Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (261 page)

Wangel. This man has had a strange power over you, Ellida.

Ellida. Yes, yes! The terrible man!

Wangel. But you mustn’t think of that any more. Never again — never! Promise me that, my dear, beloved Ellida. Now we must try another treatment for you. Fresher air than here within the fjords. The salt, fresh air of the sea! Dear, what say you to that?

Ellida. Oh! don’t speak of it! Don’t think of it! There is no help in this for me. I feel that so well. I can’t shake it off — not even there.

Wangel. What, dear? — What do you really mean?

Ellida. I mean the horror of it, this incomprehensible power over the mind.

Wangel. But you have shaken it off — long since — when you broke with him. Why, all this is long past now.

Ellida
(springing up)
. No; that it is not — it is not!

Wangel. Not past?

Ellida. No, Wangel, it is not past; and I fear it never will be — never, in all our life.

Wangel
(in a pained voice)
. Do you mean to say that in your innermost heart you have never been able to forget this strange man?

Ellida. I had forgotten him; but then it was as if he had suddenly come back again.

Wangel. How long ago is that?

Ellida. It’s about three years ago, now, or a little longer. It was just when I expected the child.

Wangel. Ah! at that time? Yes, Ellida — now I begin to understand many things.

Ellida. You are mistaken, dear. What has come to me? Oh! I believe nothing on earth will ever make it clear.

Wangel
(looking sadly at her)
. Only to think that all these three years you have cared for another man. Cared for another. Not for me — but for another!

Ellida. Oh! you are so utterly mistaken! I care for no one but you.

Wangel
(in a subdued voice)
. Why, then, in all this time have you not lived with me as my wife?

Ellida. Because of the horror that comes from the strange man.

Wangel. The horror?

Ellida. Yes, the horror. A horror so terrible — such as only the sea could hold. For now you shall hear, Wangel.

(The young townsfolk come back, bow, and pass out to the right. Together with them come ARNHOLM, BOLETTE, HILDE, and LYNGSTRAND.)

Bolette
(as she passes by)
. Well, are you still walking about up here?

Ellida. Yes, it is so cool and pleasant up here on the heights.

Arnholm. We, for our part, are going down for a dance.

Wangel. All right. We’ll soon come down — we also.

Hilde. Goodbye, for the present!

Ellida. Mr. Lyngstrand, will you wait one moment?
(LYNGSTRAND Stops. ARNHOLM, BOLETTE and HILDE go out. To LYNGSTRAND.)
Are you going to dance too?

Lyngstrand. No, Mrs. Wangel. I don’t think I dare.

Ellida. No, you should be careful, you know — your chest. You’re not quite well yet, you see.

Lyngstrand. Not quite.

Ellida
(with some hesitation)
. How long may it be now since you went on that voyage?

Lyngstrand. That time when I contracted this weakness?

Ellida. Yes, that voyage you told me about this morning?

Lyngstrand. Oh! it’s about — wait a moment — yes, it’s a good three years now.

Ellida. Three years, then.

Lyngstrand. Perhaps a little more. We left America in February, and we were wrecked in March. It was the equinoctial gales we came in for.

Ellida
(looking at WANGEL)
. So it was at that time —

Wangel. But, dear Ellida —

Ellida. Well, don’t let me detain you, Mr. Lyngstrand. Now go down, but don’t dance.

Lyngstrand. No, I’ll only look on.
(He goes out.)

Ellida. Johnston was on board too, I am quite certain of it.

Wangel. What makes you think so?

Ellida
(without answering)
. He learnt on board that I had married another while he was away. And so that very hour this came over me.

Wangel. The horror?

Ellida. Yes, all of a sudden I see him alive right in front of me; or, rather a little in profile. He never looks at me, only he is there.

Wangel. How do you think he looks?

Ellida. Exactly as when I saw him last.

Wangel. Ten years ago?

Ellida. Yes; out there at Bratthammeren. Most distinctly of all I see his breastpin, with a large bluish-white pearl in it. The 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 yourself know, Ellida.

Ellida. Yes, yes! Help me if you can, for I feel how it is drawing closer and more close.

Wangel. And you have gone about in this state three whole years, bearing for yourself this secret suffering, without confiding in me.

Ellida. But I could not; not till it became necessary for your own sake. If I had confided in you I should also have had to confide to you the unutterable.

Wangel. Unutterable?

Ellida. No, no, no! Do not ask. Only one thing, nothing more. Wangel, when shall we understand that mystery of the boy’s eyes?

Wangel. My dear love, Ellida, I assure you it was only your own fancy. The child had exactly the same eyes as other normal children have.

Ellida. No, he had not. And you could not see it! The child’s eyes changed colour with the sea. When the fjord lay bathed in sunshine, so were his eyes. And so in storm. Oh, I saw it, if you did not!

Wangel
(humouring her)
. Maybe. But even if it were true, what then?

Ellida
(in lower voice, and coming nearer)
. I have seen such eyes before.

Wangel. Well? Where?

Ellida. Out at Bratthammeren, ten years ago.

Wangel
(stepping back)
. What does it mean?

