EYES THAT CANNOT SEE
Scene I
(Mrs. Hammelev and Kirsten. They are drinking
coffee at the centre table, which is covered with a
small tablecloth.)
KIRSTEN
Yes, Lavst’s promised. The carriage will be
there, I’m sure. It’s all been arranged.
MRS. HAMMELEV
Thank you very much, Kirsten. And remember
now, it is the 8.20 train.
KIRSTEN
Oh, yes, yes—
MRS. HAMMELEV (eagerly)
And the carriage should be at the station in
plenty of time. I should say eight o’clock at
the latest. So it must leave here at seven.
KIRSTEN
Oh, it don’t take no more than a half hour to
get there.
MRS. HAMMELEV
I am always so afraid that something may
happen. And if we should come late! You
must remember, Kirsten, that he is quite helpless.
And in a railroad station, especially, in
the midst of people who think only of themselves.
KIRSTEN
Yes—I wonder sometimes how he can travel
like that, all alone, without gettin’ into trouble,
the poor boy! How helpless a man is without
a pair of eyes to see with!
MRS. HAMMELEV
Everything is in God’s power, Kirsten. And
then you must know that by this time he has become
accustomed to helping himself. It is now
seven years since the misfortune came upon him.
KIRSTEN
Heavens! Is it really? Yes, time flies—indeed
it does! I remember very well the time when
you and Mr. Hammelev took him to the
doctor, and you was told that poor Anton was
goin’ to lose his eyesight. Both me and Furst
felt awful sorry over it.
MRS. HAMMELEV (painfully touched)
Yes, Kirsten, but—
KIRSTEN (without interruption)
It was an awful and terrible thing to think of!
Such a nice-lookin’ boy as he was! He had
that curly hair of his that suited him so fine—and
them beautiful eyes of his—oh, what beautiful
eyes he had, anyhow! Poor Anton! Yes,
we used to always call him “poor little Anton”,
’cause he wasn’t very strong. But he was a
pretty big lad at that time. Wasn’t he just
goin’ to graduate? Let’s see—he graduated
from high school when—
MRS. HAMMELEV
Twice—two years in succession he failed, and
he used to be the first one in his class, and
then—(Pauses.) But, God be praised, he has
amounted to something in spite of all. He
has turned out to be a very clever boy—although
he took up a different profession than we had
wanted him to.
KIRSTEN
Yes, both Mr. Hammelev and you wanted him
to study to be a minister, didn’t you? And
what’s a musician! And you was a minister’s
daughter!
MRS. HAMMELEV
Musician! But, Kirsten, my son is not an
ordinary musician. He is an artist—yes—you
know what that means, don’t you, Kirsten?
He plays in big halls where people gather just
to hear music. Have I never read to you
what has been said of him in the newspapers?
KIRSTEN
Yes, thanks, and I must say it was a real
pleasure and comfort for me to hear, ’specially
when it’s a person you have no right to expect
too much from; that Fate has struck like him
and who must bend to the will of our Lord,
as long as it’s got to be. But it’s awful sad to
think that His choice should fall on poor Anton.
I always thought, when I saw him, that he
was made to live in sunshine and light all the
time. And to think that he should have to
wander in darkness!—as it is written in the
Bible.
MRS. HAMMELEV (half to herself)
Yes, Kirsten, there was a time when I thought
as you do. Many a night I have lain awake,
struggling with God for my child. I wouldn’t
let him go until He blessed me. And when I
saw that Anton’s sight, with every day that
passed, grew dimmer and dimmer, there was a
moment when I turned against Him, and in
my foolishness wanted Him to account for His
acts. At times I almost thought it would be
best if He would take the child back to Him.
KIRSTEN (with sincerity)
Perhaps it would have been best.
MRS. HAMMELEV
No, Kirsten, it wouldn’t. And I shall never
forgive myself that I once in a dark moment
let Anton understand that I did think so.
Now it has dawned upon me that God nevertheless
has heard my prayers. He has given
my son new light; but He has lighted it in the
depth of his soul. There grow flowers and
sparkle springs as pure as neither you nor I
have imagination to dream of, Kirsten. (Noise
outside of voices of children, mingled with the
clatter of their wooden shoes.) I suppose school
is over.
KIRSTEN (rising from her chair)
Good heavens! Is it that late? Oh, I got to
be goin’!
MRS. HAMMELEV
Oh, no. Stay a while, Kirsten. Mr. Hammelev
will be in soon. We’ll have another cup of
coffee.
Scene II
(Hammelev enters from the left. An elderly man
with a kindly, somewhat tired expression on his
face.)
MRS. HAMMELEV
Kirsten is here, pa!
HAMMELEV
So I see, mother, I see. (Goes to Kirsten and
shakes hands with her.) How do you do, Kirsten?
I hear that your husband will drive to the
station for us to-night. I want to thank you
for your kindness.
KIRSTEN
Oh, that’s nothin’ to thank us for, Mr. Hammelev.
It ain’t the season of the year when
we use our horses much.
HAMMELEV
No, oh no—now that you’ve got the hay in, I
guess you don’t. But it isn’t the first time we
have had reason to thank you and your husband.
Since we haven’t any horse and carriage,
we ought to be thankful that we have
such kind and helpful neighbors. (Goes to the
pipe-rack, takes down a pipe, and fills it with
tobacco.) Well, Kirsten, I suppose you know
what a great day it was in school to-day?
