Lyngstrand. It was one evening in rough weather. All hands were on deck--except the boatswain and myself. For he had sprained his foot and couldn't walk, and I was feeling rather low, and was lying in my berth. Well, he was sitting there in the forecastle, reading one of those old papers again.
Ellida. Well, well!
Lyngstrand. But just as he was sitting there quietly reading, Iheard him utter a sort of yell. And when I looked at him, I saw his face was as white as chalk. And then he began to crush and crumple the paper, and to tear it into a thousand shreds. But he did it so quietly, quietly.
Ellida. Didn't he say anything? Didn't he speak?
Lyngstrand. Not directly; but a little after he said to himself, as it were: "Married--to another man. While I was away."Ellida (closes her eyes, and says, half to herself). He said that?
Lyngstrand. Yes. And think--he said it in perfect Norwegian. That man must have learnt foreign languages very easily--Ellida. And what then? What else happened?
Lyngstrand. Well, now the remarkable part is coming--that I shall never forget as long as I live. For he added, and that quite quietly, too: "But she is mine, and mine she shall remain. And she shall follow me, if I should come home and fetch her, as a drowned man from the dark sea."Ellida (pouring herself out a glass of water. Her hand trembles).
Ah! How close it is here today.
Lyngstrand. And he said this with such strength of will that Ithought he must be the man to do it.
Ellida. Don't you know anything about--what became of the man?
Lyngstrand. Oh! madam, he's certainly not living now.
Ellida (quickly). Why do you think that?
Lyngstrand. Why? Because we were shipwrecked afterwards in the Channel. I had got into the longboat with the captain and five others. The mate got into the stern-boat; and the American was in that too, and another man.
Ellida. And nothing has been heard of them since?
Lyngstrand. Not a word. The friend who looks after me said so quite recently in a letter. But it's just because of this I was so anxious to make it into a work of art. I see the faithless sailor-wife so life-like before me, and the avenger who is drowned, and who nevertheless comes home from the sea. I can see them both so distinctly.
Ellida. I, too. (Rises.) Come; let us go in--or, rather, go down to Wangel. I think it is so suffocatingly hot. (She goes out of the arbour.)Lyngstrand (who has also risen). I, for my part, must ask you to excuse me. This was only to be a short visit because of the birthday.
Ellida. As you wish. (Holds out her hand to him.) Goodbye, and thank you for the flowers.
(LYNGSTRAND bows, and goes off through the garden gate.)Arnholm (rises, and goes up to ELLIDA). I see well enough that this has gone to your heart, Mrs. Wangel.
Ellida. Yes; you may well say so. Although-
Arnholm. But still--after all, it's no more than you were bound to expect.
Ellida (looks at him surprised). Expect!
Arnholm. Well, so it seems to me.
Ellida. Expect that anyone should come back again!--come to life again like that!
Arnholm. But what on earth!--is it that mad sculptor's sea story, then?
Ellida. Oh, dear Arnholm, perhaps it isn't so mad after all!
Arnholm. Is it that nonsense about the dead man that has moved you so? And I who thought that--Ellida. What did you think?
Arnholm. I naturally thought that was only a make-believe of yours. And that you were sitting here grieving because you had found out a family feast was being kept secret; because your husband and his children live a life of remembrances in which you have no part.
Ellida. Oh! no, no! That may be as it may. I have no right to claim my husband wholly and solely for myself.
Arnholm. I should say you had.
Ellida. Yes. Yet, all the same, I have not. That is it. Why, I, too, live in something from which they are shut out.
Arnholm. You! (In lower tone.) Do you mean?--you, you do not really love your husband!
Ellida. Oh! yes, yes! I have learnt to love him with all my heart! And that's why it is so terrible-so inexplicable--so absolutely inconceivable!
Arnholm. Now you must and shall confide all your troubles to me.
Will you, Mrs. Wangel?
Ellida. I cannot, dear friend. Not now, in any case. Later, perhaps.
(BOLETTE comes out into the verandah, and goes down into the garden.)Bolette. Father's coming up from the office. Hadn't we better all of us go into the sitting-room?
Ellida. Yes, let us.
(WANGEL, in other clothes, comes with HILDE from behind the house.)Wangel. Now, then, here I am at your service. And now we shall enjoy a good glass of something cool.
Ellida. Wait a moment. (She goes into the arbour and fetches the bouquet.)Hilde. I say! All those lovely flowers! Where did you get them?
Ellida. From the sculptor, Lyngstrand, my dear Hilde.
Hilde (starts). From Lyngstrand?
Bolette (uneasily). Has Lyngstrand been here again?
Ellida (with a half-smile). Yes. He came here with these. Because of the birthday, you understand.
Bolette (looks at HILDE). Oh!
Hilde (mutters). The idiot!
Wangel (in painful confusion to ELLIDA). Hm!--yes, well you see-Imust tell you, my dear, good, beloved Ellida--Ellida (interrupting). Come, girls! Let us go and put my flowers in the water together with the others. (Goes up to the verandah.)Bolette (to HILDE). Oh! After all she is good at heart.
Hilde (in a low tone with angry look). Fiddlesticks! She only does it to take in father.
Wangel (on the verandah, presses ELLIDA'S hand). Thanks-thanks!
My heartfelt thanks for that, dear Ellida.
Ellida (arranging the flowers). Nonsense! Should not I, too, be in it, and take part in--in mother's birthday?
Arnholm. Hm!
(He goes up to WANGEL, and ELLIDA, BOLETTE, and HILDE remain in the garden below.)
