The Stranger (looking at his watch). It is almost time for me to go on
board again. (Coming nearer.) Yes, yes, Ellida, now I have done my duty.
(Coming still nearer.) I have kept the word I gave you.
Ellida (beseechingly drawing away). Oh! don't touch me!
The Stranger. And so now you must think it over till tomorrow night--
Wangel. There is nothing to think over here. See that you get away.
The Stranger (still to ELLIDA). Now I'm going with the steamer up the
fjord. Tomorrow night I will come again, and then I shall look for you
here. You must wait for me here in the garden, for I prefer settling the
matter with you alone; you understand?
Ellida (in low, trembling tone). Do you hear that, Wangel?
Wangel. Only keep calm. We shall know how to prevent this visit.
The Stranger. Goodbye for the present, Ellida. So tomorrow night--
Ellida (imploringly). Oh! no, no! Do not come tomorrow night! Never come
here again!
The Stranger. And should you then have a mind to follow me over the
seas--
Ellida. Oh, don't look at me like that!
The Stranger. I only mean that you must then be ready to set out.
Wangel. Go up to the house, Ellida.
Ellida. I cannot! Oh, help me! Save me, Wangel!
The Stranger. For you must remember that if you do not go with me
tomorrow, all is at an end.
Ellida (looks tremblingly at him). Then all is at an end? Forever?
The Stranger (nodding). Nothing can change it then, Ellida. I shall
never again come to this land. You will never see me again, nor hear
from me either. Then I shall be as one dead and gone from you forever.
Ellida (breathing with difficulty). Oh!
The Stranger. So think carefully what you do. Goodbye! (He goes to the
fence and climbs over it, stands still, and says.) Yes, Ellida; be ready
for the journey tomorrow night. For then I shall come and fetch you. (He
goes slowly and calmly down the footpath to the right.)
Ellida (looking after him for a time). Freely, he said; think--he said
that I must go with him freely!
Wangel. Only keep calm. Why, he's gone now, and you'll never see him
again.
Ellida. Oh! how can you say that? He's coming again tomorrow night!
Wangel. Let him come. He shall not meet you again in any case.
Ellida (shaking her head). Ah, Wangel! Do not believe you can prevent
him.
Wangel. I can, dearest; only trust me.
Ellida (pondering, and not listening to him). Now when he's been here
tomorrow night--and then when he has gone over seas in the steamer--
Wangel. Yes; what then?
Ellida. I should like to know if he will never, never come back again.
Wangel. No, dear Ellida. You may be quite sure of that. What should he
do here after this? Now that he has learnt from your own lips that you
will have nothing more to do with him. With that the whole thing is
over.
Ellida (to herself). Tomorrow, then, or never!
Wangel. And should it ever occur to him to come here again--
Ellida. Well?
Wangel. Why, then, it is in our power to make him harmless.
Ellida. Oh! do not think that!
Wangel. It is in our power, I tell you. If you can get rid of him in no
other way, he must expiate the murder of the captain.
Ellida (passionately). No, no, no! Never that! We know nothing about the
murder of the captain! Nothing whatever!
Wangel. Know nothing? Why, he himself confessed it to you!
Ellida. No, nothing of that. If you say anything of it I shall deny it.
He shall not be imprisoned. He belongs out there--to the open sea. He
belongs out there!
Wangel (looks at her and says slowly). Ah! Ellida--Ellida!
Ellida (clinging passionately to him). Oh! dear, faithful one--save me
from this man!
Wangel (disengaging himself gently). Come, come with me! (LYNGSTRAND
and HILDE, both with fishing tackle, come in from the right, along the
pond.)
Lyngstrand (going quickly up to ELLIDA). Now, Mrs. Wangel, you must hear
something wonderful.
Wangel. What is it?
Lyngstrand. Fancy! We've seen the American!
Wangel. The American?
Hilde. Yes, I saw him, too.
Lyngstrand. He was going round the back of the garden, and thence on
board the great English steamer.
Wangel. How do you know the man?
Lyngstrand. Why, I went to sea with him once. I felt so certain he'd
been drowned--and now he's very much alive!
Wangel. Do you know anything more about him?
Lyngstrand. No. But I'm sure he's come to revenge himself upon his
faithless sailor-wife.
Wangel. What do you mean?
