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.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Nonsense; who is dreaming of ousting you?

                               LUNDESTAD.

H’m; I’m an old weather-prophet. There has been a change in the wind.
Besides, I have my successor ready. Mr. Stensgård is willing——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Mr. Stensgård?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Wasn’t that what you meant? I took it for a hint when you said he was a
man we must make friends with and support.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

I meant in his onslaught upon all the corruption and swindling that goes
on at Stonelee.

                               LUNDESTAD.

But how could you count so confidently upon his breaking with that crew?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

He did it openly enough last evening, my dear fellow.

                               LUNDESTAD.

Last evening?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Yes, when he spoke of Monsen’s deplorable influence in the district.

                               LUNDESTAD.

[_Open-mouthed._] Of Monsen’s——?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Of course; that time on the table——

                               LUNDESTAD.

On the table? Yes?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

He was frightfully rude; called him a money-bag, and a griffin or a
basilisk, or something. Ha-ha!—it was great sport to hear him.

                               LUNDESTAD.

Great sport, was it?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Yes, I own I’m not sorry to see these people a little roughly handled.
But now we must back him up; for after such a savage attack——

                               LUNDESTAD.

As that of yesterday, you mean?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Of course.

                               LUNDESTAD.

Upon the table?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Yes, upon the table.

                               LUNDESTAD.

Against Monsen?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Yes, against Monsen and his set. Of course they’ll try to have their
revenge; you can’t blame them——

                               LUNDESTAD.

[_Decidedly._] Mr. Stensgård must be supported—that is clear!

                                 THORA.

Father dear, you must join in the game.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, nonsense, child——

                                 THORA.

Yes, indeed you must; Selma insists upon it.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Very well, I suppose I must give in. [_In an undertone as they go
towards the back._] I’m quite distressed about Lundestad; he is really
failing; fancy, he didn’t in the least understand what Stensgård——

                                 THORA.

Oh, come, come; they’ve begun the game.

        [_She drags him into the circle of young people where the game
            is in full swing._

                                 ERIK.

[_Calls from his place._] Mr. Heire, you are appointed forfeit-judge.

                                 HEIRE.

Hee-hee! It’s the first appointment I ever had.

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_Also in the circle._] On account of your legal experience, Mr. Heire.

                                 HEIRE.

Oh, my amiable young friends, I should be delighted to sentence you
all—— I say no more!

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_Slips up to_ LUNDESTAD, _who stands in front on the left._] You were
speaking to the Chamberlain. What about? Was it about me?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Unfortunately it was—about that affair of yesterday evening——

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_Writhing._] Oh, confound it all!

                               LUNDESTAD.

He said you had been frightfully rude.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Do you think it isn’t a torture to me?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Now is your chance to atone for it.

                                 ERIK.

[_Calls._] Mr. Stensgård, it’s your turn.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Coming! [_Quickly to_ LUNDESTAD.] What do you mean?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Find an opportunity and apologise to the Chamberlain.

                               STENSGÅRD.

By heaven, I will!

                                 SELMA.

Make haste, make haste!

                               STENSGÅRD.

I’m coming! Here I am!

        [_The game goes on with noise and laughter. Some elderly
            gentlemen play cards on the right._ LUNDESTAD _takes a seat
            on the left;_ DANIEL HEIRE _near him._

                                 HEIRE.

That whelp twits me with my legal experience, does he?

                               LUNDESTAD.

He’s rather free with his tongue, that’s certain.

                                 HEIRE.

And so the whole family goes and fawns upon him. Hee-hee! They’re
pitifully afraid of him.

                               LUNDESTAD.

No, there you are wrong, Mr. Heire; the Chamberlain is not afraid of
him.

                                 HEIRE.

Not afraid? Do you think I’m blind, my good sir?

                               LUNDESTAD.

No, but—I can trust you to keep the secret? Well, I’ll tell you all
about it. The Chamberlain thinks it was Monsen he was attacking.

                                 HEIRE.

Monsen? Oh, absurd!

                               LUNDESTAD.

Fact, Mr. Heire! Ringdal or Miss Thora must have got him persuaded
that——

                                 HEIRE.

And so he goes and asks him to a state dinner-party! Deuce take me, if
that isn’t the best thing I’ve heard for long! No, really now, I can’t
keep _that_ bottled up.

                               LUNDESTAD.

Sh, sh! Remember your promise. The Chamberlain’s your old school-fellow:
and even if he has been a little hard upon you——

                                 HEIRE.

Hee-hee! I’ll pay him back with interest!

                               LUNDESTAD.

Take care! The Chamberlain is powerful. Don’t play tricks in the lion’s
den!

                                 HEIRE.

Bratsberg a lion? Pooh, he’s a blockhead, sir, and I am not. Oh, won’t I
get a rare crop of taunts, and jibes, and innuendoes out of this, when
once our great suit comes on!

                                 SELMA.

[_Calls from the circle._] Learned judge, what shall the owner of this
forfeit do?

                                 ERIK.

[_Unnoticed, to_ HEIRE.] It’s Stensgård’s! Think of something amusing.

                                 HEIRE.

That forfeit? Hee-hee, let me see; he might, for example—yes—he shall
make a speech!

                                 SELMA.

It’s Mr. Stensgård’s forfeit.

                                 ERIK.

Mr. Stensgård is to make a speech.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh no, spare me that; I came off badly enough last night.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Excellently, Mr. Stensgård; I know something of public speaking.

                               LUNDESTAD.

[_To_ HEIRE.] If only he doesn’t put his foot in it now.

                                 HEIRE.

Put his foot in it? Hee-hee! You’re a sharp one! That’s an inspiration!
[_In an undertone to STENSGÅRD._] If you came off badly last night, why
not put yourself right again to-night?

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_Seized with a sudden idea._] Lundestad, here is the opportunity!

                               LUNDESTAD.

[_Evasively._] Play your cards neatly.

        [_Looks for his hat and slips quietly towards the door._

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, I will make a speech!

                           THE YOUNG LADIES.

Bravo! Bravo!

                               STENSGÅRD.

Fill your glasses, ladies and gentlemen! I am going to make a speech
which shall begin with a fable; for here I seem to breathe the finer air
of fable-land.

                                 ERIK.

[_To the_ LADIES.] Hush! Listen!

        [THE CHAMBERLAIN _takes his glass from the card-table on the
            right, beside which he remains standing._ RINGDAL, FIELDBO,
            _and one or two other gentlemen come in from the garden._

                               STENSGÅRD.

It was in the spring time. There came a young cuckoo flying over the
uplands. Now the cuckoo is an adventurer. There was a great
Bird-Parliament on the meadow beneath him, and both wild and tame fowl
flocked to it. They came tripping out of the hen-yards; they waddled up
from the goose-ponds; down, from Stonelee hulked a fat capercailzie,
flying low and noisily; he settled down, and ruffled his feathers and
flapped his wings, and made himself even broader than he was; and every
now and then he crowed: “Krak, krak, krak!” as much as to say: I’m the
game-cock from Stonelee, I am!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Capital! Hear, hear!

                               STENSGÅRD.

And then there was an old woodpecker. He bustled up and down the
tree-trunks, pecking with his pointed beak, and gorging himself with
grubs and everything that turns to gall. To right and left you heard him
going: prik, prik, prik! And that was the woodpecker.

                                 ERIK.

Excuse me, wasn’t it a stork, or a——?[16]

                                 HEIRE.

Say no more!

                               STENSGÅRD.

That was the old woodpecker. But now there came life into the crew; for
they found something to cackle evil about. And they flustered together,
and cackled in chorus, until at last the young cuckoo began to join in
the cackling——

                                FIELDBO.

[_Unnoticed._] For God’s sake, man, be quiet!

                               STENSGÅRD.

Now it was an eagle they cackled about—an eagle who dwelt in lonely
dignity upon a beetling cliff.[17] They were all agreed about him. “He’s
a bugbear to the neighbourhood,” croaked a hoarse raven. But the eagle
swooped down into their midst, seized the cuckoo, and bore him aloft to
his eyrie.—Heart conquered heart! From that clear summit the
adventurer-cuckoo looked far and wide over the lowlands; there he found
sunshine and peace; and there he learned to judge aright the swarm from
the hen-yards and the clearings——

                                FIELDBO.

[_Loudly._] Bravo, bravo! And now some music.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Hush! Don’t interrupt him.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Chamberlain Bratsberg—here my fable ends; and here I stand before you,
in the presence of every one, to beg your forgiveness for last night.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Falls a step backwards._] Mine——?

                               STENSGÅRD.

I thank you for the magnanimous vengeance you have taken for my
senseless words. In me you have henceforth a faithful champion. And now,
ladies and gentlemen, I drink the health of the eagle on the
mountain-top—the health of Chamberlain Bratsberg.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Clutching at the table._] Thank you, Mr.—Mr. Stensgård.

                              THE GUESTS.

[_For the most part in painful embarrassment._] The Chamberlain!
Chamberlain Bratsberg!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Ladies! Gentlemen! [_Softly._] Thora!

                                 THORA.

Father!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, Doctor, Doctor, what have you done?

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_With his glass in his hand, radiant with self-satisfaction._] Now to
our places again! Hullo, Fieldbo! Come, join in—join in the League of
Youth! The game’s going merrily!

                                 HEIRE.

[_In front, on the left._] Yes, on my soul, the game’s going merrily!

        [LUNDESTAD _slips out by the door in the back._

-----

Footnote 14:

  An allusion to Holberg’s comedy, _Jeppe på Bierget_, which deals with
  the theme of Abou Hassan, treated by Shakespeare in the Induction to
  _The Taming of the Shrew_, and by Hauptmann in _Schluck und Jau_.

Footnote 15:

  Pronounce “Shöblom”—the modified “ö” much as in German.

Footnote 16:

  As before stated, “Heire” means a heron.

Footnote 17:

  “Et brat fjeld”—an allusion to the name Bratsberg.

                               ACT THIRD.

_An elegant morning-room, with entrance-door in the back. On the left,
      the door of the_ CHAMBERLAIN’S _study; further back, a door
      leading to the drawing-room. On the right, a door leading to_
      RINGDAL’S _offices; further forward, a window._

THORA _is seated on the sofa, left, weeping. The_ CHAMBERLAIN _paces
      angrily up and down._

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Yes, now we have the epilogue—tears and lamentations——

                                 THORA.

Oh, that we had never seen that man!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

What man?

                                 THORA.

That wretched Mr. Stensgård, of course.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

You should rather say: Oh, that we had never seen that wretched Doctor.

                                 THORA.

Doctor Fieldbo?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Yes, Fieldbo, Fieldbo! Wasn’t it he that palmed off a parcel of lies
upon me——?

                                 THORA.

No, my dear father, it was I.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

You? Well, then, both of you! You were his accomplice—behind my back. A
nice state of affairs!

                                 THORA.

Oh, father, if you only knew——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, I know enough; more than enough; much more!

                  DR. FIELDBO _enters from the back._

                                FIELDBO.

Good morning, Chamberlain! Good morning, Miss Bratsberg!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Still pacing the room._] So you are there, are you—bird of evil omen!

                                FIELDBO.

Yes, it was a very unpleasant affair.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Looking out at the window._] Oh, you think so?

                                FIELDBO.

You must have noticed how I kept my eye upon Stensgård all the evening.
Unfortunately, when I heard there was to be a game of forfeits, I
thought there was no danger——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Stamping on the floor._] To be made a laughing-stock by such a
windbag! What must my guests have thought of me? That I was mean enough
to want to buy this creature, this—this——as Lundestad calls him!

