Bibliotheca Polyglotta

HEMMING.
Ak, jomfru Ingeborg! engang var I mig så god; men nu, siden I er bleven stor og fuldvoksen jomfru – og mest, kan jeg tro, siden I gav jert fæstensord –

HEMMING.
Alas, Lady Ingeborg! Once you were so kind to me; but now since you have become a real grown-up lady--and especially, I imagine, since you gave your betrothal vow--

INGEBORG.
Hvad så?

INGEBORG.
What then?

HEMMING.
Å nej, intet! – (Pause.) Kan I mindes, vi har været heroppe engang før?

HEMMING.
O nothing!--
[A pause.]

HEMMING.
Can you remember,--we have been up here once before?

INGEBORG
(kort).
Jeg mindes aldrig!

INGEBORG.
[Curtly.]
I don’t remember!

HEMMING.
I var løbet efter jer brogede ged, og jeg skulde nu følge jer, som jeg altid plejede, – ja, det er længe siden, men jeg kommer det ihu, som om det var idag; lige dernede ligger myren, som –

HEMMING.
You had run after your spotted goat, and I followed you, as was always my custom,--yes, that was a long time ago, but I remember it as if it happened today; right down there lies the swamp, which--

INGEBORG
(nærmer sig).
Var det dengang vi hørte bjørnen?

INGEBORG.
[Comes nearer.]
Was it the time we heard the bear?

HEMMING.
Ja, ret dengang.

HEMMING.
Yes, the very time.

INGEBORG
(stedse mere og mere ivrig).
Jeg fandt geden igen.

INGEBORG.
[Constantly becoming more animated.]
I found the goat again.

HEMMING.
Nej, det var mig, som fandt den først.

HEMMING.
No, it was I who first discovered it.

INGEBORG.
Ja, ja, sådan var det; deroppe under uren.

INGEBORG.
Yes, yes, you are right; up there on the slope--

HEMMING.
Og så tog I jert strømpebånd.

HEMMING.
And then you took your garter.

INGEBORG.
Og bandt den.

INGEBORG.
And bound it.

HEMMING.
Ja, for vi skulde sanke jordbær.

HEMMING.
Yes, for we had come to pick strawberries.

INGEBORG.
Derborte i bakken, ja! Og du havde gjort en næverskrukke til mig.

INGEBORG.
Over there on the hill, yes! And you had made me a birch-bark scrip.

HEMMING.
Men så var det, vi hørte –

HEMMING.
But then it was we heard--

INGEBORG.
Bjørnen, ha, ha, ha! Vi måtte over myren, der hvor den var blødest, –

INGEBORG.
The bear, ha, ha, ha! We had to cross the swamp just where it was the wettest,--

HEMMING.
Og så tog jeg dig på armen.

HEMMING.
And then I took you in my arms.

INGEBORG.
Og sprang med mig fra den ene tue til den anden. (leende.) Hvor rædde vi var, begge to!

INGEBORG.
And jumped with me from tuft to tuft.

INGEBORG.
[Laughing.]
How frightened we were, the two of us!

HEMMING.
Ja, jeg var nu mest ræd for din skyld.

HEMMING.
Of course I was most frightened for your sake.

INGEBORG.
Og jeg for din – – (standser pludselig og vedbliver at betragte ham, idet hendes ansigt antager et bydende og krænket udtryk.) Hvad er det, du her står og siger? Hvorfor går du ikke? Sømmer det sig at tale så til din herres datter? Gå, gå, du skulde jo finde min fæstemand!

INGEBORG.
And I for yours--
[Stops suddenly and as she continues to look at him her face assumes an imperious and wounded expression.]

INGEBORG.
What is it you stand here and say? Why don’t you go? Is it fitting to speak thus to your master’s daughter? Go, go; you were to find my betrothed!

HEMMING.
Ak, jeg glemte jer fæstemand, jeg glemte, at I er min herres datter.

HEMMING.
Alas, I forgot your betrothed; I forgot that you are my master’s daughter.

INGEBORG.
Finder du ham, så lover jeg dig en baldyret trøje til jul, så glad bliver jeg derved.

INGEBORG.
If you find him, I promise you an embroidered jacket for Christmas,--so pleased shall I be.

HEMMING.
Jeg vil ingen trøje have; jeg tjener jer hverken for guld eller sølv, hverken for kost eller ridderklæder. Men nu går jeg; hvad jeg mægter, det skal jeg gøre, når jeg véd, det glæder jer.

HEMMING.
I don’t want any jacket; I serve you neither for gold nor silver, neither for keep nor for knightly dress. But now I am off; what lies in my power I shall do, if I know it pleases you.

INGEBORG
(der er stegen op på en sten, hvor hun plukker nogle blomstrende hæggekviste).
Hemming! hvor rig er min fæstemand?

