Chapter 13

Arnholm.

Is your wife not at home to-day?

Wangel.

Oh yes, she’ll be here very soon. She has gone to bathe. She never misses a day at this season; no matter what the weather may be.

Arnholm.

Is she out of health?

Wangel.

No, not exactly; but she has been curiously nervous the last couple of years or so—off and on, you know. I can’t quite make out what is wrong with her. But to get into the sea is life and happiness to her.

Arnholm.

I remember that of old.

Wangel.

[With an almost imperceptible smile.] Yes, to be sure, you knew Ellida when you were tutor out at Skioldvik.[17]

Arnholm.

Of course. She often visited at the parsonage. And I used generally to see her when I went to the lighthouse to have a talk with her father.

Wangel.

Her life out there has left a deep impression upon her, as you may imagine. In town here people can’t understand it at all. They call her “the lady from the sea.”

Arnholm.

Do they?

Wangel.

Yes. And look here—speak to her about the old days, my dear Arnholm. I am sure it will do her good.

Arnholm.

[Looking doubtfully at him.] Have you any particular reason to think so?

Wangel.

Yes, certainly I have.

Ellida’s Voice.

[Heard without, in the garden to the right.] Are you there, Wangel?

Wangel.

[Rising.] Yes, dear.

Mrs. Wangel,with a large light cloak round her, and with wet hair hanging loose over her shoulders, comes from among the trees beside the arbour.Arnholmrises.

Wangel.

[Smiling and stretching out his hands towards her.] Ah, here comes the mermaid!

Ellida.

[Hastens up to the verandah and seizes his hands.] Thank heaven, you’re safe home again! When did you come?

Wangel.

Just now—a few moments ago. [Points toArnholm.] But have you nothing to say to an old acquaintance——?

Ellida.

[Holds out her hand toArnholm.] So you have really come then? Welcome! And forgive my not being at home——

Arnholm.

Oh, don’t mention it. Pray don’t stand on ceremony——

Wangel.

Was the water nice and cool to-day?

Ellida.

Cool! Why, the water never is cool here—so tepid and flat. Pah! the water is sickly in here in the fiords.

Arnholm.

Sickly?

Ellida.

Yes, sickly. And I believe it makes one sickly too.

Wangel.

[Smiling.] A nice testimonial for a sea-bathing place.

Arnholm.

I should rather say that you, Mrs. Wangel, stand in a peculiar relation to the sea and all that belongs to it.

Ellida.

Well, you may be right. I almost think so myself. But do you see how the girls have been decorating the place in your honour?

Wangel.

[Embarrassed.] H’m. [Looks at his watch.] I’m afraid I must be going——

Arnholm.

Is it really in my honour?

Ellida.

Why, of course it is. We’re not so fine as this every day.—Pah! How suffocatingly hot it is under this roof! [Goes down into the garden.] Come over here! Here there’s a breath of air to be had at any rate.

[She seats herself in the arbour.

Arnholm.

[Goes to her.] Now I should say the air was distinctly fresh here.

Ellida.

Yes, you are used to the close air of Christiania. I’m told it is perfectly dreadful there in summer.

Wangel.

[Who has also come down into the garden.] Ellida dear, I must leave you to entertain our good friend here for a while.

Ellida.

Have you work to do?

Wangel.

Yes, I must go down to the surgery: and then I must change my clothes. But I shan’t be long——

Arnholm.

[Seats himself in the arbour.] Don’t hurry, my dear Doctor. Your wife and I will manage to pass the time.

Wangel.

Ah yes—I’m sure of that. Well, good-bye for the present then?

[He goes out through the garden to the left.

Ellida.

[After a short silence.] Don’t you think it is nice sitting here?

Arnholm.

I think it is very nice.

Ellida.

This is called my summer-house; for it was I that had it built. Or rather Wangel—to please me.

Arnholm.

And you sit here a good deal?

Ellida.

Yes, I pass most of the day here.

Arnholm.

With the girls, I suppose.

Ellida.

No, the girls—they keep to the verandah.

Arnholm.

And Wangel?

Ellida.

