ACT FIRST.
Doctor Wangel’s house, with a large verandah, on the left. Garden in front and around. Near the verandah, a flag-staff. To the right, in the garden, an arbour, with table and chairs. At the back, a hedge, with a small gate. Beyond the hedge, a road along the shore, shaded by trees on either side. Between the trees there is a view of the fiord, with high mountain ranges and peaks in the distance. It is a warm and brilliantly clear summer morning.
Ballasted, a middle-aged man, dressed in an old velvet jacket and broad-brimmed artist’s hat, stands at the foot of the flag staff, arranging the cord. The flag is lying on the ground. A little way off stands an easel with a stretched canvas. Beside it, on a camp-stool, are brushes, palette, and a paint-box.
Boletta Wangel comes out upon the verandah through the open garden-room door. She is carrying a large vase of flowers, which she places upon the table.
Boletta.
Well, Ballested,—can you get it to run?
Ballested.
Oh yes, Miss Boletta. It’s easy enough.—May I ask if you are expecting visitors to-day?
Boletta.
Yes, we expect Mr. Arnholm this morning. He came to town last night.
Ballested.
Arnholm? Wait a moment—wasn’t Arnholm the name of the tutor you had here some years ago?
Boletta.
Yes; it is he that is coming.
Ballested.
Ah, indeed. So he is in these parts again?
Boletta.
That is why we want the flag run up.
Ballested.
Ah, I see, I see.
[Boletta goes into the garden-room again.
Shortly afterwards, Lyngstrand comes along the road from the right, and stops, interested by the sight of the easel and painter’s materials. He is a slightly-built young man, of delicate appearance, poorly but neatly dressed.
Lyngstrand.
[Outside, by the hedge.] Good morning.
Ballested.
[Turning round.] Ah—good morning. [Hoists the flag.] So-ho!—up goes the balloon! [Makes the cord fast, and begins to busy himself at the easel.] I take off my hat to you, sir—though I don’t think I have the pleasure——
Lyngstrand.
You are a painter, are you not?
Ballested.
Yes, certainly. Why should I not be a painter?
Lyngstrand.
Ah, I can see you are.—Should you mind my coming in for a moment?
Ballested.
Do you want to have a look at it?
Lyngstrand.
Yes, I should like to extremely.
Ballested.
Oh there’s nothing much to see as yet. But pray come in—you’re quite welcome.
Lyngstrand.
Many thanks.
[He comes in through the garden gate.
Ballested.
[Painting.] It’s the inner part of the fiord, among the islands, that I am working at.
Lyngstrand.
Yes, I see.
Ballested.
But I haven’t put in the figure yet. There is no such thing as a model to be had in the town.
Lyngstrand.
There is to be a figure, is there?
Ballested.
Yes. By the rock in the foreground here, I mean to have a half-dead mermaid lying.
Lyngstrand.
Why half-dead?
Ballested.
She has strayed in from the sea, and can’t find her way out again. So she lies here dying by inches in the brackish water, you understand.
Lyngstrand.
Oh, that is the idea?
Ballested.
It was the lady of this house that suggested it to me.
Lyngstrand.
What will you call the picture when it is finished?
Ballested.
I think of calling it “The Mermaid’s End.”
Lyngstrand.
Capital.—You are sure to make something good out of this.
Ballested.
[Looking at him.] An artist yourself, perhaps?
Lyngstrand.
A painter, you mean?
Ballested.
Yes.
Lyngstrand.
No, I am not. But I am going to be a sculptor. My name is Hans Lyngstrand.
Ballested.
Going to be a sculptor, are you? Well, well, sculpture, too, is a fine, gentleman-like art.—I fancy I’ve seen you in the street once or twice. Have you been staying here long?
Lyngstrand.
No, I have only been here a fortnight. But I hope I may be able to stay the whole summer.
Ballested.
To enjoy the gaieties of the season, eh?
Lyngstrand.
Well, rather to get up my strength a bit.
Ballested.
Not an invalid, I hope?
Lyngstrand.
Well, I’m what you might call a little bit of an invalid. Nothing to speak of, you know. It’s only a sort of short-windedness in my chest.
Ballested.
Pooh—a mere trifle. Still, I would consult a good doctor, if I were you.
Lyngstrand.
I thought, if I could find an opportunity, I might speak to Dr. Wangel.
Ballested.
Yes, do. [Looks out to the left.] Here comes another steamer. Chock full of passengers. It’s extraordinary how the tourist business has increased here during the last few years.
Lyngstrand.
Yes, there seems to be a continual coming and going.
Ballested.
The place is full of summer visitors too. I’m sometimes afraid that our good town may lose its character with all this foreign invasion.
