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Title: The wild duck
        A drama in five acts

Author: Henrik Ibsen

Translator: Eleanor Marx Aveling

Release date: May 15, 2024 [eBook #73631]

Language: English

Original publication: Boston: Walter H. Baker

Credits: Tim Lindell, Terry Jeffress and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WILD DUCK ***





THE WILD DUCK

  _A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS_


  By HENRIK IBSEN


  _TRANSLATED FROM THE NORWEGIAN BY_
  ELEANOR MARX AVELING


  Copyright, 1890, by JOHN W. LOVELL CO.


  BOSTON
  WALTER H. BAKER & CO.




CONTENTS

  TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.      3
  PERSONS OF THE PLAY.    4
  ACT I.                  5
  ACT II.                30
  ACT III.               58
  ACT IV.                89
  ACT V.                117
  Transcriber’s Note.




TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.


“Vildanden” is perhaps the most difficult of all Ibsen’s prose dramas
to translate. Some of the speeches of Gina and Relling are indeed
quite untranslatable. The difficulty in the case of Gina is in respect
to her frequent malapropisms, which, for the most part, turn on the
mispronunciation of a word, or the use of a word which resembles in
sound the one she wants. It is obvious that in the transference of such
blunders of one language to another their exact significance can not be
caught. Occasionally it has been possible, as when she says “divide”
for “divert,” or calls the pistol “pigstol.” But these instances are
rare, and more frequently Gina’s slips could only have been indicated
by entirely changing her words. As I have aimed at making as literal a
translation as possible I did not feel justified in so departing from
the original.

  ELEANOR MARX AVELING.




PERSONS OF THE PLAY.


    WERLE, _Merchant, Factory Owner, Etc._
    GREGERS WERLE, _His Son_.
    OLD EKDAL.
    HJALMAR EKDAL, _The Old Man’s Son, a Photographer_.
    GINA EKDAL, _Hjalmar’s Wife_.
    HEDVIG, _Their Daughter, Fourteen Years Old_.
    MRS. SORBY, _Werle’s Housekeeper_.
    RELLING, _a Doctor_.
    MOLVIK, _an ex-Theological Student_.
    GRABERG, _Book-keeper_.
    PETTERSEN, _Servant to Werle_.
    JENSEN, _Hired Waiter_.
    A PALE AND FAT GENTLEMAN.
    A THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
    A SHORT-SIGHTED GENTLEMAN.
    SIX OTHER GENTLEMEN, _Guests of Werle’s_.
    SEVERAL HIRED WAITERS.

_The first Act at_ MR. WERLE’S. _The four other Acts at_ EKDAL, _the
photographer’s_.




ACT I.


  [WERLE’S _House. Richly and comfortably furnished study. Book cases
      and upholstered furniture, a writing-table, with papers and
      ledgers in the center of the stage; lamps alight with green
      shades, so that the room is dimly lighted. Open folding-doors,
      with the curtain drawn at back. Beyond a large elegant room,
      brilliantly lighted with lamps and branched candlesticks. At the
      right lower entrance of the study a small baize door leads to the
      office. Left lower entrance a fireplace, with glowing coals, and
      beyond this a folding-door leading to the dining-room._]

  [PETTERSEN, WERLE’S _servant, in livery, and the hired waiter_,
      JENSEN, _in black, are setting the study in order. In the large
      room two or three other hired waiters are moving about, trimming
      and lighting several more lights. From within the dining-room, is
      heard a confused buzz of conversation and laughter; a knife is
      rapped against a glass, there is silence, a toast is given, cries
      of “bravo,” and then again the buzz of conversation._]

PETTERSEN (_lighting a lamp on the mantel-piece, and placing a shade
upon it_). Just listen, Jensen; there’s the old chap standing up by the
table and proposing to Mrs. Sorby’s health in a long speech.

JENSEN (_bringing down an arm-chair_). Is there any truth in what
people say, that there’s something between them?

PETTERSEN. Goodness knows!

JENSEN. For he’s been a great rake in his time.

PETTERSEN. Maybe.

JENSEN. It’s in honor of his son that he’s giving this dinner, they say.

PETTERSEN. Yes, his son came home yesterday.

JENSEN. I never knew before that Mr. Werle had a son.

PETTERSEN. Oh yes, he has a son. But he’s always stopped up there at
the Hojdal Works. He’s not been in town all the years I’ve been in
service here.

ANOTHER WAITER (_at the door of the other room_). I say, Pettersen,
here’s an old fellow who----

PETTERSEN (_muttering_). Who the devil’s here now?

  OLD EKDAL _enters the room from the right. He wears a threadbare
      cloak with a stand-up collar, woollen mittens; in his hands a
      stick and a fur cap, under his arm a parcel done up in cardboard.
      He has a reddish-brown, dirty wig, and a small mustache._

PETTERSEN (_going towards him_). Good gracious! What do you want here?

EKDAL (_in the doorway_). Must absolutely go to the office, Pettersen.

PETTERSEN. The office was closed an hour ago and----

EKDAL. Heard so at the door, my lad. But Graberg’s in there still. Be a
good fellow, Pettersen, and let me slip in this way. (_Pointing to the
baize door._) I’ve been that way before.

PETTERSEN. All right, you can go. (_Opens door._) But mind you leave
the proper way, for we’ve company.

EKDAL. Know that--h’m! Thanks, Pettersen, my lad. Good old friend.
Thanks. (_Mutters in a low tone._) Idiot!

  _He goes into the office._ PETTERSEN _closes the door after him_.

JENSEN. Is he one of the clerks too?

PETTERSEN. No, he only does writing at home when it’s wanted. But he’s
been a great swell in his time, has old Ekdal.

JENSEN. Yes, he looks as if he had been a little of everything.

PETTERSEN. Yes, for you know he’s been a lieutenant.

JENSEN. The devil he has! He been a lieutenant?

PETTERSEN. That he has. But then he went into the timber trade or
something of the sort. They say he played Mr. Werle a very dirty trick
once. For the two were partners then up at the Hojdal Works, you know.
Ah, I know good old Ekdal, I do. We drink many a good bottle of beer
and bitters together at Mrs. Ericksen’s.

JENSEN. Surely he hasn’t got much to stand treat with?

PETTERSEN. Lord, Jensen, of course you understand that I pay. For I
think one should be polite to better people who’ve come down in the
world.

JENSEN. Did he go bankrupt?

PETTERSEN. No, it was worse than that. He was sent to gaol.

JENSEN. Gaol?

PETTERSEN. Or the house of correction, or something. (_Listening._)
Hush! they’re coming from the table.

  _The doors of the dining-room are thrown open by a couple of servants
      from within._ MRS. SORBY, _talking to two gentlemen, comes out.
      Gradually all the guests follow, among these_ MR. WERLE. HJALMAR
      EKDAL _and_ GREGERS WERLE _enter last_.

MRS. SORBY (_to the servants, as she passes along_). Pettersen, have
the coffee served in the music-room.

PETTERSEN. Yes, Mrs. Sorby.

  _She and the two gentlemen pass into the room at the back, and thence
      right._ PETTERSEN and JENSEN _go out the same way_.

PALE FAT GENTLEMAN (_to the thin-haired one_). Phew! That dinner--it
was a stiff bit of work!

THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN. Oh! with a little good-will one can get through
an immense deal in three hours.

FAT GENTLEMAN.--Ah, but afterwards, afterwards, my dear Chamberlain![1]

[1] The title of Chamberlain (Kammeherre) is one bestowed by the king
as a special distinction upon men of wealth and position. It is the
only title now permitted in Norway, where all titles of nobility were
abolished in 1814.

SHORT-SIGHTED GENTLEMAN. I hear the Mocha and Maraschino are to be
served in the music-room.

FAT GENTLEMAN. Brave! Then Mrs. Sorby can play us something.

THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN (_in a low voice_). If only Mrs. Sorby doesn’t
play us any tricks.

FAT GENTLEMAN. Oh, no; Bertha will never turn against her old friends!

  _They laugh and go into the room._

WERLE (_in a low voice and depressed_). I don’t think any of them
noticed it, Gregers.

GREGERS (_looking at him_). What?

WERLE. Didn’t you notice it either?

GREGERS. What should I notice?

WERLE. We were thirteen at table.

GREGERS. Really? We were thirteen?

WERLE (_glancing at_ HJALMAR EKDAL). We generally have twelve. (_To the
others._) This way, gentlemen!

  _He and those who had remained behind with the exception of_ HJALMAR
      _and_ GREGERS _go out through the door at the back and off right_.

HJALMAR (_who has heard everything_). You shouldn’t have asked me,
Gregers.

GREGERS. What? Why, they say this dinner is given in my honor, and I
shouldn’t have my best, my only friend?

HJALMAR. But I don’t think your father likes it. I never come to this
house.

GREGERS. So I hear. But I must see you and talk to you, for I shall
certainly go away again soon. Yes, we two old school-fellows, we have
surely been separated long enough, we’ve not seen one another now for
sixteen--seventeen years.

HJALMAR. Is it so long?

GREGERS. Yes, it is. Well, how are things going with you? You look
well. You’ve grown almost stout and portly.

HJALMAR. H’m, one can hardly call it portly, but I daresay I look
rather more manly than I did then.

GREGERS. Indeed you do; your outer man hasn’t suffered.

HJALMAR (_gloomily_). But the inner man! Believe me, that is very
different. You know what terrible trouble has come to me and mine since
we two met.

GREGERS (_in a lower tone_). How is your father getting on now?

HJALMAR. Dear friend, don’t let us speak of that. My poor, unhappy
father of course lives at home with me. Why, he has no one else on
earth to cling to. But it is such bitter pain for me to speak of this,
you see. Tell me, rather, how you have got on up there at the Works.

GREGERS. I’ve been delightfully lonely--with plenty of time to ponder
over many things. Come here, let’s make ourselves comfortable.

  _He sits down in an arm-chair by the fire, and makes HJALMAR take
      another one by his side_.

HJALMAR (_moved_). I have to thank you all the same, Gregers, for
asking me to your father’s table. For now I know you’ve no feeling
against me any longer.

GREGERS (_astonished_). Whatever makes you think I had any feeling
against you?

HJALMAR. Yet you had during the first years.

GREGERS. What first years?

HJALMAR. After the great misfortune. And it was so natural you should
have. Why, it was only by a hair’s breadth your father escaped being
dragged into this--this horrible affair.

GREGERS. And you thought I had a feeling against you because of this?
What can have put such a thing into your head?

HJALMAR. I know you had, Gregers, for I had it from your father himself.

GREGERS (_starting_). Father! So! H’m! Was that why you never wrote to
me--not a single word?

HJALMAR. Yes.

GREGERS. Not even when you decided to go in for photography?

HJALMAR. Your father said it was no use writing to you about anything.

GREGERS (_looking straight in front of him_). No, no. Perhaps he was
right. But tell me, Hjalmar, do you feel satisfied with your position?

HJALMAR (_with a sigh_). Oh, yes; certainly. I really can’t say I’m
not. At first, as you will understand, it all seemed so strange to
me to be placed amid such absolutely new surroundings. But, then,
everything else was so changed too. The great, overwhelming misfortune
with my father--the shame and the scandal, Gregers.

GREGERS (_moved_). Yes, yes, I know.

HJALMAR. I couldn’t dream of going on with my studies, there wasn’t a
shilling to spare; on the contrary we were rather in debt; mostly to
your father, I fancy.

GREGERS. H’m.

HJALMAR. So I thought it best, just with one wrench, you know, to cut
myself off from the old conditions and relations. It was your father,
principally, who advised me to do this, and as he helped me so much----

GREGERS. Did he?

HJALMAR. Yes, of course; you know he did. Where should I have got the
means to learn photography, to set up a studio, and make a start? That
costs money, you know.

GREGERS. And father paid for all this?

HJALMAR. Yes, dear friend, didn’t you know? I understood him to say he
had written to you about it.

GREGERS. Not a word of what he had done. He must have forgotten it.
We’ve only exchanged business letters with one another. So it was
father?

HJALMAR. Yes, sure enough. He never wished people to know about it,
but it was he. And it was he, too, who made it possible for me to get
married. But perhaps you don’t know about that either?

GREGERS. No, I certainly did not (_shakes his arm_). My dear, Hjalmar,
I can’t tell you how happy all this makes me--and how it pains me.
Perhaps, after all, I have wronged father--in certain things. For this
shews he has a heart, you see. It shews a kind of conscience.

HJALMAR. Conscience!

GREGERS. Yes, yes, or whatever you like to call it. No, I have no
words to tell you how glad I am to hear this of father. And so you are
married, Hjalmar. That’s more than I shall ever manage. Well, I hope
you are happy in your marriage?

HJALMAR. Yes, I am indeed. She is as bright and brave a woman as man
could desire. And she is not quite without education, either.

GREGERS (_slightly astonished_). No, of course not.

HJALMAR. No. Life is an education, you see. Then the daily intercourse
with me--and then there are some gifted men who often come to see us, I
assure you. You wouldn’t know Gina again.

GREGERS. Gina?

HJALMAR. Yes, dear friend. Didn’t you remember her name was Gina?

GREGERS. Her name was Gina? Why, I know nothing----

HJALMAR. But don’t you remember she was in service here for a time?

GREGERS (_looking at him_). Is it Gina Hansen?

HJALMAR. Yes, of course it’s Gina Hansen.

GREGERS. Who looked after the house during the last year that mother
lay ill?

HJALMAR. Certainly that is so. But, dear friend, I’m quite certain your
father wrote you I had got married.

GREGERS (_who has risen_). Yes, he certainly did, but not that--(_walks
up and down_). Yet--wait a moment--perhaps he did--now I come to think
of it. But father always writes me such short letters. (_Half seating
himself on the arm of the chair._) Now tell me, Hjalmar--for this is
too delightful--how did you get to know Gina--to know your wife?

HJALMAR. Very simply. Gina didn’t stop here long, for there was so much
confusion here at that time--your mother’s illness--Gina could not see
to everything, so she gave notice and left. That was a year before your
mother’s death--or maybe the same year.

GREGERS. It was the same year, and I was up at the Works at the time.
And then afterwards----

HJALMAR. Well, Gina lived at home with her mother, a Mrs. Hansen--a
very worthy and hard-working woman, who kept a small eating-house. And
she had a room to let, too, a very pretty, comfortable room.

GREGERS. And you were probably delighted to take it?

HJALMAR. Yes, indeed; it was your father who suggested it to me. And
there, you see--there I really got to know Gina.

GREGERS. And so you got engaged?

HJALMAR. Yes. Young folk soon get to care for one another--h’m----

GREGERS (_rises and walks up and down_). Tell me--when you got
engaged--was it then that father--I mean--was it then that you began to
take up photography?

HJALMAR. Exactly, for I was anxious to settle down as soon as possible.
And so both your father and I thought photography would be the
likeliest thing, and Gina thought so, too. And there was a reason for
that, you see, it fitted in so well, as Gina had learnt to retouch.

GREGERS. That fitted in most remarkably.

HJALMAR (_delighted, rising_). Yes, didn’t it? Don’t you think it
fitted in remarkably?

GREGERS. Yes, I must confess it did. Father seems to have been almost a
sort of Providence to you.

HJALMAR (_moved_). He did not forsake the son of his old friend in his
hour of need, for he has a heart, you see.

  _Enter_ MRS. SORBY _leaning on the arm of_ MR. WERLE.

MRS. SORBY. No nonsense, dear Mr. Werle; you mustn’t stop in there any
longer staring up at the lights. It is not good for you.

WERLE (_dropping her arm and passing his hands over his eyes_). I
almost think you are right!

  PETTERSEN _and the Hired Waiter_ JENSEN _enter with trays_.

MRS. SORBY (_to the guests in the other room_). This way, please,
gentlemen. Anyone who wants a glass of punch must come here for it.

  _Enter the_ FAT GENTLEMAN.

FAT GENTLEMAN (_coming up to_ MRS. SORBY). But, good Heavens! is it
true that you have abolished our blessed liberty to smoke?

MRS SORBY. Yes, in Mr. Werle’s domain, it is prohibited, Chamberlain.

THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN. Since when have you promulgated these stringent
articles of cigar-law, Mrs. Sorby?

MRS SORBY. Since our last dinner, Chamberlain, for then we had certain
persons here who went too far.

THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN. And you would not permit a slight overstepping
of the bounds, Mrs. Bertha? Really not?

MRS SORBY. In no respect, Chamberlain Balle.

  _Most of the guests have come into_ MR. WERLE’S _room. The waiters
      take round glasses of punch._

WERLE (_to_ HJALMAR, _going up to the table_). What are you poring over
there, Ekdal?

HJALMAR. Only an album, Mr. Werle.

THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN (_who is walking about_). Aha! Photographs! Yes,
that’s something in your line.

FAT GENTLEMAN (_in an arm-chair_). Haven’t you brought along any of
your own?

HJALMAR. No, I’ve not.

FAT GENTLEMAN. You should have. It is so good for the digestion to sit
and look at pictures.

THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN. And, besides, it contributes towards
entertaining people, don’t you know.

SHORT-SIGHTED GENTLEMAN. And all contributions are thankfully received.

MRS. SORBY. The Chamberlains mean, that when you’re asked to dinner,
you must do something for your meal, Mr. Ekdal.

FAT GENTLEMAN. Where one dines so well, that is simply a pleasure.

THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN. Good heavens! when it’s a question of a struggle
for life----

MRS. SORBY. There you are right.

  _They continue the conversation amid laughter and joking._

GREGERS (_in a low voice_). You must join us, Hjalmar.

HJALMAR (_shrinking_). How should I join in?

FAT GENTLEMAN. Don’t you think, Mr. Werle, that Tokay may be considered
a comparatively wholesome drink for the stomach?

WERLE (_by the fireplace_). I can answer for the Tokay you’ve had
to-day, anyhow, for it is one of the very best vintages. You noticed
it, no doubt.

FAT GENTLEMAN. Yes, it tastes remarkably delicate.

HJALMAR (_hesitatingly_). Is there any difference then in the vintages?

FAT GENTLEMAN (_laughing_). Oh, that is good!

WERLE (_smiling_). It is hardly worth while giving you a fine wine.

THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN. It’s the same with Tokay as with photographs,
Mr. Ekdal. There must be sunshine. Is it not so?

HJALMAR. Yes, light has a great deal to do with it.

MRS. SORBY. Why, that’s exactly as it is with chamberlains, for they,
too, greatly need sunshine, people say.

THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN. Oh, oh! that’s a very stale sarcasm.

SHORT-SIGHTED GENTLEMAN. Mrs. Sorby’s coming out.

FAT GENTLEMAN. And at our expense. (_Threatening._) Madam Bertha, Madam
Bertha!

MRS. SORBY. Yes, but it is indisputably true that vintages may be
vastly different. The old ones are the finest.

SHORT-SIGHTED GENTLEMAN. Do you reckon me among the old ones?

MRS. SORBY. Oh, far from it!

THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN. There now! But me, sweet Mrs. Sorby.

FAT GENTLEMAN. Yes, and me! In what vintage do you reckon us?

MRS. SORBY. I reckon you among the sweet vintages, gentlemen.

  _She sips a glass of punch. The chamberlains laugh and joke with her._

WERLE. Mrs. Sorby can always find a loophole when she wants. Help
yourselves to glasses, gentlemen! Pettersen, see to it! Gregers, I
think we’ll take a glass together. (GREGERS _does not move_.) Won’t you
make one of us, Ekdal? I found no opportunity of drinking with you at
table.

  _The book-keeper_, GRABERG, _looks in through the baize door_.

GRABERG. Beg pardon, sir, but I can’t get out.

WERLE. Why, have you got locked in again?

GRABERG. Yes, and Flagsted has gone off with the keys.

WERLE. Well, you can pass through here, then.

GRABERG. But there’s someone else.

WERLE. Come on, come on, both of you. Don’t mind us.

  GRABERG _and old_ EKDAL _come out from the office_.

WERLE (_involuntarily_). Ah! Phew!

  _The laughter and chatter of the guests cease._ HJALMAR _starts at
      the sight of his father; he puts down his glass and turns to the
      fireplace._

EKDAL (_he does not look up, but makes little bows to both sides as
he goes out and mutters_). Beg pardon. Have come the wrong way. Door
locked. Door locked. Beg pardon.

  _He and_ GRABERG _go out at the back, right_.

WERLE (_between his teeth_). Confound Graberg!

GREGERS (_with open mouth and staring eyes to_ HJALMAR). Surely that
can not have been.

FAT GENTLEMAN. What was that? Who was it?

GREGERS. Oh, nobody, only the book-keeper and someone else.

SHORT-SIGHTED GENTLEMAN (_to_ HJALMAR). Did you know the man?

HJALMAR. I don’t know; I don’t notice----

FAT GENTLEMAN (_getting up_). What the deuce is in the wind? (_He goes
to the others who are talking in a low voice._)

MRS. SORBY (_whispering to the servant_). Give him something
outside--something really good.

PETTERSEN (_nodding_). All right.

  _He goes out._

GREGERS. (_In a low and shaken voice to_ HJALMAR). So it was really he?

HJALMAR. Yes.

GREGERS. And yet you stood there and denied you knew him?

HJALMAR (_whispering passionately_). But how could I----

GREGERS. Acknowledge your father?

HJALMAR (_pained_). Ah, if you were in my place----

  _The conversation of the guests, which had been carried on in a low
      tone, now becomes strainedly noisy._

THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN (_coming up to_ HJALMAR _and_ GREGERS _in a
friendly manner_). Aha! Are you standing here renewing old memories of
student years? Eh? Won’t you smoke, Mr. Ekdal? Do you want a light? Ah,
it’s true, we mustn’t----

HJALMAR. Thank you. I should not have----

FAT GENTLEMAN. Haven’t you some nice little poems to recite to us, Mr.
Ekdal? You used to do that so charmingly.

HJALMAR. Unfortunately, I can’t remember anything.

FAT GENTLEMAN. Ah, that’s a pity. What shall we do, Balle?

  _Both gentlemen cross the room, and go into the other room._

HJALMAR (_gloomily_). Gregers, I’m going. You see, when a man has felt
the crushing blows of fate upon his head---- Bid your father good-bye
for me.

GREGERS. Yes, yes. Are you going straight home?

HJALMAR. Yes, why?

GREGERS. Because, perhaps, I’ll look in on you later.

HJALMAR. No, you mustn’t do that. Not at my home. My house is dreary,
Gregers, especially after such a brilliant festivity as this. We can
always meet somewhere outside in the town.

