(_Anton Hammelev and Louise Thorsen enter from the left. Anton is a young man in his twenties. He has the appearance of an artist--face smooth-shaven and hair rather long. In spite of his blindness he moves about in the room without any apparent difficulty. Louise is in her thirties--a weary and somewhat faded and passée woman. It is apparent that she is trying to improve her appearance with the use of powder and paint. She is quite well dressed. She gives the impression of being of an amiable though timid disposition, and she has a sad look in her eyes_.)
ANTON (_merrily_)
You never thought, Louise, that _I_ should ever lead _you_. Did you notice how well I knew the way? And I know where every piece of furniture stands in this room. (_Points_.) There stands mother’s sewing-table--and there are father’s pipes. Am I not right? You may ask me about every little thing if you wish. I can tell you where every picture hangs on the wall. Do you want to try?
LOUISE (_pleadingly_)
No, Anton, not now.
ANTON
Why not? You haven’t lost your courage, have you?
LOUISE
We shouldn’t have done this, I think. If you had come alone, you could have explained to your parents much better.
ANTON (_somewhat impatiently_)
If I could ever get you to understand why I have arranged it as I have! What do you think my parents are, anyhow? Do you think they’ll assault me? Assault a defenseless woman--eh?
LOUISE
No, of course not. But--I don’t know--when I look about in this room it seems to me as if I had entered it to steal something that doesn’t belong to me.
ANTON
Oh, is it that way? Listen now, Louise. Who do you suppose knows the old folks best--you or I?
LOUISE
Why--you, of course, but--
ANTON
Well, then let it be so. Now, don’t you think it would be best to let me do as I think fit? (_More quietly_.) I’ll tell you, Louise, my parents have hitherto not been used to see anything but a child in me! “Poor little Anton,” they always used to call me, even after I had gone through the conservatory. Four years ago, when last I was at home, father couldn’t get it into his head that I, like other men, had to shave and get my hair cut. And I was at that time a big chap--nineteen years old. (_In a temper_.) Good God! Am I then but a child! A helpless, unfortunate, poor being, and can I never grow to be like other human beings!
LOUISE
You who know so much--you are not as badly off as that! And you know it, too, Anton.
ANTON
Yes, God help me, Louise! When one is lacking in one of the senses one is a child, an incomplete specimen, three-fourths of a man or hardly that. But let that be as it may! The fact remains that neither father nor mother in their wildest moments of imagination would think that I might become engaged. And I don’t think it would be of any use for me to begin to explain how the whole thing has happened. Even if I should describe you as an angel of God, they would say I was the most foolish being in the world. Just for that very reason they ought to have the chance of seeing for themselves.
LOUISE
If only we hadn’t met, Anton! It would have been so much better for you.
ANTON
What nonsense! When once they see you! That’s why I wanted you to come with me and surprise them.
LOUISE
Oh, God! I only wish I was twenty miles from here. I don’t even know what to say to them.
ANTON
You don’t need to say anything at all. I’ll talk for you; you’ll see. I’ll say: “Look here, father and mother, this is Louise. She is the woman to whom I owe everything. If it hadn’t been for her I wouldn’t be a human being with a cheery outlook on life--I wouldn’t care to live. I myself have never seen her, but I know so well how she looks. She is fair as the day, and she has a dimple in either cheek--they are just like a couple of little rills where the sunbeams play hide-and-seek. She has also a little bent-up nose--quite a resolute little nose--that always points in the right direction, just like a compass needle. But what is most beautiful about her are her eyes; they are so deep, and yet so clear; one feels so sure there is something beyond their depth--but one can’t see it. And the other little things about her--can’t you see for yourself how fine and nice and good she is?”
LOUISE (_pained_)
Oh, Anton, but I don’t look like that!
ANTON
Yes, that is how you do look. I know it. (_Takes hold of both her hands_.) And yet I can’t show them your warm, faithful heart; they’ll have to learn to know that little by little.
LOUISE
If you would only not make so much of me, Anton! If one of us has anything to be grateful for, it is I. And you know I haven’t hidden anything from you.
ANTON (_drops her hands; seriously_)
You had nothing to hide, Louise. I know you have had a hard time. But pure metal can’t be spoiled, and you have come out of it all unstained--with your beautiful eyes and your good heart. Perhaps you have cried a great deal. Perhaps others can see the traces in your face--if so, it is an advantage to me to be blind. (_Listens_.) But listen! I can hear the old folks upstairs. I think, perhaps it would be best, if you went out for a second; you need only go outside till I call you. You see--I think I ought to be alone with them the very first moments.
LOUISE (_close to him; entreating him_)
Anton--don’t you want me to leave you now? Shan’t I--
ANTON (_impatiently_)
You must do as I say. Be a sensible girl--don’t be hysterical. Now go, please.
LOUISE (_going out to the left_)
I’ll do as you wish me to. But if you regret it, remember I told you you shouldn’t do it.
(_Anton stands for a moment listening to the steps of his parents overhead. Then he hides himself behind the door to the right, which opens at the same moment_.)