Three Comedies by Bjornstjerne M. Bjornson

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Svava. But there was something you wanted to say to me?

Hoff. Yes, there was. You see, these Kindergartens--

Svava. Oh, so it was them, all the time?

Hoff. No, it was not them. But they are responsible for my having
for a long time thought very highly of you, Miss Riis. If you
will excuse my saying so, I had never before seen fashionable
young ladies trying to do anything useful--never. I am only a
little broken-down tradesman travelling for a firm--a worthless
sort of chap in many ways, and one that very likely deserves what
he has got--but anyway I wanted you to be spared. Indeed thought
it was my duty--absolutely my duty. But now when I see you
sitting there before me--well, now I only I feel miserably
unhappy. So I won't trouble you at all (Gets up.) Not at all.

Svava. I really cannot understand--

Hoff. Please don't bother about me! And please forgive my
disturbing you.--No, you really must not give me another thought!
Just imagine that I have not been here--that is all. (As he
reaches the door, he meets ALFRED coming in. As soon as he sees
that SVAVA is watching them, he goes hurriedly out. SVAVA sees
the meeting between the two and gives a little scream, then
rushes to meet ALFRED. But as soon as she is face to face with
him, she seems terrified. As he comes nearer to take her in his
arms she cries out: "Don't touch me!" and hurries out by the door
on the left. She is heard locking and bolting it on the inside.
Then a violent outburst of weeping is heard, the sound being
somewhat deadened by the distance, but only for a few moments.
Then the sound of singing is heard outside, and a few seconds
later RIIS comes into the room. The curtain falls as he enters.)

ACT II

(SCENE.--The same as in Act I. SVAVA is lying on the couch to the
right, resting her head on one hand, looking out towards the
park. Her mother is sitting beside her.)

Mrs. Riis. Decisions as hasty as yours, Svava, are not really
decisions at all. There is always a great deal more to be taken
into consideration than one realises at first. Take time to think
it over! I believe he is a fine fellow. Give him time to show it;
don't break it off immediately!

Svava. Why do you keep on saying that to me?

Mrs. Riis. Well, dear, you know I have never had the chance of
saying anything to you till to-day.

Svava. But you keep harping on that one string.

Mrs. Riis. What note do you want me to strike, then?

Svava. The note your dear good mother would have struck--quite a
different one altogether.

Mrs. Riis. It is one thing to teach your child how to make a
proper choice in life, but--

Svava. But quite another thing to put into practice what you
teach?

Mrs. Riis. No; I was going to say that life itself is quite
another thing. In daily life, and especially in married life, it
is sometimes advisable to make allowances.

Svava. Yes, on points that do not really matter.

Mrs. Riis. Only on points that do not matter?

Svava. Yes--personal peculiarities, and things like that, which
after all are only excrescences; but not on points that concern
one's moral growth.

Mrs. Riis. Yes, on those points too.

Svava. On those points too?--But isn't it just for the sake of
our own self-development that we marry? What else should we marry
for?

Mrs. Riis. Oh, you will see!

Svava. No, indeed I shall not; because I do not intend to marry
on such conditions.

Mrs. Riis. You should have said that sooner. It is too late now.

Svava (sitting upright). Too late? If I had been married twenty
years, I would have done just the same! (Lies down again.)

Mrs. Riis. Heaven help you, then!--You haven't an idea, not the
smallest idea, what a net you are entangled in! But you will find
it out, as soon as you begin to struggle in earnest. Or do you
really want your father and me to throw away all that we have
worked for here?--to begin all over again in a foreign country?
Because he has repeatedly said, during the last day or two, that
he will not be mixed up in the scandal that would be the result
of your breaking this off. He would go abroad, and I should have
to go with him. Ah, you wince at the thought of that!--Think of
all your friends, too. It is a serious matter to have been set on
such an eminence as you were at your betrothal party. It is like
being lifted up high on a platform that others are carrying on
their shoulders; take care you do not fall down from it! That is
what you will do, if you offend their principles of right
behaviour.

Svava. Is that sort of thing a principle of right behaviour?

Mrs. Riis. I do not say that. But undoubtedly, one their
principles of right behaviour--and perhaps the most important--is
that all scandal must be avoided. No one relishes being
disgraced, Svava--particularly the most influential people in a
place. And least of all, by a long way, do people relish their
own child being disgraced.

Svava (half raising herself). Good Lord! is it _I_ that am
disgracing him?

Mrs. Riis. No, of course, it is he himself--

Svava. Very well, then! (Sinks down upon the couch again.)

