The Father

1.1

Orderly: You wanted something, sir?
Captain: Is Nojd out there?
Orderly: Nojd's in the kitchen, sir, waiting for orders.
Captain: In the kitchen again? Send him in here at once.
Orderly: Very good, sir.
Pastor: What's the matter now?
Captain: Oh, the rascal has been playing around with the maid again. The fellow's a thoroughly bad lot.
Pastor: Nojd? Didn't he do rather well earlier this year?
Captain: Yes, that's the chap. I wish you'd be kind enough to have a little talk to him. You might do him some good. I've sworn at him, I've even thrashed him, but it didn't make the slightest impression on him.
Pastor: So now you'd like me to preach at him. What effect d'you think God's word would have on a trooper?
Captain: Well, as you know, my dear brother-in-law, it hasn't had much on me.
Pastor: It certainly hasn't.
Captain: But -- well, it might be worth trying with him. Ah, Nojd, what have you been up to now?
Nojd: Beg pardon, Captain, but I can't very well talk about it, not with the Pastor here.
Pastor: There's no need to be shy with me, my boy.
Captain: You'd better make a clean breast of it -- otherwise, you know what you'll get.
Nojd: Well then, it was like this. We were having a dance at Gabriel's, you see, and Ludwig was saying --
Captain: What has Ludwig to do with it? Stick to the point.
Nojd: Yes sir; well then, Emma said "Let's go out to the barn."
Captain: Oh, so I suppose it was Emma who led you astray?
Nojd: Well yes, sir, in a way it was. I always say nothing ever comes of it unless the girl wants it, too.
Captain: Once and for all, are you the father of the child or not?
Nojd: Well, how can I tell?
Captain: What do you mean? Don't you know?
Nojd: No. That's a thing you can never know for certain.
Captain: Weren't you the only one, then?
Nojd: That time, yes. But how's a man to be sure he's always been the only one?
Captain: You'd like to put the blame on Ludwig? Is that it?
Nojd: How am I to know who's to blame?
Captain: But you told Emma that you'd marry her.
Nojd: Oh, you always have to tell them that.
Captain: This is really going too far.
Pastor: It's the old story. Listen, Nojd, surely you're man enough to know if you're the father.
Nojd: Well, of course she and I . . . But you know yourself, Pastor, that nothing need come of that.
Pastor: Look here, my lad, we're talking about you now. Surely you don't just mean to leave the girl with a child. I suppose you can't be forced to marry her, but you shall provide for the child, that you shall.
Nojd: Yes, but Ludwig must help, too.
Captain: Then the Court'll have to decide. I've done all I can. Besides, it's not really my affair. All right, clear out.
Pastor: Nojd, just a minute. Er -- don't you think it's rather disgraceful to leave a girl penniless like that, with a baby? Don't you think so? Well? Doesn't it strike you that that sort of behaviour's . . . well . . . a bit . . .
Nojd: If I knew for certain that I was the father, yes; but, your Reverence, no one can ever be sure. And it's no joke slaving all your life to support another man's child. Surely you see that, Sir, and you, your Reverence.
Captain: Clear out!
Nojd: God bless you, Captain.
Captain: And don't go back in the kitchen, you scoundrel. Well, why didn't you pitch into him?
Pastor: What do you mean? I let him have it, didn't I?
Captain: Tcha, you just sat there mumbling to yourself!
Pastor: To tell you the truth, I didn't really know what to say. It's hard luck on the girl, I agree, but it's hard luck on the boy too. I mean, suppose he's not the father. The girl can stay in the orphanage and nurse the child for four months, and then it's looked after for the rest of its life. It isn't as if that boy could help to nurse it. Afterwards, the girl can get a good place with some respectable family, but the boy's whole future might be ruined of he were dismissed from the regiment.
Captain: Upon my soul, I shouldn't like to be the Magistrate who has to judge this case. Probably the boy's not altogether innocent -- we'll never know; but we do know that the girl's guilty -- if you can call it guilt.
Pastor: Yes -- well, who am I to judge . . . What were we talking about, when this unfortunate business interrupted us? Bertha's confirmation, wasn't it?
Captain: Well, not so much her confirmation, as her whole education. This house it full of women who all want to bring up my daughter. My mother-in-law wants to make a spiritualist of her; Laura wants her to be an artist; the governess wants to make her a Methodist; old Margret, a Baptist; and the maids, a Salvation Army lass. It's no earthly good trying to mould a character like a piece of patchwork -- especially when I, who should have most voice in her upbringing, meet with nothing but opposition. I shall have to get her far away from here.
Pastor: You certainly have too many women running your house for you!
Captain: I have, haven't I? It's like going into a cage full of tigers; if I didn't keep my red-hot irons under their noses, they'd tear me to pieces in half a minute. And you laugh, you wretch! As if it wasn't enough that I married your sister, you palm off your old stepmother on me as well.
Pastor: But, good heavens, a man can't have a stepmother living in his house.
Captain: No, a mother-in-law -- in someone else's house -- suits you better!
Pastor: Ah well, we all have our troubles in this life.
Captain: I dare say, but I have more than my share. I even have my old nurse here, treating me as if I still wore a bib. She's a dear old soul, heaven knows, but she oughtn't to be here.
Pastor: You should keep your women-folk in order, Adolf; you let them run things far too much.
Captain: Very well then, perhaps you'd tell me just how to keep women in order?
Pastor: Strict discipline -- that's what Laura had; but, though she's my own sister, she was always a bit tiresome.
Captain: Oh, of course Laura has her faults, but they don't amount to much.
Pastor: Come on, speak out! -- I know her.
Captain: She was brought up with a lot of romantic ideas, so she finds it rather hard to adapt herself. Still, she's my wife . . .
Pastor: And because she's your wife, she must be perfect! No, my dear chap, she's really the one who plagues you most.
Captain: Well anyhow, the whole house is at sixes and sevens. Laura won't let Bertha go, and I can't let her stay in this madhouse.
Pastor: Laura won't, eh? You know, I'm afraid you're in for trouble. When she was a child she used to lie on the floor like a corpse till she got her own way, then if it was some special thing she was after, as soon as she'd got it, she used to give it back! She'd say that it wasn't the thing she wanted so much as getting her own way.
Captain: So -- she was like that even then? Hm. You know, she sometimes flies into such a rage that I'm really afraid she might be ill.
Pastor: What is your plan for Bertha that's caused so much argument? Can't you compromise somehow?
Captain: You mustn't think I want to make her into some sort of a prodigy -- nor even just another edition of myself. But I will not become a pander for my own daughter, and bring her up with no idea except marriage. You see, that would make it so hard on her if she never married after all. On the other hand, I don't want to persuade her into taking a long course of training for some career more suited to a man, when it would all be wasted if she ever did decide to marry.
Pastor: What is your idea, then?
Captain: I want her to be a teacher. Then, if she doesn't marry, she can always support herself -- at any rate as well as those poor schoolmasters who have to provide for a family on their pay. And if she does marry, she can use her training in bringing up her own children. Don't you think I'm right?
Pastor: Perfectly. On the other hand, hasn't she shown such a gift for painting that it would be almost a crime not to encourage it?
Captain: Not at all! I showed her efforts to a well-known artist, and he said they were only up to school-girl standard. Then, this summer, along comes a young whippersnapper who knows better, and he says she shows superb talent; so, that settles it -- in Laura's mind, at any rate!
Pastor: I suppose he'd fallen in love with the girl?
Captain: Oh, of course.
Pastor: Then may heaven help you, my dear chap, because I can't see much help for you, and of course Laura has her supporters -- through there.
Captain: Oh, you can be sure of that. The whole house is up in arms already, and, between ourselves, the other side's none too particular what weapons it uses.
Pastor: Do you think I don't know?
Captain: You?
Pastor: Of course.
Captain: But the worst of it is, it looks to me as if they're deciding Bertha's future in there out of sheer spite. They drop hints about men being made to see that women can do this, that, and the other. It's man versus woman the whole day long in this house, without a break. Oh, must you go? Do stay for supper -- it won't be anything very grand, but do stay; I'm expecting the new doctor, you know. Have you seen him yet?
Pastor: I caught a glimpse of him, on my way. He seemed a decent, reliable sort of chap.
Captain: That's good. Do you think he might be on my side?
Pastor: Possibly. It depends how much he's lived among women.
Captain: Mm. Look, won't you stay?
Pastor: No, thanks, my dear chap, I promised I'd be in to supper, and the old lady gets anxious if I'm late.
Captain: "Anxious"? You mean "angry". All right, have it your own way. Let me help you on with your coat.
Pastor: It's certainly turned cold tonight. Thank you. You ought to look after yourself, Adolf, you seem a bit on edge.
Captain: I? On edge?
Pastor: Yes, are you feeling off colour?
Captain: I suppose Laura put that idea into your head? For the last twenty years she's been treating me as if I had one foot in the grave.
Pastor: Laura? No, but -- well, I don't like the look of you. Take care of yourself, that's all I say. Goodbye, old man -- Oh, didn't you want to talk about the confirmation?
Captain: Not in the least. I assure you that will go ahead in the ordinary way; it's a matter for your professional conscience. I'm no witness to the faith, and I'm no martyr -- but we've had all that out before. Good night -- remember me to your family.
Pastor: Good night, Adolf -- say good night to Laura for me.

