Monologue

Margit Monologue from The feast at Solhoug

From The feast at Solhoug by Henrik Ibsen

female · anguished · 2:23 min

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Mayhap; but the praises showered on me Caused the wreck of my happiness--that I now see. To far-off lands away you sailed; But deep in my heart was graven each song You had ever sung; and their glamour was strong; With a mist of dreams my brow they veiled. In them all the joys you had dwelt upon That can find a home in the beating breast; You had sung so oft of the lordly life 'Mid knights and ladies. And lo! anon Came wooers a many from east and from west; And so--I became Bengt Gauteson's wife. (GUDMUND: Oh, Margit!) The days that passed were but few Ere with tears my folly I 'gan to rue. To think, my kinsman and friend, on thee Was all the comfort left to me. How empty now seemed Solhoug's hall, How hateful and drear its great rooms all! Hither came many a knight and dame, Came many a skald to sing my fame. But never a one who could fathom aright My spirit and all its yearning-- I shivered, as though in the Hill-King's might; Yet my head throbbed, my blood was burning. (GUDMUND: But your husband--?) He never to me was dear. 'Twas his gold was my undoing. When he spoke to me, aye, or e'en drew near, My spirit writhed with ruing. [Clasping her hands. And thus have I lived for three long years-- A life of sorrow, of unstanched tears! Your coming was rumoured. You know full well What pride deep down in my heart doth dwell. I hid my anguish, I veiled my woe, For you were the last that the truth must know.

About this piece

30s · sadness · love · betrayal · identity · isolation

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