Читать книгу: «Three Comedies», страница 4

Mathilde. That is true.

Laura. Oh, Mathilde, I am so happy now!

Mathilde. And I wish you every happiness.

Axel (taking LAURA'S arm). Now you may go and travel abroad, Mathilde!

Mathilde. Yes!—and my next book shall be a better one.

Axel. Your next—?

[Curtain.]

LEONARDA
A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

The BISHOP.

CORNELIA, his sister.

HAGBART, his nephew.

The GRANDMOTHER.

LEONARDA FALK.

AAGOT, her niece.

GENERAL ROSEN.

CHIEF JUSTICE RÖST.

MRS. RÖST.

PEDERSEN, agent to Mrs. Falk.

HANS.

A Maid.

ACT I

(SCENE.—A large room in LEONARDA FALK's house. At the back, folding doors which are standing open. Antique furniture. LEONARDA, dressed in a riding-habit, is standing beside a writing-desk on the left, talking to her agent PEDERSEN.)

Leonarda. It is a complete loss.

Pedersen. But, Mrs. Falk—

Leonarda. A loss, every scrap of it. I can't sell burnt bricks. How much is there of it? Two kilns' full, that is 24,000 bricks—at their present price about thirty pounds' worth. What am I to do with you?—send you about your business?

Pedersen. Madam, it is the first time—

Leonarda. No, indeed it is not; that is to say, it is certainly the first time the bricks have been burnt, but your accounts have been wrong over and over again, so that I have been led into sending out faulty invoices. What is the matter with you?

Pedersen. Madam, I beg—.

[Enter HANS.]

Hans. Your horse is saddled, madam, and the General is coming up the avenue.

Leonarda. Very well. (HANS goes out.) Have you taken to drink, Pedersen?

Pedersen. No, madam.

Leonarda. That wouldn't be like you. But what is it? You look quite changed.—Pedersen! I believe I know! I saw you rowing back across the river last night, from the summer-house in the wood. Are you in love? (PEDERSEN turns away.) So that is it. And crossed in love? (She goes up to him, puts her hand on his shoulder and stands with her back turned to the audience, as he does.) Are you engaged to her?

Pedersen. Yes.

Leonarda. Then she is not treating you well? She is not true to you? (Stoops and looks into his face.) And you love her in spite of it? (Moves away from him.) Then you are a weak man, Pedersen. We cannot possibly love those who are false to us. (Draws on one of her gloves.) We may suffer horribly for a while; but love them—no!

Pedersen (still turning away from her). It is easy for those to talk who have not experienced it.

Leonarda. Experienced it?—You never can tell that. Come to me this evening at seven o'clock.

Pedersen. Yes, madam.

Leonarda. I will talk things over with you then. We will go for a stroll together.

Pedersen. Thank you, madam.

Leonarda. I believe I may be able to help you in your trouble, Pedersen. That is all right—don't think any more about the bricks, or of what I said. Forgive me! (Holds out her hand to him.)

Pedersen (grasping her hand). Oh, madam!

[Enter GENERAL ROSEN.]

Rosen. Good morning! (PEDERSEN crosses the room.) Bless my soul, Pedersen, you look like a pat of melting butter! (PEDERSEN goes out. ROSEN turns to LEONARDA.) Have you been playing father confessor so early in the morning, and on such a fine day too? That is too bad.—By the way, have you heard from Aagot?

Leonarda (putting on her hat). No, I don't know what has come over the child. It is close on a fortnight since—

Rosen. She is enjoying herself. I remember when I was enjoying myself I never used to write letters.

Leonarda (looking at him). You were enjoying yourself last night, I rather think?

Rosen. Do I show it? Dear, dear! I thought that after a bath and a ride—

Leonarda. This sort of thing cannot go on!

Rosen. You know quite well that if I can't be here I have to go to my club.

Leonarda. But can't you go to your club without—? (Stops, with a gesture of disgust.)

Rosen. I know what you mean, worse luck. But they always give one a glass too much.

Leonarda. One glass? Say three!

