Chapter 10

She stayed at home for the last month, for the walk to and from her office four times a day was too much for her. And she was always so hungry! She had to send out for sandwiches in the morning. And every now and then she felt faint and had to take a rest. What a life! A woman’s lot was indeed a miserable one.

The baby was born.

“Shall we board it out?” asked the father.

“Had he no heart?”

“Oh! yes, of course he had!”

And the baby remained at home.

Then a very polite letter arrived from the head office, enquiring after the young mother’s health.

“She was very well and would be back at the office on the day after to-morrow.”

She was still a little weak and had to take a cab; but she soon picked up her strength. However, a new difficulty now presented itself. She must be kept informed of the baby’s condition; a messenger boy was despatched to her home, at first twice a day, then every two hours.

And when she was told that the baby had been crying, she put on her hat and rushed home at once. But the assistant was there, ready to take her place. The head clerk was very civil and made no comment.

One day the young mother discovered accidentally that the nurse was unable to feed the baby, but had concealed the fact for fear of losing her place. She had to take a day off in order to find a new foster mother. But they were all alike; brutal egoists every one of them, who took no interest in the children of strangers. No one could ever depend on them.

“No,” agreed the husband, “in a case of this sort one can only depend on oneself.”

“Do you mean to insinuate that I ought to give up my work?”

“Oh! You must do as you like about that!”

“And become your slave!”

“No, I don’t mean that at all!”

The little one was not at all well; all children are ill occasionally. He was teething! One day’s leave after another! The poor baby suffered from toothache. She had to soothe him at night, work at the office during the day, sleepy, tired, anxious, and again take a day off.

The green forester did his best and carried the baby about in his arms half the night, but he never said a word about his wife’s work at the goods department.

Nevertheless she knew what was in his mind. He was waiting for her to give in; but he was deceitful and so he said nothing! How treacherous men were! She hated him; she would sooner kill herself than throw up her work and “be his slave.”

The forester saw quite clearly now that it was impossible for any woman to emancipate herself from the laws of nature; _under present circumstances_, he was shrewd enough to add.

When the baby was five months old, it was plainly evident that the whole thing would before very long repeat itself.

What a catastrophe!

But when that sort of thing once begins....

The forester was obliged to resume his lessons at the girls’ school to augment their income, and now--she laid down her arms.

“I am your slave, now,” she groaned, when she came home with her discharge.

Nevertheless she is the head of the house, and he gives her every penny he earns. When he wants to buy a cigar he makes a long speech before he ventures to ask for the money. She never refuses it to him, but all the same he finds the asking for it unpleasant. He is allowed to attend meetings, but no dinners, and all botanising with girls is strictly forbidden. He does not miss it much, for he prefers playing with his children.

His colleagues call him henpecked; but he smiles, and tells them that he is happy in spite of it, because he has in his wife a very sweet and sensible companion.

She, on her part, obstinately maintains that she is nothing but his slave, whatever he might say to the contrary. It is her one comfort, poor, little woman!

A DOLL’S HOUSE

They had been married for six years, but they were still more like lovers than husband and wife. He was a captain in the navy, and every summer he was obliged to leave her for a few months; twice he had been away on a long voyage. But his short absences were a blessing in disguise, for if their relations had grown a little stale during the winter, the summer trip invariably restored them to their former freshness and delightfulness.

During the first summer he wrote veritable love-letters to her and never passed a sailing ship without signalling: “Will you take letters?” And when he came in sight of the landmarks of the Stockholm Archipelago, he did not know how to get to her quickly enough. But she found a way. She wired him to Landsort that she would meet him at Dalarö. When he anchored, he saw a little blue scarf fluttering on the verandah of the hotel: then he knew that it was she. But there was so much to do aboard that it was evening before he could go ashore. He saw her from his gig on the landing-stage as the bow held out his oar to fend off; she was every bit as young, as pretty and as strong as she had been when he left her; it was exactly as if they were re-living the first spring days of their love. A delicious little supper waited for him in the two little rooms she had engaged. What a lot they had to talk about! The voyage, the children, the future! The wine sparkled in the glasses and his kisses brought the blood to her cheeks.

