Chapter II: Part 2

H’m; I say nothing. What is there to be said?

FIELDBO.

It’s the beginning of a struggle for power here in the district.

LUNDESTAD.

Well, well; no harm in a fight. He has great gifts, that Stensgård.

FIELDBO.

He is determined to make his way.

LUNDESTAD.

Youth is always determined to make its way. I was, when I was young; no one can object to that. But mightn’t we look in and see——

HEIRE.

[_From the tent._] Well, Mr. Lundestad, are you going to move the previous question, eh? To head the opposition? Hee-hee! You must make haste!

LUNDESTAD.

Oh, I daresay I shall be in time.

HEIRE.

Too late, sir! Unless you want to stand godfather. [_Cheering from the tent._] There, they’re chanting Amen; the baptism is over.

LUNDESTAD.

I suppose one may be permitted to listen; I shall keep quiet.

[_Enters the tent._

HEIRE.

There goes one of the falling trees! There will be a rare uprooting, I can tell you! The place will soon look like a wood after a tornado. Won’t I chuckle over it!

FIELDBO.

Tell me, Mr. Heire, what interest have you in the matter?

HEIRE.

Interest? I am entirely disinterested, Doctor! If I chuckle, it is on behalf of my fellow citizens. There will be life, spirit, go, in things. For my own part—good Lord, it’s all the same to me; I say, as the Grand Turk said of the Emperor of Austria and the King of France—I don’t care whether the pig eats the dog or the dog the pig.

[_Goes out towards the back on the right._

THE CROWD.

[_In the tent._] Long live Stensgård! Hurrah! Hurrah for the League of Youth! Wine! Punch! Hei, hei! Beer! Hurrah!

BASTIAN.

[_Comes from the tent._] God bless you and every one! [_With tears in his voice._] Oh, Doctor, I feel so strong this evening; I must do something.

FIELDBO.

Don’t mind me. What would you like to do?

BASTIAN.

I think I’ll go down to the dancing-room and fight one or two fellows.

[_Goes out behind the tent._

STENSGÅRD.

[_Comes from the tent without his hat, and greatly excited._] My dear Fieldbo, is that you?

FIELDBO.

At your service, Tribune of the People! For I suppose you’ve been elected——?

STENSGÅRD.

Of course; but——

FIELDBO.

And what is to come of it all? What nice little post are you to have? The management of the Bank? Or perhaps——

STENSGÅRD.

Oh, don’t talk to me like that! I know you don’t mean it. You are not so empty and wooden as you like to appear.

FIELDBO.

Empty and wooden, eh?

STENSGÅRD.

Fieldbo! Be my friend as you used to be! We have not understood each other of late. You have wounded and repelled me with your ridicule and irony. Believe me, it was wrong of you. [_Embraces him._] Oh, my great God! how happy I am!

FIELDBO.

You too? So am I, so am I!

STENSGÅRD.

Yes, I should be the meanest hound on earth if all heaven’s bounty didn’t make me good and true. How have I deserved it, Fieldbo? What have I, sinner that I am, done to be so richly blessed?

FIELDBO.

There is my hand! This evening I am your friend indeed!

STENSGÅRD.

Thanks! Be faithful and true, as I shall be!—Oh, isn’t it an unspeakable joy to carry all that multitude away and along with you? How can you help becoming good from mere thankfulness? And how it makes you love all your fellow creatures! I feel as if I could clasp them all in one embrace, and weep, and beg their forgiveness because God has been so partial as to give me more than them.

FIELDBO.

[_Quietly._] Yes, treasures without price may fall to one man’s lot. This evening I would not crush an insect, not a green leaf upon my path.

STENSGÅRD.

You?

FIELDBO.

Never mind. That’s apart from the question. I only mean that I understand you.

STENSGÅRD.

What a lovely night! Listen to the music and merriment floating out over the meadows. And how still it is in the valley! I tell you the man whose life is not reconsecrated in such an hour, does not deserve to live on God’s earth!

FIELDBO.

Yes; but tell me now: what do you mean to build up out of it—to-morrow, and through the working-days to come?

STENSGÅRD.

To build up? We have to tear down first.— Fieldbo, I had once a dream—or did I see it? No; it was a dream, but such a vivid one! I thought the Day of Judgment was come upon the world. I could see the whole curve of the hemisphere. There was no sun, only a livid storm-light. A tempest arose; it came rushing from the west and swept everything before it: first withered leaves, then men; but they kept on their feet all the time, and their garments clung fast to them, so that they seemed to be hurried along sitting. At first they looked like townspeople running after their hats in a wind; but when they came nearer they were emperors and kings; and it was their crowns and orbs they were chasing and catching at, and seemed always on the point of grasping, but never grasped. Oh, there were hundreds and hundreds of them, and none of them understood in the least what was happening; but many bewailed themselves, and asked: “Whence can it come, this terrible storm?” Then there came the answer: “One Voice spoke, and the storm is the echo of that one Voice.”

FIELDBO.

When did you dream that?

STENSGÅRD.

Oh, I don’t remember when; several years ago.

FIELDBO.

There were probably disturbances somewhere in Europe, and you had been reading the newspapers after a heavy supper.

STENSGÅRD.

The same shiver, the same thrill, that then ran down my back, I felt again to-night. Yes, I _will_ give my whole soul utterance. I will be the Voice——

FIELDBO.

Come, my dear Stensgård, pause and reflect. You will be the Voice, you say. Good! But where will you be the Voice? Here in the parish? Or at most here in the county! And who will echo you and raise the storm? Why, people like Monsen and Aslaksen, and that fat-headed genius, Mr. Bastian. And instead of the flying emperors and kings, we shall see old Lundestad rushing about after his lost seat in Parliament. Then what will it all amount to? Just what you at first saw in your dreamf—townsfolk in a wind.

STENSGÅRD.

In the beginning, yes. But who knows how far the storm may sweep?

FIELDBO.

Fiddlesticks with you and your storm: And the first thing you go and do, hoodwinked and blinded and gulled as you are, is to turn your weapons precisely against all that is worthy and capable among us——

STENSGÅRD.

That is not true.

FIELDBO.

It _is_ true! Monsen and the Stonelee gang got hold of you the moment you came here; and if you don’t shake him off it will be your ruin. Chamberlain Bratsberg is a man of honour; that you may rely on. Do you know why the great Monsen hates him? Why, because——

STENSGÅRD.

Not a word more! I won’t hear a word against my friends!

FIELDBO.

Look into yourself, Stensgård! Is Mr. Mons Monsen really your friend?

STENSGÅRD.

