Part 2
Gregers Werle is unquestionably a piece of ironic self-portraiture. In his habit of “pestering people, in their poverty, with the claim of the ideal,” the poet adumbrates his own conduct from _Brand_ onwards, but especially in _Ghosts_ and _An Enemy of the People_. Relling, again, is an embodiment of the mood which was dominant during the conception of the play—the mood of pitying contempt for that poor thing human nature, as embodied in Hialmar. An actor who, in playing the part of Relling, made up as Ibsen himself, has been blamed for having committed a fault not only of taste, but of interpretation, since Gregers (it is maintained) is the true Ibsen. But the fact is that both characters represent the poet. They embody the struggle in his mind between idealism and cynical despondency. There can be no doubt, however, that in some measure he consciously identified himself with Gregers. In a letter to Mr. Gosse, written in 1872, he had employed in his own person the very phrase, _den ideale fordring_—“the claim of the ideal”—which is Gregers' watchword. The use of this sufficiently obvious phrase, however, does not mean much. Far stronger evidence of identification is afforded by John Paulsen[3] in some anecdotes he relates of Ibsen’s habits of “self-help”—evidence which we may all the more safely accept, as Herr Paulsen seems to have been unconscious of its bearing upon the character of Gregers. “Ibsen,” he says, “was always bent upon doing things himself, so as not to give trouble to servants. His ideal was ‘the self-made man.’[4] Thus, if a button came off one of his garments he would retire to his own room, lock the door, and, after many comical and unnecessary preliminaries, proceed to sew on the button himself, with the same care with which he wrote the fair copy of a new play. Such an important task he could not possibly entrust to any one else, not even to his wife. One of his paradoxes was that ‘a woman never knew how to sew on a button so that it would hold.’ But if he himself sewed it on, it held to all eternity. Fru Ibsen smiled roguishly and subtly when the creator of Nora came out with such anti-feminist sentiments. Afterwards she told me in confidence, 'It is true that Ibsen himself sews on his vagrant buttons; but the fact that they hold so well is _my_ doing, for, without his knowledge, I always ‘finish them off,’ which he forgets to do. But don’t disturb his conviction: it makes him so happy.'”
“One winter day in Munich,” Herr Paulsen continues, “Ibsen asked me with a serious and even anxious countenance, ‘Tell me one thing, Paulsen—do you black your own boots every morning?’ I was taken aback, and doubtless looked quite guilty as I answered, ‘No.’ I had a vaguely uncomfortable sense that I had failed in a duty to myself and to society. ‘But you really ought to do so. It will make you feel a different man. One should never let others do what one can do oneself. If you begin with blacking your boots, you will get on to putting your room in order, laying the fire, etc. In this way you will at last find yourself an emancipated man, independent of Tom, Dick, or Harry.’ I promised to follow his advice, but have unfortunately not kept my word.” It is evident that Ibsen purposely transferred to Gregers this characteristic of his own; and the sentiments with which Gina regards it are probably not unlike those which Fru Ibsen may from time to time have manifested. We could scarcely demand clearer proof that in Gregers the poet was laughing at himself.
To Hedvig, Ibsen gave the name of his only sister, and in many respects she seems to have served as a model for the character. She was the poet’s favourite among all his relatives. “You are certainly the best of us,” he wrote to her in 1869. Björnstjerne Björnson said, after making her acquaintance, that he now understood what a large element of heredity there was in Ibsen’s bent towards mysticism. We may be sure that Hedvig’s researches among the books left by the old sea-captain, and her dislike for the frontispiece of Harrison’s _History of London_, are remembered traits from the home-life of the poet’s childhood. It does not seem to be known who had the honour of “sitting for” the character of Hialmar. Probably he is a composite of many originals. Moreover, he is obviously a younger brother of Peer Gynt. Deprive Peer Gynt of his sense of humour, and clip the wings of his imagination, and you have Hialmar Ekdal.