                                FIELDBO.

Yes, but——

                                 THORA.

[_Unnoticed by her father._] Don’t speak!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_After a short pause, turns to_ FIELDBO.] Tell me frankly, Doctor:—Am I
really denser than the general run of people?

                                FIELDBO.

How can you ask such a question. Chamberlain?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Then how did it happen that I was probably the only person there who
didn’t understand that that confounded speech was meant for me?

                                FIELDBO.

Shall I tell you why?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Certainly.

                                FIELDBO.

It is because you yourself regard your position in the district
differently from other people.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

I regard my position as my father before me regarded his. No one would
ever have ventured to treat _him_ so.

                                FIELDBO.

Your father died about the year 1830.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, yes; many a barrier has broken down since that time. But, after all,
it’s my own fault. I have mixed myself up too much with these good
people. So now I must be content to have my name coupled with Anders
Lundestad’s!

                                FIELDBO.

Well, frankly, I see no disgrace in that.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, you know quite well what I mean. Of course I don’t plume myself on
rank, or titles, or anything of that sort. But what I hold in honour,
and expect others to hold in honour, is the integrity handed down in our
family from generation to generation. What I mean is that when a man
like Lundestad goes into public life, he cannot keep his character and
his conduct entirely free from stain. In the general mud-throwing, he is
sure to find himself bespattered. But they might leave _me_ in peace; I
stand outside their parties.

                                FIELDBO.

Not so entirely, Chamberlain; at least you were delighted so long as you
thought it was Monsen that was attacked.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Don’t mention that fellow!—It is he that has relaxed the moral sense of
the district. And now he has gone and turned my son’s head, confound
him!

                                 THORA.

Erik’s?

                                FIELDBO.

Your son’s?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Yes; what tempted him to go and set up in business? It leads to nothing.

                                FIELDBO.

Why, my dear Chamberlain, he must live and——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, with economy he could quite well live on the money that came to him
from his mother.

                                FIELDBO.

He might perhaps live _on_ it; but what could he live _for_?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

For? Well, if he absolutely must have something to live for, hasn’t he
qualified as a lawyer? He might live for his profession.

                                FIELDBO.

No, that he couldn’t do; it is against his nature. Then there was no
official appointment he could well hope for; you have kept the
management of your property in your own hands; and your son has no
children to educate. Under these circumstances, when he sees tempting
examples around him—people who have started from nothing and are worth
their half million——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Their half million! Oh, come now, let us keep to the hundred thousands.
But neither the half million nor the hundred thousands can be scraped
together with perfectly clean hands;—I don’t mean in the eyes of the
world; Heaven knows it is easy enough to keep within the law; but in
respect to one’s own conscience. Of course my son cannot descend to
anything questionable; so you may be quite sure Mr. Erik Bratsberg’s
financial operations won’t bring in any half millions.

            SELMA, _in walking dress, enters from the back._

                                 SELMA.

Good-morning! Is Erik not here?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Good-morning, child! Are you looking for your husband?

                                 SELMA.

Yes, he said he was coming here. Mr. Monsen called upon him early this
morning, and then——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Monsen? Does Monsen come to your house?

                                 SELMA.

Now and then; generally on business. Why, my dear Thora, what’s the
matter? Have you been crying?

                                 THORA.

Oh, it’s nothing.

                                 SELMA.

No, it’s _not_ nothing! At home Erik was out of humour, and here——I can
see it in your looks: there is something wrong. What is it?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Nothing you need trouble about, at any rate. You are too dainty to carry
burdens, my little Selma. Go into the drawing-room for the present. If
Erik said he was coming, he will be here soon, no doubt.

                                 SELMA.

Come, Thora—and be sure you don’t let me sit in a draught! [_Embracing
her._] Oh, I could hug the life out of you, my sweet Thora!

                                   [_The two ladies go off to the left._

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

So they are hand in glove, are they, the two speculators! They should go
into partnership. Monsen and Bratsberg—how nice it would sound! [_A
knock at the door in the back._] Come in!

                          STENSGÅRD _enters._

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Recoiling a step._] What is this?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, here I am again, Chamberlain!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

So I see.

                                FIELDBO.

Are you mad, Stensgård?

                               STENSGÅRD.

You retired early yesterday evening. When Fieldbo had explained to me
how matters stood, you had already——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Excuse me—all explanations are superfluous——

                               STENSGÅRD.

I understand that; therefore I have not come to make any.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, indeed?

                               STENSGÅRD.

I know I have insulted you.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

I know that too; and before I have you turned out, perhaps you will be
good enough to tell me why you are here.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Because I love your daughter, Chamberlain!

                                FIELDBO.

What——!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

What does he say, Doctor?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Ah, you can’t grasp the idea, Chamberlain. _You_ are an old man; you
have nothing to fight for——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

And you presume to——?

                               STENSGÅRD.

I am here to ask for your daughter’s hand, Chamberlain.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

You——you——? Won’t you sit down?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Thanks, I prefer to stand.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

What do you say to this. Doctor?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh, Fieldbo is on my side; he is my friend; the only true friend I have.

                                FIELDBO.

No, no, man! Never in this world, if you——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Perhaps it was with this view that Doctor Fieldbo secured his friend’s
introduction into my house?

                               STENSGÅRD.

You know me only by my exploits of yesterday and the day before. That is
not enough. Besides, I am not the same man to-day that I was then. My
intercourse with you and yours has fallen like spring showers upon my
spirit, making it put forth new blossoms in a single night! You must not
hurl me back into my sordid past. Till now, I have never been at home
with the beautiful in life; it has always been beyond my reach——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

But my daughter——?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh, I shall win her.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Indeed? H’m!

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, for I have will on my side. Remember what you told me yesterday.
You were opposed to your son’s marriage—and see how it has turned out!
You must put on the glasses of experience, as Fieldbo said——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Ah, that was what you meant?

                                FIELDBO.

Not in the least! My dear Chamberlain, let me speak to him alone——

                               STENSGÅRD.

Nonsense; I have nothing to speak to _you_ about. Now, pray be
reasonable, Chamberlain! A family like yours needs new alliances, or its
brains stagnate——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, this is too much!

                               STENSGÅRD.

Now, now, don’t get angry! These high-and-mighty airs are unworthy of
you—of course you know they are all nonsense at bottom. You shall see
how much you’ll value me when you come to know me. Yes, yes; you _shall_
value me—both you and your daughter! I will make her——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

What do you think of this, Doctor?

                                FIELDBO.

I think it’s madness.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, it would be in you; but I, you see—I have a mission to fulfil on
God’s beautiful earth;—I am not to be deterred by nonsensical
prejudices.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Mr. Stensgård, there is the door.

                               STENSGÅRD.

You show me——?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

The door!

                               STENSGÅRD.

Don’t do that!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Out with you! You are an adventurer, an a—a—confound my memory! You’re
a——

                               STENSGÅRD.

What am I?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

You are—that other thing—it’s on the tip of my tongue——

                               STENSGÅRD.

Beware how you block my career!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Beware? Of what?

                               STENSGÅRD.

I will attack you in the papers, persecute you, libel you, do all I can
to undermine your reputation. You shall shriek under the lash. You shall
seem to see spirits in the air raining blows upon you. You shall huddle
together in dread, and crouch with your arms bent over your head to ward
off the strokes—you shall try to creep into shelter——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Creep into shelter yourself—in a madhouse; that is the proper place for
you!

                               STENSGÅRD.

Ha-ha; that is a cheap retort; but you know no better, Mr. Bratsberg! I
tell you the wrath of the Lord is in me. It is His will you are
opposing. He has destined me for the light—beware how you cast a
shadow!—Well, I see I shall make no way with you to-day; but that
matters nothing. I only ask you to speak to your daughter—to prepare
her—to give her the opportunity of choosing! Reflect, and look around
you. Where can you expect to find a son-in-law among these plodding
dunces? Fieldbo says she is deep and steadfast and true. So now you know
just how matters stand. Good-bye, Chamberlain—I leave you to choose
between my friendship and my enmity. Good-bye!

                                                [_Goes out by the back._

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

So it has come to this! This is how they dare to treat me in my own
house!

                                FIELDBO.

Stensgård dares; no one else would.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

_He_ to-day; others to-morrow.

                                FIELDBO.

Let them come; I shall keep them off; I would go through fire and water
for you——!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Yes, you who have caused all the mischief!—H’m; that Stensgård is the
most impudent scoundrel I have ever known! And yet, after all—deuce take
me if there isn’t something I like about him.

                                FIELDBO.

He has possibilities——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

He has openness, Dr Fieldbo! He doesn’t go playing his own game behind
one’s back, like so many other people; he—he——!

                                FIELDBO.

It’s not worth disputing about. Only be firm, Chamberlain; no, and no
again, to Stensgård——!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, keep your advice to yourself! You may rely upon it that neither he
nor any one else——

                                RINGDAL.

[_Enters by the door on the right._] Excuse me, Chamberlain; one word——

                                                            [_Whispers._

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

What? In your room?

                                RINGDAL.

He came in by the back way, and begs you to see him.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

H’m.—Oh, Doctor, just go into the drawing-room for a moment; there’s
some one here who——But don’t say a word to Selma of Mr. Stensgård and
his visit. She must be kept outside all this business. As for my
daughter, I should prefer that you should say nothing to her either;
but——Oh, what’s the use——? Please go now.

        [FIELDBO _goes into the drawing-room._ RINGDAL _has, in the
            meantime, gone back to his office, whence_ MONSEN _presently
            enters._

                                MONSEN.

[_At the door._] I beg ten thousand pardons, sir——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, come in, come in!

                                MONSEN.

I trust your family is in good health?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Thank you. Is there anything you want?

                                MONSEN.

I can’t quite put it that way. Thank heaven, I’m one of those that have
got pretty nearly all they can want.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, indeed? That is a good deal to say.

                                MONSEN.

But I’ve had to work for it, Chamberlain. Oh, I know you regard my work
with no very friendly eye.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

I cannot suppose that your work is in any way affected by my way of
regarding it.

                                MONSEN.

Who knows? At any rate, I’m thinking of gradually withdrawing from
business.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Really?

                                MONSEN.

The luck has been on my side, I may tell you. I’ve gone ahead as far as
I care to; so now I think it’s about time to slack off a little——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Well, I congratulate both you—and other people.

                                MONSEN.

And if I could at the same time do you a service, Chamberlain——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

_Me?_

                                MONSEN.

When the Langerud woods were put up to auction five years ago, you made
a bid for them——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Yes, but you outbade me, and they were knocked down to you.

                                MONSEN.

You can have them now, with the saw-mills and all appurtenances——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

After all your sinful cutting and hacking——!

                                MONSEN.

Oh, they’re worth a good deal still; and with your method of working, in
a few years——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Thank you; unfortunately I must decline the proposal.

                                MONSEN.

There’s a great deal of money in it, Chamberlain. As for me,—I may tell
you I have a great speculation on hand; the stakes are large; I mean
there’s a big haul to be made—a hundred thousand or so——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

A hundred thousand? That is certainly no trifle.

                                MONSEN.

Ha ha ha! A nice round sum to add to the pile. But when you’re going
into a great battle you need reserve forces, as the saying goes. There’s
not much ready money about; the names that are worth anything are rather
used up——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Yes, certain people have taken care of _that_.

                                MONSEN.

