Chapter IX: Act V (2)

_The_ MASTER _is in the room, and_ LOUISE _enters as the
curtain rises_.

MASTER. Where did my brother go?

LOUISE. [_Alarmed_] He was outside a moment ago. He can't be very far away.

MASTER. What a dreadful noise they are making up above! It is as if they were stepping on my head! Now they are pulling out bureau drawers as if they were were preparing for a journey--running away, perhaps.--If you only knew how to play chess, Louise!

LOUISE. I know a little----

MASTER. Oh, if you just know how to move the pieces, that will be enough--Sit down, child. [_He sets up the chess pieces_] They are carrying on up there so that they make the chandelier rattle--and the confectioner is heating up down below. I think I'll have to move soon.

LOUISE. I have long thought that you ought to do so anyhow.

MASTER. Anyhow?

LOUISE. It isn't good to stay too long among old memories.

MASTER. Why not? As time passes, all memories grow beautiful.

LOUISE. But you may live twenty years more, and that is too long a time to live among memories which, after all, must fade and which may change colour entirely some fine day.

MASTER. How much you know, my child!--Begin now by moving a pawn--but not the one in front of the queen, or you will be mate in two moves.

LOUISE. Then I start with the knight----

MASTER. Hardly less dangerous, girl!

LOUISE. But I think I'll start with the knight just the same.

MASTER. All right. Then I'll move my bishop's pawn.

STARCK _appears in the hallway, carrying a tray_.

LOUISE. There's Mr. Starck with the tea-cakes. He doesn't make any more noise than a mouse.

[_She rises and goes out into the hallway to receive the tray,
which she then carries into the pantry_.

MASTER. Well, Mr. Starck, how is the old lady?

STARCK. Oh, thank you, her eyes are about as usual.

MASTER. Have you seen anything of my brother?

STARCK. He is walking back and forth outside, I think.

MASTER. Has he got any company?

STARCK. No-o--I don't think so.

MASTER. It wasn't yesterday you had a look at these rooms, Mr. Starck.

STARCK. I should say not--it's just ten years ago now----

MASTER. When you brought the wedding-cake.--Does the place look changed?

STARCK. It is just as it was--the palms have grown, of course--but the rest is just as it was.

MASTER. And will remain so until you bring the funeral cake. When you have passed a certain age, nothing changes, nothing progresses--all the movement is downward like that of a sleigh going down-hill.

STARCK. Yes, that's the way it is.

MASTER. And it is peaceful, the way I have it here. No love, no friends, only a little company to break up the solitude. Then human beings are just human beings, without any claims on your feelings and sympathies. Then you come loose like an old tooth, and drop out without pain or regrets. Take Louise, for instance--a pretty young girl, the sight of whom pleases me like a work of art that I don't wish to possess--there is nothing to disturb our relationship. My brother and I meet like two old gentlemen who never get too close to each other and never exact any confidences. By taking up a neutral position toward one's fellow-men, one attains a certain distance--and as a rule we look better at a distance. In a word, I am pleased with my old age and its quiet peace--[_Calling out_] Louise!

LOUISE. [_Appearing in the doorway at the left and speaking pleasantly as always_] The laundry has come home, and I have to check it off. [_She disappears again_.

MASTER. Well, Mr. Starck, won't you sit down and chat a little--or perhaps you play chess?

STARCK. I can't stay away from my pots, and the oven has to be heated up at eleven. It's very kind of you, however----

MASTER. If you catch sight of my brother, ask him to come in and keep me company.

STARCK. So I will--so I will! [_He goes_.

MASTER. [_Alone; moves a couple of pieces on the chess-board; then gets up and begins to walk about_] The peace of old age--yes! [_He sits down at the piano and strikes a few chords; then he gets up and walks about as before_] Louise! Can't you let the laundry wait a little?

LOUISE. [_Appears again for a moment in the doorway at the left_] No, I can't, because the wash-woman is in a hurry--she has husband and children waiting for her.

MASTER. Oh! [_He sits down at the table and begins to drum with his fingers on it; tries to read the newspaper, but tires of it; lights matches only to blow them out again at once; looks repeatedly at the big clock, until at last a noise is heard from the hallway_] Is that you, Carl Frederick?

THE MAIL-CARRIER. [_Appears in the doorway_] It's the mail. Excuse me for walking right in, but the door was standing open.

MASTER. Is there a letter for me?

THE MAIL-CARRIER. Only a post-card.

[_He hands it over and goes out_.

MASTER. [_Reading the post-card_] Mr. Fischer again! Boston club! That's the man up above--with the white hands and the tuxedo coat. And to me! The impertinence of it! I have got to move!--Fischer!--[_He tears up the card; again a noise is heard, in the hallway_] Is that you, Carl Frederick?

THE ICEMAN. [_Without coming into the room_] It's the ice!

MASTER. Well, it's nice to get ice in this heat. But be careful about those bottles in the box. And put one of the pieces on edge so that I can hear the water drip from it as it melts--That's my water-clock that measures out the hours--the long hours--Tell me, where do you get the ice from nowadays?--Oh, he's gone!--Everybody goes away--goes home--to hear their own voices and get some company-[_Pause_] Is that you, Carl Frederick?

_Somebody in the apartment above plays Chopin's_ Fantaisie Impromptu, Opus 66, _on the piano_--_but only the first part of it_.

MASTER. [_Begins to listen, is aroused, looks up at the ceiling_] My _Impromptu_?

[_He covers his eyes with one hand and listens_.

_The_ CONSUL _enters through the hallway_.

MASTER. Is that you, Carl Frederick?

_The music stops_.

CONSUL. It is I.

MASTER. Where have you been so long?

CONSUL. I had some business to clear up. Have you been alone?

MASTER. Of course! Come and play chess now.

CONSUL. I prefer to talk. And you need also to hear your own voice a little.

MASTER. True enough--only it is so easy to get to talking about the past.

CONSUL. That makes us forget the present.

