THIRD SCENE

MASTER. Has he got any company?

STARCK. No-o—I don't think so.

MASTER. It wasn't yesterday you had a look at these rooms, Mr. Starck.

STARCK. I should say not—it's just ten years ago now——

MASTER. When you brought the wedding-cake.—Does the place look changed?

STARCK. It is just as it was—the palms have grown, of course—but the rest is just as it was.

MASTER. And will remain so until you bring the funeral cake. When you have passed a certain age, nothing changes, nothing progresses—all the movement is downward like that of a sleigh going down-hill.

STARCK. Yes, that's the way it is.

MASTER. And it is peaceful, the way I have it here. No love, no friends, only a little company to break up the solitude. Then human beings are just human beings, without any claims on your feelings and sympathies. Then you come loose like an old tooth, and drop out without pain or regrets. Take Louise, for instance—a pretty young girl, the sight of whom pleases me like a work of art that I don't wish to possess—there is nothing to disturb our relationship. My brother and I meet like two old gentlemen who never get too close to each other and never exact any confidences. By taking up a neutral position toward one's fellow-men, one attains a certain distance—and as a rule we look better at a distance. In a word, I am pleased with my old age and its quiet peace—[Calling out] Louise!

LOUISE. [Appearing in the doorway at the left and speaking pleasantly as always] The laundry has come home, and I have to check it off. [She disappears again.

MASTER. Well, Mr. Starck, won't you sit down and chat a little—or perhaps you play chess?

STARCK. I can't stay away from my pots, and the oven has to be heated up at eleven. It's very kind of you, however——

MASTER. If you catch sight of my brother, ask him to come in and keep me company.

STARCK. So I will—so I will! [He goes.

MASTER. [Alone; moves a couple of pieces on the chess-board; then gets up and begins to walk about] The peace of old age—yes! [He sits down at the piano and strikes a few chords; then he gets up and walks about as before] Louise! Can't you let the laundry wait a little?

LOUISE. [Appears again for a moment in the doorway at the left] No, I can't, because the wash-woman is in a hurry—she has husband and children waiting for her.

MASTER. Oh! [He sits down at the table and begins to drum with his fingers on it; tries to read the newspaper, but tires of it; lights matches only to blow them out again at once; looks repeatedly at the big clock, until at last a noise is heard from the hallway] Is that you, Carl Frederick?

THE MAIL-CARRIER. [Appears in the doorway] It's the mail. Excuse me for walking right in, but the door was standing open.

MASTER. Is there a letter for me?

THE MAIL-CARRIER. Only a post-card.

[He hands it over and goes out.

MASTER. [Reading the post-card] Mr. Fischer again! Boston club! That's the man up above—with the white hands and the tuxedo coat. And to me! The impertinence of it! I have got to move!—Fischer!—[He tears up the card; again a noise is heard, in the hallway] Is that you, Carl Frederick?

THE ICEMAN. [Without coming into the room] It's the ice!

MASTER. Well, it's nice to get ice in this heat. But be careful about those bottles in the box. And put one of the pieces on edge so that I can hear the water drip from it as it melts—That's my water-clock that measures out the hours—the long hours—Tell me, where do you get the ice from nowadays?—Oh, he's gone!—Everybody goes away—goes home—to hear their own voices and get some company-[Pause] Is that you, Carl Frederick?

Somebody in the apartment above plays Chopin'sFantaisie Impromptu, Opus 66,on the piano—but only the first part of it.

MASTER. [Begins to listen, is aroused, looks up at the ceiling] MyImpromptu?

[He covers his eyes with one hand and listens.TheCONSULenters through the hallway.

[He covers his eyes with one hand and listens.

TheCONSULenters through the hallway.

MASTER. Is that you, Carl Frederick?

The music stops.

CONSUL. It is I.

MASTER. Where have you been so long?

CONSUL. I had some business to clear up. Have you been alone?

MASTER. Of course! Come and play chess now.

CONSUL. I prefer to talk. And you need also to hear your own voice a little.

MASTER. True enough—only it is so easy to get to talking about the past.

CONSUL. That makes us forget the present.

MASTER. There is no present. What's just passing is empty nothingness. One has to look ahead or behind—and ahead is better, for there lies hope!

CONSUL. [Seating himself at the table] Hope—of what?

MASTER. Of change.

CONSUL. Well! Do you mean to say you have had enough of the peace of old age?

MASTER. Perhaps.

CONSUL. It's certain then. And if now you had the choice between solitude and the past?

MASTER. No ghosts, however!

CONSUL. How about your memories?

MASTER. They don't walk. They are only poems wrought by me out of certain realities. But if dead people walk, then you have ghosts.

CONSUL. Well, then—in your memory—who brings you the prettiest mirage: the woman or the child?

MASTER. Both! I cannot separate them, and that's why I never tried to keep the child.

CONSUL. But do you think you did right? Did the possibility of a stepfather never occur to you?

MASTER. I didn't think that far ahead at the time, but afterward, of course, I have had—my thoughts—about—that very thing.

CONSUL. A stepfather who abused—perhaps debased—your daughter?

MASTER. Hush!

CONSUL. What is it you hear?