I confess I do not know quite definitely what Ibsen had in mind when he spoke of _The Wild Duck_ holding “a place apart” among his productions and exemplifying a technique (for he is evidently thinking of its technical development) “divergent” from that of its predecessors. I should rather say that it marked the continuation and consummation of the technical method which he had been elaborating from _Pillars of Society_ onward. It is the first example of what we may term his retrospective method, in its full complexity. _Pillars of Society_ and _A Doll’s House_ may be called semi-retrospective; something like half of the essential action takes place before the eyes of the audience. _Ghosts_ is almost wholly retrospective; as soon as the past has been fully unravelled, the action is over, and only the catastrophe remains; but in this case the past to be unravelled is comparatively simple and easy of disentanglement. _An Enemy of the People_ is scarcely retrospective at all; almost the whole of its action falls within the frame of the picture. In _The Wild Duck_, on the other hand, the unravelling of the past is a task of infinite subtlety and elaborate art. The execution of this task shows a marvellous and hitherto unexampled grasp of mind. Never before, certainly, had the poet displayed such an amazing power of fascinating and absorbing us by the gradual withdrawal of veil after veil from the past; and as every event was also a trait of character, it followed that never before had his dialogue been so saturated, as it were, with character-revelation. The development of the drama reminds one of the practice (in itself a very bad practice) of certain modern stage-managers, who are fond of raising their curtain on a dark scene, and then gradually lighting it up by a series of touches on the electric switchboard. First there comes a glimmer from the right, then a flash from the left; then the background is suffused with light, so that we see objects standing out against it in profile, but cannot as yet discern their details. Then comes a ray from this batten, a gleam from that; here a penetrating shaft of light, there a lambent glow; until at last the footlights are turned on at full, and every nook and cranny of the scene stands revealed in a blaze of luminosity. But Ibsen’s switchboard is far more subtly subdivided than that of even the most modern theatre. At every touch upon it, some single, cunningly-placed, ingeniously-dissembled burner kindles, almost unnoticed save by the most watchful eye; so that the full light spreads over the scene as imperceptibly as dawn grows into day.
It seems to me, then, that _The Wild Duck_ is a consummation rather than a new departure. Assuredly it marks the summit of the poet’s achievement (in modern prose) up to that date. Its only possible rival is _Ghosts_; and who does not feel the greater richness, depth, suppleness, and variety of the later play? It gives us, in a word, a larger segment of life.
AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE
(1882)
CHARACTERS.
DOCTOR THOMAS STOCKMANN, _medical officer of the Baths_. MRS. STOCKMANN, _his wife_. PETRA, _their daughter, a teacher_. EILIF } _their sons, thirteen and ten years old respectively_. MORTEN } PETER STOCKMANN, _the doctor’s elder brother, Burgomaster[5] and chief of police, chairman of the Baths Committee, etc._ MORTEN KIIL,[6] _master tanner, Mrs. Stockmann’s adoptive-father_. HOVSTAD, _editor of the “People’s Messenger.”_ BILLING, _on the staff of the paper_. HORSTER, _a ship’s captain_. ASLAKSEN, _a printer_.
_Participants in a meeting of citizens: all sorts and conditions of men, some women, and a band of schoolboys._
_The action passes in a town on the South Coast of Norway._
-----
Footnote 1:
_Samliv med Ibsen_, p. 173.
Footnote 2:
See article by Julius Elias in _Die neue Rundschau_, December 1906, p. 1461.
Footnote 3:
_Samliv med Ibsen_, p. 33.
Footnote 4:
Herr Paulsen uses the English words; but it will appear from the sequel that Ibsen’s ideal was not so much the self-made as the self-mended man.
Footnote 5:
“Burgomaster” is the most convenient substitute for “Byfogd,” but “Town Clerk” would perhaps be more nearly equivalent. It is impossible to find exact counterparts in English for the different grades of the Norwegian bureaucracy.
Footnote 6:
Pronounce: _Keel_.
AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE.
PLAY IN FIVE ACTS.
ACT FIRST.
_Evening. DR. STOCKMANN’S sitting-room; simply but neatly decorated and furnished. In the wall to the right are two doors, the further one leading to the hall, the nearer one to the Doctor’s study. In the opposite wall, facing the hall door, a door leading to the other rooms of the house. Against the middle of this wall stands the stove; further forward a sofa with a mirror above it, and in front of it an oval table with a cover. On the table a lighted lamp, with a shade. In the back wall an open door leading to the dining-room, in which is seen a supper-table, with a lamp on it._
BILLING _is seated at the supper-table, with a napkin under his chin._ MRS. STOCKMANN _is standing by the table and placing before him a dish with a large joint of roast beef. The other seats round the table are empty; the table is in disorder, as after a meal._
MRS. STOCKMANN.
If you come an hour late, Mr. Billing, you must put up with a cold supper.
BILLING.
[_Eating._] It is excellent—really first rate.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
You know how Stockmann insists on regular meal-hours——
BILLING.