Rosen. Three, if you like. You know I never was good at counting.

Leonarda. Well, now you can go for your ride alone.

Rosen. Oh, but—

Leonarda. Yes, I am not going for a ride to-day with a man who was tipsy last night. (Takes off her hat.) Hans! (HANS is heard answering her from without.) Put my horse up for the present!

Rosen. You are punishing yourself as well as me, you know. You ought to be out on a day like this—and it is a sin to deprive the countryside of the pleasure of seeing you!

Leonarda. Will nothing ever make you take things seriously?

Rosen. Yes. When the day comes that you are in need of anything, I will be serious.

Leonarda. And you propose to hang about here waiting, till I have some ill luck? You will have to wait a long time, I hope. (Goes to her desk.)

Rosen. I hope so too!—because meanwhile I shall be able to continue coming here.

Leonarda. Till you get your orders from America.

Rosen. Of course—till I get my orders from Sherman.

Leonarda. You have not had any orders, then?

Rosen. No.

Leonarda. It is beginning to look very suspicious. How long is it since I made you write to him?

Rosen. Oh, I am sure I forget.

Leonarda. It has just struck me—. I suppose you did write?

Rosen. Of course I did. I always do what you tell me.

Leonarda. You stand there twirling your moustache—and when you do that I always know there is some nonsense going on—.

Rosen. How can you suppose such a thing?

Leonarda. You have never written! Why on earth did that never strike me before?

Rosen. I have written repeatedly, I assure you!

Leonarda. But not to Sherman? You have not reported yourself for service again?

Rosen. Do you remember the Russian cigarettes I have so often spoken of? I have got some now. I brought a few with me to try; may I offer you one?

Leonarda. Are you not ashamed to look me in the face?

Rosen. I do everything you tell me—

Leonarda. You have been putting me off with evasions for more than two months—playing a perfect comedy with me! To think that an officer, who has been through the American war and won honours, rank, and a definite position, could throw away his time in this way—and in other ways too—for a whole year now—

Rosen. Excuse me—only eight months.

Leonarda. And isn't that long enough?

Rosen. Too long. But you know, better than any one, why I have done it!

Leonarda. Did I ask you to come here? Do you think you can tire me out?

Rosen. Leonarda! (She looks at him; he bows formally.) I beg your pardon. Mrs. Falk.

Leonarda. You shall write the letter here, now, and report yourself for immediate service.

Rosen. If you order me to.

Leonarda. I shall post it.

Rosen. Many thanks.

Leonarda. You are twirling your moustache again. What are you planning in your mind?

Rosen. I?—Shall I write here? (Goes to the desk.)

Leonarda. Yes. (He takes up a pen.) Ah, I know what it is! As soon as you get home, you will write another letter recalling this one.

Rosen. Yes, naturally.

Leonarda. Ha, ha, ha! (Sits down.) Well, I give you up!

Rosen. Thank you!—Then will you try one of my cigarettes?

Leonarda. No.

Rosen. Nor come for a ride?

Leonarda. No.

Rosen. Am I to come here this evening?

Leonarda. I shall be engaged.

Rosen. But you will be riding to-morrow morning?

Leonarda. I don't know.

Rosen. Then I shall take the liberty of coming to ask I wish you a very good day.

Leonarda. Look, there is a strange man at the door (Gets up.)

Rosen. What? (Turns round.) He? Has he the face to come here? (Looks out of the open window.) Pst! Pst!—Hans!—Don't you see my horse has got loose? (Goes hurriedly out past the stranger, who bows to him.) Pst! Pst!

[Enter HAGBART.]

Hagbart. Madam! (Stops short.)

Leonarda. May I ask—?

Hagbart. You do not know me, then?

Leonarda. No.

Hagbart. I am Hagbart Tallhaug.

Leonarda. And you dare to tell me so—with a smile on your lips?

Hagbart. If you will only allow me to—

Leonarda. How is it you dare to come here?

Hagbart. If you will only allow me to—

Leonarda. Not a word! Or can there be two men of that name?

