another packed off to starve for the sake of these machines.
BERNICK.
H’m; when printing was discovered, many copyists had to starve.
AUNE.
Would you have thought printing such a fine thing, Consul, if you’d have
been a copyist?
BERNICK.
I didn’t get you here to argue with you. I sent for you to tell you that
the _Indian Girl_ must be ready to sail the day after to-morrow.
AUNE.
Why, Consul——
BERNICK.
The day after to-morrow, do you hear? At the same time as our own ship;
not an hour later. I have my reasons for hurrying on the affair. Have
you read this morning’s paper? Ah!—then you know that the Americans have
been making disturbances again. The ruffianly crew turn the whole town
topsy-turvy. Not a night passes without fights in the taverns or on the
street; not to speak of other abominations.
AUNE.
Yes, they’re a bad lot, for certain.
BERNICK.
And who gets the blame of all this? It is I—yes, I—that suffer for it.
These wretched newspaper-men are covertly carping at us for giving our
whole attention to the _Palm Tree_. And I, whose mission it is to set an
example to my fellow citizens, must have such things thrown in my teeth!
I won’t bear it. I cannot have my name bespattered in this way.
AUNE.
Oh, the name of Bernick is good enough to bear that, and more.
BERNICK.
Not just now; precisely at this moment I need all the respect and
goodwill of my fellow citizens, I have a great undertaking in hand, as
you have probably heard; and if evil-disposed persons should succeed in
shaking people’s unqualified confidence in me, it may involve me in the
most serious difficulties. I must silence these carping and spiteful
scribblers at any cost; and that is _why_ I give you till the day after
to-morrow.
AUNE.
You might just as well give me till this afternoon, Consul Bernick.
BERNICK.
You mean that I am demanding impossibilities?
AUNE.
Yes, with the present working staff——
BERNICK.
Oh, very well;—then we must look about us elsewhere.
AUNE.
Would you really turn off still more of the old workmen?
BERNICK.
No, that is not what I am thinking of.
AUNE.
I’m certain sure, if you did, there would be a fine to-do both in the
town and in the newspapers.
BERNICK.
Very possibly; therefore I won’t do it. But if the _Indian Girl_ is not
cleared the day after to-morrow, I shall dismiss _you_.
AUNE.
[_With a start._] Me! [_Laughing._] Oh, that’s only your joke, Consul.
BERNICK.
I advise you not to trust to that.
AUNE.
You can think of turning _me_ away! Why, my father before me, and _his_
father too, worked in the shipyard all their lives; and I myself——
BERNICK.
Who forces me to it?
AUNE.
You want me to do things as can’t be done, Consul.
BERNICK.
Oh, where there’s a will there’s a way. Yes or no? Answer me definitely,
or I dismiss you on the spot.
AUNE.
[_Coming nearer._] Consul Bernick, have you rightly bethought what it
means to turn an old workman away? You say he can look about for another
job. Ay, ay, maybe he can—but is that everything? Ah, you should just
see what it looks like in a turned-off workman’s house, the night when
he comes home and puts his tool-chest behind the door.
BERNICK.
Do you think I part with you willingly? Haven’t I always been a good
master to you?
AUNE.
So much the worse, Consul; for that means as my folks at home won’t put
the blame on _you_. They won’t say nothing to me, for they durstn’t, but
they’ll look at me when I’m not noticing, as much as to say: Certain
sure, it must’a’ been his fault. You see, it’s that—it’s that as I can’t
abear, God knows, I’m a poor man, but I’ve always been used to be the
first in my own house. My bit of a home is in a manner of speaking a
little community, Consul Bernick. That little community I’ve been able
to support and hold together because my wife believed in me, my children
believed in me. And now the whole thing is to fall to pieces.
BERNICK.
Well, if it cannot be otherwise, the less must fall before the greater;
the part must, in heaven’s name, be sacrificed to the whole. I can give
you no other answer; and you’ll find it is the way of the world. But you
are an obstinate fellow, Aune! You stand against me, not because you
can’t help it, but because you _will_ not prove the superiority of
machinery to manual labour.
AUNE.