Oh, I don’t mind at all. I almost think I enjoy my supper more when I can sit down to it like this, alone and undisturbed.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Oh, well, if you enjoy it—— [_Listening in the direction of the hall._] I believe this is Mr. Hovstad coming too.
BILLING.
Very likely.
BURGOMASTER STOCKMANN _enters, wearing an overcoat and an official gold-laced cap, and carrying a stick._
BURGOMASTER.
Good evening, sister-in-law.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
[_Coming forward into the sitting-room._] Oh, good evening; is it you? It is good of you to look in.
BURGOMASTER.
I was just passing, and so—— [_Looks towards the drawing-room._] Ah, I see you have company.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
[_Rather embarrassed._] Oh no, not at all; it’s the merest chance. [_Hurriedly._] Won’t you sit down and have a little supper?
BURGOMASTER.
I? No, thank you. Good gracious! hot meat in the evening! That wouldn’t suit my digestion.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Oh, for once in a way——
BURGOMASTER.
No, no,—much obliged to you. I stick to tea and bread and butter. It’s more wholesome in the long run—and rather more economical, too.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
[_Smiling._] You mustn’t think Thomas and I are mere spendthrifts, either.
BURGOMASTER.
You are not, sister-in-law; far be it from me to say that. [_Pointing to the Doctor’s study._] Is he not at home?
MRS. STOCKMANN.
No, he has gone for a little turn after supper—with the boys.
BURGOMASTER.
I wonder if that is a good thing to do? [_Listening._] There he is, no doubt.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
No, that is not he. [_A knock._] Come in!
HOVSTAD _enters from the hall._
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Ah, it’s Mr. Hovstad——
HOVSTAD.
You must excuse me; I was detained at the printer’s. Good evening, Burgomaster.
BURGOMASTER.
[_Bowing rather stiffly._] Mr. Hovstad? You come on business, I presume?
HOVSTAD.
## Partly. About an article for the paper.
BURGOMASTER.
So I supposed. I hear my brother is an extremely prolific contributor to the _People’s Messenger_.
HOVSTAD.
Yes, when he wants to unburden his mind on one thing or another, he gives the _Messenger_ the benefit.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
[_To HOVSTAD._] But will you not——? [_Points to the dining-room._]
BURGOMASTER.
Well, well, I am far from blaming him for writing for the class of readers he finds most in sympathy with him. And, personally, I have no reason to bear your paper any ill-will, Mr. Hovstad.
HOVSTAD.
No, I should think not.
BURGOMASTER.
One may say, on the whole, that a fine spirit of mutual tolerance prevails in our town—an excellent public spirit. And that is because we have a great common interest to hold us together—an interest in which all right-minded citizens are equally concerned——
HOVSTAD.
Yes—the Baths.
BURGOMASTER.
Just so. We have our magnificent new Baths. Mark my words! The whole life of the town will centre around the Baths, Mr. Hovstad. There can be no doubt of it!
MRS. STOCKMANN.
That is just what Thomas says.
BURGOMASTER.
How marvellously the place has developed, even in this couple of years! Money has come into circulation, and brought life and movement with it. Houses and ground-rents rise in value every day.
HOVSTAD.
And there are fewer people out of work.
BURGOMASTER.
That is true. There is a gratifying diminution in the burden imposed on the well-to-do classes by the poor-rates; and they will be still further lightened if only we have a really good summer this year—a rush of visitors—plenty of invalids, to give the Baths a reputation.
HOVSTAD.
I hear there is every prospect of that.
BURGOMASTER.
Things look most promising. Inquiries about apartments and so forth keep on pouring in.
HOVSTAD.
Then the Doctor’s paper will come in very opportunely.
BURGOMASTER.
Has he been writing again?
HOVSTAD.
This is a thing he wrote in the winter; enlarging on the virtues of the Baths, and on the excellent sanitary conditions of the town. But at that time I held it over.
BURGOMASTER.
Ah—I suppose there was something not quite judicious about it?
HOVSTAD.
Not at all. But I thought it better to keep it till the spring, when people are beginning to look about them, and think of their summer quarters——
BURGOMASTER.
You were right, quite right, Mr. Hovstad.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Yes, Thomas is really indefatigable where the Baths are concerned.
BURGOMASTER.
It is his duty as one of the staff.
HOVSTAD.
And of course he was really their creator.
BURGOMASTER.
Was he? Indeed! I gather that certain persons are of that opinion. But I should have thought that I, too, had a modest share in that undertaking.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Yes, that is what Thomas is always saying.
