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Translated from Icelandic by Einar Haugen
First published in Icelandic 1957
p. 170The third play in our collection, Atoms and Madams (Kjarnorka og kvenhylli, 1955), by Agnar Thórðarson leaps right into the modern age. This is Iceland after World War II, catapulted against her own will into an atomic world. From being a country at the edge of civilization she suddenly became a crossroads.
On May 10, 1940, the inhabitants of Reykjavík awoke to find their country occupied by a British expeditionary force. This was not wholly surprising, except to the Icelanders, since Norway had been occupied by the Germans just one month earlier, and the British realized that they ought not to be caught napping again. By agreement with the Icelandic government the United States took over the defense of Iceland from the British on July 1, 1941, to the mutual satisfaction of all parties concerned. It is impossible to exaggerate the effect of the war on Icelandic life. From having been the remote “saga island” of romance and mystery, poor in worldly goods and unspoiled by tourism, it turned into a stepping‐stone of East‐West traffic. Full independence from Denmark was attained even before the end of the war, in 1944, and membership in NATO in 1949. Iceland’s position on the great circle midway between Washington and Moscow gave it in the age of the airplane a strategic importance it had never before held, unless we hark back to the Viking Age a thousand years earlier. An occupying force which at times was larger than the male population could not help but alter the pattern of life andp. 172 bring this former dependency of Denmark into a new Anglo‐Saxon world atmosphere.1
The main quality of this atmosphere can be characterized as prosperity. Ready money was rare in prewar Iceland, where the rural population made its living primarily by sheep ranching and horse raising and the urban population by catching and processing fish for export. The towns were all small, even the largest, Reykjavík, with about 31 per cent of the inhabitants of the whole country, having only 38,000 inhabitants in 1940.2 Twenty‐five years later the population had doubled, and the city had changed its aspect in every way. Served by two airfields built during the war (Reykjavík by the British, Keflavík by the Americans), the city now has a well‐built harbor, abundant electric power from the waterfalls, luxury hotels and restaurants, high‐rise apartment houses and elegant homes, traffic problems with its many automobiles and buses, and, in short, a standard of living which for many equals that of Britain and America. The prosperity is in some ways a precarious one, being built on the price of fish on the world market, the demand for Icelandic services by American forces at Keflavík, and the success of Icelandic Airlines as an economy conveyor of passengers from America to Europe.
The war and its aftermath were hectic years of transition, with sharp economic and political conflict, crises of confidence which led to inflation in money as well as governments. Iceland here offered a sharp contrast to the postwar stability of the other Scandinavian countries, where Social Democratic governments kept inflation in check and allowed prosperity to return slowly and surely. In Iceland alone was society torn by the growth of a large and ably‐led Communist party, which vigorously resisted all measures designed to bring Iceland into closer contact with the Anglo‐Saxon powers. Its intellectualp. 173 leadership succeeded in winning considerable control of the labor movement, to the disadvantage of the more moderate Social Democrats. The rural population was represented largely by the Progressive Party and the middle‐class urban population by the Independence Party, both moderately conservative in their views. During most of this period no party had sufficient strength to rule alone, so that the governments were usually coalitions of two or more of the four major parties. Each party had its own Reykjavík newspaper, circulated throughout the country, in which violent political invective was the staple diet.
Agnar Thórðarson is a man of this new world, one of its most successful chroniclers. Another is Nobel Prize Winner Halldor Laxness, who gave an acid picture of postwar profiteering and high life in Reykjavík in his novel Atomstöðin (The Atom Station, 1948, Eng. tr., 1961). In the play here presented by Agnar Thórðarson we see the same distaste for the new capitalism, with its conspicuous consumption, its moral decay, and its cultural emptiness. Against its glittering but corrupt facade the author sets up the old moral values represented by unspoiled rural Iceland. Senator Thorleifur Olafsson and his empty‐headed wife Karitas represent the bourgeoisie and its failure to meet the challenge of the new age. As a result their daughter Sigrun turns away from them and finds in the comic but honest peasant Sigmundur Jonsson an antidote to their well‐meaning but essentially poisonous view of life. The satire is well‐turned and proved to be enormously popular, having an extraordinarily long run in the theater of the Dramatic Society of Reykjavík on its appearance in 1955–56 and being constantly performed again by dramatic groups around the country.
Agnar was born in Reykjavík in 1917, the son of an Icelandic physician and a Danish mother, and studied at the University of Iceland on and off from 1937 until the last year of the war, 1945, when he took his degree in Icelandic language and literature. In the meanwhile he had been back and forth to London and Oxford, where he alternately studied and worked for thep. 174 BBC and the Ministry of Information. He won a prize for a short story written while he was still a student. In 1947 he received a British Council scholarship to study drama and English literature at Worcester College, Oxford, for a year; he spent the following year in France and elsewhere on the continent. At this time he visited the theater diligently, became acquainted (inter alia) with the work of Eugene O’Neill, and decided to devote himself primarily to the writing of plays for the new Icelandic theater and radio. In 1953 he became a librarian at the National Library, where he has successfully combined librarianship and a writing career. He visited Algiers in 1952, the Soviet Union in 1956, and in 1960–61 he studied drama with Professor John Gassner at the Yale University School of Drama.
Before he turned to plays, Agnar published two novels. The first of these, Haninn galar tvisvar (The Cock Crows Twice, 1949), is the story of a young man of good family who is attracted to the teachings of Communism, but in the end marries a wealthy girl whom he does not really love. The world in which he moves is a hard‐drinking, car‐driving, girl‐chasing one, but the vacillating hero is portrayed as a weakling who in the end betrays the basic moral values. A more mature and tragic treatment of a similar theme is to be found in his second novel, Ef sverð thitt er stutt (If Your Sword Is Short, 1953). In the words of his translator, Paul Schach: “Since the Icelander cannot escape from his past, he must . . . choose between accepting or rejecting its stern ethical dictates.”3 The same theme dominates his first major play, Spretthlauparinn (The Sprinter, 1954), in which a minister is unmasked as a man without principle. Three of his plays draw their materials from Icelandic history, Their koma í haust (They Are Coming This Fall, 1955) about the dying out of the Icelandic population in Greenland, Goðorðamálið (The Chieftaincy, 1959), which was broadcast for the fifteenth anniversary of Icelandic independence, and Hæstráðandi til sjós og lands (Commander‐in‐Chiefp. 175 at Sea and on Land, 1965), about Iceland’s short‐lived dictator, Jørgen Jørgensen. Most of his plays, including two serials, have been written for the radio, and these have in general not been published. Agnar is widely recognized in Iceland as the one writer of this generation who has successfully exploited the possibilities of the modern radio and theater. He has used these devices of urban culture to remind his countrymen of the vices of their new prosperity and has held up the satirical mirror which he hopes will bring them back to their moral senses.
While the satire may seem obvious enough, its effect is enriched by the special Icelandic quality that permits a comic confrontation of an old and self‐conscious culture with the problems of the atomic age. The politicians glibly mouth the well‐worn phrases of Icelandic patriotism, showering compliments on the viking yeomen who for a millennium have inhabited the Hermit of the Atlantic, also called the Mountain Maid, at the same time as they are fleecing them for their own profit. In the figure of Sigmundur the city folk see only a comic bumpkin, who is too limited in horizon to understand the new age and therefore the ready victim of their schemes. In the snuff‐taking, earthbound Sigmundur the author has underlined many of the amusing features of his rural countrymen, to whom the viking past and their own immediate ancestors are virtually indistinguishable. Sigmundur refers in passing to the Book of Settlement, a roll of the founding families of ninth‐century Iceland; to Egill Skallagrímsson, the fierce viking chieftain of one of the greatest family sagas; to Thorgeirr Ljósvetningagoði the lawgiver who in the year 1000 slept for a day and a night on the question of whether the Icelanders should remain pagans or become Christians; to Snorri Sturluson, author of the Prose Edda, in which the difficult forms of skaldic poetry are expounded, including metaphors called “kennings” of the type that make obscure reference to a woman as “the lily of the serpent’s hide.” Sigmundur, like many of his countrymen of the older generation even today,p. 176 is not only a rich source of folklore (he has his “dream lady” and his grandfather who slew the “Iranes monster”), but a poet and a saga teller in his own right. While his urbanized friends either laugh at or are bored by these activities, they are in the end forced to recognize that through this body of traditional lore he has preserved a core of solid moral values without which the country could well be lost.
Originally written in 1955 and performed by the Dramatic Society of Reykjavík during the season 1955–56; printed at Reykjavík in 1957, under the title Kjarnorka og kvenhylli (literally, “Atomic Power and Female Charms”).
The time of the play is the present. The scene is in the countryside, somewhere in southern Iceland.
As the curtain rises, the first strains of “Iceland, Happy Land” in the arrangement of Jon Leifs are heard. The backdrop is a view of distant, snowcapped mountains, with lava fields in the foreground. A bright summer’s day.
Senator Thorleifur Olafsson is standing with a palette in one hand, a paintbrush in the other. In front of him is a half‐finished oil painting on an easel; in its upper corner is fastened a postcard.
Thorleifur is a man of middle age, with graying visage, quite handsome, though a bit flabby. His features reflect a weak character, but when he looks at the mountains, his expression is one of sadness and nostalgia. He wears a hat with a wide, upturned brim.
His daughter, Sigrun, barely eighteen, lolls in the grass nearby, chewing on a straw. It is evident that there is a good rapport between father and daughter.
As Thorleifur surveys his work, an explosion is heard. He starts a little, looks toward the mountains, and is about to continue painting.
His daughter has also looked up.
Do you hear that? He’s still blasting.
Yes, I suppose so.
Just imagine! What if he should find some ore!
M‐hm.
Well? Do you really think so, daddy? Do you think he may find ore?
Naw, not much danger of that.
But you were all talking about it in the car on the way out here.
We were? Oh sure, just theoretically. Vordufell is a remarkable mountain in more ways than one. But of course there isn’t any ore in it. Well, well.
Now look: how do you like it?
Gee, daddy, you’re a real artist. The glacier is so bright in your picture. Why, it looks just like it was made of nylon!
Yes, doesn’t it!
It is exactly as if rays flashed from the mountain, for you know—there are mystic beings living in it.
Oh, it’s always such a thrill to be out here in the country again! I could shout or cry, or I don’t know what—
True. Here no one treads with workaday shoes. Here there is holiday in the very air.
And it’s always Sunday on the almanac! Oh, I wish we never had to leave the red‐letter days and go back to the black ones!
Hi there, Sigmundur!
What a hell of a racket that fellow is making!
(Farmer Sigmundur comes on stage from the left. He is stocky, ruddy, weatherbeaten, with heavy mustaches, a man in his fifties, who makes free with his snuff box while he is talking.)
What a hell of a racket that fellow is making!p. 181 He’s going to scare the devil out of my ewes if this keeps up.
The fellow? You mean Doctor Alfreds?
Oh yeah, you have some fancy titles out there in Reykjavik.
Dr. Alfreds is a great scientist, and he was sent here by the International Scientific Commission.
Scientist, you say? Very well, but after all, isn’t it more important to be a human being?
We Icelanders have become a modern nation, Sigmundur my friend, and have to take part in international cooperation.
You don’t say. Well, I guess I don’t know much about these things. But it sure didn’t do us any good with this international cooperation when they brought in mink and let them raise hell with our sheep. Well,
I know it’s all right, or you wouldn’t be backing him.
Well, I should hope not, Sigmundur; I should most certainly hope not.
They’re not exactly noiseless now, are they?
That’s the third blast.
Well, I’ll have to get back and look after old grey‐stripes. She might have got scared, and here I’m busy weaning her.
O.K., Sigmundur, don’t let us take you away from your work.
Lord, what a funny fellow he is.
Good old Sigmundur. He’s a character, but he’s one of my staunchest supporters.
Oh daddy, you should never have gone into politics.
Why do you say that?
Oh—I just feel it somehow.
A person cannot refuse to assume the duties and responsibilities of society when he is chosen to do so. Besides,p. 182 I don’t see that we have anything to complain about.
No, it’s not that.
I have worked for various improvements here—
I remember once—a long time ago—I bawled because the kids teased me. They said you had gotten into the Senate by buying silk bloomers for all the old women in the district. They had read it in some paper or other.
My opponents have charged me with worse crimes than that!
But you’ve never struck back at them so that it did any good. You haven’t been tough or hardboiled enough. You’re so sweet and cute, daddy. I know you’re the nicest man in the world, and yet—it’s cheap, somehow, to be so nice. I wish you were just a little bad, then you would understand what I mean.
Yes, Sigrun dear, I do understand. And this may be just the reason why I plan to retire from the political arena.
Do you really intend to resign?
I recall when I was about to enter upon my political career—then I thought that honor was an unwritten law in public life. Yes, that’s how childish my ideas were; but I quickly learned better.
You must have had disappointments, daddy.
I had great faith in men in those days. I thought, for example, that Valdimar really had the welfare of the people at heart—
Valdimar, he’s repulsive. I’ve never been able to stand him.
Valdimar is a two‐edged sword, that’s certain. He’s a great hand at cowing his own party members, by good means or bad, all except me—But why should I start raking up all that business? A man just gets himself into a temper.
And you stood up against him all by yourself.
Yes, they all ran except me, the milksops!
Daddy, you really ought to go through with it and resign.
Maybe I will, and then devote myself to my art.