Tattoo went on the ship, but he took no notice of it, for he did not intend to leave her before one o’clock.

“What? He was going?”

“Yes; he must get back aboard, but it would do if he was there for the morning watch.”

“When did the morning watch begin?”

“At five o’clock.”

“Oh!... As early as that!”

“But where was she going to stay the night?”

“That was her business!”

He guessed it and wanted to have a look at her room; but she planted herself firmly on the threshold. He covered her face with kisses, took her in his arms as if she were a baby and opened the door.

“What an enormous bed! It was like the long boat. Where did the people get it from?”

She blushed crimson.

“Of course, she had understood from his letter that they would stay at the hotel together.”

“Well, and so they would, in spite of his having to be back aboard for the morning watch. What did he care for the stupid morning prayers!”

“How could he say such a thing!”

“Hadn’t they better have some coffee and a fire? The sheets felt damp! What a sensible little rogue she was to provide for his staying, too! Who would have thought that she had so much sense? Where did she get it from?”

“She didn’t get it from anywhere!”

“No? Well, he might have known! He might have known everything!”

“Oh! But he was so stupid!”

“Indeed, he was stupid, was he?”

And he slipped his arm round her waist.

“But he ought to behave himself!”

“Behave himself? It was easy to talk!”

“The girl was coming with the wood!”

When it struck two, and sea and Skerries were flaming in the east, they were sitting at the open window.

“They were lovers still, weren’t they? And now he must go. But he would be back at ten, for breakfast, and after that they would go for a sail.”

He made some coffee on her spirit lamp, and they drank it while the sun was rising and the seagulls screamed. The gunboat was lying far out at sea and every now and then he saw the cutlasses of the watch glinting in the sunlight. It was hard to part, but the certainty of meeting again in a few hours’ time helped them to bear it. He kissed her for the last time, buckled on his sword and left her.

When he arrived at the bridge and shouted: “boat ahoy!” she hid herself behind the window curtains as if she were ashamed to be seen. He blew kisses to her until the sailors came with the gig. Then a last: “Sleep well and dream of me” and the gig put off. He watched her through his glasses, and for a long time he could distinguish a little figure with black hair. The sunbeams fell on her nightdress and bare throat and made her look like a mermaid.

The reveille went. The longdrawn bugle notes rolled out between the green islands over the shining water and returned from behind the pine woods. The whole crew assembled on deck and the Lord’s Prayer and “Jesus, at the day’s beginning” were read. The little church tower of Dalarö answered with a faint ringing of bells, for it was Sunday. Cutters came up in the morning breeze: flags were flying, shots resounded, light summer dresses gleamed on the bridge, the steamer, leaving a crimson track behind her, steamed up, the fishers hauled in their nets, and the sun shone on the blue, billowy water and the green islands.

At ten o’clock six pairs rowed the gig ashore from the gunboat. They were together again. And as they sat at breakfast in the large dining-room, the hotel guests watched and whispered: “Is she his wife?” He talked to her in an undertone like a lover, and she cast down her eyes and smiled; or hit his fingers with her dinner napkin.

The boat lay alongside the bridge; she sat at the helm, he looked after the foresail. But he could not take his eyes off her finely shaped figure in the light summer dress, her determined little face and proud eyes, as she sat looking to windward, while her little hand in its strong leather glove held the mainsheet. He wanted to talk to her and was purposely clumsy in tacking; then she scolded him as if he were a cabin boy, which amused him immensely.

“Why didn’t you bring the baby with you?” he asked her teasingly.

“Where should I have put it to sleep?”

“In the long boat, of course?”

She smiled at him in a way which filled his heart with happiness.

“Well, and what did the proprietress say this morning?”

“What should she say?”

“Did she sleep well last night?”

“Why shouldn’t she sleep well?”

