THE WILD DUCK

A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS

By HENRIK IBSEN

TRANSLATED FROM THE NORWEGIAN BY
ELEANOR MARX AVELING

Copyright, 1890, by John W. Lovell Co.

BOSTON
WALTER H. BAKER & CO.

CONTENTS

TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.

“Vildanden” is perhaps the most difficult of all Ibsen’s prose dramas to translate. Some of the speeches of Gina and Relling are indeed quite untranslatable. The difficulty in the case of Gina is in respect to her frequent malapropisms, which, for the most part, turn on the mispronunciation of a word, or the use of a word which resembles in sound the one she wants. It is obvious that in the transference of such blunders of one language to another their exact significance can not be caught. Occasionally it has been possible, as when she says “divide” for “divert,” or calls the pistol “pigstol.” But these instances are rare, and more frequently Gina’s slips could only have been indicated by entirely changing her words. As I have aimed at making as literal a translation as possible I did not feel justified in so departing from the original.

ELEANOR MARX AVELING.

PERSONS OF THE PLAY.

• Werle, Merchant, Factory Owner, Etc.
• Gregers Werle, His Son.
• Old Ekdal.
• Hjalmar Ekdal, The Old Man’s Son, a Photographer.
• Gina Ekdal, Hjalmar’s Wife.
• Hedvig, Their Daughter, Fourteen Years Old.
• Mrs. Sorby, Werle’s Housekeeper.
• Relling, a Doctor.
• Molvik, an ex-Theological Student.
• Graberg, Book-keeper.
• Pettersen, Servant to Werle.
• Jensen, Hired Waiter.
• A Pale and Fat Gentleman.
• A Thin-haired Gentleman.
• A Short-sighted Gentleman.
• Six other Gentlemen, Guests of Werle’s.
• Several Hired Waiters.

The first Act at Mr. Werle’s. The four other Acts at Ekdal, the photographer’s.

ACT I.

[Werle’s House. Richly and comfortably furnished study. Book cases and upholstered furniture, a writing-table, with papers and ledgers in the center of the stage; lamps alight with green shades, so that the room is dimly lighted. Open folding-doors, with the curtain drawn at back. Beyond a large elegant room, brilliantly lighted with lamps and branched candlesticks. At the right lower entrance of the study a small baize door leads to the office. Left lower entrance a fireplace, with glowing coals, and beyond this a folding-door leading to the dining-room.]

[Pettersen, Werle’s servant, in livery, and the hired waiter, Jensen, in black, are setting the study in order. In the large room two or three other hired waiters are moving about, trimming and lighting several more lights. From within the dining-room, is heard a confused buzz of conversation and laughter; a knife is rapped against a glass, there is silence, a toast is given, cries of “bravo,” and then again the buzz of conversation.]

Pettersen (lighting a lamp on the mantel-piece, and placing a shade upon it). Just listen, Jensen; there’s the old chap standing up by the table and proposing to Mrs. Sorby’s health in a long speech.

Jensen (bringing down an arm-chair). Is there any truth in what people say, that there’s something between them?

Pettersen. Goodness knows!

Jensen. For he’s been a great rake in his time.

Pettersen. Maybe.

Jensen. It’s in honor of his son that he’s giving this dinner, they say.

Pettersen. Yes, his son came home yesterday.

Jensen. I never knew before that Mr. Werle had a son.

Pettersen. Oh yes, he has a son. But he’s always stopped up there at the Hojdal Works. He’s not been in town all the years I’ve been in service here.

Another Waiter (at the door of the other room). I say, Pettersen, here’s an old fellow who——

Pettersen (muttering). Who the devil’s here now?

Old Ekdal enters the room from the right. He wears a threadbare cloak with a stand-up collar, woollen mittens; in his hands a stick and a fur cap, under his arm a parcel done up in cardboard. He has a reddish-brown, dirty wig, and a small mustache.

Pettersen (going towards him). Good gracious! What do you want here?

Ekdal (in the doorway). Must absolutely go to the office, Pettersen.

Pettersen. The office was closed an hour ago and——

Ekdal. Heard so at the door, my lad. But Graberg’s in there still. Be a good fellow, Pettersen, and let me slip in this way. (Pointing to the baize door.) I’ve been that way before.

Pettersen. All right, you can go. (Opens door.) But mind you leave the proper way, for we’ve company.

Ekdal. Know that—h’m! Thanks, Pettersen, my lad. Good old friend. Thanks. (Mutters in a low tone.) Idiot!

He goes into the office. Pettersen closes the door after him.

Jensen. Is he one of the clerks too?

Pettersen. No, he only does writing at home when it’s wanted. But he’s been a great swell in his time, has old Ekdal.

Jensen. Yes, he looks as if he had been a little of everything.

Pettersen. Yes, for you know he’s been a lieutenant.

Jensen. The devil he has! He been a lieutenant?

Pettersen. That he has. But then he went into the timber trade or something of the sort. They say he played Mr. Werle a very dirty trick once. For the two were partners then up at the Hojdal Works, you know. Ah, I know good old Ekdal, I do. We drink many a good bottle of beer and bitters together at Mrs. Ericksen’s.

Jensen. Surely he hasn’t got much to stand treat with?

Pettersen. Lord, Jensen, of course you understand that I pay. For I think one should be polite to better people who’ve come down in the world.

Jensen. Did he go bankrupt?

Pettersen. No, it was worse than that. He was sent to gaol.

Jensen. Gaol?

Pettersen. Or the house of correction, or something. (Listening.) Hush! they’re coming from the table.

The doors of the dining-room are thrown open by a couple of servants from within. Mrs. Sorby, talking to two gentlemen, comes out. Gradually all the guests follow, among these Mr. Werle. Hjalmar Ekdal and Gregers Werle enter last.

Mrs. Sorby (to the servants, as she passes along). Pettersen, have the coffee served in the music-room.

Pettersen. Yes, Mrs. Sorby.

She and the two gentlemen pass into the room at the back, and thence right. Pettersen and Jensen go out the same way.

Pale Fat Gentleman (to the thin-haired one). Phew! That dinner—it was a stiff bit of work!

Thin-haired Gentleman. Oh! with a little good-will one can get through an immense deal in three hours.

Fat Gentleman.—Ah, but afterwards, afterwards, my dear Chamberlain![1]

[1] The title of Chamberlain (Kammeherre) is one bestowed by the king as a special distinction upon men of wealth and position. It is the only title now permitted in Norway, where all titles of nobility were abolished in 1814.

Short-sighted Gentleman. I hear the Mocha and Maraschino are to be served in the music-room.

Fat Gentleman. Brave! Then Mrs. Sorby can play us something.

Thin-haired Gentleman (in a low voice). If only Mrs. Sorby doesn’t play us any tricks.

Fat Gentleman. Oh, no; Bertha will never turn against her old friends!

They laugh and go into the room.

Werle (in a low voice and depressed). I don’t think any of them noticed it, Gregers.

Gregers (looking at him). What?

Werle. Didn’t you notice it either?

Gregers. What should I notice?

Werle. We were thirteen at table.

Gregers. Really? We were thirteen?

Werle (glancing at Hjalmar Ekdal). We generally have twelve. (To the others.) This way, gentlemen!

He and those who had remained behind with the exception of Hjalmar and Gregers go out through the door at the back and off right.

Hjalmar (who has heard everything). You shouldn’t have asked me, Gregers.

Gregers. What? Why, they say this dinner is given in my honor, and I shouldn’t have my best, my only friend?

Hjalmar. But I don’t think your father likes it. I never come to this house.

Gregers. So I hear. But I must see you and talk to you, for I shall certainly go away again soon. Yes, we two old school-fellows, we have surely been separated long enough, we’ve not seen one another now for sixteen—seventeen years.

Hjalmar. Is it so long?

Gregers. Yes, it is. Well, how are things going with you? You look well. You’ve grown almost stout and portly.

Hjalmar. H’m, one can hardly call it portly, but I daresay I look rather more manly than I did then.

Gregers. Indeed you do; your outer man hasn’t suffered.

Hjalmar (gloomily). But the inner man! Believe me, that is very different. You know what terrible trouble has come to me and mine since we two met.

Gregers (in a lower tone). How is your father getting on now?

