Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (263 page)

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 I
V

(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?