MRS. SORBY (_who has come up, in a low voice_). Are you going, Ekdal?

HJALMAR. Yes.

MRS. SORBY. Remember me to Gina.

HJALMAR. Thanks.

MRS. SORBY. And tell her that I shall look her up one of these days.

HJALMAR. Oh, thanks. (_To_ GREGERS.) Stop here. I want to slip out
unobserved.

  _He crosses the room, passes into the other room, and goes out,
      right._

MRS. SORBY (_aside to the servant, who has returned_). Well, did you
give the old man something?

PETTERSEN. Yes, I did. I gave him a bottle of brandy.

MRS. SORBY. Oh, you might have found him something better than that.

PETTERSEN. No, I couldn’t, Mrs. Sorby. Brandy’s the best thing for him.

FAT GENTLEMAN (_by the door, with a volume of music in his hand_).
Shall we play something together, Mrs. Sorby?

MRS. SORBY. Certainly--let us.

GUESTS. Bravo, bravo!

  _She and all the_ GUESTS _pass out of the room, right_. GREGERS
      _remains standing by the fire-place_. MR. WERLE _looks for
      something on the writing-table and seems to wish_ GREGERS _to go.
      As the latter does not move_, MR. WERLE _goes towards entrance
      door_.

GREGERS. Father, won’t you wait a moment?

WERLE (_stopping_). What is it?

GREGERS. I must have a word with you.

WERLE. Can’t it wait till we’re alone?

GREGERS. No, it can not, for it may be we never shall be alone.

WERLE (_coming nearer_). What does that mean?

  _During the following conversation the playing of a piano is heard
      from the music-room._

GREGERS. How could that family be allowed to come to such a wretched
pass?

WERLE. Probably, you mean the Ekdals? I understand.

GREGERS. Yes, I mean the Ekdals. Yet Lieutenant Ekdal was very near to
you once.

WERLE. Unfortunately, he was; he was only too near to me. I felt it and
suffered from it many a year. It is him I have to thank that a sort of
stain blurred my own good name and fame--yes, mine!

GREGERS (_in a low voice_). Was he really the only guilty one?

WERLE. Who else do you suppose----

GREGERS. He and you were partners in that big forest business.

WERLE. But wasn’t it Ekdal who drew up the map of the forest--that
falsified map? It was he who carried out the illegal felling of trees
on the government lands. Why, it was he who managed the whole business
up there. I had no idea of what Lieutenant Ekdal was undertaking.

GREGERS. Lieutenant Ekdal himself did not know what he had undertaken.

WERLE. Maybe, but the fact remains that he was sentenced and I was
acquitted.

GREGERS. Yes, I know. Proofs were wanting.

WERLE. Acquittal is acquittal. But why rake up all this unfortunate
business that turned my hair grey before its time? Have you been
brooding over this all these years up at the Works? I can assure you,
Gregers, here in town, the story has long been forgotten, as far as I
am concerned.

GREGERS. But the unfortunate Ekdals?

WERLE. Now, really, what would you have had me do for these people?
When Ekdal came out he was a broken man, absolutely helpless. There are
men on earth who sink to the bottom if they get a few shots in them and
who never come to the surface again. You may take my word, Gregers, I
went as far as I could without exposing myself, and giving color to all
sorts of suspicions and gossip.

GREGERS. Suspicions--I see!

WERLE. I’ve given Ekdal copying to do for the office, and I pay ever so
much more for it than the work is worth.

GREGERS (_without looking at him_). H’m! I do not doubt that.

WERLE. You laugh. Don’t you believe what I say? It is true there’s
nothing of all this in my books, for there are certain expenses I never
enter.

GREGERS (_smiling coldly_). No, there are certain expenses which it is
best not to enter.

WERLE (_starting_). What do you mean?

GREGERS (_with forced calm_). Have you entered what it cost you to let
Hjalmar Ekdal learn photography?

WERLE. I? Entered what?

GREGERS. I know now that it was you who paid for that. And I know, too,
that it was you who so generously helped him to make a start.

WERLE. Well, and yet you say I’ve done nothing for the Ekdals! I can
assure you, in all conscience, these people have cost me quite enough.

GREGERS. Have you entered any of these expenses?

WERLE. Why do you ask?

GREGERS. Oh, I have my reasons. Listen. At the time when you interested
yourself so warmly in the son of your old friend, was that not the very
time when he was to get married?

WERLE. How the devil, after so many years, can I remember?

GREGERS. At that time you wrote me a letter--a business letter, of
course--and in a postscript you briefly said that Hjalmar Ekdal had
married a Miss Hansen.

WERLE. Well, that was right enough--that was her name.

GREGERS. But you did not write that the Miss Hansen was Gina Hansen,
our former housekeeper.

WERLE (_laughs sarcastically but somewhat constrainedly_). No, it
really never occurred to me that you were so deeply interested in our
former housekeeper.

GREGERS. Nor was I. But (_in a lower voice_) there was another here in
the house who was deeply interested in her.

WERLE. What do you mean (_angrily to him_)? I suppose you are alluding
to me?

GREGERS (_in a low but firm tone_). Yes, I allude to you.

WERLE. And you dare? You permit yourself to? How can he, that
ungrateful wretch, the photographer? How dare he presume to make such
insinuations?

GREGERS. Hjalmar has not referred to all this by a single word. I don’t
believe he so much as suspects anything of it.

WERLE. Whom have you had it from then? Who can have said such a thing?

GREGERS. My poor, unhappy mother said so. And that was the last time I
saw her.

WERLE. Your mother? I might have known it. She and you--you always held
together. It was she who from the first turned you against me.

GREGERS. No--it was all she had to bear and to suffer, until her heart
was broken, and the miserable end came.

WERLE. Oh, she hadn’t so much to bear and suffer--not more at any
rate, than so many others! But there is no getting on with morbid,
overstrained people. As I know to my cost. And so you have gone about
nourishing such suspicions, gone poking into all sorts of old rumors
and calumnies against your own father. Look here, Gregers. I really
think that at your age you might find something better to do.

GREGERS. Yes, it is time I did.

WERLE. Then perhaps you would take things more easily than you seem to
now. What can be the good of your stopping up there at the Works year
out, year in, worrying yourself as a mere clerk, and refusing to take a
shilling more than the usual monthly salary? It’s simple folly of you.

GREGERS. Yes, if I could be quite certain that----

WERLE. I understand you well enough. You want to be independent, to
owe nothing to me. But now there is an opening for you to become
independent, and absolutely your own master.

GREGERS. Indeed, how?

WERLE. When I wrote you it was necessary you should come to town
immediately--h’m----

GREGERS. Yes, what did you really want me for? I’ve been waiting all
day to find out.

WERLE. I wished to propose your having a share in the firm.

GREGERS. I? Enter the firm? As partner?

WERLE. Yes. It will not necessitate our being constantly together. You
might take over the business here, and then I’d move up to the Works.

GREGERS. _You_ would?

WERLE. Yes, for you see I’m not so fit for work as I used to be. I must
be careful of my eyes, Gregers, for they are becoming rather weak.

GREGERS. They always were.

WERLE. Not so weak as now. And then besides--circumstances might
perhaps make it desirable I should live up there--at any rate, for a
time.

GREGERS. I should never have believed that.

WERLE. See here, Gregers, there are many things that stand between us.
But when all’s said and done--we are father and son. It seems to me we
ought to be able to come to some sort of an understanding.

GREGERS. You mean outwardly, of course.

WERLE. Well, even that would be something. Think it over, Gregers.
Don’t you believe that it could be managed? Eh?

GREGERS (_looking at him coldly_). There is something behind all this!

WERLE. How so?

GREGERS. There must be something you want to use me for.

WERLE. In so close a relation as ours, the one can always be of use to
the other.

GREGERS. So they say.

WERLE. I would gladly have you at home with me now for a time. I am a
lonely man, Gregers--always have felt lonely all my life through--but
most now that I am beginning to grow old. I long to have some one about
me----

GREGERS. Well, you have Mrs. Sorby----

WERLE. Yes, I have, and she has, so to say, become almost indispensable
to me. She is bright and even-tempered, she cheers up the house--and I
need that so sorely.

GREGERS. Very well. Then you’ve already got all you want.

WERLE. Yes, but I’m afraid things can’t go on so. A woman in such
circumstances soon finds herself in an equivocal position in the eyes
of the world. And I had almost said that it doesn’t do a man any good
either.

GREGERS. Oh, when a man gives such dinners as you do he can risk a good
deal.

WERLE. Yes, but _she_, Gregers? I’m afraid she will not put up with it
much longer. And even if she would--even if she were willing, out of
devotion to me, to expose herself to the gossip and scandal, and all
that--don’t you think, Gregers, you, with your intensely strong sense
of justice----

GREGERS (_interrupting_). Just tell me one thing straight out. Are you
thinking of marrying her?

WERLE. And if I were thinking of such a thing, what then?

GREGERS. I say so, too. What then?

WERLE. Would you set yourself absolutely against it?

GREGERS. No, certainly not; not in any way.

WERLE. For I did not know whether, from love for your dead mother’s
memory----

GREGERS. I am not overstrained.

WERLE. Well, whatever you may or may not be, you have lifted a heavy
weight from my heart. I am so exceedingly glad that I may count upon
your approval in this matter.

GREGERS (_looking fixedly at him_). Now I know you mean to use me.

WERLE. Use you? What an expression!

GREGERS. Ah, don’t let us be nice in our choice of words--not when we
are alone, at any rate. (_Laughs shortly._) So that’s it! So that was
why--curse it!---- I must come to town in person. For the benefit of
Mrs. Sorby, a scene of family life is to be arranged here. Tableau of
father and son! That would be something new!

WERLE. How dare you speak in that tone?

GREGERS. When was there any family life here? Not as long as I can
remember. But _now_ a little of that sort of thing may come in useful.
For it would look uncommonly well to have people talking of the son
hurrying hither--on the wings of filial piety--to his old father’s
wedding feast. What then becomes of all the rumors of the poor dead
mother’s sorrows and suffering? Nothing! Her son hurls them to the
earth.

WERLE. Gregers, I don’t believe there is a man on earth you dislike as
you do me.

GREGERS (_in a low voice_). I have seen you too closely!

WERLE. You have seen me through your mother’s eyes. (_Slightly lowering
his voice._) But you should bear in mind that her eyes were--dimmed at
times.

GREGERS (_shuddering_). I understand what you mean. But who was to
blame for mother’s unhappy weakness? It was you and all these---- The
last of them was that woman who was foisted upon Hjalmar Ekdal, when
you no longer--oh!----

WERLE (_shrugging his shoulders_). Word for word as if I heard your
mother!

GREGERS (_without noticing him_). And there he is now with his great,
unsuspecting child-mind, in the midst of deception--lives under the
same roof with such a woman, and does not know that what he calls home
is built upon a lie. (_He comes up closer._) When I look back upon all
you have done, I seem to be looking over a battlefield, with ruined
human lives everywhere.

WERLE. I almost believe the gulf between us is too great----

GREGERS (_bowing with forced self-command_). I have observed it, and so
I’ll take my hat and go.

WERLE. Go! Leave the house?

GREGERS. Yes. For now at last I have found a mission to live for.

WERLE. What mission may that be?

GREGERS. You would only laugh if I told you.

WERLE. A lonely man does not laugh so easily, Gregers.

GREGERS (_pointing to the room in the background_). See, father--the
Chamberlains are playing Blind Man’s Buff with Mrs. Sorby. Good
night--and good-bye.

  _He goes out at the back, right. The laughter and merriment of the_
      GUESTS _are heard in the outer room_.

WERLE (_murmurs scornfully as_ GREGERS _goes out_). Ha! Poor wretch!
And yet he says he is not overstrained!




ACT II.


  [HJALMAR EKDAL’S _studio. The room is fairly large: it is evidently
      at the top of the house. To the right a slanting roof with large
      panes of glass, half covered by a blue curtain. In a corner, to
      the right of the stage, is the entrance-door; lower down, on the
      same side, a door leading to the sitting-room. At the back to
      the left, there are also two doors, an iron stove between them.
      In the wall at the back there is a wide sliding door, which can
      be pushed aside. The studio is plainly, but comfortably arranged
      and furnished. Between the doors on the right, a little away from
      the wall, there is a sofa, with a table and a few chairs; on the
      table a lamp with a shade, by the stove an old arm-chair. All
      sorts of photographic apparatus and instruments are distributed
      about the room. In the back wall to the left of the sliding
      door is a book case, with a few books, boxes, and bottles of
      chemicals, instruments, tools, etc. Photographs and odds and
      ends, such as camel-hair brushes, paper, and the like, lie on the
      table._]

  GINA EKDAL _is sitting on a chair by the table, sewing_. HEDVIG _is
      sitting on the sofa, her hands shading her eyes, and her thumbs
      in her ears, reading a book_.

GINA (_looks at her several times, as if with suppressed anxiety; then
she says_): Hedvig! (HEDVIG _does not hear her and_ GINA _says in a
louder tone_): Hedvig!

HEDVIG (_moving her hands and looking up_). Yes, mother.

GINA. Dear Hedvig, you mustn’t sit reading there any longer.

HEDVIG. Oh, but my mother, mayn’t I read a little longer? Just a little
bit?

GINA. No, no; you must put the book away now. Your father doesn’t like
it. He never reads himself of an evening.

HEDVIG (_shutting the door_). No, father doesn’t bother much about
reading.

GINA (_putting down her work and taking up a pencil and small note book
from the table_). Can you remember how much the butter came to to-day?

HEDVIG. One krone and sixty-five ore.

GINA. That’s right. (_Entering it._) It’s awful the amount of butter
we get through here. And then there was the smoked sausage and cheese.
Let me see--(_writing_) and then there was the ham--h’m! (_Reckoning it
up._) Yes, it makes just----

HEDVIG. And then there’s the beer.

GINA. Yes, of course. (_Writing._) It does run up--but it can’t be
helped.

HEDVIG. But then we didn’t want a hot dinner, as father was out.

GINA. No, luckily. And then besides I took eight crowns, fifty ore for
the photographs.

HEDVIG. Fancy! So much as that?

GINA. Exactly eight crowns, fifty ore.

  _A pause._ GINA _takes up her work_. HEDVIG _takes up paper and
      pencil and begins drawing something, shading her eyes with her
      left hand_.

HEDVIG. Isn’t it funny to think of father having a grand dinner at Mr.
Werle’s?

GINA. You can’t say he’s dining with Mr. Werle. You know it was his son
who invited him. (_Quickly._) We’ve nothing to do with Mr. Werle.

HEDVIG. I’m looking forward so to father coming home. For he promised
he’d ask Mrs. Sorby for something nice for me.

GINA. Yes, you may be sure there are plenty of good things in that
house.

HEDVIG (_going on drawing_). And I’m just a little bit hungry, too.

  OLD EKDAL, _with a parcel of papers under his arm, and another in his
      coat-pocket, comes in through the entrance-door_.

GINA. How late grandfather is to-day.

EKDAL. They’d locked the office. Had to wait with Graberg. And then
they let me pass out. H’m!

HEDVIG. Did they give you anything more to copy, grandfather?

EKDAL. All this lot. Look!

GINA. That is good.

HEDVIG. And you’ve a parcel in your pocket too.

EKDAL. Oh, nonsense, that’s nothing! (_Puts his stick in the corner._)
This’ll find me in work for a long time, this will, Gina. (_Pushing the
one-half of the door in the back a little aside._) Hush! (_He looks
into the room for a moment, and carefully pushes the other side of the
door back._) He! he! They’re all asleep together in a bunch. And even
she’s got into the basket. He! he!

HEDVIG. Are you quite sure she’s not cold in the basket, grandfather?

EKDAL. What an idea? Cold? With all that straw? (_Goes to the further
door left._) I suppose I shall find matches?

GINA. The matches are on the chest of drawers.

  EKDAL _goes into the room_.

HEDVIG. It is a good thing grandfather’s got all that copying to do!

GINA. Yes, poor old father: so he’ll make a little pocket-money for
himself.

HEDVIG. And so he can’t spend all the morning down there at that horrid
Mrs. Ericksen’s restaurant.

GINA. That is true, too.

  _A short pause._

HEDVIG. Do you think they are still at table?

GINA. Goodness knows, but it’s likely enough.

HEDVIG. Just fancy all the delicious things father’ll have for dinner!
I’m sure he’ll be in good spirits and cheerful when he comes back.
Don’t you think he will, mother?

GINA. Yes; but if we could only tell him we’d let the room.

HEDVIG. But there’s no need to do that to-night.

GINA. Oh, it’ll come in well enough, my dear. And it’s no good to us.

HEDVIG. No, I mean we don’t need it to-night, because father’ll be in
good spirits anyhow. We’d better save up the room for another time.

GINA (_looking across at her_). Are you glad to have something pleasant
to tell father, when he comes home of an evening?

HEDVIG. Yes, for then he’s much more cheerful.

GINA (_absently to herself_). Oh, yes, there’s something in that.

  OLD EKDAL _comes in again, and is going out by the lower door, left_.

GINA (_half turning round on her chair_). Do you want anything in the
kitchen, grandfather?

EKDAL. I do; yes. Sit still.

  _Goes out._

GINA. Surely he’s not raking about in the glowing embers? (_Waiting a
moment._) Hedvig, just see what he’s after.

  EKDAL _comes in again with a small jug of steaming water_.

HEDVIG. Have you been getting warm water, grandfather?

EKDAL. Yes, I have. Want it for something I’ve got to write, and the
ink’s as thick as porridge--h’m!

GINA. But, grandfather, you should have supper first. It’s quite ready.

EKDAL. Never mind about supper, Gina. Have lots of work, I tell you. I
won’t have anyone come to my room. No one--h’m!

  _He goes into his room._ GINA _and_ HEDVIG _look at one another_.

GINA (_in a low voice_). Can you imagine where he gets the money from?

HEDVIG. No doubt he’s got it from Graberg.

GINA. Oh, no! Graberg always sends the money to me.

HEDVIG. Then he must have got a bottle on trust somewhere.

GINA. Poor old grandfather! It’s a long while since anyone’d trust
him with anything. (HJALMAR EKDAL _enters, right, in a top coat and
grey felt hat. Throwing down her work and getting up._) Well, I never,
Ekdal, you here already?

HEDVIG (_jumping up at the same time_). Fancy! You here so soon, father?

HJALMAR (_putting down his hat_). Yes; most of them were leaving.

HEDVIG. So early?

HJALMAR. Yes, it was a dinner-party. (_About to take off his top coat._)

GINA. Let me help you.

HEDVIG. And me, too.

  _They help him off with his coat._ GINA _hangs it up on the wall at
      back_.

HEDVIG. Were there many people there, father?

HJALMAR. Oh, no, not many. There were twelve or fourteen of us at table.

GINA. And I suppose you chatted with all of them?

HJALMAR. Oh, yes, a little. But it was Gregers who especially
monopolized me.

GINA. And is Gregers as ugly as ever?

HJALMAR. Well, he’s not exactly good-looking yet. Hasn’t the old man
come home yet?

HEDVIG. Yes, grandfather’s in there writing.

HJALMAR. Did he say anything?

GINA. No. What should he say?

HJALMAR. Didn’t he say anything about--I thought I heard he’d been to
Graberg’s. I’ll just go in to him a moment.

GINA. No, no, you’d better not.

HJALMAR. Why not? Did he say he wouldn’t have me in there?

GINA. He won’t have anyone in this evening.

HEDVIG (_making signs_). H’m! h’m!

GINA (_not seeing her_). He’s been in here, and got warm water.

HJALMAR. Aha! He’s sitting in there?

GINA. Yes, that’s so.

HJALMAR. Good Heavens! My poor, white-haired old father?--Yes, just let
him alone for once and enjoy himself.

  _Old_ EKDAL _in an old coat, and with a lighted pipe, enters from his
      room_.

EKDAL. Got home? I thought I heard you chattering.

HJALMAR. I’ve just come in.

EKDAL. So you didn’t see me? You didn’t?

HJALMAR. No, but they said you’d passed through the room--and so I came
after you.

EKDAL. H’m! Very good of you, Hjalmar. What sort of people were they?

HJALMAR. Oh, all sorts of people. There was Chamberlain Flor, and
Chamberlain Balle, and Chamberlain Kasperson--and Chamberlain--so and
so--I don’t know.

EKDAL (_nodding_). Listen to _that_, Gina. He’s been with nothing but
Chamberlains.

GINA. Yes, they are awfully grand up at the house now.

HEDVIG. Did the Chamberlains sing, father, or did they recite something?

HJALMAR. No, they only chatted. They wanted me to recite--but I
wouldn’t.

EKDAL. You wouldn’t?

GINA. But surely you might have done that.

HJALMAR. No, one can’t provide entertainment for everybody. (_Walking
up and down._) At any rate, I can’t.

EKDAL. No, no, Hjalmar’s not to be got so easily.

HJALMAR. I really don’t see why I should provide entertainment, when I
once in a way happen to go out. Let others do it. Here are these fine
folk dining in grand houses day out, day in. Let them be thankful and
amiable for all the good meals they get.

GINA. But surely you didn’t say that!

HJALMAR (_humming_). Ha! ha! ha! They had put up all sorts of things.

EKDAL. Even the Chamberlains?

HJALMAR. They didn’t get off scot-free. (_Lightly._) Then we had a
little discussion as to Tokay.

EKDAL. Tokay? You? That’s a fine wine, that is.

HJALMAR (_standing still suddenly_). It _may_ be fine, but I may tell
you all vintages are not equally good. It depends upon the amount of
sunshine the vine has had.

GINA. Why, you really know everything, Ekdal.

EKDAL. And there was a discussion about that?

HJALMAR. They wanted to prove that; but then it was proved to them that
it was exactly the same with Chamberlains. With them too, all vintages
were not equally good--so some one said.

GINA. No! What things you do think of?

EKDAL. He, he! And they had to put that in their pipes and smoke it?

HJALMAR. They had it straight to their faces.

EKDAL. Fancy, Gina, he said that straight to the Chamberlain’s faces.

GINA. Only think, straight to their faces.

HJALMAR. Yes, but I don’t wish it talked about. One doesn’t repeat such
things. Besides, of course it all passed off quite good-naturedly. Why,
they were nice, pleasant people why should I wound them? No!

EKDAL. But straight to their faces----

HEDVIG (_coaxingly_). How nice it is to see you in a dress-coat. You
look so well in a dress-coat, father.