Mr. Monsen has most kindly opened his doors to me——

FIELDBO.

To people of the better sort he opens his doors in vain.

STENSGÅRD.

Oh, whom do you call the better sort? A few stuck-up officials! I know all about it. As for me, I have been received at Stonelee with so much cordiality and appreciation——

FIELDBO.

Appreciation? Yes, unfortunately—there we are at the root of the matter.

STENSGÅRD.

Not at all! I can see with unprejudiced eyes. Mr. Monsen has abilities, he has reading, he has a keen sense for public affairs.

FIELDBO.

Abilities? Oh, yes, in a way. Reading too: he takes in the papers, and has read your speeches and articles. And his sense for public affairs he has of course proved by applauding the said articles and speeches.

STENSGÅRD.

Now, Fieldbo, up come the dregs of your nature again. Can you never shake off that polluting habit of thought? Why must you always assume mean or ridiculous motives for everything? Oh, you are not serious! Now you look good and true again. I’ll tell you the real root of the matter. Do you know Ragna?

FIELDBO.

Ragna Monsen? Oh, after a fashion—at second hand.

STENSGÅRD.

Yes, I know she is sometimes at the Chamberlain’s.

FIELDBO.

In a quiet way, yes. She and Miss Bratsberg are old schoolfellows.

STENSGÅRD.

And what do you think of her?

FIELDBO.

Why, from all I have heard she seems to be a very good girl.

STENSGÅRD.

Oh, you should see her in her home! She thinks of nothing but her two little sisters. And how devotedly she must have nursed her mother! You know the mother was out of her mind for some years before she died.

FIELDBO.

Yes; I was their doctor at one time. But surely, my dear fellow, you don’t mean that——

STENSGÅRD.

Yes, Fieldbo, I love her truly; to you I can confess it. Oh, I know what you are surprised at. You think it strange that so soon after—of course you know that I was engaged in Christiania?

FIELDBO.

Yes, so I was told.

STENSGÅRD.

The whole thing was a disappointment. I _had_ to break it off; it was best for all parties. Oh, how I suffered in that affair! The torture, the sense of oppression I endured——! Now, thank heaven, I am out of it all. That was my reason for leaving town.

FIELDBO.

And with regard to Ragna Monsen, are you quite sure of yourself?

STENSGÅRD.

Yes, I am indeed. There’s no mistake possible in this case.

FIELDBO.

Well, then, in heaven’s name, go in and win! It means your life’s happiness! Oh, there’s so much I could say to you——

STENSGÅRD.

Really? Has she said anything? Has she confided in Miss Bratsberg?

FIELDBO.

No; that’s not what I mean. But how can you, in the midst of your happiness, go and fuddle yourself in these political orgies? _How_ can town tattle take any hold upon a mind that is——

STENSGÅRD.

Why not? Man is a complex machine—I am, at any rate. Besides, my way to her lies through these very party turmoils.

FIELDBO.

A terribly prosaic way.

STENSGÅRD.

Fieldbo, I am ambitious; you know I am. I must make my way in the world. When I remember that I’m thirty, and am still on the first round of the ladder, I feel my conscience gnawing at me.

FIELDBO.

Not with its wisdom teeth.

STENSGÅRD.

It’s of no use talking to you. You have never felt the spur of ambition. You have dawdled and drifted all your days—first at college, then abroad, now here.

FIELDBO.

Perhaps; but at least it has been delightful. And no reaction follows, like what you feel when you get down from the table after——

STENSGÅRD.

Stop that! I can bear anything but that. You are doing a bad action—you are damping my ardour.

FIELDBO.

Oh, come! If your ardour is so easily damped——

STENSGÅRD.

Stop, I say! What right have you to break in upon my happiness? Do you think I am not sincere?

FIELDBO.

Yes, I am sure you are.

STENSGÅRD.

Well, then, why go and make me feel empty, and disgusted, and suspicious of myself? [_Shouts and cheers from the tent._] There—listen! They are drinking my health. An idea that can take such hold upon people—by God, it _must_ have truth in it!

THORA BRATSBERG, RAGNA MONSEN, _and_ MR. HELLE _enter from the left and
cross, half-way back._

HELLE.

Look, Miss Bratsberg; there is Mr. Stensgård.

THORA.

Then I won’t go any further. Good-night, Ragna dear.

HELLE AND MISS MONSEN.

Good-night, good-night.

[_They go out to the right._

THORA.

[_Advancing._] I am Miss Bratsberg. I have a letter for you, from my father.

STENSGÅRD.

For me?

THORA.

Yes; here it is. [_Going._

FIELDBO.

May I not see you home?

THORA.

No, thank you. I can go alone. Good-night.

[_Goes out to the left._

STENSGÅRD.

[_Reading the letter by a Chinese lantern._] What is this!

FIELDBO.

Well—what has the Chamberlain to say to you?

STENSGÅRD.

[_Bursts into loud laughter._] I must say I didn’t expect this!

FIELDBO.

Tell me——?

STENSGÅRD.

Chamberlain Bratsberg is a pitiful creature.

FIELDBO.

You dare to——

STENSGÅRD.

Pitiful! Pitiful. Tell any one you please that I said so. Or rather, say nothing about it——[_Puts the letter in his pocket._] Don’t mention this to any one!

[_The_ COMPANY _come out from the tent._

MONSEN.

Mr. President! Where is Mr. Stensgård?

THE CROWD.

There he is! Hurrah!

LUNDESTAD.

Mr. President has forgotten his hat.

[_Hands it to him._

ASLAKSEN.

Here; have some punch! Here’s a whole bowlful!

STENSGÅRD.

Thanks, no more.

MONSEN.

And the members of the League will recollect that we meet to-morrow at Stonelee——

STENSGÅRD.

To-morrow? It wasn’t to-morrow, was it——?

MONSEN.

Yes, certainly; to draw up the manifesto——

STENSGÅRD.

No, I really can’t to-morrow—I shall see about it the day after to-morrow, or the day after that. Well, good-night, gentlemen; hearty thanks all round, and hurrah for the future!

THE CROWD.

Hurrah! Let’s take him home in triumph!

STENSGÅRD.

Thanks, thanks! But you really mustn’t——

ASLAKSEN.

We’ll all go with you.

STENSGÅRD.

Very well, come along. Good-night, Fieldbo; you’re not coming with us?

FIELDBO.

No; but let me tell you, what you said about Chamberlain Bratsberg——

STENSGÅRD.

Hush, hush! It was an exaggeration—I withdraw it! Well, my friends, if you’re coming, come; I’ll take the lead.

