ACT SECOND.
The garden-room in Consul Bernick’s house.
Mrs. Bernick is sitting alone at the work-table, sewing. In a little while Consul Bernick enters from the right, with his hat and gloves on, and a stick in his hand.
Mrs. Bernick.
Are you home already, Karsten?
Bernick.
Yes. I have an appointment here.
Mrs. Bernick.
[Sighing.] Oh, yes; I suppose Johan will be down here again.
Bernick.
No; it’s with one of my men. [Takes off his hat.] Where are all the ladies to-day?
Mrs. Bernick.
Mrs. Rummel and Hilda hadn’t time to come.
Bernick.
Indeed! They have sent excuses?
Mrs. Bernick.
Yes; they had so much to do at home.
Bernick.
Of course. And the others are not coming either, I suppose?
Mrs. Bernick.
No; something has prevented them too.
Bernick.
I was sure it would. Where is Olaf?
Mrs. Bernick.
I allowed him to go for a walk with Dina.
Bernick.
H’m; that scatter-brained hussy, Dina——! How could she go and forthwith strike up a friendship with Johan——!
Mrs. Bernick.
Why, my dear Karsten, Dina has no idea——
Bernick.
Well, then, Johan at least should have had tact enough to take no notice of her. I could see Vigeland’s expressive glances.
Mrs. Bernick.
[Dropping her work into her lap.] Karsten, can you understand what has brought them home?
Bernick.
Well, he has a farm over there, that doesn’t seem to be very flourishing; and she mentioned yesterday that they had to travel second-class——
Mrs. Bernick.
Yes, I was afraid it must be something of that sort. But that she should have come with him! She! After the terrible way she insulted you——!
Bernick.
Oh, don’t think of those old stories.
Mrs. Bernick.
How can I think of anything else? He is my own brother——; and yet it is not of him that I think, but of all the unpleasantness it will bring upon you. Karsten, I am so dreadfully afraid that——
Bernick.
What are you afraid of?
Mrs. Bernick.
Might they not think of arresting him for that money your mother lost?
Bernick.
What nonsense! Who can prove that she lost the money?
Mrs. Bernick.
Why, the whole town knows it, unfortunately; and you said yourself——
Bernick.
I said nothing. The town knows nothing whatever of the matter; it was all idle gossip.
Mrs. Bernick.
Oh, how noble you are, Karsten.
Bernick.
Put all those old stories out of your head, I say! You don’t know how you torture me by raking them up again. [He walks up and down the room; then he throws his stick away from him.] To think of their coming home just at this time, when so much depends on unmixed good-feeling, both in the press and in the town! There will be paragraphs in the papers all over the country-side. Whether I receive them well or ill, my action will be discussed, my motives turned inside out. People will rip up all those old stories—just as you do. In a society like ours——[Tosses down his gloves upon the table.] And there isn’t a soul here that I can confide in, or that can give me any support.
Mrs. Bernick.
No one at all, Karsten?
Bernick.
No; you know there is not.—That they should descend upon me just at this moment! They are certain to make a scandal in one way or another—especially she. It is nothing less than a calamity to have such people in one’s family.
Mrs. Bernick.
Well, it’s not my fault that——
Bernick.
What is not your fault? That you are related to them? No; that’s true enough.
Mrs. Bernick.
And it wasn’t I that asked them to come home.
Bernick.
Aha, there we have it! “I didn’t ask them to come home; I didn’t write for them; I didn’t drag them home by the hair of their heads.” Oh, I know the whole story off by heart.
Mrs. Bernick.
[Bursting into tears.] Oh, why are you so unkind?
Bernick
Yes, that’s right; set to crying, so that the town may have that to chatter about too. Stop this nonsense, Betty. You had better sit outside there; some one might come in. Perhaps you want people to see Madam with red eyes? It would be a nice thing indeed if it got abroad that——Ah! I hear some one in the passage. [A knock.] Come in.
[Mrs. Bernick goes out to the verandah with her work. Aune comes in from the right.
Aune.
Good-morning, Consul.
Bernick.
Good-morning. Well, I suppose you can guess what I want with you?
Aune.
Your clerk told me yesterday that you were not pleased with——
Bernick.
I am altogether displeased with the way things are going at the yard, Aune. You are not getting on at all with the repairs. The Palm Tree should have been at sea long ago. Mr. Vigeland comes worrying me about it every day. He is a troublesome partner.
Aune.
The Palm Tree can sail the day after to-morrow.
Bernick.
At last! But the American, the Indian Girl, that has been lying here five weeks, and——
Aune.
The American? I sort of understood that we was to do all we could to get your own ship out of hand first.
Bernick.
I have given you no reason for such an idea. You should have made all possible progress with the American too; but you have done nothing.
Aune.
The vessel’s bottom is as rotten as matchwood, Consul; the more we patch at it the worse it gets.
Bernick.
That is not the real reason. Krap has told me the whole truth. You don’t understand how to work the new machines I have introduced—or rather, you won’t work with them.
Aune.
I’m getting on in years, Consul Bernick—nigh upon sixty. From a boy I’ve been used to the old ways——
Bernick.
They are quite inadequate nowadays. You mustn’t think, Aune, that it’s a question of mere profit; luckily I could do without that; but I must consider the community I live in, and the business I have to manage. It is from me that progress must come, or it will never come at all.
Aune.
I have nought to say against progress, Consul.
Bernick.
No, for your own narrow circle, for the working class. Oh, I know all about your agitations! You make speeches; you stir people up; but when it comes to a tangible piece of progress, as in the case of the machines, you will have nothing to do with it; you are afraid.
Aune.