Ellida
(whispers, trembling)
. The child had the strange man’s eyes.

Wangel
(cries out reluctantly)
. Ellida!

Ellida
(clasps her hands despairingly about her head)
. Now you understand why I would not, why I dared not, live with you as your wife.
(She turns suddenly and rushes off over the heights.)

Wangel
(hurrying after her and calling)
. Ellida, Ellida! My poor unhappy Ellida!

ACT II
I

(SCENE. — A more remote part of DOCTOR WANGEL’S garden. It is boggy and overshadowed by large old trees. To the right is seen the margin of a dank pond. A low, open fence separates the garden from the footpath, and the fjord in the background. Beyond is the range of mountains, with its peaks. It is afternoon, almost evening. BOLETTE sits on a stone seat, and on the seat lie some books and a work-basket. HILDE and LYNGSTRAND, both with fishing-tackle, walk along the bank of the pond.)

Hilde
(making a sign to LYNGSTRAND)
. I can see a large one.

Lyngstrand
(looking)
. Where?

Hilde
(pointing)
. Can’t you see? He’s down there. Good gracious! There’s another!
(Looks through the trees.)
Out there. Now he’s coming to frighten him away!

Bolette
(looking up)
. Who’s coming?

Hilde. Your tutor, Miss!

Bolette. Mine?

Hilde. Yes. Goodness knows he never was mine.

(ARNHOLM enters from between the trees.)

Arnholm. Are there fish in the pond now?

Hilde. There are some very ancient carp.

Arnholm. No! Are the old carp still alive?

Hilde. Yes; they’re pretty tough. But now we’re going to try and get rid of some of them.

Arnholm. You’d better try out there at the fjord.

Lyngstrand. No; the pond is — well — so to say — more mysterious.

Hilde. Yes; it’s fascinating here. Have you been in the sea?

Arnholm. Yes; I’ve come straight from the baths.

Hilde. I suppose you kept in the enclosure?

Arnholm. Yes; I’m not much of a swimmer.

Hilde. Can you swim on your back?

Arnholm. No.

Hilde. I can.
(To LYNGSTRAND.)
Let’s try out there on the other side.
(They go off along the pond.)

Arnholm
(coming closer to BOLETTE)
. Are you sitting all alone here, Bolette?

Bolette. Yes; I generally do.

Arnholm. Isn’t your mother down here in the garden?

Bolette. No — she’s sure to be out with father.

Arnholm. How is she this afternoon?

Bolette. I don’t quite know. I forgot to ask.

Arnholm. What books have you there?

Bolette. The one’s something about botany. And the other’s a geography.

Arnholm. Do you care about such things?

Bolette. Yes, if only I had time for it. But, first of all, I’ve to look after the housekeeping.

Arnholm. Doesn’t your mother help you — your stepmother — doesn’t she help with that?

Bolette. No, that’s my business. Why, I saw to that during the two years father was alone. And so it has been since.

Arnholm. But you’re as fond as ever of reading.

Bolette. Yes, I read all the useful books I can get hold of. One wants to know something about the world. For here we live so completely outside of all that’s going on — or almost.

Arnholm. Now don’t say that, dear Bolette.

Bolette. Yes! I think we live very much as the carp down there in the pond. They have the fjord so near them, where the shoals of wild fishes pass in and out. But the poor, tame house-fishes know nothing, and they can take no part in that.

Arnholm. I don’t think it would fare very well with them if they could get out there.

Bolette. Oh! it would be much the same, I expect.

Arnholm. Moreover, you can’t say that one is so completely out of the world here — not in the summer anyhow. Why, nowadays this is quite a rendezvous for the busy world — almost a terminus for the time being.

Bolette. Ah, yes! you who yourself are only here for the time being — it is easy for you to make fun of us.

Arnholm. I make fun? How can you think that?

Bolette. Well, all that about this being a rendezvous, and a terminus for the busy world — that’s something you’ve heard the townsfolk here saying. Yes — they’re in the habit of saying that sort of thing.

Arnholm. Well, frankly, I’ve noticed that, too.

Bolette. But really there’s not an atom of truth in it. Not for us who always live here. What good is it to us that the great strange world comes hither for a time on its way North to see the midnight sun? We ourselves have no part in that; we see nothing of the midnight sun. No! We’ve got to be good, and live our lives here in our carp pond.

Arnholm
(sitting down by her)
. Now tell me, dear Bolette, isn’t there something or other — something definite you are longing for?

Bolette. Perhaps.

Arnholm. What is it, really? What is it you are longing for?

Bolette. Chiefly to get away.

Arnholm. That above all, then?

Bolette. Yes; and then to learn more. To really know something about everything.

Arnholm. When I used to teach you, your father often said he would let you go to college.

Bolette. Yes, poor father! He says so many things. But when it comes to the point he — there’s no real stamina in father.

Arnholm. No, unfortunately you’re right there. He has not exactly stamina. But have you ever spoken to him about it — spoken really earnestly and seriously?

Bolette. No, I’ve not quite done that.

