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The materials on this website are © copyrighted, and are for the use of individuals and educational institutions only. Any commercial use requires the permission of the compiler & translator P.E. Larson.
The website can be used independently, but it also supports a book:This play is an experiment by an apprentice dramatist. Even though it may seem sentimental and artificial to modern tastes, Andreas Munch was no hack writer. He was the third most important poet in Norway in the 1840s, after Henrik Wergeland and Johan Sebastian Welhaven. Munch was one of Ibsen's models as he was learning to write lyric poetry. According to the editor of his works, the scholar and critic M.J. Monrad, he was the most purely lyrical of the three leading Norwegian poets of the time.
"Donna Clara" was performed not only in Skien, but also in Bergen, where it entered the repertoire in 1855-56, the same season in which Gildet paa Solhoug premiered. Clara may be a model for Margit in that play.
This translation is based on the text in the collected edition of Munch's works (Andreas Munch. Samlede Skrifter. M. J. Monrad og Hartvig Lassen, eds. 5 vols. København, 1887-90; vol. II, 287-325). The first edition of the play (1840) ended with Clara clawing at the wall behind which her former lover had been immured. It is the first version which was performed in Skien, according to the reviewer from Skiensposten (see file # IX). All the same, it has seemed appropriate to translate the final version of the play, since no doubt it represents Munch's mature intention for it.
CHARACTERS.
Count del Fuente.
Clara, his wife.
Don Fernando.
Maja, Clara's chambermaid.
A journeyman mason.
A servant.
A gothic room, with rich, heavy furnishings. In the background two deep arched windows, and midway between these a door into an alcove hollowed out in the thick wall. On the right side a door. In the foreground a table, on which is a light in a candelabrum. It is late afternoon. Clara is seen in the alcove, on her knees praying in front of a picture of the Virgin Mary. Maja sleeps in an armchair. After a lapse of some moments Clara stands up, and walks slowly forward into the room.
CLARA.
Forgive me, Madonna!
I cannot pray any more:
Fear and yearning, sorrow and yearning
Sit watching in my breast,
And when devotion wants to unfold
Its big, bright wings,
Cold seizes my heart,
Whispers darkly in my ear,
And I cannot pray any more.
In my childhood, in my childhood
They taught me to pray so nicely!
They put my hands together,
Had me kneel whole hours
On the hard, cold stones
In the dark prayer chamber.
But I cried and cried, and longed
For my playgrounds.
For the child's prayer is like the bird's:
Flight and play and happy songs,
Green meadows, fresh forests,
Heaven around its chaste head.
Now I have no songs in me,
I cannot see the green meadows,
Or breathe the cool forests,
I have no air, no flower, no freedom;
Now I walk to the prayer chamber,
Kneel on the hard stones,
Sigh for consolation in prayer:
But I cannot pray any more.
Oh how sad and lonely it is
Within these old walls!
These dark, massive arches
Erect a vault over the grave of my hope
And my husband's evil eyes
Look at me from all the corners.
It is as if something sad
Lurks here in the night!
This stillness makes me anxious;
Maja! Maja! She is sleeping!
Sleep! Sleep! Those who could sleep, forget!
This indolent body can sleep,
This empty soul can repose
In a dream of new dresses,
Red ribbons and silken laces!
I envy her ability to sleep.
(She shakes her.)
Maja! Maja Please wake up!
MAJA (starts).
Help me! What is it? Oh, forgive me, Madam,
I didn't know, I believe I have been asleep.
CLARA.
How dare you sleep, when your mistress is awake?
Don't stand there like a marble statue!
Do something.
MAJA.
Well, what shall I do?
CLARA.
You are unbearable. Can't you at least
Understand that I am bored this evening?
It is so dead here, so empty. I want to be entertained.
What are you made for other than to amuse?
Invent something! You understand! Now, what will it be?
MAJA.
Mother of God! Help this poor girl!
I cannot read, or sing, either,
I have never learned the graceful arts
To pass the time for a noble lady.
I can only sew, curl hair and cook.
Forgive me, Donna, but it is already late;
What if you tried to go to bed?
One is not bored when one is asleep.
CLARA.
You and your sleeping! I do not want to sleep.
MAJA.
Shall I tease your dark locks, then,
And adorn you handsomely with gold and silk,
Until the duke comes home from town tonight?
CLARA.
Terrible. That won't do. Something else.
MAJA.
What else shall I do? Let me see, I can
Tell you a delightful story
An old Moor taught me, when we
Were still in your father's house in Seville.
CLARA.
Seville! That's it! Yes, Seville!
Oh, how sweetly and easily it rests on the lips,
When home is mentioned in a foreign prison!
Talk to me about Seville, good Maja!
It is so good to hear the names
Of all my friends, and about
The grove of trees on my father's estate!
You are the only one who knows about them.
