Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (306 page)

ALLMERS. Yes?

RITA. “There stood your champagne, but you tasted it not.”

ALLMERS.
[Almost harshly.]
No. I did not taste it.

[He goes away from her and stands in the garden doorway. RITA lies for some time motionless, with closed eyes.]

RITA.
[Suddenly springing up.]
But let me tell you one thing, Alfred.

ALLMERS.
[Turning in the doorway.]
Well?

RITA. You ought not to feel quite so secure as you do!

ALLMERS. Not secure?

RITA. No, you ought not to be so indifferent! Not certain of your property in me!

ALLMERS.
[Drawing nearer.]
What do you mean by that?

RITA.
[With trembling lips.]
Never in a single thought have I been untrue to you, Alfred! Never for an instant.

ALLMERS. No, Rita, I know that — I, who know you so well.

RITA.
[With sparkling eyes.]
But if you disdain me — !

ALLMERS. Disdain! I don’t understand what you mean!

RITA. Oh, you don’t know all that might rise up within me, if —

ALLMERS. If?

RITA. If I should ever see that you did not care for me — that you did not love me as you used to.

ALLMERS. But, my dearest Rita — years bring a certain change with them — and that must one day occur even in us — as in every one else.

RITA. Never in me! And I will not hear of any change in you either — I could not bear it, Alfred. I want to keep you to myself alone.

ALLMERS.
[Looking at her with concern.]
You have a terribly jealous nature —

RITA. I can’t make myself different from what I am.
[Threateningly.]
If you go and divide yourself between me and any one else —

ALLMERS. What then — ?

RITA. Then I will take my revenge on you, Alfred!

ALLMERS. How “take your revenge”?

RITA. I don’t know how. — Oh yes, I do know, well enough!

ALLMERS. Well?

RITA. I will go and throw myself away —

ALLMERS. Throw yourself away, do you say?

RITA. Yes, that I will. I’ll throw myself straight into the arms of of the first man that comes in my way —

ALLMERS.
[Looking tenderly at her and shaking his head.]
That you will never do — my loyal, proud, true-hearted Rita!

RITA.
[Putting her arms round his neck.]
Oh, you don’t know what I might come to be if you — if you did not love me any more.

ALLMERS. Did not love you, Rita? How can you say such a thing!

RITA.
[Half laughing, lets him go.]
Why should I not spread my nets for that — that road-maker man that hangs about here?

ALLMERS.
[Relieved.]
Oh, thank goodness — you are only joking.

RITA. Not at all. He would do as well as any one else.

ALLMERS. Ah, but I suspect he is more or less taken up already.

RITA. So much the better! For then I should take him away from some one else; and that is just what Eyolf has done to me.

ALLMERS. Can you say that our little Eyolf has done that?

RITA.
[Pointing with her forefinger.]
There, you see! You see! The moment you mention Eyolf’s name, you grow tender and your voice quivers!
[Threateningly, clenching her hands.]
Oh, you almost tempt we to wish —

ALLMERS.
[Looking at her anxiously.]
What do I tempt you to wish, Rita? —

RITA.
[Vehemently, going away from him.]
No, no, no — I won’t tell you that! Never!

ALLMERS.
[Drawing nearer to her.]
Rita! I implore you — for my sake and for your own — do not let yourself he tempted into evil.

[BORGHEIM and ASTA come up from the garden. They both show signs of restrained emotion. They look serious and dejected. ASTA remains out on the verandah. BORGHEIM comes into the room.]

BORGHEIM. So that is over — Miss Allmers and I have had our last walk together.

RITA.
[Looks at him with surprise.]
Ah! And there is no longer journey to follow the walk?

BORGHEIM. Yes, for me.

RITA. For you alone?

BORGHEIM. Yes, for me alone.

RITA.
[Glances darkly at ALLMERS.]
Do you hear that?
[Turns to BORGHEIM.]
I’ll wager it is some one with the evil eye that has played you this trick.

BORGHEIM.
[Looks at her.]
The evil eye?

RITA.
[Nodding.]
Yes, the evil eye.

BORGHEIM. Do you believe in the evil eye, Mrs. Allmers?

