ACT THIRD

Ellida.

No, it had not! How could you help seeing it? The child’s eyes changed colour with the sea. If the fiord lay in a sunny calm, the eyes were calm and sunny. And the same way in storms.—Oh, I saw it well enough, if you did not.

Wangel.

[Humouring her.] H’m,—perhaps so. But even if it were? What then?

Ellida.

[Softly, and drawing nearer to him.] I have seen eyes like that before.

Wangel.

When? And where——?

Ellida.

Out at Bratthammer. Ten years ago.

Wangel.

[Recoils a step.] What do you——!

Ellida.

[Whispers, trembling.] The child had the strange man’s eyes.

Wangel.

[Cries out involuntarily.] Ellida——!

Ellida.

[Clasps her hands over her head in despair.] Now you can surely understand why I neverwill,—neverdarelive with you as your wife!

[She turns hastily and rushes down the hill to the right.

Wangel.

[Hastens after her and calls.] Ellida! Ellida! My poor unhappyEllida!Ellida!

ACT THIRD

A remote corner ofDr. Wangel’sgarden. The place is damp, marshy, and overshadowed by large old trees. To the right is seen the edge of a stagnant pond. A low open fence divides the garden from the footpath and fiord in the background. In the farthest distance, beyond the fiord, mountain ranges rise into peaks. It is late afternoon, almost evening.

Bolettasits sewing upon a stone seat to the left. On the seat lie a couple of books and a work basket.HildaandLyngstrand,both with fishing-tackle, stand by the edge of the pond.

Hilda.

[Makes a sign toLyngstrand.] Stand still. I see a big one there.

Lyngstrand.

[Looking.] Where is it?

Hilda.

[Points.] Can’t you see—down there. And look! I declare there’s another! [Looks away through the trees.] Ugh—there he comes to frighten them away!

Boletta.

[Looks up.] Who is coming?

Hilda.

Your tutor, miss!

Boletta.

My——?

Hilda.

Yes; thank goodness he was never mine!

Arnholmcomes forward among the trees on the right.

Arnholm.

Are there fish in the pond now?

Hilda.

Yes, there are some very old carp.

Arnholm.

Ah, so the old carp are still alive?

Hilda.

Yes; they’re tough, I can tell you. But now we’re going to put an end to some of them.

Arnholm.

You ought rather to try the fiord.

Lyngstrand.

No, the pond—the pond is more mysterious, as you might call it.

Hilda.

Yes, it’s more thrilling here.—Have you just been having a bathe?

Arnholm.

Precisely. I’ve come straight from the bathing-house.

Hilda.

I suppose you kept within the enclosure?

Arnholm.

Yes, I’m no great swimmer.

Hilda.

Can you swim on your back?

Arnholm.

No.

Hilda.

I can. [ToLyngstrand.] Let us try over there on the other side.

[They skirt the pond, out to the right.

Arnholm.

[Advances toBoletta.] You are all alone, Boletta?

Boletta.

Oh yes, I generally am.

Arnholm.

Is not your mother in the garden?

Boletta.

No; I think she is out walking with father.

Arnholm.

How is she this afternoon?

Boletta.

I don’t quite know. I forgot to ask.

Arnholm.

What are the books you have there?

Boletta.

Oh, one is a botanical book, and the other a descriptive geography.

Arnholm.

Are you fond of that kind of reading?

Boletta.

Yes, when I can find time for it——But of course the housekeeping must come first.

Arnholm.

But does not your mother—your stepmother—help you with that?

Boletta.

No, it is my work. I had to look after it during the two years father was alone; and so it has continued ever since.

Arnholm.

But you are as fond as ever of reading?

Boletta.

Yes, I read all the useful books I can get hold of. One wants to know a little about the world. Here we live so entirely outside of everything,—or almost entirely.

Arnholm.

No, my dear Boletta, don’t say that.

Boletta.