“I don’t know; she might have been kept awake by rats, or perhaps by the rattling of a window; who can tell what might not disturb the gentle sleep of an old maid!”

“If you don’t stop talking nonsense, I shall make the sheet fast and sail you to the bottom of the sea.”

They landed at a small island and ate their luncheon which they had brought with them in a little basket. After lunch they shot at a target with a revolver. Then they pretended to fish with rods, but they caught nothing and sailed out again into the open sea where the eidergeese were, through a strait where they watched the carp playing about the rushes. He never tired of looking at her, talking to her, kissing her.

In this manner they met for six summers, and always they were just as young, just as mad and just as happy as before. They spent the winter in Stockholm in their little cabins. He amused himself by rigging boats for his little boys or telling them stories of his adventures in China and the South Sea Islands, while his wife sat by him, listening and laughing at his funny tales. It was a charming room, that could not be equalled in the whole world. It was crammed full of Japanese sunshades and armour, miniature pagodas from India, bows and lances from Australia, nigger drums and dried flying fish, sugar cane and opium pipes. Papa, whose hair was growing thin at the top, did not feel very happy outside his own four walls. Occasionally he played at draughts with his friend, the auditor, and sometimes they had a game at Boston and drank a glass of grog. At first his wife had joined in the game, but now that she had four children, she was too busy; nevertheless, she liked to sit with the players for a little and look at their cards, and whenever she passed Papa’s chair he caught her round the waist and asked her whether she thought he ought to be pleased with his hand.

This time the corvette was to be away for six months. The captain did not feel easy about it, for the children were growing up and the responsibility of the big establishment was too much for Mama. The captain himself was not quite so young and vigorous as he had been, but--it could not be helped and so he left.

Directly he arrived at Kronborg he posted a letter to her.

“My darling Topmast,” it began.

“Wind moderate, S.S.E. by E. + 10° C. 6 bells, watch below. I cannot express in words what I feel on this voyage during which I shall not see you. When we kedged out (at 6 p.m. while a strong gale blew from N.E. by N.) I felt as if a belaying pin were suddenly being driven into my chest and I actually had a sensation as if a chain had been drawn through the hawsepipes of my ears. They say that sailors can feel the approach of misfortune. I don’t know whether this is true, but I shall not feel easy until I have had a letter from you. Nothing has happened on board, simply because nothing must happen. How are you all at home? Has Bob had his new boots, and do they fit? I am a wretched correspondent as you know, so 111 stop now. With a big kiss right on this x.

“Your old Pal.

“P.S. You ought to find a friend (female, of course) and don’t forget to ask the proprietress at Dalaro to take care of the long boat until my return. The wind is getting up; it will blow from the North to-night.”

Off Portsmouth the captain received the following letter from his wife:

“Dear old Pal,

“It’s horrible here without you, believe me. I have had a lot of worry, too, for little Alice has got a new tooth. The doctor said it was unusually early, which was a sign of (but I’m not going to tell you that). Bob’s boots fit him very well and he is very proud of them.

“You say in your letter that I ought to find a friend of my own sex. Well, I have found one, or, rather, she has found me. Her name is Ottilia Sandegren, and she was educated at the seminary. She is rather grave and takes life very seriously, therefore you need not be afraid, Pal, that your Topmast will be led astray. Moreover, she is religious. We really ought to take religion a little more seriously, both of us. She is a splendid woman. She has just arrived and sends you her kind regards.

“Your Gurli.”

The captain was not overpleased with this letter. It was too short and not half as bright as her letters generally were. Seminary, religion, grave, Ottilia: Ottilia twice! And then Gurli! Why not Gulla as before? H’m!

A week later he received a second letter from Bordeaux, a letter which was accompanied by a book, sent under separate cover.

