THREE COMEDIES

By Björnstjerne M. Björnson

INTRODUCTION

BJÖRNSTJERNE BJÖRNSON--poet, dramatist, novelist, and politician, andthe most notable figure in contemporary Norwegian history--was born, inDecember 1832, at Kvikne in the north of Norway. His father was pastorat Kvikne, a remote village in the Österdal district, some sixty milessouth of Trondhiem; a lonely spot, whose atmosphere and surroundingsBjörnson afterwards described in one of his short sketches ("Blakken"). The pastor's house lay so high up on the "fjeld" that corn would notgrow on its meadows, where the relentless northern winter seemed tobegin so early and end so late. The Österdal folk were a wild, turbulentlot in those days--so much so, that his predecessor (who had neverventured into the church without his pistol in his pocket) hadeventually run away and flatly refused to return, with the result thatthe district was pastorless for some years until the elder Björnson cameto it. 

It was in surroundings such as this, and with scarcely any playfellows, that Björnstjerne Björnson spent the first six years of his life; andthe sturdy independence of his nature may have owed something to theunaccommodating life of his earliest days, just as the poeticalimpulse that was so strong in his developed character probably had itsbeginnings in the impressions of beauty he received in the years thatimmediately followed. For, when he was six, a welcome change came. Hisfather was transferred to the tranquil pastorate of Naes, at the mouthof the Romsdal, one of the fairest spots in Norway. Here Björnson spentthe rest of his childhood, in surroundings of beauty and peacefulness, going to school first at Molde and afterwards at Christiania, to passon later to the Christiania University where he graduated in 1852. As aboy, his earliest biographer tells us, he was fully determined to bea poet--and, naturally, the foremost poet of his time!--but, as yearspassed, he gained a soberer estimate of his possibilities. At theUniversity he was one of a group of kindred spirits with eager literaryleanings, and it did not take him long to gain a certain footing in theworld of journalism. His work for the first year or two was mainly inthe domain of dramatic criticism, but the creative instinct was growingin him. A youthful effort of his--a drama entitled Valborg--was actuallyaccepted for production at the Christiania theatre, and the author, according to custom, was put on the "free list" at once. The experiencehe gained, however, by assiduous attendance at the theatre so convincedhim of the defects in his own bantling, that he withdrew it beforeperformance--a heroic act of self-criticism rare amongst young authors. 

His first serious literary efforts were some peasant tales, whosefreshness and vividness made an immediate and remarkable impression andpractically ensured his future as a writer, while their success inspiredhim with the desire to create a kind of peasant "saga. " He wrote of whathe knew, and a delicate sense of style seemed inborn in him. The bestknown of these tales are Synnöve Solbakken (1857) and Arne (1858). Theywere hailed as giving a revelation of the Norwegian character, and thefirst-named was translated into English as early as 1858. He was thusmade known to (or, at any rate, accessible to) English readers manyyears before Ibsen, though his renown was subsequently overshadowed, out of their own country, by the enormous vogue of the latter's works. Ibsen, too, has been far more widely translated (and is easier totranslate) into English than Björnson. Much of the latter's finest work, especially in his lyrical poetry and his peasant stories, has a charm ofdiction that it is almost impossible to reproduce in translation. Ibsenand Björnson, who inevitably suggest comparison when either's work isdealt with, were closely bound by friendship as well as admiration untila breach was caused by Björnson's taking offence at a supposed attackon him in Ibsen's early play The League of Youth, Björnson consideringhimself to be lampooned in the delineation of one of the charactersthereof. The breach, however, was healed many years later, when, at thetime of the bitter attacks that were made upon Ibsen in consequence ofthe publication of Ghosts, Björnson came into the field of controversywith a vigorous and generous championing of his rival. 

Björnson's dramatic energies, as was the case with Ibsen in his earlydays, first took the form of a series of historical dramas--SigurdSlembe, Konge Sverre, and others; and he was intimately connected withthe theatre by being for two periods theatrical director, from 1857 to1859 at Bergen and from 1865 to 1867 at Christiania. Previous to thelatter engagement a stipend granted to him by the Norwegian governmentenabled him to travel for two or three years in Europe; and during thoseyears his pen was never idle--poems, prose sketches, and tales flowingfrom it in abundance. De Nygifte (The Newly-Married Couple), thefirst of the three plays in the present volume, was produced at theChristiania theatre in the first year of his directorship there. 

The two volumes, Digte og Sange (Poems and Songs) and Arnljot Gelline, which comprise the greater proportion of Björnson's poetry, bothappeared in 1870. Digte og Sange was republished, in an enlargededition, ten years later. It contains the poem "Ja, vi elsker detteLandet" ("Yes, we love this land of ours"), which, set to inspiringmusic by Nordraak, became Norway's most favourite national song, aswell as another of the same nature--"Fremad! Fremad!" ("Forward!Forward!")--which, sung to music of Grieg's, ran it hard in popularity. Of "Ja, vi elsker dette Landet, " Björnson used to say that the greatesttribute he had ever had to its hold upon his fellow-countrymen's heartswas when, on one occasion during the poet's years of vigorous politicalactivity, a crowd of fervid opponents came and broke his windows withstones; after which, turning to march away triumphantly, they felt theneed (ever present to the Scandinavian in moments of stress) of singing, and burst out with one accord into the "Ja, vi elsker dette Landet" oftheir hated political adversary. "They couldn't help it; they had tosing it!" the poet used to relate delightedly. 

Of the birth of "Fremad! Fremad!" Grieg has left an account whichgives an amusing picture of the infectious enthusiasm that was oneof Björnson's strongest characteristics. Grieg had given him, as aChristmas present, the first series of his "Lyrical Pieces" for thepianoforte, and had afterwards played some of them to the poet, whowas especially struck with one melody which Grieg had called"Fadrelandssang" ("Song of the Fatherland"). Björnson there and then, tothe composer's great gratification, protested that he must write wordsto fit the air. (It must be mentioned that each strophe of the melodystarts with a refrain consisting of two strongly accented notes, whichsuggest some vigorous dissyllabic word. ) A day or two later Grieg metBjörnson, who was in the full throes of composition, and exclaimed tohim that the song was going splendidly, and that he believed all theyouth of Norway would adopt it enthusiastically; but that he was stillpuzzled over the very necessary word to fit the strongly marked refrain. However, he was not going to give it up. Next morning, when Grieg wasin his room peacefully giving a piano lesson to a young lady, a furiousringing was heard at his front-door bell, as if the ringer would tearthe bell from its wires, followed by a wild shout of "'Fremad! Fremad!'Hurrah, I have got it! 'Fremad!'" Björnson, for of course the intruderwas he, rushed into the house the moment the maid's trembling fingerscould open the door, and triumphantly chanted the completed song tothem, over and over again, amidst a din of laughter and congratulations. 

His first experiments in the "social drama, " plays dealing with thetragedies and comedies of every-day life in his own country, were madeat about the same time as Ibsen's; that is to say, in the seventies. Björnson's first successes in that field, which made him at once apopular dramatist, were Redaktören (The Editor) in 1874 and En Fallit(A Bankruptcy) in 1875. The latter especially was hailed as the earliestraising of the veil upon Norwegian domestic life, and as a remarkableeffort in the detection of drama in the commonplace. Before he wrotethese, Björnson had again been for some years out of Norway; and, as inthe case of Ibsen, who began the writing of his "social dramas" when involuntary exile, absence seemed to enable him to observe the familiarfrom a new standpoint and in the proper perspective. 

After his first successes in this line, when his plays (and his poemsand tales to an equal extent) had made him popular and honoured amonghis own people, Björnson settled at Aulestad, which remained his homefor the rest of his life. He also became a doughty controversialist insocial and religious matters, and the first outcome of this phase washis play Leonarda (the second in this volume), which was first performedin 1879, to be followed by Det ny System (The New System) later inthe same year. These works aroused keen controversy, but were not suchpopular stage successes as his earlier plays. Moreover, about this time, on his return from a visit to America, he plunged into the vortex ofpolitical controversy as an aggressive radical. He was a vigorous andvery persuasive orator; and in that capacity, as well as in that ofwriter of political articles and essays, was an uncompromising foe tothe opportunist theories which he held to be degrading the public lifeof his country. The opposition he aroused by his fearless championshipof whatever he considered a rightful cause was so bitter that he waseventually obliged to retire from Norway for two or three years. So muchdid this temporarily affect his literary reputation at home, that when, in 1883, he had written En Hanske (A Gauntlet--the third play heretranslated) he found at first considerable difficulty in getting itperformed. Later, however, he became a political hero to a large sectionof his compatriots, and by degrees won back fully the place he hadoccupied in their hearts. He enthusiastically espoused the cause ofthe projected separation from Sweden, though when that matter came to acrisis he exercised an invaluable influence on the side of moderation. 

For the remainder of his life he continued to be prolific in literaryproduction, with an ever increasing renown amongst European men ofletters, and an ever deepening personal hold upon the affections ofhis fellow-countrymen. In 1903 he was awarded the Nobel prize forliterature. During his later years he, like Ibsen, was a determinedopponent of the movement to replace the Dano-Norwegian language, whichhad hitherto been the literary vehicle of Norwegian writers, by the"Bonde-Maal"--or "Ny Norsk" ("New Norwegian"), as it has lately beentermed. This is an artificial hybrid composed from the Norwegian peasantdialects, by the use of which certain misguided patriots were (andunfortunately still are) anxious to dissociate their literature fromthat of Denmark. Björnson, and with him most of the soberer spiritsamongst Norwegian writers, had realised that the door which had so longshut out Norway from the literature of Europe must be, as he put it, opened from the inside; and he rightly considered that the ill-judged"Bonde-Maal" movement could only have the result of wedging the doormore tightly shut. 

He died, in April 1910, in Paris, where for some years he had alwaysspent his winters, and was buried at home with every mark of honour andregret, a Norwegian warship having been sent to convey his remains backto his own land. 

He was a man of very lovable personality and of the kindest heart;easily moved by any tale of oppression or injustice, and of wide-armed(albeit sometimes in judicious) generosity; more apt, in the affairsof everyday life, to be governed by his heart than by his head, and assimple as a child in many matters. His wife was an ideal helpmate tohim, and their family life very happy. 

The Newly-Married Couple (1865) offers a considerable contrast to theother two plays here presented. It belongs to the school of Scribeand the "soliloquy, " and the author avails himself of the recogniseddramatic conventions of the day. At the same time, though the charactersmay be conventional in type, they are, thanks to Björnson's sense ofhumour, alive; and the theme of the estrangement and reconciliation ofthe "newly-married couple" is treated with delicacy and charm. It istrue that it is almost unbelievable that the hero could be so stupid asto allow the "confidante" to accompany his young wife when he at lastsucceeds in wresting her from her parents' jealous clutches; but, on theother hand, that lady, with her anonymous novel that revealed the truthto the young couple, was necessary to the plot as a "dea ex machina. "The play was, and is, immensely popular on the Scandinavian stage, andstill holds the boards on others. It has been translated into Swedish, German, English, Dutch, Italian, Polish and Finnish. 

Leonarda (1879) marks just as striking an advance upon Björnson's earlyplays as the first of Ibsen's "social dramas" did upon his. Unreal stageconventions have disappeared, the characterisation is convincing, andthe dialogue, if more prolix than Ibsen's (as is throughout the casewith Björnson), is always interesting and individual. The emotionaltheme of the play, the love of an older woman for her adopted daughter'syoung lover, is treated with the poetic touch that pervades allBjörnson's work; and the controversial theme, that of religioustolerance, with a sane restraint. It cannot be denied, however, thatBjörnson's changed and unorthodox attitude towards religious matters--anattitude little expected except by those who knew him best--contributeda good deal towards the temporary waning of his popularity at this time. Leonarda is (like A Gauntlet) a good example of the root differencebetween Björnson's and Ibsen's treatment of problems in their dramas. Ibsen contented himself with diagnosing social maladies; Björnson's moregenial nature hints also at the remedy, or at least at a palliative. Ibsen is a stern judge; Björnson is, beyond that, a prophet of betterthings. Whereas Ibsen is first and foremost a dramatist, Björnson israther by instinct the novelist who casts his ideas in dramatic form, and is concerned to "round up" the whole. As Brandes says, in the courseof his sympathetic criticism of the two writers, "Ibsen is in lovewith the idea, and its psychological and logical consequences. .. . Corresponding to this love of the abstract idea in Ibsen, we have inBjörnson the love of humankind. " Björnson, moreover, was a long waybehind Ibsen in constructive skill. As regards the technical executionof Leonarda, its only obvious weakness is a slight want of vividnessin the presentation of the thesis. The hiatuses between the acts leaveperhaps too much to the imagination, and the play needs more than acursory reading for us to grasp the full import of the actions andmotives of its personages. Leonarda has not been previously translatedinto English; though Swedish, French, German and Finnish versions of itexist. 

A Gauntlet (finished in 1883) shows a great advance in dramatictechnique. The whole is closely knit and coherent, and the problemsinvolved are treated with an exhaustiveness that is equally fair to bothsides. As has been already said, the plays that had preceded it fromBjörnson's pen aroused such active controversy that he found it at firstimpossible to get A Gauntlet produced in his own country. Its firstperformance was in Hamburg, in 1883, and for that the author modifiedand altered it greatly. Eventually it was played, in its original form, in the Scandinavian countries, and in its turn stirred up a bittercontroversy on the ethics of male and female morality as regardsmarriage. It was currently said that hundreds of contemplated marriageswere broken off in Norway as an effect of its statement of a vitalproblem. The remodelling the play originally underwent for itsperformance in Germany was drastic. The second and third acts wereentirely recast, the character of Dr. Nordan was omitted and othersintroduced, and the ending was changed. The first version was, however, evidently the author's favourite, and it is that that is presentedhere. Björnson never published the recast version, and in the "memorialedition" of his works it is the present version that is given. Therecast version was translated into English by Mr. Osman Edwards andproduced (in an "adapted" and mangled form, for which the translator wasnot responsible) at the Royalty Theatre in London in 1894. 

R. FARQUHARSON SHARP. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY

DRAMATIC AND POETIC WORKS. --Mellem Slagene (Between the Battles), 1857. Halte-Hulda (Lame Hulda), 1858. Kong Sverre (King Sverre), 1861. SigurdSlembe (Sigurd the Bastard), 1862; translated by W. M. Payne, 1888. Maria Stuart i Skotland, 1864. De Nygifte (The Newly-Married Couple), 1865; translated by T. Soelfeldt, 1868; by S. And E. Hjerleid, 1870; asA Lesson in Marriage, by G. I. Colbron, 1911. Sigurd Jorsalfar (Sigurdthe Crusader), 1872. Redaktören (The Editor), 1874. En Fallit (ABankruptcy), 1874. Kongen (The King), 1877. Leonarda, 1879. Detny System (The New System), 1879. En Hanske, 1883; translated as AGauntlet, by H. L. Braekstad 1890; by Osman Edwards 1894. Over AEvne(Beyond our Strength), Part I. , 1883; translated as Pastor Sang, byW. Wilson, 1893; Part II. , 1895. Geografi og Kaerlighed (Geography andLove), 1885; Paul Lange og Tora Parsberg, 1898; translated by H. L. Braekstad, 1899. Laboremus, 1901; translation published by Chapman andHall, 1901. Paa Storhove (At Storhove), 1904; Daglannet, 1904; Naar denny Vin blomstrer (When the Vineyards are in Blossom), 1909. 

Digte og Sange (Poems and Songs), 1870; Arnljot Gelline, 1870. 

FICTION. --Synnöve Solbakken 1857; translated as Trust and Trial, by MaryHowitt, 1858; as Love and Life in Norway, by Hon. Augusta Bethell and A. Plesner, 1870; as The Betrothal, in H. And A. Zimmern's Half-hours withForeign Novelists, 1880; also translated by Julie Sutter, 1881; by R. B. Anderson, 1881. Arne, 1858; translated by T. Krag, 1861; by A. Plesnerand S. Rugeley-Powers, 1866; by R. B. Anderson, 1881; by W. Low (Bohn'sLibrary), 1890. Smaastykker (Sketches), 1860. En glad Gut, 1860;translated as Ovind, by S. And E. Hjerleid 1869; as The Happy Boy, byR. B. Anderson, 1881; as The Happy Lad (published by Blackie), 1882. Fiskerjenten, 1868 translated as The Fisher Maiden, by M. E. Niles, 1869; as The Fishing Girl, by A. Plesner and F. Richardson, 1870; as TheFishing Girl, by S. And E. Hjerleid, 1871; as The Fisher Maiden, by R. B. Anderson, 1882. Brude-Slaatten, 1873; translated as The Bridal March, by R. B. Anderson, 1882; by J. E. Williams, 1893. Fortaellinger (Tales), 1872. Magnhild, 1877; translated by R. B. Anderson, 1883. KaptejnMansana, 1879; translated as Captain Mansana by R. B. Anderson, 1882. Det flager i Byen og paa Havnen (Flags are Flying in Town and Port), 1884; translated as The Heritage of the Kurts, by C Fairfax 1892. PaaGuds Veje, 1889; translated as In God's Way, by E. Carmichael, 1890. Nye Fortaellinger (New Tales), 1894; To Fortaelinger (Two Tales), 1901;Mary, 1906. Collected edition of the Novels, translated into English, edited by E. Gosse, 13 vols. , 1895-1909. 

[See Life of Björnson by W. M. Payne, 1910; E. Gosse's Study of theWritings of Björnson, in edition of Novels, 1895; H. H. Boyesen's Essayson Scandinavian Literature, 1895; G. Brandes' Critical Studies of Ibsenand Björnson, 1899. ]

CONTENTS

 THE NEWLY-MARRIED COUPLE LEONARDA A GAUNTLET

THE NEWLY-MARRIED COUPLE

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

 The FATHER. The MOTHER. LAURA, their daughter. AXEL, her husband. MATHILDE, her friend. 

ACT I

(SCENE. --A handsomely furnished, carpeted room, with a door at the backleading to a lobby. The FATHER is sitting on a couch on the left-handside, in the foreground, reading a newspaper. Other papers are lying ona small table in front of him. AXEL is on another couch drawn up in asimilar position on the right-hand side. A newspaper, which he is notreading, is lying on his knee. The MOTHER is sitting, sewing, in aneasy-chair drawn up beside a table in the middle of the room. )

[LAURA enters. ]

Laura. Good morning, mother! (Kisses her. )

Mother. Good morning, dear. Have you slept well?

Laura. Very well, thanks. Good morning, dad! (Kisses him. )

Father. Good morning, little one, good morning. Happy and in goodspirits?

Laura. Very. (Passes in front of AXEL. ) Good morning, Axel! (Sits downat the table, opposite her mother. )

Axel. Good morning. 

Mother. I am very sorry to say, my child, that I must give up going tothe ball with you to-night. It is such a long way to go, in this coldspring weather. 

Father (without looking up from his paper). Your mother is not well. Shewas coughing in the night. 

Laura. Coughing again?

Father. Twice. (The MOTHER coughs, and he looks up. ) There, do you hearthat? Your mother must not go out, on any account. 

Laura. Then I won't go, either. 

Father. That will be just as well; it is such raw weather. (To theMOTHER. ) But you have no shawl on, my love; where is your shawl?

Laura. Axel, fetch mother's shawl; it is hanging in the lobby. (AXELgoes out into the lobby. )

Mother. We are not really into spring yet. I am surprised the stove isnot lit in here. 

Laura (to AXEL, who is arranging the shawl over the MOTHER'S shoulders). Axel, ring the bell and let us have a fire. (He does so, and gives thenecessary instructions to the Servant. )

Mother. If none of us are going to the ball, we ought to send them anote. Perhaps you would see to that, Axel?

Axel. Certainly--but will it do for us to stay away from this ball?

Laura. Surely you heard father say that mother has been coughing in thenight. 

Axel. Yes, I heard; but the ball is being given by the only friend Ihave in these parts, in your honour and mine. We are the reason of thewhole entertainment--surely we cannot stay away from it?

Laura. But it wouldn't be any pleasure to us to go without mother. 

Axel. One often has to do what is not any pleasure. 

Laura. When it is a matter of duty, certainly. But our first duty is tomother, and we cannot possibly leave her alone at home when she is ill. 

Axel. I had no idea she was ill. 

Father (as he reads). She coughed twice in the night. She coughed only amoment ago. 

Mother. Axel means that a cough or two isn't illness, and he is quiteright. 

Father (still reading). A cough may be a sign of something very serious. (Clears his throat. ) The chest--or the lungs. (Clears his throat again. )I don't think I feel quite the thing myself, either. 

Laura. Daddy dear, you are too lightly clothed. 

Mother. You dress as if it were summer--and it certainly isn't that. 

Father. The fire will burn up directly. (Clears his throat again. ) No, not quite the thing at all. 

Laura. Axel! (He goes up to her. ) You might read the paper to us tillbreakfast is ready. 

Axel. Certainly. But first of all I want to know if we really are not togo to the ball?

Laura. You can go, if you like, and take our excuses. 

Mother. That wouldn't do. Remember you are married now. 

Axel. That is exactly why it seems to me that Laura cannot stay at home. The fact that she is my wife ought to have most weight with her now; andthis ball is being given for us two, who have nothing the matter withus, besides being mainly a dance for young people--

Mother. And not for old folk. 

Laura. Thank you; mother has taken to dancing again since I have grownup. I have never been to a ball without mother's leading off the dances. 

Mother. Axel apparently thinks it would have been much better if I hadnot done so. 

Father (as he reads). Mother dances most elegantly. 

Axel. Surely I should know that, seeing how often I have had the honourof leading off with mother. But on this occasion forty or fifty peoplehave been invited, a lot of trouble and expense incurred and a lot ofpleasure arranged, solely for our sakes. It would be simply wicked todisappoint them. 

Father (still reading). We can give a ball for them, in return. 

Mother. All the more as we owe heaps of people an invitation. 

Laura. Yes, that will be better; we have more room here, too. (A pause. )

Axel (leaning over LAURA'S chair). Think of your new ball dress--myfirst present to you. Won't that tempt you? Blue muslin, with silverstars all over it? Shall they not shine for the first time to-night?

Laura (smiling). No, there would be no shine in the stars if mother werenot at the dance. 

Axel. Very well--I will send our excuses. (Turns to go out. )

Father (still reading). Perhaps it will be better for me to write. (AXELstops. )

Mother. Yes, you will do it best. 

[MATHILDE comes in, followed by a Servant, who throws the doors open. ]

Mathilde. Breakfast is ready. 

Father (taking his wife's arm). Keep your shawl on, my dear; it is coldin the hall. (They go out. )

Axel (as he offers LAURA his arm and leads her towards the door). Let mehave a word with you, before we follow them!

Laura. But it is breakfast time. 

Axel (to MATHILDE, who is standing behind them waiting). Do you mindgoing on? (MATHILDE goes out, followed by the Servant. AXEL turns toLAURA. ) Will nothing move you? Go with me to this dance!

Laura. I thought that was what you were going to say. 

Axel. For _my_ sake!

Laura. But you saw for yourself that mother and father do not wish it?

Axel. _I_ wish it. 

Laura. When mother and father do not?

Axel. Then I suppose you are their daughter in the first place, and mywife only in the second?

Laura (with a laugh). Well, that is only natural. 

Axel. No, it is not natural; because two days ago you promised toforsake your father and your mother and follow me. 

Laura (laughing). To the ball? I certainly never promised that. 

Axel. Wherever I wish. 

Laura. But you mustn't wish that, Axel darling--because it is quiteimpossible. 

Axel. It is quite possible, if you like to do it. 

Laura. Yes, but I don't like. 

Axel. That same day you also heard that a man is his wife's lord andmaster. You must be willing to leave them, if I wish it; it was on thoseterms that you gave me your hand, you obstinate little woman. 

Laura. It was just so as to be able to be always with father and mother, that I did it. 

Axel. So that was it. Then you have no wish to be always with me?

Laura. Yes--but not to forsake them. 

Axel. Never?

Laura. Never? (Softly. ) Yes, some day--when I must. 

Axel. When must you?

Laura. When? When mother and father--are gone. But why think about suchthings?

Axel. Don't cry, darling! Listen to me. Would you never be willing tofollow me--until they have left us?

Laura. No!--how can you think so?

Axel. Ah, Laura, you don't love me. 

Laura. Why do you say such a thing? You only want to make me unhappy. 

Axel. You don't even know what love is. 

Laura. I don't?--That is not kind of you. 

Axel. Tell me what it is then, sweetheart!

Laura (kissing him). Now you mustn't talk about it any more; because youknow, if you do, I shall have red eyes, and then father and mother willwant to know why they are red, and I shall not be able to tell them, andit will be very embarrassing. 

Axel. Better a few tears now than many later on. 

Laura. But what have I done to cry about?

Axel. You have given your hand without giving your heart with it; yourtongue said "yes, " but not your will; you have given yourself withoutrealising what it means. And so, what ought to be the greatest andpurest happiness in my life begins to turn to sorrow, and the futurelooks dark. 

Laura. Oh, dear!--and is all this my fault?

Axel. No, it is my own fault. I have been deluding myself withflattering hopes. I thought it would be so easy a matter for my loveto awaken yours; but I cannot make you understand me. Every way I havetried has failed. So I must call up my courage, and try the last chance. 

Laura. The last chance? What do you mean?

Axel. Laura, I can't tell you how dearly I love you!

Laura. If you did, you wouldn't hurt me. I never hurt you. 

Axel. Well, give in to me in just this one thing, and I shall believe itis the promise of more. Go with me to the ball!

Laura. You know I cannot do that!

Axel. Ah! then I dare not delay any longer!

Laura. You frighten me! You look so angry. 

Axel. No, no. But things cannot go on like this any longer. I can'tstand it!

Laura. Am I so bad, then? No one ever told me so before. 

Axel. Don't cry, my dainty little fairy. You have nothing to blameyourself for--except for being so bewitchingly sweet whether you arelaughing or crying. You exhale sweetness like a flower. I want yourinfluence to pervade every place where I am, to distract me when I ammoody and laugh away my longings. Hush, hush--no red eyes. Let no onesee that. Here is your mother coming--no, it is Mathilde. 

[Enter MATHILDE. ]

Mathilde. Your coffee is getting cold. 

Axel. We are just coming. At least, Laura is. I want to speak to you fora moment, if I may. 

Mathilde. To me?

Axel. If you will allow me. 

Mathilde. By all means. 

Laura. But you are coming in to breakfast?

Axel. In a moment, darling. 

Laura. And you are not angry with me any longer?

Axel (following her). I never was that. I never could be!

Laura. I am so glad! (Runs out. )

Mathilde. What is it you want?

Axel. Can you keep a secret?

Mathilde. No. 

Axel. You won't?

Mathilde. No. 

Axel. You won't share any more confidences with me? (Takes her hand. )You used to--

Mathilde (drawing back her hand and moving away from him). Yes, I usedto. 

Axel. Why won't you any longer? (Goes up to her. ) What is changed?

Mathilde. You. You are married now. 

Axel. No, that is just what I am not. 

Mathilde. Indeed. 

Axel. You have sharp eyes. You must have seen that. 

Mathilde. I thought it was all just as you wished. 

Axel. You are giving me very abrupt answers. Have I offended you?

Mathilde. What makes you ask that?

Axel. Because lately you have avoided me. Remember how kind you wereto me once--indeed, that I owe you everything. It was through you, youknow, that I got at her. I had to make assignations with you, in orderto meet her. I had to offer you my arm so as to be able to give her theother, and to talk to you so that she might hear my voice. The littledarling thought she was doing you a service--

Mathilde. When as a matter of fact it was I that was doing her one--

Axel. Yes, and without suspecting it! That was the amusing part of it. 

Mathilde. Yes, that was the amusing part of it. 

Axel. But soon people began to say that you and I were secretly engaged, and that we were making a stalking-horse of Laura; so for her sake I hadto bring matters to a head rather quickly. 

Mathilde. Yes, you took a good many people by surprise. 

Axel. Including even yourself, I believe--not to mention the old folkand Laura. But the worst of it is that I took my own happiness bysurprise, too. 

Mathilde. What do you mean?

Axel. Of course I knew Laura was only a child; but I thought she wouldgrow up when she felt the approach of love. But she has never felt itsapproach; she is like a bud that will not open, and I cannot warm theatmosphere. But you could do that--you, in whom she has confided all herfirst longings--you, whose kind heart knows so well how to sacrifice itshappiness for others. You know you are to some extent responsible, too, for the fact that the most important event in her life came upon her alittle unpreparedly; so you ought to take her by the hand and guide herfirst steps away from her parents and towards me--direct her affectionstowards me--

Mathilde. I? (A pause. )

Axel. Won't you?

Mathilde. No--

Axel. But why not? You love her, don't you?

Mathilde. I do; but this is a thing--

Axel. --that you can do quite well! For you are better off than the restof us--you have many more ways of reaching a person's soul than we have. Sometimes when we have been discussing something, and then you havegiven your opinion, it has reminded me of the refrains to the oldballads, which sum up the essence of the whole poem in two lines. 

Mathilde. Yes, I have heard you flatter before. 

Axel. I flatter? Why, what I have just asked you to do is a clearerproof than anything else how great my--

Mathilde. Stop, stop! I won't do it!

Axel. Why not? At least be frank with me!

Mathilde. Because--oh, because--(Turns away. )

Axel. But what has made you so unkind? (MATHILDE stops for a moment, asthough she were going to answer; then goes hurriedly out. ) What on earthis the matter with her? Has anything gone wrong between her and Laura?Or is it something about the house that is worrying her? She is toolevel-headed to be disturbed by trifles. --Well, whatever it is, it mustlook after itself; I have something else to think about. If the one ofthem _can't_ understand me, and the other _won't_, and the old coupleneither can nor will, I must act on my own account--and the sooner thebetter! Later on, it would look to other people like a rupture. It mustbe done now, before we settle down to this state of things; for if wewere to do that, it would be all up with us. To acquiesce in suchan unnatural state of affairs would be like crippling one's self onpurpose. I am entangled hand and foot here in the meshes of a netof circumspection. I shall have to sail along at "dead slow" all mylife--creep about among their furniture and their flowers as warily asamong their habits. You might just as well try to stand the house on itshead as to alter the slightest thing in it. I daren't move!--and it isbecoming unbearable. Would it be a breach of a law of nature to movethis couch a little closer to the wall, or this chair further away fromit? And has it been ordained from all eternity that this table muststand just where it does? _Can_ it be shifted? (Moves it. ) It actuallycan! And the couch, too. Why does it stand so far forward? (Pushes itback. ) And why are these chairs everlastingly in the way? This one shallstand there--and this one there. (Moves them. ) I will have room for mylegs; I positively believe I have forgotten how to walk. For a wholeyear I have hardly heard the sound of my own footstep--or of my ownvoice; they do nothing but whisper and cough here. I wonder if I haveany voice left? (Sings. )

 "Bursting every bar and band, My fetters will I shatter; Striding out, with sword in hand, Where the fight"--

(He stops abruptly, at the entrance of the FATHER, the MOTHER, LAURA and MATHILDE, who have come hurriedly from the breakfast table. Along pause. )

Laura. Axel, dear!

Mathilde. What, all by himself?

Mother. Do you think you are at a ball?

Father. And playing the part of musician as well as dancer?

Axel. I am amusing myself. 

Father. With our furniture?

Axel. I only wanted to see if it was possible to move it. 

Mother. If it was possible to move it?

Laura. But what were you shouting about?

Axel. I only wanted to try if I had any voice left. 

Laura. If you had any voice left?

Mother. There is a big wood near the house, where you can practise that. 

Father. And a waterfall--if you are anxious to emulate Demosthenes. 

Laura. Axel, dear--are you out of your mind?

Axel. No, but I think I soon shall be. 

Mother. Is there anything wrong?

Axel. Yes, a great deal. 

Mother. What is it? Some unpleasant news by post?

Axel. No, not that--but I am unhappy. 

Mother. Two days after your wedding?

Father. You have a very odd way of showing it. 

Axel. I am taken like that sometimes. 

Mother. But what is it? Evidently you are not as happy as we hoped youwould be. Confide in us, Axel; we are your parents now, you know. 

Axel. It is something I have been thinking about for a long time, buthave not had the courage to mention. 

Mother. Why? Aren't we good to you?

Axel. You are much too good to me. 

Father. What do you mean by that?

Axel. That everything is made far too smooth for me here; my facultiesget no exercise; I cannot satisfy my longing for activity andconflict--nor my ambition. 

Father. Dear me! What do you want, if you please?

Axel. I want to work for myself, to owe my position in life to my ownefforts--to become something. 

Father. Really. --What a foolish idea! (Moves towards the door. )

Mother. But an idea we must take an interest in. He is our child'shusband now, remember. What do you want to be, my boy? Member ofParliament?

Axel. No; but my uncle, who has about the largest legal practice inthese parts, offered long ago to hand it over to me. 

Mother. But you wouldn't be able to look after it from here, would you, Axel?

Father (at the door). A ridiculous idea!--Come back to breakfast. (Turnsto go. )

Mother. That is true, isn't it? You couldn't look after it from here?

Axel. No; but I can move into town. 

All. Move into town? (A pause. The FATHER turns back from the door. )

Father. That is still more impossible, of course. 

Mother. There must be something at the bottom of this. Is anythingworrying you? (Lowering her voice. ) Are you in debt?

Axel. No, thanks to the kindness of you two. You have freed me fromthat. 

Mother. Then what is it, Axel? You have been so, strange lately--what isit, my dear boy?