HOVSTAD.
No one dreams of denying it, Burgomaster. You set the thing going, and put it on a practical basis; everybody knows that. I only meant that the original idea was the doctor’s.
BURGOMASTER.
Yes, my brother has certainly had ideas enough in his time—worse luck! But when it comes to realising them, Mr. Hovstad, we want men of another stamp. I should have thought that in this house at any rate——
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Why, my dear brother-in-law——
HOVSTAD.
Burgomaster, how can you——?
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Do go in and have some supper, Mr. Hovstad; my husband is sure to be home directly.
HOVSTAD.
Thanks; just a mouthful, perhaps.
[_He goes into the dining-room._
BURGOMASTER.
[_Speaking in a low voice._] It is extraordinary how people who spring direct from the peasant class never can get over their want of tact.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
But why should you care? Surely you and Thomas can share the honour, like brothers.
BURGOMASTER.
Yes, one would suppose so; but it seems a share of the honour is not enough for some persons.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
What nonsense! You and Thomas always get on so well together. [_Listening._] There, I think I hear him.
_Goes and opens the door to the hall._
DR. STOCKMANN.
[_Laughing and talking loudly, without._] Here’s another visitor for you, Katrina. Isn’t it capital, eh? Come in, Captain Horster. Hang your coat on that peg. What! you don’t wear an overcoat? Fancy, Katrina, I caught him in the street, and I could hardly get him to come in.
CAPTAIN HORSTER.
_Enters and bows to MRS. STOCKMANN._
DR. STOCKMANN.
[_In the doorway._] In with you, boys. They’re famishing again! Come along, Captain Horster; you must try our roast beef——
[_He forces HORSTER into the dining-room. EILIF and MORTEN follow them._
MRS. STOCKMANN.
But, Thomas, don’t you see——
DR. STOCKMANN.
[_Turning round in the doorway._] Oh, is that you, Peter! [_Goes up to him and holds out his hand._] Now this is really capital.
BURGOMASTER.
Unfortunately, I have only a moment to spare——
DR. STOCKMANN.
Nonsense! We shall have some toddy in a minute. You’re not forgetting the toddy, Katrina?
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Of course not; the water’s boiling.
[_She goes into the dining-room._
BURGOMASTER.
Toddy too——!
DR. STOCKMANN.
Yes; sit down, and let’s make ourselves comfortable.
BURGOMASTER.
Thanks; I never join in drinking parties.
DR. STOCKMANN.
But this isn’t a party.
BURGOMASTER.
I don’t know what else—— [_Looks towards the dining-room._] It’s extraordinary how they can get through all that food.
DR. STOCKMANN.
[_Rubbing his hands._] Yes, doesn’t it do one good to see young people eat? Always hungry! That’s as it should be. They need good, solid meat to put stamina into them! It is they that have got to whip up the ferment of the future, Peter.
BURGOMASTER.
May I ask what there is to be “whipped up,” as you call it?
DR. STOCKMANN.
You’ll have to ask the young people that—when the time comes. We shan’t see it, of course. Two old fogies like you and me——
BURGOMASTER.
Come, come! Surely that is a very extraordinary expression to use——
DR. STOCKMANN.
Oh, you mustn’t mind my nonsense, Peter. I'm in such glorious spirits, you see. I feel so unspeakably happy in the midst of all this growing, germinating life. Isn’t it a marvellous time we live in! It seems as though a whole new world were springing up around us.
BURGOMASTER.
Do you really think so?
DR. STOCKMANN.
Of course, you can’t see it as clearly as I do. You have passed your life in the midst of it all; and that deadens the impression. But I who had to vegetate all those years in that little hole in the north, hardly ever seeing a soul that could speak a stimulating word to me—all this affects me as if I had suddenly dropped into the heart of some teeming metropolis.
BURGOMASTER.
Well, metropolis——
DR. STOCKMANN.
Oh, I know well enough that things are on a small scale here, compared with many other places. But there’s life here—there’s promise—there’s an infinity of things to work and strive for; and that is the main point. [_Calling._] Katrina, haven’t there been any letters?
MRS. STOCKMANN.
[_In the dining-room._] No, none at all.
DR. STOCKMANN.
And then a good income, Peter! That’s a thing one learns to appreciate when one has lived on starvation wages——
BURGOMASTER.
Good heavens——!
DR. STOCKMANN.
Oh yes, I can tell you we often had hard times of it up there. And now we can live like princes! To-day, for example, we had roast beef for dinner; and we’ve had some of it for supper too. Won’t you have some? Come along—just look at it, at any rate——
BURGOMASTER.
