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Title: Three Dramas

Author: Bjornstjerne M. Bjornson

Release Date: April, 2005  [EBook #7844]
[This file was first posted on May 22, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: US-ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THREE DRAMAS ***




Nicole Apostola



THREE DRAMAS

THE EDITOR--THE BANKRUPT--THE KING

BY BJORNSTJERNE BJORNSON







INTRODUCTION

The three plays here presented were the outcome of a period when
Bjornson's views on many topics were undergoing a drastic revision
and he was abandoning much of his previous orthodoxy in many
directions. Two of them were written during, and one immediately
after, a three years' absence from Norway--years spent almost
entirely in southern Europe. [Note: Further details respecting
Bjornson's life will be found in the Introduction to Three Comedies
by Bjornson, published in Everyman's Library in 1912.] For nearly
ten years previous to this voluntary exile, Bjornson had been
immersed in theatrical management and political propagandism. His
political activities (guided by a more or less pronounced
republican tendency) centred in an agitation for a truer equality
between the kingdoms of Sweden and Norway, his point of view being
that Norway had come to be regarded too much as a mere appanage of
Sweden. Between that and his manifold and distracting cares as
theatrical director, he had let imaginative work slide for the time
being; but his years abroad had a recuperative effect, and, in
addition, broadened his mental outlook in a remarkable manner.
Foreign travel, a wider acquaintance with differing types of
humanity, and, above all, a newly-won acquaintance with the
contemporary literature of other countries, made a deep impression
upon Bjornson's vigorously receptive mind. He browsed voraciously
upon the works of foreign writers. Herbert Spencer, Darwin, John
Stuart Mill, Taine, Max-Mueller, formed a portion of his mental
pabulum at this time--and the result was a significant alteration
of mental attitude on a number of questions, and a determination to
make the attempt to embody his theories in dramatic form. He had
gained all at once, as he wrote to Georg Brandes, the eminent
Danish critic, "eyes that saw and ears that heard." Up to this time
the poet in him had been predominant; now it was to be the social
philosopher that held the reins. Just as Ibsen did, so Bjornson
abandoned historical drama and artificial comedy for an attempt at
prose drama which should have at all events a serious thesis. In
this he anticipated Ibsen; for (unless we include the satirical
political comedy, _The League of Youth_, which was published in
1869, among Ibsen's "social dramas") Ibsen did not enter the field
with _Pillars of Society_ [Note: Published in _The Pretenders and
Two Other Plays_, in Everyman's Library, 1913.] until 1877,
whereas Bjornson's _The Editor_, _The Bankrupt_, and _The King_
were all published between 1874 and 1877. Intellectual and literary
life in Denmark had been a good deal stirred and quickened in the
early seventies, and the influence of that awakening was inevitably
felt by the more eager spirits in the other Scandinavian countries.
It is amusing to note, as one Norwegian writer has pointed out,
that this intellectual upheaval (which, in its turn, was a
reflection of that taking place in outer Europe) came at a time
when the bulk of the Scandinavian folk "were congratulating
themselves that the doubt and ferment of unrest which were
undermining the foundations of the great communities abroad had not
had the power to ruffle the placid surface of our good,
old-fashioned, Scandinavian orthodoxy." Bjornson makes several sly
hits in these plays (as does Ibsen in _Pillars of Society_) at this
distrust of the opinions and manners of the larger communities
outside of Scandinavia, notably America, with which the
Scandinavian countries were more particularly in touch through
emigration.

Brandes characterises the impelling motive of these three plays as
a passionate appeal for a higher standard of truth--in journalism,
in finance, in monarchy: an appeal for less casuistry and more
honesty. Such a motive was characteristic of the vehement honesty
of Bjornson's own character; he must always, as he says in one of
his letters, go over to the side of any one whom he believed to
"hold the truth in his hands."

_The Editor_ (_Redaktoeren_) was written while Bjornson was in
Florence, and was published at Copenhagen in 1874. It was at first
not accepted for performance at Christiania or Copenhagen, though
an unauthorised performance of it was given at one of the lesser
Christiania theatres in 1875, Meanwhile a Swedish version of it had
been produced, authoritatively, at Stockholm in February of that
year. The play eventually made its way on the Norwegian and Danish
stage; but, before that, it had been seen in German dress at Munich
and Hamburg. As an inevitable result of his recent activities as a
political speaker and pamphleteer, Bjornson had come in for a good
deal of vituperation in the press, a fact which no doubt added some
gall to the ink with which he drew the portrait of the journalist
in this play. The Stockholm critics, indeed, had condemned _The
Editor_ as merely a pamphleteering attack on the editor of a
well-known journal. In answer to this criticism Bjornson wrote from
Rome in March, 1875: "It is said that my play is a pamphleteering
attack on a certain individual. That is a deliberate lie. I have
studied the journalist type, which is here represented, in many
other countries besides my own. The chief characteristic of this
type is to be actuated by an inordinate egotism that is perpetually
being inflamed by passion; that makes use of bogeys to frighten
people, and does this in such a way that, while it makes all its
honest contemporaries afraid of any freedom of thought, it also
produces the same result on every single individual by means
of reckless persecution. As I wished to portray that type, I
naturally took a good deal of the portrait from the representative
of the type that I knew best; but, like every artist who wishes to
produce a complete creation, I had to build it up from separate
revelations of itself. There can, therefore, be no question of any
individual being represented in my play except in so far as he may
partially agree with the type."

However much Bjornson may have written _The Editor_ with a
"purpose," his vivid dramatic sense kept him from becoming merely
didactic. The little tragedy that takes place amongst this homely
group of people makes quite a moving play, thanks to the skill with
which the types are depicted--the bourgeois father and mother, with
their mixture of timidity and self-interest; the manly,
straightforward young politician, resolute to carry on the work
that has sapped his brother's life; the warped, de-humanised nature
of the journalist; the sturdy common-sense of the yeoman farmer;
and the doctor, the "family friend," as a sort of mocking chorus.
Besides its plea for a higher regard for truth, the play also
attacks the precept, preached by worldly wisdom, that we ought to
harden our natures to make ourselves invulnerable; a proposition
which was hateful to one of Bjornson's persistently impressionable
and ingenuous nature. The fact remains, as Brandes grimly admits,
that "nowadays we have only a very qualified sympathy with public
characters who succumb to the persecution of the press." Brandes
sees in the play, besides its obvious motive, an allegory. Halvdan
Rejn, the weary and dying politician, is (he says) meant for Henrik
Wergeland, a Norwegian poet-politician who had similar struggles,
sank under the weight of similar at tacks, died after a long
illness, and was far higher reputed after his death than during his
life. In Harald Rejn, with his honest enthusiasm and misjudged
political endeavours Brandes sees Bjornson himself; while the
yeoman brother, Haakon, seems to him to typify the Norwegian
people.

_The Bankrupt_ (_En Fallit_: literally _A Bankruptcy_) was partly
written in Rome, partly in Tyrol, and published at Copenhagen in
1875. It was a thing entirely new to the Scandinavian stage for a
dramatist to deal seriously with the tragi-comedy of money, and,
while making a forcible plea for honesty, to contrive to produce a
stirring and entertaining play on what might seem so prosaic a
foundation as business finance. Some of the play's earliest critics
dismissed it as "dry," "prosaic," "trivial," because of the nature
of its subject; but it made a speedy success on the boards, and
very soon became a popular item in the repertories of the
Christiania, Bergen and Copenhagen theatres. It was actually first
performed, in a Swedish translation, at Stockholm, a few days
before it was produced at Christiania. Very soon, too, the play
reached Berlin, Munich, Vienna, and other German and Austrian
theatres. It was played in Paris, at the Theatre Libre in 1894. The
character of Berent, the lawyer, which became a favourite one with
the famous Swedish actor Ernst Possart, was admittedly more or less
of a portrait of a well-known Norwegian lawyer, by name Dunker.
When Bjornson was writing the play, he went to stay for some days
with Dunker, who was to instruct him as to the legal aspect of
bankruptcy. Bjornson took the opportunity of studying the lawyer as
well as the law.

_The King_ (_Kongen_) was written at Aulestad, the Norwegian home
in which Bjornson settled after his return from abroad, and was
published at Copenhagen in 1877. It is perhaps not surprising that
the play, with its curious blend of poetry and social philosophy,
and its somewhat exuberant (though always interesting) wordiness,
was not at first a conspicuous success on the stage; but the
interest aroused by the published book was enormous. It was widely
read and vigorously discussed, both in Scandinavia and abroad; and
while, on the one hand, it brought upon Bjornson the most
scurrilous abuse and the harshest criticism from his political
opponents, on the other hand a prominent compatriot of his (whose
opinion was worth having) gave it as his verdict, at a political
meeting held soon after the play's publication, that "the most
notable thing that has happened in Norway of late--or at any rate,
one of the most notable--in my opinion is this last book of
Bjornson's--_The King_."

The idea of a "democratic monarchy"--a kind of reformed
constitutional monarchy, that should be a half-way house on the
road to republicanism--was not entirely new; Bjornson's success was
in presenting the problem as seen from the _inside_--that is to
say, from the king's point of view. His opponents, of course,
branded him as a red-hot republican, which he was not. In a preface
he wrote for a later edition of the play, he says that he did not
intend the play mainly as an argument in favour of republicanism,
but "to extend the boundaries of free discussion"; but that, at
the same time, he believed the republic to be the ultimate form of
government, and all European states to be proceeding at varying
rates of speed towards it.

_The King_ is composed of curiously incongruous elements. The
railway meeting in the first act is pure comedy of a kind to
compare with the meeting in Ibsen's _An Enemy of Society_; the last
act is melodrama with a large admixture of remarkably interesting
social philosophy; the intervening acts betray the poet that always
underlay the dramatist in Bjornson. The crudity, again, of the
melodramatic appearance of the wraith of Clara's father in the
third act, contrasts strangely with the mature thoughtfulness of
much of the last act and with the tender charm of what has gone
before: And--strangest incongruity of all in a play so essentially
"actual"--there is in the original, between each act, a mysterious
"mellemspil," or "interlude," in verse, consisting of somewhat
cryptic dialogues between Genii and Unseen Choirs in the clouds,
between an "Old Grey Man" and a "Chorus of Tyrants" in a desolate
scene of snow and ice, between Choruses of Men, Women, and Children
in a sylvan landscape, and so forth--their utterances being of the
nature of the obscurest choruses in the Greek dramatists, but for
the most part with a less obvious relevance to the play itself.
Such a device leads the present-day reader's thoughts inevitably to
the use made of the "unseen chorus," in a similar way, by Thomas
Hardy in _The Dynasts_; but Hardy's interludes are closely relevant
to his drama and help it on its way, which Bjornson's do not. They
have been entirely omitted in the present translation, on the
ground of their complete superfluity as well as from the extreme
difficulty of retaining their "atmosphere" in translation.

None of the three plays in the present volume have previously been
translated into English. German, French, and Swedish versions of
_The Editor_ are extant; German, Swedish, Finnish, French, and
Hungarian of _The Bankrupt_; French and Spanish of _The King_.

R. FARQUHARSON SHARP.

The following is a list of the works of Bjornstjerne Bjornson:--

DRAMATIC AND POETIC WORKS.--Mellem Slagene (Between the Battles),
1857. Halte-Hulda (Lame Hulda), 1858. Kong Sverre (King Sverre),
1861. Sigurd Slembe (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; as A Lesson in Marriage, by G. I.
Colbron, 1911. Sigurd Jorsalfar (Sigurd the Crusader), 1872.
Redaktoeren (The Editor), 1874. En Fallit (A Bankruptcy), 1874.
Kongen (The King), 1877. Leonarda, 1879. Det ny System (The New
System), 1879. En Hanske, 1883; translated as A Gauntlet, by
H. L. Braekstad 1890; by Osman Edwards 1894. Over AEvne (Beyond our
Strength), Part I., 1883; translated as Pastor Sang, by W. Wilson,
1893; Part II., 1895. Geografi og Kaerlighed (Geography and Love),
1885; Paul Lange og Tora Parsberg, 1898; translated by H. L.
Braekstad, 1899. Laboremus, 1901; translation published by
Chapman and Hall, 1901. Paa Storhove (At Storhove), 1904;
Daglannet, 1904; Naar den ny Vin blomstrer (When the Vineyards
are in Blossom), 1909; The Newly-Married Couple, Leonarda, and A
Gauntlet, translated by R. Farquharson Sharp (Everyman's Library),
1912.

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


FICTION.--Synnoeve Solbakken 1857; translated as Trust and Trial,
by Mary Howitt, 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 with Foreign Novelists, 1880; also
translated by Julie Sutter, 1881; by R. B. Anderson, 1881. Arne,
1858; translated by T. Krag, 1861; by A. Plesner and S. Rugeley-
Powers, 1866; by R. B. Anderson, 1881; by W. Low (Bohn's Library),
1890. Smaastykker (Sketches), 1860. En glad Gut, 1860; translated
as Ovind, by S. and E. Hjerleid 1869; as The Happy Boy, by R. 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 The Fishing 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. Kaptejn Mansana, 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. Paa Guds 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 Bjornson by W. M. Payne, 1910; E. Gosse's Study of
the Writings of Bjornson, in edition of Novels, 1895; H. H.
Boyesen's Essays on Scandinavian Literature, 1895; G. Brandes'
Critical Studies of Ibsen and Bjornson, 1899.]



CONTENTS

THE EDITOR
THE BANKRUPT
THE KING



THE EDITOR

A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

EVJE, a prosperous distiller.
MRS. EVJE.
GERTRUD, their daughter, engaged to HARALD REJN.
The DOCTOR.
The EDITOR.
HAAKON REJN, a yeoman farmer.
HALVDAN REJN and HARALD REJN, his brothers.
The DOCTOR'S ASSISTANT.
INGEBORG, maid to the Evjes.
JOHN, coachman to the Evjes.
HALVDAN REJN's HOUSEKEEPER.
HALVDAN REJN's MAID.
A Lamplighter.

The action takes place in a town in Norway.

THE EDITOR


ACT I

(SCENE.--The breakfast-room at the EVJES' house. A glass-cupboard,
in two partitions, stands against the left-hand wall, well forward.
On the top of it stand a variety of objects. Beyond it, a stove. At
the back of the room, a sideboard. In the middle of the room a
small round folding table, laid for four persons. There is an
armchair by the stove; a sofa on the right; chairs, etc. A door at
the back of the room, and another in the left-hand wall. There are
paintings on the walls, and the general impression of the room is
one of snug comfort. EVJE, MRS. EVJE, and GERTRUD are seated at the
table. INGEBORG is standing by the sideboard. Breakfast is
proceeding in silence as the curtain rises. INGEBORG takes away
EVJE'S cup and re-fills it. As she brings it back to him, a ring is
heard at the bell. GERTRUD gets up.)

Evje. Sit still; John will go to the door. (GERTRUD sits down
again. Directly afterwards, another ring is heard.)

Mrs. Evje. What can John be doing?

Ingeborg. I will go. (Goes out. She comes back, showing in HARALD
REJN, who hangs up his hat and coat in the hall before coming
in.)

Harald. Good morning!

Evje and Mrs. Evje. Good morning! (HARALD shakes hands with them.)

Harald (to GERTRUD, who is sitting on the right). Good morning,
Gertrud! Am I a bit late to-day? (GERTRUD, who has taken his hand,
looks lovingly at him but says nothing.)

Mrs. Evje. Yes, I suppose you have been for a long constitutional,
although the weather is none of the best.

Harald. It is not; I expect we shall have a thick fog by the
afternoon.

Evje. Did you have breakfast before you went out?

Harald. I did, thanks. (To INGEBORG, who has come forward with a
cup of coffee.) No, thank you. I will sit down here while you are
finishing. (Sits down on the sofa behind GERTRUD.)

Mrs. Evje. How is your brother Halvdan?

Harald. A little better to-day, thanks--but of course we cannot
build on that.

Evje. Is your eldest brother coming to see him?

Harald. Yes, we expect him every day. Probably his wife has
come with him, and that has been the reason of the delay; she
finds it difficult to get away.

Mrs. Evje. Halvdan so often talks of her.

Harald. Yes, I believe she is the best friend he has.

Evje. No wonder, then, that she wants to come and say good-bye
to him. By the way, have you seen how the paper bids him
good-bye to-day?

Harald. Yes, I have seen it.

Mrs. Evje (hurriedly). I hope Halvdan has not seen it?

Harald (smiling). No, it is a long time now since Halvdan read a
newspaper. (A pause.)

Evje. Then I suppose you have read what they say about you too?

Harald. Naturally.

Mrs. Evje. It is worse than anything they have said about you
before.

Harald. Well--of course, you know, my election meeting comes on
this evening.

Evje. I can tell you it has upset _us_.

Mrs. Evje. Day after day we wake up to find our house invaded by
these abominations. That is a nice thought to begin your day's
work with!

Harald. Is it so indispensable, then, to educated people to begin
their day by reading such things?

Mrs. Evje. Well--one must have a paper.

Evje. And most people read it. Besides, one can't deny that a lot
of what is in it is true, although its general tendency is to run
everyone down.

Harald (getting up). Quite so, yes. (Leans over GERTRUD'S
shoulder.) Gertrud, have you read it?

Gertrud (does not look at him, and hesitates for a moment; then
says gently): Yes.

Harald (under his breath). So that is it! (Walks away from her.)

Evje. We have had a little bit of a scene here, I must tell you.

Harald (walking up and down). Yes, I can understand that.

Evje. I will repeat what I have said already: they write about
_you_, and _we_ have to suffer for it.

Mrs. Evje. Yes, and Gertrud especially.

Gertrud. No--I don't want anyone to consider me in the matter at
all. Besides, it is not what they say of you in the paper that
hurts me--. (Stops abruptly.)

Harald (who has come up to her). But what your parents are
feeling about it? Is that it? (GERTRUD does not answer.)

Evje (pushing back his plate). There, I have finished! (They rise
from the table. MRS. EVJE helps INGEBORG to clear away the
things, which INGEBORG carries out of the room.)

Mrs. Evje. Couldn't you wash your hands of politics, Harald?
(GERTRUD goes out to the left.)

Evje (who has followed GERTRUD with his eyes). We cannot deny that
it pains us considerably that in our old age our peaceful home
should be invaded by all this squabbling and abomination.

Mrs. Evje (who rung for INGEBORG to move the table). You have no
need to do it, either, Harald! You are a grown man, and your own
master. (INGEBORG comes in. HARALD helps her to move the table.)

Evje (to his wife). Don't let Ingeborg hear. Come along, we will go
into my room.

Mrs. Evje. You forget, all the windows are open there. I have had
the fire lit here, so that we could stay here.

Evje. Very well--then we will sit here. (Sits down by the fire.)
Will you have a cigar?

Harald. No, thanks. (INGEBORG goes out.)

Evje (taking a cigar and lighting it). As my wife said just now--
couldn't you wash your hands of politics, Harald? You, who have
both talent and means, need not be at a loss for a vocation in
life.

Harald (sitting down on the sofa). If I have any talent, it is for
politics--and so I intend to devote my means to that.

Evje. What do you propose to gain by it?

Harald. What any one who believes in a cause hopes to gain--that
is to say, to help it on.

Evje. And to become a cabinet minister?

Harald. I certainly can't do that any other way; well, I admit--
that _is_ my idea.

Evje. You will not be elected now.

Harald. That we shall see.

Evje. But suppose you are not re-elected to-morrow?

Harald. Then I must find some other way.

Evje. Always with the same object?

Harald. Always with the same object. (EVJE sighs.)

Mrs. Evje (who has taken her sewing and sat down by the fire).
Oh, these politics!

Harald. At any rate, they are the most prominent factors in
life just now.

Evje. We do not suppose we can exercise any influence over you. But
at any rate it is possible that you yourself have not considered
the position into which you have put the whole of us. (Both he and
his wife avoid looking at HARALD during this discussion.)

Mrs. Evje. Say what you really mean, dear--that he is making us
all thoroughly unhappy, and that is the truth!

Harald (getting up, and walking up and down). Well, look here--I
have a proposal to make. It is, that you should abandon all
opposition to Gertrud's marrying me at once. To-day again my
brother has expressed the wish that we should be married by his
bedside; so that he should be able to take part in it. I scarcely
need add how happy it would make me.

Evje. But whether she is here at home or married to you, you know,
her parents' distress would be just as great every time their child
was persecuted.

Mrs. Evje. Surely you can appreciate that!

Harald. But what answer am I to give to my brother's request?--
most likely the last he will ever--. (Stops.)

Evje (after a pause). He is very kind to wish it, as he always is.
Nothing would make us happier; but we who are her parents do not
consider that you could make our daughter happy as long as you
remain in politics and on the lines on which you are now
travelling.

Harald (after a pause, during which he has stood still). That is to
say, you contemplate breaking off our engagement?

Evje (looking at him quickly). Far from it!

Mrs. Evje (at the same time). How can you say such a thing?

Evje (turning towards the fire again). We have spoken about it
to Gertrud to-day--as to whether it would not be possible to
induce you to choose some other career.

Mrs. Evje. You understand now, why you found Gertrud upset. You
must listen to us now, as she did, in all friendliness.

Evje (getting up and standing with his back to the fire). The first
thing I do in the morning is to read my paper. You know what
was in it to-day--the same as is in it now every day.

Mrs. Evje. No; I am sure it has never been as bad as to-day.

Harald (walking up and down again). The election is just at
hand!

Evje. Well--it is just as painful to us, her father and mother,
whether it is before or after the election. We are not accustomed
to associate with any one who has not first-class credentials--and
now we have to endure seeing doubt cast upon our own son-in-law's.
Do not misunderstand me; to my mind, for credentials to be
first-class they must not only actually be so, but must also be
considered to be so by people in general. (HARALD begins to walk
up and down again.) The second thing I do in the morning is to
open my letters. Amongst to-day's were several from friends we
had invited to a party we thought of giving--if, that is to say,
your brother's illness took no sudden turn for the worse. No fewer
than ten of them refuse our invitation--most of them making some
excuse, and a few with a little more show of a real reason; but one
of them speaks straight out, and I have his letter here. (Takes it
from his pocket.) I have kept it for you. It is from my father's
old friend, the bishop. I haven't my spectacles--and for me to have
mislaid my spectacles will show you what a state of mind I am in. I
don't think I have done such a thing for--. Here, read it yourself!
Read it aloud!

Harald (taking the letter). "My dear Mr. Evje. As you are my poor
dear friend's son, you must listen to the truth from me. I cannot
willingly come to your house while I might meet there a certain
person who, certainly, is one of you, but nevertheless is a person
whom I cannot hold in entire respect."

Mrs. Evje. Well, Harald, what do you think our feelings must be
when we read things like that?

Evje. Do not imagine that, in spite of that, _we_ do not hold you
in entire respect. We only ask you to ensure our daughter's
happiness. You can do that with a word.

Mrs. Evje. We know what you are, whatever people say--even if they
are bishops. But, in return, you ought to have confidence in our
judgment; and our advice to you is, have done with it! Marry
Gertrud at once, and go away for your honeymoon; by the time you
come back, people will have got something else to talk about--and
you will have found something else to occupy you as well.

Evje. You must not misunderstand us. We mean no coercion. We are
not insisting on this alternative. If you wish to be married, you
shall--without feeling yourself obliged to change your vocation for
_our_ sakes. We only want to make it clear that it would pain us--
pain us very deeply.

Mrs. Evje. If you want to take time to think it over, or want to
talk it over with Gertrud or with your brother, do! (GERTRUD
comes in and goes about the room looking for something.)

Evje. What are you looking for, dear?

Gertrud. Oh, for the--.

Mrs. Evje. I expect it is the newspaper; your grandfather has been
asking for it.

Evje. Surely there is no need for _him_ to read it?

Mrs. Evje. He asked me for it, too. He knows quite well what has
made us all unhappy.

Evje. Can't you tell him? No, that wouldn't do.

Mrs. Evje (to GERTRUD). I suppose you have had to confess to him
what is the matter?

Gertrud (trying to conceal an emotion that is almost too much for
her). Yes. (Finds the paper, and goes out.)

Mrs. Evje (when GERTRUD has gone). Poor child!

Evje. Does not what she is carrying to him, with all that it says
about you and about your brother, seem to you like an omen? I will
tell you how it strikes me. Your brother is a very much more gifted
man than I am; and although it is true, as that paper says, that
nothing of all that he has worked for has ever come to anything,
still perhaps he may nevertheless have accomplished more than
either you or me, although we have done a good deal between us to
increase the prosperity of our town. I feel that to be so, although
I cannot express what I mean precisely. But consider the reputation
he will leave behind him. All educated people will say just what
that paper says to-day--and to-morrow he will be forgotten. He will
scarcely find a place in history, for history only concerns itself
with the great leaders of men. What does it all come to, then?
Neither present nor posthumous fame; but death--death all the time.
He is dying by inches now, dying of the most horrible persecution;
and the emotion that his end will cause among a few individuals
cannot be called posthumous fame. (HARALD begins to speak, but
checks himself.) Can _you_ hope to make a better fight of it? You
think you are stronger? Very well; perhaps you may have the
strength to endure it until other times come and other opinions
with them. But there will be one by your side who will not have the
strength to endure it. Gertrud is not strong--she could never stand
it; indeed now--already--. (Is stopped by his emotion.)

Mrs. Evje. She hides it from you, but she cannot hide it from us.
Besides, a friend of ours--our dear doctor--said only yesterday--.
(Breaks off in tears.)

Evje. We never told you, but he warned us some time ago; we had no
idea it was so serious, or that it had anything to do with this.
But yesterday he frightened us; he said she--. Well, you can ask
him yourself. He will be here directly. (HARALD fills a glass of
water and raises it to his lips, but sets it down again untasted.)

Mrs. Evje (going to him). I am so sorry for you, Harald! To have
this come on you just now--when your splendid brother is at the
point of death, and you yourself are being persecuted! (A ring is
heard at the bell.)

Evje. But it should be a warning to you! Sometimes a single
movement will change the course of a whole life.

Mrs. Evje. And do have a little confidence in us! (A ring is heard
again.)

Evje. What on earth has become of John to-day? That is the second
time the bell has rung.

Mrs. Evje. One of the maids is opening the door, I can hear.

Evje. I expect it is the doctor.

Mrs. Evje. Yes, it is he--I know his ring. (A knock is heard at the
door.)

Evje. Come in! (The DOCTOR comes in.)

The Doctor. Good morning! (Lays down his hat and stick.) Well, so I
hear John has been up to his pranks again? The rascal is in bed.

Evje and Mrs. Evje. In bed?

The Doctor. Came home at four o'clock in the morning, drunk. Ill
to-day, naturally. Ingeborg asked me to go in and see him.

Evje. Well!--I am determined to put an end to it!

Mrs. Evje. Yes, I have never been able to understand why you were
so lenient with John.

Evje. He has been with us five years; and, besides, it makes people
talk so, if you have to send your servants away.

Mrs. Evje. But surely this sort of thing makes them talk much
worse!

Evje. Well--he shall leave this very day.

The Doctor (to HARALD). How are you, Rejn?--Oho! I understand. I
have come at an inopportune moment with my complaints of John? You
have all got something more serious on your minds?

Mrs. Evje. Yes, we have had it out, as we agreed yesterday.

The Doctor. You must forgive me, my dear Rejn, for having told my
old friends the whole truth yesterday. She (pointing to MRS. EVJE)
was an old playfellow of mine, and her husband and I have been
friends from boyhood; so we have no secrets from each other. And
Gertrud's condition makes me very uneasy.

Harald. Why have you never told me that before?

The Doctor. Goodness knows I have often enough given her parents
hints that she was not well; but they have only made up their minds
that her happiness in her engagement would quite cure her. They are
a considerate couple, these two dear people, you know; they didn't
want to seem interfering.

Harald. Their consideration--which I appreciate and have lately had
constant reason to be grateful for--has all at once become a more
powerful weapon than open opposition. It makes a duty of what I
should otherwise have felt to be unfair coercion. But now the
situation is such that I can neither go forward nor back. After
what I have gone through, you must see that I cannot withdraw on
the very eve of the election--and after the election it will be too
late. On the other hand--(with emotion)--I cannot, I dare not, go
on with it if it is to cost me--. (Breaks off.)

Evje (standing in front of the fire). There, there! Take time to
think it over, my dear boy; talk it over with her and with your
brother.

The Doctor (who has sat down on a chair to the left, a little away
from the others). I have just been to see your brother. A
remarkable man! But do you know what occurred to me as I sat there?
He is dying because he _is_ a man. The only people that are fit for
political life nowadays are those whose hearts have been turned to
stone. (Picks up something from the table and gets up.) Ah, just
look here! Here is a fine specimen of petrifaction. It is a
fragment of palm leaf of some kind, found impressed in a bit of
rock from Spitzbergen. I sent it you myself, so I know it. That is
what you have to be like to withstand arctic storms!--it will take
to harm. But your brother--well, his life had been like that of the
original palm tree, with the air sighing through its branches; the
change of climate was too sudden for him. (Goes up to HARALD.) You
have still to try it. Shall you be able to kill all the humanity
that is in you? If you can make yourself as insensate a thing as
this stone, I daresay you will be able to stand the life. But are
you willing to venture upon political life at such a price? If you
are--so be it; but remember that in that case you must also kill
all humanity in Gertrud--in these two--in every one that is dear to
you. Otherwise no one will understand you or follow you. If you
cannot do that, you will never be more than a dabbler in politics--
a quarter, an eighth part, of a politician--and all your efforts,
in what you consider your vocation, will be pitiable!

Mrs. Evje (who has been occupied at the back of the room, but now
sits down by the fare). That is quite true! I know cases of
petrifaction like that--and God preserve anyone that I love from
it!

Evje (coming forward towards HARALD). I don't want to say anything
to hurt your feelings--least of all just now. But I just want to
add my warning, because I believe I have discovered that there is a
danger that persecution may make you hard.

Harald. Yes!--but do you suppose it is only politics that offer
that dangerous prospect?

The Doctor. You are quite right! It is all the cry nowadays,
"Harden yourself!" It isn't only military men and doctors that
have to be hardened; commercial men have to be hardened, civil
servants have to be hardened, or dried up; and everybody else has
to be hardened for life, apparently. But what does it all mean? It
means that we are to drive out all warmth from our hearts, all
desire from our imaginations. There is a child's heart at the
bottom of every one of our hearts-ever young, full of laughter and
tears; and that is what we shall have killed before we are "fitted
for the battle of life," as they put it. No, no--that is what we
ought to preserve; we were given it for that! (HARALD hides his
face in his hands, and sits so for some time.)

Mrs. Evje. Any mother or any wife knows that.

Evje (standing with his back to the fire). You want to bring back
the age of romance, doctor!

The Doctor (with a laugh). Not its errors--because in those days
unclean minds brought to birth a great deal that was unclean.
(Seriously.) But what is it, when all is said and done, but a
violent protest on the part of the Teutonic people against the
Romanesque spirit and school--a remarkable school, but not _ours_.
To us it seems a barren, merely intellectual school--a mere mass of
formulas which led to a precocious development of the mind. And
that was the spirit it bred--critical and barren. But these schools
of thought are now all we have, and both of them are bad for us!
They have no use for the heart or the imagination; they do not
breed faith or a longing for high achievement. Look at _our_ life!
Is our life really our own?

Mrs. Evje. No. You have only to think of our language, our tastes,
our society, our--

The Doctor (interrupting her). Those are the externals of our life,
merely the externals! No, look within--look at such a view of life
as we were talking about, clamouring for "hardening"--is that ours?
Can we, for all our diligence, make as much way in it as, for
instance, a born Parisian journalist?--become like a bar of steel
with a point at each end, a pen-point and a sword-point? _We_
can't do that; the Teutonic temperament is not fitted for it.

Evje. Oh, we are well on the way towards it. Look at the heartless
intolerance in our politics; it will soon match what you were
describing.

Harald. Everyone that disagrees with you is either an ambitious
scoundrel, or half mad, or a blockhead.

The Doctor (laughing). Yes, and here in the north, in our small
communities, where a man meets all his enemies in the same barber's
shop, we feel it as keenly as if we were digging our knives into
each other! (Seriously.) We may laugh at it, but if we could add up
the sum of suffering that has been caused to families and to
individuals--if we could see the concrete total before us--we
should be tempted to believe that our liberty had been given to us
as a curse! For it _is_ a cursed thing to destroy the humanity that
is in us, and make us cruel and hard to one another.

Harald (getting up, but standing still). But, my good friends, if
you are of the same mind about that, and I with you--what is the
next thing to do?

The Doctor. The next thing to do?

Harald. Naturally, to unite in making an end of it.

Mrs. Evje (as she works). What can _we_ do?

Evje. I am no politician and do not wish to become one.

The Doctor (laughing, and sitting down). No, a politician is a
principle, swathed round with a printed set of directions for use.
I prefer to be allowed to be a human being.

Harald. No one can fairly insist on your taking up any vocation
to which you do not feel you have a calling.

The Doctor. Of course not.

Harald. But one certainly might insist on your not helping to
maintain a condition of affairs that you detest.

All. We?

Harald. This newspaper, which is the ultimate reason of all this
conversation we have had--you take it in.

Evje. Why, you take it in yourself!

Harald. No. Every time there is anything nasty in it about me or
mine, it is sent to me anonymously.

The Doctor (with a laugh). I don't take it in; I read my hall-porter's
copy.

Harald. I have heard you say that before. I took an opportunity
to ask your hall-porter. He said _he_ did not read it, and did not
take it in either.

The Doctor (as before). Then I should like to know who does pay
for it!

Evje. A newspaper is indispensable to a business man.

Harald. An influential business man could by himself, or at any
rate with one or two others, start a paper that would be as useful
again to him as this one is.

Evje. That is true enough; but, after all, if we agree with its
politics?

Harald. I will accept help from any one whose opinions on public
affairs agree with my own. Who am I that I should pretend to
judge him? But I will not give him my help in anything that is
malicious or wicked.

The Doctor. Pshaw!

Harald. Everyone who subscribes to, or contributes to, or gives
any information to a paper that is scurrilous, is giving his help to
what is wicked. And, moreover, every one who is on terms of
friendship with a man who is destroying public morality, is
helping him to do it.

The Doctor (getting up). Does he still come here? (A silence.)

Evje. He and I are old schoolfellows--and I don't like breaking with
old acquaintances.

Mrs. Evje. He is a most amusing man, too--though I can't deny that
he is malicious. (The DOCTOR sits down again, humming to himself.)

Harald. But that is not all. Both you and the Doctor have--with
some eloquence--

The Doctor (with a laugh). Thank you!

Harald. --expressed your abhorrence of certain political tendencies
with which neither you nor I have any sympathy--which affront
our ideas of humane conduct. You do not feel called upon to
enter actively into the lists against them; but why do you try to
prevent those who do feel so called upon? You lament the
existing state of things--and yet you help to maintain it, and make
a friend of the man who is its champion!

The Doctor (turning his head). Apparently we are on our defence,
Evje!

Harald. No--I am. I was told a little while ago that I was in a fair
way to become hardened and callous, and that I must abandon
my career--and that I must do so for Gertrud's sake, too, because
she would never be able to share the fight with me. I was told
this at one of the bitterest moments in my life. And that made me
hesitate for a moment. But now I have turned my face forward
again, because you have enlightened me! (A short, sharp cough is
heard in the hall.)

Mrs. Evje (getting up). That is he! (A knock is heard at the door;
the DOCTOR gets up and pushes his chair back. The EDITOR comes in.)

The Editor. Good morning, my children! How are you?

Mrs. Evje (sitting down). I did not hear the bell.

The Editor. I don't suppose you did--I came in by the back door. I
took you by surprise, eh? Discussing me, too--what? (Laughs.)

Evje. You have given us enough reason to, to-day, any way.

The Editor. Yes, haven't I? Such a thing for a man to do to his
best friends--eh?

Evje. That is true.

The Editor. To his old schoolfellows--his neighbours--eh? I expect it
has disturbed your natural moderation--eh?

Evje. I pride myself on my moderation.

The Editor. As much as on your brandy!

Evje. Are you going to begin your nonsense again?

The Editor. Good-morning, Doctor! Have you been making them
a fine speech this morning?--about my paper? or about humanity?--
romanticism? or catholicism?--eh? (Laughs.)

The Doctor (laughing). Certainly one of us two has made a fine
speech this morning!

The Editor. Not me; mine was made yesterday!--How is your hall-porter?

The Doctor (laughing). Quite well, I am ashamed to say.

The Editor. There's a faithful subscriber to my paper, if you like!
(The DOCTOR laughs.) Well, Mrs. Evje, I can give you news of your
man, Master John!

Mrs. Evje. Can you? It is more than I can.

The Editor. Yes--he is in bed still. That is why I came in the back
way--to enquire after his health.

Mrs. Evje. But how--?

The Editor. How is he after last night?

Mrs. Evje. Really, I believe you know everything. We had no idea
he was out last night.

The Editor. Oh, that is the very latest intelligence! He has been
figuring as a speaker--he was drunk, of course--before the
Association founded by his master's future son-in-law. And he
made a most effective speech--indeed, the speakers at that
Association always make most effective speeches! It was all
about a Sliding Scale of Taxation, Profit-Sharing for Workers, the
necessity for a Labour majority in Parliament, etc., etc., all the
usual Socialist rhodomontade. You see how infectious intellectual
ideas are!

Evje. Well!--I shall turn him out of the house to-day!

The Editor. But that is not in accordance with your love of
moderation, Evje!

Evje. It is a scandal.

The Editor (to EVJE). But not the worst. Because, if you want to
avoid that sort of thing, there are others you must turn out of the
house. (Glances towards HARALD.)

Evje. You seem determined to quarrel to-day?

The Editor. Yes, with your "moderation."

Evje. You would be none the worse of a little of it.

The Editor. "Brandy and Moderation" is your watchword--eh?

Evje. Do stop talking such nonsense!--I know one thing, and that
is that you seem to find the brandy from my distillery remarkably
to your taste!

The Doctor (interrupting them). When you are in these provoking
moods there is always some grievance lurking at the back of your
mind. Out with it! I am a doctor, you know; I want to get at the
cause of your complaint!

The Editor. You were not very successful in that, you know,
when you said my maid had cholera, and she really only was--.
(Laughs.)

The Doctor (laughing). Are you going to bring that story up
again? Every one is liable to make mistakes, you know--even you,
my boy!

The Editor. Certainly. But before making a mistake this time--
ahem!--I wanted first of all to enquire whether--

The Doctor. Ah! now it is coming!

The Editor --whether you have any objection to my mentioning
John in my paper?

Mrs. Evje. What has John to do with us?

The Editor. Just as much as the Association, where he delivered
his speech, has; it--ahem!--is one of the family institutions!

Evje. I have had no more to do with making John what he is than I
have had with making that Association what it is.

The Editor. Your future son-in-law made the Association what it is,
and the Association has made John what he is.

The Doctor. Or, to put it the other way round: John is Mr. Evje's
servant; John has become an active member of the Association;
therefore Mr. Evje is a patron of the Association.

The Editor. Or this way: John, being the well-known Mr. Evje's
servant, has for that reason become an active member of the
Association which--as he expressed it--his employer's future
son-in-law "has had the honour to found!"

Mrs. Evje. Surely you never mean to put that in the paper?

The Editor (laughing). They are John's own words.

Mr. Evje. Of course, he would never put a tipsy man's maunderings
into the paper. (To his wife.) Don't you understand that he is joking?

The Editor (clearing his throat). It is already in type.

The Doctor. Oh, nonsense!

The Editor. The scene afforded an opportunity for an extremely
amusing sketch, without mentioning any names.

Mr. Evje. I sincerely hope that

The Doctor (to EVJE). Oh, he is only teasing you! You know him.

The Editor. What do you think of this? "Those who indirectly
support so dangerous an institution will have to face exposure."--I
quite agree with it.

Mrs. Evje (getting up). What do you mean? Do you mean that my
husband--?

The Editor. A little fright will be a good discipline for him!

Evje. Is what you quoted meant as an accusation against us--
whether you are serious or whether you are joking?

The Doctor. He is only trying to frighten you with a bogey; it is
not the first time, you know!

Evje. Yes, but what have _I_ to be frightened of? I don't belong to
the Association.

The Editor. But persons who do belong to it frequent your house.
A man is known by the company he keeps.

Mrs. Evje. I really begin to think he _does_ mean it seriously.

The Editor. It is too ugly a thing to jest about, you mean?

Evje. Is it possible that you seriously mean to allude to John as
my servant?

The Editor. Isn't he your servant?

Evje. And to put that in the paper for every one to read?

The Editor. No--only for those who read the paper.

Evje. And you have come here to tell us that?

The Editor. Do you suppose I would do it without telling you?

Mrs. Evje. It is perfectly shameless!

The Editor. It certainly is.

Evje. Is it your intention to quarrel with me?

The Editor. Of course!

Evje. With your own schoolfellow?--one who has been it true friend
to you in all your ups and downs? It is abominable!

The Editor. Perhaps it was to ensure my holding my tongue that
you have been my friend!

Mrs. Evje. You _couldn't_ behave in such a fashion to a friend!

The Editor (drily). To my own brother, if he stood in my way!

Harald (to himself). This is too much! (Comes forward.) Is your
hatred for me so bitter that on my account you must persecute
even my future parents-in-law, your own old friends?

The Editor (who, as soon as HARALD came forward, has turned away
to the DOCTOR). Have you heard how people are being beaten up to
go to the meeting of electors to-night? The last political speeches
of the campaign must be made with red fire burning at the wings! (Laughs.)

Mrs. Evje (coming up to him). No, you are not going to get out of it
by changing the subject. Is it really your intention to put my
husband in your paper?

The Editor. He is putting himself there.

Evje. I, who all my life have avoided being drawn into any political
party?

The Doctor. What has Evje to do with Harald Rein's politics?

The Editor. He endorses them!

Mrs. Evje. No!--a thousand times no!

Evje. Why, only to-day

The Doctor. I can bear witness to that!

The Editor. It is no use protesting!

Evje. But you must believe our protestations!

The Editor. Bah! You will see something more to-morrow--

Evje. Something more?

Mrs. Evje. Against my husband?

The Editor. That scandal about the Stock Exchange Committee. No
less than three Letters to the Editor about it have been lying in my
pigeon-holes for some time.

Evje (in bewilderment). Are you going to put nonsense of that sort
in your paper? The most respected men on the Exchange--?

Mrs. Evje. Members of the Committee--?

The Editor. They are only respected men so long as they respect
themselves. When their chairman enters into connections which
offend public opinion, the whole crew of them must be made to
feel what sort of a man it is they are associating with.

The Doctor. So on Mr. Rejn's account you are going to expose
Evje, and on Evje's account the Stock Exchange Committee? I
suppose my turn will come soon!

The Editor. It will come.

The Doctor. Indeed!

The Editor. The letters that have been sent to me are all from
highly respected men. That shows that public opinion has turned
round; and public opinion must be obeyed! (Throws out his hands.)

Evje (in a troubled voice). It is quite true that I have noticed in
several little ways that their temper--. (Looks round him, and
checks himself. Then speaks more confidently.) But it was just at
such a time that I looked for help from you, my friend. That is
why I did not bother myself much about it.

The Editor (to EVJE). But you know it is you that are attacking me
now!

Evje. I?

Mrs. Evje. He?

The Editor. And, besides, I have no choice in the matter. You have
made your bed, and must lie on it.

Evje (growing angry again). But do you really mean that you don't
feel yourself how shocking such behaviour in an old friend is?

The Editor. "Old friend," "old schoolfellow," "neighhour,"--out
with the whole catalogue!

Mrs. Evje. I am sure you don't deserve to be either one or the other!
(The EDITOR laughs.) Think what you wrote to-day about Halvdan
Rejn, who is dying. A man could only write that who--who--

The Editor. Well?--who?

Mrs. Evje. Who has not an atom of heart.

The Editor. Ha, ha! "The natural affections!"--"family considerations!"
Truth, my dear lady, has no family ties; it has no respect even for a
"dying man."

Mrs. Evje. Yes, indeed--every decent man has some respect for
suffering, and even wicked men are silent in the presence of death!

The Editor. "Sufferer"--"dying man"--"martyr,"
I suppose! Oh, we know all that old story!

Harald (coming forward). Let me tell you that you are a--person
with whom I will not condescend to argue. (Walks away from him.)

The Editor (who has at once crossed the room). This theatrical
flaunting of the "dying man" before people's eyes, that a
calculating brother has permitted himself, is of course what is
really shocking in the whole affair. But I will tear the mask off him.

The Doctor (following him). Listen to me, now; listen!
We are gentlefolk, you know! And even if Mr. Rejn
has let himself be so carried away as to mention his
dying brother on a public occasion--well, I am not going
to say that I approve of it, but surely it is excusable
and--

Harald (coming forward). I want none of your defence, thank you!

The Doctor. The one of you is just as mad as the other! (To the
EDITOR.) But what has all this to do with Evje, seeing that, after all,
the whole of this affair of the Rejns'--

Evje (to the EDITOR, eagerly). I give you my word of honour that I
have never approved of Harald's utterances about his brother,
either. I am a man of moderation, as you know; I do not approve
of his politics. Only to-day--

Mrs. Evje. And what on earth have politics to do with the Stock
Exchange Committee?

The Doctor. Or with Evje's coachman!

Evje. You might just as well take it into your head to write about
my clerks, or my workmen, or--

The Doctor. His carpenters, or his brewers--or his horses!

The Editor (stands suddenly still and says, drily): You may assure
yourselves that things are quite sufficient as they are! (Begins to
button up his coat.)

Evje. Is it so bad as all that!

Mrs. Evje. Good gracious!--what is it then?

The Editor (taking up his hat). You will be able to read it
to-morrow, together with some more about the "dying man."
Good-bye!

Evje and Mrs. Evje (together.) But before you go--

The Doctor. Hush, hush! Let us remember we are gentlefolk! What
will you bet that the whole thing is not just a bogey to frighten you?

The Editor (holding out his hand towards the DOCTOR).
I hold Mr. Evje's position in the town in the hollow of my hand!

Evje (fuming). Is your object to ruin _that_, then?

Mrs. Evje. You will never succeed in that!

The Doctor. Hush, hush! let us remember we are gentlefolk!

Evje. In my own house--my old schoolfellow--that
he should have the audacity--!

The Editor. I have told you the truth openly. And, as far as that
goes, you have stood more than that from me in your own house,
my boy. Because the misfortune is that you are a coward.

Evje. _I_ a coward?

The Doctor (laughing). Hush, hush! Let us remember we are
gentlefolk!

Evje. Yes, I have been weak enough to be afraid of
scandal, especially in the newspapers, it is true; that is why I have
put up with you too long! But now you shall see that I am not a
coward. Leave my house!

Mrs. Evje. That's right!

The Doctor. But you must part like gentlefolk, you know.

The Editor. Pooh! You will be sending me a message
directly, to call me back!

Evje. You have the face to say that?

Mrs. Evje (to EVJE). Come, dear, don't provoke him any more!

The Editor (turning to go). You daren't do otherwise.

The Doctor. But part like gentlefolk--!

Evje (following the EDITOR). No, as sure as I live--

The Editor. You will be sending a message to call me back! Ha, ha,
ha!

Evje. Never, never!

Mrs. Evje. My dear--!

The Editor. Yes, you will--directly--this very day! Ha, ha, ha!

The Doctor. Don't part like that! Part like gentle--

Evje. No, I tell you!

The Editor (laughing all the time). Yes!

Mrs. Evje. My dear-remember you may bring on one of your
attacks!

The Editor (at the door). You are too much of a coward! Ha! ha!
(Goes out.)

Evje (in a rage). No!

The Editor (sticking his head in at the door). Yes! (Goes away.)

The Doctor. What a visit! I cannot help laughing, all the same! Ha,
ha, ha, ha!

Evje. Do you dare to laugh at that?

The Doctor. "Old schoolfellows"--ha, ha! "Moderation"--ha, ha!
"The same party"--ha, ha, ha!

Mrs. Evje. Oh, my husband is ill!

Evje (faintly). Yes--a little water!

Mrs. Evje. Water, water, Harald!

The Doctor. One of his attacks--that is another affair altogether.
Here (takes a bottle from his pocket)--smell this! That's it! Now, a
little water! (Gives him some.) No danger this time. Cheer up, old
boy!

Evje. What a scandal!

Mrs. Evje. Yes, you will never be able to bear it, dear; I told you
so.

Evje. To think of _my_ name appearing in the papers, when all my
life I have--

Mrs. Evje. --done everything you could to keep clear of such
things! And you such a dear, good, upright man!--Oh, these politics
are the curse of the world!

The Doctor (laughing). As I told you, you must go through a
special process of hardening before you can stand them.

Evje. And think of public opinion--my position--my connections! It
is more than I can bear!

Mrs. Evje (to the Doctor). I am sure the first time he reads
something about himself in the paper, it will make him really ill!
He won't be able to stand it, I know.

The Doctor. Oh, he will get over it.

Mrs. Evje. No, he won't. I am frightened at the mere thought of it.
He will never be able to bear it, never!

Evje. When all my life I have tried to keep clear of such things--!

Mrs. Evje. And now in your old age, though you deserve it no
more than a child does, to be dragged into it! If I could prevent
that, I would willingly take on my own shoulders whatever--

Evje. No, no--not you! Not you!

The Doctor. But the thing is not necessarily done because he
threatened he would do it.

Evje. Do you think--?

The Doctor. He is so dreadfully hot-headed, but I am sure he will
think twice--

Mrs. Evje. --before he attacks a lifelong friend! Yes, that is so, isn't
it!

Evje. Do you really think that there is any possibility then--?

The Doctor. I really can't say!

Mrs. Evje. Nothing in the world is impossible!

Evje. We were both so hot-headed.

The Doctor. Yes, it will have to be a more peaceable conversation
than that of a few minutes ago!

Evje. I don't know how it is--there is something so provoking about
him.

Mrs. Evje. Yes, and you have not been very well lately, either. I
have often said so to you.

Evje. No, I haven't. It has been just one thing after another! And all
my life I have tried to keep clear of such things!

The Doctor. I will tell you what, old friend; I am sure the best thing
to do would be--

Evje. What?

The Doctor. I am sure you will not be easy in your mind until
someone has talked to him.

Mrs. Evje. Yes, couldn't that be done? Good gracious, that is not
sending a message to him!

Evje. But who would--? (A short silence.)

The Doctor. I don't know who would be best.

Mrs. Evje. All our old friends have deserted us; we shall soon have
none.

The Doctor. Well, at all events, you have me.

Evje. Would you really be willing to--? Do you mean it? (Grasps his
hand.)

The Doctor. Of course I will! He can't eat me!

Mrs. Evje. How good you are! Of course you only need tell him--
what is quite true--that my husband would never be able to bear it!
He, who all these years--

Evje. --have put up with an incredible amount for his sake, both
from himself and from others!

Mrs. Evje. Yes, that is true! And now you will go, dear friend--our
only friend!--and talk to him quite amicably and sensibly, won't
you?

Evje. But don't delay! He is so hot-headed that we must find him
before--

The Doctor. Oh, I will find him; he is always about the town.

Evje. And tell him--ask him--

The Doctor. Oh, I know what to say to him.

Mrs. Evje. That is right!

Evje. Thank you! I shall never forget how, at a moment when
everything threatened to overwhelm me, you were the only one to
stand by me! Ah, I feel as if a load had fallen off my shoulders! I
feel all at once quite happy again!

The Doctor. That's right. You pull yourself together! I will see to
everything else.

Evje. Thanks, thanks! But make haste!

The Doctor. I am off! My hat? (Turns, and sees HARALD, and says to
himself.) A-ha! He looks as if he had had about enough of this. It
would have been a joke to--

Evje. Oh, do make haste, my friend!

The Doctor. Yes, yes--if only I could find my hat.

Mrs. Evje. It is on the table.

The Doctor. So it is!

Evje. Good luck to you!

Mrs. Evje. And do it very tactfully!

The Doctor (meaningly). And I hope you three will enjoy
yourselves! (Goes out.)

Evje. What a morning!

