Chapter 18

Boletta.

Yes, I promise.

Lyngstrand.

Solemnly, Miss Boletta?

Boletta.

Solemnly. [Changing her tone.] Oh, but what is the use of all this? Nothing can ever come of it.

Lyngstrand.

How can you say that? It would be such a joy to me to know that you were at home here thinking of me.

Boletta.

Yes, but what more?

Lyngstrand.

Well, I am not quite certain about anything more——

Boletta.

Nor I. So many things stand in the way; every possible thing stands in the way, it seems to me.

Lyngstrand.

Oh, some miracle or other might happen. A happy turn of fate—or something of that sort. For I am convinced that fortune is on my side.

Boletta.

[With animation.] Yes, that is right! Surelyyouyouthink so!

Lyngstrand.

Yes, I am perfectly convinced of it. And then—in a few years—when I come home again a famous sculptor, with plenty of money, and as well as possible——

Boletta.

Yes, yes; let us hope you will.

Lyngstrand.

You may be quite sure of it—if only you think faithfully and warmly of me while I am away in the South. And that you have promised to do.

Boletta.

Yes, I have. [Shakes her head.] But nothing will ever come of this, all the same.

Lyngstrand.

Yes, Miss Boletta, this at least will come of it, that I shall make the easier and quicker progress with my group.

Boletta.

Do you think so?

Lyngstrand.

Yes, I feel it within me. And I think it will be stimulating for you too,—here in this out-of-the-way place—to know that you are, as it were, helping me to create.

Boletta.

[Looks at him.] Well—but you, on your side?

Lyngstrand.

I——?

Boletta.

[Looks out towards the garden.] Hush! Let us talk of something else; here comes Mr. Arnholm.

[Arnholmis seen in the garden, on the left. He stops and speaks toBallestedandHilda.

Lyngstrand.

Are you fond of your old teacher, Miss Boletta?

Boletta.

Am I fond of him?

Lyngstrand.

Yes, I mean do you like him?

Boletta.

Oh yes, I do indeed; he is such a good friend and adviser. And he is always so ready to help you whenever he can.

Lyngstrand.

Is it not strange that he has never married?

Boletta.

Do you think it so strange?

Lyngstrand.

Yes; they say he is well off.

Boletta.

I suppose he is. But it may not have been very easy for him to find any one who would have him.

Lyngstrand.

Why?

Boletta.

Oh, he has been the teacher of nearly every girl he knows. He says so himself.

Lyngstrand.

But what doesthatmatter?

Boletta.

Why, of course, one doesn’t marry a man who has been one’s teacher!

Lyngstrand.

Don’t you think a girl could possibly love her teacher?

Boletta.

Not after she is quite grown up.

Lyngstrand.

Dear me! How odd!

Boletta.

[Warningly.] Hush, hush!

[Ballested,who has meanwhile collected his things, carries them out through the garden to the right.Hildahelps him.Arnholmcomes up into the verandah and enters the room.

Arnholm.

Good morning, my dear Boletta. Good morning Mr.——Mr.——h’m!

[He looks annoyed, and nods coldly toLyngstrand,who rises and bows.

Boletta.

[Rises and goes toArnholm.] Good morning, Mr. Arnholm.

Arnholm.

How are you all here to-day?

Boletta.

Thanks, very well.

Arnholm.

Has your step-mother gone to bathe to-day again?

Boletta.

No, she is up in her room.

Arnholm.

Not quite well?

Boletta.

I don’t know. She has locked herself in.

Arnholm.

H’m—has she?

Lyngstrand.

Mrs. Wangel seemed very much upset about that American yesterday.

Arnholm.

What doyouknow about it?

Lyngstrand.

I told Mrs. Wangel that I had seen him in the flesh, going round behind the garden.

Arnholm.

Oh indeed.

Boletta.

[ToArnholm.] You and father sat up late last night, did you not?

Arnholm.