Lyngstrand.
Are you a native of the place?
Ballested.
No, I am not. But I have accla—acclimatised myself. I have become attached to the place by the bonds of time and habit.
Lyngstrand.
You have lived here a long time, then?
Ballested.
Well, seventeen or eighteen years. I came here with Skive’s[[15]] dramatic company. But we got into financial difficulties; so the company broke up and was scattered to the winds.
Lyngstrand.
But you remained?
Ballested.
I remained. And I have had no cause to regret it. You see in those days I was mainly employed as a scene-painter.
Boletta comes out with a rocking-chair, which she places in the verandah.
Boletta.
[Speaking into the garden-room.] Hilda,—see if you can find the embroidered footstool for father.
Lyngstrand.
[Approaches the verandah and bows.] Good morning, Miss Wangel.
Boletta.
[By the balustrade.] Ah, is that you, Mr. Lyngstrand? Good morning. Excuse me one moment.
[Goes into the house.
Ballested.
Do you know the family here?
Lyngstrand.
Very slightly. I have met the young ladies once or twice at other houses. And I had a little talk with Mrs. Wangel the last time the band played up at the Prospect. She said I might come and see them.
Ballested.
I’ll tell you what,—you ought to cultivate their acquaintance.
Lyngstrand.
Yes, I’ve been thinking of paying them a visit—I mean calling on them, you know. If I could only find some pretext——
Ballested.
Oh nonsense,—a pretext——[Looks out to the left.] Confound it all! [Collects his things.] The steamer’s alongside the pier already. I must be off to the hotel. Perhaps some of the new arrivals may require my services. For I practise as a hair-cutter and friseur, too, I must tell you.
Lyngstrand.
You seem to be very versatile.
Ballested.
One must know how to ac—climatise oneself to various professions in these small places. If you should ever require anything in the hair line—pomade or what not—you have only to ask for Dancing-Master Ballested.
Lyngstrand.
Dancing-Master——
Ballested.
President of the Musical Society, if you prefer it. We give a concert up at the Prospect this evening. Good-bye, good-bye.
[He goes with his painting materials through the garden gate, and then out to the left.
Hilda comes out with the stool. Boletta brings more flowers. Lyngstrand bows to Hilda from the garden.
Hilda.
[By the balustrade, without returning the bow.] Boletta said you had ventured in to-day.
Lyngstrand.
Yes, I took the liberty of coming into the garden.
Hilda.
Have you been out for your morning walk?
Lyngstrand.
Well, no,—I haven’t had much of a walk to-day.
Hilda.
Have you been bathing then?
Lyngstrand.
Yes, I had a little dip. I saw your mother down there. She was just going into her bathing-house.
Hilda.
Who was?
Lyngstrand.
Your mother.
Hilda.
Oh indeed.
[She places the stool in front of the rocking-chair.
Boletta.
[As if to change the subject.] Did you see anything of my father’s boat out on the fiord?
Lyngstrand.
Yes, I saw a sailing-boat that seemed to be standing inwards.
Boletta.
That must have been father. He has been out visiting patients on the islands.
[She arranges things about the table.
Lyngstrand.
[Standing on the lowest of the verandah steps.] Why, what a splendid show of flowers you have here——!
Boletta.
Yes, doesn’t it look nice?
Lyngstrand.
Oh, charming. It looks as if the day were some family festival.
Hilda.
So it is.
Lyngstrand.
I guessed as much. Your father’s birthday, I suppose?
Boletta.
[Warningly to Hilda.] H’m,—h’m!
Hilda.
[Not heeding her.] No, mother’s.
Lyngstrand.
Oh indeed,—your mother’s, is it?
Boletta.
[In a low, angry tone.] Now, Hilda——!
Hilda.
[In the same tone.] Let me alone! [To Lyngstrand.] I suppose you’re going home to lunch now?
Lyngstrand.
[Descending from the step.] Yes, I suppose I must see about getting something to eat.
Hilda.
I daresay you live on the fat of the land at the hotel.
Lyngstrand.
I am not staying at the hotel now. It was too expensive for me.
Hilda.
Where are you now, then?
Lyngstrand.
I have a room at Madam Jensen’s.[[16]]
Hilda.
Which Madam Jensen’s?
Lyngstrand.
The midwife’s.
Hilda.
Excuse me, Mr. Lyngstrand, but I really have no time to——
Lyngstrand.
Oh, I suppose I oughtn’t to have said that.
Hilda.
Said what?
Lyngstrand.
What I said just now.
Hilda.
[Looks at him witheringly from top to toe.] I don’t in the least understand you.
Lyngstrand.
