Chapter 9

Rita.

Well, then, do it! For Alfred and I cannot go alone through the sorrow and heartache.

Allmers.

[Darkly.] Say, rather—through the ranklings of remorse.

Rita.

Oh, whatever you like to call it—we cannot bear it alone, we two. Oh, Asta, I beg and implore you! Stay here and help us! Take Eyolf’s place for us——

Asta.

[Shrinking.] Eyolf’s——

Rita.

Yes, would you not have it so, Alfred?

Allmers.

If she can and will.

Rita.

You used to call her your little Eyolf. [Seizes her hand.] Henceforth you shall beourEyolf, Asta! Eyolf, as you were before.

Allmers.

[With concealed emotion.] Remain—and share our life with us, Asta. With Rita. With me. With me—your brother!

Asta.

[With decision, snatches her hand away.] No. I cannot. [Turning.] Mr. Borgheim—what time does the steamer start?

Borgheim.

Now—at once.

Asta.

Then I must go on board. Will you go with me?

Borgheim.

[With a suppressed outburst of joy.] Will I? Yes, yes!

Asta.

Then come!

Rita.

[Slowly.] Ah! That is how it is. Well, then, you cannot stay with us.

Asta.

[Throwing her arms round her neck.] Thanks for everything, Rita! [Goes up toAllmersand grasps his hand.] Alfred—good-bye! A thousand times, good-bye!

Allmers.

[Softly and eagerly.] What is this, Asta? It seems as though you were taking flight.

Asta.

[In subdued anguish.] Yes, Alfred—Iamtaking flight.

Allmers.

Flight—from me!

Asta.

[Whispering.] From you—and from myself.

Allmers.

[Shrinking back.] Ah——!

[Astarushes down the steps at the back.Borgheimwaves his hat and follows her.Ritaleans against the entrance to the summer-house.Allmersgoes, in strong inward emotion, up to the railing, and stands there gazing downwards. A pause.

Allmers.

[Turns, and says with hard-won composure.] There comes the steamer. Look, Rita.

Rita.

I dare not look at it.

Allmers.

You dare not?

Rita.

No. For it has a red eye—and a green one, too. Great, glowing eyes.

Allmers.

Oh, those are only the lights, you know.

Rita.

Henceforth they are eyes—for me. They stare and stare out of the darkness—and into the darkness.

Allmers.

Now she is putting in to shore.

Rita.

Where are they mooring her this evening, then?

Allmers.

[Coming forward.] At the pier, as usual——

Rita.

[Drawing herself up.] How can they moor her there!

Allmers.

They must.

Rita.

But it was there that Eyolf——! Howcanthey moor her there!

Allmers.

Yes, life is pitiless, Rita.

Rita.

Men are heartless. They take no thought—either for the living or for the dead.

Allmers.

There you are right. Life goes its own way—just as if nothing in the world hadhappened.happened.

Rita.

[Gazing straight before her.] And nothing has happened, either. Not to others. Only to us two.

Allmers.

[The pain re-awakening.] Yes, Rita—so it was to no purpose that you bore him in sorrowand anguish. For now he is gone again—and has left no trace behind him.

Rita.

Only the crutch was saved.

Allmers.

[Angrily.] Be silent! Do not let me hear that word!

Rita.

[Plaintively.] Oh, I cannot bear the thought that he is gone from us.

Allmers.

[Coldly and bitterly.] You could very well do without him while he was with us. Half the day would often pass without your setting eyes on him.

Rita.

Yes, for I knew that I could see him whenever I wanted to.

Allmers.

Yes, that is how we have gone and squandered the short time we had with Little Eyolf.

Rita.

[Listening, in dread.] Do you hear, Alfred! Now it is ringing again!

Allmers.

[Looking over the fiord.] It is the steamer’s bell that is ringing. She is just starting.

Rita.

Oh, it’s not that bell I mean. All day I have heard it ringing in my ears.—Now it is ringing again!

Allmers.

[Going up to her.] You are mistaken, Rita.

Rita.

No, I hear it so plainly. It sounds like a knell. Slow. Slow. And always the same words.

Allmers.

Words? What words?

Rita.

[Nodding her head in the rhythm.] “The crútch is—flóating. The crútch is—flóating.” Oh, surely you must hear it, too!

Allmers.

[Shaking his head.] I hear nothing. And there is nothing to hear.

Rita.

Oh, you may say what you will—I hear it so plainly.

Allmers.

[Looking out over the railing.] Now they are on board, Rita. Now the steamer is on her way to the town.

Rita.