KIRSTEN
Oh, yes, I can imagine, Mr. Hammelev. It is
in a way a day of rejoicin’—we can’t say
nothin’ else. The Lord has dealt severe with
you, so we are glad when He helps you along a
little and makes it easier for you.
MRS. HAMMELEV (who has been serving the coffee,
interrupting)
You’ll take a cup of coffee, too, won’t you, pa?
HAMMELEV (who has lighted his pipe)
Yes, thanks; we can always drink a little
coffee. (Sits, smokes, and drinks his coffee.)
Yes, you see the cross we have to bear, Kirsten—we
ought never to complain of that. (Good-naturedly.)
At your house you don’t complain,
anyhow, I don’t think. Do you, Kirsten?—You
haven’t anything to complain of.
KIRSTEN (knocks under the table, from superstition)
I’d better knock on wood before it’s too late.
HAMMELEV
Yes, do that, Kirsten. Well, I won’t say that
we have anything to complain of over here,
either. We get our daily bread. And now
this great joy when our son comes home. We
haven’t seen him for four years.
KIRSTEN
Is it as long as that?
MRS. HAMMELEV (to herself)
Four long years!
HAMMELEV
Yes, it has always been worst for mother, of
course. You see, I have the school and the
church singing to think of. But she has to sit
alone here in this room day after day. Then,
of course, her thoughts go far, far off—we all
know how it is. I often say to mother: “Mother,
I have a hundred little children to take care of
every day.” That means a hundred little
hearts and a hundred little brains that I must
keep watch over. And so I say to mother, it
seems to me as if she ought to be able to keep
track of at least herself. But it is easy enough
to find fault. Sorrow is a weed that it is not
so easy to pull up by the roots.
KIRSTEN
Yes, if I’d had such a misfortune to think of,
I don’t know what I’d have done.
HAMMELEV
But now mother will get her reward for all she
has gone through, poor mother. To-night he’ll
be here in this room, he whom she is always
thinking of. She hasn’t even slept during the
last half-dozen nights.
MRS. HAMMELEV (smiling)
Now you are exaggerating again, pa!
HAMMELEV
Well, well—you haven’t had very much sleep.
A little with one eye is about all, if we should
sum it up. And there has been such a house-cleaning
and scrubbing and frying and baking,
as if the vicar himself was expected. The boy’s
room is fixed for him; it is just as it was when
he was at home last, excepting, of course, that
everything is newly washed and cleaned and
polished.
KIRSTEN
But when he ain’t able to see it—
HAMMELEV
No, he can’t see it. But the blind instinctively
feel what we others see. They can, for instance,
enjoy a beautiful landscape. The color rays
work on their skin, you understand, Kirsten.
It is just as if they were taking a sort of bath
in all the beauty. And then, of course, they
have the sense of smell. Well, now—and there
are twelve new shirts and twelve pairs of socks
for him on his bed. Those he can get a great
deal of pleasure from. Would you like to see
them, Kirsten?
MRS. HAMMELEV (somewhat impatiently)
Oh, that’s nothing—
HAMMELEV
Yes, Kirsten, just to make mother feel ashamed,
I’ll show you how diligent she has been. She
knows how to do these things. She has a linen
closet that would make many a woman envious.
KIRSTEN
Yes, we sure have to have clothes on our body.
HAMMELEV
Yes, Kirsten; but you and your husband no
doubt have more than we. Come along now;
I’ll show you what mother has made for our
boy.
KIRSTEN (puts away her coffee-cup, rises, shakes
hands with both)
Yes, all right. Well—thank you ever so
much for the coffee.
(All three go out, right. At the same moment
are seen, through the windows in the background,
Anton Hammelev and Louise Thorsen, approaching
by the roadway outside.)
Scene III
(Anton Hammelev and Louise Thorsen enter from
the left. Anton is a young man in his twenties.
He has the appearance of an artist—face smooth-shaven
and hair rather long. In spite of his
blindness he moves about in the room without any
apparent difficulty. Louise is in her thirties—a
weary and somewhat faded and passée woman.
It is apparent that she is trying to improve her
appearance with the use of powder and paint.
She is quite well dressed. She gives the impression
of being of an amiable though timid disposition,
and she has a sad look in her eyes.)
ANTON (merrily)
You never thought, Louise, that I should ever
lead you. Did you notice how well I knew the
way? And I know where every piece of furniture
stands in this room. (Points.) There
stands mother’s sewing-table—and there are
father’s pipes. Am I not right? You may
ask me about every little thing if you wish.
I can tell you where every picture hangs on
the wall. Do you want to try?
LOUISE (pleadingly)
No, Anton, not now.
ANTON
Why not? You haven’t lost your courage,
have you?
LOUISE
We shouldn’t have done this, I think. If you
had come alone, you could have explained to
your parents much better.
ANTON (somewhat impatiently)
If I could ever get you to understand why I
have arranged it as I have! What do you
think my parents are, anyhow? Do you think
they’ll assault me? Assault a defenseless
woman—eh?
LOUISE
No, of course not. But—I don’t know—when
I look about in this room it seems to me as if
I had entered it to steal something that doesn’t
belong to me.
ANTON
Oh, is it that way? Listen now, Louise. Who
do you suppose knows the old folks best—you
or I?
LOUISE
Why—you, of course, but—
ANTON
Well, then let it be so. Now, don’t you think
it would be best to let me do as I think fit?