Mrs. Riis. But you will never get them to understand that. I
assure you, you won't. As long as what he has done is only
whispered about in his family and amongst his intimate friends,
they don't consider him disgraced at all. There are too many that
do just the same. It is only when the knowledge of it becomes
common property, that they consider it a disgrace. And if it
became known that there was a formal breach between you--the
Christensens' eldest son ignominiously refused because of his
past life--they would consider it the most shocking scandal that
could possibly overtake them! And we should feel the effect of
it, in particular. And so would those that are dependent on us--
and they are not so few in number, as you know, because you
have interested yourself in them, particularly in the children.
You would have t. give up all the interests you have made for
Yourself here--because you would have to go with us. I am certain
your father is in earnest about that.

Svava. Oh! Oh!

Mrs. Riis. I almost wish I could tell you why I am so certain of
that. But I cannot--at all events not now. No, you must not tempt
me to.--Here comes your father. Only take time to reflect, Svava!
No breaking of it off, no scandal! (RIIS comes in from outside,
with an opened letter in his hand.)

Riis. Oh, there you are! (Goes into his room, lays down his hat
and stick, and comes out again.) You have taken no serious step
yet, I hope--eh?

Mrs. Riis. No, but--

Riis. Very well. Now here is a letter from the Christensens. If
you won't receive either your dance or his letters, you will have
to put up with his family's interference in the matter.
Everything must come to an end sooner or later. (Reads.) "My
wife, my son and I will do ourselves the honour of paying you a
visit between eleven and twelve o'clock." The only wonder is,
that I have not had some such letter before this! I am sure they
have been patient enough.

Mrs. Riis. Well, we have got no farther to-day, either.

Riis. What are you thinking of, child? Can't you see what it must
all lead to? You are a good-hearted girl, I know--I am sure you
don't want to ruin us all absolutely? I certainly consider,
Svava, that you have acted quite severely enough now in this
matter. They have suffered a nasty shock to their self-
confidence, both of them; you may be quite sure of that. What
more do you want? If you are really determined to carry the
matter farther--well--make your conditions! There is no doubt
they will be agreed to.

Svava. For shame! For shame!

Riis (despairingly). What is the use of taking it in this way!

Mrs. Riis. What, indeed! You ought rather to try and make things
a bit easier, Svava.

Riis. And you really might condescend, too, to consider who it is
that you are throwing over--a member of one of the richest
families in the country, and, I venture to say, one of the most
honourable too. I have never heard of anything so idiotic! Yes, I
repeat--idiotic, idiotic! What if he have made a false step--or
two--well, good heavens--

Svava. Yes, bring heaven into it, too!

Riis. Indeed I well may! There is good need. As I was saying, if
he have made a false step, surely the poor fellow has been
sufficiently punished for it now. Beside it is certainly our duty
to be a little reasonable with one another--it is a commandment,
you know, that we are to be reasonable and forgiving. We must be
forgiving! And more than that, we must help the erring--we must
raise up the fallen and set them in the right way. Yes, set them
in the right way. You could do that so splendidly! It is exactly
in your line. You know very well, my dear child, it is very
seldom I talk about morals and that sort of thing. It doesn't sit
well on me at all; I know that only too well. But on this
occasion I cannot help it. Begin with forgiveness, my child;
begin with that! After all, can you contemplate living together
with anyone for any length of time without--without--well,
without _that_?

Svava. But there is no question of living with anyone, for any
length of time, or of forgiveness--because I do not mean to have
anything more to do with him.

Riis. Really, this is beyond all bounds! Because he has dared to
fall in love with some one before you--?

Svava. Some one?

Riis. Well, if there was more than one, I am sure I know nothing
about it. No, indeed I do not! Besides, the way people gossip and
backbite is the very devil! But, as I was saying, because he
dared to look at some one before he looked at you--before he ever
_thought_ of you--is that a reason for throwing him over for good
and all? How many would ever get married under those circumstances,
I should like to know? Everybody confirms the opinion that he is
an honourable, fine young fellow, to whom the proudest girl might
confidently entrust herself--you said so yourself, only a day or
two ago! Do not deny it! And now he is suddenly to be thrown
over, because you are not the first girl he has ever met! Pride
should have some limits, remember! I have never heard of anything
more preposterous, if you ask me.

Mrs. Riis. Men are not like that.

