Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (305 page)

ALLMERS. Have you indeed? —
[Pressing his hand.]
— I am heartily glad to hear it.

RITA. I congratulate you, Mr. Borgheim!

BORGHEIM. Hush, hush — I really ought not to talk openly of it as yet! But I can’t help coming out with it! It is a great piece of road-making — up in the north — with mountain ranges to cross, and the most tremendous difficulties to overcome! —
[With an outburst of gladness.]
— Oh, what a glorious world this is — and what a joy it is to be a road-maker in it!

RITA.
[Smiling, and looking teasingly at him.]
Is it road-making business that has brought you out here to-day in such wild spirits?

BORGHEIM. No, not that alone. I am thinking of all the bright and hopeful prospects that are opening out before me.

RITA. Aha, then perhaps you have something still more exquisite in reserve!

BORGHEIM.
[Glancing towards ASTA.]
Who knows! When once happiness comes to us, it is apt to come like it spring flood.
[Turns to ASTA.]
Miss Allmers, would you not like to take a little walk with me? As we used to?

ASTA.
[Quickly.]
No — no, thank you. Not now. Not to-day.

BORGHEIM. Oh, do come! Only a little bit of a walk! I have so much I want to talk to you about before I go.

RITA. Something else, perhaps, that you must not talk openly about as yet?

BORGHEIM. H’m, that depends —

RITA. But there is nothing to prevent your whispering, you know.
[Half aside.]
Asta, you must really go with him.

ASTA. But, my dear Rita —

BORGHEIM.
[Imploringly.]
Miss Asta — remember it is to be a farewell walk — the last for many a day.

ASTA.
[Takes her hat and parasol.]
Very well, suppose we take a stroll in the garden, then.

BORGHEIM. Oh, thank you, thank you!

ALLMERS. And while you are there you can see what Eyolf is doing.

BORGHEIM. Ah, Eyolf, by the bye! Where is Eyolf to-day? I’ve got something for him.

ALLMERS. He is out playing somewhere.

BORGHEIM. Is he really! Then he has begun to play now? He used always to be sitting indoors over his books.

ALLMERS. There is to be an end of that now. I am going to make a regular open-air boy of him.

BORGHEIM. Ah, now, that’s right! Out into the open air with him, poor little fellow! Good Lord, what can we possibly do better than play in this blessed world? For my part, I think all life is one long playtime! — Come, Miss Asta!

[BORGHEIM and ASTA go out on the verandah and down through the garden.]

ALLMERS.
[Stands looking after them.]
Rita — do you think there is anything between those two?

RITA. I don’t know what to say. I used to think there was. But Asta has grown so strange to me — so utterly incomprehensible of late.

ALLMERS. Indeed! Has she? While I have been away?

RITA. Yes, within the last week or two.

ALLMERS. And you think she doesn’t care very much about him now?

RITA. Not, seriously; not utterly and entirely; not unreservedly — I am sure she doesn’t.
[Looks searchingly at him.]
Would it displease you if she did?

ALLMERS. It would not exactly displease me. But it would certainly be a disquieting thought —

RITA. Disquieting?

ALLMERS. Yes; you must remember that I am responsible for Asta — for her life’s happiness.

RITA. Oh, come — responsible! Surely Asta has come to years of discretion? I should say she was capable of choosing for herself.

ALLMERS. Yes, we must hope so, Rita.

RITA. For my part, I don’t think at all ill of Borgheim.

ALLMERS. No, dear — no more do I — quite the contrary. But all the same —

RITA.
[Continuing.]
And I should be very glad indeed if he and Asta were to make a match of it.

ALLMERS.
[Annoyed.]
Oh, why should you be?

RITA.
[With increasing excitement.]
Why, for then she would have to go far, far away with him! Anal she could never come out here to us, as she does now.

ALLMERS.
[Stares at her in astonishment.]
What! Can you really wish Asta to go away?

RITA. Yes, yes, Alfred!

ALLMERS. Why in all the world — ?

RITA.
[Throwing her arms passionately round his neck.]
For then, at last, I should have you to myself alone! And yet — not even then! Not wholly to myself!
[Bursts into convulsive weeping.]
Oh, Alfred, Alfred — I cannot give you up!

ALLMERS.
[Gently releasing himself.]
My dearest Rita, do be reasonable!

RITA. I don’t care a bit about being reasonable! I care only for you! Only for you in all the world!
[Again throwing her arms round his neck.]
For you, for you, for you!

ALLMERS. Let me go, let me go — you are strangling me!

RITA.
[Letting him go.]
How I wish I could!
[Looking at him with flashing eyes.]
Oh, if you knew how I have hated you — !

ALLMERS. Hated me — !

RITA. Yes — when you shut yourself up in your room and brooded over your work — till long, long into the night.
[Plaintively.]
So long, so late, Alfred. Oh, how I hated your work!

ALLMERS. But now I have done with that.

RITA.
[With a cutting laugh.]
Oh yes! Now you have given yourself up to something worse.