HJALMAR. Yes, don’t you think so? And this one really sits faultlessly.
It fits almost as if it had been made for me--a little tight in the
arm-pits, perhaps. Help me, Hedvig. (_Takes off the coat._) I’d rather
put on my jacket. Where is my jacket, Gina?

GINA. Here it is. (_She fetches the jacket and helps him on with it._)

HJALMAR. That’s it. Be sure and remember to let Molvik have the
dress-coat the first thing in the morning.

GINA (_putting it down_). I’ll see to it.

HJALMAR (_stretching himself_). Ah! After all, this is more
comfortable. And, besides, this sort of loose, free, home-dress suits
my whole style better. Don’t you think so, Hedvig?

HEDVIG. Yes, father.

HJALMAR. When I tie my necktie like this, with loose ends, see, eh?

HEDVIG. Yes, that looks very well with the moustache and the thick
curly hair.

HJALMAR. One can’t call it exactly curly hair. I should rather say wavy.

HEDVIG. Yes, for it’s in such great curls.

HJALMAR. Waves!

HEDVIG (_a little after, pulling his jacket_). Father!

HJALMAR. Well, what is it?

HEDVIG. Oh, you know well enough what it is.

HJALMAR. No, I really don’t.

HEDVIG (_laughing and pouting_). Oh, you do, father. Now you mustn’t
tease me any more.

HJALMAR. But what is it?

HEDVIG (_shaking him_). Oh, nonsense. Now out with it, father. You know
all the good things you promised me.

HJALMAR. Ah! and to think I should have forgotten it!

HEDVIG. No, you only want to tease me, father! Oh, it’s too bad of you.
Where’ve you put them?

HJALMAR. Well, I’ve not quite forgotten. But wait a moment! I’ve got
something else for you, Hedvig. (_Goes and searches in the pockets of
his coat._)

HEDVIG (_jumping and clapping her hands_). Oh, mother, mother!

GINA. You see, if you’ll only wait----

HJALMAR (_with a paper_). See, here we have it.

HEDVIG. That? Why, that’s only a piece of paper.

HJALMAR. That’s the bill of fare; the whole bill of fare. Here is
written “Menu;” that means bill of fare.

HEDVIG. Haven’t you got anything else?

HJALMAR. I’ve forgotten the rest, I tell you. But you may take my word
for it, these dainties are not very satisfying. Sit down there by the
table and read out the list, and I’ll describe the dishes to you. See
here, Hedvig.

HEDVIG (_choking back her tears_). Thanks. (_She sits down, but does
not read._ GINA _makes signs to her_; HJALMAR _notices it_.)

HJALMAR (_walking up and down_). It is really most extraordinary what
things the bread-winner of a family is expected to remember, and if
he forgets the least of them--he’s sure to be treated to black looks.
Well, one gets used to that, too. (_Stops near the stove, by the old
man._) Have you peeped in there this evening, father?

EKDAL. Yes, you may be sure I did. She’s got into the basket.

HJALMAR. No! _She’s_ gone into the basket? She’s beginning to get used
to it.

EKDAL. Yes, that’s what I always said she would. But now, you see,
there are a few little things----

HJALMAR. Some improvements--yes.

EKDAL. But they must be made, you know.

HJALMAR. Yes, let’s have a little chat about the improvements, father.
Come here, let’s sit on the sofa.

EKDAL. All right. H’m--think I’ll fill my pipe first--and must clean
it. H’m! (_He goes into his room._)

GINA (_smiling at_ HJALMAR). Clean his pipe, too!

HJALMAR. Ah, well! Gina, let him alone. My poor shipwrecked father!
Yes--the improvements--we’d best set about them to-morrow.

GINA. You’ll not have any time to-morrow, Ekdal----

HEDVIG (_interrupting_). Oh, yes, he will, mother.

GINA. Remember those copies that have to be touched up; they’ve sent
here now so many times for them.

HJALMAR. Really? So now it’s the copies again! They’ll be ready soon
enough. Have there been any fresh orders?

GINA. No, worse luck, to-morrow I’ve nothing but the two portraits you
know of.

HJALMAR. Nothing else? Oh, no, when one makes no effort----

GINA. But what am I to do? I put in all the advertisements I can
afford, I’m sure.

HJALMAR. Yes, advertisements, advertisements. You see how much good
they are. And so, I suppose, no one’s been after this room, either?

GINA. No, not yet.

HJALMAR. That was to be expected. When one makes no effort to---- One
really must pull oneself together, Gina.

HEDVIG (_going up to him_). Shall I fetch your flute, father?

HJALMAR. No, no flute. I ask no pleasures here on earth. (_Walking up
and down._) Yes, yes, I’ll work hard to-morrow, there shall be no lack
of that. I’ll work as long as my strength holds out----

GINA. But, dear good Ekdal, I didn’t mean it in _that_ way.

HEDVIG. Father, shall I bring in a bottle of beer?

HJALMAR. No, nothing at all. I want nothing for myself. (_Standing
still._) Beer?--was it beer you said?

HEDVIG (_brightly_). Yes, father; lovely, fresh beer.

HJALMAR. Well, if you _will_ insist, you may as well bring in a bottle.

GINA. Yes, do, and then we’ll make ourselves comfortable.

  HEDVIG _runs towards the kitchen door_.

HJALMAR (_by the stove; stops her, looks at her, takes her head, and
presses her to him_). Hedvig! Hedvig!

HEDVIG (_gladly, with tears in her eyes_). Ah! Dear father!

HJALMAR. No, do not call me that! There have I been sitting at the rich
man’s table and taking thought for myself--there have I sat and reveled
at the groaning board. And yet I could not----

GINA (_sitting by the table_). Oh, nonsense, nonsense, Ekdal.

HJALMAR. Yes! But you must not be too hard upon me. You know that I am
very fond of you, all the same.

HEDVIG (_embracing him_). And we are so immensely fond of you!

HJALMAR. And if now and again I should be unreasonable, bear in mind I
am a man overwhelmed by a host of worries. No! (_Drying his eyes._) No
beer at such a moment! Give me the flute.

  HEDVIG _runs to the book case and fetches it_.

HJALMAR. Thanks. Now then. With the flute in my hand, and you two about
me--ah!

HEDVIG (_sits down at the table near_ GINA; HJALMAR _walks up and down.
Then he begins playing energetically a Bohemian folk-dance, but in
slow, elegiac time, and with sentimental expression. He stops playing
suddenly, holds out his left hand to_ GINA, _and says in a moved
tone_). It may be poor and lowly under this roof, Gina, but it is home.
But I tell you this--it is good to be here.

  _He begins playing again; presently a knock is heard at the
      entrance-door._

GINA (_rising_). Hush, Ekdal!--I think someone’s there.

HJALMAR (_putting the flute into the book case_). There again!

  GINA _goes and opens the door_.

GREGERS (_outside in the passage_). Excuse me----

GINA (_stepping back a little_). Oh!

GREGERS. Does Mr. Ekdal, the photographer, live here?----

GINA. Yes, he does.

HJALMAR (_going to the door_). Gregers! Is it you after all? Well, come
in.

GREGERS (_coming in_). Yes, I told you I’d look you up.

HJALMAR. But to-night?--Have you left the party?

GREGERS. Both the party and my father’s house. Good evening, Mrs.
Ekdal. I don’t know if you recognize me?

GINA. Oh, yes! Young Mr. Werle is not very difficult to recognize.

GREGERS. No--I am like my mother, and, no doubt, you remember her.

HJALMAR. And you have left the house, you say----

GREGERS. Yes, I’ve moved into a hotel.

HJALMAR. Really! Well, as you’ve come, take off your things and sit
down.

GREGERS. Thanks. (_He takes off his overcoat. He has changed into a
simple gray suit of country make._)

HJALMAR. Here, on the sofa. Make yourself at home.

  GREGERS _sits on the sofa_, HJALMAR _on a chair by the table_.

GREGERS (_looking round_). So this is your place, Hjalmar. This is
where you live.

HJALMAR. This is the studio, as you can see----

GINA. But it’s roomy; and so we prefer sitting here.

HJALMAR. We used to have better rooms, but this flat has one great
advantage; there are such capital outer rooms.

GINA. And then we’ve a room on the other side of the passage that we
can let.

GREGERS (_to_ HJALMAR). Really--then you’ve lodgers, too.

HJALMAR. No, not yet. That’s not so easy, you see; one has to keep on
the look out. (_To_ HEDVIG.) But how about that beer, Hedvig.

  HEDVIG _nods and goes into the kitchen_.

GREGERS. So _that_ is your daughter?

HJALMAR. Yes, that’s Hedvig.

GREGERS. And she is your only child?

HJALMAR. She is the only one, yes. She is our greatest joy on earth,
and (_in a lower tone_), she is also our greatest sorrow, Gregers.

GREGERS. What’s that you say?

HJALMAR. Yes; for there is imminent danger of her losing her sight.

GREGERS. Become blind!

HJALMAR. Yes. At present there are only the merest symptoms, and it may
be a long while yet. But the doctor has warned us. It must inevitably
come.

GREGERS. That is a terrible misfortune! How did she get it?----

HJALMAR (_sighing_). It is probably hereditary.

GREGERS (_starting_). Hereditary?

GINA. Ekdal’s mother had weak eyes, too.

HJALMAR. Yes, so father says; I can’t remember her.

GREGERS. Poor child! And how does she take it?

HJALMAR. Ah! you may imagine, we’ve not had the heart to tell her
anything. She has no idea of any danger. Joyous and free from care, and
chirping like a little bird flying away into life’s everlasting night.
(_Overcome._) Ah! that is such a crushing blow for me, Gregers.

  HEDVIG _brings in a tray with beer and glasses, which she places on
      the table_.

HJALMAR (_stroking her head_). Thanks, thanks, Hedvig. (HEDVIG _throws
her arms round his neck and whispers into his ear_.) No. No bread and
butter just now. (_Looks straight in front of him._) Yes, perhaps
Gregers will have a piece.

GREGERS (_with a gesture of refusal_). No, no, thank you.

HJALMAR (_still mournful_). Well, you can bring in a little, all the
same. If you’ve a crust that’d be nice. And mind you, butter it well.

  HEDVIG _nods brightly, and goes into the kitchen again_.

GREGERS (_who has followed her with his eyes_). She looks bright and
well enough though, it seems to me.

GINA. Yes, thank God, there’s nothing else the matter with her.

GREGERS. No doubt she will grow like you in time, Mrs. Ekdal. How old
may she be now?

GINA. Hedvig is exactly fourteen; it’s her birthday the day after
to-morrow.

GREGERS. She’s pretty tall for her age.

GINA. Yes, she has shot up so in the last year.

GREGERS. It is by these young folks that we best see how old we are
ourselves. How long ago is it that you were married?

GINA. Why, we were married in--yes--nearly fifteen years ago.

GREGERS. No, really! Is it so long!

GINA (_becoming attentive, looking at him_). Yes, it is exactly.

HJALMAR. Yes, of course it is. Fifteen years in a few months. (_In
a changed tone._) Those must have been long years for you up at the
Works, Gregers.

GREGERS. They seemed so while I lived them--now, I hardly know how the
time went.

  OLD EKDAL _enters from his room, without his pipe, but wearing his
      old lieutenant’s cap; he walks somewhat unsteadily_.

EKDAL. I say, Hjalmar, now we can sit down and chat about that--h’m.
Whatever was it?

HJALMAR (_going up to him_). Father, here’s somebody. Gregers Werle--I
don’t know if you can remember him.

EKDAL (_looking at_ GREGERS, _who has risen_). Werle? Is that the son,
eh?--What does he want with me?

HJALMAR. Nothing; he has come to see me.

EKDAL. Then nothing’s up?

HJALMAR. No, certainly not.

EKDAL (_swinging his arms_). Not that _I_ care, you know, I’m not
afraid, but----

GREGERS (_going up to him_). I only wanted to bring you a greeting from
the old hunting-grounds, Lieutenant Ekdal.

EKDAL. Hunting-grounds?

GREGERS. Yes, up there round about the Hojdal Works.

EKDAL. Oh? up there? I knew them well once on a time.

GREGERS. At that time you were a great sportsman.

EKDAL. Was so, yes. That may be. You’re looking at my uniform-cap. I
don’t need to get leave to wear it at home. So long as I don’t go out
into the streets in it----

  HEDVIG _brings in a plate of bread and butter, which she puts on the
      table_.

HJALMAR. Come and sit down, father, and have a glass of beer. Come
along, Gregers.

  EKDAL _mutters something, and stumbles to the sofa_. GREGERS _sits
      down on the chair nearest him_. HJALMAR _on the other side of_
      GREGERS. GINA _sits a little way from the table sewing_. HEDVIG
      _stands by her father_.

GREGERS. Can you remember, Lieutenant Ekdal, when Hjalmar and I used to
go up to visit you in the summer and at Christmas?

EKDAL. Did you? No, no, no--I don’t remember that. But I may say I’ve
been a great sportsman, that I have. I’ve shot bears too. Shot nine of
them.

GREGERS (_looking sympathizingly at him_). And now you never get any
hunting.

EKDAL. Oh! Can’t say that, my lad. Get some hunting now and again:
not _that_ sort, of course. For the forest, you see--the forest, the
forest!---- (_Drinking._) Is the forest up there fine now?

GREGERS. Not so fine as in your time. It’s been thinned out
considerably.

EKDAL. Thinned out. (_In a lower tone and anxiously._) That’s a
dangerous game. It has consequences. The forest avenges itself.

HJALMAR (_filling his glass_). Come, father, have a little more.

GREGERS. How can a man like you--such a man for an open-air life, live
in the midst of a choking town, shut up between these four walls?

EKDAL (_smiles slightly and glances at_ HJALMAR). Oh! it’s not so bad
here. Not so bad.

GREGERS. But all that had become part of you? The fresh, blowing
breezes, the free life in the woods and the plains, among the beasts
and birds?

EKDAL (_smiling_). Hjalmar, shall we show it him?

HJALMAR (_quickly and somewhat embarrassed_). Oh, no, no, father; not
this evening.

GREGERS. What does he want to show me?

HJALMAR. Oh! it’s only something--you can see it another time.

GREGERS (_continuing to the old man_). So I was thinking, Lieutenant
Ekdal, that you should come along with me up to the Works, for I shall
certainly be leaving again shortly. You could easily get some copying
to do there too. And here there’s absolutely nothing to make you
comfortable and cheer you.

EKDAL (_staring at him in astonishment_). I’ve absolutely nothing.

GREGERS. Yes, you have Hjalmar; but he has his own family. And a man
like you who has always felt drawn to all that is free and wild----

EKDAL (_striking the table_). Hjalmar, now he _shall_ see it!

HJALMAR. No, father, is it worth while now? Why, it’s dark----

EKDAL. Nonsense; the moon shining. (_Rising._) He _shall_ see it, I
say. Let me pass. Come and help me, Hjalmar.

HEDVIG. Oh, yes; do, father.

HJALMAR (_rising_). All right then.

GREGERS (_to_ GINA). What is it?

GINA. Oh! You really mustn’t fancy it’s anything very wonderful.

  EKDAL _and_ HJALMAR _have gone up the stage. Each is pushing aside
      one-half of the sliding door_; HEDVIG _helps the old man_;
      GREGERS _remains standing by the sofa_; GINA _goes on sewing,
      unmoved. Through the opening of the door is seen a large,
      irregular loft, with odd nooks and corners, and a few stove-pipes
      here and there. There are skylights, through which bright
      moonlight falls upon certain parts of the great room; others are
      in darkness._

EKDAL (_to_ GREGERS). You must come quite close, please.

GREGERS (_going over to him_). What, is it really?

EKDAL. You can see--h’m!

HJALMAR (_rather embarrassed_). This belongs to father, you understand.

GREGERS (_by the door, looking into the loft_). Why, you keep fowls,
Lieutenant Ekdal!

EKDAL. Should think we did keep fowls. They’re gone to roost now. But
you should see the fowls by daylight, you should!

HEDVIG. And then there’s a----

EKDAL. Sh!--Sh!--don’t say anything yet.

GREGERS. And you’ve pigeons, too, I see.

EKDAL. Oh, yes! May be we’ve got pigeons, too! The pigeon-houses are up
there under the eaves; for you know pigeons always like to roost high.

HJALMAR. But these are not all common pigeons.

EKDAL. Common! No, should think not! We’ve got tumblers, and we’ve a
few pouters, too. But come here! Can you see those hutches out there by
the wall?----

GREGERS. Yes. But what do you use them for?

EKDAL. The rabbits go in there in the night, my lad.

GREGERS. Why, you’ve rabbits, too, then?

EKDAL. Yes. Deuce take it, you might know we should have rabbits! He
wants to know if we’ve got rabbits, Hjalmar!--H’m! But now the real
thing’s coming, you know. Now then! Out of the way, Hedvig. Come and
stand here; that’s it--and look down there. Don’t you see anything
there in the basket filled with straw?

GREGERS. Yes. I see there’s a bird lying in the basket.

EKDAL. H’m! “A bird”----

GREGERS. Isn’t it a duck?

EKDAL (_hurt_). Yes, of course, it’s a duck.

HJALMAR. But what _sort_ of a duck, do you think----?

HEDVIG. It’s not just a simple duck----

EKDAL. Hush!

GREGERS. And it’s not a Turkish duck, either.

EKDAL. No, Mr.--Werle; it’s not a Turkish duck; for it’s a wild duck.

GREGERS. No, is it really? A wild duck?

EKDAL. Yes, that it is. The “bird,” as you called it--is a wild duck.
That’s our wild duck, my lad.

HEDVIG. _My_ wild duck. For she belongs to me.

GREGERS. And it can live up here in this loft? And thrive here?

EKDAL. Of course, you understand, she’s got a trough full of water to
splash about in.

HJALMAR. Fresh water every day.

GINA (_turning to_ HJALMAR). But, dear Ekdal, it’s getting awfully cold
here.

EKDAL. H’m! Let’s shut it up then. Besides it’s not good to disturb
their night’s rest. Give a hand, Hedvig.

  HJALMAR _and_ HEDVIG _push the doors of the loft together_.

EKDAL. Another time you can see her properly. (_Sitting down in the
arm-chair by the stove._) Ah! wild ducks are very wonderful creatures,
take my word for it.

GREGERS. But how did you catch it, Lieutenant Ekdal?

EKDAL. Didn’t catch her, I didn’t. There’s a certain man in the town
here, whom we’ve to thank for her.

GREGERS (_starting slightly_). Surely the man’s not my father?

EKDAL. Yes, he is though. Just your father. H’m!

HJALMAR. It is funny you should have guessed that, Gregers.

GREGERS. Why you were telling me that you were indebted to my father
for all sorts of things, and so I thought that----

GINA. But we’ve not had the duck from Mr. Werle himself.

EKDAL. It’s Haaken Werle we’ve to thank for her, all the same, Gina.
(_To_ GREGERS.) He was out in his boat, you know, and he shot her. But
your father’s sight is so bad now. H’m; she was only wounded.

GREGERS. I see. She got a few shots in her body.

HJALMAR. Yes, she did--two or three shots.

HEDVIG. She was hit under the wing, and so she could not fly away.

GREGERS. And then, I suppose, she dived to the bottom?

EKDAL (_sleepily, with thick utterance_). Know all about that. Always
so with wild ducks. Made for the bottom--as far as they can get, my
lad--get caught in the tangle and the sea-weed--and all the damned
stuff that’s down below there. And so they never come to the surface
again.

GREGERS. But, Lieutenant Ekdal, _your_ wild duck came to the surface.

EKDAL. He’d got a most remarkably clever dog, had your father. And the
dog--dived after the duck and brought her up again.

GREGERS (_turning to_ HJALMAR). And so you found it here?

HJALMAR. Not directly; first it was taken to your father’s; but the
wild thing didn’t thrive there; so Pettersen was ordered to kill it----

EKDAL (_half asleep_). H’m--yes, Pettersen--idiot----

HJALMAR (_speaking in a lower tone_). So that was how we got her, you
see, for father knows Pettersen a little, and when he heard about the
wild duck, he managed to get it handed over to him.

GREGERS. And now it thrives so well up here in the loft.

HJALMAR. Yes, wonderfully well. She’s getting fat. Well, she’s been in
there so long now she’s forgotten the old wild life; and that’s the
main thing.

GREGERS. You are right there, Hjalmar. Only never let her see the sky
or the sea---- But I mustn’t stay any longer; for I think your father’s
asleep.

HJALMAR. Oh! don’t mind him----

GREGERS. But--by the way--you said you had a room to let--a spare room?

HJALMAR. Certainly--what then? Do you know anyone----

GREGERS. Could I have the room?

HJALMAR. You?

GINA. No, but you, Mr. Werle----

GREGERS. Can I have the room? Then I’ll move in early to-morrow.

HJALMAR. Yes, with the greatest pleasure----

GINA. But, Mr. Werle, it’s not at all the sort of room for you.

HJALMAR. But, Gina, how can you say that?

GINA. Yes, for the room’s neither large nor light, and----

GREGERS. That doesn’t matter, Mrs. Ekdal.

HJALMAR. I think it’s a very nice room, and not so badly furnished,
either.

GINA. But think of those two who live underneath us.

GREGERS. What two are they?

GINA. Oh! one of them’s been a tutor.

HJALMAR. That’s Licentiate Molvik.

GINA. And then there’s a doctor calling Relling.

GREGERS. Relling? I used to know him a little. He practiced for a time
up at the Works.

GINA. They’re a pair of dissipated good-for-nothings. They’re often out
on the loose of an evening, and they come home very late at night, and
then they’re not always as----

GREGERS. One soon gets used to that. I hope I shall be like the wild
duck.

GINA. H’m, I think you’d better sleep on it first, all the same.

GREGERS. You seem extremely unwilling to have me in the house, Mrs.
Ekdal.

GINA. Lord, no! How can you think that?

HJALMAR. Yes, it’s really very extraordinary of you.

GINA (_to_ GREGERS). But tell me, are you thinking of stopping in town
then for the present?

GREGERS (_putting on his overcoat_). Yes, now I think of stopping here.

HJALMAR. But not at home with your father? What do you mean to do?

GREGERS. Ah! If only I knew _that_ I should not be so badly off. But
when one has the misfortune to be called Gregers--“Gregers”--and then
“Werle” after it; have you ever heard anything so hideous?

HJALMAR. Oh! I don’t think that so bad.