Talk about Seville, do you hear? About home!
MAJA.
About your home? Is your home not here
In this beautiful castle, the house of your husband,
The rich, powerful, highborn duke?
How can you still give a thought to
That lowly house at Guadalquivir,
Here in the midst of your royal splendor?
CLARA.
Peace rested on that lowly house!
Peace, a child's peace! So gentle, so light, so easy
Like the morning sky on the shining sea.
The happy freedom I have left yonder
On the river's fresh, blooming bank;
Like a captive bird, on the wild seacoast,
Now I only dream about that lost peace.
There is a place deep in my father's garden,
Where palm trees and acacias softly waved
And the river glistened through the net of leaves.
I hide my youthful memory
In the shade under the palm tree's broad leaves,
The wave whispers one name only.
Say it, Maja! Let me hear the sound,
So that the soul's most secret, silent thought
Can quench its thirst for an encouraging word!
MAJA.
Isn't it the arbor, surely, where your father,
Don Gusman, always sat in the cool evening,
And where you brought him his wine and fruit?
CLARA.
Ah yes, the poor old man! Perhaps he is sitting
There now and playing chess with Father Anton
And thinking often about the distant Clara?
But that is still not exactly right.
There is another place in the garden, Maja!
MAJA.
Now I have it! Of course, you mean the place
By the palm tree, where the chimpanzee
Was tied, whom you were so fond of
And whom you yourself fed from your white hand?
CLARA.
No, that is too crazy! You are a monkey!
I am a fool, to want to talk with you.
Get away from me, Maja, you are too stupid.
Go back to sleep. Go!
MAJA.
Thanks, Madonna!
(She goes.)
CLARA (alone).
Ascend from thought's deep, silent sea,
You soft, nightly memory,
You last remnant of my love!
You borrow his love-dark eye
His deep voice's sweet melody,
And whisper to my soul, in this night,
A soft echo of vanished pleasures.
In Seville, in Seville,
Under palms and plaintains
My father's white villa stood
Cheerful with its columns and balconies.
Andalusia's soft sky
Rested on white roofs,
And the whole lovely picture
Was reflected in the water's surface.
Close by the door of the house I rested
On many lovely southern evenings;
I did not think about the birds' warbling,
I did not see the flowers' golden leaves.
I listened silently, quite silently
To the distant bell, which softly
Tinkled, like a fountain of love,
In a dark corner of the garden.
That was the sign he was there!
And, when it had grown late,
With joy and anxiety I stole
To the place, which only two knew.
Donna Clara! Donna Clara!
It sounded from the dark hedges.
Don Fernando! Don Fernando!
Do you remember that Clara lives?
While you were in distant lands
She was compelled to marry
This proud, dark grandee,
This cunning gallego.
He brought his young wife
To his deserted fortress by the sea;
He keeps her buried there,
Jealous of every stone in the wall.
But she wastes away and yearns,
Yearns to go back to her home
To her garden's dark hedges,
To Seville, to Fernando!
It is so hot and humid, so stifling in here.
I'll open the window, so that the fresh sea-Beeze
Can strengthen the heart from its salty chalice.
(She opens the window and looks out.)
How vast, how airy! It does the captive good
To see the wide, dusky horizon,
And the sea, which rolls with deep breaths
Heavily toward the shore's black cliffs.
I spy a ship yonder through the darkness!
The white sails billow out ready to fly,
And the night-signal gleams high on the mast
And calls the passengers to get on board.
If only that were me, who was sailing along
To life, to freedom over transparent waves!
But I am bound, bound here eternally
And dare not escape, even if I could.
(The sounds of a guitar outside.)
Sh! Such sounds! Flattering, familiar,
They whisper to me like old friends;
They are like Don Fernando's evening signal!
FERNANDO (softly under the window).
Donna Clara! Donna Clara!
CLARA.
Jesus! Savior! Whose voice is that!
FERNANDO.
Answer me, answer me, Donna Clara!
CLARA.
It is he! Oh God! What do I do now?
FERNANDO.
Clara, have you learned to forget?
CLARA (with overflowing feeling).
Don Fernando! Don Fernando!
FERNANDO.
Saint Clara be praised!
I recognize this sweet voice;
Up to the wall, climb over it!
CLARA.
Are you mad? You're not going to do it?
Help! For God's sake! Oh! He is already hanging
On the wall like a swallow,
Where it curves high over
The sea and the jagged cliffs!
Oh, it makes me dizzy just to watch.
FERNANDO (approaching).
Beloved girl, these stones,
These crevices here in the wall,
These dry ivy vines
Are for me a ladder to heaven.
CLARA.
He is already near. Oh Fernando,
I do not dare to receive you.
FERNANDO.
Then throw me down in the depths.
CLARA.
God! There he is; I am doomed!
(She runs away from the window.)
FERNANDO (leaps in).