(More quietly.) I’ll tell you, Louise, my parents
have hitherto not been used to see anything
but a child in me! “Poor little Anton,” they
always used to call me, even after I had gone
through the conservatory. Four years ago,
when last I was at home, father couldn’t get
it into his head that I, like other men, had to
shave and get my hair cut. And I was at that
time a big chap—nineteen years old. (In a
temper.) Good God! Am I then but a child!
A helpless, unfortunate, poor being, and can I
never grow to be like other human beings!
LOUISE
You who know so much—you are not as badly
off as that! And you know it, too, Anton.
ANTON
Yes, God help me, Louise! When one is lacking
in one of the senses one is a child, an incomplete
specimen, three-fourths of a man or
hardly that. But let that be as it may! The
fact remains that neither father nor mother
in their wildest moments of imagination would
think that I might become engaged. And I
don’t think it would be of any use for me to
begin to explain how the whole thing has
happened. Even if I should describe you as
an angel of God, they would say I was the
most foolish being in the world. Just for that
very reason they ought to have the chance of
seeing for themselves.
LOUISE
If only we hadn’t met, Anton! It would have
been so much better for you.
ANTON
What nonsense! When once they see you!
That’s why I wanted you to come with me and
surprise them.
LOUISE
Oh, God! I only wish I was twenty miles from
here. I don’t even know what to say to them.
ANTON
You don’t need to say anything at all. I’ll talk
for you; you’ll see. I’ll say: “Look here, father
and mother, this is Louise. She is the woman
to whom I owe everything. If it hadn’t been
for her I wouldn’t be a human being with a
cheery outlook on life—I wouldn’t care to live.
I myself have never seen her, but I know so
well how she looks. She is fair as the day,
and she has a dimple in either cheek—they are
just like a couple of little rills where the sunbeams
play hide-and-seek. She has also a little
bent-up nose—quite a resolute little nose—that
always points in the right direction, just
like a compass needle. But what is most beautiful
about her are her eyes; they are so deep,
and yet so clear; one feels so sure there is something
beyond their depth—but one can’t see it.
And the other little things about her—can’t
you see for yourself how fine and nice and good
she is?”
LOUISE (pained)
Oh, Anton, but I don’t look like that!
ANTON
Yes, that is how you do look. I know it.
(Takes hold of both her hands.) And yet I
can’t show them your warm, faithful heart;
they’ll have to learn to know that little by
little.
LOUISE
If you would only not make so much of me,
Anton! If one of us has anything to be grateful
for, it is I. And you know I haven’t hidden
anything from you.
ANTON (drops her hands; seriously)
You had nothing to hide, Louise. I know you
have had a hard time. But pure metal can’t
be spoiled, and you have come out of it all
unstained—with your beautiful eyes and your
good heart. Perhaps you have cried a great
deal. Perhaps others can see the traces in
your face—if so, it is an advantage to me to
be blind. (Listens.) But listen! I can hear
the old folks upstairs. I think, perhaps it
would be best, if you went out for a second;
you need only go outside till I call you. You
see—I think I ought to be alone with them the
very first moments.
LOUISE (close to him; entreating him)
Anton—don’t you want me to leave you now?
Shan’t I—
ANTON (impatiently)
You must do as I say. Be a sensible girl—don’t
be hysterical. Now go, please.
LOUISE (going out to the left)
I’ll do as you wish me to. But if you regret it,
remember I told you you shouldn’t do it.
(Anton stands for a moment listening to the
steps of his parents overhead. Then he hides
himself behind the door to the right, which opens
at the same moment.)
Scene IV
(Kirsten, Mrs. Hammelev, and Hammelev enter
from the right.)
KIRSTEN
Yes, Lavst will be there in plenty of time to-night,
I promise.
MRS. HAMMELEV
Thank you, Kirsten. You understand, we are
a little nervous. But what is—
ANTON (coming forward with open arms)
Mother!
MRS. HAMMELEV (overwhelmed; sobbing)
Anton! (She throws herself on his bosom and
kisses him passionately.) Oh, Anton, Anton—
HAMMELEV (who, in his excitement, has taken the
pipe from his mouth)
But, Anton, dear—we didn’t expect you until
to-night!
ANTON
Yes, but “poor little Anton” had a notion to
surprise you. So we took—so I took an earlier
train. (He feels with one hand in the air, while
holding his mother tightly pressed to his bosom
with the other.) How do you do, father!
HAMMELEV (pressing his hand)
How are you, dear boy?
KIRSTEN
Well, I guess I ought to say how do you do,
too. I am Kirsten, Lavst’s wife.
ANTON (lets go his mother’s hand and presses
Kirsten’s hand in a faltering manner)
How do you do, Kirsten. I suppose everything
is the same with you as ever?
KIRSTEN
Yes, thank the Lord!
HAMMELEV
But how did you ever get out here, Anton?
Didn’t anybody come with you?
ANTON (somewhat embarrassed)
No—well—yes, you see I know the way. And—yes,
I’ll tell you—
KIRSTEN
Well, I don’t want to disturb you no longer,
and there’s no need of no carriage goin’ to the
station to-night, I guess.
HAMMELEV
No, I don’t think so, Kirsten. But thank you
just the same for your willingness. Good-bye!
And give my regards to your husband!
KIRSTEN
Good-bye! (Shakes hands and goes out to the
right.)
