THE LADY FROM THE SEA (1888)

166

CHARACTERS.

Doctor Wangel,^[12] district physician.

Ellida^[13] Wangel, his second wife.

Boletta Hilda } his daughters by his a former marriage

Arnholm, a schoolmaster.

Lyngstrand.

Ballested.^[14]

A Stranger.

Young Townspeople.

Tourists, etc.

The action takes place in the summer-time, in a small town beside a fiord in Northern Norway.

167THE LADY FROM THE SEA.

PLAY IN FIVE ACTS.

ACT FIRST.

Doctor Wangel’s house, with a large verandah, on the left. Garden in front and around. Near the verandah, a flag-staff. To the right, in the garden, an arbour, with table and chairs. At the back, a hedge, with a small gate. Beyond the hedge, a road along the shore, shaded by trees on either side. Between the trees there is a view of the fiord, with high mountain ranges and peaks in the distance. It is a warm and brilliantly clear summer morning.

Ballasted, a middle-aged man, dressed in an old velvet jacket and broad-brimmed artist’s hat, stands at the foot of the flag staff, arranging the cord. The flag is lying on the ground. A little way off stands an easel with a stretched canvas. Beside it, on a camp-stool, are brushes, palette, and a paint-box.

Boletta Wangel comes out upon the verandah through the open garden-room door. She is carrying a large vase of flowers, which she places upon the table.

168Boletta.

Well, Ballested,—can you get it to run?

Ballested.

Oh yes, Miss Boletta. It’s easy enough.—May I ask if you are expecting visitors to-day?

Boletta.

Yes, we expect Mr. Arnholm this morning. He came to town last night.

Ballested.

Arnholm? Wait a moment—wasn’t Arnholm the name of the tutor you had here some years ago?

Boletta.

Yes; it is he that is coming.

Ballested.

Ah, indeed. So he is in these parts again?

Boletta.

That is why we want the flag run up.

Ballested.

Ah, I see, I see.

[Boletta goes into the garden-room again.

Shortly afterwards, Lyngstrand comes along the road from the right, and stops, interested by the sight of the easel and painter’s materials. He is a slightly-built young man, of delicate appearance, poorly but neatly dressed.

Lyngstrand.

[Outside, by the hedge.] Good morning.

169Ballested.

[Turning round.] Ah—good morning. [Hoists the flag.] So-ho!—up goes the balloon! [Makes the cord fast, and begins to busy himself at the easel.] I take off my hat to you, sir—though I don’t think I have the pleasure——

Lyngstrand.

You are a painter, are you not?

Ballested.

Yes, certainly. Why should I not be a painter?

Lyngstrand.

Ah, I can see you are.—Should you mind my coming in for a moment?

Ballested.

Do you want to have a look at it?

Lyngstrand.

Yes, I should like to extremely.

Ballested.

Oh there’s nothing much to see as yet. But pray come in—you’re quite welcome.

Lyngstrand.

Many thanks.

[He comes in through the garden gate.

Ballested.

[Painting.] It’s the inner part of the fiord, among the islands, that I am working at.

Lyngstrand.

Yes, I see.

170Ballested.

But I haven’t put in the figure yet. There is no such thing as a model to be had in the town.

Lyngstrand.

There is to be a figure, is there?

Ballested.

Yes. By the rock in the foreground here, I mean to have a half-dead mermaid lying.

Lyngstrand.

Why half-dead?

Ballested.

She has strayed in from the sea, and can’t find her way out again. So she lies here dying by inches in the brackish water, you understand.

Lyngstrand.

Oh, that is the idea?

Ballested.

It was the lady of this house that suggested it to me.

Lyngstrand.

What will you call the picture when it is finished?

Ballested.

I think of calling it “The Mermaid’s End.”

Lyngstrand.

Capital.—You are sure to make something good out of this.

Ballested.

[Looking at him.] An artist yourself, perhaps?

171Lyngstrand.

A painter, you mean?

Ballested.

Yes.

Lyngstrand.

No, I am not. But I am going to be a sculptor. My name is Hans Lyngstrand.

Ballested.

Going to be a sculptor, are you? Well, well, sculpture, too, is a fine, gentleman-like art.—I fancy I’ve seen you in the street once or twice. Have you been staying here long?

Lyngstrand.

No, I have only been here a fortnight. But I hope I may be able to stay the whole summer.

Ballested.

To enjoy the gaieties of the season, eh?

Lyngstrand.

Well, rather to get up my strength a bit.

Ballested.

Not an invalid, I hope?

Lyngstrand.

Well, I’m what you might call a little bit of an invalid. Nothing to speak of, you know. It’s only a sort of short-windedness in my chest.

Ballested.

Pooh—a mere trifle. Still, I would consult a good doctor, if I were you.

172Lyngstrand.

I thought, if I could find an opportunity, I might speak to Dr. Wangel.

Ballested.

Yes, do. [Looks out to the left.] Here comes another steamer. Chock full of passengers. It’s extraordinary how the tourist business has increased here during the last few years.

Lyngstrand.

Yes, there seems to be a continual coming and going.

Ballested.

The place is full of summer visitors too. I’m sometimes afraid that our good town may lose its character with all this foreign invasion.

Lyngstrand.

Are you a native of the place?

Ballested.

No, I am not. But I have accla—acclimatised myself. I have become attached to the place by the bonds of time and habit.

Lyngstrand.

You have lived here a long time, then?

Ballested.

Well, seventeen or eighteen years. I came here with Skive’s^[15] dramatic company. But we got into financial difficulties; so the company broke up and was scattered to the winds.

173Lyngstrand.

But you remained?

Ballested.

I remained. And I have had no cause to regret it. You see in those days I was mainly employed as a scene-painter.

Boletta comes out with a rocking-chair, which she places in the verandah.

Boletta.

[Speaking into the garden-room.] Hilda,—see if you can find the embroidered footstool for father.

Lyngstrand.

[Approaches the verandah and bows.] Good morning, Miss Wangel.

Boletta.

[By the balustrade.] Ah, is that you, Mr. Lyngstrand? Good morning. Excuse me one moment.

[Goes into the house.

Ballested.

Do you know the family here?

Lyngstrand.

Very slightly. I have met the young ladies once or twice at other houses. And I had a little talk with Mrs. Wangel the last time the band played up at the Prospect. She said I might come and see them.

Ballested.

I’ll tell you what,—you ought to cultivate their acquaintance.

Lyngstrand.

Yes, I’ve been thinking of paying them a visit—I 174mean calling on them, you know. If I could only find some pretext——

Ballested.

Oh nonsense,—a pretext——[Looks out to the left.] Confound it all! [Collects his things.] The steamer’s alongside the pier already. I must be off to the hotel. Perhaps some of the new arrivals may require my services. For I practise as a hair-cutter and friseur, too, I must tell you.

Lyngstrand.

You seem to be very versatile.

Ballested.

One must know how to ac—climatise oneself to various professions in these small places. If you should ever require anything in the hair line—pomade or what not—you have only to ask for Dancing-Master Ballested.

Lyngstrand.

Dancing-Master——

Ballested.

President of the Musical Society, if you prefer it. We give a concert up at the Prospect this evening. Good-bye, good-bye.

[He goes with his painting materials through the garden gate, and then out to the left.

Hilda comes out with the stool. Boletta brings more flowers. Lyngstrand bows to Hilda from the garden.

Hilda.

[By the balustrade, without returning the bow.] Boletta said you had ventured in to-day.

175Lyngstrand.

Yes, I took the liberty of coming into the garden.

Hilda.

Have you been out for your morning walk?

Lyngstrand.

Well, no,—I haven’t had much of a walk to-day.

Hilda.

Have you been bathing then?

Lyngstrand.

Yes, I had a little dip. I saw your mother down there. She was just going into her bathing-house.

Hilda.

Who was?

Lyngstrand.

Your mother.

Hilda.

Oh indeed.

[She places the stool in front of the rocking-chair.

Boletta.

[As if to change the subject.] Did you see anything of my father’s boat out on the fiord?

Lyngstrand.

Yes, I saw a sailing-boat that seemed to be standing inwards.

Boletta.

That must have been father. He has been out visiting patients on the islands.

[She arranges things about the table.

176Lyngstrand.

[Standing on the lowest of the verandah steps.] Why, what a splendid show of flowers you have here——!

Boletta.

Yes, doesn’t it look nice?

Lyngstrand.

Oh, charming. It looks as if the day were some family festival.

Hilda.

So it is.

Lyngstrand.

I guessed as much. Your father’s birthday, I suppose?

Boletta.

[Warningly to Hilda.] H’m,—h’m!

Hilda.

[Not heeding her.] No, mother’s.

Lyngstrand.

Oh indeed,—your mother’s, is it?

Boletta.

[In a low, angry tone.] Now, Hilda——!

Hilda.

[In the same tone.] Let me alone! [To Lyngstrand.] I suppose you’re going home to lunch now?

Lyngstrand.

[Descending from the step.] Yes, I suppose I must see about getting something to eat.

177Hilda.

I daresay you live on the fat of the land at the hotel.

Lyngstrand.

I am not staying at the hotel now. It was too expensive for me.

Hilda.

Where are you now, then?

Lyngstrand.

I have a room at Madam Jensen’s.^[16]

Hilda.

Which Madam Jensen’s?

Lyngstrand.

The midwife’s.

Hilda.

Excuse me, Mr. Lyngstrand, but I really have no time to——

Lyngstrand.