Clara, Clara, beloved maid!
CLARA.
My Fernando!
(Stops suddenly and keeps him away from her.)
Ah, what am I doing?
Go away! For God's sake, before he comes,
Before my cruel husband comes;
Flee, oh flee, your life depends on it!
FERNANDO (takes her hands).
Yes, it is life itself I want to win!
He is a fool who dares not act
Forcefully, when destiny's blind
Mask lies in his hand!
Let him shape it with spirit,
Seize happiness and change
The life of your loved one!
Do you believe, then, that I came here
Without purpose and without a plan, like
The wave cast up on the shore?
I shall leave here with only one companion,
Do you doubt that, Clara?
Everything is decided, everything is ready,
The ship waiting just below yonder
Has everything ready, the anchor is weighed,
And soon will fly like our thoughts
To America. And when
The morning hour finally strikes,
And he comes home from town,
This duke, this snake,
Will find his beautiful captive
Flown away with the morning mist!
CLARA (tears herself loose).
Don Fernando, I am his wife.
FERNANDO.
Yes, but forced, shamelessly forced!
That decree means nothing:
Why bear the yoke with fear,
If you yourself did not choose?
Clara, does my voice not swell,
Clara, my eye not shine
From a right which precedes his?
Ask your own last thought,
Ask the beating of your heart, which beats...
Clara, can you deny it?
CLARA.
The church's high sacrament
Binds me to the Count del Fuente;
Go, Fernando! Do not tempt me,
Death is in the look you give me.
FERNANDO.
Clara, Clara, have you no
Better greeting for your lover,
When, loving and faithful
He returns to your embrace again?
CLARA.
Fernando, if you knew
What it costs me to answer:
I have no better greeting!
FERNANDO.
What it costs you, you say?
Only whims and figments of the imagination,
False duties fastened with screws,
Such virtues are a horror.
You build up a whole funeral chorus
Over the heart's eager yearnings,
You torture yourself to sit prettily
Like a precious object in a cage,
While the day streams about you
With its life, its love!
CLARA.
Say what you will, but don't mock me, Fernando!
FERNANDO.
You drive me to it.
See! I came here to this lovely encounter
So happily, so boldly,
Trembling from courage and desire.
A thousand heavens, bright with love,
A thousand yearnings, gentle, sweet,
Rocked themselves deep in my breast;
I greeted death and danger proudly:
They were witness to my progress,
And I brought you as a gift
Everything beautiful that life can have:
Freedom, hope and love!
But you came towards me
Armed with an imaginary fault,
Thrust my life back coldly,
Trod on my salvation.
You have forgotten our days of love,
The sweet laments of our nights
By yonder river's green banks!
I have not forgotten them, Clara!
I still remember well what you said
To me yonder that last evening,
Before I was to go away from you:
The summer night's warm sky
Lay with its deep clouds
Like an eye blinded with tears
Over Andalusia's plains,
And the pale, cold stars
Reflected themselves with a smile in the river,
As if they were making fun of it all.
Then your words sounded in the night:
See Fernando! These worlds
Prance in heaven's ballroom
Because they twinkle eternally,
Eternally, without life and warmth.
What is all this glitter worth
Against the longing of the heart,
Against a warm tear of ardor,
Against a woman's silent fidelity?
Now, pay heed to that, Clara!
Now that you're changing your language...
Now you choose the Count del Fuente,
Choose the dead glitter of a star,
Wrap yourself in its cold beams
And, smiling with pity, look
Down on love and fidelity!
CLARA.
I cannot take this any longer;
Will you kill me, Fernando?
Are you saying that I forget!
I forget. I, who have nothing in this world
Except the memory that remains
Of my youthful love!
This is my life, Fernando:
Mornings without hope or pleasure,
Nights without rest or sleep,
Days, long, endlessly long
Like days and nights in the Sahara desert.
I do not see anyone except stupid,
Insensitive, indolent slaves,
I have nobody, from whose lips
I can drink the balm of talk!
Yes, I can be driven so far
That I yearn, I can even yearn
For my hated husband!
But then when he comes
With his cold snake-like gaze,
With hi s scornful smile fixed on his lips,
With his tongue's uncouth speech;
Oh! Then the heart shrivels,
The blood freezes in every vein
And I flee into dead silence
In order to escape from his sight.
Can you understand me now, Fernando?
That I suck memory dry
As if from life's last spring?
FERNANDO.
If you love your memory
When pale and still it sleeps
On your eyelid in the night,
Like an elf with folded wings;
Then can you love it less
When it takes living form,
Has a cheek, where blood makes it blush,
An eye, through which the soul speaks,
A heart, which beats with your own
Here in this moment of heated passion?
Do you only kiss a flower
When it closes its chalice of petals
From the cold night air?
And not when it freshly unfolds
Its rich, light colors
In the shining morning sun?