MASTER. I thought I heard the "little steps"—those little steps that came tripping down the corridor when she was looking for me.—It was the child that was the best of all! To watch that fearless little creature, whom nothing could frighten, who never suspected that life might be deceptive, who had no secrets! I recall her first experience of the malice that is in human beings. She caught sight of a pretty child down in the park, and, though it was strange to her, she went up to it with open arms to kiss it—and the pretty child rewarded her friendliness by biting her in the cheek first and then making a face at her. Then you should have seen my little Anne-Charlotte. She stood as if turned to stone. And it wasn't pain that did it, but horror at the sight of that yawning abyss which is called the human heart. I have been confronted with the same sight myself once, when out of two beautiful eyes suddenly shot strange glances as if some evil beast had appeared behind those eyes. It scared me literally so that I had to see if some other person were standing behind that face, which looked like a mask.—But why do we sit here talking about such things? Is it the heat, or the storm, or what?

CONSUL. Solitude brings heavy thoughts, and you ought to have company. This summer in the city seems to have been rather hard on you.

MASTER. Only these last few weeks. The sickness and that death up above—it was as if I had gone through it myself. The sorrows and cares of the confectioner have also become my own, so that I keep worrying about his finances, about his wife's eye trouble, about his future—and of late I have been dreaming every night about my little Anne-Charlotte. I see her surrounded by dangers—unknown, undiscovered, nameless. And before I fall asleep my hearing grows so unbelievably acute that I can hear her little steps—and once I heard her voice——

CONSUL. But where is she then?

MASTER. Don't ask me!

CONSUL. And if you were to meet her on the street?

MASTER. I imagine that I should lose my reason or fall in a faint. Once, you know, I stayed abroad very long, during the very time when our youngest sister was growing up. When I returned, after several years, I was met at the steam-boat landing by a young girl who put her arms around my neck. I was horrified at those eyes that searched mine, but with unfamiliar glances—glances that expressed absolute terror at not being recognised. "It is I," she repeated again and again before at last I was able to recognise my own sister. And that's how I imagine it would be for me to meet my daughter again. Five years are enough to render you unrecognisable at that age. Think of it: not to know your own child! That child, who is the same as before, and yet a stranger! I couldn't survive such a thing. No, then I prefer to keep the little girl of four years whom you see over there on the altar of my home. I want no other one. [Pause] That must be Louise putting things to rights in the linen closet. It has such a clean smell, and it reminds me—oh, the housewife at her linen closet; the good fairy that preserves and renews; the housewife with her iron, who smooths out all that has been ruffled up and who takes out all wrinkles—the wrinkles, yes—[Pause] Now—I'll—go in there to write a letter. If you'll stay, I'll be out again soon.

[He goes out to the left.TheCONSULcoughs.

[He goes out to the left.

TheCONSULcoughs.

GERDA. [Appears in the door to the hallway] Are you—[The clock strikes] Oh, mercy! That sound—which has remained in my ears for ten years! That clock which never kept time and yet measured the long hours and days and nights of five years. [She looks around] My piano—my palms—the dinner-table—he has kept it in honour, shining as a shield! My buffet—with the "Knight in Armour" and "Eve"—Eve with her basketful of apples—In the right-hand upper drawer, way back, there was a thermometer lying—[Pause] I wonder if it is still there? [She goes to the buffet and pulls out the right-hand drawer] Yes, there it is!

CONSUL. What does that mean?

GERDA. Oh, in the end it became a symbol—of instability. When we went to housekeeping the thermometer was not put in its place at once—of course, it ought to be outside the window. I promised to put it up—and forgot it. He promised, and forgot. Then we nagged each other about it, and at last, to get away from it, I hid it in this drawer. I came to hate it, and so did he. Do you know what was back of all that? Neither one of us believed that our relationship would last, because we unmasked at once and gave free vent to our antipathies. To begin with, we lived on tiptoe, so to speak—always ready to fly off at a moment's notice. That was what the thermometer stood for—and here it is still lying! Always on the move, always changeable, like the weather. [She puts away the thermometer and goes over to the chess-board] My chess pieces! Which he bought to kill the time that hung heavy on our hands while we were waiting for the little one to come. With whom does he play now?

CONSUL. With me.

GERDA. Where is he?

CONSUL. He is in his room writing a letter.

GERDA. Where?

CONSUL. [Pointing toward the left] There.

GERDA. [Shocked] And here he has been going for five years?

CONSUL. Ten years—five of them alone!

GERDA. Of course, he loves solitude.

CONSUL. But I think he has had enough of it.

GERDA. Will he turn me out?

CONSUL. Find out for yourself! You take no risk, as he is always polite.

GERDA. I didn't make that centrepiece——

CONSUL. That is to say, you risk his asking you for the child.

GERDA. But it was he who should help me find it again——

CONSUL. Where do you think Fischer has gone, and what can be the purpose of his flight?

GERDA. To get away from the unpleasant neighbourhood, first of all; then to make me run after him. And he wanted the girl as a hostage, of course.

CONSUL. As to the ballet—that's something the fathermust notknow, for he hates music-halls.

GERDA. [Sitting down in front of the chess-board and beginning, absent-mindedly, to arrange the pieces] Music-halls—oh, I have been there myself.

CONSUL. You?

GERDA. I have accompanied on the piano.

CONSUL. Poor Gerda!

GERDA. Why? I love that kind of life. And when I was a prisoner here, it wasn't the keeper, but the prison itself, that made me fret.

CONSUL. But now you have had enough?

GERDA. Now I am in love with peace and solitude—and with my child above all.