Hilde. Lyngstrand's going to use him for a work of art.
Wangel. I don't understand one word.
Ellida. You shall hear afterwards.
(ARNHOLM and BOLETTE come from the left along the footpath outside the
garden.)
Bolette (to those in the garden). Do come and see! The great English
steamer's just going up the fjord.
(A large steamer glides slowly past in the distance.)
Lyngstrand (to HILDE behind the garden fence). Tonight he's sure to come
to her.
Hilde (nods). To the faithless sailor-wife--yes.
Lyngstrand. Fancy, at midnight!
Hilde. That must be so fascinating.
Ellida (looking after the ship). Tomorrow, then!
Wangel. And then never again.
Ellida (in a low, imploring tone). Oh! Wangel, save me from myself!
Wangel (looks anxiously at her). Ellida--I feel there is something
behind this--
Ellida. There is--the temptation!
Wangel. Temptation?
Ellida. The man is like the sea!
(She goes slowly and thoughtfully through the garden, and out to the
left. WANGEL walks uneasily by her side, watching her closely.)
ACT IV
(SCENE.--DOCTOR WANGEL'S garden-room. Doors right and left. In the
background, between the windows, an open glass door leading out on to
the verandah. Below this, a portion of the garden is visible. A sofa
and table down left. To the right a piano, and farther back a large
flower-stand. In the middle of the room a round table, with chairs. On
the table is a rose-tree in bloom, and other plants around it. Morning.
In the room, by the table, BOLETTE is sitting on the sofa, busy with
some embroidery. LYNGSTRAND is seated on a chair at the upper end of
the table. In the garden below BALLESTED sits painting. HILDE stands by
watching him.)
Lyngstrand (with his arms on the table, sits silent awhile, looking at
BOLETTE'S work). It must be awfully difficult to do a border like that,
Miss Wangel?
Bolette. Oh, no! It's not very difficult, if only you take care to count
right.
Lyngstrand. To count? Must you count, too?
Bolette. Yes, the stitches. See!
Lyngstrand. So you do! Just fancy! Why, it's almost a kind of art. Can
you design, too?
Bolette. Oh, yes! When I've a copy.
Lyngstrand. Not unless?
Bolette. No.
Lyngstrand. Well, then, after all, it's not a real art?
Bolette. No; it is rather only a sort of--handicraft.
Lyngstrand. But still, I think that perhaps you could learn art.
Bolette. If I haven't any talent?
Lyngstrand. Yes; if you could always be with a real true artist--
Bolette. Do you think, then, I could learn it from him?
Lyngstrand. Not exactly learn in the ordinary sense; but I think it
would grow upon you little by little--by a kind of miracle as it were,
Miss Wangel.
Bolette. That would be wonderful.
Lyngstrand (after a pause). Have you ever thought about--I mean, have
you ever thought deeply and earnestly about marriage, Miss Wangel?
Bolette (looking quickly at him). About--no!
Lyngstrand. I have.
Bolette. Really? Have you?
Lyngstrand. Oh yes! I often think about things of that sort, especially
about marriage; and, besides, I've read several books about it. I
think marriage must be counted a sort of miracle--that a woman should
gradually change until she is like her husband.
Bolette. You mean has like interests?
Lyngstrand. Yes, that's it.
Bolette. Well, but his abilities--his talents--and his skill?
Lyngstrand. Hm--well--I should like to know if all that too--
Bolette. Then, perhaps, you also believe that everything a man has read
for himself, and thought out for himself, that this, too, can grow upon
his wife?
Lyngstrand. Yes, I think it can. Little by little; as by a sort of
miracle. But, of course, I know such things can only happen in a
marriage that is faithful, and loving, and really happy.
Bolette. Has it never occurred to you that a man, too, might, perhaps,
be thus drawn over to his wife? Grow like her, I mean.
Lyngstrand. A man? No, I never thought of that.
Bolette. But why not one as well as the other?
Lyngstrand. No; for a man has a calling that he lives for; and that's
what makes a man so strong and firm, Miss Wangel. He has a calling in
life.
Bolette. Has every man?
Lyngstrand. Oh no! I am thinking more especially of artists.
Bolette. Do you think it right of an artist to get married?