Mrs. Evje. We, who have always endeavoured to take everything
quietly and indulgently--

Evje. Yes, and to conduct our family affairs peaceably and
affectionately! (Jumps up and turns to HARALD.) The whole thing is
_your_ fault!

Mrs. Evje. Yes, it is Harald's fault! From the day this unfortunate
engagement came about, we have scarcely had a moment's peace
here.

Evje. No, no, that is not the case! We must be reasonable. At first,
when Mr. Rejn had a fine future before him, when people vied
with one another to catch him, then the engagement was an honour
to us as well as to our daughter. But from the moment he took up these
wretched politics--that is to say, from the time his brother fell ill--
well, he can see for himself what the result has been to us!

Mrs. Evje. And he certainly must admit that it is not what we
have deserved; indeed it is more than a respected and well-bred
family can put up with.

Harald. I quite agree that it is more than a respected and
well-bred family _ought_ to put up with.

Mrs. Evje. Oh, so _you_ feel that too?

Harald. Certainly. And the only excuse I can see is that there are
many more in the same case. It is only in that way that such
things become possible.

Evje. I do not understand. Many more like--?--like whom?

Harald. Like you!

Mrs. Evje. In what respect?

Harald. I will explain. Most of the successful politicians
nowadays have not gained their position by means of any
greatness of their own, but by the pitiable weakness of others.
Another age will form a different estimate of them--see them in
their proper perspective, and find them to be much smaller men!

Evje. But what has that to do with us?

Harald. Well, just try to size up that man whom a little while ago
you turned out of your house and afterwards sent a message to--

Evje. We sent _no_ message to him!

Mrs. Evje. A friend of ours has gone to talk to him. That is quite a
different thing!

Harald. Well, take his measure by yours and yours by his! He
went away, and he will come back like a conquering hero. Will
that be thanks to his greatness, or his talent--to the loftiness of his
opinions or his feelings? No,--it will be thanks to your pitiable
weakness.

Mrs. Evje. Upon my word!

Evje. Well, I--!

Harald. Do you think any one who has any pluck in his
disposition would consent to be a party to such a contemptible
state of things? Think of your own daughter, educated by that
good old man who lies in there, but an obedient child to you;
think how she must be perpetually torn between what she loves
and respects and what she sees going on here! No wonder she is
ill! But remember this--she is not ill because she sticks to me;
she is ill because of your pitiable weakness!

Mrs. Evje. How can you dare to say such things! So you too--!

Evje. Such an absolute want of respect!

Harald. Listen to me, once for all. I intend, God helping me, to
take up the fight that has killed my brother, the noblest man I
know! And Gertrud is going to take up _her_ share in the fight, as I
do mine. But to come to this house as long as _he_ comes here--to go
through what I have gone through to-day--sullies my self-respect
to such an extent, and offends my better feelings so deeply, that
either he never sets foot here again, or I do not!

Evje and Mrs. Evje. But--!

Harald (quietly). When I came here to-day, I thought we should
be able to arrange matters without my speaking out; but there is
nothing else for it, so good-bye! (Goes out. A moment's silence
follows.)

Mrs. Evje. Is _he_ giving _us_ our dismissal? Or does he not really
mean to break with us?--My dear, what is the matter? (Goes to
her husband's side.)

Evje (without moving). Tell me, my dear--am I a bad man?

Mrs. Evje. You, a bad man?

Evje. Because, if I were not a bad, wicked man, they could not
behave in such a way to me, one after the other.

Mrs. Evje. But, my dear, you are the best and dearest and most
considerate of men! And they are shameless traitors to you, my
dear husband!

Evje. But how on earth, then, could it come about that I, who all
my life have tried to keep clear of such things--for I have, haven't I?

Mrs. Evje. Every one knows that, that knows anything about you.

Evje. How could it come about that in my old age I should be
despised and forsaken by everybody? Surely it is no crime to
want to live in peace, apart from all that sort of thing?

Mrs. Evje. No, indeed; that is what all decent people want to do.

Evje. Yes, I thought so too. But now you see!

Mrs. Evje. But _you_ have been dreadfully unfortunate.

Evje. Why should I have been just the one to be dreadfully
unfortunate? Most people escape such things altogether.

Mrs. Evje (starting). Here is Gertrud.

Evje. Poor child!

Mrs. Evje. What on earth are we to say to her?

Evje. Be careful, my dear! be careful! (GERTRUD comes in quietly
and comes forward to them.)

Gertrud. Did I see Harald go away?

Mrs. Evje. Yes, my child, he--he went away.

Gertrud. Without saying good-bye to me?

Evje. That's true, he didn't say good-bye to you.

Mrs. Evje. Were you expecting him to come into grandfather's
room to say good-bye to you?

Gertrud. Yes. Tell me how things went here?

Evje. Why were you not here, dear?

Gertrud (in astonishment). I here? You said you did not want me
to be present--

Evje. I remember, yes; we thought it would not be advisable.

Gertrud (still speaking quietly, but in growing alarm).
But how did things go, then?

Evje. How did they go? Badly.

Mrs. Evje (hurriedly). That is to say, he did not behave at all well.
You must prepare yourself for the worst, my child!

Gertrud. Is it something very bad, then?

Evje. You know he is a little hasty just now, when he has so much
on his hands. He lacks a proper sense of moderation--but he will
learn it, sure enough.

Gertrud (almost inaudibly). But what does it mean? Is he never
coming back?

Evje. Never coming back? What an extraordinary question! Of
course he will come back. He was only a little over-hasty, you
know--

Gertrud. And said he would never come back?

Mrs. Evje. Come, come, my dear--you mustn't be alarmed.

Evje. He talked such a lot, you know, that we must not attach any
particular importance to anything he said.

Gertrud. So that is how it is!

Mrs. Evje. We must make allowances for all that he is going
through just now--

Evje (suddenly). My child, you look so pale--

Mrs. Evje (going to her). Gertrud!

Gertrud (with a quiet movement of protest). I must give grandfather
his drink; that was really what I came for. And that was how I
happened to see Harald through the window. I will take grandfather
his drink. (The curtain falls as she goes out of the room.)



ACT II

(SCENE.--A street in the "villa quarter" of the town. Between it
and another street running parallel with it in the background, are
two houses standing in gardens, half of the facade of one of them
projecting into the stage on the right. On the left a third street
runs at right angles to the others, to the back of the stage. The
left side of this third street opens onto a well-wooded park.
The house in the foreground on the right is in two stories. There
is a narrow strip of garden in front of it, enclosed by an iron
railing with a gate in it. The gate is standing open. The entrance
door to the house is immediately behind this gate. There is light
in a small window by the door; the ground floor windows are in
darkness; in those of the upper floor, light is visible through
heavy curtains. It is a wintry evening, and everything is swathed
in an unusually thick fog, in which the gas lamps in the streets
show dimmer and dimmer as they recede in the distance. As the
curtain goes up, a lamplighter is seen descending his ladder from a
lamp-post, where he has just lit the lamp at the corner of the
house.)

The Lamplighter (as he reaches the ground). It's all one whether
the lamps are lit or not, in such a fog as this. (MRS. EVJE is seen
drawing back the curtain at a window on the first floor. She opens
the window and looks out.)

Mrs. Evje. The fog is so thick, my dear, that I can't see across
the street.

Evje (coming to the window, with fur coat and cap on). So it is!--
Well, so much the better, my dear! (They withdraw into the room;
the window is shut and the curtains drawn. Two passers-by come
along the street from the right, talking.)

First Passer-by. The Land of Fogs--the old idea of the land of Fogs
was that of a vision of confused and faint sensation, with the
light of the intelligence dimmed and blurred like these gas lamps
in the fog.

Second Passer-by. It would be that, if our hearts did not often act
as guiding lights to our befogged intelligences. Look at this house
behind us--the brandy distiller's. The devilish workings of his
intelligence have befogged the whole country--befogged it with
brandy--and some such guiding light is much needed there.

First Passer-by. Ah, well,--the old idea of the Land of Fogs was
that fogs were--. (The sound of their conversation dies away as
they pass into the park on the left. GERTRUD, closely veiled and
wrapped in furs, comes slowly out of the park. She stops at the
corner and looks down the street, then passed slowly along to the
right, looking up at the house as she goes. She is scarcely out of
sight when the house-door opens and EVJE comes out.)

Evje. This is about the time he comes home--I daren't go to his
house and ask for him; I don't know if he would admit me. I
daren't trust to the Doctor alone.--This uncertainty is dreadful!
(He starts at seeing GERTRUD, whom he does not recognise in the
fog, walking towards him. She turns suddenly and walks back the
way she came.) Who was that? She gave me quite a fright in this
fog! Her furs seemed rather like--no, no, it couldn't be. I must
not let any one recognise me. (Puts up the high collar of his coat,
so that only his nose is visible.) Both of them called me a coward,
but they are very much mistaken. It is not cowardice for a man who
is respected and honoured to try and avoid scandal. Hm! Naturally
those who trade in scandals think otherwise!--To act without
attaching weight to the opinion of others, to disregard one's own
predilections, to put up with being laughed at--all for the sake of
preventing a scandal--that is to be strong and courageous. And it
_is_ admirable, too; for it is admirable to act fearlessly in the
interest of one's family, and of one's business, and of propriety.
(Starts as he hears his door opened. JOHN has come along the street
and gone into the house.) Is that some one coming out of my house?
No, it is a man going in. And then to think of Harald Rejn
beginning that nonsense about my being a coward, because I refused
to become a party man! Every one ought to take sides in politics--
that is their cry. Hm! I should say it required rather more
courage nowadays to _refrain_ from taking sides. (Starts again.) Who
is that? Oh, only that woman again. She is waiting for some one
too. I expect we shall both catch bad colds. (Walks up and down.)
It is an odd sensation to be walking up and down on the watch
outside one's own house. Cowardice? Pshaw! To let one's self be
abused in a public street without stirring a finger to prevent it,
_that_ would be cowardice. I only hope he has not gone round the
other way? There is much more traffic in that street, and some one
might easily--. I think I will take a turn towards the town, and
turn back when I am a little way from here; it will look less
suspicious. I must catch him, because his paper will be going to
press. (Looks up at his house.) My poor wife, sitting up there
dreadfully alarmed on my account! (Goes out to the right. As soon
as he has gone, the house-door opens and JOHN comes warily out.)

JOHN. So he has gone out, has he! Oh, well, he is bound to come in
again! I will wait and catch him, that I will! Tra, la, la, la, la!
I can play about here in the fog till he comes back; I have nothing
to lose! And it will be best to catch him in the street; he will
make less fuss, and can't run away from me! Tra, la, la, la, la!
(Lounges out to the right. A moment later, HARALD comes out of the
park. He is dressed much as EVJE is, but has not his coat-collar
turned up.)

Harald. There is a light in her window! Then she is alone in her
room. What am I going to do now? Twice already I have come to look
at that light; now I have seen it--and must go away! Good-bye, my
darling! Be patient, and wait! I know your thoughts are with me
now; and I know you feel that mine are with you! (As he turns away
from the house he sees the veiled figure of GERTRUD, who, as soon
as she has come nearer, rushes to him, throws up her veil, and
falls into his arms in a glad embrace.)

Gertrud. I was certain that, if you could not go into the house
again, you would be out here! I knew you would not go away from me,
dear!

Harald. No--neither now nor ever.

Gertrud. And, while I was walking up and down here in the fog, I
felt that though there might be all this gloom tend cold around us
outside, there was the brightness and warmth of certainty in our
hearts.

Harald. Yes, our love is the one certainty for me! Fog may obscure
the goal I aim at, the road I have to I read, the very ground I
stand on; doubts may even for a while attack my faith; but my love
for you shines clear through it all!

Gertrud. Thank you, my darling! If that is so, there is nothing
that we cannot overcome!

Harald. Of course, you know what took place to-day?

Gertrud. I can guess.

Harald. Is it true that you are ill? Why did you never tell me?

Gertrud. No, the doctor is not telling the truth; I am not ill!
Even if I were, what matter? I should go on living as long as I
could--and should have done my duty before I gave in!

Harald. That is the way to look at it!

Gertrud. But I am not ill! I suffer, it is true--and am likely to--
every time you are persecuted, or my parents on my account. Because
_I_ have drawn them into all this that, they are so unfitted for,
and that is why it pains me so to see how unprepared it finds them
--most of all when, out of tenderness for me, they try to conceal
it. But I can't alter things. We are fighting for a cause that you
believe to be right, and so do I; surely that is better than never
to suffer at all in any good cause. Try me! Let me share the fight
with you! I am not weak; it is only that my heart is sore for those
I love.

Harald. You splendid, loyal creature!--and you are mine! (Embraces
her.)

Gertrud. You should hear what grandfather says!

Harald. Yes, how is the dear old gentleman?

Gertrud. Pretty well, thanks, though he never gets out now. But he
is following your work, and he says that what you are aiming at is
right, if you ask for God's guidance on your way. Harald--you will
always be the same as you are now--good and genuine--won't you,
dear? Not like the rest of them--nothing but bitterness and malice,
always talking of principles and consequences and all the rest of
it, and always attacking others? If one were obliged to be like
that, it would be a curse to be a politician.

Harald. I will be what you make me! I think that behind every man's
public life you can see his private life--whether he has a real
home, and what it is like, or whether he only has a place he lives
in--that is to say, no real home.

Gertrud. With God's help I shall try to make a bright, snug and
cosy home for you! And this fog is delightful, because it only
makes the thought of such a home all the cosier and snugger! It
makes us seem so alone, too; no one is out driving or walking; and
we can talk as loud as we please, because the fog deadens the sound
of our voices. Oh, I feel so happy again now! Do you know, I think
it is rather nice to be persecuted a little; it makes our meetings
so much more precious!

Harald. But, you know dear, to meet you like this--and just now--

Gertrud (as they walk up and down together). Yes, of course! I had
altogether forgotten how much you have to bear just now; I have
been chattering away--. Oh, I don't know how I could feel so happy,
because I am really dreadfully distressed. But, you know, I sit the
whole play beside grandfather, thinking, without even being able to
talk. I generally read aloud to him; now and then he makes a
remark, but he really lives more in the next world than in this one
now. (They hear a cough in the distance, and give a start, because
they recognise it. The EDITOR and EVJE, walking along together,
EVJE apparently talking very earnestly, are seen, indistinctly
through the fog, in the street running parallel with the one HARALD
and GERTRUD are in. JOHN is seen following them cautiously. They
disappear into the park.)

Harald. I hear the enemy! I am sure I caught a glimpse of him over
there through the fog, talking to another man.

Gertrud. Is he always about the streets even in weather like this?

Harald. Well, we won't let him disturb us. (They begin walking up
and down again in front of the house.)

Gertrud. Do you know whom I met out here? Father!

Harald. Really? Then it is as I thought; the other man over there
was your father!

Gertrud. Do you think it was? Poor father!

Harald. Yes, he is weak.

Gertrud. But you must be good to him. He is so good himself. Think
how mother loves him; she is absolutely wrapped up in him, because
he is so good!

Harald. He is a good man, and an able man. But, but, but--

Gertrud. They have lived a very tranquil life. We of the younger
generation try to undertake heavier duties and greater responsibilities
than the older generation did. But we must not be angry with them.

Harald. I am afraid it is only too easy to feel angry with them.

Gertrud. No, do as grandfather does! If he thinks any one is going
to be amenable to it, he talks to them quietly; if not, he only
behaves affectionately to them. Do you understand, dear?--just
affectionately.

Harald. Well, to-day--ought I to have put up with their allowing
themselves to be treated in such an unseemly way, and their
treating me in such an unseemly way?

Gertrud. Was it really as bad as that?

Harald. You would not believe what it was like, I assure you!

Gertrud (standing still). Poor father! Poor father! (Throws her
arms round HARALD'S neck.) Be good to them, Harald!--just because
of their faults, dear! We are their children, you know, and it is
God's commandment, even if we were not their children.

Harald. If only I could take you up in my arms and carry you off
home with me now! Your love takes possession of my heart and my
will, and purifies both of them. I am at a crisis in my life now--
and now you should be on my side!

Gertrud. Listen!--to begin with, I will go with you to your meeting
to-night!

Harald. Yes, yes,--I will come and fetch you!

Gertrud. Down at the door here!

Harald. Yes!

Gertrud. And, in the next place, I am going to walls into the town
with you now.

Harald. But then I shall have to see you home again.

Gertrud. Do you object?

Harald. No, no! And you shall teach me a lot of things on the way!

Gertrud. Yes, you will be so wise before we get back! (They go
out to the right.)

(The EDITOR and EVJE come out of the park. JOHN follows them,
unseen by them, and slips past them to the right when they stop for
a moment. The following conversation is carried on in hurried
tones, and every time the EDITOR raises his voice EVJE hushes him,
and speaks himself in a persistently lowered voice.)

Evje. But what concern of yours--or of the public's--are my private
affairs? I don't want to have anything to do with politics.

The Editor, Well, then, you ought not to have had anything to do
with _him_.

Evje. When I first made his acquaintance he was not a politician.

The Editor. Then you ought to have dropped him when he became one.

Evje. Ought I to have dropped you too, when you became one?

The Editor. Let me repeat, for the last time, that we are not
talking about me!

Evje. Hush, hush! What a fellow you are! You get into a rage if
any one chaffs you. But you want to hit out at everybody all round!

The Editor. Do you suppose I am myself?

Evje. Who the devil are you, if you are not yourself?

The Editor. I am merely the servant of the public.

Evje. The public executioner, that is to say?

The Editor. Well, yes, if you prefer it. But you shall pay for that
word some day.

Evje. There--you see! Always talking of paying for things!--of
revenge!

The Editor. You shall pay for it, I tell you!

Evje. You are absolutely mad!--Poof! I am sweating as if it were
the dog days! (Changes his tone.) Think of the time when we used to
go to school together--when you never could go to bed without first
coming to thank me for the jolly times we were having together!

The Editor. None of that nonsense! I am accustomed to be hated,
despised, spit upon, scourged; if any one speaks kindly to me, I
do not trust them!

Evje. You must trust me!

The Editor. No--and, besides, I observed very clearly to-day that
you had counted on having me in reserve if ever you got into a
scrape.

Evje. Well, who doesn't count on his friends? Doesn't every one
take them into his reckoning?

The Editor. I don't; I have no friends.

Evje. Haven't you me? Do you think I would leave you in the lurch?

The Editor. That is hypocrisy! At times when I have needed it, the
very last thing you have thought of has been to give me any help!

Evje. Have I not helped you?

The Editor. That is hypocrisy, too-to pretend you think I am
speaking of money. No; when I have been accused of being
dishonourable--of lying--you, the "old schoolfellow," the "old
friend," the "neighbour," have never once had the courage to
come forward on my behalf.

Evje. I never meddle with politics.

The Editor (with rising temper). More hypocrisy! Another of your
damned evasions!

Evje. Hush, hush, hush!

The Editor. You try to excuse yourself with a lie! You are doubly
a traitor!--And then you expect me to have compassion on you!

Evje. As sure as I stand here, I have never thought of deserting
you, however bad things were.

The Editor. And you have the face to take credit to yourself for
that? It is all calculation from beginning to end! You thought it
would be the best way of making me remember your loyalty, and
reward you for it.

Evje. This is abominable!

The Editor. Oh, you are cunning enough! You represent wealth of
another kind, which at first was not entirely irreproachably come
by--

Evje. There you go again!

The Editor. --and want to give it the cachet of good society; so
you take care to keep friends with a newspaper that may be able
to give you a helping hand in gaining what you want. Can you
deny it?

Evje. There may be a slight tinge of calculation even in our
highest purposes. But the misfortune about you is that you can
see nothing but the calculation, though it may be only an
infinitesimal part of the whole thing.

The Editor. Oho--I have had experience of you!

Evje. Then you must have had experience of your party's loyalty,
too.

The Editor. My party's loyalty!

Evje. Well, after all, it keeps you where you are to-day.

The Editor. _It_ keeps me there?

Evje. And you have friends in that party-myself amongst others--
who certainly would rather stand outside altogether, but
nevertheless give you their advice and support when you are in
difficulties. You cannot deny that.

The Editor. I have friends in the party? Oh yes; and if we lose a
fight these fine counsellors are the first to run away! They are
always egging me on and egging me on; but only let public opinion
once get tired of me, and they will throw me overboard without more
ado! By that sort of treachery they manage to fill the sails of the
party craft with a new breeze--and leave me to shift the best way I
can!--they, for whom I have fought with all my might and main! I
despise my opponents--they are either scoundrels and thieves, or
they are blockheads and braggarts. But my supporters are lick-spittles,
fools, cravens. I despise the whole pack of them, from first
to last! If any one would give me the assurance that if, as a
pledge that I would never use a pen again, I were to chop off my
right hand I should thereby gain the prospect of a peaceful life a
thousand miles away from here, I believe I would do it!--I despise
the whole pack of them--oh, how I despise them!

Evje. But this is horrible! Do you find no comfort in religion? Or,
at all events, you have your paper!

The Editor. My paper, yes--but what good do you suppose that is to
me? And do you think I give the impression of being a religious
man?

Evje. Then what do you work for?

The Editor. Perhaps you think I work for your sake?--or for the
sake of prosperity, or order, or whatever it is you cowards or
self-seekers like to imagine it is that you personify? No, the
whole human race is not worth the powder and shot that they are
holding at each other's heads.

Evje. Then why do you come and almost threaten my life, if the whole
thing seems so worthless to you?

The Editor. Do you seriously suppose that I would give in, so as to
spare you or some other shopkeeper?--so that you should be able to
say triumphantly, "You see he didn't dare! He didn't dare quarrel
with Capital!"--or, "You see he has given in--he has turned tail!"
No; what I should like to do would be to lay a mine underground,
and blow myself and the whole lot of you sky high!

Evje. And I and all the happiness of my family life are to be
sacrificed in order that you shall not have to give in on a side
issue of no importance!--Oh, I am chilled to the bone!

The Editor. Ha, ha! It is good to hear you speaking like yourself
again, because it reminds me that it is time to put an end to this
solemn nonsense! (Looks at his watch.) A quarter past! You must be
quick!

Evje. Are you really in earnest?

The Editor. I often play off jokes on you, it is true. But I don't
know how you will like this one to-morrow morning.

Evje. Then let me tell you that I solemnly refuse! I will not break
off the engagement! Put me in your paper, if you like; I am a free
man.

The Editor. Bah! nobody is that. Then you refuse? Good-bye! (Walks
away from EVJE.)

Evje (going after him). No, no--where are you going?

The Editor (stopping). Nowhere--or rather, I am going home.

Evje. But you won't really do what you said?

The Editor. Ha! ha! ha! (Moves away.)

Evje (following him). No, listen! Listen to me for a minute.

The Editor (turning back). Do you think I have time to stop at all
the stations your vanity or your fright will invent on the way?
(Moves away.)

Evje. You mad creature--listen to me! (The EDITOR stops.) Tell me
exactly what you mean to do?

The Editor. Fiddlesticks! (Moves on.)

Evje (following him). Do you mean to put in the paper that I have
broken off this match?

The Editor (stopping). Better than that--I shall spread the news in
the town; then it will get about, and all the journalists will get
a hold of it.

Evje. Give me a day or two to think it over!

The Editor. Oh, no--you are not going to catch me like that! It is
election time, and the other side must be made to feel that all
decent people have deserted them.

Evje. But it is a lie, you know!

The Editor. What is lying, and what is truth? But your resignation
from the Stock Exchange Committee and your subsequent failure to be
elected to any public position will be no lies, I can assure you!
Public opinion is not to be trifled with, you know!

Evje. And this from you!

The Editor. Bah! Public opinion is a very faithless friend.

Evje. But who, after all, constitute public opinion?

The Editor. Oh, no--you are not going to lead me into a trap again!
Besides--it would be very difficult to say exactly who does
constitute it.

Evje. This is really--! Then you won't put that in the paper?

The Editor. The news of a broken engagement travels quickest by
foot-post--ha, ha, ha! (Coughs; then adds seriously :) But won't
you, of your own accord, break off what are really absolutely
inadmissible relations with a man who scandalises all your
acquaintances?

Evje. Lay the blame on me, of course! I know his credentials are no
longer first class; but my daughter--ah, you would not be able to
understand that. The circumstances are quite exceptional, and--.
Look here, shall we go up and talk it over with my wife?

The Editor. Ha, ha!--you turned me out of the house this morning!

Evje. Oh, forget all about that!

The Editor (looking at his watch). Half past! Now, without any
more evasions--will you, or will you not?

Evje (with a struggle). No! I repeat, no! (The EDITOR moves away.)
Yes, yes!--It nearly kills me to do it!

The Editor. "The Capitalist, secure in his position, who needs pay
no regard to," etc., etc.--that is the "common form," isn't it, you
man of first-class credentials? Ha, ha! Good-bye. I am going home
to send the boy to the printers; he has waited long enough. (Moves
away.)

Evje (following him). You are the cruellest, hardest, most reckless--

The Editor (who has been laughing, suddenly becomes serious). Hush!
Do you see?

Evje (turning round). What? Where?

The Editor. Over there!

Evje. Those two?

The Editor. Yes--your daughter and Mr. Harald Rejn.

Evje. But he swore this morning that he would never set foot in
my house again!

The Editor. But he will stay _outside_ your house, as you see!
These gentlemen of the Opposition, when they give any assurance,
always do it with a mental reservation! You can't trust the
beggars! Come round the corner. (They do so.)

Evje. An assignation in the street in the fog! To think my daughter
would let herself be induced to do such a thing!

The Editor. Evil communications corrupt good manners! You are a
mere bungler in delicate matters, Evje. You made a bad choice in
that quarter!

Evje. But he seemed to be--

The Editor. Yes, yes, I know! A real gentleman would have guessed
what he would develop into. He has a brother, you know! (HARALD and
GERTRUD come in slowly, arm-in-arm.)

Gertrud. While your brother has been ill you have received many
gratifying proofs of the good feeling and goodwill that there is in
this town-haven't you?

Harald. Yes, I have. I have found no ill-will against him, nothing
but kindness on all sides--with the exception of one person, of
course.

Gertrud. But even he has a heart! It has often seemed to me as if I
heard a cry of yearning and disappointment from it--and that just
when he spoke most bitterly.

Harald. Yes, it needs no very sharp sight to see that he, who
makes so many unhappy, is himself the unhappiest of all.

The Editor. What the deuce are they talking about?

Evje. We cannot hear from here. And the fog deadens their voices.

The Editor. Go a bit nearer, then!

Evje. Not before they separate. You only understand _him_!

Harald (to GERTRUD). What are you holding there?

Gertrud (who has taken off her glove and then a ring from her
finger). The ring they gave me when I was confirmed. Give me
your hand! No, take your glove off!

Harald. Do you want me to try your ring on? I shall not be able
to get it on.

Gertrud. On the little finger of your left hand? Yes!

Harald (putting it on). So I can. Well?

Gertrud. You mustn't laugh at me. I have been beating up my courage
to do this all this time. It was really why I wanted to walk a
little farther with you first! I wanted to bring the conversation
round to it, you see! I am so convinced that your happiness, and
consequently mine, depends on your being able to be kind. You have
got this meeting before you to-night. It will be a decisive moment
for you. If you, when you are facing all this horrible persecution,
can be a kind boy, you will win all along the line! (Pulls at his
buttons in an embarrassed way.) So I wanted you to wear this ring
to remind you. The diamonds in it sparkle; they are like my tears
when you are hard and forget us two. I know it is stupid of me
(wipes her eyes hastily), but now, when it comes to the point, I
can't say what I--. But do wear it!

Harald (kissing her). I will wear it! (Gently.) Its pure rays shall
shed a light on my life.

Gertrud. Thank you! (Throws her arms round him and kisses him.)

The Editor. What they are doing now is all right! Ha, ha, ha!

Evje. I won't stand it! (The EDITOR coughs loudly.) What are you
doing? (The EDITOR goes to the neighbouring house and rings the
bell. The door is opened and he goes in, laughing as he goes.)

Gertrud (who has started from HARALD'S arms at the sound of the
cough). That is--!

Harald. It sounds like him! (Turns, and sees Evje.)

Gertrud. Father! (Turns to run away, but stops.) No, it is cowardly
to run away. (Comes back, and stands at HARALD'S side. EVJE comes
forward.)

Evje. I should not have expected my daughter, a well-brought-up
girl, to make an assignation in the street with--with--

Gertrud. With her fiance.

Evje. --with a man who has made a mock of her father and mother,
and of his own doing has banished himself from our house.

Harald. From your house, certainly; but not from my future wife.

Evje. A nice explanation! Do you suppose we will consent to have as
our son-in-law a man who spurns her parents?

Gertrud. Father!

Evje. Be quiet, my child! You ought to have felt that yourself.

Gertrud. But, father, you surely do not expect him to submit to
your being abused and himself ill-treated in our house?

Evje. Are you going to teach your parents--?

Gertrud (putting her arm round his neck). I don't want to teach
you anything; because you know yourself, dear, that Harald is
worth far more--and far more to us--than the man who went away
just now! (At this moment the printer's boy, who has come out of
the EDITOR'S house, runs past them towards the town.)

Evje (seeing the boy, tries to get away). Go in now, Gertrud! I
have something I wish to talk to Mr. Rejn about.

Gertrud. You have nothing to talk to Harald about that I cannot
hear.

Evje. Yes, I have.

Harald. But why may she not hear it? What you want is to break off
our engagement.

Gertrud. Father--! (Moves away from him.) Is that true?

Evje. Well-since it cannot be otherwise-it is true; that is to say,
for the moment. (Aside.) Good Lord, they can make it up right
enough when this is all over!

Gertrud (who is standing as if thunderstruck). I saw you with him!
--Ah! that is how it is! (Looks at her father, bursts into tears
and rushes to the door of their house, pulls the bell and
disappears into the house.)

Evje. What is it? What is the matter with her?

Harald. I think I know. She realises that her life's happiness has
been bought and sold. (Bows to EVJE.) Good-bye! (Goes out to the
right.)

Evje (after standing dumb for some moments). Bought and sold? Some
people take everything so dreadfully solemnly. It is only a
manoeuvre--to get out of this difficulty. Why is it that I cannot
get free of it! They both of them exaggerate matters so absurdly;
first of all this crazy fellow, and then Harald with his "Good-bye,"
spoken as if the ground were giving way beneath his feet! I--I--
feel as if every one had deserted me. I will go in to my wife--
my dear, good wife; she will understand me. She is sitting up
there, full of anxiety about me. (He turns towards his house;
but, on reaching the garden gate, sees JOHN standing there.)

John (touching his hat respectfully). Excuse me, Mr. Evje--

Evje. You, John! Go away! I told you never to set foot in my
house again.

John (very respectfully). But won't you allow me to stand outside
your house either, sir?

Evje. No!

John (standing in EVJE'S way, but still with a show of great
respect). Not at the door here?

Evje. What are you standing in my way for, you scoundrel?

John. Shall I assist you to call for help, sir? (Calls out.)
Help!

Evje. Be quiet, you drunken fool! Don't make a disturbance! What do
you want? Be quick!

John. I want, with all respect, to ask you, sir, why you have sent
me away.

Evje. Because you are a swine that gets drunk and then talks
nonsense. You don't know what a dilemma you have put me in.--Now go
away from here, quietly!

John. I know all about it! I was following you and the Editor all
the time, you know!

Evje. What?

John. These articles, that were to go in the paper--the printing
was at a standstill, waiting for them.

Evje. Hush, hush, John! So you overheard that, did you? You are
too clever; you ought never to have been a servant.--Now, be off
with you! Here is a shilling or two for you. Good-bye.

John. Thank you very much, sir.--This was how it was, sir. You
see, I thought of the number of times I had run over to the
printer's with messages when that nice Editor gentleman was
spending an evening with you--and so I thought I might just as
well run over with this one.

Evje (starting back in alarm). What? What have you done?

John. Just to do you a good turn, sir, I ran along and told them
they might print those articles.

Evje. What articles?

John. The ones about you, sir. "Print away," I said--and they
printed away. By Jove, how they worked, and then off to the
post with the papers!

Evje. You had the impudence, you--! Ah, it's not true! I saw the
printer's boy myself, running to the office to countermand the
instructions.

John. I caught him up outside here and told him that a message
had been sent from Mr. Evje's house. And I gave him sixpence to
go to the theatre with; but he must have had to run for it, to be
in time, because I am sure it was after seven. Excuse me, sir, but
it _is_ after seven now, isn't it?

Evje. You scoundrel! You vindictive brute!

John. You can have a look at the paper, sir, if you like.

Evje. Have _you_ got a copy?

John. Yes, sir, the first copy struck off is always sent to the
Editor, so I volunteered to bring it to him. But you must be
anxious to see it, sir! (Holds it out to EVJE.)

Evje (snatching it from him). Give it to me! Let me see--. (Moves
towards his door, but stops.) No, my wife mustn't--. Here, under
the gas-lamp! This filthy fog! I can't--. (Feels in his pocket for
his glasses, and pasts them on.) Ah, that's better! (Holds the
paper under the light.) What a mischance! The blackguard--! Where
is the article, then? Oh, here--I can't see properly, my heart is
beating so!

John. Shall I run for the doctor, sir?

Evje. Will you go away, you--! (Holds the paper first up, and then
down, in his attempts to see better.) Ah, here it is! "The Stock
Exchange Committee"--oh! (Lowers the paper.)

John (mimicking him). Oh!

Evje (trying to read). What a vile thing to do!

John. Oh, go on! go on!

Evje (as he reads). This beats everything I ever--Oh!

John. Oh! We _are_ in a bad way!

Evje (wiping his forehead). What a different thing it is to read
libellous attacks on others--and on one's self! (Goes on reading.)
Oh! Oh! What horrible, revolting rascality! What is it he says
here? I must read through it again! Oh, oh!

John. And often of a morning, when you have been reading the
paper, I have heard you laughing till the bed shook under you!

Evje. Yes, I who have so often laughed at others! (Reads.) No,
this is beyond belief! I can't read any more! This will ruin my
position in the town; I can hear every one laughing at me--he
knows all my weaknesses, and has managed to make it all so
hideously ludicrous! (Tries to go on reading.) Why, here is some
more! (Reads.) It begins even worse than the other! (Lowers the
paper, panting, then tries to go on reading.) No, I can't--I can't!
I must wait! Everything seems going round and round--and my heart
is beating so violently that I know I shall have one of my attacks!
What a devil it is that I have been making a friend of! What a
creature to have broken bread with!--an unprincipled scoundrel!
And the disgrace of it!--the disgrace! What will they say at the
Exchange? What will--? I shall not dare to go out of my house, at
least for some weeks! And then people will only say I have taken
to my bed! Oh, oh! I feel as if it were the end of everything!

John (solicitously). Can I help you, sir?

Evje. Will you leave me alone--! No, I will have my revenge on him
immediately! I will go and ring his bell, and go into his house and
call him a scoundrel and spit in his face--! Did I bring my stick
out with me? Where is my stick? I will send my man for it, and then
I will thrash him round and round his own room!

John (eagerly). I will fetch it for you, sir!

Evje (without hearing him). No, it would only make more scandal!--
How can I take my revenge? I must do him some injury--some real
injury that will seem to poison his food for him and rob him of his
rest. Scoundrels like that don't deserve sleep! It must be
something, too, that will make his family every bit as unhappy as
mine will be when they have read this--something that will make
them hide their heads for shame--something that will make them
terrified every time their door-bell rings, out of shame for what
their servants may hear! No, no, I am getting as evil-minded as he
is, now!--What a horrible trade--for ever sowing the seeds of sin
and reaping a crop of curses! Now I understand what Harald Rejn
meant by saying that no one ought to give his help to such things!
--Heavens, hear my vow: never again will I give my help to such
things!--What am I to say to my wife--my dear, good wife, who has
no suspicion how disgraced I am! And Gertrud, our good Gertrud--ah,
at all events I can give her some pleasure at once. I cannot
conceal it from them; but I will tell them myself, so that they
shall not read it.

John. Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?

Evje (almost screaming at him). Once for all, can't you let me
alone!

Mrs. Evje (leaning out of a window she has opened). The sound must
have come from the street, all the same. Are you there, my dear?

Evje (drawing back in alarm). There she is! Shall I answer?

Mrs. Evje. Are you there, my dear?

Evje. Yes, dear, here I am!

Mrs. Evje. So you are! I heard your voice, and looked all over the
house. What is the matter, dear?

Evje. Oh, I am so unhappy!

Mrs. Evje. Good heavens, are you, dear? Come along in--or shall I
come down to you?

Evje. No, I will come in. Shut the window, or you will catch cold.

Mrs. Evje. Do you know, Gertrud is sitting up here, crying?

Evje. Good gracious, is she? I will come up--I will come up!

John. I will help him up, ma'am! (Pretends to be doing so.)

Mrs. Evje. Is that you, John?

Evje (in a low voice). Will you be off!

John. Yes, it is me, ma'am. He is so unwell.

Mrs. Evje. Is he! Heavens, it is one of his attacks! Help him,
John!

Evje (as before). Don't you dare!

John (who has rung the bell loudly). I do hope you will moon be
better, sir! (Calls up to the window.) I can leave him now, ma'am!
(To EVJE, as he goes.) This has been a bit of luck, for me; but
you shall have some more of it! (Disappears into the fog as EVJE
goes into his house. The two Passers-by, that were seen at the
beginning of the scene, are now indistinctly seen returning along
the street at the back.)

First Passer-by. Well, the land of Fogs used to be thought by the
ancients to lie in the north, where all confused ideas come from--

Second Passer-by (who does not seem to be able to get a word in).
But, listen to me for a moment-do you think it means--?

[Curtain]



ACT III

(SCENE.--A room in HALVDAN REJN's house. He is lying, supported on
pillows, on a sofa on the left-hand side of the room. There is a
table in the background, and another near the sofa. A lamp is
hanging from the ceiling, and another standing on the table at the
back. HAAKON REJN, his dress proclaiming him to be a well-to-do
yeoman farmer, is sitting on a chair by the sofa.)

Halvdan. So she couldn't come?

Haakon. No; there are the youngsters, you know--she finds it
difficult to get away.

Halvdan (after a moment's silence). Remember to thank her for
all her kindness to me. The happiest moments of my life have
been those Sundays and evenings that she and you and I spent
together at your house. (A pause.)

Haakon. She wanted very much to know how you were feeling--
whether you, who have suffered so much, are at peace now.

Halvdan. At peace? A man who has to die with all his work
unfinished, cannot easily root out all thoughts of that from his
heart.

Haakon. You should try to lay in God's hands all that you have
striven for.

Halvdan. That is what I struggle daily to do. (A pause.)

Haakon. A sister of my wife's, who was a widow and badly off, died
leaving three young children. But she was glad to die. "Their
Heavenly Father will help them better when I am out of the way,"
she said. "I took up too much room," she said; "I know I have often
stood in their way." (A pause.)

Halvdan. You tell that just as your wife would; she told me that
story once.

Haakon. I was to tell you from her that she believes you are to die
in order that what you have worked for may come to its fullest
fruit. She thinks that when you are gone, people will appreciate
better what your aims were.

Halvdan. There is some comfort in the thought that I may be dying
in order that what I have loved may live. I have already given up
happiness-even honour-for it; I gladly give my life for it now. (A pause.)

Haakon. Do you bear ill-will to any of those who have opposed you
so cruelly?

Halvdan. To no one.

Haakon. Not even to those whose doing it is that you are lying
here?

Halvdan. No, to no one. (A pause.)

Haakon. Could you bear to read something hateful about
yourself to-day?

Halvdan. I don't know.

Haakon. Then you have not done with it all yet.

Halvdan. No, I know I have not. It is only sometimes that the busy
world outside seems to me like a ship sailing idly before the wind.
More often, I am back in the midst of it again--planning, hoping,
praying! I am young, you know, and have had to suffer so much--
there was so much I wanted to do. (Lifts a handkerchief to his
forehead. HAAKON helps him to wipe his face with it. A pause.)

Haakon. But it must be a comfort to you, too, that Harald is
taking up what you are laying down. There is good stuff in him.

Halvdan. Yes.

Haakon. And he never says more than is necessary. The country folk
will understand him all the better for it.

Halvdan. I hope so. As soon as he comes into my room I feel as if
the atmosphere were charged with electricity--I feel as if I _must_
have a part in what he is doing--and so I work, and tire myself
out. Ah, it often seems very hard to have to die, and leave undone
a great work that one has failed to accomplish!

Haakon. But you have made him what he is, you know--and many
others.

Halvdan. I have started the fight, that is all. It is hard to have
to desert at the beginning of it!--But God is good, and will
understand; He will not be surprised at what my thoughts are full
of, when I go to Him. (A ring is heard at the bell.)

Haakon. I expect that is Harald.

Halvdan. No, he never rings. Besides, I expect he is taking a walk,
to think over what he is going to say to-night.

Haakon. Yes, I suppose it will be a big meeting. (The HOUSEKEEPER
comes in.)

The Housekeeper. Mr. Evje is here, sir, asking for Mr. Harald. I
told him we were expecting him every moment. Shall I ask him to
come in?

Halvdan. Yes, show him in. (HAAKON gets up, as EVJE is shown in.)

Evje (to HALVDAN). Good evening! (Sees HAAKON.) Ah, good evening!
So you have come? That is splendid. Is your wife with you?

Haakon. No, she couldn't leave the children.

Evje. I see. (To HALVDAN.) And how are you? About the same? Of
course, yes.--Where is your brother?

Halvdan. He has his meeting to-night, you know.

Evje. His momentous meeting--I know! I am going to it myself!

Halvdan (turns his face towards him). You?

Evje. My object in coming here was to take him home with me, so
that we could all go together to the meeting. We mean to go on to
the platform with him; I mean people to see that we are with him!

Halvdan (turning his face away). Really!

Evje (to HAAKON). You never answered my letter, Mr. Rejn.

Haakon. No, I knew I was coming in to town.

Evje. Well--will you sell?

Haakon. No.

Evje. But, my dear Mr. Rejn, you have not sold a single potato to
my distillery for five years! And with a farm like yours! This year
you had the best crop in the whole valley.

Haakon. Oh, yes--it wasn't so bad.

Evje. Not so bad! It was an extraordinary crop; and, everywhere
else round about, the crops were very middling.

Haakon. Oh, yes--it might have been worse.

Evje (laughing). I should think so! But then why won't you sell?
(Turns to HALVDAN.) I hope you will excuse our talking business in
a sick-room; a business man has to seize every opportunity, you
know! (To HAAKON.) You have never got higher prices elsewhere than
you have from me.

Haakon. No, so I believe; but I have my own reasons.

Evje. Your own reasons? What are they?

Haakon. I had a servant once--it is about five years ago now--a
good, capable fellow. He used to take potatoes for me to the
distillery every day, and every evening came back drunk. So I spoke
to him seriously about it; and his answer was: "How do you suppose
our brandy-merchants are to grow rich, if chaps like me don't drink
pretty hard?" You know the man; he went into your service
afterwards. But from that day I have never sold a potato to a
distillery.

Evje. But, my dear Mr. Rejn, we cannot be held responsible for the
use to which such rascals put God's gifts!

Haakon. No--no--I suppose not; still, I am not going to have
anything more to do with it.

Evje (to HALVDAN). Do you think your brother will not be home
before the meeting?

Halvdan. I should think he would; there is plenty of time yet.

Evje. There is; but I should have liked to take him home with me
first. The fact is (laughs) I have promised my wife and daughter
not to go home without him. You know what women are! Shall I just
go into his room and wait for him? There is something I want to
talk to him about, you know.

Halvdan. I don't think there is a fire in there.

Evje. Oh, well, never mind--I will sit here. I have got a newspaper
to read, and yon two must go on with your talk just as if I were
not here! I shall hear nothing, because I have something to read
that interests me. (He pulls a chair up to the table on the right
with its back to HALVDAN. HAAKON brings the lamp from the table at
the back.) Ah, thank you very much! Now, just talk away as if I
were not here! (Takes the paper from his pocket and sits down.)

Haakon (sitting down again beside his brother). I should have
liked to go to the meeting, too.

Halvdan. Of course you must go! You will hear Harald tell them
how each nation has its own appointed task in the world; that is
why it _is_ a nation. But, as long as it does not realise the fact,
its politics will be nothing but wrangling between the various
class-interests--a haphazard struggle for power. Our nation has
never got beyond that point! I have shouted myself to death over
what is a mere market.

Evje (to himself, striking the table with his fist). The whole
commercial community is insulted in this insult to me! I will stir
them up at the meeting, and insist on our taking our revenge in
common!

Haakon. I don't think things will be any better until we are better
Christians. Men think of nothing nowadays but themselves and their
position.

Evje (to himself). No, no-that wouldn't do. What would people say?
They would only say I was badly hit by this.

Halvdan (half to himself). A Christian nation, thinking of nothing
but its own interests--that is to say, power! Equality and Liberty
have no meaning for it. Haakon, it surely will be bliss for a
wounded soul to be taken into the Everlasting Love, high above all
this so-called Christianity of the world! For my soul is sorely
wounded!

Evje (to himself ). If only I could strike him dead!

Halvdan. But may they all be forgiven!--You asked just now whether
I could bear to read something hateful about myself to-day. I think
I could.

Haakon. Then I can tell you the other message she gave me for you.
I have been a little shy of telling you that. It was that you
should remember that you must do more than forgive; you must pray
for them. (A pause.)

Halvdan (with his hand over his eyes). I do.

Evje (crumpling up the paper and throwing it on the floor). No, I
won't stand it! If the blackguard--. (Gets up in alarm, as he
realises what he has done, and is just going to pick up the paper;
but at that moment turns round facing the others, and lets it lie.)
No, I won't touch it again--never, as long as I live! (To the
others.) You must forgive me, but I was reading something that
upset me very much. Your brother will tell you all about it in the
morning, no doubt. Poof--it is very warm in here! But, of course,
that is natural in a sick-room. I don't think he can be coming now.
I think, too, that I will go on, so as not to be late for the
meeting; there is sure to be a difficulty in getting seats. I will
get him to go home with me after the meeting, instead. That will be
better, after all.

Haakon. I was thinking of going to the meeting. Would you mind if I
went with you?--for I do not know the way myself.

Evje. You will come with me, Mr. Rejn? (To himself.) That will be
splendid--to make my entrance in the company of one of our yeomen
farmers! (Aloud.) By all means let us go together! I feel flattered
by the opportunity, because I have always maintained that our
yeomen are the pick of the nation. Well, then--(to Halvdan) I hope
you will soon be feeling better, Mr. Rejn. God bless you!

Halvdan (raising himself on his elbow, and looking at him with a
smile). Something must have gone amiss with you to-day.

Evje. Why do you say that?

Halvdan. Because as a rule you appear so composed so aloof from all
this squabbling.

Evje (impetuously). But, do what I like, I am not allowed to keep
aloof from it! I have no greater wish in the world than to do so, I
can assure you. Oh, well, your excellent brother--my future
son-in-law, as I am proud to call him--he will tell you all about
it. Good-bye!--and--and--God bless you!

Haakon. Shall I tell your housekeeper to come to you?

Halvdan. Oh, no; but you might tell her to come in a little while.

Haakon. Good-bye for the present, then!

Halvdan. Thank you for coming! Good-bye. (Sinks back on to the
sofa. The others go out, HAAKON turning round once at the door.)

Halvdan. It is something in the paper that has disturbed his
equanimity. What can it be? The same thing that made Harald so
gloomy to-day, I wonder? (Gets half up.) It is lying there.--No!
What interest have I in all their petty spite now? (Sinks back
again.) "Could you bear to read something hateful about yourself
to-day?" Haakon asked. Then I suppose there is something about me
in it to-day. (Puts his hand over his heart.) My heart doesn't seem
to be beating any the faster for my knowing that. (Gets half up.)
There it lies! (Sinks back again.) No, I am only trying to tempt
myself. All the same, I should like to know how many stations I
have passed on my journey to the great City of Peace! Can their
malice affect me still? Surely I have passed _that_ station?--It
would be worth trying, to see. There it lies! (Takes up a stick
that is standing by the sofa.) Surely I can get over there by
myself? (Gets up from the sofa with the help of the stick, and
smiles.) I have not much strength left. (Takes a few steps.)
Scarcely enough to get across the floor. (A few more steps.) To
think that I should have--so much vanity--my weak point--. (His
breath fails him, but he gets as far as the chair on which EVJE was
sitting, and sits down.) One ought to have done with all that
before the soul can get quite away from the dust that--. (Begins to
rake the paper towards him with his stick.) And here am I, sitting
here raking more of it towards me!--No, let the thing lie! I won't
soil my wings any more.--Poor Harald! He has to take up the burden
now! What a horrible bungle it is, that we should be brought into
the world to give each other as much pain as possible! (Decidedly.)
Well, I am going to see what legacy of unhappiness I am leaving
him! I want to have a vivid impression of the misery I am escaping
from. There is a certain comfort even in that. (Bends down and
picks up the paper, rests for a moment, and then unfolds the
paper.) But this is not to-day's paper; it is dated for to-morrow!
How can Evje have got hold of it? Yes, here is the date--Sunday.
"Remember that thou keep holy the Sabbath Day!" On that day men's
souls should turn to God--and they offer Him _this_! It is after
reading _this_ that these fine ladies and gentlemen go to church!
(Pushes the paper away from him.) Suppose these "Christians" were
to be brought to judgment one day without warning?--Let us think of
ourselves and not of others! (Lets his eye rest on the paper.) Does
that mean me? (Reads.) "Not yet actually dead, but already
canonised by a calculating brother--." (Checks himself.) God
forgive them! (Reads on.) "His teachings will no doubt obtain him a
paean of praise, but this will be--or, at least, so it is to be
hoped--from within the closely locked doors of the state's prisons
and houses of correction"--(checks himself a little)--"for that is
whither he leads his followers."--Good God, to think that they can
say such things!--And yet, they said worse things of _Him_! Peace!
(Reads.) "No doubt he talks against Socialism; no doubt he coquets
with Christianity; but it is by these very means that he has become
so expert a seducer of men's opinions-which was his aim all along."
(Puts his hands before his face.) I should not have read it;
forgive me! I am too weak still!--Ah! I feel--what is it? (Puts his
hands suddenly to his heart, still unconsciously grasping the
newspaper in them.) I must get into my room--get to bed! (Gets up
with the help of his stick.) If only I can get there! Oh, I feel it
coming on!--I must--. (Tries to hurry, but when he is halfway
across the floor he stumbles, throws out his hands but finds no
support, staggers on for a few steps, and falls full length on the
threshold of his bedroom, so that half his length lies within the
door and half without. A moment later, the HOUSEKEEPER comes in.)

The Housekeeper (not observing that he is not still on the sofa).
Won't you go to bed now, sir? You can't stand so much in one day.
(Goes to the sofa.) Where is he? Surely he has not tried to walk in
alone? (Hurries across to the bedroom door and almost falls over
his body. She starts back with a scream.) Where is--? (Catches up
the lamp, hurries back, and bends over him; then calls out,
screaming:) Help! Help! (Rings the bell wildly. A MAID appears.)
Mr. Halvdan is lying here! Heaven knows whether he is dead or
alive! Run for the Doctor! Leave the door open behind you, and beg
the first man you meet in the street to come up here at once and
help me. Tell them it is a matter of life and death!

Maid. Yes!

The Housekeeper. Hurry!

Maid (going out). Yes, yes!

The Housekeeper (coming back into the room). Is he alive or dead? I
haven't the courage to find out. And both his brothers away!
(Cries.) God grant some one comes soon!--Poor man, alone in his
death as he was in his life! But what was he doing _there_? Why did
he get up from the sofa? (Sees the paper.) Surely that can't be--?
(Puts the lamp on the floor and unfolds the paper.) Yes, it is the
paper, right enough! Who can have given it him? I can't look at it
now; but if it is like the number I read the other day (lets the
paper fall, and gets up with the lamp) then I understand everything
--and may God requite those that do such things! (The EDITOR rushes
in.)

The Editor. Is it here?

The Housekeeper (holds the lamp to him, then starts back). What do
_you_ want here?

The Editor. Where am I? A girl came running down the street and
told me I must come up here and help some one that was dying. What
do you want me to do?--or is it not here?