GREGERS. Huh! Pish! I should feel inclined to spit at a fellow with
such a name. But when one has the misfortune to be Gregers--Werle here
on earth, as I have----

HJALMAR (_laughing_). Ha--ha! If you weren’t Gregers Werle, what else
would you be?

GREGERS. If I had my choice, I should prefer being a clever dog.

GINA. A dog!

HEDVIG (_involuntarily_). Oh! not that!

GREGERS. Yes, a real uncommonly clever dog; such a one as can dive
under after wild ducks, when they go to the bottom, and get fast in all
the tangle and sea-weeds down in the mud below.

HJALMAR. I’ll tell you what, Gregers--I don’t understand a word of all
this.

GREGERS. Oh, no! It doesn’t mean anything in particular. Early
to-morrow, then, I’ll move in. (_To_ GINA.) Don’t you trouble about me;
I do everything for myself. (_To_ HJALMAR.) We’ll talk over the rest
to-morrow. Good night, Mrs. Ekdal. (_Nodding to_ HEDVIG.) Good night!

GINA. Good night, Mr. Werle.

HEDVIG. Good night.

HJALMAR (_who has lighted a candle_). Wait a moment, I must light you
down, for it’s very dark on the stairs.

  GREGERS _and_ HJALMAR _go out together through the entrance-door_.

GINA (_looking straight in front of her, with her work on her lap_).
Wasn’t that strange talk about his wanting to be a dog?

HEDVIG. I’ll tell you what, mother--I think he meant something else by
that.

GINA. What could _that_ be?

HEDVIG. Why, I don’t know, but it was just as if he meant something
different from what he was saying--all the time.

GINA. Do you think so? It was certainly strange.

HJALMAR (_returning_). The lamp was still alight. (_Puts out the light
and puts it down_.) Ah, at last one can get a mouthful to eat. (_Begins
eating the bread and butter._) Now, you see, Gina, if one only makes a
little effort----

GINA. How, effort?

HJALMAR. Yes, for it’s a blessing after all we’ve at last let that
room for a time. And only think--to a fellow like Gregers--a dear, old
friend.

GINA. I hardly know what to say about it, I don’t.

HEDVIG. Oh, mother, you’ll see it’ll be such fun.

HJALMAR. You _are_ strange. First you were so anxious to let it, and
now you don’t like it.

GINA. Yes, Ekdal; if it had only been to some one else, but what do you
think Mr. Werle will say?

HJALMAR. Old Werle? It’s no business of his.

GINA. But you may be sure there’s something up between them again,
as the young one’s moving out of the house. You know well enough how
things are between those two.

HJALMAR. Yes, that may be, but----

GINA. And now, perhaps, Mr. Werle’ll think you’re at the bottom of
it----

HJALMAR. Let him think so as long as he likes! Mr. Werle has done an
immense deal for me. Good heavens! I don’t deny it--but I can’t on that
account remain his dependent all my life.

GINA. But, dear Ekdal, perhaps grandfather may have to suffer for it;
he may lose his poor little earnings that he gets through Graberg.

HJALMAR. I’m almost inclined to say: so much the better! Is it not
sufficiently humiliating for a man like me to see his grey-haired
father going about as an outcast? But the fullness of time is coming
now, I think. (_He takes another piece of bread and butter._) As surely
as I have a mission in life, so surely I will not shrink from it!

HEDVIG. Oh! no, father, don’t!

GINA. Hush! Don’t wake him!

HJALMAR (_in a lower tone_). I will not shrink from it, I tell you. The
day will yet come, when---- And that’s why it’s a good thing we’ve let
the room; for that makes me more independent. And a man must be _that_
when he has a mission in life. (_Turning towards the arm-chair, with
emotion._) My poor white-haired old father! Lean on your Hjalmar. He
has broad shoulders--strong shoulders, at any rate. You will awaken one
day and---- (_To_ GINA.) Perhaps, you don’t believe it?

GINA (_rising_). Of course, I do--but in the meantime let’s get him to
bed.

HJALMAR. Yes, let us do so.

  _They take up the old man carefully._




ACT III.


  [HJALMAR EKDAL’S _studio. It is morning; daylight streams in through
      the great panes of glass in the slanting roof; the curtain is
      drawn back._]

  [HJALMAR _is sitting at the table busy retouching a photograph;
      several other portraits are lying in front of him. After a little
      while_ GINA _comes in from the entrance-door in her hat and
      cloak; she has a covered basket on her arm_.]

HJALMAR. Are you back again, Gina?

GINA. Ah, yes! One must look sharp.

  _Puts the basket on a chair, and takes off her things._

HJALMAR. Did you look in at Gregers’?

GINA. Yes, I did. It’s in a lovely state; he’s managed to make a mess
of it as soon as ever he got in.

HJALMAR. How so?

GINA. Why he wanted to do everything himself, he said. And so he wanted
to light the stove too; and then he screwed down the register, so that
the whole room was full of smoke. Uh! It stank like----

HJALMAR. Well, I never!

GINA. But the best’s to come; for then he wanted to put out the fire,
and so he must needs empty the whole of his water-jug into the stove,
so that the room’s like a pig-stye.

HJALMAR. That’s a nuisance.

GINA. I’ve sent the porter’s wife there now, to clean up after him, the
pig. But the place’ll not be fit to be in till this afternoon.

HJALMAR. Where’s he gone then in the meantime?

GINA. He was going out, he said.

HJALMAR. I looked in a moment, too--after you’d gone out.

GINA. So I heard. Why, _you’ve_ asked him to lunch.

HJALMAR. Only to a little simple bit of early lunch, you know. It’s his
first day--and we couldn’t very well avoid it. You’ve got something in
the house, I suppose.

GINA. I’ll try and get something or other.

HJALMAR. But don’t get too little. For I fancy Relling and Molvik are
coming up too. I happened to meet Relling on the stairs, you see, and
so I couldn’t but----

GINA. Oh! Are we to have those two as well?

HJALMAR. Good Lord--two more or less’ll make no difference.

EKDAL (_opening his door and looking in_). I say, Hjalmar----
(_noticing_ GINA.) Oh! I see!

GINA. Do you want anything, grandfather?

EKDAL. Oh, no! It’s all right. H’m! (_He goes in again._)

GINA (_taking up the basket_). Take care he doesn’t get out.

HJALMAR. Yes, yes, I’ll see to it--I say, Gina, a little bit of
herring-salad’d be very nice--for Relling and Molvik were out on the
spree again last night.

GINA. If only they don’t come up too soon for me I----

HJALMAR. Oh! they won’t; take your own time.

GINA. Very good, and you can go on doing a little work meantime.

HJALMAR. Why, I’m sitting here working! Why, I’m working as hard as
ever I can!

GINA. Then you’ll have it off your hands, don’t you see.

  _She goes into the kitchen with the basket._ HJALMAR _sits a few
      minutes retouching the photograph; he does it lazily and with
      disrelish_.

EKDAL (_peeps in looking around the studio, and says in a whisper_).
Are you busy?

HJALMAR. Yes, I’m sitting here slaving over these portraits.

EKDAL. All right--God forbid--if you’re so busy, I’ll--h’m----

  _He goes in again; he leaves the door open._

HJALMAR (_goes on for a while in silence; then he puts down the brush
and goes to the door_). Are you busy, father?

EKDAL (_mutters from within_). If you’re busy, I’m busy too. H’m!

HJALMAR. All right.

  _He returns to his work again._

EKDAL (_after a little while, coming to the door again_). H’m! You see,
Hjalmar, I’m not so very busy after all.

HJALMAR. I thought you were sitting there writing.

EKDAL. Deuce take it. Can’t Graberg wait a day or two? It’s not a
matter of life and death, I should say.

HJALMAR. No, and you’re not a slave either.

EKDAL. And then what has to be done in there?

HJALMAR. Yes, exactly. Perhaps you’d like to go in? Shall I open the
door for you?

EKDAL. That wouldn’t be amiss.

HJALMAR (_rising_). For then we’d have _that_ off our hands.

EKDAL. Exactly, it must be ready by to-morrow early. For it _is_
to-morrow---- H’m?

HJALMAR. Of course, it’s to-morrow.

  HJALMAR _and_ EKDAL _push one-half of the door aside. The morning sun
      is shining in through the sky-lights; many pigeons are flying
      hither and thither, others are perched cooing on rafters; the
      hens cackle now and again, at the further end of the loft._

HJALMAR. Now then, get in, father.

EKDAL (_going in_). Aren’t you coming?

HJALMAR. Yes, d’you know--I almost think--(_seeing_ GINA _by the
kitchen door_). I?--no, no, I’ve no time, I must work---- This is how
the mechanism works----

  _He pulls a string; a curtain falls from within, the lower part of
      which consists of an old sail, and the rest, the upper part of an
      out-spread fishing net. The floor of the loft is thus no longer
      visible._

HJALMAR (_going to the table_). That’s it; now, I suppose, I shall have
a minute’s peace.

GINA. Is he in there on the rampage again?

HJALMAR. Wasn’t it better than if he’d gone down to Mrs. Ericksen’s?
(_Sitting down._) Do you want anything? You said----

GINA. I only wanted to ask if you thought we could lay the cloth here?

HJALMAR. Yes, I suppose no one is coming so early----

GINA. No, I don’t expect anyone, except the two sweethearts, who want
to be taken together.

HJALMAR. Why the devil couldn’t they be taken together some other day?

GINA. But, dear Ekdal, I arranged for them to come this afternoon, when
you’re having your sleep.

HJALMAR. Oh, that’s all right. Yes, then we’ll lunch here.

GINA. Very well! But there’s no need to hurry to lay the cloth yet; you
can use the table awhile yet.

HJALMAR. I should think you could see I am sitting here using the table
all I can!

GINA. Then you’ll be free later, don’t you see.

  _She goes into the kitchen again. A short pause._

EKDAL (_at the door of loft, the net behind_). Hjalmar!

HJALMAR. Well?

EKDAL. Afraid we shall have to move the water-trough, after all.

HJALMAR. Why, that’s what I’ve said all along.

EKDAL. H’m--h’m--h’m!

  _Goes away from the door again._

HJALMAR (_goes on working for a little while, then looks at the loft
and half rises_. HEDVIG _comes in from the kitchen. Hurriedly sitting
down again_). What do you want?

HEDVIG. I only wanted to come in to you, father.

HJALMAR (_after a short pause_). It seems to me you’ve come to poke
your nose into things. Are you to keep watch, perhaps?

HEDVIG. Oh, no! not at all!

HJALMAR. What’s mother doing in there now?

HEDVIG. Oh! Mother’s in the thick of the herring-salad. (_She goes up
to the table._) Isn’t there any little thing I could help you with,
father?

HJALMAR. Oh, no. It’s best I should do it all alone--as long as my
strength holds out. There’s no need, Hedvig; if only your father keeps
his health--then----

HEDVIG. Oh no, father; you mustn’t say such horrid things----

  _She walks about a little while, stands still by the open door, and
      looks into the loft._

HJALMAR. I say, what’s he doing now?

HEDVIG. It’s surely a new path up to the water-trough.

HJALMAR. He’ll never be able to manage that alone! And yet I’m
condemned to sit here----

HEDVIG (_going up to him_). Give me the brush, father; I can do it.

HJALMAR. Oh, nonsense. You’d only spoil your eyes with it.

HEDVIG. Not a bit! Come, give me the brush!

HJALMAR (_rising_). Well, yes, it won’t take more than a minute or two.

HEDVIG. Tut! What does it matter? (_Taking the brush._) That’s it.
(_Sitting down._) And I’ve got one here to copy from.

HJALMAR. But don’t spoil your eyes! Do you hear--_I_ will not be
answerable; you must take the responsibility upon yourself--I tell you
that.

HEDVIG (_retouching_). All right, I don’t mind.

HJALMAR. You’re very quick at it, Hedvig. Only a few minutes, you
understand.

  _He squeezes past the curtain in the loft._ HEDVIG _sits working_.
      HJALMAR _and_ EKDAL _are heard discussing within_.

HJALMAR (_coming from behind the net_). Hedvig, just hand me the
pincers that are lying on the shelf. And the chisel (_turning back_).
Now you’ll see father. But first let me show you what I mean.

  HEDVIG _takes out the tools asked for from the book-case and hands
      them in to him_.

HJALMAR. That’s it. Thanks! I say, it was a good thing I came.

  _He goes away from the opening of the door; they are heard
      carpentering and talking within._ HEDVIG _remains standing
      and looks at them. After a pause there is a knock at the
      entrance-door; she takes no notice of it._

GREGERS (_bareheaded and without a top coat; he enters and stands a
little while by the door_). H’m!

HEDVIG (_turning and going up to him_). Good morning. Won’t you come in?

GREGERS. Thank you (_looks towards the loft_). You seem to have
workingmen in the house?

HEDVIG. No, it’s only father and grandfather. I’ll go and tell them.

GREGERS. No, no, don’t do that, I’d rather wait a little while.

  _He sits down on the sofa._

HEDVIG. It’s so untidy here.

  _She is about to clear away the photographs._

GREGERS. Oh! don’t trouble. Are they portraits that have to be finished?

HEDVIG. Yes, they are; I was going to help father with them.

GREGERS. Don’t let me prevent you.

HEDVIG. Oh, no.

  _She moves the things towards her and sits down to work_; GREGERS
      _watches her for a while in silence_.

GREGERS. Did the wild duck sleep well last night?

HEDVIG. Yes, thank you, I believe so.

GREGERS (_turning to the loft_). It looks quite different in there by
daylight from what it did in the moonshine.

HEDVIG. Yes, it does change so. In the morning it looks different from
the afternoon and when it rains it looks different than when it’s fine.

GREGERS. Have you noticed it?

HEDVIG. Yes, of course I have.

GREGERS. Do you, too, like being in there with the wild duck?

HEDVIG. Yes, whenever I can manage it I----

GREGERS. But no doubt you’ve not much free time. I suppose you go to
school.

HEDVIG. No, not now; father’s afraid of me spoiling my eyes.

GREGERS. Oh! then he reads with you himself.

HEDVIG. Father’s promised to read with me, but he’s not had time for it
yet.

GREGERS. But is there no one else to help you a little?

HEDVIG. Yes, there’s Mr. Molvik; but he not always
quite--exactly--as----

GREGERS. He drinks then?

HEDVIG. Yes, indeed.

GREGERS. Well, then you’ve plenty of time to do anything. And in
there--I suppose that’s a world of itself.

HEDVIG. Quite of itself. And then there are so many wonderful things
there.

GREGERS. Really?

HEDVIG. Yes, there are great cupboards full of books, and in some of
the books there are pictures.

GREGERS. Aha!

HEDVIG. And then there’s an old bureau, with drawers and flaps, and a
big clock with figures that can come out. But the clock doesn’t go now.

GREGERS. So time has stood still--in there with the wild duck.

HEDVIG. Yes. And then there’s an old paint-box and so forth; and then
all the books.

GREGERS. And I suppose you like reading the books?

HEDVIG. Oh, yes, when I can get time. But most of them are English, and
I don’t understand it. But then I look at the pictures. There’s one
great book, called “Harryson’s History of London;” it must be a hundred
years old; and there are such an enormous lot of pictures in it. On the
front page there’s a picture of Death with an hour-glass, and a young
girl. I think that’s horrid. But then there are all the other pictures
of churches and palaces, and streets, and great ships sailing on the
sea.

GREGERS. But tell me, where did you get all these rare things from?

HEDVIG. Oh! An old sea-captain once lived here, and he brought them
home. They used to call him “The Flying Dutchman.” And that’s odd, for
he wasn’t a Dutchman at all.

GREGERS. No?

HEDVIG. No. But at last he stopped away altogether, and all his things
were left here.

GREGERS. Listen--just tell me--when you sit in there looking at the
pictures, don’t you want to get out, and see the real great world
itself?

HEDVIG. Oh, no! I want to stop at home always, and help father and
mother.

GREGERS. Finishing photographs?

HEDVIG. No, not only that. What I should like best would be to learn to
engrave pictures like those in the English books.

GREGERS. H’m! What does your father say to that?

HEDVIG. I don’t think father likes it, for father’s so odd in
some things. Fancy, he talks about my learning basket-making and
straw-plaiting! But I don’t think _that’s_ anything much.

GREGERS. Oh, no; neither do I.

HEDVIG. But father’s right about _one_ thing, that if I’d learnt to
make baskets, I might have made the new basket for the wild duck myself.

GREGERS. So you might; and you were the right person to have made it.

HEDVIG. Yes, for it’s _my_ wild duck.

GREGERS. Yes, so it is.

HEDVIG. Oh, yes, she belongs to _me_. But I lend her to father and
grandfather as often as ever they like.

GREGERS. Indeed! What do they do with her?

HEDVIG. Oh! they arrange things for her, and build for her, and all
that.

GREGERS. I understand; for I suppose the wild duck’s the most
distinguished personage in there.

HEDVIG. Of course she is; for she’s a real wild bird. And it’s a pity
about her, too, for she has no one to care for, poor thing.

GREGERS. She hasn’t a family like the rabbits.

HEDVIG. No. The fowls, too, have so many they were chicks with
together, but she has been taken right away from all her own. And then
it’s all so strange about those wild ducks. No one knows them, and
nobody knows where they come from either.

GREGERS. And so she has been to the ocean depths.

HEDVIG (_looks up at him for a moment and smiles_). Why do you say “the
ocean depths?”

GREGERS. What else should I say?

HEDVIG. You might have said the “bottom of the sea,” or the “sea
bottom.”

GREGERS. Oh! mayn’t I just as well say in the ocean depths?

HEDVIG. Of course, only it sounds so odd to hear people talk of the
depths of the ocean.

GREGERS. Why? Tell me why.

HEDVIG. No, I won’t, for it’s so silly----

GREGERS. I’m sure it’s not. Now, tell me why you smiled?

HEDVIG. Well, it’s because when I happen to remember what’s in
there--all of a sudden--it always seems to me that the whole room and
everything in it should be called the “depths of the ocean”--but that’s
so silly.

GREGERS. You must not say that.

HEDVIG. Yes, for it’s only a loft.

GREGERS (_looking steadily at her_). Are you so sure of that?

HEDVIG (_astonished_). That it’s a loft!

GREGERS. Yes. Are you quite certain it is?

  HEDVIG _looks at him in silence, open-mouthed_. GINA _comes in with
      the table-cloth, etc., from the kitchen_.

GREGERS (_rising_). I’ve come in too early, I fear?

GINA. Well, you had to stop somewhere--and it’s almost ready now. Clear
the table, Hedvig.

  HEDVIG _clears away the things; she and_ GINA _go on laying the table
      during the following conversation_. GREGERS _sits down in the
      arm-chair and turns over the leaves of an album_.

GREGERS. I hear you can retouch, Mrs. Ekdal.

GINA (_with a side glance_). Yes, I can.

GREGERS. That was a lucky coincidence.

GINA. How, lucky?

GREGERS. As Ekdal went in for photography, I mean.

HEDVIG. Mother can take photographs, too.

GINA. Oh, yes! I’ve had plenty of opportunity to teach myself _that_
art.

GREGERS. Then, perhaps, it’s you really that attend to the business?

GINA. Yes, when Ekdal hasn’t time himself, I----

GREGERS. No doubt, his time’s a great deal taken up with his old
father. I understand that.

GINA. Yes, and then it’s not the thing for a man like Ekdal to take
portraits of anybody and everybody.

GREGERS. So I think, but still, since he has taken it up--I----

GINA. Mr. Werle, I’m sure, can understand that Ekdal is not an ordinary
photographer.

GREGERS. Of course not---- But---- (_A shot is fired within the loft, he
starts._) What’s that?

GINA. Up there they are shooting again!

GREGERS. Do they shoot too?

HEDVIG. They go a-hunting.

GREGERS. What hunt? (_Going towards the door of the loft._) Are you
hunting, Hjalmar?

HJALMAR (_behind the net_). Are you here? I didn’t know--I was so taken
up---- (_To_ HEDVIG.) And you didn’t tell us----

  _Comes into the studio._

GREGERS. Do you go a hunting in the loft?

HJALMAR (_showing a double-barreled pistol_). Oh! only with this.

GINA. Yes, you and grandfather’ll have an accident one of these days
with that pigstol.

HJALMAR (_vexed_). I think I’ve told you, that this kind of fire-arm is
called a pistol.

GINA. Well, I don’t think that’s any better.

GREGERS. So you too have turned hunter; you too, Hjalmar?

HJALMAR. Only a little rabbit shooting now and again. Chiefly for
father’s sake, you understand.

GINA. Men folk are such queer creatures; they must always have
something to divide themselves with.

HJALMAR (_angrily_). Yes, yes, of course, we must always have something
to divide ourselves with.

GINA. Why that’s exactly what _I_’m saying.

HJALMAR. Well, h’m! (_To_ GREGERS.) And then luckily you see the loft
is so situated that no one can hear us shooting. (_Putting the pistol
on the top shelf of the case._) Don’t touch the pistol, Hedvig! The one
barrel’s loaded, remember.

GREGERS (_looking in through the net_). Oh, you’ve a fowling-piece too,
I see.

HJALMAR. That’s father’s old gun. You can’t shoot with it now, for
there’s something wrong with the lock. But it’s very amusing to have
it, all the same, because we can take it all to pieces, and oil it, and
then screw it together again. Of course its mostly father who muddles
about with such things.

HEDVIG (_going up to_ GREGERS). Now you can see the wild duck properly.

GREGERS. I was just looking at it. One of her wings drops a little it
seems to me.

HJALMAR. Well, that’s not so remarkable; you know she was wounded.

GREGERS. And she seems a little lame in one foot, isn’t she?

HJALMAR. Perhaps just a very little bit.

HEDVIG. Yes, for the dog bit her in that foot.

HJALMAR. But she hasn’t another fault or blemish; and that is really
remarkable for a creature that has had a discharge of shot into its
body, and has been between a dog’s teeth.

GREGERS (_with a glance at_ HEDVIG). And who has been to the depths of
the ocean?

HEDVIG (_smiling_). Yes.

GINA (_setting the table_). Oh! that blessed wild duck! You’ll be
falling down and worshipping her next.

HJALMAR. H’m--is the lunch nearly ready?

GINA. Yes, in a moment. Hedvig, you must come and help me now.

  GINA _and_ HEDVIG _go out into the kitchen_.