Father. Nonsensical ideas--probably his stomach is disordered. Rememberthe last time I ate lobster!--Come along in and have a glass of sherry, and you will forget all about it. 

Axel. No, it isn't a thing one can forget. It is always in mythoughts--more and more insistently. I must have work for my mind--someoutlet for my ambition. I am bored here. 

Mother. Two days after your wedding!

Father. Set to work then, for heaven's sake! What is there to hinderyou? Would you like to take charge of one of my farms? Or to start someimprovements on the estate?--or anything you please! I have no doubt youhave ideas, and I will provide the money--only do not let us have any ofthis fuss!

Axel. But then I shall be indebted to you for everything, and shall feeldependent. 

Father. So you would rather feel indebted to your uncle?

Axel. He will give me nothing. I must buy it from him. 

Father. Really!--How?

Axel. With my work and my--. Oh well, I suppose you would lend me alittle capital?

Father. Not a penny. 

Axel. But why?

Father. I will tell you why. Because my son in law must be myson-in-law, and not a speculating lawyer who sits with his door open anda sign hung out to beg for custom. 

Axel. Is a lawyer's profession a dishonourable one, then?

Father. No, it is not. But you have been received into one of the oldestand richest families in the country, and you owe some respect to itstraditions. Generation after generation, from time immemorial, theheads of our family have been lords of the manor--not office seekersor fortune hunters. The honourable offices I have held have all beenoffered to me and not sought by me; and I am not going to have youchattering about your university degree or your talents. You shall stayquietly here, and you will be offered more than you want. 

Mother. Come, come, my dear, don't get heated over it; that always makesyou so unwell. Let us arrive at some arrangement without wrangling. Axel, you must be reasonable; you know he cannot stand anyover-exertion. Laura, get your father a glass of water. Come, my dear, let us go back to the dining-room. 

Father. Thanks, I have no appetite left now. 

Mother. There, you see!--Axel, Axel!

Laura. For shame, Axel!

Mother. Sit down, dear, sit down! My goodness, how hot you are!

Father. It is so warm in here. 

Mother. That is the stove. Shut it down, Mathilde!

Laura (to AXEL). You are a nice one, I must say!

Father. The chairs--put them straight! (They do so. ) And the table!(They do so. ) That is better. 

Mother. That is the worst of a stranger in the house--something of thissort may so easily happen. 

Father. But a thing like this!--I have never in my life beencontradicted before. 

Mother. It is for the first and last time! He will soon learn who youare and what is due to you. 

Father. And to think that, the first time, it should be my son-in-lawthat--

Mother. He will regret it for the rest of your life, you may be sure, and when you are gone he will have no peace of mind. We can only hopethat the atmosphere of affection in this house will improve him. Really, lately, Axel has behaved as if he were bewitched. 

Laura. Yes, hasn't he?

Mother. Good gracious, Laura, do you mean that you--

Laura. No, I didn't mean anything. 

Mother. Laura, are you trying to conceal something?

Father. And from us? (Gets up. ) Are things as bad as that?

Laura. I assure you, dear people, it is nothing; it is only--

Father and Mother (together). Only--?

Laura. No, no, it is nothing--only you frighten me so. 

Father and Mother (together). She is crying!

Mathilde. She is crying!

Father. Now, sir--why is she crying?

Laura. But, father, father--look, I am not crying the least bit. 

Mother and Mathilde. Yes, she is crying!

Axel. Yes--and will cry every day until we make a change here! (A pause, while they all look at him. ) Well, as so much has been said, it may aswell all come out. Our marriage is not a happy one, because it lacks themost essential thing of all. 

Mother. Merciful heavens, what are you saying!

Father. Compose yourself; let me talk to him. What do you mean, sir?

Axel. Laura does not love me--

Laura. Yes, that is what he says!

Axel. She hasn't the least idea what love means, and will never learn aslong as she is in her father's house. 

Mother and Father. Why?

Axel. Because she lives only for her parents; me, she looks upon merelyas an elder brother who is to assist her in loving them. 

Mother. Is that so distasteful to you, then?

Axel. No, no. I am devoted to you and grateful to you, and I am proud ofbeing your son; but it is only through her that I am that--and she hasnever yet really taken me to her heart. I am quite at liberty to go awayor to stay, as I please; _she_ is a fixture here. There is never oneof her requests to me, scarcely a single wish she expresses--indeed, scarcely a sign of endearment she shows me, that she has not first ofall divided up into three portions; and I get my one-third of it, andget it last or not at all. 

Mother. He is jealous--and of us!

Father. Jealous of us!

Laura. Yes, indeed he is, mother. 

Father. This is mere fancy, Axel--a ridiculous idea. Do not let any oneelse hear you saying that. 

Axel. No, it is neither mere fancy nor is it ridiculous. It colours thewhole of our relations to one another; it gnaws at my feelings, and thenI torment her, make you angry, and lead an idle, empty, ill-temperedexistence--

Father. You are ill, there is no doubt about it. 

Axel. I am, and you have made me ill. 

Father and Mother (together). We have?

Father. Please be a little--

Axel. You allow her to treat me simply as the largest sized of all thedolls you have given her to play with. You cannot bear to see her giveaway any more of her affection than she might give to one of her dolls. 

Father. Please talk in a more seemly manner! Please show us a properrespect--

Axel. Forgive me, my dear parents, if I don't. What I mean is that achild cannot be a wife, and as long as she remains with you she willalways be a child. 

Mother. But, Axel, did we not tell you she was only a child--

Father. We warned you, we asked you to wait a year or two--

Mother. Because we could not see that she loved you sufficiently. 

Father. But your answer was that it was just the child in her that youloved. 

Mother. Just the child's innocence and simplicity. You said you feltpurer in her presence; indeed, that she sometimes made you feel as ifyou were in church. And we, her father and mother, understood that, forwe had felt it ourselves. 

Father. We felt that just as much as you, my son. 

Mother. Do you remember one morning, when she was asleep, that you saidher life was a dream which it would be a sin to disturb?

Father. And said that the mere thought of her made you tread more softlyfor fear of waking her. 

Axel. That is quite true. Her childlike nature shed happiness uponme, her gentle innocence stilled me. It is quite true that I felt herinfluence upon my senses like that of a beautiful morning. 

Father. And now you are impatient with her for being a child!

Axel. Exactly! At the time when I was longing to lead her to the altar, I daresay I only thought of her as an inspiration to my better self andmy best impulses. She was to me what the Madonna is to a good Catholic;but now she has become something more than that. The distance betweenus no longer exists; I cannot be satisfied with mere adoration, I mustlove; I cannot be satisfied with kneeling to her, I need my arms aroundher. Her glance has the same delicacy it always had, the same innocence;but I can no longer sit and gaze at her by the hour. Her glance mustlose itself in mine in complete surrender. Her hand, her arm, her mouthare the same as they were; but I need to feel her hand stroking my hair, her arm round my neck, her mouth on mine; her thoughts must embrace mineand be like sunshine in my heart. She was a symbol to me, but the symbolhas become flesh and blood. When first she came into my thoughts it wasas a child; but I have watched her day by day grow into a woman, whoseshyness and ignorance make her turn away from me, but whom I mustpossess. (LAURA moves quickly towards him. )

Mother. He loves our child!

Father. He loves her! (Embraces his wife. ) What more is there to say, then? Everything is as it should be. Come along and have a glass ofsherry!

Axel. No, everything is not as it should be. I can get her gratitudesometimes in a lucky moment, but not her heart. If I am fond ofa certain thing, she is not. If I wish a thing, she wishes theopposite--for instance, if it's only a question of going to a ball, shewon't take any pleasure in it unless her mother can go too. 

Mother. Good heavens, is it nothing but that!

Laura. No, mother, it is nothing else; it is this ball. 

Father. Then for any sake go to the ball! You are a couple of noodles. Come along, now. 

Axel. The ball? It is not the ball. I don't care a bit about the ball. 

Laura. No, that is just it, mother. When he gets what he wants, it turnsout that it wasn't what he wanted at all, but something quite different. I don't understand what it is. 

Axel. No, because it is not a question of any one thing, but of ourwhole relations to one another. Love is what I miss; she does not knowwhat it means, and never will know--as long as she remains at home here. (A pause. )

Mother (slowly). As long as she remains at home?

Father (coming nearer to him, and trembling slightly). What do you meanby that?

Axel. It will be only when Laura finds she can no longer lean upon herparents, that she may possibly come to lean upon me. 

Mother. What does he mean?

Father. I don't understand--

Axel. If she is to be something more than a good daughter--if she is tobe a good wife--Laura must go away from here. 

Mother. Laura go away?

Father. Our child?

Laura (to her MOTHER). Mother!

Axel. It would be wronging her whom I love so deeply, it would bewronging myself, and wronging you who mean so well, if now, when thepower is in my hands, I had not the spirit to make use of it. Here, Laura lives only for you; when you die, life will be over for her. Butthat is not what marriage means, that is not what she promised at thealtar, and that is what I cannot submit to. To go on like this will onlymake us all unhappy; and that is why Laura must go with me! (The MOTHERstarts forward; LAURA goes to MATHILDE. )

Father. You cannot mean what you say. 

Axel. I am in deadly earnest, and no one can shake my resolution. 

Mother. Then Heaven have mercy on us! (A pause. )

Father. You know, Axel, that God gave us five children; and you know, too, that He took four away from us again. Laura is now our only child, our only joy. 

Mother. We can't bear to lose her, Axel! She has never been away from usa single day since she was born. She is the spoilt child of our sorrow;if death itself claimed her, we should have to hold fast on to her. 

Father. Axel, you are not a wicked man; you have not come amongst us tomake us all unhappy?

Axel. If I were to give in now, this state of things would occur againevery week or so, and none of us could stand that. For that reason, mydear parents, prove yourselves capable of a sacrifice. Let us put an endto it once for all--and let Laura move into town with me next week. 

Father. Good heavens--it is impossible!

Mother. You won't have the heart to do that. Look at her, and thensay that again! (AXEL turns away. ) No, I knew you could not. (To theFATHER. ) You talk to him! Tell him the truth, set him right, since hehas broken in upon a good and loving family only to bring misfortune toit. 

Father. In this house, as far back as I can remember, no hard wordshave ever been used. It seems to me like some evil dream, that I amstruggling to wake out of and cannot! (A pause. ) Mr. Hargaut, when wegave our daughter to you, we made no conditions. We admitted you intoa happy family, to a position of wealth, to a promising future; and weexpected, in return, some little affection, some little appreciation--atleast some little respect. But you behave like--like a stranger, who isadmitted to one's intimacy and good offices, and then one morning goesoff with the most valuable possessions in the house--like an ungrateful, cruel--! We have confided our child, the dearest, sweetest child, ouronly child, to--a man without a heart! We were two happy parents, richin her love--parents whom every one envied and we now are two poorbereaved wretches, who must creep away together into a corner in theirunhappy disillusionment. (Sits down. )

Mother. And this is the way you can treat the man who has given youeverything! What answer have you to give him?

Axel. It makes my heart bleed. If I had thought it would be as hard asthis, indeed I would never have begun it; but if we leave the matterunsettled, now that it has been broached, we shall never be on properterms with one another again. Of that I am certain. If it is a matterthat pains us all, for that very reason let us go through with it andget it settled. 

Father. Poor confiding fools that we have been!

Mother. Can't you give us some respite, so that we may think things overquietly? This is simply tearing us apart. 

Axel. It would only prolong your pain, and it would end in your hatingme. No, it must be done now--at once; otherwise it will never be done. 

Mother. Oh dear, oh dear! (Sits down. )

Father. Axel! Listen to us for a moment! It is quite possible you may bein the right; but for that very reason I beg you--I, who have never yetbegged anything of any one--I beg you, be merciful! I am an old man, andcannot stand it--and she (looking at his wife) still less. 

Axel. Ah, I am not hard-hearted--but I must try to be resolute. If Ilose now, I shall be losing her for life, I know. Therefore she _shall_go with me!

Mother (springing up). No, she shall not! If you loved her, as you sayyou do, you hypocrite, you would remain where she is--and here she shallstay!

Laura (who has been standing beside MATHILDE, goes to her MOTHER). Yes, to my dying day. 

Father (getting up). No! We must not alter God's law. It is written: "Aman shall forsake his father and his mother, and cleave only unto hiswife"--and in the same way she must cleave only to him. Laura shall gowhen he wishes. 

Laura. Father, can you--have you the heart to--?

Father. No, I haven't the heart to, my child. But I shall do itnevertheless, because it is right. Oh, Laura!--(Embraces her. The MOTHERjoins her embrace to his. )

Mathilde (to AXEL). You Jesuit!--You have no consideration, no mercy;you trample upon hearts as you would upon the grass that grows in yourpath. But you shall not find this so easy as you think. It is true sheis a child--but I shall go with her! I don't know you, and I don't trustyou. (Clenches her fist. ) But I shall watch over her!

[Curtain. ]

ACT II

(SCENE. --AXEL's house, a year later. The room is arranged almostidentically like that in the first act. Two large portraits of LAURA'Sparents, very well executed, hang in full view. LAURA is sitting at thetable, MATHILDE on the couch on the right. )

Mathilde (reading aloud from a book). "'No, ' was the decided answer. Originally it was he that was to blame, but now it is she. He tore herfrom her parents, her home and her familiar surroundings; but since thenhe has sought her forgiveness so perseveringly, and her love so humbly, that it would take all the obstinacy of a spoilt child to withstand him. Just as formerly he could think of nothing but his love, so now she willconsider nothing except her self-love; but she is so much the more toblame than he, as her motives are less good than his. She is like achild that has woke up too early in the morning; it strikes and kicks atany one that comes to pet it. "

Laura. Mathilde--does it really say that?

Mathilde. Indeed it does. 

Laura. Just as you read it?

Mathilde. Look for yourself. 

Laura (takes the book and looks at it, then lays it down). It is almostour own story, word for word. I would give anything to know who haswritten it. 

Mathilde. It is a mere coincidence--

Laura. No, some wicked wretch has seen something like this--somecreature that is heartless enough to be able to mock at a parent's love;it must be some one who either is worthless himself or has had worthlessparents!

Mathilde. Why, Laura, how seriously you take it!

Laura. Yes, it irritates me, this libelling of all fidelity. Whatis fidelity, if it does not mean that a child should be true to itsparents?

Mathilde. But I was just reading to you about that. (Reads. ) "The objectof fidelity changes, as we ourselves change. The child's duty is to betrue to its parents; the married, to one another; the aged, to theirchildren--"

Laura. Don't read any more! I won't hear any more! Its whole trainof thought offends me. (After a pause. ) What a horrid book!(Indifferently. ) What happens to them in the end?

Mathilde (in the same tone). To whom?

Laura. That couple--in the book. 

Mathilde (still in an indifferent tone). It doesn't end happily. (Apause. )

Laura (looking up). Which of them suffers?

Mathilde. Which do you think?

Laura (beginning to sew again). She, I should think--because she isunhappy already. 

Mathilde. You have guessed right. She falls in love. 

Laura (astonished). Falls in love?

Mathilde. Yes. Sometime or other, love is awakened in the heart of everywoman; and then, if she cannot love her husband, in the course of timeshe will love some one else. 

Laura (dismayed). Some one else!

Mathilde. Yes. (A pause. )

Laura. That is horrible! (Begins to sew, then lays her hand down on thetable, then begins to sew again. ) And what happens to him?

Mathilde. He falls ill, very ill. And then some one finds him out andcomforts him--a woman. 

Laura (looking up). How does that happen?

Mathilde. His heart is like an empty house, in an atmosphere of sadnessand longing. Little by little she--the woman who comforts him--creepsinto it; and so in time there comes the day when he can say he is happy. (A pause. )

Laura (quietly). Who is she?

Mathilde. One of those poor-spirited creatures that can be content withthe aftermath of love. 

Laura (after a pause, during which she has been looking fixedly atMATHILDE). Could you be that?

Mathilde. No!--I must be first or nothing!

Laura. But about her?

Mathilde. The wife?

Laura. Yes. What happens to her?

Mathilde. Directly she realises that love for another has takenpossession of her husband, she turns towards him with all her heart; butit is too late then. (LAURA sits absorbed for a few moments; then getsup hurriedly and goes to a little work-table that is standing at the endof the couch on the left, opens it, looks for something in it, stops tothink, then looks in it again. ) What are you looking for?

Laura. A photograph. 

Mathilde. Axel's?

Laura. No--but what has become of it?

Mathilde. Don't you remember that one day you took it up and said youwould not have it? So I hid it. 

Laura. You?

Mathilde. Yes--till you should ask about it. (Gets up, opens herwork-table that stands by the right-hand couch. ) Here it is. (Gives itto her. )

Laura. So you have got it! (Lays it in her table drawer without lookingat it, shuts the drawer, goes a few paces away, then comes back, turnsthe key in the drawer and takes it out. ) Has Axel read the new book?

Mathilde. I don't know. Shall I give it to him?

Laura. Just as you like. Perhaps you would like to read it aloud to him. (A Maid comes in with a letter; LAURA takes it, and the Maid goes outagain. ) From my parents! (Kisses the letter with emotion. ) The only oneswho love me! (Goes out hurriedly. At the same moment AXEL comes in fromthe outer door. )

Axel. She always goes when I come in!

Mathilde (getting up). This time it was an accident, though. (Looks athim. ) How pale you are!

Axel (seriously). I am rather worried. --Have you read the new novel?

Mathilde (putting the book in her pocket). What novel?

Axel. "The Newly-Married Couple"--quite a small book. 

Mathilde. Oh, that one--I have just been reading it. 

Axel (eagerly). And Laura too? Has Laura read it?

Mathilde. She thinks it is a poor story. 

Axel. It isn't that, but it is an extraordinary one. It quite startlesme--it is like coming into one's own room and seeing one's self sittingthere. It has caught hold of unformed thoughts that lie hidden deep inmy soul. 

Mathilde. Every good book does that. 

Axel. Everything will happen to me just as it does in that book; thepremises are all here, only I had not recognised them. 

Mathilde. I have heard of very young doctors feeling the symptoms of allthe diseases they read about. 

Axel. Oh, but this is more than mere imagination. My temptations comebodily before me. My thoughts are the result of what happens, just asnaturally as smoke is the result of fire--and these thoughts (lancing atMATHILDE) lead me far. 

Mathilde. As far as I can see, the book only teaches consideration for awoman, especially if she is young. 

Axel. That is true. But, look here--a young man, brought up amongstudents, cannot possibly possess, ready-made, all this considerationthat a woman's nature requires. He doesn't become a married man in oneday, but by degrees. He cannot make a clean sweep of his habits and takeup the silken bonds of duty, all in a moment. The inspiration of a firstlove gives him the capacity, but he has to learn how to use it. I neversaw what I had neglected till I had frightened her away from me. Butwhat is there that I have not done, since then, to win her? I have gonevery gently to work and tried from every side to get at her--I havetempted her with gifts and with penitence--but you can see for yourselfshe shrinks from me more and more. My thoughts, wearied with longingsand with the strain of inventing new devices, follow her, and my lovefor her only grows--but there are times when such thoughts are succeededby a void so great that my whole life seems slipping away into it. Itis then I need some one to cling to--. Oh, Mathilde, you have meant verymuch to me at times like that. (Goes up to her. )

Mathilde (getting up). Yes, all sorts of things happen in a year thatone never thought of at the beginning of it. 

Axel (sitting down). Good God, what a year! I haven't the courage toface another like it. This book has frightened me. 

Mathilde (aside). That's a good thing, anyway. 

Axel (getting up). Besides--the amount of work I have to do, to keep upeverything here just as she was accustomed to have it, is getting to betoo much for me, Mathilde. It won't answer in the long run. If only Ihad the reward of thanks that the humblest working-man gets-if it wereonly a smile; but when I have been travelling about for a week at atime, exposed to all sorts of weather in these open boats in winter, do I get any welcome on my home-coming? When I sit up late, night afternight, does she ever realise whom I am doing it for? Has she as much asnoticed that I have done so--or that I have, at great expense, furnishedthis house like her parents'? No, she takes everything as a matter ofcourse; and if any one were to say to her, "He has done all this foryour sake, " she would merely answer, "He need not have done so, I had itall in my own home. "

Mathilde. Yes, you have come to a turning-point now. 

Axel. What do you mean?

Mathilde. Nothing particular--here she comes!

Axel. Has anything happened? She is in such a hurry!

[LAURA comes in with an open letter in her hand. ]

Laura (in a low voice, to MATHILDE). Mother and father are so lonelyat home that they are going abroad, to Italy; but they are coming here, Mathilde, before they leave the country. 

Mathilde. Coming here? When?

Laura. Directly. I hadn't noticed--the letter is written from thenearest posting station; they want to take us by surprise--they will behere in a few minutes. Good heavens, what are we to do?

Mathilde (quickly). Tell Axel that!

Laura. I tell him?

Mathilde. Yes, you must. 

Laura (in a frightened voice). I?

Mathilde (to AXEL). Laura has something she wants to tell you. 

Laura. Mathilde!

Axel. This is something new. 

Laura. Oh, do tell him, Mathilde. (MATHILDE says nothing, but goes tothe back of the room. )

Axel (coming up to her). What is it?

Laura (timidly). My parents are coming. 

Axel. Here?

Laura. Yes. 

Axel. When? To-day?

Laura. Yes. Almost directly. 

Axel. And no one has told me! (Takes up his hat to go. )

Laura (frightened). Axel!

Axel. It is certainly not for the pleasure of finding me here that theyare coming. 

Laura. But you mustn't go!

Mathilde. No, you mustn't do that. 

Axel. Are they not going to put up here?

Laura. Yes, I thought--if you are willing--in your room. 

Axel. So that is what it is to be--I am to go away and they are to takemy place. 

Mathilde. Take my room, and I will move into Laura's. I will easilyarrange that. (Goes out. )

Axel. Why all this beating about the bush? It is quite natural that youshould want to see them, and equally natural that I should remove myselfwhen they come; only you should have broken it to me--a little moreconsiderately. Because I suppose they are coming now to take you withthem--and, even if it means nothing to you to put an end to everythinglike this, at all events you ought to know what it means to me!

Laura. I did not know till this moment that they were coming. 

Axel. But it must be your letters that have brought them here--yourcomplaints--

Laura. I have made no complaints. 

Axel. You have only told them how matters stand here. 

Laura. Never. (A pause. )

Axel (in astonishment). What have you been writing to them all thisyear, then--a letter every day?

Laura. I have told them everything was going well here. 

Axel. Is it possible? All this time? Laura! Dare I believe it? Suchconsideration--(Comes nearer to her. ) Ah, at last, then--?

Laura (frightened). I did it out of consideration for them. 

Axel (coldly). For them? Well, I am sorry for them, then. They will soonsee how things stand between us. 

Laura. They are only to be here a day or two. Then they go abroad. 

Axel. Abroad? But I suppose some one is going with them?--you, perhaps?

Laura. You can't, can you?

Axel. No. --So you are going away from me, Laura!--I am to remain herewith Mathilde--it is just like that book. 

Laura. With Mathilde? Well--perhaps Mathilde could go with them?

Axel. You know we can't do without her here--as things are at present. 

Laura. Perhaps you would rather I--?

Axel. There is no need for you to ask my leave. You go if you wish. 

Laura. Yes, you can do without _me_. --All the same, I think I shallstay!

Axel. You will stay--with me?

Laura. Yes. 

Axel (in a happier voice, coming up to her). _That_ is not out ofconsideration for your parents?

Laura. No, that it isn't! (He draws back in astonishment. MATHILDE comesin. )

Mathilde. It is all arranged. (To AXEL. ) You will stay, then?

Axel (looking at LAURA). I don't know. --If I go away for these few days, perhaps it will be better. 

Mathilde (coming forward). Very well, then I shall go away too!

Laura. You?

Axel. You?

Mathilde. Yes, I don't want to have anything to do with what happens. (Apause. )

Axel. What do you think will happen?

Mathilde. That is best left unsaid--till anything does happen. (Apause. )

Axel. You are thinking too hardly of your friend now. 

Laura (quietly). Mathilde is not my friend. 

Axel. Mathilde not your--

Laura (as before). A person who is always deceiving one is no friend. 

Axel. Has Mathilde deceived anybody? You are unjust. 

Laura (as before). Am I? It is Mathilde's fault that I am unhappy now. 

Axel. Laura!

Laura. My dear, you may defend her, if you choose; but you must allow meto tell you plainly that it is Mathilde's advice that has guided me fromthe days of my innocent childhood, and has led me into all the misery Iam suffering now! If it were not for her I should not be married to-dayand separated from my parents. She came here with me--not to help me, asshe pretended--but to be able still to spy on me, quietly and secretly, in her usual way, and afterwards to make use of what she had discovered. But she devotes herself to you; because she--no, I won't say it! (Withgrowing vehemence. ) Well, just you conspire against me, you two--and seewhether I am a child any longer! The tree that you have torn up bythe roots and transplanted will yield you no fruit for the first year, however much you shake its branches! I don't care if things do happen asthey do in that story she has taken such pleasure in reading to me; butI shall never live to see the day when I shall beg for any one's love!And now my parents are coming to see everything, everything--and that isjust what I want them to do! Because I won't be led like a child, andI won't be deceived! I won't! (Stands quite still for a moment, thenbursts into a violent fit of crying and runs out. )

Axel (after a pause). What is the meaning of that?

Mathilde. She hates me. 

Axel (astonished). When did it come to that?

Mathilde. Little by little. Is it the first time you have noticed it?

Axel (still more astonished). Have you no longer her confidence, then?

Mathilde. No more than you. 

Axel. She, who once believed every one--!

Mathilde. Now she believes no one. (A pause. )

Axel. And what is still more amazing--only there is no mistaking it--isthat she is jealous!

Mathilde. Yes. 

Axel. And of you?--When there is not the slightest foundation--. (Stopsinvoluntarily and looks at her; she crosses the room. )

Mathilde. You should only be glad that this has happened. 

Axel. That she is jealous?--or what do you mean?

Mathilde. It has helped her. She is on the high road to loving you now. 

Axel. Now?

Mathilde. Love often comes in that way--especially to the one who hasbeen made uneasy. 

Axel. And you are to be the scapegoat?

Mathilde. I am accustomed to that. 

Axel (quickly, as he comes nearer to her). You must have known loveyourself, Mathilde?

Mathilde (starts, then says). Yes, I have loved too. 

Axel. Unhappily?

Mathilde. Not happily. But why do you ask?

Axel. Those who have been through such an experience are less selfishthan the rest of us and are capable of more. 

Mathilde. Yes. Love is always a consecration, but not always for thesame kind of service. 

Axel. Sometimes it only brings unhappiness. 

Mathilde. Yes, when people have nothing in them, and no pride. 

Axel. The more I get to know of you, the less I seem really to knowyou. What sort of a man can this fellow be, that you have loved withoutreturn?

Mathilde (in a subdued voice). A man to whom I am now very grateful;because marriage is not my vocation. 

Axel. What is your vocation, then?

Mathilde. One that one is unwilling to speak about, until one knows thatit has been successful. --And I don't believe I should have discoveredit, but for him. 

Axel. And is your mind quite at peace now? Have you no longings?

Mathilde (speaking here, and in what follows, with some vehemence). Yes, a longing to travel--a long, long way! To fill my soul with splendidpictures!--Oh, if you have any regard for me--

Axel. I have more than that, Mathilde--the warmest gratitude--and morethan that, I--

Mathilde (interrupting him). Well, then, make it up with Laura! ThenI shall be able to go abroad with her parents. Oh, if I don't getaway--far away--there is something within me that will die!

Axel. Go away then, Mathilde--you say so, and therefore I believe you. 

Mathilde. But I am not going till you two are reconciled! I don't wantall three of us to be unhappy. No, I am not unhappy; but I shall be ifyou are--and if I don't get abroad now!

Axel. What can I do in the matter?

Mathilde (quickly). Stay here and give the old folk a welcome! Behave toLaura as if there were nothing the matter, and she will say nothing!

Axel. Why do you think she will say nothing?

Mathilde. Because of all I have done to make that likely!

Axel. You?

Mathilde. Yes--no--yes; at least, not as you wanted me to, butindirectly--

Axel. Even at the beginning of all this?

Mathilde. No, not then, it is true. But forget that, because now I havemade it good! I did not know you then--and there were reasons--

Axel (going nearer to her). Mathilde, you have filled me with anextraordinary regard for you--as if everything that I have been deniedin another quarter was to be found in you, and as if now for the firsttime I--

Mathilde. There is the carriage!

Axel. What shall I do?

Mathilde. Go down and welcome the old folk! Be quick! Look, Laura isdown there already--oh, don't let her miss you just at this moment!There, that is right. (He goes. ) Yes, that was right; this is my firstreal victory! (Goes out. Voices are heard without, and soon afterwardsthe MOTHER comes in with LAURA, and after her the FATHER with AXEL andMATHILDE. )

Mother. So here I am in your home, my darling child! (Kisses her. ) It isreally worth being separated, for the pleasure of meeting again! (Kissesher. ) And such nice letters from you, every single day--thank you, darling! (Kisses her again. ) And you look just the same--just the same!Perhaps a trifle paler, but that is natural. (Kisses her. )

Axel (to the FATHER, who is taking off a coat and several comforters). May I?

Father (bowing). Thank you, I can manage quite well myself. 

Axel. But let me hang them up for you?

Father. Much obliged--I will do it myself! (Takes them out into thehall. )

Mother (to LAURA, in a low voice). It was hard work to get your fatherto come, I can tell you. He still cannot forget--. But we had to seeour little girl before we set off on our travels; and we had to travel, because it was getting so lonely at home. 

Laura. Dear mother! (She and MATHILDE help her to take her things off. )

Axel (to the FATHER, who has come in again). I hope you had a pleasantjourney, sir?

Father. Remarkably pleasant. 

Axel. Caught no cold, I hope?

Father. Nothing to speak of--just a trifle--a slightly relaxed throat;out late--and heavy dews. You are well?

Axel. Very well, thank you. 

Father. I am extremely pleased to hear it. 

Mother (to the FATHER). But, do you see--?

Father. What, my love?

Mother. Do you mean to say you don't see?

Father. No, what is it?

Mother. We are at home again! This is our own room over again!

Father (in astonishment). Upon my word--!

Mother. The carpet, the curtains, the furniture, everything--even downto their arrangement in the room! (Goes across to AXEL and takes hishand. ) A more touching proof of your love for her we could never havehad! (To the FATHER. ) Isn't that so?

Father (struggling with his astonishment). Yes, I must say--

Mother. And you never wrote us a single word about this, Laura?

Mathilde. It is not only this room, but the whole house is arranged likeyours as far as possible. 

Mother. The whole house! Is it possible!

Father. It is the most charming way of giving pleasure to a young wifethat I ever heard of!

Mother. I am so astonished, Laura, at your never having mentioned a wordof all this in your letters. 

Father. Never a word of it!

Mother. Hadn't you noticed it?

Father. Ah, well--what one sees every day, one is apt to think every oneknows all about--isn't that it, little girl? That is the explanation, isn't it?

Mother. And Axel has given you all this by his own exertions! Aren't youproud of that?

Father (clapping her on the back). Of course she is, but it was neverLaura's way to say much about her feelings; although this is reallysomething so--

Mother (laughing). Her letters lately have been nothing butdissertations upon love. 

Laura. Mother--!

Mother. Oh, I am going to tell! But you have a good husband, Laura. 

Laura. Mother--!

Mother (in a lower voice). You have paid him some little attentions inreturn, of course?--given him something, or--

Father (pushing in between them). Worked something for him, eh?

(MATHILDE, in the meantime, has brought in wine and filled someglasses. )

Axel. Now, a glass of wine to welcome you--sherry, your favourite wine, sir. 

Mother. He remembers that! (They each take a glass in their hands. )

Axel. Laura and I bid you heartily welcome here in our house! And wehope you will find everything here--(with emotion) just as you wouldwish it. I will do my best that you shall, and I am sure Laura will too. 

Mother. Of course she will!--Drink his health! (AXEL touches her glasswith his; her hand trembles, and she spills come wine. ) You have filledthe glasses too full, my dear! (They all clink glasses and drink. )

Father (when the glasses have been filled again). My wife and I--thankyou very much for your welcome. We could not set out on our journeywithout first seeing our child--our two children. A good friend of ours(looking at MATHILDE) advised us to come unexpectedly. At first wedid not want to but now we are glad we did; because now we can see forourselves that Laura told the truth in her letters. You are happy--andtherefore we old folk must be happy too, and bury all recollection ofwhat--what evidently happened for the best. Hm, hm!--At one time wecould not think it was so--and that was why we did not wish to beparted from our child; but now we can make our minds quite easy aboutit--because now we can trust you. I have complete trust in you, Axel, my dear son--God bless you! (They grasp hands, and drink to each otheragain. )

Mother. Do you know what I should like?

All. No!

Mother. I should like Axel to tell us how your reconciliation cameabout. 

Laura. Mother!

Mother. Why should you be shy about it? Why have you never told us aboutit? Good gracious, didn't you think your parents would be only too gladto hear how lucky their little girl was?

Father. I think it is a very good idea of your mother's. Now let us sitdown and hear all about it. (They sit down; LAURA turns away. ) No, comeand sit down beside your mother, Laura! We are going to have a good lookat you while he tells us about it. (Pulls her to him. )

Mother. And don't forget anything, Axel! Tell us of the very first signof love, the first little kindness, Laura showed you. 

Axel. Yes, I will tell you how it came about. 

Laura (getting up). But, Axel--!

Axel. I shall only be supplementing what you told in your letters, Laura. 

