And you didn’t know that he had gone away?
RAGNA.
Oh, how should I know? They tell me nothing. But to Christiania——?
That’s impossible; they would have met him. Good-bye!
STENSGÅRD.
[_Intercepts her._] Ragna! Tell me! Why are you so changed towards me?
RAGNA.
I? Let me pass! Let me go!
STENSGÅRD.
No, you shall not go! I believe Providence guided you here at this
moment. Oh, why do you shrink from me? You used not to.
RAGNA.
Ah, that is all over, thank God!
STENSGÅRD.
But why?
RAGNA.
I have learnt to know you better; it is well that I learned in time.
STENSGÅRD.
Oh, that is it? People have been lying about me? Perhaps I am to blame
too; I have been lost in a maze of perplexities. But that is past now.
Oh, the very sight of you makes a better man of me. It is you I care
for, deeply and truly; it is you I love, Ragna—you and no other!
RAGNA.
Let me pass! I am afraid of you——
STENSGÅRD.
Oh, but to-morrow, Ragna—may I come and speak to you to-morrow?
RAGNA.
Yes, yes, if you must; only for heaven’s sake not to-day.
STENSGÅRD.
Only not to-day! Hurrah! I have won; now I am happy!
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
[_Enters from the left with cake and wine._] Come now, we must drink a
glass for luck.
STENSGÅRD.
For luck in love! Here’s to love and happiness! Hurrah for to-morrow!
[_He drinks._
HELLE.
[_Entering from the right, to_ RAGNA.] Have you found him?
RAGNA.
No, he is not here. Come, come!
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
Heaven help us, what’s the matter?
HELLE.
Nothing; only some visitors have arrived at Stonelee——
RAGNA.
Thanks for all your kindness, Madam Rundholmen——
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
Oh, have you got visitors on your hands again?
RAGNA.
Yes, yes; excuse me; I must go home. Good-bye!
STENSGÅRD.
Good-bye—till to-morrow!
[RAGNA _and_ HELLE _go out by the back._
DANIEL HEIRE _enters from the right._
HEIRE.
Ha-ha! It’s going like a house on fire! They’re all cackling Stensgård,
Stensgård, Stensgård! They’re all plumping for you. Now you should plump
for him too, Madam Rundholmen!
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
Hey, that’s an idea! Are they all voting for him?
HEIRE.
Unanimously—Mr. Stensgård enjoys the confidence of the constituency, as
the saying is. Old Lundestad is going about with a face like a pickled
cucumber. Oh, it’s a pleasure to see it all.
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
They shan’t regret having voted for him. If I can’t vote, I can stand
treat.
[_Goes out to the left._
HEIRE.
Ah, you are the man for the widows, Mr. Stensgård! I’ll tell you what—if
you can only get hold of her, you’re a made man, sir!
STENSGÅRD.
Get hold of Madam Rundholmen?
HEIRE.
Yes, why not? She’s a substantial woman in every sense of the word.
She’ll be mistress of the situation as soon as the Stonelee card-castle
has come to grief.
STENSGÅRD.
There’s nothing wrong at Stonelee, is there?
HEIRE.
Isn’t there? You have a short memory, my dear sir. Didn’t I tell you
there were rumours of failure, and bankruptcy, and——?
STENSGÅRD.
Well, what then?
HEIRE.
What then? That’s just what we want to know. There’s a hue and cry after
Monsen; two men have come to Stonelee——
STENSGÅRD.
Yes, I know—a couple of visitors——
HEIRE.
Uninvited visitors, my dear young friend; there are whispers of the
police and infuriated creditors—there’s something queer about the
accounts, you must know! Talking of that—what paper was that Monsen gave
you yesterday?
STENSGÅRD.
Oh, just a paper——Something queer about the accounts, you say? Look
here! you know Chamberlain Bratsberg’s signature?
HEIRE.
Hee-hee! I should rather think I did.
STENSGÅRD.
[_Produces the bill._] Well, look at this.
HEIRE.
Give it here—I’m rather short-sighted, you know. [_After examining it._]
That, my dear sir? That’s not the Chamberlain’s hand.
STENSGÅRD.
Not? Then it is——?
HEIRE.
And it’s drawn by Monsen?
STENSGÅRD.
No, by young Mr. Bratsberg.
HEIRE.
Nonsense! Let me see. [_Looks at the paper and hands it back again._]
You can light your cigar with this.
STENSGÅRD.
What! The drawer’s name too——?
