gladly go out into the kitchen and hack off her tender, rosy-white
little finger—_here_—just _here_ at the middle joint. Item, that the
aforesaid loving woman—again gladly—shall slice off her
incomparably-moulded left ear. [_Lets her go, and turns to_ ROSMER.]
Farewell, my conquering Johannes.
ROSMER.
Are you going now? In the dark night?
BRENDEL.
The dark night is best. Peace be with you.
[_He goes. There is a short silence in the room._
REBECCA.
[_Breathes heavily._] Oh, how close and sultry it is here!
[_Goes to the window, opens it, and remains standing by it._
ROSMER.
[_Sits down in the arm-chair by the stove._] There is nothing else for
it after all, Rebecca. I see it. You _must_ go away.
REBECCA.
Yes, I see no choice.
ROSMER.
Let us make the most of our last hour. Come here and sit by me.
REBECCA.
[_Goes and sits on the sofa._] What do you want to say to me, Rosmer?
ROSMER.
First, I want to tell you that you need not feel any anxiety about your
future.
REBECCA.
[_Smiles._] H’m, _my_ future.
ROSMER.
I have long ago arranged for everything. Whatever may happen, you are
provided for.
REBECCA.
That too, my dear one?
ROSMER.
You might surely have known that.
REBECCA.
It is many a long day since I have given a thought to such things.
ROSMER.
Yes, yes—you thought things would always remain as they were between us.
REBECCA.
Yes, I thought so.
ROSMER.
So did I. But if I were to go——
REBECCA.
Oh, Rosmer—you will live longer than I.
ROSMER.
Surely my worthless life lies in my own hands.
REBECCA.
What is this? You are never thinking of——!
ROSMER.
Do you think it would be so strange? After this pitiful, lamentable
defeat! I, who was to have borne a great cause on to victory—have I not
fled from the battle before it was well begun?
REBECCA.
Take up the fight again, Rosmer! Only try—and you shall see, you will
conquer. You will ennoble hundreds—thousands of minds. Only try!
ROSMER.
Oh Rebecca—I, who no longer believe in my own mission!
REBECCA.
But your mission has stood the test already. You have ennobled one human
being at least—_me_ you have ennobled for the rest of my days.
ROSMER.
Oh—if I dared believe you.
REBECCA.
[_Pressing her hands together._] Oh Rosmer,—do you know of
nothing—nothing that could make you believe it?
ROSMER.
[_Starts as if in fear._] Don’t speak of that! Keep away from that,
Rebecca! Not a word more.
REBECCA.
Yes, this is precisely what we _must_ speak about. Do you know of
anything that would kill the doubt? For _I_ know of nothing in the
world.
ROSMER.
It is well for you that you do not know.—It is well for both of us.
REBECCA.
No, no, no.—I will not be put off in this way! If you know of anything
that would absolve me in your eyes, I claim as my right to be told of
it.
ROSMER.
[_As if impelled against his will to speak._] Then let us see. You say
that a great love is in you; that through me your mind has been
ennobled. Is it so? Is your reckoning just, Rebecca? Shall we try to
prove the sum? Say?
REBECCA.
I am ready.
ROSMER.
At any time?
REBECCA.
Whenever you please. The sooner the better.
ROSMER.
Then let me see, Rebecca,—if you for my sake—this very evening——[_Breaks
off._] Oh, no, no, no!
REBECCA.
Yes, Rosmer! Yes! Tell me, and you shall see.
ROSMER.
Have you the courage—have you the will—gladly, as Ulric Brendel said—for
my sake, to-night—gladly—to go the same way that Beata went?
REBECCA.
[_Rises slowly from the sofa; almost voiceless._] Rosmer——!
ROSMER.
Yes, Rebecca—that is the question that will for ever haunt me—when you
are gone. Every hour in the day it will return upon me. Oh, I seem to
see you before my very eyes. You are standing out on the
foot-bridge—right in the middle. Now you are bending forward over the
railing—drawn dizzily downwards, downwards towards the rushing water!
No—you recoil. You have not the heart to do what _she_ dared.
REBECCA.
But if I had the heart to do it? And the will to do it gladly? What
then?
ROSMER.
I should have to believe you then. I should recover my faith in my
mission. Faith in my power to ennoble human souls. Faith in the human
soul’s power to attain nobility.
REBECCA.
[_Takes up her shawl slowly, and puts it over her head; says with
composure._] You shall have your faith again.