Lyngstrand. Yes, I think so. If he can find one he can heartily love,
I--
Bolette. Still, I think he should rather live for his art alone.
Lyngstrand. Of course he must; but he can do that just as well, even if
he marries.
Bolette. But how about her?
Lyngstrand. Her? Who?
Bolette. She whom he marries. What is she to live for?
Lyngstrand. She, too, is to live for his art. It seems to me a woman
must feel so thoroughly happy in that.
Bolette. Hm, I don't exactly know--
Lyngstrand. Yes, Miss Wangel, you may be sure of that. It is not merely
all the honour and respect she enjoys through him; for that seems almost
the least important to me. But it is this--that she can help him to
create, that she can lighten his work for him, be about him and see to
his comfort, and tend him well, and make his life thoroughly pleasant. I
should think that must be perfectly delightful to a woman.
Bolette. Ah! You don't yourself know how selfish you are!
Lyngstrand. I, selfish! Good heavens! Oh, if only you knew me a little
better than you do! (Bending closer to her.) Miss Wangel, when once I am
gone--and that will be very soon now--
Bolette (looks pityingly at him). Oh, don't think of anything so sad!
Lyngstrand. But, really, I don't think it is so very sad.
Bolette. What do you mean?
Lyngstrand. Well, you know that I set out in a month. First from here,
and then, of course, I'm going south.
Bolette. Oh, I see! Of course.
Lyngstrand. Will you think of me sometimes, then, Miss Wangel?
Bolette. Yes, gladly.
Lyngstrand (pleased). No, promise!
Bolette. I promise.
Lyngstrand. By all that is sacred, Miss Bolette?
Bolette. By all that is sacred. (In a changed manner.) Oh, but what can
come of it all? Nothing on earth can come of it!
Lyngstrand. How can you say that! It would be so delightful for me to
know you were at home here thinking of me!
Bolette. Well, and what else?
Lyngstrand. I don't exactly know of anything else.
Bolette. Nor I either. There are so many things in the way. Everything
stands in the way, I think.
Lyngstrand. Oh, another miracle might come about. Some happy
dispensation of fortune, or something of the sort; for I really believe
I shall be lucky now.
Bolette (eagerly). Really? You do believe that?
Lyngstrand. Yes, I believe it thoroughly. And so--after a few
years--when I come home again as a celebrated sculptor, and well off,
and in perfect health!
Bolette. Yes, yes! Of course, we will hope so.
Lyngstrand. You may be perfectly certain about it. Only think faithfully
and kindly of me when I am down there in the south; and now I have your
word that you will.
Bolette. You have (shaking her head). But, all the same, nothing will
surely come of it.
Lyngstrand. Oh! yes, Miss Bolette. At least this will come of it. I
shall get on so much more easily and quickly with my art work.
Bolette. Do you believe that, too?
Lyngstrand. I have an inner conviction of it. And I fancy it will be so
cheering for you, too--here in this out-of-the-way place-to know within
yourself that you are, so to say, helping me to create.
Bolette (looking at him). Well; but you on your side?
Lyngstrand. I?
Bolette (looking out into the garden). Hush! Let us speak of something
else. Here's Mr. Arnholm.
(ARNHOLM is seen in the garden below. He stops and talks to HILDE and
BALLESTED.)
Lyngstrand. Are you fond of your old teacher, Miss Bolette?
Bolette. Fond of him?
Lyngstrand. Yes; I mean do you care for him?
Bolette. Yes, indeed I do, for he is a true friend--and adviser,
too--and then he is always so ready to help when he can.
Lyngstrand. Isn't it extraordinary that he hasn't married!
Bolette. Do you think it is extraordinary?
Lyngstrand. Yes, for you say he's well-to-do.
Bolette. He is certainly said to be so. But probably it wasn't so easy
to find anyone who'd have him.
Lyngstrand. Why?
Bolette. Oh! He's been the teacher of nearly all the young girls that he
knows. He says that himself.
Lyngstrand. But what does that matter?
Bolette. Why, good heavens! One doesn't marry a man who's been your
teacher!
Lyngstrand. Don't you think a young girl might love her teacher?
Bolette. Not after she's really grown up.
Lyngstrand. No--fancy that!
Bolette (cautioning him). Sh! sh!