It would be such fun, daddy, if you should get to be a regular artist and painter.
It has always burned in my blood, even though I haven’t had time to pursue this calling before now. Sometimes I have been on the verge of secluding myself so I could do nothing but paint—transform all existence into color—paint just like Toulouse‐Lautrec.
You mean the man we saw in the movies?
That was an unforgettable picture. Imagine: he was a wealthy nobleman, but that is all forgotten, while his art and his name as an artist live on.
Oh, daddy, how thrilling that would be!
Hush. Here comes your mother.
Yes, daddy, you ought to resign from the Senate and then we could go away somewhere, far far away.
Hush, we mustn’t talk any more about this now.
Just the two of us, somewhere far, far—
No, no, not now, maybe later—
Oh, daddy, you always say “later.”
(Madame Karitas comes on stage, dressed in party clothes. She is blonde, superior, and sophisticated in manner.)
Have you seen anything of Dr. Alfreds?
Seems to me I heard some cracks from him just now.
Oh, indeed, so you heard that. My, how observant you have been getting lately.
(Sigrun sits with downcast face, as if she were ashamed of her father’s performance.)
Well, I suppose the chap will come back here after a while.
What a clod you are, Thorleifur. Just think if the doctor should find some valuable metals.
Oh, not much danger of that.
Well, just the same, I don’t suppose that this institution sends out men at random! What’s the name of it again?
The International Metals Investigations Commission, IMIC for short.
Yes, of course, IMIC.
And then all this mystery about the doctor’s coming here. A person actually has to read foreign newspapers to keep up on what is happening in this country.
Oh well, a man has his connections.
As if it weren’t a sensation when IMIC sends a specialist here.
Could be, could be.
But this is more of a sensation for me right now.
(His wife looks astounded at him, and Sigrun gazes hopefully at him as if she expects a great decision.)
What?
The painting. I feel as if I have succeeded in picturing the majestic calm of the glacier.
My good, dear Thorleifur—now don’t begin to imagine that you’re an artist, just because you can copy a postcard.
Well, why not? I have the postcard here, well, it’s just a little help for me. I’ve never believed in caricaturing nature, and you can’t deny that the beauties of nature are incomparable here.
As if we hadn’t seen it before.
I’ll tell you, wife, I was just thinking that it is now sixteen years since I first looked out over this district as its representative in the Senate.
Yes, you did succeed in getting elected, Thorleifur dear, but what have you succeeded in since?
Well, I think I can say that I have worked out various improvements for the district; what do you say about the bridge and the road?
Senator for sixteen years, and that’s all?
I have been the only senator in the party who dared to oppose Valdimar.
And what did you get for your trouble? Nothing except that you are excluded from everything; the end will be that I will have to go to Valdimar and straighten things out.
No Karitas, you will never do that.
Why not?
Why are you lolling around like that, child?
Why don’t you answer?
Please, Sigrun dear, answer your mother.
Daddy, I can hear the river murmuring under the lava.
Nature is speaking to herself—but few understand what she is saying.
(Sigmundur on stage, with a tuft of wool in his hands.)
Well, old gray‐stripes was plenty fiery. She was a regular old bitch today.
And I see you have been shearing too.
Yes, I was relieving old Somi of his wool. He wasp. 186 getting so damn lousy with wool, poor fellow, that he could hardly move.
And here our good senator has just fixed the glacier on his canvas.
Yes, the majesty of the great wilderness always enthralls me when I come out here.
A person can certainly see that.
(The wife is reconnoitering with the spyglass; acts as if she were on pins and needles.)
It’s real artistic, you sure can’t deny that. But haven’t you ever tried to make a picture of the madam here, she’s real dressy.
Thorleifur? Not on your life.
Well, you know she wouldn’t look at all bad, and that reminds me—I sure would like a picture of my old ram Somi. He’s a first‐class ram, with a big belly and fat all over. Every lamb he sired ran to forty or fifty pound.
Well, that’s really quite a bit, isn’t it?
And I’ve been thinking of sending him to the ram show at Reykjavik this fall.
Yes, you really ought to do that. But tell me now, wasn’t it in that canyon over there that old Hroar the pioneer is supposed to have stopped the avalanche?
Yes, sir, that’s the place. That’s where he slit up the cat down in the canyon, and with that trick he made the avalanche run over the sands way to the east.
But where did he get the cat?
The Book of Settlement doesn’t mention that; but I wouldn’t mind if he had moved the river, too, while he was at it.
Yes, the river has been a great obstacle to traffic in this district.
And we farmers are going to remember for a long time that our senator squeezed the money for the road out of the Senate.
It was an uphill fight, but it was crowned with success.
Our blessings on him for that and everything else that issues from him!
How was that again, Sigmundur, didn’t they say the Germans found some ore here before the war?
Well, I wouldn’t be surprised. The soil is rich enough here even though you have to work for what you get. But the best German I know was old man Molkti, who sent us that wonderful rheumatism salve, and you know, the best thing about the salve was that it was the finest cure we had for worms in the lambs. You just stuck a tablespoon of it into their rear ends. But as for ore, well, damned if I know.
But of course they didn’t have as good instruments as Dr. Alfreds.
I can’t say about that, but the Germans are pretty smart; I’ve always thought Germany was like a giant eagle that wouldn’t let itself be chained.
But civilization was on the brink of destruction when the Nazis nearly defeated England.
Civilization?
Well—I wonder if it wasn’t more as if the Insane Asylum had attacked the Old Folks’ Home? It makes me think of what Laugi was saying the other day—
He’s coming—he’s coming—up the canyon—
Well, part of him, anyway.
Then maybe we can hope that all this clatter of his will stop. I’d better hurry home and get the hired girl top. 188 put on a pot of coffee. Maybe there will be a drop for our good senator.
It’s always the same old hospitality from you, Sigmundur.
Oh, we farmers owe you this a thousand times.
My husband never spares himself any effort when it comes to doing things for you people up here.
Oh, I know that, I sure do.
And yet a man can never do enough. I feel that most strongly whenever I come out here and stand face to face with the glory of the wilderness.
Well, well.
Hello, Dr. Alfreds!
Hello, hello!
How did it come out?
Aren’t those instruments of yours pretty heavy?
Elephants—herds of elephants.
Surely you didn’t see any elephants, Dr. Alfreds?
Elephants—yes, I think that’s exactly it.
Oh, you’re just so funny, Dr. Alfreds.
You must excuse me if I use code words, but that is necessary.
What? Did you find something?
Sorry—I can say nothing in public before I have reported to Professor Popoff.
Not even to me? In all confidence?
The Geiger counter bubbled and shook all the time I was in the canyon.
You don’t mean to say that you have found any traces of—uranium?
Well—I’m afraid I’ve already said too much. But it is not unreasonable that you who are the senator of this district should be the first man to learn about my discoveries.
Uranium? Is it really true?
The Geiger never lies.
If I understand you rightly, Dr. Alfreds, this is a big piece of news?
But whatever you do, only in confidence, as I said. I think one could say that this is just as remarkable as the find that was made in Madagascar this winter.
Uranium, here in this mountain? I can hardly believe it.
But of course, when the doctor says so.
Well, I just mean, a man wouldn’t have—
This has come as a surprise even to me. But the samples will of course have to be more thoroughly examined.
Remarkable. Most remarkable indeed.
But this must remain a secret, for at least a week or ten days, until I have new instructions from Professor Popoff.
I’m sure the old man would jump with joy if he saw this.
Is this uranium?
I took a few crystals with me as samples.
Oh, no. Aren’t they radioactive?
No danger as they occur in nature’s kingdom. I would judge they contain about ten per cent uranium.
Isn’t that wonderful? Uranium, fancy that.
So this is how it looks.
Isn’t uranium awfully expensive?
Yes, rather.
One may say that the whole future of mankind builds on this, now thatp. 190 the coal beds and the oil wells of the earth are about to dry out. Just one pound of uranium can give us power that corresponds to the burning of twenty million pounds of coal.
Really?
But ordinary uranium does not undergo fission, and it is a highly complex and difficult process to separate the isotopes, for fission occurs only with uranium 235, and this is found only in the proportion of one out of 140. Or in other words, in order to secure one pound of pure uranium 235, it takes 140 pounds of ordinary uranium—
Heavens above! This is beyond my understanding.
Why are you snickering, child?
Oh, I don’t think it will do any harm to let her laugh.
How can the girl ever learn good manners when you always encourage her rudeness?
I shall have to apologize to you for our daughter, Dr. Alfreds, but she is at that age—
Oh, my dear madam, it is on the contrary I who ought to ask your forgiveness. I know only too well that we scientists often make fools of ourselves in the eyes of laymen when we try to expound the laws of the physical universe.
Go and get my mink cape in the car, and the blue veil. I’m just a little cold.
(Sigrun gets up and walks off defiantly.)
But remember, Sigrun dear, not a word about what Dr. Alfreds has told us in confidence.
O.K., daddy.
Does the farmer here own the land?
Yes, at least in name.
But you have always been signing notes for him; wasn’t it for the barn last time?
Hush, I’ve never complained about that.
So he owns the land. Yes, indeed. So IMTC should turn directly to him?
Well, that’s as you might take it.
(Karitas whispers eagerly to Thorleifur while Dr. Alfreds is bent over his equipment. Thorleifur nods.)
I want to tell you, Dr. Alfreds, that once upon a time I introduced a bill to secure support from the government for industrial enterprises. Without any real capital for the support of Icelandic industry we will forever stay in the same rut, here where all investment goes into building houses and churches.
This is exactly what has struck me most forcibly here, and you are the first influential person I have heard speak with so much vision and understanding of the age we live in.
That’s true. The Icelanders are so unimaginative that they think you can’t make money on anything except real estate and huckstering.
These people simply can’t afford to leave all the power in their country unbridled; there are millions of kilowatts.
Now the Great Powers will of course race each other to bid for these uranium beds when your results are made public.
If they aren’t too late.
But you’re here on behalf of IMIC.
The wealth of Iceland’s nature is first and foremost the property of the people which has pitted its strength against this harsh land for more than a thousand years.
Naturally, if there were enterprise and capital enough, for this will be a costly undertaking. But as a senator you would of course have access to funds.
I have always fought to secure the economic independence of our people in the present and in the future.
(Dr. Alfreds looks thoughtfully at him for a moment.)
I tell you, my husband has always been a great idealist.
That I understand very well. All good scientists are also idealists in their way, true idealists.
I have always had an unwavering faith in the country, and I shall never evade my responsibility for seeing that my people may enjoy a great and glorious future.
Well, there comes the farmer himself.
Dr. Alfreds, we need to talk this matter over at leisure and alone. The fellow is unquestionably rather stubborn and peculiar, so that I think it might be most rewarding if you let me handle the negotiations. Above all, we mustn’t rush into anything.
No, of course not.
But as soon as we get to Reykjavik—I’ll get you a car right away, and support from the government, and of course we’ll pay all your bills. We might work out some real cooperation here.
I see that you are really a man of our time.
And what does science say?
Science?
Bless you, no one can get to the bottom of that any more than the virgin birth and the Holy Trinity.
My investigations are only in their infancy yet—
Well, well.
So, Sigmundur, we were just going to drink a toast to the marvellous beauties of nature here at Hofstadir.
The place is incomparable.
Beauties of nature, eh? Well, the pastures aren’t too bad here when the weather is right. I didn’t start feeding the sheep hay until late in Advent and I stopped long before the first Summer Day.
What? Did you stop?
Yes, you bet.
Now we’re going to skoal all together.
Sigmundur, our friend, we’re overcome with admiration.
We shall drink a toast for the industriousness, the contentment, and the honesty which characterizes the labors of our farmers and their families. As the poet says, “The farmer is the pillar of agriculture, and agriculture is the pillar of the nation.” Skoal, a toast to both!
Skoal!
Well, I don’t know what you call industriousness down there in Reykjavik, but for my part I think idleness is man’s greatest curse, and I often think about how badly it all turned out for Alli at Gil, a promising lad—I really do—so careful he was with the cattle and such a handy fellow with the scythe, but now they say he’s tooting a trumpet in some dance hall. Pfui!
Very true, very true indeed.
Farmer Sigmundur is one of my staunchest supporters, descended from a fine old family. I will never forget the blessed Sigthrud who traced our family connections.
She was such a delightful woman.
Well, I won’t say whose family I think is the most remarkable, but this I do know, thatp. 194 my grandfather Simon the Strong laid low the Iranes monster which had long been a terror to the people.
(Karitas laughs.)
The Iranes monster, just so, that’s extraordinary.
A regular viking that Simon.
Yes, a viking. And he got a medal for it which now is kept in one of the safes in the Capitol.
Yes, that’s right. But what I was going to say—hm, Sigmundur my friend—Dr. Alfreds took a few samples down there in the canyon. All his wisdom is in rock, you know.
Well, I won’t miss the rocks. I’ve carried plenty of them out of the meadow here. But I don’t like all these scientific blasts around here. I could lose the value of my ewes in all the bedlam.
I’m very sorry, but it was quite unavoidable.
Of course I don’t understand all this science business, but I wouldn’t be unhappy if they put water in all the gunpowder, for it’s real nasty the way they seem to be using it abroad, according to what I hear.
But won’t you please come over to the farm now, though there isn’t much to offer better folks.
Thank you so much, Sigmundur.