MASTER. There is no present. What's just passing is empty nothingness. One has to look ahead or behind--and ahead is better, for there lies hope!

CONSUL. [_Seating himself at the table_] Hope--of what?

MASTER. Of change.

CONSUL. Well! Do you mean to say you have had enough of the peace of old age?

MASTER. Perhaps.

CONSUL. It's certain then. And if now you had the choice between solitude and the past?

MASTER. No ghosts, however!

CONSUL. How about your memories?

MASTER. They don't walk. They are only poems wrought by me out of certain realities. But if dead people walk, then you have ghosts.

CONSUL. Well, then--in your memory--who brings you the prettiest mirage: the woman or the child?

MASTER. Both! I cannot separate them, and that's why I never tried to keep the child.

CONSUL. But do you think you did right? Did the possibility of a stepfather never occur to you?

MASTER. I didn't think that far ahead at the time, but afterward, of course, I have had--my thoughts--about--that very thing.

CONSUL. A stepfather who abused--perhaps debased--your daughter?

MASTER. Hush!

CONSUL. What is it you hear?

MASTER. I thought I heard the "little steps"--those little steps that came tripping down the corridor when she was looking for me.--It was the child that was the best of all! To watch that fearless little creature, whom nothing could frighten, who never suspected that life might be deceptive, who had no secrets! I recall her first experience of the malice that is in human beings. She caught sight of a pretty child down in the park, and, though it was strange to her, she went up to it with open arms to kiss it--and the pretty child rewarded her friendliness by biting her in the cheek first and then making a face at her. Then you should have seen my little Anne-Charlotte. She stood as if turned to stone. And it wasn't pain that did it, but horror at the sight of that yawning abyss which is called the human heart. I have been confronted with the same sight myself once, when out of two beautiful eyes suddenly shot strange glances as if some evil beast had appeared behind those eyes. It scared me literally so that I had to see if some other person were standing behind that face, which looked like a mask.--But why do we sit here talking about such things? Is it the heat, or the storm, or what?

CONSUL. Solitude brings heavy thoughts, and you ought to have company. This summer in the city seems to have been rather hard on you.

MASTER. Only these last few weeks. The sickness and that death up above--it was as if I had gone through it myself. The sorrows and cares of the confectioner have also become my own, so that I keep worrying about his finances, about his wife's eye trouble, about his future--and of late I have been dreaming every night about my little Anne-Charlotte. I see her surrounded by dangers--unknown, undiscovered, nameless. And before I fall asleep my hearing grows so unbelievably acute that I can hear her little steps--and once I heard her voice----

CONSUL. But where is she then?

MASTER. Don't ask me!

CONSUL. And if you were to meet her on the street?

MASTER. I imagine that I should lose my reason or fall in a faint. Once, you know, I stayed abroad very long, during the very time when our youngest sister was growing up. When I returned, after several years, I was met at the steam-boat landing by a young girl who put her arms around my neck. I was horrified at those eyes that searched mine, but with unfamiliar glances--glances that expressed absolute terror at not being recognised. "It is I," she repeated again and again before at last I was able to recognise my own sister. And that's how I imagine it would be for me to meet my daughter again. Five years are enough to render you unrecognisable at that age. Think of it: not to know your own child! That child, who is the same as before, and yet a stranger! I couldn't survive such a thing. No, then I prefer to keep the little girl of four years whom you see over there on the altar of my home. I want no other one. [_Pause_] That must be Louise putting things to rights in the linen closet. It has such a clean smell, and it reminds me--oh, the housewife at her linen closet; the good fairy that preserves and renews; the housewife with her iron, who smooths out all that has been ruffled up and who takes out all wrinkles--the wrinkles, yes--[_Pause_] Now--I'll--go in there to write a letter. If you'll stay, I'll be out again soon.

[_He goes out to the left_.

_The_ CONSUL _coughs_.

GERDA. [_Appears in the door to the hallway_] Are you--[_The clock strikes_] Oh, mercy! That sound--which has remained in my ears for ten years! That clock which never kept time and yet measured the long hours and days and nights of five years. [_She looks around_] My piano--my palms--the dinner-table--he has kept it in honour, shining as a shield! My buffet--with the "Knight in Armour" and "Eve"--Eve with her basketful of apples--In the right-hand upper drawer, way back, there was a thermometer lying--[_Pause_] I wonder if it is still there? [_She goes to the buffet and pulls out the right-hand drawer_] Yes, there it is!

CONSUL. What does that mean?

GERDA. Oh, in the end it became a symbol--of instability. When we went to housekeeping the thermometer was not put in its place at once--of course, it ought to be outside the window. I promised to put it up--and forgot it. He promised, and forgot. Then we nagged each other about it, and at last, to get away from it, I hid it in this drawer. I came to hate it, and so did he. Do you know what was back of all that? Neither one of us believed that our relationship would last, because we unmasked at once and gave free vent to our antipathies. To begin with, we lived on tiptoe, so to speak--always ready to fly off at a moment's notice. That was what the thermometer stood for--and here it is still lying! Always on the move, always changeable, like the weather. [_She puts away the thermometer and goes over to the chess-board_] My chess pieces! Which he bought to kill the time that hung heavy on our hands while we were waiting for the little one to come. With whom does he play now?

CONSUL. With me.

GERDA. Where is he?

CONSUL. He is in his room writing a letter.

GERDA. Where?

CONSUL. [_Pointing toward the left_] There.

GERDA. [_Shocked_] And here he has been going for five years?

CONSUL. Ten years--five of them alone!

GERDA. Of course, he loves solitude.

CONSUL. But I think he has had enough of it.

GERDA. Will he turn me out?

CONSUL. Find out for yourself! You take no risk, as he is always polite.

GERDA. I didn't make that centrepiece----

CONSUL. That is to say, you risk his asking you for the child.

GERDA. But it was he who should help me find it again----

CONSUL. Where do you think Fischer has gone, and what can be the purpose of his flight?