ANTON
Why don’t you say something, mother? Was
it too much of a surprise?
MRS. HAMMELEV (moves her hand to her heart;
smiles)
Yes, it was a bit sudden—but now.... Oh,
Anton—when you are here, you know—don’t
you know.... And how well and happy you
look!
KIRSTEN (puts her head inside the door)
Excuse me. I just wanted to tell you there is
a strange lady standin’ outside here.
HAMMELEV (slightly annoyed)
A strange lady! What does she want, I wonder?
Tell her to come in!
KIRSTEN (calls)
Yes, you can come in, if you want to. (She
goes out.)
Scene V
(Louise comes from the left and remains standing
right, inside the door.)
HAMMELEV (goes towards her)
You wish to speak with me?
LOUISE (falteringly, embarrassed)
Yes—but I thought—perhaps I—ought not
to—
ANTON
Why, of course you should. (He feels his way
to her, takes her by the hand, and leads her out
into the room; the parents seem to be shocked.)
I wanted to tell you first, but as it now has
happened differently than I had thought—here
is the woman who has helped me to find
the way out here to-day. And she has done
more than that: she has led me through the
darkest moments of my life.
MRS. HAMMELEV (who, in a glance, has taken in
Louise; in a voice of anxiety)
Anton—what does this mean?
ANTON
It means, father and mother, that in the last
two years she and I have been one. And we
will never separate from each other.
HAMMELEV (with strained kindliness)
So—so you are engaged, poor little Anton?
You haven’t written and told us anything
about it.
ANTON
I didn’t want you to worry over me—to know
that I—helpless as I was—had bound myself
to another human being. I wanted you to
see her first. (Moved.) For I knew that in
the same moment that you saw her, you’d
understand it is for our mutual happiness.
Isn’t that true when she has chosen to love
me? As fine and beautiful as she is! You must
understand how much she thinks of me. But
you needn’t fear for her sake, I feel sure. I can
make her happy; and for her it is happiness
to be able to give of her full, rich heart—to
give to one who longs with all his soul for sun
and light—as I do.
MRS. HAMMELEV
I think, if we should speak of the richness of
heart, that few have as much to give away as
you have, Anton.
ANTON
No, no! don’t compare me with her. Remember—for
her the whole world lies open; she
need but stretch out her arms. But I—I have
nothing to give up, nothing to offer. And
there is nobody who asks anything from me,
anyhow. Nature has now once for all—it
seems to me—given me the right to be a bit
selfish....
HAMMELEV
We had thought that—
ANTON
Yes, father, I might have known that this
would come as a great surprise to you. And I
know that before long you will love Louise as
much as I myself do.
HAMMELEV
Louise—so that’s her name—your.... And
her last name, if I may ask?
LOUISE
Thorsen.
HAMMELEV
Louise Thorsen—oh, yes.... (Heartily.) Well,
well, my dear Anton—and you also, my dear—Louise
Thorsen, I suppose I ought to wish
you all sorts of health and happiness.
(Approaches Anton with extended hand.)
MRS. HAMMELEV (goes between them)
Hammelev—I think you first ought to let us
speak with the young lady. (With an emotion
that she can hardly conceal.) May I only say
this: Anton knows that I, too, wish him
happiness—that nobody could wish him more
happiness than I—but it is not more than right
that I learn to know her a little better before I—
ANTON (quietly)
Of course you may, mother.
MRS. HAMMELEV
You must understand me rightly, Anton.
Father and I have been waiting for months
for the happy day when you would come home.
We spoke of it when we sat here the other
evening—we thought of when you would step
inside the door—we thought of how it would
be with all of us together, the three of us.
Now the whole thing will have to be changed.
I can’t quite reconcile myself to it at once.
Therefore, I want to have a chance to learn to
know her first—she, whom you have chosen
for yourself.
ANTON
Yes, mother, since you look at it that way—I
think myself it is the best way. For I know
very well that when you have talked with her
ten minutes you’ll love her as if you had known
her for many years. Father and I will take a
walk in the garden in the meantime.
HAMMELEV
Anton ought to go up to his room, too. But
you ought to show him that yourself, mother.
MRS. HAMMELEV (nervously)
Do as you like. I—
ANTON (merrily)
Let’s go out in the garden. I am longing to
find out how much the big pear tree has grown
that I planted out there myself when I still
had my sight. But I tell you this, mother:
you mustn’t make Louise regret that she cares
for me, poor mole. For if I lose her, I’ll never
find my way any more in life. (Hammelev and
Anton go out.)
Scene VI
MRS. HAMMELEV
Now we’ll have a talk, we two—it is necessary.
You may take off your things—the large hat—the
coat. (Louise takes her coat and hat off and
puts them away. She is dressed in a plain,
simple dress.) Yes—I like you so much better
without those things on. Now sit down here
at the table—right here in front of me. (They
both of them sit down.) What I am going to
tell you now may hurt you. But I trust you
understand that nobody could love Anton any
more than his mother. Therefore I want to
speak openly to you.
LOUISE (bows down her head)
I suppose you want me to call it off with him.
MRS. HAMMELEV
I had meant to ask you whether you yourself
think that you are the kind of wife he ought
to have. I don’t know you, of course. But I
know him, and I know that he deserves to have
a good woman and a woman who is pure.
Can you stand before the face of God and say
that you are that? You need not answer me.
It is God who awaits your answer.