HJALMAR (_in a lower voice_). I don’t think you’d better stand there
looking at father; he doesn’t like it. (GREGERS _moves away from the
door of the loft_.) And I’d better shut up before the others come in.
(_Shooing with his hands._) S’h! s’h! Get away with you! (_He pulls
up the curtain and shuts the doors._) These contrivances are my own
inventions. It’s really very amusing to have something like that to
arrange, and to mend when it gets broken. And besides, it is quite
necessary, too, you see, for Gina doesn’t like having the rabbits and
fowls in the studio.

GREGERS. No, of course not; and, perhaps, it’s your wife who manages
the business?

HJALMAR. I usually leave every-day business to her, for then I can seek
refuge in the sitting-room, and think over more important matters.

GREGERS. What sort of matters, Hjalmar?

HJALMAR. I wonder you’ve not asked about _that_ before? Or, perhaps,
you’ve not heard about the invention?

GREGERS. Invention? No.

HJALMAR. Really? You’ve not? Ah! well, up there in the woods and
wilds----

GREGERS. So you’ve made an invention!

HJALMAR. Well, I’ve not exactly made it yet, but I’m working at it.
Surely you can understand that when I decided to sacrifice myself to
photography, it wasn’t in order to take likenesses of all sorts of
commonplace people.

GREGERS. No, no, that was what your wife was just saying.

HJALMAR. I vowed that if I did devote my powers to this manual labor
I would at least raise it so high that it should be both an art and a
science. And so I made up my mind to make this remarkable invention.

GREGERS. And in what does the invention consist? What is it to do?

HJALMAR. Why, my dear fellow, you mustn’t ask for such details yet.
It takes time, you see. And you mustn’t believe that I am inspired
by vanity. Truly, I’m not working for my own sake. Oh, no! It is my
life--a mission that I see before me night and day.

GREGERS. What life-mission is that?

HJALMAR. Have you forgotten the old man with the silver hair?

GREGERS. Your poor father; but what can you really do for him?

HJALMAR. I can invoke his self-respect from the dead, by raising up the
name of Ekdal to honor and respect again.

GREGERS. So that is your life-mission.

HJALMAR. Yes. I will save the shipwrecked man. For he did suffer
shipwreck when the storm burst forth over him. Even while those
terrible investigations were going on he was no longer himself. That
pistol there--that we used to shoot rabbits with--it has played a part
in the tragedy of the house of Ekdal.

GREGERS. The pistol! Indeed?

HJALMAR. When the sentence was pronounced and he was to be put in
gaol--he had that pistol in his hand----

GREGERS. He had!

HJALMAR. Yes, but he did not dare. He was afraid. So demoralized,
so lost even then was his spirit. Ah! Can you understand that?
He a soldier; he who had shot nine bears, the descendant of two
lieutenant-colonels--one after the other, of course. Can you understand
it, Gregers?----

GREGERS. Yes, I understand it very well.

HJALMAR. I do not. And then the pistol played a part too in another
incident in the history of our house. When he had donned the gray
dress, and was set under lock and key--ah! believe me that was a
terrible time for me. I had pulled down the blinds of both my windows.
When I looked out, I saw that the sun was shining as was its wont. I
could not understand. I saw men walking about the streets, laughing
and gossipping of indifferent matters. I could not understand. I
thought all the universe must be standing still as at an eclipse of the
sun.

GREGERS. I felt so when my mother died.

HJALMAR. In that same hour Hjalmar Ekdal turned the pistol towards his
own breast.

GREGERS. So you, too, thought of that!

HJALMAR. Yes.

GREGERS. But you did not fire?

HJALMAR. No. In that decisive moment I gained the victory over myself.
I went on living. But, believe me, it needed courage to choose _life_
under such conditions.

GREGERS. It depends on the point of view.

HJALMAR. Yes, entirely. But it was better so; for now I shall soon make
the invention; and then Doctor Relling believes, as I do, myself, that
father will get leave to wear his uniform again. I shall ask this as my
sole reward.

GREGERS. So it’s the uniform that he----?

HJALMAR. Yes; it is _that_ that he most hankers and pines after. You
can not imagine how this cuts me to the heart for his sake. Whenever
we have a little family feast here--such as Gina’s and my wedding-day,
or anything of that sort--the old man comes in here dressed in his
lieutenant uniform of happier days. But as soon as there’s a knock at
the door--for he mustn’t show himself before strangers you know--he
hurries off to his room again as fast as his old legs will carry him.
It lacerates a filial heart to see that!

GREGERS. And when do you think your invention’ll be ready?

HJALMAR. Now, really you mustn’t ask me about such details as to time.
An invention is a thing which doesn’t allow a man to be wholly and
solely master of himself. It depends a good deal on inspiration--on an
idea--and it’s well-nigh impossible to calculate beforehand when that
will come.

GREGERS. But it’s making progress?

HJALMAR. Of course it’s making progress. I work every blessed day at
the invention, which fills my whole being. Every afternoon when I’ve
dined, I lock myself up in my sitting-room, there I can ponder in
peace. Only I mustn’t be driven, for that is no earthly use whatever;
Relling says so, too.

GREGERS. And don’t you find that all those contrivances in there in the
loft, take you away and distract you too much?

HJALMAR. No, no, no; quite the contrary. You mustn’t say that. Surely,
I can’t always go about brooding over the same exhausting ideas. I must
have something to fill up the time spent in expectancy. Inspiration,
ideas, you see--if they’re coming they’ll come anyhow.

GREGERS. My dear Hjalmar, I almost think there’s something of the wild
duck in you.

HJALMAR. Of the wild duck? What do you mean?

GREGERS. You have dived under and got caught fast in the weeds at the
bottom.

HJALMAR. Are you alluding to the well-nigh deadly shot that winged
father and me too?

GREGERS. Not so much to _that_. I don’t mean to say that you are
wounded, but you have fallen into a poisonous swamp; you have within
you an insidious disease, and you have sunk to the bottom to die in
the dark.

HJALMAR. I? Die in the dark? Now, I tell you what, Gregers, you really
should drop such talk.

GREGERS. Do not fear; for I will bring you up to the surface again. For
I, too, have a mission in life now, you see; I found it, yesterday.

HJALMAR. Well, that may be; but you should leave me alone. I assure you
that--of course, with the exception of a very natural melancholy--I am
as happy as a man could desire to be.

GREGERS. That you _are_ so, is also a result of the poison.

HJALMAR. Now, my dear, good Gregers, don’t say anything more about
disease and poison; I’m not used to that sort of thing; in my house no
one ever mentions such disagreeable things to me.

GREGERS. Ah! I can well believe _that_!

HJALMAR. For it’s not good for me. And here there is no air of the
swamp as you call it. The poor home of the photographer is lowly--I
know that well--and my means are narrow. But, I am an inventor,
remember, and I am the bread-winner of a family too. _That_ raises me
above my lowly circumstances---- Ah! here they are with the luncheon!

  GINA _and_ HEDVIG _bring bottles of beer, a decanter of brandy,
      glasses and so forth. At the same time_ RELLING _and_ MOLVIK
      _enter from the passage; they are both without hats and top
      coats_; MOLVIK _is dressed in black_.

GINA (_putting the things on the table_). Well, those two timed it
well.

RELLING. Molvik fancied he smelt herring-salad, and so there was no
holding him back. Good morning for the second time, Ekdal.

HJALMAR. Gregers, let me introduce Mr. Molvik; doctor---- Why you know
Relling.

GREGERS. Yes, slightly.

RELLING. Ah! This is Mr. Werle, junior. Yes, we two have often come to
loggerheads with one another up at the Hojdal Works. I suppose you’ve
just moved in?

GREGERS. I moved in this morning.

RELLING. And Molvik and I live underneath you, so you’re not far from
the doctor and priest, if you should want anything of the sort.

GREGERS. That might be; for yesterday we were thirteen at table.

HJALMAR. Oh! now don’t bring up such disagreeable things again!

RELLING. You needn’t trouble, Ekdal, for it won’t hurt you.

HJALMAR. I hope so for the sake of my family. But let’s sit down and
eat, and drink, and be merry.

GREGERS. Shall we not wait for your father?

HJALMAR. No, he’ll have his taken into him presently. Come along!

  _The men sit down at the table, and eat and drink._ GINA _and_ HEDVIG
      _go in and out waiting on them_.

RELLING. Molvik was horribly drunk yesterday, Mrs. Ekdal.

GINA. What! Yesterday again?

RELLING. Didn’t you hear him when I came home with him in the night?

GINA. No, I can’t say I did.

RELLING. That’s well; for Molvik was abominable last night.

GINA. Is that true, Molvik?

MOLVIK. Let us bury in oblivion the proceedings of last night. That
sort of thing has nothing to do with my better self.

RELLING (_to_ GREGERS). It comes over him as if he were possessed, and
then I have to go out on the spree with him. For you see Mr. Molvik is
dæmonic.

GREGERS. Dæmonic?

RELLING. Yes, Molvik is dæmonic.

GREGERS. H’m.

RELLING. And dæmonic natures are not created for going through the
world on steady legs. They are bound to deviate sometimes. Well, and so
you still hold out at those hideous black Works up there?

GREGERS. I have held out until now.

RELLING. And have you obtained what you went about claiming?

GREGERS. Claiming? (_Understanding him._) Oh! I see.

HJALMAR. Have you been enforcing claims, Gregers?

GREGERS. Oh! nonsense.

RELLING. Oh! but he did, though; he used to go about to all the
farmers’ cottages presenting something that he called “the claim of the
ideal.”

GREGERS. I was young then.

RELLING. You’re right _there_; you were very young. And the claim of
the ideal--you never managed to get them honored as long as _I_ was up
there.

GREGERS. Nor since either.

RELLING. And so, I dare say you’ve become sensible enough to reduce
your demands a little.

GREGERS. Never when I am face to face with a true, genuine man.

HJALMAR. No; and that seems sensible enough to me. A little butter,
Gina.

RELLING. And a little bit of pork for Molvik.

MOLVIK. Uh! No pork!

  _There is a knock at the door of the loft._

HJALMAR. Open the door, Hedvig; father wants to come out.

  HEDVIG _opens the door a little way_, OLD EKDAL _comes in with a
      fresh rabbit-skin; he closes the door after him_.

EKDAL. Good-morning, gentlemen! Have had capital sport to-day. Have
shot a big one.

HJALMAR. And you’ve skinned it before I came!

EKDAL. Have salted it, too. It’s good tender meat, is rabbit meat; and
it’s sweet, too; tastes like sugar. Hope you’re enjoying yourselves,
gentlemen!

  _He goes into his room._

MOLVIK (_rising_). Excuse me--I can’t--I must go down at once.

RELLING. Have some soda-water, man!

MOLVIK (_hurrying off_). Uh! uh!

  _He goes out at the entrance door._

RELLING (_to_ HJALMAR). Let us drink to the old hunter.

HJALMAR (_touching his glass_). Yes, to the bold sportsman on the brink
of the grave!

RELLING. To the gray-headed---- (_Drinking._) I say, is his hair gray
or is it white!

HJALMAR. It’s between the two; besides he hasn’t so many hairs left on
his head.

RELLING. Well; you can get through life with false hair. Yes, at the
bottom you’re a happy man, Ekdal; you have that great life-mission to
toil for----

HJALMAR. And I do toil, believe me.

RELLING. And then you have your active wife, trotting in and out so
nicely, in her felt shoes, and pottering about, looking after you and
serving you.

HJALMAR. Yes, Gina (_nodding to her_), you are an excellent helpmate to
have on life’s path.

GINA. Oh! don’t sit there a-criticising me.

RELLING. And then your Hedvig, Ekdal.

HJALMAR (_with emotion_). Yes, the child! The child beyond all else.
Hedvig, come here to me. (_He strokes her hair._) What day is it
to-morrow, eh?

HEDVIG (_shaking him_). Oh, no, you mustn’t tell, father.

HJALMAR. It goes to my heart like a knife when I think how small a
thing it will be; only a little festive arrangement in the loft----

HEDVIG. Ah! but that’s so lovely!

RELLING. Only wait till that wonderful invention is completed, Hedvig!

HJALMAR. Yes, then--then you will see!--Hedvig, I have determined to
make your future secure. All shall be well with you as long as you
live. I will ask something for you--and nothing else. _That_ shall be
the poor inventor’s sole reward.

HEDVIG (_whispering, with her arms about his neck_). Oh! you dear, dear
father!

RELLING (_to_ GREGERS). Well, now, don’t you think it very pleasant,
just for a change, to sit at a well-spread table in the midst of a
happy family circle?

HJALMAR. Yes, I deeply prize these hours spent at table.

GREGERS. I, for my part, do not thrive in the air of a swamp.

RELLING. Air of a swamp?

HJALMAR. Oh! now don’t begin with that stuff again!

GINA. Goodness knows there’s no foul air here, Mr. Werle, for I air the
place every day.

GREGERS (_rising from the table_). The stench I mean, no amount of your
airing would get rid of.

HJALMAR. Stench!

GINA. Yes, what do you think of that, Ekdal?

RELLING. Excuse me--I suppose it isn’t you yourself who brings this
stench with you from the mines up there?

GREGERS. It would be like you to call what I bring into this house a
stench.

RELLING (_going up to him_). Listen, Mr. Werle, junior, I strongly
suspect you are still going about with “the claim of the ideal”
unabridged in your coat-tail pocket.

GREGERS. I carry it in my breast.

RELLING. Well, wherever you may have it, I’d not advise you to play the
dun here as long as I’m about.

GREGERS. And suppose I do all the same?

RELLING. Then you fly head-foremost down stairs. Now you know.

HJALMAR (_rising_). But really, Relling!

GREGERS. Yes, just you turn me out----

GINA (_coming between them_). You mustn’t do that, Relling. But _this_
I will say, Mr. Werle, that after making all that horrid mess in there
with the stove, you shouldn’t come here chattering about stenches.

  _There is a knock at the door._

HEDVIG. Mother, someone’s knocking.

HJALMAR. That’s it! Now we’re to be bothered with a lot of people!

GINA. Only leave it to me---- (_She goes and opens the door; starts,
shudders, and draws back._) Oh! oh, dear!

  MR. WERLE _in a fur coat comes a step forward_.

WERLE. I beg your pardon; but I am told my son is living here.

GINA (_in a choking voice_). Yes----

HJALMAR (_coming nearer_). Won’t you come in, sir?

WERLE. Thanks; I only wish to speak to my son.

GREGERS. Well! Here I am!

WERLE. I should like to speak to you in your room.

GREGERS. In my room--well----

  _About to go out._

GINA. No, goodness knows, that’s not in a fit state to----

WERLE. Well, outside in the passage, then; I wish to speak to you
alone.

HJALMAR. You can do that here, sir. Come into the sitting-room, Relling.

  HJALMAR _and_ RELLING _go in, right_; GINA _takes_ HEDVIG _with her
      into the kitchen_.

GREGERS (_after a short pause_). Well, we’re alone now.

WERLE. You let fall a word or two yesterday, and as you’ve come to live
at the Ekdals I am compelled to think that you’ve something in your
mind against me.

GREGERS. I have in mind to open Hjalmar Ekdal’s eyes. He shall see his
position as it is; that is all.

WERLE. Is that the mission in life you spoke of yesterday?

GREGERS. Yes. You have left none other open to me.

WERLE. Is it I who have poisoned your mind, Gregers?

GREGERS. You have poisoned my whole life--I’m not thinking about all
that with mother. But it is you I have to thank for it that I go about
hunted and devoured by a guilty conscience.

WERLE. Aha! So it’s your conscience that’s amiss.

GREGERS. I ought to have stood out against you then, at the time when
you laid the snares for Lieutenant Ekdal. I ought to have warned him;
for I foresaw whither it would lead him.

WERLE. Yes; then, indeed, you ought to have spoken.

GREGERS. I didn’t dare to; I was so cowed and scared. I was so afraid
of you--both then and for a long time afterwards.

WERLE. You’ve got over that fear now it seems.

GREGERS. Fortunately. The wrong done old Ekdal, both by me and others
can never be made good; but I can free Hjalmar from all this lying and
deceit which surround him and are ruining him.

WERLE. Do you believe that that would be doing a good deed?

GREGERS. I believe so--firmly.

WERLE. Perhaps you fancy that the photographer Ekdal, is the man to
thank you for such a friendly service?

GREGERS. Yes--he _is_ the man to do so.

WERLE. H’m--we shall see.

GREGERS. And besides if I am to go on living I must find some healing
for my sick conscience.

WERLE. That will never be sound. Your conscience has been sick since
you were a child. That is a heritage from your mother, Gregers, the
only heritage she left you.

GREGERS (_with a scornful half smile_). Haven’t you yet got over your
anger at the mistake you made in thinking she would bring you a dowry?

WERLE. Don’t let us touch upon irrelevant things--So you hold to your
purpose of putting Ekdal on what you assume to be the right scent.

GREGERS. Yes; I do hold to my purpose.

WERLE. Well, then I might have saved myself the walk up here. For
doubtless it’s no use asking if you’ll come home again.

GREGERS. No.

WERLE. And I suppose you will not enter the firm either?

GREGERS. No.

WERLE. Good. But as I intend getting married soon, there will have to
be a division of the property.[2]

[2] In Norway a widower who marries again is by law compelled to make
provisions for his children by his former marriage.

GREGERS (_hurriedly_). No; I do not wish that.

WERLE. You do not wish it?

GREGERS. No, I dare not for my conscience sake.

WERLE (_after a short pause_). Are you going up to the Works again?

GREGERS. No, I consider myself as having left your service.

WERLE. But what shall you do then?

GREGERS. Only fulfill the mission of my life; nothing else.

WERLE. Yes, but afterwards? What will you live on?

GREGERS. I have put by a little out of my salary.

WERLE. And how long will _that_ last!

GREGERS. I think it will last my time.

WERLE. What do you mean by that?

GREGERS. I will answer nothing more now.

WERLE. Good-bye then, Gregers.

GREGERS. Good-bye.

  MR. WERLE _goes out_.

HJALMAR (_looking in_). He’s gone, hasn’t he?

  HJALMAR _and_ RELLING _come in_. GINA _and_ HEDVIG _also enter from
      the kitchen_.

RELLING. So the lunch has come to nothing.

GREGERS. Put on your things, Hjalmar; you must go for a long walk with
me.

HJALMAR. Gladly. What did your father want? Anything to do with me?

GREGERS. Only come along. We must have a little talk together. I’ll go
in and put on my overcoat.

  _He goes out at the entrance door._

GINA. You shouldn’t go out with him, Ekdal.

RELLING. No, don’t you. Stop where you are.

HJALMAR (_taking his hat and top-coat_). What nonsense! When the friend
of my youth feels the desire to open his heart to me in private!

RELLING. But deuce take it--don’t you see the fellow’s cracked, mad,
demented!

GINA. Yes, you can surely hear that. His mother used to have such fits
at times.

HJALMAR. He has all the greater need for the vigilant eye of a friend.
(_To_ GINA.) Mind dinner’s ready in good time. Good-bye for the
present. (_He goes out at the entrance-door._)

RELLING. It’s a pity that fellow didn’t go to hell by way of one of the
Hojdal mines.

GINA. Lord!--why do you say that?

RELLING (_mutters_). Oh, yes! For I’ve my suspicions.

GINA. Do you think young Werle’s really mad?

RELLING. No, worse luck, he’s not more mad than most people. But he’s
diseased all the same.

GINA. What is it that’s the matter with him then?

RELLING. Well, I’ll tell you Mrs. Ekdal. He’s suffering from an acute
attack of virtue-fever----

GINA. Virtue-fever?

HEDVIG. Is that a disease then?

RELLING. Certainly; it’s a national disease; but it only appears
sporadically. (_Nodding to_ GINA.) Thanks for your hospitality. (_He
goes out at the entrance-door._)

GINA (_walking up and down uneasily_). Uf, that Gregers Werle--he
always was a horrid beast.

HEDVIG (_standing by the table and looking at her searchingly_). It all
seems very strange to me.




ACT IV.


  [HJALMAR EKDAL’S _studio. A photograph has just been taken; a camera,
      with a cloth over it, a pedestal, a few chairs, a console, and
      so forth are placed down the stage. It is afternoon; the sun
      is setting; a little later it begins to grow dark._ GINA _is
      standing in the open entrance-door with a small box and wet plate
      in her hands, and speaks to some one outside_.]

GINA. Yes, quite certain. When I promise anything I do it. The first
dozen shall be ready by Monday. Good day, good day.

  _Steps are heard going down the stairs._ GINA _closes the door, puts
      the plate in the box, and puts it into the covered camera_.

HEDVIG (_coming in from the kitchen_). Are they gone?

GINA (_clearing away_). Yes, thank goodness, I’ve got rid of them at
last.

HEDVIG. Can you think why father’s not come home yet?

GINA. Are you sure he’s not down at Relling’s?

HEDVIG. No, he’s not; I ran down the kitchen stairs just now and asked.

GINA. And there’s his dinner getting cold for him, too.

HEDVIG. Yes, fancy--and father’s who’s always so careful to be home to
dinner.

GINA. Oh! he’ll be here directly you’ll see.

HEDVIG. I do wish he’d come; for I think everybody’s been so strange.

GINA (_exclaims_). There he is!

  HJALMAR EKDAL _comes in at the entrance door_.

HEDVIG. Father! Oh, what a time we’ve been waiting for you!

GINA (_glancing at him_). You’ve been gone a long time, Ekdal.

HJALMAR (_without looking at her_). I’ve been rather a long time, yes.
(_He takes off his overcoat._ GINA _and_ HEDVIG _go to help him. He
waives them off._)

GINA. Perhaps you’ve dined with Werle?

HJALMAR (_hanging up his coat_). No.

GINA (_going to the kitchen-door_). Then I’ll bring you in something.

HJALMAR. No, let the dinner be. I’ll not eat anything now.

HEDVIG (_going close to him_). Aren’t you well, father?

HJALMAR. Well? Oh! yes, so, so. We had a fatiguing walk, Gregers and I.

GINA. You shouldn’t have done that, Ekdal; for you’re not used to it.

HJALMAR. H’m; there’s many a thing a man must accustom himself to in
this world. (_Walks up and down a little while._) Has anyone been here
while I was out?

GINA. No one but the two sweethearts.

HJALMAR. No new orders?

GINA. No, not to-day.

HEDVIG. You’ll see, there are sure to be some to-morrow, father.

HJALMAR. I hope there may; for to-morrow I mean to set about work in
real earnest.

HEDVIG. To-morrow! Oh! but don’t you remember what day it is to-morrow?

