THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
IN MEMORY OF
PAUL TURNER, U.S.M.C.R.
KILLED IN ACTION, SAIPAN
JUNE, 1944
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2007 with funding from
IVIicrosoft Corporation
http://www.archive.org/details/annepedersdotterOOwieriala
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS
BY
H. WIERS-JENSSEN
ENGLISH VERSION BY
JOHN MASEFIELD
N6N-R£l^ERn
bqWVAD'QHS
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1917
Copyright, igi7, By Little, Brown, and Company.
AU rights reserved Published, September, 191 7
SET TJF AMD ELECTROTVFED BY THE PLDIPTOM PRESS, NORWOOD, IfASS., U.S.A. PRINTED BY S. J. PARKTm.T. & CO., BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A.
Q
Q
a
PT
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
602566
CHARACTERS
Absolon Pedersson Beyer. . . Palace Chaplain, Ber- gen; 60 years Martin His son by former mar- riage; 25 years
Mbrete Beyer His mother; 80 years
Anne Pedersdottbr His wife; 22-23 years
Jens Schelotrup Bishop
Master Klaus Priest in Manger
Master Laurentius Priest in Fjeldberg
Master Johannes Priest in Fane
Master Jorgen Priest in St. Martin's
Church, Bergen
David Choirmaster
Leader of Town Guards
Herlofs-Marte
^^NTE I jyjaj^j servants in Abso-
•^o«^^ J Ion Pedersson's house
Sacristan
Priests, Officials, Guards, Clerks, Men, Women,
and Children
The action takes place in Bergen in the year 157 J^: the first three Acts in Absolon's house, the last in the choir of the Cathedral.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
THE FIRST ACT SCENE ONE
Bells at start. Garden at the back of Absolon Beyer's house. To the right (for the audience) the house, with porch before it; three ofr four steps lead up to this porch from the garden. Farther in the background is an outhouse. A narrow passage runs between the house and this outbuilding. To the left, in the foreground, a simple wooden table; behind it a bench, and at each end a chair. Trees. In the background a wall stretches across the stage; in the wall is a large gateway with a single, iron-studded wooden door. The arched gateway, as well as the whole wall, is capped unth tiles. A couple of steps lead from the gate down into the garden. Outside the wall are seen the street, a mountain, and the sky. The wall extends to the left, where it can just be seen between the trees.
It is an afternoon in the early spring. Near the close of the first act the twilight falls. As the curtain rises, bells are heard ringing.
Anne Pedersdotter, Merete Beyer, Bente sit at the table to the left, mending clothes. From a large beer-jug they take a draught now and then. Anne sits farthest to the right. Merete and Bente on the bench. In the speeches of the two old women there is an undercurrent of venom far more bitter than the words they utter, and at the same time an anxious cautiousness lest they should venture too far.
6 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
MERETE (holding a shift up to the light)
This shift of yours is worn very thin, Anne Peders-
dotter. It's no use putting in another patch. (Lays
it down. Begins on skirt) BENTB (tentatively)
Anne Pedersdotter has a fancy for that old shift.
MERETE
Ah? Why? BENTE (still working)
It's one of the two she brought with her when she
came here as a bride.
ZAnne bends lower over her work. MERETE (looks at Anne, and feeling that it is best to draw
in her horns, says to Bente)
Ah, be quiet, Bente. My son's wife came of good
stock, though they were poor.
BENTE
Well, well. I say nothing against anybody. No shame in being poor. If only one has one's good name and that. (Drinks)
MERETE
If my son's wife were less of a suffering martyr, she'd snap your head off, Bente. You're too bitter with her. You nag her all day long. It's too much, Bente. Leave the girl alone, or you and I'll fall out.
BENTE
Tut, Merete Beyer. We've been friends these fifty years. You and I aren't going to quarrel for Anne Pedersdotter. ANNE (lays aside her work, and rising)
Thank you for standing up for me, Merete. You needn't bother yourself. Bente's words don't concern me in the least.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
BENTE
Why should they concern you? I've been used to say what was at the end of my tongue. {To Merete) When I was with your sainted husband — God rest his soul — and {to Anne) when the sainted Vibeke was mistress here, what I said wasn't so lightly held. Well, well. They say an old back doesn't fit new harness. MERETE {looks ot Anne to see if she will retort. But she remains silent)
That may be, Bente. But nor does a new wife fit an old house. Remember that, Bente. \_Bente growls. Anne goes to hack qf S. Bells ring, 'k
MERETE
Where are you going? {Anne does not answer) Did you hear me?
ANNE
Yes.
MERETE
Where are you going? \
ANNE
Nowhere.
MERETE
Have you darned the hose yet?
ANNE
No.
MERETE
I don't leave my work unfinished.
ANNE
I must move about. The air's close. It's stifling.
BENTE
Spring air generally is.
8 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
ANNE
I wonder if the French grapes will ripen in the Bishop's garden this year.
MERETE
Perhaps you think, because the air's close, that I and Bente will darn your hose for you.
BENTE
Anne Pedersdotter probably thinks one can get help for anything one can't do oneself. (In a low tone) No matter what sort of help. That was her sainted mother's idea. And she was right. ANNE (has been listening to the noise outside, and has not heard Bente' s words) What's that noise? They're shouting and crying.
MERETE
It's the Dutch stevedores fighting at the inn. Hardly
a day passes but there's fights and bloodshed down
there.
[^Cries are heard outside, but at a distance, only now and
then increoMng in strength.
ANNE
No. It's not from there. They're shouting on the common.
MERETE
Well, let them shout, in God's name. Let the drunken
beasts shriek themselves hoarse. Then they'll be
quiet, probably. BENTE (starts up in terror)
Lord have mercy! Is it a fire? The wind's blowing
straight here. MERETE (rising)
In the name of Christ!
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 9
ANNE
No! No! Those are the bells for evening service. No! Something else is the matter.
SCENE TWO
As before. Jorund enters.
JORUND (rushing from the house before Anne has finished
speaking, wailing)
Lord have mercy on us! Satan is loose. OTHERS (hurrying towards her)
What is it?
JORUND
I went to the door to hear what all the noise and running meant. Then Kristense, the tanner's —
OTHERS
_Yes? Well?
JORUND
They're going to take a witch on the common.
OTHERS
Lord a mercy!
JORUND
The guards are there, oh, and crowds. Kris said they could see the witch. She were out on the roof, calling the Devil. He may blast the guards with fire and brimstone. And us, too, God help us!
MERETE
Shall we never be rid of witches? We burnt six at the stake only two years back.
BENTE
God spare us. The Devil begets new ones. All round us.
10 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
MERETE (folding up the clothes)
Let's lock ourselves in and read the Bible. God'U guard us till Absolon comes back.^ [^David, Choirmaster, enters, running into the garden from the hack.
DAVID
The blessing of God on you. Is Master Absolon back yet?
MERETE
The blessing of God on you, David Choirmaster. No, Master Absolon is still at the castle with Sir Rosenkrantz.
DAVID
When'll he be back?
MERETE
Not before six. And we women are alone here, with the Devil of hell not a hundred yards away.
DAVID {coming to chair C.)
Gird up thy loins, Merete Beyer. The Devil will be beaten in the fight. Oh, my feet have been swift upon the mountains! (Sits)
YBente comes to right of seat. Merete to above seat. Bente pushes beer-jug respectfully towards him.
DAVID
Ah, no. Come. Great things are happening here. Strange things to the glory of God. (Takes a deep draught of ale) Thanks for God's good gifts. Well, they're arresting Herlofs-Marte.
* The fear and anxiety of the women must not at any point be made to appear ridiculous. They were fully justified in their terror by the idea of the time.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 11
ANNE (advancing)
Herlofs-Marte? I know Herlofs-Marte. She lived on the common. Mother and I lodged with her. \^The others look anxiously at her.
DAVID
I'd advise you not to say much about that just now, Anne Pedersdotter. The city guard and half the town are surrounding that house on the common. They're going to take it by storm. She'll be tried for the witch she is.
BENTE
So that's what it's come to. Jesus, Mary, and all the saints! (Sits chair R.) DAVID (starts up)
Pah! Fie! Popish blaspherdy. You may come to suffer in the cellar of the Council House for idolatrous talk like that.
BENTE
Ah! God forgive me, David. It's old habits. I am Lutheran at heart, but the tongue is wickedly popish, without God bridles it.
MERETE
What about Herlofs-Marte?
DAVID
She was formally accused this morning by three honourable women. And their husbands were present and swore to what was said. God be praised and glorified that we can rid the town of them that hate Him.
MERETE
Amen. Amen. Praise Him and magnify Him for ever.
ANNE (affected like the rest) What has she done?
12 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
DAVID
Well! What has she not done? Blasted Tolmer Piper's eldest; milked blood from Skriver's cow, and given a hard birth to two women in childbed. All because they wouldn't lend her butter, or something. MERETE (loith great seriousness)
That the Devil can have such power!
DAVID
And us with the true doctrines.
BENTE
He goes about like a roaring lion. (Folds her hands arid sings with strong but trembling voice) "But he that doth exalt the Lord The Lord shall save alway-a. The moon by night him shall not smite, Nor yet the sun by day-a." MBBETE (before Bente has finished singing) The Council lost no time.
DAVID
No. Thank God (rises) that they are prompt, those gentlemen, when it concerns God's kingdom. When they had heard the evidence, they ordered the guards to Marte's house at the double.
BENTE
Yes. You must pounce to catch fleas.
DAVID
Ah! He might have taken her confession. That man of Glad always had great power with witches. Can't we send for him?
MERETE
Disturb Sir Rosenkrantz at his prayers? No, David. [Distant cries and heavy blows. Cries have also been
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 13
heard during the foregoing conversation. The speakers
have then paused in their speeches, the tone of the whole
being affected by the interruptions. DAVID {has risen)
There! Hark! {Turns and goes up stage) They're
storming her house.
[_All much affected. JORUND {at gate)
And the witch. She's up by the skyhght, calling fire
out of the air.
BENTE {up)
And a south wind blowing.
MERETE
Is there no one there from the church to pray against her.'*
DAVID
Only Lucas, the organist. But the priest of St.
Martin's has been sent for, and ought to be bringing
Master Absolon. I mustn't wait Jonger. Tell Master
Absolon the instant he comes from the castle. I must
run. God save us all!
[^Goes out of the gate to L. and is heard going to the right. MERETE {calling after him)
Wait, David. I'm coming. We can see her taken.
There'll be no fire out of the air.
[^Throws a shawl about her. BENTE {hastily folding up her work)
Beelzebub has power in the air.
MERETE
Are you coming too, Anne Pedersdotter?
ANNH
No, I'm not.
14 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
BBNTE
No. Anne Pedersdotter has probably no great wish to see Herlofs-Marte caught.
ANNB
Some one must be here to tell Absolon when he comes. [^Merete and Bente hasten out through the gate, and are heard going to the R. JOBUND {can hardly stand still from fear and curiosity) May I go too, Anne?
ANNE
Yes. Go.
JORUND
Oh, what times we live in! Well, thank God, she'll
be burned to a cinder.
[_Exits. Anne shuts gate, then comes down to chair C.
SCENE THREE
The same. Anne alone. Anne tries to arrange the garments, then throws them in disorder up into the large basket on the table. The foregoing scene has brought her into a condition of alarm and anxiety. ANNE (in a low voice)
Burn Herlofs-Marte! Burn Herlofs-Marte! [^Herlofs-Marte appears in the passage between the house and outbuilding. A little woman, old and wrinkled, (J)out 78 years old. Face wild and white vnth terror; clothes in rags; hands bloody. She glides a few steps silently forward, and speaks in a low voice.
MARTE
Anne! ANNE (turning, looks in silent horror at Marte, and says half aloud) Herlofs-Marte!
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 15
MARTE {at L. of wall; beckons her nearer) Help me, can you?
ANNE
I don't know. MARTE (coming nearer)
You must. You can't drive me straight to death. Anne. Help me. You must!
ANNE
How can I?
MARTE
Oh, you can. It's only just to show me a place. When they broke in, I went straight through the cellar and hid in the passage. They passed close to me when I was in the ditch. Then I got through the hedge. Look at my hands, Anne. (Stretching out her hands, from which the blood is dripping) Then I came here. I've been here ever since David came. God in heaven, have mercy! God sent them away. Anne, you must help me. I helped your mother. It's only just to hide me till dark. Anne! Anne! They'll burn me on North Point if you don't.
ANNE
Marte, I daren't. There's Absolon, my husband. Remember him.
