Part 10
No mistake about it. But then he went into the timber trade or something of the sort. They say he once played Mr. Werle a very nasty trick. They were partners in the Höidal works at the time. Oh, I know old Ekdal well, I do. Many a nip of bitters and bottle of ale we two have drunk at Madam Eriksen’s.
JENSEN.
He don’t look as if he’d much to stand treat with.
PETTERSEN.
Why, bless you, Jensen, it’s me that stands treat. I always think there’s no harm in being a bit civil to folks that have seen better days.
JENSEN.
Did he go bankrupt then?
PETTERSEN.
Worse than that. He went to prison.
JENSEN.
To prison!
PETTERSEN.
Or perhaps it was the Penitentiary. [_Listens._] Sh! They’re leaving the table.
_The dining-room door is thrown open from within, by a couple of waiters._ MRS. SÖRBY _comes out conversing with two gentlemen. Gradually the whole company follows, amongst them_ WERLE. _Last come_ HIALMAR EKDAL _and_ GREGERS WERLE.
MRS. SÖRBY.
[_In passing, to the servant._] Tell them to serve the coffee in the music-room, Pettersen.
PETTERSEN.
Very well, Madam.
[_She goes with the two Gentlemen into the inner room, and thence out to the right._ PETTERSEN _and_ JENSEN _go out the same way._
A FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
[_To a THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN._] Whew! What a dinner!—It was no joke to do it justice!
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
Oh, with a little good-will one can get through a lot in three hours.
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Yes, but afterwards, afterwards, my dear Chamberlain!
A THIRD GENTLEMAN.
I hear the coffee and maraschino are to be served in the music-room.
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Bravo! Then perhaps Mrs. Sörby will play us something.
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
[_In a low voice._] I hope Mrs. Sörby mayn’t play us a tune we don’t like, one of these days!
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Oh no, not she! Bertha will never turn against her old friends.
[_They laugh and pass into the inner room._
WERLE.
[_In a low voice, dejectedly._] I don’t think anybody noticed it, Gregers.
GREGERS.
[_Looks at him._] Noticed what?
WERLE.
Did you not notice it either?
GREGERS.
What do you mean?
WERLE.
We were thirteen at table.
GREGERS.
Indeed? Were there thirteen of us?
WERLE.
[_Glances towards HIALMAR EKDAL._] Our usual party is twelve. [_To the others._] This way, gentlemen!
[WERLE _and the others, all except_ HIALMAR _and_ GREGERS, _go out by the back, to the right._
HIALMAR.
[_Who has overheard the conversation._] You ought not to have invited me, Gregers.
GREGERS.
What! Not ask my best and only friend to a party supposed to be in my honour——?
HIALMAR.
But I don’t think your father likes it. You see I am quite outside his circle.
GREGERS.
So I hear. But I wanted to see you and have a talk with you, and I certainly shan’t be staying long.—Ah, we two old schoolfellows have drifted far apart from each other. It must be sixteen or seventeen years since we met.
HIALMAR.
Is it so long?
GREGERS.
It is indeed. Well, how goes it with you? You look well. You have put on flesh, and grown almost stout.
HIALMAR.
Well, “stout” is scarcely the word; but I daresay I look a little more of a man than I used to.
GREGERS.
Yes, you do; your outer man is in first-rate condition.
HIALMAR.
[_In a tone of gloom._] Ah, but the inner man! That is a very different matter, I can tell you! Of course you know of the terrible catastrophe that has befallen me and mine since last we met.
GREGERS.
[_More softly._] How are things going with your father now?
HIALMAR.
Don’t let us talk of it, old fellow. Of course my poor unhappy father lives with me. He hasn’t another soul in the world to care for him. But you can understand that this is a miserable subject for me. —Tell me, rather, how you have been getting on up at the works.
GREGERS.
I have had a delightfully lonely time of it—plenty of leisure to think and think about things. Come over here; we may as well make ourselves comfortable.
[_He seats himself in an arm-chair by the fire and draws_ HIALMAR _down into another alongside of it._
HIALMAR.
[_Sentimentally._] After all, Gregers, I thank you for inviting me to your father’s table; for I take it as a sign that you have got over your feeling against me.
GREGERS.
[_Surprised._] How could you imagine I had any feeling against you?
HIALMAR.
You had at first, you know.
GREGERS.
How at first?
HIALMAR.
After the great misfortune. It was natural enough that you should. Your father was within an ace of being drawn into that—well, that terrible business.
GREGERS.
Why should that give me any feeling against you? Who can have put that into your head?
HIALMAR.
I know it did, Gregers; your father told me so himself.
