Little Eyolf by Archer, William, 1856-1924, Ibsen, Henrik, 1828-1906

ALLMERS. Well?

ASTA. --that I have no right to bear your father's name.

ALLMERS. [Staggering backwards.] Asta! What is this you say!

ASTA. Read the letters. Then you will see--and understand. And perhaps have some forgiveness--for mother, too.

ALLMERS. [Clutching at his forehead.] I cannot grasp this--I cannot realise the thought. You, Asta--you are not--

ASTA. You are not my brother, Alfred.

ALLMERS. [Quickly, half defiantly, looking at her.] Well, but what difference does that really make in our relation? Practically none at all.

ASTA. [Shaking her head.] It makes all the difference, Alfred. Our relation is not that of brother and sister.

ALLMERS. No, no. But it is none the less sacred for that--it will always be equally sacred.

ASTA. Do not forget--that it is subject to the law of change, as you said just now.

ALLMERS. [Looks inquiringly at her.] Do you mean that--

ASTA. [Quietly, but with rearm emotion.] Not a word more--my dear, dear Alfred. [Takes up the flowers from the chair.] Do you see these water-lilies?

ALLMERS. [Nodding slowly.] They are the sort that shoot up--from the very depth.

ASTA. I pulled them in the tarn--where it flows out into the fiord. [Holds them out to him.] Will you take them, Alfred?

ALLMERS. [Taking them.] Thanks.

ASTA. [With tears in her eyes.] They are a last greeting to you, from--from little Eyolf.

ALLMERS. [Looking at her.] From Eyolf out yonder? Or from you?

ASTA. [Softly.] From both of us. [Taking up her umbrella.] Now come with me to Rita.

[She goes up the wood-path.]

ALLMERS. [Takes up his hat from the table, and whispers sadly.] Asta. Eyolf. Little Eyolf--!

[He follows her up the path.]

ACT THIRD

[An elevation, overgrown with shrubs, in ALLMERS'S garden. At the back a sheer cliff, with a railing along its edge, and with steps on the left leading downwards. An extensive view over the fiord, which lies deep below. A flagstaff with lines, but no flag, stands by the railing. In front, on the right, a summer-house, covered with creepers and wild vines. Outside it, a bench. It is a late summer evening, with clear sky. Deepening twilight.]

[ASTA is sitting on the bench, with her hands in her lap. She is wearing her outdoor dress and a hat, has her parasol at her side, and a little travelling-bag on a strap over her shoulder.]

[BORGHEIM comes up from the back on the left. He, too, has a travelling-bag over his shoulder. He is carrying a rolled-up flag.]

BORGHEIM. [Catching sight of ASTA.] Oh, so you are up here!

ASTA. Yes, I am taking my last look out over the fiord.

BORGHEIM. Then I am glad I happened to come up.

ASTA. Have you been searching for me?

BORGHEIM. Yes, I have. I wanted to say good-bye to you for the present. Not for good and all, I hope.

ASTA. [With a faint smile.] You are persevering.

BORGHEIM. A road-maker has got to be.

ASTA. Have you seen anything of Alfred? Or of Rita?

BORGHEIM. Yes, I saw them both.

ASTA. Together?

BORGHEIM. No--apart.

ASTA. What are you going to do with that flag?

BORGHEIM. Mrs. Allmers asked me to come up and hoist it.

ASTA. Hoist a flag just now?

BORGHEIM. Half-mast high. She wants it to fly both night and day, she says.

ASTA. [Sighing.] Poor Rita! And poor Alfred!

BORGHEIM. [Busied with the flag.] Have you the heart to leave them? I ask, because I see you are in travelling-dress.

ASTA. [In a low voice.] I must go.