Mother. It is all to your credit, my child! Now be quiet and listen tohim, and correct him if he forgets anything. (Pulls her down to her seatagain. )

Axel. Yes, my dear parents. You know, of course, that we did not beginvery well--

Father. Quite so--but you can pass over that. 

Axel. As soon as she was left to depend on herself alone, I realised thegreat wrong I had done to Laura. She used to tremble when I came nearher, and before long she used to tremble just as much before any one. Atfirst I felt the humility of a strong man who has triumphed; but after atime I became anxious, for I had acted too strongly. Then I dedicated mylove to the task of winning back, in a Jacob's seven years of service, what I had lost in one moment. You see this house--I made everythingsmooth in it for her feet. You see what we have round us--I set thatbefore her eyes. By means of nights of work, by exerting myself to theuttermost, I got it all together, bit by bit--in order that she shouldnever feel anything strange or inhospitable in her home, but only whatshe was accustomed to and fond of. She understood; and soon the birds ofspring began to flutter about our home. And, though she always ran awaywhen I came, I was conscious of her presence in a hundred little lovingtouches in my room--at my desk--

Laura (ashamed). Oh, it isn't true!

Axel. Don't believe her! Laura is so kind-hearted--her fear of me madeher shy, but she could not withstand her own kind impulses and my humblefaithfulness. When I was sitting late in my room, working for her, she was sitting up in hers--at any rate I often thought I heard herfootstep; and when I came home late after a wearisome journey, if shedid not run to welcome me, it was not because she was wanting in wifelygratitude--Laura has no lack of that--but because she did not wish tobetray her happiness till the great day of our reconciliation shouldcome. (LAURA gets up. )

Father. Then you were not reconciled immediately?

Axel. Not immediately. 

Mother (anxiously, in a subdued voice). My goodness, Laura did not say aword about that!

Axel. Because she loved you, and did not want to distress youunnecessarily. But does not her very silence about it show that she waswaiting for me? That was her love's first gift to me. (LAURA sits downagain. ) After a while she gave me others. She saw that I was not angry;on the contrary, she saw that where I had erred, I had erred through mylove for her; and she is so loving herself, that little by little sheschooled herself to meet me in gentle silence--she longed to be a goodwife. And then, one lovely morning--just like to-day--we both hadbeen reading a book which was like a voice from afar, threatening ourhappiness, and we were driven together by fear. Then, all at once, all the doors and windows flew wide open! It was your letter! The roomseemed to glow with warmth--just as it does now with you sitting there;summer went singing through the house--and then I saw in her eyes thatall the blossoms were going to unfold their petals! Then I knelt downbefore her, as I do now, and said: For your parents' sake, that theymay be happy about us--for my sake, that I may not be punished anylonger--for your own sake, that you may be able again to live as thefulness of your kind heart prompts--let us find one another now! Andthen Laura answered--(LAURA throws herself into his arms, in a burst oftears. All get up. )

Mother. That was beautiful, children!

Father. As beautiful as if we were young again ourselves, and had foundone another!--How well he told it, too!

Mother. Yes, it was just as if it was all happening before our eyes!

Father. Wasn't it?--He's a very gifted man. 

Mother (in a low voice). He will do something big!

Father (in the same tones). Ay, a big man--and one of our family!

Axel (who has advanced towards the foreground with LAURA). So that wasyour answer, Laura?

Laura. You haven't remembered everything. 

Mother. Is there something more? Let us hear some more!

Axel. What did you say, then?

Laura. You know I said that something had held me back a long, longtime! I saw well enough that you were fond of me, but I was afraid itwas only as you would be fond of a child. 

Axel. Laura!

Laura. I am not so clever as--as some others, you know; but I am not achild any longer, because now I love you!

Axel. You are a child, all the same!

Father (to the MOTHER). But what about our arrangements? We were to havegone on our travels at once. 

Axel. No, stay with us a few days now! (LAURA makes a sign to him. ) Not?

Laura (softly). I would rather be alone with you, now. 

Mother. What are you saying, Laura?

Laura. I?--I was saying that I should like to ask you, if you are goingabroad now, to take Mathilde with you. 

Mother. That is very nice of you, Laura, to remember Mathilde. Peoplegenerally say that newly-married couples think of no one but themselves. 

Father. No, Laura is not like that!

All. No, Laura is not like that!

Laura (gently). Mathilde, forgive me! (They embrace, and LAURA sayssoftly:) I understand you now for the first time!

Mathilde. Not quite. 

Laura. I know that I should never have got Axel, but for you. 

Mathilde. That is true. 

Laura. Oh, Mathilde, I am so happy now!

Mathilde. And I wish you every happiness. 

Axel (taking LAURA'S arm). Now you may go and travel abroad, Mathilde!

Mathilde. Yes!--and my next book shall be a better one. 

Axel. Your next--?

[Curtain. ]

LEONARDA

A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

 The BISHOP. CORNELIA, his sister. HAGBART, his nephew. The GRANDMOTHER. LEONARDA FALK. AAGOT, her niece. GENERAL ROSEN. CHIEF JUSTICE RÖST. MRS. RÖST. PEDERSEN, agent to Mrs. Falk. HANS. A Maid. 

ACT I

(SCENE. --A large room in LEONARDA FALK's house. At the back, foldingdoors which are standing open. Antique furniture. LEONARDA, dressed in ariding-habit, is standing beside a writing-desk on the left, talking toher agent PEDERSEN. )

Leonarda. It is a complete loss. 

Pedersen. But, Mrs. Falk--

Leonarda. A loss, every scrap of it. I can't sell burnt bricks. How muchis there of it? Two kilns' full, that is 24, 000 bricks--at their presentprice about thirty pounds' worth. What am I to do with you?--send youabout your business?

Pedersen. Madam, it is the first time--

Leonarda. No, indeed it is not; that is to say, it is certainly thefirst time the bricks have been burnt, but your accounts have been wrongover and over again, so that I have been led into sending out faultyinvoices. What is the matter with you?

Pedersen. Madam, I beg--. 

[Enter HANS. ]

Hans. Your horse is saddled, madam, and the General is coming up theavenue. 

Leonarda. Very well. (HANS goes out. ) Have you taken to drink, Pedersen?

Pedersen. No, madam. 

Leonarda. That wouldn't be like you. But what is it? You look quitechanged. --Pedersen! I believe I know! I saw you rowing back across theriver last night, from the summer-house in the wood. Are you in love?(PEDERSEN turns away. ) So that is it. And crossed in love? (She goes upto him, puts her hand on his shoulder and stands with her back turned tothe audience, as he does. ) Are you engaged to her?

Pedersen. Yes. 

Leonarda. Then she is not treating you well? She is not true to you?(Stoops and looks into his face. ) And you love her in spite of it?(Moves away from him. ) Then you are a weak man, Pedersen. We cannotpossibly love those who are false to us. (Draws on one of her gloves. )We may suffer horribly for a while; but love them--no!

Pedersen (still turning away from her). It is easy for those to talk whohave not experienced it. 

Leonarda. Experienced it?--You never can tell that. Come to me thisevening at seven o'clock. 

Pedersen. Yes, madam. 

Leonarda. I will talk things over with you then. We will go for a strolltogether. 

Pedersen. Thank you, madam. 

Leonarda. I believe I may be able to help you in your trouble, Pedersen. That is all right--don't think any more about the bricks, or of what Isaid. Forgive me! (Holds out her hand to him. )

Pedersen (grasping her hand). Oh, madam!

[Enter GENERAL ROSEN. ]

Rosen. Good morning! (PEDERSEN crosses the room. ) Bless my soul, Pedersen, you look like a pat of melting butter! (PEDERSEN goes out. ROSEN turns to LEONARDA. ) Have you been playing father confessor soearly in the morning, and on such a fine day too? That is too bad. --Bythe way, have you heard from Aagot?

Leonarda (putting on her hat). No, I don't know what has come over thechild. It is close on a fortnight since--

Rosen. She is enjoying herself. I remember when I was enjoying myself Inever used to write letters. 

Leonarda (looking at him). You were enjoying yourself last night, Irather think?

Rosen. Do I show it? Dear, dear! I thought that after a bath and aride--

Leonarda. This sort of thing cannot go on!

Rosen. You know quite well that if I can't be here I have to go to myclub. 

Leonarda. But can't you go to your club without--? (Stops, with agesture of disgust. )

Rosen. I know what you mean, worse luck. But they always give one aglass too much. 

Leonarda. One glass? Say three!

Rosen. Three, if you like. You know I never was good at counting. 

Leonarda. Well, now you can go for your ride alone. 

Rosen. Oh, but--

Leonarda. Yes, I am not going for a ride to-day with a man who was tipsylast night. (Takes off her hat. ) Hans! (HANS is heard answering her fromwithout. ) Put my horse up for the present!

Rosen. You are punishing yourself as well as me, you know. You ought tobe out on a day like this--and it is a sin to deprive the countryside ofthe pleasure of seeing you!

Leonarda. Will nothing ever make you take things seriously?

Rosen. Yes. When the day comes that you are in need of anything, I willbe serious. 

Leonarda. And you propose to hang about here waiting, till I have someill luck? You will have to wait a long time, I hope. (Goes to her desk. )

Rosen. I hope so too!--because meanwhile I shall be able to continuecoming here. 

Leonarda. Till you get your orders from America. 

Rosen. Of course--till I get my orders from Sherman. 

Leonarda. You have not had any orders, then?

Rosen. No. 

Leonarda. It is beginning to look very suspicious. How long is it sinceI made you write to him?

Rosen. Oh, I am sure I forget. 

Leonarda. It has just struck me--. I suppose you did write?

Rosen. Of course I did. I always do what you tell me. 

Leonarda. You stand there twirling your moustache--and when you do thatI always know there is some nonsense going on--. 

Rosen. How can you suppose such a thing?

Leonarda. You have never written! Why on earth did that never strike mebefore?

Rosen. I have written repeatedly, I assure you!

Leonarda. But not to Sherman? You have not reported yourself for serviceagain?

Rosen. Do you remember the Russian cigarettes I have so often spokenof? I have got some now. I brought a few with me to try; may I offer youone?

Leonarda. Are you not ashamed to look me in the face?

Rosen. I do everything you tell me--

Leonarda. You have been putting me off with evasions for more than twomonths--playing a perfect comedy with me! To think that an officer, whohas been through the American war and won honours, rank, and a definiteposition, could throw away his time in this way--and in other waystoo--for a whole year now--

Rosen. Excuse me--only eight months. 

Leonarda. And isn't that long enough?

Rosen. Too long. But you know, better than any one, why I have done it!

Leonarda. Did I ask you to come here? Do you think you can tire me out?

Rosen. Leonarda! (She looks at him; he bows formally. ) I beg yourpardon. Mrs. Falk. 

Leonarda. You shall write the letter here, now, and report yourself forimmediate service. 

Rosen. If you order me to. 

Leonarda. I shall post it. 

Rosen. Many thanks. 

Leonarda. You are twirling your moustache again. What are you planningin your mind?

Rosen. I?--Shall I write here? (Goes to the desk. )

Leonarda. Yes. (He takes up a pen. ) Ah, I know what it is! As soon asyou get home, you will write another letter recalling this one. 

Rosen. Yes, naturally. 

Leonarda. Ha, ha, ha! (Sits down. ) Well, I give you up!

Rosen. Thank you!--Then will you try one of my cigarettes?

Leonarda. No. 

Rosen. Nor come for a ride?

Leonarda. No. 

Rosen. Am I to come here this evening?

Leonarda. I shall be engaged. 

Rosen. But you will be riding to-morrow morning?

Leonarda. I don't know. 

Rosen. Then I shall take the liberty of coming to ask I wish you a verygood day. 

Leonarda. Look, there is a strange man at the door (Gets up. )

Rosen. What? (Turns round. ) He? Has he the face to come here? (Looks outof the open window. ) Pst! Pst!--Hans!--Don't you see my horse has gotloose? (Goes hurriedly out past the stranger, who bows to him. ) Pst!Pst!

[Enter HAGBART. ]

Hagbart. Madam! (Stops short. )

Leonarda. May I ask--?

Hagbart. You do not know me, then?

Leonarda. No. 

Hagbart. I am Hagbart Tallhaug. 

Leonarda. And you dare to tell me so--with a smile on your lips?

Hagbart. If you will only allow me to--

Leonarda. How is it you dare to come here?

Hagbart. If you will only allow me to--

Leonarda. Not a word! Or can there be two men of that name?

Hagbart. No. 

Leonarda. So it was you who came forward at the Philharmonic concert, when I was seeking admittance for myself and my adopted daughter, andspoke of me as "a woman of doubtful reputation"? Is that so?

Hagbart. Yes, madam; and I must--

Leonarda (interrupting him impetuously). Then get out of here!--Hans!(HANS is heard answering her from without. )

Hagbart. Mrs. Falk, first allow me to--. 

[Enter HANS. ]

Leonarda. Hans, will you see this gentleman off my premises. 

Hans. Certainly, ma'am. 

Hagbart. Wait a moment, Hans!

Hans. Shall I, ma'am? (Looks at LEONARDA. )

Hagbart. It concerns your niece, Mrs. Falk. 

Leonarda. Aagot! Has anything happened to her? I have had no letter fromher!

Hagbart. Wait outside, Hans!

Hans (to LEONARDA). Shall I, ma'am?

Leonarda. Yes, yes! (HANS goes out. ) What is it?

Hagbart. No bad news. 

Leonarda. But how is it you are here on her behalf?

Hagbart. It is difficult to avoid people at a watering-place, youknow--although I must admit your niece did her best. She treated me ascontemptuously as possible even went farther than that; but she couldnot prevent my talking to people she used to talk to, or my happening tobe where she was; so that--well--she heard them talk about me, and heardme talk to them--and in the end she talked to me herself. 

Leonarda. Talked to you?

Hagbart. Yes, it is no good denying it--she actually talked to me, andthat more than once. 

Leonarda. But what is the meaning of this visit to me?

Hagbart. If you will only allow me to--

Leonarda. I want you to deliver your message briefly and concisely--andnot a word more than that. 

Hagbart. But I cannot do that until you have allowed me to--

Leonarda. Whether you can or not, I shall allow nothing else. I amnot going to give you an excuse for saying that you have been holdingconversations with me too. 

Hagbart. If you have no objection, I am in love with your niece, Mrs. Falk. 

Leonarda. You? With Aagot?--It serves you right!

Hagbart. I know. 

Leonarda. Ha, ha! That is how the land lies. 

[HANS appears at the open door. ]

Hans. Can I go now, ma'am?

Leonarda. Ha, ha!--Yes, you can go. (Exit HANS ) Well, what more haveyou to tell me? Have you given Aagot any hint of this?

Hagbart. Yes. 

Leonarda. And what answer did you get?--You are silent. Do you find itdifficult to tell me?

Hagbart. I am very glad you take it so well, Mrs. Falk. 

Leonarda. Yes, it's funny, isn't it?--Well, what did Aagot say? Shegenerally has plenty to say. 

Hagbart. Indeed she has. We came here to-day by the same boat--

Leonarda. By the same boat? Aagot and you? Have you been persecutingher?

Hagbart. Mrs. Falk, you cannot possibly understand if you will not allowme to--

Leonarda. I wish to hear the rest of it from my niece, as I suppose shewill be here directly. 

Hagbart. Of course, but still--

Leonarda. There will be no more of that sort of thing here! If youintend to persecute my niece with your attentions in the same way as youhave persecuted me with your malice, you are at liberty to try. But youshall not come here! I can forbid it here. 

Hagbart. But, my dear Mrs. Falk--

Leonarda. I am really beginning to lose my patience, or rather I havelost it already. What have you come here for?

Hagbart. As there is no help for it--well, I will tell you straight out, although it may be a shock to you--I am here to ask for your niece'shand. 

Leonarda (taking up her gloves). If I were a man, so that there shouldbe nothing "doubtful" about my reply, I would strike you across the facewith my gloves. 

Hagbart. But you are a woman, so you will not. 

[Enter HANS. ]

Hans. Here is Miss Aagot, ma'am. 

Aagot (from without). Aunt!

Leonarda. Aagot!

[Enter AAGOT. HANS goes out. ]

Aagot. Aunt!--That wretched Hans! I was signalling to him--I wanted tosurprise you. (Throws herself into LEONARDA'S arms. )

Leonarda. Child, have you deceived me?

Aagot. Deceived you? I?

Leonarda. I knew it! (Embraces her. ) Forgive me! I had a moment'shorrible doubt--but as soon as I looked at you it was gone!--Welcome, welcome! How pretty you look! Welcome!

Aagot. Oh, aunt!

Leonarda. What is it?

Aagot. You know. 

Leonarda. His shameless persecution of you? Yes! (Meanwhile HAGBART hasslipped out. )

Aagot. Hush!--Oh, he has gone!--Have you been cross with him?

Leonarda. Not as cross as he deserved--

Aagot. Didn't I tell him so?

Leonarda (laughing). What did you tell him?

Aagot. How hasty you could be!--Were you really cruel to him?

Leonarda. Do you mean to say you have any sympathy--with him?

Aagot. Have I any--? But, good heavens, hasn't he told you?

Leonarda. What?

Aagot. That he--that I--that we--oh, aunt, don't look so dreadfully atme!--You don't know, then?

Leonarda. No!

Aagot. Heaven help me! Aunt--!

Leonarda. You don't mean to say that you--?

Aagot. Yes, aunt. 

Leonarda. With him, who--. In spite of that, you--Get away from me!

Aagot. Dear, darling aunt, listen to me!

Leonarda. Go away to him! Away with you!

Aagot. Have you looked at him, aunt? Have you seen how handsome he is?

Leonarda. Handsome? He!

Aagot. No, not a bit handsome, of course! Really, you are going too far!

Leonarda. To me he is the man who made a laughingstock of me in acensorious little town by calling me "a woman of doubtful reputation. "And one day he presents himself here as my adopted daughter's lover, andyou expect me to think him handsome! You ungrateful child!

Aagot. Aunt!

Leonarda. I have sacrificed eight years of my life--eight years--in thislittle hole, stinting myself in every possible way; and you, for whomI have done this, are hardly grown up before you fly into the arms of aman who has covered me with shame. And I am supposed to put up with itas something quite natural!--and to say nothing except that I think heis handsome! I--I won't look at you! Go away!

Aagot (in tears). Don't you suppose I have said all that to myself, athousand times? That was why I didn't write. I have been most dreadfullydistressed to know what to do. 

Leonarda. At the very first hint of such a thing you might to have takenrefuge here--with me--if you had had a scrap of loyalty in you. 

Aagot. Aunt! (Goes on her knees. ) Oh, aunt!

Leonarda. To think you could behave so contemptibly!

Aagot. Aunt!--It was just because he was so sorry for the way he hadbehaved to you, that I first--

Leonarda. Sorry? He came here with a smile on his lips!

Aagot. That was because he was in such a fright, aunt. 

Leonarda. Do people smile because they are in a fright?

Aagot. Others don't, but he does. Do you know, dear, he was just thesame with me at first--he smiled and looked so silly; and afterwards hetold me that it was simply from fright. 

Leonarda. If he had felt any qualms of conscience at all, as you pretendhe did, he would at least have taken the very first opportunity toapologise. 

Aagot. Didn't he do that?

Leonarda. No; he stood here beating about the bush and smiling--

Aagot. Then you must have frightened the sense out of him, aunt. He isshy, you know. --Aunt, let me tell you he is studying for the church. 

Leonarda. Oh, he is that too, is he!

Aagot. Of course he is. You know he is the bishop's nephew, andis studying for the church, and of course that is what made himso prejudiced. But his behaviour that day was just what opened hiseyes--because he is very kind-hearted. Dear, darling aunt--

Leonarda. Get up! It is silly to lie there like that. Where did youlearn that trick?

Aagot (getting up). I am sure I don't know. But you frighten me so. (Cries. )

Leonarda. I can't help that. You frightened me first, you know, child. 

Aagot. Yes, but it is all quite different from what you think, aunt. He is no longer our enemy. He has reproached himself so genuinely fortreating you as he did--it is perfectly true, aunt. We all heard him sayso. He said so first to other people, so that it should come round tome; and then I heard him saying so to them; and eventually he told meso, in so many words. 

Leonarda. Why did you not write and tell me?

Aagot. Because you are not like other people, aunt! If I had as muchas mentioned he was there, you would have told me to come home again atonce. You aren't like others, you know. 

Leonarda. But how in the world did it come about that you--?

Aagot. You know, dear, that if any one sings _your_ praises, that isenough to make me their friend at once. And when, to crown all, this mandid it who had behaved so unjustly to you, you can well believe that Iwent about singing for joy all day. That was the beginning of it--

Leonarda. Yes, tell me the whole story. 

Aagot. That would be simply impossible, aunt! It would take medays!--But I can tell you this, that I had no idea what it was that wasupsetting my nerves in such a manner. 

Leonarda. If you felt like that, why did you not come away?

Aagot. That was just what I did! But that was also just what made thewhole thing happen!

Leonarda. How? Try and tell me a little more calmly and consecutively!

Aagot. Thank you, aunt! It is good of you to listen to me! Good heavens, how I--. (Bursts into tears. )

Leonarda. There--there! Tell me all about it from beginning to end. 

Aagot. Yes--I was quite feverish for about a week--I thought I wasill--and the others kept asking what was the matter with me. And reallyI didn't know. There is a whole heap of things I could tell you aboutthose few days--but you wouldn't be able to understand. 

Leonarda. Yes, I should. 

Aagot. No, you couldn't possibly! I can't, either. I was so wretchedthen--and now I am so happy--

Leonarda. Well, tell me about it another time. But how did things cometo a head?

Aagot. He spoke to me--straight out!

Leonarda. Proposed to you?

Aagot. Yes. --Oh, I feel I am blushing again at the very thought of it. 

Leonarda. And you looked foolish?

Aagot. I don't know what I looked like!

Leonarda. What did you do?

Aagot. I gave one scream--a real good scream--and ran; ran home, packedmy trunk, and got on board the boat as quick as I could. 

Leonarda. And was that all?

Aagot. All? It happened out of doors amongst all the people. 

Leonarda. Aagot!

Aagot. It happened so frightfully unexpectedly. I never was sofrightened in my life--and so ashamed of myself afterwards. I didnothing but cry on the boat, all the way. 

Leonarda. But he must have come by the same boat. 

Aagot. Just fancy, he had travelled overland across the promontory andcaught the boat on the other side. And I knew nothing about it tillI saw him before my eyes! I thought I should sink through the deck. Iwanted to run away then, but--oh, aunt, I couldn't! He looked at me withsuch a wonderful look in his eyes, and took hold of my hands. He spoketo me, but I don't know what he said; everything seemed to be goinground and round. And his eyes, aunt! Ah, you haven't looked at them, andthat is why you took it so--so--

Leonarda. No, dear. 

Aagot. There is something about his mere presence--something so true. And when he looks at me and says--not in words, you know, but still saysall the same "I love you so much, " I tremble all over. Oh, aunt, kissme!--There! Thank heaven!--Do you know what he said to-day?

Leonarda. No. 

Aagot. That the woman who had fostered--that was the word he used--sucha solemn word, but then he is studying for the church--well, that thewoman who had fostered such a girl--he meant me, you know--I thought ofall my faults, but he will get to know them soon enough--

Leonarda. Well? That the woman who had fostered such a girl as you--

Aagot. --as me, could not have her equal anywhere!

Leonarda. You must have been praising me up nicely?

Aagot. On the contrary. It was afterwards when he said he would comehere first, before me--it was his duty, he said, to stand the firstshock. "For heaven's sake don't, " I said; "you don't know her, she willcrush you!"

Leonarda. Oh, Aagot!

Aagot. It was then that he said, "No, the woman who has fostered such agirl, " etcetera, etcetera. Ah, now I see you have been horrid to him. 

Leonarda. I had been worried all the morning--and I misunderstood--

Aagot. You shall have no more worries after this. Because people are sokind, you know, and you are going to move about among them again. You, who are so good yourself--

Leonarda. No, that is just what I am not. 

Aagot. You? You are only so very difficult to understand, aunt!--Oh, what is it, dear?

Leonarda. I am unhappy, Aagot!

Aagot. Why, aunt? About me?

Leonarda. You are the sunshine of my life; you have brought light andwarmth and gentleness into it--but it is just because of that--

Aagot. Because of that? Aunt, I don't understand you. 

Leonarda. I am clumsy, I am hard, I am suspicious--wicked. I am asavage, with no more self-restraint than I ever had. What sort of afigure must I cut in his eyes--and in yours? Tell me! Am I not a clumsy, ugly--

Aagot. You are the sweetest woman in the whole work! It is only yourindomitable strength and courage and youthfulness--

Leonarda. No, no--tell me the truth! I deserve it! Because, you know, ithas been for your sake that for eight years I have only associated withwork-people. All that I have will be yours. So have some respect for me, Aagot--tell me the truth! Am I not--what shall I say? Tell me what I am!

Aagot. Adorable!

Leonarda. No, no! I have never realised as strongly as I do now howI have buried myself all these eight years. All the books I have readabout the great movements going on in the world outside have not reallyenlightened me. All that I have read and thought fades away beforethe first gleam of life that reaches me from the real world of men andwomen. I see new beauty merely in your new clothes, your fashionablehat--the colours you are wearing--the way they are blended. They meansomething that I know nothing of. You bring a fragrance in with you--abreath of freshness; you are so dainty and full of life; whereaseverything here has become so old, so heavy, so disjointed--and my lifemost of all. 

Aagot. Well, I must tell you what he said, since you won't believe whatI say. 

Leonarda. But he knew nothing about me?

Aagot. No--it only indirectly referred to you. He said he had neverwanted so much to get to know any one, as he wanted to get to know you, because seeing much of me had made him discover you--that was the veryexpression he used! And it was an extraordinary chance that--

Leonarda. Stop! I can't bear to think of it!--To think it should be thevery man whom we--we--

Aagot. Hated so!--yes, isn't it extraordinary?

Leonarda. The very first time you have been away from me!

Aagot. Yes!

Leonarda. And you come back in a halo of reconciliation and affectionfor him!

Aagot. But who is responsible for that, I should like to know! And youtalk about your life here having made you clumsy and ugly--you, who canmanufacture a goddess of victory like me!

Leonarda. No, I don't complain when I see you and hear you--when I haveyou with me! That is worth paying a price for. It was selfish of meto think for a moment that the price was too high. You are in thespringtime of your life--while I--

Aagot. You? What is wrong with your life?

Leonarda. I am beginning to think my life is over. 

Aagot. Yours? Your life over? Oh, you pain me by saying such a thing. 

Leonarda. I am very happy--very happy about all this! Believe me that isso. But you know--

Aagot. I know how tremendously and incomprehensibly you have changed!

Leonarda. Go, my child--and bring him back!

Aagot. How delicious that sounds! Bring him back! (Gets up, then stops. )Thank you, my dear, sweet, darling aunt! (She runs out. LEONARDA fallsinto a chair by the table and buries her head in her hands. AAGOT'Svoice is heard without: "Yes, come along!" and HAGBART'S, answering: "Isit true?")

Aagot (coming in with HAGBART). Come along! (LEONARDA gets up, dries hereyes, and meets them with a smile. ) Aunt, here he is!

Hagbart. Mrs. Falk!

Leonarda. Forgive me!

Hagbart. What?--No, you must forgive me! I haven t been able to ask youto! I--

Aagot. We can talk about that another time! Let aunt look at you now!

Leonarda. You two won't disappoint one another. I can see that. 

Aagot. It is wonderfully sweet of you, aunt!

Leonarda. Yes, love one another! Bring some beauty, some warmth, somecolour into this cold house!

Aagot. Oh, aunt--!

Leonarda. Have you kissed her yet? (AAGOT moves a little away fromHAGBART. ) Go on! (They embrace. )

Aagot (running from him to LEONARDA). But, dearest aunt, are you crying?

Leonarda. Don't bother about me!--Have you told your uncle, the bishop, about it?

Hagbart. Not yet. 

Leonarda. You haven't?--Well, you have the worst of it before you yet, Iam afraid. 

Hagbart. No; now that I have got as far as this, nothing shall stand inmy way!

Aagot. Do you hear that, aunt?

[Curtain. ]

ACT II

(SCENE. --A room in the BISHOP's house, some weeks later. A door atthe back of the room leads to another large room. Another door inthe right-hand wall; windows in the left. Well forward, by one of thewindows, a large easy-chair. Farther back, a writing-desk and chair. On the right, near the door, a couch, and chairs ranged along the wall. Chairs also alongside the door at the back. The Bishop is sitting on thecouch, talking to HAGBART. )

Bishop. My dear Hagbart, you keep on telling me that you have acted upto your convictions. Very well, do you want to forbid my acting up tomine?

Hagbart. You know that all I ask, uncle, is that you will see her andtalk to her first. 

Bishop. But if that is exactly what I don't wish to do? You have madethings difficult for us, you know, by choosing a wife out of your ownclass--although at the same time we have grown fonder of her every day, and are ready to do anything for _her_. But farther than that we cannotgo. Do you want to read my letter?

Hagbart. No. 

Bishop. I think you should. It is quite a polite letter. 

Hagbart. I know you can put things politely enough. But it is the fact, uncle--the fact of your doing it!

Bishop. Yes--I cannot alter that. 

Hagbart. Could you not at all events postpone sending the letter?

Bishop. It is sent. 

Hagbart. Sent?

Bishop. This morning. Yes. So there is nothing more to be done. 

Hagbart. Uncle, you are cruel!

Bishop. How can you say that, Hagbart? I have acquiesced in your givingup your clerical career--and Heaven alone knows what a grief that is tome. (Gets up. ) But I will not acquiesce in your bringing into my housea woman who does not even bear her husband's name. Do we as much as knowwho her husband was? She was both married and divorced abroad. Andwe don't know anything more about her life since then; it is scarcelylikely it has been blameless. Since she came here she has never oncebeen to church. She has led a most eccentric life, and lately has beenallowing a man of very evil reputation to visit her. 

Hagbart. General Rosen?

Bishop. Yes, General Rosen. He is next door to a drunkard. And he is adissolute fellow in other ways, too. 

Hagbart. He goes everywhere, all the same. He even comes here. 

Bishop. Well, you see, he distinguished himself on military service; hehas many sociable qualities, and he is well connected. It is the way ofthe world. 

Hagbart. But Mrs. Falk is not to be received?

Bishop. She is a woman. 

Hagbart. How long will this sort of thing be endured?

Bishop. Come, come--are you getting those ideas into your head too? Youseem to have imbibed a lot of new doctrines lately!

Hagbart. You should have seen her and talked to her once at least, before making up your mind. 

Bishop. I will tell you something in confidence, Hagbart. Justice Röst, who lives out there in the country, has often seen General Rosen comingaway from her house at most unseemly hours. I will have nothing to dowith women of that sort. 

Hagbart. What about men of that sort?

Bishop. Well, as I said, that is quite another matter. 

Hagbart. Quite so. --Mrs. Falk takes compassion on the General; sheinterests herself in him. That is all. 

Bishop. Did she know him previously, then?

Hagbart. Very likely. 

Bishop. Then she has her own private reasons for acting as she does. 

Hagbart. Shall I tell you what it is? She has a kinder heart than any ofus, and can make a sacrifice more willingly. 

Bishop. So you know that?

Hagbart. Yes. Hers is a finer nature than any of ours; it is morecompletely developed, intellectually and morally. 

Bishop. I am listening to you with the profoundest amazement!

Hagbart. Oh, don't misunderstand me! She has her faults. 

Bishop. Really, you admit that!--I want to beg something of youearnestly, Hagbart. Go away for a little while. 

Hagbart. Go away!

Bishop. Yes, to your uncle's, for instance. Only for a week or afortnight. You need to clear your thoughts, badly--about all sorts ofthings. Your brain is in a whirl. 

Hagbart. That is true; but--

Bishop. Speak out!

Hagbart. My brain has been in a whirl much longer than you have had anyidea of. It has been so ever since that day in winter when I did Mrs. Falk such a horrible injustice. 

Bishop. Not exactly an injustice, but--

Hagbart. Yes, an injustice! It was a turning point in my life. To thinkthat I should have given way to such a fanatical outburst! It endedin my being terrified at myself--well, I won't bore you with the wholestory of my long fight with myself. You saw nothing of it, because I wasnot here. But at last, when I got ill and had to go away and take thewaters, and then happened to see Aagot--the effect on me was more thananything I could have imagined. I seemed to see the truth; mankindseemed different, and I seemed to hear the voice of life itself at last. You cannot imagine the upheaval it caused in me. It must be that she hadsomething within her that I lacked, and had always lacked! It was herwonderful naturalness; everything she did was done with more charm andgaiety than I found in any one else, and she was quite unconscious of itherself. I used to ask myself what was the reason of it--how it couldbe that it had been her lot to grow up so free and wholesome. I realisedthat it was because I had been oblivious to what I lacked myself, that Ihad been so fanatically severe upon others. I knew it is humiliatingto confess it, but it is true. I have always been blundering andimpetuous. --But what was I going to say?

Bishop. You were going to speak about Mrs. Falk, I presume. 

Hagbart. Yes!--My dear uncle, don't take it amiss. But all this time Ihave never been able to keep away from her. 

Bishop. Then it is she you have been talking to?

Hagbart. Of course!--and of course, that is to say, to Aagot too. Youpropose my going away. I cannot! If I could multiply myself by two, orif I could double the length of the days, I should never have enoughof being with her! No, I have seen daylight now. On no account can I goaway. 

Bishop. And you call that seeing daylight! Poor boy!