Hjalmar. Dear friend, don’t let us speak of that. My poor, unhappy father of course lives at home with me. Why, he has no one else on earth to cling to. But it is such bitter pain for me to speak of this, you see. Tell me, rather, how you have got on up there at the Works.

Gregers. I’ve been delightfully lonely—with plenty of time to ponder over many things. Come here, let’s make ourselves comfortable.

He sits down in an arm-chair by the fire, and makes Hjalmar take another one by his side.

Hjalmar (moved). I have to thank you all the same, Gregers, for asking me to your father’s table. For now I know you’ve no feeling against me any longer.

Gregers (astonished). Whatever makes you think I had any feeling against you?

Hjalmar. Yet you had during the first years.

Gregers. What first years?

Hjalmar. After the great misfortune. And it was so natural you should have. Why, it was only by a hair’s breadth your father escaped being dragged into this—this horrible affair.

Gregers. And you thought I had a feeling against you because of this? What can have put such a thing into your head?

Hjalmar. I know you had, Gregers, for I had it from your father himself.

Gregers (starting). Father! So! H’m! Was that why you never wrote to me—not a single word?

Hjalmar. Yes.

Gregers. Not even when you decided to go in for photography?

Hjalmar. Your father said it was no use writing to you about anything.

Gregers (looking straight in front of him). No, no. Perhaps he was right. But tell me, Hjalmar, do you feel satisfied with your position?

Hjalmar (with a sigh). Oh, yes; certainly. I really can’t say I’m not. At first, as you will understand, it all seemed so strange to me to be placed amid such absolutely new surroundings. But, then, everything else was so changed too. The great, overwhelming misfortune with my father—the shame and the scandal, Gregers.

Gregers (moved). Yes, yes, I know.

Hjalmar. I couldn’t dream of going on with my studies, there wasn’t a shilling to spare; on the contrary we were rather in debt; mostly to your father, I fancy.

Gregers. H’m.

Hjalmar. So I thought it best, just with one wrench, you know, to cut myself off from the old conditions and relations. It was your father, principally, who advised me to do this, and as he helped me so much——

Gregers. Did he?

Hjalmar. Yes, of course; you know he did. Where should I have got the means to learn photography, to set up a studio, and make a start? That costs money, you know.

Gregers. And father paid for all this?

Hjalmar. Yes, dear friend, didn’t you know? I understood him to say he had written to you about it.

Gregers. Not a word of what he had done. He must have forgotten it. We’ve only exchanged business letters with one another. So it was father?

Hjalmar. Yes, sure enough. He never wished people to know about it, but it was he. And it was he, too, who made it possible for me to get married. But perhaps you don’t know about that either?

Gregers. No, I certainly did not (shakes his arm). My dear, Hjalmar, I can’t tell you how happy all this makes me—and how it pains me. Perhaps, after all, I have wronged father—in certain things. For this shews he has a heart, you see. It shews a kind of conscience.

Hjalmar. Conscience!

Gregers. Yes, yes, or whatever you like to call it. No, I have no words to tell you how glad I am to hear this of father. And so you are married, Hjalmar. That’s more than I shall ever manage. Well, I hope you are happy in your marriage?

Hjalmar. Yes, I am indeed. She is as bright and brave a woman as man could desire. And she is not quite without education, either.

Gregers (slightly astonished). No, of course not.

Hjalmar. No. Life is an education, you see. Then the daily intercourse with me—and then there are some gifted men who often come to see us, I assure you. You wouldn’t know Gina again.

Gregers. Gina?

Hjalmar. Yes, dear friend. Didn’t you remember her name was Gina?

Gregers. Her name was Gina? Why, I know nothing——

Hjalmar. But don’t you remember she was in service here for a time?

Gregers (looking at him). Is it Gina Hansen?

Hjalmar. Yes, of course it’s Gina Hansen.

Gregers. Who looked after the house during the last year that mother lay ill?

Hjalmar. Certainly that is so. But, dear friend, I’m quite certain your father wrote you I had got married.

Gregers (who has risen). Yes, he certainly did, but not that—(walks up and down). Yet—wait a moment—perhaps he did—now I come to think of it. But father always writes me such short letters. (Half seating himself on the arm of the chair.) Now tell me, Hjalmar—for this is too delightful—how did you get to know Gina—to know your wife?

Hjalmar. Very simply. Gina didn’t stop here long, for there was so much confusion here at that time—your mother’s illness—Gina could not see to everything, so she gave notice and left. That was a year before your mother’s death—or maybe the same year.

Gregers. It was the same year, and I was up at the Works at the time. And then afterwards——

Hjalmar. Well, Gina lived at home with her mother, a Mrs. Hansen—a very worthy and hard-working woman, who kept a small eating-house. And she had a room to let, too, a very pretty, comfortable room.

Gregers. And you were probably delighted to take it?

Hjalmar. Yes, indeed; it was your father who suggested it to me. And there, you see—there I really got to know Gina.

Gregers. And so you got engaged?

Hjalmar. Yes. Young folk soon get to care for one another—h’m——

Gregers (rises and walks up and down). Tell me—when you got engaged—was it then that father—I mean—was it then that you began to take up photography?

Hjalmar. Exactly, for I was anxious to settle down as soon as possible. And so both your father and I thought photography would be the likeliest thing, and Gina thought so, too. And there was a reason for that, you see, it fitted in so well, as Gina had learnt to retouch.

Gregers. That fitted in most remarkably.

Hjalmar (delighted, rising). Yes, didn’t it? Don’t you think it fitted in remarkably?

Gregers. Yes, I must confess it did. Father seems to have been almost a sort of Providence to you.

Hjalmar (moved). He did not forsake the son of his old friend in his hour of need, for he has a heart, you see.

Enter Mrs. Sorby leaning on the arm of Mr. Werle.

Mrs. Sorby. No nonsense, dear Mr. Werle; you mustn’t stop in there any longer staring up at the lights. It is not good for you.

Werle (dropping her arm and passing his hands over his eyes). I almost think you are right!

Pettersen and the Hired Waiter Jensen enter with trays.

Mrs. Sorby (to the guests in the other room). This way, please, gentlemen. Anyone who wants a glass of punch must come here for it.

Enter the Fat Gentleman.

Fat Gentleman (coming up to Mrs. Sorby). But, good Heavens! is it true that you have abolished our blessed liberty to smoke?

Mrs Sorby. Yes, in Mr. Werle’s domain, it is prohibited, Chamberlain.

Thin-haired Gentleman. Since when have you promulgated these stringent articles of cigar-law, Mrs. Sorby?

Mrs Sorby. Since our last dinner, Chamberlain, for then we had certain persons here who went too far.

Thin-haired Gentleman. And you would not permit a slight overstepping of the bounds, Mrs. Bertha? Really not?

Mrs Sorby. In no respect, Chamberlain Balle.

Most of the guests have come into Mr. Werle’s room. The waiters take round glasses of punch.

Werle (to Hjalmar, going up to the table). What are you poring over there, Ekdal?

Hjalmar. Only an album, Mr. Werle.

Thin-haired Gentleman (who is walking about). Aha! Photographs! Yes, that’s something in your line.

Fat Gentleman (in an arm-chair). Haven’t you brought along any of your own?

Hjalmar. No, I’ve not.

Fat Gentleman. You should have. It is so good for the digestion to sit and look at pictures.

Thin-haired Gentleman. And, besides, it contributes towards entertaining people, don’t you know.

Short-sighted Gentleman. And all contributions are thankfully received.

Mrs. Sorby. The Chamberlains mean, that when you’re asked to dinner, you must do something for your meal, Mr. Ekdal.

Fat Gentleman. Where one dines so well, that is simply a pleasure.

Thin-haired Gentleman. Good heavens! when it’s a question of a struggle for life——

Mrs. Sorby. There you are right.

They continue the conversation amid laughter and joking.

Gregers (in a low voice). You must join us, Hjalmar.

Hjalmar (shrinking). How should I join in?

Fat Gentleman. Don’t you think, Mr. Werle, that Tokay may be considered a comparatively wholesome drink for the stomach?

Werle (by the fireplace). I can answer for the Tokay you’ve had to-day, anyhow, for it is one of the very best vintages. You noticed it, no doubt.

