(SCENE.--A room in the BISHOP'S house, the same evening. The lights are
lit. The BISHOP comes in with LEONARDA, who is in travelling dress, with
a shawl over her arm and a bag in her hand. The BISHOP makes a movement
as though to relieve her of them, but she puts them down herself.)
Leonarda. Your lordship must excuse me for troubling you so late
as this; but the reason of it is something over which I have no
control.---Is your nephew here?
Bishop. No, but I expect him. He has been here twice this afternoon
already to see me, but I was out.
Leonarda. I will make haste then, and do what I have to do before he
comes.
Bishop. Shall I give instructions that we are to be told when he comes
in?
Leonarda. If you please.
Bishop (ringing the bell). Grandmother says that as soon as he came back
to-day, he went at once to see you.
Leonarda. Yes.
[Enter a Maid.]
Bishop (to the Maid). Be so good as to let me know when Mr. Hagbart
comes in. (Exit Maid.)
Leonarda. Has he had a talk with his grandmother?
Bishop. Yes.
Leonarda. After he--? (Checks herself.)
Bishop. After he had been to see you.
Leonarda. Did he tell her anything?
Bishop. He was very much agitated, apparently. I did not ask grandmother
any further questions; I can imagine what passed between them.--Has he
spoken to you?
Leonarda. Yes.
Bishop. And you, Mrs. Falk?
Leonarda. I--? Well, I am here.
Bishop. Going on a journey, if I am not mistaken?
Leonarda. Going on a journey. Things are turning out as you wished after
all, my lord.
Bishop. And he is to know nothing about it?
Leonarda. No one--except the person who will accompany me. I am sailing
for England by to-night's boat.
Bishop (looking at his watch). You haven't much time, then.
Leonarda. I only want to entrust to your lordship a deed of gift of my
property here.
Bishop. In favour of your niece?
Leonarda. Yes, for Aagot. She shall have everything.
Bishop. But last time, Mrs. Falk, you said--
Leonarda. Oh, I have enough for my journey. Later on I shall want
nothing; I can provide for myself.
Bishop. But what about Aagot? Will you not wait until she comes home?
Leonarda. She came home to-day. She is resting now. But I have sent back
my carriage to bring her here immediately. I want to ask you to take her
in--I know no one else--and to comfort her--
Bishop. Indeed I will, Mrs. Falk. I understand what this must cost you.
Leonarda. And will you try--to--to bring those two together again?
Bishop. But they don't love each other!
Leonarda. Aagot loves him. And--as they both love me--my idea was that
when I am gone, and they know that it was my wish, the love they both
have for me may bring them together again. I hope so--they are both so
young.
Bishop. I will do all I can.
Leonarda. Thank you. And I want to make bold to beg you to let
grandmother go and live in the country with Aagot--or let Aagot come and
live here, whichever they prefer. It would divert Aagot's mind if she
had the care of grandmother; and she is very fond of her.
Bishop. And grandmother of her.
Leonarda. And wherever the grandmother is, Hagbart will be too. Very
likely the old lady would help them.
Bishop. I think your idea is an excellent one; and I am amazed that you
have had time and strength to think it all out in this manner.
Leonarda. Is grandmother still up?
Bishop. Yes; I have just come from her room. Hagbart has excited her;
she can stand so little.
Leonarda. Then I expect I had better not go and bid her good-bye. I
should have liked to, otherwise.
Bishop. I don't think I ought to allow it.
Leonarda. Then please say good-bye to her from me--and thank her.
Bishop. I will.
Leonarda. And ask her--to help--
Bishop. I will do everything I possibly can.
Leonarda. And your lordship must forgive me for all the upset I have
caused here. I did not intend it.
Bishop. I am only sorry that I did not know you sooner. Many things
might have been different.
Leonarda. We won't talk about that now.
[Enter Maid.]
Maid. I was asked to bring you this card, ma'am.
Leonarda. Thank you. Is the General in the hall?
Maid. Yes.
Bishop. General Rosen--here?
Leonarda. I took the liberty of asking him to call for me here when the
boat was signalled.
Bishop. Ask the General to come in. (Exit Maid.) Then it is General
Rosen that is to--. (Checks himself.)
Leonarda (searching in her bag).--that is to accompany me? He is my
husband.
Bishop. The husband you divorced.
Leonarda. Yes.
Bishop. I see I have done you a great injustice, Mrs. Falk.
Leonarda. Yes. (GENERAL ROSEN comes in, dressed in a smart travelling
suit and looking very spruce.)
General Rosen. I beg your lordship's pardon--but, time is up.--Mrs.
Falk, is this yours? (Gives her a letter.)
Leonarda. Yes.--When Aagot comes, will your lordship give her this?--and
help her?
Bishop. I will, Mrs. Falk. God bless you!
[Enter Maid.]
Maid. Mr. Hagbart has just come in.
Leonarda. Good-bye!--Say good-bye to--
Bishop (taking her hand). What you are doing is more than any one of us
could have done.
Leonarda. It all depends on how deeply one loves.--Thank you, and
good-bye!
Bishop. Good-bye! (GENERAL ROSEN offers LEONARDA his arm. She takes
it, and they go out. The BISHOP follows them. HAGBART comes in from the
right, looks round in astonishment, then goes towards the back of the
room and meets the BISHOP in the doorway.)
Bishop. Is that you? (Both come forward without speaking.)
Hagbart (in a low voice, but evidently under the influence of great
emotion). I can tell by your voice--and your face--that you know about
it.
Bishop. You mean that you think I have had a talk with grandmother?
Hagbart. Yes.
Bishop. Well, I have. She told me nothing definite, but I see how things
stand. I saw that sooner than you did yourself, you know.
Hagbart. That is true. The fight is over now, as far as I am concerned.
Bishop. Scarcely that, Hagbart.
Hagbart. Oh, you won't admit it, I know. But I call it the most decisive
victory of my life. I love Mrs. Falk--and she loves me.
Bishop. If you were not in such an excited condition--
Hagbart. It is not excitement, it is happiness. But here, with you--oh,
I have not come to ask for your blessing; we must do without that! But
I have come to tell you the fact, because it was my duty to do so.--Does
it grieve you so much?
Bishop. Yes.
Hagbart. Uncle, I feel hurt at that.
Bishop. My boy--!
Hagbart. I feel hurt both on her account and on my own. It shows that
you know neither of us.
Bishop. Let us sit down and talk quietly, Hagbart.
Hagbart. I must ask you to make no attempt to persuade me to alter my
decision.
Bishop. Make your mind easy on that score. Your feelings do you
honour--and I know now that she is worthy of them.
Hagbart. What--do you say that? (They sit down.)
Bishop. My dear Hagbart, let me tell you this at once. I have gone
through an experience, too, since the last time we met. And it has
taught me that I had no right to treat Mrs. Falk as I did.
Hagbart. Is it possible?
Bishop. I judged her both too quickly and too harshly. That is one of
our besetting sins. And I have paid too much heed to the opinion of
others, and too little to the charity that should give us courage to do
good. She, whom I despised, has taught me that.
Hagbart. You do not know how grateful and how happy you have made me by
saying that!
Bishop. I have something more to say. At the time we held that unjust
opinion of her, we misled you--for you relied on our opinion then--until
you ended by sharing our views and being even more vehement in the
matter than we, as young people will. That created a reaction in you,
which in the end led to love. If that love had been a sin, we should
have been to blame for it.
Hagbart. Is it a sin, then?
Bishop. No. But when you felt that we were inclined to look upon it
in that light, that very fact stirred up your sense of justice and
increased your love. You have a noble heart.
Hagbart. Ah, how I shall love you after this, uncle!