MARTE
For the sake of Christ's dear wounds, Anne. Hark! They're shouting again. Anne! It's death. It's death. They'll burn me if they catch me. (Almost kneeling, she entreats, catching hold of Anne's dress)
ANNE
Will you swear by God's blessed death and Word that you're not a witch?
16 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
MARTE
Not a witch? (A short pause; she glances from side to side in terror) I don't know.
ANNE (tearing herself free) God save us all!
MARTE (rising)
You hold your tongue. Do you know when the Devil may come to you? Do you know how he tempts? Do you know how he had your mother in his power? Do you know how he may get you?
ANNE
Get out of here, Marte. Or I'll call at the gate that you're here.
MARTE
You wouldn't? Anne, you can't. You do it, and I'll accuse you. Your mother got off because you were her child. But you shall burn too, if you give me up. (She crawls towards steps at L.) Oh, no, no, don't listen to me. I'm mad with terror. (Sinks down) I'm old. I've palsy. If they torture and burn me! [^Sinks on steps, staring with chattering teeth and hands clasped round her knees. Bells ring.
ANNE (slowly)
You say that my mother — MABTE (rousing herself)
No, no. Don't listen to me. I'm mad. Let me hide.
Don't call them. For God's sake! For God's
precious blood and wounds! Have mercy, Anne.
You may need mercy some day. ANNE (turned away)
Hide, then. Get up the loft. It's dark there. They
won't look here. God forgive my sin. But you
were a true friend to my mother.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 17
MARTE
God reward you. (Going a little nearer her) God repay you. (When about to go up a few steps, her limbs fail her. She is near falling, but saves herself with her hands. In this position she says in an under- tone to herself) Satan blast the hounds for all they do to a poor old woman. I'm so afraid of death, Anne. I was by when they burned Maren Gjeit. \_Anne cannot bring herself to help her. Marte sits a moment, with closed eyes, mumbling, unth her face turned towards audience. Rises suddenly in terror and escapes into house, grasping the railing and door-post for support.
Anne, left alone, crosses herself on forehead and breast and makes the sign of the cross where Marte sat. Her lips move in anxious prayer. Goes to table, seating herself heavily in chair to L. Her head sinks on her arms, and one sees how her excitement finds vent in tears. Starts up as the gate opens.
SCENE FOUR
The same. Martin, a somewhat pale young man, in dark traveling-dress, enters through gate. His appearance bears the marks of much study, his face being rather thin. But when he warms up, it may be seen that he possesses his fathers strong temperament, and has also inherited his thirst for life. He remains standing a moment inside the gate. Anne has risen and looks inquiringly ai him. MARTIN (approaching) ,
Good day. Is Master Absolon in?
ANNE
No. But I expect him in every moment. He is at the castle.
18 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
MARTIN
I am his son Martin, from Copenhagen. ANNE (recovers little by little from the terror of the foregoing scene)
You are Master Martin! Well, welcome back to your father's house. You hardly know me, I suppose. I am Anne Pedersdotter.
MARTIN
You are my father's wife?
ANNE
I have been Master Absolon's wife now going on five years.
MARTIN (looks at her somewhat embarrassed at first, then grasps her hand)
As I wrote to Father when he told me he was mar- ried, my father's wife will always find me a good, de- voted son.
ANNE (crosses to steps, bows)
Won't you come in and leave your cloak? And your luggage?
MARTIN
It's not off the ship yet. It'll come. I was in such a hurry to reach home that I jumped ashore directly the ship was alongside the quay. Perhaps I was a little more excited than was right for a Master of Theology. (Smiling)
ANNE
But won't you — ? (Pointing to house)
MARTIN
Oh, no, thanks. Let me sit here and wait for Father. ZThey go together to table. He above her. They sit, he on the bench behind table, she, after removing the large basket from table.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 19
MARTIN
When I was a schoolboy, I used to like to sit in this corner to learn my lessons. But Grandmother — is she —
ANNE
She's out too. {Hastily; rises) Shall I draw you some ale? We brewed yesterday.
MARTIN
There's some in the jug here. That'll do. {Anne sits) I don't really want any. {Looking about) The place hasn't changed much since I left. {Moves)
ANNE
And that's nine years ago. !
MARTIN
Yes. It's nine years. And you are Anne Peders- dotter. ANNE {her manner becomes gradually freer)
Yes. My father was Peder Gerhardson, priest in Selji. He is now at peace in God. When he died. Mother came to live here at Bergen, and Master Absolon was a great help to her. Of course, he was my father's great friend. My mother and I could never thank him enough for all he did for us.
MARTIN
Yes, God has made my father the instrument of much good to the widow and the fatherless.
ANNE
And then, when Mother died, and I was alone in the world, he brought me here as his wife.
MARTIN
Yes. He wrote me. He said he hadn't chosen his wife for her wealth, but for something far better, a
20 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
fear of God and pleasant conversation. {A move from Anne; he becomes silent)
ANNE
You had a good voyage?
MARTIN
Better than we dared hope. Only four weeks from Copenhagen.
ANNE
We weren't expecting you for a fortnight. You have seen a lot of the world.
MARTIN
Yes. Father let me do as he did. I've wandered far and long. Five years studying at Copenhagen. Then for four years more at Wittenberg. I took my ^ degree at Wittenberg, like Father.
ANNE
He was so pleased when he got your letter saying that. We gave a thanksgiving feast, and all the canons of the chapter came. — Your father is very fond of you. (Becomes silent)
MARTIN
Are all friends and relations well?
ANNE
Yes, thank God. Your father and grandmother. They've kept well, though there was plague and other sickness about. MARTIN (looking at her)
So it's five years since Father brought you here. He'd been a widower ten years. He must thank God for giving him so good a second wife. He is still a young man. And then, having no children to interest him —
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 21
ANNE
But he had you.
MARTIN
I was far away, Anne Pedersdotter. You were young then.
ANNE
I was seventeen. Now I'm twenty-two.
MARTIN
And I'm nearly twenty-six. I was seventeen when I entered the University. Father used to joke at me, caUing me backward. I was a year later than he was. He was only sixteen when he went up. [The remainder of the scene is coloured by the dawn of a love between these two, of which they are not conscious themselves. It sets its mark only in a slight degree on the contents and form of their speeches; but it must appear in the whole tone and feeling of the scene, and must be felt, as it is the groundwork of what happens later. ANNE (rises)
But shan't I draw you some fresh ale.'' The ale in the jug must be flat.
MARTIN
No. I don't drink, thank you. (Rises) D'you
know, Anne Pedersdotter, the more I look at you,
the more I seem to recognise you. And your voice
too.
[Anne puis down jug and backs a step.
ANNE
I can't help thinking that I've met you before, too. Master Martin. I can't think whether it'^ the face or the voice I recognise.
22 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
MARTIN
Didn't you live over there on the common, near Herlofs-Marte's house? ANNE (starts on hearing the name, but vnU not now speak oj Herlqfs-Marte) Yes. (Backing a little more to C.) We lived with her.
BfARTIN
Then I have spoken to you. Twice. But you won't remember.
ANNE
No. I don't remember.
MARTIN (laughing softly, coming C. to her) I was a boy then. We'd been having fun with a town guard who was drunk. He came after us, lashing out at us. He'd have locked us up if he could have caught us. The others dodged, but he nearly got me. There was a little girl at Herlofs-Marte's door. She called to me, and beckoned. So I rushed into the house, and before the guard could get me, she nipped me into a passage leading through the gardens. Leading right up to here. Just to where we're sitting. Do you remember that?
ANNE (slowly) No. I don't remember that. It wasn't then.
BfARTIN
Then you must remember the other time?
ANNE
When was that?
MARTIN
One Christmas, I'd disobeyed Father, and gone with the choir boys, singing carols. We went to Herlofs- Marte's house, to your mother. You gave me a
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 23
penny and some sweets, because you said I sang best. It must have been you. Do you recollect that now?
ANNE
Yes. I recollect that very well. So that was you?
MARTIN
Yes. I was eleven years old, then.
ANNE
I was eight. You sang carols in Norwegian and Latin. You had such a high, clear voice.
BiARTIN
So you remember that still. I wonder if it's only fancy, or if —
ANNE
What?
MARTIN
It seems as if I'd remembered you ever since then. All the time.
ANNE
You can hardly have done that. Master Martin.
MARTIN
Well, I remembered the moment I heard you speak.
ANNE
Well, I knew you. But as for remembering you all the time — ! Still, I've thought of you many, many times.
MARTIN
Thought of me?
ANNE
Very anxiously. Master Martin. Wondering how you'd behave to so young a stepmother. I've cer- tainly brought neither riches nor honour to the house. {Turns aside to hide the rising tears; speaks in a low voice) As I hear often enough.
«4 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
MARTIN (rises and seizes her hand)
Anne Pedersdotter, I don't know you. Not very well. But I believe you've made my father happy, which is more than my sainted mother did. You needn't be anxious about me. I shall help you and be as good a son to you as you can wish. I know it's hard for a young woman like you to be lady of the house here; but I promise I'll lighten your path all I can. So dry your eyes and welcome me home again. For now we know each other. Don't we? {He pats her hand)
ANNE (looking long and warmly at him)
You've kept your voice. It's as pleasant as when you went carol-singing. And now you're my son.
SCENE FIVE
The same. Absolon stands at gate. He is a strong mxin of about sixty years, with a clerical dignity that is not oppressive; accustomed to fill the place he occupies with the excessive engagedness and strong passion of the Renais- sance. He enjoys talking, and talks well. Only occa- sionally is his daily conversation marked by a clerical tone; in him there is room for seriousness and laughter. In his joy over his son there is a pride and a vanity that he himself finds a trifie amusing. Now he stands in the gateway, looking at the two. The light falls in such a manner that he does not at once recognise his son.
ANNE (turns, and hurries towards Absolon, almost as if seeking protection) Absolon. Here's your son.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 25
ABSOLON {extending his arm)
Mi fili. Delicium animae meael A happy return to you! (Martin hurries towards him. A long and hearty embrace. Absolon holds Martin from him) Let me look at you. My dear, dear boy. How you've grown! The lad's become a man. A little pale after the voyage and the studying. You must eat and grow strong here. (Anne comes down L.C.) We must have you strong for labour in the Lord's vineyard. And what a surprise you've given us. We didn't expect you for a fortnight.
MARTIN
We had wonderfully fair winds. Skipper Gaute says it was the quickest passage he ever made.
ABSOLON
Well, well. Thank God for it. But haven't you had
anything to eat and drink? ANNE (standing close to her husband)
I asked him; but he refused. ABSOLON seizing her hand, says urith strong emphasis)
And this is my wife, Anne Pedersdotter. We've
been married now nearly five years.
IMARTIN
Yes. I've been talking to her. I wished you happi- ness in my letters. I wish it again now. Since I've seen my stepmother, I'm sure my wish for your happiness has been granted.
ABSOLON
Thanks. Thanks. My dear boy, how glad I am to hear you. Come. Sit down here by me. (Martin sits at L. of table. Anne gets jugs, exit L. I. E.) Anne will fetch us some ale. We brewed yesterday. Or would you rather go in? I like to — (sits on bench)
26 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
sit here. The air's so mild. Mi fill. It's as if you brought my youth back. From Copenhagen and Wittenberg. (Absolon has now seated himself on bench. Martin on chair to L.) Magister theologiae, cum lavde egregia. And thanks for all your letters. I read every one before the Chapter. The good gentlemen were surprised at your learning. Most of it was a cut above them.
[^Anne has already been in and now returns toith two tankards, and sets them on table.
ABSOLON
Eh? Ha, ha! There. Thank you, Anne. Now. Drink your welcome home with your father and mother. Welcome home again. And may the Lord God give you strength for your coming labours. (They drink. Anne sits R. of table) Ah! it's good to have a drink after the long sermon at the Castle.
MARTIN
You were preaching to the Castellan? ABSOLON (after motioning Anne to a place beside him) Preach? Yes. A sermon the good Sir Rosenkrantz will remember. He and his lawyers had designs on the school property. But I read him a lesson that made him jump. Oh, a rector here has more than his doctrines to think of in these bad times, my son.
MARTIN
Have you as good health for your work, Father?
ABSOLON
Yes. I am well, thank God. Detmar, the surgeon, says I must be careful with my heart. It won't bear overstrain or excitement. Well. It's borne my excitements in the past, and they've been plenty. So it will probably bear those still to come. Eh?