Hagbart. No.

Leonarda. So it was you who came forward at the Philharmonic concert, when I was seeking admittance for myself and my adopted daughter, and spoke of me as "a woman of doubtful reputation"? Is that so?

Hagbart. Yes, madam; and I must—

Leonarda (interrupting him impetuously). Then get out of here!—Hans! (HANS is heard answering her from without.)

Hagbart. Mrs. Falk, first allow me to—.

[Enter HANS.]

Leonarda. Hans, will you see this gentleman off my premises.

Hans. Certainly, ma'am.

Hagbart. Wait a moment, Hans!

Hans. Shall I, ma'am? (Looks at LEONARDA.)

Hagbart. It concerns your niece, Mrs. Falk.

Leonarda. Aagot! Has anything happened to her? I have had no letter from her!

Hagbart. Wait outside, Hans!

Hans (to LEONARDA). Shall I, ma'am?

Leonarda. Yes, yes! (HANS goes out.) What is it?

Hagbart. No bad news.

Leonarda. But how is it you are here on her behalf?

Hagbart. It is difficult to avoid people at a watering-place, you know—although I must admit your niece did her best. She treated me as contemptuously as possible even went farther than that; but she could not prevent my talking to people she used to talk to, or my happening to be where she was; so that—well—she heard them talk about me, and heard me talk to them—and in the end she talked to me herself.

Leonarda. Talked to you?

Hagbart. Yes, it is no good denying it—she actually talked to me, and that more than once.

Leonarda. But what is the meaning of this visit to me?

Hagbart. If you will only allow me to—

Leonarda. I want you to deliver your message briefly and concisely—and not a word more than that.

Hagbart. But I cannot do that until you have allowed me to—

Leonarda. Whether you can or not, I shall allow nothing else. I am not going to give you an excuse for saying that you have been holding conversations with me too.

Hagbart. If you have no objection, I am in love with your niece, Mrs. Falk.

Leonarda. You? With Aagot?—It serves you right!

Hagbart. I know.

Leonarda. Ha, ha! That is how the land lies.

[HANS appears at the open door.]

Hans. Can I go now, ma'am?

Leonarda. Ha, ha!—Yes, you can go. (Exit HANS ) Well, what more have you to tell me? Have you given Aagot any hint of this?

Hagbart. Yes.

Leonarda. And what answer did you get?—You are silent. Do you find it difficult to tell me?

Hagbart. I am very glad you take it so well, Mrs. Falk.

Leonarda. Yes, it's funny, isn't it?—Well, what did Aagot say? She generally has plenty to say.

Hagbart. Indeed she has. We came here to-day by the same boat—

Leonarda. By the same boat? Aagot and you? Have you been persecuting her?

Hagbart. Mrs. Falk, you cannot possibly understand if you will not allow me to—

Leonarda. I wish to hear the rest of it from my niece, as I suppose she will be here directly.

Hagbart. Of course, but still—

Leonarda. There will be no more of that sort of thing here! If you intend to persecute my niece with your attentions in the same way as you have persecuted me with your malice, you are at liberty to try. But you shall not come here! I can forbid it here.

Hagbart. But, my dear Mrs. Falk—

Leonarda. I am really beginning to lose my patience, or rather I have lost it already. What have you come here for?

Hagbart. As there is no help for it—well, I will tell you straight out, although it may be a shock to you—I am here to ask for your niece's hand.

Leonarda (taking up her gloves). If I were a man, so that there should be nothing "doubtful" about my reply, I would strike you across the face with my gloves.

Hagbart. But you are a woman, so you will not.

[Enter HANS.]

Hans. Here is Miss Aagot, ma'am.

Aagot (from without). Aunt!

Leonarda. Aagot!

[Enter AAGOT. HANS goes out.]

Aagot. Aunt!—That wretched Hans! I was signalling to him—I wanted to surprise you. (Throws herself into LEONARDA'S arms.)

Leonarda. Child, have you deceived me?

Aagot. Deceived you? I?