Fat Gentleman. Yes, it tastes remarkably delicate.

Hjalmar (hesitatingly). Is there any difference then in the vintages?

Fat Gentleman (laughing). Oh, that is good!

Werle (smiling). It is hardly worth while giving you a fine wine.

Thin-haired Gentleman. It’s the same with Tokay as with photographs, Mr. Ekdal. There must be sunshine. Is it not so?

Hjalmar. Yes, light has a great deal to do with it.

Mrs. Sorby. Why, that’s exactly as it is with chamberlains, for they, too, greatly need sunshine, people say.

Thin-haired Gentleman. Oh, oh! that’s a very stale sarcasm.

Short-sighted Gentleman. Mrs. Sorby’s coming out.

Fat Gentleman. And at our expense. (Threatening.) Madam Bertha, Madam Bertha!

Mrs. Sorby. Yes, but it is indisputably true that vintages may be vastly different. The old ones are the finest.

Short-sighted Gentleman. Do you reckon me among the old ones?

Mrs. Sorby. Oh, far from it!

Thin-haired Gentleman. There now! But me, sweet Mrs. Sorby.

Fat Gentleman. Yes, and me! In what vintage do you reckon us?

Mrs. Sorby. I reckon you among the sweet vintages, gentlemen.

She sips a glass of punch. The chamberlains laugh and joke with her.

Werle. Mrs. Sorby can always find a loophole when she wants. Help yourselves to glasses, gentlemen! Pettersen, see to it! Gregers, I think we’ll take a glass together. (Gregers does not move.) Won’t you make one of us, Ekdal? I found no opportunity of drinking with you at table.

The book-keeper, Graberg, looks in through the baize door.

Graberg. Beg pardon, sir, but I can’t get out.

Werle. Why, have you got locked in again?

Graberg. Yes, and Flagsted has gone off with the keys.

Werle. Well, you can pass through here, then.

Graberg. But there’s someone else.

Werle. Come on, come on, both of you. Don’t mind us.

Graberg and old Ekdal come out from the office.

Werle (involuntarily). Ah! Phew!

The laughter and chatter of the guests cease. Hjalmar starts at the sight of his father; he puts down his glass and turns to the fireplace.

Ekdal (he does not look up, but makes little bows to both sides as he goes out and mutters). Beg pardon. Have come the wrong way. Door locked. Door locked. Beg pardon.

He and Graberg go out at the back, right.

Werle (between his teeth). Confound Graberg!

Gregers (with open mouth and staring eyes to Hjalmar). Surely that can not have been.

Fat Gentleman. What was that? Who was it?

Gregers. Oh, nobody, only the book-keeper and someone else.

Short-sighted Gentleman (to Hjalmar). Did you know the man?

Hjalmar. I don’t know; I don’t notice——

Fat Gentleman (getting up). What the deuce is in the wind? (He goes to the others who are talking in a low voice.)

Mrs. Sorby (whispering to the servant). Give him something outside—something really good.

Pettersen (nodding). All right.

He goes out.

Gregers. (In a low and shaken voice to Hjalmar). So it was really he?

Hjalmar. Yes.

Gregers. And yet you stood there and denied you knew him?

Hjalmar (whispering passionately). But how could I——

Gregers. Acknowledge your father?

Hjalmar (pained). Ah, if you were in my place——

The conversation of the guests, which had been carried on in a low tone, now becomes strainedly noisy.

Thin-haired Gentleman (coming up to Hjalmar and Gregers in a friendly manner). Aha! Are you standing here renewing old memories of student years? Eh? Won’t you smoke, Mr. Ekdal? Do you want a light? Ah, it’s true, we mustn’t——

Hjalmar. Thank you. I should not have——

Fat Gentleman. Haven’t you some nice little poems to recite to us, Mr. Ekdal? You used to do that so charmingly.

Hjalmar. Unfortunately, I can’t remember anything.

Fat Gentleman. Ah, that’s a pity. What shall we do, Balle?

Both gentlemen cross the room, and go into the other room.

Hjalmar (gloomily). Gregers, I’m going. You see, when a man has felt the crushing blows of fate upon his head—— Bid your father good-bye for me.

Gregers. Yes, yes. Are you going straight home?

Hjalmar. Yes, why?

Gregers. Because, perhaps, I’ll look in on you later.

Hjalmar. No, you mustn’t do that. Not at my home. My house is dreary, Gregers, especially after such a brilliant festivity as this. We can always meet somewhere outside in the town.

Mrs. Sorby (who has come up, in a low voice). Are you going, Ekdal?

Hjalmar. Yes.

Mrs. Sorby. Remember me to Gina.

Hjalmar. Thanks.

Mrs. Sorby. And tell her that I shall look her up one of these days.

Hjalmar. Oh, thanks. (To Gregers.) Stop here. I want to slip out unobserved.

He crosses the room, passes into the other room, and goes out, right.

Mrs. Sorby (aside to the servant, who has returned). Well, did you give the old man something?

Pettersen. Yes, I did. I gave him a bottle of brandy.

Mrs. Sorby. Oh, you might have found him something better than that.

Pettersen. No, I couldn’t, Mrs. Sorby. Brandy’s the best thing for him.

Fat Gentleman (by the door, with a volume of music in his hand). Shall we play something together, Mrs. Sorby?

Mrs. Sorby. Certainly—let us.

Guests. Bravo, bravo!

She and all the Guests pass out of the room, right. Gregers remains standing by the fire-place. Mr. Werle looks for something on the writing-table and seems to wish Gregers to go. As the latter does not move, Mr. Werle goes towards entrance door.

Gregers. Father, won’t you wait a moment?

Werle (stopping). What is it?

Gregers. I must have a word with you.

Werle. Can’t it wait till we’re alone?

Gregers. No, it can not, for it may be we never shall be alone.

Werle (coming nearer). What does that mean?

During the following conversation the playing of a piano is heard from the music-room.

Gregers. How could that family be allowed to come to such a wretched pass?

Werle. Probably, you mean the Ekdals? I understand.

Gregers. Yes, I mean the Ekdals. Yet Lieutenant Ekdal was very near to you once.

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.

Hedvig. Yes, for it’s in such great curls.

Hjalmar. Waves!

Hedvig (a little after, pulling his jacket). Father!

Hjalmar. Well, what is it?

Hedvig. Oh, you know well enough what it is.

Hjalmar. No, I really don’t.

Hedvig (laughing and pouting). Oh, you do, father. Now you mustn’t tease me any more.

Hjalmar. But what is it?

Hedvig (shaking him). Oh, nonsense. Now out with it, father. You know all the good things you promised me.

Hjalmar. Ah! and to think I should have forgotten it!

Hedvig. No, you only want to tease me, father! Oh, it’s too bad of you. Where’ve you put them?

Hjalmar. Well, I’ve not quite forgotten. But wait a moment! I’ve got something else for you, Hedvig. (Goes and searches in the pockets of his coat.)

Hedvig (jumping and clapping her hands). Oh, mother, mother!

Gina. You see, if you’ll only wait——

Hjalmar (with a paper). See, here we have it.

Hedvig. That? Why, that’s only a piece of paper.

Hjalmar. That’s the bill of fare; the whole bill of fare. Here is written “Menu;” that means bill of fare.

Hedvig. Haven’t you got anything else?

Hjalmar. I’ve forgotten the rest, I tell you. But you may take my word for it, these dainties are not very satisfying. Sit down there by the table and read out the list, and I’ll describe the dishes to you. See here, Hedvig.

Hedvig (choking back her tears). Thanks. (She sits down, but does not read. Gina makes signs to her; Hjalmar notices it.)

Hjalmar (walking up and down). It is really most extraordinary what things the bread-winner of a family is expected to remember, and if he forgets the least of them—he’s sure to be treated to black looks. Well, one gets used to that, too. (Stops near the stove, by the old man.) Have you peeped in there this evening, father?

Ekdal. Yes, you may be sure I did. She’s got into the basket.

Hjalmar. No! She’s gone into the basket? She’s beginning to get used to it.

Ekdal. Yes, that’s what I always said she would. But now, you see, there are a few little things——

Hjalmar. Some improvements—yes.

Ekdal. But they must be made, you know.