Hagbart. I cannot discuss it with you. You would no more understand thanyou did that day when you took away those books of grandmother's from meand put them in the lumber-room. 

Bishop. Oh, you are bringing that up again? Well, you are at liberty todo as you please. You shall not have the right to say I have exercisedany compulsion. 

Hagbart. No, uncle, you are very good--to me. 

Bishop. But there is a new fact to be taken into consideration. I havenoticed it for some days. 

Hagbart. What do you mean?

Bishop. In all this conversation we have just had, you have onlymentioned Aagot's name twice, at most. 

Hagbart. But we were not talking about Aagot. 

Bishop. Are you not in love with her any longer?

Hagbart. Not in love with Aagot? (Laughs. ) Can you ask that? Do you meanto say--?

Bishop. Yes, I mean to say--

Hagbart (laughing again). No, that is quite a misunderstanding on yourpart, uncle. 

Bishop. Well, I say it again: go away for a week or a fortnight, Hagbart! Consider the situation from a distance--both your own positionand that of others!

Hagbart. It is impossible, absolutely impossible, uncle. It would bejust as useful to say to me: "Lie down and go to sleep for a week or afortnight, Hagbart; it will do you good"! No. All my faculties are awakeat last--yes, at last--so much so, that sometimes I can scarcely controlmyself. 

Bishop. That is the very reason. 

Hagbart. The very reason why I must go straight ahead, for once in mylife! No, I must stay here now. --Well, good morning, uncle! I must goout for a turn. 

Bishop. Go to call on Mrs. Falk, you mean. 

Hagbart (laughing). Unfortunately I haven't the face to do thattill this afternoon; I was there the whole day yesterday. But ourconversation has set all my thoughts agog again, and when I have nomeans of appeasing them I have to go out and walk. Thank you, uncle, forbeing so indulgent to me!

Bishop. Then you don't wish to read my letter?

Hagbart. Ah, that is true--the letter! That upsets the whole thingagain. I don't know how I came to forget that. 

Bishop. You see for yourself how confused and distracted you are. Youneed to pull yourself together. Go away for a little!

Hagbart. It is impossible!--Good-bye, uncle!

Bishop. Here is grandmother!

[Enter the GRANDMOTHER and CORNELIA. ]

Hagbart. Good morning, grandmother! Have you slept well?

Grandmother (coming forward on CORNELIA's arm). Excellently!

Cornelia. She slept well into the morning. 

Bishop. I am delighted, grandmother. (Takes her other arm. )

Grandmother. You needn't shout so loud. It is a fine day to-day andI can hear very well. (To HAGBART. ) You didn't come in to see me lastnight. 

Hagbart. I came in too late, grandmother. 

Grandmother. I tell you, you needn't talk so loud. 

Cornelia. She always wants to make out that she can hear. 

Grandmother (as they settle her in the big chair by the window). This isa nice seat--

Bishop. And I am always delighted to see you sitting there. 

Grandmother. The window--and the mirror over there. 

Cornelia. Yes, it enables you to see everything. 

Grandmother. How you do shout, all you good people!

Bishop. I must go and change my things, if you will excuse me. (Goes outto the right. )

Cornelia. Do you want anything more?

Grandmother. No, thank you. (CORNELIA goes out at the back. )

Hagbart. Dear, good grandmother! You are the only one here whounderstands me!

Grandmother (trying to look round the room). Are we alone?

Hagbart. Yes. 

Grandmother. Has your uncle called on Mrs. Falk?

Hagbart. No, worse luck; he has written her a letter. 

Grandmother. I thought as much. 

Hagbart. Isn't it shameful, grandmother! He won't see her once, or talkto her, before judging her. 

Grandmother. They are all alike, these--. Are we alone?

Hagbart. Yes, grandmother. 

Grandmother. You must have patience, Hagbart! You used to be patient. 

Hagbart. Yes, grandmother. 

Grandmother. I have seen so many generations--so many different ways ofbehaving. In my day we were tolerant. 

Hagbart. I enjoyed reading your books so much, grand mother!

Grandmother. Of course you did. --Are we alone?

Hagbart. Yes, grandmother. 

Grandmother. I am quite in love with your fiancée, Hagbart. She is likewhat girls were in my day. 

Hagbart. Courageous, weren't they?

Grandmother. Yes, and independent. They seem quite differentnowadays. --Are we alone?

Hagbart. Yes. 

Grandmother. You get married--and I will come and live with you and her. Hush!

Hagbart. Do you mean it?

Grandmother. Hush! (Looks out of the window. ) There is Justice Röstcoming, with his wife. Go and tell your uncle!

Hagbart. Yes. 

Grandmother. I might have expected it. They came up from the countryyesterday. 

Hagbart. Good-bye, then, grandmother!

Grandmother. Good-bye, my boy! (HAGBART goes out to the right. The doorat the back is opened. CORNELIA ushers in RÖST and MRS. RÖST. )

Cornelia. Please walk in!

Mrs. Röst. Thank you! You must excuse us for calling so early. We cameup from the country yesterday, and my husband has to go to the courtsfor a little while!

Röst. I have to go to the courts to-day. (The BISHOP conies in from theright. )

Bishop. Welcome!

Röst and Mrs. Röst. Thank you!

Mrs. Röst. You must excuse our calling so early; but we came up from thecountry yesterday, and my husband has to go to the courts to-day. 

Röst. I have to go to the courts for a little while. 

Bishop. I know. 

Mrs. Röst. And there is the old lady in her chair already!

Röst. Good morning, my dear madam!

Mrs. Röst. Good morning!--No, please don't get up!

Grandmother. Oh, I can get up still. 

Röst. Ah, I wish I were as active as you!

Mrs. Röst. My husband was saying to Miss Cornelia only last night--

Grandmother. You need not strain yourself so. I can hear perfectly well. (The others exchange glances. )

Röst. I was saying to Miss Cornelia only last night--we met for a fewmoments after the service--

Grandmother. I know, I know. 

Röst. I said I had never known any one of over ninety have all theirfaculties so remarkably clear--

Mrs. Röst. --so remarkably clear as yours! And such good health, too! Myhusband has suffered a great deal from asthma lately. 

Röst. I have suffered a great deal from asthma lately. 

Mrs. Röst. And I from a heart trouble, which--

Grandmother. We did not know anything about such ailments in my day. 

Mrs. Röst. Isn't she sweet! She doesn't remember that people weresometimes ill in her day. 

Bishop. Lovely weather we are having!

Röst. Delightful weather! I cannot in the least understand how it isthat I--. (The BISHOP brings a chair forward for him. ) Oh, please don'ttrouble, my lord! Allow me. 

Mrs. Röst. My husband must have caught cold. (RÖST sits down. )

Cornelia. It certainly was draughty in church last night. 

Röst. But we sat in the corner farthest from the door. 

Mrs. Röst. We sat in the corner farthest from the door. That was why wewere not able to bid your lordship good evening afterwards. 

Bishop. There was such a crowd. 

Röst, Mrs. Röst, and Cornelia. Such a crowd!

Mrs. Röst. These services must be a great help in your lordship'slabours. 

Röst. Yes, every one says that. 

Bishop. Yes, if only the result were something a little more practical. We live in sad times. 

All three (as before). Sad times!

Mrs. Röst. We only just heard yesterday and we met so many friends thatI was prevented from asking your sister about it--we have only justheard--

Röst. And that is why we have come here to-day. We believe in beingstraightforward!

Mrs. Röst. Straightforward! That is my husband's motto. 

Bishop. Probably you mean about Hagbart's engagement?

Röst and Mrs. Röst. To Miss Falk?

Cornelia. Yes, it is quite true. 

Mrs. Röst. Really?

Cornelia. My brother came to the conclusion that he had no right tooppose it. 

Röst. Quite so. It must have been a difficult matter for your lordshipto decide. 

Bishop. I cannot deny that it was. 

Mrs. Röst. How Mr. Tallhaug has changed!

Röst. Yes, it seems only the other day he--

Bishop. We must not be too severe on young people in that respectnowadays, Mrs. Röst. 

Röst. It is the spirit of the time!

Bishop. Besides, I must say that the young lady is by no meansdispleasing to me. 

Cornelia. My brother has a very good opinion of her--although he findsher manner perhaps a little free, a little too impetuous. 

Mrs. Röst. But her adoptive mother?

Röst. Yes, her adoptive mother!

Cornelia. My brother has decided not to call on her. 

Röst and Mrs. Röst. Really!

Mrs. Röst. We are extremely glad to hear that!

Röst. It was what we wanted to know! Everybody we met yesterday wasanxious to know. 

Mrs. Röst. Everybody! We were so concerned about it. 

Cornelia. My brother has written to her, to make it quite clear to her. 

Röst. Naturally!

Mrs. Röst. We are very glad to hear it!

Grandmother (looking out of the window). There is a carriage stopping atthe door. 

Cornelia. I thought I heard a carriage, too. (Gets up. )

Grandmother. There is a lady getting out of it. 

Mrs. Röst. A lady?--Good heavens, surely it is not--? (Gets up. )

Röst. What do you say? (Gets up. )

Cornelia. She has a veil on. 

Mrs. Röst. I really believe--! (To her husband. ) You look, my dear--youknow her. 

Röst. It is she; I recognise her coachman Hans. 

Bishop (who has got up). But perhaps it is Miss Aagot?

Cornelia. No, it is not Miss Aagot. --She is in the house by this time. What are we to do?

Mrs. Röst. Has she not had your lordship's letter?

Bishop. Yes, this morning. 

Röst. And in spite of that--?

Bishop. Perhaps for that very reason. Ahem!--Cornelia, you must go downand--

Cornelia. Not on any account! I refuse!

Mrs. Röst (to her husband). Come, dear! Be quick, let us get away. (Looks for her parasol. ) Where is my parasol?

Bishop (in a low voice). Won't you wait a little while Mr. Röst?

Röst. Oho!

Mrs. Röst. My parasol! I can't find my parasol. 

Röst. Because you have got it in your hand, my love!

Mrs. Röst. So I have! You see how upset I am. Make haste--come along!Can we get out this way?

Röst. Through the Bishop's bedroom!

Mrs. Röst. Oh!--But if you come with me, my dear!--Are we to meet thiswoman? Why do you stand still? Surely you don't want to--?

Röst. Let us wait a little. 

Mrs. Röst. Wait? So that you may talk to her? Oh, you men--you are allalike!

Bishop. But, you know, some one must--. Cornelia!

Cornelia. Not for worlds! I am not going to stir an inch. 

Grandmother. Gracchus!

Bishop. Yes, grandmother?

Mrs. Röst. Now the old lady is going to interfere. I thought as much!

Grandmother. Courtesy is a duty that every one must recognise. 

Bishop. You are quite right. (Goes towards the back of the room; at thesame time a knock is heard on the door). Come in! (The door opens, andLEONARDA enters. )

Mrs. Röst. It is she!

Röst. Be quiet!

Mrs. Röst. But wouldn't you rather--?

Leonarda. Excuse me, am I speaking to the Bishop?

Bishop. Yes, madam. Whom have I the honour to--?

Leonarda. Mrs. Falk. 

Bishop. Allow me to introduce my sister--and Mr. Justice Röst and Mrs. Röst--and this is--

Leonarda. "Grandmamma" of whom I have heard, I think!

Bishop. Yes. Let me present Mrs. Falk to you, grandmother. 

Grandmother (getting up). I am very glad to see you, ma'am. 

Mrs. Röst and Cornelia. What does she say?

Grandmother. As the oldest of the family--which is the only merit Ipossess--let me bid you welcome. (LEONARDA gives a start, then kneelsdown and kisses her hand. )

Mrs. Röst. Good gracious!

Cornelia. Well!

Mrs. Röst. Let us go away!

Röst (in a low voice). Does your lordship wish--?

Bishop (in the same tone). No, thank you--I must go through with it now. 

Röst. Good morning, then!

Bishop. Many thanks for your visit and for being so frank with me. 

Mrs. Röst. That is always our way, your lordship. Good morning!

Cornelia (as they advance to take leave of her). I will see you out. 

Röst (to the GRANDMOTHER). I hope I shall always see you looking aswell, madam!

Mrs. Röst. Good-bye, madam! No, please don't disturb yourself. You haveover-exerted yourself just now you know. 

Grandmother. The same to you. 

Röst and Mrs. Röst. I beg your pardon?

Bishop. She thought you were wishing her good day--or something of thatsort. 

Röst and Mrs. Röst. Oh, I see! (They laugh. They both ceremoniously insilence to LEONARDA as they pass her; CORNELIA and the BISHOP go withthem to see them out, the BISHOP turning at the door and coming backinto the room. )

Bishop (to LEONARDA). Won't you sit down?

Leonarda. Your lordship sent me a letter to-day. (She pauses foran answer, but without effect. ) In it you give me to understand, as politely as possible, that your family does not wish to have anyintercourse with me. 

Bishop. I imagined, Mrs. Falk, that you had no such desire, eitherpreviously or now. 

Leonarda. What it rally means is that you want me to make over myproperty to the two young people, and disappear. 

Bishop. If you choose to interpret it in that way, Mrs. Falk. 

Leonarda. I presume your nephew has told you that my means are not suchas to allow of my providing for one establishment here and another formyself elsewhere. 

Bishop. Quite so. But could you not sell your property?

Leonarda. And all three of us leave here, your lordship means? Of coursethat would be possible; but the property is just now becoming of somevalue, because of the projected railway--and, besides, it has been solong in our family. 

Bishop. It is a very fine property. 

Leonarda. And very dear to us. 

Bishop. It pains me deeply that things should have taken this turn. 

Leonarda. Then may I not hope that the fact may influence yourlordship's decision in some degree?

Bishop. My decision, madam, has nothing to do with your property. 

Leonarda. During all these eight years have I offended you in anyway--or any one here?

Bishop. Mrs. Falk, you know quite well that you have not. 

Leonarda. Or is it on account of the way I have brought up my niece--?

Bishop. Your niece does you the greatest credit, madam. 

Leonarda. Then perhaps some of my people have been laying complaintsabout me?--or some one has been complaining of them?

Bishop. Not even the most censorious person, my dear madam, couldpretend that you have been anything but exemplary in that respect. 

Leonarda. Then what is it?

Bishop. You can scarcely expect me to tell a lady--

Leonarda. I will help you out. It is my past life. 

Bishop. Since you say it yourself--yes. 

Leonarda. Do you consider that nothing can expiate a past--about which, moreover, you know nothing?

Bishop. I have not seen in you any signs of a desire to expiate it, Mrs. Falk. 

Leonarda. You mean that you have not seen me at confession or in church?

Bishop. Yes. 

Leonarda. Do you want me to seek expiation by being untrue to myself?

Bishop. No; but the way I refer to is the only sure one. 

Leonarda. There are others. I have chosen the way hard work and duty. 

Bishop. I said the only sure way, Mrs. Falk. Your way does not protectagainst temptation. 

Leonarda. You have something definite in your mind when you say that, have you not?--Shall I help you out again? It is General Rosen. 

Bishop. Precisely. 

Leonarda. You think I ought to send him away?

Bishop. Yes. 

Leonarda. But it would be all up with him if I did. And there is a gooddeal of ability in him. 

Bishop. I have neither the right nor the desire to meddle in affairsI know nothing of; but I must say that only a person of unimpeachablereputation should attempt the rescue of such a man as General Rosen. 

Leonarda. You are quite right. 

Bishop. You are paying too high a price for it, Mrs. Falk, and withoutany certainty of achieving anything. 

Leonarda. Maybe. But there is one aspect of the matter that you haveforgotten. 

Bishop. And that is?

Leonarda. Compassion. 

Bishop. Quite so. --Yes. --Of course, if you approach the matter from thatpoint of view, I have nothing to say. 

Leonarda. You don't believe it?

Bishop. I only wish the matter depended upon what I myself believe. Butit does not, Mrs. Falk. 

Leonarda. But surely you will admit that one ought to do good even atthe risk of one's reputation?

Bishop. Undoubtedly. 

Leonarda. Well, will your lordship not apply that maxim to yourself?It is quite possible that for a while your congregation's faith in youmight be a little disturbed if you were to call upon me; but you knownow, from my own lips, that the rumours you have heard are false, andthat you ought rather to be all the more anxious to support me in whatI am trying to do. And in that way you will do a good turn to these twoyoung people, and to me, without driving me away. For some years nowI have lived only for others. One does not do that without making somesacrifices, my lord--especially when, as in my case, one does not feelthat one's life is quite over. 

Bishop. You look the picture of youth, Mrs. Falk!

Leonarda. Oh, no--still I have not done it without a struggle. And now Iwant a little reward for it. Who would not? I want to spend my life withthose for whom I have sacrificed myself; I want to see their happinessand make it mine. Do not rob me of that, my lord! It depends upon you!

Bishop. I do not quite see how it depends upon me. 

Leonarda. It depends upon you for this reason; if my exile is to be theprice paid for her marriage, my niece will never consent to wed yournephew. 

Bishop. That would be very distressing to me, Mrs. Falk. 

Leonarda. I made haste to come to you, before she should know anythingabout it. I have brought your letter with me. Take it back, my lord!(Searches in her pocket for the letter. )

Bishop (noticing her growing anxiety). What is wrong?

Leonarda. The letter!--I laid it on my desk while I dressed to comeout, meaning to bring it with me--but in my hurry and anxiety I haveforgotten it! And now Aagot is making out accounts at that very desk. Ifshe sees your handwriting she will suspect something at once, because ofcourse we have been expecting you every day. 

Bishop. Well, I suppose there is nothing to be done?

Leonarda. Indeed there is. When she comes here--for she will understandeverything and come straight here--could not your lordship meet heryourself, and say to her--. (Stops short. )

Bishop. Say what?

Leonarda. "I have been mistaken. People should be judged, not by theirmistakes, but by what they have achieved; not by their beliefs, butby their efforts towards goodness and truth. I mean to teach mycongregation that lesson by calling upon your aunt next Sunday. " (TheGRANDMOTHER nods at her approvingly. LEONARDA sees this, takes her hand, and turns again towards the BISHOP. ) This venerable lady pleads forme too. She belongs to a day that was more tolerant than ours--at allevents than ours is in this little out-of-the-way place. All the wisdomof her long life is summed up in these two words: Have forbearance!

Bishop. There is one kind of forbearance, Mrs. Falk, that is forbiddenus--the forbearance that would efface the distinction between good andevil. That is what the "toleration" of my grandmother's day meant; butit is not an example to be followed. 

Leonarda (leaving the GRANDMOTHER's side). If I have erred--if I seemof no account, from the lofty standpoint from which you look uponlife--remember that you serve One who was the friend of sinners. 

Bishop. I will be your friend when I see you seeking your soul'ssalvation. I will do all I can then. 

Leonarda. Help me to expiate my past! That means everything to me--andis not much for you to do. I only ask for a little show of courtesy, instead of indignities! I will contrive that we shall seldom meet. Onlydon't drive me away--because that means exposing me to contempt. Believeme, I will give you no cause for shame; and your good deed will berewarded by the gratitude of the young people. 

Bishop. I am deeply distressed at having to take up this attitudetowards you. You are bound to think me hardhearted; but that is not thecase. I have to consider that I am the guardian of thousands of anxiousconsciences. I dare not for my nephew's sake offend the respect theyfeel for me, the trust they put in me; nor dare I disregard the law weall must follow. For a bishop to do as I have done in opening my doorsto your niece, is in itself no small thing, when you consider thedissensions that are going on in the Church nowadays. I cannot, Idare not, go farther and open my doors to a woman whom my wholecongregation--albeit unjustly--well, I won't wound your feelings bygoing on. 

Leonarda. Really?

Bishop. Believe me, it gives me great pain. You have made a remarkableimpression upon me personally. (Meanwhile the GRANDMOTHER has got up togo out of the room. )

Leonarda. Are you going away? (The BISHOP goes to the wall and rings abell. )

Grandmother. Yes--I am too old for these scenes. And, after what I havejust heard, I am sure I have no right to sit here either. (CORNELIAcomes in, takes her arm, and assists her out. )

Leonarda (coming forward). Now I can say this to your lordship: you haveno courage. Standing face to face with me here, you know what you oughtto do, but dare not do it. 

Bishop. You are a woman--so I will not answer. 

Leonarda. It is because I am a woman that you have said things tome to-day that you would not have said to--to General Rosen, forinstance--a man who is allowed to come to your lordship's house in spiteof his past life, and his present life too. 

Bishop. He shall come here no more in future. Beside, you cannot denythat there is a difference between your two cases. 

Leonarda. There is indeed a difference: but I did not expect thedistinction to be made on these lines. Nor did I imagine, my lord, thatyour duty was to protect, not the weaker vessel, but the stronger--tocountenance open vice, and refuse help to those who are unjustlyaccused!

Bishop. Do you think there is any use in our prolonging thisconversation?

[AAGOT opens the door at the back and calls from the doorway. ]

Aagot. Aunt!

Leonarda. Aagot! Good heavens!

Aagot (coming forward). Aunt!

Leonarda. Then you know? (AAGOT throws herself into her arms. ) My child!

Aagot. I felt sure you would be here, heaven help me!

Leonarda. Control yourself, my child!

Aagot. No, I cannot. This is too much. 

Bishop. Would you ladies rather be alone?

Aagot. Where is Hagbart?

Bishop. He has gone out for a walk. 

Aagot. It makes me boil with rage! So this was to be the price of mybeing received into your family--that I was to sell the one who hasbeen a mother to me! Sell her, whom I love and honour more than all theworld!

Bishop. Mrs. Falk, do you wish to continue?--or--

Aagot. Continue what? Your negotiations for the sale of my dear one?No. And if it were a question of being admitted to heaven without her, Ishould refuse!

Bishop. Child! Child!

Aagot. You must let me speak! I must say what is in my heart. And this, at any rate, is in it--that I hold fast to those I love, with all thestrength that is in my being!

Bishop. You are young, and speak with the exaggeration of youth. But Ithink we should do better to put an end to this interview; it can leadto nothing. 

Leonarda. Let us go. 

[HAGBART appears at the door. ]

Aagot (seeing him before the others). Hagbart!

Hagbart. I heard your voice from outside. Mrs. Falk--

Aagot. Hagbart! (She goes towards him, but as he hastens to her side shedraws back. ) No--don't touch me!

Hagbart. But, Aagot--?

Aagot. Why did you not manage to prevent this? You never said a word tome about it!

Hagbart. Because really I knew nothing about it. 

Aagot. One becomes conscious of such things as that without needing tobe told. It hasn't weighed much on your mind!--Did you not know of itjust now?

Hagbart. Yes, but--

Aagot. And you didn't fly to tell us?

Hagbart. It is true I--

Aagot. Your mind was taken up with something else altogether. And myonly aim in life has been that everything should be made right for her!I thought you were going to do that. 

Hagbart. You are unjust, Aagot. What can I do--?

Aagot. No, you are too much of a dreamer. But this you mustrealise--that I am not going to buy an honoured position at the price ofinsults to my aunt; that is the very last thing possible. 

Hagbart. Of course! But need there be any question of that? I will comeand live with you two, and--

Aagot. You talk like a fool!

Leonarda. Aagot! Aagot!

Aagot. Oh, I feel so hurt, so deceived, so mortified--I must say it out. Because to-day is not the first of it--nor is this the only thing. 

Leonarda. No, I can understand that. But what is it? You are woundinghis love for you. 

Aagot (bitterly). His love for me!

Leonarda. Are you out of your mind? You are talking wildly!

Aagot. No, I am only telling the truth!

Leonarda (earnestly, and lowering her voice). Angry words, Aagot? You, who have seen into the bottom of his heart in quiet sacred moments! Youwho know how true, how steadfast he is! He is different from other men, Aagot--

Aagot (drawing away from her). Stop! stop! You don't see!

Leonarda. You are out of your senses, my child! Your behaviour isdisgracing us. 

Aagot. The greatest disgrace is his, then--because it is not me heloves! (Bursts into tears and rushes to the back of the room. )

Bishop (to HAGBART, in a low voice). I hope now you will go away for alittle while. 

Hagbart. Yes. 

Bishop. Come away, then. (Goes out to the left, HAGBART follows him. )

Aagot (coming forward to LEONARDA). Can you forgive me?

Leonarda. Let us go home. 

Aagot. But say something kind to me. 

Leonarda. No. 

Aagot. I won't let you go away till you do. 

Leonarda. I cannot. 

Aagot. Aunt, I am not jealous of you. 

Leonarda. Be quiet!

Aagot. Only you must let me go away for a few days--I must get thingsstraight in my mind. (Bursts into tears. ) Oh, aunt--for pity's sake--doyou love him? (LEONARDA tries to get away from her. ) I don't love himany longer! If you love him, aunt, I will give him up!

Leonarda. At least hold your tongue about it, here in another person'shouse!--If you are not coming with me, I am going home by myself. 

Aagot. Then I shall never follow you. 

Leonarda. You are completely out of your senses!

Aagot. Yes; I cannot live, unless you speak to me gently and look at mekindly. --God keep you, aunt, now and always!

Leonarda (turning to her). My child!

Aagot. Ah! (Throws herself into her arms. )

Leonarda. Let us go home!

Aagot. Yes. 

[Curtain. ]

ACT III

(SCENE--The garden at LEONARDA FALK'S house some days later. On theleft, a summer-house with table and chairs. A large basket, half full ofapples, is on the table. LEONARDA is standing talking to PEDERSEN. )

Leonarda. Very well, Pedersen; if the horses are not needed here, we mayas well send to fetch Miss Aagot home. Can we send to-day?

Pedersen. Certainly, ma'am. 

Leonarda. Then please send Hans as soon as possible with a pair ofhorses to the hill farm for her. It is too cold for her to be up therenow, anyway. 

Pedersen. I will do so. (Turns to go. )

Leonarda. By the way, Pedersen, how has that little affair of yours beengoing?

Pedersen. Oh--

Leonarda. Come to me this evening. We will see if we can continue ourlittle talk about it. 

Pedersen. I have been wishing for that for a long time, ma'am. 

Leonarda. Yes, for the last eight or ten days I have not been able tothink of anything properly. 

Pedersen. We have all noticed that there has been something wrong withyou, ma'am. 

Leonarda. We all have our troubles. (PEDERSEN waits; but as LEONARDAbegins to pick apples carefully from a young tree and put them ina small basket that is on her arm, he goes out to the left. HAGBARTappears from the right, and stands for a minute without her seeing him. )

Hagbart. Mrs. Falk! (LEONARDA gives a. Little scream. ) I beg yourpardon, but I have been looking for you everywhere. How are you? I haveonly just this moment got back. 

Leonarda. Aagot is not at home. 

Hagbart. I know. Has she been away the whole time?

Leonarda. Yes. 

Hagbart. Will she be away long?

Leonarda. I am sending the horses up to-day, so she should be here bythe day after to-morrow. 

Hagbart. It was you I wanted to speak to, Mrs. Falk. 

Leonarda. About Aagot?

Hagbart. Yes, about Aagot--amongst other things. 

Leonarda. But couldn't you wait--till some other time?

Hagbart. Mrs. Falk, I came straight here from the steamer; so you cansee for yourself--

Leonarda. But if it concerns Aagot, and she is not here?

Hagbart. The part of it that concerns Aagot is soon said. She wasperfectly right--only I did not know it at the time. 

Leonarda. Good God!

Hagbart. I do not love Aagot. 

Leonarda. But if Aagot loves you?

Hagbart. She has showed me lately that she does not. Did she not tellyou so, plainly?

Leonarda. She was--how shall I put it?--too excited for me to attachmuch importance to what she said. 

Hagbart. Then she did tell you so. I thought she had--indeed I was sureof it. Aagot does not love me, but she loves you. She wants you to behappy. 

Leonarda. If you do not love Aagot, it seems to me you ought not to havecome here. 

Hagbart. Perhaps you are right. But I am not the same man as I was whenI used to come here before; nor do I come for the same reason. 

Leonarda. If you do not love Aagot, I must repeat that you have no rightto be here. You owe that much consideration both to her and to me. 

Hagbart. I assure you that it is from nothing but the sincerestconsideration for you that I am here now. 

Leonarda (who up to this point has been standing by the tree). Then Imust go!

Hagbart. You won't do that!

Leonarda. You seem to me completely changed. 

Hagbart. Thank goodness for that!--because I don't feel any greatrespect for the man I was before. Many people can decide such things ina moment, but it has taken me time to see my course clearly. 

Leonarda. I don't understand you. 

Hagbart (almost before the words are out of her mouth, coming close toher). You do understand me!

Leonarda. It would be wicked! Take care!

Hagbart. Your hand is trembling--

Leonarda. That is not true!

Hagbart. They say there is a devil in every one that should not bewaked. It is a foolish saying, because these devils are our vitalforces. 

Leonarda. But we ought to have them under control. That is the lesson mylife has taught me; it has cost me dear, and I mean to profit by it. 

Hagbart. If I did not believe that it was the impulse of truth itselfthat guided me to you, I should not be standing here. I have had a longstruggle. I have had to give up one prejudice after another, to enablemy soul to find itself fully and go forward confidently. It has broughtme to you--and now we will go forward together. 

Leonarda. That might have been, without this. 

Hagbart. I love you! It is you I have loved in her--since the very firstday. I love you!

Leonarda. Then have respect for me--and go!

Hagbart. Leonarda!

Leonarda. No, no! (Shrinks away from him. ) Oh, why did this happen?

Hagbart. It has come upon us step by step. The cruel obstacles inour way have only proved friends to us, in bringing us together. Giveyourself up to happiness, as I do now!

Leonarda. I do not deserve happiness. I have never expected that. 

Hagbart. I don't know what you have gone through to make you what youare now--so beautiful, so good, so true; but this I do know, that if theothers had not judged you by your failures, I should not have loved youfor what you have achieved. And I thought that might give me some valuein your eyes. 

Leonarda. Thank you for that, from my heart!--But the world disapprovesof such things. It disapproves of a young man's making love to an olderwoman, and if--

Hagbart. I have never cared much about the world's opinion, even inthe days when I was most hidebound in prejudice. It is your opinion Iwant--yours only!

Leonarda. And my answer is that one who is alone can get along withoutthe world's sympathy--but it is different with a couple. They will soonfeel the cold wind of the world's displeasure blowing between them. 

Hagbart. When you answer me, it makes what I have said seem so formaland ceremonious--so clumsy. But I must just be as I am; I cannot altermyself. Dearest, from the moment I felt certain that it was you I loved, only one thing seemed of any importance to me--everything else wasblotted out. And that is why I do not understand what you say. Do yousuppose they will try to make me tire of you? Do you suppose that ispossible?

Leonarda. Not now, but later on. There will come a time--

Hagbart. Yes, a time of work--self-development! It has come now. Thatis why I, am here! Perhaps a time of conflict may come too--heaven sendthat it may! Are we to pay any heed to that? No! You are free, and I amfree; and our future is in our own hands. 

Leonarda. Besides, I have grown old--

Hagbart. You!

Leonarda. --and jealous, and troublesome; while you are the incarnationof youth and joy. 

Hagbart. You have more youth in you than I. You are an enchantress! Allyour life you will be showing me new aspects of yourself--as you aredoing now. Each year will invest you with a new beauty, new spiritualpower. Do you think I only half understand you, or only half love you?I want to sit close in your heart, warmed by its glow. It is theirresistible power of truth that has drawn me to you. My whole life willnot be long enough for me to sound the unfathomable depths of your soul. 

Leonarda. Your words are like the spring breezes, alluring andintoxicating, but full of deadly peril too. 

Hagbart. You love me! I knew it before I came here to-day. I saw itthe moment I stood here. Love is the very breath of life to you, surpassingly more than to any one else I have ever seen; and that is whyyou have suffered so terribly from the disappointments and emptinessof life. And now, when love is calling to you--love that is true andsincere--you are trembling!

Leonarda. You understand me in a way I thought impossible! It takes awayall my resolution; it--

Hagbart. Surely you saw it in all the many talks we love had?

Leonarda. Yes. 

Hagbart. Then is that not a proof that we two--?

Leonarda. Yes, it is true! I can hide nothing from you. (Bursts intotears. )

Hagbart. But why this unhappiness?

Leonarda. I don't know! It pursues me all day, and all through thesleepless night. (Weeps helplessly. )

Hagbart. But it has no real existence. It might, in the case of others;but not in our case--not for us. 

Leonarda. I spoke in my distress, without thinking. I threw out thefirst thing that came into my head, to try and stop you. But it is notthat--oh, God! (Sways as if half swooning. )

Hagbart (rushing to her side). Leonarda!

Leonarda. No, no! Let me be!

Hagbart. You know your love is too strong for you--will you not give wayto it?

Leonarda. Hagbart, there is something about it that is not right--

Hagbart. Do you mean in the way it has come about? In Aagot's havingbeen the means of leading me to you? Think of it, and you will see thatit could not have happened otherwise. 

Leonarda. Talking about it will not help me. I must see Aagot; I mustspeak to Aagot. 

Hagbart. But you have done that! You know it is you that love me, andnot she. You know it is you that I love, and not her. What more do youneed?

Leonarda. I want time. I want not to lose the self-control I have wonfor myself by years of renunciation and self-sacrifice, and was so proudof. But it won't obey me when you speak to me. Your words possess me inspite of myself. If there is any happiness on earth, it is to find one'severy thought faultlessly understood. But that happiness brings a painwith it--for me, at any rate. No, don't answer! You are too strong forme; because I love you--love you as only one can who has never believedsuch joy could exist or could possibly come to her--and now the depthsof my peace are troubled with the thought that it is treachery to mychild. 

Hagbart. But you know that it is not!