Bishop. And that is why I wanted you to sit down here just now,
Hagbart--to beg your pardon--and hers. And my congregation's, too. It
is my duty to guide them, but I was not willing to trust them enough.
By far the greater number among them are good people; they would have
followed me if I had had the courage to go forward.
Hagbart. Uncle, I admire and revere you more than I have ever done
before--more than any one has ever done!
Bishop (getting up). My dear boy!
Hagbart (throwing himself into his arms). Uncle!
Bishop. Is your love strong enough to bear--
Hagbart. Anything!
Bishop. Because sometimes love is given to us to teach us
self-sacrifice.
[The GRANDMOTHER comes in.]
Grandmother. I heard Hagbart's voice.
Hagbart. Grandmother! (He and the BISHOP go to help her.) Grandmother!
You don't know how happy I am! (Takes her by the arm.)
Grandmother. Is that true?
Bishop (taking her other arm). You should not walk about without help.
Grandmother. I heard Hagbart's voice. He was talking so loud, that I
thought something had happened.
Hagbart. So it has--something good! Uncle consents! He is splendid!
He has made everything all right again, and better than ever! Oh,
grandmother, I wish you were not so old! I feel as if I should like to
take you up in my arms and dance you round the room.
Grandmother. You mustn't do that, my dear. (They put her into her
chair.) Now! What is your last bit of news?
Hagbart. My last bit of news? I have no fresh news! There is nothing
more to tell!
Bishop. Yes, Hagbart, there is.
Hagbart. Why do you say that so seriously?--You look so serious--and
seem agitated! Uncle! (The noise of wheels is heard outside.)
Bishop. Wait a little, my dear boy. Wait a little! (Goes out by the door
at the back.)
Hagbart. Grandmother, what can it be?
Grandmother. I don't know.--But happiness is often so brief.
Hagbart. Happiness so brief? What do you mean?--Good God, grandmother,
don't torture me!
Grandmother. I assure you, I know nothing about it--only--
Hagbart. Only--what?
Grandmother. While your uncle was with me, Mrs. Falk was announced.
Hagbart. Mrs. Falk? Has she been here? Just now?
Grandmother. Yes, just now.
Hagbart. Then something must have happened! Perhaps it was she that
uncle--. (Rushes to the door, which opens, and the BISHOP comes in with
AAGOT on his arm, followed by CORNELIA.) Aagot!
Aagot. Hagbart!--(Anxiously.) Is aunt not here!
Cornelia. What, grandmother here! (Goes to her.)
Bishop. My dear Aagot, your aunt entrusted this letter to me to give to
you.
Hagbart. A letter--?
Grandmother. What is the matter? Let me see! (CORNELIA moves her chair
nearer to the others.)
Hagbart. Read it aloud, Aagot!
Aagot (reads). "My darling. When you receive this letter I shall
have--gone away. I love the man you--." (With a cry, she falls swooning.
The BISHOP catches her in his arms.)
Grandmother. She has gone away?
Cornelia. She loves the man you--? Good God, look at Hagbart!
Bishop. Cornelia! (She goes to him, and they lay AAGOT on the couch.
CORNELIA stays beside her. The BISHOP turns to HAGBART.) Hagbart!
(HAGBART throws himself into his arms.) Courage! Courage, my boy!
Grandmother (getting up). It is like going back to the days of great
emotions!
[The Curtain falls slowly.]
A GAUNTLET
A PLAY IN THREE ACTS
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
RIIS.
MRS. RIIS.
SVAVA, their daughter.
MARGIT, their maid.
CHRISTENSEN.
MRS. CHRISTENSEN.
ALFRED, their son, betrothed to Svava.
DR. NORDAN.
THOMAS, his servant.
HOFF.
The action of the play passes in Christiania.
ACT I
(SCENE.--A room in RIIS' house. An open door at the back leads into a
park and gives a glimpse of the sea beyond. Windows on each side of the
door. Doors also in the right and left walls. Beyond the door on the
right is a piano; opposite to the piano a cupboard. In the foreground,
to the right and left, two couches with small tables in front of them.
Easy-chairs and smaller hairs scattered about. MRS. RIIS is sitting on
the couch to the left, and DR. NORDAN in a chair in the centre of the
room. He is wearing a straw hat pushed on to the back of his head, and
has a large handkerchief spread over his knees. He is sitting with his
arms folded, leaning upon his stick.)
Mrs. Riis. A penny for your thoughts!
Nordan. What was it you were asking me about?
Mrs. Riis. About that matter of Mrs. North, of course.
Nordan. That matter of Mrs. North? Well, I was talking to Christensen
about it just now. He has advanced the money and is going to try and get
the bank to suspend proceedings. I have told you that already. What else
do you want to know?
Mrs. Riis. I want to know how much gossip there is about it, my dear
friend.
Nordan. Oh, men don't gossip about each other's affairs.--By the way,
isn't our friend in there (nodding towards the door on the right) going
to be told about it? This seem, a good opportunity.
Mrs. Riis. Let us wait.
Nordan. Because Christensen will have to be repaid, you know. I told him
he would be.
Mrs. Riis. Naturally. What else would you suppose?
Nordan (getting up). Well, I am going away for my holidays, so
Christensen must look after it now.--Was it a very grand party
yesterday?
Mrs. Riis. There was not much display.
Nordan. No, the Christensens' parties are never very luxurious. But I
suppose there were a lot of people?
Mrs. Riis. I have never seen so many at a private entertainment.
Nordan. Is Svava up?
Mrs. Riis. She is out bathing.
Nordan. Already? Did you come home early, then?
Mrs. Riis. At about twelve, I think. Svava wanted to come home. My
husband was late, I think.
Nordan. The card tables. She looked radiant, I suppose, eh?
Mrs. Riis. Why didn't you come?
Nordan. I never go to betrothal parties, and I never go to
Weddings--never! I can't bear the sight of the poor victims in their
veils and wreaths.
Mrs. Riis. But, my dear doctor, you surely think--as we all do--that
this will be a happy marriage?
Nordan. He is a fine lad. But, all the same--I have been taken in so
often.--Oh, well!
Mrs. Riis. She was so happy, and is just as happy to-day.
Nordan. It is a pity I shall not see her. Good-bye, Mrs. Riis.
Mrs. Riis. Good-bye, doctor. Then you are off to-day?
Nordan. Yes, I need a change of air.
Mrs. Riis. Quite so. Well, I hope you will enjoy yourself--and, many
thanks for what you have done!
Nordan. It is I ought to thank you, my dear lady! I aim vexed not to be
able to say good-bye to Svava. (Goes out. MRS. RIIS takes up a magazine
from the table on the left and settles herself comfortably on a couch
from which she can see into the park. During what follows she reads
whenever opportunity allows. RIIS comes in through the door to the
right, in his shirt sleeves and struggling with his collar.)
Riis. Good morning! Was that Nordan that went out just now?
Mrs. Riis. Yes. (RIIS crosses the room, then turns back and disappears
through the door on the right. He comes back again immediately and goes
through the same proceeding, all the tine busy with his collar.) Can I
help you at all?
Riis. No--thanks all the same! These new-fangled shirts are troublesome
things. I bought some in Paris.
Mrs. Riis. Yes, I believe you have bought a whole dozen.
Riis. A dozen and a half. (Goes into his room, comes out again in
apparently the same difficulties, and walks about as before.) As a
matter of fact I am wondering about something.
Mrs. Riis. It must be something complicated.
Riis. It is--it is. No doubt of it!--This collar is the very--Ah,
at last! (Goes into his room and comes out again, this time with his
necktie in his hand.) I have been wondering--wondering--what our dear
girl's character is made up of?
Mrs. Riis. What it is made up of?
Riis. Yes--what characteristics she gets from you and what from me, and
so forth. In what respects, that is to say, she takes after your family,
and in what respect after mine, and so forth. Svava is a remarkable
girl.
