HJALMAR EKDAL’s studio. It is morning. Daylight streams through the large window in the sloping roof; the curtain is drawn back.
HJALMAR is sitting at the table, busy retouching a photograph; many other pictures lie in front of him. After a moment GINA, wearing a hat and coat, enters by the hall door; she has a covered basket on her arm.
HJALMAR. Back so soon, Gina?
GINA. Oh yes. Got to keep moving. (She sets the basket on a chair and takes her coat off.)
HJALMAR. Did you look in on Gregers?
GINA. Um-hm, I certainly did. Looks real nice in there. The moment he came, he got his room in beautiful shape.
HJALMAR. Oh?
GINA. Yes. He wanted to do everything himself, he said. So he starts building a fire in the stove, and the next thing he’s closed down the damper so the whole room is full of smoke. Phew! What a stink, enough to—
HJALMAR. Oh no!
GINA. But that’s not the best part! So then he wants to put it out, so he empties his whole water pitcher into the stove and now the floor’s swimming in the worst muck.
HJALMAR. That’s a nuisance.
GINA. I got the janitor’s wife to come and scrub up after him, the pig; but it’ll be unfit to live in till afternoon.
HJALMAR. What’s he doing with himself in the meantime?
GINA. Thought he’d take a little walk, he said.
HJALMAR. I was in to see him for a moment too—after you left.
GINA. I heard that. You asked him for lunch.
HJALMAR. Just the tiniest little midday snack, you understand. It’s the very first day—we could hardly avoid it. You always have something in the house.
GINA. I’ll see what I can find.
HJALMAR. But now don’t make it too skimpy. Because Relling and Molvik are dropping in too, I think. I just met Relling on the stairs, you see, so of course I had to—
GINA. Oh? Must we have those two also?
HJALMAR. Good Lord, a couple of sandwiches more or less; what’s the difference?
EKDAL (opening his door and looking in). Say, listen, Hjalmar—(Noticing GINA.) Oh, well.
GINA. Is there something Grandfather wants?
EKDAL. Oh no. Let it be. Hmm. (Goes in again.)
GINA (picking up the basket). Keep a sharp eye on him so he doesn’t go out.
HJALMAR. Oh yes, I’ll do that. Listen, Gina, a little herring salad would be awfully good—because Relling and Molvik were out on a binge last night.
GINA. Just so they don’t come before I’m ready—
HJALMAR. Not a chance. Take your time.
GINA. That’s fine, then—and meanwhile you can get a little work done.
HJALMAR. Can’t you see how I’m working! I’m working for all I’m worth!
GINA. Because then you’ll have those off your hands, you know. (She carries the basket out to the kitchen. HJALMAR sits for a while, tinting the photograph in a glum and listless manner.)
EKDAL (peeks in, peers about the studio, and whispers). Are you busy, boy?
HJALMAR. Of course. I’m sitting here struggling with these pictures—
EKDAL. Oh well, don’t bother. If you’re so busy, then—Hm! (He reenters his room, leaving the door ajar.)
HJALMAR (continues a moment in silence, then puts down the brush and goes over to the door). Father, are you busy?
EKDAL (grumbling from within). When you’re busy—I’m busy too. Huh!
HJALMAR. Yes, of course. (Returns to his work.)
EKDAL (a moment later, coming in again). Hm. Well, now, Hjalmar, I’m really not that busy.
HJALMAR. I thought you had copying to do.
EKDAL. Oh, the devil! Can’t he, Graaberg, wait a day or two? I’m sure it’s no matter of life or death.
HJALMAR. No, and you’re no slave, either.
EKDAL. And then there was that other business inside—
HJALMAR. Yes, that’s just it. Maybe you want to go in? Shall I open it up for you?
EKDAL. Wouldn’t be a bad idea, really?
HJALMAR (getting up). And then we’d have that off our hands.
EKDAL. Yes, exactly. And it has to be ready first thing tomorrow. But it is tomorrow, isn’t it?
HJALMAR. It certainly is tomorrow.
(HJALMAR and EKDAL each push back one of the double doors. Within, morning sunlight shines through the skylights. A few doves fly back and forth; others perch, cooing, on the rafters. Chickens cackle now and then from back in the loft.)
HJALMAR. There, now you can get started, Father.
EKDAL (going in). Aren’t you coming along?
HJALMAR. Well, you know what—I almost think—(Sees GINA in the kitchen doorway.) I? No, I haven’t the time; I’ve got to work. But how about our new mechanism—
(He pulls a cord; inside a curtain descends, its lower portion composed of a strip of old sailcloth, the upper part being a piece of worn-out fishnetting. By this means, the floor of the loft is rendered invisible.)
HJALMAR (returning to the table). That’s that. Now at last I can work in peace for a while.