LOUISE (slowly)
I know very well I haven’t always been what I
should have been.
MRS. HAMMELEV (mildly)
None of us have. But you must let your own
conscience decide whether you can stand with
raised head as my son’s bride. If you can not,
I beg of you to give him up. Yes, in such a
case you must. Could you expect me to ask
anything else of you?
LOUISE (rocking back and forth in great agony)
I have been so fond of Anton.
MRS. HAMMELEV
Yes, poor girl! You mustn’t think I am so
hard-hearted that I don’t feel sorry for you.
But life puts its mark on each one of us. And
you have received yours. I saw it on you at
once.
LOUISE
I have often regretted that I gave Anton my
promise. I am sorry for his sake. I have often
thought that perhaps it would dawn on him
some day that I wasn’t fit for him. And I
promised myself solemnly—if such a day should
come—he should be free from me at once.
MRS. HAMMELEV
Perhaps—if you had enough strength left.
But what about all the years you had taken
away from him in the meantime?
LOUISE
I felt that way because he cared for me and
wanted to have me near him.
MRS. HAMMELEV
But you have no right to think anything like
that. We have no right to masquerade, to
pretend we are what we are not. And you
must remember that my son can’t form an
opinion for himself of human beings in the
same way that we can.
LOUISE (bravely)
You mustn’t think, Mrs. Hammelev, that I
have hidden anything from Anton.
MRS. HAMMELEV
Hidden! To leave things untold is the same
as to hide.
LOUISE
I have told him everything that I have been—that
I was once—
MRS. HAMMELEV (sharply)
A fallen woman!
LOUISE (bending herself down in silence, as if
being struck)
That is a word which is not used by oneself
about oneself. (With strong emotion.) Yet on
the very first day we met I told him I should
bring shame and sorrow to him. I told him I
had done things that I couldn’t even tell him
about, and that I wasn’t worthy of walking by
his side in the street.
MRS. HAMMELEV
You did tell him that?
LOUISE
As true as there is a God! I have told him
everything. Oh, but he—he only smiled. He
understood so well, he said, that I had gone
through so many things. But when a woman
had the strength to rise again, it tended to
prove that she had the real stuff in her—that’s
what he said. Then it seemed to him also as
if it, in a way, was a sort of counter-balance
to his being such a wretched human being.
In a way, you understand. For we each had
our own misfortune to bear.
MRS. HAMMELEV (passionately)
Don’t you dare to compare his misfortune with
yours! God knows my poor boy can not be
blamed for what has befallen him. Whereas
you have been a bad and weak woman. You
have brought your sin and shame upon yourself,
and you can not wash yourself clean of it
now. I am not judging you—don’t think that!
But how could you come out here with him?
How could you think that we, his parents,
could look on quietly and see him throw himself
away on a—a woman who—who was
unworthy of him?
LOUISE
Oh, God! I didn’t think so. I didn’t think so.
I begged him again and again to go alone.
But he wouldn’t listen to me; he wasn’t satisfied
until I promised to go with him. And he
kept on saying: “When they only see how
much you are to me, they will have to like you
as much as I do.” And then—then—I don’t
know—then there were moments when I hoped
myself it would be as he hoped it would.
MRS. HAMMELEV
You ought to have known that, in spite of
telling him about your life, you are still deceiving
him; that everybody else can see with
their eyes what he can’t! You also have a bad
conscience. It is for that reason you have tried
to fix yourself up. But can’t you understand
that you are thus holding up my poor little
boy as a target for fun-making and mockery
and pity?
LOUISE (struggling with her tears)
He told me to fix myself up so that you might
like me. I never thought—(suddenly taking
hold of Mrs. Hammelev’s hand.) You must believe
me! I did it all with the best of intentions.
MRS. HAMMELEV
I readily believe that. But if you really loved
Anton, I do not understand why you couldn’t
see that you would drag him down with you.
But there must be an end to this now. You
must give him up.
LOUISE (in a low voice)
Give up! Yes, I suppose I must—I wouldn’t
think of standing between him and his parents.
Yes, I’ll—I’ll tell him we must part.
MRS. HAMMELEV
No. You shan’t do that. You need but leave
quietly. I’ll speak myself to my son.
LOUISE
You speak to him! Yes—if you could only get
him to listen. But I know him. He’ll want
me back, anyway. Do you know that I left
him once? No—how could you know that!—
MRS. HAMMELEV
You were—you were going to—leave him!
LOUISE
I wanted to give him back his liberty, as you
want me to give it to him now. I explained
my reasons for doing it in a letter to him—I
have learned the alphabet of the blind. Then
I moved to some relatives of mine that I had
never spoken to him of. The next day he had
found out where I was and came to me.
MRS. HAMMELEV
Yes, I realize that you have understood how
to make him attached to you. It will be a
blow to him—yes, I don’t reproach you.
LOUISE
Reproach me!
MRS. HAMMELEV
I tell you, I don’t blame you. And if I could
give you a helping hand, so that both you and
my son could become happy and contented, I
would do so. But it wouldn’t be right for me
to think of anything else but my son’s future.
Remember that I am so much older than you
are and have had so many more years’ experience
of life. And I have learned that one
cannot build a house on sand or dirt.
LOUISE (rising)
Anton’s future shan’t be built on such a foundation.
It is better for us—it is better for him to
have the sorrow of losing me now. And this
time it shall be for ever. There are places where
he won’t be able to find me.