RITA. Yes. I have begun to believe in the evil eye. Especially in a child’s evil eye.

ALLMERS.
[Shocked, whispers.]
Rita — how can you — ?

RITA.
[Speaking low.]
It is you that make me so wicked and hateful, Alfred.

[Confused cries and shrieks are heard in the distance, from the direction of the fiord.]

BORGHEIM.
[Going to the glass door.]
What noise is that?

ASTA.
[In the doorway.]
Look at all those people running down to the pier!

ALLMERS. What can it be?
[Looks out for a moment.]
No doubt it’s those street urchins at some mischief again.

BORGHEIM.
[Calls, leaning over the verandah railings.]
I say, you boys down there! What’s the matter?

[Several voices are heard answering indistinctly and confusedly.]

RITA. What do they say?

BORGHEIM. They say it’s a child that’s drowned.

ALLMERS. A child drowned?

ASTA.
[Uneasily.]
A little boy, they say.

ALLMERS. Oh, they can all swim, every one of them.

RITA.
[Shrieks in terror.]
Where is Eyolf?

ALLMERS. Keep quiet — quiet. Eyolf is down in the garden, playing.

ASTA. No, he wasn’t in the garden.

RITA.
[With upstretched arms.]
Oh, if only it isn’t he!

BORGHEIM.
[Listens, and calls down.]
Whose child is it, do you say?

[Indistinct voices are heard. BORGHEIM and ASTA utter a suppressed cry, and rush out through the garden.]

ALLMERS.
[In an agony of dread.]
It isn’t Eyolf! It isn’t Eyolf, Rita!

RITA.
[On the verandah, listening.]
Hush! Be quiet! Let me hear what they are saying!

[RITA rushes back with a piercing shriek, into the room.]

ALLMERS.
[Following her.]
What did they say?

RITA.
[Sinking down beside the armchair on the left.]
They said: “The crutch is floating!”

ALLMERS.
[Almost paralysed.]
No! No! No!

RITA.
[Hoarsely.]
Eyolf! Eyolf! Oh, but they must save him!

ALLMERS.
[Half distracted.]
They must, they must! So precious a life!

[He rushes down through the garden.]

ACT SECON
D

[A little narrow glen by the side of the fiord, on ALLMERS’S property. On the left, lofty old trees overarch the spot. Down the slope in the background a brook comes leaping, and loses itself among the stones on the margin of the wood. A path winds along by the brook-side. To the right there are only a few single trees, between which the fiord is visible. In front is seen the corner of a boat-shed with a boat drawn up. Under the old trees on the left stands a table with a bench and one or two chairs, all made of thin birch-staves. It is a heavy, damp day, with driving mist wreaths.]

[ALFRED ALLMERS, dressed as before, sits on the bench, leaning his arms on the table. His hat lies before him. He gazes absently and immovably out over the water.]

[Presently ASTA ALLMERS comes down the woodpath. She is carrying an open umbrella.]

ASTA.
[Goes quietly and cautiously up to him.]
You ought not to sit down here in this gloomy weather, Alfred.

ALLMERS.
[Nods slowly without answering.]

ASTA.
[Closing her umbrella.]
I have been searching for you such a long time.

ALLMERS.
[Without expression.]
Thank you.

ASTA.
[Moves a chair and seats herself close to him.]
Have you been sitting here long? All the time?

ALLMERS.
[Does not answer at first. Presently he says.]
No, I cannot grasp it. It seems so utterly impossible.

ASTA.
[Laying her hand compassionately on his arm.]
Poor Alfred!

ALLMERS.
[Gazing at her.]
Is it really true then, Asta? Or have I gone mad? Or am I only dreaming? Oh, if it were only a dream! Just think, if I were to waken now!

ASTA. Oh, if I could only waken you!

ALLMERS.
[Looking out over the water.]
How pitiless the fiord looks to-day, lying so heavy and drowsy — leaden-grey — with splashes of yellow — and reflecting the rain-clouds.

ASTA.
[Imploringly.]
Oh, Alfred, don’t sit staring out over the fiord!