GINA. Is he in there, romping around again?
HJALMAR. Isn’t that better than having him run down to Mrs. Eriksen’s? (Sitting.) Is there anything you want? You look so—
GINA. I only wanted to ask, do you think we can set the lunch table in here?
HJALMAR. Well, we haven’t any portraits scheduled that early, have we?
GINA. No. I don’t expect anybody except that couple who want to be taken together.
HJALMAR. Why the devil can’t they be taken together some other day?
GINA. Now, Hjalmar dear, I’ve got them booked for during your midday nap.
HJALMAR. Well, that’s fine, then. So we’ll eat in here.
GINA. All right. But there’s no hurry about setting the table; you can certainly use it a while longer.
HJALMAR. Oh, it’s obvious I’m using the table as much as I can!
GINA. Because then you’ll be free later on, you know. (She goes back into the kitchen. A short pause.)
EKDAL (at the door to the loft, behind the net). Hjalmar!
HJALMAR. Well?
EKDAL. ‘Fraid we’ll have to move the water trough after all.
HJALMAR. Yes, that’s what I’ve been saying all along.
EKDAL. Hm—hm—hm. (Disappears from the doorway.)
(HJALMAR works a bit, glances toward the loft, and half rises. HEDVIG enters from the kitchen.)
HJALMAR (hurriedly sitting again). What do you want?
HEDVIG. I was just coming in to you, Daddy.
HJALMAR (after a moment). You seem to be kind of snooping around. Are you checking up, maybe?
HEDVIG. No, not at all.
HJALMAR. What’s Mother doing out there now?
HEDVIG. Oh, she’s half through the herring salad. (Going over to the table.) Don’t you have some little thing I could help you with, Daddy?
HJALMAR. Oh no. It’s better just to leave me alone with all this—so long as my strength holds out. Nothing to worry about, Hedvig—if only your father can keep his health—
HEDVIG. Oh, Daddy, no. That’s horrid; you mustn’t talk like that. (She wanders about a little, stops by the loft doorway, and looks in.)
HJALMAR. What’s he trying to do now?
HEDVIG. It must be a new pathway up to the water trough.
HJALMAR. He can’t possibly rig that up on his own! And I’m condemned to sit here—!
HEDVIG (going to him). Let me take the brush, Daddy. I know I can.
HJALMAR. Oh, nonsense, you’ll only ruin your eyes.
HEDVIG. No such thing. Give me the brush.
HJALMAR (getting up). Well, it’ll only be for a minute or two.
HEDVIG. Pooh! How could that hurt me? (Takes the brush.) There now. (Sitting.) And here’s one to go by.
HJALMAR. But don’t ruin your eyes! Hear me? I won’t take the blame; you can take the blame yourself—you hear me?
HEDVIG (at work retouching). Yes, yes, sure I will.
HJALMAR. You’re wonderfully clever, Hedvig. Just for a couple of minutes now.
(He slips around the edge of the curtain into the loft. HEDVIG sits at her work. HJALMAR and EKDAL are heard arguing inside.)
HJALMAR (appearing behind the net). Hedvig, just hand me the pliers from the shelf. And the chisel, please. (Turning over his shoulder.) Yes, now you’ll see, Father. Will you give me a chance to show you the way I mean! (HEDVIG fetches the desired tools from the bookcase and passes them in to him.) Ah, thanks. See, dear, it was a good thing I came. (He vanishes from the doorway; sounds of carpentry and bantering are heard. HEDVIG remains, looking in at them. A moment later, a knock at the hall door; she fails to notice it.)
GREGERS (bareheaded, and without his overcoat, enters, hesitating slightly at the door). Hm—
HEDVIG (turning and going toward him). Good morning. Please come in.
GREGERS. Thanks. (Looking at the loft.) You seem to have workmen in the house.
HEDVIG. No, that’s only Father and Grandfather. I’ll go tell them.
GREGERS. No, no, don’t bother. I’d rather wait a bit. (He sits on the sofa.)
HEDVIG. It’s so messy here— (Starts to remove the photographs.)
GREGERS. Oh, they can stay. Are those some pictures that have to be finished?
HEDVIG. Yes, it’s a little job I’m helping Daddy with.
GREGERS. Please don’t let me disturb you.
HEDVIG. All right. (She gathers her materials around her and sets to work again; GREGERS meanwhile regards her in silence.)
GREGERS. Did the wild duck sleep well last night?
HEDVIG. Yes, I’m sure she did, thanks.
GREGERS (turning toward the loft). It looks so very different by daylight than it did by moonlight.
HEDVIG. Yes, it can change so completely. In the morning it looks different from in the afternoon; and when it rains it’s different from when it’s clear.
GREGERS. Have you noticed that?
HEDVIG. Sure. You can’t help it.