Yes, pretty late. We had an important question to discuss.

Boletta.

Did you get in a word with him about me and my affairs?

Arnholm.

No, my dear Boletta. I could not manage it; he was so absorbed in something else.

Boletta.

[Sighs.] Ah yes,—he always is.

Arnholm.

[Looking significantly at her.] But remember, you and I are to have another talk about these things, presently.—Where is your father now? Has he gone out?

Boletta.

I think he must be down at the surgery. I’ll go and fetch him.

Arnholm.

No thank you, don’t do that. I would rather go down to him.

Boletta.

[Listening to the left.] Wait a moment, Mr. Arnholm. I think I hear father coming downstairs. Yes. He must have been up attending to her.

Dr. Wangelenters by the door on the left.

Wangel.

[Holds out his hand toArnholm.] Ah, my dear friend, are you here already? It’s good ofyou to come so early; there are still several things I want to discuss with you.

Boletta.

[ToLyngstrand.] Shall we join Hilda in the garden for a little while?

Lyngstrand.

With all the pleasure in life, Miss Wangel.

[He andBolettago down into the garden, and out among the trees in the background.

Arnholm.

[Who has been following them with his eyes, turns toWangel.] Do you know much about that young man?

Wangel.

No, very little.

Arnholm.

Then do you like him to be so much with the girls?

Wangel.

Is he much with them? I really hadn’t noticed it.

Arnholm.

Don’t you think you ought to keep an eye on that sort of thing?

Wangel.

Yes, no doubt you are right. But, bless my soul, what is a poor fellow to do? The girls have got so accustomed to look after themselves; they will not listen to a word, either from me or from Ellida.

Arnholm.

Not even from her?

Wangel.

No. And besides, I cannot expect her to interfere in such matters; it is not at all in her way. [Breaking off.] But that was not what we were going to talk about. Tell me—have you given any more thought to it?—to all that I told you last night?

Arnholm.

I have thought of nothing else, ever since we parted.

Wangel.

And what do you think I ought to do in the matter?

Arnholm.

My dear Doctor, I think that you, as a physician, ought to know better than I.

Wangel.

Oh, if you only knew how difficult it is for a physician to form a valid judgment in the case of a patient he loves so dearly! And this is no common disorder either—no case for an ordinary physician, or for ordinary remedies.

Arnholm.

How is she to-day?

Wangel.

I have just been up to see her, and she appeared to me quite calm. But behind all her moods something seems to be hidden that eludes meentirely. And then she is so variable—so incalculable—so subject to sudden changes.

Arnholm.

No doubt that is due to her morbid state of mind.

Wangel.

Not entirely. The germ of it all is innate in her. Ellida belongs to the sea-folk; that is the trouble.

Arnholm.

What do you mean precisely, my dear Doctor?

Wangel.

Have you not noticed that the people who live out by the open sea are like a race apart? They seem almost to live the life of the sea itself. There is the surge of the sea—and its ebb and flow too—both in their thoughts and in their feelings. And they never bear transplantation. No, I should have thought ofthatbefore. It was a positive sin against Ellida to take her away from the sea and bring her in here!

Arnholm.

Have you come to look at it in that light?

Wangel.

Yes, more and more; but I ought to have known it from the first. Oh, I did really know it then too, but I would not acknowledge it to myself. I loved her so much, you see! And consequently I thought first of myself. In fact, I was utterly and unpardonably selfish.

Arnholm.

H’m,—I am afraid every man is a trifle selfish under those circumstances. But I can’t say that I have noticed that vice in you, Dr. Wangel.

Wangel.

[Wandering uneasily up and down.] Oh yes! And I have been so since, as well. I am so much, much older than she; I ought to have been to her like a father and a guide in one. I ought, to have done my best to develop and clarify her intelligence. But unfortunately I have done nothing of the sort. I have not had energy enough, you see! And in fact I preferred to have her just as she was. But then she grew worse and worse, and I was at my wits’ end to know what to do [Lower.] That is why I turned to you in my perplexity, and asked you to come to us.