Oh, Wangel goes to and fro. Sometimes he is here with me, and sometimes over there with the children.

Arnholm.

Is it you that have arranged things so?

Ellida.

I think it’s the arrangement that suits us all best. We can speak across to each other now and again—whenever we happen to have anything to say.

Arnholm.

[After a reflective pause.] When last I crossed your path—out at Skioldvik, I mean——. H’m—that’s a long time ago——

Ellida.

It is a good ten years since you were out there with us.

Arnholm.

Yes, about that. But when I remember you out at the lighthouse——! “The heathen,” as the old pastor used to call you, because he said your father had had you christened with the name of a ship and not of a Christian——

Ellida.

Well, what then?

Arnholm.

The last thing I should have expected was to meet you again, here, as Mrs. Wangel.

Ellida.

No, at that time Wangel was not yet a—— The girls’ first mother was living then—their own mother, I mean——

Arnholm.

Of course, of course. But even if it had not been so—even if he had had no ties—I should never have expected this to come to pass.

Ellida.

Nor I. Never in this world—at that time.

Arnholm.

Wangel is such a fine fellow; so upright sogenuinely good-hearted, and kind to every one——

Ellida.

[Warmly and cordially.] Yes, indeed he is!

Arnholm.

——but he must be so utterly different from you, I should think.

Ellida.

You are right there too; wearedifferent.

Arnholm.

Well then, how did it come about? How was it?

Ellida.

You mustn’t ask me, my dear Arnholm. I shouldn’t be able to explain it to you. And even if I did, you could never really understand a word of my explanation.

Arnholm.

H’m——[A little more softly.] Have you ever told your husband anything about me? I mean, of course, about the unsuccessful step which—I was once rash enough to take.

Ellida.

No. How can you think I would? I have never said a word to him—about what you allude to.

Arnholm.

I am glad of that. I felt a little embarrassed at the thought that——

Ellida.

You need not at all. I have only told himwhat is true—that I liked you very much, and that you were the truest and best friend I had out there.

Arnholm.

Thank you for that. But now tell me—why have you never written to me since I left?

Ellida.

I thought it might perhaps be painful to you to hear from one who—who could not meet your wishes. It would have been like opening an old wound, I thought.

Arnholm.

H’m—— Well, well, I daresay you were right.

Ellida.

But why didyounever write?

Arnholm.

[Looks at her and smiles half reproachfully.] I? I begin? And perhaps be suspected of wishing to reopen the attack? After meeting with such a rebuff?

Ellida.

Oh no, I can understand that too.—Have you never thought of forming some other tie?

Arnholm.

Never. I have remained faithful to my memories.

Ellida.

[Half-joking.] Oh, nonsense! Let those sad old memories go. I am sure you had much better think about getting happily married.

Arnholm.

Then I have no time to lose, Mrs. Wangel. Remember—I blush to say it—I shall never see seven-and-thirty again.

Ellida.

Well then, all the more reason to make haste. [Is silent for a moment, then says earnestly and in a low tone.] But listen now, my dear Arnholm,—I am going to tell you something I could not have told you at that time, to save my life.

Arnholm.

What may that be?

Ellida.

When you took—that unsuccessful step, as you said just now,—Icouldnot answer you otherwise than I did.

Arnholm.

I know that. You had nothing but friendship to offer me. I quite understand that.

Ellida.

But you do not know that my whole mind and all my thoughts were centred elsewhere at that time?

Arnholm.

At that time?

Ellida.

Yes, just then.

Arnholm.

But that is impossible! You are mistaking the time! I don’t believe you knew Wangel then.

Ellida.

It is not Wangel that I am speaking of.

Arnholm.

Not Wangel? But at that time—out at Skioldvik—I don’t remember another creature that I could conceive your caring for.

Ellida.

No, no,—I daresay not. For the whole thing was such utter madness.

Arnholm.

Do tell me more about this!

Ellida.

Oh, it is enough for you to know that I was not free at that time. And now youdoknow it.

Arnholm.

And if youhadbeen free at that time?

Ellida.

What then?

Arnholm.

Would your answer to my letter have been different?