ROSMER.
Have you the will and the courage—for this, Rebecca?
REBECCA.
That you shall see to-morrow—or afterwards—when they find my body.
ROSMER.
[_Puts his hand to his forehead._] There is a horrible fascination in
this——!
REBECCA.
For I don’t want to remain down there. Not longer than necessary. You
must see that they find me.
ROSMER.
[_Springs up._] But all this—is nothing but madness. Go—or stay! I will
take your bare word this time too.
REBECCA.
Phrases, Rosmer! Let us have no more cowardly subterfuges, dear! How can
you believe me on my bare word after this day?
ROSMER.
I shrink from seeing your defeat, Rebecca!
REBECCA.
It will be no defeat.
ROSMER.
Yes, it will. You will never bring yourself to go Beata’s way.
REBECCA.
Do you think not?
ROSMER.
Never. You are not like Beata. You are not under the dominion of a
distorted view of life.
REBECCA.
But I am under the dominion of the Rosmersholm view of life—now. What I
have sinned—it is fit that I should expiate.
ROSMER.
[_Looks at her fixedly._] Is _that_ your point of view?
REBECCA.
Yes.
ROSMER.
[_With resolution._] Well then, _I_ stand firm in our emancipated view
of life, Rebecca. There is no judge over us; and therefore we must do
justice upon ourselves.
REBECCA.
[_Misunderstanding him._] Yes, that is true—that too. _My_ going away
will save what is best in you.
ROSMER.
Oh, there is nothing left to save in me.
REBECCA.
Yes, there is. But I—after to-day, I should only be a sea-troll dragging
down the ship that is to carry you forward. I must go overboard. Why
should I remain here in the world, trailing after me my own crippled
life? Why brood and brood over the happiness that my past has forfeited
for ever? I must give up the game, Rosmer.
ROSMER.
If you go—I go with you.
REBECCA.
[_Smiles almost imperceptibly, looks at him, and says more softly._]
Yes, come with me—and see——
ROSMER.
I go with you, I say.
REBECCA.
To the foot-bridge, yes. You know you never dare go out upon it.
ROSMER.
Have you noticed that?
REBECCA.
[_Sadly and brokenly._] Yes.—It was that that made my love hopeless.
ROSMER.
Rebecca,—now I lay my hand on your head—[_Does so_]—and I wed you as my
true wife.
REBECCA.
[_Takes both his hands, and bows her head towards his breast._] Thanks,
Rosmer. [_Lets him go._] And now I will go—gladly.
ROSMER.
Man and wife should go together.
REBECCA.
Only to the bridge, Rosmer.
ROSMER.
Out on to it too. As far as you go—so far shall I go with you. For now I
dare.
REBECCA.
Are you absolutely certain—that this way is the best for you?
ROSMER.
I am certain that it is the only way.
REBECCA.
If you were deceiving yourself? If it were only a delusion? One of those
white horses of Rosmersholm.
ROSMER.
It may be so. For we can never escape from them—we of this house.
REBECCA.
Then stay, Rosmer!
ROSMER.
The husband shall go with his wife, as the wife with her husband.
REBECCA.
Yes, but first tell me _this_: Is it you who follow me? Or is it I who
follow you?
ROSMER.
We shall never think that question out.
REBECCA.
But I should like to know.
ROSMER.
We go with each other, Rebecca—I with you, and you with me.
REBECCA.
I almost think that is the truth.
ROSMER.
For now we two are one.
REBECCA.
Yes. We are one. Come! We go gladly.
[_They go out hand in hand through the hall, and are seen to
turn to the left. The door remains open._
[_The room stands empty for a little while. Then the door to the
right is opened by_ MADAM HELSETH.
MADAM HELSETH.
Miss West—the carriage is——[_Looks round._] Not here? Out together at
this time of night? Well—I must say——! H’m! [_Goes out into the hall,
looks round, and comes in again._] Not on the garden seat. Ah, well
well. [_Goes to the window and looks out._] Oh good God! that white
thing _there_——! My soul! They’re both of them out on the bridge! God
forgive the sinful creatures—if they’re not in each other’s arms!
[_Shrieks aloud._] Oh—down—both of them! Out into the mill race! Help!
Help! [_Her knees tremble; she holds on to the chair-back, shaking all
over; she can scarcely get the words out._] No. No help here.—The dead
wife has taken them.
THE END.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE LADY FROM THE SEA
(1888)
CHARACTERS.