(Meanwhile BALLESTED has been gathering together his things, and carries
them out from the garden to the right. HILDE helps him. ARNHOLM goes up
the verandah, and comes into the room.)
Arnholm. Good-morning, my dear Bolette. Good-morning, Mr.--Mr.--hm--(He
looks displeased, and nods coldly to LYNGSTRAND, who rises.)
Bolette (rising up and going up to ARNHOLM). Good-morning, Mr. Arnholm.
Arnholm. Everything all right here today?
Bolette. Yes, thanks, quite.
Arnholm. Has your stepmother gone to bathe again today?
Bolette. No. She is upstairs in her room.
Arnholm. Not very bright?
Bolette. I don't know, for she has locked herself in.
Arnholm. Hm--has she?
Lyngstrand. I suppose Mrs. Wangel was very much frightened about that
American yesterday?
Arnholm. What do you know about that?
Lyngstrand. I told Mrs. Wangel that I had seen him in the flesh behind
the garden.
Arnholm. Oh! I see.
Bolette (to ARNHOLM). No doubt you and father sat up very late last
night, talking?
Arnholm. Yes, rather late. We were talking over serious matters.
Bolette. Did you put in a word for me, and my affairs, too?
Arnholm. No, dear Bolette, I couldn't manage it. He was so completely
taken up with something else.
Bolette (sighs). Ah! yes; he always is.
Arnholm (looks at her meaningly). But later on today we'll talk more
fully about--the matter. Where's your father now? Not at home?
Bolette. Yes, he is. He must be down in the office. I'll fetch him.
Arnholm. No, thanks. Don't do that. I'd rather go down to him.
Bolette (listening). Wait one moment, Mr. Arnholm; I believe that's
father on the stairs. Yes, I suppose he's been up to look after her.
(WANGEL comes in from the door on the left.)
Wangel (shaking ARNHOLM'S hand). What, dear friend, are you here
already? It was good of you to come so early, for I should like to talk
a little further with you.
Bolette (to LYNGSTRAND). Hadn't we better go down to Hilde in the
garden?
Lyngstrand. I shall be delighted, Miss Wangel.
(He and BOLETTE go down into the garden, and pass out between the trees
in the background.)
Arnholm (following them with his eyes, turns to WANGEL). Do you know
anything about that young man?
Wangel. No, nothing at all.
Arnholm. But do you think it right he should knock about so much with
the girls?
Wangel. Does he? I really hadn't noticed it.
Arnholm. You ought to see to it, I think.
Wangel. Yes, I suppose you're right. But, good Lord! What's a man to
do? The girls are so accustomed to look after themselves now. They won't
listen to me, nor to Ellida.
Arnholm. Not to her either?
Wangel. No; and besides I really cannot expect Ellida to trouble about
such things. She's not fit for that (breaking off). But it wasn't that
which we were to talk of. Now tell me, have you thought the matter
over--thought over all I told you of?
Arnholm. I have thought of nothing else ever since we parted last night.
Wangel. And what do you think should be done?
Arnholm. Dear Wangel, I think you, as a doctor, must know that better
than I.
Wangel. Oh! if you only knew how difficult it is for a doctor to judge
rightly about a patient who is so dear to him! Besides, this is no
ordinary illness. No ordinary doctor and no ordinary medicines can help
her.
Arnholm. How is she today?
Wangel. I was upstairs with her just now, and then she seemed to me
quite calm; but behind all her moods something lies hidden which it
is impossible for me to fathom; and then she is so changeable, so
capricious--she varies so suddenly.
Arnholm. No doubt that is the result of her morbid state of mind.
Wangel. Not altogether. When you go down to the bedrock, it was born in
her. Ellida belongs to the sea-folk. That is the matter.
Arnholm. What do you really mean, my dear doctor?
Wangel. Haven't you noticed that the people from out there by the open
sea are, in a way, a people apart? It is almost as if they themselves
lived the life of the sea. There is the rush of waves, and ebb and flow
too, both in their thoughts and in their feelings, and so they can never
bear transplanting. Oh! I ought to have remembered that. It was a sin
against Ellida to take her away from there, and bring her here.
Arnholm. You have come to that opinion?
Wangel. Yes, more and more. But I ought to have told myself this
beforehand. Oh! I knew it well enough at bottom! But I put it from me.
