THE LADY FROM THE SEA (1888) (continued 2)
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Lyngstrand.
[Sits silent awhile with his arms on the table, watching Boletta at work.] It must be very difficult to sew edging like that, Miss Wangel.
Boletta.
Oh no, it’s not so difficult, if only you are careful to count right——
Lyngstrand.
Count? Have you to count?
Boletta.
Yes, the stitches. Look here.
275Lyngstrand.
Why, so you must! Fancy! It’s almost a kind of art. Can you draw too?
Boletta.
Oh yes, when I have a copy before me.
Lyngstrand.
Not unless?
Boletta.
No, not unless.
Lyngstrand.
Then it’s not really art after all.
Boletta.
No, it’s more of a—a knack.
Lyngstrand.
But I should think, now, that you could probably learn art?
Boletta.
Even though I have no turn for it?
Lyngstrand.
Yes, in spite of that—if you could be always with a real born artist——
Boletta.
Do you think I could learn from him?
Lyngstrand.
I don’t mean “learn” in the ordinary sense. But I think it would come to you by degrees—by a sort of miracle, Miss Wangel.
276Boletta.
That is a strange idea.
Lyngstrand.
[After a pause.] Have you thought much—I mean—have you thought at all deeply and seriously about marriage, Miss Wangel?
Boletta.
[Glances at him.] About——? No.
Lyngstrand.
I have.
Boletta.
Indeed; have you?
Lyngstrand.
Yes. I very often think about things of that sort; and particularly about marriage. And then I have read a good deal on the subject too. I think marriage may be counted a sort of miracle: the woman is transformed, as it were, by degrees, and comes to resemble her husband.
Boletta.
Acquires his interests, you mean?
Lyngstrand.
Yes, that’s just it!
Boletta.
Well, but what about his abilities?—his talent and skill?
Lyngstrand.
H’m—well—I wonder whether they, too, wouldn’t——
277Boletta.
Then do you think that what a man has mastered by reading—or by his own thought—can be passed on in this way to his wife?
Lyngstrand.
Yes, that too; by degrees; as if by a miracle. But of course I know that this could only happen in a marriage that is faithful, and loving, and really happy.
Boletta.
Has it never occurred to you that perhaps a husband might be absorbed in the same way into his wife? Might come to resemble her, I mean.
Lyngstrand.
A husband? No, I have never thought of that.
Boletta.
But why not the one as well as the other?
Lyngstrand.
No; a man has his vocation to live for, you know. And that is what makes a man so strong and resolute, Miss Wangel. He has his life-work.
Boletta.
Every man?
Lyngstrand.
Oh no. I was thinking mainly of artists.
Boletta.
Do you think it right for an artist to marry?
278Lyngstrand.
Most certainly; if he can find some one he really loves——
Boletta.
Even then it seems to me that he should rather live for his art alone.
Lyngstrand.
Of course he must; but he can quite well do that even if he marries.
Boletta.
But what about her, then?
Lyngstrand.
Her? Who——?
Boletta.
The woman he marries. What is she to live for?
Lyngstrand.
She too must live for his art. I should think that must be such happiness for a woman.
Boletta.
H’m,—I am not so sure——
Lyngstrand.
Oh yes, Miss Wangel, believe me. It is not only all the honour and glory she enjoys through him; that, I should say, is almost the least part of it. But that she can help him to create,—that she can lighten his labour by being ever at his side, and tending him, and making life thoroughly comfortable for him. It seems to me that must be such a delight for a woman.
279Boletta.
Oh, you don’t realise how selfish you are!
Lyngstrand.
Am I selfish? Good heavens——! Oh, if you only knew me a little better——. [Bends forward towards her.] Miss Wangel,—when I am gone,—and I shall be soon——
Boletta.
[Looks at him sympathetically.] Oh don’t get such melancholy thoughts into your head.
Lyngstrand.
I don’t see that it is so very melancholy.
Boletta.
How do you mean?
Lyngstrand.
I shall be starting in about a month, first for home, and soon afterwards for the South.
Boletta.
Oh, I see. Yes, yes.
Lyngstrand.
Will you think of me now and then, Miss Wangel?
Boletta.
Yes, gladly.
Lyngstrand.
[Joyfully.] Oh, do you promise me that?
Boletta.
Yes, I promise.
280Lyngstrand.
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! Surely youyou think 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——
281Boletta.
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.
[Arnholm is seen in the garden, on the left. He stops and speaks to Ballested and Hilda.
282Lyngstrand.
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 does that matter?
283Boletta.
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. Hilda helps him. Arnholm comes 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 to Lyngstrand, who rises and bows.
Boletta.
[Rises and goes to Arnholm.] Good morning, Mr. Arnholm.
Arnholm.
How are you all here to-day?
Boletta.
Thanks, very well.
284Arnholm.
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 do you know about it?
Lyngstrand.
I told Mrs. Wangel that I had seen him in the flesh, going round behind the garden.
Arnholm.
Oh indeed.
Boletta.
[To Arnholm.] You and father sat up late last night, did you not?
Arnholm.
Yes, pretty late. We had an important question to discuss.
285Boletta.
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. Wangel enters by the door on the left.
Wangel.
[Holds out his hand to Arnholm.] Ah, my dear friend, are you here already? It’s good of 286you to come so early; there are still several things I want to discuss with you.
Boletta.
[To Lyngstrand.] Shall we join Hilda in the garden for a little while?
Lyngstrand.
With all the pleasure in life, Miss Wangel.
[He and Boletta go down into the garden, and out among the trees in the background.
Arnholm.
[Who has been following them with his eyes, turns to Wangel.] 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.
287Arnholm.
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 me 288entirely. 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 of that before. 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.
289Arnholm.
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 suppose I could 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 might 290perhaps 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?
291Wangel.
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! I will not 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.
292Arnholm.
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.
293Wangel.
[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 suggested that to 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 least some chance of their one day being able to marry.
Arnholm.
To marry? Have you that so much on your mind already?
294Wangel.
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!
Ellida enters by the door on the left.
Ellida.
[Rapidly to Wangel.] Be sure you do not go out this morning.
Wangel.
No no, certainly not; I will stay at home with you. [Points to Arnholm, 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?
295Ellida.
