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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Little Eyolf + +Author: Henrik Ibsen + +Commentator: William Archer + +Translator: William Archer + +Release Date: August 4, 2009 [EBook #7942] +Last Updated: January 26, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE EYOLF *** + + + + +Produced by Nicole Apostola, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + LITTLE EYOLF + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Henrik Ibsen + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated, With an Introduction, by William Archer + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> LITTLE EYOLF </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> CHARACTERS </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> <b>ACT FIRST</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> <b>ACT SECOND</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> <b>ACT THIRD</b> </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION. + </h2> + <p> + Little Eyolf was written in Christiania during 1894, and published in + Copenhagen on December 11 in that year. By this time Ibsen's + correspondence has become so scanty as to afford us no clue to what may be + called the biographical antecedents of the play. Even of anecdotic history + very little attaches to it. For only one of the characters has a definite + model been suggested. Ibsen himself told his French translator, Count + Prozor, that the original of the Rat-Wife was "a little old woman who came + to kill rats at the school where he was educated. She carried a little dog + in a bag, and it was said that children had been drowned through following + her." This means that Ibsen did not himself adapt to his uses the legend + so familiar to us in Browning's <i>Pied Piper of Hamelin</i>, but found it + ready adapted by the popular imagination of his native place, Skien. "This + idea," Ibsen continued to Count Prozor, "was just what I wanted for + bringing about the disappearance of Little Eyolf, in whom the infatuation + [Note: The French word used by Count Prozor is "infatuation." I can think + of no other rendering for it; but I do not quite know what it means as + applied to Allmers and Eyolf.] and the feebleness of his father + reproduced, but concentrated, exaggerated, as one often sees them in the + son of such a father." Dr. Elias tells us that a well-known lady-artist, + who in middle life suggested to him the figure of Lona Hessel, was in + later years the model for the Rat-Wife. There is no inconsistency between + these two accounts of the matter. The idea was doubtless suggested by his + recollection of the rat-catcher of Skien, while traits of manner and + physiognomy might be borrowed from the lady in question. + </p> + <p> + The verse quoted on pp. 52 and 53 [Transcriber's Note: "There stood the + champagne," etc., in ACT I] is the last line of a very well-known poem by + Johan Sebastian Welhaven, entitled <i>Republikanerne</i>, written in 1839. + An unknown guest in a Paris restaurant has been challenged by a noisy + party of young Frenchmen to join them in drinking a health to Poland. He + refuses; they denounce him as a craven and a slave; he bares his breast + and shows the scars of wounds received in fighting for the country whose + lost cause has become a subject for conventional enthusiasm and windy + rhetoric. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "De saae pas hverandre. Han vandred sin vei. + De havde champagne, men rörte den ei." +</pre> + <p> + "They looked at each other. He went on his way. There stood their + champagne, but they did not touch it." The champagne incident leads me to + wonder whether the relation between Rita and Allmers may not have been + partly suggested to Ibsen by the relation between Charlotte Stieglitz and + her weakling of a husband. Their story must have been known to him through + George Brandes's <i>Young Germany</i>, if not more directly. "From time to + time," says Dr. Brandes, "there came over her what she calls her + champagne-mood; she grieves that this is no longer the case with him." + [Note: <i>Main Currents of Nineteenth Century Literature</i>, vol. vi. p. + 299] Did the germ of the incident lie in these words? + </p> + <p> + The first performance of the play in Norway took place at the Christiania + Theatre on January 15, 1895, Fru Wettergren playing Rita And Fru Dybwad, + Asta. In Copenhagen (March 13, 1895) Fru Oda Nielsen and Fru Hennings + played Rita and Asta respectively, while Emil Poulsen played Allmers. The + first German Rita (Deutsches Theater, Berlin, January 12, 1895) was Frau + Agnes Sorma, with Reicher as Allmers. Six weeks later Frl. Sandrock played + Rita at the Burgtheater, Vienna. In May 1895 the play was acted by M. + Lugné-Poë's company in Paris. The first performance in English took place + at the Avenue Theatre, London, on the afternoon of November 23, 1896, with + Miss Janet Achurch as Rita, Miss Elizabeth Robins as Asta, and Mrs. + Patrick Campbell as the Rat-Wife. Miss Achurch's Rita made a profound + impression. Mrs. Patrick Campbell afterwards played the part in a short + series of evening performances. In the spring of 1895 the play was acted + in Chicago by a company of Scandinavian amateurs, presumably in Norwegian. + Fru Oda Nielsen has recently (I understand) given some performances of it + in New York, and Madame Alla Nazimova has announced it for production + during the coming season (1907-1908). + </p> + <p> + As the external history of <i>Little Eyolf</i> is so short. I am tempted + to depart from my usual practice, and say a few words as to its matter and + meaning. + </p> + <p> + George Brandes, writing of this play, has rightly observed that "a kind of + dualism has always been perceptible in Ibsen; he pleads the cause of + Nature, and he castigates Nature with mystic morality; only sometimes + Nature is allowed the first voice, sometimes morality. In <i>The Master + Builder</i> and in <i>Ghosts</i> the lover of Nature in Ibsen was + predominant; here, as in <i>Brand</i> and <i>The Wild Duck</i>, the + castigator is in the ascendant." So clearly is this the case in <i>Little + Eyolf</i> that Ibsen seems almost to fall into line with Mr. Thomas Hardy. + To say nothing of analogies of detail between <i>Little Eyolf</i> and <i>Jude + the Obscure</i>, there is this radical analogy, that they are both + utterances of a profound pessimism, both indictments of Nature. + </p> + <p> + But while Mr. Hardy's pessimism is plaintive and passive, Ibsen's is + stoical and almost bracing. It is true that in this play he is no longer + the mere "indignation pessimist" whom Dr. Brandes quite justly recognised + in his earlier works. His analysis has gone deeper into the heart of + things, and he has put off the satirist and the iconoclast. But there is + in his thought an incompressible energy of revolt. A pessimist in + contemplation, he remains a meliorist in action. He is not, like Mr. + Hardy, content to let the flag droop half-mast high; his protagonist still + runs it up to the mast-head, and looks forward steadily to the "heavy day + of work" before him. But although the note of the conclusion is resolute, + almost serene, the play remains none the less an indictment of Nature, or + at least of that egoism of passion which is one of her most potent + subtleties. In this view, Allmers becomes a type of what we may roughly + call the "free moral agent"; Eyolf, a type of humanity conceived as + passive and suffering, thrust will-less into existence, with boundless + aspirations and cruelly limited powers; Rita, a type of the egoistic + instinct which is "a consuming fire"; and Asta, a type of the beneficent + love which is possible only so long as it is exempt from "the law of + change." Allmers, then, is self-conscious egoism, egoism which can now and + then break its chains, look in its own visage, realise and shrink from + itself; while Rita, until she has passed through the awful crisis which + forms the matter of the play, is unconscious, reckless, and ruthless + egoism, exigent and jealous, "holding to its rights," and incapable even + of rising into the secondary stage of maternal love. The offspring and the + victim of these egoisms is Eyolf, "little wounded warrior," who longs to + scale the heights and dive into the depths, but must remain for ever + chained to the crutch of human infirmity. For years Allmers has been a + restless and half-reluctant slave to Rita's imperious temperament. He has + dreamed and theorised about "responsibility," and has kept Eyolf poring + over his books, in the hope that, despite his misfortune, he may one day + minister to parental vanity. Finally he breaks away from Rita, for the + first time "in all these ten years," goes up "into the infinite + solitudes," looks Death in the face, and returns shrinking from passion, + yearning towards selfless love, and filled with a profound and remorseful + pity for the lot of poor maimed humanity. He will "help Eyolf to bring his + desires into harmony with what lies attainable before him." He will + "create a conscious happiness in his mind." And here the drama opens. + </p> + <p> + Before the Rat-Wife enters, let me pause for a moment to point out that + here again Ibsen adopts that characteristic method which, in writing of <i>The + Lady from the Sea</i> and <i>The Master Builder</i>, I have compared to + the method of Hawthorne. The story he tells is not really, or rather not + inevitably, supernatural. Everything is explicable within this limits of + nature; but supernatural agency is also vaguely suggested, and the + reader's imagination is stimulated, without any absolute violence to his + sense of reality. On the plane of everyday life, then, the Rat-Wife is a + crazy and uncanny old woman, fabled by the peasants to be a were-wolf in + her leisure moments, who goes about the country killing vermin. Coming + across an impressionable child, she tells him a preposterous tale, adapted + from the old "Pied Piper" legends, of her method of fascinating her + victims. The child, whose imagination has long dwelt on this personage, is + in fact hypnotised by her, follows her down to the sea, and, watching her + row away, turns dizzy, falls in, and is drowned. There is nothing + impossible, nothing even improbable, in this. At the same time, there + cannot be the least doubt, I think, that in the poet's mind the Rat-Wife + is the symbol of Death, of the "still, soft darkness" that is at once so + fearful and so fascinating to humanity. This is clear not only in the text + of her single scene, but in the fact that Allmers, in the last act, treats + her and his "fellow-traveller" of that night among the mountains, not + precisely as identical, but as interchangeable, ideas. To tell the truth, + I have even my own suspicions as to who is meant by "her sweetheart," whom + she "lured" long ago, and who is now "down where all the rats are." This + theory I shall keep to myself; it may be purely fantastic, and is at best + inessential. What is certain is that death carries off Little Eyolf, and + that, of all he was, only the crutch is left, mute witness to his hapless + lot. + </p> + <p> + He is gone; there was so little to bind him to life that he made not even + a moment's struggle against the allurement of the "long, sweet sleep." + Then, for the first time, the depth of the egoism which had created and + conditioned his little life bursts upon his parents' horror-stricken gaze. + Like accomplices in crime, they turn upon and accuse each other—"sorrow + makes them wicked and hateful." Allmers, as the one whose eyes were + already half opened, is the first to carry war into the enemy's country; + but Rita is not slow to retort, and presently they both have to admit that + their recriminations are only a vain attempt to drown the voice of + self-reproach. In a sort of fierce frenzy they tear away veil after veil + from their souls, until they realise that Eyolf never existed at all, so + to speak, for his own sake, but only for the sake of their passions and + vanities. "Isn't it curious," says Rita, summing up the matter, "that we + should grieve like this over a little stranger boy?" + </p> + <p> + In blind self-absorption they have played with life and death, and now + "the great open eyes" of the stranger boy will be for ever upon them. + Allmers would fain take refuge in a love untainted by the egoism, and + unexposed to the revulsions, of passion. But not only is Asta's pity for + Rita too strong to let her countenance this desertion: she has discovered + that her relation to Allmers is <i>not</i> "exempt from the law of + change," and she "takes flight from him—and from herself." Meanwhile + it appears that the agony which Allmers and Rita have endured in probing + their wounds has been, as Halvard Solness would say, "salutary + self-torture." The consuming fire of passion is now quenched, but "it, has + left an empty place within them," and they feel it common need "to fill it + up with something that is a little like love." They come to remember that + there are other children in the world on whom reckless instinct has thrust + the gift, of life—neglected children, stunted and maimed in mind if + not in body. And now that her egoism is seared to the quick, the + mother-instinct asserts itself in Rita. She will take these children to + her—these children to whom her hand and her heart have hitherto been + closed. They shall be outwardly in Eyolf's place, and perhaps in time they + may fill the place in her heart that should have been Eyolf's. Thus she + will try to "make her peace with the great open eyes." For now, at last, + she has divined the secret of the unwritten book on "human responsibility" + and has realised that motherhood means—atonement. + </p> + <p> + So I read this terrible and beautiful work of art. This, I think, is <i>a</i> + meaning inherent in it—not perhaps <i>the</i> meaning, and still + less all the meanings. Indeed, its peculiar fascination for me, among all + Ibsen's works, lies in the fact that it seems to touch life at so many + different points. But I must not be understood as implying that Ibsen + constructed the play with any such definitely allegoric design as is here + set forth. I do not believe that this creator of men and women ever + started from an abstract conception. He did not first compose his + philosophic tune and then set his puppets dancing to it. The germ in his + mind was dramatic, not ethical; it was only as the drama developed that + its meanings dawned upon him; and he left them implicit and fragmentary, + like the symbolism of life itself, seldom formulated, never worked out + with schematic precision. He simply took a cutting from the tree of life, + and, planting it in the rich soil of his imagination, let it ramify and + burgeon as it would. + </p> + <p> + Even if one did not know the date of <i>Little Eyolf</i>, one could + confidently assign it to the latest period of Ibsen's career, on noting a + certain difference of scale between its foundations and its + superstructure. In his earlier plays, down to and including <i>Hedda + Gabler</i>, we feel his invention at work to the very last moment, often + with more intensity in the last act than in the first; in his later plays + he seems to be in haste to pass as early as possible from invention to + pure analysis. In this play, after the death of Eyolf (surely one of the + most inspired "situations" in all drama) there is practically no external + action whatsoever. Nothing happens save in the souls of the characters; + there is no further invention, but rather what one may perhaps call + inquisition. This does not prevent the second act from being quite the + most poignant or the third act from being one of the most moving that + Ibsen ever wrote. Far from wishing to depreciate the play, I rate it more + highly, perhaps, than most critics—among the very greatest of + Ibsen's achievements. I merely note as a characteristic of the poet's + latest manner this disparity of scale between the work foreshadowed, so to + speak, and the work completed. We shall find it still more evident in the + case of <i>John Gabriel Borkman</i>. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + LITTLE EYOLF + </h1> + <h3> + (1894) + </h3> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHARACTERS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ALFRED ALLMERS, landed proprietor and man of letters + formerly a tutor. + MRS. RITA ALLMERS, his wife. + EYOLF, their child, nine years old. + MISS ASTA ALLMERS, Alfred's younger half-sister. + ENGINEER BORGHEIM. + THE RAT-WIFE. +</pre> + <p> + The action takes place on ALLMERS'S property, bordering on the fjord, + twelve or fourteen miles from Christiania. + </p> + <p> + PLAY IN THREE ACTS <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT FIRST + </h2> + <div class="play"> + <p> + [A pretty and richly-decorated garden-room, full of furniture, flowers, + and plants. At the back, open glass doors, leading out to a verandah. An + extensive view over the fiord. In the distance, wooded hillsides. A door + in each of the side walls, the one on the right a folding door, placed + far back. In front on the right, a sofa, with cushions and rugs. Beside + the sofa, a small table, and chairs. In front, on the left, a larger + table, with arm-chairs around it. On the table stands an open hand-bag. + It is an early summer morning, with warm sunshine.] + </p> + <p> + [Mrs. RITA ALLMERS stands beside the table, facing towards the left, + engaged in unpacking the bag. She is a handsome, rather tall, + well-developed blonde, about thirty years of age, dressed in a + light-coloured morning-gown.] + </p> + <p> + [Shortly after, Miss ASTA ALLMERS enters by the door on the right, + wearing a light brown summer dress, with hat, jacket, and parasol. Under + her arm she carries a locked portfolio of considerable size. She is + slim, of middle height, with dark hair, and deep, earnest eyes. + Twenty-five years old.] + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [As she enters.] Good-morning, my dear Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Turns her head, and nods to her.] What! is that you, Asta? Come + all the way from town so early? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Takes of her things, and lays them on a chair beside the door.] + Yes, such a restless feeling came over me. I felt I must come out + to-day, and see how little Eyolf was getting on—and you too. [Lays + the portfolio on the table beside the sofa.] So I took the steamer, and + here I am. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Smiling to her.] And I daresay you met one or other of your + friends on board? Quite by chance, of course. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Quietly.] No, I did not meet a soul I knew. [Sees the bag.] Why, + Rita, what have you got there? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Still unpacking.] Alfred's travelling-bag. Don't you recognise + it? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Joyfully, approaching her.] What! Has Alfred come home? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, only think—he came quite unexpectedly by the late train + last night. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh, then that was what my feeling meant! It was that that drew me + out here! And he hadn't written a line to let you know? Not even a + post-card? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Not a single word. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Did he not even telegraph? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, an hour before he arrived—quite curtly and coldly. + [Laughs.] Don't you think that was like him, Asta? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes; he goes so quietly about everything. + </p> + <p> + RITA. But that made it all the more delightful to have him again. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, I am sure it would. + </p> + <p> + RITA. A whole fortnight before I expected him! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. And is he quite well? Not in low spirits? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Closes the bag with a snap, and smiles at her.] He looked quite + transfigured as he stood in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. And was he not the least bit tired either? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, yes, he seemed to be tired enough—very tired, in fact. + But, poor fellow, he had come on foot the greater part of the way. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. And then perhaps the high mountain air may have been rather too + keen for him. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, no; I don't think so at all. I haven't heard him cough once. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Ah, there you see now! It was a good thing, after all, that the + doctor talked him into taking this tour. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, now that it is safely over.—But I can tell you it has + been a terrible time for me, Asta. I have never cared to talk about it—and + you so seldom came out to see me, too— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, I daresay that wasn't very nice of me—but— + </p> + <p> + RITA. Well, well, well, of course you had your school to attend to in + town. [Smiling.] And then our road-maker friend—of course he was + away too. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh, don't talk like that, Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Very well, then; we will leave the road-maker out of the question.—You + can't think how I have been longing for Alfred! How empty the place + seemed! How desolate! Ugh, it felt as if there had been a funeral in the + house! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Why, dear me, only six or seven weeks— + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes; but you must remember that Alfred has never been away from me + before—never so much as twenty-four hours. Not once in all these + ten years. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. No; but that is just why I really think it was high time he should + have a little outing this year. He ought to have gone for a tramp in the + mountains every summer—he really ought. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Half smiling.] Oh yes, it's all very well for you to talk. If I + were as—as reasonable its you, I suppose I should have let him go + before—perhaps. But I positively could not, Asta! It seemed to me + I should never get him back again. Surely you can understand that? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. No. But I daresay that is because I have no one to lose. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With a teasing smile.] Really? No one at all? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Not that <i>I</i> know of. [Changing the subject.] But tell me, + Rita, where is Alfred? Is he still asleep? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, not at all. He got up as early as ever to-day. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Then he can't have been so very tired after all. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, he was last night—when he arrived. But now he has had + little Eyolf with him in his room for a whole hour and more. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Poor little white-faced boy! Has he to be for ever at his lessons + again? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With a slight shrug.] Alfred will have it so, you know. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes; but I think you ought to put down your foot about it, Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Somewhat impatiently.] Oh no; come now, I really cannot meddle + with that. Alfred knows so much better about these things than I do. And + what would you have Eyolf do? He can't run about and play, you see—like + other children. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [With decision.] I will talk to Alfred about this. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, do; I wish you would.—Oh! here he is. + </p> + <p> + [ALFRED ALLMERS, dressed in light summer clothes, enters by the door on + the left, leading EYOLF by the hand. He is a slim, lightly-built man of + about thirty-six or thirty-seven, with gentle eyes, and thin brown hair + and beard. His expression is serious and thoughtful. EYOLF wears a suit + cut like a uniform, with gold braid and gilt military buttons. He is + lame, and walks with a crutch under his left arm. His leg is shrunken. + He is undersized, and looks delicate, but has beautiful intelligent + eyes.] + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Drops EYOLF's hand, goes up to ASTA with an expression of + marked pleasure, and holds out both his hands to her.] Asta! My dearest + Asta! To think of your coming! To think of my seeing you so soon! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. I felt I must—. Welcome home again! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shaking her hands.] Thank you for coming. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Doesn't he look well? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Gazes fixedly at him.] Splendid! Quite splendid! His eyes are so + much brighter! And I suppose you have done a great deal of writing on + your travels? [With an outburst of joy.] I shouldn't wonder if you had + finished the whole book, Alfred? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shrugging his shoulders.] The book? Oh, the book— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, I was sure you would find it go so easily when once you got + away. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. So I thought too. But, do you know, I didn't find it so at all. + The truth is, I have not written a line of the book. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Not a line? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oho! I wondered when I found all the paper lying untouched in your + bag. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. But, my dear Alfred, what have you been doing all this time? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Smiling.] Only thinking and thinking and thinking. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Putting her arm round his neck.] And thinking a little, too, of + those you had left at home? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, you may be sure of that. I have thought a great deal of + you—every single day. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Taking her arm away.] Ah, that is all I care about. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. But you haven't even touched the book! And yet you can look so + happy and contented! That is not what you generally do—I mean when + your work is going badly. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. You are right there. You see, I have been such a fool hitherto. + All the best that is in you goes into thinking. What you put on paper is + worth very little. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Exclaiming.] Worth very little! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Laughing.] What an absurd thing to say, Alfred. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [Looks confidingly up at him.] Oh yes, Papa, what you write is + worth a great deal! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Smiling and stroking his hair.] Well, well, since you say so.—But + I can tell you, someone is coming after me who will do it better. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. Who can that be? Oh, tell me! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Only wait—you may be sure he will come, and let us hear + of him. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. And what will you do then? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Seriously.] Then I will go to the mountains again— + </p> + <p> + RITA. Fie, Alfred! For shame! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS.—up to the peaks and the great waste places. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. Papa, don't you think I shall soon be well enough for you to take + me with you? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [With painful emotion.] Oh, yes, perhaps, my little boy. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. It would be so splendid, you know, if I could climb the + mountains, like you. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Changing the subject.] Why, how beautifully you are dressed + to-day, Eyolf! + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. Yes, don't you think so, Auntie? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, indeed. Is it in honour of Papa that you have got your new + clothes on? + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. Yes, I asked Mama to let me. I wanted so to let Papa see me in + them. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [In a low voice, to RITA.] You shouldn't have given him clothes + like that. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [In a low voice.] Oh, he has teased me so long about them—he + had set his heart on them. He gave me no peace. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. And I forgot to tell you, Papa—Borgheim has bought me a new + bow. And he has taught me how to shoot with it too. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Ah, there now—that's just the sort of thing for you, + Eyolf. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. And next time he comes, I shall ask him to teach me to swim, too. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. To swim! Oh, what makes you want to learn swimming? + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. Well, you know, all the boys down at the beach can swim. I am the + only one that can't. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [With emotion, taking him in his arms.] You shall learn + whatever you like—everything you really want to. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. Then do you know what I want most of all, Papa? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No; tell me. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. I want most of all to be a soldier. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Oh, little Eyolf, there are many, many other things that are + better than that. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. Ah, but when I grow big, then I shall have to be a soldier. You + know that, don't you? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Clenching his hands together.] Well, well, well: we shall see— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Seating herself at the table on the left.] Eyolf! Come here to + me, and I will tell you something. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [Goes up to her.] What is it, Auntie? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. What do you think, Eyolf—I have seen the Rat-Wife. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. What! Seen the Rat-Wife! Oh, you're only making a fool of me! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. No; it's quite true. I saw her yesterday. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. Where did you see her? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. I saw her on the road, outside the town. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I saw her, too, somewhere up in the country. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Who is sitting on the sofa.] Perhaps it will be our turn to see + her next, Eyolf. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. Auntie, isn't it strange that she should be called the Rat-Wife? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh, people just give her that name because she wanders round the + country driving away all the rats. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I have heard that her real name is Varg. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. Varg! That means a wolf, doesn't it? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Patting him on the head.] So you know that, do you? + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [Cautiously.] Then perhaps it may be true, after all, that she is + a were-wolf at night. Do you believe that, Papa? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Oh, no; I don't believe it. Now you ought to go and play a + little in the garden. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. Should I not take some books with me? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No, no books after this. You had better go down to the beach to + the other boys. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [Shyly.] No, Papa, I won't go down to the boys to-day. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Why not? + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. Oh, because I have these clothes on. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Knitting his brows.] Do you mean that they make fun of—of + your pretty clothes? + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [Evasively.] No, they daren't—for then I would thrash them. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Aha!—then why—? + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. You see, they are so naughty, these boys. And then they say I can + never be a soldier. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [With suppressed indignation.] Why do they say that, do you + think? + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. I suppose they are jealous of me. For you know, Papa, they are so + poor, they have to go about barefoot. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Softly, with choking voice.] Oh, Rita—how it wrings my + heart! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Soothingly, rising.] There, there, there! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Threateningly.] But these rascals shall soon find out who is + the master down at the beach! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Listening.] There is someone knocking. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. Oh, I'm sure it's Borgheim! + </p> + <p> + RITA. Come in. + </p> + <p> + [The RAT-WIFE comes softly and noiselessly in by the door on the right. + She is a thin little shrunken figure, old and grey-haired, with keen, + piercing eyes, dressed in an old-fashioned flowered gown, with a black + hood and cloak. She has in her hand a large red umbrella, and carries a + black bag by a loop over her arm.] + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [Softly, taking hold of ASTA's dress.] Auntie! That must surely + be her! + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. [Curtseying at the door.] I humbly beg pardon—but + are your worships troubled with any gnawing things in the house? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Here? No, I don't think so. + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. For it would be such a pleasure to me to rid your + worships' house of them. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, yes; we understand. But we have nothing of the sort here. + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. That's very unlucky, that is; for I just happened to be on + my rounds now, and goodness knows when I may be in these parts again.—Oh, + how tired I am! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Pointing to a chair.] Yes, you look tired. + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. I know one ought never to get tired of doing good to the + poor little things that are hated and persecuted so cruelly. But it + takes your strength out of you, it does. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Won't you sit down and rest a little? + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. I thank your ladyship with all my heart. [Seats herself on + a chair between the door and the sofa.] I have been out all night at my + work. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Have you indeed? + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. Yes, over on the islands. [With a chuckling laugh.] The + people sent for me, I can assure you. They didn't like it a bit; but + there was nothing else to be done. They had to put a good face on it, + and bite the sour apple. [Looks at EYOLF, and nods.] The sour apple, + little master, the sour apple. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [Involuntarily, a little timidly.] Why did they have to—? + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. What? + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. To bite it? + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. Why, because they couldn't keep body and soul together on + account of the rats and all the little rat-children, you see, young + master. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Ugh! Poor people! Have they so many of them? + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. Yes, it was all alive and swarming with them. [Laughs with + quiet glee.] They came creepy-crawly up into the beds all night long. + They plumped into the milk-cans, and they went pittering and pattering + all over the floor, backwards and forwards, and up and down. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [Softly, to ASTA.] I shall never go there, Auntie. + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. But then I came—I, and another along with me. And we + took them with us, every one—the sweet little creatures! We made + an end of every one of them. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [With a shriek.] Papa—look! look! + </p> + <p> + RITA. Good Heavens, Eyolf! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. What's the matter? + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [Pointing.] There's something wriggling in the bag! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [At the extreme left, shrieks.] Ugh! Send her away, Alfred. + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. [Laughing.] Oh, dearest lady, you needn't be frightened of + such a little mannikin. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. But what is the thing? + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. Why, it's only little Mopsëman. [Loosening the string of + the bag.] Come up out of the dark, my own little darling friend. + </p> + <p> + [A little dog with a broad black snout pokes its head out of the bag.] + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. [Nodding and beckoning to EYOLF.] Come along, don't be + afraid, my little wounded warrior! He won't bite. Come here! Come here! + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [Clinging to ASTA.] No, I dare not. + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. Don't you think he has a gentle, lovable countenance, my + young master? + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [Astonished, pointing.] That thing there? + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. Yes, this thing here. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [Almost under his breath, staring fixedly at the dog.] I think he + has the horriblest—countenance I ever saw. + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. [Closing the bag.] Oh, it will come—it will come, + right enough. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [Involuntarily drawing nearer, at last goes right up to her, and + strokes the bag.] But he is lovely—lovely all the same. + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. [In a tone of caution.] But now he is so tired and weary, + poor thing. He's utterly tired out, he is. [Looks at ALLMERS.] For it + takes the strength out of you, that sort of game, I can tell you, sir. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. What sort of game do you mean? + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. The luring game. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Do you mean that it is the dog that lures the rats? + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. [Nodding.] Mopsëman and I—we two do it together. And + it goes so smoothly—for all you can see, at any rate. I just slip + a string through his collar, and then I lead him three times round the + house, and play on my Pan's-pipes. When they hear that, they have got to + come up from the cellars, and down from the garrets, and out of their + holes, all the blessed little creatures. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. And does he bite them to death then? + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. Oh, not at all! No, we go down to the boat, he and I do—and + then they follow after us, both the big ones and the little ratikins. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [Eagerly.] And what then—tell me! + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. Then we push out from the land, and I scull with one oar, + and play on my Pan's-pipes. And Mopsëman, he swims behind. [With + glittering eyes.] And all the creepers and crawlers, they follow and + follow us out into the deep, deep waters. Ay, for they have to. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. Why do they have to? + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. Just because they want not to—just because they are + so deadly afraid of the water. That is why they have got to plunge into + it. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. Are they drowned, then? + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. Every blessed one. [More softly.] And there it is all as + still, and soft, and dark as their hearts can desire, the lovely little + things. Down there they sleep a long, sweet sleep, with no one to hate + them or persecute them any more. [Rises.] In the old days, I can tell + you, I didn't need any Mopsëman. Then I did the luring myself—I + alone. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. And what did you lure then? + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. Men. One most of all. + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [With eagerness.] Oh, who was that one? Tell me! + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. [Laughing.] It was my own sweetheart, it was, little + heart-breaker! + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. And where is he now, then? + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. [Harshly.] Down where all the rats are. [Resuming her + milder tone.] But now I must be off and get to business again. Always on + the move. [To RITA.] So your ladyship has no sort of use for me to-day? + I could finish it all off while I am about it. + </p> + <p> + RITA. No, thank you; I don't think we require anything. + </p> + <p> + THE RAT-WIFE. Well, well, your sweet ladyship, you can never tell. If + your ladyship should find that there is anything here that keeps + nibbling and gnawing, and creeping and crawling, then just see and get + hold of me and Mopsëman.—Good-bye, good-bye, a kind good-bye to + you all. [She goes out by the door on the right.] + </p> + <p> + EYOLF. [Softly and triumphantly, to ASTA.] Only think, Auntie, now I + have seen the Rat-Wife too! + </p> + <p> + [RITA goes out upon the verandah, and fans herself with her + pocket-handkerchief. Shortly afterwards, EYOLF slips cautiously and + unnoticed out to the right.] + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Takes up the portfolio from the table by the sofa.] Is this + your portfolio, Asta? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes. I have some of the old letters in it. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Ah, the family letters— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. You know you asked me to arrange them for you while you were away. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Pats her on the head.] And you have actually found time to do + that, dear? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh, yes. I have done it partly out here and partly at my own rooms + in town. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Thanks, dear. Did you find anything particular in them? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Lightly.] Oh, you know you always find something or other in such + old papers. [Speaking lower and seriously.] It is the letters to mother + that are in this portfolio. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Those, of course, you must keep yourself. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [With an effort.] No; I am determined that you shall look through + them, too, Alfred. Some time—later on in life. I haven't the key + of the portfolio with me just now. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. It doesn't matter, my dear Asta, for I shall never read your + mother's letters in any case. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Fixing her eyes on him.] Then some time or other—some quiet + evening—I will tell you a little of what is in them. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, that will be much better. But do you keep your mother's + letters—you haven't so many mementos of her. + </p> + <p> + [He hands ASTA the portfolio. She takes it, and lays it on the chair + under her outdoor things. RITA comes into the room again.] + </p> + <p> + RITA. Ugh! I feel as if that horrible old woman had brought a sort of + graveyard smell with her. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, she was rather horrible. + </p> + <p> + RITA. I felt almost sick while she was in the room. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. However, I can very well understand the sort of spellbound + fascination that she talked about. The loneliness of the mountain-peaks + and of the great waste places has something of the same magic about it. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Looks attentively at him.] What is it that has happened to you, + Alfred? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Smiling.] To me? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, something has happened—something seems almost to have + transformed you. Rita noticed it too. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, I saw it the moment you came. A change for the better, I + hope, Alfred? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. It ought to be for the better. And it must and shall come to + good. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With an outburst.] You have had some adventure on your journey! + Don't deny it! I can see it in your face! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shaking his head.] No adventure in the world—outwardly + at least. But— + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Eagerly.] But—? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. It is true that within me there has been something of a + revolution. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh Heavens—! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Soothingly, patting her hand.] Only for the better, my dear + Rita. You may be perfectly certain of that. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Seats herself on the sofa.] You must tell us all about it, at + once—tell us everything! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Turning to ASTA.] Yes, let us sit down, too, Asta. Then I will + try to tell you as well as I can. + </p> + <p> + [He seats himself on the sofa at RITA's side. ASTA moves a chair + forward, and places herself near him.] + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looking at him expectantly.] Well—? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Gazing straight before him.] When I look back over my life—and + my fortunes—for the last ten or eleven years, it seems to me + almost like a fairy-tale or a dream. Don't you think so too, Asta? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, in many ways I think so. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Continuing.] When I remember what we two used to be, Asta—we + two poor orphan children— + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Impatiently.] Oh, that is such an old, old story. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Not listening to her.] And now here I am in comfort and + luxury. I have been able to follow my vocation. I have been able to work + and study—just as I had always longed to. [Holds out his hand.] + And all this great—this fabulous good fortune we owe to you, my + dearest Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Half playfully, half angrily, slaps his hand.] Oh, I do wish you + would stop talking like that. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I speak of it only as a sort of introduction. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Then do skip the introduction! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Rita,—you must not think it was the doctor's advice that + drove me up to the mountains. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Was it not, Alfred? + </p> + <p> + RITA. What was it, then? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. It was this: I found there was no more peace for me, there in + my study. + </p> + <p> + RITA. No peace! Why, who disturbed you? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shaking his head.] No one from without. But I felt as though I + were positively abusing—or, say rather, wasting—my best + powers—frittering away the time. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [With wide eyes.] When you were writing at your book? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Nodding.] For I cannot think that my powers are confined to + that alone. I must surely have it in me to do one or two other things as + well. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Was that what you sat there brooding over? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, mainly that. + </p> + <p> + RITA. And so that is what has made you so discontented with yourself of + late; and with the rest of us as well. For you know you were + discontented, Alfred. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Gazing straight before him.] There I sat bent over my table, + day after day, and often half the night too—writing and writing at + the great thick book on "Human Responsibility." H'm! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Laying her hand upon his arm.] But, Alfred—that book is to + be your life-work. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, you have said so often enough. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I thought so. Ever since I grew up, I have thought so. [With an + affectionate expression in his eyes.] And it was you that enabled me to + devote myself to it, my dear Rita— + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, nonsense! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Smiling to her.]—you, with your gold, and your green + forests— + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Half laughing, half vexed.] If you begin all that rubbish again, + I shall beat you. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Looking sorrowfully at him.] But the book, Alfred? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. It began, as it were, to drift away from me. But I was more and + more beset by the thought of the higher duties that laid their claims + upon me. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Beaming, seizes his hand.] Alfred! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. The thought of Eyolf, my dear Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Disappointed, drops his hand.] Ah—of Eyolf! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Poor little Eyolf has taken deeper and deeper hold of me. After + that unlucky fall from the table—and especially since we have been + assured that the injury is incurable— + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Insistently.] But you take all the care you possibly can of him, + Alfred! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. As a schoolmaster, yes; but not as a father. And it is a father + that I want henceforth to be to Eyolf. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looking at him and shaking her head.] I don't think I quite + understand you. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I mean that I will try with all my might to make his misfortune + as painless and easy to him as it can possibly be. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, but, dear—thank Heaven, I don't think he feels it so + deeply. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [With emotion.] Yes, Rita, he does. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, you may be sure he feels it deeply. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Impatiently.] But, Alfred, what more can you do for him? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I will try to perfect all the rich possibilities that are + dawning in his childish soul. I will foster all the germs of good in his + nature—make them blossom and bear fruit. [With more and more + warmth, rising.] And I will do more than that! I will help him to bring + his desires into harmony with what lies attainable before him. That is + just what at present they are not. All his longings are for things that + must for ever remain unattainable to him. But I will create a conscious + happiness in his mind. [He goes once or twice up and down the room. ASTA + and RITA follow him with their eyes.] + </p> + <p> + RITA. You should take these things more quietly, Alfred! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Stops beside the table on the left, and looks at them.] Eyolf + shall carry on my life-work—if he wants to. Or he shall choose one + that is altogether his own. Perhaps that would be best. At all events, I + shall let mine rest as it is. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Rising.] But, Alfred dear, can you not work both for yourself and + for Eyolf? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No, I cannot. It is impossible! I cannot divide myself in this + matter—and therefore I efface myself. Eyolf shall be the complete + man of our race. And it shall be my new life-work to make him the + complete man. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Has risen and now goes up to him.] This must have cost you a + terribly hard struggle, Alfred? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, it has. At home here, I should never have conquered + myself, never brought myself to the point of renunciation. Never at + home! + </p> + <p> + RITA. Then that was why you went away this summer? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [With shining eyes.] Yes! I went up into the infinite + solitudes. I saw the sunrise gleaming on the mountain peaks. I felt + myself nearer the stars—I seemed almost to be in sympathy and + communion with them. And then I found the strength for it. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Looking sadly at him.] But you will never write any more of your + book on "Human Responsibility"? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No, never, Asta. I tell you I cannot split up my life between + two vocations. But I will act out my "human responsibility"—in my + own life. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With a smile.] Do you think you can live up to such high resolves + at home here? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Taking her hand.] With you to help me, I can. [Holds out the + other hand.] And with you too, Asta. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Drawing her hand away.] Ah—with both of us! So, after all, + you can divide yourself. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Why, my dearest Rita—! + </p> + <p> + [RITA moves away from him and stands in the garden doorway. A light and + rapid knock is heard at the door on the right. Engineer BORGHEIM enters + quickly. He is a young man of a little over thirty. His expression is + bright and cheerful, and he holds himself erect.] + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Good morning, Mrs. Allmers. [Stops with an expression of + pleasure on seeing ALLMERS.] Why, what's this? Home again already, Mr. + Allmers? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shaking hands with him.] Yes, I arrived list night. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Gaily.] His leave was up, Mr. Borgheim. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No, you know it wasn't, Rita— + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Approaching.] Oh yes, but it was, though. His furlough had run + out. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. I see you hold your husband well in hand, Mrs. Allmers. + </p> + <p> + RITA. I hold to my rights. And besides, everything must have an end. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Oh, not everything—I hope. Good morning, Miss Allmers! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Holding aloof from him.] Good morning. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looking at BORGHEIM.] Not everything, you say? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Oh, I am firmly convinced that there are some things in the + world that will never come to an end. + </p> + <p> + RITA. I suppose you are thinking of love—and that sort of thing. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [Warmly.] I am thinking of all that is lovely! + </p> + <p> + RITA. And that never comes to an end. Yes, let us think of that, hope + for that, all of us. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Coming up to them.] I suppose you will soon have finished your + road-work out here? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. I have finished it already—finished it yesterday. It has + been a long business, but, thank Heaven, that has come to an end. + </p> + <p> + RITA. And you are beaming with joy over that? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Yes, I am indeed! + </p> + <p> + RITA. Well, I must say— + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. What, Mrs. Allmers? + </p> + <p> + RITA. I don't think it is particularly nice of you, Mr. Borgheim. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Indeed! Why not? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Well, I suppose we sha'n't often see you in these parts after + this. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. No, that is true. I hadn't thought of that. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh well, I suppose you will be able to look in upon us now and + then all the same. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. No, unfortunately that will be out of my power for a very long + time. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Indeed! How so? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. The fact is, I have got a big piece of new work that I must + set about at once. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Have you indeed?—[Pressing his hand.]—I am heartily + glad to hear it. + </p> + <p> + RITA. I congratulate you, Mr. Borgheim! + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Hush, hush—I really ought not to talk openly of it as + yet! But I can't help coming out with it! It is a great piece of + road-making—up in the north—with mountain ranges to cross, + and the most tremendous difficulties to overcome!—[With an + outburst of gladness.]—Oh, what a glorious world this is—and + what a joy it is to be a road-maker in it! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Smiling, and looking teasingly at him.] Is it road-making + business that has brought you out here to-day in such wild spirits? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. No, not that alone. I am thinking of all the bright and + hopeful prospects that are opening out before me. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Aha, then perhaps you have something still more exquisite in + reserve! + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [Glancing towards ASTA.] Who knows! When once happiness comes + to us, it is apt to come like a spring flood. [Turns to ASTA.] Miss + Allmers, would you not like to take a little walk with me? As we used + to? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Quickly.] No—no, thank you. Not now. Not to-day. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Oh, do come! Only a little bit of a walk! I have so much I + want to talk to you about before I go. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Something else, perhaps, that you must not talk openly about as + yet? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. H'm, that depends— + </p> + <p> + RITA. But there is nothing to prevent your whispering, you know. [Half + aside.] Asta, you must really go with him. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. But, my dear Rita— + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [Imploringly.] Miss Asta—remember it is to be a farewell + walk—the last for many a day. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Takes her hat and parasol.] Very well, suppose we take a stroll + in the garden, then. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Oh, thank you, thank you! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. And while you are there you can see what Eyolf is doing. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Ah, Eyolf, by the bye! Where is Eyolf to-day? I've got + something for him. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. He is out playing somewhere. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Is he really! Then he has begun to play now? He used always to + be sitting indoors over his books. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. There is to be an end of that now. I am going to make a regular + open-air boy of him. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Ah, now, that's right! Out into the open air with him, poor + little fellow! Good Lord, what can we possibly do better than play in + this blessed world? For my part, I think all life is one long playtime!—Come, + Miss Asta! + </p> + <p> + [BORGHEIM and ASTA go out on the verandah and down through the garden.] + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Stands looking after them.] Rita—do you think there is + anything between those two? + </p> + <p> + RITA. I don't know what to say. I used to think there was. But Asta has + grown so strange to me—so utterly incomprehensible of late. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Indeed! Has she? While I have been away? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, within the last week or two. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. And you think she doesn't care very much about him now? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Not, seriously; not utterly and entirely; not unreservedly—I + am sure she doesn't. [Looks searchingly at him.] Would it displease you + if she did? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. It would not exactly displease me. But it would certainly be a + disquieting thought— + </p> + <p> + RITA. Disquieting? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes; you must remember that I am responsible for Asta—for + her life's happiness. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, come—responsible! Surely Asta has come to years of + discretion? I should say she was capable of choosing for herself. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, we must hope so, Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. For my part, I don't think at all ill of Borgheim. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No, dear—no more do I—quite the contrary. But all + the same— + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Continuing.] And I should be very glad indeed if he and Asta were + to make a match of it. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Annoyed.] Oh, why should you be? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With increasing excitement.] Why, for then she would have to go + far, far away with him! And she could never come out here to us, as she + does now. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Stares at her in astonishment.] What! Can you really wish Asta + to go away? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, yes, Alfred! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Why in all the world—? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Throwing her arms passionately round his neck.] For then, at + last, I should have you to myself alone! And yet—not even then! + Not wholly to myself! [Bursts into convulsive weeping.] Oh, Alfred, + Alfred—I cannot give you up! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Gently releasing himself.] My dearest Rita, do be reasonable! + </p> + <p> + RITA. I don't care a bit about being reasonable! I care only for you! + Only for you in all the world! [Again throwing her arms round his neck.] + For you, for you, for you! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Let me go, let me go—you are strangling me! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Letting him go.] How I wish I could! [Looking at him with + flashing eyes.] Oh, if you knew how I have hated you—! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Hated me—! + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes—when you shut yourself up in your room and brooded over + your work—till long, long into the night. [Plaintively.] So long, + so late, Alfred. Oh, how I hated your work! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. But now I have done with that. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With a cutting laugh.] Oh yes! Now you have given yourself up to + something worse. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shocked.] Worse! Do you call our child something worse? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Vehemently.] Yes, I do. As he comes between you and me, I call + him so. For the book—the book was not a living being, as the child + is. [With increasing impetuosity.] But I won't endure it, Alfred! I will + not endure it—I tell you so plainly! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looks steadily at her, and says in a low voice.] I am often + almost afraid of you, Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Gloomily.] I am often afraid of myself. And for that very reason + you must not awake the evil in me. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Why, good Heavens, do I do that? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, you do—when you tear to shreds the holiest bonds + between us. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Urgently.] Think what you're saying, Rita. It is your own + child—our only child, that you are speaking of. + </p> + <p> + RITA. The child is only half mine. [With another outburst.] But you + shall be mine alone! You shall be wholly mine! That I have a right to + demand of you! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shrugging his shoulders.] Oh, my dear Rita, it is of no use + demanding anything. Everything must be freely given. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looks anxiously at him.] And that you cannot do henceforth? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No, I cannot. I must divide myself between Eyolf and you. + </p> + <p> + RITA. But if Eyolf had never been born? What then? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Evasively.] Oh, that would be another matter. Then I should + have only you to care for. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Softly, her voice quivering.] Then I wish he had never been born. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Flashing out.] Rita! You don't know what you are saying! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Trembling with emotion.] It was in pain unspeakable that I + brought him into the world. But I bore it all with joy and rapture for + your sake. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Warmly.] Oh yes, I know, I know. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With decision.] But there it must end. I will live my life—together + with you—wholly with you. I cannot go on being only Eyolf's mother—only + his mother and nothing more. I will not, I tell you! I cannot! I will be + all in all to you! To you, Alfred! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. But that is just what you are, Rita. Through our child— + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh—vapid, nauseous phrases—nothing else! No, Alfred, I + am not to be put off like that. I was fitted to become the child's + mother, but not to be a mother to him. You must take me as I am, Alfred. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. And yet you used to be so fond of Eyolf. + </p> + <p> + RITA. I was so sorry for him—because you troubled yourself so + little about him. You kept him reading and grinding at books. You + scarcely even saw him. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Nodding slowly.] No; I was blind. The time had not yet come + for me— + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looking in his face.] But now, I suppose, it has come? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, at, last. Now I see that the highest task I can have in + the world is to be a true father to Eyolf. + </p> + <p> + RITA. And to me?—what will you be to me? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Gently.] I will always go on caring for you—with calm, + deep tenderness. [ He tries to take her hands.] + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Evading him.] I don't care a bit for your calm, deep tenderness. + I want you utterly and entirely—and alone! Just as I had you in + the first rich, beautiful days. [Vehemently and harshly.] Never, never + will I consent to be put off with scraps and leavings, Alfred! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [In a conciliatory tone.] I should have thought there was + happiness in plenty for all three of us, Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Scornfully.] Then you are easy to please. [Seats herself at the + table on the left.] Now listen to me. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Approaching.] Well, what is it? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looking up at him with a veiled glow in her eyes.] When I got + your telegram yesterday evening— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes? What then? + </p> + <p> + RITA.—then I dressed myself in white— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, I noticed you were in white when I arrived. + </p> + <p> + RITA. I had let down my hair— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Your sweet masses of hair— + </p> + <p> + RITA.—so that it flowed down my neck and shoulders— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I saw it, I saw it. Oh, how lovely you were, Rita! + </p> + <p> + RITA. There were rose-tinted shades over both the lamps. And we were + alone, we two—the only waking beings in the whole house. And there + was champagne on the table. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I did not drink any of it. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looking bitterly at him.] No, that is true. [Laughs harshly.] + "There stood the champagne, but you tasted it not"—as the poet + says. + </p> + <p> + [She rises from the armchair, goes with an air of weariness over to the + sofa, and seats herself, half reclining, upon it.] + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Crosses the room and stands before her.] I was so taken up + with serious thoughts. I had made up my mind to talk to you of our + future, Rita—and first and foremost of Eyolf. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Smiling.] And so you did— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No, I had not time to—for you began to undress. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, and meanwhile you talked about Eyolf. Don't you remember? You + wanted to know all about little Eyolf's digestion. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looking reproachfully at her.] Rita—! + </p> + <p> + RITA. And then you got into your bed, and slept the sleep of the just. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shaking his head.] Rita—Rita! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Lying at full length and looking up at him.] Alfred? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes? + </p> + <p> + RITA. "There stood your champagne, but you tasted it not." + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Almost harshly.] No. I did not taste it. + </p> + <p> + [He goes away from her and stands in the garden doorway. RITA lies for + some time motionless, with closed eyes.] + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Suddenly springing up.] But let me tell you one thing, Alfred. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Turning in the doorway.] Well? + </p> + <p> + RITA. You ought not to feel quite so secure as you do! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Not secure? + </p> + <p> + RITA. No, you ought not to be so indifferent! Not certain of your + property in me! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Drawing nearer.] What do you mean by that? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With trembling lips.] Never in a single thought have I been + untrue to you, Alfred! Never for an instant. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No, Rita, I know that—I, who know you so well. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With sparkling eyes.] But if you disdain me—! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Disdain! I don't understand what you mean! + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, you don't know all that might rise up within me, if— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. If? + </p> + <p> + RITA. If I should ever see that you did not care for me—that you + did not love me as you used to. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. But, my dearest Rita—years bring a certain change with + them—and that must one day occur even in us—as in everyone + else. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Never in me! And I will not hear of any change in you either—I + could not bear it, Alfred. I want to keep you to myself alone. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looking at her with concern.] You have a terribly jealous + nature— + </p> + <p> + RITA. I can't make myself different from what I am. [Threateningly.] If + you go and divide yourself between me and anyone else— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. What then—? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Then I will take my revenge on you, Alfred! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. How "take your revenge"? + </p> + <p> + RITA. I don't know how.—Oh yes, I do know, well enough! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Well? + </p> + <p> + RITA. I will go and throw myself away— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Throw yourself away, do you say? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, that I will. I'll throw myself straight into the arms of—of the first man that comes in my way— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looking tenderly at her and shaking his head.] That you will + never do—my loyal, proud, true-hearted Rita! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Putting her arms round his neck.] Oh, you don't know what I might + come to be if you—if you did not love me any more. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Did not love you, Rita? How can you say such a thing! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Half laughing, lets him go.] Why should I not spread my nets for + that—that road-maker man that hangs about here? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Relieved.] Oh, thank goodness—you are only joking. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Not at all. He would do as well as anyone else. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Ah, but I suspect he is more or less taken up already. + </p> + <p> + RITA. So much the better! For then I should take him away from someone + else; and that is just what Eyolf has done to me. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Can you say that our little Eyolf has done that? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Pointing with her forefinger.] There, you see! You see! The + moment you mention Eyolf's name, you grow tender and your voice quivers! + [Threateningly, clenching her hands.] Oh, you almost tempt me to wish— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looking at her anxiously.] What do I tempt you to wish, Rita?— + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Vehemently, going away from him.] No, no, no—I won't tell + you that! Never! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Drawing nearer to her.] Rita! I implore you—for my sake + and for your own—do not let yourself be tempted into evil. + </p> + <p> + [BORGHEIM and ASTA come up from the garden. They both show signs of + restrained emotion. They look serious and dejected. ASTA remains out on + the verandah. BORGHEIM comes into the room.] + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. So that is over—Miss Allmers and I have had our last + walk together. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looks at him with surprise.] Ah! And there is no longer journey + to follow the walk? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Yes, for me. + </p> + <p> + RITA. For you alone? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Yes, for me alone. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Glances darkly at ALLMERS.] Do you hear that? [Turns to + BORGHEIM.] I'll wager it is someone with the evil eye that has played + you this trick. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [Looks at her.] The evil eye? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Nodding.] Yes, the evil eye. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Do you believe in the evil eye, Mrs. Allmers? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes. I have begun to believe in the evil eye. Especially in a + child's evil eye. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shocked, whispers.] Rita—how can you—? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Speaking low.] It is you that make me so wicked and hateful, + Alfred. + </p> + <p> + [Confused cries and shrieks are heard in the distance, from the + direction of the fiord.] + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [Going to the glass door.] What noise is that? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [In the doorway.] Look at all those people running down to the + pier! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. What can it be? [Looks out for a moment.] No doubt it's those + street urchins at some mischief again. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [Calls, leaning over the verandah railings.] I say, you boys + down there! What's the matter? + </p> + <p> + [Several voices are heard answering indistinctly and confusedly.] + </p> + <p> + RITA. What do they say? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. They say it's a child that's drowned. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. A child drowned? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Uneasily.] A little boy, they say. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Oh, they can all swim, every one of them. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Shrieks in terror.] Where is Eyolf? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Keep quiet—quiet. Eyolf is down in the garden, playing. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. No, he wasn't in the garden. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With upstretched arms.] Oh, if only it isn't he! + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [Listens, and calls down.] Whose child is it, do you say? + </p> + <p> + [Indistinct voices are heard. BORGHEIM and ASTA utter a suppressed cry, + and rush out through the garden.] + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [In an agony of dread.] It isn't Eyolf! It isn't Eyolf, Rita! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [On the verandah, listening.] Hush! Be quiet! Let me hear what + they are saying! + </p> + <p> + [RITA rushes back with a piercing shriek, into the room.] + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Following her.] What did they say? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Sinking down beside the armchair on the left.] They said: "The + crutch is floating!" + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Almost paralysed.] No! No! No! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Hoarsely.] Eyolf! Eyolf! Oh, but they must save him! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Half distracted.] They must, they must! So precious a life! + </p> + <p> + [He rushes down through the garden.] + </p> + <br /> + </div> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT SECOND + </h2> + <div class="play"> + <p> + [A little narrow glen by the side of the fiord, on ALLMERS'S property. + On the left, lofty old trees overarch the spot. Down the slope in the + background a brook comes leaping, and loses itself among the stones on + the margin of the wood. A path winds along by the brook-side. To the + right there are only a few single trees, between which the fiord is + visible. In front is seen the corner of a boat-shed with a boat drawn + up. Under the old trees on the left stands a table with a bench and one + or two chairs, all made of thin birch-staves. It is a heavy, damp day, + with driving mist wreaths.] + </p> + <p> + [ALFRED ALLMERS, dressed as before, sits on the bench, leaning his arms + on the table. His hat lies before him. He gazes absently and immovably + out over the water.] + </p> + <p> + [Presently ASTA ALLMERS comes down the woodpath. She is carrying an open + umbrella.] + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Goes quietly and cautiously up to him.] You ought not to sit down + here in this gloomy weather, Alfred. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Nods slowly without answering.] + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Closing her umbrella.] I have been searching for you such a long + time. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Without expression.] Thank you. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Moves a chair and seats herself close to him.] Have you been + sitting here long? All the time? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Does not answer at first. Presently he says.] No, I cannot + grasp it. It seems so utterly impossible. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Laying her hand compassionately on his arm.] Poor Alfred! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Gazing at her.] Is it really true then, Asta? Or have I gone + mad? Or am I only dreaming? Oh, if it were only a dream! Just think, if + I were to waken now! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh, if I could only waken you! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looking out over the water.] How pitiless the fiord looks + to-day, lying so heavy and drowsy—leaden-grey—with splashes + of yellow—and reflecting the rain-clouds. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Imploringly.] Oh, Alfred, don't sit staring out over the fiord! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Not heeding her.] Over the surface, yes. But in the depths—there + sweeps the rushing undertow— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [In terror.] Oh, for God's sake don't think of the depths! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looking gently at her.] I suppose you think he is lying close + outside here? But he is not, Asta. You must not think that. You must + remember how fiercely the current sweeps out here straight to the open + sea. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Throws herself forward against the table, and, sobbing, buries + her face in her hands.] Oh, God! Oh, God! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Heavily.] So you see, little Eyolf has passed so far—far + away from us now. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Looks imploringly up at him.] Oh, Alfred, don't say such things! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Why, you can reckon it out for yourself—you that are so + clever. In eight-and-twenty hours—nine-and-twenty hours—Let + me see—! Let me see—! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Shrieking and stopping her ears.] Alfred! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Clenching his hand firmly upon the table.] Can you conceive + the meaning of a thing like this? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Looks at him.] Of what? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Of this that has been done to Rita and me. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. The meaning of it? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Impatiently.] Yes, the meaning, I say. For, after all, there + must be a meaning in it. Life, existence—destiny, cannot be so + utterly meaningless. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh, who can say anything with certainty about these things, my + dear Alfred? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Laughs bitterly.] No, no; I believe you are right there. + Perhaps the whole thing goes simply by hap-hazard—taking its own + course, like a drifting wreck without a rudder. I daresay that is how it + is. At least, it seems very like it. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Thoughtfully.] What if it only seems—? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Vehemently.] Ah? Perhaps you can unravel the mystery for me? I + certainly cannot. [More gently.] Here is Eyolf, just entering upon + conscious life: full of such infinite possibilities—splendid + possibilities perhaps: he would have filled my life with pride and + gladness. And then a crazy old woman has only to come this way—and + show a cur in a bag— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. But we don't in the least know how it really happened. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, we do. The boys saw her row out over the fiord. They saw + Eyolf standing alone at the very end of the pier. They saw him gazing + after her—and then he seemed to turn giddy. [Quivering.] And that + was how he fell over—and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, yes. But all the same— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. She has drawn him down into the depths—that you may be + sure of, dear. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. But, Alfred, why should she? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, that is just the question! Why should she? There is no + retribution behind it all—no atonement, I mean. Eyolf never did + her any harm. He never called names after her; he never threw stones at + her dog. Why, he had never set eyes either on her or her dog till + yesterday. So there is no retribution; the whole thing is utterly + groundless and meaningless, Asta.—And yet the order of the world + requires it. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Have you spoken to Rita of these things? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shakes his head.] I feel as if I can talk better to you about + them. [Drawing a deep breath.] And about everything else as well. + </p> + <p> + [ASTA takes sewing-materials and a little paper parcel out of her + pocket. ALLMERS sits looking on absently.] + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. What leave you got there, Asta? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Taking his hat.] Some black crape. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Oh, what is the use of that? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Rita asked me to put it on. May I? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Oh, yes; as far as I'm concerned—[She sews the crape on + his hat.] + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Sitting and looking at her.] Where is Rita? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. She is walking about the garden a little, I think. Borgheim is + with her. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Slightly surprised.] Indeed! Is Borgheim out here to-day + again? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes. He came out by the mid-day train. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I didn't expect that. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Serving.] He was so fond of Eyolf. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Borgheim is a faithful soul, Asta. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [With quiet warmth.] Yes, faithful he is, indeed. That is certain. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Fixing his eyes upon her.] You are really fond of him? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, I am. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. And yet you cannot make up your mind to—? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Interrupting.] Oh, my dear Alfred, don't talk of that! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, yes; tell me why you cannot? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh, no! Please! You really must not ask me. You see, it's so + painful for me.—There now! The hat is done. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Thank you. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. And now for the left arm. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Am I to have crape on it too? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, that is the custom. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Well—as you please. + </p> + <p> + [She moves close up to him and begins to sew.] + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Keep your arm still—then I won't prick you. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [With a half-smile.] This is like the old days. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, don't you think so? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. When you were a little girl you used to sit just like this, + mending my clothes. The first thing you ever sewed for me—that was + black crape, too. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Was it? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Round my student's cap—at the time of father's death. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Could I sew then? Fancy, I have forgotten it. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Oh, you were such a little thing then. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, I was little then. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. And then, two years afterwards—when we lost your mother—then + again you sewed a big crape band on my sleeve. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. I thought it was the right thing to do. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Patting her hand.] Yes, yes, it was the right thing to do, + Asta. And then when we were left alone in the world, we two—. Are + you done already? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes. [Putting together her sewing-materials.] It was really a + beautiful time for us, Alfred. We two alone. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, it was—though we had to toil so hard. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. You toiled. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [With more life.] Oh, you toiled too, in your way, I can assure + you—[smiling]—my dear, faithful—Eyolf. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh—you mustn't remind me of that stupid nonsense about the + name. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Well, if you had been a boy, you would have been called Eyolf. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, if! But when you began to go to college—. [Smiling + involuntarily.] I wonder how you could be so childish. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Was it I that was childish? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, indeed, I think it was, as I look back upon it all. You were + ashamed of having no brother—only a sister. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No, no, it was you, dear—you were ashamed. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh yes, I too, perhaps—a little. And somehow or other I was + sorry for you— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, I believe you were. And then you hunted up some of my old + boy's clothes— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Your fine Sunday clothes—yes. Do you remember the blue + blouse and knickerbockers? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [His eyes dwelling upon her.] I remember so well how you looked + when you used to wear them. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Only when we were at home, alone, though. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. And how serious we were, dear, and how mightily pleased with + ourselves. I always called you Eyolf. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh, Alfred, I hope you have never told Rita this? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, I believe I did once tell her. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh, Alfred, how could you do that? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Well, you see—one tells one's wife everything—very + nearly. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, I suppose one does. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [As if awakening, clutches at his forehead and starts up.] Oh, + how can I sit here and— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Rising, looks sorrowfully at him.] What is the matter? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. He had almost passed away from me. He had passed quite away. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Eyolf! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Here I sat, living in these recollections—and he had no + part in them. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, Alfred—little Eyolf was behind it all. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No, he was not. He slipped out of my memory—out of my + thoughts. I did not see him for a moment as we sat here talking. I + utterly forgot him all that time. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. But surely you must take some rest in your sorrow. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No, no, no; that is just what I will not do! I must not—I + have no right—and no heart for it, either. [Going in great + excitement towards the right.] All my thoughts must be out there, where + he lies drifting in the depths! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Following him and holding him back.] Alfred—Alfred! Don't + go to the fiord. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I must go out to him! Let me go, Asta! I will take the boat. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [In terror.] Don't go to the fiord, I say! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Yielding.] No, no—I will not. Only let me alone. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Leading him back to the table.] You must rest from your thoughts, + Alfred. Come here and sit down. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Making as if to seat himself on the bench.] Well, well—as + you please. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. No, I won't let you sit there. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, let me. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. No, don't. For then you will only sit looking out—[Forces + him down upon a chair, with his back to the right.] There now. Now + that's right. [Seats herself upon the bench.] And now we can talk a + little again. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Drawing a deep breath audibly.] It was good to deaden the + sorrow and heartache for a moment. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. You must do so, Alfred. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. But don't you think it is terribly weak and unfeeling of me—to + be able to do so? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh, no—I am sure it is impossible to keep circling for ever + round one fixed thought. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, for me it is impossible. Before you came to me, here I + sat, torturing myself unspeakably with this crushing, gnawing sorrow— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. And would you believe it, Asta—? H'm— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Well? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. In the midst of all the agony, I found myself speculating what + we should have for dinner to-day. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Soothingly.] Well, well, if only it rests you to— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, just fancy, dear—it seemed as if it did give me + rest. [Holds out, his hand to her across the table.] How good it is, + Asta, that I have you with me. I am so glad of that. Glad, glad—even + in my sorrow. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Looking earnestly at him.] You ought most of all to be glad that + you have Rita. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, of course I should. But Rita is no kin to me—it + isn't like having a sister. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Eagerly.] Do you say that, Alfred? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, our family is a thing apart. [Half jestingly.] We have + always had vowels for our initials. Don't you remember how often we used + to speak of that? And all our relations—all equally poor. And we + have all the same colour of eyes. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Do you think I have—? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No, you take entirely after your mother. You are not in the + least like the rest of us—not even like father. But all the same— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. All the same—? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Well, I believe that living together has, as it were, stamped + us in each other's image—mentally, I mean. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [With warm emotion.] Oh, you must never say that, Alfred. It is + only I that have taken my stamp from you; and it is to you that I owe + everything—every good thing in the world. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shaking his head.] You owe me nothing, Asta. On the contrary— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. I owe you everything! You must never doubt that. No sacrifice has + been too great for you— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Interrupting.] Oh, nonsense—sacrifice! Don't talk of + such a thing.—I have only loved you, Asta, ever since you were a + little child. [After a short pause.] And then it always seemed to me + that I had so much injustice to make up to you for. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Astonished.] Injustice? You? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Not precisely on my own account. But— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Eagerly.] But—? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. On father's. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Half rising from the bench.] On—father's! [Sitting down + again.] What do you mean by that, Alfred? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Father was never really kind to you. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Vehemently.] Oh, don't say that! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, it is true. He did not love you—not as he ought to + have. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Evasively.] No, perhaps not as he loved you. That was only + natural. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Continuing.] And he was often hard to your mother, too—at + least in the last years. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Softly.] Mother was so much, much younger than he—remember + that. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Do you think they were not quite suited to each other? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Perhaps not. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, but still—. Father, who in other ways was so gentle + and warm-hearted—so kindly towards everyone— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Quietly.] Mother, too, was not always as she ought to have been. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Your mother was not! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Perhaps not always. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Towards father, do you mean? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I never noticed that. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Struggling with her tears, rises.] Oh, my dear Alfred—let + them rest—those who are gone. [She goes towards the right.] + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Rising.] Yes, let them rest. [Wringing his hands.] But those + who are gone—it is they that won't let us rest, Asta. Neither day + nor night. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Looks warmly at him.] Time will make it all seem easier, Alfred. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looking helplessly at her.] Yes, don't you think it will?—But + how I am to get over these terrible first days [Hoarsely.]—that is + what I cannot imagine. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Imploringly, laying her hands on his shoulders.] Go up to Rita. + Oh, please do— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Vehemently, withdrawing from her.] No, no, no—don't talk + to me of that! I cannot, I tell you. [More calmly.] Let me remain here, + with you. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Well, I will not leave you. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Seizing her hand and holding it fast.] Thank you for that! + [Looks out for a time over the fiord.] Where is my little Eyolf now? + [Smiling sadly to her.] Can you tell me that my big, wise Eyolf? + [Shaking his head.] No one in all the world can tell me that. I know + only this one terrible thing—that he is gone from me. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Looking up to the left, and withdrawing her hand.] Here they are + coming. + </p> + <p> + [MRS. ALLMERS and Engineer BORGHEIM come down by the wood-path, she + leading the way. She wears a dark dress and a black veil over her head. + He has an umbrella under his arm.] + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Going to meet her.] How is it with you, Rita? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Passing him.] Oh, don't ask. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Why do you come here? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Only to look for you. What are you doing? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Nothing. Asta came down to me. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, but before Asta came? You have been away from me all the + morning. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I have been sitting here looking out over the water. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Ugh,—how can you? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Impatiently.] I like best to be alone now. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Moving restlessly about.] And then to sit still! To stay in one + place! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I have nothing in the world to move for. + </p> + <p> + RITA. I cannot bear to be anywhere long. Least of all here—with + the fiord at my very feet. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. It is just the nearness of the fiord— + </p> + <p> + RITA. [To BORGHEIM.] Don't you think he should come back with the rest + of us? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [To ALLMERS.] I believe it would be better for you. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No, no; let me stay where I am. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Then I will stay with you, Alfred. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Very well; do so, then. You remain too, Asta. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Whispers to BORGHEIM.] Let us leave them alone! + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [With a glance of comprehension.] Miss Allmers, shall we go a + little further—along the shore? For the very last time? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Taking her umbrella.] Yes, come. Let us go a little further. + </p> + <p> + [ASTA and BORGHEIM go out together behind the boat-shed. ALLMERS wanders + about for a little. Then he seats himself on a stone under the trees on + the left.] + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Comes up and stands before him, her hands folded and hanging + down.] Can you think the thought, Alfred—that we have lost Eyolf? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looking sadly at the ground.] We must accustom ourselves to + think it. + </p> + <p> + RITA. I cannot. I cannot. And then that horrible sight that will haunt + me all my life long. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looking up.] What sight? What have you seen? + </p> + <p> + RITA. I have seen nothing myself. I have only heard it told. Oh—! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. You may as well tell me at once. + </p> + <p> + RITA. I got Borgheim to go down with me to the pier— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. What did you want there? + </p> + <p> + RITA. To question the boys as to how it happened. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. But we know that. + </p> + <p> + RITA. We got to know more. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Well? + </p> + <p> + RITA. It is not true that he disappeared all at once. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Do they say that now? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes. They say they saw him lying down on the bottom. Deep down in + the clear water. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Grinding his teeth.] And they didn't save him! + </p> + <p> + RITA. I suppose they could not. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. They could swim—every one of them. Did they tell you how + he was lying whilst they could see him? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes. They said he was lying on his back. And with great, open + eyes. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Open eyes. But quite still? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, quite still. And then something came and swept him away. They + called it the undertow. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Nodding slowly.] So that was the last they saw of him. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Suffocated with tears.] Yes. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [In a dull voice.] And never—never will anyone see him + again. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Wailing.] I shall see him day and night, as he lay down there. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. With great, open eyes. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Shuddering.] Yes, with great, open eyes. I see them! I see them + now! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Rises slowly and looks with quiet menace at her.] Were they + evil, those eyes, Rita? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Turning pale.] Evil—! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Going close up to her.] Were they evil eyes that stared up? Up + from the depths? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Shrinking from him.] Alfred—! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Following her.] Answer me! Were they a child's evil eyes? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Shrieks.] Alfred! Alfred! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Now things have come about—just as you wished, Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. I! What did I wish? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. That Eyolf were not here. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Never for a moment have I wished that! That Eyolf should not stand + between us—that was what I wished. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Well, well—he does not stand between us any more. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Softly, gazing straight before her.] Perhaps now more than ever. + [With a sudden shudder.] Oh, that horrible sight! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Nods.] The child's evil eyes. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [In dread, recoiling from him.] Let me be, Alfred! I am afraid of + you. I have never seen you like this before. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looks harshly and coldly at her.] Sorrow makes us wicked and + hateful. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Terrified, and yet defiant.] That is what I feel, too. + </p> + <p> + [ALLMERS goes towards the right and looks out over the fiord. RITA seats + herself at the table. A short pause.] + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Turning his head towards her.] You never really and truly + loved him—never! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With cold self-control.] Eyolf would never let me take him really + and truly to my heart. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Because you did not want to. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh yes, I did. I did want to. But someone stood in the way—even + from the first. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Turning right round.] Do you mean that <i>I</i> stood in the + way? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, no—not at first. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Coming nearer her.] Who, then? + </p> + <p> + RITA. His aunt. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Asta? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes. Asta stood and barred the way for me. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Can you say that, Rita? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes. Asta—she took him to her heart—from the moment + that happened—that miserable fall. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. If she did so, she did it in love. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Vehemently.] That is just it! I cannot endure to share anything + with anyone! Not in love. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. We two should have shared him between us in love. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looking scornfully at him.] We? Oh, the truth is you have never + had any real love for him either. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looks at her in astonishment.] <i>I</i> have not—! + </p> + <p> + RITA. No, you have not. At first you were so utterly taken up by that + book of yours—about Responsibility. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Forcibly.] Yes, I was. But my very book—I sacrificed for + Eyolf's sake. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Not out of love for him. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Why then, do you suppose? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Because you were consumed with mistrust of yourself. Because you + had begun to doubt whether you had any great vocation to live for in the + world. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Observing her closely.] Could you see that in me? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, yes—little by little. And then you needed something new + to fill up your life.—It seems <i>I</i> was not enough for you any + longer. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. That is the law of change, Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. And that was why you wanted to make a prodigy of poor little + Eyolf. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. That was not what I wanted. I wanted to make a happy human + being of him.—That, and nothing more. + </p> + <p> + RITA. But not out of love for him. Look into yourself! [With a certain + shyness of expression.] Search out all that lies under—and behind + your action. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Avoiding her eyes.] There is something you shrink from saying. + </p> + <p> + RITA. And you too. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looks thoughtfully at her.] If it is as you say, then we two + have never really possessed our own child. + </p> + <p> + RITA. No. Not in perfect love. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. And yet we are sorrowing so bitterly for him. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With sarcasm.] Yes, isn't it curious that we should grieve like + this over a little stranger boy? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [With an outburst.] Oh, don't call him a stranger! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Sadly shaking her head.] We never won the boy, Alfred. Not I—nor + you either. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Wringing his hands.] And now it is too late! Too late! + </p> + <p> + RITA. And no consolation anywhere—in anything. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [With sudden passion.] You are the guilty one in this! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Rising.] I! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, you! It was your fault that he became—what he was! + It was your fault that he could not save himself when he fell into the + water. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With a gesture of repulsion.] Alfred—you shall not throw + the blame upon me! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [More and more beside himself.] Yes, yes, I do! It was you that + left the helpless child unwatched upon the table. + </p> + <p> + RITA. He was lying so comfortably among the cushions, and sleeping so + soundly. And you had promised to look after him. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, I had. [Lowering his voice.] But then you came—you, + you, you—and lured me to you. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looking defiantly at him.] Oh, better own at once that you forgot + the child and everything else. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [In suppressed desperation.] Yes, that is true. [Lower.] I + forgot the child—in your arms! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Exasperated.] Alfred! Alfred—this is intolerable of you! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [In a low voice, clenching his fists before her face.] In that + hour you condemned little Eyolf to death. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Wildly.] You, too! You, too—if it is as you say! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Oh yes—call me to account, too—if you will. We have + sinned, both of us. And so, after all, there was retribution in Eyolf's + death. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Retribution? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [With more self-control.] Yes. Judgment upon you and me. Now, + as we stand here, we have our deserts. While he lived, we let ourselves + shrink away from him in secret, abject remorse. We could not bear to see + it—the thing he had to drag with him— + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Whispers.] The crutch. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, that. And now, what we now call sorrow and heartache—is + really the gnawing of conscience, Rita. Nothing else. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Gazing helplessly at him.] I feel as if all this must end in + despair—in madness for both of us. For we can never—never + make it good again. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Passing into a calmer mood.] I dreamed about Eyolf last night. + I thought I saw him coming up from the pier. He could run like other + boys. So nothing had happened to him—neither the one thing nor the + other. And the torturing reality was nothing but a dream, I thought. Oh, + how I thanked and blessed—[Checking himself.] H'm! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looking at him.] Whom? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Evasively.] Whom—? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes; whom did you thank and bless? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Putting aside the question.] I was only dreaming, you know— + </p> + <p> + RITA. One whom you yourself do not believe in? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. That was how I felt, all the same. Of course, I was sleeping— + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Reproachfully.] You should not have taught me to doubt, Alfred. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Would it have been right of me to let you go through life with + your mind full of empty fictions? + </p> + <p> + RITA. It would have been better for me; for then I should have had + something to take refuge in. Now I am utterly at sea. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Observing her closely.] If you had the choice now—. If + you could follow Eyolf to where he is—? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes? What then? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. If you were fully assured that you would find him again—know + him—understand him—? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, yes; what then? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Would you, of your own free will, take the leap over to him? Of + your own free will leave everything behind you? Renounce your whole + earthly life? Would you, Rita? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Softly.] Now, at once? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes; to-day. This very hour. Answer me—would you? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Hesitating.] Oh, I don't know, Alfred. No! I think I should have + to stay here with you, a little while. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. For my sake? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes. Only for your sake. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. And afterwards? Would you then—? Answer! + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, what can I answer? I could not go away from you. Never! Never! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. But suppose now <i>I</i> went to Eyolf? And you had the fullest + assurance that you would meet both him and me there. Then would you come + over to us? + </p> + <p> + RITA. I should want to—so much! so much! But— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Well? I I? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Moaning softly.] I could not—I feel it. No, no, I never + could! Not for all the glory of heaven! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Nor I. + </p> + <p> + RITA. No, you feel it so, too, don't you, Alfred! You could not either, + could you? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No. For it is here, in the life of earth, that we living beings + are at home. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, here lies the kind of happiness that we can understand. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Darkly.] Oh, happiness—happiness— + </p> + <p> + RITA. You mean that happiness—that we can never find it again? + [Looks inquiringly at him.] But if—? [Vehemently.] No, no; I dare + not say it! Nor even think it! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, say it—say it, Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Hesitatingly.] Could we not try to—? Would it not be + possible to forget him? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Forget Eyolf? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Forget the anguish and remorse, I mean. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Can you wish it? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes,—if it were possible. [With an outburst.] For this—I + cannot bear this for ever! Oh, can we not think of something that will + bring its forgetfulness! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shakes his head.] What could that be? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Could we not see what travelling would do—far away from + here? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. From home? When you know you are never really well anywhere but + here. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Well, then, let us have crowds of people about us! Keep open + house! Plunge into something that can deaden and dull our thoughts! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Such a life would be impossible for me.—No,—rather + than that, I would try to take up my work again. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Bitingly.] Your work—the work that has always stood like a + dead wall between us! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Slowly, looking fixedly at her.] There must always be a dead + wall between us two, from this time forth. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Why must there—? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Who knows but that a child's great, open eyes are watching us + day and night. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Softly, shuddering.] Alfred—how terrible to think of! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Our love has been like a consuming fire. Now it must be + quenched— + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With a movement towards him.] Quenched! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Hardly.] It is quenched—in one of us. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [As if petrified.] And you dare say that to me! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [More gently.] It is dead, Rita. But in what I now feel for you—in + our common guilt and need of atonement—I seem to foresee a sort of + resurrection— + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Vehemently.] I don't care a bit about any resurrection! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Rita! + </p> + <p> + RITA. I am a warm-blooded being! I don't go drowsing about—with + fishes' blood in my veins. [Wringing her hands.] And now to be + imprisoned for life—in anguish and remorse! Imprisoned with one + who is no longer mine, mine, mine! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. It must have ended so, sometime, Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Must have ended so! The love that in the beginning rushed forth so + eagerly to meet with love! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. My love did not rush forth to you in the beginning. + </p> + <p> + RITA. What did you feel for me, first of all? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Dread. + </p> + <p> + RITA. That I can understand. How was it, then, that I won you after all? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [In a low voice.] You were so entrancingly beautiful, Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looks searchingly at him.] Then that was the only reason? Say it, + Alfred! The only reason? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Conquering himself.] No, there was another as well. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With an outburst.] I can guess what that was! It was "my gold, + and my green forests," as you call it. Was it not so, Alfred? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looks at him with deep reproach.] How could you—how could + you! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I had Asta to think of. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Angrily.] Yes, Asta! [Bitterly.] Then it was really Asta that + brought us two together? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. She knew nothing about it. She has no suspicion of it, even to + this day. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Rejecting the plea.] It was Asta, nevertheless! [Smiling, with a + sidelong glance of scorn. ] Or, no—it was little Eyolf. Little + Eyolf, my dear! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Eyolf—? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, you used to call her Eyolf, did you not? I seem to remember + your telling me so—once, in a moment of confidence. [Coming up to + him.] Do you remember it—that entrancingly beautiful hour, Alfred? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Recoiling, as if in horror.] I remember nothing! I will not + remember! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Following him.] It was in that hour—when your other little + Eyolf was crippled for life! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [In a hollow voice, supporting himself against the table.] + Retribution! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Menacingly.] Yes, retribution! + </p> + <p> + [ASTA and BORGHEIM return by way of the boat-shed. She is carrying some + water-lilies in her hand.] + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With self-control.] Well, Asta, have you and Mr. Borgheim talked + things thoroughly over? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh, yes—pretty well. + </p> + <p> + [She puts down her umbrella and lays the flowers upon a chair.] + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Miss Allmers has been very silent during our walk. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Indeed, has she? Well, Alfred and I have talked things out + thoroughly enough— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Looking eagerly at both of them.] What is this—? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Enough to last all our lifetime, I say. [Breaking off.] Come now, + let us go up to the house, all four of us. We must have company about us + in future. It will never do for Alfred and me to be alone. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, do you go ahead, you two. [Turning.] I must speak a word + to you before we go, Asta. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looking at him.] Indeed? Well then, you come with me, Mr. + Borgheim. + </p> + <p> + [RITA and BORGHEIM go up the wood-path.] + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Anxiously.] Alfred, what is the matter? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Darkly.] Only that I cannot endure to be here any more. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Here! With Rita, do you mean? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes. Rita and I cannot go on living together. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Seizes his arm and shakes it.] Oh, Alfred—don't say + anything so terrible! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. It is the truth. I am telling you. We are making each other + wicked and hateful. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [With painful emotion.] I had never—never dreamt of anything + like this! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I did not realise it either, till to-day. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. And now you want to—! What is it you really want, Alfred? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I want to get away from everything here—far, far away + from it all. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. And to stand quite alone in the world? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Nods.] As I used to, before, yes. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. But you are not fitted for living alone! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Oh, yes. I was so in the old days, at any rate. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. In the old days, yes; for then you had me with you. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Trying to take her hand.] Yes. And it is to you, Asta, that I + now want to come home again. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Eluding him.] To me! No, no, Alfred! That is quite impossible. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looks sadly at her.] Then Borgheim stands in the way after + all? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Earnestly.] No, no; he does not! That is quite a mistake! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Good. Then I will come to you—my dear, dear sister. I + must come to you again—home to you, to be purified and ennobled + after my life with— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Shocked.] Alfred,—you are doing Rita a great wrong! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I have done her a great wrong. But not in this. Oh, think of + it, Asta—think of our life together, yours and mine. Was it not + like one long holy-day from first to last? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, it was, Alfred. But we can never live it over again. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Bitterly.] Do you mean that marriage has so irreparably ruined + me? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Quietly.] No, that is not what I mean. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Well, then we two will live our old life over again. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [With decision.] We cannot, Alfred. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, we can. For the love of a brother and sister— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Eagerly.] What of it? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. That is the only relation in life that is not subject to the + law of change. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Softly and tremblingly.] But if that relation were not— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Not—? + </p> + <p> + ASTA.—not our relation? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Stares at her in astonishment.] Not ours? Why, what can you + mean by that? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. It is best I should tell you at once, Alfred. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, yes; tell me! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. The letters to mother—. Those in my portfolio— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Well? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. You must read them—when I am gone. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Why must I? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Struggling with herself.] For then you will see that— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Well? + </p> + <p> + ASTA.—that I have no right to bear your father's name. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Staggering backwards.] Asta! What is this you say! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Read the letters. Then you will see—and understand. And + perhaps have some forgiveness—for mother, too. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Clutching at his forehead.] I cannot grasp this—I cannot + realise the thought. You, Asta—you are not— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. You are not my brother, Alfred. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Quickly, half defiantly, looking at her.] Well, but what + difference does that really make in our relation? Practically none at + all. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Shaking her head.] It makes all the difference, Alfred. Our + relation is not that of brother and sister. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No, no. But it is none the less sacred for that—it will + always be equally sacred. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Do not forget—that it is subject to the law of change, as + you said just now. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looks inquiringly at her.] Do you mean that— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Quietly, but with warm emotion.] Not a word more—my dear, + dear Alfred. [Takes up the flowers from the chair.] Do you see these + water-lilies? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Nodding slowly.] They are the sort that shoot up—from + the very depth. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. I pulled them in the tarn—where it flows out into the fiord. + [Holds them out to him.] Will you take them, Alfred? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Taking them.] Thanks. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [With tears in her eyes.] They are a last greeting to you, from—from + little Eyolf. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looking at her.] From Eyolf out yonder? Or from you? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Softly.] From both of us. [Taking up her umbrella.] Now come with + me to Rita. + </p> + <p> + [She goes up the wood-path.] + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Takes up his hat from the table, and whispers sadly.] Asta. + Eyolf. Little Eyolf—! + </p> + <p> + [He follows her up the path.] + </p> + <br /> + </div> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT THIRD + </h2> + <div class="play"> + <p> + [An elevation, overgrown with shrubs, in ALLMERS'S garden. At the back a + sheer cliff, with a railing along its edge, and with steps on the left + leading downwards. An extensive view over the fiord, which lies deep + below. A flagstaff with lines, but no flag, stands by the railing. In + front, on the right, a summer-house, covered with creepers and wild + vines. Outside it, a bench. It is a late summer evening, with clear sky. + Deepening twilight.] + </p> + <p> + [ASTA is sitting on the bench, with her hands in her lap. She is wearing + her outdoor dress and a hat, has her parasol at her side, and a little + travelling-bag on a strap over her shoulder.] + </p> + <p> + [BORGHEIM comes up from the back on the left. He, too, has a + travelling-bag over his shoulder. He is carrying a rolled-up flag.] + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [Catching sight of ASTA.] Oh, so you are up here! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, I am taking my last look out over the fiord. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Then I am glad I happened to come up. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Have you been searching for me? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Yes, I have. I wanted to say good-bye to you for the present. + Not for good and all, I hope. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [With a faint smile.] You are persevering. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. A road-maker has got to be. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Have you seen anything of Alfred? Or of Rita? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Yes, I saw them both. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Together? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. No—apart. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. What are you going to do with that flag? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Mrs. Allmers asked me to come up and hoist it. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Hoist a flag just now? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Half-mast high. She wants it to fly both night and day, she + says. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Sighing.] Poor Rita! And poor Alfred! + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [Busied with the flag.] Have you the heart to leave them? I + ask, because I see you are in travelling-dress. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [In a low voice.] I must go. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Well, if you must, then— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. And you are going, too, to-night? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. I must, too. I am going by the train. Are you going that way? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. No. I shall take the steamer. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [Glancing at her.] We each take our own way, then? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes. + </p> + <p> + [She sits and looks on while he hoists the flag half-mast high. When he + has done he goes up to her.] + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Miss Asta—you can't think how grieved I am about little + Eyolf. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Looks up at him.] Yes, I am sure you feel it deeply. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. And the feeling tortures me. For the fact is, grief is not + much in my way. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Raising her eyes to the flag.] It will pass over in time—all + of it. All our sorrow. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. All? Do you believe that? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Like a squall at sea. When once you have got far away from here, + then— + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. It will have to be very far away indeed. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. And then you have this great new road-work, too. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. But no one to help me in it. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh yes, surely you have. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [Shaking his head.] No one. No one to share the gladness with. + For it is gladness that most needs sharing. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Not the labour and trouble? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Pooh—that sort of thing one can always get through + alone. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. But the gladness—that must be shared with someone, you + think? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Yes; for if not, where would be the pleasure in being glad? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Ah yes—perhaps there is something in that. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Oh, of course, for a certain time you can go on feeling glad + in your own heart. But it won't do in the long run. No, it takes two to + be glad. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Always two? Never more? Never many? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Well, you see—then it becomes a quite different matter. + Miss Asta—are you sure you can never make up your mind to share + gladness and success and—and labour and trouble, with one—with + one alone in all the world? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. I have tried it—once. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Have you? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, all the time that my brother—that Alfred and I lived + together. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Oh, with your brother, yes. But that is altogether different. + That ought rather to be called peace than happiness, I should say. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. It was delightful, all the same. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. There now—you see even that seemed to you delightful. + But just think now—if he had not been your brother! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Makes a movement to rise, but remains sitting.] Then we should + never have been together. For I was a child then—and he wasn't + much more. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [After a pause.] Was it so delightful—that time? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh yes, indeed it was. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Was there much that was really bright and happy in your life + then? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh yes, so much. You cannot think how much. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Tell me a little about it, Miss Asta. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh, there are only trifles to tell. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Such as—? Well? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Such as the time when Alfred had passed his examination—and + had distinguished himself. And then, from time, to time, when he got a + post in some school or other. Or when he would sit at home working at an + article—and would read it aloud to me. And then when it would + appear in some magazine. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Yes, I can quite see that it must have been a peaceful, + delightful life—a brother and sister sharing all their joys. + [Shaking his head.] What I cannot understand is that your brother could + ever give you up, Asta. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [With suppressed emotion.] Alfred married, you know. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Was not that very hard for you? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, at first. It seemed as though I had utterly lost him all at + once. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Well, luckily it was not so bad as that. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. No. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. But, all the same—how could he! Go and marry, I mean—when + he could have kept you with him, alone! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Looking straight in front of her.] He was subject to the law of + change, I suppose. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. The law of change? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. So Alfred calls it. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Pooh—what a stupid law that must be! I don't believe a + bit in that law. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Rising.] You may come to believe in it, in time. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Never in all my life! [Insistently.] But listen now, Miss + Asta! Do be reasonable for once in a way—in this matter, I mean— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Interrupting him.] Oh, no, no—don't let us begin upon that + again! + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [Continuing as before.] Yes, Asta—I can't possibly give + you up so easily. Now your brother has everything as he wishes it. He + can live his life quite contentedly without you. He doesn't require you + at all. Then this—this—that at one blow has changed your + whole position here— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [With a start.] What do you mean by that? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. The loss of the child. What else should I mean? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Recovering her self-control.] Little Eyolf is gone, yes. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. And what more does that leave you to do here? You have not the + poor little boy to take care of now. You have no duties—no claims + upon you of any sort. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh, please, Mr. Borgheim—don't make it so hard for me. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. I must; I should be mad if I did not try my uttermost. I shall + be leaving town before very long, and perhaps I shall have no + opportunity of meeting you there. Perhaps I shall not see you again for + a long, long time. And who knows what may happen in the meanwhile? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [With a grave smile.] So you are afraid of the law of change, + after all? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. No, not in the least. [Laughing bitterly.] And there is + nothing to be changed, either—not in you, I mean. For I can see + you don't care much about me. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. You know very well that I do. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Perhaps, but not nearly enough. Not as I want you to. [More + forcibly.] By Heaven, Asta—Miss Asta—I cannot tell you how + strongly I feel that you are wrong in this! A little onward, perhaps, + from to-day and to-morrow, all life's happiness may be awaiting us. And + we must needs pass it by! Do you think we will not come to repent of it, + Asta? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Quietly.] I don't know. I only know that they are not for us—all + these bright possibilities. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [Looks at her with self-control.] Then I must make my roads + alone? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Warmly.] Oh, how I wish I could stand by you in it all! Help you + in the labour—share the gladness with you— + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Would you—if you could? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes, that I would. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. But you cannot? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Looking down.] Would you be content to have only half of me? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. No. You must be utterly and entirely mine. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Looks at him, and says quietly.] Then I cannot. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Good-bye then, Miss Asta. + </p> + <p> + [He is on the point of going. ALLMERS comes up from the left at the + back. BORGHEIM stops.] + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [The moment he has reached the top of the steps, points, and + says in a low voice.] Is Rita in there—in the summer-house? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. No; there is no one here but Miss Asta. + </p> + <p> + [ALLMERS comes forward.] + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Going towards him.] Shall I go down and look for her? Shall I get + her to come up here? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [With a negative gesture.] No, no, no—let it alone. [To + BORGHEIM.] Is it you that have hoisted the flag? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Yes. Mrs. Allmers asked me to. That was what brought me up + here. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. And you are going to start to-night? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Yes. To-night I go away in good earnest. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [With a glance at ASTA.] And you have made sure of pleasant + company, I daresay. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [Shaking his head.] I am going alone. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [With surprise.] Alone! + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Utterly alone. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Absently.] Indeed? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. And I shall have to remain alone, too. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. There is something horrible in being alone. The thought of it + runs like ice through my blood— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Oh, but, Alfred, you are not alone. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. There may be something horrible in that too, Asta. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Oppressed.] Oh, don't talk like that! Don't think like that! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Not listening to her.] But since you are not going with him—? + Since there is nothing to bind you—? Why will you not remain out + here with me—and with Rita? + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Uneasily.] No, no, I cannot. I must go back to town now. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. But only in to town, Asta. Do you hear! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Yes. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. And you must promise me that you will soon come out again. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Quickly.] No, no, I dare not promise you that, for the present. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Well as you will. We shall soon meet in town, then. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Imploringly.] But, Alfred, you must stay at home here with Rita + now. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Without answering, turns to BORGHEIM.] You may find it a good + thing, after all, that you have to take your journey alone. + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [Annoyed.] Oh, how can you say such a thing? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. You see, you can never tell whom you might happen to meet + afterwards—on the way. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Involuntarily.] Alfred! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. The right fellow-traveller—when it is too late—too + late. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Softly, quivering.] Alfred! Alfred! + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [Looking front one to the other.] What is the meaning of this? + I don't understand— + </p> + <p> + [RITA comes up from the left at the back.] + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Plaintively.] Oh, don't go away from me, all of you! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Going towards her.] You said you preferred to be alone. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, but I dare not. It is getting so horribly dark. I seem to see + great, open eyes fixed upon me! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Tenderly and sympathetically.] What if it were so, Rita? You + ought not to be afraid of those eyes. + </p> + <p> + RITA. How can you say so! Not afraid! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Insistently.] Asta, I beg you—for Heaven's sake—remain + here with Rita! + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes! And with Alfred, too. Do! Do, Asta! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Struggling with herself.] Oh, I want to so much— + </p> + <p> + RITA. Well, then, do it! For Alfred and I cannot go alone through the + sorrow and heartache. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Darkly.] Say, rather—through the ranklings of remorse. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, whatever you like to call it—we cannot bear it alone, we + two. Oh, Asta, I beg and implore you! Stay here and help us! Take + Eyolf's place for us— + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Shrinking.] Eyolf's— + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, would you not have it so, Alfred? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. If she can and will. + </p> + <p> + RITA. You used to call her your little Eyolf. [Seizes her hand.] + Henceforth you shall be our Eyolf, Asta! Eyolf, as you were before. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [With concealed emotion.] Remain—and share our life with + us, Asta. With Rita. With me. With me—your brother! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [With decision, snatches her hand away.] No. I cannot. [Turning.] + Mr. Borgheim—what time does the steamer start? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. Now—at once. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Then I must go on board. Will you go with me? + </p> + <p> + BORGHEIM. [With a suppressed outburst of joy.] Will I? Yes, yes! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. Then come! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Slowly.] Ah! That is how it is. Well, then, you cannot stay with + us. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Throwing her arms round her neck.] Thanks for everything, Rita! + (Goes up to ALLMERS and grasps his hand.) Alfred-good-bye! A thousand + times, good-bye! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Softly and eagerly.] What is this, Asta? It seems as though + you were taking flight. + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [In subdued anguish.] Yes, Alfred—I am taking flight. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Flight—from me! + </p> + <p> + ASTA. [Whispering.] From you—and from myself. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shrinking back.] Ah—! + </p> + <p> + [ASTA rushes down the steps at the back. BORGHEIM waves his hat and + follows her. RITA leans against the entrance to the summer-house. + ALLMERS goes, in strong inward emotion, up to the railing, and stands + there gazing downwards. A pause.] + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Turns, and says with hard-won composure.] There comes the + steamer. Look, Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. I dare not look at it. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. You dare not? + </p> + <p> + RITA. No. For it has a red eye—and a green one, too. Great, + glowing eyes. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Oh, those are only the lights, you know. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Henceforth they are eyes—for me. They stare and stare out of + the darkness—and into the darkness. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Now she is putting in to shore. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Where are they mooring her this evening, then? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Coming forward.] At the pier, as usual— + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Drawing herself up.] How can they moor her there! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. They must. + </p> + <p> + RITA. But it was there that Eyolf—! How can they moor her there! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, life is pitiless, Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Men are heartless. They take no thought—whether for the + living or for the dead. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. There you are right. Life goes its own way—just as if + nothing in the world had happened. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Gazing straight before her.] And nothing has happened, either. + Not to others. Only to us two. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [The pain re-awakening.] Yes, Rita—so it was to no + purpose that you bore him in sorrow and anguish. For now he is gone + again—and has left no trace behind him. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Only the crutch was saved. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Angrily.] Be silent! Do not let me hear that word! + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Plaintively.] Oh, I cannot bear the thought that he is gone from + us. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Coldly and bitterly.] You could very well do without him while + he was with us. Half the day would often pass without your setting eyes + on him. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, for I knew that I could see him whenever I wanted to. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, that is how we have gone and squandered the short time we + had with Little Eyolf. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Listening, in dread.] Do you hear, Alfred! Now it is ringing + again! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looking over the fiord.] It is the steamer's bell that is + ringing. She is just starting. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, it's not that bell I mean. All day I have heard it ringing in + my ears.—Now it is ringing again! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Going up to her.] You are mistaken, Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. No, I hear it so plainly. It sounds like a knell. Slow. Slow. And + always the same words. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Words? What words? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Nodding her head in the rhythm.] "The crútch is—flóating. + The crútch is—flóating." Oh, surely you must hear it, too! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shaking his head.] I hear nothing. And there is nothing to + hear. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, you may say what you will—I hear it so plainly. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looking out over the railing.] Now they are on board, Rita. + Now the steamer is on her way to the town. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Is it possible you do not hear it? "The crútch is—flóating. + The crútch is ———" + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Coming forward.] You shall not stand there listening to a + sound that does not exist. I tell you, Asta and Borgheim are on board. + They have started already. Asta is gone. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looks timidly at him.] Then I suppose you will soon be gone, too, + Alfred? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Quickly.] What do you mean by that? + </p> + <p> + RITA. That you will follow your sister. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Has Asta told you anything? + </p> + <p> + RITA. No. But you said yourself it was for Asta's sake that—that + we came together. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes, but you, you yourself, have bound me to you—by our + life together. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, in your eyes I am not—I am not—entrancingly + beautiful any more. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. The law of change may perhaps keep us together, none the less. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Nodding slowly.] There is a change in me now—I feel the + anguish of it. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Anguish? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, for change, too, is a sort of birth. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. It is—or a resurrection. Transition to a higher life. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Gazing sadly before her.] Yes—with the loss of all, all + life's happiness. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. That loss is just the gain. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Vehemently.] Oh, phrases! Good God, we are creatures of earth + after all. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. But something akin to the sea and the heavens too, Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. You perhaps. Not I. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Oh, yes—you too, more than you yourself suspect. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Advancing a pace towards him.] Tell me, Alfred—could you + think of taking up your work again? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. The work that you have hated so? + </p> + <p> + RITA. I am easier to please now. I am willing to share you with the + book. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Why? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Only to keep you here with me—to have you near me. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Oh, it is so little I can do to help you, Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. But perhaps I could help you. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. With my book, do you mean? + </p> + <p> + RITA. No; but to live your life. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shaking his head.] I seem to have no life to live. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Well then, to endure your life. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Darkly, looking away from her.] I think it would be best for + both of us that we should part. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looking curiously at him.] Then where would you go? Perhaps to + Asta, after all? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No—never again to Asta. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Where then? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Up into the solitudes. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Up among the mountains? Is that what you mean? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes. + </p> + <p> + RITA. But all that is mere dreaming, Alfred! You could not live up + there. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. And yet I feel myself drawn to them. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Why? Tell me! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Sit down—and I will tell you something. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Something that happened to you up there? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes. + </p> + <p> + RITA. And that you never told Asta and me? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, you are so silent about everything. You ought not to be. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Sit down there—and I will tell you about it. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, yes—tell me! + </p> + <p> + [She sits on the bench beside the summer-house.] + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I was alone up there, in the heart of the great mountains. I + came to a wide, dreary mountain lake; and that lake I had to cross. But + I could not—for there was neither a boat nor anyone there. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Well? And then? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Then I went without any guidance into a side valley. I thought + that by that way I could push on over the heights and between the peaks—and + then down again on the other side of the lake. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, and you lost yourself, Alfred! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes; I mistook the direction—for there was no path or + track. And all day I went on—and all the next night. And at last I + thought I should never see the face of man again. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Not come home to us? Oh, then, I am sure your thoughts were with + us here. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No—they were not. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Not? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. No. It was so strange. Both you and Eyolf seemed to have + drifted far, far away from me—and Asta, too. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Then what did you think of? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I did not think. I dragged myself along among the precipices—and + revelled in the peace and luxury of death. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Springing up.] Oh, don't speak in that way of that horror! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I did not feel it so. I had no fear. Here went death and I, it + seemed to me, like two good fellow-travellers. It all seemed so natural—so + simple, I thought. In my family, we don't live to be old— + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, don't say such things, Alfred! You see you came safely out of + it, after all. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes; all of a sudden, I found myself where I wanted to be—on + the other side of the lake. + </p> + <p> + RITA. It must have been a night of terror for you, Alfred. But now that + it is over, you will not admit it to yourself. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. That night sealed my resolution. And it was then that I turned + about and came straight homewards. To Eyolf. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Softly.] Too late. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes. And then when—my fellow-traveller came and took him—then + I felt the horror of it; of it all; of all that, in spite of everything, + we dare not tear ourselves away from. So earthbound are we, both of us, + Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [With a gleam of joy.] Yes, you are, too, are you not! [Coming + close to him.] Oh, let us live our life together as long as we can! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shrugging his shoulders.] Live our life, yes! And have nothing + to fill life with. An empty void on all sides—wherever I look. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [In fear.] Oh, sooner or later you will go away from me, Alfred! I + feel it! I can see it in your face! You will go away from me. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. With my fellow-traveller, do you mean? + </p> + <p> + RITA. No, I mean worse than that. Of your own free will—you will + leave me—for you think it's only here, with me, that you have + nothing to live for. Is not that what is in your thoughts? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looking steadfastly at her.] What if it were—? + </p> + <p> + [A disturbance, and the noise of angry, quarrelling voices is heard from + down below, in the distance. ALLMERS goes to the railing.] + </p> + <p> + RITA. What is that? [With an outburst.] Oh, you'll see, they have found + him! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. He will never be found. + </p> + <p> + RITA. But what is it then? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Coming forward.] Only fighting—as usual. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Down on the beach? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes. The whole village down there ought to be swept away. Now + the men have come home—drunk, as they always are. They are beating + the children—do you hear the boys crying! The women are shrieking + for help for them— + </p> + <p> + RITA. Should we not get someone to go down and help them? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Harshly and angrily.] Help them, who did not help Eyolf! Let + them go—as they let Eyolf go. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, you must not talk like that, Alfred! Nor think like that! + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. I cannot think otherwise. All the old hovels ought to be torn + down. + </p> + <p> + RITA. And then what is to become of all the poor people? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. They must go somewhere else. + </p> + <p> + RITA. And the children, too? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Does it make much difference where they go to the dogs? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Quietly and reproachfully.] You are forcing yourself into this + harshness, Alfred. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Vehemently.] I have a right to be harsh now! It is my duty. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Your duty? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. My duty to Eyolf. He must not lie unavenged. Once for all, Rita—it + is as I tell you! Think it over! Have the whole place down there razed + to the ground—when I am gone. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Looks intently at him.] When you are gone? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes. For that will at least give you something to fill your + life with—and something you must have. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Firmly and decidedly.] There you are right—-I must. But can + you guess what I will set about—when you are gone? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Well, what? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Slowly and with resolution.] As soon as you are gone from me, I + will go down to the beach, and bring all the poor neglected children + home with me. All the mischievous boys— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. What will you do with them here? + </p> + <p> + RITA. I will take them to my heart. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. You! + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, I will. From the day you leave me, they shall all be here, + all of them, as if they were mine. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shocked.] In our little Eyolf's place! + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, in our little Eyolf's place. They shall live in Eyolf's + rooms. They shall read his books. They shall play with his toys. They + shall take it in turns to sit in his chair at table. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. But this is sheer madness in you! I do not know a creature in + the world that is less fitted than you for anything of that sort. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Then I shall have to educate myself for it; to train myself; to + discipline myself. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. If you are really in earnest about this—about all you say—then + there must indeed be a change in you. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Yes, there is, Alfred—and for that I have you to thank. You + have made an empty place within me; and I must try to fill it up with + something—with something that is a little like love. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Stands for a moment lost in thought; then looks at her.] The + truth is, we have not done much for the poor people down there. + </p> + <p> + RITA. We have done nothing for them. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Scarcely even thought of them. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Never thought of them in sympathy. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. We, who had "the gold, and the green forests"— + </p> + <p> + RITA. Our hands were closed to them. And our hearts too. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Nods.] Then it was perhaps natural enough, after all, that + they should not risk their lives to save little Eyolf. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Softly.] Think, Alfred! Are you so certain that—that we + would have risked ours? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [With an uneasy gesture of repulsion.] You must never doubt + that. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Oh, we are children of earth. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. What do you really think you can do with all these neglected + children? + </p> + <p> + RITA. I suppose I must try if I cannot lighten and—and ennoble + their lot in life. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. If you can do that—then Eyolf was not born in vain. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Nor taken from us in vain, either. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Looking steadfastly at her.] Be quite clear about one thing, + Rita—it is not love that is driving you to this. + </p> + <p> + RITA. No, it is not—at any rate, not yet. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Well, then what is it? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Half-evasively.] You have so often talked to Asta of human + responsibility— + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Of the book that you hated. + </p> + <p> + RITA. I hate that book still. But I used to sit and listen to what you + told her. And now I will try to continue it—in my own way. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Shaking his head.] It is not for the sake of that unfinished + book— + </p> + <p> + RITA. No, I have another reason as well. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. What is that? + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Softly, with a melancholy smile.] I want to make my peace with + the great, open eyes, you see. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Struck, fixing his eyes upon her.] Perhaps, I could join you + in that? And help you, Rita? + </p> + <p> + RITA. Would you? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Yes—if I were only sure I could. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Hesitatingly.] But then you would have to remain here. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Softly.] Let us try if it could not be so. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Almost inaudibly.] Yes, let us, Alfred. + </p> + <p> + [Both are silent. Then ALLMERS goes up to the flagstaff and hoists the + flag to the top. RITA stands beside the summer-house and looks at him in + silence.] + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Coming forward again.] We have a heavy day of work before us, + Rita. + </p> + <p> + RITA. You will see—that now and then a Sabbath peace will descend + on us. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Quietly, with emotion.] Then, perhaps, we shall know that the + spirits are with us. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Whispering.] The spirits? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [As before.] Yes, they will perhaps be around us—those + whom we have lost. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Nods slowly.] Our little Eyolf. And your big Eyolf, too. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Gazing straight before him.] Now and then, perhaps, we may + still—on the way through life—have a little, passing glimpse + of them. + </p> + <p> + RITA. Where, shall we look for them, Alfred? + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. [Fixing his eyes upon her.] Upwards. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Nods in approval.] Yes, yes—upwards. + </p> + <p> + ALLMERS. Upwards—towards the peaks. Towards the stars. And towards + the great silence. + </p> + <p> + RITA. [Giving him her hand.] Thanks! + </p> + <br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Little Eyolf, by Henrik Ibsen + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE EYOLF *** + +***** This file should be named 7942-h.htm or 7942-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/9/4/7942/ + +Produced by Nicole Apostola, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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