Thank you.
Shouldn’t I carry something for the good senator?
(Thorleifur hands him the easel.)
Thank you. Maybe you’ll take the easel and the paint box.
There is plenty of grass here for the sheep and such?
Oh yes, but the stock gets pretty slim in winter, and at Runolf’s place they got a sickness of the sheep
but they tell a story about the lambs—
(For a moment the stage is empty, then the daughter comesp. 195 from the left with the cape on her arm and the blue veil in her hand. She looks down and picks up an instrument which Dr. Alfreds has forgotten. Dr. Alfreds comes running.)
Did you forget this?
Yes, thank you so much.
Dr. Alfreds.
Yes?
You don’t think I’m a child just because I got to laughing a while ago?
Heavens no. Quite the contrary, you are a lovely young lady.
Mama always thinks I’m still a child. But I am really quite experienced.
I see?
I’ve smoked marijuana! Do you have any dope?
Dope?
I want some kind of exciting drug, something really exciting.
You mustn’t talk like that.
You won’t believe me. But I intend to do something awful, something perfectly terrible, something that nobody has ever done before. I just don’t know yet what it should be.
What is this, child? Why are you so poky in bringing my minks?
I forgot this instrument here.
The coffee is waiting, Dr. Alfreds. Come, little one. You’ll get fresh milk right from the cow at Sigmundur’s place!
A few days later in Reykjavik. In the senator’s home. Up stage a roomy hallway with hunting gear and rifles on the walls, pictures of ducks, grouse, and fish, and a set of reindeer antlers over one door. Tables and benches in rustic style; a telephone on a small table. Wide staircase leading up to the next floor.
On this side of the hallway a large living room, comfortably furnished and decorated. Landscape paintings on the walls, with Thorleifur’s painting from the first act in an especially prominent place. Doors leading offstage left and right. When the doorbell rings, no one walks through the living room.
Sigmundur sits in an easy chair with the snuff box in his hands, waiting. He has left his knapsack and a little bag in the hall; both of them look very much out of place.
Thorleifur comes into the room. He is noticeably livelier and more energetic in manner than he was in Act I. Confidence and self‐satisfaction emanate from him. He is dressed in a sports outfit.
I hope you will forgive me, Sigmundur, for making you wait. How are you, anyway, old man? It’s wonderful to see you.
Greetings! Wonderful to see you, senator! Everything’s just fine.
Kristin, will you bring the coffee, please?
Yes, it’s all ready.
And you have just come to town?
I got here this morning with Laugi.
And what’s new?
What’s new? Well, I heard on the radio that there’s been a big flood in Japan. I reckon it mighta washed away the whole business here in Reykjavik, even including the Capitol. Ain’t nothin’ can stand up against a big wave like that.
But the Jap’s tough, that’s what I’ve always said.
Thank you, Kristin, that’s just fine. Help yourself, Sigmundur. Have a roll.
Thank you.
Flood, you say. Yes, there have been lots of floods.
And at that, the Japs have to pay through the nose to support the Emperor in his palace, on top of all they pay out for the common welfare.
Yes, indeed. Yes, you’re right.
But if I might change the subject—I sent you a message about the note. The people in the bank weren’t very happy about extending it.
Now what in the devil. . . ? I had understood—
Well, Sigmundur, these are difficult times. The herring seems to be failing us, and it looks as if the government is going to have to devaluate the krona.
Devaluate? Is our economy in such a mess?
Somehow they will have to protect the income of our people.
And there can’t be any mistake in their bookkeeping?
No, you can be assured that everyone is doing his very utmost.
And so they have to devaluate? But if I may ask: what could I do when my farm burned down? And all without insurance? Could I devaluate my debts?
Now, now, Sigmundur, let’s take it calmly. If they do devaluate, you farmers are the ones who lose the least. And I reckon a fellow might give you a hand if the banks should fail us.
It’s hardly advisable to add to what I already owe you.
Oh, don’t worry about it, my friend.
Well, I know this, that if it hadn’t been for your good heart, I would have gone to hell a long time ago with all my household.
I have never considered it anything more than my simple duty to help you as much as I could, Sigmundur.
Your big heart has always been the same, and I don’t think there’s anyone in our country who can equal you. In my humble opinion, I want to say that I think you’d adorn the highest throne this country could give you.
You don’t say. Here I’ve made out a note so that we can let the fellows in the bank go hang.
Uh‐huh. That’s right. Now I don’t understand this at all. You haven’t asked for any security?
Your name is sufficient security for me, Sigmundur my friend.
And here is the note all paid.
Oh, but this is just too much!
I just wanted to show you what complete and unconditional confidence I have in you.
Well, I’ve often said to Laugi that trust is the cornerstone everything else has to be built on, but thatp. 199 anyone should trust me that far is more than I would ever have believed.
You certainly deserve it.
And I sign here?
Right here.
A fellow can’t deny that his head is never free so long as he owes another, and there’s nothing like these little debts to take the starch out of a man.
But in that case, why not solve the whole problem in a simple way?
What do you mean?
You know, I have often said to myself when I have been out there with you that there is no place on earth I would rather have a summer home than on Vordufell. From there one can gaze far out over the mountain landscape, and those mountains—when the evening sun tints them with gold—they are unforgettable.
Yes, your picture tells its story.
And therefore it just occurred to me that you might sell me the mountain.
What? Vordufell?
I would like to make forests grow there, clothe the mountain as it was in the pioneer days of our first settlers. The bitter truth is that it is we who have failed our country, not the country that has failed us.
Yes, but Vordufell has gone with the Hofstadir farm from the beginning of our history. We couldn’t get along without those pastures.
Unless maybe you would sell me the whole farm?
Now I’m sure you’re just teasing me.
No. I’m serious, Sigmundur, very serious. Isolated farms are constantly falling in price, and it’s quite certainp. 200 that you won’t get out from under your debts very soon unless something is done. But I’m ready to make you so good an offer that you can get along and even improve your position. I think you yourself hinted you might like to stop farming and move to Reykjavik for good.
Well, I have talked sometimes about having to leave, since this trek to the city never seems to stop. But I still think it’s healthier to wrestle with your lot in life, as a man should, than to run away from the fight. And I wonder if poor Joseph is any happier since he left to work in that kitchen than he was when he lived at Upper Holt. Even though he can wave bills in your face now, the poor devil.
You aren’t running away from the battle, Sigmundur, just because you choose a worthier role in life, one that corresponds better to your skill and experience than to be forever slaving away in the hopeless and solitary struggle with the soil. I haven’t brought up this subject without a purpose, for right now you might have a chance to take over a position which it seems to me would suit you brilliantly.
Yes, it would suit you brilliantly.
A position? A position for me? Well, I’ll be blasted—
You know old man Boas, the senate caretaker—
Oh, sure. I’ve known him—he’s from Loustadir farm. He comes of the Viking River family. Torfhildur at Skarfafell was a half‐sister of my grandmother—
Right. So he is. And it’s been decided that Boas is going to give up his position this coming winter.
Fine old gentleman, and well has he served his country.
Yes.
But what would you say to taking over after him?
Me? No, you just can’t be serious.
Dead serious. You’re just the man for this job. Trustworthy, hardworking, reliable.
Well, I don’t think it’s any great virtue for a man to be faithful to what’s been entrusted him. But to step into the shoes of old Boas.
No, that just won’t do.
You’ll make it all right, no danger of that.
I can just see myself in the senate with all those statesmen—a man isn’t used to such elegant folks.
Well, if it isn’t my friend Sigmundur!
Good evening, ma’am.
Well, Sigmundur, we’ll just let this idea simmer a while, and then we’ll talk it over this fall and settle it before the Senate meets.
It would certainly be a great honor for your countrymen out there if you get this position, and you are more than welcome to it. Don’t worry about it, and have confidence in me.
You see, this is our new Senate caretaker.
You don’t say so! Senate caretaker? May I congratulate you? How delightful!
Well now, I really don’t know, to tell you the truth.
I am really looking forward to introducing you to the cabinet members and the presidents of the Senate, and I am positive that they will think I have made a good choice. It is not unfitting that the Senate caretaker should first and foremost be a true representative of the yeomanry of our country, whose solid culture has been the torchlight of the Icelandic people for more than a thousand winters.
And there you have the note fully paid so that you have no more worries about the bank.
Thanks, but I’m—I’m completely bowled over.
Oh, it’s nothing at all. It’s a pleasure to know that you will get a well‐deserved reward for all your faith and confidence in years past.
But as I have said, we’ll make the final settlement in the fall. You will excuse me now, for I’m going salmon fishing with a friend of mine. You’ll stay here tonight of course. Don’t you have some business to take care of while you’re in town?
Thank you. I guess I did have some errands. I mustn’t forget that crowbar Gisli asked me to get.
You know, Sigmundur, that our house will always be open to all you men from Nupa.
And not least when they are about to become officials of the august Senate.
I really was surprised about old Boas—
But how about it, didn’t you just get engaged? I thought we heard something about that?
Oh no, no. That was Laugi and Ranka who have been working for me. They got engaged the other day.
And then you’ll be next.
No, no. I haven’t been chasing skirts so far. There isn’t much of that kind out where we live anyway.
Oh, I wonder if you don’t keep a pretty sharp lookout.
Yes, indeed.
Kristin, will you please show Sigmundur to the guest room upstairs. Didn’t you have some baggage?
(Sigmundur absentmindedly hums to himself.)
Sigmundur?
Yes, my saddle bag and the littlep. 203 suitcase are out front here.
(Thorleifur comes back in, is making ready for the trip.)
And what did the fellow say?
It will all go according to plan, have no fear.
How well you can handle these men, queer birds they are.
This is because I have intuition. I have always had intuition.
But have you seen the newspapers?
Well, what about it?
It’s all about Dr. Alfreds.
What’s that, wife?
Look here.
“Specialist commissioned by IMIC finds rich uranium deposits in Iceland. Dr. Alfreds refuses to answer questions, but prophesies a brilliant future for the nation. An atomic age is about to dawn on the Hermit of the Atlantic.”
Let me see
And here.
“Dr. Alfreds awakens the Mountain Maid from her thousand years of sleep”—.
Well, I’ll be—
And here.
“The Icelandic people hail the victory of science.” And here’s a big picture of him.
“You rode into our courtyard on your white charger.”
It’s all right. He just says “somewhere in Iceland”, nothing more. “Somewhere in Iceland”, that’s just the way they talked during the war.
He’s so clever. “Somewhere in Iceland”. That’s really smart of him.
But in any case don’t let our man get a peek at the newspapers. That is unnecessary.
We just have to keep the place a secret until this fall.
But my darling, do you really think Valdimar doesn’t have his connections? All he needs to do, for that matter, is to call the research lab at the University.
But they don’t know where the ore is.
This time I really hold the trump card.
Come right in.
Wonder if that could be Dr. Alfreds?
No, it’s Valdimar. Best he doesn’t see you. I’ll say you’re taking a bath.
(Valdimar is heard booming his greeting, comes into the hall. Thorleifur takes his wife by the arm, pushes her away from the door, but does not open it. Valdimar is white‐haired, vigorous, and roguish in manner.)
You haven’t been swimming in the 200‐meter race, have you, miss?
No, not yet.
But you really should, you know, for your nation and for my sake.
And remember to let me know first so I can get a chance to see you in a swimming suit.
Well, Valdimar! Hello, and how are you, anyway?
Greetings, old man.
It’s always a pleasure to see you.
As it says in the Edda, “A brotherless back is bare indeed.”
Find yourself a place to sit. A cigar?
Thanks.
Well, old boy, it’s really been a year and a day since we talked together.
Right you are. And now I’ve just about decided to retire from politics.
(Valdimar lights his cigar and gives Thorleifur a light.)
So? Is it your stomach?
My stomach?
Yes, old Vardi was talking about some stomach ailment. He said you didn’t show up after the last joint session.
No, I didn’t show up.
Nothing at all with your stomach then?
Just a little short on hydrochloric acid is all.
I understand. But then every man has to fly according to his feathers. Or rather, some come plunking down to earth without feathers and don’t exactly make an eagle’s flight.
Well, well, I’m glad you aren’t ill.
How about yourself?
O, what is man but a reed.
But what’s this: isn’t that a new picture, or am I mistaken?
Oh yes, I slapped it together this spring, just for fun.
And where is it from?
Oh, it’s sort of imaginary.
You have artistic skill, man.
Heavens no, I don’t take this kind of thing seriously.
But you really should. I mean it. Old political hacks like me aren’t good for anything but to keep struggling as long as we can. But art lives. “Ars longa, vita brevis,” as they say. Yes, even if they cut off their ears like this crazy guy, what was his name?
Oh no, that’s not for me. That’s not my calling in life.
Calling, you say? Praise your good fortune. It’s just the inferior artists who think they have a calling. The true artist is always modest. There is so much depth, such unusual depth and self‐immersion in this picture. You really owe it to the nation to make use of your gifts.
No, no, it doesn’t amount to anything; and I’ll have to put it aside now.
I’ve just had an idea. Now listen to me. Iceland has been given the privilege of appointing the chairman of an international commission for the extermination of beasts of prey, with headquarters in the Hague. We have plenty of experience with the minks now, don’t you think? The vice chairmen will be from Pakistan and Nicaragua.
And how does this concern me?
But don’t you see, man! This is the ideal position for you. With headquarters in the Hague you would have a marvellous chance to study the old Dutch masters.
