). You should have heard how vehemently
my father used to assert those ideas.

The King. And yet he abandoned them.

Clara. Became a republican, you mean?

The King. Yes.

Clara. He was so disappointed. (A pause.)

The King. I sometimes wonder every one isn't a republican! It must
come to that in the end; I can see that. If only royalties nowadays
thought seriously enough about it to realise it!

Clara. It is made so difficult for them by those who surround them.

The King. Yes, you see, that is another reason why any such reform
must begin at home. Do you think that a king, who went every day to
his work from a home that was in every respect like that of one of
his people, could fail in the long run?

Clara. There are so many different kinds of homes.

The King. I mean a home that holds love instead of subservience--
comfort instead of ceremony-truth instead of flattery; a home
where--ah, well, I need not teach a woman what a home means.

Clara. We make them what they are.

The King. Surely; but they are especially what women make them. (A
pause.)

Clara. The sun is quite strong now.

The King. But it can scarcely pierce through the screen of leaves
here.

Clara. When the sun shines down like this and the leaves tremble--

The King. The sunshine seems to tremble too.

Clara. Yes, but it makes one feel as if everything were trembling--
even deep down into our hearts!

The King. That is true.--Yes, its homes are the most precious
things a nation makes. Their national characteristics mean
reverence for their past and possibilities for their future.

Clara. I understand better now what you meant.

The King. When I said I wanted to begin at the beginning?

Clara. Yes. (A pause.)

The King. I cannot do otherwise. My heart must be in my work.

Clara (smiling). My father had his heart in his work, too.

The King. Forgive me--but don't you think it was just the want of
an object in his life that led your father to push his theories too
far?--an object outside himself, I mean?

Clara. Perhaps. If my mother had lived--. (Stops.)

The King. --he might have taken it differently; don't you think so?

Clara. I have sometimes thought so. (A pause.)

The King. How still it is! Not a sound!

Clara. Yes, there is the fountain.

The King. That is true; but one ends by hardly hearing a continuous
sound like that.

Clara. There is a tremulousness in _that_ too. (Looks round her.)

The King. What are you looking for?

Clara. It is time to look for the Baroness.

The King. She is up on that slope. Shall I call her? Or--perhaps
you would like to see a fine view?

Clara. Yes.

The King. Then let us go up to her together! (They go.)

ACT III

SCENE I

(SCENE. An open place in the town. It is evening, and the square is
badly lit. On the right is the club, a large building, standing
alone; lights are shining from all its windows. Steps lead from the
door, above which is a balcony. The square is full of people. In
the background, standing on the lowest step of the pedestal of an
equestrian statue, is a BALLAD SINGER, singing to the accompaniment
of his guitar. Cigars, oranges, and other wares are being sold by
hawkers. The singer's voice is heard before the curtain rises. The
crowd gradually joins him in the refrain which he repeats after
each verse of his ballad.)

The Ballad Singer (sings).

The Princeling begged and begged and begged
Her love, on bended knee.
The Maid said craftily, "Nay, nay,
I doubt your high degree!"

Refrain.

She knew the might, the might, the might
Of love's distracting hour;
How royalty, with all its pomp,
Will curtsey to its power.

The Princeling said: "Consent, my dear,
And you shall marry me."
The Maiden answered mockingly,
"Over the left, maybe!"

"Nay, as my Queen, enchanting maid,
And that this very day!"
The Maiden answered him, "Gadzooks!"
And fainted right away.

Recovering, she sighed, "My Lord,
Princesses will be wroth;
On every side they sit and wait
To plight to you their troth."

He answered, "Bosh!"--"But what of those
Who counselled you before?"
"Whom do you mean?"--"Your ministers!"
"I'll show them to the door!"

"But think, my dear--your generals,
Your nobles, court, and priest;
They'll try to drag you from my side
Or shun us as the pest."

"Nay, be not feared! I'll make you more
By dozens at a word,
Who'll bow and grovel if they be
To rank and place preferred."

"But think of the republicans!
My father!--what if he--?"
"The cock that crows the loudest, then,
Prime minister shall be!"

"Suppose the people stoutly swear
They'll none of me?"--"Nay, nay,
An order here, a title there,
And all will homage pay."

"Then I am yours!"--"Hurrah!" He holds
Her tight his arms between;
"Nay, not so fast, my kingly love!
Not till I am your Queen!"

She knew the might, the might, the might
Of love's distracting hour;
How royalty, with all its pomp,
Will curtsey to its power.

An Old Gentleman (to another). What is going on here?

Second Old Gentleman. I don't know. I have only just come.

A Workman. Why, the King is coming past here with her!

First Old Gentleman. Coming past here with her? To hold a court
at the palace?

The Workman. Yes.

Second Old Gentleman (taking a pinch of snuff). And I suppose those
fellows in the club mean to make a demonstration?--hiss them, or
something of that sort?

The Workman. So they say.