CLARA.
Never! Since memory's flower
Is a night violet, Fernando.
It can never breathe
Out its fragrance in the sunlight,
Since it only thrives and lives
In the dark past.
This flower is all we possess
Of our past life, Fernando!
We can watch over it, nurse it
Tenderly and faithfully, separately.
Our future ways go apart!
You are free, you have battles and victories
To deaden your sorrows;
I have only a woman's honor,
A Spanish woman's honor;
To which I sacrifice everything.
And, when some day my struggle is over,
They will spread over the coffin
The woman's white banner of honor,
That for which I sacrificed everything.
FERNANDO.
No! I cannot yet release
This beautiful dream of life,
Cannot suddenly tear
All my hope and all my future
Bloodily out of the depths of the soul;
I shall fight to the last.
(He seizes Clara's hand and leads her to the window.)
Clara, do you see the ship,
Shaking its strong wings
Impatient to fly
With its beautiful, light burden
Over the sea's warm billows,
To the shore of the new world,
To Brazil's enchanted land!
There, where the heavens waft fragrance over
Lush, erect palm trees,
Where forest solitude praises
God with its deep hymns,
Where nature still sleeps,
Lovely as a child in the cradle,
Enlivening, fresh as the evening dew,
Eternally young, the days of old.
(On his knees.)
Follow me, Clara, follow me there!
There we would find a place,
Where eternal peace breathes sweetly;
We shall search for a beautiful alcove
In the deep, dim forest,
Where the world's footsteps do not tread,
Where rumors and gossip cannot reach!
CLARA.
I know a rumor
From which nobody can escape:
Since it lives in one's own mind,
Gnaws inwardly at the heart;
I know of no consolation against it,
Not even, not even love itself!
Not this wild ardor
In your eye now, Fernando!
This is the last time I speak,
Soon I shall be to you as if I were dead.
We must part, my love!
But let our parting be sweet
Like the sun, as it drops
Gently and quietly under the waves,
Sends to the last forests catching its rays
Its silent farewell!
Let me think I have slept,
Dreamed the love-song of my youth,
Let me rest my weary head
On your breast yet once more,
My Fernando!
FERNANDO.
Clara! Clara!
CLARA (starts).
Sh! What is that? Spurs clatter
Do you hear? In the corridor!
Heaven, help! It is my husband;
Great God! You are lost!
FERNANDO (draws his epée).
Not as long as I have this.
CLARA.
Oh, but what about me, Don Fernando!
FERNANDO
(lets his epée fall, covers his face with his hands and runs to the
window to leap out).
CLARA.
Not there! Do you want to be smashed to pieces?
Quickly, into my prayer chamber!
My husband never goes in there,
Quick, hurry up!
FERNANDO.
Yes, for your sake.
(At the moment the door to the alcove closes behind Fernando, the Count del Fuente enters by the main door, notices it, and remains standing on the threshold. Meanwhile Clara has picked up Fernando's rapier, hidden it under the table and thrown herself into the armchair in front of it. All this happens in an instant.)
THE COUNT (walks slowly over to Clara).
Good evening, Clara!
CLARA.
Back so soon, my lord?
THE COUNT.
Have I come too early? What? How pale you are,
And how you tremble, Clara. Are you afraid?
CLARA.
I am not afraid of anything.
THE COUNT.
Is that so? Well, we shall see.
(Seizes her hand roughly.)
Were you alone when I came, Clara?
CLARA.
What kind of question is that. Are you joking?
THE COUNT.
I am deadly serious. Why the sly glance
At the door to the alcove yonder?
Who is holding devotions in your prayer chamber?
CLARA (is silent).
THE COUNT.
Well! Does your conscience strike you dumb?
CLARA.
That accusation does not deserve an answer.
THE COUNT.
Ha! Ha! It suits you very well, very nicely
To play the offended one, the pure one!
Be comforted, my dove! The bird is in a cage,
He will not run from you; since you know,
The alcove has been dug out of the building itself
And has no other exit. Oh yes! We have him!
Now I shall savor the experience
Of this capture for a long time.
(He draws his rapier.)
See here the shining blade,
How hot it blushes for revenge and blood!
It will aid my search in the alcove.
CLARA (on her knees).
Mother of God, stand by me now!
THE COUNT.
That may well be necessary. Now, let my patience burst;
You savage, sweet revenge, I greet you!
(He runs toward the alcove with his sword raised.)
CLARA
(springs up and throws herself in his way).
Stop! I insist; you shall not go there!
THE COUNT.
Get out of the way! Your turn will come soon enough.
CLARA
(holding him back with all her strength).
Now you will listen to me, if only
A spark of reason lives in your dark soul!
You took me away from life, from love,
You have killed my youth, locked up my hope,
Hung lead on every hour of my day.
Cunning as a snake you lie in wait,
Your smile is poison, your embrace is death,
And still, del Fuente, I remain true to you!