It’s a case of you scratch me, I scratch you. Well, Chamberlain, is it
to be a bargain? You shall have the woods at your own figure——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

I will not have them at any figure, Mr. Monsen.

                                MONSEN.

Well, one good offer deserves another. Will you help me, sir?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

What do you mean?

                                MONSEN.

Of course I’ll give good security. I have plenty of property. Look
here—these papers—just let me explain my position to you.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Waving the papers aside._] Is it pecuniary aid you want?

                                MONSEN.

Not ready money; oh, no! But your support, Chamberlain. Of course I’ll
pay for it—and give security, and——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

And you come to me with such a proposal as this?

                                MONSEN.

Yes, precisely to you. I know you’ve often let bygones be bygones when a
man was in real straits.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Well, in a way, I must thank you for your good opinion—especially at a
time like this; but nevertheless——

                                MONSEN.

Won’t you tell me, Chamberlain, what sets you against me?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, what would be the use?

                                MONSEN.

It might lead to a better understanding between us. I’ve never stood in
your way that I know of.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

You think not? Then let me tell you of one case in which you have stood
in my way. I founded the Iron-works Savings Bank for the benefit of my
employees and others. But then you must needs set up as a banker; people
take their savings to you——

                                MONSEN.

Naturally, sir, for I give higher interest.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Yes, but you charge higher interest on loans.

                                MONSEN.

But I don’t make so many difficulties about security and so forth.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

That is just the mischief of it; for now we have people making bargains
to the tune of ten or twenty thousand dollars,[18] though neither of the
parties has so much as a brass farthing. That is what sets me against
you, Mr. Monsen. And there is another thing too that touches me still
more nearly. Do you think it was with my good will that my son flung
himself into all these wild speculations?

                                MONSEN.

But how can I help that?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

It was your example that infected him, as it did the others. Why could
you not stick to your last?

                                MONSEN.

Remain a lumberman, like my father?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Was it a disgrace to be in my employment? Your father made his bread
honourably, and was respected in his own class.

                                MONSEN.

Yes, until he’d almost worked his life out, and at last went over the
waterfall with his raft. Do you know anything of life in that class,
Chamberlain? Have you ever realised what the men have to endure who toil
for you deep in the forests, and along the river-reaches, while you sit
comfortably at home and fatten on the profits? Can you blame such a man
for struggling to rise in the world? I had had a little more schooling
than my father; perhaps I had rather more brains too——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Very likely. But by what means have you risen in the world? You began by
selling brandy. Then you bought up doubtful debts, and enforced them
mercilessly;—and so you got on and on. How many people have you not
ruined to push yourself forward!

                                MONSEN.

That’s the course of business; one up, another down.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

But there are different methods of business. I know of respectable
families whom you have brought to the workhouse.

                                MONSEN.

Daniel Heire is not very far from the workhouse.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

I understand you; but I can justify my conduct before God and man! When
the country was in distress, after the separation from Denmark, my
father made sacrifices beyond his means. Thus part of our property came
into the hands of the Heire family. What was the result? The people who
lived upon the property suffered under Daniel Heire’s incompetent
management. He cut down timber to the injury, I may even say to the
ruin, of the district. Was it not my obvious duty to put a stop to it if
I was able? And it happened that I _was_ able; I had the law on my side;
I was well within my rights when I re-entered upon my family property.

                                MONSEN.

I, too, have always had the law on my side.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

But what about your sense of right, your conscience, if you have such a
thing? And how you have broken down all social order! How you have
impaired the respect that should attach to wealth! People never think of
asking nowadays how such and such a fortune was made, or how long it has
been in such and such a family; they only ask: how much is so-and-so
worth?—and they esteem him accordingly. Now I suffer by all this; I find
myself regarded as a sort of associate of yours; people speak of us in
one breath, because we are the two largest proprietors in the
neighbourhood. This state of things I cannot endure! I tell you once for
all: that is why I am set against you.

                                MONSEN.

This state of things shall come to an end, sir; I will give up business,
and make way for you at every point; but I beg you, I implore you, to
help me!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

I will not.

                                MONSEN.

I’m willing to pay what you like——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

To pay! And you dare to——!

                                MONSEN.

If not for my sake, then for your son’s!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

My son’s!

                                MONSEN.

Yes, he’s in it. I reckon he stands to win some twenty thousand dollars.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Stands to win?

                                MONSEN.

Yes.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Then, good God, who stands to lose all this money?

                                MONSEN.

How do you mean?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

If my son wins, some one or other must lose!

                                MONSEN.

It’s a good stroke of business; I’m not in a position to say more. But I
need a solid name; only just your endorsement——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Endorsement! On a bill——?

                                MONSEN.

Only for ten or fifteen thousand dollars.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Do you suppose for a moment that——? _My_ name! In such an affair! My
name? As surety, no doubt?

                                MONSEN.

A mere matter of form——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

A matter of swindling! My name! Not upon any consideration. I have never
put my name on other men’s paper.

                                MONSEN.

Never? That’s an exaggeration, Chamberlain.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

It is the literal truth.

                                MONSEN.

No, not literal; I’ve seen it with my own eyes.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

What have you seen?

                                MONSEN.

Your name—on _one_ bill at least.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

It is false, I tell you! You have never seen it!

                                MONSEN.

I have! On a bill for two thousand dollars. Think again!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Neither for two thousand nor for ten thousand! On my sacred word of
honour, never!

                                MONSEN.

Then it’s a forgery.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Forgery?

                                MONSEN.

Yes, a forgery—for I _have_ seen it.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Forgery? Forgery! Where did you see it? In whose hands?

                                MONSEN.

That I won’t tell you.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Ha-ha! We shall soon find that out.

                                MONSEN.

Listen to me——!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Silence! It has come to this then! Forgery. They must mix me up in their
abominations! No wonder, then, that people bracket me with the rest of
you. But it is my turn now!

                                MONSEN.

Chamberlain—for your own sake and for the sake of others——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Off with you! Out of my sight! It is you that are at the root of it
all!—Yes you are! Woe unto him from whom offences come. Your home-life
is scandalous. What sort of society do you get about you? Persons from
Christiania and elsewhere, who think only of eating and drinking, and do
not care in what company they gorge themselves. Silence! I have seen
with my own eyes your distinguished guests tearing along the roads at
Christmas-time like a pack of howling wolves. And there is worse behind.
You have had scandals with your own maid-servants. You drove your wife
out of her mind by your ill-treatment and debauchery.

                                MONSEN.

Come, this is going too far! You shall pay for these words!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, to the deuce with your threats! What harm can you do to me? _Me_?
You asked what I had to say against you. Well, I have said it. Now you
know why I have kept you out of decent society.

                                MONSEN.

Yes, and now I’ll drag your decent society down——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

That way!

                                MONSEN.

I know my way, Chamberlain!

                                                [_Goes out by the back._

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Opens the door on the right and calls._] Ringdal, Ringdal—come here!

                                RINGDAL.

What is it, sir?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Calls into the drawing-room._] Doctor, please come this way!—Now,
Ringdal, now you shall see my prophecies fulfilled.

                                FIELDBO.

[_Entering._] What can I do for you, Chamberlain?

                                RINGDAL.

What prophecies, sir?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

What do you say to this, Doctor? You have always accused me of
exaggerating when I said that Monsen was corrupting the neighbourhood.

                                FIELDBO.

Well, what then?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

We are getting on, I can tell you! What do you think? There are
forgeries going about.

                                RINGDAL.

Forgeries?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Yes, forgeries! And whose name do you think they have forged? Why, mine!

                                FIELDBO.

Who in the world can have done it?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

How can I tell? I don’t know all the scoundrels in the district. But we
shall soon find out.—Doctor, do me a service. The papers must have come
into the hands either of the Savings Bank or the Iron-works Bank. Drive
up to Lundestad; he is the director who knows most about things. Find
out whether there is any such paper——

                                FIELDBO.

Certainly; at once.

                                RINGDAL.

Lundestad is here at the works to-day; there’s a meeting of the school
committee.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

So much the better. Find him; bring him here.

                                FIELDBO.

I’ll go at once.

                                                [_Goes out at the back._

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

And you, Ringdal, make inquiries at the Ironworks. As soon as we have
got to the bottom of the matter, we’ll lay an information. No mercy to
the scoundrels!

                                RINGDAL.

Very good, sir. Bless me, who’d have thought of such a thing?

                                               [_Goes out to the right._

        [THE CHAMBERLAIN _paces the room once or twice, and is then
            about to go into his study. At that instant_ ERIK BRATSBERG
            _enters from the back._

                                 ERIK.

My dear father——!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, are _you_ there?

                                 ERIK.

I want so much to speak to you.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

H’m; I’m not much in the humour for speaking to any one. What do you
want?

                                 ERIK.

You know I have never mixed you up in my affairs, father.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

No; that is an honour I should certainly have declined.

                                 ERIK.

But now I am forced to——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

What are you forced to do?

                                 ERIK.

Father, you must help me!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

With money! You may be very sure that——

                                 ERIK.

Only this once! I swear I’ll never again——The fact is, I am under
certain engagements to Monsen of Stonelee——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

I know that. You have a brilliant speculation on hand.

                                 ERIK.

A speculation? We? No! Who told you so?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Monsen himself.

                                 ERIK.

Has Monsen been here?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

He has just gone. I showed him the door.

                                 ERIK.

If you don’t help me, father, I am ruined.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

You?

                                 ERIK.

Yes. Monsen has advanced me money. I had to pay terribly dear for it;
and now the bills have fallen due——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

There we have it! What did I tell you——?

                                 ERIK.

Yes, yes; it’s too late now——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Ruined! In two years! But how could you expect anything else? What had
you to do among these charlatans that go about dazzling people’s eyes
with wealth that never existed! They were no company for you. Among
people of that sort you must meet cunning with cunning, or you’ll go to
the wall; you have learnt that now.

                                 ERIK.

Father, will you save me or will you not?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

No; for the last time, no. I will not.

                                 ERIK.

My honour is at stake——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, let us have no big phrases! There’s no honour involved in commercial
success nowadays; quite the opposite, I had almost said. Go home and
make up your accounts; pay every man his due, and have done with it, the
sooner the better.

                                 ERIK.

Oh, you don’t know——

            SELMA _and_ THORA _enter from the drawing-room._

                                 SELMA.

Is that Erik’s voice?—Good heavens, what is the matter?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Nothing. Go into the drawing-room again.

                                 SELMA.

No, I won’t go. I will know. Erik, what is it? Tell me!

                                 ERIK.

It’s only that I am ruined!

                                 THORA.

Ruined!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

There, you see!

                                 SELMA.

What is ruined?

                                 ERIK.

Everything.

                                 SELMA.

Do you mean you have lost your money?

                                 ERIK.

Money, house, inheritance—everything!

                                 SELMA.

Is that what you call everything?

                                 ERIK.

Come, let us go, Selma. You are all I have left me. We must bear the
blow together.

                                 SELMA.

The blow? Bear it together? [_With a cry._] Do you think I am fit for
that, now?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

For heaven’s sake——!

                                 ERIK.

What do you mean?

                                 THORA.

Oh, Selma, take care!

                                 SELMA.

No, I won’t take care! I cannot go on lying and shamming any longer! I
must speak the truth. I will not “bear” anything!

                                 ERIK.

Selma!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Child, what are you saying?

                                 SELMA.

Oh, how cruel you have been to me! Shamefully—all of you! It was my part
always to accept—never to give. I have been like a pauper among you. You
never came and demanded a sacrifice of me; I was not fit to bear
anything. I hate you! I loathe you!