Yes, I’m afraid, Consul; I’m afraid for the hundreds of poor folks as the machines’ll take the bread out of their mouths. You talk a deal of duty towards Society, Consul, but it seems to me as Society has duties of its own as well. What business have science and capital to bring all these new-fangled inventions into the field before Society has turned out a breed of men that can use them?
Bernick.
You read and think too much, Aune; it does you no good; that is what makes you dissatisfied with your position.
Aune.
It’s not that, Consul; but I can’t abear to see one good workman after another packed off to starve for the sake of these machines.
Bernick.
H’m; when printing was discovered, many copyists had to starve.
Aune.
Would you have thought printing such a fine thing, Consul, if you’d have been a copyist?
Bernick.
I didn’t get you here to argue with you. I sent for you to tell you that the Indian Girl must be ready to sail the day after to-morrow.
Aune.
Why, Consul——
Bernick.
The day after to-morrow, do you hear? At the same time as our own ship; not an hour later. I have my reasons for hurrying on the affair. Have you read this morning’s paper? Ah!—then you know that the Americans have been making disturbances again. The ruffianly crew turn the whole town topsy-turvy. Not a night passes without fights in the taverns or on the street; not to speak of other abominations.
Aune.
Yes, they’re a bad lot, for certain.
Bernick.
And who gets the blame of all this? It is I—yes, I—that suffer for it. These wretched newspaper-men are covertly carping at us for giving our whole attention to the Palm Tree. And I, whose mission it is to set an example to my fellow citizens, must have such things thrown in my teeth! I won’t bear it. I cannot have my name bespattered in this way.
Aune.
Oh, the name of Bernick is good enough to bear that, and more.
Bernick.
Not just now; precisely at this moment I need all the respect and goodwill of my fellow citizens, I have a great undertaking in hand, as you have probably heard; and if evil-disposed persons should succeed in shaking people’s unqualified confidence in me, it may involve me in the most serious difficulties. I must silence these carping and spiteful scribblers at any cost; and that is why I give you till the day after to-morrow.
Aune.
You might just as well give me till this afternoon, Consul Bernick.
Bernick.
You mean that I am demanding impossibilities?
Aune.
Yes, with the present working staff——
Bernick.
Oh, very well;—then we must look about us elsewhere.
Aune.
Would you really turn off still more of the old workmen?
Bernick.
No, that is not what I am thinking of.
Aune.
I’m certain sure, if you did, there would be a fine to-do both in the town and in the newspapers.
Bernick.
Very possibly; therefore I won’t do it. But if the Indian Girl is not cleared the day after to-morrow, I shall dismiss you.
Aune.
[With a start.] Me! [Laughing.] Oh, that’s only your joke, Consul.
Bernick.
I advise you not to trust to that.
Aune.
You can think of turning me away! Why, my father before me, and his father too, worked in the shipyard all their lives; and I myself——
Bernick.
Who forces me to it?
Aune.
You want me to do things as can’t be done, Consul.
Bernick.
Oh, where there’s a will there’s a way. Yes or no? Answer me definitely, or I dismiss you on the spot.
Aune.
[Coming nearer.] Consul Bernick, have you rightly bethought what it means to turn an old workman away? You say he can look about for another job. Ay, ay, maybe he can—but is that everything? Ah, you should just see what it looks like in a turned-off workman’s house, the night when he comes home and puts his tool-chest behind the door.
Bernick.
Do you think I part with you willingly? Haven’t I always been a good master to you?
Aune.
So much the worse, Consul; for that means as my folks at home won’t put the blame on you. They won’t say nothing to me, for they durstn’t, but they’ll look at me when I’m not noticing, as much as to say: Certain sure, it must’a’ been his fault. You see, it’s that—it’s that as I can’t abear, God knows, I’m a poor man, but I’ve always been used to be the first in my own house. My bit of a home is in a manner of speaking a little community, Consul Bernick. That little community I’ve been able to support and hold together because my wife believed in me, my children believed in me. And now the whole thing is to fall to pieces.
Bernick.
Well, if it cannot be otherwise, the less must fall before the greater; the part must, in heaven’s name, be sacrificed to the whole. I can give you no other answer; and you’ll find it is the way of the world. But you are an obstinate fellow, Aune! You stand against me, not because you can’t help it, but because you will not prove the superiority of machinery to manual labour.
Aune.
And you’re so dead set on this, Consul, because you know that, if you send me about my business, leastways you’ll have shown the papers your goodwill.
Bernick.
What if it were so? I have told you how much it means to me—I must either conciliate the papers, or have them all attacking me at the moment when I am working for a great and beneficent cause. What follows? Can I possibly act otherwise than I am doing? Would you have me, in order to hold your home together, as you call it, sacrifice hundreds of other homes—homes that will never be founded, will never have a smoking hearthstone, if I do not succeed in my present enterprise? You must make your choice.
Aune.
Well, if you put it that way, I’ve got no more to say.
Bernick.
H’m—; my dear Aune, I am truly sorry we must part.
Aune.
We will not part, Consul Bernick.
Bernick.
What?
Aune.
Even a common man has his rights to stand up for here in the world.
Bernick.
Of course, of course. Then you can promise——?
Aune.
The Indian Girl shall be ready for sea the day after to-morrow.
[He bows and goes out to the right.
Bernick.
Aha, I’ve made that stiff neck bend. I take that as a good omen——
Hilmar Tönnesen, with a cigar in his mouth, comes through the garden gate.
Hilmar.
[On the verandah steps.] Good-morning, Betty! Good-morning, Bernick!
Mrs. Bernick.
Good-morning.
Hilmar.
Oh, you’ve been crying, I see. Then you’ve heard?
Mrs. Bernick.
Heard what?
Hilmar.
That the scandal is in full swing! Ugh!
Bernick.
What do you mean?
Hilmar.
[Coming into the room.] Why, that the two Americans are flaunting about the streets in company with Dina Dorf.