Mrs. Riis. She is that.
Riis. She is neither altogether you nor altogether me nor is she exactly
a compound of us both.
Mrs. Riis. Svava is something more than that.
Riis. A considerable deal more than that, too. (Disappears again; then
comes out with his coat on, brushing himself.) What did you say?
Mrs. Riis. I did not speak.--I rather think it is my mother that Svava
is most like.
Riis. I should think so! Svava, with her quiet pleasant ways! What a
thing to say!
Mrs. Riis. Svava can be passionate enough.
Riis. Svava never forgets her manners as your mother did.
Mrs. Riis. You never understood mother. Still, no doubt they are unlike
in a great many things.
Riis. Absolutely!--Can you see now how right I was in chattering to her
in various languages from the beginning, even when she was quite tiny?
Can you see that now? You were opposed to my doing it.
Mrs. Riis. I was opposed to your perpetually plaguing the child, and
also to the endless jumping from one thing to another.
Riis. But look at the result, my dear! Look at the result! (Begins to
hum a tune.)
Mrs. Riis. You are surely never going to pretend that it is the
languages that have made her what she is?
Riis (as he disappears). No, not the languages; but--(His voice is heard
from within his room)--the language have done a wonderful lot! She has
savoir vivre--what? (Comes out again.)
Mrs. Riis. I am sure that is not what Svava is most admired for.
Riis. No, no. On the boat, a man asked me if I were related to the Miss
Riis who had founded the Kindergartens in the town. I said I had the
honour to be her father. You should have seen his face! I nearly had a
fit.
Mrs. Riis. Yes, the Kindergartens have been a great success from the
very first.
Riis. And they are responsible for her getting engaged, too--aren't
they? What?
Mrs. Riis. You must ask her.
Riis. You have never even noticed my new suit.
Mrs. Riis. Indeed I have.
Riis. I didn't hear as much as the tiniest cry of admiration from you.
Look at the harmony of it all!--the scheme of colour, even down to the
shoes!--what? And the handkerchief, too!
Mrs. Riis. How old are you, dear?
Riis. Hold your tongue!--Anyway, how old do you think people take me to
be?
Mrs. Riis. Forty, of course.
Riis. "Of course"? I don't see that it is so obvious. This suit is a
kind of Bridal Symphony, composed at Cologne when I got the telegram
telling me of Svava's engagement. Just think of it! At Cologne--not ten
hours' journey from Paris! But I could not wait ten hours; I had risen
too much in my own estimation in view of my approaching relationship
with the richest family in the country.
Mrs. Riis. Is that suit all you have to show for it, then?
Riis. What a question! Just you wait till I have got my luggage through
the custom-house!
Mrs. Riis. We shall be quite out of it, I suppose?
Riis. You out of it! When a very lucky daddy finds himself in Paris at a
most tremendous moment--
Mrs. Riis. And what did you think of the party yesterday?
Riis. I was quite delighted with the boat for being late so that I was
landed in the middle of a fete champetre as by magic. And Naturally one
had a tremendous welcome as the party was in honour of one's own only
daughter!
Mrs. Riis. What time did you come in last night?
Riis. Don't you understand that we had to play cards yesterday, too? I
could not get out of it; I had to make a fourth with Abraham, Isaac, and
Jacob--that is to say, with our host, a cabinet minister, and old Holk.
It was a tremendous honour to lose one's money to grand folk like that.
Because I always lose, you know.--I came home about three o'clock, I
should think.--What is that you are reading?
Mrs. Riis. The Fortnightly.
Riis. Has there been anything good in it while I have been away? (Begins
to hum a tune.)
Mrs. Riis. Yes--there is an article here on heredity that you must read.
It has some reference to what we began to talk about.
Riis. Do you know this tune? (Goes over to the piano.) It is all the
rage now. I heard it all over Germany. (Begins to play and sing, but
breaks off suddenly.) I will go and fetch the music, while I think of
it! (Goes into his room and comes out again with the music. Sits down
and begins to play and sing again. SVAVA comes in by it, door on the
left. RIIS stops when he sees her, and jumps up.) Good morning, my
child! Good morning! I have hardly had a chance to say a word to you
yet. At the party everyone took you away from me! (Kisses her, and comes
forward with her.)
Svava. Why were you so long of coming back from abroad?
Riis. Why don't people give one some warning when they are going to get
engaged?
Svava. Because people don't know anything about it themselves, till it
happens! Good morning again, mother. (Kneels down beside her.)
Mrs. Riis. There is a delicious freshness about you, dear! Did you have
a walk in the wood after your swim?
Svava (getting up). Yes, and just as I got home a few minutes ago Alfred
passed the house and called up to me. He is coming in directly.
Riis. To tell you the truth--and one ought always to tell the truth--I
had quite given up the hope of such happiness coming to our dear girl.
Svava. I know you had. I had quite given it up myself.
Riis. Until your fairy prince came?
Svava. Until my fairy prince came. And he took his time about it, too!
Riis. You had been waiting for him a long time, though--hadn't you?
Svava. Not a bit of it! I never once thought of him.
Riis. Now you are talking in riddles.
Svava. Yes, it is a riddle to understand how two people, who have seen
each other from childhood without even giving each other a thought,
suddenly--! Because that was really how it happened. It all dates from a
certain moment--and then, all at once, he became quite another man in my
eyes.
Riis. But in every one else's, I suppose, he is the same us before?
Svava. I hope so!
Riis. He is more lively than he was, at any rate--in my eyes.
Svava. Yes, I saw you laughing together last night. What was it?
Riis. We were discussing the best way of getting through the world. I
gave him my three famous rules of life.
Mrs. Riis and Svava (together). Already!
Riis. They were a great success. Do you remember them, you bad girl?
Svava. Rule number one: Never make a fool of yourself.
Riis. Rule number two: Never be a burden to any one.
Svava. Rule number three: Always be in the fashion. They are not very
hard to remember, because they art neither obscure nor profound.
Riis. But all the harder to put into practice! And thus is a great
virtue in all rules of life.--I congratulate you on your new morning
frock. Under the circumstances it is really charming.
Svava. "Under the circumstances" means, I suppose, considering that you
have had no hand in it.
Riis. Yes, because I should never have chosen that trimming. However,
the "under the circumstances" is not so bad. A good cut, too--yes. Aha!
Just you wail till my portmanteau comes!
Svava. Some surprises for us?
Riis. Big ones!--By the way, I have something here. (Goes into his
room.)
Svava. Do you know, mother, he seems to me more restless than ever.
Mrs. Riis. That is happiness, dear.
Svava. And yet father's restlessness has always something a little sad
about it. He is--. (RIIS comes out of his room again.) Do you know what
I heard a cabinet minister say about you yesterday?
Riis. A man of that stamp is sure to say something worth hearing.
Svava. "We all always look upon your father, Miss Riis, as our
Well-dressed man par excellence."
Riis. Ah, a bien dit son excellence! But I can tell you something better
than that. You are getting your father a knighthood.
Svava. I am?
Riis. Yes, who else? Of course the Government has once or twice made
use of me to some small degree in connection with various commercial
treaties; but now, as our great man's brother-in-law, I am going to be
made a Knight of St. Olaf!
Svava. I congratulate you.
Riis. Well, when it rains on the parson it drips on the clerk, you know.
Svava. You are really most unexpectedly modest in your new position.
Riis. Am I not!--And now you shall see me as a modest showman of
beautiful dresses--that is to say, of drawings of dresses--still more
modest than the showman, from the latest play at the Francais.
Svava. Oh no, dad--not now!
Mrs. Riis. We won't start on that till the afternoon.
Riis. One would really think I were the only woman of the lot!