GERDA. To get away from the unpleasant neighbourhood, first of all; then to make me run after him. And he wanted the girl as a hostage, of course.

CONSUL. As to the ballet--that's something the father _must not_ know, for he hates music-halls.

GERDA. [_Sitting down in front of the chess-board and beginning, absent-mindedly, to arrange the pieces_] Music-halls--oh, I have been there myself.

CONSUL. You?

GERDA. I have accompanied on the piano.

CONSUL. Poor Gerda!

GERDA. Why? I love that kind of life. And when I was a prisoner here, it wasn't the keeper, but the prison itself, that made me fret.

CONSUL. But now you have had enough?

GERDA. Now I am in love with peace and solitude--and with my child above all.

CONSUL. Hush, he's coming!

GERDA. [_Rises as if to run away, but sinks down on the chair again_] Oh!

CONSUL. Now I leave you. Don't think of what you are to say. It will come of itself, like the "next move" in a game of chess.

GERDA. I fear his first glance most of all, for it will tell me whether I have changed for better or for worse--whether I have grown old and ugly.

CONSUL. [_Going out to the right_] If he finds you looking older, then he will dare to approach you. If he finds you as young as ever, he will have no hope, for he is more diffident than you think.--Now!

_The_ MASTER _is seen outside, passing by the door leading
to the pantry; he carries a letter in his hand; then he
disappears, only to become visible again a moment later in the
hallway, where he opens the outside door and steps out_.

CONSUL. [_In the doorway at the right_] He went out to the mail-box.

GERDA. No, this is too much for me! How can I possibly ask _him_ to help me with this divorce? I want to get out! It's too brazen!

CONSUL. Stay! You know that his kindness has no limits. And he'll help you for the child's sake.

GERDA. No, no!

CONSUL. And he is the only one who can help you.

MASTER. [_Enters quickly from the hallway and nods at_ GERDA, _whom, because of his near-sightedness, he mistakes for_ LOUISE; _then he goes to the buffet and picks up the telephone, but in passing he remarks to_ GERDA] So you're done already? Well, get the pieces ready then, and we'll begin all over again--from the beginning.

GERDA _stands paralysed, not understanding the situation_.

MASTER. [_Speaks in the telephone receiver, with his back to_ Gerda] Hello!--Good evening! Is that you, mother?--Pretty well, thank you! Louise is waiting to play a game of chess with me, but she is a little tired after a lot of bother--It's all over now--everything all right--nothing serious at all.--If it's hot? Well, there has been a lot of thundering, right over our heads, but nobody has been struck. False alarm!--What did you say? Fischer?--Yes, but I think they are going to leave.--Why so? I know nothing in particular.--Oh, is that so?--Yes, it leaves at six-fifteen, by the outside route, and it gets there--let me see--at eight-twenty-five.--Did you have a good time?--[_With a little laugh_] Oh, he's impossible when he gets started! And what did Marie have to say about it?--How I have had it during the summer? Oh, well, Louise and I have kept each other company, and she has got such an even, pleasant temper.--Yes, she is very nice, indeed!--Oh, no, nothing of that kind!

GERDA, _who has begun to understand, rises with an expression
of consternation on her face_.

MASTER. My eyes? Oh, I am getting a little near-sighted. But I feel like the confectioner's old wife: there is nothing to look at. Wish I were deaf, too! Deaf and blind! The neighbours above make such a lot of noise at night--it's a gambling club--There now! Somebody got on the wire to listen. [_He rings again_.

LOUISE _appears in the door to the hallway without being seen
by the_ MASTER; GERDA _stares at her with mingled admiration
and hatred_; LOUISE _withdraws toward the right_.

MASTER. [_At the telephone_] Is that you? The cheek of it--to break off our talk in order to listen!--To-morrow, then, at six-fifteen.--Thank you, and the same to you!--Yes, I will, indeed!--Good night, mother! [_He rings off_.

LOUISE _has disappeared_. GERDA _is standing in the middle of
the floor_.

MASTER. [_Turns around and catches sight of_ GERDA, _whom he gradually recognises; then he puts his hand to his heart_] O Lord, was that you? Wasn't Louise here a moment ago?

GERDA _remains silent_.

MASTER. [_Feebly_] How--how did you get here?

GERDA. I hope you pardon--I just got to the city--I was passing by and felt a longing to have a look at my old home--the windows were open----

[_Pause_.

MASTER. Do you find things as they used to be?

GERDA. Exactly, and yet different--there is a difference

MASTER. [_Feeling unhappy_] Are you satisfied--with your life?

GERDA. Yes. I have what I was looking for.

MASTER. And the child?

GERDA. Oh, she's growing, and thriving, and lacks nothing.

MASTER. Then I won't ask anything more. [_Pause_] Did you want anything--of me--can I be of any service?

GERDA. It's very kind of you, but--I need nothing at all now when I have seen that you lack nothing either. [_Pause]_ Do you wish to see Anne-Charlotte?

MASTER. I don't think so, now when I have heard that she is doing well. It's so hard to begin over again. It's like having to repeat a lesson at school--which you know already, although the teacher doesn't think so--I have got so far away from all that--I live in a wholly different region--and I cannot connect with the past. It goes against me to be impolite, but I am not asking you to be seated--you are another man's wife--and you are not the same person as the one from whom I parted.

GERDA. Am I then so--altered?

MASTER. Quite strange to me! Your voice, glance, manner----

GERDA. Have I grown old?

MASTER. That I cannot tell!--They say that not a single atom in a person's body remains wholly the same after three years--and in five years everything is renewed. And for that reason you, who stand over there, are not the same person as the sufferer who once sat here--you seem such a complete stranger to me that I can only address you in the most formal way. And I suppose it would be just the same in the case of my daughter, too.

GERDA. Don't speak like that. I would much rather have you angry.

MASTER. Why should I be angry?

GERDA. Because of all the evil I have done you.

MASTER. Have you? That's more than I know.

GERDA. Didn't you read the papers in the suit?