By the light of the sun, which you have hidden from me,
As God rules this world, I am true to you until death!
Only one thing I demand as a humble return
For all my fidelity, for my whole life;
Only one thing, my husband: You shall not look
In my alcove tonight. Since a woman
Can endure anything, except such a dishonor.
You have my word, I am eternally faithful to you!
THE COUNT.
A magnificent pledge! Only forgive me, beautiful lady,
I prefer living proof.
(He is about to open the door.)
CLARA.
Well then, do it. But mark this, once that door is opened,
Whether you find anything or not,
From that moment everything is over between us.
THE COUNT (holding her under the chin).
You little tart, how beautiful anger makes you!
It would be a pity if we must be parted!
I may well humor you, if all goes well.
(Reflecting. Aside.)
Revenge is good. So be it.
Well, Clara,
I give in, I shall trust your word,
But pay heed, this is my condition.
(He takes a crucifix which stands on the table, and shows it to her.)
Do you believe in Him, who hangs here on the cross?
CLARA.
Do not mock what is sacred.
THE COUNT.
What do you believe in?
The Inquisition believes it can find,
Whoever swears falsely on this image.
CLARA.
What do you mean by that?
THE COUNT.
You will swear, Clara,
You will swear on the crucifix, that
In there will be found no witness against your fidelity.
CLARA.
And why should it take an oath, a heavy, costly oath,
When plain truth comes from a simple word?
THE COUNT.
Swear, woman! Swear this instant! Or,
By the fires of hell, I shall open the alcove door!
CLARA.
I am ready.
THE COUNT.
Then lay your hand on this.
Dare you repeat on the body of your Saviour,
That you are faithful to me?
CLARA (confidently).
I am faithful to you!
(Aside.)
I dare say it before your presence, Father!
A word is empty, but saves life and honor.
THE COUNT.
What are you mumbling? Well then, I am satisfied;
May a dark oblivion cover this scene.
But yet I shall set a warning sign,
A visible seal on our reconciliation.
(He rings.)
You look at me? No doubt there is a question
Burning to get out from those dark, seductive eyes.
What shall we wager? Can't you guess?
Just wait! You will undoubtedly be surprised.
(A servant, the previous.)
THE COUNT.
Is the mason still here in the castle,
Whom I ordered to restore
The old columns down in the entrance hall?
SERVANT.
Yes, your Grace.
THE COUNT.
Let him come up,
And bring with him stone and mortar and tools,
I have a job for him here in this chamber.
SERVANT.
In the hall! Tonight!
THE COUNT.
Why are you standing there?
(The servant goes.)
CLARA.
God! What an idea! You are not going to . . .
THE COUNT.
Wall in the door to the alcove? Exactly.
I hate this witness to my weakness,
And no foot shall enter it again.
Rejoice now, Clara! Could I give
A better proof that I believe you?
CLARA (forcing herself to smile).
What kind of childish fancy is that?
What has my poor prayer chamber done to you?
Perhaps you are jealous of the old,
Worm-eaten holy picture in there?
Leave it in peace, I love this place,
Remember what you promised: not to encroach on the alcove.
THE COUNT.
Remember what you swore, that's more important for you.
All responsibility falls completely on you.
As far as I am concerned, I am keeping my promise,
I will not open the door myself.
The mason can do so as much as he likes.
CLARA.
I cannot believe it. Tell me you are joking!
THE COUNT.
Call it a joke, a fancy, whatever you want;
I am doing it. But consider,
That this joke has a deep meaning:
There is a reality behind its smile
And something secret in these stones,
Which tickles the mind like an old legend.
You always complain about boredom;
Well then, here come the night's silent spirits
To set up a little scene for you.
CLARA
(aside while the count looks towards those entering).
Where shall I get strength in this frightful hour,
To avoid showing the count that I'm scared to death for myself
and him!
When the count is gone, I shall still save him!
(A mason enters with his tools. Some servants follow him
with a litter, on which are stone, mortar, etc., which at a
sign from the duke they place by the alcove, and then go out.)
THE COUNT (to the mason).
Listen, man! This is my will and command,
That you immediately wall up this door.
You see that it is sunk into the wall,
So there is exactly room for twenty stones.
Hurry, get busy; your reward will be forthcoming.
(The mason begins his work with the following song.
Meanwhile the duke stands at his side with folded arms, and
looks stiffly at Clara, who in the foreground leans against the table, with an intense effort at retaining her
composure.)
MASON (sings).
A mason lays stone upon stone
And thinks nothing of it,
And calmly he lowers the marble
Slab over the bones of kings.
He laughs, when on his handiwork
Salty tears fall in haste;
For then the mortar sets doubly strong
And never cracks over the years.
He builds to make a mighty work
With his simple hands,
And when the fortress is displayed
Nobody remembers the mason:
Then he takes his walking stick
To think about his next job.