DOCTOR WANGEL,[12] _district physician_.
ELLIDA[13] WANGEL, _his second wife_.
BOLETTA } _his daughters by his_
HILDA, _a young girl_ } _former marriage_.
ARNHOLM, _a schoolmaster_.
LYNGSTRAND.
BALLESTED.[14]
A STRANGER.
_Young Townspeople._
_Tourists, etc._
_The action takes place in the summer-time, in a small town beside a
fiord in Northern Norway._
THE LADY FROM THE SEA.
PLAY IN FIVE ACTS.
ACT FIRST.
DOCTOR WANGEL’S _house, with a large verandah, on the left. Garden in
front and around. Near the verandah, a flag-staff. To the right,
in the garden, an arbour, with table and chairs. At the back, a
hedge, with a small gate. Beyond the hedge, a road along the
shore, shaded by trees on either side. Between the trees there is
a view of the fiord, with high mountain ranges and peaks in the
distance. It is a warm and brilliantly clear summer morning._
BALLASTED, _a middle-aged man, dressed in an old velvet jacket and
broad-brimmed artist’s hat, stands at the foot of the flag staff,
arranging the cord. The flag is lying on the ground. A little way
off stands an easel with a stretched canvas. Beside it, on a
camp-stool, are brushes, palette, and a paint-box._
BOLETTA WANGEL _comes out upon the verandah through the open garden-room
door. She is carrying a large vase of flowers, which she places
upon the table._
BOLETTA.
Well, Ballested,—can you get it to run?
BALLESTED.
Oh yes, Miss Boletta. It’s easy enough.—May I ask if you are expecting
visitors to-day?
BOLETTA.
Yes, we expect Mr. Arnholm this morning. He came to town last night.
BALLESTED.
Arnholm? Wait a moment—wasn’t Arnholm the name of the tutor you had here
some years ago?
BOLETTA.
Yes; it is he that is coming.
BALLESTED.
Ah, indeed. So he is in these parts again?
BOLETTA.
That is why we want the flag run up.
BALLESTED.
Ah, I see, I see.
[BOLETTA _goes into the garden-room again._
_Shortly afterwards,_ LYNGSTRAND _comes along the road from the
right, and stops, interested by the sight of the easel and
painter’s materials. He is a slightly-built young man, of
delicate appearance, poorly but neatly dressed._
LYNGSTRAND.
[_Outside, by the hedge._] Good morning.
BALLESTED.
[_Turning round._] Ah—good morning. [_Hoists the flag._] So-ho!—up goes
the balloon! [_Makes the cord fast, and begins to busy himself at the
easel._] I take off my hat to you, sir—though I don’t think I have the
pleasure——
LYNGSTRAND.
You are a painter, are you not?
BALLESTED.
Yes, certainly. Why should I not be a painter?
LYNGSTRAND.
Ah, I can see you are.—Should you mind my coming in for a moment?
BALLESTED.
Do you want to have a look at it?
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes, I should like to extremely.
BALLESTED.
Oh there’s nothing much to see as yet. But pray come in—you’re quite
welcome.
LYNGSTRAND.
Many thanks.
[_He comes in through the garden gate._
BALLESTED.
[_Painting._] It’s the inner part of the fiord, among the islands, that
I am working at.
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes, I see.
BALLESTED.
But I haven’t put in the figure yet. There is no such thing as a model
to be had in the town.
LYNGSTRAND.
There is to be a figure, is there?
BALLESTED.
Yes. By the rock in the foreground here, I mean to have a half-dead
mermaid lying.
LYNGSTRAND.
Why half-dead?
BALLESTED.
She has strayed in from the sea, and can’t find her way out again. So
she lies here dying by inches in the brackish water, you understand.
LYNGSTRAND.
Oh, that is the idea?
BALLESTED.
It was the lady of this house that suggested it to me.
LYNGSTRAND.
What will you call the picture when it is finished?
BALLESTED.
I think of calling it “The Mermaid’s End.”
LYNGSTRAND.
Capital.—You are sure to make something good out of this.
BALLESTED.
[_Looking at him._] An artist yourself, perhaps?
LYNGSTRAND.
A painter, you mean?
BALLESTED.
Yes.
LYNGSTRAND.
No, I am not. But I am going to be a sculptor. My name is Hans
Lyngstrand.
BALLESTED.