No, no. Well, I must bid you good-bye for the present, ladies.
Boletta.
[Comes forward to the steps.] Good-bye, good-bye, Mr. Lyngstrand. You must please excuse us for to-day.—But another time, when you have nothing better to do—and when you feel inclined,—I hope you’ll look in and see father and—and the rest of us.
Lyngstrand.
Many thanks. I shall be only too delighted.
[He bows and goes out by the garden gate. As he passes along the road outside, to the left, he bows again towards the verandah.
Hilda.
[Under her breath.] Adieu, Mossyoo! My love to Mother Jensen.
Bolleta[Bolleta].
[Softly, shakes her by the arm.] Hilda——! You naughty child! Are you mad? He might easily hear you!
Hilda.
Pooh,—do you think I care?
Boletta.
[Looks out to the right.] Here comes father.
Doctor Wangel, in travelling dress, and carrying a hand-bag, comes along the foot-path from the right.
Wangel.
Well, here I am again, little girls!
[He comes in through the gate.
Boletta.
[Goes down to meet him in the garden.] Oh, I’m so glad you have come.
Hilda.
[Also going down to him.] Have you finished for the day now, father?
Wangel.
Oh no, I must go down to the surgery for a little while by-and-by.—Tell me,—do you know whether Arnholm has arrived?
Boletta.
Yes, he came last night. We sent to the hotel to inquire.
Wangel.
Then you haven’t seen him yet?
Boletta.
No. But he’s sure to look in this forenoon.
Wangel.
Yes, of course he will.
Hilda.
[Drawing him round.] Father you must look about you now.
Wangel.
[Looking towards the verandah.] Yes, yes, my child, I see.—There is quite an air of festivity about the place.
Boletta.
Don’t you think we have arranged it prettily?
Wangel.
Yes, you have indeed—Is—are we alone in the house?
Hilda.
Yes, she has gone to——
Boletta.
[Interrupts quickly.] Mother is bathing.
Wangel.
[Looks kindly at Boletta and pats her head.] Then he says, with some hesitation:] Look here, little girls—do you intend to keep up this display all day? And the flag flying too?
Hilda.
Why, of course we do, father!
Wangel.
H’m—yes. But you see——
Boletta.
[Nodding and smiling to him.] Of course you understand that it’s all in honour of Mr. Arnholm. When such an old friend comes to pay his first visit to you——
Hilda.
[Smiling and shaking him.] Remember—wasn’t he Boletta’s tutor, father?
Wangel.
[Half smiling.] You are a pair of young rogues.—Well well,—after all, it’s only natural that we should remember her who is no longer among us. But all the same——. Look here, Hilda. [Gives her his hand-bag.] This must go down to the surgery.—No, little girls,—I don’t like all this—the manner of it, I mean. That we should make a practice every year of——. Well, what can one say? I suppose there is no other way of doing it.
Hilda.
[Is about to go through the garden to the left with the hand-bag, but stops, turns, and points.] Look at that gentleman coming along the road. I believe it’s Mr. Arnholm.
Boletta.
[Looks in the same direction.] He! [Laughs.] What an absurd idea! To take that middle-aged man for Mr Arnholm.
Wangel.
Wait a bit, child. Upon my life, I believe it’s he!—Yes, I am sure of it!
Boletta.
[Gazing fixedly, in quiet astonishment.] Yes, I do believe it is!
Arnholm, in elegant morning dress, with gold spectacles and a light cane, appears on the road, coming from the left. He looks somewhat over-worked. On seeing the party in the garden, he bows in a friendly way, and comes through the gate.
Wangel.
[Going to meet him.] Welcome my dear Arnholm! Heartily welcome to your old haunts again.
Arnholm.
Thank you, thank you, Doctor Wangel. A thousand thanks. [They shake hands and cross the garden together.] And here are the children! [Holds out his hands to them and looks at them.] These two I should scarcely have known again.
Wangel.
No, I daresay not.
Arnholm.
Oh well,—perhaps Boletta.—Yes, I should have known Boletta.
Wangel.
Scarcely, I think. Let me see, it’s eight or nine years since you saw her last. Ah yes, there has been many a change here since then.
Arnholm.
[Looking about him.] I should hardly say so. Except that the trees have grown a bit—and you have planted a new arbour there——
Wangel.
Oh no, outwardly I daresay.
Arnholm.
[Smiles.] And now, of course, you have two grown-up daughters in the house.
Wangel.
Oh, only one grown-up, surely.
Hilda.
[Half-aloud.] Just listen to father!
Wangel.
And now suppose we sit in the verandah. It’s cooler there than here. Come along.
Arnholm.
Thanks, thanks, my dear Doctor.