But I do say so. I don’t see much difference between our life and the life of the carp in the pond there. They have the fiord close besidethem, where the great free shoals of fish sweep out and in. But the poor tame house-fishes know nothing of all that; and they can never join in.

Arnholm.

I don’t think it would agree with them at all if they did get out into the fiord.

Boletta.

Oh, they might take their chance ofthat, I should think.

Arnholm.

Besides, you can’t say that you are so utterly out of the world here. Not in summer, at all events. This place is a sort of local centre, nowadays, in the life of the world—a point of convergence for many passing streams.

Boletta.

[Smiling.] Oh, you are in the passing stream yourself; it is easy for you to make game of us.

Arnholm.

I make game——? What puts that into your head?

Boletta.

Why, all this about a centre, and a point of convergence for the life of the world, is simply what you have heard people say in the town. They are always talking like that.

Arnholm.

Yes, frankly, I have noticed as much.

Boletta.

But there’s really not a word of truth in it, you know—not for us who live here constantly. What is it to us that the great outside world passes our doors on its way to the midnight sun? We cannot join in the stream. There is no midnight sun forus. Oh no; we must be content to linger our lives out, here in our carp-pond.

Arnholm.

[Seats himself besides her.] Tell me now, dear Boletta—I wonder if there is not something or other,—some particular thing I mean—that you are all the time longing for, here at home?

Boletta.

Well, perhaps there may be.

Arnholm.

Then what is it? What are you longing for?

Boletta.

Chiefly to get away.

Arnholm.

That before everything?

Boletta.

Yes. And next to learn a little more; to gain some real insight into things in general.

Arnholm.

When I used to read with you, your father often said that he would let you go to college.

Boletta.

Oh yes, poor father,—he says so many things. But when it comes to the point, then——. There is no real energy in father.

Arnholm.

No, unfortunately—I suppose there is not. But have you ever talked to him about this? Put serious pressure on him, I mean?

Boletta.

No, I can’t say that I have.

Arnholm.

Well now really, Boletta, you ought to do so, before it is too late. Why don’t you?

Boletta.

Oh, because there is no real energy in me either, I suppose. I probably take after father in that.

Arnholm.

H’m—I wonder whether you don’t do yourself injustice there?

Boletta.

Oh no, I’m sorry to say. And then father has so little time to think about me and my future—and not much inclination either. He puts things of that sort aside as much as he can; he is so entirely taken up with Ellida——

Arnholm.

With whom——? How——?

Boletta.

I mean that he and my stepmother——[Breaking off.] Father and mother lead a life of their own, you see.

Arnholm.

Well, so much the more reason for you to see about getting away.

Boletta.

Yes, but at the same time I don’t feel as if I had the right to go away—to leave father.

Arnholm.

But, my dear Boletta, you will have to leave him some time, in any case; and since that is so, why delay——?

Boletta.

Yes, I suppose there is nothing else for it. Of course I ought to think of myself too, and try to find a position of some sort. When once father is gone I shall have no one to depend on.—But poor father,—I dread the thought of leaving him.

Arnholm.

Dread——?

Boletta.

Yes, for his own sake.

Arnholm.

But, bless me, what about your stepmother? She will still be with him.

Boletta.

Yes, that’s true. But she is not at all fitted for all that mother knew so well how to do. Thereare so many things she doesn’t see—or perhapswillnot see—or trouble herself about. I don’t know which way to put it.

Arnholm.

H’m,—I think I understand what you mean?

Boletta.

Poor father,—he is weak in certain ways. I daresay you have noticed that yourself. You see he hasn’t enough work to fill up his whole time; and then she is quite incapable of being any support to him.—That is partly his own fault, however.

Arnholm.

How so?

Boletta.

Oh, father always likes to see cheerful faces around him; there must be sunshine and contentment in the house, he says. So I am afraid he often lets her have medicine that does her no good in the long run.

Arnholm.

Do you really think so?

Boletta.