GREGERS. And do you like it in there with the wild duck, too?
HEDVIG. Yes, whenever I can be there—
GREGERS. But of course you don’t have much free time; you do go to school, don’t you?
HEDVIG. No, not anymore. Daddy’s afraid I’ll hurt my eyes.
GREGERS. Oh. Then he tutors you himself.
HEDVIG. Daddy’s promised to tutor me, but he hasn’t found time for that yet.
GREGERS. But isn’t there anyone else to help you a little?
HEDVIG. Sure, there’s Mr. Molvik, but he isn’t always exactly, really—well—
GREGERS. He gets drunk, eh?
HEDVIG. That’s for sure.
GREGERS. Well, then you do have time to yourself. And inside—I’ll bet in there it’s just like a world of its own—am I right?
HEDVIG. Oh, completely! And then there are so many wonderful things.
GREGERS. Really?
HEDVIG. Yes, big cupboards with books in them; and lots of the books have pictures.
GREGERS. Ah!
HEDVIG. And then there’s an old cabinet with drawers and compartments, and a huge clock with figures that are supposed to come out. But the clock doesn’t go anymore.
GREGERS. Even time doesn’t exist in there—with the wild duck.
HEDVIG. Yes. And then there are old watercolor sets and things like that. And then all the books.
GREGERS. And of course you read the books?
HEDVIG. Oh yes, whenever I can. But they’re mostly in English, and I don’t understand that. But then I look at the pictures. There’s one just enormous book called Harryson’s History of London; it must be a hundred years old, and it’s got ever so many pictures in it. At the front there’s a picture of Death with an hourglass and a girl. I think that’s horrible. But then there are all the other pictures of churches and castles and streets and great ships sailing on the ocean.
GREGERS. But tell me, where did all these rare things come from!
HEDVIG. Oh, an old sea captain lived here once, and he brought them home. They called him “the flying Dutchman”—and that’s the strangest thing, because he wasn’t a Dutchman at all.
GREGERS. No?
HEDVIG. No. But then he didn’t come back finally, and he left all these things behind.
GREGERS. Listen, tell me—when you sit in there and look at pictures, don’t you ever want to go out and see the real world all for yourself?
HEDVIG. No, never! I’m going to stay at home always and help Daddy and Mother.
GREGERS. You mean finishing photographs?
HEDVIG. No, not just that. Most of all, I’d like to learn how to engrave pictures like those in the English books.
GREGERS. Hm. What does your father say to that?
HEDVIG. I don’t think he likes it. Daddy’s so funny about such things. Just think, he talks about me learning basketmaking and wickerwork! But I don’t see anything in that.
GREGERS. Oh no, I don’t either.
HEDVIG. But Daddy’s right when he says that if I’d learned how to make baskets, I could have made the new basket for the wild duck.
GREGERS. You could have, yes—and that really was up to you.
HEDVIG. Yes, because it’s my wild duck.
GREGERS. Yes, of course it is.
HEDVIG. Uh-huh, I own it. But Daddy and Grandpa can borrow it as much as they want.
GREGERS. Oh? What do they do with it?
HEDVIG. Oh, they look after it and build things for it and so on.
GREGERS. I can well imagine. The wild duck rules supreme in there, doesn’t she?
HEDVIG. Yes, she does, and that’s because she’s a real wild bird. And then it’s so sad for her; the poor thing has no one to turn to.
GREGERS. No family, like the rabbits—
HEDVIG. No. Even the chickens have all the others that they were baby chicks with, but she’s so completely apart from any of her own. So you see, everything is so really mysterious about the wild duck. There’s no one who knows her, and no one who knows where she’s come from, either.
GREGERS. And actually, she’s been in the depths of the sea.
HEDVIG (glances at him, suppresses a smile, and asks). Why did you say “depths of the sea”?
GREGERS. What else should I say?
HEDVIG. You could have said “bottom of the sea"—or “the sea’s bottom"?
GREGERS. But couldn’t I just as well say “depths of the sea"?
HEDVIG. Sure. But to me it sounds so strange when someone else says “depths of the sea.”
GREGERS. But why? Tell me why?
HEDVIG. No, I won’t. It’s something so stupid.
GREGERS. It couldn’t be. Now tell me why you smiled.
HEDVIG. That was because always, when all of a sudden—in a flash—I happen to think of that in there, it always seems to me that the whole room and everything in it is called “the depths of the sea”! But that’s all so stupid.
GREGERS. You musn’t say that.
HEDVIG. Oh yes, because it’s only an attic.
GREGERS. Are you so sure of that?
HEDVIG (astonished). That it’s an attic!
GREGERS. Yes. Do you know that for certain?
(HEDVIG, speechless, stares at him open-mouthed. GINA enters from the kitchen with a tablecloth.)