Arnholm.

[Looks at him in astonishment.] What! Was that why you wrote to me?

Wangel.

Yes; but don’t say anything about it.

Arnholm.

My dear Doctor,—what in the world—what good did you supposeIcould do? I don’t understand.

Wangel.

No, of course you do not; I had got upon a wrong scent. I fancied that Ellida had once cared for you, and that she still had a secret leaning in your direction. So I thought it mightperhaps do her good to see you again, and have a talk with you about home and old times.

Arnholm.

Then it was your wife you meant when you wrote that some one here was waiting and—and perhaps longing for me!

Wangel.

Yes; who else?

Arnholm.

[Quickly.] Of course, of course.—But I did not understand you.

Wangel.

Naturally not, as I said before. I was on an entirely wrong scent.

Arnholm.

And you call yourself selfish!

Wangel.

Oh, I had such a great error to atone for. I felt I had no right to reject any expedient that could possibly ease her mind a little.

Arnholm.

What do you take to be the real explanation of the power this stranger exercises over her?

Wangel.

H’m, my dear friend—there may be sides to that question that don’t admit of explanation.

Arnholm.

Something inexplicable in itself, do you mean? Entirely inexplicable?

Wangel.

Inexplicable for the present, at any rate.

Arnholm.

Do you believe in such things?

Wangel.

I neither believe nor disbelieve. I simply do not know. So I suspend my judgment.

Arnholm.

But tell me one thing: that strange, uncanny idea of hers about the child’s eyes——

Wangel.

[Eagerly.] I don’t in the least believe that about the eyes! Iwillnot believe any such thing! It must be pure imagination on her part; nothing else.

Arnholm.

Did you notice the man’s eyes when you saw him yesterday?

Wangel.

Yes, certainly I did.

Arnholm.

And you found no sort of likeness?

Wangel.

[Evasively.] H’m—upon my soul I don’t know what to say. It was not quite light when I saw him; and besides, Ellida had talked so much about this likeness beforehand—I don’t think it was possible for me to observe him without any bias.

Arnholm.

No, no; very likely not. But then the other point: that all this dread and unrest came upon her just at the very time when this stranger would seem to have been on his way home?

Wangel.

Well you see—that again is a belief she must have imagined and dreamt herself into, since the day before yesterday. It did not come upon her at all so suddenly—so instantaneously—as she now maintains. But since she heard from this young Lyngstrand that Johnston or Friman—or whatever he is called—was on his way home three years ago—in March—she has evidently persuaded herself that her mental trouble came on in the very same month.

Arnholm.

And did it not?

Wangel.

Not at all. There had been unmistakable symptoms of it long before that.—It is true she happened—by chance—to have a rather severe attack precisely in the month of March, three years ago——

Arnholm.

Well then——!

Wangel.

Oh, but that is quite easily accounted for by the circumstances—the condition—she happened to be in at that time.

Arnholm.

The indications may be read in either way, then.

Wangel.

[Wringing his hands.] And to be powerless to help her! To be at the end of one’s resources! To see no sort of remedy——!

Arnholm.

What if you made up your mind to a change of residence—to move to some other place, where she might live under conditions that seemed to her more home-like?

Wangel.

My dear fellow, do you think I haven’t suggestedthatto her? I proposed that we should move out to Skioldvik. But she will not.

Arnholm.

Not that either?

Wangel.

No. She thinks it would be useless; and I daresay she is right too.

Arnholm.

H’m—do you think so?

Wangel.

Yes; and besides—on considering the matter more closely—I really don’t see how I could manage it. I scarcely think I should be justified, on the girls’ account, in moving to such an out-of-the-way corner. After all, they must live where there is at leastsomechance of their one day being able to marry.

Arnholm.

To marry? Have you that so much on your mind already?