1.2

Captain: Thirty-four -- nine, forty-three -- seven, eight, fifty-six --
Laura: Would you mind --
Captain: Just a moment -- sixty-six, seventy-one -- eighty-four, eighty-nine, ninety-two, a hundred. What is it?
Laura: Am I interrupting?
Captain: Not at all. I suppose you want some housekeeping money?
Laura: Yes, housekeeping money.
Captain: Leave the accounts here, and I'll go over them.
Laura: Accounts?
Captain: Yes.
Laura: Do I have to keep accounts, now?
Captain: Of course you must keep accounts. Things are in a bad way with us, and if I should go bankrupt, I must be able to produce accounts, or they could accuse me of negligence.
Laura: It's not my fault if things are in a bad way.
Captain: Then the accounts would confirm that.
Laura: I can't help it if the lodger didn't pay.
Captain: Who was so enthusiastic about the man? You. Why do you recommend such a -- what shall I call him -- such a ne'er-do-well?
Laura: Why did you take in such a ne'er-do-well?
Captain: Because I wasn't allowed to eat or sleep or work in peace until you'd got him in here. You wanted him because your brother wanted to get rid of him; your mother wanted him because I didn't. The governess wanted him because he was a Pietist; and old Margret, because she'd known his grandmother ever since she was a baby. That's why I took him in -- because if I hadn't, I should be in the lunatic asylum by now, or in the family vault. However, here's the housekeeping money, and your allowance. You can give me the accounts later.
Laura: Thank you so much! And do you keep an account of what you spend -- apart from the housekeeping?
Captain: That's nothing to do with you.
Laura: True -- just as my child's education is nothing to do with me. Did my lords come to any decision at this evening's session?
Captain: I'd made up my mind already, I merely wished to inform the only friend I and my household have in common. Bertha is to live in town; she'll leave in a fortnight's time.
Laura: And where is she to live -- if I'm allowed to ask?
Captain: With the lawyer, Mr Savberg.
Laura: That Freethinker!
Captain: As the law stands, children must be brought up in their father's faith.
Laura: And the mother has no say in the matter?
Captain: None whatever. By law she surrenders all her rights and possessions to her husband, and in return he must support her and her children.
Laura: So she has no rights over her own child?
Captain: None whatever. Once you've sold your goods, you can't expect to have them back and keep the money.
Laura: But if the father and the mother agree on a compromise . . .
Captain: How could they? I want her to live in the town, you want her to live at home. Mathematically, a compromise would mean that she stayed at the railway station -- half-way between the two. It's one of those knots that there's no untying, you see.
Laura: Then it must be cut! What was Nojd doing here?
Captain: That's an official and confidential matter --
Laura: -- that the whole kitchen knows about.
Captain: Good -- then you know it too.
Laura: Yes, I know it.
Captain: And you've passed judgement already?
Laura: The law's perfectly clear.
Captain: The law can't say who is the child's father.
Laura: You can usually tell.
Captain: They say that's something you can never be sure of.
Laura: How extraordinary! You can't be sure who a child's father is?
Captain: So they say.
Laura: Extraordinary. Then how is it that the father has such rights over a woman's children?
Captain: He has the rights simply because he takes on the responsibilities -- or has them forced on him. In marriage, naturally there's no doubt about the paternity.
Laura: No doubt?
Captain: I should hope not.
Laura: Suppose the wife were unfaithful?
Captain: That question doesn't arise in this case. Is there anything else you want to ask?
Laura: No, nothing.
Captain: Then I shall go up to my room. Let me know when the Doctor comes, please.
Laura: Very well.
Captain: The moment he arrives, please. Naturally I don't want to seem discourteous to him.
Laura: Naturally.

1.3

Mother: Laura!
Laura: Yes?
Mother: Is my tea ready?
Laura: It's just coming.
Doctor: Good evening, madam.
Laura: Come in, Doctor, we're delighted to see you. The Captain is out, but he should be back at any moment.
Doctor: I'm sorry to be so late, but I've had some patients to see already.
Laura: Please sit down, won't you?
Doctor: Thank you, madam.
Laura: Yes, there's a lot of illness about just now, but I'm sure you'll manage. For people like us, living in a lonely country district, it means so much to have a doctor who takes an interest in his patients; and I've heard so many nice things about you, Doctor, that I'm sure we shall get on well together.
Doctor: That's very kind of you, madam; I hope though, for your sake, that I shall not need to make too many professional calls. I should think your family is pretty healthy on the whole, so --
Laura: Yes, we've been lucky enough to escape anything serious; still, things aren't quite as they should be.
Doctor: Oh?
Laura: No, I'm afraid they're not so good as we could wish.
Doctor: Really? I don't like to hear that.
Laura: There are things in family life that one is in honour bound to keep from the world, out of self-respect . . .
Doctor: But not from one's doctor.
Laura: That is why I feel I should tell you the whole truth -- however painful -- from the start.
Doctor: Hadn't it better wait till I've had the pleasure of meeting the Captain?
Laura: No. You must hear what I have to say before you see him.
Doctor: It concerns him, then?
Laura: Yes -- my poor, dear husband.
Doctor: I'm very sorry to hear this, madam. I assure you, you have all my sympathy.
Laura: My husband's mind is going. Now you know it all; you'll be able to judge for yourself when you see him.
Doctor: I can't believe it. The Captain's papers on mineralogy are masterly; I've been most impressed when I've read them, and they've always seemed to show a particularly fine and orderly mind.
Laura: Really? Well, I shall be delighted if we, who are nearest to him, should all be proved wrong.
Doctor: Tell me more about him. Of course it is possible that his mind is affected in other ways.
Laura: That's what we're afraid of, too. You see, he sometimes has the most extraordinary ideas. Of course that's not unusual with brilliant scholars -- if only it didn't threaten his whole family's welfare. For instance, he has a mania for buying all sorts of things.
Doctor: That's insignificant. What does he buy?
Laura: Whole crates of books that he never reads.
Doctor: Well, there's nothing very odd in a scholar buying books.
Laura: Don't you believe what I'm telling you?
Doctor: I'm quite sure, madam, that you believe what you're telling me.
Laura: Then is it reasonable for a man to see through a microscope what's happening on another planet?
Doctor: Does he say that he can do that?
Laura: That's what he says.
Doctor: Through a microscope?
Laura: A microscope, yes.
Doctor: That's significant, if it's true.
Laura: If it's true? Then you don't believe me, Doctor. And I've been letting you into our family secret . . .
Doctor: My dear lady, I'm honoured that you should confide in me, but as a doctor, I must examine and investigate for myself before I make my diagnosis. Does the Captain show any symptoms of sudden moodiness -- is he very changeable?
Laura: Changeable? We've been married for twenty years now, and he's never yet made a decision without changing his mind afterwards.
Doctor: Is he obstinate?
Laura: He always insists on having his own way, but the moment he gets it, he loses interest, and asks me to decide for him.
Doctor: That's significant; it needs very careful watching. You see, madam, the will is the backbone of the mind; if it is affected, the whole mind collapses.
Laura: Heaven know I've had to bring myself to fall in with his wishes, all through these long, trying years. Oh, if you only know what I've had to go through, living with him -- if you only knew!
Doctor: Madam, I'm deeply moved by your misfortune, and I promise you that I'll see what can be done. I sympathize with all my heart, and I hope you will rely on me absolutely. But in view of what you've told me, there is one thing I must impress on you. Avoid bringing up any topic that is likely to affect the patient strongly. Ideas like that can develop rapidly in an unstable mind, and may easily turn to obsessions or monomania. Do you understand?
Laura: You mean, avoid rousing his suspicions?
Doctor: Exactly -- these patients can be made to believe anything, because they are so very receptive.
Laura: Ah! I understand. Yes -- yes. Excuse me, my mother wants me for something. I shan't be a moment -- Ah, here is Adolf.
Captain: Oh, you're here already, Doctor. We're very glad to see you.
Doctor: My dear Captain, I'm delighted to meet such a distinguished man of science.
Captain: Oh, please! My military duties leave me very little time for intensive research. Still I really believe I'm on the verge of a discovery.
Doctor: Oh?
Captain: You see, I've subjected meteoric stones to spectrum analysis, and I've found coal -- a sign of life! What do you say to that?
Doctor: And can you see that through a microscope?
Captain: Good heavens, no -- through a spectroscope.
Doctor: A spectroscope. Oh, of course. So you'll soon be able to tell us what's happening on Jupiter.
Captain: Not what is happening, but what has happened. If only those wretched booksellers in Paris would send me the books! I believe all the booksellers in the world are in league against me! Would you believe it, for the last two months, not one of them has acknowledged my orders. I've written and even sent abusive telegrams! It makes me mad -- I can't think what it all means.
Doctor: Oh, it's just ordinary carelessness; you shouldn't let it upset you so.
Captain: Yes, but the devil of it is that I shan't get my treatise finished in time, and I know they're working along the same lines in Berlin. Still, that isn't what we were going to talk about; how about you? If you'd care to stay here, there's a little flat in the annexe, or would you rather have the old doctor's quarters?
Doctor: Just as you like.
Captain: No, it's as you like. You say.
Doctor: You must decide, Captain.
Captain: No, I'm not going to decide; you must say which you'd prefer -- it makes no difference to me -- none whatever.
Doctor: Well, I can't really decide.
Captain: For God's sake, man, say what you want! I have no preference, no opinion, no wishes in the matter. Are you such a weakling that you don't know your own mind? Tell me, or I shall lose my temper.
Doctor: Well, if it's up to me, I should like to live here.
Captain: Thank you; that's better. Do forgive me, Doctor, but nothing annoys me more than to hear people say "it's all the same to me"! Ah, there you are, Margret. Look, my dear, do you know if the annexe is ready for the Doctor?
Nurse: Yes, Captain.
Captain: Good. Then I won't keep you any longer, Doctor; you must be tired. Goodbye, and I hope I shall see you again in the morning.
Doctor: Good night, Captain.
Captain: I expect that my wife has told you a little about us, so you'll have some ideas how the land lies.
Doctor: Yes, your charming wife did give me one or two hints about things that a stranger ought to know. Good night, Captain.