Yes, I can’t get rid of the idea. She is so strange at times. [Vehemently.] But it does seem hard, does it not, that I should have to stay on at home here? It does not in reality help father at all; and I can’t but feel that I have duties towards myself too.

Arnholm.

I’ll tell you what, my dear Boletta,—we must talk all this over more thoroughly.

Boletta.

Oh, that won’t help much; I daresay I was created to pass my life here in the carp-pond.

Arnholm.

Not at all. It depends entirely upon yourself.

Boletta.

[Eagerly.] Do you think so?

Arnholm.

Yes, believe me; it lies wholly and solely in your own hands.

Boletta.

Oh, if it only did——! Do you mean that you will put in a good word for me with father?

Arnholm.

I will do that too. But first of all I want to speak frankly and without reserve to you yourself, my dear Boletta. [Looks out to the left.] Hush! Let no one notice anything; we’ll finish our talk by-and-by.

Ellidaenters from the left. She wears no hat, but has a light shawl thrown over her head and shoulders.

Ellida.

[With nervous animation.] How nice it is here! How delightful!

Arnholm.

[Rising.] Have you been out walking?

Ellida.

Yes, a long, long splendid walk with Wangel. And now we are going out for a sail.

Boletta.

Won’t you sit down?

Ellida.

No thank you; I couldn’t sit.

Boletta.

[Moving along the bench.] There’s plenty of room.

Ellida.

[Walking about.] No no no, I couldn’t sit; I couldn’t sit.

Arnholm.

Your walk has surely done you good; it seems to have exhilarated you.

Ellida.

Oh, I feel so thoroughly well. I feel so unspeakably happy! So safe! So safe——[Looks out to the left.] What large steamer is that coming in?

Boletta.

[Rises and looks out.] It must be the big English boat.

Arnholm.

They are mooring her to the buoy. Does she generally stop here?

Boletta.

Only for half an hour; she goes farther up the fiord.

Ellida.

And then outward again—to-morrow; out on the great open sea; right over the sea. Think of going with her! If one only could! If one only could!

Arnholm.

Have you never taken a longsea-voyagesea-voyage, Mrs. Wangel?

Ellida.

Never in my life; only little trips in the fiords.

Boletta.

[With a sigh.] Oh no, we have to put up with the dry land.

Arnholm.

Well, at any rate, that is our natural element.

Ellida.

No, I don’t think so at all.

Arnholm.

Not dry land?

Ellida.

No, I don’t believe it. I believe that if men had only accustomed themselves from the first to live their life on the sea—or even in the sea—we should by this time have been far more perfect than we are;—both better and happier.

Arnholm.

Do you really believe that?

Ellida.

Well, at any rate, it is a theory of mine. I have often talked of it with Wangel.

Arnholm.

Indeed! And he——?

Ellida.

Oh, he thinks there may be something in it.

Arnholm.

[Joking.] Well, who knows? But what’s done is done. We have once for all taken the wrong turning and become land animals instead of sea animals. All things considered, I’m afraid it is too late now to rectify the error.

Ellida.

Yes, that is the mournful truth. And I believe people have an instinctive feeling of it themselves—it haunts them like a secret sorrow and regret. Believe me, this lies at the very root of the melancholy of mankind. I am sure it does.

Arnholm.

But my dear Mrs. Wangel,—I have never noticed that people are so profoundly melancholy. I should say, on the contrary, that most people take life cheerfully and lightly—with a great, calm, unconscious joy.

Ellida.

Oh no, that is not so. That joy—it is just like our joy in the long, light summer days. It has in it the foreboding of the darkness to come. And this foreboding casts its shadow over the joy of mankind,—just as the driving scud casts its shadow over the fiord. There it lies all blue and shining; and then all of a sudden——

Boletta.

You shouldn’t let yourself dwell on such sad thoughts. You were so bright and cheerfula momenta momentago——

Ellida.

