herself behind the window curtains as if she were ashamed to be seen.
He blew kisses to her until the sailors came with the gig. Then a last:
“Sleep well and dream of me” and the gig put off. He watched her
through his glasses, and for a long time he could distinguish a little
figure with black hair. The sunbeams fell on her nightdress and bare
throat and made her look like a mermaid.
The reveille went. The longdrawn bugle notes rolled out between the
green islands over the shining water and returned from behind the pine
woods. The whole crew assembled on deck and the Lord’s Prayer and
“Jesus, at the day’s beginning” were read. The little church tower of
Dalarö answered with a faint ringing of bells, for it was Sunday.
Cutters came up in the morning breeze: flags were flying, shots
resounded, light summer dresses gleamed on the bridge, the steamer,
leaving a crimson track behind her, steamed up, the fishers hauled in
their nets, and the sun shone on the blue, billowy water and the green
islands.
At ten o’clock six pairs rowed the gig ashore from the gunboat. They
were together again. And as they sat at breakfast in the large
dining-room, the hotel guests watched and whispered: “Is she his
wife?” He talked to her in an undertone like a lover, and she cast
down her eyes and smiled; or hit his fingers with her dinner napkin.
The boat lay alongside the bridge; she sat at the helm, he looked
after the foresail. But he could not take his eyes off her finely
shaped figure in the light summer dress, her determined little face
and proud eyes, as she sat looking to windward, while her little hand
in its strong leather glove held the mainsheet. He wanted to talk to
her and was purposely clumsy in tacking; then she scolded him as if he
were a cabin boy, which amused him immensely.
“Why didn’t you bring the baby with you?” he asked her teasingly.
“Where should I have put it to sleep?”
“In the long boat, of course?”
She smiled at him in a way which filled his heart with happiness.
“Well, and what did the proprietress say this morning?”
“What should she say?”
“Did she sleep well last night?”
“Why shouldn’t she sleep well?”
“I don’t know; she might have been kept awake by rats, or perhaps by
the rattling of a window; who can tell what might not disturb the gentle
sleep of an old maid!”
“If you don’t stop talking nonsense, I shall make the sheet fast and
sail you to the bottom of the sea.”
They landed at a small island and ate their luncheon which they had
brought with them in a little basket. After lunch they shot at a
target with a revolver. Then they pretended to fish with rods, but
they caught nothing and sailed out again into the open sea where the
eidergeese were, through a strait where they watched the carp playing
about the rushes. He never tired of looking at her, talking to her,
kissing her.
In this manner they met for six summers, and always they were just as
young, just as mad and just as happy as before. They spent the winter
in Stockholm in their little cabins. He amused himself by rigging boats
for his little boys or telling them stories of his adventures in China
and the South Sea Islands, while his wife sat by him, listening and
laughing at his funny tales. It was a charming room, that could not be
equalled in the whole world. It was crammed full of Japanese sunshades
and armour, miniature pagodas from India, bows and lances from Australia,
nigger drums and dried flying fish, sugar cane and opium pipes. Papa,
whose hair was growing thin at the top, did not feel very happy outside
his own four walls. Occasionally he played at draughts with his friend,
the auditor, and sometimes they had a game at Boston and drank a glass
of grog. At first his wife had joined in the game, but now that she had
four children, she was too busy; nevertheless, she liked to sit with the
players for a little and look at their cards, and whenever she passed
Papa’s chair he caught her round the waist and asked her whether she
thought he ought to be pleased with his hand.
This time the corvette was to be away for six months. The captain did
not feel easy about it, for the children were growing up and the
responsibility of the big establishment was too much for Mama. The
captain himself was not quite so young and vigorous as he had been,
but--it could not be helped and so he left.
Directly he arrived at Kronborg he posted a letter to her.
“My darling Topmast,” it began.
“Wind moderate, S.S.E. by E. + 10° C. 6 bells, watch below. I cannot
express in words what I feel on this voyage during which I shall not
see you. When we kedged out (at 6 p.m. while a strong gale blew from
N.E. by N.) I felt as if a belaying pin were suddenly being driven
into my chest and I actually had a sensation as if a chain had been
drawn through the hawsepipes of my ears. They say that sailors can
feel the approach of misfortune. I don’t know whether this is true,
but I shall not feel easy until I have had a letter from you. Nothing
has happened on board, simply because nothing must happen. How are you
all at home? Has Bob had his new boots, and do they fit? I am a
wretched correspondent as you know, so 111 stop now. With a big kiss
right on this x.