MRS. HAMMELEV
Are you going upstairs to talk to him now?
LOUISE (nods)
Yes, that is one of the conditions I want to
make.
MRS. HAMMELEV
You must believe me—I am doing this with
the best of intentions. It is only because I
love Anton so much.
LOUISE (with a sorrowful nod)
I know. When one loves some one—
MRS. HAMMELEV (takes Louise’s hand)
But one thing you must promise me. You
must be sensible. You mustn’t do anything
rash or foolish. Think of Anton. His life is
dark enough as it is.
LOUISE
I have already taken into consideration everything.
Almost as long as I have known Anton
have I had on my mind to do what I am going
to do now. I shall go—far away—that’s all.
And then neither you nor Anton will have to
see me any more. (She goes out to the right.
Mrs. Hammelev walks about the room restlessly
for a moment; then she seats herself at the table
in deep thought.)
Scene VII
(Hammelev enters from the right.)
HAMMELEV
Well, I showed Anton up to the room, mother.
I thought he’d long to see—to come up there.
If you had only seen how he went around and
felt everything! “Oh, God!” he exclaimed,
“there hangs the little rack.” And he felt all
the books. “There is my ‘Ivanhoe’—and there
is Dickens’ ‘Oliver Twist’; and there ‘The Last
of the Mohicans’!” He felt all of them by their
backs. But the shirts and the socks—you
could have saved yourself the trouble of making
them, Mother.
MRS. HAMMELEV
Why?
HAMMELEV
A person can never get enough of such things,
of course, in a way. But he is well looked after
in this respect. She, his sweetheart, has sewn
and fixed and looked after everything for him.
She works, by the way, in a dressmaking
establishment.
MRS. HAMMELEV (with an expression of surprise)
She works—she works at a dressmaker’s!
HAMMELEV
Yes—in one of those large department stores
in Copenhagen. She is in charge of the dressmaking
department. She makes good money,
too, he says.
MRS. HAMMELEV (as before)
Good for her!
HAMMELEV
And a good thing for him, too. How would
they have got along otherwise?
MRS. HAMMELEV
I should hope Anton does not have to receive
anything from anybody.
HAMMELEV
But he had to do so once. Do you know who
kept him alive? When he took lessons from
that professor, you know. We thought he was
living with that friend of his he wrote about.
MRS. HAMMELEV
Wasn’t he?
HAMMELEV
Well, yes—yes, he was, in a way. But his
friend most of the time wears skirts, and her
name is Louise Thorsen. And it was she who
took care of him the best way she could.
MRS. HAMMELEV (passionately)
And stole his youth. For if they shared things
with each other, it must have meant that they
lived together.
HAMMELEV
Yes—and what is there to be said? She is a
woman and he a man. And, besides, he is an
artist. So we ought not to judge, I think.
MRS. HAMMELEV
But we must be allowed to have our opinions.
We have only this one child. And he is in need
of parental love more than other children.
HAMMELEV
Yes, mother dear, but I think it has been a
great fortune for him to have found her. What
can we do for him, we two old cronies? We
shall soon have enough to do straightening out
our own affairs until we meet up there with
the great Doctor who opens all eyes. And
when we have gone, who would he then have
to cling to? No—a young woman like her is
what a man like him needs. And the old
doctor said that—thank God—should he get
children, there was no danger that his affliction
would be hereditary.
MRS. HAMMELEV
But there are greater afflictions that can be
inherited.
HAMMELEV
Yes, I can see that you are not very pleased
with the whole thing. Before she took off her
coat it seemed to me, too, as if she looked a bit
too “cityfied.” But I think she really is a
good girl.
Scene VIII
(Anton and Louise come from the right.)
ANTON (half outside)
No, Louise, you can’t go away like this. If I
can’t make you stay, mother must try to.
(He pulls her, in spite of her opposition, into the
room.) Have you ever heard anything like it?
Louise wants to go back to the city to-night.
LOUISE
Yes, I must, Anton. I didn’t have the courage
to tell you before. But now—I feel that I
know your parents—and....
ANTON
Know—know—one can’t learn to know anybody
in an hour. Anyhow, it’s strange that
your employer wants you to return at once.
And just on this occasion! Before, you have
always been able to get off whenever you
wanted to be with me.
LOUISE
I have asked to be free too often, dear Anton.
Now, you see, they must have grown tired of
it in the store. I want to tell you right now
that hereafter I am afraid we shall not be able
to be together as often as before.
ANTON
Well, then we must get married. To think
that you should be the slave of the yardstick!
Now I’ll dictate a letter for you. I’ll say that
you cannot be back until the day after to-morrow
at the earliest.
LOUISE
No, it won’t do, Anton—you must not ask me
to do it.
ANTON
But help me, then, father and mother. Can
you look on quietly and silently while your
daughter-in-law, who has hardly put her foot
inside your door, wants to disappear again?
HAMMELEV
No, we want, of course, to—
MRS. HAMMELEV
I think you had best let Louise go, Anton.
You mustn’t let her take the risk of losing her
position.
ANTON
And you say that, mother! But don’t you
know how I had looked forward to this day—when
you would see her—and learn to love
her and—
MRS. HAMMELEV
You must be sensible, Anton. It might influence
your future if she—
ANTON
The future! Always the future, always to-morrow
and again to-morrow, and please wait
like a good child! But God have mercy, I am
of course, unreasonable. Go, Louise, go!