And you’re so dead set on this, Consul, because you know that, if you
send me about my business, leastways you’ll have shown the papers your
goodwill.
BERNICK.
What if it were so? I have told you how much it means to me—I must
either conciliate the papers, or have them all attacking me at the
moment when I am working for a great and beneficent cause. What follows?
Can I possibly act otherwise than I am doing? Would you have me, in
order to hold your home together, as you call it, sacrifice hundreds of
other homes—homes that will never be founded, will never have a smoking
hearthstone, if I do not succeed in my present enterprise? You must make
your choice.
AUNE.
Well, if you put it that way, I’ve got no more to say.
BERNICK.
H’m—; my dear Aune, I am truly sorry we must part.
AUNE.
We will _not_ part, Consul Bernick.
BERNICK.
What?
AUNE.
Even a common man has his rights to stand up for here in the world.
BERNICK.
Of course, of course. Then you can promise——?
AUNE.
The _Indian Girl_ shall be ready for sea the day after to-morrow.
[_He bows and goes out to the right._
BERNICK.
Aha, I’ve made _that_ stiff neck bend. I take that as a good omen——
HILMAR TÖNNESEN, _with a cigar in his mouth, comes through
the garden gate._
HILMAR.
[_On the verandah steps._] Good-morning, Betty! Good-morning, Bernick!
MRS. BERNICK.
Good-morning.
HILMAR.
Oh, you’ve been crying, I see. Then you’ve heard?
MRS. BERNICK.
Heard what?
HILMAR.
That the scandal is in full swing! Ugh!
BERNICK.
What do you mean?
HILMAR.
[_Coming into the room._] Why, that the two Americans are flaunting
about the streets in company with Dina Dorf.
MRS. BERNICK.
[_Also coming in._] Oh, Hilmar, is it possible——?
HILMAR.
I can bear witness, worse luck! Lona had even the want of tact to call
out to _me_; but I naturally pretended not to hear her.
BERNICK.
And of course all this has not passed unnoticed.
HILMAR.
No; you may be sure it hasn’t. People turned round and looked after
them. It ran like wildfire over the town—like a fire on the Western
prairies. There were people at the windows of all the houses, head to
head behind the curtains, waiting for the procession to pass. Ugh! You
must excuse me, Betty; I say ugh! for it makes me so nervous. If this
goes on I shall have to go for a change of air somewhere, pretty far
off.
MRS. BERNICK.
But you should have spoken to him, and pointed out——
HILMAR.
In the public street? No; I beg to be excused. But how the deuce can the
fellow dare to show himself here! Well, we shall see if the papers don’t
put a stopper on him. I beg your pardon, Betty, but——
BERNICK.
The papers, you say? Have you heard anything to make you think so?
HILMAR.
I should rather say I had! When I left here last night, I took my
constitutional up to the club. I could tell from the sudden silence when
I came in that they had been discussing the two Americans. And then in
came that impertinent editor-fellow, Hammer, or whatever they call him,
and congratulated me, before everybody, upon my rich cousin’s return.
BERNICK.
Rich——?
HILMAR.
Yes; that was what he said. Of course I measured him from top to toe
with the contempt he deserved, and gave him to understand that I knew
nothing of Johan Tönnesen being rich. “Indeed!” says he; “that’s
strange. In America people generally get on when they have something to
start with, and we know your cousin didn’t go over empty-handed.”
BERNICK.
H’m, be so good as to——
MRS. BERNICK.
[_Troubled._] There, you see, Karsten——
HILMAR.
Well, at any rate, not a wink have I slept for thinking of the fellow.
And there he goes calmly marching about the streets, as if he had
nothing to be ashamed of. Why couldn’t he have been disposed of for
good? Some people are intolerably tough.
MRS. BERNICK.
Oh, Hilmar, what are you saying?
HILMAR.
Oh, nothing, nothing. Only here he escapes safe and sound from railway
accidents, and fights with Californian bears and Blackfoot Indians; why,
he’s not even scalped——Ugh! here they are.
BERNICK.
[_Looks down the street._] Olaf with them too.
HILMAR.