ALLMERS.
[Shocked.]
Worse! Do you call our child something worse?

RITA.
[Vehemently.]
Yes, I do. As he comes between you and me, I call him so. For the book — the book was not a living being, as the child is.
[With increasing impetuosity.]
But I won’t endure it, Alfred! I will not endure it — I tell you so plainly!

ALLMERS.
[Looks steadily at her, and says in a low voice.]
I am often almost afraid of you, Rita.

RITA.
[Gloomily.]
I am often afraid of myself. And for that very reason you must not awake the evil in me.

ALLMERS. Why, good Heavens, do I do that?

RITA. Yes, you do — when you tear to shreds the holiest bonds between us.

ALLMERS.
[Urgently.]
Think what you’re saying, Rita. It is your own child — our only child, that you are speaking of.

RITA. The child is only half mine.
[With another outburst.]
But you shall be mine alone! You shall be wholly mine! That I have a right to demand of you!

ALLMERS.
[Shrugging his shoulders.]
Oh, my dear Rita, it is of no use demanding anything. Everything must be freely given.

RITA.
[Looks anxiously at him.]
And that you cannot do henceforth?

ALLMERS. No, I cannot. I must divide myself between Eyolf and you.

RITA. But if Eyolf had never been born? What then?

ALLMERS.
[Evasively.]
Oh, that would be another matter. Then I should have only you to care for.

RITA.
[Softly, her voice quivering.]
Then I wish he had never been born.

ALLMERS.
[Flashing out.]
Rita! You don’t know what you are saying!

RITA.
[Trembling with emotion.]
It was in pain unspeakable that I brought him into the world. But I bore it all with joy and rapture for your sake.

ALLMERS.
[Warmly.]
Oh yes, I know, I know.

RITA.
[With decision.]
But there it must end. I will live my life — together with you — wholly with you. I cannot go on being only Eyolf’s mother — only his mother and nothing more. I will not, I tell you! I cannot! I will be all in all to you! To you, Alfred!

ALLMERS. But that is just what you are, Rita. Through our child —

RITA. Oh — vapid, nauseous phrases — nothing else! No, Alfred, I am not to be put off like that. I was fitted to become the child’s mother, but not to be a mother to him. You must take me as I am, Alfred.

ALLMERS. And yet you used to be so fond of Eyolf.

RITA. I was so sorry for him — because you troubled yourself so little about him. You kept him reading and grinding at books. You scarcely even saw him.

ALLMERS.
[Nodding slowly.]
No; I was blind. The time had not yet come for me —

RITA.
[Looking in his face.]
But now, I suppose, it has come?

ALLMERS. Yes, at, last. Now I see that the highest task I can have in the world is to be a true father to Eyolf.

RITA. And to me? — what will you be to me?

ALLMERS.
[Gently.]
I will always go on caring for you — with calm, deep tenderness.
[ He tries to take her hands.]

RITA.
[Evading him.]
I don’t care a bit for your calm, deep tenderness. I want you utterly and entirely — and alone! Just as I had you in the first rich, beautiful days.
[Vehemently and harshly.]
Never, never will I consent to be put off with scraps and leavings, Alfred!

ALLMERS.
[In a conciliatory tone.]
I should have thought there was happiness in plenty for all three of us, Rita.

RITA.
[Scornfully.]
Then you are easy to please.
[Seats herself at the table on the left.]
Now listen to me.

ALLMERS.
[Approaching.]
Well, what is it?

RITA.
[Looking up at him with a veiled glow in her eyes.]
When I got your telegram yesterday evening —

ALLMERS. Yes? What then?

RITA. — then I dressed myself in white —

ALLMERS. Yes, I noticed you were in white when I arrived.

RITA. I had let down my hair —

ALLMERS. Your sweet masses of hair —

RITA. — so that it flowed down my neck and shoulders —

ALLMERS. I saw it, I saw it. Oh, how lovely you were, Rita!

RITA. There were rose-tinted shades over both the lamps. And we were alone, we two — the only waking beings in the whole house. And there was champagne on the table.

ALLMERS. I did not drink any of it.

RITA.
[Looking bitterly at him.]
No, that is true.
[Laughs harshly.]
“There stood the champagne, but you tasted it not” — as the poet says.

[She rises from the armchair, goes with an air of weariness over to the sofa, and seats herself, half reclining, upon it.]

ALLMERS.
[Crosses the room and stands before her.]
I was so taken up with serious thoughts. I had made up my mind to talk to you of our future, Rita — and first and foremost of Eyolf.

RITA.
[Smiling.]
And so you did —

ALLMERS. No, I had not time to — for you began to undress.

RITA. Yes, and meanwhile you talked about Eyolf. Don’t you remember? You wanted to know all about little Eyolf’s digestion.

ALLMERS.
[Looking reproachfully at her.]
Rita — !

RITA. And then you got into your bed, and slept the sleep of the just.

ALLMERS.
[Shaking his head.]
Rita — Rita!

RITA.
[Lying at full length and looking up at him.]
Alfred?