Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (308 page)

ALLMERS. That Eyolf were not here.

RITA. Never for a moment have I wished that! That Eyolf should not stand between us — that was what I wished.

ALLMERS. Well, well — he does not stand between us any more.

RITA.
[Softly, gazing straight before her.]
Perhaps now more than ever.
[With a sudden shudder.]
Oh, that horrible sight!

ALLMERS.
[Nods.]
The child’s evil eyes.

RITA.
[In dread, recoiling from him.]
Let me be, Alfred! I am afraid of you. I have never seen you like this before.

ALLMERS.
[Looks harshly and coldly at her.]
Sorrow makes us wicked and hateful.

RITA.
[Terrified, and yet defiant.]
That is what I feel, too.

[ALLMERS goes towards the right and looks out over the fiord. RITA seats herself at the table. A short pause.]

ALLMERS.
[Turning his head towards her.]
You never really and truly loved him — never!

RITA.
[With cold self-control.]
Eyolf would never let me take him really and truly to my heart.

ALLMERS. Because you did not want to.

RITA. Oh yes, I did. I did want to. But some one stood in the way — even from the first.

ALLMERS.
[Turning right round.]
Do you mean that
I
stood in the way?

RITA. Oh, no — not at first.

ALLMERS.
[Coming nearer her.]
Who, then?

RITA. His aunt.

ALLMERS. Asta?

RITA. Yes. Asta stood and barred the way for me.

ALLMERS. Can you say that, Rita?

RITA. Yes. Asta — she took him to her heart — from the moment that happened — that miserable fall.

ALLMERS. If she did so, she did it in love.

RITA.
[Vehemently.]
That is just it! I cannot endure to share anything with any one! Not in love.

ALLMERS. We two should have shared him between us in love.

RITA.
[Looking scornfully at him.]
We? Oh, the truth is you have never had any real love for him either.

ALLMERS.
[Looks at her in astonishment.]
I
have not — !

RITA. No, you have not. At first you were so utterly taken up by that book of yours — about Responsibility.

ALLMERS.
[Forcibly.]
Yes, I was. But my very book — I sacrificed for Eyolf’s sake.

RITA. Not out of love for him.

ALLMERS. Why then, do you suppose?

RITA. Because you were consumed with mistrust of yourself. Because you had begun to doubt whether you had any great vocation to live for in the world.

ALLMERS.
[Observing her closely.]
Could you see that in me?

RITA. Oh, yes — little by little. And then you needed something new to fill up your life. — It seems
I
was not enough for you any longer.

ALLMERS. That is the law of change, Rita.

RITA. And that was why you wanted to make a prodigy of poor little Eyolf.

ALLMERS. That was not what I wanted. I wanted to make a happy human being of him. — That, and nothing more.

RITA. But not out of love for him. Look into yourself!
[With a certain shyness of expression.]
Search out all that lies under — and behind your action.

ALLMERS.
[Avoiding her eyes.]
There is something you shrink from saying.

RITA. And you too.

ALLMERS.
[Looks thoughtfully at her.]
If it is as you say, then we two have never really possessed our own child.

RITA. No. Not in perfect love.

ALLMERS. And yet we are sorrowing so bitterly for him.

RITA.
[With sarcasm.]
Yes, isn’t it curious that we should grieve like this over a little stranger boy?

ALLMERS.
[With an outburst.]
Oh, don’t call him a stranger!

RITA.
[Sadly shaking her head.]
We never won the boy, Alfred. Not I — nor you either.

ALLMERS.
[Wringing his hands.]
And now it is too late! Too late!

RITA. And no consolation anywhere — in anything.

ALLMERS.
[With sudden passion.]
You are the guilty one in this!

RITA.
[Rising.]
I!

ALLMERS. Yes, you! It was your fault that he became — what he was! It was your fault that he could not save himself when he fell into the water.

RITA.
[With a gesture of repulsion.]
Alfred — you shall not throw the blame upon me!

ALLMERS.
[More and more beside himself.]
Yes, yes, I do! It was you that left the helpless child unwatched upon the table.

RITA. He was lying so comfortably among the cushions, and sleeping so soundly. And you had promised to look after him.

ALLMERS. Yes, I had.
[Lowering his voice.]
But then you came — you, you, you — and lured me to you.

RITA.
[Looking defiantly at him.]
Oh, better own at once that you forgot the child and everything else.

ALLMERS.
[In suppressed desperation.]
Yes, that is true.
[Lower.]
I forgot the child — in your arms!

RITA.
[Exasperated.]
Alfred! Alfred — this is intolerable of you!

ALLMERS.
[In a low voice, clenching his fists before her face.]
In that hour you condemned little Eyolf to death.

RITA.
[Wildly.]
You, too! You, too — if it is as you say!