Going to be a sculptor, are you? Well, well, sculpture, too, is a fine,
gentleman-like art.—I fancy I’ve seen you in the street once or twice.
Have you been staying here long?
LYNGSTRAND.
No, I have only been here a fortnight. But I hope I may be able to stay
the whole summer.
BALLESTED.
To enjoy the gaieties of the season, eh?
LYNGSTRAND.
Well, rather to get up my strength a bit.
BALLESTED.
Not an invalid, I hope?
LYNGSTRAND.
Well, I’m what you might call a little bit of an invalid. Nothing to
speak of, you know. It’s only a sort of short-windedness in my chest.
BALLESTED.
Pooh—a mere trifle. Still, I would consult a good doctor, if I were you.
LYNGSTRAND.
I thought, if I could find an opportunity, I might speak to Dr. Wangel.
BALLESTED.
Yes, do. [_Looks out to the left._] Here comes another steamer. Chock
full of passengers. It’s extraordinary how the tourist business has
increased here during the last few years.
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes, there seems to be a continual coming and going.
BALLESTED.
The place is full of summer visitors too. I’m sometimes afraid that our
good town may lose its character with all this foreign invasion.
LYNGSTRAND.
Are you a native of the place?
BALLESTED.
No, I am not. But I have accla—acclimatised myself. I have become
attached to the place by the bonds of time and habit.
LYNGSTRAND.
You have lived here a long time, then?
BALLESTED.
Well, seventeen or eighteen years. I came here with Skive’s[15] dramatic
company. But we got into financial difficulties; so the company broke up
and was scattered to the winds.
LYNGSTRAND.
But you remained?
BALLESTED.
I remained. And I have had no cause to regret it. You see in those days
I was mainly employed as a scene-painter.
BOLETTA _comes out with a rocking-chair, which she places in the
verandah._
BOLETTA.
[_Speaking into the garden-room._] Hilda,—see if you can find the
embroidered footstool for father.
LYNGSTRAND.
[_Approaches the verandah and bows._] Good morning, Miss Wangel.
BOLETTA.
[_By the balustrade._] Ah, is that you, Mr. Lyngstrand? Good morning.
Excuse me one moment.
[_Goes into the house._
BALLESTED.
Do you know the family here?
LYNGSTRAND.
Very slightly. I have met the young ladies once or twice at other
houses. And I had a little talk with Mrs. Wangel the last time the band
played up at the Prospect. She said I might come and see them.
BALLESTED.
I’ll tell you what,—you ought to cultivate their acquaintance.
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes, I’ve been thinking of paying them a visit—I mean calling on them,
you know. If I could only find some pretext——
BALLESTED.
Oh nonsense,—a pretext——[_Looks out to the left._] Confound it all!
[_Collects his things._] The steamer’s alongside the pier already. I
must be off to the hotel. Perhaps some of the new arrivals may require
my services. For I practise as a hair-cutter and _friseur_, too, I must
tell you.
LYNGSTRAND.
You seem to be very versatile.
BALLESTED.
One must know how to ac—climatise oneself to various professions in
these small places. If you should ever require anything in the hair
line—pomade or what not—you have only to ask for Dancing-Master
Ballested.
LYNGSTRAND.
Dancing-Master——
BALLESTED.
President of the Musical Society, if you prefer it. We give a concert up
at the Prospect this evening. Good-bye, good-bye.
[_He goes with his painting materials through the garden gate,
and then out to the left._
HILDA _comes out with the stool._ BOLETTA _brings more flowers._
LYNGSTRAND _bows to_ HILDA _from the garden._
HILDA.
[_By the balustrade, without returning the bow._] Boletta said you had
ventured in to-day.
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes, I took the liberty of coming into the garden.
HILDA.
Have you been out for your morning walk?
LYNGSTRAND.
Well, no,—I haven’t had much of a walk to-day.
HILDA.
Have you been bathing then?
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes, I had a little dip. I saw your mother down there. She was just
going into her bathing-house.
HILDA.
Who was?
LYNGSTRAND.
Your mother.
HILDA.
Oh indeed.
[_She places the stool in front of the rocking-chair._
BOLETTA.
[_As if to change the subject._] Did you see anything of my father’s
boat out on the fiord?
LYNGSTRAND.
Yes, I saw a sailing-boat that seemed to be standing inwards.
BOLETTA.
That must have been father. He has been out visiting patients on the
islands.
[_She arranges things about the table._
LYNGSTRAND.
