MASTER. I thought I heard the "little steps"—those little steps that came tripping down the corridor when she was looking for me.—It was the child that was the best of all! To watch that fearless little creature, whom nothing could frighten, who never suspected that life might be deceptive, who had no secrets! I recall her first experience of the malice that is in human beings. She caught sight of a pretty child down in the park, and, though it was strange to her, she went up to it with open arms to kiss it—and the pretty child rewarded her friendliness by biting her in the cheek first and then making a face at her. Then you should have seen my little Anne-Charlotte. She stood as if turned to stone. And it wasn't pain that did it, but horror at the sight of that yawning abyss which is called the human heart. I have been confronted with the same sight myself once, when out of two beautiful eyes suddenly shot strange glances as if some evil beast had appeared behind those eyes. It scared me literally so that I had to see if some other person were standing behind that face, which looked like a mask.—But why do we sit here talking about such things? Is it the heat, or the storm, or what?
CONSUL. Solitude brings heavy thoughts, and you ought to have company. This summer in the city seems to have been rather hard on you.
MASTER. Only these last few weeks. The sickness and that death up above—it was as if I had gone through it myself. The sorrows and cares of the confectioner have also become my own, so that I keep worrying about his finances, about his wife's eye trouble, about his future—and of late I have been dreaming every night about my little Anne-Charlotte. I see her surrounded by dangers—unknown, undiscovered, nameless. And before I fall asleep my hearing grows so unbelievably acute that I can hear her little steps—and once I heard her voice——
CONSUL. But where is she then?
MASTER. Don't ask me!
CONSUL. And if you were to meet her on the street?
MASTER. I imagine that I should lose my reason or fall in a faint. Once, you know, I stayed abroad very long, during the very time when our youngest sister was growing up. When I returned, after several years, I was met at the steam-boat landing by a young girl who put her arms around my neck. I was horrified at those eyes that searched mine, but with unfamiliar glances—glances that expressed absolute terror at not being recognised. "It is I," she repeated again and again before at last I was able to recognise my own sister. And that's how I imagine it would be for me to meet my daughter again. Five years are enough to render you unrecognisable at that age. Think of it: not to know your own child! That child, who is the same as before, and yet a stranger! I couldn't survive such a thing. No, then I prefer to keep the little girl of four years whom you see over there on the altar of my home. I want no other one. [Pause] That must be Louise putting things to rights in the linen closet. It has such a clean smell, and it reminds me—oh, the housewife at her linen closet; the good fairy that preserves and renews; the housewife with her iron, who smooths out all that has been ruffled up and who takes out all wrinkles—the wrinkles, yes—[Pause] Now—I'll—go in there to write a letter. If you'll stay, I'll be out again soon.
[He goes out to the left.
The CONSUL coughs.
GERDA. [Appears in the door to the hallway] Are you—[The clock strikes] Oh, mercy! That sound—which has remained in my ears for ten years! That clock which never kept time and yet measured the long hours and days and nights of five years. [She looks around] My piano—my palms—the dinner-table—he has kept it in honour, shining as a shield! My buffet—with the "Knight in Armour" and "Eve"—Eve with her basketful of apples—In the right-hand upper drawer, way back, there was a thermometer lying—[Pause] I wonder if it is still there? [She goes to the buffet and pulls out the right-hand drawer] Yes, there it is!
CONSUL. What does that mean?