“Your old Pal.
“P.S. You ought to find a friend (female, of course) and don’t forget
to ask the proprietress at Dalaro to take care of the long boat until
my return. The wind is getting up; it will blow from the North to-night.”
Off Portsmouth the captain received the following letter from his
wife:
“Dear old Pal,
“It’s horrible here without you, believe me. I have had a lot of
worry, too, for little Alice has got a new tooth. The doctor said it
was unusually early, which was a sign of (but I’m not going to tell
you that). Bob’s boots fit him very well and he is very proud of them.
“You say in your letter that I ought to find a friend of my own sex.
Well, I have found one, or, rather, she has found me. Her name is
Ottilia Sandegren, and she was educated at the seminary. She is rather
grave and takes life very seriously, therefore you need not be afraid,
Pal, that your Topmast will be led astray. Moreover, she is religious.
We really ought to take religion a little more seriously, both of us.
She is a splendid woman. She has just arrived and sends you her kind
regards.
“Your Gurli.”
The captain was not overpleased with this letter. It was too short and
not half as bright as her letters generally were. Seminary, religion,
grave, Ottilia: Ottilia twice! And then Gurli! Why not Gulla as
before? H’m!
A week later he received a second letter from Bordeaux, a letter which
was accompanied by a book, sent under separate cover.
“Dear William!”--“H’m! William! No longer Pal!”--“Life is a
struggle”--“What the deuce does she mean? What has that to do with
us?”--“from beginning to end. Gently as a river in Kedron”--“Kedron!
she’s quoting the Bible!”--“our life has glided along. Like sleepwalkers
we have been walking on the edge of precipices without being aware of
them”--“The seminary, oh! the seminary!”--“Suddenly we find ourselves
face to face with the ethical”--“The ethical? Ablative!”--“asserting
itself in its higher potencies!”--“Potencies?”--“Now that I am awake
from my long sleep and ask myself: has our marriage been a marriage in
the true sense of the word? I must admit with shame and remorse that
this has not been the case. For love is of divine origin. (St. Matthew
xi. 22, 24.)”
The captain had to mix himself a glass of rum and water before he felt
able to continue his reading.--“How earthly, how material our love has
been! Have our souls lived in that harmony of which Plato speaks?
(Phaidon, Book vi. Chap. ii. Par. 9). Our answer is bound to be in the
negative. What have I been to you? A housekeeper and, oh! The disgrace!
your mistress! Have our souls understood one another? Again we are bound
to answer ‘No.’”--“To Hell with all Ottilias and seminaries!
Has she been my housekeeper? She has been my wife and the mother of my
children!”--“Read the book I have sent you! It will answer all your
questions. It voices that which for centuries has lain hidden in the
hearts of all women! Read it, and then tell me if you think that our
union has been a true marriage. Your Gurli.”
His presentiment of evil had not deceived him. The captain was beside
himself; he could not understand what had happened to his wife. It was
worse than religious hypocrisy.
He tore off the wrapper and read on the title page of a book in a
paper cover: _Et Dukkehjem af Henrik Ibsen_. A Doll’s House? Well,
and--? His home had been a charming doll’s house; his wife had been
his little doll and he had been her big doll. They had danced along
the stony path of life and had been happy. What more did they want?
What was wrong? He must read the book at once and find out.
He finished it in three hours. His brain reeled. How did it concern
him and his wife? Had they forged bills? No! Hadn’t they loved one
another? Of course they had!
He locked himself into his cabin and read the book a second time; he
underlined passages in red and blue, and when the dawn broke, he took
“A well-meant little ablative on the play _A Doll’s House_, written by
the old Pal on board the Vanadis in the Atlantic off Bordeaux. (Lat. 45°
Long. 16°.)
“1. She married him because he was in love with her and that was a
deuced clever thing to do. For if she had waited until she had fallen
in love with someone, it might have happened that _he_ would not have
fallen in love with her, and then there would have been the devil to
pay. For it happens very rarely that both parties are equally in love.”
“2. She forges a bill. That was foolish, but it is not true that it
was done for the husband’s sake only, for she has never loved him; it
would have been the truth if she had said that she had done it for him,
herself and the children. Is that clear?”