HJALMAR. Ah! that’s true. Well, then, the day after to-morrow.
Henceforth I mean to do everything myself; I alone will do all the work.

GINA. But what’s the good of that, Ekdal? It’ll only make your life a
burden to you. I can see to the photographs, and then you can go on
with the invention.

HEDVIG. And then the wild duck, father, and all the fowls and rabbits
and----

HJALMAR. Don’t speak to me of that rubbish! From to-morrow, I’ll never
set foot in the loft again.

HEDVIG. Yes, but father, you promised me that to-morrow we’d have a
little feast.

HJALMAR. H’m, that’s true. Well, then from the day after to-morrow.
That damned wild duck, I should like to wring her neck.

HEDVIG (_shrieks_). The wild duck!

GINA. Well I never heard such a thing.

HEDVIG (_shaking him_). Oh! but father--why it’s _my_ wild duck.

HJALMAR. And therefore I will not do it. I have not the heart to
do it--not the heart to do it for your sake, Hedvig. But I feel so
strongly that I ought not to suffer any creature under my roof that has
passed through those hands.

GINA. But, good Lord, because grandfather got her from that
good-for-nothing Pettersen, you----

HJALMAR (_walking about_). There are certain demands. What shall I call
them? Let me say ideal demands--certain claims that a man can not set
aside without wronging his own soul.

HEDVIG (_following him_). But think, the wild duck--the poor wild duck!

HJALMAR (_stopping_). Why, you hear I shall spare her--for your sake.
Not a hair of her head shall be hurt; that is as I was saying, I will
spare her. For there are greater problems than that to solve. Now you
should go out a little as usual, Hedvig, it’s dark enough now for you.

HEDVIG. No, I don’t care about going out now.

HJALMAR. Yes, go along, you seem to me to be blinking so with your eyes
to-day; all the vapors in here are not good for you. The air beneath
this roof is heavy.

HEDVIG. All right, then I’ll run down the kitchen stairs and go out for
a little while. My cloak and hat?--Oh! they’re in my own room. Father,
now you mustn’t do the wild duck any harm while I’m out.

HJALMAR. Not a feather of its head shall be plucked. (_Presses her to
him._) You and I, Hedvig,--we two!--Well go now.

  HEDVIG _nods to her parents and goes out through the kitchen_.

HJALMAR (_walking about without looking up_). Gina.

GINA. Yes?

HJALMAR. From to-morrow--or let us say, from the day after to-morrow--I
should like to keep the household accounts myself.

GINA. Do you want to keep the household accounts too, now?

HJALMAR. Yes, or to keep the accounts of our takings, anyhow.

GINA. Lord help us, _that’s_ soon done.

HJALMAR. I hardly believe that, for you seem to make the money go a
remarkably long way. (_Standing still and looking at her._) How do you
manage it?

GINA. It is because Hedvig and I require so little.

HJALMAR. It is true that father’s so liberally paid for the copying he
does for Mr. Werle?

GINA. I don’t know that it is so liberally. I don’t know the prices for
those sort of things.

HJALMAR. Well, about how much does father get? Tell me!

GINA. Well, it varies so. I should say it’s about as much as he costs
us, and just a little pocket money besides.

HJALMAR. As much as he costs us! And you never told me this before.

GINA. No, I could not for you were so happy to think that he had
everything from you.

HJALMAR. And so father gets this from Mr. Werle!

GINA. Oh yes! Mr. Werle’s got enough and to spare, he has.

HJALMAR. Light the lamp!

GINA (_lighting it_). And then we don’t know that it is Mr. Werle
himself; it may be Graberg who----

HJALMAR. Why these subterfuges about Graberg?

GINA. I don’t know, I only thought----

HJALMAR. H’m!

GINA. Well, it wasn’t me that got grandfather the writing. Why it was
Bertha when she went to the house.

HJALMAR. Your voice seems to me to be trembling.

GINA (_putting the shade over the lamp_). Does it?

HJALMAR. And your hands are shaking. Aren’t they?

GINA (_firmly_). Speak straight out, Ekdal. What is it he’s gone and
said about me?

HJALMAR. Is it true--_can_ it be true that--that there was a kind of
relation between you and Mr. Werle, while you were in service at his
house?

GINA. That is not true. Not at that time, no. Mr. Werle was after me,
certainly. And the wife fancied there was something in it, and then she
made such a hocus-pocus and hurly-burly, and she knocked me about and
drove me about so--that she did--and so I left her service.

HJALMAR.--Afterward then!

GINA. Yes. Then I went home. And mother--she wasn’t as good as you
thought, Ekdal; and she kept on at me about one thing and another--for
Mr. Werle was a widower then.

HJALMAR. Well, and then!

GINA. Well, I suppose it’s best you should know it. He didn’t let me
alone until he’d had his will of me.

HJALMAR (_clasping his hands_). And this is the mother of my child! How
could you conceal such a thing from me!

GINA. Yes, that was wrong of me; I ought certainly to have told you
long ago.

HJALMAR. You ought to have told it me at once. Then I should have known
what sort of a creature you were.

GINA. But would you have married me all the same?

HJALMAR. How can you imagine such a thing!

GINA. No; that is why I did not dare tell you anything then. For I grew
to care so very much for you, as you know. And I couldn’t go and make
myself absolutely wretched----

HJALMAR (_walking about_). And this is my Hedvig’s mother. And to know
all that I see before my eyes---- (_Kicking a chair._)--All my home--I
owe it all to a favored predecessor. Ah! that seducer, Werle!

GINA. Do you repent the fourteen or fifteen years that we have lived
together?

HJALMAR (_standing in front of her_). Tell me, have you not repented
every day, every hour, for the web of deceit that, like a spider, you
have spun around me? Answer me that! Have you not really gone about
here remorseful and penitent?

GINA. Ah! dear Ekdal, I’ve had quite enough to think of with the house
and all the daily work----

HJALMAR. So you never cast a searching glance at your past?

GINA. No; God knows, I had almost forgotten those old intrigues.

HJALMAR. Ah! This callous, insensible calm! There is something so
revolting to me in this! Think--not even remorse.

GINA. But tell me, Ekdal, what would have become of you if you had not
found a wife like me?

HJALMAR. Like you----

GINA. Yes, for I’ve always been a little more businesslike and
practical than you. Well, of course, that’s natural, for I’m a few
years older.

HJALMAR. What would have become of me!

GINA. For you had got into all sorts of bad habits when you first met
me; you surely can’t deny that.

HJALMAR. So you call those bad habits! Ah! you don’t understand a man’s
feelings, when he is in sorrow and despair--especially a man with my
fiery temperament.

GINA. Well, well, that may be. And I’m not regaling about all that
either; for you became such a model husband as soon as ever you’d a
house and home of your own. And now we’ve made it all so comfortable
and cosy here; and Hedvig and I were soon going to spend a little more
both for food and clothes.

HJALMAR. In the swamp of deceit, yes.

GINA. Oh! that that abominable fellow should ever have set foot in this
house!

HJALMAR. I too thought home good to be in. That was a delusion. Whence
now shall I get the needful elasticity of mind to bring the invention
into the world of realities. Perhaps it will die with me, and then it
will be your past, Gina, that has slain it.

GINA (_almost crying_). No, you mustn’t say any such thing, Ekdal. I,
who all my days have only tried to do the best for you!

HJALMAR. I ask--what becomes now of the bread-winner’s dream? When I
lay in there on the sofa pondering over the invention, I already had
the presentiment that it would devour my whole powers. I felt, too,
that the day when I should hold the patent in my hands--that day would
be my last. And so it was my dream that you should be left here the
well-to-do widow of the departed inventor.

GINA (_drying her tears_). No, you _must_ not speak like that, Ekdal.
God forbid I should live to see the day when I was a widow!

HJALMAR. Ah! ’tis all one. Now all this is past anyhow. All!

  GREGERS WERLE _opens the entrance-door cautiously and looks in_.

GREGERS. May I come in?

HJALMAR. Yes, do.

GREGERS (_enters with a face beaming with delight and holds out his
hands to them_). Now, my dear friends (_looking at them alternately and
whispering to_ HJALMAR) so it is not yet over?

HJALMAR (_aloud_). It _is_ over.

GREGERS. It is?

HJALMAR. I have passed through the bitterest moments of my life.

GREGERS. But the most ennobling, too, I should think.

HJALMAR. Well, at any rate it’s off our hands.

GINA. God forgive you, Mr. Werle.

GREGERS (_with the utmost astonishment_). But I don’t understand this.

HJALMAR. What don’t you understand?

GREGERS. So great a reckoning--a reckoning that is to lay the
foundation of a new life--the living together in truth and without all
deceit----

HJALMAR. Yes, I know that well enough, I know that so well.

GREGERS. I felt so sure that as I entered the door, a light of
transfiguration and joy from the faces of both man and wife would
shine upon me. And now I see nothing but this dull, dreary, sad----

GINA. Oh, that’s it!

  _Takes the shade off the lamp._

GREGERS. You will not understand me, Mrs. Ekdal, well, well, for you I
dare say it will take time. But, you yourself, Hjalmar? You must feel a
higher consecration after this great reckoning?

HJALMAR. Yes, of course, I do. That is to say, after a fashion.

GREGERS. For surely there is nothing on earth to compare with this, to
forgive one who has erred, and lovingly to raise her up to yourself.

HJALMAR. Do you think a man can so easily forget a draught so bitter as
that which I have drained.

GREGERS. An _ordinary_ man, no; that may be. But a man like you!

HJALMAR. Yes. Good gracious, I knew that well enough. But you mustn’t
drive me, Gregers. It takes time, you see.

GREGERS. You have a great deal of the wild duck in you, Hjalmar.

  RELLING _has come in at the entrance door_.

RELLING. Hallo! Is the wild duck to the fore again?

HJALMAR. Mr. Werle senior’s broken-winged victim of the chase, yes.

RELLING. Mr. Werle senior’s? Is it he you are speaking of?

HJALMAR. Of him and of--us others.

RELLING (_in a low tone to_ GREGERS). The devil take you!

HJALMAR. What is that you’re saying?

RELLING. I was wishing heartily that the quack would take himself off
home. If he stops here he’s just the man to muddle things up for you
both.

GREGERS. Things will not be muddled for these two, Mr. Relling. I will
not speak of Hjalmar now. Him we know. But she, too, at the bottom of
her heart must surely have some truth, some sincerity.

GINA (_tearfully_). You might have let me pass for what I _was_ then?

RELLING (_to_ GREGERS). Would it be impertinent to inquire, what it is
you really want in this house?

GREGERS. I wish to lay the foundation of a true marriage.

RELLING. So you don’t think that the Ekdal’s marriage is good enough as
it is?

GREGERS. It is certainly quite as good a marriage as most others,
unfortunately. But it has not yet become a _true_ marriage.

HJALMAR. You have never had any sense for the claims of the ideal,
Relling.

RELLING. Stuff and nonsense, my good fellow! With your permission, Mr.
Werle--how many--approximately--how many true marriages have you seen
in your life?

GREGERS. I hardly think I’ve seen a single one.

RELLING. Nor have I.

GREGERS. But I have seen such numberless marriages of the opposite
kind. And I have had occasions to see, from personal observation, how
such marriages can demoralize two human beings.

HJALMAR. The whole moral foundation of a man may give way beneath his
feet; _that_ is the terrible part of it.

RELLING. Well, I’ve never exactly been married, so I’m no judge of such
things. But this I do know, the _child_ is part of the marriage too.
And you must leave the child at peace.

HJALMAR. Ah! Hedvig! My poor Hedvig!

RELLING. Yes, you must be so good as to keep Hedvig out of all this.
You two are grown-up people; you can, in God’s name muddle and meddle
with your lives, if you feel inclined. But you must be careful with
Hedvig, I tell you, else you may do her a mischief.

HJALMAR. A mischief!

RELLING. Yes--or she may do herself a mischief!--and perhaps others,
too.

GINA. But how can _you_ know that, Relling?

HJALMAR. There is no immediate danger to her eyes.

RELLING. This has nothing to do with her eyes. But Hedvig is at an
awkward age. She might get into all sorts of mischief.

GINA. Yes, just fancy--she does that already! She’s begun carrying on
with the fire out in the kitchen. She calls it playing at house on
fire. I’m often frightened she’ll set fire to the house.

RELLING. There you see, I knew it well enough.

GREGERS (_to_ RELLING). But how do you account for this?

RELLING (_sulkily_). She is passing through a constitutional change,
man.

HJALMAR. As long as the child has me!--So long as my head is above
ground----

  _There is a knock at the door._

GINA. Hush, Ekdal! There is some one in the passage. (_Calls out._)
Come in!

  MRS. SORBY, _in walking costume, comes in_.

MRS. SORBY. Good evening!

GINA (_going up to her_). What, is it you, Bertha!

MRS. SORBY. Yes, indeed it is. I hope I’m not in the way.

HJALMAR. Not in the least; an emissary from _that_ house----

MRS. SORBY. Frankly, I didn’t expect to find your men-folk at home
about this time; and so I ran up for a little chat with you, and to bid
you good-by.

GINA. Really? Are you going away?

MRS. SORBY. Yes, early to-morrow; up to Hojdal. Mr. Werle left this
afternoon. (_Lightly to_ GREGERS.) He sent his greetings to you.

GINA. Well, I never!----

HJALMAR. So Mr. Werle has gone away? And now you are going after him!

MRS. SORBY. Yes, what do you think of that, Ekdal?

HJALMAR. I say, be on your guard.

GREGERS. I can explain it to you. My father is going to marry Mrs.
Sorby.

HJALMAR. Marry her!

GINA. Really, Bertha, at last then!

RELLING (_his voice trembles slightly_). Surely this isn’t true?

MRS. SORBY. Yes, dear Relling, it is true enough.

RELLING. Are you going to marry again now?

MRS. SORBY. Yes, it looks like it. Werle has got a special license and
so we’re going to keep our wedding quite quietly up at the Works.

GREGERS. I suppose as a good step-son I must wish you happiness.

MRS. SORBY. Thank you--if you really mean it. And I hope it will be for
both Werle’s and my own happiness.

RELLING. You may certainly hope that. Mr. Werle never gets drunk----so
far as I know; and he’s certainly not in the habit of beating his wives
either, like the late lamented horse-doctor used to do.

MRS. SORBY. Ah! let Sorby be in peace where he lies. He also had his
good sides; he, too----

RELLING. But Mr. Werle has better sides, I dare swear.

MRS. SORBY. At any rate he hasn’t wasted what was best in him. The man
who does that must take the consequences.

RELLING. I shall go out this evening with Molvik.

MRS. SORBY. You shouldn’t do that, Relling. Don’t do it--for my sake.

RELLING. There’s nothing else for it. (_To_ HJALMAR.) If you want to
make one of us, come along.

GINA. No, thanks. Ekdal doesn’t go in for that sort of divulsions.

HJALMAR (_vexed, in a low voice_). Ah! be quiet.

RELLING. Good-by, Mrs.---- Werle.

  _He goes out through the entrance-door._

GREGERS (_to_ MRS. SORBY). It seems you and Dr. Relling knew one
another pretty intimately.

MRS. SORBY. Yes, we’ve known one another for many a year. Once, indeed,
it might have come to something between us, too.

GREGERS. It was a good thing for you it didn’t.

MRS. SORBY. You may well say that. But I have always taken care not to
act upon impulse. And a woman can’t throw herself quite away, either.

GREGERS. Are you not in the least afraid that I might give my father a
hint as to this old acquaintance?

MRS. SORBY. Surely you understand that I have told him myself.

GREGERS. Indeed?

MRS. SORBY. Your father knows down to the very least detail all that
people might fairly say against me. I have told him all this; it was
the first thing I did when he let me see his intentions.

GREGERS. You are more than commonly frank, I think.

MRS. SORBY. I have always been frank. That’s the best way for us women.

HJALMAR. What do you say to that, Gina?

GINA. Ah! we women are so different, we are. Some take one way and some
another.

MRS. SORBY. Yes, Gina, but I believe it is wisest to arrange matters
as I have done. And Werle, too, has concealed nothing of what concerns
himself from me. Indeed, it was _that_ which chiefly brought us
together. Now he can sit and talk to me as frankly as a child. He has
never been able to do that all his life. He, the strong man, full of
life, heard nothing all through his youth and all through the best
years of his life but sermons. And many a time the sermons were about
merely imaginary offenses--as I’ve heard say.

GINA. Yes, what they say’s true enough.

GREGERS. If you ladies are going to discuss that subject I had better
go.

MRS. SORBY. You needn’t go on that account. I shall not say another
word. I only wanted you to know that I had done nothing deceitful or in
any way underhand. It may be, perhaps, a great piece of good fortune
for me--and so indeed it is in some respects. But still I think I
receive no more than I give. Assuredly I shall never fail him. And
I shall serve him and tend him as no one else could, now that he is
becoming helpless.

HJALMAR. Helpless?

GREGERS (_to_ MRS. SORBY). Don’t speak of that here.

MRS. SORBY. It’s no use hiding it any longer, much as he would like to.
He’s going blind.

HJALMAR (_starting_). Going blind? That’s strange. He is going blind,
too?

GINA. So many people do.

MRS. SORBY. And you can imagine what that means to a business man.
Well, I shall try to use my eyes for him as well as I can. But I
mustn’t stay any longer, I’m so busy just now--oh! I was to tell you
Ekdal, that if there was anything Werle could do for you, you have only
to apply to Graberg.

GREGERS. I’m sure Hjalmar Ekdal will decline that offer.

MRS. SORBY. Indeed? I don’t think he used to be so----

GINA. Yes, Bertha, Ekdal wants nothing more from Mr. Werle.

HJALMAR (_slowly and emphatically_). Will you present my compliments to
your future husband, and tell him that I intend very shortly to call
upon the book-keeper, Graberg----

GREGERS. What! You’ll do that.

HJALMAR. ----to call upon the book-keeper, Graberg, I say, and ask for
an account of the money I owe his principal. I shall pay back this debt
of honor--ha, ha, ha! let us call it a debt of honor! But enough of
this. I shall repay the whole with five per cent interest.

GINA. But, dear Ekdal, goodness knows we’ve not the money to do it.

HJALMAR. Will you tell your betrothed that I am working indefatigably
at my invention. Will you tell him that what sustained my strength for
this exhausting labor, is the desire to be rid of the torture of this
load of debt. That’s why I go on with the invention. I shall devote the
whole of the profits to the repayment of the pecuniary advances made me
by your future consort.

MRS. SORBY. Something has happened in this house.

HJALMAR. Yes, there has.

MRS. SORBY. Well, good-bye then. There are lots of things I want to
talk to you about, Gina, but they must wait till another time. Good-bye.

  HJALMAR _and_ GREGERS _bow silently_; GINA _follows_ MRS. SORBY _to
      the door_.

HJALMAR. Not beyond the threshold, Gina! (MRS. SORBY _goes out_, GINA
_closes the door after her_.) Gregers! Now I am free of this dead
weight of indebtedness.

GREGERS. At any rate you soon will be.

HJALMAR. I think my attitude may be called correct.

GREGERS. You are the man I have always taken you for.

HJALMAR. In certain cases it is impossible to set aside the claims of
the ideal. As the bread-winner of a family, I must writhe and agonize
beneath this. For believe me, it’s no joke for a man of small means to
pay off a debt that has been accumulating for years, over which, so to
say, the dust of oblivion lies. But be this as it may, the Man in me
too demands his rights.

GREGERS (_putting his hands on his shoulders_). Dear Hjalmar--was it
not well that I came?

HJALMAR. Yes.

GREGERS. That you were shown clearly your true position--was it not
well?

HJALMAR (_somewhat impatiently_). Yes, of course it was well. But there
is one thing against which my sense of justice revolts.

GREGERS. And what is that?

HJALMAR. It is this, that--but I really don’t know if I may express
myself so freely about your father.

GREGERS. Pray do not mind me in the least!

HJALMAR. Very well. You see, it seems to me so revolting to think that
now it is not I, but he who will realize the true marriage.

GREGERS. How can you say such a thing!

HJALMAR. But it is so. For your father and Mrs. Sorby are entering
upon a marriage-contract founded upon complete confidence, founded
upon perfect and absolute frankness on both sides; there are no
concealments between them; there’s nothing kept in the background in
their relation; the two sinners, if I may so express myself, proclaim
mutual forgiveness.

GREGERS. Well, and what then?

HJALMAR. But that’s the whole point of the thing. Why it was all these
difficulties, as you yourself said, that were needed to found a true
marriage.

GREGERS. But this is quite another matter, Hjalmar. Surely you would
not conjure either yourself or her with those two. Oh! you understand
me.

HJALMAR. But I can’t get away from the fact, that in all this there is
something that wounds and offends my sense of rectitude. Why, it looks
exactly as if there were no righteous providence in the direction of
the world.

GINA. Oh! Ekdal, God knows you mustn’t say such things.

GREGERS. H’m, don’t let us enter upon that question.

HJALMAR. But, on the other hand, I seem to behold the guiding finger of
Fate. He is going blind.

GINA. Oh! perhaps that’s not so very certain.

HJALMAR. It is indubitable. We, at any rate, ought not to question
that, for it is just in this fact that there lies the righteous
retribution. He has in his time blinded a trusting fellow-creature.

GREGERS. Unfortunately he has blinded many.

HJALMAR. And now Fate, the inexorable, the mysterious, demands his own
eyes.

GINA. How can you dare to say such awful things! I’m quite frightened.

HJALMAR. It is good at times to ponder upon the seamy side of existence.

  HEDVIG, _with hat and cloak, delighted and out of breath, comes in at
      the entrance door_.

GINA. Are you back again already?

HEDVIG. Yes, I didn’t want to stop any longer. And it’s a good thing I
didn’t, for I met somebody at the door.

HJALMAR. I suppose it was that Mrs. Sorby.

HEDVIG. Yes.

HJALMAR (_walking up and down_). I hope you’ve seen her for the last
time.

  _A pause._ HEDVIG _looks shyly from one to the other as if to see
      what it all means_.

HEDVIG (_going up to him coaxingly_). Father!

HJALMAR. Well--what is it, Hedvig?

HEDVIG. Mrs. Sorby had brought me something.

HJALMAR (_stopping still_). For you?

HEDVIG. Yes. It’s something for to-morrow.

GINA. Bertha has always brought some little thing for you on that day.

HJALMAR. What is it?

HEDVIG. You mustn’t know now; for mother’s to give it me in bed
to-morrow morning.