For, you see, I loved her so! Therefore, I thought of myself first of
all. I was inexcusably selfish at that time!
Arnholm. Hm. I suppose every man is a little selfish under such
circumstances. Moreover, I've never noticed that vice in you, Doctor
Wangel.
Wangel (walks uneasily about the room). Oh, yes! And I have been since
then, too. Why, I am so much, much older than she is. I ought to have
been at once as a father to her and a guide. I ought to have done my
best to develop and enlighten her mind. Unfortunately nothing ever came
of that. You see, I hadn't stamina enough, for I preferred her just as
she was. So things went worse and worse with her, and then I didn't
know what to do. (In a lower voice.) That was why I wrote to you in my
trouble, and asked you to come here.
Arnholm (looks at him in astonishment). What, was it for this you wrote?
Wangel. Yes; but don't let anyone notice anything.
Arnholm. How on earth, dear doctor--what good did you expect me to be? I
don't understand it.
Wangel. No, naturally. For I was on an altogether false track. I thought
Ellida's heart had at one time gone out to you, and that she still
secretly cared for you a little--that perhaps it would do her good to
see you again, and talk of her home and the old days.
Arnholm. So it was your wife you meant when you wrote that she expected
me, and--and perhaps longed for me.
Wangel. Yes, who else?
Arnholm (hurriedly). No, no. You're right. But I didn't understand.
Wangel. Naturally, as I said, for I was on an absolutely wrong track.
Arnholm. And you call yourself selfish!
Wangel. Ah! but I had such a great sin to atone for. I felt I dared not
neglect any means that might give the slightest relief to her mind.
Arnholm. How do you really explain the power this stranger exercises
over her?
Wangel. Hm--dear friend--there may be sides to the matter that cannot be
explained.
Arnholm. Do you mean anything inexplicable in itself--absolutely
inexplicable?
Wangel. In any case not explicable as far as we know.
Arnholm. Do you believe there is something in it, then?
Wangel. I neither believe nor deny; I simply don't know. That's why I
leave it alone.
Arnholm. Yes. But just one thing: her extraordinary, weird assertion
about the child's eyes--
Wangel (eagerly). I don't believe a word about the eyes. I will not
believe such a thing. It must be purely fancy on her part, nothing else.
Arnholm. Did you notice the man's eyes when you saw him yesterday?
Wangel. Of course I did.
Arnholm. And you saw no sort of resemblance?
Wangel (evasively). Hm--good heavens! What shall I say? It wasn't quite
light when I saw him; and, besides, Ellida had been saying so much about
this resemblance, I really don't know if I was capable of observing
quite impartially.
Arnholm. Well, well, may be. But that other matter? All this terror and
unrest coming upon her at the very time, as it seems, this strange man
was on his way home.
Wangel. That--oh! that's something she must have persuaded and dreamed
herself into since it happened. She was not seized with this so
suddenly--all at once--as she now maintains. But since she heard from
young Lyngstrand that Johnston--or Friman, or whatever his name is--was
on his way hither, three years ago, in the month of March, she now
evidently believes her unrest of mind came upon her at that very time.
Arnholm. It was not so, then?
Wangel. By no means. There were signs and symptoms of it before this
time, though it did happen, by chance, that in that month of March,
three years ago, she had a rather severe attack.
Arnholm. After all, then--?
Wangel. Yes, but that is easily accounted for by the circumstances--the
condition she happened to be in at the time.
Arnholm. So, symptom for symptom, then.
Wangel (wringing his hands). And not to be able to help her! Not to know
how to counsel her! To see no way!
Arnholm. Now if you could make up your mind to leave this place, to go
somewhere else, so that she could live amid surroundings that would seem
more homelike to her?
Wangel. Ah, dear friend! Do you think I haven't offered her that, too? I
suggested moving out to Skjoldviken, but she will not.
Arnholm. Not that either?
Wangel. No, for she doesn't think it would be any good; and perhaps
she's right.
Arnholm. Hm. Do you say that?
Wangel. Moreover, when I think it all over carefully, I really don't
know how I could manage it. I don't think I should be justified, for the
sake of the girls, in going away to such a desolate place. After
all, they must live where there is at least a prospect of their being
provided for someday.
Arnholm. Provided for! Are you thinking about that already?