MASTER. No-o! I left that to my lawyer. [_He sits down_.

GERDA. And the decision of the court?

MASTER. No, why should I? As I don't mean to marry again, I have no use for that kind of documents.

_Pause_. GERDA _seats herself_.

MASTER. What did those papers say? That I was too old?

GERDA'S _silence indicates assent_.

MASTER. Well, that was nothing but the truth, so that need not trouble you. In my answer I said the very same thing and asked the Court to set you free again.

GERDA. You said, that----

MASTER. I said, not that I _was_, but that I was about to _become_ too old _for you_!

GERDA. [_Offended_] For me?

MASTER. Yes.--I couldn't say that I was too old when we married, for then the arrival of the child would have been unpleasantly explained, and it was _our_ child, was it not?

GERDA. You know that, of course! But----

MASTER. Do you think I should be ashamed of my age?--Of course, if I took to dancing and playing cards at night, then I might soon land in an invalid's chair, or on the operating-table, and that would be a shame.

GERDA. You don't look it----

MASTER. Did you expect the divorce to kill me?

_The silence of_ GERDA _is ambiguous_.

MASTER. There are those who assert that you _have_ killed me. Do you think I look like a dead man?

GERDA _appears embarrassed_.

MASTER. Some of your friends are said to have caricatured me in the papers, but I have never seen anything of it, and those papers went into the dump five years ago. So there is no need for your conscience to be troubled on my behalf.

GERDA. Why did you marry me?

MASTER. Don't you know why a man marries? And you know, too, that I didn't have to go begging for love. And you ought to remember how we laughed together at all the wiseacres who felt compelled to warn you.--But why you led me on is something I have never been able to explain--When you didn't look at me after the marriage ceremony, but acted as if you had been attending somebody else's wedding, then I thought you had made a bet that you could kill me. As the head of the department, I was, of course, hated by all my subordinates, but they became your friends at once. No sooner did I make an enemy than he became _your_ friend. Which caused me to remark that, while it was right for you not to hate your enemies, it was also right that you shouldn't _love_ mine!--However, seeing where you stood, I began to prepare for a retreat at once, but before leaving I wanted a living proof that you had not been telling the truth, and so I stayed until the little one arrived.

GERDA. To think that you could be so disingenuous!

MASTER. I learned to keep silent, but I never lied!--By degrees you turned all my friends into detectives, and you lured my own brother into betraying me. But worst of all was that your thoughtless chatter threw suspicions on the legitimacy of the child.

GERDA. All that I took back!

MASTER. The word that's on the wing cannot be pulled back again. And worse still: those false rumours reached the child, and now she thinks her mother a----

GERDA. For Heaven's sake!

MASTER. Well, that's the truth of it. You raised a tall tower on a foundation of lies, and now the tower of lies is tumbling down on your head.

GERDA. It isn't true!

MASTER. Yes, it is! I met Anne-Charlotte a few minutes ago----

GERDA. You have met----

MASTER. We met on the stairs, and she said I was her uncle. Do you know what an uncle is? That's an elderly friend of the house and the mother. And I know that at school I am also passing as her uncle.--But all that is dreadful for the child!

GERDA. You have met----

MASTER. Yes. But why should I tell anybody about it? Haven't I a right to keep silent? And, besides, that meeting was so shocking to me that I wiped it out of my memory as if it had never existed.

GERDA. What can I do to rehabilitate you?

MASTER. You? What could you do? That's something I can only do myself. [_For a long time they gaze intently at each other_] And for that matter, I have already got my rehabilitation. [_Pause_.

GERDA. Can't I make good in some way? Can't I ask you to forgive, to forget----

MASTER. What do you mean?

GERDA. To restore, to repair----

MASTER. Do you mean to resume, to start over again, to reinstate a master above me? No, thanks! I don't want you.

GERDA. And this I had to hear!

MASTER. Well, how does it taste? [_Pause_.

GERDA. That's a pretty centrepiece.

MASTER. Yes, it's pretty.

GERDA. Where did you get it? [_Pause_.

LOUISE _appears in the door to the pantry with a bill in her
hand_.

MASTER. [_Turning toward her_] Is it a bill?

GERDA _rises and begins to pull on her gloves with such violence that buttons are scattered right and left_.

MASTER. [_Taking out the money_] Eighteen-seventy-two. That's just right.

LOUISE. I should like to see you a moment, sir.

MASTER. [_Rises and goes to the door, where_ LOUISE _whispers something into his ear_] Oh, mercy----

LOUISE _goes out_.

MASTER. I am sorry for you, Gerda!

GERDA. What do you mean? That I am jealous of your servant-girl?

MASTER. No, I didn't mean that.

GERDA. Yes, you meant that you were too old for me, but not for her. I catch the insulting point--She's pretty--I don't deny it--for a servant-girl----

MASTER. I am sorry for you, Gerda!

GERDA. Why do you say that?

MASTER. Because you are to be pitied. Jealous of my servant--that ought to be rehabilitation enough.

GERDA. Jealous, I----

MASTER. Why do you fly in a rage at my nice, gentle kinswoman?

GERDA. "A little more than kin."

MASTER. No, my dear, I have long ago resigned myself--and I am satisfied with my solitude--[_The telephone rings, and he goes to answer it_] Mr. Fischer? No, that isn't here.--Oh, yes, that's me.--Has he skipped?--With whom, do you say?--with Starck's daughter! Oh, good Lord! How old is she?--Eighteen! A mere child! [_Rings off_.

GERDA. I knew he had run away.--But with a woman!--Now you're pleased.

MASTER. No, I am not pleased. Although there is a sort of solace to my mind in finding justice exists in this world. Life is very quick in its movements, and now you find yourself where I was.

GERDA. Her eighteen years against my twenty-nine--I am old--too old for him!

MASTER. Everything is relative, even age.--But now let us get at something else. Where is your child?