Hurry, that you will not be late for the train!
LOUISE (sadly)
Are you angry with me now, Anton?
ANTON (softly)
With you—no! I am a bit angry, I suppose.
But not with you. I want to tell you this,
however, that I will let you go only on one
condition: that you soon take a long vacation.
And then we’ll come out here again, both of us.
Will you promise me that, Louise?
LOUISE (softly patting his hand)
There shall soon be happiness for both of us,
Anton.
ANTON
Y-e-s—I couldn’t be angry with you now. So
go upstairs to my room. At the very top of
my traveling bag you’ll find a little package.
Bring it down to me. There is something in
it for you. It was my intention not to give it
to you until to-night. But as long as you
can’t wait—
LOUISE
You shouldn’t spend your money on buying
presents for me.
ANTON
What! I don’t lose anything by it. I don’t
ruin myself by it, do I?
LOUISE
But I would rather you didn’t give me anything.
ANTON
Is it your intention to make me real angry—seriously
angry? I can’t understand what ails
you to-day. My parents have seen an engaged
couple before. Or do you think, perhaps, that
they, in their peasant simplicity, may take
offense?
LOUISE
No, but—
ANTON
Well, if you want to leave at once, then go.
And take all the time you want while you are
upstairs. Five minutes, if you like. There is
something I want to speak to mother about in
the meantime. Can you find your way to the
room?
HAMMELEV
I’ll show Louise the way. At the same time
I’ll show her the room where she was to have
slept, if she had stayed over night.
ANTON
Five minutes, Louise. But no longer. We
have yet a few hours till you have to leave for
the train. And we will be very greedy of
these two hours—we four.
LOUISE (bends over him and kisses him)
Anton, dear, you know I have always wished
to do what was best for you. Whatever may
happen or whatever I may do, you must always
believe in me. Do you hear, Anton—always!
(Louise and Hammelev go out, right.)
Scene IX
ANTON
It was only this I wished to tell you, mother:
I know that you have made Louise feel sad.
MRS. HAMMELEV (with anxiety)
Has she then told you?—
ANTON
She has told me nothing; but don’t you think
I know her voice? And there was a false note
vibrating in it. Have you anything against
her? If you have—tell me.
MRS. HAMMELEV (avoiding the question)
Why, I scarcely know her—
ANTON
Then I can only think that you are worried
on account of me. It doesn’t seem to you
that I ought to take the responsibility of founding
a family—I who have to stumble along and
feel my way like a mole here in this pitiful
world.
MRS. HAMMELEV
But, my dear boy, how can you say so!
ANTON
Oh, yes, it is that. What else could it be? But
now I want to tell you one thing. You who
have your sight often think of us blind ones
as of feeble-minded beings. We know nothing,
we are fit for nothing. But that is where you
are mistaken. We are just like other human
beings: we can think and dream, can love and
hate just like others. You know—sometimes
when I stand before an audience, it seems to
me as if I were all alone. There is nobody
whose soul or thoughts reach me; nobody who
can disturb me. I am like the fertile soil that
is left to take care of itself; there is an abundance
of sunshine saved within me. That is why I
feel life so strongly—like something warm and
fruitful within me. And it is this feeling that
gives me faith; that tells me I have a future
awaiting me in spite of all.
MRS. HAMMELEV
Thank God for that, Anton! Thank God for
that!
ANTON
But perhaps you mean to say that what Louise
feels for me is nothing but pity; that she will
cease to care sooner or later. If that is what
you think, I want to tell you something—I want
to tell you how we first learned to know each
other.
MRS. HAMMELEV
No, you need not tell me that, Anton.
ANTON
But I want you to listen to me. You remember,
no doubt, a few years ago—I had graduated
from the conservatory—had had the best of
teachers—and the time came for me when I
had to get something to do. But nobody
wished to have anything to do with a blind
musician—who could not see. So I had to take
a position out of town—
MRS. HAMMELEV
In the café, yes.
ANTON
Should we, perhaps, rather say in the barroom.
Or in a place still worse. All around me nothing
but rough, vulgar, and drunken talk of wanton
women and beasts of men. And ’midst all this
noise and the smell of liquor I had to sit and
play music that was disgusting to me—only for
the alms that they cared to throw to me. For
it was for alms that I played. Right above
the place where I sat there was nailed a sign:
“Don’t forget the blind musician!”—
MRS. HAMMELEV
My poor boy! My poor, poor boy!—
ANTON
It was then that I wrote to you; I had to have
a human being to whom I could open my
heart. It was for that reason I didn’t or
couldn’t spare your feelings.
MRS. HAMMELEV
Nobody could be nearer to you than your
mother.
ANTON
Do you remember how you answered me?
That I should hope and trust that I might
come to the place where all eyes are opened and
all tears are dried.
MRS. HAMMELEV
I had fought with God over you. But I thought
He wouldn’t listen to my prayers—not as I
wished Him to do. It was then I began to think
there was only one consolation.
ANTON (nodding)
Death—yes. What else could there have been?
Death is charitable, if one will only wait for
it. But to wait—that was what seemed so
hard to me—
MRS. HAMMELEV
For God’s sake, Anton.
ANTON
Don’t take it so to heart, mother; it is over
now—long ago. But that evening, on going
home, I searched my way down to the river.