Leonarda. I knew it! (Embraces her.) Forgive me! I had a moment's horrible doubt—but as soon as I looked at you it was gone!—Welcome, welcome! How pretty you look! Welcome!

Aagot. Oh, aunt!

Leonarda. What is it?

Aagot. You know.

Leonarda. His shameless persecution of you? Yes! (Meanwhile HAGBART has slipped out.)

Aagot. Hush!—Oh, he has gone!—Have you been cross with him?

Leonarda. Not as cross as he deserved—

Aagot. Didn't I tell him so?

Leonarda (laughing). What did you tell him?

Aagot. How hasty you could be!—Were you really cruel to him?

Leonarda. Do you mean to say you have any sympathy—with him?

Aagot. Have I any—? But, good heavens, hasn't he told you?

Leonarda. What?

Aagot. That he—that I—that we—oh, aunt, don't look so dreadfully at me!—You don't know, then?

Leonarda. No!

Aagot. Heaven help me! Aunt—!

Leonarda. You don't mean to say that you—?

Aagot. Yes, aunt.

Leonarda. With him, who—. In spite of that, you—Get away from me!

Aagot. Dear, darling aunt, listen to me!

Leonarda. Go away to him! Away with you!

Aagot. Have you looked at him, aunt? Have you seen how handsome he is?

Leonarda. Handsome? He!

Aagot. No, not a bit handsome, of course! Really, you are going too far!

Leonarda. To me he is the man who made a laughingstock of me in a censorious little town by calling me "a woman of doubtful reputation." And one day he presents himself here as my adopted daughter's lover, and you expect me to think him handsome! You ungrateful child!

Aagot. Aunt!

Leonarda. I have sacrificed eight years of my life—eight years—in this little hole, stinting myself in every possible way; and you, for whom I have done this, are hardly grown up before you fly into the arms of a man who has covered me with shame. And I am supposed to put up with it as something quite natural!—and to say nothing except that I think he is handsome! I—I won't look at you! Go away!

Aagot (in tears). Don't you suppose I have said all that to myself, a thousand times? That was why I didn't write. I have been most dreadfully distressed to know what to do.

Leonarda. At the very first hint of such a thing you might to have taken refuge here—with me—if you had had a scrap of loyalty in you.

Aagot. Aunt! (Goes on her knees.) Oh, aunt!

Leonarda. To think you could behave so contemptibly!

Aagot. Aunt!—It was just because he was so sorry for the way he had behaved to you, that I first—

Leonarda. Sorry? He came here with a smile on his lips!

Aagot. That was because he was in such a fright, aunt.

Leonarda. Do people smile because they are in a fright?

Aagot. Others don't, but he does. Do you know, dear, he was just the same with me at first—he smiled and looked so silly; and afterwards he told me that it was simply from fright.

Leonarda. If he had felt any qualms of conscience at all, as you pretend he did, he would at least have taken the very first opportunity to apologise.

Aagot. Didn't he do that?

Leonarda. No; he stood here beating about the bush and smiling—

Aagot. Then you must have frightened the sense out of him, aunt. He is shy, you know.—Aunt, let me tell you he is studying for the church.

Leonarda. Oh, he is that too, is he!

Aagot. Of course he is. You know he is the bishop's nephew, and is studying for the church, and of course that is what made him so prejudiced. But his behaviour that day was just what opened his eyes—because he is very kind-hearted. Dear, darling aunt—

Leonarda. Get up! It is silly to lie there like that. Where did you learn that trick?

Aagot (getting up). I am sure I don't know. But you frighten me so. (Cries.)

Leonarda. I can't help that. You frightened me first, you know, child.

Aagot. Yes, but it is all quite different from what you think, aunt. He is no longer our enemy. He has reproached himself so genuinely for treating you as he did—it is perfectly true, aunt. We all heard him say so. He said so first to other people, so that it should come round to me; and then I heard him saying so to them; and eventually he told me so, in so many words.

Leonarda. Why did you not write and tell me?