HEIRE.
A forgery, young man; a forgery, as sure as my name’s Daniel. You have
only to look at it with the keen eye of suspicion——
STENSGÅRD.
But how can that be? Monsen can’t have known——
HEIRE.
Monsen? No, he knows nothing about either his own paper or other
people’s. But I’m glad it has come to an end, Mr. Stensgård!—It’s a
satisfaction to one’s moral sense. Ah, I have often glowed with a noble
indignation, if I may say so, at having to stand by and see——I say no
more! But the best of it all is that now Monsen is down he’ll drag young
Bratsberg after him; and the son will bring the father down——
STENSGÅRD.
Yes, so Lundestad said.
HEIRE.
But of course there’s method even in bankruptcy. You’ll see; I am an old
hand at prophecy. Monsen will go to prison; young Bratsberg will
compound with his creditors; and the Chamberlain will be placed under
trustees; that’s to say, his creditors will present him with an annuity
of a couple of thousand dollars. That’s how things go, Mr. Stensgård; I
know it, I know it! What says the classic? _Fiat justitia, pereat
mundus_; which means: Fie on what’s called justice in this wicked world,
sir!
STENSGÅRD.
[_Pacing the room._] One after the other! Both ways barred!
HEIRE.
What the deuce——?
STENSGÅRD.
And now too! Just at this moment!
ASLAKSEN.
[_Enters from the right._] I congratulate you, chosen of the people!
STENSGÅRD.
Elected!
ASLAKSEN.
Elected by 117 votes, and Lundestad by 53. The rest all nowhere.
HEIRE.
Your first step on the path of glory, Mr. Stensgård.
ASLAKSEN.
And it shall cost you a bowl of punch——
HEIRE.
Well, it’s the first step that costs, they say.
ASLAKSEN.
[_Goes off to the left, shouting._] Punch, Madam Rundholmen! A bowl of
punch! The chosen of the people stands treat!
LUNDESTAD, _and after him several_ ELECTORS, _enter from the right._
HEIRE.
[_In a tone of condolence to_ LUNDESTAD.] Fifty-three! That’s the
grey-haired patriot’s reward!
LUNDESTAD.
[_Whispers to_ STENSGÅRD.] Are you firm in your resolve?
STENSGÅRD.
What’s the use of being firm when everything is tumbling about your
ears?
LUNDESTAD.
Do you think the game is lost?
ASLAKSEN.
[_Returning by the left._] Madam Rundholmen stands treat herself. She
says she has the best right to.
STENSGÅRD.
[_Struck by an idea._] Madam Rundholmen—has the best right to——!
LUNDESTAD.
What?
STENSGÅRD.
The game is not lost, Mr. Lundestad!
[_Sits at the right-hand table and writes._
LUNDESTAD.
[_In a low voice._] Oh, Aslaksen—can you get something into your next
paper for me?
ASLAKSEN.
Of course I can. Is it libellous?
LUNDESTAD.
No, certainly not!
ASLAKSEN.
Well, never mind; I’ll take it all the same.
LUNDESTAD.
It is my political last will and testament; I shall write it to-night.
A MAID-SERVANT.
[_Enters from the left._] The punch, with Madam Rundholmen’s
compliments.
ASLAKSEN.
Hurrah! Now there’s some life in the local situation.
[_He places the punch-bowl on the middle table, serves the
others, and drinks freely himself during the following
scene._ BASTIAN MONSEN _has meanwhile entered from the
right._
BASTIAN.
[_Softly._] You won’t forget my letter?
ASLAKSEN.
Don’t be afraid. [_Taps his breast pocket._] I have it here.
BASTIAN.
You’ll deliver it as soon as you can—when you see she’s disengaged, you
understand.
ASLAKSEN.
I understand. [_Calls._] Come, now, the glasses are filled.
BASTIAN.
You shan’t do it for nothing, I promise you.
ASLAKSEN.
All right, all right. [_To the servant._] A lemon, Karen—quick as the
wind!
[BASTIAN _retires._
STENSGÅRD.
A word, Aslaksen; shall you be passing here to-morrow evening?
ASLAKSEN.
To-morrow evening? I can, if you like.
STENSGÅRD.
Then you might look in and give Madam Rundholmen this letter.
ASLAKSEN.
From you?
STENSGÅRD.
Yes. Put it in your pocket. There now. To-morrow evening, then?
ASLAKSEN.
All right; trust to me.