GREGERS (getting up). I’m afraid I’ve come too early for you.
GINA. Oh, I guess you have to be somewhere; and besides, it’s almost ready now. Clear the table, Hedvig.
(HEDVIG puts away the materials; during the following dialogue, she and GINA set the table. GREGERS settles in the armchair and pages through an album.)
GREGERS. I hear you can retouch photographs, Mrs. Ekdal.
GINA (with a side-glance). Um-hm, so I can.
GREGERS. That’s really very lucky.
GINA. Why “lucky”?
GREGERS. With Hjalmar a photographer, I mean.
HEDVIG. Mother can take pictures, too.
GINA. Oh yes, I even got lessons in that.
GREGERS. So we might say it’s you who runs the business.
GINA. Yes, when my husband hasn’t the time himself—
GREGERS. He finds himself so taken up with his old father, I suppose.
GINA. Yes, and then a man like Hjalmar shouldn’t have to go snapping pictures of every Tom, Dick and Harry.
GREGERS. I agree; but once he’s chosen this line of work, then—
GINA. Mr. Werle, you must realize that my husband is not just any old photographer.
GREGERS. Well, naturally; but even so—
(A shot is fired in the loft.)
GREGERS (jumping up). What’s that!
GINA. Uff, now they’re shooting again!
GREGERS. They go shooting as well?
HEDVIG. They go hunting.
GREGERS. What! (Going to the loft doorway.) Have you gone hunting, Hjalmar?
HJALMAR (behind the net). Are you here? I didn’t realize; I was so occupied— (To HEDVIG.) And you, you didn’t tell us. (Comes into the studio.)
GREGERS. Do you go shooting in the loft?
HJALMAR (producing a double-barreled pistol). Oh, only with this here.
GINA. Yes, some day you and Grandfather’ll have an accident with that there gun.
HJALMAR (annoyed). I believe I’ve remarked that this type of firearm is called a pistol.
GINA. I don’t see that that makes it any better.
GREGERS. So you’ve turned out a “hunter” as well, Hjalmar?
HJALMAR. Just a little rabbit hunt, now and then. It’s mainly for Father’s sake, you understand.
GINA. Men are so funny, really; they’ve always got to have their little diversities.
HJALMAR (angrily). That’s right, yes—they always have to have their little diversions.
GINA. Yes, that’s just what I was saying.
HJALMAR. Oh, well! (To GREGERS.) So that’s it, and then we’re very lucky in the way the loft is placed—nobody can hear us when we’re shooting. (Puts the pistol on the highest bookshelf.) Don’t touch the pistol, Hedvig! One barrel’s still loaded, don’t forget.
GREGERS (peering through the netting). You’ve got a hunting rifle too, I see.
HJALMAR. Yes, that’s Father’s old rifle. It won’t shoot anymore; something’s gone wrong with the lock. But it’s a lot of fun to have anyway, because we can take it all apart and clean it and grease it and put it together again— Of course, it’s mostly Father who fools around with that sort of thing.
HEDVIG (crossing to GREGERS). Now you can really see the wild duck.
GREGERS. I was just now looking at her. She seems to drag one wing a little.
HJALMAR. Well, no wonder; she took a bad wound.
GREGERS. And then she limps a little. Isn’t that so?
HJALMAR. Maybe just a tiny bit.
HEDVIG. Yes, that was the foot the dog bit her in.
HJALMAR. But she hasn’t a thing wrong with her otherwise; and that’s simply remarkable when you think that she’s had a charge of shot in her and been held by the teeth of a dog—
GREGERS (with a glance at HEDVIG). And been in the depths of the sea—so long.
HEDVIG (smiling). Yes.
GINA (arranging the table). Oh, that sacred duck—there’s fuss enough made over her.
HJALMAR. Hm. Are you nearly ready?
GINA. Yes, right away. Hedvig, now you can come and help me.
(GINA and HEDVIG exit into the kitchen.)
HJALMAR (in an undertone). I don’t think it’s so good that you stand there, watching my father. He doesn’t like it. (GREGERS comes away from the loft doorway.) And it’s better, too, that I close up before the others come. (Shooing away the menagerie with his hands.) Hssh! Hssh! Go ‘way now! (With this he raises the curtain and draws the double doors together.) I invented these contraptions myself. It’s really great fun to have such things around to take care of and fix when they get out of whack. And besides, it’s absolutely necessary, you know; Gina doesn’t go for rabbits and chickens out here in the studio.
GREGERS. Of course not. And I suppose it is your wife who manages here?
HJALMAR. My general rule is to delegate the routine matters to her, and that leaves me free to retire to the living room to think over more important things.
GREGERS. And what sort of things are these, Hjalmar?