The Housekeeper. And it was _you_ she met? It is the hand of God!

The Editor. What are you babbling about? If it is not here, say so
at once.

The Housekeeper. Yes, it is here. There he lies!

The Editor. Then oughtn't we to get him into bed?

The Housekeeper. Yes. But do you know who it is you are helping?

The Editor (to himself). She is not very polite. (Aloud.) No; but
what does that matter?

The Housekeeper. This much--that it is you that have killed him.

The Editor. I--? She is mad.

The Housekeeper. The man lying there is Halvdan Rejn. And he had
been reading about himself in your paper.--Come, now, and carry him
in. (She goes into the bedroom with the lamp. Her voice is heard
from inside the room.) Now, take hold of him and lift him. You can
think afterwards.

The Editor (stoops to lift the body, but gets up again). I don't
think he is dead yet.

The Housekeeper. All the more reason to make haste.

The Editor (stoops down again, but gets up once more.) Let me take
his head.

The Housekeeper. Why?

The Editor. So that--if he should open his eyes

The Housekeeper. --he won't see you. (Comes out of the bedroom). Go
in there, then, and take his head. (He goes in.) What was that?

The Editor (from inside the room). I slipped. There is something
wet here.

The Housekeeper. Yes, he has had a hemorrhage. Carefully, now.
(They carry him in. The stage remains empty for a moment. Then the
EDITOR comes back, wiping his forehead. He walks backwards and
forwards, treading on the paper as he goes, but without noticing
it.)

The Editor. What a horrible thing to happen!--Newspapers are not
meant for dying people.--It is not my fault.--Is this blood on my
hand? It is! (Wipes it with his handkerchief.) And now it is on my
handkerchief! (Throws it away.) No, it has my name on it. (Picks it
up again.) No one can say it is my fault. (Sits down, then gets up,
wiping his forehead with his handkerchief without noticing what
he is doing.) Ah, I hope I haven't put blood on my forehead? I
seem to feel it there! (Feels with his hand to see if his brow is
wet.) No. (Sits down, then gets up again.) Let me get away from
here. (Stops.) To think that I should be the one to come up! that
it should just happen to-night that I did not receive my paper,
and so went out! It almost seems more than accident. Indeed, I
often had a foreboding that it would happen. (Stands opposite the
bedroom door.) But is he dead? I think I will go and fetch the
Doctor. Oh no, of course the maid has gone for him. He hasn't
long to live, anyway; I could see that. (Walks forward, pointing
with his finger.) "There goes the man that killed Halvdan Rejn!
And his punishment was that he had to lift up his bloodstained
body himself." That is what they will say; and they will look at
me as if--. (Sits down.) No, let me get away! (Takes a few steps,
then stops suddenly.) That article in to-morrow's paper! It is
worse than the others! (Pulls out his watch.) Too late--the post
has gone! I would have given--. (Checks himself.) I have nothing
worth giving. In the morning It will be known all over the town
just as everyone is reading my fresh article. There will be a riot;
I shall be hunted like a wild beast. What shall I do? I might sneak
out of the town? Then they will gloat over me! I won't allow them
that pleasure! No, I cannot stay my hand utter a failure; only
after a victory. That is the cursed part of it-never, never to be
able to end it. Oh, for some one that could end it--end it, end it!
Oh, for one day of real peace! Shall _I_ ever get that? (Sits down.)
No, no, I must get away! (Gets up.) To-morrow must take care of
itself. (Starts.) There is the paper he was reading! (Steps over
it.) I will take it away--and burn it. (Takes it up.) I cannot burn
it here; some one might come. (Is just going to put it into his
pocket, as it is, but takes it out again to fold it better.) A
Sunday's paper, apparently! Then it is _not_ to-day's? An old number,
I suppose. Then the whole thing is a mistake! (Sighs with relief.)
Let me look again! (Opens the paper, tremblingly.) I don't deserve
it, but--. (Reads.) Sunday, the--. _To-morrow's_ paper? _Here_? How in
all the world did it get here? (Appears horrified.) Here are the
articles about Evje! How on earth did they get in? Didn't I send a
message? Didn't I write? This on the top of everything else! Are
even my printers conspiring against me? Well, even if it ruins me,
I shall go on! They shall find out what I can do. How on earth can
I be expected to help it if a weak-minded fellow dies, or if my
printers are drunk or my manager has delirium tremens! I shall
pursue my end through all chances and in spite of all their tricks,
and I shall crush them, crush them--I shall--. (Gives way to a
paroxysm of rage. At this moment the MAID comes in with the
DOCTOR'S ASSISTANT. The MAID rushes into the bedroom. The EDITOR
starts up.) Who is that? What do you want?

The Doctor's Assistant (coldly). What do _you_ want here?

The Editor. I? Oh, I was called up to help the sick man into his
bed.

The Doctor's Assistant (as before). Ah!--so it was _you_! (A pause.)

The Editor. Have you ever seen me before?

The Doctor's Assistant. Yes. I have heard you grind your teeth
before this. (Goes into the bedroom.)

The Editor (after standing for a moment looking after him). They
will all look at me to-morrow like that-with those cold eyes.
"Every man's hand against him, and his hand against every man;"
there can only be one end to that. To-night, the meeting--and
Harald Rejn will take them by storm. To-morrow, his brother's
death--and my new article in the paper--and, in addition to
that, those about Evje, who at present is only angry. And the
election in two days! Oh, yes, he will be elected now. So I may as
well give it all up at once. I would change places with any wolf
that has a lair to hide in. Those cold eyes of his! (Shudders.)
That is how every one will look at me to-morrow! They have pierced
through my armour! (The DOCTOR'S ASSISTANT comes back, and the
EDITOR makes an effort to resume his former confident manner.)

The Doctor's Assistant. I don't know whether you will be glad to
hear that it is all over.

The Editor (under his breath). You brute!

The Doctor's Assistant. His old housekeeper does not feel equal to
coming here to tell you what his last words were. They were:
"Forgive him!" (Goes out.)

The Editor (sitting down, then getting up again). No, I mustn't be
found here. (Walks about the room on tiptoe, as if he were afraid
of waking some one. When he comes opposite to the bedroom door, he
turns towards it, stretches out his arms and says:) Give me your
forgiveness too!



ACT IV

(SCENE.--A large and handsomely furnished sitting-room at the
EVJE'S. The room is brightly lit and the fire burning. The entrance
door is on the right, and beyond it a door leading to the dining-room.
INGEBORG is busy taking the covers off the chairs, folding them
carefully as she does so. After a little, the bell rings. She
goes to open the door, and returns, showing in the DOCTOR.)

The Doctor. Oho! Is it to be in here to-night?

Ingeborg (who has resumed her work of making the room ready). Yes,
sir.

The Doctor. Where are they all?

Ingeborg. At the meeting, sir.

The Doctor. All of them?

Ingeborg. Yes, all of them. Miss Gertrud went first--

The Doctor. Yes, I saw her well enough!

Ingeborg. And then the master, and a farmer gentleman with him,
came in to fetch the mistress.

The Doctor (to himself). Something has happened here, then.
(Aloud.) Tell me, Ingeborg--has _he_ been here again? You know
who I mean. (Coughs in imitation of the EDITOR'S cough.)

Ingeborg. Oh, the Editor; no, sir.

The Doctor (to himself). I wonder what has happened. (Aloud.)
Well, evidently there is to be a festivity here to-night; and, as I
see the chairs are getting their covers taken off, I may as well
take mine off too. (Takes off his coat and gives it to INGEBORG,
who carries it out.) I don't blame Evje for wanting to celebrate
Harald's success after a meeting like that! He is not exactly
eloquent in the ordinary sense of the word--doesn't bother about
his antitheses and climaxes and paradoxes, and all that sort of
nonsense; but he is a _man_! He goes bail for what he says, and he
says what he likes--ha, ha! And that dear Gertrud, too! Follows
him into the hall, and, as there isn't a single seat left there,
goes up on to the platform among the committee, and sits there
looking at him with those trustful blue eyes of hers, as if there
was no one else in the room! And _we_ were all looking at _her_!
She helped him more than ten good speakers would have done, I am
sure. Her faith in him bred it in others, whether they liked it or
no. She is one who would die for her faith! Yes, yes! The man
that gets her--. (INGEBORG comes back.) Well! (Rubs his hands
together.) Look here, Ingeborg. (Very politely.) Do you know
what is meant by the Rights of Man?

Ingeborg (going on with her work). No, sir. Something we have
earned, I suppose.

The Doctor. Yes, you earn them every day.

Ingeborg. Our meals, perhaps?

The Doctor (laughing). No, it isn't something to eat,
unfortunately. (Politely.) Do you ever read papers, Ingeborg?

Ingeborg. Papers? Oh, you mean the price-lists they leave at the
kitchen door. Yes, sir; every day, before we go to market, I--

The Doctor. No, I don't mean papers of that sort. I mean--

Ingeborg. Oh, you mean the newspaper I take in to master's room
every morning. No, Sir, I don't read that. I am told there are such
horrors in it.

The Doctor. Quite so. Don't you care to read about horrors, then?

Ingeborg. Oh, we poor folk see enough of them in our everyday lives,
without reading about them!--But perhaps the gentry enjoy it.

The Doctor. You are a very wise woman. Let me tell you, though,
that there is a fight going on, about--oh, well, never mind what it
is about. And the Editor and Mr. Rejn, who both come to this
house, are the two chief fighters. Don't you want to know what
they are fighting about?

Ingeborg (going on unconcernedly with her work). Oh, so they are
fighting, are they? No, I don't care the least bit, sir!

The Doctor (to himself). Ha, ha--the difference between Ingeborg
and me is that I am interested in the fight merely as a student of
human nature, and she is not interested in it at all. I wonder
which is farthest from any genuine belief in politics?--from our
"duty as a citizen," as they call it? (To INGEBORG.) Ingeborg, do
you know what your "duty as a citizen" means?

Ingeborg. My "duty as a citizen"? That mean; paying fines, doesn't
it, sir?

The Doctor. Yes; and a very heavy fine, into the bargain!

Ingeborg. The master was fined because the pavement was not swept.
John was ill.

The Doctor. Quite right, that was one of his duties as a citizen.--
Tell me, Ingeborg, are they expecting a lot of people here to-night?

Ingeborg. No, sir, I have only laid table for quite a few.

The Doctor. And what are they going to have?

Ingeborg. Oh, one or two dishes and one or two sorts of wine--.

The Doctor. Aha! (A ring is heard at the bell. INGEBORG goes to the
door.) There they are! Now we shall have a fine time!

Ingeborg (coming back with a letter). It is a note for you, sir.

The Doctor. Oh, bother I

Ingeborg. The man who brought it was not sure whether you would be
at the meeting or here.

The Doctor. How could he know--? (Putting on his glasses.) Oh, from
my assistant--that is quite another thing. Of course he wants my
help or my advice. Well, he shan't have it! I have run about quite
enough to-day. Tell the messenger that I haven't time! I have my
Duties as a Citizen to attend to! (Calls after her.) And my
Manhood's Rights too! (Opens the envelope.) No, I won't read it; if
I do, the matter will worry me all the evening. I know what I am.
(Puts the note in his pocket.) I mean to enjoy this evening!
(Suddenly.) I wonder how our friend the Editor is enjoying this
evening! Was he at the meeting, I wonder? A remarkable personality
--but malignity itself! Lion-hearted, though! He would fight till
the last drop of his blood! But what is it, really, that he is
fighting for? That question has always interested me, for I can't
make it out. (To INGEBORG, who has comeback.) Well?

Ingeborg. The messenger has gone.--Yes, sir, I told him everything
you told me to.

The Doctor. Of course. You would! Why the deuce does any one pay
any attention to what I say! (The bell rings.) Here they are at
last! Now we shall have a delightful evening! (EVJE and MRS. EVJE
come in.) I am first, you see!

Evje and Mrs. Evje. Were you at the meeting, too?

The Doctor. Where else should I be?

Evje. Did you see me?

Mrs. Evje. There were so many people there, dear.

Evje. But I was standing on a seat.

Mrs. Evje. Yes, he was standing on a seat!

The Doctor. There were plenty of people doing that.

Evje. I wanted to be seen!--There _have_ been goings on here
to-day, my friend!

Mrs. Evje. You will never guess what has happened!

The Doctor. Anyway I can see that something has happened.

Evje and Mrs. Evje. Oh--!

The Doctor. What is it, then?

Evje. Those articles will be in to-morrow's paper.

The Doctor. In the paper?--Yes, I didn't find him.

Evje. But I found him!

The Doctor (impatiently). Well?

Evje. I will tell you all about it another time. But I have read them--

Mrs. Evje. And he has told me all about them!

The Doctor. Are they very bad?

Evje. Oh--oh!

Mrs. Evje. Oh--oh--oh!

The Doctor (with a look of pleased curiosity.) As bad as all that?

Evje and Mrs. Evje. Oh--oh--oh--oh!

The Doctor. And _that_ was why you went to the meeting!

Evje. Of course--tit for tat! It was my wife's idea.

Mrs. Evje. It was the obvious thing to do, dear.

Evje. Our whole family at the meeting!--So that all the town should
know that it was nothing but the meanest political persecution
because I had joined my son-in-law's party.

Mrs. Evje. We are party people now, you know!

Evje. Do you know, there is something exciting about being mixed
up with such things--something invigorating, something--

The Doctor (stepping back). Are _you_ bitten with it, too?

Evje. Yes, if I can't be left in peace, I shall become a party man.

The Doctor (enthusiastically). Did you see Gertrud?

Evje and Mrs. Evje (with emotion). Our Gertrud! Yes, indeed we did!

The Doctor. Did you see her coming in with him!

Evje and Mrs. Evje (as before). Yes, we saw her coming in with him!

The Doctor. I suppose you did not know she was going?

Evje and Mrs. Evje. Oh, yes!

Mrs. Evje. She had said she would go with us--

Evje. But when we went to fetch her, the bird had flown!

The Doctor. How pretty she looked, too! All the men were looking
at her. And how she looked at him!

Mrs. Evje. It made me want to cry. I had quite a job to prevent
myself.

Evje. You need not have minded, dear! God has given us great
happiness. Her faith in him and her love shone to from her eyes
that it went to my heart. I felt quite upset! (Wipes his eyes.)

The Doctor. And what about _him_--eh? I don't fancy any one will
think about stopping his career. We have been a pack of fools.

Evje. That we have!

The Doctor. He is not exactly eloquent, but--

Evje. That is precisely what I was saying to my wife! He is not
exactly eloquent, but he is--

The Doctor. --a man!

Evje. A man! My very words, weren't they, my dear?

Mrs. Evje. Yes.--And I say he is so strong a man that he can afford
to be tender-hearted. For he certainly has been that.

Evje. Yes, he has been that!

The Doctor (laughing). In spite of his strength!

Evje. Oh, you may make the most of your--. Aha! (Loud ringing at
the bell is heard.) Here they are!

Mrs. Evje. Let us go and meet them!

The Doctor. No; look here--let us wait for them at the other side
of the room, so that they may make a triumphal progress up to us!

Evje and Mrs. Evje, Yes! (They go to the opposite end of the room,
while HARALD comes in rather quickly, with GERTRUD on his arm. As
they cross the room, the others cry out: "Bravo! Bravo!" and clap
their hands.)

Gertrud (still holding to HARALD's arm). And he is my man! My man!
(Throws her arms round his neck, crying with happiness, and kisses
him; then does the same to her mother, and then to her father, to
whom she whispers: Thank you!)

The Doctor. Oh--me too!

Gertrud (after a moment's hesitation). Yes--you too!

(The DOCTOR helps her to take off her cloak, and talks to her,
whispering and laughing.)

Harald (shaking EVJE's hand). Good evening!

Evje. Forgive me!

Harald. With all my heart!

Mrs. Evje. And now everything is all right!

Harald. For good!

Evje and Mrs. Evje. For good!

Harald. And, thank you for coming to the meeting.

Evje. It was no more than our duty! Look here--did you see me?

Harald. The whole time! But, tell me, was it a delusion, or was it
my brother Haakon that was standing on the floor beside you, rather
in the shadow?

Evje and Mrs. Evje. It _was_ he!

Evje. I fetched him from your brother Halvdan's.

Harald. I am so glad! It must have pleased Haakon. Gertrud and I at
first thought of going in to see Halvdan before we came on here;
but we saw all his lights were out. He must be asleep.

Evje. I can give you news of him. He is all right.

Harald. And Haakon?

Evje. Very well, too. A fine fellow! I wanted him to come home with
us now; but he said he was tired after his journey.

Mrs. Evje (to INGEBORG, who has come in from the dining room). Is
it ready?

Ingeborg. Yes, ma'am.

Mrs. Evje. Then come along. (INGEBORG opens the dining-room door.)

The Doctor and Evje. Yes, come along!

The Doctor. But we must go ceremoniously! Let us make a little
festivity of it to-night! You must head the procession, Evje--and
then the two young people Gertrud (taking HARALD's arm). Yes!

The Doctor. And Mrs. Evje and I will bring up the rear! (Offers her
his arm.)

Evje. Forward!(The bell rings. He stops.) Who can it be--as late as this?

The Doctor. Probably some friends on their way back from the
meeting.

Mrs. Evje. We must wait a moment!(To INGEBORG, who is going to open
the door.)Put a leaf in the table, and lay places for as many as
come.

Ingeborg. Yes, ma'am. (The bell rings again, as she goes to open
the door.)

The Doctor. They are impatient! So much the better--it shows they
are in a good humour after the meeting! (A knock is heard at the
door.)

All. Come in!(The EDITOR comes in, with no overcoat on, but wearing
his hat, which he forgets to take of till he is well into the
room. He goes straight up to EVJE, who has crossed over to the
left-hand side of the room.)

All (when they see him in the doorway). You! (GERTRUD clings closer
to HARALD.)

The Editor. I wanted once more, as in the old days, not to go to
bed without--this time it is not a question of thanking you for the
happy time we have had together but without begging your pardon!(He
speaks quietly, but with suppressed emotion.)There has been some
unfortunate misunderstanding. Those articles have been printed, in
spite of my express instructions to the contrary--I do not know how.

Evje. I have read them.

The Editor. You have read them?

Evje. Yes, the copy of the paper that was meant for you came into
my hands.

The Editor. So that was it!--Forgive me, old friend! Won't you give
me your hand?

Mrs. Evje (coming forward). That he shall never do!

The Editor (glancing over his shoulder at her). Let no one come
between us at a moment like this! You don't know--. A hundred times
in my life I would have done what I am doing now, had I not been
afraid that people would call it affectation on my part and repulse
me. Don't _you_ do that!--least of all now! Give me your hand,
Evje! I beg you, in the sight and hearing of you all--. (EVJE seems
to vacillate.)

Mrs. Evje. No, you shan't!--not while he has anything to do with a
newspaper. Otherwise it will all begin over again to-morrow. He
is not his own master, you know.

The Editor. I have done with it all.

Mrs. Evje. Oh, you have said that so often! Nobody believes it.
No; when a man can push political hatred so far as to write about
an old friend, in whose house he has been a daily guest, as if he
were a criminal--and all because he doesn't like his son-in-law, or
his servant--one doesn't shake hands with him the very day his
attacks appear in the paper.

The Editor (who, all the tinge, has kept his back turned to MRS.
EVJE, and has not looked at her). Evje, you are a good-hearted
fellow, I know. Don't listen to what others say, now. This is a
very bitter hour for me. You would be doing a good deed! Give
me your hand--or a word! I am in such a state now that I must
have visible signs of _some one's_ forgiveness, or I shall--!

Mrs. Evje (emphatically). Yes, a little repentance will do you
good! But it will do you no good if you obtain forgiveness easily!
You want to learn, just for once, what it is to be wounded at
heart. You are only accustomed to deal with people whom you can
flog one day and have at your feet--either from fear or from
vanity--the next. And have we--God forgive us!--ever thought
seriously the worse of you for it? No; because we never understood
what it was till we were hit by it ourselves. But that is all the
more reason why we should do our duty now! Hatred shall be met with
hatred!

The Doctor (at the back of the room, to GERTRUD and HARALD). She is
her father's daughter, after all, when it comes to the point!

The Editor (turns upon MRS. EVJE, with his fist clenched, but
restrains himself from answering her). Then you won't shake hands,
Evje? Not a word of forgiveness?

Evje. I think my wife is right.

The Editor (controlling himself with difficulty). You are a weak
man, I know--

Evje. What do you mean?

The Editor. --but do not be weak this time! If you knew everything,
you would know you _must_ not refuse me what I ask. There are
others concerned--and for that reason--

The Doctor. Let us go!

Mrs. Evje. No, stay! He shall not have his way again.

The Editor. Well, of all--! It is certainly true that those who are
hardest on sinners are those who have never been tempted
themselves--and the most merciless creature in the world is an
injured woman.

Mrs. Evje. Now he is coming out in his true colours!

The Doctor (not without glee). Yes, that he is!

The Editor (controlling himself once more). Evje--you, who know me,
know what it must cost me to do this--and you can form some idea of
the need I am in. I have never--

Evje. I believe you; but I never can feel sure what your next move
will be. You have so many.

The Editor. My next move is to have done with it all, as sure as--

Mrs. Evje. Don't believe him! A man who can ask for your sympathy
one moment and abuse you the next is not fit to promise anything--
and certainly not fit to be forgiven, either.

The Editor (with an outburst of passion). Then may everything evil
overtake me if I ever ask you or any one else for sympathy again!
You have succeeded in teaching me that I can do without it! I can
rise above your cowardly cruelty. (To EVJE.) You are a miserable,
weak creature--and have always been, for all your apparent
good-natured shrewdness! (To MRS. EVJE.) And as for you, who have
often laughed so heartily at my so-called malice, and now all at
once have become so severely virtuous--why, you are both like
part-proprietors of my paper! You have taken all the profit you could
from me, as long as it served your purpose--I have seen that for a
long time! And all my pretended friends are like you--secret
holders of shares in me, so as to secure their own safety and the
persecution of others!--every bit as guilty as I am, only more
prudent, more timid, more cowardly--!

Evje. Once more--leave this house, which you have outraged!

Mrs. Evje. And how dare you set foot in here again?

The Editor. No, I am not going until all the anger that is in my
heart has turned into fear in yours! Because now I will _not_ have
done with it all! No--it is just through _his_ death that respect
for me will revive--it will be like a rampart of bayonets round me!
"There goes one who can kill a man with a word, if he likes!"
_That_ will make them treat me respectfully!

Harald and the Doctor. What does he mean?

The Editor (as he hears HARALD'S voice). And you--you mountebank,
who can stand up in public and seek applause before your brother's
corpse is cold--don't come talking rant to me! You are more
contemptible than I am! I couldn't have done that; I couldn't stand
there, as you are doing now, impatient to get to your champagne and
pretty speeches!--Oh, how I despise all such lying and heartlessness!
(They all look at him and at each other with a questioning
expression.)

Harald. Is my brother dead?

Mrs. Evje. Is his brother dead?

Gertrud. Good God, is Halvdan dead?

Evje. Is he dead? Impossible!

The Doctor. Is Rejn dead--and I--?

Evje. I saw him only a couple of hours ago, looking quite well.

The Editor (in a broken voice). Didn't you know?

All (except the DOCTOR). No!

The Doctor. Ah, that letter, that letter! (Looks in his pocket for
it and his glasses.)

The Editor. I am the wretchedest man alive! (Sinks into a chair.)

The Doctor. I had a letter from my assistant, but I have not read
it!

Mrs. Evje. Read it, read it!

The Doctor (reading). "I am writing in great haste. As I expect you
will be going to your old friends' after the meeting, and will meet
Harald Rejn there, the task will probably fall to you of telling
him--(the EDITOR gets up to go, but stands still)--that Halvdan
Rejn died about eight o'clock of a fresh attack of hemorrhage!
(HARALD leaves GERTRUD'S side and comes forward, with a cry. The
EDITOR steadies himself by holding on to the table.) No one was
with him; he was found lying across the threshold of his bedroom. A
copy of the newspaper was lying on the floor behind him." (HARALD,
with a groan, advance threateningly towards the EDITOR.)

Gertrud. Harald, my ring!--my ring! (HARALD Stops, collects
himself, buries his face in his hands and bursts into uncontrollable
tears. GERTRUD puts her arms round him and holds him folded in them.)

The Doctor (laying a hand on HARALD's arm). "The housekeeper told
me he had only spoken two words, and they were 'Forgive him!'"
(HARALD bursts into tears.)

The Doctor (after waiting for a little). "Apparently chance--or
perhaps something else--decreed that the maid who ran for help,
should meet the very man, who hats caused the tragedy, and that it
should be _he_ who helped the housekeeper to lay him on his
deathbed." (All look at the EDITOR.)

Evje. That was why he came! (A pause.)

Gertrud. Harald! (HARALD, who has turned away from her to struggle
with his emotion, does not turn round.) If _he_ could forgive--

The Editor (with a gesture of refusal). No!

Gertrud (quietly, to the EDITOR). If you want to deserve it, make
an end of all this!

The Editor. It is all at an end! (To MRS. EVJE.) You were right. I
knew it myself, too. My armour is pierces pierced through. A child
might conquer me now--and this child has done so; for she has
begged for mercy for me, and no one has ever done that before.
(Puts his hand over his eyes, turns away, and goes out. As he is
going out the bell rings. A moment later, INGEBORG Shows in HAAKON
REJN.)

Gertrud (who has put her arms round HARALD, whispers). Who is it?

Harald. My brother. (Goes to meet HAAKON and throws himself into
his arms.) You had a talk with him this afternoon, then?

Haakon. Yes.

Mrs. Evje. Let us all go to him.

Evje and Gertrud. Yes.

Mrs. Evje (to INGEBORG). Bring in our cloaks and hats again, and
afterwards clear the table. (INGEBORG does so.)

Harald (unable to control his emotion). Haakon, this is my future
wife. (Goes away from them.)

Haakon. Well, my dear, your engagement has begun seriously; take
all the future seriously, too.

The Doctor. You need not say that to _her_. What she needs is to
take life more lightly.

Haakon. Oh, yes--if she lays everything in God's hands she can
always take life lightly.

Mrs. Evje. It is our own fault, I expect, when we take it too
lightly.

Evje. But sometimes we learn a lesson by that.

Haakon. Oh, yes. Well, we must stand by one another, we who
take life in the same way.

Mrs. Evje. Shall we go, children?

Harald (to HAAKON). Will you bring Gertrud, Haakon? I would rather
go alone. (They go out. The curtain falls.)



THE BANKRUPT

A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS


DRAMATIS PERSONAE

HENNING TJAELDE, merchant and brewer.
MRS. TJAELDE, his wife.
VALBORG and SIGNE, their daughters.
LIEUTENANT HAMAR, engaged to Signe.
SANNAES, Tjaelde's confidential clerk.
JAKOSSEN, manager of Tjaelde's brewery.
BERENT, a lawyer.
PRAM, a custom-house official.
An Agent.
The VICAR.
LIND, a guest.
FINNE, a guest.
RING, a guest.
HOLM, a guest.
KNUTZON, a guest.
KNUDSEN, a guest.
FALBE, a guest.


THE BANKRUPT

ACT I

(SCENE.--A sitting-room in the TJAELDES' house, opening on a
verandah that is decorated with flowers. It is a hot summer's day.
There is a view of the sea beyond the verandah, and boats are
visible among the islands that fringe the coast. A good-sized
yacht, with sails spread, is lying close up under the verandah on
the right. The room is luxuriously furnished and full of flowers.
There are two French windows in the left-hand wall; two doors in
the right-hand. A table in the middle of the room; arm-chairs and
rocking-chairs scattered about. A sofa in the foreground on the
right. LIEUTENANT HAMAR is lying on the sofa, and SIGNE sitting in
a rocking-chair.)

Hamar. What shall we do with ourselves to-day?

Signe (rocking herself). Hm! (A pause.)

Hamar. That was a delicious sail we had last night. (Yawns.)
But I am sleepy to-day. Shall we go for a ride?

Signe. Hm! (A pause.)

Hamar. I am too hot on this sofa. I think I will move. (Gets up.
SIGNE begins to hum an air as she rocks herself.) Play me
something, Signe!

Signe (singing her words to the air she has been humming).
The piano is out of tune.

Hamar. Read to me, then!

Signe (as before, looking out of the window). They are swimming
the horses. They are swimming the horses. They are swimming
the horses.

Hamar. I think I will go and have a swim too. Or perhaps I will
wait till nearer lunch-time.

Signe (as before). So as to have a better appetite--appetite--
appetite.

(MRS. TJAELDE comes in from the right, walking slowly.)

Hamar. You look very thoughtful!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes, I don't know what to order.

Signe (as before). For dinner, I suppose you mean?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes.

Hamar. Do you expect any one?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes, your father writes to me that Mr. Finne is
coming.

Signe (speaking). The most tiresome person possible, of course.

Mrs. Tjaelde. How would boiled salmon and roast chicken do?

Signe. We had that the other day.

Mrs. Tjaelde. (with a sigh). There is nothing that we didn't. There
is so little choice in the market just now.

Signe. Then we ought to send to town.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Oh, these meals, these meals!

Hamar (yawning). They are the best thing in life, anyway.

Signe. To eat, yes--but not to cook; I never will cook a dinner.

Mrs. Tjaelde (sitting down at the table). One could put up with the
cooking. It's the having always to think of something fresh!

Hamar. Why don't you get a chef from one of the hotels, as I have
so often advised you?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Oh, we have tried that, but he was more trouble
than it was worth.

Hamar. Yes, because he had no invention. Get a French chef!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes, and have to be always beside him to interpret!--
But I am no nearer this dinner. And lately I have been finding such
difficulty in getting about.

Hamar. I have never in my life heard so much talk about meals
as I have in this house.

Mrs. Tjaelde. You see, you have never been in a prosperous
business-man's house before. Our friends are mostly business-men,
of course--and most of them have no greater pleasures than those of
the table.

Signe. That's true.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Are you wearing _that_ dress to-day?

Signe. Yes.

Mrs. Tjaelde. You have worn a different one every day.

Signe. Well, if Hamar is tired of both the blue one and the grey
one, what can I do?

Hamar. And I don't like this one any better than the others.

Signe. Indeed!--Then I really think you had better order me one
yourself.

Hamar. Come to town with me, and I will!

Signe. Yes, mother--Hamar and I have made up our minds that
we must go back to town. [Note: There would be nothing contrary to
Norwegian ideas of propriety in Signe's proposal. In Norway an
engaged couple could travel alone; and the fiancee would go to stay
in the house of her future husband's relations.]

Mrs. Tjaelde. But you were there only a fortnight ago!

Hamar. And it is exactly a fortnight too long since we were there!

Mrs. Tjaelde. (thoughtfully). Now, what _can_ I order for dinner?

(VALBORG comes into sight on the verandah.)

Signe (turning round and seeing VALBORG). Enter Her Highness!

Hamar (turning round). Carrying a bouquet! Oho! I have seen it
before!

Signe. Have you? Did _you_ give it her?

Hamar. No; I was coming through the garden--and saw it on the table
in Valborg's summerhouse. Is it your birthday, Valborg?

Valborg. No.

Hamar. I thought not. Perhaps there is some other festivity to-day?

Valborg. No. (SIGNE suddenly bursts out laughing.)

Hamar. Why do you laugh?

Signe. Because I understand! Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Hamar. What do you understand?

Signe. Whose hands it is that have decked the altar! Ha, ha, ha!

Hamar. I suppose you think they were mine?

Signe. No, they were redder hands than yours! Ha, ha, ha, ha!
(VALBORG throws the bouquet down.) Oh, dear me, it doesn't do to
laugh so much in this heat. But it is delightful! To think he
should have hit upon that idea! Ha, ha, ha!

Hamar (laughing). Do you mean--?

Signe (laughing). Yes! You must know that Valborg--

Valborg. Signe!

Signe.--who has sent so many distinguished suitors about their
business, cannot escape from the attentions of a certain red pair
of hands--ha, ha, ha, ha!

Hamar. Do you mean Sannaes?

Signe. Yes! (Points out of the window.) There is the culprit! He is
waiting, Valborg, for you to come, in maiden meditation, with the
bouquet in your hands--as you came just now--

Mrs. Tjaelde. (getting up). No, it is your father he is waiting
for. Ah, he sees him now. (Goes out by the verandah.)

Signe. Yes, it really is father--riding a bay horse!

Hamar (getting up). On a bay horse! Let us go and say "how do
you do" to the bay horse!

Signe. N--o, no!

Hamar. You won't come and say "how do you do" to the bay horse? A
cavalry officer's wife must love horses next best to her husband.

Signe. And he his wife next best to his horses.

Hamar. What? Are you jealous of a horse?

Signe. Oh, I know very well you have never been so fond of me
as you are of horses.

Hamar. Come along! (Pulls her up out of her chair.)

Signe. But I don't feel the least interested in the bay horse.

Hamar. Very well, then, I will go alone!

Signe. No, I will come.

Hamar (to VALBORG). Won't you come and welcome the bay horse too?

Valborg. No, but I will go and welcome my father!

Signe (looking back, as she goes). Yes, of course--father as well.
(She and HAMAR go out.)

(VALBORG goes to the farthest window and stands looking out of it.
Her dress is the same colour as the long curtain, and a piece of
statuary and some flowers conceal her from any one entering the
room. SANNAES comes in, carrying a small saddle-bag and a cloak,
which he puts down on a chair behind the door. As he turns round
he sees the bouquet on the door.)

Sannaes. There it is! Has she dropped it by accident, or did she
throw it down? Never mind--she has had it in her hands. (Picks it
up, kisses it, and is going to take it away.)

Valborg (coming forward). Leave it alone!

Sannaes (dropping the bouquet). You here, Miss Valborg--? I
didn't see you--

Valborg. But I can see what you are after. How dare you presume
to think of persecuting me with your flowers and your--your red
hands? (He puts his hands behind his back.) How dare you make
me a laughing-stock to every one in the house, and I suppose to
every one in the town?

Sannaes. I--I--I--

Valborg. And what about me? Don't you think I deserve a little
consideration? You will be turned out of the house before long, if
you do not take care--! Now be quick and get away before the others
come in. (SANNAES turns away, holding his hands in front of him,
and goes out by the verandah to the right. At the same moment
TJAELDE is seen coming at the other end of the verandah, followed
by HAMAR and SIGNE.)

Tjaelde. Yes, it is a fine horse.

Hamar. Fine? I don't believe there is its equal in the country.

Tjaelde. I dare say. Did you notice that he hadn't turned a hair?

Hamar. What glorious lungs! And such a beauty, too--his head, his
legs, his neck--! I never saw such a beauty!

Tjaelde. Yes, he is a handsome beast. (Looks out of the verandah at
the yacht.) Have you been out for a sail?

Hamar. I was sailing among the islands last night, and came back
this morning with the fishing-boats--a delightful sail!

Tjaelde. I wish I had time to do that.

Hamar. But surely it is only imagination on your part, to think
that you never have time?

Tjaelde. Oh, well, perhaps I have time but not inclination.

Signe. And how do things stand where you have been?

Tjaelde. Badly.

Valborg (coming forward). Welcome home, father!

Tjaelde. Thank you, dear!

Hamar. Is it not possible to save anything?

Tjaelde. Not at present; that is why I took the horse.

Hamar. Then the bay horse is the only thing you get out of the
smash?

Tjaelde. Do you know that I might say that horse has cost me three
or four thousand pounds?

Hamar. Well, that is its only defect, anyway! Still, if the worst
comes to the worst, and you can afford it--the horse is priceless!
(TJAELDE turns away, puts down his hat and coat and takes off his
gloves.)

Signe. It is beautiful to see your enthusiasm when you talk about
horses. I rather think it is the only enthusiasm you have.

Hamar. Yes, if I were not a cavalry officer I should like to be a
horse!

Signe. Thank you! And what should I be?

Valborg. "Oh, were I but the saddle on thy back! Oh, were I but the
whip about thy loins!"

Hamar. "Oh, were I but the flowers in thy--." No, "hand" doesn't
rhyme!

Tjaelde. (coming forward, meets MRS. TJAELDE, who has come in from
the right.) Well, my dear, how are you?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Oh, I find it more and more difficult to get about.

Tjaelde. There is always something the matter with you, my dear!
Can I have something to eat?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes, it has been standing waiting for you. Here it
comes. (A maid brings in a tray which she lays on the table.)

Tjaelde. Good!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Will you have a cup of tea?

Tjaelde. No, thank you.

Mrs. Tjaelde. (sitting down beside him and pouring him out a glass
of wine). And how have things gone with the Moellers?

Tjaelde. Badly. I told you so already.

Mrs. Tjaelde. I didn't hear you.

Valborg. I had a letter to-day from Nanna Moeller. She tells me all
about it--how none of the family knew anything about it till the
officers of the courts came.

Tjaelde. Yes, there must have been a dreadful scene.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Did he tell you anything about it?

Tjaelde (as he eats). I didn't speak to him.

Mrs. Tjaelde. My dear! Why, you are old friends!

Tjaelde. Bah! Old friends! He sat looking as if he had taken leave
of his senses. Besides, I have had enough of that family. I didn't
go there to hear them talk about their troubles.

Signe. I suppose it was all very sad?

Tjaelde (still eating). Shocking!

Mrs. Tjaelde. What will they have to live on?

Tjaelde. What is allowed them by their creditors, of course.

Signe. But all the things they had?

Tjaelde. Sold.

Signe. All those pretty things--their furniture, their carriages,
their--?

Tjaelde. All sold.

Hamar. And his watch? It is the most beautiful watch I have ever
seen--next to yours.

Tjaelde. It had to go, of course, being jewellery. Give me some
wine; I am hot and thirsty.

Signe. Poor things!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Where are they going to live now?

Tjaelde. In the house of one of the skippers of what was their
fleet. Two small rooms and a kitchen.

Signe. Two small rooms and a kitchen! (A pause.)

Mrs. Tjaelde. What do they intend to do?

Tjaelde. There was a subscription started to enable Mrs. Moeller to
get the job of catering for the Club.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Is the poor woman going to have more cooking to do!

Signe. Did they send no messages to us?

Tjaelde. Of course they did; but I didn't pay any attention to
them.

Hamar (who has been standing on the verandah). But Moeller--what
did he say? What did he do?

Tjaelde. I don't know, I tell you.

Valborg (who has been walking up and down the room during the
preceding conversation). He has said and done quite enough already.

Tjaelde (who has at last finished eating and drinking, is struck by
her words). What do you mean by that, Valborg?

Valborg. That if I were his daughter I would never forgive him.

Mrs. Tjaelde. My dear Valborg, don't say such things!

Valborg. I mean it! A man who would bring such shame and misery
upon his family does not deserve any mercy from them.

Mrs. Tjaelde. We are all in need of mercy.

Valborg. In one sense, yes. But what I mean is that I could never
give him my respect or my affection again. He would have wronged me
too cruelly.

Tjaelde (getting up). Wronged you?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Have you finished already, dear?

Tjaelde. Yes.

Mrs. Tjaelde. No more wine?

Tjaelde. I said I had finished. Wronged you? How?

Valborg. Well, I cannot imagine how one could be more cruelly
wronged than to be allowed to assume a position that was nothing
but a lie, to live up to means that had no real existence but were
merely a sham--one's clothes a lie, one's very existence a lie!
Suppose I were the sort of girl that found a certain delight in
making use of her position as a rich man's daughter--in using it to
the fullest possible extent; well, when I discovered that all that
my father had given me was stolen-that all he had made me believe
in was a lie--I am sure that then my anger and my shame would be
beyond all bounds!

Mrs. Tjaelde. My child, you have never been tried. You don't know
how such things may happen. You don't really know what you are
saying!

Hamar. Well it might do Moeller good if he heard what she says!

Valborg. He has heard it. His daughter said that to him.

Mrs. Tjaelde. His own daughter! Child, child, is that what you
write to each other about? God forgive you both!

Valborg. Oh, He will forgive us, because we speak the truth.

Mrs. Tialde. Child, child!

Tjaelde. You evidently don't understand what business is--success
one day and failure the next.

Valborg. No one will ever persuade me that business is a lottery.

Tjaelde. No, a sound business is not.

Valborg. Exactly. It is the unsound sort that I condemn.

Tjaelde. Still, even the soundest have their anxious moments.

Valborg. If the anxious moments really foreshadow a crisis, no man
of honour would keep his family o: his creditors in ignorance of
the fact. My God, how Mr. Moeller has deceived his!

Signe. Valborg is always talking about business!

Valborg. Yes, it has had an attraction for me ever since I was a
child. I am not ashamed of that.

Signe. You think you know all about it, anyway.

Valborg. Oh, no; but you can easily get to know a little about
anything you are fond of.

Hamar. And one would need no great knowledge of business to condemn
the way Moeller went on. It was obvious to every one. And the way
his family went on, too! Who went the pace as much as the Moellers?
Think of his daughter's toilettes!

Valborg. His daughter is my best friend. I don't want to hear her
abused.

Hamar. Your Highness will admit that it is possible to be the
daughter of a _very_ rich man without being as proud and as vain
as--as the lady I am not allowed to mention!

Valborg. Nanna is neither proud nor vain. She is absolutely
genuine. She had the aptitude for being exactly what she thought
she was--a rich man's daughter.

Hamar. Has she the "aptitude" for being a bankrupt's daughter
now?

Valborg. Certainly. She has sold all her trinkets, her dresses--
every single thing she had. What she wears, she has either paid for
herself or obtained by promising future payment.

Hamar. May I ask if she kept her stockings?

Valborg. She sent everything to a sale.

Hamar. If I had known that I would certainly have attended it!

Valborg. Yes, I daresay there was plenty to make fun of, and
plenty of idle loafers, too, who were not ashamed to do so.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Children, children!

Hamar. May I ask if Miss Nanna sent her own idleness to the sale
with her other effects?--because I have never known any one with a
finer supply of it!

Valborg. She never thought she would need to work.

Tjaelde (coming forward to VALBORG). To take up the thread of what
we were saying: you don't understand what a business-man's hope is
from one day to the other--always a renewed hope. That fact does
not make him a swindler. He may be unduly sanguine, perhaps--a
poet, if you like, who lives in a world of dreams--or he may be a
real genius, who sees land ahead when no one else suspects it.

Valborg. I don't think I misunderstand the real state of affairs.
But perhaps you do, father. Because is not what you call hope,
poetry, genius, merely speculating with what belongs to others,
when a man knows that he owes more than he has got?

Tjaelde. It may be very difficult to be certain even whether he
does that or not.

Valborg. Really? I should have thought his books would tell him--

Tjaelde. About his assets and his liabilities, certainly. But
values are fluctuating things; and he may always have in hand some
venture which, though it cannot be specified, may alter the whole
situation.

Valborg. If he undeniably owes more than he possesses, any venture
he undertakes must be a speculation with other people's money.

Tjaelde. Well--perhaps that is so; but that does not mean that he
steals the money--he only uses it in trust for them.

Valborg. Entrusted to him on the false supposition that he is
solvent.

Tjaelde. But possibly that money may save the whole situation.

Valborg. That does not alter the fact that he has got the use of it
by a lie.

Tjaelde. You use very harsh terms. (MRS. TJAELDE has once or twice
been making signs to VALBORG, which the latter sees but pays no
attention to.)

Valborg. In that case the lie consists in the concealment.

Tjaelde. But what do you want him to do? To lay all his cards on
the table, and so ruin both himself and the others?

Valborg. Yes, he ought to take every one concerned into his
confidence.

Tjaelde. Bah! In that case we should see a thousand failures every
year, and fortunes lost one after the other everywhere! No, you
have a level head, Valborg, but your ideas are narrow. Look here,
where are the newspapers? (SIGNE, who has been talking confidentially
to HAMAR on the verandah, comes forward.)

Signe. I took them down to your office. I did not know you meant to
stay in here.

Tjaelde. Oh, bother the office! Please fetch them for me. (SIGNE
goes out, followed by Hamar.)

Mrs. Tjaelde (in an undertone to VALBORG). Why will you never
listen to your mother, Valborg? (VALBORG goes out to the verandah;
leans on the edge of it, with her head on her hands, and looks
out.)

Tjaelde. I think I will change my coat. Oh no, I will wait till
dinner-time.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Dinner! And here I am still sitting here!

Tjaelde. Are we expecting any one?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes, have you forgotten?

Tjaelde. Of course, yes.

Mrs. Tjaelde (going out). What on earth am I to order?

(TJAELDE comes forward as soon as he is alone, sits down on a chair
with a weary, harassed expression, and buries his face in his hands
with a sigh. SIGNE and HAMAR come back, she carrying some
newspapers. HAMAR is going out to the verandah again, but SIGNE
pulls him back.)

Signe. Here you are, father. Here are--

Tjaelde. What? Who?

Signe (astonished). The newspapers.

Tjaelde. Ah, yes. Give them to me.(Opens them hurriedly. They are
mostly foreign papers, in which he scans the money articles one
after another.)

Signe (after a whispered conversation with HAMAR). Father!

Tjaelde (without looking up from the papers).Well? (To himself,
gloomily.) Down again, always down!

Signe. Hamar and I want so much to go into town again to Aunt
Ulla's.

Tjaelde. But you know you were there only a fortnight ago. I
received your bills yesterday. Have you seen them?

Signe. No need for that, father, if _you_ have seen them! Why do
you sigh?

Tjaelde. Oh--because I see that stocks keep falling.

Signe. Pooh! Why should you bother about that? Now you are sighing
again. I am sure you know how horrid it is for those you love not
to have what they want. You won't be so unkind to us, father?

Tjaelde. No, my child, it can't be done.

Signe. Why?

Tjaelde. Because--because--well, because now that it is summer time
so many people will be coming here whom we shall have to entertain.

Signe. But entertaining people is the most tiresome thing I know,
and Hamar agrees with me.

Tjaelde. Don't you think I have to do tiresome things sometimes,
my girl?

Signe. Father dear, why are you talking so solemnly and
ceremoniously? It sounds quite funny from you!

Tjaelde. Seriously, my child, it is by no means an unimportant
matter for a big business house like ours, with such a wide-spread
connection, that people coming here from all quarters should find
themselves hospitably received. You might do that much for me.

Signe. Hamar and I will never have a moment alone at that rate.

Tjaelde. I think you mostly squabble when you are alone.

Signe. Squabble? That is a very ugly word, father.

Tjaelde. Besides, you would be no more alone if you were in town.

Signe. Oh, but it is quite different there!

Tjaelde. So I should think--from the way you throw your money
about!

Signe (laughing). Throw our money about! What else have we to do?
Isn't that what we are for? Daddy, listen--dear old dad--

Tjaelde. No, dear--no.

Signe. You have never been so horrid to me before.

Hamar (who has been making signs to her to stop, whispers). Can't
you be quiet! Don't you see he is put out about something?

Signe (whispering). Well, you might have backed me up a little.

Hamar (as before). No, I am a bit wiser than you.

Signe (as before). You have been so odd lately. I am sure I don't
know what you want?

Hamar (as before). Oh, well, it doesn't matter now--because I am
going to town alone.

Signe (as before). What are you going to do?

Hamar (going). I am going to town alone. I am sick of this!

Signe (following him). Just you try! (Both go out by the verandah,
to the right. TJAELDE lets the newspapers fall out of his hands
with a heavy sigh.)

Valborg (looking in from the verandah). Father! (TJAELDE starts.)
There goes Mr. Berent, the lawyer from Christiania.

Tjaelde (getting up). Berent? Where? On the wharf?

Valborg. Yes. (Comes back into the room. TJAELDE looks out of the
window.) The reason I told you was because I saw him yesterday at
the timber-yard, and a little while before that, at the brewery and
at the works.

Tjaelde (to himself). What can that mean? (Aloud.) Oh, I know he is
very fond of making little trips to all sorts of places in the
summer. This year he has come here--and no doubt he likes to see
the chief industries of the place. There is not much else here to
see! But are you sure it is he? I think--

Valborg (looking out). Yes, it is he. Look now, you know his walk--

Tjaelde. --and his trick of crossing his feet--yes, it is he. It
looks as if he were coming here.

Valborg. No, he has turned away.

Tjaelde. All the better! (To himself, thoughtfully.) Could it
possibly mean--? (SANNAES comes in from the right.)

Sannaes. Am I disturbing you, sir?

Tjaelde. Is that you, Sannaes? (SANNAES, as he comes forward, sees
VALBORG standing by the farther window. He appears frightened and
hides his hands quickly behind his back.) What do you want?
(VALBORG looks at SANNAES, then goes on to the verandah and out to
the right.) What is it, man? What the deuce are you standing there
for?

Sannaes (bringing his hands from behind his back as soon as VALBORG
has passed him, and looking after her.) I didn't like to ask you,
before Miss Valborg, whether you are coming down to your office
to-day or not.

Tjaelde. Have you gone mad? Why on earth shouldn't you ask me that
before Miss Valborg?

Sannaes. I mean that--if not--I should like to speak to you here,
if it is convenient.

Tjaelde. Look here, Sannaes, you ought to try and get rid of your
shyness; it doesn't suit a business man. A business man should be
smart and active, and not let his wits go wool-gathering because he
finds himself in the same room with a woman. I have often noticed
it in you.--Now, what is it? Out with it!

Sannaes. You are not coming to the office this morning, sir?

Tjaelde. No, there is no post goes out before this evening.

Sannaes. No. But there are some bills of exchange--

Tjaelde. Bills? No.

Sannaes. Yes, sir--that fourth one of Moeller's that was protested,
and the big English one.

Tjaelde (angrily). Have they not been met yet? What does this mean?

Sannaes. The manager of the bank wanted to see you first, sir!

Tjaelde. Have you gone crazy--? (Collects himself.) There must be
some misunderstanding, Sannaes.

Sannaes. That is what I thought; so I spoke about it to the chief
clerk, and to Mr. Holst as well.

Tjaelde. And Mr. Holst said--?

Sannaes. The same thing.

Tjaelde (walking up and down). I will go and see him--or rather, I
_won't_ go and see him; because this is evidently something that--.
We have some days' grace yet, haven't we?

Sannaes. Yes, sir.

Tjaelde. And still no telegram from Mr. Lind?

Sannaes. No, sir.

Tjaelde (to himself). I can't understand it. (Aloud.) We will
negotiate this matter direct with Christiania, Sannaes. That is
what we will do--and leave these little local banks alone in
future. That will do, Sannaes! (Makes a gesture of dismissal. Then
says to himself:) That damned Moeller! It has made them all
suspicious! (Turns round and sees SANNAES still there.) What are
you waiting for?

Sannaes. It is settling day--and I have no money in the safe.

Tjaelde. No money in the safe! A big business like this, and
nothing in the safe on settling day! What kind of management is
that, I should like to know? Must I teach you the A B C of business
over and over again? One can never take a half day off, or hand
over the control! of the tiniest part of the business--! I have no
one, absolutely no one, that I can rely on! How have you let things
get into such a state?

Sannaes. Well, there was a third bill, which expired to-day--Holm
and Co., for L400. I had relied upon the bank, unfortunately--so
there was nothing for it but to empty the safe--here and at the
brewery as well.

Tjaelde (walking about restlessly). Hm--hm--hm!--Now, who can have
put that into Holst's head?--Very well, that will do. (Dismisses
SANNAES, who goes out but comes back immediately.)

Sannaes (whispering). Here is Mr. Berent!

Tjaelde (surprised). Coming here?

Sannaes. He is just coming up the steps! (Goes out by the further
door on the right.)

Tjaelde. (calls after him in a whisper). Send up some wine and
cakes!--It is just as I suspected! (Catches sight of himself in a
mirror.) Good Lord, how bad I look! (Turns away painfully from the
mirror; looks in it again, forces a smile to his face, and so,
smiling, goes towards the verandah, where BERENT is seen coming in
slowly from the left.)

Tjaelde (greeting BERENT politely but with reserve). I feel
honoured at receiving a visit from so distinguished a man.

Berent. Mr. Tjaelde, I believe?

Tjaelde. At your service! My eldest daughter has just been
telling me that she had seen you walking about my property.

Berent. Yes; an extensive property--and an extensive business.