Oh, I suppose I oughtn’t to have said that.

Hilda.

Said what?

Lyngstrand.

What I said just now.

Hilda.

[Looks at him witheringly from top to toe.] I don’t in the least understand you.

Lyngstrand.

No, no. Well, I must bid you good-bye for the present, ladies.

178Boletta.

[Comes forward to the steps.] Good-bye, good-bye, Mr. Lyngstrand. You must please excuse us for to-day.—But another time, when you have nothing better to do—and when you feel inclined,—I hope you’ll look in and see father and—and the rest of us.

Lyngstrand.

Many thanks. I shall be only too delighted.

[He bows and goes out by the garden gate. As he passes along the road outside, to the left, he bows again towards the verandah.

Hilda.

[Under her breath.] Adieu, Mossyoo! My love to Mother Jensen.

BolletaBolleta.

[Softly, shakes her by the arm.] Hilda——! You naughty child! Are you mad? He might easily hear you!

Hilda.

Pooh,—do you think I care?

Boletta.

[Looks out to the right.] Here comes father.

Doctor Wangel, in travelling dress, and carrying a hand-bag, comes along the foot-path from the right.

Wangel.

Well, here I am again, little girls!

[He comes in through the gate.

Boletta.

[Goes down to meet him in the garden.] Oh, I’m so glad you have come.

179Hilda.

[Also going down to him.] Have you finished for the day now, father?

Wangel.

Oh no, I must go down to the surgery for a little while by-and-by.—Tell me,—do you know whether Arnholm has arrived?

Boletta.

Yes, he came last night. We sent to the hotel to inquire.

Wangel.

Then you haven’t seen him yet?

Boletta.

No. But he’s sure to look in this forenoon.

Wangel.

Yes, of course he will.

Hilda.

[Drawing him round.] Father you must look about you now.

Wangel.

[Looking towards the verandah.] Yes, yes, my child, I see.—There is quite an air of festivity about the place.

Boletta.

Don’t you think we have arranged it prettily?

Wangel.

Yes, you have indeed—Is—are we alone in the house?

Hilda.

Yes, she has gone to——

180Boletta.

[Interrupts quickly.] Mother is bathing.

Wangel.

[Looks kindly at Boletta and pats her head.] Then he says, with some hesitation:] Look here, little girls—do you intend to keep up this display all day? And the flag flying too?

Hilda.

Why, of course we do, father!

Wangel.

H’m—yes. But you see——

Boletta.

[Nodding and smiling to him.] Of course you understand that it’s all in honour of Mr. Arnholm. When such an old friend comes to pay his first visit to you——

Hilda.

[Smiling and shaking him.] Remember—wasn’t he Boletta’s tutor, father?

Wangel.

[Half smiling.] You are a pair of young rogues.—Well well,—after all, it’s only natural that we should remember her who is no longer among us. But all the same——. Look here, Hilda. [Gives her his hand-bag.] This must go down to the surgery.—No, little girls,—I don’t like all this—the manner of it, I mean. That we should make a practice every year of——. Well, what can one say? I suppose there is no other way of doing it.

181Hilda.

[Is about to go through the garden to the left with the hand-bag, but stops, turns, and points.] Look at that gentleman coming along the road. I believe it’s Mr. Arnholm.

Boletta.

[Looks in the same direction.] He! [Laughs.] What an absurd idea! To take that middle-aged man for Mr Arnholm.

Wangel.

Wait a bit, child. Upon my life, I believe it’s he!—Yes, I am sure of it!

Boletta.

[Gazing fixedly, in quiet astonishment.] Yes, I do believe it is!

Arnholm, in elegant morning dress, with gold spectacles and a light cane, appears on the road, coming from the left. He looks somewhat over-worked. On seeing the party in the garden, he bows in a friendly way, and comes through the gate.

Wangel.

[Going to meet him.] Welcome my dear Arnholm! Heartily welcome to your old haunts again.

Arnholm.

Thank you, thank you, Doctor Wangel. A thousand thanks. [They shake hands and cross the garden together.] And here are the children! [Holds out his hands to them and looks at them.] These two I should scarcely have known again.

182Wangel.

No, I daresay not.

Arnholm.

Oh well,—perhaps Boletta.—Yes, I should have known Boletta.

Wangel.

Scarcely, I think. Let me see, it’s eight or nine years since you saw her last. Ah yes, there has been many a change here since then.

Arnholm.

[Looking about him.] I should hardly say so. Except that the trees have grown a bit—and you have planted a new arbour there——

Wangel.

Oh no, outwardly I daresay.

Arnholm.

[Smiles.] And now, of course, you have two grown-up daughters in the house.

Wangel.

Oh, only one grown-up, surely.

Hilda.

[Half-aloud.] Just listen to father!

Wangel.

And now suppose we sit in the verandah. It’s cooler there than here. Come along.

Arnholm.

Thanks, thanks, my dear Doctor.

[They go up the steps. Wangel gives Arnholm the rocking-chair.

183Wangel.

That’s right. Now you shall just sit quiet and have a good rest. You are looking rather tired after your journey.

Arnholm.

Oh, that’s nothing. Now that I am here again——

Boletta.

[To Wangel.] Shall we bring a little soda-water and syrup into the garden-room? It will soon be too warm out here.

Wangel.

Yes do, little girls. Soda-water and syrup. And perhaps a little cognac.

Boletta.

Cognac too?

Wangel.

Just a little. In case any one should care for it.

Boletta.

Very well. Hilda, will you take the hand-bag down to the surgery?

[Boletta goes into the garden-room and closes the door after her. Hilda takes the bag and, going through the garden, disappears behind the house to the left.

Arnholm.

[Who has been following Boletta with his eyes.] What a splendid girl—what splendid girls they have grown into!

Wangel.

[Seats himself.] Yes, don’t you think so?

184Arnholm.

Boletta quite astonishes me—and Hilda too, for that matter.—But you yourself, my dear Doctor—do you intend to remain here for the rest of your days?

Wangel.

Oh yes, that’s what it will come to, I suppose. I was born and bred here, you see. Here I lived very very happily with her who was so early taken from us—with her whom you knew when you were here before, Arnholm.

Arnholm.

Yes—yes.

Wangel.

And now I live here so happily with one who has come to me in her stead. I must say that, take it all in all, the fates have been kind to me.

Arnholm.

You have no children by your second marriage?

Wangel.

We had a little boy, two or two and a half years ago. But we did not keep him long. He died when he was four or five months old.

Arnholm.

Is your wife not at home to-day?

Wangel.

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

185Arnholm.

Is she out of health?

Wangel.

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

Arnholm.

I remember that of old.

Wangel.

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

Arnholm.

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

Wangel.

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

Arnholm.

Do they?

Wangel.

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

186Arnholm.

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

Wangel.

Yes, certainly I have.

Ellida’s Voice.

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

Wangel.

[Rising.] Yes, dear.

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

Wangel.

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

Ellida.

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

Wangel.

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

Ellida.

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

187Arnholm.

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

Wangel.

Was the water nice and cool to-day?

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

Sickly?

Ellida.

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

Wangel.

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

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

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

Wangel.

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

Arnholm.

Is it really in my honour?

188Ellida.

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

[She seats herself in the arbour.

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

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

Wangel.

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

Ellida.

Have you work to do?

Wangel.

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

Arnholm.

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

Wangel.

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

[He goes out through the garden to the left.

189Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

I think it is very nice.

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

And you sit here a good deal?

Ellida.

Yes, I pass most of the day here.

Arnholm.

With the girls, I suppose.

Ellida.

No, the girls—they keep to the verandah.

Arnholm.

And Wangel?

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

Is it you that have arranged things so?

Ellida.

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

190Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

Well, what then?

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

Wangel is such a fine fellow; so upright so 191genuinely good-hearted, and kind to every one——

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

You are right there too; we are different.

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

You need not at all. I have only told him 192what is true—that I liked you very much, and that you were the truest and best friend I had out there.

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

But why did you never write?

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

Never. I have remained faithful to my memories.

Ellida.

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

193Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

What may that be?

Ellida.

When you took—that unsuccessful step, as you said just now,—I could not answer you otherwise than I did.

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

At that time?

Ellida.

Yes, just then.

Arnholm.

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

194Ellida.

It is not Wangel that I am speaking of.

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

Do tell me more about this!

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

And if you had been free at that time?

Ellida.

What then?

Arnholm.

Would your answer to my letter have been different?

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

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

195Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

Your husband, then, knows nothing of the matter?

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

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

196

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

Ellida.

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

Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

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

Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

Ah, so you know that?

Lyngstrand.

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

[He bows and holds out the bouquet.

Ellida.

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

197Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

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

Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

What is it you know?

Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

Mine?

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

[To Lyngstrand.] What has put that into your head?

Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

Well?

198Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

Mother’s——! Oh indeed.

Arnholm.

Aha!

[He and Ellida exchange glances of comprehension.

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

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

Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

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

[Ellida, Arnholm, and Lyngstrand seat themselves in the arbour.

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

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

199Ellida.

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

Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

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

Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

The girls tell me you hope to manage it.

Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

How did you come across him?

Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

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

Lyngstrand.

No, not in the least. But after my mother died, my father wouldn’t have me hanging about 200at home; so he sent me to sea. On the voyage home, we were wrecked in the English Channel; and that was a grand thing for me.

Arnholm.

How do you mean?

Lyngstrand.

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

Arnholm.

Indeed? You think so?

Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

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

Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

I see. And what is the group to represent?

201Lyngstrand.

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

Arnholm.

Yes yes,—by all means stick to that.

Ellida.

But what is it to be?

Lyngstrand.

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

Arnholm.

And is that all?

Lyngstrand.

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

Arnholm.

Why, what do you mean——?

Ellida.

Drowned you say?

Lyngstrand.

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

202Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

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

Lyngstrand.

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

Arnholm.

You have seen a dead man come——?

Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

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

Arnholm.

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

Ellida.

How was it then, Mr. Lyngstrand?

Lyngstrand.

Well, you see, when we were starting for home in the brig, from a town they call Halifax, we had to leave our boatswain behind us in the hospital; 203so we shipped an American in his place. This new boatswain——

Ellida.

The American?

Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

Well; and then?

Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

Well? well?

Lyngstrand.

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

Ellida.

Did he say nothing at all? Did he not speak?

Lyngstrand.

Not at first. But presently he said, as if to 204himself: “Married—to another man—while I was away.”

Ellida.

[Shuts her eyes, and says half to herself:] Did he say that?

Lyngstrand.

Yes; and would you believe it—he said it in perfectly good Norwegian. He must have had a great gift for languages, that man.

Ellida.

And what then? What happened next?

Lyngstrand.

Now comes the wonderful part of it—a thing I shall never forget to my dying day. For he added,—and this quite quietly too: “But mine she is, and mine she shall remain. And follow me she shall, though I should have to go home and fetch her, as a drowned man from the bottom of the sea.”

Ellida.

[Pouring out a glass of water; her hand shakes.] Pah—how close it is to-day——!

Lyngstrand.

And he said it with such force of will that I felt he was the man to do it too.

Ellida.

Do you know at all—what has become of this man?

Lyngstrand.

Oh he’s dead, Mrs. Wangel, beyond a doubt.

205Ellida.

[Hastily.] What makes you think that?

Lyngstrand.

We were shipwrecked afterwards in the Channel, you know. I got off in the long-boat with the captain and five others; but the mate went in the dingey, and with him was the American and one man besides.

Ellida.

And nothing has been heard of them since?

Lyngstrand.

No, not a word, Mrs. Wangel. My patron wrote me so, only the other day. And that is the very reason I am so anxious to make a group of it. I can see the sailor’s faithless wife so life-like before me; and then the avenger, who is drowned, but nevertheless comes home from sea. I have them both before my eyes as distinctly as possible.

Ellida.

So have I. [Rising.] Come,—let us go in. Or rather down to Wangel! It seems to me so stifling here.

She comes out of arbour.

Lyngstrand.

[Who has also risen.] I think I must be going now. I only just looked in to wish you many happy returns of the day.

Ellida.

Well, if you must go——[Holds out her hand.] Good-bye, and thanks for the flowers.

[Lyngstrand bows and goes through the garden gate, out to the left.

206Arnholm.

[Rises and goes up to Ellida.] I can see that this has pained you deeply, my dear Mrs. Wangel.

Ellida.

Oh yes, I suppose you may put it so, although——

Arnholm.

But after all, it is only what you must have been prepared for.

Ellida.

[Looks at him in surprise.] Prepared for?

Arnholm.

Yes, so I should think.

Ellida.

Prepared for his returning——? Returning in such a way?

Arnholm.

Why, what in the world——! Is it that crazy sculptor’s cock-and-bull story——?

Ellida.

Ah, my dear Arnholm, he is perhaps not so crazy as you think.

Arnholm.

Can it be this nonsense about the dead man that has moved you so much? I thought it was——

Ellida.

What did you think?

Arnholm.

Of course, I thought that was only a blind on 207your part. I fancied you were pained by the discovery that a family anniversary was being celebrated without your knowledge—that your husband and his children are living a life of memories in which you have no share.

Ellida.

Oh no, no; that must be as it may. I have no right to claim my husband for myself alone.

Arnholm.

Yet it seems to me you ought to have that right.

Ellida.

Yes; but as a matter of fact I haven’t. That is the thing. I too live a life—in which the others have no part.

Arnholm.

You! [More softly.] Am I to understand that—you—you do not really love your husband?

Ellida.

Oh yes, yes—I have come to love him with my whole heart! And that is just why it is so terrible—so inexplicable—so absolutely inconceivable——!

Arnholm.

Now you must tell me all your troubles without reserve! Will you not, Mrs. Wangel?

Ellida.

I cannot, dear friend—not now, at any rate. Sometime, perhaps.

[Boletta comes out by the verandah, and down into the garden.

208Boletta.

Father is coming from the surgery now. Shan’t we all sit together in the garden-room?

Ellida.

Yes, let us.

Wangel, who has changed his clothes, comes with Hilda from the left, behind the house.

Wangel.

Well now, here I am, a free man! A glass of something cool wouldn’t come amiss now.

Ellida.

Wait a moment.

[She returns to the arbour and brings out the bouquet.

Hilda.

Oh I say! All those lovely flowers! Where did you get them?

Ellida.

I got them from Lyngstrand the sculptor, my dear Hilda.

Hilda.

[Starting.] From Lyngstrand?

Boletta.

[Uneasily.] Has Lyngstrand been here—again?

Ellida.

[With a half-smile.] Yes. He came to bring this bouquet,—a birthday offering, you know.

Boletta.

[Glancing at Hilda.] Oh——!

209Hilda.

[Mutters.] The beast!

Wangel.

[In painful embarrassment, to Ellida.] H’m——. Well, you see—I must tell you, my darling Ellida——

Ellida.

[Interrupting.] Come along, girls! Let us put my flowers in water, with the others.

[She goes up on to the verandah.

Boletta.

[Softly to Hilda.] She is really good after all, you see.

Hilda.

[Half aloud, looking angry.] Monkey-tricks! She’s only putting it on to please father.

Wangel.

[Up on the verandah, presses Ellida’s hand.] Thank you—thank you——! I thank you from my heart for this, Ellida.

Ellida.

[Arranging the flowers.] Oh, nonsense,—why should I not join with you in keeping—mother’s birthday?

Arnholm.

H’m——!

[He goes up to Wangel and Ellida. Boletta and Hilda remain below in the garden.

210

ACT SECOND.

Up at the Prospect, a wooded height behind the town. Towards the back stand a landmark and a weathervane. Large stones for seats are placed round the landmark and in the foreground. Far below in the background the outer fiord is seen, with islands and jutting promontories. The open sea is not visible. A summer night with clear twilight. There is a tinge of orange in the upper air and over the mountain peaks in the far distance. The sound of quartette-singing is faintly heard from the lower slopes on the right.

Young people from the town, ladies and gentlemen, come in couples up from the right, pass the landmark conversing familiarly, and go out to the left. Shortly afterwards Ballested appears, acting as guide to a party of foreign tourists. He is loaded with the ladies’ shawls and satchels.

Ballested.

[Pointing upward with his stick.] Sehen Sie, meine Herrschaften—over dort liegt eine andere height. Das willen wir besteigen too, un herunter——

[He continues in English, and leads the party out to the right.

Hilda comes quickly up the slope on the right, stops, and looks backward. Presently Boletta comes up the same way.

211Boletta.

My dear Hilda, why should we run away from Lyngstrand?

Hilda.

Because I can’t endure to walk up hill so slowly. Look—look at him crawling up.

Boletta.

Oh, you know how ill he is.

Hilda.

Do you think it’s very serious?

Boletta.

Yes, I am sure it is.

Hilda.

He consulted father this afternoon. I wonder what father thinks of him.

Boletta.

Father told me that he has a hardening of the lungs—or something of that sort. He won’t last very long, father says.

Hilda.

Did he really say so? Well now, that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking.

Boletta.

But for heaven’s sake don’t let him suspect anything.

Hilda.

Oh, how can you think I would. [In a lower tone.] There!—now Hans has managed to clamber 212up. Hans——! Can’t you see by the look of him that his name is Hans?

Boletta.

[Whispers.] Do be good now! I warn you!

Lyngstrand enters from the right, a parasol in his hand.

Lyngstrand.

I must beg your pardon, young ladies, for not being able to keep up with you.

Hilda.

So you have got a parasol now?

Lyngstrand.

It’s your mother’s. She said I might use it for a stick, as I hadn’t brought one with me.

Boletta.

Are they still down there? Father and the others?

Lyngstrand.

Yes. Your father went into the restaurant for a moment, and the others are sitting outside listening to the music; but they’ll come up by-and-by, your mother said.

Hilda.

[Who is standing looking at him.] I suppose you are very tired now?

Lyngstrand.

Yes, I almost think I am a little tired. I really believe I must sit down a bit.

[He seats himself on a stone, in front to the right.

213Hilda.

[Stands before him.] Do you know that there’s to be dancing presently, down by the band-stand?

Lyngstrand.

Yes, I heard something of it.

Hilda.

I suppose you are very fond of dancing!

Boletta.

[Who is wandering about picking small flowers among the heather.] Oh, Hilda—let Mr. Lyngstrand get his breath.

Lyngstrand.

[To Hilda.] Yes, Miss Hilda, I should like very much to dance—if only I could.

Hilda.

Oh I see; you have never learned.

Lyngstrand.

No, I haven’t. But that was not what I meant. I meant that I can’t dance on account of my chest.

Hilda.

On account of that “lesion” you spoke of?

Lyngstrand.

Yes, that’s it.

Hilda.