Aagot. Because you are not like other people, aunt! If I had as much as mentioned he was there, you would have told me to come home again at once. You aren't like others, you know.

Leonarda. But how in the world did it come about that you—?

Aagot. You know, dear, that if any one sings your praises, that is enough to make me their friend at once. And when, to crown all, this man did it who had behaved so unjustly to you, you can well believe that I went about singing for joy all day. That was the beginning of it—

Leonarda. Yes, tell me the whole story.

Aagot. That would be simply impossible, aunt! It would take me days!—But I can tell you this, that I had no idea what it was that was upsetting my nerves in such a manner.

Leonarda. If you felt like that, why did you not come away?

Aagot. That was just what I did! But that was also just what made the whole thing happen!

Leonarda. How? Try and tell me a little more calmly and consecutively!

Aagot. Thank you, aunt! It is good of you to listen to me! Good heavens, how I—. (Bursts into tears.)

Leonarda. There—there! Tell me all about it from beginning to end.

Aagot. Yes—I was quite feverish for about a week—I thought I was ill—and the others kept asking what was the matter with me. And really I didn't know. There is a whole heap of things I could tell you about those few days—but you wouldn't be able to understand.

Leonarda. Yes, I should.

Aagot. No, you couldn't possibly! I can't, either. I was so wretched then—and now I am so happy—

Leonarda. Well, tell me about it another time. But how did things come to a head?

Aagot. He spoke to me—straight out!

Leonarda. Proposed to you?

Aagot. Yes.—Oh, I feel I am blushing again at the very thought of it.

Leonarda. And you looked foolish?

Aagot. I don't know what I looked like!

Leonarda. What did you do?

Aagot. I gave one scream—a real good scream—and ran; ran home, packed my trunk, and got on board the boat as quick as I could.

Leonarda. And was that all?

Aagot. All? It happened out of doors amongst all the people.

Leonarda. Aagot!

Aagot. It happened so frightfully unexpectedly. I never was so frightened in my life—and so ashamed of myself afterwards. I did nothing but cry on the boat, all the way.

Leonarda. But he must have come by the same boat.

Aagot. Just fancy, he had travelled overland across the promontory and caught the boat on the other side. And I knew nothing about it till I saw him before my eyes! I thought I should sink through the deck. I wanted to run away then, but—oh, aunt, I couldn't! He looked at me with such a wonderful look in his eyes, and took hold of my hands. He spoke to me, but I don't know what he said; everything seemed to be going round and round. And his eyes, aunt! Ah, you haven't looked at them, and that is why you took it so—so—

Leonarda. No, dear.

Aagot. There is something about his mere presence—something so true. And when he looks at me and says—not in words, you know, but still says all the same "I love you so much," I tremble all over. Oh, aunt, kiss me!—There! Thank heaven!—Do you know what he said to-day?

Leonarda. No.

Aagot. That the woman who had fostered—that was the word he used—such a solemn word, but then he is studying for the church—well, that the woman who had fostered such a girl—he meant me, you know—I thought of all my faults, but he will get to know them soon enough—

Leonarda. Well? That the woman who had fostered such a girl as you—

Aagot.—as me, could not have her equal anywhere!

Leonarda. You must have been praising me up nicely?

Aagot. On the contrary. It was afterwards when he said he would come here first, before me—it was his duty, he said, to stand the first shock. "For heaven's sake don't," I said; "you don't know her, she will crush you!"

Leonarda. Oh, Aagot!

Aagot. It was then that he said, "No, the woman who has fostered such a girl," etcetera, etcetera. Ah, now I see you have been horrid to him.

Leonarda. I had been worried all the morning—and I misunderstood—

Aagot. You shall have no more worries after this. Because people are so kind, you know, and you are going to move about among them again. You, who are so good yourself—

Leonarda. No, that is just what I am not.

Aagot. You? You are only so very difficult to understand, aunt!—Oh, what is it, dear?

Leonarda. I am unhappy, Aagot!

Aagot. Why, aunt? About me?