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 at Wangel.] 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.
296Ellida.
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.
297Wangel.
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 of 298him on the way home, the night before last. Ten years ago he had no beard, you said. He was quite differently dressed too.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?
Wangel.
Yes; its coming—may be your salvation.
299Ellida.
[Seats herself on the sofa.] Wangel—come here and sit by me. I must tell you all my thoughts.
Wangel.
Yes do, dear Ellida.
[He seats himself on a chair at the other side of the table.
Ellida.
It was really a great misfortune—for both of us—that we two, of all people, should come together.
Wangel.
[Starts.] What do you say?
Ellida.
Oh yes it was—and it could not but be. It could lead to nothing but unhappiness—especially considering the way we came together.
Wangel.
Why, what was wrong with the way——?
Ellida.
Listen now, Wangel,—it is useless for us to go on any longer lying to ourselves—and to each other.
Wangel.
Are we doing so? Lying do you say?
Ellida.
Yes, lying. Or at any rate—concealing the truth. The truth—the sheer unvarnished truth is this: you came out there and—bought me.
300Wangel.
Bought——Did you say—bought?
Ellida.
Oh, I was not a bit better than you. I joined in the bargain. I went and sold myself to you.
Wangel.
[Looks at her, deeply pained.] Ellida,—have you the heart to say so?
Ellida.
Why, what else can you call it? You could not bear the void in your house; you looked about for a new wife——
Wangel.
And for a new mother for the children, Ellida.
Ellida.
That too, perhaps—incidentally, as it were. Although—you did not in the least know whether I was fit to be a mother to them. You had only seen me and spoken with me once or twice. But you took a fancy to me, and so——
Wangel.
Well, you may give it what name you please.
Ellida.
And I, for my part——. There was I, helpless and forlorn, and utterly alone. What more natural than that I should accept the bargain—when you came and offered to maintain me all my life.
Wangel.
I assure you I did not think of it in that light, 301my dear Ellida. I asked you honestly if you would share with me and the children the little I could call my own.
Ellida.
Yes, you did. But, little or much, I ought not to have accepted! I should never have accepted at any price! I should never have sold myself! Better the meanest labour—better the deepest poverty—of my own free will—by my own choice!
Wangel.
[Rising.] Then have the five or six years we have lived together been utterly wasted for you?
Ellida.
Oh, you must not think that, Wangel! I have had all from you that any one could possibly desire. But I did not come into your home of my own free will,—that is the thing.
Wangel.
[Looks at her.] Not of your free will?
Ellida.
No; it was not of my own free will that I cast in my lot with yours.
Wangel.
[Softly.] Ah, I remember—the phrase he used yesterday.
Ellida.
The whole secret lies in that phrase. It has thrown a new light on things for me; so that I see it all now.
Wangel.
What do you see?
302Ellida.
I see that the life we two lead with each other—is really no marriage at all.
Wangel.
[Bitterly.] There you are right. The life we now lead is no marriage at all.
Ellida.
Nor the life we led before; never; not from the outset. [Looks straight before her.] The first—that might have been a real and true marriage.
Wangel.
The first? What “first” do you mean?
Ellida.
Mine,—with him.
Wangel.
[Looks at her in astonishment.] I cannot understand you at all!
Ellida.
Oh my dear Wangel,—do not let us lie to each other; nor to ourselves.
Wangel.
No, of course not! But what then?
Ellida.
Why, don’t you see—we can never get away from this—that a voluntary promise is to the full as binding as a marriage.
Wangel.
Why, what in the world——!
303Ellida.
[Rises impetuously.] Let me leave you, Wangel!
Wangel.
Ellida——! Ellida——!
Ellida.
Yes, yes—you must let me! I can assure you there will be nothing else for it in the end—after the way we two came together.
Wangel.
[Controlling his emotion.] So it has come to this!
Ellida.
It had to come to this; no other end was possible.
Wangel.
[Looks sorrowfully at her.] So even in our daily life together I have not won you. You have never, never been wholly mine.
Ellida.
Oh Wangel—if only I could love you as I gladly would! As tenderly as you deserve! But I feel quite clearly—it will never be.
Wangel.
A divorce then? It is a divorce,—a formal, legal divorce,—that you want?
Ellida.
My dear, you do not understand me at all. It is not the forms that I care about. These external things seem to me to matter nothing. What I wish 304is that we two should agree, of our own free will, to release each other.
Wangel.
[Bitterly, nods slowly.] To cancel the bargain,—yes.
Ellida.
[Eagerly.] Precisely! To cancel the bargain.
Wangel.
And after that, Ellida? Afterwards? Have you thought of the outlook for both of us? What shape will our lives take—both yours and mine?
Ellida.
We must not let that influence us. The future must shape itself as best it can. This that I am begging of you, Wangel,—this is the chief thing! Set me free! Give me back my full freedom.
Wangel.
Ellida—this is a terrible demand you make upon me. Let me at least have time to collect myself and come to a resolve. Let us discuss the matter more thoroughly. And do you, too, give yourself time to reflect what you are doing!
Ellida.
But there is no time to waste on all that. You must give me back my freedom this very day.day.
Wangel.
Why to-day?
Ellida.
Because it is to-night that he is coming.
305Wangel.
[Starts.] Coming! He! What has the stranger to do with this?
Ellida.
I want to meet him in full freedom.
Wangel.
And what—what do you intend to do then?
Ellida.
I do not want to take refuge in the plea that I am another man’s wife—or that I have no choice left me. For then my decision would decide nothing.
Wangel.
You talk of choice! Choice, Ellida! Choice in this matter!
Ellida.
Yes, choose I must—freely choose either course. I must be free to let him go away alone—or—to go with him.
Wangel.
Do you understand what you are saying? Go with him! Place your whole fate in his hands!
Ellida.
Did I not place my whole fate in your hands? And that—without thinking twice.
Wangel.
That may be. But he! He! A total stranger! A man you know so little about!
306Ellida.
I knew perhaps even less of you; and yet I went with you.
Wangel.
At least you knew pretty well what kind of life you were entering upon. But now? Now? Reflect! What do you know now? Nothing whatever: not even who he is—or what he is.
Ellida.
[Looking straight before her.] That is true. But that is just the terrible thing.