Mrs. Bernick.
[Also coming in.] Oh, Hilmar, is it possible——?
Hilmar.
I can bear witness, worse luck! Lona had even the want of tact to call out to me; but I naturally pretended not to hear her.
Bernick.
And of course all this has not passed unnoticed.
Hilmar.
No; you may be sure it hasn’t. People turned round and looked after them. It ran like wildfire over the town—like a fire on the Western prairies. There were people at the windows of all the houses, head to head behind the curtains, waiting for the procession to pass. Ugh! You must excuse me, Betty; I say ugh! for it makes me so nervous. If this goes on I shall have to go for a change of air somewhere, pretty far off.
Mrs. Bernick.
But you should have spoken to him, and pointed out——
Hilmar.
In the public street? No; I beg to be excused. But how the deuce can the fellow dare to show himself here! Well, we shall see if the papers don’t put a stopper on him. I beg your pardon, Betty, but——
Bernick.
The papers, you say? Have you heard anything to make you think so?
Hilmar.
I should rather say I had! When I left here last night, I took my constitutional up to the club. I could tell from the sudden silence when I came in that they had been discussing the two Americans. And then in came that impertinent editor-fellow, Hammer, or whatever they call him, and congratulated me, before everybody, upon my rich cousin’s return.
Bernick.
Rich——?
Hilmar.
Yes; that was what he said. Of course I measured him from top to toe with the contempt he deserved, and gave him to understand that I knew nothing of Johan Tönnesen being rich. “Indeed!” says he; “that’s strange. In America people generally get on when they have something to start with, and we know your cousin didn’t go over empty-handed.”
Bernick.
H’m, be so good as to——
Mrs. Bernick.
[Troubled.] There, you see, Karsten——
Hilmar.
Well, at any rate, not a wink have I slept for thinking of the fellow. And there he goes calmly marching about the streets, as if he had nothing to be ashamed of. Why couldn’t he have been disposed of for good? Some people are intolerably tough.
Mrs. Bernick.
Oh, Hilmar, what are you saying?
Hilmar.
Oh, nothing, nothing. Only here he escapes safe and sound from railway[railway] accidents, and fights with Californian bears and Blackfoot Indians; why, he’s not even scalped——Ugh! here they are.
Bernick.
[Looks down the street.] Olaf with them too.
Hilmar.
Yes, of course; catch them letting people forget that they belong to the first family in the town. Look, look, there come all the loafers out of the drug-store to stare at them and make remarks. Really, this is too much for my nerves; how a man under such circumstances is to hold high the banner of the ideal——
Bernick.
They are coming straight here. Listen, Betty: it is my decided wish that you should be as friendly as possible to them.
Mrs. Bernick.
May I, Karsten?
Bernick.
Of course, of course; and you too, Hilmar. I daresay they won’t remain very long; and when we are alone with them—let us have no allusions to the past—we must on no account hurt their feelings.
Mrs. Bernick.
Oh, Karsten, how noble you are.
Bernick.
No, no, nothing of the sort.
Mrs. Bernick.
Oh, but you must let me thank you; and forgive me for being so hasty. You had every reason to——
Bernick.
Don’t talk of it, don’t talk of it, I say.
Hilmar.
Ugh!
Johan Tönnesen and Dina, followed by Lona and Olaf, come through the garden.
Lona.
Good-morning, good-morning, my dear people.
Johan.
We have been out looking all round the old place, Karsten.
Bernick.
Yes, so I hear. Greatly changed, is it not?
Lona.
Consul Bernick’s great and good works on every hand. We’ve been up in the gardens you have presented to the town——
Bernick.
Oh, there!
Lona.
“Karsten Bernick’s Gift,” as the inscription over the entrance says. Yes; everything here seems to be your work.
Johan.
And you have splendid ships too. I met my old school-fellow, the captain of the Palm Tree——
Lona.
Yes, and you’ve built a new school-house; and they owe both the gas- and the water-works to you, I hear.
Bernick.
Oh, one must work for the community one lives in.
Lona.
Well, you’ve done your part finely, brother-in-law; but it’s a pleasure, too, to see how people appreciate you. I don’t think I’m vain, but I couldn’t help reminding one or two of the people we talked to that we belong to the family.
Hilmar.
Ugh——!
Lona.
Do you say “Ugh!” to that?
Hilmar.
No, I said “H’m”——
Lona.
Oh, was that all, poor fellow? But you are quite alone here to-day!
Mrs. Bernick.
Yes, to-day we are quite alone.
Lona.
By-the-bye, we met one or two of the Moral Regenerators up in the market-place; they seemed to be very busy. But we have never had a proper talk yet; yesterday we had the three pioneers of progress here, and the Pastor too——
Hilmar.
The Doctor.
Lona.
I call him the Pastor. But now—what do you think of my work for these fifteen years? Hasn’t he grown a fine boy? Who would recognise him now for the scapegrace that ran away from home?
Hilmar.
H’m——
Johan.
Oh, Lona, don’t boast too much.
Lona.
I don’t care, I’m really proud of it. Well, well, it’s the only thing I have done in the world, but it gives me a sort of right to exist. Yes, Johan, when I think how we two began life over there with only our four bare paws——
Hilmar.
Hands.
Lona.
I say paws, they were so dirty——
Hilmar.
Ugh!
Lona.
——and empty too.
Hilmar.
Empty! Well, I must say!
Lona.
What must you say?
Bernick.
H’m!
Hilmar.
I must say—ugh!
[Goes out upon the verandah.
Lona.
Why, what’s wrong with the man?
Bernick.
Oh, never mind him; he’s rather nervous just now. Should you like to take a look round the garden? You haven’t been down there yet, and I happen to have an hour to spare.