HJALMAR. I’ve been wondering why you haven’t asked me that before. Or maybe you haven’t heard about my invention.
GREGERS. Invention? No.
HJALMAR. Oh? Then you haven’t? Well, no, up there in that waste and wilderness—
GREGERS. Then you’ve really invented something!
HJALMAR. Not completely invented it yet, but I’m getting very close. You must realize that when I decided to dedicate my life to photography, it wasn’t my idea to spend time taking pictures of a lot of nobodies.
GREGERS. Yes, that’s what your wife was just now saying.
HJALMAR. I swore that if I devoted my powers to the craft, I would then exalt it to such heights that it would become both an art and a science. That’s when I decided on this amazing invention.
GREGERS. And what does this invention consist of? What’s its purpose?
HJALMAR. Yes, Gregers, you mustn’t ask for details like that yet. It takes time, you know. And you mustn’t think it’s vanity that’s driving me, either. I’m certainly not working for myself. Oh no, it’s my life’s work that stands before me day and night.
GREGERS. What life’s work is that?
HJALMAR. Are you forgetting the silver-haired old man?
GREGERS. Your poor father. Yes, but actually what can you do for him?
HJALMAR. I can raise his self-respect from the dead—by restoring the Ekdal name to dignity and honor.
GREGERS. So that’s your life’s work.
HJALMAR. Yes. I am going to rescue that shipwrecked man. That’s just what he suffered—shipwreck—when the storm broke over him. When all those harrowing investigations took place, he wasn’t himself anymore. That pistol, there—the one we use to shoot rabbits with—it’s played a part in the tragedy of the Ekdals.
GREGERS. Pistol! Oh?
HJALMAR. When he was sentenced and facing prison, he had that pistol in his hand—
GREGERS. You mean he—!
HJALMAR. Yes. But he didn’t dare. He was a coward. That shows how broken and degraded he’d become by then. Can you picture it? He, a soldier, a man who’d shot nine bears and was directly descended from two lieutenant colonels—I mean, one after the other, of course. Can you picture it, Gregers?
GREGERS. Yes, I can picture it very well.
HJALMAR. Well, I can’t. And then that pistol intruded on our family history once again. When he was under lock and key, dressed like a common prisoner—oh, those were agonizing times for me, you can imagine. I kept the shades of both my windows drawn. When I looked out, I saw the sun shining the same as ever. I couldn’t understand it. I saw the people going along the street, laughing and talking of trivial things. I couldn’t understand it. I felt all creation should be standing still, like during an eclipse.
GREGERS. I felt that way when my mother died.
HJALMAR. During one of those times Hjalmar Ekdal put a pistol to his own breast.
GREGERS. You were thinking of—
HJALMAR. Yes.
GREGERS. But you didn’t shoot?
HJALMAR. No. In that critical moment I won a victory over myself. I stayed alive. But you can bet it takes courage to choose life in those circumstances.
GREGERS. Well, that depends on your point of view.
HJALMAR. Oh, absolutely. But it was all for the best, because now I’ve nearly finished my invention; and then Dr. Relling thinks, just as I do, that they’ll let Father wear his uniform again. That’s the only reward I’m after.
GREGERS. So it’s really the uniform that he—?
HJALMAR. Yes, that’s what he really hungers and craves for. You’ve no idea how that makes my heart ache. Every time we throw a little family party—like Gina’s and my wedding anniversary, or whatever—then the old man comes in, wearing that uniform from his happier days. But if there’s even a knock at the door, he goes scuttering back in his room fast as the old legs will carry him. You see, he doesn’t dare show himself to strangers. What a heartrending spectacle for a son!
GREGERS. Approximately when do you think the invention will be finished?
HJALMAR. Oh, good Lord, don’t hold me to a timetable. An invention, that’s something you can hardly dictate to. It depends a great deal on inspiration, on a sudden insight—and it’s nearly impossible to say in advance when that will occur.
GREGERS. But it is making progress?
HJALMAR. Of course it’s making progress. Every single day I think about my invention. I’m brimming with it. Every afternoon, right after lunch, I lock myself in the living room where I can meditate in peace. But it’s no use driving me; it simply won’t work. Relling says so too.
GREGERS. And you don’t think all those contraptions in the loft distract you and scatter your talents?
HJALMAR. No, no, no, on the contrary. You mustn’t say that. I can’t always go around here, brooding over the same nerve-racking problems. I need some diversion to fill in the time. You see, inspiration, the moment of insight—when that comes, nothing can stop it.
GREGERS. My dear Hjalmar, I suspect you’ve got a bit of the wild duck in you.
HJALMAR. Of the wild duck? What do you mean?
GREGERS. You’ve plunged to the bottom and clamped hold of the seaweed.
HJALMAR. I suppose you mean that near-fatal shot that brought down Father—and me as well?