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 27
That conclusion was hardly regulis logica, mi fili. My son, my son. I feel so buoyant and happy just because you sit here beside me. We two students from Wittenberg. (Changing his manner) Do you know, thinking it over, I've wondered if it was wise, your going to Wittenberg. The spirit of Luther's gone, I'm afraid. The Philippists play a cunning game there where that man of God gave the clear light. It might have been better if you'd gone to Leipzig. Still, I couldn't grudge you Wittenberg. There is nothing so young and strong in all Germany as Wittenberg, nor any place so beautiful. When it's mild here, in Bergen, in spring, my old bones feel a longing to be off. And it's always towards Witten- berg. Wittenberg, eh? But here I stick. And it's as well. For I've more than I can do, what with the school and the church. God has been good to me. I'm at peace with the world and at home. Still, it's good to have some place to long for. (Absolon has now and then stroked Anne's hand. Martin looks at the two with an annoyance he cannot account for. Anne has not responded to her husband's caress, but looks down) But come. Eh! I'm running on. It's you who ought to be talking. You just back from abroad with all sorts of news — MARTIN {as if waking)
I've letters and greetings to you from Wittenberg as well as Copenhagen. Professor Reuchlinius. . . .
ABSOLON
Is he alive still? Well, well. Why, he was on in years even in my time.
MARTIN
Still alive, and teaching. And Master Hemmingsen.
28 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
ABSOLON
Lord! Lord! To think. Here I sit shut in Bergen, and you come with messages from the world out there to shew that I'm not forgotten. My son, my son. This is a great day. Anne. My Uttle Anne. What a son we have, eh? Eh? If I could only get out of school to-morrow, I'd sit at your desk, I would, and let you tell and tell. J^Noise and shouts heard from withovt.
ABSOLON
What's that noise?
ANNE (starts and springs up. Gets round above seat to L. of it)
Oh, Absolon. Martin's coming back was such a sur- prise that I forgot a message to you. Herlofs-Marte over there on the common is accused as a witch.
ABSOLON (rises, shaking) Herlofs-Marte! {^Absolon goes to C. Martin goes to R. below table.
ANNE
The Council made the guards storm the house. David Choirmaster ran across to ask you to be present when they took her, in case she should confess, or accuse any one.
ABSOLON
And the Council has done that on its own responsi- bility. When will the confounded Council learn that it's the Church's work to deal with witches. And Marte's accused!
ANNE
They're storming the house. That's what the noise is. Merete ran there, with Bente and David.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER Sd
ABSOLON (turns to R.)
But she's a dangerous woman, that Marte. It is strange, my son, how zealous the Devil has become. Far worse than he used to be. He hates our pure doctrines. He sends witches among us to rob us of the Truth.
SCENE SIX
As before. On the street are heard voices, that come nearer. At the same time voices are heard in the passage.
ABSOLON {advancing to the middle of stage)
What is all this.?* What do you want.?
[Guards and a couple of citizens emerge from the passage,
torn and dusty. GUARD (hastily)
We're looking for Herlofs-Marte.
ABSOLON
Here?
\^Anne has now moved down R. Crowd stand by.
GUARD
Yes, here. We've traced her here.
ABSOLON
One would think it enough that the Council sends you after witches without telling the Chapter. Now you force your way into a priest's house by a private gate. Do you think I harbour witches?
GUARD
God forbid. Master Absolon. But when we broke into her house it was empty, and there's the little passage here at the back, which she could have come by, and there were rags from her clothes in the hedge. [Enter two men at back. In the meantime the gate has
80 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
been opened. Merete, David, Bente, Jorund, Lucas, Master Jorgen, men, women, and children have crowded in. Over all, curiosity, excitement, and terror mixed with devotion. Frightened voices are heard: "Is she here?" Merete and Bente try as well as possible to welcome Martin. Absolon himself is so strongly affected by excitement that he makes no effort to assert his rights as master of the house. Wailings are heard. On the wall are seen boys who have climbed up.
ABSOLON (in answer to the speech of the Guard)
Well, she's not come here. For if she had, Anne . . . Have you seen anything? [^Anne shakes her head.
GUABD (roughly) And I say she has come here. She tore her hands in the hedge. There are marks of blood the whole way where she put out her hands to steady herself. You can see the blood yourself. Look here. Why, God save us, here's blood on the wall! \jCrowd bursts in, all in great excitement; as many as can rush forward to see the traces of blood. Among the voices Guard is heard shouting.
GUARD
Stand back, you —
[^Drives the people back to L. A guard has in the mean- time been up to the steps, where Herlofs-Marte sank down; looks closely, then cries out.
GUARD
Here! (All thither. As the guards come down, the crowd start to come in) She's been here. (Upon the porch) And here. See? She's put her hand on the latch. She's in the house. \_Absolon and Anne hurry toward house.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 31
ABSOLON
Who has given you the right to —
GUARD
Are you drunk, Master Absolon? Are you going to
stop us take a witch? {To his helpers) Jost —
Hendrik, come in here.
\_The three enter the house. On the stage all tremble vnth
suspense.
ABSOLON {in a low tone, earnestly to Anne) Don't you know if she is in there?
ANNE {speaks with difficulty)
I don't know. I'd work to do. I was alone.
ABSOLON {sees that she is lying; controls himself and says aloud)
If she is here, she's got here by the Devil's help. {Looks sternly at Merete, who has come somewhat for- ward and looks at Anne as if to devour her. Turns suddenly to Jorgen) Master Jorgen, are you a party to these proceedings? When did the Council get the right to carry on in this way?
JORGEN
Don't you preach to me, Master Absolon. The Council sent to the Bishop, and I'm here by Bishop's orders. It strikes me we'd better be praising God that the witch is taken than — I'm thinking it's a queer Chapter, when its notary talks as you do.
ABSOLON
Mind what you say, Master Jorgen. If any one has been zealous against witches and popery, it's /. We live in bad times when the Guard hunts for witches in the house of the palace chaplain. ^A piercing cry is heard from house. It is Herlofs- Marte, who has been taken. A shock passes through all
82 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
on stage. Merete sinks down on bench. Bente rushes up to her. Martin draws near to Merete, but his eye seeks Anne. Anne tries to conceal herself behind Absolon; she now stands close to side of porch. The crowd has unconsciously moved back from the house. In the terrified stillness bells are heard ringing. Marie's screams and the heavy tramping of the guard on stairs. The door opens and Herlofs-Marte appears. A shudder passes through all on stage.
SCENE SEVEN
As before. Marte, mad with frantic terror, strikes in all directions, tears herself loose from the two guards, falls over steps, looks about like a hunted animal. Hair hanging about her face, cap torn off, clothes in rags.
The crowd has drawn back in fear, but not one shows any signs of pity. Some stand with folded hands, mumbling prayers. Guards stand about Marte, but not so as to hide her from those on stage.
MARTE (rushes up to Absolon, and falls on knees)
Oh, Master Absolon, save me! For God's sake! For Christ's sake! I am innocent. I won't be burned. Anne! Beg for me. God blast you all! God blot you out! Absolon! Absolon! (Absolon does not answer. Guard grabs her. Marte starts up, hissing and spitting at him like a cat) Fie! Get out. Out, you drunken dog! Satan take you! (Wilder and wilder) The Devil take you all! (In despair) Let me go. I won't be tortured. I'll confess. You needn't torture me. Yes. Yes. I've been with Satan. Oh, let me go! I won't be tortured.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 33
I'll tell everything, everything. {Guards again seize her and drag her away. In a last fit of fury she pushes the guards aside. Her eyes gleam hysterically, she pushes her hair back from her forehead) You are all the Devil's. You're all the Devil's black dogs. I know you. Curse you, Absolon, for kicking me out. Curse you, Anne Pedersdotter. I see your eyes, Anne Pedersdotter. You'll come to what I've come to. Curse you all!
l^She grasps her throat as if to choke herself. Crowd cry out in terror. Guard seizes her. One of guards throws her over his shoulder and carries her to the gate. Prayers, noise, talk, singing of hymns. David's voice is heard: " Soli deo gloria! "
Anne has sunk down in Absolon' s arms. Martin, during the foregoing, has gone over to her and his father. A highly excited scene. Marte lifted over the shoulder of the guard. About them the terrified noisy crowd. Boys on wall screaming and shouting. Martin, Absolon, and Anne in foreground to R.; Merete, Bente, and David in foreground to L. Above the noise, cries, and psalm-singing are heard the booming strokes of church-bells.
CURTAIN
THE SECOND ACT
SCENE ONE
Main or living-room in Absolon Beyer's house. To R. in foreground a large fireplace. Before it a large easy-chair icith footstool. Nearer background against the wall a table on which stand two candles. To L., near foreground, a window. A bench with cushions against wall. On wall a picture of Luiher. Bookcase. In the background, door; when open, one looks into a narrow hall with stairway leading up to L. To R. of door a large sideboard. To L. of door the wall extends toward fore- ground, and in it is a smaller door. Both doors are pro- vided with hook or bar. In middle of floor, but somewhat nearer L. wall, is a large table. Between table and fireplace a rather large open space. At end of table, to L., a large armchair; to R., smaller armchairs. Behind table three chairs; before it a bench with cushions. The table, which is laid vnth cloth, is well provided with food and drink, beer and wine.
It is evening. Candles are burning in candlesticks on the large table, and on the table near R. wall. Seen with the eyes of the time, the room is lighted for a festival.
When the curtain rises, all are seen standing. Absolon at end of table to L.; back of table Claus, Johannes, Merete. At end of table to R., Anne. Before table, vnth backs to audience, Martin nearest Anne, Laurentius nearest Absolon, Bente and Jorund stand somewhat in the background. All stand with folded hands; grace has just been said.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 35
ABSOLON {after a short pause, giving up the devotional
attitude)
Thank you all for your company. May God's gifts
be to your good, both body and soul.
^During the whole of following scene Absolon gives the
impression of absent-mindedness. When he joins in
conversation it is vnth an effort that gives his words a
strained effect. CLAUS {immediately after Absolon's speech)
Thank you, Master, from all of us, and you, too, Anne
Pedersdotter.
LAURENTIUS
And you, Merete Beyer.
[With these thanks they leave the table and seat them- selves, temporarily, where it may happen. The women clear table, but leave beer-jugs standing. They go in and out. Martin helps Anne now and then. Merete, each time he does so, emphasizes it vnth a look. CLAUS {while this work is being done)
That was a fine fish you gave us. Master Absolon. I used to think that all fish like that got sent abroad. I know they don't come my way.
LAURENTroS
A lot depends on how they're cooked. Merete Beyer was always famous for that. JOHANNES {has seated himself on bench to L. and taken his beer-jug with him. At this moment no women are in the room)
Yes. You may thank your God, Master Absolon, that you've still got a mother to cook for you. Anne Pedersdotter is young yet to know how to cook. I say nothing against her. But a master and three prebends need some cooking. But, ha,
S6 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
ha, ha! then she gives you what is nicer even than
fish, eh?
ZClaus and Laurentius join in the laughter.
ABSOLON (rises, looks at Martin, then says severely) My son is here, Master Johannes.
JOHANNES {following round table to chair R.)
What of that? He's not a boy. He knows about these things. He's not been in a monastery in Witten- berg, has he? Ha, ha, ha! We're not papists, thank God. We can be happy with our wives, and speak of it without shame.
[^The women come in, arrange room and table. Exeunt Bente and Jorund. Merete and Anne remain a short time.
JOHANNES (continuing) Don't be snuflFy, Master Absolon. It's this wine of yours. It's too strong, or something. (Staggers with his beer-mug to end of table at L. and seats himself heavily in armchair R., setting mug beside him) It's so devilish deceptive. I don't often have such wine, Anne Pedersdotter, and I drink it like — just like small beer. Now I feel that I'm a trifle tipsy.
ABSOLON
Perhaps you'd like to lie down on the bench in my study?
JOHANNES
Thank you very much. But I've stood as much as this before to-day, both at feasts and in the pul — I mean at weddings and funerals. Besides, there's beer here. Beer puts out fire — so 'sperienced people say. MERETE (coming a little forward)
Well, I and Anne will say good night and go to bed. You men have probably a lot to settle.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 37
\_Anne comes to L. of Absolon. Laurentius and Claus rise. Good nights with thanks and hand-shakings.
JOHANNES (has risen. When Anne goes to him, he strokes her cheek)
Such a child. So young. So dainty. Eh? (Noticing the others^ severe looks) It's that deviUsh wine. It's so deceptive. (Resuming chair) Well, I am tipsy. [^Anne and Merete go out.
ciiAUS (sitting at the middle of table, at hack)
Well, well. So this blessed Synod is at an end. And to-morrow we go back rejoicing to our parishes.