Of what importance in life could a poor blind
musician ever be? And the Lord would not
have turned me away if I had come a little too
early to Him, I don’t believe.
MRS. HAMMELEV
God have mercy! And I could be at rest here
at home. Why didn’t I know, why couldn’t
I have thought, that you were so much in need!
ANTON
Probably because nothing happened; because
nothing was meant to happen. It is strange to
think how often a mere chance can change a
whole life. Chance would have it that evening
that I went astray and passed through
streets where I had never been before. I had
fumbled around about an hour’s time when I
felt somebody touch my hand, and a woman’s
voice asked whether I had trouble in finding
my way. I have become used to judging people
by their voices, and I said to myself at once:
“Here is one who is also in despair and who,
like you, is wishing for a river, too.” And I
opened my heart to her.
MRS. HAMMELEV
And that woman—that—was—
ANTON
That was Louise—yes. And I wasn’t mistaken
in her. She had gone through many
things; as much as I had. But she didn’t look
for the river any more. She had got over that.
Well, I went home with her to her little room.
She lived in a hall-room. In the daytime she
went out sewing.
MRS. HAMMELEV
You went home with her—in the middle of the
night!
ANTON (with a smile)
Yes, mother. I am not used to finding much
difference between day and night. To me it is
all one color. And she dared not let me go.
Who knows—perhaps I might have found the
river, anyhow, then. So she sat up all night
and talked to me about life and its joys.
MRS. HAMMELEV
Life and its joys. And I—
ANTON
Yes, mother—that you have given to me.
Well, that was not all she did. She didn’t only
speak to me. She gave me a place to sleep and
she gave me food to eat, so that I shouldn’t
have to play any more in the barroom. For
fourteen days she shared every penny of her
wages with me. And in the afternoon, when
she came home from her work, we went out together
to look for a position for me. She advertised
and put in applications for me, and—thank
God! at last I got a position as an organist.
Then came the stipend and then the
rest. And during all my struggles she remained
by my side.
MRS. HAMMELEV (tenderly)
She has been much to you, Anton.
ANTON
She has been everything to me, mother, everything.
Should anybody take her away from
me, they’ll take my life at the same time.
MRS. HAMMELEV (frightened, agonized)
Anton—Oh, no—
ANTON
Yes, for I would believe God had regretted
that He did not let me go into the river that
night, after all. (He rises and gropes his way.)
It’s strange—it seems to me as if the room
suddenly had become so different. It is just
as if I wasn’t at home here any more. Isn’t
that Louise’s steps I hear above me now?
Scene X
(Hammelev comes from the right with a little package.)
HAMMELEV
Louise asked me to give you her regards, and
say—
ANTON (full of anxiety)
Asked you to—to say—what?
HAMMELEV (gives him the package)
And she asked me to give you this.
ANTON (takes it)
Thanks—it is the rings. I have bought rings
for both of us. Now I must give it to her at
once. I hadn’t intended to do it otherwise
until to-night. But why doesn’t she come?
HAMMELEV
She is gone to the station.
MRS. HAMMELEV (screams)
To the station?
HAMMELEV (somewhat surprised)
Yes—she thought it would be better to—she
wanted to spare Anton from saying farewell.
MRS. HAMMELEV
Anton, Anton! She must not go! Oh, God!
It is I—it is I who have—she’ll never come
back—no, never. (She wants to run out.)
ANTON (puts himself intuitively in her way)
Let me go, mother. I’ll stop her. She wouldn’t
heed your voice, I fear. (Goes to the door, but
turns on the threshold.) For I suppose you
want us to come back—don’t you?
MRS. HAMMELEV (as if in a trance)
Yes—yes—and never again—never again—
(Anton goes out, left. Mrs. Hammelev has sunk
down on a chair. It is as if something had
suddenly broken within her, for she bursts into
tears.)
HAMMELEV (goes over to her; he pats her head and
hair)
There—there, mother dear. You loved him too
much. Mothers are the only ones who can
love so much that they can kill with love.
(He goes to the window and looks out.) He runs
so safely there on the road, as if he still had his
sight. Now he stops and calls her. She turns.
MRS. HAMMELEV
Are they coming back?
HAMMELEV
Of course they are coming. Now they are
speaking to each other. Of course they are
coming.
MRS. HAMMELEV
Not to me. I have lost Anton for ever.
HAMMELEV (doesn’t hear her)
So that was the trip to the city. (Goes to open
the door.) Come right in, please. (Anton and
Louise enter.) Well, Louise—I may call you
Louise, may I not? You came to stay, anyhow.
ANTON (quietly)
Louise will stay—yes. Mother will ask her—won’t
you, mother?
MRS. HAMMELEV
Yes, my boy. Now I beg her to stay. And,
what’s more—that she will always remain with
you.
ANTON (feeling his way)
Where are you, mother? (He turns intuitively
to Louise and takes hold of her.) There—what?
No, it’s you, Louise, isn’t it? (He pulls her
close to himself and is entirely taken up with
her. Mrs. Hammelev, who had stretched out her
arms toward him, lets them sink with an expression
of grief on her face.)
HAMMELEV (seeing it)
Yes, mother dear, now you must be content
with me. (Puts his arms around her waist.)
MRS. HAMMELEV
He finds me no longer. We drift from each
other in the darkness. How much evil we can
do where we wish to do only good!
HAMMELEV
It is we who have been blind, mother dear.
It is we who cannot see....
CURTAIN