Hjalmar. Yes, let’s have a little chat about the improvements, father. Come here, let’s sit on the sofa.

Ekdal. All right. H’m—think I’ll fill my pipe first—and must clean it. H’m! (He goes into his room.)

Gina (smiling at Hjalmar). Clean his pipe, too!

Hjalmar. Ah, well! Gina, let him alone. My poor shipwrecked father! Yes—the improvements—we’d best set about them to-morrow.

Gina. You’ll not have any time to-morrow, Ekdal——

Hedvig (interrupting). Oh, yes, he will, mother.

Gina. Remember those copies that have to be touched up; they’ve sent here now so many times for them.

Hjalmar. Really? So now it’s the copies again! They’ll be ready soon enough. Have there been any fresh orders?

Gina. No, worse luck, to-morrow I’ve nothing but the two portraits you know of.

Hjalmar. Nothing else? Oh, no, when one makes no effort——

Gina. But what am I to do? I put in all the advertisements I can afford, I’m sure.

Hjalmar. Yes, advertisements, advertisements. You see how much good they are. And so, I suppose, no one’s been after this room, either?

Gina. No, not yet.

Hjalmar. That was to be expected. When one makes no effort to—— One really must pull oneself together, Gina.

Hedvig (going up to him). Shall I fetch your flute, father?

Hjalmar. No, no flute. I ask no pleasures here on earth. (Walking up and down.) Yes, yes, I’ll work hard to-morrow, there shall be no lack of that. I’ll work as long as my strength holds out——

Gina. But, dear good Ekdal, I didn’t mean it in that way.

Hedvig. Father, shall I bring in a bottle of beer?

Hjalmar. No, nothing at all. I want nothing for myself. (Standing still.) Beer?—was it beer you said?

Hedvig (brightly). Yes, father; lovely, fresh beer.

Hjalmar. Well, if you will insist, you may as well bring in a bottle.

Gina. Yes, do, and then we’ll make ourselves comfortable.

Hedvig runs towards the kitchen door.

Hjalmar (by the stove; stops her, looks at her, takes her head, and presses her to him). Hedvig! Hedvig!

Hedvig (gladly, with tears in her eyes). Ah! Dear father!

Hjalmar. No, do not call me that! There have I been sitting at the rich man’s table and taking thought for myself—there have I sat and reveled at the groaning board. And yet I could not——

Gina (sitting by the table). Oh, nonsense, nonsense, Ekdal.

Hjalmar. Yes! But you must not be too hard upon me. You know that I am very fond of you, all the same.

Hedvig (embracing him). And we are so immensely fond of you!

Hjalmar. And if now and again I should be unreasonable, bear in mind I am a man overwhelmed by a host of worries. No! (Drying his eyes.) No beer at such a moment! Give me the flute.

Hedvig runs to the book case and fetches it.

Hjalmar. Thanks. Now then. With the flute in my hand, and you two about me—ah!

Hedvig (sits down at the table near Gina; Hjalmar walks up and down. Then he begins playing energetically a Bohemian folk-dance, but in slow, elegiac time, and with sentimental expression. He stops playing suddenly, holds out his left hand to Gina, and says in a moved tone). It may be poor and lowly under this roof, Gina, but it is home. But I tell you this—it is good to be here.

He begins playing again; presently a knock is heard at the entrance-door.

Gina (rising). Hush, Ekdal!—I think someone’s there.

Hjalmar (putting the flute into the book case). There again!

Gina goes and opens the door.

Gregers (outside in the passage). Excuse me——

Gina (stepping back a little). Oh!

Gregers. Does Mr. Ekdal, the photographer, live here?——

Gina. Yes, he does.

Hjalmar (going to the door). Gregers! Is it you after all? Well, come in.

Gregers (coming in). Yes, I told you I’d look you up.

Hjalmar. But to-night?—Have you left the party?

Gregers. Both the party and my father’s house. Good evening, Mrs. Ekdal. I don’t know if you recognize me?

Gina. Oh, yes! Young Mr. Werle is not very difficult to recognize.

Gregers. No—I am like my mother, and, no doubt, you remember her.

Hjalmar. And you have left the house, you say——

Gregers. Yes, I’ve moved into a hotel.

Hjalmar. Really! Well, as you’ve come, take off your things and sit down.

Gregers. Thanks. (He takes off his overcoat. He has changed into a simple gray suit of country make.)

Hjalmar. Here, on the sofa. Make yourself at home.

Gregers sits on the sofa, Hjalmar on a chair by the table.

Gregers (looking round). So this is your place, Hjalmar. This is where you live.

Hjalmar. This is the studio, as you can see——

Gina. But it’s roomy; and so we prefer sitting here.

Hjalmar. We used to have better rooms, but this flat has one great advantage; there are such capital outer rooms.

Gina. And then we’ve a room on the other side of the passage that we can let.

Gregers (to Hjalmar). Really—then you’ve lodgers, too.

Hjalmar. No, not yet. That’s not so easy, you see; one has to keep on the look out. (To Hedvig.) But how about that beer, Hedvig.

Hedvig nods and goes into the kitchen.

Gregers. So that is your daughter?

Hjalmar. Yes, that’s Hedvig.

Gregers. And she is your only child?

Hjalmar. She is the only one, yes. She is our greatest joy on earth, and (in a lower tone), she is also our greatest sorrow, Gregers.

Gregers. What’s that you say?

Hjalmar. Yes; for there is imminent danger of her losing her sight.

Gregers. Become blind!

Hjalmar. Yes. At present there are only the merest symptoms, and it may be a long while yet. But the doctor has warned us. It must inevitably come.

Gregers. That is a terrible misfortune! How did she get it?——

Hjalmar (sighing). It is probably hereditary.

Gregers (starting). Hereditary?

Gina. Ekdal’s mother had weak eyes, too.

Hjalmar. Yes, so father says; I can’t remember her.

Gregers. Poor child! And how does she take it?

Hjalmar. Ah! you may imagine, we’ve not had the heart to tell her anything. She has no idea of any danger. Joyous and free from care, and chirping like a little bird flying away into life’s everlasting night. (Overcome.) Ah! that is such a crushing blow for me, Gregers.

Hedvig brings in a tray with beer and glasses, which she places on the table.

Hjalmar (stroking her head). Thanks, thanks, Hedvig. (Hedvig throws her arms round his neck and whispers into his ear.) No. No bread and butter just now. (Looks straight in front of him.) Yes, perhaps Gregers will have a piece.

Gregers (with a gesture of refusal). No, no, thank you.

Hjalmar (still mournful). Well, you can bring in a little, all the same. If you’ve a crust that’d be nice. And mind you, butter it well.

Hedvig nods brightly, and goes into the kitchen again.

Gregers (who has followed her with his eyes). She looks bright and well enough though, it seems to me.

Gina. Yes, thank God, there’s nothing else the matter with her.

Gregers. No doubt she will grow like you in time, Mrs. Ekdal. How old may she be now?

Gina. Hedvig is exactly fourteen; it’s her birthday the day after to-morrow.

Gregers. She’s pretty tall for her age.

Gina. Yes, she has shot up so in the last year.

Gregers. It is by these young folks that we best see how old we are ourselves. How long ago is it that you were married?

Gina. Why, we were married in—yes—nearly fifteen years ago.

Gregers. No, really! Is it so long!

Gina (becoming attentive, looking at him). Yes, it is exactly.

Hjalmar. Yes, of course it is. Fifteen years in a few months. (In a changed tone.) Those must have been long years for you up at the Works, Gregers.

Gregers. They seemed so while I lived them—now, I hardly know how the time went.

Old Ekdal enters from his room, without his pipe, but wearing his old lieutenant’s cap; he walks somewhat unsteadily.

Ekdal. I say, Hjalmar, now we can sit down and chat about that—h’m. Whatever was it?

Hjalmar (going up to him). Father, here’s somebody. Gregers Werle—I don’t know if you can remember him.

Ekdal (looking at Gregers, who has risen). Werle? Is that the son, eh?—What does he want with me?

Hjalmar. Nothing; he has come to see me.

Ekdal. Then nothing’s up?

Hjalmar. No, certainly not.