[_The servant brings the lemon;_ STENSGÅRD _goes towards the
window._
BASTIAN.
Well—have you spoken to Madam Rundholmen?
STENSGÅRD.
Spoken? Oh yes, I said a word or two——
BASTIAN.
And what do you think?
STENSGÅRD.
Oh—well—we were interrupted. I can’t say anything definite.
BASTIAN.
I’ll take my chance all the same; she’s always complaining of her
loneliness. My fate shall be sealed within an hour.
STENSGÅRD.
Within an hour?
BASTIAN.
[_Sees_ MADAM RUNDHOLMEN, _who enters from the left._] Sh! Not a word to
any one!
[_Goes towards the back._
STENSGÅRD.
[_Whispers to_ ASLAKSEN.] Give me back the letter.
ASLAKSEN.
Do you want it back?
STENSGÅRD.
Yes, at once; I shall deliver it myself.
ASLAKSEN.
Very well; here it is.
[STENSGÅRD _thrusts the letter into his pocket, and mixes with
the rest._
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
[_To_ BASTIAN.] What do you say to the election, Mr. Bastian?
BASTIAN.
I’m delighted. Stensgård and I are bosom friends, you know. I shouldn’t
be surprised if he got into Parliament.
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
But your father wouldn’t much like that.
BASTIAN.
Oh, father has so many irons in the fire. Besides, if Stensgård’s
elected, it will still be all in the family, I daresay.
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
How so?
BASTIAN.
He wants to marry——
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
Lord! Has he said anything?
BASTIAN.
Yes; and I’ve promised to put in a word for him. It’ll be all right. I’m
sure Ragna likes him.
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
Ragna!
LUNDESTAD.
[_Approaching._] What is interesting you so deeply, Madam Rundholmen?
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
What do you think he says? Why, that Mr. Stensgård’s making up to——
LUNDESTAD.
Yes, but he won’t find the Chamberlain so easy to deal with.
BASTIAN.
The Chamberlain?
LUNDESTAD.
He probably thinks her too good a match for a mere lawyer——
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
Who? Who?
LUNDESTAD.
Why, his daughter, Miss Bratsberg, of course.
BASTIAN.
He’s surely not making love to Miss Bratsberg?
LUNDESTAD.
Yes, indeed he is.
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
You are quite sure of that?
BASTIAN.
And he told me——! Oh, I want to say a word to you!
[LUNDESTAD _and_ BASTIAN _go towards the back._
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
[_Approaching_ STENSGÅRD.] You must be on your guard, Mr. Stensgård.
STENSGÅRD.
Against whom?
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
Against malicious people who are slandering you.
STENSGÅRD.
Why, let them—so long as _one_ person doesn’t believe their slanders.
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
And who may that one person be?
STENSGÅRD.
[_Slips the letter into her hand._] Take this; read it when you are
alone.
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
Ah, I knew it!
[_Goes off to the left._
RINGDAL.
[_Enters from the right._] Well, I hear you have won a brilliant
victory, Mr. Stensgård.
STENSGÅRD.
Yes, I have, Mr. Ringdal, in spite of your noble chief’s endeavours.
RINGDAL.
His endeavours? What to do?
STENSGÅRD.
To keep me out.
RINGDAL.
Like other people, he has a right to vote as he pleases.
STENSGÅRD.
It’s a pity he is not likely to retain that right for long.
RINGDAL.
What do you mean?
STENSGÅRD.
I mean, since his affairs are not so straight as they might be——
RINGDAL.
His affairs! What affairs? What have you got into your head?
STENSGÅRD.
Oh, you needn’t pretend ignorance. Isn’t there a storm brewing?—a great
crash impending?
RINGDAL.
Yes, so I hear on all sides.
STENSGÅRD.
And aren’t both the Bratsbergs involved in it?
RINGDAL.
My dear sir, are you crazy?
STENSGÅRD.
Oh, you naturally want to keep it dark.
RINGDAL.
What good would that be? That sort of thing can’t be kept dark.
STENSGÅRD.
Is it not true then?
RINGDAL.
Not a word of it, so far as the Chamberlain is concerned. How could you
believe such nonsense? Who has been humbugging you?
STENSGÅRD.
I won’t tell you just yet.
RINGDAL.
Well, you needn’t; but whoever it was must have had a motive.
STENSGÅRD.
A motive—-!
RINGDAL.
Yes, just think: is there no one who has an interest in keeping you and
the Chamberlain apart?