Arnholm. But really you ought to. Before it is too late, Bolette, why don’t you?

Bolette. Oh! I suppose it’s because there’s no real stamina in me either. I certainly take after father in that.

Arnholm. Hm — don’t you think you’re unjust to yourself there?

Bolette. No, unfortunately. Besides, father has so little time for thinking of me and my future, and not much desire to either. He prefers to put such things away from him whenever he can. He is so completely taken up with Ellida.

Arnholm. With whom? What?

Bolette. I mean that he and my stepmother —
(breaks off)
. Father and mother suffice one another, as you see.

Arnholm. Well, so much the better if you were to get away from here.

Bolette. Yes; but I don’t think I’ve a right to; not to forsake father.

Arnholm. But, dear Bolette, you’ll have to do that sometime, anyhow. So it seems to me the sooner the better.

Bolette. I suppose there is nothing else for it. After all, I must think of myself, too. I must try and get occupation of some sort. When once father’s gone, I have no one to hold to. But, poor father! I dread leaving him.

Arnholm. Dread?

Bolette. Yes, for father’s sake.

Arnholm. But, good heavens! Your stepmother? She is left to him.

Bolette. That’s true. But she’s not in the least fit to do all that mother did so well. There is so much she doesn’t see, or that she won’t see, or that she doesn’t care about. I don’t know which it is.

Arnholm. Um, I think I understand what you mean.

Bolette. Poor father! He is weak in some things. Perhaps you’ve noticed that yourself? He hasn’t enough occupation, either, to fill up his time. And then she is so thoroughly incapable of helping him; however, that’s to some extent his own fault.

Arnholm. In what way?

Bolette. Oh! father always likes to see happy faces about him. There must be sunshine and joy in the house, he says. And so I’m afraid he often gives her medicine which will do her little good in the long run.

Arnholm. Do you really think that?

Bolette. Yes; I can’t get rid of the thought. She is so odd at times.
(Passionately.)
But isn’t it unjust that I should have to stay at home here? Really it’s not of any earthly use to father. Besides, I have a duty towards myself, too, I think.

Arnholm. Do you know what, Bolette? We two must talk these matters over more carefully.

Bolette. Oh! That won’t be much use. I suppose I was created to stay here in the carp pond.

Arnholm. Not a bit of it. It depends entirely upon yourself.

Bolette
(quickly)
. Do you think so?

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

Bolette. If only that were true! Will you perhaps put in a good word for me with father?

Arnholm. Certainly. But first of all I must speak frankly and freely with you yourself, dear.

Bolette
(looks out to the left)
. Hush! don’t let them notice anything. We’ll speak of this later.

(ELLIDA enters from the left. She has no hat on, but a large shawl is thrown over her head and shoulders.)

Ellida
(with restless animation)
. How pleasant it is here! How delightful it is here!

Arnholm
(rising)
. Have you been for a walk?

Ellida. Yes, a long, long lovely walk up there with Wangel. And now we’re going for a sail.

Bolette. Won’t you sit down?

Ellida. No, thanks; I won’t sit down.

Bolette
(making room on seat)
. Here’s a pleasant seat.

Ellida
(walking about)
. No, no, no! I’ll not sit down — not sit down!

Arnholm. I’m sure your walk has done you good. You look quite refreshed.

Ellida. Oh, I feel so thoroughly well — I feel so unspeakably happy. So safe, so safe!
(Looking out to the left.)
What great steamer is that coming along there?

Bolette
(rising, and also looking out)
. It must be the large English ship.

Arnholm. It’s passing the buoy. Does it usually stop here?

Bolette. Only for half an hour. It goes farther up the fjord.

Ellida. And then sails away again tomorrow — away over the great open sea — right over the sea. Only think! to be with them. If one could. If only one could!

Arnholm. Have you never been any long sea voyage, Mrs. Wangel?

Ellida. Never; only those little trips in the fjord here.

Bolette
(with a sigh)
. Ah, no! I suppose we must put up with the dry land.

Arnholm. Well, after all, that really is our home.

Ellida. No; I don’t think it is.

Arnholm. Not the land?

Ellida. No; I don’t believe so. I think that if only men had from the beginning accustomed themselves to live on the sea, or in the sea perhaps, we should be more perfect than we are — both better and happier.

Arnholm. You really think that?

Ellida. Yes. I should like to know if we should not. I’ve often spoken to Wangel about it.

Arnholm. Well, and he?

Ellida. He thinks it might be so.

Arnholm
(jestingly)
. Well, perhaps! But it can’t be helped. We’ve once for all entered upon the wrong path, and have become land beasts instead of sea beasts. Anyhow, I suppose it’s too late to make good the mistake now.

Ellida. Yes, you’ve spoken a sad truth. And I think men instinctively feel something of this themselves. And they bear it about with them as a secret regret and sorrow. Believe me — herein lies the deepest cause for the sadness of men. Yes, believe me, in this.

Arnholm. But, my dearest Mrs. Wangel, I have not observed that men are so extremely sad. It seems to me, on the contrary, that most of them take life easily and pleasantly — and with a great, quiet, unconscious joy.