The collected works of Henrik Ibsen, Vol. 01 (of 11)Ibsen, Henrik
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The collected works of Henrik Ibsen, Vol. 01 (of 11)
Ibsen, Henrik
Ibsen, Henrik, 1828-1906 -- Translations into English; Norwegian drama -- Translations into English
[_Stops at the door._] Why so?
BENGT.
Why, say you? Am not I ten times the richer man? And certain
I am that he would have sought you for his wife, had you not
been the mistress of Solhoug.
MARGIT.
[_Drawing nearer and glancing at the goblet._] Say you so?
BENGT.
I could take my oath upon it. Bengt Gauteson has two sharp
eyes in his head. But he may still have Signë.
MARGIT.
And you think he will—?
BENGT.
Take her? Aye, since he cannot have you. But had you been
free,—then—Ha, ha, ha! Gudmund is like the rest. He envies
me my wife. That is why I set such store by you, Margit.
Here with the goblet again. And let it be full to the brim!
MARGIT.
[_Goes unwillingly across to the right._] You shall have it
straightway.
BENGT.
Knut Gesling is a suitor for Signë, too, but him I am
resolved to slay. Gudmund is an honourable man; he shall
have her. Think, Margit, what good days we shall have with
them for neighbours. We will go a-visiting each other, and
then will we sit the live-long day, each with his wife on
his knee, drinking and talking of this and of that.
MARGIT.
[_Whose mental struggle is visibly becoming more severe,
involuntarily takes out the phial as she says:_] No doubt,
no doubt!
BENGT.
Ha, ha, ha! it may be that at first Gudmund will look
askance at me when I take you in my arms; but that, I doubt
not, he will soon get over.
MARGIT.
This is more than woman can bear! [_Pours the contents of
the phial into the goblet, goes to the window and throws out
the phial, then says, without looking at him._] Your beaker
is full.
BENGT.
Then bring it hither!
MARGIT.
[_Battling in an agony of indecision, at last says._] I pray
you drink no more to-night!
BENGT.
[_Leans back in his chair and laughs._] Oho! You are
impatient for my coming? Get you in; I will follow you soon.
MARGIT.
[_Suddenly decided._] Your beaker is full. [_Points._] There
it is.
[_She goes quickly out to the left._
BENGT.
[_Rising._] I like her well. It repents me not a whit that I
took her to wife, though of heritage she owned no more than
yonder goblet and the brooches of her wedding gown.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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