LAURENTIUS (sitting on bench against waU) I doubt if old Cluf goes back rejoicing.
CLAUS (indulgently, chuckling to himself) '
No. He didn't enjoy your cross-examination about his Ufe and teachings.
ABSOLON (has been walking up and down between the right foreground and door at back)
One could shed tears of blood that a man like that should be a priest. Unread. Ignorant as a schoolboy. Leading a life of drunkenness and impurity. Worse than a popish monk with his trull. And we had to let it pass with reprimands and warnings. If we cast him out, there's nobody to take his place.
JOHANNES
His parishioners are very fond of old Cluf, though, all the same.
LAURENTIUS
He lets them go on with their popery. If we could drop in upon him some fine day, during service, I shouldn't wonder if we should hear him saying Mass, as well as prayers to the saints.
88 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
JOHANNES
I daresay. But that's good enough Christianity for old Cluf' s lot. LAURENTius (starting up)
Is the Devil talking through you, Master Johannes? Do you dare to call heathenish popery Christianity? You should pray God to bridle your tongue. (Goes behind table over to R.)
JOHANNES
There are many who should do that. Many who need the Lord to bridle their tongues. But there are many subtleties in doctrine. Maybe neither old Cluf nor his parishioners apprehend them yet. We must give them time and opportunity, LAURENTIUS (seats himself in chair to R. of table)
Till Satan takes both flock and hirehng? D'you think they'll be mildly judged on that day? No. The Lord will not be long-suffering on that day.
JOHANNES
Maybe, Master Lars. But maybe, too. He'll be more long-suffering than yourself. (Drinks)
LAURENTIUS
It's a sad sight to see you so drunk, Master Johannes.
JOHANNES
Drunk? Yes. I am drunk. But I don't think it is sad. And you haven't paid for the drink, anyway. CLAUS (leading the conversation over to more neutral subjects)
Yes. Indeed, these have been serious days. Earnest days. Very edifying too. The catechisms. Then the beautiful ordination service. (To Martin, sitting near fireplace) Yes, my young brother, that was a fine sermon you gave after the Bishop had ordained
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 39
you. You should thank God, Master Absolon, for
having so learned a son as assistant. JOHANNES (to Laurentius)
Assistant priest in the Cathedral — that's the direct
road to the Chapter, Master Lars.
[^Laurentius makes a sound like a spitting cat, then
drinks. CLAUS (quickly)
And then the witch who was burnt to-day. Perhaps
that was the most edifying of all. Only once before has
God allowed me to see a witch being burnt. Yes, yes.
It was a special providence that it happened now, with
all the clergy in the town come up for the Synod.
LAURENTIUS
And then the Lord letting the rain stop directly the faggots were lit, that was beautiful. It shewed that He was pleased.
JOHANNES
It went hard with the old beast.
LAURENTIUS
So it did in Gospel days. When devils were cast out, they struggled. They didn't go easily.
CLAUS
Did she denounce any one? ABSOLON (painfully affected by the conversation) No, no one.
LAURENTIUS
Not even when tortured?
ABSOLON
She was not tortured. She confessed as soon as the pincers were shown her. She said she had known Satan and borne devils to him. But that she had been alone in it.
40 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
LAURENTIUS
If she'd been tortured, she'd have accused her accom- plices.
ABSOLON
The Lord will reveal them in His good time.
LAURENTIUS
Yes. But He employs men as a means thereto. I heard from Peter Espikom, who is just back from Hamburg, that in Germany they've made some grand invention for torturing witches. There's a wheel with ropes for stretching their limbs. It brought out the truth almost every time.
CLAUS
That's very clever, now. LAURENTIUS (to Martin)
You must be able to tell us about that, Mr. Martin. You're just back from the Holy Roman Empire. But there you sit without a word.
ABSOLON
He hasn't quite got over this morning, seeing Herlofs- Marte burnt.
LAURENTIUS
That ought to have been a joy to a devout young priest.
ABSOLON
Well, he rejoiced. But still, it is painful for flesh and blood. Isn't that so, mi fili? MARTIN (rising)
I'm not used to such things. I never before saw a person burnt. Though my heart rejoices over the defeat of Satan, her screams ring in my head.
LAURENTIUS
It's the Devil tempting you. You must pray against it, Mr. Martin.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTEB 41
CLAUS
Have you really never seen a witch burnt? Can it be that faith is getting lukewarm in Denmark and Germany?
MARTIN
While I was in Copenhagen a lot of witches were burnt in Jutland. But none in Zealand. Nor were any burnt in Wittenberg while I was there. Some people there even doubt Satanic possession altogether.
LAURENTIUS
Just what I expected. Those damned followers of Melancthon. {To Ahsolon) You must look well after your son, Mr. Absolon, lest he bring in those false doctrines here,
ABSOLON
Well, bodily possession is not the corner stone in Lutheran teaching.
LAURENTIUS
Not the corner stone, no. But a battering ram that can destroy the whole building. You don't see it, Mr. Absolon, because you won't see it. You've fallen away from your first zeal. {All excited) Oh, yes, you have. Did you proceed properly against that Herlofs-Marte? Did you force confession from her? Did you bid her denounce any one while she was burning? No. You drowned her words with prayers and psalm-singing. And instead of rejoicing at God's victory, you've grieved all day, as though you pitied the Devil because his prey was taken from him. {^All rise, much excited.
ABSOLON
Mind what you say. Master Lars. I don't want to quarrel. My zeal is well known.
42 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
JOHANNES (stands; he is now quite drunk)
Master Lars, if you don't shut your dirty mouth, may the Devil fly away with you.
LAURENTIUS
Shut my mouth? When I see God's agents halting? We should be like a storm beating down Satan under our feet, and here we are like hirelings that flee.
JOHANNES
Shut up. Master Lars. Let Mr. Absolon alone. He'll manage God and Satan his own way. Only shut your mouth.
LAURENTIUS
It's not for you to talk, Mr. Johannes. You've got two or three in your parish ripe for burning. But in your heart you're a papist. That's one for you.
JOHANNES
To hell with you and popery. That's one for you. If I do regret the Blessed Virgin now and again, what's that to you? I know you've done away with her, but she can be put back. She was Our Lord's mother, wasn't she? Eh? Are you aware of that? Perhaps you'll invent Him another.
LAURENTIUS
And a man like you is to teach the Truth ! An idolater. A drunken papist. ^Increasing excitement. JOHANNES (bending forward over table, so that the two priests stand, one at each end, like two fighting-cocks) Papist yourseK. Who was i/owr father, eh? Your father was a monk. Eh? When you were a lad, he turned Lutheran, and your mother made him marry her. I know you. You zealous, sneaking dog! Drivelling in the Cathedral for your bread-and-butter. You
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 4S
ought to have been a Jesuit. You are a Jesuit. You are, I say. For all you gabble Luther's catechism. And to hell with you!
[^Strikes out with his hand; falls heavily over table. All excited. LAURENTius (trembling with passion)
Do you allow this in your house, Mr. Absolon.
ABSOLON
You provoked him. (Cross to below R. of table) And he's drunk. He's drunk.
LAURENTIUS
And drunk in your house. The house of a minister of God.
CLAUS
We all offend in something.
LAURENTIUS
I will no longer be the butt for a drunken atheist. I wish you all good night. And God's blessings — £The others try in vain to soothe him. Laurentius hurries out R. at back. JOHANNES (at the same time)
Cut. Get to hell with you. Eh? Did he go? Eh? The Jesuit!
ABSOLON
Yes. You drove him out with your disgusting language.
JOHANNES
Did I? Eh? Well, that's a comfort. I told him to his white, foxy face. "You're a devil," I said. You say that Johannes of Fane can't preach? Eh? Well, I shut up old St. Laurence, that time, anyway. (Sits. Absolon goes to vdndow) I hope he'll never find it. (Strikes table uoith his fist so that the beer splashes out)
44 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
Eh? Come on, now. What's the matter with a good big mug of ale, to shew there's no ill-feeling?
ABSOLON
You ought not to have any more, Johannes.
JOHANNES
No more, Mr. Absolon? Well, well. Perhaps you're right. I suppose I must go to my lodgings. They're the other side of the town.
ABSOLON
You can't cross the town in your present state.
JOHANNES
What? You think I can't walk? D'you think I've never been drunker than this? Get away with you. (Goes across the floor) Just let me stick my head in the water barrel. And you'll see Master Johannes, minister, walks straight's a lord. Lend me your arm, Mr. Claus. We'll go together. Woa. Steady. Just prop me up, Mr. Martin. Only to the water barrel. Only just to the water barrel. All right after that. Don't want you further'n the water barrel. (Leaving iheniy he goes over to Absolon) Good night, Mr. Absolon. Thanks for the d'lightful evening. God bless you. Gobbless your home. Don't be angry. What's a man to do? Eh? How can I say No? Eh? When I get a chance to get drunk after labouring in the blurry vineyard. Well, well, (to Claus) we all offend in some- thing. Come on, then. [Gimme your arm, Claus. Come, gimme your arm, Martinius, eh? Larrin for Marrin. ^Claus in the meantime takes leave of Absolon. Johannes between Claus and Martin goes out through door at back. They are heard noisily descending stairs. Johannes is heard talking the whole time about that Jesuit with the white fox face.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 45
SCENE TWO
The same. Ahsolon alone. A pause. He looks about. In the room are numerous traces of the theological dispute; overturned beer-mugs, beer dripping from table, the cloth nearly torn from table, chairs in disorder; and the like.
Absolon seats himself at right end of table, resting head in hands.
Martin enters. He is ashamed and shocked at the scenes he has been vdtness to; sets chairs in order.
ABSOLON (looks up at him, guessing his thoughts)
That's the best we have. But you mustn't judge them by this. That drunkard and Laurentius can't go near each other without quarrelling. Well, there, they're the best we've got.
MARTIN
Perhaps. I'm not judging them. ABSOLON (after a short silence)
You've been to all the Synod's meetings; but you've hardly told me what you think.
MARTIN
What I had to say was so unpleasant that I thought I had better keep quiet.
ABSOLON
Tell me.
MARTIN
I've nothing to tell you, Father, except that I pity you sincerely. Forgive me if I speak as I should not. But I see that everything depends on you. And you are like the good sower sowing the good seed all day
46 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
long, and watering it with his heart's blood; and reaping only thistles and weeds.
ABSOLON
It seems so to me< sometimes. That I live in a dying land and time almost dead. And that my weak hands can save neither land nor faith. But I pray daily to be spared such thoughts. They only come when I'm weak and worried. My son, d'you know, I've dreaded your coming back, for I knew you'd not rejoice at what I've accomplished during all these years. Only thistles and weeds. And where you come from there are strong thoughts and great men. But we must pray for patience. MARTIN (goes up to him and grasps his hand)
My dear Father, don't be vexed with me. I am young and too quick to judge. When I heard these priests at the Synod, ignorant, weak in doctrine, and of base life, then I felt miserable. These were the stones of which God's Church was built! I know I am wrong. Who am I to judge the labourers in the vineyard.'* The Lord is strong even in their weakness. And I've been in a strange state of mind since I came home; now melancholy, now almost too happy. I think it must be the surging life of the spring.
ABSOLON
My son, I am thankful that you've come home to me. I've been uneasy too, and yearning — for I've had no one to confide in since Bishop Gebble died. I've been very lonely since then. I've had my work, of course, and my mind runs more to action than to brooding. But a man like me needs a brother who can go in and out of his thoughts, and share his joys and troubles. I feel that I've got that in you.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 47
MARTIN {deeply moved)
Paler carissime! I would thank God daily if I could be that to you.
ABSOLON {holding his hands long and warmly)
My son. My most dear son. {Suddenly drawing hack) My God, what days, what times! A man begins in strength and faith, like the Lord's Anointed, thinking himself a chosen Sower. He works day in and day out, never caring for results, lest he should look back after laying hand to the plough. And at last, one day, when you're worn out, you sit down and look about you, and it's all thorns and weeds and thistles. The old church ruined, and no new one a-building. There's your life's work. {Looks at Martin with a strange look) And you ask yourself was the Lord with you, or did He leave you because you failed Him?
MARTIN
Failed Him?
ABSOLON
Yes, failed Him. {Is about to speak; hesitates. At last, with a strong determination to throw off a heavy burden) My boy, there's something on my conscience. It weighs on me so that I can hardly sleep. Mr. Laurentius touched on it when he said that I didn't rejoice enough at the death of Herlofs-Marte.
MARTIN
Did she denounce anybody, then, after all, and you concealed it?