GERDA. My child? I had forgotten it! My child! My God! Help me! He has taken the child with him. He loves Anne-Charlotte as his own daughter--Come with me to the police--come!

MASTER. I? Now you ask too much.

GERDA. Help me!

MASTER. [_Goes to the door at the right_] Come, Carl Frederick--get a cab--take Gerda down to the police station--won't you?

CONSUL. [_Enters_] Of course I will! We are human, are we not?

MASTER. Quick! But say nothing to Starck. Matters may be straightened out yet--Poor fellow--and I am sorry for Gerda, too!--Hurry up now!

GERDA. [_Looking out through the window_] It's beginning to rain--lend me an umbrella. Eighteen years--only eighteen--quick, now!

_She goes out with the_ CONSUL.

MASTER. [_Alone_] The peace of old age!--And my child in the hands of an adventurer!--Louise!

LOUISE _enters_.

MASTER. Come and play chess with me.

LOUISE. Has the consul----

MASTER. He has gone out on some business. Is it still raining?

LOUISE. No, it has stopped now.

MASTER. Then I'll go out and cool off a little. [_Pause_] You are a nice girl, and sensible--did you know the confectioner's daughter?

LOUISE. Very slightly.

MASTER. Is she pretty?

LOUISE. Ye-es.

MASTER. Have you known the people above us?

LOUISE. I have never seen them.

MASTER. That's an evasion.

LOUISE. I have learned to keep silent in this house.

MASTER. I am forced to admit that pretended deafness can be carried to the point where it becomes dangerous.--Well, get the tea ready while I go outside and cool off a little. And, one thing, please--you see what is happening, of course--but don't ask me any questions.

LOUISE. I? No, sir, I am not at all curious.

MASTER. I am thankful for that!

_Curtain_.

THIRD SCENE

_The front of the house as in the First Scene. There is light
in the confectioner's place in the basement. The gas is also
lit on the second floor, where now the shades are raised and
the windows open_.

STARCK _is sitting near the gateway_.

MASTER. [_Seated on the green bench_] That was a nice little shower we had.

STARCK. Quite a blessing! Now the raspberries will be coming in again----

MASTER. Then I'll ask you to put aside a few jars for us. We have grown tired of making the jam ourselves. It only gets spoiled.

STARCK. Yes, I know. Jars of jam are like mischievous children: you have to watch them all the time. There are people who put in salicylic acid, but those are newfangled tricks in which I take no stock.

MASTER. Salicylic acid--yes, they say it's antiseptic--and perhaps it's a good thing.

STARCK. Yes, but you can taste it--and it's a trick.

MASTER. Tell me, Mr. Starck, have you got a telephone?

STARCK. No, I have no telephone.

MASTER. Oh!

STARCK. Why do you ask?

MASTER. Oh, I happened to think--a telephone is handy at times--for orders--and important communications----

STARCK. That may be. But sometimes it is just as well to escape--communications.

MASTER. Quite right! Quite right!--Yes, my heart always beats a little faster when I hear it ring--one never knows what one is going to hear--and I want peace--peace, above all else.

STARCK. So do I.

MASTER. [_Looking at his watch_] The lamplighter ought to be here soon.

STARCK. He must have forgotten us, for I see that the lamps are already lit further down the avenue.

MASTER. Then he'll be here soon. It will be a lot of fun to see our lamp lighted again.

_The telephone in the dining-room rings_. LOUISE _comes in to
answer the call. The_ MASTER _rises and puts one hand up to his
heart. He tries to listen, but the public cannot hear anything
of what is said within. Pause. After a while_ LOUISE _comes out
by way of the square_.

MASTER. [_Anxiously_] What news?

LOUISE. No change.

MASTER. Was that my brother?

LOUISE. No, it was the lady.

MASTER. What did she want?

LOUISE. To speak to you, sir.

MASTER. I don't want to!--Have I to console my executioner? I used to do it, but now I am tired of it.--Look up there! They have forgotten to turn out the light--and light makes empty rooms more dreadful than darkness--the ghosts become visible. [_In a lowered voice_] And how about Starck's Agnes? Do you think he knows anything?

LOUISE. It's hard to tell, for he never speaks about his sorrows--nor does anybody else in the Silent House!

MASTER. Do you think he should be told?

LOUISE. For Heaven's sake, no!

MASTER. But I fear it isn't the first time she gave him trouble.

LOUISE. He never speaks of her.

MASTER. It's horrible! I wonder if we'll get to the end of it soon? [_The telephone rings again_] Now it's ringing again. Don't answer. I don't want to hear anything.--My child--in such company! An adventurer and a strumpet!--It's beyond limit!--Poor Gerda!

LOUISE. It's better to have certainty. I'll go in--You must do something!

MASTER. I cannot move--I can receive blows, but to strike back--no!

LOUISE. But if you don't repel a danger, it will press closer; and if you don't resist, you'll be destroyed.

MASTER. But if you refuse to be drawn in, you become unassailable.

LOUISE. Unassailable?

MASTER. Things straighten out much better if you don't mess them up still further by interference. How can you want me to direct matters where so many passions are at play? Do you think I can suppress anybody's emotions, or give them a new turn?

LOUISE. But how about the child?

MASTER. I have surrendered my rights--and besides--frankly speaking--I don't care for them--not at all now, when _she_ has been here and spoiled the images harboured in my memory. She has wiped out all the beauty that I had cherished, and now there is nothing left.

LOUISE. But that's to be set free!

MASTER. Look, how empty the place seems in there--as if everybody had moved out; and up there--as if there had been a fire.

LOUISE. Who is coming there?

AGNES _enters, excited and frightened, but trying hard
to control herself; she makes for the gateway, where the
confectioner is seated on his chair_.

LOUISE [_To the_ MASTER] There is Agnes? What can this mean?

MASTER. Agnes? Then things are getting straightened out.

STARCK. [_With perfect calm_] Good evening, girl! Where have you been?

AGNES. I have been for a walk.

STARCK. Your mother has asked for you several times.