“Dear William!”--“H’m! William! No longer Pal!”--“Life is a struggle”--“What the deuce does she mean? What has that to do with us?”--“from beginning to end. Gently as a river in Kedron”--“Kedron! she’s quoting the Bible!”--“our life has glided along. Like sleepwalkers we have been walking on the edge of precipices without being aware of them”--“The seminary, oh! the seminary!”--“Suddenly we find ourselves face to face with the ethical”--“The ethical? Ablative!”--“asserting itself in its higher potencies!”--“Potencies?”--“Now that I am awake from my long sleep and ask myself: has our marriage been a marriage in the true sense of the word? I must admit with shame and remorse that this has not been the case. For love is of divine origin. (St. Matthew xi. 22, 24.)”

The captain had to mix himself a glass of rum and water before he felt able to continue his reading.--“How earthly, how material our love has been! Have our souls lived in that harmony of which Plato speaks? (Phaidon, Book vi. Chap. ii. Par. 9). Our answer is bound to be in the negative. What have I been to you? A housekeeper and, oh! The disgrace! your mistress! Have our souls understood one another? Again we are bound to answer ‘No.’”--“To Hell with all Ottilias and seminaries! Has she been my housekeeper? She has been my wife and the mother of my children!”--“Read the book I have sent you! It will answer all your questions. It voices that which for centuries has lain hidden in the hearts of all women! Read it, and then tell me if you think that our union has been a true marriage. Your Gurli.”

His presentiment of evil had not deceived him. The captain was beside himself; he could not understand what had happened to his wife. It was worse than religious hypocrisy.

He tore off the wrapper and read on the title page of a book in a paper cover: _Et Dukkehjem af Henrik Ibsen_. A Doll’s House? Well, and--? His home had been a charming doll’s house; his wife had been his little doll and he had been her big doll. They had danced along the stony path of life and had been happy. What more did they want? What was wrong? He must read the book at once and find out.

He finished it in three hours. His brain reeled. How did it concern him and his wife? Had they forged bills? No! Hadn’t they loved one another? Of course they had!

He locked himself into his cabin and read the book a second time; he underlined passages in red and blue, and when the dawn broke, he took “A well-meant little ablative on the play _A Doll’s House_, written by the old Pal on board the Vanadis in the Atlantic off Bordeaux. (Lat. 45° Long. 16°.)

“1. She married him because he was in love with her and that was a deuced clever thing to do. For if she had waited until she had fallen in love with someone, it might have happened that _he_ would not have fallen in love with her, and then there would have been the devil to pay. For it happens very rarely that both parties are equally in love.”

“2. She forges a bill. That was foolish, but it is not true that it was done for the husband’s sake only, for she has never loved him; it would have been the truth if she had said that she had done it for him, herself and the children. Is that clear?”

“3. That he wants to embrace her after the ball is only a proof of his love for her, and there is no wrong in that; but it should not be done on the stage. “_Il y a des choses qui se font mais que ne se disent point_,’ as the French say, Moreover, if the poet had been fair, he would also save shown an opposite case. ‘_La petite chienne veut, mais le grand chien ne veut pas_,’ says Ollendorf. (Vide the long boat at Dalarö.)”

“4. That she, when she discovers that her husband is a fool (and that he is when he offers to condone her offence because it has not leaked out) decides to leave her children ‘not considering herself worthy of bringing them up,’ is a not very clever trick of coquetry. If they have both been fools (and surely they don’t teach at the seminary that it is right to forge bills) they should pull well together in future in double harness.”

“Least of all is she justified in leaving her children’s education in the hands of the father whom she despises.”

“5. Nora has consequently every reason for staying with her children when she discovers what an imbecile her husband is.”

“6. The husband cannot be blamed for not sufficiently appreciating her, for she doesn’t reveal her true character until after the row.”

“7. Nora has undoubtedly been a fool; she herself does not deny it.”

“8. There is every guarantee of their pulling together more happily in future; he has repented and promised to turn over a new leaf. So has she. Very well! Here’s my hand, let’s begin again at the beginning. Birds of a feather flock together. There’s nothing lost, we’ve both been fools! You, little Nora, were badly brought up. I, old rascal, didn’t know any better. We are both to be pitied. Pelt our teachers with rotten eggs, but don’t hit me alone on the head. I, though a man, am every bit as innocent as you are! Perhaps even a little more so, for I married for love, you for a home. Let us be friends, therefore, and together teach our children the valuable lesson we have learnt in the school of life.”