And finally he lays his bricks
To make his very own tomb
And wearily lays himself down to eternal peace.
(He is finished.)
THE COUNT.
Take this gold; leave the castle immediately,
Your work is not required here any longer.
Say nothing of what you did tonight,
If you hold your life dear: you understand me.
(The mason bows deeply, puts his finger to his mouth and
goes. The servants come and carry out his tools.)
Now we are alone, Clara. The wall stands
And strongly divides the past and the present.
In there, in that dark, empty room,
Which no eye can penetrate any more,
I have deposited my fear, my jealousy,
It sleeps there, forgotten and eternally mute.
Here, on the other side of the partition,
We stand, my wife, purified of everything
That force and anger laid between us.
Sit here beside me, Clara! I shall put
My severity aside with my sword, and absorb
Myself in bright, quiet domesticity.
(He takes off his hat and his sword, sits in an armchair and invites Clara to take a place beside him. He seizes her hand.)
The dark night, the cozy night
Now spreads its soft cloak over us,
And rocks the soul, full of love and bliss,
Between those two: fear and hope.
Do you not feel its warm, light dream
Floating about your brow, beloved Clara?
Does not the night's secret stream
Flow like fire and oil through your veins?
Even on my hard, steel-covered soul
It sinks meltingly, like flute-sounds
On the mountains' dark forest one summer evening.
Why so mute? Why do you conceal your glance?
Here is your hand -- note -- it is also mine,
It lies ice-cold. Has it no pressure,
No sign of life for its rightful owner?
You do not answer. Is that your sign of fidelity then,
That truth you just swore to me on the crucifix?
In such a fashion a statue is true,
Which stands awkwardly on its pedestal
And gapes endlessly.
No, a woman's fidelity is not cold and stiff:
It overflows with the freshness of life,
And hangs nicely in the man's strong arms,
And trembles sweetly like the green rush,
But bends, like it, before the storm's anger.
Do you understand, Clara? Shall I beg for
The favor which is my right, my possession?
CLARA.
Go away. I am tired, dead-tired.
THE COUNT.
Even this tiredness makes you more charming!
Like an ethereal veil which rests over
Pale features, where half-closed lips sleep
And the eye dreams like a sigh of longing.
Do you believe that I can part from you now?
No! I have longed for this hour,
Like the bedouin for the cistern of water.
It is mine now, I have paid dearly for it!
Only rest in peace, do not speak, I shall talk
And I shall feed my eyes on you,
And drink of the soothing reconciliation.
It is a long time, dear wife,
Since we sat so cosily like married folks,
Here by our own hearth. This room
Now smiles so familiarly on its lords,
And the ceiling arches so faithfully over us.
(He looks around.)
What thoughts am I having? Yes, by Our Lady!
Yet how strange, how very curious!
In this same castle, within these walls,
Several hundred years ago, they
Played the same scene as tonight!
And time, like its own apparition,
Wanders through these noble halls
And plays ever and again its old scenes;
Only something was adjusted after the change,
Which separates our time's stream from the source of
ancient energy.
Then the matter was crude and very serious,
Then they walled in flesh and blood
Now one only plays with mortar and stone,
Walls up the door in front of empty air.
Don't you know the story? You don't?
Well then, it is just the time for a story,
When the night listens with anxious silence,
And the voice trembles at its own sound.
I shall recite you the old legend.
See, the parchment lies on the shelf;
The castle chaplain has written it down.
(He takes the parchment and sits down to read.)
CLARA.
Oh! God, oh God!
THE COUNT.
Hush! Listen calmly now.
First I shall trim the light, so its shine
Can kiss away the foul shadows, since
The story is rather frightening, Clara.
(He reads.)
"Let the gate fly open! Blow the horn loudly!
Alaric will ride out hunting.
Already he rides at a gallop down through the cornfield.
See the heron's plume, the purple-caped splendor!
His band of knights follows him closely,
The long lances gleam after prey,
And over the peasants' fields the company roams
Towards the edge of the distant, dark forest.
There are the arched halls of oak tree,
And the deer dashes over the green moss;
A distant Halloo! resounds through the forest,
The good dogs now run to the scent.
Count Alaric eagerly pursues the prey
And forgets everything in the hunt's wild delight
Until the day wanes, the bird chorus grows mute,
And the breath of night flows over the forest's breast.
Now in the castle at home sits his wife
The beautiful Ines, the same evening,
In the chamber, where the last glow from the fire
Shines mystically through the stained glass window.
She half reclines on richly-embroidered pillows
And plays softly with her luxurious hair.
Pensively she lets her noble head sink,
A brilliant tear forms in her eye.
Now she raises her arm; it sinks again,
And waves of anxiety wash over her breast.