CONSUL. Hush, he's coming!

GERDA. [Rises as if to run away, but sinks down on the chair again] Oh!

CONSUL. Now I leave you. Don't think of what you are to say. It will come of itself, like the "next move" in a game of chess.

GERDA. I fear his first glance most of all, for it will tell me whether I have changed for better or for worse—whether I have grown old and ugly.

CONSUL. [Going out to the right] If he finds you looking older, then he will dare to approach you. If he finds you as young as ever, he will have no hope, for he is more diffident than you think.—Now!

TheMASTERis seen outside, passing by the door leading to the pantry; he carries a letter in his hand; then he disappears, only to become visible again a moment later in the hallway, where he opens the outside door and steps out.

CONSUL. [In the doorway at the right] He went out to the mail-box.

GERDA. No, this is too much for me! How can I possibly askhimto help me with this divorce? I want to get out! It's too brazen!

CONSUL. Stay! You know that his kindness has no limits. And he'll help you for the child's sake.

GERDA. No, no!

CONSUL. And he is the only one who can help you.

MASTER. [Enters quickly from the hallway and nods atGERDA,whom, because of his near-sightedness, he mistakes forLOUISE;then he goes to the buffet and picks up the telephone, but in passing he remarks toGERDA] So you're done already? Well, get the pieces ready then, and we'll begin all over again—from the beginning.

GERDAstands paralysed, not understanding the situation.

MASTER. [Speaks in the telephone receiver, with his back toGerda] Hello!—Good evening! Is that you, mother?—Pretty well, thank you! Louise is waiting to play a game of chess with me, but she is a little tired after a lot of bother—It's all over now—everything all right—nothing serious at all.—If it's hot? Well, there has been a lot of thundering, right over our heads, but nobody has been struck. False alarm!—What did you say? Fischer?—Yes, but I think they are going to leave.—Why so? I know nothing in particular.—Oh, is that so?—Yes, it leaves at six-fifteen, by the outside route, and it gets there—let me see—at eight-twenty-five.—Did you have a good time?—[With a little laugh] Oh, he's impossible when he gets started! And what did Marie have to say about it?—How I have had it during the summer? Oh, well, Louise and I have kept each other company, and she has got such an even, pleasant temper.—Yes, she is very nice, indeed!—Oh, no, nothing of that kind!

GERDA,who has begun to understand, rises with an expression of consternation on her face.

MASTER. My eyes? Oh, I am getting a little near-sighted. But I feel like the confectioner's old wife: there is nothing to look at. Wish I were deaf, too! Deaf and blind! The neighbours above make such a lot of noise at night—it's a gambling club—There now! Somebody got on the wire to listen. [He rings again.

LOUISEappears in the door to the hallway without being seen by theMASTER;GERDAstares at her with mingled admiration and hatred;LOUISEwithdraws toward the right.

MASTER. [At the telephone] Is that you? The cheek of it—to break off our talk in order to listen!—To-morrow, then, at six-fifteen.—Thank you, and the same to you!—Yes, I will, indeed!—Good night, mother! [He rings off.

LOUISEhas disappeared.GERDAis standing in the middle of the floor.

MASTER. [Turns around and catches sight ofGERDA,whom he gradually recognises; then he puts his hand to his heart] O Lord, was that you? Wasn't Louise here a moment ago?

GERDAremains silent.

MASTER. [Feebly] How—how did you get here?

GERDA. I hope you pardon—I just got to the city—I was passing by and felt a longing to have a look at my old home—the windows were open——

[Pause.

MASTER. Do you find things as they used to be?

GERDA. Exactly, and yet different—there is a difference

MASTER. [Feeling unhappy] Are you satisfied—with your life?

GERDA. Yes. I have what I was looking for.

MASTER. And the child?

GERDA. Oh, she's growing, and thriving, and lacks nothing.

MASTER. Then I won't ask anything more. [Pause] Did you want anything—of me—can I be of any service?

GERDA. It's very kind of you, but—I need nothing at all now when I have seen that you lack nothing either. [Pause]Do you wish to see Anne-Charlotte?

MASTER. I don't think so, now when I have heard that she is doing well. It's so hard to begin over again. It's like having to repeat a lesson at school—which you know already, although the teacher doesn't think so—I have got so far away from all that—I live in a wholly different region—and I cannot connect with the past. It goes against me to be impolite, but I am not asking you to be seated—you are another man's wife—and you are not the same person as the one from whom I parted.

GERDA. Am I then so—altered?

MASTER. Quite strange to me! Your voice, glance, manner——

GERDA. Have I grown old?

MASTER. That I cannot tell!—They say that not a single atom in a person's body remains wholly the same after three years—and in five years everything is renewed. And for that reason you, who stand over there, are not the same person as the sufferer who once sat here—you seem such a complete stranger to me that I can only address you in the most formal way. And I suppose it would be just the same in the case of my daughter, too.

GERDA. Don't speak like that. I would much rather have you angry.

MASTER. Why should I be angry?

GERDA. Because of all the evil I have done you.

MASTER. Have you? That's more than I know.

GERDA. Didn't you read the papers in the suit?

MASTER. No-o! I left that to my lawyer. [He sits down.

GERDA. And the decision of the court?

MASTER. No, why should I? As I don't mean to marry again, I have no use for that kind of documents.

Pause.GERDAseats herself.