Riis. And what about girls? Are they like that? I am quite sure
they do not ask whether their fiancés have been married before--
observe, I said "married." You can imagine he has been married.
Well, why not? That is what other girls do--you cannot deny it. I
know you know it. You have been to dances; who are most in
request there? Precisely those who have the reputation of being
something of a Don Juan. They take the wind out of all the other
fellows' sails. You have seen it yourself a hundred times. And it
is not only at dances that this applied. Don't you suppose they
get married--and as a rule make the very best matches?

Mrs. Riis. That is true.

Riis. Of course it is true. And as a rule they make the very best
husbands, too!

Mrs. Riis. Hm!

Riis. Oh, indeed they do!--with some exceptions, of course,
naturally. The fact is, that marriage has an ennobling influence,
and provides a beautiful vocation for a woman--the most beautiful
vocation possible!

Svava (who has got up). I can just manage to listen to such
things from you--because I expected no better from you.

Riis. Thank you very much!

Svava (who has come forward). One would really think that
marriage were a sort of superior wash-house for men--

Riis. Ha, ha!

Svava. --and that men could come there and take a dip when they
please--and in what state they please!

Riis. Oh, really--!

Svava. I mean it! And it is flattering--very flattering--for me,
as your daughter, to feel that you look upon me as so peculiarly
suited for the washerwoman's post! None of that for me, thank
you!

Riis. But this is--

Svava. No, just listen to me for a little! I don't think I have
said too much, the last day or two.

Riis. No, we have not been allowed to say a word to you.

Svava. Look here, father. You have a fine supply of principles,
for show purposes.

Riis. For--?

Svava. I do not mean by that, that they are not your own. But you
are so good and so honourable, your whole life is so refined,
that I do not attach the least importance to your principles. But
to mother's I do attach importance, for hers are what have formed
mine. And now just when I want to act up to them, she deserts me.

Riis and Mrs. Riis (together). Svava!

Svava. It is mother I am angry with! It is mother I cannot have
patience with!

Riis. Really, Svava--!

Svava. Because if there has been one point on which mother and
I have been agreed, it has been on the subject of the unprincipled
way men prepare themselves for marriage, and the sort of marriages
that are the result. We have watched the course of it, mother and
I, for many years; and we had come to one and the same conclusion,
that it is _before_ marriage that a marriage is marred. But when,
the other day, mother began to turn round--

Mrs. Riis. No, you have no right to say that! I am convinced that
Alfred is as honourable--

Svava. But when, the other day, mother began to turn round--well,
I could not have been more amazed if some one had come in and
told me they had met her out in the street when she was actually
sitting here talking to me.

Mrs. Riis. I only ask you to take time to consider! I am not
contradicting you!

Svava. Oh, let me speak now! Let me give you just one instance.
One day, before I was really grown up, I came running into this
room from the park. We had just bought the property, and I was
so happy. Mother was standing over there leaning against the door
and crying. It was a lovely summer's day. "Why are you crying,
mother?" I said. For some time she seemed as if she did not see
me. "Why are you crying, mother?" I repeated, and went nearer to
her, but did not like to touch her. She turned away from me, and
walked up and down once or twice. Then she came to me. "My
child," she said, drawing me to her, "never give in to what is
not good and pure, on any account whatever! It is so cowardly,
and one repents it so bitterly; it means perpetually giving in,
more and more and more." I do not know what she referred to, and
I have never asked. But no one can imagine what an effect it all
had on me--the beautiful summer day, and mother crying, and the
heartfelt tones of her voice! I cannot give in; do not ask me to.
Everything that made marriage seem beautiful to me is gone--my
faith, my feeling of security--all gone! No, no, no! I can never
begin with that, and it is wicked of you to want to make me
believe I can. After such a disillusionment and such a humiliation?
No! I would rather never be married--even it I have to go away from
here. I daresay I shall find something to fill my life; it is only
for the moment that I am so helpless. And anything is better than
to fill it with what is unclean. If I did not refuse that without
hesitation, I should be an accomplice to it. Perhaps some people
could put up with that. I cannot--no, I cannot. Do you think it
is arrogance on my part? Or because I am angry? If you knew what
we two had planned and schemed, you would understand me. And if
you knew what I have thought of him, how I have admired him--you
did the same yourselves--and how wretched I feel now, how utterly
robbed of everything!--Who is it that is crying? Is it you, mother?
(She runs to her mother, kneels down and buries her head in her
lap. A pause. RIIS goes into his room.) Why cannot we three hold
together? If we do, what have we to be afraid of? What is it that
stands in the way? Father, what is it that stands in the way?--But
where is father? (Sees NORDAN outside the window.) Uncle Nordan!
This is a surprise! (Hurries across the room, throws herself into
NORDAN's arms as he enters, and bursts into tears.)