[They go up the steps. Wangel gives Arnholm the rocking-chair.
Wangel.
That’s right. Now you shall just sit quiet and have a good rest. You are looking rather tired after your journey.
Arnholm.
Oh, that’s nothing. Now that I am here again——
Boletta.
[To Wangel.] Shall we bring a little soda-water and syrup into the garden-room? It will soon be too warm out here.
Wangel.
Yes do, little girls. Soda-water and syrup. And perhaps a little cognac.
Boletta.
Cognac too?
Wangel.
Just a little. In case any one should care for it.
Boletta.
Very well. Hilda, will you take the hand-bag down to the surgery?
[Boletta goes into the garden-room and closes the door after her. Hilda takes the bag and, going through the garden, disappears behind the house to the left.
Arnholm.
[Who has been following Boletta with his eyes.] What a splendid girl—what splendid girls they have grown into!
Wangel.
[Seats himself.] Yes, don’t you think so?
Arnholm.
Boletta quite astonishes me—and Hilda too, for that matter.—But you yourself, my dear Doctor—do you intend to remain here for the rest of your days?
Wangel.
Oh yes, that’s what it will come to, I suppose. I was born and bred here, you see. Here I lived very very happily with her who was so early taken from us—with her whom you knew when you were here before, Arnholm.
Arnholm.
Yes—yes.
Wangel.
And now I live here so happily with one who has come to me in her stead. I must say that, take it all in all, the fates have been kind to me.
Arnholm.
You have no children by your second marriage?
Wangel.
We had a little boy, two or two and a half years ago. But we did not keep him long. He died when he was four or five months old.
Arnholm.
Is your wife not at home to-day?
Wangel.
Oh yes, she’ll be here very soon. She has gone to bathe. She never misses a day at this season; no matter what the weather may be.
Arnholm.
Is she out of health?
Wangel.
No, not exactly; but she has been curiously nervous the last couple of years or so—off and on, you know. I can’t quite make out what is wrong with her. But to get into the sea is life and happiness to her.
Arnholm.
I remember that of old.
Wangel.
[With an almost imperceptible smile.] Yes, to be sure, you knew Ellida when you were tutor out at Skioldvik.[[17]]
Arnholm.
Of course. She often visited at the parsonage. And I used generally to see her when I went to the lighthouse to have a talk with her father.
Wangel.
Her life out there has left a deep impression upon her, as you may imagine. In town here people can’t understand it at all. They call her “the lady from the sea.”
Arnholm.
Do they?
Wangel.
Yes. And look here—speak to her about the old days, my dear Arnholm. I am sure it will do her good.
Arnholm.
[Looking doubtfully at him.] Have you any particular reason to think so?
Wangel.
Yes, certainly I have.
Ellida’s Voice.
[Heard without, in the garden to the right.] Are you there, Wangel?
Wangel.
[Rising.] Yes, dear.
Mrs. Wangel, with a large light cloak round her, and with wet hair hanging loose over her shoulders, comes from among the trees beside the arbour. Arnholm rises.
Wangel.
[Smiling and stretching out his hands towards her.] Ah, here comes the mermaid!
Ellida.
[Hastens up to the verandah and seizes his hands.] Thank heaven, you’re safe home again! When did you come?
Wangel.
Just now—a few moments ago. [Points to Arnholm.] But have you nothing to say to an old acquaintance——?
Ellida.
[Holds out her hand to Arnholm.] So you have really come then? Welcome! And forgive my not being at home——
Arnholm.
Oh, don’t mention it. Pray don’t stand on ceremony——
Wangel.
Was the water nice and cool to-day?
Ellida.
Cool! Why, the water never is cool here—so tepid and flat. Pah! the water is sickly in here in the fiords.
Arnholm.
Sickly?
Ellida.
Yes, sickly. And I believe it makes one sickly too.
Wangel.
[Smiling.] A nice testimonial for a sea-bathing place.
Arnholm.
I should rather say that you, Mrs. Wangel, stand in a peculiar relation to the sea and all that belongs to it.
Ellida.
Well, you may be right. I almost think so myself. But do you see how the girls have been decorating the place in your honour?
Wangel.
[Embarrassed.] H’m. [Looks at his watch.] I’m afraid I must be going——
Arnholm.
Is it really in my honour?
Ellida.
Why, of course it is. We’re not so fine as this every day.—Pah! How suffocatingly hot it is under this roof! [Goes down into the garden.] Come over here! Here there’s a breath of air to be had at any rate.
[She seats herself in the arbour.
Arnholm.
[Goes to her.] Now I should say the air was distinctly fresh here.
Ellida.