                                 ERIK.

What can this mean?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

She is ill; she is out of her mind!

                                 SELMA.

How I have thirsted for a single drop of your troubles, your anxieties!
But when I begged for it you only laughed me off. You have dressed me up
like a doll; you have played with me as you would play with a child. Oh,
what a joy it would have been to me to take my share in your burdens!
How I longed, how I yearned, for a large, and high, and strenuous part
in life! Now you come to me, Erik, now that you have nothing else left.
But I will not be treated simply as a last resource. I will have nothing
to do with your troubles now. I won’t stay with you! I will rather play
and sing in the streets——! Let me be! Let me be!

                                          [_She rushes out by the back._

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Thora, was there any meaning in all that, or——

                                 THORA.

Oh, yes, there was meaning in it; if only I had seen it sooner.

                                                [_Goes out by the back._

                                 ERIK.

No! All else I can lose, but not her! Selma, Selma!

                                           [_Follows_ THORA _and_ SELMA.

                                RINGDAL.

[_Enters from the right._] Chamberlain!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Well, what is it?

                                RINGDAL.

I have been to the Bank——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

The Bank? Oh, yes, about the bill——

                                RINGDAL.

It’s all right; they have never had any bill endorsed by you——

              FIELDBO _and_ LUNDESTAD _enter by the back._

                                FIELDBO.

False alarm, Chamberlain!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Indeed? Not at the Savings Bank either?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Certainly not. During all the years I’ve been a director I have never
once seen your name; except, of course, on your son’s bill.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

My son’s bill?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Yes, the bill you accepted for him early this spring.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

My son? My son? Do you dare to tell me——?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Why, bless me, just think a moment; the bill for two thousand dollars
drawn by your son——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Groping for a chair._] Oh, my God——!

                                FIELDBO.

For heaven’s sake——!

                                RINGDAL.

It’s not possible that——!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Who has sunk down on a chair._] Quietly, quietly! Drawn by my son, you
say? Accepted by me? For two thousand dollars?

                                FIELDBO.

[_To_ LUNDESTAD.] And this bill is in the Savings Bank?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Not now; it was redeemed last week by Monsen——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

By Monsen——?

                                RINGDAL.

Monsen may still be at the works; I’ll go——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Stop here!

                   DANIEL HEIRE _enters by the back._

                                 HEIRE.

Good-morning, gentlemen! Good-morning, Chamberlain! Thank you so much
for the delightful evening we spent yesterday. What do you think I’ve
just heard——?

                                RINGDAL.

Excuse me; we are busy——

                                 HEIRE.

So are other people, I can tell you; our friend from Stonelee, for
example——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Monsen?

                                 HEIRE.

Hee-hee; it’s a pretty story! The electioneering intrigues are in full
swing. And what do you think is the last idea? They are going to bribe
you, Chamberlain!

                               LUNDESTAD.

To bribe——?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

They judge the tree by its fruit.

                                 HEIRE.

Deuce take me if it isn’t the most impudent thing I ever heard of! I
just looked in at Madam Rundholmen’s to have a glass of bitters. There
sat Messrs. Monsen and Stensgård drinking port—filthy stuff! I wouldn’t
touch it; but they might have had the decency to offer me a glass, all
the same. However, Monsen turned to me and said, “What do you bet that
Chamberlain Bratsberg won’t go with our party at the preliminary
election to-morrow?” “Indeed,” said I, “how’s that to be managed?” “Oh,”
he said, “this bill will persuade him——”

                                FIELDBO.

Bill——?

                               LUNDESTAD.

At the election——?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Well? What then?

                                 HEIRE.

Oh, I know no more. They said something about two thousand dollars.
That’s the figure they rate a gentleman’s conscience at! Oh, it’s
abominable, I say!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

A bill for two thousand dollars?

                                RINGDAL.

And Monsen has it?

                                 HEIRE.

No, he handed it over to Stensgård.

                               LUNDESTAD.

Indeed!

                                FIELDBO.

To Stensgård?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Are you sure of that?

                                 HEIRE.

Quite certain. “You can make what use you please of it,” he said. But I
don’t understand——

                               LUNDESTAD.

I want to speak to you, Mr. Heire—and you too, Ringdal.

        [_The three converse in a whisper at the back._

                                FIELDBO.

Chamberlain!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Well?

                                FIELDBO.

Your son’s bill is genuine, of course——?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

One would suppose so.

                                FIELDBO.

Of course. But now if the forged bill were to turn up——?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

I will lay no information.

                                FIELDBO.

Naturally not;—but you must do more.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Rising._] I can do no more.

                                FIELDBO.

Yes, for heaven’s sake, you can and must. You must save the poor
fellow——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

In what way?

                                FIELDBO.

Quite simply: by acknowledging the signature.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Then you think, Doctor, that we stick at nothing in our family?

                                FIELDBO.

I am trying to think for the best, Chamberlain.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

And do you believe for a moment that I can tell a lie?—that I can play
into the hands of forgers?

                                FIELDBO.

And do you realise what will be the consequences if you do not?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

The offender must settle that with the law.

                                             [_He goes out to the left._

                              ACT FOURTH.

_A public room in_ MADAM RUNDHOLMEN’S _hotel. Entrance door in the back;
      a smaller door on either side. A window on the right; before it, a
      table with writing materials; further back, in the middle of the
      room, another table._

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

[_Within, on the left, heard talking loudly._] Oh, let them go about
their business! Tell them they’ve come here to vote and not to drink. If
they won’t wait, they can do the other thing.

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_Enters by the back._] Good-morning! H’m, h’m, Madam Rundholmen! [_Goes
to the door on the left and knocks._] Good-morning, Madam Rundholmen!

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

[_Within._] Oh! Who’s there?

                               STENSGÅRD.

It is I—Stensgård. May I come in?

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

No, indeed you mustn’t! No! I’m not dress’d.

                               STENSGÅRD.

What? Are you so late to-day?

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Oh, I can tell you I’ve been up since all hours; but one must look a
little decent, you know. [_Peeps out, with a kerchief over her head._]
Well, what is it? No, you really mustn’t look at me, Mr. Stensgård.—Oh,
there’s some one else!

                                    [_Disappears, slamming the door to._

                               ASLAKSEN.

[_Enters from the back with a bundle of papers._] Good morning, Mr.
Stensgård.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Well, is it in?

                               ASLAKSEN.

Yes, here it is. Look—“The Independence Day Celebrations—From our
Special Correspondent.” Here’s the founding of the League on the other
side, and your speech up here. I’ve leaded all the abuse.

                               STENSGÅRD.

It seems to me it’s all leaded.

                               ASLAKSEN.

Pretty nearly.

                               STENSGÅRD.

And the extra number was of course distributed yesterday?

                               ASLAKSEN.

Of course; all over the district, both to subscribers and others. Would
you like to see it?

                                                    [_Hands him a copy._

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_Running his eye over the paper._] “Our respected member, Mr.
Lundestad, proposes to resign ... long and faithful service ... in the
words of the poet: 'Rest, patriot, it is thy due!'” H’m! “The
association founded on Independence Day: the League of Youth ... Mr.
Stensgård, the guiding intelligence of the League ... timely reforms,
credit on easier terms.” Ah, that’s very good. Has the polling begun?

                               ASLAKSEN.

It’s in full swing. The whole League is on the spot—both voters and
others.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh, deuce take the others—between ourselves, of course. Well, you go
down and talk to the waverers.

                               ASLAKSEN.

All right.

                               STENSGÅRD.

You can tell them that I am pretty much at one with Lundestad——

                               ASLAKSEN.

Trust to me; I know the local situation.

                               STENSGÅRD.

One thing more; just to oblige me, Aslaksen, don’t drink to-day.

                               ASLAKSEN.

Oh, what do you mean——!

                               STENSGÅRD.

We’ll have a jolly evening when it’s all over; but remember what you, as
well as I, have at stake; your paper——Come, now, my good fellow, let me
see that you can——

                               ASLAKSEN.

There, that’s enough now; I’m old enough to look after myself.

                                               [_Goes out to the right._

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

[_Enters from the left, elaborately dressed._] Now, Mr. Stensgård, I’m
at your service. Is it anything of importance——?

                               STENSGÅRD.

No, only that I want you to be good enough to let me know when Mr.
Monsen comes.

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

He won’t be here to-day.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Not to-day?

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

No; he drove past here at four this morning; he’s always driving about
nowadays. What’s more, he came in and roused me out of bed—he wanted to
borrow money, you must know.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Monsen did?

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Yes. He’s a tremendous man to get through money is Monsen. I hope things
may turn out all right for him. And I say the same to you; for I hear
you’re going into Parliament.

                               STENSGÅRD.

I? Nonsense. Who told you so?

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Oh, some of Mr. Lundestad’s people.

                             DANIEL HEIRE.

[_Enters from the back._] Hee-hee! Good-morning! I’m not in the way, am
I?

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Gracious, no!

                                 HEIRE.

Good God, how resplendent! Can it be for me that you’ve got yourself up
like this?

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Of course. It’s for you bachelors we get ourselves up, isn’t it?

                                 HEIRE.

For marrying men, Madam Rundholmen; for marrying men! Unfortunately, my
law-suits take up all my time——

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Oh, nonsense; you’ve always plenty of time to get married.

                                 HEIRE.

No; deuce take me if I have! Marriage is a thing you’ve got to give your
whole mind to. Well, well—if you can’t have me, you must put up with
somebody else. For you ought to marry again.

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Now, do you know, I’m sometimes of the same opinion.

                                 HEIRE.

Naturally; when once one has tasted the joys of matrimony——Of course,
poor Rundholmen was one in a thousand——

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Well, I won’t go so far as that; he was a bit rough, and rather too fond
of his glass; but a husband’s always a husband.

                                 HEIRE.

Very true, Madam Rundholmen; a husband’s a husband, and a widow’s a
widow——

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

And business is business. Oh, when I think of all I’ve got to attend to,
I don’t know whether I’m on my heels or my head. Every one wants to buy;
but when it comes to paying, I’ve got to go in for summonses and
executions, and Lord knows what. Upon my word, I’ll soon have to engage
a lawyer all to myself.

                                 HEIRE.

I’ll tell you what, Madam Rundholmen, you should retain Mr. Stensgård;
he’s a bachelor.

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Oh, how you do talk! I won’t listen to a word more.

                                               [_Goes out to the right._

                                 HEIRE.

A substantial woman, sir! Comfortable and well-preserved; no children up
to date; money well invested. Education too; she’s widely read, sir.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Widely read, eh?

                                 HEIRE.

Hee-hee; she ought to be; she had charge of Alm’s circulating library
for a couple of years. But your head’s full of other things to-day, I
daresay.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Not at all; I don’t even know that I shall vote. Who are you going to
vote for, Mr. Heire?

                                 HEIRE.

Haven’t got a vote, sir. There was only one kennel that would qualify in
the market, and that you bought.

                               STENSGÅRD.

If you’re at a loss for a lodging, I’ll give it up to you.

                                 HEIRE.

Hee-hee, you’re joking. Ah, youth, youth! What a pleasant humour it has!
But now I must be off and have a look at the menagerie. I’m told your
whole League is afoot. [_Sees_ FIELDBO, _who enters from the back._]
Here’s the Doctor too! I suppose you have come on a scientific mission?

                                FIELDBO.

A scientific mission?

                                 HEIRE.

Yes, to study the epidemic; you’ve heard of the virulent _rabies
agitatoria_ that has broken out? God be with you, my dear young friends?