GREGERS. Not quite that. I wouldn’t say you’re wounded; but you’re wandering in a poisonous swamp, Hjalmar. You’ve got an insidious disease in your system, and so you’ve gone to the bottom to die in the dark.
HJALMAR. Me? Die in the dark! You know what, Gregers—you’ll really have to stop that talk.
GREGERS. But never mind. I’m going to raise you up again. You know, I’ve found my purpose in life, too. I found it yesterday.
HJALMAR. Yes, that may well be; but you can just leave me out of it. I can assure you that—apart from my quite understandable melancholy—I’m as well off as any man could wish to be.
GREGERS. And your thinking so is part of the sickness.
HJALMAR. Gregers, you’re my old friend—please—don’t talk any more about sickness and poison. I’m not used to that kind of conversation. In my house nobody talks to me about ugly things.
GREGERS. That’s not hard to believe.
HJALMAR. Yes, because it isn’t good for me. And there’s no swamp air here, as you put it. In a poor photographer’s house, life is cramped; I know that. My lot is a poor one—but, you know, I’m an inventor. And I’m the family breadwinner, too. That’s what sustains me through all the pettiness. Ah, here they come with the lunch.
(GINA and HEDVIG bring in bottles of beer, a decanter of brandy, glasses, and the like. At the same time, RELLING and MOLVIK enter from the hall. Neither wears a hat or overcoat; MOLVIK is dressed in black.)
GINA (setting things down on the table). Well, the two of them—right on time.
RELLING. Molvik was positive he could smell that herring salad, and there was just no holding him back. ‘Morning for the second time, Ekdal.
HJALMAR. Gregers, I’d like you to meet Mr. Molvik. And Dr.—ah, but don’t you know Relling?
GREGERS. Yes, slightly.
RELLING. Well, Mr. Werle junior. Yes, we’ve had a few run-ins together up at the Hoidal works. You’ve just moved in, haven’t you?
GREGERS. I moved in this morning.
RELLING. And Molvik and I live downstairs; so you’re not very far from a doctor and a priest, if you ever have need of such.
GREGERS. Thanks; that could happen. After all, we had thirteen at the table last night.
HJALMAR. Oh, don’t start in on ugly subjects again!
RELLING. You don’t have to worry, Hjalmar; Lord knows this doesn’t involve you.
HJALMAR. I hope not, for my family’s sake. But let’s sit down and eat and drink and be merry.
GREGERS. Shouldn’t we wait for your father?
HJALMAR. No, he’ll have his lunch sent in to him later. Come now!
(The men sit at the table, eating and drinking. GINA and HEDVIG go in and out, serving the food.)
RELLING. Last night Molvik was tight as a tick, Mrs. Ekdal.
GINA. Oh? Last night again?
RELLING. Didn’t you hear him when I finally brought him home?
GINA. No, can’t say I did.
RELLING. That’s lucky—because Molvik was revolting last night.
GINA. Is that so, Molvik?
MOLVIK. Let’s draw a veil over last night’s activities. They have no bearing on my better self.
RELLING (to GREGERS). All of a sudden he’s possessed by an impulse; and then I have to take him out on a bat. You see, Mr. Molvik is demonic.
GREGERS. Demonic?
RELLING. Molvik is demonic, yes.
GREGERS. Hm.
RELLING. And demonic natures aren’t made to go through life on the straight and narrow; they’ve got to take detours every so often. Well—and you’re still sticking it out there at that dark, hideous mill.
GREGERS. I’ve stuck it out till now.
RELLING. And did you ever collect on that “summons” you were going around with?
GREGERS. Summons? (Understanding him.) Oh, that.
HJALMAR. Were you serving summonses, Gregers?
GREGERS. Nonsense.
RELLING. Oh, but he was, definitely. He was going around to all the farms and cabins with copies of something he called “Summons to the Ideal.”
GREGERS. I was young then.
RELLING. You’re right, there. You were very young. And that summons to the ideal—it wasn’t ever honored during my time up there.
GREGERS. Nor later, either.
RELLING. Well, I guess you’ve learned enough to cut down your expectations a bit.
GREGERS. Never with a man who really is a man.
HJALMAR. Yes, that seems quite reasonable to me. A little butter, Gina.
RELLING. And then a piece of pork for Molvik.
MOLVIK. Ugh, no pork!
(There is a knock at the loft door.)
HJALMAR. Open it, Hedvig; Father wants to get out.
(HEDVIG goes to open the door a little; old EKDAL enters with a fresh rabbit skin. She closes the door after him.)
EKDAL. Good morning, gentlemen. Good hunting today. Shot a big one.
HJALMAR. And you went ahead and skinned it without waiting for me!