HJALMAR. Ah! All this companionship from which I am shut out!

HEDVIG (_quickly_). No, you can see if you like it. It’s a big letter.
(_Taking the letter from her cloak pocket._)

HJALMAR. A letter, too?

HEDVIG. Yes, it’s only a letter. I suppose the other’s coming later.
But fancy--a letter! I’ve never had a letter before. And there’s “Miss”
on the outside. (_Reads._) “Miss Hedvig Ekdal.” Fancy--that’s me.

HJALMAR. Let me see that letter.

HEDVIG (_holding it out to him_). There, you can see.

HJALMAR. It is Mr. Werle’s hand.

GINA. Are you sure of that, Ekdal?

HJALMAR. See for yourself.

GINA. Oh! Do you think I understand anything about it?

HJALMAR. Hedvig, may I open the letter--and read it?

HEDVIG. Yes, of course you may, if you like.

GINA. No, not to-night, Ekdal; why it’s for to-morrow.

HEDVIG (_in a low tone_). Oh! do let him read it! It’s sure to be
something nice, and then father’ll be glad and he’ll be in good spirits
again.

HJALMAR. Then I may open it.

HEDVIG. Yes, please do, father. It’ll be such fun to know what it is.

HJALMAR. Good. (_He opens the letter, takes out a paper, reads it
through and seems confused._) What is this!----

GINA. What’s in it, then?

HEDVIG. Oh, yes, father--tell us!

HJALMAR. Be silent. (_Reads it through again; he turns pale but masters
himself._) It’s a deed of gift, Hedvig.

HEDVIG. Fancy! What is it I’m to have?

HJALMAR. Read it yourself. (HEDVIG _goes to the lamp and reads a
moment_.)

HJALMAR (_in a low voice, clenching his hands_). The eyes! the
eyes!--and now this letter!

HEDVIG (_leaves off reading_). Yes, but I think this is meant for
grandfather.

HJALMAR (_taking the letter from her_). You Gina--can you understand
this?

GINA. Why, I don’t know anything on earth about it--just tell us.

HJALMAR. Mr. Werle writes to Hedvig that her old grandfather need no
longer trouble himself with copying, but that for the future he’s to
draw a hundred crowns a month at the office.

GREGERS. Aha!

HEDVIG. A hundred crowns, mother! I read that.

GINA. That’ll come in very well for grandfather.

HJALMAR.----A hundred crowns as long as he may need it--that means, of
course, until he has closed his eyes in death.

GINA. Well, then he’s provided for, poor old fellow.

HJALMAR. But there’s more follows. You didn’t read this, Hedvig.
Afterwards it’s to revert to you.

HEDVIG. To me! All of it?

HJALMAR. He writes that the same sum is assured to you for your whole
life. Do you hear that, Gina?

GINA. Yes, I hear well enough.

HEDVIG. Fancy--I’m to have all that money! (_Shaking him._) Father,
father, aren’t you glad----

HJALMAR (_evasively_). Glad! (_Walking about the room._) Ah! what an
out-look!--what a perspective unrolls itself before me! It is Hedvig,
it is she whom he endows so richly!

GINA. Why, it’s Hedvig’s birthday----

HEDVIG. And it’ll be yours all the same, father! You know that I shall
give all the money to you and mother.

HJALMAR. To mother; yes. That’s it.

GREGERS. Hjalmar, this is a snare he is laying for you.

HJALMAR. Do you think this is another snare?

GREGERS. When he was here this morning he said, “Hjalmar Ekdal is not
the man you take him for.”

HJALMAR. Not the man!

GREGERS. “You will see that,” he said.

HJALMAR. You were to see that I would allow myself to be bought with
money----

HEDVIG. But, mother, what’s the matter?

GINA. Go and take off your things.

  HEDVIG _goes out almost crying, at the kitchen door_.

GREGERS. Yes, Hjalmar--now we shall see who is right--he or I.

HJALMAR (_slowly tears the paper across, and lays both pieces on the
table_). Here is my answer.

GREGERS. I expected it.

HJALMAR (_going up to_ GINA _who stands by the oven, and speaking in a
low tone_). And now no more deceit. If the connection between you and
him was quite at an end, when you--came to care for me, as you call
it--why did he make it possible for us to marry?

GINA. I suppose he thought he’d be free of the house.

HJALMAR. Only _that_? Wasn’t he afraid of a certain result?

GINA. I don’t understand what you mean.

HJALMAR. I want to know if--your child has the right to live under my
roof.

GINA (_drawing herself up, her eyes flashing_). And you ask that?

HJALMAR. You must answer me this one question: Is Hedvig my child,
or----? Well!

GINA (_looks at him with cold defiance_). I don’t know.

HJALMAR (_shudders slightly_). You don’t know!

GINA. How should _I_ know? Such a woman as I?

HJALMAR (_quietly turning from her_). Then I have nothing more to do in
this house.

GREGERS. Think what you’re doing, Hjalmar.

HJALMAR (_taking up his overcoat_). There’s nothing for a man like me
to think about here.

GREGERS. Yes, here there is so much to be thought over. You three
must remain together, if you are to reach the great height of
self-sacrificing forgiveness.

HJALMAR. I will not. Never, never! My hat! (_Takes his hat._) My home
has fallen into ruins about me (_bursting into tears_). Gregers, I have
no child!

HEDVIG (_who has opened the kitchen door_). What do you say? (_Going up
to him._) Father, father!

GINA. There now!

HJALMAR. Do not come near me, Hedvig. Stand away. I can not bear to see
you. Ah! the eyes! Good-bye.

  _Goes towards the door._

HEDVIG (_holding him fast and crying out_). No, no! No, no! Don’t go
away from me!

GINA (_calls out_). Look at the child, Ekdal! Look at the child!

HJALMAR. I will not. I can not. I must away; away from all this.

  _He tears himself away from_ HEDVIG _and goes out at the
      entrance-door_.

HEDVIG (_with despairing look_). He is going from us mother! He is
going from us! He will never come back again!

GINA. If only you’ll not cry, Hedvig, father’ll come again!

HEDVIG (_throws herself sobbing upon the sofa_). No, no, he’ll never
come home to us any more.

GREGERS. You believe that I meant it all for the best, Mrs. Ekdal?

GINA. Yes, I do almost, but God forgive you, all the same.

HEDVIG (_lying on the sofa_). Oh! I feel as if it would kill me! What
have I done to him? Mother, you must bring him home again!

GINA. Yes, yes, yes; only be quiet, and I’ll go out and look for him.
(_Puts on her out-door things._) Perhaps he’s gone to Relling’s. But
you mustn’t lie there and howl. Will you promise me that?

HEDVIG (_crying convulsively_). Yes, I’ll stop, if only father will
come home again.

GREGERS (_to_ GINA _who is going out_). Wouldn’t it be better after all
that you let him first fight out to the end his bitter fight?

GINA. Oh! he can do that afterwards. First and foremost we must quiet
the child.

  _She goes out at the entrance-door._

HEDVIG (_sitting up and drying her eyes_). Now you must tell me what
it’s all about. Why won’t father have anything more to do with me?

GREGERS. You mustn’t ask about that till you’re a big girl and grown up.

HEDVIG (_sobbing_). But I can’t go on being so terribly miserable till
I’m big and grown up--I know what it is--perhaps I’m not father’s real
child.

GREGERS (_uneasily_). How could that be?

HEDVIG. Why, mother may have found me. And now, perhaps, father has got
to know it; for I’ve read about such things.

GREGERS. Well, but if it were so----

HEDVIG. Yes, I think he might love me just as much for all that. And
even more. Why the wild duck, too, was sent us for a present, and yet I
care so much for her.

GREGERS (_trying to change the subject_). Yes, the wild duck, that’s
true! Let’s talk a little about the wild duck, Hedvig.

HEDVIG. The poor wild duck. He can’t bear to see her either. Only
think, he wanted to wring her neck!

GREGERS. Oh! he’ll not do that I’m sure.

HEDVIG. No, but he said so. And I think it was so horrid of father,
because I say my prayers for the wild duck every night and beg she may
be preserved from death, and all that is evil.

GREGERS (_looking at her_). Do you always say your prayers at night?

HEDVIG. Oh, yes.

GREGERS. Who taught you to do that?

HEDVIG. I myself; it was once when father was so ill, and had leeches
on his throat, and then he said he was wrestling with death.

GREGERS. Well?

HEDVIG. So I prayed for him after I had gone to bed. And ever since
I’ve gone on with it.

GREGERS. And now you pray for the wild duck, too?

HEDVIG. I thought it would be best to put the wild duck in too, for she
was so sickly at first.

GREGERS. Do you pray in the morning, too?

HEDVIG. No, I don’t do that.

GREGERS. Why not in the morning as well?

HEDVIG. Oh! it’s light in the morning, and there’s nothing to be afraid
of.

GREGERS. And the wild duck that you’re so very fond of--your father
wanted to wring its neck?

HEDVIG. No, he said it would be best for him if he did, but that he
would spare her for my sake; and that was very good of father.

GREGERS (_coming a little closer_). But if you were to sacrifice the
wild duck of your own free will for his sake?

HEDVIG (_rising_). The wild duck!

GREGERS. If you now freely sacrificed for him the best thing you know
and possess on earth?

HEDVIG. Do you think that would help?

GREGERS. Try it, Hedvig.

HEDVIG (_in a low voice and brightening eyes_). Yes, I will try.

GREGERS. And do you think you’ve enough strength of mind?

HEDVIG. I will ask grandfather to shoot her for me.

GREGERS. Yes, do so. But not a word of all this to your mother!

HEDVIG. Why not?

GREGERS. She does not understand us.

HEDVIG. The wild duck? I’ll try it early to-morrow.

  GINA _comes in at the entrance door_.

HEDVIG (_going up to her_). Did you meet him, mother?

GINA. No, but I heard that he’d gone into Relling’s and taken him along
with him.

GREGERS. Are you sure of that?

GINA. Yes, the porter’s wife told me. Molvik went with them too, she
said.

GREGERS. And this at a time when he needs so sorely to wrestle in
solitude!

GINA (_taking off her things_). Yes, men folk are so different. Heaven
knows where Relling has dragged him to. I ran over to Mrs. Ericksen’s;
but they weren’t there.

HEDVIG (_struggling with her tears_). Oh! if he should never come home
any more!

GREGERS. He _will_ come home again. I will bear him a message
to-morrow, and you will see _how_ he’ll come. Sleep peacefully on that,
Hedvig. Good night.

  _He goes out at the entrance door._

HEDVIG (_throwing herself sobbing on_ GINA’S _neck_). Mother, mother!

GINA (_patting her on the back and sighing_). Ah, yes! Relling was
right. That is what comes of crazy people going about and presenting
intricate claims.




ACT V.


  [HJALMAR EKDAL’S _studio. Cold gray morning light. Wet snow on the
      great panes of the sky-light._ GINA, _in an apron and bib, with
      a broom and duster in her hand comes from the kitchen and goes
      towards the door of the sitting-room. At the same time_ HEDVIG
      _comes in hurriedly at the entrance-door_.]

GINA (_stopping_). Well?

HEDVIG. Oh, mother, I almost believe he’s down at Relling’s----

GINA. There, you see!

HEDVIG. For the porter’s wife said she could hear that Relling had two
people with him when he came home in the night.

GINA. That’s just what I thought.

HEDVIG. But that’s no good if he won’t come up to us.

GINA. At any rate I’ll go down and speak to him.

  OLD EKDAL _in dressing-gown and slippers, and with a lighted pipe
      comes in by the door of his room_.

EKDAL. I say, Hjalmar---- Isn’t Hjalmar at home?

GINA. No, he’s gone out.

EKDAL. So early? And in such a heavy snow-storm? Well, well, give me a
hand, please, I can go the morning rounds alone.

  _He pushes aside the door of the loft_, HEDVIG _helps him; he goes
      in, she closes the door after him_.

HEDVIG (_in a low voice_). Oh, think, mother, when poor grandfather
hears that father is going away from us.

GINA. Oh, nonsense! Grandfather mustn’t hear anything about it. It’s a
mercy he wasn’t at home yesterday during all that hullaballoo.

HEDVIG. Yes, but----

  GREGERS _comes in at the entrance door_.

GREGERS. Well? Have you found any trace of him?

GINA. They say he’s down at Relling’s.

GREGERS. At Relling’s! Has he really been out with those creatures?

GINA. He has like enough.

GREGERS. Yes, but he--so in need of solitude and of thorough
self-examination.

GINA. Yes, you may well say that.

  RELLING _comes in from the passage_.

HEDVIG (_going up to him_). Is father with you?

GINA (_at the same time_). Is he there?

RELLING. Yes, of course he is.

HEDVIG. And you never told us!

RELLING. Yes, I’m a brute--but I had to get the other brute quiet
first--the dæmonic one, of course--and then I fell so sound asleep
that----

GINA. What does Ekdal say to-day?

RELLING. He doesn’t say anything whatever.

HEDVIG. Doesn’t he say anything?

RELLING. Not a blessed word.

GREGERS. No, no; I can well understand that.

GINA. But what’s he doing then?

RELLING. He’s lying on the sofa, snoring.

GINA. Really? Yes, Ekdal’s a great one to snore.

HEDVIG. Is he asleep? Can he sleep?

RELLING. Well, it looks like it.

GREGERS. Very natural after the spiritual strife that has torn him----

GINA. And especially as he’s not accustomed to knocking about at night.

HEDVIG. Perhaps it’s as well, mother, that father is able to sleep.

GINA. I think so, too. But now it’s not worth while for us to go and
wake him too soon. Thank you, anyhow, Relling. I must first tidy up the
rooms and then---- Come and help me, Hedvig.

  GINA _and_ HEDVIG _go into the sitting-room_.

GREGERS (_turning to_ RELLING). Can you explain to me the spiritual
turmoil now going on in Hjalmar Ekdal?

RELLING. Upon my soul I’ve not noticed any spiritual turmoil going on
in him.

GREGERS. What! At such a juncture, when a new foundation is being
laid for his whole life. Now, can you imagine that a man of Hjalmar’s
individuality----

RELLING. Oh! Individuality--he! If he ever had any tendencies to
the abnormal developments that you call individuality, they were
extirpated, root and branch, while he was yet a boy; I can assure you
of that.

GREGERS. That would be strange after the loving care with which he was
brought up.

RELLING. You mean by those two affected, hysterical maiden aunts?

GREGERS. I may tell you they were women who never lost sight of the
claims of the ideal--ah! you’ll gibe at me again, I suppose?

RELLING. No, I’m in no humor for that. Moreover, I know it all,
for he has poured forth any amount of rhetoric about his “two
spiritual-mothers.” But I don’t think he has much to thank them for. It
is Ekdal’s misfortune that in his circle he has always been taken for a
shining light----

GREGERS. And isn’t he one? In depth of soul I mean.

RELLING. I’ve never noticed anything of the sort. That his father
should have believed this--well and good; for the old lieutenant has
been a blockhead all his life.

GREGERS. All his life he has been a man with a child-like mind--_that_
is what you can not understand.

RELLING. Tut, tut! But as soon as the dear, sweet Hjalmar went to
college, his fellow students instantly took him for the coming man. He
was good looking, the rascal--red and white--just the sort of thing to
delight a school girl--and as he had that mobile temperament and that
sympathetic voice, and was so clever at declaiming the verses and ideas
of others----

GREGERS (_indignantly_). Is it of Hjalmar Ekdal you are speaking like
this?

RELLING. Yes, with your permission; that’s how the idol before which
you lie prostrate, looks from within.

GREGERS. Yet I don’t think I am altogether blind either.

RELLING. Oh! you’re not so very far from it. For you are a sick man
too, you see.

GREGERS. There you are right.

RELLING. Exactly. You are suffering from a complicated complaint.
First, there’s that troublesome virtue-fever; and what’s worse, you’re
always working yourself up into a delirium of hero-worship. You must
always have something to admire outside yourself.

GREGERS. Yes, indeed, I must seek it outside myself.

RELLING. But you make such woeful blunders about the mighty paragons
you think you see and hear about you. Here you’ve been visiting a
farmer’s cottage again with your claims of the ideal; but the people in
this house aren’t solvent.

GREGERS. If you haven’t a better opinion of Hjalmar Ekdal than that,
what pleasure can you find in being so constantly in his company?

RELLING. Good heavens, I’m ashamed to say I’m supposed to be a sort
of a kind of doctor, and so I must look after the poor diseased folk
living in the same house.

GREGERS. Indeed! Is Hjalmar Ekdal diseased, too?

RELLING. Most people are, unfortunately.

GREGERS. And what remedy are you applying to Hjalmar?

RELLING. My usual one. I take care to keep up his life-lie.

GREGERS. The life--lie? Did I hear correctly?

RELLING. Yes, I said life-lie. For the life-lie is the stimulating
principle, you see.

GREGERS. May I ask with what sort of a life-lie Hjalmar is infected?

RELLING. No, thanks, I don’t betray such secrets to quacks. You’d be
quite capable of muddling him up even more for me. But the method is
infallible. I’ve applied it to Molvik, too. I’ve made him “dæmonic.”
That’s the phantasy I’ve had to put into _his_ head.

GREGERS. Then he’s not dæmonic?

RELLING. What the devil does it mean to be dæmonic? That’s only the
gammon I invented to keep him going. If I’d not done that the poor,
inoffensive fellow would have succumbed to self-contempt and despair
many a long year ago. And then the old lieutenant! But he really hit
upon his own cure.

GREGERS. Lieutenant Ekdal? What of him?

RELLING. Yes, think of it, he, the bear-hunter, goes into that gloomy
loft and hunts rabbits! There’s not a sportsman on earth happier than
that old man, when he’s bustling about in there with all that rubbish.
The four or five withered Christmas trees that he stored up there are
to him the same as the whole of the great, fresh Hojdal forest; the
cock and the hens are to him game perched on the top of fir trees, and
the rabbits hopping about the floor of the loft, they are the bears he
grapples with, he, the hardy old hunter.

GREGERS. Unfortunate old Lieutenant Ekdal, yes. He certainly has had to
modify the ideals of his youth.

RELLING. But, by the way, Mr. Werle, junior--don’t use that foreign
word “ideals.” We’ve as good a word, “lies.”

GREGERS. Do you think the two things are akin, then?

RELLING. Yes, much as typhus and putrescent fever are.

GREGERS. Doctor Relling, I shall not rest content until I have rescued
Hjalmar from your clutches!

RELLING. That would be worst for _him_. If you take away the average
man’s life-lie you take away his happiness at the same time. (_To_
HEDVIG, _who comes in from the sitting-room_.) Well, little mother of
the wild duck. I’m going down now to see if our father’s still lying
there pondering on that wonderful invention.

  _He goes out at the entrance door._

GREGERS (_approaching_ HEDVIG). I can see from your face that it’s not
yet done.

HEDVIG. What? Oh! that about the wild duck. No.

GREGERS. I suppose your strength of mind failed you when it came to the
point.

HEDVIG. No, it’s not that exactly. But when I woke up early this
morning and thought over what we’d talked about, it seemed to me that
it was so strange.

GREGERS. Strange?

HEDVIG. Yes, I don’t know---- Yesterday evening, directly after, I
thought there was something so beautiful about it; but after I’d been
to sleep and thought it over again, there seemed to be nothing in it.

GREGERS. Ah no! I suppose you couldn’t have grown up here without some
falling off.

HEDVIG. That doesn’t matter, if only father would come up, I----

GREGERS. Ah! If only your eyes had been really opened to that which
makes life of value--if you had the real, joyous, brave spirit of
sacrifice you would soon see that he would come up to you---- But I
still have faith in you, Hedvig.

  _He goes out at the entrance door._ HEDVIG _walks about the room; she
      is going into the kitchen when there is a knock at the door of
      the loft_. HEDVIG _goes and opens it a little_, OLD EKDAL _comes
      out, she pushes the door to again_.

EKDAL. H’m. There’s not much fun in going the morning rounds alone.

HEDVIG. Didn’t you want to go hunting, grandfather?

EKDAL. Not the weather to-day for hunting. So dark there; you can
hardly see your hand before your face.

HEDVIG. Haven’t you ever felt inclined to shoot at something besides
the rabbits.

EKDAL. Aren’t the rabbits good enough, eh?

HEDVIG. Yes, but the wild duck?

EKDAL. Ha, ha! Are you afraid I shall shoot your wild duck? Not for the
world, never.

HEDVIG. No, I suppose you couldn’t; for they say it’s very difficult to
shoot wild ducks.

EKDAL. Couldn’t? Should think I could.

HEDVIG. How would you set about it, grandfather--I don’t mean with _my_
wild duck, but with another one?

EKDAL. Would take care to shoot it under the breast, you know, for
that’s the safest. And then you must shoot _against_ the feathers, you
see, not _with_ the feathers.

HEDVIG. And then they die, grandfather?

EKDAL. Yes, of course, if you shoot properly. Well, now I must go in
and get myself up. H’m--you understand--h’m. (_He goes into his room._)

  HEDVIG _waits for a moment, glances at the door of the sitting-room;
      goes back to the book-case, stands on tip-toe, takes down the
      double-barreled pistol from the shelf and looks at it_. GINA
      _with broom and duster comes in from the sitting-room_. HEDVIG
      _hurriedly and unnoticed puts away the pistol_.

GINA. Don’t stand there rummaging among your father’s things, Hedvig.

HEDVIG (_going away from the book-case_). I was only tidying it up.

GINA. You’d better go into the kitchen and see if the coffee’s keeping
hot; I’ll take the breakfast tray with me when I go down to him.

  HEDVIG _goes out_; GINA _begins sweeping and dusting the studio.
      After a while the entrance-door is open hesitatingly, and_
      HJALMAR EKDAL _looks in. He has on his overcoat, but no hat, he
      is unwashed, and his hair is tumbled and disheveled; his eyes are
      dull and lusterless._

GINA (_stands still with the broom in her hand and looks at him_). Ah!
Ekdal, so you’ve come after all?

HJALMAR (_comes in and answers in a hollow voice_). I have come--only
to depart at once.

GINA. Yes, yes, so I suppose. But, good Lord! what a sight you do look!

HJALMAR. A sight?

GINA. And your good winter-coat, too! Well, that’s done for.

HEDVIG (_at the kitchen door_). Mother, hadn’t I better---- (_She sees_
HJALMAR, _cries out with delight, and runs towards him_.) Oh! Father,
father!