Tjaelde. Too extensive, Mr. Berent. Too many-sided. But one thing
has led to another. Pray sit down.

Berent. Thank you; it is very warm to-day. (A maid brings in cakes
and wine, and puts them on the table.)

Tjaelde. Let me give you a glass of wine?

Berent. No, thank you.

Tjaelde. Or something to eat?

Berent. Nothing, thank you.

Tjaelde (taking out his cigar-case). May I offer you a cigar? I can
answer for their quality.

Berent. I am very fond of a good cigar. But for the moment I will
not take anything, thank you! (A pause. TJAELDE takes a seat.)

Tjaelde (in a quiet, confidential voice). Have you been long here,
Mr. Berent?

Berent. Only a day or two. You have been away, have you not?

Tjaelde. Yes--that unhappy affair of Mr. Moeller's. A meeting of
creditors after the sale.

Berent. Times are hard just now.

Tjaelde. Extraordinarily so!

Berent. Do you think that Moeller's failure will bring down any
more firms with it-besides those we know of already, I mean?

Tjaelde. I don't think so. His--his misfortune was an exceptional
case in every respect.

Berent. It has made the banks a little nervous, I hear.

Tjaelde. I dare say.

Berent. Of course you know the state of affairs here better than
any one.

Tjaelde. (with a smile). I am very much indebted to you for your
flattering confidence in me.

Berent. I suppose all this might have a bad effect upon the
export trade of this part of the country?

Tjaelde. Yes--it is really hard to tell; but the important thing
certainly is to keep every one on their legs.

Berent. That is your opinion?

Tjaelde. Undoubtedly.

Berent. As a general rule a crisis of this sort shows up the
unsound elements in a commercial community.

Tjaelde (with a smile). And for that reason this crisis should be
allowed to take its natural course, you mean?

Berent. That is my meaning.

Tjaelde. Hm!--In some places it is possible that the dividing line
between the sound firms and the unsound may not be very distinct.

Berent. Can there really be any danger of such a thing here?

Tjaelde. Well--you are expecting too much of my knowledge of
affairs; but I should be inclined to think that there may. (A
pause.)

Berent. I have been instructed by the banks to prepare an opinion
upon the situation--a fact which I have, so far, only confided to
you.

Tjaelde. I am much obliged.

Berent. The smaller local banks here have combined, and are acting
in concert.

Tjaelde. Indeed? (A pause.) I suppose you have seen Mr. Holst,
then?

Berent. Of course. (A pause.) If we are to assist the sound firms
and leave the others to their fate, the best way will certainly be
for all alike to disclose their actual position.

Tjaelde. Is that Mr. Holst's opinion too?

Berent. It is. (A pause.) I have advised him for the present--at
all events till we have all the balance-sheets--to say "no" to
every request for an advance, without exception.

Tjaelde. (with a look of relief). I understand!

Berent. Only a temporary measure, of course--

Tjaelde. Quite so!

Berent. --but one that must apply to every one impartially.

Tjaelde. Admirable!

Berent. Not to treat every one alike would be to run the danger of
throwing premature suspicion on individuals.

Tjaelde. I quite agree.

Berent. I am delighted to hear it. Then you will not misunderstand
me if I ask you also to prepare a balance-sheet which shall show
the actual position of your firm.

Tjaelde. With the greatest pleasure, if by doing so I can assist
the general welfare.

Berent. I assure you, you can. It is by such means that public
confidence is strengthened.

Tjaelde. When do you want the balance-sheet? Of course, it can
only be a summary one.

Berent. Naturally. I will give myself the pleasure of calling for
it.

Tjaelde. By no means. I can let you have it at once, if you like. I
am in the habit of frequently drawing up summary balance-sheets of
that kind--as prices rise and fall, you know.

Berent. Indeed? (Smiles.) You know, of course, what they say of
swindlers--that they draw up three balance-sheets everyday, and
all different! But you are teaching me, apparently--

Tjaelde (laughing). --that others too, may have that bad habit!--
though I haven't actually got as far as three a day!

Berent. Of course I was only joking. (Gets up.)

Tjaelde (getting up). Of course. I will send it to the hotel in an
hour's time; for I suppose you are staying in our only so-called
hotel! Would you not care, for the rest of your stay, to move
your things over here and make yourself at home in a couple of
empty spare rooms that I have?

Bercnt. Thank you, but the length of my stay is so uncertain; and
the state of my health imposes habits upon me which are
embarrassing to every one, and to myself most of all, when I am
among strangers.

Tjaelde. But at all events I hope you will dine with us to-day? I
expect one or two friends. And perhaps a short sail afterwards; it
is very pretty among the islands here.

Berent. Thank you, but my health won't allow me such dissipations.

Tjaelde. Ha, ha!--Well, if I can be of any further service to you--?

Berent. I should be glad to have a talk with you before I leave,
preferably as soon as possible.

Tjaelde (somewhat surprised). You mean, after you have received
all the balance-sheets?

Berent. I have already managed to get most of them quietly, through
Mr. Holst.

Tjaelde (more surprised). Oh--so you mean to-day--?

Berent. Would five o'clock suit you?

Tjaelde. I am quite at your disposal! I will give myself the
pleasure of calling upon you at five.

Berent. No, I will come here at five o'clock. (Bows, and turns to
go.)

Tjaelde (following him). But you are the invalid--the older man--
and a distinguished man--

Berent. But you are at home here. Good-bye!

Tjaelde. Let me thank you for the honour you have done me by
calling upon me!

Berent. Please don't bother to see me out.

Tjaelde. Allow me to escort you?

Berent. I can find the way quite well, thank you.

Tjaelde. No doubt, no doubt-but I should feel it an honour!

Berent. As you please! (As they are about to go down the verandah
steps they are met by SIGNE and HAMAR, who are coming up arm in
arm. Each couple draws aside to make room for the other.)

Tjaelde. Let me introduce--no, I am sure Mr. Berent needs no
introduction. This is my youngest daughter--and her fiance,
Lieutenant Hamar.

Berent. I thought your regiment was at the manoeuvres, Lieutenant?

Hamar. I have got furlough--

Berent. On account of urgent business, no doubt! Good day!

Tjaelde. Ha, ha, ha! (He and BERENT go down the steps.)

Hamar. Insolent fellow! But he is like that to every one.

Signe. Not to my father, as far as I could see.

Hamar. Your father is insolent too.

Signe. You shan't say such things of father!

Hamar. What else do you call it, to laugh at such impertinence as
Berent's.

Signe. I call it good spirits! (Sits down in a rocking-chair and
begins rocking herself.)

Hamar. Oh, then, so you--. You are not very agreeable to-day.

Signe (still rocking herself). No; do you know, sometimes I get so
bored with you.

Hamar. Yet you won't let me go away?

Signe. Because I should be still worse bored without you.

Hamar. Let me tell you this, I am not going to put up much longer
with the way I am treated here!

Signe. Very well. (Takes off her engagement ring and holds it
between her finger and her thumb, as she rocks herself and hums a
tune.)

Hamar. Oh, I don't say anything about _you_; but look at Valborg!
Look at your father! He hasn't even as much as offered me a mount
on his new horse!

Signe. He has had something else to think about--possibly something
even more important than that. (Goes on humming.)

Hamar. Oh, do be nice, Signe! You must admit that my feelings are
very natural. Indeed, to speak quite candidly--because I know I can
say anything to you--it seems to me that, as I am to be his
son-in-law and am in a cavalry regiment, and as he has no sons of
his own, I might almost expect that--that he would make me a
present of the horse.

Signe. Ha, ha, ha!

Hamar. Does it seem so unreasonable to you?

Signe. Ha, ha, ha!

Hamar. Why do you laugh at what I say, Signe? It seems to me that
it would reflect very well on your family if, when my friends
admired my horse, I could say: "My father-in-law made me a present
of it." Because, you know, there isn't a finer horse in the whole
of Norway.

Signe. And that is the reason why you should have it? Ha, ha, ha!

Hamar. I won't stand it!

Signe. The peerless lieutenant on the peerless horse! Ha, ha, ha!

Hamar. Signe, be quiet!

Signe. You are so funny! (Begins to hum again.)

Hamar. Listen, Signe! No one has so much influence with your father
as you.--Oh, do listen! Can't you talk seriously for a moment?

Signe. I should like to! (Goes on humming.)

Hamar. My idea was that, if that horse were mine, I would stay here
for the summer and break it in thoroughly. (SIGNE stops rocking
herself and humming. HAMAR comes up to her chair and leans over
her.) In that case I would not go back till the autumn, and then
you could come with the horse and me into town. Wouldn't that be
delightful?

Signe (after looking at him for a moment). Oh, yes, my dear, you
always have such delightful ideas!

Hamar. Don't I! But the whole thing depends, of course, on whether
you can get the horse from your father. Will you try, darling?

Signe. And then you would stay here all the summer?

Hamar. All the summer!

Signe. So as to break in the horse.

Hamar. Just to break in the horse!

Signe. And I would go with you into town in the autumn--that was
what you said, wasn't it?

Hamar. Yes; wouldn't it be jolly?

Signe. Shall you take the bay horse to stay with your Aunt Ulla
too?

Hamar (laughing). What?

Signe. Well, you have spent your furlough here simply for the sake
of that horse--I know that well enough--and you propose to stay
here, just to break it in-and then you propose that the horse and I
should go to your aunt's--

Hamar. But, Signe, what do you--?

Signe (beginning to rock herself furiously). Ugh! Go away!

Hamar. Jealous of a horse! Ha, ha, ha!

Signe. Go away to the stables.

Hamar. Is that meant for a punishment? Because it would be more
amusing there than it is here.

Signe (throwing down her ring). There! Let your horse wear that!

Hamar. Every time you throw down that ring--

Signe. Oh, you have said that so often! I am tired of that too!
(Turns her chair round so as to turn her back on him.)

Hamar. You are such a spoilt child that it would be absurd to take
everything you say seriously--

Signe. I am sick of that too, I tell you--for the hundred and
twentieth time! Go away!

Hamar. But can't you see how ridiculous it is of you to be jealous
of a horse? Have you ever heard of anyone else behaving like that?

Signe (jumping up). Oh, you make me want to shout and scream!
I feel so ashamed of you! (Stamps her foot.) I despise you!

Hamar (laughing). And all on account of the horse?

Signe. No, on your own account--yours, yours! I feel so miserable
sometimes, I should like to throw myself down on the floor and
cry--or run away and never come back! Can't you let me alone!
Can't you go away!

Hamar. Yes--and I have not picked up the ring this time, either!

Signe. Oh, do go!--go, go, go! (Bursts out crying and sits down.)

Hamar. All right!--I see the steamer in the distance; I shall go
home at once.

Signe. Oh, you know as well as I do that that steamer goes the
other way! Oh! (Cries. The masts and funnel of a steamer come
into sight, and a trail of smoke passes over the sky. TJAELDE'S
voice is heard outside, calling: "Hurry up! Take the lieutenant's
boat; it is ready!" SIGNE jumps up.)

Hamar. They are going to fetch some one from the steamer!
(TJAELDE'S voice is heard again: "You get the boat out! He is
coming here!" HAMAR runs to pick up the ring and comes back
hurriedly to SIGNE.) Signe!

Signe. No, I won't!

Hamar. Signe, dear! What does this mean? What is it that I have
done?

Signe. I don't know, but I am wretchedly unhappy! (Bursts into
tears.)

Hamar. But you know that in the end I always do what you want? What
more can you wish than that?

Signe. I can't help it, I wish I were dead! It is always the same
thing! (In tears again.)

Hamar. But, Signe--you who have told me hundreds of times that
you loved me!

Signe. And so I do. But sometimes our engagement seems horrible!--
No, don't come near me!

Hamar. Signe! (TJAELDE'S voice is heard outside: "Of course, put
your best coat on!" He calls louder: "Sannaes!" An answering voice
is heard in the distance. TJAELDE continues: "Don't forget your
gloves!") Dry your eyes, Signe! Don't let him see you have been
crying. (He tries to give her the ring, but she turns away, wiping
her eyes. TJAELDE comes up the steps on to the verandah.)

Tjaelde. Oh, there you are! That's right. Mr. Lind is arriving by
this steamer--I had a telegram from him just now. (Calls out over
the verandah.) Come along with those flags! And get this boat out
of the way and unstep her mast! She is moored up tight! (HAMAR runs
to help him.) Yes, you cast her off! (HAMAR does so, and the boat
is hauled away to the right. TJAELDE comes forward into the room.)
Signe! (Looks at her.) What? Squabbling again?

Signe. Father!

Tjaelde. Well, this is no time for tomfoolery of that sort! You
must all do the honours of the house to-day. Tell Valborg--

Signe. Tell her yourself, please! You know Valborg only does
just what she likes.

Tjaelde. Don't talk such rubbish! This is an important moment--
and you will all do as _I_ say! Tell Valborg that she is to make
herself look nice and come to me here. And you do the same. (She
goes.) Signe!

Signe (stopping). Yes?

Tjaelde. We must ask five or six more people to dinner. You must
send word to Mr. Finne that we shall dine punctually at three
o'clock, instead of four. Mr. Lind has to go away again by the
next boat, at five o'clock. Do you understand?

Signe. But has mother enough in the house for so many?

Tjaelde. It is not a mere question of there being enough--it must
be a very good dinner. I expect my larder to be kept thoroughly
well stocked all through the summer. How often am I to repeat that?

Signe (trying to repress her fears). But mother is feeling so ill
to-day--

Tjaelde. Oh! don't begin about that everlasting "feeling ill."
There is no time to-day to feel ill. Now, be quick! (SIGNE goes out
by the farther door. TJAELDE turns to HAMAR.) Get a pen and ink and
some paper! We must draw up a list of guests, at once!

Hamar (looking about). There is none here.

Tjaelde (impatiently). Fetch some, then! (HAMAR goes into the next
room. TJAELDE, after a long sigh of relief, reads a telegram he has
in his hand. His hand trembles as he reads it slowly, repeating
some passages twice.) "Letter received just as starting. Before
taking charge of affairs, must have interview. Coming to-day
earliest boat, return five o'clock. Have clear statement ready.
Lind." I can hardly read it--but it is true! Yes, if I can only
work this properly all doors will be open to me! (To HAMAR, who has
come back.) Ah, there you are! It would take too long to write
invitations. We will just draw up a list of names and one of my
clerks shall run round to them all. Now then! (Dictates.) The
Vicar--Oh, by the way, what is the champagne like?

Hamar. Do you mean the new lot?

Tjaelde. Yes.

Hamar. The Vicar praised it highly.

Tjaelde. Good. Well, then--

Hamar (writing). The Vicar.

Tjzlde. Mr. Ring.

Hamar. Mr. Ring.

Tjaelde. And--and--

Hamar. Mr. Holst?

Tjaelde. No, not Holst. (HAMAR appears greatly astonished. TJAELDE
says to himself:) I can show him now that I have no need of him!
(Suddenly, to HAMAR.) Mr. Holm. (To himself.) Holst's enemy!

Hamar. Mr. Holm.

Tjaelde (to himself). Although Holm is a boor. Still, it will
annoy Holst. (Aloud.) The Chief Constable.

Hamar. The Chief--

Tjaelde. No, strike out the Chief Constable.

Hamar. Chief Constable struck out.

Tjaelde. Have we got the Vicar down?

Hamar. He is number one on the list.

Tjaelde. Of course, yes.

Hamar. What about the Magistrate?

Tjaelde. No, he lives too far off. Besides, unless he is the guest
of honour and can talk shop all the time--. No! But, let me see.
Mr. Knutzon--Knutzon with a "z."

Hamar. Knutzon with a "z."

Tjaelde. Oh!--and--Knudsen, too! Knudsen with an "s."

Hamar. Knudsen with an "s."

Tjaelde. How many have we got?

Hamar. The Vicar, Ring, Holm, the Chief--oh, no, the Chief
Constable was struck out; Knutzon with a "z," Knudsen with an
"s "--that is one, two, three, four, five, six.

Tjaelde. And Finne, you, and I make nine. We must have twelve.

Hamar. What about some ladies?

Tjaelde. No; ladies are out of place at a business dinner. They
may do the honours afterwards, when we have got to the cigarette
stage. But whom shall we--?

Hamar. That new lawyer fellow? He's a smart chap--I can't remember
his name?

Tjaelde. No, he always wants to be speechifying wherever he goes.--
Ah, Mr. Pram, the custom-house officer!

Hamar. That man? He always gets drunk!

Tjaelde. Yes, but he doesn't get noisy with it. He does no harm--
quite the contrary! Yes, put down Pram.

Hamar. Mr. Pram.

Tjaelde. It is a very difficult task, in such a small town, when
you want to get a good set of people together. Ah!--Falbe! I forgot
him. He is very neat, and no opinions.

Hamar. Neat in his dress, do you mean?

Tjaelde. Yes, in his dress too-but I meant it more generally. Now,
for the twelfth--Morten Schultz?

Hamar. Morten Schultz! (Gets up.) No, really, I must take the
liberty of protesting against him! Do you really know what he did
the last time he was here, when you had a lot of guests? In the
middle of dinner he took out his false teeth and began showing them
to his neighbours. He wanted to have them passed round the table!
If that is your idea of a good set of people--well!

Tjaelde. Yes, he is rather a rough diamond. But he is the richest
man about here.

Hamar (who has sat down again). Well in that case he really ought
to afford himself a new wig! It is far from pleasant to sit beside
him, I can assure you!

Tjaelde. Yes, I know he is a pig; but he is wide awake, and this
would flatter him! You see, my young friend, when a man is very rich
you must make certain allowances for him.

Hamar. I can't understand what _you_ can hope to get out of him.

Tjaelde. Hm, hm!--No, well, perhaps we had better leave him out?

Hamar. Certainly!

Tjaelde (to himself). Although Lind would understand the
significance of Morten Schultz's being here--

Hamar. And the things he says! Ladies have to leave the room!

Tjaelde. Yes, you are right. (Mutters to himself.) And, after all,
I don't need him any longer. (Aloud.) But what about our twelfth,
then? Let me see--.

Hamar. Christopher Hansen?

Tjaelde. Oh, Lord! no. We should have to talk politics. No, let me
see--. Yes, I think I might risk it! Hm, hm--yes, just the man!
Jakobsen, the brewery manager.

Hamar. Jakobsen?

Tjaelde. Hm, hm! Jakobsen will do very well. I know Jakobsen.

Hamar. Oh, he is a very good fellow--we all know that, but in
polite society--!

Tjaelde. Hm, hm, hm!--Put him down!

Hamar (writing). Jakobsen. There, then! (Gets up.)

Tjaelde. Now let Skogstad go with the list! Remember, three o'clock
punctually! And be quick! (Calls after HAMAR, who is going out.)
And come back when you have given him the list! There may be
something more to do! (HAMAR goes out by the nearer door. TJAELDE
takes a letter out of his pocket.) Ah, of course! Shall I send the
balance-sheet to Berent? I am independent of the banks now. Still,
I am not out of the wood yet. And, anyway, it is a very pretty
balance-sheet! Holst would be sure to see it, and that might be
useful--and it might annoy him, too. Besides, if I don't send it,
they will think that my promising to send it had put me into a
hole, and that Lind had helped me out of it. I risk least by
sending it. (HAMAR comes back.) Look here, let him take this
letter, too. It is for Mr. Berent, at the Hotel Victoria.

Hamar. Is this an invitation? Because, if it is, we shall be
thirteen at table.

Tjaelde. It is not an invitation. Be quick, before he goes. (HAMAR
goes out again.) Oh, if only it succeeds! Lind is the sort of man
one can persuade--and I must, I must persuade him! (Looks at his
watch.) I have four whole hours to do it in. I have never felt so
hopeful--not for a long time. (Is lost in thought; then says
quietly:) After all, sometimes a crisis is a good thing--like a big
wave that carries one on!--They have all had their suspicions
aroused now, and are all ready to get into a panic. (Sighs.) If
only I could get safely out of my difficulties without any one's
suspecting it!--Oh, this anxious fear, night and day!--all this
mystery, these shifts, these concealments, this farce I have to
keep up! I go about my business as if I were in a dream.
(Despairingly.) This shall be the last time--my last performance
of this sort! No more of it!--I only need a helping hand now, and
I have got it! But _have_ I got it? that is the question. Oh! if
only, after this, I could know what it was to have a good night's
sleep and to wake in the morning free from anxiety!--to join them
at meals with an easy conscience!--come home in the evening and
feel that it was all done with! If only I had something to take my
stand upon that I could call my own--really and truly my own! I
hardly dare to believe that there is a chance--I have so often been
disappointed! (HAMAR comes back.)

Hamar. There--that's done!

Tjaelde. Good Lord, what about a salute from our cannon? We must
give him a salute!

Hamar. We have powder.

Tjaelde. Then send word up at once to Ole to see about it! (They
hurry out. The curtain falls.)


ACT II

SCENE I

(SCENE.--The same room. The table, which has been drawn to one
side, is covered with bottles of champagne aged dishes of fruit.
MRS. TJAELDE and SIGNE, with a man-servant and a maid, are busy
preparing it. Through the door on the right a lively conversation
can be heard, and occasional bursts of laughter.)

Mrs. Tjaelde (in a tired voice). Now I think it is all ready.

Signe. They are talking a long time over their dinner.

Mrs. Tjaelde (looking at her watch). Yes, they will only have half
an hour for their dessert, because Mr. Lind has to leave at five
o'clock.

Signe. Ah, they have finished at last! Listen, they are getting up
from the table. (Amidst the loud noise of conversation the noise of
chairs being pushed back is audible.) Here they come!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes; let us retreat. (The maid goes out by the
farther door; SIGNE helps MRS. TJAELDE out after her. The
man-servant begins opening the champagne. The guests come in from
the dining-room, headed by LIND escorted by TJAELDE, whom he is
assuring that the dinner was excellent, to which TJAELDE replies
that it is impossible to do much in a small country town. Both look
at their watches, and observe that there is only half an hour left.
TJAELDE vainly endeavours to persuade LIND to stay longer. Close
behind them come HOLM and RING, engaged in an animated dispute
about timber prices, the former maintaining that they will fall
still lower, the latter that they will rise speedily owing to the
fall in the prices of coal and iron, a point of view which the
former vigorously controverts. Immediately behind them comes the
VICAR, escorted by HAMAR, who is a little tipsy. The VICAR is
assuring him that he has no objection to parishioners repudiating
the obligation to attend the services of their own priest, so long
as they are compelled to pay him for those services whether they
avail themselves of them or not; because order, which is an
essential characteristic of the Heavenly Kingdom, must be
maintained. HAMAR tries to get in a word or two about the bay
horse, but without success. At the same time KNUTZON and FALBE are
deep in a discussion about a dancer whom FALBE has seen at Hamburg.
He is maintaining that she can leap six feet into the air, which
KNUTZON ventures to doubt, but FALBE says there is no doubt about
it, and he knows because he has once sat at the same dinner-table
with her. FINNE, KNUDSEN, and JAKOBSEN follow them. JAKOBSEN is
heard challenging any one to contradict him, while the others
eagerly protest that he has entirely misunderstood their meaning.
He affirms stoutly that he doesn't care a damn what they meant, but
that his employer is the greatest business man and the finest
fellow in the world, or at all events in Norway. PRAM comes in by
himself, wrapt in tipsy contemplation. They all talk at the same
time.)

Tjaelde (rapping on a glass). Gentlemen! (There is a sudden
silence, except for the sound of the voices of FALBE and JAKOBSEN,
who are hushed down by the others.) Gentlemen! I am sorry dinner
has occupied such a long time.

All (unanimously). No, no!

Tjaelde. Our distinguished guest has, unfortunately, to leave us in
half an hour, so I should like to take the opportunity of saying a
few words. Gentlemen, we have a prince among us to-day. I say a
prince, because if it is true that it is the financiers that rule
the world--and it is true, gentlemen--

Pram (who is standing well forward, supporting himself by the edge
of the table, says solemnly:) Yes.

Tjaelde. --then our friend here is a prince! There is not a single
important undertaking that he has not initiated, or at any rate
backed with his name.

Pram (lifting his glass). Mr. Lind, may I have the honour--?

Voices. Sh! Sh!

Tjaelde. Yes, gentlemen, his name backs every enterprise. It would
be impossible to carry one through that had not his backing.

Pram (solemnly). His backing.

Tjaelde. Am I not right, then, in describing him as a prince?

Falbe (in a feeble voice). Yes.

Tjaelde. Gentlemen, to-day his name is once more exercising its
powerful, I might say its creative, influence upon circumstances.
I may say that at this moment the country holds no truer benefactor
than he.

Pram. Great man.

Tjaelde. Let us drink his health! May prosperity attend him and
his, and may his name be deathless in Norway! Mr. Lind!

All. Mr. Lind! Mr. Lind! (They all drink his health effusively.)

Tjaelde (to HAMAR, whom he pulls forward somewhat roughly, as the
others begin to help themselves to the dessert.) What has become of
the salute?

Hamar (in consternation).Good Lord, yes! (Rushes to the window, but
comes back.) I have no handkerchief. I must have laid it down in
the dining-room.

Tjaelde. Here is mine!(Feels in his pocket for it.) One cannot rely
on you for the least thing. The salute will be too late now. It is
disgraceful! (HAMAR goes to the window and waves the handkerchief
madly. At last the report of a cannon is heard. The guests are
standing in a group, holding their dessert plates.)

Holm. A little bit late!

Knutzon. Rather behind the moment--

Ring. A very important moment, however!

Holm. A very unexpected one, anyway!

Knutzon (jestingly). Allow me, amidst the cannon's roar, to
introduce to you a man who has been led by the nose!

Ring. Oh, Tjaelde knows what he is about!

Tjaelde. Mr. Lind is kind enough to wish to propose a toast. (They
all compose themselves into respectful silence.)

Lind. Our worthy host has proposed my health in most flattering
terms. I would merely add this, that wealth is entrusted to those
who have it precisely in order that they may support industry,
genius, and great undertakings.

Pram (who has never changed his position). Nobly said.

Lind. I am only an administrator of a trust, and too often a weak
and short-sighted one.

Pram. Beautiful.

Lind. But I shall not be mistaken if I say that Mr. Tjaelde's
many-sided activities, which we must all admire, rest upon a sound
foundation; and of that fact no one, at the present moment, is
better able to judge than I. (The guests look at one another in
surprise.) Therefore I have no hesitation in saying that his
activities are an honour to this town, to this district, to our
whole country, and that therefore his genius and his energy deserve
support. I propose the toast of "prosperity to the firm of
Tjaelde!"

All. Prosperity to the firm of Tjaelde!

(HAMAR signals again with the handkerchief, and a cannon shot is
heard.)

Tjaelde. I thank you heartily, Mr. Lind! I am profoundly touched.

Lind. I said no more than I am convinced of, Mr. Tjaelde!!

Tjaelde. Thank you! (To HAMAR.) What do you mean by signalling for
a salute for the host? Blockhead!

Hamar. You said there was to be a salute when a toast was proposed,
didn't you?

Tjaelde. Oh, you are a--!

Hamar (to himself). Well, if ever again I--!

Holm. Then it is an accomplished fact, I suppose?

Knutzon. _Fait accompli_! That toast represents twenty thousand
pounds, at least.

Ring. Yes, Tjaelde knows what he is about! I have always said that!
(FALBE is seen drinking ceremoniously with LIND. JAKOBSEN comes
forward, talking to KNUDSEN.)

Jakobsen (in a low voice). There isn't a word of truth in what you
say!

Knudsen. But, my dear Jakobsen, you misunderstand me!

Jakobsen (louder). Hang it, I know my people!

Knudsen. Don't talk so loud!

Jakobsen (still louder). What I say any one may hear!

Tjaelde. (at the same moment). The Vicar wishes to say a few words.

Knudsen (to JAKOBSEN). Hush! The Vicar wishes to say a few words.

Jakobsen. Have I got to hush because that damned--

Tjaelde (in a voice of authority). The Vicar wishes to speak.

Jakobsen. I beg your pardon!

The Vicar (in a feeble voice). As the spiritual adviser of this
household, I have the pleasing duty of invoking a blessing on the
gifts that have been so richly showered upon our host and his
friends. May they be to their souls' present good and eternal
welfare!

Pram. Amen.

The Vicar. I am going to ask you to drink the health of our host's
dear children--those lovely girls whose welfare has been the object
of my prayers ever since they were confirmed--ever since that
memorable day when household and religious duties began to walk
side by side.

Pram. Ah, yes!

The Vicar. May they always in the future, as they have in the past,
grow in the holy fear of God and in meekness and gratitude towards
their parents!

All. Miss Valborg, Miss Signe!

Hamar (in a panic). Am I to signal?

Tjaelde. Oh, go to--!

Hamar. Well, if ever again--!

Tjaelde. Thank you very much, Mr. Vicar. Like you, I hope that
the intimate relations between parent and child that exist here--

The Vicar. It has always been a pleasure to me to come into your
most hospitable house.

Tjaelde. May I have the honour of drinking a glass of wine with
you? (They drink to each other.)

The Vicar. Excellent champagne, my dear sir!

Lind (to HOLM). It pains me to hear what you say. Is it possible
that this town, which owes so much to Mr. Tjaelde, repays him
with such ingratitude?

Holm (in a low voice). One never can quite confidently rely on him.

Lind. Really? I have heard others sing his praises so loudly, you
know.

Holm (as before). You misunderstand me. I mean his position--

Lind. His position? That must be merely envy! People are often so
unjust towards those whose enterprise has lifted them above the
heads of the crowd.

Holm. At any rate I assure you it was not from--

Lind (coldly). I don't doubt it. (Walks away from him.)

Jakobsen (with whom TJAELDE has just drunk). Gentlemen!

Knutzon (to HOLM, in passing). Is that boor really going to be
allowed to make a speech! (Going up to LIND.) May I have the honour
of drinking a glass of wine with you, Mr. Lind? (Several of the
guests begin to talk, ostentatiously indifferent to JAKOBSEN who is
trying to begin his speech.)

Jakobsen (in a formidable voice). Gentlemen! (Silence ensues, and
he continues in his usual voice.) Permit a common man to say a
word, too, on this festive occasion. I was a poor little boy when I
entered Mr. Tjaelde's employment; but he pulled me out of the
gutter. (Laughter.) I am-what I am, gentlemen! And therefore if
any here is qualified to talk about Mr. Tjaelde, it is I; because I
know him. I know he is a fine fellow.

Lind (to TJAELDE). Children and drunken men--

Tjaelde (laughing). --speak the truth!

Jakobsen. There are lots of people that will tell you one thing or
another about him--and, of course, he may have his failings like
all of us. But as I find myself in such fine company as this I am
going to say that--that--devil take me if Mr. Tjaelde isn't too
good for the lot of you! (Laughter.)

Tjaelde. That's enough, Jakobsen!

Jakobsen. No, it's not enough! Because there is one toast we have
all forgotten, although we have all had such a splendid dinner.
(Laughter. FALBE claps his hands and cries: "Bravo!") Yes, and it
is nothing to laugh at; because it is the toast of Mrs. Tjaelde's
health that we have not drunk!

Lind. Bravo!

Jakobsen. There's a wife and mother for you! I can tell you--and
it's true--she goes about the house attending to her duties and
preparing for our entertainment when all the time she is ill, and
she takes the whole thing on her shoulders and says nothing. God
bless her, I say!--and that is all I have to say.

Several of the Guests (raising their glasses). Mrs. Tjaelde! Mrs.
Tjaelde!

Pram (grasping JAKOBSEN by the hand). That was fine of you,
Jakobsen! (LIND joins them; PRAM steps aside respectfully.)

Lind. Will you drink a glass of wine with me, Jakobsen?

Jakobsen. Thank you, very much. I am only a common man--

Lind. But a good-hearted one! Your health! (They drink to each
other. A boat is seen putting in to shore below the verandah. Its
crew of six men stand up and toss their oars in naval fashion.
SANNAES is standing at the helm.)

Holm (in a whisper, to KNUTZON). Tjaelde knew what he was doing
when he invited Jakobsen!

Knutzon (whispering). Just look at the boat!

Ring. Tjaelde is a very clever fellow--a very clever fellow!
(VALBORG, SIGNE and MRS. TJAELDE are seen coming up the verandah
steps.)

Tjaelde. Gentlemen, the moment of departure is at hand; I see the
ladies coming to take leave of our distinguished guest. Let us take
this last opportunity of gathering around him--round our prince--
and thanking him for coming! Let us cheer him with three times
three! (Cheers.)

Lind. Thank you, gentlemen! There is so little time left that I
must confine myself to merely bidding you all good-bye. (To MRS.
TJAELDE.) Good-bye, my dear madam! You should have heard how your
health was proposed and drunk just now. My warmest thanks for
your hospitality, and forgive me for the trouble I have caused you.
(To SIGNE.) Good-bye, Miss Signe. I am sorry time has not permitted
me to have the honour of becoming better acquainted with you; you
seem so full of spirit! But if, as you said, you are soon coming to
Christiania--

Signe. I shall then do myself the honour of calling upon your wife.

Lind. Thank you, thank you--you will be most welcome. (To VALBORG.)
Are you not feeling well, Miss Valborg?

Valborg. Yes.

Lind. You look so serious. (As VALBORG does not reply, he continues
somewhat coldly:) Good-bye, Miss Valborg. (To HAMAR.) Good-bye,
Mr.--Mr.--

Tjaelde. Mr. Hamar.

Lind. Ah, the young man that talked to me about a horse--your
future son-in-law! Pray forgive me for not--

Hamar. Don't mention it!

Lind. Good-bye!

Hamar. A pleasant journey, sir!

Lind (coldly, to HOLM). Good-bye, Mr. Holm.

Holm (imperturbably polite). I wish you a very pleasant journey,
Mr. Lind.

Lind (to PRAM). Good-bye, Mr. Pram.

Pram (holds his hand, and seems as if he wanted to say something
but could not. At last he finds his voice). I want to thank you
for--for--I want to thank you for--for--

Lind. You are an excellent fellow!

Pram (in a relieved voice). I am so glad to hear it! Thank you.

Lind (to KNUTZON). Good-bye, Mr.--

Knutzon (hastily). Knutzon.

Pram. With a "z."

Lind (to KNUDSEN). Good-bye, Mr.--

Knudsen. Knudsen, again.

Pram. With an "s."

Lind (to FALBE). Mr--?

Falbe. Falbe.

Lind. Good-bye, Mr. Falbe! (To RING.) I am delighted to see you
looking so well, Mr. Ring.

Ring (with a low bow). The same to you, sir!

Lind. Good-bye, Mr. Vicar!

The Vicar (holding his hand, impressively). Let me wish you good
luck and happiness, Mr. Lind--

Lind. Thank you. (Tries to get away.)

The Vicar. --in your journey over the perilous seas to foreign
lands!

Lind. Thank you. (Tries to get away.)

The Vicar. Let me wish you a safe return, Mr. Lind--

Lind. Thank you very much. (Tries to get away.)

The Vicar. --to our dear fatherland; a land, Mr. Lind, which
possesses in you--

Lind. You must excuse me, Mr. Vicar, but time presses.

The Vicar. Let me thank you for the pleasure of our meeting
to-day, Mr. Lind, for--

Lind. Indeed, there is no occasion! Good-bye! (To JAKOBSEN.)
Good-bye, Jakobsen, good-bye!

Jakobsen. Good-bye, Mr. Lind! I am only a common man, I know; but
that is no reason why I shouldn't wish you a pleasant journey too,
is it?

Lind. Certainly not, Jakobsen.--Good-bye, Mr. Finne! By the way--
just a word! (In an undertone.) You said that Mr. Berent--.
(Takes him aside.)

Tjaelde (to HAMAR). Now, remember the salute this time!--No, no,
no! Don't be in such a hurry! Wait till the boat puts off! You
want to make a mess of it again!

Hamar. Well, if ever again I--!

Tjaelde (to LIND, who holds out his hand to him). Goodbye, Mr.
Lind! (In a low voice.) No one has so much reason to thank you
for your visit as I. You are the only one that can understand--.

Lind (a shade coldly). Don't mention it, Mr. Tjaelde! Good luck to
your business! (In warmer tones.) Good-bye everybody--and thank you
all for your kindness! (The footman, who has for some time been
holding out his hat to him, gives it him, and his coat to SANNAES.
LIND steps on board the boat.)

All. Good-bye, Mr. Lind, good-bye!

Tjaelde. One cheer more! (Cheers and a cannon salute are heard
together. The boat glides away. They all wave their handkerchiefs.
TJAELDE hurries into the room.) I have no handkerchief; that
blockhead has--. (Looks at VALBORG.) Why are you not waving?

Valborg. Because I don't wish to. (TJAELDE looks at her, but says
nothing. He goes into the other room and comes back with a
table-napkin in each hand, and hurries on to the verandah.)

Tjaelde (waving and shouting). Good-bye! Good-bye!

Signe. Let us go out to the point and see the last of them!

All. Yes, yes! (All but TJAELDE and VALBORG hurry off to the
right.)

Tjaelde (coming into the room). I saw Berent coming! (VALBORG
goes out by the door on the right. TJAELDE comes forward, throws
the napkins on to a table and himself into a chair.) Oh--oh! But
this must be the last time.--I shan't need this sort of thing any
more! Never again! (Gets up wearily.) Ah, I had forgotten. Berent!

[The Curtain falls.]

[The interval between this scene and the next should be as short as
possible.]


SCENE II

(SCENE.-TJAELDE'S private office. On the left, a desk strewn with
ledgers and papers. On the right, a stove. An easy chair by the
stove. A table in the foreground to the right; on it an inkstand
and pens. Two armchairs; one at the table facing the audience, the
other at the side of the table. Windows on either side of the desk;
a door beyond the stove. A door in the background, leading to other
offices. A bell-pull hangs down the wall. A chair on either side of
the door. Quite at the back, on the left, a staircase leading
direct to TJAELDE'S bedroom. BERENT and TJAELDE come in from the
back.)

Tjaelde. You must excuse my receiving you here. But the other
rooms are all upside down; we have had some people to dinner.

Berent. I heard you had guests.

Tjaelde. Yes, Mr. Lind from Christiana.

Berent. Quite so.

Tjaelde. Won't you sit down? (BERENT lays down his hat and coat
on a chair by the door. He comes slowly forward, sits down at the
side of the table, and takes some papers from his breast-pocket.
TJAELDE sits down at the other chair by the table and watches him
indifferently.)

Berent. What we now want is some fixed standard by which to make
our valuations, especially of real estate. Have you any objection
to our making your business a basis for arriving at that?

Tjaelde. None at all.

Berent. Then may I make my comments on your own figures, and ask
you a few questions about them?

Tjaelde. By all means.

Berent. Well, to begin with, let us take your properties
immediately round here; they will give us the best idea of local
values. For instance, take the Mjoelstad forest; you have put that
down, I see, at L16,500.

Tjaelde (indifferently). Have I?

Berent. You bought it for L10,000.

Tjaelde. Yes, four years ago. Timber prices ruled low then.

Berent. And since then you have cut down more than L20,000
worth of timber there.

Tjaelde. Who told you so?

Berent. Mr. Holst.

Tjaelde. Holst knows nothing about it.

Berent. We must try to be very accurate, you know.

Tjaelde. Well, of course, the whole valuation is not my concern;
but those whom it does concern will protest.

Berent (taking no notice of his objection). So I think we will
reduce the L16,500 to L10,000.

Tjaelde. To L10,000! (Laughs.) As you please.

Berent. Calculating by the same standard, we can scarcely put
down the Stav forest at more than L4000.

Tjaelde. Allow me to say that, if that is the way you are going to
make your valuation, everybody in the place will have to go
bankrupt!

Berent (with a smile). We will risk that. You have put down your
wharf and its contents at L12,000.

Tjaelde. Including two ships in course of construction--

Berent. --for which it would be difficult to find a purchaser, as
they are so far from completion.

Tjaelde. Indeed?

Berent. So I think we cannot put down the wharf and its contents
at a higher figure than L8,000--and I believe even that will turn
out to be too high.

Tjaelde. If you can find me another wharf as well stocked, and
with the advantages that this one has, I will buy it whenever you
like for L8000; I am certain I should be more than L4000 to the
good over the bargain.

Berent. May I go on?

Tjaelde. If you like! I even feel a certain curiosity to view my
possessions under such an entirely new light.

Berent. As a matter of fact the items that are too highly valued
are just those that comprise this property that you live on--its
land, its gardens, its dwelling houses, warehouses, and quays-not
to mention the brewery and the factory, which I shall come to
later. Even regarded as business premises they seem to me to be
over-valued.

Tjaelde. Well?

Berent, Moreover, the luxurious appointments of this house of
yours, which would very probably be superfluous for any one else,
cannot possibly be counted upon to realise their full value in a
sale. Suppose--as is indeed most likely--that it were a countryman
that bought the place?

Tjaelde. You are reckoning me as turned out of it already, then!

Berent. I am obliged to base all my calculations on what the
property would fetch if sold now.

Tjaelde (getting up). What may you happen to value it at then?

Berent. At less than half your valuation; that is to say at--

Tjaelde. You must really forgive me if I use an expression which
has been on the tip of my tongue for some time: this is scandalous!
You force yourself into a man's house, and then, under pretext of
asking for his opinion, you practically--on paper--rob him of his
possessions!

Berent. I don't understand you. I am trying to arrive at a basis
for values hereabouts; and you said yourself, did you not, that it
is a matter that does not concern you alone?

Tjaelde. Certainly; but even in jest--if I may be allowed the
expression--one does not take the statement that an honourable
man has voluntarily offered and treat it as a mendacious document.

Berent. There are many different points of view from which
valuations can be made, obviously. I see nothing more in it than
that.

Tjaelde. But don't you understand that this is like cutting into my
living flesh? Bit by bit, my property has been brought together
or created by my own work, and preserved by the most strenuous
exertions on my part under terribly trying conditions--it is bound
up with my family, with all that is dear to me--it has become a
part of my very life!

Berent (with a bow). I understand that perfectly. You have put
down the Brewery at--

Tjaelde. No; I refuse to allow you to go on in this way. You must
find some one else's property as a basis for your calculations--
you must consult some one else, whose idea of business corresponds
somewhat closer to your own ridiculous one.

Berent (leaning back in his chair). That is a pity. The banks were
anxious to be acquainted with your answers to my observations.

Tjaelde. Have you sent my statement to the banks?

Berent. With my remarks and comments on it, and Mr. Holst's.

Tjaelde. This has been a trap, then? I believed I had to deal with
a gentleman!

Berent. The banks or I, what is the difference? It comes to the
same thing, as I represent them unreservedly.

Tjaelde. Such impudent audacity is unpardonable!

Berent. I would suggest that we avoid hard words--at all events,
for the moment--and rather consider the effect that will be
produced by the balance-sheet sent in.

Tjaelde. That some of us will see!

Berent. The banking house of Lind & Co., for instance?

Tjaelde. Do you mean to say that my balance-sheet, ornamented with
marginal notes by you and Holst, is to be submitted to Mr. Lind's
firm too?

Berent. When the cannon-salutes and noise of your festivities
enlightened me as to the situation, I took the liberty of making
some inquiries of the banks.

Tjaelde. So you have been spying here, too? You have been trying to
undermine my business connections?

Berent. Is your position such, then, that you are afraid?

Tjaelde. The question is not my position, but your behaviour!

Berent. I think we had better keep to the point. You have put
down the Brewery at--

Tjaelde. No; your conduct is so absolutely underhanded that, as an
honest man, I must refuse all further dealing with you. I am, as I
said before, accustomed to have to deal with gentlemen.

Berent. I think you misunderstand the situation. Your indebtedness
to the banks is so considerable that a settlement of it may
reasonably be required of you. But to effect that you must work
with us in the matter.

Tjaelde (after a moment's thought). Very well! But, no more
details--let me know your conclusions, briefly.

Berent. My conclusions, briefly, are that you have estimated
your assets at L90,800. I estimate them at L40,600.

Tjaelde (quietly). That is to say, you make me out to have a
deficit of about L30,000?

Berent. As to that, I must point out that your estimate of your
liabilities does not agree with mine, either.

Tjaelde (quietly). Oh, of course not!

Berent. For instance, the dividend that Moeller's estate is to
yield to you.

Tjaelde. No more details! What do you put my total liabilities at?

Berent. Let me see. Your total liabilities amount, according to
your calculations, to L70,000. I estimate them at L80,000--to be
precise, at L79,372.

Tjaelde. That puts my deficit at about--

Berent. At about L39,400--or, in round figures, L40,000.

Tjaelde. Oh, by all means let us stick to round figures!

Berent. So that the difference between your views of your
balance-sheet and mine is that, whereas you give yourself a
surplus of about L20,000, I give you a deficit of about L40,000.

Tjaelde. Thank you very much.--Do you know my opinion of the whole
matter? (BERENT looks up at him.) That I am in this room with a
madman.

Berent. I have had the same opinion for some time.--The stock of
timber you hold in France I have not been able to deal with; you
have forgotten to include it in your account. Perhaps it may make
a little difference.

Tjaelde. It is of no consequence! I have often enough heard people
speak of your callousness and your heartlessness; but their account
of you has come nowhere near the truth. I don't know why I have not
turned you out of my house long before this; but you will have the
goodness to leave it now!

Berent. We shall both leave presently. But before we do, we must
discuss the question of handing over the house to the Receiver in
Bankruptcy.

Tjaelde. Ha, ha, ha! Allow me to inform you that at this very
moment a sum is being telegraphed to me which will be sufficient
not only to cover my present liabilities, but to set me straight in
every direction!

Berent. The telegraph is a useful invention which is open to every
one.

Tjaelde (after a moment's thought). What do you mean by that?

Berent. One effect of the noise of your festivities was that I used
the telegraph also. Mr. Lind will receive, on board the boat, a
telegram from his firm--and I doubt if the money you speak of will
be forthcoming.

Tjaelde. It is not true! You have not dared to do that!

Berent. The facts are exactly as I state.

Tjaelde. Give me my balance-sheet; let me look at it again.
(Stretches out his hand to take it.)

Berent (taking it up). Excuse me!

Tjaelde. Do you presume to keep back my own balance-sheet in
my own writing?

Berent. Yes, and even to put it in my pocket. (Does so.) A
fraudulent balance-sheet, dated and signed, is a document of
some importance.

Tjaelde. You are determined to ruin my private and public
reputation?

Berent. You have been working for that yourself for a long time. I
know your position. For a month past I have been in correspondence
with all the quarters in which you have business connections, both
here any I abroad.

Tjaelde. What underhanded deceitfulness an honest man is exposed
to! Here have I been surrounded by spies for the last month! A
plot between my business acquaintances and the banks! A snake
creeping into my house and crawling over my accounts! But I will
break up the conspiracy! And you will find out what it mean, to try
and ruin a reputable firm by underhand devices!

Berent. This is no time for fine phrases. Do you propose to
surrender your property at once?

Tjaelde. Ha, ha! I am to surrender it because you have made me
out a bankrupt on your bit of paper!

Berent. You might conceal the facts for a month, I know. But for
your own sake, and especially for the sake of others, I would
urgently advise you to end the matter at once. That was the reason
of my journey here.

Tjaelde. Ah, now the truth is out! And you came here pretending a
friendly concern that the tangle should be straightened out! We
were to distinguish between the sound and unsound firms, and you
requested me, most politely, to give you my assistance in the
matter!

Berent. Exactly. But there is no question of anything unsound here
except your own business and what is bound up with it.

Tjaelde (when he has controlled himself). So you came into my house
with the hidden design of ruining me?

Berent. I must repeat that it is not I that am responsible for your
bankruptcy; it is yourself.

Tjaelde. And I must repeat that my bankruptcy only exists in your
imagination! Much may happen in a month; and I have shown that I
can find a way out of difficulties before now!

Berent. That is to say, by involving yourself deeper and deeper in
falsehood.

Tjaelde. Only a man of business can understand such things. But,
if you really understand them, I would say to you: "Give me
L20,000 and I will save the situation entirely." That would be
doing something worthy of your great powers; that would give
you a reputation for penetration in discerning the real state of
affairs; because by so doing you would safeguard the welfare of
more than a thousand people, and ensure a prosperous future for
the whole district!

Berent. I don't rise to that bait.

Tjaelde (after a moment's reflection). Do you want me to explain to
you how L20,000 would be sufficient to set the whole complicated
situation straight? Within three months remittances would be coming
in. I can make it its clear as daylight to you--

Berent. --that you would be falling from one disillusionment to
another! That is what you have been doing for the last three
years, from month to month.

Tjaelde. Because the last three years have been bad years--horrible
years! But we have reached the crisis; things must begin to improve
now!

Berent. That is what every defaulter thinks.

Tjaelde. Do not drive me to despair! Have you any idea what I have
gone through in these three years? Have you any idea what I am
capable of?

Berent. Of still further falsehood.

Tjaelde. Take care!--It is quite true that I am standing on the
edge of a precipice. It is true that for three years I have done
everything in mortal power to save the situation! I maintain that
there has been something heroic in the fight I have made. And that
deserves some reward. You have unrestricted powers; every one
trusts you. Realise for yourself what your mission is; do not let
it be necessary for me to teach it you! Let me tell you this,
emphatically: it will be a dreadful thing for _you_ if hundreds of
people are to be ruined unnecessarily now!

Berent. Let us make an end of this.

Tjaelde. No, devil take me if I give up a fight like this with a
senseless surrender!

Berent. How do you propose to end it, then?

Tjaelde. There is no issue to it that I have not turned over in my
thoughts--thousands of times. _I_ know what I shall do! I won't be
a mark for the jeers of this wretched little town, nor triumphed
over by those who have envied me all round the countryside!

Berent. What will you do, then?

Tjaelde. You shall see! (Speaking more and more excitedly.) You
won't help me under any conditions?

Berent. No.

Tjaelde. You insist that I shall surrender my estate, here and now?

Berent. Yes.

Tjaelde. Hell and damnation! You dare do that?

Berent. Yes.

Tjaelde (his agitation robbing him of his voice, which all at once
sinks to a hoarse whisper). You have never known what despair is!--
You don't know what an existence I have endured!-But if the
decisive moment has come, and I have a man here in my office
who _ought_ to save me but will not, then that man shall share
what is in store for me.

Berent (leaning back in his chair). This is beginning to be
impressive.

Tjaelde. No more jesting; you might regret it! (Goes to all the
doors and locks them with a key which he takes out of his pocket;
then unlocks his desk, and takes a revolver out of it.) How long do
you suppose I have had this in here?

Berent. Since you bought it, I suppose.

Tjaelde. And why do you suppose I bought it?--Do you suppose that
after I have been master of this town and the biggest man in the
district, I would endure the disgrace of bankruptcy?

Berent. You have been enduring it for a long time.

Tjaelde. It is in your power now either to ruin me or to wave me.
You have behaved in such a way that you deserve no mercy--and you
shall have none! Report to the banks that they may give me the use
of L14,000 for a year--I need no more than that--and I will save
the situation for good and all. Think seriously, now! Remember my
family, remember how long my firm has been established, remember
the numbers that would be ruined if I were! And do not forget to
think of your own family! Because, if you _don't_ agree to what I
ask, neither of us shall leave this room alive!

Berent (pointing to the revolver). Is it loaded?

Tjaelde (putting his finger on the trigger). You will find that out
in good time. You must answer me now!

Berent. I have a suggestion to make. Shoot yourself first and me
afterwards.

Tjaelde (going up to him and holding the revolver to his head). I
will soon quiet your pretty wit.

Berent (getting up, and taking out of his pocket a paper which he
unfolds). This is a formal surrender of your estate to the Receiver
in Bankruptcy. If you sign it, you will be doing your duty to your
creditors, to your family, and to yourself. Shooting yourself and
me would only be adding an acted lie to all your others. Put away
your revolver and take up your pen!

Tjaelde. Never! I had resolved on this long ago. But you shall
keep me company, now!

Berent. Do what you please. But you cannot threaten me into a
falsehood.

Tjaelde (who has lowered the revolver, takes a step back, raises
the revolver and aims at BERENT). Very well!

