Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen (309 page)

ALLMERS.
[Hardly.]
It is quenched — in one of us.

RITA.
[As if petrified.]
And you dare say that to me!

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 —

RITA.
[Vehemently.]
I don’t care a bit about any resurrection!

ALLMERS. Rita!

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!

ALLMERS. It must have ended so, sometime, Rita.

RITA. Must have ended so! The love that in the beginning rushed forth so eagerly to meet with love!

ALLMERS. My love did not rush forth to you in the beginning.

RITA. What did you feel for me, first of all?

ALLMERS. Dread.

RITA. That I can understand. How was it, then, that I won you after all?

ALLMERS.
[In a low voice.]
You were so entrancingly beautiful, Rita.

RITA.
[Looks searchingly at him.]
Then that was the only reason? Say it, Alfred! The only reason?

ALLMERS.
[Conquering himself.]
No, there was another as well.

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?

ALLMERS. Yes.

RITA.
[Looks at him with deep reproach.]
How could you — how could you!

ALLMERS. I had Asta to think of.

RITA.
[Angrily.]
Yes, Asta!
[Bitterly.]
Then it was really Asta that brought us two together?

ALLMERS. She knew nothing about it. She has no suspicion of it, even to this day.

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!

ALLMERS. Eyolf — ?

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?

ALLMERS.
[Recoiling, as if in horror.]
I remember nothing! I will not remember!

RITA.
[Following him.]
It was in that hour — when your other little Eyolf was crippled for life!

ALLMERS.
[In a hollow voice, supporting himself against the table.]
Retribution!

RITA.
[Menacingly.]
Yes, retribution!

[ASTA and BORGHEIM return by way of the boat-shed. She is carrying some water-lilies in her hand.]

RITA.
[With self-control.]
Well, Asta, have you and Mr. Borgheim talked things thoroughly over?

ASTA. Oh, yes — pretty well.

[She puts down her umbrella and lays the flowers upon a chair.]

BORGHEIM. Miss Allmers has been very silent during our walk.

RITA. Indeed, has she? Well, Alfred and I have talked things out thoroughly enough —

ASTA.
[Looking eagerly at both of them.]
What is this — ?

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.

ALLMERS. Yes, do you go ahead, you two.
[Turning.]
I must speak a word to you before we go, Asta.

RITA.
[Looking at him.]
Indeed? Well then, you come with me, Mr. Borgheim.

[RITA and BORGHEIM go up the wood-path.]

ASTA.
[Anxiously.]
Alfred, what is the matter?

ALLMERS.
[Darkly.]
Only that I cannot endure to be here any more.

ASTA. Here! With Rita, do you mean?

ALLMERS. Yes. Rita and I cannot go on living together.

ASTA.
[Seizes his arm and shakes it.]
Oh, Alfred — don’t say anything so terrible!

ALLMERS. It is the truth. I am telling you. We are making each other wicked and hateful.

ASTA.
[With painful emotion.]
I had never — never dreamt of anything like this!

ALLMERS. I did not realise it either, till to-day.

ASTA. And now you want to — ! What is it you really want, Alfred?

ALLMERS. I want to get away from everything here — far, far away from it all.

ASTA. And to stand quite alone in the world?

ALLMERS.
[Nods.]
As I used to, before, yes.

ASTA. But you are not fitted for living alone!

ALLMERS. Oh, yes. I was so in the old days, at any rate.

ASTA. In the old days, yes; for then you had me with you.

ALLMERS.
[Trying to take her hand.]
Yes. And it is to you, Asta, that I now want to come home again.

ASTA.
[Eluding him.]
To me! No, no, Alfred! That is quite impossible.

ALLMERS.
[Looks sadly at her.]
Then Borgheim stands in the way after all?

ASTA.
[Earnestly.]
No, no; he does not! That is quite a mistake!

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 —

ASTA.
[Shocked.]
Alfred, — you are doing Rita a great wrong!

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?

ASTA. Yes, it was, Alfred. But we can never live it over again.

ALLMERS.
[Bitterly.]
Do you mean that marriage has so irreparably ruined me?

ASTA.
[Quietly.]
No, that is not what I mean.

ALLMERS. Well, then we two will live our old life over again.

ASTA.
[With decision.]
We cannot, Alfred.

ALLMERS. Yes, we can. For the love of a brother and sister —

ASTA.
[Eagerly.]
What of it?

ALLMERS. That is the only relation in life that is not subject to the law of change.

ASTA.
[Softly and tremblingly.]
But if that relation were not —

ALLMERS. Not — ?

ASTA. — not our relation?