ALLMERS. Oh yes — call me to account, too — if you will. We have sinned, both of us. And so, after all, there was retribution in Eyolf’s death.

RITA. Retribution?

ALLMERS.
[With more self-control.]
Yes. Judgment upon you and me. Now, as we stand here, we have our deserts. While he lived, we let ourselves shrink away from him in secret, abject remorse. We could not bear to see it — the thing he had to drag with him —

RITA.
[Whispers.]
The crutch.

ALLMERS. Yes, that. And now, what we now call sorrow and heartache — is really the gnawing of conscience, Rita. Nothing else.

RITA.
[Gazing helplessly at him.]
I feel as if all this must end in despair — in madness for both of us. For we can never — never make it good again.

ALLMERS.
[Passing into a calmer mood.]
I dreamed about Eyolf last night. I thought I saw him coming up from the pier. He could run like other boys. So nothing had happened to him — neither the one thing nor the other. And the torturing reality was nothing but a dream, I thought. Oh, how I thanked and blessed —
[Checking himself.]
H’m!

RITA.
[Looking at him.]
Whom?

ALLMERS.
[Evasively.]
Whom — ?

RITA. Yes; whom did you thank and bless?

ALLMERS.
[Putting aside the question.]
I was only dreaming, you know —

RITA. One whom you yourself do not believe in?

ALLMERS. That was how I felt, all the same. Of course, I was sleeping —

RITA.
[Reproachfully.]
You should not have taught me to doubt, Alfred.

ALLMERS. Would it leave been right of me to let you go through life with your mind full of empty fictions?

RITA. It would have been better for me; for then I should have had something to take refuge in. Now I am utterly at sea.

ALLMERS.
[Observing her closely.]
If you had the choice now — . If you could follow Eyolf to where he is — ?

RITA. Yes? What then?

ALLMERS. If you were fully assured that you would find him again — know him — understand him — ?

RITA. Yes, yes; what then?

ALLMERS. Would you, of your own free will, take the leap over to him? Of your own free will leave everything behind you? Renounce your whole earthly life? Would you, Rita?

RITA.
[Softly.]
Now, at once?

ALLMERS. Yes; to-day. This very hour. Answer me — would you?

RITA.
[Hesitating.]
Oh, I don’t know, Alfred. No! I think I should have to stay here with you, a little while.

ALLMERS. For my sake?

RITA. Yes. Only for your sake.

ALLMERS. And afterwards? Would you then — ? Answer!

RITA. Oh, what can I answer? I could not go away from you. Never! Never!

ALLMERS. But suppose now
I
went to Eyolf? And you had the fullest assurance that you would meet both him and me there. Then would you come over to us?

RITA. I should want to — so much! so much! But —

ALLMERS. Well? I I?

RITA.
[Moaning softly.]
I could not — I feel it. No, no, I never could! Not for all the glory of heaven!

ALLMERS. Nor I.

RITA. No, you feel it so, too, don’t you, Alfred! You could not either, could you?

ALLMERS. No. For it is here, in the life of earth, that we living beings are at home.

RITA. Yes, here lies the kind of happiness that we can understand.

ALLMERS.
[Darkly.]
Oh, happiness — happiness —

RITA. You mean that happiness — that we can never find it again?
[Looks inquiringly at him.]
But if — ?
[Vehemently.]
No, no; I dare not say it! Nor even think it!

ALLMERS. Yes, say it — say it, Rita.

RITA.
[Hesitatingly.]
Could we not try to — ? Would it not be possible to forget him?

ALLMERS. Forget Eyolf?

RITA. Forget the anguish and remorse, I mean.

ALLMERS. Can you wish it?

RITA. Yes, — if it were possible.
[With an outburst.]
For this — I cannot bear this for ever! Oh, can we not think of something that will bring its forgetfulness!

ALLMERS.
[Shakes his head.]
What could that be?

RITA. Could we not see what travelling would do — far away from here?

ALLMERS. From home? When you know you are never really well anywhere but here.

RITA. Well, then, let us have crowds of people about us! Keep open house! Plunge into something that can deaden and dull our thoughts!

ALLMERS. Such it life would be impossible for me. — No, — rather than that, I would try to take up my work again.

RITA.
[Bitingly.]
Your work — the work that has always stood like a dead wall between us!

ALLMERS.
[Slowly, looking fixedly at her.]
There must always be a dead wall between us two, from this time forth.

RITA. Why must there — ?

ALLMERS. Who knows but that a child’s great, open eyes are watching us day and night.

RITA.
[Softly, shuddering.]
Alfred — how terrible to think of!

ALLMERS. Our love has been like a consuming fire. Now it must be quenched —

RITA.
[With a movement towards him.]
Quenched!