Lona.
Yes, I should like it very much; you may be sure my thoughts have often been with you all, here in the garden.
Mrs. Bernick.
There have been great changes there too, as you’ll see.
[Consul Bernick, Mrs. Bernick, and Lona go down the garden, where they are now and then visible during the following scene.
Olaf.
[At the garden door.] Uncle Hilmar, do you know what Uncle Johan asked me? He asked if I’d like to go with him to America.
Hilmar.
You, you little muff, that go about tied to your mother’s apron-strings——
Olaf.
Yes, but I won’t be so any more. You shall see when I’m big——
Hilmar.
Oh, rubbish; you have no real craving for the discipline of danger——
[They go down the garden together.
Johan.
[To Dina, who has taken off her hat, and stands at the door to the right, shaking the dust from her dress.] The walk has made you very warm.
Dina.
Yes; it was splendid. I have never had such a nice walk before.
Johan.
Perhaps you don’t often go for a walk in the morning?
Dina.
Oh, yes; but only with Olaf.
Johan.
Ah!—Should you like to go down the garden, or to stay here?
Dina.
I would rather stay here.
Johan.
And I too. Then it’s settled that we go for a walk together every morning?
Dina.
No, Mr. Tönnesen, you mustn’t do that.
Johan.
Why not? You know you promised.
Dina.
Yes, but on thinking it over, I——You mustn’t go about with me.
Johan.
Why on earth should I not?
Dina.
Ah, you are a stranger here; you don’t understand; but I must tell you——
Johan.
Well?
Dina.
No, I would rather not speak about it.
Johan.
Oh, yes—surely you can speak to me about anything you wish to.
Dina.
Then I must tell you that I am not like the other girls here; there is something—something about me. That is why you mustn’t walk with me.
Johan.
But I don’t understand a word of this. You haven’t done anything wrong?
Dina.
No, not I, but——; no, I won’t say anything more about it. You are sure to hear it from the others.
Johan.
H’m——
Dina.
But there was something else I wanted to ask you about.
Johan.
And what was that?
Dina.
Is it really so easy to lead a life that is worth living over in America?
Johan.
Well it isn’t always easy; you have generally to rough it a good deal, and work hard, to begin with.
Dina.
I would willingly do that.
Johan.
You?
Dina.
I can work well enough; I am strong and healthy, and Aunt Martha has taught me a great deal.
Johan.
Then, hang it all, why not come with us?
Dina.
Oh, now you are only joking; you said the same to Olaf. But I wanted to know, too, if people over there are very—very moral, you know?
Johan.
Moral?
Dina.
Yes, I mean, are they as—as proper and well-behaved as they are here?
Johan.
Well, at any rate, they are not so bad as people here think. Don’t be at all afraid of that.
Dina.
You don’t understand. What I want is just that they should not be so very proper and moral.
Johan.
Indeed? What would you have them then?
Dina.
I would have them natural.
Johan.
Well, that is perhaps just what they are.
Dina.
Then that would be the place for me.
Johan.
Yes, I am sure it would; so you must come with us.
Dina.
No, I wouldn’t go with you; I should have to go alone. Oh, I should get on; I should soon be fit for something——
Bernick.
[At the foot of the verandah steps with the two ladies.] Stay here, stay here; I’ll fetch it, my dear Betty. You might easily catch cold.
[Comes into the room and looks for his wife’s shawl.
Mrs. Bernick.
[From the garden.] You must come too, Johan; we are going down to the grotto.
Bernick.
No, Johan must stay here just now. Here, Dina; take my wife’s shawl and go with them. Johan will stay here with me, my dear Betty. I want him to tell me a little about things in America.
Mrs. Bernick.
Very well; then come after us; you know where to find us.
[Mrs. Bernick, Lona, and Dina go down through the garden to the left.
Bernick.
[Looks out after them for a moment, goes and shuts the second door on the left, then goes up to Johan, seizes both his hands, shakes them, and presses them warmly.] Johan, now we are alone; now you must give me leave to thank you.
Johan.
Oh, nonsense!
Bernick.
My house and home, my domestic happiness, my whole position in society—all these I owe to you.
Johan.
Well, I am glad of it, my dear Karsten; so some good came of that foolish story after all.
Bernick.
[Shaking his hands again.] Thanks, thanks, all the same! Not one in ten thousand would have done what you did for me then.
Johan.
Oh, nonsense! Were we not both of us young and a bit reckless? One of us had to take the blame upon him——
Bernick.
Yes, and the guilty one was the obvious person.
Johan.
Stop! Then the obvious person was the innocent one. I was alone, free, an orphan; it was a positive blessing to me to escape from the grind of the office. You, on the other hand, had your mother still living; and, besides, you had just got secretly engaged to Betty, and she was devoted to you. What would have become of her if she had learnt——?
Bernick.
True, true, true; but——
Johan.
And was it not just for Betty’s sake that you broke off the entanglement with Madam Dorf? It was for the very purpose of putting an end to it that you were up at her house that night——
Bernick.
Yes, the fatal night when that drunken brute came home——! Yes, Johan, it was for Betty’s sake; but yet—that you should have the generosity to turn appearances against yourself and go away——
Johan.
You need have no qualms, my dear Karsten. We agreed that it should be so; you had to be saved, and you were my friend. I can tell you I was proud of that friendship! Here was I, poor stay-at-home, plodding along, when you came back like a very prince from your great foreign tour—from London and Paris, no less! Then what should you do but choose me for your bosom friend, though I was four years younger than you. Well, that was because you were making love to Betty; now I understand it well enough. But how proud I was of it then! And who would not have been proud! Who would not gladly have served as your scapegoat, especially when it only meant a month’s town-talk, and an excuse for making a dash into the wide world.
