The Lady From The Sea [17]
to stay at home here? Really it's not of any earthly use to father. Besides, I have a duty towards myself, too, I think.
Arnholm. Do you know what, Bolette? We two must talk these matters over more carefully.
Bolette. Oh! That won't be much use. I suppose I was created to stay here in the carp pond.
Arnholm. Not a bit of it. It depends entirely upon yourself.
Bolette (quickly). Do you think so?
Arnholm. Yes, believe me, it lies wholly and solely in your own hands.
Bolette. If only that were true! Will you perhaps put in a good word for me with father?
Arnholm. Certainly. But first of all I must speak frankly and freely with you yourself, dear.
Bolette (looks out to the left). Hush! don't let them notice anything. We'll speak of this later.
(ELLIDA enters from the left. She has no hat on, but a large shawl is thrown over her head and shoulders.)
Ellida (with restless animation). How pleasant it is here! How delightful it is here!
Arnholm (rising). Have you been for a walk?
Ellida. Yes, a long, long lovely walk up there with Wangel. And now we're going for a sail.
Bolette. Won't you sit down?
Ellida. No, thanks; I won't sit down.
Bolette (making room on seat). Here's a pleasant seat.
Ellida (walking about). No, no, no! I'll not sit down--not sit down!
Arnholm. I'm sure your walk has done you good. You look quite refreshed.
Ellida. Oh, I feel so thoroughly well--I feel so unspeakably happy. So safe, so safe! (Looking out to the left.) What great steamer is that coming along there?
Bolette (rising, and also looking out). It must be the large English ship.
Arnholm. It's passing the buoy. Does it usually stop here?
Bolette. Only for half an hour. It goes farther up the fjord.
Ellida. And then sails away again tomorrow--away over the great open sea--right over the sea. Only think! to be with them. If one could. If only one could!
Arnholm. Have you never been any long sea voyage, Mrs. Wangel?
Ellida. Never; only those little trips in the fjord here.
Bolette (with a sigh). Ah, no! I suppose we must put up with the dry land.
Arnholm. Well, after all, that really is our home.
Ellida. No; I don't think it is.
Arnholm. Not the land?
Ellida. No; I don't believe so. I think that if only men had from the beginning accustomed themselves to live on the sea, or in the sea perhaps, we should be more perfect than we are--both better and happier.
Arnholm. You really think that?
Ellida. Yes. I should like to know if we should not. I've often spoken to Wangel about it.
Arnholm. Well, and he?
Ellida. He thinks it might be so.
Arnholm (jestingly). Well, perhaps! But it can't be helped. We've once for- all entered upon the wrong path, and have become land beasts instead of sea beasts. Anyhow, I suppose it's too late to make good the mistake now.
Ellida. Yes, you've spoken a sad truth. And I think men instinctively feel something of this themselves. And they bear it about with them as a secret regret and sorrow. Believe me--herein lies the deepest cause for the sadness of men. Yes, believe me, in this.
Arnholm. But, my dearest Mrs. Wangel, I have not observed that men are so extremely sad. It seems to me, on the contrary, that most of them take life easily and pleasantly--and with a great, quiet, unconscious joy.
Ellida. Oh! no, it is not so. The joy is, I suppose, something like our joy at the long pleasant summer days--it has the presentiment of the dark days coming. And it is this presentiment that casts its shadows over the joy of men, just as the driving clouds cast their shadow over the fjords. It lies there so bright and blue--and of a sudden.
Arnholm. You shouldn't give way to such sad thoughts. Just now you were so glad and so bright.
Ellida. Yes, yes, so I was. Oh, this--this is so stupid of me. (Looking about her uneasily.) If only Wangel would come! He promised me so faithfully he would. And yet he does not come. Dear Mr. Arnholm, won't you try and find him for me?
Arnholm. Gladly!
Ellida. Tell him he must come here
Arnholm. Do you know what, Bolette? We two must talk these matters over more carefully.
Bolette. Oh! That won't be much use. I suppose I was created to stay here in the carp pond.
Arnholm. Not a bit of it. It depends entirely upon yourself.
Bolette (quickly). Do you think so?
Arnholm. Yes, believe me, it lies wholly and solely in your own hands.
Bolette. If only that were true! Will you perhaps put in a good word for me with father?
Arnholm. Certainly. But first of all I must speak frankly and freely with you yourself, dear.
Bolette (looks out to the left). Hush! don't let them notice anything. We'll speak of this later.
(ELLIDA enters from the left. She has no hat on, but a large shawl is thrown over her head and shoulders.)
Ellida (with restless animation). How pleasant it is here! How delightful it is here!
Arnholm (rising). Have you been for a walk?
Ellida. Yes, a long, long lovely walk up there with Wangel. And now we're going for a sail.
Bolette. Won't you sit down?
Ellida. No, thanks; I won't sit down.
Bolette (making room on seat). Here's a pleasant seat.
Ellida (walking about). No, no, no! I'll not sit down--not sit down!
Arnholm. I'm sure your walk has done you good. You look quite refreshed.
Ellida. Oh, I feel so thoroughly well--I feel so unspeakably happy. So safe, so safe! (Looking out to the left.) What great steamer is that coming along there?
Bolette (rising, and also looking out). It must be the large English ship.
Arnholm. It's passing the buoy. Does it usually stop here?
Bolette. Only for half an hour. It goes farther up the fjord.
Ellida. And then sails away again tomorrow--away over the great open sea--right over the sea. Only think! to be with them. If one could. If only one could!
Arnholm. Have you never been any long sea voyage, Mrs. Wangel?
Ellida. Never; only those little trips in the fjord here.
Bolette (with a sigh). Ah, no! I suppose we must put up with the dry land.
Arnholm. Well, after all, that really is our home.
Ellida. No; I don't think it is.
Arnholm. Not the land?
Ellida. No; I don't believe so. I think that if only men had from the beginning accustomed themselves to live on the sea, or in the sea perhaps, we should be more perfect than we are--both better and happier.
Arnholm. You really think that?
Ellida. Yes. I should like to know if we should not. I've often spoken to Wangel about it.
Arnholm. Well, and he?
Ellida. He thinks it might be so.
Arnholm (jestingly). Well, perhaps! But it can't be helped. We've once for- all entered upon the wrong path, and have become land beasts instead of sea beasts. Anyhow, I suppose it's too late to make good the mistake now.
Ellida. Yes, you've spoken a sad truth. And I think men instinctively feel something of this themselves. And they bear it about with them as a secret regret and sorrow. Believe me--herein lies the deepest cause for the sadness of men. Yes, believe me, in this.
Arnholm. But, my dearest Mrs. Wangel, I have not observed that men are so extremely sad. It seems to me, on the contrary, that most of them take life easily and pleasantly--and with a great, quiet, unconscious joy.
Ellida. Oh! no, it is not so. The joy is, I suppose, something like our joy at the long pleasant summer days--it has the presentiment of the dark days coming. And it is this presentiment that casts its shadows over the joy of men, just as the driving clouds cast their shadow over the fjords. It lies there so bright and blue--and of a sudden.
Arnholm. You shouldn't give way to such sad thoughts. Just now you were so glad and so bright.
Ellida. Yes, yes, so I was. Oh, this--this is so stupid of me. (Looking about her uneasily.) If only Wangel would come! He promised me so faithfully he would. And yet he does not come. Dear Mr. Arnholm, won't you try and find him for me?
Arnholm. Gladly!
Ellida. Tell him he must come here