GREGERS.
[_Starts._] My father! Oh indeed. H'm.—Was that why you never let me hear from you?—not a single word.
HIALMAR.
Yes.
GREGERS.
Not even when you made up your mind to become a photographer?
HIALMAR.
Your father said I had better not write to you at all, about anything.
GREGERS.
[_Looking straight before him._] Well well, perhaps he was right.—But tell me now, Hialmar: are you pretty well satisfied with your present position?
HIALMAR.
[_With a little sigh._] Oh yes, I am; I have really no cause to complain. At first, as you may guess, I felt it a little strange. It was such a totally new state of things for me. But of course my whole circumstances were totally changed. Father’s utter, irretrievable ruin,—the shame and disgrace of it, Gregers——
GREGERS.
[_Affected._] Yes, yes; I understand.
HIALMAR.
I couldn’t think of remaining at college; there wasn’t a shilling to spare; on the contrary, there were debts—mainly to your father I believe——
GREGERS.
H'm———
HIALMAR.
In short, I thought it best to break, once for all, with my old surroundings and associations. It was your father that specially urged me to it; and since he interested himself so much in me———
GREGERS.
My father did?
HIALMAR.
Yes, you surely knew that, didn’t you? Where do you suppose I found the money to learn photography, and to furnish a studio and make a start? All that costs a pretty penny, I can tell you.
GREGERS.
And my _father_ provided the money?
HIALMAR.
Yes, my dear fellow, didn’t you know? I understood him to say he had written to you about it.
GREGERS.
Not a word about _his_ part in the business. He must have forgotten it. Our correspondence has always been purely a business one. So it was my father that——!
HIALMAR.
Yes, certainly. He didn’t wish it to be generally known; but he it was. And of course it was he, too, that put me in a position to marry. Don’t you—don’t you know about that either?
GREGERS.
No, I haven’t heard a word of it. [_Shakes him by the arm._] But, my dear Hialmar, I can’t tell you what pleasure all this gives me—pleasure, and self-reproach. I have perhaps done my father injustice after all—in some things. This proves that he has a heart. It shows a sort of compunction——
HIALMAR.
Compunction——?
GREGERS.
Yes, yes—whatever you like to call it. Oh, I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear this of father.—So you are a married man, Hialmar! That is further than I shall ever get. Well, I hope you are happy in your married life?
HIALMAR.
Yes, thoroughly happy. She is as good and capable a wife as any man could wish for. And she is by no means without culture.
GREGERS.
[_Rather surprised._] No, of course not.
HIALMAR.
You see, life is itself an education. Her daily intercourse with me—— And then we know one or two rather remarkable men, who come a good deal about us. I assure you, you would hardly know Gina again.
GREGERS.
Gina?
HIALMAR.
Yes; had you forgotten that her name was Gina?
GREGERS.
Whose name? I haven’t the slightest idea——
HIALMAR.
Don’t you remember that she used to be in service here?
GREGERS.
[_Looks at him._] Is it Gina Hansen——?
HIALMAR.
Yes, of course it is Gina Hansen.
GREGERS.
——who kept house for us during the last year of my mother’s illness?
HIALMAR.
Yes, exactly. But, my dear friend, I'm quite sure your father told you that I was married.
GREGERS.
[_Who has risen._] Oh yes, he mentioned it; but not that—— [_Walking about the room._] Stay—perhaps he did—now that I think of it. My father always writes such short letters. [_Half seats himself on the arm of the chair._] Now, tell me, Hialmar—this is interesting—how did you come to know Gina—your wife?
HIALMAR.
The simplest thing in the world. You know Gina did not stay here long; everything was so much upset at that time, owing to your mother’s illness and so forth, that Gina was not equal to it all; so she gave notice and left. That was the year before your mother died—or it may have been the same year.
GREGERS.
It was the same year. I was up at the works then. But afterwards——?
HIALMAR.
Well, Gina lived at home with her mother, Madam Hansen, an excellent hard-working woman, who kept a little eating-house. She had a room to let too; a very nice comfortable room.
GREGERS.
And I suppose you were lucky enough to secure it?
HIALMAR.
Yes; in fact, it was your father that recommended it to me. So it was there, you see, that I really came to know Gina.
GREGERS.
And then you got engaged?
HIALMAR.
Yes. It doesn’t take young people long to fall in love——; h’m——
GREGERS.
[_Rises and moves about a little._] Tell me: was it after your engagement—was it then that my father—I mean was it then that you began to take up photography?
HIALMAR.