MASTER. What did those papers say? That I was too old?

GERDA'Ssilence indicates assent.

MASTER. Well, that was nothing but the truth, so that need not trouble you. In my answer I said the very same thing and asked the Court to set you free again.

GERDA. You said, that——

MASTER. I said, not that Iwas, but that I was about tobecometoo oldfor you!

GERDA. [Offended] For me?

MASTER. Yes.—I couldn't say that I was too old when we married, for then the arrival of the child would have been unpleasantly explained, and it wasourchild, was it not?

GERDA. You know that, of course! But——

MASTER. Do you think I should be ashamed of my age?—Of course, if I took to dancing and playing cards at night, then I might soon land in an invalid's chair, or on the operating-table, and that would be a shame.

GERDA. You don't look it——

MASTER. Did you expect the divorce to kill me?

The silence ofGERDAis ambiguous.

MASTER. There are those who assert that youhavekilled me. Do you think I look like a dead man?

GERDAappears embarrassed.

MASTER. Some of your friends are said to have caricatured me in the papers, but I have never seen anything of it, and those papers went into the dump five years ago. So there is no need for your conscience to be troubled on my behalf.

GERDA. Why did you marry me?

MASTER. Don't you know why a man marries? And you know, too, that I didn't have to go begging for love. And you ought to remember how we laughed together at all the wiseacres who felt compelled to warn you.—But why you led me on is something I have never been able to explain—When you didn't look at me after the marriage ceremony, but acted as if you had been attending somebody else's wedding, then I thought you had made a bet that you could kill me. As the head of the department, I was, of course, hated by all my subordinates, but they became your friends at once. No sooner did I make an enemy than he becameyourfriend. Which caused me to remark that, while it was right for you not to hate your enemies, it was also right that you shouldn'tlovemine!—However, seeing where you stood, I began to prepare for a retreat at once, but before leaving I wanted a living proof that you had not been telling the truth, and so I stayed until the little one arrived.

GERDA. To think that you could be so disingenuous!

MASTER. I learned to keep silent, but I never lied!—By degrees you turned all my friends into detectives, and you lured my own brother into betraying me. But worst of all was that your thoughtless chatter threw suspicions on the legitimacy of the child.

GERDA. All that I took back!

MASTER. The word that's on the wing cannot be pulled back again. And worse still: those false rumours reached the child, and now she thinks her mother a——

GERDA. For Heaven's sake!

MASTER. Well, that's the truth of it. You raised a tall tower on a foundation of lies, and now the tower of lies is tumbling down on your head.

GERDA. It isn't true!

MASTER. Yes, it is! I met Anne-Charlotte a few minutes ago——

GERDA. You have met——

MASTER. We met on the stairs, and she said I was her uncle. Do you know what an uncle is? That's an elderly friend of the house and the mother. And I know that at school I am also passing as her uncle.—But all that is dreadful for the child!

GERDA. You have met——

MASTER. Yes. But why should I tell anybody about it? Haven't I a right to keep silent? And, besides, that meeting was so shocking to me that I wiped it out of my memory as if it had never existed.

GERDA. What can I do to rehabilitate you?

MASTER. You? What could you do? That's something I can only do myself. [For a long time they gaze intently at each other] And for that matter, I have already got my rehabilitation. [Pause.

GERDA. Can't I make good in some way? Can't I ask you to forgive, to forget——

MASTER. What do you mean?

GERDA. To restore, to repair——

MASTER. Do you mean to resume, to start over again, to reinstate a master above me? No, thanks! I don't want you.

GERDA. And this I had to hear!

MASTER. Well, how does it taste? [Pause.

GERDA. That's a pretty centrepiece.

MASTER. Yes, it's pretty.

GERDA. Where did you get it? [Pause.

LOUISEappears in the door to the pantry with a bill in her hand.

MASTER. [Turning toward her] Is it a bill?

GERDArises and begins to pull on her gloves with such violence that buttons are scattered right and left.

MASTER. [Taking out the money] Eighteen-seventy-two. That's just right.

LOUISE. I should like to see you a moment, sir.

MASTER. [Rises and goes to the door, whereLOUISEwhispers something into his ear] Oh, mercy——

LOUISEgoes out.

MASTER. I am sorry for you, Gerda!

GERDA. What do you mean? That I am jealous of your servant-girl?

MASTER. No, I didn't mean that.

GERDA. Yes, you meant that you were too old for me, but not for her. I catch the insulting point—She's pretty—I don't deny it—for a servant-girl——

MASTER. I am sorry for you, Gerda!

GERDA. Why do you say that?

MASTER. Because you are to be pitied. Jealous of my servant—that ought to be rehabilitation enough.

GERDA. Jealous, I——

MASTER. Why do you fly in a rage at my nice, gentle kinswoman?

GERDA. "A little more than kin."

MASTER. No, my dear, I have long ago resigned myself—and I am satisfied with my solitude—[The telephone rings, and he goes to answer it] Mr. Fischer? No, that isn't here.—Oh, yes, that's me.—Has he skipped?—With whom, do you say?—with Starck's daughter! Oh, good Lord! How old is she?—Eighteen! A mere child! [Rings off.

GERDA. I knew he had run away.—But with a woman!—Now you're pleased.

MASTER. No, I am not pleased. Although there is a sort of solace to my mind in finding justice exists in this world. Life is very quick in its movements, and now you find yourself where I was.