EKDAL. Salted it, too. It’s nice tender meat, this rabbit meat. And it’s so sweet. Tastes like sugar. Enjoy your food, gentlemen! (He goes into his room.)
MOLVIK (getting up). Pardon—I, I can’t—got to go downstairs right—
RELLING. Drink soda water, man!
MOLVIK (rushing out the hall door). Ugh—ugh!
RELLING (to HJALMAR). Let’s empty a glass to the old hunter.
HJALMAR (clinking glasses with him). Yes, to the gallant sportsman on the brink of the grave.
RELLING. To the old, gray-haired—(Drinks.) Tell me something, is it gray hair he’s got, or is it white?
HJALMAR. It’s really a little of both. But as a matter of fact, he’s scarcely got a hair on his head.
RELLING. Well, fake hair will take you through life, good as any. You know, Ekdal, you’re really a very lucky man. You have your high mission in life to fight for—
HJALMAR. And I am fighting for it, too.
RELLING. And then you’ve got this clever wife of yours, padding around in her slippers and waggling her hips and keeping you neat and cozy.
HJALMAR. Yes. Gina—(Nodding at her.) you’re a good companion for life’s journey, you are.
GINA. Oh, don’t sit there deprecating me.
RELLING. And what about your Hedvig, Ekdal?
HJALMAR (stirred). My child, yes! My child above all. Hedvig, come here to me. (Caresses her head.) What day is tomorrow, dear?
HEDVIG (shaking him). Oh, don’t talk about it, Daddy!
HJALMAR. It’s like a knife turning in my heart when I think how bare it’s all going to be, just the tiniest celebration out in the loft—
HEDVIG. Oh, but that will be just wonderful!
RELLING. And wait till that marvelous invention comes to the world, Hedvig!
HJALMAR. Ah, yes—then you’ll see! Hedvig, I’ve resolved to make your future secure. You’ll be well taken care of as long as you live. I’ll make sure you’re provided with—something or other. That will be the poor inventor’s sole reward.
HEDVIG (whispering, with her arms around his neck). Oh, you dear, dear Daddy!
RELLING (to GREGERS). Well, now, isn’t it good for a change to be sitting around a well-spread table in a happy family circle?
HJALMAR. Yes, I really prize these hours around the table.
GREGERS. I, for my part, don’t thrive in marsh gas.
RELLING. Marsh gas?
HJALMAR. Oh, don’t start that rubbish again!
GINA. Lord knows there isn’t any marsh gas here, Mr. Werle; every blessed day I air the place out.
GREGERS (leaving the table). You can’t air out the stench I mean.
HJALMAR. Stench!
GINA. What about that, Hjalmar!
RELLING. Beg pardon—but it wouldn’t be you who brought that stench in with you from the mines up there?
GREGERS. It’s just like you to call what I’m bringing into this house a stench.
RELLING (crossing over to him). Listen, Mr. Werle junior, I’ve got a strong suspicion that you’re still going around with the uncut version of that “Summons to the Ideal” in your back pocket.
GREGERS. I’ve got it written in my heart.
RELLING. I don’t care where the devil you’ve got it; I wouldn’t advise you to play process-server here as long as I’m around.
GREGERS. And what if I do anyway?
RELLING. Then you’ll go head first down the stairs, that’s what.
HJALMAR (getting up). Come, now, Relling!
GREGERS. Yes, just throw me out—
GINA (coming between them). You can’t do that, Relling. But I’ll tell you this, Mr. Werle—that you, who made all that mess with your stove, have no right to come to me talking about smells.
(A knock at the hall door.)
HEDVIG. Mother, somebody’s knocking.
GINA. I’ll go—(She crosses and opens the door, gives a start, shudders and shrinks back.) Uff! Oh no!
(Old WERLE, in a fur coat, steps into the room.)
WERLE. Excuse me, but I think my son is living in this house.
GINA (catching her breath). Yes.
HJALMAR (coming closer). If Mr. Werle will be so good as to—
WERLE. Thanks, I’d just like to talk with my son.
GREGERS. Yes, why not? Here I am.
WERLE. I’d like to talk with you in your room.
GREGERS. In my room—fine—(Starts in.)
GINA. No. Good Lord, that’s in no condition for—
WERLE. Well, out in the hall, then. This is just between us.
HJALMAR. You can talk here, Mr. Werle. Come into the living room, Relling.
(HJALMAR and RELLING go out to the right; GINA takes HEDVIG with her into the kitchen.)
GREGERS (after a brief interval). Well, now it’s just the two of us.
WERLE. You dropped a few remarks last night— And since you’ve now taken a room with the Ekdals, I must assume that you’re planning something or other against me.
GREGERS. I’m planning to open Hjalmar Ekdal’s eyes. He’s going to see his situation just as it is—that’s all.
WERLE. Is that the mission in life you talked about yesterday?