Yes, you are used to the close air of Christiania. I’m told it is perfectly dreadful there in summer.
Wangel.
[Who has also come down into the garden.] Ellida dear, I must leave you to entertain our good friend here for a while.
Ellida.
Have you work to do?
Wangel.
Yes, I must go down to the surgery: and then I must change my clothes. But I shan’t be long——
Arnholm.
[Seats himself in the arbour.] Don’t hurry, my dear Doctor. Your wife and I will manage to pass the time.
Wangel.
Ah yes—I’m sure of that. Well, good-bye for the present then?
[He goes out through the garden to the left.
Ellida.
[After a short silence.] Don’t you think it is nice sitting here?
Arnholm.
I think it is very nice.
Ellida.
This is called my summer-house; for it was I that had it built. Or rather Wangel—to please me.
Arnholm.
And you sit here a good deal?
Ellida.
Yes, I pass most of the day here.
Arnholm.
With the girls, I suppose.
Ellida.
No, the girls—they keep to the verandah.
Arnholm.
And Wangel?
Ellida.
Oh, Wangel goes to and fro. Sometimes he is here with me, and sometimes over there with the children.
Arnholm.
Is it you that have arranged things so?
Ellida.
I think it’s the arrangement that suits us all best. We can speak across to each other now and again—whenever we happen to have anything to say.
Arnholm.
[After a reflective pause.] When last I crossed your path—out at Skioldvik, I mean——. H’m—that’s a long time ago——
Ellida.
It is a good ten years since you were out there with us.
Arnholm.
Yes, about that. But when I remember you out at the lighthouse——! “The heathen,” as the old pastor used to call you, because he said your father had had you christened with the name of a ship and not of a Christian——
Ellida.
Well, what then?
Arnholm.
The last thing I should have expected was to meet you again, here, as Mrs. Wangel.
Ellida.
No, at that time Wangel was not yet a—— The girls’ first mother was living then—their own mother, I mean——
Arnholm.
Of course, of course. But even if it had not been so—even if he had had no ties—I should never have expected this to come to pass.
Ellida.
Nor I. Never in this world—at that time.
Arnholm.
Wangel is such a fine fellow; so upright so genuinely good-hearted, and kind to every one——
Ellida.
[Warmly and cordially.] Yes, indeed he is!
Arnholm.
——but he must be so utterly different from you, I should think.
Ellida.
You are right there too; we are different.
Arnholm.
Well then, how did it come about? How was it?
Ellida.
You mustn’t ask me, my dear Arnholm. I shouldn’t be able to explain it to you. And even if I did, you could never really understand a word of my explanation.
Arnholm.
H’m——[A little more softly.] Have you ever told your husband anything about me? I mean, of course, about the unsuccessful step which—I was once rash enough to take.
Ellida.
No. How can you think I would? I have never said a word to him—about what you allude to.
Arnholm.
I am glad of that. I felt a little embarrassed at the thought that——
Ellida.
You need not at all. I have only told him what is true—that I liked you very much, and that you were the truest and best friend I had out there.
Arnholm.
Thank you for that. But now tell me—why have you never written to me since I left?
Ellida.
I thought it might perhaps be painful to you to hear from one who—who could not meet your wishes. It would have been like opening an old wound, I thought.
Arnholm.
H’m—— Well, well, I daresay you were right.
Ellida.
But why did you never write?
Arnholm.
[Looks at her and smiles half reproachfully.] I? I begin? And perhaps be suspected of wishing to reopen the attack? After meeting with such a rebuff?
Ellida.
Oh no, I can understand that too.—Have you never thought of forming some other tie?
Arnholm.
Never. I have remained faithful to my memories.
Ellida.
[Half-joking.] Oh, nonsense! Let those sad old memories go. I am sure you had much better think about getting happily married.
Arnholm.
Then I have no time to lose, Mrs. Wangel. Remember—I blush to say it—I shall never see seven-and-thirty again.
Ellida.
Well then, all the more reason to make haste. [Is silent for a moment, then says earnestly and in a low tone.] But listen now, my dear Arnholm,—I am going to tell you something I could not have told you at that time, to save my life.
Arnholm.
What may that be?
Ellida.
When you took—that unsuccessful step, as you said just now,—I could not answer you otherwise than I did.
Arnholm.
I know that. You had nothing but friendship to offer me. I quite understand that.
Ellida.
But you do not know that my whole mind and all my thoughts were centred elsewhere at that time?
Arnholm.
At that time?
Ellida.
Yes, just then.
Arnholm.
But that is impossible! You are mistaking the time! I don’t believe you knew Wangel then.
Ellida.
It is not Wangel that I am speaking of.
Arnholm.