ABSOLON
No. Not quite that. Nobody living.
MARTIN
Was she innocent, then?
48 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
ABSOLON
No. By rights she ought to have been burnt long ago. Oh, my son, I've laid a great sin on my soul. (Seats himself in the chair to R. of table) Mr. Lauren- tius was nearer the truth than he thought. I've become lukewarm. I've fallen from my first zeal. A sin against God and man.
MARTIN
Tell me about it, Father. Just as man to man or priest to priest. ABSOLON (after a short pause, rises) Call Anne. It concerns her too.
MARTIN
Concerns Anne?
ABSOLON
Yes. Call her. I hear her. She's not gone to bed. ^Martin goes. Absolouy alone, walks up and dovm floor in mental conflict.
SCENE THREE
The same. Martin and Anne enter from door to L.
ABSOLON (stands now near vnndow) You weren't in bed, Anne?
ANNE (with guarded smile) No. You made such a noise, it was no good. You wished to say something to me, Absolon?
ABSOLON
Yes. My son and my wife, it'll seem strange, what I have to say, and that I say it. But it has tortured me long, and to-day worse than ever. I ask your forgiveness. I never cease to ask God's forgiveness. (Hew now seated himself on bench behind table. Anne
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 49
takes the chair to L.C.; sits. Martin stands R. of seat at L.) It is now seven years since — No, I'll begin at the beginning. Your father was an old friend of mine; we were students together. When he was or- dained, he married your mother. But he died soon afterwards. Before you were born, your mother was left a poor widow. She found a good friend in her trouble in another widow, Marte Herlofs.
MARTIN
Herlofs-Marte?
ABSOLON
Herlofs-Marte, yes. They lived for some years up in Selje, and then came here. Marte proposed the change. She had relations here; she thought they could help them. Times were bad in Bergen then. The two women only had what people gave them; I gave what I could. It wasn't much. I wasn't so well off in those days. If I had been — There ! Well, seven years ago. Bishop Schelderup told me privately that the word went about that the two widows kept themselves by Satan's help. They weren't accused, but the word was going about. Would I look into the case? {Anne and Martin listen with increasing horror) I was zealous then. {With a smile) Even Mr. Laurentius would hardly have complained of me in those days. I went to Marte Herlofs and your mother, talked to them as God inspired me, and the two women confessed. Yes, ijgoes over to L.) they confessed. Without torture and to me alone. They had been there, hungry and forsaken. They had been starving on charity. So they fell into temptation and invoked the Devil. Marte had learned bad arts from the Firms. Satan
50 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
came when they called. He came in the form of a young lord. They signed a compact with him for body and soul, and he taught them how to make a living.
ANNE
And my mother?
ABSOLON
I fear she was the stronger of the two. For she could summon the quick and the dead. She could bind the wills of others. She could strike people sick. She told me herself she could do all these things, and more. Satan gives his servants the power. I know what I should have done. God's word is plain. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." But Satan came to me, too. D'you know what bait he used? He used you, Anne. You were barely sixteen then, but you were a woman. I had had no delight in women. Your mother (forgive me, my son) never moved me like that. But you were young and beauti- ful. I was not a young man. But my blood boiled in my veins each time I saw you. Had your mother been burnt, you would have gone the same road. The two women begged in the terror of death for pity. They swore on the Gospels to reform. I went to the Bishop and lied to him. I acted against my Christian duty and my oath as a priest. He knew I was zealous against God's enemies, and believed me. Then, six months later, your mother died. If she killed herself, or if Satan took her because she had cheated him, I don't know. I do know that I could have saved her soul. I could have made her burning her salvation. And now she burns in hell for ever. (A pause. He goes from toindow to table, leaning on the back of a chair
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 51
at the end of table. He continues) My fault! But if I had burned her, you would never have been my wife. I've suffered tortures of conscience for this. Not so much of late years. No. My mind's been quieter. You made me happy, Anne. I thought that a sign that God had forgiven me. But it all came back when Herlofs-Marte was taken. All the old terror. For when she was in prison she begged me to help her, as I helped your mother, and when I refused, she cursed me. While she stood at the stake to-day, she accused your mother as a witch and you as the witch's daughter. I drowned her words in loud praying and psalm-singing. The congregation did not hear them; but I heard them. I could bear it no longer, after that. (Sinks down in chair to L. of table) Now I've confessed. I've told my son that I've been false to my priestly oath. I've told my wife that I've thrust her mother's soul into hell. For ever! (Pause) My son. My boy. Speak to me. MARTIN (a half-step forward in fear and terror)
I don't know. I don't know what to say. Father. It's so — so — No. I can't. I can't think. Don't look at me. Father. I can't talk. I'm only fright- ened. (Absolon has risen) No. I don't blame you. I can't see it. I can't think. I must be alone. I'll go to my room, and pray to God for guidance. I wish you — I wish you good night. Father. And you, too, Anne Pedersdotter. I — (Tries to speak; cannot. Looks about, confused, then goes out at door in background to L.)
52 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
SCENE FOUR
The same. Absolon looks at Anne. Anne pvis her left hand up to her cheek.
ANNE {after a short pause) Did you love me so fiercely that you couldn't do without me?
ABSOLON
Yes. It was like being drunk with your beauty.
ANNE
And so you took me, as payment for —
ABSOLON
I've been a good husband to you, Anne. And you've been a good wife to me.
ANNE
Yes, you've been a good husband. I couldn't have had a better. So she should have died at the stake by rights. My sainted mother! No, I suppose I mustn't call her that now.
ABSOLON
Do you blame me, little Anne?
ANNE
For loving me, and being merciful to Mother? No. I don't understand these things. And she made her own choice. I am wondering whether I may have inherited from her — ABSOLON (rises, comes below table to L. end of it, starts) God in His mercy forbid that! You've never felt tempted?
ANNE
Never. You say she could summon people, when
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 53
she wished, by her thought alone, and then they would come?
ABSOLON
So she said.
ANNE
That was a wonderful power to have. Master Abso- lon, have you loved me since we've been married? I mean, after the first? ABSOLON (comes to above Anne)
Yes. You must believe that of me, Anne. I wasn't young when I married you. (Takes her right hand) I've lost the old madness. But you know that I've given you all the thought and care that I could spare from my work. No wife can ask more than that.
ANNE
No. Probably not. I do so pity my mother.
ABSOLON
For what I did?
ANNE
Oh, no. Not for that. How can I judge that? But she probably felt about things as I do — passion- ately.
ABSOLON
Do you feel passionately about things?
ANNE
You have known me for five years, and you ask that.
ABSOLON
But you've never shown me —
ANNE
If you had not told me of all this to-night I suppose I should never have shown you. But now — (She stops, nods and smiles, as if to say, "Now there is much that becomes clear to me." Continues) Yes, now —
54 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
ABSOLON
But aren't you aghast at what I told you? AiWE (clinging to his hand)
Yes, yes, of course. Still, it's strange, isn't it? And what a great power to have! Oh, /'// pray every day that I may never be tempted.
ABSOLON
Pray there may be no passions in you to tempt.
(Takes her in his arms) But I'll pray with you, my
Anne. (Holds her) ANNE (excitedly)
Yes, hold me fast, Absolon. Hold me to you. You
must protect me against myself. For Satan's strong.
And I'm young and passionate. I believe there's a
fire hidden in me — a fire. If you would rouse it,
Absolon, it would warm you back to youth again.
(Throws her arms about his neck) ABSOLON (made anxious by her passion — the ageing
man's displeasure at a warmth to which he cannot
respond — draws back and gently removes her arms
from his neck)
Anne, Anne! We must pray to God that the fire
may be the cold, clear fire of light, God's light.
The fire of passion — the bad fire — is fire of hell. ANNE (vnth arms hanging loosely down)
Yes. The bad fire is hell fire.
ABSOLON
Good night, now. I am going to my study to pray. May God forgive me as you've forgiven me. (Strokes her gently over the forehead) Good night, Anne. ANNE (coldly)
I wish you good night, Mr. Absolon. [_Absolon exits door to L.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 55
SCENE FIVE
The same. Anne goes round, putting out candles. First the two on table near wall at R. Sets the mugs from the table on sideboard. All in an agitated manner. Stops and stares about in the midst of an action. Back from sideboard, putting out lights in one candlestick on table, then in the other, with one exception; this one she evidently blows at, but so weakly and absent-mindedly that it remains burning. One sees what goes on in her mind. Absolon's words have revealed alluring depths, have given an explana- tion and a predestined right to much. They have revealed her longing. It is another who has routed this longing; but in the foregoing scene she has tried to lead it to her husband; she has been repelled. And her mother had the power to summon, to call — she stops and says in a low tone, "Summon." The room is now lighted with only the one candle standing on the left end of table, together with moonlight from the vnndow. Again Anne stands stilly and repeats in low tone.
ANNE
She could summon — Mother could — summon, and then they would come. {Goes to table, remains stand- ing, with a beer-mug in her hand. Speaks half aloud, as if trying her power)
Martin! {Stands a moment, is afraid. Goes to chair at end of table. The light falls on her face as she speaks again)
Martin! {As she stands thus she produces the phe- nomenon called by witches to *' summon" or to "call," and which our time calls hypnotic influence. One sees
56 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
it in her face when the moment arrives that the power is called into action, how the will is concentrated and the message is sent. One also sees when the phenomenon is complete she sinks into the chair and whispers, half in joy, half in terror) I can do it!
SCENE SIX
The same. Martin stands in the background and looks about, confused.
ANNE (stretches out her arms to him) Martin!
MARTIN
Anne!
[_Goes up to her, seizes her, and presses her to his breast, groaning in delirium.
CURTAIN
THE THIRD ACT,
SCENE ONE
Decorations ds in Act Two. Chair L. of table, set away to L.C. It is late autumn, about half a year since the foregoing Act. A wild storm is blounng outside.
It is evening. Two candles are burning on the large table. The room is fully lighted. A bright fire is burning in the fireplace. Now and then the vnnd is heard howling in the chimney.
Martin sits at end of table to L., reading from a thick book of sermons; the Bible lies beside him. Merete and Bente sit behind table. Anne at the end to R.^ Jorund on bench before table, with her back to audience.
MARTIN (reads)
Lord, preserve us and continue us in Thy holy keep- ing. Grant us our bread. Save us from plague and war. Deliver us from sudden death, from storm, heresy and schism. Keep us in the true faith, con- stant in prayer. Help us in the hour of death and in the day of judgment. Amen.
ALL
Amen!
^He shuts the book. All breathe freer, rise and leave their places. A violent gust. Anne gets beer from up C, goes to fire with Jorund. BENTE (rises) Hark at the wind.
58 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
MERETE
It's a north wind. They're always bad here.
BENTE
We shall hear of accidents after a night like this.
MERETE
Do we ever hear of anything else? (Jorund goes back up C. Anne has gone to fireplace to set a jug of beer to warm. Jorund helps her) Have you been to the gate, Bente? (Rises)
BENTE
Yes. It's locked. (Coming round R.)
MERETE
Are the lamps and fire out?
BENTE
Yes.
MERETE
Then you may both go to bed. It's late. It's after nine. Nearly half-past. BENTE and JORUND (coming below table and up C.) Good night, Mrs. Beyer. Good night, Mr. Martin. Good night, Anne Pedersdotter. [^Exeunt both, C. to L.
SCENE TWO
The same. Anne at fireplace, Martin at table, turning over his books. Merete moves about, setting things to rights. MERETE (near sideboard)
Absolon's out late.
ANNE
He told us not to wait for him. It was doubtful when he could get home.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 59
MERETE
Ye-es. Alderman Gert was always a rough customer. God knows what sort of an end he'll make. But my son's not one to give up at a sinner's death-bed. He prays and he reads till Grace is vouchsafed. (Walking forward to vnndow — a violent gust of wind) Hark at the wind. We do well to pray. Please God Absolon won't cross the bay, but go round.
MARTIN
He might have let me go instead. I asked him to let me.
MERETE
He might have let you. But he knows Gert better than you do. He'll probe the wicked heart easier. {To Anne, whose movement near the fireplace she has followed with hurried, almost stolen, glances) What are you doing, Anne?
ANNE
Mulling some ale for Absolon. If he's not too late.
MERETE
He may well want it, in weather like this. (Goes to sideboard) If only he doesn't catch his death. It seems to me that he's been failing all this autumn.
ANNE
I haven't noticed it.
[^Martin rises, crosses to vnndow
MERETE
Oh, no. I daresay not.
ANNE
He's never complained, either.
MERETE
No, he wouldn't complain. He never will.