MONSEN.

Your arm, Stensgård!

BASTIAN.

A song! Strike up! Something thoroughly patriotic!

THE CROWD.

A song! A song! Music!

[_A popular air is played and sung. The procession marches out
by the back to the right._

FIELDBO.

[_To_ LUNDESTAD, _who remains behind._] A gallant procession.

LUNDESTAD.

Yes—and with a gallant leader.

FIELDBO.

And where are you going, Mr. Lundestad?

LUNDESTAD.

I? I’m going home to bed.

[_He nods and goes off._ DOCTOR FIELDBO _remains behind alone._

-----

Footnote 1:

Letter to Lucie Wolf, May 1883. _Correspondence_, Letter 171.

Footnote 2:

See _Correspondence_, Letters 44 and 45.

Footnote 3:

“Chamberlain” (Kammerherre) is a title conferred by the King of Norway
upon men of wealth and position. Hereditary nobility was abolished in
1821.

Footnote 4:

Pronounce _Staynsgore_.

Footnote 5:

In the original “Storli.”

Footnote 6:

Pronounce _Hellë_.

Footnote 7:

Heire (pronounce _Heirë_) = Heron.

Footnote 8:

Married women and widows of the lower middle-class are addressed as
Madam in Norway.

Footnote 9:

The Norwegian “Independence Day.”

Footnote 10:

“Local situation” is a very ineffectual rendering of Aslaksen’s
phrase, “lokale forholde”—German, _Verhältnisse_—but there seems to be
no other which will fit into all the different contexts in which it
occurs. It reappears in _An Enemy of the People_, Act V

Footnote 11:

The system of indirect election obtains in Norway. The constituencies
choose a College of Electors, who, in turn, choose the Members of the
Storthing or Parliament. It is the preliminary “Election of Electors”
to which Monsen refers.

Footnote 12:

In this untranslatable passage Daniel Heire seems to be making a sort
of pun on _suffragium_ and _naufragium_.

Footnote 13:

In Norway, before an action comes into Court, the parties are bound to
appear in person before a Commission of Arbitration or Conciliation.
If the Commission can suggest an arrangement acceptable to both sides,
this arrangement has the validity of a judgment, and the case goes no
further. Counsel are not allowed to appear before the Commission.

ACT SECOND.

_A garden-room at the Chamberlains, elegantly furnished, with a piano,
flowers, and rare plants. Entrance door at the back. On the left,
a door leading to the dining-room; on the right, several glass
doors lead out to the garden._

ASLAKSEN _stands at the entrance door. A_ MAIDSERVANT _is carrying some
dishes of fruit into the dining-room._

THE MAID.

Yes, but I tell you they’re still at table; you must call again.

ASLAKSEN.

I’d rather wait, if I may.

THE MAID.

Oh yes, if you like. You can sit there for the present.

[_She goes into the dining-room._ ASLAKSEN _takes a seat near
the door. Pause._ DR. FIELDBO _enters from the back._

FIELDBO.

Ah, good evening, Aslaksen: are you here?

THE MAID.

[_Returning._] You’re late this evening, sir.

FIELDBO.

I was called to see a patient.

THE MAID.

The Chamberlain and Miss Bratsberg have both been inquiring about you.

FIELDBO.

Indeed?

THE MAID.

Yes. Won’t you go in at once, sir; or shall I say that——?

FIELDBO.

No, no; never mind. I can have a snack afterwards; I shall wait here in the meantime.

THE MAID.

Dinner will soon be over.

[_She goes out by the back._

ASLAKSEN.

[_After a pause._] How can you resist such a dinner, Doctor—with dessert, and fine wines, and all sorts of good things?

FIELDBO.

Why, man, it seems to me we get too many good things hereabouts, rather than too few.

ASLAKSEN.

There I can’t agree with you.

FIELDBO.

H’m. I suppose you are waiting for someone.

ASLAKSEN.

Yes, I am.

FIELDBO.

And are things going tolerably at home? Your wife——?

ASLAKSEN.

In bed, as usual; coughing and wasting away.

FIELDBO.

And your second child?

ASLAKSEN.

Oh, he’s a cripple for the rest of his days; you know that. That’s our luck, you see; what the devil’s the use of talking about it?

FIELDBO.

Let me look at you, Aslaksen!

ASLAKSEN.

Well; what do you want to see?

FIELDBO.

You’ve been drinking to-day.

ASLAKSEN.

Yes, and yesterday too.

FIELDBO.

Well, yesterday there was some excuse for it; but to-day——

ASLAKSEN.

What about your friends in there, then? Aren’t they drinking too?

FIELDBO.

Yes, my dear Aslaksen; that’s a fair retort; but circumstances differ so in this world.

ASLAKSEN.

I didn’t choose my circumstances.

FIELDBO.

No; God chose them for you.

ASLAKSEN.

No, he didn’t—men chose them. Daniel Heire chose, when he took me from the printing-house and sent me to college. And Chamberlain Bratsberg chose, when he ruined Daniel Heire and sent me back to the printing-house.

FIELDBO.

Now you know that’s not true. The Chamberlain did not ruin Daniel Heire; Daniel Heire ruined himself.

ASLAKSEN.

Perhaps! But how dared Daniel Heire ruin himself, in the face of his responsibilities towards me? God’s partly to blame too, of course. Why should he give me talent and ability? Well, of course I could have turned them to account as a respectable handicraftsman; but then comes that tattling old fool——

FIELDBO.

It’s base of you to say that. Daniel Heire acted with the best intentions.

ASLAKSEN.

What good do his “best intentions” do me? You hear them in there, clinking glasses and drinking healths? Well, I too have sat at that table in my day, dressed in purple and fine linen, like the best of them——! That was just the thing for me, that was—for me, that had read so much and had thirsted so long to have my share in all the good things of life. Well, well; how long was Jeppe in Paradise?[14] Smash, crash! down you go—and my fine fortunes fell to pie, as we printers say.

FIELDBO.

But, after all, you were not so badly off; you had your trade to fall back upon.

ASLAKSEN.

That’s easily said. After getting out of your class you can’t get into it again. They took the ground from under my feet, and shoved me out on the slippery ice—and then they abuse me because I stumble.

FIELDBO.

Well, far be it from me to judge you harshly——

ASLAKSEN.

No; you have no right to.—What a queer jumble it is! Daniel Heire, and Providence, and the Chamberlain, and Destiny, and Circumstance—and I myself in the middle of it! I’ve often thought of unravelling it all and writing a book about it; but it’s so cursedly entangled that——[_Glances towards the door on the left._] Ah! They’re rising from table.