1.4

Captain: What do you want, my dear? Is anything the matter?
Nurse: Now, Master Adolf, just you listen to me.
Captain: Yes, old Margret -- talk away. You're the only one I can listen to without getting in a rage.
Nurse: Now, just listen, Mr Adolf -- don't you think you ought to meet the mistress half-way in all this bother over the child? Think how a mother feels --
Captain: Think how a father feels, Margret.
Nurse: Now, now, now! A father has other things to think of, but a mother has only her child.
Captain: Exactly, old lady! She has only one anxiety, while I have three -- as well as all hers. Don't you think I should have been something more in the world than a poor soldier, if I hadn't had her and her child?
Nurse: Yes, but that isn't what I meant.
Captain: No, I'm sure it wasn't; you wanted me to admit that I'm in the wrong.
Nurse: Now, Mr Adolf, you believe I want to help, don't you?
Captain: Yes, my dear, I do, but you don't know what is best for me. You see, it's not enough for me just to have given the child life, I want to give her my intellect, too.
Nurse: Oh, I don't understand anything about that. But I do think you ought to be able to agree.
Captain: You're not my friend, Margret.
Nurse: Me? Goodness, Mr Adolf, how can you say such a thing? Do you think I can forget how you were my baby when you were little?
Captain: Do you imagine I've forgotten it, dear? You've been like a mother to me. Up to now, you've always stood by me when they were all against me; but now, when I really need you, you desert me and go over to the enemy.
Nurse: The enemy?
Captain: Yes, the enemy! You know well enough how things stand in this house. You've seen it all from the very beginning.
Nurse: Yes, I've seen, all right. But, my goodness, why must two people plague the life out of each other? Two people who are so good and kind to everyone else. The mistress is never like that with me -- or with anyone else --
Captain: Yes, I know -- only with me. Listen to me, Margret; if you desert me now, you'd be doing me a great wrong. You see they're plotting against me now -- and that Doctor's no friend of mine.
Nurse: Now then, Mr Adolf, you always think the worst of everyone. It's because you haven't the true Faith, you see, that's what it is.
Captain: And you and the Baptists have found the only real faith. Happy people!
Nurse: Anyway, I'm not as unhappy as you, Mr Adolf. Humble your heart, and you'll see how God will make you happy, and loving towards your neighbour.
Captain: It's wonderful how, the moment you talk about God and love, your voice becomes hard, an your eyes fill with hatred. No, Margret, you certainly haven't the true faith.
Nurse: Yes, it's your learning makes you proud and hard, but it won't help you much in the hour of tribulation!
Captain: You talk very proudly for a humble heart! I know how little learning means to people like you.
Nurse: You ought to be ashamed of yourself. But, in spite of everything, old Margret loves her great big boy best; and when he's in trouble, he'll come back to her again, like a good little child.
Captain: I'm sorry, Margret; but, believe me, you're the only one in this house who's on my side. I want you to help me, because I feel that something's going to happen here -- I don't know what, but whatever it is, it'll be evil. What's that? Who screamed?
Bertha: Help! Papa, papa! Save me!
Captain: What's the matter, darling? Tell me.
Bertha: Help me! She'll hurt me. I know she will.
Captain: Who's going to hurt you? Tell me -- quickly.
Bertha: Grandmama! It was my fault, though; I played a trick on her.
Captain: Go on.
Bertha: All right, but you mustn't say anything. You won't, will you? Please!
Captain: Suppose you tell me what it is.
Bertha: Well, in the evenings, she likes to turn the lamp down, and then I have to sit at the table and hold a pen over a sheet of paper. And then she commands the spirit to write.
Captain: Good heavens! Why didn't you tell me?
Bertha: I'm sorry, but I didn't dare. Grandmama says the spirits take their revenge if anyone talks about them. And then the pen writes but I don't know if it's me doing it. Sometimes it works beautifully, but sometimes it won't go at all. When I'm tired, it doesn't, but I have to make something come. This evening I thought I was doing it beautifully, but Grandmama said it was all out of Stagnelius, and that I'd been cheating her, and she go terrible angry.
Captain: Do you believe that there are such things as spirits?
Bertha: I don't know.
Captain: Well, I know there aren't.
Bertha: But Grandmama says you don't understand, and she says you have things that are far worse -- things that can see to other planets.
Captain: Does she? Does she indeed? What else does she say?
Bertha: She says you can't do magic.
Captain: I've never said I could. Do you know what meteors are? They're stones that fall from other heavenly bodies. What I do is to examine then, and say whether they're made of the same elements as our earth. That's all I see.
Bertha: But Grandmama says there are things that she can see and you can't.
Captain: Then I tell you she's lying.
Bertha: Grandmama doesn't tell lies.
Captain: Why not?
Bertha: Because then Mama tells lies too.
Captain: Ah.
Bertha: If you say Mama tells lies, then I'll never believe you again.
Captain: I didn't say so. That's why you must believe me when I tell you for your own good, for the sake of your whole future, you must leave this house. Will you do that? Would you like to go to the town and learn something useful?
Bertha: Oh yes! I'd love to go to the town -- anywhere, to get away from here. So long as I can see you sometimes -- often. Oh, it's so horrid and dull in there all the time -- just like a winter night; but when you come, Papa, it's like the spring morning when they take down the double windows.
Captain: My dear, darling child!
Bertha: But Papa, you must be kind to Mama, you know. She does cry such a lot.
Captain: Ah. So you want to go and live in the town?
Bertha: Oh yes, please!
Captain: But suppose Mama doesn't want you to.
Bertha: Oh, she must.
Captain: But suppose she doesn't?
Bertha: Oh well then I don't know what will happen. But she must -- she simply must!
Captain: Will you ask her?
Bertha: No, you must ask her -- very nicely. She never takes any notice of me.
Captain: Hm. Well, suppose you want it and I want it, but she doesn't want it -- what shall we do then?
Bertha: Oh then everything'll be tiresome again. Why can't you two --
Laura: Ah, Bertha's in here! Then perhaps we can hear what she thinks, since it's her future that's to be decided.
Captain: The child can hardly have any considered opinion about how a young girl's life may develop. We, on the other hand, have seen plenty of girls grow up, so it's easier for us to arrive at some sort of an answer.
Laura: But since we have different ideas, surely Bertha might have the casting vote.
Captain: No, I'll have no one -- woman or child -- encroaching on my rights. Leave us, Bertha.
Laura: You were afraid to let her speak, because you thought she'd be on my side.
Captain: I know that what she wants is to leave home, but I also know that you have the power to make her change her mind when you like.
Laura: Oh, am I as powerful as that?
Captain: Yes, when it come to getting your own way you have the power of the devil, but so has everyone who's unscrupulous enough. For example, how did you get rid of Dr Nordling, and how did you get the new man here?
Laura: Well? How did I?
Captain: You insulted Nordling till he left; and then you got your brother to scrape up votes for this man.
Laura: Well, that was very simple, and quite legitimate. So Bertha's to go away?
Captain: Yes, she's to leave in a fortnight's time.
Laura: Is that your last word?
Captain: Yes.
Laura: Have you told Bertha?
Captain: Yes.
Laura: Then I must try to stop it.
Captain: You can't.
Laura: Can't I? Do you really think that a mother is going to send her child among wicked people who'll say that all her mother has taught her is stupid? Why, the daughter would despise her for the rest of her life.
Captain: Do you think a father would let ignorant and conceited women teach his daughter that he is a charlatan?
Laura: It's less important to a father.
Captain: Oh? Why?
Laura: Because a mother's nearer to the child -- since it's been discovered that no one can tell for certain who is a child's father.
Captain: What has that got to do with it?
Laura: Simply that you don't know that you are Bertha's father.
Captain: Of course I know!
Laura: "No one can tell", so you certainly can't.
Captain: Is this a joke?
Laura: No, I'm simply applying your own doctrine. Besides, how do you know that I haven't been unfaithful to you?
Captain: I can believe a lot about you, but not that. Nor do I believe that you'd talk about it if it were true.
Laura: Suppose I were ready to put up with anything, to lose my home and my good name, for the sake of keeping my child and bringing her up. Suppose I was telling the truth just now when I said Bertha was my child and not yours. Suppose --
Captain: Stop!
Laura: Suppose it were true, you'd have no more rights.
Captain: If you could prove that I were not the father.
Laura: That wouldn't be difficult. Would you like me to?
Captain: Stop it!
Laura: You see, I should only need to give the name of the real father, with details of the time and place; for instance -- when was Bertha born? We'd been married three years --
Captain: Stop this, or --
Laura: Or what? All right then, we'll stop. But think very carefully before you decide to do anything. Above all, don't make yourself look ridiculous.
Captain: I think this is all very unfortunate.
Laura: That makes you even more ridiculous.
Captain: But not you?
Laura: No, we women manage these things more cleverly.
Captain: That's why we can't fight you.
Laura: Then why get involved in fights with a superior enemy?
Captain: Superior?
Laura: Yes. It's odd, but I've never been able to look at a man without feeling that I'm his superior.
Captain: Well, one day you'll meet your match -- and you'll never forget it.
Laura: That will be interesting.
Nurse: Supper's ready. Won't you please come out and have it.
Laura: Thank you. Are you coming to supper?
Captain: No, thank you, I don't want any.
Laura: Oh? Is something the matter?
Captain: No, I'm not hungry.
Laura: Come along, or they'll be. . . asking tiresome questions. Don't be difficult. All right, if you won't, then stay where you are.
Nurse: Oh, Mr Adolf, what is all this about?
Captain: I don't know. Can you explain how you women manage to treat a grown man as if he were a child?
Nurse: I don't understand it, but I suppose it's because you are all women's children, every one of you, great of small. . .
Captain: While no woman is born of man. But then I am Bertha's father. Tell me, Margret, you do believe that, don't you?
Nurse: Lord, what a baby you are! Of course you're the father of your own child. Come and have supper, now, and don't sit there sulking. There, there; come along now!
Captain: Get out of here, woman! Go to hell, you witches! Svard! Svard!
Orderly: Yes, sir?
Captain: Have the fast sleigh harnessed at once.
Nurse: Captain, only listen --
Captain: Get out, woman -- at once.
Nurse: Lord preserve us, what's going to happen now?
Captain: Don't expect me back before midnight!
Nurse: God help us! What will be the end of this?