Is it possible you do not hear it? “The crútch is—flóating. The crútch is— ——”

Allmers.

[Coming forward.] You shall not stand there listening to a sound that does not exist. I tell you, Asta and Borgheim are on board. They have started already. Asta is gone.

Rita.

[Looks timidly at him.] Then I suppose you will soon be gone, too, Alfred?

Allmers.

[Quickly.] What do you mean by that?

Rita.

That you will follow your sister.

Allmers.

Has Asta told you anything?

Rita.

No. But you said yourself it was for Asta’s sake that—that we came together.

Allmers.

Yes, but you, you yourself, have bound me to you—by our life together.

Rita.

Oh, in your eyes I am not—I am not—entrancingly beautiful any more.

Allmers.

The law of change may perhaps keep us together, none the less.

Rita.

[Nodding slowly.] Thereisa change in me now—I feel the anguish of it.

Allmers.

Anguish?

Rita.

Yes, for change, too, is a sort of birth.

Allmers.

It is—or a resurrection. Transition to a higher life.

Rita.

[Gazing sadly before her.] Yes—with the loss of all, all life’s happiness.

Allmers.

That loss is just the gain.

Rita.

[Vehemently.] Oh, phrases! Good God, we are creatures of earth after all.

Allmers.

But something akin to the sea and the heavens too, Rita.

Rita.

You perhaps. Not I.

Allmers.

Oh, yes—you too, more than you yourself suspect.

Rita.

[Advancing a pace towards him.] Tell me, Alfred—could you think of taking up your work again?

Allmers.

The work that you have hated so?

Rita.

I am easier to please now. I am willing to share you with the book.

Allmers.

Why?

Rita.

Only to keep you here with me—to have you near me.

Allmers.

Oh, it is so little I can do to help you, Rita.

Rita.

But perhaps I could help you.

Allmers.

With my book, do you mean?

Rita.

No; but to live your life.

Allmers.

[Shaking his head.] I seem to have no life to live.

Rita.

Well then, to endure your life.

Allmers.

[Darkly, looking away from her.] I think it would be best for both of us that we should part.

Rita.

[Looking curiously at him.] Then where would you go? Perhaps to Asta, after all?

Allmers.

No—never again to Asta.

Rita.

Where then?

Allmers.

Up into the solitudes.

Rita.

Up among the mountains? Is that what you mean?

Allmers.

Yes.

Rita.

But all that is mere dreaming, Alfred! You could not live up there.

Allmers.

And yet I feel myself drawn to them.

Rita.

Why? Tell me!

Allmers.

Sit down—and I will tell you something.

Rita.

Something that happened to you up there?

Allmers.

Yes.

Rita.

And that you never told Asta and me?

Allmers.

Yes.

Rita.

Oh, you are so silent about everything. You ought not to be.

Allmers.

Sit down there—and I will tell you about it.

Rita.

Yes, yes—tell me!

[She sits on the bench beside the summer-house.

Allmers.

I was alone up there, in the heart of the great mountains. I came to a wide, dreary mountain lake; and that lake I had to cross. But I could not—for there was neither a boat nor any one there.

Rita.

Well? And then?

Allmers.

Then I went without any guidance into a side valley. I thought that by that way I could pushon over the heights and between the peaks—and then down again on the other side of the lake.

Rita.

Oh, and you lost yourself, Alfred!

Allmers.

Yes; I mistook the direction—for there was no path or track. And all day I went on—and all the next night. And at last I thought I should never see the face of man again.

Rita.

Not come home to us? Oh, then, I am sure your thoughts were with us here.

Allmers.

No—they were not.

Rita.

Not?

Allmers.

No. It was so strange. Both you and Eyolf seemed to have drifted far, far away from me—and Asta, too.

Rita.

Then what did you think of?

Allmers.

I did not think. I dragged myself along among the precipices—and rejoiced in the peace and luxury of death.

Rita.

[Springing up.] Oh, don’t use such words of that horror!

Allmers.

I did not feel it so. I had no fear. Here went death and I, it seemed to me, like two good fellow-travellers. It all seemed so natural—so simple, I thought. In my family, we don’t live to be old——

Rita.

Oh, don’t say such things, Alfred! You see you came safely out of it, after all.

Allmers.

Yes; all of a sudden, I found myself where I wanted to be—on the other side of the lake.

Rita.

It must have been a night of terror for you, Alfred. But now that it is over, you will not admit it to yourself.

Allmers.

That night sealed my resolution. And it was then that I turned about and came straight homewards. To Eyolf.

Rita.