But now again she pulls the bell cord,
It rings. Someone comes walking out in the hall:
A soft finger knocks lightly on the door...
It opens halfway . . . a page glides in,
A page, fair and slender like a child's thoughts,
With golden locks and rosy cheeks.
The freshness of youth swims in his sea-blue eye,
His carriage is erect, his chin still smooth,
Around his fine limbs fits closely
The white silk robe embossed with silver.
In his hand he carries a golden tray
On which there stands a sparkling chalice,
He kneels down and bids her drink
The noble wine, so fragrant, so cool.
She leans toward him gracefully
Bashfully her glance drops,
And the gold's luster, and the wine's dark ripples
Are reflected in her snow-white brow.
The handsome page kisses her hands
She tolerates it . . . she tolerates even more...
Soon neither of them is conscious of the world any more:
Only lips against lips, eyes to eyes.
Then all at once the drawbridge thunders.
Do they hear it, do they run away? Oh! No!
The courtyard clatters loudly with horseshoes
They notice nothing, they do not even wake.
Loud footsteps are heard in the stairway . . . are they asleep?
Now Ines leaps up with a shriek of terror,
And the page conceals himself in an alcove
Covered by a purple curtain.
But yet before the last fold of the curtain conceals him,
Alaric stands on the threshold, clad in steel.
His eyes burn wildly in their sockets,
He smiles bitterly, he marks his target.
The squires bring lime and heavy stone blocks,
Soon a wall is laid around the page's limbs!
Ines lies unconscious. The duke bathes
Himself in his revenge, and sits down to keep watch.
And Ines wakes. She scratches her
White fingers bloody on the hard stones,
And rage's wild cry of distress reverberates
Far over the castle and the free and open nature outside.
But everything is dead . . . only Alaric she sees,
His marble visage mocks, as she is tormented
He only asks placidly, as he laughs:
Do you wish the wall torn down, Donna Ines?
And days and heavy nights pass
Across this same scene of terror.
In time Ines's locks turn gray,
But Alaric is hard, like the wall's stones.
And Ines's eyes cease to shine,
Arms grow shrivelled that before were so round;
Just listen! Listen! Deep, deep within the wall
Sighs are heard, and a hollow, muffled sound"
(Actual muffled noise is heard in the alcove. The count leaps up.)
What was that? Does the page's dark spirit
Still stalk around in the castle?
CLARA (sliding down from her seat).
Mercy! Mercy!
THE COUNT.
What is it you want? Spirits need no mercy.
CLARA (embracing his knees).
Yet human beings have mercy!
THE COUNT.
Remember your oath!
Now all doors are closed to mercy!
(He throws her aside and says aside, as he goes out:)
You ripen now, you ripen, sweet revenge!
CLARA.
(remains a moment lying with her face toward the floor, then
raises her head, looks around bewildered, and leaps up quickly).
He is gone . . . he is gone . . .
To the wall! These brief
Moments are mine.
Do not kill me, wild torment,
Before the work is finished!
(She takes Fernando's rapier.)
God has sent me this steel!
The mortar is still wet and soft,
The stone yields to my thrust.
I feel in these arms the strength of a man,
The intense heat of the world!
Help! I am coming, my Fernando!
(She runs over to the wall and begins to work with the rapier to break it down. Immediately afterwards the count comes in from the other door, and watches her silently for some moments. Finally he says slowly):
THE COUNT.
Do you want to tear down the wall, Donna Clara?
CLARA
(half-collapses with a shriek: but leaps up suddenly again, and runs towards the count).
Yes, del Fuente! These stones
Must be torn down at once . . .
Help me! Look! It is a matter of life and death!
THE COUNT.
Whose life? Behind this wall
Is really only empty air...
You have sworn it yourself, Clara.
CLARA.
I swore to you that I was faithful,
And for this fidelity I have
Sacrificed to you my love.
Yes, there is a life behind the wall
Indeed, a precious life, del Fuente!
Away now, away you false shame
Whereby I became a tigress!
Come, oh come! You sweet dishonor,
Make me once again a woman!
Yes, del Fuente! Him, I love...
Him, the only one I have loved,
Don Fernando is in there!
He is innocent! Oh, he came
Here to lead me to freedom,
And I led him to his death,
Which he suffered in silence
In order to rescue what I proudly
And stupidly called my honor!
Kill me, kill me now, del Fuente,
Oh, but rescue him, save Fernando!
THE COUNT.
You talk wildly. Just bear in mind:
There is nobody behind the wall,
Everything was just an old legend.
I will not kill anyone here,
Least of all you. Now you shall live!
CLARA.
Every moment can kill!
Save him, save him, del Fuente!
Break down the wall at once, if not
You will see me fill Spain
With wild cries of revenge for this misdeed!
THE COUNT.
It is your deed, Donna Clara!
I am clean, I know of nothing.
Nobody will touch this wall.