A great honor for the country—it would correspond fully to an ambassador’s rank—income non‐taxable—I see Karitas in my mind’s eye as an ambassador’s wife in Central Europe—a magnificent and unique opportunity. I’m convinced that with this beginning you will wind up as Secretary‐General of the United Nations.
No, Valdimar, I reject the offer.
Think it over for a while. You don’t get an offer like this every day. If only I had been younger—
No, I reject the offer.
Don’t be childish now, Thorleifur. You’re always inclined to be a little hasty.
No, Valdimar. I value your offer very much indeed and thank you for the confidence you have shown me. But, as I said, I reject the offer.
And what do you think Karitas will say about this?
She entrusts such decisions to me.
Call her in anyway.
She’s in her bath.
The rosy—fingered goddess of dawn rises from her depths, ah yes. As old Odysseus put it. I thought you would have set greater store by all she has done for you.
And so I do. I value her very highly.
I never had a better secretary, never had anyone as quick and clever. There’s nobody like her.
No, I know that.
I remember how she wrinkled up her nose when I pointed out to her what a promising young man you were.
You did?
You were a pretty miserable speaker in those days.
I had too much to say.
Colic, I suspect. Well, you got over it pretty successfully, but without Karitas—that’s something else again. Doesn’t she still go over your speeches?
Valdimar, I thought you had learned that you can’t talk this way to me.
I think I can usually recognize her style.
(Sigmundur meanwhile comes down the stairs and knocks on the door.)
Come in.
I just got to thinking about this mountain—
Yes indeed, Sigmundur, we had better talk about that later, not now.
Right now there is a visitor here, and I am just about to leave.
I was just going to—
Yes, later, not now.
You certainly slammed that door right on his nose.
Well, you know, the usual squawk, just when a fellow has other fish to fry.
Are you referring to uranium fish?
Who says so?
Now now, you might as well pull your uranium man out of the icebox, so we can stop playing hide‐and‐go‐seek.
I doubt that I know any more about Dr. Alfreds than you, Valdimar.
“Somewhere in Iceland”—that was pretty smart. Reminds me of the good old war days.
I want to tell you one thing, Valdimar: when a man gets too far into the woods, it ends with his going out again on the other side.
Yes, Little Red Ridinghood ought not to venture in by herself. But if you, old man, think you are going to play the wolf, I refuse categorically to play the grandmother, you understand?
I don’t trim my sails to every wind.
If you have any sails left.
What I do on my own time is surely my own business.
Unless it turns out to be other people’s business too.
If you imagine you can give me orders, you are badly mistaken.
Gingerbread boy.
You can mock me all you wish. Go right ahead. For you nothing is sacred. You wouldn’t stop at anything to get your way, not even a crime.
This is too much—
Yes, not even a crime. You arep. 209 undermining the foundations of democracy by making the legislature superior to the executive power. You don’t care about the division of power, but want to concentrate it all in the hands of a few. You’re heading straight in the direction of a dictatorship.
Well, if I don’t seem to see wings growing on you, my boy.
I had decided to withdraw from politics. It seemed to me that the struggle for the rights of the people and for the ideals of democracy was so hopeless. But now I find after all that it is my duty to fight on, and never give in. . . .
Well, well, so little Karitas has been mean to him lately. We men are always so vulnerable to female whims. That’s our Achilles’ heel.
But you are repaying me badly, my friend, if you take it out on this innocent old bystander. It doesn’t suit your style to make faces and wave your sword at me.
Stop this comedy. You think I can’t see through you.
Now I’m beginning to think that your shortage of hydrochloric acid is really serious.
But I repeat: come to me when you’re tired of this strutting.
Please give my regards to our darling Karitas. Good‐bye.
You are like a corrosive acid. You have never understood ideals, never proposed any exalted tasks for land and people. No, you are hollow and rotten, while I have never failed the ideals of my youth—no, never.
Good‐bye!
Thorleifur, what’s going on here anyway?
Never, never!
What, has Valdimar left?
He’s scared, Valdimar is. He’s scared, shaking in his pants.
Does he know about the company? I mean Icelandic Resources, Inc.? And about Dr. Alfreds?
Not for sure. But he suspects something. And then that god damn Sigmundur had to come storming down here. That was a big help.
What did Valdimar say?
He offered me a post abroad.
And you said?
Do you think I don’t see through him? Now at last when I have a stranglehold on him. No, I should say not.
A good post?
What difference does that make? The old fox will soon find out who is the stronger. But he thought he was going to have it like Caesar and send his rivals far away from Rome as consuls.
But I will soon have conquered Rome.
Didn’t he ask about me? I should really have said hello to him.
(Just then the doorbell rings. Karitas hurries to the door. Thorleifur stands before a large ornate mirror and expands his chest.)
Well, Dr. Alfreds!
Hello, madame Karitas. What a pleasure to see you!
Same to you, doctor. Won’t you come in?
(Dr. Alfreds is dressed in a light‐colored summer suit, is bareheaded, and wears a red carnation in his lapel. He kisses the lady’s hand in a gallant manner.)
John, come in, man.
The city is in an uproar.
Yes, they were just a trifle curious at the research laboratory.
And you certainly gave the newspapermen a clever answer.
Oh, in my position you learn not to let those chaps stick their noses into everything. I told them I would turn journalist only when I entered my second childhood. But they left that out in their interviews.
It was very clever of you to say “somewhere in Iceland.”
Never say too much: that’s my golden rule.
And now we’ll have a directors’ meeting after the weekend.
A telegram arrived this A.M. from Professor Popoff.
And what did he say?
IMIC will of course pay for all preparatory research—if we have the capital.
Splendid. But we can’t publish any of this before everything is properly prepared. I’ll settle the contract with Sigmundur this fall—that’s clear. Investors will be very grateful for a chance to buy into the enterprise. But right now I don’t intend to have Valdimar and his gang in on it.
The drills will be coming as soon as the bank has transferred funds to my men.
Here’s the telegram.
No trouble with that.
But don’t you send the telegrams in code?
Of course, madame.
Elephants, herds of elephants.
I still don’t believe that you can fool old Valdimar.
At last he missed the bus.
I’ll send him a jar of jam for consolation. Now there will be a greater revolution in the industrial life of this country than ever before.
We scientists pin great hopes on the future of atomic power.
It’s just wonderful!
All this I owe first and foremost to you.
No, not to me, but to science.
You shall have no reason to regret our cooperation. Well, I think I had better start. Hilmar and I are going out fishing.
Even that could have its significance.
My dear madame, I wonder if I could make a long distance call to the United States from here?
To the United States? For heaven’s sakes, it’s as if the world has shrunk since you came here, Dr. Alfreds.
On the contrary, it seems to me rather as if it has expanded since I came to know you, madame. But this is just a little call to my dear Barbara Hutton. I mustn’t deprive her of her Thursday call.
Barbara Hutton—the richest woman in the world!
Oh, bless you—even so, she doesn’t hesitate to let me pick up her check, most recently in the Stork Club—
The Stork Club—that’s where I’ve always wanted to go.
It’s not a bad place. But it’s a shame the way that scoundrel Porfirio behaved last time.
Porfirio—isn’t that her husband?
Porfirio Rubirosa—she can’t move without his watching her. And somehow—I’ve never trusted him. Hep. 213 doesn’t inspire confidence, or what was it old people used to say? Perfidious.
That’s the word—just too perfidious!
How wonderfully well you speak our language.
I can never forget what I have once learned.
But as I was saying—the telephone—if you will excuse me—
Yes, of course. Right here, in the hall.
Wife, where is my tackle box? I’ve mislaid it somewhere.
Listen, did you know that he is a friend of Barbara Hutton and Porfirio Rubirosa?
And who the devil are they?
Please, Thorleifur, why do you always have to talk like a clod?
Here it is. Well, so I’m off.
But Thorleifur—
Now what?
Well, it’s about Dr. Alfreds. I really can’t receive him when you aren’t home. Won’t you tell him so?
How silly. Why can’t he drop in? I’ll be back tomorrow night.
I don’t know. But I feel that he always looks at me in such a strange way.
He’s a man of the world. But beyond that—no, darling, don’t act like that.
Have you stopped being worried about me?
I trust you. You know I have always trusted you.
Yes, I know that. And there’s no one else but you.
You do believe in me now?
But there’s one thing I’d like to ask of you.
And what’s that?
It is that you must remember to clip your finger nails.
You’re priceless.
Daddy.
Yes, I’ll have to hurry now.
Daddy—take me with you.
But, my dear, I’m just rambling up the Salmon River with Hilmar, and I’ll be back tomorrow night.
Take me with you, or else—
What kind of a whim is this?
Or else what, Sigrun dear? Is something up?
No, you never understand anything.
Well, well then.
She’s half spoiled already by your coddling.
Oh, while I think of it
What are you doing with the painting?
Sigrun dear, won’t you take it up to your room? You can have it.
No dad. I don’t want it, not now.
You don’t want the painting?
O.K., do what you wish with it. Give it to Sigmundur. But I don’t want to see it again.
Now I won’t deviate one hair’s breadth from my course—
Good‐bye, my love.
Good‐bye, Sigrun dear.
And good‐bye to you, John.
Have a good trip, and good fishing.
Thank you, and get my wife to find you a cigar. So long.
Good‐bye.
Have you taken your cod‐liver oil, my dear?
No, I don’t feel like it now, I have such a hangover.
How you do talk, child. Dr. Alfreds, I hope you don’t take her seriously.
Don’t all women say the opposite of what they mean?
Now please stop hanging around here. Why don’t you find something to do?
I’m going.
And be sure to take that cod‐liver oil.
(The daughter doesn’t dare disobey and leaves.)
What a pleasure it would have been to know you, madame, when you were her age.
What do you mean? That I have grown so old?
No no, quite the opposite. I mean, in your teens.
Sigrun is such a child yet, really much more inexperienced than you would think from her appearance.
And when I stand before you, I too feel inexperienced.
Do take one.
Thank you.
May I?
Do you enjoy playing with fire?
Yes, unless it’s the kind that you burn yourself on.
And now my husband has left on his fishing trip.
Sorry, but I’m going to have to leave, too.
Excuse me.
Kristin, my dear, won’t you vacuum the room please. It’s full of snuff from that impossible fellow.
Yes, here it is.
Au revoir, madame.
Some ladies are coming here this evening. I know they are just dying to meet you.
Thank you, madame. An irresistible force draws me back here again.
(The vacuum cleaner starts up.)
Evening of the same day. Scene unchanged. Sigmundur is shouting into the telephone in the hall, and in the living room four ladies are playing bridge. They are obviously well‐heeled and rather overdressed.
A small cart on wheels stands near the bridge table. On this Karitas has placed various sweets in a silver bowl and sherry in a crystal decanter. Wine glasses at each place before the ladies. Now and then they lift the glasses and sip gingerly.
I asked Laugi there about the bag—
about the bag. What? Can’t you hear me, Gisli? Hell of a racket on this line.
Manga dear, can’t you give Gisli this message? I sent the bag on the milk truck. Laugi was going to leave it at the gate.
Hello. Hello. At the gate. Manga. Hello. Gisli. I was just telling Manga. About the bag. Yes, and about the crowbar. No, no. Not the gocart. The crowbar. Hello, hello. And the bag by the gate. Laugi. Leave it behind. On the truck. Well.
What a big hurry they were in. But you can’t spend another long distance call on them.
(The racket from Sigmundur has bothered the ladies, who have been glancing at the door as if they hoped for some peace. The players are Karitas, Gunna, Kamilla, and Addi. Kamilla is the dummy.)
At last.
What were we talking about? Oh, yes, Porfirio Rubirosa.
What was that you said? Porfirio Rubirosa? What’s that?
That’s her husband, of course.
Dear, Barbara Hutton, but isn’t she the richest woman in the world?
Oh, I don’t suppose she’s anything more than a human being like the rest of us.
She’s the one who changes husbands to match the seasons.
What do you mean?
A shaggy one in winter, of course, and a short‐haired one in summer.
Please, Gunna.
Well, it’s your play, Gunna.
No, it can’t be.
Yes, darling, just try for once to keep track of the game.
That guy out there has just about cracked my eardrums.
I won’t have you saying anything nasty about one of my husband’s constituents. They’re sacred in this house.
Yes, of course.
But aren’t you frightened to be alone in the house with him?
Oh, I don’t see that he would be so dangerous, not for me.
Sigmundur? Oh no, and then my husband is coming home late tonight. Well, and whose play was it?
What time is it? The airplane ought to be landing about now.
I just can’t wait to see Tobba. She wrote me she had just bought a new mink.
No, don’t tell me. She’s always dressed fit to kill.
She was just like a shorn sheep in her last creation—the yellow one, you remember?
But Karitas, do you think Dr. Alfreds will come after this?
I just don’t understand it. He could scarcely afford to come much later. I told him to come right after nine.
Tell us, how is he dressed?
You mean undressed, don’t you, Addi dear?
Gunna!
There’s been so much talk about these discoveries of his. I’d like to have a personal interview with him.
Yes, you really ought to.
I’ve heard that IMIC has been granted a monopoly from the government on all the uranium that will be found here.
Do you know anything about it?
No, darling. I don’t know any more about these matters than you do. Though of course my husband couldn’t avoid getting acquainted with Dr. Alfreds on account of his position. Well, we took this game.