GERDA. Her eighteen years against my twenty-nine—I am old—too old for him!

MASTER. Everything is relative, even age.—But now let us get at something else. Where is your child?

GERDA. My child? I had forgotten it! My child! My God! Help me! He has taken the child with him. He loves Anne-Charlotte as his own daughter—Come with me to the police—come!

MASTER. I? Now you ask too much.

GERDA. Help me!

MASTER. [Goes to the door at the right] Come, Carl Frederick—get a cab—take Gerda down to the police station—won't you?

CONSUL. [Enters] Of course I will! We are human, are we not?

MASTER. Quick! But say nothing to Starck. Matters may be straightened out yet—Poor fellow—and I am sorry for Gerda, too!—Hurry up now!

GERDA. [Looking out through the window] It's beginning to rain—lend me an umbrella. Eighteen years—only eighteen—quick, now!

She goes out with theCONSUL.

MASTER. [Alone] The peace of old age!—And my child in the hands of an adventurer!—Louise!

LOUISEenters.

MASTER. Come and play chess with me.

LOUISE. Has the consul——

MASTER. He has gone out on some business. Is it still raining?

LOUISE. No, it has stopped now.

MASTER. Then I'll go out and cool off a little. [Pause] You are a nice girl, and sensible—did you know the confectioner's daughter?

LOUISE. Very slightly.

MASTER. Is she pretty?

LOUISE. Ye-es.

MASTER. Have you known the people above us?

LOUISE. I have never seen them.

MASTER. That's an evasion.

LOUISE. I have learned to keep silent in this house.

MASTER. I am forced to admit that pretended deafness can be carried to the point where it becomes dangerous.—Well, get the tea ready while I go outside and cool off a little. And, one thing, please—you see what is happening, of course—but don't ask me any questions.

LOUISE. I? No, sir, I am not at all curious.

MASTER. I am thankful for that!

Curtain.

The front of the house as in the First Scene. There is light in the confectioner's place in the basement. The gas is also lit on the second floor, where now the shades are raised and the windows open.STARCKis sitting near the gateway.

STARCKis sitting near the gateway.

MASTER. [Seated on the green bench] That was a nice little shower we had.

STARCK. Quite a blessing! Now the raspberries will be coming in again——

MASTER. Then I'll ask you to put aside a few jars for us. We have grown tired of making the jam ourselves. It only gets spoiled.

STARCK. Yes, I know. Jars of jam are like mischievous children: you have to watch them all the time. There are people who put in salicylic acid, but those are newfangled tricks in which I take no stock.

MASTER. Salicylic acid—yes, they say it's antiseptic—and perhaps it's a good thing.

STARCK. Yes, but you can taste it—and it's a trick.

MASTER. Tell me, Mr. Starck, have you got a telephone?

STARCK. No, I have no telephone.

MASTER. Oh!

STARCK. Why do you ask?

MASTER. Oh, I happened to think—a telephone is handy at times—for orders—and important communications——

STARCK. That may be. But sometimes it is just as well to escape—communications.

MASTER. Quite right! Quite right!—Yes, my heart always beats a little faster when I hear it ring—one never knows what one is going to hear—and I want peace—peace, above all else.

STARCK. So do I.

MASTER. [Looking at his watch] The lamplighter ought to be here soon.

STARCK. He must have forgotten us, for I see that the lamps are already lit further down the avenue.

MASTER. Then he'll be here soon. It will be a lot of fun to see our lamp lighted again.

The telephone in the dining-room rings.LOUISEcomes in to answer the call. TheMASTERrises and puts one hand up to his heart. He tries to listen, but the public cannot hear anything of what is said within. Pause. After a whileLOUISEcomes out by way of the square.

MASTER. [Anxiously] What news?

LOUISE. No change.

MASTER. Was that my brother?

LOUISE. No, it was the lady.

MASTER. What did she want?

LOUISE. To speak to you, sir.

MASTER. I don't want to!—Have I to console my executioner? I used to do it, but now I am tired of it.—Look up there! They have forgotten to turn out the light—and light makes empty rooms more dreadful than darkness—the ghosts become visible. [In a lowered voice] And how about Starck's Agnes? Do you think he knows anything?

LOUISE. It's hard to tell, for he never speaks about his sorrows—nor does anybody else in the Silent House!

MASTER. Do you think he should be told?

LOUISE. For Heaven's sake, no!

MASTER. But I fear it isn't the first time she gave him trouble.

LOUISE. He never speaks of her.

MASTER. It's horrible! I wonder if we'll get to the end of it soon? [The telephone rings again] Now it's ringing again. Don't answer. I don't want to hear anything.—My child—in such company! An adventurer and a strumpet!—It's beyond limit!—Poor Gerda!

LOUISE. It's better to have certainty. I'll go in—You must do something!

MASTER. I cannot move—I can receive blows, but to strike back—no!

LOUISE. But if you don't repel a danger, it will press closer; and if you don't resist, you'll be destroyed.

MASTER. But if you refuse to be drawn in, you become unassailable.

LOUISE. Unassailable?

MASTER. Things straighten out much better if you don't mess them up still further by interference. How can you want me to direct matters where so many passions are at play? Do you think I can suppress anybody's emotions, or give them a new turn?

LOUISE. But how about the child?