2.1

Doctor: From what I could gather as we talked, I'm not entirely convinced about the case. In the first place, you made a mistake when you said he arrived at his extraordinary conclusions about other heavenly bodies by means of a microscope. Now that I find that it was a spectroscope, he's not only cleared of any suspicion of mental disorder, but he has actually made a great contribution to science.
Laura: Yes, but I never said that!
Doctor: Madam, I made notes of our conversation, and I remember questioning you on that particular point, because I thought I must have misheard you. One has to be careful about making an accusation that could lead to a man being certified.
Laura: Certified?
Doctor: Yes; you know, of course, that an insane person loses his civil and family rights.
Laura: No, I didn't know that.
Doctor: There's one other point that strikes me as suspicious. He spoke about his correspondence with the booksellers going unanswered. May I ask if -- out of misplaced kindness -- you intercepted it?
Laura: Yes, I did. It was my duty to look after the interests of the house; I couldn't stand idly by and let him ruin us all.
Doctor: Forgive my saying so, but I don't think you can have considered the consequences of such a step. If he were to discover that you've been secretly meddling in his affairs, he would have cause for suspicions, and then they'd grow like an avalanche. Moreover by your action you have thwarted his will, and increased his irritability. You yourself must have found how infuriating it can be when one's dearest wishes are thwarted and one's will obstructed.
Laura: As if I didn't know that.
Doctor: Then think how it must have affected him.
Laura: It's midnight, and he's not back yet. I'm afraid something terrible may have happened.
Doctor: Madam, tell me what took place this evening after I left? I must know everything.
Laura: His mind wandered, and he had the most extraordinary fancy. Just imagine, he had an idea that he wasn't the father of his own child.
Doctor: That was odd. What put that into his head?
Laura: I don't know at all, unless it was that he had to interview one of the men on some question of a maintenance order, and when I took the girl's part, he became excited and said that no one could tell who was the father of a child. Heaven knows I did all I could to calm him, but I'm beginning to think that he's beyond help.
Doctor: But things can't go on like this; something must be done, and without arousing his suspicions. Tell me, has the Captain ever had these fancies before?
Laura: Six years ago we had much the same trouble, and then he actually admitted, in his own letter to the doctor, that he was afraid his mind was going.
Doctor: Yes, yes, yes, a case like this is deep-rooted, and what with the sanctity of family life, and so forth, I can't probe too deeply; I must confine myself to the obvious symptoms. What's done can't be undone, unfortunately -- yet the treatment must have some relation to what's gone before.
Laura: I've no idea, he has such wild fancies nowadays.
Doctor: Would you like me to stay till he comes back? To avoid suspicion I could say that your mother wasn't well and that I'd come to see her.
Laura: Yes, that would do splendidly. Don't leave us, Doctor; if you only knew how anxious I am. But wouldn't it be better to tell him outright what you think of his condition?
Doctor: One never does that with a mental patient, unless he brings up the subject himself, and then only in exceptional cases. It depends entirely on what course the illness takes. But we mustn't sit here; perhaps it would look more natural if I went into the next room.
Laura: Yes, that would be better, then Margret can sit here. She always waits for him when he's out; besides, she's the only one who has any influence over him. Margret! Margret!
Nurse: Did you want something, ma'am? Is master back?
Laura: No, but I want you to sit here and wait for him; and when he comes, you're to tell him that my mother's ill, and that's why the doctor's here.
Nurse: Yes, yes, I'll see that everything's all right.
Laura: Will you come in here, Doctor?
Doctor: Thank you, madam.
Nurse: Yes, yes . . . "A pitiful and wretched thing Is life, that swiftly passes by. Death's angel o'er us spreads his wing And through the world resounds his cry: "All must perish, all is vain!" Ah yes! "All that upon this earth draws breath To earth must fall beneath his doom, Sorrow alone escapes our death, to carve upon the gaping tomb: "All must perish, all is vain!" Yes indeed --
Bertha: Margret, may I sit with you? It's so lonely up there.
Nurse: Why, bless my soul, Bertha, aren't you in bed yet?
Bertha: You see, I want to finish Papa's Christmas present. And I've brought something you'll like, too.
Nurse: Yes, but, my dear, this will never do. It's gone twelve o'clock, and you've got to be up in the morning.
Bertha: What does it matter? I daren't stay up there all alone, I think it's haunted.
Nurse: There now, what did I say? You mark my words, there's a curse on this house. What did you hear, Bertha?
Bertha: Well, actually, I heard someone singing up in the attic.
Nurse: In the attic? At this time of night?
Bertha: Yes, it was such a sad song, the saddest song I've ever heard. And it seemed as if it came from the box- room -- you know, on the left, where the cradle stands.
Nurse: Oh dear, oh dear! And such a fearful night too, I'm sure the chimneys'll blow down: "Ah, what is our life below? Pain and sorrow, grief and woe. Even when it seemed most fair, Naught but agony was there." Yes, dear child, God send us a happy Christmas.
Bertha: Margret, is it true that Papa's ill?
Nurse: Yes, he really is.
Bertha: Then we shan't be able to keep Christmas Eve. But if he's ill, how can he be up?
Nurse: You see, child, with his kind of illness he doesn't have to go to bed. Ssh -- there's someone out in the hall. Go to bed now -- and take the coffee-pot away, or the master'll be angry.
Bertha: Good night, Margret.
Nurse: Good night, child -- and God bless you.
Captain: Are you still up? Go to bed.
Nurse: I was only waiting till -- Mr Adolf.
Captain: What do you want?
Nurse: The old lady's ill, and the doctor's here.
Captain: Is it serious?
Nurse: No I don't think so -- just a cold.
Captain: Margret, who was the father of your child?
Nurse: Oh, I've told you time and time again: it was that scamp Johansson.
Captain: Are you sure it was he?
Nurse: You're talking like a child! Of course I'm sure, seeing he was the only one.
Captain: But was he sure he was the only one? No, he couldn't be, even though you were sure. That's the difference, you see.
Nurse: I don't see any difference.
Captain: No, you can't see it, but the difference is there all the same. Do you think Bertha's like me?
Nurse: Why yes -- you're as like as two peas.
Captain: Did Johansson admit that he was the father?
Nurse: Well, he had to!