No, no; certainly not——
DR. STOCKMANN.
Well then, look here—do you see we’ve bought a table-cover?
BURGOMASTER.
Yes, so I observed.
DR. STOCKMANN.
And a lamp-shade, too. Do you see? Katrina has been saving up for them. They make the room look comfortable, don’t they? Come over here. No, no, no, not there. So—yes! Now you see how it concentrates the light——. I really think it has quite an artistic effect. Eh?
BURGOMASTER.
Yes, when one can afford such luxuries——
DR. STOCKMANN.
Oh, I can afford it now. Katrina says I make almost as much as we spend.
BURGOMASTER.
Ah—almost!
DR. STOCKMANN.
Besides, a man of science must live in some style. Why, I believe a mere sheriff[7] spends much more a year than I do.
BURGOMASTER.
Yes, I should think so! A member of the superior magistracy——
DR. STOCKMANN.
Well then, even a common shipowner! A man of that sort will get through many times as much——
BURGOMASTER.
That is natural, in your relative positions.
DR. STOCKMANN.
And after all, Peter, I really don’t squander any money. But I can’t deny myself the delight of having people about me. I must have them. After living so long out of the world, I find it a necessity of life to have bright, cheerful, freedom-loving, hard-working young fellows around me—and that’s what they are, all of them, that are sitting there eating so heartily. I wish you knew more of Hovstad——
BURGOMASTER.
Ah, that reminds me—Hovstad was telling me that he is going to publish another article of yours.
DR. STOCKMANN.
An article of mine?
BURGOMASTER.
Yes, about the Baths. An article you wrote last winter.
DR. STOCKMANN.
Oh, that one! But I don’t want that to appear for the present.
BURGOMASTER.
Why not? It seems to me this is the very time for it.
DR. STOCKMANN.
Very likely—under ordinary circumstances——
[_Crosses the room._
BURGOMASTER.
[_Following him with his eyes._] And what is unusual in the circumstances now?
DR. STOCKMANN.
[_Standing still._] The fact is, Peter, I really cannot tell you just now; not this evening, at all events. There may prove to be a great deal that is unusual in the circumstances. On the other hand, there may be nothing at all. Very likely it’s only my fancy.
BURGOMASTER.
Upon my word, you are very enigmatical. Is there anything in the wind? Anything I am to be kept in the dark about? I should think, as Chairman of the Bath Committee——
DR. STOCKMANN.
And I should think that I——Well, well, don’t let us get our backs up, Peter.
BURGOMASTER.
God forbid! I am not in the habit of “getting my back up,” as you express it. But I must absolutely insist that all arrangements shall be made and carried out in a businesslike manner, and through the properly constituted authorities. I cannot be a party to crooked or underhand courses.
DR. STOCKMANN.
Have _I_ ever been given to crooked or underhand courses?
BURGOMASTER.
At any rate you have an ingrained propensity to taking your own course. And that, in a well-ordered community, is almost as inadmissible. The individual must subordinate himself to society, or, more precisely, to the authorities whose business it is to watch over the welfare of society.
DR. STOCKMANN.
Maybe. But what the devil has that to do with me?
BURGOMASTER.
Why this is the very thing, my dear Thomas, that it seems you will never learn. But take care; you will have to pay for it—sooner or later. Now I have warned you. Good-bye.
DR. STOCKMANN.
Are you stark mad? You’re on a totally wrong track——
BURGOMASTER.
I am not often on the wrong track. Moreover, I must protest against——[_Bowing towards dining-room._] Good-bye, sister-in-law; good-day to you, gentlemen.
[_He goes._
MRS. STOCKMANN.
[_Entering the sitting-room._] Has he gone?
DR. STOCKMANN.
Yes, and in a fine temper, too.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
Why, my dear Thomas, what have you been doing to him now?
DR. STOCKMANN.
Nothing at all. He can’t possibly expect me to account to him for everything—before the time comes.
MRS. STOCKMANN.
What have you to account to him for?
DR. STOCKMANN.
H'm;—never mind about that, Katrina.—It’s very odd the postman doesn’t come.
[HOVSTAD, BILLING _and_ HORSTER _have risen from table and come forward into the sitting-room._ EILIF _and_ MORTEN _presently follow._
BILLING.
[_Stretching himself._] Ah! Strike me dead if one doesn’t feel a new man after such a meal.
HOVSTAD.