Does this “lesion” make you very unhappy?

Lyngstrand.

Oh no, I can’t say it does. [Smiling.] For I 214believe it is that which makes everybody so kind and friendly and helpful to me.

Hilda.

Yes; and of course it’s not a bit serious.

Lyngstrand.

No, not serious in the least. I could see quite well that your father thought so too.

Hilda.

And it will pass off as soon as you go abroad?

Lyngstrand.

Yes; it will pass off.

Boletta.

[With flowers in her hand.] Look at these, Mr. Lyngstrand—here is one for your button-hole.

Lyngstrand.

Oh, a thousand thanks, Miss Wangel! You are really too kind.

Hilda.

[Looking down the hill to the right.] Here they are, coming up the path.

Boletta.

[Also looking down.] I hope they know where to turn off. No, they are going the wrong way.

Lyngstrand.

[Rises.] I’ll run down to the turning and call out to them.

215Hilda.

You’ll have to call very loud then.

Boletta.

No, you had better not. You’ll only tire yourself again.

Lyngstrand.

Oh, it’s so easy going downhill.

[He goes out to the right.

Hilda.

Yes, downhill. [Looks after him.] Now he’s jumping too! And it never occurs to him that he will have to come up again.

Boletta.

Poor creature——!

Hilda.

If Lyngstrand were to propose to you, would you have him?

Boletta.

Are you out of your senses?

Hilda.

Oh I mean, of course, if he hadn’t this “lesion”—and if he weren’t going to die so soon. Would you have him then?

Boletta.

I think you had better have him.

Hilda.

No, I’m bothered if I would. He hasn’t a rap. He hasn’t enough to live upon himself.

216Boletta.

Why are you always so much taken up with him then?

Hilda.

Oh, that’s only on account of his “lesion.”

Boletta.

I have never noticed that you pity him a bit.

Hilda.

No more I do. But it’s so tempting to me——

Boletta.

What is?

Hilda.

To look at him, and get him to say that it’s not serious, and that he’s going abroad and going to be an artist. He’s perfectly convinced of all that, and as happy as possible about it. And to know that nothing will come of it after all; nothing whatever; that he won’t live long enough——I find that so thrilling to think of.

Boletta.

Thrilling!

Hilda.

Yes. I find it thrilling—I take that liberty.

Boletta.

Fie Hilda, you are really a horrid child!

Hilda.

Well, that’s what I want to be—just for spite! [Looks down.] Ah, at last! Arnholm doesn’t seem 217to enjoy climbing. [Turns round.] Oh, by-the-bye—what do you think I noticed about Arnholm while we were at dinner?

Boletta.

What?

Hilda.

Only think, he’s beginning to turn bald—right on the crown of his head.

Boletta.

Oh rubbish! I’m sure he isn’t.

Hilda.

Yes he is. And he has wrinkles here, round both his eyes. Good heavens, Boletta, how could you be so gone on him when he was your tutor?

Boletta.

[Smiling.] Yes, can you understand it? I remember once shedding bitter tears because he said he thought Boletta an ugly name.

Hilda.

Think of that! [Looks down again.] I say! Look there! Just look!—There’s “the lady from the sea” walking with him—not with father—and jabbering away to him. I wonder whether those two aren’t a bit sweet on each other.

Boletta.

You ought really to be ashamed of yourself. How dare you say such things about her? We were beginning to get on so well together——

218Hilda.

Oh, indeed!—Don’t you believe it, my girl! I tell you we shall never get on well with her. She doesn’t suit us, nor we her. Heaven knows what tempted father to drag her into the house!—I shouldn’t wonder a bit if she were to go mad on our hands some fine day.

Boletta.

Mad? What makes you think such a thing?

Hilda.

Oh, there would be nothing so wonderful about it. Didn’t her mother go mad? She died mad, I know.

Boletta.

Yes, I should like to know what you don’t poke your nose into. All I say is, don’t go chattering about it. Be good now—for father’s sake. Do you hear, Hilda?

[Wangel, Ellida, Arnholm, and Lyngstrand come up from the right.

Ellida.

[Points away towards the background.] It lies out there.

Arnholm.

Yes, of course; it must be in that direction.

Ellida.

Out there lies the sea.

Boletta.

[To Arnholm.] Don’t you think it’s pretty up here?

219Arnholm.

I should rather say grand—a glorious view!

Wangel.

I daresay you have never been up here before?

Arnholm.

No, never. In my time I doubt if it was accessible. There wasn’t even a footpath.

Wangel.

And no grounds laid out either. We have done all that in the last few years.

Boletta.

Over there, on the Pilot’s Knoll, the view is even finer.

Wangel.

Shall we go there, Ellida?

Ellida.

[Seats herself upon a stone to the right.] Thank you, I won’t go. But you others ought to. I shall stay here in the meantime.

Wangel.

Very well; then I’ll stay with you. The girls can do the honours for Arnholm.

Boletta.

Do you care to come with us, Mr. Arnholm?

Arnholm.

Yes, I should like to. Is there a path up there too?

220Boletta.

Oh yes; a good broad path.

Hilda.

There’s plenty of room for two people to go arm-in-arm.

Arnholm.

[Jestingly.] I wonder if there is, little Miss Hilda? [To Boletta.] Shall we two try if she is right?

Boletta.

[Repressing a smile.] Yes, if you like. Let us.

[They go out to the left, arm-in-arm.

Hilda.

[To Lyngstrand.] Shall we go too——?

Lyngstrand.

Arm-in-arm——?

Hilda.

Why not? I don’t mind.

Lyngstrand.

[Gives her his arm, and laughs with pleasure.] This is great fun, isn’t it?

Hilda.

Great fun——?

Lyngstrand.

Why, it looks exactly as if we were engaged.

Hilda.

I suppose you have never given a lady your arm before, Mr. Lyngstrand.

[They go out to the left.

221Wangel.

[Who is standing at the back, beside the landmark.] Dear Ellida, now we have a little time to ourselves——

Ellida.

Yes, come and sit here beside me.

Wangel.

[Seats himself.] It’s so open and peaceful here. Now let us have a little talk.

Ellida.

What about?

Wangel.

About you; and about our relation to each other, Ellida. I see well enough that this state of things cannot continue.

Ellida.

What would you have in its place?

Wangel.

Full confidence, dear. A life in common—such as we used to live.

Ellida.

Oh, if that could only be! But it’s so utterly impossible!

Wangel.

I think I understand you. From certain things you have let fall now and then, I believe I do.

Ellida.

[Vehemently.] No you don’t! Don’t say that you understand——!

222Wangel.

Oh yes. Yours is an upright nature, Ellida. You have a loyal heart.

Ellida.

Yes, I have.

Wangel.

Any relation in which you can feel secure and happy must be a full and perfect one.

Ellida.

[Looking anxiously at him.] Well,—and then?

Wangel.

You are not fitted to be a man’s second wife.

Ellida.

What makes you think of that now?

Wangel.

The suspicion has often crossed my mind; but to-day I saw it clearly. The children’s little commemoration—you looked on me as a sort of accomplice.—Well yes; a man’s memories are not to be wiped out—not mine, at all events. It is not in my nature.

Ellida.

I know that. Oh, I know it so well.

Wangel.

But you are mistaken, none the less. It seems to you almost as though the children’s mother were still alive. You feel her invisible presence in our midst. You think that my heart is equally divided between you and her. It is this idea that 223revolts you. You see, as it were, something immoral in our relation; and that is why you cannot, or will not, live with me any more as my wife.

Ellida.

[Rises.] Have you seen all this, Wangel? Seen through all this?

Wangel.

Yes, to-day I have at last seen through it—into the very depths.

Ellida.

Into the very depths, you say. Oh, you mustn’t think that.

Wangel.

[Rises.] I know very well that there is more than this, dear Ellida.

Ellida.

[Apprehensively.] You know that there is more?

Wangel.

Yes. There is this: that you cannot endure your surroundings here. The mountains oppress you and weigh upon your spirits. There is not light enough for you here—the horizon is not wide enough—the air not strong and stimulating enough for you.

Ellida.

There you are quite right. Night and day, winter and summer, it is upon me—this haunting home-sickness for the sea.

Wangel.

I know it well, dear Ellida. [Lays his hand 224upon her head.] And therefore the poor sick child must go to its own home again.

Ellida.

How do you mean?

Wangel.

Quite literally. We will move.

Ellida.

Move!

Wangel.

Yes. Out somewhere by the open sea,—to some place where you may find a real home, after your own heart.

Ellida.

Oh, my dear, you mustn’t think of that! It’s quite impossible. You could never live happily anywhere in the world but here.

Wangel.

That must be as it may. And besides—do you think I can live happily here—without you?

Ellida.

But here I am; and here I will remain. Am I not yours?

Wangel.

Are you mine, Ellida?

Ellida.

Oh, please say no more of that scheme. Here you have all that is life and breath to you. Your whole life-work lies here, and here only.

225Wangel.

That must be as it may, I say. We will move from here—move seaward somewhere. My mind is made up beyond recall, dear Ellida.

Ellida.

Oh, but what do you suppose we shall gain by that?

Wangel.

You will regain your health and peace of mind.

Ellida.

I doubt it. But you yourself! Think of yourself too. What would you gain?

Wangel.

I should regain you, my dearest.

Ellida.

But that you cannot do! No, no, you cannot, Wangel! That is just the terrible, the heart-breaking part of it.

Wangel.