                                               [_Goes out to the right._

                               STENSGÅRD.

Tell me quickly—have you seen the Chamberlain to-day?

                                FIELDBO.

Yes.

                               STENSGÅRD.

And what did he say?

                                FIELDBO.

What did he say?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes; you know I have written to him.

                                FIELDBO.

Have you? What did you write?

                               STENSGÅRD.

That I am still of the same mind about his daughter; that I want to talk
the matter over with him; and that I propose to call on him to-morrow.

                                FIELDBO.

If I were you, I should at least defer my visit. It is the Chamberlain’s
birthday to-morrow; a crowd of people will be there——

                               STENSGÅRD.

That’s all right; the more the better. I hold big cards in my hand, let
me tell you.

                                FIELDBO.

And perhaps you have bluffed a little with your big cards?

                               STENSGÅRD.

How do you mean?

                                FIELDBO.

I mean you have perhaps embellished your declaration of love with a few
little threats or so?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Fieldbo, you have seen the letter!

                                FIELDBO.

No, I assure you——

                               STENSGÅRD.

Well then, frankly—I _have_ threatened him.

                                FIELDBO.

Ah! Then I have, in a way, an answer to your letter.

                               STENSGÅRD.

An answer? Out with it, man!

                                FIELDBO.

[_Shows him a sealed paper._] Look here—the Chamberlain’s proxy.

                               STENSGÅRD.

And who does he vote for?

                                FIELDBO.

Not for you, at any rate.

                               STENSGÅRD.

For whom then? For whom?

                                FIELDBO.

For the Sheriff and the Provost.[19]

                               STENSGÅRD.

What! Not even for Lundestad?

                                FIELDBO.

No. And do you know why? Because Lundestad is going to propose you as
his successor.

                               STENSGÅRD.

He dares to do this!

                                FIELDBO.

Yes, he does. And he added: “If you see Stensgård, you can tell him how
I am voting; it will show him on what footing we stand.”

                               STENSGÅRD.

Good; since he will have it so!

                                FIELDBO.

Take care; it’s dangerous to tug at an old tower—it may come down on
your head.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh, I have learnt wisdom in these two days.

                                FIELDBO.

Indeed? You’re not so wise but that you let old Lundestad lead you by
the nose.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Do you think I haven’t seen through Lundestad? Do you think I don’t
understand that he took me up because he thought I had won over the
Chamberlain, and because he wanted to break up our League and keep
Monsen out?

                                FIELDBO.

But now that he knows you haven’t won over the Chamberlain——

                               STENSGÅRD.

He has gone too far to draw back; and I’ve made good use of the time,
and scattered announcements broadcast. Most of his supporters will
abstain from voting; mine are all here——

                                FIELDBO.

It’s a big stride from the preliminary election to the final election.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Lundestad knows very well that if he fails me in the College of
Electors, I’ll soon agitate him out of the Town Council.

                                FIELDBO.

Not a bad calculation. And to succeed in all this, you feel that you
must strike root here more firmly than you have as yet done?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, these people always demand material guarantees, community of
interests——

                                FIELDBO.

Just so; and therefore Miss Bratsberg is to be sacrificed?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Sacrificed? If that were so, I should be no better than a scoundrel. But
it will be for her happiness, that I’m convinced. What now? Fieldbo, why
do you look like that? You have some underhand scheme of your own——

                                FIELDBO.

I?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, you have! You are intriguing against me, behind my back. Why do you
do that? Be open with me—will you?

                                FIELDBO.

Frankly, I won’t. You are so dangerous, so unscrupulous—well, so
reckless at any rate, that one dare not be open with you. Whatever you
know, you make use of without hesitation. But this I say to you as a
friend: put Miss Bratsberg out of your head.

                               STENSGÅRD.

I cannot. I must extricate myself from these sordid surroundings. I
can’t go on living in this hugger-mugger way. Here have I got to be
hail-fellow-well-met with Dick, Tom, and Harry; to whisper in corners
with them, to hob-nob with them, to laugh at their beery witticisms; to
be hand in glove with hobbledehoys and unlicked cubs. How can I keep my
love of the People untarnished in the midst of all this? I feel as if
all the electricity went out of my words. I have no elbow-room, no fresh
air to breathe. Oh, a longing comes over me at times for exquisite
women! I want something that brings beauty with it! I lie here in a sort
of turbid eddy, while out there the clear blue current sweeps past
me——But what can _you_ understand of all this!

                               LUNDESTAD.

[_Enters from the back._] Ah, here we are. Good-morning, gentlemen.

                               STENSGÅRD.

I have news for you, Mr. Lundestad! Do you know who the Chamberlain is
voting for?

                                FIELDBO.

Silence! It’s dishonourable of you.

                               STENSGÅRD.

What do I care? He is voting for the Sheriff and the Provost.

                               LUNDESTAD.

Oh, that was to be expected. You went and ruined your chances with
him—though I implored you to play your cards neatly.

                               STENSGÅRD.

I shall play them neatly enough—in future.

                                FIELDBO.

Take care—two can play at that game.

                                               [_Goes out to the right._

                               STENSGÅRD.

That fellow has something up his sleeve. Have you any idea what it can
be?

                               LUNDESTAD.

No, I haven’t. But, by-the-bye, I see you are flourishing in the paper
to-day.

                               STENSGÅRD.

I?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Yes, with a nice little epitaph on me.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh, that’s that beast Aslaksen, of course——

                               LUNDESTAD.

Your attack on the Chamberlain is in too.

                               STENSGÅRD.

I don’t know anything about that. If it’s to be war between the
Chamberlain and me, I have sharper weapons.

                               LUNDESTAD.

Indeed!

                               STENSGÅRD.

Have you ever seen this bill? Look at it. Is it good?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Good, you say? This bill here?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, look closely at it.

                                 HEIRE.

[_Enters from the right._] Why, what the deuce can be the meaning
of——Ah, how interesting! Do remain as you are, gentlemen, I beg! Do you
know what you irresistibly remind me of? Of a summer night in the Far
North.

                               LUNDESTAD.

That’s a curious simile.

                                 HEIRE.

A very obvious one—the setting and the rising sun together. Delightful,
delightful! But, talking of that, what the deuce is the matter outside
there? Your fellow citizens are scuttling about like frightened fowls,
cackling and crowing and not knowing what perch to settle on.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Well, it’s an occasion of great importance.

                                 HEIRE.

Oh, you and your importance! No, it’s something quite different, my dear
friends. There are whispers of a great failure; a bankruptcy—oh, not
political, Mr. Lundestad; I don’t mean that!

                               STENSGÅRD.

A bankruptcy?

                                 HEIRE.

Hee-hee! That puts life into our legal friend. Yes, a bankruptcy; some
one is on his last legs; the axe is laid to the root of the tree——I say
no more! Two strange gentlemen have been seen driving past; but where
to? To whose address? Do you know anything, Mr. Lundestad?

                               LUNDESTAD.

I know how to hold my tongue, Mr. Heire.

                                 HEIRE.

Of course; you are a statesman, a diplomatist. But I must be off and
find out all I can about it. It’s such sport with these heroes of
finance: they are like beads on a string—when one slips off, all the
rest follow.

                                                [_Goes out by the back._

                               STENSGÅRD.

Is there any truth in all this gossip?

                               LUNDESTAD.

You showed me a bill; I thought I saw young Mr. Bratsberg’s name upon
it?

                               STENSGÅRD.

The Chamberlain’s too.

                               LUNDESTAD.

And you asked me if it was good?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes; just look at it.

                               LUNDESTAD.

It’s perhaps not so good as it might be.

                               STENSGÅRD.

You see it then?

                               LUNDESTAD.

What?

                               STENSGÅRD.

That it is a forgery.

                               LUNDESTAD.

A forgery? Forged bills are often the safest; people redeem them first.

                               STENSGÅRD.

But what do you think? Isn’t it a forgery?

                               LUNDESTAD.

I don’t much like the look of it.

                               STENSGÅRD.

How so?

                               LUNDESTAD.

I’m afraid there are too many of these about, Mr. Stensgård.

                               STENSGÅRD.

What! It’s not possible that——?

                               LUNDESTAD.

If young Mr. Bratsberg slips off the string, those nearest him are only
too likely to follow.

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_Seizes his arm._] What do you mean by those nearest him?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Who can be nearer than father and son?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Why, good God——!

                               LUNDESTAD.

Remember, I say nothing! It was Daniel Heire that was talking of failure
and bankruptcy and——

                               STENSGÅRD.

This is a thunderbolt to me.

                               LUNDESTAD.

Oh, many a man that seemed solid enough has gone to the wall before now.
Perhaps he’s too good-natured; goes and backs bills; ready money isn’t
always to be had; property has to be sold for an old song——

                               STENSGÅRD.

And of course this falls on—falls on the children as well.

                               LUNDESTAD.

Yes, I’m heartily grieved for Miss Bratsberg. She didn’t get much from
her mother; and heaven knows if even the little she has is secured.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh, now I understand Fieldbo’s advice! He’s a true friend, after all.

                               LUNDESTAD.

What did Doctor Fieldbo say?

                               STENSGÅRD.

He was too loyal to say anything, but I understand him all the same. And
now I understand you too, Mr. Lundestad.

                               LUNDESTAD.

Have you not understood me before?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Not thoroughly. I forgot the proverb about the rats and the sinking
ship.

                               LUNDESTAD.

That’s not a very nice way to put it. But what’s the matter with you?
You look quite ill. Good God, I haven’t gone and blasted your hopes,
have I?

                               STENSGÅRD.

How do you mean?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Yes, yes—I see it all. Old fool that I am! My dear Mr. Stensgård, if you
really love the girl, what does it matter whether she is rich or poor?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Matter? No, of course——

                               LUNDESTAD.

Good Lord, we all know happiness isn’t a matter of money.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Of course not.

                               LUNDESTAD.

And with industry and determination you’ll soon be on your feet again.
Don’t let poverty frighten you. I know what love is; I went into all
that in my young days. A happy home; a faithful woman——! My dear young
friend, beware how you take any step that may involve you in life-long
self-reproach.

                               STENSGÅRD.

But what will become of your plans?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Oh, they must go as best they can. I couldn’t think of demanding the
sacrifice of your heart!

                               STENSGÅRD.

But I will make the sacrifice. Yes, I will show you that I have the
strength for it. Think of the longing multitude out there: they claim me
with a sort of voiceless pathos. I cannot, I dare not, fail them!

                               LUNDESTAD.

Yes, but the stake in the district——?

                               STENSGÅRD.

I shall take measures to fulfil the demands of my fellow citizens in
that respect, Mr. Lundestad. I see a way, a new way; and I will follow
it up. I renounce the happiness of toiling in obscurity for the woman I
love. I say to my fellow countrymen: “Here I am—take me!”

                               LUNDESTAD.

[_Looks at him in quiet admiration and presses his hand._] You are
indeed a man of rare gifts, Mr. Stensgård.

                                               [_Goes out to the right._

        [STENSGÅRD _paces the room several times, now stopping for a
            moment at the window, now running his fingers through his
            hair. Presently_ BASTIAN MONSEN _enters from the back._

                                BASTIAN.

Here I am, my dear friend.[20]

                               STENSGÅRD.

Where have you come from?

                                BASTIAN.

From the Nation.

                               STENSGÅRD.

The Nation? What does that mean?

                                BASTIAN.

Don’t you know what the Nation means? It means the People; the common
people; those who have nothing, and are nothing; those who lie chained——

                               STENSGÅRD.