Yes, of course; catch them letting people forget that they belong to the
first family in the town. Look, look, there come all the loafers out of
the drug-store to stare at them and make remarks. Really, this is too
much for my nerves; how a man under such circumstances is to hold high
the banner of the ideal——
BERNICK.
They are coming straight here. Listen, Betty: it is my decided wish that
you should be as friendly as possible to them.
MRS. BERNICK.
May I, Karsten?
BERNICK.
Of course, of course; and you too, Hilmar. I daresay they won’t remain
very long; and when we are alone with them—let us have no allusions to
the past—we must on no account hurt their feelings.
MRS. BERNICK.
Oh, Karsten, how noble you are.
BERNICK.
No, no, nothing of the sort.
MRS. BERNICK.
Oh, but you must let me thank you; and forgive me for being so hasty.
You had every reason to——
BERNICK.
Don’t talk of it, don’t talk of it, I say.
HILMAR.
Ugh!
JOHAN TÖNNESEN _and_ DINA, _followed by_ LONA _and_ OLAF,
_come through the garden._
LONA.
Good-morning, good-morning, my dear people.
JOHAN.
We have been out looking all round the old place, Karsten.
BERNICK.
Yes, so I hear. Greatly changed, is it not?
LONA.
Consul Bernick’s great and good works on every hand. We’ve been up in
the gardens you have presented to the town——
BERNICK.
Oh, there!
LONA.
“Karsten Bernick’s Gift,” as the inscription over the entrance says.
Yes; everything here seems to be your work.
JOHAN.
And you have splendid ships too. I met my old school-fellow, the captain
of the _Palm Tree_——
LONA.
Yes, and you’ve built a new school-house; and they owe both the gas- and
the water-works to you, I hear.
BERNICK.
Oh, one must work for the community one lives in.
LONA.
Well, you’ve done your part finely, brother-in-law; but it’s a pleasure,
too, to see how people appreciate you. I don’t think I’m vain, but I
couldn’t help reminding one or two of the people we talked to that we
belong to the family.
HILMAR.
Ugh——!
LONA.
Do you say “Ugh!” to that?
HILMAR.
No, I said “H’m”——
LONA.
Oh, was that all, poor fellow? But you are quite alone here to-day!
MRS. BERNICK.
Yes, to-day we are quite alone.
LONA.
By-the-bye, we met one or two of the Moral Regenerators up in the
market-place; they seemed to be very busy. But we have never had a
proper talk yet; yesterday we had the three pioneers of progress here,
and the Pastor too——
HILMAR.
The Doctor.
LONA.
I call him the Pastor. But now—what do you think of my work for these
fifteen years? Hasn’t he grown a fine boy? Who would recognise him now
for the scapegrace that ran away from home?
HILMAR.
H’m——
JOHAN.
Oh, Lona, don’t boast too much.
LONA.
I don’t care, I’m really proud of it. Well, well, it’s the only thing I
have done in the world, but it gives me a sort of right to exist. Yes,
Johan, when I think how we two began life over there with only our four
bare paws——
HILMAR.
Hands.
LONA.
_I_ say paws, they were so dirty——
HILMAR.
Ugh!
LONA.
——and empty too.
HILMAR.
Empty! Well, I must say!
LONA.
What must you say?
BERNICK.
H’m!
HILMAR.
I must say—ugh!
[_Goes out upon the verandah._
LONA.
Why, what’s wrong with the man?
BERNICK.
Oh, never mind him; he’s rather nervous just now. Should you like to
take a look round the garden? You haven’t been down there yet, and I
happen to have an hour to spare.
LONA.
Yes, I should like it very much; you may be sure my thoughts have often
been with you all, here in the garden.
MRS. BERNICK.
There have been great changes there too, as you’ll see.
[CONSUL BERNICK, MRS. BERNICK, _and_ LONA _go down the garden,
where they are now and then visible during the following
scene._
OLAF.
[_At the garden door._] Uncle Hilmar, do you know what Uncle Johan asked
me? He asked if I’d like to go with him to America.
HILMAR.