ALLMERS.
[Stares at her in astonishment.]
Not ours? Why, what can you mean by that?

ASTA. It is best I should tell you at once, Alfred.

ALLMERS. Yes, yes; tell me!

ASTA. The letters to mother — . Those in my portfolio —

ALLMERS. Well?

ASTA. You must read them — when I am gone.

ALLMERS. Why must I?

ASTA.
[Struggling with herself.]
For then you will see that —

ALLMERS. Well?

ASTA. — that I have no right to bear your father’s name.

ALLMERS.
[Staggering backwards.]
Asta! What is this you say!

ASTA. Read the letters. Then you will see — and understand. And perhaps have some forgiveness — for mother, too.

ALLMERS.
[Clutching at his forehead.]
I cannot grasp this — I cannot realise the thought. You, Asta — you are not —

ASTA. You are not my brother, Alfred.

ALLMERS.
[Quickly, half defiantly, looking at her.]
Well, but what difference does that really make in our relation? Practically none at all.

ASTA.
[Shaking her head.]
It makes all the difference, Alfred. Our relation is not that of brother and sister.

ALLMERS. No, no. But it is none the less sacred for that — it will always be equally sacred.

ASTA. Do not forget — that it is subject to the law of change, as you said just now.

ALLMERS.
[Looks inquiringly at her.]
Do you mean that —

ASTA.
[Quietly, but with rearm emotion.]
Not a word more — my dear, dear Alfred.
[Takes up the flowers from the chair.]
Do you see these water-lilies?

ALLMERS.
[Nodding slowly.]
They are the sort that shoot up — from the very depth.

ASTA. I pulled them in the tarn — where it flows out into the fiord.
[Holds them out to him.]
Will you take them, Alfred?

ALLMERS.
[Taking them.]
Thanks.

ASTA.
[With tears in her eyes.]
They are a last greeting to you, from — from little Eyolf.

ALLMERS.
[Looking at her.]
From Eyolf out yonder? Or from you?

ASTA.
[Softly.]
From both of us.
[Taking up her umbrella.]
Now come with me to Rita.

[She goes up the wood-path.]

ALLMERS.
[Takes up his hat from the table, and whispers sadly.]
Asta. Eyolf. Little Eyolf — !

[He follows her up the path.]

ACT THIR
D

[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.]

[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.]

[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.]

BORGHEIM.
[Catching sight of ASTA.]
Oh, so you are up here!

ASTA. Yes, I am taking my last look out over the fiord.

BORGHEIM. Then I am glad I happened to come up.

ASTA. Have you been searching for me?

BORGHEIM. Yes, I have. I wanted to say good-bye to you for the present. Not for good and all, I hope.

ASTA.
[With a faint smile.]
You are persevering.

BORGHEIM. A road-maker has got to be.

ASTA. Have you seen anything of Alfred? Or of Rita?

BORGHEIM. Yes, I saw them both.

ASTA. Together?

BORGHEIM. No — apart.

ASTA. What are you going to do with that flag?

BORGHEIM. Mrs. Allmers asked me to come up and hoist it.

ASTA. Hoist a flag just now?

BORGHEIM. Half-mast high. She wants it to fly both night and day, she says.

ASTA.
[Sighing.]
Poor Rita! And poor Alfred!

BORGHEIM.
[Busied with the flag.]
Have you the heart to leave them? I ask, because I see you are in travelling-dress.

ASTA.
[In a low voice.]
I must go.

BORGHEIM. Well, if you must, then —

ASTA. And you are going, too, to-night?

BORGHEIM. I must, too. I am going by the train. Are you going that way?

ASTA. No. I shall take the steamer.

BORGHEIM.
[Glancing at her.]
We each take our own way, then?

ASTA. Yes.

[She sits and looks on while he hoists the flag half-mast high. When he has done he goes up to her.]

BORGHEIM. Miss Asta — you can’t think how grieved I am about little Eyolf.

ASTA.
[Looks up at him.]
Yes, I am sure you feel it deeply.

BORGHEIM. And the feeling tortures me. For the fact is, grief is not much in my way.

ASTA.
[Raising her eyes to the flag.]
It will pass over in time — all of it. All our sorrow.

BORGHEIM. All? Do you believe that?

ASTA. Like a squall at sea. When once you have got far away from here, then —

BORGHEIM. It will have to be very far away indeed.

ASTA. And then you have this great new road-work, too.

BORGHEIM. But no one to help me in it.

ASTA. Oh yes, surely you have.

BORGHEIM.
[Shaking his head.]
No one. No one to share the gladness with. For it is gladness that most needs sharing.

