Part 5

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.