Why didn’t you play the jack of clubs, my dear? You knew that I was out of them.
Darling, have you ever been anything but out?
But I had four hearts, and if—
No no, please don’t start quarreling again. Let’s have a taste of this instead.
I want to say one thing: I think all this mystery about the uranium discovery is a regular scandal. In a healthy society such a thing wouldn’t be tolerated.
I don’t think Dr. Alfreds is anywhere near finished with all his researches and investigations.
Isn’t he just awfully learned?
My dear, in the world of science we know only a very few names. But of course he is very well educated.
Otherwise IMIC would hardly have sent him here.
A person is always filled with involuntary pride when men of Icelandic stock gain fame in the great world.
They say that Lord Nuffield once travelled around in the Icelandic settlements of Canada, and there he came to a school where he listened to little John Alfreds reciting. After that he adopted him and paid all the expenses of his education.
(They express their astonishment and admiration. Just then Sigmundur comes in.)
It just struck me that I wanted to take a peek into the parlor, before I hit the hay.
Yes, Sigmundur, please come in. You’ve already met the ladies. Did you talk with your people at home?
I was talking with Gisli. Laugi was supposed to take a little package for me, but don’t you suppose I hadp. 220 trouble getting that crowbar? It wasn’t before I got down to the Co‐op store—
Yes indeed, why don’t you find yourself a seat, Sigmundur?
Thanks a lot.
Oh, excuse me.
What was it?
I happened to run my toe up against the chair. I hope I didn’t scratch it.
Oh, no, that won’t do any harm.
(Gunna snickers.)
One heart.
One spade.
Seems to me they’re puffing up this fool doctor to beat the band. I don’t think for a minute that he found any uranium, damn if I do. And where in the world do you suppose he really came from, and who is he?
Yes, indeed, Sigmundur, it was a fine thing that you got hold of that—that crowbar.
Yes, I finally made it.
But Sigmundur, don’t you think we can trust the scientists from the famous international institutions more than ourselves?
Well, who did Egill Skallagrimsson trust more than himself, and aren’t we all descended from him?
But Dr. Alfreds is a highly educated man, isn’t he, Karitas?
Why yes, of course, what else?
Uhhuh. He’s gone to school. But wisdom isn’t learned in school. Conceit is what most people learn there.
Sigmundur, youp. 221 should give Kamilla a chance to hear some of your stories. You know Kamilla from the national radio, she is so fond of all kinds of folklore.
Nothing human is foreign to me. Life is so magnificent when one understands it aright.
That’s exactly it, when one understands it aright.
Well, I suppose it ought to be this story which I composed this spring.
Yes, let’s hear it.
Sigmundur has such a marvellous memory.
Will you excuse me if I blow my nose first?
By all means.
(Sigmundur blows his nose loudly, then draws in some snuff and grunts. They speak in a low voice about the game and begin playing.)
May I begin?
Please do.
In the year 1897 there lived in eastern Stafholt Sigurdur Paulsson, a knight of the Dannebrog order, and his wife Groa daughter of Sigurhans, who was beyond the age of childbearing when this saga took place. Their ancestors are not known to me. Sigurdur spent his boyhood years in Hornafjord, and there lived Magnus who had descendants in Faskrudsfjord, hardworking folks. One of Groa’s brothers was John, the father of sheriff Bjorgvin at Cross River in Eyrarsveit and the rest of his brothers and sisters. Sigurdur and Groa had had one child, Fridny, who now lives in Brotherborg Street in Reykjavik, an elderly widow. She was married to Judge Johannes who was in the entourage of King Frederik at Thingvellir in 1907 and was the son of the Reverend Larus at Eid who was the son of Sigurd the son of Bjarnhedin at Nes. It was the Reverend Larus who chased the Eida ghost from the parsonage, as isp. 222 reported in the annals. The children of Fridny and Johan are now for the most part of middle age.
Olgeir is a carpenter in Reykjavik, Baldur is an outstanding wrestler, and Tryggvi is a cantor in the male chorus The Harp and won a prize on their trip to Stockholm as everyone knows, and I have not yet mentioned four sisters who died in childhood. And now the saga turns to John the sheriff of Eyrarsveit, son of John, son of Einar.
No, Sigmundur, I’m afraid this is going to be a little too lengthy. You should rather give us the privilege of hearing some of your poetry.
Sigmundur is such a fine poet.
Oh, so you’re a poet.
Oh, bless you, ladies, I would never dream of being called a poet. But at that I do think my ear for good verse isn’t too far below that of these moaning poets that are most in fashion at the present time.
Have you never made a poem about love?
Not exactly that, but I did hammer out a little ditty just for the dickens of it when Laugi and Ranka plighted their troth. One verse ran like this:
Serpent’s hide—isn’t that the same as snakeskin?
Lily of the serpent’s hide is a poetic figure for a woman, naturally.
(Gunna stares.)
Of course it’s a figure for woman, but Gunna doesn’t quite understand how you mean it.
Now how could a fellow mean that in more than one way?
Snorri asks: to what shall one compare a woman?
Compare? Can woman be compared to anything at all?
In poetry, woman may be compared to gold, and “the serpent’s hide” is naturally gold, and so “the lily of the serpent’s hide” is a woman!
Yes, of course, a woman may be compared to gold.
Naturally. Do you understand it now?
It’s as plain as a wart on the nose.
(Just then the doorbell rings.)
Well, guests are coming
Excuse me, all of you. I have to go to the door, the maid’s off. Now, Sigmundur, we thank you for all the entertainment.
I guess I better go hit the hay. I really had thought I would let you hear some ballad verses I made a while back about Alexander the Great and the heroes of Thebes.
No, not now, Sigmundur.
Later.
O.K. then. Goodbye everybody.
Thank you for the entertainment.
We thank you ever so much.
Oh, it was nothing at all.
Would you mind very much going up the back way?
Oh sure, that’s quite all right with me.
If he had seen the doctor, no‐one else would have gotten a word in edgewise.
Dr. Alfreds!
My apologies, madame.
That’s perfectly all right. Come in.
(Dr. Alfreds comes in, bareheaded and without overcoat, as earlier in Act II.)
We were beginning to think you had forgotten—
I was beleaguered by journalists there in the hotel. At last I had to escape by the window.
Poor Dr. Alfreds. You never get any peace.
That is how it is to be a scientist nowadays. We, too, have become accustomed to traveling incognito.
But won’t you come in?
May I present Gudrun, the wife of bank president Bjartmar.
I am afraid I would be an indifferent bank president if I had so beautiful a wife.
Oh no, not at all, my husband loves me just like a bankbook.
This is Adalheidur, the wife of architect Sofonias—he’s the one who designed the church with the four steeples.
It’s a pleasure. I too have always been an enemy of the trivial. “Excelsior sursum corda,” as it is written.
And this is Kamilla, who read the famous story of “The Secrets of Pollyanna” on the radio.
(Dr. Alfreds bows.)
Tell me, Dr. Alfreds, why do you keep it a secret where the uranium was found in this country?
I’m sorry, but I have no control over that.
That’s IMIC, of course. But please find yourself a place to sit, Dr. Alfreds. What may I offer you, whisky or sherry?
Just sherry, thank you. I am expecting a call from Professor Brown‐Turning any moment now.
Oh, Dr. Alfreds, you must promise me to come to a party at our house one of these evenings. My husband always invites his colleagues, the bank directors, and then Valdimar comes and some of the cabinet and director Thorleifur and—
My dear, Dr. Alfreds is much too busy—
Unfortunately, I have just been ordered to prepare for a trip to Siam after the first of next month.
To Siam?
We scientists are rarely able to determine our own travel plans. But it has been a rare pleasure to come home here to the old sod. Nowhere in the world are women as charming and as hospitable as here in the land of ice and fire—unless it be in Panama.
We are so southern in our temperament.
How delightful that you should say this, Dr. Alfreds—you who have taken such high degrees!
I am not one of those who boast of their degrees. To tell you the truth, there was a student over there in Princeton who was almost a match for me, a Russian. He was a sharp rascal and he slipped behind the iron curtain with all his learning. I met him at the international congress in Moscow again last year. He had become a specialist in gamma rays and was director of the research laboratory in Sverdlovsk.
Think of that! They made you a professor right away, didn’t they?
Oh, that was pretty much a matter of course. But life is just an endless schooling for me, and I wonder if a man doesn’t end up saying with Socrates, “I know that I know nothing.”
You are so wonderfully modest, Dr. Alfreds. But may I ask you just one little personal question?
Yes, of course.
We have heard that it was Lord Nuffield who discovered your genius and paid for your education. Isn’t that true?
My benefactor once said to me: never speak of what I have done for you. That is my private affair. But let mankind enjoy the benefits.
Now isn’t that just like Lord Nuffield? He was so noble.
Yes, that is so beautifully spoken.
He was a man without compare.
Oh, Dr. Alfreds, I do wish you could meet my husband. You see, he has invented a new stucco mixture.
A stucco mixture—yes, indeed—
It’s just like ice cream.
I do so want to ask you, Dr. Alfreds—tell me, have you ever been in love?
My love is the goddess of science.
I mean, have you ever been in love with a real physical woman and all that?
But my dear Gunna, you really mustn’t ask questions like that.
Oh, why not?
Those who become scientists must renounce their personal happiness.
How touching.
Dr. Alfreds, you must have been worn out long ago by all these questions—
Oh, that’s quite all right.
But tell us then, how was it out there in the state of New Mexico?
At Los Alamos?
What an entrancing name—Los Alamos—it is like hearing the rustling of palm leaves in the dark of evening, outside the veranda door—
Yes yes, Kamilla, let the doctor talk now.
Oh, it’s really nothing to talk about, nothing but cactus and desert sands.
Cactus and desert sands, I can just see it in my mind’s eye.
(Karitas gives her an angry look.)
Cactus and desert sands, wherever you look.
More, Dr. Alfreds.
And insects as big as your fist.
Good God, cockroaches!
Tell us all about it.
It’s so very thrilling. I see it so plainly before me.
I will tell you: for reasons of security we got very little opportunity to look around us. Our eyes were blindfolded each time we traveled between Santa Fe and Los Alamos.
Your eyes were blindfolded?
Yes, blindfolded, for reasons of security. Nowadays you always have to think of security first and foremost, so nothing leaks out.
But then in Los Alamos itself?
You ask, madame.
And you don’t dare to answer. Perhaps you think I’m another Mata Hari?
No, darling, I’m sure that wouldn’t occur to anyone about you, Kamilla.
You mustn’t laugh at me. I assure you that careless talk can have terrible consequences these days. Remember what happened to my friend Bob Oppenheimer.
Do you know Robert Oppenheimer?
Yes, I should rather say I did. I was a sponsor when his younger daughter Alice was baptized. It was rather strange, you know; we had been working together for months before either of us knew about the other. We all went under secret names, and were all dressed alike, in white. Even Dr. Kristiakovski—but now I’m saying too much.
This must be just awfully exciting.
Undeniably. The life of the scientist can in truth be “awfully exciting,” as you put it.
I mean fabulously exciting.
Certainly. We scientists are only human after all. We feel our responsibility to mankind. But progress naturally can’t be stopped, as my friend Einstein once said to me.
(Just then the telephone rings.)
Excuse me.
But Dr. Alfreds, you haven’t answered my question yet.
I’m afraid that further details would take far too much time.
It has been so lovely to talk with you, Dr. Alfreds. You are so unusually straightforward.
If I may say so, madame, face to face with the riddle of life I have always felt my own insignificance, and yet the human spirit—
That was from the airfield. The plane is about to land.
Well, then we’ll have to hurry off.
A friend of ours is coming in from Paris. But I hope I shall have an opportunity to meet you again, Dr. Alfreds.
I certainly hope the same.
I wonder, my dear madame Karitas, if I could use the phone a moment. It is quite urgent.
Yes, of course, help yourself.
Excuse me, could we give you a ride somewhere?
Thank you, madame, but I think I would prefer to enjoy the autumn eve of old Iceland and walk home.
But as I said, we will get in touch with you—
Thank you so much. It is always a pleasure to get acquainted with one’s countrymen.
And you mustn’t forget me. We really didn’t get a chance to talk together this evening.
“Happy the man who has his best meal uneaten,” as the poet says.
Yes, perhaps we can make it for dinner.
You aren’t joining us?
No, I can’t make it. Tell Tobba I’ll call her in the morning.
(Dr. Alfreds is seated by the phone.)
Bye‐bye.
This is Dr. Alfreds. A telegram. O.K., etc.
There will be a marvellous sunset tonight.
Hiya, gals. You want nylon stockings, whisky?
What is this, man?
Gunna darling
—I’ll put ’em on you myself.
What is this, man, what kind of talk is this, etc.
Oh, I wonder if Gunna doesn’t know me. You did once upon a time, Gunna, didn’t you?
Come on all, he’s crazy.
Elias.
Hi, sister Carrie.
Merciful God, is that you, Elias?
(Dr. Alfreds turns aside, busily speaking in the telephone.)
Just as you see. I’ve come home. Home, do you understand?
I thought you were out at sea.
And now you’re so glad to see me.
You’ll give me a great big welcome, won’t you, Carrie dear?
No, Elias. I can’t receive you now. I swear it.