Ekdal (swinging his arms). Not that I care, you know, I’m not afraid, but——

Gregers (going up to him). I only wanted to bring you a greeting from the old hunting-grounds, Lieutenant Ekdal.

Ekdal. Hunting-grounds?

Gregers. Yes, up there round about the Hojdal Works.

Ekdal. Oh? up there? I knew them well once on a time.

Gregers. At that time you were a great sportsman.

Ekdal. Was so, yes. That may be. You’re looking at my uniform-cap. I don’t need to get leave to wear it at home. So long as I don’t go out into the streets in it——

Hedvig brings in a plate of bread and butter, which she puts on the table.

Hjalmar. Come and sit down, father, and have a glass of beer. Come along, Gregers.

Ekdal mutters something, and stumbles to the sofa. Gregers sits down on the chair nearest him. Hjalmar on the other side of Gregers. Gina sits a little way from the table sewing. Hedvig stands by her father.

Gregers. Can you remember, Lieutenant Ekdal, when Hjalmar and I used to go up to visit you in the summer and at Christmas?

Ekdal. Did you? No, no, no—I don’t remember that. But I may say I’ve been a great sportsman, that I have. I’ve shot bears too. Shot nine of them.

Gregers (looking sympathizingly at him). And now you never get any hunting.

Ekdal. Oh! Can’t say that, my lad. Get some hunting now and again: not that sort, of course. For the forest, you see—the forest, the forest!—— (Drinking.) Is the forest up there fine now?

Gregers. Not so fine as in your time. It’s been thinned out considerably.

Ekdal. Thinned out. (In a lower tone and anxiously.) That’s a dangerous game. It has consequences. The forest avenges itself.

Hjalmar (filling his glass). Come, father, have a little more.

Gregers. How can a man like you—such a man for an open-air life, live in the midst of a choking town, shut up between these four walls?

Ekdal (smiles slightly and glances at Hjalmar). Oh! it’s not so bad here. Not so bad.

Gregers. But all that had become part of you? The fresh, blowing breezes, the free life in the woods and the plains, among the beasts and birds?

Ekdal (smiling). Hjalmar, shall we show it him?

Hjalmar (quickly and somewhat embarrassed). Oh, no, no, father; not this evening.

Gregers. What does he want to show me?

Hjalmar. Oh! it’s only something—you can see it another time.

Gregers (continuing to the old man). So I was thinking, Lieutenant Ekdal, that you should come along with me up to the Works, for I shall certainly be leaving again shortly. You could easily get some copying to do there too. And here there’s absolutely nothing to make you comfortable and cheer you.

Ekdal (staring at him in astonishment). I’ve absolutely nothing.

Gregers. Yes, you have Hjalmar; but he has his own family. And a man like you who has always felt drawn to all that is free and wild——

Ekdal (striking the table). Hjalmar, now he shall see it!

Hjalmar. No, father, is it worth while now? Why, it’s dark——

Ekdal. Nonsense; the moon shining. (Rising.) He shall see it, I say. Let me pass. Come and help me, Hjalmar.

Hedvig. Oh, yes; do, father.

Hjalmar (rising). All right then.

Gregers (to Gina). What is it?

Gina. Oh! You really mustn’t fancy it’s anything very wonderful.

Ekdal and Hjalmar have gone up the stage. Each is pushing aside one-half of the sliding door; Hedvig helps the old man; Gregers remains standing by the sofa; Gina goes on sewing, unmoved. Through the opening of the door is seen a large, irregular loft, with odd nooks and corners, and a few stove-pipes here and there. There are skylights, through which bright moonlight falls upon certain parts of the great room; others are in darkness.

Ekdal (to Gregers). You must come quite close, please.

Gregers (going over to him). What, is it really?

Ekdal. You can see—h’m!

Hjalmar (rather embarrassed). This belongs to father, you understand.

Gregers (by the door, looking into the loft). Why, you keep fowls, Lieutenant Ekdal!

Ekdal. Should think we did keep fowls. They’re gone to roost now. But you should see the fowls by daylight, you should!

Hedvig. And then there’s a——

Ekdal. Sh!—Sh!—don’t say anything yet.

Gregers. And you’ve pigeons, too, I see.

Ekdal. Oh, yes! May be we’ve got pigeons, too! The pigeon-houses are up there under the eaves; for you know pigeons always like to roost high.

Hjalmar. But these are not all common pigeons.

Ekdal. Common! No, should think not! We’ve got tumblers, and we’ve a few pouters, too. But come here! Can you see those hutches out there by the wall?——

Gregers. Yes. But what do you use them for?

Ekdal. The rabbits go in there in the night, my lad.

Gregers. Why, you’ve rabbits, too, then?

Ekdal. Yes. Deuce take it, you might know we should have rabbits! He wants to know if we’ve got rabbits, Hjalmar!—H’m! But now the real thing’s coming, you know. Now then! Out of the way, Hedvig. Come and stand here; that’s it—and look down there. Don’t you see anything there in the basket filled with straw?

Gregers. Yes. I see there’s a bird lying in the basket.

Ekdal. H’m! “A bird”——

Gregers. Isn’t it a duck?

Ekdal (hurt). Yes, of course, it’s a duck.

Hjalmar. But what sort of a duck, do you think——?

Hedvig. It’s not just a simple duck——

Ekdal. Hush!

Gregers. And it’s not a Turkish duck, either.

Ekdal. No, Mr.—Werle; it’s not a Turkish duck; for it’s a wild duck.

Gregers. No, is it really? A wild duck?

Ekdal. Yes, that it is. The “bird,” as you called it—is a wild duck. That’s our wild duck, my lad.

Hedvig. My wild duck. For she belongs to me.

Gregers. And it can live up here in this loft? And thrive here?

Ekdal. Of course, you understand, she’s got a trough full of water to splash about in.

Hjalmar. Fresh water every day.

Gina (turning to Hjalmar). But, dear Ekdal, it’s getting awfully cold here.

Ekdal. H’m! Let’s shut it up then. Besides it’s not good to disturb their night’s rest. Give a hand, Hedvig.

Hjalmar and Hedvig push the doors of the loft together.

Ekdal. Another time you can see her properly. (Sitting down in the arm-chair by the stove.) Ah! wild ducks are very wonderful creatures, take my word for it.

Gregers. But how did you catch it, Lieutenant Ekdal?

Ekdal. Didn’t catch her, I didn’t. There’s a certain man in the town here, whom we’ve to thank for her.

Gregers (starting slightly). Surely the man’s not my father?

Ekdal. Yes, he is though. Just your father. H’m!

Hjalmar. It is funny you should have guessed that, Gregers.

Gregers. Why you were telling me that you were indebted to my father for all sorts of things, and so I thought that——

Gina. But we’ve not had the duck from Mr. Werle himself.

Ekdal. It’s Haaken Werle we’ve to thank for her, all the same, Gina. (To Gregers.) He was out in his boat, you know, and he shot her. But your father’s sight is so bad now. H’m; she was only wounded.

Gregers. I see. She got a few shots in her body.

Hjalmar. Yes, she did—two or three shots.

Hedvig. She was hit under the wing, and so she could not fly away.

Gregers. And then, I suppose, she dived to the bottom?

Ekdal (sleepily, with thick utterance). Know all about that. Always so with wild ducks. Made for the bottom—as far as they can get, my lad—get caught in the tangle and the sea-weed—and all the damned stuff that’s down below there. And so they never come to the surface again.

Gregers. But, Lieutenant Ekdal, your wild duck came to the surface.

Ekdal. He’d got a most remarkably clever dog, had your father. And the dog—dived after the duck and brought her up again.

Gregers (turning to Hjalmar). And so you found it here?

Hjalmar. Not directly; first it was taken to your father’s; but the wild thing didn’t thrive there; so Pettersen was ordered to kill it——

Ekdal (half asleep). H’m—yes, Pettersen—idiot——

Hjalmar (speaking in a lower tone). So that was how we got her, you see, for father knows Pettersen a little, and when he heard about the wild duck, he managed to get it handed over to him.

Gregers. And now it thrives so well up here in the loft.

Hjalmar. Yes, wonderfully well. She’s getting fat. Well, she’s been in there so long now she’s forgotten the old wild life; and that’s the main thing.