Is that clear? All right then!

This was written by Captain Pal with his stiff fingers and slow brain!

And now, my darling dolly, I have read your book and given you my opinion. But what have we to do with it? Didn’t we love one another? Haven’t we educated one another and helped one another to rub off our sharp corners? Surely you’ll remember that we had many a little encounter in the beginning! What fads of yours are those? To hell with all Ottilias and seminaries!

The book you sent me is a queer book. It is like a watercourse with an insufficient number of buoys, so that one might run aground at any moment. But I pricked the chart and found calm waters. Only, I couldn’t do it again. The devil may crack these nuts which are rotten inside when one has managed to break the shell. I wish you peace and happiness and the recovery of your sound common sense.

“How are the little ones? You forgot to mention them. Probably you were thinking too much of Nora’s unfortunate kiddies, (which exist only in a play of that sort). Is my little boy crying? My nightingale singing, my dolly dancing? She must always do that if she wants to make her old pal happy. And now may God bless you and prevent evil thoughts from rising between us. My heart is sadder than I can tell. And I am expected to sit down and write a critique on a play. God bless you and the babies; kiss their rosy cheeks for your faithful old Pal.”

When the captain had sent off his letter, he went into the officers’ mess and drank a glass of punch. The doctor was there, too.

“Have you noticed a smell of old black breeches?” he asked. “I should like to hoist myself up to the cat block and let a good old N.W. by N. blow right through me.”

But the doctor did not understand what he was driving at.

“Ottilia, Ottilia!... What she wants is a taste of the handspike. Send the witch to the quarterdeck and let the second mess loose on her behind closed hatches. One knows what is good for an old maid.”

“What’s the matter with you, old chap?” asked the doctor.

“Plato! Plato! To the devil with Plato! To be six months at sea makes one sick of Plato. That teaches one ethics! Ethics? I bet a marlinspike to a large rifle: if Ottilia were married she would cease talking of Plato.”

“What on earth _is_ the matter?”

“Nothing. Do you hear? You’re a doctor. What’s the matter with those women? Isn’t it bad for them to remain unmarried? Doesn’t it make them...? What?”

The doctor gave him his candid opinion and added that he was sorry that there were not enough men to go round.

“In a state of nature the male is mostly polygamous; in most cases there is no obstacle to this, as there is plenty of food for the young ones (beasts of prey excepted): abnormalities like unmated females do not exist in nature. But in civilised countries, where a man is lucky if he earns enough bread, it is a common occurrence, especially as the females are in preponderance. One ought to treat unmarried women with kindness, for their lot is a melancholy one.”

“With kindness! That’s all very well; but supposing they are anything but kind themselves!”

And he told the doctor the whole story, even confessing that he had written a critique on a play.

“Oh! well, no end of nonsense is written,” said the doctor, putting his hand on the lid of the jug which contained the punch. “In the end science decides all great questions! Science, and nothing else.”

When the six months were over and the captain, who had been in constant, but not very pleasant, correspondence with his wife, (she had sharply criticised his critique), at last landed at Dalarö, he was received by his wife, all the children, two servants and Ottilia. His wife was affectionate, but not cordial. She held up her brow to be kissed. Ottilia was as tall as a stay, and wore her hair short; seen from the back she looked like a swab. The supper was dull and they drank only tea. The long boat took in a cargo of children and the captain was lodged in one of the attics.

What a change! Poor old Pal looked old and felt puzzled.

“To be married and yet not have a wife,” he thought, “it’s intolerable!”

On the following morning he wanted to take his wife for a sail. But the sea did not agree with Ottilia. She had been ill on the steamer. And, moreover, it was Sunday. Sunday? That was it! Well, they would go for a walk. They had a lot to talk about. Of course, they had a lot to say to each other. But Ottilia was not to come with them!