Генрик Ибсен: The Lady from the Sea

Arnholm. You must know we have been making plans.

Hilde. We're going out to the fjord tonight and—

Bolette. No; you mustn't tell.

Wangel. We two, also, have been making plans.

Arnholm. Ah!—really?

Wangel. Tomorrow Ellida is going away to Skjoldviken for a time.

Bolette. Going away?

Arnholm. Now, look here, that's very sensible, Mrs. Wangel.

Wangel. Ellida wants to go home again—home to the sea.

Hilde (springing towards ELLIDA). You are going away—away from us?

Ellida (frightened). Hilde! What is the matter?

Hilde (controlling herself). Oh, it's nothing. (In a low voice, turning from her.) Are only you going?

Bolette (anxiously). Father—I see it—you, too, are going—to Skjoldviken!

Wangel. No, no! Perhaps I shall run out there every now and again.

Bolette. And come here to us?

Wangel. I will—Bolette. Every now and again!

Wangel. Dear child, it must be. (He crosses the room.)

Arnholm (whispers). We will talk it over later, Bolette. (He crosses to WANGEL. They speak in low tones up stage by the door.)

Ellida (aside to BOLETTE). What was the matter with Hilde? She looked quite scared.

Bolette. Have you never noticed what Hilde goes about here, day in, day out, hungering for?

Ellida. Hungering for?

Bolette. Ever since you came into the house?

Ellida. No, no. What is it?

Bolette. One loving word from you.

Ellida. Oh! If there should be something for me to do here!

(She clasps her hands together over her head, and looks fixedly in front of her, as if torn by contending thoughts and emotions. WANGEL and ARNHOLM come across the room whispering. BOLETTE goes to the side room, and looks in. Then she throws open the door.)

Bolette. Father, dear—the table is laid—if you—

Wangel (with forced composure). Is it, child? That's well. Come, Arnholm! We'll go in and drink a farewell cup—with the "Lady from the Sea." (They go out through the right.)

(SCENE.—The distant part of DOCTOR WANGEL'S garden, and the carp pond. The summer night gradually darkens.

ARNHOLM, BOLETTE, LYNGSTRAND and HILDE are in a boat, punting along the shore to the left.)

Hilde. See! We can jump ashore easily here.

Arnholm. No, no; don't!

Lyngstrand. I can't jump, Miss Hilde.

Hilde. Can't you jump either, Arnholm?

Arnholm. I'd rather not try.

Bolette. Then let's land down there, by the bathing steps.

(They push off. At the same moment BALLESTED comes along the footpath, carrying music–books and a French horn. He bows to those in the boat, turns and speaks to them. The answers are heard farther and farther away.)

Ballested. What do you say? Yes, of course it's on account of the English steamer; for this is her last visit here this year. But if you want to enjoy the pleasures of melody, you mustn't wait too long. (Calling out.) What? (Shaking his head.) Can't hear what you say!

(ELLIDA, with a shawl over her head, enters, followed by DOCTOR WANGEL.)

Wangel. But, dear Ellida, I assure you there's plenty of time.

Ellida. No, no, there is not! He may come any moment.

Ballested (outside the fence). Hallo! Good–evening, doctor. Good–evening, Mrs. Wangel.

Wangel (noticing him). Oh! is it you? Is there to be music tonight?

Ballested. Yes; the Wind Band Society thought of making themselves heard. We've no dearth of festive occasions nowadays. Tonight it's in honour of the English ship.

Ellida. The English ship! Is she in sight already?

Ballested. Not yet. But you know she comes from between the islands. You can't see anything of her, and then she's alongside of you.

Ellida. Yes, that is so.

Wangel (half to ELLIDA). Tonight is the last voyage, then she will not come again.

Ballested. A sad thought, doctor, and that's why we're going to give them an ovation, as the saying is. Ah! Yes—ah! yes. The glad summertime will soon be over now. Soon all ways will be barred, as they say in the tragedy.

Ellida. All ways barred—yes!

Ballested. It's sad to think of. We have been the joyous children of summer for weeks and months now. It's hard to reconcile yourself to the dark days—just at first, I mean. For men can accli—a—acclimatise themselves, Mrs. Wangel. Ay, indeed they can. (Bows, and goes off to the left.)

Ellida (looking out at the fjord). Oh, this terrible suspense! This torturing last half–hour before the decision!

Wangel. You are determined, then, to speak to him yourself?

Ellida. I must speak to him myself; for it is freely that I must make my choice.

Wangel. You have no choice, Ellida. You have no right to choose—no right without my permission.

Ellida. You can never prevent the choice, neither you nor anyone. You can forbid me to go away with him—to follow him—in case I should choose to do that. You can keep me here by force—against my will. That you can do. But that I should choose, choose from my very soul—choose him, and not you—in case I would and did choose thus—this you cannot prevent.

Wangel. No; you are right. I cannot prevent that.

Ellida. And so I have nothing to help me to resist. Here, at home, there is no single thing that attracts me and binds me. I am so absolutely rootless in your house, Wangel. The children are not mine—their hearts, I mean—never have been. When I go, if I do go, either with him tonight, or to Skjoldviken tomorrow, I haven't a key to give up, an order to give about anything whatsoever. I am absolutely rootless in your house—I have been absolutely outside everything from the very first.

Wangel. You yourself wished it.

Ellida. No, no, I did not. I neither wished nor did not wish it. I simply left things just as I found them the day I came here. It is you, and no one else, who wished it.

Wangel. I thought to do all for the best for you.

Ellida. Yes, Wangel, I know it so well! But there is retribution in that, a something that avenges itself. For now I find no binding power here–nothing to strengthen me—nothing to help me—nothing to draw me towards what should have been the strongest possession of us both.

Wangel. I see it, Ellida. And that is why from t–morrow you shall have back your freedom. Henceforth, you shall live your own life.

Ellida. And you call that my own life! No! My own true life lost its bearings when I agreed to live with you. (Clenches her hand in fear and unrest.) And now—tonight—in half an hour, he whom I forsook is coming—he to whom I should have cleaved forever, even as he has cleaved to me! Now he is coming to offer me—for the last and only time—the chance of living my life over again, of living my own true life—the life that terrifies and attracts—and I can not forgo that—not freely.

Wangel. That is why it is necessary your husband—and your doctor—should take the power of acting from you, and act on your behalf.

Ellida. Yes, Wangel, I quite understand. Believe me, there are times when I think it would be peace and deliverance if with all my soul I could be bound to you—and try to brave all that terrifies—and attracts. But I cannot! No, no, I cannot do that!

Wangel. Come, Ellida, let us walk up and down together for awhile.

Ellida. I would gladly—but I dare not. For he said I was to wait for him here.

Wangel. Come! There is time enough.

Ellida. Do you think so?

Wangel. Plenty of time, I tell you.

Ellida. Then let us go, for a little while.

(They pass out in the foreground. At the same time ARNHOLM and BOLETTE appear by the upper bank of the pond.)

Bolette (noticing the two as they go out). See there—

Arnholm (in low voice). Hush! Let them go. Bolette. Can you understand what has been going on between them these last few days?