Gregers. You are right there, Hjalmar. Only never let her see the sky or the sea—— But I mustn’t stay any longer; for I think your father’s asleep.

Hjalmar. Oh! don’t mind him——

Gregers. But—by the way—you said you had a room to let—a spare room?

Hjalmar. Certainly—what then? Do you know anyone——

Gregers. Could I have the room?

Hjalmar. You?

Gina. No, but you, Mr. Werle——

Gregers. Can I have the room? Then I’ll move in early to-morrow.

Hjalmar. Yes, with the greatest pleasure——

Gina. But, Mr. Werle, it’s not at all the sort of room for you.

Hjalmar. But, Gina, how can you say that?

Gina. Yes, for the room’s neither large nor light, and——

Gregers. That doesn’t matter, Mrs. Ekdal.

Hjalmar. I think it’s a very nice room, and not so badly furnished, either.

Gina. But think of those two who live underneath us.

Gregers. What two are they?

Gina. Oh! one of them’s been a tutor.

Hjalmar. That’s Licentiate Molvik.

Gina. And then there’s a doctor calling Relling.

Gregers. Relling? I used to know him a little. He practiced for a time up at the Works.

Gina. They’re a pair of dissipated good-for-nothings. They’re often out on the loose of an evening, and they come home very late at night, and then they’re not always as——

Gregers. One soon gets used to that. I hope I shall be like the wild duck.

Gina. H’m, I think you’d better sleep on it first, all the same.

Gregers. You seem extremely unwilling to have me in the house, Mrs. Ekdal.

Gina. Lord, no! How can you think that?

Hjalmar. Yes, it’s really very extraordinary of you.

Gina (to Gregers). But tell me, are you thinking of stopping in town then for the present?

Gregers (putting on his overcoat). Yes, now I think of stopping here.

Hjalmar. But not at home with your father? What do you mean to do?

Gregers. Ah! If only I knew that I should not be so badly off. But when one has the misfortune to be called Gregers—“Gregers”—and then “Werle” after it; have you ever heard anything so hideous?

Hjalmar. Oh! I don’t think that so bad.

Gregers. Huh! Pish! I should feel inclined to spit at a fellow with such a name. But when one has the misfortune to be Gregers—Werle here on earth, as I have——

Hjalmar (laughing). Ha—ha! If you weren’t Gregers Werle, what else would you be?

Gregers. If I had my choice, I should prefer being a clever dog.

Gina. A dog!

Hedvig (involuntarily). Oh! not that!

Gregers. Yes, a real uncommonly clever dog; such a one as can dive under after wild ducks, when they go to the bottom, and get fast in all the tangle and sea-weeds down in the mud below.

Hjalmar. I’ll tell you what, Gregers—I don’t understand a word of all this.

Gregers. Oh, no! It doesn’t mean anything in particular. Early to-morrow, then, I’ll move in. (To Gina.) Don’t you trouble about me; I do everything for myself. (To Hjalmar.) We’ll talk over the rest to-morrow. Good night, Mrs. Ekdal. (Nodding to Hedvig.) Good night!

Gina. Good night, Mr. Werle.

Hedvig. Good night.

Hjalmar (who has lighted a candle). Wait a moment, I must light you down, for it’s very dark on the stairs.

Gregers and Hjalmar go out together through the entrance-door.

Gina (looking straight in front of her, with her work on her lap). Wasn’t that strange talk about his wanting to be a dog?

Hedvig. I’ll tell you what, mother—I think he meant something else by that.

Gina. What could that be?

Hedvig. Why, I don’t know, but it was just as if he meant something different from what he was saying—all the time.

Gina. Do you think so? It was certainly strange.

Hjalmar (returning). The lamp was still alight. (Puts out the light and puts it down.) Ah, at last one can get a mouthful to eat. (Begins eating the bread and butter.) Now, you see, Gina, if one only makes a little effort——

Gina. How, effort?

Hjalmar. Yes, for it’s a blessing after all we’ve at last let that room for a time. And only think—to a fellow like Gregers—a dear, old friend.

Gina. I hardly know what to say about it, I don’t.

Hedvig. Oh, mother, you’ll see it’ll be such fun.

Hjalmar. You are strange. First you were so anxious to let it, and now you don’t like it.

Gina. Yes, Ekdal; if it had only been to some one else, but what do you think Mr. Werle will say?

Hjalmar. Old Werle? It’s no business of his.

Gina. But you may be sure there’s something up between them again, as the young one’s moving out of the house. You know well enough how things are between those two.

Hjalmar. Yes, that may be, but——

Gina. And now, perhaps, Mr. Werle’ll think you’re at the bottom of it——

Hjalmar. Let him think so as long as he likes! Mr. Werle has done an immense deal for me. Good heavens! I don’t deny it—but I can’t on that account remain his dependent all my life.

Gina. But, dear Ekdal, perhaps grandfather may have to suffer for it; he may lose his poor little earnings that he gets through Graberg.

Hjalmar. I’m almost inclined to say: so much the better! Is it not sufficiently humiliating for a man like me to see his grey-haired father going about as an outcast? But the fullness of time is coming now, I think. (He takes another piece of bread and butter.) As surely as I have a mission in life, so surely I will not shrink from it!

Hedvig. Oh! no, father, don’t!

Gina. Hush! Don’t wake him!

Hjalmar (in a lower tone). I will not shrink from it, I tell you. The day will yet come, when—— And that’s why it’s a good thing we’ve let the room; for that makes me more independent. And a man must be that when he has a mission in life. (Turning towards the arm-chair, with emotion.) My poor white-haired old father! Lean on your Hjalmar. He has broad shoulders—strong shoulders, at any rate. You will awaken one day and—— (To Gina.) Perhaps, you don’t believe it?

Gina (rising). Of course, I do—but in the meantime let’s get him to bed.

Hjalmar. Yes, let us do so.

They take up the old man carefully.

ACT III.

[Hjalmar Ekdal’s studio. It is morning; daylight streams in through the great panes of glass in the slanting roof; the curtain is drawn back.]

[Hjalmar is sitting at the table busy retouching a photograph; several other portraits are lying in front of him. After a little while Gina comes in from the entrance-door in her hat and cloak; she has a covered basket on her arm.]

Hjalmar. Are you back again, Gina?

Gina. Ah, yes! One must look sharp.

Puts the basket on a chair, and takes off her things.

Hjalmar. Did you look in at Gregers’?

Gina. Yes, I did. It’s in a lovely state; he’s managed to make a mess of it as soon as ever he got in.

Hjalmar. How so?

Gina. Why he wanted to do everything himself, he said. And so he wanted to light the stove too; and then he screwed down the register, so that the whole room was full of smoke. Uh! It stank like——

Hjalmar. Well, I never!

Gina. But the best’s to come; for then he wanted to put out the fire, and so he must needs empty the whole of his water-jug into the stove, so that the room’s like a pig-stye.

Hjalmar. That’s a nuisance.

Gina. I’ve sent the porter’s wife there now, to clean up after him, the pig. But the place’ll not be fit to be in till this afternoon.

Hjalmar. Where’s he gone then in the meantime?

Gina. He was going out, he said.

Hjalmar. I looked in a moment, too—after you’d gone out.

Gina. So I heard. Why, you’ve asked him to lunch.

Hjalmar. Only to a little simple bit of early lunch, you know. It’s his first day—and we couldn’t very well avoid it. You’ve got something in the house, I suppose.

Gina. I’ll try and get something or other.

Hjalmar. But don’t get too little. For I fancy Relling and Molvik are coming up too. I happened to meet Relling on the stairs, you see, and so I couldn’t but——

Gina. Oh! Are we to have those two as well?

Hjalmar. Good Lord—two more or less’ll make no difference.

Ekdal (opening his door and looking in). I say, Hjalmar—— (noticing Gina.) Oh! I see!

Gina. Do you want anything, grandfather?

Ekdal. Oh, no! It’s all right. H’m! (He goes in again.)

Gina (taking up the basket). Take care he doesn’t get out.

Hjalmar. Yes, yes, I’ll see to it—I say, Gina, a little bit of herring-salad’d be very nice—for Relling and Molvik were out on the spree again last night.

Gina. If only they don’t come up too soon for me I——

Hjalmar. Oh! they won’t; take your own time.

