ALFHILD
(med frembrydende tårer.)
De håner mig alle, – hver og en!
så hård er end ikke fjeldkammens sten;
den lader dog mosset trives derpå;
mig er ingen så god! Jeg – jeg må forgå!
(lyn og torden.)
Himlen selv er mig ond og gram,
den øser sin vrede over mit hoved;
men den har ej et lyn for at knuse ham,
der listeligt sveg, hvad han loved!
(orgeltoner høres fra kirken.)
O, hør! Der synger Guds engle små!
de maner Olaf til det hellige alter!
og jeg skal udenfor kirkedøren stå
og våndes i gyldne pjalter!
(svinger faklen højt i vejret.)
Nej, nej, du deroppe! jeg gør det ej!
frist mig ikke længer, ellers sviger jeg dig!
(holder inde og lytter til orgelsangen.)
Guds engle synger! Af gravens muld
mægted de at synge den døde!
O, min barm er så bristende fuld!
(knæler og vender sig mod kirken.)
Hold op med de toner bløde!
hold op med sangen, så mild og lind!
ellers lokker I Olaf for alteret ind!
(hviskende og i den højeste angst.)
Vær stille! o, vær stille! kun så liden en stund!
nu er han dysset i glemselsblund!
o, vækker ham ikke, ellers vil han ride
til kirken – og da må jeg døden lide!
(orgelet lyder stærkere gennem stormen. Alfhild springer op fortvilet og ude af sig selv.)
Nej, alle Guds engle har mig forladt!
de håner mig i min jammer!
de maner ham ud; – nu har de ham fat!
Haha! Skal jeg færdes i sorten nat,
lyst skal der være i dit brudekammer!
(kaster faklen ind igennem den åbne luge i gavlen og styrter til jorden. – Ingeborg og Hemming kommer hurtig frem bag ved huset.)
ALFHILD.
[Bursts into tears.]
They mock at me, laugh at me,--one and all!
So harsh is not even the mountain wall;
The moss thereon is permitted to grow;
There’s no one so kind to me here! I--I must go!
[Thunder and lightning.]
ALFHILD.
Ah, heaven itself is angry and grim,
It pours out its wrath on my wretched head;
But flash there is none to annihilate him
Who craftily tricked me in all that he said!
[The tones of the organ are heard from within the church.]
ALFHILD.
O, listen! I hear God’s angel choir!
’Tis Olaf to the altar they call!
And I must stand here in my ragged attire
And suffer outside the church-hall!
[She swings the torch high in the air.]
ALFHILD.
No, no, that I will not, thou all-highest God!
O, tempt me no longer, forswear thee I may!
[She is silent and listens to the organ music.]
ALFHILD.
God’s angels are singing! From under the sod
The dead they were able to carol away!
O, my bosom is bursting with woe!
[She kneels and faces the church.]
ALFHILD.
Cease, cease your melodies tender and sweet!
O, cease your singing; be kind, I entreat!
Or Olaf to the altar will go!
[Whispering and in the greatest apprehension.]
ALFHILD.
Be still! O, be still! For a little while yet!
He is lulled in a sleep that will make him forget!
O, waken him not, else straight he will hie
To the church--and then, alas, I must die!
[The organ grows louder through the storm. ALFHILD springs up, beside herself with despair.]
The angels of God have forsaken me quite!
They mock at my anguish and woe!
They conjure him forth;--he is now in their might!
Ah, if here in the dark, dark night I must go,
Your bridal chamber at least shall be light!
[She throws the torch in through the opening in the gable and falls down on the ground.--INGEBORG and HEMMING come hurriedly from behind the house.]