MASTER. I have surrendered my rights—and besides—frankly speaking—I don't care for them—not at all now, whenshehas been here and spoiled the images harboured in my memory. She has wiped out all the beauty that I had cherished, and now there is nothing left.

LOUISE. But that's to be set free!

MASTER. Look, how empty the place seems in there—as if everybody had moved out; and up there—as if there had been a fire.

LOUISE. Who is coming there?

AGNESenters, excited and frightened, but trying hard to control herself; she makes for the gateway, where the confectioner is seated on his chair.

LOUISE[To theMASTER] There is Agnes? What can this mean?

MASTER. Agnes? Then things are getting straightened out.

STARCK. [With perfect calm] Good evening, girl! Where have you been?

AGNES. I have been for a walk.

STARCK. Your mother has asked for you several times.

AGNES. Is that so? Well, here I am.

STARCK. Please go down and help her start a fire under the little oven.

AGNES. Is she angry with me, then?

STARCK. You know that she cannot be angry with you.

AGNES. Oh, yes, but she doesn't say anything.

STARCK. Well, girl, isn't it better to escape being scolded?

AGNESdisappears into the gateway.

MASTER. [ToLOUISE] Does he know, or doesn't he?

LOUISE. Let's hope that he will remain in ignorance.

MASTER. But what can have happened? A breach? [ToSTARCK] Say, Mr. Starck——

STARCK. What is it?

MASTER. I thought—Did you notice if anybody left the house a while ago?

STARCK. I saw the iceman, and also a mail-carrier, I think.

MASTER. Oh! [ToLOUISE] Perhaps it was a mistake—that we didn't hear right—I can't explain it—Or maybe he is not telling the truth? What did she say when she telephoned?

LOUISE. That she wanted to speak to you.

MASTER. How did it sound? Was she excited?

LOUISE. Yes.

MASTER. I think it's rather shameless of her to appeal to me in a matter like this.

LOUISE. But the child!

MASTER. Just think, I met my daughter on the stairway, and when I asked her if she recognised me she called me uncle and told me that her father was up-stairs. Of course, he is her stepfather, and has all the rights—They have just spent their time exterminating me, blackguarding me——

LOUISE. A cab is stopping at the corner.

Starckwithdraws into the gateway.

MASTER. I only hope they don't come back to burden me again! Just think: to have to hear my child singing the praise of her father—the other one! And then to begin the old story all over again: "Why did you marry me?"—"Oh, you know; but what made you want me?"—"You know very well!"—And so on, until the end of the world.

LOUISE. It was the consul that came.

MASTER. How does he look?

LOUISE. He is taking his time.

MASTER. Practising what he is to say, I suppose. Does he look satisfied?

LOUISE. Thoughtful, rather——

MASTER. Hm!—That's the way it always was. Whenever he saw that woman he became disloyal to me. She had the power of charming everybody but me. To me she seemed coarse, vulgar, ugly, stupid; to all the rest she seemed refined, pleasant, handsome, intelligent. All the hatred aroused by my independence centred in her under the form of a boundless sympathy for whoever wronged me in any way. Through her they strove to control and influence me, to wound me, and, at last, to kill me.

LOUISE. Now, I'll go in and watch the telephone—I suppose this storm will pass like all others.

MASTER. Men cannot bear independence. They want you to obey them. Every one of my subordinates in the department, down to the very messengers, wanted me to obey him. And when I wouldn't they called me a despot. The servants in our house wanted me to obey them and eat food that had been warmed up. When I wouldn't, they set my wife against me. And finally my wife wanted me to obey the child, but then I left, and then all of them combined against the tyrant—which was I!—Get in there quick now, Louise, so we can set off our mines out here.

TheCONSULenters from the left.

MASTER. Results—not details—please!

CONSUL. Let's sit down. I am a little tired.

MASTER. I think it has rained on the bench.

CONSUL. It can't be too wet for me if you have been sitting on it.

MASTER. As you like!—Where is my child?

CONSUL. Can I begin at the beginning?

MASTER. Begin!

CONSUL[Speaking slowly] I got to the depot with Gerda—and at the ticket-office I discovered him and Agnes——

MASTER. So Agnes was with him?

CONSUL. And so was the child!—Gerda stayed outside, and I went up to them. At that momenthewas handing Agnes the tickets, but when she discovered that they were for third class she threw them in his face and walked out to the cab-stand.

MASTER. Ugh!

CONSUL. As soon as I had established a connection with the man, Gerda hurried up and got hold of the child, disappearing with it in the crowd——

MASTER. What did the man have to say?

CONSUL. Oh, you know—when you come to hear the other side—and so on.

MASTER. I want to hear it. Of course, he isn't as bad as we thought—he has his good sides——

CONSUL. Exactly!

MASTER. I thought so! But you don't want me to sit here listening to eulogies of my enemy?

CONSUL. Oh, not eulogies, but ameliorating circumstances——

MASTER. Did you ever want to listen to me when I tried to explain the true state of affairs to you? Yes, you did listen—but your reply was a disapproving silence, as if I had been lying to you. You have always sided with what was wrong, and you have believed nothing but lies, and the reason was—that you were in love with Gerda! But there was also another reason——

CONSUL. Brother, don't say anything more! You see nothing but your own side of things.

MASTER. How can you expect me to view my conditions from the standpoint of my enemy? I cannot take sides against myself, can I?

CONSUL. I am not your enemy.