Ellida.

How can I tell? When Wangel came, my answer was different.

Arnholm.

Then what is the use of telling me that you were not free?

Ellida.

[Rises, as if in distress and agitation.] Because I must have some one I can speak to about it. No, no, don’t rise.

Arnholm.

Your husband, then, knows nothing of the matter?

Ellida.

I told him from the first that my thoughts had once been drawn elsewhere. He has never wanted to know more. We have never touched upon the subject since. After all, it was nothing but a piece of madness; and then it all came to an end so quickly. At least,—in a way.

Arnholm.

[Rising.] Only in a way? Not entirely?

Ellida.

Oh yes, of course! My dear good Arnholm, it is not at all as you suppose. It’s something quite incomprehensible. I don’t think I could find words to tell you of it. You would only think I was ill—or else that I was stark mad.

Arnholm.

My dear Mrs. Wangel—now you must and shall tell me the whole story.

Ellida.

Well then—I suppose I must try. How should you, with your common sense, ever be able to understand that——[Looks out and breaks off.] Wait—another time—here is some one coming.

Lyngstrandappears on the road, from the left, and enters the garden. He has a flower in his button-hole, and carries a large handsome bouquet, wrapped round with paper and tied with ribbons. He stops, hesitating a little, in front of the verandah.

Ellida.

[Coming forward in the arbour.] Is it the girls you are looking for, Mr. Lyngstrand?

Lyngstrand.

[Turning.] Ah, are you there, Mrs. Wangel? [Bows and approaches.] No, not exactly—it wasn’t the young ladies. It was you yourself, Mrs. Wangel. You gave me permission to come and see you——

Ellida.

Yes, of course I did. You are always welcome here.

Lyngstrand.

Many thanks. I fortunately happened to hear that this was a day of rejoicing in the family——

Ellida.

Ah, so you know that?

Lyngstrand.

Yes; and so I make so bold as to offer you this, Mrs. Wangel——

[He bows and holds out the bouquet.

Ellida.

[Smiles.] But, my dear Mr. Lyngstrand, ought you not to give your beautiful flowers to Mr. Arnholm himself? For it’s in his honour that——

Lyngstrand.

[Looks in bewilderment from one to the other.] I beg your pardon—I don’t know this gentleman. It’s only——. I meant them for a birthday gift, Mrs. Wangel.

Ellida.

A birthday gift? Then you have made a mistake, Mr. Lyngstrand. To-day is not the birthday of any one in this house.

Lyngstrand.

[Smiling quietly.] Oh, I know all about it. But I didn’t know it was such a secret.

Ellida.

What is it you know?

Lyngstrand.

That it’s your birthday, Mrs. Wangel——

Ellida.

Mine?

Arnholm.

[Looking at her inquiringly.] To-day? No, surely not.

Ellida.

[ToLyngstrand.] What has put that into your head?

Lyngstrand.

It was Miss Hilda that let it out. I happened to look in a little while ago, and I asked the young ladies why they had made such a grand display of flowers and flags——

Ellida.

Well?

Lyngstrand.

——and Miss Hilda answered: “Oh, because it’s mother’s birthday.”

Ellida.

Mother’s——! Oh indeed.

Arnholm.

Aha!

[He andEllidaexchange glances of comprehension.

Arnholm.

Well, since the young man has found it out, Mrs. Wangel——

Ellida.

[ToLyngstrand.] Yes, since you have found it out——

Lyngstrand.

[Offers the bouquet again.] May I be permitted to offer my congratulations——?

Ellida.

[Taking the flowers.] Many thanks.—Won’t you sit down a moment, Mr. Lyngstrand?

[Ellida,Arnholm,andLyngstrandseat themselves in the arbour.

Ellida.

All this about—about my birthday—was to have been a secret, Mr. Arnholm.

Arnholm.

So I see. It was not to have been mentioned to us outsiders.

Ellida.

[Lays the bouquet on the table.] No, just so. Not to outsiders.

Lyngstrand.

I promise faithfully I won’t mention it to a living creature.

Ellida.

Oh, I didn’t mean it in that way.—But how are you now? I think you are looking better than you did.