[_The party, ladies and gentlemen, pass from the dining-room
into the garden, in lively conversation. Among the guests
is_ STENSGÅRD, _with_ THORA _on his left arm and_ SELMA _on
his right. _FIELDBO _and_ ASLAKSEN _stand beside the door at
the back._

STENSGÅRD.

I don’t know my way here yet; you must tell me where I am to take you, ladies.

SELMA.

Out into the air; you must see the garden.

STENSGÅRD.

Oh, that will be delightful.

[_They go out by the foremost glass door on the right._

FIELDBO.

Why, by all that’s wonderful, there’s Stensgård!

ASLAKSEN.

It’s him I want to speak to. I’ve had a fine chase after him; fortunately I met Daniel Heire——

DANIEL HEIRE _and_ ERIK BRATSBERG _enter from the dining-room._

HEIRE.

Hee-hee! Excellent sherry, upon my word. I’ve tasted nothing like it since I was in London.

ERIK.

Yes, it’s good, isn’t it? It puts life into you.

HEIRE.

Well, well—it’s a real pleasure to see one’s money so well spent.

ERIK.

How so? [_Laughing._] Oh, yes; I see, I see.

[_They go into the garden._

FIELDBO.

You want to speak to Stensgård, you say?

ASLAKSEN.

Yes.

FIELDBO.

On business?

ASLAKSEN.

Of course; the report of the fête——

FIELDBO.

Well, then, you must wait out there in the meantime.

ASLAKSEN.

In the passage?

FIELDBO.

In the anteroom. This is scarcely the time or place—but the moment I see Stensgård alone, I’ll tell him——

ASLAKSEN.

Very well; I’ll bide my time.

[_Goes out by the back._

CHAMBERLAIN BRATSBERG, LUNDESTAD, RINGDAL,
_and one or two other gentlemen come
out of the dining-room._

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Conversing with_ LUNDESTAD.] Violent, you say? Well, perhaps the form wasn’t all that could be desired; but there were real gems in the speech, I can assure you.

LUNDESTAD.

Well, if you are satisfied, Chamberlain, I have no right to complain.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Why should you? Ah, here’s the Doctor! Starving, I’ll be bound.

FIELDBO.

It doesn’t matter, Chamberlain. The servants will attend to me. I feel myself almost at home here, you know.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, you do, do you? I wouldn’t be in too great a hurry.

FIELDBO.

What? Am I taking too great a liberty? You yourself permitted me to——

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

What I permitted, I permitted. Well, well, make yourself at home, and forage for something to eat. [_Slaps him lightly on the shoulder and turns to_ LUNDESTAD.] Now, _here’s_ one you may call an adventurer and—and the other thing I can’t remember.

FIELDBO.

Why, Chamberlain——!

LUNDESTAD.

No, I assure you——

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

No arguments after dinner; it’s bad for the digestion. They’ll serve the coffee outside presently.

[_Goes with the guests into the garden._

LUNDESTAD.

[_To_ FIELDBO.] Did you ever see the Chamberlain so strange as he is to-day?

FIELDBO.

I noticed it yesterday evening.

LUNDESTAD.

He will have it that I called Mr. Stensgård an adventurer and something else of that sort.

FIELDBO.

Oh, well, Mr. Lundestad, what if you did? Excuse me; I must go and talk to the ladies.

[_Goes out to the right._

LUNDESTAD.

[_To_ RINGDAL, _who is arranging a card table._] How do you account for Mr. Stensgård’s appearance here to-day?

RINGDAL.

Yes, how? He wasn’t on the original list.

LUNDESTAD.

An afterthought, then? After his attack on the Chamberlain yesterday——?

RINGDAL.

Yes, can you understand it?

LUNDESTAD.

Understand it? Oh yes, I suppose I can.

RINGDAL.

[_More softly._] You think the Chamberlain is afraid of him?

LUNDESTAD.

I think he is prudent—that’s what I think.

[_They go up to the back conversing, and so out into the garden.
At the same time_ SELMA _and_ STENSGÅRD _enter by the
foremost door on the right._

SELMA.

Yes, just look—over the tops of the trees you can see the church tower and all the upper part of the town.

STENSGÅRD.

So you can; I shouldn’t have thought so.

SELMA.

Don’t you think it’s a beautiful view?

STENSGÅRD.

Everything is beautiful here: the garden, and the view, and the sunshine, and the people! Great heaven, how beautiful it all is! And you live here all the summer?

SELMA.

No, not my husband and I; we come and go. We have a big, showy house in town, much finer than this; you’ll see it soon.

STENSGÅRD.

Perhaps your family live in town?

SELMA.

My family? Who are my family?

STENSGÅRD.

Oh, I didn’t know——

SELMA.

We fairy princesses have no family.

STENSGÅRD.

Fairy princesses?

SELMA.

At most we have a wicked stepmother——

STENSGÅRD.

A witch, yes! So you are a princess!

SELMA.

Princess of all the sunken palaces, whence you hear the soft music on midsummer nights. Doctor Fieldbo thinks it must be pleasant to be a princess; but I must tell you——

ERIK BRATSBERG.

[_Coming from the garden._] Ah, at last I find the little lady!

SELMA.

The little lady is telling Mr. Stensgård the story of her life.

ERIK.

Oh, indeed. And what part does the husband play in the little lady’s story?

SELMA.

The Prince, of course. [_To_ STENSGÅRD.] You know the prince always comes and breaks the spell, and then all ends happily, and every one calls and congratulates, and the fairy-tale is over.

STENSGÅRD.

Oh, it’s too short.

SELMA.

Perhaps—in a way.

ERIK.

[_Putting his arm round her waist._] But a new fairy-tale grows out of the old one, and in it the Princess becomes a Queen!

SELMA.

On the same condition as real Princesses?

ERIK.

What condition?

SELMA.

They must go into exile—to a foreign kingdom.

ERIK.

A cigar, Mr. Stensgård?

STENSGÅRD.

Thank you, not just now.

DOCTOR FIELDBO _and_ THORA _enter from the garden._

SELMA.

[_Going towards them._] Is that you, Thora dear? I hope you’re not ill?

THORA.

I? No.

SELMA.

Oh, but I’m sure you must be; you seem to be always consulting the doctor of late.

THORA.

No, I assure you——

SELMA.

Nonsense; let me feel your pulse! You are burning. My dear Doctor, don’t you think the fever will pass over?

FIELDBO.

Everything has its time.

THORA.

Would you rather have me freezing——?

SELMA.