However, as you please. You rule the world! Well, then, I have another
proposition to make, in two parts. Part one, that we sit down!
Svava. We sit down! (She and her father sit.)
Riis. And next, that you tell your newly-returned parent exactly how it
all happened. All about that "riddle," you know!
Svava. Oh, that!--You must excuse me; I cannot t you about that.
Riis. Not in all its sweet details, of course! Good heavens, who would
be so barbarous as to ask such a thing in the first delicious month of
an engagement! No, I of only I want you to tell us what was the primum
mobile in the matter.
Svava. Oh, I understand. Yes, I will tell you that because that really
means teaching you to know Alfred's true character.
Riis. For instance--how did you come to speak to him?
Svava. Well, that was those darling Kindergartens of ours--
Riis. Oho!--Your darling Kindergartens, you mean?
Svava. What, when there are over a hundred girls there--?
Riis. Never mind about that! I suppose he came to bring a donation?
Svava. Yes, he came several times with a donation--
Riis. Aha!
Svava. And one day we were talking about luxury saying that it was
better to use one's time and money in our way, than to use them in
luxurious living.
Riis. But how do you define luxury?
Svava. We did not discuss that at all. But I saw that he considered
luxury to be immoral.
Riis. Luxury immoral!
Svava. Yes, I know that is not your opinion. But it is mine.
Riis. Your mother's, you mean, and your grand mother's.
Svava. Exactly; but mine too, if you don't object?
Riis. Not I!
Svava. I mentioned that little incident that happened to us when we were
in America--do you remember? We had gone to a temperance meeting, and
saw women drive up who were going to support the cause of abstinence,
and yet were--well, of course we did not know their circumstances--but
to judge from their appearance, with their carriages and horses, their
jewellery and dresses--especially their jewellery--they must have been
worth, say--
Riis. Say many thousands of dollars! No doubt about it.
Svava. There is no doubt about it. And don't you think that is really
just as disgraceful debauchery, in its town way, as drink is in its?
Riis. Oh, well--!
Svava. Yes, you shrug your shoulders. Alfred did not do that. He told me
of his own experiences--in great cities. It was horrible!
Riis. What was horrible?
Svava. The contrast between poverty and wealth--between the bitterest
want and the most reckless luxury.
Riis. Oh--that! I thought, perhaps--. However, go on!
Svava. He did not sit looking quite indifferent and clean his nails.
Riis. I beg your pardon.
Svava. Oh, please go on, dear!--No, he prophesied a great social
revolution, and spoke so fervently about it--and it was then that he
told me what his ideas about wealth were. It was the greatest possible
surprise to me--and a new idea to me, too, to some extent. You should
have seen how handsome he looked!
Riis. Handsome, did you say?
Svava. Isn't he handsome? I think so, at all events. And so does mother,
I think?
Mrs. Riis (without looking up from her book). And so does mother.
Riis. Mothers always fall in love with their daughters' young men--but
they fall out again when they become their mothers-in-law!
Svava. Is that your experience?
Riis. That is my experience. So Alfred Christensen has blossomed into a
beauty? Well, we must consider that settled.
Svava. He stood there so sure of himself, and looking so honest and
clean--for that is an essential thing, you know.
Riis. What exactly do you mean by "clean," my dear?
Svava. I mean just what the word means.
Riis. Exactly--but I want to know what meaning attach to the word.
Svava. Well--the meaning that I hope any one would attach to it if they
used the word of me.
Riis. Do you attach the same meaning to it if it is used' of a man, as
you would if it were used of a girl?
Svava. Yes, of course.
Riis. And do you suppose that Christensen's son--
Svava (getting up). Father, you are insulting me!
Riis. How can the fact of his being his father's son I an insult to you?
Svava. In that respect he is not his father's son! I am not likely to
make any mistake in a thing of that sort!
Mrs. Riis. I am just reading about inherited tendencies. It is Not
necessary to suppose that he has inherited all his father's.
Riis. Oh, well--have it as you please! I am afraid all these superhuman
theories of yours. You will never get through the world with them.
Svava. What do you mean?--Mother, what does father mean?
Mrs. Riis. I suppose he means that all men are alike. And one must allow
that it is true.
Svava. You do not really mean that?
Riis. But why get so excited about it?--Come and sit down! And, besides,
how can you possibly tell?
Svava. Tell? What?
Riis. Well, in each individual case--
Svava.--whether the man I see standing before me or walking past me is
an unclean, disgusting beast--or a man?
Riis. Etcetera, etcetera!--You may make mistakes, my dear Svava?
Svava. No--not any more than I should make a mistake about you, father,
when you begin to tease me with your horrid principles! Because, in
spite of them, you are the chastest and most refined man I know.
Mrs. Riis (laying down her book). Are you going to keep that morning
frock on, dear child? Won't you change your dress before Alfred comes?
Svava. No, mother, I am not going to be put off like that.--By this time
I have seen so many of my girl friends giving themselves trustfully to
their "fairy prince," as they think, and waking in the arms of a beast.
I shall not risk that! I shall not make that mistake!
Mrs. Riis. Well, as it is, there is no occasion for you to get heated
about it. Alfred is a man of honour.
Svava. He is. But I have heard of one shocking experience after another.
There was poor Helga, only a month ago! And I myself--I can speak about
it now, for I am happy now and feel secure--I can tell you now why I
have been so long about it. For a long time I did nut dare to trust
myself; because I too have been on the brink of being deceived.
Riis and Mrs. Riis (together, starting up from their chairs). You,
Svava?
Svava. I was quite young at the time. Like most young girls, I was
looking for my ideal, and found it in a young, vivacious man--I won't
describe him more accurately. He had--oh, the noblest principles and the
highest aims--the most complete contrast to you in that respect father!
To say I loved him, is much too mild; I worshipped him. But I never can
tell you what I discovered or how I discovered it. It was the time when
you all thought I had--
Mrs. Riis.--something wrong with your lungs? Is it possible, child? Was
it then?
Svava. Yes, it was then.--No one could endure or forgive being deceived
like that!
Mrs. Riis. And you never said a word to me?
Svava. Only those who have made such a mistake as I did can understand
the shame one feels.--Well, it is all over now. But this much is
certain, that no one who has had such an experience once will make the
same mistake again. (Meanwhile RIIS has gone into his room.)
Mrs. Riis. Perhaps it was a good thing for you, after all?
Svava. I am sure it was.--Well, it is all done with now. But it was not
quite done with till I found Alfred. Where is father?
Mrs. Riis. Your father? Here he comes.
Riis (coming out of his room, with his hat on, and drawing on his
gloves). Look here, little girl! I must go and see what has happened to
my luggage at the Customs. I will go to the station and telegraph. You
must have all your things looking very nice, you know, because the King
is coming here in a day or two--and so it is worth it! Good-bye, then,
my dear girl! (Kisses her.) You have made us very happy--so very happy.
It is true you have certain ideas that are not--. Well, never mind!
Goodbye! (Goes out.)
Mrs. Riis. Good-bye!
Riis (drawing off his gloves). Did you notice the tune I was playing
when you came in? (Sits down at the piano.) I heard it everywhere in
Germany. (Begins to play and sing, but stops short.) But, bless my soul,
here is the music! You can play it and sing it for yourself. (Goes out,
humming the air.)
Svava. He is delightful! There is really something so innocent about
him. Did you notice him yesterday? He was simply coruscating.
Mrs. Riis. You did not see yourself, my dear!
Svava. Why? Was I sparkling, too?
Mrs. Riis. Your father's daughter--absolutely!
Svava. Yes, it is no use denying, mother, that however great one's
happiness is, the friendliness of others increases it. I was thinking
to-day over all the things that gave me so much happiness yesterday, and
felt--oh, I can't tell you what I felt! (Nestles in her mother's arms.)