Wangel. Heaven knows, I must think of that too! But then, on the other
hand, again, my poor sick Ellida! Oh, dear Arnholm! in many respects I
seem to be standing between fire and water!
Arnholm. Perhaps you've no need to worry on Bolette's account. (Breaking
off.) I should like to know where she--where they have gone. (Goes up to
the open door and looks out.)
Wangel. Oh, I would so gladly make any sacrifice for all three of them,
if only I knew what!
(ELLIDA enters from the door on the left.)
Ellida (quickly to WANGEL). Be sure you don't go out this morning.
Wangel. No, no! of course not. I will stay at home with you. (Pointing
to ARNHOLM, who is coming towards them.) But won't you speak to our
friend?
Ellida (turning). Oh, are you here, Mr. Arnholm? (Holding out her hand
to him.) Good-morning.
Arnholm. Good-morning, Mrs. Wangel. So you've not been bathing as usual
today?
Ellida. No, no, no! That is out of the question today. But won't you sit
down a moment?
Arnholm. No, thanks, not now. (Looks at WANGEL.) I promised the girls to
go down to them in the garden.
Ellida. Goodness knows if you'll find them there. I never know where
they may be rambling.
Wangel. They're sure to be down by the pond.
Arnholm. Oh! I shall find them right enough. (Nods, and goes out across
the verandah into the garden.)
Ellida. What time is it, Wangel?
Wangel (looking at his watch). A little past eleven.
Ellida. A little past. And at eleven o'clock, or half-past eleven
tonight, the steamer is coming. If only that were over!
Wangel (going nearer to her). Dear Ellida, there is one thing I should
like to ask you.
Ellida. What is it?
Wangel. The evening before last--up at the "View"--you said that during
the last three years you had so often seen him bodily before you.
Ellida. And so I have. You may believe that.
Wangel. But, how did you see him?
Ellida. How did I see him?
Wangel. I mean, how did he look when you thought you saw him?
Ellida. But, dear Wangel, why, you now know yourself how he looks.
Wangel. Did he look exactly like that in your imagination?
Ellida. He did.
Wangel. Exactly the same as you saw him in reality yesterday evening?
Ellida. Yes, exactly.
Wangel. Then how was it you did not at once recognise him?
Ellida. Did I not?
Wangel. No; you said yourself afterwards that at first you did not at
all know who the strange man was.
Ellida (perplexed). I really believe you are right. Don't you think that
strange, Wangel? Fancy my not knowing him at once!
Wangel. It was only the eyes, you said.
Ellida. Oh, yes! The eyes--the eyes.
Wangel. Well, but at the "View" you said that he always appeared to you
exactly as he was when you parted out there--ten years ago.
Ellida. Did I?
Wangel. Yes.
Ellida. Then, I suppose he did look much as he does now.
Wangel. No. On our way home, the day before yesterday, you gave quite
another description of him. Ten years ago he had no beard, you said.
His dress, too, was quite different. And that breast-pin with the pearl?
That man yesterday wore nothing of the sort.
Ellida. No, he did not.
Wangel (looks searchingly at her). Now just think a little, dear Ellida.
Or perhaps you can't quite remember how he looked when he stood by you
at Bratthammer?
Ellida (thoughtfully closing her eyes for a moment). Not quite
distinctly. No, today I can't. Is it not strange?
Wangel. Not so very strange after all. You have now been confronted by a
new and real image, and that overshadows the old one, so that you can no
longer see it.
Ellida. Do you believe that, Wangel?
Wangel. Yes. And it overshadows your sick imaginings, too. That is why
it is good a reality has come.
Ellida. Good? Do you think it good?
Wangel. Yes. That it has come. It may restore you to health.
Ellida (sitting down on sofa). Wangel, come and sit down by me. I must
tell you all my thoughts.
Wangel. Yes, do, dear Ellida.
(He sits down on a chair on the other side of the table.)
Ellida. It was really a great misfortune--for us both--that we two of
all people should have come together.
Wangel (amazed). What are you saying?
Ellida. Oh, yes, it was. And it's so natural. It could bring nothing but
unhappiness, after the way in which we came together.
Wangel. What was there in that way?
Ellida. Listen, Wangel; it's no use going on, lying to ourselves and to
one another.
Wangel. Are we doing so? Lying, you say? |
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