Yes yes, so I was. All this is—it’s so stupid ofme. [Looks uneasily around.] If only Wangel would come down here. He promised me so faithfully; and yet he doesn’t come. He must have forgotten. Dear Mr. Arnholm, won’t you go and find him for me?

Arnholm.

Yes, with pleasure.

Ellida.

Tell him that he really must come at once; for now I cannot see him——

Arnholm.

Not see him——?

Ellida.

Oh, you don’t understand me. When he is not present, I often can’t remember what he looks like; and then it seems as though I had lost him utterly.—It’s so terribly painful. Do go!

[She wanders over in the direction of the pond.

Boletta.

[ToArnholm.] I will go with you; you don’t know——

Arnholm.

Oh don’t trouble; I shall manage——

Boletta.

[In an undertone.] No no, I am uneasy. I’m afraid he is on board the steamer.

Arnholm.

Afraid?

Boletta.

Yes, he generally goes to see if there is any one he knows among the passengers; and there’s a refreshment bar on board——

Arnholm.

Ah! Come along then.

[He andBolettago out to the left.[Ellidastands awhile gazing into the pond. From time to time she talks softly and in broken phrases to herself.

[He andBolettago out to the left.

[Ellidastands awhile gazing into the pond. From time to time she talks softly and in broken phrases to herself.

Outside on the footpath, beyond the garden fence, aStrangerin travelling dress enters from the left. He has bushy, reddish hair and beard, wears a Scotch cap, and has a travelling-wallet slung across his shoulder by a strap.

The Stranger.

[Walks slowly along by the fence, and looks into the garden. When he seesEllidahe stops, looks intently and searchingly at her, and says softly:] Good evening, Ellida!

Ellida.

[Turns round and cries out.] Oh my dear—have you come at last!

The Stranger.

Yes, at last.

Ellida.

[Looks at him, astonished and apprehensive.] Who are you? Are you looking for some one here?

The Stranger.

You know I am.

Ellida.

[Taken aback.] What is this? How strangely you speak to me![20]Who is it you are looking for?

The Stranger.

You know I am looking for you.

Ellida.

[Starts.] Ah——! [Gazes at him a moment, staggers backwards, and breaks out into a half-smothered shriek.] The eyes!—The eyes!

The Stranger.

Well,—are you beginning to recognise me at last? I knew you at once, Ellida.

Ellida.

The eyes. Don’t look at me likethat!that!I will call for help.

The Stranger.

Hush, hush! Don’t be afraid. I will do you no harm.

Ellida.

[Holds her hands over her eyes.] Don’t look at me like that, I say!

The Stranger.

[Leans his arms upon the garden fence.] I came with the English steamer.

Ellida.

[Glances shrinkingly at him.] What do you want with me?

The Stranger.

I promised I would come again, as soon as I could——

Ellida.

Go! Go away again! Never—never come here any more! I wrote to you that everything must be at end between us! Everything! You know I did!

The Stranger.

[Unmoved, without answering.] I wanted to come to you sooner, but I could not. At last I saw my way; and here I am, Ellida.

Ellida.

What do you want with me? What are you thinking of? What have you come here for?

The Stranger.

You know quite well that I have come to take you away.

Ellida.

[Shrinking back in terror.] To take me away! Isthatwhat you intend?

The Stranger.

Yes, of course.

Ellida.

But surely you know that I am married!

The Stranger.

Yes, I know it.

Ellida.

And yet——! In spite of that, you have come to—to—take me away!

The Stranger.

Yes, you see I have.

Ellida.

[Presses both her hands to her head.] Oh this fearful——! Oh this terror, this terror——!

The Stranger.

Perhaps you do not wish to come!

Ellida.

[Beside herself.] Don’t look at me like that!

The Stranger.

Do you not wish to come, I ask?

Ellida.

No, no, no! I will not! Never to the end of time! I will not, I say! I neither can, nor will! [Lower.] I dare not, either.

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