Mrs. Riis. You are a very lucky girl!--Now I must go and do my
housekeeping.
Svava. Shall I help you?
Mrs. Riis. No, thank you, dear. (They cross the room together.)
Svava. Well, then, I will run through father's song once or twice--and
Alfred should be here directly. (MRS. RIIS goes out by the door on the
left. SVAVA sits down at the piano. ALFRED comes in softly from the
left, and bends over her shoulder so that his face comes close to hers.)
Alfred. Good morning, darling!
Svava (jumping up). Alfred! I did not hear the door!
Alfred. Because you were playing. Something very pretty, too!
Svava. I enjoyed myself so much yesterday!
Alfred. I do not believe you have any idea what an impression you made!
Svava. Just a suspicion. But you must not talk about that, because it
would be most improper for me to confess it!
Alfred. Every one was singing your praises to me, and a mother and
father too. We are all very happy at how, to-day.
Svava. So we are here!--What is that you have got in your hand? A
letter?
Alfred. Yes, a letter. Your maid who opened the door gave it to me.
Someone has been clever enough to count upon my coming here some time
this morning.
Svava. You don't think that was difficult to guess?
Alfred. Not particularly. It is from Edward Hansen.
Svava. But you can take a short cut to his house through our park.
(Points to the right.)
Alfred. Yes, I know. And as he says it is urgent, and underlines the
word--
Svava.--you can have my key. Here it is. (Gives it to him.)
Alfred. Thank you, dear, very much.
Svava. Oh, it is only selfishness; we shall have you back again all the
sooner.
Alfred. I will stay here till lunch time.
Svava. You will stay here a great deal longer than that. We have a
frightful lot to talk about--all about yesterday, and--
Alfred. Of course we have!
Svava. And lots of other things as well.
Alfred. I have a most important question to ask you.
Svava. Have you?
Alfred. Perhaps you will find the answer by the time I come back.
Svava. It can't be so very difficult, then!
Alfred. Indeed it is. But sometimes you have inspirations.
Svava. What is it?
Alfred. Why did we two not find each other many years ago?
Svava. Because we were not ready for it, of course!
Alfred. How do you know that?
Svava. Because I know that at that time I was quite another girl from
what I am now.
Alfred. But there is a natural affinity between those that love one
another. I am sure of it. And it was just its much the case at that
time, surely?
Svava. We do not feel the natural affinity as long as we are developing
on different lines.
Alfred. Have we been doing that? And nevertheless we--
Svava. Nevertheless we love one another. Our paths may be as unlike as
they please, if only they lead together in the end.
Alfred. To the same way of thinking, you mean?
Svava. Yes, to our being such comrades as we are now.
Alfred. Such true comrades?
Svava. Such true comrades!
Alfred. Still, it is just at moments like this, when I hold you in my
arms as I do now, that I ask myself over and over again why I did not do
this long ago.
Svava. Oh, I don't think about that--not the least bit! It is the safest
place in the world--that is what I think!
Alfred. Perhaps before this year it would not have been so.
Svava. What do you mean?
Alfred. I mean--well, I mean practically the same as you; that I have
not always been the man I am now.--But I must hurry away. The letter
says it is something urgent. (They cross the room together.)
Svava. One minute won't make any difference, will it?--because there is
something I must say to you first.
Alfred (standing still). What is it?
Svava. When I saw you standing amongst all the others yesterday, I felt
for the first moment as if I did not know you. Some change seemed to
have come over you--the effect of the others, perhaps--anyway you really
_were_ actually different.
Alfred. Of course. People always are that, among strangers. When you
came in with the ladies, it just seemed to me as if I had never observed
you carefully before. Besides, there are certain things one cannot know
till one sees a person amongst others. It was the first time I realised
how tall you are--and your way of bending just a tiny bit to one side
when you bow to any one. And your colouring! I had never properly seen--
Svava. Do be quiet, and let me get a word in!
Alfred. No, no! Here we are, back in the room--and I _must_ be off now!
Svava. Only just a moment. You interrupted me, you know! When I saw you
standing there among the men for the first moment I felt just as if
I did not know you. But at the same moment you caught sight of me and
nodded. I don't know what sort of a transformation came over us both;
but I felt myself blushing as red as fire. And it was some time before I
had the courage to look at you again.
Alfred. Well, do you know what happened to me? Every time any one came
to dance with you, didn't I envy him! Oh, not at all!--To tell you
the truth, I cannot bear any one else to touch you. (Clasps her in his
arms.) And I have not told you the best part of it yet.
Svava. What is that?
Alfred. That when I see you amongst other people, and catch--say--a
glimpse of your arm, I think to myself: That arm has been round my neck
and round no one else's in the whole world! She is mine, mine, mine--and
no one else's!--There, that is the best part of it all!--Look here, here
we are back again in the room! It is witchcraft! Now I must go. (Crosses
the room.) Good-bye! (Lets her go, then catches hold of her again.) Why
didn't I find my happiness many years ago?--Good-bye!
Svava. I think I will come with you.
Alfred. Yes, do!
Svava. No, I forgot--I must learn this song before father comes back. If
I don't learn it now, I expect you will take care I don't do so to-day.
(A ring is heard at the front door.)
Alfred. Here is some one coming! Let me get away first. (Hurries out to
the right. SVAVA stands waving her hand to him, then turns to the piano.
The maid MARGIT enters.)
Margit. A gentleman has called, miss, who wants to know if--
Svava. A gentleman? Don't you know who he is?
Margit. No, miss.
Svava. What is he like?
Margit. He looks rather--
Svava. Rather suspicious?
Margit. No, far from it, miss--a very nice gentleman.
Svava. Tell him my father is not at home; he has gone down to the
station.
Margit. I told him so, miss, but it is you he wants to see.
Svava. Ask my mother to come in here!--Oh, no, why should she! Let him
come in. (MARGIT shows in HOFF, and goes out.)
Hoff. Is it Miss Riis I have the honour to--? Yes, I see it is. My name
is Hoff--Karl Hoff. I am a commercial traveller--travel in iron.
Svava. But what has that to do with me?
Hoff. Just this much, that if I had been an ordinary stay-at-home man, a
great many things would not have happened.
Svava. What would not have happened?
Hoff (taking a large pocket-book out of his docket, and extracting a
letter from it). Will you condescend to read this? Or perhaps you would
rather not?
Svava. How can I tell?
Hoff. Of course, you must first--Allow me. (Gives her the letter.)
Svava (reading). "To-night between ten and eleven that is to say, if the
booby has not come home. I love you so dearly! Put a light in the hall
window."
Hoff. "The booby" is me.
Svava. But I don't understand--?
Hoff. Here is another.
Svava. "I am full of remorse. Your cough frightens me; and now, when you
are expecting--" But what in the world has this to do with me?
Hoff (after a moment's thought). What do you suppose?
Svava. Is it some one you want me to help?
Hoff. No, poor soul, she doesn't need help any more. She is dead.
Svava. Dead? Was she your wife?
Hoff. That's it. She was my wife. I found these and come other things
in a little box. At the bottom were these notes--there are more of
them--and some cotton wool on the top of them. On the top of that lay
some earrings and things that had been her mother's. And also (producing
some bracelets) these bracelets. They are certainly much too costly to
have been her mother's.
Svava. I suppose she died suddenly, as she did not--
Hoff. I cannot say. Consumptives never think they are going to die.
Anyway she was very delicate and weak.--May I sit down?
Svava. Please do. Are there any children?
Hoff (after a moment's thought). I believe not.
Svava. You believe not? I asked because I thought you wanted our Society
to help you. This really is all very distressful to me.
Hoff. I thought it would be--I thought as much. Besides, I am not really
sure if I--. You cannot understand this, then?
