Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (310 page)

ASTA.
[Uneasily.]
No, no, I cannot. I must go back to town now.

ALLMERS. But only in to town, Asta. Do you hear!

ASTA. Yes.

ALLMERS. And you must promise me that you will soon come out again.

ASTA.
[Quickly.]
No, no, I dare not promise you that, for the present.

ALLMERS. Well as you will. We shall soon meet in town, then.

ASTA.
[Imploringly.]
But, Alfred, you must stay at home here with Rita now.

ALLMERS.
[Without answering, turns to BORGHEIM.]
You may find it a good thing, after all, that you have to take your journey alone.

BORGHEIM.
[Annoyed.]
Oh, how can you say such a thing?

ALLMERS. You see, you can never tell whom you might happen to meet afterwards — on the way.

ASTA.
[Involuntarily.]
Alfred!

ALLMERS. The right fellow-traveller — when it is too late — too late.

ASTA.
[Softly, quivering.]
Alfred! Alfred!

BORGHEIM.
[Looking front one to the other.]
What is the meaning of this? I don’t understand —

[RITA comes up from the left at the back.]

RITA.
[Plaintively.]
Oh, don’t go away from me, all of you!

ASTA.
[Going towards her.]
You said you preferred to be alone.

RITA. Yes, but I dare not. It is getting so horribly dark. I seem to see great, open eyes fixed upon me!

ASTA.
[Tenderly and sympathetically.]
What if it were so, Rita? You ought not to be afraid of those eyes.

RITA. How can you say so! Not afraid!

ALLMERS.
[Insistently.]
Asta, I beg you — for Heaven’s sake — remain here with Rita!

RITA. Yes! And with Alfred, too. Do! Do, Asta!

ASTA.
[Struggling with herself.]
Oh, I want to so much —

RITA. Well, then, do it! For Alfred and I cannot go alone through the sorrow and heartache.

ALLMERS.
[Darkly.]
Say, rather — through the ranklings of remorse.

RITA. Oh, whatever you like to call it — we cannot bear it alone, we two. Oh, Asta, I beg and implore you! Stay here and help us! Take Eyolf’s place for us —

ASTA.
[Shrinking.]
Eyolf’s —

RITA. Yes, would you not have it so, Alfred?

ALLMERS. If she can and will.

RITA. You used to call her your little Eyolf.
[Seizes her hand.]
Henceforth you shall be our Eyolf, Asta! Eyolf, as you were before.

ALLMERS.
[With concealed emotion.]
Remain — and share our life with us, Asta. With Rita. With me. With me — your brother!

ASTA.
[With decision, snatches her hand away.]
No. I cannot.
[Turning.]
Mr. Borgheim — what time does the steamer start?

BORGHEIM. Now — at once.

ASTA. Then I must go on board. Will you go with me?

BORGHEIM.
[With a suppressed outburst of joy.]
Will I? Yes, yes!

ASTA. Then come!

RITA.
[Slowly.]
Ah! That is how it is. Well, then, you cannot stay with us.

ASTA.
[Throwing her arms round her neck.]
Thanks for everything, Rita! (Goes up to ALLMERS and grasps his hand.) Alfred-good-bye! A thousand times, good-bye!

ALLMERS.
[Softly and eagerly.]
What is this, Asta? It seems as though you were taking flight.

ASTA.
[In subdued anguish.]
Yes, Alfred — I am taking flight.

ALLMERS. Flight — from me!

ASTA.
[Whispering.]
From you — and from myself.

ALLMERS.
[Shrinking back.]
Ah — !

[ASTA rushes down the steps at the back. BORGHEIM waves his hat and follows her. RITA leans against the entrance to the summer-house. ALLMERS goes, in strong inward emotion, up to the railing, and stands there gazing downwards. A pause.]

ALLMERS.
[Turns, and says with hard-won composure.]
There comes the steamer. Look, Rita.

RITA. I dare not look at it.

ALLMERS. You dare not?

RITA. No. For it has a red eye — and a green one, too. Great, glowing eyes.

ALLMERS. Oh, those are only the lights, you know.

RITA. Henceforth they are eyes — for me. They stare and stare out of the darkness — and into the darkness.

ALLMERS. Now she is putting in to shore.

RITA. Where are they mooring her this evening, then?

ALLMERS.
[Coming forward.]
At the pier, as usual —

RITA.
[Drawing herself up.]
How can they moor her there!

ALLMERS. They must.

RITA. But it was there that Eyolf — ! How can they moor her there!

ALLMERS. Yes, life is pitiless, Rita.

RITA. Men are heartless. They take no thought — whether for the living or for the dead.

ALLMERS. There you are right. Life goes its own way — just as if nothing in the world had happened.

RITA.
[Gazing straight before her.]
And nothing has happened, either. Not to others. Only to us two.

