Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (137 page)

HEIRE.
Aha, I understand. I say no more!

STENSGARD.
Don’t go too far, you know. Just place me in a more or less equivocal light — make her a little suspicious of me, for the moment.

HEIRE.
Rely upon me; it will be a real pleasure to me.

STENSGARD.
Thanks, thanks in advance.
[Goes towards the table.]
Mr. Lundestad, we shall meet to-morrow forenoon at the Chamberlain’s.

LUNDESTAD.
Have you hopes?

STENSGARD.
A three-fold hope.

LUNDESTAD.
Threefold? I don’t understand —

STENSGARD.
You needn’t. Henceforth, I will be my own counsellor.
[Goes out by the back.]

MONSEN
[at the punch-bowl.]
Another glass, Aslaksen! Where’s Bastian?

ASLAKSEN.
He’s just gone out. But I have a letter to deliver for him.

MONSEN.
Have you?

ASLAKSEN.
To Madam Rundholmen.

MONSEN.
Ah, at last!

ASLAKSEN.
But not till to-morrow evening, he said; tomorrow evening, neither sooner nor later. Here’s to you!

HEIRE
[to LUNDESTAD.]
What the deuce is all this business between Stensgard and Madam Rundholmen?

LUNDESTAD
[whispers.]
He’s courting her.

HEIRE.
I suspected as much! But he asked me to run him down a bit — to cast a slur on his character —

LUNDESTAD.
And you said you would?

HEIRE.
Yes, of course.

LUNDESTAD.
I believe he says of you that your word is as good as your bond — and no better.

HEIRE.
Hee-hee — the dear fellow! He shall find out his mistake this time.

MADAM RUNDHOLMEN
[with an open letter in her hand, at the door on the left.]
Where is Mr. Stensgard?

HEIRE.
He kissed your chambermaid and went, Madam Rundholmen!

ACT FIFTH
.

[Large reception-room at the CHAMBERLAIN’S. Entrance door at the back. Doors right and left.]
[RINGDAL stands at a table looking through some papers. A knock.]

RINGDAL
Come in.

FIELDBO
[from the back.]
Good-morning.

RINGDAL
Good-morning, Doctor.

FIELDBO.
All well, eh?

RINGDAL
Oh, yes, well enough; but —

FIELDBO.
What?

RINGDAL
Of course you’ve heard the great news?

FIELDBO.
No. What is it?

RINGDAL
Do you mean to say you haven’t heard what has happened at Stonelee?

FIELDBO.
No.

RINGDAL
Monsen has absconded.

FIELDBO.
Absconded! Monsen?

RINGDAL
Absconded.

FIELDBO.
Great heavens — !

RINGDAL
There were ugly rumours yesterday; but then Monsen turned up again; he managed to throw dust in people’s eyes —

FIELDBO.
But the reason? The reason?

RINGDAL
Enormous losses in timber, they say. Several houses in Christiania have stopped payment, and so —

FIELDBO.
And so he has gone off!

RINGDAL
To Sweden, probably. The authorities took possession at Stonelee this morning. Things are being inventoried and sealed up —

FIELDBO.
And the unfortunate children — ?

RINGDAL
The son seems to have kept clear of the business; at least I hear he puts a bold face on it.

FIELDBO.
But the daughter?

RINGDAL
Sh! The daughter is here.

FIELDBO.
Here?

RINGDAL
The tutor brought her and the two little ones here this morning. Miss Bratsberg is looking after them, quietly you know.

FIELDBO.
And how does she bear it?

RINGDAL
Oh, pretty well, I fancy. You may guess, after the treatment she has met with at home — And, besides, I may tell you she is — Ah, here’s the Chamberlain.

THE CHAMBERLAIN
[from the left.]
So you are there, my dear Doctor?

FIELDBO.
Yes, I am pretty early astir. Let me wish you many happy returns of the day, Chamberlain.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Oh, as for happiness, — ! But thank you, all the same; I know you mean it kindly.

FIELDBO.
And may I ask, Chamberlain — ?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
One word: be good enough to drop that title.

FIELDBO.
What do you mean?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
I am an ironmaster, and nothing more.

FIELDBO.
Why, what strange notion is this?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
I have renounced my post and my title. I am sending in my resignation to-day.

FIELDBO.
You should sleep upon that.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
When his Majesty was graciously pleased to assign me a place in his immediate circle, he did so because of the unblemished honour of my family through long generations.

FIELDBO.
Well, what then?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
My family is disgraced, just as much as Mr. Monsen’s. Of course, you have heard about Monsen?

FIELDBO.
Yes, I have.

THE CHAMBERLAIN
[to RINGDAL.]
Any further news about him?

RINGDAL
Only that he brings down with him a good many of the younger men.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
And my son?

RINGDAL
Your son has sent me his balance-sheet. He will be able to pay in full; but there will be nothing over.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
H’m. Then will you get my resignation copied?

RINGDAL
I’ll see to it.
[Goes out by the foremost door on the right.]

FIELDBO.
Have you reflected what you are doing? Things can be arranged without any one being a bit the wiser.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Indeed! Can I make myself ignorant of what has happened?

FIELDBO.
Oh, after all, what has happened? Has not he written to you, acknowledged his fault, and begged for your forgiveness? This is the only time he has done anything of the sort; why not simply blot it out?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Would you do what my son has done?

FIELDBO.
He won’t repeat it; that is the main point.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
How do you know he will not repeat it?

FIELDBO.
If for no other reason, because of what you yourself told me — the scene with your daughter-in-law. Whatever else comes of it, that will steady him.

THE CHAMBERLAIN
[pacing the room.]
My poor Selma! Our peace and happiness gone!

FIELDBO.
There are higher things than peace and happiness. Your happiness has been an illusion. Yes, I must speak frankly to you: in that, as in many other things, you have built on a hollow foundation. You have been short-sighted and overweening, Chamberlain!

THE CHAMBERLAIN
[stops short.]
I?

FIELDBO.
Yes, you! You have plumed yourself on your family honour; but when has that honour been tried? Are you sure it would have stood the test?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
You can spare your sermons, Doctor. Do you think I have not learnt a lesson from the events of these days?

FIELDBO.
I daresay you have; but prove it, by showing greater tolerance and clearer insight. You reproach your son; but what have you done for him? You have taken care to develop his faculties, but not to form his character. You have lectured him on what he owed to the honour of his family; but you have not guided and moulded him so that honour became to him an irresistible instinct.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Do you think so?

FIELDBO.
I not only think, I know it. But that is generally the way here: people are bent on learning, not on living. And you see what comes of it; you see hundreds of men with great gifts, who never seem to be more than half ripe; who are one thing in their ideas and feelings, and something quite different in their habits and acts. Just look at Stensgard —

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Ah, Stensgard now! What do you make of Stensgard?

FIELDBO.
A patchwork. I have known him from childhood. His father was a mere rag of a man, a withered weed, a nobody. He kept a little huckster’s shop, and eked things out with pawnbroking; or rather his wife did for him. She was a coarse-grained woman, the most unwomanly I ever knew. She had her husband declared incapable; she had not an ounce of heart in her. And in that home Stensgard passed his childhood. Then he went to the grammar-school. “He shall go to college,” said his mother; “I’ll make a smart solicitor of him.” Squalor at home, high-pressure at school; soul, temperament, will, talents, all pulling in different ways — what could it lead to but disintegration of character?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
What could it lead to, eh? I should like to know what is good enough for you. We are to expect nothing of Stensgard; nothing of my son; but we may look to you, I suppose — to you — ?

FIELDBO.
Yes, to me — precisely. Oh, you needn’t laugh; I take no credit to myself; but my lot has been one that begets equilibrium and firmness of character. I was brought up amid the peace and harmony of a modest middle-class home. My mother is a woman of the finest type; in our home we had no desires that outstripped our opportunities, no cravings that were wrecked on the rocks of circumstance; and death did not break in upon our circle, leaving emptiness and longing behind it. We were brought up in the love of beauty, but it informed our whole view of life, instead of being a side-interest, a thing apart. We were taught to shun excesses, whether of the intellect or of the feelings —

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Bless me! So that accounts for your being the pink of perfection?

FIELDBO.
I am far from thinking so. I only say that fate had been infinitely kind to me, and that I regard its favours in the light of obligations.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Very well; but if Stensgard is under no such obligations, it is all the more to his credit that he —

FIELDBO.
What? What is to his credit?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
You have misjudged him, my good Doctor. Look here. What do you say to this?

FIELDBO.
Your son’s bill!

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Yes; he has sent it to me.

FIELDBO.
Of his own accord?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Of his own accord, and unconditionally. It is fine; it is noble. From this day forth, my house is open to him.

FIELDBO.
Think again! For your own sake, for your daughter’s —

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Oh, let me alone! He is better than you in many ways. At any rate he is straightforward, while you are underhand in your dealings.

FIELDBO.
I?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Yes, you! You have made yourself the master of this house; you come and go as you please; I consult you about everything — and yet —

FIELDBO.
Well? — And yet?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
And yet there’s always something confoundedly close about you; yes, and something — something uppish that I cannot endure!

FIELDBO.
Please explain yourself!

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
I? No, it is you that ought to explain yourself! But now you must take the consequences.

FIELDBO.
We don’t understand each other, Chamberlain. I have no bill to give up to you; yet, who knows but I may be making a greater sacrifice for your sake?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Indeed! How so?

FIELDBO.
By holding my tongue.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Holding your tongue, indeed! Shall I tell you what I am tempted to do? To forget my manners, use bad language, and join the League of Youth. You are a stiff-necked Pharisee, my good Doctor; and that sort of thing is out of place in our free society. Look at Stensgard; he is not like that; so he shall come here whenever he likes; he shall — he shall — ! Oh, what’s the use of talking — ! You must take the consequences; as you make your bed, so you must lie.

LUNDESTAD
[enters from the back.]
My congratulations, Chamberlain! May you long enjoy the respect and —

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Oh, go to the devil — I’m almost inclined to say! That’s all humbug, my dear Lundestad. There’s nothing but humbug in this world.

LUNDESTAD.
That is what Mr. Monsen’s creditors are saying.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Ah, about Monsen — didn’t it come upon you like a thunderbolt?

LUNDESTAD.
Oh, you have often prophesied it, Chamberlain.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
H’m, h’m; — yes, to be sure I have. I prophesied it only the day before yesterday; he came here trying to get money out of me —

FIELDBO.
It might have saved him.

LUNDESTAD.
Impossible; he was too deep in the mire; and whatever is, is for the best.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
That is your opinion? Was it for the best, then, that you were beaten at the poll yesterday?

LUNDESTAD.
I wasn’t beaten; everything went just as I wanted. Stensgard is not a man to make an enemy of; he has got what we others have to whistle for.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
I don’t quite understand what you mean — ?

LUNDESTAD.
He has the power of carrying people away with him. And then he has the luck to be unhampered by either character, or conviction, or social position; so that Liberalism is the easiest thing in the world to him.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Well, really, I should have thought we were all Liberals.

LUNDESTAD.
Yes, of course we are Liberals, Chamberlain; not a doubt of it. But the thing is that we are Liberal only on our own behalf, whereas Stensgard’s Liberalism extends to other people. That’s the novelty of the thing.