Berent (walking up to TJAELDE and looking him straight in the eyes,
while the latter reluctantly lowers the revolver). Do you suppose I
don't know that a man who has for so long shivered with falsehood
and terror in his inmost heart has lots of schemes but no courage?
You _dare_ not do it!

Tjaelde (furiously). I will show you! (Steps back and raises the
revolver again.)

Berent (following him). Shoot, and you will hear a report--that is
what you are longing for, I suppose! Or, give up your plan of
shooting, think of what you have done, confess, and afterwards
hold your tongue!

Tjaelde. No; may the devil take both you and me--

Berent. And the horse?

Tjaelde. The horse?

Berent. I mean the magnificent charger on which you came galloping
home from the sale of Moeller's estate. You had better let some one
shoot you on horseback--on what was your last and greatest piece of
business duplicity! (Goes nearer to him and speaks more quietly.)
Or--strip yourself of the tissue of lies which enfolds you, and
your bankruptcy will bring you more blessing than your riches have
ever done. (TJAELDE lets the revolver drop out of his hand, and
sinks into a chair in an outburst of tears. There is silence for a
moment.) You have made an amazing fight of it for these last three
years. I do not believe I know any one who could have done what you
have done. But you have lost the fight this time. Do not shrink now
from a final settlement and the pain that it must cost you. Nothing
else will cleanse your soul for you.

Tjaelde (weeping unrestrainedly, with his face buried in his
hands). Oh, oh!

Berent. You have blamed me for my method of proceeding in the
matter. My answer to that is that I forgive you for yours. (A
pause.) Try now to look the situation in the face, and take it
like a man.

Tjaelde (as before). Oh!

Berent. At the bottom of your heart you must be weary of it all;
make an end of it all now!

Tjaelde (as before). Oh!

Berent (sitting down beside him, after a moment's pause). Wouldn't
you like to feel your conscience clear again--to be able really to
live with your wife and children? Because I am sure you have not
done that for many a day.

Tjaelde (as before). Oh!

Berent. I have known many speculators in my time and have received
many confessions. So I know what you have been robbed of for three
years--never a good night's rest, never a meal eaten with a light
heart. You have scarcely been conscious of what your children were
doing or saying, except when accident brought you together. And
your wife--

Tjaelde. My wife!

Berent. Yes, she has slaved hard enough to prepare these banquets
that were to conceal the nakedness of the land. Indeed, she has
been the hardest worked servant in your house.

Tjaelde. My patient, good wife!

Berent. I feel certain you would rather be the humblest labourer
earning your daily bread than live through such suffering again.

Tjaelde. A thousand times rather!

Berent. Then can you hesitate to do what will give every man his
due, and bring you back to truthfulness again? Take the paper and
sign it!

Tjaelde (falling on his knees). Mercy, mercy! You do not know what
you are asking me. My own children will curse me. I have just heard
of a child doing that to her father! And my business friends, who
will be ruined with me--numbers of them--think of their families!
Oh! What is to become of my work-people? Do you know there are more
than four hundred of them? Think of them and their families, robbed
of their livelihood!--Be merciful! I cannot, I dare not, do it!
Save me, help me! It was horrible of me to try and threaten you;
but now I implore you, for the sake of all those that deserve more
than I, but to whom I shall devote the rest of my life in loyal
work!

Berent. I cannot save you, least of all with money that belongs to
others. What you ask me to do would be disloyalty to them.

Tjaelde. No, no! Publish my accounts openly--put me under trustees,
if you like; but let me go on with the scheme that I believe will
succeed! Every clear-headed man will see that it must succeed!

Berent. Come and sit down. Let us discuss it. (TJAELDE sits down.)
Isn't what you are now proposing exactly what you have been trying
to do for the last three years? You _have_ been able to borrow the
means; but what good has it done?

Tjaelde. Times have been so bad!

Berent (shaking his head). You have mixed up falsehood and truth
for so long that you have forgotten the simplest laws of commerce.
To speculate during bad times, on the chance of their becoming
better, is all very well for those who can afford it. Others must
leave such things alone.

Tjaelde. But it is to the advantage of my creditors themselves, and
of the banks too, that my estate should hold together!

Berent. It is of no advantage to sound firms to prop up unsound
ones.

Tjaelde. But, surely, to avoid losing their capital--?

Berent, Oh, perhaps in the Receiver's hands the estate may--

Tjaelde (hopefully, half rising from his chair). Yes? Well?

Berent. But not till you have been removed from the control of it.

Tjaelde (sinking down again). Not till I have been removed from the
control of it!

Berent. On _its own_ resources I dare say the estate can hold out
until better times come, but not on borrowed money.

Tjaelde. Not on borrowed money--

Berent. You understand the difference, of course?

Tjaelde. Oh, yes.

Berent. Good. Then you must understand that there is nothing left
for you to do but to sign this.

Tjaelde. Nothing left but to sign--

Berent. Here is the paper. Come, now!

Tjaelde (rousing himself). Oh, I cannot, I cannot!

Berent. Very well. But in that case the crash will come of itself
in a short time, and everything will be worse than it is now.

Tjaelde (falling on his knees).Mercy, mercy! I cannot let go of all
hope! Think, after a fight like mine!

Berent. Tell the truth and say: "I haven't the courage to face the
consequences."

Tjaelde. Yes, that is the truth.

Berent. "I haven't the courage to begin an honest life."

Tjaelde. Yes.

Berent. You don't know what you are saying, man!

Tjaelde. No, I don't. But spare me!

Berent (getting up). This is nothing but despair! I am sorry for
you.

Tjaelde (getting up). Yes, surely you must be? Try me! Ask me to do
anything you like! Tell me what you--

Berent. No, no! Before anything else, you must sign this.

Tjaelde (sinking back into his chair). Oh!--How shall I ever dare
to look any one in the face again?--I, who, have defied everything
and deceived every one!

Berent. The man who has enjoyed the respect which he did not
deserve must some day undergo the humiliation which he has
deserved. That is a law; and I cannot save you from that.

Tjaelde. But they will be crueller to me than to any one else! I
deserve it, I know; but I shall not be able to endure it!

Berent. Hm! You are remarkably tough; your fight, these last three
years, proves that.

Tjaelde. Be merciful! Surely your ingenuity--your influence--_must_
be able to find some way out for me?

Berent. Yes. The way out is for you to sign this.

Tjaelde. Won't you even take it over from me by private contract?
If you did that, everything would come right.

Berent. Sign! Here is the paper! Every hour is precious.

Tjaelde. Oh! (Takes up a pen; but turns to BERENT with a gesture of
supplication.) Daren't you test me, after what I have just gone
through?

Berent. Yes, when you have signed. (TJAELDE signs the paper, and
sinks back in his chair with an expression of the keenest anguish.
BERENT takes the paper, folds it, and puts it in his pocket-book.)
Now I will go to the Bankruptcy Court with this, and afterwards to
the telegraph office. Probably the officials of the court will come
this evening to make their inventory. So you ought to warn your
family.

Tjaelde. How shall I be able to do that? Give me a little time! Be
merciful!

Berent. The sooner the better for you--not to speak of the
interests of all concerned. Well, I have finished for the present.

Tjaelde. Don't desert me like this! Don't desert me!

Berent. You would like your wife to come to you, wouldn't you?

Tjaelde (resignedly). Yes.

Berent (taking up the revolver). And this--I will not take it with
me. There is no danger from it now. But I will put it in the desk,
for the sake of the others. Now, if you or yours should need me,
send word to me.

Tjaelde. Thank you.

Berent. I shall not leave the town until the worst is over.--
Remember, night or day, if you need me, send word to me.

Tjaelde. Thank you.

Berent. And now will you unlock the door for me?

Tjaelde (getting up). Ah, of course. Excuse me!

Berent (taking his hat and coat). Won't you call your wife now?

Tjaelde. No. I must have a little time first. I have the worst part
of it before me now.

Berent. I believe you have, and that is just why--. (Takes hold of
the bell-pull and rings the bell.)

Tjaelde. What are you doing?

Berent. I want, before I go, to be sure of your wife's coming to
you.

Tjaelde. You should not have done that! (An office-boy comes in.
BERENT looks at TJAELDE.) Ask your mistress--ask my wife to come to
me.

Berent. At once, please. (The boy goes out.) Good-bye! (Goes out.
TJAELDE sinks down on to a chair by the door.)

[The Curtain falls.]


ACT III

(SCENE.-The same as in the preceding act. TJAELDE is sitting alone,
on the chair by the door, in the position he was in when the
curtain fell on the last act. After sitting motionless for a
considerable time, he suddenly gets up.)

Tjaelde. How am I to begin? After her, there are the children;
after them, all my work-people--and then all the others! If only I
could get away! But the Receiver's men will be here.--I must have
some air! (Goes to the nearest window.) What a beautiful day!--but
not for me. (Opens the window and looks out.) My horse! No, I
daren't look at it. Why is it saddled? Oh, of course I meant, after
my talk with Berent, to--. But now everything is different! (Walks
up and down once or twice, thinking; then says suddenly:) Yes, on
that horse I might reach the outer harbour before the foreign boat
sails! (Looks at his watch.) I can do it! And I shall be able to
put behind me all--. (Stops, with a start, as he hears footsteps on
the stair.) Who is there? What is it? (MRS. TJAELDE comes down the
stair into the room.)

Mrs. Tjaelde. You sent for me?

Tjaelde. Yes. (Watching her.) Were you upstairs?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes, I was resting.

Tjaelde (sympathetically). Ah, you were sleeping, and I woke you
up!

Mrs. Tjaelde. No, I was not asleep. (She has come slowly forward.)

Tjaelde. You weren't asleep? (Apprehensively, to her.) I suppose
you didn't--? (To himself.) No, I daren't ask her.

Mrs. Tjaelde. What did you want?

Tjaelde. I wanted--. (Sees her eyes fixed on the revolver.) You are
surprised at my having that out? I got it out because I am going
on a journey.

Mrs. Tjaelde (supporting herself on the desk). Going on a journey?

Tjaelde. Yes. Mr. Berent has been here, as I dare say you know.
(She does not answer.) Business, you know. I have to go abroad.

Mrs. Tjaelde (faintly). Abroad?

Tjaelde. Only for a few days. So I will only take my usual bag with
a change of clothes and one or two shirts; but I must have it at
once.

Mrs. Tjaelde. I don't think your bag has been unpacked since you
brought it home to-day.

Tjaelde. So much the better. Will you get it for me?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Are you going away now--at once?

Tjaelde. Yes, by the foreign boat--from the outer harbour.

Mrs. Tjaelde. You have no time to lose, then.

Tjaelde. Are you not well?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Not very.

Tiwlde. One of your attacks?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes!--but I must fetch your bag. (TJAELDE helps
her over to the staircase.)

Tjaelde. You are not well, my dear--but you will be better some
day.

Mrs. Tjaelde. I only wish _you_ looked better.

Tjaelde. We all have our burdens to bear.

Mrs. Tjaelde. If only we could bear more together!

Tjaelde. But you don't understand my affairs--and I have never
had time to talk about yours.

Mrs. Tjaelde. No--that's it. (Begins to go upstairs slowly.)

Tjaelde. Shall I help you?

Mrs. Tjaelde. No, thank you, dear.

Tjaelde (coming forward). Does she suspect? She is always like
that--she takes all my courage away from me. But there is no
other way! Now--about money? I surely have some gold here
somewhere. (Goes to his desk, takes some gold out of a drawer and
counts it; then lifts his head and sees MRS. TJAELDE who has sat
down on the stair half-way up.) My dear, are you sitting down?

Mrs. Tjaelde. I felt faint for a moment. I will go up now. (Gets up
and climbs the stair slowly.)

Tjaelde. Poor thing, she is worn out. (Pulls himself together.) No--
five, six, eight, ten--that is not enough. I must have some more.
(Searches in the desk.) And when I run short I have my watch and
chain. Twenty, twenty-four--that is all I can find. Ah, my papers!
I must on no account forget them. The ground is falling away
under me! Isn't she coming back? The bag was packed, surely?--
Ah, how all this will make her suffer! But it will not be so bad
for her if I am away. People will be more merciful, both to her and
the children. Oh, my children! (Collects himself.) Only let me get
away, away! Thoughts will follow me there, all the same!--Ah, here
she is! (MRS. TJAELDE is seen coming down slowly, with a bag which
is evidently, heavy.) Shall I help you, dear?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Thanks, will you take hold of the bag?

Tjaelde (takes it; she comes slowly down). It is heavier than it
was this morning.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Is it?

Tjaelde. I have some papers to put in it. (Opens the bag.) But, my
dear, there is money in this bag.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes--some gold that you have given me at odd times.
I thought it might be useful to you now.

Tjaelde. There is a large sum.

Mrs. Tjaelde. I don't believe you even know how much you have
given me.

Tjaelde. She knows everything!--My dear! (Opens his arms.)

Mrs. Tjaelde. Henning! (They both burst into tears and fall into
each other's arms. MRS. TJAELDE whispers to him:) Shall I call the
children?

Tjaelde (in a whisper). No, say nothing--till later! (They embrace
again. He takes up the bag.) Go to the window, so that I can see
you when I mount. (Shuts the bag and hurries to the door, but
stops.) My dear!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes?

Tjaelde. Forgive me!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Everything! (TJAELDE, as he is hurrying out, meets in
the doorway an office-boy who is bringing him a letter. TJAELDE
takes it, and the boy goes out.)

Tjaelde. From Berent! (Opens the letter, stands in the doorway and
reads it; then comes back into the room, with his bag in his hand,
and reads it again.) "When I left your house, I saw a horse
standing saddled at your door. To prevent misunderstanding, let
me inform you that your house is watched by the police."

Mrs. Tjaelde (supporting herself on the desk). You can't go?

Tjaelde. No. (A pause. He puts down the bag and wipes his
forehead.)

Mrs. Tjaelde. Henning, shall we pray together?

Tjaelde. What do you mean?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Pray--pray to God to help us? (Bursts into tears.
TJAELDE is silent. She falls on her knees.) Come, Henning! You see
that all human ingenuity is of no avail!

Tjaelde. I know that, only too well.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Well, try once, in this hour of our greatest need!
(TJAELDE appears to be struggling with his emotion.) You never
would! You have never confided in us, or in your God!--never
opened your heart to any one!

Tjaelde. Be quiet!

Mrs. Tjaelde. But what you concealed by day, you used to talk
of in the night. We mortals must talk, you know! But I have lain
awake and listened to your distress. Now you know why I am no
longer good for anything. No sleep at night, and none of your
confidence in the daytime. I have suffered even more than you.
(TJAELDE throws himself into a chair. She goes to him.) You
wanted to run away. When we are afraid of our fellow-men, we
have only Him to turn to. Do you think I should be alive now, if
it were not for Him?

Tjaelde. I have thrown myself imploringly at His feet, but always
in vain!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Henning, Henning!

Tjaelde. Why did He not bless my work and the fight I was making?
It is all one now.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Ah, there is more to come.

Tjaelde (getting up). Yes, the worst is before us now--

Mrs. Tjaelde. --because it is in our own hearts! (A pause. VALBORG
appears coming down the stair, but stops at the sight of the
others.) What do you want, dear?

Valborg (with suppressed emotion). From my room I can see the
police watching the house. Are the Receiver's men coming now?

Mrs. Tjaelde (sitting down). Yes, my child. After a terrible
struggle--how terrible, his God and I alone know--your father has
just sent in his declaration of bankruptcy. (VALBORG takes a step
or two forward, then stands still. A pause.)

Tjaelde (unable to control himself). Now I suppose you will say
to me just what Moeller's daughter said to him!

Mrs. Tjaelde (getting up). You won't do that, Valborg!--God
alone can judge him.

Tjaelde. Tell me how cruelly I have wronged you! Tell me that
you will never be able to forgive me--(breaking down)--that I have
lost your respect and your love for ever!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Oh, my child!

Tjaelde. That your anger and your shame know no bounds!

Valborg. Oh, father, father! (Goes out by the door at the back.
TJAELDE tries to cross the room, as if to follow her, but can only
stagger as far as the staircase, to which he clings for support.
MRS. TJAELDE sinks back into her chair. There is a long pause.
Suddenly JAKOBSEN cones in from the outer once, dressed as before
except that he has changed his coat. TJAELDE is not aware of his
entrance until JAKOBSEN is close to him; then he stretches out
his hands to him as if in entreaty, but JAKOBSEN goes right up to
him and speaks in a voice choked with rage.)

Jakobsen. You scoundrel! (TJAELDE recoils.)

Mrs. Tjaelde. Jakobsen! Jakobsen!

Jakobsen (without heeding her). The Receiver's men are here.
The books and papers at the Brewery have been seized. Work is
at a standstill--and the same thing at the factory.

Mrs. Tjaelde. My God!

Jakobsen. And I had made myself responsible for twice as much
as I possessed! (He speaks low, but his voice vibrates with anger
and emotion.)

Mrs. Tjaelde. Dear Jakobsen!

Jakobsen (turning to her). Didn't I say to him, every time he told
me to sign, "But I don't possess as much as that! It's not right!"--
But he used to answer, "It is only a matter of form, Jakobsen."
"Yes, but not an honourable form," I used to say. "It is a matter
of form in business," he would say; "all business folk do it."
And all I knew of business, I had learnt from him; so I trusted
him. (With emotion.) And he made me do it time after time. And
now I owe more than I shall ever be able to pay, all my life. I
shall live and die a dishonoured man. What have you to say to
that, Mrs. Tjaelde? (She does not answer him. He turns angrily
upon TJAELDE.) Do you hear? Even _she_ can find nothing to say!--
Scoundrel!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Jakobsen!

Jakobsen (in a voice broken with emotion). I have nothing but the
deepest respect for you, Mrs. Tjaelde. But, you see, he has made
me swindle other people! In his name I shall have ruined numbers
of them. They trusted me, you see; just as I trusted him. I used
to tell them that he was a benefactor to the whole countryside, and
that therefore they ought to help him in these hard times. And now
there will be many an honest family robbed of house and home by our
treachery. And that is what he has brought me to! What heartless
cruelty! (To TJAELDE.) I can tell I feel inclined to--. (Takes a
threatening step towards him.)

Mrs. Tjaelde (getting up). For my sake, Jakobsen!

Jakobsen (restraining himself). Yes, for your sake, ma'am; because
I have the deepest respect for you. But how am I to face all those
poor creatures that I have ruined? It will do them no good to
explain to them how it has happened; that won't help them to get
their daily bread! How shall I face my own wife! (With emotion.)
She has had such faith in me, and in those I trusted. And my
children, too? It is very hard on children, because they hear so
much talk in the street. It won't be long before they hear what
sort of a father they have got; and they will hear it from the
children of the men I have ruined.

Mrs. Tjaelde. As you feel how hard it is yourself, that should
make you willing to spare others. Be merciful!

Jakobsen. I have the deepest respect for you; but it is hard that
in my home we should never again be able to eat a crust that we can
properly call our own--for I owe more than I can ever live to
repay! That is hard, Mrs. Tjaelde! What will become of my evenings
with my children now?--of our Sundays together? No, I mean that he
shall hear the truth from me. (Turns upon TJAELDE.) You scoundrel!
You shan't escape me! (TJAELDE shrinks back in terror and tries to
reach the office door, but at that moment the RECEIVER comes in,
followed by two of his clerks and SANNAES. TJAELDE crosses the
room, staggers to his desk, and leans upon it with his back turned
to the newcomers.)

The Receiver (coming up behind Tjaelde). Excuse me! May I have your
books and papers? (TJAELDE gives a start, moves away to the stove,
and supports himself on it.)

Jakobsen (in a whisper, standing over him). Scoundrel! (TJAELDE
moves away from him and sits down on a chair by the door, hiding
his face in his hands.)

Mrs. Tjaelde (getting up and whispering to JAKOBSEN), Jakobsen!
Jakobsen! (He comes towards her.) He has never deliberately cheated
any one! He has never been what you say, and never will be! (Sits
down again.)

Jakobsen. I have the deepest respect for _you_, Mrs. Tjaelde. But
if _he_ is not a liar and swindler, there is no truth in anything!
(Bursts into tears. MRS. TJAELDE hides her face in her hands as she
leans back in her chair. A short silence. Then a confused noise of
voices is heard without. The RECEIVER and his men stop their work
of sorting and inventorying papers, and all look up.)

Mrs. Tjaelde (apprehensively). What is that? (SANNAES and the
RECEIVER go to one window, and JAKOBSEN to another.)

Jakobsen. It's the hands from the quay and the brewery and the
factory and the warehouse. All work is stopped until further
orders; but this is pay-day--and there is no pay for them! (The
others resume their work.)

Tjaelde (coming forward despairingly). I had forgotten that!

Jakobsen (going up to him). Well, go out and face them, and they
will let you know what you are!

Tjaelde (in a low voice, as he takes up his saddle-bag). Here is
money, but it is all in gold. Go into the town and get it changed,
and pay them!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes, do, Jakobsen!

Jakobsen (in lower tones). If _you_ ask me to, ma'am, I--So there
is money in this bag? (Opens it.) And all done up in rolls. He
meant to bolt, then!--and with the money his people had lent him.
And yet you say he is not a scoundrel! (TJAELDE gives a groan. The
noise of voices without grows louder.)

Mrs. Tjaelde (in a low voice). Be quick, or we shall have them in
here.

Jakobsen. I will go.

The Receiver (interposing). Excuse me, but nothing must be taken
away from here until it has been examined and inventoried.

Jakobsen. It is pay-day, and this is the money for the wages.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Jakobsen is responsible for it, and will account for
it.

The Receiver. Oh, that alters the case. Mr. Jakobsen is a man of
integrity. (Goes back to his work.)

Jakobsen (to MRS. TJAELDE, in a low voice full of emotion). Did you
hear that, Mrs. Tjaelde? He called me a man of integrity--and very
soon not a single soul will call me that! (Goes out past TJAELDE to
whom he whispers as he passes:) Scoundrel! I shall come back again!

The Receiver (going up to TJAELDE). Excuse me, but I must ask you
for the keys of your private rooms and cupboards.

Mrs. Tjaelde (answering for her husband). My housekeeper shall go
with you. Sannaes, here is the key of the cupboard. (SANNAES takes
it from her.)

The Receiver (looking at TJAELDE'S massive watch-chain). Whatever
article of dress can be called a necessary, we have nothing to do
with; but if it happens that it comrises jewellery of any great
value--. (TJAELDE begins to take off the watch-chain.) No, no; keep
it on. But it will have to be included in the inventory.

Tjaelde. I don't wish to keep it.

The Receiver. As you please. (Signs to one of his clerks to take
it.) Good-day! (Meanwhile SIGNE and HAMAR have appeared at the
door of the outer office, and have seen what passed. The RECEIVER,
SANNAES, and the clerks try to open the door on the right, but find
it locked.) This door is locked.

Tjaelde (as if waking from a dream). Ah, of course! (Goes to the
door and unlocks it.)

Signe (rushing to MRS. TJAELDE and falling on her knees beside
her). Mother!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes, dear, the day of our trial has come! And I am
afraid--afraid that it may find us all too weak.

Signe. Mother, what is to become of us?

Mrs. Tjaelde. We are in God's hands.

Signe. I will go with Hamar to his aunt's. We will go at once.

Mrs. Tjaelde. It is possible that his aunt may not be willing to
have you now.

Signe. Aunt Ulla! What do you mean?

Mrs. Tjaelde. I mean that you have been the rich man's daughter;
and you do not know what the world is.

Signe. Hamar, do you think Aunt Ulla would refuse to have me?

Hamar (after a moment's thought). I don't know.

Mrs. Tjaelde. You hear that, my child. In the next few hours you
will learn more than you have learnt in all your life.

Signe (in a horrified whisper). Do you mean that even--?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Hush! (SIGNE hides her face in her mother's lap. A
loud burst of laughter is heard outside.)

Hamar (going to the nearest window). What is that? (SANNAES comes
in through the right-hand door and goes to the other window.
TJAELDE, SIGNE and MRS. TJAELDE get up.) The bay horse! They have
got hold of it.

Sannaes. They have led it up the steps, and are pretending to sell
it by auction.

Hamar. They are ill-treating it! (SANNAES runs out. HAMAR snatches
up the revolver from the desk and looks to see if it is loaded.) I
will--!

Signe. What are you going to do? (As he starts to go out, she
clings to him and prevents him.)

Hamar. Let me go!

Signe. Tell me first what you are going to do! Do you mean to go
out among all those men--alone?

Hamar. Yes.

Signe (throwing her arms round him). You shan't go!

Hamar. Take care, this is loaded!

Signe. What are you going to do with it?

Hamar (in a determined voice, as he shakes himself free of her).
Put a bullet into the poor beast! It is too good for that crew. It
shan't be put up for auction, either in joke or in earnest! (Goes
to the farther window.) I shall get a better aim from here.

Signe (following him, with a cry). You will hit some one!

Hamar. No, I can aim too well for that. (Takes aim.)

Signe. Father! If they hear a shot from here now--

Tjaelde (starting up). The house belongs to my creditors now--and
the revolver too!

Hamar. No, I am past taking orders from you now! (TJAELDE snatches
at the revolver, which goes off. SIGNE screams and rushes to her
mother. Outside, but this time immediately below the window, two
cries are heard: "They are shooting at us! They are shooting at
us!" Then the noise of breaking glass is heard, and stones fly in
through the windows, followed by shouts and ribald laughter.
VALBORG, who has rushed in from the outer office, stands in front
of her father to protect him, her face turned to the window. A
voice is heard: "Follow me, my lads!")

Hamar (pointing the revolver at the window). Yes, just you try it!

Mrs. Tjaelde and Signe. They are coming in here!

Valborg. You shan't shoot! (Stands between him and the window.)

Tjaelde. It is Sannaes with the police! (Cries of "Get back,
there!" are heard; then a renewed uproar and a loud voice gradually
dominating it; until at last the noise gradually lessens and
ceases.)

Mrs. Tjaelde. Thank God! We were in great danger. (Sinks into a
chair. A pause.) Henning, where are you? (TJAELDE comes up behind
her, and strokes her head with his hand, but turns away immediately
to hide his deep emotion. A pause.)

Signe (on her knees by her mother's side). But won't they come
back? Hadn't we better go away from here?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Where to?

Signe (despairingly). What is to become of us?

Mrs. Tjaelde. What God wills. (A pause. Meanwhile HAMAR,
unobserved, has laid down the revolver on a chair and slipped
out of the room by the door at the back.)

Valborg (softly). Signe, look! (SIGNE gets up, looks round the
room, and gives a little cry.)

Mrs. Tjaelde. What is it?

Signe. I knew he would!

Mrs. Tjaelde (apprehensively). What is it?

Valborg. Every rich family has its tame lieutenant--and ours has
just left us. That's all.

Mrs. Tjaelde (getting up). Signe, my child!

Signe (throwing herself into her arms). Mother!

Mrs. Tjaelde. There will be no more pretence now. Do not let us
regret it!

Signe (in tears). Mother, mother!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Things are better as they are. Do you hear, dear?
Don't cry!

Signe. I am not crying! but I feel so ashamed--oh, so ashamed!

Mrs. Tjaelde. It is I that ought to feel ashamed for never having
had the courage to put a stop to what I saw was folly.

Signe (as before). Mother!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Soon there will be no one else left to desert us; and
we shall have nothing left that any one can rob us of, either.

Valborg (comes forward evidently labouring under great emotion).
Yes, there is, mother; _I_ mean to desert you.

Signe. You, Valborg? Desert us? You?

Valborg. Our home is going to be broken up, anyway. Each of us
ought to shift for herself.

Signe. But what am I to do? I don't know how to do anything.

Mrs. Tjaelde (who has sunk back into her chair). What a bad mother
I must have been, not to be able to keep my children together now!

Valborg (impetuously). You know we cannot stay together now! You
know we cannot put up with living on the charity of our creditors;
we have done that too long!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Hush, remember your father is in the room. (A pause.)
What do you want to do, Valborg?

Valborg (after she has regained her self-control, quietly). I want
to go into Mr. Holst's office, and learn commercial work--and keep
myself.

Mrs. Tjaelde. You don't know what you are undertaking.

Valborg. But I know what I am leaving.

Signe. And I shall only be a burden to you, mother, because I can't
do anything--

Valborg. You _can_! Go out and earn a living; even if it is only as
a servant, what does that matter? Don't live on our creditors--not
for a day, not for an hour!

Signe. And what is to become of mother, then?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Your mother will stay with your father.

Signe. But all alone? You, who are so ill?

Mrs. Tjaelde. No, not alone! Your father and I will be together.
(TJAELDE comes forward, kisses the hand she has stretched out to
him, and falls on his knees by her chair, burying his face in her
lap. She strokes his hair gently.) Forgive your father, children.
That is the finest thing you can do. (TJAELDE gets up again and
goes back to the other end of the room. A messenger comes in with a
letter.)

Signe (turning round anxiously). It is a letter from him! I can't
stand any more! I won't have it! (The messenger hands the letter to
TJAELDE.)

Tjaelde. I accept no more letters.

Valborg (looking at the letter). It is from Sannaes?

Tjaelde. He, too!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Take it and read it, Valborg. Let us get it all over
at once. (VALBORG takes the letter from the messenger, who goes
out. She opens the letter, looks at it, and then reads it with
emotion.) "Sir,--I have owed you everything since I entered your
employment as a boy. Therefore do not take what I am going to say
amiss. You know that about eight years ago I came into a little
legacy. I have used the money to some advantage, having especially
looked out for such investments as would not be affected by the
uncertainties of high finance. The total sum, which now amounts to
about L1400, I beg to offer to you as a token of respectful
gratitude; because, in the end, I owe it to you that I have been
able to make it that sum. Besides, you will be able to make many
times better use of it than I could. If you need me, my dearest
wish is to remain with you in the future. Forgive me for having
seized just this moment for doing this; I could not do otherwise.--
Your obedient servant, J. SANNAES." (While VALBORG has been
reading, TJAELDE has come gradually forward, and is now standing
beside his wife.)

Mrs. Tjaelde. Though out of all those you have helped, Henning,
only one comes to your aid at a time like this, you must feel that
you have your reward. (TJAELDE nods, and goes to the back of the
room again.) And you, children--do you see how loyally this man, a
stranger, is standing by your father? (A pause. SIGNE stands by the
desk, crying. TJAELDE walks up and down uneasily at the back of the
room once or twice, then goes up the staircase.)

Valborg. I should like to speak to Sannaes.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes, do, dear! I couldn't, just now; and I am sure
your father couldn't either. You speak to him! (Gets up.) Come,
Signe, you and I must have a talk; you must open your heart to
me now.--Ah, when have we ever had a real talk together? (SIGNE
goes to her.) Where is your father?

Valborg. He went upstairs.

Mrs. Tjaelde (leaning on SIGNE's arm). So he did. I am sure he must
be longing to rest--although he won't find it easy to do that. It
has been a terrible day; but surely God will turn it to our good!
(Goes out with SIGNE. VALBORG goes to the back of the room and
rings the bell. A messenger comes.)

Valborg. If Mr. Sannaes is out there, please ask him to be so good
as to come in here for a moment. (The messenger goes out.) Perhaps
he won't come, when he hears it is I. (Listens.) Yes, he is coming!

(SANNAES comes in, but stops short when he sees VALBORG, and
hurriedly puts his hands behind his back.)

Sannaes. Is it you, Miss Valborg, that want me?

Valborg. Please come in. (SANNAES takes a few timid steps forward.
VALBORG speaks in a more friendly tone.) Come in, then! (SANNAES
comes further into the room.)

Valborg. You have written a letter to my father.

Sannaes (after a moment's pause). Yes.

Valborg. And made him a most generous offer.

Sannaes (as before). Oh, well--it was only natural that I should.

Valborg. Do you think so? It doesn't seem so to me. It is an offer
that honours the man that made it. (A pause.)

Sannaes. I hope he means to accept it?

Valborg. I don't know.

Sannaes (sadly, after a moment's pause). Then he doesn't mean to?
No--I suppose not.

Valborg. I honestly don't know. It depends on whether he dare.

Sannaes. Whether he dare?

Valborg. Yes. (A pause.)

Sannaes (evidently very shy of VALBORG). Have you any more orders
for me, Miss Valborg?

Valborg (with a smile). Orders? I am not giving you orders.--You
have offered also to stay with my father for the future.

Sannaes. Yes--that is to say, if he wishes me to.

Valborg. I don't know. In that case there would be only he and
my mother and you; no one else.

Sannaes. Indeed? What about the others, then?

Valborg. I don't know for certain what my sister means to do--but
I am leaving home to-day.

Sannaes. Then you are going to--

Valborg. --to try and get a clerkship somewhere. So that it will be
a bit lonely for you to be in my father's employment now. (A
pause.) I expect you had not thought of it in that light?

Sannaes. No--yes--that is to say, your father will have all the
more need of me then.

Valborg. Indeed he will. But what sort of a prospect is it for you
to bind up your fortunes with my father's? The future is so very
problematical, you know.

Sannaes. What sort of a prospect--?

Valborg. Yes, a young man should have some sort of a prospect
before him.

Sannaes. Yes--of course; that is to say, I only thought that at
first it would be so difficult for him.

Valborg. But I am thinking of you. Surely you have some plans for
the future?

Sannaes (embarrassed). Really I would rather not talk about myself.

Valborg. But I want to.--You have something else in reserve, then?

Sannaes. Well--if I must tell you--I have some well-to-do relations
in America who have for a long time wanted me to go over there. I
should soon be able to get, a good situation there.

Valborg. Indeed?--But why haven't you accepted such a good offer
long before this? (SANNAES does not answer.) You must have been
sacrificing your best interests by staying so long with us?
(SANNAES is still silent.) Any! it will be making a still greater
sacrifice to stay with us now--

Sannaes (struggling with his embarrassment). I have never thought
of it as being that.

Valborg. But my father can scarcely accept so much from you.

Sannaes (in alarm). Why not?

Valborg. Because it really would be too much.--And, in any case, I
shall try to prevent him.

Sannaes (almost imploringly). You, Miss Valborg?

Valborg. Yes. You must not be misemployed any longer.

Sannaes. Misemployed? In what I _myself_ desire so much?

Valborg. When I have talked it over with my father, I think he will
see my point.

Sannaes (anxiously). What do you mean?

Valborg (after a moment's reflection). --I mean, the reason of your
having made such great sacrifices for us--and of your being willing
to make still greater now. (A pause. SANNAES hangs his head, and is
raising his hands to hide his face, when suddenly he puts them
behind his back again. VALBORG continues, in gentle but firm
tones:) I have taught myself, all my life, to look behind deeds and
words for their motives.

Sannaes (quietly, without raising his head). You have taught
yourself to be cruelly bitter, hard and unjust.

Valborg (starts, but collects herself, and says gently:) Don't say
that, Mr. Sannaes! It is not hard-heartedness or bitterness that
makes me think of your future now--and makes me wish to spare you
disappointment.

Sannaes (with a cry of pain). Miss Valborg!

Valborg. Be honest with yourself, and you will be able to take a
fairer view of what I have just said.

Sannaes. Have you any more orders, Miss Valborg?

Valborg. I give you no orders, as I have told you already. I am
only bidding you good-bye; and I do it with grateful thanks to you
for all your goodness to me--and to us all. Good-bye and good luck,
Mr. Sannaes. (SANNAES bows.)Won't you shake hands? Ah, I forgot--I
offended you. I beg your pardon for that. (SANNAES bows and turns
to go.) Come, Mr. Sannaes--let us at least part as good friends!
You are going to America, and I am going among strangers. Let us go
away wishing one another well.

Sannaes (moved). Good-bye, Miss Valborg. (Turns to go.)

Valborg. Mr. Sannaes--shake hands!

Sannaes (stopping). No, Miss Valborg.

Valborg. Don't treat me uncivilly; I have not deserved that.
(SANNAES again turns to go.) Mr. Sannaes!

Sannaes (stopping). You might soil your fingers, Miss Valborg!
(Walks proudly away.)

Valborg (controlling herself with an effort). Well, we have
offended each other now. But why should we not forgive each other
as well?

Sannaes. Because you have just offended me for the second time
to-day--and more deeply than the first time.

Valborg. Oh, this is too much! I spoke as I did, because I owed it
to myself not to be put in a false position, and owed it to you to
spare you future disappointment. And you call that insulting you!
Which of us has insulted the other, I should like to know?

Sannaes. You have, by thinking such things of me. Do you realise
how cruelly you have spoilt the happiest action of my life?

Valborg. I have done so quite unintentionally, then. I am only
glad that I was mistaken.

Sannes (bitterly). You are glad! So it really makes you glad to
know that I am not a scoundrel!

Valborg (quietly). Who said anything of the kind?

Sannaes. You! You know the weak spot in my armour; but that you
should on that account believe that I could lay a trap for you
and try to trade on your father's misfortune, Miss Valborg--!
No, I cannot shake hands with any one who has thought so badly
of me as that! And, since you have so persistently insulted me
that I have lost all the timidity I used to feel in your presence,
let me tell you this openly; these hands (stretching out his hands
to her) have grown red and ugly in loyal work for your father, and
his daughter should have been above mocking at me for them!
(Turns to go, but stops.) And, one word more. Ask your father for
_his_ hand now, and hold fast to it, instead of deserting him on
the very day that misfortune has overtaken him. That would be more
to the point than worrying about _my_ future. I can look after that
for myself. (Turns again to go, but comes back.) And when, in his
service--which will be no easy service now--your hands bear the
same honourable marks of work as mine do, and are as red as mine,
then you will perhaps understand how you have hurt me! At present
you cannot. (He goes quickly towards the door of the outer office.)

Valborg (with a wry smile). What a temper! (More seriously.) And
yet, after all--. (Looks after him. Just as SANNAES gets to the
door TJAELDE'S voice is heard calling him from the top of the
staircase. SANNAES answers him.)

Tjaelde (coming down the stairs). Sannaes! Sannaes! I can see
Jakobsen coming. (Hurries across the room as if pursued by fear.
SANNAES follows him.) Of course he will be coming back to look for
me again! It is cowardly of me to feel that I cannot stand it; but
I cannot--not to-day, not now! I cannot stand any more! Stop him!
Don't let him come in! I shall have to drink my cup of misery to
the dregs; but (almost in a whisper) not all at one draught! (Hides
his face in his hands.)

Sannaes. He shan't come; don't be afraid! (Goes quickly out, with
an air of determination.)

Tjaelde. It is hard--oh, it is hard!

Valborg (coming to his side). Father! (He looks at her, anxiously.)
You may safely accept the money Sannaes offers you.

Tjaelde (in surprise). What do you mean by that?

Valborg. I mean--that, if you do, I will not forsake you either,
but stay here with you too.

Tjaelde (incredulously). You, Valborg?

Valborg. Yes, you know I want to learn office work, and business;
and I would rather learn in your office.

Tjaelde (shyly). I don't understand what you--?

Valborg. Don't you understand, dear? I believe I could become of
some use in the office. And in that way, you know, we might
begin afresh--and try, with God's help, to pay your creditors.

Tjaelde (happily, but shyly). My child! Who put such a happy idea
into your head?

Valborg (putting an arm round his neck). Father, forgive me for
all that I have neglected to do! You shall see how I will try and
make up for it! How hard I shall work!

Tjaelde (still half incredulous). My child! My child!

Valborg. I feel--I cannot tell you how deeply--a craving for love
and for work! (Throws both her arms round his neck.) Oh, father,
how I love you!--and how I shall work for you!

Tjaelde. Ah, that is the Valborg I have waited for, ever since you
were a little child! But we had drifted away from one another,
somehow.

Valborg. No more about the past! Look forward, father, look
forward! Concerns "that would not be affected by the uncertainties
of high finance,"--weren't those his words?

Tjaelde. So you were struck by that expression, too?

Valborg. That may mean a future for us now! We will have a home all
to ourselves--a little house down on the shore--and I shall help
you, and Signe will help mother--we shall know what it is to live,
for the first time!

Tjaelde. What happiness it will be!

Valborg. Only look forward, father! Look forward! A united family
is invincible!

Tjaelde. And to think that such help should come to me now!

Valborg. Yes, now we are all going to our posts--and all together,
where formerly you stood alone! You will have good fairies round
you; wherever you look, you will see happy faces and busy fingers
all day long; and we shall all enjoy our meals and our evenings
together, just as we did when we were children!

Tjaelde. That, above everything!

Valborg. Ha, ha!--it is after the rain that the birds sing
blithest, you know! And this time our happiness can never miscarry,
because we shall have something worth living for!

Tjaelde. Let us go to your mother! This will cheer her heart!

Valborg. Ah, how I have learnt to love her! What has happened
to-day has taught me.

Tjaelde. It is for her that we shall all work now.

Valborg. Yes--for her, for her. She shall rest now. Let us go to
her!

Tjaelde. Kiss me first, my dear. (His voice trembles.) It is so
long since you did!

Valborg (kissing him). Father!

Tjaelde. Now let us go to your mother. (The curtain falls as they
go out together.)



ACT IV

(SCENE.--In the garden of TJAELDE'S new home, on the shore of the
fjord, three years later. A view of tranquil sunlit sea, dotted
with boats, in the background. On the left a portion of the house
is seen, with an open window within which VALBORG is seen writing
at a desk. The garden is shaded with birch trees; flower-beds run
round the house, and the whole atmosphere one of modest comfort.
Two small garden tables and several chairs are in the foreground on
the right. A chair standing by itself, further back, has evidently
had a recent occupant. When the curtain rises the stage is empty,
but VALBORG is visible at the open window. Soon afterwards TJAELDE
comes in, wheeling MRS. TJAELDE in an invalid chair.)

Mrs. Tjaelde. Another lovely day!

Tjaelde. Tjaelde. Lovely! There was not a ripple on the sea last
night. I saw a couple of steamers far out, and a sailing ship that
had hove to, and the fisher-boats drifting silently in.

Mrs. Tjaelde. And think of the storm that was raging two days ago!

Tjaelde. And think of the storm that broke over our lives barely
three years ago! I was thinking of that in the night.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Sit down here with me.

Tjaelde. Shall we not continue our stroll?

Mrs. Tjaelde. The sun is too hot.

Tjaelde. Not for me.

Mrs. Tjaelde. You big strong man! It is too hot for me.

Tjaelde (taking a chair). There you are, then.

Mrs. Tjaelde (taking off his hat and wiping his forehead). You are
very hot, dear. You have never looked so handsome as you do now!

Tjaelde. That's just as well, as you have so much time to admire
me now!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Now that I find getting about so difficult, you mean?
Ah, that is only my pretence, so as to get you to wheel me about!

Tjaelde (with a sigh). Ah, my dear, it is good of you to take it so
cheerfully. But that you should be the only one of us to bear such
hard traces of our misfortune--

Mrs. Tjaelde (interrupting him). Do you forget your own whitened
hair? That is a sign of it, too, but a beautiful one! And, as for
my being an invalid, I thank God every day for it! In the first
place I have almost no pain, and then it gives me the opportunity
to feel how good you are to me in every way.

Tjaelde. You enjoy your life, then?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes, indeed I do--and just as I should wish to.

Tjaelde. Just to be spoiled, and yourself to spoil us?

Valborg (from the window). I have finished the accounts, father.

Tjaelde. Doesn't it come out at about what I said?

Valborg. Almost exactly. Shall I enter it in the ledger at once?

Tjaelde. Oho! You are glad then, as you seem in such it hurry?

Valborg. Certainly! Such a good stroke of business!

Tjaelde. And both you and Sannaes tried your best to dissuade
me from it!

Valborg. Such a pair of wiseacres!

Mrs. Tjaelde. Ah, your father is your master, my dear!

Tjaelde. Tjaelde. Oh, it is easy enough to captain a small army
that marches on, instead of a big one that is in retreat. (VALBORG
goes on with her work.)

Mrs. Tjaelde. And yet it seemed hard enough for us to give it up.

Tjaelde. Yes, yes--oh, yes. I can tell you, I was thinking of that
last night. If God had given me what I begged for then, what state
should we have been in now? I was thinking of that, too.

Mrs. Tjaelde. It is the fact of the estate being at last wound up
that has brought all these thoughts into your mind, dear?

Tjaelde. Yes.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Then I must confess that I, too, have scarcely been
able to think of anything else since yesterday, when Sannaes went
into town to settle it up. This a red-letter day! Signe is
wrestling with a little banquet for us; we shall see what an
artist she has become! Here she is!

Tjaelde. I think I will just go and look over Valborg's accounts.
(Goes to the window. SIGNE comes out of the house, wearing a
cook's apron and carrying a basin.)

Signe. Mother, you must taste my soup! (Offers her a spoonful.)

Mrs. Tjaelde. Clever girl! (Tastes the soup.) Perhaps it would
stand a little--. No, it is very good as it is. You are clever!

Signe. Am I not! Will Sannaes be back soon?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Your father says we may expect him any moment.

Tjaelde (at the window, to VALBORG). No, wait a moment. I will come
in. (Goes into the house, and is seen within the window beside
VALBORG.)

Mrs. Tjaelde. My little Signe, I want to ask you something?

Signe. Do you?

Mrs. Tjaelde. What was in the letter you had yesterday evening?

Signe. Aha, I might have guessed that was it! Nothing, mother.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Nothing that pained you, then?

Signe. I slept like a top all night--so you can judge for yourself.

Mrs. Tjaelde. I am so glad. But, you know, there seems to me
something a little forced in the gay way you say that?

Signe. Does there? Well, it was something that I shall always be
ashamed of; that is all.

Mrs. Tjaelde. I am thankful to hear it, for--

Signe (interrupting her). That must be Sannaes. I hear wheels. Yes,
here he is! He has come too soon; dinner won't be ready for half an
hour yet.

Mrs. Tjaelde. That doesn't matter.

Signe. Father, here is Sannaes!

Tjaelde (from within). Good! I will come out! (SIGNE goes into
the house as TJAELDE comes out. SANNAES comes in a moment later.)

Tjaelde and Mrs. Tjaelde. Welcome!

Sannaes. Thank you! (Lays down his dust-coat and driving gloves on
a chair, and comes forward.)

Tjaelde. Well?

Sannaes. Yes--your bankruptcy is discharged!

Mrs. Tjaelde. And the result was--?

Sannaes. Just about what we expected.

Tjaelde. And, I suppose, just about what Mr. Berent wrote?

Sannaes. Just about, except for one or two inconsiderable trifles.
You can see for yourself. (Gives him a bundle of papers.) The high
prices that have ruled of late, and good management, have altered
the whole situation.

Tjaelde (who has opened the papers and glanced at the totals). A
deficit of L12,000.

Sannaes. I made a declaration on your behalf, that you intended to
try and repay that sum, but that you should be at liberty to do it
in whatever way you found best. And so--

Tjaelde. And so--?

Sannaes. --I proferred on the spot rather more than half the amount
you still owed Jakobsen.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Not really? (TJAELDE takes out a pencil and begins
making calculations on the margins of the papers.)

Sannaes. There was general satisfaction--and they all sent you
their cordial congratulations.

Mrs. Tjaelde. So that, if all goes well--

Tjaelde. Yes, if things go as well with the business as they
promise to, Sannaes, in twelve or fourteen years I shall have paid
every one in full.

Mrs. Tjaelde. We haven't much longer than that left to live, dear!

Tjaelde. Then we shall die poor. And I shall not complain!

Mrs. Tjaelde. No, indeed! The honourable name you will leave to
your children will be well worth it.

Tjaelde. And they will inherit a sound business, which they can go
on with if they choose.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Did you hear that, Valborg?

Valborg (from the window). Every word! (SANNAES bows to her.) I
must go in and tell Signe! (Moves away from the window.)

Mrs. Tjaelde. What did Jakobsen say?--honest old Jakobsen?

Sannaes. He was very much affected, as you would expect. He will
certainly be coming out here to-day.

Tjaelde (looking up from the papers). And Mr. Berent?

Sannaes. He is coming hard on my heels. I was to give you his kind
regards and tell you so.

Tjaelde. Splendid! We owe him so much.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes, he has been a true friend to us. But, talking of
true friends, I have something particular to ask _you_, Sannaes.

Sannaes. Me, Mrs. Tjaelde?

Mrs. Tjaelde. The maid told me that yesterday, when you went into
town, you took the greater part of your belongings with you. Is
that so?

Sannaes. Yes, Mrs. Tjaelde.

Tjaelde. What does that mean? (To his wife.) You said nothing
about it to me, my dear.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Because I thought it might be a misunderstanding.
But now I must ask what was the meaning of it. Are you going away?

Sannaes (fingering a chair, in evident confusion). Yes, Mrs.
Tjaelde.

Tjaelde. Where to? You never said anything about it.

Sannaes. No; but I have always considered that I should have
finished my task here as soon as the estate was finally wound up.

Tjaelde and Mrs. Tjaelde. You mean to leave us?

Sannaes. Yes.

Tjaelde. But why?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Where do you mean to go?

Sannaes. To my relations in America. I can now, without doing you
any harm, withdraw my capital from the business by degrees and
transfer it abroad.

Tjaelde. And dissolve our partnership?

Sannaes. You know that at any rate you had decided now to resume
the old style of the firm's name.

Tjaelde. That is true; but, Sannaes, what does it all mean? What is
your reason?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Are you not happy here, where we are all so attached
to you?

Tjaelde. You have quite as good a prospect for the future here as
in America.

Mrs. Tjaelde. We held together in evil days; are we not to hold
together now that good days have come?

Sannaes. I owe you both so much.

Mrs. Tjaelde. Good heavens, it is we that owe you--

Tjaelde. --more than we can ever repay. (Reproachfully.) Sannaes!

(SIGNE comes in, having taken off her cooking apron.)

Signe. Congratulations! Congratulations! Father mother! (Kisses
them both.) Welcome, Sannaes!--But aren't you pleased?--now?
(A pause. VALBORG comes in.)

Valborg. What has happened?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Sannaes wants to leave us, my children (A pause.)

Signe. But, Sannaes--!

Tjaelde. Even if you want to go away, why have you never said a
single word to us about it before? (To the others.) Or has he
spoken to any of you? (MRS. TJAELDE shakes her head.)

Signe. No.

Sannaes. It was because--because--I wanted to be able to go as
soon as I had told you. Otherwise it would be too hard to go.

Tjaelde. You must have very serious grounds for it, then! Has
anything happened to you to--to make it necessary? (SANNAES
does not answer.)

Mrs. Tjaelde. And to make it impossible for you to trust any of
us?

Sannaes (shyly). I thought I had better keep it to myself. (A
pause.)

Tjaelde. That makes it still more painful for us--to think that you
could go about in our little home circle here, where you have
shared everything with us, carrying the secret of this intention
hidden in your heart.

Sannaes. Do not be hard on me! Believe me, if I could stay, I
would; and if I could tell you the reason, I would. (A pause.)

Signe (to her mother, in an undertone). Perhaps he wants to get
married?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Would his being here with us make any difference to
that? Any one that Sannaes loved would be dear to us.

Tjaelde (going up to SANNAES and putting an arm round his
shoulders). Tell one of us, then, if you cannot tell us all.
Is it nothing we can help you in?

Sannaes. No.

Tjaelde. But can you judge of that alone? One does not always
realise how much some one else's advice, on the experience of an
older man, may help one.

Sannaes. Unfortunately it is as I say.

Tjaelde. It must be something very painful, then?

Sannaes. Please--!

Tjaelde. Well, Sannaes, you have quite cast a cloud over to-day's
happiness for us. I shall miss you as I have never missed any one.

Mrs. Tjaelde. I cannot imagine the house without Sannaes!

Tjaelde (to his wife). Come, dear, shall we go in again?

Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes--it is not nice out here any longer. (TJAELDE
takes her into the house. SIGNE turns to VALBORG to go in with her,
but when she comes close to her she gives a little cry. VALBORG
takes her arm, and their eyes meet.)

Signe. Where have my wits been? (She goes into the house, looking
back at VALBORG and SANNAES. The latter is giving way to his
emotion, but as soon as his eyes fall on VALBORG he recovers
himself.)

Valborg (impetuously). Sannaes!

Sannaes. What are your orders, Miss Valborg?

Valborg (turning away from him, then turning back, but avoiding
his eyes). Do you really mean to leave us?