Wangel.
Yes, terrible indeed——
Ellida.
And that is why I feel as if I must give way to it.
Wangel.
[Looks at her.] Because it seems to you terrible?
Ellida.
Yes, just because of that.
Wangel.
[Nearer.] Tell me, Ellida—what do you really mean by “terrible”?
Ellida.
[Reflects.] I call a thing terrible—when it both frightens and fascinates me.
Wangel.
Fascinates?
307Ellida.
Most of all when it fascinates me—I think.
Wangel.
[Slowly.] You are akin to the sea.
Ellida.
There is terror in that too.
Wangel.
And in yourself no less. You both frighten and fascinate.[21]
Ellida.
Do you think so, Wangel?
Wangel.
I see that I have never really known you; never thoroughly. I am beginning to understand that now.
Ellida.
And therefore you must set me free! Loose me from every tie to you and yours! I am not the woman you took me for; you see that now yourself. Now we can part in mutual understanding—and of our own free will.
Wangel.
[Gloomily.] It would perhaps be best for us both—to part. But for all that, I cannot! To me it 308is you that are “terrible,” Ellida. And fascinating—that you are above all things.
Ellida.
Do you say so?
Wangel.
Let us try to get through this day with no false step—to act calmly and collectedly. I cannot release you and let you go to-day. I must not—for your own sake, Ellida. I assert my right and my duty to protect you.
Ellida.
Protect? What is there to protect me against? It is not any outward force or violence that threatens me. The terrible thing lies deeper, Wangel! The terrible thing is—the fascination I feel in my own mind; and what can you do against that?
Wangel.
I can strengthen and support you in resisting it.
Ellida.
Yes—if I had the will to resist it.
Wangel.
Have you not the will?
Ellida.
Oh, that is just what I don’t know!
Wangel.
To-night all will be decided, dear Ellida——
309Ellida.
[Breaks out.] Yes, think of it——! The decision so near! The decision for all time!
Wangel.
——and then to-morrow——
Ellida.
Yes, to-morrow! Perhaps I shall have forfeited my true future!
Wangel.
Your true——?
Ellida.
A whole, full life of freedom forfeited—forfeited for me! And perhaps—for him too.
Wangel.
[In a lower tone, seizing her by the wrist.] Ellida,—do you love this stranger?
Ellida.
Do I——? Oh how can I tell! I only know that to me he is terrible, and that——
Wangel.
——and that——?
Ellida.
[Tears herself away.]——and that I feel as though my place were with him.
Wangel.
[Bows his head.] I begin to understand.
310Ellida.
And what help, what remedy have you to offer me?
Wangel.
[Looks sorrowfully at her.] To-morrow—he will be gone. Then you will be safe from disaster; and then I promise to release you and let you go. We will cancel the bargain, Ellida.
Ellida.
Oh Wangel——! To-morrow—it will be too late——!
Wangel.
[Looks out towards the garden.]] The children! The children——! Let us at least spare them—for the present.
Arnholm, Boletta, Hilda, and Lyngstrand appear in the garden. Lyngstrand takes leave without entering the house, and goes out to the left. The others come into the room.
Arnholm.
Ah, I can tell you we have been laying great plans——
Hilda.
We want to go out on the fiord this evening, and——
Boletta.
No, no, don’t tell!
Wangel.
We two have also been laying plans.
Arnholm.
Ah—really?
311Wangel.
To-morrow Ellida is going to Skioldvik—for a time.
Boletta.
Going away——?
Arnholm.
That is very wise, Mrs. Wangel.
Wangel.
Ellida wants to go home again; home to the sea.
Hilda.
[With a little rush towards Ellida.] Are you going away? Going away from us!
Ellida.
[Startled.] Why, Hilda! What is the matter with you?
Hilda.
[Restraining herself.] Oh, nothing at all. [In a low tone, turning from her.] Go by all means!
Boletta.
[Anxiously.] Father, I can see—you are going away too—to Skioldvik!
Wangel.
No, certainly not! I shall perhaps run out now and then——
Boletta.
And home again——?
Wangel.
Yes, home——
312Boletta.
——now and then, I suppose!
Wangel.
My dear child, it must be so. [He walks away.
Arnholm.
[Whispers.] I have something to say to you by-and-by, Boletta.
[He goes over to Wangel. They converse in a low tone by the door.
Ellida.
[Softly to Boletta.] What was the matter with Hilda? She seemed quite beside herself!
Boletta.
Have you never seen what Hilda has been thirsting for, day after day?
Ellida.
Thirsting for?
Boletta.
Ever since you came into the house!
Ellida.
No, no,—what is it?
Boletta.
One word of affection from you.
Ellida.
Ah——! What if there were work for me to do here!
313
[She clasps her hands above her head and looks immovably before her, as if a prey to conflicting thoughts and moods.
[Wangel and Arnholm come forward conversing in whispers.
[Boletta goes and looks into the side room on the right. Then she throws the door wide open.
Boletta.
Well, father dear—dinner is on the table,——
Wangel.
[With forced composure.] Is it, child? That’s right. Come along, Arnholm! We will drink a parting cup with—with “the lady from the sea.”
[They go towards the door on the right.
314
ACT FIFTH.
The remote corner of Dr. Wangel’s garden, by the carp-pond. Deepening summer twilight.
Arnholm, Boletta, Lyngstrand, and Hilda, in a boat on the fiord, are punting along the shore from the left.
Hilda.
Look, we can easily jump ashore here!
Arnholm.
No no, don’t do it!
Lyngstrand.
I can’t jump, Miss Hilda.
Hilda.
Can’t you jump either, Mr. Arnholm?
Arnholm.
I would rather not.
Boletta.
Let us land at the bathing-house steps.
[They punt the boat out to the right.
At that moment Ballested appears from the right, on the footpath, carrying music and a French horn. He greets those in the boat, turns, and talks to them. Their answers are heard farther and farther off.
315Ballested.
What do you say?—Yes of course it’s in honour of the English steamer. It’s her last trip this year. But if you want to enjoy the music you mustn’t put off too long. [Calls out.] What? [Shakes his head.] Can’t hear what you say!
[Ellida, with a shawl over her head, comes in from the left, followed by Dr. Wangel.
Wangel.