What monkey-tricks are these, I should like to know?

                                BASTIAN.

Monkey-tricks?

                               STENSGÅRD.

I have noticed lately that you go about mimicking me; you imitate even
my clothes and my handwriting. Be kind enough to stop that.

                                BASTIAN.

What do you mean? Don’t we belong to the same party?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, but I won’t put up with this—you make yourself ridiculous——

                                BASTIAN.

By being like you?

                               STENSGÅRD.

By aping me. Be sensible now, Monsen, and give it up. It’s quite
disgusting. But look here—can you tell me when your father is coming
back?

                                BASTIAN.

I have no idea. I believe he’s gone to Christiania; he may not be back
for a week or so.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Indeed? I’m sorry for that. He has a big stroke of business on hand, I
hear.

                                BASTIAN.

I have a big stroke of business on hand too. Look here, Stensgård, you
must do me a service.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Willingly. What is it?

                                BASTIAN.

I feel so full of energy. I have to thank you for that; you have
stimulated me. I feel I must do something, Stensgård:—I want to get
married.

                               STENSGÅRD.

To get married? To whom?

                                BASTIAN.

Sh! Some one in this house.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Madam Rundholmen?

                                BASTIAN.

Sh! Yes, it’s her. Put in a good word for me, do! This sort of thing is
just the thing for me. She’s in the swim, you know; she’s on the best of
terms with the Chamberlain’s people, ever since her sister was
housekeeper there. If I get her, perhaps I shall get the town-contracts
too. So that on the whole—damn it, I love her!

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh, love, love! Have done with that sickening hypocrisy.

                                BASTIAN.

Hypocrisy!

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes; you are lying to yourself, at any rate. You talk in one breath of
town-contracts and of love. Why not call a spade a spade? There’s
something sordid about all this; I will have nothing to do with it.

                                BASTIAN.

But listen——!

                               STENSGÅRD.

Do your dirty work yourself, I say! [_To_ FIELDBO, _who enters from the
right._] Well, how goes the election?

                                FIELDBO.

Excellently for you, it appears. I saw Lundestad just now; he said you
were getting all the votes.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Am I indeed?

                                FIELDBO.

But what good will they do you? Since you’re not a man of property——

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_Between his teeth._] Isn’t it confounded!

                                FIELDBO.

Well, you can’t do two things at once. If you win on the one side, you
must be content to lose on the other. Good-bye!

                                                [_Goes out by the back._

                                BASTIAN.

What did he mean by winning and losing?

                               STENSGÅRD.

I’ll tell you afterwards. But now, my dear Monsen—to return to what we
were talking about—I promised to put in a good word for you——

                                BASTIAN.

You promised? On the contrary, I thought you said——?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh, nonsense; you didn’t let me explain myself fully. What I meant was
that there is something sordid in mixing up your love with
town-contracts and so forth; it is an offence against all that is
noblest in your nature. So, my dear friend, if you really love the
girl——

                                BASTIAN.

The widow——

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, yes; it’s all the same. I mean when one really loves a woman, that
in itself should be a conclusive reason——

                                BASTIAN.

Yes, that’s just what I think. So you’ll speak for me, will you?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, with great pleasure—but on one condition.

                                BASTIAN.

What’s that?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Tit for tat, my dear Bastian—you must put in a word for me too.

                                BASTIAN.

I? With whom?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Have you really not noticed anything? Yet it’s before your very nose.

                                BASTIAN.

You surely don’t mean——?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Your sister Ragna? Yes, it is she. Oh, you don’t know how I have been
moved by the sight of her quiet, self-sacrificing devotion to her home——

                                BASTIAN.

Do you really mean to say so?

                               STENSGÅRD.

And you, with your penetrating eye, have suspected nothing?

                                BASTIAN.

Yes, at one time I did think——; but now people are talking of your
hanging about the Chamberlain’s——

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh, the Chamberlain’s! Well, Monsen, I’ll tell you frankly that for a
moment I did hesitate; but, thank goodness, that is over; now I see my
way quite clear before me.

                                BASTIAN.

There’s my hand. I’ll back you up, you may be sure. And as for
Ragna—why, she daren’t do anything but what I and father wish.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, but your father—that’s just what I wanted to say——

                                BASTIAN.

Sh! There—I hear Madam Rundholmen. Now’s your chance to speak for me, if
she’s not too busy; for then she’s apt to be snappish. You do your best,
my dear fellow, and leave the rest to me. Do you happen to have seen
Aslaksen?

                               STENSGÅRD.

He’s probably at the polling-booth.

        [BASTIAN _goes out by the back, as_ MADAM RUNDHOLMEN _enters
            from the right._

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Things are going as smooth as possible, Mr. Stensgård; every one is
voting for you.

                               STENSGÅRD.

That’s very odd.

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Goodness knows what Monsen of Stonelee will say.

                               STENSGÅRD.

I want a word with you, Madam Rundholmen.

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Well, what is it?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Will you listen to me?

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Lord yes, that I will.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Well then: you were talking just now about being alone in the world——

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Oh, it was that horrid old Heire——

                               STENSGÅRD.

You were saying how hard it is for an unprotected widow——

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Yes, indeed; you should just try it, Mr. Stensgård!

                               STENSGÅRD.

But now if there came a fine young man——

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

A fine young man?

                               STENSGÅRD.

One who had long loved you in secret——

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Oh, come now, Mr. Stensgård, I won’t hear any more of your nonsense.

                               STENSGÅRD.

You must! A young man who, like yourself, finds it hard to be alone in
the world——

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Well, what then? I don’t understand you at all.

                               STENSGÅRD.

If you could make two people happy, Madam Rundholmen—yourself and——

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

And a fine young man?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Just so; now, answer me——

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Mr. Stensgård, you can’t be in earnest?

                               STENSGÅRD.

You don’t suppose I would jest on such a subject? Should you be
disposed——?

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Yes, that I am, the Lord knows! Oh, you dear, sweet——

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_Recoiling a step._] What is this?

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Bother, here comes some one!

       RAGNA MONSEN _enters hastily, and in evident disquietude,
                            from the back._

                                 RAGNA.

I beg your pardon—isn’t my father here?

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Your father? Yes; no;—I—I don’t know—excuse me——

                                 RAGNA.

Where is he?

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Your father? Oh, he drove past here——

                               STENSGÅRD.

Towards Christiania.

                                 RAGNA.

No; it’s impossible——

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Yes, I know for certain he drove down the road. Oh, my dear Miss Monsen,
you can’t think how happy I am! Wait a moment—I’ll just run to the
cellar, and fetch up a bottle of the real thing.

                                                [_Goes out to the left._

                               STENSGÅRD.

Tell me, Miss Monsen—is it really your father you are looking for?

                                 RAGNA.

Yes, of course it is.

                               STENSGÅRD.

And you didn’t know that he had gone away?

                                 RAGNA.

Oh, how should I know? They tell me nothing. But to Christiania——?
That’s impossible; they would have met him. Good-bye!

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_Intercepts her._] Ragna! Tell me! Why are you so changed towards me?

                                 RAGNA.

I? Let me pass! Let me go!

                               STENSGÅRD.

No, you shall not go! I believe Providence guided you here at this
moment. Oh, why do you shrink from me? You used not to.

                                 RAGNA.

Ah, that is all over, thank God!

                               STENSGÅRD.

But why?

                                 RAGNA.

I have learnt to know you better; it is well that I learned in time.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh, that is it? People have been lying about me? Perhaps I am to blame
too; I have been lost in a maze of perplexities. But that is past now.
Oh, the very sight of you makes a better man of me. It is you I care
for, deeply and truly; it is you I love, Ragna—you and no other!

                                 RAGNA.

Let me pass! I am afraid of you——

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh, but to-morrow, Ragna—may I come and speak to you to-morrow?

                                 RAGNA.

Yes, yes, if you must; only for heaven’s sake not to-day.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Only not to-day! Hurrah! I have won; now I am happy!

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

[_Enters from the left with cake and wine._] Come now, we must drink a
glass for luck.

                               STENSGÅRD.

For luck in love! Here’s to love and happiness! Hurrah for to-morrow!

                                                           [_He drinks._

                                 HELLE.

[_Entering from the right, to_ RAGNA.] Have you found him?

                                 RAGNA.

No, he is not here. Come, come!

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Heaven help us, what’s the matter?

                                 HELLE.

Nothing; only some visitors have arrived at Stonelee——

                                 RAGNA.

Thanks for all your kindness, Madam Rundholmen——

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Oh, have you got visitors on your hands again?

                                 RAGNA.

Yes, yes; excuse me; I must go home. Good-bye!

                               STENSGÅRD.

Good-bye—till to-morrow!

                                [RAGNA _and_ HELLE _go out by the back._

                 DANIEL HEIRE _enters from the right._

                                 HEIRE.

Ha-ha! It’s going like a house on fire! They’re all cackling Stensgård,
Stensgård, Stensgård! They’re all plumping for you. Now you should plump
for him too, Madam Rundholmen!

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Hey, that’s an idea! Are they all voting for him?

                                 HEIRE.

Unanimously—Mr. Stensgård enjoys the confidence of the constituency, as
the saying is. Old Lundestad is going about with a face like a pickled
cucumber. Oh, it’s a pleasure to see it all.

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

They shan’t regret having voted for him. If I can’t vote, I can stand
treat.

                                                [_Goes out to the left._

                                 HEIRE.

Ah, you are the man for the widows, Mr. Stensgård! I’ll tell you what—if
you can only get hold of her, you’re a made man, sir!

                               STENSGÅRD.

Get hold of Madam Rundholmen?

                                 HEIRE.

Yes, why not? She’s a substantial woman in every sense of the word.
She’ll be mistress of the situation as soon as the Stonelee card-castle
has come to grief.

                               STENSGÅRD.

There’s nothing wrong at Stonelee, is there?

                                 HEIRE.

Isn’t there? You have a short memory, my dear sir. Didn’t I tell you
there were rumours of failure, and bankruptcy, and——?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Well, what then?

                                 HEIRE.

What then? That’s just what we want to know. There’s a hue and cry after
Monsen; two men have come to Stonelee——

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, I know—a couple of visitors——

                                 HEIRE.

Uninvited visitors, my dear young friend; there are whispers of the
police and infuriated creditors—there’s something queer about the
accounts, you must know! Talking of that—what paper was that Monsen gave
you yesterday?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh, just a paper——Something queer about the accounts, you say? Look
here! you know Chamberlain Bratsberg’s signature?

                                 HEIRE.

Hee-hee! I should rather think I did.

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_Produces the bill._] Well, look at this.

                                 HEIRE.

Give it here—I’m rather short-sighted, you know. [_After examining it._]
That, my dear sir? That’s not the Chamberlain’s hand.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Not? Then it is——?

                                 HEIRE.

And it’s drawn by Monsen?

                               STENSGÅRD.

No, by young Mr. Bratsberg.

                                 HEIRE.

Nonsense! Let me see. [_Looks at the paper and hands it back again._]
You can light your cigar with this.

                               STENSGÅRD.

What! The drawer’s name too——?

                                 HEIRE.

A forgery, young man; a forgery, as sure as my name’s Daniel. You have
only to look at it with the keen eye of suspicion——

                               STENSGÅRD.

But how can that be? Monsen can’t have known——

                                 HEIRE.