Sannaes. Yes, Miss Valborg. (A pause.)

Valborg. So we shall never stand back to back at our desks in the
same room again?

Sannaes. No, Miss Valborg.

Valborg. That is a pity; I had become so accustomed to it.

Sannaes. You will easily become accustomed to some one else's--
back.

Valborg. Ah, some one else is some one else.

Sannaes. You must excuse me, Miss Valborg; I don't feel in the
humour for jesting to-day. (Turn to go.)

Valborg (looking up at him). Is this to be our parting, then? (A
pause.)

Sannaes. I thought of taking leave of you all this afternoon.

Valborg (taking a step towards him). But ought not we two to settle
our accounts first?

Sannaes (coldly). No, Miss Valborg.

Valborg. Do you feel then that everything between us has been just
as it ought?

Sannaes. God knows I don't!

Valborg. But you think I am to blame?--Oh, well, it doesn't matter.

Sannaes. I am quite willing to take the blame. Put anyway, it is
all finished with now.

Valborg. But if we were to share the blame? You cannot be quite
indifferent as to which of us should take it?

Sannaes. I confess I am not. But, as I said, I do not wish for any
settling of accounts between us.

Valborg. But I wish it.

Sannaes. You will have plenty of time to settle it to your own
satisfaction.

Valborg. But, if I am in difficulties about it, I cannot do it
alone.

Sannaes. I do not think you will find any difficulty.

Valborg. But if _I_ think so?--if I feel myself deeply wronged?

Sannaes. I have told you that I am willing to take all the blame
upon myself.

Valborg. No, Sannaes--I don't want charity; I want to be
understood. I have a question to ask you.

Sannaes. As you will.

Valborg. How was it that we got on so well for the first year after
my father's failure-and even longer? Have you ever thought of that?

Sannaes. Yes. I think it was because we never talked about
anything but our work--about business.

Valborg. You were my instructor.

Sannaes. And when you no longer needed an instructor--

Valborg. --we hardly spoke to one another.

Sannaes (softly). No.

Valborg. Well, what could I say or do, when every sign of
friendship on my part went unnoticed?

Sannaes. Unnoticed? Oh no, Miss Valborg, I noticed them.

Valborg. That was my punishment, then!

Sannas. God forbid I should do you an injustice. You had a motive
which did you credit; you felt compassion for me, and so you could
not help acting as you did. But, Miss Valborg, I refuse your
compassion.

Valborg. And suppose it were gratitude?

Sannaes (softly). I dreaded that more than anything else! I had had
a warning.

Valborg. You must admit, Sannaes, that all this made you very
difficult to deal with!

Sannaes. I quite admit that. But, honestly, _you_ must admit that I
had good reason to mistrust an interest in me that sprang from
mere gratitude. Had circumstances been different, I should only
have bored you cruelly; I knew that quite well. And I had no
fancy for being an amusement for your idle hours.

Valborg. How you have mistaken me!--If you will think of it, surely
you must understand how different a girl, who has been accustomed
to travel and society, becomes when she has to stay at home and
work because it is her duty. She comes to judge men by an
altogether different standard, too. The men that she used to think
delightful are very likely to appear small in her eyes when it is a
question of the demands life makes on ability or courage or
self-sacrifice; while the men she used to laugh at are transformed
in her eyes into models of what God meant men to be, when she is
brought into close contact with them in her father's office.--Is
there anything so surprising in that? (A pause.)

Sannaes. Thank you, at all events, for saying that to me. It has
done me good. But you should have said it sooner.

Valborg (emphatically). How could I, when you misjudged everything
I did or said? No; it was impossible until mistakes and
misunderstandings had driven us so far apart that we could not
endure them any longer (Turns away.)

Sannaes. Perhaps you are right. I cannot at once recall all that
has happened. If I have been mistaken, I shall by degrees find the
knowledge of it a profound comfort.--You must excuse me, Miss
Valborg, I have a number of things to see to. (Turns to go.)

Valborg (anxiously). Sannaes, as you admit that you have judged me
unjustly, don't you think you ought at least to give me--some
satisfaction?

Sannaes. You may be certain, Miss Valborg, that when I am balancing
our account you shall not suffer any injustice. But I cannot do it
now. All I have to do now is to get ready to go.

Valborg. But you are not ready to go, Sannaes! You have not
finished your work here yet! There is what I just spoke of--and
something else that dates farther back than that.

Sannaes. You must feel how painful it is for me to prolong this
interview. (Turns to go.)

Valborg. But surely you won't go without setting right something
that I am going to beg you to?

Sannas. What is that, Miss Valborg?

Valborg. Something that happened a long time ago.

Sannaes. If it is in my power, I will do what you ask.

Valborg. It is.--Ever since that day you have never offered to
shake hands with me.

Sannaes. Have you really noticed that? (A pause.)

Valborg (with a smile, turning away). Will you do so now?

Sannaes (stepping nearer to her). Is this more than a mere whim?

Valborg (concealing her emotion). How can you ask such a question
now?

Sannaes. Because all this time you have never once asked me to
shake hands with you.

Valborg. I wanted you to offer me your hand. (A pause.)

Sannaes. Are you serious for once?

Valborg. I mean it, seriously.

Sannaes (in a happier voice). You really set a value on it?

Valborg. A great value.

Sannaes (going up to her). Here it is, then!

Valborg (turning and taking his hand). I accept the hand you offer
me.

Sannaes (turning pale). What do you mean?

Valborg. I mean that for some time past I have known that I should
be proud to be the wife of a man who has loved me, and me alone,
ever since he was a boy, and has saved my father and us all.

Sannaes. Oh, Miss Valborg!

Valborg. And you wanted to go away, rather than offer me your
hand; and that, only because we had accepted help from you--and you
did not think we were free agents! That was too much; and, as you
would not speak, I had to!

Sannaes (kneeling to her). Miss Valborg!

Valborg. You have the most loyal nature, the most delicate mind,
and the warmest heart I have ever known.

Sannaes. This is a thousand times too much!

Valborg. Next to God, I have to thank you that I have become what I
am; and I feel that I can offer you a life's devotion such as you
would rarely find in this world.

Sannaes. I cannot answer because I scarcely realise what you are
saying. But you are saying it because you are sorry for me, now
that I have to go away, and feel that you owe me some gratitude.
(Takes both her hand in his.) Let me speak! I know the truth better
than you, and have thought over it far more than you. You are so
immeasurably above me in ability, in education, in manners--and a
wife should not be able to look down on her husband. At all events,
I am too proud to be willing to be exposed to that. No, what you
are feeling now is only the result of your beautiful nature, and
the recollection of it will hallow all my life. All the pain and
all the happiness I have known have come from you. Your life will
be one of self-renunciation; but, God knows there are many such!
And my burden will be lightened now, because I shall know that your
good wishes will always be with me. (Gets up.) But part we must--
and now more than ever! For I could not bear to be near you unless
you were mine, and to make you mine would only mean misery for us
both after a little while!

Valborg. Sannaes--!

Sannaes (holding her hands and interrupting her). I entreat you not
to say anything more! You have too much power over me; do not use
it to make me sin! For it would be that--a great sin--to put two
honest hearts into a false position, where they would distress one
another, even perhaps get to hate one another.

Valborg. But let me--

Sannas (letting go her hands and stepping back). No, you must not
tempt me. Life with you would mean perpetual anxiety, for I should
never feel equal to what it would demand of me! But now I can part
from you comforted. There will be no bitterness in my heart now;
and by degrees all my thoughts of the past and of you will turn to
sweetness. God bless you! May every good fortune go with you!
Good-bye! (Goes quickly towards the house.)

Valborg. Sannaes! (Follows him.) Sannaes! Listen to me! (SANNAES
takes up his coat and gloves, and, as he rushes out without looking
where he is going, runs full tilt into BERENT who comes in at that
moment followed by JAKOBSEN.)

Sannaes. I beg your pardon! (Rushes out to the right.)

Berent. Are you two playing a game of blind man's buff?

Valborg. God knows we are!

Berent. You need not be so emphatic about it! I have had forcible
evidence of it. (Rubs his stomach and laughs.)

Valborg. You must excuse me! Father is in there. (Points to the
left and goes hurriedly out to the right.)

Berent. We don't seem to be getting a particularly polite
reception!

Jakobsen. No, we seem to be rather in the way, Mr. Berent.

Berent (laughing). It looks like it. But what has been going on?

Jakobsen. I don't know. They looked as if they had been fighting,
their faces were so flushed.

Berent. They looked upset, you mean?

Jakobsen. Yes, that's it. Ah, here is Mr. Tjaelde! (To himself.)
Good Lord, how aged he looks! (Withdraws into the background as
BERENT goes forward to greet TJAELDE, who comes in.)

Tjaelde (to BERENT). I am delighted to see you! You are always
welcome in our little home--and this year more welcome than ever!

Berent. Because things are going better than ever this year! I
congratulate you on your discharge--and also on your determination
to pay everything in full!

Tjaelde. Yes, if God wills, I mean to--

Berent. Well, things are going splendidly, aren't they?

Tjaelde. So far, yes.

Berent. You are over the worst of it, now that you have laid the
foundations of a new business and laid them solidly.

Tjaelde. One of the things that have given me the greatest
encouragement has been the fact that I have won your confidence--
and that has gained me the confidence of others.

Berent. I could have done nothing unless you had first of all done
everything. But don't let us say any more about it!--Well, the
place looks even prettier than it did last year.

Tjaelde. We do a little more to it each year, you know.

Berent. And you are still all together here?

Tjaelde. So far, yes.

Berent. Ah, by the way, I can give you news of your deserter.
(TJAELDE looks surprised.) I mean your lieutenant!

Tjaelde. Oh--of him! Have you seen him?

Berent. I was on the same boat coming here. There was a very
rich girl on board.

Tjaelde (laughing). Oh, I see!

Berent. All the same, I don't think it came to any thing. It is
rather like coming upon a herd of deer when you are stalking; after
your first shot, you don't find it so easy to get another; they
have grown wary!

Jakobsen (who during this conversation has been screwing up his
courage to address TJAELDE). I--I am a pig, I am! I know that!

Tjaelde (taking his hand). Oh, come, Jakobsen!--

Jakobsen. A great blundering pig!--But I know it now!

Tjaelde. That's all right! I can tell you I am delighted to be able
to set affairs straight between you and me.

Jakobsen. I don't know what to answer. It goes to my heart! (Shakes
his hand heartily.) You are a far better man than I,--and I said so
to my wife. "He's a splendid fellow," I said.

Tjaelde (releasing his hand). Let us forget everything except the
happy days we have had together, Jakobsen! How do things go
at the Brewery?

Jakobsen. At the Brewery! As long as folk ladle beer into their
stomachs at the rate they do now--

Berent. Jakobsen was kind enough to drive me out here. We had a
most amusing drive. He is a character.

Jakobsen (in an anxious undertone, to TJAELDE). What does he mean
by that?

Tjaelde. That you are different from most people.

Jakobsen. Ah!--I didn't feel sure, you know, whether he wasn't
sitting there making game of me, all the way here.

Tjaelde. How can you think such a thing? (To BERENT.) Do come into
the house. Excuse my going first; but my wife is not always quite
prepared to receive visitors since she has been able to do so
little for herself. (Goes into the house.)

Berent. I don't think Mr. Tjaelde seems to me to be looking in
quite as good form as I expected?

Jakobsen. Don't you? I didn't notice anything.

Berent. Perhaps I am mistaken. I think he meant us to follow him
in, didn't he?

Jakobsen. So I understood.

Berent. Then, as you have brought me so far, you must take me
in to Mrs. Tjaelde.

Jakobsen. I am quite at your service, sir. I have the deepest
respect for Mrs. Tjaelde--(hurriedly)--and of course for Mr.
Tjaelde too. Of course.

Berent. Yes. Well, let us go in.

Jakobsen. Let us go in. (He tries anxiously to keep in step with
BERENT'S peculiar walk, but finds it difficult.)

Berent. I think you had better not try. My step suits very few.

Jakobsen. Oh, I shall manage--! (They go out to the left. SANNAES
comes hurriedly in from the right, and crosses the stage; looks
around; then comes across to the foreground and leans with his
back against a tree. VALBORG comes in a moment later, comes
forward, sees him, and laughs.)

Sannaes. There, you see, Miss Valborg; you are laughing at me.

Valborg. I don't know whether I want to laugh or to cry.

Sannaes. Believe me, you are mistaken about this, Miss Valborg.
You don't see things as plainly as I do.

Valborg. Which of us was it that was mistaken to-day?--and had
to beg pardon for it?

Sannaes. It was I, I know. But this is impossible! A real union of
hearts needs to be founded on more than respect--

Valborg (laughing). On love?

Sannaes. You misunderstand me. Could you go into society with me
without feeling embarrassed? (VALBORG laughs.) You see, the mere
idea of it makes you laugh.

Valborg (laughing). I am laughing because you are magnifying the
least important part of it into the most important.

Sannaes. You know how awkward and shy--in fact downright frightened
I am amongst those who--. (VALBORG laughs again.) There, you see--
you can't help laughing at the idea!

Valborg. I should perhaps even laugh at you when we were in society
together! (Laughs.)

Sannaes (seriously). But I should suffer horribly if you did.

Valborg. Believe me, Sannaes, I love you well enough to be able
to afford to have a little laugh sometimes at your little
imperfections. Indeed, I often do! And suppose we were out in
society, and I saw you weighed down under the necessity for pretty
manners that do not come easy to you; if I did laugh at you, do you
think there would be any unkindness behind my laughter? If others
laughed at you, do you suppose I would not, the very next moment,
take your arm and walk proudly down the room with you? I know what
you really are, and others know it too! Thank God it is not only
bad deeds that are known to others in this world!

Sannaes. Your words intoxicate me and carry me off my feet!

Valborg (earnestly). If you think I am only flattering you, let us
put it to the test. Mr. Berent is here. He moves in the very best
society, but he is superior to its littlenesses. Shall we take his
opinion? Without betraying anything, I could make him give it in
a moment.

Sannaes (carried away). I want no one's opinion but yours!

Valborg. That's right! If only you feel certain of my love--

Sannaes (impetuously). --then nothing else will seem to matter;
and that alone will be able to teach me all that I lack, in a very
short time.

Valborg. Look into my eyes!

Sannaes (taking her hands). Yes!

Valborg. Do you believe that nothing would ever make me ashamed of
you!

Sannaes. Yes, I believe that.

Valborg (with emotion). Do you believe that I love you?

Sannaes. Yes! (Falls on one knee.)

Valborg. Deeply enough for my love to last all our lives--

Sannaes. Yes, yes!

Valborg. Then stay with me; and we will look after the old folk--
and replace them when, in God's good time, they are taken from us.
(SANNAES bursts into tears. TJAELDE, who has come to the window to
show BERENT his ledgers, happens to look up and sees VALBORG and
SANNAES.)

Tjaelde (leaning out of the window, and speaking gently:) Valborg,
what has happened?

Valborg (quietly). Only that Sannaes and I are engaged to be
married.

Tjaelde. Is it possible! (To BERENT, who is immersed in the
accounts.) Excuse me! (Hurries away from the window.)

Sannaes (who, in his emotion has heard nothing). Forgive me! It
has been such a long, hard struggle--and I feel overwhelmed!

Valborg. Let us go in to my mother.

Sannws (shrinking back). I can't, Miss Valborg--you must wait a
little--

Valborg. Here they come. (TJAELDE comes in wheeling MRS. TJAELDE in
her chair. VALBORG runs to her mother and throws herself into her
arms.)

Mrs. Tjaelde (softly). God be praised and thanked!

Tjaelde (going up to SANNAES and embracing him). My son!

Mrs. Tjaelde. So that was why Sannaes wanted to go away! Oh,
Sannaes! (TJAELDE brings SANNAES up to her. SANNAES kneels and
kisses her hand, then gets up and goes into the background, to
recover himself. SIGNE comes in.)

Signe. Mother, everything is ready now!

Mrs. Tjaelde. So are things out here!

Signe (looking round). Not really?

Valborg (to SIGNE). Forgive me for never having told you!

Signe. You certainly kept your secret well!

Valborg. I kept long years of suffering secret--that was all!
(SIGNE kisses her and whispers to her; then turns to SANNAES.)

Signe. Sannaes! (Shakes his hand.) So we are to be brother and
sister-in-law?

Sannaes (embarrassed). Oh, Miss Signe--

Signe. But you mustn't call me Miss Signe now, you know!

Valborg. You must expect that! He calls me "Miss" Valborg still!

Singe. Well, he won't be able to do that when you are married,
anyway!

Mrs. Tjaelde (to TJAELDE). But where are our friends?

Tjaelde. Mr. Berent is in the office. There he is, at the window.

Berent (at the window). Now I am coming straight out to
congratulate you, with my friend Jakobsen. (Comes out.)

Valborg (going to TJAELDE). Father!

Tjaelde. My child!

Valborg. If we had not known those bad days we should never
have known this happy one! (He gives her a grip of the hand.)

Tjaelde (to BERENT). Allow me to present to you my daughter
Valborg's fiance--Mr. Sannaes.

Berent. I congratulate you on your choice, Miss Valborg--and I
congratulate the whole family on such a son-in-law.

Valborg (triumphantly). There, Sannaes!

Jakobsen. May I too, though I am only a stupid sort of chap, say
that this lad has been in love with you ever since he was in his
teens--he hardly could be sooner than that. But I can tell you,
honestly, I should never have credited you with having so much
sense as to take him. (All laugh.)

Mrs. Tjaelde. Signe is whispering to me that our dinner is getting
cold.

Signe. May I take my mother's place and ask you to take me in to
dinner, Mr. Berent?

Berent (offering her his arm). I am honoured!--But our bridal pair
must go first!

Valborg. Sannaes--?

Sannaes (whispers, as he gives her his arm). To think that I have
you on my arm! (They go into the house, followed by BERENT
and SIGNE, and by JAKOBSEN.)

Tjaelde (bending over his wife, as he prepares to wheel her chair
in). My dear, God has blessed our house now!

Mrs. Tjaelde. My dear man!

Curtain.



THE KING

A PLAY IN A PROLOGUE AND FOUR ACTS


DRAMATIS PERSONAE

The KING.
HARALD GRAN, a rich manufacturer.
KOLL, Chief Magistrate of the district.
FLINK.
CLARA ERNST.
The PRINCESS.
BARONESS MARC.
ANNA, a deaf and dumb girl.
FALBE.
The MAYOR.
NATHALIE, his daughter.
ALSTAD.
VILHELM, his son.
The PARISH PRIEST.
BANG, a rich trader.
VINAEGER.
COUNT PLATEN.
The GENERAL.
MATILDE.
A Ballad Singer.
A Young Beggar.
A Servant of the King's.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Masked Dancers, Work-people, Farmers, etc.


THE KING

PROLOGUE

(SCENE.--A large gothic hall, brilliantly illuminated, in which a
masked ball is taking place. At the rise of the curtain a ballet is
being performed in the centre of the hall. Masked dancers are
grouped around, watching it. Two of them, women, are conversing on
the right of the stage.)

First Mask. Have you heard that the King is to be here to-night?

Second Mask. Yes, and since I heard it I have been imagining I
saw him everywhere.

First Mask (pointing). That is not he, is it?

Second Mask. He is taller than that.

First Mask. That one, then? Look, that one!

Second Mask. That one has spoken to me. He has too old a voice.

First Mask. Shall we see if we can find him?

Second Mask. Yes, come along!

(A number of girls, wearing similar costumes and all masked,
have meanwhile collected on the left side of the stage.)

First Girl. Are we all here?

Second Girl. All but Matilde.

Matilde. Here I am! Have you heard that the King is to be here?

All. Really?

Matilde. I don't know how he is dressed; but one of the masters
of the ceremonies told me he was to be here.

Several of the Girls. The dear King! (Two masked dancers, dressed
as Cats, pass by.)

Tom Cat. Do you hear that, my pet?

Puss. Miau!

Matilde. Let us try and discover him.

All. Yes, yes!

A Mask. And when we have discovered him--?

Matilde. Let us all dance round him!

All. Yes!

Tom Cat (to Puss). You had better look after your virtue, Miss!

Puss. Miau!

Tom Cat. Miau! (They pass out of sight.)

Matilde. Remember that we are all to meet here in a quarter of an
hour!

All. Yes! (They disperse. The ballet comes to a close amidst
universal applause. Conversation among the dancers becomes general
and animated. The BARONESS MARC, disguised as an Old Woman, comes
forward, talking to another mask dressed as a Donkey.)

Baroness. I will never forgive you for that, my lord chamberlain.

The Donkey. But you frighten me clean out of my part, Baroness!

Baroness. If only I could understand how it happened!

The Donkey. After all, my dear Baroness, you cannot be expected to
take out all your schoolmistresses and their senior pupils on a
leash!

Baroness. No, but I have particular reasons for wishing to look
closely after _her_. (All this time she has been persistently
looking round the room.) And in such a whirling crowd as this--

The Donkey. Let us lose ourselves in it, then! (He brays as they
go out. The PRINCESS, masked and dressed in a costume of the time
of Louis XV., comes forward accompanied by a Cavalier in a costume
of the same period.)

Princess (continuing a discussion). And I say that if a king has
such graces of mind and person as ours has, he may do anything he
pleases.

Cavalier. _Anything_, Princess?

Princess. Anything that his mind prompts, provided that he do it
beautifully. (A GENTLEMAN-IN-WAITING, dressed in a costume of the
same period, approaches them.)

Gentleman-in-Waiting. I cannot discover him, your Royal Highness!

Princess. But he is here. He is _here_. And for a lady's sake. I am
certain I am right.

Cavalier. But I asked one of the masters of the ceremonies, and
he knew nothing about it.

Princess. Then it must have been one that has not been let into
the secret.

Cavalier. But, your Royal Highness--

Princess. Don't keep calling me "your Royal Highness," but get
me a description of the costume he is wearing. (The GENTLEMAN-
IN-WAITING bows and goes away.) And you and I will go on hunting--

Cavalier. --for the noble huntsman--

Princess. --who is being hunted himself! (Moves away, but stops
suddenly.) Who is that? (CLARA ERNST, masked and in peasant
costume, comes forward followed by a masked figure wearing a
domino. He is whispering to her over her shoulder. She keeps
glancing about, as if looking for some one.)

The Domino. --and there, in the enchanted castle, buried deep in
the wooded park--

Clara. Let me alone!

The Domino. --there we shall be greeted by a babbling fountain of
water--a nymph, holding the cup of joy high above her head--

Clara (anxiously). What can have become of her?

(Meanwhile one of the masked dancers has been following them,
and now turns back to join others.)

A Masked Dancer (pointing to the DOMINO). That is the King!

Another (quickly). But who is _she_?

The Domino. --on both sides, shady alleys leading to the doors of a
secret retreat; and there--

Clara (turning round). I despise you! (The dancing and music
suddenly stop. General consternation.)

The Baroness (starting forward as she hears CLARA voice.) Clara!

The Domino (taking CLARA's hand and leading her apart from the
others). Do you know who it is that you despise?

Clara (greatly agitated). Yes, I know who you are!--and that is
why, from the bottom of my heart, I despise you! (The music
begins afresh, covering the general consternation that has spread
among the dancers. The BARONESS comes forward with a cry of
"Clara!" CLARA bursts into tears and throws herself into her arms.
Curtain.)



ACT I


SCENE I

(SCENE.--A large hall in Gran's factory. The walls are bare. On the
left, about half-way forward, is a small platform. A meeting of the
shareholders of a railway company is in progress. Facing the
platform are seated the gentry; the common herd, mainly farmers and
work-people, are sitting and standing about wherever they can find
room. On the right, large windows are standing open; through these
another crowd can be seen, listening from outside. GRAN is standing
in front of the platform, speaking to the meeting.)

Gran. And, as it was found impossible for the main 1ine of the
railway to touch our town, we determined, rather than allow all our
exertions to be wasted, to construct a branch line on our own
account. I had the honour to be elected chairman of the board of
directors of this undertaking. No directors ever had more
unrestricted powers than were given to us--possibly because there
were no two opinions as to the route the line should take the
natural formation of the ground indicated it unmistakably. It was
only when we approached the question of the purchase of our
rolling-stock that any dissension arose--not among the directors,
but among the shareholders. As the majority of the latter are
farmers and work-people, we had decided on buying only one class of
railway carriage of a type slightly more comfortable than the
ordinary third-class carriage. That is the extent of our misdeeds!
To-day's meeting will probably show what the general sense on the
matter is. Our powers being unlimited, we were under no obligation
to consult any one in the matter; but, notwithstanding that, we
decided to call a meeting of the shareholders and submit the
question to them. And, on the directors' behalf, I must thank the
shareholders for having attended in such numbers; young and
old, men and women, I dare say quite a third of the total number
of shareholders are present. The meeting will now proceed to
elect a chairman. (Sits down.)

The Mayor (after a pause). I beg to move that Mr. Koll, our chief
magistrate, whom it is a great pleasure to see honouring this
meeting with his presence, have the further kindness to take the
chair.

Gran. The motion before the meeting is that the Chief Magistrate
shall take the chair. Shall I assume it to be carried? (Silence
follows.)

The Mayor. Yes. (Laughter.)

Gran. The meeting should preferably elect some one who may be
considered to be unaffected by considerations of party.

Alstad (half rising, with his glasses in his hand). Then we shall
have to send for some one that does not live in these parts! There
is no one of that sort left here! (Sits down, amidst laughter.)

The Priest. All authority springs from on high. Obedience to those
set in authority over us is obedience to the Almighty. But it is
against this very obedience that people are rebelling nowadays.

Gran. It is precisely some one to be in authority over us that we
want to elect. At present we have no one.

The Priest. No, that's just it. Every meeting nowadays seems to
claim authority on its own account. Let rather show our respect
to actual authority--such respect as we would show to our fathers.
(Sits down.)

Gran. Then, as far as I can grasp the situation, the Chief
Magistrate has been proposed and seconded?

The Priest. Yes.

Gran. Does any one wish to propose any one else? (Silence.)

Alstad. May I request the Chief Magistrate to take the chair?

Koll (getting up). I don't know that it is any great compliment to
be elected in this way; but I will take the chair, for the sole
reason of enabling the meeting to proceed to business. (Takes his
place on the platform, and raps on the table with a mallet.) I
declare the meeting open.

Gran (getting up). Mr. Chairman!

Koll. Mr. Gran will address the meeting.

Gran. The motion proposed by the directors is this: "That only
one class of railway carriage shall be purchased, slightly more
comfortable than the ordinary third-class carriage." (Gives the
motion in writing to the chairman, and sits down.)

Koll. The following is the motion submitted to meeting. (Reads it
out.) Who wishes to speak on the motion? (Silence.) Come, some one
must speak on it--or I shall have to put it to the vote forthwith.
(Silence, followed by laughter here and there.)

The Priest. Mr. Chairman!

Koll. The Priest will address the meeting.

The Priest. I see, in this assembly, a number of young men, even
a number of maidens; and I feel bound to ask whether young men, and
even maidens, are to be allowed to take part in these proceedings?

Koll. Any shareholder that is of age has the right to.

The Priest. But St. Paul expressly tells us that women are not to
speak in public places.

Koll. Well, they can hold their tongues, then. (Laughter.)

The Priest. But even the fact of voting at a railway meeting does
not seem to me to be in accordance with the humility and modesty
that both Nature and the Scriptures indicate as characteristic of
woman. I believe it to be the first step on a wrong road. The
apostle says--

Koll. We must leave them to decide the matter for themselves. Does
any one wish to--?

The Priest (interrupting him). Mr. Chairman, if you will not
permit me to quote the apostle, allow me at all events to say that
the spectacle of a young man voting against his father, or a
woman voting against her husband--

Koll. Will you tell me who could prohibit it? Does any one wish
to speak--?

The Priest (interrupting). The Scriptures prohibit it, Mr.
Chairman!--the Scriptures, which we are all bound to obey, even--

Gran (getting up and interrupting him). Mr. Chairman!

Koll. Mr. Gran will address the meeting.

Gran. I only want to ask whether--

The Priest. But _I_ was addressing the meeting!

Koll. Mr. Gran will address the meeting.

The Priest. I protest against that ruling!

Alstad (half rising). Our worthy Priest must obey authority. (Sits
down amidst laughter.)

The Priest. Not when it does an injustice! I appeal to the meeting!

Koll. Very good!--Will those in favour of the Priest addressing the
meeting kindly stand up? (No one gets up; and those who were
previously standing bob down. Laughter.) Carried unanimously, that
the Priest do not address the meeting. (The PRIEST sits down.) Mr.
Gran will address the meeting.

Gran (getting up). I withdraw from my right! (Renewed laughter.)

The Mayor (getting up). Mr. Chairman!

Koll. The Mayor will address the meeting.

The Mayor. I am one of many to whom this proposal of the directors
seems extraordinary, to say the least of it. Do they propose that
the ladies of my family--I will leave myself out of the question,
for as a public man I have to rub shoulders with all sorts of
people--do they propose, I say, that ladies who have been
delicately brought up shall travel with any Tom, Dick and Harry?--
perhaps with convicts being conveyed to gaol, or with journeymen
labourers? Is his honour the Chief Magistrate, who is a Commander
of a noble Order of Knighthood, to travel side by side with a
drunken navvy? Supposing the King were to pay a visit to this
beautiful district, which has acquired such a reputation since so
many of the best people from town have taken villas here; is his
Majesty to make the journey in one of these third-class carriages,
with the chance of travelling in company with tradesman stinking of
stale cheese?--with folk who, moreover--well, perhaps in common
decency I ought not to go on, as ladies are present. (Laughter.)
"Economy," I hear some one suggest. That word is in great favour
nowadays. But I should like to know what economy there is getting
your clothes soiled? (Laughter.) Does a first-class carriage wear
out sooner than a third class? It costs more to build, no doubt,
but that is soon made up by the higher fares charged. I can
discover no reasonable ground for this proposal, look at it how you
will from the commercial point of view. One has to look at the
_political_ aspect of the matter, to understand it; and I am
reluctant to drag in politics. I will only say, in conclusion, that
it must be those who have framed this proposal that expect to
derive some profit from it; the railway certainly would derive
none. (Sits down.)

Koll. That last remark was a little like an accusation--

The Mayor (getting up). I only alluded to what is in every one's
mind. (Sits down.)

Koll. A speaker is not in order in making accusations, even though
they be assumed to be in every one's mind.--I see that Mr. Alstad
wishes to speak.

Alstad. Human nature is frail. That seems to me a sufficient
explanation of how such a proposal came to be laid before us. But
honestly--for we all ought to be honest!--it seems to me that any
material advantage it might bring would be more than counterbalanced
by loss of esteem. (Uproar.) There has been quite a different
spirit in the place of late years--what with the factories, and the
stranger workmen, and the summer visitors. We never used to have so
much unrest or to hear so much of this talk about "equality." And
now, if we are to give the impression that there is only one social
class here--and that a third class--I know that I shall be by no
means alone in feeling offended. We certainly don't want to sit on
our work-people's laps; and, equally, we don't want to have them
sitting on ours. (Sits down.)

Gran. Our friend the Mayor is very fond of talking of his loyalty;
but I must say I am surprised at his dragging the King even into
this matter. As for the matter of the railway carriage in which one
of so high degree would travel here--well, if our carriages are not
good enough, surely his Majesty's private saloon can be used on our
line as well as on the main line. And as for any of us ordinary
mortals who are afraid of mixing with the common herd, surely they
can sit together in carriages by themselves. The carriages would be
separate; they would only be of the same kind. I think there would
be little fear of their being exposed to intrusion on the part of
our country-folk. _They_ are much more apt to be more timidly shy
than is even desirable. On all small lines--even on many of the
bigger ones--it is the less luxurious carriages, the second and
third class, that for the cost of the more luxurious ones; it is
the third class that pays for the first. But that some passengers
should travel comfortably at the expense of those who travel less
comfortably, is what we wish to avoid. (Applause.) An old resident
of the yeoman class has reproached us with wishing to alter our
customs. Well, if one of our old customs is the aristocratic one
which makes the gulf that separates masters and men wider than it
already is, all I can say is that the sooner it is abolished the
better; for it is not a good custom; it is even a dangerous one.
(Murmurs.) And as for the political aspect of the question--

Koll. Don't you think we should leave politics out of the question?

Gran (bows, with a laugh). That is just what I was going to say,
Mr. Chairman; that we ought to leave politics out out of the
question. (Sits down, amidst laughter applause. The audience, first
the younger men and then the older farmers, begin arguing the
matter with one another, more and more loudly.)

Koll. I must beg the meeting to keep quiet, as long as this
business is under discussion. The Mayor wishes to speak.

The Mayor. I admit that I am loyal--

Koll. Those people outside must be quiet!

Alstad (going to the window). You must keep quiet!

The Mayor. I admit I am loyal! I count it a point of honour, as a
native of the place, to show his Majesty that our first thought
when we planned this railway was, at that important moment, that
his Majesty might possibly be pleased to manifest a desire to pay
us a visit. "Let him use his own private saloon," we are told! No,
Mr. Chairman, that is not the way to speak when we are speaking
of his Majesty! And what about his Majesty's suite? Are they to
travel third class? What I say is that we are casting a slight on
his Majesty if we cast a slight on his railway carriage--I should
say, on his suite. And I go farther than that. I say that his
Majesty's functionaries are his Majesty's representatives, and that
it is casting an additional slight upon his Majesty not to show a
proper respect for them. I know that this jars upon the ears of
many present; they do not consider that a man who holds a public
office should be shown any more respect than any one else. The
majority rules, and the majority only thinks of its own interests
and those of its servile supporters. But even in this community of
ours there is a minority that bears the burden of its affairs and
represents its honour; and we will never consent to be dragged down
into the mire of this "equality" into which you want to plunge each
and every one of us! (Uproar.)

Koll. The honourable speaker appears to me to be trenching upon
politics--

The Mayor. Possibly I am, Mr. Chairman; but what honest man can
shirk the truth? Only compare the present state of things in this
community with what was the case when everything here was as it
should be; when the King and his officials were respected; when
public affairs were in the hands of those who knew how to direct
them; when we used to have singing competitions, shooting
competitions, and other festal meetings of that kind. And--yes--
well--compare, I say, the conditions in those days with our
conditions to-day--that is to say, with all this talk of "the
people;" as, for instance--

Koll. It is railway carriages that we are discussing.

The Mayor. Quite so! But what is it that is at the bottom of this
proposal, Mr. Chairman? Does it not spring from that passion for
destruction, for a universal levelling which aims at abolishing the
monarchy, at destroying authority--

The Priest. And the Church too, my friend!

The Mayor. --and the Church, it is quite true! Yes, it is because
they desire the Church and--

Koll. It is railway carriages that we are discussing.

The Mayor. Exactly. But an old public official like myself, who
once was held in respect, when he sees the pillars of society
tottering and feels the keenest pang of sorrow at--

Koll. For the last time, it is railway carriages that we are
discussing!

The Mayor (overcome by his feelings). I have no more say. (Sits
down.)

Koll. Mr. Alstad wishes to speak.

Alstad (getting up). The question before the meeting is itself a
small matter; but it is the consequences of it that I fear. We may
expect any proposal of the same kidney now. Never let it be said
that our community was eager to range itself under this banner of
"equality!" It bears too old and honoured a name for that! But
there is one thing I want to say. We have always, before this, felt
it an honour and a privilege to have the richest man in these parts
living amongst us. But when we see him one of the most eager in
support of a "popular" proposal of this sort, then it appears, to
me at all events, to be absolutely unaccountable how--oh, well, I
won't run the risk making what our chairman calls "accusations"; I
will sit down and hold my tongue. I have the right to do that at
all events. (Sits down.)

Koll. Mr. Gran will address the meeting.

Flink. Three cheers for Mr. Gran! (Almost the whole meeting cheers
lustily. KOLL shouts at them and hammers on the table with his
mallet in vain.)

Koll (when peace is restored). I must ask the meeting to show some
respect for its chairman. If not, I will leave the chair.--Mr. Gran
will address the meeting.

Gran. The plan that we are proposing is no new one. It has been in
practice for a long time. In America--

The Priest, Alstad, and others. Yes, in America!

The Mayor (getting up). Mr. Chairman, are we to have politics,
after all?

Koll. I cannot see that to mention America is to talk politics.

The Mayor. Then what is politics, if America isn't?

Koll. To talk politics is--for instance--to use the arguments your
worship did. Mr. Gran will proceed.

Gran. I see that the Priest wishes to speak. I shall be happy to
give way.

Koll. The Priest will address the meeting.

The Priest. I see here, in this assembly, a number of those whom I
am accustomed to address in more solemn surroundings. My dear
parishioners, it was for your sake that I came here. You have heard
for yourselves--the whole question is a political one; and, dear
fellow Christians, let me entreat you to shun politics! Did not our
Lord Himself say: "My kingdom is not of this world"? This freedom,
this equality, of which they talk is not the soul's freedom, not
that equality which--

Koll. I would suggest to the reverend speaker that he should
postpone his remarks until the next time he gets into the pulpit.
(Slight laughter.)

The Priest. One should be instant in season and out of season;
therefore--

Koll. I forbid you to continue.

The Priest. It is written: "Thou shalt obey God rather than man"!
My dear parishioners, let us all leave this meeting! Who will
follow his priest? (Takes a few steps towards the door, but no one
follows him. Laughter. He sighs deeply, and sits down again.)

Koll. If no one else wishes to speak--

Vinaeger. Mr. Chairman!

Koll. Mr. Vinaeger wishes to speak.

Vinaeger. These proceedings remind me of China, and of the Chinese
mandarins who will not allow any one of lesser degree to come near
them--although at moments I have felt as if I were still in Europe
in the presence of a still greater power, greater even than the
Grand Turk--I mean this democratic envy which grudges others what
it has not got itself. To reconcile both parties I should like to
make the following suggestion. Build the carriages, as is often
done, in two stories. Then those who wish to ensure their privacy
can do so by sitting upstairs; and the others will be satisfied
too, because they will all be in the same carriage after all.
(Loud laughter.)

Koll. If no one else wishes to speak (looks at GRAN, who shakes his
head) I shall proceed to put the question to the vote. The motion
submitted by the directors, which is now before the meeting, is as
follows--

The Mayor. Excuse me, but what of my motion wit h regard to a
saloon for his Majesty?

Koll. I did not understand your worship to mean your suggestion
as a formal motion.

The Mayor. I did, though.

Koll. Then I will put it to the vote after the director, motion has
been voted upon.

The Mayor. A motion that concerns the King should take precedence
of all others.

Koll. Even the King is subject to the rules of logic. The
directors' motion is: "That only one class of railway carriage
shall be purchased, of a type slightly more comfortable than the
ordinary third-class carriage." Will those in favour of the motion
kindly go to the left--on this side of the room; those against the
motion, to the right. (Nearly all go to the left. Cheers are heard
outside, and are gradually taken up by those inside. KOLL hammers
with his mallet.) Order, please! (The cheering ceases, but an
animated conversation goes on.) The directors' motion is carried!

The Mayor (shouting). I am sure every one did not understand the
method of voting!

Koll (hammering with his mallet). Order, order. (Quiet is gradually
restored.) What did your worship say?

The Mayor. That some people must have misunderstood the way of
voting; because I see my daughter Natalie, who is a shareholder
too, on the other side of the room. Of course she has made a
mistake.

Natalie. Oh no, father, I haven't. (Loud laughter, and applause.)

The Priest. Ah, my poor deluded parishioners, I shall pray for you!

The Mayor. Order!--The Mayor's motion--

Alstad. I would suggest that the Mayor should withdraw it. We know
what its fate would be in such a meeting as this.

Koll. As long as I occupy the chair, I shall not permit any
derogatory expressions to be applied to the meeting. Does the Mayor
still insist on his motion being put? (Whispers to him: "Say no!")

The Mayor. No.

Koll. Then, as no one else wishes to speak, I declare the meeting
at an end. (Every one begins to move about and discuss affairs
vigorously.)

Alstad (to his son VILHELM). So you have the face to vote with
these--these Americans, against your old father, have you?

Vilhelm. Well, father, I honestly think--

Alstad. Just you wait till I get you home!

Vilhelm. Oh, that's it, is it? Then I shan't go home--so there! I
shall stay here and get drunk, I shall.

Alstad. Oh, come, come!

Vilhelm. Yes, I shall! I shall stay here and get drunk!

Alstad. But, Vilhelm, listen to me! (Takes him by the arm. Meantime
a STRANGER has taken KOLL and GRAN by the arm, to their manifest
surprise, and brought the forward away from the crowd. He stands
for a moment, looking them in the face, till suddenly KOLL gives a
start and cries out: "The King!")

The King. Hush!

Gran. It really is--!

The King (to GRAN). You are at home here; take up into a room--and
give us some champagne. My throat is as dry as a lime-kiln!

Curtain


SCENE II

(SCENE.--A room built in Gothic style, comfortably furnished and
decorated with trophies of the chase. GRAN ushers in the KING and
KOLL.)

Gran. We can be quite alone here. (ANNA, a deaf and dumb girl of
about fifteen, brings in some bottles of champagne, and, during
the following dialogue, sets out glasses, refreshments, cigars, and
pipes. She is quick and attentive to render the slightest service
required of her; when not employed, she sits on a stool in the
background. She talks to GRAN on her fingers, and receives orders
from him in the same manner.)

The King. Ah, this is like old times! I know the setting: "Gothic
room in mediaeval style, decorated with trophies of the chase.
Furnished with an eye to bachelor comfort!" You always had bachelor
habits, you know, even when you were quite a boy. (To KOLL.) We
never called him anything but "the Bachelor" on board ship. He
never had a love affair in all the three years our cruise lasted;
but the rest of us had them in every port we touched at!

Koll. He is just the same in that respect now.

Gran (offering the KING some champagne). Allow me!

The King. Thanks; I shall be glad of it. (To KOLL.) Your health, my
former tutor! (To GRAN.) And yours! (They drink.) Ah, that has done
me good!--Well now, let me ask you this: isn't it true that, all
through the meeting, you were talking nothing but republicanism,
although you didn't actually mention the word?

Koll (laughing). You are not far wrong.

The King. And you, who in the old days were considered to be too
advanced in your opinions to be retained as my tutor, are now not
considered advanced enough! They nearly--threw you over, didn't
they?

Koll. Yes! That shows you, if I may say so, the result of
government by a minority.

The King. And the result of mixing with such people as our
excellent friend the millionaire here, I suppose?

Gran. It is always a mistake to lay the blame of public opinion on
individuals.

The King. I quite agree with you. And now it is time you knew the
reason of my coming here--in the strictest incognito, as you see.
By the way, I hope no one recognised me?

Gran and Koll. Not a soul!

(FLINK comes in.)

Flink. Ah, here you are! (Comes forward, rubbing his hands
delightedly.) Well, what did you think of the meeting, my boys?

The King (aside to GRAN). Who is that?

Gran (to the KING). We will get rid of him. (To FLINK.) Look here,
old chap--!

Flink (catching sight of the KING). Oh, I beg your pardon, I
thought we were--

Gran (obliged to introduce him). Let me introduce Mr.--? Mr.--?
(Looks at the KING inquiringly.)

The King. Speranza.

Flink. An Italian?

The King. In name only.

Gran (completing the introduction). Mr. Flink.

The King. Surely not A. B. Flink?

Gran. Yes.

The King (interested). Our peripatetic philosopher? (Shakes hands
with him.) I have read one or two of your books.

Flink (laughing). Really?

The King. Are you meditating another expedition?

Flink. That's it.

The King. And on foot?

Flink. Always on foot.

The King. Upon my word, I don't believe there is a man in the
country that can gauge popular opinion as accurately as you! Let
us sit down and have a chat. Do you drink champagne?

Flink. Yes--when I can't get anything better!

The King (lifting his glass to FLINK). Your health, (They all
drink, and then seat themselves.) What part the country were you in
last?

Flink. I have just been shooting with our friend here.

The King. So he is your friend? He is mine, too! My best friend,
ever since I was a boy. (He stretches out his hand; GRAN gets up
and grasps it in both of his.)

Koll (to FLINK, who is looking astonished). Mr. Speranza was a
naval cadet at the same time as Gran.

Flink. Really! Were they on the same ship?

The King. Yes, we were on a cruise round the world together--

Flink. Do you mean the time when the Prince went on account of his
lungs?--the present King, I mean?

The King. The Prince that afterwards became King--yes.

Flink. There is quite a royal flavour about our little gathering,
then! Here is the King's shipmate, and here is his tutor in
jurisprudence--

Koll. You are forgetting yourself! You are the King's tutor's
tutor, you know--

The King. Were you Koll's tutor? Really?

Flink (with a laugh). Yes, I had that misfortune!

The King. You hadn't so great a misfortune in your pupil as he had
in his!

Koll. The King was a very apt pupil.

Flink (jestingly). He has shown traces of it in his reign, hasn't
he!

Koll. Don't speak ill of the King, please.

Flink (ironically). Heaven forbid! (Takes a pinch of snuff.) I
know all about his talent--his great talent, his genial talent!
(Offers his snuff-box to the KING.)

Gran. But it was public opinion we were talking about, Flink; is
it very much like what we heard to-day?

Flink. I wouldn't say that; your opinions are rather advanced in
these parts.

The King. Is the tendency republican, rather than monarchical?

Flink. That depends how you look at it. The King has just been
paying some visits in the country districts; he is, so to speak,
the commercial traveller for his firm--as all kings and crown
princes are. Of course he was cheered everywhere. But go and
ask the agricultural classes if they set great store by the pomp
and circumstance of royalty; they will unanimously answer: "It
costs an infernal lot to keep up!" Ha, ha, ha!

Gran. Your farmer is a realist.

Flink. A brutal realist! Ha, ha, ha! Self-government is cheaper.
He has it all at his fingers' ends, the scoundrel!

The King. He is not a republican by conviction, then

Flink. Not universally, no. At least, not _yet_. But things are
moving that way; and our reactionary government is helping the
movement--that, and the letter they get from America.

The King. The letters they get from America?

Koll. Letters from their relations in America.

Gran. There is scarcely a family in the country now that has not
relations in America.

The King. And they write home about self-government?--about
republican principles?

Flink. And republican institutions. That is the situation!

The King. Have you read any of these letters?

Flink. Lots!

The King. This is excellent champagne! (Drinks.)

Gran. Let me fill your glasses. (They all drink.)

Flink. It doesn't really agree with me.

The King. But suppose the King were to establish democratic
government? Suppose he were to live like an ordinary citizen in
every way?

Flink. In every way? What do you mean by that?

The King. Kept house like an ordinary citizen--were married like
an ordinary citizen--were to be found in his office at regular
hours like any other official?

Gran. And had no court, I suppose?

The King. No. (KOLL and GRAN exchange glances.)

Flink (shrugging his shoulders). It would be the last sensation
left for him to try.

The King (who did not observe his shrug, eagerly). That is so,
isn't it? You agree with me as to that? I am delighted to have had
this talk with you, Mr. Flink.

Flink. The same to you, Mr.--Mr.--. (In an undertone, to KOLL.) Is
he a republican?

The King (who has overheard him). Am I a republican? I have had too
much experience not to be! Ha, ha! (Takes up his glass.) Devilish
good champagne, this!

Flink (drinking). But, you know, Mr.--Mr. Republican--ha, ha!--
(smiles and whispers)--the King simply would not be allowed to
do what you suggest. Ha, ha!

The King. What do you mean?

Gran (aside to KOLL, who gets up). Are you sure this is right?

Koll. It will do him good, anyway, to hear all sides.

Flink (who has got up and gone to the table on the other side to
get a pipe). He simply would not be allowed to, poor chap! What is
monarchy, I ask you? Nothing more or less than an insurance
business in which a whole crew of priests, officials, noblemen,
landed proprietors, merchants and military men hold shares? And,
goodness knows, _they_ are not going to give their director leave
to commit any such folly! Ha, ha, ha!

The King (getting up). Ha, ha, ha!

Flink (vociferously, to him). Don't you think that is true?

The King. Good Lord!--perfectly true! Ha, ha ha!

Flink (who has cleaned and filled a pipe, but forgotten to light
it, going up to the KING). And what do they insure themselves
again, these beauties? (More seriously.) Against the great mass of
the people--against _his_ people! (The KING looks at him and makes
a movement of dislike.)

Gran. Look here, Flink; suppose we go out into the garden for a
little? These spring evenings are so lovely.

Flink. Compared to a political talk, the loveliest spring evenings
have no attraction for me--no more than warm water, offered me in
place of fine cooling wine, would have. No, let us stay where we
are. What is the matter with this pipe? (ANNA signs that she will
put it right for him, but he does not understand.)

Gran. Give her your pipe; she will put it right.

Koll. What I have always said is that, if the King had an
opportunity of understanding the situation, he would interfere.

Flink. The King? He doesn't care a brass farthing about the
whole matter! He has something else to do! Ha, ha!

The King. Ha, ha, ha!

Koll. The King is an unusually gifted man; he would not remain
indifferent in the long run.

Flink. He has so many unusual gifts that have gone to the devil--!

The King. Tralalla! Tralalalalala! Tralala! It feels quite odd to
be with you fellows again! (Drinks.)

Flink (in an undertone, to GRAN). Is he drunk?

The King (sitting down). Give me a cigar--! And let us discuss the
matter a little more seriously. (KOLL and GRAN sit down.)

Gran. As a matter of fact, it is not a thing that can be discussed.
It must be tried. If, one day, the King were to say: "I mean to
live a natural life among my people, and to withdraw my name from
the old-established royal firm, which has lost all its reputation
for honesty"--that day everything else would follow of itself.

Flink. Yes, that day, I dare say!

Gran. Remember you are the guest of a man who is a friend of the
King's!

The King. Don't play the domestic despot--you who are a republican!
Let us have free discussion!

Flink. I certainly don't intend to insult the King. He has never
done me any harm. But surely you will allow me to doubt whether he
is really the shining light you make him out to be?

The King. That is true enough!

Flink (eagerly). You agree with me as to that, then?

The King. Absolutely! But--leaving him out of the question--suppose
we _had_ a king who made himself independent of others, and, as a
necessary consequence, rose superior to questions of party--?

Flink (interrupting him). It is a vain supposition, my dear fellow!
A king bound to no party? (Puffs at his pipe.) It wouldn't work!
(Puffs again.) It wouldn't work!--It wouldn't work!--Falsehood is
the foundation of constitutional monarchy. A king superior to
questions of party? Rubbish!

Gran. It would be expecting something superhuman of him, too.

Flink. Of course it would!

The King. But the president of a republic is even less independent
of party, isn't he?

Flink (turning to hint). He doesn't make any pretence that he
isn't. Haha! That's the difference! (Comes forward, repeating to
himself.) It is the falsehood that makes the difference.

Koll. Oh, there are falsehoods enough in republics too,
unfortunately!

Flink. I know; but they are not old-established institutions! Ha,
ha!

The King. That is an idea you have got from Professor Ernst's
writings.

Flink (eagerly). Have you read them?

The King. I have scarcely read anything else for the last few
months. (KOLL and GRAN exchange glances.)

Flink. Indeed?--Then there is no need for me to say anything more.

Koll. But, after all this talk, we have got no further. Our friend
(pointing to the KING) wants to know, I think, whether a real,
serious attempt at what one might call "democratic monarchy"
could not reckon on being understood and supported--

The King (breaking in, eagerly). Yes, that's just it!

Koll. --understood and supported by the most enlightened section of
the people, who are weary of falsehood and long for a generous but
secure measure of self-government.

The King. That's just it!

Flink (who was just going to sit down, jumps up again, lays down
his pipe and stands with arms akimbo, as he says:) But what sort of
ridiculous ideas are these? Aren't you republicans, then?

Koll. I am not.

Gran. I am; but that does not prevent my being of opinion that the
change of government should be made gradually and gently--

Flink. That would be treason!

Gran. Treason!

Flink. Treason against the truth--against our convictions!

Koll. Don't let us use big words! Monarchy is strongly rooted in
the existing order of things.

Flink (with a laugh). In the insurance company!

