e style is concerned--fell into
my hands. In the pages of these family chronicles, with their
variety of scenes and of relations between man and man, between
woman and woman, in short, between human being and human being,
there met me a personal, eventful, really living life; and as the
result of my intercourse with all these distinctly individual men
and women, there presented themselves to my mind's eye the first
rough, indistinct outlines of _The Vikings at Helgeland_.

How far the details of that drama then took shape, I am no longer
able to say. But I remember perfectly that the two figures of
which I first caught sight were the two women who in course of
time became Hiordis and Dagny. There was to be a great banquet
in the play, with passion-rousing, fateful quarrels during its
course. Of other characters and passions, and situations produced
by these, I meant to include whatever seemed to me most typical
of the life which the Sagas reveal. In short, it was my intention
to reproduce dramatically exactly what the Saga of the Volsungs
gives in epic form.

I made no complete, connected plan at that time; but it was evident
to me that such a drama was to be my first undertaking.

Various obstacles intervened. Most of them were of a personal nature,
and these were probably the most decisive; but it undoubtedly had
its significance that I happened just at this time to make a careful
study of Landstad's collection of Norwegian ballads, published two
years previously. My mood of the moment was more in harmony with
the literary romanticism of the Middle Ages than with the deeds
of the Sagas, with poetical than with prose composition, with the
word-melody of the ballad than with the characterisation of the Saga.

Thus it happened that the fermenting, formless design for the
tragedy, _The Vikings at Helgeland_, transformed itself temporarily
into the lyric drama, _The Feast at Solhoug_.

The two female characters, the foster sisters Hiordis and Dagny,
of the projected tragedy, became the sisters Margit and Signe of
the completed lyric drama. The derivation of the latter pair from
the two women of the Saga at once becomes apparent when attention
is drawn to it. The relationship is unmistakable. The tragic
hero, so far only vaguely outlined, Sigurd, the far-travelled Viking,
the welcome guest at the courts of kings, became the knight and
minstrel, Gudmund Alfson, who has likewise been long absent in
foreign la