But, my dear Ellida, I assure you there is ample time.
Ellida.
No, no,—there is not! He may come at any moment.
Ballested.
[Outside, by the garden fence.] Ah, good evening, Doctor! Good evening, Mrs. Wangel!
Wangel.
[Notices him.] Oh, are you there? Is there to be music to-night again?
Ballested.
Yes. The Musical Society proposes to show what it can do. There’s no lack of festive occasions at this season. To-night it’s in honour of the Englishman.
Ellida.
The English steamer! Is it in sight already?
Ballested.
Not yet; but you see it comes down the fiord among the islands. It is on you before you know where you are.
316Ellida.
Yes,—that is true.
Wangel.
[Partly to Ellida.] This is the last trip. After to-night we shall see no more of it.
Ballested.
A melancholy thought, Doctor. But that’s why we are turning out in its honour, as I said before. Ah yes, ah yes! The happy summer-time is drawing to a close. “Soon will all the straits be ice-bound,” as they say in the tragedy.[22]
Ellida.
All the straits ice-bound,—yes.
Ballested.
Mournful reflection! For weeks and months now we have been joyful children of the summer; it is hard to reconcile oneself to the dark days. At first, that is to say; for people can alcli—ac—climatise themselves, Mrs. Wangel. Yes they can indeed.
[He bows and goes out to the left.
Ellida.
[Looks out across the fiord.] Oh this torturing suspense! This intolerable last half-hour before the decision!
Wangel.
Then you are still bent on speaking with him yourself?
Ellida.
I must speak with him myself; for I must make my choice of my own free will.
317Wangel.
You have no choice, Ellida. You cannot be allowed to choose—I will not allow you.
Ellida.
You can never prevent my choosing; neither you nor any one else. You can forbid me to go away with him—to cast in my lot with him—if I should choose that. You can forcibly detain me here, against my will. That you can do. But the choice in my innermost soul—my choice of him and not of you,—in case I should and must choose so,—that you cannot prevent.
Wangel.
No, you are right; I cannot prevent that.
Ellida.
And then I have nothing to help me to resist! At home here there is nothing whatever to attach and bind me. I am utterly without root in your house, Wangel. The children are not mine—their hearts, I mean. They have never been mine.—When I go away—if I do go away—either with him to-night or out to Skioldvik to-morrow,—I have not a key to give up, not a direction to leave behind me, about anything in the world. You see how utterly without root I am in your house; how I have stood entirely outside of everything from the very first moment.
Wangel.
You yourself willed it so.
Ellida.
No, I did not. I had no will one way or the 318other. I have merely let everything remain as I found it the day I came. It is you—and no one else—who have willed it so.
Wangel.
I meant to do what was best for you.
Ellida.
Oh yes, Wangel, I know that so well! But now all this must be paid for; it will have its revenge. There is nothing here now that has any binding power over me—nothing to support—nothing to help me. There is no counter-fascination for me in what should have been the dearest treasure of our common life.
Wangel.
I see that well enough, Ellida; and so from to-morrow you shall have your freedom again. Hereafter you shall live your own life.
Ellida.
You call that my own life! Oh no, my own true life slid into a wrong groove when I joined it to yours. [Clenches her hands together in fear and agitation.] And now—to-night—in half an hour—the man I have forsaken will be here—the man to whom my faith should have been inviolable, as his has been to me! Now he is coming to offer me—for the last and only time—a chance of beginning life afresh—of living my own real life—the life that at once frightens and fascinates me—and that I cannot forgo. Not of my own free will!
Wangel.
That is just why you require your husband—and 319your physician also—to take the power out of your hands, and to act on your behalf.
Ellida.
Yes, Wangel, I understand that very well. Oh, there are times, you may be sure, when I feel as though there would be safety and peace in clinging close to you, and trying to defy all the powers that frighten and fascinate me. But I cannot do it. No, no,—I cannot do it!
Wangel.
Come, Ellida—let us walk up and down a little.
Ellida.
I should like to; but I dare not. You know he said that I was to wait for him here.
Wangel.
Do come. You have plenty of time yet.
Ellida.
Do you think so?
Wangel.
Ample time, I assure you.
Ellida.
Let us walk a little then.
[They go out in front, to the right. At the same moment Arnholm and Boletta appear by the upper bank of the pond.
Boletta.
[Catching sight of the retreating figures.] Look there——!
320Arnholm.
[Softly.] Hush! Let them go.
Boletta.
Can you understand what has been passing between them these last few days?
Arnholm.
Have you noticed anything?
Boletta.
Have I noticed——!
Arnholm.
Anything particular?
Boletta.
Oh yes; many things. Have you not?
Arnholm.
Well, I don’t quite know——
Boletta.
Yes, I am sure you have; only you won’t admit it.
Arnholm.
I think it will do your stepmother good to take this little trip.
Boletta.
Do you?
Arnholm.
Yes; I fancy it would be a good thing for every one if she were to get away a little now and then.
321Boletta.
If she goes home to Skioldvik to-morrow, she will certainly never come back again.
Arnholm.
Why, my dear Boletta, what have you got into your head?
Boletta.
I am perfectly convinced of it. Just you wait! You shall see—she won’t return. Not while Hilda and I are at home, at any rate.
Arnholm.
Hilda too?
Boletta.
Well, perhaps Hilda might not matter so much. She is hardly more than a child yet; and I believe in her heart she worships Ellida. But with me it is different, you see; a stepmother who is not so very much older than oneself——
Arnholm.
My dear Boletta—you may not have so very long to wait before leaving home.
Boletta.
[Eagerly.] Do you think so? Have you spoken to father about it?
Arnholm.
Yes, I have done that too.
Boletta.
Well—and what did he say?
322Arnholm.
H’m—your father is so absorbed in other thoughts just now—-
Boletta.
Yes, yes, that is just what I told you.
Arnholm.
But so much I ascertained from him, that you must not count upon any help from that quarter.
Boletta.
Not——?
Arnholm.
He put his position quite clearly before me, and showed that anything of the kind was a sheer impossibility for him.
Boletta.
[Reproachfully.] Then how could you have the heart to stand there and make game of me?
Arnholm.
Indeed I did not, dear Boletta. It depends entirely upon yourself whether you will leave home or not.