Leonarda. I don't know. Let me have time to think! I am afraid, andmy fear revives forgotten memories. More than that--I am afraid of theimmensity of my love for you, afraid of dragging you with me into awhirlpool of disaster!--No, don't answer! Don't touch me!--Hagbart, doyou love me?

Hagbart. Can you ask that?

Leonarda. Then help me! Go away!--Be generous. Let my heart know thistriumph and see you in its glorious rays! Other women do not need that, perhaps--but I need it--go!

Hagbart. Leonarda!

Leonarda. Wait till you hear from me. It will not be long. Whateverhappens, be patient--and remember, I love you!--No, don't say anything!I have neither courage nor strength for anything more. (Her voice sinksto a whisper. ) Go! (He turns to go. ) Hagbart! (He stops. ) What you havesaid to me to-day has given me the greatest happiness of my life. Butyour going away now without a word will be more to me than all you havesail. (He goes out. )

Leonarda (stands for some moments in a kind of ecstasy, moves, andstands still again. Suddenly she calls out): Aagot!

Aagot (from without). Are you there?

Leonarda. My dear child! (Goes out, and cones in again with AAGOT in herarms. ) Did you walk?

Aagot. The whole way! (She is carrying her hat in her hand, appears hotand sunburnt, and bears evident signs of laving made a long journey onfoot. She takes off a knapsack which she has been carrying on her back. )I washed in a brook to-day and used it as a looking-glass as well!

Leonarda. Have you been walking all night?

Aagot. No; I slept for a little while at Opsal, but I was out bysunrise. It was lovely!

Leonarda. And I have just been arranging to send and fetch you. 

Aagot. Really? Well, they can fetch my things. I could not wait anylonger. 

Leonarda. You look so well. 

Aagot. Oh, that is because I am so sunburnt. 

Leonarda. You are feeling all right again, then--now?

Aagot. Splendid, aunt! All that is over, now. --I have had a letter fromgrandmother. 

Leonarda. Was that letter from her that I sent on to you? I could notmake out whom it was from. 

Aagot. Yes, it was from her. Here it is. You must hear it. 

Leonarda. Yes. 

Aagot (reads). "My dear child. I have not written a letter for manyyears, so I do not know what this will be like. But Hagbart is away, soI must tell you myself. Do not be distressed any longer. As soon as youare married, I will come and live with you. " Isn't that glorious, aunt?(She is trembling with happiness, and throws her arms round LEONARDA'Sneck. )

Leonarda. But--

Aagot. But what? There is no more "but" about it, don't you see! It ison your account. 

Leonarda. On my account? Yes, but--what about you? How do youstand--with Hagbart?

Aagot. Oh, that?--Well, I will tell you the whole story! I can do thatnow. --Oh, don't take it all so seriously, aunt! It really is nothing. But let us sit down. (Brings forward a seat, as she speaks. ) I reallyfeel as if I wanted to sit down for a little while, too!--Well, you see, it came upon me like an unexpected attack--a blow from behind, as itwere. Now, my dear aunt, don't look so troubled. It is all over now. Asa matter of fact, the beginning of it all was a play I saw. 

Leonarda. A play?

Aagot. We saw it together once, you and I, do you remember? Scribe'sBataille de Dames. 

Leonarda. Yes. 

Aagot. And I remember thinking and saying to you: That fellow Henri, in the play, was a stupid fellow. He had the choice between astrong-natured, handsome, spirited woman, who was ready to give her lifefor him, and a child who was really a stupid little thing--for she was, it is no use denying it, aunt--and he chose the insignificant littleperson. No, I would rather sit down here; I can rest better so. Ah, thatis good! And now you mustn't look me in the face oftener than I want tolet you, because you take it too dreadfully solemnly, and I am going totell you something foolish now. --All of a sudden it flashed across mymind: Good heavens! the woman was--, and the little hussy with the curlyhair was--, and he? But Hagbart is a man of some sense: he had chosenotherwise! And I did not know; but I realised at the same time thatalmost from the first day Hagbart used always to talk to you, and onlyto you, and hardly at all to me except to talk about you. I got somiserable about it that I felt as if some one had put a knife into myheart; and from that moment--I am so ashamed of it now--I had no morepeace. I carried an aching pain in my heart night and day, and I thoughtmy heart itself would break merely to see him speak to you or you tohim. I am ashamed of myself; because what was more natural than that heshould never be tired of talking to you? I never should, myself!

Leonarda. But still I don't see--I don't understand yet--

Aagot. Wait a bit! Oh, don't look so anxiously at me! It is all overnow, you know. 

Leonarda. What is all over?

Aagot. Bless my soul, wait! Aunt, dear, you are more impatient than I ammyself! I do not want you to think me worse than I am, so I must firsttell you how I fought with myself. I lay and cried all night, becauseI could not talk to you about it, and in the daytime I forced myselfto seem merry and lively and happy. And then, aunt, one day I said tomyself quite honestly: Why should you feel aggrieved at his loving hermore than you? What are you, compared with her? And how splendid itwould be, I thought, for my dear aunt to find some one she could trulylove, and that it should be I that had brought them together!

Leonarda. That was splendid of you, Aagot!

Aagot. Yes, but now I mustn't make myself out better than I am, either. Because I did not always manage to look at it that way; very oftensomething very like a sob kept rising in my throat. But then I usedto talk to myself seriously, and say: Even supposing it is your ownhappiness you are giving up for her sake, is that too much for you todo for her? No, a thousand times no! And even supposing he does not loveyou any more, ought you not to be able to conquer your own feelings?Surely it would be cowardly not to be able to do that! Think no more ofhim, if he does not love you!

Leonarda. Aagot, I cannot tell you how I admire you, and love you, andhow proud I am of you!

Aagot. Oh, aunt, I never realised as I did then what you have been tome! I knew that if I were capable of any great deed, anything reallygood or really fine, it was you that had planted the impulse in me. Andthen I sought every opportunity to bring this about; I wanted to takeever so humble a part in it, but without your hearing a word or a sighfrom me. Besides, I had you always before me as an example; because Iknew that you would have done it for me--indeed that you had alreadydone as much. Your example was like a shining beacon to me, aunt!

Leonarda. Aagot!

Aagot. But you don't seem to be as happy about it as I am! Don't youunderstand yet how it all happened?

Leonarda. Yes, but--about the result of it?

Aagot. Dearest, you know all about that!--No, it is true, you don't!I must not forget to tell you that; otherwise you won't be able tounderstand why I behaved so stupidly at the Bishop's. 

Leonarda. No. 

Aagot. Well, you see, when I was full of this splendid determination tosacrifice myself so as to make you happy, I used to feel a regular furycome over me because Hagbart noticed no change in me--or, to be morecorrect, did not understand it in the least. He used to go about asif he were in a dream. Isn't it extraordinary how one thing leads toanother? My feeling was stronger than I had any idea of; because whenthe Bishop wanted to slight you--and that was like a stab from behind, too!--I absolutely lost my head with Hagbart because of his nothaving prevented that, instead of going about dreaming. I don'tknow--but--well, you saw yourself what happened. I blurted out the firstthing that came into my head and was abominably rude; you were angry;then we made friends again and I went away--and then, aunt--

Leonarda. And then--?

Aagot. Then I thought it all over! All the beautiful things you saidto me about him, as we were going home, came back to me more and moreforcibly. I saw you as I had always known you, noble and gentle. --It wasso wonderful up there, too! The air, the clearness, the sense of space!And the lake, almost always calm, because it was so sheltered! And thewonderful stillness, especially in the evening!--And so it healed, justas a wound heals. 

Leonarda. What healed?

Aagot. The pain in my heart, aunt. All the difficulties vanished. Iknow Hagbart to be what you said--noble and true. And you too, aunt!You would neither of you have wished to give me a moment's pain, even unconsciously, I knew. It was so good to realise that! It was sorestful, that often while I was thinking of it, I went to sleep whereI sat--I was so happy!--Ah, how I love him! And then came grandmother'sletter--. 

[HANS comes in, but does not see AAGOT at first. ]

Hans. Then I am to fetch Miss Aagot--why, there she is!

Aagot (getting up). You quite frightened me, Hans!

Hans. Welcome back, miss!

Aagot. Thank you. 

Hans. Well, you have saved me a journey, miss, I suppose?

Aagot. Yes. But someone must go and fetch my things. 

Hans. Of course, miss. --But what is the matter with the mistress?

Aagot. Aunt!--Heavens, what is the matter?

Hans. The mistress has not looked well lately. 

Aagot. Hasn't she? Aunt, dear! Shall I--? Would you like to--? Aunt!

Hans. Shall I fetch some one to--

Leonarda. No, no!--But you, Aagot--will you-. Oh, my God!--Will you runin--and get--

Aagot. Your bottle of drops?

Leonarda. Yes. (AAGOT runs out. ) Hans, go as quickly as you can to theGeneral's--ask him to come here! At once!

Hans. Yes, ma'am. 

Leonarda. Hans!

Hans. Yes, ma'am. 

Leonarda. Go on horseback. You may not find the General at home--andhave to go elsewhere after him. 

Hans. Yes, ma'am. (Goes out. AAGOT re-enters. )

Aagot. Here it is, aunt!

Leonarda. Thank you. It is over now. 

Aagot. But what was it, aunt?

Leonarda. It was something, dear--something that comes over onesometimes at the change of the year. 

[Curtain. ]

(The interval between this act and the next should be very short. )

ACT IV

(SCENE. --A room in the BISHOP'S house, the same evening. The lights arelit. The BISHOP comes in with LEONARDA, who is in travelling dress, witha shawl over her arm and a bag in her hand. The BISHOP makes a movementas though to relieve her of them, but she puts them down herself. )

Leonarda. Your lordship must excuse me for troubling you so lateas this; but the reason of it is something over which I have nocontrol. ---Is your nephew here?

Bishop. No, but I expect him. He has been here twice this afternoonalready to see me, but I was out. 

Leonarda. I will make haste then, and do what I have to do before hecomes. 

Bishop. Shall I give instructions that we are to be told when he comesin?

Leonarda. If you please. 

Bishop (ringing the bell). Grandmother says that as soon as he came backto-day, he went at once to see you. 

Leonarda. Yes. 

[Enter a Maid. ]

Bishop (to the Maid). Be so good as to let me know when Mr. Hagbartcomes in. (Exit Maid. )

Leonarda. Has he had a talk with his grandmother?

Bishop. Yes. 

Leonarda. After he--? (Checks herself. )

Bishop. After he had been to see you. 

Leonarda. Did he tell her anything?

Bishop. He was very much agitated, apparently. I did not ask grandmotherany further questions; I can imagine what passed between them. --Has hespoken to you?

Leonarda. Yes. 

Bishop. And you, Mrs. Falk?

Leonarda. I--? Well, I am here. 

Bishop. Going on a journey, if I am not mistaken?

Leonarda. Going on a journey. Things are turning out as you wished afterall, my lord. 

Bishop. And he is to know nothing about it?

Leonarda. No one--except the person who will accompany me. I am sailingfor England by to-night's boat. 

Bishop (looking at his watch). You haven't much time, then. 

Leonarda. I only want to entrust to your lordship a deed of gift of myproperty here. 

Bishop. In favour of your niece?

Leonarda. Yes, for Aagot. She shall have everything. 

Bishop. But last time, Mrs. Falk, you said--

Leonarda. Oh, I have enough for my journey. Later on I shall wantnothing; I can provide for myself. 

Bishop. But what about Aagot? Will you not wait until she comes home?

Leonarda. She came home to-day. She is resting now. But I have sent backmy carriage to bring her here immediately. I want to ask you to take herin--I know no one else--and to comfort her--

Bishop. Indeed I will, Mrs. Falk. I understand what this must cost you. 

Leonarda. And will you try--to--to bring those two together again?

Bishop. But they don't love each other!

Leonarda. Aagot loves him. And--as they both love me--my idea was thatwhen I am gone, and they know that it was my wish, the love they bothhave for me may bring them together again. I hope so--they are both soyoung. 

Bishop. I will do all I can. 

Leonarda. Thank you. And I want to make bold to beg you to letgrandmother go and live in the country with Aagot--or let Aagot come andlive here, whichever they prefer. It would divert Aagot's mind if shehad the care of grandmother; and she is very fond of her. 

Bishop. And grandmother of her. 

Leonarda. And wherever the grandmother is, Hagbart will be too. Verylikely the old lady would help them. 

Bishop. I think your idea is an excellent one; and I am amazed that youhave had time and strength to think it all out in this manner. 

Leonarda. Is grandmother still up?

Bishop. Yes; I have just come from her room. Hagbart has excited her;she can stand so little. 

Leonarda. Then I expect I had better not go and bid her good-bye. Ishould have liked to, otherwise. 

Bishop. I don't think I ought to allow it. 

Leonarda. Then please say good-bye to her from me--and thank her. 

Bishop. I will. 

Leonarda. And ask her--to help--

Bishop. I will do everything I possibly can. 

Leonarda. And your lordship must forgive me for all the upset I havecaused here. I did not intend it. 

Bishop. I am only sorry that I did not know you sooner. Many thingsmight have been different. 

Leonarda. We won't talk about that now. 

[Enter Maid. ]

Maid. I was asked to bring you this card, ma'am. 

Leonarda. Thank you. Is the General in the hall?

Maid. Yes. 

Bishop. General Rosen--here?

Leonarda. I took the liberty of asking him to call for me here when theboat was signalled. 

Bishop. Ask the General to come in. (Exit Maid. ) Then it is GeneralRosen that is to--. (Checks himself. )

Leonarda (searching in her bag). --that is to accompany me? He is myhusband. 

Bishop. The husband you divorced. 

Leonarda. Yes. 

Bishop. I see I have done you a great injustice, Mrs. Falk. 

Leonarda. Yes. (GENERAL ROSEN comes in, dressed in a smart travellingsuit and looking very spruce. )

General Rosen. I beg your lordship's pardon--but, time is up. --Mrs. Falk, is this yours? (Gives her a letter. )

Leonarda. Yes. --When Aagot comes, will your lordship give her this?--andhelp her?

Bishop. I will, Mrs. Falk. God bless you!

[Enter Maid. ]

Maid. Mr. Hagbart has just come in. 

Leonarda. Good-bye!--Say good-bye to--

Bishop (taking her hand). What you are doing is more than any one of uscould have done. 

Leonarda. It all depends on how deeply one loves. --Thank you, andgood-bye!

Bishop. Good-bye! (GENERAL ROSEN offers LEONARDA his arm. She takesit, and they go out. The BISHOP follows them. HAGBART comes in from theright, looks round in astonishment, then goes towards the back of theroom and meets the BISHOP in the doorway. )

Bishop. Is that you? (Both come forward without speaking. )

Hagbart (in a low voice, but evidently under the influence of greatemotion). I can tell by your voice--and your face--that you know aboutit. 

Bishop. You mean that you think I have had a talk with grandmother?

Hagbart. Yes. 

Bishop. Well, I have. She told me nothing definite, but I see how thingsstand. I saw that sooner than you did yourself, you know. 

Hagbart. That is true. The fight is over now, as far as I am concerned. 

Bishop. Scarcely that, Hagbart. 

Hagbart. Oh, you won't admit it, I know. But I call it the most decisivevictory of my life. I love Mrs. Falk--and she loves me. 

Bishop. If you were not in such an excited condition--

Hagbart. It is not excitement, it is happiness. But here, with you--oh, I have not come to ask for your blessing; we must do without that! ButI have come to tell you the fact, because it was my duty to do so. --Doesit grieve you so much?

Bishop. Yes. 

Hagbart. Uncle, I feel hurt at that. 

Bishop. My boy--!

Hagbart. I feel hurt both on her account and on my own. It shows thatyou know neither of us. 

Bishop. Let us sit down and talk quietly, Hagbart. 

Hagbart. I must ask you to make no attempt to persuade me to alter mydecision. 

Bishop. Make your mind easy on that score. Your feelings do youhonour--and I know now that she is worthy of them. 

Hagbart. What--do you say that? (They sit down. )

Bishop. My dear Hagbart, let me tell you this at once. I have gonethrough an experience, too, since the last time we met. And it hastaught me that I had no right to treat Mrs. Falk as I did. 

Hagbart. Is it possible?

Bishop. I judged her both too quickly and too harshly. That is one ofour besetting sins. And I have paid too much heed to the opinion ofothers, and too little to the charity that should give us courage to dogood. She, whom I despised, has taught me that. 

Hagbart. You do not know how grateful and how happy you have made me bysaying that!

Bishop. I have something more to say. At the time we held that unjustopinion of her, we misled you--for you relied on our opinion then--untilyou ended by sharing our views and being even more vehement in thematter than we, as young people will. That created a reaction in you, which in the end led to love. If that love had been a sin, we shouldhave been to blame for it. 

Hagbart. Is it a sin, then?

Bishop. No. But when you felt that we were inclined to look upon itin that light, that very fact stirred up your sense of justice andincreased your love. You have a noble heart. 

Hagbart. Ah, how I shall love you after this, uncle!

Bishop. And that is why I wanted you to sit down here just now, Hagbart--to beg your pardon--and hers. And my congregation's, too. Itis my duty to guide them, but I was not willing to trust them enough. By far the greater number among them are good people; they would havefollowed me if I had had the courage to go forward. 

Hagbart. Uncle, I admire and revere you more than I have ever donebefore--more than any one has ever done!

Bishop (getting up). My dear boy!

Hagbart (throwing himself into his arms). Uncle!

Bishop. Is your love strong enough to bear--

Hagbart. Anything!

Bishop. Because sometimes love is given to us to teach usself-sacrifice. 

[The GRANDMOTHER comes in. ]

Grandmother. I heard Hagbart's voice. 

Hagbart. Grandmother! (He and the BISHOP go to help her. ) Grandmother!You don't know how happy I am! (Takes her by the arm. )

Grandmother. Is that true?

Bishop (taking her other arm). You should not walk about without help. 

Grandmother. I heard Hagbart's voice. He was talking so loud, that Ithought something had happened. 

Hagbart. So it has--something good! Uncle consents! He is splendid!He has made everything all right again, and better than ever! Oh, grandmother, I wish you were not so old! I feel as if I should like totake you up in my arms and dance you round the room. 

Grandmother. You mustn't do that, my dear. (They put her into herchair. ) Now! What is your last bit of news?

Hagbart. My last bit of news? I have no fresh news! There is nothingmore to tell!

Bishop. Yes, Hagbart, there is. 

Hagbart. Why do you say that so seriously?--You look so serious--andseem agitated! Uncle! (The noise of wheels is heard outside. )

Bishop. Wait a little, my dear boy. Wait a little! (Goes out by the doorat the back. )

Hagbart. Grandmother, what can it be?

Grandmother. I don't know. --But happiness is often so brief. 

Hagbart. Happiness so brief? What do you mean?--Good God, grandmother, don't torture me!

Grandmother. I assure you, I know nothing about it--only--

Hagbart. Only--what?

Grandmother. While your uncle was with me, Mrs. Falk was announced. 

Hagbart. Mrs. Falk? Has she been here? Just now?

Grandmother. Yes, just now. 

Hagbart. Then something must have happened! Perhaps it was she thatuncle--. (Rushes to the door, which opens, and the BISHOP comes in withAAGOT on his arm, followed by CORNELIA. ) Aagot!

Aagot. Hagbart!--(Anxiously. ) Is aunt not here!

Cornelia. What, grandmother here! (Goes to her. )

Bishop. My dear Aagot, your aunt entrusted this letter to me to give toyou. 

Hagbart. A letter--?

Grandmother. What is the matter? Let me see! (CORNELIA moves her chairnearer to the others. )

Hagbart. Read it aloud, Aagot!

Aagot (reads). "My darling. When you receive this letter I shallhave--gone away. I love the man you--. " (With a cry, she falls swooning. The BISHOP catches her in his arms. )

Grandmother. She has gone away?

Cornelia. She loves the man you--? Good God, look at Hagbart!

Bishop. Cornelia! (She goes to him, and they lay AAGOT on the couch. CORNELIA stays beside her. The BISHOP turns to HAGBART. ) Hagbart!(HAGBART throws himself into his arms. ) Courage! Courage, my boy!

Grandmother (getting up). It is like going back to the days of greatemotions!

[The Curtain falls slowly. ]

A GAUNTLET

A PLAY IN THREE ACTS

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

 RIIS. MRS. RIIS. SVAVA, their daughter. MARGIT, their maid. CHRISTENSEN. MRS. CHRISTENSEN. ALFRED, their son, betrothed to Svava. DR. NORDAN. THOMAS, his servant. HOFF. 

The action of the play passes in Christiania. 

ACT I

(SCENE. --A room in RIIS' house. An open door at the back leads into apark and gives a glimpse of the sea beyond. Windows on each side of thedoor. Doors also in the right and left walls. Beyond the door on theright is a piano; opposite to the piano a cupboard. In the foreground, to the right and left, two couches with small tables in front of them. Easy-chairs and smaller hairs scattered about. MRS. RIIS is sitting onthe couch to the left, and DR. NORDAN in a chair in the centre of theroom. He is wearing a straw hat pushed on to the back of his head, andhas a large handkerchief spread over his knees. He is sitting with hisarms folded, leaning upon his stick. )

Mrs. Riis. A penny for your thoughts!

Nordan. What was it you were asking me about?

Mrs. Riis. About that matter of Mrs. North, of course. 

Nordan. That matter of Mrs. North? Well, I was talking to Christensenabout it just now. He has advanced the money and is going to try and getthe bank to suspend proceedings. I have told you that already. What elsedo you want to know?

Mrs. Riis. I want to know how much gossip there is about it, my dearfriend. 

Nordan. Oh, men don't gossip about each other's affairs. --By the way, isn't our friend in there (nodding towards the door on the right) goingto be told about it? This seem, a good opportunity. 

Mrs. Riis. Let us wait. 

Nordan. Because Christensen will have to be repaid, you know. I told himhe would be. 

Mrs. Riis. Naturally. What else would you suppose?

Nordan (getting up). Well, I am going away for my holidays, soChristensen must look after it now. --Was it a very grand partyyesterday?

Mrs. Riis. There was not much display. 

Nordan. No, the Christensens' parties are never very luxurious. But Isuppose there were a lot of people?

Mrs. Riis. I have never seen so many at a private entertainment. 

Nordan. Is Svava up?

Mrs. Riis. She is out bathing. 

Nordan. Already? Did you come home early, then?

Mrs. Riis. At about twelve, I think. Svava wanted to come home. Myhusband was late, I think. 

Nordan. The card tables. She looked radiant, I suppose, eh?

Mrs. Riis. Why didn't you come?

Nordan. I never go to betrothal parties, and I never go toWeddings--never! I can't bear the sight of the poor victims in theirveils and wreaths. 

Mrs. Riis. But, my dear doctor, you surely think--as we all do--thatthis will be a happy marriage?

Nordan. He is a fine lad. But, all the same--I have been taken in sooften. --Oh, well!

Mrs. Riis. She was so happy, and is just as happy to-day. 

Nordan. It is a pity I shall not see her. Good-bye, Mrs. Riis. 

Mrs. Riis. Good-bye, doctor. Then you are off to-day?

Nordan. Yes, I need a change of air. 

Mrs. Riis. Quite so. Well, I hope you will enjoy yourself--and, manythanks for what you have done!

Nordan. It is I ought to thank you, my dear lady! I aim vexed not to beable to say good-bye to Svava. (Goes out. MRS. RIIS takes up a magazinefrom the table on the left and settles herself comfortably on a couchfrom which she can see into the park. During what follows she readswhenever opportunity allows. RIIS comes in through the door to theright, in his shirt sleeves and struggling with his collar. )

Riis. Good morning! Was that Nordan that went out just now?

Mrs. Riis. Yes. (RIIS crosses the room, then turns back and disappearsthrough the door on the right. He comes back again immediately and goesthrough the same proceeding, all the tine busy with his collar. ) Can Ihelp you at all?

Riis. No--thanks all the same! These new-fangled shirts are troublesomethings. I bought some in Paris. 

Mrs. Riis. Yes, I believe you have bought a whole dozen. 

Riis. A dozen and a half. (Goes into his room, comes out again inapparently the same difficulties, and walks about as before. ) As amatter of fact I am wondering about something. 

Mrs. Riis. It must be something complicated. 

Riis. It is--it is. No doubt of it!--This collar is the very--Ah, at last! (Goes into his room and comes out again, this time with hisnecktie in his hand. ) I have been wondering--wondering--what our deargirl's character is made up of?

Mrs. Riis. What it is made up of?

Riis. Yes--what characteristics she gets from you and what from me, andso forth. In what respects, that is to say, she takes after your family, and in what respect after mine, and so forth. Svava is a remarkablegirl. 

Mrs. Riis. She is that. 

Riis. She is neither altogether you nor altogether me nor is she exactlya compound of us both. 

Mrs. Riis. Svava is something more than that. 

Riis. A considerable deal more than that, too. (Disappears again; thencomes out with his coat on, brushing himself. ) What did you say?

Mrs. Riis. I did not speak. --I rather think it is my mother that Svavais most like. 

Riis. I should think so! Svava, with her quiet pleasant ways! What athing to say!

Mrs. Riis. Svava can be passionate enough. 

Riis. Svava never forgets her manners as your mother did. 

Mrs. Riis. You never understood mother. Still, no doubt they are unlikein a great many things. 

Riis. Absolutely!--Can you see now how right I was in chattering to herin various languages from the beginning, even when she was quite tiny?Can you see that now? You were opposed to my doing it. 

Mrs. Riis. I was opposed to your perpetually plaguing the child, andalso to the endless jumping from one thing to another. 

Riis. But look at the result, my dear! Look at the result! (Begins tohum a tune. )

Mrs. Riis. You are surely never going to pretend that it is thelanguages that have made her what she is?

Riis (as he disappears). No, not the languages; but--(His voice is heardfrom within his room)--the language have done a wonderful lot! She hassavoir vivre--what? (Comes out again. )

Mrs. Riis. I am sure that is not what Svava is most admired for. 

Riis. No, no. On the boat, a man asked me if I were related to the MissRiis who had founded the Kindergartens in the town. I said I had thehonour to be her father. You should have seen his face! I nearly had afit. 

Mrs. Riis. Yes, the Kindergartens have been a great success from thevery first. 

Riis. And they are responsible for her getting engaged, too--aren'tthey? What?

Mrs. Riis. You must ask her. 

Riis. You have never even noticed my new suit. 

Mrs. Riis. Indeed I have. 

Riis. I didn't hear as much as the tiniest cry of admiration from you. Look at the harmony of it all!--the scheme of colour, even down to theshoes!--what? And the handkerchief, too!

Mrs. Riis. How old are you, dear?

Riis. Hold your tongue!--Anyway, how old do you think people take me tobe?

Mrs. Riis. Forty, of course. 

Riis. "Of course"? I don't see that it is so obvious. This suit is akind of Bridal Symphony, composed at Cologne when I got the telegramtelling me of Svava's engagement. Just think of it! At Cologne--not tenhours' journey from Paris! But I could not wait ten hours; I had risentoo much in my own estimation in view of my approaching relationshipwith the richest family in the country. 

Mrs. Riis. Is that suit all you have to show for it, then?

Riis. What a question! Just you wait till I have got my luggage throughthe custom-house!

Mrs. Riis. We shall be quite out of it, I suppose?

Riis. You out of it! When a very lucky daddy finds himself in Paris at amost tremendous moment--

Mrs. Riis. And what did you think of the party yesterday?

Riis. I was quite delighted with the boat for being late so that I waslanded in the middle of a fête champêtre as by magic. And Naturally onehad a tremendous welcome as the party was in honour of one's own onlydaughter!

Mrs. Riis. What time did you come in last night?

Riis. Don't you understand that we had to play cards yesterday, too? Icould not get out of it; I had to make a fourth with Abraham, Isaac, andJacob--that is to say, with our host, a cabinet minister, and old Holk. It was a tremendous honour to lose one's money to grand folk like that. Because I always lose, you know. --I came home about three o'clock, Ishould think. --What is that you are reading?

Mrs. Riis. The Fortnightly. 

Riis. Has there been anything good in it while I have been away? (Beginsto hum a tune. )

Mrs. Riis. Yes--there is an article here on heredity that you must read. It has some reference to what we began to talk about. 

Riis. Do you know this tune? (Goes over to the piano. ) It is all therage now. I heard it all over Germany. (Begins to play and sing, butbreaks off suddenly. ) I will go and fetch the music, while I think ofit! (Goes into his room and comes out again with the music. Sits downand begins to play and sing again. SVAVA comes in by it, door on theleft. RIIS stops when he sees her, and jumps up. ) Good morning, mychild! Good morning! I have hardly had a chance to say a word to youyet. At the party everyone took you away from me! (Kisses her, and comesforward with her. )

Svava. Why were you so long of coming back from abroad?

Riis. Why don't people give one some warning when they are going to getengaged?

Svava. Because people don't know anything about it themselves, till ithappens! Good morning again, mother. (Kneels down beside her. )

Mrs. Riis. There is a delicious freshness about you, dear! Did you havea walk in the wood after your swim?

Svava (getting up). Yes, and just as I got home a few minutes ago Alfredpassed the house and called up to me. He is coming in directly. 

Riis. To tell you the truth--and one ought always to tell the truth--Ihad quite given up the hope of such happiness coming to our dear girl. 

Svava. I know you had. I had quite given it up myself. 

Riis. Until your fairy prince came?

Svava. Until my fairy prince came. And he took his time about it, too!

Riis. You had been waiting for him a long time, though--hadn't you?

Svava. Not a bit of it! I never once thought of him. 

Riis. Now you are talking in riddles. 

Svava. Yes, it is a riddle to understand how two people, who have seeneach other from childhood without even giving each other a thought, suddenly--! Because that was really how it happened. It all dates from acertain moment--and then, all at once, he became quite another man in myeyes. 

Riis. But in every one else's, I suppose, he is the same us before?

Svava. I hope so!

Riis. He is more lively than he was, at any rate--in my eyes. 

Svava. Yes, I saw you laughing together last night. What was it?

Riis. We were discussing the best way of getting through the world. Igave him my three famous rules of life. 

Mrs. Riis and Svava (together). Already!

Riis. They were a great success. Do you remember them, you bad girl?

Svava. Rule number one: Never make a fool of yourself. 

Riis. Rule number two: Never be a burden to any one. 

Svava. Rule number three: Always be in the fashion. They are not veryhard to remember, because they art neither obscure nor profound. 

Riis. But all the harder to put into practice! And thus is a greatvirtue in all rules of life. --I congratulate you on your new morningfrock. Under the circumstances it is really charming. 

Svava. "Under the circumstances" means, I suppose, considering that youhave had no hand in it. 

Riis. Yes, because I should never have chosen that trimming. However, the "under the circumstances" is not so bad. A good cut, too--yes. Aha!Just you wail till my portmanteau comes!

Svava. Some surprises for us?

Riis. Big ones!--By the way, I have something here. (Goes into hisroom. )

Svava. Do you know, mother, he seems to me more restless than ever. 

Mrs. Riis. That is happiness, dear. 

Svava. And yet father's restlessness has always something a little sadabout it. He is--. (RIIS comes out of his room again. ) Do you know whatI heard a cabinet minister say about you yesterday?

Riis. A man of that stamp is sure to say something worth hearing. 

Svava. "We all always look upon your father, Miss Riis, as ourWell-dressed man par excellence. "

Riis. Ah, a bien dit son excellence! But I can tell you something betterthan that. You are getting your father a knighthood. 

Svava. I am?

Riis. Yes, who else? Of course the Government has once or twice madeuse of me to some small degree in connection with various commercialtreaties; but now, as our great man's brother-in-law, I am going to bemade a Knight of St. Olaf!

Svava. I congratulate you. 

Riis. Well, when it rains on the parson it drips on the clerk, you know. 

Svava. You are really most unexpectedly modest in your new position. 

Riis. Am I not!--And now you shall see me as a modest showman ofbeautiful dresses--that is to say, of drawings of dresses--still moremodest than the showman, from the latest play at the Français. 

Svava. Oh no, dad--not now!

Mrs. Riis. We won't start on that till the afternoon. 

Riis. One would really think I were the only woman of the lot!However, as you please. You rule the world! Well, then, I have anotherproposition to make, in two parts. Part one, that we sit down!

Svava. We sit down! (She and her father sit. )

Riis. And next, that you tell your newly-returned parent exactly how itall happened. All about that "riddle, " you know!

Svava. Oh, that!--You must excuse me; I cannot t you about that. 

Riis. Not in all its sweet details, of course! Good heavens, who wouldbe so barbarous as to ask such a thing in the first delicious month ofan engagement! No, I of only I want you to tell us what was the primummobile in the matter. 

Svava. Oh, I understand. Yes, I will tell you that because that reallymeans teaching you to know Alfred's true character. 

Riis. For instance--how did you come to speak to him?

Svava. Well, that was those darling Kindergartens of ours--

Riis. Oho!--Your darling Kindergartens, you mean?

Svava. What, when there are over a hundred girls there--?

Riis. Never mind about that! I suppose he came to bring a donation?

Svava. Yes, he came several times with a donation--

Riis. Aha!

Svava. And one day we were talking about luxury saying that it wasbetter to use one's time and money in our way, than to use them inluxurious living. 

Riis. But how do you define luxury?

Svava. We did not discuss that at all. But I saw that he consideredluxury to be immoral. 

Riis. Luxury immoral!

Svava. Yes, I know that is not your opinion. But it is mine. 

Riis. Your mother's, you mean, and your grand mother's. 

Svava. Exactly; but mine too, if you don't object?