Svava. No, I cannot.
Hoff. No, you cannot.-I have heard so much good spoken of you for many
years. My wife used to sing your praises, too.
Svava. Did she know me?
Hoff. She was Maren Tang--who used to be companion to--
Svava.--to Mrs. Christensen, my future mother-in-law? Was it she? She
was such a well-bred, quiet woman. Are you sure you are not mistaken?
One or two notes, unsigned and undated--what?
Hoff. Did you not recognise the handwriting?
Svava. I? No. Besides, isn't it a disguised hand?
Hoff. Yes, but not much disguised.
Svava. I presume you had some more definite errand with me?
Hoff. Yes, I had--but I think I will let it alone. You do not understand
anything about this, I can see Perhaps you think I am a little crazy? I
am not so sure you would not be right.
Svava. But there was something you wanted to say to me?
Hoff. Yes, there was. You see, these Kindergartens--
Svava. Oh, so it was them, all the time?
Hoff. No, it was not them. But they are responsible for my having for a
long time thought very highly of you, Miss Riis. If you will excuse my
saying so, I had never before seen fashionable young ladies trying to
do anything useful--never. I am only a little broken-down tradesman
travelling for a firm--a worthless sort of chap in many ways, and one
that very likely deserves what he has got--but anyway I wanted you to be
spared. Indeed thought it was my duty--absolutely my duty. But now when
I see you sitting there before me--well, now I only I feel miserably
unhappy. So I won't trouble you at all (Gets up.) Not at all.
Svava. I really cannot understand--
Hoff. Please don't bother about me! And please forgive my disturbing
you.--No, you really must not give me another thought! Just imagine that
I have not been here--that is all. (As he reaches the door, he meets
ALFRED coming in. As soon as he sees that SVAVA is watching them, he
goes hurriedly out. SVAVA sees the meeting between the two and gives a
little scream, then rushes to meet ALFRED. But as soon as she is face
to face with him, she seems terrified. As he comes nearer to take her in
his arms she cries out: "Don't touch me!" and hurries out by the door
on the left. She is heard locking and bolting it on the inside. Then a
violent outburst of weeping is heard, the sound being somewhat deadened
by the distance, but only for a few moments. Then the sound of singing
is heard outside, and a few seconds later RIIS comes into the room. The
curtain falls as he enters.)
ACT II
(SCENE.--The same as in Act I. SVAVA is lying on the couch to the right,
resting her head on one hand, looking out towards the park. Her mother
is sitting beside her.)
Mrs. Riis. Decisions as hasty as yours, Svava, are not really decisions
at all. There is always a great deal more to be taken into consideration
than one realises at first. Take time to think it over! I believe he is
a fine fellow. Give him time to show it; don't break it off immediately!
Svava. Why do you keep on saying that to me?
Mrs. Riis. Well, dear, you know I have never had the chance of saying
anything to you till to-day.
Svava. But you keep harping on that one string.
Mrs. Riis. What note do you want me to strike, then?
Svava. The note your dear good mother would have struck--quite a
different one altogether.
Mrs. Riis. It is one thing to teach your child how to make a proper
choice in life, but--
Svava. But quite another thing to put into practice what you teach?
Mrs. Riis. No; I was going to say that life itself is quite another
thing. In daily life, and especially in married life, it is sometimes
advisable to make allowances.
Svava. Yes, on points that do not really matter.
Mrs. Riis. Only on points that do not matter?
Svava. Yes--personal peculiarities, and things like that, which after
all are only excrescences; but not on points that concern one's moral
growth.
Mrs. Riis. Yes, on those points too.
Svava. On those points too?--But isn't it just for the sake of our own
self-development that we marry? What else should we marry for?
Mrs. Riis. Oh, you will see!
Svava. No, indeed I shall not; because I do not intend to marry on such
conditions.
Mrs. Riis. You should have said that sooner. It is too late now.
Svava (sitting upright). Too late? If I had been married twenty years, I
would have done just the same! (Lies down again.)
Mrs. Riis. Heaven help you, then!--You haven't an idea, not the smallest
idea, what a net you are entangled in! But you will find it out, as soon
as you begin to struggle in earnest. Or do you really want your father
and me to throw away all that we have worked for here?--to begin all
over again in a foreign country? Because he has repeatedly said, during
the last day or two, that he will not be mixed up in the scandal that
would be the result of your breaking this off. He would go abroad, and I
should have to go with him. Ah, you wince at the thought of that!--Think
of all your friends, too. It is a serious matter to have been set on
such an eminence as you were at your betrothal party. It is like
being lifted up high on a platform that others are carrying on their
shoulders; take care you do not fall down from it! That is what you will
do, if you offend their principles of right behaviour.
Svava. Is that sort of thing a principle of right behaviour?
Mrs. Riis. I do not say that. But undoubtedly, one their principles of
right behaviour--and perhaps the most important--is that all scandal
must be avoided. No one relishes being disgraced, Svava--particularly
the most influential people in a place. And least of all, by a long way,
do people relish their own child being disgraced.
Svava (half raising herself). Good Lord! is it _I_ that am disgracing
him?
Mrs. Riis. No, of course, it is he himself--
Svava. Very well, then! (Sinks down upon the couch again.)
Mrs. Riis. But you will never get them to understand that. I assure you,
you won't. As long as what he has done is only whispered about in
his family and amongst his intimate friends, they don't consider him
disgraced at all. There are too many that do just the same. It is only
when the knowledge of it becomes common property, that they consider
it a disgrace. And if it became known that there was a formal breach
between you--the Christensens' eldest son ignominiously refused because
of his past life--they would consider it the most shocking scandal that
could possibly overtake them! And we should feel the effect of it, in
particular. And so would those that are dependent on us--and they are
not so few in number, as you know, because you have interested yourself
in them, particularly in the children. You would have t. give up all the
interests you have made for Yourself here--because you would have to go
with us. I am certain your father is in earnest about that.
Svava. Oh! Oh!
Mrs. Riis. I almost wish I could tell you why I am so certain of that.
But I cannot--at all events not now. No, you must not tempt me to.--Here
comes your father. Only take time to reflect, Svava! No breaking of it
off, no scandal! (RIIS comes in from outside, with an opened letter in
his hand.)
Riis. Oh, there you are! (Goes into his room, lays down his hat and
stick, and comes out again.) You have taken no serious step yet, I
hope--eh?
Mrs. Riis. No, but--
Riis. Very well. Now here is a letter from the Christensens. If you
won't receive either your dance or his letters, you will have to put up
with his family's interference in the matter. Everything must come to an
end sooner or later. (Reads.) "My wife, my son and I will do ourselves
the honour of paying you a visit between eleven and twelve o'clock." The
only wonder is, that I have not had some such letter before this! I am
sure they have been patient enough.
Mrs. Riis. Well, we have got no farther to-day, either.
Riis. What are you thinking of, child? Can't you see what it must all
lead to? You are a good-hearted girl, I know--I am sure you don't want
to ruin us all absolutely? I certainly consider, Svava, that you have
acted quite severely enough now in this matter. They have suffered a
nasty shock to their self-confidence, both of them; you may be quite
sure of that. What more do you want? If you are really determined to
carry the matter farther--well--make your conditions! There is no doubt
they will be agreed to.
Svava. For shame! For shame!
Riis (despairingly). What is the use of taking it in this way!
Mrs. Riis. What, indeed! You ought rather to try and make things a bit
easier, Svava.
Riis. And you really might condescend, too, to consider who it is that
you are throwing over--a member of one of the richest families in the
country, and, I venture to say, one of the most honourable too. I have
never heard of anything so idiotic! Yes, I repeat--idiotic, idiotic!
What if he have made a false step--or two--well, good heavens--
Svava. Yes, bring heaven into it, too!