AGNES. Is that so? Well, here I am.

STARCK. Please go down and help her start a fire under the little oven.

AGNES. Is she angry with me, then?

STARCK. You know that she cannot be angry with you.

AGNES. Oh, yes, but she doesn't say anything.

STARCK. Well, girl, isn't it better to escape being scolded?

AGNES _disappears into the gateway_.

MASTER. [_To_ LOUISE] Does he know, or doesn't he?

LOUISE. Let's hope that he will remain in ignorance.

MASTER. But what can have happened? A breach? [_To_ STARCK] Say, Mr. Starck----

STARCK. What is it?

MASTER. I thought--Did you notice if anybody left the house a while ago?

STARCK. I saw the iceman, and also a mail-carrier, I think.

MASTER. Oh! [_To_ LOUISE] Perhaps it was a mistake--that we didn't hear right--I can't explain it--Or maybe he is not telling the truth? What did she say when she telephoned?

LOUISE. That she wanted to speak to you.

MASTER. How did it sound? Was she excited?

LOUISE. Yes.

MASTER. I think it's rather shameless of her to appeal to me in a matter like this.

LOUISE. But the child!

MASTER. Just think, I met my daughter on the stairway, and when I asked her if she recognised me she called me uncle and told me that her father was up-stairs. Of course, he is her stepfather, and has all the rights--They have just spent their time exterminating me, blackguarding me----

LOUISE. A cab is stopping at the corner.

STARCK _withdraws into the gateway_.

MASTER. I only hope they don't come back to burden me again! Just think: to have to hear my child singing the praise of her father--the other one! And then to begin the old story all over again: "Why did you marry me?"--"Oh, you know; but what made you want me?"--"You know very well!"--And so on, until the end of the world.

LOUISE. It was the consul that came.

MASTER. How does he look?

LOUISE. He is taking his time.

MASTER. Practising what he is to say, I suppose. Does he look satisfied?

LOUISE. Thoughtful, rather----

MASTER. Hm!--That's the way it always was. Whenever he saw that woman he became disloyal to me. She had the power of charming everybody but me. To me she seemed coarse, vulgar, ugly, stupid; to all the rest she seemed refined, pleasant, handsome, intelligent. All the hatred aroused by my independence centred in her under the form of a boundless sympathy for whoever wronged me in any way. Through her they strove to control and influence me, to wound me, and, at last, to kill me.

LOUISE. Now, I'll go in and watch the telephone--I suppose this storm will pass like all others.

MASTER. Men cannot bear independence. They want you to obey them. Every one of my subordinates in the department, down to the very messengers, wanted me to obey him. And when I wouldn't they called me a despot. The servants in our house wanted me to obey them and eat food that had been warmed up. When I wouldn't, they set my wife against me. And finally my wife wanted me to obey the child, but then I left, and then all of them combined against the tyrant--which was I!--Get in there quick now, Louise, so we can set off our mines out here.

_The_ CONSUL _enters from the left_.

MASTER. Results--not details--please!

CONSUL. Let's sit down. I am a little tired.

MASTER. I think it has rained on the bench.

CONSUL. It can't be too wet for me if you have been sitting on it.

MASTER. A you like!--Where is my child?

CONSUL. Can I begin at the beginning?

MASTER. Begin!

CONSUL [_Speaking slowly_] I got to the depot with Gerda--and at the ticket-office I discovered him and Agnes----

MASTER. So Agnes was with him?

CONSUL. And so was the child!--Gerda stayed outside, and I went up to them. At that moment _he_ was handing Agnes the tickets, but when she discovered that they were for third class she threw them in his face and walked out to the cab-stand.

MASTER. Ugh!

CONSUL. As soon as I had established a connection with the man, Gerda hurried up and got hold of the child, disappearing with it in the crowd----

MASTER. What did the man have to say?

CONSUL. Oh, you know--when you come to hear the other side--and so on.

MASTER. I want to hear it. Of course, he isn't as bad as we thought--he has his good sides----

CONSUL. Exactly!

MASTER. I thought so! But you don't want me to sit here listening to eulogies of my enemy?

CONSUL. Oh, not eulogies, but ameliorating circumstances----

MASTER. Did you ever want to listen to me when I tried to explain the true state of affairs to you? Yes, you did listen--but your reply was a disapproving silence, as if I had been lying to you. You have always sided with what was wrong, and you have believed nothing but lies, and the reason was--that you were in love with Gerda! But there was also another reason----

CONSUL. Brother, don't say anything more! You see nothing but your own side of things.

MASTER. How can you expect me to view my conditions from the standpoint of my enemy? I cannot take sides against myself, can I?

CONSUL. I am not your enemy.

MASTER. Yes, when you make friends with one who has wronged me!--Where is my child?

CONSUL. I don't know.

MASTER. What was the outcome at the depot?

CONSUL. He took a south-bound train alone.

MASTER. And the others?

CONSUL. Disappeared.

MASTER. Then I may have them after me again. [_Pause]_ Did you see if they went with him?

CONSUL. He went alone.

MASTER. Well, then we are done with that one, at least. Number two--there remain now--the mother and the child.

CONSUL. Why is the light burning up there in their rooms?

MASTER. Because they forgot to turn it out.

CONSUL. I'll go up----

MASTER. No, don't go!--I only hope that they don't come back here!--To repeat, always repeat, begin the same lesson all over again!

CONSUL. But it has begun to straighten out.

MASTER. Yet the worst remains--Do you think they will come back?

CONSUL. Not she--not since she had to make you amends in the presence of Louise.

MASTER. I had forgotten that! She really did me the honour of becoming jealous! I do think there is justice in this world!

CONSUL. And then she learned that Agnes was younger than herself.

MASTER. Poor Gerda! But in a case like this you mustn't tell people that justice exists--an avenging justice--for it is sheer falsehood that they love justice! And you must deal gently with their filth. And Nemesis--exists only for the other person.--There it's ringing again? That telephone makes a noise like a rattlesnake!