Bernick.
H’m—my dear Johan, I must tell you frankly that the story is not so entirely forgotten yet.
Johan.
Isn’t it? Well, what does it matter to me when once I am back again at my farm?
Bernick.
Then you are going back?
Johan.
Of course.
Bernick.
But not so very soon, I hope?
Johan.
As soon as possible. It was only to please Lona that I came over at all.
Bernick.
Indeed! How so?
Johan.
Well, you see, Lona is not so young as she once was, and for some time past a sort of home-sickness has come over her, though she would never admit it. [Smiling.] She dared not leave behind her a scapegrace like me, who, before I was out of my teens, had been mixed up in——
Bernick.
And then?
Johan.
Well, Karsten, now I must make a confession I am really ashamed of.
Bernick.
You haven’t told her the whole story?
Johan.
Yes, I have. It was wrong of me, but I couldn’t help it. You have no conception what Lona has been to me. You could never endure her; but to me she has been a mother. The first few years over there, when we were desperately poor—oh, how she worked! And when I had a long illness, and could earn nothing, and couldn’t keep her from doing it, she took to singing songs in the cafés; gave lectures that people laughed at; wrote a book she has both laughed and cried over since—and all to keep my soul and body together. Last winter, when I saw her pining for home, and thought how she had toiled and slaved for me, could I sit still and look on? No, Karsten, I couldn’t. I said, “Go, go, Lona; don’t be anxious on my account. I’m not such a ne’er-do-well as you think.” And then—then I told her everything.
Bernick.
And how did she take it?
Johan.
Oh, she said what was quite true—that as I was innocent I could have no objection to taking a trip over here myself. But you needn’t be afraid; Lona will say nothing, and I shall take better care of my own tongue another time.
Bernick.
Yes, yes; I am sure you will.
Johan.
Here is my hand upon it. And now don’t let us talk any more of that old story; fortunately it is the only escapade either you or I have been mixed up in, I hope. And now I mean thoroughly to enjoy the few days I shall have here. You can’t think what a splendid walk we have had this forenoon. Who could have imagined that the little baggage that used to trot about and play angels in the theatre——! But tell me—what became of her parents afterwards?
Bernick.
Oh, there’s nothing to tell except what I wrote you immediately after you left. You got my two letters, of course?
Johan.
Of course, of course; I have them both. The drunken scoundrel deserted her?
Bernick.
And was afterwards killed in a drinking-bout.
Johan.
And she herself died soon after? I suppose you did all you could for her without exciting attention?
Bernick.
She was proud; she betrayed nothing, but she would accept nothing.
Johan.
Well, at any rate, you did right in taking Dina into your house.
Bernick.
Oh, yes—— However, it was really Martha that arranged that.
Johan.
Ah, it was Martha? By-the-bye, where is Martha to-day?
Bernick.
Oh, she is always busy either at the school, or among her sick people.
Johan.
Then it was Martha that took charge of Dina?
Bernick.
Yes; education has always been Martha’s hobby. That is why she accepted a place in the national school. It was a piece of folly on her part.
Johan.
She certainly looked very much done up yesterday. I should scarcely think her health would stand it.
Bernick.
Oh, I don’t think there’s much amiss with her health. But it’s unpleasant for me. It looks as if I, her brother, were not willing to maintain her.
Johan.
Maintain her? I thought she had enough of her own to——
Bernick.
Not a halfpenny. I daresay you remember what difficulties my mother was in when you left. She got on for some time with my help; but of course that arrangement could not permanently satisfy me. So I determined to go into partnership with her; but even then things were far from going well. At last I had to take over the whole affair; and when we came to make up accounts, there was scarcely anything left to my mother’s share. Then, shortly afterwards, she died; and Martha, of course, was left with nothing.
Johan.
Poor Martha!
Bernick.
Poor! Why so? You don’t suppose I let her want for anything? Oh no; I think I may say I am a good brother to her. Of course she lives here and has her meals with us; her salary as a teacher is quite enough for her dress, and—what can a single woman want more?
Johan.
H’m; that’s not the way we think in America.
Bernick.
No, I daresay not; there are too many agitators at work over there. But here, in our little circle, where, thank heaven, corruption has not as yet managed to creep in—here women are content with a modest and unobtrusive position. For the rest, it is Martha’s own fault; she could have been provided for long ago if she had cared to.
Johan.
You mean she could have married?
Bernick.
Yes, and married very well too; she has had several good offers. Strangely enough!—a woman without money, no longer young, and quite insignificant.
Johan.
Insignificant?
Bernick.
Oh, I am not blaming her at all. Indeed, I would not have her otherwise. In a large house like ours, you know, it is always convenient to have some steady-going person like her, whom one can put to anything that may turn up.
Johan.
Yes, but she herself——?
Bernick.
She herself? What do you mean? Oh, of course she has plenty to interest herself in—Betty, and Olaf, and me, you know. People ought not to think of themselves first; women least of all. We have each our community, great or small, to support and work for. I do so, at any rate. [Pointing to Krap, who enters from the right.] See, here you have an instance. Do you think it is my own business I am occupied with? By no means. [Quickly to Krap.] Well?
Krap.
[Whispers, showing him a bundle of papers.] All the arrangements for the purchase are complete.
Bernick.
Capital! excellent!—Oh, Johan, you must excuse me for a moment. [Low, and with a pressure of the hand.] Thanks, thanks, Johan; and be sure that anything I can do to serve you—you understand——Come, Mr. Krap!
[They go into the Consul’s office.
Johan.
[Looks after him for some time.] H’m——!
[He turns to go down the garden. At the same moment Martha enters from the right with a little basket on her arm.
Johan.
Ah, Martha!
Martha.
Oh—Johan—is that you?
Johan.
Have you been out so early too?