O.K. And how did you receive me last time? It’s just three years ago. It makes a difference, doesn’t it? In the war years I smuggled all your junk through the danger zone for you. Then I was welcome. Then I was good enough for you.
Elias, we’ve always tried to help you as much as we could. You remember it was us you could thank for—
Thank you?
Yes, I can thank you that I lost my eye. Is that what you refer to? Not quite so pretty in the face any more. Or that my arm was wrecked like this, huh?
Answer me, sister Carrie.
Yes, I think that’s what I can thank you for.
Oh Elias, tomorrow, just not tonight. Tomorrow—
No, I didn’t save the world so it would look like this.
Elias, I have guests.
Do you mean that shrimp over there?
Don’t talk like that, Elias. This is Dr. Alfreds, a specialist who is here on behalf of IMIC.
.
And poor old Thorleifur, are there any signs of life left in him?
Well, what the devil—can I believe my own eyes? Is that you, Nick?
What do you want, my good man?
Hell’s bells, man, how you have straightened yourself out. Where did you get that fancy outfit?
You surely didn’t steal it?
You ought to be ashamed of yourself, shame on you.
Now now, take it easy, kid.
Get out of here. Oh, Dr. Alfreds—
Now, my good man, why don’t you leave peacefully, or else—
Or else what? You haven’t even got the strength of a woman, Nick my boy. Remember in Panama when you were kicked off the Clara from Haugesund—
Elias—
If you’re looking for money, my man, here are fifty kronur.
No no, Dr. Alfreds, don’t give him money. He doesn’t need it.
I have all the filthy money I want. But have you paid for the shoes you stole from that bitch with the buck teeth? Huh, now tell me that, Nick?
You’re suffering from delirium tremens, my good man.
Ha ha ha. Delirium tremens. You don’t say.
You are such a beast that I’m going to call the police.
Have you told Nick about the time we used to help dear old daddy pick over the junk piles?
Elias.
And mummy lost her mind because she couldn’t sleep at night when he was jingling his money? Yes, Nick, old boy, there are other big shots besides you. What about a drink?
Now get out of here, right away.
Out with you.
Mother? So this is the reception I get?
But anything’s good enough for a bum like me.
Oh, Elias, he had such a badp. 232 accident during the war. He’s always so awful when he’s on land. I didn’t know but he was on a Norwegian freighter—
All this drunkenness here in Iceland!
You will have to excuse him, Dr. Alfreds.
Nobody pays attention to the ravings of a drunkard.
Once upon a time he was first mate on a big ship, but now he always talks nonsense.
Pitiful, very pitiful indeed.
I do think it might be better if you went out the back way.
Yes—
Yes, I suppose so—
If you are in a hurry?
I spoke with the hotel, so for that matter—
Well, in that case you don’t have to rush off. Please come in.
Thank you.
Here is a good place to sit. Won’t you have a glass of sherry before you go?
Maybe so. Thank you.
Skoal! Here’s to you.
And to you!
What is it?
Oh, nothing at all, really.
That nonsense from the drunk just now, I mean—
No no, we won’t talk any more about him. That doesn’t matter.
Then what is the matter?
I’m just tired.
Tired?
Here, have a cigarette.
Thank you.
You certainly made a hit with the women tonight.
I? A hit? Now I don’t understand you—
Yes, indeed. Kamilla was right on the point of swallowing you whole. Did you really find her that exciting?
Oh, the one with the nose?
How can you pretend so? You ought to be ashamed of yourself.
Well, to tell the truth—
And I really ought to have chased you away when the women left.
But my dear lady, what have I done?
Oh, don’t put on any pretences. If they had known that my husband was out salmon fishing and wouldn’t come back before tomorrow! Then it would have looked pretty suspicious.
Oh, so that is what you mean. I am as innocent as—
You have been seeking opportunities to see me alone, Dr. Alfreds. You think you can seduce me. But I can tell you once and for all that I am not one of those women who let themselves be seduced.
You misunderstand me, madame. You misunderstand me dreadfully.
Oh come, come.
Sit down. I wonder if I don’t understand you only too well.
Help yourself.
Thank you.
And whom shall we toast now?
For the moment you have made me completely speechless.
I was a little angry before, and you deserved it. But now it’s over. And shouldn’t we now toast your friend Barbara Hutton?
No, we should rather toast you.
All right. Our toast. Skoal!
Skoal.
Shouldn’t we two be frank with each other? I rather feel that we see through each other.
Yes, perhaps we do.
May I read your palm?
What do you see?
Didn’t I know it?
Know what?
It would really be fun to hypnotize you and see what came out.
I was hypnotized once. Never again.
You must have had some kind of vision. Tell me about it.
I saw before me an event of long ago. The skyscrapers of New York tower against the dimming evening sky. It is winter. A young man is standing by the East River, staring out over the water into the falling snow. “Should I,” he says to himself and sips from the brandy bottle in his hand. “Should I?” Then he sees before him the girl he loves, sees her standing before the high altar in white bridal dress, white as the snow around him. This is the evening she is to be married to the rich packing‐house man from Chicago, because she thinks a poor scientist has nothing to offer her. “Should I?” says the young man again and again, and looks out over the water. Then suddenly it is as if he makes a decision. He flings the bottle away, turns from the river and hurries with rapid steps backp. 235 into the city—to life. The snow crunches under his feet. Never, never again. From now on nothing but work—
But my dear friend, you surely don’t think I’m sentimental. Do I look like that?
You wound me deeply by saying this, for this experience of mine was indeed grievously bitter.
Tell me rather that you get your fun necking with girls at the movies. That would be something from our own age. This is nothing but old warmed‐over broth.
Don’t you believe in love at all?
No, not when you ask like that.
How, then?
Do you know, Dr. Alfreds, I dreamt of you last night.
What did you dream?
We were sitting together just like this, and then all of a sudden you put your arms around me
and I allowed you to put your arms around me. I just couldn’t do otherwise. It was so wonderful.
Like this?
No, much firmer. Yes, that way, just that way, and then you kissed me.
Just as we are doing now.
That was a funny dream.
There is an old saying about making your dreams come true.
Karitas—
No, no, not here—wait, wait, come—
You are so enchanting, so unusual—I have never—
Not here—you must be mad—
Heavens, are youp. 236 going to devour me?
No, no, not here. Wait, wait, then come.
(She hurries off into the room on stage right and gives him a signal to follow her. Dr. Alfreds gets up half confused, strokes his hair back with a surprised air, loosens his necktie, hesitates, pats himself on the chest as if to assure himself of his manliness. He hears a noise, starts, listens, peeks out into the hall. He sees the daughter sneaking up the stairs with her shoes in her hand. Dr. Alfreds goes out, closes the door quietly behind him. They look into each other’s eyes, Sigrun gives him a sign not to say anything, and he goes up the stairs after her.)
John, John—
(The daughter and Dr. Alfreds kiss on the stairs and disappear.)
John, John, what happened to you?
(Sigmundur at this moment comes in from the kitchen, barefoot, in his undershirt and long underwear, and crawls around on the floor, hunting for something. Karitas hears him and thinks it is the doctor.)
Why are you hiding, darling? Come.
Huh?
Good God!
I forgot my snuffbox down here, lost it on the floor.
The Square in Reykjavik (Austurvöllur). Benches, walks, flower beds. Hotel Borg and the Senate House (Althingishúsið) in the background. Neon lights when it starts to grow dark. Late afternoon.
Sigmundur and Senate Caretaker Boas come walking from the Senate House. Boas is enfeebled and rheumatic, dressed like an official of the nineteenth century, with a gold‐embroidered visored cap on his head. The Cathedral clock is striking.
We won’t go any further. It’s safest to be on hand if anything should come up in the Senate.
Twenty‐seven years. That’s certainly a long time you’ve been taking part in legislating and other high affairs of state.
Yes sir. There’s been plenty of cabinets come and gone since I was made a guard of the august Senate.
I know—and always having to make peace between opponents. You know what I think: old man Snorri would have cut a fine figure in the cabinet.
Snorri, you say. No, I would rather have chosen Chief Thorgeir from Lightwater. And some times I actually thought he must have been there when old Valdimar was sleeping most soundly during the speeches of his opponents.
What, do they sleep in the Senate?
Oh, it happens now and then that Valdimar takes himselfp. 238 a snooze. And I suspect that he sometimes thinks up smarter ideas when he’s asleep than when he’s awake, just like the ancient chiefs.
Right you are. There’s a lot to be learned from dreams.
You know, Boas, I’m most afraid I’d get dizzy wearing such a fancy headgear. It’s hardly for me to jump straight from the cow yard and way up the social ladder.
Oh—you get used to it.
You get used to it.
Did you put it on when they had those riots last year?
I always wear it when I appear on behalf of my office. But now when I take it off, I speak as a private citizen.
It would be fun to take a look at it.
Be sure you handle it with care. It’s national property.
When I look at this, I get to thinking: the national treasury certainly has to pay for a lot of different things.
Bless you, my friend, you don’t know the half of it. And yet for my part I’ve always tried to be economical.
But the waste of electric lights in this building is just awful, for those senators always forget to turn off the lights. And the way they waste paper! You can’t imagine it, and now they say the price of paper has gone up in Finland.
What will be the end of it all?
Oh, I guess they will be as they have always been—half way between poverty and comfort. That reminds me: I brought with me the Senate debates. It would be well if you peeked a little at these.
You read the newspapers, I suppose?
No, I could hardly say so. Oh, a fellow takes a look at these sheets that Laugi brings now and then. But you don’t gain much wisdom from that stuff.
No, Sigmundur, it won’t do to talk like that if you intend to win promotion here. You will have to read the papers and learn all about the struggles between the Great Powers.
Well, I had really thought we could let them do as they please.
No sirree, I tell you I can feel the draught from those struggles all the way to my office sometimes.
To your office, you say. Well, well. To your office.
Just between you and me, I won’t deny that many a time I’ve been the intermediary who prevented trouble when the parties just couldn’t agree.
And then the problems have been solved?
I remember when we had the cabinet crisis three years ago, and the President of the Senate was just about to—but no, that’s classified material. Certain it is that those who make the most noise are not always the ones who have the most influence. It’s rather the ones who stand behind the scenes and don’t say much. Here in the Senate we call that being a diplomat!
Diplomat, you say. You sure have a lot of strange words down here. I’m not up on foreign languages, you know, and I never did understand foreigners, except maybe some of those shipwrecked sailors.
Well, Sigmundur, you don’t get to be a bishop without a beating.
But when do you think you’ll be coming down here for good?
You see, I wanted to agitate this with you a little before anything was settled.
Some way or other, I feel bad about giving up my land.
Where could you do better than to become my successor? Lots of people would jump at the chance.
That’s not what I meant, Boas. The offer is good, no doubt about it. But somehow I feel it in my bones. A fellow has his roots in the sod. And just lately my dreamp. 240 lady has visited me constantly, looking reproachfully at me and talking angrily to me.
Just why should she be upset because you become the senate caretaker?
No, not exactly that. But then there is another thing: Laugi was repeating some chatter about Thorleifur being in cahoots with that doctor what’s his name.
Aha, you said it. Surely it wouldn’t be on your farm that they found this uranium, and that this is why Thorleifur wants to buy the land from you? I’d be surprised if that wasn’t it.
No, it’s out of the question that Thorleifur should have planned to hoodwink me. Oh no. Not such a spotless and upright man as he. But I wouldn’t put it past the doctor. No, not my friend Thorleifur. I just won’t believe that—
Well—it might just be that he’s a diplomat—
I don’t give a damn about any diplomat.
It’s getting late. I can’t sit around any longer. There’s lots of work awaiting. Well, you’ll come up to my office.
(Sigmundur is going through an inner struggle and does not pay attention.)
Farewell, friend, and remember to look at those papers.
Pfui, I don’t think I have any business there.
Well, I can’t stay any longer.
Duty calls.
Damned nonsense this talk of his. Thorleifur? No, not my Thorleifur.
Wonder if there’s any place I can walk aside here.
Dr. Alfreds’ Discoveries Cause Stir in Japan andp. 241 Other Volcanic Countries. Multitude of Scientists Coming Here on Behalf of IMIC.
Fellow, have you read about Dr. Alfreds?
No, I’ve had enough just seeing the man.
Icelandic Enterprises Incorporated Secures Monopoly on Uranium Extraction!
(Dr. Alfreds and Sigrun on stage from the other side. Sigrun walks quickly away from him, he follows and seizes her arm.)
No, I’m dead tired of all these parties.
You’re right. I’d rather land among headhunters and cannibals than in an Icelandic surprise party. But now let’s go away. Let’s just run away from it all. You understand? I have plenty of dough.
Shall I tell you who you are?
You can’t, my dear, for there is no one like me.
You’re just a big front and nothing else.
Come now, don’t be jealous any more. I swear, it wasn’t my fault that the woman got mad and locked the door. I have a distaste for her.
As if I cared.
Is that you, Sigmundur?
I’m so glad to see you. You know I’ve been begging daddy to let me go with you when you go back to the farm?
You will most certainly be welcome, my child. But isn’t that the doctor?
Yes, how do you do.
Well, Sigrun, aren’t you coming?
No, you can go away. Sigmundur, tell him to go away. He won’t leave me alone.
Oh, I haven’t needed to chase you too hard so far.
I slept with you just because I was angry, because Ip. 242 didn’t know what to do. But don’t think you have any claim on me for that reason.
