Chapter 7

Allmers.

That Eyolf was not here.

Rita.

Never for a moment have I wished that! That Eyolf should not stand between us—that was what I wished.

Allmers.

Well, well—he does not stand between us any more.

Rita.

[Softly, gazing straight before her.] Perhaps now more than ever. [With a sudden shudder.] Oh, that horrible sight!

Allmers.

[Nods.] The child’s evil eyes.

Rita.

[In dread, recoiling from him.] Let me be, Alfred! I am afraid of you. I have never seen you like this before.

Allmers.

[Looks harshly and coldly at her.] Sorrow makes us wicked and hateful.

Rita.

[Terrified, and yet defiant.] That is what I feel, too.

[Allmersgoes towards the right and looks out over the fiord.Ritaseats herself at the table. A short pause.

Allmers.

[Turning his head towards her.] You never really and truly loved him—never!

Rita.

[With cold self-control.] Eyolf would never let me take him really and truly to my heart.

Allmers.

Because you did not want to.

Rita.

Oh yes, I did. I did want to. But some one stood in the way—even from the first.

Allmers.

[Turning right round.] Do you mean thatIstood in the way?

Rita.

Oh, no—not at first.

Allmers.

[Coming nearer her.] Who, then?

Rita.

His aunt.

Allmers.

Asta?

Rita.

Yes. Asta stood and barred the way for me.

Allmers.

Can you say that, Rita?

Rita.

Yes. Asta—she took him to her heart—from the moment that happened—that miserable fall.

Allmers.

If she did so, she did it in love.

Rita.

[Vehemently.] That is just it! I cannot endure to share anything with any one! Not in love.

Allmers.

We two should have shared him between us in love.

Rita.

[Looking scornfully at him.] We? Oh, the truth is you have never had any real love for him either.

Allmers.

[Looks at her in astonishment]Ihave not——!

Rita.

No, you have not. At first you were so utterly taken up by that book of yours—about Responsibility.

Allmers.

[Forcibly.] Yes, I was. But my very book—I sacrificed for Eyolf’s sake.

Rita.

Not out of love for him.

Allmers.

Why then, do you suppose?

Rita.

Because you were consumed with mistrust of yourself. Because you had begun to doubt whether you had any great vocation to live for in the world.

Allmers.

[Observing her closely.] Could you see that in me?

Rita.

Oh, yes—little by little. And then you needed something new to fill up your life.—It seemsIwas not enough for you any longer.

Allmers.

That is the law of change, Rita.

Rita.

And that was why you wanted to make a prodigy of poor little Eyolf.

Allmers.

That was not what I wanted. I wanted to make a happy human being of him.—That, and nothing more.

Rita.

But not out of love for him. Look into yourself! [With a certain shyness of expression.] Search out all that lies under—and behind your action.

Allmers.

[Avoiding her eyes.] There is something you shrink from saying.

Rita.

And you too.

Allmers.

[Looks thoughtfully at her.] If it is as you say, then we two have never really possessed our own child.

Rita.

No. Not in perfect love.

Allmers.

And yet we are sorrowing so bitterly for him.

Rita.

[With sarcasm.] Yes, isn’t it curious that we should grieve like this over a little stranger boy?

Allmers.

[With an outburst.] Oh, don’t call him a stranger!

Rita.

[Sadly shaking her head.] We never won the boy, Alfred. Not I—nor you either.

Allmers.

[Wringing his hands.] And now it is too late! Too late!

Rita.

And no consolation anywhere—in anything.

Allmers.

[With sudden passion.]Youare the guilty one in this!

Rita.

[Rising.] I!

Allmers.

Yes, you! It was your fault that he became—what he was! It was your fault that he could not save himself when he fell into the water.

Rita.

[With a gesture of repulsion.] Alfred—youshallnot throw the blame upon me!

Allmers.

[More and more beside himself.] Yes, yes, I do! It was you that left the helpless child unwatched upon the table.

Rita.

He was lying so comfortably among the cushions, and sleeping so soundly. And you had promised to look after him.

Allmers.

Yes, I had. [Lowering his voice.] But then you came—you, you, you—and lured me to you.

Rita.

[Looking defiantly at him.] Oh, better own at once that you forgot the child and everything else.

Allmers.

[In suppressed desperation.] Yes, that is true. [Lower.] I forgot the child—in your arms!

Rita.

[Exasperated.] Alfred! Alfred—this is intolerable of you!

Allmers.

[In a low voice, clenching his fists before her face.] In that hour you condemned little Eyolf to death.

Rita.

[Wildly.] You, too! You, too—if it is as you say!

Allmers.

Oh yes—call me to account, too—if you will. We have sinned, both of us. And so, after all, therewasretribution in Eyolf’s death.