Lyngstrand.

Yes, I think I am getting on quite well. And next year, if I can get to the south——

Ellida.

The girls tell me you hope to manage it.

Lyngstrand.

Yes; you see I have a patron in Bergen who provides for me; and he has promised to let me go next year.

Ellida.

How did you come across him?

Lyngstrand.

Oh, it was a great stroke of luck. I once went a voyage in one of his ships.

Ellida.

Did you? Then at that time you wanted to be a sailor?

Lyngstrand.

No, not in the least. But after my mother died, my father wouldn’t have me hanging aboutat home; so he sent me to sea. On the voyage home, we were wrecked in the English Channel; and that was a grand thing for me.

Arnholm.

How do you mean?

Lyngstrand.

It was in the wreck that I got my lesion—this weakness in my chest, you know. I was in the ice-cold water so long before they came and rescued me. So then I had to give up the sea—Oh yes, it was a great stroke of luck.

Arnholm.

Indeed? You think so?

Lyngstrand.

Yes; for the lesion is nothing to speak of; and now I am to have my heart’s desire, and to be a sculptor. Only think—to be able to model in the delicate clay that yields so exquisitely under your fingers!

Ellida.

And what are you going to model? Mermen and mermaids? Or is it to be old vikings——?

Lyngstrand.

No, nothing of that kind. As soon as I can manage it, I mean to have a try at a big piece of work—a group, as they call it.

Ellida.

I see. And what is the group to represent?

Lyngstrand.

Oh, I thought of something out of my own experience.

Arnholm.

Yes yes,—by all means stick to that.

Ellida.

But what is it to be?

Lyngstrand.

Well, I had thought of a young woman, a sailor’s wife, lying and sleeping in a strange unrest, and dreaming as she sleeps. I think I can make it so that any one can see she is dreaming.

Arnholm.

And is that all?

Lyngstrand.

No. There is to be one other figure—a kind of shape you might call it. It is the husband she has been unfaithful to while he was away. And now he is drowned.

Arnholm.

Why, what do you mean——?

Ellida.

Drowned you say?

Lyngstrand.

Yes, he is drowned at sea. But the strange thing is that he has come home nevertheless. It’s in the night-time; and there he stands by her bedside and looks at her. He must be dripping wet, just as when they haul you up out of the sea.

Ellida.

[Leaning back in her chair.] What a strange idea! [Closes her eyes.] Oh, I can see it livingly before my eyes.

Arnholm.

But in the name of all that’s wonderful, Mr. ——! Mr. ——! You said it was to be something out of your own experience?

Lyngstrand.

Yes,—this is out of my own experience; in a sense, that’s to say.

Arnholm.

You have seen a dead man come——?

Lyngstrand.

Well, I don’t mean to say I have actually seen it; not outwardly, of course. But all the same——

Ellida.

[With animation and eagerness.] Tell me all you know about this! I want to understand it thoroughly.

Arnholm.

[Smiling.] Yes, of course this is quite in your line—anything with the glamour of the sea about it.

Ellida.

How was it then, Mr. Lyngstrand?

Lyngstrand.

Well, you see, when we were starting for home in the brig, from a town they call Halifax, we had to leave our boatswain behind us in the hospital;so we shipped an American in his place. This new boatswain——

Ellida.

The American?

Lyngstrand.

Yes;—one day he borrowed from the captain a bundle of old newspapers, and was perpetually poring over them, he wanted to learn Norwegian, he said.

Ellida.

Well; and then?

Lyngstrand.

Well, one evening it was blowing great guns. All hands were on deck—all except the boatswain and me. For he had sprained his ankle and couldn’t walk; and I wasn’t very well, and was lying in my bunk. Well, there he sat in the fo’c’sle, reading away as usual at one of the old papers——

Ellida.

Well? well?

Lyngstrand.

When all of a sudden, I heard him give a kind of a roar; and when I looked at him I saw that his face was as white as chalk. Then he set to work to crumple and crush the paper up, and tear it into a thousand little pieces; but that he did quietly, quietly.

Back to Index Next