Yes, precisely. I wanted to make a start, and to set up house as soon as possible; and your father and I agreed that this photography business was the readiest way. Gina thought so too. Oh, and there was another thing in its favour, by-the-bye: it happened, luckily, that Gina had learnt to retouch.
GREGERS.
That chimed in marvellously.
HIALMAR.
[_Pleased, rises._] Yes, didn’t it? Don’t you think it was a marvellous piece of luck?
GREGERS.
Oh, unquestionably. My father seems to have been almost a kind of providence for you.
HIALMAR.
[_With emotion._] He did not forsake his old friend’s son in the hour of his need. For he _has_ a heart, you see.
MRS. SÖRBY.
[_Enters, arm-in-arm with WERLE._] Nonsense, my dear Mr. Werle; you mustn’t stop there any longer staring at all the lights. It’s very bad for you.
WERLE.
[_Lets go her arm and passes his hand over his eyes._] I daresay you are right.
[PETTERSEN _and_ JENSEN _carry round refreshment trays._]
MRS. SÖRBY.
[_To the Guests in the other room._] This way, if you please, gentlemen. Whoever wants a glass of punch must be so good as to come in here.
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
[_Comes up to MRS. SÖRBY._] Surely, it isn’t possible that you have suspended our cherished right to smoke?
MRS. SÖRBY.
Yes. No smoking here, in Mr. Werle’s sanctum, Chamberlain.
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
When did you enact these stringent amendments on the cigar law, Mrs. Sörby?
MRS. SÖRBY.
After the last dinner, Chamberlain, when certain persons permitted themselves to overstep the mark.
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
And may one never overstep the mark a little bit, Madame Bertha? Not the least little bit?
MRS. SÖRBY.
Not in any respect whatsoever, Mr. Balle.
[_Most of the Guests have assembled in the study; servants hand round glasses of punch._
WERLE.
[_To HIALMAR, who is standing beside a table._] What are you studying so intently, Ekdal?
HIALMAR.
Only an album, Mr. Werle.
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
[_Who is wandering about._] Ah, photographs! They are quite in your line of course.
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
[_In an arm-chair._] Haven’t you brought any of your own with you?
HIALMAR.
No, I haven’t.
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
You ought to have; it’s very good for the digestion to sit and look at pictures.
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
And it contributes to the entertainment, you know.
THE SHORT-SIGHTED GENTLEMAN.
And all contributions are thankfully received.
MRS. SÖRBY.
The Chamberlains think that when one is invited out to dinner, one ought to exert oneself a little in return, Mr. Ekdal.
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Where one dines so well, that duty becomes a pleasure.
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
And when it’s a case of the struggle for existence, you know——
MRS. SÖRBY.
I quite agree with you!
[_They continue the conversation, with laughter and joking._
GREGERS.
[_Softly._] You must join in, Hialmar.
HIALMAR.
[_Writhing._] What am I to talk about?
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Don’t you think, Mr. Werle, that Tokay may be considered one of the more wholesome sorts of wine?
WERLE.
[_By the fire._] I can answer for the Tokay you had to-day, at any rate; it’s of one of the very finest seasons. Of course you would notice that.
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Yes, it had a remarkably delicate flavour.
HIALMAR.
[_Shyly._] Is there any difference between the seasons?
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
[_Laughs._] Come! That’s good!
WERLE.
[_Smiles._] It really doesn’t pay to set fine wine before you.
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
Tokay is like photographs, Mr. Ekdal: they both need sunshine. Am I not right?
HIALMAR.
Yes, light is important no doubt.
MRS. SÖRBY.
And it’s exactly the same with Chamberlains—they, too, depend very much on sunshine,[15] as the saying is.
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
Oh fie! That’s a very threadbare sarcasm!
THE SHORT-SIGHTED GENTLEMAN.
Mrs. Sörby is coming out——
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
——and at our expense, too. [_Holds up his finger reprovingly._] Oh, Madame Bertha, Madame Bertha!
MRS. SÖRBY.
Yes, and there’s not the least doubt that the seasons differ greatly. The old vintages are the finest.
THE SHORT-SIGHTED GENTLEMAN.
Do you reckon me among the old vintages?
MRS. SÖRBY.
Oh, far from it.
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
There now! But me, dear Mrs. Sörby——?
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Yes, and me? What vintage should you say that we belong to?
MRS. SÖRBY.
Why, to the sweet vintages, gentlemen.
[_She sips a glass of punch. The gentlemen laugh and flirt with her._
WERLE.
Mrs. Sörby can always find a loop-hole—when she wants to. Fill your glasses, gentlemen! Pettersen, will you see to it——! Gregers, suppose we have a glass together. [GREGERS _does not move._] Won’t you join us, Ekdal? I found no opportunity of drinking with you at table.