[_Standing on the lowest of the verandah steps._] Why, what a splendid
show of flowers you have here——!
BOLETTA.
Yes, doesn’t it look nice?
LYNGSTRAND.
Oh, charming. It looks as if the day were some family festival.
HILDA.
So it is.
LYNGSTRAND.
I guessed as much. Your father’s birthday, I suppose?
BOLETTA.
[_Warningly to_ HILDA.] H’m,—h’m!
HILDA.
[_Not heeding her._] No, mother’s.
LYNGSTRAND.
Oh indeed,—your mother’s, is it?
BOLETTA.
[_In a low, angry tone._] Now, Hilda——!
HILDA.
[_In the same tone._] Let me alone! [_To_ LYNGSTRAND.] I suppose you’re
going home to lunch now?
LYNGSTRAND.
[_Descending from the step._] Yes, I suppose I must see about getting
something to eat.
HILDA.
I daresay you live on the fat of the land at the hotel.
LYNGSTRAND.
I am not staying at the hotel now. It was too expensive for me.
HILDA.
Where are you now, then?
LYNGSTRAND.
I have a room at Madam Jensen’s.[16]
HILDA.
Which Madam Jensen’s?
LYNGSTRAND.
The midwife’s.
HILDA.
Excuse me, Mr. Lyngstrand, but I really have no time to——
LYNGSTRAND.
Oh, I suppose I oughtn’t to have said that.
HILDA.
Said what?
LYNGSTRAND.
What I said just now.
HILDA.
[_Looks at him witheringly from top to toe._] I don’t in the least
understand you.
LYNGSTRAND.
No, no. Well, I must bid you good-bye for the present, ladies.
BOLETTA.
[_Comes forward to the steps._] Good-bye, good-bye, Mr. Lyngstrand. You
must please excuse us for to-day.—But another time, when you have
nothing better to do—and when you feel inclined,—I hope you’ll look in
and see father and—and the rest of us.
LYNGSTRAND.
Many thanks. I shall be only too delighted.
[_He bows and goes out by the garden gate. As he passes along
the road outside, to the left, he bows again towards the
verandah._
HILDA.
[_Under her breath._] Adieu, Mossyoo! My love to Mother Jensen.
BOLLETA.
[_Softly, shakes her by the arm._] Hilda——! You naughty child! Are you
mad? He might easily hear you!
HILDA.
Pooh,—do you think I care?
BOLETTA.
[_Looks out to the right._] Here comes father.
DOCTOR WANGEL, _in travelling dress, and carrying a hand-bag,
comes along the foot-path from the right._
WANGEL.
Well, here I am again, little girls!
[_He comes in through the gate._
BOLETTA.
[_Goes down to meet him in the garden._] Oh, I’m so glad you have come.
HILDA.
[_Also going down to him._] Have you finished for the day now, father?
WANGEL.
Oh no, I must go down to the surgery for a little while by-and-by.—Tell
me,—do you know whether Arnholm has arrived?
BOLETTA.
Yes, he came last night. We sent to the hotel to inquire.
WANGEL.
Then you haven’t seen him yet?
BOLETTA.
No. But he’s sure to look in this forenoon.
WANGEL.
Yes, of course he will.
HILDA.
[_Drawing him round._] Father you must look about you now.
WANGEL.
[_Looking towards the verandah._] Yes, yes, my child, I see.—There is
quite an air of festivity about the place.
BOLETTA.
Don’t you think we have arranged it prettily?
WANGEL.
Yes, you have indeed—Is—are we alone in the house?
HILDA.
Yes, she has gone to——
BOLETTA.
[_Interrupts quickly._] Mother is bathing.
WANGEL.
[_Looks kindly at_ BOLETTA _and pats her head.] Then he says, with some
hesitation_:] Look here, little girls—do you intend to keep up this
display all day? And the flag flying too?
HILDA.
Why, of course we do, father!
WANGEL.
H’m—yes. But you see——
BOLETTA.
[_Nodding and smiling to him._] Of course you understand that it’s all
in honour of Mr. Arnholm. When such an old friend comes to pay his first
visit to you——
HILDA.
[_Smiling and shaking him._] Remember—wasn’t he Boletta’s tutor, father?
WANGEL.
[_Half smiling._] You are a pair of young rogues.—Well well,—after all,
it’s only natural that we should remember her who is no longer among us.