_You_, you little muff, that go about tied to your mother’s
apron-strings——
OLAF.
Yes, but I won’t be so any more. You shall see when I’m big——
HILMAR.
Oh, rubbish; you have no real craving for the discipline of danger——
[_They go down the garden together._
JOHAN.
[_To_ DINA, _who has taken off her hat, and stands at the door to the
right, shaking the dust from her dress._] The walk has made you very
warm.
DINA.
Yes; it was splendid. I have never had such a nice walk before.
JOHAN.
Perhaps you don’t often go for a walk in the morning?
DINA.
Oh, yes; but only with Olaf.
JOHAN.
Ah!—Should you like to go down the garden, or to stay here?
DINA.
I would rather stay here.
JOHAN.
And I too. Then it’s settled that we go for a walk together every
morning?
DINA.
No, Mr. Tönnesen, you mustn’t do that.
JOHAN.
Why not? You know you promised.
DINA.
Yes, but on thinking it over, I——You mustn’t go about with me.
JOHAN.
Why on earth should I not?
DINA.
Ah, you are a stranger here; you don’t understand; but I must tell you——
JOHAN.
Well?
DINA.
No, I would rather not speak about it.
JOHAN.
Oh, yes—surely you can speak to me about anything you wish to.
DINA.
Then I must tell you that I am not like the other girls here; there is
something—something about me. That is why you mustn’t walk with me.
JOHAN.
But I don’t understand a word of this. You haven’t done anything wrong?
DINA.
No, not I, but——; no, I won’t say anything more about it. You are sure
to hear it from the others.
JOHAN.
H’m——
DINA.
But there was something else I wanted to ask you about.
JOHAN.
And what was that?
DINA.
Is it really so easy to lead a life that is worth living over in
America?
JOHAN.
Well it isn’t always _easy_; you have generally to rough it a good deal,
and work hard, to begin with.
DINA.
I would willingly do that.
JOHAN.
You?
DINA.
I can work well enough; I am strong and healthy, and Aunt Martha has
taught me a great deal.
JOHAN.
Then, hang it all, why not come with us?
DINA.
Oh, now you are only joking; you said the same to Olaf. But I wanted to
know, too, if people over there are very—very moral, you know?
JOHAN.
Moral?
DINA.
Yes, I mean, are they as—as proper and well-behaved as they are here?
JOHAN.
Well, at any rate, they are not so bad as people here think. Don’t be at
all afraid of that.
DINA.
You don’t understand. What I want is just that they should _not_ be so
very proper and moral.
JOHAN.
Indeed? What would you have them then?
DINA.
I would have them natural.
JOHAN.
Well, that is perhaps just what they are.
DINA.
Then that would be the place for me.
JOHAN.
Yes, I am sure it would; so you must come with us.
DINA.
No, I wouldn’t go with you; I should have to go alone. Oh, I should get
on; I should soon be fit for something——
BERNICK.
[_At the foot of the verandah steps with the two ladies._] Stay here,
stay here; I’ll fetch it, my dear Betty. You might easily catch cold.
[_Comes into the room and looks for his wife’s shawl._
MRS. BERNICK.
[_From the garden._] You must come too, Johan; we are going down to the
grotto.
BERNICK.
No, Johan must stay here just now. Here, Dina; take my wife’s shawl and
go with them. Johan will stay here with me, my dear Betty. I want him to
tell me a little about things in America.
MRS. BERNICK.
Very well; then come after us; you know where to find us.
[MRS. BERNICK, LONA, _and_ DINA _go down through the garden to
the left._
BERNICK.
[_Looks out after them for a moment, goes and shuts the second door on
the left, then goes up to_ JOHAN, _seizes both his hands, shakes them,
and presses them warmly._] Johan, now we are alone; now you must give me
leave to thank you.
JOHAN.
Oh, nonsense!
BERNICK.
My house and home, my domestic happiness, my whole position in
society—all these I owe to you.
JOHAN.
Well, I am glad of it, my dear Karsten; so some good came of that
foolish story after all.
BERNICK.
[_Shaking his hands again._] Thanks, thanks, all the same! Not one in
ten thousand would have done what you did for me then.