That remains to be seen. If you are haunted by such thoughts here, then assuredly there is nothing for it but to get you away from here. And the sooner the better. My mind is made up beyond recall, I tell you.

Ellida.

No! Rather than that,—Heaven help me—I will tell you everything without reserve, exactly as it is.

Wangel.

Yes, yes—do!

226Ellida.

You shall not make yourself unhappy for my sake; especially as it would do us no good, after all.

Wangel.

You have promised to tell me everything—exactly as it stands.

Ellida.

I will tell you as well as I can,—and as far as I understand things.—Come here and sit by me.

[They seat themselves upon the stones.

Wangel.

Well, Ellida? Well——?

Ellida.

That day when you came out there and asked me if I could and would be yours—you spoke to me frankly and openly about your first marriage. You said it had been very happy.

Wangel.

And so it was.

Ellida.

Yes, yes; I do not doubt it, dear. That is not why I speak of it now. I only want to remind you that I, on my side, was frank with you. I told you quite openly that I had once in my life cared for some one else. That it had come to—a sort of betrothal between us.

Wangel.

A sort of——?

Ellida.

Yes, something of the kind. Well, it lasted 227only a very short time. He went away; and afterwards I broke it off. All this I told you.

Wangel.

But, dear Ellida, why go back upon all this? After all, it did not really concern me. I have never even asked you who he was.

Ellida.

No, you have not. You are always so considerate to me.

Wangel.

[Smiling.] Well, in this case,—I scarcely needed to be told his name.

Ellida.

His name?

Wangel.

Out at Skioldvik and in those parts there were not many to choose from. Or rather, there was only one man——

Ellida.

I suppose you think it was—Arnholm.

Wangel.

Yes—was it not?

Ellida.

No.

Wangel.

It was not? Well then I am certainly at a loss.

Ellida.

Do you remember that, in the late autumn one year, a large American ship came into Skioldvik for repairs?

228Wangel.

Yes, I remember it well. It was on board her that the captain was found murdered in his cabin one morning. I remember going to make the post-mortem.

Ellida.

Yes, you did.

Wangel.

It was said to be the second mate who had killed him.

Ellida.

No one can tell that! It was never proved.

Wangel.

No; but I think there is no doubt about it. Else why should he have gone and drowned himself?

Ellida.

He did not drown himself. He escaped in a vessel bound for the north.

Wangel.

[Starts.] How do you know that?

Ellida.

[With an effort.] Because, Wangel—because it was that second mate to whom I—was betrothed.

Wangel.

[Starting up.] What do you say? Can this be possible?

Ellida.

Yes,—he was the man.

229Wangel.

But how in the world, Ellida——? How could you do such a thing! Go and engage yourself to such a man as that! A man you knew nothing on earth about!—What was his name?

Ellida.

He called himself Friman^[18] then. Afterwards, in his letters, he signed himself Alfred Johnston.

Wangel.

And where did he come from?

Ellida.

From Finmark, he said. He was born over in Finland though. He had come across the frontier as a child,—with his father I think.

Wangel.

He was a Quæn, then.

Ellida.

Yes, I believe they are called so.

Wangel.

What more do you know of him?

Ellida.

Only that he went to sea very young, and that he had made long voyages.

Wangel

Nothing else?

230Ellida.

No; we never talked about such things.

Wangel.

What did you talk about then?

Ellida.

Mainly about the sea.

Wangel.

Ah——! About the sea?

Ellida.

About storm and calm. About dark nights at sea. About the sea in the glittering sunshine, too. But we talked most about the whales, and the porpoises, and the seals that lie out upon the reefs and bask in the midday sun. And then we spoke of the gulls and the eagles, and all the other sea-birds, you know. And—is it not strange?—when we talked of such things, it seemed to me as though both the sea-animals and the sea-birds were akin to him.

Wangel.

And you yourself——?

Ellida.

Yes, I almost thought that I, too, was akin to all of them.

Wangel.

Yes, yes.—And that was how you came to betroth yourself to him?

Ellida.

Yes; he said I was to do it.

231Wangel.

Was to? Had you no will of your own?

Ellida.

Not when he was near. Oh—afterwards it all seemed so utterly inexplicable to me.

Wangel.

Did you see him often?

Ellida.

No, not very often. He went over the lighthouse one day; that is how I came to know him. And afterwards we used to meet occasionally. But then came this affair about the captain; and he had to go away.

Wangel.

Oh yes, let me hear about that!

Ellida.

It was in the dusk of the early morning that I got a line from him. It said that I must come out to him at Bratthammer^[19]—you know, the headland between the lighthouse and Skioldvik.

Wangel.

Yes, yes—I know it well.

Ellida.

I must come there immediately, the note said for he wanted to speak to me.

Wangel.

And you went?

232Ellida.

Yes. I could not help it. Well—he told me that he had stabbed the captain in the night.

Wangel.

He told you himself! Said it straight out!

Ellida.

Yes. But he had only done what was right and just, he said.

Wangel.

Right and just? What reason did he give, then, for stabbing him?

Ellida.

He would not tell me the reason. He said it was not a thing for me to hear about.

Wangel.

And you believed him, on his bare word?

Ellida.

Yes, I never thought of doubting him. Well, at all events he had to go away. But when he was on the point of saying good-bye to me——No, you could never imagine what he did.

Wangel.

Well, tell me then.

Ellida.

He took a key-ring out of his pocket, and drew off his finger a ring he used to wear. Then he took from me a little ring that I had, and these two he slipped together on the key-ring. And then he said that now we two should together be wedded to the sea.

233Wangel.

Wedded——?

Ellida.

Yes, so he said. And then he flung the large ring and the two small ones as far as ever he could into the deep water.

Wangel.

And you, Ellida? Did you agree to that?

Ellida.

Yes, would you believe it, I thought at the time that it was all as it should be.—But, thank heaven, then he went away!

Wangel.

And when once he was away?

Ellida.

Oh, you may be sure I soon came to my senses again. I saw how utterly stupid and meaningless the whole thing had been.

Wangel.

But you said something about letters. Did you hear from him afterwards?

Ellida.

Yes, I heard from him. First, I got a line or two from Archangel. He said nothing but that he was going over to America; and he told me where to address an answer.

Wangel.

Did you write?

Ellida.

Immediately. I said, of course, that all must be 234over between us—that he must never think of me again, as I meant never to think any more of him.

Wangel.

And did he write again, in spite of that?

Ellida.

Yes, he wrote again.

Wangel.

And what was his answer to what you had said?

Ellida.

Not a word. He wrote just as if I had never broken with him. He told me quite calmly that I must wait for him. When he was ready for me he would let me know, and then I was to come to him at once.

Wangel.

Then he would not release you?

Ellida.

No. So I wrote again, almost word for word the same as before: only more strongly.

Wangel.

And did he give way then?

Ellida.

Oh no, far from it. He wrote as calmly as before. Never a word about my having broken with him. Then I saw it was useless, so I wrote to him no more.

Wangel.

And did not hear from him either?

235Ellida.

Yes, I have had three letters from him since. Once he wrote from California and once from China. The last letter I got from him was from Australia. He said he was going to the goldmines; and since then I have heard nothing from him.

Wangel.

That man must have had an extraordinary power over you, Ellida.

Ellida.

Oh yes, yes. That terrible man!

Wangel.

But you must not think any more about it. Never! Promise me that, my dear, my precious Ellida! We will try another cure for you now—a fresher air than this of the inner fiord. The salt-laden, sweeping sea-breezes, dear! What do you say to that?

Ellida.

Oh, don’t speak of it! Don’t think of such a thing! There is no help for me in that! I know, I feel, that I should not be able to throw it off out there either.

Wangel.

To throw what off, dear? What do you mean?

Ellida.

I mean the terror of him. His unfathomable power over my soul——

Wangel.

But you have thrown it off! Long ago; when you broke with him. It is all over, long ago.

236Ellida.

[Springs up.] No, that is just what it is not!

Wangel.

Not over!

Ellida.

No, Wangel—it is not over! And I am afraid it never will be over. Never in this life.

Wangel.

[In a choked voice.] Do you mean to say that you have never in your heart of hearts been able to forget that strange man?

Ellida.

I had forgotten him. But then, all at once, he seemed to come again.

Wangel.

How long ago is that?

Ellida.

It is about three years ago now, or a little more. It was whilst—before the child was born.

Wangel.

Ah! It was then, was it? In that case, Ellida—I begin to understand much more clearly.

Ellida.

You are wrong, dear! This thing that has come over me—oh, I don’t think it can ever be understood.

Wangel.

[Looks at her, pained.] To think that for all 237these three years your heart has been given to another man. To another! Not to me,—but to another!

Ellida.

Oh, you utterly misunderstand me. I love no one but you.

Wangel.

[In a low tone.] How is it, then, that for all that time you have refused to live with me as my wife?

Ellida.

That is because of the dread the strange man has cast over me.

Wangel.

Dread——?

Ellida.

Yes, dread. Such a dread, such a terror, as can arise only from the sea. For now I must tell you, Wangel——

[The young townspeople come back from the left, bow, and go out to the right. With them come Arnholm, Boletta, Hilda, and Lyngstrand.

Boletta.

[As they pass by.] What! Still up here?

Ellida.

Yes, it’s so delightfully cool up here on the heights.

Arnholm.

For our part, we are going down to have a dance.

Wangel.

Very well. We will come too, in a little while.

238Hilda.

Good-bye for the present then.