Monsen? No, he knows nothing about either his own paper or other
people’s. But I’m glad it has come to an end, Mr. Stensgård!—It’s a
satisfaction to one’s moral sense. Ah, I have often glowed with a noble
indignation, if I may say so, at having to stand by and see——I say no
more! But the best of it all is that now Monsen is down he’ll drag young
Bratsberg after him; and the son will bring the father down——

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, so Lundestad said.

                                 HEIRE.

But of course there’s method even in bankruptcy. You’ll see; I am an old
hand at prophecy. Monsen will go to prison; young Bratsberg will
compound with his creditors; and the Chamberlain will be placed under
trustees; that’s to say, his creditors will present him with an annuity
of a couple of thousand dollars. That’s how things go, Mr. Stensgård; I
know it, I know it! What says the classic? _Fiat justitia, pereat
mundus_; which means: Fie on what’s called justice in this wicked world,
sir!

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_Pacing the room._] One after the other! Both ways barred!

                                 HEIRE.

What the deuce——?

                               STENSGÅRD.

And now too! Just at this moment!

                               ASLAKSEN.

[_Enters from the right._] I congratulate you, chosen of the people!

                               STENSGÅRD.

Elected!

                               ASLAKSEN.

Elected by 117 votes, and Lundestad by 53. The rest all nowhere.

                                 HEIRE.

Your first step on the path of glory, Mr. Stensgård.

                               ASLAKSEN.

And it shall cost you a bowl of punch——

                                 HEIRE.

Well, it’s the first step that costs, they say.

                               ASLAKSEN.

[_Goes off to the left, shouting._] Punch, Madam Rundholmen! A bowl of
punch! The chosen of the people stands treat!

  LUNDESTAD, _and after him several_ ELECTORS, _enter from the right._

                                 HEIRE.

[_In a tone of condolence to_ LUNDESTAD.] Fifty-three! That’s the
grey-haired patriot’s reward!

                               LUNDESTAD.

[_Whispers to_ STENSGÅRD.] Are you firm in your resolve?

                               STENSGÅRD.

What’s the use of being firm when everything is tumbling about your
ears?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Do you think the game is lost?

                               ASLAKSEN.

[_Returning by the left._] Madam Rundholmen stands treat herself. She
says she has the best right to.

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_Struck by an idea._] Madam Rundholmen—has the best right to——!

                               LUNDESTAD.

What?

                               STENSGÅRD.

The game is not lost, Mr. Lundestad!

                             [_Sits at the right-hand table and writes._

                               LUNDESTAD.

[_In a low voice._] Oh, Aslaksen—can you get something into your next
paper for me?

                               ASLAKSEN.

Of course I can. Is it libellous?

                               LUNDESTAD.

No, certainly not!

                               ASLAKSEN.

Well, never mind; I’ll take it all the same.

                               LUNDESTAD.

It is my political last will and testament; I shall write it to-night.

                            A MAID-SERVANT.

[_Enters from the left._] The punch, with Madam Rundholmen’s
compliments.

                               ASLAKSEN.

Hurrah! Now there’s some life in the local situation.

        [_He places the punch-bowl on the middle table, serves the
            others, and drinks freely himself during the following
            scene._ BASTIAN MONSEN _has meanwhile entered from the
            right._

                                BASTIAN.

[_Softly._] You won’t forget my letter?

                               ASLAKSEN.

Don’t be afraid. [_Taps his breast pocket._] I have it here.

                                BASTIAN.

You’ll deliver it as soon as you can—when you see she’s disengaged, you
understand.

                               ASLAKSEN.

I understand. [_Calls._] Come, now, the glasses are filled.

                                BASTIAN.

You shan’t do it for nothing, I promise you.

                               ASLAKSEN.

All right, all right. [_To the servant._] A lemon, Karen—quick as the
wind!

                                                     [BASTIAN _retires._

                               STENSGÅRD.

A word, Aslaksen; shall you be passing here to-morrow evening?

                               ASLAKSEN.

To-morrow evening? I can, if you like.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Then you might look in and give Madam Rundholmen this letter.

                               ASLAKSEN.

From you?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes. Put it in your pocket. There now. To-morrow evening, then?

                               ASLAKSEN.

All right; trust to me.

        [_The servant brings the lemon;_ STENSGÅRD _goes towards the
            window._

                                BASTIAN.

Well—have you spoken to Madam Rundholmen?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Spoken? Oh yes, I said a word or two——

                                BASTIAN.

And what do you think?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh—well—we were interrupted. I can’t say anything definite.

                                BASTIAN.

I’ll take my chance all the same; she’s always complaining of her
loneliness. My fate shall be sealed within an hour.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Within an hour?

                                BASTIAN.

[_Sees_ MADAM RUNDHOLMEN, _who enters from the left._] Sh! Not a word to
any one!

                                               [_Goes towards the back._

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_Whispers to_ ASLAKSEN.] Give me back the letter.

                               ASLAKSEN.

Do you want it back?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, at once; I shall deliver it myself.

                               ASLAKSEN.

Very well; here it is.

        [STENSGÅRD _thrusts the letter into his pocket, and mixes with
            the rest._

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

[_To_ BASTIAN.] What do you say to the election, Mr. Bastian?

                                BASTIAN.

I’m delighted. Stensgård and I are bosom friends, you know. I shouldn’t
be surprised if he got into Parliament.

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

But your father wouldn’t much like that.

                                BASTIAN.

Oh, father has so many irons in the fire. Besides, if Stensgård’s
elected, it will still be all in the family, I daresay.

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

How so?

                                BASTIAN.

He wants to marry——

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Lord! Has he said anything?

                                BASTIAN.

Yes; and I’ve promised to put in a word for him. It’ll be all right. I’m
sure Ragna likes him.

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Ragna!

                               LUNDESTAD.

[_Approaching._] What is interesting you so deeply, Madam Rundholmen?

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

What do you think he says? Why, that Mr. Stensgård’s making up to——

                               LUNDESTAD.

Yes, but he won’t find the Chamberlain so easy to deal with.

                                BASTIAN.

The Chamberlain?

                               LUNDESTAD.

He probably thinks her too good a match for a mere lawyer——

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Who? Who?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Why, his daughter, Miss Bratsberg, of course.

                                BASTIAN.

He’s surely not making love to Miss Bratsberg?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Yes, indeed he is.

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

You are quite sure of that?

                                BASTIAN.

And he told me——! Oh, I want to say a word to you!

        [LUNDESTAD _and_ BASTIAN _go towards the back._

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

[_Approaching_ STENSGÅRD.] You must be on your guard, Mr. Stensgård.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Against whom?

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Against malicious people who are slandering you.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Why, let them—so long as _one_ person doesn’t believe their slanders.

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

And who may that one person be?

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_Slips the letter into her hand._] Take this; read it when you are
alone.

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

Ah, I knew it!

                                                [_Goes off to the left._

                                RINGDAL.

[_Enters from the right._] Well, I hear you have won a brilliant
victory, Mr. Stensgård.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, I have, Mr. Ringdal, in spite of your noble chief’s endeavours.

                                RINGDAL.

His endeavours? What to do?

                               STENSGÅRD.

To keep me out.

                                RINGDAL.

Like other people, he has a right to vote as he pleases.

                               STENSGÅRD.

It’s a pity he is not likely to retain that right for long.

                                RINGDAL.

What do you mean?

                               STENSGÅRD.

I mean, since his affairs are not so straight as they might be——

                                RINGDAL.

His affairs! What affairs? What have you got into your head?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh, you needn’t pretend ignorance. Isn’t there a storm brewing?—a great
crash impending?

                                RINGDAL.

Yes, so I hear on all sides.

                               STENSGÅRD.

And aren’t both the Bratsbergs involved in it?

                                RINGDAL.

My dear sir, are you crazy?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh, you naturally want to keep it dark.

                                RINGDAL.

What good would that be? That sort of thing can’t be kept dark.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Is it not true then?

                                RINGDAL.

Not a word of it, so far as the Chamberlain is concerned. How could you
believe such nonsense? Who has been humbugging you?

                               STENSGÅRD.

I won’t tell you just yet.

                                RINGDAL.

Well, you needn’t; but whoever it was must have had a motive.

                               STENSGÅRD.

A motive—-!

                                RINGDAL.

Yes, just think: is there no one who has an interest in keeping you and
the Chamberlain apart?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, on my soul, but there is though!

                                RINGDAL.

The Chamberlain in reality thinks very highly of you——

                               STENSGÅRD.

Does he?

                                RINGDAL.

Yes, and that’s why people want to make mischief between you. They
reckon on your ignorance of the situation, on your impulsiveness and
your confiding disposition——

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh, the vipers! And Madam Rundholmen has my letter!

                                RINGDAL.

What letter?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Oh, nothing. But it’s not too late! My dear Mr. Ringdal, shall you see
the Chamberlain this evening?

                                RINGDAL.

In all probability.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Then tell him to think no more of those threats—he will understand; tell
him I shall call to-morrow and explain everything.

                                RINGDAL.

You’ll call?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes, to prove to him——Ah! a proof! Look here, Mr. Ringdal; will you give
the Chamberlain this bill from me?

                                RINGDAL.

This bill——?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes; it’s a matter I can’t explain to you; but just you give it to him——

                                RINGDAL.

Upon my word, Mr. Stensgård——

                               STENSGÅRD.

And just add these words from me: This is how I treat those who vote
against me!

                                RINGDAL.

I shan’t forget.

                                                [_Goes out at the back._

                               STENSGÅRD.

I say, Mr. Heire—how could you go and palm off that story about the
Chamberlain upon me?

                                 HEIRE.

How could I palm it off on you——?

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes—it’s a lie from beginning to end.

                                 HEIRE.

No! Is it indeed? I’m delighted to hear it. Do you hear, Mr. Lundestad?
It’s all a lie about the Chamberlain.

                               LUNDESTAD.

Sh! We were on a false scent; it’s nearer at hand.

                               STENSGÅRD.

How nearer at hand?

                               LUNDESTAD.

I know nothing for certain; but they talk of Madam Rundholmen——

                               STENSGÅRD.

What!

                                 HEIRE.

Haven’t I prophesied it! She has been too much mixed up with our friend
at Stonelee——

                               LUNDESTAD.

He drove off this morning before daylight——

                                 HEIRE.

And his family is out hunting for him——

                               LUNDESTAD.

And the son has been doing all he knows to get his sister provided for——

                               STENSGÅRD.

Provided for! “To-morrow” she said; and then her anxiety about her
father——!

                                 HEIRE.

Hee-hee! You’ll see he’s gone and hanged himself, sir!

                               ASLAKSEN.

Has any one hanged himself?

                               LUNDESTAD.

Mr. Heire says Monsen of Stonelee——

                                MONSEN.

[_Enters from the back._] A dozen of champagne!

                          ASLAKSEN AND OTHERS.

Monsen!

                                MONSEN.

Yes, Monsen! Champagne-Monsen! Money-Monsen! Let’s have the wine,
confound it all!

                                 HEIRE.

But, my dear sir——

                               STENSGÅRD.

Why, where have you dropped from?

                                MONSEN.

I’ve been doing a stroke of business, sir! Cleared a hundred thousand!
Hei! To-morrow I’ll give a thundering dinner at Stonelee. I invite you
all. Champagne, I say! I congratulate you, Stensgård! I hear you’re
elected.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Yes; I must explain to you——

                                MONSEN.

Pooh; what does it matter to me? Wine, I say! Where is Madam Rundholmen?

                                [_Makes a motion to go out to the left._

                           THE MAID-SERVANT.