Rita.

Retribution?

Allmers.

[With more self-control.] Yes. Judgment upon you and me. Now, as we stand here, we have our deserts. While he lived, we let ourselves shrink away from him in secret, abject remorse. We could not bear to see it—the thing he had to drag with him——

Rita.

[Whispers.] The crutch.

Allmers.

Yes, that. And now, what we now call sorrow and heartache—is really the gnawing of conscience, Rita. Nothing else.

Rita.

[Gazing helplessly at him.] I feel as if all this must end in despair—in madness for both of us. For we can never—never make it good again.

Allmers.

[Passing into a calmer mood.] I dreamed about Eyolf last night. I thought I saw him coming up from the pier. He could run likeother boys. So nothing had happened to him—neither the one thing nor the other. And the torturing reality was nothing but a dream, I thought. Oh, how I thanked and blessed——[Checking himself.] H’m!

Rita.

[Looking at him.] Whom?

Allmers.

[Evasively.] Whom——?

Rita.

Yes; whom did you thank and bless?

Allmers.

[Putting aside the question.] I was only dreaming, you know——

Rita.

One whom you yourself do not believe in?

Allmers.

That was how I felt, all the same. Of course, I was sleeping——

Rita.

[Reproachfully.] You should not have taught me to doubt, Alfred.

Allmers.

Would it have been right of me to let you go through life with your mind full of empty fictions?Rita.

It would have been better for me; for then I should have had something to take refuge in. Now I am utterly at sea.

Allmers.

[Observing her closely.] If you had the choice now——. If you could follow Eyolf to where he is——?

Rita.

Yes? What then?

Allmers.

If you were fully assured that you would find him again—know him—understand him——?

Rita.

Yes, yes; what then?

Allmers.

Would you, of your own free will, take the leap over to him? Of your own free will leave everything behind you? Renounce your whole earthly life? Would you, Rita?

Rita.

[Softly.] Now, at once?

Allmers.

Yes; to-day. This very hour. Answer me—would you?

Rita.

[Hesitating.] Oh, I don’t know, Alfred. No! I think I should have to stay here with you, a little while.

Allmers.

For my sake?

Rita.

Yes, only for your sake.

Allmers.

But afterwards? Would you then——? Answer!

Rita.

Oh, what can I answer? Icouldnot go away from you. Never! Never!

Allmers.

But suppose nowIwent to Eyolf? And you had the fullest assurance that you would meet both him and me there. Then would you come over to us?

Rita.

I should want to—so much! so much! But——

Allmers.

Well?

Rita.

[Moaning softly.] I could not—I feel it. No, no, I never could! Not for all the glory of heaven!

Allmers.

Nor I.

Rita.

No, you feel it so, too, don’t you, Alfred! You could not either, could you?

Allmers.

No. For it is here, in the life of earth, that we living beings are at home.

Rita.

Yes, here lies the kind of happiness that we can understand.

Allmers.

[Darkly.] Oh, happiness—happiness——

Rita.

You mean that happiness—that we can never find it again? [Looks inquiringly at him.] But if——? [Vehemently.] No, no; I dare not say it! Nor even think it!

Allmers.

Yes, say it—say it, Rita.

Rita.

[Hesitatingly.] Could we not try to——? Would it not be possible to forget him?

Allmers.

Forget Eyolf?

Rita.

Forget the anguish and remorse, I mean.

Allmers.

Can you wish it?

Rita.

Yes,—if it were possible. [With an outburst.] For this—I cannot bear this for ever! Oh, can we not think of something that will bring us forgetfulness!

Allmers.

[Shakes his head.] What could that be?

Rita.

Could we not see what travelling would do—far away from here?

Allmers.

From home? When you know you are never really well anywhere but here.

Rita.

Well, then, let us have crowds of people about us! Keep open house! Plunge into something that can deaden and dull our thoughts.

Allmers.

Such a life would be impossible for me.—No,—rather than that, I would try to take up my work again.

Rita.

[Bitingly.] Your work—the work that has always stood like a dead wall between us!

Allmers.

[Slowly, looking fixedly at her.] There must always be a dead wall between us two, from this time forth.

Rita.

Why must there——?

Allmers.

Who knows but that a child’s great, open eyes are watching us day and night.

Rita.

[Softly, shuddering.] Alfred—how terrible to think of!

Allmers.

Our love has been like a consuming fire. Now it must be quenched——

Rita.

[With a movement towards him.] Quenched!

Allmers.

[Hardly.] It is quenched—in one of us.

Rita.

[As if petrified.] And you dare say that to me!

Allmers.

[More gently.] It is dead, Rita. But in what I now feel for you—in our common guilt and need of atonement—I seem to foresee a sort of resurrection——

Rita.