LOUISE _becomes visible at the telephone inside. Pause_.

MASTER. [_To_ LOUISE] Did the snake bite?

LOUISE. [_At the window_] May I speak to you, sir?

MASTER. [_Going up to the window_] Speak out!

LOUISE. The lady has gone to her mother, in the country, to live there with her little girl.

Master. [_To his brother_] Mother and child in the country--in a good home! Now it's straightened out!--Oh!

LOUISE. And she asked us to turn out the light up-stairs.

MASTER. Do that at once, Louise, and pull down the shades so we don't have to look at it any longer.

LOUISE _leaves the dining-room_.

STARCK. [_Coming out on the sidewalk again and looking up]_ I think the storm has passed over.

MASTER. It seems really to have cleared up, and that means we'll have moonlight.

CONSUL. That was a blessed rain!

STARCK. Perfectly splendid!

MASTER. Look, there's the lamplighter coming at last!

_The_ LAMPLIGHTER _enters, lights the street lamp beside the
bench, and passes on_.

MASTER. The first lamp! Now the fall is here! That's our season, old chaps! It's getting dark, but then comes reason to light us with its bull's-eyes, so that we don't go astray.

LOUISE _becomes visible at one of the windows on the second
floor; immediately afterward everything is dark up there_.

Master. [_To_ Louise] Close the windows and pull down the shades so that all memories can lie down and sleep in peace! The peace of old age! And this fall I move away from the Silent House.

_Curtain_.

AFTER THE FIRE

(BRÄNDA TOMTEN)

A CHAMBER PLAY

1907

CHARACTERS

RUDOLPH WALSTRÖM, _a dyer_ THE STRANGER, _who is_) } ARVID WALSTRÖM } _brother of_ RUDOLPH ANDERSON, _a mason (brother-in-law of the gardener)_ MRS. ANDERSON, _wife of the mason_ GUSTAFSON, _a gardener (brother-in-law of the mason)_ ALFRED, _son of the gardener_ ALBERT ERICSON, _a stone-cutter_ (_second cousin of the hearse-driver_) MATHILDA, _daughter of the stone-cutter_ THE HEARSE-DRIVER (_second cousin of the stone-cutter_) A DETECTIVE SJÖBLOM, _a painter_ MRS. WESTERLUND, _hostess at "The Last Nail," formerly a nurse at the dyer's_ MRS. WALSTRÖM, _wife of the dyer_ THE STUDENT THE WITNESS

AFTER THE FIRE

FIRST SCENE

_The left half of the background is occupied by the empty shell
of a gutted one-story brick house. In places the paper remains
on the walls, and a couple of brick stoves are still standing_.

_Beyond the walls can be seen an orchard in bloom._

_At the right is the front of a small inn, the sign of which
is a wreath hanging from a pole. Tables and benches are placed
outside._

_At the left, in the foreground, there is a pile of furniture
and household utensils that have been saved from the fire_.

SJÖBLOM, _the painter, is painting the window-frames of the
inn. He listens closely to everything that is said_.

ANDERSON, _the mason, is digging in the ruins_.

_The_ DETECTIVE _enters_.

DETECTIVE. Is the fire entirely out?

ANDERSON. There isn't any smoke, at least.

DETECTIVE. Then I want to ask a few more questions. [_Pause_] You were born in this quarter, were you not?

ANDERSON. Oh, yes. It's seventy-five years now I've lived on this street. I wasn't born when they built this house here, but my father helped to put in the brick.

DETECTIVE. Then you know everybody around here?

ANDERSON. We all know each other. There is something particular about this street here. Those that get in here once, never get away from it. That is, they move away, but they always come back again sooner or later, until at last they are carried out to the cemetery, which is way out there at the end of the street.

DETECTIVE. You have got a special name for this quarter, haven't you?

ANDERSON. We call it the Bog. And all of us hate each other, and suspect each other, and blackguard each other, and torment each other [_Pause_.

DETECTIVE. The fire started at half past ten in the evening, I hear--was the front door locked at that time?

ANDERSON. Well, that's more than I know, for I live in the house next to this.

DETECTIVE. Where did the fire start?

ANDERSON. Up in the attic, where the student was living.

DETECTIVE. Was he at home?

ANDERSON. No, he was at the theatre.

DETECTIVE. Had he gone away and left the lamp burning, then?

ANDERSON. Well, that's more than I know. [_Pause_.

DETECTIVE. Is the student any relation to the owner of the house?

ANDERSON. No, I don't think so.--Say, you haven't got anything to do with the police, have you?

DETECTIVE. How did it happen that the inn didn't catch fire?

ANDERSON. They slung a tarpaulin over it and turned on the hose.

DETECTIVE. Queer that the apple-trees were not destroyed by the heat.

ANDERSON. They had just budded, and it had been raining during the day, but the heat made the buds go into bloom in the middle of the night--a little too early, I guess, for there is frost coming, and then the gardener will catch it.

DETECTIVE. What kind of fellow is the gardener?

ANDERSON. His name is Gustafson----

DETECTIVE. Yes, but what sort of a man is he?

ANDERSON. See here: I am seventy-five--and for that reason I don't know anything bad about Gustafson; and if I knew I wouldn't be telling it! [_Pause_.

DETECTIVE. And the owner of the house is named Walström, a dyer, about sixty years old, married----

ANDERSON. Why don't you go on yourself? You can't pump me any longer.

DETECTIVE. Is it thought that the fire was started on purpose?

ANDERSON. That's what people think of all fires.

DETECTIVE. And whom do they suspect?

ANDERSON. The insurance company always suspects anybody who has an interest in the fire--and for that reason I have never had anything insured.

DETECTIVE. Did you find anything while you were digging?

ANDERSON. Mostly one finds all the door-keys, because people haven't got time to take them along when the house is on fire--except now and then, of course, when they have been taken away----

DETECTIVE. There was no electric light in the house?