Leonarda. You are the sunshine of my life; you have brought light and warmth and gentleness into it—but it is just because of that—

Aagot. Because of that? Aunt, I don't understand you.

Leonarda. I am clumsy, I am hard, I am suspicious—wicked. I am a savage, with no more self-restraint than I ever had. What sort of a figure must I cut in his eyes—and in yours? Tell me! Am I not a clumsy, ugly—

Aagot. You are the sweetest woman in the whole work! It is only your indomitable strength and courage and youthfulness—

Leonarda. No, no—tell me the truth! I deserve it! Because, you know, it has been for your sake that for eight years I have only associated with work-people. All that I have will be yours. So have some respect for me, Aagot—tell me the truth! Am I not—what shall I say? Tell me what I am!

Aagot. Adorable!

Leonarda. No, no! I have never realised as strongly as I do now how I have buried myself all these eight years. All the books I have read about the great movements going on in the world outside have not really enlightened me. All that I have read and thought fades away before the first gleam of life that reaches me from the real world of men and women. I see new beauty merely in your new clothes, your fashionable hat—the colours you are wearing—the way they are blended. They mean something that I know nothing of. You bring a fragrance in with you—a breath of freshness; you are so dainty and full of life; whereas everything here has become so old, so heavy, so disjointed—and my life most of all.

Aagot. Well, I must tell you what he said, since you won't believe what I say.

Leonarda. But he knew nothing about me?

Aagot. No—it only indirectly referred to you. He said he had never wanted so much to get to know any one, as he wanted to get to know you, because seeing much of me had made him discover you—that was the very expression he used! And it was an extraordinary chance that—

Leonarda. Stop! I can't bear to think of it!—To think it should be the very man whom we—we—

Aagot. Hated so!—yes, isn't it extraordinary?

Leonarda. The very first time you have been away from me!

Aagot. Yes!

Leonarda. And you come back in a halo of reconciliation and affection for him!

Aagot. But who is responsible for that, I should like to know! And you talk about your life here having made you clumsy and ugly—you, who can manufacture a goddess of victory like me!

Leonarda. No, I don't complain when I see you and hear you—when I have you with me! That is worth paying a price for. It was selfish of me to think for a moment that the price was too high. You are in the springtime of your life—while I—

Aagot. You? What is wrong with your life?

Leonarda. I am beginning to think my life is over.

Aagot. Yours? Your life over? Oh, you pain me by saying such a thing.

Leonarda. I am very happy—very happy about all this! Believe me that is so. But you know—

Aagot. I know how tremendously and incomprehensibly you have changed!

Leonarda. Go, my child—and bring him back!

Aagot. How delicious that sounds! Bring him back! (Gets up, then stops.) Thank you, my dear, sweet, darling aunt! (She runs out. LEONARDA falls into a chair by the table and buries her head in her hands. AAGOT'S voice is heard without: "Yes, come along!" and HAGBART'S, answering: "Is it true?")

Aagot (coming in with HAGBART). Come along! (LEONARDA gets up, dries her eyes, and meets them with a smile.) Aunt, here he is!

Hagbart. Mrs. Falk!

Leonarda. Forgive me!

Hagbart. What?—No, you must forgive me! I haven t been able to ask you to! I—

Aagot. We can talk about that another time! Let aunt look at you now!

Leonarda. You two won't disappoint one another. I can see that.

Aagot. It is wonderfully sweet of you, aunt!

Leonarda. Yes, love one another! Bring some beauty, some warmth, some colour into this cold house!

Aagot. Oh, aunt—!

Leonarda. Have you kissed her yet? (AAGOT moves a little away from HAGBART.) Go on! (They embrace.)

Aagot (running from him to LEONARDA). But, dearest aunt, are you crying?

Leonarda. Don't bother about me!—Have you told your uncle, the bishop, about it?

Hagbart. Not yet.

Leonarda. You haven't?—Well, you have the worst of it before you yet, I am afraid.

Hagbart. No; now that I have got as far as this, nothing shall stand in my way!

Aagot. Do you hear that, aunt?

[Curtain.]