Wangel.

Why, yes, of course; I must think of that too! But then—on the other hand—the thought of my poor suffering Ellida——! Oh, my dear Arnholm—wherever I turn, I seem to stand between fire and water!

Arnholm.

There may, perhaps, be no need for you to trouble about Boletta——[Breaking off.] I wonder where she—where they have gone?

[He goes up to the open door and looks out.

Wangel.

[Beside the piano.] Oh I should be so glad to make any possible sacrifice—for all three of them.—If only I knew what!

Ellidaenters by the door on the left.

Ellida.

[Rapidly toWangel.] Be sure you do not go out this morning.

Wangel.

No no, certainly not; I will stay at home with you. [Points toArnholm,who approaches.] But you haven’t said good morning to our friend?

Ellida.

[Turns.] Oh, are you there, Mr. Arnholm? [Holds out her hand.] Good morning.

Arnholm.

Good morning, Mrs. Wangel. You have not gone for your bathe to-day as usual?

Ellida.

No, no, no! I couldn’t think of it to-day. Won’t you sit down for a moment?

Arnholm.

No thank you—not just now. [Looks atWangel.] I promised the girls I would join them in the garden.

Ellida.

Heavens knows whether you’ll find them in the garden. I never know where they may have got to.

Wangel.

Oh yes, they are probably down by the pond.

Arnholm.

I daresay I shall find them.

[He nods and passes across the verandah into the garden, and out to the right.

Ellida.

What o’clock is it, Wangel?

Wangel.

[Looks at his watch.] It’s a little past eleven.

Ellida.

A little past; and at eleven or half-past to-night the steamer will be here. Oh, if it only were over!

Wangel.

[Goes closer to her.] Dear Ellida, there is one thing I should like to ask you about.

Ellida.

What is it?

Wangel.

The night before last—up at the Prospect—you said that during the past three years you had often seen him bodily before you.

Ellida.

So I have. I assure you I have.

Wangel.

Well, but how did you see him?

Ellida.

How did I see him?

Wangel.

I mean—what did he look like when you appeared to see him before you?

Ellida.

Why, my dear Wangel,—you know yourself now what he looks like.

Wangel.

And he looked like that when you seemed to see him?

Ellida.

Yes, he did.

Wangel.

Exactly as you saw him in reality last evening?

Ellida.

Yes, exactly.

Wangel.

Then how did it happen that you did not at once recognise him?

Ellida.

[Starts.] Did I not?

Wangel.

No. You yourself told me afterwards that at first you did not in the least know who the stranger was.

Ellida.

[Impressed.] Yes, I really believe you are right! Was not that strange, Wangel? Think of my not knowing him at once!

Wangel.

It was only by his eyes, you said——

Ellida.

Oh yes—his eyes! His eyes!

Wangel.

Well, but up at the Prospect you said that he had always appeared to you just as he was when you parted, ten years ago.

Ellida.

Did I say that?

Wangel.

Yes.

Ellida.

Then he must have looked at that time much as he does now.

Wangel.

No. You gave quite another description ofhim on the way home, the night before last. Ten years ago he had no beard, you said. He was quite differently dressedtoo.too.And the breast-pin with the pearl in it——? He wore nothing of the sort yesterday.

Ellida.

No, he didn’t.

Wangel.

[Looks intently at her.] Now think a little, dear Ellida. Perhaps you cannot remember now what he looked like when you parted from him at Bratthammer?

Ellida.

[Reflectively, closing her eyes for a moment.] Not quite distinctly. No—I can’t at all to-day. Isn’t that strange?

Wangel.

Not so very strange. A new and real figure has presented itself to you, and that obscures the old one—so that you can no longer see it.

Ellida.

Do you think so, Wangel?

Wangel.

Yes; and it obscures your morbid illusions too; so it is a good thing the reality has shown itself.

Ellida.

Good! Do you call it a good thing?

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