Riis. Not I!

Svava. I mentioned that little incident that happened to us when we werein America--do you remember? We had gone to a temperance meeting, andsaw women drive up who were going to support the cause of abstinence, and yet were--well, of course we did not know their circumstances--butto judge from their appearance, with their carriages and horses, theirjewellery and dresses--especially their jewellery--they must have beenworth, say--

Riis. Say many thousands of dollars! No doubt about it. 

Svava. There is no doubt about it. And don't you think that is reallyjust as disgraceful debauchery, in its town way, as drink is in its?

Riis. Oh, well--!

Svava. Yes, you shrug your shoulders. Alfred did not do that. He told meof his own experiences--in great cities. It was horrible!

Riis. What was horrible?

Svava. The contrast between poverty and wealth--between the bitterestwant and the most reckless luxury. 

Riis. Oh--that! I thought, perhaps--. However, go on!

Svava. He did not sit looking quite indifferent and clean his nails. 

Riis. I beg your pardon. 

Svava. Oh, please go on, dear!--No, he prophesied a great socialrevolution, and spoke so fervently about it--and it was then that hetold me what his ideas about wealth were. It was the greatest possiblesurprise to me--and a new idea to me, too, to some extent. You shouldhave seen how handsome he looked!

Riis. Handsome, did you say?

Svava. Isn't he handsome? I think so, at all events. And so does mother, I think?

Mrs. Riis (without looking up from her book). And so does mother. 

Riis. Mothers always fall in love with their daughters' young men--butthey fall out again when they become their mothers-in-law!

Svava. Is that your experience?

Riis. That is my experience. So Alfred Christensen has blossomed into abeauty? Well, we must consider that settled. 

Svava. He stood there so sure of himself, and looking so honest andclean--for that is an essential thing, you know. 

Riis. What exactly do you mean by "clean, " my dear?

Svava. I mean just what the word means. 

Riis. Exactly--but I want to know what meaning attach to the word. 

Svava. Well--the meaning that I hope any one would attach to it if theyused the word of me. 

Riis. Do you attach the same meaning to it if it is used' of a man, asyou would if it were used of a girl?

Svava. Yes, of course. 

Riis. And do you suppose that Christensen's son--

Svava (getting up). Father, you are insulting me!

Riis. How can the fact of his being his father's son I an insult to you?

Svava. In that respect he is not his father's son! I am not likely tomake any mistake in a thing of that sort!

Mrs. Riis. I am just reading about inherited tendencies. It is Notnecessary to suppose that he has inherited all his father's. 

Riis. Oh, well--have it as you please! I am afraid all these superhumantheories of yours. You will never get through the world with them. 

Svava. What do you mean?--Mother, what does father mean?

Mrs. Riis. I suppose he means that all men are alike. And one must allowthat it is true. 

Svava. You do not really mean that?

Riis. But why get so excited about it?--Come and sit down! And, besides, how can you possibly tell?

Svava. Tell? What?

Riis. Well, in each individual case--

Svava. --whether the man I see standing before me or walking past me isan unclean, disgusting beast--or a man?

Riis. Etcetera, etcetera!--You may make mistakes, my dear Svava?

Svava. No--not any more than I should make a mistake about you, father, when you begin to tease me with your horrid principles! Because, inspite of them, you are the chastest and most refined man I know. 

Mrs. Riis (laying down her book). Are you going to keep that morningfrock on, dear child? Won't you change your dress before Alfred comes?

Svava. No, mother, I am not going to be put off like that. --By this timeI have seen so many of my girl friends giving themselves trustfully totheir "fairy prince, " as they think, and waking in the arms of a beast. I shall not risk that! I shall not make that mistake!

Mrs. Riis. Well, as it is, there is no occasion for you to get heatedabout it. Alfred is a man of honour. 

Svava. He is. But I have heard of one shocking experience after another. There was poor Helga, only a month ago! And I myself--I can speak aboutit now, for I am happy now and feel secure--I can tell you now why Ihave been so long about it. For a long time I did nut dare to trustmyself; because I too have been on the brink of being deceived. 

Riis and Mrs. Riis (together, starting up from their chairs). You, Svava?

Svava. I was quite young at the time. Like most young girls, I waslooking for my ideal, and found it in a young, vivacious man--I won'tdescribe him more accurately. He had--oh, the noblest principles and thehighest aims--the most complete contrast to you in that respect father!To say I loved him, is much too mild; I worshipped him. But I never cantell you what I discovered or how I discovered it. It was the time whenyou all thought I had--

Mrs. Riis. --something wrong with your lungs? Is it possible, child? Wasit then?

Svava. Yes, it was then. --No one could endure or forgive being deceivedlike that!

Mrs. Riis. And you never said a word to me?

Svava. Only those who have made such a mistake as I did can understandthe shame one feels. --Well, it is all over now. But this much iscertain, that no one who has had such an experience once will make thesame mistake again. (Meanwhile RIIS has gone into his room. )

Mrs. Riis. Perhaps it was a good thing for you, after all?

Svava. I am sure it was. --Well, it is all done with now. But it was notquite done with till I found Alfred. Where is father?

Mrs. Riis. Your father? Here he comes. 

Riis (coming out of his room, with his hat on, and drawing on hisgloves). Look here, little girl! I must go and see what has happened tomy luggage at the Customs. I will go to the station and telegraph. Youmust have all your things looking very nice, you know, because the Kingis coming here in a day or two--and so it is worth it! Good-bye, then, my dear girl! (Kisses her. ) You have made us very happy--so very happy. It is true you have certain ideas that are not--. Well, never mind!Goodbye! (Goes out. )

Mrs. Riis. Good-bye!

Riis (drawing off his gloves). Did you notice the tune I was playingwhen you came in? (Sits down at the piano. ) I heard it everywhere inGermany. (Begins to play and sing, but stops short. ) But, bless my soul, here is the music! You can play it and sing it for yourself. (Goes out, humming the air. )

Svava. He is delightful! There is really something so innocent abouthim. Did you notice him yesterday? He was simply coruscating. 

Mrs. Riis. You did not see yourself, my dear!

Svava. Why? Was I sparkling, too?

Mrs. Riis. Your father's daughter--absolutely!

Svava. Yes, it is no use denying, mother, that however great one'shappiness is, the friendliness of others increases it. I was thinkingto-day over all the things that gave me so much happiness yesterday, andfelt--oh, I can't tell you what I felt! (Nestles in her mother's arms. )

Mrs. Riis. You are a very lucky girl!--Now I must go and do myhousekeeping. 

Svava. Shall I help you?

Mrs. Riis. No, thank you, dear. (They cross the room together. )

Svava. Well, then, I will run through father's song once or twice--andAlfred should be here directly. (MRS. RIIS goes out by the door on theleft. SVAVA sits down at the piano. ALFRED comes in softly from theleft, and bends over her shoulder so that his face comes close to hers. )

Alfred. Good morning, darling!

Svava (jumping up). Alfred! I did not hear the door!

Alfred. Because you were playing. Something very pretty, too!

Svava. I enjoyed myself so much yesterday!

Alfred. I do not believe you have any idea what an impression you made!

Svava. Just a suspicion. But you must not talk about that, because itwould be most improper for me to confess it!

Alfred. Every one was singing your praises to me, and a mother andfather too. We are all very happy at how, to-day. 

Svava. So we are here!--What is that you have got in your hand? Aletter?

Alfred. Yes, a letter. Your maid who opened the door gave it to me. Someone has been clever enough to count upon my coming here some timethis morning. 

Svava. You don't think that was difficult to guess?

Alfred. Not particularly. It is from Edward Hansen. 

Svava. But you can take a short cut to his house through our park. (Points to the right. )

Alfred. Yes, I know. And as he says it is urgent, and underlines theword--

Svava. --you can have my key. Here it is. (Gives it to him. )

Alfred. Thank you, dear, very much. 

Svava. Oh, it is only selfishness; we shall have you back again all thesooner. 

Alfred. I will stay here till lunch time. 

Svava. You will stay here a great deal longer than that. We have afrightful lot to talk about--all about yesterday, and--

Alfred. Of course we have!

Svava. And lots of other things as well. 

Alfred. I have a most important question to ask you. 

Svava. Have you?

Alfred. Perhaps you will find the answer by the time I come back. 

Svava. It can't be so very difficult, then!

Alfred. Indeed it is. But sometimes you have inspirations. 

Svava. What is it?

Alfred. Why did we two not find each other many years ago?

Svava. Because we were not ready for it, of course!

Alfred. How do you know that?

Svava. Because I know that at that time I was quite another girl fromwhat I am now. 

Alfred. But there is a natural affinity between those that love oneanother. I am sure of it. And it was just its much the case at thattime, surely?

Svava. We do not feel the natural affinity as long as we are developingon different lines. 

Alfred. Have we been doing that? And nevertheless we--

Svava. Nevertheless we love one another. Our paths may be as unlike asthey please, if only they lead together in the end. 

Alfred. To the same way of thinking, you mean?

Svava. Yes, to our being such comrades as we are now. 

Alfred. Such true comrades?

Svava. Such true comrades!

Alfred. Still, it is just at moments like this, when I hold you in myarms as I do now, that I ask myself over and over again why I did not dothis long ago. 

Svava. Oh, I don't think about that--not the least bit! It is the safestplace in the world--that is what I think!

Alfred. Perhaps before this year it would not have been so. 

Svava. What do you mean?

Alfred. I mean--well, I mean practically the same as you; that I havenot always been the man I am now. --But I must hurry away. The lettersays it is something urgent. (They cross the room together. )

Svava. One minute won't make any difference, will it?--because there issomething I must say to you first. 

Alfred (standing still). What is it?

Svava. When I saw you standing amongst all the others yesterday, I feltfor the first moment as if I did not know you. Some change seemed tohave come over you--the effect of the others, perhaps--anyway you really_were_ actually different. 

Alfred. Of course. People always are that, among strangers. When youcame in with the ladies, it just seemed to me as if I had never observedyou carefully before. Besides, there are certain things one cannot knowtill one sees a person amongst others. It was the first time I realisedhow tall you are--and your way of bending just a tiny bit to one sidewhen you bow to any one. And your colouring! I had never properly seen--

Svava. Do be quiet, and let me get a word in!

Alfred. No, no! Here we are, back in the room--and I _must_ be off now!

Svava. Only just a moment. You interrupted me, you know! When I saw youstanding there among the men for the first moment I felt just as ifI did not know you. But at the same moment you caught sight of me andnodded. I don't know what sort of a transformation came over us both;but I felt myself blushing as red as fire. And it was some time before Ihad the courage to look at you again. 

Alfred. Well, do you know what happened to me? Every time any one cameto dance with you, didn't I envy him! Oh, not at all!--To tell youthe truth, I cannot bear any one else to touch you. (Clasps her in hisarms. ) And I have not told you the best part of it yet. 

Svava. What is that?

Alfred. That when I see you amongst other people, and catch--say--aglimpse of your arm, I think to myself: That arm has been round my neckand round no one else's in the whole world! She is mine, mine, mine--andno one else's!--There, that is the best part of it all!--Look here, herewe are back again in the room! It is witchcraft! Now I must go. (Crossesthe room. ) Good-bye! (Lets her go, then catches hold of her again. ) Whydidn't I find my happiness many years ago?--Good-bye!

Svava. I think I will come with you. 

Alfred. Yes, do!

Svava. No, I forgot--I must learn this song before father comes back. IfI don't learn it now, I expect you will take care I don't do so to-day. (A ring is heard at the front door. )

Alfred. Here is some one coming! Let me get away first. (Hurries out tothe right. SVAVA stands waving her hand to him, then turns to the piano. The maid MARGIT enters. )

Margit. A gentleman has called, miss, who wants to know if--

Svava. A gentleman? Don't you know who he is?

Margit. No, miss. 

Svava. What is he like?

Margit. He looks rather--

Svava. Rather suspicious?

Margit. No, far from it, miss--a very nice gentleman. 

Svava. Tell him my father is not at home; he has gone down to thestation. 

Margit. I told him so, miss, but it is you he wants to see. 

Svava. Ask my mother to come in here!--Oh, no, why should she! Let himcome in. (MARGIT shows in HOFF, and goes out. )

Hoff. Is it Miss Riis I have the honour to--? Yes, I see it is. My nameis Hoff--Karl Hoff. I am a commercial traveller--travel in iron. 

Svava. But what has that to do with me?

Hoff. Just this much, that if I had been an ordinary stay-at-home man, agreat many things would not have happened. 

Svava. What would not have happened?

Hoff (taking a large pocket-book out of his docket, and extracting aletter from it). Will you condescend to read this? Or perhaps you wouldrather not?

Svava. How can I tell?

Hoff. Of course, you must first--Allow me. (Gives her the letter. )

Svava (reading). "To-night between ten and eleven that is to say, if thebooby has not come home. I love you so dearly! Put a light in the hallwindow. "

Hoff. "The booby" is me. 

Svava. But I don't understand--?

Hoff. Here is another. 

Svava. "I am full of remorse. Your cough frightens me; and now, when youare expecting--" But what in the world has this to do with me?

Hoff (after a moment's thought). What do you suppose?

Svava. Is it some one you want me to help?

Hoff. No, poor soul, she doesn't need help any more. She is dead. 

Svava. Dead? Was she your wife?

Hoff. That's it. She was my wife. I found these and come other thingsin a little box. At the bottom were these notes--there are more ofthem--and some cotton wool on the top of them. On the top of that laysome earrings and things that had been her mother's. And also (producingsome bracelets) these bracelets. They are certainly much too costly tohave been her mother's. 

Svava. I suppose she died suddenly, as she did not--

Hoff. I cannot say. Consumptives never think they are going to die. Anyway she was very delicate and weak. --May I sit down?

Svava. Please do. Are there any children?

Hoff (after a moment's thought). I believe not. 

Svava. You believe not? I asked because I thought you wanted our Societyto help you. This really is all very distressful to me. 

Hoff. I thought it would be--I thought as much. Besides, I am not reallysure if I--. You cannot understand this, then?

Svava. No, I cannot. 

Hoff. No, you cannot. -I have heard so much good spoken of you for manyyears. My wife used to sing your praises, too. 

Svava. Did she know me?

Hoff. She was Maren Tang--who used to be companion to--

Svava. --to Mrs. Christensen, my future mother-in-law? Was it she? Shewas such a well-bred, quiet woman. Are you sure you are not mistaken?One or two notes, unsigned and undated--what?

Hoff. Did you not recognise the handwriting?

Svava. I? No. Besides, isn't it a disguised hand?

Hoff. Yes, but not much disguised. 

Svava. I presume you had some more definite errand with me?

Hoff. Yes, I had--but I think I will let it alone. You do not understandanything about this, I can see Perhaps you think I am a little crazy? Iam not so sure you would not be right. 

Svava. But there was something you wanted to say to me?

Hoff. Yes, there was. You see, these Kindergartens--

Svava. Oh, so it was them, all the time?

Hoff. No, it was not them. But they are responsible for my having for along time thought very highly of you, Miss Riis. If you will excuse mysaying so, I had never before seen fashionable young ladies trying todo anything useful--never. I am only a little broken-down tradesmantravelling for a firm--a worthless sort of chap in many ways, and onethat very likely deserves what he has got--but anyway I wanted you to bespared. Indeed thought it was my duty--absolutely my duty. But now whenI see you sitting there before me--well, now I only I feel miserablyunhappy. So I won't trouble you at all (Gets up. ) Not at all. 

Svava. I really cannot understand--

Hoff. Please don't bother about me! And please forgive my disturbingyou. --No, you really must not give me another thought! Just imagine thatI have not been here--that is all. (As he reaches the door, he meetsALFRED coming in. As soon as he sees that SVAVA is watching them, hegoes hurriedly out. SVAVA sees the meeting between the two and gives alittle scream, then rushes to meet ALFRED. But as soon as she is faceto face with him, she seems terrified. As he comes nearer to take her inhis arms she cries out: "Don't touch me!" and hurries out by the dooron the left. She is heard locking and bolting it on the inside. Then aviolent outburst of weeping is heard, the sound being somewhat deadenedby the distance, but only for a few moments. Then the sound of singingis heard outside, and a few seconds later RIIS comes into the room. Thecurtain falls as he enters. )

ACT II

(SCENE. --The same as in Act I. SVAVA is lying on the couch to the right, resting her head on one hand, looking out towards the park. Her motheris sitting beside her. )

Mrs. Riis. Decisions as hasty as yours, Svava, are not really decisionsat all. There is always a great deal more to be taken into considerationthan one realises at first. Take time to think it over! I believe he isa fine fellow. Give him time to show it; don't break it off immediately!

Svava. Why do you keep on saying that to me?

Mrs. Riis. Well, dear, you know I have never had the chance of sayinganything to you till to-day. 

Svava. But you keep harping on that one string. 

Mrs. Riis. What note do you want me to strike, then?

Svava. The note your dear good mother would have struck--quite adifferent one altogether. 

Mrs. Riis. It is one thing to teach your child how to make a properchoice in life, but--

Svava. But quite another thing to put into practice what you teach?

Mrs. Riis. No; I was going to say that life itself is quite anotherthing. In daily life, and especially in married life, it is sometimesadvisable to make allowances. 

Svava. Yes, on points that do not really matter. 

Mrs. Riis. Only on points that do not matter?

Svava. Yes--personal peculiarities, and things like that, which afterall are only excrescences; but not on points that concern one's moralgrowth. 

Mrs. Riis. Yes, on those points too. 

Svava. On those points too?--But isn't it just for the sake of our ownself-development that we marry? What else should we marry for?

Mrs. Riis. Oh, you will see!

Svava. No, indeed I shall not; because I do not intend to marry on suchconditions. 

Mrs. Riis. You should have said that sooner. It is too late now. 

Svava (sitting upright). Too late? If I had been married twenty years, Iwould have done just the same! (Lies down again. )

Mrs. Riis. Heaven help you, then!--You haven't an idea, not the smallestidea, what a net you are entangled in! But you will find it out, as soonas you begin to struggle in earnest. Or do you really want your fatherand me to throw away all that we have worked for here?--to begin allover again in a foreign country? Because he has repeatedly said, duringthe last day or two, that he will not be mixed up in the scandal thatwould be the result of your breaking this off. He would go abroad, and Ishould have to go with him. Ah, you wince at the thought of that!--Thinkof all your friends, too. It is a serious matter to have been set onsuch an eminence as you were at your betrothal party. It is likebeing lifted up high on a platform that others are carrying on theirshoulders; take care you do not fall down from it! That is what you willdo, if you offend their principles of right behaviour. 

Svava. Is that sort of thing a principle of right behaviour?

Mrs. Riis. I do not say that. But undoubtedly, one their principles ofright behaviour--and perhaps the most important--is that all scandalmust be avoided. No one relishes being disgraced, Svava--particularlythe most influential people in a place. And least of all, by a long way, do people relish their own child being disgraced. 

Svava (half raising herself). Good Lord! is it _I_ that am disgracinghim?

Mrs. Riis. No, of course, it is he himself--

Svava. Very well, then! (Sinks down upon the couch again. )

Mrs. Riis. But you will never get them to understand that. I assure you, you won't. As long as what he has done is only whispered about inhis family and amongst his intimate friends, they don't consider himdisgraced at all. There are too many that do just the same. It is onlywhen the knowledge of it becomes common property, that they considerit a disgrace. And if it became known that there was a formal breachbetween you--the Christensens' eldest son ignominiously refused becauseof his past life--they would consider it the most shocking scandal thatcould possibly overtake them! And we should feel the effect of it, inparticular. And so would those that are dependent on us--and they arenot so few in number, as you know, because you have interested yourselfin them, particularly in the children. You would have t. Give up all theinterests you have made for Yourself here--because you would have to gowith us. I am certain your father is in earnest about that. 

Svava. Oh! Oh!

Mrs. Riis. I almost wish I could tell you why I am so certain of that. But I cannot--at all events not now. No, you must not tempt me to. --Herecomes your father. Only take time to reflect, Svava! No breaking of itoff, no scandal! (RIIS comes in from outside, with an opened letter inhis hand. )

Riis. Oh, there you are! (Goes into his room, lays down his hat andstick, and comes out again. ) You have taken no serious step yet, Ihope--eh?

Mrs. Riis. No, but--

Riis. Very well. Now here is a letter from the Christensens. If youwon't receive either your dance or his letters, you will have to put upwith his family's interference in the matter. Everything must come to anend sooner or later. (Reads. ) "My wife, my son and I will do ourselvesthe honour of paying you a visit between eleven and twelve o'clock. " Theonly wonder is, that I have not had some such letter before this! I amsure they have been patient enough. 

Mrs. Riis. Well, we have got no farther to-day, either. 

Riis. What are you thinking of, child? Can't you see what it must alllead to? You are a good-hearted girl, I know--I am sure you don't wantto ruin us all absolutely? I certainly consider, Svava, that you haveacted quite severely enough now in this matter. They have suffered anasty shock to their self-confidence, both of them; you may be quitesure of that. What more do you want? If you are really determined tocarry the matter farther--well--make your conditions! There is no doubtthey will be agreed to. 

Svava. For shame! For shame!

Riis (despairingly). What is the use of taking it in this way!

Mrs. Riis. What, indeed! You ought rather to try and make things a biteasier, Svava. 

Riis. And you really might condescend, too, to consider who it is thatyou are throwing over--a member of one of the richest families in thecountry, and, I venture to say, one of the most honourable too. I havenever heard of anything so idiotic! Yes, I repeat--idiotic, idiotic!What if he have made a false step--or two--well, good heavens--

Svava. Yes, bring heaven into it, too!

Riis. Indeed I well may! There is good need. As I was saying, if he havemade a false step, surely the poor fellow has been sufficiently punishedfor it now. Beside it is certainly our duty to be a little reasonablewith one another--it is a commandment, you know, that we are to bereasonable and forgiving. We must be forgiving! And more than that, wemust help the erring--we must raise up the fallen and set them inthe right way. Yes, set them in the right way. You could do that sosplendidly! It is exactly in your line. You know very well, my dearchild, it is very seldom I talk about morals and that sort of thing. Itdoesn't sit well on me at all; I know that only too well. But on thisoccasion I cannot help it. Begin with forgiveness, my child; begin withthat! After all, can you contemplate living together with anyone for anylength of time without--without--well, without _that_?

Svava. But there is no question of living with anyone, for any length oftime, or of forgiveness--because I do not mean to have anything more todo with him. 

Riis. Really, this is beyond all bounds! Because he has dared to fall inlove with some one before you--?

Svava. Some one?

Riis. Well, if there was more than one, I am sure I know nothing aboutit. No, indeed I do not! Besides, the way people gossip and backbite isthe very devil! But, as I was saying, because he dared to look at someone before he looked at you--before he ever _thought_ of you--is that areason for throwing him over for good and all? How many would ever getmarried under those circumstances, I should like to know? Everybodyconfirms the opinion that he is an honourable, fine young fellow, towhom the proudest girl might confidently entrust herself--you said soyourself, only a day or two ago! Do not deny it! And now he is suddenlyto be thrown over, because you are not the first girl he has ever met!Pride should have some limits, remember! I have never heard of anythingmore preposterous, if you ask me. 

Mrs. Riis. Men are not like that. 

Riis. And what about girls? Are they like that? I am quite sure they donot ask whether their fiancés have been married before--observe, I said"married. " You can imagine he has been married. Well, why not? That iswhat other girls do--you cannot deny it. I know you know it. You havebeen to dances; who are most in request there? Precisely those who havethe reputation of being something of a Don Juan. They take the wind outof all the other fellows' sails. You have seen it yourself a hundredtimes. And it is not only at dances that this applied. Don't you supposethey get married--and as a rule make the very best matches?

Mrs. Riis. That is true. 

Riis. Of course it is true. And as a rule they make the very besthusbands, too!

Mrs. Riis. Hm!

Riis. Oh, indeed they do!--with some exceptions, of course, naturally. The fact is, that marriage has an ennobling influence, and provides abeautiful vocation for a woman--the most beautiful vocation possible!

Svava (who has got up). I can just manage to listen to such things fromyou--because I expected no better from you. 

Riis. Thank you very much!

Svava (who has come forward). One would really think that marriage werea sort of superior wash-house for men--

Riis. Ha, ha!

Svava. --and that men could come there and take a dip when theyplease--and in what state they please!

Riis. Oh, really--!

Svava. I mean it! And it is flattering--very flattering--for me, as yourdaughter, to feel that you look upon me as so peculiarly suited for thewasherwoman's post! None of that for me, thank you!

Riis. But this is--

Svava. No, just listen to me for a little! I don't think I have said toomuch, the last day or two. 

Riis. No, we have not been allowed to say a word to you. 

Svava. Look here, father. You have a fine supply of principles, for showpurposes. 

Riis. For--?

Svava. I do not mean by that, that they are not your own. But you areso good and so honourable, your whole life is so refined, that I do notattach the least importance to your principles. But to mother's I doattach importance, for hers are what have formed mine. And now just whenI want to act up to them, she deserts me. 

Riis and Mrs. Riis (together). Svava!

Svava. It is mother I am angry with! It is mother I cannot have patiencewith!

Riis. Really, Svava--!

Svava. Because if there has been one point on which mother and I havebeen agreed, it has been on the subject of the unprincipled way menprepare themselves for marriage, and the sort of marriages that are theresult. We have watched the course of it, mother and I, for many years;and we had come to one and the same conclusion, that it is _before_marriage that a marriage is marred. But when, the other day, motherbegan to turn round--

Mrs. Riis. No, you have no right to say that! I am convinced that Alfredis as honourable--

Svava. But when, the other day, mother began to turn round--well, Icould not have been more amazed if some one had come in and told me theyhad met her out in the street when she was actually sitting here talkingto me. 

Mrs. Riis. I only ask you to take time to consider! I am notcontradicting you!

Svava. Oh, let me speak now! Let me give you just one instance. One day, before I was really grown up, I came running into this room from thepark. We had just bought the property, and I was so happy. Mother wasstanding over there leaning against the door and crying. It was a lovelysummer's day. "Why are you crying, mother?" I said. For some timeshe seemed as if she did not see me. "Why are you crying, mother?" Irepeated, and went nearer to her, but did not like to touch her. Sheturned away from me, and walked up and down once or twice. Then she cameto me. "My child, " she said, drawing me to her, "never give in to whatis not good and pure, on any account whatever! It is so cowardly, andone repents it so bitterly; it means perpetually giving in, more andmore and more. " I do not know what she referred to, and I have neverasked. But no one can imagine what an effect it all had on me--thebeautiful summer day, and mother crying, and the heartfelt tones of hervoice! I cannot give in; do not ask me to. Everything that made marriageseem beautiful to me is gone--my faith, my feeling of security--allgone! No, no, no! I can never begin with that, and it is wicked of youto want to make me believe I can. After such a disillusionment and sucha humiliation? No! I would rather never be married--even it I have to goaway from here. I daresay I shall find something to fill my life; it isonly for the moment that I am so helpless. And anything is betterthan to fill it with what is unclean. If I did not refuse that withouthesitation, I should be an accomplice to it. Perhaps some people couldput up with that. I cannot--no, I cannot. Do you think it is arroganceon my part? Or because I am angry? If you knew what we two had plannedand schemed, you would understand me. And if you knew what I havethought of him, how I have admired him--you did the same yourselves--andhow wretched I feel now, how utterly robbed of everything!--Who is itthat is crying? Is it you, mother? (She runs to her mother, kneels downand buries her head in her lap. A pause. RIIS goes into his room. ) Whycannot we three hold together? If we do, what have we to be afraid of?What is it that stands in the way? Father, what is it that stands inthe way?--But where is father? (Sees NORDAN outside the window. ) UncleNordan! This is a surprise! (Hurries across the room, throws herselfinto NORDAN's arms as he enters, and bursts into tears. )

Nordan. Oh, you goose! You great goose!

Svava. You must come and talk to me!

Nordan. Isn't that what I am here for?

Svava. And I thought you were up in the mountains and could not hearfrom us. 

Nordan. So I was. But when I got telegram after telegram, as long asthey could reach me, and then one express letter after another--and nowthe end of it all is--well, I don't suppose I dare even mention his namehere now? (RIIS comes in from his room. )

Riis. At last! We have been so anxious for you to come!

Mrs. Riis (who has at last risen and come forward). Thank you forcoming, dear doctor!

Nordan (looking at her). There is something serious up, then?

Mrs. Riis. I have something I want to say to you. 

Nordan. Yes, but just now away you go, you two! Let me talk to thisbooby. (MRS. RIIS goes out to the left. SVAVA follows her for a minute. )

Riis. I just want to tell you that in a little while--

Nordan. --the whole pack of Christensens will be here? I know that. Goaway now. 

Riis. Nordan! (Whispers to him. )

Nordan. Yes, yes!--Quite so!--No, of course not! (Tries to stop hiswhispering. ) Do you suppose I don't know what I am about? Be off withyou! (SVAVA comes in, as her father goes out. )

Svava. Dear Uncle Nordan! At last, somebody that will agree with me!

Nordan. Am I?

Svava. Oh, Uncle Nordan, you don't know what these days have been like!

Nordan. And the nights too, I expect?--although, with all that, youdon't look so bad. 

Svava. The last night or two I have slept. 

Nordan. Really? Then I see how things stand. You are a tough customer, you are!

Svava. Oh, don't begin saying a lot of things you don't mean, uncle. 

Nordan. Things I don't mean!

Svava. You always do, you know. But we haven't time for that now. I amall on fire!

Nordan. Well, what is this you have been doing?

Svava. Ah, you see, you are beginning again!

Nordan. Beginning again? Who the devil has put the idea into your headthat I ever say anything but what I mean? Come and let us sit down. (Brings a chair forward. )

Svava (bringing her chair close to his). There now!

Nordan. Since I was here last, I believe you have promulgated abrand-new law on the subject of love? I congratulate you. 

Svava. Have I?

Nordan. A superhuman, Svava-woven one--derived from seraphic heights, I should imagine! "There shall be only one love in a man's life, and itshall be directed only to one object. " Full stop!

Svava. Have I said anything like that?

Nordan. Is it not you that have thrown over a young man because he hashad the audacity to fall in love before he saw you?

Svava. Do you take it in that way, too?

Nordan. In that way? Is there any other way for a sensible man to takeit? A fine young fellow honesty, adores you; a distinguished familythrow their doors wide open to you, as if you were a princess; and thenyou turn round and say: "You have not waited for me ever since you werea child! Away with you!"

Svava (springing up). What, you too! You too! And the same talk! Thesame stupid talk!

Nordan. I can tell you what it is; if you do not give consideration toeverything that can be said on the other side, you are stupid. --No, itis no use going away from me and marching up and down! I shall begin andmarch up and down too, if you do! Come here and sit. Or _daren't_ you gothoroughly into the question with me?

Svava. Yes, I dare. (Sits down again. )

Nordan. Well, to begin with, do you not think there must certainly betwo sides to a question that is discussed by serious men and women allover the world?

Svava. This only concerns me! And as far as I am concerned there is onlyone side to it. 

Nordan. You do not understand me, child! You shall settle your ownaffairs ultimately, and nobody else--of course. But suppose what youhave to settle is not quite so simple as you think it? Suppose it is aproblem that at the present moment is exercising the minds of thousandsand thousands of people? Do you not think it is your duty to give someconsideration to the usual attitude towards it, and to what is generallythought and said about it? Do you think it is conscientious to condemnin a single instance without doing that?

Svava. I understand! I think I have done what you are urging me to do. Ask mother!

Nordan. Oh, I daresay you and your mother have chattered and read a lotabout marriage and the woman question, and about abolishing distinctionsof class--now you want to abolish distinctions of sex too. But asregards this special question?

Svava. What do you consider I have overlooked?

Nordan. Just this. Are you right in being equally as strict with men aswith women? Eh?

Svava. Yes, of course. 

Nordan. Is it so much a matter of course? Go out and ask any one youmeet. Out of every hundred you ask, ninety will say "no"--even out of ahundred women!

Svava. Do you think so? I think people are beginning to think otherwise. 

Nordan. Possibly. But experience is necessary if one is to answer aquestion like that. 

Svava. Do you mean what you say?

Nordan. That is none of your business. Besides, I always mean what Isay. --A woman can marry when is sixteen; a man must wait till he isfive-and-twenty, or thirty. There is a difference. 

Svava. There _is_ a difference! There are many, many times moreunmarried women than men, and they exhibit self-control. Men find itmore convenient to make a law of their want of self-control!

Nordan. An answer like that only displays ignorance. Man is a polygamousanimal, like many other animals--a theory that is very stronglysupported by the fact that women so outnumber men in the world. Idaresay that is something you have never heard before?

Svava. Yes, I have heard it!

Nordan. Don't you laugh at science! What else we to put faith in, Ishould like to know?

Svava. I should just like men to have the same trouble over theirchildren that women do! Just let them have that, Uncle Nordan, and Ifancy they would soon change their principles! Just let them experienceit!

Nordan. They have no time for that; they have to govern the world. 

Svava. Yes, they have allotted the parts themselves!--Now, tell me this, Dr. Nordan. Is it cowardly not to practise what you preach?

Nordan. Of course it is. 

Svava. Then why do you not do it?

Nordan. I? I have always been a regular monster. Don't you know that, dear child?

Svava. Dear Uncle Nordan--you have such long white locks; why do youwear them like that?

Nordan. Oh, well--I have my reasons. 

Svava. What are they?

Nordan. We won't go into that now. 

Svava. You told me the reason once. 

Nordan. Did I?