2.2

Captain: How terrible. Here's the doctor. Good evening doctor. How's my mother-in-law?
Doctor: Oh, nothing serious -- only a slight sprain in the left ankle.
Captain: I thought Margret said it was a cold. There seems to be quite a difference of opinion about the case. Go to bed, Margret. Do sit down, doctor.
Doctor: Thanks.
Captain: Is it true that you get striped foals if you cross a zebra with a mare?
Doctor: Perfectly true.
Captain: Is it true that further foals may also be striped, even if the next sire is a stallion?
Doctor: Yes, that's true, too.
Captain: So that, under certain conditions, a stallion can sire striped foals -- and vice versa?
Doctor: So it seems, yes.
Captain: Therefore a child's likeness to the father means nothing?
Doctor: Well --
Captain: That is to say, paternity cannot be proved.
Doctor: Hm -- well --
Captain: You are a widower? And you've had children?
Doctor: Ye-es.
Captain: Didn't being a father sometimes make you feel ridiculous? I know of nothing more absurd than seeing a father lead his child through the street, or hearing a father talk about "my children". He ought to say "my wife's children"! Didn't you ever realize what a false position you were in? Weren't you ever afflicted with doubts . . . I won't say suspicions, for, as a gentleman, I assume your wife was above suspicion.
Doctor: No, as a matter of fact, I never was. And anyhow, Captain, wasn't it Goethe who said "A man must take his children on trust"?
Captain: On trust when it concerns a woman? That's dangerous!
Doctor: Ah, there's more than one kind of woman, you know.
Captain: The latest researches have established that there is only one kind. When I was young, I was strong and -- if I may say so -- good-looking. I can call to mind just two brief incidents that, when I came to think of them, roused my suspicions. I was once on board a steamer, sitting with some friends in the saloon, when in came the young stewardess, in tears. She sat down and told us that her sweetheart had been drowned. We sympathized with her, and I ordered champagne. After the second glass, I touched her foot; after the fourth, her knee, and before morning, I had consoled her.
Doctor: One swallow doesn't make a summer.
Captain: Now for the other -- and that was a real summer swallow. I was at Lysenkil. There was a young married woman staying there with her children, but her husband was in town. She was a woman of the strictest principles, and very devout; she preached morality to me, and was completely virtuous -- or so I thought. I lent her one or two books, and when she went away, surprisingly enough, she returned them. Three months later, in one of those very books, I came across a visiting card, bearing a pretty obvious hint. Oh, it was perfectly innocent -- as innocent, that is, as an indication of love can be, from a married woman to a strange man who has never made any advances to her. So the moral is this: don't trust them too much!
Doctor: Nor too little either!
Captain: No, enough and no more. But listen to this, doctor; unconsciously that woman was so despicable that she went and told her husband that she was in love with me. That's what's so dangerous -- that their innate dishonesty is quite unconscious. That's an extenuating circumstance, but it doesn't alter my judgement, even if it mitigates it.
Doctor: Captain, you should be careful not to let your thoughts take an unhealthy turn.
Captain: You shouldn't use the word "unhealthy". Remember all boilers burst when their pressure-gauge reaches 100, but that hundred mark varies with different boilers, if you see what I mean. However, you're here to watch me. If I weren't a man, I should have the right to make accusations -- or complaints, as they're so cleverly called, and perhaps I should be able to give you the full diagnosis and, what is more, the case history. But since I have the misfortune to be a man, I can only do like the Romans, and fold my arms over my chest and hold my breath till I die. Good night.
Doctor: Captain, if you are ill, it wouldn't stain your honour as a man to tell me the whole story. In fact I ought to hear the other side.
Captain: I should have thought that, having heard one side, you've had quite enough of it.
Doctor: Not at all, Captain. You know, when I heard Mrs Alving eulogizing her dead husband, I thought to myself "what a confounded shame the fellow's dead".
Captain: Do you think he would have spoken if he'd been alive? And do you suppose that if any dead husband were to come to life, he'd be believed? Good night, doctor. As you see, I'm quite calm, so you can safely go to bed!
Doctor: Good night, then, Captain. There's nothing more that I can do in this case.
Captain: Are we enemies?
Doctor: Far from it. The pity is that we can't be friends. Good night.