Boletta.
Depends upon me, you say?
Arnholm.
Whether you will go out into the world and learn all that your heart desires. Whether you will take part in all that, at home here, you so long for. Whether you will live your life under happier conditions, Boletta. What do you say?
323Boletta.
[Clasping her hands.] Oh how glorious——! But all this is utterly impossible. If father neither will nor can——There is no one else in the whole world that I can turn to.
Arnholm.
Could you not let your old—your former tutor come to your aid?
Boletta.
You, Mr. Arnholm? Would you really——?
Arnholm.
Stand by you? Yes, with the greatest of pleasure, both in word and deed; that you may rely upon. Do you accept my offer then? Tell me! Do you consent?
Boletta.
Do I consent? To leave home—to see the world—to learn something really worth knowing—to do everything that has seemed to me most delightful and impossible——?
Arnholm.
Yes, all this is now within your reach, if only you will.
Boletta.
And you will help me to this unspeakable happiness. Oh—but tell me—can I accept so great a gift from a stranger?
Arnholm.
You can quite well accept it from me, Boletta. From me you may accept anything.
324Boletta.
[Seizes his hands.] Yes, I really think I may. I don’t know how it is, but——[With an outburst of emotion.] Oh—I could both laugh and cry for joy!—for sheer happiness! Oh—to think that I shall learn what life is, after all; I was beginning to be so afraid that it would slip away from me.
Arnholm.
You need not be afraid of that, dear Boletta. But now you must tell me quite frankly whether there is anything—any tie that binds you here?
Boletta.
Any tie? No, none.
Arnholm.
None at all?
Boletta.
No, none whatever. That is,—of course father is a tie—in a way. And Hilda too. But——
Arnholm.
Well—your father you will have to leave sooner or later; and Hilda too will one day take her own path in life; that is only a question of time. But otherwise there is nothing to bind you, Boletta? No engagement of any sort?
Boletta.
No, nothing of the kind. So far as that is concerned, I can quite well go wherever I please.
Arnholm.
Well then, if that is the case, my dear Boletta—you shall come away with me.
325Boletta.
[Claps her hands.] Oh great heavens—what a joy to think of!
Arnholm.
I hope you have full confidence in me?
Boletta.
Yes, indeed I have.
Arnholm.
And you can place yourself and your future fullyfully and fearlessly in my hands, Boletta? You feel you can, do you not?
Boletta.
Oh yes, certainly! Why should I not? Can you doubt it? You, my old tutor—my tutor in the old days, I mean.
Arnholm.
Not only because of that. I do not lay so much stress on that side of the matter. But—well—since you are free then, Boletta—since there is no tie that binds you,—I ask you—if you would be willing—willing to unite yourself to me—for life?
Boletta.
[Starts back in fear.] Oh—what are you saying?
Arnholm.
For your whole life, Boletta. Will you be my wife?
Boletta.
[Half to herself.] No, no, no! This is impossible! Utterly impossible!
326Arnholm.
Is it so utterly impossible for you to——?
Boletta.
You surely cannot mean what you are saying, Mr. Arnholm? [Looks at him.] Or——Perhaps——Was this what you had in mind when—when you proposed to do so much for me?
Arnholm.
Now you must listen to me a little, Boletta. It appears I have taken you quite by surprise.
Boletta.
Oh, how could such an offer—from you,—how could it fail to—to surprise me?
Arnholm.
No doubt you are right. You did not know, of course,—you could not know, that it was for your sake I came here just now.
Boletta.
Did you come here for—for my sake?
Arnholm.
Yes, I did, Boletta. I got a letter from your father this spring—and in it was a phrase which led me to believe—h’m—that you had kept your former tutor in—in a little more than friendly remembrance.
Boletta.
How could father say such a thing?
Arnholm.
It appears that was not what he meant at all. 327But in the meantime I had accustomed myself to the thought that here was a young girl waiting and longing for me to come again.—No, you mustn’t interrupt me, dear Boletta! And, you see,—when a man, like myself, is no longer in the first flush of youth, such a belief—or illusion—makes an exceedingly strong impression. A vivid—a grateful affection for you grew up within me. I felt I must come to you; see you again; tell you that I shared the feelings which I imagined you entertained for me.
Boletta.
But now, when you know that it was not so! That it was a mistake!
Arnholm.
That makes no difference, Boletta. Your image—as it dwells in my heart—will always remain coloured and thrown into relief by the feeling that mistake aroused in me. Perhaps you cannot understand this; but so it is.
Boletta.
I never dreamed that anything of the kind was possible.
Arnholm.
But now that you see it is——? What do you say, Boletta? Can you not make up your mind to—to be my wife?
Boletta.
Oh, it seems so utterly impossible, Mr. Arnholm. You, who have been my teacher! I cannot imagine myself standing in any other kind of relation to you.
328Arnholm.
Well, well—if you feel absolutely sure that you cannot—then the relation between us remains unaltered, my dear Boletta.
Boletta.
How do you mean?
Arnholm.
Of course I stand to my proposition, none the less. I will take care that you get away from home and see something of the world. I will enable you to learn what you really want to, and live in security and independence. Your more distant future, too, I will provide for, Boletta. In me you will always have a firm, steadfast friend to rely upon. Be sure of that!
Boletta.
Oh dear—Mr. Arnholm—all this has become quite impossible now.
Arnholm.
Is this impossible too?
Boletta.
Yes, surely you can see it is! After what you have said to me—and after the answer I have given you——. Oh, you must surely understand that I cannot accept such great favours from you! I can accept nothing in the world from you; never after this!
Arnholm.
Then would you rather stay at home here and let life slip away from you?
329Boletta.
Oh, it is torture to think of it!
Arnholm.
Will you renounce all hope of seeing something of the outer world? Renounce your chance of taking part in all that you say you are thirsting for? Can you know that life has such infinite possibilities—and yet be content to realise no single one of them? Think well, Boletta.
Boletta.
Yes, yes—you are quite right, Mr. Arnholm.
Arnholm.
And then—when your father is no longer with you—you might find yourself helpless and alone in the world. Or you might have to give yourself to another man—whom you—possibly—might not be able to care for, any more than for me.
Boletta.