Svava. I wanted, one day, to take hold of your hair, but you wouldnot let me. You said: "Do you know why you must not do that?"--"No, " Isaid. --"Because no one has done that for more than thirty years. "--"Whowas it that did it last?" I asked. --"It was a little girl, that you arevery like, " you answered. 

Nordan. So I told you that, did I?

Svava. "And she was one of your grandmother's younger sisters, " you saidto me. 

Nordan. She was. It was quite true. And you are like her, my child. 

Svava. And then you told me that the year you went to college she wasstanding beside you one day and caught up some locks of your hair in herfingers. "You must never wear your hair shorter than this, " she said. She went away, and you went away; and when, one day, you wrote and askedher whether you two did not belong to one another, her answer was "yes. "And a month later she was dead. 

Nordan. She was dead. 

Svava. And ever since then--you dear, queer old uncle--you haveconsidered yourself as married to her. (He nods. ) And ever since theevening you told me that--and I lay awake a long time, thinking overit--I wanted, even when I was quite a young girl, to choose some one Icould have perfect confidence in. And then I chose wrong. 

Nordan. Did you, Svava?

Svava. Do not ask me any more about that. --Then I chose once again, andthis time I was certain! For never had truer eyes looked in mine. Andhow happy we were together! Day after day it always seemed new, and thedays were always too short. I dare not think about now. Oh, it is sinfulto deceive us so!--not deceit in words, it is true, but in lettingus give them our admiration and our most intimate confidences. Not inwords, no--and yet, it is in words; because they accept all we say, andare silent themselves, and by that very fact make our words their own. Our simple-mindedness pleases them as a bit of unspoilt nature, and itis just by means of that that they deceive us. It creates an intimacybetween us and an atmosphere of happy give-and-take of jests, which wethink can exist only on one presupposition--and really it is all a sham. I cannot understand how any one can so treat the one he loves--for hedid love me!

Nordan. He does love you. 

Svava (getting up). But not as I loved him! All these years I have notbeen frittering away my love. Besides, I have had too high an ideal ofwhat loving and being loved should be; and just for that reason I felt adeep desire to be loved--I can say so to you. And when love came, seemedto take all my strength from me; but I felt I should always be safe withhim, and so I let him see it and gloried in his seeing it. That is thebitterest part of it to me now--because he was unworthy of it. He hassaid to me: "I cannot bear to see any one else touch you!" and "When Icatch a glimpse of your arm, I think to myself that it has been round myneck--mine, and no one else's in the world. " And I felt proud and happywhen he said so, because I thought it was true. Hundreds of times I hadimagined some one's saying that to me some day. But I never imaginedthat the one who would say it would be a man who--oh, it is disgusting!When I think what it means, it makes me ready to hate him. The merethought that he has had his arms round me--has touched me--makes meshudder! I am not laying down rules for any one else, but what I amdoing seems to me a matter of course. Every fibre of my being tells methat. I must be left in peace!

Nordan. I see that this is more serious, and goes deeper, than I had anysuspicion of. None of them understand it that way, Alfred least ofall. He is only hurt--distressed and hurt at the thought that you coulddistrust him. 

Svava. I know that. 

Nordan. Yes--well--don't take up such a high and mighty attitude! Iassure you that is how it will appear to most people. 

Svava. Do you think so? I think people are beginning to think otherwise. 

Nordan. Most people will think: "Other girls forgive things like that, especially when they love a man. "

Svava. There are some that will answer: "If she had not loved him, shemight have forgiven him. "

Nordan. And yet, Svava?--and yet?

Svava. But, uncle, do you not understand? I do not know that I canexplain it, either; because, to do that, I should have to explain whatit is that we read into the face, the character, the manner of the manwe love--his voice, his smile. That is what I have lost. Its meaning isgone. 

Nordan. For a while, yes--till you have had a breathing space. 

Svava. No, no, no! Do you remember that song of mine, about the belovedone's image? that one always sees it as if it were framed in happiness?Do you remember it?

Nordan. Yes. 

Svava. Very well--I cannot see it like that any longer. I see it, ofcourse--but always with pain. Always! Am I to forgive that, becauseother girls forgive it? What is that they have loved, these other girls?Can you tell me that? Because what I loved is gone. I am not going tosit down and try to conjure it up in my imagination again. I shall findsomething else to do. 

Nordan. You are embittered now. You have had your ideal thoroughlyshattered, and as long as you are smarting from that it is no usereasoning with you. So I will only beg one thing of you--one singlelittle thing. But you must promise me to do it?

Svava. If I can. 

Nordan. You can. There are things to take into consideration. Ask fortime to think it all over!

Svava. Ah!--mother has been writing to you!

Nordan. And if she has? Your mother knows what depends upon it. 

Svava. What depends upon it? Why do you speak so mysteriously, as if wewere not on secure ground? Aren't we? Father talks about giving up thisplace. Why?

Nordan. I suppose he thinks it will be necessary. 

Svava. Father? On grounds of economy?

Nordan. Not in the least! No, but all the gossips in the place will beat you. What you propose to do is a regular challenge, you know. 

Svava. Oh, we can stand criticism! Father has some queer principles, youknow; but his own life--. Surely no one has any doubt about that?

Nordan. Listen to me, my child. You cannot prevent people inventingthings. So be careful!

Svava. What do you mean?

Nordan. I mean that you ought to go for a stroll in the park and pullyourself together a little, before the Christensens come. Try to becalm; come in calmly, and request time to think it over. That is all youhave to do! They will make no difficulty about that, because they mustagree. Nothing has happened yet, and all ways are still open. Do as Iask!

Svava. I _have_ thought it over--and you will never get me to doanything else. 

Nordan. No, no. It is only a matter of form. 

Svava. What? You mean something more than that, I know. 

Nordan. What an obstinate girl you are!--Can you not do it then, let mesay, for your mother's sake? Your mother is a good woman. 

Svava. What will they think, if I come in and say: "Will you not give metime to consider the matter?" No, I cannot do that. 

Nordan. What will you say, then?

Svava. I would rather say nothing at all. But if I absolutely must saysomething--

Nordan. Of course you must!

Svava. Well, I will go out now and think it over. (Turns to go, butstops. ) But what you want can never be. 

Nordan. It must be!

Svava (standing by the door). You said just now: "Your mother is a goodwoman. " It sounded almost as if you laid stress on the word "mother"?

Nordan. Suppose I did?

Svava. Is father not that, too?

Nordan. Your father a good woman?

Svava. Why do you try to turn it off with a joke?

Nordan. Because it is serious, confound it all!

Svava. Can I not believe father--?

Nordan. Hush!

Svava. Father?--Is it possible that he too--? Do people say that?(NORDAN does not answer, and does not move. ) Shameful! Impossible! I sayit is impossible! (Rushes out. RIIS comes in from the right. )

Riis. What is the matter with Svava?

Nordan (coming forward). There was nothing else for it. 

Riis. Nothing else for it? What do you mean?

Nordan. No, devil take it!--there was nothing else for it. 

Riis. Quite so--but what?

Nordan. What do you say?

Riis. No, what were you saying--?

Nordan. What was I saying?

Riis. You said there was nothing else for it. You alarm me. 

Nordan. Do I? Then you did not hear right. (Moves away from him. )

Riis. Didn't hear right? You were swearing about it too!

Nordan. That I certainly did not. 

Riis. Very well then, you didn't. But how did you get on with Svava?Won't you answer me?

Nordan. How did I get on with Svava?

Riis. Why are you so preoccupied? Are things so bad, then?

Nordan. Preoccupied? Why should I be that?

Riis. You ought to know best. I was asking about Svava--how you got onwith Svava--and I think I have the right to know. 

Nordan. Look here, Riis. 

Riis. Yes? (NORDAN takes him by the arm. ) What is it?

Nordan. Did you see Svava?

Riis. Hurrying away out through the park? Yes. My dear chap, what wasit?

Nordan. It was the Greek tragedy. 

Riis. The Greek--?

Nordan. Only the name--only the name! Well, you know what the wordmeans, don't you?

Riis. The Greek--?

Nordan. No, no--not "Greek, " but "tragedy"?

Riis. Something mournful--?

Nordan. Far from it! Something amusing! It came to Greece with theworship of Dionysus, in whose train there was a goat--

Riis (draws his arm away). A goat? What on earth--?

Nordan. Yes, you may well be surprised--because it sang!

Riis. Sang?

Nordan. Yes--and is still singing, of course! And paints! There arepictures by him in every exhibition. And works in bronze and marble!Wonderful! And such a courtier as he is, too! It is he that designsball-dresses and arranges entertainments--

Riis. Have you gone raving mad?

Nordan. Why do you ask that?

Riis. I am waiting patiently here till you have done talking such damnednonsense! We are accustomed to something of the sort when you are in oneof those humours, but to-day I can't understand a blessed word of whatyou are saying. 

Nordan. Don't you, my dear fellow?

Riis. Can you not tell me what my daughter said? Isn't it ridiculousthat I cannot get that out of you! Now, briefly and intelligibly, whatdid she say?

Nordan. Do you want to know?

Riis. He asks that!

Nordan. She said she pitied all the innocent young girls that, generation after generation, disappear--

Riis. Where to?

Nordan. That is just it--where to? She said: "They are brought up inpious ignorance, and finally the unsuspecting creatures are wrapped upin a long white veil that they shall not be able to see distinctly wherethey are being taken to. "

Riis. Now you are talking your mythology again. Am I not to--

Nordan. Be quiet! It is your daughter that is speaking. "But I will notdo that, " she said. "I will enter confidently into the holy estate ofmatrimony, and sit down by the hearth in the land of my fathers, andbring up children in the sight of my husband. But he shall be as chasteas I; for otherwise he stains my child's head, when he kisses it, and dishonours me. "--There, that is what she said, and she looked sosplendid as she said it. (A ring is heard at the bell. )

Riis. They are upon us! They are upon us! What in the world is going tohappen? We are in a muddle of the most preposterous theories! The wholeheathen mythology is buzzing round in my head! (Hurries to the door tomeet MR. And MRS. CHRISTENSEN, whom MARGIT is showing in. ) I am so happyto see you!--so very happy! But your son?

Christensen. We could not get him to come with us. 

Riis. I am very sorry!--At the same time, I quite understand. 

Christensen. I admire the beauty of this place afresh every time I seeit, my dear sir!

Mrs. Christensen. This beautiful old park! I wanted once--. Oh, goodmorning, doctor! How are you?

Nordan. So, so!

Riis (to MARGIT). Please tell Mrs. Riis. And--oh, there she is. (MRS. RIIS comes in by the door at the left. ) And tell Miss Svava. 

Nordan. She is out in the park (pointing)--out that way. (Exit MARGIT. )

Riis. No, this way!--That's right! Go straight on till you find her. 

Mrs. Christensen (who meantime has come forward with MRS. RIIS). I havebeen thinking so much about you the last day or two, my dear! What atiresome business this is!

Mrs. Riis. Do you mind my asking if you knew anything about it before?

Mrs. Christensen. What is there that a mother--and a wife--escapes theknowledge of nowadays, my dear! She was in my service, you know. Comehere! (Tells MRS. RIIS something in a whisper, ending with somethingabout "discovery" and "dismissal. ")

Riis (offering the ladies chairs). Won't you sit down?--Oh, I beg yourpardon! I did not see--. (Hurries to CHRISTENSEN. ) Excuse me, but areyou really comfortable in that chair?

Christensen. Thank you, I am just as uncomfortable here as anywhereelse. It is the sitting down and getting up again that bothers me morethan anything else. (Looks round. ) I have just been to see him. 

Riis. Hoff?

Christensen. Honest fellow. Stupid. 

Riis. So long as he holds his tongue--

Christensen. He'll do that. 

Riis. Thank heaven for that! Then we have only ourselves to consider. Isuppose it cost you a bit?

Christensen. Not a penny!

Riis. You got out of it cheap, then. 

Christensen. Yes, didn't I? Still, as a matter of fact, he has cost mequite enough already--although he knows nothing about that. 

Riis. Indeed? When he failed, I suppose. 

Christensen. No, when he married. 

Riis. Oh, I understand. 

Christensen. And I didn't think I should hear any more about it afterthat. --You ladies seem to be having a fine game of whispering! (MRS. CHRISTENSEN comes forward. RIIS places chairs for her and his wife. )

Mrs. Christensen. I was telling Mrs. Riis about the Miss Tang affair. She really seems to have risen from her grave!

Christensen. Is your daughter at home, may I ask?

Riis. I have sent to fetch her. 

Mrs. Christensen. I hope the last few days have taught her a lesson too, poor girl! She suffers from a fault that unusually clever people arevery liable to--I mean self-righteousness. 

Riis. Exactly! You are perfectly right! But I should call it arrogance!

Mrs. Christensen. I should not like to say that--but presumption, perhaps. 

Mrs. Riis. Why do you say that, Mrs. Christensen?

Mrs. Christensen. Because of various conversations I have had with her. I was speaking to her once about a man's being his wife's master. Inthese days it is a good thing to impress that on young girls. 

Christensen. Yes, indeed!

Mrs. Christensen. And when I reminded her of certain words of St. Paul's, she said: "Yes, it is behind those bars that we women are stillshut up. " Then I knew that something would happen. Pride goes before afall, you know. 

Christensen. Oh, come, come! That won't do at all! Your chain ofreasoning isn't sound!

Mrs. Christensen. How?

Christensen. It is not. Because in the first place it was not Miss Riisthat fell, but your precious son. And in the second place his fall wasnot a consequence of Miss Riis's pride, because of course it happenedmany years before Miss Riis showed any of her pride. So that if you knewthat his fall would happen as a consequence of Miss Riis's pride, youknew something that you certainly did not know. 

Mrs. Christensen. Oh, you are making fun of me!

Christensen. I ought to be at a committee meeting punctually atone. --May I ask what has become of your daughter?

Riis. Indeed I am really beginning to wonder--(During the foregoing, NORDAN has remained in the background, sometimes in the room andsometimes outside in the park. MARGIT now goes fast the window outside, and NORDAN is heard speaking to her. )

Nordan. Have you only just found her?

Margit. No, sir--I have been down once already to take Miss Riis herhat, gloves and parasol. 

Nordan. Is she going out?

Margit. I don't know, sir. (Goes out. )

Christensen. Dear me!

Riis. What does it mean? (Turns to go and fetch her. )

Nordan. No, no! Do not you go!

Mrs. Riis. I expect I had better go--

Riis. Yes, you go!

Nordan. No, I will go. I am afraid I am responsible for--. (As he goes)I'll answer for it I will bring her back!

Christensen. Dear me!

Mrs. Christensen (getting up). I am afraid, my dear Mrs. Riis, we havecome at an inconvenient time for your daughter?

Riis. Ah, you must be lenient with her! I assure you it is thesehigh-flown ideas--this reading, that her mother has not been nearly firmenough in keeping her from. 

Mrs. Riis. I? What are you talking about?

Riis. I say that this is a very important moment! And at moments likethis one sees very clearly, very--well, that is what happens!

Christensen. Your husband, Mrs. Riis, has suddenly had the same sort ofrevelation as our parson had lately--I should say, my wife's parson. Itwas one day just after dinner--after an extremely good dinner, by theway--a moment when a man often has very bright ideas. We were talkingabout all the things a woman has to learn now, as compared with the olddays, and how some people say it is mere waste of time because she willforget it all again when she marries. "Yes, " said parson, looking verypleased, "my wife has completely forgotten how to spell; I hope she willsoon forget how to write, too!"

Mrs. Christensen. You imitate people so well, that one cannot helplaughing--although it isn't right. (CHRISTENSEN looks at his watch. )

Riis. It doesn't look as if they were coming back?--Will you go, orshall I?

Mrs. Riis (getting up). I will go. But you could not expect themalready--

Riis (coming close up to her and speaking in an undertone). This is yourdoing! I see it clearly!

Mrs. Riis. I do not think you know what you are saying. (Goes out. )

Riis (coming forward). I really must apologise most humbly! It is thelast thing I should ever have expected of Svava--because I pride myselfthat the obligations of courtesy have never been disregarded in my housebefore. 

Mrs. Christensen. Perhaps something has happened?

Riis. I beg your pardon?--Good heavens!

Mrs. Christensen. Oh, do not misunderstand me! I only mean thatyoung girls are so easily agitated, and then they do not like to showthemselves. 

Riis. All the same, Mrs. Christensen, all the same! At such a moment asthis, too!--You really must excuse me, I shall have no peace till I findout for myself what has happened! (Hurries out. )

Christensen. If Alfred had been here, I suppose he would have beenrunning about all over the park after these females, too. 

Mrs. Christensen. Really, my dear!

Christensen. Aren't we alone?

Mrs. Christensen. Yes, but still--!

Christensen. Well, I say, as a certain famous man said before me: "Whatthe devil was he doing in that galley?"

Mrs. Christensen. Do have a moment's patience! It is really necessary. 

Christensen. Bah! Necessary! Riis is more afraid of a rupture than anyof us. Did you see him just now?

Mrs. Christensen. Yes, of course I did, but--

Christensen. She has already gone much farther than she has any rightto. 

Mrs. Christensen. So Alfred thinks, too. 

Christensen. Then he should have been here now, to say so. I asked himto come. 

Mrs. Christensen. He is in love, and that makes a man a little timid. 

Christensen. Nonsense!

Mrs. Christensen. Oh, that passes off when one is in love as often asyou are. (Gets up. ) Here they come!--No, not Svava. 

Christensen. Is she not with them?

Mrs. Christensen. I don't see her. 

Riis (appearing at the door). Here they are!

Mrs. Christensen. And your daughter too?

Riis. Yes, Svava too. She asked the others to go on ahead of her. Iexpect she wanted to collect herself a little. 

Mrs. Christensen (sitting down again). Ah, you see, it was just what Ithought, poor child!

Mrs. Riis (coming in). She will be here in a moment! (Goes up to MRS. CHRISTENSEN. ) You must forgive her, Mrs. Christensen; she has had a badtime of it. 

Mrs. Christensen. Bless my soul, of course I understand that! The firsttime one has an experience of this kind, it tells on one. 

Christensen. This is positively beginning to get amusing!

[Enter NORDAN. ]

Nordan. Here we are! She asked me to come on little ahead of her. 

Riis. She is not going to keep us waiting any longer, I hope?

Nordan. She was just behind me. 

Riis. Here she is! (Goes to the door to meet her; NORDAN and MRS. RIISdo the same from the other side of the room. )

Christensen. One would think she were the Queen of Sheba. 

(SVAVA comes in, wearing her hat, and with her gloves and parasol in herhand. CHRISTENSEN and MRS. CHRISTENSEN get up from their seats. She bowsslightly to them, and comes to the front of the stage on the right-handside. All sit down in silence. NORDAN is at the extreme left, then MRS. RIIS, MRS. CHRISTENSEN and CHRISTENSEN. At the extreme right, but alittle behind the others, is RIIS, who is sitting down one minute andstanding the next. )

Mrs. Christensen. My dear Svava, we have come here to--well, you knowwhat we have come for. What has happened has distressed us very much;but what is done cannot be undone. None of us can excuse Alfred. But allthe same we think that he might be granted forgiveness, especiallyat the hands of one who must know that he loves her, and loves hersincerely. That makes it a different matter altogether, of course. 

Christensen. Of course!

Riis. Of course!

Nordan. Of course!

Mrs. Christensen. And, even if you don't quite agree with me about that, I hope you will agree with me about Alfred himself. I mean to say, thatwe consider his character, my dear Svava, should vouch to you for hisfidelity. I know that, if you require it, he will give you his word ofhonour that--

Mrs. Riis (getting up). No! No!

Mrs. Christensen. What is the matter, my dear Mrs. Riis?

Mrs. Riis. No words of honour! He has to take an oath when he marries, anyway. 

Nordan. But surely two make it all the safer, Mrs. Riis?

Mrs. Riis. No, no! No oath! (Sits down again. )

Christensen. I was struck with our friend Dr. Nordan's remark. Tell me, my dear sir, do you also take it for granted that the sort of thing myson has done ought to be an absolute bar to marriage with an honourablewoman?

Nordan. Quite the contrary! I am quite sure it never prevents any onegetting married--and remarkably well married. It is only Svava that isbehaving in an extraordinary manner in every respect. 

Mrs. Christensen. I would not go so far as to say that; but there is onething that Svava has overlooked. She is acting as if she were free. Butshe is not by any means free. A betrothal is equivalent to a marriage;at any rate, I am old-fashioned enough to consider it so, And the man towhom I have given my hand is thereby made my master and given authorityover me, and I owe to him--as to a superior authority--my respect, whether he act well or ill. I cannot give him notice, or run away fromhim. 

Riis. That is old-fashioned and sensible. I thank you heartily, Mrs. Christensen!

Nordan. And I too!

Mrs. Riis. But if it is too late after the betrothal--. (Checksherself. )

Mrs. Christensen. What do you mean, dear Mrs. Riis?

Mrs. Riis. Oh, nothing nothing at all. 

Nordan. Mrs. Riis means that if it is too late after the betrothal, whydo people not speak out before they are betrothed?

Riis. What a thing to say!

Christensen. Well, it wouldn't be such a bad thing, would it? I imagineproposals in future being worded somewhat in this way: "My dearMiss So-and-So, up to date I have had such and such a number of loveaffairs--that is to say, so many big ones and so many little ones. "Don't you think it would be a capital way to lead the conversation onto--

Nordan. --to assuring her that she is the only one you have ever loved?

Christensen. Well, not exactly that, but--

Riis. Here comes Alfred!

Mrs. Riis. Alfred?

Mrs. Christensen. Yes, it really is he!

Riis (who has gone to the door to meet ALFRED). Ah, that is right! Weare so glad you have come!

Christensen. Well, my boy?

Alfred. When it came to the point, I could not do anything else--I hadto come here. 

Christensen. I quite agree with you. 

Riis. Yes, it was only the natural thing to do. (ALFRED comes forwardand bows respectfully to SVAVA. She bows slightly, but without lookingat him. He steps back again. )

Nordan. Good morning, my boy!

Alfred. Perhaps I have come at an inconvenient moment. 

Riis. Not a bit of it! Quite the contrary!

Alfred. At the same time, it seems evident to me that my presence is notwelcome to Miss Riis. (No one answers him. )

Mrs. Christensen. But it is a family council we are holding--isn't it, my dear girl?

Riis. I assure you, you _are_ welcome! And we are all particularlyanxious to hear what you have to say!

Christensen. That is so. 

Alfred. I have not succeeded in getting a hearing yet, you know. I havebeen refused admittance repeatedly--both in person and when I wrote. SoI thought that if I came now, perhaps I should get a hearing. 

Riis. Of course. Who can object to that?

Nordan. You shall have your hearing. 

Alfred. Perhaps I may take Miss Riis's silence to mean permission? Inthat case--well--it is nothing so very much that I have to say, either. It is merely to remind you that, when I asked for Miss Riis's hand, itwas because I loved her with all my heart--her and no one else. I couldnot imagine any greater happiness, and any greater honour, than tobe loved by her in return. And so I think still. (He pauses, as if heexpected an answer. They all look at SVAVA. ) What explanation I couldhave given of my own free will--indeed what explanation, under othercircumstances, I should have felt impelled to give--I shall say nothingabout now. But I _owe_ no explanation! My honour demands that I shouldmake point of that. It is my future that I owe to her. And with regardto that I must confess I have been hurt--deeply hurt--by the fact thatMiss Riis could doubt me for a moment. Never in my life has any onedoubted me before. With all respect, I must insist that my word shall betaken. (They are all silent. ) That is all I have to say. 

Mrs. Riis (getting up unwillingly). But, Alfred, suppose a woman, underthe same circumstances, had come and said the same thing--who wouldbelieve her? (They are all silent. SVAVA bursts into tears. )

Mrs. Christensen. Poor child!

Riis. Believe her?

Mrs. Riis. Yes, believe her. Believe her if, after past like that, shecame and assured us that she would make an honest wife?

Christensen. After a past like that?

Mrs. Riis. Perhaps that is putting it too harshly. But why should yourequire her to believe a man any more readily than a man would believeher? Because he would not believe her for a moment. 

Riis (coming up behind her). Are you absolutely mad?

Christensen (half rising). Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen; the twoyoung people must settle the affair now! (Sits down again. )

Alfred. I must confess I have never thought of what Mrs. Riis has justsaid, because such a thing never could happen. No man of honour wouldchoose a woman of whose past he was not certain. Never!

Mrs. Riis. But what about a woman of honour, Alfred?

Alfred. Ah, that is quite different. 

Nordan. To put it precisely: a woman owes a man both her past and herfuture; a man owes a woman only his future. 

Alfred. Well, if you like to put it that way--yes. 

Nordan (to SVAVA, as he gets up). I wanted you to postpone your answer, my child. But now I think you ought to answer at once. (SVAVA goes up toALFRED, flings her glove in his face, and goes straight into her room. ALFRED turns and looks after her. RIIS disappears into his room on theright. Every one has risen from their seats. MRS. CHRISTENSEN takesALFRED by the arm and goes nut with him; CHRISTENSEN follows them. MRS. RIIS is standing at the door of the room which SVAVA has locked afterher. )

Nordan. That was throwing down a gauntlet, if you like!

Mrs. Riis (calling through the door). Svava!

Christensen (coming in and speaking to NORDAN, who has taken no noticeof him and has not turned round). Then it is to be war?--Well, I fancy Iknow a thing or two about war. (Goes out. NORDAN turns round and standslooking after him. )

Mrs. Riis (still at the door). Svava! (RIIS comes rushing out of hisroom, with his hat on and his gloves and stick in his hand, and followsthe CHRISTENSENS. ) Svava!

ACT III

SCENE I

(SCENE. --DR. NORDAN'S garden, behind his neat one-storied house. He issitting on a chair in the foreground reading. His old servant, THOMAS, opens the how door and looks out. )

Thomas. Doctor!

Nordan. What is it? (ALFRED comes into sight in the doorway. ) Oh, it isyou! (Gets up. ) Well, my boy? You don't look up to much!

Alfred. No, but never mind that. Can you give me a bit of breakfast?

Nordan. Have you had no breakfast yet? Have you not been home then?--notbeen home all night?--not since yesterday? (Calls) Thomas!

Alfred. And when I have had something to eat, may I have a talk withyou?

Nordan. Of course, my dear boy. (To THOMAS, who has come out of thehouse) Get some breakfast laid in that room, please (pointing to awindow on the left). 

Alfred. And may I have a wash too?

Nordan. Go with Thomas. I will be with you directly. (ALFRED and THOMASgo into the house. Then a carriage is heard stopping outside. ) There isa carriage. Go and see who it is, Thomas. I won't see any patients! I amgoing away to-morrow. 

Thomas. It is Mr. Christensen. (Goes into the house again. )

Nordan. Oho! (Goes to the window on the left. ) Alfred!

Alfred (coming to the window). Yes?

Nordan. It is your father! If you do not want to be seen, pull down theblind. (The blind is dulled dawn. )

Thomas (showing in CHRISTENSEN). Will you come this way please, sir. (CHRISTENSEN is in court dress protected by a dustcoat, and wears thecross of a Knight Commander of the Order of St. Olaf. )

Christensen. I hope I do not disturb you, doctor?

Nordan. Not at all!--In full dress! I congratulate you. 

Christensen. Yes, we newly-fledged knights have to go to Court to-day. But do you mind if I spend a minute or two here with you before I go onto the palace?--Any news from over there? From the Riis's?

Nordan. No. They are sitting waiting for the "war" to begin, I expect. 

Christensen. They shall not have to wait long, then! I have made upmy mind to begin it to-day. Has she come to her senses, by any chance?Women usually feel things like that very acutely. But they usually getover it, too. 

Nordan. I do not think so. But I bow before your experience. 

Christensen. Thank you! I should think that, as an old hand at playingthe buffer in family jars, you had a much greater experience. Yesterdayshe was like an electric eel! And she gave her shock, too! The boy hasnot been home since. I am almost glad of that; it shows he has somesense of shame. I was beginning to doubt it. 

Nordan. It is the coming "war" that interests me. 

Christensen. Oh, you are anxious to see that, are you? Very well. Asa matter of fact there is no need to draw up a plan of campaign. Thataffair of Mrs. North's can be taken up again any day, my dear fellow! Itis in the hands of the bank, you know. 

Nordan. But what has that to do with your son engagement?

Christensen. What has it to do with it? Miss Riis gives my son hisdismissal because she cannot tolerate his conduct before marriage. Herown father indulges in the same sort of conduct when he is well on inmarried life! Tableau vivant très curieux!--to use a language Mr. Riisis very fond of. 

Nordan. It is a shame to talk like that--because your son is the onlyone to blame in this matter. 

Christensen. My son is not in the least to blame in the matter! Hehas not done the slightest thing that could harm or discredit theRiis's--not the slightest thing! He is a man of honour, who has givenMiss Riis his promise and has kept it. Will any one dare to contradictthat? Or to suggest that he will not keep his promise? If any one doubtshim, it is an insult. Dr. Nordan! In this matter the alternatives areeither an apology and peace--or war. For I am not going to put up withthis sort of thing; and if my son puts up with it, I shall despise him. 

Nordan. Oh, I quite believe your son had every honourable intentionwhen he gave his promise. And very likely he would have kept it, too; Icannot say for certain, because I have learnt to doubt. I am a doctor--Ihave seen too much--and he did not appear to great advantage yesterday. You really must forgive my saying so--but after the liveliness of hisyoung days, coupled with the tendencies he has inherited, do you thinkhe really had any right to be surprised if people doubted him?--if hisfiancée doubted him? Had he really any right to feel insulted, orto demand apologies? Apologies for what? For having doubted hisvirtue?--Just consider that!

Christensen. Why, what--?

Nordan. One moment! I was only half done. You said something about areconciliation, you know; of course by that you meant a marriage. Ifyour son is willing to marry a woman who distrusts him, then I shalldespise him. 

Christensen. Really--!

Nordan. Yes, indeed I shall. Our opinions are as different as all that. To my way of thinking, your son's only course is to submit--and wait; tokeep silence, and wait--always supposing, of course, that he still lovesher. That is my view of it. 

Christensen. Well, I imagine that there are very few candidates formatrimony who have not been guilty of what my son has been guilty of;indeed, I am sure of it. And I imagine, too, that they have the sameunfortunate "hereditary tendencies"--an expression on which you laidstress out of special friendship for me. But is that any reasonwhy girls who are betrothed should behave as Miss Riis has beendoing?--scream, and run away, and create a scandal? We should not beable to hear ourselves speak! It would be the queerest sort of anarchythe world has ever seen! Why, such doctrines as that are contrary tothe very nature and order of things! They are mad! And when, into thebargain, they are thrown at our heads as if they were decisions of aHigh Court of Morality--well, then I strike! Good-bye! (Starts to go, but turns back. ) And who is it that these High Court of Morality'sdecisions would for the most part affect, do you suppose? Just theablest and most vigorous of our young men. Are we going to turn themout and make a separate despised caste of them? And what things wouldbe affected, do you suppose? A great part of the world's literature andart; a great part of all that is loveliest and most captivating in thelife of to-day; the world's greatest cities, most particularly--thosewonders of the world--teeming with their millions of people! Let metell you this: the life that disregards marriage or loosens the bonds ofmarriage, or transforms the whole institution--you know very well whatI mean--the life that is accused of using the "weapons of seduction" inits fashions, its luxury, its entertainments, its art, its theatre--thatlife is one of the most potent factors in these teeming cities, one ofthe most fruitful sources of their existence! No one who has seen it canhave any doubt about it, however ingenuous he may pretend to be. Are weto wish to play havoc with all that too?--to disown the flower of theworld's youth, and ruin the world's finest cities? It seems to me thatpeople wish to do so much in the name of morality, that they end bywishing to do what would be subversive of all morality. 

Nordan. You are certainly embarking on your little war in the truestatesmanlike spirit!

Christensen. It is nothing but sound common-sense, my dear sir; thatis all that is necessary, I am sure. I shill have the whole town on myside, you may be certain of that!

Thomas (appearing at the house door). Doctor!

Nordan (turning round). Is it possible! (Hurries to the doorway, inwhich MRS. RIIS appears. )

Mrs. Riis. May I--?

Nordan. Of course! Will you come out here?

Mrs. Riis (to CHRISTENSEN, who bows to her). My visit is really to you, Mr. Christensen. 

Christensen. I am honoured. 

Mrs. Riis. I happened to look out into the street just as yourcarriage stopped and you got out. So I thought I would seize theopportunity--because you threatened us yesterday, you know. Is that notso? You declared war against us?

Christensen. My recollection of it is that war was declared, Mrs. Riis, but that I merely accepted the challenge. 

Mrs. Riis. And what line is your campaign going to take, if I may askthe question?

Christensen. I have just had the honour of explaining my position to thedoctor. I do not know whether it would be gallant to do as much to you. 

Nordan. I will do it, then. The campaign will be directed against yourhusband. Mr. Christensen takes the offensive. 

Mrs. Riis. Naturally!--because you know you can strike at him. But Ihave come to ask you to think better of it. 

Christensen (with a laugh). Really?

Mrs. Riis. Once--many years ago now--I took my child in my arms andthreatened to leave my husband. Thereupon he mentioned the nameof another man, and shielded himself behind that--for it was adistinguished name. "See how lenient that man's wife is, " he said. "And, because she is so, all her friends are lenient, and that will be all thebetter for their child. " Those were his words. 

Christensen. Well, as far as the advice they implied was concerned, itwas good advice--and no doubt you followed it. 

Mrs. Riis. The position of a divorced woman is a very humiliating onein the eyes of the world, and the daughter of such a woman fares verylittle better. The rich and distinguished folk who lead the fashion takecare of that. 