[Softly.] Too late.

Allmers.

Yes. And then when—my fellow-traveller came and took him—then I felt the horror of it; of it all; of all that, in spite of everything,we dare not tear ourselves away from. So earth-bound are we, both of us, Rita.

Rita.

[With a gleam of joy.] Yes, you are, too, are you not! [Coming close to him.] Oh, let us live our life together as long as we can!

Allmers.

[Shrugging his shoulders.] Live our life, yes! And have nothing to fill life with. An empty void on all sides—wherever I look.

Rita.

[In fear.] Oh, sooner or later you will go away from me, Alfred! I feel it! I can see it in your face! You will go away from me.

Allmers.

With my fellow-traveller, do you mean?

Rita.

No, I mean worse than that. Of your own free will you will leave me—for you think it’s only here, with me, that you have nothing to live for. Is not that what is in your thoughts?

Allmers.

[Looking steadfastly at her.] What if it were——?

[A disturbance, and the noise of angry, quarrelling voices is heard from down below, in the distance.Allmersgoes to the railing.

Rita.

What is that? [With an outburst.] Oh, you’ll see, they have found him!

Allmers.

He will never be found.

Rita.

But what is it then?

Allmers.

[Coming forward.] Only fighting—as usual.

Rita.

Down on the beach?

Allmers.

Yes. The whole village down there ought to be swept away. Now the men have come home—drunk, as they always are. They are beating the children—do you hear the boys crying! The women are shrieking for help for them——

Rita.

Should we not get some one to go down and help them?

Allmers.

[Harshly and angrily.] Help them, who did not help Eyolf! Let them go—as they let Eyolf go.

Rita.

Oh, you must not talk like that, Alfred! Nor think like that!

Allmers.

I cannot think otherwise. All the old hovels ought to be torn down.

Rita.

And then what is to become of all the poor people?

Allmers.

They must go somewhere else.

Rita.

And the children, too?

Allmers.

Does it make much difference where they go to the dogs?

Rita.

[Quietly and reproachfully.] You are forcing yourself into this harshness, Alfred.

Allmers.

[Vehemently.] I have a right to be harsh now! It is my duty.

Rita.

Your duty?

Allmers.

My duty to Eyolf. He must not lie unavenged. Once for all, Rita—it is as I tell you! Think it over! Have the whole place down there razed to the ground—when I am gone.

Rita.

[Looks intently at him.] When you are gone?

Allmers.

Yes. For that will at least give you something to fill your life with—and something you must have.

Rita.

[Firmly and decidedly.] There you are right—I must. But can you guess what I will set about—when you are gone?

Allmers.

Well, what?

Rita.

[Slowly and with resolution.] As soon as you are gone from me, I will go down to the beach, and bring all the poor neglected children home with me. All the mischievous boys——

Allmers.

What will you do with them here?

Rita.

I will take them to my heart.

Allmers.

You!

Rita.

Yes, I will. From the day you leave me, they shall all be here, all of them, as if they were mine.

Allmers.

[Shocked.] In our little Eyolf’s place!

Rita.

Yes, in our little Eyolf’s place. They shall live in Eyolf’s rooms. They shall read his books. They shall play with his toys. They shall take it in turns to sit in his chair at table.

Allmers.

But this is sheer madness in you! I do not know a creature in the world that is less fitted than you for anything of that sort.

Rita.

Then I shall have to educate myself for it; to train myself; to discipline myself.

Allmers.

If you are really in earnest about this—about all you say—then there must indeed be a change in you.

Rita.

Yes, there is, Alfred—and for that I have you to thank. You have made an empty place within me; and I must try to fill it up with something—with something that is a little like love.

Allmers.

[Stands for a moment lost in thought; then looks at her.] The truth is, we have not done much for the poor people down there.

Rita.

We have done nothing for them.

Allmers.

Scarcely even thought of them.

Rita.

Never thought of them in sympathy.

Allmers.

We, who had "the gold, and the green forests"——

Rita.

Our hands were closed to them. And our hearts too.

Allmers.

[Nods.] Then it was perhaps natural enough, after all, that they should not risk their lives to save little Eyolf.

Rita.

[Softly.] Think, Alfred! Are you so certain that—that we would have risked ours?

Allmers.

[With an uneasy gesture of repulsion.] You must never doubt that.

Rita.

Oh, we are children of earth.

Allmers.

What do you really think you can do with all these neglected children?

Rita.

I suppose I must try if I cannot lighten and—and ennoble their lot in life.

Allmers.

If you can do that—then Eyolf was not born in vain.

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