VALGERD. If you would be a woman, suffer in silence.
GUNLÖD. I'll cast sorrow from me, mother.
VALGERD. No, no—bury it, as your deepest treasure. The seed must not lie on top of the earth if it would sprout and ripen. You have a deep sorrow. It should bear great gladness—and great peace.
GUNLÖD [After a pause]. I shall forget.
VALGERD. Everything?
GUNLÖD. I shall try.
VALGERD. Can you forget your father's hardness?
GUNLÖD. That I have forgotten.
VALGERD. Can you forget that there was a time when your fore-fathers' dwelling stood on Brövikens' strand? Where the south wind sang in the oak wood when the ice-bound seas ran free—where the hemlocks gave forth their fragrance and the finches twittered among the linden trees—and Balder, the God of spring and joy, lulled you to sleep on the green meadows? Can you forget all this, while you listen to the sea gulls' plaints on these bare rocks and cliffs, and the cold storms out of the north howl through the stunted birches?
GUNLÖD. Yes!