Christensen. But what--?

Mrs. Riis. That is my excuse for not having the courage to leave him. Iwas thinking of my child's future. But it is my husband's excuse, too;because he is one of those who follows the example of others. 

Christensen. We all do that, Mrs. Riis. 

Mrs. Riis. But it is the leaders of society that set the example, forthe most part; and in this matter they set a tempting one. I suppose Ican hardly be mistaken in thinking that I have heard your view of thismatter, all along, through my husband's mouth? Or, if I am mistaken inthat, I at all events surely heard it more accurately yesterday, when Iheard your voice in everything that your son said?

Christensen. I stand by every word of what my son said. 

Mrs. Riis. I thought so. This campaign of yours will really be aremarkable one! I see your influence in everything that has happened, from first to last. You are the moving spirit of the whole campaign--onboth sides!

Nordan. Before you answer, Christensen--may I ask you, Mrs. Riis, toconsider whether you want to make the breach hopelessly irreparable?Do you mean to make a reconciliation between the young people quiteimpossible?

Mrs. Riis. It is impossible, as it is. 

Nordan. Why?

Mrs. Riis. Because all confidence is destroyed. 

Nordan. More so now than before?

Mrs. Riis. Yes. I will confess that up to the moment. When Alfred's wordof honour was offered yesterday--up to the moment when he demanded thathis word of honour should be believed--I did not recognise the fact thatit was my own story over again. But it was--word for word my own story!That was just the way we began; who will vouch for it that the sequelwould not be the same as in our case?

Christensen. My son's character will vouch for that, Mrs. Riis!

Mrs. Riis. Character? A nice sort of character a man is likely todevelop who indulges in secret and illicit courses from his boyhood!That is the very way faithlessness is bred. If any one wants to know thereason why character is such a rare thing, I think they will find theanswer in that. 

Christensen. A man's youth is by no means the test of his life. Thatdepends on his marriage. 

Mrs. Riis. And why should a man's faithlessness disappear when he ismarried? Can you tell me that?

Christensen. Because then he loves, of course. 

Mrs. Riis. Because he loves? But do you mean that he has not lovedbefore then? How absolutely you men have blinded yourselves!--No, loveis not the least likely to be lasting when the will is vitiated. Andthat is what it is--vitiated by the life a bachelor leads. 

Christensen. And yet I know plenty of sensual men who have strong wills. 

Mrs. Riis. I am not speaking of strength of will, but of purity, faithfulness, nobility of will. 

Christensen. Well, if my son is to be judged by any such nonsensicalstandard as that, I am devoutly thankful he has got out of the wholething before it became serious--indeed I am! Now we have had enough ofthis. (Prepares to go. )

Mrs. Riis. As far as your son is concerned--. (Turns to NORDAN. ) Doctor, answer me this, so that his father may hear it before he goes. When yourefused to go with us to the betrothal party, had you already heard something about Alfred Christensen? Was what you had heard of such a naturethat you felt you could not trust him?

Nordan (after a moment's thought). Not altogether, certainly. 

Mrs. Riis (to CHRISTENSEN). There, you hear!--But will you let me askyou this, doctor: why did you not say so? Good God, why did you notspeak?

Nordan. Listen to me, Mrs. Riis. When two young people, who after allare suited to one another--for they are that, are they not?

Christensen. They are that, I admit. 

Nordan. When all of a sudden they fall madly in love with one another, what are you to do?

Christensen. Oh, rake up all sorts of stories and exaggerations--createa scandal!

Nordan. Indeed, I must confess--what as a matter of fact I havesaid--that I have become accustomed to things not being exactly as theyshould be in that respect. I looked upon these young people's engagementin the same light as I have looked on others--on most others--that iscruel to say, as a lottery. It might turn out well; on the other hand itmight turn out very badly. 

Mrs. Riis. And you were willing to risk my daughter, whom you areso fond of--for I know you are fond of her--in a lottery? Could onepossibly have a clearer proof of the real state of things?

Nordan. Yes, certainly! You yourself, Mrs. Riis--what did you do?

Mrs. Riis. I--?

Christensen. Bravo!

Nordan. You knew what Hoff had said--and more too. (CHRISTENSEN laughsquietly. ) Nevertheless you helped your husband, if not actually to tryand get her to overlook it, at all events to smooth things over. 

Christensen. Bravo!

Nordan. And you called in my help to induce her to take time to think itover. 

Christensen. Mothers observe a considerable difference between theoryand practice in these matters, I notice. 

Nordan. It was only when I saw how deeply it affected Svava--whata horror she had of it--that my eyes were opened. And the longer Ilistened to her, the more sympathy I felt for her; for I was youngmyself once--and loved. But that was such a long time ago--and I havegrown tired--

Mrs. Riis (who has sat down at the little table). My God!

Nordan. Yes, Mrs. Riis. Let me tell you candidly--it is the mothers, andno one else, that by degrees have made me callous. Mothers look upon thewhole thing so callously. The fact is that as a rule they know what iswhat. 

Christensen. That they do, the dear creatures! And Mrs. Riis is noexception to the rule. You must admit, my dear madam, that you did allyou could to hold on to a young man who had had a lively past? Not tomention the fact that this same young man had an extremely good socialposition--a thing I only allude to incidentally. 

Nordan. Exactly. Rather than not give their daughters a prospect of whatthey call "a good marriage" they straightway forget all that they havesuffered themselves. 

Mrs. Riis. You see, we do not know that it will turn out the same intheir case. 

Nordan. You don't know it?

Mrs. Riis. No, I tell you that I did not think so! We believe that theman our daughter is going to marry is so much better. We believe thatin their case there are stronger guarantees--that the circumstances arealtogether different. It is so! It is a kind of illusion that takes holdof us. 

Christensen. When there is a prospect of a good marriage, yes! Ientirely agree with you, Mrs. Riis--for the first time. Moreover, Ithink there is another side to it. Isn't it possible that women have notsuffered so much after all from the fact that men are men? What? Ifancy the suffering has been more acute than serious--something likesea-sickness; when it is over--well, it is over. And so when it is thedaughters' turn to go on board, the dear mothers think: "Oh, they willbe able to get over it too! Only let us get them off!" For they are soanxious to get them off, that is the truth!

Mrs. Riis (getting up and coming forward). Well, if it is so, surely itis nothing to make fun of! It only shows what a woman can sink to, fromliving with a man. 

Christensen Indeed!

Mrs. Riis. Yes--because each generation of women is endowed witha stronger and stronger aspiration for a pure life. It resultsunconsciously from the maternal instinct, and is intended as aprotection for the defenceless. Even worthless mothers feel that. But ifthey succumb in spite of it, and each generation of married women inits turn sinks as deep as you say, the reason of it can only be theprivilege that men enjoy as part of their education. 

Christensen. What privilege?

Mrs. Riis. That of living as they please when they are bachelors, andthen having their word of honour believed in when they choose to enterthe married state. As long as women are powerless to put an end to thathorrible privilege or to make themselves independent of it, so long willone half of the world continue to be sacrificed on account of the otherhalf--on account of the other half's lack of self-control. That oneprivilege turns out to be more powerful than all the striving forliberty in the world. And that is not a laughing matter. 

Christensen. You are picturing to yourself a different world from this, and different natures from ours, Mrs. Riis. And that--if you will excusemy saying so--is obviously all the answer that is necessary to what yousay. 

Mrs. Riis. Well, then, give that answer openly! Why do you not openlyacknowledge that as your standpoint?

Christensen. But don't we?

Mrs. Riis. No--not here, at all events. On the contrary, you rangeyourselves ostensibly under our banner, while all the time you aresecretly betraying it. Why have you not the courage to unfurl yourown? Let these bachelor customs of yours be sanctioned as entirelysuitable--then we should be able to join issue with you. And thenevery innocent bride would be able to know what it is she is enteringupon--and in what capacity. 

Nordan. That would be simply nothing more or less than abolishingmarriage. 

Mrs. Riis. Would not that be more honest, too? Because now it is onlybeing corrupted, long before it begins. 

Christensen. Oh, of course it is all the men's fault! It is the fashionto say that now--it is part of the "struggle for freedom. " Down withman's authority, of course!

Mrs. Riis. The authority his bachelor life has won for him!

Nordan. Ha, ha!

Mrs. Riis. Do not let us cover up the real issue with phrases! Let usrather speak of the "desolate hearth" that the poet writes of. Marriagelaid in ruins is what he means by that; and what is the cause of it?What is the cause of the chilly, horrible commonplace of every-daylife--sensual, idle, brutish? I could paint it even more vividly, but Iwill not. I will refrain, for instance, from bringing up the subjectof hereditary disease. Let the question be thrashed out openly! Thenperhaps a fire will be kindled--and our consciences stirred! It mustbecome the most momentous question in every home. That is what isneeded!

Christensen. Our conversation has soared to such heights that it reallyseems quite an anti-climax for me to say that I must go to a "higherplace"!--but you must excuse me all the same. 

Mrs. Riis. I hope I have not delayed you?

Christensen. No, there is plenty of time. I am only longingfervently--you really must not be offended--to get away from here. 

Mrs. Riis. To your--equals?

Christensen. What a remarkable thing that you should remind me of them!And, by the way, that reminds me that I am scarcely likely to meet youor your family in future. 

Mrs. Riis. No. Our acquaintance with you is at an end. 

Christensen. Thank God for that!--All I hope now is that I shall succeedin apportioning the ridicule with some degree of justice. 

Mrs. Riis. You need only publish your autobiography!

Christensen. No--I think it should rather be your family principles, madam! They are really very quaint. And when I relate the manner inwhich they are put into practice by yourselves, I rather think thatpeople will be quite sufficiently amused. To speak seriously for amoment--I mean to attack your husband's reputation in private and inpublic, until he quits the town. I am not the sort of man to accept ahumiliation like this without returning the compliment. (Turns to go. )

Nordan. This is shocking!

Alfred (appearing in the doorway of the house). Father!

Christensen. You here?--How ill you look, my boy! Where have you been?

Alfred. I came here at the same time as you did, and have heardeverything. Let me tell you this at once, that if you take another stepagainst the Riis's, I shall go round and tell every one the reason whyMiss Riis threw me over. I shall tell them exactly what it was. Oh, itis no use looking at me with that mocking expression! I shall do it--andat once, too. 

Christensen. I think you may spare yourself the trouble. The gossipabout a broken engagement will get all over the town quicker than youcould spread it. 

Nordan (going up to ALFRED). One word, my boy--do you still love her?

Alfred. Do you ask that because she has been unjust to me? Well, now Iknow quite well what led to it--and inevitably led to it. I understandnow!

Christensen. And forgive her? Without anything more?

Alfred. I love her more than ever--whatever she thinks of me!

Christensen. Well, upon my word! What next, I should like to know? Youclaim your right to resume the rôle of lover, and leave us and otherhonest folk to put the best face we can on the muddle you have made!I suppose you are going across the road now to tell her how much youenjoyed yourself yesterday?--or to ask for a respite till to-morrow, togive you time to pass decently through a process of purification? May Iask where you are going to find it and what it is going to consist of?Oh, don't look so melodramatic! If you can put up with what you got fromRiis's girl yesterday and her mother to-day, surely you can put up witha little angry talk or a little chaff from your father. I have had toput up with the whole affair--the betrothal and the breaking it offas well! And then to be sprinkled with essence of morality into thebargain! Good Lord! I hope at least I shall not smell of it still when Iget to the palace. (Goes towards the house, but turns back at the door. )You will find same money in the office to pay for a trip abroad. (Exit. )

Nordan. Does that mean banishment?

Alfred. Of course it does. (Appears very much agitated. )

Mrs. Riis. Doctor, you must come over to our house with me--and at once!

Nordan. How is she?

Mrs. Riis. I don't know. 

Nordan. You don't know?

Mrs. Riis. She wanted to be alone yesterday. And to-day she went outearly. 

Nordan. Has anything happened, then?

Mrs. Riis. Yes. You told me yesterday that you had given her a hintabout--her father. 

Nordan. Well?

Mrs. Riis. And so I felt that it could not be concealed any longer. 

Nordan. And you have--?

Mrs. Riis. I have written to her. 

Nordan. Written?

Mrs. Riis. It seemed the easiest way--and we should escape talking aboutit. All yesterday afternoon and last night I was writing, and tearing itup, and writing again--writing--writing! It was not a long letter, whenall was done, but it took it out of me. 

Nordan. And has she had the letter?

Mrs. Riis. When she had had her breakfast this morning and gone out, Isent it after her. And now, my dear friend, I want to beg you to go andhave a talk with her--then you can let me know when I may go to her. Because I am frightened! (Hides her face in her hands. )

Nordan. The moment you came I saw something serious had happened. Youargued so vehemently, too. Well, matters have developed, and no mistake!

Mrs. Riis. You mustn't go away, doctor! Don't go away from her now!

Nordan. Oh, that is it, is it?--Thomas!

[Enter THOMAS. ]

Thomas. Yes, sir. 

Nordan. You need not pack my things. 

Thomas. Not pack, sir?--Very good, sir. (Gives the doctor his stick andgoes to open the house door for them. )

Nordan. Allow me, Mrs. Riis. (Offers her his arm. )

Alfred (coming forward). Mrs. Riis! May I speak to her?

Mrs. Riis. Speak to her? No, that is impossible. 

Nordan. You heard, my boy, what she has to think about to-day. 

Mrs. Riis. And if she would not speak to you before, it is not likelyshe will now. 

Alfred. If she should ask to speak to me, will you tell her I am here? Ishall stay here till she does. 

Mrs. Riis. But what is the use of that?

Alfred. Well, that will be our affair. I know she wants to speak to me, just as much as I do to her. Only tell her I am here! That is all I ask. (Goes away into the farther part of the garden. )

Nordan. He does not know what he is talking about. 

Mrs. Riis. Dear Dr. Nordan, let us go! I am so frightened. 

Nordan. Not more than I am, I think. --So she knows it now, does she!(They go out. )

SCENE II

(SCENE. --The same as in Acts I. And II. SVAVA comes into the room slowlyand looks round; then goes to the door and looks round outside thehouse, then comes in again. As she turns back, she sees NORDAN standingin the doorway. )

Svava. You!--Oh, Uncle Nordan! (Sobs. )

Nordan. My child! My dear child! Calm yourself!

Svava. But haven't you seen mother? She said she had gone across to seeyou. 

Nordan. Yes, she is coming directly. But look here--suppose you and Igo for a good long walk together, instead of talking to your mother oranyone? Along quiet walk? Eh?

Svava. I can't. 

Nordan. Why?

Svava. Because I must make an end of all this. 

Nordan. What do you mean?

Svava (without answering his question). Uncle--?

Nordan. Yes?

Svava. Does Alfred know this?--Did he know it before?

Nordan. Yes. 

Svava. Of course every one knew it except me. Oh, how I wish I couldhide myself away from every one! I will, too. I see the real state ofthings now for the first time. I have been like a child trying to push amountain away with its two hands--and they have all been standing round, laughing at me, of course. But let me speak to Alfred!

Nordan. To Alfred?

Svava. I behaved so wrongly yesterday. I ought never to have gone intothe room--but you gave me no choice when you came to me. I went with youalmost unconsciously. 

Nordan. I suppose it was thinking of your father--of what I told youabout him--that made you--

Svava. I did not understand all at once. But, when I was by myself, itall flashed across me--mother's strange uneasiness--father's threatsabout leaving the country--all sorts of expressions, and signs--lotsand lots of things I had never understood and never even thought twiceabout! I chased them out of my mind, but back they came!--back and backagain! It seemed to paralyse me. And when you took me by the arm andsaid: "Now you must go in!"--I hardly had strength to think. Everythingseemed to be going round and round. 

Nordan. Yes, I made a regular mess of it--both on that occasion and thetime before. 

Svava. No, it was all quite right--quite right! We certainly went alittle off the lines, it is true. I must speak to Alfred; the mattermust not rest as it is. But, except for that, it was all quite right. And now I have got to make an end of it all. 

Nordan. What do you mean?

Svava. Where is mother?

Nordan. My dear girl, you ought not to try and do anything to-day. Ishould advise you not to speak to anybody. If you do--well, I don't knowwhat may happen. 

Svava. But I know. --Oh, it is no use talking to me like that! You thinkI am simply a bundle of nerves to-day. And it is quite true--I am. Butif you try to thwart me it will only make me worse. 

Nordan. I am not trying to thwart you at all. I only--

Svava. Yes, yes, I know. --Where is mother, then? And you must bringAlfred here. I cannot go to him, can I? Or do you think he has too muchpride to come, after what happened yesterday? Oh, no, he is not likethat! Tell him he must not be proud with one who is so humiliated. (Bursts into tears. )

Nordan. But do you think you are able for it?

Svava. You don't know how much I can stand! Anyway, I must get done withit all, quickly. It has lasted long enough. 

Nordan. Then shall I ask your mother--?

Svava. Yes!--and will you ask Alfred?

Nordan. Presently, yes. And if you should--

Svava. No, there is no "if" about it!

Nordan. --if you should want me, I won't go away till you are "done withit all, " as you say. (SVAVA goes up to him and embraces him. He goesout. After a short pause MRS. RIIS comes in. )

Mrs. Riis (going to SVAVA). My child! (Stops. )

Svava. No, mother, I cannot come near you. Besides, I am trembling allover. And you don't understand what it is? It has not dawned upon youthat you cannot treat me like this?

Mrs. Riis. Treat you like this, Svava? What do you mean?

Svava. Good heavens, mother!--letting me live here day after day, yearafter year, without letting me know what I was living with? Allowing meto preach the strictest principles, from a house like ours? What willpeople say of us, now that everything will be known!

Mrs. Riis. Surely you would not have wished me to tell my child that--

Svava. Not while I was a child. But when I had grown up, yes--under anycircumstances! I ought to have been allowed the choice whether I wouldlive at home under such conditions or not! I ought to have been allowedto know what every one else knew--or what they may get to know at anymoment. 

Mrs. Riis. I have never looked at it in that light. 

Svava. Never looked at it in that light? Mother!

Mrs. Riis. Never!--To shield you and have peace in our home while youwere a child, and peace afterwards in your studies, your interests andyour pleasures--for you are not like other girls, you know, Svava--toensure this, I have been almost incredibly careful that no hint of thisshould come to your ears. I believed that to be my duty. You have noconception what I have stooped to--for your sake, my child. 

Svava. But you had no right to do it, mother!

Mrs. Riis. No right?--

Svava. No! To degrade yourself for my sake was to degrade me too. 

Mrs. Riis (with emotion). Oh, my God--!

Svava. I do not reproach you for anything, mother! I would not do thatfor the world--my dear mother! I am only so infinitely distressed andappalled at the thought of your having to go about carrying such asecret with you! Never able to be your real self with me for a moment!Always hiding something! And to have to listen to my praises of whatso little deserved praise--to see me putting my faith in him, caressinghim--oh, mother, mother!

Mrs. Riis. Yes, dear, I felt that myself--many and many a time. ButI felt that I dared not tell you. It was wrong--so very wrong! Iunderstand that now! But would you have had me leave him at once, assoon as I knew of it myself?

Svava. I cannot take upon myself to say. You decided that for yourself. Each one must decide that for herself--according to the measure of herlove and her strength. But when the thing went on after I was grownup--! Naturally that was why I made a second mistake. I had been broughtup to make mistakes, you see. (RIIS is heard outside the window, humminga tune. )

Mrs. Riis. Good heavens, there he is! (RIIS is seen passing theleft-hand window. When he reaches the door, however, he stops and, withthe words, "Oh, by the bye!" turns back and goes hurriedly out. )

Mrs. Riis. You look quite changed, my child! Svava, you frighten me!Surely you are not going to--?

Svava. What is it that is in your mind, mother?

Mrs. Riis. The thought that, as I have endured so much for your sake, you might make up your mind to endure a little for mine. 

Svava. A little of this? No, not for a moment!

Mrs. Riis. But what are you going to do?

Svava. Go away from here at once, of course. 

Mrs. Riis (with a cry). Then I shall go with you!

Svava. You? Away from father?

Mrs. Riis. It has been for your sake that I have stayed with him. Iwon't stay here a day without you!--Ah, you don't want me with you!

Svava. Mother, dear--I must have time to accustom myself to the changedstate of things. You have quite changed in my eyes too, you see. I havebeen mistaken in you, and I must get accustomed to that idea. I must bealone!--Oh, don't look so unhappy, dear!

Mrs. Riis. And this is the end of it all--this is the end of it!

Svava. I cannot act otherwise, dear. I must go away now to myKindergartens and give up my life entirely to that work. I must, I must!If I cannot be alone there, I must go farther afield. 

Mrs. Riis. This is the cruellest part of it all--the cruellest part!Listen, is that--? Yes, it is he. Do not say anything now! For my sakesay nothing now; I cannot bear anything more on the top of this!--Tryto be friendly to him! Svava--do you hear me! (RIIS comes back, stillhumming a tune; this time he has his overcoat over his arm. SVAVA comeshurriedly forward, and after a moment's hesitation sits down with herback half turned to him, and tries to busy herself with something. RIISputs down his overcoat. He is in court dress and wears the Order of St. Olaf. )

Riis. Good morning, ladies! Good morning!

Mrs. Riis. Good morning!

Riis. Here is the latest great piece of news for you: Who do you thinkdrove me from the palace? Christensen!

Mrs. Riis. Really?

Riis. Yes! Our wrathful friend of yesterday! Yes! He and one of myfellow-directors. I was one of the first persons he greeted when he gotto the palace. He introduced me to people, chatted with me--paid me themost marked attention!

Mrs. Riis. You don't mean it?

Riis. Consequently nothing really happened here yesterday! No gloveswere thrown about at all, least of all in his eldest son's face!Christensen, the worthy knight of to-day's making, feels the necessityfor peace! We ended by drinking a bottle of champagne at my brother's. 

Mrs. Riis. How amusing!

Riis. Therefore, ladies--smiles, if you please! Nothing has happenedhere, absolutely nothing! We begin again with an absolutely clean slate, without a smear upon it!

Mrs. Riis. What a piece of luck!

Riis. Yes, isn't it! That rather violent outburst of our daughter's hasunburdened her mind and cleared the ideas in other people's heads. Thegeneral atmosphere is agreeably clear, not to say favourable. 

Mrs. Riis. And what was it like at the palace?

Riis. Well, I can tell you this--when I looked round at our batch ofnew-fledged knights, it did not exactly impress me that it is virtuethat is rewarded in this world of ours. However, we were all confrontedwith an alarmingly solemn document. It was about something we swore topreserve--I fancy it was the State--or perhaps the Church--I am reallynot sure, because I didn't read it. They all signed it!

Mrs. Riis. You, as well?

Riis. I, as well. Do you suppose I was going to be left out of such goodcompany? Up at those exalted heights one obtains a happier and freeroutlook upon life. We were all friends up there. People came up andcongratulated me--and after a bit I wasn't sure whether it was on mydaughter's account or on my own; and, what is more, I never knew I hadso many friends in the town, let alone at Court! But in such brilliantcompany and such an atmosphere of praises and compliments and generalamiability, one was not inclined to be particular! And there were onlymen present! You know--you ladies must excuse me--there is sometimesa peculiar charm in being only with men, especially on great occasionslike that. Conversation becomes more pointed, more actual, morerobust--and laughter more full of zest. Men seem to understand oneanother almost without the need of words. 

Mrs. Riis. I suppose you are feeling very happy to-day, then?

Riis. I should think I am!--and I only wish every one were the same! Idaresay life might be better than it is; but, as I saw it under thosecircumstances from those exalted heights, it might also be much worse. And, as for us men--oh, well, we have our faults, no doubt, but we arevery good company for all that. It would be a dull world without us, Iam sure. Let us take life as it comes, my dear Svava! (Comes nearerto her. She gets up. ) What is the matter? Are you still in a badtemper?--when you have had the pleasure of boxing his ears with your owngloves, before the whole family circle? What more can you reasonablyask of life? I should say you ought to have a good laugh over it!--Or isthere something up? What? Come, what is the matter now?

Mrs. Riis. The fact is--

Riis. Well, the fact is--?

Mrs. Riis. The fact is that Alfred will be here in a moment. 

Riis. Alfred here? In a moment? Hurrah! I quite understand! But whydidn't you tell me so at once?

Mrs. Riis. You have talked the whole time since you came in. 

Riis. I do believe I have!--Well, if you are going to take it seriously, my dear Svava, perhaps you will allow your "knightly" father to take itlightly? The whole thing amuses me so tremendously. I was put into goodspirits to-day the moment I saw, from Christensen's face, that therewas nothing in the wind. And so Alfred is coming here directly! Then Iunderstand everything. Hurrah, once more! I assure you that is the bestof all the good things that have happened to-day. I really think I mustplay a festal overture till he comes! (Goes towards the piano, singing. )

Mrs. Riis. No, no, dear! Do you hear? No, no! (RIIS plays on, withoutlistening to hey, till she goes up to him, and stops him, pointing toSVAVA. )

Svava. Oh, let him play, mother--let him play! It is the innocentgaiety that I have admired since I was a child! (Bursts into tears, butcollects herself. ) How hateful! How horrible!

Riis. My dear child, you look as if you wanted to be throwing downgauntlets to-day too! Isn't that all done with?

Svava. No, indeed it is not!

Riis. You shall have the loan of my gloves, if you haven't--

Mrs. Riis. Oh, don't say those things to her!

Svava. Oh, yes, let him! Let him mock at us, mother dear! A man of hismoral earnestness has the right to mock at us!

Riis. What are you talking about? Does it show a lack of moralearnestness not to be in love with old maids and sour-faced virtue?

Svava. Father, you are--

Mrs. Riis. No, Svava!

Riis. Oh, let her say what she wants! It is something quite new to seea well-brought-up girl throw her gloves in her fiancé's face andaccusations in her father's! Especially when it is all done in the nameof morality!

Svava. Don't talk about morality! Or go and talk to Mrs. North about it!

Riis. Mrs. --Mrs. --? What has she to do with--?

Svava. Be quiet! I know everything! You have--

Mrs. Riis. Svava!

Svava. Ah, yes-for mother's sake I won't go on. But, when I threw downmy much discussed gauntlet yesterday, I knew about it then. That was whyI did it! It was a protest against everything of the kind, againstits beginning and its continuation, against him and against you!I understood--then--your pious zeal in the matter, and the show ofscandalised morality you allowed mother to be a witness of!

Mrs. Riis. Svava!

Svava. I understand now, for the first time, what your consideration, your politeness to mother--which I have so often admired--all meant!Your fun, your good temper, your care of your appearance!--Oh, I nevercan believe in anything any more! It is horrible, horrible!

Mrs. Riis. Svava, dear!

Svava. All life seems to have become unclean for me! My nearest anddearest all soiled and smirched! That is why, ever since yesterday, I have had the feeling of being an outcast; and that is what I am--anoutcast from all that I prized and reverenced--and that without myhaving done the slightest thing to deserve it. Even so, it is not thepain of it that I feel most deeply; it is the humiliation, the shame. All that I have so often said must seem now to be nothing but emptywords--all that I have done myself must seem of no account--and thiswithout its being my fault! For it is your fault! I thought, too, thatI knew something about life; but there was more for me to learn! I seethat you wanted me to give way to such an extent that I should endby acquiescing in it. I understand now, for the first time, what yourteaching meant--and the things that you invoked mother and heaven towitness. But it is of no use! I can tell you that it is about as muchas one can stand, to have the thoughts I have had yesterday--lastnight--to-day. However, it is once and for all; after this, nothing canever take me by surprise again. To think that any man could have theheart to let his child have such an experience!

Mrs. Riis. Svava--look at your father!

Svava. Yes--but if you think what I am saying now is hard, remember whatI said to you before I knew this--no longer ago than yesterday morning. That will give you some idea of how I believed in you, father--and someidea of what I am feeling now! Oh--!

Riis. Svava!

Svava. You have ruined my home for me! Almost every other hour in it hasbeen corrupted--and I cannot face a future like that. 

Riis and Mrs. Riis (together). But, Svava--!

Svava. No, I cannot! My faith in you is destroyed--so that I can neverthink of this as a home again. It makes me feel as if I were merelyliving with you as a lodger--from yesterday onwards, merely a lodger inthe house. 

Riis. Don't say that! My child!

Svava. Yes, I am your child. It only needed you to say it like that, forme to feel it deeply. To think of all the experiences we two havehad together--all the happy times we have had on our travels, in ouramusements--and then to think that I can never look back on them again, never take them up again! That is why I cannot stay here. 

Riis. You cannot stay here!

Svava. It would remind me of everything too painfully. I should seeeverything in a distorted light. 

Mrs. Riis. But you will see that you cannot bear to go away, either!

Riis. But--I can go!

Mrs Riis. You?

Riis. Yes, and your mother and you stay here?--Oh, Svava--!

Svava. No, I cannot accept that--come what may!

Riis. Do not say any more! Svava, I entreat you! Do not make me tooutterly miserable! Remember that never, until to-day--I never thoughtto make you--. If you cannot bear to be with me any more--if youcannot--then let me go away! It is I that am to blame, I know. Listen, Svava! It must be I, not you! You must stay here!

Mrs. Riis (listening). Good heavens, there is Alfred!

Riis. Alfred! (A pause. ALFRED appears in the doorway. )

Alfred (after a moment). Perhaps I had better go away again?

Riis (to ALFRED). Go away again?--Go away again, did you say?--No, noton any account! No!--No, you could not have come at a more fortunatemoment! My boy, my dear boy! Thank you!

Mrs. Riis (to SVAVA). Would you rather be alone--?

Svava. No, no, no!

Riis. You want to speak to Svava, don't you? I think it will be bestfor me to leave you together. You need to talk things over frankly withher--to be alone--naturally! You will excuse me, then, if I leave you, won't you? I have something very important to do in town, so you willexcuse me! I must hurry and change my clothes--so please excuse me!(Goes into his room. )

Alfred. Oh, but I can come some other time. 

Mrs. Riis. But I expect you would like to talk to her now?

Alfred. It is no question of what I would like. I see--and I heard Dr. Nordan say--that Miss Riis is quite worn out. But I felt it my duty, allthe same, to call. 

Svava. And I thank you for doing so! It is more--far more--than I havedeserved. But I want to tell you at once that what happened yesterday--Imean, the form my behaviour took yesterday--was due to the fact that, only an hour before then, something had come to my knowledge that I hadnever known before. And that was mixed up with it. (She can scarcelyconceal her emotion. )

Alfred. I knew that to-day you would be regretting what happenedyesterday--you are so good. And that was my only hope of seeing youagain. 

Riis (coming out of his room partly dressed to go out). Does any onewant anything done in town? If so, I shall be happy to see to it! Ithas occurred to me that perhaps these ladies would like to go away for alittle trip somewhere--what do you two say to that? When one's thoughtsare beginning to get a little--what shall I call it?--a little too muchfor one, or perhaps I should rather say a trifle too serious, it isoften a wonderful diversion to go away for a little change. I have oftenfound it so myself--often, I assure you! Just think it over, won't you?I could see about making plans for you at once, if you think so--eh?Well, then, good-bye for the present! And--think it over! I think myselfit is such an excellent plan! (Goes out. SVAVA looks at her mother witha smile, and hides her face in her hands. )

Mrs. Riis. I must go away for a few minutes and--

Svava. Mother!

Mrs. Riis. I really must, dear! I must collect my thoughts. This hasbeen too much for me. I shall not go farther away than into my roomthere (pointing to the room on the left). And I will come back directly. (SVAVA throws herself into a chair by the table, overcome by heremotion. )

Alfred. It looks as if we two were to have to settle this matter, afterall. 

Svava. Yes. 

Alfred. I daresay that you will understand that since yesterday I havedone nothing else but invent speeches to make to you--but now I do notfeel as if it had been of much use. 

Svava. It was good of you to come. 

Alfred. But you must let me make one request of you, and that from myheart: Wait for me! Because I know now what will show me the way to yourheart. We had planned out our life together, you and I; and, although Ishall do it alone, I shall carry out our plans unfalteringly. And thenperhaps, some day, when you see how faithful I have been--. I know Iought not to worry you, least of all to-day. But give me an answer! Youneed scarcely say anything--but just give me an answer!

Svava. But what for?

Alfred. I must have it to live on--and the more difficult the prizeis to attain, the better worth living will life be to me. Give me ananswer!

Svava (tries to speak, but bursts into tears). Ah, you see howeverything upsets me to-day. I cannot. Besides, what do you want me todo? To wait? What would that mean? It would mean being ready and yetnot ready; trying to forget and yet always having it before my mind. (Isovercome again by her emotion. ) No!

Alfred. I see you need to be alone. But I cannot bring myself to goaway. (SVAVA gets up, and tries to regain control over herself. ALFREDgoes to her and throws himself on his knees beside her. ) Give me justone word. 

Svava. But do you not understand that if you could give me back oncemore the happiness that complete trust gives--do you think I should waitfor you to ask anything of me then? No, I should go to you and thank youon my knees. Can you doubt that for a moment?

Alfred. No, no!

Svava. But I have not got it. 

Alfred. Svava!

Svava. Oh, please--!

Alfred. Good-bye--good-bye! But I shall see you again some day? I shallsee you again? (Turns to go, but stops at the door. ) I must have asign--something definite to take with me! Stretch out a hand to me! (Atthese words SVAVA turns to him and stretches out both her hands to him. He goes out. MRS. RIIS comes in from her room. )

Mrs. Riis. Did you promise him anything?

Svava. I think so. (Throws herself into her mother's arms. )