2.3

Captain: Come in, then we can talk. I heard you out there listening. It's late, but we must thrash things out. Sit down. I've been to the post-office this evening to collect the letters. From them it appears that you've been intercepting both my incoming and outgoing mail. The consequence is that the loss of time has practically ruined the results that I'd expected from my work.
Laura: That was an act of kindness on my part; you were neglecting your duties for this other work.
Captain: It was certainly no act of kindness, since you knew perfectly well that one day this work will bring me far more honour than my military duties; but you particularly don't want me to win any honour, since it would emphasize your insignificance. That's why I've now intercepted some letters addressed to you.
Laura: How noble of you!
Captain: Ah, I see you have a high opinion of me, as they say. From these letters, it appears that for some time now you've been setting my former friends against me by spreading a rumour about my sanity. What's more, your efforts have been successful, since there's hardly anyone, from the Colonel to the cook, who believes me sane. Now, the truth about my illness is this: my reason is unaffected as you know, since I can carry out both my duties as a soldier and my obligations as a father; I have my emotions pretty well under control, so long as my will remains more or less intact -- though you've gnawed and gnawed at it so that soon it will slip its cogs and then the whole works will whirr to a standstill. I shall not appeal to your feelings, because you have none -- I appeal to your own interests.
Laura: Go on.
Captain: Your behaviour has succeeded in arousing my suspicions so much, that soon my reason will be clouded and my mind will begin to wander. That means the onset of the madness that you have been waiting for, and that may come at any time. That brings you to the question of whether it's more to your advantage that I should be sane or insane. Think it over. If I go down, I shall have to leave the Service, and where will you be then? If I die my life insurance will come to you. But if I take my own life, you will get nothing. So it's to your advantage that I should live out my life.
Laura: Is this a trap?
Captain: Certainly. It rests with you whether you avoid it, or put your head in.
Laura: You say that you'll kill yourself. You'll never do that.
Captain: Are you sure? Do you think a man can live when there's nothing and no one to live for?
Laura: Then you surrender?
Captain: No, I offer you peace.
Laura: Under what conditions?
Captain: That I keep my reason. Free me from my suspicions and I'll give up the fight.
Laura: What suspicions?
Captain: About Bertha's parentage.
Laura: Are there any doubts about that?
Captain: There are for me, and it's you who have raised them.
Laura: I?
Captain: Yes, you have poured them into my ears like drops of henbane, and circumstances have made them grow. Free me from the uncertainty -- tell me outright "This is the truth" -- and I will forgive you in advance.
Laura: I can hardly plead guilty to a crime that I've not committed.
Captain: How can it matter to you, when you can be quite sure that I shall never divulge it. Do you think a man would go and trumpet his own shame abroad.
Laura: If I said that it's not true, you wouldn't be convinced, but if I said it is, that would convince you. In fact, you want it to be true?
Captain: Yes, oddly enough -- probably because the former case can't be proved, while the latter can.
Laura: Have you any grounds for your suspicions?
Captain: Yes and no.
Laura: I believe you want to prove me guilty so that you can get rid of me and then have full control over the child. But I'm not falling into that trap.
Captain: If I were convinced that you were guilty, do you imagine I would take on another man's child?
Laura: No, I'm quite sure you wouldn't; that's how I know you were lying just now when you said that I was forgiven in advance.
Captain: Laura, don't destroy me and my reason! You don't understand what I'm saying. If the child is not mine, then I have no control over her, nor do I desire any. That is just what you want, isn't it? But perhaps you want something else as well: you want to have power over the child, yet still have me to support you.
Laura: Yes, power. What has all this life and death struggle been about except power?
Captain: For me, since I don't believe in a life to come, my child was my after-life. She was my idea of immortality -- perhaps the only one that has any foundations in reality. Take that away and you wipe me out.
Laura: Why didn't we separate in time?
Captain: Because the child help us together, but the bond has become a chain. How has that happened? I've never thought about that sort of thing before, but now I begin to remember incidents that render you suspect, and perhaps condemn you. We'd been married for two years, and had no children -- you know why not. I became ill, and was at death's door. Once, when the fever had abated for a while, I heard voices outside in the drawing-room. It was you and the lawyer, and you were talking about the property that I still owned in those days. He explained that you couldn't inherit anything because we had no children, and he asked if you were expecting one. I couldn't hear your answer. I recovered, and we had a child. Who is the father?
Laura: You are!
Captain: No, I am not. There's a crime lying buried here that's beginning to stink -- and what a hellish crime it is! You women pity black slaves and set them free, but you keep white ones. I've worked and slaved for you and your child, your mother, and your servants. I've sacrificed my career and promotion, I've been racked and tortured, I've endured sleepless nights, worrying about your future till my hair has turned grey, and all so that you could enjoy a carefree life, and when you grew old, live it again through your child. I've borne all this without complaining because I imagined that I was the father of that child. It was the lowest kind of theft -- the most brutal slavery. I've served seventeen years' hard labour though I was innocent. What can you give me in return for that?
Laura: Now you're really mad!
Captain: That's what you hope. I've seen how you've struggled to hide your sin. I've sympathized with you, realizing what caused your anxiety; I've often lulled your guilty conscience to rest, thinking that I was chasing away some morbid fancy. I've heard you cry out in your sleep, and I've refused to listen. Now I remember the night before last -- it was Bertha's birthday. It was between two and three in the morning and I was sitting up reading. You screamed "Keep away, keep away!" as if someone were trying to strangle you. I knocked on the wall because -- because I didn't want to hear any more. I'd had my suspicions for a long time, but I dared not hear them confirmed. That's how I've suffered for your sake; what will you do for me?
Laura: What can I do? I swear before God and all that I hold sacred that you are Bertha's father.
Captain: What use is that, when you've already said that a mother can and should commit any crime for her child's sake? I implore you, for the sake of the past -- I implore you, as a wounded man begs for the death-blow -- tell me everything. Don't you see that I'm as helpless as a child? Can't you hear that I'm calling to you as if you were my mother? Won't you forget that I'm a grown man -- a soldier whose word of command both men and beasts obey? I am a sick man, all I ask is pity; I surrender the symbols of my power, and pray for mercy on my life.
Laura: What's this? A man, and crying?
Captain: Yes, I'm crying, although I'm a man. Has not a man eyes? Has not a man hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a woman. If you prick us, do we not bleed; of you tickle us, do we not laugh; if you poison us, do we not die? Why shouldn't a man complain, or a soldier cry? Because it's unmanly. What make it unmanly?
Laura: Cry then, child, and your mother will be with you again. Do you remember that, when I first came into your life, it was as a second mother. Your great strong body had no fibre, you were like an overgrown child, as if you'd come into the world too soon, or perhaps were unwanted.
Captain: Yes, that's how it was. My father and mother never wanted me, so I was born without a will. When you and I became one I thought I was completing myself; that's how you got the upper hand, so that I -- although I was the commander in barracks and on parade -- when I was with you, I was the one to take orders. So I grew used to looking up to you as a superior, gifted being, listening to you as it I were your backward child.
Laura: That's true, and that's why I loved you as if you were my own child. But you must surely have noticed how embarrassed I was whenever your feelings altered, and you presented yourself as my lover. The pleasure of your embraces was always followed by remorse, as if my very blood were ashamed. The mother had become the mistress. Ugh!
Captain: I saw that, but I never understood why. And when I thought you despised me for my unmanliness, I wanted to win you as a woman by being a man.
Laura: Yes, and that's where you were wrong. The mother was your friend, you see, while the woman was your enemy. Love between the sexes is a battle. And don't imagine that I gave myself to you; I didn't give, I took -- just what I wanted. But you had one advantage -- I realized that, and I wanted you to realize it too.
Captain: You always had the advantage. If I was awake, you could hypnotize me so that I could neither see nor hear, but only obey; you could give me a raw potato and convince me that it was a peach; you could compel me to admire your most childish remark as if it were a flash of genius; you could have led me into crime, and even into petty meanness. For you had no understanding, and instead of carrying out my ideas, you did things in your own way. But when I eventually woke up and came to my senses, I realized how my honour was tarnished and I wanted to redeem it by some noble action -- some achievement, some discovery, or an honourable suicide. I should have liked to go to the wars, but there were none. Then I immersed myself in science. And now, when I should be reaching out my hand to gather the fruits of success, you cut off my arm. I am dishonoured now and I can no longer live, for a man cannot live without honour.
Laura: But a woman?
Captain: Yes, for she has her children, while he has not. But we, like the rest of mankind, lived our lives as heedless as babies, full of fancies, ideas, and illusions; till we finally woke. that was all very well, but we woke with our feet on the pillow, and whoever it was who woke us was a sleepwalker himself. When women grow old and cease to be women, they grow hair on their chins; I wonder what becomes of men when they grow old and cease to be men. Those who once crowed were no longer cocks but only capons, and the pullets answered the call, so that when it should have been sunrise, we found ourselves sitting among ruins in bright moonlight, just as in the good old days. It had only been a little morning nap, with bad dreams, and there was no awakening.
Laura: You should have been a poet, you know.
Captain: Perhaps.
Laura: Well, I'm sleepy, so if you've any more fancies, keep them till tomorrow.
Captain: One word first -- about realities: do you hate me?
Laura: Yes, sometimes -- when you act like a man.
Captain: That's like racial prejudice. If it's true that we're descended from apes, it must at least have been from two different species. Certainly there's no resemblance between us.
Laura: What do you mean by all this?
Captain: I realize that one of us must go under in this struggle.
Laura: Which?
Captain: The weaker, of course.
Laura: And the stronger will be in the right?
Captain: Naturally, since he has the power.
Laura: Then I am in the right!
Captain: Have you the power already, then?
Laura: Yes, legal power, too, and tomorrow I shall use it to put you under restraint.
Captain: And who will pay for her education when I'm gone?
Laura: Your pension.
Captain: And how can you have me put under restraint?
Laura: By means of this letter -- of which an attested copy is in the hands of the Board of Guardians.
Captain: What letter?
Laura: This! Your admission to the doctor that you are insane. You've fulfilled your function, now, as the -- unfortunately -- essential father and breadwinner. There's no further need for you, and you must go. You must go because, though you've seen now that my intellect is as formidable as my will, you won't stay and acknowledge it!