ALLMERS.
[Not heeding her.]
Over the surface, yes. But in the depths — there sweeps the rushing undertow —

ASTA.
[In terror.]
Oh, for God’s sake don’t think of the depths!

ALLMERS.
[Looking gently at her.]
I suppose you think he is lying close outside here? But he is not, Asta. You must not think that. You must remember how fiercely the current sweeps gut here straight to the open sea.

ASTA.
[Throws herself forward against the table, and, sobbing, buries her face in her hands.]
Oh, God! Oh, God!

ALLMERS.
[Heavily.]
So you see, little Eyolf has passed so far — far away from us now.

ASTA.
[Looks imploringly up at him.]
Oh, Alfred, don’t say such things!

ALLMERS. Why, you can reckon it out for yourself — you that are so clever. In eight-and-twenty hours — nine-and-twenty hours — Let me see — ! Let me see — !

ASTA.
[Shrieking and stopping her ears.]
Alfred!

ALLMERS.
[Clenching his hand firmly upon the table.]
Can you conceive the meaning of a thing like this?

ASTA.
[Looks at him.]
Of what?

ALLMERS. Of this that has been done to Rita and me.

ASTA. The meaning of it?

ALLMERS.
[Impatiently.]
Yes, the meaning, I say. For, after all, there must be a meaning in it. Life, existence — destiny, cannot be so utterly meaningless.

ASTA. Oh, who can say anything with certainty about these things, my dear Alfred?

ALLMERS.
[Laughs bitterly.]
No, no; I believe you are right there. Perhaps the whole thing goes simply by hap-hazard — taking its own course, like a drifting wreck without a rudder. I daresay that is how it is. At least, it seems very like it.

ASTA.
[Thoughtfully.]
What if it only seems — ?

ALLMERS.
[Vehemently.]
Ah? Perhaps you can unravel the mystery for me? I certainly cannot.
[More gently.]
Here is Eyolf, just entering upon conscious life: full of such infinite possibilities — splendid possibilities perhaps: he would have filled my life with pride and gladness. And then a crazy old woman has only to come this way — and show a cur in a bag —

ASTA. But we don’t in the least know how it really happened.

ALLMERS. Yes, we do. The boys saw her row out over the fiord. They saw Eyolf standing alone at the very end of the pier. They saw him gazing after her — and then he seemed to turn giddy.
[Quivering.]
And that was how he fell over — and disappeared.

ASTA. Yes, yes. But all the same —

ALLMERS. She has drawn him down into the depths — that you may be sure of, dear.

ASTA. But, Alfred, why should she?

ALLMERS. Yes, that is just the question! Why should she? There is no retribution behind it all — no atonement, I mean. Eyolf never did her any harm. He never called names after her; he never threw stones at her dog. Why, he had never set eyes either on her or her dog till yesterday. So there is no retribution; the whole thing is utterly groundless and meaningless, Asta. — And yet the order of the world requires it.

ASTA. Have you spoken to Rita of these things?

ALLMERS.
[Shakes his head.]
I feel as if I can talk better to you about them.
[Drawing a deep breath.]
And about everything else as well.

[ASTA takes serving-materials and a little paper parcel out of her pocket. ALLMERS sits looking on absently.]

ALLMERS. What leave you got there, Asta?

ASTA.
[Taking his hat.]
Some black crap.

ALLMERS. Oh, whet is the use of that?

ASTA. Rita asked me to put it on. May I?

ALLMERS. Oh, yes; as far as I’m concerned —
[She sews the crape on his hat.]

ALLMERS.
[Sitting and looking at her.]
Where is Rita?

ASTA. She is walking about the garden a little, I think. Borgheim is with her.

ALLMERS.
[Slightly surprised.]
Indeed! Is Borgheim out here to-day again?

ASTA. Yes. He came out by the mid-day train.

ALLMERS. I didn’t expect that.

ASTA.
[Serving.]
He was so fond of Eyolf.

ALLMERS. Borgheim is a faithful soul, Asta.

ASTA.
[With quiet warmth.]
Yes, faithful he is, indeed. That is certain.

ALLMERS.
[Fixing his eyes upon her.]
You are really fond of him?