ASTA. Not the labour and trouble?

BORGHEIM. Pooh — that sort of thing one can always get through alone.

ASTA. But the gladness — that must be shared with some one, you think?

BORGHEIM. Yes; for if not, where would be the pleasure in being glad?

ASTA. Ah yes — perhaps there is something in that.

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.

ASTA. Always two? Never more? Never many?

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?

ASTA. I have tried it — once.

BORGHEIM. Have you?

ASTA. Yes, all the time that my brother — that Alfred and I lived together.

BORGHEIM. Oh, with your brother, yes. But that is altogether different. That ought rather to be called peace than happiness, I should say.

ASTA. It was delightful, all the same.

BORGHEIM. There now — you see even that seemed to you delightful. But just think now — if he had not been your brother!

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.

BORGHEIM.
[After a pause.]
Was it so delightful — that time?

ASTA. Oh yes, indeed it was.

BORGHEIM. Was there much that was really bright and happy in your life then?

ASTA. Oh yes, so much. You cannot think how much.

BORGHEIM. Tell me a little about it, Miss Asta.

ASTA. Oh, there are only trifles to tell.

BORGHEIM. Such as — ? Well?

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.

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.

ASTA.
[With suppressed emotion.]
Alfred married, you know.

BORGHEIM. Was not that very hard for you?

ASTA. Yes, at first. It seemed as though I had utterly lost him all at once.

BORGHEIM. Well, luckily it was not so bad as that.

ASTA. No.

BORGHEIM. But, all the same — how could he! Go and marry, I mean — when he could have kept you with him, alone!

ASTA.
[Looking straight in front of her.]
He was subject to the law of change, I suppose.

BORGHEIM. The law of change?

ASTA. So Alfred calls it.

BORGHEIM. Pooh — what a stupid law that must be! I don’t believe a bit in that law.

ASTA.
[Rising.]
You may come to believe in it, in time.

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 —

ASTA.
[Interrupting him.]
Oh, no, no — don’t let us begin upon that again!

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 —

ASTA.
[With a start.]
What do you mean by that?

BORGHEIM. The loss of the child. What else should I mean?

ASTA.
[Recovering her self-control.]
Little Eyolf is gone, yes.

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.

ASTA. Oh, please, Mr. Borgheim — don’t make it so hard for me.

BORGHEIM. I must; I should be mad if I did not try my uttermost. I shall be leaving town before very long, rind 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?

ASTA.
[With a grave smile.]
So you are afraid of the law of change, after all?

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.

ASTA. You know very well that I do.

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?

ASTA.
[Quietly.]
I don’t know. I only know that they are not for us — all these bright possibilities.

BORGHEIM.
[Looks at her with self-control.]
Then I must make my roads alone?

ASTA.
[Warmly.]
Oh, how I wish I could stand by you in it all! Help you in the labour — share the gladness with you —

BORGHEIM. Would you — if you could?

ASTA. Yes, that I would.

BORGHEIM. But you cannot?

ASTA.
[Looking down.]
Would you be content to have only half of me?

BORGHEIM. No. You must be utterly and entirely mine.

ASTA.
[Looks at him, and says quietly.]
Then I cannot.

BORGHEIM. Good-bye then, Miss Asta.

[He is on the point of going. ALLMERS comes up from the left at the back. BORGHEIM stops.]

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?

BORGHEIM. No; there is no one here but Miss Asta.

[ALLMERS comes forward.]

ASTA.
[Going towards him.]
Shall I go down and look for her? Shall I get her to come up here?

ALLMERS.
[With a negative gesture.]
No, no, no — let it alone.
[To BORGHEIM.]
Is it you that have hoisted the flag?

BORGHEIM. Yes. Mrs. Allmers asked me to. That was what brought me up here.

ALLMERS. And you are going to start to-night?

BORGHEIM. Yes. To-night I go away in good earnest.

ALLMERS.
[With a glance at ASTA.]
And you have made sure of pleasant company, I daresay.

BORGHEIM.
[Shaking his head.]
I am going alone.

ALLMERS.
[With surprise.]
Alone!

BORGHEIM. Utterly alone.

ALLMERS.
[Absently.]
Indeed?

BORGHEIM. And I shall have to remain alone, too.

ALLMERS. There is something horrible in being alone. The thought of it runs like ice through my blood —

ASTA. Oh, but, Alfred, you are not alone.

ALLMERS. There may be something horrible in that too, Asta.

ASTA.
[Oppressed.]
Oh, don’t talk like that! Don’t think like that!

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?