Martha.
Yes. Wait a little; the others will be here soon.
[Turns to go out to the left.
Johan.
Tell me, Martha—why are you always in such a hurry?
Martha.
I?
Johan.
Yesterday you seemed to keep out of my way, so that I could not get a word with you; and to-day——
Martha.
Yes, but——
Johan.
Before, we were always together—we two old playfellows.
Martha.
Ah, Johan, that is many, many years ago.
Johan.
Why, bless me, it’s fifteen years ago, neither more nor less. Perhaps you think I have changed a great deal?
Martha.
You? Oh yes, you too, although——
Johan.
What do you mean?
Martha.
Oh, nothing.
Johan.
You don’t seem overjoyed to see me again.
Martha.
I have waited so long, Johan—too long.
Johan.
Waited? For me to come?
Martha.
Yes.
Johan.
And why did you think I would[would] come?
Martha.
To expiate where you had sinned.
Johan.
I?
Martha.
Have you forgotten that a woman died in shame and need for your sake? Have you forgotten that by your fault a young girl’s best years have been embittered?
Johan.
And you say this to me? Martha, has your brother never——?
Martha.
What of him?
Johan.
Has he never——? Oh, I mean has he never said so much as a word in my defence?
Martha.
Ah, Johan, you know Karsten’s strict principles.
Johan.
H’m—of course, of course—yes, I know my old friend Karsten’s strict principles.—But this is——! Well, well—I have just been talking to him. It seems to me he has changed a good deal.
Martha.
How can you say so? Karsten has always been an excellent man.
Johan.
That was not exactly what I meant; but let that pass.—H’m; now I understand the light you have seen me in; it is the prodigal’s return that you have been waiting for.
Martha.
Listen, Johan, and I will tell you in what light I have seen you. [Points down to the garden.] Do you see that girl playing on the lawn with Olaf? That is Dina. Do you remember that confused letter you wrote me when you went away? You asked me to believe in you. I have believed in you, Johan. All the bad things that there were rumours of afterwards must have been done in desperation, without thought, without purpose——
Johan.
What do you mean?
Martha.
Oh, you understand me well enough; no more of that. But you had to go away—to begin afresh—a new life. See, Johan, I have stood in your place here, I, your old playfellow. The duties you forgot, or could not fulfil, I have fulfilled for you. I tell you this, that you may have the less to reproach yourself with. I have been a mother to that much-wronged child; I have brought her up as well as I could——
Johan.
And thrown away your whole life in doing so!
Martha.
It has not been thrown away. But you have been long of coming, Johan.
Johan.
Martha—if I could say to you——Well, at all events let me thank you for your faithful friendship.
Martha.
[Smiling sadly.] Ah——! Well, now we have made a clean breast of things, Johan. Hush, here comes some one. Good-bye; I don’t want them to——
[She goes out through the second door on the left. Lona Hessel comes from the garden, followed by Mrs. Bernick.
Mrs. Bernick.
[Still in the garden.] Good heavens, Lona, what can you be thinking of?
Lona.
Let me alone, I tell you; I must and will talk to him.
Mrs. Bernick.
Think what a frightful scandal it would be! Ah, Johan, are you still here?
Lona.
Out with you, boy; don’t hang about indoors in the stuffy rooms; go down the garden and talk to Dina.
Johan.
Just what I was thinking of doing.
Mrs. Bernick.
But——
Lona.
Listen, Johan; have you ever really looked at Dina?
Johan.
Yes; I should think I had.
Lona.
Well, you should look at her to some purpose. She’s the very thing for you.
Mrs. Bernick.
But, Lona——!
Johan.
The thing for me?
Lona.
Yes, to look at, I mean. Now go!
Johan.
Yes, yes; I don’t need any driving.
[He goes down the garden.
Mrs. Bernick.
Lona, you amaze me. You cannot possibly be in earnest.
Lona.
Yes, indeed I am. Isn’t she fresh, and sound, and true? She’s just the wife for John. She’s the sort of companion he needs over there; a different thing from an old step-sister.
Mrs. Bernick.
Dina! Dina Dorf! Just think——!
Lona.
I think first and foremost of the boy’s happiness. Help him I must and will—he needs a little help in such matters; he has never had much of an eye for women.
Mrs. Bernick.
He? Johan! Surely we have sad cause to know that——
Lona.
Oh, deuce take that foolish old story? Where is Bernick? I want to speak to him.
Mrs. Bernick.
Lona, you shall not do it, I tell you!
Lona.
I shall do it. If the boy likes her, and she him, why then they shall make a match of it. Bernick is such a clever man; he must manage the thing——
Mrs. Bernick.
And you think that these American infamies will be tolerated here——
Lona.
Nonsense, Betty——
Mrs. Bernick.
——that a man like Karsten, with his strict moral ideas——
Lona.
Oh, come now, surely they’re not so tremendously strict as all that.
Mrs. Bernick.
What do you dare to say?
Lona.
I dare to say that I don’t believe Karsten Bernick is so very much more moral than other men.
Mrs. Bernick.
Do you still hate him, then, so bitterly? What can you want here, since you have never been able to forget that——? I can’t understand how you dare look him in the face, after the shameful way you insulted him.
Lona.
Yes, Betty, I forgot myself terribly that time.
Mrs. Bernick.
And how nobly he has forgiven you—he, who had done no wrong? For he couldn’t help your foolish fancies. But since that time you have hated me too. [Bursts into tears.] You have always envied me my happiness. And now you come here to heap this trouble upon me—to show the town what sort of a family I have brought Karsten into. Yes; it is I that have to suffer for it all; and that’s just what you want. Oh, it’s hateful of you!
[She goes out crying, by the second door on the left.
Lona.
[Looking after her.] Poor Betty!