Nordan. Oh, you goose! You great goose!

Svava. You must come and talk to me!

Nordan. Isn't that what I am here for?

Svava. And I thought you were up in the mountains and could
not hear from us.

Nordan. So I was. But when I got telegram after telegram, as long
as they could reach me, and then one express letter after
another--and now the end of it all is--well, I don't suppose I
dare even mention his name here now? (RIIS comes in from his
room.)

Riis. At last! We have been so anxious for you to come!

Mrs. Riis (who has at last risen and come forward). Thank you for
coming, dear doctor!

Nordan (looking at her). There is something serious up, then?

Mrs. Riis. I have something I want to say to you.

Nordan. Yes, but just now away you go, you two! Let me talk to
this booby. (MRS. RIIS goes out to the left. SVAVA follows her
for a minute.)

Riis. I just want to tell you that in a little while--

Nordan. --the whole pack of Christensens will be here? I know
that. Go away now.

Riis. Nordan! (Whispers to him.)

Nordan. Yes, yes!--Quite so!--No, of course not! (Tries to stop
his whispering.) Do you suppose I don't know what I am about? Be
off with you! (SVAVA comes in, as her father goes out.)

Svava. Dear Uncle Nordan! At last, somebody that will agree with
me!

Nordan. Am I?

Svava. Oh, Uncle Nordan, you don't know what these days have been
like!

Nordan. And the nights too, I expect?--although, with all that,
you don't look so bad.

Svava. The last night or two I have slept.

Nordan. Really? Then I see how things stand. You are a tough
customer, you are!

Svava. Oh, don't begin saying a lot of things you don't mean,
uncle.

Nordan. Things I don't mean!

Svava. You always do, you know. But we haven't time for that
now. I am all on fire!

Nordan. Well, what is this you have been doing?

Svava. Ah, you see, you are beginning again!

Nordan. Beginning again? Who the devil has put the idea into
your head that I ever say anything but what I mean? Come and
let us sit down. (Brings a chair forward.)

Svava (bringing her chair close to his). There now!

Nordan. Since I was here last, I believe you have promulgated a
brand-new law on the subject of love? I congratulate you.

Svava. Have I?

Nordan. A superhuman, Svava-woven one--derived from seraphic
heights, I should imagine! "There shall be only one love in a
man's life, and it shall be directed only to one object." Full
stop!

Svava. Have I said anything like that?

Nordan. Is it not you that have thrown over a young man because
he has had the audacity to fall in love before he saw you?

Svava. Do you take it in that way, too?

Nordan. In that way? Is there any other way for a sensible man
to take it? A fine young fellow honesty, adores you; a distinguished
family throw their doors wide open to you, as if you were a
princess; and then you turn round and say: "You have not waited
for me ever since you were a child! Away with you!"

Svava (springing up). What, you too! You too! And the same
talk! The same stupid talk!

Nordan. I can tell you what it is; if you do not give
consideration to everything that can be said on the other side,
you are stupid.--No, it is no use going away from me and marching
up and down! I shall begin and march up and down too, if you do!
Come here and sit. Or _daren't_ you go thoroughly into the
question with me?

Svava. Yes, I dare. (Sits down again.)

Nordan. Well, to begin with, do you not think there must
certainly be two sides to a question that is discussed by serious
men and women all over the world?

Svava. This only concerns me! And as far as I am concerned
there is only one side to it.

Nordan. You do not understand me, child! You shall settle your
own affairs ultimately, and nobody else--of course. But suppose
what you have to settle is not quite so simple as you think it?
Suppose it is a problem that at the present moment is exercising
the minds of thousands and thousands of people? Do you not think
it is your duty to give some consideration to the usual attitude
towards it, and to what is generally thought and said about it?
Do you think it is conscientious to condemn in a single instance
without doing that?

Svava. I understand! I think I have done what you are urging me
to do. Ask mother!

Nordan. Oh, I daresay you and your mother have chattered and
read a lot about marriage and the woman question, and about
abolishing distinctions of class--now you want to abolish
distinctions of sex too. But as regards this special question?

Svava. What do you consider I have overlooked?

Nordan. Just this. Are you right in being equally as strict with
men as with women? Eh?

Svava. Yes, of course.

Nordan. Is it so much a matter of course? Go out and ask any
one you meet. Out of every hundred you ask, ninety will say
"no"--even out of a hundred women!