[Vehemently.] I don’t care a bit about any resurrection!

Allmers.

Rita!

Rita.

I am a warm-blooded being! I don’t go drowsing about—with fishes’ blood in my veins. [Wringing her hands.] And now to be imprisoned for life—in anguish and remorse! Imprisoned with one who is no longer mine, mine, mine!

Allmers.

It must have ended so, sometime, Rita.

Rita.

Must have ended so! The love that in the beginning rushed forth so eagerly to meet with love!

Allmers.

My love did not rush forth to you in the beginning.

Rita.

What did you feel for me, first of all?

Allmers.

Dread.

Rita.

That I can understand. How was it, then, that I won you after all?

Allmers.

[In a low voice.] You were so entrancingly beautiful, Rita.

Rita.

[Looks searchingly at him.] Then that was the only reason? Say it, Alfred! The only reason?

Allmers.

[Conquering himself.] No, there was another as well.

Rita.

[With an outburst.] I can guess what that was! It was “my gold, and my green forests,” as you call it. Was it not so, Alfred?

Allmers.

Yes.

Rita.

[Looks at him with deep reproach.] How could you—how could you!

Allmers.

I had Asta to think of.

Rita.

[Angrily.] Yes, Asta! [Bitterly.] Then it was really Asta that brought us two together?

Allmers.

She knew nothing about it. She has no suspicion of it, even to this day.

Rita.

[Rejecting the plea.] It was Asta, nevertheless! [Smiling, with a sidelong glance ofscorn.] Or, no—it was little Eyolf. Little Eyolf, my dear!

Allmers.

Eyolf——?

Rita.

Yes, you used to call her Eyolf, did you not? I seem to remember your telling me so—once, in a moment of confidence. [Coming up to him.] Do you remember it—that entrancingly beautiful hour, Alfred?

Allmers.

[Recoiling, as if in horror.] I remember nothing! Iwillnot remember!

Rita.

[Following him.] It was in that hour—when your other little Eyolf was crippled for life!

Allmers.

[In a hollow voice, supporting himself against the table.] Retribution!

Rita.

[Menacingly.] Yes, retribution!

[AstaandBorgheimreturn by way of the boat-shed. She is carrying some water-lilies in her hand.

Rita.

[With self-control.] Well, Asta, have you and Mr. Borgheim talked things thoroughly over?

Asta.

Oh, yes—pretty well.

[She puts down her umbrella and lays the flowers upon a chair.

Borgheim.

Miss Allmers has been very silent during our walk.

Rita.

Indeed, has she? Well, Alfred and I have talked things out thoroughly enough——

Asta.

[Looking eagerly at both of them.] What is this——?

Rita.

Enough to last all our lifetime, I say. [Breaking off.] Come now, let us go up to the house, all four of us. We must have company about us in future. It will never do for Alfred and me to be alone.

Allmers.

Yes, do you go ahead, you two. [Turning.] I must speak a word to you before we go, Asta.

Rita.

[Looking at him.] Indeed? Well then, you come with me, Mr. Borgheim.

[RitaandBorgheimgo up the wood-path.

Asta.

[Anxiously.] Alfred, what is the matter?

Allmers.

[Darkly.] Only that I cannot endure to be here any more.

Asta.

Here! With Rita, do you mean?

Allmers.

Yes. Rita and I cannot go on living together.

Asta.

[Seizes his arm and shakes it.] Oh, Alfred—don’t say anything so terrible!

Allmers.

It is the truth I am telling you. We are making each other wicked and hateful.

Asta.

[With painful emotion.] I had never—never dreamt of anything like this!

Allmers.

I did not realise it either, till to-day.

Asta.

And now you want to——! What is it you really want, Alfred?

Allmers.

I want to get away from everything here—far, far away from it all.

Asta.

And to stand quite alone in the world?

Allmers.

[Nods.] As I used to, before, yes.

Asta.

But you are not fitted for living alone!

Allmers.

Oh, yes. I was so in the old days, at any rate.

Asta.

In the old days, yes; for then you had me with you.

Allmers.

[Trying to take her hand.] Yes. And it is to you, Asta, that I now want to come home again.

Asta.

[Eluding him.] To me! No, no, Alfred! That is quite impossible.

Allmers.

[Lookes sadly at her.] Then Borgheim stands in the way after all?

Asta.

[Earnestly.] No, no; he does not! That is quite a mistake!

Allmers.

Good. Then I will come to you—my dear, dear sister. I must come to you again—home to you, to be purified and ennobled after my life with——

Asta.

[Shocked.] Alfred,—you are doing Rita a great wrong!

Allmers.

I have done her a great wrong. But not in this. Oh, think of it, Asta—think of our life together, yours and mine. Was it not like one long holy-day from first to last?

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