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Hans of Iceland
BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY VICTOR HUGO
Hans of Iceland: A Play in Three Acts (with Palmir, Octo, and Rameau)
Les Misérables: A Play in Two Acts (with Paul Meurice & Charles Victor Hugo)
Ninety-Three: A Play in Four Acts (with Paul Meurice)
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 2001, 2013 by Frank J. Morlock
Published by Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
DEDICATION
To my friend Victor Lantang
CAST OF CHARACTERS
HANS OF ICELAND, outlaw
ORDENER GULDENLEN, son of the Viceroy of Norway
COUNT D’ALEFELD, Chancellor of Denmark and Norway
COUNT HARALD, former Chancellor
FREDERIC, a young officer, son of Count D’Alefeld
SPIAGURDY, guardian of Drontheim
KENNIBOL, Young Musketeer of Munckholm
ORUGIX, The Executioner
TIRCLA, Concierge of the prison
OGLIPIGLAP, Lapplander, assistant to Spiagudry
A SYNDIC
AN OFFICER
ESILDA, Harald’s daughter
BECHLIE, wife of Orugix
OLLY, Old Matron of Drontheim
MAASE, another Matron of Drontheim
A VILLAGER
A YOUNG VILLAGE GIRL
NORWEGIANS
MUSKETEERS FROM MUNCKOLM
ACT I
SCENE 1
The action takes place in Drontheim in Norway.
The stage represents a hall made completely of stone. Through a door in the rear can be seen a public square. Midstage, to the left is a grill with a small gate, above which reads: Room of the Dead.
AT RISE, several of the people are occupied looking through the bars of the grill. Notable among them are Kennibol, Maase and Olly. Spiagudry, seated on a stool at the right seems to be asleep.
OLLY:
Now that’s where love gets you, neighbor Maase. That poor Gath wouldn’t be there stretched on that black stone if she had only thought of patching the nets of her unfortunate father.
MAASE:
And her fiancée, Gill Stadt, that handsome young man that you see beside her wouldn’t be there, if, instead of making love to Gath, and seeking his fortune in the accursed mines of Roras where he was crushed by falling rocks, he had remained by his infirm mother who now weeps before the empty cradle of her child, grown into a big young man—and dead.
OLLY:
Gath drowned herself in despair at the death of her fiancée?
KENNIBOL:
Who said that? This girl, who I knew quite well, was indeed the fiancée of this young miner, but she was also the mistress of one of my comrades, a soldier from the garrison of Munckolm; and the day before yesterday she wanted to get into the fortress by stealth in order to celebrate with her lover the death of her betrothed. The boat that was carrying her capsized on a reef and she drowned.
OLLY:
How horrible! How can one take delight in spreading such absurdities?
MAASE:
It’s an infamous slander.
SPIAGUDRY:
(waking up)
Silence, driveling old witches.
OLLY:
Heavens, you hear him, the damned old soul?
MAASE:
What’s he want of us? This big cadaver who guards cadavers.
SPIAGUDRY:
Peace I tell you, daughters of Hell. If today is the Sabbath, hurry to take up your brooms; otherwise, they will fly off without you. (to Kenniobl) You were saying, my brave man, that this wretched woman?
OLLY:
The old wise guy! We are wretched women because our bodies, if they fall into his hands, bring him nothing besides the tax. Only thirty escalins, while he would receive forty for the miserable carcass of a man.
SPIAGUDRY:
Will you viper tongues quiet down! Tell me, my brave man, your comrade whose mistress was this Gath, doubtless killed himself in despair at having lost her?
MAASE:
Do you hear this old pagan? He would see one less among the living because of the forty escalins a dead body would bring him.
SPIAGUDRY:
Come on, don’t get angry, my sweet gossips. Mustn’t everyone in the world live by his profession?
KENNIBOL:
Well, old Satan, where do you intend to get with this friendly grimace that resembles so nicely the last outburst of laughter of a hanged man?
SPIAGUDRY:
Here I am. When the bodies they bring us have been found in the water, we are obliged to share half the reward with the fishermen. Therefore, my valiant friend, I would pray you to engage your unfortunate comrade not to drown himself but to choose some other type of death; the thing must be indifferent to him, he ought not to work harm, as he does to the unfortunate Christians who will give hospitality to his body if the loss of Gath pushes him to this act of despair.
KENNIBOL:
That’s where you are mistaken, my charitable and hospitable concierge of the dead. My comrade would have no satisfaction to be received in your appetizing inn, for at the moment he’s consoling himself with another beauty for the death of this one.
OLLY:
What is the wretch saying now?
MAASE:
