Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (258 page)

Arnholm. But he must be so absolutely different from you, I fancy.

Ellida. You are right there. So he is.

Arnholm. Well, but how did it happen? How did it come about?

Ellida. Ah! dear Arnholm, you mustn’t ask me about that. I couldn’t explain it to you, and even if I could, you would never be able to understand, in the least.

Arnholm. Hm!
(In lower tone.)
Have you ever confided anything about me to your husband? Of course, I meant about the useless step — I allowed myself to be moved to.

Ellida. No. You may be sure of that. I’ve not said a word to him about — about what you speak of.

Arnholm. I am glad. I felt rather awkward at the thought that —

Ellida. There was no need. I have only told him what is true — that I liked you very much, and that you were the truest and best friend I had out there.

Arnholm. Thanks for that. But tell me — why did you never write to me after I had gone away?

Ellida. I thought that perhaps it would pain you to hear from one who — who could not respond as you desired. It seemed like re-opening a painful subject.

Arnholm. Hm. Yes, yes, perhaps you were right.

Ellida. But why didn’t you write?

Arnholm
(looks at her and smiles, half reproachfully)
. I make the first advance? Perhaps expose myself to the suspicion of wanting to begin all over again? After such a repulse as I had had?

Ellida. Oh no! I understand very well. Have you never since thought of forming any other tie?

Arnholm. Never! I have been faithful to my first memories.

Ellida
(half jestingly)
. Nonsense! Let the sad old memories alone. You’d better think of becoming a happy husband, I should say.

Arnholm. I should have to be quick about it, then, Mrs. Wangel. Remember, I’m already — I’m ashamed to say — I’m past thirty-seven.

Ellida. Well, all the more reason for being quick.
(She is silent for a moment, and then says, earnestly, in a low voice.)
But listen, dear Arnholm; now I am going to tell you something that I could not have told you then, to save my life.

Arnholm. What is it?

Ellida. When you took the — the useless step you were just speaking of — I could not answer you otherwise than I did.

Arnholm. I know that you had nothing but friendship to give me; I know that well enough.

Ellida. But you did not know that all my mind and soul were then given elsewhere.

Arnholm. At that time!

Ellida. Yes.

Arnholm. But it is impossible. You are mistaken about the time. I hardly think you knew Wangel then.

Ellida. It is not Wangel of whom I speak.

Arnholm. Not Wangel? But at that time, out there at Skjoldviken — I can’t remember a single person whom I can imagine the possibility of your caring for.

Ellida. No, no, I quite believe that; for it was all such bewildering madness — all of it.

Arnholm. But tell me more of this.

Ellida. Oh! it’s enough if you know I was bound then; and you know it now.

Arnholm. And if you had not been bound?

Ellida. Well?

Arnholm. Would your answer to my letter have been different?

Ellida. How can I tell? When Wangel came the answer was different.

Arnholm. What is your object, then, in telling me that you were bound?

Ellida
(getting up, as if in fear and unrest)
. Because I must have someone in whom to confide. No, no; sit still.

Arnholm. Then your husband knows nothing about this?

Ellida. I confessed to him from the first that my thoughts had once been elsewhere. He never asked to know more, and we have never touched upon it since. Besides, at bottom it was simply madness. And then it was over directly — that is to a certain extent.

Arnholm
(rising)
. Only to a certain extent? Not quite?

Ellida. Yes, yes, it is! Oh, good heavens! Dear Arnholm, it is not what you think. It is something so absolutely incomprehensible, I don’t know how I could tell it you. You would only think I was ill, or quite mad.

Arnholm. My dearest lady! Now you really must tell me all about it.

Ellida. Well, then, I’ll try to. How will you, as a sensible man, explain to yourself that —
(Looks round, and breaks off.)
Wait a moment. Here’s a visitor.

(LYNGSTRAND comes along the road, and enters the garden. He has a flower in his button-hole, and carries a large, handsome bouquet done up in paper and silk ribbons. He stands somewhat hesitatingly and undecidedly by the verandah.)

Ellida
(from the arbour)
. Have you come to see the girls, Mr. Lyngstrand?

Lyngstrand
(turning round)
. Ah, madam, are you there?
(Bows, and comes nearer.)
No, it’s not that. It’s not the young ladies. It’s you yourself, Mrs. Wangel. You know you gave me permission to come and see you Ellida. Of course I did. You are always welcome here.

Lyngstrand. Thanks; and as it falls out so luckily that it’s a festival here today —

Ellida. Oh! Do you know about that?

Lyngstrand. Rather! And so I should like to take the liberty of presenting this to Mrs. Wangel.
(Bows, and offers her the bouquet.)

Ellida
(smiling)
. But, my dear Mr. Lyngstrand, oughtn’t you to give these lovely flowers to Mr. Arnholm himself? For you know it’s really he Lyngstrand
(looking uncertainly at both of them)
. Excuse me, but I don’t know this gentleman. It’s only — I’ve only come about the birthday, Mrs. Wangel.

Ellida. Birthday? You’ve made a mistake, Mr. Lyngstrand. There’s no birthday here today.

Lyngstrand
(smiling slyly)
. Oh! I know all about that! But I didn’t think it was to be kept so dark.

Ellida. What do you know?

Lyngstrand. That it is Madam’s birthday.

Ellida. Mine?

Arnholm
(looks questioningly at her)
. Today? Surely not.

Ellida
(to LYNGSTRAND)
. Whatever made you think that?

Lyngstrand. It was Miss Hilde who let it out. I just looked in here a little while ago, and I asked the young ladies why they were decorating the place like this, with flowers and flags.

Ellida. Well?

Lyngstrand. And so Miss Hilde said, “Why, today is mother’s birthday.”

Ellida. Mother’s! — I see.

Arnholm. Aha!
(He and ELLIDA exchange a meaning look.)
Well, now that the young man knows about it —

Ellida
(to LYNGSTRAND)
. Well, now that you know —

Lyngstrand
(offering her the bouquet again)
. May I take the liberty of congratulating you?

Ellida
(taking the flowers)
. My best thanks. Won’t you sit down a moment, Mr. Lyngstrand?
(ELLIDA, ARNHOLM, and LYNGSTRAND sit down in the arbour.)
This — birthday business — was to have been kept secret, Mr. Arnholm.

Arnholm. So I see. It wasn’t for us uninitiated folk!

Ellida
(putting down the bouquet)
. Just so. Not for the uninitiated.

Lyngstrand. ‘Pon my word, I won’t tell a living soul about it.

Ellida. Oh, it wasn’t meant like that. But how are you getting on? I think you look better than you did.

Lyngstrand. Oh! I think I’m getting on famously. And by next year, if I can go south —

Ellida. And you are going south, the girls tell me.

Lyngstrand. Yes, for I’ve a benefactor and friend at Bergen, who looks after me, and has promised to help me next year.

Ellida. How did you get such a friend?

Lyngstrand. Well, it all happened so very luckily. I once went to sea in one of his ships.

Ellida. Did you? So you wanted to go to sea?

Lyngstrand. No, not at all. But when mother died, father wouldn’t have me knocking about at home any longer, and so he sent me to sea. Then we were wrecked in the English Channel on our way home; and that was very fortunate for me.

Arnholm. What do you mean?

Lyngstrand. Yes, for it was in the shipwreck that I got this little weakness — of my chest. I was so long in the ice-cold water before they picked me up; and so I had to give up the sea. Yes, that was very fortunate.

Arnholm. Indeed! Do you think so?

Lyngstrand. Yes, for the weakness isn’t dangerous; and now I can be a sculptor, as I so dearly want to be. Just think; to model in that delicious clay, that yields so caressingly to your fingers!

Ellida. And what are you going to model? Is it to be mermen and mermaids? Or is it to be old Vikings?

Lyngstrand. No, not that. As soon as I can set about it, I am going to try if I can produce a great work — a group, as they call it.

Ellida. Yes; but what’s the group to be?

Lyngstrand. Oh! something I’ve experienced myself.

Arnholm. Yes, yes; always stick to that.

Ellida. But what’s it to be?

Lyngstrand. Well, I thought it should be the young wife of a sailor, who lies sleeping in strange unrest, and she is dreaming. I fancy I shall do it so that you will see she is dreaming.

Arnholm. Is there anything else?

Lyngstrand. Yes, there’s to be another figure — a sort of apparition, as they say. It’s her husband, to whom she has been faithless while he was away, and he is drowned at sea.

Arnholm. What?

Ellida. Drowned?

Lyngstrand. Yes, he was drowned on a sea voyage. But that’s the wonderful part of it — he comes home all the same. It is night-time. And he is standing by her bed looking at her. He is to stand there dripping wet, like one drawn from the sea.

Ellida
(leaning back in her chair)
. What an extraordinary idea!
(Shutting her eyes.)
Oh! I can see it so clearly, living before me!

Arnholm. But how on earth, Mr. — Mr. — I thought you said it was to be something you had experienced.

Lyngstrand. Yes. I did experience that — that is to say, to a certain extent.

Arnholm. You saw a dead man?

Lyngstrand. Well, I don’t mean I’ve actually seen this — experienced it in the flesh. But still —

Ellida
(quickly, intently)
. Oh! tell me all you can about it! I must understand about all this.

Arnholm
(smiling)
. Yes, that’ll be quite in your line. Something that has to do with sea fancies.

Ellida. What was it, Mr. Lyngstrand?

Lyngstrand. Well, it was like this. At the time when we were to sail home in the brig from a town they called Halifax, we had to leave the boatswain behind in the hospital. So we had to engage an American instead. This new boatswain Ellida. The American?

Lyngstrand. Yes, one day he got the captain to lend him a lot of old newspapers and he was always reading them. For he wanted to teach himself Norwegian, he said.

Ellida. Well, and then?

Lyngstrand. It was one evening in rough weather. All hands were on deck — except the boatswain and myself. For he had sprained his foot and couldn’t walk, and I was feeling rather low, and was lying in my berth. Well, he was sitting there in the forecastle, reading one of those old papers again.

Ellida. Well, well!