3.1

Laura: Did he give you the keys?
Nurse: Give me them? No. God forgive me. I took them out of his clothes when Nojd brought them out to brush.
Laura: So it's Nojd who's on duty today.
Nurse: Yes, it's Nojd.
Laura: Give me the keys.
Nurse: Very well, but it's as good as stealing. Just listen to him up there, pacing up and down, up and down.
Laura: Is the door safely fastened?
Nurse: Oh yes, it's safe enough.
Laura: You must control yourself Margret. The only hope for all of us is to keep calm. Who is it?
Nojd: It's Nojd.
Laura: Let him come in.
Nojd: There's a note from the Colonel.
Laura: Give it to me. Ah. . . Nojd, have you taken all the cartridges out of the guns and emptied the pouches?
Nojd: I've done all you said, madam.
Laura: Then wait outside while I answer the Colonel's letter.
Nurse: Oh, hark, ma'am! Whatever is he doing up there?
Laura: Be quiet, I'm writing.
Nurse: God have mercy on us! What'll be the end of this?
Laura: There. Give this to Nojd. And my mother's not to know anything about all this, do you understand?
Pastor: Good evening, Laura, I've been out all day, I expect they told you; I've only just got home. Things have taken a serious turn here, then?
Laura: Yes, my dear. I've never been through anything like this last twenty-four hours!
Pastor: I see you're none the worse for it.
Laura: No, thank heaven. But just think what might have happened.
Pastor: Tell me, how did it all begin? I've heard so many different stories.
Laura: It began with those absurd ideas of his about not being Bertha's father, and it ended with his throwing a lighted lamp in my face.
Pastor: But that's appalling. He must be completely mad. What are we to do now?
Laura: We must try to stop any more outbreaks -- the doctor's sent to the hospital for a strait-jacket. In the meanwhile, I've sent a message to the Colonel, and now I'm trying to look into the household accounts, which he's mismanaged so terribly.
Pastor: It's a deplorable business, but I always expected something like this would happen; you can't mix fire and water without an explosion. What all that in the drawer?
Laura: Just look at all the things he kept here!
Pastor: Good heavens! Here's your doll -- and here's your christening cap; and Bertha's rattle -- and your letters and this locket. He must have loved you very much, Laura, all the same. I've never kept things like this.
Laura: I think he did love me once, but time -- time changes so many things.
Pastor: What's that big paper there? A receipt for a grave. Well, better a grave than an asylum. Laura, tell me: is your conscience quite clear in all this?
Laura: Mine? How could I be to blame if a man goes out his mind?
Pastor: Ah well, I won't say anything. After all, blood's thicker than water.
Laura: Just what do you mean by that?
Pastor: Well. . .
Laura: Yes?
Pastor: Well, you can hardly deny that it would suit you very well if you could bring up your child in your own way.
Laura: I don't understand.
Pastor: I really admire you, Laura.
Laura: Do you? Hm.
Pastor: So I'm to become the guardian of that free- thinker. You know, I've always looked on him as a weed in our garden.
Laura: And you dare to say that to me, his wife?
Pastor: How strong you are, Laura -- incredibly strong! You're like a fox in a trap, you'd rather bite off your own leg than let yourself be caught. You're like a master-thief -- you have no accomplice, not even your own conscience. Look at yourself in the glass! You dare not!
Laura: You talk so much, you must have a guilty conscience. Accuse me, if you can!
Pastor: I cannot.
Laura: There you are, then! You cannot, so I am not guilty. And now, you take care of your ward, and I'll look after mine. Here's the Doctor. I'm glad to see you, Doctor; you, at any rate, will help me, won't you? Not that there's much to be done, I'm afraid. Do you hear how he's going on up there? Does that convince you?
Doctor: I'm convinced that he has become violent, but the question is whether the violence must be considered as an outbreak of rage or of madness.
Pastor: Whatever caused the actual outbreak, you'll admit that he suffered from fixed ideas.
Doctor: I believe, Pastor, your own ideas are even more firmly fixed.
Pastor: My firm convictions about higher things --
Doctor: Let us set aside convictions for the moment. Madam, it is for you to decide whether your husband is liable to imprisonment and a fine, or to go to an asylum. What have you to say about the Captain's behaviour?
Laura: How can I answer that now?
Doctor: Then you have no firm convictions about what would be best for your family. What do you say, Pastor?
Pastor: It's hard to say -- there'll be a scandal either way.
Laura: But if he's merely fined for assault, he might become violent again.
Doctor: And if he's sent to prison, he'll soon be out again. Therefore we feel it's in the best interests of all parties that he should be treated as insane at once. Where is the nurse?
Laura: Why?
Doctor: I want her to put the strait-jacket on the patient after I've had a word with him, and when I give the order, but not before. I have the -- garment outside. Would you kindly ask the nurse to come in.
Pastor: Horrible, horrible!
Doctor: Now, pay attention, please. I want you to slip this waistcoat on the Captain from behind, as soon as I consider it necessary, so as to forestall any further outbreaks of violence. As you see, it has unusually long sleeves that can be tied behind the back to restrict his movements. And here we have two straps with buckles which you then make fast to the arms of the chair or sofa, whichever is more convenient. Will you do this?
Nurse: No, doctor, I couldn't, I couldn't!
Laura: Why don't you do it yourself, Doctor?
Doctor: Because the patient mistrusts me. You, madam, should really be the one to do it, but I fear that he mistrusts even you. Perhaps the Pastor. . .
Pastor: No, I must decline.
Laura: Did you deliver the note?
Nojd: Yes, madam.
Doctor: Ah, Nojd. You know the circumstances here. The Captain. is our of his mind, and you must help up to look after our patient.
Nojd: If there's anything I can do for the Captain, he knows I'll do it.
Doctor: You're to put this jacket on him --
Nurse: No! He shan't touch him -- Nojd might hurt him. I'd sooner do it myself, gently -- very gently. But Nojd can wait outside in case I need any help -- yes, he can do that.
Doctor: Here he is! Leave the jacket on that chair, with your shawl over it, and all wait outside, while the Pastor and I receive him. Quickly -- that door won't hold much longer!
Captain: It's all to be found here -- in every one of these books. So I wasn't mad after all. Here it is in the Odyssey -- Book I, line 215; page 6 in the Uppsala translation. Telemachus is speaking to Athene. "My mother indeed declares that he -- meaning Odysseus -- is my father; but I myself cannot be sure; since no man ever yet knew his own begetter." And it was Penelope, the most virtuous of women, whom Telemachus was suspecting. That's a fine thing, eh? And then we have the prophet Ezekiel: "The fool saith: Lo, here is my father, but who can tell whose loins have engendered him?" That's clear enough, isn't it? And what have we here? Merzlyakov's History of Russian Literature: Alexander Pushkin, Russia's greatest poet, died in agony caused much more by the rumours going round of his wife's infidelity than by the bullet wound in his chest from a duel. On his death-bed he swore that she was innocent. Ass! Ass! How could he swear to that. You see, by the way, that I can still read my books. Ah, Jonas, are you here? And the doctor, of course. Did I ever tell you what I said to an English lady who complained of the habit Irishmen have of throwing lighted lamps in their wives' faces? "God, what women!" I said. "Women?" she simpered. "Yes, of course," I answered. When things get to such a pitch that a man -- a man who has loved and worshipped a woman -- goes and takes a lighted lamp and flings it in her face . . . well, then you know.
Pastor: What do you know?
Captain: Nothing. One never know anything -- one only believes -- isn't that so, Jonas? One believes, and one is saved. Yes, that's how it is! But I know that a man's belief can destroy him -- that's what I know!
Doctor: Captain --
Captain: Be quiet! I don't wish to speak to you -- you're just a telephone, relaying all their chatter in there. Yes, in there -- you know what I mean. Tell me, Jonas, do you believe that you're the father of your children? I remember you used to have a tutor in the house -- a good- looking fellow that people used to gossip about.
Pastor: Adolf -- mind what you're saying.
Captain: Feel under your wig and see if you can't find two bumps up there. Upon my soul I believe he's turned pale! Oh yes, it's only talk, of course, but heavens, how they do talk. But we're all laughing-stocks anyway, we married men, aren't we, doctor? How was your marriage bed? Wasn't there a young subaltern in your house, eh? Let me guess: his name was -- There, you see, he's turned pale, too! But cheer up, she's dead and buried, and what's done can't be undone. I used to know him, by the way; he's now -- look at me, Doctor . . . no, straight in the face -- he's a major of Dragoons. Bless me if I don't believe you have horns too!
Doctor: Captain, please let us change the subject.
Captain: There you are! Directly I mentioned horns, he wants to change the subject.
Pastor: Adolf, do you realize that you're not in your right senses?
Captain: Of course I realize it. But if I could work on your crowned heads for a little, I'd soon have you shut up, too. Yes, I'm mad; but what sent me mad? That doesn't interest you -- nor anyone else. Do you want to change the subject now? Christ! That's my daughter! Is she mine? We can't be sure. Do you know what we'd have to do to be sure? Marry first, so as to be accepted by society, then separate directly after, and become lover and mistress, and then adopt the children. Then we could at least be sure they were our own adopted children, couldn't we? But how can all that help me now? How can anything help me, now that you've taken my hope of immortality from me? What use are science or philosophy to me, now that I have nothing to live for? What can I do with my life now that my honour's gone? I grafted my right arm, half my brain, and half my marrow, onto another stem, for I thought they would grow together and knit themselves into a more perfect tree; and then someone comes with a knife and cuts them down below the graft, so that now I'm only half a tree; but the other half goes on growing, with my arm and half my brain, while I whither away and die, because it was the best part of myself that I gave away. And now I want to die. Do what you like to me, I no longer exist.
Bertha: Are you ill, papa?
Captain: I?
Bertha: Do you know what you did? Do you know that you threw the lamp at Mama?
Captain: Did I?
Bertha: Yes, you did! Suppose she's been hurt.
Captain: Would it have mattered?
Bertha: You aren't my father if you can say things like that!
Captain: What's that? I'm not your father? How do you know? Who told you so? Who is your father, then? Who is?
Bertha: Well, not you, anyhow.
Captain: Always the same thing -- not I! Who then, who? You seem to be well informed -- who told you? That I should live to have my own child tell me to my face that I'm not her father. But don't you know that that's insulting your mother; don't you understand that, if it's true, it's shameful for her, too?
Bertha: I won't have you saying anything bad about Mama.
Captain: That's right, cling together, all of you, against me. That's what you've done all along.
Bertha: Papa!
Captain: Don't ever call me that again!
Bertha: Papa -- papa!
Captain: Bertha, dear, darling child -- because you are my child -- yes, nothing else would be possible -- you must be. Anything else was just a morbid idea brought on the wind, like pestilence and fever. Look at me, so that I can see my soul in your eyes. But I see her soul, too! You have two souls, and you love me with one, and hate me with the other. But you must love me only. You must have only one soul, or you will never have any peace, and nor shall I. You must have one thought only, the child of my thought; and only one will -- mine!
Bertha: But I don't want that, I want to be myself.
Captain: I won't let you. You see, I'm a cannibal, and I want to eat you. Your mother wanted to eat me, but she couldn't. I am Saturn, who ate his own children because it had been foretold that otherwise they would eat him. To eat or to be eaten -- that is the question. Unless I eat you, you will eat me -- you've already shown me your teeth. But don't be afraid, my darling child, I shan't do you any harm.
Bertha: Help! Mama, help! He's going to murder me!
Nurse: Mr Adolf! What are you doing?
Captain: Did you take out the cartridges?
Nurse: Well, I did tidy them away, but you just sit quietly here, and I'll soon get them again. Now, Mr Adolf, I wonder if you remember when you were my dear little boy and I used to tuck you up at night and read you "Gentle Jesus"? Do you remember how I used to get up in the night and get you a drink, and how I used to light the candle and tell you lovely stories when you had bad dreams and couldn't sleep? Do you remember?
Captain: Go on talking, Margret; it makes my head better. Go on talking.
Nurse: All right, but you must pay attention, then. Do you remember that time you took the big carving-knife to make boats with, and how I came in and had to play a trick on you to get the knife away? You were a silly little boy, and we had to play tricks on you, because you wouldn't believe we knew what was best for you. "Give me that snake," I said, "or it'll bite!" And you let go of it there and then. And the times you wouldn't get dressed when you ought to. I used to have to wheedle you and say you'd have a golden coat and be dressed like a prince. And then I'd take your little jacket and say "In with your arms now -- both of them!" And then I'd say, "Now sit nice and quiet while I button down the back". And then I'd say: "Get up, now, like a good boy, and walk across the room, so that I can see how it fits". And then I'd say "Now you must go to bed".
Captain: What's that? Go to bed when he's just been dressed? Damnation! What have you done to me? Woman! You're as cunning as the devil! Who'd have thought you had the sense? Caught, shorn and outwitted -- they won't even let me die!
Nurse: Forgive me, Mr Adolf, forgive me. I had to stop you from killing your child.
Captain: Why not let me kill the child? Life's a hell, and death is the Kingdom of Heaven; children belong to Heaven.
Nurse: How do you know what happens after death!
Captain: That's the only thing we do know, it's life that we know nothing of. Oh, if only we could have known from the first!
Nurse: Mr Adolf, humble your stubborn heart, and pray to God for mercy -- it's not too late even now. It wasn't too late for the thief on the Cross, when the Saviour said, "Today shalt thou be with me in Paradise".
Captain: Are you croaking for a corpse already, you old crow? Nojd! Is Nojd there? Throw that woman out. She wants to smother me with her hymn-book. Throw her out of the window -- up the chimney -- anywhere you like!
Nojd: Heaven help you, Captain, really, but I can't do that, honestly I can't. I'd take on half a dozen men -- but not a woman!
Captain: You can't get the better of a woman, eh?
Nojd: Of course I can, but it's a different thing when it comes to laying hands on one.
Captain: What's so different about it? Haven't they been laying their hands on me?
Nojd: Yes, but I can't do it, Captain. It's just as if you were to ask me to hit the pastor. It's something inside me -- like religion. I can't do it!