60 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
MARTIN {at mndow)
The bay's quite white. If I only knew which way he's coming, I'd go to meet him. I'm anxious. God grant that nothing will {goes back to chair R.) happen to him.
ANNE
There's not much use in your going to meet him. If you go round, you'll very likely find he's rowed across. MEKETE {in a cutting tone)
And if you row across, you'll find he's walked round. Anne Pedersdotter wants you to stay at home, Martin.
ANNE
Besides, he's got the parish clerk with him. MAKTiN {sitting R.)
Anne's right, grandmother. It's no good wandering about the town in a pitch-dark night like this. I'll wait in for him. I'll read the Bible. Shall I read aloud, grandmother? \^Seats himself at table to L.
MERETE
Thank you. I think I'm too weary to profit by more
to-day. But I'll sit up and wait for him, too. I can
do that. {Sits in chair to L. of table) So we'll all
three wait.
^She folds her hands, looking straight before her. It is
evident that she sits there that the two shall not be left
alone.
ANNE
Will you sit up here?
MERETE
Yes. We shall.
ANNE
Then I'll go to bed, for I'm tired. {Going up to door L. From the fireplace she goes back of table towards
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 61
door on L. A gust of vnnd. She stops behind table and says) God have mercy on sailors to-night.
MERETB
And on anybody crossing the bay.
ANNE
You're thinking of Absolon?
MEBETE
Yes. And of you, too, Anne Pedersdotter.
ANNE
Why of me? (At L. of sideboard)
MERETE
Oh, I suppose I'm free to think what I please about you. You can't stop me doing that much.
ANNE
No. They say "Thoughts don't kill."
liEBETE
Oh. , Sometimes they do.
ANNS
Well, then, I ought to have been in my grave long ago. Well. Well. I wish you both good night. You'll look after the ale, Merete?
MERETE
Yes. Good night.
MARTIN (towards Anne)
Good night, Anne.
ANNE
Good night. l^Exit door to L.
I SCENE THREE
The same. MERETE (listening) She's bolting the door. So she's probably going to bed.
62 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
MARTIN (going towards fireplace)
Yes. She's tired. MERETE (in a low tone)
Why should she be tired?
MARTIN
Won't you go to bed, too, (rises, goes above table to above bench at L.) Grandmother? You must be tired.
MERETE
I can't sleep till the house is quiet. Old people sleep lightly, you know.
MARTIN
Yes, Grandmother. MERETE (about to say something quite different from that which she utters)
I haven't thanked you yet for your beautiful sermon yesterday.
MARTIN
No. You haven't.
MERETE
Well, thank you now. It was comforting, though much in it was too high for me.
MARTIN
Would God it might thrive and bear fruit.
MERETE
It will, my son. It was sound doctrine. I thanked God while you were preaching that He had let me see my grandson in the pulpit. I prayed for you, Martin. I prayed God to keep you from evil, body and soul.
MARTIN (goes up to her and takes her hand)
Thank you. Grandmother. The Scriptures say "The prayer of the just availeth much."
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 63
MERETE
If prayer could avail much, no harm would ever come to you — I know that. (Strokes his cheek) My boy, my boy. Where are you?
MARTIN
What do you mean, Granny? (Goes to L. of bench below table)
MERETE
I mean that you've withdrawn from us. You've drawn back into your shell. All summer and all autumn, you seem to wish to be alone. (Martin sits) You hardly talk even to your father. And he'd looked forward to your coming back, and to have you with him, so eagerly.
MARTIN
I've not much time for amusement.
MERETE
Oh. You have sometimes. (Stops) Martin, you ought to be looking out for a good wife. You're at an age when it isn't good for a man to be alone. A good wife, and children. The marriage state is well pleasing both to God and man. Marriage drives out Satan, and keeps a man's heart at home. Satan's always on the watch for a roving heart, Martin. He leads it astray. Into bad paths, Martin.
MARTIN
I've no wish to be married. God has kept me from the lusts of the flesh, so far. MERETE (looking at him)
Yes, Martin? Yes? Then they are still to come. They will come. Satan won't spare you, be sure of that. Take care in time, Martin. Think of your father. (As Martin turns away, she repeats — and there
64 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
is a ring in the words expressing more than the words themselves) Think of your father, Martin. See you bring him joy, not sorrow. You have a rare father, Martin.
MABTIN
I have indeed. Granny. I thank God for such a father.
MERETE
You ought to, Martin. If sin should come — if you should be tempted — and if your young blood made you give way — he'd die, Martin, to think that you'd disgraced your calling.
MARTIN
You talk so strangely. Granny.
MERETE
It's because I think strangely. Old people do, Martin. One sees a lot in eighty years. One sees that one generation begins where the other ends. Yet the young are no wiser than the old. Not so wise. I love you, Martin. But I love your father better. God gave me the son of my heart in your father. I'll defend your father till I lie in my grave.
MARTIN
Don't you think that I would defend my father?
MERETE
I hope so, Martin. That's why I'm telling you, now, to take a wife. And soon, Martin. If you can't, alone by yourself, I'll help you to one. (Cackles) MARTIN (goes to chair at R. to Bibley to where his books are lying, and turns the leaves) Granny.
MERETE
Yes, Martin?
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 65
MARTIN
This. Are you fond of Anne Pedersdotter? (Comes to above table to R. of Merete)
MEBETE
Am I fond of Anne Pedersdotter?
MARTIN
Yes. Are you fond of her?
MERETE
I'm not aware that I ever injured her by word or by deed. MARTIN (goes nearer to her, passing back of table) But are you fond of her?
MERETE
Though the only sorrow my son ever caused me was his taking her as his wife?
MARTIN
No. I know you are not fond of her. (Goes over to fire again) MERETE (rises, looks carefully to the door through which Anne went out. In a low voice, but trembling with a hate she can finally, vnth the best object in view, give vent to)
Fond of? I? Fond of Anne Pedersdotter? No. I am not fond of her. I never shall be. That damnable woman!
MARTIN
Granny. Granny. She's father's wife —
MERETE
Yes, she is. God spare us. She is. She's in your sainted mother's place. At my son's table and my son's bed. And how she and her mother managed it, God alone knows. And the Devil, Martin. The Devil knows. God curb my tongue if it sins. I
66 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
know all the talk about her mother and Herlofs- Marte. Herlofs-Marte got her deserts. Anne's mother should have gone the same road. But, instead of that, my son takes her daughter to wife. To wife. Mistress would have been too good for her. And he took her as his wife —
MARTIN
Granny! This is sinful. This way of talking.
MERETE
It would be sinful to say nothing, Martin. That she should rule here, she! But she never has. I've but suffered her here in the house, these five years. God has given me patience, and I've neither shaken nor struck her. I've not even spoken harshly to her, though my tongue has burned to tell her that I know her. I know her! And (a move to chair at C.) I quake with terror of her, Martin. She is so quiet. But look at her eyes. Look at her eyes. They burn, Martin. Her mother left her the Devil's powers — though it's all she did leave her.
MARTIN
You mustn't talk like this. {Comes below settle at L.) MERETE {striking the arm of chair)
But I will. It's the truth. I don't denounce her for a witch, but, Martin, my boy, we have hell fire hidden in the house here. I tell you, so that you may guard yourself. God keep you from her, Martin. I hate her and fear her. I don't know whether I hate her or fear her most. [4 pause.
MARTIN
God forgive you. Granny. You are angry because father married again, and Satan has turned your
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 67
heart. Otherwise you'd never talk so against an innocent woman.
MERETE
Innocent! You're a child. {Martin goes up to hack. Merete is again seized with anger) You may be a learned priest, Martin. I'll listen to you when you preach. But don't try to teach me the truth about things like this. Well, {moves to above L. of table) there, I've said my say. I'll go to bed. {Goes up to him and says gently) Good night, Martin. {Pats him on back) Your granny loves you, Martin. More than you think. Good night. God keep you, Martin. Now and always.
^Martin takes a step to her, and she comes to him. She exits door at back.
SCENE FOUR
The same. Martin comes to settle at L.C; sits. Alone. A pause. Then he speaks.
MARTIN
It is not true!
[^Anne comes cautiously in through door at L. She has taken off her cap; is otherwise fully dressed. When she sees that Martin will talk, she hushes him. She stands near her door, and looks up, listening. Martin jumps up.
ANNE
There. She's locked her door.
£She goes softly toward door R. in background, vnth motions more soft and swaying than one has seen in her before; smiles cunningly and bolts door vnth greatest
68 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
care. Comes forward towards Martin. It is evident she expects him to hurry towards her. When he stands stilly and looks at her, she speaks.
ANNE
Why are you staring at me?
BiABTIN
I am thinking what brutes they've been to you.
ANNE
Who?
MARTIN
Granny and the others. How they've trodden you under foot. How they lie about you.
ANNE
Oh! But they don't trouble me, when you are good to me. Martin! {Martin goes to her. They kiss — a wild embrace) Don't pity me. Only love me. Then there's nothing to pity. ^A long, silent embrace; then they go to above fire.
MARTIN
Anne! How is this to end?
ANNE
We needn't think of that. MARTIN {with no whining or complaining tone, here or
later)
I must, Anne. Some day our sin will burst out and _ cry to Heaven.
ANNE
Don't think of that day. A lot may happen before that day.
MARTIN
That day may be to-morrow, Anne. I feel as if they must read my sin in my face.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 69
ANNE
What has your grandmother been saying? Does she know anything?
BIARTIN
No. She only hates you. And lies.
ANNE
Kiss me! {When he looks away) Then I'll kiss you. (Kisses him passionately)
MARTIN
How has this come about? How could it!
ANNE
It was written so. You and I were meant for each other from eternity. It is wrong to interfere with what is meant.
MARTIN
You believe God meant this? To damn us?
ANNE
I believe — I believe I love you. Very tenderly and very passionately. I didn't live before I met you. Five long years, Martin. With an old man. And I'm young. With my blood crying out in me.
MARTIN
How your lips burn! And your eyes! [^A violent blast. They draw closer to each other, listen- ing to sounds overhead.
Anne seats herself on lower end of settle, draws him down to her feet. She smiles the whole time, and one can hear her laugh quietly, now and then. She passes her fingers through his hair.
ANNE
When you are away, and I'm thinking of you — And I'm always thinking of you — {pulling him round and on his knees) you seem pale to me. But
70 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
when we are together, you are like a red flan^^ of passion. Do you remember the first time? That night?
MARTIN
It's in my mind night and day. And the days before that, I used to go about trembling. Since I took your hand and felt the blood throb in it. You were in my heart whenever I prayed. Always! Every- where!
ANNE
You have never known a woman before me?
MARTIN
Never! Your love came over me like a raging storm. You called me, you drew me to you. And I cried out to you.
ANNE
And you came!
MARTIN
I had to. It was stronger than I, Anne, Anne!
How we have sinned, we two ! And yet, if it were all
undone, I'd come back to you. To your love.
{Throwing himself down, with his head in her lap)
God pity me, poor sinner! ANNE {passionately, her face on his head)
I love you. I love you. MARTIN {lifts his head a little)
Why must we be so unhappy? Because our love is
so great? Because I could love only you? Because
you could love only me? That is the greatest sin in
the' world.
ANNE
Don't say that! Don't think it! Only feel that we
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 71
are married, body and soul, blood and spirit. Closer than any lovers.
MARTIN
And that you are my father's wife!
ANNE
His wife! {Turns toward hack of settle) When was I his wife? Have I borne him children? Have I been mistress in his house? I'm not his wife. I've been a bought slave, and he has paid too dear for me. Can I help that? Can you?
MARTIN
You are stronger than I. You don't fear sin. But your love makes me afraid — afraid and remorseful. For even now, in your arms, I am thinking of him. (Rises) How is this to end, Anne? Do you never wonder?
ANNE
Oh, yes. Now and then. I think: "Suppose he were dead, and we were far away from here, where no one knew us!" MARTIN (not understanding) Do you wish he were dead?
ANNE
Wish it? No, I have never wished it. I only think: "Suppose he were." (She pulls him down below her) And we far away! Little Martin, so pale and so afraid! (Rises, takes his head in her hands, kisses him) If I could bum you in such a flame of passion that you would be blind! And forget — forget all, except that we belonged to each other, body and soul, blood and mind! MARTIN (starts up) Shall we kill ourselves? Both together? Death can
72 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
set us free. It's not worse than what we are doing now. Hell is waiting for me, whether I live or die.