STENSGÅRD.
Yes, on my soul, but there is though!
RINGDAL.
The Chamberlain in reality thinks very highly of you——
STENSGÅRD.
Does he?
RINGDAL.
Yes, and that’s why people want to make mischief between you. They
reckon on your ignorance of the situation, on your impulsiveness and
your confiding disposition——
STENSGÅRD.
Oh, the vipers! And Madam Rundholmen has my letter!
RINGDAL.
What letter?
STENSGÅRD.
Oh, nothing. But it’s not too late! My dear Mr. Ringdal, shall you see
the Chamberlain this evening?
RINGDAL.
In all probability.
STENSGÅRD.
Then tell him to think no more of those threats—he will understand; tell
him I shall call to-morrow and explain everything.
RINGDAL.
You’ll call?
STENSGÅRD.
Yes, to prove to him——Ah! a proof! Look here, Mr. Ringdal; will you give
the Chamberlain this bill from me?
RINGDAL.
This bill——?
STENSGÅRD.
Yes; it’s a matter I can’t explain to you; but just you give it to him——
RINGDAL.
Upon my word, Mr. Stensgård——
STENSGÅRD.
And just add these words from me: This is how I treat those who vote
against me!
RINGDAL.
I shan’t forget.
[_Goes out at the back._
STENSGÅRD.
I say, Mr. Heire—how could you go and palm off that story about the
Chamberlain upon me?
HEIRE.
How could I palm it off on you——?
STENSGÅRD.
Yes—it’s a lie from beginning to end.
HEIRE.
No! Is it indeed? I’m delighted to hear it. Do you hear, Mr. Lundestad?
It’s all a lie about the Chamberlain.
LUNDESTAD.
Sh! We were on a false scent; it’s nearer at hand.
STENSGÅRD.
How nearer at hand?
LUNDESTAD.
I know nothing for certain; but they talk of Madam Rundholmen——
STENSGÅRD.
What!
HEIRE.
Haven’t I prophesied it! She has been too much mixed up with our friend
at Stonelee——
LUNDESTAD.
He drove off this morning before daylight——
HEIRE.
And his family is out hunting for him——
LUNDESTAD.
And the son has been doing all he knows to get his sister provided for——
STENSGÅRD.
Provided for! “To-morrow” she said; and then her anxiety about her
father——!
HEIRE.
Hee-hee! You’ll see he’s gone and hanged himself, sir!
ASLAKSEN.
Has any one hanged himself?
LUNDESTAD.
Mr. Heire says Monsen of Stonelee——
MONSEN.
[_Enters from the back._] A dozen of champagne!
ASLAKSEN AND OTHERS.
Monsen!
MONSEN.
Yes, Monsen! Champagne-Monsen! Money-Monsen! Let’s have the wine,
confound it all!
HEIRE.
But, my dear sir——
STENSGÅRD.
Why, where have you dropped from?
MONSEN.
I’ve been doing a stroke of business, sir! Cleared a hundred thousand!
Hei! To-morrow I’ll give a thundering dinner at Stonelee. I invite you
all. Champagne, I say! I congratulate you, Stensgård! I hear you’re
elected.
STENSGÅRD.
Yes; I must explain to you——
MONSEN.
Pooh; what does it matter to me? Wine, I say! Where is Madam Rundholmen?
[_Makes a motion to go out to the left._
THE MAID-SERVANT.
[_Who has just entered, intercepts him._] No one can see the mistress
just now; she’s got a letter——
BASTIAN.
Oh, damn it all!
[_Goes out by the back._
STENSGÅRD.
Is she reading it?
SERVANT.
Yes; and it seems quite to have upset her.
STENSGÅRD.
Good-bye, Mr. Monsen; dinner at Stonelee to-morrow——?
MONSEN.
Yes, to-morrow. Good-bye!
STENSGÅRD.
[_Whispers._] Mr. Heire, will you do me a service?
HEIRE.
Certainly, certainly.
STENSGÅRD.
Then just run me down a little to Madam Rundholmen; indulge in an
innuendo or two at my expense. You are so good at that sort of thing.
HEIRE.
What the deuce is the meaning of this?
STENSGÅRD.
I have my reasons. It’s a joke, you know—a wager with—with some one you
have a grudge against.
HEIRE.
Aha, I understand. I say no more!
STENSGÅRD.
Don’t go too far, you know. Just place me in a more or less equivocal
light—make her a little suspicious of me, for the moment.