ANDERSON. Not in an old house like this, and that's a good thing, for then they can't put the blame on crossed wires.

DETECTIVE. Put the blame?--A good thing?--Listen----

ANDERSON. Oh, you're going to get me in a trap? Don't you do it, for then I take it all back.

DETECTIVE. Take back? You can't!

ANDERSON. Can't I?

DETECTIVE. No!

ANDERSON. Yes! For there was no witness present.

DETECTIVE. No?

ANDERSON. Naw!

_The_ DETECTIVE _coughs. The_ WITNESS _comes in from the left_.

DETECTIVE. Here's _one_ witness.

ANDERSON. You're a sly one!

DETECTIVE. Oh, there are people who know how to use their brains without being seventy-five. [_To the_ WITNESS] Now we'll continue with the gardener.

[_They go out to the left_.

ANDERSON. There I put my foot in it, I guess. But that's what happens when you get to talking.

MRS. ANDERSON _enters with her husband's lunch in a bundle_.

ANDERSON. It's good you came.

MRS. ANDERSON. Now we'll have lunch and be good--you might well be hungry after all this fuss--I wonder if Gustafson can pull through--he'd just got done with his hotbeds and was about to start digging in the open--why don't you eat?--and there's Sjöblom already at work with his putty--just think of it, that Mrs. Westerlund got off as well as she did--morning, Sjöblom, now you've got work, haven't you?

MRS. WESTERLUND _comes in_.

MRS. ANDERSON. Morning, morning, Mrs. Westerlund--you got out of this fine, I must say, and then----

MRS. WESTERLUND. I wonder who's going to pay me for all I am losing to-day, when there's a big funeral on at the cemetery, which always makes it a good day for me, and just when I've had to put away all my bottles and glassware----

MRS. ANDERSON. Who's that they're burying to-day? I see such a lot of people going out that way--and then, of course, they've come to see where the fire was, too.

MRS. WESTERLUND. I don't think they're burying anybody, but I've heard they're going to put up a monument over the bishop--worst of it is that the stone-cutter's daughter was going to get married to the gardener's son--him, you know, who's in a store down-town--and now the gardener has lost all he had--isn't that his furniture standing over there?

MRS. ANDERSON. I guess that's some of the dyer's, too, seeing as it came out helter-skelter in a jiffy--and where's the dyer now?

MRS. WESTERLUND. He's down at the police station testifying.

MRS. ANDERSON. Hm-hm!--Yes, yes!--And there's my cousin now--him what drives the hearse--he's always thirsty on his way back.

HEARSE-DRIVER. [_Enters_] How do, Malvina! So you've gone and started a little job of arson out here during the night, have you? Looks pretty, doesn't it. Would have been better to get a new shanty instead, I guess.

MRS. WESTERLUND. Oh, mercy me! But whom have you been taking out now?

HEARSE-DRIVER. Can't remember what his name was--only _one_ carriage along, and no flowers on the coffin at all.

MRS. WESTERLUND. Sure and it wasn't any happy funeral, then! If you want anything to drink you'll have to go 'round to the kitchen, for I haven't got things going on this side yet, and, for that matter, Gustafson is coming here with a lot of wreaths--they've got something on out at the cemetery to-day.

HEARSE-DRIVER. Yes, they're going to put up a moniment to the bishop--'cause he wrote books, I guess, and collected all kinds of vermin--was a reg'lar vermin-hunter, they tell me.

MRS. WESTERLUND. What's that?

HEARSE-DRIVER. Oh, he had slabs of cork with pins on 'em, and a lot of flies--something beyond us here--but I guess that's the proper way--can I go out to the kitchen now?

MRS. WESTERLUND. Yes, if you use the back door, I think you can get something wet----

HEARSE-DRIVER. But I want to have a word with the dyer before I drive off--I've got my horses over at the stone-cutter's, who's my second cousin, you know. Haven't got any use for him, as you know, too, but we're doing business together, he and I--that is, I put in a word for him with the heirs, and so he lets me put my horses into his yard--just let me know when the dyer shows up--luck, wasn't it, that he didn't have his works here, too----

[_He goes out, passing around the inn_.

MRS. WESTERLUND _goes into the inn by the front door_.

ANDERSON, _who has finished eating, begins to dig again_.

MRS. ANDERSON. Do you find anything?

ANDERSON. Nails and door-hinges--all the keys are hanging in a bunch over there by the front door.

MRS. ANDERSON. Did they hang there before, or did you put them there?

ANDERSON. No, they were hanging there when I got here.

MRS. ANDERSON. That's queer--for then somebody must have locked all the doors and taken out the keys before it began burning! That's queer!

ANDERSON. Yes, of course, it's a little queer, for in that way it was harder to get at the fire and save things. Yes--yes! [_Pause_.

MRS. ANDERSON. I worked for the dyer's father forty years ago, I did, and I know the people, both the dyer himself and his brother what went off to America, though they say he's back now. The father, he was a real man, he was, but the boys were always a little so-so. Mrs. Westerlund over here, she used to take care of Rudolph, and the two brothers never could get along, but kept scrapping and fighting all the time.--I've seen a thing or two, I have--yes, there's a whole lot what has happened in that house, so I guess it was about time to get it smoked out.--Ugh, but that was a house! One went this way and another that, but back they had to come, and here they died and here they were born, and here they married and were divorced.--And Arvid, the brother what went off to America--him they thought dead for years, and at least he didn't take what was coming to him after his father, but now they say he's come back, though nobody has seen him--and there's such a lot of talking--Look, there's the dyer back from the police station!

ANDERSON. He doesn't look happy exactly, but I suppose that's more than can be expected--Well, who's that student that lived in the attic? How does he hang together with the rest?

MRS. ANDERSON. Well, that's more than I know. He had his board there, and read with the children.

ANDERSON. And also with the lady of the house?

MRS. ANDERSON. No-o, they played something what they called tennis, and quarrelled the rest of the time--yes, quarrelling and backbiting, that's what everybody is up to in this quarter.