No, a medium temperature is the best—ask my husband.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Enters from the garden._] The whole family gathered in secret conclave? That’s not very polite to the guests.

THORA.

I am just going, father dear——

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Aha, it is you the ladies are paying court to, Mr. Stensgård! I must look to this.

THORA.

[_Softly to_ FIELDBO.] Remain here!

[_She goes into the garden._

ERIK.

[_Offers_ SELMA _his arm._] Has Madame any objection——?

SELMA.

Come! [_They go out to the right._

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Looking after them._] It’s impossible to get these two separated.

FIELDBO.

It would be sinful to try.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Fools that we are! How Providence blesses us in spite of ourselves. [_Calls out._] Thora, Thora, do look after Selma! Get a shawl for her, and don’t let her run about so: she’ll catch cold! How short-sighted we mortals are, Doctor! Do you know any cure for that disease?

FIELDBO.

The spectacles of experience; through them you will see more clearly a second time.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

You don’t say so! Thanks for the advice. But since you feel yourself at home here, you must really pay a little attention to your guests.

FIELDBO.

Certainly; come, Stensgård, shall we——?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, no, no—there’s my old friend Heire out there——

FIELDBO.

He thinks himself at home here too.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Ha ha ha! So he does.

FIELDBO.

Well, we two will join forces, and do our best.

[_Goes into the garden._

STENSGÅRD.

You were speaking of Daniel Heire, Chamberlain. I must say I was rather surprised to see him here.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Were you? Mr. Heire and I are old school and college friends. Besides, we have had a good deal to do with each other in many ways since——

STENSGÅRD.

Yes, Mr. Heire was good enough to give his own account of some of these transactions, yesterday evening.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

H’m!

STENSGÅRD.

Had it not been for him, I certainly should not have let myself boil over as I did. But he has a way of speaking of people and things, that—in short, he has a vile tongue in his head.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

My dear young friend—Mr. Heire is my guest; you must not forget that. My house is liberty hall, with only one reservation: my guests must not be discussed to their disadvantage.

STENSGÅRD.

I beg your pardon, I’m sure——!

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, never mind; you belong to the younger generation, that’s not so punctilious. As for Mr. Heire, I don’t think you really know him. I, at any rate, owe Mr. Heire a great deal.

STENSGÅRD.

Yes, so he gave one to understand; but I didn’t think——

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

I owe him the best part of our domestic happiness, Mr. Stensgård! I owe him my daughter-in-law. Yes, that is really so. Daniel Heire was kind to her in her childhood. She was a youthful prodigy; she gave concerts when she was only ten years old. I daresay you have heard her spoken of—Selma Sjöblom.[15]

STENSGÅRD.

Sjöblom? Yes, of course; her father was Swedish?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Yes, a music-teacher. He came here many years ago. Musicians, you know, are seldom millionaires; and their habits are not always calculated to——; in short, Mr. Heire has always had an eye for talent; he was struck with the child, and had her sent to Berlin; and then, when her father was dead and Heire’s fortunes were on the wane, she returned to Christiania, where she was of course taken up by the best people. That was how my son happened to fall in with her.

STENSGÅRD.

Then in that way old Daniel Heire has indeed been an instrument for good——

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

That is how one thing leads to another in this life, you see. We are all instruments, Mr. Stensgård; you, like the rest of us; an instrument of wrath, I suppose——

STENSGÅRD.

Oh, don’t speak of it, Chamberlain. I am utterly ashamed——

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Ashamed?

STENSGÅRD.

It was most unbecoming——

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

The form was perhaps open to criticism, but the intention was excellent. And now I want to ask you, in future, when you are contemplating any move of the sort, just to come to me and tell me of it openly, and without reserve. You know we all want to act for the best; and it is my duty——

STENSGÅRD.

You will permit me to speak frankly to you?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Of course I will. Do you think I haven’t long realised that matters here have in some ways taken a most undesirable turn? But what was I to do? In the late King’s time I lived for the most part in Stockholm. I am old now; and besides, it is not in my nature to take the lead in reforms, or to throw myself personally into the turmoil of public affairs. You, on the other hand, Mr. Stensgård, have every qualification for them; so let us hold together.

STENSGÅRD.

Thanks, Chamberlain; many, many thanks!

RINGDAL _and_ DANIEL HEIRE _enter from the garden._

RINGDAL.

And I tell you it must be a misunderstanding.

HEIRE.

Indeed? I like that! How should I misunderstand my own ears?

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Anything new, Heire?

HEIRE.

Only that Anders Lundestad is going over to the Stonelee party.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, you’re joking!

HEIRE.

I beg your pardon, my dear sir; I have it from his own lips. Mr. Lundestad intends, on account of failing health, to retire from political life; you can draw your own conclusions from that.

STENSGÅRD.

He told you so himself?

HEIRE.

Of course he did. He made the momentous announcement to an awe-struck circle down in the garden; hee-hee!

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Why, my dear Ringdal, what can be the meaning of this?

HEIRE.

Oh, it’s not difficult to guess.

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Indeed it is though. This is a most important affair for the district. Come along, Ringdal; we must find the man himself.

[_He and_ RINGDAL _go down the garden._

FIELDBO.

[_Entering by the furthest back garden-door._] Has the Chamberlain gone out?

HEIRE.

Sh! The sages are deliberating! Great news, Doctor! Lundestad is going to resign.

FIELDBO.

Oh, impossible!

STENSGÅRD.

Can you understand it?

HEIRE.

Ah, now we may look out for real sport. It’s the League of Youth that’s beginning to work, Mr. Stensgård. Do you know what you should call your League? I’ll tell you some other time.

STENSGÅRD.

Do you think it’s really our League——?

HEIRE.

Not the least doubt about it. So we’re to have the pleasure of sending our respected friend Mr. Mons Monsen to Parliament! I wish he were off already;—I’d give him a lift with pleasure——I say no more; hee-hee!

[_Goes into the garden._

STENSGÅRD.

Tell me, Fieldbo—how do you explain all this?

FIELDBO.

There are other things still more difficult to explain. How come _you_ to be here?

STENSGÅRD.

I? Like the rest, of course—by invitation.

FIELDBO.

I hear you were invited yesterday evening—after your speech——

STENSGÅRD.

What then?

FIELDBO.

How could you accept the invitation?

STENSGÅRD.

What the deuce was I to do? I couldn’t insult these good people.

FIELDBO.

Indeed! You couldn’t? What about your speech then?

STENSGÅRD.

Nonsense! It was principles I attacked in my speech, not persons.

FIELDBO.

And how do you account for the Chamberlain’s invitation?