Riis. Indeed I well may! There is good need. As I was saying, if he have
made a false step, surely the poor fellow has been sufficiently punished
for it now. Beside it is certainly our duty to be a little reasonable
with one another--it is a commandment, you know, that we are to be
reasonable and forgiving. We must be forgiving! And more than that, we
must help the erring--we must raise up the fallen and set them in
the right way. Yes, set them in the right way. You could do that so
splendidly! It is exactly in your line. You know very well, my dear
child, it is very seldom I talk about morals and that sort of thing. It
doesn't sit well on me at all; I know that only too well. But on this
occasion I cannot help it. Begin with forgiveness, my child; begin with
that! After all, can you contemplate living together with anyone for any
length of time without--without--well, without _that_?
Svava. But there is no question of living with anyone, for any length of
time, or of forgiveness--because I do not mean to have anything more to
do with him.
Riis. Really, this is beyond all bounds! Because he has dared to fall in
love with some one before you--?
Svava. Some one?
Riis. Well, if there was more than one, I am sure I know nothing about
it. No, indeed I do not! Besides, the way people gossip and backbite is
the very devil! But, as I was saying, because he dared to look at some
one before he looked at you--before he ever _thought_ of you--is that a
reason for throwing him over for good and all? How many would ever get
married under those circumstances, I should like to know? Everybody
confirms the opinion that he is an honourable, fine young fellow, to
whom the proudest girl might confidently entrust herself--you said so
yourself, only a day or two ago! Do not deny it! And now he is suddenly
to be thrown over, because you are not the first girl he has ever met!
Pride should have some limits, remember! I have never heard of anything
more preposterous, if you ask me.
Mrs. Riis. Men are not like that.
Riis. And what about girls? Are they like that? I am quite sure they do
not ask whether their fiances have been married before--observe, I said
"married." You can imagine he has been married. Well, why not? That is
what other girls do--you cannot deny it. I know you know it. You have
been to dances; who are most in request there? Precisely those who have
the reputation of being something of a Don Juan. They take the wind out
of all the other fellows' sails. You have seen it yourself a hundred
times. And it is not only at dances that this applied. Don't you suppose
they get married--and as a rule make the very best matches?
Mrs. Riis. That is true.
Riis. Of course it is true. And as a rule they make the very best
husbands, too!
Mrs. Riis. Hm!
Riis. Oh, indeed they do!--with some exceptions, of course, naturally.
The fact is, that marriage has an ennobling influence, and provides a
beautiful vocation for a woman--the most beautiful vocation possible!
Svava (who has got up). I can just manage to listen to such things from
you--because I expected no better from you.
Riis. Thank you very much!
Svava (who has come forward). One would really think that marriage were
a sort of superior wash-house for men--
Riis. Ha, ha!
Svava.--and that men could come there and take a dip when they
please--and in what state they please!
Riis. Oh, really--!
Svava. I mean it! And it is flattering--very flattering--for me, as your
daughter, to feel that you look upon me as so peculiarly suited for the
washerwoman's post! None of that for me, thank you!
Riis. But this is--
Svava. No, just listen to me for a little! I don't think I have said too
much, the last day or two.
Riis. No, we have not been allowed to say a word to you.
Svava. Look here, father. You have a fine supply of principles, for show
purposes.
Riis. For--?
Svava. I do not mean by that, that they are not your own. But you are
so good and so honourable, your whole life is so refined, that I do not
attach the least importance to your principles. But to mother's I do
attach importance, for hers are what have formed mine. And now just when
I want to act up to them, she deserts me.
Riis and Mrs. Riis (together). Svava!
Svava. It is mother I am angry with! It is mother I cannot have patience
with!
Riis. Really, Svava--!
Svava. Because if there has been one point on which mother and I have
been agreed, it has been on the subject of the unprincipled way men
prepare themselves for marriage, and the sort of marriages that are the
result. We have watched the course of it, mother and I, for many years;
and we had come to one and the same conclusion, that it is _before_
marriage that a marriage is marred. But when, the other day, mother
began to turn round--
Mrs. Riis. No, you have no right to say that! I am convinced that Alfred
is as honourable--
Svava. But when, the other day, mother began to turn round--well, I
could not have been more amazed if some one had come in and told me they
had met her out in the street when she was actually sitting here talking
to me.
Mrs. Riis. I only ask you to take time to consider! I am not
contradicting you!
Svava. Oh, let me speak now! Let me give you just one instance. One day,
before I was really grown up, I came running into this room from the
park. We had just bought the property, and I was so happy. Mother was
standing over there leaning against the door and crying. It was a lovely
summer's day. "Why are you crying, mother?" I said. For some time
she seemed as if she did not see me. "Why are you crying, mother?" I
repeated, and went nearer to her, but did not like to touch her. She
turned away from me, and walked up and down once or twice. Then she came
to me. "My child," she said, drawing me to her, "never give in to what
is not good and pure, on any account whatever! It is so cowardly, and
one repents it so bitterly; it means perpetually giving in, more and
more and more." I do not know what she referred to, and I have never
asked. But no one can imagine what an effect it all had on me--the
beautiful summer day, and mother crying, and the heartfelt tones of her
voice! I cannot give in; do not ask me to. Everything that made marriage
seem beautiful to me is gone--my faith, my feeling of security--all
gone! No, no, no! I can never begin with that, and it is wicked of you
to want to make me believe I can. After such a disillusionment and such
a humiliation? No! I would rather never be married--even it I have to go
away from here. I daresay I shall find something to fill my life; it is
only for the moment that I am so helpless. And anything is better
than to fill it with what is unclean. If I did not refuse that without
hesitation, I should be an accomplice to it. Perhaps some people could
put up with that. I cannot--no, I cannot. Do you think it is arrogance
on my part? Or because I am angry? If you knew what we two had planned
and schemed, you would understand me. And if you knew what I have
thought of him, how I have admired him--you did the same yourselves--and
how wretched I feel now, how utterly robbed of everything!--Who is it
that is crying? Is it you, mother? (She runs to her mother, kneels down
and buries her head in her lap. A pause. RIIS goes into his room.) Why
cannot we three hold together? If we do, what have we to be afraid of?
What is it that stands in the way? Father, what is it that stands in
the way?--But where is father? (Sees NORDAN outside the window.) Uncle
Nordan! This is a surprise! (Hurries across the room, throws herself
into NORDAN's arms as he enters, and bursts into tears.)
Nordan. Oh, you goose! You great goose!
Svava. You must come and talk to me!
Nordan. Isn't that what I am here for?
Svava. And I thought you were up in the mountains and could not hear
from us.
Nordan. So I was. But when I got telegram after telegram, as long as
they could reach me, and then one express letter after another--and now
the end of it all is--well, I don't suppose I dare even mention his name
here now? (RIIS comes in from his room.)
Riis. At last! We have been so anxious for you to come!
Mrs. Riis (who has at last risen and come forward). Thank you for
coming, dear doctor!
Nordan (looking at her). There is something serious up, then?
Mrs. Riis. I have something I want to say to you.
Nordan. Yes, but just now away you go, you two! Let me talk to this
booby. (MRS. RIIS goes out to the left. SVAVA follows her for a minute.)
Riis. I just want to tell you that in a little while--
Nordan.--the whole pack of Christensens will be here? I know that. Go
away now.
Riis. Nordan! (Whispers to him.)
Nordan. Yes, yes!--Quite so!--No, of course not! (Tries to stop his
whispering.) Do you suppose I don't know what I am about? Be off with
you! (SVAVA comes in, as her father goes out.)
Svava. Dear Uncle Nordan! At last, somebody that will agree with me!
Nordan. Am I?
Svava. Oh, Uncle Nordan, you don't know what these days have been like!