“3. That he wants to embrace her after the ball is only a proof of his
love for her, and there is no wrong in that; but it should not be done
on the stage. “_Il y a des choses qui se font mais que ne se disent
point_,’ as the French say, Moreover, if the poet had been fair, he
would also save shown an opposite case. ‘_La petite chienne veut, mais
le grand chien ne veut pas_,’ says Ollendorf. (Vide the long boat at
Dalarö.)”
“4. That she, when she discovers that her husband is a fool (and that
he is when he offers to condone her offence because it has not leaked
out) decides to leave her children ‘not considering herself worthy of
bringing them up,’ is a not very clever trick of coquetry. If they have
both been fools (and surely they don’t teach at the seminary that it
is right to forge bills) they should pull well together in future in
double harness.”
“Least of all is she justified in leaving her children’s education in
the hands of the father whom she despises.”
“5. Nora has consequently every reason for staying with her children
when she discovers what an imbecile her husband is.”
“6. The husband cannot be blamed for not sufficiently appreciating
her, for she doesn’t reveal her true character until after the row.”
“7. Nora has undoubtedly been a fool; she herself does not deny it.”
“8. There is every guarantee of their pulling together more happily
in future; he has repented and promised to turn over a new leaf. So
has she. Very well! Here’s my hand, let’s begin again at the beginning.
Birds of a feather flock together. There’s nothing lost, we’ve both
been fools! You, little Nora, were badly brought up. I, old rascal,
didn’t know any better. We are both to be pitied. Pelt our teachers
with rotten eggs, but don’t hit me alone on the head. I, though a man,
am every bit as innocent as you are! Perhaps even a little more so,
for I married for love, you for a home. Let us be friends, therefore,
and together teach our children the valuable lesson we have learnt
in the school of life.”
Is that clear? All right then!
This was written by Captain Pal with his stiff fingers and slow brain!
And now, my darling dolly, I have read your book and given you my
opinion. But what have we to do with it? Didn’t we love one another?
Haven’t we educated one another and helped one another to rub off our
sharp corners? Surely you’ll remember that we had many a little
encounter in the beginning! What fads of yours are those? To hell with
all Ottilias and seminaries!
The book you sent me is a queer book. It is like a watercourse with
an insufficient number of buoys, so that one might run aground at any
moment. But I pricked the chart and found calm waters. Only, I
couldn’t do it again. The devil may crack these nuts which are rotten
inside when one has managed to break the shell. I wish you peace and
happiness and the recovery of your sound common sense.
“How are the little ones? You forgot to mention them. Probably you
were thinking too much of Nora’s unfortunate kiddies, (which exist
only in a play of that sort). Is my little boy crying? My nightingale
singing, my dolly dancing? She must always do that if she wants to
make her old pal happy. And now may God bless you and prevent evil
thoughts from rising between us. My heart is sadder than I can tell.
And I am expected to sit down and write a critique on a play. God
bless you and the babies; kiss their rosy cheeks for your faithful
old Pal.”
When the captain had sent off his letter, he went into the officers’
mess and drank a glass of punch. The doctor was there, too.
“Have you noticed a smell of old black breeches?” he asked. “I should
like to hoist myself up to the cat block and let a good old N.W. by N.
blow right through me.”
But the doctor did not understand what he was driving at.
“Ottilia, Ottilia!... What she wants is a taste of the handspike. Send
the witch to the quarterdeck and let the second mess loose on her behind
closed hatches. One knows what is good for an old maid.”
“What’s the matter with you, old chap?” asked the doctor.
“Plato! Plato! To the devil with Plato! To be six months at sea makes
one sick of Plato. That teaches one ethics! Ethics? I bet a marlinspike
to a large rifle: if Ottilia were married she would cease talking of
Plato.”
“What on earth _is_ the matter?”
“Nothing. Do you hear? You’re a doctor. What’s the matter with those
women? Isn’t it bad for them to remain unmarried? Doesn’t it make
them...? What?”
The doctor gave him his candid opinion and added that he was sorry
that there were not enough men to go round.
“In a state of nature the male is mostly polygamous; in most cases
there is no obstacle to this, as there is plenty of food for the young
ones (beasts of prey excepted): abnormalities like unmated females do
not exist in nature. But in civilised countries, where a man is lucky
if he earns enough bread, it is a common occurrence, especially as the
females are in preponderance. One ought to treat unmarried women with
kindness, for their lot is a melancholy one.”