ALLMERS.
[The pain re-awakening.]
Yes, Rita — so it was to no purpose that you bore him in sorrow and anguish. For now he is gone again — and has left no trace behind him.

RITA. Only the crutch was saved.

ALLMERS.
[Angrily.]
Be silent! Do not let me hear that word!

RITA.
[Plaintively.]
Oh, I cannot bear the thought that he is gone from us.

ALLMERS.
[Coldly and bitterly.]
You could very well do without him while he was with us. Half the day would often pass without your setting eyes on him.

RITA. Yes, for I knew that I could see him whenever I wanted to.

ALLMERS. Yes, that is how we have gone and squandered the short time we had with Little Eyolf.

RITA.
[Listening, in dread.]
Do you hear, Alfred! Now it is ringing again!

ALLMERS.
[Looking over the fiord.]
It is the steamer’s bell that is ringing. She is just starting.

RITA. Oh, it’s not that bell I mean. All day I have heard it ringing in my ears. — Now it is ringing again!

ALLMERS.
[Going up to her.]
You are mistaken, Rita.

RITA. No, I hear it so plainly. It sounds like a knell. Slow. Slow. And always the same words.

ALLMERS. Words? What words?

RITA.
[Nodding her head in the rhythm.]
“The crútch is — flóating. The crútch is — flóating.” Oh, surely you must hear it, too!

ALLMERS.
[Shaking his head.]
I hear nothing. And there is nothing to hear.

RITA. Oh, you may say what you will — I hear it so plainly.

ALLMERS.
[Looking out over the railing.]
Now they are on board, Rita. Now the steamer is on her way to the town.

RITA. Is it possible you do not hear it? “The crútch is — flóating. The crútch is —— —”

ALLMERS.
[Coming forward.]
You shall not stand there listening to a sound that does not exist. I tell You, Asta and Borgheim are on board. They have started already. Asta is gone.

RITA.
[Looks timidly at him.]
Then I suppose you will soon be gone, too, Alfred?

ALLMERS.
[Quickly.]
What do you mean by that?

RITA. That you will follow your sister.

ALLMERS. Has Asta told you anything?

RITA. No. But you said yourself it was for Asta’s sake that — that we came together.

ALLMERS. Yes, but you, you yourself, have bound me to you — by our life together.

RITA. Oh, in your eyes I am not — I am not — entrancingly beautiful any more.

ALLMERS. The law of change may perhaps keep us together, none the less.

RITA.
[Nodding slowly.]
There is a change in me now — I feel the anguish of it.

ALLMERS. Anguish?

RITA. Yes, for change, too, is a sort of birth.

ALLMERS. It is — or a resurrection. Transition to a higher life.

RITA.
[Gazing sadly before her.]
Yes — with the loss of all, all life’s happiness.

ALLMERS. That loss is just the gain.

RITA.
[Vehemently.]
Oh, phrases! Good God, we are creatures of earth after all.

ALLMERS. But something akin to the sea and the heavens too, Rita.

RITA. You perhaps. Not I.

ALLMERS. Oh, yes — you too, more than you yourself suspect.

RITA.
[Advancing a pace towards him.]
Tell me, Alfred — could you think of taking up your work again?

ALLMERS. The work that you have hated so?

RITA. I am easier to please now. I am willing to share you with the book.

ALLMERS. Why?

RITA. Only to keep you here with me — to have you near me.

ALLMERS. Oh, it is so little I can do to help you, Rita.

RITA. But perhaps I could help you.

ALLMERS. With my book, do you mean?

RITA. No; but to live your life.

ALLMERS.
[Shaking his head.]
I seem to have no life to live.

RITA. Well then, to endure your life.

ALLMERS.
[Darkly, looking away from her.]
I think it would be best for both of us that we should part.

RITA.
[Looking curiously at him.]
Then where would you go? Perhaps to Asta, after all?

ALLMERS. No — never again to Asta.

RITA. Where then?

ALLMERS. Up into the solitudes.

RITA. Up among the mountains? Is that what you mean?

ALLMERS. Yes.

RITA. But all that is mere dreaming, Alfred! You could not live up there.

ALLMERS. And yet I feel myself drawn to them.

RITA. Why? Tell me!

ALLMERS. Sit down — and I will tell you something.

RITA. Something that happened to you up there?

ALLMERS. Yes.

RITA. And that you never told Asta and me?

ALLMERS. Yes.

RITA. Oh, you are so silent about everything. You ought not to be.

ALLMERS. Sit down there — and I will tell you about it.

RITA. Yes, yes — tell me!

[She sits on the bench beside the summer-house.]

ALLMERS. I was alone up there, in the heart of the great mountains. I came to a wide, dreary mountain lake; and that lake I had to cross. But I could not — for there was neither a boat nor any one there.

RITA. Well? And then?