STENSGÅRD.

Why, my dear friend, there can only be one way of accounting for it.

FIELDBO.

Namely, that the Chamberlain is afraid of you?

STENSGÅRD.

By heaven, he shall have no reason to be! He is a gentleman.

FIELDBO.

That he is.

STENSGÅRD.

Isn’t it touching the way the old man has taken this affair? And how lovely Miss Bratsberg looked when she brought me the letter!

FIELDBO.

But look here—they haven’t mentioned the scene of yesterday, have they?

STENSGÅRD.

Not a word; they have far too much tact for that. But I am filled with remorse; I must find an opportunity of apologising——

FIELDBO.

I strongly advise you not to! You don’t know the Chamberlain——

STENSGÅRD.

Very well; then my acts shall speak for me.

FIELDBO.

You won’t break with the Stonelee party?

STENSGÅRD.

I shall bring about a reconciliation. I have my League; it’s a power already, you see.

FIELDBO.

By-the-bye, while I remember—we were speaking of Miss Monsen—I advised you to go in and win——

STENSGÅRD.

Oh, there’s no hurry——

FIELDBO.

But listen; I have been thinking it over: you had better put all that out of your head.

STENSGÅRD.

I believe you are right. If you marry into an underbred family, you marry the whole tribe of them.

FIELDBO.

Yes, and there are other reasons——

STENSGÅRD.

Monsen is an underbred fellow; I see that now.

FIELDBO.

Well, polish is not his strong point.

STENSGÅRD.

No, indeed it’s not! He goes and speaks ill of his guests; that’s ungentlemanly. His rooms all reek of stale tobacco——

FIELDBO.

My dear fellow, how is it you haven’t noticed the stale tobacco before?

STENSGÅRD.

It’s the contrast that does it. I made a false start when I settled here. I fell into the clutches of a clique, and they bewildered me with their clamour. But there shall be an end to that! I won’t go and wear my life out as a tool in the hands of self-interest or coarse stupidity.

FIELDBO.

But what will you do with your League?

STENSGÅRD.

The League shall remain as it is; it’s founded on a pretty broad basis. Its purpose is to counteract noxious influences; and I am just beginning to realise what side the noxious influences come from.

FIELDBO.

But do you think the “Youth” will see it in the same light?

STENSGÅRD.

They _shall_! I have surely a right to expect fellows like that to bow before my superior insight.

FIELDBO.

But if they won’t?

STENSGÅRD.

Then they can go their own way. I have done with them. You don’t suppose I am going to let my life slip into a wrong groove, and never reach the goal, for the sake of mere blind, pig-headed consistency!

FIELDBO.

What do you call the goal?

STENSGÅRD.

A career that gives scope for my talents, and fulfils my aspirations.

FIELDBO.

No vague phrases! What do you mean by your goal?

STENSGÅRD.

Well, to you I can make a clean breast of it. My goal is this: in the course of time to get into Parliament, perhaps into the Ministry, and to marry happily into a family of means and position.

FIELDBO.

Oh, indeed! And by help of the Chamberlain’s social connections you intend to——?

STENSGÅRD.

I intend to reach the goal by my own exertions! I must and will reach it; and without help from any one. It will take time, I daresay; but never mind! Meanwhile I shall enjoy life here, drinking in beauty and sunshine——

FIELDBO.

Here?

STENSGÅRD.

Yes, here! Here there are fine manners; life moves gracefully here; the very floors seem laid to be trodden only by lacquered shoes. Here the arm-chairs are deep and the ladies sink exquisitely into them. Here conversation moves lightly and elegantly, like a game at battledore; here no blunders come plumping in to make an awkward silence. Oh, Fieldbo—here I feel for the first time what distinction means! Yes, we have indeed an aristocracy of our own; a little circle; an aristocracy of culture; and to it I will belong. Don’t you yourself feel the refining influence of this place? Don’t you feel that wealth here loses its grossness? When I think of Monsen’s money, I seem to see piles of fetid bank-notes and greasy mortgages—but here! here it is shimmering silver! And the people are the same. Look at the Chamberlain—what a fine high-bred old fellow!

FIELDBO.

He is indeed.

STENSGÅRD.

And the son—alert, straightforward, capable!

FIELDBO.

Certainly.

STENSGÅRD.

And then the daughter-in-law! Isn’t she a pearl? Good God, what a rich, what a fascinating nature!

FIELDBO.

Thora—Miss Bratsberg has that too.

STENSGÅRD.

Oh yes; but she is less remarkable.

FIELDBO.

Oh, you don’t know her. You don’t know how deep, and steadfast, and true her nature is.

STENSGÅRD.

But oh, the daughter-in-law! So frank, almost reckless; and yet so appreciative, so irresistible——

FIELDBO.

Why, I really believe you’re in love with her.

STENSGÅRD.

With a married woman? Are you crazy? What good would _that_ do me? No, but I am falling in love—I can feel that plainly. Yes, she is indeed deep, and steadfast, and true.

FIELDBO.

Who?

STENSGÅRD.

Miss Bratsberg, of course.

FIELDBO.

What? You’re never thinking of——?

STENSGÅRD.

Yes, by heaven I am!

FIELDBO.

I assure you it’s quite out of the question.

STENSGÅRD.

Ho-ho! Will rules the world, my dear fellow! We shall see if it doesn’t.

FIELDBO.

Why, this is the merest extravagance! Yesterday it was Miss Monsen——

STENSGÅRD.

Oh, I was too hasty about that; besides, you yourself advised me not to——

FIELDBO.

I advise you most emphatically to dismiss all thought of either of them.

STENSGÅRD.

Indeed! Perhaps you yourself think of throwing the handkerchief to one of them?

FIELDBO.

I? No, I assure you——

STENSGÅRD.

Well, it wouldn’t have mattered if you had. If people stand in my way and want to balk me of my future, why, I stick at nothing.

FIELDBO.

Take care I don’t say the same!

STENSGÅRD.

You! What right have you to pose as guardian and protector to Chamberlain Bratsberg’s family?

FIELDBO.

I have at least the right of a friend.

STENSGÅRD.

Pooh! that sort of talk won’t do with me. Your motive is mere self-interest! It gratifies your petty vanity to imagine yourself cock-of-the-walk in this house; and so I am to be kept outside the pale.

FIELDBO.

That is the best thing that could happen to you. Here you are standing on hollow ground.

STENSGÅRD.

Am I indeed? Many thanks! I shall manage to prop it up.

FIELDBO.

Try; but I warn you, it will fall through with you first.

STENSGÅRD.