HEIRE.
Rely upon me; it will be a real pleasure to me.
STENSGÅRD.
Thanks, thanks in advance. [_Goes towards the table._] Mr. Lundestad, we
shall meet to-morrow forenoon at the Chamberlain’s.
LUNDESTAD.
Have you hopes?
STENSGÅRD.
A threefold hope.
LUNDESTAD.
Threefold? I don’t understand——
STENSGÅRD.
You needn’t. Henceforth I will be my own counsellor.
[_Goes out by the back._
MONSEN.
[_At the punch-bowl._] Another glass, Aslaksen! Where’s Bastian?
ASLAKSEN.
He’s just gone out. But I have a letter to deliver for him.
MONSEN.
Have you?
ASLAKSEN.
To Madam Rundholmen.
MONSEN.
Ah, at last!
ASLAKSEN.
But not till to-morrow evening, he said; to-morrow evening, neither
sooner nor later. Here’s to you!
HEIRE.
[_To_ LUNDESTAD.] What the deuce is all this business between Stensgård
and Madam Rundholmen?
LUNDESTAD.
[_Whispers._] He’s courting her.
HEIRE.
I suspected as much! But he asked me to run him down a bit—to cast a
slur on his character——
LUNDESTAD.
And you said you would?
HEIRE.
Yes; of course.
LUNDESTAD.
I believe he says of you that your word is as good as your bond—and no
better.
HEIRE.
Hee-hee—the dear fellow! He shall find out his mistake this time.
MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.
[_With an open letter in her hand, at the door on the left._] Where is
Mr. Stensgård?
HEIRE.
He kissed your chambermaid and went, Madam Rundholmen!
-----
Footnote 18:
The dollar = four crowns = four-and-sixpence, was the unit of coinage
at the time this play was written. It has since been replaced by the
crown.
Footnote 19:
“Amtmanden og provsten.” The “Amtmand” is the chief magistrate of an
“Amt” or county; the “Provst” is an ecclesiastical functionary,
perhaps equivalent to a rural dean.
Footnote 20:
Bastian now says “thou” (du) to Stensgård—_il le tutoie_.
ACT FIFTH.
_Large reception-room at the_ CHAMBERLAIN’S. _Entrance door at the back.
Doors right and left._
RINGDAL _stands at a table looking through some papers. A knock._
RINGDAL.
Come in.
FIELDBO.
[_From the back._] Good-morning.
RINGDAL.
Good-morning, Doctor.
FIELDBO.
All well, eh?
RINGDAL.
Oh, yes, well enough; but——
FIELDBO.
What?
RINGDAL.
Of course you’ve heard the great news?
FIELDBO.
No. What is it?
RINGDAL.
Do you mean to say you haven’t heard what has happened at Stonelee?
FIELDBO.
No.
RINGDAL.
Monsen has absconded.
FIELDBO.
Absconded! Monsen?
RINGDAL.
Absconded.
FIELDBO.
Great heavens—-!
RINGDAL.
There were ugly rumours yesterday; but then Monsen turned up again; he
managed to throw dust in people’s eyes——
FIELDBO.
But the reason? The reason?
RINGDAL.
Enormous losses in timber, they say. Several houses in Christiania have
stopped payment, and so——
FIELDBO.
And so he has gone off!
RINGDAL.
To Sweden, probably. The authorities took possession at Stonelee this
morning. Things are being inventoried and sealed up——
FIELDBO.
And the unfortunate children——?
RINGDAL.
The son seems to have kept clear of the business; at least I hear he
puts a bold face on it.
FIELDBO.
But the daughter?
RINGDAL.
Sh! The daughter is here.
FIELDBO.
Here?
RINGDAL.
The tutor brought her and the two little ones here this morning. Miss
Bratsberg is looking after them, quietly you know.
FIELDBO.
And how does she bear it?
RINGDAL.
Oh, pretty well, I fancy. You may guess, after the treatment she has met
with at home——And, besides, I may tell you she is——Ah, here’s the
Chamberlain.
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
[_From the left._] So you are there, my dear Doctor?
FIELDBO.
Yes, I am pretty early astir. Let me wish you many happy returns of the
day, Chamberlain.
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Oh, as for happiness——! But thank you, all the same; I know you mean it
kindly.
FIELDBO.
And may I ask, Chamberlain——?
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
One word: be good enough to drop that title.
FIELDBO.
What do you mean?
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
I am an ironmaster, and nothing more.