[Consul Bernick comes out of his office.
Bernick.
[Still at the door.] Yes, yes; that’s all right, Krap—that’s excellent. Send four hundred crowns for a dinner to the poor. [Turns.] Lona? [Advancing.] You are alone? Is not Betty here?
Lona.
No. Shall I call her?
Bernick.
No, no; please don’t! Oh, Lona, you don’t know how I have been burning to talk openly with you—to beg for your forgiveness.
Lona.
Now listen, Karsten: don’t let us get sentimental. It doesn’t suit us.
Bernick.
You must hear me, Lona. I know very well how much appearances are against me, since you have heard all about Dina’s mother. But I swear to you it was only a momentary aberration; at one time I really, truly, and honestly loved you.
Lona.
What do you think has brought me home just now?
Bernick.
Whatever you have in mind, I implore you to do nothing before I have justified myself. I can do it, Lona; at least I can show that I was not altogether to blame.
Lona.
Now you are frightened.—You once loved me, you say? Yes, you assured me so, often enough, in your letters; and perhaps it was true, too—after a fashion—so long as you were living out there in a great, free world, that gave you courage to think freely and greatly yourself. Perhaps you found in me a little more character, and will, and independence than in most people at home here. And then it was a secret between us two; no one could make fun of your bad taste.
Bernick.
Lona, how can you think——?
Lona.
But when you came home; when you saw the ridicule that poured down upon me; when you heard the laughter at what were called my eccentricities——
Bernick.
You were inconsiderate in those days.
Lona.
Mainly for the sake of annoying the prudes, both in trousers and petticoats, that infested the town. And then you fell in with that fascinating young actress——
Bernick.
The whole thing was a piece of folly—nothing more. I swear to you, not a tithe of the scandal and tittletattle was true.
Lona.
Perhaps not; but then Betty came home—young, beautiful, idolised by every one—and when it became known that she was to have all our aunt’s money, and I nothing——
Bernick.
Yes, here we are at the root of the matter, Lona; and now you shall hear the plain truth. I did not love Betty then; it was for no new fancy that I broke with you. It was entirely for the sake of the money; I was forced to do it; I had to make sure of the money.
Lona.
And you tell me this to my face!
Bernick.
Yes, I do. Hear me, Lona——
Lona.
And yet you wrote me that an irresistible passion for Betty had seized you, appealed to my magnanimity, conjured me for Betty’s sake to say nothing of what had passed between us——
Bernick.
I had to, I tell you.
Lona.
Now, by all that’s holy, I am not sorry I forgot myself as I did that day.
Bernick.
Let me tell you, calmly and deliberately, what my position was at that time. My mother, you know, stood at the head of the business; but she had no business capacity. I was hurriedly called home from Paris; the times were critical; I was to retrieve the situation. What did I find? I found—and this, remember, had to be kept strictly secret—a house as good as ruined. Yes, it was as good as ruined, the old, respected house, that had stood through three generations. What could I, the son, the only son, do, but cast about me for a means of saving it?
Lona.
So you saved the house of Bernick at the expense of a woman.
Bernick.
You know very well that Betty loved me.
Lona.
But I?
Bernick.
Believe me, Lona, you would never have been happy with me.
Lona.
Was it your care for my happiness that made you play me false?
Bernick.
Do you think it was from selfish motives that I acted as I did? If I had stood alone then, I would have begun the world again, bravely and cheerfully. But you don’t understand how the head of a great house becomes a living part of the business he inherits, with its enormous responsibility. Do you know that the welfare of hundreds, ay of thousands, depends upon him? Can you not consider that it would have been nothing short of a disaster to the whole community, which both you and I call our home, if the house of Bernick had fallen?
Lona.
Is it for the sake of the community, then, that for these fifteen years you have stood upon a lie?
Bernick.
A lie?
Lona.
How much does Betty know of all that lay beneath and before her marriage with you?
Bernick.
Can you think that I would wound her to no purpose by telling her these things?
Lona.
To no purpose, you say? Well well, you are a business man; you should understand what is to the purpose.—But listen, Karsten: I, too, will speak calmly and deliberately. Tell me—after all, are you really happy?
Bernick.
In my family, do you mean?
Lona.
Of course.
Bernick.
I am indeed, Lona. Oh, you have not sacrificed yourself in vain. I can say truly that I have grown happier year by year. Betty is so good and docile. In the course of years she has learnt to mould her character to what is peculiar in mine——
Lona.
H’m.
Bernick.
At first, it is true, she had some high-flown notions about love; she could not reconcile herself to the thought that, little by little, it must pass over into a placid friendship.
Lona.
But she is quite reconciled to that now?
Bernick.
Entirely. You may guess that daily intercourse with me has not been without a ripening influence upon her. People must learn to moderate their mutual claims if they are to fulfil their duties in the community in which they are placed. Betty has by degrees come to understand this, so that our house is now a model for our fellow citizens.
Lona.
But these fellow citizens know nothing of the lie?
Bernick.
Of the lie?
Lona.
Yes, of the lie upon which you have stood for these fifteen years.
Bernick.
You call that——?
Lona.
I call it the lie—the threefold lie. First the lie towards me; then the lie towards Betty; then the lie towards Johan.
Bernick.
Betty has never asked me to speak.
Lona.
Because she has known nothing.
Bernick.
And you will not ask me to;—out of consideration for her, you will not.
Lona.
Oh, no; I daresay I shall manage to bear all the ridicule; I have a broad back.
Bernick.
And Johan will not ask me either—he has promised me that.
Lona.
But you yourself, Karsten? Is there not something within you that longs to get clear of the lie?
Bernick.
You would have me voluntarily sacrifice my domestic happiness and my position in society!
Lona.
What right have you to stand where you are standing?