Nordan. And the nights too, I expect?--although, with all that, you
don't look so bad.
Svava. The last night or two I have slept.
Nordan. Really? Then I see how things stand. You are a tough customer,
you are!
Svava. Oh, don't begin saying a lot of things you don't mean, uncle.
Nordan. Things I don't mean!
Svava. You always do, you know. But we haven't time for that now. I am
all on fire!
Nordan. Well, what is this you have been doing?
Svava. Ah, you see, you are beginning again!
Nordan. Beginning again? Who the devil has put the idea into your head
that I ever say anything but what I mean? Come and let us sit down.
(Brings a chair forward.)
Svava (bringing her chair close to his). There now!
Nordan. Since I was here last, I believe you have promulgated a
brand-new law on the subject of love? I congratulate you.
Svava. Have I?
Nordan. A superhuman, Svava-woven one--derived from seraphic heights,
I should imagine! "There shall be only one love in a man's life, and it
shall be directed only to one object." Full stop!
Svava. Have I said anything like that?
Nordan. Is it not you that have thrown over a young man because he has
had the audacity to fall in love before he saw you?
Svava. Do you take it in that way, too?
Nordan. In that way? Is there any other way for a sensible man to take
it? A fine young fellow honesty, adores you; a distinguished family
throw their doors wide open to you, as if you were a princess; and then
you turn round and say: "You have not waited for me ever since you were
a child! Away with you!"
Svava (springing up). What, you too! You too! And the same talk! The
same stupid talk!
Nordan. I can tell you what it is; if you do not give consideration to
everything that can be said on the other side, you are stupid.--No, it
is no use going away from me and marching up and down! I shall begin and
march up and down too, if you do! Come here and sit. Or _daren't_ you go
thoroughly into the question with me?
Svava. Yes, I dare. (Sits down again.)
Nordan. Well, to begin with, do you not think there must certainly be
two sides to a question that is discussed by serious men and women all
over the world?
Svava. This only concerns me! And as far as I am concerned there is only
one side to it.
Nordan. You do not understand me, child! You shall settle your own
affairs ultimately, and nobody else--of course. But suppose what you
have to settle is not quite so simple as you think it? Suppose it is a
problem that at the present moment is exercising the minds of thousands
and thousands of people? Do you not think it is your duty to give some
consideration to the usual attitude towards it, and to what is generally
thought and said about it? Do you think it is conscientious to condemn
in a single instance without doing that?
Svava. I understand! I think I have done what you are urging me to do.
Ask mother!
Nordan. Oh, I daresay you and your mother have chattered and read a lot
about marriage and the woman question, and about abolishing distinctions
of class--now you want to abolish distinctions of sex too. But as
regards this special question?
Svava. What do you consider I have overlooked?
Nordan. Just this. Are you right in being equally as strict with men as
with women? Eh?
Svava. Yes, of course.
Nordan. Is it so much a matter of course? Go out and ask any one you
meet. Out of every hundred you ask, ninety will say "no"--even out of a
hundred women!
Svava. Do you think so? I think people are beginning to think otherwise.
Nordan. Possibly. But experience is necessary if one is to answer a
question like that.
Svava. Do you mean what you say?
Nordan. That is none of your business. Besides, I always mean what I
say.--A woman can marry when is sixteen; a man must wait till he is
five-and-twenty, or thirty. There is a difference.
Svava. There _is_ a difference! There are many, many times more
unmarried women than men, and they exhibit self-control. Men find it
more convenient to make a law of their want of self-control!
Nordan. An answer like that only displays ignorance. Man is a polygamous
animal, like many other animals--a theory that is very strongly
supported by the fact that women so outnumber men in the world. I
daresay that is something you have never heard before?
Svava. Yes, I have heard it!
Nordan. Don't you laugh at science! What else we to put faith in, I
should like to know?
Svava. I should just like men to have the same trouble over their
children that women do! Just let them have that, Uncle Nordan, and I
fancy they would soon change their principles! Just let them experience
it!
Nordan. They have no time for that; they have to govern the world.
Svava. Yes, they have allotted the parts themselves!--Now, tell me this,
Dr. Nordan. Is it cowardly not to practise what you preach?
Nordan. Of course it is.
Svava. Then why do you not do it?
Nordan. I? I have always been a regular monster. Don't you know that,
dear child?
Svava. Dear Uncle Nordan--you have such long white locks; why do you
wear them like that?
Nordan. Oh, well--I have my reasons.
Svava. What are they?
Nordan. We won't go into that now.
Svava. You told me the reason once.
Nordan. Did I?
Svava. I wanted, one day, to take hold of your hair, but you would
not let me. You said: "Do you know why you must not do that?"--"No," I
said.--"Because no one has done that for more than thirty years."--"Who
was it that did it last?" I asked.--"It was a little girl, that you are
very like," you answered.
Nordan. So I told you that, did I?
Svava. "And she was one of your grandmother's younger sisters," you said
to me.
Nordan. She was. It was quite true. And you are like her, my child.
Svava. And then you told me that the year you went to college she was
standing beside you one day and caught up some locks of your hair in her
fingers. "You must never wear your hair shorter than this," she said.
She went away, and you went away; and when, one day, you wrote and asked
her whether you two did not belong to one another, her answer was "yes."
And a month later she was dead.
Nordan. She was dead.
Svava. And ever since then--you dear, queer old uncle--you have
considered yourself as married to her. (He nods.) And ever since the
evening you told me that--and I lay awake a long time, thinking over
it--I wanted, even when I was quite a young girl, to choose some one I
could have perfect confidence in. And then I chose wrong.
Nordan. Did you, Svava?
Svava. Do not ask me any more about that.--Then I chose once again, and
this time I was certain! For never had truer eyes looked in mine. And
how happy we were together! Day after day it always seemed new, and the
days were always too short. I dare not think about now. Oh, it is sinful
to deceive us so!--not deceit in words, it is true, but in letting
us give them our admiration and our most intimate confidences. Not in
words, no--and yet, it is in words; because they accept all we say, and
are silent themselves, and by that very fact make our words their own.
Our simple-mindedness pleases them as a bit of unspoilt nature, and it
is just by means of that that they deceive us. It creates an intimacy
between us and an atmosphere of happy give-and-take of jests, which we
think can exist only on one presupposition--and really it is all a sham.
I cannot understand how any one can so treat the one he loves--for he
did love me!
Nordan. He does love you.
Svava (getting up). But not as I loved him! All these years I have not
been frittering away my love. Besides, I have had too high an ideal of
what loving and being loved should be; and just for that reason I felt a
deep desire to be loved--I can say so to you. And when love came, seemed
to take all my strength from me; but I felt I should always be safe with
him, and so I let him see it and gloried in his seeing it. That is the
bitterest part of it to me now--because he was unworthy of it. He has
said to me: "I cannot bear to see any one else touch you!" and "When I
catch a glimpse of your arm, I think to myself that it has been round my
neck--mine, and no one else's in the world." And I felt proud and happy
when he said so, because I thought it was true. Hundreds of times I had
imagined some one's saying that to me some day. But I never imagined
that the one who would say it would be a man who--oh, it is disgusting!
When I think what it means, it makes me ready to hate him. The mere
thought that he has had his arms round me--has touched me--makes me
shudder! I am not laying down rules for any one else, but what I am
doing seems to me a matter of course. Every fibre of my being tells me
that. I must be left in peace!
Nordan. I see that this is more serious, and goes deeper, than I had any
suspicion of. None of them understand it that way, Alfred least of
all. He is only hurt--distressed and hurt at the thought that you could
distrust him.
Svava. I know that.
Nordan. Yes--well--don't take up such a high and mighty attitude! I
assure you that is how it will appear to most people.