[_Who has just entered, intercepts him._] No one can see the mistress
just now; she’s got a letter——

                                BASTIAN.

Oh, damn it all!

                                                [_Goes out by the back._

                               STENSGÅRD.

Is she reading it?

                                SERVANT.

Yes; and it seems quite to have upset her.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Good-bye, Mr. Monsen; dinner at Stonelee to-morrow——?

                                MONSEN.

Yes, to-morrow. Good-bye!

                               STENSGÅRD.

[_Whispers._] Mr. Heire, will you do me a service?

                                 HEIRE.

Certainly, certainly.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Then just run me down a little to Madam Rundholmen; indulge in an
innuendo or two at my expense. You are so good at that sort of thing.

                                 HEIRE.

What the deuce is the meaning of this?

                               STENSGÅRD.

I have my reasons. It’s a joke, you know—a wager with—with some one you
have a grudge against.

                                 HEIRE.

Aha, I understand. I say no more!

                               STENSGÅRD.

Don’t go too far, you know. Just place me in a more or less equivocal
light—make her a little suspicious of me, for the moment.

                                 HEIRE.

Rely upon me; it will be a real pleasure to me.

                               STENSGÅRD.

Thanks, thanks in advance. [_Goes towards the table._] Mr. Lundestad, we
shall meet to-morrow forenoon at the Chamberlain’s.

                               LUNDESTAD.

Have you hopes?

                               STENSGÅRD.

A threefold hope.

                               LUNDESTAD.

Threefold? I don’t understand——

                               STENSGÅRD.

You needn’t. Henceforth I will be my own counsellor.

                                                [_Goes out by the back._

                                MONSEN.

[_At the punch-bowl._] Another glass, Aslaksen! Where’s Bastian?

                               ASLAKSEN.

He’s just gone out. But I have a letter to deliver for him.

                                MONSEN.

Have you?

                               ASLAKSEN.

To Madam Rundholmen.

                                MONSEN.

Ah, at last!

                               ASLAKSEN.

But not till to-morrow evening, he said; to-morrow evening, neither
sooner nor later. Here’s to you!

                                 HEIRE.

[_To_ LUNDESTAD.] What the deuce is all this business between Stensgård
and Madam Rundholmen?

                               LUNDESTAD.

[_Whispers._] He’s courting her.

                                 HEIRE.

I suspected as much! But he asked me to run him down a bit—to cast a
slur on his character——

                               LUNDESTAD.

And you said you would?

                                 HEIRE.

Yes; of course.

                               LUNDESTAD.

I believe he says of you that your word is as good as your bond—and no
better.

                                 HEIRE.

Hee-hee—the dear fellow! He shall find out his mistake this time.

                           MADAM RUNDHOLMEN.

[_With an open letter in her hand, at the door on the left._] Where is
Mr. Stensgård?

                                 HEIRE.

He kissed your chambermaid and went, Madam Rundholmen!

-----

Footnote 18:

  The dollar = four crowns = four-and-sixpence, was the unit of coinage
  at the time this play was written. It has since been replaced by the
  crown.

Footnote 19:

  “Amtmanden og provsten.” The “Amtmand” is the chief magistrate of an
  “Amt” or county; the “Provst” is an ecclesiastical functionary,
  perhaps equivalent to a rural dean.

Footnote 20:

  Bastian now says “thou” (du) to Stensgård—_il le tutoie_.

                               ACT FIFTH.

_Large reception-room at the_ CHAMBERLAIN’S. _Entrance door at the back.
      Doors right and left._

RINGDAL _stands at a table looking through some papers. A knock._

                                RINGDAL.

Come in.

                                FIELDBO.

[_From the back._] Good-morning.

                                RINGDAL.

Good-morning, Doctor.

                                FIELDBO.

All well, eh?

                                RINGDAL.

Oh, yes, well enough; but——

                                FIELDBO.

What?

                                RINGDAL.

Of course you’ve heard the great news?

                                FIELDBO.

No. What is it?

                                RINGDAL.

Do you mean to say you haven’t heard what has happened at Stonelee?

                                FIELDBO.

No.

                                RINGDAL.

Monsen has absconded.

                                FIELDBO.

Absconded! Monsen?

                                RINGDAL.

Absconded.

                                FIELDBO.

Great heavens—-!

                                RINGDAL.

There were ugly rumours yesterday; but then Monsen turned up again; he
managed to throw dust in people’s eyes——

                                FIELDBO.

But the reason? The reason?

                                RINGDAL.

Enormous losses in timber, they say. Several houses in Christiania have
stopped payment, and so——

                                FIELDBO.

And so he has gone off!

                                RINGDAL.

To Sweden, probably. The authorities took possession at Stonelee this
morning. Things are being inventoried and sealed up——

                                FIELDBO.

And the unfortunate children——?

                                RINGDAL.

The son seems to have kept clear of the business; at least I hear he
puts a bold face on it.

                                FIELDBO.

But the daughter?

                                RINGDAL.

Sh! The daughter is here.

                                FIELDBO.

Here?

                                RINGDAL.

The tutor brought her and the two little ones here this morning. Miss
Bratsberg is looking after them, quietly you know.

                                FIELDBO.

And how does she bear it?

                                RINGDAL.

Oh, pretty well, I fancy. You may guess, after the treatment she has met
with at home——And, besides, I may tell you she is——Ah, here’s the
Chamberlain.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_From the left._] So you are there, my dear Doctor?

                                FIELDBO.

Yes, I am pretty early astir. Let me wish you many happy returns of the
day, Chamberlain.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, as for happiness——! But thank you, all the same; I know you mean it
kindly.

                                FIELDBO.

And may I ask, Chamberlain——?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

One word: be good enough to drop that title.

                                FIELDBO.

What do you mean?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

I am an ironmaster, and nothing more.

                                FIELDBO.

Why, what strange notion is this?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

I have renounced my post and my title. I am sending in my resignation
to-day.

                                FIELDBO.

You should sleep upon that.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

When his Majesty was graciously pleased to assign me a place in his
immediate circle, he did so because of the unblemished honour of my
family through long generations.

                                FIELDBO.

Well, what then?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

My family is disgraced, just as much as Mr. Monsen’s. Of course you have
heard about Monsen?

                                FIELDBO.

Yes, I have.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_To_ RINGDAL.] Any further news about him?

                                RINGDAL.

Only that he brings down with him a good many of the younger men.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

And my son?

                                RINGDAL.

Your son has sent me his balance-sheet. He will be able to pay in full;
but there will be nothing over.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

H’m. Then will you get my resignation copied?

                                RINGDAL.

I’ll see to it.

                          [_Goes out by the foremost door on the right._

                                FIELDBO.

Have you reflected what you are doing? Things can be arranged without
any one being a bit the wiser.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Indeed! Can I make myself ignorant of what has happened?

                                FIELDBO.

Oh, after all, what has happened? Has not he written to you,
acknowledged his fault, and begged for your forgiveness? This is the
only time he has done anything of the sort; why not simply blot it out?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Would you do what my son has done?

                                FIELDBO.

He won’t repeat it; that is the main point.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

How do you know he will not repeat it?

                                FIELDBO.

If for no other reason, because of what you yourself told me—the scene
with your daughter-in-law. Whatever else comes of it, that will steady
him.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Pacing the room._] My poor Selma! Our peace and happiness gone!

                                FIELDBO.

There are higher things than peace and happiness. Your happiness has
been an illusion. Yes, I must speak frankly to you: in that, as in many
other things, you have built on a hollow foundation. You have been
shortsighted and overweening, Chamberlain!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

[_Stops short._] I?

                                FIELDBO.

Yes, you! You have plumed yourself on your family honour; but when has
that honour been tried? Are you sure it would have stood the test?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

You can spare your sermons, Doctor. Do you think I have not learnt a
lesson from the events of these days?

                                FIELDBO.

I daresay you have; but prove it, by showing greater tolerance and
clearer insight. You reproach your son; but what have you done for him?
You have taken care to develop his faculties, but not to form his
character. You have lectured him on what he owed to the honour of his
family; but you have not guided and moulded him so that honour became to
him an irresistible instinct.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Do you think so?

                                FIELDBO.

I not only think, I know it. But that is generally the way here: people
are bent on learning, not on living. And you see what comes of it; you
see hundreds of men with great gifts, who never seem to be more than
half ripe; who are one thing in their ideas and feelings, and something
quite different in their habits and acts. Just look at Stensgård——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Ah, Stensgård now! What do you make of Stensgård?

                                FIELDBO.

A patchwork. I have known him from childhood. His father was a mere rag
of a man, a withered weed, a nobody. He kept a little huckster’s shop,
and eked things out with pawn-broking; or rather his wife did for him.
She was a coarse-grained woman, the most unwomanly I ever knew. She had
her husband declared incapable;[21] she had not an ounce of heart in
her. And in that home Stensgård passed his childhood. Then he went to
the grammar-school. “He shall go to college,” said his mother; “I’ll
make a smart solicitor of him.” Squalor at home, high-pressure at
school; soul, temperament, will, talents, all pulling in different
ways—what could it lead to but disintegration of character?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

What could it lead to, eh? I should like to know what is good enough for
you. We are to expect nothing of Stensgård; nothing of my son; but we
may look to you, I suppose—to you——?

                                FIELDBO.

Yes, to me—precisely. Oh, you needn’t laugh; I take no credit to myself;
but my lot has been one that begets equilibrium and firmness of
character. I was brought up amid the peace and harmony of a modest
middle-class home. My mother is a woman of the finest type; in our home
we had no desires that outstripped our opportunities, no cravings that
were wrecked on the rocks of circumstance; and death did not break in
upon our circle, leaving emptiness and longing behind it. We were
brought up in the love of beauty, but it informed our whole view of
life, instead of being a side-interest, a thing apart. We were taught to
shun excesses, whether of the intellect or of the feelings——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Bless me! So that accounts for your being the pink of perfection?

                                FIELDBO.

I am far from thinking so. I only say that fate had been infinitely kind
to me, and that I regard its favours in the light of obligations.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Very well; but if Stensgård is under no such obligations, it is all the
more to his credit that he——

                                FIELDBO.

What? What is to his credit?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

You have misjudged him, my good Doctor. Look here. What do you say to
this?

                                FIELDBO.

Your son’s bill!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Yes; he has sent it to me.

                                FIELDBO.

Of his own accord?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Of his own accord, and unconditionally. It is fine; it is noble. From
this day forth, my house is open to him.

                                FIELDBO.

Think again! For your own sake, for your daughter’s——

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Oh, let me alone! He is better than you in many ways. At any rate he is
straightforward, while you are underhand in your dealings.

                                FIELDBO.

I?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Yes, you! You have made yourself the master of this house; you come and
go as you please; I consult you about everything—and yet——

                                FIELDBO.

Well?—And yet?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

And yet there’s always something confoundedly close about you; yes, and
something—something uppish that I cannot endure!

                                FIELDBO.

Please explain yourself!

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

I? No, it is you that ought to explain yourself! But now you must take
the consequences.

                                FIELDBO.

We don’t understand each other, Chamberlain. I have no bill to give up
to you; yet, who knows but I may be making a greater sacrifice for your
sake?

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Indeed! How so?

                                FIELDBO.

By holding my tongue.

                            THE CHAMBERLAIN.

Holding your tongue, indeed! Shall I tell you what I am tempted to do?
To forget my manners, use bad language, and join the League of Youth.
You are a stiff-necked Pharisee, my good Doctor; and that sort of thing
is out of place in our free society. Look at Stensgård; he is not like