Bernick.
For fifteen years I have every day earned a clearer right—by my whole life, by all I have laboured for, by all I have achieved.
Lona.
Yes, you have laboured for much and achieved much, both for yourself and others. You are the richest and most influential man in the town; they have to bow before your will, all of them, because you are held to be a man without stain or flaw—your home is a model, your life is a model. But all this magnificence, and you yourself along with it, stand on a trembling quicksand. A moment may come, a word may be spoken—and, if you do not save yourself in time, you and all your grandeur go to the bottom.
Bernick.
Lona—what did you come here to do?
Lona.
To help you to get firm ground under your feet, Karsten.
Bernick.
Revenge! You want to revenge yourself. I thought as much! But you will not succeed! There is only one who has a right to speak, and he is silent.
Lona.
Johan?
Bernick.
Yes, Johan. If any one else accuses me, I shall deny everything. If you try to crush me, I shall fight for my life. You will never succeed, I tell you! He who could destroy me will not speak—and he is going away again.
Rummel and Vigeland enter from the right.
Rummel.
Good-morning, good-morning, my dear Bernick. You are coming with us to the Trade Council? We have a meeting on the railway business, you know.
Bernick.
I cannot. It’s impossible just now.
Vigeland.
You really must, Consul——
Rummel.
You must, Bernick. There are people working against us. Hammer and the other men who were in favour of the coast line, declare that there are private interests lurking behind the new proposal.
Bernick
Why, then, explain to them——
Vigeland.
It’s no good our explaining to them, Consul——
Rummel.
No, no, you must come yourself. Of course no one will dare to suspect you of anything of that sort.
Lona.
No, I should think not.
Bernick.
I cannot, I tell you; I am unwell;—at any rate wait—let me collect myself.
Doctor Rörlund enters from the right.
Rörlund.
Excuse me, Consul; you see me most painfully agitated——
Bernick.
Well, well, what is the matter with you?
Rörlund.
I must ask you a question, Consul Bernick. Is it with your consent that the young girl who has found an asylum under your roof shows herself in the public streets in company with a person whom——
Lona.
What person, Pastor?
Rörlund.
With the person from whom, of all others in the world, she should be kept furthest apart.
Lona.
Ho-ho!
Rörlund.
Is it with your consent, Consul?
Bernick.
I know nothing about it. [Looking for his hat and gloves.] Excuse me; I am in a hurry; I am going up to the Trade Council.
Hilmar.
[Enters from the garden and goes over to the second door to the left.] Betty, Betty, come here!
Mrs. Bernick.
[In the doorway.] What is it?
Hilmar.
You must go down the garden and put a stop to the flirtation a certain person is carrying on with Miss Dina Dorf. It has made me quite nervous to listen to it.
Lona.
Indeed? What did the person say?
Hilmar.
Oh, only that he wants her to go with him to America. Ugh!
Rörlund.
Can such things be possible!
Mrs. Bernick.
What do you say?
Lona.
Why, that would be capital.
Bernick.
Impossible! You must have misunderstood him.
Hilmar.
Then ask him himself. Here come the couple. Only don’t drag me into the business.
Bernick.
[To Rummel and Vigeland.] I shall follow you—in a moment——
[Rummel and Vigeland go out to the right. Johan Tönnesen and Dina come in from the garden.
Johan.
Hurrah, Lona, she’s coming with us!
Mrs. Bernick.
Oh, Johan—how can you!
Rörlund.
Can this be true? Such a crying scandal? By what vile arts have you——?
Johan.
What, what, man? What are you saying?
Rörlund.
Answer me, Dina: is this your intention?—deliberately formed, and of your own free will?
Dina.
I must get away from here.
Rörlund.
But with him—with him!
Dina.
Tell me of any one else that has courage to set me free?
Rörlund.
Then you shall know who he is.
Johan.
Be silent!
Bernick.
Not a word more!
Rörlund.
Then I should ill serve the community over whose manners and morals it is my duty to keep watch; and I should act most indefensibly towards this young girl, in whose training I have borne an important share, and who is to me——
Johan.
Take care what you are doing!
Rörlund.
She shall know it! Dina, it was this man who caused all your mother’s misfortune and shame.
Bernick.
Rector——!
Dina.
He! [To Johan.] Is this true?
Johan.
Karsten, do you answer!
Bernick.
Not a word more! Not a word more to-day![to-day!]
Dina.
Then it is true.
Rörlund.
True, true! And more than that. This person, in whom you were about to place your trust, did not run away empty-handed—Mrs. Bernick’s strong-box—the Consul can bear witness!
Lona.
Liar!
Bernick.
Ah——!
Mrs. Bernick.
Oh God! oh God!
Johan.
[Goes towards him with uplifted arm.] You dare to——!
Lona.
[Keeping him back.] Don’t strike him, Johan.
Rörlund.
Yes, yes; assault me if you like. But the truth shall out; and this is the truth. Consul Bernick has said so himself; it is notorious to the whole town.—Now, Dina, now you know him.
[A short pause.
Johan.
[Softly seizing Bernick’s arm.] Karsten, Karsten, what have you done?
Mrs. Bernick.
[Softly, in tears.] Oh, Karsten, that I should bring all this shame upon you!
Sandstad.
[Enters hastily from the right, and says, with his hand still on the door-handle.] You must really come now, Consul! The whole railway is hanging by a thread.
Bernick.
[Absently.] What is it? What am I to——?
Lona.
[Earnestly and with emphasis.] You are to rise and support society, brother-in-law!
Sandstad.
Yes, come, come; we need all your moral predominance.
Johan.
[Close to him.] Bernick, we two will talk of this to-morrow.
[He goes out through the garden; Bernick goes out to the right with Sandstad, as if his will were paralysed.