Gina. Very good, and you can go on doing a little work meantime.

Hjalmar. Why, I’m sitting here working! Why, I’m working as hard as ever I can!

Gina. Then you’ll have it off your hands, don’t you see.

She goes into the kitchen with the basket. Hjalmar sits a few minutes retouching the photograph; he does it lazily and with disrelish.

Ekdal (peeps in looking around the studio, and says in a whisper). Are you busy?

Hjalmar. Yes, I’m sitting here slaving over these portraits.

Ekdal. All right—God forbid—if you’re so busy, I’ll—h’m——

He goes in again; he leaves the door open.

Hjalmar (goes on for a while in silence; then he puts down the brush and goes to the door). Are you busy, father?

Ekdal (mutters from within). If you’re busy, I’m busy too. H’m!

Hjalmar. All right.

He returns to his work again.

Ekdal (after a little while, coming to the door again). H’m! You see, Hjalmar, I’m not so very busy after all.

Hjalmar. I thought you were sitting there writing.

Ekdal. Deuce take it. Can’t Graberg wait a day or two? It’s not a matter of life and death, I should say.

Hjalmar. No, and you’re not a slave either.

Ekdal. And then what has to be done in there?

Hjalmar. Yes, exactly. Perhaps you’d like to go in? Shall I open the door for you?

Ekdal. That wouldn’t be amiss.

Hjalmar (rising). For then we’d have that off our hands.

Ekdal. Exactly, it must be ready by to-morrow early. For it is to-morrow—— H’m?

Hjalmar. Of course, it’s to-morrow.

Hjalmar and Ekdal push one-half of the door aside. The morning sun is shining in through the sky-lights; many pigeons are flying hither and thither, others are perched cooing on rafters; the hens cackle now and again, at the further end of the loft.

Hjalmar. Now then, get in, father.

Ekdal (going in). Aren’t you coming?

Hjalmar. Yes, d’you know—I almost think—(seeing Gina by the kitchen door). I?—no, no, I’ve no time, I must work—— This is how the mechanism works——

He pulls a string; a curtain falls from within, the lower part of which consists of an old sail, and the rest, the upper part of an out-spread fishing net. The floor of the loft is thus no longer visible.

Hjalmar (going to the table). That’s it; now, I suppose, I shall have a minute’s peace.

Gina. Is he in there on the rampage again?

Hjalmar. Wasn’t it better than if he’d gone down to Mrs. Ericksen’s? (Sitting down.) Do you want anything? You said——

Gina. I only wanted to ask if you thought we could lay the cloth here?

Hjalmar. Yes, I suppose no one is coming so early——

Gina. No, I don’t expect anyone, except the two sweethearts, who want to be taken together.

Hjalmar. Why the devil couldn’t they be taken together some other day?

Gina. But, dear Ekdal, I arranged for them to come this afternoon, when you’re having your sleep.

Hjalmar. Oh, that’s all right. Yes, then we’ll lunch here.

Gina. Very well! But there’s no need to hurry to lay the cloth yet; you can use the table awhile yet.

Hjalmar. I should think you could see I am sitting here using the table all I can!

Gina. Then you’ll be free later, don’t you see.

She goes into the kitchen again. A short pause.

Ekdal (at the door of loft, the net behind). Hjalmar!

Hjalmar. Well?

Ekdal. Afraid we shall have to move the water-trough, after all.

Hjalmar. Why, that’s what I’ve said all along.

Ekdal. H’m—h’m—h’m!

Goes away from the door again.

Hjalmar (goes on working for a little while, then looks at the loft and half rises. Hedvig comes in from the kitchen. Hurriedly sitting down again). What do you want?

Hedvig. I only wanted to come in to you, father.

Hjalmar (after a short pause). It seems to me you’ve come to poke your nose into things. Are you to keep watch, perhaps?

Hedvig. Oh, no! not at all!

Hjalmar. What’s mother doing in there now?

Hedvig. Oh! Mother’s in the thick of the herring-salad. (She goes up to the table.) Isn’t there any little thing I could help you with, father?

Hjalmar. Oh, no. It’s best I should do it all alone—as long as my strength holds out. There’s no need, Hedvig; if only your father keeps his health—then——

Hedvig. Oh no, father; you mustn’t say such horrid things——

She walks about a little while, stands still by the open door, and looks into the loft.

Hjalmar. I say, what’s he doing now?

Hedvig. It’s surely a new path up to the water-trough.

Hjalmar. He’ll never be able to manage that alone! And yet I’m condemned to sit here——

Hedvig (going up to him). Give me the brush, father; I can do it.

Hjalmar. Oh, nonsense. You’d only spoil your eyes with it.

Hedvig. Not a bit! Come, give me the brush!

Hjalmar (rising). Well, yes, it won’t take more than a minute or two.

Hedvig. Tut! What does it matter? (Taking the brush.) That’s it. (Sitting down.) And I’ve got one here to copy from.

Hjalmar. But don’t spoil your eyes! Do you hear—I will not be answerable; you must take the responsibility upon yourself—I tell you that.

Hedvig (retouching). All right, I don’t mind.

Hjalmar. You’re very quick at it, Hedvig. Only a few minutes, you understand.

He squeezes past the curtain in the loft. Hedvig sits working. Hjalmar and Ekdal are heard discussing within.

Hjalmar (coming from behind the net). Hedvig, just hand me the pincers that are lying on the shelf. And the chisel (turning back). Now you’ll see father. But first let me show you what I mean.

Hedvig takes out the tools asked for from the book-case and hands them in to him.

Hjalmar. That’s it. Thanks! I say, it was a good thing I came.

He goes away from the opening of the door; they are heard carpentering and talking within. Hedvig remains standing and looks at them. After a pause there is a knock at the entrance-door; she takes no notice of it.

Gregers (bareheaded and without a top coat; he enters and stands a little while by the door). H’m!

Hedvig (turning and going up to him). Good morning. Won’t you come in?

Gregers. Thank you (looks towards the loft). You seem to have workingmen in the house?

Hedvig. No, it’s only father and grandfather. I’ll go and tell them.

Gregers. No, no, don’t do that, I’d rather wait a little while.

He sits down on the sofa.

Hedvig. It’s so untidy here.

She is about to clear away the photographs.

Gregers. Oh! don’t trouble. Are they portraits that have to be finished?

Hedvig. Yes, they are; I was going to help father with them.

Gregers. Don’t let me prevent you.

Hedvig. Oh, no.

She moves the things towards her and sits down to work; Gregers watches her for a while in silence.

Gregers. Did the wild duck sleep well last night?

Hedvig. Yes, thank you, I believe so.

Gregers (turning to the loft). It looks quite different in there by daylight from what it did in the moonshine.

Hedvig. Yes, it does change so. In the morning it looks different from the afternoon and when it rains it looks different than when it’s fine.

Gregers. Have you noticed it?

Hedvig. Yes, of course I have.

Gregers. Do you, too, like being in there with the wild duck?

Hedvig. Yes, whenever I can manage it I——

Gregers. But no doubt you’ve not much free time. I suppose you go to school.

Hedvig. No, not now; father’s afraid of me spoiling my eyes.

Gregers. Oh! then he reads with you himself.

Hedvig. Father’s promised to read with me, but he’s not had time for it yet.

Gregers. But is there no one else to help you a little?

Hedvig. Yes, there’s Mr. Molvik; but he not always quite—exactly—as——

Gregers. He drinks then?

Hedvig. Yes, indeed.

Gregers. Well, then you’ve plenty of time to do anything. And in there—I suppose that’s a world of itself.

Hedvig. Quite of itself. And then there are so many wonderful things there.

Gregers. Really?

Hedvig. Yes, there are great cupboards full of books, and in some of the books there are pictures.

Gregers. Aha!

Hedvig. And then there’s an old bureau, with drawers and flaps, and a big clock with figures that can come out. But the clock doesn’t go now.

Gregers. So time has stood still—in there with the wild duck.

Hedvig. Yes. And then there’s an old paint-box and so forth; and then all the books.

Gregers. And I suppose you like reading the books?