MASTER. Yes, when you make friends with one who has wronged me!—Where is my child?

CONSUL. I don't know.

MASTER. What was the outcome at the depot?

CONSUL. He took a south-bound train alone.

MASTER. And the others?

CONSUL. Disappeared.

MASTER. Then I may have them after me again. [Pause]Did you see if they went with him?

CONSUL. He went alone.

MASTER. Well, then we are done with that one, at least. Number two—there remain now—the mother and the child.

CONSUL. Why is the light burning up there in their rooms?

MASTER. Because they forgot to turn it out.

CONSUL. I'll go up——

MASTER. No, don't go!—I only hope that they don't come back here!—To repeat, always repeat, begin the same lesson all over again!

CONSUL. But it has begun to straighten out.

MASTER. Yet the worst remains—Do you think they will come back?

CONSUL. Not she—not since she had to make you amends in the presence of Louise.

MASTER. I had forgotten that! She really did me the honour of becoming jealous! I do think there is justice in this world!

CONSUL. And then she learned that Agnes was younger than herself.

MASTER. Poor Gerda! But in a case like this you mustn't tell people that justice exists—an avenging justice—for it is sheer falsehood that they love justice! And you must deal gently with their filth. And Nemesis—exists only for the other person.—There it's ringing again? That telephone makes a noise like a rattlesnake!

LOUISEbecomes visible at the telephone inside. Pause.

MASTER. [ToLOUISE] Did the snake bite?

LOUISE. [At the window] May I speak to you, sir?

MASTER. [Going up to the window] Speak out!

LOUISE. The lady has gone to her mother, in the country, to live there with her little girl.

MASTER. [To his brother] Mother and child in the country—in a good home! Now it's straightened out!—Oh!

LOUISE. And she asked us to turn out the light up-stairs.

MASTER. Do that at once, Louise, and pull down the shades so we don't have to look at it any longer.

LOUISEleaves the dining-room.

STARCK. [Coming out on the sidewalk again and looking up]I think the storm has passed over.

MASTER. It seems really to have cleared up, and that means we'll have moonlight.

CONSUL. That was a blessed rain!

STARCK. Perfectly splendid!

MASTER. Look, there's the lamplighter coming at last!

TheLAMPLIGHTERenters, lights the street lamp beside the bench, and passes on.

MASTER. The first lamp! Now the fall is here! That's our season, old chaps! It's getting dark, but then comes reason to light us with its bull's-eyes, so that we don't go astray.

LOUISEbecomes visible at one of the windows on the second floor; immediately afterward everything is dark up there.

MASTER. [ToLOUISE] Close the windows and pull down the shades so that all memories can lie down and sleep in peace! The peace of old age! And this fall I move away from the Silent House.

Curtain.

CHARACTERSRUDOLPH WALSTRÖM,a dyerTHE STRANGER,who is brother ofRUDOLPH)ARVID WALSTRÖMbrother ofRUDOLPHANDERSON,a mason (brother-in-law of the gardener)MRS. ANDERSON,wife of the masonGUSTAFSON,a gardener (brother-in-law of the mason)ALFRED,son of the gardenerALBERT ERICSON,a stone-cutter(second cousin of the hearse-driver)MATHILDA,daughter of the stone-cutterTHE HEARSE-DRIVER(second cousin of the stone-cutter)A DETECTIVESJÖBLOM,a painterMRS. WESTERLUND,hostess at "The Last Nail," formerly anurse at the dyer'sMRS. WALSTRÖM,wife of the dyerTHE STUDENTTHE WITNESS

The left half of the background is occupied by the empty shell of a gutted one-story brick house. In places the paper remains on the walls, and a couple of brick stoves are still standing.Beyond the walls can be seen an orchard in bloom.At the right is the front of a small inn, the sign of which is a wreath hanging from a pole. Tables and benches are placed outside.At the left, in the foreground, there is a pile of furniture and household utensils that have been saved from the fire.SJÖBLOM,the painter, is painting the window-frames of the inn. He listens closely to everything that is said.ANDERSON,the mason, is digging in the ruins.TheDETECTIVEenters.

The left half of the background is occupied by the empty shell of a gutted one-story brick house. In places the paper remains on the walls, and a couple of brick stoves are still standing.

Beyond the walls can be seen an orchard in bloom.

At the right is the front of a small inn, the sign of which is a wreath hanging from a pole. Tables and benches are placed outside.

At the left, in the foreground, there is a pile of furniture and household utensils that have been saved from the fire.

SJÖBLOM,the painter, is painting the window-frames of the inn. He listens closely to everything that is said.

ANDERSON,the mason, is digging in the ruins.

TheDETECTIVEenters.

DETECTIVE. Is the fire entirely out?

ANDERSON. There isn't any smoke, at least.

DETECTIVE. Then I want to ask a few more questions. [Pause] You were born in this quarter, were you not?

ANDERSON. Oh, yes. It's seventy-five years now I've lived on this street. I wasn't born when they built this house here, but my father helped to put in the brick.

DETECTIVE. Then you know everybody around here?

ANDERSON. We all know each other. There is something particular about this street here. Those that get in here once, never get away from it. That is, they move away, but they always come back again sooner or later, until at last they are carried out to the cemetery, which is way out there at the end of the street.

DETECTIVE. You have got a special name for this quarter, haven't you?