Not Wangel? But at that time—out at Skioldvik—I don’t remember another creature that I could conceive your caring for.
Ellida.
No, no,—I daresay not. For the whole thing was such utter madness.
Arnholm.
Do tell me more about this!
Ellida.
Oh, it is enough for you to know that I was not free at that time. And now you do know it.
Arnholm.
And if you had been free at that time?
Ellida.
What then?
Arnholm.
Would your answer to my letter have been different?
Ellida.
How can I tell? When Wangel came, my answer was different.
Arnholm.
Then what is the use of telling me that you were not free?
Ellida.
[Rises, as if in distress and agitation.] Because I must have some one I can speak to about it. No, no, don’t rise.
Arnholm.
Your husband, then, knows nothing of the matter?
Ellida.
I told him from the first that my thoughts had once been drawn elsewhere. He has never wanted to know more. We have never touched upon the subject since. After all, it was nothing but a piece of madness; and then it all came to an end so quickly. At least,—in a way.
Arnholm.
[Rising.] Only in a way? Not entirely?
Ellida.
Oh yes, of course! My dear good Arnholm, it is not at all as you suppose. It’s something quite incomprehensible. I don’t think I could find words to tell you of it. You would only think I was ill—or else that I was stark mad.
Arnholm.
My dear Mrs. Wangel—now you must and shall tell me the whole story.
Ellida.
Well then—I suppose I must try. How should you, with your common sense, ever be able to understand that——[Looks out and breaks off.] Wait—another time—here is some one coming.
Lyngstrand appears on the road, from the left, and enters the garden. He has a flower in his button-hole, and carries a large handsome bouquet, wrapped round with paper and tied with ribbons. He stops, hesitating a little, in front of the verandah.
Ellida.
[Coming forward in the arbour.] Is it the girls you are looking for, Mr. Lyngstrand?
Lyngstrand.
[Turning.] Ah, are you there, Mrs. Wangel? [Bows and approaches.] No, not exactly—it wasn’t the young ladies. It was you yourself, Mrs. Wangel. You gave me permission to come and see you——
Ellida.
Yes, of course I did. You are always welcome here.
Lyngstrand.
Many thanks. I fortunately happened to hear that this was a day of rejoicing in the family——
Ellida.
Ah, so you know that?
Lyngstrand.
Yes; and so I make so bold as to offer you this, Mrs. Wangel——
[He bows and holds out the bouquet.
Ellida.
[Smiles.] But, my dear Mr. Lyngstrand, ought you not to give your beautiful flowers to Mr. Arnholm himself? For it’s in his honour that——
Lyngstrand.
[Looks in bewilderment from one to the other.] I beg your pardon—I don’t know this gentleman. It’s only——. I meant them for a birthday gift, Mrs. Wangel.
Ellida.
A birthday gift? Then you have made a mistake, Mr. Lyngstrand. To-day is not the birthday of any one in this house.
Lyngstrand.
[Smiling quietly.] Oh, I know all about it. But I didn’t know it was such a secret.
Ellida.
What is it you know?
Lyngstrand.
That it’s your birthday, Mrs. Wangel——
Ellida.
Mine?
Arnholm.
[Looking at her inquiringly.] To-day? No, surely not.
Ellida.
[To Lyngstrand.] What has put that into your head?
Lyngstrand.
It was Miss Hilda that let it out. I happened to look in a little while ago, and I asked the young ladies why they had made such a grand display of flowers and flags——
Ellida.
Well?
Lyngstrand.
——and Miss Hilda answered: “Oh, because it’s mother’s birthday.”
Ellida.
Mother’s——! Oh indeed.
Arnholm.
Aha!
[He and Ellida exchange glances of comprehension.
Arnholm.
Well, since the young man has found it out, Mrs. Wangel——
Ellida.
[To Lyngstrand.] Yes, since you have found it out——
Lyngstrand.
[Offers the bouquet again.] May I be permitted to offer my congratulations——?
Ellida.
[Taking the flowers.] Many thanks.—Won’t you sit down a moment, Mr. Lyngstrand?
[Ellida, Arnholm, and Lyngstrand seat themselves in the arbour.
Ellida.
All this about—about my birthday—was to have been a secret, Mr. Arnholm.
Arnholm.
So I see. It was not to have been mentioned to us outsiders.
Ellida.
[Lays the bouquet on the table.] No, just so. Not to outsiders.
Lyngstrand.
I promise faithfully I won’t mention it to a living creature.
Ellida.
Oh, I didn’t mean it in that way.—But how are you now? I think you are looking better than you did.
Lyngstrand.
Yes, I think I am getting on quite well. And next year, if I can get to the south——
Ellida.