Hedvig. Oh, yes, when I can get time. But most of them are English, and I don’t understand it. But then I look at the pictures. There’s one great book, called “Harryson’s History of London;” it must be a hundred years old; and there are such an enormous lot of pictures in it. On the front page there’s a picture of Death with an hour-glass, and a young girl. I think that’s horrid. But then there are all the other pictures of churches and palaces, and streets, and great ships sailing on the sea.

Gregers. But tell me, where did you get all these rare things from?

Hedvig. Oh! An old sea-captain once lived here, and he brought them home. They used to call him “The Flying Dutchman.” And that’s odd, for he wasn’t a Dutchman at all.

Gregers. No?

Hedvig. No. But at last he stopped away altogether, and all his things were left here.

Gregers. Listen—just tell me—when you sit in there looking at the pictures, don’t you want to get out, and see the real great world itself?

Hedvig. Oh, no! I want to stop at home always, and help father and mother.

Gregers. Finishing photographs?

Hedvig. No, not only that. What I should like best would be to learn to engrave pictures like those in the English books.

Gregers. H’m! What does your father say to that?

Hedvig. I don’t think father likes it, for father’s so odd in some things. Fancy, he talks about my learning basket-making and straw-plaiting! But I don’t think that’s anything much.

Gregers. Oh, no; neither do I.

Hedvig. But father’s right about one thing, that if I’d learnt to make baskets, I might have made the new basket for the wild duck myself.

Gregers. So you might; and you were the right person to have made it.

Hedvig. Yes, for it’s my wild duck.

Gregers. Yes, so it is.

Hedvig. Oh, yes, she belongs to me. But I lend her to father and grandfather as often as ever they like.

Gregers. Indeed! What do they do with her?

Hedvig. Oh! they arrange things for her, and build for her, and all that.

Gregers. I understand; for I suppose the wild duck’s the most distinguished personage in there.

Hedvig. Of course she is; for she’s a real wild bird. And it’s a pity about her, too, for she has no one to care for, poor thing.

Gregers. She hasn’t a family like the rabbits.

Hedvig. No. The fowls, too, have so many they were chicks with together, but she has been taken right away from all her own. And then it’s all so strange about those wild ducks. No one knows them, and nobody knows where they come from either.

Gregers. And so she has been to the ocean depths.

Hedvig (looks up at him for a moment and smiles). Why do you say “the ocean depths?”

Gregers. What else should I say?

Hedvig. You might have said the “bottom of the sea,” or the “sea bottom.”

Gregers. Oh! mayn’t I just as well say in the ocean depths?

Hedvig. Of course, only it sounds so odd to hear people talk of the depths of the ocean.

Gregers. Why? Tell me why.

Hedvig. No, I won’t, for it’s so silly——

Gregers. I’m sure it’s not. Now, tell me why you smiled?

Hedvig. Well, it’s because when I happen to remember what’s in there—all of a sudden—it always seems to me that the whole room and everything in it should be called the “depths of the ocean”—but that’s so silly.

Gregers. You must not say that.

Hedvig. Yes, for it’s only a loft.

Gregers (looking steadily at her). Are you so sure of that?

Hedvig (astonished). That it’s a loft!

Gregers. Yes. Are you quite certain it is?

Hedvig looks at him in silence, open-mouthed. Gina comes in with the table-cloth, etc., from the kitchen.

Gregers (rising). I’ve come in too early, I fear?

Gina. Well, you had to stop somewhere—and it’s almost ready now. Clear the table, Hedvig.

Hedvig clears away the things; she and Gina go on laying the table during the following conversation. Gregers sits down in the arm-chair and turns over the leaves of an album.

Gregers. I hear you can retouch, Mrs. Ekdal.

Gina (with a side glance). Yes, I can.

Gregers. That was a lucky coincidence.

Gina. How, lucky?

Gregers. As Ekdal went in for photography, I mean.

Hedvig. Mother can take photographs, too.

Gina. Oh, yes! I’ve had plenty of opportunity to teach myself that art.

Gregers. Then, perhaps, it’s you really that attend to the business?

Gina. Yes, when Ekdal hasn’t time himself, I——

Gregers. No doubt, his time’s a great deal taken up with his old father. I understand that.

Gina. Yes, and then it’s not the thing for a man like Ekdal to take portraits of anybody and everybody.

Gregers. So I think, but still, since he has taken it up—I——

Gina. Mr. Werle, I’m sure, can understand that Ekdal is not an ordinary photographer.

Gregers. Of course not—— But—— (A shot is fired within the loft, he starts.) What’s that?

Gina. Up there they are shooting again!

Gregers. Do they shoot too?

Hedvig. They go a-hunting.

Gregers. What hunt? (Going towards the door of the loft.) Are you hunting, Hjalmar?

Hjalmar (behind the net). Are you here? I didn’t know—I was so taken up—— (To Hedvig.) And you didn’t tell us——

Comes into the studio.

Gregers. Do you go a hunting in the loft?

Hjalmar (showing a double-barreled pistol). Oh! only with this.

Gina. Yes, you and grandfather’ll have an accident one of these days with that pigstol.

Hjalmar (vexed). I think I’ve told you, that this kind of fire-arm is called a pistol.

Gina. Well, I don’t think that’s any better.

Gregers. So you too have turned hunter; you too, Hjalmar?

Hjalmar. Only a little rabbit shooting now and again. Chiefly for father’s sake, you understand.

Gina. Men folk are such queer creatures; they must always have something to divide themselves with.

Hjalmar (angrily). Yes, yes, of course, we must always have something to divide ourselves with.

Gina. Why that’s exactly what I’m saying.

Hjalmar. Well, h’m! (To Gregers.) And then luckily you see the loft is so situated that no one can hear us shooting. (Putting the pistol on the top shelf of the case.) Don’t touch the pistol, Hedvig! The one barrel’s loaded, remember.

Gregers (looking in through the net). Oh, you’ve a fowling-piece too, I see.

Hjalmar. That’s father’s old gun. You can’t shoot with it now, for there’s something wrong with the lock. But it’s very amusing to have it, all the same, because we can take it all to pieces, and oil it, and then screw it together again. Of course its mostly father who muddles about with such things.

Hedvig (going up to Gregers). Now you can see the wild duck properly.

Gregers. I was just looking at it. One of her wings drops a little it seems to me.

Hjalmar. Well, that’s not so remarkable; you know she was wounded.

Gregers. And she seems a little lame in one foot, isn’t she?

Hjalmar. Perhaps just a very little bit.

Hedvig. Yes, for the dog bit her in that foot.

Hjalmar. But she hasn’t another fault or blemish; and that is really remarkable for a creature that has had a discharge of shot into its body, and has been between a dog’s teeth.

Gregers (with a glance at Hedvig). And who has been to the depths of the ocean?

Hedvig (smiling). Yes.

Gina (setting the table). Oh! that blessed wild duck! You’ll be falling down and worshipping her next.

Hjalmar. H’m—is the lunch nearly ready?

Gina. Yes, in a moment. Hedvig, you must come and help me now.

Gina and Hedvig go out into the kitchen.

Hjalmar (in a lower voice). I don’t think you’d better stand there looking at father; he doesn’t like it. (Gregers moves away from the door of the loft.) And I’d better shut up before the others come in. (Shooing with his hands.) S’h! s’h! Get away with you! (He pulls up the curtain and shuts the doors.) These contrivances are my own inventions. It’s really very amusing to have something like that to arrange, and to mend when it gets broken. And besides, it is quite necessary, too, you see, for Gina doesn’t like having the rabbits and fowls in the studio.

Gregers. No, of course not; and, perhaps, it’s your wife who manages the business?

Hjalmar. I usually leave every-day business to her, for then I can seek refuge in the sitting-room, and think over more important matters.

Gregers. What sort of matters, Hjalmar?

Hjalmar. I wonder you’ve not asked about that before? Or, perhaps, you’ve not heard about the invention?

Gregers. Invention? No.

Hjalmar. Really? You’ve not? Ah! well, up there in the woods and wilds——

Gregers. So you’ve made an invention!

Hjalmar. Well, I’ve not exactly made it yet, but I’m working at it. Surely you can understand that when I decided to sacrifice myself to photography, it wasn’t in order to take likenesses of all sorts of commonplace people.

Gregers. No, no, that was what your wife was just saying.