Koll. Well, call it so if you like. It _exists_; that is the point.
And, since it exists, we must make it as honest and as serviceable
as we can.

The King. Your health, Koll! (Drinks to him.)

Flink (moving away from them). No true republican would agree with
you.

Gran. You are wrong there. (FLINK gives a start of surprise.)

The King (who has seen FLINK's surprise, gets up). Listen to me!
Suppose we had a king who said: "Either you help me to establish a
democratic monarchy--purged of all traces of absolutism, purged of
falsehood--or else I abdicate--"

Flink. Bah!

The King. I only say, "suppose"! You know quite well that the
cousin of the present king, the heir apparent, is a bigoted--

Koll (who has been exchanging glances with GRAN while the KING was
speaking, breaks in hurriedly). Don't go on!

The King (with a laugh). I won't!--And his mother, who rules him--

Flink. --is even worse!

The King. What would be your choice, then? Would you help the king
to establish a democratic monarchy or--?

Flink (impetuously). I would ten thousand times rather have the
bigoted prince, with all his own and his mother's follies!--the
madder the better!

Gran. No, no, no, no!

The King (to GRAN and KOLL). We see his true colours now! (Moves
away from them.)

Koll (to FLINK). That is the way you republicans always ride your
principles to death.

Gran. Patriotism ought to come before--

Flink. --before truth? No; a short sharp pang of agony is better
than endless doubt and falsehood, my friend! That is true
patriotism.

Koll. Oh, these theories!--these phrases!

Gran. I am a republican as well as you, and, I think, as sincere a
one. But I should have no hesitation--

Flink. --in playing the traitor?

Gran. Why do you use such words as that?

Flink. Words! Do you think it is nothing but words? No, my friend,
if you did what--what I did not allow you to say--I should come
here one day to call you to account. And if you refused to fight
me, I should shoot you like a dog!

Gran (gently). You would not do that.

Flink (heatedly). Not do it?--Have I given you the deepest
affection of which my heart is capable, only for you to turn
traitor to it? Am I to see the man whose character is the crowning
achievement of my life, betraying our cause--and, by reason of his
great personal prestige, dragging thousands down with him? On the
head of all the disillusionments I have suffered, am I to have this
one in the evening of my life--? (Stops, overcome by his emotion. A
pause.) You shouldn't jest about such things you know. (Walks away.
ANNA has placed herself in front of GRAN, as if to protect him.)

Koll. I think we had better change the subject, and go out for a
little!

The King (aside, to him). Yes, get him away!

Flink (in the background, as if he were addressing an invisible
audience). We must have discipline in the ranks!

Koll. Gran, ask your maid to hurry up with the supper.

Gran. Yes, I will.

Koll (to the KING). What do you say to a turn in the garden,
meanwhile?

The King. By all means!

Flink (coming forward to GRAN). This friendship of yours with the
King--to which I had attached no particular importance--I hope it
has not altogether--(Stops short.)

Gran. --not altogether corrupted me, you mean?

Flink. Exactly.

The King (laughing). Politically?

Flink. Politics are not unconnected with morals, sir!

The King. But why get so heated, sir? We know that the present King
is a--

Koll (breaking in hurriedly). Don't say any more!

The King (with a laugh). You said yourself that he doesn't care a
brass farthing about the whole matter--he has something else to
do! And so the whole thing ends in smoke!

Flink (more amiably). I dare say you are right.

The King. Of course I am. You are all agreed that, under his rule,
republican sentiments are growing in real earnest.

Flink. You are right! He couldn't help things on better if he were
a republican himself, I assure you!

The King. Perhaps he _is_ a republican?

Flink (animatedly). Perhaps he _is_! Splendid! And works against
his own interests--!

The King. A sort of commercial traveller working for the downfall
of his own firm!

Flink (excitedly). For the downfall of his own firm! Splendid!
Props up his reactionary rule by means of royal pronouncements,
confidential communications, public speeches--

The King. --in a suicidal manner!

Flink. Splendidly suicidal! Ah, that makes you laugh, does it?

Koll. Hush, some one might hear us!

Flink. I don't care who hears us! (The KING bursts out laughing.)
But you ought, as one of the King's officials, to stop _his_
laughing! (Points to the KING.) It's shocking!--It's high treason!

Koll. Listen to me!

Flink. You ought to arrest him for laughing like that! Suppose the
King--

Gran. That _is_ the King! (The KING goes on laughing. FLINK looks
from him to the others, and from the others to him.)

The King. This is too much for me! (Sits down. FLINK rushes out.)

Koll. That was very bad of you.

The King. I know it was; but forgive me! I couldn't help it! Ha,
ha, ha, ha, ha!

Koll. For all his queer ways, he is too good a fellow to be made a
fool of.

The King. Yes, scold me; I deserve it. But, all the same--ha, ha,
ha, ha!

Gran. Hush!--he is coming back. (The KING gets up as FLINK comes in
again.)

Flink. Your Majesty may be assured that I would never have
expressed myself as I did in your Majesty's presence if I had been
fairly treated and told whom I was addressing.

The King. I know. The fault is mine alone.

Flink. The fault is that of others--my so-called friends.

The King (earnestly). By no means! It is mine--mine alone. I have
had a scolding for it!--And in your presence I ask my friends'
pardon; I have put them in a false position. And, in the next
place, I ask for your forgiveness. My sense of humour got the
better of me. (Laughs again.)

Flink. Yes, it was extremely amusing.

The King. It really was! And, after all, what have you to complain
of? You had an opportunity of speaking your mind, any way!

Flink. I certainly did!

The King. Very well, then!--And when you wanted to show any
respect, _I_ prevented you. So I think we are quits.

Flink. No, we are not.

The King (impatiently). Indeed?--What do you want from me, then?

Flink (proudly). Nothing!

The King. I beg your pardon! I did not mean to offend you.

Flink. You have done so to a degree that you are naturally
incapable of appreciating. (Goes out.)

The King. This is a nice business! (Laughs. Then notices GRAN, who
is standing at his desk with his back to the KING, and goes up to
him.) You are angry with me.

Gran (looking up slowly). Yes.

The King. Why didn't you stop me?

Gran. It all happened too quickly. But to think that you could have
the heart to do it--in my own house--to a man who was my father's
oldest friend, and is mine--!

The King. Harald! (Puts his arm round his shoulders.) Have I ever
asked you for anything that you have not given me?

Gran. No.

The King. Then I ask you now to admit that you know that, if I
had thought this would hurt you, I would never have done it--not
for worlds! Do you still believe as well of me as that?

Gran. Yes.

The King. Thank you. Then I will admit to you, in return, that for
months past I have lived in a state of horrible tension of mind;
and that is why I jump too easily from one extreme to the other.
So, my friends, you must forgive me! Or finish my scolding some
other time! Because now I must talk to you of the matter which
induced me to come here. You are the only ones I can turn to; so
be good to me!--Shall we sit down again?

Koll. As you please.

The King (moving towards the table). I know you both want to ask
me the same question: why I have never come before now. My answer
is: because I have only now arrived at a clear conception of my own
position. Some months ago some hard words that were used to me lit
a fire in my heart and burnt out a heap of rubbish that had
collected there. (ANNA fills their glasses.) Won't you send that
girl away?

Gran. She is deaf and dumb.

The King. Poor girl! (Sits down.) When I came back from my cruise
round the world, the old king was dead. My father had come to the
throne, and I was crown prince, and I went with my father to the
cathedral to attend a thanksgiving service for my safe return.

Gran. I was there.

The King. The whole thing was a novelty to me, and a solemn one. I
was overcome with emotion. Seeing that, my father whispered to me:
"Come farther forward, my boy! The people must see their future
king praying." That finished it! I was not born to be a king; my
soul was still too unsullied, and I spurned such falsehood with the
deepest loathing. Just think of it!--to come back from three years
at sea, and begin my life in that way--as if perpetually in front
of a mirror! I won't dwell on it. But when my father died and I
became king, I had become so accustomed to the atmosphere of
falsehood I lived in that I no longer recognised truth when I saw
it. The constitution prescribed my religion for me--and naturally I
had none. And it was the same with everything--one thing after
another! What else could you expect? The only tutor I valued--you,
Koll--had been dismissed; they considered you to be too freethinking.

Koll (smilingly). Oh, yes!

The King. The only real friend that dated from my happier days--
you, Harald, had been sent to the right about; you were a
republican. It was while I was in despair over that loss that I
fell really in love for the first time--with your sister, Harald.
Banishment, again. What then? Why, then the craving that every
healthy youth feels--the desire for love--was turned into dissolute
channels. (Drinks.)

Gran. I understand, well enough.

The King. Well, put all those things together. That was what my
life was--until just lately. Because lately something happened, my
dear friends. And now you must help me! Because, to make a long
story short, either I mean to be the chief official in my country
in a peaceful, citizenlike, genuine way, or--as God is above me--I
will no longer be king! (Gets up, and the others do so.)

Koll. Ah, we have got it at last!

The King. Do you think I don't know that our republican friend
there spoke what is every thoughtful man's verdict upon me? (They
are silent.) But how could I possibly undertake my task, as long as
I believed everything to be make-believe and falsehood, without
exception? Now I know the root of the falsehood! It is in our
institutions; he was quite right. And one kind of falsehood begets
another. You cannot imagine how ludicrous it appeared to me--who up
till then had led such a sinful, miserable existence--when I saw
honourable men pretending that I was a being of some superior
mould! I! (Walks up and down, then stops.) It is the state--our
institutions--that demand this falsehood both on their part and on
mine. And that for the security and happiness of the country!
(Moves about restlessly.) From the time I became crown prince they
kept from me everything that might have instilled truth into me--
friendship, love, religion, a vocation--for my vocation is quite
another one; and it was all done in the name of my country! And now
that I am king, they take away all responsibility from me as well--
all responsibility for my own acts--the system demands it! Instead
of an individual, what sort of a contemptible creature do they make
of me! The kingly power, too?--that is in the hands of the people's
representatives and the government. I don't complain of that; but
what I do complain of is that they should pretend that _I_ have it,
and that everything should be done in _my_ name; that I should be
the recipient of petitions, cheers, acclamations, obeisances--as if
the whole power and responsibility were centred in _my_ person! In
me--from whom, in the interests of all, they have taken away
everything! Is that not a pitiful and ludicrous falsehood? And, to
make it credible, they endow me into the bargain with a halo of
sanctity! "The King is sacred;" "Our Most Gracious Sovereign,"
"Your Majesty!" It becomes almost blasphemous!

Gran. Quite true.

The King. No, if that cannot be done away with, I can do away with
myself. But it must be possible to do away with it! It cannot be
necessary for a people, who are marching on the eternal path
towards truth, to have a lie marching at the head of them!

Koll. No, it is not necessary.

The King (eagerly). And that is what you will help me to show them.

Koll. I have no objection! There is life in the country yet!

The King (to Gran). And you, my friend? Are you afraid of being
shot by a mad republican if you help me?

Gran. I am not particularly afraid of death, any way. But the maid
is telling us that supper is served.

The King. Yes, let us have supper!

Koll. And then, to our task!

Curtain



ACT II

(SCENE.--A park with old lofty trees. In the foreground, to the
right, an arbour with a seat. The KING is sitting, talking to BANG,
who is a man of gross corpulence.)

Bang. And I felt so well in every way that, I assure your Majesty,
I used to feel it a pleasure to be alive.

The King (drawing patterns in the dust with his walking stick). I
can quite believe it.

Bang. And then I was attacked by this pain in my heart and this
difficulty in breathing. I run round and round this park, on an
empty stomach, till I am absolutely exhausted.

The King (absently). Couldn't you drive round, then?

Bang. Drive?--But it is the exercise, your Majesty, that--

The King. Of course. I was thinking of something else.

Bang. I would not mind betting that I know what your Majesty was
thinking of--if I may say so without impertinence.

The King. What was it, then?

Bang. Your Majesty was thinking of the socialists!

The King. Of the--?

Bang. The socialists!

The King (looking amused). Why particularly of them?

Bang. I was right, you see! Ha, ha, ha! (His laughter brings on a
violent fit of coughing.) Your Majesty must excuse me; laughing
always brings on my cough.--But, you know, the papers this morning
are full of their goings on!

The King. I have not read the paper.

Bang. Then I can assure your Majesty that the way they are going on
is dreadful. And just when we were all getting on so comfortably!
What in the world do they want?

The King. Probably they want to get on comfortably too.

Bang. Aren't they well off as it is, the beasts? Excuse me, your
Majesty, for losing my temper in your Majesty's presence.

The King. Don't mention it.

Bang. You are very good. These strikes, too--what is the object of
them? To make every one poor? Every one can't be rich. However, I
pin my faith to a strong monarchy. Your Majesty is the padlock on
my cash-box!

The King. I am what?

Bang. The padlock on my cash-box! A figure of speech I ventured to
apply to your Majesty.

The King. I am much obliged!

Bang. Heaven help us if the liberals come into power; their aim is
to weaken the monarchy.

(A BEGGAR BOY comes up to them.)

Beggar Boy. Please, kind gentlemen, spare a penny! I've had nothing
to eat to-day!

Bang (taking no notice of him). Aren't there whispers of the sort
about? But of course it can't be true.

Beggar Boy (pertinaciously). Please, kind gentlemen, spare a penny!
I've had nothing to eat to-day.

Bang. You have no right to beg.

The King. You have only the right to starve, my boy! Here! (Gives
him a gold coin. The BEGGAR Boy backs away from him, staring at
him, and gripping the coin in his fist.)

Bang. He never even thanked you! Probably the son of a socialist!--
I would never have opened this park to every one in the way your
Majesty has done.

The King. It saves the work-people a quarter of am hour if they can
go through it to get to their work.

(The GENERAL appears, driving the BEGGAR BOY before him with his
stick.)

The General (to the BEGGAR). A gentleman sitting on a seat gave it
you? Point him out to me, then!

Bang (getting up). Good morning, your Majesty!

The King. Good morning! (Looks at his watch.)

The General. That gentleman, do you say?

The King (looking up). What is it?

The General. Your Majesty? Allow me to welcome you back!

The King. Thank you.

The General. Excuse me, sir; but I saw this fellow with a gold coin
in his hand, and stopped him. He says your Majesty gave it to him--?

The King. It is quite true.

The General. Oh--of course that alters the case! (To the BEGGAR.)
It is the King. Have you thanked him? (The boy stands still,
staring at the KING.)

The King. Are you taking a morning walk on an empty stomach because
of a weak heart, too?

The General. Because of my stomach, sir--because of my stomach! It
has struck work!

The Beggar Boy. Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho! (Runs away.)

The General. I am astonished at your Majesty's having thrown this
park open to every one.

The King. It saves the work-people a quarter of an hour if they can
go through it to get to their work.--Well, General, it seems you
have become religious all of a sudden?

The General. Ha, ha, ha! Your Majesty has read my Order of the Day,
then?

The King. Yes.

The General (confidentially). Well, sir, you see things couldn't go
on any longer as they were. (Whispers.) Debauchery in the ranks! I
won't say anything about the officers; but when the men take to
such courses openly--!

The King. Oho!

The General. My brother the bishop and I, between us, composed an
Order of the Day on the subject of the necessity of religion--
religion as the basis of discipline.

The King. As a matter of fact the bishop was the first person I
met here to-day.--Is he suffering from a disordered stomach, too?

The General. More so than any of us, Sir! Ha, ha, ha! (The KING
motions to him to sit down.) Thank you, Sir.--But, apart from that,
I have had it in my mind for some time that in these troublous days
there ought to be a closer co-operation between the Army and the
Church--

The King. In the matter of digestion, do you mean?

The General. Ha, ha, ha!--But seriously, Sir, the time is
approaching when such a co-operation will be the only safeguard
of the throne.

The King. Indeed?

The General (hurriedly). That is to say, of course, the throne
stands firm by itself--God forbid I should hint otherwise! But
what I mean is that it is the Army ants the Church that must
supply the monarchy with the necessary splendour and authority--

The King. I suppose, then, that the monarchy has no longer any
of its own?

The General (jumping up). Heaven forbid that I should say such
a thing! I would give my life in support of the monarchy!

The King. You will have to die some day, unfortunately (Laughs
as he gets up.) Who is that coming this way?

The General (putting up his eyeglass). That? It is the Princess
and Countess L'Estoque, Sir.

The King. Is the Princess suffering from indigestion too?

The General (confidentially). I fancy your Majesty knows best
what the Princess is suffering from. (The KING moves away from
him.) I made a mess of that! It comes of my trying to be too
clever.--He is walking towards her. Perhaps there is something in
it, after all? I must tell Falbe about it. (Turns to go.) Confound
it, he saw that I was watching them! (Goes out. The KING returns to
the arbour with the PRINCESS on his arm. The COUNTESS and one of
the royal servants are seen crossing the park in the background.)

The Princess. This is a most surprising meeting! When did your
Majesty return?

The King. Last night.--You look very charming, Princess! Such
blushing cheeks!--and so early in the morning!

The Princess. I suppose you think it is rouge?--No, Sir, it is
nothing but pleasure at meeting you.

The King. Flatterer! And I went pale at the sight of you.

The Princess. Perhaps your conscience--?

The King. I am sorry to say my conscience had nothing to do with
it. But this morning I have been meeting so many people that are
suffering from indigestion that, when I saw your Highness walking
quickly along--

The Princess. Make your mind easy! My reason for my morning walk is
to keep my fat down. Later in the day I ride--for the same reason.
I live for nothing else now.

The King. It is a sacred vocation!

The Princess. Because it is a royal one?

The King. Do you attribute your sanctity to me? Wicked Princess!

The Princess. Both my sanctity and any good fortune I enjoy. It
is nothing but my relationship to your Majesty that induces the
tradespeople to give me unlimited credit.

The King. You don't feel any awkwardness about it, then?

The Princess. Not a bit! The good folk have to maintain many worse
parasites than me!--By the way, talking of parasites, is it true
that you have pensioned off all your lords-in-waiting and their
hangers-on?

The King. Yes.

The Princess. Ha, ha, ha! But why did you make the special
stipulation that they should live in Switzerland?

The King. Because there is no court in Switzerland, and--

The Princess. And so they could not fall into temptation again!
I have had many a good laugh at the thought of it. But it has its
serious side too, you know; because your Majesty cannot dispense
with a court.

The King. Why not?

The Princess. Well, suppose some day you are "joined in the bonds
of holy matrimony," as the parsons so beautifully put it?

The King. If I were, it would be for the sake of knowing what
family life is.

The Princess. Like any other citizen?

The King. Precisely.

The Princess. Are you going to keep no servants?

The King. As many as are necessary--but no more.

The Princess. Then I must secure a place as chambermaid in your
Majesty's household as soon as possible. Because if my financial
circumstances are inquired into there will be nothing else left for
me but that!

The King. You have too sacred a vocation for that, Princess!

The Princess. How pretty! Your Majesty is a poet, and poets are
allowed to be enthusiastic about ideals. But the people are poets
too, in their way; they like their figure-head to be well gilded,
and don't mind paying for it. That is their poetry.

The King. Are you certain of that?

The Princess. Absolutely certain! It is a point of honour with
them.

The King. Then I have to weigh my honour against theirs! And
my honour forbids me--for the honour of my people and their
poetry--to keep up my palaces, my guards, and my court any
longer! _Voila tout_!

The Princess. My dear King, certain positions carry with them
certain duties!

The King. Then I know higher duties than those!--But, Princess,
here are we two seriously discussing--

The Princess. Yes, but there is something at the bottom of it that
is not to be laughed away. All tradition and all experience
proclaim it to be the truth that a king--the kingly majesty--should
be a dignity apart; and should be the ultimate source of law,
surrounded with pomp and circumstance, and secure behind the
fortified walls of wealth, rank, and hereditary nobility. If he
steps out of that magic circle, the law's authority is weakened.

The King. Has your Royal Highness breakfasted yet?

The Princess. No. (Bursts out laughing.)

The King. Because, if you had, I should have had great pleasure
is giving you a lesson in history; but on an empty stomach that
would be cruel.

The Princess. Do you know--you used to be such an entertaining
king, but this last year you have become so tedious!

The King. Most beautiful of princesses! Do you really mean to say
that I rise and fall in your estimation according as I have my
pretty royal gew-gaws on or not?

The Princess. In my estimation?

The King. Or in any one's? You know the story of "The Emperor's New
Clothes"?

The Princess. Yes.

The King. We don't keep up that pretence any longer.

The Princess. But will every one understand?

The King. You understand, don't you?

The Princess. The people or I--that is all the same, I suppose!
You are very flattering.

The King. Heaven forbid that I should lump your Royal Highness
together with the common herd; but--

The Princess. We have already had proof of the fact that your
Majesty does not hold the same place in _every one's_ estimation
that you do in mine, at all events!

The King. If I occupy a place of honour in your Royal Highness's
heart, your Royal Highness may be certain that--

The Princess. I will interrupt you to save you from speaking an
untruth! Because the way to attain to a place of honour in your
Majesty's heart is not to admire you as I do, but, on the contrary,
to shout out: "I despise you!"--Au revoir!

The King. You wicked, terrifying, dangerous--

The Princess. --omniscient and ubiquitous Princess! (Makes a deep
curtsey, and goes away.)

The King (calling after her). In spite of everything, my heart goes
with you--

The Princess. --to show me the door! I know all about that! (To
the COUNTESS.) Come, Countess! (Goes out. FALBE, an old gentleman
in civilian dress, has come in from the side to which the KING'S
back is turned.)

The King. How the devil did she--?

Falbe (coming up behind him). Your Majesty!

The King (turning quickly). Ah, there you are!

Falbe. Yes, sir--we have been walking about in the park for some
time; your Majesty was engaged.

The King. Not engaged--I was only deadening thoughts by gossiping.
My anxiety was too much for me. So they have come?--both of them?

Falbe. Both of them.

The King. Can I believe it! (Appears overcome.) But--you must wait
a moment! I can't, just at this moment--. I don't know what has
come over me!

Falbe. Are you unwell, sir? You look so pale.

The King My nerves are not what they should be. Is there any water
near here?

Falbe (pointing, in astonishment). Why, there is the fountain,
Sir!

The King. Of course! Of course!--I don't seem able to collect my
thoughts. And my mouth is as dry as--. Look here, I am going that
way (points); and then you can--you can bring the ladies here.--She
is here! She is here! (Goes out to the left, and turns round as he
goes.) Don't forget to lock the gates of the inner park!

Falbe. Of course not, Sir. (Goes out to the right, and returns
bringing in the BARONESS MARC and CLARA.) His Majesty will be
here in a moment. (Goes out to the right.)

Clara. You must stay near enough for me to be able to call you.

Baroness. Of course, my dear. Compose yourself; nothing can happen.

Clara. I am so frightened.

Baroness. Here is the King! (The KING comes in and bows to them.)

The King. Excuse me, ladies, for having kept you waiting. I am
very grateful to you both for coming.

Baroness. We only came upon your Majesty's solemn promise--

The King. --which shall be inviolable.

Baroness. I understand that you wish to speak to Miss Ernst alone?

The King. Your ladyship need only go up to the top of that little
slope. (Points.) I can recommend the view from there.

Baroness. The interview will not be a long one, I suppose?

The King. If it is, I give your ladyship permission to come and
interrupt us. (The BARONESS goes out. The KING turns to CLARA.) May
I be permitted to thank you again--you especially--for having been
so good as to grant me this interview?

Clara. It will be the only one.

The King. I know that. You have not condescended to answer one
of my letters--

Clara. I have not read them.

The King. --so there was nothing left for me but to address myself
to the Baroness. She was _obliged_ to listen to me, Miss Ernst.

Clara (trembling). What has your Majesty to say to me?

The King. Indeed, I can't tell it you in a single sentence. Won't
you sit down? (CLARA remains standing.) You must not be afraid
of me. I mean you no harm; I never could mean you any harm.

Clara (in tears). Then what do you call the persecution that I
have endured for more than a year?

The King. If you had condescended to read a single one of my long
and many letters you would have known I call it a passion that is
stronger than--. (CLARA turns to go. The KING continues anxiously.)
No, Miss Ernst, by everything you hold dear, I beg you not to leave
me!

Clara. Then you must not insult me!

The King. If that is an insult your terms are very hard.

Clara. Hard? No, but what you have done to me is hard! (Bursts into
tears.)

The King. Don't cry, Miss Ernst! You don't know how you hurt me!

Clara (angrily). Do you know what it means to try and ruin a young
girl's reputation?

The King. I repeat that you are doing me an injustice

Clara. An injustice?--Good God! Do you know who I am?

The King (taking of his hat respectfully). You are the woman I
love.

Clara (quietly and with dignity). Your Majesty has solemnly
promised not to insult me.

The King. As sure as there is a heaven above us I will not, and
could not, insult you! But I will obey your wishes.

Clara. When a king says such a thing as--as you did just now, to a
poor little governess, it is more than an insult! It is so
cowardly, so base! And to think that you could have the heart to do
it after what you have done to my father!

The King. Your father?--I?

Clara. Do you really not know who I am?

The King I don't understand--

Clara. Whose daughter I am, I mean?

The King. I only know that your father's name is Ernst. (Suddenly.)
Surely your father is not--?

Clara. Professor Ernst.

The King. The republican?

Clara (slowly). Yes. (A pause.) I may remind your Majesty that he
was sentenced for high treason. And why? Because he warned the
young men at the university against the bad example set by the
King! (A pause.) He was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment.
In escaping from his prison he broke both his legs; and now he
lives in exile--a cripple--supported by what money I am able to
earn. (A pause.) You have ruined his life--and now you are trying
to ruin mine too!

The King. I beg of you--!

Clara. I am ashamed of my tears. It is not compassion for myself
or for my father that makes them flow; it is the heartless
injustice of it all that overcomes me.

The King. God knows, if only I could atone for the injustice--!
But what can I do?

Clara. You can let me alone, so that I may do my work in peace;
that is what you can do! Neither he nor I ask for more than that--
of you!

The King. I must do more than that!

Clara. No! Can you not understand that a girl who is persecuted
by the king's attentions cannot be a governess? All you will
achieve will be to rob me and my father of our bread!--Oh, God!

The King. But my intention is not to--

Clara (interrupting him). And you are not even man enough to be
ashamed of yourself!

The King. Yes, you may say what you please to me!

Clara. I have nothing more to say to you. I have said what I have
to say. (Turns to go.)

The King. No, don't go! You have not even heard me yet. You don't
even know what I want to beg of you!

Clara. My dishonour.

The King (vehemently). You misunderstand me utterly! If you had
only read a single one of my letters you would have known that
there is standing before you a man whom you have humbled. Ah, don't
look so incredulous! It is true, if there is any truth in anything.
You don't believe me? (Despairingly.) How am I to--! A man who has
risked your contempt for more than a year, and has been faithful to
you without even being allowed to see you or exchange a word with
you--who has had no thought for anything or any one else--is not
likely to be doing that out of mere idleness of heart! Do you not
believe that, either?

Clara. No.

The King. Well, then, there must surely be some general truths that
you, as Ernst's daughter, cannot refuse to believe! Let me ask you
if you can understand how a man becomes what I was at the time when
I repeatedly insulted you. You must know, from your father's books,
in what an unnatural atmosphere a king is brought up, the soul-destroying
sense of self-importance which all his surroundings foster, until,
even in his dreams, he thinks himself something more than human;
the doubtful channels into which his thoughts are forced, while any
virtues that he has are trumpeted abroad, and his vices glossed
over with tactful and humorous tolerance. Don't you think that a
young king, full of eager life, as I was, may plead something in
excuse of himself that no other man can?

Clara. Yes, I admit that.

The King. Then you must admit that the very position he has to
assume as a constitutional monarch is an acted lie. Think what a
king's vocation is; _can_ a vocation of that sort be hereditary?
Can the finest and noblest vocation in the world be that?

Clara. No!

The King. Then suppose that he realises that himself; suppose that
the young king is conscious, however dimly and partially, of the
lie he is living--and suppose that, to escape from it, he rushes
into a life of pleasure. Is it not conceivable that he may have
some good in him, for all that? And then suppose that one morning,
after a night of revelling, the sun shines into his room; and he
seems to see upon the wall, in letters of fire, some words that
were said to him the night before--true words (CLARA looks up at
him in surprise)--the words: "I despise you!" (CLARA gives a
start.) Words like that can burn out falsehood. And he, to whom
they are said, may long to hear again the tones of the voice that
spoke them. No man has ever hated what has given him new life. If
you had read a single one of the letters which I felt impelled to
write even if they were refused acceptance--you would not have
called it persecution. (CLARA does not answer.) And, as for my
persecution of your father--I am not going to make any excuses for
myself; I will only ask you to remember that a king has no control
over the law and its judgments. I feel the sincerest respect for
your father.

Clara. Thank you.

The King. And it is just part of the falsehood I was speaking of,
that he should be condemned for saying of me what I have said a
thousand times of myself!

Clara (softly). Dare I believe that?

The King. Ah, if only you had read one of my letters! Or even the
little book of poems I sent you last! I thought that, if you would
not receive my letters, perhaps a book--

Clara. I do not accept anonymous gifts.

The King. I see you are on your guard--although I don't admit that
the poems were mine! May I read it to you?

Clara. I don't understand--.

The King. One that I marked--for you. It will prove to you what
you refuse to believe.

Clara. But if the poem is not yours?

The King. The fact that I have marked it shows that its sentiments
apply to me. Will you let me read it to you? (CLARA looks up.) Do
not be too much surprised, Miss Ernst! (Takes a slim volume from
his pocket.) I found this somewhere. (Turns over the leaves.) It
won't take long to read. May I?

Clara. If only I understood--

The King. --why I want to read it? Simply for the reason that you
have forbidden me to speak to you--or to write to you; but not, as
yet, to read to you! (CLARA smiles. A pause.) Do you know--a little
event has just happened in my life?--and yet not such a little one,
after all!

Clara. What is that?

The King. I have seen you smile for the first time.

Clara. Your Majesty!

The King. But, Miss Ernst, is it an insult, too, to see you smile?

Clara (smiling). If I consent to hear the poem, shall not the
Baroness--

The King. --hear it also? With pleasure; but not at the same time!
Please! Because I am a very bad reader. You can show it to the
Baroness afterwards, if you like. (CLARA smiles.) May I?

Clara. You are sure there is nothing in it that--

The King. You can interrupt me, if you think fit. It is called "The
Young Prince;" and it is about--no, I won't tell you what it is
about unless you will be so good as to sit down, so that I can sit
down too. If I stand up I shall be sure to begin declaiming, and I
do that shockingly badly!--You can get up again when you like, you
know! (CLARA smiles and sits down. The KING sits down beside her.)
Now, then! "The Young Prince." (To himself.) I can scarcely
breathe. (He begins to read.)

 Full fed with early flattery and pride--

(Breaks off.) Excuse me, Miss Ernst! I don't feel--

Clara. Is your Majesty not well?

The King. Quite well! It is only--. Now, then!

 Full fed with early flattery and pride,
 His sated soul was wearied all too young;
 Honour and kingly pomp seemed naught to him
 But whimsies from the people's folly sprung.

 From such pretence he fled to what was real--
 Fair women's arms, laughter and love and pleasure,
 All the mad joy of life; whate'er he craved,
 He found was given him in double measure.

 Whate'er he craved--until one day a maiden
 To whom he whispered, like a drunken sot,
 "I'd give my life to make thee mine, my sweeting!"
 Turned from him silently and answered not.

 He sought by every means to win her to him;
 But when his love with cold _contempt_ was met,
 It was as if a judgment had been spoken
 Upon his life, and doom thereon were set.

 His boon companions left him; in his castles
 None seemed to be awake but he alone,
 Racked with remorse, enshrouded in the darkness
 Of dull despair, yet longing to atone.

 Then through the darkness she appeared! and humbly,
 Emboldend by her gentleness of mien,
 He sued once more: "If only thou wouldst listen!
 If still 'twere not too late--"

(His emotion overcomes him, and he stops suddenly, gets up, and
walks away from CLARA. She gets up, as he comes back to her.)
Excuse me! I had no intention of making a scene. But it made me
think of--. (Breaks of again overcome by emotion, and moves a
little way from her. There is a pause as he collects himself before
returning to her.) As you can hear, Miss Ernst, it is nothing much
of a poem--not written by a real poet, that is to say; a real poet
would have exalted his theme, but this is a commonplace--

Clara. Has your Majesty anything more to say to me? (A pause.)

The King. If I have anything more to say to any one, it is to you.

Clara. I beg your pardon.

The King. No, it is I should beg yours. But I am sure you do not
wish me to lie to you.

Clara (turning her head away). No.

The King. You have no confidence in me. (Control, his emotion.)
Will you ever, I wonder, come to under stand that the only thing I
crave for now is--one person's confidence!

Clara. Any one who speaks as your Majesty has done to-day surely
craves for more than that.

The King. More than that, yes; but, first of all, one person's
confidence.

Clara (turning away). I don't understand--

The King (interrupting her, with emotion). Your life has not been
as empty and artificial as mine.

Clara. But surely you have your task here to fill it with?

The King. I remember reading once about the way a rock was
undermined, and the mine filled with gunpowder with an electric
wire leading to it. Just a slight pressure on a little button and
the great rock was shattered into a thousand pieces. And in the
same way everything is ready here; but the little pressure--to
cause the explosion--is what I am waiting for!

Clara. The metaphor is a little forced.

The King. And yet it came into my mind as unconsciously as you
broke off that twig just now. If I do not get what I lack, nothing
can be accomplished--there can be no explosion! I shall abandon the
whole thing and let myself go under.

Clara. Go under?

The King. Well, not like the hero of a sensational novel--not
straight to the bottom like a stone--but like a dreamer carried off
by pixies in a wood, with one name ever upon my lips! And the world
would have to look after itself.

Clara. But that is sheer recklessness.

The King. I know it is; but I am reckless. I stake everything upon
one throw! (A pause.)

Clara. Heaven send you may win.

The King. At least I am daring enough to hope that I may--and there
are moments when I almost feel certain of victory!

Clara (embarrassed). It is a lovely morning--

The King. --for the time of year; yes. And it is lovelier here than
it is anywhere else!

Clara. I cannot really understand a course of action which implies
a want of all sense of responsibility--

The King. Every one has their own point of view. A scheme of life,
to satisfy me, must have its greatest happiness hidden away at its
core; in my case that would be to have a house of my own--all to
myself, like any other citizen--from which I should go away to my
work, and come back to as to a safe refuge. That is the button on
the electric wire, do you understand? It is the little pressure on
it that I am waiting for. (A pause.)

Clara. Have you read my father's book, _Democratic Monarchy_?

The King. Yes.

Clara. He wrote it when I was a child; and so I may say that I grew
up amongst ideas like--like those I have heard from you to-day. All
the friends that came to our house used to talk to me about it.

The King. Then no doubt you heard the crown prince talked about,
too!

Clara. I think I heard his name oftener mentioned at home than any
one's. I believe the book was written expressly for you.

The King. I can feel that when I read it. If only I had been
allowed to read it in those days! Do you remember how in it your
father maintains, too, that all reform depends on the beating down
of the hedge that surrounds royalty?--on a king's becoming, as he
says, "wedded to his people" in the fullest sense of the word, not
irregularly or surreptitiously? No king can share his people's
thoughts if he lives apart from them in a great palace, married to
a foreign princess. There is no national spirit behind a
complicated court life of outlandish ceremonial.

Clara (turning away her head). You should have heard how vehemently
my father used to assert those ideas.

The King. And yet he abandoned them.

Clara. Became a republican, you mean?

The King. Yes.

Clara. He was so disappointed. (A pause.)

The King. I sometimes wonder every one isn't a republican! It must
come to that in the end; I can see that. If only royalties nowadays
thought seriously enough about it to realise it!

Clara. It is made so difficult for them by those who surround them.

The King. Yes, you see, that is another reason why any such reform
must begin at home. Do you think that a king, who went every day to
his work from a home that was in every respect like that of one of
his people, could fail in the long run?

Clara. There are so many different kinds of homes.

The King. I mean a home that holds love instead of subservience--
comfort instead of ceremony-truth instead of flattery; a home
where--ah, well, I need not teach a woman what a home means.

Clara. We make them what they are.

The King. Surely; but they are especially what women make them. (A
pause.)

Clara. The sun is quite strong now.

The King. But it can scarcely pierce through the screen of leaves
here.

Clara. When the sun shines down like this and the leaves tremble--

The King. The sunshine seems to tremble too.

Clara. Yes, but it makes one feel as if everything were trembling--
even deep down into our hearts!

The King. That is true.--Yes, its homes are the most precious
things a nation makes. Their national characteristics mean
reverence for their past and possibilities for their future.

Clara. I understand better now what you meant.

The King. When I said I wanted to begin at the beginning?

Clara. Yes. (A pause.)

The King. I cannot do otherwise. My heart must be in my work.

Clara (smiling). My father had his heart in his work, too.

The King. Forgive me--but don't you think it was just the want of
an object in his life that led your father to push his theories too
far?--an object outside himself, I mean?

Clara. Perhaps. If my mother had lived--. (Stops.)

The King. --he might have taken it differently; don't you think so?

Clara. I have sometimes thought so. (A pause.)

The King. How still it is! Not a sound!

Clara. Yes, there is the fountain.

The King. That is true; but one ends by hardly hearing a continuous
sound like that.

Clara. There is a tremulousness in _that_ too. (Looks round her.)

The King. What are you looking for?

Clara. It is time to look for the Baroness.

The King. She is up on that slope. Shall I call her? Or--perhaps
you would like to see a fine view?

Clara. Yes.

The King. Then let us go up to her together! (They go.)



ACT III


SCENE I

(SCENE. An open place in the town. It is evening, and the square is
badly lit. On the right is the club, a large building, standing
alone; lights are shining from all its windows. Steps lead from the
door, above which is a balcony. The square is full of people. In
the background, standing on the lowest step of the pedestal of an
equestrian statue, is a BALLAD SINGER, singing to the accompaniment
of his guitar. Cigars, oranges, and other wares are being sold by
hawkers. The singer's voice is heard before the curtain rises. The
crowd gradually joins him in the refrain which he repeats after
each verse of his ballad.)

The Ballad Singer (sings).

 The Princeling begged and begged and begged
 Her love, on bended knee.
 The Maid said craftily, "Nay, nay,
 I doubt your high degree!"

    Refrain.

  She knew the might, the might, the might
  Of love's distracting hour;
  How royalty, with all its pomp,
  Will curtsey to its power.

 The Princeling said: "Consent, my dear,
 And you shall marry me."
 The Maiden answered mockingly,
 "Over the left, maybe!"

 "Nay, as my Queen, enchanting maid,
 And that this very day!"
 The Maiden answered him, "Gadzooks!"
 And fainted right away.

 Recovering, she sighed, "My Lord,
 Princesses will be wroth;
 On every side they sit and wait
 To plight to you their troth."

 He answered, "Bosh!"--"But what of those
 Who counselled you before?"
 "Whom do you mean?"--"Your ministers!"
 "I'll show them to the door!"

 "But think, my dear--your generals,
 Your nobles, court, and priest;
 They'll try to drag you from my side
 Or shun us as the pest."

 "Nay, be not feared! I'll make you more
 By dozens at a word,
 Who'll bow and grovel if they be
 To rank and place preferred."

 "But think of the republicans!
 My father!--what if he--?"
 "The cock that crows the loudest, then,
 Prime minister shall be!"

 "Suppose the people stoutly swear
 They'll none of me?"--"Nay, nay,
 An order here, a title there,
 And all will homage pay."

 "Then I am yours!"--"Hurrah!" He holds
 Her tight his arms between;
 "Nay, not so fast, my kingly love!
 Not till I am your Queen!"

  She knew the might, the might, the might
  Of love's distracting hour;
  How royalty, with all its pomp,
  Will curtsey to its power.

An Old Gentleman (to another). What is going on here?

Second Old Gentleman. I don't know. I have only just come.

A Workman. Why, the King is coming past here with her!

First Old Gentleman. Coming past here with her? To hold a court
at the palace?

The Workman. Yes.

Second Old Gentleman (taking a pinch of snuff). And I suppose those
fellows in the club mean to make a demonstration?--hiss them, or
something of that sort?

The Workman. So they say.

First Old Gentleman. Have they decided not to attend the court
then?

A Dandy. Unanimously decided.

A Woman. It's filthy!

The Dandy. I beg your pardon?

The Woman. I say that those fellows in there will condescend to
seduce our daughters, right enough; but they won't condescend to
marry them. But, you see, the King does.

The Workman. I am not sure it wouldn't be better if he didn't.

The Woman. Well, I know people who say that she is quite a
respectable person.

The Dandy. I imagine that you have not read the newspapers?

First Old Gentleman. Hm!--one has to be a little careful as to how
far one believes the newspapers.

Second Old Gentleman (offering him his snuff-box). I am delighted
to hear you say that! There is such a lot of slander flying about.
That bawdy ballad just now; for instance.

The Woman. Yes, that's poking fun at _him_--I know that.

The Dandy. You had better take care what you are saying, my good
woman!

The Woman. Ah, I only say what I know.

(FLINK appears on the steps of the statue beside the BALLAD
SINGER.)

Flink. Stop your stupid songs! I want to speak!

Voice in the Crowd. Who is that?

Flink. You don't know me. I have never made public speeches--and
least of all to street mobs.

Voice in the Crowd. Why are you doing it now, then?

Flink. Because I have been charged with a message to you! (The
members of the club rush to the windows and on to the balcony
and steps. Uproar.)

Voice in the Crowd. Be quiet! Let us hear him!

Flink. Listen to me, good people! You don't know me. But you used
to know a tall chap, with long white hair and a big hat, who often
made speeches to you. I mean Professor Ernst.

Voice in the Crowd. Three cheers for Professor Ernst. (Cheers.)

Flink. He was sent to prison, as you know, for high treason;
escaped from prison, but broke his legs. Now he is living in exile,
hopelessly crippled.

Voice in the Crowd. He got a pardon.

Another. No one knows where he is.

Flink. I know where he is. He has charged me to deliver a message
to you to-day.

Voices from the Club. Bravo!

Voices from the Crowd. Has he! Bravo, Ernst!

Voices from the Club. Be quiet, down there!

Flink. He made me promise that, on the day on which his daughter
was to be presented at the palace as the King's betrothed, I would
stand up in some public place where she would pass by, and say that
it was being done against her father's will and in spite of his
urgent entreaties and commands. (Loud cries of "Bravo!" from the
club. A voice in the crowd: "That is just what we thought!") I am
charged to announce publicly that he despises her for it and sends
her his curse! (Fresh cries of "Bravo!" from the club. Voices in
the crowd: "That's shocking!"--"No, he was quite right;" etc., etc.
Uproar.) Quiet, good people!

A Young Man in the Crowd. May I be allowed to ask a question?
(Shouts of "Yes!" and "No!" and laughter are heard.)

Flink. By all means.

The Young Man. Did not Professor Ernst himself advocate a king's
doing just what our King has done?

Voices in the Crowd. Hear, hear!

Flink. Yes, and in return was thrown into prison and is now an
incurable cripple. No one has been more cruelly treated by the
King's hirelings. And now here is his daughter willing to become
Queen!

Count Platen (from the club balcony). I don't see why you want to
blame her! No; what I say is, that it is our dissolute King's fault
altogether! (Renewed uproar. Cries of: "Turn him out!" from the
club.)

Flink. I had something more to say about those who--. But make
those fellows at the club be quiet first.

A Voice. They are fighting over there! (Laughter. Wild uproar is
heard from the club, amidst which COUNT PLATEN'S voice is heard
shouting: "Let me be! Let me alone!"--and other voices: "Don't let
him go out!"--"He is drunk!" Eventually COUNT PLATEN comes out on
to the steps, hatless and dishevelled.)

Count Platen. I'm going to make a speech to you! I am better than
that crew in there! (Cries of "Bravo!") What I say is, that the
King is coming past here directly with a woman. (Applause, and
laughter. Every one crowds towards him. The police try to pull him
down. A free fight ensues.) Hiss them when they come! (Cries of
"Throw him down!"--"Bravo!"--"Hurrah!") I, Count Platen, tell you
to do so! Hiss him, howl at him, make a regular hullabaloo when he
comes! I, Count Platen, tell you to! (Cries of "Three cheers for
Count Platen!" are mingled with cries of "Three cheers for the
King!" There is a general tumult. COUNT PLATEN is hustled up and
down the steps, and tries to go on making his speech every time he
comes up.) He is defiling the throne!--He wants to marry a
traitor's daughter! Shame! I, Count Platen, say so! Here I stand--!
(A trumpet-call is heard; then cries of "Here is the King!"--"No,
it's the cavalry!"--"The cavalry are coming!"--"Clear the square!"
A shot is heard, followed by a scream; the people take to their
heels as another trumpet-call is heard. Curtain.)


SCENE II

(SCENE.--A room in the BARONESS' house. The BARONESS is sitting
reading. A MAID enters and brings her a card.)

Baroness (looking at the card). The Minister of the Interior!--
Show him in! (GRAN comes in.) I am glad to see you back, your
Excellency!--You have found him, then?

Gran. Yes, we have discovered him.

Baroness. And spoken to him?

Gran. Yes.

Baroness. May I send for his daughter?

Gran. For heaven's sake

Baroness. What is the matter?

Gran. He is a dying man.

Baroness. What!

Gran. The King desires me to tell you that he has ordered a special
train to be ready at 10 o'clock, so that as soon as the court is
over she can go to her father. The King will accompany her.

Baroness. That is kind of him!

Gran. Then you will get ready everything that she needs for a
night's journey?

Baroness. Yes.

Gran. And without her being aware of it? The King does not wish her
to know anything of her father's condition till after the court.

Baroness. The court is to be held, then?

Gran. The court is to be held. After it is over, His Majesty will
tell her the news himself.

Baroness. I am thankful for that.--But what did Professor Ernst
say? Why has he not answered his daughter's letter? Why has he
hidden from her? Is he really irreconcilable?

Gran. Irreconcilable? He hates her!

Baroness. Good heavens!

Gran. And not only her, but every one that has made common cause
with the King--every one!

Baroness. I suppose it was to be expected.--But won't you sit down?

Gran (bows, but remains standing). I had a talk with his doctor
before I saw him. He had some hesitation about letting me in. It
was a fortnight since his patient had been able to move. But when I
told him my errand, and that I had come from the King, he let me
see him.

Baroness. How did he look? He was a fine man once.

Gran. He was sitting in a big chair, a mere paralysed wreck of a
man. But when he saw me and realised who I was--and probably, too,
what my errand was--he found the strength not only to move, but to
seize both his crutches and raise himself on them! I shall never
forget his gaunt ashen-grey face, the feverish gleam in his sunken
eyes, his unkempt hair and beard--

Baroness. He must have looked terrible!

Gran. He was like a creature from beyond the grave--with an
eternity of hatred in his eyes!

Baroness. Oh, my God!

Gran. When at last I could find my voice, I gave him his daughter's
greeting, and asked if she might come and see him. A dark look came
into his eyes, and his face flushed for a moment, as he gasped out:
"May she be--." He could not finish the sentence. His crutches
slipped from his grasp and he fell down, blood pouring from his
mouth. The doctor rushed to him; and for a long time we thought he
was dead.

Baroness. But he came round?

Gran. I waited an hour or two before I started back. Then the
doctor told me that he had recovered consciousness, but that the
end could certainly not be far off--perhaps not twenty-four hours.

Baroness. It must have been a shock to you.

Gran. It was.

Baroness. But what did he mean by: "May she be--"

Gran. That is what I have been wondering.

Baroness. He cannot do her any harm, can he?

Grad. He may give her the same reception that he gave me; if she
goes.

Baroness, Even if the King is with her?

Gran. All the more then!

Baroness. Oh, that would be horrible! But it won't prevent her
going.

Gran. Let us hope so!

Baroness. I am certain of it! She has extraordinary strength of
character--just like her father's.

Gran. Yes, that is the one thing I rely on.

Baroness. What do you mean? Your words sound so despondent!

Gran. I mean what is perfectly true--that everything will depend
upon her strength of character.

Baroness. What about the King, then?

Gran. I could say a great deal on that topic, Baroness; but (bows)
you must excuse me--I haven't time now.

Baroness. How are the elections going?

Gran. They are going well--if nothing happens now?

Baroness. What could happen?

Gran. The situation is very strained; one must expect anything.

Baroness. Are you anxious, your Excellency?

Gran. I must beg leave to retire now. (A MAID comes in.)

Maid (to GRAN). The Inspector of Police, who came with your
Excellency, wishes to know if he may speak to your Excellency.

Gran. I will come at once. (To the BARONESS.) There is rioting
going on in the town, not far from here--in front of the club.

Baroness (in alarm). What?--Isn't the King coming along that way?

Gran. Don't be afraid! We have taken our precautions--Good-bye!
(Goes out.)

Baroness. --He has quite alarmed me--everything seems to come at
the same time! She has had a suspicion that there was something
amiss with her father; I have noticed that, but she hasn't wanted
to speak about it. (CLARA comes in, dressed for the court.) Ah,
there you are, my dear! Quite ready?

Clara. Quite.

Baroness (looking at her). Well, I daresay there have been royal
brides more elaborately dressed, but I am sure there has never
been one more charming. (Kisses her.)

Clara. I think I hear a carriage?

Baroness. I expect it is the King!

Clara. I am afraid it is too early yet--but all the same I hope it
is he!

Baroness. Do you feel afraid?

Clara. No, no--it is not that at all; it is something--something
that you don't--a kind of feeling as if--as if some one were
haunting me; and I know who it is. I only feel secure when the King
is with me. I hope it may be he coming. (Goes to the window.)

(The MAID comes in.)

Maid. A lady wishes to speak to you, Miss Ernst--

Baroness. A lady?

Clara. Didn't she give her name?

Maid. She is veiled--and very handsomely dressed.

Clara (with decision). No! I can see no one.

Baroness. No one that we do not know. (To the MAID.) You ought
to know that.

Maid (hesitatingly). But I think it is--. (The door opens and the
PRINCESS comes in.)

Baroness. What does this mean? Clara! leave us, my dear.

Princess (drawing aside her veil). Do you know me?

Clara and Baroness. The Princess!

Princess. Are you Clara Ernst?

Clara. Yes.

Princess (haughtily, to the BARONESS). Leave us alone! (The
BARONESS goes out.) Before going to the palace I wanted to come
here--even at the risk of meeting the King.

Clara. He has not come yet. (A long pause.)

Princess. Have you thought well over what you are going to do?

Clara. I think so.

Princess. I don't think you have. Have you read what the papers say
about it--every one of them--to-day?

Clara. No. The King has advised me not to.

Princess. But the letters that have been sent to you? I know
letters have been written to you.

Clara. The King has advised me not to read them either. He takes
all the letters.

Princess. Do you know that they are rioting in the streets close to
here?

Clara (in alarm). No!

Princess. You will be received with hisses, hooting--perhaps with
stone throwing. You didn't expect anything like that, did you?

Clara. No.

Princess. What shall you do?

Clara (after a moment, quietly). I shall go with the King.

Princess. A nice road you are dragging him along, truly! And I
assure you that the farther you go along it, the worse it will
become. You cannot possibly have prepared yourself for all that you
will have to go through.

Clara. I think I have.

Princess (in surprise). What do you mean? How?

Clara (bending her head). I have prayed to God.

Princess. Pshaw! I mean that you cannot have considered the misery
into which you are dragging the King--and the disgrace and trouble
you are bringing upon all his people. (CLARA is silent.) You are
young still; your heart cannot be altogether hardened yet, whatever
your past may have been.

Clara (proudly). I have no reason to be ashamed of my past.

Princess. Indeed? What sort of a past has it been, then?

Clara. One full of suffering, princess--and of work. (A pause.)

Princess. Do you know what the King's past has been?

Clara (drooping her head). Ah, yes.

Princess. Yours will be tarred with the same brush--no matter what
it really has been.

Clara. I know that. He has told me so.

Princess. Really!--After all, is it a sacrifice you are making for
his sake? Do you love the King?

Clara (faintly). Yes.