Come on now, we’ll buy an airplane ticket, and you’ll see that Dr. Alfreds is a man who knows the world and can make servants dance attendance on him.
Let me go. I’ve never cared for you. I can’t stand you.
Aw, come on.
You’ll get all you want, just name it.
Sigmundur.
Here, here, you can’t lay hands on a young girl.
You just keep out of this and mind your own business.
Help, you’re hurting me.
Now, my boy, you run along home and go to bed.
What do you mean, you hick, ordering me around? Or don’t you know who I am?
I don’t have any illusions about that any more.
I’m the one who’s going to make a millionaire out of you—I, I—
Oh? A millionaire?
I’m the one who made that dump of yours into the most sought‐after piece of land in this country, I and nobody else. You could become a millionaire if you had any imagination, a millionaire, do you know what that is?
Just what are you drooling about, man?
You peasants are so stupid that a fellow can’t even talk to you. But if there is any gray matter at all in that noodle of yours, you should hurry up and sell before it’s too late.
Well, well.
So Boas guessed right then. A dog isn’t angry when you beat him with a bone, but you should remember that I, Sigmundur Jonsson, am no jester at the court of Mammon, and I willp. 243 never sell my birthright to a wretch like you, even though a visored cap is offered in the bargain.
What kind of a noise is this, man? All right, you just sit there like a turd on your filthy farm. You’re welcome to it. But remember anyway that Dr. Alfreds gave you a chance—on credit, which I never do otherwise.
But all this is just a big joke on your part, isn’t it?
Don’t worry. The money has gone to my men on the other side of the ocean. I’m safe. And I’ve sold both the cars.
So this was the reason for everything.
Let me go with you.
Sigrun.
All right, you’ll be sorry. I have plenty of women in other countries. Women who can appreciate what a man does for them.
The little bitch. There’s no way of pounding sense into her.
Specialists from IMIC and Professor Epihara Arrive Tomorrow.
What was that, boy? Has the goddamned professor recovered from his jaundice?
What? Who?
There, give me a paper.
(Paper Boy hands him a paper, starts to give change.)
Just keep it, son, you can use it.
(Paper Boy stares at the bill and at Dr. Alfreds, full of admiration.)
Well, so it’s getting hot under foot.
What are you gaping at, boy?
I? I just—
Do you know who I am?
N‐no.
Once I was an unknown little boy just like you—but now? Well, let that pass. But I don’t need a coat of mail to conquer the world, nor a rifle. I just shoot an invisible bacteria into a man’s ear. Ha ha! That’s the whole magic, and then all the walls of the city fall without a sound.
(Paper Boy stares, speechless.)
Run along now, but bow to me before you go.
Bow now, just bow. You’ll never see a man like me again.
(Paper Boy bows, terrified, runs away.)
Excellent, excellent. You show great abilities.
. I shouldn’t wonder if good old Thorleifur is sitting up there with his companions now, figuring out the profits.
In the end it may be fun to learn how much they value a man’s silence.
About a month later. In Senator Thorleifur’s home. Same scene as in Act II. Thorleifur stands before his easel, painting a still life of flowers in a vase. His wife sits in a chair, listening to a newscast while she fixes her nails. Thorleifur paints, steps back from the canvas each time he makes a stroke with his brush and surveys the result.
Professor Epihara, who came to this country on behalf of IMIC, the International Metals Investigations Commission, has been travelling around extensively in the South and East with his assistants. Professor Epihara—
We’ve heard enough of that.
Thorleifur, I was listening.
I don’t want to hear about this affair again in my house.
What if I want to listen?
. . . but his investigations have not been as fruitful as he had hoped.
I don’t give a damn about this Hairy Ape or whatever his name is.
As if it was his fault that you let that Alfreds bamboozle you.
Yes, indirectly.
Why you didn’t think of asking a man like Alfreds for documents and evidence, that’s what I don’t understand.
Well, what could a person do? Alfreds claimed he was here on behalf of IMIC, and we had read in the Daily Mirror and other English newspapers that IMIC was going to send an ore specialist to this country.
And that is this Professor Epihara?
The rascal fell sick of jaundice this spring, so that his trip was postponed. But of course we didn’t hear about that, and so when this Dr. Alfreds, I mean Alfreds—
Frankly, I think you should have had the means of getting factual information.
Yes, my dear, but you know that nowadays such matters are handled with as much secrecy as possible.
And then to let a young squirt like Alfreds pull the wool over your eyes!
Well, didn’t the newspapermen fall for it, too, every single one of them?
I just can’t understand it—
I tell you again, wife, a person actually has no defence against scoundrels like that who sail under false colors.
And just what colors do you think you’re sailing under, may I ask? Some kind of Sunday school banner?
No, we won’t talk any more about this. It doesn’t do any good.
But he did have all those instruments.
It’s no trick to get yourself a Geiger counter. They don’t cost more than fifty or sixty dollars.
But he must have known how to work it.
I’m not so sure.
But you remember, it sounded as if he knew everything about uranium, when he was talking about it.
He naturally picked that up when he was a barber’s apprentice in Uranium City. People there are as crazy about looking for uranium as they used to be about gold in Alaska.
But was that just a made‐up story about his being from Canada too?
Bless you, he was born and brought up on Linden Street in this town. He made himself notorious here one winter by breaking into a candy store. They put him in jail for it. Then he stole a horse from a farmer and sold it to the slaughter house. After that he became cook’s helper on a Norwegian hulk right at the beginning of the war. Brilliant career, isn’t it?
Fancy that—he even stole a horse! But what about his family name, Alfreds, John Alfreds?
In the police records he bears the full name of Jörgen Nicholas Holm Alfredsson.
Jörgen Nicholas Holm—what a name!
As many names as a member of royalty. We have further learned that he was once deported from Canada.
And this fellow you all allowed to twist you around his little finger.
But why didn’t you arrest him?
My dear, a man doesn’t willingly make a fool of himself before the general public. No, it was politically most advantageous that Jörgen Nicholas Holm should quietly vanish from the country as Dr. Alfreds. More than that: we had to buy an airplane ticket to Mexico for him.
An airplane ticket to Mexico!
Yes, my dear. We can praise our lucky stars we got off as cheaply as that.
(Just then the phone rings.)
The phone.
I’ll take it.
Yes, hello. Yes, oh no, the doctor has left the country. No, I’m sorry to say, I don’t know for sure. Yes, no, oh that’s perfectly all right. Goodbye.
Was somebody asking about Dr. Alfreds?
For heaven’s sake, he’s no god‐damn doctor
I mean—among ourselves. Outside, people only know that Dr. Alfreds was overly optimistic about uranium, and that further investigations have led to different conclusions.
But this is intolerable—absolutely intolerable—you who licked the dust at his feet—that you didn’t see through him.
But weren’t you the one, my dear, who showed such passionate interest in him?
I? Of course I believed it when you said he was here on behalf of IMIC, but it was you who introduced him into our home.
As things stood, it was a matter of course.
You left him behind here in our home even though I had warned you against him, and no one knows what might have happened—if—
If—what?
He was offensive towards me this summer, right after you had left.
Karitas, what are you saying? What really happened?
I have spared you the truth about this affair. Heaven knows how awful it was.
The skunk surely didn’t try to—violate you?
No, Thorleifur dear, I can’t bear to talk about it. I shudder to think of it.
Karitas, tell me about it.
I burned him with the cigarette. I scratched him. I hit him. I told him he would remember that a woman had struck him. And he staggered out after he had torn off my dress.
Oh, my darling, now now.
My little defenceless dove. But why haven’t you told me this before?
I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. That scoundrel. You should have known how he grabbed hold of me—
Now now, we won’t think about this any more. You were able to protect your honor. That’s what matters—
God, how I wish I might have seen that beast in prison—branded at hard labor—beaten up with a club—and then you pay for his airplane ticket to Mexico—the man who swindled you for big sums—this notorious housebreaker and criminal who almost dishonored me—you actually give him a prize for all his villainy!
(Kristin comes in just then.)
Well, what is it, Kristin?
I didn’t exactly know what I ought to do with these stones that the doctor left behind.
Throw them in the ashcan.
But aren’t they valuable? I thought—
It’s all right. The doctor was through using them for his investigations.
Yes, and don’t stand there gaping as if you had never seen people before. Or don’t you understand what we have told you?
Yes, yes.
The bag—I’m sure he slept with her.
Now, now, dear.
Oh Thorleifur dear—can’t we go away somewhere, somewhere far, far off, where we could forget all this? I still haven’t been able to calm my nerves after this business last summer.
No, I’m afraid that’s out just now. This has all cost me plenty of money.
.
But don’t you think it’ll leak out who he really was?
No, we have all made an agreement to keep it strictly under cover, and Valdimar will certainly see to it that no one blabs. He’s used to that, the old man.
You seem to have become a great admirer of his lately.
Well, it can’t be gainsaid that he saved the day for us, and if—
So of course you’re going to support his bill.
Yes—I’ll have to do that.
Weakling. That’s what you are. You had a chance to get the equivalent of an ambassador’s position. We could now have been in Rome or on the Riviera or anywhere, if you hadn’t played the clown before Valdimar. And now you have to crawl on your knees to him.
Yes, it was my fault that I trusted another man.p. 250 But what value is life if such trust is excluded.
I wanted to seize the opportunity for the benefit of my people. I felt I didn’t have the right not to—
Oh, keep quiet. Don’t you think I’ve seen through your hypocrisy a long time ago, all your talk about ideals and noble deeds? You just wanted to make yourself a bigger man than Valdimar, but you didn’t have the stuff in you.
You can pass judgment on me, Karitas, and I don’t ask for mercy. But have you ever tried to understand me as I am?
I’ve tried to make a man of you, my dear.
You aren’t fair, Karitas. You know I’ve always tried to please you. I’ve even tried to be the man you wanted me to be even though it was entirely contrary to my nature. The trouble is that a man can’t in the long run be anything else than what he is. But this you have never wanted to understand.
But what do you think you would have become without me?
The problem is not really what a man becomes, but rather what he is—what a man is in relation to himself and his limitations—and there I was too many things at once.
Yes, you should have remained the tear‐jerking singer at funerals that you used to be.
Yes, I could sing. And I could also write poetry. My schoolmates were amazed at my many talents. I myself lived in daydreams about all that awaited me. You understand—I couldn’t grow up because I had too many possibilities to choose from, and I didn’t choose. To grow up is to set one’s course in a definite direction. But I saw mirages on all sides. If only I had had the fortitude to devote myself entirely to my art, to the calling which has always had and now, I find, still has the deepest attraction for me.
Your art.
No, Thorleifur mine, you have never been able to live for anything. You have just dabbled at everything—dabbled at being a big shot. You never got beyond being director of an inactive herring oil factory. You have dabbled at art—when you had to give in too much to Valdimar. You have even dabbled with me, your wife, so that as far as you are concerned, I might as well have remained a virgin. Oh Lord, that I ever got married to you. It would almost have been better to let this candy thief take one by force.
Wife, why do you say this?
You have never had any convictions about anything, no passions, not even any vices, for you are just a fake, a fake. That’s what you are and nothing else.
(Knocks his easel over in her excitement.)
Karitas, Karitas—
Fake, fake—
Excuse me.
What’s this, girl? Why do you sneak in this way? Haven’t you any manners?
Forgive me, but I didn’t know—
Didn’t know what—what—?
The architect’s wife is here.
(Thorleifur picks up the canvas and his paints.)
Addi? What does she want?
She’s asking if the lady is at home.
(Thorleifur hurriedly collects everything and carries it out into the room across the stage. Takes off his smock.)
Addi, darling, are you here—
(Thorleifur comes out again, in his usual suit. Karitas and Addi come in.)
Could I possibly have a talk with you?
I had to—I just literally had to come andp. 252 see you.
Good morning, Thorleifur.
Good morning.
I hope I’m not interfering?
Oh no, no, not at all, far from it.
And Sophonias is busy building?
Yes, busy building.
My husband is so terribly busy, too, now that the Senate is in session.
Yes, I have to look over some papers.
Don’t wear yourself out now, my dear. Remember this evening.
Yes, I remember.
(Thorleifur off.)
Was something troubling him?
Oh, no, not at all. My dear Thorleifur is always in such good humor. He’s just a little tired. He and Valdimar have been working on a new bill. But please have a cigarette.
Thank you.
You two are always so harmonious.
We have always been satisfied with each other, and I think—though I shouldn’t say it—that my Thorleifur is just as infatuated with me now as when he kissed me the first time back of the Free Church.
Oh, a person can see that all over him. Men just can’t hide anything like that.
I think he still remembers all my party dresses.
That blue one you wore on New Year’s Eve was a dream.
It was a model from New York. But your dresses are in such good taste also.
Oh, Sophonias has good connections. But to get back to the relationship between you and your husband—the fact that you agree so well will make it easier to bear up under trouble.
What do you mean?
We have always been able to talk together so well and have told each other—
Well, what is it?
I felt it was my plain duty to come and tell you—
What are you talking about?
So you haven’t noticed anything? My Tota said to me— now you mustn’t be upset—
(She leans over to her and whispers.)
Pregnant! My Sigrun? Never. That’s impossible—the child.
She has been pregnant since this summer.
Well, what business is it of yours? You didn’t make her that way.
Now now, try to calm yourself.
Calm myself!
So the girl is engaged, and isn’t it the fashion nowadays for engaged girls to get pregnant?