Ellida.

Mr. Lyngstrand—will you please wait a moment?

[Lyngstrand stops. Arnholm, Boletta, and Hilda go out to the right.

Ellida.

[To Lyngstrand.] Are you going to dance too?

Lyngstrand.

No, Mrs. Wangel, I’m afraid I must not.

Ellida.

No, you ought to be careful. That weakness in your chest—you have not quite got over it yet.

Lyngstrand.

No, not thoroughly.

Ellida.

[Somewhat hesitatingly.] How long is it now since you made that voyage——?

Lyngstrand.

When I got the lesion?

Ellida.

Yes, that voyage you were telling us about this morning.

Lyngstrand.

Oh well, it must be about—wait a bit—yes, it was just three years ago.

239Ellida.

Three years?

Lyngstrand.

Or a little more. We left America in February, and we were wrecked in March. We got into the equinoctial gales.

Ellida.

[Looking at Wangel.] You see that was the time——

Wangel.

But, my dear Ellida——?

Ellida.

Well, don’t let us detain you, Mr. Lyngstrand, Go; but don’t dance.

Lyngstrand.

No, I shall only look on.

[He goes out to the right.

Wangel.

Dear Ellida—why did you cross-question him about that voyage?

Ellida.

Johnston was in the same ship. Of that I am perfectly certain.

Wangel.

What makes you think so?

Ellida.

[Without answering.] He came to know, during the voyage, that I had married some one else, while he was away. And then—at the very same moment, this came upon me!

240Wangel.

This dread?

Ellida.

Yes. Sometimes, without the smallest warning, I suddenly see him stand bodily before me. Or rather a little to one side. He never looks at me; he is only there.

Wangel.

How does he appear to you?

Ellida.

Just as I saw him last.

Wangel.

Ten years ago?

Ellida.

Yes. Out at Bratthammer. I see his scarf-pin most distinctly of all, with a large, bluish-white pearl in it. That pearl is like a dead fish’s eye. And it seems to glare at me.

Wangel.

Good God——! You are more ill than I thought; more ill than you know yourself, Ellida.

Ellida.

Yes, yes,—help me if you can! For I feel it closing round me more and more.

Wangel.

And you have been in this state for three whole years. You have suffered this secret anguish without confiding in me!

Ellida.

Oh I could not! Not till now, when it became 241necessary for your own sake. If I had told you all this—then I must also have told you—the unspeakable.

Wangel.

The unspeakable——?

Ellida.

[Evasively.] No, no, no! Do not ask! Only one thing more, and I have done.—Wangel—how shall we fathom the mystery—of the child’s eyes——?

Wangel.

My own dear Ellida, I assure you it was pure imagination on your part. The child had exactly the same eyes as other normal children.

Ellida.

No, it had not! How could you help seeing it? The child’s eyes changed colour with the sea. If the fiord lay in a sunny calm, the eyes were calm and sunny. And the same way in storms.—Oh, I saw it well enough, if you did not.

Wangel.

[Humouring her.] H’m,—perhaps so. But even if it were? What then?

Ellida.

[Softly, and drawing nearer to him.] I have seen eyes like that before.

Wangel.

When? And where——?

Ellida.

Out at Bratthammer. Ten years ago.

242Wangel.

[Recoils a step.] What do you——!

Ellida.

[Whispers, trembling.] The child had the strange man’s eyes.

Wangel.

[Cries out involuntarily.] Ellida——!

Ellida.

[Clasps her hands over her head in despair.] Now you can surely understand why I never will,—never dare live with you as your wife!

[She turns hastily and rushes down the hill to the right.

Wangel.

[Hastens after her and calls.] Ellida! Ellida! My poor unhappy Ellida!Ellida!

243

ACT THIRD

A remote corner of Dr. Wangel’s garden. The place is damp, marshy, and overshadowed by large old trees. To the right is seen the edge of a stagnant pond. A low open fence divides the garden from the footpath and fiord in the background. In the farthest distance, beyond the fiord, mountain ranges rise into peaks. It is late afternoon, almost evening.

Boletta sits sewing upon a stone seat to the left. On the seat lie a couple of books and a work basket. Hilda and Lyngstrand, both with fishing-tackle, stand by the edge of the pond.

Hilda.

[Makes a sign to Lyngstrand.] Stand still. I see a big one there.

Lyngstrand.

[Looking.] Where is it?

Hilda.

[Points.] Can’t you see—down there. And look! I declare there’s another! [Looks away through the trees.] Ugh—there he comes to frighten them away!

Boletta.

[Looks up.] Who is coming?

244Hilda.

Your tutor, miss!

Boletta.

My——?

Hilda.

Yes; thank goodness he was never mine!

Arnholm comes forward among the trees on the right.

Arnholm.

Are there fish in the pond now?

Hilda.

Yes, there are some very old carp.

Arnholm.

Ah, so the old carp are still alive?

Hilda.

Yes; they’re tough, I can tell you. But now we’re going to put an end to some of them.

Arnholm.

You ought rather to try the fiord.

Lyngstrand.

No, the pond—the pond is more mysterious, as you might call it.

Hilda.

Yes, it’s more thrilling here.—Have you just been having a bathe?

Arnholm.

Precisely. I’ve come straight from the bathing-house.

245Hilda.

I suppose you kept within the enclosure?

Arnholm.

Yes, I’m no great swimmer.

Hilda.

Can you swim on your back?

Arnholm.

No.

Hilda.

I can. [To Lyngstrand.] Let us try over there on the other side.

[They skirt the pond, out to the right.

Arnholm.

[Advances to Boletta.] You are all alone, Boletta?

Boletta.

Oh yes, I generally am.

Arnholm.

Is not your mother in the garden?

Boletta.

No; I think she is out walking with father.

Arnholm.

How is she this afternoon?

Boletta.

I don’t quite know. I forgot to ask.

Arnholm.

What are the books you have there?

246Boletta.

Oh, one is a botanical book, and the other a descriptive geography.

Arnholm.

Are you fond of that kind of reading?

Boletta.

Yes, when I can find time for it——But of course the housekeeping must come first.

Arnholm.

But does not your mother—your stepmother—help you with that?

Boletta.

No, it is my work. I had to look after it during the two years father was alone; and so it has continued ever since.

Arnholm.

But you are as fond as ever of reading?

Boletta.

Yes, I read all the useful books I can get hold of. One wants to know a little about the world. Here we live so entirely outside of everything,—or almost entirely.

Arnholm.

No, my dear Boletta, don’t say that.

Boletta.

But I do say so. I don’t see much difference between our life and the life of the carp in the pond there. They have the fiord close beside 247them, where the great free shoals of fish sweep out and in. But the poor tame house-fishes know nothing of all that; and they can never join in.

Arnholm.

I don’t think it would agree with them at all if they did get out into the fiord.

Boletta.

Oh, they might take their chance of that, I should think.

Arnholm.

Besides, you can’t say that you are so utterly out of the world here. Not in summer, at all events. This place is a sort of local centre, nowadays, in the life of the world—a point of convergence for many passing streams.

Boletta.

[Smiling.] Oh, you are in the passing stream yourself; it is easy for you to make game of us.

Arnholm.

I make game——? What puts that into your head?

Boletta.

Why, all this about a centre, and a point of convergence for the life of the world, is simply what you have heard people say in the town. They are always talking like that.

Arnholm.

Yes, frankly, I have noticed as much.

248Boletta.

But there’s really not a word of truth in it, you know—not for us who live here constantly. What is it to us that the great outside world passes our doors on its way to the midnight sun? We cannot join in the stream. There is no midnight sun for us. Oh no; we must be content to linger our lives out, here in our carp-pond.

Arnholm.

[Seats himself besides her.] Tell me now, dear Boletta—I wonder if there is not something or other,—some particular thing I mean—that you are all the time longing for, here at home?

Boletta.

Well, perhaps there may be.

Arnholm.

Then what is it? What are you longing for?

Boletta.

Chiefly to get away.

Arnholm.

That before everything?

Boletta.

Yes. And next to learn a little more; to gain some real insight into things in general.

Arnholm.

When I used to read with you, your father often said that he would let you go to college.

249Boletta.

Oh yes, poor father,—he says so many things. But when it comes to the point, then——. There is no real energy in father.

Arnholm.

No, unfortunately—I suppose there is not. But have you ever talked to him about this? Put serious pressure on him, I mean?

Boletta.

No, I can’t say that I have.

Arnholm.

Well now really, Boletta, you ought to do so, before it is too late. Why don’t you?

Boletta.

Oh, because there is no real energy in me either, I suppose. I probably take after father in that.

Arnholm.

H’m—I wonder whether you don’t do yourself injustice there?

Boletta.

Oh no, I’m sorry to say. And then father has so little time to think about me and my future—and not much inclination either. He puts things of that sort aside as much as he can; he is so entirely taken up with Ellida——

Arnholm.

With whom——? How——?

250Boletta.

I mean that he and my stepmother——[Breaking off.] Father and mother lead a life of their own, you see.

Arnholm.

Well, so much the more reason for you to see about getting away.

Boletta.

Yes, but at the same time I don’t feel as if I had the right to go away—to leave father.

Arnholm.

But, my dear Boletta, you will have to leave him some time, in any case; and since that is so, why delay——?

Boletta.

Yes, I suppose there is nothing else for it. Of course I ought to think of myself too, and try to find a position of some sort. When once father is gone I shall have no one to depend on.—But poor father,—I dread the thought of leaving him.