JOHAN.
Oh, nonsense! Were we not both of us young and a bit reckless? One of us
had to take the blame upon him——
BERNICK.
Yes, and the guilty one was the obvious person.
JOHAN.
Stop! _Then_ the obvious person was the innocent one. I was alone, free,
an orphan; it was a positive blessing to me to escape from the grind of
the office. You, on the other hand, had your mother still living; and,
besides, you had just got secretly engaged to Betty, and she was devoted
to you. What would have become of her if she had learnt——?
BERNICK.
True, true, true; but——
JOHAN.
And was it not just for Betty’s sake that you broke off the entanglement
with Madam Dorf? It was for the very purpose of putting an end to it
that you were up at her house that night——
BERNICK.
Yes, the fatal night when that drunken brute came home——! Yes, Johan, it
was for Betty’s sake; but yet—that you should have the generosity to
turn appearances against yourself and go away——
JOHAN.
You need have no qualms, my dear Karsten. We agreed that it should be
so; you had to be saved, and you were my friend. I can tell you I was
proud of that friendship! Here was I, poor stay-at-home, plodding along,
when you came back like a very prince from your great foreign tour—from
London and Paris, no less! Then what should you do but choose me for
your bosom friend, though I was four years younger than you. Well, that
was because you were making love to Betty; _now_ I understand it well
enough. But how proud I was of it then! And who would not have been
proud! Who would not gladly have served as your scapegoat, especially
when it only meant a month’s town-talk, and an excuse for making a dash
into the wide world.
BERNICK.
H’m—my dear Johan, I must tell you frankly that the story is not so
entirely forgotten yet.
JOHAN.
Isn’t it? Well, what does it matter to me when once I am back again at
my farm?
BERNICK.
Then you are going back?
JOHAN.
Of course.
BERNICK.
But not so very soon, I hope?
JOHAN.
As soon as possible. It was only to please Lona that I came over at all.
BERNICK.
Indeed! How so?
JOHAN.
Well, you see, Lona is not so young as she once was, and for some time
past a sort of home-sickness has come over her, though she would never
admit it. [_Smiling._] She dared not leave behind her a scapegrace like
me, who, before I was out of my teens, had been mixed up in——
BERNICK.
And then?
JOHAN.
Well, Karsten, now I must make a confession I am really ashamed of.
BERNICK.
You haven’t told her the whole story?
JOHAN.
Yes, I have. It was wrong of me, but I couldn’t help it. You have no
conception what Lona has been to me. You could never endure her; but to
me she has been a mother. The first few years over there, when we were
desperately poor—oh, how she worked! And when I had a long illness, and
could earn nothing, and couldn’t keep her from doing it, she took to
singing songs in the cafés; gave lectures that people laughed at; wrote
a book she has both laughed and cried over since—and all to keep my soul
and body together. Last winter, when I saw her pining for home, and
thought how she had toiled and slaved for me, could I sit still and look
on? No, Karsten, I couldn’t. I said, “Go, go, Lona; don’t be anxious on
my account. I’m not such a ne’er-do-well as you think.” And then—then I
told her everything.
BERNICK.
And how did she take it?
JOHAN.
Oh, she said what was quite true—that as I was innocent I could have no
objection to taking a trip over here myself. But you needn’t be afraid;
Lona will say nothing, and I shall take better care of my own tongue
another time.
BERNICK.
Yes, yes; I am sure you will.
JOHAN.
Here is my hand upon it. And now don’t let us talk any more of that old
story; fortunately it is the only escapade either you or I have been
mixed up in, I hope. And now I mean thoroughly to enjoy the few days I
shall have here. You can’t think what a splendid walk we have had this
forenoon. Who could have imagined that the little baggage that used to
trot about and play angels in the theatre——! But tell me—what became of
her parents afterwards?
BERNICK.
Oh, there’s nothing to tell except what I wrote you immediately after
you left. You got my two letters, of course?
JOHAN.
Of course, of course; I have them both. The drunken scoundrel deserted
her?
BERNICK.
And was afterwards killed in a drinking-bout.