ASTA. Yes, I am.

ALLMERS. And yet you cannot make up your mind to — ?

ASTA.
[Interrupting.]
Oh, my dear Alfred, don’t talk of that!

ALLMERS. Yes, yes; tell me why you cannot?

ASTA. Oh, no! Please! You really must not ask me. You see, it’s so painful for me. — There now! The hat is done.

ALLMERS. Thank you.

ASTA. And now for the left arm.

ALLMERS. Am I to have crape on it too?

ASTA. Yes, that is the custom.

ALLMERS. Well — as you please.

[She moves close up to him and begins to sew.]

ASTA. Keep your arm still — then I won’t prick you.

ALLMERS.
[With a half-smile.]
This is like the old days.

ASTA. Yes, don’t you think so?

ALLMERS. When you were a little girl you used to sit just like this, mending my clothes. The first thing you ever sewed for me — that was black crape, too.

ASTA. Was it?

ALLMERS. Round my student’s cap — at the time of father’s death.

ASTA. Could I sew then? Fancy, I have forgotten it.

ALLMERS. Oh, you were such a little thing then.

ASTA. Yes, I was little then.

ALLMERS. And then, two years afterwards — when we lost your mother — then again you sewed a big crape band on my sleeve.

ASTA. I thought it was the right thing to do.

ALLMERS.
[Patting her hand.]
Yes, yes, it was the right thing to do, Asta. And then when we were left alone in the world, we two — . Are you done already?

ASTA. Yes.
[Putting together her sewing-materials.]
It was really a beautiful time for us, Alfred. We two alone.

ALLMERS. Yes, it was — though we had to toil so hard.

ASTA. You toiled.

ALLMERS.
[With more life.]
Oh, you toiled too, in your way, I can assure you —
[smiling]
— my dear, faithful — Eyolf.

ASTA. Oh — you mustn’t remind me of that stupid nonsense about the name.

ALLMERS. Well, if you had been a boy, you would have been called Eyolf.

ASTA. Yes, if! But when you began to go to college — .
[Smiling involuntarily.]
I wonder how you could be so childish.

ALLMERS. Was it I that was childish?

ASTA. Yes, indeed, I think it was, as I look back upon it all. You were ashamed of having no brother — only a sister.

ALLMERS. No, no, it was you, dear — you were ashamed.

ASTA. Oh yes, I too, perhaps — a little. And somehow or other I was sorry for you —

ALLMERS. Yes, I believe you were. And then you hunted up some of my old boy’s clothes —

ASTA. Your fine Sunday clothes — yes. Do you remember the blue blouse and knickerbockers?

ALLMERS.
[His eyes dwelling upon her.]
I remember so well how you looked when you used to wear them.

ASTA. Only when we were at home, alone, though.

ALLMERS. And how serious we were, dear, and how mightily pleased with ourselves. I always called you Eyolf.

ASTA. Oh, Alfred, I hope you have never told Rita this?

ALLMERS. Yes, I believe I did once tell her.

ASTA. Oh, Alfred, how could you do that?

ALLMERS. Well, you see — one tells one’s wife everything — very nearly.

ASTA. Yes, I suppose one does.

ALLMERS.
[As if awakening, clutches at his forehead and starts up.]
Oh, how can I sit here and —

ASTA.
[Rising, looks sorrowfully at him.]
What is the matter?

ALLMERS. He had almost passed away from me. He had passed quite away.

ASTA. Eyolf!

ALLMERS. Here I sat, living in these recollections — and he had no part in them.

ASTA. Yes, Alfred — little Eyolf was behind it all.

ALLMERS. No, he was not. He slipped out of my memory — out of my thoughts. I did not see him for a moment as we sat here talking. I utterly forgot him all that time.

ASTA. But surely you must take some rest in your sorrow.

ALLMERS. No, no, no; that is just what I will not do! I must not — I have no right — and no heart for it, either.
[Going in great excitement towards the right.]
All my thoughts must be out there, where he lies drifting in the depths!

ASTA.
[Following him and holding him back.]
Alfred — Alfred! Don’t go to the fiord.