Arnholm.

Dread——?

Boletta.

Yes, for his own sake.

Arnholm.

But, bless me, what about your stepmother? She will still be with him.

Boletta.

Yes, that’s true. But she is not at all fitted for all that mother knew so well how to do. There 251are so many things she doesn’t see—or perhaps will not see—or trouble herself about. I don’t know which way to put it.

Arnholm.

H’m,—I think I understand what you mean?

Boletta.

Poor father,—he is weak in certain ways. I daresay you have noticed that yourself. You see he hasn’t enough work to fill up his whole time; and then she is quite incapable of being any support to him.—That is partly his own fault, however.

Arnholm.

How so?

Boletta.

Oh, father always likes to see cheerful faces around him; there must be sunshine and contentment in the house, he says. So I am afraid he often lets her have medicine that does her no good in the long run.

Arnholm.

Do you really think so?

Boletta.

Yes, I can’t get rid of the idea. She is so strange at times. [Vehemently.] But it does seem hard, does it not, that I should have to stay on at home here? It does not in reality help father at all; and I can’t but feel that I have duties towards myself too.

Arnholm.

I’ll tell you what, my dear Boletta,—we must talk all this over more thoroughly.

252Boletta.

Oh, that won’t help much; I daresay I was created to pass my life here in the carp-pond.

Arnholm.

Not at all. It depends entirely upon yourself.

Boletta.

[Eagerly.] Do you think so?

Arnholm.

Yes, believe me; it lies wholly and solely in your own hands.

Boletta.

Oh, if it only did——! Do you mean that you will put in a good word for me with father?

Arnholm.

I will do that too. But first of all I want to speak frankly and without reserve to you yourself, my dear Boletta. [Looks out to the left.] Hush! Let no one notice anything; we’ll finish our talk by-and-by.

Ellida enters from the left. She wears no hat, but has a light shawl thrown over her head and shoulders.

Ellida.

[With nervous animation.] How nice it is here! How delightful!

Arnholm.

[Rising.] Have you been out walking?

Ellida.

Yes, a long, long splendid walk with Wangel. And now we are going out for a sail.

253Boletta.

Won’t you sit down?

Ellida.

No thank you; I couldn’t sit.

Boletta.

[Moving along the bench.] There’s plenty of room.

Ellida.

[Walking about.] No no no, I couldn’t sit; I couldn’t sit.

Arnholm.

Your walk has surely done you good; it seems to have exhilarated you.

Ellida.

Oh, I feel so thoroughly well. I feel so unspeakably happy! So safe! So safe——[Looks out to the left.] What large steamer is that coming in?

Boletta.

[Rises and looks out.] It must be the big English boat.

Arnholm.

They are mooring her to the buoy. Does she generally stop here?

Boletta.

Only for half an hour; she goes farther up the fiord.

Ellida.

And then outward again—to-morrow; out on the great open sea; right over the sea. Think of going with her! If one only could! If one only could!

254Arnholm.

Have you never taken a long sea-voyagesea-voyage, Mrs. Wangel?

Ellida.

Never in my life; only little trips in the fiords.

Boletta.

[With a sigh.] Oh no, we have to put up with the dry land.

Arnholm.

Well, at any rate, that is our natural element.

Ellida.

No, I don’t think so at all.

Arnholm.

Not dry land?

Ellida.

No, I don’t believe it. I believe that if men had only accustomed themselves from the first to live their life on the sea—or even in the sea—we should by this time have been far more perfect than we are;—both better and happier.

Arnholm.

Do you really believe that?

Ellida.

Well, at any rate, it is a theory of mine. I have often talked of it with Wangel.

Arnholm.

Indeed! And he——?

Ellida.

Oh, he thinks there may be something in it.

255Arnholm.

[Joking.] Well, who knows? But what’s done is done. We have once for all taken the wrong turning and become land animals instead of sea animals. All things considered, I’m afraid it is too late now to rectify the error.

Ellida.

Yes, that is the mournful truth. And I believe people have an instinctive feeling of it themselves—it haunts them like a secret sorrow and regret. Believe me, this lies at the very root of the melancholy of mankind. I am sure it does.

Arnholm.

But my dear Mrs. Wangel,—I have never noticed that people are so profoundly melancholy. I should say, on the contrary, that most people take life cheerfully and lightly—with a great, calm, unconscious joy.

Ellida.

Oh no, that is not so. That joy—it is just like our joy in the long, light summer days. It has in it the foreboding of the darkness to come. And this foreboding casts its shadow over the joy of mankind,—just as the driving scud casts its shadow over the fiord. There it lies all blue and shining; and then all of a sudden——

Boletta.

You shouldn’t let yourself dwell on such sad thoughts. You were so bright and cheerful a momenta moment ago——

Ellida.

Yes yes, so I was. All this is—it’s so stupid of 256me. [Looks uneasily around.] If only Wangel would come down here. He promised me so faithfully; and yet he doesn’t come. He must have forgotten. Dear Mr. Arnholm, won’t you go and find him for me?

Arnholm.

Yes, with pleasure.

Ellida.

Tell him that he really must come at once; for now I cannot see him——

Arnholm.

Not see him——?

Ellida.

Oh, you don’t understand me. When he is not present, I often can’t remember what he looks like; and then it seems as though I had lost him utterly.—It’s so terribly painful. Do go!

[She wanders over in the direction of the pond.

Boletta.

[To Arnholm.] I will go with you; you don’t know——

Arnholm.

Oh don’t trouble; I shall manage——

Boletta.

[In an undertone.] No no, I am uneasy. I’m afraid he is on board the steamer.

Arnholm.

Afraid?

257Boletta.

Yes, he generally goes to see if there is any one he knows among the passengers; and there’s a refreshment bar on board——

Arnholm.

Ah! Come along then.

[He and Boletta go out to the left.

[Ellida stands awhile gazing into the pond. From time to time she talks softly and in broken phrases to herself.

Outside on the footpath, beyond the garden fence, a Stranger in travelling dress enters from the left. He has bushy, reddish hair and beard, wears a Scotch cap, and has a travelling-wallet slung across his shoulder by a strap.

The Stranger.

[Walks slowly along by the fence, and looks into the garden. When he sees Ellida he stops, looks intently and searchingly at her, and says softly:] Good evening, Ellida!

Ellida.

[Turns round and cries out.] Oh my dear—have you come at last!

The Stranger.

Yes, at last.

Ellida.

[Looks at him, astonished and apprehensive.] Who are you? Are you looking for some one here?

The Stranger.

You know I am.

258Ellida.

[Taken aback.] What is this? How strangely you speak to me!^[20] Who is it you are looking for?

The Stranger.

You know I am looking for you.

Ellida.

[Starts.] Ah——! [Gazes at him a moment, staggers backwards, and breaks out into a half-smothered shriek.] The eyes!—The eyes!

The Stranger.

Well,—are you beginning to recognise me at last? I knew you at once, Ellida.

Ellida.

The eyes. Don’t look at me like that!that! I will call for help.

The Stranger.

Hush, hush! Don’t be afraid. I will do you no harm.

Ellida.

[Holds her hands over her eyes.] Don’t look at me like that, I say!

The Stranger.

[Leans his arms upon the garden fence.] I came with the English steamer.

Ellida.

[Glances shrinkingly at him.] What do you want with me?

259The Stranger.

I promised I would come again, as soon as I could——

Ellida.

Go! Go away again! Never—never come here any more! I wrote to you that everything must be at end between us! Everything! You know I did!

The Stranger.

[Unmoved, without answering.] I wanted to come to you sooner, but I could not. At last I saw my way; and here I am, Ellida.

Ellida.

What do you want with me? What are you thinking of? What have you come here for?

The Stranger.

You know quite well that I have come to take you away.

Ellida.

[Shrinking back in terror.] To take me away! Is that what you intend?

The Stranger.

Yes, of course.

Ellida.

But surely you know that I am married!

The Stranger.

Yes, I know it.

Ellida.

And yet——! In spite of that, you have come to—to—take me away!

260The Stranger.

Yes, you see I have.

Ellida.

[Presses both her hands to her head.] Oh this fearful——! Oh this terror, this terror——!

The Stranger.

Perhaps you do not wish to come!

Ellida.

[Beside herself.] Don’t look at me like that!

The Stranger.

Do you not wish to come, I ask?

Ellida.

No, no, no! I will not! Never to the end of time! I will not, I say! I neither can, nor will! [Lower.] I dare not, either.

The Stranger.

[Climbs over the fence and comes into the garden.] Very well then, Ellida—let me just say one single thing before I go.

Ellida.

[Tries to escape, but cannot. She stands as if paralysed with fear, and supports herself against a tree-trunk near the pond.] Do not touch me! Do not come near me! Stay where you are! Do not touch me, I say!

The Stranger.

[Cautiously, coming a step or two towards her.] You must not be so afraid of me, Ellida.

261Ellida.

[Puts her hands before her eyes.] Do not look at me like that!

The Stranger.

Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid.

Doctor Wangel comes through the garden from the left.

Wangel.

[Before he has quite emerged from among the trees.] Well, I’ve kept you waiting a nice time.

Ellida.

[Rushes to him, clings fast to his arm and cries.] Oh Wangel,—save me! Save me—if you can!

Wangel.

Ellida,—what in heaven’s name——!

Ellida.

Save me, Wangel! Don’t you see him? There he stands!