ANNE
You would still be mine. Even in hell. I would keep you. {Presses him vnldly to her. Releases him) There he comes! {Martin looks about in confusion. Anne points to his books; sits R. of table. Martin goes over to them. Anne orders almost brutally) Sit down. {Points to books. Goes to sideboard at back) Is it you, Master Absolon?
ABSOLON {without)
Yes. Aren't you in bed yet? ANNE {outside)
No. Martin and I are sitting up for you. ^Goes back to above fire.
SCENE FIVE
The same. Absolon enters. He is pale and weary, noticeably changed since former Act.
MARTnj {rises, and goes to meet him) Good evening, Father. You're late. \_Takes his books. Absolon looks at them both; tries to make his look appear accidental.
ABSOLON
Good evening. Thank you both for sitting up for me.
ANNE
Will you have some ale?
ABSOLON
Please. Has Mother been in bed long?
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 73
[^Sits above table. Anne has poured ale into a mug, and brings it to him below settle.
ANNE
A minute or two. (Goes to below sideboard)
,ABSOLON
So? I was mistaken. I thought I saw a light in her room when I was at the head of the bay. (Ha^ seated himself behind table; drinks) MARTIN (at bookcase)
Has Alderman Gert passed away?
ABSOLON
Yes. I trust he has entered into his rest. (Bows his head. The others do likewise) It was a sad death-bed.
MARTIN
.' He confessed, and received the sacrament, didn't he?
ABSOLON
Yes. God granted that. He died with a sigh, just as the clock struck nine.
MARTIN
Then you've been staying to comfort the widow?
ABSOLON
Only a short time.
MARTIN
But it is long past ten.
l^Anne is now standing in the background, near side- board.
ABSOLON
Is it so late? Well, you see — many thoughts came over me when I came out in the dark. I wanted to think them out. I sent the clerk on ahead. It's bad weather out there. It blows so that the boats are
74 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
breaking adrift. But the sky's the strangest. It's like a scrawled scroll, all letters and signs. God's finger's writing again, as it wrote at Belshazzar's feast. But where is the Daniel to interpret? MARTIN (goes up to Absolon)
Father, you are tired. Won't you go to bed?
ABSOLON
Yes, my son, I'm tired; but I can't rest. I'm come from a dead man, Martin. I've taken his last con- fession. (Rises and goes to above settle at fire, warms himself) I've taken many in my time, Martin. A priest sits by many death-beds in thirty-five years. And his wasn't the worst, though he was a hard character. (Sits) My God, what is this life, after all? When it goes by, and the accounts are made up? Sin and vice, open and secret. A moment's joy, paid for by years of remorse. If I could add together all the wailing from those death-beds, it would go up like a cry to heaven: "Lord, why didst Thou let me be born?" (Below chair) MARTIN (coming over to back of settle, to Absolon)
Father, you should have let me go to the Alderman, as I begged you.
ABSOLON
No, my son. I couldn't allow that. When you grow older, you'll find black depths in yourself which you will have to go down to in fear and pain. Down to the very depths. You won't be able to help men in the anguish of death till you have gone down those deep places in your own soul — and come up again to the light. And when you have been that journey, you'll have been sorely tried. Perhaps you'll long for rest yourself.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 75
MARTIN
Father, you're talking very strangely to-night. Are you ill?
ABSOLON
Not bodily. But I feel a sort of fearful expectation over me. We should always think of death. But sometimes we feel that he came close by us — and plucked our sleeve.
MARTIN
Is that how you feel to-night?
ABSOLON
Perhaps it was coming from the death-bed in such wild weather. And then that strange sky. But as I was crossing the bay — {Anne comes down to back of table and follows his words with strange excitement) it seemed as if a message came to me. From the Lord of Life and Death. I didn't hear anything. There was no sign. I felt it in my inmost soul. "Now my death is determined. Now my death is deter- mined."
MARTIN
Father! My dear Father! You mustn't talk like that. You're tired and ill. Let me help you to bed.
ABSOLON
No, I'm not ill. But I am going to die soon. And it's a mercy of God to warn me. (Rises) Well. Now we'll all go to bed. Good night, my boy. Thank you for sitting up.
BIARTIN
Good night. Father. I hope you'll have a good night's rest, and get rid of these thoughts. I wish I could lift them from you.
76 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
ABSOLON
Oh — you have your own troubles. Each age has its own to bear. God knows whether youth's are the easiest. Good night, my dear boy. (Comes down below settle to Bible at R. Standing)
MARTIN .
Good night, Anne Pedersdotter.
ANNE
Good night, Martin.
[^Goes up C; gets extinguisher. Martin takes leave
once more, and goes out at door in background C. to L.
SCENE SIX
The same. Anne puts out one of the candles on table, so only the one on L. remains burning. Sets a beer-jug on sideboard.
Absolon, waiting for her to be ready, goes to table, where the Bible lies open after Martin's reading.
ABSOLON (at Bible)
Was this Martin's text this evening?
ANNE
Yes. (Near sideboard)
ABSOIiON
It's a beautiful text. "Sown in corruption, raised in incorruption. Sown in dishonour, raised in glory." [^Anne is through vnth putting to rights. She remains standing with back to sideboard.
ANNE
You shouldn't think so intensely about death, Absolon. At night, on such a night as this, it makes one so anxious.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 77
ABSOLON
No. But I can't get away from it. {In low tone
repeating several times) Now my death is determined. ANNE {coming forward)
But who would wish you dead? ABSOLON (a little wonderingly)
Wish me dead.!* No, who indeed? Do you wish me
dead, Anne?
ANNE
I! Why?
ABSOLON {moving a little from her)
No — why? {Comes to L. of chair at C.) For I've been a good husband to you, Anne. But I sometimes feel as though you might have reason to wish me dead. Since that evening in spring, when I told you about your mother, I have had so many strange thoughts. And then, you have changed so. That's why I've been thinking — {Comes to R. of chair; sits)
ANNE {excited, almost curious) What have you been thinking?
ABSOLON
First, that I've done you a great wrong. Did I ask you to marry me? I bought you and paid for you because I was blinded by your beauty. I've been like King David when he was old. When he took a young wife. {Anne stands back of table; her face lighted by the candle, is turned to audience. And while Absolon talks, his words have on her an effect just the opposite of that intended. For his words judify to her her thoughts. At last he also has seen what v>rong has been done to her. Now she nods slowly, but says nothing) Nor have I been as good a husband as I should have been. My mother has been too managing
78 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
about the house. It's only lately I've begun to use my eyes. Perhaps she hasn't always been kind to you?
ANNE
No. But I haven't mmded that much.
ABSOLON
No. No. — But I took your youth without payment. Since Martin came home — since I've heard you two together, I know how different your words and voice have been. I know what an old man I am beside you. {Anne casts a glance at him) One day this summer, I was down in the garden. I heard you laugh. It went through me like a knife. "That's the first time I've heard her laugh!" You hadn't much joy with your mother. You've had none with me. But I can't undo that wrong, Anne. So that was why I asked, "Do you never wish me dead?" {Anne does not answer — only looks at him. He draws back in his chair before her look) Yes, I've much cause to ask you to forgive me. ANNE {who is driven by his words to a desperation full of hate, says, looking straight at him) And shall I, Master Absolon — shall I forgive? For you're right in every word you say. You stole my youth that it might cool your old man's fever of love — for nothing else. You robbed me of joy. Joy. Oh, you've been a good husband to me. {Laughs. Comes slowly towards him) You've never beaten me. Never pulled my hair. Never once. But have you given me one happy moment? {With increasing vehe- mence, but without raising her voice) I've burnt with passion. {Comes slowly down to L. end of table, facing him) I've cried out for some one to love. Any one. Even a httle child. You didn't even give me that.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 79
To wither away — to dry-rot — that was the fate you marked out for me. That I might be burned dry by the fire in my blood. Yes, Mr. Absolon. I have wished you dead. Often. A hundred times. Wished you dead when you fondled me. Wished you dead going from me and coming back to me. And I've wished it most since your son has come home. Now you know it! Now you know it! I've given myself to your son. Now you know it! (Staring intensely into his face, as if she would pierce him to death, and saying to him quietly and terribly) I wish you dead. I wish you dead.
^Absolon has sat as if petrified by her words and look. At her words "/ have given myself to him", he starts up, grasps convulsively at his heart, then sinks vnth a heavy fall into the chair again. His eyes stare, wide open; then the body bends forward, a deep sigh, and the body sinks down, the arms hang loosely down outside the chair. Anne stands looking at him for a moment; does not at once grasp what has happened. Then terror seizes her, as she understands and looks into the glazing eyes. She tries to cry out, but can produx:e no sound. At last she cries out.
ANNE
Help!
SCENE SEVEN
The same. Martin appears a moment after in the door at the back; rushes forward dovm to L. The door is left open.
MARTIN
What is it?
^Anne rushes to him and clings to him.
80 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
ANNE
Dead. He's dead!
MARTIN
O God in Heaven!
[_He will go to his father. Anne prevents him. The two now stand out on stage to R. of table, she clinging to him.
During the foregoing, which is played vrith feverish haste, Merete is seen hurrying down the stairs. She comes in. Looks around in confusion. Moves forward, before the table, to Absolon. Understands. Does not cry out. Draws herself to her full height, turns towards the two, and says to Anne.
MERETE
You've murdered him, Anne Pedersdotter. For you . . . and he . . . (points to Martin) yon two . . . Oh, Jesus, Mary! [^Sinks down on the bench beside her son's body.
CURTAIN
THE FOURTH ACT
SCENE ONE
Choir in Bergen's Cathedral.
Seen on face as if the main hall of the theater were the nave. To R. and L. in foreground the choir widens out, vnth low doors on each side. In background the altar with altarpiece. Before it the communion rails and steps. Before the altar steps are placed benches and chairs in a row. The altar and place before it are raised three or four steps above the floor. On both sides stained-glass loindows. In middle of stage Absolon's bier — not casket. This is placed on an elevation of three or four steps, so that the head of the deceased — apparently — is towards footlights. Over the body a black pall decorated vnth silver, covering the body and the whole bier, and falling on both sides down to the steps. One chair on each side in the foreground.
It is morning, and the church is half-dark. The only light is a torch stuck into the wall to the right.
Martin kneeling on steps before altar. Anne comes in cautiously through door at L.
ANNE
Martin! (Goes up to him, passing as far as possible from the bier. Talks hurriedly in low tone) I must speak to you. I can't bear it any longer. MARTIN (has risen and approaches Anne. They stand in the foreground at R. Light from the torch) Nor can I. But I dread what we have to say.
ANNE
I know you do. You shun me everywhere.
82 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
MARTIN
I shun everybody; myself most. I can only find peace here, by Father's body. I can forget my thoughts here by praying for forgiveness. Praying to God and him. Anne, we two ought to grovel down here, to beg for mercy.
ANNE
Why ought I to beg him (points) for forgiveness? We've nothing to fear from the dead. But the living, Martin —
MARTIN
Merete?
ANNE
Yes. Merete Beyer. You remember what she said that night.'' She's said it again to me since. She says I killed him. And more than that. She's mad with hate of me, Martin. She wants my life, Martin. You protect me. She can't do anything against his son. But if you fail me — MARTIN (seizes her by the wrist and leads her to foreground at R.) Anne. He is dead, now.
ANNE
Yes. Yes.
MARTIN
You remember what you said, "Suppose he were dead."
ANNE
Martin!
MARTIN
Did you wish him dead, Anne?
ANNE
I didn't love him. He stood in my way. Can you
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 83
wonder if I wished him out of my way? I can't be blamed for every wish which passes in my mind.
MARTIN
Don't harden your heart, Anne. Listen to me, just as you would to some one dying. For I'm almost dying. Or going mad. (Goes to R. of bier) Since God called him, I've been ground between the mill- stones. Our sins have ground me, body and soul, till there's no life left in me. There's nothing but terror and remorse in me. While he was alive I could wrong him. I could see that I was right, up to a point. I didn't trouble about him, while I was with you. (Anne coining slowly C.) But now he is right. He has all the right. He is up before God as my accuser. (Leans his head against the bier, sobbing) He stood in our way, you said. Can we ever get past him? (Touches bier) Past this?
ANNE
Will you give me up? (Her hands out) MARTIN (coming to her)
We can't give each other up ! We're mingled, you and I. But we shall never come together. And never be free of this. (A step to R. of bier) But, Anne, there's something else. (Anne draws back) You've wished his death. Did you wish it, I mean, so as to kill him?
ANNE
Martin ! (Her voice breaks with fear)
MARTIN
Had you the power for that, Anne? Answer me. Can't you? For God's sake, answer! Answer me just as though he stood here.