GREGERS. Yes. You haven’t left me any other.
WERLE. Am I the one that spoiled your mind, Gregers?
GREGERS. You’ve spoiled my entire life. I’m not thinking of all that with Mother. But you’re the one I can thank for my going around, whipped and driven by this guilt-ridden conscience.
WERLE. Ah, it’s your conscience that’s gone bad.
GREGERS. I should have taken a stand against you when the trap was laid for Lieutenant Ekdal. I should have warned him, for I had a pretty good idea what was coming off.
WERLE. Yes, you really should have spoken up then.
GREGERS. I didn’t dare; I was so cowed and frightened. I was unspeakably afraid of you—both then and for a long time after.
WERLE. That fright seems to be over now.
GREGERS. It is, luckily. The harm done to old Ekdal, both by me and—others, can never be undone; but Hjalmar I can free from all the lies and evasions that are smothering him here.
WERLE. You believe you’d be doing him good by that?
GREGERS. I’m positive of that.
WERLE. Maybe you think Ekdal’s the kind of man who’ll thank you for that friendly service?
GREGERS. Yes! He is that kind of man.
WERLE. Hmm—we’ll see.
GREGERS. And besides—if I’m ever to go on living, I’ll have to find a cure for my sick conscience.
WERLE. It’ll never be sound. Your conscience has been sickly from childhood. It’s an inheritance from your mother, Gregers—the only inheritance she left you.
GREGERS (with a wry half-smile). You’ve never been able to accept the fact, have you, that you calculated wrong when you thought she’d bring you a fortune?
WERLE. Let’s not get lost in irrelevancies. Then you’re still intent on this goal of putting Ekdal on what you suppose is the right track?
GREGERS. Yes, I’m intent on that.
WERLE. Well, then I could have saved myself the walk up here. For there’s no point in asking if you’ll move back home with me?
GREGERS. No.
WERLE. And you won’t come into the business either?
GREGERS. No.
WERLE. Very well. But since I’m now planning a second marriage, the estate, of course, will be divided between us.
GREGERS (quickly). No, I don’t want that.
WERLE. You don’t want it?
GREGERS. No, I wouldn’t dare, for the sake of my conscience.
WERLE (after a pause). You going back to the works again?
GREGERS. No. I consider that I’ve retired from your service.
WERLE. But what are you going to do, then?
GREGERS. Simply carry out my life’s mission; nothing else.
WERLE. Yes, but afterwards? What will you live on?
GREGERS. I have some of my salary put aside.
WERLE. Yes, that won’t last long!
GREGERS. I think it will last my time.
WERLE. What do you mean by that?
GREGERS. I’m not answering any more.
WERLE. Good-bye then, Gregers.
GREGERS. Good-bye.
(Old WERLE goes out.)
HJALMAR (peering out). Has he gone?
GREGERS. Yes.
(HJALMAR and RELLING come in. GINA and HEDVIG also return from the kitchen.)
RELLING. There’s one lunch gone to the dogs.
GREGERS. Put your things on, Hjalmar; you’ve got to take a long walk with me.
HJALMAR. Yes, gladly. What did your father want? Was it anything to do with me?
GREGERS. Just come. We have some things to talk over. I’ll go and get my coat. (He leaves by the hall door.)
GINA. You mustn’t go out with him, Hjalmar.
RELLING. No, don’t go. Stay where you are.
HJALMAR (getting his hat and overcoat). But why? When a childhood friend feels a need to open his mind to me in private—
RELLING. But damn it all! Can’t you see the man’s mad, crazy, out of his skull!
GINA. Yes, that’s the truth, if you’d listen. His mother, off and on, had those same conniption fits.
HJALMAR. That’s just why he needs a friend’s watchful eye on him. (To GINA.) Be sure dinner’s ready in plenty of time. See you later. (Goes out the hall door.)
RELLING. It’s really a shame that fellow didn’t go straight to hell down one of the Hoidal mines.
GINA. Mercy—why do you say that?
RELLING (muttering). Oh, I’ve got my reasons.
GINA. Do you think Gregers Werle is really crazy?
RELLING. No, worse luck. He’s no crazier than most people. But he’s got a disease in his system all the same.
GINA. What is it that’s wrong with him?
RELLING. All right, I’ll tell you, Mrs. Ekdal. He’s suffering from an acute case of moralistic fever.
GINA. Moralistic fever?
HEDVIG. Is that a kind of disease?
RELLING. Oh yes, it’s a national disease, but it only breaks out now and then. (Nodding to GINA.) Thanks for lunch. (He goes out through the hall door.)
GINA (walking restlessly around the room). Ugh, that Gregers Werle—he was always a cold fish.
HEDVIG (standing by the table, looking searchingly at her). This is all so strange to me.