Oh yes,—I see quite well how true it is—all that you say. But still—!——Or perhaps, after all——
Arnholm.
[Quickly.] Well!
Boletta.
[Looks at him, undecided.] Perhaps it might not be utterly impossible after all——
Arnholm.
What, Boletta?
330Boletta.
That I might—perhaps agree to—what—what you proposed to me.
Arnholm.
Do you mean that perhaps you might——? That at least you would grant me the happiness of coming to your aid as a faithful friend?
Boletta.
No, no, no! Never that! That would be absolutely impossible now. No—Mr. Arnholm—I had rather you should take me——
Arnholm.
Boletta! Will you——!
Boletta.
Yes,—I think—I will.
Arnholm.
You will be my wife?
Boletta.
Yes; if you still think you—ought to take me.
Arnholm.
If I think——! [Seizes her hand.] Oh thanks, thanks, Boletta! What you have been saying—your hesitation at first—that does not alarm me. If I do not fully possess your heart as yet, I shall know how to win it. Oh Boletta, how I will treasure you!
Boletta.
And I am to see the world; to take part in its life; you have promised me that.
331Arnholm.
And I hold to it.
Boletta.
And I am to learn everything I want to.
Arnholm.
I myself will be your teacher, as in the old days, Boletta. Think of the last year you were my pupil——
Boletta.
[In quiet self-absorption.] Fancy,—to know oneself free—to go out into the unknown world! And then to have no care for the future; no constant fears about miserable money——
Arnholm.
No, you shall never have to waste a thought on such things. And, my dear Boletta, that is a good thing too, in its way—isn’t it now?
Boletta.
Yes, it is indeed. I know it is.
Arnholm.
[Putting his arm round her waist.] Oh you shall see how cosily and comfortably we will arrange our life! And what peace and confidence there will be between us, Boletta!
Boletta.
Yes, I begin to——. I really think—that we ought to get on together. [Looks out to the right, and hurriedly disengages herself.] Ah! Please don’t say anything about it!
332Arnholm.
What is the matter, dear?
Boletta.
Oh, it’s that poor——[Points.] Over there.
Arnholm.
Is it your father——?
Boletta.
No, it’s the young sculptor. He is walking over there with Hilda.
Arnholm.
Oh, Lyngstrand. Why should you trouble about him?
Boletta.
Oh you know how delicate and ill he is.
Arnholm.
Yes, if it isn’t all his imagination.
Boletta.
No, it is real; he cannot live long. But perhaps it is best for him.
Arnholm.
How best for him, my dear?
Boletta.
Well because,—because I don’t think much would come of his art in any case.—Let us go before they come.
333Arnholm.
By all means, my dear Boletta.
[Hilda and Lyngstrand appear beside the pond.
Hilda.
Hi! Hi! Won’t you condescend to wait for us?
Arnholm.
Boletta and I would rather go on ahead.
[He and Boletta go out to the left.
Lyngstrand.
[Laughs quietly.] It is quite amusing here just now; everybody goes in couples; always two and two together.
Hilda.
[Looks after them.] I could almost swear that he is making love to her.
Lyngstrand.
Really? Have you seen anything to make you think so?
Hilda.
Oh yes. It’s easy to see it—if you keep your eyes about you.
Lyngstrand.
But Miss Boletta will not have him. I am sure of that.
Hilda.
No. She thinks he looks so frightfully old; and she’s afraid he’ll soon be bald too.
334Lyngstrand.
Ah, I don’t mean only because of that. She would not have him in any case.
Hilda.
How can you know that?
Lyngstrand.
Well, because there is some one else she has promised to keep in her thoughts.
Hilda.
Only to keep in her thoughts?
Lyngstrand.
Yes, while he is away.
Hilda.
Oh, then I suppose it’s you she is to keep in her thoughts.
Lyngstrand.
Possibly.
Hilda.
Has she promised you that?
Lyngstrand.
Yes, only think—she has promised me that! But please, please don’t tell her that you know about it.
Hilda.
Oh, don’t be afraid: I am as silent as the grave.
Lyngstrand.
I think it is so tremendously kind of her.
335Hilda.
And then, when you come home again—is it to be an engagement? Are you going to marry her?
Lyngstrand.
No, I scarcely think that would do. You see, marriage is out of the question for me for a few years yet; and then, when I have made my way, she will be a bit too old for me, I fancy.
Hilda.
And yet you want her to go on thinking of you?
Lyngstrand.
Yes; for it would help me so much; as an artist, you understand. And she, having no special vocation of her own in life, can so easily do it.—But it is kind of her, all the same.
Hilda.
Do you think, then, that you can get on quicker with your group if you know that Boletta is thinking of you at home here?
Lyngstrand.
Yes, I imagine so. You see, the knowledge that somewhere in the world a young, exquisite, silent woman is secretly dreaming of one—I think it must be so—so——. Well, I scarcely know what to call it.
Hilda.
Do you mean—thrilling?
Lyngstrand.
Thrilling? Oh yes. It is thrilling I mean; or 336something of that sort. [Looks at her a moment.] You are so bright, Miss Hilda; really you are very bright, you know. When I come home again you will be just about as old as your sister is now. Perhaps you will look as she looks now; and perhaps you will have grown like her in mind as well. Very likely you will be, as it were, both yourself and her—in one body, so to speak.
Hilda.
Would that please you?
Lyngstrand.
I don’t quite know. Yes, I almost think so. But now—for this summer—I prefer you to be like yourself alone—just exactly as you are.
Hilda.
Do you like me best so?
Lyngstrand.
Yes, I like you exceedingly as you are.
Hilda.
H’m,—tell me,—as an artist—do you think I do right in always wearing light summer dresses?
Lyngstrand.
Yes, I think you do perfectly right.
Hilda.
Then you think bright colours suit me?
Lyngstrand.
Yes, charmingly, to my taste.
337Hilda.
But tell me—as an artist—how do you think I should look in black?
Lyngstrand.
In black, Miss Hilda?
Hilda.
Yes, all in black. Do you think I should look nice?
Lyngstrand.
Black is scarcely the thing for the summer-time. But for that matter I am sure you would look extremely well in black too. Yes, you have just the figure for it.
Hilda.
[Gazing before her.] In black right up to the neck—a black ruffle—black gloves and a long black veil behind.