But all the same——. Look here, Hilda. [_Gives her his hand-bag._] This
must go down to the surgery.—No, little girls,—I don’t like all this—the
manner of it, I mean. That we should make a practice every year of——.
Well, what can one say? I suppose there is no other way of doing it.
HILDA.
[_Is about to go through the garden to the left with the hand-bag, but
stops, turns, and points._] Look at that gentleman coming along the
road. I believe it’s Mr. Arnholm.
BOLETTA.
[_Looks in the same direction._] He! [Laughs.] What an absurd idea! To
take that middle-aged man for Mr Arnholm.
WANGEL.
Wait a bit, child. Upon my life, I believe it’s he!—Yes, I am sure of
it!
BOLETTA.
[_Gazing fixedly, in quiet astonishment._] Yes, I do believe it is!
ARNHOLM, _in elegant morning dress, with gold spectacles and a
light cane, appears on the road, coming from the left. He
looks somewhat over-worked. On seeing the party in the
garden, he bows in a friendly way, and comes through the
gate._
WANGEL.
[_Going to meet him._] Welcome my dear Arnholm! Heartily welcome to your
old haunts again.
ARNHOLM.
Thank you, thank you, Doctor Wangel. A thousand thanks. [_They shake
hands and cross the garden together._] And here are the children!
[_Holds out his hands to them and looks at them._] These two I should
scarcely have known again.
WANGEL.
No, I daresay not.
ARNHOLM.
Oh well,—perhaps Boletta.—Yes, I should have known Boletta.
WANGEL.
Scarcely, I think. Let me see, it’s eight or nine years since you saw
her last. Ah yes, there has been many a change here since then.
ARNHOLM.
[_Looking about him._] I should hardly say so. Except that the trees
have grown a bit—and you have planted a new arbour there——
WANGEL.
Oh no, outwardly I daresay.
ARNHOLM.
[_Smiles._] And now, of course, you have two grown-up daughters in the
house.
WANGEL.
Oh, only one grown-up, surely.
HILDA.
[_Half-aloud._] Just listen to father!
WANGEL.
And now suppose we sit in the verandah. It’s cooler there than here.
Come along.
ARNHOLM.
Thanks, thanks, my dear Doctor.
[_They go up the steps._ WANGEL _gives_ ARNHOLM _the
rocking-chair._
WANGEL.
That’s right. Now you shall just sit quiet and have a good rest. You are
looking rather tired after your journey.
ARNHOLM.
Oh, that’s nothing. Now that I am here again——
BOLETTA.
[_To_ WANGEL.] Shall we bring a little soda-water and syrup into the
garden-room? It will soon be too warm out here.
WANGEL.
Yes do, little girls. Soda-water and syrup. And perhaps a little cognac.
BOLETTA.
Cognac too?
WANGEL.
Just a little. In case any one should care for it.
BOLETTA.
Very well. Hilda, will you take the hand-bag down to the surgery?
[BOLETTA _goes into the garden-room and closes the door after
her._ HILDA _takes the bag and, going through the garden,
disappears behind the house to the left._
ARNHOLM.
[_Who has been following_ BOLETTA _with his eyes._] What a splendid
girl—what splendid girls they have grown into!
WANGEL.
[_Seats himself._] Yes, don’t you think so?
ARNHOLM.
Boletta quite astonishes me—and Hilda too, for that matter.—But you
yourself, my dear Doctor—do you intend to remain here for the rest of
your days?
WANGEL.
Oh yes, that’s what it will come to, I suppose. I was born and bred
here, you see. Here I lived very very happily with her who was so early
taken from us—with her whom you knew when you were here before, Arnholm.
ARNHOLM.
Yes—yes.
WANGEL.
And now I live here so happily with one who has come to me in her stead.
I must say that, take it all in all, the fates have been kind to me.
ARNHOLM.
You have no children by your second marriage?
WANGEL.
We had a little boy, two or two and a half years ago. But we did not
keep him long. He died when he was four or five months old.
ARNHOLM.
Is your wife not at home to-day?
WANGEL.
Oh yes, she’ll be here very soon. She has gone to bathe. She never
misses a day at this season; no matter what the weather may be.
ARNHOLM.
Is she out of health?
WANGEL.
No, not exactly; but she has been curiously nervous the last couple of
years or so—off and on, you know. I can’t quite make out what is wrong
with her. But to get into the sea is life and happiness to her.
ARNHOLM.
I remember that of old.
WANGEL.