“With kindness! That’s all very well; but supposing they are anything
but kind themselves!”
And he told the doctor the whole story, even confessing that he had
written a critique on a play.
“Oh! well, no end of nonsense is written,” said the doctor, putting
his hand on the lid of the jug which contained the punch. “In the end
science decides all great questions! Science, and nothing else.”
When the six months were over and the captain, who had been in
constant, but not very pleasant, correspondence with his wife, (she
had sharply criticised his critique), at last landed at Dalarö, he was
received by his wife, all the children, two servants and Ottilia. His
wife was affectionate, but not cordial. She held up her brow to be
kissed. Ottilia was as tall as a stay, and wore her hair short; seen
from the back she looked like a swab. The supper was dull and they
drank only tea. The long boat took in a cargo of children and the
captain was lodged in one of the attics.
What a change! Poor old Pal looked old and felt puzzled.
“To be married and yet not have a wife,” he thought, “it’s
intolerable!”
On the following morning he wanted to take his wife for a sail. But
the sea did not agree with Ottilia. She had been ill on the steamer.
And, moreover, it was Sunday. Sunday? That was it! Well, they would go
for a walk. They had a lot to talk about. Of course, they had a lot to
say to each other. But Ottilia was not to come with them!
They went out together, arm in arm. But they did not talk much; and
what they said were words uttered for the sake of concealing their
thoughts more than for the sake of exchanging ideas.
They passed the little cholera cemetery and took the road leading to
the Swiss Valley. A faint breeze rustled through the pine trees and
glimpses of the blue sea flashed through the dark branches.
They sat down on a stone. He threw himself on the turf at her feet.
Now the storm is going to burst, he thought, and it did.
“Have you thought at all about our marriage?” she began.
“No,” he replied, with every appearance of having fully considered the
matter, “I have merely felt about it. In my opinion love is a matter
of sentiment; one steers by landmarks and makes port; take compass and
chart and you are sure to founder.”
“Yes, but our home has been nothing but a doll’s house.”
“Excuse me, but this is not quite true. You have never forged a bill;
you have never shown your ankles to a syphilitic doctor of whom you
wanted to borrow money against security _in natura_; you have never
been so romantically silly as to expect your husband to give himself
up for a crime which his wife had committed from ignorance, and which
was not a crime because there was no plaintiff; and you have never
lied to me. I have treated you every bit as honestly as Helmer treated
his wife when he took her into his full confidence and allowed her to
have a voice in the banking business; tolerated her interference with
the appointment of an employee. We have therefore been husband and
wife according to all conceptions, old and new-fashioned.”
“Yes, but I have been your housekeeper!”
“Pardon me, you are wrong. You have never had a meal in the kitchen,
you have never received wages, you have never had to account for money
spent. I have never scolded you because one thing or the other was not
to my liking. And do you consider my work: to reckon and to brace, to
ease off and call out ‘Present arms,’ count herrings and measure rum,
weigh peas and examine flour, more honourable than yours: to look
after the servants, cater for the house and bring up the children?”
“No, but you are paid for your work! You are your own master! You are
a man!”
“My dear child, do you want me to give you wages? Do you want to be my
housekeeper in real earnest? That I was born a man is an accident. I
might almost say a pity, for it’s very nearly a crime to be a man
now-a-days, but it isn’t my fault. The devil take him who has stirred
up the two halves of humanity, one against the other! He has much to
answer for. Am I the master? Don’t we both rule? Have I ever decided
any important matter without asking for your advice? What? But you--you
bring up the children exactly as you like! Don’t you remember that I
wanted you to stop rocking them to sleep because I said it produced a
sort of intoxication? But you had your own way! Another time I had mine,
and then it was your turn again. There was no compromise possible,
because there was no middle course to steer between rocking and not
rocking. We got on very well until now. But you have thrown me over for
Ottilia’s sake!”
“Ottilia! always Ottilia! Didn’t you yourself send her to me?”
“No, not her personally! But there can be no doubt that it is she who
rules now.”
“You want to separate me from all I care for!”
“Is Ottilia all you care for? It almost looks like it!”
“But I can’t send her away now that I have engaged her to teach the
girls pedagogics and Latin.”
“Latin! Great Scott! Are the girls to be ruined?”
“They are to know everything a man knows, so that when the time comes,
their marriage will be a true marriage.”