Lyngstrand.
If you were dressed like that, Miss Hilda, I should long to be a painter—so that I might paint a young, lovely, broken-hearted widow.
Hilda.
Or a young girl mourning for her betrothed.
Lyngstrand.
Yes, that would suit you still better. But you can’t wish to dress yourself like that?
Hilda.
I don’t know; I think it is thrilling.
Lyngstrand.
Thrilling?
338Hilda.
Thrilling to think of, yes. [Points suddenly to the left.] Oh, look there!
Lyngstrand.
[Looking in the direction indicated.] The big English steamer! And right in at the pier!
Wangel and Ellida appear by the pond.
Wangel.
No, I assure you, my dear Ellida, you are mistaken. [Sees the others.] What, are you two here? She is not in sight yet, is she, Mr. Lyngstrand?
Lyngstrand.
The big English boat?
Wangel.
Yes.
Lyngstrand.
[Pointing.] There she lies already, Doctor.
Ellida.
Ah—! I knew it.
Wangel.
She is come!
Lyngstrand.
Come like a thief in the night, you might say—softly and noiselessly——
Wangel.
You must take Hilda down to the pier. Make haste! I’m sure she would like to hear the music.
339Lyngstrand.
Yes, we were just going, Doctor.
Wangel.
We will perhaps come afterwards. We’ll come presently.
Hilda.
[Whispers to Lyngstrand.] Another pair, you see.
[She and Lyngstrand go out through the garden to the left. Distant music of wind instruments is heard out on the fiord during what follows.
Ellida.
He has come! He is here! Yes, yes—I feel it.
Wangel.
You had better go in, Ellida. Let me see him alone.
Ellida.
Oh—it is impossible! Impossible, I say! [With a cry.] Ah—do you see him Wangel!
The Stranger enters from the left and stops on the footpath, outside the garden fence.
The Stranger.
[Bows.] Good evening. I have come again you see, Ellida.
Ellida.
Yes, yes, yes,—the hour has come.
The Stranger.
Are you ready to go with me? Or are you not?
340Wangel.
You can see for yourself that she is not.
The Stranger.
I was not thinking of travelling-clothes and trunks and that sort of thing. I have on board with me everything she requires for the voyage; and I have taken a cabin for her. [To Ellida.] I ask you, then, if you are ready to come with me—to come with me of your own free will?
Ellida.
[Imploringly.] Oh, do not ask me! Do not tempt me so!
[A steamer-bell is heard in the distance.
The Stranger.
There goes the warning bell. Now you must say yes or no.
Ellida.
[Wrings her hands.] To have to decide! To decide for all time! To do what can never be undone!
The Stranger.
Never. In half an hour it will be too late.
Ellida.
[Looks timidly and intently at him.] What makes you hold to me so persistently?
The Stranger.
Do you not feel, as I do, that we two belong to each other?
Ellida.
Do you mean because of that promise?
341The Stranger.
Promises bind no one: neither man nor woman. If I hold to you persistently, it is because I cannot do otherwise.
Ellida.
[Softly and trembling.] Why did you not come sooner?
Wangel.
Ellida!
Ellida.
[With an outburst of emotion.] Oh—what is it that tempts and allures and seems to drag me into the unknown! The whole might of the sea is centred in this one thing!
[The Stranger climbs over the garden fence.
Ellida.
[Shrinks behind Wangel.] What is it? What do you want?
The Stranger.
I see it—I hear it in your voice, Ellida—it is me you will choose in the end.
Wangel.
[Advances towards him.] My wife has no choice in the matter. I am here to choose for her and—to protect her. Yes, protect her! If you do not get away from here—out of the country—and never come back—do you know what you expose yourself to?
Ellida.
No, no, Wangel! Not that!
The Stranger.
What will you do to me?
342Wangel.
I will have you arrested—as a felon! At once! Before you can get on board! I know all about the murder out at Skioldvik.
Ellida.
Oh Wangel,—how can you——?
The Stranger.
I was prepared for that move; and therefore,—[Takes a revolver out of his breast pocket],—I have provided myself with this.
Ellida.
[Throws herself before Wangel.] No, no—do not kill him! Rather kill me!
The Stranger.
Neither you nor him; be easy on that score. This is for myself; I will live and die a free man!
Ellida.
[With increasing agitation.] Wangel! Let me tell you this—tell you in his hearing! I know you can keep me here! You have the power, and no doubt you will use it! But my mind—all my thoughts—all my irresistible longings and desires—these you cannot fetter! They will yearn and strain—out into the unknown—that I was created for—and that you have barred against me!
Wangel.
[In quiet grief.] I see it clearly, Ellida! Step by step you are gliding away from me. Your craving for the limitless and the infinite—and for 343the unattainable—will drive your mind quite out into the darkness at last.
Ellida.
Oh yes, yes,—I feel it—like black soundless wings hovering over me!
Wangel.
It shall not come to that. There is no other way of deliverance for you; at least I see none. And therefore—therefore I—cancel our bargain on the spot.—Now you can choose your own path—in full—full freedom.
Ellida.
[Gazes at him awhile as if speechless.] Is this true—true—what you say? Do you mean it—from your inmost heart?
Wangel.
Yes,—from the inmost depths of my tortured heart, I mean it.
Ellida.
And can you do it? Can you carry out your purpose?
Wangel.
Yes, I can. I can—because of my great love for you.
Ellida.
[Softly and tremblingly.] And I have come to be so near—so dear to you!
Wangel.
The years of our marriage have made you so.
344Ellida.
[Clasps her hands together.] And I,—I have been blind to it!
Wangel.
Your thoughts went in other directions. But now,—now you are set wholly free from me and mine. Now your own true life can return to its—its right grove again. For now you can choose in freedom; and on your own responsibility, Ellida.
Ellida.
[Clasps her head with her hands and gazes fixedly towards Wangel.] In freedom—and on my own responsibility? Responsibility! This—this transforms everything.
[The steamer bell rings again.
The Stranger.
Do you hear, Ellida? The bell is ringing for the last time. Come away!
Ellida.
[Turns towards him, looks fixedly at him, and says with determination in her voice.] I can never go with you after this.
The Stranger.
You will not go?
Ellida.