INGEBORG.
[Who has climbed up on a stone and is picking some blossoming cherry twigs.]
Hemming! how rich is my betrothed?

HEMMING.
Hvor rig han er, skal jeg ikke kunne sige; men om hans farfader heder det i visen:
Han mægter at klæde i gyldenskrud
vel hundrede terner til sin brud!

Så mægtig er nu vel ikke Olaf Liljekrans, men han ejer dog både gård og grunde.

HEMMING.
How rich he is I really can’t say; but it is said of his grandsire in the song:
With golden attire he can provide
A hundred maids or more for his bride!

So mighty perhaps is not Olaf Liljekrans, but still he owns both forest and field.

INGEBORG
(fremdeles beskæftiget).
Og du, hvad ejer du?

INGEBORG.
[Still occupied.]
And you, what do you possess?

HEMMING
(sukkende).
Min armod, det er det hele!

HEMMING.
[Sighing.]
My poverty--is all I have.

INGEBORG.
Det er ikke meget, Hemming!

INGEBORG.
That isn’t very much, Hemming!

HEMMING.
Nej, det er ikke meget, jomfru Ingeborg!

HEMMING.
No, it isn’t very much, Mistress Ingeborg!

INGEBORG
(nynner, bortvendt fra ham, uden at forandre stilling, og beskæftiget som før).
     Sålidet monne mit hjerte stunde
     til ham, som ejer både gård og grunde!
     Langt bedre huer mig den fattige svend,
     til ham står min tanke, han er min ven!

INGEBORG.
[Hums, turned away from him, without changing her position, and still occupied as before.]
     ’Tis little my heart is attracted indeed
     To him who has all the wealth he may need!
     Much more I fancy the humble swain,
     The friend of my heart he will ever remain!

HEMMING
(i højeste glæde).
Ingeborg! nej, er det sandt som du siger, da må jeg tifold prise min armod.

HEMMING.
[In the greatest joy.]
Ingeborg! O, if what you say is true, I must tenfold bless my poverty.

INGEBORG
(vender hovedet om og siger koldt).
Jeg skønner dig ikke; det, jeg sang, var kun en gammel vise. (stiger ned fra stenen med hæggekvistene i hånden og nærmer sig, idet hun betragter ham stivt.) Men jeg kender en vise til, og den vil jeg sige for dig:
     I kongens gård stander gangeren god;
     den bejler, som ejer en ridders mod,
     han skor den gule, han skor den grå,
     den rappeste lægger han sadlen på!
     Han løfter sin brud på gangerens ryg,
     hun følger ham villig, hun følger ham tryg.
     Han rider sig med hende så langt under ø,
     med ham vil hun gerne både leve og dø!

INGEBORG.
[Turns her head and speaks coldly.]
I don’t understand you; the song was only an ancient ballad.
[Comes down from the rock with the cherry twigs in her hand, and approaches him as she looks at him fixedly.]

INGEBORG.
But I know another song too, and that I will sing for you:
     The king’s court within stand the steeds so fair;
     The suitor who lacks not the courage to dare,--
     He shoes the yellow, he shoes the gray,
     The swiftest he saddles before it is day!
     He places his bride on the steed behind,
     She follows him safe, she follows him blind.
     He rides with her off, to the sea they hie,
     With him she would willingly live and die!

HEMMING
(som ude af sig selv).
Ingeborg! Ingeborg! da skal intet skrække mig mere! Ej at du har en fæstemand, ej at du er min husbonds datter; – ja, såsandt jeg lever, jeg røver dig endnu inat!

HEMMING.
[As though beside himself.]
Ingeborg! Ingeborg! then nothing shall henceforth terrify me! Not that you have a betrothed, not that you are my master’s daughter;--yea, as sure as I live, I shall steal you tonight!

INGEBORG
(heftigt, idet hun stedse kæmper med et frembrydende smil).
Hjælpe mig Gud! hvordan er det fat med dig? Hvad er det, du tænker på? Vil du røve din herres datter? Du må være syg eller gal, siden du kan falde på sligt! Dog, det skal være glemt – for denne gang. Gå nu! og tak himlen, at du slap så let; thi vel har du fortjent et rap – (løfter kvistene, men lader dem synke og siger med forandret stemme:) – og min røde guldring – se der, tag den!
(tilkaster ham en ring, som hun har trukket af armen og iler hurtigt ud til venstre.)

INGEBORG.
[Vehemently, as she constantly struggles to suppress a smile.]
Help me, God! what is amiss with you? What is it you are thinking of? Will you steal your master’s daughter? You must be sick or mad to conceive such a thing! Yet, it shall be forgotten--for this once. Go, now! and thank heaven you escape so lightly; for you have certainly earned a blow--

INGEBORG.
[Raises the twigs, but lets them fall, and says in a changed tone.]
--and my red golden ring--see there, take it!
[Throws him a ring, which she has removed from her arm, and rushes out quickly to the left.]

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