First Old Gentleman. Have they decided not to attend the court
then?

A Dandy. Unanimously decided.

A Woman. It's filthy!

The Dandy. I beg your pardon?

The Woman. I say that those fellows in there will condescend to
seduce our daughters, right enough; but they won't condescend to
marry them. But, you see, the King does.

The Workman. I am not sure it wouldn't be better if he didn't.

The Woman. Well, I know people who say that she is quite a
respectable person.

The Dandy. I imagine that you have not read the newspapers?

First Old Gentleman. Hm!--one has to be a little careful as to how
far one believes the newspapers.

Second Old Gentleman (offering him his snuff-box). I am delighted
to hear you say that! There is such a lot of slander flying about.
That bawdy ballad just now; for instance.

The Woman. Yes, that's poking fun at _him_--I know that.

The Dandy. You had better take care what you are saying, my good
woman!

The Woman. Ah, I only say what I know.

(FLINK appears on the steps of the statue beside the BALLAD
SINGER.)

Flink. Stop your stupid songs! I want to speak!

Voice in the Crowd. Who is that?

Flink. You don't know me. I have never made public speeches--and
least of all to street mobs.

Voice in the Crowd. Why are you doing it now, then?

Flink. Because I have been charged with a message to you! (The
members of the club rush to the windows and on to the balcony
and steps. Uproar.)

Voice in the Crowd. Be quiet! Let us hear him!

Flink. Listen to me, good people! You don't know me. But you used
to know a tall chap, with long white hair and a big hat, who often
made speeches to you. I mean Professor Ernst.

Voice in the Crowd. Three cheers for Professor Ernst. (Cheers.)

Flink. He was sent to prison, as you know, for high treason;
escaped from prison, but broke his legs. Now he is living in exile,
hopelessly crippled.

Voice in the Crowd. He got a pardon.

Another. No one knows where he is.

Flink. I know where he is. He has charged me to deliver a message
to you to-day.

Voices from the Club. Bravo!

Voices from the Crowd. Has he! Bravo, Ernst!

Voices from the Club. Be quiet, down there!

Flink. He made me promise that, on the day on which his daughter
was to be presented at the palace as the King's betrothed, I would
stand up in some public place where she would pass by, and say that
it was being done against her father's will and in spite of his
urgent entreaties and commands. (Loud cries of "Bravo!" from the
club. A voice in the crowd: "That is just what we thought!") I am
charged to announce publicly that he despises her for it and sends
her his curse! (Fresh cries of "Bravo!" from the club. Voices in
the crowd: "That's shocking!"--"No, he was quite right;" etc., etc.
Uproar.) Quiet, good people!

A Young Man in the Crowd. May I be allowed to ask a question?
(Shouts of "Yes!" and "No!" and laughter are heard.)

Flink. By all means.

The Young Man. Did not Professor Ernst himself advocate a king's
doing just what our King has done?

Voices in the Crowd. Hear, hear!

Flink. Yes, and in return was thrown into prison and is now an
incurable cripple. No one has been more cruelly treated by the
King's hirelings. And now here is his daughter willing to become
Queen!

Count Platen (from the club balcony). I don't see why you want to
blame her! No; what I say is, that it is our dissolute King's fault
altogether! (Renewed uproar. Cries of: "Turn him out!" from the
club.)

Flink. I had something more to say about those who--. But make
those fellows at the club be quiet first.

A Voice. They are fighting over there! (Laughter. Wild uproar is
heard from the club, amidst which COUNT PLATEN'S voice is heard
shouting: "Let me be! Let me alone!"--and other voices: "Don't let
him go out!"--"He is drunk!" Eventually COUNT PLATEN comes out on
to the steps, hatless and dishevelled.)

Count Platen. I'm going to make a speech to you! I am better than
that crew in there! (Cries of "Bravo!") What I say is, that the
King is coming past here directly with a woman. (Applause, and
laughter. Every one crowds towards him. The police try to pull him
down. A free fight ensues.) Hiss them when they come! (Cries of
"Throw him down!"--"Bravo!"--"Hurrah!") I, Count Platen, tell you
to do so! Hiss him, howl at him, make a regular hullabaloo when he
comes! I, Count Platen, tell you to! (Cries of "Three cheers for
Count Platen!" are mingled with cries of "Three cheers for the
King!" There is a general tumult. COUNT PLATEN is hustled up and
down the steps, and tries to go on making his speech every time he
comes up.) He is defiling the throne!--He wants to marry a
traitor's daughter! Shame! I, Count Platen, say so! Here I stand--!
(A trumpet-call is heard; then cries of "Here is the King!"--"No,
it's the cavalry!"--"The cavalry are coming!"--"Clear the square!"
A shot is heard, followed by a scream; the people take to their
heels as another trumpet-call is heard. Curtain.)

SCENE II

(SCENE.--A room in the BARONESS' house. The BARONESS is sitting
reading. A MAID enters and brings her a card.)