ANNE
Martin, are you calUng me — what Merete called me?
84 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
MARTIN
Yes. {A step to R.) It's eaten into my heart. Anne, what if we three — what if we'd been a three against him? — I, and you, and Satan? ANNE {in feverish haste)
Martin. Look here, Martin. Rouse yourself; you're talking craziness. You've not slept for four nights. You're wild with grief and trouble, or you'd not talk like that. Look at me, Martin. I love you. That's my only crime. That's the only thing I've done wrong. I didn't kill him. God took him. Yes, I wished it. But that couldn't kill him. Martin, you mustn't give me up. It's death. It's torture. I swear to you I never killed him. (In terror) I shall be burnt if you fail me, Martin! (Forces herself to quiet) Don't drive me mad. I love you. That's all. I loved you. And you loved me. If we sinned together, we must stand together. Martin, I didn't kill him. I didn't. I'm telling the truth. I couldn't have. I hadn't the power. I never wanted the power. Believe me, Martin. (Takes his hand)
MARTIN
Annie, Annie dear! I'm tired, so tired. But when I'm near you, and you talk to me, I believe you. Look me in the eyes, Annie. You're not lying. Tell me. By the coffin here. Say that, whatever we may have done, you've not done that. Not called Hell to help us. ANNE (in terror, tries to speak solemnly; but it becomes only the eagerness of fear. She goes past him to the body) I swear by all that's holy, with my hand on the coffin. (Stretches out her hand towards bier, but does not touch it; she draws back her hand as though it were
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 85
burnt) Oh, oh, you must beheve me! You must be good to me, whatever the others say.
MARTIN
I promise you that.
ANNE
Don't despair, Martin. He'd have forgiven us. I know he would. He knew what love can be.
MARTIN
Father! Father!
ANNE
He's not accusing you to God. He prays for us. He sees how we suffer. Wait. You'll see. There'll be brighter days for us. We can't believe it now. But there will be.
MARTIN
Would to God I lay where he lies! \^The bells begin to ring softly; subdued organ music, as though the organist tried the tones. ANNE (listening)
They'll all be here now, soon. (In fear, but vnth a ring of menace in her voice) You won't betray me?
MARTIN
If I betray you, I betray myself. Would to God we
were through with this!
[Looks at her. Exits R. foreground.
SCENE TWO
The same. Anne alone. Muffled organ music, low tolling of bells. ANNE {stands first looking after Martin. Then her whole appearance changes. She goes to the bier, and up the steps. About to remove the pall, but does not do so.
86 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
She bends over the bier, talks interruptedly, in a low tone, facing audience)
Absolon, Absolon! My husband and master! If you hear me, forgive me. If I'm guilty. You took me, when you loved me. I took myself back when I loved some one — not you — in my turn. That was just. You were always just. You must be just now that you're dead. And if I'm guilty, you must be merciful. For I'm young, Absolon. You took five years of my youth. You mustn't revenge yourself. I didn't kill you. (Words vnll no longer come. Goes from the bier, dovm the steps, looking half backwards, as if afraid the dead should rise and call her liar) I didn't call the Devil, nor any Satan's art, I didn't. (Comes dovm on the floor and a little from the bier, then turns suddenly in fear and defiance, and shakes her fist at the dead) You did it. You did it yourself. Tell- ing me of the power that Mother had. (Suddenly changing her manner and sinking on her knees) Jesus, save me! I won't die! Merete mustn't speak, and Martin mustn't fail me ! Jesus ! Have pity !
SCENE THREE The same.
Sacristans come in from L. One of them sets a lighted torch in the wall at L. Others light all the candles, see that chairs and benches are in order; then go out again.
Anne steals, half kneeling, to the bier when the Sacristans appear; lies there praying half aloud, crouching and trembling.
Merete, leaning on a stick, followed by Martin, enters from R. Goes towards Anne, looks at her. Anne rises; the two women measure each other.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 87
Merete passes the bier, bowing as she does so, then seats herself in the foreground to L.
Anne and Martin stand to R. of the bier to receive those who come.
SCENE FOUR
As before. Bishop Jens Skjelderup, Priests, among them Jorgen, Johannes, Claus, Laurentius; Aldermen, Feudal Lord, Higher Officials, and their wives enter on R., greet those present, and arrange themselves according to rank on benches and chairs before the altar. A few women on a bench near Merete.
Anne goes to a chair in foreground to R. Martin stands nearer the bier to R. David, singing-master, and his choristers {schoolboys dressed in black) march in. David arranges them round the bier, and directs with quiet motions the singing of the follounng hymn. During the march and arranging of the choristers, the organ has played a prelude. There has been soft music during Anne's monologue. After entrance and arranging of places and singers, and all have risen, a moment's silence follows. Then follows the psalm, sung by all on the stage, accompanied by organ and wind instruments.
Jam maesta quiescat querela, Lacrymas suspendite matres, Nullus sua pignora planget Mors haec separatio vitae est.
Veniant mode tempora justa, Spem Deus impleat omnem, Reddas patefacta necesse est Qualem tibi trade figuram.
88 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
All seat themselves. The choirmaster and choristers (these may be omitted) retire.
Martin comes forward to the bier. At first his words have the softness natural to accepted forms, but at the same time he is deeply affected and trembling.
MARTIN
Friends! Brothers! Right Reverend Bishop and reverend Brothers in God! As son and heir of our dead brother here, I thank you for coming here, to this holy place, to follow him to his grave. It is not for me to praise him and tell of him. My heart is too full of sorrow for him. I know what I have lost in him. I know what he has been to me. I thank God for all he was to me. I ask forgiveness if I've done anything to offend him. (His talk loses more and more its formal character, and becomes a heartfelt con- fession) Father was greater and better than most men. You were such a father to me that all my life should be a thanksgiving to you. Now that you are dead, my heart is pierced by the memory of all I've done wrong. And griefs I've caused you. If you were only alive again I'd be a better son, Father. My brothers, reverend brothers, I'm talking in a way — not a usual way here. Forgive it. You knew my father. You know what he was to you; you'll know what he must have been to me. You'll forgive me giving more thought to him than to you, who come here out of love for him.
BISHOP (forward from his place)
My son ! We all understand. We know what you've lost, and what the Church and the land have lost in your dead father here. Go now to his wife and
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 89
mother, to comfort them in their sorrow, and we will pray here before we carry him to the grave. \^Merete has risen and gone a step towards the bier; seems to pierce Martin ivith her eyes.
MARTIN {collects Mmself)
May I say one thing more, my Lord Bishop?
BISHOP (a little surprised)
If you wish, my son. (Steps back)
MABTIN (whose words are followed with breathless interest by Anne and Merete. Merete has again seated herself) The ways of the Lord are inscrutable. We thought that if any one should have been granted a peaceful death, as a crowning mercy, it would have been my poor father here, but the Lord willed it otherwise. He was taken suddenly, by a sudden death. Without confession and without sacrament. It is not for us to weep. God's ways are not ours. But evil reports must be hindered. So I come forward according to the Church's custom, and the law of the land, to make my declaration. I, the son and heir of this dead man, make oath and say: Let you, the clergy, lords and commons of this diocese, bear witness. As God sees me and as men hear me, no human being is to blame for my father's sudden death. (Merete has risen and goes a step or two towards him. Anne breathes heavily^ and sends a glance towards Merete. All the others remain unmoved; it is evident they have listened only to a well-known formula. Martin speaks with rising intensity. He would with his words form a wall round Anne, against Merete) He died suddenly — his heart failed — in the presence of his wife, Anne Peders- dotter. His mother, Merete Beyer, and I were with him before his eyes closed. I have said it once. I
90 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
now repeat it. He died peacefully. And a third time. I ask you all to bear witness. He died peace- fully. May he rest in peace. {Comes down to L.C.)
BISHOPS, ETC.
Amen.
{_Bisho'p about to approach the bier.
MERETE (stops Mm with a wave of the hand)
No, Bishop Jens. You must wait a moment. I'll speak now. (All rise in astonishment) If the son won't defend his father, the mother shall. (Under increasing horror on the part of all present, she goes to the bier, up the steps, and standing near the head, she says) What Martin has said there is a lie. It's a lie. My son did not die peacefully. My dead son here was murdered. Murdered by a witch and the Devil's help. (Horror and alarm. Solemnly) I de- clare before heaven and earth that this dead man was cut off in the midst of his days. I say it once, twice, three times. He was murdered. Murdered by witchcraft. Murdered by his wife, Anne Peders- dotter. Murdered by her there. (Bishop comes slowly down L. of bier) I ask life for life, death for death, blood for blood. Death and the stake for the witch there.
[^Sensation. The women go forward round her. All is now confusion. Martin has drawn near Anne. Anne seizes his right hand.
BISHOP (voice heard over the noise) Peace in God's House.
MABTIN
Don't listen to her. She's mad. (Continues with loud voice) I will answer for Anne Pedersdotter. She had no part in Father's death.
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 91
BISHOP (coming forward)
You ought to be ashamed, Merete Beyer, for acting like this. Hate and sorrow have driven you mad. But to lie like that in God's House, by your own son's coiOSn!
MERETE (freeing herself from the women)
I'm not lying, Bishop Jens. God strike me dead if I'm lying.
MARTIN
Don't listen to her. Is it likely that I'd leave my father unavenged in order to defend my stepmother?
MERETE
Yes, very likely. For you're in her power, too. (To
the others) I'll tell you why he defends her. She has
bewitched him, too. I denounce her as a witch. She
killed the father. She has seduced the son. Let her
deny it if she dare.
[_The stillness of death. Martin and Anne look at each
other. BISHOP (low voice heard in the stillness)
Lord, Lord! MARTIN (draws slowly back, says in a low tone, in horror)
By witchcraft! By witchcraft! ANNE (cries out)
Martin!
[^Martin drawing near the foot of the bier. Anne stands
quite alone on R. side; aU have unconsciously drawn
away from her. BISHOP (forward to L. side of bier)
Anne Pedersdotter. What do you say to this, Anne
Pedersdotter? ANNE (looking not at the Bishop bui at Martin; in a dull
voice)
It — is — all a lie. I haven't. No, I haven't.
92 ANNE PEDERSDOTTER
BISHOP (looks about in horror from Anne to Martin and Merete. His glance falls on the bier. An idea strikes him. He says slowly and with emphasis) This is an unusual case. We may go unusual ways. And expect a sign from God. You have heard the accusation, Anne Pedersdotter. The dead man is lying here in his coffin. All the power and dominion of this diocese is present here. I pronounce that you prove your guilt or innocence by the test of touching the dead. We will pray God to bring us to the truth. (All indicate approval) If any one here disapprove of the test, let him come forward and give his reasons. (Pause) If anybody here will refuse to accept such a test as decisive, let him speak. (Pau^e) Anne Pedersdotter, are you ready and willing to be tried by such a test?
ANNE (still looking at Martin) Yes.
[^AU draw back. For a moment they look in silence ai Anne.
The bells begin to ring with heavy strokes. The sun comes up over the mountain, shining through the udndow. Anne approaches the bier.
All in great excitement. They come slowly forward to R. and to L., in order to be able to see the result of the test. To L., in foreground, are the Bishop and Merete. Martin has sunk down at the back edge of bier. Anne goes up the steps, is about to raise the paU from the face, but does not do it. Stands upright.
ANNE
Absolon, my husband and master. I have — I have — you know it — you know it. (With her hand on the forehead of the corpse) I bear witness. I bear
ANNE PEDERSDOTTER 93
witness. (Sits and talks to corpse, quite mad) So you got your revenge, Absolon. Now I've no one. Yes. I murdered you by witchcraft. And I be- witched your son. I got your son into my power. By witchcraft. — Now you know it. Now you know it.
[^Straightens up, sits on the edge of biery and smiles. From a vnndow high up a sunbeam falls on her pale face.
CURTAIN
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY
Los Angeles This Isook is DUE on the last date stamped below.
AUG 2 4 1953 m 24 t95ff
Form L9 — 15m-10,'48(B1039)444
THE LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF C \L FQENIA LOS ANGELES
PT
8950 W6A.6E 1917
UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FAOLITY
A 001 269 293 5
¥ U
|
1 |
i"' '' " |
|
|
PHB |
||
|
li ■ ■ ■ |
||
|
Kft |
||
|
^^^[ ^1 ^1 |
||
|
1 |
■H ■ |
|
|
■■■■ |
||
|
'■a ■ |
I,, m ig. I .. II. I
1.1 * i: Jt I
'i.M. a.f
»
|
I |
■■■ |
||
|
_ |
't4^ |
4 |