[GRÅBERG, _the Bookkeeper, looks in at the baize door._
GRÅBERG.
Excuse me, sir, but I can’t get out.
WERLE.
Have you been locked in again?
GRÅBERG.
Yes, and Flakstad has carried off the keys.
WERLE.
Well, you can pass out this way.
GRÅBERG.
But there’s some one else——
WERLE.
All right; come through, both of you. Don’t be afraid.
[GRÅBERG _and_ OLD EKDAL _come out of the office._
WERLE.
[_Involuntarily._] Ugh!
[_The laughter and talk among the Guests cease._ HIALMAR _starts at the sight of his father, puts down his glass, and turns towards the fireplace._
EKDAL.
[_Does not look up, but makes little bows to both sides as he passes, murmuring._] Beg pardon, come the wrong way. Door locked—door locked. Beg pardon.
[_He and_ GRÅBERG _go out by the back, to the right._
WERLE.
[_Between his teeth._] That idiot Gråberg!
GREGERS.
[_Open-mouthed and staring, to HIALMAR._] Why surely that wasn’t——!
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
What’s the matter? Who was it?
GREGERS.
Oh, nobody, only the bookkeeper and some one with him.
THE SHORT-SIGHTED GENTLEMAN.
[_To HIALMAR._] Did _you_ know that man?
HIALMAR.
I don’t know—I didn’t notice——
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
What the deuce has come over every one?
[_He joins another group who are talking softly._
MRS. SÖRBY.
[_Whispers to the Servant._] Give him something to take with him;—something good, mind.
PETTERSEN.
[_Nods._] I'll see to it. _Goes out._
GREGERS.
[_Softly and with emotion, to HIALMAR._] So that was really he!
HIALMAR.
Yes.
GREGERS.
And you could stand there and deny that you knew him!
HIALMAR.
[_Whispers vehemently._] But how _could_ I——!
GREGERS.
——acknowledge your own father?
HIALMAR.
[_With pain._] Oh, if you were in my place——
[_The conversation amongst the Guests, which has been carried on in a low tone, now swells into constrained joviality._]
THE THIN-HAIRED GENTLEMAN.
[_Approaching HIALMAR and GREGERS in a friendly manner._] Aha! Reviving old college memories, eh? Don’t you smoke, Mr. Ekdal? May I give you a light? Oh, by-the-bye, we mustn’t——
HIALMAR.
No, thank you, I won’t——
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Haven’t you a nice little poem you could recite to us, Mr. Ekdal? You used to recite so charmingly.
HIALMAR.
I am sorry I can’t remember anything.
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
Oh, that’s a pity. Well, what shall we do, Balle?
[_Both Gentlemen move away and pass into the other room._
HIALMAR.
[_Gloomily._] Gregers—I am going! When a man has felt the crushing hand of Fate, you see——Say good-bye to your father for me.
GREGERS.
Yes, yes. Are you going straight home?
HIALMAR.
Yes. Why?
GREGERS.
Oh, because I may perhaps look in on you later.
HIALMAR.
No, you mustn’t do that. You must not come to my home. Mine is a melancholy abode, Gregers; especially after a splendid banquet like this. We can always arrange to meet somewhere in the town.
MRS. SÖRBY.
[_Who has quietly approached._] Are you going, Ekdal?
HIALMAR.
Yes.
MRS. SÖRBY.
Remember me to Gina.
HIALMAR.
Thanks.
MRS. SÖRBY.
And say I am coming up to see her one of these days.
HIALMAR.
Yes, thank you. [_To GREGERS._] Stay here; I will slip out unobserved.
[_He saunters away, then into the other room, and so out to the right._
MRS. SÖRBY.
[_Softly to the Servant, who has come back._] Well, did you give the old man something?
PETTERSEN.
Yes; I sent him off with a bottle of cognac.
MRS. SÖRBY.
Oh, you might have thought of something better than that.
PETTERSEN.
Oh no, Mrs. Sörby; cognac is what he likes best in the world.
THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN.
[_In the doorway with a sheet of music in his hand._] Shall we play a duet, Mrs. Sörby?
MRS. SÖRBY.
Yes, suppose we do.
THE GUESTS.
Bravo, bravo!
[_She goes with all the Guests through the back room, out to the right._ GREGERS _remains standing by the fire._ WERLE _is looking for something on the writing-table, and, appears to wish that_ GREGERS _would go; as_ GREGERS _does not move,_ WERLE _goes towards the door._
GREGERS.
Father, won’t you stay a moment?
WERLE.
[_Stops._] What is it?