The girls tell me you hope to manage it.
Lyngstrand.
Yes; you see I have a patron in Bergen who provides for me; and he has promised to let me go next year.
Ellida.
How did you come across him?
Lyngstrand.
Oh, it was a great stroke of luck. I once went a voyage in one of his ships.
Ellida.
Did you? Then at that time you wanted to be a sailor?
Lyngstrand.
No, not in the least. But after my mother died, my father wouldn’t have me hanging about at home; so he sent me to sea. On the voyage home, we were wrecked in the English Channel; and that was a grand thing for me.
Arnholm.
How do you mean?
Lyngstrand.
It was in the wreck that I got my lesion—this weakness in my chest, you know. I was in the ice-cold water so long before they came and rescued me. So then I had to give up the sea—Oh yes, it was a great stroke of luck.
Arnholm.
Indeed? You think so?
Lyngstrand.
Yes; for the lesion is nothing to speak of; and now I am to have my heart’s desire, and to be a sculptor. Only think—to be able to model in the delicate clay that yields so exquisitely under your fingers!
Ellida.
And what are you going to model? Mermen and mermaids? Or is it to be old vikings——?
Lyngstrand.
No, nothing of that kind. As soon as I can manage it, I mean to have a try at a big piece of work—a group, as they call it.
Ellida.
I see. And what is the group to represent?
Lyngstrand.
Oh, I thought of something out of my own experience.
Arnholm.
Yes yes,—by all means stick to that.
Ellida.
But what is it to be?
Lyngstrand.
Well, I had thought of a young woman, a sailor’s wife, lying and sleeping in a strange unrest, and dreaming as she sleeps. I think I can make it so that any one can see she is dreaming.
Arnholm.
And is that all?
Lyngstrand.
No. There is to be one other figure—a kind of shape you might call it. It is the husband she has been unfaithful to while he was away. And now he is drowned.
Arnholm.
Why, what do you mean——?
Ellida.
Drowned you say?
Lyngstrand.
Yes, he is drowned at sea. But the strange thing is that he has come home nevertheless. It’s in the night-time; and there he stands by her bedside and looks at her. He must be dripping wet, just as when they haul you up out of the sea.
Ellida.
[Leaning back in her chair.] What a strange idea! [Closes her eyes.] Oh, I can see it livingly before my eyes.
Arnholm.
But in the name of all that’s wonderful, Mr. ——! Mr. ——! You said it was to be something out of your own experience?
Lyngstrand.
Yes,—this is out of my own experience; in a sense, that’s to say.
Arnholm.
You have seen a dead man come——?
Lyngstrand.
Well, I don’t mean to say I have actually seen it; not outwardly, of course. But all the same——
Ellida.
[With animation and eagerness.] Tell me all you know about this! I want to understand it thoroughly.
Arnholm.
[Smiling.] Yes, of course this is quite in your line—anything with the glamour of the sea about it.
Ellida.
How was it then, Mr. Lyngstrand?
Lyngstrand.
Well, you see, when we were starting for home in the brig, from a town they call Halifax, we had to leave our boatswain behind us in the hospital; so we shipped an American in his place. This new boatswain——
Ellida.
The American?
Lyngstrand.
Yes;—one day he borrowed from the captain a bundle of old newspapers, and was perpetually poring over them, he wanted to learn Norwegian, he said.
Ellida.
Well; and then?
Lyngstrand.
Well, one evening it was blowing great guns. All hands were on deck—all except the boatswain and me. For he had sprained his ankle and couldn’t walk; and I wasn’t very well, and was lying in my bunk. Well, there he sat in the fo’c’sle, reading away as usual at one of the old papers——
Ellida.
Well? well?
Lyngstrand.
When all of a sudden, I heard him give a kind of a roar; and when I looked at him I saw that his face was as white as chalk. Then he set to work to crumple and crush the paper up, and tear it into a thousand little pieces; but that he did quietly, quietly.
Ellida.
Did he say nothing at all? Did he not speak?
Lyngstrand.
Not at first. But presently he said, as if to himself: “Married—to another man—while I was away.”
Ellida.
[Shuts her eyes, and says half to herself:] Did he say that?
Lyngstrand.
Yes; and would you believe it—he said it in perfectly good Norwegian. He must have had a great gift for languages, that man.
Ellida.
And what then? What happened next?
Lyngstrand.
Now comes the wonderful part of it—a thing I shall never forget to my dying day. For he added,—and this quite quietly too: “But mine she is, and mine she shall remain. And follow me she shall, though I should have to go home and fetch her, as a drowned man from the bottom of the sea.”
Ellida.