“But, my love, all husbands don’t know Latin! I don’t know more than
one single word, and that is ‘ablative.’ And we have been happy in
spite of it. Moreover, there is a movement to strike off Latin from
the plan of instruction for boys, as a superfluous accomplishment.
Doesn’t this teach you a lot? Isn’t it enough that the men are ruined,
are the women to be ruined, too? Ottilia, Ottilia, what have I done to
you, that you should treat me like this!”
“Supposing we dropped that matter.--Our love, William, has not been
what it should be. It has been sensual!”
“But, my darling, how could we have had children, if it hadn’t? And it
has not been sensual only.”
“Can a thing be both black and white? Tell me that!”
“Of course, it can. There’s your sunshade for instance, it is black
outside and white inside.”
“Sophist!”
“Listen to me, sweetheart, tell me in your own way the thoughts which
are in your heart; don’t talk like Ottilia’s books. Don’t let your head
run away with you; be yourself again, my sweet, darling little wife.”
“Yours, your property, bought with your labour.”
“Just as I am your property, your husband, at whom no other woman is
allowed to look if she wants to keep her eyes in her head; your husband,
who made a present of himself to you, or rather, gave himself to you in
exchange. Are we not quits?”
“But we have trifled away our lives! Have we ever had any higher
interests, William?”
“Yes, the very highest, Gurli; we have not always been playing, we
have had grave hours, too. Have we not called into being generations
to come? Have we not both bravely worked and striven for the little
ones, who are to grow up into men and women? Have you not faced death
four times for their sakes? Have you not robbed yourself of your
nights’ rest in order to rock their cradle, and of your days’
pleasures, in order to attend to them? Couldn’t we now have a large
six-roomed flat in the main street, and a footman to open the door, if
it were not for the children? Wouldn’t you be able to wear silk
dresses and pearls? And I, your old Pal, wouldn’t have _crows’ nests_
in my knees, if it hadn’t been for the kiddies. Are we really no
better than dolls? Are we as selfish as old maids say? Old maids,
rejected by men as no good. Why are so many girls unmarried? They all
boast of proposals and yet they pose as martyrs! Higher interests!
Latin! To dress in low neck dresses for charitable purposes and leave
the children at home, neglected! I believe that my interests are
higher than Ottilia’s, when I want strong and healthy children, who
will succeed where we have failed. But Latin won’t help them! Goodbye,
Gurli! I have to go back on board. Are you coming?”
But she remained sitting on the stone and made no answer. He went with
heavy footsteps, very heavy footsteps. And the blue sea grew dark and
the sun ceased shining.
“Pal, Pal, where is this to lead to?” he sighed, as he stepped over
the fence of the cemetery. “I wish I lay there, with a wooden cross to
mark my place, among the roots of the trees. But I am sure I couldn’t
rest, if I were there without her! Oh! Gurli! Gurli!
“Everything has gone wrong, now, mother,” said the captain on a chilly
autumn day to his mother-in-law, to whom he was paying a visit.
“What’s the matter, Willy, dear?”
“Yesterday they met at our house. On the day before yesterday at the
Princess’s. Little Alice was suddenly taken ill. It was unfortunate,
of course, but I didn’t dare to send for Gurli, for fear she might
think that it was done on purpose to annoy her! Oh! when once one has
lost faith.... I asked a friend at the Admiralty yesterday whether it
was legal in Sweden to kill one’s wife’s friends with tobacco smoke. I
was told it wasn’t, and that even if it were it was better not to do
it, for fear of doing more harm than good. If only it happened to be
an admirer! I should take him by the neck and throw him out of the
window. What am I to do?”
“It’s a difficult matter, Willy, dear, but we shall be able to think
of a way out of it. You can’t go on living like a bachelor.”
“No, of course, I can’t.”
“I spoke very plainly to her, a day or two ago. I told her that she
would lose you if she didn’t mend her ways.”
“And what did she say?”
“She said you had a right to do as you liked with your body.”
“Indeed! And she, too? A fine theory! My hair is fast turning grey,
mother!”
“It’s a good old scheme to make a wife jealous. It’s generally kill or
cure, for if there is any love left, it brings it out.”
“There is, I know, there is!”
“Of course, there is. Love doesn’t die suddenly; it gets used up in
the course of the years, perhaps. Have a flirtation with Ottilia, and
we shall see!”
“Flirt with Ottilia? With Ottilia?”
“Try it. Aren’t you up in any of the subjects which interest her?”