Princess. Then listen to me. If you loved the King, you would have
made a _real_ sacrifice for him. We are women, you and I; we can
understand these things without many words. But such a sacrifice
does not consist in consenting to be his queen.

Clara. It is not I that wished it.

Princess. You have allowed yourself to be persuaded?--Well, you are
either deceiving yourself, my girl, or you are deceiving him.
Perhaps you began with the one and are ending with the other.
Anyway, it is time you had your eyes opened as to which of you it
is that is making the sacrifice. Do you not know that, on your
account, he is already the target for general contempt? (CLARA
bursts into tears.) If that makes you repent, show it--show it by
your deeds!

Clara. I repent of nothing.

Princess (in astonishment). What state of mind are you in, then?

Clara. I have suffered terribly. But I pray God for strength to
bear it.

Princess. Don't talk nonsense! The whole thing is a horrible
confusion of ideas--half remorse and half cant--the one so mixed up
with the other in your mind that you cannot disentangle them. But,
believe me, others feel very sure that sacred things and--and what
I won't call bluntly by its name, go very ill together! So don't
waste those airs on me; they only irritate me!

Clara. Princess, don't be cruel to me. I _am_ suffering, all the
same.

Princess. Why on earth do you want to go any farther with the
affair? If you aren't clear about it, take advice! Your father is
opposed to it, isn't he?

Clara. Yes. (Throws herself into a chair.)

Princess. He has hidden himself away from you. You don't know where
he is, or how he is--though you know he is crippled and ill. And,
meanwhile, here you are in full dress, with a rose in your hair,
waiting to set out to a court at the palace! Are you willing to
pass through contemptuous rioting crowds, and over your sick
father's body, to become queen? What callous levity! What a
presumptuous mixture of what you think is love, duty, sacrifice,
trial--with an unscrupulous ambition--! The King? Are you depending
on him? He is a poet. He loves anything unusual or sensational.
Resistance stimulates him; and that is what drives him into
believing that his love will be unending. When you have been
married a week, it will be all over. If he had not met with
resistance, it would have been all over before this. I know the
King better than you; for I know his faithlessness. It is like his
love--unending! It hurts you to hear that, does it? Well, it hurts
one's eyes to look at the sun. But I can tell you about these
things. The only reason I had for coming was to tell you what I
know. And now that I have seen you, I can tell you that I know one
thing more--and I will tell you what it is. If you actually allow
the King, with his ardent temperament, to stray into a path which
will lead to the ruin of his career, your action will, in the
fullness of time, recoil so appallingly upon your own head that it
will kill you. I know you are one of those that faithlessness,
remorse and contempt _would_ kill.--Don't look so beseechingly at
me; I cannot retract a word of what I have said. But I can tell you
now what I had decided upon before I came. _I_ will look after your
future. I am not rich; but, as sure as I stand here before you, you
shall live free from care--you shall have everything that you need--
for the rest of your life. I want no thanks! I do it for the sake
of the King, and for the sake of the country to which I belong.
It is my duty. Only get up now and come with me to my carriage.
(Offers CLARA her hand.)

Clara. If it were as easy as that, I should have done it long, long
ago.

Princess (turns away. Then comes back). Get up. (Pulls her on to
her feet.) Do you love the King?

Clara. Do I love him? I am a motherless child, and have lived alone
with a father who has been constantly persecuted on account of his
principles; I shared his ideals from a very early age, and I have
never abandoned them since. Then one day I was given the chance of
making these ideals real. "What _I_ long to do, _you_ shall
accomplish!" he said. There is something great about that,
Princess--something all-powerful--a call from God Himself. Of that
I am certain.

Princess. It is merely a rhapsody of the King's--nothing else!

Clara. Then I will make it real and live it! I have given my whole
soul to it, and have strengthened his to the same end. It has been
my ideal all my life.

Princess. And you believe that it will last?

Clara. Yes.

Princess. Then let me beg you to believe this, too--it will last
until he has attained his end.

Clara. If you mean our marriage, let me tell you that _that_ is not
our end.

Princess (in surprise). What is, then?

Clara. Our end is to accomplish something together. That task shall
be consecrated and ennobled by our love. Yes, you may look at me!
Those were his own words.

Princess. That answer!--That thought!--But what certainty have you?

Clara. Of what?

Princess. That you did not put the thought into his mind?--and that
the fire in his soul may not flicker out?

Clara. If I needed any assurance, I should find it in the fact that
he changed his whole life for my sake; he waited for me for more
than a year. Has he ever done that for any one before? I am sure
he has never needed to! (The PRINCESS winces.) It is those who have
seduced that "ardent" temperament of his--you called it that
yourself--that are to blame, and not I, Princess! (A pause.) I
checked him to the best of my power when he came to me as he was
wont to go to others. (A pause.) Indeed it is no sacrifice to
become his wife. When one loves, there is no question of sacrifice.
But the position in which I now stand exposes me to more suspicion
than the humblest of his subjects, to more scorn than if I were his
mistress. Think how you have spoken to me to-day yourself,
Princess! (A pause.) It is no sacrifice to endure such things for
the man one loves. It was not I that used the word "sacrifice,"
either; and as for the sacrifice you implied that I ought to have
made, I don't wish to understand what you meant by that, even
though I am a woman as well as you! But if you knew, Princess, how
hard a fight I have been through before I found the strength to
cast in my lot with his, against my father's wish and against you
all--you would not have spoken to me about making a sacrifice. At
all events you would not have spoken to me as you have done to-day;
because you are not cruel, and I know that at bottom you mean me
well. (A longer pause.)

Princess. This is more serious than I knew.--Poor child, your
disappointment will be all the more serious.

Clara. Not with him!

Princess (half to herself). Is it possible he can be so changed?
Was that what was needed to secure a hold on him--? (To CLARA.)
Is he coming here to fetch you?

Clara. Yes.

Princess. What does he want to hold this court for? What is the
good of throwing down this challenge to all the dignitaries of his
kingdom?--especially if, after all, he means to live the life of an
ordinary citizen?

Clara. He wished it.

Princess. An exciting episode in his rhapsody! Why did you not
dissuade him?

Clara. Because I agree with him.

Princess. Perhaps you don't fully realise what it means?--what
humiliation the King will have to undergo?

Clara. I only know that it seems to me that these things should
be done openly, and that he has plenty of courage.

Princess. That is mere bravado. Are you going in that dress?--to
court in that dress? (CLARA is silent.) I say it is mere bravado.

Clara. I have no better dress.

Princess. What do you mean? Surely the King can--? Are you jesting?

Clara (shyly). I do not allow the King to give me anything; not
until--.

Princess. Doesn't he pay your expenses here, then? (Looks round the
room.)

Clara. No.

Princess. It is the Baroness?

Clara. She and I. We are both poor.

Princess. Ah, yes--she has lost her post now, hasn't she?

Clara. On my account--yes. And you, Princess, who have known her--
for she was once your governess--can you really suppose that she
would have been faithful to me if she did not trust me and feel
that this was right? You treated her so contemptuously when you
came in.

Princess. I seem to have broken in upon the most incomprehensible
romance!--Then you love the King? (CLARA nods her head.) He knows
how to love, and make a woman happy! He is a dazzling creature!--We
shall see now whether you are to suffer for all the hearts he has
broken. You are not the first woman he has loved.

Clara. Princess!

Princess. Yes, let that sink into your mind! Your happiness is
embroidered with tears!

Clara. It is cruel of you to reproach me with it.

Princess. Forgive me! I really did not mean that.--But there is
still time to put on a more suitable dress. If you dare accept no
gifts from the King--you might from some one else? A King's bride
is a King's bride after all, you know!

Clara. He told me I should not need anything more than this.

Princess. Not in his eyes, I dare say. But we women know a little
better!--If it were only a necklace? Will you accept this one?
(Begins to unfasten hers.)

Clara. I knew you were kind.--But I daren't.

Princess. Why not?

Clara. Because--because people would think that--. (Bursts into
tears. A pause.)

Princess. Listen, my child. The whole thing is sheer lunacy; but--
as it cannot be altered--as soon as the court assembles I shall
take my place at your side and not leave you till it is all over.
Tell the King that! Good-bye!

Clara (going towards her). Princess!

Princess (kisses her, and whispers). Haven't you allowed him to
kiss you, either?

Clara (in a whisper). Yes, I have.

Princess (kissing her once snore). Love him! (The sound of carriage
wheels is heard. The BARONESS comes in.)

Baroness. I hear the King's carriage.

Princess. I don't wish to meet him. (Stretches out her hand to the
BARONESS.) Baroness! (Points to the door through which the BARONESS
has come in.) Can I get out that way?

Baroness. Yes. (She takes the PRINCESS out. A moment later the MAID
ushers in the KING, who is dressed in plain clothes and wearing no
decorations.)

The King. Clara!

Clara. My friend! (They embrace.)

The King. What does it mean?

Clara. What?

The King. The Princess' carriage here?

Clara. She told me to greet you. She has just gone, and--

The King. And--?

Clara. She said as soon as the court assembled she would take her
place beside me and stay there till we left the palace.

The King. Is it possible?

Clara. It is _true_.

The King. You have conquered her! I know she could be conquered--
she has a heart, as well as a head! It is a good omen!--So she
offered to do _that_! What will our precious nobility have to say
to that?

Clara. They are about the streets, aren't they?

The King. Ah, then you know?

Clara. I know, too, that there has been rioting outside the club.

The King. You know that too?--and are not afraid?

Clara. Perhaps I might have been--but there is something else that
I am more afraid of. (Draws closer to the KING.)

The King. What is that?

Clara. You know. (A pause.)

The King. Have you been uneasy about him to-day too?

Clara. All day--incessantly. Something must have happened.

The King. Well, now I can tell you where he is.

Clara (eagerly). At last! Have you found him?

The King. Gran has been to see him.

Clara. Thank God! Is it far from here?

The King. This evening, immediately after the court, you and I
will both start for there in a special train. We shall be there
early to-morrow.

Clara (throwing her arms round his neck). Thanks, thanks! How
good you are! Thanks! How is he? Is he ill!

The King. Yes.

Clara. I knew it? And implacable?

The King. Yes.

Clara. I feel it! (Nestles closer in his arms.)

The King. Are you afraid?

Clara. Yes!

The King. Dear, when you see him perhaps your fear will go.

Clara. Yes, only let me see him! Whatever he says, let me see him!

The King. Within twelve hours from now you shall! And I shall be
with you.

Clara. The finest thing about you is your kindness. Oh, I am so
glad you have come! I could not endure my fears any longer.

The King. There are dissensions going on about you!

Clara. Oh!--(Nestles in his arms again.)

The King. Bear up!--It will soon be over.

Clara. I believe it will. Yes, I know it will.--Let me walk about a
little! (The KING walks up and down with her.)

The King. And turn our thoughts to something else! Do you know
where I have come from?

Clara. Where?

The King. From our little house in the park.

Clara. Why, we drove past it yesterday!

The King. You will feel only _one_ person's presence there!
Wherever you go, you will be surrounded by the thoughts I have had
of you there. If you look out of the window, or go out on to the
balcony--on every rock, by each turn of the stream--on the lawns,
under the trees, among the bushes--everywhere you will find a
thousand thoughts of you hidden. Breathe the words "my darling
girl," and they will all come clustering round you!--Let us sit
down.

Clara. It is all like a fairy tale.

The King. And I am the latest fairy prince! (He sits down and draws
her on to his knee.) And you are the little maid who comes, led by
good fairies, to the enchanted castle to wake him. He has been kept
asleep by wicked spells for many, many years.

Clara. For many, many years!

The King. I am not really _I_, nor you _you_. The monarch was
bewitched long ago. He was turned into a wild beast who gave reign
to his passion by night and slept by day. And now the maiden of
humble degree has become a woman and freed him from the spells.

Clara. Really! Ah, you are so clever at inventing things to cheat
my fears away from me. And you always succeed. But after all, you
know, I have no strength and no courage; I am so weak.

The King. You have more strength than I!--more than any one I
have ever known.

Clara. No, don't say that; but--you may be sure of this!--if I did
not feel that I had _some_ strength I would never try to throw in
my lot with yours.

The King. I will explain to you what you are! Some people are
tremendously more spiritual, more delicately constituted than
others; and they are a hundred times more sensitive. And they
fancy that is weakness. But it is just they who draw their strength
from _deeper_ sources, through a thousand imperceptible channels.
You will often find them with heads erect and valiant when others
have gone under; they merely bend before the storm, with supple
strength, when others break under it. You are like that!

Clara. You are very ingenious when you start explaining me!

The King. Well, listen to this! At the time when I was behaving so
badly to you, your terror, every time I approached you, was so
piteous that it was always before my eyes and rang in my ears
like a cry of agony from a wounded heart. It is true! It filled me
with terror, too. Do you call that weakness, to feel things so
intensely that another person is influenced by your feelings
against his will?

Clara. No.

The King. And then, when I found you again--the way you listened to
me--

Clara (stopping him with a kiss). Don't let us talk about it now!

The King. What shall we talk about, then? It is a little too early
to start yet.--Ah, I have it! We will talk about the impression you
will make this evening when you come forward through the brightly
lit rooms, radiant against the background of ugly calumny! That was
prettily put, wasn't it? "Is _that_ she?" they will think. And then
something will come into their eyes that will cheat them into
thinking that pearls and gold are strewn over your hair, over your
dress, over your--

Clara (putting her hand over his mouth). No, no, no! Now I am
going to tell you a little story!

The King. Tell away!

Clara. When I was a child, I saw a balloon being filled one day,
and there was a horrible smell from the gas. Afterwards, when I
saw the gleaming balloon rising in the air, I thought to myself:
"Ah, that horrid smell was something burning; they had to burn it
for the balloon to be able to rise." And after that, every time I
heard anything horrid said about my father, I felt as if something
was burning inside me, and I thought of the balloon and imagined I
could smell the smell. And then all at once I imagined I saw it
rising; the horrid part was burnt, and it was able to mount aloft!
I assure you that balloon was a good genius to me. And now, years
afterwards, when I have been a target for calumny myself--and
you for my sake--I have felt just the same thing. Every word has
burned; but I have got over it in a moment, and risen high, high
above it all! I never seem to breathe so pure an atmosphere as a
little while after something cruel has been said of me.

The King. I shall certainly set to work and abuse you at once, if
it has such delightful results! I will begin with a selection from
to-day's papers: "You Aspasia! You Messalina! You Pompadour! You
Phylloxera, that are eating into our whole moral vine-crop! You
blue-eyed curse of the country, that are causing panics in the
money-market, overthrowing ministries, and upsetting all
calculations in the elections! You mischievous hobgoblin, who are
pouring gall into the printers' ink and poison into the people's
coffee, filling all the old ladies' heads with buzzing flies, and
the King's Majesty with a million lover's follies!" Do you know
that, besides all the harm you are doing to-day, you are hastening
a revolution by ten years? You are! And no one can be sure whether
you haven't been pursuing the same wicked courses for the last
hundred years or more! All our royal and noble ancestors are
turning in their graves because of you! And if our deceased queens
have any noses left--

Clara (interrupting him). The Baroness! (They get up. The BARONESS
comes in wearing a cloak over her court dress and carrying CLARA'S
cloak over her arm.)

Baroness. I must take the liberty of disturbing you. Time is up!

The King. We have been killing it by talking nonsense.

Baroness. And that has put you in a good humour?

The King (taking his hat). In the best of humours! Here, my darling
(fastens CLARA'S cloak about her shoulders), here is the last
scandalous bit of concealment for you! When we take it off again,
you shall stand radiant in the light of your own truth. Come!
(Gives her his arm, and they go trippingly up to the back of the
room. Suddenly the phantom of an emaciated figure leaning on
crutches appears in their path, staring at them. His hair and
beard are in wild disorder, and blood is pouring from his mouth.
CLARA gives a terrified scream.)

The King. In Heaven's name, what is it?

Clara. My father!

The King. Where? (To the BARONESS.) Go and see! (The BARONESS
opens the doors at the back and looks out).

Baroness. I can see no one.

The King. Look down the corridor!

Baroness. No--no one there, either! (CLARA has sunk lifelessly into
the KING'S arms. After one or two spasmodic twitchings of her
hands, her arms slip away from him and her head falls back.)

The King. Help, help!

The Baroness (rushing to him with a shriek). Clara!

Curtain.



ACT IV

(SCENE.--A room in GRAN's house; the same as in Act I, Scene II.
GRAN is standing at his desk on the right. FLINK comes in carrying
a pistol-case, which he puts down upon the table.)

Gran. You?

Flink. As you see. (Walks up and down for a little without
speaking.)

Gran. I haven't seen you since the day the King was here.

Flink. No.--Have you taken your holidays?

Gran. Yes; but, anyway, I am likely to have perpetual holidays
now! The elections are going against us.

Flink (walking about). So I hear. The clerical party and the
reactionaries are winning.

Gran. That would not have been so, but for her unhappy death--.
(Breaks off, and sighs.)

Flink. A judgment from heaven--that is what the parsons say, and
the women, and the reactionaries--

Gran. --and the landlords. And they really believe it.

Flink (stopping). Well, don't you believe it?

Gran (after a pause). At all events I interpret it differently from--

Flink. --from the parson? Naturally. But can any one doubt the fact
that it was the finger of fate?

Gran. Then fate assumed her father's shape?

Flink. Whether her father appeared to her at the moment of his
death or not (shrugs his shoulders) is a matter in which I am not
interested. I don't believe in such things. But that she was
suffering pangs of conscience, I do believe. I believe it may have
brought painful visions before her eyes.

Gran. I knew her pretty well, and I will answer for it she had no
guilty conscience. She was approaching her task with enthusiasm.
Any one that knew her will tell you the same. With her the King was
first and foremost.

Flink. What did she die of, then? Of enthusiasm?

Gran. Of being overwrought by the force of her emotions. Her task
was too great for her. The time was not ripe for it. (Sadly.) Our
experiment was bound to fail.

Flink. You condemn it when you say that!--But with her last breath
she called out: "My father!" And, just at that moment, he died,
fifty miles away from her. Either she _saw_ him, or she _imagined_
she saw him, standing before her. But his bloodstained, maltreated,
crippled form standing in the way of her criminal advance towards
the throne--is that not a symbol of maltreated humanity revolting
against monarchy at the very moment when monarchy wishes to atone!
Its guilt through thousands of years is too black. Fate is
inflexible.

Gran. But with what result? Are we rid of monarchy yet?

Flink. We are rid of that treacherous attempt to reconcile it with
modern conditions. Thank God it emerges, hand in glove with the
parsons and reactionaries, none the worse for its temporary
eclipse.

Gran. So everything is all right, I suppose?

Flink. For the moment--yes. But there used to exist here a strong
republican party, which enjoyed universal respect, and was making
extraordinary progress. Where is it now?

Gran. I knew that was why you came.

Flink. I have come to call you to account.

Gran. If I had been in your place I would not have acted so,
towards a defeated and wounded friend.

Flink. The republican party has often been defeated--but never
despised till now. Who is to blame for that?

Gran. None of us ever think we deserve contempt.

Flink. A traitor always deserves it.

Gran. It is but a step from the present state of things to a
republic; and we shall have to take that step in the end.

Flink. But at least we can do so without treachery.

Gran. I honestly believe that what we did was right. It may have
miscarried the first time, and may miscarry a second and a third;
but it is the only possible solution.

Flink. You pronounced your doom in those words.

Gran (more attentively). What do you mean by that?

Flink. We must make sure that such an attempt will not be made
again.

Gran. So that is it.--I begin to understand you now.

Flink. The republican party is broken up. For a generation it will
be annihilated by contempt. But a community without a republican
party must be one without ideals and without any aspirations
towards truth in its political life--and in other respects as well!
That is what you are responsible for.

Gran. You pay me too great a compliment.

Flink. By no means! Your reputation, your personal qualities and
associations are what have seduced them.

Gran. Listen to me for a moment! You used to overrate me in the
hopes you had of me. You are overrating me now in your censure. You
are overrating the effects of our failure--you never seem to be
able to do anything but overshoot your mark. For that reason you
are a danger to your friends. You lure them on. When things go well
you lure them on to excess of activity; when things go ill, you
turn their despondency into despair. Your inordinate enthusiasm
obscures your wits. _You_ are not called upon to sit in judgment
upon any one; because you draw the pure truths that lie hidden in
your soul into such a frenzied vortex of strife that you lose sight
of them; and then they have so little of truth left in them that in
your hands they can be answerable for crimes.

Flink. Oh, spare me your dialectics!--because any skill you have in
them, _I_ taught you! You cannot excuse your own sins by running
over the list of mine; that is the only answer I have to make to
you! I don't stand before you as the embodiment of truth; I am no
braggart. No; but simply as one who has loved you deeply and now is
as deeply offended by you, I ask this question of your conscience:
What have you done with the love we had for one another? Where is
the sacred cause we both used to uphold? Where is our honour--our
friends--our future?

Gran. I feel respect for your sorrow. Can you not feel any for
mine? Or do you suppose that I am not suffering?

Flink. You cannot act as you have done without bringing unhappiness
upon yourself. But there are others to be considered besides you,
and we have the right to call you to account. Answer me!

Gran. And is it really you--you, my old friend--that propose to do
that?

Flink. God knows I would sooner some one else did it! But none can
do it so fitly as I--because no one else has loved you as I have. I
expected too much of you, you say? The only thing I wanted of you
was that you should be faithful! I had so often been disappointed;
but in you and your quiet strength I thought I had splendid
security that, as long as you lived, our cause would bear itself
proudly and confidently. It was your prestige that brought it into
being; your wealth that supported it. It did not cry aloud for the
blood of martyrs!--You were the happiness of my life; my soul
renewed its strength from yours.

Gran. Old friend--!

Flink. I was old, and you were young! Your nature was a harmonious
whole--it was what I needed to lean upon.

Gran. Flink, my dear old friend--!

Flink. And now, here you stand--a broken man, and our whole cause
broken with you; all our lives broken--at least mine is--

Gran. Don't say that!

Flink. You have destroyed my faith in mankind--and in myself, for I
see what a mistake I made; but it will be the last I shall make! I
took you to my heart of hearts--and now, the only thing I can do is
to call you to account!

Gran. What do you want me to do? Tell me!

Flink. We must stand face to face--armed! You must die! (A pause.)

Gran (without seeming greatly surprised). Of the two of us, it will
go hardest with you, old friend.

Flink. You think your aim will be the surer of the two? (Goes
towards the table.)

Gran. I was not thinking of that--but of what your life would be
afterwards. I know you.

Flink (opening the pistol-case). You need not be anxious! My life
afterwards will not be a long one. What you have done has robbed me
of anything to live for in this generation, and I don't aspire to
live till the next. So it is all over and done with! (Takes up the
pistols.)

Gran. Do you mean _here_--?

Flink. Why not? We are alone here.

Gran. The King is asleep in the next room. (Points to the door near
his desk.)

Flink. The King here?

Gran. He came here to-night.

Flink. Well, it will wake him up; he will have to wake up some
time, any way.

Gran. It would be horrible! No!

Flink. Indeed? It is for his sake you have betrayed me. You did
that as soon as ever you met him again. He has bewitched you. Let
him hear and see what he has done! (Holds out the pistols.) Here!

Gran. Wait. What you have just said brings a doubt into my mind. Is
not revenge, after all, the motive for what you are doing?

Flink. Revenge?

Gran. Yes. Don't misunderstand me; I am not trying to shuffle out
of it. If I were free to choose, I would choose death rather than
anything else. The King knows that, too. But I ask because there
ought to be some serious reason for anything that may happen. I am
not going to stand up and face a sentiment of revenge that is so
ill-grounded.

Flink (laying the pistols down). I hate the man who has led you
astray--that is true. When I was giving you the reasons why I took
upon myself the task of calling you to account, perhaps I forgot
that. I hate him. But the instrument that carries out a sentence is
one thing; the sentence itself is quite another. You arc sentenced
to death because you have betrayed our cause--and because you say
that you were right to do so. The world shall learn what that
costs. It costs a man's life.

Gran. So be it!

Flink. The pistols are loaded. I loaded them myself. I imagine that
you still have trust in my honour?

Gran (with a smile). Indeed I have.

Flink. One of them has a blank cartridge in it; the other is fully
loaded. Choose!

Gran. But what do you mean? Suppose I were to--?

Flink. Don't be afraid! Heaven will decide! _You_ will not choose
the fully loaded one!--We shall stand face to face.

Gran. You are settling everything--the sentence, the challenge, the
choice of weapons, the regulations for the duel--!

Flink. Are you dissatisfied with that?

Gran. By no means! You are quite welcome! We are to have no
seconds? So be it. But the place?

Flink. The place? Here!

Gran. Horrible!

Flink. Why? (Holds out the two pistols to him. The door to the left
is opened softly. ANNA looks in, sees what is going on, and rushes
with a pitiful attempt at a scream to GRAN, putting her arms round
him protectingly, and caressing him with every sign of the utmost
terror.)

Gran (bending down and kissing her). She is right! Why should I die
for the sake of dull theories, when I can hold life in my arms as I
do now? A man who is loved has something left, after all. I won't
die!

Flink. If you were not loved, my friend, you might be allowed to
live. A cry of sorrow will be heard throughout the land, from the
King's palace to the meanest hovel, when you have been shot. And
that is just why I must do it! The louder the cry of sorrow, the
greater will be the silence afterwards. And in that silence is to
be found the answer to the question "Why?" The people will not
allow themselves to be cheated any longer.

Gran. Horrible! I won't do it! (Lifts ANNA in his arms as if she
were a child.)

Flink (going up to him). It is no mere theory that you are facing.
Look at me!

Gran. Old friend--_must_ it be?

Flink. It _must_. I have nothing else left to do.

Gran. But not here.

Flink. Since it cannot be here, then come out into the park. (Puts
the pistols into their case.) You owe me that.

Gran (to ANNA). You must go, my dear!

Flink (putting the pistol-case under his arm). No, let her stay
here. But you come! (They all three move towards the door. ANNA
will not let GRAN go, and there is a struggle until he, half
commanding and half entreating, persuades her to stay behind. The
two men go out, shutting the door after them. She throws herself
against the door, but it has been locked on the outside. She sinks
down to the floor in despair, then gets up, as if struck by a
sudden idea, rushes into the room on the right, and almost
immediately re-appears, dragging the KING after her. He is only
half-dressed and has no shoes on.)

The King. What is it? (A shot is heard.) What is it? (ANNA pulls
him to the door. He tries to open it, but in vain. She rushes to
the window, with the KING after her. Meanwhile the door is opened
from outside, and FALBE comes in, evidently overcome with emotion.)
What is it, Falbe? (ANNA runs out.)

Falbe. His Excellency the Minister of the Interior--

The King. Well, what of him?

Falbe. --has been assassinated!

The King. The Minister of the Interior?--Gran?

Falbe. Yes.

The King. Gran?--What did you say?

Falbe. He has been assassinated!

The King. Gran? Impossible!--Where? Why? I heard his voice only
just now, here!

Falbe. That fellow shot him--the grey-haired fellow--the republican

The King. Flink? Yes, I heard his voice here too!

Falbe. It was in the park! I saw it myself!

The King. Saw it yourself? Wretch! (Rushes out.)

Falbe. How could I prevent a madman--? (Follows the KING. The door
stands open, and through it a man is seen running past, calling
out: "Where?" Others follow him, and amidst the sound of hurrying.
feet, cries are heard of "Good God!"--"In the park, did you say?"--
"A doctor! Fetch a doctor!"--"Who did it?"--"That fellow running
towards the river!"--"After him! After him!"--"Fetch a barrow from
the works!"--After a while the KING returns alone, looking
distracted. He stands motionless and silent for some time.)

The King. What a happy smile there was on his face! Just as she
smiled!--Yes, it must be happiness! (Hides his face in his hands.)
And he died for me too! My two only--. (Breaks down.) So that is
the price they have to pay for loving me!--And at once! At once!--
Of course! Of course! (The sound of the crowd returning is heard,
and cries of: "This way!"--"Into the blue room!" Women and children
come streaming in, all in tears, surrounding ANNA and the men that
are carrying GRAN'S body, and follow them into the room on the
left. Cries are heard of: "Why should he die?"--"He was so good!"--
"What had he done to deserve it!"--"He was the best man in the
world!")

The King. "He was the best man in the world!" Yes. And he died for
my sake! That means something good of me!--the best possible! Are
they two together now, I wonder? Oh, let me have a sign!--or is
that too much to ask? (The crowd come out again, sobbing and
weeping, and cries are heard of: "He looks so beautiful and
peaceful!"--"I can't bring myself to believe it!" When they see the
KING, they hush their voices, and all go out as quietly as they
can. When they have gone out, the MAYOR's voice is heard asking:
"Is he in here?" and an answer: "No, in the blue room, over there."
Then the GENERAL'S voice: "And the murderer escaped?"--An answer:
"They are looking for him in the river!"--The GENERAL'S voice: "In
the river? Did he jump into the river?"--The PRIEST's voice:
"Shocking!" A few moments later the GENERAL with BANG, the MAYOR,
and the PRIEST come in from the other room. They stop on seeing the
KING, who is standing at the desk with his back to them, and
whisper.)

The General. Isn't that the King?

The Others. The King?

The Mayor. Is the King back? He must have come in the night!

Bang. Let me see!--I know him personally.

The General (holding him back). Of course it is the King.

The Mayor. Really?

Bang. I recognise him by his agitation! It is he.

The General. Hush! Let us go quietly out again! (They begin to move
off.)

The Mayor. He is grieved. Naturally.

Bang. First of all her death; and then this--!

The Priest. It is the judgment of heaven!

The King (turning round). Who is that? What? (Comes forward.) Who
said that? (They all stop, take off their hats and bow.) Come back!
(They come back hastily.) Who said: "It is the judgment of heaven"?

The General. Your Majesty must forgive us--we were just taking a
little stroll; I am here to spend Christmas with my friend Mr.
Bang, who has a factory here--a branch of his works--and we
happened to meet the Mayor and the Priest, and we joined company--
and were strolling along when we heard a shot. A shot. We did not
think anything more about it till we came nearer here and saw
people running, and heard a great outcry and disturbance. Great
disturbance--yes. We stopped, of course, and came to see what it
was. Came to see what it was, of course. And they told us that the
Minister of the Interior--

The King. What is all that to me! (The GENERAL bows.) Who said: "It
is the judgment of heaven"? (No one speaks.) Come, answer me!

The Mayor. It was the Priest--I fancy.

The King (to the PRIEST). Haven't you the courage to tell me so
yourself?

The General. Probably our reverend friend is unaccustomed to find
himself in the presence of royalty.

The Priest. It is the first time that--that I have had the honour
of speaking to your Majesty--I did not feel self-possessed enough,
for the moment, to--

The King. But you were self-possessed enough when you said it! What
did you mean by saying it was "the judgment of heaven"?--I am
asking you what you meant by it.

The Priest. I really don't quite know--it slipped out--

The King. That is a lie! Some one said: "First of all her death,
and then this." And you said: "It is the judgment of heaven."

The Mayor. That is quite right, your Majesty.

The King. First of all _her_ death? That meant the death of my
betrothed, didn't it?

Bang and The Priest. Yes, your Majesty.

The King. "And then _this_" meant my friend--my dear friend! (With
emotion.) Why did heaven condemn these two to death? (A pause.)

The General. It is most regrettable that we should, quite
involuntarily, have disturbed your Majesty at a moment when your
Majesty's feelings are, naturally, so overcome--

The King (interrupting him). I asked you why heaven condemned these
two to death. (To the VICAR.) You are a clergyman; cudgel your
brains!

The Priest. Well, your Majesty, I was thinking that--I meant that--
that heaven had in a miraculous way checked your Majesty--

The General. "Ventured to check" would be more suitable, I think.

The Priest. --from continuing in a course which many people thought
so unfortunate--I mean, so fatal to the nation, and the church; had
checked your Majesty--

The General (in an undertone). Ventured to check.

The Priest. --by taking away from your Majesty the two persons
who--the two persons who--in the first place the one who--

The King. The one who--?

The Priest. Who was--

The King. Who was--? A harlot that wanted to sit on the throne?

The Priest. Those are your Majesty's word, not mine. (Wipes his
forehead.)

The King. Confess that they express what you meant!

The Priest. I confess that I have heard--that people say--that--

The King. Pray to heaven that for a single day your thoughts may
be as pure as hers were every day. (Bursts into tears. Then says
impetuously.) How long have you been a clergyman?

The Priest. Fifteen years, your Majesty.

The King. Then you were already ordained at the time when I was
leading a dissolute life. Why did you never say anything to me
then?

The Priest. My most gracious King--

The King. God is the only "most gracious King"! Do not speak
blasphemy!

The Priest. It was not my duty to--

The General. Our friend is not a court chaplain. He has merely a
parish in the town here--

The Mayor. And his work lies chiefly among the factory hands.

The King. And so it is not your duty to speak the truth to me--but
to attack my dear dead friends by prating about heaven's judgment
and repeating vile lies? Is that your duty?

The Mayor. I only had the honour to know one of the--the deceased.
Your Majesty honoured him with your friendship; the greatest honour
a subject can enjoy. I should like to say that one would rarely
find a nobler heart, a loftier mind, or more modest fidelity, than
his.

The General. I should like, if I may make so bold, to make use of
the opportunity chance has afforded me of associating myself with
my sovereign's sorrow, a sorrow for which his whole people must
feel the deepest respect, but especially those who, in consequence
of their high position, are more particularly called upon to be the
pillars of the monarchy; to use this opportunity, I say--and to do
so, I know, as the representative of many thousands of your
Majesty's subjects--to voice the sympathy, the unfeigned grief,
that will be poured forth at the news of this new loss which has
wrung your Majesty's heart--a loss which will reawaken consternation
in the country and make it more than ever necessary to take the
severest possible measures against a party to which nothing is
sacred, neither the King's person nor the highest dignities of
office nor the inviolability of the home--a party whose very
existence depends on sedition and ought no longer to be tolerated,
but ought, as the enemy of the throne and of society, to be visited
with all the terrors of the law, until--

The King. What about compassion, my friend?

The General. Compassion?

The King. Not for the republicans--but for me!

The General. It is just the compassion which the whole nation will
feel for your Majesty that compels me, in spite of everything, to
invoke the intervention of justice at this particular crisis!
Terror--

The King. --must be our weapon?

The General. Yes! Can any one imagine a more priceless proof of the
care that a people have for their King, than for the gravely
anxious tones of their voice to be heard, at this solemn moment,
crying: Down with the enemies of the throne!

The King (turning away). No, _I_ haven't thews and sinews for that
lie!

The Mayor. I must say I altogether agree with the General. The
feeling of affection, gratitude, esteem--

The General. --the legacy of devotion that your Majesty's ancestors
of blessed memory--

The King (to the Priest). You, sir--what does my ancestors being
"of blessed memory" mean?

The Priest (after a moment's thought). It is a respectful manner of
alluding to them, your Majesty.

The King. A respectful lie, you mean. (A pause. ANNA comes out of
the room on the left and throws herself at the KING'S feet,
embracing his knees in despairing sorrow.) Ah, here comes a breath
of truth!--And you come to me, my child, because you know that we
two can mourn together. But I do not weep, as you do; because I
know that for a long time he had been secretly praying for death.
He has got his wish now. So you must not weep so bitterly. You must
wish what he wished, you know. Ah, what grief there is in her eyes!
(Sobs.)

(The GENERAL signs to the others that they should all withdraw
quietly, without turning round. They gradually do so; but the KING
looks up and perceives what they are doing.)

The General. Out of respect for your Majesty's grief, we were going
to--

The King. Silence! With my hand on the head of this poor creature,
who used to trust so unassumingly and devotedly to his goodness of
heart, I wish to say something in memory of my friend. (ANNA clings
to him, weeping. The others come respectfully nearer, and wait.)
Gran was the richest man in the country. Why was it that he had no
fear of the people? Why was it that he believed that its salvation
lay in the overthrow of the present state of affairs?

Bang. Mr. Gran, with all his great qualities, was a visionary.

The King. He had not inherited all of his vast fortune; he had
amassed a great part of it himself.

Bang. As a man of business, Mr. Gran was beyond all praise.

The King. And yet a visionary? The two things are absolutely
contradictory.--You once called me "the padlock on your cash-box."

Bang. I allowed myself, with all respect, to make that jest--which,
nevertheless, was nothing but the serious truth!

The King. Why did he, who has met his death, consider that the
security for _his_ cash-box came from those _below_ him, as long as
he did what was right, and not from those above him? Because he
understood the times. No question of selfishness stood in the way
of his doing that.--That is my funeral oration over him!--(To
ANNA.) Get up, my dear! Did you understand what I was saying? Do
not weep so! (She clings to him, sobbing.)

The Priest. He was a very great man! When your Majesty speaks so, I
fully recognise it. But your Majesty may be certain that, though we
may not have been so fortunate as to see so far ahead and so
clearly--though our mental horizon may be narrow--we are none the
less loyal to your Majesty for that, nor less devoted! It is our
duty as subjects to say so, although your Majesty in your heaviness
of heart seems to forget it-seems to forget that we, too, look for
everything from your Majesty's favour, wisdom and justice.
(Perspires freely.)

The King. It is very strange! My dear friend never said anything
like that to me. (A pause.) He had the most prosperous business in
the country. When I came to him and asked him to abandon it, he did
so at once. And in the end he died for me. That is the sort of man
he was. (To ANNA.) Go in to him, my dear! You are the very picture
of dumb loyalty. Although I do not deserve to have such as you to
watch by my side, still, for the sake of him who is dead, I shall
have you to do so when I too--. (Breaks off.) Yes, yes, go in there
now! I shall come. Do you understand? I shall come. (ANNA moves
towards the other room.) There, that's it! (He repeats his words to
her every time she looks back as she goes.) Yes, directly!--That's
it!--In a very little while! Go now!

Bang. Excuse me, your Majesty, but it is terribly hot in here, and
the affection of my heart which troubles me is attacking me
painfully. Will your Majesty be pleased to allow me to withdraw?

The Mayor. With all respect, I should like to be allowed to make
the same request. Your Majesty is obviously very much upset, and I
am sure we are all unwilling that our presence--which, indeed, was
unintentional and unsought by us--should augment a distress of mind
which is so natural in one of your Majesty's noble disposition, and
so inevitable considering the deep sense of gratitude your Majesty
must feel towards a friend who--

The King (interrupting him). Hush, hush! Let us have a little
respect for the truth in the presence of the dead! Do not
misunderstand me--I do not mean to say that any of you would lie
wilfully; but the atmosphere that surrounds a king is infected.
And, as regards that--just a word or two. I have only a short time.
But as a farewell message from me--

The Priest. A farewell message?

The King. --give my greeting to what is called Christianity in this
country. Greet it from me! I have been thinking a great deal about
Christian folk lately.

The Priest. I am glad to hear it!

The King. Your tone jars on me! Greet those who call themselves
Christians--. Oh! come, come--don't crane your necks and bend your
backs like that, as if the most precious words of wisdom were about
to drop from my lips! (To himself.) Is it any use my saying
anything serious to them? (Aloud.) I suppose you are Christians?

The General. Why, of course! Faith is invaluable--

The King. --in preserving discipline? (To the Mayor.) How about
you?

The Mayor. I was taught by my parents, of blessed memory--

The King. Oh, so they are "of blessed memory" too, are they? Well,
what did they teach you?

The Mayor. To fear God, honour the King--

The King. --and love the brotherhood! You are a public official,
Mr. Mayor. That is what a Christian is, nowadays. (To BANG.) And
you?

Bang. Of late I have been able to go so little to church, because
of my cough. And in that unwholesome atmosphere--

The King. --you go to sleep. But you are a Christian?

Bang. Undoubtedly!

The King (to the Priest). And you are one, of course?

The Priest. By the grace of God I hope so!

The King (snapping his fingers). Yes, that is the regulation
formula, my good fellow! You all answer by the card! Very well,
then--you are a community of Christians; and it is not my fault if
such a community refuses to take any serious interest in what
really affects Christianity. Tell it from me that it ought to keep
an eye on the monarchy.

The Priest. Christianity has nothing to do with such things. It
concerns only the souls of men!

The King (aside). That voice. (Aloud.) I know--it does not concern
itself with the air a patient breathes, but only with his lungs!
Excellent!--All the same, Christianity ought to keep an eye on the
monarchy. Ought to tear the falsehood away from it! Ought not to go
in crowds to stare at a coronation in a church, like apes grinning
at a peacock! I know what I felt at that moment. I had rehearsed it
all once that morning already--ha, ha! Ask your Christianity if it
may not be about time for it to interest itself a little in the
monarchy? It seems to me that it scarcely ought any longer to allow
monarchy, like a seductive harlot, to keep militarism before the
people's eyes as an ideal--seeing that that is exactly contrary to
the teachings of Christianity, or to encourage class divisions,
luxury, hypocrisy and vanity. Monarchy has become so all-pervading
a lie that it infects even the most upright of men.

The Mayor. But I don't understand, your Majesty!

The King. Don't you? You are an upright man yourself, Mr. Mayor--a
most worthy man.

The Mayor. I do not know whether your Majesty is pleased to jest
again?

The King. In sober earnest, I say you are one of the most upright
of men.

The Mayor. I cannot tell your Majesty how flattered I am to hear
your Majesty say so!

The King. Have you any decorations?

The Mayor. Your Majesty's government has not, so far, deigned to
cast their eyes on me.

The King. That fault will be repaired. Be sure of that!

The General (to the Mayor). To have that from his Majesty's own
mouth is equivalent to seeing it gazetted. I am fortunate to be
able to be the first to congratulate you!

Bang. Allow me to congratulate you also!

The Priest. And me too! I have had the honour of working hand in
hand with you, Mr. Mayor, for many years; I know how well deserved
such a distinction is.

The Mayor. I feel quite overcome; but I must beg to be allowed to
lay my thanks at your Majesty's feet. I trust I shall not prove
unworthy of the distinction. One hesitates to make such
confessions--but I am a candid man, and I admit that one of the
chief aims of my ambition has been to be allowed some day to
participate in--

The King (interrupting him). --in this falsehood. That just points
my moral. As long as even upright men's thoughts run in that mould,
Christianity cannot pretend to have any real hold on the nation. As
for your decoration, you are quite sure to get one from my
successor.--In a word, Christianity must tackle monarchy! And if it
cannot tear the falsehood from it without destroying it, then let
it destroy it!

The General. Your Majesty!

The King (turning to him). The same thing applies to a standing
army, which is a creation of monarchy's. I do not believe that
such an institution--with all its temptations to power, all its
inevitable vices and habits--could be tolerated if Christianity
were a living thing. Away with it!

The Priest. Really, your Majesty--!

The King (turning to him). The same applies to an established
church--another of monarchy's creations! If we had in our country a
Christianity worth the name, that salvation trade would stink in
men's nostrils. Away with it!

The Mayor (reproachfully). Oh, your Majesty!

The King (turning on him). The same applies to the artificial
disparity of circumstances that you prate about with tears in
your eyes! I heard you once. Class distinctions are fostered by
monarchy.

Bang. But equality is an impossibility!

The King. If _you_ would only make it possible--which it can be
made--even the socialists would cease to clamour for anything
else. I tell you this: Christianity has destroyed ideals.
Christianity lives on dogmas and formulas, instead of on ideals.

The Priest. Its ideals lead us away from earth to heaven--

The King. Not in a balloon, even if it were stuffed full of all the
pages of the Bible! Christianity's ideals will lead to heaven only
when they are realised on earth--never before.

The Priest. May I venture to say that Christianity's ideal is a
pious life.

The King. Yes. But does not Christianity aim at more than that,
or is it going to be content with making some few believers?

The Priest. It is written: "Few are chosen."

The King. Then it has given up the job in advance?

The Mayor. I think our friend is right, that Christianity has never
occupied itself with such things as your Majesty demands of it.

The King. But what I mean is, could it not bring itself to do so?

The Priest. If it did, it would lose sight of its _inner_ aim. The
earliest communities are the model for a Christian people!

The King (turning away from him). Oh, have any model you like, so
long as it leads to something!

The General. I must say I am astonished at the penetration your
Majesty slows even into the deepest subjects.

Bang. Yes, I have never heard anything like it! I have not had the
advantage of a university education, so I don't really understand
it.

The King. And to think that I imagined that I should find my
allies, my followers, in Christian people! One is so reluctant to
give up _all_ hope! I thought that a Christian nation would storm
the strongholds of lies in our modern, so-called Christian
communities--storm them, capture them!--and begin with monarchy,
because that would need most courage, and because its falsehood
lies deepest and goes farthest. I thought that Christianity would
one day prove to be the salt of the earth. No, do _not_ greet
Christianity from me. I have said nothing, and do not mean it. I am
what men call a betrayed man--betrayed by all the most ideal powers
of life. There! Now I have done!

The General. But what does your Majesty mean? Betrayed? By whom?
Who are the traitors? Really--!

The King. Pooh! Think it over!--As a matter of fact I am the only
one that has been foolish.

Bang. Your Majesty, just now you were so full of vigour--!

The King. Don't let that astonish you, my friend! I am a mixture of
enthusiasm and world-weariness; the scion of a decrepit race is not
likely to be any better than that, you know! And as for being a
reformer--! Ha, ha! Well, I thank you all for having listened to me
so patiently. Whatever I said had no significance--except perhaps
that, like the oysters, I had to open my shell before I died.--
Good-bye!

The General. I really cannot find it in my heart to leave your
Majesty when your Majesty is in so despondent a humour.

The King. I am afraid you will have to try, my gallant friend!--
Don't look so dejected, Mr. Mayor!--Suppose some day serious-minded
men should feel just as humiliated at such falsehoods existing as
you do now because you have not been allowed to participate in
them. I might perhaps be able to endure being king then! But as
things are now, I am not strong enough for the job. I feel as if I
had been shouldered out of actual life on to this strip of carpet
that I am standing on! That is what my attempts at reform have
ended in!

The Mayor. May I be allowed to say that the impression made on my
mind by the somewhat painful scene we have just gone through is
that your Majesty is overwrought.

The King. Mad, you mean?

The Mayor. God forbid I should use such a word of my King!

The King. Always punctilious!--Well, judging by the fact that every
one else considers themselves sane, I must undoubtedly be the mad
one. It is as simple as a sum in arithmetic.--And, in all
conscience, isn't it madness, when all is said and done, to take
such trifles so much to heart?--to bother about a few miserable
superannuated forms that are not of the slightest importance?--a
few venerable, harmless prejudices?--a few foolish social customs
and other trumpery affairs of that sort?

The General. Quite so!

The Mayor. Your Majesty is absolutely right!

Bang. I quite agree!

The Priest. It is exactly what I have been thinking all the time.

The King. And probably we had better add to the list certain
extravagant ideas--perhaps even certain dangerous ideas, like mine
about Christianity?

The Priest (hastily and impressively). Your Majesty is mistaken
on the subject of Christianity.

The Mayor. Christianity is entirely a personal matter, your
Majesty.

The General. Your Majesty expects too much of it. Now, as a comfort
for the dying--!

The King. And a powerful instrument of discipline.

The General (smiling). Ah, your Majesty!

Bang (confidentially). Christianity is no longer such a serious
matter nowadays, except for certain persons--. (Glances at the
PRIEST.)

The King. All I have to say on the head of such unanimous approval
is this: that in such a shallow society, where there is no
particular distinction between lies and truth, because most things
are mere forms without any deeper meaning--where ideals are
considered to be extravagant, dangerous things--it is not so _very_
amusing to be alive.

The General. Oh, your Majesty! Really, you--! Ha, ha, ha!

The King. Don't you agree with me?--Ah, if only one could grapple
with it!--but we should need to be many to do that, and better
equipped than I am.

The General. Better equipped than your Majesty? Your Majesty is the
most gifted man in the whole country!

All. Yes!

The General. Yes--your Majesty must excuse me--I spoke
involuntarily!

The Mayor. There was a tone running through all your Majesty said
that seemed to suggest that your Majesty was contemplating--.
(Breaks off.)

The King. --going away? Yes.

All. Going away?

The General. And abdicating? For heaven's sake, your Majesty--!

Bang. That would mean handing us over to the crown prince--the
pietist!

The Priest (betraying his pleasure in spite of himself). And his
mother!

The King. You are pleased at the idea, parson! It will be a sight
to see her and her son prancing along, with all of you in your best
clothes following them! Hurrah!

The General. Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho!

Bang. Ha-ha-ha! (Coughs.) I get such a cough when I laugh.

The King (seriously). I had no intention of provoking laughter in
the presence of death. I can hear the sounds of mourning through
the open door.

The Mayor. With all due respect to the church--the vast majority of
the nation have no desire for things to come to _that_--to the
accession of a pietist to the throne. If your Majesty threatens to
abdicate you will have us all at your feet.

The General (with decision). The accession of a new king just now
would be universally considered a national calamity. I will wager
my life on that!

Bang. And I too!

The King. My excellent friends--you must take the consequences of
your actions!

The Mayor (despairingly). But _this_! Who ever imagined such a
thing?

The General and Bang. No one--no one!

The King. So much the worse. What is it you are asking me to do? To
stay where I am, so as to keep another man down? Is that work for a
man? Shame!

The Mayor (in distress). We ask more than that! Your Majesty is
making a fatal mistake! The whole of your Majesty's dissatisfaction
springs from the fact that you believe yourself to be deserted by
your people because the elections are going contrary to what your
Majesty had hoped. Nothing is further from the truth! The people
fight shy of revolutionary ideas; but they love their King!

Bang. They love their King!

The King. And that white dove, who came confidently to my hand--she
had some experience of what their love was!

The Mayor. The King's associates may displease the people; ideas
may alter; but love for their King endures!

The Others. Endures!

The King. Cease! Cease!

The General (warmly). Your Majesty may command us to do anything
except refrain from giving utterance to a free people's freely
offered homage of devotion, loyalty, and love for its royal house!

The Mayor (emotionally). There is no one who would not give his
life for his King!

Bang, The General, and The Priest. No one!

The General. Try us! (They all press forward.)

The King. Done with you! (Takes a revolver from his pocket.) Since
yesterday I have carried this little thing in my pocket. (They all
look alarmed.)

The Priest. Merciful heavens!

The King (holding out the revolver to him). Will you die for me? If
so, I will continue to be King.

The Priest. I? What does your Majesty mean? It would be a great
sin!

The King. You love me, I suppose?

All (desperately). Yes, your Majesty!

The King. Those who love, believe. Therefore, believe me when I say
this: If there is a single one of you who, without thinking twice
about it, will die for his King now--here--at once--then I shall
consider that as a command laid upon me to go on living and
working.

The Mayor (in a terrified whisper). He is insane!

The General (whispers). Yes!

The King. I can hear you!--But I suppose you love your King, even
if he is insane?

All (in agitated tones). Yes, your Majesty!

The King. Majesty, majesty! There is only One who has any majesty
about Him--certainly not a madman! But if I have been driven mad by
the lies that surround me, it would be a holy deed to make me sound
again. You said you would die for me. Redeem your words! That will
make me well again!--You, General?

The General. My beloved King, it would be--as our reverend friend
so aptly put it--a most dreadful sin.

The King. You have let slip a splendid opportunity for showing your
heroism.--You ought to have seen that I was only putting you to the
test!--Good-bye! (Goes into the room on the left.)

The General. Absolutely insane!

The Others. Absolutely.

The Mayor. Such great abilities, too! What might not have been made
of him!

Bang. The pity of it!

The Priest. I got so alarmed.

Bang. So did I! (A loud pistol-shot is heard.)

The Priest. Another shot? (A pitiful woman's cry is heard from the
other room.)

The Mayor. What on earth was that?

Bang. I daren't think!

The Priest. Nor I! (An old woman rushes out of the room on the
left, calling out: "Help!--Help!--The King!" and hurries out at the
back, calling: "The King! Help, help!" The GENERAL and the MAYOR
rush into the other room. Voices are heard outside asking: "The
King?--Was it the King?" The confusion and uproar grows. In the
midst of it ANNA comes stumbling out of the other room, her hands
stretched out before her, as if she did not know where she was
going. The noise and confusion grows louder every minute, and
crowds of people come rushing into the room from outside as the
Curtain falls.)




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