FIELDBO.
Why, what strange notion is this?
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
I have renounced my post and my title. I am sending in my resignation
to-day.
FIELDBO.
You should sleep upon that.
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
When his Majesty was graciously pleased to assign me a place in his
immediate circle, he did so because of the unblemished honour of my
family through long generations.
FIELDBO.
Well, what then?
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
My family is disgraced, just as much as Mr. Monsen’s. Of course you have
heard about Monsen?
FIELDBO.
Yes, I have.
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
[_To_ RINGDAL.] Any further news about him?
RINGDAL.
Only that he brings down with him a good many of the younger men.
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
And my son?
RINGDAL.
Your son has sent me his balance-sheet. He will be able to pay in full;
but there will be nothing over.
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
H’m. Then will you get my resignation copied?
RINGDAL.
I’ll see to it.
[_Goes out by the foremost door on the right._
FIELDBO.
Have you reflected what you are doing? Things can be arranged without
any one being a bit the wiser.
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Indeed! Can I make myself ignorant of what has happened?
FIELDBO.
Oh, after all, what has happened? Has not he written to you,
acknowledged his fault, and begged for your forgiveness? This is the
only time he has done anything of the sort; why not simply blot it out?
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Would you do what my son has done?
FIELDBO.
He won’t repeat it; that is the main point.
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
How do you know he will not repeat it?
FIELDBO.
If for no other reason, because of what you yourself told me—the scene
with your daughter-in-law. Whatever else comes of it, that will steady
him.
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
[_Pacing the room._] My poor Selma! Our peace and happiness gone!
FIELDBO.
There are higher things than peace and happiness. Your happiness has
been an illusion. Yes, I must speak frankly to you: in that, as in many
other things, you have built on a hollow foundation. You have been
shortsighted and overweening, Chamberlain!
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
[_Stops short._] I?
FIELDBO.
Yes, you! You have plumed yourself on your family honour; but when has
that honour been tried? Are you sure it would have stood the test?
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
You can spare your sermons, Doctor. Do you think I have not learnt a
lesson from the events of these days?
FIELDBO.
I daresay you have; but prove it, by showing greater tolerance and
clearer insight. You reproach your son; but what have you done for him?
You have taken care to develop his faculties, but not to form his
character. You have lectured him on what he owed to the honour of his
family; but you have not guided and moulded him so that honour became to
him an irresistible instinct.
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Do you think so?
FIELDBO.
I not only think, I know it. But that is generally the way here: people
are bent on learning, not on living. And you see what comes of it; you
see hundreds of men with great gifts, who never seem to be more than
half ripe; who are one thing in their ideas and feelings, and something
quite different in their habits and acts. Just look at Stensgård——
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Ah, Stensgård now! What do you make of Stensgård?
FIELDBO.
A patchwork. I have known him from childhood. His father was a mere rag
of a man, a withered weed, a nobody. He kept a little huckster’s shop,
and eked things out with pawn-broking; or rather his wife did for him.
She was a coarse-grained woman, the most unwomanly I ever knew. She had
her husband declared incapable;[21] she had not an ounce of heart in
her. And in that home Stensgård passed his childhood. Then he went to
the grammar-school. “He shall go to college,” said his mother; “I’ll
make a smart solicitor of him.” Squalor at home, high-pressure at
school; soul, temperament, will, talents, all pulling in different
ways—what could it lead to but disintegration of character?
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
What could it lead to, eh? I should like to know what is good enough for
you. We are to expect nothing of Stensgård; nothing of my son; but we
may look to you, I suppose—to you——?
FIELDBO.
Yes, to me—precisely. Oh, you needn’t laugh; I take no credit to myself;
but my lot has been one that begets equilibrium and firmness of
character. I was brought up amid the peace and harmony of a modest
middle-class home. My mother is a woman of the finest type; in our home
we had no desires that outstripped our opportunities, no cravings that
were wrecked on the rocks of circumstance; and death did not break in
upon our circle, leaving emptiness and longing behind it. We were
brought up in the love of beauty, but it informed our whole view of
life, instead of being a side-interest, a thing apart. We were taught to
shun excesses, whether of the intellect or of the feelings——
THE CHAMBERLAIN.
Bless me! So that accounts for your being the pink of perfection?
FIELDBO.
I am far from thinking so. I only say that fate had been infinitely kind
to me, and that I regard its favours in the light of obligations.
THE CHAMBERLAIN.