[Clings to Wangel.] Oh—after this I can never leave you!
Wangel.
Ellida,—Ellida.
The Stranger.
It is all over then?
345Ellida.
Yes.Yes. Over for all time!
The Stranger.
I see it. There is something here that is stronger than my will.
Ellida.
Your will has no longer a feather’s weight with me. For me you are a dead man, who has come home from the sea—and who is returning to it again. But I am no longer in terror of you: you fascinate me no more.
The Stranger.
Good-bye, Mrs. Wangel! [He vaults over the fence.] Henceforth you[23] are nothing but—a bygone shipwreck in my life.
[He goes out to the left.
Wangel.
[Looks at her awhile.] Ellida—your mind is like the sea: it has its ebb and flow. What brought the transformation?
Ellida.
Oh, do you not understand that the transformation came,—that it had to come—when I could choose in freedom.
Wangel.
And the unknown,—it fascinates you no longer?
Ellida.
It neither fascinates nor frightens me. I could have seen into it—gone into it—if I had wished to. I was free to choose it; and therefore I was able to reject it.
346Wangel.
I begin to understand you—by degrees. You think and conceive in images—in visible pictures. Your longing and yearning for the sea—the fascination that he—the stranger—possessed for you—must have been the expression of an awakening and growing need for freedom within you—nothing else.
Ellida.
Oh, I don’t know what to say to that. But you have been a good physician for me. You found,—and you had the courage to use,—the right remedy—the only one that could help me.
Wangel.
Yes, in the last extremity of danger, we physicians have courage for much.—But now you will come to me again, will you not, Ellida?
Ellida.
Yes, my dear, faithful Wangel—now I will come to you again. I can now, for now I come to you in freedom—of my own will—and on my own responsibility.
Wangel.
[Looks tenderly at her.] Ellida! Ellida! Oh,—to think that we two can now live wholly for each other——
Ellida.
——and with all our memories in common. Yours—as well as mine.
Wangel.
Yes, all in common, dearest!
347Ellida.
And our two children, Wangel——
Wangel.
Ours you call them!
Ellida.
They are not mine yet—but I shall win them.
Wangel.
Ours——! [Kisses her hands joyfully and quickly.] Oh, I thank you for that word more than I can tell.
Hilda, Ballested, Lyngstrand, Arnholm, and Boletta come from the left into the garden. At the same time a number of young townspeople and summer visitors pass along the footpath.
Hilda.
[Half aloud, to Lyngstrand.] Just look,—don’t she and father look like an engaged couple!
Ballested.
[Who has overheard.] It is summer time, little miss.
Arnholm.
[Looks towards Wangel and Ellida.] The English steamer is under way.
Boletta.
[Goes to the fence.] You can see her best from here.
Lyngstrand.
The last trip of the season.
348Ballested.
“Soon will all the straits be ice-bound,” as the poet says. It is sad, Mrs. Wangel! And I hear we are to lose you too for a time: you go out to Skioldvik to-morrow, I am told.
Wangel.
No—that plan has come to nothing; this evening we two have changed our minds.
Arnholm.
[Looking from one to the other.] Ah,—really!
Boletta.
[Coming forward.] Father—is this true?
Hilda.
[Going to Ellida.] Are you going to stay with us after all?
Ellida.
Yes, dear Hilda—if you will have me.
Hilda.
[Struggling between tears and joy.] Oh,—can you ask—if I will——!
Arnholm.
[To Ellida.] This is really quite a surprise!
Ellida.
[With a grave smile.] Well, you see, Mr. Arnholm——. Do you remember what we were speaking of yesterday? When you have once for all become a land-animal—you can never find the way back again—out to the sea. Nor to the sea-life either.
349Ballested.
Why, that’s just the case of my mermaid!
Ellida.
Very like it, yes.
Ballested.
Only with this difference, that the mermaid—she dies of it. Human beings, on the contrary—they can acclam—accli—matise themselves. Yes, I assure you, Mrs. Wangel, they can ac-cli-matise themselves.
Ellida.
Yes, in freedom they can, Mr. Ballested.
Wangel.
And under full responsibility, dear Ellida.
Ellida.
[Quickly, holding out her hand to him.] That is the secret.
[The great steamer glides noiselessly down the fiord. The music is heard closer inshore.
THE END.
Printed by Ballantyne & Co. Limited
Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, London
Transcriber’s Note
There are quite a few instances of missing punctuation. The conventional period following the character’s name is sometimes missing and has been added for consistency’s sake without further comment. Those missing from setting and stage direction are also added without comment, since there is no obvious purpose to be served by the omission. However, the restoration of punctuation missing from dialogue is noted below, since the punctuation is frequently expressive. Several instances of dubious ‘?’ marks have been corrected, based on context.
As noted below, on p. 62, there is apparently a missing word in the phrase ‘And even it were so...’, most likely ‘if’.
Volume I of this series included errata for each succeeding volume, and noted the following for Volume IX. Each of these was corrected in printing.
The words ‘stepmother’ and ‘footpath’ both appear hyphenated once, midline. Both have been retained.
Other errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.
xix.13 I can least reconcile myself.[’/”] Replaced.
4.25 Madam Hels[te/et]h. Inverted.
13.26 makes him well over forty-three[.] Added.
31.21 it belongs to a plebeian[:/?] Replaced.
49.6 [Re[c/b]ecca goes out Replaced.
51.23 to make the plunge at last[.] Added.
67.29 to get out o[f] a false and equivocal position Restored.
81.23 from li[z/v]ing his life out Replaced.
118.30 not a word about it[.] Added.
124.13 seats himself on the [s]ofa. Restored.
129.14 by the window[]] And Bracket added.
159.27 for this this[,] Rebecca? Added.
178.16 Bollet[o/a]. Replaced.
242.16 My poor unhappy Ellida[!] Added
254.2 a long sea-vo[g/y]age Replaced.
255.29 so bright and cheerful [a ]moment ago Restored.
258.14 look at me like that[?/!] Replaced.
280.25 Surely [y]ou think so! Restored.
298.3 He was quite differently dressed too[.] Added.
304.25 give me back my freedom this very day[.] Added.
325.10 and your future [f]ully and fearlessly Restored.
345.2 Yes[.] Over for all time! Added.