(_Anton Hammelev and Louise Thorsen enter from the left. Anton is a
young man in his twenties. He has the appearance of an artist--face
smooth-shaven and hair rather long. In spite of his blindness he
moves about in the room without any apparent difficulty. Louise is
in her thirties--a weary and somewhat faded and passée woman. It is
apparent that she is trying to improve her appearance with the use of
powder and paint. She is quite well dressed. She gives the impression
of being of an amiable though timid disposition, and she has a sad
look in her eyes_.)
ANTON (_merrily_)
You never thought, Louise, that _I_ should ever lead _you_. Did you
notice how well I knew the way? And I know where every piece of
furniture stands in this room. (_Points_.) There stands mother’s
sewing-table--and there are father’s pipes. Am I not right? You may ask
me about every little thing if you wish. I can tell you where every
picture hangs on the wall. Do you want to try?
LOUISE (_pleadingly_)
No, Anton, not now.
ANTON
Why not? You haven’t lost your courage, have you?
LOUISE
We shouldn’t have done this, I think. If you had come alone, you could
have explained to your parents much better.
ANTON (_somewhat impatiently_)
If I could ever get you to understand why I have arranged it as I have!
What do you think my parents are, anyhow? Do you think they’ll assault
me? Assault a defenseless woman--eh?
LOUISE
No, of course not. But--I don’t know--when I look about in this room
it seems to me as if I had entered it to steal something that doesn’t
belong to me.
ANTON
Oh, is it that way? Listen now, Louise. Who do you suppose knows the
old folks best--you or I?
LOUISE
Why--you, of course, but--
ANTON
Well, then let it be so. Now, don’t you think it would be best to
let me do as I think fit? (_More quietly_.) I’ll tell you, Louise,
my parents have hitherto not been used to see anything but a child
in me! “Poor little Anton,” they always used to call me, even after
I had gone through the conservatory. Four years ago, when last I was
at home, father couldn’t get it into his head that I, like other
men, had to shave and get my hair cut. And I was at that time a big
chap--nineteen years old. (_In a temper_.) Good God! Am I then but a
child! A helpless, unfortunate, poor being, and can I never grow to be
like other human beings!
LOUISE
You who know so much--you are not as badly off as that! And you know
it, too, Anton.
ANTON
Yes, God help me, Louise! When one is lacking in one of the senses one
is a child, an incomplete specimen, three-fourths of a man or hardly
that. But let that be as it may! The fact remains that neither father
nor mother in their wildest moments of imagination would think that I
might become engaged. And I don’t think it would be of any use for me
to begin to explain how the whole thing has happened. Even if I should
describe you as an angel of God, they would say I was the most foolish
being in the world. Just for that very reason they ought to have the
chance of seeing for themselves.
LOUISE
If only we hadn’t met, Anton! It would have been so much better for you.
ANTON
What nonsense! When once they see you! That’s why I wanted you to come
with me and surprise them.
LOUISE
Oh, God! I only wish I was twenty miles from here. I don’t even know
what to say to them.
ANTON
You don’t need to say anything at all. I’ll talk for you; you’ll see.
I’ll say: “Look here, father and mother, this is Louise. She is the
woman to whom I owe everything. If it hadn’t been for her I wouldn’t
be a human being with a cheery outlook on life--I wouldn’t care to
live. I myself have never seen her, but I know so well how she looks.
She is fair as the day, and she has a dimple in either cheek--they
are just like a couple of little rills where the sunbeams play
hide-and-seek. She has also a little bent-up nose--quite a resolute
little nose--that always points in the right direction, just like a
compass needle. But what is most beautiful about her are her eyes; they
are so deep, and yet so clear; one feels so sure there is something
beyond their depth--but one can’t see it. And the other little things
about her--can’t you see for yourself how fine and nice and good she
is?”
LOUISE (_pained_)
Oh, Anton, but I don’t look like that!
ANTON
Yes, that is how you do look. I know it. (_Takes hold of both her
hands_.) And yet I can’t show them your warm, faithful heart; they’ll
have to learn to know that little by little.
LOUISE
If you would only not make so much of me, Anton! If one of us has
anything to be grateful for, it is I. And you know I haven’t hidden
anything from you.
ANTON (_drops her hands; seriously_)
You had nothing to hide, Louise. I know you have had a hard time.
But pure metal can’t be spoiled, and you have come out of it all
unstained--with your beautiful eyes and your good heart. Perhaps you
have cried a great deal. Perhaps others can see the traces in your
face--if so, it is an advantage to me to be blind. (_Listens_.) But
listen! I can hear the old folks upstairs. I think, perhaps it would
be best, if you went out for a second; you need only go outside till I
call you. You see--I think I ought to be alone with them the very first
moments.
LOUISE (_close to him; entreating him_)
Anton--don’t you want me to leave you now? Shan’t I--
ANTON (_impatiently_)
You must do as I say. Be a sensible girl--don’t be hysterical. Now go,
please.
LOUISE (_going out to the left_)
I’ll do as you wish me to. But if you regret it, remember I told you
you shouldn’t do it.
(_Anton stands for a moment listening to the steps of his parents
overhead. Then he hides himself behind the door to the right, which
opens at the same moment_.)