CLARA
(runs despairingly to the door, crying):
Help! Murder! Help me!
THE COUNT (holds her back).
You will stay here. Go ahead and shout!
These walls are thick,
Nobody hears, nobody answers,
You will never leave this castle.
CLARA (on her knees).
If no human being can help me,
Then you listen to me, Madonna!
Mistress of heaven! Let me be the one you punish!
Oh, but rescue him, save Fernando!
(A servant comes in with a letter.)
THE COUNT.
What do you want? How dare you enter unannounced?
SERVANT.
Only a letter for the countess . . .
A fisherman just now brought it here,
Instructed that it be opened immediately.
CLARA.
A letter for me?
(She runs towards the servant.)
THE COUNT (grabs the letter).
Give it here! Then go.
Nobody must disturb us here,
Nobody, if you value your life.
CLARA (to the servant, as he goes).
Call for some help here! For God's sake, do it!
THE COUNT.
(after having locked the door behind the servant).
Silence, Clara! That is useless,
The castle's people are my slaves.
Let us just see now, from whom
You can still get letters, Clara!
(Opens the letter.)
What's this? Hell and damnation!
What is this? Don Fernando?
Yes, here it says . . . he writes himself . . .
Can it be possible? Oho!
The secret passage . . . Now I remember,
There have been old rumors
About the existence of such a thing here in the tower . . .
But they could never find
It again. And now he,
He must have found it, just when
I had him fast in the trap!
Forces of hell, you have saved him!
Oh I am a fool! Ten times a fool,
Who did not think about this before,
Who did not seize my captive alive!
CLARA.
God, what does this mean?
THE COUNT.
But still
I shall not give up my revenge!
He cannot be far away!
After him, at once!
After him, with horses and hounds,
After him, with lights and torches!
Sound the horn! Let the dogs loose!
Open fire with muskets! Let every bullet count! --
Ha, it will be a merry hunt!
(To Clara.)
Wait for me here, my dove, until I
Come back again soon
With your beloved, to a joyous
and bloody night of merrymaking!
(He dashes out.)
CLARA (alone).
Oh, what word was that I heard?
Dare I hope? No, oh no!
Such a thought were surely madness!
Yet, his fury . . .
(She sees the letter, which the duke in his rage has tossed away involuntarily.)
Ha! See there . . .
A paper, crumpled together,
It is the letter! He has forgotten it,
Thrown it away in his fury . . .
It is mine!
(After unfolding it.)
Jesus! Mary!
Is that not Fernando's handwriting?
He is saved! Still, it could
Have been written before he came here;
Heaven! Give me the strength to read!
(She reads.)
"Donna Clara! God has taken
Away a carnal sin from your head!
Your Fernando is delivered,
Even though he was prepared to suffer
Silently for you the worst possible agony of death.
The wall was all closed around me,
The air already became stifling, and the darkness
Dense like inside a coffin...
I was buried alive!
Then, while in prayer and sorrow
I pressed myself against the madonna's
Miniature statue . . . See! then it glided
Easily aside, and I felt
The night's fresh air breathe
On me from an opening
To a winding staircase, which
I found hidden in the wall.
Quickly, spontaneously I descended
Down the dilapidated winding staircase in the wall,
Until by the foot of the tower
Towards the garden I found an exit,
Hidden between underbrush and stones!
I was free! As light as a bird
I hurried over the outer fortifications,
Down the cliffs, over crevices
Down to the fishing harbor on the beach,
Where I now in haste write down
These farewell lines to you.
When you read them, I shall
Already be at sea on the ship out yonder,
Which only waits for me, ready to
Spread its wings towards the New World in the west,
whither
I have dreamed you would follow!
You did not want to do that.
I am going alone. Nevermore
Will you see Fernando, Clara!
But yet he wanted you to know
That he still lives,
Lives, and cannot forget you,
Lives, and forgives you!"
(She slowly repeats the last words.)
Lives, and forgives you!
Thanks, Fernando! I shall take
These words with me to the grave,
Where I am going now.
Ah, Fernando! You have your revenge!
Nobody in the whole world
Is so alone, so miserable,
As your poor, poor Clara!
(Sinking on her knees.)
Yet forgive me, o Madonna!
I am eternally thankful to you!
You have heard my prayer, have rescued him,
Freed him, as if by a miracle!
I led him cruelly to death
Yet he is the one I shall always love.
He is saved! Now may the righteous will of heaven
Decide my fate!
Shall I continue to be a martyr here
With my terrible husband,
Or will it be kindly granted to me
To hide this poor, hot,
Sin-heavy head
Under the peace of the nun's veil,
In a cloister, to honor you,
Oh, Madonna! What is your will!
I will endure everything, humbly, quietly,
Since I know that he is alive,
Alive, and cannot forget me,
Alive, and forgives me!
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Introduction and INDEX
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