Svava. Do you think so? I think people are beginning to think
otherwise.

Nordan. Possibly. But experience is necessary if one is to
answer a question like that.

Svava. Do you mean what you say?

Nordan. That is none of your business. Besides, I always mean
what I say.--A woman can marry when is sixteen; a man must wait
till he is five-and-twenty, or thirty. There is a difference.

Svava. There _is_ a difference! There are many, many times more
unmarried women than men, and they exhibit self-control. Men find
it more convenient to make a law of their want of self-control!

Nordan. An answer like that only displays ignorance. Man is a
polygamous animal, like many other animals--a theory that is very
strongly supported by the fact that women so outnumber men in the
world. I daresay that is something you have never heard before?

Svava. Yes, I have heard it!

Nordan. Don't you laugh at science! What else we to put faith in,
I should like to know?

Svava. I should just like men to have the same trouble over their
children that women do! Just let them have that, Uncle Nordan,
and I fancy they would soon change their principles! Just let
them experience it!

Nordan. They have no time for that; they have to govern the world.

Svava. Yes, they have allotted the parts themselves!--Now, tell
me this, Dr. Nordan. Is it cowardly not to practise what you
preach?

Nordan. Of course it is.

Svava. Then why do you not do it?

Nordan. I? I have always been a regular monster. Don't you know
that, dear child?

Svava. Dear Uncle Nordan--you have such long white locks; why
do you wear them like that?

Nordan. Oh, well--I have my reasons.

Svava. What are they?

Nordan. We won't go into that now.

Svava. You told me the reason once.

Nordan. Did I?

Svava. I wanted, one day, to take hold of your hair, but you
would not let me. You said: "Do you know why you must not
do that?"--"No," I said.--"Because no one has done that for more
than thirty years."--"Who was it that did it last?" I asked.--"It
was a little girl, that you are very like," you answered.

Nordan. So I told you that, did I?

Svava. "And she was one of your grandmother's younger sisters,"
you said to me.

Nordan. She was. It was quite true. And you are like her, my
child.

Svava. And then you told me that the year you went to college she
was standing beside you one day and caught up some locks of your
hair in her fingers. "You must never wear your hair shorter than
this," she said. She went away, and you went away; and when, one
day, you wrote and asked her whether you two did not belong to
one another, her answer was "yes." And a month later she was dead.

Nordan. She was dead.

Svava. And ever since then--you dear, queer old uncle--you have
considered yourself as married to her. (He nods.) And ever since
the evening you told me that--and I lay awake a long time,
thinking over it--I wanted, even when I was quite a young girl,
to choose some one I could have perfect confidence in. And then I
chose wrong.

Nordan. Did you, Svava?

Svava. Do not ask me any more about that.--Then I chose once
again, and this time I was certain! For never had truer eyes
looked in mine. And how happy we were together! Day after day it
always seemed new, and the days were always too short. I dare not
think about now. Oh, it is sinful to deceive us so!--not deceit
in words, it is true, but in letting us give them our admiration
and our most intimate confidences. Not in words, no--and yet, it
is in words; because they accept all we say, and are silent
themselves, and by that very fact make our words their own. Our
simple-mindedness pleases them as a bit of unspoilt nature, and
it is just by means of that that they deceive us. It creates an
intimacy between us and an atmosphere of happy give-and-take of
jests, which we think can exist only on one presupposition--and
really it is all a sham. I cannot understand how any one can so
treat the one he loves--for he did love me!

Nordan. He does love you.

Svava (getting up). But not as I loved him! All these years I
have not been frittering away my love. Besides, I have had too
high an ideal of what loving and being loved should be; and just
for that reason I felt a deep desire to be loved--I can say so to
you. And when love came, seemed to take all my strength from me;
but I felt I should always be safe with him, and so I let him see
it and gloried in his seeing it. That is the bitterest part of it
to me now--because he was unworthy of it. He has said to me: "I
cannot bear to see any one else touch you!" and "When I catch a
glimpse of your arm, I think to myself that it has been round my
neck--mine, and no one else's in the world." And I felt proud and
happy when he said so, because I thought it was true. Hundreds of
times I had imagined some one's saying that to me some day. But I
never imagined that the one who would say it would be a man who--
oh, it is disgusting! When I think what it means, it makes me
ready to hate him. The mere thought that he has had his arms
round me--has touched me--makes me shudder! I am not laying down
rules for any one else, but what I am doing seems to me a matter
of course. Every fibre of my being tells me that. I must be left
in peace!

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