ANDERSON. We call it the Bog. And all of us hate each other, and suspect each other, and blackguard each other, and torment each other [Pause.

DETECTIVE. The fire started at half past ten in the evening, I hear—was the front door locked at that time?

ANDERSON. Well, that's more than I know, for I live in the house next to this.

DETECTIVE. Where did the fire start?

ANDERSON. Up in the attic, where the student was living.

DETECTIVE. Was he at home?

ANDERSON. No, he was at the theatre.

DETECTIVE. Had he gone away and left the lamp burning, then?

ANDERSON. Well, that's more than I know. [Pause.

DETECTIVE. Is the student any relation to the owner of the house?

ANDERSON. No, I don't think so.—Say, you haven't got anything to do with the police, have you?

DETECTIVE. How did it happen that the inn didn't catch fire?

ANDERSON. They slung a tarpaulin over it and turned on the hose.

DETECTIVE. Queer that the apple-trees were not destroyed by the heat.

ANDERSON. They had just budded, and it had been raining during the day, but the heat made the buds go into bloom in the middle of the night—a little too early, I guess, for there is frost coming, and then the gardener will catch it.

DETECTIVE. What kind of fellow is the gardener?

ANDERSON. His name is Gustafson——

DETECTIVE. Yes, but what sort of a man is he?

ANDERSON. See here: I am seventy-five—and for that reason I don't know anything bad about Gustafson; and if I knew I wouldn't be telling it! [Pause.

DETECTIVE. And the owner of the house is named Walström, a dyer, about sixty years old, married——

ANDERSON. Why don't you go on yourself? You can't pump me any longer.

DETECTIVE. Is it thought that the fire was started on purpose?

ANDERSON. That's what people think of all fires.

DETECTIVE. And whom do they suspect?

ANDERSON. The insurance company always suspects anybody who has an interest in the fire—and for that reason I have never had anything insured.

DETECTIVE. Did you find anything while you were digging?

ANDERSON. Mostly one finds all the door-keys, because people haven't got time to take them along when the house is on fire—except now and then, of course, when they have been taken away——

DETECTIVE. There was no electric light in the house?

ANDERSON. Not in an old house like this, and that's a good thing, for then they can't put the blame on crossed wires.

DETECTIVE. Put the blame?—A good thing?—Listen——

ANDERSON. Oh, you're going to get me in a trap? Don't you do it, for then I take it all back.

DETECTIVE. Take back? You can't!

ANDERSON. Can't I?

DETECTIVE. No!

ANDERSON. Yes! For there was no witness present.

DETECTIVE. No?

ANDERSON. Naw!

TheDETECTIVEcoughs. TheWITNESScomes in from the left.

DETECTIVE. Here'sonewitness.

ANDERSON. You're a sly one!

DETECTIVE. Oh, there are people who know how to use their brains without being seventy-five. [To theWITNESS] Now we'll continue with the gardener.

[They go out to the left.

ANDERSON. There I put my foot in it, I guess. But that's what happens when you get to talking.

ANDERSONenters with her husband's lunch in a bundle.

ANDERSON. It's good you came.

ANDERSON. Now we'll have lunch and be good—you might well be hungry after all this fuss—I wonder if Gustafson can pull through—he'd just got done with his hotbeds and was about to start digging in the open—why don't you eat?—and there's Sjöblom already at work with his putty—just think of it, that Mrs. Westerlund got off as well as she did—morning, Sjöblom, now you've got work, haven't you?

MRS. WESTERLUNDcomes in.

ANDERSON. Morning, morning, Mrs. Westerlund—you got out of this fine, I must say, and then——

MRS. WESTERLUND. I wonder who's going to pay me for all I am losing to-day, when there's a big funeral on at the cemetery, which always makes it a good day for me, and just when I've had to put away all my bottles and glassware——

ANDERSON. Who's that they're burying to-day? I see such a lot of people going out that way—and then, of course, they've come to see where the fire was, too.

MRS. WESTERLUND. I don't think they're burying anybody, but I've heard they're going to put up a monument over the bishop—worst of it is that the stone-cutter's daughter was going to get married to the gardener's son—him, you know, who's in a store down-town—and now the gardener has lost all he had—isn't that his furniture standing over there?

ANDERSON. I guess that's some of the dyer's, too, seeing as it came out helter-skelter in a jiffy—and where's the dyer now?

MRS. WESTERLUND. He's down at the police station testifying.

ANDERSON. Hm-hm!—Yes, yes!—And there's my cousin now—him what drives the hearse—he's always thirsty on his way back.

HEARSE-DRIVER. [Enters] How do, Malvina! So you've gone and started a little job of arson out here during the night, have you? Looks pretty, doesn't it. Would have been better to get a new shanty instead, I guess.

MRS. WESTERLUND. Oh, mercy me! But whom have you been taking out now?

HEARSE-DRIVER. Can't remember what his name was—onlyonecarriage along, and no flowers on the coffin at all.

MRS. WESTERLUND. Sure and it wasn't any happy funeral, then! If you want anything to drink you'll have to go 'round to the kitchen, for I haven't got things going on this side yet, and, for that matter, Gustafson is coming here with a lot of wreaths—they've got something on out at the cemetery to-day.

HEARSE-DRIVER. Yes, they're going to put up a moniment to the bishop—'cause he wrote books, I guess, and collected all kinds of vermin—was a reg'lar vermin-hunter, they tell me.

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