HJALMAR (_turns from her, and waives her off_.) Away, away, away! (_To_
GINA.) Take her away from me, I say!

GINA (_in a low voice_). Go into the sitting-room, Hedvig.

  HEDVIG _goes in silently_.

HJALMAR (_busy pulling out the table-drawer_). I must have my
books--where are my books?

GINA. What books?

HJALMAR. My scientific works, of course--the technical periodicals,
that I need for my invention.

GINA (_searching in the book-case_). Are these the ones without any
covers?

HJALMAR. Of course they are.

GINA (_putting a heap of magazines on the table_). Hadn’t I better tell
Hedvig to cut them for you?

HJALMAR. They need not be cut for me.

  _A short pause._

GINA. Then you’re still determined to leave us, Ekdal?

HJALMAR (_running over the books_). Surely that’s self understood.

GINA. Very well.

HJALMAR (_fiercely_). For I can’t stop here to have my heart pierced
every hour of the day!

GINA. God forgive you, for thinking so poorly of me.

HJALMAR. Prove----

GINA. I think it’s for _you_ to prove.

HJALMAR. After a past such as yours? There are certain demands--I am
tempted to call them ideal demands----

GINA. But about grandfather? What’s to become of him, poor old fellow?

HJALMAR. I know my duty; the helpless old man goes with me. I will
go into the town and make arrangements---- H’m (_hesitatingly_). Has
anyone found my hat on the stairs?

GINA. No. Have you lost it?

HJALMAR. Of course I had it when I came home last night; there’s no
doubt about that; but I can’t find it this morning.

GINA. Good Lord! Where _did_ you go with those two ragamuffins?

HJALMAR. Ah! don’t question me on trivial matters. Do you think I am in
the mood to remember details?

GINA. So long as you’ve not taken cold, Ekdal----

  _She goes into the kitchen._

HJALMAR (_speaking to himself in a low bitter voice whilst he empties
the drawer_). You’re a scamp, Relling! A rogue! Ah! shameless tempter!
If only I could get some one to kill you!

  _He lays on one side a number of old letters, comes upon the torn
      paper of the day before, takes it up and looks at the pieces. He
      puts them down hurriedly when_ GINA _comes in_.

GINA (_putting a breakfast tray on the table_). Here’s some hot coffee,
if you should want it. And there’s some bread and butter too, and some
salt meat.

HJALMAR (_glancing at the tray_). Salt meat! Never beneath this roof!
It is true I’ve partaken of no solid food for four and twenty hours,
but no matter. My memoranda! The notes of my autobiography. Where’s my
diary and my important papers? (_He opens the door of the sitting-room,
but draws back._) She is there too!

GINA. Well, good Lord, the child must be somewhere.

HJALMAR. Go out.

  _He stands aside._ HEDVIG _frightened comes into the studio_.

HJALMAR (_with his hand on the door handle to_ GINA). During the last
moments I am spending in what was once my home I wished to be spared
from interlopers.

  _He goes into the room._

HEDVIG (_springing to her mother says in a low trembling voice_). Does
he mean me?

GINA. Stop in the kitchen, Hedvig; or no, you’d better go to your own
room. (_Speaking to_ HJALMAR _as she goes in to him_.) Wait a moment,
Ekdal, don’t upset those drawers, I know where all the things are.

HEDVIG (_stands still for a moment, frightened and irresolute,
biting her lips to keep back her tears, then she clenches her hands
convulsively and says in a low voice_). The wild duck!

  _She steals to the book-case, and takes the pistol from the shelf,
      just opens the door of the loft, slips in and closes the door
      behind her._ HJALMAR _and_ GINA _begin discussing within the
      sitting-room_.

HJALMAR (_comes in with several note books and loose papers, which he
puts down on the table_). Ah! what’s the good of the portmanteau! There
are a thousand things I’ve must drag about with me.

GINA (_following him with a portmanteau_). Why don’t you leave the rest
for a while, and take a shirt and a pair of drawers with you.

HJALMAR. Phew!--these wearisome preparations!

  _He takes off his overcoat and throws it on the sofa._

GINA. And the coffee’s getting cold, too.

HJALMAR. H’m. (_Takes a mouthful--abstractedly, and then another._)

GINA (_dusting the backs of the chairs_). The most difficult thing will
be to find such a large loft for the rabbits.

HJALMAR. What! Must I drag all the rabbits about with me, too?

GINA. Yes, grandfather can’t do without the rabbits, I’m sure.

HJALMAR. He will have to get used to that. I have to renounce higher
things in life than rabbits.

GINA (_dusting the book-case_). Shall I put the flute into the
portmanteau for you?

HJALMAR. No. No flute for me. But give me the pistol.

GINA. Do you want to take the pigstol?

HJALMAR. Yes. My loaded pistol.

GINA (_looking for it_). It’s gone. He must have taken it in there with
him.

HJALMAR. Is he in the loft.

GINA. Of course he’s in the loft.

HJALMAR. H’m--the lonely old man.

  _He takes a piece of bread and butter, eats it, and drinks the cup of
      coffee._

GINA. If only we’d not let that room, you might have moved in there.

HJALMAR. I should remain under the same roof as----! Never, never!

GINA. But couldn’t you stop for a day or two in the sitting-room? You’d
have it all to yourself.

HJALMAR. Never within these walls!

GINA. Well, then, down stairs at Relling and Molvik’s?

HJALMAR. Don’t mention those creatures’ names. The mere thought of them
takes away my appetite. Ah, no! I must go from house to house seeking
shelter for father and myself.

GINA. But you’ve no hat, Ekdal, you’ve lost it.

HJALMAR. Oh! those two miscreants, so rich in all vices! I must get a
hat somehow. (_Takes another piece of bread and butter._) Something
must be done, for I can’t afford to risk my life. (_He looks for
something on the tray._)

GINA. What are you looking for.

HJALMAR. Butter.

GINA. I’ll get you some directly.

  _She goes into the kitchen._

HJALMAR (_calls after her_). Oh! it doesn’t matter; dry bread will do
just as well.

GINA (_bringing in a butter-dish_). Here you are; it’s quite fresh.

  _She pours him out another cup of coffee, he sits down on the sofa,
      spreads more butter on his bread, and eats and drinks for a while
      in silence._

HJALMAR. Could I--without being worried by anyone--no matter
whom--could I stop for a day or two in the sitting-room?

GINA. Yes, you could very well, if you would.

HJALMAR. For I can’t see any possibility of getting all father’s things
away at once.

GINA. And besides you must tell him first that you won’t go on living
with us.

HJALMAR (_pushing the cup of coffee from him_). That too! I shall have
to go into all this complicated business--I must reflect; I must have
breathing space; I can not bear all these burdens in one day.

GINA. Especially in such awful weather as it is outside.

HJALMAR (_putting away the letter from_ WERLE). I see the paper’s still
lying here.

GINA. Yes, I’ve not touched it.

HJALMAR. The rag doesn’t concern me----

GINA. I’m sure _I_ don’t intend making any use of it.

HJALMAR. ----but all the same there’s no need to throw it away----in
all the confusion of my moving it might so easily be----

GINA. I’ll take good care of it, Ekdal.

HJALMAR. The deed of gift belongs first and foremost to father; and it
is for him to say if he intends to make use of it.

GINA (_sighing_). Yes, poor old father----

HJALMAR. For safety’s sake---- Where’s the gum?

GINA (_going to the book-case_). Here’s the gum-pot.

HJALMAR. And the brush?

GINA. Here’s the brush. (_She brings him them._)

HJALMAR (_taking up a pair of scissors_). Just a bit of paper for
the back. (_Cuts and gums._) Far be it from me to lay hands upon the
property of others--and least of all upon that of a penniless old man.
No, nor upon that of anyone else. That’s it. Let it lie there for a
while. And when it’s dry put it away. I never want to set eyes on that
document again. Never!

  GREGERS WERLE _comes in from the passage_.

GREGERS (_somewhat astonished_). What--are you sitting here, Hjalmar?

HJALMAR (_rising hurriedly_). I had sunk down from exhaustion.

GREGERS. You’ve had breakfast too, I see.

HJALMAR. Corporal needs make themselves felt at times.

GREGERS. What have you decided to do?

HJALMAR. For a man like me, there is but one way. I am busy just
getting my most important papers together. But, of course, you know
that takes time.

GINA (_somewhat impatiently_). Am I to get the room ready for you, or
am I to pack the portmanteau?

HJALMAR (_with a vexed side-glance at_ GREGERS). Pack--and get the room
ready!----

GINA (_taking up the portmanteau_). All right, then I’ll put in the
shirt and the other things.

  _She goes into the sitting-room and shuts the door after her._

GREGERS (_after a short pause_). I never thought it would end like
this. Is it really necessary for you to leave house and home?

HJALMAR (_walking about uneasily_). What would you have me do? I
was not made to bear unhappiness, Gregers. I must have comfort, and
security, and peace about me.

GREGERS. But can’t you have that? Only try it. Now, it seems to me,
there is firm ground here to build upon--and begin from the beginning.
And remember you’ve the invention to live for.

HJALMAR. Don’t speak of the invention. Perhaps there’s nothing much in
it.

GREGERS. How so?

HJALMAR. Why, good heavens! What do you really want me to invent? Other
men have invented pretty well everything already. It is becoming more
difficult every day----

GREGERS. And you, who have worked so hard at it----

HJALMAR. It was that debauchee Relling, who made me take it up.

GREGERS. Relling?

HJALMAR. Yes, it was he who first called my attention to my aptitude
for making some remarkable discovery in photography.

GREGERS. Aha! it was Relling!

HJALMAR. Ah! I have been so intensely happy over this. Not so much for
the invention or for myself, but because Hedvig believed in it--with
all the strength and might of a child’s mind. That is to say I was fool
enough to persuade myself she believed in it.

GREGERS. Can you really believe that Hedvig would be false to you?

HJALMAR. Now I know what it all means. It is Hedvig who stands in my
way. She will blot out the sun from my whole life.

GREGERS. Hedvig! Do you mean Hedvig? How could she blot it out for you?

HJALMAR (_without answering_). I have loved that child beyond all
words. I was happy beyond all words whenever I returned to my poor
home, and she with her sweet little short-sighted eyes flew to meet
me. Confiding fool that I was! I cared for her beyond all words, and,
poet-like, I lulled myself in the delusion that she also cared for me
beyond all words.

GREGERS. And you say _that_ was only a delusion?

HJALMAR. How can I tell? I can’t get anything out of Gina. And besides,
she lacks all sense of the ideal side of these complications. But I
feel impelled to open my heart to you, Gregers. There is that terrible
doubt--perhaps Hedvig has never really and truly loved me.

GREGERS. You may yet have proof of that. (_Listening._) What is that?
The wild duck screaming?

HJALMAR. The wild duck’s quacking. Father’s in the loft.

GREGERS. It is he! (_His eyes brighten with pleasure._) I say again you
may yet have proof that poor, misunderstood Hedvig loves you!

HJALMAR. Ah! what proof can she give me! I dare not believe in any
protestations from that quarter.

GREGERS. Hedvig certainly does not know what deceit is.

HJALMAR. Ah! Gregers, that’s just what is not so certain. Who knows
what Gina and that Mrs. Sorby may have sat many a time here whispering
and tattling about? And Hedvig keeps her ears open, I can tell you.
Perhaps, the deed of gift wasn’t so unexpected after all. I fancy I
noticed something of the sort.

GREGERS. What has taken possession of you?

HJALMAR. My eyes have been opened. Watch, and you’ll see that the deed
of gift is but a beginning. Mrs. Sorby has always done a great deal for
Hedvig; and now it’s in her power to do what she likes for the child.
They can take her from me at any time and hour they choose.

GREGERS. Not for all the world would Hedvig go away from you.

HJALMAR. Don’t be so sure of that. Suppose they stood there with their
hands full, beckoning her---- Ah! I, who have loved her beyond all
words! I, who would have found my greatest joy in taking her tenderly
by the hand and guiding her as one guides a child frightened at the
darkness, through some wild desolate space! Now I feel the gnawing
certainty--the poor photographer in his attic-home has never been
anything wholly and completely to her. She has only been cunning enough
to keep on good terms with him until the right time should come.

GREGERS. You don’t believe this yourself, Hjalmar.

HJALMAR. That’s the terrible part of it, that I don’t know what to
believe--that I never shall know. But can you really doubt that it must
be as I say? Ha, ha!--You rely too much upon the claims of the ideal,
my good Gregers! If only the others came, with hands overflowing and
cried to the child “leave him, here with us life awaits you.”

GREGERS (_quickly_). Well, what then?

HJALMAR. If then I asked her: “Hedvig, are you willing to forego that
life for me?” (_Laughs mockingly._) No, thank you--you’d soon hear the
answer.

  _A pistol shot is heard in the loft._

GREGERS (_loudly and gladly_). Hjalmar!

HJALMAR. There! Now he must needs go hunting.

GINA (_coming in_). Oh! Ekdal, I think grandfather’s a-firing away in
the loft by himself.

HJALMAR. I’ll look in.

GREGERS (_eagerly and moved_). One moment! Do you know what that was?

HJALMAR. Of course I do.

GREGERS. No, you do not. But I know it. It was the proof!

HJALMAR. What proof?

GREGERS. It was a child’s sacrifice. She has got your father to shoot
the wild duck.

HJALMAR. Shoot the wild duck!

GINA. Well, I never!

HJALMAR. But what for?

GREGERS. She wanted to sacrifice for you the best thing she had on
earth; for then she thought you might learn to love her again.

HJALMAR (_softly and with emotion_). Ah! the child!

GINA. What things she does get hold of.

GREGERS. She only wanted to win back your love, Hjalmar; she felt she
could not live with out it.

GINA (_struggling with her tears_). Now you see yourself, Ekdal.

HJALMAR. Gina, where is she?

GINA (_sniffling_). Poor child, I suppose she’s sitting out in the
kitchen.

HJALMAR (_goes to the kitchen door and opens it_). Hedvig--come! Come
in to me! (_Looking in._) No, she’s not here.

GINA. Then she’s sitting in her little room.

HJALMAR (_outside_). No, she’s not here either. (_Coming in._) She must
have gone out.

GINA. Yes, you know you wouldn’t have her about the house.

HJALMAR. Ah! if only she will return home soon--that I may really tell
her---- Now all shall be well, Gregers, for I believe now we can start
life afresh.

GREGERS (_quietly_). I knew it; I knew the regeneration would come
through the child.

  OLD EKDAL _comes in from the door of his room; he is in full uniform,
      and is busy buckling on his sword_.

HJALMAR (_astonished_). Father! Are you there?

GINA. Have you been shooting in your room?

EKDAL (_reproachfully, approaching_). So you go hunting by yourself,
Hjalmar?

HJALMAR (_anxiously and confused_). So it wasn’t you shooting in the
loft?

EKDAL. I shooting? H’m!

GREGERS (_cries out to_ HJALMAR). She has shot the wild duck herself!

HJALMAR. What is that! (_He rushes to the door of the loft, pushes it
aside, looks in and cries out._) Hedvig!

GINA (_running to the door_). Good God! What is it!

HJALMAR (_going in_). She is lying on the floor!

GREGERS. Hedvig lying on the floor! (_Going in to_ HJALMAR.)

GINA (_at the same time_). Hedvig! (_Goes in to the loft._) No, no, no!

EKDAL. Ha, ha! So she’s going in for shooting too?

  HJALMAR, GINA _and_ GREGERS _carry_ HEDVIG _into the studio, her
      right hand hangs down, holding the pistol, tightly clasped
      between her fingers_.

HJALMAR (_distracted_). The pistol has gone off. She has wounded
herself. Call for help! Help!

GINA (_running into the passage and calling_). Relling! Relling! Doctor
Relling! Hurry up here as fast as you can!

  HJALMAR _and_ GREGERS _lay_ HEDVIG _on the sofa_.

EKDAL (_quietly_). The woods avenge themselves.

HJALMAR (_on his knees by her_). She’ll come round directly. She’ll
come round directly; yes, yes, yes.

GINA (_who has come in again_). Where has she wounded herself? I can’t
see anything----

  RELLING _enters hurriedly, and immediately after him_ MOLVIK, _who is
      without waistcoat and collar, and has his coat open_.

RELLING. What’s the matter?

GINA. They say Hedvig has shot herself.

HJALMAR. Come here and help.

RELLING. Shot herself!

  _He moves aside the table and begins to examine her._

HJALMAR (_lying on the floor looks anxiously at him_). Surely it’s not
dangerous? Eh, Relling! She’s hardly bleeding at all. Surely it’s not
dangerous?

RELLING. How did this happen?

HJALMAR. Ah! how should I know.

GINA. She wanted to shoot the wild duck.

RELLING. The wild duck.

HJALMAR. The pistol must have gone off.

RELLING. H’m. I see.

EKDAL. The woods avenge themselves. But I’m not afraid for all that.

  _He goes into the loft, and closes it behind him._

HJALMAR. Well, Relling--why don’t you speak?

RELLING. She’s shot in the breast.

HJALMAR. Yes, but she’ll come round.

RELLING. Surely you see that Hedvig is dead.

GINA (_bursting into tears_). Oh! the child, the child!

GREGERS (_hoarsely_). In the depths of the ocean----

HJALMAR (_springing up_). No, no, she _must_ live! Ah! For God’s sake,
Relling--only one moment--only till I shall have told her how I loved
her beyond all words all the time.

RELLING. She’s shot through the breast. Bleeding inwardly. She must
have died on the spot.

HJALMAR. And I, who drove her from me like a wild animal! And scared,
she crept into the loft and died for love of me. (_Sobbing._)
Never to be able to make that good again! Never to be able to tell
her!---- (_Clenching his hands and crying out._) Oh! Thou who art
above!--If Thou _art_ there! Why hast Thou done this to me!

GINA. Hush, hush! you must not say such wicked things. We had no right
to keep her, I suppose.

MOLVIK. The child is not dead; she sleepeth.

RELLING. Bosh!

HJALMAR (_quieting down, he goes to the sofa and looks at_ HEDVIG _with
folded arms_). There she lies so stiff and still.

RELLING (_trying to take the pistol from her hand_). She’s holding it
so tight, so tight.

GINA. No, no, Relling; don’t break her fingers, let the pigstol be.

HJALMAR. She shall take it with her.

GINA. Yes, leave it here. But the child shall not lie here to be made a
show of. She shall go by herself into her own little room. Help me with
her, Ekdal.

  HJALMAR _and_ GINA _take up_ HEDVIG _between them_.

HJALMAR (_as they are carrying her_). Oh! Gina, Gina. Can you bear it!

GINA. One of us must help the other. For she belongs to both of us
_now_, I know.

MOLVIK (_stretching out his arms and murmuring_). Praised be the Lord;
to earth shalt thou return, to earth shalt thou return----

RELLING (_whispers_). Hold your row, man, you’re drunk.

  HJALMAR _and_ GINA _carry out the dead body at the kitchen door_;
      RELLING _closes it after them_; MOLVIK _slinks out through the
      passage_.

RELLING (_goes up to_ GREGERS). Nothing’ll ever make me believe that
shot was an accident.

GREGERS (_who has been standing horror stricken shuddering
convulsively_). No one can say how this terrible thing happened.

RELLING. The powder has singed her dress. She must have put the pistol
straight to her breast and fired.

GREGERS. Hedvig has not died in vain. Did you see how grief set free
all that is noble in him?

RELLING. Most people are ennobled when they stand sorrowing by the
dead. But how long do you suppose this fine feeling will last with him?

GREGERS. It will last and grow all his life through!

RELLING. In three-quarters of a year little Hedvig will be nothing more
to him than an excellent theme for declamation.

GREGERS. And you dare to say this of Hjalmar Ekdal?

RELLING. We’ll talk about it again when the first grass has withered
upon her grave. Then you’ll hear him perorating about “the father’s
heart bereft too soon of it’s child,” then you’ll see him steeping
himself in emotion and in self-admiration, and self-pity. Wait and see!

GREGERS. If you are right, and I am wrong, then life is not worth
living.

RELLING. Ah! life might be pleasant enough all the same, if only we
could be left in peace by those blessed duns who come worrying us poor
folk about the claims of the ideal.

GREGERS (_looking in front of him_). At any rate I am glad that my
destiny is what it is.

RELLING. I beg your pardon--what is your destiny?

GREGERS (_going_). To be the thirteenth at table.

RELLING. Devil a doubt of that!




Transcriber’s Note

    • Italic text denoted by _underscores_.
    • Small capitals converted to ALL CAPS.
    • Punctuation and other obvious typographic inaccuracies were
        silently corrected.
    • Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
    • Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
    • Table of Contents not in the original and added for reader
        convenience.
    • Footnotes have been numbered consecutively and moved near the
        related content.
    • New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
        public domain.


Corrections

    • p.   5: PETERSEN   _to_  PETTERSEN
    • p.   5: wrapped    _to_  rapped
    • p.   6: bring      _to_  bringing
    • p.   7: Hodjal     _to_  Hojdal
    • p.   7: Eriksen’s  _to_  Ericksen’s
    • p.  10: works      _to_  Works
    • p.  12: married?   _to_  married.
    • p.  13: works      _to_  Works
    • p.  31: knone      _to_  krone
    • p.  34: EKDEL      _to_  EKDAL
    • p.  34: Hedvig     _to_  Ekdal
    • p.  57: loose      _to_  lose
    • p.  70: times      _to_  time
    • p.  74: goal       _to_  gaol
    • p.  81: Yes        _to_  Yes,
    • p.  91: rubbish?   _to_  rubbish!
    • p.  91: Petterson  _to_  Pettersen
    • p.  93: Hedvik     _to_  Hedvig
    • p.  97: think      _to_  think.
    • p. 103: myself     _to_  myself.
    • p. 103: me I       _to_  me. I
    • p. 103: child He   _to_  child. He
    • p. 105: her)       _to_  her.)
    • p. 106: fo         _to_  of
    • p. 112: mean       _to_  mean.
    • p. 119: RELLING    _to_  RELLING.
    • p. 120: Morever    _to_  Moreover
    • p. 122: Hjalmer    _to_  Hjalmar
    • p. 122: wild-duck  _to_  wild duck
    • p. 124: rumaging   _to_  rummaging
    • p. 130: you’v’e    _to_  you’ve
    • p. 130: Dry        _to_  dry
    • p. 131: HJALMAR    _to_  HJALMAR.
    • p.  19, 30, 39, 53, 63, 73 (twice), 81, 98, 107, 113:
              musn’t    _to_  mustn’t





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