Baroness (looking at the card). The Minister of the Interior!--
Show him in! (GRAN comes in.) I am glad to see you back, your
Excellency!--You have found him, then?

Gran. Yes, we have discovered him.

Baroness. And spoken to him?

Gran. Yes.

Baroness. May I send for his daughter?

Gran. For heaven's sake

Baroness. What is the matter?

Gran. He is a dying man.

Baroness. What!

Gran. The King desires me to tell you that he has ordered a special
train to be ready at 10 o'clock, so that as soon as the court is
over she can go to her father. The King will accompany her.

Baroness. That is kind of him!

Gran. Then you will get ready everything that she needs for a
night's journey?

Baroness. Yes.

Gran. And without her being aware of it? The King does not wish her
to know anything of her father's condition till after the court.

Baroness. The court is to be held, then?

Gran. The court is to be held. After it is over, His Majesty will
tell her the news himself.

Baroness. I am thankful for that.--But what did Professor Ernst
say? Why has he not answered his daughter's letter? Why has he
hidden from her? Is he really irreconcilable?

Gran. Irreconcilable? He hates her!

Baroness. Good heavens!

Gran. And not only her, but every one that has made common cause
with the King--every one!

Baroness. I suppose it was to be expected.--But won't you sit down?

Gran (bows, but remains standing). I had a talk with his doctor
before I saw him. He had some hesitation about letting me in. It
was a fortnight since his patient had been able to move. But when I
told him my errand, and that I had come from the King, he let me
see him.

Baroness. How did he look? He was a fine man once.

Gran. He was sitting in a big chair, a mere paralysed wreck of a
man. But when he saw me and realised who I was--and probably, too,
what my errand was--he found the strength not only to move, but to
seize both his crutches and raise himself on them! I shall never
forget his gaunt ashen-grey face, the feverish gleam in his sunken
eyes, his unkempt hair and beard--

Baroness. He must have looked terrible!

Gran. He was like a creature from beyond the grave--with an
eternity of hatred in his eyes!

Baroness. Oh, my God!

Gran. When at last I could find my voice, I gave him his daughter's
greeting, and asked if she might come and see him. A dark look came
into his eyes, and his face flushed for a moment, as he gasped out:
"May she be--." He could not finish the sentence. His crutches
slipped from his grasp and he fell down, blood pouring from his
mouth. The doctor rushed to him; and for a long time we thought he
was dead.

Baroness. But he came round?

Gran. I waited an hour or two before I started back. Then the
doctor told me that he had recovered consciousness, but that the
end could certainly not be far off--perhaps not twenty-four hours.

Baroness. It must have been a shock to you.

Gran. It was.

Baroness. But what did he mean by: "May she be--"

Gran. That is what I have been wondering.

Baroness. He cannot do her any harm, can he?

Grad. He may give her the same reception that he gave me; if she
goes.

Baroness, Even if the King is with her?

Gran. All the more then!

Baroness. Oh, that would be horrible! But it won't prevent her
going.

Gran. Let us hope so!

Baroness. I am certain of it! She has extraordinary strength of
character--just like her father's.

Gran. Yes, that is the one thing I rely on.

Baroness. What do you mean? Your words sound so despondent!

Gran. I mean what is perfectly true--that everything will depend
upon her strength of character.

Baroness. What about the King, then?

Gran. I could say a great deal on that topic, Baroness; but (bows)
you must excuse me--I haven't time now.

Baroness. How are the elections going?

Gran. They are going well--if nothing happens now?

Baroness. What could happen?

Gran. The situation is very strained; one must expect anything.

Baroness. Are you anxious, your Excellency?

Gran. I must beg leave to retire now. (A MAID comes in.)

Maid (to GRAN). The Inspector of Police, who came with your
Excellency, wishes to know if he may speak to your Excellency.

Gran. I will come at once. (To the BARONESS.) There is rioting
going on in the town, not far from here--in front of the club.

Baroness (in alarm). What?--Isn't the King coming along that way?

Gran. Don't be afraid! We have taken our precautions--Good-bye!
(Goes out.)

Baroness. --He has quite alarmed me--everything seems to come at
the same time! She has had a suspicion that there was something
amiss with her father; I have noticed that, but she hasn't wanted
to speak about it. (CLARA comes in, dressed for the court.) Ah,
there you are, my dear! Quite ready?

Clara. Quite.

Baroness (looking at her). Well, I daresay there have been royal
brides more elaborately dressed, but I am sure there has never
been one more charming. (Kisses her.)

Clara. I think I hear a carriage?

Baroness. I expect it is the King!

Clara. I am afraid it is too early yet--but all the same I hope it
is he!

Baroness. Do you feel afraid?

Clara. No, no--it is not that at all; it is something--something
that you don't--a kind of feeling as if--as if some one were
haunting me; and I know who it is. I only feel secure when the King
is with me. I hope it may be he coming. (Goes to the window.)

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