Ho-ho! So you are intriguing against me, are you? I’m glad I have found it out. I know you now; you are my enemy, the only one I have here.

FIELDBO.

Indeed I am not.

STENSGÅRD.

Indeed you are! You have always been so, ever since our school-days. Just look around here and see how every one appreciates me, stranger as I am. You, on the other hand, you who know me, have never appreciated me. That is the radical weakness of your character—you can never appreciate any one. What did you do in Christiania but go about from tea-party to tea-party, spreading yourself out in little witticisms? That sort of thing brings its own punishment! You dull your sense for all that makes life worth living, for all that is ennobling and inspiring; and presently you get left behind, fit for nothing.

FIELDBO.

Am I fit for nothing?

STENSGÅRD.

Have you ever been fit to appreciate me?

FIELDBO.

What was I to appreciate in you?

STENSGÅRD.

My will, if nothing else. Every one else appreciates it—the crowd at the fête yesterday—Chamberlain Bratsberg and his family——

FIELDBO.

Mr. Mons Monsen and his ditto——! And by-the-bye, that reminds me—there’s some one out here waiting for you——

STENSGÅRD.

Who?

FIELDBO.

[_Going towards the back._] One who appreciates you. [_Opens the door and calls._] Aslaksen, come in!

STENSGÅRD.

Aslaksen?

ASLAKSEN.

[_Entering._] Ah, at last!

FIELDBO.

Good-bye for the present; I won’t intrude upon friends in council.

[_Goes into the garden._

STENSGÅRD.

What in the devil’s name do you want here?

ASLAKSEN.

I _must_ speak to you. You promised me yesterday an account of the founding of the League, and——

STENSGÅRD.

I can’t give it you; it must wait till another time.

ASLAKSEN.

Impossible, Mr. Stensgård; the paper appears to-morrow morning.

STENSGÅRD.

Nonsense! It has all to be altered. The matter has entered on a new phase; new forces have come into play. What I said about Chamberlain Bratsberg must be entirely recast before it can appear.

ASLAKSEN.

Oh, that about the Chamberlain, _that’s_ in type already.

STENSGÅRD.

Then it must come out of type again.

ASLAKSEN.

Not go in?

STENSGÅRD.

I won’t have it published in that form. Why do you stare at me? Do you think I don’t know how to manage the affairs of the League?

ASLAKSEN.

Oh, certainly; but you must let me tell you——

STENSGÅRD.

No arguing, Aslaksen; that I can’t and won’t stand!

ASLAKSEN.

Do you know, Mr. Stensgård, that you are doing your best to take the bread out of my mouth? Do you know that?

STENSGÅRD.

No; I know nothing of the sort.

ASLAKSEN.

But you are. Last winter, before you came here, my paper was looking up. I edited it myself, I must tell you, and I edited it on a principle.

STENSGÅRD.

You?

ASLAKSEN.

Yes, I!—I said to myself: it’s the great public that supports a paper; now the great public is the bad public—that comes of the local situation; and the bad public will have a bad paper. So you see I edited it——

STENSGÅRD.

Badly! Yes, that’s undeniable.

ASLAKSEN.

Well, and I prospered by it. But then you came and brought ideas into the district. The paper took on a colour, and then Lundestad’s supporters all fell away. The subscribers that are left won’t pay their subscriptions——

STENSGÅRD.

Ah, but the paper has become a good one.

ASLAKSEN.

I can’t live on a good paper. You were to make things lively; you were to grapple with abuses, as you promised yesterday. The bigwigs were to be pilloried; the paper was to be filled with things people were bound to read—and now, you leave me in the lurch——

STENSGÅRD.

Ho-ho! You think I am going to keep you supplied with libels! No, thank you, my good sir!

ASLAKSEN.

Mr. Stensgård, you musn’t drive me to desperation, or you’ll repent it.

STENSGÅRD.

What do you mean?

ASLAKSEN.

I mean that I must make the paper pay in another way. Heaven knows I should be sorry to do it. Before you came I made an honest living out of accidents and suicides and other harmless things, that often hadn’t even happened. But now you have turned everything topsy-turvy; people now want very different fare——

STENSGÅRD.

Just let me tell you this: if you break loose in any way, if you go a single step beyond my orders, and try to exploit the movement in your own dirty interests, I’ll go to the opposition printer and start a new paper. We have money, you must know! We can bring your rag to ruin in a fortnight.

ASLAKSEN.

[_Pale._] You wouldn’t do that!

STENSGÅRD.

Yes, I would; and you’ll see I can edit a paper so as to appeal to the great public.

ASLAKSEN.

Then I’ll go this instant to Chamberlain Bratsberg——

STENSGÅRD.

You? What have you to do with him?

ASLAKSEN.

What have _you_ to do with him? Do you think I don’t know why you are invited here? It’s because he is afraid of you, and of what you may do; and you are making capital of that. But if he’s afraid of what you may do, he’ll be no less afraid of what I may print; and _I_ will make capital of that!

STENSGÅRD.

Would you dare to? A wretched creature like you——!

ASLAKSEN.

I’ll soon show you. If your speech is to be kept out of the paper, the Chamberlain shall pay me for keeping it out.

STENSGÅRD.

Try it; just try it! You’re drunk, fellow——!

ASLAKSEN.

Only in moderation. But I’ll fight like a lion if you try to take my poor crust out of my mouth. Little you know what sort of a home mine is: a bedridden wife, a crippled child——

STENSGÅRD.

Off with you! Do you think I want to be soiled with your squalor? What are your bedridden wives and deformed brats to me? If you stand in my way, if you dare so much as to obstruct a single one of my prospects, you shall be on the parish before the year’s out!

ASLAKSEN.

I’ll wait _one_ day——

STENSGÅRD.

Ah, you’re coming to your senses.

ASLAKSEN.

I shall announce to the subscribers in a handbill that in consequence of an indisposition contracted at the fête, the editor——

STENSGÅRD.

Yes, do so; I daresay, later on, we shall come to an understanding.

ASLAKSEN.

I trust we may.—Remember this, Mr. Stensgård: that paper is my one ewe lamb.

[_Goes out by the back._

LUNDESTAD.

[_At the foremost garden door._] Ah, Mr. Stensgård!

STENSGÅRD.

Ah, Mr. Lundestad!

LUNDESTAD.

You here alone? If you have no objection, I should like to have a little talk with you.

STENSGÅRD.

With pleasure.

LUNDESTAD.

In the first place, let me say that if any one has told you that I have said anything to your disadvantage, you musn’t believe it.

STENSGÅRD.