3.2

Captain: Omphale! Omphale! Playing with the club while Hercules spins your wool!
Laura: Adolf -- look at me. Do you believe that I'm your enemy?
Captain: Yes, I do! I believe that you're all my enemies. My mother, who didn't want to bring me into the world because my birth would bring her pain, she was my enemy: she starved my unborn life of its nourishment, till I was nearly deformed. My sister was my enemy, when she taught me to be her vassal. The first woman I took in my arms was my enemy, for she gave me ten years' illness in return for the love I gave her. My daughter became my enemy, when she had to choose between me and you. And you, my wife, you were my mortal enemy, for you never let me be till you had me lying dead.
Laura: I don't know that the thoughts and motives that you're suggesting ever entered my head. It's possible that I was swayed by an obscure desire to be rid of you, as something that stood in my way; if you see some plan behind my actions -- well, there may have been one, but I knew nothing about it. I've never considered them, they've simply run on the lines that you yourself have laid down, and, before God and my conscience, I feel myself innocent even if I am not. You're existence has been like a stone on my heart, weighing and weighing it down till the heart struggled to throw off the burden that oppressed it. That is how it was, and if I have harmed you unintentionally, I ask you to forgive me.
Captain: All that sounds very plausible, but how does it help me? And who is to blame? A spiritual marriage, perhaps? In the old days, a man married a wife, now he enters into partnership with a business-woman, or sets up house with a friend. Then he debauches the partner, and violates the friend. What becomes of love -- healthy physical love? It dies in the process. And what is the issue of this love -- in bonds payable to bearer, without joint liability? Who is the bearer when the crash comes? Who is the physical father of the spiritual child?
Laura: As for your suspicions about the child, they're quite unfounded.
Captain: That is just what is so terrible. If there had been any foundation for them, that would at least be something to take hold of -- to cling to; as it is, there are only shadows, that hide in the bushes and poke their heads out to grin. It's like hitting the air, or a sham fight with blank cartridges. A mortal truth would have roused my resistance, and roused my mind and body to action -- but, as things are, my thoughts melt into thin air, and my brain grinds away at nothing, till it catches fire. Give me a pillow under my head. And put something over me, I'm cold -- terribly cold.
Laura: Give me your hand, my dear.
Captain: My hand? When you've tied it behind my back? Omphale! Omphale! But I can feel your soft shawl against my mouth, it's as warm and soft as your arm, and it smells of vanilla like your hair when you were young . . . When you were young, Laura, and we used to walk in the birchwoods among the primroses and the thrushes -- lovely -- lovely! Think how beautiful life was, and what it is now. You never wanted it to come to this, and nor did I; yet this has happened. Who orders our lives?
Laura: Only God . . .
Captain: The god of Strife, then -- or is it a goddess these days? Take away this cat that's lying on me -- take it away! Give me my tunic -- put that over me. Ah, my rough lion-skin that you tried to take away from me. Omphale! Omphale! You cunning woman -- who wanted peace and preached disarmament. Wake up, Hercules, or they'll take you club from you. You'd trick us out of our armour, too, making believe it was tinsel. No, it was iron, iron, before it became tinsel. In the olden days it was the smith who forged the coat of mail, now it's the sempstress. Omphale! Omphale! Rude strength is brought down by scheming weakness. Damn you, you she-devil, curse your whole sex! What sort of pillow have you given me, Margret? It's so hard and cold -- so cold. Come and sit beside me -- here, on the chair. That's it. Let me put my head on your lap. There! Ah, that's warmer. Lean over me, so that I can feel your breast. Oh, it's good to sleep on a woman's breast -- a mother's or a mistress's, but a mother's is best.
Laura: Do you want to see your child, Adolf? Do you?
Captain: My child? A man doesn't have children, it's only women who get children. That's why the future is theirs, and we die childless. "Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, Look upon a little child -- "
Nurse: Listen, he's praying to God!
Captain: No, to you -- to put me to sleep. I'm tired -- so tired. Good night, Margret! And blessed be thou among women.
Laura: Help, Doctor, if it's not too late. Look, he's stopped breathing.
Doctor: It's a stroke.
Pastor: Is he dead?
Doctor: No, he may still recover consciousness -- but what sort of consciousness we don't know.
Pastor: First death, and after that the Judgement . . .
Doctor: No judgement. No indictment, even! You believe there's a god who rules man's destiny, you must refer this affair to Him.
Nurse: Pastor -- in his last moments he prayed to God.
Pastor: Is that true?
Laura: Quite true.
Doctor: In that case -- and I can no more judge of that, than I can of the cause of his illness -- then there's nothing more that my skill can do. It's up to you to try yours now, Pastor.
Laura: Is that all you have to say at this death-bed, Doctor?
Doctor: Yes, that's all I know. If anyone knows more, let him speak!
Bertha: Mama! Mama!
Laura: My child -- my own child!
Pastor: Amen.

The play The Father was written by Swedish author and playwright August Strindberg in 1887.