[Pouring out a glass of water; her hand shakes.] Pah—how close it is to-day——!
Lyngstrand.
And he said it with such force of will that I felt he was the man to do it too.
Ellida.
Do you know at all—what has become of this man?
Lyngstrand.
Oh he’s dead, Mrs. Wangel, beyond a doubt.
Ellida.
[Hastily.] What makes you think that?
Lyngstrand.
We were shipwrecked afterwards in the Channel, you know. I got off in the long-boat with the captain and five others; but the mate went in the dingey, and with him was the American and one man besides.
Ellida.
And nothing has been heard of them since?
Lyngstrand.
No, not a word, Mrs. Wangel. My patron wrote me so, only the other day. And that is the very reason I am so anxious to make a group of it. I can see the sailor’s faithless wife so life-like before me; and then the avenger, who is drowned, but nevertheless comes home from sea. I have them both before my eyes as distinctly as possible.
Ellida.
So have I. [Rising.] Come,—let us go in. Or rather down to Wangel! It seems to me so stifling here.
She comes out of arbour.
Lyngstrand.
[Who has also risen.] I think I must be going now. I only just looked in to wish you many happy returns of the day.
Ellida.
Well, if you must go——[Holds out her hand.] Good-bye, and thanks for the flowers.
[Lyngstrand bows and goes through the garden gate, out to the left.
Arnholm.
[Rises and goes up to Ellida.] I can see that this has pained you deeply, my dear Mrs. Wangel.
Ellida.
Oh yes, I suppose you may put it so, although——
Arnholm.
But after all, it is only what you must have been prepared for.
Ellida.
[Looks at him in surprise.] Prepared for?
Arnholm.
Yes, so I should think.
Ellida.
Prepared for his returning——? Returning in such a way?
Arnholm.
Why, what in the world——! Is it that crazy sculptor’s cock-and-bull story——?
Ellida.
Ah, my dear Arnholm, he is perhaps not so crazy as you think.
Arnholm.
Can it be this nonsense about the dead man that has moved you so much? I thought it was——
Ellida.
What did you think?
Arnholm.
Of course, I thought that was only a blind on your part. I fancied you were pained by the discovery that a family anniversary was being celebrated without your knowledge—that your husband and his children are living a life of memories in which you have no share.
Ellida.
Oh no, no; that must be as it may. I have no right to claim my husband for myself alone.
Arnholm.
Yet it seems to me you ought to have that right.
Ellida.
Yes; but as a matter of fact I haven’t. That is the thing. I too live a life—in which the others have no part.
Arnholm.
You! [More softly.] Am I to understand that—you—you do not really love your husband?
Ellida.
Oh yes, yes—I have come to love him with my whole heart! And that is just why it is so terrible—so inexplicable—so absolutely inconceivable——!
Arnholm.
Now you must tell me all your troubles without reserve! Will you not, Mrs. Wangel?
Ellida.
I cannot, dear friend—not now, at any rate. Sometime, perhaps.
[Boletta comes out by the verandah, and down into the garden.
Boletta.
Father is coming from the surgery now. Shan’t we all sit together in the garden-room?
Ellida.
Yes, let us.
Wangel, who has changed his clothes, comes with Hilda from the left, behind the house.
Wangel.
Well now, here I am, a free man! A glass of something cool wouldn’t come amiss now.
Ellida.
Wait a moment.
[She returns to the arbour and brings out the bouquet.
Hilda.
Oh I say! All those lovely flowers! Where did you get them?
Ellida.
I got them from Lyngstrand the sculptor, my dear Hilda.
Hilda.
[Starting.] From Lyngstrand?
Boletta.
[Uneasily.] Has Lyngstrand been here—again?
Ellida.
[With a half-smile.] Yes. He came to bring this bouquet,—a birthday offering, you know.
Boletta.
[Glancing at Hilda.] Oh——!
Hilda.
[Mutters.] The beast!
Wangel.
[In painful embarrassment, to Ellida.] H’m——. Well, you see—I must tell you, my darling Ellida——
Ellida.
[Interrupting.] Come along, girls! Let us put my flowers in water, with the others.
[She goes up on to the verandah.
Boletta.
[Softly to Hilda.] She is really good after all, you see.
Hilda.
[Half aloud, looking angry.] Monkey-tricks! She’s only putting it on to please father.
Wangel.
[Up on the verandah, presses Ellida’s hand.] Thank you—thank you——! I thank you from my heart for this, Ellida.
Ellida.
[Arranging the flowers.] Oh, nonsense,—why should I not join with you in keeping—mother’s birthday?
Arnholm.
H’m——!
[He goes up to Wangel and Ellida. Boletta and Hilda remain below in the garden.