Part 2

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.