Is she engaged? I didn’t know that. But surely not to this Alfreds?
You mean Doctor Alfreds.
Was he really a doctor?
Doctor Alfreds is certainly an outstanding man in his field—very outstanding indeed. But of course you wouldn’t understand that in science it often takes very little to make the conclusions erroneous, and as far as Sigrun’s engagement is concerned, I can tell you she is engaged to a young and promising student.
A young and promising student?
Yes, such incredible things do happen nowadays—young girls get engaged to young students, but of course I don’t suppose you ever heard of anything like that before.
I just didn’t know that—
No, you don’t need to tell me that there are lots of things you don’t know. I have always trusted my Sigrun, andp. 254 that’s more than you can say about your daughter, that trollop who has always been hanging around the American soldiers, and sticks chewing gum under all the furniture.
That you would dare—
I dare to trust my daughter, and even if she is pregnant, I still trust her, for she is engaged, do you understand that, and not a prostitute like your Tota. I wish to God that Sigrun had never made friends with your people, for in our district among cultured people you outsiders ought never to have been allowed. You ought to have to stay in the slums, like tramps and gypsies.
(Addi retreats to the door, terrified.)
I just wanted to—
Get out. Get out.
You should talk about a cultured district! You who made love to this fake doctor! And made a cuckold of your Thorleifur!
Get out. Your Sophonias is nothing but a hayseed who never learned to draw anything but silos, as anybody can see by his churches.
That snake.
Thorleifur.
What’s wrong? What kind of a racket is this?
She’s pregnant, she’s pregnant.
Who? Addi?
Your daughter.
Sigrun?
And of course with this housebreaker, Jörgen Nicholas Holm. Isn’t it just delightful to become in‐laws to such high nobility?
It surely doesn’t have to be him?
Yes, I rather think I noticed something like that. She was always giving him the eye.
The wretched scoundrel—
I wonder if we hadn’t better begin calling him Doctor Alfreds, even among ourselves.
I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it.
Why she couldn’t have been more careful—
But this is what I kept saying to myself this summer. We should really have locked her up.
My poor dear little Sigrun—and where is she now?
Oh, she went to this ram show with Sigmundur. Ever since she visited his farm this fall she doesn’t talk about anything but farming. It was all just to deceive me and make herself appear innocent.
They must be coming soon. Perhaps I ought to telephone.
No, of course there isn’t any telephone there.
Oh Lord, that this too should have to happen.
Now, now, my dear, we’ll manage to get out of it somehow. We can send the girl away and then she will marry someone she has long been engaged to.
By the way, have you seen that they’re getting divorced, Barbara Hutton and Porfirio Rubirosa?
Yes, and I ought to get divorced from you.
No, my love, you mustn’t do that. You are all that I have, the most precious and the most incomparable. With you I’m still wealthy.
(Just then Sigrun’s voice is heard in the hall, bright and cheerful. Sigmundur and she are both in new parkas, and he is in every way more dressed‐up than before.)
Come on in, Sigmundur.
There they are.
First prize‐first prize!
And a testimonial from the Minister of Agriculture himself!
A prize?
My old Somi just wouldn’t be denied.
That is gratifying, Sigmundur, truly gratifying. May I congratulate you?
Yes, I suppose you may.
And I suppose I should congratulate you too?
Yes indeed. I was so excited when the Minister got up on the platform to speak.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself.
So? And what, pray tell, have I done?
You ought to know that best yourself, you who have brought disgrace on us. Addi came here just now, and told me what Tota had said to her—
That I am pregnant. Yes, it’s going to begin showing pretty soon. I was just picking out material for a maternity dress today.
So you don’t even know enough to be ashamed of yourself?
But daughter, what misfortune has befallen you?
It is no misfortune, daddy. Children are no misfortune.
You don’t seem to be clearly aware of your circumstances.
Well, doesn’t the Creator bless those who increase and multiply the earth?
Please, Sigmundur, excuse us. We need to talk a little with our daughter.
No, he stays here. He knows everything about this.
Yes, I always told Laugi that there are fine qualities in the young people, even when they’re a little careless with their fun. But no one should be too hard on them for that.
Very well, but may I venture to ask who the lucky man was—surely not Dr. Alfreds?
Perhaps you’re jealous?
Maybe this will teach you not to shame your mother.
You shall never slap me again. I am myself about to become a mother, and my children shall never be beaten.
But my dear, whose child is it?
It’s mine.
You know, it has always seemed to me that somehow children belong to all of us.
If you intend to stay any longer under your parents’ roof you will at least have to let us know who has seduced you.
I am no longer dependent on you. I am eighteen years old and can do as I please. Sigmundur has promised me that I can stay on his farm as long as I wish. I just came here to say goodbye and collect my baggage. It’s all packed upstairs.
Sigmundur—can all this be true that the girl is saying? I hope you haven’t been influencing her—she’s such a weak character.
Yes, you understand, Sigmundur, we’ll have to find some way out, as things now stand—
Yes, she’s welcome, the little one, to stay with us as long as she wants to. She behaved so well those weeks she was with us. But this I would like to say to the Senator—that I think he had better find “some way out” in other matters than what concerns her. And you were badly mistaken when you thought I was so blinded by ambition that you could pull the wool over my eyes.
No no, Sigmundur, that was all a mere misunderstanding—
Well, it’s a little late to say “amen” When all the deacons have fallen silent. But this I want to tell you, that little Sigrun shall have all she needs in the way of milk and nourishing food. Laugi and Ranka have contracted with me for another year, at least, so that the grub isn’t going to be too bad even though it’s a lonely place.
Oh no, I love to stay with you. Ranka will teach me to spin on your mother’s spinning wheel.
But wouldn’t it be advisable to be closer to a doctor—
Ranka has been a midwife whenever it was needed, and she’s done right well by the women, too. If there has to be a doctor, there’s one in the village, down by the sea.
Do you still refuse to name the father?
Isn’t it enough for you to know that you are going to become a grandmother?
Sigrun—
Come Sigmundur, you’ll have to help me with the bags.
That you would dare to do it—
(The doorbell rings.)
I intend to take my parrot with me so he can listen to the thrushes in the brushwood—
(Out.)
Valdimar!
Hello, old man.
Valdimar!
Always like Venus just risen from her bath. May I introduce Professor Epihara, Frau Olafsson. Herr Olafsson.
Küss die Hand gnädige Frau.
Speek eenglees?
Speek leetle eenglees.
Nehmen Sie Platz. Won’t you please sit down?
The Professor is Japanese and prefers to talk German. As you know he has been traveling around the country far and wide this fall, but his researches have so far uncovered nothing of interest.
Nichts gefunden?
Nein, gar nichts.
No, it’s hardly to be expected that there should be uranium here.
His assistants and he have divided the work between them, taken samples and investigated everything in a strictly scientific way. It was an expedition under his leadership that found the uranium deposits in Madagascar last year.
Oh ja ja. Madagascar, Madagascar.
Yes indeed.
But in these investigations there is one spot which the professor did not get an opportunity to study, and that was at Hofstadir, just the area where Dr. Alfreds of blessed memory thought he had found uranium.
Jörgen Nicholas Holm.
It is not because the professor thinks that anything of importance will come to light, but rather for the sake of scientific precision and completeness in his reports. But the farmer was most unfriendly. He threatened us and forbade us all entry.
The fellow has gotten a little uppity lately.
To put it bluntly: he aimed a gun at the professor.
Boom‐boom.
Ja ja, boom‐boom.
He aimed a gun!
They had to take to their heels to save their lives.
What’s this? They’ve been in danger of their lives?
Imagine Sigmundur acting like that—
Be that as it may. But in order not to have left this one spot unstudied and in order to satisfy the professor’s scientific conscience, I told him that most likely Alfreds had left behind some samples of the rock here with you. I remember you said—.
Yes, of course, the rocks—
Yes, the rocks. Steine.
Ja ja, Steine.
Wife, where are those rocks we used to have?
The maid threw them in the ashcan.
Kristin!
Die Steine sind in die Aschentonne geworden.
(Speaks in a low voice with the professor who nods, and they all three go out into the kitchen after Karitas. Just then Sigrun and Sigmundur come down the stairs. Sigrun is carrying a cage with a parrot in it.)
Will you carry out the bags while I call a cab?
This is at Senator Thorleifur Olafsson’s. Will you send a cab, right away?
(Karitas comes in the kitchen door.)
Are you leaving?
Yes.
Then you’re really serious?
More serious, mother, than I have ever been about anything else.
I don’t understand you.
You have become so strange. What is really the matter with you?
No, you can’t understand me, and it is hardly to be expected. I don’t even know if I understand myself. But what difference does that make, when I know that what I am doing is right and the only right thing, and that nothing else matters beside this. It is so strange. It is exactly as if I had been under some kind of spell and hadn’t known what I wanted, until now I am freed from the spell.
I wonder if it isn’t now that you are under the spell. You can’t be yourself now, girl.
Yes, for now I am about to begin a new life.
And here, within, it is growing day and night. But you can’t understand anything because you are vain and selfish.
You hate me.
No, I don’t hate you. Once I was afraid of you, but now I only pity you, for everything you want and get is such unimportant trash—oh mother, I wish you hadn’t forgotten to be a human being—
(Just then enter Valdimar, Thorleifur, and the professor with his Geiger counter and equipment on his ears and a report in his hand.)
This is marvellous—nearly unbelievable.
Karitas, it’s uranium, real uranium.
Ja ja, uranium.
Yes yes.
The professor says that in these samples which Jörgen Nicholas Holm, no I mean Alfreds, took, there is uranium, real uranium, just think—
Uranium—ja ja—wunderbar—
(Valdimar and he speak in muffled tones. Valdimar is no longer jesting in manner, but is all afire with zeal and hopes of profit.)
We have been a little too quick. The man did find uranium, even though he was quite a different person from what he seemed.
I don’t think we’re going to miss him very much, Thorleifur.
But this time there isn’t any fly in the ointment.
Do you know what they’re saying?
May I have the pleasure of congratulating you?
Thank you very much.
And the seal of the Minister of Agriculture right underneath.
No no, Sigmundur, he isn’t referring to the ram.
Then what?
They’re going to start speculating with your mountain again.
Pretty girls should be seen and not heard. That adds to their charm. But as I was about to say, Sigmundur, the nation lays certain obligations upon our shoulders.
So it’s the same old song, is it? Just as I had expected. No, my friend, it’s nobody’s business what happens to be inside that mountain. And I forbid all trespassing on my property.
Bravo, excellent. That is the right national spirit. But unfortunately we are no longer living in the viking age. Unfortunately, I say, for never was our people more Icelandic than then. But nowadays it says in that boring document called our Constitution that men can be required to give up their property if the general welfare requires it. That’s how it is, my good Sigmundur. We all have to bow to the people’s welfare, both you and I, no matter what heroes we are.
I didn’t think you big shots counted yourselves among the people, the way you put up your coxcombs. But we farmers are the people, and we need the pastures we’ve got. No, I won’t give up a stone or a stick from my land.
Now let’s not get excited over a little thing like this.
Yes, I’ll get excited when I feel like it. My grandfather Simon the Strong slew the Iranes monster, and I have not degenerated so far from my ancestors that I can’t give this gang of mollycoddles from Reykjavik the beating it deserves.
The cab is here.
I hope that we won’t part as enemies, Sigmundurp. 263 my friend, even though Valdimar has raised this question with you.
Enemies—if we are, it’s mostly your own fault. And you won’t get anything but trouble if you tie up to a fox’s tail. It would be much better for you, Thorleifur, if you got out of this bad company while there is still time. Then you’ll be welcome at Hofstadir, both you and your good wife, and I won’t mind if you putter around and paint the landscape, just to keep out of mischief.
I’m sure that Sigmundur and I can come to terms.
You can chatter all you want about precious metals as far as I’m concerned. But I wonder if the most precious thing of all isn’t an honest people, though of course you wouldn’t understand that.
Come now.
Yes, I’m coming.
They say that a man who fights with the devil has his hands full, but I don’t intend to give in just the same—and that’s it.
There’s fire in the fellow, real honest‐to‐god fire.
He gets pretty nasty sometimes.
Well, we’re leaving now.
Wir gehen jetzt.
Auf wiedersehen.
Goodbye.
Auf wiedersehen, Professor Epihara.
Auf wiedersehen.
The old boy is anything but dead.
Too bad he isn’t a senator, Thorleifur.
Well, we can talk about this tomorrow, instead.
Good‐bye, beauty queen, good‐bye.
Goodbye.
So it was right on the property of that confounded rascal he found the uranium after all.
How ridiculous all this is. How utterly fantastic. It’s just exactly what you have coming.
Carrie, Carrie dear, what is it, Carrie—
There’s a telegram.
A telegram?
Who from?
PLEASE SEND STONE SAMPLES STOP VERY URGENT STOP FORGOT THEM STOP GREETINGS DOCTOR ALFREDS HOTEL REY ALFONSO MEXICO CITY.
Now I don’t understand a thing. He wants his stones sent to him?
No, of course you don’t ever understand anything. But it is Jörgen Nicholas Holm who conquers the world and finds uranium wherever he goes—in Iceland, Mexico, Siam, with stolen samples from Canada in his bag.
Jörgen Nicholas Holm—Porfirio Rubirosa—and Barbara Hutton—