To my disadvantage? What do you mean?

LUNDESTAD.

Oh, nothing; nothing, I assure you. You see, there are so many busybodies here, that go about doing nothing but setting people by the ears.

STENSGÅRD.

Well, on the whole—I’m afraid our relations _are_ a little strained.

LUNDESTAD.

They are quite natural relations, Mr. Stensgård: the relation of the old to the new; it is always so.

STENSGÅRD.

Oh, come, Mr. Lundestad, you are not so old as all that.

LUNDESTAD.

Yes indeed, I’m getting old. I have held my seat ever since 1839. It’s time I should be relieved.

STENSGÅRD.

Relieved?

LUNDESTAD.

Times change, you see. New problems arise, and for their solution we want new forces.

STENSGÅRD.

Now, frankly, Mr. Lundestad—are you really going to give up your seat to Monsen?

LUNDESTAD.

To Monsen? No, certainly not to Monsen.

STENSGÅRD.

Then I don’t understand——

LUNDESTAD.

Suppose, now, I did retire in Monsen’s favour: do you think he would be elected?

STENSGÅRD.

It’s hard to say. As the preliminary election comes on the day after to-morrow, there may scarcely be time to prepare the public mind; but——

LUNDESTAD.

I don’t believe he would manage it. The Chamberlain’s party, my party, would not vote for him. Of course “my party” is a figure of speech; I mean the men of property, the old families, who are settled on their own land and belong to it. They won’t have anything to do with Monsen. Monsen is a newcomer; no one really knows anything about Monsen and his affairs. And then he has had to cut down so much to clear a place for himself—to fell both trees and men, you may say.

STENSGÅRD.

Well then, if you think he has no chance——

LUNDESTAD.

H’m! You are a man of rare gifts, Mr. STENSGÅRD. Providence has dealt lavishly with you. But it has made one little oversight: it ought to have given you one thing more.

STENSGÅRD.

And what may that be?

LUNDESTAD.

Tell me—why do you never think of yourself? Why have you no ambition?

STENSGÅRD.

Ambition? I?

LUNDESTAD.

Why do you waste all your strength on other people? In one word—why not go into Parliament yourself?

STENSGÅRD.

I? You are not serious?

LUNDESTAD.

Why not? You have qualified, I hear. And if you don’t seize this opportunity, then some one else will come in; and when once he is firm in the saddle, it may not be so easy to unseat him.

STENSGÅRD.

Great heavens, Mr. Lundestad! do you really mean what you say?

LUNDESTAD.

Oh, I don’t want to commit you; if you don’t care about it——

STENSGÅRD.

Not care about it! Well, I must confess I’m not so utterly devoid of ambition as you suppose. But do you really think it possible?

LUNDESTAD.

Oh, there’s nothing impossible about it. I should do my best, and so, no doubt, would the Chamberlain; he knows your oratorical gifts. You have the young men on your side——

STENSGÅRD.

Mr. Lundestad, by heaven, you are my true friend!

LUNDESTAD.

Oh, you don’t mean much by that. If you really looked upon me as a friend, you would relieve me of this burden. You have young shoulders; you could bear it so easily.

STENSGÅRD.

I place myself entirely at your disposal; I will not fail you.

LUNDESTAD.

Then you are really not disinclined to——

STENSGÅRD.

Here’s my hand on it!

LUNDESTAD.

Thanks! Believe me, Mr. Stensgård, you will not regret it. But now we must go warily to work. We must both of us take care to be on the electoral college—I to propose you as my successor, and put you through your facings before the rest; and you to give an account of your views——

STENSGÅRD.

If we once get so far, we are safe. In the electoral college you are omnipotent.

LUNDESTAD.

There is a limit to omnipotence. You must of course bring your oratory into play; you must take care to explain away anything that might seem really awkward or objectionable——

STENSGÅRD.

You don’t mean that I am to break with my party?

LUNDESTAD.

Now just look at the thing reasonably. What do we mean when we talk of two parties? We have, on the one hand, certain men or families who are in possession of the common civic advantages—I mean property, independence, and power. That is the party I belong to. On the other hand, we have the mass of our younger fellow citizens who want to share in these advantages. That is your party. But that party you will quite naturally and properly pass out of when you get into power—to say nothing of taking up a solid position as a man of property—for of course _that_ is essential, Mr. Stensgård.

STENSGÅRD.

Yes, I believe it is. But the time is short; and such a position is not to be attained in a day.

LUNDESTAD.

That’s true; but perhaps the prospect of such a position would be enough——

STENSGÅRD.

The prospect——?

LUNDESTAD.

Have you any rooted objection to a good marriage, Mr. Stensgård? There are heiresses in the country-side. A man like you, with a future before him—a man who can reckon on attaining the highest offices—believe me, you needn’t fear a repulse if you play your cards neatly.

STENSGÅRD.

Then, for heaven’s sake, help me in the game! You open wide vistas to me—great visions! All that I have hoped and longed for, and that seemed so dreamlike and far away, stands suddenly before me in living reality—to lead the people forward towards emancipation, to——

LUNDESTAD.

Yes, we must keep our eyes open, Mr. Stensgård. I see your ambition is already on the alert. That’s well. The rest will come of itself.—In the meantime, thanks! I shall never forget your readiness to take the burden of office from my old shoulders.

[_The whole party gradually enters from the garden. Two
maid-servants bring in candles and hand round refreshments
during the following scene._

SELMA.

[_Goes towards the piano at the back, left._] Mr. Stensgård, you must join us; we are going to have a game of forfeits.

STENSGÅRD.

With pleasure; I am just in the mood.

[_Follows her towards the back, makes arrangements with her,
places chairs, etc. etc._

ERIK BRATSBERG.

[_In an undertone._] What the deuce is this my father is saying, Mr. Heire? What speech has Mr. Stensgård been making yesterday?

HEIRE.

Hee-hee! Don’t you know about it?

ERIK.

No; we townspeople had our dinner and ball at the Club. My father declares Mr. Stensgård has entirely broken with the Stonelee gang—that he was frightfully rude to Monsen——

HEIRE.

To Monsen! No, you must have misunderstood him, my dear sir.

ERIK.

Well, there were a whole lot of people about, so that I couldn’t quite follow what he said; but I certainly heard——

HEIRE.

Wait till to-morrow—— I say no more. You’ll have the whole story with your coffee, in Aslaksen’s paper.

[_They separate._

THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Well, my dear Lundestad, are you sticking to those crotchets of yours?

LUNDESTAD.

They are no crotchets, Chamberlain; rather than be ousted, one should give way gracefully.