GREGERS.
I must have a word with you.
WERLE.
Can it not wait till we are alone?
GREGERS.
No, it cannot; for perhaps we shall never be alone together.
WERLE.
[_Drawing nearer._] What do you mean by that?
[_During what follows, the pianoforte is faintly heard from the distant music-room._
GREGERS.
How has that family been allowed to go so miserably to the wall?
WERLE.
You mean the Ekdals, I suppose.
GREGERS.
Yes, I mean the Ekdals. Lieutenant Ekdal was once so closely associated with you.
WERLE.
Much too closely; I have felt that to my cost for many a year. It is thanks to him that I—yes _I_—have had a kind of slur cast upon my reputation.
GREGERS.
[_Softly._] Are you sure that he alone was to blame?
WERLE.
Who else do you suppose——?
GREGERS.
You and he acted together in that affair of the forests——
WERLE.
But was it not Ekdal that drew the map of the tracts we had bought—that fraudulent map! It was he who felled all that timber illegally on Government ground. In fact, the whole management was in his hands. I was quite in the dark as to what Lieutenant Ekdal was doing.
GREGERS.
Lieutenant Ekdal himself seems to have been very much in the dark as to what he was doing.
WERLE.
That may be. But the fact remains that he was found guilty and I acquitted.
GREGERS.
Yes, I know that nothing was proved against you.
WERLE.
Acquittal is acquittal. Why do you rake up these old miseries that turned my hair grey before its time? Is that the sort of thing you have been brooding over up there, all these years? I can assure you, Gregers, here in the town the whole story has been forgotten long ago—so far as _I_ am concerned.
GREGERS.
But that unhappy Ekdal family.
WERLE.
What would you have had me do for the people? When Ekdal came out of prison he was a broken-down being, past all help. There are people in the world who dive to the bottom the moment they get a couple of slugs in their body, and never come to the surface again. You may take my word for it, Gregers, I have done all I could without positively laying myself open to all sorts of suspicion and gossip——
GREGERS.
Suspicion——? Oh, I see.
WERLE.
I have given Ekdal copying to do for the office, and I pay him far, far more for it than his work is worth——
GREGERS.
[_Without looking at him._] H'm; _that_ I don’t doubt.
WERLE.
You laugh? Do you think I am not telling you the truth? Well, I certainly can’t refer you to my books, for I never enter payments of that sort.
GREGERS.
[_Smiles coldly._] No, there are certain payments it is best to keep no account of.
WERLE.
[_Taken aback._] What do you mean by _that_?
GREGERS.
[_Mustering up courage._] Have you entered what it cost you to have Hialmar Ekdal taught photography?
WERLE.
I? How “entered” it?
GREGERS.
I have learnt that it was you who paid for his training. And I have learnt, too, that it was you who enabled him to set up house so comfortably.
WERLE.
Well, and yet you talk as though I had done nothing for the Ekdals! I can assure you these people have cost me enough in all conscience.
GREGERS.
Have you entered any of these expenses in your books?
WERLE.
Why do you ask?
GREGERS.
Oh, I have my reasons. Now tell me: when you interested yourself so warmly in your old friend’s son—it was just before his marriage, was it not?
WERLE.
Why, deuce take it—after all these years, how can I——?
GREGERS.
You wrote me a letter about that time—a business letter, of course; and in a postscript you mentioned—quite briefly—that Hialmar Ekdal had married a Miss Hansen.
WERLE.
Yes, that was quite right. That was her name.
GREGERS.
But you did not mention that this Miss Hansen was Gina Hansen—our former housekeeper.
WERLE.
[_With a forced laugh of derision._] No; to tell the truth, it didn’t occur to me that you were so particularly interested in our former housekeeper.
GREGERS.
No more I was. But [_lowers his voice_] there were others in this house who _were_ particularly interested in her.
WERLE.
What do you mean by that? [_Flaring up._] You are not alluding to me, I hope?
GREGERS.
[_Softly but firmly._] Yes, I am alluding to you.
WERLE.
And you dare——! You presume to——! How can that ungrateful hound—that photographer fellow—how dare he go making such insinuations!
GREGERS.
Hialmar has never breathed a word about this. I don’t believe he has the faintest suspicion of such a thing.
WERLE.
Then where have you got it from? Who can have put such notions in your head?
GREGERS.
My poor unhappy mother told me; and that the very last time I saw her.
WERLE.
Your mother! I might have known as much! You and she—you always held together. It was she who turned you against me, from the first.
GREGERS.
No, it was all that she had to suffer and submit to, until she broke down and came to such a pitiful end.
WERLE.