Wangel.

[Looks at the Stranger.] That man there? [Goes towards him.] Who are you, may I ask? And why have you come into this garden?

The Stranger.

[Indicates Ellida by a nod.] I want to speak to her.

Wangel.

Indeed. Then I suppose it was you——? [To Ellida.] I hear a stranger called at the house and asked for you.

262The Stranger.

Yes, it was I.

Wangel.

And what do you want with my wife? [Turns.] Do you know him, Ellida?

Ellida.

[Softly, wringing her hands.] Do I know him? Yes, yes, yes!

Wangel.

[Hastily.] Well?

Ellida.

Oh, it is he, Wangel! It is he himself! He,—you know——!

Wangel.

What? What do you say? [Turns.] Are you the man Johnston, who was——?

The Stranger.

Well—you can call me Johnston if you like. It is not my name though.

Wangel.

Is it not?

The Stranger.

Not now, it isn’t.

Wangel.

And what can you want with my wife? For of course you know that the lighthouse keeper’s daughter has been married for years. And you must know, too, who her husband is.

The Stranger.

I have known that for more than three years.

263Ellida.

[Eagerly.] How did you come to know it?

The Stranger.

I was on my way home to you. I came across an old newspaper—one from these parts; and in it was the notice of your marriage.

Ellida.

[Looking straight before her.] My marriage——So it was that——

The Stranger.

It came upon me very strangely. For the linking of the rings—that was a marriage, too, Ellida.

Ellida.

[Puts her hands before her face.] Oh——!

Wangel.

How dare you——?

The Stranger.

Had you forgotten it?

Ellida.

[Cries out, as though she felt his look.] Do not stand looking at me like that!

Wangel.

[Confronting him.] Be so good as to address yourself to me, and not to her. Briefly now—since you understand the situation—what can you have to do here? Why do you come here and seek out my wife?

264The Stranger.

I had promised Ellida that I would come to her as soon as I could.

Wangel.

Ellida——! Again!

The Stranger.

And Ellida had promised faithfully to wait for me till I came.

Wangel.

I observe that you call my wife by her first name. That sort of familiarity is not usual here.

The Stranger.

I know that very well. But as she belongs first of all to me——

Wangel.

To you! Still——!

Ellida.

[Shrinks behind Wangel.] Oh——! He will never set me free!

Wangel.

To you! You say she belongs to you!

The Stranger.

Has she told you about the two rings? My ring and Ellida’s?

Wangel.

Yes, certainly. But what then? She broke it off again afterwards. You received her letters; so you know it perfectly well.

265The Stranger.

Ellida and I were fully agreed that the linking of the rings was to be in every way as valid and binding as a marriage.

Ellida.

But I refuse, I tell you! Never in this world will I have anything more to do with you! Do not look at me like that! I will not, I tell you!

Wangel.

You must be out of your senses if you think you can come here and found any claim upon such a piece of child’s-play as that.

The Stranger.

That is true. In the way you mean, I have certainly no claim upon her.

Wangel.

What do you want to do then? You cannot imagine that you can take her from me by force,—against her own will!

The Stranger.

No. What would be the use of that? If Ellida is to be mine, she must come of her own free will.

Ellida.

[Starts and cries out.] Of my own free will——.

Wangel.

And can you suppose——!

Ellida.

[To herself.] My own free will——!

266Wangel.

You must be out of your mind. Take yourself off! We have nothing more to do with you.

The Stranger.

[Looks at his watch.] It will soon be time for me to go on board again. [Advances a step.] Well well, Ellida—now I have done what I had to do. [Still nearer.] I have kept the word I gave you.

Ellida.

[Imploringly, shrinking away.] Oh, do not touch me!

The Stranger.

I give you till to-morrow night to think it over——

Wangel.

There is nothing to think over. Leave this place at once!

The Stranger.

[Still to Ellida.] I am going up the fiord in the steamer now; to-morrow night I shall return, and then I will see you again. You must wait for me here in the garden; for I prefer to settle the matter with you alone, you understand.

Ellida.

[Softly and trembling.] Oh, do you hear that, Wangel?

Wangel.

Do not be alarmed. We shall find means to prevent this visit.

267The Stranger.

Good-bye for the present, Ellida. To-morrow night then.

Ellida.

[In a tone of entreaty.] Oh, no, no,—do not come to-morrow night! Never come again!

The Stranger.

And if by that time you should be of a mind to come with me over the sea——

Ellida.

Oh, do not look at me like that——

The Stranger.

I only mean that in that case you must be ready to start.

Wangel.

Go into the house, Ellida.

Ellida.

I cannot. Oh, help me! Save me, Wangel!

The Stranger.

For you must remember this, that if you do not come with me to-morrow, it will all be over.

Ellida.

[Looks at him, trembling.] Will it all be over? For ever——?

The Stranger.

[With a nod.] Beyond recall, Ellida! I shall never return to this country; you will never see 268me any more, nor hear from me either. I shall be as though dead and gone from you, for evermore.

Ellida.

[Breathes uneasily.] Oh——!

The Stranger.

So think carefully what you do. Good-bye. [He climbs over the fence, stops, and says:] Well, Ellida,—be ready to start to-morrow night; for then I will come and take you away.

[He goes slowly and calmly along the footpath and out to the right.

Ellida.

[Looks after him a while.] Of my own free will, he said! Think of that—he said that I should go with him of my own free will.

Wangel.

Be calm, be calm. He is gone now, and you shall never see him again.

Ellida.

Oh, how can you say that? He is coming again to-morrow night.

Wangel.

Let him come; I will see that he does not meet you.

Ellida.

[Shakes her head.] Oh Wangel, do not think that you can prevent him.

Wangel.

Yes I can, dearest—rely upon me.

269Ellida.

[Musing, without listening to him.] When he has been here—to-morrow night——? And when he has gone away in the steamer, over the sea——?

Wangel.

Well, what then?

Ellida.

I wonder whether he will never—never come again?

Wangel.

No, dear Ellida, you may feel absolutely secure on that point. What could he do here after this? He has heard now, from your own lips, that you will have nothing to do with him. That ends the whole thing.

Ellida.

[To herself.] To-morrow then—or never.

Wangel.

And even if he should take it into his head to come again——

Ellida.

[Eagerly.] What then——?

Wangel.

Why, we know how to make him harmless.

Ellida.

Oh, do not think that.

Wangel.

We know what to do, I say! If nothing else will make him leave you in peace, then he shall answer for the murder of the captain.

270Ellida.

[Vehemently.] No, no, no——! Never that! We know nothing about the murder of the captain! Absolutely nothing!

Wangel.

We know nothing! Why, he himself confessed it to you!

Ellida.

No, nothing about that! If you say anything, I will deny it. He shall not be caged! His place is out on the open sea. That is his home.

Wangel.

[Looks at her and says slowly:] Ah, Ellida—Ellida!

Ellida.

[Clings to him passionately.] Oh dear one, faithful one—save me from that man!

Wangel.

[Gently disengaging himself.] Come! Come with me!

Lyngstrand and Hilda, both with fishing-tackle, appear from the right beside the pond.

Lyngstrand.

[Goes rapidly towards Ellida.] Oh, what do you think, Mrs. Wangel—I have something wonderful to tell you!

Wangel.

What is it?

271Lyngstrand.

Just fancy—we have seen the American!

Wangel.

The American?

Hilda.

Yes, I saw him too.

Lyngstrand.

He went round by the back of the garden, and then on board the big English steamer.

Wangel.

Where have you known that man?

Lyngstrand.

I was at sea with him once. I was quite sure he was drowned; and here he appears as large as life.

Wangel.

Do you know anything more about him?

Lyngstrand.

No; but I’m sure he has come back to be revenged on his faithless wife.

Wangel.

What do you mean?

Hilda.

Mr. Lyngstrand is going to make a statue of him.

Wangel.

I don’t understand a word——

272Ellida.

You shall hear all about it by-and-by.

Arnholm and Boletta enter from the left along the footpath outside the garden fence.

Boletta.

[To those in the garden.] Come and look! The English steamer is going up the fiord.

[A large steamer glides slowly past at some distance.

Lyngstrand.

[To Hilda, near the garden fence.] I am sure he will come down upon her to-night.

Hilda.

[Nods.] Upon his faithless wife—yes.

Lyngstrand.

Fancy,—just at midnight.

Hilda.

I think it will be thrilling.

Ellida.

[Looking after the ship.] To-morrow then——

Wangel.

And after that, never again.

Ellida.

[Softly and trembling.] Oh Wangel—save me from myself.

273Wangel.

[Looks anxiously at her.] Ellida! I feel it—there is something behind all this.

Ellida.

All that allures is behind it.

Wangel.

All that allures——?

Ellida.

That man is like the sea.

[She goes slowly and in deep thought through the garden out to the left. Wangel walks uneasily by her side, observing her intently.

274

ACT FOURTH.

Garden-room at Dr. Wangel’s. Doors right and left. In the back, between the two windows, an open glass door leading out to the verandah. A portion of the garden is seen below. A sofa and table in front on the left. To the right a piano, and farther back a large flower-stand. In the middle of the floor a round table with chairs about it. On the table, a rose-bush in bloom, and other plants in pots about the room. It is forenoon.

Boletta is seated on the sofa by the table, left, working at a piece of embroidery. Lyngstrand sits on a chair at the upper end of the table. Ballested is seated in the garden, painting. Hilda stands beside him, looking on.