JOHAN.
And she herself died soon after? I suppose you did all you could for her
without exciting attention?
BERNICK.
She was proud; she betrayed nothing, but she would accept nothing.
JOHAN.
Well, at any rate, you did right in taking Dina into your house.
BERNICK.
Oh, yes—— However, it was really Martha that arranged that.
JOHAN.
Ah, it was Martha? By-the-bye, where is Martha to-day?
BERNICK.
Oh, she is always busy either at the school, or among her sick people.
JOHAN.
Then it was Martha that took charge of Dina?
BERNICK.
Yes; education has always been Martha’s hobby. That is why she accepted
a place in the national school. It was a piece of folly on her part.
JOHAN.
She certainly looked very much done up yesterday. I should scarcely
think her health would stand it.
BERNICK.
Oh, I don’t think there’s much amiss with her health. But it’s
unpleasant for me. It looks as if I, her brother, were not willing to
maintain her.
JOHAN.
Maintain her? I thought she had enough of her own to——
BERNICK.
Not a halfpenny. I daresay you remember what difficulties my mother was
in when you left. She got on for some time with my help; but of course
that arrangement could not permanently satisfy me. So I determined to go
into partnership with her; but even then things were far from going
well. At last I had to take over the whole affair; and when we came to
make up accounts, there was scarcely anything left to my mother’s share.
Then, shortly afterwards, she died; and Martha, of course, was left with
nothing.
JOHAN.
Poor Martha!
BERNICK.
Poor! Why so? You don’t suppose I let her want for anything? Oh no; I
think I may say I am a good brother to her. Of course she lives here and
has her meals with us; her salary as a teacher is quite enough for her
dress, and—what can a single woman want more?
JOHAN.
H’m; that’s not the way we think in America.
BERNICK.
No, I daresay not; there are too many agitators at work over there. But
here, in our little circle, where, thank heaven, corruption has not as
yet managed to creep in—here women are content with a modest and
unobtrusive position. For the rest, it is Martha’s own fault; she could
have been provided for long ago if she had cared to.
JOHAN.
You mean she could have married?
BERNICK.
Yes, and married very well too; she has had several good offers.
Strangely enough!—a woman without money, no longer young, and quite
insignificant.
JOHAN.
Insignificant?
BERNICK.
Oh, I am not blaming her at all. Indeed, I would not have her otherwise.
In a large house like ours, you know, it is always convenient to have
some steady-going person like her, whom one can put to anything that may
turn up.
JOHAN.
Yes, but she herself——?
BERNICK.
She herself? What do you mean? Oh, of course she has plenty to interest
herself in—Betty, and Olaf, and me, you know. People ought not to think
of themselves first; women least of all. We have each our community,
great or small, to support and work for. I do so, at any rate.
[_Pointing to_ KRAP, _who enters from the right._] See, here you have an
instance. Do you think it is my own business I am occupied with? By no
means. [_Quickly to_ KRAP.] Well?
Krap.
[_Whispers, showing him a bundle of papers._] All the arrangements for
the purchase are complete.
BERNICK.
Capital! excellent!—Oh, Johan, you must excuse me for a moment. [_Low,
and with a pressure of the hand._] Thanks, thanks, Johan; and be sure
that anything I can do to serve you—you understand——Come, Mr. Krap!
[_They go into the Consul’s office._
JOHAN.
[_Looks after him for some time._] H’m——!
[_He turns to go down the garden. At the same moment_ MARTHA
_enters from the right with a little basket on her arm._
JOHAN.
Ah, Martha!
MARTHA.
Oh—Johan—is that you?
JOHAN.
Have you been out so early too?
MARTHA.
Yes. Wait a little; the others will be here soon.
[_Turns to go out to the left._
JOHAN.
Tell me, Martha—why are you always in such a hurry?
MARTHA.
I?
JOHAN.
Yesterday you seemed to keep out of my way, so that I could not get a
word with you; and to-day——
MARTHA.
Yes, but——
JOHAN.
Before, we were always together—we two old playfellows.
MARTHA.
Ah, Johan, that is many, many years ago.
JOHAN.